#i look up and they’re approximately 3 inches away

[izel-scribbles]

period cramps SUCK ABSOLUTE UTTER BALLS but i went on a cat date with a cool weird blue haired girl so its all good

[politemenacephd]

The Surrogate: Part III

Miguel O'Hara X Peter B. Parker X GN!Reader (+18) Part one Part Two Series Content: Planned pregnancy, Breeding kink, PinV sex, Oral sex, Threesome, Web knotting, Aftercare, Possible Angst/fluff.

Miguel and Peter want a third child, and apparently they've run out of options. That is, except for you, their friend and colleague. They offer to cover everything, and the pay is life-changing. There's just one catch: they went to concieve naturally.

You woke up barely able to feel your own body. It was like you were just a head floating in a cotton void, soft, numb, and still. You breathed in and out through your mouth, lightly drooling on the pillow as your body regained feeling inch by inch, minute by minute.

In that sweet space between waking and dreams you felt nothing. You were just drifting away, away—

“COME ON PAPA, HURRY UP!”

Your eyes shot open as a young girl’s voice echoed in from under your bedroom door.

God, you were so sore.

You were still Miguel and Peter’s spare room, or as they’d declared it, your room.

You barely remembered falling asleep. You remembered vaguely that at around 2am you’d hit your limit, having taken both men approximately 3 to 4 times each, and Peter had tenderly made sure you were comfortable and safe before they both left.

You moved your leg across the bed and flushed as you felt it hit a wet patch to your left. Huh. Peter must have shifted you out of it so you could sleep. You didn’t even want to think about how messy that side was.

You yawned and rubbed your face as you tried to gather your thoughts.

Well, it was done. Or at least, it was started. You’d officially had sex with them both, multiple times, unprotected, while ovulating. It hit you quite hard how serious this was, how serious it’d gotten. You’d had fun last night but now dawn was breaking, and you’d have to start planning your day, thinking about how every step you took their seed was in your womb right now, possibly creating some strange amalgamation baby.

It also hit you that… you wanted to do it again. You wanted them both, you wanted those two men on you, inside you, breaking the bed with their firm, aggressive thrusts, filling you until there was no more room.

Your face flushed violently. You’d hoped you’d at least enjoy the baby-making part, since it’d suck to just have to put up with it for the money, but… you hadn’t expected to enjoy yourself THIS much, right?

Right…?

Was it, wrong, to enjoy yourself this much? You were supposed to just be here as their surrogate, their support, but you could feel your gut tightening at the thought of both men. You felt a small pang of anxiety. You knew you were supposed to be professional, so why could you not stop your mind from wandering?

Your concentration was broken when you heard voices from behind your closed door.

‘Shh! Shh, look- you deal with the girls, I’ll go make sure they’re okay.’

That was Peter speaking, you thought. You could quite easily pick up his voice now. Wait, so both men were awake? Did they think you were still asleep? Then you heard something more.

‘PAPA!’

That was the girls. They must have been dropped home this morning at some point while you were blacked out. You instinctively ducked beneath the sheets.

‘Yes, mi amor! Just a minute, go put your shoes on!’ said another low male voice. Your heart fluttered a little; that was Miguel. He appeared to be calling to who you presumed must be Gabi, before he returned to whispering with Peter. ‘Ay Dios mio- I meant to talk to them though.’

‘I’ll relay the message, big guy. Okay?’

‘Mm... Okay. Fine. Just… Come here, just, quickly—’

You heard a soft, romantic moan as the two presumably kissed against the door. You couldn’t see them, but it sounded like just a quick peck.

‘Muy guapo’ you heard Miguel whisper, his voice just barely audible as it drifted under the door. ‘You know, I kind of hope the baby is yours, biologically.’

‘Oh, really?’

You heard them chuckling and awkwardly shuffled yourself deeper into the sheets. ‘Mhm,’ Miguel confirmed. ‘You make such cute babies. I want to see another one. Pedro’s bebito, eh?’

You felt like you shouldn’t be hearing this, but… It was kind of nice, even if it was a little voyeuristic, and perhaps a little melancholic. You’d been single so long yourself that to hear their soft, romantic platitudes in private was soothing on your own heart. Nobody got to see what they were like alone.

You heard them chuckling again, and this time the door creaked a little. They must be cuddling up against it. ‘But I want another one of you’ Peter whined softly. ‘The red eyes would be so cute. Little red-eyed baby? And the wittle tiny fangs—’

‘Oye, a tiny me will be a tiny nightmare’ Miguel chuckled in a whisper. ‘I’m just glad we’ve got their genes to balance it out, if that happens.’

You blinked. They? Were they talking about you now?

‘Oh, true. Very true. Ah- I hope they’re okay. I was SHOCKED they took as much as they did’ Peter whispered. You felt your face burn up a little as you shuffled down into the sheets, suddenly aware that they thought you were still asleep. You didn’t want to come into their home and look like an eavesdropper.

‘They did a good job, we picked right’ Miguel replied. He sounded happy, despite his professional sounding tone. ‘I agree, that uh- that’s the one issue with it being a friend. I do feel bad about pushing too hard.’

‘Oo, but they liked you though’ Peter said, practically purring as their whispers continued. ‘I could feel it. My big stud did such a good job, you better be careful. You’re gonna ruin them for anyone else.’

Miguel let out a slightly huskier chuckle. ‘What, you want us to keep ‘em?’

You felt your chest grow tight. Something about this whole thing was making you anxious. They were joking about, yes, but… Joking about keeping you? In what way? As the giggling died down, you finally heard Peter’s voice drifting beneath the door once more.

‘They’re pretty aren’t they?’ Peter whispered as low as he could.

‘Ay, Pedrito—’

‘NO, don’t make that face! You know I’m right!’

‘Mm… Yeah, yeah, I know, just- Don’t make me jealous’ Miguel grunted. You heard Peter scoff and felt your face get redder.

Wait, jealous?

‘Don’t make you jealous? You big dummy- You don’t get to look at them with those dark, brooding eyes and then get mad at me for it. You’re my man, and I am yours, heart, body, and soul, but we both know, very well, that our friend is hot, and it’s making the whole thing easier. Mm? Okay? Okay, Mr big soft baby?’

You heard Miguel chuckling again, his soft, dramatic tone now gone. It seems Peter was good at calming him. ‘Mm. Whatever. Maybe you have a point’ he whispered.

‘I always have a point, thank you. Hey, actually, speaking of, uh- I got some time before work if you’re taking the kids. If it’s an option, would you- like me to try and go with them again, or—’

‘No’ Miguel said firmly, quickly shutting Peter down. You tensed a little as you sank into the sheets. ‘No’ he repeated, ‘I want to… watch, if you do. It… mm.’

Your face went bright red as you heard Miguel let out a dark, deeply sensual chuckle, the door creaking as he pushed Peter into it again. ‘You both look, real pretty, when you’re moaning like that. Making me my precious little mjito. Eh? Lemme watch you make it. Don’t tease me.’

You felt your insides flutter and pulse as you listened to Miguel’s filthy little comments about your breeding process, and from the sounds Peter was making he felt the same way.

‘We can try again tonight if they’re willing. But remember, don’t push them. They need to rest’ Miguel said, and you heard him kiss Peter on the forehead. He must have noticed the time as he was suddenly talking much faster, eager to leave.

‘Excuse me, sir, you went four times last night, I only went three. I tapped out first. I’m not the one pushing them’ Peter quietly insisted. You heard Miguel chuckle again.

‘Mm. Okay, you got me there. I did a get a little… overzealous’ he admits, only for his words to be drowned out by the screams and shouts of their daughters. You could hear May and Gabi racing through the house. You felt a slight tug in your heart; you hadn’t considered how you were supposed to interact with them yet either. You just sank deeper into the sheets.

‘Okay, I gotta go. Hasta luego, mi amor’ you heard Miguel murmur, and after what sounded like one final kiss he was gone, calling to the girls to behave and follow. You listened to their voices growing distant until at last the apartment was silent, and only then did you let your guard down.

You collapsed into the sheets and grunted.

For a few minutes, you pondered the conversation you’d overheard in a bit of a daze. The way they talked about you was certainly flattering, which was nice, but, it made you feel weird inside too. It gave you a strange, almost bittersweet form of anxiety.

You buried your face into the pillows, unable to escape the way Miguel’s deep, sensual voice hung in your ears, or the way you remembered Peter’s breath on your back as he worked you, one hand on your neck and one on your hip, curving you like a bowstring.

‘Oh, fuck’ you mumbled to yourself. ‘I’m down so bad…’

‘Hi!’

You almost fell off the edge of the bed you flinched so hard. You spun and glared at the door, only to see Peter giving you that dorky half-smile with the bright, burning light of the sun at his back. You slowly forced yourself to relax.

‘My god… Ah- hey, Peter.’

Peter beamed down at you, his smile sincere. His hair was a mess and he was wearing pyjamas under a loose pink fluffy robe, both of which looked well worn at this point. The man liked the lounge.

‘Good morning, good morning’ he said, practically purring as he crept in and sank down onto the bed beside you. You gazed up at him with curious eyes, trying hard to seem like you just woke up and didn’t hear the two men’s intimate conversation.

‘Ah… ah, good morning Peter—’ you said, stopping to give a fake yawn to sell it further. His soft, sympathetic coos informed you that it worked.

‘Oh! Look at you, so sleepy. I’m sorry to wake you but I wanted to be sure you were okay and just, you know, go over some ground rules for today.’

You blinked and instinctively went to repeat what he said. ‘The what? Ground rules for toda—’

‘OH! But first!’

Before you could even finish your question, Peter had sprung up and hurried back out into the main house, his robe flapping around him as he went. You just chuckled to yourself. What a sweet man.

A few minutes later he threw himself back through the door, now preoccupied with a plate and a glass in his hand he was trying very hard not to spill. He crept over and carefully laid them down on the bedside table. He’d brought you a very simple, plain bagel and coffee.

‘Here, ah- this is what I’d call, pre-breakfast’ he whispered. You blanched a little.

‘Pre, breakfast? What—’

‘Obviously I will feed you more!’ he insisted, both hands raised as he sank down to his knees beside the bed. ‘Or, you can uh- feed yourself more later. The fridge is open to you. I stocked up over the weekend, I had to keep wrestling May out of there because she wanted to eat it all.’

You nodded along slowly as you began taking small bites of the bagel he’d brought. It tasted good, really good, perhaps homemade?

‘Mm- You’re tryna feed me up, huh?’ you replied mid-bite. Peter beamed.

‘Mhm! Gotta make sure you’re well taken care of’ he said, his voice strangely affectionate. Seemingly unable to help himself his eyes roamed down to your belly beneath the sheets, his gaze darting a little, as if he could somehow see the process occurring inside you. It made you strangely shy.

You’d been fine with the arrangement, of course, but it was weird to feel yourself being looked at like a broodmare. You felt how differently Peter talked to you compared to Miguel.

But then his head shot up, and he grinned at you again. ‘Can I see?’

‘Can you see wha- AH!’

You squeaked as he pushed the sheets aside and physically threw himself onto your lower torso, burying himself into your stomach. He squished you hard, his hands grabbed fistfuls of fat and muscle to squeeze, as he held you taut to his face and lovingly smothered your bare skin.

‘MM! Mm! You did so good’ he hissed affectionately, the words flying from his lips as he raised his head. He found you utterly confused, frozen in surprise, with his hands still gripping you tight. ‘You did good’ he repeated in a whisper, his soft smile widening. ‘You did really well. I mean really. The first time I tried to sleep with Miggy I think I nearly passed out. He was ah- a little less restrained back then, to be fair, but—’

He paused mid-ramble as he realized you were still frozen in shock, and his smile turned lopsided.

‘Ah… Sorry. Am I being too much?’ he whispered. You instinctively shook your head, your eyes still unblinkingly fixed on his face. ‘N-No. No! No. it’s fine’ you stammered back. ‘Just- ah, thank you, I guess. I was a little nervous but it, went better than I expected?’

‘Much better! Much better’ Peter reiterated as he sank down beside you. ‘You did an excellent job.’

‘Mm..’ You couldn’t help but chuckle a little at his gleeful expression as you took another bite. ‘Well, again, thanks. So uh, what did you wanna ask, Peter?’

‘OH!’ Peter cried as he clapped his hands, ‘I just wanted to make sure you were okay! And also ah- oh, yes, make sure you know general rules for living here.’

‘I know the rules Peter, I read the contract Miguel sent’ you scoffed a little.

‘You- you did? But- my god, it was almost 30 pages long’ Peter suddenly hissed, seemingly genuinely confused by the idea that you actually read the contract you’d been given. You rolled your eyes again.

‘Yes. I read it. I take my job seriously.’

‘Oh, I know you do’ Peter said, his voice still low but now taking on a slightly subdued flirty tone. ‘You took me very seriously last night.’

‘Peter!’

You gently slapped his thigh as he tried not to chuckle. ‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Let’s start again. So… How are you doing?’ Peter asked, holding his arms out as a gesture of goodwill. You huffed and gave him a tilted smile.

‘Hm. I’m fine, don’t worry. A little sore but not that bad, I’ll be better by this evening, I think. No bruises, no uh- lasting damage, you know.’

You noticed the way Peter’s eyes roamed a little as you mentioned the state of your body. They widened just a little when you mentioned being better this evening. ‘Mhm. Mhm. Okay! Well, that’s great then. So, I need to head off to work in a few minutes, but I wanted you to know the house is all yours. I can go wherever you want, you can use the kitchen to your heart's content, you can use the TV, the games console, we have a few books but uh- neither of us read as much as we should. Obviously, just, exercise the usual safety precautions you would with everything. We know you will, just- yanno.’

‘Peter come on, it’s still me’ you scoffed. ‘You don’t need to talk to me like I’m a total stranger.’

Peter pouted a little. ‘I KNOW, I know, but I rehearsed! Also if I don’t talk professionally I will get VERY inappropriate very fast, so—’

‘Okay! Okay. Gimme your prepared speech then, before you wind up balls deep in me again’ you teased, lightly punching his shoulder. The way his mischievous brown eyes narrowed in response made you just a little warm inside.

‘Mhm. Very funny. Like I said, you’re free to leave, obviously, I left you a spare set of keys on the kitchen counter by the fruit bowl. Everything in the fridge is available except the leftover empanadas and the big stack of unflavoured protein shakes, that’s Miguel’s, he won’t get mad if you touch ‘em but he WILL give you that sad little disappointed pout and talk very curtly for the rest of the day so PLEASE avoid them!’

You couldn’t help but chuckle at Peter’s warning. ‘Oh, yeah, sounds about right. Don’t worry, I wasn’t exactly craving unflavoured protein shake.’

‘Good, because they’re disgusting’ Peter insisted, causing you to laugh again. He then gave you one final smile before noticing the time on the bedside alarm clock, and with a sigh, he pushed himself up. ‘Okay! Well, I gotta head out. You take care, okay? I’ll see you later!’

You raised your hand to say goodbye only for Peter to hurry off, leaving you alone in bed once more. You shifted a little awkwardly in the rich, silk sheets. ‘Ah, sure thing, Peter. See you later’ you said, your voice lingering in the empty air, and in the distance, you heard the front door slam shut.

…

You spent the rest of the day getting accustomed to their house. You had a few days off work to adjust, luckily Miguel had ensured that, but already you were finding it a little boring without your friends.

Their apartment was certainly plush. You could admire it properly now; it had huge window walls overlooking the city, giving a perfect view of the moon rocket, the distant skyrise buildings, and of course the Spider Society HQ standing tall in its center. The windows initially surprised you since Miguel’s eyes were slightly sensitive to sunlight, but as you explored you quickly realized they were tinted with an almost invisible holographic sheen to stop the light from getting through in the same way.

They had a big open-plan kitchen and living room in the same beautiful modern shades of white and black. Everything looks very organized spare for the children’s drawings and toys strewn about the walls and floor. It seemed despite his need for perfection Miguel couldn’t bring himself to impose the same thing on his and Peter’s daughters.

You kept having to jump over balls of webbing and plush spider toys to get to where you wanted to go. It was… almost endearing.

You were left to muse your position and slowly adjust. You made breakfast with the copious amounts of food in the fridge, and you made lunch in the same way. You dozed on the huge, plush couch with your legs up and a thick blanket covering you and caught up on your favorite shows.

As the day wound into the afternoon, a storm came over, blanketing the city in heavy rain and darkness.

You did what you’d usually do on a weekend day off, but… all with a slight niggling thought at the back of your mind. It was the thought reminding you of what you’d done, of what could be happening inside you right now. Miguel’s baby, or Peter’s baby, just- sitting inside you.

You had to wonder how your relationship would change when it happened. You’d been naively certain nothing would change between the three of you after doing this, or after getting pregnant, but you were realizing that just couldn’t be true. They were still your friends of course, without a doubt, but… You had a craving now. A craving for something new, something sweet. Something you’d eventually… have to give up.

Because you were their friend, here to do a job. Nothing more.

You didn’t even notice your body drifting to sleep on the couch. As your mind went wild with a million scenarios you drifted off on the plush cushions, lulled by the rain, white noise, and warmth surrounding you on all fronts.

You only woke to the sound of childish giggling, something that was very unusual in your day-to-day life.

‘Shh! Shh, don’t say anything!’

A strange, muffled voice filled your ears, forcing you to flutter your eyelids open.

You immediately yelped.

Mayday and Gabi were kneeling by the couch barely an inch from your face. The girls were grinning as they looked you up and down, and they giggled more when you tried to scramble backward.

‘HI!’ May squealed, waving her hand. You awkwardly raised your own. Oh god, what did you do? What did you say? You’d forgotten that you’d have to engage with these two.

‘I… H-Hi, there’ you stammered. The girls began pulling on the couch as if trying to get closer.

‘You’re daddy’s friend, right?! You’re here to give us a sibling, right?’ May said, bold and unbothered in a way only a child can be. You felt heat rising to your face.

‘I… Y-Yeah, I am. Your, dads told you about that, huh?’ you said awkwardly. You were forced to make room then as the two girls sat beside you, eyeing you up with curious gazes.

‘Yeah! Dad said they gotta get your help to make it. I hope it’s a girl again!’ May crowed. ‘You’re here carrying the baby for them, right?’ Gabi added, the slightly older of the two being more tactful with her response.

You slowly nodded again. ‘Y-Yeah… Yeah, I’m just- carrying the baby, since they can’t.’

‘So, are you gonna be our parent too?’ May asked loudly, already moving to braid and play with your hair. You grunted at the intrusion but felt too bad to make her stop.

‘Aha, ah- n-not quite, sweetheart’ you said with a nervous laugh. ‘I’m just—’

‘If you’re gonna be another parent then you have to take my side!’ May blurted, putting her chubby hands on her little hips. ‘Papa tells me, I can’t have sugar before bed, a-and daddy says I can’t either! So if I have YOUR vote, then maybe I can win next time!’

You made mental notes in your head as you dumbly nodded; Okay, papa must be Miguel, and daddy was Peter.

‘Papa won’t let you just out-vote them, Maymay, it's not how math works! There’s two of them and ONE of them, it doesn’t work!’ Gabi drawled, smugly folding her arms. May scowled and stuck out her tongue, something Gabi immediately returned. You awkwardly tried to butt in again.

‘Well, I—’

‘Will you watch Bluey with me?’ May garbled a little, gently slapping your arm as she sat down on your stomach without warning. You let out a soft oof, but couldn’t help laughing, especially as Gabi settled at your head in a calmer, cross-legged position.

‘Ah- well, I—’

‘If you watch Bluey with me, you can be my third parent’ May said, gently slapping your arm. Bit by bit, to your surprise, you smiled. Her energy and boundless joy were infectious. What a sweet kid.

‘Sure’ you said gently. ‘Sure, okay, I’ll watch Bluey with you.’  

May beamed at you, giving a gap-toothed grin with her big blue eyes and wild ginger hair covering her forehead. You smiled back.

‘Girls! Girls, girls, come here you!’

As you stammered with surprise Peter suddenly appeared, swooping in to your rescue as he lifted the girls into his arms. He held both as they squealed and waved their arms. For a moment, you felt bad that you’d been interrupted.

‘Mi amors! My little demons, mm—’ Peter chuckled as he kissed both girls on the cheek one after the other, going over and over until they squealed and begged him to stop.

‘What did I tell you about pestering our guest? Now, did you at least say HELLO to daddy’s friend?’ Peter said firmly, raising them both to look at you. May groaned while Gabi giggled.

‘Hi, daddy’s friend!’ they both said in unison.

‘Hi, papa’s friend.’

That dark, husky voice filled the apartment, and while the girls squealed you felt your body melt at the sound. You watched Miguel slip in and throw his work down on the kitchen counter so he could scoop up his girls as they ran toward him. His stoic face softened and melted as he pulled the girls towards him.

‘Mi amors, mis pollitos, cómo fue tu día?’ he whispered to them both, letting them tug on his hair and touch his cheeks with infinite patience.

You watched from the side as he talked to his daughters, feeling your heart melt even further at the sight. He looked so effortlessly calm here. While they vied for his attention though, he did shoot you one look. It was a glance only, but you swore you saw his lips tilt into another smile.

‘Pst, hey!’

You jumped and turned to see Peter leaning over you, a huge smile on his face.

‘Come by our bedroom later, once the girls are asleep’ Peter whispered into your ear, instinctively making you freeze. Your face flushed.

‘You- oh, uh… Okay, sure’ you said, but before you could ask why he’d run off to blow raspberries on May’s cheek, tenderly lifting her up and swinging her around the living room. You watched them with a mixture of endearment and confusion.

Come by later? Did… did they want to go again?

It felt like a full age passed as you made your way through the motions of the evening. You ate with the family slightly awkwardly, making small talk where you could. Miguel made an effort to include you, as did Peter, but you still felt like an outsider sitting here while this family chatted and laughed and talked about their day.

You spent the rest of the evening in your bedroom, waiting until it went quiet. Once the girls were asleep, and at least a half hour after that, you decided to sneak out and see what was going on exactly.

When you approached their bedroom door you heard soft laughter inside, which made you pause. It felt strangely intrusive entering their home like this, even though they’d asked for you. It felt… voyeuristic.

You paused for a second before forcing yourself to push it open.

‘Ah, there you are!’

The moment the door creaked open Peter looked over and beckoned for you to approach, his face spread into an eager grin. You took a moment to admire their room as you entered. It was gorgeous, a wide spread of blacks and reds and whites, with high ceilings and paneled walls and a walk-in closet with holographic attachments.

Their bed was huge too, one that was built for dual purpose. It was a bed built for a very large man who liked to move and get rough, who wanted space to throw his partners around, but also a bed with enough space for a whole family to cuddle in on a lazy morning.

Miguel and Peter were currently on the cough though.

You approached with a flushed face, surprised at how bold they were being. They’d clearly been messing around before you arrived, as Peter’s shirt was slightly torn at the hem and unbuttoned down to his pecs, and he had slightly bloody bite marks on his neck.

What you noticed the most though was Miguel’s very obvious erection beneath his pants, one that was throbbing a little beneath the fabric. You felt your body tense as his beautiful red eyes looked you up and down.

‘Sorry, ah- we weren’t sure you wanted to come in’ Peter said as you approached, gesturing to his neck with a dorky half-smile. ‘We didn’t mean to get started early.’

‘Oh. Ah- no, it’s fine’ you murmured. Miguel just grunted.

‘How did you hold up last night, and this morning? Are you in any pain at all?’ Miguel asked in that husky voice, putting Peter and his own arousal aside to lean forward and look you over. You flushed as his eyes undressed you in your pajamas, roaming up your legs, hips, and belly.

‘N-No, no I’m fine’ you insisted. He fixed you with a look to ensure you were telling the truth, then grunted his approval. ‘Did you settle in okay?’ he then asked.

‘Y-Yes, it was all fine. The kitchen was, easy to use.’

‘Were you comfortable?’

‘Y-Yes.’

‘I don’t mean for this to sound like an interrogation, hermosa/o, I’m making conversation’ Miguel said, now raising both brows. You went stiff.

You hadn’t realized how, after getting so stuck in your own head, you’d forgotten that you were friends. You knew Miguel and Peter. You used to talk so normally. You swallowed all of that down and let out a small, familiar chuckle.

‘Your house is a mess, my guy, you’re- clearly baby whipped, those girls run this place, but… I can see why. They’re really sweet’ you said. Miguel’s smile widened, flashing a full fang.

‘There, that’s better’ Miguel chuckled in that husky tone. ‘I want you talking like that when we’re done…’

‘So, you… Wait, you do want to try again? With me?’ you asked then, your eyes darting between the two. Miguel didn’t nod, instead raising both brows as he looked you up and down.

‘Try again?’ he murmured back at you. Despite feeling like it was a reasonable question, his presence always made you feel a little dumb. You swallowed hard. ‘Try for, the… baby.’

‘Oh’ he grunted back, his eyes roaming for a second time. You froze up for one agonizing second before noticing that his lips were tilting into a smile. ‘I mean I guess, yes, but… It was more, whether you want to just, have fun, while we can.’

You almost squeaked. Wait, they just wanted to have sex for the hell of it?

‘O-Only if you want to, of course!’ Peter added quickly. Miguel grunted at him. ‘That went without saying’ he murmured, his low, calm voice a total contrast to Peter’s.

‘No, I… I mean, I do’ you said, the words coming out of your mouth just a little too quickly. Miguel smirked, and you felt yourself sweating all over again.

‘Do you want me to make you cum again, hermosa/o?’ Miguel asked smoothly, almost politely, in a way that made your knees tremble. His unwavering eye contact made you feel so damn small.

‘Or… are you eager to get on?’

His slippery tongue whispering those last words sealed the deal. You felt your entrance clench as if tying itself in knots beneath the fiery gaze of his eyes, his faint smirk, the flash of a fang behind his lips. Peter watched with a hand covering his mouth to avoid showing his own smirk.

‘I… I-It’s up to you, Miguel’ you replied in a slightly stilted manner, stammering over your words. His eyes softened just a little.

‘No, hermosa/o. It’s up to you’ he said, his sweet voice dipping into something more soothing. ‘This isn’t just about us.

You swallowed hard and got to thinking. The more you thought about last night, and the more you thought about how it’d felt to be held, crushed, filled, fucked to the brim by that enormous man…

‘I- just, wanna get on’ you said, panting slightly with the confession. Miguel grinned.

‘Then get on, hermosa/o.’

Miguel lay back and let you and Peter jointly unbuckle and shift his pants down, letting his hefty cock spring forth with such force it almost scared you. Peter groaned at the sight, unable to stop himself from gently kissing Miguel’s neck like he was worshipping a God, and you were left to carefully strip your own clothes aside.

His eyes didn’t leave you, not once. He was locked on as you stripped, and Peter wasn’t much better.

‘Gorgeous’ he whispered, ‘you’re doing so good…’

You mounted Miguel’s lap slowly, like someone trying to saddle up a horse that was much too large. It was almost intimidating to shift your legs around his thick, muscular thighs and clamber on.

He must have noticed this, because his huge hand came down to cup your rear for stability, taking a soft little squeeze of your right ass cheek as you tried to settle. Your resulting squeak of surprise made his member twitch with excitement.

‘There, hermosa/o, down you go’ he murmured, gently easing your hips towards his shaft. You felt it pushing up, the tip twitching for a second time as it started to bury itself into your folds. Another squeak escaped your lips, followed by a low, dull moan.

‘Yeah… That’s it…’

Peter watched with his head on his fist, admiring how nervous you looked despite your arousal.

Miguel held you there, his red eyes darkening with arousal and amusement as he gently nudged his member at your clit, his claws digging into the soft fat of your rear as he gripped you in place. He let the smooth, velvety skin of his tip rub at that little swollen nub until you started to mewl.

‘Come on, mi amor, don’t tease’ Peter said, but he was purring the entire time he talked. He pressed a few soft kisses to Miguel’s neck, something that in the swirling chaos of emotions you were already feeling caused a little pang of jealousy.

‘Get me wet, then, and I’ll get to work’ Miguel grunted. You squeaked then as you were lifted up into the air by Miguel, almost like you weighed nothing despite your size, and Peter moved beneath you instead. To your private joy, he kissed your thigh before going down and eagerly swallowing as much of Miguel’s cock as he could.

His soft, breathy moans filled your ears and made you quiver, your cunt clenching with arousal at the sound, and especially at the look on Miguel’s face. That big man let his eyes roll, his tongue snaking out to lick at his lower lip and fangs only to let them quiver as he felt his thick, veiny shaft being sucked down.

‘Mmmfff—yeah’ he grunted hard, almost growling. Peter only took a few pumps before pulling back and coyly wiping his mouth, only to then use that same hand to give your right ass cheek a wet, firm slap.

‘Alright, go on, giddy up gorgeous’ he panted, and without giving you a chance to even offer a snide rebuttal you were dropped down and thrust into hard by Miguel.

You were in too much shock to even scream. You just felt your eyes roll as your soul ascended, as that perfect, meaty, veiny shaft pumped its hot way into your cunt, smooth and wet with saliva and pre-cum. Your lips parted into a silent scream of ecstasy, as Miguel bit his lip until it bled to avoid screaming with you. You squeezed that throbbing organ like a fist.

Despite thinking you’d be the one riding Miguel refused to give up control for long. He started throwing his hips as he leaned back on the sofa, his arms behind his head as he threw you about like you were riding a bull. He made you bounce, made every inch of you jiggle with the force, his thick member punching at your cervix until you begged for release.

But you couldn’t get too loud this time, so Peter was forced to tenderly cover your mouth and muffle your moans while checking to ensure you weren’t uncomfortable.

‘There, good, good, well done’ he purred in your ear, his breath hot and sweet as it stirred your nape. ‘Good.’

You were once again torn between Miguel’s violent, domineering thrusts, his thick pumps and sweaty, hairy thighs bucking up against you, his bared fangs and dark eyes, and Peter’s soft, kindly words in your ear as he nestled and soothed you.

It was when you felt your orgasm rising that you were once again met with something new. Miguel moved in too, kissing Peter’s lips before nestling into your cheek, as if the closeness aided in his arousal.

You could feel it yourself; his member twitching at your cervix, kissing your womb, closely followed by a full throb that rose up through the veins in his shaft and resulted in a little quiver. He was enjoying this too.

‘Mm… that’s it…’

You were in a total daze with both men on either side, nuzzling each other and then nuzzling you as you were jostled on Miguel’s lap. You could feel at that point that Peter was equally as erect, his own length twitching and making a mess of your thigh with his thick pre-cum.

As your glazed-over eyes met him, you saw his mischievous, hungry smile, his hot breath hitting your parted lips. You knew you’d be riding him next.

‘Make that baby for us, hermosa/o’ Miguel whispered.

‘Make us proud’ Peter moaned.

You knew, at that moment, that this was going to get messy. You also knew that, at this point, you didn’t care.

[shishirona]

I really enjoy your writing, its one of the ways I got back into Kirby the way I did heehee.

Anyways a prompt, maybe meta and dedede being dads to Kirby and Bandee? Its one of my favorite headcanons and I would like to see ur take on it <3

thank you so much for your kind words! I took some liberties with the prompt, but, Meta Knight and Dedede are good, sweet dads to Kirby and Bandana Dee

On all accounts, it sounded like a good idea—a trip away from Dreamland, just the four of them, out camping and exploring previously unexplored spots of Popstar. With Dreamland left in the capable hands of Dedede’s Waddle Dees, Kirby’s many friends, and Meta Knight’s…. Meta-Knights, they embarked on their weeklong journey with little to no worry on their minds. King Dedede and Kirby sang jollily out of tune as they made for a place Meta Knight had scouted out from the air for them to be an ideal camping spot, with Meta Knight himself and Bandana Waddle Dee covering the rear. 

Even as the sun began to set and they got their tent ready and roasted marshmallows over a fire Meta Knight and Bandana Dee made, things were well. Peaceful, even. So much so that Meta Knight removed his mask and allowed himself to bask in the feelings with a smile on his face. 

The atmosphere changed drastically when Kirby and Bandana Dee went to get some rest. A loud, panicked “Wanya!” had Meta Knight and Dedede rush into the tent, and find Kirby comforting an equally teary-eyed Bandana Dee from the nightmare he’d just woken up from.

Meta sighs, sharing a look with Dedede. 

“We are outside of Dreamland, after all… it was only inevitable.” 

“Yeah,” Dedede mutters, crouching down and pulling Bandana close, rubbing the Dee’s head. “No fountain here for us.” Kirby joins Bandana by Dedede’s side, demanding snuggles as well. Dedede chuckles wryly. “Sorry, you two. Guess we kinda… forgot about that, huh?” 

“I-It’s okay! I’ll protect Bandana from the bad dreams!” Kirby pipes up, but his voice trembles tellingly. Bandana Dee hadn’t been the only one to wake from a nightmare, then. 

“Kirby.” Meta Knight kneels by Kirby’s side, placing a hand on the pink puff’s head. “It is alright. King Dedede and I will protect you. Will we not, Dedede?” He turns to look at the king, whose face is mere inches away from Meta’s own. Oh, how tempting it is to lean against his love and cuddle together, but Meta Knight means to keep his promise to the shaken-up Kirby and Bandana Dee who both stare at him with a look of gratitude in their eyes.

“Thank you, Sir Meta Knight,” Bandana Dee says, mustering a happy face, his approximation of a smile. Meta Knight nods and offers a smile of his own, reaching over to give Bandana a pat on the head as well when Dedede retracts his. “And you too, your majesty.” 

“Aw, it’s nothin’! We adults gotta take care of ya, don’t we?” Dedede grins, pulling both Kirby and Bandana Dee in for a hug. “Now… oh! Why don’t Meta sing us a lullaby?”

“Oh!” Kirby’s eyes light up and he looks expectantly over at his mentor slash friend, wearing a bright smile as if the nightmare has already been driven from his mind. “Please, Meta? Pretty please?” 

“I—ahem—I do not know if that would be a good idea…” Meta mutters, pointedly averting his gaze. Dedede grins, gently nudging him. 

“C’mon now, ya said we’d protect ‘em, right? I’m sure that includes a night of good sleep, yeah? ‘M sure a lullaby from your nice voice’s gonna lull them into a happy sleep, won’t it? Chase away the bad dreams for them, ‘n all.” 

“Dedede…” Meta sighs, shifting a little. A lullaby from him would be more pleasing to the ears than the out-of-tune Dedede, but still… Meta isn’t particularly fond of singing, let alone for a group who’d never let them hear the end of it. But the looks they’re all giving him, especially Dedede… how could he resist? 

“If it sweetens the deal for ya, I could do an interpretive dance to go along with it,” Dedede jokes, making Kirby giggle. 

Meta shakes his head with a fond sigh. “That would defeat the purpose of lulling them to sleep, would it not? But… alright. Just this once. For their sakes.” 

“‘Course. Here, hold on, lemme tuck ‘em in.” Dedede picks up Bandana Dee and Kirby both, bringing them over to their shared sleeping space, consisting of an inflatable mattress and a few pillows Kirby convinced Meta to put in his pocket dimension. Dedede tucks them in as promised, making sure they’re warm and comfortable together. He crawls back over to join Meta by his side, pulling the knight against him in an open sign of affection, and nuzzles the top of Meta’s head. “Work yer magic.” 

“Right.” Meta clears his throat and closes his eyes, starting to hum softly. He’s not got a bad voice by any means, but it isn’t as if he sings often. He hums a repetitive melody, forgoing the use of lyrics, and keeps it up until he’s sure Bandana Dee and Kirby have fallen asleep, snuggled up together and quietly snoring. 

They’re not the only ones affected, though. Dedede leans more heavily on Meta’s body and snores far louder than the two others, having pulled Meta into a sideways hug. Meta smiles fondly and manages to extract himself from Dedede’s grasp, gently carrying the king over to their corner of the tent and tucking him in just as he did Bandana Dee and Kirby. 

“I promise to watch out for all of you,” he whispers, standing up and preparing to exit the tent. It seems to wake Dedede, who gives him a sleepy smile.

“‘M keepin’ watch tomorrow,” he mumbles, “Or we could together so that ya don’t have to do it alone…” he trails off, slurring his words. 

With Bandana Dee and Kirby fast asleep, it’s a tad easier for Meta to be open with his affections toward Dedede. He smiles again. “I will surely take you up on that offer. For now, please rest, my love. I will ensure all of you will sleep safely. I swear this on my honor as a knight.”

With a half-hearted mumble, Dedede turns around and almost immediately falls back asleep. Meta gives the three of them one last look and exits the tent, content to keep watch by the fire, so long as it makes them feel more comfortable sleeping out here and gives them a night of pleasant dreams. 

True to his word, Dedede joins him the next night, and they spend it cuddled up together, whispering words of affection to one another while entangled in the other’s arms. Every now and then they go to check on Kirby and Bandana Dee, ensuring that the two are sleeping safe and soundly. 

[jadethest0ne]

In need of Refueling, Chapter 13 - Orange Claw

Summary:  “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the  White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red  Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 1747

Ratings/Warnings:  Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents, panic attacks, abuse

Notes: This chapter is just pure fluff :3

Credits: Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo  for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep  some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!  

Read on AO3

———-

One thing that sucks about sitting around waiting to heal, beyond the pain and the helplessness and the having to rely on one's enemy, was boredom. Red Son was bored. There wasn't much to do besides sleep, eat, and feel kinda terrible. So the main thing that Red Son did to pass the time was watch Sandy's cats. Yes, they were an annoyance at first, but he soon got used to the meowing in the background and was able to tune out most of it. So he spent his time watching them. Like Red Son, they didn't do much beyond eat and sleep. But occasionally some would scratch various posts around the room and play with various toys or each other. He had observed that there were approximately 27 cats in the houseboat. All different shapes, sizes, and colors. They were curious about him at first too, but quickly learned to stay away from him after his initial yelling, and some minor scolding from Sandy. Still, Red Son couldn't help, but occasionally inch a hand in their direction, which they would respond to with running away or even a short hiss. Red Son would then give a hiss of his own. After all they were right to not want to be around him. So he sighed and watched the day’s escapades of the sleeping cats twitch in their sleep, getting up and lazily scratching a post, maybe pouncing playfully on each other, before ultimately going back to sleep.

Then one day the Blue One brings in the 28th cat. It is a tiny multicolored cat, a calico, Red Son thinks they're called, so small with a weak mewl that Red Son guesses that it's a kitten. Sandy releases it to the crowd of other expectant cats. For a moment, it shrinks against Sandy’s legs as the other cats make some initial sniffs. Then it proceeds to let out a high pitched hiss before leaping out of the way, tearing through the crowd of cats, and flinging itself to the one unoccupied location devoid of cat. Which happens to be the space between the bed and the wall that Red Son had occupied a few days earlier.

Red Son glances down at it curiously, as it looks about the room with a wild-eyed expression.

“What’s with this one?” he asks Sandy.

Sandy sighs and says, “She’s a feral kitten that I’m fostering and trying to get her socialized, but she’s a bit older, so that tends to make things more difficult…”

A few other cats try to come closer, but the small cat swipes them away with a brightly colored paw. Red Son notes that much like the orange patch on her paw, the claws themselves are orange. She gives the rest of the room a fierce glare, attempting to appear large and intimidating, despite her small frame. Red Son allows a small smile to quirk on his lips. “She’s got a lot of spirit for something so small.”

“Haha, that can be part of the problem. But yes, spirit is good…”

The pause after Sandy speaks causes Red Son to take his gaze away from the small cat to see the blue man looking at him with an unreadable expression. Sandy quickly looks away and says, “Well, I better feed all the kitties, and then I can make some lunch for us! Tuna sandwiches sound good?” He leaves without an answer, and Red Son is left watching the cats again, however this time, he finds himself spending a lot of time looking at the small calico cat.

When Sandy goes to feed the cats, the new one seems to have a hard time getting food for herself. It requires her to go to one of the dishes near the other cats. When she does, she jumps at the other cats who get near her, swiping at them (or rather the air in front of them), and scurrying back to her little hidey spot between the bed and the wall.

As Sandy is busy in the kitchen after feeding the cats and presumably working on feeding himself and his resident demon, Red Son scoots towards the end of the bed and slides a water dish over to the cat. At least she might be able to get something to drink while the other cats are focused on the food. She inches forward and laps up some water. Red Son stares intently at her little pink tongue poke in and out.

He hears Sandy’s large footsteps and booming voice enter the room announcing lunch, causing the demon to scramble back into place, eliciting a few twinges of pang from his injuries which he does his best to stifle.

Sandy provides him with a tray with some neatly cut up sandwiches and a glass of mango iced tea and he leaves to let Red Son eat in silence. It looks so sickeningly picture perfect, and Red Son scrunches his face as he most definitely doesn’t enjoy the deliciously balanced tuna and fresh vegetables held between hearty and obviously homemade bread. He eats through one slice and washes some of it down with the fruity and delicately sweet iced tea. He bunches some blankets around himself to counteract the cold that the tea brings, but refuses to stop slurping up the refreshing goodness. As he does, he sneaks a peak over at the small cat by the bedside. She still hasn’t been able to have much to eat.

Red Son looks around, and carefully dissects some pieces of tuna from the other half of his sandwich, surreptitiously placing them on the floor near the small cat. She looks up at him and down at the tuna. Red Son’s gaze flickers back and forth attempting to act like he’s simply looking around as he takes a bite out of his sandwich, now a couple pieces of tuna less, but no less delicious. Another eye flicker over to the cat and he hums happily when he sees that she has started greedily gobbling up the fish.

When he finishes his meal, he puts the tray aside and leans back contentedly, but looks up when he feels a soft tug on his blanket. The movment comes from the small cat, attempting to and actually succeeding in climbing up to the bed. Red Son perks up, but attempts to remain nonchalant about her appearance on the bed. She shuffles over to him, taking a few stops to give him a momentary once over to make sure he doesn’t have any intent on hurting her.

She finally makes it over to Red Son and sniffs at him, slowly getting to his hands. She must be noticing the smell leftover from the tuna he ate. Red Son opens up his palms more to allow her better access to them. She takes a lick at his fingers. Red Son can’t help but smile slightly. He wiggles his fingers a little, and she lightly sinks her teeth into them. Red Son cringes but wiggles his fingers more as she gnaws gently at them. Then he ruffles the fur under her chin and she jumps back slightly, while batting playfully at his hand. A small giggle bubbles its way out of Red Son’s mouth. It is quickly stifled when Sandy again comes into the room. The added presence likewise causes the kitten to jump and run away, back to her corner. Red Son stiffens and gives Sandy the tray, not able to look at him and answering his question of “Did you like your meal” with a very robotic “Yes”.  If it’s odd, Sandy doesn’t take notice and walks away.

It’s not long before the kitten is found in Red Son’s presence again, stealing some of his food during his meals (through no complaint of his own), and pawing playfully at his hands or the edges of his robe. Occasionally, she’s even found sleeping on the bed next to him, her soft purring providing some unexpected comfort to him. Red Son had never had a pet before, but he could now see why one would enjoy the company of a small furry companion like this. He hums happily as he strokes his fingers through her soft fur.

After a couple days of this, Sandy finally comments on the interaction.

“I see you’re getting along well with our new resident!” Sandy says happily.

“I whwhub-- what?! I, NO, I don’t know what you mean!”

“She seems to like you!”

“Yes, because all animals who like you bite you!” Red Son scrunches up his face in annoyance, before it softens as he watches the small cat gnawing, without much real force, on his fingers and kneading the fabric of his robe with her brightly colored claws.

“Well, she doesn’t really let many others get that close without hissing.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with that, she just likes her distance, that’s all.”

“Yes, it’s good to know your boundaries…” Sandy nods sagely. “And sometimes it’s hard for them to get used to a new environment, especially when they’re lost or alone or hurt. It’s happened to a lot of them… I don’t blame them for acting out given the circumstances…”

Red Son looks down at the small cat beside him as he tries to ignore the implications to Sandy’s words. The cat’s gnawing turning into licks and her eyes beginning to blink tiredly. He maneuvers his hand to give some scratches behind the ears, which earns him some rumbling purrs from the little kitten. A warm flutter fills his heart at this.

“It must be hard,” Red Son finally says.

“I just hope that they’re able to warm up eventually, and live happy, healthy lives.” Red Son can hear the smile in his voice without having to look at him, but all he does is provide a small hum in response. The cat has now closed her eyes fully and is curled up in the small pocket between his arm and his side.

“Would you like to name her?” Sandy asks suddenly.

“What?!” Red Son has to remind himself to be still despite his surprise so as to not disturb the cat.

“She doesn’t have a name yet. Would you like to name her?”

Red Son blinks up at the man, then down at the cat. She twitches a bit in her sleep, claws expanding and retracting slightly. He thinks for a moment.

“Orange Claw,” he says simply. It just sounds right.

start || <– previous // next –>

[kalu-luwa]

more self-indulgent incorrect quotes

featuring yumeko (@sammo-writes-whatever), who we love and cherish with all our hearts

cw: definitely ooc, swearing, mentioned/implied violence, implied arson, religious themes, general slander, neph is hella mean

(under the cut for dash length)

Vargas, locking the car: You’re up against one of Twisted Wonderland's greatest trapping technologies…

Vargas: the child safety lock

The First Years: *angry gasps*

---

Neph, to anyone ever: There are approximately 1,010,300 words in the English Language, but I could never string enough words to properly express how much I want to hit you with a chair.

---

Neph: i'm a brave boye :D

Twisted Wonderland:

Neph: not a brave enough boye for this >:0

---

Vil, maybe: It is illegal to be more beautiful than me.

Neph: damn guys, looks like we're all going to jail

---

*First Year sleepover, 1 AM*

Ace:

Ace: peepee

The First Years: *cracking up, some of them more so than others*

Yume: *tired af, please let her rest*

Ace: *gets slapped by a shoe*

Epel: oH SHIT

Neph, standing menacingly at the door:

---

[AceOfHearts has added TClover to the group chat.]

AceOfHearts: dad

Deuce_ex_machina: dad

MoruMoru: dad

Nepheliad: dad

[TClover has left the group chat.]

---

Yume, awake at 3 AM: If you work on a farm and your job is to take care of the chickens, you are a chicken tender.

Epel and Deuce: *sit up immediately, wide-eyed*

---

Lilia: So I can either bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes, or 4 000 for one minute.

Silver:  FATHER NO THAT’S NOT HOW YOU BAKE COOKIES

Neph: FLOOR IT??

Trey: NEPH NO NOT YOU TOO

Lilia: HOW ABOUT 240 000 DEGREES FOR ONE SECOND

Silver: FATHER YOU’RE GOING TO BURN THE SCHOOL DOWN

Neph: WE ARE GOING TO HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO BAKE COOKIES

Trey: P L E A S E

---

Yume: If I stay in bed, I will be warm. 

Yume: If I take a shower, I will also be warm. 

Yume: But the space between the bed and the shower, no, that is not warm. 

Neph, nodding:

---

Grim: Our Christmas tree rotates…

Grim: Like…

Grim: ... a rotisserie chicken…

Grim: ... and I think that’s beautiful.

The Ramshackle Dorm:

---

Riddle: Rules are meant to be followed. Nothing is meant to be broken.

Yume: Pinatas!

Deuce: Uh, karate boards?

Cater: Glowsticks!

Trey: Spaghetti when you have a small pot.

Neph: Bones.

Ace: … and rules.

---

Adeuce: Neph, can you pass the salt?

Neph: Can you pass your classes?

Adeuce, crying: too much salt

---

Neph: Give me a three!

Jamil: Three.

Neph: Minutes!

Jamil: Minutes?

Neph: To live!

Jamil: To live-

Neph: Before I stab you!

---

Yume, crying: no reused straw will ever bring back master oogway

Neph, nodding while sobbing:

---

Yume: Ah, the lights went out.

Grim: Never fear! The Great Grim will take care of this! 

Grim, shaking rapidly:

Grim, glowing:

Grim: i ate a flashlight

Yume and Neph: whY WOULD YOU-

---

Neph: My gender is swiss army knife. That’s it. That’s the tea.

Anyone: But… what’s in your pants??

Neph: i want you to look me in the eyes and take a wild guess

---

Azul: What do you mean 'no'?

Neph: I mean 'no'.

Neph: Wanna hear it in Spanish? 

Neph: n o

---

Yume: ‘Yoink’ is the opposite of ‘yeet’.

Yume: And it’s just as fast.

Neph: The LORD yeeteth and the LORD yoinketh away.

Anyone: I feel as if I am having a stroke right now.

---

Yume: noooooo ooooonnnneeee

Yume: Eats like Gaston

Yume: Mini wheats like Gaston

Neph: No one says, “This bitch empty,” and y e e t s like Gaston

Vargas:

---

Neph/Leona, as Ruggie steal their stuff: hey can you not

Ruggie: sorry but i cannot not

---

Vargas: Job well done, Rivke, Amane! Have a beer.

Crewel: Ashton, they’re underaged.

Vargas: Oh, right.

Vargas, handing them another beer: You are growing children.

Crewel: Ashton

---

Deuce: help we lost Yumeko again

Neph: how do you even manage that

Ace: she’s like 2 inches tall give us a break

[bubblyhoney]

hi!! i just found ur blog and i rlly like ur writing! i don’t know if u do platonic requests so feel free to ignore this but could u do karl jacobs with a younger sister (maybe like 14-16 yrs old ish)? like i had this thought the other day that he seems like he has such a good relationship with his siblings and i feel like he would be a good older brother. also i feel like he would be lowkey protective and like be one of those brothers that’s like “ima beat up ur bf” but he wouldn’t do anything lol just try to be intimidating (sorry this is long and kinda specific no worries if u don’t wanna do this)

joe mama

warnings: mild language, younger sibling superiority, 100gecks slander,

tags: platonic!karl jacobs x fem!younger sister!reader

A/N: i actually love this idea and i think the headcanon format would work really well with this so here! also i have no basis for any of the things i made up about the reader and karl i fibbed on approximately everything. it was really fun writing this :] very wholesome of me. also! to make this more of a true “x reader” format i didn’t include any looks or genetic references or how you’re related to him (adopted, biological, etc)

-

i think karl is someone to make fun of you to your face but brag about you to his friends behind your back

“you look like a sewer rat who got a perm” when you get out of the shower but he’s all “yeah she cares so much about her appearance even though she looks good 100% of the time” to anyone else

your mom used to make him drive you to your friends’ houses and he’d play 100gecks so loud you couldn’t even talk. he did it on purpose tbh

your age gap is a little troublesome when it comes to being able to see him, as he lives fairly far away and has a job and all his friends there but you have little to no means to go visit him

on your christmas break he does actually buy your family all plane tickets and insists you come to his house and cook for him

he thinks you’re a spoiled brat, you think he’s an arrogant jackass

in all honestly your relationship is 80% love and 20% hate

his absolute Worst pet peeve when you lived together was you coming into his room when he was quote unquote “Seriously Gaming” and insist he help you with your school project or help you reach something on the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard

your worst pet peeve was the absolute Volume at which he chews

he chews like a cow.

the first crush you ever had was a blonde boy named connor who played basketball and had a coconut haircut

you went to a middle school dance with him during your 8th grade year and karl convinced your teachers (who had known him to be a prankster with semi-good grades in their classes) to let him be a chaperone

every slow dance he’d grab the microphone and very pointedly say “Leave Room For Jesus.” until connor would shuffle back an inch

in all seriousness , karl finds it extremely frustrating to see you unhappy, so he does anything in his power to make you feel better. whether it’s a horribly edited minecraft music video or having a heartfelt conversation (during which he kinda maybe sorta tries not to cry) you always hang up the phone with a smile on your face

he used to film these cute home videos during his middle school - high school years and you’d play his magician assistant, side kick, or partner in crime

they’re a treasure, and anytime he badmouths you you threaten to post them on youtube.

he shuts up pretty quick

he’s definitely the type to save all his notes from high school for you to use later

the hand-me-downs from him are absolutely Killer

the amount of grandpa sweaters he amasses is uncanny!

but you look so cute in them so he doesn’t care

mini karl :)

-

A/N: let me know what you think nerds !! <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Haven

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: This was already posted on ao3 last week so I’m just putting it here too.

A few familiar characters show up and as for the timeline, as mentioned we're right after it was announced the Berlin Wall would come down, so we're in about 1990 atm. That means certain events in the MCU timeline have changed or haven't even happened!

I won’t demand but do ask for feedback; likes, reblogs, replies, comments, asks, especially on this series, but again, enjoy in your own way! <3 Love you!

Steve asked James, rather this man he called ‘Bucky, if he had a car. You thought it odd since James had sought the man out for help but you trusted that he was cautious enough for the both of you.

You’d left the car a few streets over. You sat in the back with Luka as he began to nod off and James drove as Steve gave directions. You hugged your son anxiously and inhaled the scent of his unwashed hair. You hoped you would have a bed for the night, if you were fortunate, a shower.

The street lights cast shadows on the men in the front as the New York streets passed by. Even a soviet-born Russian like yourself marveled at the infamous city. Never in all your life had you expected to end up there.

“You don’t live in Brooklyn?” James asked as his gripped the steering wheel.

“I do. Bought mom’s old place,” Steve answered, “But I can’t take you there, Buck.”

James was silent. He sighed as you pondered this friend’s name for him. ‘Bucky’. It sounded odd and didn’t seem to fit the man you knew. And yet, like much of his character, it confounded you. Perhaps it suited him after all.

“Not because of you, but to protect you,” Steve intoned. “Same reason we didn’t take my car.”

“Protect me?” James peeked in the rear view mirror as you stared at his silhouette.

“I’ll explain when we’re standing still,” Steve said curtly as he brushed back his hair with his fingers.

“Right,” James said grimly. “How ya doin’ back there?”

“Fine,” You answered in Russian without thinking. He nodded and continued on.

Silence pervaded the cramped space of the Chrysler as Steve pointed James down the next street. Luka’s soft snores floated around you and warmed your chest as he leaned against you. You dared to hope that you might sleep that night.

James pulled into an underground garage next to a high rise. The two men climbed out of the front seat and James opened the door for you and took Luka gently into his arms. The boy didn’t stir as he was cradled against his father. You stepped out into the smelly garage and Steve waved you onward.

He led you up a staircase and past several business housed in the building above. He stopped at an unmarked metal door one would assume was a utility closet and shoved a key in the slot. He opened it carefully and ushered you inside. The door closed heavily behind him as he flipped the lights on.

Within was a small living space that surprised you. There was a sofa, chair, a single bed in the corner, and a smaller door just beside the narrow counter along the wall. There was a square table at the far end with a boxy computer and an old telephone. James’s eyes scanned the room as if searching for some trap.

“A safehouse for now,” Steve explained. “This is my Plan B but haven’t had to use it so far.”

“Plan B for what?” James hissed.

“Just in case,” Steve shrugged. “It’s safe here, besides.” He strode past the couch and turned back. “This folds out.”

James nodded and crossed to the small bed in the corner. He sat as he laid Luka down and slipped him beneath the quilt. He touched his cheek before he parted and stood to face his old friend. Steve looked between the two of you.

“So, I take it you two met in Russia?” Steve chuckled. “You know, that’s a long way to go for a wife, Buck.”

James said nothing as he tucked his hands in his jeans pockets. The phone rang and Steve flinched as he grabbed it before the second chime. He put it to his ear and listened. He replied with two short words; “Eagle. Demo.”

The line clicked loudly from the mouthpiece and Steve replaced the phone in its cradle.

“We have tonight,” Steve stated as he leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “You can rest. Get clean up in the shower,” He nodded towards the other door, “There’s food in the cupboard. Basic rations but we’ll get better tomorrow.”

“Then what?” James asked sharply. “We go to S.H.I.E.L.D.? That’s who you’re with, right?”

“I am and I’m not,” Steve answered. “But the important thing is I know people who can keep you safe.”

“Safe? Do you even know what we’re running from?” Bucky sneered.

“Not hard to guess,,” Steve tilted his head and sniffed. “Buck, do you have any idea how unbelievable this is? That you’re still alive? How much of a relief it is?” He dropped his arms and pushed himself away from the table. He crossed to James and clapped his shoulder, “Bucky.”

The other man winced and grabbed Steve’s hand. He pushed it away and held up his own. He slowly rolled his glove up his palm and slid free his fingers. He turned his metal hand in show and lowered it in shame.

“Can’t say they never gave me any gifts,” James uttered, “Though I would say I paid for it.”

Steve frowned as he watched James’ hand then looked him in the eye.

“Well, good thing I didn’t say anything about finding you in one piece,” Steve scoffed.

“Ha,” James snorted and shook his head. “You promise your friends are gonna play nice?”

“You trust me?” Steve challenged.

“Always,” James avowed.

“They’ll play nice.” Steve assured him, “But you know it’s not that simple.”

“I know,” James grumbled as Steve brushed by him and went to the door, “But I’m not worried about me.” He paused and looked at you, then Luka, “You understand?”

“I do. You know we’ve always been as good as family, Buck.”

“That was a long time ago,” James insisted. “A different life.”

“Yeah,” Steve rested his hand on the door handle. “But we’re not so different.” Steve smiled and peered past James, “It was nice to meet you.” He opened the door slowly as he spoke. “You two have a good night. Get some sleep. You look like you need it.”

Steve shut the door behind him as he stepped out into the hallway. The door locked from the other side and James stared at the metal barrier. You stood behind him, still, silent, watching as he hung his head. You neared the couch and sat.

“James,” You said gently, “You are going to sit and tell me who Bucky is and how he knows Steve Rogers.”

James turned and swallowed as he looked at you. He approached reluctantly and sat beside you. He leaned back and gripped his thighs as if to brace himself. His fingers danced on his knee anxiously and he nodded.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes and Steve Rogers is my best friend. We served together in Europe. We grew up together in Brooklyn. He was this kid, used to wear newspapers in his shoes, built like a toothpick. His mother, Sarah, was his only family besides me. But that was before I died in the war; before I was the Soldat…”

✰

James let you have the foldout couch to yourself. You were unused to the emptiness beside you but you hadn’t the heart to move Luka as he dozed soundly. James took his usual spot on the floor.  He slept with his back against the door though you doubted he actually got much rest. You woke often and looked at him, sometimes his head slumped down, and others he seemed to stare endlessly into the dark.

James roused first and you sat up as you heard him open the cupboard. You grumbled and stripped the thin mattress before folding it away. You left the thin blankets in the chair as James turned on the single burner on the counter. He set the kettle atop it and turned to face you.

“Tea?” He asked. You nodded as he leaned against the counter.

Luka slept on and you let him until a knock came at the door and woke him. As James set out two mugs of steaming tea, three short raps came and had him frozen. He motioned for you to stay back as he neared the door and you went to Luka as he rubbed his eyes and sat up in confusion.

James unlocked the door and inched it open. His shoulders dropped and he stepped back to let Steve in. Another man followed him and James quickly stiffened. The man strode haughtily inside, his silver hair combed back neatly, as he wore a tailored suit that bespoke of money.

“Howard,” James greeted the strange man with a grimace. The door closed heavily and pierced the tension between them. “Why’s he here?”

“He’s a friend. A real friend.” Steve said.

You helped Luka out of bed and sat him at the table with the box of tea biscuits you found in the cupboard.

“Don’t be rude, James,” You managed in your best English, “You ask if they want tea.”

“James,” The man he called Howard chuckled.

James sighed. “Do you want tea?” He asked tersely.

“We’re good,” Howard answered with a smirk. “So, I think my first question is where they came from?” He pointed at you and Luka. “Lucky the kid looks like his mom.”

“Really, Steve? This jackass.”

“Buck, you don’t understand. S.H.I.E.L.D., it’s not… not safe. There're approximately three people you can trust in this country and we’re two of them.” Steve insisted.

“Three? Who’s the third?”

“Peggy,” Steve replied curtly. “Everyone else, well, we’ve figured there hand-in-hand with the bastards who chased you here.”

“Hydra?” James asked, Steve nodded. “They’re here? Where?”

“Calm down,” Howard strolled around the room as he felt around in his jacket. “We’ll fill you in once you do the same for us.” The man stopped beside Luka and pulled out a bill. “Here, kid, maybe later you’re mother can take you out to buy some candy.”

Luka’s eyes rounded at the money and you nodded to him. “What do you say, mishka?”

“Thank you, sir,” He smiled and accepted the money.

“You didn’t have to--” You said as Howard grinned.

“Got a boy myself. Bit older but I miss when he was smaller. Easier to handle.” He said. “And I’m fairly sure those cookies are well past stale.”

“So it’s just the three of you? Against Hydra?” James interjected. “You really think you can help me?”

“We have safeguards,” Howard turned back. “And it’s better to keep enemies close.”

“Not Hydra,” James’ hands balled into fists. “You don’t understand--”

“No, but we want to try.” Howard neared him. “Look, I’d say that kid is what? Four? Five? And there was a certain Soviet assassin that just up and disappeared as many years ago. A certain experiment abandoned after its perpetrators were slaughtered… think maybe you can fill in the details?”

James paled and looked to you. His eyes fell to Luka and he blinked. “Not in front of the kid.” He glanced at Steve pleadingly. “I’ll talk,” James snarled, “Just… the boy. He can’t--” He took a breath. “Come on, Howard. You said you had a son, too. Please.”

“It’s early, we don’t have to get into it right now,” He raised his hand defensively. “I just needed to know that I was right.”

“And I need to know that you’re gonna keep them safe. I don’t care about me, but they didn’t do anything.” James stepped closer to the man until they were chest to chest. “You swear to me that they’re safe and I will tell you everything.”

“Mother knows something too, she must,” Howard said.

“I tell you,” You stood and squeezed Luka’s shoulder before you left him. “But as James say, not in front of boy.”

Howard considered you then turned back to James. “We’ll move you tonight. Bigger place, much nicer too. Then, we’ll have a long debriefing.” He turned to Steve and checked his watch. “You keep them here until I can get it sorted out. You know the rules.”

“Got it,” Steve said. “And Peggy?”

“One thing at a time,” Howard said as he went to the door, “As far as she’s concerned, you took the day off.”

[littlespoonevan]

still getting good at not leaving

guess who couldn’t help herself and had to write a fix-it fic?!?! lmao look i know this storyline will probably get some sort of resolution in tomorrow’s episode but until then i would like to present u all with this <3 takes place just after the end of 11x02

title from pov by ariana grande

I hope you like it! <3

*

Ian heaves himself up off the floor with a huff when he reaches his hundredth sit-up. Mickey’s still on the bed sorting money into piles and steadfastly ignoring the weight of Ian’s gaze so he decides to go take a shower and hopes the room will feel a little less tense when he comes back.

He doesn’t want to be angry at Mickey is the thing. He loves him more than he’s ever loved anything and he knows who Mickey is. He knows “normal life” and whatever the fuck that’s supposed to be has never been what Mickey’s about. And it’s not- he doesn’t want to change Mickey, y’know? He just wants to keep him here. With Ian. And he can’t do that if Mickey’s back inside a jail cell because they didn’t have enough money for bills at the end of the month.

He dries off and changes into a t-shirt and boxers in the bathroom when he’s finished, hanging his damp towel on top of the shower rod and padding back into the bedroom.

Mickey’s still in the same position he was in when Ian left him but the money’s been hidden away.

“You gonna share a bed with me or is that off the table too?” Mickey grumbles once Ian’s closed the door and Ian can’t help feeling a brief pang of guilt. He’s not doing this to make Mickey think he loves him any less. He sighs, turning around to see Mickey scowling up at him, jaw set defiantly.

“Of course I’m sharing a bed with you,” he murmurs, moving over to the bed and leaning down to kiss the top of Mickey’s head before climbing over him to get settled in the empty space on the mattress.

Mickey slouches a little once Ian’s lying beside him, arms crossed as he casts him a sidelong glance. “I tried today, you know.”

And the thing is, Ian does know. But he also knows Mickey prepared himself for what he perceived to be inevitable failure.

“Mick, you didn’t even put down your real work experience on your resume,” he says, keeping his voice light so Mickey doesn’t think he’s nagging him again. “You’ve had real security jobs before.”

“Yeah but this wasn’t a security job so why would it matter? I was trying to tailor it to the job and shit,” Mickey mutters and Ian gives him a sceptical look. Mickey holds his stare for approximately fifteen seconds before he huffs and looks away. “Whatever. I didn’t want this stupid fucking job anyway.”

“I know you didn’t,” Ian tells him, pushing up on his elbows to mirror Mickey’s position sitting against the wall. He reaches for Mickey’s hand then, relieved when Mickey doesn’t pull away and instead splays his fingers so Ian can fold his own between them.

“I get you don’t just want some crappy minimum wage job for no thanks, alright? I get it. But I also don’t want you to end up in prison again-“

Mickey scoffs and opens his mouth to protest but Ian barrels on before he can say anything.

“Just listen a sec,” he pleads, squeezing Mickey’s hand and eventually getting him to meet his eyes again. “I know you know how to be careful but Mick, you’re on probation. And a Milkovich. The cops don’t need much of an excuse to send you back to jail.”

Mickey doesn’t respond right away but something in his expression softens just a bit, like he finally understands why Ian’s been such a pain in the ass about this.

“You know every time I got caught I did it on purpose?” Mickey says after a beat and that pulls Ian up short. He blinks, shaking his head and Mickey’s expression twists into something that’s almost regretfully amused.

“The first time was because I didn’t rat out your boss for the creepy child groomer he was. Which I should’ve, by the way,” Mickey says pointedly, giving Ian the same knowing look he used to give him every time they had this conversation as teenagers. Ian, now, feels pretty comfortable in saying that he’s been brought around to Mickey’s way of thinking.

“Second time was to avoid my dad in case Frank couldn’t keep his mouth shut,” he continues and Ian winces, running his thumb over the back of Mickey’s hand like he can somehow soothe the old hurt. “Then the time with Sammi- okay, yeah, I didn’t get caught on purpose but that was that bitch’s fault, not mine.”

They haven’t talked about Sammi since they first shared a cell but it still makes Ian uncomfortable to think about that time in their life. To think of how much grief and pain he caused Mickey back then.

“Then I distinctly recall turning myself in for your pasty ass,” Mickey says, bringing Ian back to reality with a teasing lilt to his voice and a smirk as he bumps their shoulders together.

Ian huffs a laugh but his chest still tightens somewhat. He’s not oblivious to how much Mickey has sacrificed for him in the past; it’s more than he’s ever deserved. “I’m glad you did,” he mumbles after a moment. “Even if I don’t like that you had to give up your freedom to do it.”

Mickey shrugs, ducking his head and pulling their joined hands into his lap. “Yeah, well. Where would we be if I didn’t, huh?”

Ian smiles to himself, shaking his head, and thinks of a different moment a long time ago when things weren’t quite this easy. What you and I have makes me free. “Probably not married and arguing about how we’re gonna pay the electricity bill.”

Mickey raises an eyebrow at him, letting out quiet laugh before his expression turns serious. “Listen, we’ll figure out the money stuff.”

“I know,” Ian murmurs, closing the distance between them to punctuate his reply with a kiss. He follows it up with a kiss to the ball of Mickey’s shoulder before he straightens again, letting his head rest back against the wall. “I love you.”

Mickey nods just slightly, a silent I know. A we’re okay. “Love you too.”

Ian smiles at him and tugs on Mickey’s hand until they’re both lying down. And with their legs tangled together and their faces only inches apart on the pillows, he knows they’ll figure it out.

They always do.

*

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (6/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

ao3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

August

“I come bearing food.”

No one responds, and Emma knows there has to be at least five people in this house. And while David and Mary Margaret live in a really nice place thanks to Mary Margaret’s dad, it’s not so big that no one can hear her when she walks in the front door.

“Hello?” she repeats, shifting the bags of food in her arms. She’s got approximately eight hundred pounds of appetizers in her car, and she needs help carrying them in. “Hello, it’s me, the lowly caterer. Should I have used a separate entrance than the front, or is someone as lowly as me allowed to use that one? What if the neighbors see?”

Still, no answer, and Emma walks down the hallway until she’s in the kitchen. Every inch of the countertop is covered with food, drinks, cutlery, and the works. It’s an organized mess, much like Mary Margaret herself, and Emma puts the bags she’s carrying on the kitchen table before looking out the window to the pool.

“Oh my God,” she whispers to herself. “Like, oh my God.”

Killian Jones is standing on the pool house roof with what looks like garland or bubble lights or some kind of string object, and David is standing below him to...catch him. It looks like David is there to catch Killian.

Emma pushes open the French double doors and steps outside. “What the hell is happening here?”

Killian drops one of the strings he’s holding, causing David to move to catch it, and Emma swears she sees Killian’s life flash before her eyes before he catches himself on the flattest part of the roof.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he gasps, out of breath, “warn a man.”

“Consider yourself warned.” She closes the door behind her and crosses her arms over her chest. It’s ridiculously hot out today, and she can already feel the sweat gathering down her back and underneath her bikini top. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Ah, well,” Killian starts as he picks up the dropped string of lights and starts adjusting them again, “I ran into Dave here at the market, we got to talking, and since I had nothing else to do, I’ve agreed to risk my life to hang his lights.”

“He’s more nimble than I am,” David says, like that explains all of this.

“Trust me, mate, Emma knows that.”

“Oh my God,” Emma whispers to herself as Killian and David keep talking, not paying her any attention.

Emma opens the door back and steps inside, away from the madness. She doesn’t know what’s happening out there, and she doesn’t want to know. Some things are better left not talked about or questioned, and this is definitely one of those things. She knows her friends all know Killian. The night at the bar where he met Mary Margaret and Ruby really snowballed things, and it’s fine. It is. She swears it’s fine. Except.

Except, well, they usually never meet the people she’s sleeping with. They’ve met her boyfriends, if only because it was nearly impossible to keep them away after so long, and they liked...Graham. They really liked Graham, not so much the others, and Emma feels the exact same way. But her casual flings, like with Killian, her friends don’t meet them. They don’t meet them, and they really don’t invite them to their big almost end of summer parties. They don’t ask them to help hang they string lights and get ice. She bets they asked him to get ice.

What is happening?

This is…this is a lot, and Emma doesn’t know how to feel about it.

She doesn’t know how to feel about a lot of things, mostly Killian Jones, but there are other things included in there. Those things just aren’t quite so in her face.

Shit.

When Mary Margaret invited him to the party a few weeks ago, Emma was fine with it. It’s just a party. There are going to be a lot of people here, and what was the harm in inviting one more? Besides, it’s not like she could have said no when Mary Margaret asked. That would have been rude, and despite what a few select people say, Emma is not rude.

Emma picks at a grape on the counter, popping it in her mouth, and then gets another one as she watches David and Killian outside. Killian takes another string of lights from David and hooks them over a nail on the roof.

He’s different from her past few flings. They’re usually as big of a mess as she is, and while she assumes Killian is as well, she doesn’t know enough about him to truly know. They’ve got a pretty good deal with their one personal question of the day thing. She knows it’s usually more than that, little things coming out in bed or when he stops by the Blue Dog, but she has comfort in being able to veto any question that gets a little too personal.

If Emma could have a veto in most things in life, it’d be a hell of a lot easier.

Emma grabs another grape and then starts unpacking the food she brought. Mary Margaret must have run to the store to get something else, but Emma knows how she’ll want to arrange things. She’s been to enough Nolan parties to know what happens. If she focuses on this, she’ll be able to ignore the man outside and all the pesky little thoughts in her head.

“Swan,” Killian says from behind her, and Emma lets out a little curse. “What are you doing, love?”

“Helping out in the air conditioning instead of outside.”

He hums and steps up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist as his scruff scratches her neck. It’s a contrast to the softness of his lips that are running down the side of her throat. Arousal rises in her veins, quick like lightning, and it continues when one of his hands glides down her body and cups her ass as he presses against her.

“Killian,” she whispers, biting her bottom lip, “this is not the place for this.”

“What? Your friends’ kitchen isn’t the place for us to have a little fun?”

“No,” she laughs as she tilts her neck to give him more space, “it’s not. They may know we’re sleeping together, but I don’t think they want to witness it.”

He laughs and twists her around. His fingers skim her collarbone, lifting up the strap of her bikini. “I like this.”

“You’re such a man.” She pushes against his chest and moves away, going back to arranging the charcuterie boards. Multiple. “I’m sorry David roped you into helping. You could have said no.”

“It’s fine. Can I help you in here?”

She wants to say no, to send him back outside, but it might be nice to have company that’s okay sitting in silence with her. The rest of the day is going to be filled with people celebrating the near end of summer, even if it tends to linger for another month midway into September, and Emma could use a little quiet time before the chaos.

“If you could slice those apples for me, that would be great.”

“Aye, love, no problem.”

They work in silence setting up the boards. Killian catches on quickly, copying her arrangements, and eventually Mary Margaret comes home with more fruit and cheese and a car full of hamburger buns. She takes one look at the mess in her kitchen, has a bit of a meltdown, but then Ruby shows up with Mulan and it all starts coming together enough for everything to calm down.

For about five minutes before the neighbors start showing up with their own food and alcohol, and suddenly all the quiet, familiar voices are drowned out by loud new ones. Emma pours herself a glass of lemonade and sinks into a corner of the kitchen before moving outside. It’s miserably hot, the sun warming her skin immediately, but she knows it’ll cool soon. Until then, she finds her spot in a rattan chair in the shade, curling her legs up with her, and she watches as more and more people begin to filter in.

Emma doesn’t know how any two people have this many friends. She keeps a small circle, and they’ve been around for years. She’s slow to trust after spending her entire childhood in foster care, and while she likes to think her past doesn’t define her, she knows sometimes it does. Right now, when she’s cornering herself off while everyone else is having fun, she knows it’s a time where some old demons are knocking at the unlocked door waiting to get in.

She twists the lock and tells them to go away. She doesn’t need this today.

Ruby jumps into the pool, splashing everyone around her, and Emma laughs to herself. Ruby is one of the people that’s allowed in her head, and sometimes when Emma thinks her life is falling apart, she remembers being eighteen years old, desperate for food and a place to stay, and Ruby and Granny taking her in. they gave her a job and a place to stay because Ruby told Granny she would throw a fit if she didn’t take Emma in. So, it was a threat, sure, but it worked.

It’s good. Emma’s life is good. It’s messy and confusing, but it’s good.

Mostly.

Killian walks toward her, tilting his head in question, and she nods, scooting over on the cushion to give him room. Killian takes it, his thigh warm against hers, and then offers her a beer.

“No thanks. Not quite late enough in the day for me to want something to drink. I’ve got to save it all for when David starts telling the bad jokes once he’s finished cooking and can get plastered.” Killian chuckles then puts the bottle down on the grass. “What? You don’t want it either?”

“No.” He wraps his arm around her, letting it lightly fall on her shoulder. His fingertips pull on the ends of her hair, and a shiver runs down her spine. She’s always loved when people play with her hair. “It’s too early for me to be drinking as well. I try to stay away from the stuff when I can.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Have you now?”

Emma nods and leans a little further into him. She shouldn’t. This all feels a little too couple-like, but she does anyway. “You tend not to drink and when you do, you’re very calculated. You don’t just drink a bunch of wine like I will. It’s almost like you measure it out, literally.”

Killian clicks his tongue and yanks on her hair a little more before he draws his nail over the bare skin of her arm. He doesn’t answer, though. He stays silent, so Emma pulls her legs up and curls into herself while staying next to Killian. Ruby is jumping in the pool again, and Mary Margaret is walking around the pool with a platter of appetizers Emma brought from the Blue Dog.

When Killian still doesn’t answer, Emma decides to change the subject.

“So, tell me, how did you end up being some kind of soccer superstar?”

Killian chuckles and scratches at his chin. “Ah, that’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time. I don’t plan on giving up this chair any time soon. And it’s my one legitimate personal question of the day, so answer or veto.”

His brow raises, like it’s tempting her to take back her statement. She doesn’t. She must be really good at asking the worst questions possible today. They never really talk about what he used to do for a living, mostly because she doesn’t care, but she never thought it would be a sensitive subject. Then again, she should know better. She’s got enough sensitive subjects herself.

She waits for the veto, but it never comes.

“My mum got me into it as something to do after school to keep me active, and I loved it, mostly because Liam, my brother, did it too.” Killian smiles, one of his more genuine ones, and Emma leans back to get a better look at him. She likes the little lines around his eyes much better than the ones around hers. “Long story short, I was bloody good, my father learned there was a way to bet on children’s matches, and he kept me in it to make money. I nearly quit when I found out about it, but then I was too invested in the camps and in training. I loved it, and by some miracle, I ended up being able to do it for a living. I got the dream.”

“So why’d you stop?”

He laughs, but she can tell he finds nothing about this funny, especially when his fingers tighten around her arm. “Well, my brother died, I fell apart, and by professional standards, I was too old to have any kind of time to redeem myself. I nearly drank myself to death, which answers your earlier question, so I’m careful about how much I consume now. That’s actually why I came here...to get away from it all.”

That was...that was much more than Emma was expecting, and she doesn’t know what to say. That’s a common theme in her life. She knows what she feels, but she doesn’t have a damn clue how to express it. So she leans over and wraps her arm around Killian, matching him, and presses up until she can slowly glide her lips over his. It’s soft and sweet, just a taste of how they usually kiss, and she knows it goes against every rule she has for herself.

He’s leaving soon.

This is okay because he’s leaving soon, and when they leave, Emma rarely has to worry about the consequences.

“I wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid,” she says against his lips, foreheads pressed together. “I never took a class or owned a tutu, but all I wanted was to be able to do the Nutcracker dance because that’s what they did at the community theater. I didn’t have any money as a kid, and I just thought it was the most luxurious thing in the world.”

Emma pulls back. She can’t believe she said any of that, but she did. It’s out there, one tiny piece of the gigantic, five-thousand-piece puzzle that is her life.

“You would have made a hell of a ballerina with those legs of yours, Swan. What an apt last name as well. It could have been a match made in heaven.”

“Ha,” she scoffs, getting up from the chair. “You haven’t seen me dance. Unless it’s, like, in a club where all I really have to do is grind my body on a man, I can’t do it.”

“It’s easy. All you need is a partner who knows what he's doing.”

“And what if I want to be a soloist?”

His brows go up at that. “Well, then you need a teacher because apparently you make a poor excuse for a dancer.”

Killian stands from the chair, and in two quick steps, he’s next to her with his hands on her ass lifting her up. She doesn’t register what’s happening quickly enough for her legs to go dead, and by the time she’s in the air over his shoulder, she doesn’t care enough to fight what’s coming.

It’s a party, she reminds herself, might as well have a good time.

“Get my phone out of my back pocket before you throw me in, would ya?” she asks, and Killian slips his hand in and gets her phone. “Thank you. I’m totally getting back at you for this later.”

Killian stops as Ruby wolf whistles, Mary Margaret gasps, David chuckles, and everyone else starts whispering about whether or not Killian is actually going to throw her in.

He does.

The water is cold at first, like a shock to the system, but by the time she rises to the surface, it’s just the burst of energy that she needed. Killian is sitting at the edge of the water smirking, and yeah, she’s definitely got to get him back for this later.

-/-

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @gloriousfemaleworrier @spartanguard @snowbellewells

[songbirdstyles]

call me.

summary: being quarantined away from harry is absolute torture - until it isn’t.

warnings: smut, some fluff and angst if you squint! phone sex <3

word count: 3.4k

song inspo.: call me - blondie

You haven’t been sleeping too well since the beginning of quarantine - whether it’s the stress of what feels like the world ending or the noticeable absence of your boyfriend, lying beside you, you can’t be sure. All you know for sure is that it takes you nearly three hours of lying in bed, staring up at your ceiling in the dark and being entirely too aware of the empty space beside you in bed, to finally be able to get a few hours of sleep. And you’d even resorted to shifting to Harry’s side of the bed, where his pillow faintly smelled of his cologne, but it did little to put you out of your insomnia-induced misery.

It was a cruel twist of fate to end up quarantined on nearly opposite ends of the world from Harry. He was merely supposed to be in LA for a week or two, and you were supposed to go with him until you’d gotten sick at the last minute - and it hadn’t been a big deal, until the global pandemic locked you in London and him in California. And now, you’re wishing more than anything that you’d ignored the cold niggling the back of your throat and utilized your ticket to the states - it would’ve made the entire situation decidedly less miserable than it is.

The light of your phone screen illuminated from your nightstand tells you, in its glaring bright intensity, that it’s 3:21 in the morning. If you squint out of the window, curtains pulled open, you swear you can already see the sun, poking insistently above the horizon - but, no, surely not yet. You pray you have a little bit of time left to try and get some sleep before your biological clock forces you up.

(It’s not looking too good, though, as another minute ticks past on your phone and your eyelids still aren’t feeling the heaviness you’re craving.)

Perhaps you’ve grown too accustomed to curling up beside Harry’s body, feeling his breath against your neck when you occasionally wake up at this time for an early morning shag. And maybe you’ve been a bit spoiled, traveling with him more as your relationship progresses over the past three years - but you hadn’t suspected it would be so horrible for your sleep schedule to not have him around. Bad for your sanity, perhaps, but do you really need his body wrapped around yours to get even a wink of shut-eye during the night?

The answer was, apparently, yes, as more minutes tick on your phone and you’re still wide awake. LA is 8 hours behind London, approximately, so if it’s 3:27 in the morning here -

You’re grabbing your phone off of your nightstand without bothering to finish the math problem you’ve conjured up. Harry’s the most recent person you’ve texted and you swipe open your conversation, finger hovering briefly above the call button before tapping it gently.

There’s a chance - a small, miniscule one - that he won’t be awake. You’ve been texting him nearly every minute of every day, constantly calling him and FaceTiming and you know his sleep schedule is worsening like yours. He goes to sleep later and wakes earlier and takes naps scattered all throughout the day, so you’re prepared, emotionally, for him to not answer your call. You’ll be disappointed, perhaps, but there’s a bottle of melatonin in your bathroom you’ve been trying not to abuse during the nighttime. It makes you drowsy for working online and continues to afflict you during the day, so you’ve been trying to stay away from them.

Doesn’t mean you won’t use them, though. You simply don’t want to - if Harry doesn’t answer so you can chat until you’ve tired yourself out, then you’ll make the trek into the bathroom and succumb to the stupid pills -

“‘Lo?”

Your heartbeat picks up as you push yourself to sit up further in bed, pressing your phone close to your ear. You should’ve expected that your boyfriend would be awake now, considering it’s only 7:30 in LA, but it still brings a smile to your face to hear his voice.

“Hey, babe,” you murmur, voice quiet in the darkness of your room. There’s no one around for the loudness of your voice to disturb, but it still feels right to keep it low. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

Harry chuckles on the other end, and you try to picture what he’s doing. When he’s home you’re usually eating dinner at this time, or curled up on the TV watching a movie, or fucking in the bedroom - “‘Course not. Jus’ got off the phone wit’ m’mum an’ had t’shower. She misses us.”

“I miss her too,” you tell him, smile widening at the thought of Anne. Yes, you miss her quite a bit - she’s always been kind to you, and more of a second mother than merely the mum of your boyfriend - but you have some sort of ulterior motive for calling him, so you figure you should get right to it. “I miss you a lot, Har. The apartment’s awfully empty without you here.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, for just a second, before Harry’s responding, “I miss you too - ‘course I do. Wish I’d canceled this stupid fuckin’ LA trip - I’d do anything t’be home wit’ you now.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head back against the headboard of a bed that’s feeling entirely too big for you right now. You’d always complained that Harry slept like a starfish and took up entirely too much space, but you’d swim across the ocean to curl up in bed with him for just one single night. “I haven’t been sleeping much, either. Guess I’m too used to having you here with me. You know, waking up with you on top of me and middle-of-the-night sex.”

“Middle-of-the-night sex,” Harry sighs dreamily, and you tug your bottom lip between your teeth with the beginnings of a smirk working its way onto your face. “God, I miss that. M’hand just can’t do the things you can. Doesn’t even come close, really.”

“I hope so.” And you give him a moment to bark out a laugh before continuing, clammy palm pressed to your bare thigh beneath your comforter, “My fingers aren’t doing too much, either. They’re not as big as you - can’t get me off an inch.”

His breathing is growing heavier, loud even through the phone, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him - you’re horny and he’s surely getting hard and you’d like nothing more than for him to help you get off. Just his voice, slightly raspy and deepening with every syllable, is enough to make wetness pool in your panties. “Jesus, doll - gonna make m’hard.” And then there’s a pause, where you’re surely meant to respond but all you can do is grin and try to control your breathing, before Harry murmurs, “S’what what you wanted? Wanted t’make my dick hard?”

You nod, and then breathe, “Yeah.”

“Bloody hell, you’re a minx, y’know that?” And you did, in fact, know that, so you confess your affirmations. “Guess that’s why y’woke me, then. Need me t’tire you out, don’t you.”

It isn’t a question - Harry can read you like a book, even 5,000 miles away, and he knows exactly what your intentions are. “I just miss you.” His soft, cocky laugh on the other end has you sliding your hand up your thigh, pushing your digits into your lace panties and feeling the wetness present in the apex. “Really - I miss you, and your dick - just please help me get off, Har. Won’t bother you with it ever again.”

“Don’t have t’take it that far,” but you’re hardly listening to him. The first circle of your fingers on your clit has you moaning quietly into the receiver, and you can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath at the sound. “Startin’ without me, are you? S’awfully rude.”

“You’re taking too long,” you exhale, running your fingers through your soaked folds - but you pause, anyway, listening intently to the shuffling on the other end of the phone. “Got me so wet, just hearing you talk.”

When another second goes by with no response you pull your phone from your ear, pressing the speaker button and resting it on your tummy. You grab your comforter and pull it off the bottom half off your body, letting the cold air hit your bare legs, just as Harry groans, “Okay - m’ready. Had t’go back t’my room - but m’here now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking just a moment to listen to his quiet grunts and imagine exactly what he looks like right now - sitting on the edge of his bed, pumping his cock, slow and steady at first, just to get started. “Wish you were here with me,” and as eager as you’d been to have your first phone sex experience, you hadn’t counted on the slight awkwardness that makes it harder for the words to come out. “Been - been dreaming about it, about you fucking me so good, and I wake up drenched, Har, just thinking about you.”

Just as you’d expected, Harry takes over almost immediately - he’s much better at dirty talk than you are and it’s only proven when he moans, “M’always thinking of it, fucking your pretty little cunt ‘till you’re crying. And you love it, don’t you? Moanin’ so good for me, so loud - the way you cry when I pinch your clit - can y’do that f’me, doll? Pinch your clit, just the way I do it.”

Shaking fingers dip out of your folds and trail the wetness up to where you need it most - the sensitive nub that’s throbbing for your touch. Just as he’d asked, you use two fingers to softly pinch your clit, the small action sending waves of euphoria flowing through your body as you drop your head back with a cry. It reverberates through the room, louder than any of your moans and whines, exactly as Harry had wanted.

“Wish you could do it -” you do it again and give him the same resounding cry, circling your clit one more time before dragging your fingers back down to slide between your folds. “Your fingers, they’re so much bigger than mine - feel so much better.”

“Fingering y’self?” His voice is nearly whiny with excitement and you know exactly how he looks now, his bottom lip between his teeth and sweat beading up on his cupid’s bow. “Tell me how it feels.”

You can’t quite describe it, even if you’re desperate too. Fingers curl in your cunt, brushing against the sweet spot inside of you that has your back arching off the bed, nipples pebbled and hard against the material of your soft tank top. One isn’t enough, and it doesn’t fill you nearly as much as Harry’s so you add another, taking just a second to run it through your dripping folds before pushing it in. “Oh, god - feels so good, thinking of you - two of mine s’hardly one of yours.”

To that, you get a loud groan, mingled with a low cry that sends chills crawling up your spine. For a second he doesn’t respond and you wonder if he’s cumming already - but then he’s grunting, “Miss you, on all fours f’me - s’how I’ll take you first when we see each other. G’na let me pull your hair, know you love when I do that -”

You do love it, and merely remembering the feeling of him, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and pulling your head up when it starts to droop onto the mattress, has your walls clenching around your digits, and you impulsively add a third.

“ - or maybe I’ll jus’ bury my head in tha’ cunt of yours. Miss the taste of it so much,” and Harry’s voice picks up, in speed and pure excitement, and you can hear the faint sound of him, pumping his cock. It’s hard to think of anything you’d love more than to watch him eat you out for bloody hours, fisting his hair and tugging on his curls just to hear his sobs. The way he flicks his tongue against your folds and slaps your clit when you squeeze your eyes shut in pure euphoria. “Taste so sweet f’me, don’t you - taste y’self for me, doll. Know you taste so good.”

Harry’s got such a hold on you, sometimes - perhaps you’d even say all the time but especially during moments like these. So you don’t hesitate to pull your fingers out of your cunt, walls fluttering around the sudden emptiness, and you bring the digits up to your mouth. Slowly your tongue swirls around your fingertips before wrapping your lips around them, and the soft moan as you taste yourself has Harry whining on the other end, the noise long and low.

Normally, when Harry asks you to do something like this you would put on an absolute show for him. Pumping your lips up and down his shaking digits, eyes never leaving his as his lips slowly part in a needy pant. And - of course - you’d always know that, when you pulled your mouth off of his fingers, you’d be absolutely in for it, and that was the thrill of it. He can’t see you (FaceTime sex is something you’ll need to bring up another day) but you still perform, adding more volume and less eye contact with the darkness around you.

His breathing is rattly when you drop your fingers down to your thighs, fingernails curling into the soft skin as you would do his back or his scalp. You give him briefly a second to take everything in, the images he must be producing, before you breathe, “Tell me what you’re doing, Har.”

“M’gonna cum soon - gonna cum on m’fist, imaginin’ s’your pussy -”

“Yeah? Imagining me sitting on your cock, right?”

By Harry’s resounding moan - the exact noise he makes when you ride him and he tosses his head back in ecstasy - you can assume that he hadn’t been imagining that, but he surely is now, and so are you. God, the way you lean back, hands to his thighs, feelings his palms run up your stomach. And they’ll circle your tits, tweaking your nipples with a lazy smirk at how fast they pebble in his fingertips, before dragging down to your clit, on display for him - and he moves them so slow, but he knows you’re aching for it.

You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing two fingers to circle your clit and sensually dragging your free hand up to your boobs as Harry moans, “Your pussy s’so tight around me - g’na fuck you so hard when I see you - you’re not gonna walk for weeks.”

It sounds absolutely dreamy as two of your fingers pinch at your nipple, closing your eyes tighter. If Harry were here he’d grab the back of your head, force your body down to his so he could lap at your nipples and relish in your sobs - and you can’t do that, necessarily, but you bring your thumb up to your tongue, licking the shaking digit before lowering it back to your nipple. It doesn’t give nearly the same effect but it’s close enough, and you can feel your cunt fluttering with desperation to cum. 

“Playin’ with my tits, Harry - pinching them just how you do.” You swallow back the urge to sob out, if only because the noise will trigger just the sort of choked up moan from your boyfriend that’ll send you over the edge and you want to last longer, dammit. “Oh, god -”

“Y’cummin’, baby?”

“No,” you exhale, “not yet -”

“Good,” and you can tell merely from the teasing lilt in his voice that you won’t last past the end of his sentence (and his staccato pants are already enough to have your clit throbbing beneath your touch), “‘cause I keep thinkin’ about that time - fuck - that time we shagged in y’mum’s house, remember? An’ I had to put y’knickers in your mouth, ‘cause you were -” and his rant is cut off by the telltale whine that’s almost always accompanied by him cumming near violently - “bein’ too loud, an’ we didn’t want your mum to hear? Be loud f’me, babe, please, need t’hear you -”

You remember that - how he was fucking you so goddamn hard your bed was hitting the wall and he had to drag you to the floor, pressed to your carpet with your drenched lace panties in your mouth. And Harry tossed your legs over his shoulder like it was nothing, pounded you into the carpet while your mum was asleep just a few doors down the hall, hand firm around your throat. He’d never done that before and God, you love it. Love it almost as much as you love him, but you figure you shouldn’t dwell on it now.

His words have the exact impact he’d hoped for and your head slams into your headboard with a choked up cry, loud through your room and into your phone, still resting on your sweaty stomach. Wetness coats your fingers as your assault on your clit continues, arm shaking with the pressure of riding yourself through the orgasm while still trying to listen to Harry - he’s sobbing out, sound of skin against skin growing louder until you hear the euphoric groan that tells you he’s reached the same high you have.

It’s a gorgeous harmony of your moans mixing together - his crackling through the speaker that’s been used and abused during your little session - and you know you’ll never get tired of it. No matter how many times you do this - for as long as you’re apart - you’ll never, ever get tired of it.

Your body is still trembling when the shockwaves of your orgasm start to wither down. There’s a thin sheet of sweat, coating your body and beading in your hairline and your fingers are covered with your cum, the bed sheets beneath you damp, too. You’ve only ever squirted a few times before - in Harry’s mouth, for the most part, with that bloody talented tongue he’s got - and you wipe the slick onto your thighs before sitting further upwards, grabbing your phone.

Harry’s silent on the other end and you squint at the screen to check the time. Your vision is clouded - perhaps your brain is simply clouded - but you reckon it says 4:00.

“Jesus,” he breathes on the other end, hardly audible through the phone. In your mind’s eye you can picture him, passed out on the bed with his legs still dangling off, running a hand through his hair to try and alleviate the sweat sticking to the curls. “Gonna have t’shower again.”

You smile, shifting back down so you’re fully lying in bed. There’s still a wet spot beneath your arse and your back but you’ll worry about it when you wake up (whenever that may be.) The idea of even moving back over to your usual side of the bed sounds like pure torture, because if you bury your nose in Harry’s pillow, it smells like his cologne with just a hint of the strawberry shampoo he sometimes steals from you. “Tired me out there, Mr. Styles.”

There’s the sound of rustling on the other end of the phone before Harry’s murmuring back, “M’glad - y’need to get some sleep, y’know. S’not good for you to be up so late.”

“I know.” Your eyes are already beginning to feel heavy as minutes continue to click down on your phone, and hearing his soft breathing is fucking therapeutic. If you close your eyes (which feels oh so good) you can almost feel him, body tight around you as he pulls your back to his chest, nestling his nose in your locks with a deep inhale that never fails to make you giggle. “I love you, Har.”

God, you can almost hear him smiling on the other end. You miss it so much - his smile - but just him, and feeling his arms around you, heartbeat against your spine lulling you to sleep. Whenever quarantine is over and you’re free to go to him, you won’t wait a second. You’ll hop on the first plane - you’ll fucking tape yourself to the side of it, if you have to.

For now, though, hearing him sleepily mumble, “I love you more, babe,” is enough. And you keep your phone planted on your chest, Harry’s steadying breathing like music to your ears as you settle in for what’s gearing up to be the best goddamn sleep of your life.

[s0ulm8s]

[3:12 a.m.] ✕ “what’s that?” your small, quaint voice rang softly through johnny’s ears. he barely even heard you but the minute he picked up on your small, high pitched whisper he panicked.

immediately, he shut his computer as quickly as possible - so fast he thought he might have cracked the screen. his free hand immediately slipped away from his place on his bulge that had been growing from the video he’d been watching.

he sat up instantly, face turning a deep shade of red as your small frame scooted to stand closer to his large bed. your head turned inquisitively at his flustered state.

“y/n! how long have you been standing there, angel?” he asked, stuttering slightly as he tried to recover from just how awkward the situation was.

you, of course, didn’t understand. it had been approximately three months since you had revealed yourself to johnny as a literal angel, a guardian angel, in fact. his guardian angel. it took some convincing, but he didn’t need much proof when the large wing tattoos you once had were now replaced with very real, large white ones in the kitchen one morning when you thought he wasn’t home.

it was on accident, you were sent to earth to survery, but after finding johnny the connection was too hard for you to deny. heaven had received radio silence ever since, despite trying to reach you.

before, he always saw you as the soft, quiet girl that he needed to protect. that he wanted to protedt. someone he took in willingly, and maybe his obvious crush on you played into that. obvious to everyone but you. you had no prior knowledge on human customs and interactions, you were simply playing a part. and poorly at that. you were just so innocent and precious, and after meeting the tall boy, you were both indescribably connected.

“i - i don’t know. a - a little while.” your soft voice admitted as he groaned, head falling into his large hands as he rubbed his face in distress. which you could recognize. “i - i heard you groaning - i - i though something might be wrong but then... i got distracted. i’m sorry.” you rambled as johnny looked up at you from his seated position on the bed. just in time to watch you rub your thighs together, a look of discomfort on your face.

he knew you had never experienced something so sexual, as an angel you didn’t need to. your wings fluttered slightly as you finally met his dark eyes again. he was trying not to think about all the ways this situation could play out.

he didn’t think you were home, he knew he should have checked. he had, of course, been thinking of you - your innocent whines, the way he could corrupt you. it was nothing but a sick fantasy, he could never do such a thing to you.

“it’s - it’s okay, angel. i just didn’t think you were home. otherwise, i wouldn’t have...” johnny tried to explain but he didn’t even know where to start so he let the sentence trail away.

“i - can we - is that - is that something humans do for... enjoyment?” you asked softly, trying to find the right words for whatever you wanted to ask him. there was an uncomfortable feeling in between your small thighs that had gathered from listening to johnny’s soft moans and you suddenly wanted to rid yourself of it, despararely.

“i - uhm - yes? it’s, well, sexual pleasure is something humans need, and yes, they partake in it for... enjoyment.” johnny tried to stammer out as his hand went to back of his neck, rubbing incessantly. “i need to -“

you grabbed his large hand as he stood up, height towering over you completely as he gulped, looking down at your small grasp on his wrist. the whole interaction had not calmed him down one bit, and there was still an obvious issue in his pants.

“can we - can we try it? what they were doing?” you asked innocently, curiousity taking over your shy nature as johnny’s eyes almost fell out of his head. in the point you had made yourself known, some random guy was going down on some random girl and the thought of doing those things with you had him stuttering.

“oh, y/n... i don’t - i don’t think it’s a good idea. angels, they’re... pure and... sex... isn’t considered that.” he almost chuckled, thinking his small argument would get him out of this but your grip tightened.

“please, johnny.” you pleaded, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to please him. and he almost choked at your dainty voice begging and saying his name. “i want to.”

“oh, god, angel, you’re gonna be the death of me.” he said softly, leaning his head back as he tried to steady his breathing.

he thought about all the ways this could go wrong, how you might never regain your position as a guardian in heaven, how you might grow to despise him if you ever changed your mind - but when he finally opened his eyes again and saw your golden orbs staring up at him desperately, skin glowing a yellow hue, and white wings, bright and untouched - he couldn’t resist.

his eyes darkened at bit as he swallowed. “lay back on my bed, angel.” he instructed as he watched your small figure walk the few steps to his bed and you laid your on back.

he stalked over slowly, his demeanor changing completely and the discomfort and heat in your lower belly was growing. you didn’t know why.

he finally let out a jagged breath, standing in front of you. he set his large palms on your thighs, rubbing them up and down before settling his weight between your legs.

his face was now only a mere inch from your own, and you were feeling nervous. which was new.

“can i kiss you, angel?” johnny asked, voice low and gruff as you nodded slowly, staring into his eyes. he took the permission immediately and set his plump lips on your own, the kiss was soft and sweet and you didn’t really know what to do at first but you simply followed the man’s lead.

he groaned a bit, trying not to get carried away as your small hands found his rusty hair. his right hand was travelling up and down your torso now, tracing patterns and groping you slightly. his left head trailed up your body before softly resting around your throat.

for some reason, the feeling sent a jolt through you as you gasped a bit. johnny took the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, adding a new challenge for you to learn.

he gauged your reaction from his hand on you throat, testing it slightly as he squeezed a bit and you accidentally let out a small whimper of a moan. you almost stopped him to ask why you had done that, but he was far too caught up in his actions to explain.

he pulled back from you, keeping his hand in place as he smirked down at you and your chest rose and fell with a fire.

“can i take your clothes off?” he asked next, and immediately you nodded. you didn’t possess the embarrassment of nudity that humans did. quickly, he pulled the short, knit tank top off of your torso along with your matching shorts and underwear - leaving you completely bare.

he stared down at you, absolutely enamored by seeing your body like this. he tried to decide where to start but decided to just get to the point.

he slowly crept onto his knees on the floor, hooking your slender legs over his shoulders as he yanked you toward the edge of the bed.

you yelped slightly as he propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him. “johnny, what are you -” you began to whine before the man licked a large stripe up your throbbing core.

the feeling was so foreign, but so good and you didn’t know what to do. you immediately lost your balance, falling back onto your back as he went to work, lapping his tongue around your folds as you began to whimper uncontrollably.

the noises you were making were loud and relentless, and johnny couldn’t get enough. your body was jerking, hips rolling wildly as you tried to chase some unknown feeling.

suddenly, johnny began to suck harshly at your clit and slipped one slender finger into you, pumping slowly as you let out a loud sob. unable to form any coherent words.

“j-johnny! i -” your tears were spilling out of your eyes now, and your hands were gripping desperately at johnny’s hair, trying to push him away as the feeling building in your lower stomach was too overwhelming. “i - i can’t - i don’t - mmgh!” you moaned and cried loudly.

johnny placed one strong arm over your waist to hold you still, while adding another finger into you, quickening the pace as you cried out loudly. the stretch felt so unfamiliar as the pleasure mixed with the pain. johnny used the hand holding you in place to reach up and grope and massage one of your breasts, rolling your nipple once before the twisting in your stomach became too much.

“what’s - what’s - something’s - mmfh! johnny!” you cried out, finally snapping as you felt the tightness in your core release. the feeling was indescribable and intense, and you were suddenly dripping out of your core as johnny continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, sucking on your clit as he helped your ride out this high.

your chest was heaving now as you desperately tried to catch your breath, suddenly you felt horribly sensitive and began to whine, scooting away from johnny as he chuckled darkly, finally slipping his fingers out of you as you watched him lick them clean.

the action was confusing, but made your stomach flip. “what - what was that... feeling? i feel, light.” you tried to explain as he laughed lowly at you.

“you had an orgasm. it’s natural. i hope it was enjoyable, angel.” he explained softly as he creeped back over you, hovering as you nodded vigorously.

“can you have one?” you asked innocently as he looked down at you, watching as a few of your wings feathers began to gray and your once golden eyes now were a striking gray. he felt guilty for a second until you linked your arms around his neck, connecting your lips to his.

he groaned in satisfaction as he cawled over you again, placing another hand on your neck as you let out a satisified sigh. but then he pulled away.

“doll, you want to do more? i don’t to push you to far.” johnny asked seriously, searching your now gray eyes that appeared a bit more wild.

“i want to. i want you to feel it, too.” you admitted and he almost lost it. he was painfully hard at this point and was worried to even ask.

“do you want to have sex? i mean, are you sure you want it to be with me?” he asked quickly.

“i can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.” you admitted honestly, even if you weren’t entirely certain about what this was. you loved johnny - he was the only reason you knew what love was.

immediately, he connected your lips again, now feverishly and quick as he dipped his tongue into your mouth. you immediately yielded to him and he loved how submissive you were. so obedient.

he pulled back briefly to slip off each article of clothing as your watched him in awe, adoring his godlike figure. which was an accurate statement. the angels had absolutely nothing on him.

you watched carefully as he slipped his boxers off, the large member sprung free and slapped his stomach as he settled his weight atop you once again.

his length was long and thick, the tip already oozing pre-cum as he ground his hips once, letting out a loud moan.

you took his large hand and set it on your throat and he could barely register the action, before lightly squeezing your neck and slamming his lips onto your own, continuing the heated make out session you were just having.

you let some high pitched moans fall freely as his free fingers circled your clit, and you were already ready for him again. finally, he broke away, deciding he should prepare you for what was going to happen.

“y/n, angel, look at me.” he instructed as your eyes fluttered open and stared into his. “you remember when i had my fingers inside of you?” he asked as you nodded softly.

“i’m about to do that again, except it won’t be my fingers.” he continued, looking down at his member as you finally registered. you suddenly got a bit anxious thinking about the stretch of merely his fingers and wondering how painful all of him would be. “is that okay?” he asked sweetly.

you debated for a moment, before agreeing wholeheartedly. you didn’t know much of anything about sex, but you knew you wanted it to be with him.

“it might hurt, and i’ll go slow, but tell me if you want to stop and i will.” he instructed.

���okay.” you finally said sweetly, voice soft and calm as he nodded.

he looked down to align himself with your entrance, barely beginning to ease into your tight hole. the feeling was almost unbearable, especially for an angel who was never supposed to experience this, but you fought your tears and held your breath as he slowly inched in.

finally, he sheathed the head in completely before searching your face. “y/n, breathe, baby.” he instructed as you took slow sleep breaths in tandum with him. he pushed in a bit more, and you almost screamed.

“it hurts so bad.” you admitted as he looked up at your face scrunched in pain, and he immediately halted. “you can keep going though, i’m okay, i promise.”

finally, he got halfway in and you had never felt so full. you thought he was in completely now before finally looking down to where your bodies were connected. tears were trailing your cheeks as johnny kissed them away. “you’re doing so well, baby”

“you can go all the way.” you told him innocently, biting your lips as he finally bottomed out into your tight core. he let out a very loud, lewd moan at the feeling of your damp, wet core around him.

“just let me know when you want me to move, okay?” he managed to croak, trying to control himself as you took a few moments to adjust.

you took some deep breaths before forcing him to look at you again and nodding softly at him. he placed his lips on yours again as he slowly began to rock his hips, swallowing your cries of pain, your nails digging into his biceps before circling your arms around him entirely.

the pain of the stretch was almost too much before you felt the same uncomfortable feeling before mixing in with it. it took a few more torturous thrusts for the sting to almost subside completely, but then your hips involuntarily bucked up to meet his own.

you took his left palm and set it on you neck again, knowing you liked the feeling as johnny rutted himself against you a bit harder, squeezing your neck as you let out choked moan.

“you dont have to hold back anymore. i can take it.” you said softly, your words choppy and choked from the power of his thrusts.

he listened intently, before pulling his hips back and slamming into you at an almost inhuman pace. the sound of his skin slapping your own and your whimper of his name were overwhelming the room.

you wrapped your legs around his waist completely as his grip on your neck tightened a bit and the look of your fucked out expression urged him to go faster.

“look at you, baby. so tiny you can see my dick in you stomach.” he commented lowly, placing a hand on your belly at where it was slightly protuding from the the size of him. you didn’t know why, but the comment sent you into a frenzy as you moaned wildly.

he was grunting like an animal now, plowing into you as if he was going to tear you apart. and for some reason it spurred you on even more.

tears of pleasure were spilling out, and you released a choked whimper every time he thrusted back into you.

“i’m gonna cum, angel.” he admitted, his pace unrelenting as he growled in your ear, choking you further as your insides twisted.

he bit down on your shoulder, and the feeling sent you over the edge with a lewd scream of his name. he tried to break out of your locked legs around his waist but you wouldn’t let him go as his pounding became a bit sloppy.

he shifted his weighted onto his knees, lifting your waist as he drilled down into you even deeper at this new angle. “y/n, i -“ and with a few more powerful ruts, he let go inside of you, thrusting into you each time another stream of cum released.

you were almost incoherent at the pleasure, before his weight collapsed onto you entirely and he wrapped his arms around your body, peppering you with kisses. and you did the same, clinging onto him like a koala.

he began to pull out of you, but you whined.

“i want to stay like this.”

and he’d do anything for you. his angel.

you’re wings were completely black after a month. heaven was now where you stayed in johnny’s arms.

[builder051]

Whumptober 2021 Day 3: "Who did this to you?"

Nat on Fire

Regular warnings for drugs, physical/relationship abuse

______________________________

They've finished the mission, and when Nat goes to stow her uniform back in her locker, she realizes she's forgotten to bring civilian clothes to change into. She doesn't plan to go for coffee or schwarma or whatever it is today with the group, or by herself for that matter, so all she faces is the walk of shame into the parking garage, then again up the three concrete steps into her apartment.

Nat's not going in her underwear, though. Not if she can help it.

She admits she might've still been a little toasted when she came into work this morning, and chugging water whilst applying makeup had taken priority over packing a decent go bag.

Nat's frustrated with herself, and she bites her lip as she thinks about how to rectify the situation. She wants to get home as quickly as possible, for her after-work hobby just might be creeping again back toward addiction. A drip shivers at the end of Nat's nose as if to prove the matter.

Nat ignores it and folds herself forward to paw through the layer of general detritus that's gathered at the bottom of her locker. She finds a lint-covered sports bra that might be considered a crop top. She holds it up, nods, tosses it over her shoulder, and keeps up the desperate search, hoping for shorts or shoes.

The rest of the stuff seems to be garbage. Stale packs of cigarettes. A wavy, water stained notebook. An empty panty hose wrapper. There's nothing else good, but Nat scoops it all up anyway, thinking she may as well dump it in the trash.

Once her arms are empty, Nat notices a pair of someone's moldy shower shoes beside the bin. She wrinkles her nose, shrugs, then slips them onto her feet. They're too big and definitely worn in for the wrong places on her feet, but something's better than nothing. Which is what she seems to have for pants.

Nat sighs and slips her fingers into the waistband of her boy-short underwear, pulling it down as low as she can without exposing pubic hair, then yanks at the hems until they reach their full, approximately 2-inch inseam. She walks carefully back to her locker, changes her bra and smoothes her hair. She avoids looking in the mirror as she shrinks slightly and slips out the door to the hallway, her car keys clutched between her fingers.

Nat has the door to the parking garage in her sights, and she walks as quickly as she can without tripping herself up on the flimsy, floppy shoes. The sound of a doorknob bouncing off the wall behind her and footsteps taking off in the opposite direction startles her, but Nat keeps moving.

She's got her hand on the bar to open the door to the garage when someone says loudly, "Hey, Natasha!"

Nat cringes. She thinks about ignoring them and pressing on the last few inches toward freedom. A tremor runs through her, of fear or anxiety or going too long without a needle, she doesn't know. But she's paused too long now. There's only one choice left, and she reluctantly takes it.

Nat spins on the spot and sees Steve walking toward her. He's wearing running clothes and a backpack, clearly headed to the gym or to do some sort of exercise before heading home. Nat doesn't think he has--or has chosen to--be educated on current women's clothing trends. Maybe she can convince him she's going to... hot yoga, perhaps?

"Um. Hi?" Nat has no idea what he wants, but she hopes it's quick.

"Hi," Steve says. "That mission was pretty brutal. You ok?"

"Oh, yeah," Nat replies. She leans on the door to the outside. "I'm good."

"You going home?"

"Yeah," Nat says truthfully. She tries to come up with an artful lie about what she urgently needs to do there. "I have to water my plants. I think I probably killed them, leaving them for that long mission without hiring a sitter..." It's a stupid story, and she gauges Steve's expression to see if he seems to have bought it.

“Steve pauses a moment. “Ok.” He shifts his feet a little, then squints, moving his eyes across Nat’s upper body.

She’s relatively more exposed than usual, and she’s used to catching a glance, but from him? It’s confusing. Maybe a little disappointing. She doesn’t get the vibe that he’s that kind of guy.

Nat tips her chin up and is about to ask him what the fuck he’s doing when Steve opens his mouth and asks again, “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Um--”

“You have bruises…” Steve places a hand on his chest and edges it up toward his neck as if to choke himself. Then he seems to reconsider, moving it in the direction of his shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” Nat says quickly. “Hand-to-hand. You know. I got an iron supplement, but I can’t seem to remember to take it.” She laughs artificially and moves as far back toward the door as she can.

“You’ve been in the bird’s nest the last few…” Steve trails off. He starts to close the space between them, tentatively reaching out.

“What’re you--?” Nat doesn’t care for the invasion of her personal space.

“I’m sorry. I just--” Ste’s brow furrows. “Did someone--?”

His fingers brush Nat’s collarbone.

Nat grits her teeth and tries not to cringe.

Steve hovers his palm over the curve of Nat’s shoulder and spreads his fingers behind her neck as his thumb settles downward, just inside the neckline of the sports bra.

Even though he’s barely touching her, the points on Nat’s body begin to throb. The bruises are a few days old, prime time for looking horrendous black and blue.

“Who did this to you?” Steve whispers. He raises his gaze to meet Nat’s, his eyes full of concern.

“It’s nothing,” Nat tells him quickly. She reaches up and pulls the bra in a little to cover the spots on the other side. Unfortunately, Steve notices, and his expression turns to panicked.

“Are you being abused?” Steve asks bluntly, moving his hand to lightly rest on the outside of her arm.

Nat breathes in and out, doing the best she can not to move. She can’t tell him the entire story. Nothing about her needles and rolling papers and the hoops she jumps through to fill them so as to be untrackable and anonymous. Nothing about the way she’d horrifically overspent on her last under-the-radar trip overseas, barely leaving enough for basic expenses, let alone expensive...needs.

“I’m--” Nat stops before she chokes. She isn’t sure if she wants to cry or if her eyes are just watering to keep up with her nose and overenthusiastic salivary glands.

“You’re being hurt.”

Steve’s assertion is true, technically. But when she runs out of cash and needs to let her dealer fuck her to pay out the rest of the transaction, it’s kind of the best option she’s got. She can’t get pregnant, is basically immune to rough sex, and likes to keep her debts in check. Nat switches suppliers a lot so as to keep up quality and lessen the possibility of getting caught. Some guys are gentler than others. The one she’s seeing now… isn’t.

“Nat?” Steve asks gently.

“It was my fault,” Nat says, her words fast and quiet. She maintains eye contact for a second, then can’t take it anymore and looks away.

“It can’t have been.” Steve shakes his head. “I mean. No one deserves that. To be hurt like that.”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Nat lies.

“Do you… need help?

Nat assumes he’s read a pamphlet or two about reporting physical abuse. It’s how he uses his mind, his resources. Nat appreciates the effort. More when he uses it on the battlefield, but the care is still a positive thing.

“No,” Nat says, bringing her free arm up and scrubbing her wrist across her face to collect all the moisture and wipe it away. “I’m good.”

Steve drops his hands back to his sides. He nods, if a little unsurely. He gazes from Nat to the window set in the door to the parking garage, perhaps gauging where his is relative to hers.

“I’m fine on my own,” Nat tells him preemptively. She leans again on the bar, and the door opens a few inches.

“Ok. Well, I’m headed that way, too.” Steve points toward his vehicle. Nat’s glad it’s in the row opposite hers. She’ll catch him if he looks backward, taking in her underwear clinging to her ass cheeks.

“Ok.” Nat decides she’s finished with face-to-face. With conversation. With everything. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight…” Steve replies.

The sound of his voice sending her off resounds in Nat’s ears until she turns on the radio to drown it out. The music makes her head hurt, though, so Nat taps the button and the console largely goes dark. ‘Better,’ she thinks as she turns her black sedan onto the highway to better disappear into the night.

[comphersjost]

All for You | 2 ➸ Brady Tkachuk and Matthew Tkachuk

hi, its 3 am, and i couldnt stop until i finished this. ik i promised yall another part on thursday so im sorry this is later then i was hoping. i hope you enjoy it :) i took a different approach to brady here than ive normally seen, let me know how you guys like it!!

It’s been 4 and a half months since that day in the basement. With Christmas just days away and Matty on a flight back home, you and Brady take a risk, leaving Matt to wonder where he went wrong.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: this is really angsty yall, like actually, smut, sir kink, brady is Mean, uh moral ambiguity sorta (thinking abt someone else during sex), d/s undertones sorta, unprotected sex (be safe), oral (m on f), some choking, alcohol (wine), sex under the influence, pls ignore any typos fkakldfa

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

masterlist

Even with how utterly fucked the situation was that Matt had found himself in, there was one thing he couldn't stop thinking about. It was the way his logo and his last name and his number rested against your back that drove him insane.

It was burned into his retinas.

Even now, on a plane back home to St. Louis it was all he could think about. Every time he closed his eyes it was you you you.

It had been months since he had seen you. Nearly 5 months had passed since that night in the basement. And it killed him.

He was in a slump. Everyone knew it. He knew it, his teammates knew it, the damn front office knew it. And it was because of you.

His teammates had quickly put together your absence at any sort of gathering and Matty’s sulking. 4 and a half months later he resembles a shell of the man he used to be.

He had called, of course he had. Over and over, hoping, pleading, praying to any deity that existed out there to hear from you again.

Matthew’s prayer was answered one day, when he had come out of practice to find a text from you. His heart rate accelerated, time felt like molasses as his phone camera ID’d his face. As the facial recognition unlocks his phone, the message is revealed.

Please stop calling me. And tell the boys to stop too.

The text tears his heart to shreds. It was the last straw. Before he had been mopey, but now - now he was spiraling. His play was abysmal - a shit show on the ice really. He drank until he blacked out every time, not even looking at another girl.

He had contemplated going to your work, but decided a player in the middle of a slump having a restraining order filed against him would not go over well with the Flames management. Every time he went out for the most mundane task, groceries, dry cleaning, he couldn’t help the hope that he would run into you. Even if you didn’t give him the time of day it would be enough for him to just see you.

He hadn’t seen you since that day. Not for lack of trying, though. Matthew had been to all the spots you used to frequent—the grocery store you love, the clubs you two used to go to, even the 7/11 you had both been to after the both of you got so drunk that you could barely walk. You weren’t on the flight you had booked back together. In fact, he had no idea about anything that’s been going on in your life, his mom just told him that you’re okay and that was all he got.

Now it was 3 days before Christmas and the idea of seeing you again both filled him with dread and also made him feel more alive than he had in months. He was equally utterly terrified and buzzing with excitement. His hands itched to hold you again, though he knew there was a bigger chance of you slapping him than letting him kiss you the way he wanted.

As Matt stares out the window at the clouds, he lets his mind wander. He wonders how you're doing; are you okay? After everything that happened did you pick up right where you left off? He wondered if you missed him, if he was on your mind as much as you were on his.

He still wondered if you loved him back.

-

“Mom, I really just, I really want to stay home and do nothing tonight okay? I'm tired.”

Your mom rolls her eyes at your attempt at getting out of going over to Tkachuk’s house tonight. You’d been trying since 9 am.

“Honey, I know you said you and Matthew don’t hang out anymore, but he won't be there!” she tried reassuring you, “Brady and Taryn will be there to hang out with you until Taryn goes to spend the night with the Johnson’s.” That made you groan even louder - you had to be alone with Brady. Great, now you had to steel yourself for a night of utter humiliation.

Brady isn't even downstairs yet when you enter the Tkachuk’s threshold, Chantal’s call for her kids brings Taryn down in an instant, ever excited to see you.

“Y/N!” she squeals, running down the stairs, “You're here, you're here!”

“Y/N?” you hear faintly, and then the slam of Brady’s door and rapid footsteps. He nearly slides down the stairs, freezing at the bottom when he spots you. Taryn lets you out of her embrace, leaving you to stare wide-eyed at Brady. Unsure how to navigate your way out of this situation, you keep staring at Brady as your parents and Taryn follow Chantal to the kitchen.

“Hi, B,” you say meekly, unsure of how he’ll receive you after so long.

“Hi, buttercup,” he responds, a bright smile pulling at his lips. It’s all he needs to take a few quick steps in your direction and draw you into his arms.

“I missed you so much, buttercup,” he whispers against your hairline, “More than you know.”

Despite his warm welcome, the night is tense. You still don't know what he thinks of that night, not wanting to ask him in front of your families - well, most of your families anyways. You didn't even let yourself think about what would happen when you saw Matthew at the next dinner party. You sat at the table and ate your food, barely speaking to Taryn and answering Keith and Chantal’s inquiries about your life in Calgary with a tight smile.

You’re so zoned out trying to make time go faster you barely register your parents telling you that they’re going out with Keith and Chantal.

“Mom, wait-”

“Y/N,” she warns, looking at you with that look, and you sigh in resignation. She smiles at you, a silent promise to make it up to you.

Taryn had left 30 minutes ago, announcing that she had somewhere to be before leaving as quickly as she could, uncomfortable with the palpable tension between you and Brady.

You watch your parents leave, wincing for a moment at what awaits you when you turn around. To your surprise, what greets you is a glass of wine hovering in front of your face.

You take the peace offering gingerly from Brady’s hand with a tiny smile. And it’s a really bad idea, the way you let him keep refilling your glass, and his own, let him draw you in during The Grinch on the couch, let him hold you tight under the blanket that was covering the both of you.

You can hear your common sense screaming in the back of your mind when you snuggle closer into Brady’s chest. It’s near 11 now, and your parents are still together, laughing and drinking in the living room of your house before Keith and Chantal are supposed to head to the airport. You're cuddled up to Brady, shifting every few minutes to try and get closer, even though nearly every inch of your body is practically glued to him.

He hums when you shift again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Gotta go home,” you say, your voice muffled against him. It’s not like you haven't spent the night with him before; you just haven't since that night.

“Probably,” he mumbles, arms tightening around you. “But I don't want you to.” And like, you've had way too much wine and you should probably go before Matty gets here cause you really can't handle that conversation like this so you push off of Brady, standing up but stumbling, wine sloshing over the lip of the glass and splattering on your pants.

“Fuck,” you hiss, the red wine surely staining the gray leggings you wore. Brady takes the glass from you, placing it on the table and stabilizing you with his other hand.

“Go change upstairs,” he says softly, looking up at you with those eyes you're such a sucker for. “Stay.”

And - how can you say no to that? You can't, because it's Brady and you're so damn easy for him it didn't matter what he’d asked you to do, you would do it without a second thought.

That's how you find yourself stumbling to Brady’s bedroom, barely finding your way to his bathroom to change out of your stained leggings and wipe yourself down. You rummage through Brady’s dresser, searching for - there it was. A pair of Brady’s sweatpants from high school that he stopped wearing approximately 2 months after he got them [mostly because he couldn't find them (mostly mostly because they were either in your room or on your body)].

You place the worn sweats on top of Brady’s dresser, fumbling to close the drawer and find your balance. Someone clears their throat and your head snaps towards the doorway. Brady is leaning against the doorframe and through the fuzziness of the wine, you register the thought that he looks so good like this - in his comfort zone.

“Hey,” he says, pushing off the doorframe towards you.

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes too focused on Brady moving towards you.

“We should give it a shot,” Brady husks, hooded eyes trailing down your body and back up again. Suddenly the room feels too cold, the oversized sweater you had on stopped at the top of your thighs, barely covering the pale pink panties you were wearing. The sweater paws gave an air of innocence around you that Brady knew was fake.

“What are you talking about?” you whisper meekly, both concerned about what was going on in that head of his, and intrigued.

“You know how you feel about me,” Brady states - which isn't entirely true anymore, but you don’t interrupt. “I don’t know how I feel about you, and neither of us actually knows if this-” he motions between the two of you “-is it for us, so I say, we give it a shot and see how it feels. Let’s give it until we go back?”

When did he get so close to you? Brady’s taking more steps forward, and you’re taking as many steps back, until the back of your thighs hit the corner of the bed and you instinctively sit.

Which - in retrospect, was probably a mistake, because now Brady towers over you even more than before and now - you’re really intrigued. His fingers trail over your jaw, thumb swiping gently across your bottom lip.

You part your lips out of habit, eyes widen when you realize what you’ve done. Brady laughs darkly when he catches your slip up, stroking your face affectionately.

His thumb slips between your lips for a moment, and your eyes flutter shut as your cheeks hollow around him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, and you do, opening your eyes to stare up at him again; Brady, your best friend. He smiles proudly, murmuring a soft, “Good girl.”

The words are uttered at the same time he withdraws from your warm mouth, wrapping his fingers gently around your throat. You can’t help the whine that escapes, mortified when Brady’s grin widens.

He leans down, mouth next to your ear to whisper, “Matty always did like it when they’re needy. Needy girls drive us crazy.”

Really, the thought of Matt shouldn’t be driving you crazy, but it is. And when you feel Brady’s nose nudge against yours, his mouth just millimeters from you - your biggest fantasy for nearly 20 years - you knew you were going to hell.

A needy moan escapes your throat before Brady’s hand tightens around your throat and you give in, looping your arms around his neck. You pull him down to meet your lips, nearly clawing at him in your desperation.

Faintly, you think that this is a bad idea, this would only hurt you more later on.

But the longer you kissed him, the less you cared about the consequences. You wanted - you needed Brady so fucking bad right now you were willing to deal with whatever the aftermath presented you with. Brady’s other hand finds the bottom of your sweater, slipping underneath the fabric to lay against your rib cage.

You needed more.

“Brady,” you whine as you break away from his lips, tugging at his hoodie. “Need you.” Brady chuckles darkly, tugging you by your throat to kiss him again.

“Ask nicely,” he husks against your mouth.

“Please,” you whimper again, pulling harder at the fabric to just get him closer. “Please, Brady, I need you so bad.”

“Try again.” Brady pushes you - nearly tosses you really - further up the bed with a snarl, ignoring the yelp you let out at the suddenness of his mood shift. You stare up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. You're unsure of your next words.

“Please…Daddy?”

A cocky smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Not quite.”

You think for a moment, watching him bring his hand behind his back and pull his shirt over his head. The dark look he gives you makes you shrink, as if to say ‘Still?’.

Suddenly your eyes light up, and Brady can see it. He's already on the bed, crawling up your body as you attempt to control your breath. The words are barely out before he's kissing you again.

“Please sir?”

Brady groans into your mouth when he hears you say the words, slotting himself between your thighs to grind his hips against yours. You mewl into his mouth when his clothed cock catches against your clit, pushing your hips up against him for more. He growls as he pulls away again, swatting your thigh as a warning.

“Careful, princess,” Brady warns - voice low and dangerous - and his grip on your hip so tight you knew there would be bruises in the morning, “or I won't be.” His words are thick with intention, both a threat and a promise.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe shakily, letting yourself fall against the sheets to look up at him.

Brady’s eyes soften for a moment, reaching up to brush your hair out of your eyes. “Hi,” he whispers, leaning down to steal a kiss.

“Hi,” comes your response. He steals another kiss before pulling away again, and you can't help but think that he looks beautiful like this.

I love you. I'm in love with you.

You want to say it, the voice inside you is screaming it. It’s screaming for you to say it, and Brady is looking at you almost like he wants you to too.

The feeling of his hands pushing your sweater up distracts you from your plight. Brady’s movement is slow, and he’s looking at you intensely, giving you time to stop him. You only nod, and the softness is gone as soon as it had come. You lift your arms to help him bring the material over your head. He tosses the sweater to the side, catching your wrists when you reach for him. He guides them back over your head, smirking as you suppress a shudder when he leans in a whispers against your mouth. “Be a good girl and keep your hands there princess.”

You nod quickly, grasping the sheets in anticipation. Another slap to your thigh has you rethinking.

“I’m sorry!” you gasp. “Yes, sir.”

Brady hums in acknowledgment, kissing down your throat until he’s staring up at you from the valley between your breasts. You whine softly when he pulls a nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing the harden peak before soothing it with his tongue. His hand is pinching and pulling at your other nipple, making your noises significantly louder. He alternates, playing with your nipples until they're swollen and sensitive and sore.

He sits back on his heels to look at you, hands on your knees now, sliding up your thighs. His eyes roam your body unabashedly, while his fingers play with the waistband of your panties. There's a burning look in his eyes as he says, “You're gorgeous. You're so fucking beautiful.”

You don't know why hearing him say it makes you tear up. Brady had told you that you were pretty before, that you cleaned up nice, always telling you how hot you were when he'd see you dressed up before events. He was your own personal hype man but he'd never called you beautiful.

Not like this.

Not like Matty.

Not like Matty.

The thought makes your blood run cold.

“Please,” you mewl, starting to reach for Brady before remembering what he told you. Your hands fly back above your head, twisting in the sheets, whispering, “I’m sorry, sir, I forgot.”

Brady smiles softly, slipping his finger under the waistband of your panties, tugging on it before letting it snap back against your skin. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss softly at your stomach. “Trying so hard to be good for me.” He shuffles himself backwards as he kisses his way down your body, sliding your panties down your legs at the same time until they've fallen to the floor.

“Wait,” you say softly, causing Brady to pause, his expression quizzical. “Please, I need you.”

Brady grins wickedly. “Just a taste princess.”

It turns out, ‘a taste’ actually means Brady edging you with his tongue until you were nearly crying. He's brought you to the brink three times now, each time getting you closer and closer before pulling away. At this point he's holding your hips down and your hands are as tangled in the sheets as you could get them, not wanting the repercussions of disobeying.

Brady’s tongue is sliding through your folds again when you finally break.

“Please!” you sob, tears finally sliding down your cheeks as your back arches from the pleasure. “Please, Brady, please, sir, please please, I- I need - please just - fuck - please.”

Brady hums against your cunt, the vibrations tearing a scream from your throat. Suddenly the warmth of Brady’s mouth is gone, leaving you chasing him with a buck of your hips. He pins you back down again easily, his lips glistening as he smirks. You hate the way the sleazy look on his face does it for you.

It reminds you of Matt.

You whine again, wiggling your hips as much as you could in Brady’s grip. “Please just fuck me,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. You feel his lips press against your hip, smiling against your skin.

“Anything my girl wants, she gets,” he murmurs against your skin.

My girl. The words echo over and over again in your head. My girl my girl my girl.

Two words you've been waiting years to hear come out of his mouth, and the only thing you could think of was how you liked it better when Matty said it.

Your eyes stay shut as Brady kisses up your body, fingertips dancing over your skin. His mouth finds yours, emptying your brain of all other thoughts but him.

“You ready for me, pretty girl?” he asks you, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek gently, wiping your tears away. Your eyes flutter open, to look at him, nodding as you bite your lip. His thumb tugs your lip out from between your teeth as you feel the tip of his dick brush against your thigh. You didn't even realize that he had taken off the rest of his clothes, but you weren't complaining. Not with him so close like this.

“Please,” you whimper, and after stealing another kiss, Brady sinks into your heat.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groans, gripping the back of your thigh to spread your legs even further. “You're so fucking tight, fuck you feel so good.” Once he’s bottomed out, Brady leans down to kiss you, swallowing your desperate noises.

He gives you little time to adjust, and really - you don't need it considering the way he tortured you with his mouth and fingers. You're whining into his mouth as his hips move against you, the drag off his cock inside you so fucking good after being denied like you were.

You're close already, and Brady knows, delivering sharp thrusts and hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars.

He finally breaks from your lips, breathing heavily as his hips slam into your cunt. “I'm so close,” you tell him, gripping the sheets above your head so hard you feel like you might rip them. “Please, please let me cum, sir, please.”

It seems like Brady finally thinks you've had enough torture, because he brings his hand from your thigh to your clit, rubbing quick tight circles. “You've been so good for me baby,” he grunts, his other hand holding him up so he can look down at you. “Come on baby, you can touch me now, come on princess, cum for me.”

That's all it takes to send you over the edge. Your hands come flying from above your head to grasp at Brady, his shoulders, his back, tangling in his hair, anything to just touch him. You cry out as your orgasm hits, your back arching under Brady as he relentlessly fucks you through it.

You faintly register Brady’s filthy encouragement in your ears, telling you how good you are for doing what he says, for not touching him this whole time, for cumming for him like this. You writhe against him as you feel him spill into you, grunting as he fucks into you, chasing his orgams with shallow, sloppy thrusts. It feels like you've been riding your high forever; your vision is blurry when you finally come down.

Brady’s breath is hot on your neck, his hands stroking your skin gently as the two of you catch your breath. He shushes you gently as you moan when he pulls out of you. Brady practically collapses next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you into his chest. He peppers kisses across your skin, nudging his nose against your cheek to grab your attention.

You can barely turn your head, suddenly so tired you feel like you'll pass out right that second. “Hi,” he murmurs, kissing you gently. You hum and bury your face in his neck.

“‘M sleepy,” you mumble against his skin, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“Then sleep,” he says, before smirking devilishly, “don't worry there's lots more where that came from, but in the morning.” You snort at his words, squeezing the back of his neck before burying your fingers in his curls.

“Night, B,” you mumble.

“Goodnight, buttercup.”

-

Matthew was going to kill his brother. He was going to straight up murder him. On top of not being there to pick him up from the airport, he also didn't answer any texts or calls from Matt.

So yeah, when Matthew got home, he was going to kill Brady. When the Uber finally pulls up in front of him, Matthew is nearly halfway done with his plan to get away with it.

He fiddles with his phone as the driver pulls away from the curb, scanning the random notifications that he had popped up when he got off the plane. It's when he opens up Instagram that he really pays attention, the 3 stories in a row at the top of his feed catching his eye.

Taryn’s, yours, and Brady’s. Against his better judgement, he taps Taryn’s magenta-rimmed profile picture. The story takes a moment to load, but when it does, he sees a picture of you in front of the Tkachuk’s Christmas tree. You had your arms out in a ‘ta-da’ fashion, the fingers barely poking out through the sleeves of your sweater. Taryn’s caption reads “didn’t need an angel for the tree cause we already got @y/n/y/l/n”. He can't help but smile fondly, so distracted by how cute you look that he just stares at you until the time is up - but not before pressing on the screen so he could screenshot the photo.

Your first story was a repost of Taryn’s, a simple white heart emoji in the bottom corner. The second was a shot of the TV in the Tkachuk’s living room displaying the Grinch’s title. The caption reads “heart grows two sizes bigger when i’m home :)”. The location is tagged as St. Louis, with Taryn and Brady tagged in the corner of the photo. The third post makes his blood run cold, it's a video of you and Brady, your back against his chest as you lay on the couch, the caption the cross-eyed emoji and Brady’s handle. Brady is facing away from the camera in the beginning of the video, your eyebrows raised as you wait for him to notice. When he does he laughs and reaches for your phone. The video cuts off there.

Matthew taps the left side of his screen to replay it, an unpleasant feeling twisting in his gut. He doesn't want to watch Brady’s story, but he taps the right side of his screen anyways. It's a photo of you on the couch, one knee pulled up to your chest with the other in Brady’s lap, and a glass of wine in your hand. Your hair is piled into a messy bun on top of your head as you wink at the camera and make a peace sign with your free hand, tongue peaking out of the corner of your mouth.

Matt screenshots the picture.

He’s angry; angry because his brother left him stranded at the airport. Angry because he said he hadn't spoken to you either, that you didn't answer any of his texts and calls since that night. He's angry because Brady managed to get you back, and Matt didn't.

Matty’s angry because he loves you, and he's pretty sure you still love Brady.

When the car finally pulls up to the house, he’s almost relieved. He notes that the lights are off downstairs as he lets himself in, pausing when he sees your shoes still by the door. The glow of the TV is visible in the living room, and as Matt pads towards it, the uneasy feeling grows.

There's two partially filled glasses of wine on the coffee table, as well as yours and Brady’s phones. He taps on Brady’s phone, revealing the unread texts and unanswered calls from Matt, as well as an unread text from Chantal, telling Brady that he would have to be the one to pick up Matty from the airport.

The pit in Matt’s stomach only deepens as he climbs the stairs, duffle bag in hand. He goes slowly, trying to prolong his inevitable heartbreak, but it doesn't change what he sees at the top.

Brady’s bedroom door is half open, the light from the hallway streaming in.

Matthew knows it's a bad idea when he takes one, two, three steps and he's in front of Brady’s door. He takes a deep breath and pokes his head inside the room. The sight nearly knocks the wind out of him.

You're tucked under Brady’s arm, your nose squished against his cheek and your hand curled around his neck.  He can see the bare skin of your back and stomach pressed against Brady’s bare torso. A blanket covers the both of you from the waist down. Brady’s hair is a mess, and so is yours, and suddenly Matt feels nauseous.

He feels like he would do anything - anything - to make the feeling in his chest go away. It feels like pressure, too much pressure, in his chest, and he nearly clutches his heart. The blood is rushing in his ears, he can't breathe, he feels dizzy.

Why does it hurt so much?

Before he can think it through he’s stumbling to his room. He kicks the door shut behind him, tossing the duffle back on the floor near his bed. His hands are reaching for the backpack on his shoulders and pulling out his laptop before it even hits the ground. He doesn't even sit, placing the laptop on his bed and bending down to type into the search bar.

He barely pays attention to the final amount when he hits “confirm” - he has more money than he knows what to do with anyways. The moment it’s done he sighs, watching the Gmail notification light up on his phone.

“Flight Confirmation, December 23rd, 2020 11:25 pm

St. Louis, Missouri to Calgary, Canada”

[side-shawty]

Don’t Hate Me

Fandom: DC 

Type: one-shot

Prompt/Summary: “Hello! Can I request a Damian Wayne x reader where the reader can communicate and control animals, so when the batfam sees her fight for the first time, they're like, hella surprised and Dami is very pleased that the reader treats the animals so kindly? 💜💜👽”

Pairing(s): Damian Wayne x Reader

Requested? YES by @comicnerd557​

I mostly focused on the controlling part but the communication is implied. I hope you enjoy :)

-Duckie

“Come on Y/N just show me what your power is please~” Dick begged for what felt like the millionth time today. Ever since Damian had let it “slip” that you had an ability that even he didn’t know about all of the Wayne boys had become curious.

“Just give us a hint,” Tim pressed as you sat on one of the sofas, getting ready for a post-patrol movie night.

“I’m telling you she’s not going to give it up,” Damian said as he sat beside you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, you were quick to snuggle into his side.

“How about this,” Jason began settling into one of the armchairs, “If we guess right or even pretty close then you have to tell us that we’re right, okay?”

“Deal,” you said as Dick started the movie but it was pointless considering they spent the entirety of it trying to guess at your power. They were close a couple of times but not enough to call them right.

“Okay can you, um, teleport people?” Dick asked as the credits rolled.

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’ and repositioning to place your head in Damian’s lap.

“Alight how about —“ Jason started but was interrupted as all of your phones began to chime with a crime alert from Bruce, who was already suited in the cave when you all arrived, he probably hadn’t taken it off.

“Sorry to interrupt movie night but I could use a hand with something,” Bruce said, “Get suited up, I’ll brief you in 5.”

“So much for a quiet night,” you said before you all suited up for a second time that night.

When you all got back there were already images and CCTV footage on the Batcomputer and Bruce didn’t hesitate to begin.

“At approximately 3:45 AM Killer Croc and Gorilla Grodd released all the animals from the Gotham Zoo from their cages but have yet to release them into the city. They’re trying to wait until sunrise for their ‘animal liberation.’

“The police are there but it seems they have lions and tigers barricading the entrances. We’ll go in, take down Crock and Grodd, and put the animals back. Hopefully before breakfast,” he finished and you saw Damian’s hands become fists, you knew he had a soft spot for animals and it was one of the reasons you hesitated to tell him about your powers.

You controlled them, for lack of a better word. Yes, they might have been drawn to you but like Grodd, it didn’t take much for them to bend to your will.

“One last thing,” Bruce continued, “You’ll be needing these. Attach them to your temples and Grodd won’t be able to get inside your head.” He looked to you, “Y/N, you’ll be needing this too,” Bruce said and handed you an amplifier. You looked at him and shock but he only winked at you.

Damn, he really was the world’s greatest detective. 

“What why does she get a special gadget?” Jason asked.

“It probably has to do with her powers, idiot,” Tim retorted.

“Shut up replacement. Y/N you told B about your powers before us? I’m hurt,” he said throwing a hand over his heart as you all made your way to your vehicles.

“Let’s be honest, nobody tells B anything,” you said before hopping onto your cycle and revving the engine.

———

The Zoo was controlled chaos when you got there. Gordon already knew what Grodd’s powers were so he had fewer men than with a regular villain. Just in case the gorilla somehow managed to be able to control the animals and the police there wouldn’t be too many at his disposal.

You split into two teams Bruce, Tim, and Dick would focus on Killer Croc whilst you, Damian, and Jason went after Grodd. They had barricaded themselves in the middle of the zoo along with crocodiles and gorillas because they truly were that cliche.

Killer Croc put up a good a fight as ever but he couldn’t do much when Grodd turned on him and forced the animals to defend only himself. Croc went down cursing Grodd’s name as Batman and Nightwing left to take him to the authorities.

“Now that the nuisance is out of the way I can focus my energy on getting rid of all you pests,” he said and began his onslaught. You fought but waited for Batman’s signal before hitting the amplifier on your neck and stretching your powers.

“Stop,” you spoke, holding a hand in front of Grodd and he immediately went lax before you.

Damian and his brothers also froze as Batman and Nightwing returned to the battlefield.

“What the hell?” Grodd spoke angrily, “What are you doing to me girl?!” He screamed at you.

“You’re strong Grodd but your downfall is that you’re also an animal and I control animals,” you told him, a smug smile on your face as he roared at you.

“Silence,” you commanded and he found himself unable to speak.

“Take his helmet, Robin, it’s still controlling the animals but they can’t move if he can’t. The cuffs are on my belt,” you told him and Damian quickly removed it and disabled it. Within minutes he was in police custody with the proper utilities to ensure he wouldn’t be using his powers any more tonight.

“Nice work Y/H/N,” Batman complimented and you smiled at him.

“Couldn’t have done it without this,” you told him tapping the amplifier. 

“Feel free to keep it. Now let’s get these animals back in their enclosures,” Batman said and you all instantly got to work.

You took the lead mostly, coaxing the larger animals back to where they should be but stopping often to pet them or appreciate how beautiful they were. At some point, Robin had joined you in or rather stared watch you as you were getting the polar bears back to their place.

Even though you weren’t looking at him you could feel his eyes on you from your crouched position rubbing at the polar bear cubs belly. 

“What?” You asked as the cub rolled over and stood up to join its mother behind the gates.

“So this is your power? It is truly“ you braced yourself for the worst, “amazing,” Damian finished and you had to do a double-take.

“Huh?” You said dumbly, not expecting that at all.

He grabbed your hand so you stood next to him but still avoided eye contact.

“Why did you not tell me sooner?” Damian questioned softly, releasing your hand because you were still in uniform even if your only witnesses were animals.

You thought about beating around the bush or making a joke of it but instead, you said, “I thought you’d hate me.”

“Hate you?” He said, incredulous, so much so that you spared a glance at him and suddenly you took interest in anything but him.

“Yes, I’m no better than Grodd,” You said fingers grazing over the feathers of a passing peacock.

“Tsk, I assure you that you are not similar to that overgrown monkey in the slightest. Let’s go home,” he said and you nodded.

——

When you got back you took a long shower and didn’t see Damian again until you found him reading on his bed as the sun rose.

He looked at you, all smiles as if nothing had changed and it made you look away again as you sat next to him.

Damian sighed at your silence and put his book down, holding your hand instead.

“What’s wrong beloved?” He asked, noting your lack of eye contact.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so okay with my power. I mean I can’t stand it and I hate using it,” you told him and risked a glance into his blue orbs, suddenly you couldn’t look away.

“Y/N do you want to know one of the reasons I fell in love with you?” When you said nothing he continued, “It’s because Ace, Titus, and Alfred don’t like anyone outside of the family for at least a month but the moment you stepped through the door they were as smitten with you as I was,” he told you and your eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really? ” You asked, you hadn’t even noticed.

“Yeah, and then when you told me you were studying to be a vet I fell a little harder. And when I came back from patrol and found you and Titus sleeping on my bed. And when you carried that bird half a mile in the rain because of its broken wing,” he said and before he could continue you interrupted.

“Robin, it was a robin. I found it a day after we told each other about our night lives. I thought of you that entire half-mile,” you told him smiling as the rising sun began to make his eyes shine.

“There you go again,” he said and you tilted your head slightly in confusion, “Making me fall in love.”

You felt your cheeks warm beneath your chocolate skin as he used his free hand to cup your face.

“I don’t hate you or your power beloved, I know people who would be more than happy to abuse an ability like yours but you only use it for good. Hell if it was up to me I’d use it to make Alfred attack Drake non-stop,” he smiled at you and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips.

“That laugh too, I have always loved your laugh,” he told you.

“Okay now you’re getting cheesy,” you smiled as he released your hand to mimic the one on your face.

“Oh am I?” He teased inching closer and closer to your face.

“Absolutely,” you told him before closing the space between you and falling into a kiss that was all smiles and love.

Suddenly you didn’t hate your power so much.

[allmightluver]

First lines meme

Ooo! 😲 thank you for the tag @justanotherfoolhere !!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines. Tag 10 authors!

I’m incredibly shy so if you would like to do this, I tag you!!

Ah I have some old stories from old fandoms (or side fandoms I should say), but as for MHA, most of my stories are just wips right now. I have approximately 5-6 stories in the works right now, however 3 are just thoughts yet, not written out, 1-2 are RP’s with another person that I’m not sure if I have the ability to share yet 😅, 1 is....extremely, well...NSFW 🙈 even the first line asfkgkka I’m not going to do that one, you’ll just have to read it on ao3 when it’s done 😖

However! I do have a massive story that’s been in the works for over a year now (atm it’s around 57,800 words), I’ve actually gotten stuck on it half way through and a friend is helping me by rping those parts with me. If anyone remembers from forever ago, I talked about writing a story about Toshinori actually becoming addicted to his painkillers, and overdosing during class, that’s this story. I have a good chunk of this written, so to make up for my lack of stories, I’ll post a few paragraphs of the beginning! (I hope that’s ok! 🙈)

((I should note, I don’t normally rp, the ones I’ve done are just with a close friend or two))

So, here’s a few paragraphs of what I’ve been calling “Painkiller” under the read more...

Eyelids sluggishly rise. Each blink seems to be getting slower and slower. And he’s still talking. How the soft furred mammal at the front of their table can speak for hours at a time without so much as a break is a superhuman feat. Of course, the principal isn’t human at all, which probably is how he can accomplish it.

Black eyes glance at the clock on the wall across from him. 1:50 p.m. This was supposed to be a short meeting. A quick briefing on the school’s protection and security upgrades. This is also the time to give feedback on how the procedures seem to be working. It had started during their lunch break at 12:30 p.m., and it’s still dragging on. Snipe as well as a few other teachers that have classes to teach at this time are absent, but the rest of the available staff are present.

Shota massages his eyelids, refraining from gritting his teeth against the stinging, and promptly tipping his head back to apply his eye drops. They’re almost gone, he’ll have to get a refill from Recovery Girl. Shota lowers his head once again, black locks falling back over his face.

He’s exhausted. A full night on patrol and then the morning teaching at UA. He’s done for the day after this, and all he wants is to sleep. He’ll still have to check in with Eri to be sure she’s been ok throughout the day, before he can collapse on his bed. 

Eri was still adjusting to living at UA, but seemed to be doing well so far. When he couldn’t be with her, she had another teacher or staff member watching her. Thankfully, there hasn’t been an instance with her quirk going out of control. Yet. He hopes to keep it that way. She’s just starting school, but slowly. She has a lot of learning in just living before she can worry much about academic intelligence. But Shota has no concerns of her being able to catch up to her age and grade level. Eri’s proven to be smarter than they’ve given her credit for. Perhaps wiser in some ways than a kid her age should have to be.

Shota usually teachers her in his spare time. His hero work has decreased due to his stacking responsibilities. Last night was the first in close to a month, and he can feel in his sore muscles that it’s been too long. Thankfully, he can rest tonight, but if Nezu didn’t hurry this conference up he’s going to be pulling another all-nighter. The temptation to pull out his sleeping bag and snooze in the chair he sits is becoming harder to resist.

Shota’s gaze moves across the room at the other occupants.

Mic sits to his right, closest to Nezu. The man’s listening, but one can see the bored expression on his face as he picks at his painted nails.

Midnight across the table seems a bit more focused. Her arms rest on her lap as she listens to the white animal, adding in her thoughts every now and then.

Cementoss and Ectoplasm sit next to her, both relatively silent.

Shota’s eyes flick to the chair next to his left before moving to the closed door at the room’s entrance.

Yagi had been here as well. A few minutes ago, he had politely excused himself from the room and had yet to reappear.

Maybe he made a break for it, Shota thinks with envy. Though he knows it’s a lie.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the Number One Hero to duck out of meetings and public places for short periods of time. No one questioned him on it, assuming he had business calls or the like. He was All Might after all, and surely a very busy man.

But now the Symbol of Peace is dead, and still the brief intermissions continue. In fact, they’re increasing in frequency. Shota has high doubts about the possibility of impromptu hero phone calls from the man’s agency, but doesn’t dwell on it.

Everyone, even All Might, has secrets. It isn’t Shota’s job to nose his way into everyone’s personal life.

His sore eyes blink in mild surprise when the door he had been focusing on slides open, and the man in his thoughts shyly stoops his head under the doorway to enter back into the room. Yagi closes the door again and takes his place beside Shota, moving quietly to attempt not to draw attention to himself. But it’s a wasted effort; whenever he’s present, all eyes immediately are drawn to him. Plus, it’s hard to ignore a 7 foot man.

Shota turns away, attempting to refocus on whatever their eccentric principal is speaking about.

For a while, the meeting draws on as usual, Nezu doing most of the talking and the other teachers providing input as they see fit. The way the conversation is leading, it seems like things are starting to wrap up. Finally. The last class of the day starts at 2:20 p.m. and that doesn’t leave much leeway room for any teachers that need prep time.

Shota leans back with a silent sigh through his nose, crossing his arms. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can go check on Eri back at the dorms, and the sooner he can crash. Thinking about anything other is too hard to concentrate on.

Through his sleepy fog, something moves in his peripheral vision. Instinctually looking over to his left, he notices the lanky man next to him has wilted in posture, much like a plant with no water. The haze in Shota’s brain clears only slightly, having something more interesting to observe.

Now actually taking the time to study the other, Shota notices the haphazard blonde mane looks messier than normal. Yagi’s long, sinewy hands are placed comfortably on his lap, though a subtle tremble is running through his frame. A sheen of sweat is starting to form above his brow. Though his eyes remain fixed on the principal, the unfocused haze in the cyan pools gives Shota the impression Yagi isn’t paying attention. The normally bright irises are dull and almost completely hidden in the surrounding black sclera.

He looks pale. Must be sick. Shota lets his attention drift back to Nezu. Toshinori Yagi is a grown adult; he can take care of himself. If he doesn’t feel well, he’ll go home. These thoughts stubbornly go through Shota’s mind just before another pushes itself in.

He remembers the tall man entering the teacher’s lounge only two days after the Kamino incident. Yagi had been completely wrapped in bandages, bruises and stitched up cuts littering his body, and one arm was in a sling. Everyone had expected him to still be in the hospital, and not back to UA for at least a week, maybe two.

Shota recalls the other teachers chastising the ex-hero and trying to convince him to go home, to rest. Yagi had politely smiled, one that made Shota’s teeth grind at the obvious artificial gesture. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, only present to soothe their worries.  But Yagi thanked them for their concern. Even then, their coworkers had tried to assist him in any way possible. He had always insisted he was fine, respectfully refusing their help. It became hard for their colleagues to accept when it was obvious the injured man was struggling with even the simplest tasks.

Recovery Girl had made frequent appearances, much to Yagi’s dismay. It was unfortunate his body couldn’t handle her quirk, and he had to heal naturally, so she made it her job to monitor him. She didn’t even try to deny she was only there to check in on him, to make sure he was behaving himself, at least to the miniscule level she could except from Toshinori. She was always disappointed, and expressed so outright. But she could do little to sway him in his own self-care habits, and he always waved her off with another deceptive smile.

If he had forced his straining, overworked, body to comply during that time, what’s stopping him from teaching his class in 15 minutes?

More movement next to him puts Shota’s thoughts on pause. Dark eyes flick over to the older man, being as inconspicuous about his spying as possible. With the black hair covering his face, most people probably can’t tell where he’s looking anyway, and he’s not moving his head at all.

One of Yagi’s arms slowly lifts to his face, resting his sharp elbow on the table. The large and scarred hand covers his mouth, baring his bony wrist and too-thin arm as his sleeve slides down a few inches. The pose might be meant to look like he’s simply resting his chin, gaze still locked on Nezu like he’s listening intently. But sitting this close to him, Shota can see how the tremors in his body have increased, sweat starting to run down the deep crevices of his face in tiny rivers. The glazed over look in those black eyes has been replaced by one subtly emitting a fight or flight expression.

Shota frowns. He’s gonna barf. The pro briefly wonders if he should use his capture weapon to grab the trash can in the corner of the room to prevent a mess on the carpet, or worse, the table.

Before he can act, Yagi’s chair abruptly slides backwards as the retired hero wrenches his body up, fumbles with the door handle, and rushes out of the room as quickly as his unstable limbs can carry him. He barely manages to slam the sliding door shut behind him before he’s out of everyone’s sight, the hasty squeaks of his shoes on the tile floor growing more and more distant.

Nezu pauses at the sudden outburst, all the room’s occupants staring at where All Might had disappeared. The feel of concern weighs heavily in the atmosphere.

Although Yagi had often left before, he always excused himself quietly or snuck away when the attention wasn’t on him. Something this dramatic has never happened.

-----

And we’ll leave it there for now! This is still a wip remember, so things may be changed here and there, but I hope this makes up for my lack of other stories!

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

As Far As Friends Go

This was kind of a transition chapter so cred’s to the show for the dialogue I used. But buckle up, shits really gonna go down next chapter.

Chapter 14 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13)

Nixon - June 1944

The drop into Normandy was perilous. Just as Nixon had feared, nothing seemed to go as planned. It was as if the Germans were waiting for them to arrive based off of how much fire they experienced. Nixon, like most of the men, missed his drop zone but he was lucky enough to quickly link up with Battalion headquarters. It was a chaotic couple of first days in France as the airborne got situated in relation to the troops on the beach. Early into their arrival, Winters and the available Easy Company men took down some German guns. This not only saved a number of lives on the beaches but produced a map detailing German artillery positions. Looking at it, Nixon realized how important it could be. It couldn’t wait, so he decided to run to Utah beach to hand the map over to the higher ups who could do something with it. The run to Utah was only three miles, no worse than he had experienced during training. He was grateful though that Command decided to send the first two tanks that landed in to aid the 101st, thus providing Nixon with a ride.

He greeted Winters with a cheeky smile when he returned to the assembly area. “Going my way?”

Winters tossed his gun up for Nixon to catch, “sure.”

The men bunkered down for the night, scrounging for what food and beds they could find. The Battalion was on the move by June 8th on their way to take Carentan. As according to plan, the 101st forced passage into Carentan on June 10th and 11th. The days were hot and muggy, barely cooling down at night for the men dressed in heavy uniforms and equipment. Bugs were everywhere and exhaustion was setting in. Finally, they encountered the Germans. On June 12th the German’s were forced to withdraw and it seemed like victory was theirs. But Nixon was suspicious. Surely the Germans wouldn’t give up such an important position so easily; and he was right. On June 13th the 17th SS PzG Division counter-attacked. Thankfully, the U.S. 2nd Armored Division came in for support.

When Nixon returned to Battalion headquarters with news of their victory he found that Emily had finally arrived.

“Emily!” he wanted nothing more than to hug her in that moment. The last week had been exhausting. It was such a comfort to see her.

“Miss me?” she grinned up at him. Her smile was like a shot of morphine, he immediately felt his muscles relax. “You look a mess,” she shook her head.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, we’ve only been taking Carentan.”

“Congratulations,” she said, “did you like the tanks I sent you?”

Nixon looked at her flabbergasted. Then slowly, through the haze of his fatigue, he realized she was messing with him. “Ha ha. It would’ve been impressive if you had.”

“Yeah I wish, unfortunately I’m not that powerful yet.”

Nixon slung his arm around her neck, “no but I bet you know where to find me some food.”

Despite his exhaustion, Nixon didn’t sleep well those final weeks in Normandy. Instead, his alcohol intake increased. He had to re-fill his flask every day, sometimes topping it off throughout the day. He would need to replenish his stores soon. But no one anticipated how long they would actually be fighting in Normandy. In fact, the 101st had expected to be relieved much sooner. Strayer kept asking for patrols as the allies attempted to inch their way closer and closer to Germany.

Twenty-five days after D-Day Nixon was sent out on a patrol with Harry Welsh. It was a reconnaissance mission so Nixon was required to go. What they were looking for he wasn’t sure. The regiment had exhausted their knowledge of the German’s position in the area so any new piece of information could serve as an advantage.

Nixon peered through a pair of binoculars from where he and Welsh sat in the brush approximately 100 yards from a run down building. “We need to know what’s in there,” Nixon said.

“I don’t know who the hell to send,” Welsh said.


“Ask for volunteers.”

“I hate asking for volunteers.”

Nixon gave Welsh a pointed look, “then pick them.”

Blithe, Martin, and Dukeman moved in towards the abandoned manor. The rest of the paratroopers sat hidden in the grass behind Nixon. As they waited for Blithe and the others to get into position Nixon spotted something poking out of Welsh’s backpack.


“Harry, what exactly are you doing with your reserve chute? You been hauling that thing around since we jumped?”

Welsh sucked his teeth, slightly embarrassed he said, “gonna send it to Kitty when we get back to England. Silk, figure it’ll make a good wedding dress, ya know, what with the rationing and all.”

Nixon broke view of where the trio was moving in towards the manor to laugh at Welsh, “jeez Harry, I never would’ve guessed.”

“What? That I’m so sentimental?”

“No, that you think we’re going to make it back to England.” Nixon peered through his binoculars again. His mind flashed to Emily as he watched the men crouch down behind an upturned cart. Bad news, he thought. He had suspected for a while now that Emily may have feelings for Welsh, a man who clearly was intending on marrying his betrothed. No matter how much he flirted, Welsh wouldn’t have bothered lugging that extra chute around if he wasn’t serious about Kitty. Bad news for Emily. Suddenly, a shot rang out.

“Covering fire! Covering fire!” Welsh shouted. Martin and Dukeman pulled a downed Blithe back behind the line. They passed Nixon who saw the blood gushing from the young man’s throat before Doc Roe got to him.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Welsh commanded.

Winters moved up from behind, “what happened?”

“Sniper,” Nixon said coming up to him.

Winters couldn’t take his eyes off the bleeding Blithe, “they’re pulling us off the front line.”

“Now?” Nixon demanded.

Winters turned to him, “to a field camp north of Utah beach. Hot food, and showers.”

With a last mournful look at Blithe, Nixon turned away to head back. Great fucking timing, he raged to himself.

Emily was at the camp surrounded by intelligence staff and nurses, who were busy at work tending the masses of wounded men.


“Nix?” her voice was gentle when he entered the intelligence tent.

“Couldn’t have let us know a little bit sooner? Sent the runner just a few minutes earlier?” he demanded.



“What are you talking about?”

“We were on a patrol and some kid is probably gonna lose his life because that information came a few minutes too late! I sent them in there, I told them to check it out but turns out we didn’t need to!” Nixon pounded his fist on one of the tables.

“Lewis I didn’t know, that information didn’t come from me.”

“You’re intelligence staff! You’re meant to know!”

“I’m not intelligence staff like you are! I’m no S-2,” Emily shouted back, “no one tells me anything!”

Nixon paced the room trying to calm down, “okay, okay,” he leveled his hands on the desk, “I’m sorry. I just -,”

“It’s fine, I’m sorry too,” Emily stood across the table from him, looking small in the dim light of the tent. “I do know one thing,” she said. He looked up, waiting for her to continue, “we’re going back to England.”

“Right, great.” And he stormed out of the tent onto the beach.

His insomnia didn’t improve even knowing that they were going back to a relatively safe zone. It was impossible to sleep with the sounds of men crying out all around and bodies held together by gauze and tape only paces away. Naturally, the night before they were meant to leave, Nixon couldn’t sleep. He grabbed his flask and made his way towards the dunes on the far side of the camp.

He plopped down on a ridge into a bed of marsh grass, the coarse tendrils tickling his wrists and neck. Nixon closed his eyes and inhaled. The whiskey he had guzzled earlier that night had seeped pleasingly through his veins. The summer air blew across the salty water cooling the sweat where it pooled around his collarbone and lower back. It was so peaceful. If it weren’t for the peppering of tents barely visible against the night sky, Nixon could have pretended he was there on holiday and not for a war.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a lean figure making its way up the dune towards him. Nixon braced himself for the quiet wisdom of Winters. However, the figure failed to grow as it approached him, only reaching a height of about 5′5″. The silhouette revealed itself to be Emily, dressed in another pair of slightly oversized O.D.s.

“What?” Nixon barked at her.

“I saw you pass by,” Emily dropped down beside him, bumping his arm on her way down. Disgruntled, Nixon scooted over slightly.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Why aren’t you?” Emily retorted.

“Couldn’t.”



“Same here.”

Quiet fell between them, a comfortable quiet but Nixon could sense Emily wanted to say more. Finally, her lips parted and she said, “it’s not something you can get over.”

“What?”



“Seeing the men like that.” Emily searched his face in the dark for any reaction. Nixon stared straight ahead. “It’s disturbing and not something anyone should ever have to witness.”

Nixon licked his lips to speak, but all that came out was, “yeah.”

Emily paused, then reached for his flask. She pulled it from his grasp and took a swig, “It’s over for now. We have to find comfort in that.”

“Right, some comfort in that,” he took the flask back for another drink. They sat there side by side listening to the waves crash against the shoreline. As the night waned on, Emily began to doze off. Her head fell to rest on his shoulder. Nixon considered waking her to walk her back to her tent but then decided against it. He didn’t want to disturb her. If she woke up now who knew if she would be able to fall asleep again. Besides, he enjoyed sharing a little sliver of the world with her in that moment. A sliver that was simple and not perverted by violence.

When the sun rose, she stirred and they both made their way back to their tents for a desperate last few hours of sleep before they were to ship off. As Nixon was boarding the ship he saw Emily standing on the Mulberry harbor hugging a dark, thin woman dressed in a nurses uniform. The woman brushed wild hairs away from Emily’s forehead then pressed something into her hand. Nixon couldn’t help but wonder what that exchange had been about. Out of curiosity, he met Emily at the gangway.

 “Who was that?” he asked.

“Hm?” Emily pulled a paper wrapped candy out of her pocket.

“Who was that woman you were talking to? A nurse?”

“Oh yeah, that’s my friend Marwa.”

“I didn’t know you had female friends.”

Emily rolled her eyes and popped the candy into her mouth.

“What was that?” Nixon pointed to her mouth.

“Ginger candy, you want one?” Emily offered him a candy and Nixon accepted, beginning to feel like his old self again standing next to her.