#so the entire thing just keeps turning when I’m trying to loosen the nut

[averagemrfox]

Don’t put in a maintenance request I said. Replacing the toilet seat myself will be easy I said.

[shootingstarwritings]

Wrestling With Some Feelings

Wrestling with some Feelings

“Wh-What are you doing…?" Ahmed moaned as a trail of slime slid into his singlet. Just the very touch caused his body to react with an eruption of pleasurable waves. He collapsed onto the locker room floor, slowly humping the floor to get any sort of friction on his hardening dick. "Haa… aahhhh...haaa…! This isn't… right." Ahmed bit down on his lip before letting down another desperate moan. So caught up in this invasive bliss that he didn't even care when the slimy creature squeezed itself into his leaking cock. Instead, he welcomed it. Thoughts of championships and the thrill of victory soon vanished beneath a blanket of ecstasy. "Ah! Ahhh! H-Holy fuck, I'm—!"

Ahmed wasn't able to finish as his body yielded to the enigmatic invader. His vision swam and he felt dizzy until he collapsed on a puddle of his precum. Ahmed's body convulsed on the ground, unable to even call for help, until he suddenly became rigid, back arched as if mid-orgasm. Then, he relaxed. Slowly, he rose from the ground and took a peek inside his wrestling singlet. "Damn kid, you got a sweet-ass body," he said, stretching his body and letting out a satisfying grunt as something popped. His more reserved personality and mannerisms were completely gone, as though it was someone else entirely. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna stay here forever. Just long enough to throw that match with Clay tonight. Can’t let my son lose that scholarship. You understand, right?” Adjusting his singlet again, the man in possession of Ahmed, Jerry, let out a sensual groan. “Ohhh, and maybe take advantage of this little body for a while. Not every day an old fart like me can be a young and sexy college stud for a few hours."

There was still time until the match, and considering how it would just be throwing the match to Clay, it wouldn’t take much effort. For now, Jerry could relax and enjoy what Ahmed's body had to offer. Grinning, he squeezed Ahmed's meat through the fabric and threw his head back in a low moan. "You're so lucky, being so sensitive. C'mon, let's get real acquainted."

Clay’s father had to struggle to keep his erection down as Clay seriously manhandled him the whole match. Each of Ahmed’s nerves seemed to be turbo-charged and Clay’s rough hands only seemed to aggravate that. With every slam and struggle—every time flesh met flesh with a flash of friction, Clay’s father found himself growing flushed. Didn’t even have to try that hard to throw, his over-horned body did the job for him.

Was it the spell or perhaps something more? Either way, soon Jerry found himself pinned to the mat with his son sneering down at him. The ref called the final point, and that was it. Jerry walked back to the locker rooms, ignoring the calls from his coach and friends. He couldn’t risk anyone catching on to his lack of disappointment.

To make sure the locker room would be empty, Jerry took an extremely long shower—checking his goods one last time before he would have to leave and return home to congratulate his son. Towel around his waist, he made his way over to the locker only to meet a meaty arm blocking his way. 

"Gotta say, kinda disappointed in your performance today, Ahmed," Clay said with a glare.

“Oh, Clay! Uh, wh-what can I say? Performance anxiety,” Jerry said, shrugging.

Clay tilted his head in confusion. “The hell’s happened to you? All jumpy and squirrely.” He took a step forward, cornering his father against the lockers. “You sick or something? Honestly looking real weird.”

Swallowing, Clay’s father said, “Um, I suppose you just have the magic touch,” he said, mind racing to come up with a lie that would be somewhat believable. “Body got all hot and cold with you manhandling me like that.” Jerry prayed that his face and ears weren’t turning as red as he thought they were.

Clay nodded to himself while squinting as if deciphering a difficult piece of text. "That so…?” Hoping that was enough, Jerry began to walk away. However, Clay slammed both of his arms against the lockers, pinning his father completely. “All you had to do was ask,” Clay whispered, his incredulous look turning into one of passion. Without a word, he leaned and kissed Jerry on his borrowed lips. Too shocked to even fight, Jerry leaned back and shut his eyes. What did this rush of passion mean? It was as if a dam had suddenly burst open.

Caught in this stream of passion, Jerry met Clay's kiss with equal aggression. It was as if he was possessed by whatever sentiments Ahmed had locked away deep inside of his subconscious. Either way, Jerry couldn’t even bother trying to resist the youthful hormones that danced in every inch of his hunky, borrowed body.

“Damn, you taste real fine,” said Clay, leaning away to stare at the giddy, bubbly mess that was Jerry. “Your lips feel so nice. Bet they’d be even better wrapped around my dick,” he said, slapping his thigh as he said so. Jerry glanced down and saw his son’s fully erect cock straining against the confines of the singlet. Wordlessly, he nodded and got down on his knees. The taste was so salty, but he didn’t mind it at all. Hearing his son’s pleasured moans and the cock threatening to unhinge Ahmed’s jaw was enough to get Jerry’s own dick hard.

“Make me see white,” Jerry breathed as he drew back with a pop. He spread his legs, trying to show as much of his ass he could. “Fuck me hard, Clay. I don’t think I can live without that cock inside of me once.”

“Say no more.” With a grunt of effort, Clay lifted Jerry up and placed him down onto one of the benches. “Don’t worry, I’ll be nice and gentleman-y like.” Leaning up to steal another sensual kiss, Clay teased the rim of Ahmed’s hole with his cockhead. Jerry moaned and bit down on his lips. He took a few breaths, trying to relax, before just leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. "Hold on, relax," whispered Clay, using a finger to loosen him up. "Got some lube in my locker. Give me a sec."

“You have what?” Jerry exclaimed as Clay briefly walked off. “H-How often do you do this here.”

Once Clay returned, he just grinned and said, “Enough.���

Though Jerry wanted to continue asking his son, the finger that penetrated him had another idea. Jerry, nearly cross-eyed, immediately tightened as a reflex. He leaned back, moaning like a slut as Clay slipped in another finger. Then another. “F-Fuck, I-I’m fucking cumming!” Jerry shouted as his dick erupted with shot after shot of pent-up aggression.

“Damn, came from just fingering?” Clay grinned. “Hope you still got fuel in the tank, Ahmed. I still haven’t got a chance to shoot my shot.”

Breathing heavily, Jerry nodded as he spread his legs even further. Despite his climax abating, the sensual haze in his mind didn’t leave. Instead, he felt as though he could cum again and again that night. “I’m still not satisfied. Split me in half, Clay!” He moaned. Although the more logical part of Jerry's mind screamed and begged, he didn't give a shit. He just wanted this hunky hole filled and his son's cock was the one thing that could fix that.

Clay wasted no time. He spread Jerry as much as he cut and gave a slow, experimental thrust. When Jerry didn't scream, he slowly picked up the pace. "Mm, yeah. Nrgh, fuck yeah," he grunted with every thrust. There was no reason to go so quick that it would take away from the passion. As promised, he was gentle with strong, rhythmic thrusts. Jerry met each one with the same rhythm. Every nerve seemed to be on fire as Clay's cock filled him—as though Jerry was finally complete. With this body and this cock inside of him, he was reaching Nirvana.

After what seemed like a lifetime of pleasure, Jerry noticed Clay’s core tightening. His face was flushed and his body was covered in a sheen of sweat. “I’m—nggh—I’m gonna blow my load. Want me to cum inside?” Jerry quickly nodded. Clay grinned. “Good answer.” With renewed vigor, Clay continued plowing into Jerry as he babbled nonsense. “C’mon, Ahmed. Scream for me.” He said, slapping Ahmed’s quivering thighs.

“Oh my god,” said Jerry, covering his face to hide the tears. He was elated and embarrassed all at once. His own offspring was smashing him and all he could do was moan and allow it to happen. It had been years since he had sex this good, and he knew that Ahmed felt the same. No, for Ahmed it was even more intense. Somehow, Jerry understood that Ahmed had never had sex before. Now, at that moment, Jerry was losing his virginity for Ahmed. With that in mind, Jerry could feel his climax swiftly approaching.

“I'm gonna nut! I'm gonna—MMM!" Jerry stopped as Clay suddenly embraced him with a long, intense kiss. Unable to handle the heat and the passion any longer, Jerry climaxed. Both of their bodies became drenched in semen, but neither of them cared. All they wished was to taste as much of themselves in that kiss.

Sorry, Ahmed, thought Jerry, lemme just stay in this body for a little while longer. I’ll leave tomorrow in the morning. Promise.

[cyber-searcherao3]

Hermit Tommy: Mycelium War

@petrichormeraki have some more hermit Tommy. Honestly I wanna see how he’d deal with the whole Resistance vs HEP

Everyone found it funny that both blonde gremlins who wore read and loved pranks got along so well. Grian himself always felt a bit of humble thankfulness in the fact that Tommy was willing to open himself up to him first. It was a lot; there were so many battles, countless scars and deaths that the kid had to endure on his home server. But Tommy was making progress.

Though every so often, he’d be faced with a hard reminder that this sort of thing doesn’t change easily. Be it overnight or weeks.

Grian found Tommy inside their base for the Mycelium Resistance, leaning against the stone pen and feeling sheaves of grain to the sheep dressed in suits. He saw the other blonde perk up - shoulders stiffened, hand hovering over his axe - before he turned and grinned when Grian smiled back.

“Oh thank fuck, this is the actual base.” He sighed. “Still can’t believe I-man made an entire goddamn replica of this place. You’re all nuts.”

Grian leaned beside him, staying comfortably out of arm's reach. “Hey, us nutty nuts need to stick together.”

His joke was the perfect instance for an innuendo and Tommy’s knew it. “We’re a buncha’ sticky nuts then?”

“Pft, absolutely. The stickiest of nuts.”

The two laugh. Grian tentatively raises a wing and waits for Tommy to lean into it. Grian was more than happy to let the kid swear and make lewd jokes. It was better than the destructive trolling he had only just begun to dial back on.

“How’s the war goin’ G-man?” Tommy asked. His shoulders were still slightly tense.

“Don’t worry, they haven’t found us yet. And I think I’ve found a way to counteract their wolves.”

“Fire?”

“No.” Grian snorted despite himself. “Llamas actually. They scare off the wolves so they don’t hurt the sheep.”

“So we need those furry, long necked fucks to save the other furry fucks?” Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Fire’s still faster.”

“Yea but wait till you try leading one of those jerks. It’s the worst. Worse than working with villagers sometimes.”

The teen sighed, stringing out an impressive string of curses that nearly made his ears bleed. Grian asked for some grain to play with the sheep until he felt Tommy flinch under his wing. He pulled the limb back and saw his fingers gripping the handle of his axe.

“Somethings exploding above us.” Tommy bolted down the hall and Grain followed, panicked at the shaky tone in his voice.

He wasn’t sure how Tommy sensed it, but soon Grian heard it too. The growing sound of TNT blasts grew closer and Tommy was already in a fighting stance.

“Don’t panic. Someone’s probably just mining or maybe it’s Decked Out.” Grian tried to soothe him.

Tommy said nothing. In his offhand, he was already holding his axe.

The next explosion made Grian jump as a hole was blown through the concrete. Scar peeked his head through, his eyes wide with surprise and success. Near the back, the builder though he saw Bdubs running beside him.

“Wait, Mumbo?” Grian realized. “Why are you with them? Wh - the mycelium! Emergency meeting!”

He slammed the button, nearly breaking the wood with the pressure.

“Grian!”

“Tommy don’t w - “

His words were stolen when he suddenly found himself stuck in the stasis pods and dropping onto the table. Everyone else landed in a messy sprawl, knocking over chairs with dazed expressions.

“They found us!” He shouted. “Get the mycelium! Go! Go!”

Everyone else was yelling, but they couldn’t help but smile at the surprise of Scar finally finding their secret base.

Grian turned to fly back to the vaults - back in the direction of the break in - but paused when he saw the hall lined with scattered tools.

Tommy was duling Bdubs and Mumbo, the former barely able to hold his sword with his other arm broken in a gruesome angle and a bruise forming over his right eye. Scar was already dead and there was a small web of cracks against the ground and a red stain.

The teen dodged a messy swipe from the redstoner, elbowed his chest and swung at his neck.

There was a thin splash of blood on the white concrete before Mumbo burst into smoke and dropped all his tools.

Grian threw himself forward just as Tommy slammed Bdubs to the ground and pinned him by the neck. He raised his axe just as the other blonde grabbed his arm.

The man wrestled to try and loosen his grip. “Tommy! Wait! Wait, it’s not a real war!”

He may have outweighed the teen by at least a dozen kilograms, but Tommy knew how to fight and he fought dirty. He smashed his forehead into his nose and Grian knew it was broken. His mouth soon filled with iron and he barely remembered to duck as Tommy swung his axe again.

The builder caught flashes of his eyes between messy parries and slices through his shirt; anger made them glow like hollowed glass housing a candle.

“I’m Grian, Tommy! My name’s Grian.” He shouted, moving back towards the main meeting room.

The next swing caught his wing. Pain flared down his shoulder and down his spine, knocking him to his knees as he dropped his sword.

A bright red, yellow and blue feather spun to the ground between him. Grian leaned heavily against one of the chairs, heaving his breath as Tommy slowly lowered his axe. It clattered to the ground, sharp and echoing into the silence.

“Ph - Grian?” He sounded terrified.

“It’s me. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He extended his good wing out, trying to keep it from shaking as pain still coursed down his back. He held out his arms and caught the boy as he fell, clutching his jumper and hyperventilating.

“Breath with me. Just breathe with me Tommy. In. Out.” Grian rubbed his hands down his armoured back. “Just breath.”

He thumbed them straps for a moment, but decided against it when he felt Tommy press harder into his chest.

“ Don’t worry. You don’t need to keep fighting. You’re safe here. I’m here.”

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

The Last of Us: Part II

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader / Santiago “Pope” Garcia x F!Reader 

Warnings: Language, threats of violence, guns, blood and injury, a post-zombie apocalypse world ripped straight out of The Last of Us, first aid medical stuff (kind of?)

Word Count: 1,644

Author’s Note: The Triple Frontier Zombie Apocalypse AU no one asked for.  

Summary: After Frankie is injured, the boys find themselves in need of your help. 

Part I - Taglist Form - Masterlist - Part III

The gunshots outside your window set heart racing. Not an entirely uncommon sound in the world you lived in now, but the quiet of the last few days had given you the illusion of peace. 

That fantasy was promptly shattered when a large blonde man kicked your door in, covered in blood and carrying a metal pipe as a weapon. 

“Get him inside!” He ordered, speaking to someone you could not yet see. You’d been hiding behind the counter of the bar since the shots rang out, but it wouldn’t be long before these strangers discovered you there. Careful not to move too suddenly and make the old wooden floors creak under the shift of your weight, you craned your neck to peek around the corner. 

You watched two more men follow behind the first, carrying an unconscious man through the doorway. The metallic scent of blood hit you immediately. Someone had been injured. 

“Goddamnit,” The youngest blonde swore. “Where the hell did they come from?”

“Must have been following us,” One of the men reasoned. “Caught Fish in the back.” 

“You thinkin’ they were hunters?”

“Nah,” The first man shook his head. “That was amateur. Probably just desperate for some supplies.” 

“Right, and we aren’t?” The young blonde snorted. “This whole fuckin’ plan was stupid. Never should have come this far into the city.” 

“C’mon, Benny, quit complaining and help me move that jukebox in the corner. We’ve gotta barricade this door.” 

“With noise like that, we’ll be lucky if a damn horde ain’t at our doorstep in a few minutes,” The man, Benny, you presumed, grumbled as he began pushing the heavy machine across the floor. “Fuckin’ scavengers.” 

The third man was knelt on the ground, assessing the unconscious man’s wounds. 

“How bad is it?” The first man called. 

“I’ve seen worse,” He replied, placing his hands against the wound and applying pressure as best he could. He looked around the room in search of supplies, his gaze landing on the bar top. You shrank back, but you knew it was useless. He was on his feet and heading towards the place where you hid in the blink of an eye. 

When he came around the counter, he spotted you immediately, still crouched down on the floor. He was shorter than the rest of the group, with tan skin and greying curls. There was a fierceness in his eyes that told you he meant business. 

“Looks like we’ve got company, boys,” He called. 

You were ill-prepared for the confrontation, clutching the neck of a broken bottle as a makeshift weapon. If it came down to it, you doubted it would do you any good. You weren’t much of a fighter. 

“You know anything about this?” He demanded, unholstering his weapon and training it on you. He pointed to the injured man with his free hand. 

“What? No, I– I don’t know anything,” You shook your head, fumbling for a defense, caught off guard by how absurd the accusation seemed to you. “You broke into my bar, remember?” 

“Could be a trap. You sure you don’t have a buddy in the back that’s about to come shoot at us?” He countered evenly, the gun in his hands lowering slightly so that it was no longer pointed between your eyes. 

“If I was planning a robbery, don’t you think I’d be armed with something a little better than,” You paused, looking at the label of the bottle in your hand, “Peppermint schnapps?” 

At this, the man raised an eyebrow and looked towards his companions, seeming to ask for their assessment of the situation. The two men flanked him, watching you carefully. 

“She ain’t gonna hurt anybody,” The young blonde spoke up. Benny, you remembered. “Look at her, Pope. Poor thing’s scared to death.” 

You glared at him, clearly indignant at his observation. The man with the gun nodded finally, holstering the weapon before retreating towards the injured man to check on him once more.

The older blonde stepped in, holding out a hand to help you up off of the floor. You accepted it, pulling yourself to your feet. “Hey there,” He said with a calmness in his voice as he introduced himself, “I’m Will, and that’s my brother, Benny. Over there, that’s Pope– He’s a little spooked right now, so you’ll have to forgive his manners.” 

He pointed towards the man they’d dragged into the building, currently sitting on the floor with his back against one of the booths by the front wall. Pope was beside him, pressing a bloodied shirt against the wound at his friend’s shoulder. “And that’s Catfish. Look, we aren’t here to cause any trouble, but we could really use your help.” 

You gave him your name in a voice just above a whisper, your attention held by the wounded man. He wore a hat that shadowed his face, but something about his slumped figure tugged at your heart. His friends clearly cared about him deeply. That wasn’t something you came by often in this world, not anymore. These days, it was every man for himself. 

Your grip on the bottle loosened, and you put it away. “I have a first aid kit upstairs,” You informed them, turning back to Will and Benny. “I’ll go get it for you. There’s some clean dish rags under the sink to help stop the bleeding.” 

Relief washed over Will’s face. “Thank you,” He told you, his sincerity clear in his tone.

“Mind if we take this?” Benny asked you, holding up a bottle of whiskey. “I think it’s going to take a little more than those tiny antiseptic wipes to get that thing good and clean.”

“Go ahead,” You confirmed, heading towards the store room to grab the first aid kit off the shelf. Back in the bar, you could hear muffled groans of pain as the men poured the liquor to sterilize the wound. The agonizing sound went straight to your heart, making your stomach twist painfully. It’s been months, but you didn’t think you’d ever acclimate to the suffering you’d witnessed since the beginning of the outbreak.

“Thanks,” Pope murmured when you returned, handing the first aid kit to him. Benny and Will had taken up arms by the door, watching through the cracks in the boarded up windows for any signs of oncoming hordes. 

“Mind putting pressure on that for me?” He requested, taking his hands off of the wound to sift through your meager medical supplies. Your hands replaced his, pressing down on Catfish’s shoulder. His breath was coming out in short, even puffs. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, and a thin layer of sweat covered his face, dampening the hair that curled against his forehead. If the situation were different, you might have found him handsome. 

You looked back to Pope, watching him work. His eyes were focused on threading the needle to begin stitching, and you discovered that his fingers were trembling. It surprised you; these didn’t seem like the type of men who cracked under pressure. This Catfish fellow must have meant a lot to them. 

“Is he going to be okay?” You inquired softly. Pope swallowed hard, nodding slowly. 

“I think so. The bullet went straight through. If we can stitch it up, it’ll be fine, as long as there’s no infection. We should probably think about getting some food in him soon.” 

“That’s good,” You replied, trying to keep your tone optimistic. Infection was as big of a threat as anything these days, but you thought you thought he stood a good chance. A bottle of whiskey and some clean bandages were still miles better than the field medicine most people received. 

When Pope failed to thread the needle for the third time, you held out your hand to him expectantly. “Let me take over. I used to do a lot of sewing with my grandmother. Steady hands.” 

You offered him a reassuring smile, and he reluctantly relinquished the needle and thread to you. 

“Have you been here long?” He asked absentmindedly, sitting back on his heels as you worked. Your eyebrows drew together in concentration. 

“A while. The bar is pretty well stocked, all things considered.” You got the thread through the eye easily, carefully securing it before nudging Pope’s hands aside. You removed the dish rag and took out one of the antiseptic wipes, clearing away some of the remaining blood before you set to work on stitching the wound closed.

“Riding out the apocalypse at the bar,” Pope snorted softly. “Sounds like a nice plan. Wish I would have thought of that one.” 

“I used to live in the apartment upstairs, actually, before everything…” You trailed off, not eager to rehash the beginning of the end. “Well, you know what happened. When the QZ fell apart a few months later, I didn’t really know where else to go, so I ended up back here. I guess the owners of this place didn’t make it, but it seemed safe enough and there are plenty of supplies, if you don't mind beer nuts and pretzels. I’ve been hiding out here ever since.”

“Really? All by yourself?” He frowned. You seem to hesitate, swallowing a lump in your throat before answering. 

“Believe it or not, you and your friends are the first people I’ve spoken to in about two months.” 

“No kidding?”

You shook your head. It was a lonely existence you led these days, so different to the one you had when the city was full of life. 

“That’s too bad,” Pope told you, unable to ignore the pit that formed in his stomach when he noticed the sadness in your eyes. “I don’t think we made the best first impression. 

“That’s okay. It’s nice to meet you, Pope,” You said softly, trying off the final stitch. “Even under the circumstances.”

General Taglist: @theravenreads​​ @marshmallowtraver​​ @computeringturtle​​ @pascalisthepunkest​​ @supernaturalcat7​​ @maythxthirstbxwithyou​​ @artsymaddie​​

Pedro Characters Taglist: @coldlilheart​​ @fuck-goes-on​​

Frankie Morales Taglist: @freeshavocadoooo​​ @fangirl-of-randomness​​ @darnitdraco​

[elvhenfaer]

@tessa1972 First off, thank you SO much 😭😅☺️

Second, yeah, I guess you guys see Amheotil a lot but I haven’t talked about him much, I guess I just didn’t think anyone would be interested.

He’s a complicated man. He overthinks everything and takes things a little too seriously. Definitely affected by the ideas of toxic masculinity instilled in him as a ‘Warrior’ so he’s not exactly comfortable talking about how he feels but he cares way too much about way too many things. This often comes out in moments of overwhelming anxiety when he just can’t keep it in anymore and then he ends up ranting.

That’s why Dorian is really good for him. At first the constant sarcasm drives him nuts but eventually it loosens him up and he grows to appreciate it.

He volunteered for the mission to the Conclave because both of his parents are gone, he has no siblings, and no lover in Clan Lavellan, so he sorta figured that if he died it wouldn’t affect much. His little family unit back home is his two very best friends, one of whom has a daughter he considers his niece, her husband and her sister in law (mostly he loves them because he’s so loyal to her, but he does actually like them). He got picked on as a kid for being friends with the only girl in warrior training and the elf-blooded child in the clan, who everyone else called a Half Breed, but Amheotil’s got a very strong sense of fairness and justice so he just didn’t see a problem with those two because they were still perfectly good people even if they were a bit different.

It’s part of the reason he’s got anger issues, because he’s just mad at the world for it’s inequality. He hates knowing about slavery and alienages existing outside of Clan Lavellan and is very touchy about how the Dalish live in what really amounts to banishment, even if he does think it’s better than living in poverty in human cities.

Because of that, he’s really got a thing for topping Human men. There’s just something about a human on their knees for him that gives him a petty sense of satisfaction. He knows it’s petty, but he still loves it.

That was the initial reason he was infatuated with Dorian. He despises Tevinter but Dorian is just so pretty and the attraction couldn’t be helped. And topping a Tevinter? Yeah, yeah he could be really into that. But Dorian made him wait, which he was not used to, and he developed a soft spot for the mage.

He’s not afraid of magic because the Dalish don’t restrict it like the Chantry does, but he can’t do magic and so he never took an interest in learning about it. He doesn’t understand how it all works, he’s more the type to shrug and just be like ‘eh, magic’ and that’s an entirely acceptable explanation for him. He’s not like Dorian who wants to know everything or be the smartest, which allows Dorian to nerd out and explain everything and he’ll just be like “huh, interesting, never knew that” while Dorian goes on and on. He WILL ask questions or insert things he DOES know when he has something to add. Dorian enjoys the simplicity of that compared to other mages in Tevinter who will turn things into an argument trying to sound smarter than they are. Amheotil is more humble than that, he never tries to make himself out to be something he’s not.

The ‘Herald of Andraste’ thing really bothered him for that reason. He’s no holy savior. He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, but he’s pretty sure it’s not that.

I’m gonna stop typing now, before I talk your ear off. I’ve been writing about this character for about a year now, so there’s a lot I could say. Hope this was all worth reading lol

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby

Day Five: Anyone Can Change A Tire, Right? 

Warnings: Bad Language Words, Hint of Smut. 

Pairing: Ransom x Reader

A/N: We are having so much fun giving Ransom everyday tasks. 🤣 The poor Man Child is really hopeless, but he is giving it his best effort. Just wait till you all see what else @what-is-your-plan-today​, @jennmurawski13​ and I have planned for you all. 

Happy Reading! 

Series Masterlist

“Ransom, I'm running to the store. Do you need anything not on my list?” You call out while you're grabbing the keys off the hook near the door, when Ransom pops from around the corner having heard his name. 

“Yea, cookies. I'm all out.” He said, wiping his hand dry on a dish towel, just finishing up with cleaning up from a light lunch you had made the two of you earlier. 

You narrow your eyes at him, knowing exactly what he wanted, the sweet buttery cookies of his that was your man's sweet tooth addiction, Biscoff. “You are sure we don't have any in the pantry Ransom? Because I swore I ordered some just last week off Amazon.” 

“Yea, last week Y/N. That was days ago, those are gone.” he tossed the towel over his shoulder, hands falling to hips as his brows shot up at the absurdity of your statement. Last week, cookies never lasted that long with him.”I'm sure it's like… I'm experiencing sympathy pregnancy cravings.”  

You looked at him like he was being ridiculous, which he was. “Sympathy pregnancy cravings? Bullshit, you just never been told no. Fine fine, you're like a damn dog with a bone for those things.” You shake your head while heading to the garage muttering to yourself ‘Pregnancy symptoms my ass, why couldn't he have had morning sickness like I did.” 

“Like a dog with those and you Princess.” He retorts with a smirk when you look over your shoulder at him, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and you close the door with a loud snap just so he knew what you thought of that, which he chuckled a bit knowing he had gotten under your skin with his teasing. 

Ransom was thinking to himself what a job well done, he managed to get the kitchen looking halfway decent and got you riled up a bit when he heard the soles of your shoes against the linoleum behind you. Turning, he smirked at you, cocky as ever. “Change of heart? Gonna let me go all ‘dog with a bone’ on you?” He lewdly suggested with a twist of your earlier words on you when you shook your head. 

“First, hell no. Talk about mood killer Ransom, and secondly my car has a flat. Let me have the Beamers keys.” 

His entire demeanor shifted when he heard that, the teasing playboy attitude dropped. “What do you mean a flat tire? Was it flat last night?” 

You shrugged and held out your hand, waiting. “I don't know, I will set up someone to come out and change the tire. But I do gotta go Ransom, our friends are coming over and the store made me a platter that they are expecting me to pick up within the next hour. Can I have the keys, please?” You added an emphasis on the please, wiggling your fingers. “I promise to take utmost care of her, not a scratch.” 

“Why? I can take care of it right now.” Feeling extra confident now, he hung up the towel that was over his shoulder and pulled out his phone. “Just youtube it, how hard can it be?” 

“Ransom, have you ever even changed a tire?” you set your bag down, looking doubtful that something like that could be learned so quickly on youtube, in which he shrugged. 

“People do it all the time.” He settled at the counter to watch the video, while you peeked over his shoulder. 

“You just don't want me driving the Beamer.” You poke at his side, making him hiss and shaking you off. 

“No, I can just have you in your car soon enough. Besides, there isn't really any space in the Beamer for groceries.” He bluffed, and you waved a hand at him while leaving the room. 

“Sure there isn't, let me know when it's all set Ransom.” You laughed, heading towards the back of the house, wondering how soon he was going to give in. 

Ransom was sure to change his clothes and headed out to the garage. His beloved Beamer on one side and then your piece of shit car that he had been begging to get rid of. You though seemed attached to the Subaru and was loath to trade it for something new. Like the Mercedes Benz GLS-Class that he had his eye on. Walking around, he found the flat, and inspected it. The tire seemed to have picked up a nail somewhere. The garage he had fully equipped once he moved in, at the time just so he could show it off to his drinking friends what he had and they didn't. But now it would prove to be useful, he could just hear his mother now. “Just call someone.” 

Well fuck it, he could take care of his family, and rolling his sleeves up muscular forearms, he was ready to prove it. 

It was a good hour later when you went to the kitchen to grab a snack from the refridgerator, and with your hand in the pickle jar, you heard Ransom clang something against the cement floor followed by “Son of a fucking cunt whore.” 

He was pissed. 

You ease the door open to see him with the car half jacked up, the wheel off and bouncing down the length of the garage, with Ransom trying to chase after it. 

“Ransom are you okay?” You ask when it bounces off the bay door and spins to a final stop. Huffing, Ransom grabs it and rolls it back to the car. His arms are streaked black and there's dirt all over his face. The only thing that looks clean are his bright blue eyes at this moment. 

“Fine, peachy, fucking fan-god damn- tastic.” he says sarcastically, and then the tire accidentally bumps into the stool, and on that stool is all the tires lug nuts, scattering them across the garage floor. 

“You vicious little bitch.” He mutters while dropping the tire to its side, looking at the mess made. You take your chances and approach him, biting your lip. Maybe this wasn't the best moment, but those pregnancy hormones had kicked in seeing him do such a filthy job. His hair was sweaty and spiked where he must have ran his hands through it several times, his tee shirt clung to him just right to outline some of the muscles, and sweat streaked down his back. 

Hell you didn't know if you have ever been so fucking turned on in your life, but you weren't about to miss out on it because your husband was getting pissed at a tire. Grabbing the back of his shirt, you caught his attention enough to turn. He was clueless at the moment, but you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down to meet you, lacing your tongue over his lips till he opened to you in a surprised grunt. 

When his head jerked back, he looked down at you in shock. “What the?” 

“Ransom your so fucking hot right now, and I want you.” You stunned him again and your hand tugged at the hair at the base of his neck. “You going to keep me waiting, Ran?” 

“Oh fuck no… “He pulled you back in close and you two shared another dirty aching kiss, backing up till Ransoms back hit the car, making the car wobble unsteady and the jack holding the car up collapsed. The crash made you two spring apart, both with a scream as you both backed away from the car in shock. 

You two looked at each other and you loosened your hold clutching Ransom’s shirt in fright and shock. 

“Ransom, will you let me now call someone, please?” You breathed out in a rush, your heart still pounding as you glanced up at him and he tried to compose himself, but you could see that he was still shook up. 

“You know what… Good idea. How about I drive you to the store in the Beamer instead? Let me just go get cleaned up.” 

“Wait!” You stop him, running your hands up his chest and biting your lip. “Before you do…” You drifted off, your eyes shining a bit more and Ransom arched a brow, the previous fright starting to fade. 

“This is doing something for you Princess?” He scoffed a bit, gripping your hips, letting his fingers dig slightly into the curve while pulling you closer so your bump pressed lightly into his stomach. “What happened to ‘I gotta be there asap Ransom, I can't leave them waiting.’ ?” 

You shrugged, tugging on his dirty tee shirt. “I have never seen this side of you Ransom, and I already called the store, they know we are going to be late.” 

“Well if that's the case.” Ransom got a devilish look and snapped a hand against your ass. “Let’s go pretend we're putting another baby in you.” The two of you heading back into the house, tugging at one another's clothing.

[artificialqueens]

Level Up, Chapter Twelve (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

AN: I can't even lie, the support on the last chapter and about this fic coming back made me so so incredibly happy. If you're still here and reading and leaving reviews, THANK you, I love hearing your thoughts and reactions and it honestly is why this chapter came pretty speedily. Enjoy and tell me your thoughts! Thank you writ for betaing <3

“How on earth are there seven thousand people watching this Instagram live? They got nothing better to do than talk to our sweaty asses?”

Monique’s eyebrows push together in disbelief as she looks at Vanessa’s phone screen, her eyes scanning the comments and it makes Vanessa snort, turning the camera towards her.

“It was your idea. I was perfectly content catching my breath and drinking some water now that class is done, or maybe, y’know, taking a shower,” Vanessa quips, her eyes flitting across the screen as she watches the comments fly by at light speed. “But you wanted to say hi to your ‘fans.’”

“They love me,” Monique tosses her braids over her shoulder, batting her eyes at the screen. “Right, guys?”

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous,” Monet drops down beside Monique on the ground, popping her head in front of the screen. “I’m the one that everyone loves. I mean, how can you not?”

“Very easily.” Monique’s deadpan expression makes Vanessa burst into laughter, shaking her head.

“Y’all are nuts, I swear.”

It’s still strange to Vanessa, the way that this is her new normal. The fact that she can open Instagram and start a live and have an audience, the fact that she can post a picture and have famous people showering her with comments. It’s as if her world has tilted, little slivers of light that are shining upon new opportunities she would have otherwise never been able to see.

Like the fact that Detox has inked her a deal with fucking Fenty Beauty, of all companies, as a brand ambassador and now she has a shoot next week and Rihanna, Rihanna, knows who she is.

Rihanna.

It still doesn’t feel real. Hell, maybe Vanessa actually had hit her head real hard during her last match and the whole period since has simply been vivid dreams while she’s in a coma at this very second. Maybe that’s a more likely scenario.

“Hold up, pass me the phone, I got something to say,” Asia holds out her hands, wiggling her fingers, and Monique sticks out her tongue, handing the phone to her.

“You better be quick. I was having fun with the filters.”

Monet scoffs, nudging Monique’s shoulder as she looks over at Vanessa. “Forget about the filters for a sec. Where are we thinking for dinner? That’s the more important thing to focus on.”

Monique pauses. “Well, see, while I’m a fan of that burrito place we went to last week, it did give me major gas, and I don’t wanna smell up any subway cars on the ride home-”

“Nasty- ”

“There’s a such thing as too much information when the people on Instagram live can overhear you, doofus-”

“As I was saying,” Monique continues, her voice a little louder, “I’m down for some Korean food, maybe. Thoughts?”

Vanessa giggles as Monet shakes her head at Monique, who looks entirely nonplussed. “I’m good with Korean.”

As much as things have changed, from the brand deals and the sponsorships and the people on the street who do a double take when they recognize her, Vanessa’s glad that one thing hasn’t. Her friendships.

She’s not sure how she’d take it if Monet and Monique and Asia started to treat her differently, if maybe they’d think she was a sellout or hate her for having a meme that she has no control over. Her friends don’t pretend as if the whole thing hasn’t happened, either, which she’s sure would feel worse. Instead, they roll with everything, getting excited when Vanessa brings them free sponsored items that show up in her mailbox or scrolling through her Instagram comments and screenshotting the hilarious ones. It’s as if they’re all going through it together instead of just her, and honestly, it feels kind of nice.

The Korean restaurant three blocks away from the gym is one that they’ve frequented quite a bit over their weekly dinners, the booths cozy and a perfect bubble for the gossip they can’t necessarily have while in front of a punching bag. And sure, their last few dinners have revolved around Vanessa’s random celebrity encounters on social media, but today the spotlight is on Asia. Or rather, the grumpy manner in which she’s eating her gimbap.

“I said, there’s nothing wrong. I’d tell you if there was,” Asia mutters, shoving a bite into her mouth.

Vanessa exchanges a look with Monet and Monique. Asia’s the queen of denial, the one who draws attention to problems precisely by trying and failing to hide them. When Asia says that nothing’s wrong, she’s fibbing. Majorly.

“You wouldn’t tell us, you’d stew about it like you are now. So, there’s something wrong. Checkmate,” Monique raises an eyebrow, and Vanessa can’t help but turn towards Asia and nod because hey, Monique’s right.

Asia, though, sulks. “No, there isn’t.”

“Asia. Just tell us!” Monet waves her chopsticks in Asia’s face, who wrinkles her nose. “Did we do anything?”

“No, no, not you guys,” Asia sighs, sinking down lower in her seat. “Not you. You know I’d be quick to beef with y’all if you did something wrong.”

Monique nods. “She’s got a point.”

“Then what? Is it Kameron?” Vanessa asks, and Asia’s expression change is immediate, the way her eyes dart a telltale sign that Vanessa’s hit the nail on the head.

“What’d she do? Do we need to fight her? Though, to be fair, not sure if any of us could fight her. Bitch is ripped,” Monique takes a sip of her drink before she can dig herself in a bigger hole, and it makes Vanessa snort.

“That’s the thing, she didn’t do anything,” Asia scowls, as she grabs another bite. “Nothing at all.”

“Nothing? What do you mean, nothing?” Monet’s eyebrows furrow and Vanessa’s sure that she’s making the exact same expression, too.

“Yeah, what’s nothing?”

“Exactly nothing!” Asia huffs. “It’s been months of us just smacking and that’s all we do, aside from talking about the weather or maybe about Bachelor in Paradise ‘cause she watches that too, but...nothing. We haven’t even been on a date or anything. Nothing!”

“Oooh… ” The way Monique’s realization trails off is comical, and Vanessa has to press her lips together to keep from breaking into a laugh because she does feel for Asia, she really does.

Vanessa’s seen her and Kameron come out from the change rooms or from behind one of the punching bags more than once, the two of them looking ruffled from their little makeout sessions. And sure, Vanessa’s thought that the two of them had more going on. At least, more than what she’s seen with her own two eyes.

But evidently not.

“So you’re waiting for her to make the first move?” Monet gives Asia a look. “C’mon, girl. If you want to date her, then ask her out yourself. Stop waiting around if you want more.”

Monique leans forward. “Yeah, what’s that saying? Follow your destiny?”

“Never heard of any saying like that.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Vanessa clears her throat, trying to shoot Asia a reassuring look. “I think the point that these two are trying to make is that Kameron’s definitely into you, too. She wouldn’t be sticking around if she wasn’t. So what’s the worst that can happen if you ask her out? Maybe she’s shy, or something. Wants you to make the first move.”

Asia scoffs. “Shy? That bitch never stops talking once she starts. I swear, that quietness is totally a facade.”

“There you go,” Vanessa nods, smiling. “See? You know her enough that she’s comfortable around you to loosen up.”

“Doesn’t mean I can ask her out,” Asia mutters, letting out a sigh. “What if she says no? What if all she wants is just this casual not-even-a relationship? What if this is the most I’m gonna get without her running for the hills?”

“And what if she doesn’t?” Monet counters. “Hey, anyone who can swap spit with you for months on end has gotta be into it, right?”

“Nasty. Truly nasty,” Asia grumbles, but her posture is less slouched, less defeated. A little more hopeful.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to feel like she’s using her position of power over you, being a coach, and that’s why she’s letting you take the reins,” Monique ponders, as she lifts up a bite of noodles. “So that she doesn’t feel like she’s pressuring you into saying yes.”

“She really wouldn’t have to pressure Asia at all, she’s jumping at a chance to...” Monet trails off when Asia shoots her a narrow-eyed glare. “Sorry.”

Vanessa reaches out to pat Asia’s shoulder because she feels for her, she really does. “You have two choices, really. You either gotta be happy with this current situation you two have going on with all the smacking and breath mints, or you gotta be willing to take a risk for a higher reward. For a chance of more with her. Though it is a huge risk to take-”

Monet winces. “Vanj, ending on that is not encouraging-”

“-look what you can get out of it,” Vanessa finishes, leaning forward in her seat. “Are you really going to be happy with the absolute bare minimum that you’re getting with Kameron? Is it the way you want things to stay? ‘Cause it seems like Kameron is fine with it.”

“Alright there, Doctor Phil,” Asia grumbles, resting her cheek against her hand, “maybe I’ll talk to her. Maybe, though. I don’t do talking.”

“Tell that to my eardrums who had to listen to you complain about your leggings for twenty minutes straight in the change room yesterday,” Monique mutters, before letting out a squeal when Asia kicks her under the table. ” Ow !”

Asia does look lighter, though, as they head out of the restaurant and towards the subway, a spring in her step that definitely had not been there during dinner. Vanessa just hopes that it’s enough, that Kameron’s feeling the same and maybe Asia’s springboard won’t break from under her anytime soon.

It’s one thing to put yourself on the line, but to risk it all? Vanessa’s a romantic and all that, but she’s not sure that she’d be able to go through with something like that herself if it all went sour.

Brooke’s not really sure of what to make of the way that Kameron’s pacing in front of her closet, to the point where she’s about to wear a hole into the floor. That being said, it is fairly entertaining to watch.

“Y’know you haven’t even looked in your closet yet, right? Aren’t you supposed to be picking an outfit to wear for your d-”

“Don’t even finish that word,” Kameron bites out, holding up a finger and Brooke snorts before taking a sip of her water. “What am I even doing?”

“You’re going out with-”

“Ugh,” Kameron sighs, flopping down on her bed beside Brooke. “This isn’t going to end well, is it?”

Brooke turns on her side, facing Kameron. “Not if you keep dithering like this. You’re putting my anxious self to shame.”

Brooke gets it, though. The way that Kameron’s leg is bouncing and the way she’s unable to keep still are both sure signs that her mind is running at a hundred miles an hour. Considering what Kameron’s about to do this evening, Brooke can’t blame her.

“What if I can’t come up with anything to talk about? What if we just sit there awkwardly and twiddle our thumbs for an hour?” Kameron covers her face with her hands, letting out a groan.

“Is what why you only make out with her in a closet like two teenagers?”

“Shut up.”

“You gotta learn how to have big girl conversations sometime or the other, Kam.” Brooke pats Kameron’s shoulder. “You can talk to me just fine. You can talk to Asia too.”

“But you’re just you. Asia is… Asia,” Kameron mumbles, her voice uncharacteristically soft, and Brooke can’t help but let out a snort.

“Thanks for that non-compliment. Very sweet.”

“You know what I mean,” Kameron sighs. “What if she won’t like me when she gets to know me?”

“You’re a catch. Definitely not my kind of catch, but someone’s kind of catch. Maybe Asia’s,” Brooke dodges before Kameron can whap her with a pillow, grinning when she misses. “Besides, Asia already knows you. You two bicker throughout classes and definitely had things to talk about when driving back from the last tournament. Or was that arguing for the entire drive about the appropriate speed limit on the highway? I can’t remember.”

“You’re terrible at pep talks,” Kameron grumbles, rolling onto her back.

“But you’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Regardless,” Brooke announces, rolling off the bed and grabbing Kameron’s hands to pull her up, too, “we need to pick out an outfit for you. Can’t have you dazzling your star student and date for tonight in your current wine stained joggers. Unless Asia’s into that.”

Brooke gets Kameron into jeans and a tank that shows off her arms and tattoos and Kameron begins to perk up a little at least, looking at herself in the mirror, as Brooke presses an eyeliner pen into her hand.

“Go on. Do your makeup.”

“Do you think she’ll-”

“Yes she’ll find it hot, no you can’t make out with her instead of going on the date. It’ll mess up your lipstick.” Brooke leans back on her hands as she watches Kameron from the bed.

It makes Brooke think, though, as Kameron tousles her hair and slips on a leather jacket and stands a little taller. The fact that Kameron is going on a date with Asia. It’s no secret that the coaches at Brooke’s gym sometimes hook up with the students, despite the fact that it makes Brooke’s nose wrinkle sometimes. It’s relatively harmless, never turning into anything too dramatic. Kameron’s had her own share of them, but this feels...different.

Maybe because Kameron actually cares about impressing Asia, past just the shallow looks and first impressions. She likes Asia and wants Asia to like her too, for more than someone who holds a punching bag for her. Kameron’s toeing the line with Asia from something casual towards something that could be more, and to Brooke, the drop feels real high.

It’s not like they have that much to risk, not really. Sure, a shitty date could make classes awkward for the two of them, though no harm done in the long term. But then why is Brooke’s heart turning over in her chest at the mere idea of it?

She doesn’t know. But she’s going to make her friend look good for her date, that’s for damn sure.

“What shoes?” Kameron holds up a pair of boots in each hand, and Brooke squints as she looks between the two of them.

“The docs.”

“Not too stereotypical?”

Brooke grins. “Way stereotypical. But Asia’s going to eat it up.”

She feels like a mom helping her daughter get ready for her first date. Considering how few dates Kameron has actually been on, how little she takes the leap to get to know people past a shallow level, it somehow feels appropriate.

The sun is beginning to set as Brooke leaves Kameron’s apartment, painting pinks and purples that cast an iridescent glow along the buildings and reflect off of her watch. It’s her second favourite time of the day after sunrise - instead of charging her batteries the way that the oranges and yellows of the morning do, the sunset calms her system, slowing down the thoughts in her brain that go just a little too fast for her liking.

Her phone buzzes when she’s waiting at an intersection, and Vanessa’s name on her screen makes her face break into a smile without her even noticing at first. Maybe it’s just the way that Vanessa’s always so funny, never failing to make Brooke laugh with whatever she comes up with over text.

Vanessa: alert alert Asia is going out with Kam tonight!!!!! Monique and I wanna follow them and see where they go but Monet won’t let us lol

Brooke: LOL. That’s probably for the best. Let the two of them figure it out on their own, y’know?

Vanessa: boooo but that’s boring

Vanessa: Asia said they were going to play something called lob???

Vanessa: tf is that do u know

Vanessa: cuz I thought lob was a haircut

Brooke: Picture mini golf but with small balls that you throw. And without the golf clubs.

Vanessa: haha small balls

Brooke: Really?

Vanessa: IT’S FUNNY

Brooke: It’s a fun game. Went there once some years back and honestly, it feels harder than mini golf. Not that I was good at mini golf.

Vanessa: ok but I’m good at mini golf, does this mean i’d school ur ass if we played

Brooke: Well we’d have to find out and see, wouldn’t we?

Brooke watches the clock at the top of her screen pass by one minute, then another, and Vanessa hasn’t replied, wait, did Brooke say anything wrong? She reads their conversation through again and when her eyes hit the last text…

Wait.

No, it doesn’t sound like she’s asking Vanessa out. Because she’s not trying to. Vanessa’s not, they’re not…

Unless Vanessa’s taking it that way and wants to run for the hills and never speak to Brooke again-

Vanessa: ok lets square up then punk

Phew.

Brooke: Did you just call me a punk?

Vanessa: and what about it??

Brooke: That’s extra burpees for you next practice.

Vanessa: playing dirty!!

Brooke lets out a laugh but it’s more of a shaky exhale than anything else, running a hand through her hair as she walks past the front desk of her apartment building and pushes the button for the elevator. Getting into the elevator alone is a blessing, a chance for her to lean her head back against the mirrors and close her eyes for a second, trying to ignore the way her heart is beating in her chest.

It’s not that she hasn’t thought about it. Brooke has eyes, Vanessa’s beautiful but also now such a good friend but she’s also her student and they’re not like that, they’re not and Brooke doesn’t do relationships-

Ding.

The doors open and it’s almost a relief, in a way, because for a second Brooke gets to pretend that she can leave her worries in the elevator and not bring them into her apartment. But they sweep up on her shore as she unlocks the door, the way they always do when she wants to avoid thinking about something.

Maybe Brooke’s just in her head. Maybe Vanessa hadn’t noticed how her text could have sounded suggestive at all, hell, maybe Vanessa had just been in the bathroom or something and that’s why she hadn’t answered Brooke’s text right away. There’s a million different ways to interpret what had happened, and Brooke’s just working herself up at this point. She knows that.

Problem is, her brain doesn’t always listen.

Yvie’s frowning at a pineapple at the kitchen island when Brooke hangs up her coat and walks into their apartment.

“Not going so well?” Brooke raises an eyebrow at the bent knife in Yvie’s hand and the still-intact pineapple.

Yvie scratches her head. “I really should have just bought the pre-chopped pineapple. But all that wasted packaging, y’know? Figured this was better for the environment.”

“Not for the knife, though.”

“Sadly,” Yvie sighs, letting the knife roll onto the cutting board with a clatter. “I think there’s another one in the utensil drawer somewhere. I’m gonna try again.”

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you look up a tutorial first or something? Maybe there’s an easy way to do it.”

“And ruin the surprise and excitement? Nah,” Yvie shrugs, before grinning. “I’m gonna defeat this pineapple on my own.”

“Have fun with that. And let me know when you’re done so I can have some, too,” Brooke snorts, sitting down on one of the stools at the counter.

Yvie lets out a woo when she pulls another knife out of the drawer, waving it around. “Found it! Nice.”

Brooke leans back on her stool even though Yvie is a good six feet away, because she also remembers the time Yvie accidentally threw a pair of scissors across the room while animatedly telling a story complete with hand gestures. “Careful, Yves.”

“You’re fine. The pineapple is the only one getting murdered tonight.”

“Comforting.”

“Anyways,” Yvie starts, twirling the knife in her hands before lodging it in the side of the pineapple, letting out a curse under her breath. “Is Kameron ready for her date? Did you lend your fashion expertise and all that?”

Brooke shrugs. “Kameron has that part under control. She needed more cheerleading than anything else to actually get herself on the date without clamming up. You know how she gets sometimes.”

Yvie snickers as she yanks the knife back out of the pineapple. “You mean her complete lack of game whatsoever?”

“Yvie!” Brooke admonishes, rolling her eyes when Yvie grins. “I think she’ll be fine with this girl, though. From their constant bickering, they have enough chemistry to warm even Kam up a little bit.”

“Aww. I remember that stage,” Yvie’s face is almost nostalgic, her bottom lip pushing out. “Scarlet and I would always clash in class. Of course, I still found her hot when she was being stupid, but that’s beside the point.”

“And now the only thing you two argue about is about who’s going to hang up first.”

As nauseating as the two of them are, Brooke has to admit that Yvie and Scarlet are kind of cute. The way that they’re making it work despite the fact that they live far away from one another is sweet, as ‘temporary’ as Yvie says their distance is.

“God, I love that bitch,” Yvie’s eyes are almost dreamy, a jarring sight when combined with the knife she’s dangling from her grip. “Speaking of love, what’s the situation with your new lady like? Miss internet sensation herself?”

“What?” Brooke yelps, and the heat that floods to her cheeks is annoying, because from the smug grin on Yvie’s face, she definitely notices. “She’s not my lady. Jeez. I train her.”

“Yeah, yeah. Because that’s what the cuddling on the couch during Chicken Little night looked like. Completely.” Yvie’s look is knowing, too knowing, and it makes Brooke want to fold in on herself, sink under the counter.

“It’s not like that,” Brooke mutters, reaching a hand out for one of the pineapple cubes that Yvie’s successfully chopped and throwing it into her mouth, because it gives her more time to think of something to say.

It’s not. They’re not together, they’re not flirting for Pete’s sake, they’re...they’re Brooke and Vanessa. A washed up coach and an athlete with enough potential and talent and drive to have already made a splash on the boxing world without any professional fights under her belt. Vanessa’s special, more than she knows, and Brooke wants to be the one to nurture that and have a front row seat to her greatness. She’s more than a random person to flirt with and then ghost, she’s more than a sham of a relationship. She’s permanent. At least, Brooke wants her to be.

Desperately.

And not losing Vanessa in the future means that Brooke has to avoid doing anything to ruin whatever it is that they have between them.

“Okay. Tell that to the way you guys were snuggled together like two little puppies or something. It was kind of adorable.” Yvie pops a cube of pineapple into her own mouth, throwing another towards Brooke.

“We weren’t snuggled together,” Brooke mumbles as she chews the pineapple, shrugging when Yvie scoffs and rolls her eyes. “What?”

“So what was it, then? Huddling for warmth? In an apartment with a broken AC that’s always warm, anyway?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Yves,” Brooke lifts up her hands in surrender. “She’s my student. We’re not doing anything.”

“Y’know what I think? I think you don’t know what to tell yourself. And that’s why you’re avoiding thinking about it,” Yvie says, holding up another cube. “Want some more?”

“Don’t you have to go Facetime Scarlet or something instead of pressing me about Vanessa? God,” Brooke grumbles. “Yes to the pineapple, by the way.”

Yvie snickers as she grabs a bowl, filling it with a handful of cubes. “You’re grumpy when you’re forced to confront your feelings.”

“There are no feelings.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Denial may be a river in Egypt, but it’s also very entertaining on you.”

“Oh, shut up,” Brooke groans, resting her cheek on her palm with her elbow against the counter. “Now go have phone sex with your girlfriend while I get my earplugs out.”

“And I’ll enjoy it, thank you very much,” Yvie singsongs as she waltzes into her bedroom, kicking the door closed and leaving Brooke alone in the kitchen.

She’s sure about what she’s said to Yvie. There are no feelings. Well, friendship feelings, and feelings of caring for Vanessa as a person because she’s pretty damn great and a wonderful person, but...not those kinds of feelings.

Brooke doesn’t do those kinds of feelings. Not when they end the way so many other things do, not when relationships don’t ever last the way that they promise to. Brooke doesn’t need her time with Vanessa to end anytime soon.

Besides, platonic cuddling is a thing. Brooke has snuggled up against Kameron’s bicep more than once during their athlete days on the drives to tournaments. Not that it was ever that comfortable back then, but hey, maybe Asia will like it now.

Maybe she and Vanessa can go play lob at the bar one day at the bar that Kameron’s taken Asia to - not as a romantic thing, because they’re not like that, they’re not, but because Vanessa’s competitive streak is adorable. Something that Brooke loves to see but also something that pushes Vanessa to be a great athlete and is almost mesmerizing to watch.

So, yeah. Lob as friends.

Brooke’s going to emphasize the ‘friends’ part when she asks Vanessa. More to calm herself down about it, than anything else.

[lucifers-horror-harem]

Heyy so I was wondering if you could do a nsfw alphabet for Brahms? 🥺

Hey I’m sorry it took me a hot sec to post anything in a while but hopefully you enjoy! I love doing these alphabets cause it helps me get a better feel for the character.

Brahms N/S/F/W Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Brahms is a clingy boy after sex, typically wrapping himself around your body and refusing to let go. You’re his teddy bear and he’ll throw a tantrum if you refuse to snuggle with him afterward. He loves leaving kisses along your neck and jaw and humming so deeply it reminds you of a purring cat.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His hands are probably his favorite part of his. Especially after meeting you and reveling in how you react to his touch. No matter your size he will always see you as smaller and more fragile than him and seeing his big hands gripping your wrists or holding onto your waist always get him going. 

While he would love every part of his partner unconditionally, his favorite part would be their eyes. There’s so much emotion he can see from them, he can tell when you’re happy, worried, upset, or needy. He can’t get enough of the way you look at him with such softness when he is at his most gentle and desire when he is teasing you. And sometimes, he gets a thrill out of the look of fear in your eyes when he is being more dominant and direct with you, liking to see just how much of an effect he has on you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Brahms will certainly make a mess out of you if you’ll allow him. He really can’t decide where he likes to come the best. A few of his favorite places would be your chest, along your stomach and thighs, and inside of you. He gets a rush seeing you covered in his come like he’s laid claim to you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Brahms has loads of dirty secrets, he's lived in the walls for most of his life so everything of his is a dirty secret. But one of the dirtiest that he has is that before he revealed himself to you, he would steal your underwear and watch you through the walls. You wouldn't have to be doing anything explicitly erotic, but anytime his urges got the better of him and when he felt he might lose himself and lunge out of the walls to grab you, he will take your underwear and jerk it off along his cock, the fabric adding much-needed friction for him to satiate his urges and come before he does anything too rash. As he usually makes a mess of your underwear, you find you're missing a lot of pairs frequently, both clean ones and ones from the hamper. Because you know Brahms is a dirty boy and would definitely get off on inhaling your smell as well. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He is a virgin, no question. The most experience that Brahms has is what he's read in the books on his shelves. He most likely hasn't read actual erotica but the books that he's read might have some sexual scenes or descriptions of such things (albeit probably only from very older books that use way too many euphemisms and flowery language). He is also aware of reproduction and how to have sex through diagrams in stuffy anatomy and biology books. As a lot of his knowledge is in a scientific context, he will really need you to guide him the first few times. After that, it's no holds barred. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He has a hard time deciding. Brahms really enjoys missionary so he can pin you down and watch every expression on your face as he pleasures you. However, he is also partial to doggy style because sometimes he gets so worked up that he can’t help but want to take you as roughly and deeply as possible. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Brahms is always more serious during intimate moments, the most he might do is a little laugh as he teases you. He’s not one for joking during sex simply because he is still a little insecure about his abilities, though if you’re with him for long enough he might start to loosen up a bit.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Have you SEEN how hairy this man is??? Brahms has probably never used a razor in his entire life so he's a full wolfman. He also never really had opportunities to clean himself fully like in a shower (the most he probably does is a makeshift sponge bath if even that) so you're most likely going to have to get him used to proper hygiene unless you like a very stinky wall boy. He also wouldn't bother with his body hair on his own unless you offered to trim it for him. A full shave anywhere right off the bat might not be too good either, because he will feel naked and itchy for days. You will have to get used to some hair on him because even if you were offering him kisses as rewards for shaving he wouldn't let himself be completely shaved head to toe. As it is, it'll be an absolute pain trying to get Brahms to agree to you manscaping him below the belt because it is certainly a mess down there. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Brahms is always romantic during intimate moments. Or at least, what he believes is romantic. Most of the time he is simply overwhelmed by his desire for you and if he can manage it in the heat of the moment he will grunt how beautiful and lovely you are in your ear as he thrusts into you, praising and telling you that you’re all his and no one else’s. His heart is in the right place but you might need to help him understand the nuances of romance.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Absolutely. While he might have associations with it being a dirty act from being punished by his mother, he still finds he cannot help himself when he first saw you through the walls. Mostly it’s a way for him to calm himself down and take control of himself again when he feels the urge to reveal himself to you. At first it might begin when he sees you changing or showering, but it could escalate to him just jacking off to you doing simple tasks around the house. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Brahms might have a hard time putting words to describing what his kinks are because he has been so sheltered, but he has far too many to count. Essentially when he finds his perfect person to be the nanny at the Heelshire mansion, his kink will be everything about you. You yourself are what turns him on the most. He’s a huge voyeur, no surprise there. He also has a bit of a size kink because of his size compared to you. Essentially if his partner is involved, he will be down to do or try anything. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He loves dragging you in the walls and having sex with you pinned flush against the wall. While he’s thrusting into you from behind, he’ll make you look through one of his peepholes and tell you exactly what he does while he watches you through them. His bed in the walls is another favorite place, mostly because he can keep you between the wall and him and you would have to get through him if you wanted to get up. He likes having you all trapped for himself. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Honestly, anything can turn Brahms on when it comes to you. You could show this boy a bare ankle and he would instantly nut. But if you really want to drive him crazy, wear revealing clothing. Lingerie, booty shorts, crop tops, leggings, skirts, anything that covers you while also teasing what is underneath. He won’t be able to control himself and he will either pester you all day about giving him attention or simply tackling you on the spot and giving all of his love right then and there.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Absolutely will not share you with anyone else. He refuses to even entertain that notion. On a similar note, he wouldn’t be interested in public sex, not that he leaves the Hillshire mansion anyways, but he refuses to even think about someone other than him looking at you in such a vulnerable position. You’re his and his alone.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He is usually more of a giver. Brahms always wants to make sure you’re taken care of, and as someone who is horny for praise, he gets off on getting you off. And if you tell him what a good boy he’s being? Instant nut. Though he will never turn down oral from you, though he might be a little twitchy about it at first. He’s not used to someone pleasuring him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

When he’s horny and in more of his man persona, he’s all sorts of feral and rough with you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to take his time, he’s just usually so pent up and has such a high sex drive that he can’t help himself. It’s possible for him to go slower but it will take a lot of urging him and a bit more willpower on his end, as well as the promise of rewards if he does.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

All. The. TIME. Since he’s been so pent up for years upon years in the walls, any small action from you will get him needy. If you’re not careful, he’ll bend you over every surface in the house, and then when he’s done will scurry away while you’re sitting there trying to process what just happened, all the while cursing him for making you horny in the process, thus continuing the cycle. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Brahms is hardly a risk-taker in his own life and any sort of change will upset him. Even spending more time outside the walls is tough for him, but once he’s grown used to you the risky behavior he will have is having sex outside the walls or your bedroom. For someone so used to sneaking out of the walls without being spotted and getting reprimanded by his parents, it’s a thrilling experience for him to be so naughty out in the open with no one scolding him for it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

While he isn’t one to last a long time, he can go for as many rounds as he can stand. Since just about everything about you gets him in the mood, he could have just orgasmed and will start getting hard again. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Brahms doesn’t personally own any toys but if you do he won’t protest. The only thing he might not like is if you use them by yourself. He wants to be a part of the fun too, whether he’s using them on you, you on him, or both of you using them together.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He LOVES teasing. Any opportunity to see your flustered expression while you try to scold him is one he will take. Plus he loves seeing just how needy he can get you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Brahms usually isn’t loud at all especially if the sex is slower. He might make a few moans here and there. But when he’s needy for you he will make all sorts of animalistic grunts and groans. He’s less talkative except to tell you how good you’re being for him. He usually gets so carried away that he can hardly speak and mostly just moans in your ear as he ruts into you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Brahms is a curious boy, and on some occasions when he steals your underwear he’s attempted to wear it. Especially anything soft and silky you might own, it’s a different sensation on his body that he isn’t used to and the whole debaucherous act leaves him unable to contain himself. You might have to invest in buying him his own undies. But even then he would prefer to steal yours because they smell like you. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He is slightly above average length but he is also endowed in the girth department. Again, lots of hair down there. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

The easiest way to explain his sex drive is that he is the kind of guy to get hard over any bare bit of skin not covered. He will settle down more the longer you're together, but he still acts like a feral animal anytime he sees you. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He will be out like a light as soon as his head hits the pillow. Get used to falling asleep with his arms and legs wrapped around you and his chin resting on your head. Good luck if you need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

[babbushka]

For the latest promts: 7. "I'm gonna be so late but the thought of not tasting you right this very second just might kill me." and/or 45. "I can't stop thinking about your mouth, and it's driving me nuts." for bond villain kylo, pretty please?

Happy Thanksgiving weekend!! Would you please consider this for Bond Villain Kylo? Please and thank you very much for doing a sinday! 19. "I'm sorry I keep staring, but you're really the hottest thing I've ever seen in my entire life and I don't know what to do about it."

Hello dearest! Wanted to stop by since requests are open and politely ask for a prompt of any of the boys (though i think mob/bondvillan kylo and pale work best) meeting the reader in a lil’ burlesque place, yknow havin a little jessica rabbit moment! Or just something along those lines! Thank you! ✨❤️

2k, minor angst, NSFW (pussy eatin’ & fingering)

He’s got to be here somewhere, you’re sure of it. Kylo Ren, what an enigma of a man, you think as you walk with purpose through the lounge. This was one of those places where criminals of his ilk came to unwind, dark and out of the way from prying eyes. Women and men in risqué costumes performing strictly choreographed numbers for the enjoyment of the wealthiest people in the world, unlimited drinks on a tab that half these criminals never even looked at, and thick steak dinners galore.

You’re watching the end of one of the performances now, politely clapping when the women take a gracious bow. You’re here on an intel mission for someone completely and totally unrelated to your Mr. Ren.

But just because you weren’t here for him, didn’t mean you wouldn’t find him.

Or rather, that he wouldn’t find you.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Speak of the devil, there’s Kylo now, sidling up right next to you in the cozy circle booth you’ve nestled yourself into.

You try not to look at him, because you’re still angry about Paris. Well, maybe angry is the wrong word, but you don’t want to think about the emotional implications of the right word – hurt. Being hurt meant you cared, and you can’t think about how treasonous it is, that you care for him.

“Enjoying the view, what else?” You say instead, sipping your drink to give you something to do. Or at least, pretending to sip your drink. A man at the bar had purchased it for you and you didn’t trust it one bit, but it wouldn’t do to anger a known criminal, so, you’re pretending.

Kylo smirks at your subtle gesture, waves the waiter over. He orders you a proper drink, slips the waiter a hundred, and within two minutes you have a fresh martini passed straight from the bartender to your palm.

Looking around to make sure no one is paying attention to you, you lean in and press a chaste kiss to Kylo’s lips, a silent thank you for always looking out for you. Even if you were still angry.

“I knew you were here the second you walked through the door.” Kylo breaks the silence, lights up a cigarette. The lounge is smoky already, what was one more puff?

“Oh you did, did you.” You muse, running the tip of your finger around the rim of the glass.

“Mhm,” Kylo leans in, his lips tickling your earlobe, his nose brushing against your cheekbone as he murmurs, “I could smell your perfume. You’re wearing the one I left you in Paris.”

“Yes, remember how you left me in Paris?” You bite back, bitterness stinging the back of your throat at the reminder.

The reminder of how he had taken you on a whirlwind vacation for what was supposed to be a week, but four whole days in with no warning, snuck out in the middle of the night off to do his dastardly deeds. You had woken up confused and upset that he would just disappear without a trace so early, and you’re still confused. Still upset.

Kylo’s eyes are soft, the lights up on the stage twinkling and blinking gently as the new number starts, a slow song sung by one of the performers.

“Don’t be sour, I’m here now aren’t I?” He reaches for your hand, and against your better judgement, you let him take it.

The woman sings in a smooth beautiful Italian that has the audience captivated. Your brain very passively translates, but you’re not paying that much attention. She’s gorgeous, the type of pretty that makes your stomach hurt, you think. You wonder if Kylo’s thinking it too.

When you spare a glance his way, you find that he’s got all eyes on you.

“Knock it off.” You bite back a grin, pleased to see that he’s so enthralled. He blushes, ducks his head bashfully.

"I'm sorry I keep staring, but you're really the hottest thing I've ever seen in my entire life and I don't know what to do about it." Kylo whispers, and it’s like the pain in your chest from Paris has vanished, replaced with the longing you have for him…the desire you have for him.

“I think you know exactly what you’re going to do about it.” You whisper back, licking your lips slowly, purposefully.

Kylo looks up then to check the coast being clear, and then presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Count to ten, then meet me in one of the red rooms.” He says, and then he’s away from your side, disappearing into the dark.

They’re the longest ten seconds of your life, but you wait for them to pass, before you too are leaving your table and the drink behind. You weave through the lounge a different way than he had, just so it wouldn’t be too obvious. Down the back hallway and to the private rooms your feet carry you – and when a strong hand grasps at your arm when you pass one of the red doors, you know you don’t have to be afraid.

Kylo is kissing you, walking you backwards the moment he catches you, and you let him. Your arms wind around his strong shoulders, your feet step out of their heels, your eyes slipping closed. It feels so right to have him like this, to have him right here in your arms where he belongs. It’s a dangerous thought, but it floods through you anyway, the relief of holding him this close.

“I can’t stop thinking about your mouth, it’s driving me insane.” Kylo chuckles against your lips, and you grin, your ego stoked. Knowing you’re on his mind is intoxicating, and it’s good payback for all the space he occupies in your brain.  

“Have your fill of me.” You encourage him, the back of your knees bumping against the nicely made bed. You sit right there on the edge, tugging him down down down with you, your tongues sliding together, mouths parting, lips panting and gasping against each other.

“Lay down?” Kylo murmurs, already loosening his bowtie.

“We can’t have sex here.” You shake your head regrettably, but he waves the thought off. He wouldn’t fuck you in a place like this.  

“No, no I know -- just let me eat your pussy for a little while, please?” His eyes are so big and pleading, brown in the low light of the red room. He throws a look to the clock on the wall and sighs, “I have a meeting and I'm going to be so late but the thought of not tasting you right this very second just might kill me.”

You roll your eyes and bite your lip with fond exasperation, before falling backwards the rest of the way onto the mattress and letting him kneel in front of you.

He pushes the skirt of your cocktail gown up, his strong arms slipping around your thighs as he nuzzles his cheek against your skin. He kisses and sucks a little trail to your folds, tugging aside your panties just enough that he can swipe his tongue through you, licking up your slick and juices.

“Fuck, that’s good.” You moan with a happy sigh as he plunges his tongue into your cunt, thrusting shallowly as his nose rubs and teases at your clit, “Oh god Kylo – your tongue.”

You can feel him smiling against you, a smile that turns into a great big grin when you tighten a fist in his hair, your back and hips arching up into his mouth. He sucks and licks at your pussy, one of his hands holding your lips open, making out with you and sending jolting shivers of pleasure up your spine. Your head is fuzzy in the best way, and you let out a gentle gasp when he pulls away enough just to fit two fingers into your cunt, tongue lapping up around them.

“You’re so sweet,” Kylo murmurs, kisses your inner thigh, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your clit and stimulating it while his fingers crook inside of you, stretching you wider to take more of his tongue. It’s long, and he has every intention of making you come on it. “Angel, baby girl, this pussy’s so sweet. Like wine, summer wine.”

“More, I want more.” You card your fingers through his hair while your chest heaves, nipples stiff inside your bra, the friction only making your pussy wetter for him. You whimper and whine, lipstick smudging from how often you lick your lips.

“Shh, shh angel, relax for me.” Kylo soothes you, speeding his fingers up some more, spreading them in little scissoring motions, thrusting them in and out of you.

It isn’t long before he replaces those fingers with his tongue again, the hot wet muscle spelling out his name against your walls, making you sweat, making your toes curl. You hold him in place, refusing to lessen your grip, wanting him to drown in your cunt. He chuckles, the sound deep and vibrating up into your very being, ricocheting through your bones, as your pleasure mounts and mounts and mounts -- until you’re coming into his mouth with a moan.

Kylo drinks you down, until he’s sure that you’re finished, your body shuddering and jolting gently on top of the covers. He cleans you up with his mouth, sucking your oversensitive skin until that slippery slide of slick is gone.

“Do you really have a meeting?” You breathe, chest aching.

That’s how this went, wasn’t it? You meet up, you fool around, and then someone leaves. More often than not, it’s him, that’s how it goes. That was the very nature of the relationship and it worked…didn’t it?

A small voice in the back of your head was starting to pipe up and quietly say, no, it wasn’t. But what you want, you can’t have, not yet anyway.

“Yes.” Kylo sounds regretful, and you wonder if he’s got the same thoughts in his head, the same voice egging him on, telling him to leave everything behind and run off with you, the way yours does every day now. He doesn’t say it, if there is. Instead he caresses your cheek with a sweaty palm and reassures you with, “Don’t worry, I’ll find you after.”

“I might not stick around.” You challenge, stretching the stiffness out of your legs, easing them back down into a more relaxed pose.

“There isn’t anywhere that you could go, where I wouldn’t follow.” Kylo says seriously, the kind of seriousness that he doesn’t often show you, let alone in moments like these.

“That’s creepy.” You reply, just to lighten the mood.

It works, he chuffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes.

“No, it’s romantic.” He counters, only to be met with a raise of your brow. He puts his hands up in surrender, amending, “For us, anyway.”

“Go to your meeting.” You nudge him with your foot, not wanting him to go at all.

He can tell, you know he can, with the way he hesitates. You shoo him playfully, and eventually, he steps into the bathroom to wipe off his chin, wash his hands. You listen to the water run, and think about how domestic of a sound that is, how domestic it could be.

But neither of you were domestic, an agent and her criminal, and so when Kylo steps back into the red room and lingers in the doorframe, when he smiles at you with his bowtie all crooked, you’re not too sour. You get up off the bed on shaky legs and make your way to him, undoing and retying the bowtie so it’s perfectly presentable, and he kisses you sweetly.

It’s just like he said, he’ll always find you, and you’re certain that you’ll be visited by him again real real soon.

[yikeswtfmate]

Bet?

It’s All Fun and Games Series Masterlist // main masterlist // next part

Summary: The gang plays Monopoly. Y/N is losing.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: swearing; one sexual reference

A/N: i am obviously not speaking from experience when i say that monopoly is the devil’s game; short one but i loved writing it!

The noise from 15B doesn’t seem to subside, although it’s nearing midnight. There are only 4 lights turned on in the entire apartment – one forgotten in the bathroom, after Bucky leapt out as fast as possible in the possibility of Sam stealing his $500 note that he’s left on the table, one in the kitchen where Wanda is trying to make some popcorn but failing at understanding Steve’s  microwave, and two lamps in the corners of the living room, where there’s a huge debate on whether Y/N can skip paying the luxury tax just because one of the dice slipped from her hand.

“No, I am not losing this fucking game, just because you reinforce rules whenever it suits you!” Y/N shouts, finger pointing in Sam’s direction.

“But it slipped from your hand!” He retorts. “You were rolling it!”

“I’ve let you not give me the full rent when you landed on my Boardwalk and this is how you repay me?”

“Ok, settle down, guys.” Steve interferes, before they start wrestling (as it is known to have happened last time). “Y/N, you’re gonna pass Go in your next round anyway. Just mortgage something.”

“Boy, it’s about the principle, not about what’s the easiest way around.”

“You have no principles.” Wanda chimes in. She sits down next to Nat on the sofa, rearranging the blanket on their legs, and hands her the bowl of popcorn. Both of them look at Y/N with half-amused half-accusing expressions.

“You’ve offered to suck Bucky’s dick for one last dollar that you were missing when you landed on his space.” Nat points out.

“Well, how the fuck is it my fault that he has three fucking hotels next to each other and I’ve landed on each?” Y/N’s hands shoot to the ceiling, frustration rising.

They all know how competitive she can get whenever they play Monopoly, and although the girls had decided a long time ago not to play with her anymore, preferring to just watch and comment as referees, Sam likes to laugh at her for how bad she can be at the game, regardless of the thousands of times she’s played it. Bucky and Steve were just goaded into it, with the promise of the loser having to do their dishes for a month, and they figured their chances were pretty big considering Sam’s complete lack of strategy and Y/N’s competitive rage that does nothing but blind her.

“Just declare yourself bankrupt.” Sam says, an ironic undertone to his seemingly considerate remark.

“Bitch, I’ll die before I lose to you.” She seethes, fingers going white as she clutches the coffee table.

“Ok, ok, that’s enough.” Bucky pries her hands open, and clutches them in one of his. He takes one $100 note from the bunch he has in front of him and places it in the box between him and Steve. “She paid it, now move on.”

“You can’t do that!” Sam yells, smirk falling from his face.

“Yeah!” Y/N shouts as well. “You can’t do that! I want to win this fair and square!”

“I’m helping you out, just say thank you and move on.” Bucky sighs, slapping her hand that reaches towards the box. “You can give it back after you pass Go if you’re so desperate.”

“No.” Y/N sets her jaw and tries to lunge herself over Bucky, only to be easily stopped by his strong hands around her arms, practically forcing her into a human straitjacket.

“Sam, your turn now.” Bucky says, completely unfazed by Y/N’s efforts to break free.

Wanda throws some popcorn at Y/N’s head, not missing her target once, which only makes her grumble and lash out more. Bucky is relentless, and having already warned Y/N once to stop thrashing out, he just manoeuvres her like a puppet until she sits between his legs, arms wrapped tightly around her. In the meantime, Sam builds another house and Steve ends up in jail, but Nat puts on an episode of The Office which immediately draws their attention from the boardgame to the tv.

Bucky leans on the armchair behind him, loosening his grip on Y/N, now that she’s closely following an episode that she’s already probably seen countless times. Such a baby, he thinks, amused by her inability to focus on anything else when it comes to her favourite show.

As the episode progresses, so does Y/N’s body mould itself into Bucky. It started with her drawing nearer, her back pressing into his chest, then her head rested on his shoulder, and now her hands find his in order to interlace their fingers. Her hair tickles his collarbone, but he doesn’t mind; she’s keeping him warm. She moves her head up and to the side, until her breath fans over his jaw. If he would look down at her now, their lips would be an inch apart, his mind provides.

“The worst thing about prison was the dementors.” She whispers in time with Michael.

Bucky’s chest starts rumbling under her with a suppressed laugh. She giggles quietly, returning her gaze to the tv. Another stray popcorn hits her head and Y/N groans, grabbing the nearest thing to her (Sam’s top hat on the board) and throws it in the direction of the sofa, only to land in Steve’s hair. Bucky and Y/N both watch in fascination as Steve just pats his left ear, completely unaware of what just happened, and continuing to watch the episode. They look at each other, mouths pressed into thin lines, barely holding in their laughter.

“Five bucks he’ll find it when he goes to sleep.” Bucky whispers in her ear.

“Are you nuts? With the amount of hairspray that he’s got going on, he’ll find it in the shower tomorrow.”

“Bet?” He offers, luring her in in one of their usual games.

“This is too easy and I’ll win. Higher stakes?”

“You’ll go with me at my cousin’s wedding next week.”

Y/N looks up at him again, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I thought I already agreed to that.”

“You’ll have to pretend to be my girlfriend so I can finally get my sister off my back.” Bucky shrugs.

“Bet.” She concedes, offering her pinky. Bucky grabs it with his own and they shake once.

He knows he’ll win the bet, mainly because he’ll be the one creeping into Steve’s room when everyone’s gone to let him know there’s a Monopoly top hat stuck in his hair.

***

Taglist:

@imma-new-soul​ | @feelmyroarrrr​

[anotherashley]

Give Me Thunder // 1988

Summary: When you’re part of rival fraternities the last thing you’re supposed to do is fall for the enemy, but then, Patrick’s never known anyone like Jonathan Toews before.

*

In retrospect, Patrick really should’ve known better.

Homecoming is a huge night for most fraternities, including his own, the Delta Chi house. They’re known for going absolutely balls to wall with the planning, preparation, and execution of their parties. It’s an event. An evening to remember if you will. And where’s Patrick? Wedged in some hallway at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon mansion drinking shitty overpriced beer from a keg, sweating his nuts off, and listening to fucking Chumbawamba playing from their high-priced stereo system.

This disgrace of a party deserves no attendees, and yet, the house is packed, every little inch and every single corner filled with Sigma Alpha brothers, their dates, and friends. A house of garbage monkeys. A house of ill repute.

"It's not that bad," Dayna says, exasperated.

Dayna, the reason he’s in this shithole in the first place.

Patrick narrows his eyes, watching her and the room suspiciously. "Oh, but it is, my friend. It is."

“You’re overreacting,” she says and grins.

Patrick frowns. He’s not usually one to get overheated, but it’s like a sauna in this joint. He pulls at his tie to loosen it, listening to some Billie Eilish song come on next. "I can't believe you made me come here."

"And I can't believe you wore a hot pink tie when I told you specifically I was wearing a royal blue dress, so I guess we're even."

Patrick surveys the slinky strapless number she’s sporting and his own shimmering tie. It’s not...awful. "I think it looks good together,” he shrugs.

She snorts. “You would.”

“I'm taking that as a compliment.”

“It's not one,” she fires back.

“Hurtful.” 

Dayna’s fun and gorgeous, wicked smart. They met last spring in Linear Algebra and became fast friends, partly out of necessity because the math department was full of dull assholes, and partly because they got along so easily. There’s this pressure to find dates for every Greek event, someone to hook up with or to show off, and Patrick just wanted - wants - to relax, hang out, have a good time and not be plagued the entire night with what might happen at the end or if his date will be disappointed. It’s why he asked Dayna in the first place - there are no strings. 

He hadn’t really counted on her betraying him in this obscene of a manner, however. Sigma Alpha? Really?!

“I'm sorry,” she says, rubbing his shoulder, but she seems distracted. She’s been looking off into the crowd as if she’s trying to find someone, ever since they arrived. 

Patrick tickles at her arm to get her attention and when she turns, smiling, he says. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“Will you forgive me for ditching you? Because I'm about to do that too.”

Patrick blinks. “What?”

She scrunches her nose, just a little, and takes his wrist as if in apology. “It's not you, it's me.”

Patrick barks out a laugh. “You're not serious. Here? Now?!”

“I know,” she says, and begins patting his hand like she’s his goddamn grandmother or something. “I'm the worst, but it's really not you.”

“It must be a little me.”

“It's mostly Brent.”

Patrick gasps. As far as reactions go, it might be slightly overdone, but still. “Brent Seabrook? A fucking Sigma Alpha. Dayna!”

Dayna manages to at least look contrite. Sort of. She drops his hand gently. “I can see you're mad. Understandable. I'm gonna go...over there. And hopefully, when I see you Monday you'll be less mad. Bye Pat!”

“Bye Traitor!” he yells. He hopes the whole party hears it over the awful music playing in this awful house on this awful night.

Patrick watches her walk over to a table with a group of guys centered around Seabrook. They took up camp there shortly after Patrick and Dayna arrived. And more and more people have gathered around since. People always seem to gravitate to Seabrook, so Patrick really shouldn't be surprised that Dayna is too. The guy is huge in that cuddly bear sort of way, but with perfect hair, and the kind of laid back attitude that most people never really achieve.

Too bad he's a fucking Sigma Alpha.

God.

Patrick hates Sigma Alphas.

He's not joking when he tells this to everyone, and he means everyone: from the freshman rushes to his TA, Marian, from his Tuesday-Thursday biochem lab, to Lee, his favorite delivery guy, to generally anyone who passes him on the street. Sigma Alphas are self-obsessed, shitstain, egomaniacs, that ruin everything and have no concept of fun. They’re the absolute worst.

So, of course, it only makes sense on this wreck of a night that Patrick runs into the very worst one of them all after Dayna abandons him.

“Amazing,” a smug voice says from behind him.

It’s truly unfortunate Patrick recognizes that voice so well seeing how he can’t stand Jonathan Toews. One of life’s evil jokes, apparently, because Toews is the very embodiment of gum under his shoe, or a flat tire on a rainy day, or some other horrible Alanis Morissette analogy.

The point is...he’s terrible.

Patrick turns slowly, already annoyed when he sees the amusement written all over Jonny’s stupid, grinning face.

“It's not you, it's me,” he mocks. “I didn't know that was a thing people actually still said.”

“Well, that’s what happens when no one will go out with you, Toews,” Patrick fires back with a wink. “No one talks to you.”

Jonny’s smile fades. “Says the guy who just got dumped.”

They’re not exactly standing near each other, but the music is loud and to keep from shouting Patrick takes a step closer, having to tilt his head back just a bit when Jonny moves in too.

“At least I had a date.”

“A date that dumped you for one of my friends.”

Patrick clenches his fist at the smug expression on Toews’ stupid face. “What, you think you can do better?”

“I don't think, I know I can do better.”

“Oh really,” Patrick scoffs.

“Absolutely,” he says. “I could get any girl’s number in here before you.”

It’s a ridiculous statement. Inane. Besides the fact that Jonny has a clear advantage since this is his house and he probably knows half of these girls, it’s a dumb bet to make to prove he’s somehow, someway, better at not getting dumped. Which was the original argument? Maybe? Fuck, Patrick isn't even sure any more he’s too pissed off.

But he takes one look at Jonny’s smirking face and knows he’s going to rise to the challenge. He hates himself a little for not being able to just walk away.

“Go ahead then,” Patrick says, sealing his fate. “Show me your moves.”

Jonny eyes him, nonchalant. “You couldn't handle it.”

“Couldn’t handle what? You haven’t even declared a wager yet. That confident in your moves?”

Jonny straightens his back, stands tall, and pauses for a moment like he’s gathering himself, then he looks down at Patrick, down into his goddamn soul and smirks, calm, confident, cocky. “Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Uh,” Patrick says, confused.

Jonny moves in closer, the corners of his mouth curving up and up as he leans in. “I’m here now. What are your other two wishes?”

Did he just…?

Patrick laughs, can’t help himself. “Good god that’s an awful pick-up line. F minus. You’re supposed to be impressing me - I mean her, dude. That just makes you look like a stuck up jackass.”

Jonny’s brow furrows, displeased. “Okay, what about: Does your left eye hurt? Because you've been looking right all day.”

Less awful, but Patrick can do better. “Are you a 90-degree angle? 'Cause you are looking right!”

“Was that a math joke?”

Patrick glares. “Maybe.”

Jonny snorts.

“Don't shit talk math.”

He waits for Jonny to say something else, now that Patrick’s exposed a weakness, but instead he taps a finger against his chin, as if in thought again.

“I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?” he tries.

Patrick shakes his head. “Do you know what my shirt is made of? Boyfriend material.”

This time Jonny laughs, vivid and real, and it brightens his whole face in a way Patrick’s never seen before, not this close up. His eyes are almost black in this dimmed corner of the house and they sparkle when the light hits them. He takes another step in, closer, so they’re just a foot away from each other. When he catches Patrick’s gaze he says low, voice softer, “I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I wouldn't forget a pretty face like that.”

Patrick swallows and pulls at his collar. It’s really fucking hot in this house. It probably shouldn’t be this hot in September.

“That’s um,” he coughs. “That’s not terrible.”

“It’s the one,” Jonny says, lips curving.

He’s more pleased with himself than he has any right to be, the arrogant dickbag. He thinks he’s already won this thing and they haven’t even ironed out all of the details yet.

Patrick purses his lips. “Anyway, what do I win if I get a number first?”

“You have to win first.”

Patrick steps forward, determined, until they’re only inches apart and whispers, “Watch me.”

Jonny doesn’t cede any ground, tall and looming, too casual. He makes Patrick’s skin itch in the worst way. If he could just get Jonny to break,  just a little, it’d be worth all this shitty night has wrought upon him.

He shoulders past Jonny roughly, using his upper body strength to edge Jonny a step back as he passes. It’s a small victory, but he relishes it as he looks around the room for a willing participant. Almost everyone is already clustered in groups or pairs so the pickings are slim. He’s about to turn into the next room when he sees two girls tucked away against a bay window, one texting on her phone and talking, the other, curvy, cute and brunette, looking bored beside her.

She’s wearing one of those side strap dresses that are incredibly sparkly, and her feet are shoeless. When Patrick steps up to her, smiling, she’s still almost as tall as him.

“Hey,” he says, cool, calm.

He’s got this. No problem.

“No,” she says, bored expression unchanging.

“I just-”

“No,” she repeats. She’s not even looking at him, which is a little rude.

Patrick drops the chill guy act and goes for something more sincere, genuine, as he bites his lip.

“Look, you want to maybe-”

“No,” she says again, this time sharper. “No, go away.”

“Well, alrighty then. You have a nice night,” Patrick salutes her, spins on his heel and walks away.

That was a dumpster fire.

He can already see Jonny laughing from across the room. Goddamnit fucking bullshit fuck. A weak-ass effort, and of all the times.

He trudges back to their original spot expecting the gloating of a lifetime, but Jonny has his chin tilted up and is already passing Patrick by, headed for somewhere and someone in particular.

Patrick’s eyes trail him, riveted to the way Jonny moves through the crowd like he owns it, as if the room bends to his will.

There’s a petite strawberry blonde with black gauges in her ears and dark red lipstick painted on her mouth, chatting with some skinny kid that's clearly trying too hard. She turns to Jonny when he steps up, her smile curious, but her arms crossed. Patrick can't look away, watching them talk back and forth, the way her expression shifts from curious to suspicious to amused. He barely says more than a handful of words to her before she’s writing her number on his palm.

And where did he even get a pen? Did he just have the pen on him? Who carries pens on a night like this?!

“How the fuck…,” Patrick murmurs to himself, and receives a weird look from one the Sigma rushes, as they walk by. 

Before Patrick can blink Jonny’s returned, standing straight and smug in front of him as he holds his hand up.

“Here ya go, slick.”

Slick? This guy is so lame. 

Patrick sighs. “Double or nothing?

“No way,” Jonny says. “Don’t filch on the bet now, Kane.”

It was worth a shot.

“Fine,” he shrugs, mentally preparing himself for whatever humiliation is about to come his way. “What do you want?”

Jonny hums. “Loser gives winner a blowjob?”

Patrick tries to replay the words Jonny just said, again, like it’s a recorded message and if he can listen to it closely enough he’ll understand. They’ll make more sense if he can hear them one more time. 

There might be a 404 ERROR message currently running through Patrick’s brain.

He needs a rewind button. 

He can’t...

He...

Patrick coughs his way into a laugh. “Uh...what?!

It's not that it's a secret either of them are into guys. Patrick's seen Jonny around campus getting friendly with both men and women more than a few times. Still, it's quite the leap to assume Patrick, a Delta Chi, and therefore a superior species is interested in him, a mere peasant.

“Are you serious?” he asks, still laughing. It might be a bit of a hysterical laugh. It’s pretty high pitched.

Jonny doesn't look insulted, the cocky asshole. His expression is more impatient, if anything, as he steps into Patrick's space and says, “Do I look like I’m fucking with you?”

Not yet, Patrick thinks and feels his dick twitch. Jesus. It's too goddamn hot in this house. Sweat gathering at his temples and his tie too tight around his neck. He pulls it looser and tries to shake off his jitters.

“That's a bold assumption you're making, dude.”

“Are you saying you don't want to?” Jonny asks.

The truly gross part is how Patrick only hesitates a second before looking him over, really takes a moment to let his eyes wander up and down the length of Jonny’s long body, his muscular arms, the broad shoulders, the ruddy tint to his cheeks, the sculpted jaw, his pink lips and dark brown eyes. The kind of eyes that are warm and so so intense, and currently trained all on him.

On Patrick.

Patrick’s traitorous dick thickens in his pants, his own body enacting a mutiny upon him.

He swallows roughly. “Uh...no.”

“Let’s go up to my room then,” Jonny says.

Patrick should leave. He should leave.

Instead, he follows.

*

Walking up the stairs to Jonny's room the only thing Patrick can think about is that he wishes he'd had more to drink. He’s not even buzzed enough to realistically blame this error in judgment on alcohol. But he refuses to blame himself either so it's pretty obviously all Dayna’s fault, and Brent Seabrook’s. Which means it's Sigma Alpha’s fault. 

So there, the world makes sense once again.

The upstairs is less crowded than the rest of the house, most of the bedroom doors shut, probably locked to prevent outsiders from fucking on house members beds. Jonny’s room is at the end of the hall, tucked away next to the bathroom. Jonny lets them both in, ushering Patrick inside first and flipping the lock behind them.

It’s a single, which shouldn’t be surprising since Jonny is the Sigma President, but it catches Patrick off guard all the same. He has to take a few beats to gather himself as his gaze travels over the room. It’s every inch what Patrick would’ve expected, from the collection of Apple products scattered over his desk to the trophies and medals pinned to his bookshelf. There’s an econ textbook on his dresser beside his overpriced watch and Armani cologne. Sports gear looks to be thrown in a pile by his closet almost artfully. It’s like his bedroom is a set for a fucking Abercrombie and Fitch ad. Patrick gags a little. Almost.

If that was all there was to Jonny in this room Patrick wouldn’t be surprised one iota. But it’s not.

There’s also framed photos of his family everywhere, pictures of him fishing with his brother, of their family dog, of his grandma knitting him a Christmas sweater. The floor is a mess with socks and crumpled paper, a thousand post-it notes of things he’s written to himself tacked up everywhere. He’s got anatomy posters on his walls and a signed Canadian hockey jersey framed over his bed, the forest green sheets are rumpled and soft to the touch when Patrick takes a seat on his bed. It’s a bit much to take in all at once especially with Jonny’s attention still on him as he removes his tie and unbuttons his shirt at the collar.

“I need a drink,” Patrick says, warm everywhere and restless.

Jonny pulls an unopened Absolut Vodka bottle from his dresser, unscrewing the cap, and handing it over.

“Here,” he says, and begins rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I don’t have any clean cups.”

“Anything to chase it with?” Patrick asks, staring at the veins running along Jonny’s toned forearms, the skin golden and his hands large.

“You need a chaser?” Jonny says like it’s a dare.

“Oh fuck off,” he mumbles, shrugging out of his own jacket. He fists the bottle by the neck, using his free hand to wipe at his sweaty brow, averting his attention. He takes a breath, in and out, feels the way his stomach flutters. “Bottoms up!”

Jonny snorts as Patrick takes a long pull. It tastes horribly bitter and burns all the way down his throat. He takes another drink, and then two more, and then again one last time for good measure.

When he hands the bottle over to Jonny he licks his lips, catching a stray drop of vodka at the corner of his mouth and utterly staggered by the way Jonny’s staring at him, eyelids heavy and pupils blown wide.

The overhead light is turned off, just a small desk lamp left to softly illuminate the room, everything a soft yellow glow.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Patrick mutters, even if the idea of it all seems less crazy now with a glass of vodka in his system and Jonny’s bare forearms in view.

“Or you can’t believe you lost?” Jonny volleys back, taking a few swigs of his own.

“Do I have to choose?”

Patrick reaches for the bottle again, wiggling his fingers in a ‘gimme’ gesture. Jonny holds out the bottle for a moment, offering, but the instant Patrick actually touches it Jonny snatches it back, teasing, baiting.

“No,” Jonny says, low. “But you could come closer.” He tilts his chin up, gesturing Patrick to him, movements like dripping honey.

There’s this tension in the air, something that’s always been between them, but it’s different now. No less heavier, but still challenging, still stuck deep underneath his ribcage and tight. It’s sizzling through his skin now, making goosebumps pop up all across his overheated skin. He waits, just long enough to see Jonny shift on his feet before he stands - until they’re both standing. It’s a little victory, but he enjoys it, even more for the way Jonny meets him in the middle, stepping into Patrick’s space again and slotting a leg between both of his.

Jonny’s legs are long, full of thick corded muscle and his thigh hot to the touch. When it presses up against Patrick’s dick he can’t help the way a small gasp escapes his lips.

“This is so stupid,” he says, even as he pushes closer.

“Is it?” Jonny murmurs, rocking forward until they’re chest to chest, faces only a breath away.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate you,” Patrick says, huffing out a laugh at the absurdity of the question, of this entire night.

“Well,” Jonny, says, nose barely grazing the edge of Patrick’s jaw and the sensitive spot behind his ear. “I hate you more.”

Patrick shivers. “Impossible.”

“You wanna bet?” he chuckles.

He’s so goddamn annoying Patrick wants to shove him away and storm out. He wants it so bad he can taste it, the tips of his fingers practically tingling. So it makes absolutely zero sense that he fists his hands in Jonny’s dress shirt, yanks him close, and spins them both around to tumble back onto the bed.

“Just,” he groans. “Just shut up and let’s get this over with.”

Jonny stretches his arms wide, crosses them under the back of his head as he spreads his legs. “Pretend all you want, Kane, but I know.”

“Know what?” Patrick asks, settling between Jonny’s tree trunk thighs and unable to keep his eyes off the considerable bulge in Jonny’s pants.

“You’re hard too. You want this too.”

His voice is a deep timber and it slides over Patrick like a silky wave. Almost calming despite Jonny’s provocative words. He wishes he could deny them, flip the script on Jonny and show him he’s not as hot as he clearly believes he is. The truth is he can’t. His own dick is a hard line inside his boxer briefs, the need to rub himself over the bedding becoming a problem he won’t be able to avoid for very long. Especially not with the way Jonny’s stupidly perfect body is right within reach of taking.

“Stop talking,” Patrick snaps, fitting his hands over Jonny’s hips and moving them up. He can feel the buzzed flush at the tips of his ears spreading down his neck. Jonny’s own throat is covered in a glossy sheen of sweat and smooth enough to lick. Fuck.

Patrick frowns.

Jonny mimes zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key. It’s disgustingly endearing and Patrick gives up any pretense right then, gives all the way in. 

He reaches for Jonny’s pants, opening them up and then peeling Jonny’s silver-gray boxer briefs over his hips and the plush curve of his ass, his cock slapping back against his stomach. There’s foreskin, which is new. Not much, just enough to cover part of the rosy-colored crown. Patrick's never been with an uncut guy before. That's not what causes him to pause. Jonny’s cock is long too and so so thick, fat enough it’s difficult for Patrick to get his fingers around. The tip is slippery wet and perfectly shaped. It’s an unfairly gorgeous dick, as far as dicks go. Patrick wonders if he can hate a guy for being so well endowed while still wanting to see exactly how far he can deep throat him. It’s not a question he thought he’d be asking himself on Homecoming night.

When he takes Jonny in hand he’s pleasantly surprised to see the way his hips arch up off the bed, just a tiny sign of need. Patrick runs his hand up and down the smooth length of him, dragging up the foreskin and pulling it down as he goes, then thumbs over the slick slit. Jonny hisses, moaning in the back of his throat and Patrick grins to himself evilly.

He could do this all night, he thinks, as he works Jonny up with the twist of his hand and the tongue that’s swiping out over his lips. Leaning down to lick a stripe up the length of him from root to tip he relishes the way Jonny keens, reaching out and then digging at the sheets instead. Patrick does this a few more times, just to see the way he silently begs for more.

All of it has his own dick leaking inside his pants, balls tight and snug. He presses into the mattress for relief as he mouths at the head, breathing over it hotly, but not taking it inside.

“C’mon!” Jonny growls, impatient.

Patrick hums wickedly and doesn’t move. “Ask nicely.”

“Fuck you,” he spits, propping himself up on his elbows.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Patrick sings, biting at his lip. He tries not to imagine another time, another deal, where it could happen, where Jonny could be the one pressing Patrick down into his mattress right now and filling him up.

Jonny whimpers a little, hand coming up like he wants to yank Patrick down on his cock, before falling to his side again. “Will you just...please?”

He says it almost sweetly, his expression shifting into something soft, earnest. It could all be a play to make Patrick do what he wants. It’s embarrassing how well it works.

Sucking Jonny down is overwhelming. He tastes salty and hot and he’s heavy on Patrick’s tongue. He can only take so much inside, working by half inches as he bobs up and down in a continuous rhythm. When he can feel Jonny at the back of his throat he’s still got one hand inelegantly stroking the base where two could fit. He can’t take much more, even with his truly enviable skills.

It doesn’t seem to matter anyway as the movements he’s making are enough to have Jonny arching off the bed and groaning deeply as he comes. There was a half-assed warning in the flapping of Jonny’s hand, but Patrick doesn’t let up, sucking him down until he’s jerking weakly. He's not really sure why he swallows, he certainly doesn't owe it to Jonny after all. That was never part of the bet. But it might be the way his own dick aches when that first splash of come hits his tongue, filthy and tangy, so clearly all of Jonny. Or it might be the way Jonny's eyes roll back in his head when he sees Patrick suck harder on the crown, instead of pulling back, shuddering all over and letting out a breathy punched out ‘fuck’. He’s not sure why and he’s not going to question it further. Instead, he eases back lazily, wiping at the edges of his mouth and watching Jonny stretch out across his bed, murmuring happily.

“You're welcome,” Patrick says, heart pounding and skin prickly.

“Oh yeah, thank you,” Jonny smiles, eyes closed. “That was great.”

“I know.”

“Mmm. Made me all sleepy.”

Patrick watches him settle back into his pillow, body slack, relaxed even with his shirt askew and his pants still unzipped. “Are...are you actually falling asleep?”

“I could.”

“Right now?”

“Why?” Jonny asks, breezily. “Did you want something?”

Was this guy for fucking real?

“Nah, man. I'm good. See ya later,” Patrick bites out, twisting to move off the bed. He doesn’t make it far.

“Shut up and c’mere,” Jonny laughs, looping his arms around Patrick's middle and pulling him back down. Then he kisses Patrick long and bruising, stealing all the air from his lungs and licking the taste of himself off of Patrick’s tongue. “Your breath smells like dick.”

“Your dick.”

“Mmm yeah, it's good,” Jonny says, and sucks on Patrick’s bottom lip for another few long beats.

“You're a weird one, Toews, but you're hot as fuck.” It shouldn’t be said, but Patrick can’t not say it. His buzz is really starting to kick in now.

“Thank you?” Jonny asks like he's unsure if Patrick's insulting him or not.

Patrick nods, dizzy drunk and skin tingling. “You’re welcome.” 

A large hand settles hot over his cloth covered dick, rubbing in circles that make Patrick whine with the need for skin on skin. Luckily Jonny doesn’t make him wait, flicking open his pants and shoving his hand inside until he can grasp Patrick good and tight. He’s a sticky, wet mess, precome slick all over his boxers. Jonny uses it to ease the way, grip firm and surprisingly deft. He leans close to bite at Patrick’s bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth again as Patrick shudders out his release. It’s better than it has any right to be.

When Jonny pulls his hand free he licks some of the come from his palm, lapping at it slowly, making a show. Patrick's so mesmerized he doesn't realize Jonny's wiped the rest of the jizz on his thigh until he feels it start to seep through the material.

“You're fucking rude,” he spits. Or tries to with the way he’s attempting to catch his breath.

“You liked it,” Jonny grins, still smug as ever.

“That second rate handjob? I've done better with a bottle of Jergens on my own, pal.”

Jonny flips over onto his front, throwing an arm over Patrick’s middle as he pushes his face half against his pillow, lips just inches from Patrick’s temple. “You know how I know you’re lying?”

“Mmm?” Patrick mumbles, limbs heavy and the room a little spinny. Maybe he needs a quick nap before he hikes it the fuck out of here. Just a quick catnap.

“Every time I touch you...you tremble,” Jonny whispers.

Patrick doesn’t shiver.

He doesn’t.

Because if he did that would be embarrassing and this night has already ruined him.

He’s wrecked and he can’t think about it.

Patrick lets his eyes flutter shut, let’s himself float into the hazy warmth of it all and doesn’t think, only murmurs, “You wish.” And then he’s blessedly asleep.

*

Patrick wakes the next morning to a buzzing in his pocket and a dull headache. Jonny’s knocked out beside him, breathing deep and pressed heavily along Patrick’s side. His face is soft in sleep, all of his edges rounded out, gentle. There’s no conceivable reason why Patrick should spend any time looking at Jonny or even be in Jonny’s bed. He shouldn't have landed himself here in the first place, and yet here he is, still, easing himself out of the enemy’s bed, and his room, and making the walk of shame home stained in disgrace.

It’s lucky Sharpy called him when he did, early enough that Patrick can escape the Sigma house without being detected. He’s not even sure what he’d say if he was caught or what they’d do to him, especially if Backes or Kesler were the ones to cross his path.

There’s other people out walking at this hour too, if only just a few. Patrick passes a couple of them on his way down the block. They look as unkempt as he feels, hair ruffled and clothes out of place. The sun is too cheerful bright the sky too blue for his dehydrated mind to process and he realizes he’s still got a come stain on the side of his pants, chalky and stiff to the touch. Awesome.

The Delta Chi house, when he walks through the lawn to the front door, looks a bit worse for the wear after last night. There are streamers and Solo cups strewn across the yard and trailing inside. Patrick kicks past some glittery confetti shit, pulling his phone from his pocket as it buzzes. It’s Sharpy again. His tenth text since last night and three missed calls. Yikes. Who’s about to get a lecture? Two thumbs for this guy.

Patrick considers trying to evade him for a few hours, maybe take a nap first. Unfortunately, he only makes it to the staircase before he’s caught.

“Where the fuck were you last night?” Sharpy says, face pinched and a mostly empty bag of trash in his hand. “You were supposed to help me with the pledges or did you forget?”

“Oh shit,” Patrick sighs. “Sorry, man. I...yeah. I totally forgot. Dayna dragged me to a Sigma Alpha party and well....”

Sharpy’s eyes go comically wide. “Sigma Alpha?!”

“Yep. And then she sorta bailed”

“The hell?” Sharpy says, stepping up to him.

The house has brothers scattered all over it in various levels of passed out, most of them too drunk to know better because if they did they’d be up safe in their rooms and not out in the open where anyone could mess with them. Shawzy’s plastered on the leather couch in front of the flat screen, some cartoon on that he’s probably seen twenty times before, Chaunette’s head pillowed on his lap. Phil’s smoking a cig by the window, even though he knows he’s likely to incur the wrath of their house mother for it. Buff is spread eagle on the floor, underneath the fancy shag rug that Soupy left them before he graduated last fall, a girl on each side of him. What a pimp. And on the green couch is G-Money, drooling from the corner of his mouth, and a dick in the shape of a J, for his first name, scrawled across his cheek.

Patrick’s going to have to wake him up in a minute. Hopefully, he doesn’t puke everywhere. 

“Yeah,” he shrugs in Sharpy’s direction. Then he sighs.

Sharpy chucks him on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. But wait. Why didn't you just come back here then? Did you...you got laid, didn't you? Aww Kaner, good job, buddy.”

His smile is so weirdly proud that Patrick has to shove him away with an eye roll. “Stop acting so surprised, shithead.”

“Was she hot?” Sharpy waggles his eyebrows.

“He was...very,” Patrick admits, even if he’s not sure why.

“Nice. Name?”

“Uhhh.”

The thing is Patrick could tell Sharpy, probably. That it was a Sigma, that it was Jonny. He’d catch no small amount of hell for it, but Sharpy wouldn’t actively judge him like the rest of the brothers would, at least not in any real way that would have consequences. The downside of telling Sharpy would come when he inevitably opened his fat mouth and told everyone Patrick’s business, probably by accident, but that would be moot once it slipped out.

So Patrick knows he can tell Sharpy, but he won’t. Instead, he shrugs, mind still too fuzzy sleep worn and foggy from the alcohol.

“Did you at least suit up?” Sharpy asks, like he’s Patrick’s father.

“Umm,” Patrick says, fidgeting under Sharpy’s scrutinizing stare. How's he supposed to tell Sharpy no, they had not, in fact, used a condom, because Patrick didn't want latex between his tongue and that gorgeous cock? But he’s pretty sure if anyone is squeaky clean on this campus it’s definitely Toews' lame ass.

Sharpy frowns and digs in his pocket, pulling out at least five foil packets. He shoves them into Patrick’s hand. “Hey! No glove no love, okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Won't happen again.”

They break off after that to begin cleaning, Patrick shuffles to the kitchen to grab a few black garbage bags and collects empty Solo cups and balled up napkins off the floor. Other brothers slowly join in, if a bit reluctantly, grumbly and moaning about headaches and begging to know where the Tylenol is located. Once the majority of the mess is under control Patrick leaves the rest of the pledges to it and escapes upstairs for a long needed nap. On his way he passes a framed picture of the unofficial house rules.

RULES TO NEVER BREAK (EVER!) (unless you’re shawzy and don’t give a fuck)

don’t sleep on the green couch. you’ll wake up with a dick drawn on your face.

never let a Sigma in the house

don’t leave your shoes by the door, they’ll be thrown out.

laundry days are on friday. wash your fucking clothes you, filthy animal!

the strawberry yogurt is kaner’s. don’t touch or he’ll glue your ass to the toilet seat. right, shawzy?

sharpy gets the TV every thursday from 7pm-9pm for The Bachelorette. no, you can’t watch your shitty Cardinals game. DON’T ASK.

I repeat, never let a Sigma Alpha in this, our home and refuge

if reggie is around feed reggie.

stop putting forks in the microwave, you morons.

david backes is satan. never look him directly in the eyes.

312-664-7440 Dominos Pizza - ask for Malynn NOT Bree for the 25% discount

DON’T ASK ABOUT THE GRASS

don’t give carbomb grey goose after midnight. or you’re cleaning the second story bathtub.

Seriously. Under pain of death DO NOT let a Sig into this house or you will forthwith be banished from the kingdom.

He taps his finger against the glass of the frame as he passes it by, a reminder to himself where his priorities lie.

In his room he face plants on his bed and dreams weird dreams of being kicked out of Delta Chi, then college, then his parents' house to live a lonely, shameful life on the streets of Chicago all because he let Jonathan Toews put his dick in his mouth. When he wakes, more clear-headed and less hungover he makes a vow to forget last night and never think of it again, like it never happened.

It’s for the better. It has to be.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chapter 23

"When I'm in a bad mood It's good to know I have you You got niggas from your past that still ain't pass you But you're on my time But you're on my time now, and our past through

Now that we finally got them out the way All the decisions that I wanna make I want your body in a million ways Nobody ever makes me feel the same…"

DVSN—"A Muse"

Erik practiced playing poker online. When work was finished with Tony for the day, he would take himself to his apartment and cook a simple meal of plain brown rice with sautéed vegetables and boneless skinless chicken breasts.

Food consumed, he'd check personal emails, call his grandfather, and then hunker down on his laptop and play three hours a night. He was going to use the money Tony paid him that he had saved to get him in at the bottom: half a million dollars. Minus the other half a million he gave away to his family, he was willing to bankroll his spot at the high stakes poker table with no help from Tony.

Work had gotten serious. After Tony's cover story appeared in Forbes, the focus of his company turned toward escalating weapons manufacturing, and Erik finally saw the bread and butter of Stark Industries. His days were spent working with Tony at his subsidiary company AccuTech designing a new missiles system that he called Jericho X. The man spent hours of brainpower trying to create an experimental model that he wanted to manufacture and have on the market within five years. Inking a new contract with the United States Armed Forces, Tony was under pressure to deliver the hot-launched missiles sooner than the five-year deadline he gave AccuTech. The man was hands-on and Erik's education at the Naval Academy was useful to him. Erik had the mind of a soldier, and his training was meant to prepare him for his forthcoming Naval career. Those military eyes helped him on the job.

Erik had to concede once more that Tony was a smart motherfucker and his focus on work was just as laser-sharp and obsessive as Erik. Working around him on the Jericho X project was eye-opening and the long hours pushed Erik's mind to its limits. He was allowed to work at AccuTech and give up a lot of his assistant tasks which he was all for. He acted with restrained professionalism, and that allowed him to hang around after hours to do his own experimentation with the vibranium.

It did take the heads of AccuTech a couple of weeks to be accustomed to a Black teen having so much access to a secret project. If he had been some lanky white teen with an overly ingratiating personality, no one would question his presence. He would just be viewed as a white boy genius and "Atta boy!" accolades would've been thrown at him along with pats on the back. Instead, he was a Black boy genius faced with bias and suspicion. He endured the usual bullshit just so he could get his hands on equipment, testing space, and cutting-edge STEM knowledge.

Sitting on his bed and winding down from playing online poker, he checked out the housing available to him at M.I.T. In six months, he was leaving for grad school and he was already designing his life there. He checked out restaurants and clubs, searched for areas that had Black people and Black cultural things he could access. He searched for any capoeira spaces and the ones he found were white-dominated and he wanted Black people to practice with. He needed Black touchstones to keep him sane after his experience at the Naval Academy and Stark's internship.

Checking the M.I.T. website he found an alumni link that helped new students transition to the Institute. A few hyperlinks found him peeping the on-campus radio station, WMBR, that served the Cambridge-Boston area. Listening to a few archived music shows, he stumbled across one that was deejayed by someone called ButtaFly. The show was called Cosmic Café and when he listened to the first ten minutes, he immediately bookmarked it and added it to his listening rotation. The music was Blackity Black and spanned generations, and the DJ did live mixes that had Erik head bobbing.

For two months he laid on his bed from twelve midnight until two in the morning just being carried away by the sounds and also the voice of ButtaFly, a woman who made Erik's entire body relax. She opened her show with a positive quote or a bit of poetry and then she had themes that she created stringing songs from the field hollers of Black chain gangs to the Black Neo Soul of 90s British R&B, or any type of current African diaspora music she could blend with Hip Hop, Deep House, or Electronica.

He tried looking up personal details or even pictures of ButtaFly, but she was a hidden ghost, just words and rhythms and vocal soothing that helped him sleep before heading off for the grueling hours of AccuTech.

She became his brain muse, expanding his mind so he could juggle the science he worked with every day.

Stretching on his bed, Erik closed his eyes and put in his earbuds.

"As-salaam 'alaykum, Beloved. Welcome to the Cosmic Café. I am your host, DJ ButtaFly bringing you that good nourishment, that savory food for your mind, body, and spirit. Tonight's theme is going to run us into the realm of quantum physics. A little Afrofuturism to get us through Black History Month…"

Erik felt his shoulders loosen up and he closed his eyes. He tried to imagine what type of face went with the sultry voice blessing his ears. The modulations and changes in tone she used as she spoke hypnotized his ears. Muscles throughout his body relaxed and he wondered what kind of musical journey she would take her listeners on that night.

"I want to open the show with a piece from a sister whose work I adore, Alexis Pauline Gumb. I feel like someone out there needs to hear it. I know I do. This is taken from her book of experimental poetry called 'Dub: Finding Ceremony'. This particular joint is called 'Commitment'. Are you ready, Fam?"

Erik nodded his head as he grew more comfortable, slipping deeper into a state of mental ease. He rolled his right hand down his chest and rested it on his stomach. Lying nude in the dark he could almost hear his heartbeat.

"We promise to wake you if we think you won't get the point of the dream. We promise to show up if you show up. Everyday. We promise to make you feel sick if you lie to yourself. We promise to let love through if it's love you came to do…"

Soft. Soothing. Safe.

Her voice cradled and held him in a warm place. She wrapped his thoughts around her words.

"We promise to make time flexible if you give us your time. We promise to think of you more often than you think of us. We promise to remember you when you forget. We promise to be wherever and in everything you haven't noticed yet. We promise to be we, even one by one…"

Erik's body floated. He was still firmly pressed on his bed, but the eternal part of himself seemed to rise above his tired flesh and hover at the beckoning of ButtaFly's mouth thousands of miles away.

"We promise to outsmart your mind. We promise to overlove your heart. We promise to echo over your voice. We promise you everything. Everything. All we ask."

An image formed in his mind.

Full lips. Feline eyes. Skin rich and dark and made for touching and deep kissing.

His hand slid to his manhood.

ButtaFly spun dreams, drums, and breakbeats, sounds and rhythms that kept him floating above himself even as he stroked a growing erection in his hand. He tried to create a more detailed rendering of what he imagined the DJ to look like, but as pre-cum beaded at the tip of his swollen glans, his brain substituted Devika's face and body as a placeholder and he ran with it.

He tugged hard on his dick, keeping a tight grip right under the ridge of his tip. He imagined Devika's ass wiggling as he slapped his dick on her ass cheeks. ButtaFly's music urged him on and when she spoke to her audience about the songs she was about to mix in next, he latched onto her voice and grunted hard.

"Fuck!"

His hand was slick and more pre-cum spilled onto his fingers.

"Fuck this dick!"

"You ready for more?"

The haunting track ButtaFly flooded his ears with dragged him to the edge. He jumped up and turned over on his bed. Grabbing his pillow, he jammed it under his waist and ground his dick on it, pumping his hips as his glutes flexed hard. Eyes squeezed shut he conjured up images of a shapely ass clapping loud because of his thrusts.

A disembodied voice had him humping his pillow, the casing growing damp from the amount of pre-cum he was shooting out from his sensitive tip. He jammed his right hand on top of his erection to create a tunnel, allowing him to pretend he was in ButtaFly's pussy. His hand was slippery and he pushed down on the pillow to get more friction. The music in his ears was made for fucking and he thrust harder imagining some tight pussy yanking on his dick as his balls pounded into a nice soft ass. She sounded like the type who could throw it back on him and make him cry because it was so good. He lost it then.

He yelled like he was knee-deep in gushy pussy.

His thighs grew taught and his orgasm rushed across his ass and up over his back and neck before any semen flooded all over his pillow and sheets. A long groan blew out from his throat as he rubbed out another smaller nut. His fingers touched the pillow. The whole thing was soaked and sticky.

Leaning on his thighs he threw his head back to stretch his neck.

The moment he got to M.I.T. he was going to look for that DJ. There was no way in hell she could make him cum like that and he not find out what she looked like. His dick was still hard, and she kept the music going. He reached for his cell and searched through some old files. He pulled one up.

Athena.

She allowed him to film her as he hit from the back while she held onto her bedroom dresser. He watched Athena's big titties hang down and bounce in the mirror as he pounded her pussy. Jacking off again he allowed the music in his ears to narrate the fucking he watched himself do on his phone. Cradling one overly full breast in his hand on film, he watched his video self cum inside of her, calling out her name as she released on his dick screaming his. His eager hand worked his dick on the bed, the hard strokes slowed down until his cum splashed all over his stomach. He fell back on the bed feeling wiped out.

During his lunch break the next day, he downloaded the book of poetry, ButtaFly shared from the previous night, and read the piece at least five times. The words resonated with him. And they did something else: reminded him of his purpose.

Inside the work labs at AccuTech, Erik studied the mock-ups of new guns and smart weapons. He toyed with experimenting with vibranium and creating sonic weapons.

"We promise to outsmart your mind."

The line of the poem came back to him.

Staring at the new gun design that Tony had posed with on the Forbes magazine cover, Erik thought of converting it and somehow using the properties of the vibranium on it. As he listened to the best weapons designers grapple with the Jericho X missile prototypes, Erik memorized what he saw so that he could sketch it out later in his apartment. He wanted to compare it to the designs he saw in his father's old journals. He asked to work on the Stark sonic canon, a non-lethal long-range acoustic device. Granted permission to do so, he studied how the LRADs could be modified with the ideas he had swimming in his head. He looked for cheap and easy ways to mass manufacture devices that could be shipped around the world undetected. But he had to figure out how much vibranium it would take to modify Stark's LRADs. He only had six months left to absorb all he could.

He stayed diligent with his work and Tony visited AccuTech often giving his thoughts on their progress. Stark was preoccupied with some politicians giving him grief, and also preparing for the new batch of summer interns. He stripped down the number of interns he would have from 100 to fifty. That meant it would be even more competitive. Summoned to Tony's Los Angeles office from Palos Verdes where he had been working, Erik stepped into the outer sanctum and found Devika speaking to some assistants from other higher-ups. She took one look at him and paused for a long time. He realized then that they hadn't seen one another for a couple of months, his time spent in Palos Verdes cutting off contact between them in person.

He was about to step into Tony's office, but she held up a hand signaling for him to wait. When the assistants left, she walked over to him.

"Hey," she said.

"Hi."

Her eyes stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time.

"What?" he said feeling self-conscious.

"Something about you is different."

"How so?"

He sat on her desk.

"There's a swagger about you that is different…hmmm, more confident maybe?"

"When have I ever been less confident?"

"You look…good. Sophisticated."

Her eyes flitted away from his face. She was acting bashful all of a sudden.

"How's Wyatt?" he asked.

Her eyes regarded him carefully.

Wyatt was her new boyfriend, an older dude from Seattle she met at a mixer in Los Feliz.

"He's doing well. Thanks for asking."

He let his eyes linger on hers. She was still checking him out.

"He better be treating you like a Queen. Let me know if he doesn't," he said moving off of her desk and heading into Tony's office.

"Stevens. Good, we can get this intern stuff sorted. Come with me."

Tony swept past him and Erik followed. They only went around the corner from his office and into a mid-sized conference room. Pepper was inside the space along with two other executives Erik was not familiar with.

"Awesome, we can finish up now," Pepper said.

Tony and Erik took a seat at the end of the oval conference table facing a blank wall. Pepper handed them touchpads and turned on a floating screen.

"We've narrowed down applicants to just under three hundred. You need to choose who you want to be interviewed."

Erik and Tony scrolled CVs on the touchpads. So many names.

They painstakingly went through every CV, staring at applicant photos floating in front of them. Tony was open to Erik's suggestions, and this fact alone opened up the pool of applicants from ones Tony would've overlooked from his own biases. He tended to court favor with those from Ivy League schools and who had the same boring backgrounds. Mainly white and East Asian applicants who all did the shit that they thought would make them stand out. How many classically trained pianists/violinists who played La Crosse, Tennis, Chess, and water polo did one need? Sometimes too many extracurricular activities signaled a follower. A simp that did things not because they enjoyed it but because it padded their resume. He forced Tony to consider graduates from non-Ivy Leagues, those who did community-based work where they lived. More women applicants of color, especially Black and Latinx ones. He even suggested Tribal Colleges and lower-tiered public universities and colleges. He also mentioned looking at people who didn't have perfect Dean's Lists grades.

"I tell you what. I'll give you three weeks to open up the pool and bring in those types of potential interns you suggested. Pepper, give him access to the advertising bulletins," Tony said.

"That's cutting it close, Tony, we need to have interviews lined up and applicants chosen by the beginning of May."

Pepper and the other two Execs looked annoyed.

"Stevens can get it done. Give him the bulletins," Tony said, standing up.

Erik followed Tony out of the conference room.

"Let's go have lunch," Tony said.

Tony drove them to a restaurant in Pasadena. A small French café with excellent crepes filled with savory meats and sauces.

"Are you enjoying AccuTech?" Tony asked.

Erik nodded as he chewed a forkful of chicken masala crepes.

"I'm getting good reports about you. You've adjusted to the pace."

"It's cool. The LRAD work is right up my alley. That's what I'll study at school. Hands-on work will have me ahead of the curve."

"Grimaldo keeps hitting me up. He is ready for this re-match."

"I am too,"

"You sure you don't want me to bankroll you?"

"Nah."

"He tends to be at his best on his home turf."

"I'm good."

"Some things to know…"

A waiter brought over a glass of wine for Tony and sparkling water for Erik.

"We will be among a lot of royalty. I know you have excellent sartorial choices, but I need you to step up even more and have some formal clothing for at least a week—"

"A week? We'll be gone that long?"

"I'm making some business deals while I'm there, so work will be happening. You can use that time to work on the intern stuff. Pepper isn't coming with us, so I will slip you back into your old personal assistant role. She'll guide you from here. You'll need to be extra discreet while we are over there, and also be prepared for last-minute changes."

Erik ate his meal and listened.

"You sound kind of nervous," Erik said.

"Not nervous. This Jericho deal is very important and we'll be among some other industrialists and even some nefarious characters that want to see me fail. Things have to be tight and not attracting negative attention."

Erik nodded.

"I like the things you brought up at the intern meeting."

"Pepper and the others didn't sound so delighted."

"They'll get over it. It's why I put it in your hands for new outreach. Hey, are you sure about leaving for school after August?"

"Yeah. Gotta get that graduate degree."

"You should stay on at AccuTech."

Erik shook his head.

"M.I.T., Navy. That order."

Tony finished up his wine and glanced at his watch.

"Back to work," he said.

Erik stopped at Tony's office before picking up his car in the Stark garage. Devika was alone there, and her eyes seemed to light up when she saw him again.

"How was lunch?"

"Good. What do you want me to bring back from Monaco for you?"

"You don't have to bring me anything—"

"I want to."

"A t-shirt is cool-"

"T-shirt? That's so gauche. I'll bring you something classy."

"Don't spend a lot, Erik."

"I'll bring you back something that won't make your man jealous. How 'bout that?"

"Okay."

He smiled at her. The aroma of her perfume hit his nose suddenly and the scent took him back to her bedroom and the smell of her on his skin.

"I'm out," he said walking away quickly.

When his work was over for the day, he spread out on his bed nude and slipped on his earbuds.

"As-salaam 'alaykum, Beloved. Welcome to the Cosmic Café…"

Erik's muse took him away once more. Soothed his spirit. Steadied his mind.

He was ready for Monaco.

###

Chapter 24 HERE.

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes​​ @soufcakmistress​  @cherrystainedlipsbaby​  

@tclaybon   

@thadelightfulone​

@allhailqueennel​ @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot​  @shookmcgookqueen​ @yoyolovesbucky​

@raysunshine78​ @the-illlestt​ @terrablaze514​  @l-auteuse​ @amirra88​ @jimizwidow​  @janelledarling​

@chaneajoyyy​  @sweetestdream92  @purple-apricots​  @blackpinup22​  @hennessystevens-udaku​

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade​ @bugngiz​ @stariamrry​  @honeytoffee​ @meilintheempressofdreams​

@tyees​  @eye-raq​  @writerbee-ffs​  @chocolatedream30​  @childishgambinaa​  @mygirlrenee​ @thewaysheis​—awkward

[starryseo]

purify. [3/3] | seo changbin

the gif has absolutely no relevance but holy shit it’s beautiful

pairing ↠ changbin x gn!reader genre ↠ humour, fluff, the boys are Bad Bros wc ↠ 2550 summary ↠ the gang comes to your rescue. naturally, chaos ensues. warnings ↠ swearing, a lot of dirty jokes (this is peak dumbassery for the boys)  a/n ↠ please don’t do any of this at home. but if you do, let me know how it goes!

read:  mess (part one) | mayhem (part two) | PURIFY

series masterlist

Fact: Seo Changbin was not a tall man, by any means.

And yet taming this wild beast of a boy was no easy feat - especially after Woojin, Taekwondo maestro and Kendo wizard, took a knee to his nethers and was out of the game.

Changbin had headlocked Jisung who, in turn, had kicked out reflexively at Hyunjin which had Hyunjin toppling over onto Seungmin. And now, Seungmin was sitting on Hyunjin’s back (as he screamed about how he can’t fucking breathe with this bitch on me), punching his ass and Jisung was turning redder than a hot chili. Jeongin was, thankfully, recording this from a safe distance, so when the day was over and done with, none of you ever forgot the beautiful memories that transpired on this fine evening.

You were nursing Woojin back to health, but Changbin had landed a solid kick to his nuts and he was still whimpering in pain as you held an ice pack to his unfairly-thick thighs - the poor, poor man - and you made sure to add kick bin’s tic tac to your to-do list. Nobody hurts Woojin and gets away with it.

Chan, who had been underneath Changbin this entire time, has stopped screaming - you’re pretty sure he’s unconscious now - and it takes Minho and Felix both pouring water over Changbin for the chaos in front of you to stop.

Jisung’s wheezing filled the room and Changbin was heavily panting out his frustration. “I’m not," he huffed, “a demon. Now- fuck off.”

“You’re an-” a loud, shuddering inhale from Jisung, “an asshole.”

“Holy shit,” - holy shit, Chan was alive! - “your bony ass was stabbing me.”

“Serves you right,” Changbin gloated, finally moving off of Chan to slump against the sofa.

“We’re adding squats to your workout,” Chan continued, rolling over before wincing and rolling back, “Someone massage me, please, I think I’m dying.”

“Stop being a baby,” Seungmin replied, and it was only then that you all noticed he was covering Hyunjin’s mouth with one hand and pummelling Hyunjin with the other.

“Oh, fuckin’ hell, get off him,” Minho laughed, making no move to actually help Hyunjin out.

You pulled Seungmin back by his shoulder and he easily fell off of Hyunjin, giving the other boy a blissful reprieve from a brutal spanking.

“I need a massage, too,” Hyunjin groaned, tenderly rubbing his ass and recoiling, “holy shit, this burns, what the fuck, man?”

Seungmin shrugged, “You hit me first, man. War is fair shit, y’know?”

“That’s not how the saying goes, you prick.” Hyunjin’s pout had you aww’ing, sitting down cross-legged in front of him so he could rest his head on your lap.

He sighed and nuzzled in further, placing your hands atop his head, urging you to massage him. You snorted but acquiesced, running your fingers through the strands, “Want me to kiss it better, too?”

“Yes please, babe,” Hyunjin replied, eyes closed and mindless tracing shapes onto your leg.

Changbin kicked Hyunjin’s ass after that which had the latter gripping your thigh reflexively and growling, “What the fuck?”

Your mind couldn’t even begin to process how hot that sounded - seriously, you’d seen Hyunjin proudly burp the alphabet, yet this one moment had you weak in the knees?

Pathetic.

“Y/n’s my babe, duh,” Changbin shrugged and you rolled your eyes when he shot you a wink.

“Bastard,” Hyunjin grumbled, sighing out and closing his eyes once more.

“I hate to interrupt this cute-as-shit moment between you all, but are we forgetting why we came here?” Felix questioned, hands on his hips, looking like a disappointed Superman because everyone was relaxing instead of un-demonising Changbin.

A second outbreak ensued after Felix’s announcement - his words had somehow enlivened them all, Woojin leaped up, Hyunjin and Seungmin tag-teamed and took down Changbin, Chan’s back pain was still there, sadly - but this was much more successful than their first takedown attempt.

You stayed on the safe side once more, massaging Chan’s shoulders - holy shit, the man was broad - and maybe your hands slipped to feel his biceps but neither of you were complaining; you’re pretty sure Chan was flexing, just to show off, too, and damn, was that a great life experience. You prayed to God that nothing would ever make you forget the feeling of his muscles beneath your hands.

Hyunjin and Seungmin were now sitting on each of Changbin’s arms; Minho was shirtless - what a sight that was - as he’d used his top to tie Changbin’s legs together; Felix was cooing, gently brushing Changbin’s head as he muttered, “It’s all gonna be okay, baby, I’m here for you, we’ll get through this, yeah?”

Woojin was slumped on the sofa, holding the wet ice pack to his face because Changbin had managed to headbutt him near the start of this fiasco. It was just not his day.

After hauling Changbin into his room and ever-so-gently dropping him onto his bed, the boys took a breather.

“Damn,” Chan whistled, looking around Changbin’s room, “you cleaned this up nicely, y/n.”

“It was me, asshole!” Changbin exclaimed, a proud grin on his face, “I tidied up.”

“Sure you did, Bin,” Seungmin rolled his eyes, “We believe you.”

“Y/n,” Changbin whined in response, “Tell ‘em the truth.”

“Of course it was all me,” you smirked, “Changbin just supervised all my hard work.”

“Sweet, wanna help me and Lix out, too, then?” Jisung popped in, sending an overly-sweet smile your way.

“Nope, nevermind, it was all Bin, he’s your man.”

“He is my man,” Felix sighed dreamily, laying beside Changbin in bed.

“Alright, let’s get him ready,” Minho said, dragging in a duffel bag - when did that get here? - as he entered.

From his position, Felix easily rolled on top of Changbin as the others held down whatever flying limbs they could. 

Just as they all managed to pin him down, Minho whipped out handcuffs, the fiery red cuffs immediately drawing everyone’s attention.

“Why…” Chan started, loosening his grip on Changbin’s leg, but he was too shocked to move anyway, “Why on Earth do you have handcuffs?”

“Do you see me questioning your kinks?” Minho drawls, walking over to Changbin who just stares in wonder at Minho.

“Right,” Chan coughed, grabbing onto Changbin’s leg once more, “forget I asked.”

“That’s what I thought, daddy,” Minho teased, shooting a wink over his shoulder to Chan who had a pretty pink blush tainting his cheeks.

The sound of the cuffs clicking seemed to break everyone out of their stupor; you viewed Changbin laying down on bed like that - arms restrained above his head - in a whole new light, and the sight had you snickering.

“You like being tied up, Bin?” you teased, pinching his cheek and, despite having his wrists tethered to his headboard, he tried reaching out for you anyway.

The cuffs pulled him back, clinking against the board as he growled, “Watch your ass when I’m outta these, y/n, you’re so dead.”

You pouted. “Don’t they feel good, though, Binnie?”

You trailed your finger around his wrist, feeling the fluffy material of the cuffs and, you definitely should have expected this - but whatever brain cells you had probably died when you were feeling up Chan - because the next thing you knew was that your own wrist was being grabbed by Changbin’s hand, and damn was his grip strong.

“Let go,” you groaned, trying to pull your hand away, but Changbin was mighty and relentless. “Help me!” You pleaded to the other boys who stood there and watched - Jeongin was still filming (pay respects to his phone storage) as the others just laughed at the turn of events.

“Stay there,” Minho replied, returning to the bag, “Keep him occupied while we do this.”

“Keep him occu- What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Well, he is tied up, you could… you know...” Minho trailed off and you stared at him dully as he kept raising his brows suggestively.

“Nope, no, you do not have my consent, y/n,” Changbin shook his head, grip on your wrist tightening.

“Oh my God, ew, I would never,” you scoffed.

“Why the hell not, what’s wrong with me?” Was Changbin being serious right now?

“Holy shit, where do I start?”

“Maybe y/n’s just jealous?” Jisung interrupted. He continued when you and Changbin raised your brows in question. “Maybe they wanna be tied up instead?”

Changbin turned to you with a smirk, raising his eyebrows teasingly and you rolled your eyes, facepalming with your free hand. 

“Being on top is great,” Felix randomly interjected, leaning his chin on Changbin’s chest.

“Yeah, I can really feel your happiness,” Changbin snickered, and that remark had you all shrieking in disgust.

“Gross, Lix, what the hell, dude?” Jisung exclaimed, punching Felix’s shoulder.

“You popped a- a- Ew, fuck dude!” Hyunjin sputtered, jumping off the bed and away from his perch beside Felix.

“No!” Felix yelled, instantly sitting up and straddling Changbin, “Look, I haven’t!”

“Oh fuck- No one’s gonna look!” Chan said, immediately turning his face to the ceiling.

“I’m looking,” Minho smirked, “And so is y/n-”

“No, I’m not-”

“He’s safe, don’t worry. Woojin you can open your eyes again.” Minho dumped the contents of the bag onto Changbin’s bed, a wide variety of objects and food tumbling out. “Onto more… pressing matters.”

(He smirked when Felix muttered Fuck you.)

“Grab some shit, ladies, let’s get to work.” Minho stated, grabbing a blindfold.

Jisung jumped to pick something up first, but he groaned when he couldn’t open up the cheesy nacho sauce jar. His hands were red from trying to twist the top off, and he whined when it still wouldn’t budge. “It’s so hard!”

You snorted, “That’s what Felix said!”

Felix shot a nasty glare your way. Tough crowd.

“Give it here,” Chan said, holding his hand, “you just need to grip it right before you twist.”

From the lewd smirk he shot your way, you knew exactly what was going through Changbin’s mind. You rolled your eyes because of course his mind jumps to the gutter, how typical.

You haven’t ever taken part in an exorcism - at least you could tick that off your bucket list now - but you were pretty sure whipped cream and feather dusters weren’t usually part of the ritual.

Seungmin had pulled out a bluetooth speaker and was playing some Latin chants out loud as they all began to work on Changbin.

This was more revenge for all of the times Changbin had played you all and you wondered why none of you had thought to do this sooner. Five years of torture and you only got your revenge now? You were slacking.

Changbin’s grip on your wrist didn’t cease - really, it only got tighter when the others began their tormenting - but he loosened up whenever it was too tight.

With your restricted movement, you resorted to just pinching whatever parts of Changbin you could reach. You started with his cheeks, squishing them together until he pouted and you moved on to pulling his ears then flicking his neck.

Eventually, you got tired. You nudged his shoulder and he shuffled along his bed as best as he could. You sat down, mindlessly tracing his red cheeks, booping his nose which he promptly scrunched to look like a bunny. Your hand found its way into his hair and you messed around with the strands, twirling them around your fingers as you leaned your head against the headboard.

You gave up on focussing on what the others were doing.

Chan had spread jam on Changbin’s hands, Seungmin had poured water on Changbin’s socks - Woojin had even signed his forehead. God, this was a disaster.

You stopped watching when Minho began taking off Changbin’s belt. 

After some time - about ten minutes, but the boys had done some seriously-traumatic damage - they all stopped, dropping whatever was in their hands and slumping on the floor.

“By the power vested in me,” Minho started, voice half-muffled as he spoke into the floor, “I condemn your demon ass back home.”

“S’it finally over?” Changbin groaned, nudging you with his shoulder. He had long since let go of your wrist but you had made no move away from him, finding comfort in just resting beside him. You had, however, removed the blindfold a while ago, so he was mentally preparing everyone’s (except yours, of course) cruel demise.

“Alrighty,” Jisung said, jumping up from the ground and clapping loudly to invigorate everyone, “Let’s haul ass, boys!”

“Yep, have fun cleaning this shit up!” Hyunjin said, and the rest of the boys followed him out of the room.

Were they seriously just leaving you with this mess?

Holy shit, there was ketchup on the ceiling, and mayo on the lamp? What the hell had they been doing?

You were too stunned to stop them because there was no way they were leaving you to clear this shit up, but the slam of the front door informed you that yes, that was exactly what they had done.

Assholes.

“Can you please untie me now?”

After releasing the cuffs, Changbin had eased into his bed, despite all the questionable substances on his sheets. The man went through a fate worse than Hell for ten whole minutes, and you felt kind of bad. 

So, you got up despite your aching neck - slouching on the headboard was not your smartest idea - and headed to the bathroom. You turned the tap on, filling the tub up before you pulled out some new sheets from the cupboard and headed back into his warzone of a room.

His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. “What’re you doin’?” He slurred, shuffling on his bed and groaning when some orange sauce trickled down his neck.

“Cleaning up,” you laughed, moving to help him sit up, “I started a bath for you, go.”

He trudged out of the room and you groaned, staring at the disaster in front of you.

Just yesterday, his room was sparkling brighter than Edward Cullen, and now? His socks were hanging off the lights.

You stripped away his bed sheets, dumping them on the floor, but the room was still a shitshow and it was way too late - holy shit, it was past 3am, so too early - to try cleaning the room. You quickly put on the new bedsheets and decided that, after this hellish day, he could sleep in your bed. The man deserved something nice after having Felix straddle his thighs.

“Yo, y/n!” Changbin called out from the bathroom, “Mind bringing me some clothes?”

You grabbed some fresh nightwear out of his cupboard and some Pokemon boxers because obviously he had those filling his drawer. After passing those to him through the door’s opening, making sure not to peek because you didn’t want to be scarred for life with a naked Changbin, you waited for him to come out.

He wordlessly followed you back to your bedroom, turning the lights off and taking your offer to share the bed.

“I could’ve slept on the sofa, y’know,” he mumbled, voice drifting into a yawn.

“S’not that comfy,” you murmur, “just sleep.”

“Night, babe.”

“G’night, Bin.”

And if either of you woke up cuddling the other, not a word was mentioned to the other boys.

[trashyswitch]

Trapped

NIGHT 4: Michael is stuck in an animatronic suit, and forced to stay alive while Minireena’s crawl inside, and attempt (keyword: attempt) to kill him.

For LunaBruceYT.

Trapped. That’s how Michael felt right now. Figuratively, and literally. He had been shoved into a suit of some sort. It was snug, dark, and deathly quiet. He attempted to wiggle, but only moved an inch or two. That was it. He couldn’t wiggle out! He couldn’t even knock himself down! All he could really do, was move his head side to side.

Was he dead? Was he alive? he couldn’t answer. How could he answer his own fate, if he can barely see the world in front of him? The only thing he could slightly see, was a red flashing light in the back of the room. His whole body seemed to be trapped in something, which included a mask with large holes for his eyes. Wait a second...whole body? Snug and dark? Mask?

Oh god...

Is he in an animatronic suit?!

“Shh! Be still...and quiet...” A female voice told him.

It’s Baby’s voice. But, where was she? He couldn’t see her. All he could do, was listen closely to her voice.

“You’ve been sleeping for quite a while...I think they noticed that you never left the building last night.” Baby continued.

Wait, WHAT?! How long was he asleep?! Did he fall asleep here? What happened last night? Most importantly:

Did he miss last night’s episode of The Immortal and The Restless?! CRAP! HOW’S HE GONNA CATCH UP?!

“The cameras were searching for you. But they couldn’t find you...I have you hidden too well...” the female clown explained.

Okay, so that answered some things...Baby put him into this dark, claustrophobic mess...

“I kidnapped you.” Baby told him.

Michael’s heart dropped. Panic began to set in, as he began to understand:

This is how he’s gonna be spending-

[NIGHT 4]

Michael wiggled a little more in the suit. He needed to get out of here. If that meant making tons of noise, then so be it.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” Baby reassured him.

Michael narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Sure...that’s ToTaLlY not something a serial killer would say! What’s she gonna say next? ‘I’m just gonna bash your brains in.’?

...Wait...Please don’t say that...

“I am only going to keep you for a little while.” Baby explained.

Michael let out a sigh of relief. He’s not gonna die today. That’s good.

“Try not to wiggle, though...” Baby warned. Michael slightly tensed at that. But, why? If there’s no one in the building, why stay still? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense so far...

“You’re inside something that came from my old Pizzeria.” Baby explained further.

Michael took a mental note to his ‘What’s going on?’ list.

“don’t think it was ever used...at least, not the way it was meant to be used...too dangerous...” Baby mentioned.

Now, what was THAT supposed to mean?! Did...Did someone have a bit too much fun in this thing?! Is there even a hole down there?! Oh God...did someone lose-

Ew...God, he hoped not...

“It’s just big enough for one person to fit inside...but just barely...”

So it IS a full suit! It’s a suit that barely fits him! No wonder he felt snug and claustrophobic...

“You’re in the scooping room.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at the odd name.

“Do you know why they call it they scooping room’? It’s because, dummy...this is the room where they use the scooper. I thought that would be obvious...” Baby explained.

Uh, did Baby just call him a Dummy? First of all, how dare she? Second of all, that explanation just created more questions! What’s a scooper?! Why is there an entire room dedicated to it? Is it an unknown animatronic? Or a machine of some kind? GET ON WITH IT, LADY!

“Isn’t that a fun name for something? ‘The scooper’...It sounds like something you would use for ice cream...or custard, or sprinkles...” Baby thought aloud.

Uh...ya, somewhat...

“It sounds like something you would want at your birthday party. To ensure that you get a heeping portion of every. Good. Thing.”

Ya...that line brought Michael back to a bit of his childhood...wanting to have endless amounts of ice cream, so he could satisfy himself in all that sugary goodness...good times...

“I wonder though, if you were a freshly opened pint of ice cream, how you would feel about something with that name...” Baby thought.

Michael couldn’t fathom it. He imagined the ice cream screaming in pain, as a big scooper ripped into its body, digging and scooping it out one by one. It was not a pretty thing to imagine...

“Thankfully, I don’t think a freshly opened pint of ice cream, feels anything at all.” Baby considered.

Thank god for that...Michael didn’t know if he was gonna be able to eat ice cream the same way again...

“Uh oh...It sounds like someone else is in the building. Shh!” Baby warned.

Michael’s eyes brightened. Someone could rescue him! He wanted to speak! He wanted to wiggle himself out of this metal trap! But, he couldn’t...he was too afraid to...

There were two people, talking to each other for about 30 seconds. It sounded like they were delivering a broken machine. An animatronic maybe? It sounded like he might’ve been right. After placing it inside the dark room, the two people walked out of there and let the squeaky door close on its own. Off went his chance of getting rescued...

Suddenly, some really loud automatic noises began echoing in the room. One of the sounds sounded like something hammering on metal, while the other noise sounded similar to a handheld drill. They were pretty loud; loud enough to bother Michael, but he couldn’t cover his ears. He just had to stand it. Pretty soon, a dark figure slid into view of the right eye hole. The inanimate figure kept on sliding to the left, on what could be assumed a conveyer belt, revealing itself to be...

Ballora? What was Ballora doing here? When did she break? How did she break?

As the lifeless animatronic’s head neared the end of the right eye hole and hid itself in front of the middle of the mask, the drilling noise started turning off and on. It would quiet down for a few seconds, and start back up again for that similar amount of time. The metal hammering sound stayed the same, hammering in an unpredictable pattern.

Within a couple seconds, Ballora’s face began appearing again in front of the left eye hole. It only got to the middle of the left eye hole, before the conveyor belt stopped, stopping Ballora in front of him. As a short rumbling sound started and ended in the background, Michael took the time to look at Ballora’s lifeless face. Her closed eyes with purple ‘eyeshadow’, the jewels on her forehead, her tiny nose, her lipstick-covered lips and her open mouth. The animatronic’s mouth seemed to include teeth, since Michael could see the teeth hiding behind Ballora’s lips.

“There’s something very important that I’ve learned how to do over time. Do you know what that is? How to pretend.” Baby spoke.

Michael stayed quiet as he listened.

“Do you ever play make believe? Pretend to be one way, when you are really the other?” Baby asked.

Michael quietly nodded. He knew how to do that. It was an easy skill. He’s been doing that since he was little. But...

How did Baby, a robot that was manually coded, know about playing pretend?

“It’s very important. Ballora never learns. But I do.” Baby spoke.

Michael decided it didn’t matter how baby did it. What matters, is that she can, and has gotten this far by using it.

“They think there is something wrong on the inside. The only thing that matters, is knowing how to pretend.” Baby explained.

Suddenly, a low beeping noise began beeping. It beeped for a few seconds, before stopping. Almost immediately after, a super loud metallic destructive noise could be heard! Michael watched with horror as Ballora got destroyed by something he couldn’t quite see.

Twice it attacked, causing pieces to go flying, and causing Ballora’s face pieces to fall in and out of place.

A third time the tool shoved itself into the animatronic. This one was a little less loud. Pieces hit the hard ground as the broken animatronic fell out of view. As Ballora’s broken and lifeless body slouched in front of him, a lit up eye of Ballora’s could be seen staring him down on the right side of the left eye hole.

Silence filled the room for a few moments. It was a relieving silence that allowed the man in the suit to process what just happened.

Ballora had just gotten destroyed by the scooper.

Soon, Baby broke the silence.

“I’ll open the face plates for you.” Baby told him.

Suddenly, the face plates over his head unlocked itself and opened up, revealing more of Ballora’s broken animatronic body and the dark room he was in.

“That way, they can find you on the cameras. Now: all you have to do, is wait.” Baby finished.

Michael took a moment to breath in some air that wasn’t mixed with the overwhelming smell of metal.

“I’d recommend that you keep the spring locks wound up. Your breathing and your heartbeat are causing them to come loose. You don’t want them to get too loose, trust me.” Baby instructed.

Spring locks? What spring locks? Michael looked around, and observed the nuts on the sides of the face mask, with the tiny white dots on them. They appeared to be turning loose. Michael began to wind them up as tight as they could, winding up one at a time with his fingers.

As Michael started to tighten the spring locks on the other side, he couldn’t help but notice a minireena climbing up beside his head. As he reached to tighten the top spring locks, he felt the need to physically do something to get it off. Baby told him to not wiggle. But, what else was he supposed to do? Get killed? That’s not happening. So, Michael waited for the Minireena to reach the top 2 spring locks, and wiggled the suit slightly. Thankfully, the Minireena slid down from the spot and onto the ground.

One down.

Michael continued to focus onto the spring locks. When he tightened the spring locks on the left side, he would move onto the right side and tighten those locks as well. Every time he tightened and moved onto the other side, his breathing would loosen the tightened locks. So, this made the job a never ending cycle.

Soon, a Minireena appeared on both sides of the suit! He followed his own previous advice by waiting for both minireena’s to reach the top, before wiggling a couple times to knock them off. It worked! Both minireena’s slid back down the side!

Unfortunately, he couldn’t knock off all the minireena’s...in front of him, a Minireena had began climbing itself into the suit, and began crawling around in there! Michael’s eyes widened as the small animatronic crawled around his chest, his middle, his arms and his upper legs, before crawling out of the open stomach area. It felt incredibly uncomfortable, but he was glad it was gone. His focus went back to the spring locks. Michael took some time to retighten the spring locks one by one. They were quite loosened by the time he had gained back his focus again.

It didn’t take long though, for another Minireena to start climbing into the suit. The feeling of the single Minireena climbing around in there was unbelievably distracting. But, despite that distraction, Michael was able to multitask and take care of both the spring locks and the Minireena’s on the side.

A few minutes later, Michael froze. The teenager watched in horror as four more Minireena‘s climbed into the suit! Michael quickly covered his mouth as all the minireena’s climbed around on his body like giant spiders crawling under clothing.

The feeling was so ticklish! Poor Michael couldn’t cope with the sensations! The giggles began to fill his lungs like a balloon. Michael, refusing to make a sound, tried to keep all the desperate giggles in his lungs for as long as he could. He was NOT dying tonight.

A couple minutes later, the minireena’s exited the suit. Michael let all the air out, and gasped for air as soon as he could. Though, the minireena’s weren’t done yet...they were just getting started...

Minireena’s began coming one after another. 3 became 5, which became 8! The line of minireena’s never ended! Every single minireena climbed around his upper body, tickling everywhere they walked! There was no longer room for a breathing break. Michael struggled immensely to keep his giggles in his lungs. But, his lungs were persistent and forceful to let the carbon dioxide out. Michael didn’t know how much longer he could take this...

Suddenly, Michael’s eyes shot open. One of the minireena’s found his left, exposed armpit! Michael let out a muffled whimper, as tears of mirth began to fill his eyes. He couldn’t cover his armpit. It was stuck outward to the side, in the suit’s arm! Only his right arm was free to tighten the spring locks!

Oh NOOO! THE SPRING LOCKS!

Michael slowly removed his right hand off his mouth, but quickly reached his right hand out to tighten the spring locks. They were completely loose! How did he not die?! Talk about a miracle...During Michael’s attempts to tighten up the spring locks, even more minireena’s began climbing into Michael’s suit! Michael’s body was beginning to break in slight ways. His whimpering returned a few times, his tears of mirth returned, and bits of air began leaving his lungs through titters. He was really close to losing this fight.

Was this how he was gonna die? Was Michael really gonna laugh to death? He didn’t want that! That would be such a stupid way to die! But, he can’t really change the inevitable...

Right as he was about to let go and accept his death, something amazing happened! The suit forcefully broke right open! The front half of the suit had broken open, causing Michael’s exhausted body to flop onto the hard floor.

When Michael’s body hit the hardwood below him, all the air he had kept inside his lungs had blasted right out of him. No laughs, no giggles in between, just a rapid breath of relief. As soon as Michael put air back into his lungs though, that was when leftover giggles began to spill out of his mouth uncontrollably. Thinking the mini ballerinas were finished with him, Michael took the spare time to clutch his stomach and let them out. Every single giggle that the man had kept locked up in his chest, could finally go free.

But, the puppets weren’t done with him yet! Not by a long shot! A couple minutes after Michael’s body had hit the floor, the puppets crawled out of the broken spring lock suit and quickly crawled over to Michael’s body. They continued crawling around on Michael, attempting to kill him by clawing wherever they could reach. What the minireena’s forgot however, was that their fingers were just little nubs with no sharpness to them. Their feet were very similar. This led their attempts to ‘claw’ and ‘kill’, to only tickle really badly.

Finally, with Michael out of the suit, he was no longer worried about keeping quiet. So, he let himself laugh.

“BAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHA! GEHEHEHEHEHET OHOHOHOHOFF MEHEHEHEHE! WHAHAHAHAT AHAHAHARE YOHOHOHOU DOHOHOHOHOIHIHIHING?!” Michael yelled through his laughter.

The little minireena’s stopped for a moment, and began childishly giggling in mischief. It seemed that they were still trying to kill Michael! or, they changed their mind and decided to tickle him instead. No matter what their choice actually was, the four minireena’s continued their clawing at the different spots. One of the minireena’s was digging into Michael’s abdominal muscles, while another minireena was attempting to claw down into Michael’s belly button. The third minireena had found his armpit again and began to dig there, while the last minireena had began clawing into his right side.

“NOOOOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAP!” Michael begged the soulless minireena’s.

“Shh. Keep your voice down.” Baby spoke up, finally coming back to hear the commotion.

“BAHAHAHAHABYYY! HEHEHEHEHELP MEHEHEHEHEHE!” Michael begged frantically, as the minireena’s tickled the daylights out of him.

“Help you? How? Why are you laughing? What’s so funny?” Baby asked.

“THEHEHE- THE MINIREENAHAHAHA’S AHAHARE TIHIHIHICKLIHIHIHIHING MEHEHEHEHE!” Michael explained.

“...Oh? They’re tickling you?” Baby clarified.

“YEHEHEHEHEHES!” Michael replied.

Baby thought for a moment. “Hmm...Let me check...It looks like they’re being programmed to kill you. That’s strange.” Baby reacted.

“THEHEHEHEY’RE CLEHEHEHEARLY NOHOT- NOT THERE! NOHOHOHOHO! HAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Michael screamed. One of the minireena’s had managed fo find a SUPER ticklish spot: his lower ribs! And, to make matters worse, a second minireena had joined the other and started pushing and clawing at the other side of his lower ribs. Now, Michael was screaming and laughing hysterically!

Meanwhile, Baby was trying to think of what to do. “I think I know how to help you. I will be right back.” Baby told him, before leaving Michael alone with the tickling minireena’s.

“DOHOHOHON’T LEHEHEHEHEAVE MEHEHEHEHE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, DAHAHAHAMMIHIHIHIHIT!” Michael shouted through his hysterical laughter.

Despite what Michael pleaded for, Baby left him alone to find a way to hack the minireena’s.

Michael didn’t know how long he could last. He was growing exhausted from all the squirming, and was considering just giving up and laughing it out till they stopped. Tears of mirth had already been welling up in his eyes, causing his vision to grow somewhat blurry when he opened them. For the most past though, his eyes had been instinctively squeezed shut. Michael could feeling himself growing more and more insane from all the laughter.

Suddenly: something crazy happened! In a sudden turn of events, the minireena’s jolted and flopped onto the ground, lifeless! Michael continued laying on the ground, still letting out some giggles from the phantom touches still tickling him. He didn’t really think much of the animatronics at first. That was, until he felt one of the minireena’s flop onto his stomach. That was when Michael decided to open his eyes and observe the puppets in front of him. Sure enough, almost all of the minireena’s were laying on the ground, lifeless and tranced.

Michael picked up the minireena that laid on his stomach. It was surprisingly light, for an animatronic. Though, considering how small they were, it shouldn’t have been that surprising...it was like holding a heavy, dead-weighted toddler. It was weird, to be honest...

“Did they stop?” Baby asked him.

“Y-Yeah. They did. What did you do?” Michael asked back.

“I shut them down. They are unconscious now. They will stay that way for a while. I reset their settings to wake up at 6:30 am to dance for the children in the Ballora Gallery.” Baby explained.

“Thank you.” Michael said to the voice.

“You’re welcome.” Baby replied. “I’m going to leave now. The rescue team is almost here.” Baby added, before leaving him alone.

It didn’t take long for the rescue team to come barging into the scooping room with their tool bags, ready to get Michael out of there and to put the old animatronic suit back together...

T.S’s Note: So, I’m gonna be stuck in the house for 3 weeks straight. I’m one of the immunocompromised citizens who is fearing crowds right now, so I’ll get lots of writing time in the comfort of my home! :)

[lovelyirony]

“I trust you completely.” clint & sharon (CW). i love their brotp :)

Clint Barton and Sharon Carter were never supposed to be friends. Seriously, they weren’t. Coulson had a plan and everything. He thought they would balance each other out. 

Barton had been a new addition to SHIELD. They had brought him in from a circus, where he’d been dressing up in sparkly purple outfits and hitting targets for ten minutes, all with deadly accuracy. 

Of course on the side, he had been taking down some enemies that SHIELD was having trouble aiming at. 

But he was skittish. Quiet. 

People at SHIELD had thought that he was going to be a strong and silent type. 

They needed someone to reign in Carter, for at least a few moments. 

Sharon Carter is very good at her job. The main problem is that she knows it and she knows that she meets expectations, although not in the way that people want her to. 

(She knows they’re expecting a brunette with red lipstick and a will of iron, face of steel. But she can’t give that.) 

Clint Barton is introduced as a means of mellowing her out. 

He takes a look at her white jumpsuit and asks why once the agents are out of earshot. 

“People notice you, you get the job done quicker,” Sharon says with a shrug. 

While Clint isn’t as extreme, he requests his new SHIELD armor suit be made of dark purple. 

Coulson gets a feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“I better not be getting an ulcer,” Phil mutters to Maria. 

Maria Hill knows things. Like how Clint always smiles at Sharon’s funny commentary on missions, or how he writes everything in blue ink just to be different. 

“Is it going to make you feel better if I tell you that you won’t get an ulcer?” 

“No.” 

Sharon laughs when Clint shows up in the newly-purple suit. 

“Welcome, Barton. I think we’re gonna have fun tonight.” 

Clint is very surprised at how casually Sharon treats missions. They’re outside the bar that a man named Sawyer Camron is said to frequent. The problem is that they don’t know what he looks like, and so they are on surveillance duty. 

They’re sitting across at a diner, which in all respects is one of the worst/best places Clint’s ever been depending on your stance on health code violations. 

“And you’re sure that it’s that guy?” Clint asks. “No offense, but I’ve been seeing you paying more attention the appetizers.” 

“Of course I have been, there were mini corn dogs on the menu,” Sharon says. “But I do pay attention, all things considered. That guy hasn’t ordered anything but a single beer, and he hasn’t touched it since he got here. Now I don’t know about you, but beer that bad is usually only in New York City, and we’re nowhere near that level of shit yet.” 

Clint loosens up after that. He’s been too focused on doing things to the SHIELD standard, following Romanov’s lead and taking Coulson’s advice for what works for him to heart. 

He’s not...Clint’s a wack job. A nut, if you will. When he’s alone in his apartment after work he trips over shoes he forgot to set aside, barely knows how his own oven works (which isn’t his fault, the numbers have worn off on the dials, but still...) and he’s about one episode of Seinfeld away from losing all semblance of self and eating soup for four days in a row. 

Sharon Carter is remarkably similar, which is both a surprise and expected as Clint sees her furrowing her brow at an app on her phone. 

“What are you doing now?” 

“I have a hydration tracker. Maria made me get it because I keep forgetting to drink water. I can’t remember the last time I drank water.” 

“You have that problem too?” 

“Yes,” Sharon says. “Maria will never stop giving me shit for it.” 

“Natasha keeps getting me water bottles and I keep losing them.” 

They laugh together, then turn to the scene at hand. Sawyer’s on the move, and his bill wasn’t even paid. 

“Bastard gets a sub-standard beer and he still doesn’t pay the four bucks,” Clint mutters. “Thirteen, what’s the game plan?” 

“I’m gonna go by his car, see if I can plant a tracker. Cover me?” 

“How so?” 

“Just wait.” 

Sharon Carter is a master at giving a man a “oh hello there, I think you may be cute” look. Sawyer’s looking at her like she’s the answer to every single problem in the universe in about two minutes. 

Clint’s in awe. He wants to know how. 

“Teach me how to get a man to potentially get me a car now.” 

“It involves so many things,” Sharon says. “So many.” 

Clint Barton comes out of his shell. 

While is a good thing, SHIELD cannot help but regret it. 

Because Clint declares that he has “dibs” on seducing the next mark, it’s not fair that Sharon and Nat get to do it all the time. 

“I’m not saying that you can’t, but I do want to know why,” Phil asks. 

“Because I’m sexy and therefore relevant,” Clint says. “Also Sharon taught me how to look into a man’s eyes and get him to give me his wallet. Not related to this, I now have a wallet and sixty dollars. Pretty bitches always win.” 

“Why did you teach him that phrase,” Coulson says to Sharon, who shrugs. 

“You denied my file claim for a better printer.” 

“It’s not in the budget.” 

“Well maybe if you stopped buying high quality pens we’d be fine.” 

“Do you like having the worst pens available?” Coulson asks. “Do you like having rage in your everyday life?” 

“Of course!” Sharon says brightly. “But none of us deserve high quality pens. What you should do is give them in a reward system so that everyone knows that SHIELD runs on favoritism and they’ll have to fight for the good donuts.” 

(Okay so Sharon’s right about this and Coulson knows this but like. He doesn’t want to tell her that she is.) 

- 

Sharon invites Clint over for brunch with Nat. 

Clint thinks it’s kind of nice to have friends. He hadn’t really had any before, besides the kids his age in the circus that he would sometimes mess around with before the show. 

Sharon makes him try different breakfast foods and go to thrift stores with her to find the worst options available. 

“I think this is it,” Sharon says, pulling out a shirt that had a horrible stock image of an old man fishing with the caption: Born to fish, forced to work! Clint laughs, looking at it. 

“This is the future the liberals want.” 

Sharon cracks up, adding it to her basket. 

She fully encourages Clint’s habit of buying terrible art to hang in his apartment. While Natasha and Maria groan when Clint hosts dinner and they have to see the terrible art that he buys. 

“Is that supposed to be Dwayne Johnson? In a clown suit?” 

“Yes, so shut the fuck up and eat your noodles,” Clint says. 

“I love it!” Sharon declares. “I think it’s telling me that I could be killed in my sleep!” 

“See? Sharon gets the vibes,” Clint says. 

- 

This isn’t to say that neither of them can’t be serious. They both can, and it’s absolutely terrifying when they are. 

They’re going up against an old enemy of Clint’s. A guy who wasn’t the best to kids in the circus, often made people “disappear.” 

Clint hates him. Doesn’t talk for a while. Sharon recognizes this, puts a hand on his shoulder. SHIELD has wanted them to proceed according to a very stupid, undercover plan that is entirely unnecessary. Clint could easily knock him with an arrow and be done with it. In fact, it’s what would be preferable. 

They have a babysitter placed on them, essentially. SHIELD knows that Sharon can and will and has encouraged Clint to go beyond their parameters. 

“I trust you completely,” Sharon says. “And will be backing you up should we have to go to Fury’s office. Fuck the plan. I’ll distract the other agents, you go.” 

The guy goes down with an arrow to a shoulder. 

The overhead agent, of course, is furious. 

“He was supposed to be brought back unharmed,” he seethes. “What part of that don’t you understand?” 

“That wasn’t an option,” Sharon says coldly. “The undercover work would have taken an extra two weeks, and I know you were bitching about missing your son’s basketball tournament. So take it or leave it. Hawkeye and I will deal with it.” 

Fury, spectacularly, doesn’t give two shits how they got the guy. 

“As long as he doesn’t escape custody the fuck do I care?” Fury asks. “Quit wasting my time, Rumlow already does that. Just sign off on the paperwork and go bother somebody else.” 

Sharon grins victoriously at Clint as they’re out of the office. 

“Thank god for Fury.” 

“Don’t let him hear you say that, he might ask for things,” Clint stage-whispers. “Thanks for having my back, Carter. I owe you one.” 

“We’re friends, you don’t owe me one for missions,” Sharon says. “Now drinks on the other hand...you owe me a trip to the grocery store so we can make frozen margaritas.” 

Clint grins, pulling Sharon’s arm along. 

“Race you to the car.” 

“Oh, you’re on.” 

[mymoodwriting]

Blooming Eyes

F!Reader x Poison Ivy!Suho

Genre: Poison Ivy AU

Warning: Blood, Panic, Runaway, Experimentation, Prisoner

Words: 4.4K

Chapters:

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Epilogue

Prompt: Meeting an alien is one thing, but it’s a whole other thing when such a creature seems to fancy you. There was so much you wanted to do, but one decision changes your life in a way you never could have imagined.

A/n: We’re coming to the end but you can probably guess how things are going to go.

    Your eyes slowly opened, and all you could see was white. It wasn’t home, far from it. You sat up, the room pretty empty, you had been on a mattress on the floor, dressed in a white gown. You were scared to say the least, you wanted Suho, but he wasn’t around, you couldn’t even feel him, you couldn’t feel anything, so you were completely alone. You stayed on the mattress, hugging your knees to your chest, crying.

    When the door opened you pressed yourself against the wall. They said something but you had no idea what. All you could see was their mouth moving and weird sounds coming out. It didn’t matter whether you understood them or not, they grabbed you and picked you up, dragging you along with them. You didn’t scream, just tried to get away, a sobbing mess in their arms. Although you eventually stopped, something getting your attention but you couldn’t figure it out before you were put into another room.

    They sat you down in a chair, another empty one across you, and a table in between. You were left alone, the room white too, the ceiling made of lights. You were about to stand when the door opened and someone came in. They were in a suit, you only knew that cause Suho dressed like that, it made you miss him more. They took the other chair, putting something on the table, a file, and looking through it. All you could do was watch them until their attention was on you.

“How are you feeling?”

    Again all you got were sounds. You knew they were trying to talk to you, to communicate, but you couldn’t make it out. Suho talked to you with words too, but you were connected, so you always knew what he meant, you could feel it, even if you didn’t understand the words entirely. So in this situation all you could do was stare.

“Y/n, are you alright? I should apologize for the situation that brought you here, but it was to help you.” You stayed silent. “Y/n?”

    You looked over at the door, stared at it for a while, then looked back. They seemed concerned but there’s nothing you could. It wasn’t surprising that they were getting upset.

“Answer me!”

    When they raised their voice you jumped back, nearly falling out of your chair. Tears stung your eye, and the door opening made you more scared.

“Don’t yell at her. I don’t think she can understand us right now.”

“What?”

“Have you seen her test results?”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Her genetic makeup isn’t human anymore, rather far from it.”

“So…?”

“She’s like some human plant. When was the last time a tree spoke your language?”

“That can’t be-”

“Does it look like she is registering anything we’re saying? She doesn’t even recognize her own name.”

“So then what do we do? How are we supposed to talk with her or figure out where that alien freak is.”

“How about we try with photos.”

    You watched the two of them go back and forth for a while. Then the second person opened the file on the table and put some images down in front of you. You could recognize yourself in some pictures but you didn’t know where they were taken. Although you were drawn to one of Suho, gently touching it.

“So she’s not useless.”

“I suppose she’s like a child. Surely she’s capable of speech.”

“You want to teach her to talk?”

“What else do you want to do with her? We’ve already scheduled more tests.”

“Fine, whatever, give it a shot. Although if there is no progress-”

“I know, I know.”

“Good luck then.”

    The first person who came in left, and you stared at the door again. The other sat down and started taking the pictures but you grabbed Suho’s, holding it close. They laughed and let you keep it. They talked again, but it mostly seemed to be to themselves before getting up and leaving. You were alone for a while before the two who brought you here came in. This time you got up on your own and walked out the door. You seemed to be cooperating so they just led you down the hallway.

    When you had that feeling again, you came to another hallway path, and bolted down it. The two yelled and followed after you. The light above you became red but you didn’t pay attention to it. You just followed the feeling until you came to an open door and went into the room. You looked around for a second and then realized what brought you there. You ran over and grabbed the potted plant, hugging it tight and holding it close.

    The two came in, startled by the scene, moreso curious as to how you found the lunch room. There were others in the room who were also confused. As the two approached you, they cornered you, one trying to take the pot but you held it tight. The two shared a look and then just grabbed you, dragging you away, but not trying to take the plant again. You wound up back in your room, your grip on the pot not loosening until you were alone.

Hi

Why hello there. What are you? How can you speak with me?

Um… not know

I see, you are a very curious little thing, but it’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?

Name… name…

Ah, you must be very young. My name is Potts, it’s what you can call me.

Potts…

 Yes, hello.

Hi

So what do I call you?

Call… Flower

Flower? Okay, hello Flower.

Hi

How did you end up here? Do you remember?

Here… Suho…

Suho?

    You looked around and grabbed the picture you had. You showed it to Potts, pointing at Suho.

Oh, that Suho. Wait… the picture is recent, he’s awake? For how long now?

Hm… more than me

What happened… are the others awake?

One brother more

I see… did he leave you?

No… no… not know what happen… me hurt, try help but hurt too, brother help Suho… not me

Will they come for you?

Want to… not know… scary place, get hurt again, don’t want hurt again

It’s okay, I’m sure they will come for you, given the miracle that is you, you’re surely special. How did Flower come to be?

Um… me… smart, not Flower, other me… smart me make Flower, what Suho said

Another you, science is a strange thing and humans just go nuts with it.

Humans…

Everyone that isn’t you or me, you look human, but you’re certainly not one anymore. Do you know where you are?

White room

Yes, but you are in some human facility, a research place, underground.

Bad or good

Well, given what you are, probably bad.

Oh…

You’ll be okay though, I’ll help you. I’ve been here for a few years now. You’re just in a room, luckily not an observation room, but there is still a camera in the corner.

Camera

Yeah, it’s just meant to keep an eye on you so nothing back happens.

    You looked around the room until you found the camera. It was a little black or in the ceiling with a little glowing red dot in it. You stared rather curiously, not aware someone was staring back.

♥♥♥♥♥

“What is this? Is she seriously-”

“Rewind the footage.”

“This is a joke.”

“It makes sense, her biology is that of a plants. This also proves that plants do in fact communicate with each other. Or at least have their own telepathic language.”

“How does this help us though?”

“It means she is intelligent and capable of communication, just not with us.”

“She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t say anything.”

“Her mind is still human, she can learn.”

“It takes a child years to learn to speak, we don’t have that kind of time.”

“We might not need it. Y/n was once human, a little education could trigger that side.”

“Well why don’t you go have a chat with the plant girl, cause you’re just wasting time now.

♥♥♥♥♥

    You just sat on the mattress talking with Potts, he got the name from a human who used to take care of them but they were transferred somewhere else a couple months ago. A small hatch at the bottom of the door opened up, a tray of food slid in. You hadn’t noticed but you were hungry, so you scampered over and started eating. It was just a sandwich and water, not enough, but good for the time being, although not as tasty as what Suho fed you. As you were about to drink water you looked back at Potts. You poured some into the pot then had the rest.

Thank you, but I didn’t need that. You’re probably more thirsty than I.

Don’t want be alone

I’m not going anywhere, promise.

    You definitely got better at talking, if only a bit, with Potts, but you were certainly getting tired. Potts told you to get some sleep, they’d still be there when you woke up. You didn’t want to take any chances, so you made sure Potts was in the corner, safe and sound. Although when you woke up you didn’t feel better, you felt worse.

Flower? What’s wrong?

Not good… hurts, don’t know what…

I don’t think it was the food. Although you might need more.

No… it… sun…

Sunlight, of course, I thrive on low light but you, you need to get help. You need to tell the humans.

Can’t… no words…

I… screaming, can you scream?

    You curled up, whimpering in pain, you wanted Suho, but he was nowhere in sight. In your state you didn’t notice being picked up and carried away. The next thing you knew you were on some cold table, tied down. You could hear noises, people were talking, but of course you didn’t understand.

“What’s going on?”

“She seems to be deteriorating, we don’t understand the cause.”

“Really? Are you not the ones who ran initial tests on her? She’s a plant, we haven’t given her sunlight, my gosh she is actually capable of photosynthesis. Get her a sunlamp and put one in her room.”

    You regained consciousness in your room, feeling the light on you, it felt nice, but it made you cry. It wasn’t the real sun, it wasn’t right, but at least the hurting went away.

Flower…

Want Suho… want sun

Easy, easy now, you’ll get both. You’ve been out for a while, I was getting worried.

Potts okay

Yes. I’m doing just fine.

    You looked over, some of Potts’ leaves were turning brown. There was food by your bedside and you grabbed the cup of water, pouring it in the pot.

Flower, you need that.

Need sun more

Yes, yes you do, if you have the strength you should eat too.

Hm

    You sat up, you were getting better but now being fed artificial sunlight, you probably wouldn’t be the same for a long while. You ate the sandwich, same as before.

What Potts doing when alone

Just waiting for you.

How Potts speak better than Flower

I know, I may not look it, but I am quite old, much older than you, and that’s including your human years.

Smart

You said you are too.

Other me

It’s still you. Flower, you cannot stay here. It’s not safe.

Where go, don’t know here, wait, wait for Suho

Alright, still take it slow, you haven’t had enough sun, real or not.

    When the door opened you curled up, grabbing Potts and putting them into your lap. You recognized the person, the second one from the other room where they tried to talk with you.

“Hello there y/n, are you feeling better?”

Why do they even bother speaking? Do they not know you don’t understand them, humans are truly primitive.

    You looked down at Potts and chuckled a bit. The other person in the room watched you curiously. They were trying to process what they just saw.

“Can… can the plant understand me?”

Wow, that’s a first. We’re usually ignored. I can totally understand humans. We all can, well not you little Flower, not yet.

Learn

Eventually. Suho and I can teach you.

“My name is Violet, I just want to help her. Can you tell her that?”

Do I look like a mediator or something?

She can’t hear you

No. She says her name is Violet.

Like the flower

Yes. I’ve seen her before so she’s not lying. She wants to help you.

Why

I don’t know. Do you want to find out?

Good idea or no

Hm… maybe, might not be a bad idea to have a friend here.

So how get help

Just look at her and nod your head yes.

    You did as Potts told you, and the woman smiled. She slowly approached you, and handed you something, it was a children’s book. It had a lot of color, and you thought it was cute, showing Potts. That’s how you made a friend. Violet would come by daily, she was trying to help you speak, but to start she was trying to teach you to write. It was easier to learn shapes, letters, than to actually make sense of her gibberish.

    All the books she brought you were yours to keep. Potts would read it to you, so it helped you recognize letters and get their meaning. You liked Violet, she was rather nice, and patient. The only thing you didn’t like was when she asked to draw blood. She’d take you to the lab they had, draw some blood and get other samples. You were allowed to bring Potts since he was like a strange translator between you two.

I think it’s quite pointless to try and teach you to speak. Plants don’t talk like humans.

But… want to learn…

I know, but I don’t know if you can speak, which is what Violet wants.

I try…

And you’re doing great, but it’s okay if you can’t.

    You were special, that much you knew, and Violet wanted to know how you came to be. You kinda knew, but of course you couldn’t say anything given you could only understand her with Potts, you couldn’t tell her anything, not yet anyway. You still missed Suho, and everything else, but you at least had Violet, and she made things bearable. At night you’d read some of the books you had.

Flower…

“What”

You… you were… are speaking…

“I am…”

Yes.

No way… really

Well, not anymore, perhaps only the simple things for now.

I can talk…

I guess you’re not entirely a plant.

    You were quite excited as you went to bed, but that was probably the last time you would feel that way. Regaining your ability to speak was just the beginning, and that night gave you the rest. It all came rushing back, your life, the memories, the pain, the guilt. You woke up screaming, jumping out of bed, dazed and trying to understand where you were.

Flower, you need to calm down.

    You screamed and looked around the room in a panic. You saw the camera but there didn’t seem to be some sort of speaker system. 

“Who said that!”

Me.

“Who?”

Potts.

“Potts? Who’s-” Your eyes landed on the plant. “Potts?”

Yes. Do you not remember?

“How… how are you talking, how can I understand you!”

Oh… you must be the other person Flower spoke of. I was told you were intelligent.

“I… Flower? What are you… no, no, I must be going crazy, plants don’t talk.”

Obviously. I don’t have a mouth, but in retrospect, you were partially human, so I suppose speech made sense. You’re also a plant, so thus our communication.

“But… how was I not able to speak with plants before?”

I believe you just didn’t notice, or you don’t remember.

“That wouldn’t be surprising.” You took a breath and looked at the camera. “Hello! Hello is anyone there!”

    Everything was slowly clearing up, but you weren’t entirely sure where you were or how you ended up there. Although as more and more started to register you knew you weren’t here by choice. Someone eventually came in and took you to an interrogation room, it felt vaguely familiar, and then a woman entered.

“Hello, y/n.”

“Who are you? Where am I? Why am I here?”

“A lot of questions. I have to admit it’s nice to communicate with you again.”

“What?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“It’s a little fuzzy right now…”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Suho…”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know… the house is a mystery to me, he messes with my head very easily.”

“I should introduce myself.” She sat down. “My name is Violet. I’m a scientist here, and we’ve been tracking you for months.”

“Tracking? Me? Why?”

“To rescue you. You’re the only survivor of your company, and the only one with intimate knowledge of the specimen.”

“No… when I left people were alive.”

“You remember?”

“Fragments…”

    Those kind of memories always worried you the most. You knew something bad had happened, very bad, enough to make you distraught. He didn’t like seeing you unhappy, he made sure you weren’t.

“Why you?”

“I showed him kindness…”

“That’s not in his nature, is it?”

“If you think I can help you, I can’t. He won’t come for me if you thought I could be bait. I’ve only lived this long cause he needed me for something.”

“Does that something have to do with Adrian Patten and Sedona Nikolova?”

“Yes… and no, they have to do with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Surely you’ve tested my blood… how much is left?”

“How much of what?”

“My humanity.”

“Ah… the last I saw, it was around twelve percent.”

“The last time I checked I was at fifteen. The mutation is almost…”

“What caused it?”

“Right, your tests. I spliced up my own DNA and that of a plants, in order to bind them I used Suho’s blood. That’s the foreign material in my system, and the closest you’ll get to him.”

“So Adrian and Sedona helped you before their deaths?”

“I’m sorry… but I don’t remember what happened, although Suho didn’t need them alive, and I never worked with them. He just gave me their memories.”

“He can do that?”

“Yes. He absorbs knowledge, he can transfer it too. He also has… had a lot of control over my mind. Any memories he didn’t like, he got rid of.”

“So why did he keep you? Is this his plan? To change us all?”

“No, it’s…” You shook your head, of course it’s something he wouldn’t want you to know but it was too great to forget. “No what he’ll do is worse.”

“Which is?”

“He somehow got his hands on that little serum you create, the one designed to free me. He had me reverse engineer it so it can be recreated with the opposite effect. So he can wipe out humanity without harming any other life form.”

“That’s what he had you create.”

“I only reverse engineered it… I don’t think I completed it, but he can.”

“He knows how?”

“He absorbed my knowledge a long time ago.”

    Violet went quiet, as were you. Suho had what he wanted, what he really needed. Given how the weapon worked, there was no way to survive, it just needed to be prevented. Of course you didn’t know where Suho was, you wish you did so you could stop him. You asked Violet for help with your condition, all you needed was a lab and your blood samples, but all she told you was that she’d look into it. You were returned to your room.

Welcome back, I was starting to get worried you had moved on to better things.

“I won’t leave you if that’s what you think. I had a plant before, Cupcake, I miss them.”

Cupcake surely misses you as well. Now, I had this discussion with Flower, but she couldn’t do much.

“What?”

It’s not a good idea to stay here.

“Why.”

You tell me. Flower is a child in all eyes, humans wouldn’t harm her, you on the other hand.

“I’ll be fine. I just need their help and I’ll go back to normal.”

What about Suho?

“He needs to be stopped.”

You think you can do that?

“You don’t have to be on his side. You’ll be just fine either way.”

Perhaps I don’t have to choose sides, but you do.

“And I’ve made it.”

Is it the right one?

♥♥♥♥♥

    Despite the rocky start you grew to get along with Potts, he was in a way your cellmate, and the only one keeping you sane. Potts was very patient with you too, helping you get a hang of using your plant side to speak. You vaguely remembered communicating with them before, way before you even knew what Suho had done to you. At least you had more to eat and were provided with more water, always giving some to Potts.

    The worse thing was that you were practically right where you started, where this whole mess started, just on the other side. This time you were in the cell with artificial sunlight keeping you alive, and one person who seemed to care for you. After you got your main memories back you thought that was it, but then you began to remember something else, someone else, Flower. It was the name Suho had given the plant version of you, and Potts could confirm somethings too. She lived in blissful ignorance, seemed better off with Suho too, you were a nuisance.

“I can’t feel him… she was terrified and missed him… I just feel empty.”

Whatever your feelings towards Suho may be, you’re part of something greater now, and without that connection, there is something missing.

“What about you? You’re in a pot, far from nature since we’re underground.”

Yes, that’s true, but all of nature is connected. I may have spent my whole life in a pot, but I know you’re like me, despite appearances. The same goes for you doesn’t it? Feeling a connection.

“It’s how I… Flower, found you, through that connection. Although I’m not as calm as you.”

I’m not so worried about the world. I’ll find my way around, and I’ll be reborn again.

    You didn’t really see Violet, or anyone, which wasn’t surprising, they had more pressing matters to deal with. After all, once Suho dumped the serum down the drain, you really lost hope in being your old self again. You laid on the mattress, staring at the wall, a part of you was hoping that the mutation would kill you, but you had seen the data before, that wasn’t going to happen, although you had no idea what would.

♥♥♥♥♥

Y/n! Y/n, wake up!

“Sh… stop being so loud…”

Are you alright?

“What?”

You’ve been gone for a long time. I was afraid…

“What are you talking about I just-”

    You stopped when you noticed the edges of Potts’ leaves were becoming brown. Last time you saw them they were vibrant and green. You got up but quickly felt dizzy, noticing a slight pain in your chest. You didn’t have any water around, or food, but you brought Potts over and bit your wrist.

What are you doing?

“I have Suho’s blood in my veins, given what he is, it should be good for you.”

    When you cut through skin you bled into the pot a bit, and eventually the wound healed on its own. You laid back down and glanced at the camera. You closed your eyes and bit your lip, trying to concentrate.

What happened?

I’m not so sure. You fell asleep and a while later two others came in, I believe you were sedated and taken.

I did try to wake you up, but we all know how that ended. This may not be the time, but I do recommend you find a way out of here.

And how am I supposed to do that! I’m not Suho, I can’t summon vines from thin air or however he does it. I’m normal, just like you. Speaking of, how do you know Suho?

We all know him, and his brothers.

But how?

I can’t explain it. Perhaps you should ask him.

If I ever see him again, but I doubt that. I just need to fix this.

    You slowly got yourself back to normal. Unsure of what had happened, now more weary of your situation than before. Potts was doing just fine, the blood probably providing a lot of nutrients too. If anything they might mutate too. You wondered how much time you had left.

Y/n…

What?

You’re not one of them anymore, you need to accept that.

Shut up.

They’re not treating you like one. You haven’t spoken to Violet since you told her what Suho’s plan was, you were secretly taken for something, and they haven’t helped you. They don’t see you as one of them.

That’s not true, they’re just busy. Suho’s trying to kill them all.

Them, good point, not you.

Potts… I’m not…

The humans want to experiment on Suho, they don’t have him, right now you’re second best. Studying you is the closest they can get to understanding him.

That’s not true!

What other reason do they have to take you in secret? If not for me being here you would have never known. It would explain the pain.

No… no, that would only speed up the mutation as it… no…

Flower told me you’re intelligent, surely you can figure some way to escape. Or maybe you do have power like Suho, his blood is in you, it’s just a matter of trying to use it.

That’s not what’s going on.

You only have so much time before something really bad happens…

    A part of you believed Potts, it was the logical conclusion, especially knowing that in the other position, you’d want to study you too. You held on to doubt though, wanting to believe you’d be okay, but your own hopes were crushed. It happened again, and it was worse. You woke with aches all over your body, your chest feeling as if it was set ablaze.

“Potts…”

I’m here, you were gone longer this time…

What… what am I supposed to do…

I don’t know.

I’m sorry I didn’t… can I ask you… for a favor…

What can I possibly do?

If you ever… if you ever see Suho… tell him… 

Tell him what?

“He better kill them all…”