#space baby also just blazed though so its okay

[sorryiwasasleep]

okay im either WAAY too high or exactly the right amount of high to be watching space baby.

[sweetsubharry]

do you have any friends to lovers au full of fluffy?

Yes I do!! It is a favourite of mine so be warned there’s 36 fics in this rec!! Isn’t friends to lovers fluff just the best??  💖

Please stay safe and read the tags!!

It's A Start by Magiic_Shop

“This is dangerous, love,” Louis smirked, his lips pressed against Harry’s shoulder blade.

“Why’s that?” Harry asked.

“Because,” Louis’ smirk grew into a smile, “I might never want to let you go.”

Harry shifted against Louis, reaching up to cover Louis’ hand on his stomach with his own, “Then don’t.”

--

Or, the one where Harry can't sleep at night, and because of that, neither can Louis. Louis thinks it could be the start of something.

everything i can arrange, every part of me you change by orphan_account

“Don’t you try that shit with me,” Niall spits the second he reaches Louis, pulling off the hood with force. “What the hell is this?” He plops down next to Louis on the empty bleacher and unceremoniously pushes a sheet of crumpled paper in his face.

Netflix and Chill Buddy Application

It’s like no matter how hard Louis tries, he can’t seem to run away from this stupid fucking flyer. All the girls (and some of the boys) in every one of his classes have been talking about it all week. It’s on every wall of every building on campus. Louis went for a jog last night and he nearly tripped and died over a loose one on the football track.

[Harry needs a big spoon and Louis refuses to let anyone steal his position. Based on this post.]

One Plus One Is Also One (Sometimes) by justgotowisharder

“Dear Mrs. Sissy,” Anne read out loud and Harry only wanted the ground to swallow him up, “you asked me to write about my hero but I don’t have a hero, I have a superhero. Superheroes are better and have superpowers. My superhero is Louis Tomlinson.”

(Or the one where Louis Tomlinson isn’t really a superhero, but he’ll always do everything on his power to protect his baby Harry)

Love You But I Gotta Let Go by FallingLikeThis

Harry’s father is never going to be satisfied with anything that he does. But maybe that’s okay when his best friend is there, always cheering him on anyway.

Prompt 947: The despair of ever living up to his standards.

Pour Your Heart Out by hrrytomlinson

Louis is his soulmate. Or at least Harry thinks he is. Louis feels the same as Louis. But there are a lot of people named Louis in the world and this Louis might not be the Louis. It’s besides the point though, because Harry knows he can’t allow himself to get close to any boys. He just can’t and he’s told himself this multiple times. He has to simply stay away from Louis Tomlinson. But he can’t. Harry Styles can never stay away from Louis Tomlinson. It’s physically impossible for him to. 

Take This Sinking Boat and Point It Home by goodgirlfaith (boomersoonerash)

Five times Louis Proposes to Harry and the one time he doesn't.

Just Ask Me To by TellMeThisIsNotLove

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers.

“Of course I’m telling the truth!” Harry doesn’t even care that he sounds exasperated.

“Oh my god.” Louis grabs the wall behind him as if looking for support. His body slides down against it until he’s sitting crouched on the floor.

He mumbles something but Harry can’t really figure out what it is. He crouches down, and looks desperately at the breaking boy in front of him.

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers. “You were not supposed to–”

“I was not supposed to do what? Tell me please,” Harry urges, taking Louis’ hands gently in his.

Or the X Factor era canon fic where they learn how to be a couple and that not everyone is going to be on their sides especially those with plain white t-shirts and saccharine smiles.

Burning Skies by emeraldharry 

They both watched as ice and fire danced across their palms, hypnotized by the small things they could do with their powers. Snowflakes swirled around each other as the mist twisted about like a small tornado, while the fire in Louis' hands swayed and twirled gracefully—bright and warm and beautiful.Before, Harry couldn't even think of touching him with the fear of turning his skin to ice. Now, he knew that Louis wasn't some ordinary human to shy away from. Louis was bright, fiery flames, a body of powerful waves of heat. Louis was everything he was not, his polar opposite, but it was all the more reason that they fit together just right.or[Mutant au: Harry likes to think he's normal. Except, normal boys don't freeze everything they touch. Louis thinks he's perfect just the way he is and shows him just that. Zayn is a telekinetic, Liam is a rising YouTube star, and Niall is the best human best friend there is.]

I see the love light in your eyes by larrycaring

For as long as Harry can remember, Louis has always been his best friend.

There are a few constant things in Harry’s life: his family, this town he’s grown up in, and Louis.

He had his other friends, of course, but Louis had always been and still was the person that Harry was closest to. Maybe it was due to the fact that they live next to each other, and that, since the first night they’d talked, when he and Louis shared a conversation on their conjoining roofs, they instantly hit off, and a friendship developed. Or maybe it was that Louis was always so cheeky, almost the opposite of Harry, but it complimented Harry’s slow and thoughtful way of life perfectly. Either way, it just kind of happened.

or an AU where Louis and Harry are very much in love. Featuring football & late night rendezvous.

you fit me better than my favourite sweater by brightbluelou

Harry didn't mean to fall in love with his best friend, and he definitely didn't mean to get pregnant. Despite that, it’s probably still the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And after that, well. It just kept getting better.

or; the one where Harry and Louis are friends-with-benefits and Harry unexpectedly gets pregnant. Harry never wants to stop getting pregnant after that, but Louis thinks seven kids is probably enough.

put your head on my shoulder by wayfared

Niall gives Harry until the end of marching season to either a) make a move on Louis Tomlinson or b) get the fuck over him. Either is easier said than done. Basically, your High School AU with a drum beat.

My Only Sunshine by DontLetHimGo

Harry and Louis have known each other since the start of everything.

When Harry is only a few weeks old, and Louis is two, the older boy is immediately intrigued by the little person in the carry cot. Jay knows that it will be difficult to keep her son away from her best friend's little boy.

baby, hold on to my heart by icaarusfalls

Here was the dilemma: Louis and Harry were out with their mates window shopping because there was nothing else to do and Louis brought an antique ring, hoping to pawn it off to get some quick cash. It was a small, old thing, all rusted and gold, but it had its charm. The owner didn't take it because of the minuscule crack down the middle of the jewel, so Louis just shrugged and handed it to Harry without a thought.

—•—

Louis gives Harry a ring as a joke, but Harry starts wearing the ring everywhere he goes.

So Put Your Hands In (The Holes of My Sweater) by Kat_rawr

“Are you gonna kiss me then?” He asks so quiet he isn’t even sure Louis heard him.

“I think it’s bad luck if I don’t.“ Louis’ breath is hot on Harry’s skin in the cold air. They stand in the dark; Louis’ face only lit up by the yellow-ish light from the street light a few metres away. The light over the door of their building hasn’t worked in years.

“Okay,” Harry says, and of course his cheeks heat up. There are definitely butterflies in stomach and his mouth is definitely dry.

or,

Harry and Louis go on a lot of not-dates.

It's the Sun In Your Eyes by Bearandleonardwrite

Harry's not the best with relationships. Then he finds Louis.

(Basically; Harry's insecure and hurt, but Louis loves him anyways and knows how to help.)

Sun-Dappled by QuickedWeen

Louis and his best friend Harry are in their seventh year at Hogwarts, facing down their future together. Louis has been in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember, and he begins to feel a sense of urgency as the second semester begins. Finally he hatches a plan to tell Harry about his feelings on Harry's birthday.

Stop Making Tired Excuses by midnightskies

Louis hates many things; cold tea, countdown, tuesdays, and university, but most of all he absolutely, categorically despises Eric Davidson, current boyfriend of Harry Styles. 

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

every december (your star lights the sky) by larrystomlinsons

Louis needs a date for the Christmas dance and Harry is the wingman that has feelings for him.

Counting The Steps Between Us by zarah5

AU. So, yeah. That year abroad helped Harry establish that he is in love with his best friend. Now, if Louis would stop treating him like a little brother, that would be awesome. (Additional ingredients: a collapsing tree house, a lot of pining, the other three boys as Louis' new best mates from university, and a camping trip. Serve hot.)

waiting on the sun by midnights

A third year counselor at Camp Weehawken, Louis just wants to get through the summer without accidentally professing his love to Harry during movie night.

ft. night swimming, lots of cuddles, and even more fluff.

Right From the Start (You Know I Got You) by FallingLikeThis

Louis grows up protecting Harry. Harry loves him for it.

Let Me Give You My Life by midnightskies

Gemma has one rule for Louis while he stays with her family at Christmas; not to hook up with her little brother, so of course that's the one thing Louis does.

deep in my heart i know there's only you by ballsdeepinjesus

"Will you do it?” Harry whispers. Louis has to lean closer just to hear him. He furrows his brows and shakes his head, not knowing what Harry means. “Would you donate for me?”

Louis is dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, I thought you just asked if I’d donate my sperm. Can you repeat yourself?”

[harry and louis are best friends who engage in some platonic baby-making. very platonic.]

You Are The View by larryftnoctrl

Louis is running out on time for his photography assignment and Harry looks lovely in red. It only made sense.

the most beautiful thing by sunflowergolden

“Well, I came prepared of course. I actually have a full on suit with me.”He had to be joking. “Lou, you have to be joking. There’s no way you took a full on suit with you all the way from the States.”“I was raised right, H. You never know when you’re going to need it, so you take it with you. In case a cute boy asks you out.”or, the one where louis and harry have been friends for a while, but they live 5.404 miles away from each other, and louis goes to stay with harry for a week

Take Me As I Am by lovelarry10

“Suppressant? But… why would I need a suppressant? Alphas don’t take suppressants.”

“You’re right, they don’t.”

****

Secrets. Lies. Deception. Betrayal. Self-discovery.

Alpha. Omega. How far will they go to hide the truth?

don't call me baby by 28sunflowers

A short and cliché roommates AU inspired by To Be So Lonely, where they’re both oblivious to each other’s feelings and Harry gets sad and jealous over nothing. It works out in the end.

Spin Me Like A Record by zarah5

Uni AU. Sometimes, Louis poses as Harry’s boyfriend. It doesn’t mean anything. Really.

Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic by larrycaring

Call him hopelessly romantic, but Harry was convinced Louis was the one for him. He had never really believed in love at first sight until his special person had come along and stolen his heart. And really, as soon as he had first met Louis on the train, Harry had felt something. Their love, at first sight, had started when they had met, and it had never ended since they had found each other. Harry hadn’t known it back then, of course, but even during his first encounter with Louis, he had felt that fluttering feeling from deep down inside, when Louis had first smiled at him. It had been like gravity had moved, and nothing had mattered more than him.

or even in a magical world, Louis and Harry's love is the most magical and beautiful thing in the world, Zayn is the smart Ravenclaw who falls for his best friend, Liam's true feelings are revealed and Niall is Niall.

or my first Larry Hogwarts AU that I just had to write.

Close your eyes (and let the word paint a thousand pictures) by larrycaring

They were attached at the hip as soon as they met on the Hogwarts Express. They became good friends within the first week of school, and from that day on, Harry just kind of snuck his way right into Louis’ heart. It’s just his charming side, his genuine and caring personality, his stupid puns (and now pick-up lines) that make Louis laugh his ass off, and his bravery and determination. His endless support and loyalty, his friendship… Everything about him, Louis loves. Merlin’s beard, he’s truly gone for him. And he doesn’t know how to tell Harry.

or another Hogwarts AU where Harry thinks it’s a good idea to use cheesy pick-up lines to reveal his feelings to Louis.

Faking It by TheCellarDoor

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

A Real Work of Art by lululawrence

“I don’t understand,” Liam said for probably the fiftieth time in ten minutes. “You have to explain again how this is a bad thing.”

“Leeeeyummm,” Harry whined into the phone as he leaned his head onto his desk. “I felt like this year was my year for getting his attention, you know? That senior year I would finally get Logan Thompson to realize I exist! But he’s in almost every single one of my classes, Li. How am I supposed to survive that?”

“Easily,” Liam answered, with the same matter of fact tone his voice always took when Harry was in one of his fits. “He doesn’t know you exist, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Right?”

Or the one where Harry calls on an old friend, the super popular Louis Tomlinson, to help him change his look to capture the heart of Logan. Things only mostly go as planned.

wanna taste your heart, don't interfere by orphan_account

Harry still remembers how unsure he felt when he first told Louis, how self-conscious he was. Louis had been nothing but understanding and kind, though, reassuring him that nothing’s going to change between them, that they’re still best friends regardless of sex. Harry had been mostly relieved at that, because he really doesn’t want to lose Louis as a friend over this, but another part of him had been a bit sad because… well, because nothing changed between them. Or rather, there is change, but it’s completely one-sided as far as Harry can tell.

This change being him not getting enough of the way Louis smells. He just can’t help it, is the thing, unable to stop himself from trying to subtly press his nose against the fabric of Louis’ shirt by his shoulders. He still smells like faint cologne and sweat, which is enough to make Harry start feeling slightly dizzy.

(harry presents as an omega, louis is his alpha best friend, and there are hidden feelings that just get harder to control.)

Picture Perfect by LittleBubbleStyles

an AU where Louis Tomlinson is a misunderstood football player, and Harry Styles is a misunderstood photographer. Somehow, they're understood together.

this is a wip but it is updated regularly, almost finished, and I highly recommend it!!

[olivarryprompts]

Fanfic Friday #6

Welcome to Fanfic Friday! Each Friday I will post a new fanfic here and on A03. Enjoy x

Read and save it on A03 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/32370130

{Peter Parker’s Field Trip to Stark Industries}

Ships: peppertony, wandanat, sambucky

Warnings: mild anxiety, swearing

Status: married or dating

Wc: 3,281

“-and so that wraps up this lesson. Your homework is to do this worksheet, please hand a sheet back to everyone. I have a quick announcement, and it is very exciting. Given that this is one of the most advanced classes we offer, the school has arranged for us to have a field trip!”

Peter refocused on the word field trip. He didn’t have a good track record for those.

“We will be going to Avenger’s Tower! This is a very exclusive opportunity and you all should be very excited-”

No, no, no, no, this couldn’t be happening to Peter. Not now. Oh god. He had a suspicion this was set up by his basically-father. He was going to kill Tony. His teacher went on to blabber about permission slips and NDAs.

“Class dismissed. Please hand your forms in tomorrow as the field trip is on Friday.”

FRIDAY? How could it be so soon. Peter wanted to die. He headed for the door, but was stopped in his tracks by Mr. Blaze calling his name.

“Yes?” he said, turning around. The class had mainly cleared out by now.

“Peter, you're a good kid, and I understand not being the most popular student in school, but we need to talk about the lie you made up about working at Stark Industries.”

“But the internship is re-”

“This field trip is a great opportunity, and I do not want your lies ruining it for yourself or your classmates. Please do not mention it whilst we are there, or there will be serious consequences.”

“It’s a real intern-”

“Please Peter. You should know better than this. See you tomorrow.”

He was tired and fed up of school when he headed into the hallways to see his best friend.

“Hey,” Ned said, meeting him in the hallway.

“Hey,” Peter replied weakly.

“What’s up? Something happened?”

“Nah, just that field trip.”

“Oh the one to Stark Tower! It’s going to be so fun!”

“Right..”

“You’re not excited? I know you work there and stuff, but still.”

“Hmn uh yeah. No it was more Mr. Blaze being a bitch,” he replied, half lying.

“Still thinks you're lying about the internship?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Wanna come over to mine? Build some lego?”

“Nah, got to be home. Too much work to catch up on with all the patrolling I’ve been doing.”

“Gotcha. Well, see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah see you.”

Peter walked to the carpark expecting to find Happy in his black SUV. He was, instead, met by Black Widow.

“Nat?”

“Hey spider boy.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Figured I’d pick ya up and bring you home. Had a second free.”

He jumped into the passenger seat of the jet black convertible.

“How was school паук?”

“Не очень хорошо,” he said easily slipping into Russian. (Not very good)

“Зачем? что-то случилось? (Why? Did something happen?”)

“Да. У нас есть производственная практика в Stark Industries. Что было бы не так уж и плохо, но мой глупый учитель не думает, что я действительно проходил там стажировку, поэтому он отругал меня. Плюс мое паучье чутье сегодня сильно пошло на убыль.” (Yes. We have a field trip to Stark Industries. Which wouldn't be so bad, but my stupid teacher doesn't think I really have an internship there, so he told me off. Plus my spider sense were going off so much today.)

“бедный ребенок. Я могу чем-нибудь помочь?” (Poor kid. Anything I can do to help?)

“Убить Tony за это? (Kill Tony for setting this up?”)

“Нет, детка. Сожалею." (No can do kiddo. Sorry.)

“Разве ты не можешь рассказать другим Мстителям? Особенно папа.” (Can you not tell the other Avengers? ‘Specially Dad.)

“Я не обещаю.” (I won’t, promise.)

"Спасибо.” (Thanks.)

They’d arrived at the tower. There was more to it than he was telling. Ever since he’d moved into the tower, he’d been his safe space. It was his and his families. And he knew it was supid because so many people used it, but still. It felt awful for people from his school to come there. Peter pulled his security card out of his bag, scanning it.

“Peter Parker-Stark, clearance level Alpha 5, all access. Hi baby boss,” Friday, the building's AI called out, “Shall I tell Mr. Stark you’re home?”

“Yeah sure. I’m going straight to my lab, though.”

“Okay sir. Morgan would also like to inform you that she is looking for you.”

“Send her down to the lab.”

“As you wish.”

He hopped in the lift and allowed Friday to take him to floor 89. It was his personal lab. Oren, he’d reprogram Karen, allowed him entry through the glass door.

“Hello Peter, welcome back. What would you like to work on?”

“I’m going to do some work on my web shooters. Play my “workin after school” playlist on, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

He worked peacefully on his shooters design and mechanics for about 30 minutes before Oren alerted him that Morgan was coming up.

“Morgan Stark is requesting entry.”

“Granted.”

The door opened and revealed his basically little sister.

“Hey Mo,” he said, picking up the little girl, “Who let you roam around all on your own?”

“Mummy sent me up,” she smiled.

Peter nodded.

“What are you working on Petey.”

“I’ll show you,” he said, placing Morgan on his work table. He’d quickly made sure there was nothing that could hurt her.

“Web shooters?” she guessed.

“Yep. See I wanted to make them even more efficient so I changed the gears and trigger mechanism.”

She nodded knowingly. She was very smart for her age.

“Nice! Can we build our robot?”

“Sure thing. Oren, pull up the files for Petey-Pie and Morgana’s Robot.” He’d let Morgan handle the name for their creation.

Peter went and grabbed the box that had all their pieces in it. Being careful around the young girl, they continued to work on building the robot, Peter teaching her little things on the way.

So he had a normal evening. Did some fun work, some homework, ate dinner with the lunatics called the avengers, and went to bed.

“If it isn’t my two favorite small children!” Tony said, entering his lab.

“Daddy!” Morgan said, running into her father’s arms.

“Oren, I thought I told you to lock Dad out.”

“Unfortunately your father runs the building, so I could not follow your wanted protocol.”

“Love you too kid.”

“You set up the field trip.”

“Field trip?”

“Yeah. My school’s coming here on Friday!” Peter said, looking up from his work.

“Really? Nope wasn’t me. It was likely someone from PR, kiddo. You do go to one of the best STEM schools in the country.”

Tony had a point.

“Right...sorry.”

“It’s good, kid. What’s got you so wound up about it?”

“Daddy, I’m going to Mummy.”

“Okay kiddo, Friday take little Potts to bigger Potts,” he said with a smile.

“Yes sir.”

Once Morgan left, Tony asked again, “So wanna talk about it?”

“Just, just this is home. My home. And I know that’s stupid because it’s a fuckin 100 floor tower, but I know it. I know it so well, and I just don’t really want kids from my school here. I know I can’t gatekeep a building bu-”

“Hey, hey, it’s not stupid. It makes sense. This place is home and you don’t want them messing with any part of it. I bet most kids in your class wouldn’t love it if people came into their home for a field trip.”

“Yeah. And i-its my safeplace. From everything.” Everything being all the people he lost. His parents and uncle and aunt.

“I get it. Want me to have Pep cancel the trip?”

“N-no, no. All the kids in my class were so excited.”

“Always so selfless,” Tony smiled, “When is it again?”

“Friday.”

“Kiddo, I promise it’ll be fine. If anything, anything happens just get Fri to call me or Pep. Most of the avengers will be around too so you can call ‘em too.”

“Yeah. Thanks. They’ll just try to embarrass me, though,” Peter laughed.

“They will. Do I need to sign something?”

“I’m just going to have Mum do it because her signature is less recognizable.”

“Yeah, okay. Your teachers still don’t believe you?”

“How did you know th-”

“Come on kid, I’m Tony Stark.”

Peter smiled, “Fair enough. Yeah they don’t. I mean they will after the trip.”

“Yeah, that’s the bright side.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you to it then. Don’t stay in here too late.”

The night before the field trip he was so nervous. He ended up eating dinner in his lab. Pepper complained but Tony just told her he’d had a long day and deserved a break.

He knew he should have gone to bed but as each hour passed, he got more and more anxious about the trip. He needed something to take his mind off it, so he just kept working and working. Suddenly it was seven in the morning and he needed a shower. Finishing his eighth coffee of the eve, he headed to the 91st floor where he stayed. Hoping that neither of his parents would notice his all nighter he crept into his room.

After getting ready for school, he made his way back out of his room.

“Morning,” Pepper greeted him, “How was last night?” She wore a knowing smile as she continued to tap on her computer, presumably doing work.

“Fine,” he smiled, “Don’t tell dad.”

“I won’t. You're turning into him, though.”

“What else was expected?”

Pepper just smiled, “Sam and Bucky had loads of pastry delivered to the main kitchen if you wanna pop in there.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Thanks.”

“By sweetie, have a good day at school.”

“Thanks. Love you.”

“Love you too, hun.”

Peter jumped in the lift taking him up two floores to the Avengers hang out space.

“Spiderling!” Sam and Bucky greeted

“Old Man, bird boy,” he smirked.

“You look like shit, паук,” Nat said from the sofa.

“Thanks,” he said, putting a few of the delicious looking treats onto his plate. He also grabbed himself another cup of coffee. He plops himself down next to Nat on the sofa.

“Did you not sleep again? You look like hell.” Tony said, entering the kitchen to get himself another cup of coffee.

“Right back at you dad.”

“Fair.”

Steve entered, coming back from his run.

“Hey,” he said, addressing the room, “God kid, you look like yo-”

“OKAY NEXT PERSON TO TELL ME I LOOK SHIT IS GETTING IT!”

“Oh sorry,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. Clint came in with Pietro at his side, “What’s this about Peter looking shit?”

“I hate you all,” he said, finishing his last bite. He laid down on the sofa.

“Oh ah kid, something I needed to tell you. Right, you can stay here. No need to go to school and back. Pepper wrote a note saying you’d meet at the school because you had a doctor's appointment or some shit.”

“Why is spider boy here?” Sam asked.

“School field trip.”

“Only you Parker,” the White Wolf laughed.

“No embarrassing me, please,” he begged.

“Hell no, this is a great opportunity,” Sam said, looking over to bucky.

“I won’t,” Nat said with her hands up.

“I’m in, team embarrass Peter,” Clint said, high fiving Bucky and Sam. At that moment, Wanda walked in heading straight for her girlfriend’s arms. Nat happily let her fall into her lap.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Nat asked with some level of concern.

“Everything,” Wanda said.

“Drama queen,” Pietro scoffed. Peter closed his eyes and let the conversation happen around him. At some point, Tony had left. Clint had gone off to train with the Dumb and Dumber, and Steve claimed he had a mission brief.

Friday’s voice startled him, “Peter, I recommend you head downstairs as your class is arriving in 5.”

“Five what?” Peter questioned.

“Four,” The AI continued.

“A LITTLE MORE WARNING WOULD BE NICE!”

Peter grabbed his shit and jumped into the private elevator as fast as he could. Luckily, he was in the lobby mere moments before the class entered. He pretended just to be standing around.

“Peter,” Mr. Blaze called, “Please come and join the class.”

Peter nodded, spotting his best friend amongst the crowd.

“Hey,” Ned greeted.

“‘Sup.”

“Good morning everyone,” said the tour guild, “My name is Tamiko Hiroki and I will be taking you on your tour today. To start, I will be giving you all badges. When I call your name please step up and collect it.”

She made her way through the basket and by the time she was done only one student had not received a badge.

“Hey, Peter didn’t get a badge,” Cindy Moon, a kind girl in his physics class, called.

“Apologies, there doesn’t seem to be one in here for a Peter.”

“Uh I-i, I have m-my own. Thanks Tamiko.”

“Oh okay, cool. Please follow me to security.” The class seemed shocked. Was the kid telling the truth about his internship?

“So, there are many different levels of pass here. Guests get Beta levels 1-5 depending on what they are doing. Then there’s Omega’s who are interns and such. Next is the scientist and important employees with Zeta. Finally there’s Alpha for major important roles such as department heads. The top level, Alpha 5, contains the most important people like the Avengers who live in the tower and CEO Pepper Pots.

“Tamiko Hiro, Clearance level Beta 5.”

“Don’t worry everyone, that's Friday, the AI who runs the building. Just keep passing through.”

“Philip Maiko, Clearance level Beta 1.”

“Michelle Jones, Clearance level Beta 1.”

Peter headed towards the back, allowing all the students to go in front of him. He prayed they didn’t hear his security protocol. The rest passed through with Beta 1. Then, Peter came up.

“Peter Parker-Stark, clearance level Alpha 5, all access. Hi baby boss,” Friday, the building's AI called out, “Shall I tell Mr. Stark you’re home early?”

“I’m on a field trip, Fri. No need to tell D-Mr. Stark. Thanks.”

The class, once again, looked shocked.

“Why does Penis Parker have all access?” Flash called to Tamiko.

“I do not believe I have clearance to disclose that information, but Peter here may answer,” Tamiko said, glaring at Flash.

“I mean I’ve said it before. I am a personal intern of-”

“PETEY!” Bucky yelled, giving him a hug from behind.

Deflated, he responded, “Hey Buck.”

“Is that all I get?

The two settled on one of the many sofas in the lab. Pete’s head in Tony’s lab.

“Sorry about that, Pepper explicitly told all tours to stay off this level, but it seems as though her assistant made an exception because she thought it was okay as you were on the tour. Pepper fired her.”

Only his mum, “She didn’t have to do that.”

“She was furious.”

“Oh I’m sure.”

“I know this is your safe space, so-”

“It’s okay. No one came in.”

“Yeah.”

“You feeling any better?”

“Just tired. Thanks.”

“Always kiddo. You wanna go upstairs? Take a nap?”

“Sure.”

[honeyandhondewberries]

Hi! :) Could a please request a cutesy/fluffy LeonxRaihan story where Leon gets to witness Raihan interacting with baby dragon Pokémon? Maybe something like Leon having a crisis because he only ever viewed Raihan as his tough rival and has never seen this side of him?

yaaass cutsey leonxraihan story yaasss gay panic yaasss. made this one Long so it’s also a oneshot on Ao3

~~

Leon, You’re Staring (LeonxRaihan)

“Stop!”

“Don’t tell me to stop, you stop!”

Laughter rang through the swaying grass of Route 6, easily surrounding the two trainers that trekked down the path. It was nearing sunset, and although that normally meant cooler temperatures, the intense heat was still blustering over the orange rock and over the Champion and Dragon Gym Leader. Flushed faces, sweaty bodies, shiny smiles – normally Leon loved training in the heat and found it exhilarating, but not when Raihan was desperate to strip out in the open.

“There’s no one out here, it doesn’t even matter,” Raihan retorted as he tried to pull his shirt off again, though Leon tugged it back down in defiance. “Leon it’s a billion degrees out!”

“We are too close to Hammerlocke,” Leon growled in return. “What if someone sees you, half naked and sweating?”

“Then they’d say, ‘thanks for such a treat,’” Raihan said as he swatted Leon’s hand away again. “The one time I’ve ever remotely hot and you don’t even let me cool down.”

“Don’t blame this on me,” Leon scoffed. “Blame this on you needing to keep your image family-friendly.”

“Rubbish,” Raihan said, and he quickened his pace so he was out of reach from Leon’s frustrated tugging. “You just want this half naked and sweaty body all to yourself.”

“Yeah okay,” Leon laughed. He shot a glance to Hammerlocke, and once he deemed it far enough away, let out a frustrated, “Whatever, do what you want.”

At that, Raihan made quick work of peeling off his shirt and tying it around his forehead, along with letting out an over-dramatic sigh. His skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, and he rolled his shoulders as if his light t-shirt had been terribly constricting his range of motion.

“So much better,” he hummed. “Okay, your turn.”

“What?”

“C’mon champ, take it off,” Raihan teased as he gave Leon a once over. “Let’s see those famous pecs.”

“Maybe later,” Leon chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, how ‘bout a battle then?” Raihan grinned. “If I win, you take off your shirt. If you win, I’ll take off my pants.”

Leon barked out another laugh and added a playful shove as he and Raihan continued down the path. It wasn’t often he got to spend time with Raihan like this, but every minute seemed to refuel his energy stores. His best mate had a good habit of doing that, either with jokes or an intense, blazing battle. Lately, Leon had only been able to see Raihan on the Champion pitch, where they would ferociously throw everything they had at one another. So, being with Raihan like this almost made Leon giddy. He motioned to let out another quip, only to pause when Raihan held his arm out.

His smile was gone, and the electric blue of his eyes were no longer childishly glinting but were focused on something on the path ahead. Leon paused, waiting and listening for whatever it was that had taken Raihan’s attention. All that surrounded them was the swaying of the grass, then suddenly, a weak cry.

“Did you hear that?” Raihan asked, and Leon nodded.

There it was again. A faint mewling came from a tuft of green grass a few feet ahead, and Raihan delicately covered the space between him and the sound. Soft rustling filled the air as he knelt, then a quiet ‘oh, no.’

“What?” Leon asked as he stepped behind Raihan.

“Poor thing,” Raihan whispered, completely ignoring the champion behind him. “You okay, buddy?”

Leon peered over Raihan’s shoulder to see him cupping the bruised jaw of a tiny Trapinch. The Pokémon had fat tears rolling down its cheeks, each of them glinting as they plopped to the dirt below. Its shaking only made the tears fall faster.

“I won’t hurt you,” Raihan whispered as he gently stroked the Trapinch’s head. “What happened?”

The Trapinch let out another soft cry, its entire body quaking.

“It’s so small,” Leon said as he watched Raihan inspect the Pokémon. It had a bruise on the top of its head, and what looked like a broken back leg. Bruises littered its body, and faint scratches throbbed red against the dirty orange of its skin.

“I think it’s just a baby,” Raihan said softly as he unraveled his shirt from his head. He lifted the Trapinch to gently swaddle it, who let out another soft cry. “You’re safe now, I won’t hurt you. Let’s take you to the Pokémon Center, okay?”

The two immediately turned back to Hammerlocke. Raihan’s strides were long, as they usually were, but he never once took his eyes off the Trapinch. He muttered soothing words to it as they traveled the short distance back to the city, and Leon’s brow furrowed at this sudden sweetness coming from his rival. What happened to that biting wit from barely two minutes ago, that blazing competition?

Hm…

Well, it was only natural that a Gym Leader be caring towards Pokémon.

Those thoughts faded as they reached the Pokémon Center in Hammerlocke. The nurse was quick and succinct, and informed them that the Trapinch was probably only a few months old, and would be fine despite whatever scuffle it was in. She healed up most of the bruises and scratches, but the broken back leg would take a while to heal. Raihan immediately decided he’d take care of the Pokémon for as long as it took for its leg to heal, the nurse nodded and said that was sweet, then again told him to please put on a shirt.

After finally obeying the nurse’s request and swaddling the Trapinch in a Pokémon Center–themed blanket instead, Leon and Raihan walked out the sliding glass doors and into the main streets of Hammerlocke.

“You’re going to be safe and sound with me, okay?” Raihan cooed as he held the Trapinch close to his chest. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

The Trapinch let out another faint squeak, then nuzzled its face into Raihan’s chest. It was a cute motion, but what grabbed Leon’s attention was how Raihan smiled. It wasn’t something smug, there was no evidence of that cocky shark-toothed grin, but rather it was… gentle. Might’ve been the gentlest thing Leon had ever seen, coming from Raihan. The soft curve of his lips, the delicate squint of his eyes from that smile – it was something so strange, so foreign, and so confusing, it made Leon stop in his tracks.

He hadn’t done any strenuous exercise, so why was Leon’s heart suddenly thumping harder in his chest?

“What’s up?” Raihan asked, turning to face the suddenly still champion. “You good?”

Leon blinked a few times as he processed Raihan’s question. The setting sun was reflecting off the windows of the café beside them, softly dappling on the ground, on the Trapinch snuggled in his arms, and on Raihan himself.

Did… Did Raihan always look like this?

Long legs, trim waist, defined arms, soft smile, striking eyes… did Raihan’s eyes always look like that? Were they always that color? Shining electric blue in the light of the setting sun, as if he should be part of the sky as well?

…odd.

When he cocked an eyebrow, Leon jolted into focus again.

“Yes!” Leon blurted. “But where are we going!”

Raihan furrowed his brow at Leon’s volume, and shielded the Trapinch as if the noise would damage it further.

“My apartment,” Raihan said, and Leon fell into step with him as they started again. “I already said that, were you not listening?”

“No, I was, I was,” Leon said, trying to better maintain the strange squeak in his voice. “Yeah I heard you I just forgot.”

“Too busy staring at me?” Raihan asked. “Too distracted?”

“Wh-,” Leon started, his cheeks tingeing pink (though he was sure it was just because of the heat). “Th-that’s… No! That’s not true, that’s rubbish!”

Raihan’s brow furrowed, though his teasing smile was still easy on his face.

Why was Leon stuttering? Why didn’t he just laugh it off like earlier? Why didn’t Raihan’s joking accusation roll off his back, why was it jumbling the words in his mouth?

These questions didn’t seem to plague Raihan, as he only shrugged and led the way back to his apartment. Leon was unsuccessful in averting his gaze, because now he couldn’t quite understand why Raihan seemed different. He could accurately predict how much Hop had grown down to the quarter of an inch, so why couldn’t he pick out what was different about Raihan?

The same tall frame, strong shoulders, sharp jawline… and yet, there was something else, too. Something else that made Leon’s throat a little tight.

“Leon.”

“Huh?” Leon grunted with a start. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted to stay for dinner,” he asked, and Leon’s heart thumped yet again when Raihan squinted at him.

He nodded quickly, almost too quickly, though again he wasn’t sure why.

Before long they were in Raihan’s apartment, sitting on Raihan’s couch, both tucked in soft blankets as the cool twilight breeze blew in from the open window. The lights were dimmed, as to help Trapinch fall asleep faster, but Leon could only focus on how the soft glow of the lamps around them made Raihan seem almost ethereal.

“Come pet Trapinch, Leon,” Raihan hummed, and Leon immediately obeyed.

He scooched down the couch until he was an inch away from Raihan’s thigh, though he for some reason couldn’t cover the rest of the distance to press against him. When Raihan’s fingers brushed his, immediately goosebumps raised on Leon’s arms and he shot his hand back.

“Chill out, what’s wrong with you,” Raihan asked as he grabbed Leon’s hand again. “Are you that scared of a baby Pokémon?”

Raihan tugged him forward, and Leon’s unstable posture led him to tumble into Raihan’s side. Raihan must have bene anticipating that, because he easily lifted his arm and wrapped it around Leon’s shoulders, his other arm still holding Trapinch against his chest.

Leon certainly wasn’t anticipating that, however, and he also wasn’t anticipating how his brain seemed to be short-circuiting. He swallowed, blinked a few times, and acted as normal as possible by giving Trapinch a few pats. Trapinch immediately let out another affectionate cry and nuzzled into Leon’s touch.

“You’re a natural,” Raihan sighed, his voice rumbling through Leon’s body.

Natural.

The word resonated within Leon, settled into his bones, as he again took in their placement.

Is that what this was?

“You’re so sweet,” Raihan whispered, wrinkling his nose again when Trapinch bumped it.

Leon’s brow furrowed.

This… was this even Raihan?

“You hungry?” Raihan asked Trapinch, his voice barely a hum as Trapinch bumped his nose again. “No? What do you want?”

Raihan pressed a gentle kiss onto the Pokémon, who let out a garbled cry of delight. He chuckled and pressed another kiss to Trapinch’s paw as Leon stared with a confused countenance. Who was this man, so gentle and calm, pressing gentle kisses to a baby Pokémon?

Leon’s eyes flit to Raihan’s mouth when he kissed Trapinch again.

This man sounded like Raihan, looked like Raihan, and yet something seemed… different. Leon squinted his eyes.

Hm.

What was it?

His eyes? His smile? His lips?

Leon’s eyelids lowered an inch.

Maybe…

Were Raihan’s lips always so plush…?

So… soft and perfect?

What would it feel like if…

What if that were him?

Soft lips pressing against his… sweet whispers just for him… that smile so close…

Leon’s eyes widened at that thought and he immediately bolted off the couch. Both Raihan and Trapinch jumped, and Raihan offered a frustrated scowl at the haphazard movement. He curled his arms around Trapinch into a secure hug, protecting it from the fumbling champion.

“Sorry,” Leon spluttered out. “I-I, uh, I thought I felt something.”

Raihan raised an eyebrow, then glanced to where Leon was sitting.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Leon coughed. “Um. Be right back.”

“…Alright,” he said as Leon scrambled to the kitchen. That suspicious gaze was boring into the back of his head, and Leon again wondered what the hell was going on with him.

As Leon filled a cup for himself and promptly chugged it down, those images kept flashing into his mind.

Raihan, holding Leon in his lap.

Raihan, smiling against his lips.

Raihan, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his neck.

Raihan, whispering soothing words to him.

“Leon?”

With a start, the glass tumbled from Leon’s hands and shattered on the floor, spurring a yelped expletive from the champion.

“You alright?” came Raihan’s voice from the other room.

“Yeah!” Leon called back, though he was definitely not alright. “Just, uh, the glass slipped!”

“Okay, well the broom’s in the closet. Get me a cup too when you’re done.”

“Yeah,” Leon called again, then he let out a sigh. “Yeah, I will…”

What was going on with him? Raihan was his rival and best mate, and that was the limit. He couldn’t think about him like that, like he was something… more than that.

Leon had swept up the shattered glass and was going to grab another from the cabinet, only to freeze when Raihan stepped into the kitchen too, stopped only a foot away, hands on his hips and scowl on his face.

“Leon, you’re acting weird,” Raihan said as he squinted his eyes and leaned closer. “What’s going on with you?”

Raihan had leaned closer only a few inches, but the less space between them was dizzying. Those eyes, those lips, that body pressing into his space – it was all suddenly squeezing Leon’s chest, beading the sweat on his brow, and making his heart pound in his ears. Had Raihan always been this tall? Had he always looked like this? Had his eyes always been that color? Had his lips always seemed so, so, so soft?

“Where’s Trapinch?” Leon deflected as he backed against the counter.

“Sleeping on the couch, don’t change the topic,” Raihan said as he stepped closer. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Leon blurted. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong.”

“Liar,” Raihan said. “Your face is flushed.”

“No it isn’t,” Leon quickly retorted, yet he could feel his cheeks burning the closer Raihan leaned.

Kiss me

The thought was gone as quickly as it came, yet it seared into Leon’s brain like it was burned there.

Was… was that him?

Did he just think that?

Did Raihan hear that?

No, why would he think that?

Why would.

Why would…

“Yes it is, you're blushing,” Raihan said as his brow furrowed. He lifted his hand, and Leon’s breath caught when he gently cupped his jaw, then ran his thumb over Leon’s cheek.

Kiss me

“I-I,” Leon stuttered. “I-I, um…”

His eyelids were fluttering despite himself, and something pulled much too strong in his stomach when Raihan set his hand beside Leon’s waist, effectively pinning him against the counter.

What was going on with him?

Kiss me

He didn’t really want Raihan to kiss him, right?

Kiss me

He was his best mate, his rival, not someone Leon was… was…

Raihan’s eyes flicked to his lips.

Kiss me kiss me kiss me

…was suddenly and insanely attracted to.

“You sure?” Raihan whispered. “This is the fourth time I’ve caught you staring at me.”

“W-was I?” Leon coughed out. Raihan nodded. “I, uh, hadn’t noticed.”

“I have,” Raihan said as he pressed closer. “Staring at my lips, actually. You doing that on purpose, or do I have something on my face?”

Kiss me

“Nothing’s on your face,” Leon replied dumbly. “I-I mean there is, that’s why I was… um… staring.”

“Why don’t you get it for me,” Raihan breathed as he leaned closer.

“I… I…” Leon mumbled. His words were failing him, as was his will to stop whatever this was, as Raihan tilted his chin up.

“I’ve been flirting with you for years and all it took was snuggling a Trapinch?”

Kiss me

“Well, I-I,”

Kiss me

“I meant that… um…”

Kiss me kiss me kiss me

“What do you want, Leon?” Raihan whispered. The nerves on his lips were tingling as if lightning were about to strike.

Kiss me kiss me kiss me

“I want… I want you to… um…”

Raihan’s breath whispered over Leon’s lips, only a few inches away. Everything in Leon was burning – his cheeks, his throat, his chest, his mind as that thought repeated again and again.

Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me

“I… I want…” Leon whispered again.

Kissmekissmkissmekissmekissmekissmekissmekissmekissmekissme

“Say it, Leon,” Raihan breathed.

“Kiss me.”

Raihan covered the space between them, hovered an inch away, and gently pressed his lips against Leon’s.

Softly.

So, so softly. It was such a soft kiss, just as soft as Leon imagined. Perfect, plush lips, pressing against his, between his, just a glint of electric blue whenever his eyes would flutter open – it all made him a little dizzy.

“Kiss me,” Leon mumbled against Raihan’s mouth, who in turn let out a laugh.

“I literally am,” Raihan said, and offered Leon another peck, then another when Leon gripped the front of his shirt.

“Kiss me,” Leon mumbled again, as if those were the only words he knew.

Raihan opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by a cry from the living room. Immediately Raihan bolted away to tend to Trapinch, and Leon was left cold from the lack of Raihan’s heat against him, and yet everything within him was burning.

Did that…

Did they…

Did that just happen?

Suddenly Raihan’s head popped out from around the corner.

“The second I get Trapinch to sleep, you will meet me on the couch, and we will continue that.”

Leon breathed out a laugh when Raihan smiled, and he nodded at the idea of fulfilling those wonderings he had only earlier that night.

Luckily it didn’t take long for Trapinch to fall asleep.

[sazc94]

The Way I Loved you

A long overdue Bucky fic for my girl @lannycleave consider this a delayed birthday gift <3

Also Please accept this as another entry to the wonderful @msmarvelwrites

2k Challenge because her challenege seems to be one of the only things able to inspire me at the moment.

Pairing Steve and Reader and Bucky and Reader.

Warning 18+ Only as it's smutty. Daddy kink (maybe idk). Angst. Some fluff (Steve being a perfect boring gentlemen). Surbuan Au type Thing

Not Proof read so my apologies.

Dating Steven Grant Rogers was a dream, He's charming and endearing and you were comfortable. He was reliable, never made you wait, always calling exactly when he says he will. A true prince charming on a white horse always there to sweep you off your feet.

He was always opening doors for you, got on with your mother and talked business with your father. You two were a match made in heaven, he a Captain in the army and you the perfect small-town girl that everyone wanted.

You never had to worry about where you stood with Steve, he would always tell you how beautiful you looked, have you home by a reasonable hour (even though you were in your 20’s and lived alone). He would always respect you and your space, never pushing you for more than a kiss, or at a push a steamy make out session.

However, that’s where the problem was, you were comfortable, you wanted passion, you wanted him to want you, touch you, fuck you. Anything just anything to make you feel that fire you had once felt with James Bucky Barnes. Sadly, Steve was just too much of a gentleman and would never do anything beyond a make out session in his car, he never came into your apartment always making up some excuse about how that wasn’t the proper thing to do.

Your single friends thought you were crazy. They were jealous. you had the perfect specimen of a man with his blonde hair and blue eyes and his abs, oh god his abs, he was perfectly sculpted almost like he had been made out of a bottle. He was a great kisser you just didn’t feel anything.

Then there was Bucky, he was also in the army, a Sergeant. He was just as muscular as Steve however where Steve had short blonde perfectly sculpted hair (like a ken doll except blonde), Bucky was a brunette, when you had first met him he had shaggy brown hair however he had cut it once he had been called up to the army.

Both had blue eyes, however where Steve’s sparkled, Bucky’s felt like the ocean like you were downing in them, and oh god the little lick of his lips he did when he smirked, it melted you into a puddle. Bucky had always adored you, calling you doll treating you right, but after the first tour things had changed.

Bucky had lost an arm and whilst he got an amazing prosthetic thanks to Stark industries the softness, he once had to him was long gone.

The love between you became somewhat toxic, screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain and it's 2:00 a.m. and you were cursing his name. But the sex. Oh god the sex. It was always electric after a fight.

One minute your screaming and fighting, cursing telling him that you cant stand him, the next minute his lips would be crashing onto yours, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You let him take control because when Bucky Barens wanted you with such a raw animalistic way, who were you too refuse?

Buckys hands cupped your ass, urging you to jump and wrap your legs around him, Whilst you and Bucky were freaky, you weren’t quite fuck outside in your apartments front garden freaky. Buckys tall muscular frame was taught beneath the shirt as he carried you into your apartment.

Thankfully you were on the ground floor and as soon as Bucky was in your apartment he kicked the door shut behind him.

Bucky backed you against the wall next to the door your body becoming putty beneath his as he pushed his hardened cock against you, the friction of your PJ short. You couldn’t help but moan as your arousal started to soak through your shorts.

Bucky slipped his hand down your shorts and let out a dark chuckle.

“Stupid little slut of mine, already so wet for me and I’ve barley even begun, when im done with you, you wont even remember your own name” Bucky growled.

You loved Bucky, so you knew he would never do anything to truly hurt you, but the way his eyes darkened with arousal, hunger, a want for you, no a need for you, and the way he spoke down to you. Sent shivers down your spine and and arousal flooding to your pussy.

Bucky began harshly swipping your swollen clit, pushing one finger in and then another before he began harshly scissoring you with fingers.

“Dumb slut, whats the matter cat got your tongue? Bucky said pushing a third finger inside you, Buckys pace quickened working that magic spot, before long your orgasm was crashing through you. Bucky worked his fingers still inside you slowing the pace to bring you down form your high.

Once your breathing had slowed Bucky grabbed your legs which had dropped from his waist and pulled you tight around him before walking into your bedroom.  He dropped you on the bed and began removing his pj pants.

He clicked to the spot on the floor in front of him.

“On your knees, bitch” he said. You complied arousal flooding through you again.

“There’s a good little girl” he cooed. You felt yourself flush at his appraisal.

By now Bucky had removed all his clothes and was standing in front of you his erect cock stretching out, you felt your mouth water slightly with anticipation. Bucky had a large cock, but it was also wide, your lips parted slightly as Bucky pumped his hand down his cock lazily. Bucky swiped his thumb over his bulbous head and gathered his pre-cum with his thumb, he then wiped it across your lips followed by a deep kiss.

You moaned slightly as the tang taste of his precum mixed with the taste of his lips. Suddenly Bucky broke the kiss and without warning he shoved his cock in your mouth. You whined slightly at the intrusion.

“That’s my good girl taking daddy’s cock so well. Wanna feel those pretty little lips do some good” Bucky then pulled his cock almost all the way out from your mouth before snapping his cock back into your mouth.

Bucky grabbed your hair and began to fuck your mouth at a relentless pace, you felt your eyes start to tear up as you gagged around his thick cock. You tried to remember how to breathe but you could feel yourself slipping into that cockdrunk haze Bucky seemed to put you in.

“Stupid little slut doesn’t know how to behave, seems to forget who loves her. That’s okay Daddy will help you remember” Bucky said slamming into your throat again. All you could do was whimper in response. Suddenly Bucky removed his cock from your mouth. He wiped your tears away and kissed you gently. He picked you up with ease and placed you on the bed.

Bucky rolled you round so you were face down before gently pulling your ass towards him. You didn’t let his sudden gentleness fool you, you knew Bucky was about to absolutely destroy you. You couldn’t help the arousal pooling in your cunt as Bucky ran his hands languidly along your body, leaving a trail of blazing hot kisses along your neck, shoulder and back.

“Such a pretty little girl when you’re quiet, what’s the matter baby, cat got your tounge?” Bucky said as he teased his cock along your wet folds and you mewled in response.

“Now you’re going to be a good little girl and take what daddy gives you aren’t you?” Bucky asked. You nodded in response.

“Need to hear you use your words Princess” Bucky growled.

“Yes daddy” you replied compliantly.

That was all the confirmation Bucky needed and then he plunged his hardened cock inside your waiting cunt the groan you let out was purely pornographic. Bucky stilled a moment inside you before he began to drag his cock along your walls. Buck tangled his hand in your hair and pulled you up so your back was flush with his chest. You sucked in a breath at the new angle as Bucky began to quicken his pace.

“Bucky” was all you managed to say as his other hand found its way to your clit. Bucky began to furiously swipe circles on your throbbing clit with his thumb as he slammed himself in and out of you, the only sounds that filled the air were the heavy breaths you were taking and slopping sound as Bucky pounded into you over and over.

Bucky could feel you were close by the way you would squeeze around him, you felt him grin against you as he quickened the pace of his thumb around your sensitive bundle of nerves, you could feel the coil in your stomach building at an alarming pace and before you knew it you were hurtling toward your second orgasm.

Bucky had two choices as he felt you squeeze around you, he could follow closely behind like he so desperately wanted too or he could drag this out for a while longer, however as he felt you clench around him in the way that makes him loose his mind every god-damn time he decided to chase his own release and soon you felt the ropes of his hot seed spilling inside you.

Bucky stayed inside you for a moment before gently pulling out of you, he went into the bathroom and ran a bath with your favourite bath salts before coming back for you and gently easing you in the bath.

Steve had picked you up at 8pm sharp he had told you to dress a little fancy and that he was taking you to dinner and dancing. You sat in your small town’s fancy restaurant ran by a local Italian family “Mastriani’s” you had the table tucked away in the corner surrounded by fairy lights, a bottle of red wine between you. Dinner had been equiste a rich tomato pasta dish with a sprinkling of cheese. You were waiting for desert when Steve removed his hand from yours.

You didnt think anything of it your thoughts were elsewhere and then Suddenly Steve was on the floor on one knee. His shiny blue eyes looking at you with such adoration.

“Y/N” he began.

“I know its only been 8 short months, but I love you with my entire being. I talked to your dad, all you have to do is pick out a white dress and say yes. Y/N will you make me the happiest man in town and do me the honour of becoming my wife” Steve asked.

Your mind began to race, Steve was proposing, you would be crazy not to say yes. Sure he was a bit boring, and you two hadn’t even had sex yet but he was a safe choice. Steve looked at you with love and adoration. And suddenly you couldn’t breathe, all you could think of was Bucky. Your eyes filled with tears but this didn’t worry Steve he believed they were happy tears.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled. Steve just looked at you puzzled, not sure he had heard you correctly. He took your hand in his and squeezed it tight, in what he hoped was a reassuring measure. You pulled your hand back with speed you didn’t know you had.

“I’m sorry Steve, I cant say yes” you said dropping your napkin on the table and rushing out the restaurant. You tried to block out the gasps and stares from the people around you.

When you got to the front of the restaurant it was hammering down with rain. You didn’t care you slipped of your heels and took of running. Your heart hammering in your chest as your red dress stuck to you in the rain. The warm summer wind whipping around you only soaking you more. Your vision was becoming obscured as the rain ran down your face but you didnt care. You had to see him.

After a 10 minute run in the rain you found yourself at his door, his jeep was outside but that didnt nessicarily mean he was home or if he was that he was alone. Fear gripped your chest tightly for a moment but you had come this far, no point turning back. You hammered on his door, after no immediate signs of movement you hammered again.

 

Suddenly you felt all the adrenaline leave your body, convinced Bucky was in their with another womans. You ran back down the stairs as tears started to form in your eyes you had just made it to he bottom when the door behind you opened.

“Y/N?” Bucky questioned. Rubbing his eyes. You paused on the step.

“Uh-yeah, forget it, I’ve clearly made a mistake coming here” You said before you started to run off down the street in the direction you had just come from.

Bucky, in nothing but pyjama pants didn’t hesitate to chase after you, grabbing his keys from the bowl near the door.

“Y/N! Wait!” He screamed at you. You couldn’t help but freeze on the spot. Bucky closed the distance between you in a matter of moments.

“Whats the matter Y/N? Did someone hurt you?” Bucky asked his hands hovering over your arms before ultimately he dropped them down to his side.

“He proposed” you whispered. Bucky recoiled as if you’d slapped him, his bright blue eyes darkened with sadness, his brown hair darkened by the rain.

“I’m sure you’ll be very happy together” Bucky chuckled darkly.

He knew he hadn’t treated you the best when you were together but still it hurt the thought of Steve Rogers, golden boy touching his girl.

“I didn’t say yes” you said reaching for him. Bucky stood frozen in shock, why were you here then if not to rub it in his face that he had messed up his chance with you.

“When he proposed, all I could think was how it wasn’t you” your voice came out in a choke. Even now you were scared that he didn’t love you.

Bucky felt all the breath in him leave at once, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You mistook his silence as a bad thing.

“I miss everything about you Buck, I miss how you would moan at me for leaving the toothpaste cap off and how you could never find it. I miss the way your blue eyes would light up like Christmas anytime you met a cat. I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain, when its 2am and I’m cursing your name, because that’s the way I love you” you cried. All at once Bucky’s hands were on your face and his lips were crashing against yours. Rain poured down around you but in that moment all that existed was Bucky and you.

[artsoupsoupart]

Madney Week 2021: Paint Me as You Mourn Me

Day Three:   “I don’t care what happens to me as long as you’re safe.” + angst

Read on Ao3  

“Ch-Chim,” her voice is so far off in the distance, somewhere behind the ringing in his ears. It’s dark, but there are flashes of light pulsing into his line of vision, and he knows he’s hit his head at some point. “Chim, you can get out. Something—”

Her own grunt of frustration cuts her off as he shakes his head, eyes blazing with certainty as his vision clears enough to focus on Maddie, the one person he had secretly vowed to protect from the moment he had met her (even if he didn’t really know the extent of said vow). He looks around for something, anything that could free her from the weight crushing her. “No, gotta get you out first.”

He can think a bit clearer now that the dust has settled, and he’s taken in his surroundings. There had been an earthquake. It had shaken everything and anything, but then it had stopped. The aftershock, though, was quick and intense, and then they were falling, and Chimney was losing everything that meant anything to him. She’s not gone yet; he has to remember that. She’s not allowed to leave him he thinks to himself. Not yet at least. There’s a long trail of blood dripping from her head, thick and oozing, and her eye and side of her face is already beginning to bruise something grotesquely purple. He remembers the ground shaking, remembers thinking this is one of the biggest earthquakes he had ever experienced. He had shielded her with his own body, protecting her in the passageway of the parking garage but then the floor gave out beneath them, and they fell and tumbled to whatever was below.

“Baby, I’m…” she groans out in a pain so distinct that it sinks his heart. “I’m stuck. You have to go. If you don’t,” Maddie winces in pain, her words slurring. “If you don’t—”

“No!” he cuts her off again, his hands cupping her cheeks. “I don’t care what happens to me as long as you’re safe.”

The first time he had picked up a paintbrush, Howard Han was eight years old and at school. It had been the most natural transition from crayons and color pencils to acrylics and watercolors. He had loved it immediately and had gushed to his mother over and over again about how he had wanted to paint for the rest of his life. He painted even the most mundane of scenes. There were canvases of the sky and the moon and the woods behind his home. He had journals and sketchbooks of little moments of ice cream trips and big events like graduating. He mapped out every important event of his life through acrylic and graphite and watercolor.

Setting up Maddie’s security system had been an easy tradeoff for beer and pizza. He had said yes before even meeting her, mainly because he is kind and gentle and the safety of someone is his main priority no matter if he’s on the clock or not.

And then he had seen her. She had said she’d never seen Mission Impossible and what a travesty that is, he had joked. Immediately he takes notice of her, drinking her into his system in the least creepy way possible. She’s blue but not in the dangerous, threatening midnight or oxford blue of a raging ocean where the sea threatens to swallow and drown him whole. She’s nothing like the broad strokes of a pallet knife, thick and aggressive and coarse. She’s far from the aquamarine that drips of hopelessness and grief that he knows so well. She doesn’t make him sad. She doesn’t make an alarm go off in his mind that encourages him to put up false pretenses that will lead to absolutely nothing and drain him of everything he thought he was.

Instead, the strokes of paint are soft under the round brush. Featherlight but abstract because this is already beautiful but so wonderfully new. Chimney doesn’t know the last time he’s felt like this or if he’s ever felt this feeling before. He yearns for her already though they barely know each other, they don’t know each other. Still, she’s a calming sapphire, welcoming and brilliant. He wants to learn what makes her smile, what makes her laugh, what makes her dream of love and light. She sparkles already and he’s only known her for a couple hours. For just a moment he knows he can’t begin to capture what she makes him feel on a piece of linen wrapped around planks of pine.

…

Takeout and a movie between friends, that’s all this is. It’s all this will be because they’re friends and he’s content with that. For each tomorrow, he makes a vow that says if friendship is all they have, that will do. Because she’s been through a lot. It’s what she needs and what she deserves and he’s grateful to be witness to a side of her that he thinks is reserved for few people in her life. He is witness to her tenderness, to her gentle hands and soft voice. He’s on the receiving end of her bright sarcasm and welcomes it just as she does his (corny) jokes. They are friends, but they’re closer than that. She leans her head against his shoulder when they watch movies. He comforts her when scenes are a bit too much. Being allowed to hold her hands is sage green with wide, smooth strokes. They laugh together. She makes him walk and talk differently but they’re just friends. Maybe.

The thin liner brush traces the blobs on the canvas, outlining, defining the images beneath the black paint. For what it’s worth, the old Chimney is gone. The old Chimney would contrast with what exists now. The old Chimney is replaced with one that compliments the sage of who she is. Perhaps now he is a blush of pink that mimic his cheeks when he’s near her, or a muted orange that is warm in a way he couldn’t be before. Together they are a peach sunset on a sprawling meadow. He’s relaxed when he’s with her. He doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to lie. She laughs at his jokes and leans against his side. They are warm and inviting and everything good pools just from being together.

They’re just friends and he can be okay with that for as long as she is as well. He won’t push. He won’t press without her because they’re friends but somehow they’re also partners. Together, they are free to be, to exist and open themselves up entirely.

…

He told her he loved her. She is who he loves, with cats in her throat in the morning. She is who he loves, dancing together in the kitchen, cuddled together on the couch, the morning after saving a life. He is who she loves, with his jokes and his strength. He is understanding and hope and joy. She loves him just as much as he loves her and that burns across the pages of his sketchbook, page after page being filled with their desire, affection, and devotion to one another.

Her eyes shine as she smiles at him, they sparkle more than stars in the deep onyx of an unpolluted sky. Perhaps that’s what he’ll miss the most if he loses her one day. The way those deep ebony pools of burnt umber darken because he loves her. The look in her gaze shoots him directly in the heart every time, without fail. She’s gold, a brilliant yellow that blazes through his very being, his very soul. The light that they’ve turned on is bright and blinding and he thinks this is the end all, be all for him, for them. It takes every bit of self-control in him to not fidget as he paints their passion against the pale beige canvas.

Then they’re red, scarlet, burning bright as they connect with one another. This time is different, better. They’ve professed their love for one another, and it shows in their touch, in their kiss, in the warmth of skin against skin. The strokes are angled, precise. He thinks of time as he paints. How they’ve spent so little of it together in the grand scheme of things, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because time goes along with space and they’re well beyond that. They care about each other’s most benign details. They are one and will be for as long as they chose to be.

…

Chimney doesn’t know why he brought the paintings. Each one leans against the wall of the hospital room, comforting him, mocking him. His eyes flicker to each one and his heart breaks that much more. The doctors say she’ll be fine. Somewhere in the back of his mind he believes their optimism, believes she’ll wake up and won’t hate him for failing her, for losing his grip on her, for being the indirect cause of why she’s even in the hospital in the first place. She’d never see it that way, see him that way. Still, he can’t help but think he should have held her tighter, protected her better.

He looks over at Maddie, watches the rise and fall of her chest under the skinny tubes connected to her. There’s so many wires, so little sound, so much light in this room and it’s overwhelming. Everything about this situation is overwhelming. He can’t get the flashes of falling out of his head. He can’t figure out why his hold on her hadn’t been strong enough, how he could have possibly let her slip out of his grasp. It’s not his fault, he’s heard it many times in the last two days. But he had let go, he had let her arms go as they fell, and she had ended up pinned beneath thick, unmovable cement and there had been a rebar of her own through her shoulder. And so much blood.

He’ll never get the image of the color fading from her face as she joked that they’d have matching scars. If only he was good enough, worthy enough to be able to wake her up. He wants to hold her while he waits but can’t risk jostling her and making things worse than they already are.

“I’m going to love you for a long time, Maddie.” His hand finds its place back in hers, tears pooling in his eyes as he realizes how cold it is. She runs cold anyway, but this is practically frigid ice against his. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him, he knows. The fact doesn’t stop him from worrying anyway. “So, just wake up now and then you can rest until you’re better.” She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, or speak or even flutter her eyes.

With one hand still in hers, he turns to the travel easel holding a small canvas frame and picks up a paintbrush, dipping it into the flat wash with a sigh.

[shortythescreen]

different

spared - different - 

thankfully, nea says nothing about your encounter with the huntress. 

she stuck close to you after she witnessed the way the killer let you escape, and together, you two fixed a majority of the generators. meg was hooked and sacrificed before you guys could save her. jake was also hooked but the two of you managed to get him down and healed before the entity could take him. in the end, you, jake, and nea escaped -- mostly in one piece. 

like meg promised you, she’s fine. sitting around the campfire with everyone else, rubbing shoulders with someone you’ve come to learn is named dwight. 

“nice escape, for a first timer. the huntress usually wins those,” says meg, and you give her a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, thinking about the woman. the killer. the huntress, apparently. you wonder if she has a name. 

nea didn’t tell jake in the arena that the huntress had spared you and she says nothing now, having taken a seat away from the others. her eyes are on the fire and you wonder what she’s thinking about. if she’s thinking about you, about what she saw. if she has any idea why the huntress didn’t kill you. 

you shuffle over to her. with great, lumbering difficulty, you plop onto the log next to her, cradling your lower back. once you’re in your seat, you huff, placing your opposite hand over your belly. nea glances up at you, before her gaze turns back to the fire. 

“hey,” you say. 

“hi,” she says. 

silence follows and you shift, uncertain of how you want to start this conversation. if there’s even a conversation to have. 

“thanks for, um.” you stop. “keeping what you saw to yourself.” 

“i don’t gossip,” says nea. you nod along, turning your eyes to the fire. “...do you know her?” 

“hm?” 

“the huntress. do you know her?” 

“no.” 

at that, nea heavily sighs, wiping at her dirty face. it only makes the smudges on them worse and she pulls off her beanie, trying to clean herself that way. 

“that’s not what i wanted to hear,” she grumbles. 

“why not?” you ask. 

“because... because then the only explanation for why she didn’t fuckin’ kill you is...” nea finally looks away from the fire but instead of meeting your eyes, she looks at your round, pregnant tummy. something like frustration blazes in the glow of her gaze and you wrap an arm around your belly. “none of these killers have had a heart before, y’know? not for any of us. and for her to just... stop...”

you get it. you do. kind of, at least. you haven’t experienced death yet and if what meg’s said is true -- and you know it is, you saw her hanging from a hook, taken by the shadows -- then they’ve all experienced death over, and over, and over again. and you? you just happened to be pregnant. just happened to have another life growing inside you that made that particular killer... soft. 

“i don’t understand it either,” you tell her, stroking your belly. “she kept asking me if it was a girl.” 

“is it?” 

“yeah.” 

“right, right, cool. okay. huntress has a soft spot for baby girls. cool, cool, cool,” nea huffs out, pressing her brow bone to her wrists. something like guilt pangs in your chest even though this isn’t your fault. that you couldn’t help what the huntress did or didn’t do. “you know if you... if you want, you could try to talk to her.” 

“talk to her?” you sputter and nea grabs your arm, squaring you with a look that tells you to shut the fuck up. to keep this conversation between you two. you know she’s right. “what, about... about what happened?” 

“no, about her day,” snorts nea, “yes, of course about what happened. the killers are always... they’re always around here, somewhere. watching. waiting. you could probably just... walk to the forest line, ask.” 

“and what if i don’t see the huntress?” you demand. “what if it’s someone who will hurt me?” 

“i’ll go with you, if you want,” offers nea, “i just... i dunno. nothing ever changes around here. and that was... different. you’re different. i just think it’s worth a shot.” 

worth a shot. different. your heart aches. how long have these people waited for different? how many times had they been stabbed, cut, gutted? hooked? how many days have they wondered if one day, when it happened again, it would be the real end. 

“okay,” you agree, even though you don’t think it’s a good idea. even though a knot forms in your chest, uncertain. “but um... i don’t think she speaks english.” 

“i speak russian,” says nea, automatically, surprising you. at your stunned look she shrugs, scratching at her cheek. “i’m from sweden, originally. the ‘rents wanted to make sure i could travel throughout the world.” 

“so they made your second language russian?” 

“no. they made my third language russian.”

you can’t help but snort at that, quietly amused. nea’s lips twitch up, a smirk decorating her face. 

“how do you know she speaks russian?” 

“i’unno. she sounds russian. maybe i’m wrong and she’ll cut our heads off. now c’mon, let’s get this over with.” 

nea stands and helps you to your feet. for all she’s so tiny, she’s pretty strong, only grunting a little as you lean into her. she smells like shit -- but all of you do. god, you could use a shower. 

“hey, newbie and i are gonna go foraging!” nea calls. a chrous of acknowledgements meets her. she turns to you, eyes serious, and you two walk away from the safety of the campfire, to the edge of the forest. the trees are dense, looming over you, forever shrouded in darkness that makes them look all the more intimidating. you don’t see anyone as you approach -- not even when you’re at the forest line. 

“um...” you begin, unsure of how you want to start. you glance over to nea, who’s stuffed her hands into her pockets. she looks at the floor, but watches you from the corner of her eyes. 

“um, huntress?” you try. it feels impersonal to call someone a word, a title, but... that’s the only name you know her by. you worry your fingers together, starting when you hear someone speak. it takes you a few chilling, heart stopping seconds to realize it was nea who talked -- translated. 

“i-...” you swallow. “i’m sorry if i’m bothering you, or... yeah. i just... i just wanted to ask what happened in the fog. why... why did you let me go?” 

nea translates again but still, nothing. not even the wind bothers to ruffle through the trees -- like the world is holding its breath with you. you swallow, shifting from foot to foot. 

“uh... i just-i just-” you stutter, trying to think. “...thank you, for not hurting me. i-i know that not all of you will show that kind of remorse and... and i just really appreciate being s-spared.” 

nea’s words are sluggish, like she’s mumbling now. when you look her way, she’s also taken to scanning the forest. she hides her emotions well, doesn’t let you see it right away -- but the slump of her shoulders is undeniable, her slouch going from relaxed to disappointed. so much for different. 

“back to camp?” offers nea. you nod, feeling... a little rejected. just as you turn away, though, the snap of a twig sounds in your ear. then the crunch of a leaf. slowly, you turn back, and from the darkness emerges the woman who freed you. 

the huntress is... still humongous. you feel like david facing down goliath but you don’t have a slingshot and you’re not sure there’s any god here to back you up. you swallow thickly. 

she says something and it takes you a minute to realize that she spoke in russian. she tilts her head to the left, the lifeless eyes of her rabbit mask piercing through nea, who seemed equally as shocked as you. nea rapidly shakes her head, loudly clearing her throat. 

“she, uh. she asked when the baby will be here.” explains nea. you nod slowly, little bobs of your head that are half stunned, unable to take your eyes off of the huntress. she’s so large. no one should be this large, should take up so much space in the woods. 

“i’m... i’m thirty weeks pregnant,” you say, “if all goes well -- no more than... no more than a month and a half. maybe two.” 

nea opens her mouth but the huntress raises her hand -- god, how is she so fucking big? -- stopping her. she tilts her head down at you, acknowledging without words what you said, letting you know she understood -- no matter how limited her english. 

“you need bed,” she says in that now easily identifiable russian accent. you open your mouth, then shut it, and when you look at nea, she’s holding her hands up, like she’s not quite sure how to respond to that either. “trial... not good for baby.” 

“i... of course it’s not,” you say, “b-but i’m- stuck-”

“no,” says the huntress, then proceeds to snatch your bicep and begin tugging you into the forest. goosebumps break out all over your skin and you dig your heels into the dirt, instantly frightened all over again. 

“Эй!” nea snaps and she grabs the arm the huntress doesn’t have. the killer snarls, evidently displeased. her hand hovers over her hatchet though she doesn’t grab for it, glaring over your head at the much smaller woman. your head whips to nea, whose face is twisted up in rage. the two argue over your head, russian cracking like a whip over your head, the sounds making you dizzy. 

you think they could argue all night, their voices rising, but you feel a familiar wave of nausea over taking you. gripped between the two of them, you bend, and vomit all over your shoes. not much comes out, food a rarity, consisting mostly of the edible plants that claudette finds. they both stop, looking at you, watching the tears bubble up in your eyes with the force of it all.

you gasp, blinking your bleary eyes and they speak again. this time, their voices are soft, mellow.  

“...we’re gonna go with her,” says nea, and your head snaps to the side, looking at her as snot drips from your nose. “you’re... i don’t know, you’re not in a state to be fuckin’ dealin’ with this shit and she doesn’t speak english too good and... she says she can keep us safe. so we’re gonna go.” 

“what about-” you gulp loudly, shuddering at the roughness of your throat. “What about the others?” 

“i’ll talk to ‘em,” nea says, loosening her grip on your arm. 

“you’re not coming?” 

“she’s gonna come back for me,” says nea and her soft, pale eyes harden, become icy as she snaps her gaze up to the killer behind you. she says something sharp, a number of syllables that sound like she’s stabbing the larger woman. it sounds a lot like a ‘right?’ to you. 

“da. will return for tiny woman,” says the huntress and you look up at her. you can’t see her face, her eyes with that stupid mask in the way and god it’s so unnerving to think of being alone with her. 

“she’s got a bed you can sleep in and can probably get us some real food,” says nea. you nod slowly. the thought of sleeping on something that isn’t the ground is enough reward for you to deal with the chill of the huntress’s gaze. “she’s gonna come back for me, okay? i promise i won’t leave you alone.” 

you don’t know where this conviction has come from, know that only a few short days ago nea was mystified at why this was happening. maybe it’s because she misses food too, a bed. but when you look into her eyes, you see the sincerity int hem, the promise she won’t leave you alone. straightening up, you slowly, carefully, slide your hand into the huntress’s, meeting her gaze with something like determination. 

“okay. okay. let’s go.” 

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 138 prt 2

“I don’t think I want to imagine that”

Mami would have rocked it. Keith imagined her sneaking her chocolates with a bottle of vodka giving the double finger to Sendak if she could have. Chocolates and her abundant supply of love were the only two things she zero self control over. Lance nodded, sucking down a breath, tone slightly dejected before levelling then growing wobbly

“Probably safer... but, yeah. I... the family gave me a lot of things that she’d left behind when we moved. I tried to go to the nursing home, you know, to thank them, but Coran made me stay in for observation. Luis cleaned her room out and took her things. He had the nerve to lose it at me for paying for her funeral...”

Lance started shaking again in his arms. Keith rubbing the top of his arm as if he was trying to warm him up

“Babe. Don’t go there. Luis isn’t your responsibility”

“I know, but without Mami... I won’t hear about them again”

That was true. Luis wouldn’t be rushing to call

“Pidge could change that. She can stalk down thin air and pull up all its credit card charges”

“I think Pidge would bite his ankles in real life if she knew. I wanted to... to be able to talk to them at the funeral, but Coran pulled enough magic to get me there as it was... and I wasn’t ready yet. She and Papi are together now. I wanted her buried in Garrison, but she’s in Platt. I’m talking too much”

Lance wasn’t talking too much. He’d held all this in as he waited for Keith to come home to him. He was glad Lance was telling him what he wanted in his own words instead of by letter

“You’re not. You miss your mum. From what you’ve said, you’ve made a lot of good memories”

“I suppose. I mean, I did. I know I’m very lucky I had all this time with her... really lucky considering all things. I wish I hadn’t broken my phone”

“Shouldn’t it back up?”

“I don’t know how it really works. It’s like one of your Blade phones but it’s pin locked instead of iris encoded. Laptop’s kind of the same. It’s a Coran special”

“We can ask him”

“I hope it’s backed up... I need to stop talking about this... I can’t... I’ve been so whiny. Even when I came back from Sendak, through to now, my mental health’s been shit and all I’ve done is worry everyone. Four months isn’t like long for a vampire but it is for a human”

“I literally think you’re entitled to let it out”

“I keep showing... I keep showing the wrong sides”

There were no wrong sides to Lance. Okay. Maybe 4 months wasn’t that long to a vampire but it was a fucking looooong arse four months. They’d barely had three weeksish before he was off to Rome... meaning... it was like 6 weeks he’d had quality time with Mami... and shy of a month since her passing.

Lance was allowed to have feelings. His feelings made him who he was. It wasn’t like Keith didn’t feel guttered over the loss of Mami too. He kind of wanted to just lock Lance away and cry until his head throbbed and the pain was gone

“Because I’m so much better?”

“You are. I haven’t asked you much about Europe. I haven’t asked if you’re okay. I haven’t asked how things went down. I haven’t asked about the court case or this thing about Lotor killing Zarkon. I... haven’t... even asked you... how anyone is...”

“Babe. I only got in last night. This is our first proper conversation. I want to know what you’re feeling and thinking”

“I don’t know what I’m thinking or feeling. Running seems so much easier. But... then there’s all the things I’m waiting to hear back about. Mami’s will. Her accounts. What to do with her things she’a got stored at home. If the nursing home got the flowers I sent as a thank you for all they did for her. If I chose the right clothes Mami. If I did the right thing. If it wasn’t her time to go and I did nothing...”

*

Lance kept telling himself to shut up. To stop talking about Mami. That Keith had been through so much away from him that he was probably more tired than he was letting on. He tried to shut up but he couldn’t not think about Mami. She’d adored Keith. She kept a photo of him on her nightstand. Well, it was him, Keith and an ultrasound photo between them.

When Keith started leading him away from the kitchen, Lance didn’t want to move. He had to have breakfast, have his shot, then have something actual to eat. Instead Keith tugged him along, pulling him down to sit in his lap on the sofa. That Keith had come back was a miracle. That he’d stayed... Lance couldn’t describe how much he’d needed to see Keith. Then he went and ruined things because he couldn’t stop thinking about his Mami...

“You’re overthinking”

Geez. No shit. He’d expected a joyous reunion with Keith. Mami teasing them. Not Keith coming home to this. He wanted to feel happy so badly, but Keith... Keith made it too easy. He’d feared last night they’d never talk again as they had. Now he’d word vomit... after too much actual vomit

“I think I’m... not being strong enough”

He’d cried as he confessed his sins to his Mami. How he’d killed Sendak. His Mami taking his hands and telling him that it wasn’t fair for him to be blaming himself. She went to church with him. Before God he’d prayed. He’d confessed everything, as if it’d offer some absolution for his sins. He did feel marginally better when he didn’t burst into flames. It was hard to accept that the world was safer by taking a life. Mami pointing out that Sendak was the worst of everything a vampire could be, though she got it. She got that he grieved not for the monster he’d killed but at the loss of Sendak ever changing his ways. Vampires didn’t really work that way, but she... she got it because she wasn’t a hunter. She could see that he was worse than Nyma and Rolo, but she could see that he felt worse about the actual ending of potential than killing the monster inside Sendak’s skin. She was a better therapist than Coran.

They’d headed to the beach that morning, after his nightmare. Blazing hot sun didn’t exactly lure vampires out for a spot of sun baking and spontaneous combustion between snacking on the necks of tourists. Setting up the umbrella, chairs and fetching drinks, they’d settled down and Mami had told him about his first time swimming there. Rachel carried him everywhere. Made him a “hat” out of seaweed. He’d screamed and screamed, until Mami took it off his head. The sun had felt amazing. He wasn’t too pregnant looking, so he enjoyed taking his shirt off, only to burn himself for his efforts. Mami had laughed at him as she rubbed aloe vera on his sunburn.

It’d been hard to hear about times when they’d been so happy together. Just kids doing kid things. But a lot of Mami’s stories he hadn’t heard before, and some stories he heard over and over yet didn’t mind in the slightest. She was so proud of her brood. Making all these future plans and laughing over how he and Keith were going to be clumsy parents, but that was okay because no one knew what they were doing at first.

“You’re strong. You’re so strong”

Keith kissed his cheek. Lance knew he was starved of physical affection. He knew because he’d been depriving himself of it. He felt like “King Douche” that his boyfriend came back to this. That he needed to stiffen his upper lip and carry on. He knew he’d been a total dick not contacting Pidge or Hunk, but to begin with it’d been for their safety. He hadn’t let them see him at VOLTRON, though knowing they were also grieving Mami’s loss. Asking for more space on top of so much space already granted to him seemed incredibly selfish. He loved Pidge and Hunk, but it was like with Sendak again, he was scared of losing himself in his grief and hurting them.

He’d never wished he was more human than in the aftermath of that shit with Sendak. Lance knew if it was his friends going through this he’d be telling them it was okay. To let go. To grieve for as long as they needed and that he’d be there the whole time for when they were ready. But that didn’t apply to him. He had... he had o carry himself a certain way... anxiety fed paranoia that if he wasn’t the perfect friend they’d never speak to him again. Keith... Keith just... all he had to do was breathe and Lance was falling more in love with him. He’s tried building his walls back up when he set his mind to Keith never coming for him, but all his walls were sandcastles, crumbling under Keith’s feet as he trampled over Lance’s attempts and wrapped him up in love. He... he’d been so awkward and embarrassed how easily he’d caved into Keith. Now Keith was taking the time to fix his broken bits. His boyfriend hated the tourist masses but that was Varadero’s main source of income.

Placing his hand on his belly, Lance settled his breathing back down slowly. Keith didn’t hate his belly. He’d felt their twins starting to move. Like little has bubbly gas bubbles. When he’d spotted blood coupled with weird stomach pain, he’d thought he was dying but his Mami explained to him about things stretching and moving to make space. Coran was worried about his body not being strong enough to make it to term. Despite brewing in a vampire filled with vampire blood, both their kids returned human DNA. Never did he want another long arse needle in there again. Their babies passed their genetics tests. They just had to put up with him and Keith now

“Babe?”

“It’s okay. You said you wanted to see Cuba?”

“Well I came all this way. I’ve never been here before and I’m already madly in love with my tour guide”

Lance groaned at his boyfriend. If Keith turned that charm on everyone he’d probably be an unstoppable conman of the highest degree. His ego loved the flattery. He and it had many an mental disagreement. Now Keith was fanning it back to life

“You’re a menace. I have to eat. I’ve... been going through the motions but I have to eat before we go out. And... we’ll drive. I’ll drive. I don’t have much to hide this bump”

“I don’t mind it. I think it’s cute”

“The world isn’t ready for a pregnant vampire and his lover. This is Cuba. I’ve got a jumper I use if I absolutely can’t avoid going out...”

“In this heat?”

“You get the boyfriend with a covered outside or you get the boyfriend inside with the bump showing. You can’t have both”

“I definitely want both. I love your stomach. You looked so good bouncing on my dick with that bump showing”

Lance choked on air. Keith was a damn horn dog!

“I’m going to punch you in the dick if you don’t start thinking things through. I’m going to put you in “Horny Hunter Jail” if you don’t settle down”

Keith shrugged

“I can live with that”

[antihero-writings]

Before It Kills You Too 

Fandom: Lore Olympus (Webcomic)

Fic Summary: Anger was a fire, it burned white hot and devastated the world around it. But then it faded...This was more than anger. 

Hera goes for a drive after a fight with Zeus, and has some time to think. Her internal monologue and memories, using Blackpink's "Kill This Love" as a prompt.

Character Focus: Hera

Notes: If you haven't listened to, and/or watched the music video for Blackpink's "Kill This Love" (I’ll put a link in the replies!), I highly recommend you do so either before or after reading, as the fic is based on the lines, and a few of the visuals of it!

Also, fyi, I am very new to the world of kpop myself... I deeply apologize if I didn't do the song justice!

I am a big fan of Greek Mythology (though I don't know it super well), and adore retellings of it, (as well as retellings of classic literature in general). But the two characters I've never liked in other retellings + the original myths are Zeus and Hera. But Rachel does such a great job with the characters in LO she managed to create a version of both Zeus and Hera not only do I like, they are in my top favorite characters of the series. 

I've wanted to write a fic for Lore Olympus for a while (as well as something using "Kill This Love" as a prompt), and I decided to write one about them, both because I don't think there are as many fics about them, and to honor what a great job she's done with these characters, and how much she made me like them (and because the song fit too well with her!)!

Chapter 1: I Owe It All to You 

Hera kept glancing from the road to the speedometer, the dial sneaking steadily upwards: sixty miles an hour to seventy in seconds.

She leaned over and took a cigarette from the pack, putting it between the fingers of the hand on the steering wheel. She took out the lighter and clicked it open, lighting the end, then closed it again and set it back down in the cupholder while she breathed in.

Smoke never tasted so sweet as when she was angry with him.

Eighty, ninety.

“Good to see you again, Bunny!”

“It’s only been a few days!” She laughed, “And who’s Bunny?”

“You are!” Zeus took her hands and gave her eskimo nose kisses. “Who else?”

The golden girl smiled, big and bright—

—the kind of smile one can only give when the world itself is big and bright. When one lives in a realm of hope, where beings keep their secrets, and their promises, and no one lies, or steals, or cheats.

She breathed out, smoke billowing like her mouth was the gates to the Christian’s hell—(they say hell hath no fury right?).

Sometimes she wished she had Zeus’s power; that she could set the world on fire with a glance.

A hundred.

The world was nothing but streaks of light across her vision. Not trees, people, and buildings; not distinguishable as life or meaning, just lines of color as she flew by. Maybe things were better that way. She could dance in the in-between, reach up and grab the ribbons, twirl around with them in beautiful absurdity. Only absurdity was beautiful; truth and sanity were far too ugly.

“Bunny I—”

“Don’t ‘Bunny’ me!”

She took another long draft, letting the smoke’s medicine filling her lungs.

And out.

Breathe out, feel the negative emotions leaving your body, all the meditation gurus say.

What a load of bullshit that was.

For every soothing inhale there was always an exhale that felt like it was clawing its way out of her throat. For every sweet hello there was a bitter goodbye, full of curses at his back, in return. For every incredible high there was a unfathomable price. That was the rule to life; what goes up, must come down.

And she had risen too high, once upon a time.

The test of life had no answer, let alone a right one. Even the gods were slaves to fate, and emotion.

The tires screeched hellishly as she rounded corner.

Hera walked around the corner.

“It just—I feel like the world’s on fire when I’m with him! You know?”

The queen stopped. It was that nymph’s voice. The one who came by earlier.

“Ahh I’m so jealous! Tell me more! Tell me!”

“Well he just…I don’t know! When he kisses me the whole world just kind of…stops. You know? And when he listens…I feel like he’s actually listening.”

“Ugh, too sappy! Tell me the dirty stuff!”

“Oh stop! I’m not gonna tell you about our sex life!”

Hera rolled her eyes, beginning to walk away when—

“Well he is the king of the gods. You’re right; It’s better if I imagine.”

The queen froze.

“Eugh I don’t want you imagining me in bed with him!”

“No, I’m imagining me in bed with him!”

Hera couldn’t hear them anymore. Couldn’t see the world in front of her. She was staring at a space before her eyes only she could see; a space, a memory, where the world was wide and she and Zeus were the only beings in it.

That space was shattering piece by piece.

Her breath was shallow in her chest, her blood pumping her ears.

“Mama?” Ares’ little voice brought her back to the world. “Mama, you’re hurting me.”

She immediately let go of her son’s tiny hand. “I’m so sorry sweetheart!” She crouched down and took his hand in both of hers, this time with the most gentleness she could muster, and kissed his fingers. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…‘m okay.” He took his hand back and rubbed it.

He looked at her apprehensively.

“…Are you okay, mama? …Are you angry?”

She whizzed passed broken stop sign, catching her reflection in the rear view mirror; her hair in tattered locks like rags about her face, eyebrows permanently furrowed, lip permanently pursued, blue eyes dim and hollow, with nothing of the brightness they once contained; only a few lingering sparks of electricity in an abandoned power plant.

‘Okay’. ‘Angry’.

Such ugly words.

“I just…” the golden girl pushed her hair behind her ear sheepishly, her eyes bright, “I feel like the world’s on fire when I’m with him…you know?”

“Can’t say I do,” Aidoneus muttered softly.

She put her gently hand on his. “Don’t worry, I know you will one day.” She grinned.

And what made it better was that she really meant that.

He tried to smile back.

“So what’s that…like?” he asked softly.

“Well…when he kisses me the world kind of …stops. It feels like there’s nothing and no one in the universe but him and me. We can talk about anything. And when I talk it feels like he actually listens. He always makes me laugh. When I’m with him…it feels like nothing else matters…”

She hated that word: okay. It was too simple, too easy; one could always throw it out as an answer. It didn’t mean, I’m doing very well, or I’m doing poorly—(though it could mean either depending on the context). Okay was just, ‘fine’, ‘alright’. Okay could mean you were doing wonderfully, having a great day, and okay could mean you would rather be dead, and either way people would smile and say good! I’m okay too!. Okay was never truly satisfied, never fully living. Just existing. ‘Okay’ was a word for ghosts; for those who are neither dead nor really alive, neither sinners nor saints. Just floating through the world, caught in between.

She was always okay…and she was never okay.

She rolled down the window, cool air rushing in to the car and scooping up all the smoke, taking it out into the night, giving it to some other lonely Goddess who needed it.

“Ugh, this again? I thought we were done with this…Just leave it for now. You’ll feel better after lunch.”

And, anger, anger was a fire that blossomed like a rose high, and bright, and scorching for a while, eating everything it saw. Then it dwindled. Sometimes it could be lit again by a passing breeze, if the embers were still fresh enough. And sometimes that relight could touch a passerby leaf or bush, and from there desecrate forests and cities. But often, even then, once it had finished blazing it would wither and die. Anger burned white hot and violent at first, but eventually it would fade, and the world would be left to deal with everything it blackened in its wake.

She sometimes had a vague image of smashing Zeus’s head in, of him clutching his big ugly skull, golden trails of blood intermixing with his violet hair, draining down his cheeks. And there she was, holding the stem of glass, half of the vase, in her hand, the rest of it in pieces all over the floor before them. Sometimes. Sometimes it felt good to take out all that anger out on innocent paintings. Sometimes she had to destroy something, before it destroyed her.

“You’re acting crazy.” He had said.

Crazy, was she?

Crazy for believing visions in her head, which were always right in the past? Crazy for being angry? For kicking him out? No.

Crazy for staying with a being like him?

Yes. If she was crazy, that was why.

If I’m crazy, well, then…

She smirked, taking a long draft, and letting it out, grey wisps filling the air around her.

Thanks, baby, I owe it all to you.

She had a faint recollection of being sane once. Before him. He always made her crazy, be it when she was first fell in love with him, or when she rose in hate for him. But there was a time, when, before all this, she was a sweet, naïve little golden girl in the forest, with her sanity in tact, who loved animals, and taking care of broken things, her innocence still put together.

He thought he knew crazy. He hadn’t even scratched the surface.

But then that impulse would fade as quickly as it came, and she was left with guilt for even thinking that way. She’d never do that. She might burn his picture, but she wouldn’t actually hurt him…would she? She hoped it would never get that far.

No. That was anger. The boiling thing rising inside her that made her want to smash, and spit in, his face, and burn paintings, that was anger. Anger rose, vehemently, but in the end it dissolved.

This was more than just anger.

This, this feeling; this dull resounding ache at the back of her consciousness like an unending death knell; this thing that bored a hole in her stomach, making her feel constantly sick; this thing that hung as a weight in her chest; this thing wrapping around her, chaining her wings; this thing that stained her eyes with sleeplessness; this thing that broke into her mind and ransacked her thoughts, tainting all those happy memories, making them seem diluted with lies, and sickening to think of, and never, ever left her house—

This was heartbreak. Eternal, infernal, heartbreak.

She was on a long stretch of road now, out where nature still bloomed and she didn’t have to look at anyone’s faces or talk to anyone. The ribbons of light still outlining the air—(was it two hundred now? She’d lost track.).

Lucky me.

Everyone always told her she was lucky. Not everyone got to be the wife of the king of the gods. Just her. She was lucky she had a husband who was powerful. Who was rich. She was lucky she had a husband who adored her. Who doted on her. Who listened to her. Who she could talk to. Who made her laugh.

Not everyone had that. Some had husbands who were poor. Who were weak. Who didn’t love them, and whom they didn’t love. Husbands who didn’t dote on them, or give them so much as a wanton kiss. Who fixed a permanent scowl on their faces. Who they couldn’t talk to. Husbands who lied to them, and cheated on them.

She was lucky she didn’t have that.

Not everyone got to be queen.

Lucky her. So lucky he chose her. So lucky she got the crown. No one else.

No one but her.

So lucky she had that handsome face to wake up to every day.

(Every damn day)

So lucky could talk to him every day. So lucky could kiss him, and hug him, and make love to him.

(Sometimes she couldn’t even look at him.)

So lucky she had Zeus. That goofy, dumb, brave, arrogant king as her better half. So lucky she had a husband who was so sweet, and kind, and gentle, and funny, and patient, and forgiving. So lucky she didn’t have had a cheating, lying, conniving, backstabbing little weasel for a husband, who put that crown on his head, and walked into his office like he owned the world—!

And he was the one person who could say he did. Including her. Sometimes she couldn’t say a word against him.

He owned the world. Along with every fucking girl in it.

And he did fuck them.

After it all, what would he say?

We all lie, so what? Something like that.

So what.

Him; the illustrious king with his throne, and his lightning. Her; a jealous queen with a stolen crown.

The only one to blame was herself.

“I just feel like everyone’s lying, everyone’s—!” the golden girl cried, her hands over her eyes.

Someone took her arm, someone whose grasp was gentle.

He put his finger on her chin, tipping her gaze up to him.

“I’d never lie to you.” Zeus said, giving a gentle smile.

And what made it better was he meant it.

She returned the smile, placing her hand over his. “Nor I to you.”

That naïve little ray of sunlight darkened by his moon.

We’ve both lied, so what? That would surely be his excuse.

“You know what?! Why don’t we talk about you for a change?”

He’d said he was sorry before. He’d promised to be better.

And she believed him, then.

He’d spent enough time telling the truth that she believed he meant it when he apologized. When he made promises. When he spoke to her, she thought he meant the things he said.

I cheated on you, I’m sorry.

I lied to you, I’m sorry.

Now she questioned everything he had ever said. His apologies, his promises, his compliments, his kisses. Were those words so long ago just another lie? His promise to never lie to her, was that just the first lie of a thousand? As numerous as the hours they spent together. Did he ever intend to keep his words back then?

That was the unfortunate thing about lies; they could reside in even the most sincere of promises.

I’m sorry.

(I’m not sorry.)

Long ago she’d wanted him to apologize. She’d been more than desperate to hear those words falling from his lips.

Now she knew they meant nothing. They could, and usually would, be just another lie. And, even if he meant them, they wouldn’t fix this aching hole he’d left in her chest.

She remembered herself at her wedding; them, the picture of a perfect, royal couple, his violet a compliment to her gold. Both of them practically shimmering, wearing traditional wedding attire—(though impossibly embellished and adorned)—and those goofy, light-filled smiles. The whole pantheon applauding, smiling, wiping away tears at their back.

In other countries, at weddings, they said they’d be together in sickness and health, till death did them part.

Did this count as sickness? As death?

Didn’t he break that promise? Did her promises matter after he broke his? Was her faith and faithfulness worth nothing anymore?

She now imagined herself in a black dress, standing at the back of that ceremony with a bow, and an arrow made of adamant, laced with the venom from a certain many headed monster, its gleam reflected in darkened gaze. She breathed out as they spoke, and loosed that arrow, shooting that girl in the back. Olympus shouted in vain, as she watched all that gold flow out of her past self, those blue eyes fade to a cool grey, keeping her from making the biggest mistake of her life. And she’d look at Zeus’ horrified face and think

I’m sorry.

(I’m not sorry.)

That was surely better than this. Better than dying slowly, the blue in her eyes dimming day by day into lifeless grey still animated somehow, better than that gold leaking out of her with each forsaken sunrise she woke up next to him.

Would he be happy then? Without her? He could fuck around with whoever he wanted.

Would she be happier, dead, without all this?

There was no way she could have known, back then what their lives would become after a few millennia. How that god who held her hands and said he’d never lie to her, who hugged her and kissed her, and seemed so in love, could become dissatisfied. That lust would overtake him; he’d keep wanting more and more, gorging himself on it. She had no way of knowing that she wouldn’t be enough one day.

She was young, and innocent then, and didn’t know better.

She couldn’t forgive herself for that.

Something flashed gold in the headlights before her, and for a second her mind manifested before her; she saw that golden girl still, her own hair draining down the street like liquid, that white wedding attire—old, ragged, covered in burns—her own naïve eyes, still full of light and life, staring up at her, terror overtaking their innocent frames. And her own eyes boiled.

The sound of breaking glass was like a cooling rain upon a fire that had been left raging too long.

*****

Zeus was doing important business work. Focus was imperative.

Someone knocked on the door. “Your majesty.”

He fumbled with the spinner he was playing with, dropping it on the floor, sitting upright. He folded his hands on the desk, clearing his throat, trying to look professional.

“Yes? If it’s Hermes wanting to install racing tracks in the sky again—”

“Uh, n-no,” the messenger poked her head in the door, looking nervous, “It’s… about your wife.”

He blinked, then sighed, leaning back in his chair. “…What’s does she want this time?”

“Um…” she swallowed, avoiding his gaze, “S-She’s been in a car accident.”

*****

Notes cont.: Do you guys have any ideas for what song I could use for Zeus for the next chapter? (I want the next chapter to be framed like this one--based around a song, but for him, and from his perspective.) Let's see...In the simplest terms, I'm looking for a song about someone who knows they've made mistakes and/or hurt someone, and wants to do better. It doesn't have to be kpop, it can be anything XD

I'm not sure if this fic makes it seem like I hate Zeus and think she should ditch him or something...I really really don't. That's kind of the point; I actually like him a lot, and am very excited to write his chapter. Hera is just (understandably, and rightfully so) really angry with him for treating her so poorly. and I was trying to convey that to the best of my abilities...but it does make him seem pretty douchey (and, let's be fair, he definitely can be). Their relationship is broken indeed...but I hope it's not beyond repair. (though...the myths don't give me much hope...).

Speaking of the myths, I know Zeus and Hera might not have been in love in the way I describe in this. I'm not very familiar with their early relationship in the myths, but let's just say I know them getting married certainly wasn't all sunshine and roses. And Rachel's been pretty accurate to the myths in her own way, so it may be true of them in LO too. But when LO Hades was talking about them in the past I kinda got the impression maybe they were at least somewhat in love, so I decided to go that route. Also, I don't know if using Ares' in the memory places things to early, I might change it to Hebe later...I just like the symbolism of using Ares, especially as I have him acting very differently then we know him as. I might decide to alter parts of this fic if and when she reveals more about their early relationship though, especially if this ends up being super inaccurate...

Sorry, I'm rambling now XD

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the fic!! I'd really apprecaite it if you could leave a comment and/or reblog to show your support!!!

[comic-brew]

On Smoldering Ashes

Chapter Two: If any more blood is to be spilt

@whumptober2020 days 3. Held At Gunpoint, 6. "Stop, Please", 9. "Take Me Instead", 14. Branding and 21. Stitches (Altprompt)

Series summary: Bruce Wayne has gotten vulnerable. Bruce Wayne has found love. His love and his kids are all he needs to find happiness. Some sick concept of fate doesn't like him being happy.

Notes: Forgive me for I have sinned. Oh god, oh lord, what in the blazing hells is this. Shitty shitty but I'm tired and late *drops mic* (37 mins/4.6k words I've exhausted tumblr's paragraph limit)

Warnings: RATED MATURE. Graphic depictions of child abuse and torture, graphic depictions of violence, blood, swearing, heavy I guess angst

AO3 | Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

***

"Why" Dick hears Bruce's voice implore. "Why are you doing this? I thought-"

Bruce's merely balancing on his toes inches from the end of the cliff, Dick can figure just by the way his voice wavers like it has only ever done no more than a couple times in the past.

Cecile knows this. She knows Bruce, and she knows this. And quite possibly she's enjoying it way too much.

"Because, dear, who can say they're getting paid to practise their hobbies?"

Dick can only gawk at her, an frankly that's the only thing all the others seem able to do as well.

Hobbies?

They're nothing but a plaything to her.

It doesn't seem right. This shouldn't be happening. Dick should be helping B plan the wedding that made him beam just at the thought of taking place.

Not being held in an unknown location by his could-be step mother.

They really dodged a bullet, but in doing so they fell right into a different trap.

His family's unable to speak, stunned by the sudden revelations. He can't blame them, nor can he blame Jason for cursing under his breath.

Barbara's the first to snap out of their trance.

"What could you possibly want that Bruce's money couldn't get you?" she asks. Her true goal though, expertly weaved inside is search of Cecile's motive.

There's none.

Cecile giggles. "Oh dear. It's never about money. It's not personal either, if that's what's bugging all of you. And although my client does pay a fair amount, in reality.. pain and suffering are simply way too enjoyable."

Client, Dick notes. Somebody's paying for this. Somebody that most likely knows who they are when night falls. Somebody dangerous.

Cecile then turns to look directly at Bruce, as she expertly hides her poison inside cheerfully spoken words.

"And you, love, with as many kids as you have here,-" she says, and Bruce's face crumples, "-are going to be a very, very interesting subject"

Duke shakes his head in disbelief at the woman.

"You're sick"

Cecile sits back and ponders on this statement for a bit. Just for a split second, so it's enough to pass across that message, but not quite long to let them be freed from that entrapping mist of concurrent desire for knowledge, and repulse keeping them bound to every word that falls from her lips.

"Perhaps I am" she ventures.

"Perhaps we're all sick, just in different ways. Have you ever thought of that?"

Dick has in fact thought of that, but his answer would never share meaning with Cecile's. How different really are they from the people they fight? They lock all those costumed freaks up in Arkham, but they themselves could very well be described in the exact same way. Sometimes he wonders if they're insane for choosing this life, and the answer that his mind spits out is always yes.

Every life they save is worth it. That's the truth that makes him continue to put on the suit every night, even though the wounds inflicted on him the previous night are still healing.

But are they really making a difference? Aren't they just lunatics running around in kevlar and spandex. Isn't all the grime and mold of the city simply feeding off of them like leeches?

Dick can't focus on that now. Questioning his life choices might have to wait until he's not that tied up.

Heh. Tied up.

Meanwhile Cecile has exploited the moment of nonplussed silence she's created to tighten her sleek ponytail.

Keeping the attention to herself. Every move is calculated to milliseconds.

"Okay, so here's how this is going to go" she begins, clasping her hands together, then motioning towards their hanging limbs. "Do you see those cool little bracelets on your hands?"

On cue, nine heads tilt upwards to test Cecile's statement. And there, right on his forearm Dick can spot a faint blue light shining dully on what seems to be the middle of a silver-like device.

"Those give us, the immense pleasure of electrocuting you whenever you folks might try to escape, or cause any unwanted trouble" she informs, with her mouth taut into a completely mechanical smile.

"Or.. you know. If we're just bored and feel like it"

"And this little screen right in front of you, it's pretty bland now, if you ask me"

She then starts pacing around in the segregated room, seeming to find great amusement in hearing how her heels click against the concrete.

"Well what if I told you the sight will get more entertaining?"

Dick doesn't like this.

"Before you ask, I will not spoil the experience for you. But I will give you this: you will be the stars of a grand performance. You in particular, circus boy should be thrilled by this fact"

He flinches when he mentions him in that way. It's then that his mind fully comprehend just how much she knows them.

It's not just some kidnapping, of those they've had many before. But it's never been like this. Never has a stranger gotten so close only to betray them for laughs.

Some could argue that it was a similar case when Jason had come back, but Jason had always had a motivation. A goal.

Cecile's doing this for nothing else than pleasure.

Before he can compose himself and reply her voice strikes again, this time in the form of a snarl. "So? Any volunteers?"

No, Dick doesn't like this at all.

"Leave them alone" Bruce demands, only it's not precisely Bruce anymore. Not only has his voice assumed the dark edge of the Knight, but his speech is completely neutral, apathetic. Somehow, his emotional state is even more prominent that way.

"It's me you want to get back to"

"Oh, no" Cecile frowns. "No, no Brucie. This is not about you. Hell, it's not even about them. It's about me. And I say it will be nicer to leave you for last."

She rests a finger on her chin contemplatively, but it's fake. It's all fake, and provocatively so. Cecile's head twists around so that her malicious glare lands on Damian.

"How about our little asshole over here?"

No. Not Damian. Never in a million years. Never in a billion years.

"If you value your life you'll stay away you imbecilic Jezebel" Damian hisses, but Cecile makes no motion to enter their space. Instead, the man in black leaves his post to disappear behind the door Cecile had previously entered from, most likely leading even further away.

"I do value my life"

He comes back with three more identically dressed men, one slightly leaner than the other, and one slightly taller.

"Plenty, for that" she says loftily, and while one of the men returns to his post by her side, the other two barge in through a barely visible door next to the right end of the glass.

There's an outrage as the men quickly advance towards the boy. Everything's blurry and spinning and his ears are ringing so that Dick can't quite figure out if he's shouting along with his brothers and sisters or if he's simply been trapped in a lucid dream all this time.

Voices and bangs and thuds and yells, it all gets lost in the end. So much thunderous noice, yet still it can he broken down to its core. Raw and frantic cries of dissent, repeated over and over in a canon, until the words and senses are but a blurred collage of ire and desolation.

Cecile whips a rectangular device from her suit's pocket and before her finger has enough time to hover above one of the polished buttons, the last is pressed and Damian's body is released from the pipeline.

The boy wastes no time, immediately lunging for the men, and despite any rust slowing down his joints because of their inactivity, he manages to hold off the two men looming over him with size thrice his own.

Dick wants to hold hope inside his heart, but he knows it's futile. He also knows Damian is aware that this fight was lost before it even began, but his baby brother isn't a quitter, nor a coward by his own standards.

If Cecile is startled by Damian's fierce resistance, she doesn't let it show. Her finger finds the device held loosely in her grasp, and a different button is pushed. Sparks that are birthed from the device on Damian's forearm begin to climb throughout his every inch of flesh, until he soon collapses to the ground -like lifeless weight.

The men drag him out of their view, and Dick swears he witnessed a smirk manifesting on their faces while they yelled with all their might, yet completely powerless.

***

It starts with low and hollow grunts. It starts with insults, it starts with defiance, it starts with barely discernible hisses.

Most importantly, it starts with no image.

Only screams. Separated by breathless gasps.

"Please, stop"

Dick's heart shrinks into his chest, sinking deep, deep down, until his lungs are under too much pressure to expand.

The screen flickers to life only after the first hollow screams have subsided.

It's.. not a good sight. Nobody expected it to be.

The room is small and dark, the camera feed is black and white and grainy, but that doesn't help in reducing the horror.

The image focuses enough for Dick to make out Cecile finishing stitching deep gashes on Damian's torso back together in the worst way possible.

Cecile retracts her hand hastily, like she's forgotten something. She lolls her head to the side, waving primly towards the camera.

"Stay tuned for a surprise" she whispers almost conspiratorially before turning to Damian, severing the thread with her own fingers, picking at flesh and stretching it out until he's bleeding again all over the gurney he's tied onto.

Damian struggles not to let her hear the sound she would find oh so hedonic. He grits his teeth and grinds his jaw, but groans emanate from him without his consent.

Cecile sets the sutures and her other tools on a filthy table standing miserably beside her.

"Your brother's such an ass" she declares almost smugly, while shifting in her place to face the camera

Without a warning she pokes a finger inside Damian's open wound, evoking a strangled yelp of agony. Soon enough Cecile's retracted her finger. She brings her hand up to her face. She makes a show of admiring the fresh blood coating it, before she tastes it.

She giggles nonchalantly, but there's that certain grace to everything she does.

"Don't worry. We're not done yet"

No. No, this can't happen. He can't let this go on any longer than it already has.

He has to take his place. He'll take his brother's place. Just, god. Just please listen..

"Take me instead!" Dick screams at the top of his lungs, and the dread climbing up his ribcage seeps into his voice. Bent in ways abnormal, tuning in with his despair.

"Do you hear me?!"

He's flailing around wildly and almost hysterically, his voice is getting hoarser by the second. Kicking and bumping the air, but the chains are relentless, so that he's supposed to sit idly by and watch while his little brother is being tortured.

All alone in a dark room.

The man standing tall and unmoving on the other side of the glass only smirks slightly.

"Leave Damian alone!" Dick roars at the screen, and roars at the man, but he knows it's pointless.

Cecile smiles once again to the direction of the camera as she elegantly walks away from Damian, leaving him alone strapped to the gurney -panting, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Damian's head follows the woman even as she disappears out of Dick's sight. The boy's face crumples. Breathless pleas escape his trembling lips, in swift exhales of air that hold no power.

"Please no"

She reemerges cradling an incandescent piece of metal. The sickening calmness on her face is doused in its fiery glow, and all Dick can utter as he goes deathly pale and still is a breathless "No"

Dick finally has enough contact with reality to register his brothers and sisters' own twisting and shouting. The sounds are earpiercing but all hollow to his ears, and Dick only does acknowledge their existence by sight of tears on enraged faces, jaws snapping open with enough force to dislocate, muscles toned and clenched uncomfortably, bodies bent and struggling, in futile attempts to raise enough force and reach the glass to perhaps create a distraction.

Dick can't figure out the faces from his peripheral vision, nor does he care enough to try.

"No."

His eyes are stubbornly fixed on Damian's own, shining wide with terror as the metal illuminates his skin more and more clearly on the screen. On Damian, desperately tugging against the straps keeping him bound to the gurney to no avail, struggling to be freed before the red-hot iron burns the exposed skin of his chest.

"No.. please no" Damian mumbles, and he looks so small. Smaller than a child his age should look. More frightened than a child his age should be.

Dick had promised -to him and to himself- that he'd always be there for his little brother.

He watches helplessly as the metal sizzles the first layer of flesh. He watches as his little brother writhes and squirmes helplessly under the red-hot iron melting into his skin, and he realizes he can't keep his promise.

No, no, no, no, no

Damian is screaming with all his soul and all Cecile does is laugh. Cecile is laughing, and Damian is being tortured because Dick couldn't keep his promise.

He failed him.

"Take me!"

Please no. Not Dami.

Every inch and acre of Dick's skin feels set aflame, but the pain is nothing but the child of wildfire blazing and burning in his chest. Its smoke has filled his eyes with tears burning like acid.

Failed him.

In his ears buzz cracking woods and falling towers. Not his brother's screams and pleas for mercy, not the echoes of laughter, not the thundering cries of their family.

Failed.

And because of his failure his little robin is expected to endure agonizing pain, as also the wounds inflicted on him are what make Dick's failure not only discernible but grievous.

Failure equals repercussions.

Failure equals punishment.

Perhaps it's irrational, and perhaps he's lost his mind long, long ago. Perhaps this is all a nightmare that he can't wake up from, but Dick's senses don't deceive him.

His every cell is howling in despair but yelling and praying are not enough to relieve them of their pain. Flowers buried deep in ice, frantically searching for sunlight- too frantically to know that they're dead.

Dick failed him. Dick should have been the one punished for this failure.

Only moments have passed but the agony grabs them and twists them, draws them out until seconds can't be told apart by eons.

Dick's eyes are fixed on the form spasming on the screen, but those eyes are empty and hollow.

Their azure blue has evaporated, their glossy white has been burnt to the ground. Obsidian vortexes shining with the life they've stolen from his soul in the half light, is all that is left of them.

Damian's voice is rough from the perpetual screaming, but Dick can hear no more.

So he prays to whatever deity listens that Cecile is reached by his own cries tearing through his throat with fading intensity. Perhaps so loudly the air is grazing his vocal cords more harshly than it should.

Perhaps so loudly he is already silent.

But Dick won't mind it even if they fail to produce a sound ever after these, as long as his flesh is torn and burnt instead of Dami's.

The flesh being torn and burnt is his, in a way, but not in any way that matters.

The iron is removed and Damian's face slowly appears behind the sparse smoke of his own smoldering skin.

***

Cecile reappears behind the glass, walking ever so elegantly towards the barrier separating her from them. She peers at each and every one of them in amusement, deaf to te insults so full of hatred being hurled at her from every corner.

She smiles at the teary paths staining Cass and Barbara's cheeks,

"You fucking-"

"-embodiment of evil and-"

"go-"

She laughs at the veins popping on Duke, Jason and Stephanie's necks as they shout their lungs out, feebly attempting to stop the world from sinking,

"I'm gonna fucking kill you"

"Jay calm down-"

"You repulsive.. abomination-"

"-to hell-"

She gracefully snickers at Tim and Bruce's state of dishevelled resignation, a progression of the rage and agony to the point where they're no more prominent than their breathing,

"You hear me? You're going to burn-"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm the fuck down, replacement"

"-in hell"

"He's right Jason, this doesn't help Dam-"

"you'll wish you were dead before I get my hands on you"

But she stops in her track when her piercing hazel eyes land on Dick. So visibly worn out, yet determinedly burning holes through her with his glare.

She stops, and can only regard him in newfound interest.

Dick doesn't shift in his place. Doesn't bat an eye as he speaks with the power of a thousand thunderstorms enhancing the calmness in his voice.

He's made up his mind.

It's his failure.

His decision.

"You'll stop" he says, almost nonchalantly.

Cecile cocks an eyebrow, scoffing.

"Excuse me?"

"You'll bring Damian back here with us. And you'll stop."

Cecile smirks ever so slightly. "I'm afraid I'm not quite done with your brother yet. Besides, why would I do that?"

"Because you will" Dick growls, but soon enough he masks his outburst beneath a carefully tailored poker face.

Something unreadable passes across the woman's face. Dick assumes she's caught up to his thinking. Of course she has.

"Well, you wound me!" Cecile exaggerates, clasping a hand to her chest. Overacting the entire thing, on purpose no less. She's proven to be too much of a hypocrite for Dick to know she's only acting terribly on purpose.

His stomach is urging him once more to let its contents out, only this time he's not sure it's just a lingering side effect of the drug.

"Although, while wounded, you can consider me intrigued."

Dick swallows thickly. He hopes Cecile doesn't hear him gulp as loudly as he sounds to his own ears.

"You'll stop. Leave Damian alone" he says and although his heart is beating a hundred times faster than it should, his stare is unyielding.

"And you'll take me instead"

Cecile eyes him half incredulously, half entertained, for moments that feels like an eternity. Dick is convinced his soul has already left his body, and the woman is simply left staring blankly at his hanging corpse.

She's still staring vacantly at his direction, with no indication of the fact changing.

But then she chuckles.

She chuckles, and soon snickers are finding their way up her throat one after the other, until her shoulders are shaking with laughter.

Yet the laughs escaping her are perfectly normal. Perfectly contained, just the average sound that could be prompted by an oddly funny joke. A joke so ridiculous it fulfills its purpose.

Perhaps that's the most terrifying part. How human it is.

And Dick is showered in cold sweat when he repeats himself, voice sounding just a little more tight and frantic than need be, but Cecile pays him no mind, laughing silently on her own.

Cecile -most likely pointedly- ignores his protests, which are growing more and more despondent as he's fumbling for words, caught somewhere in the crevasse dividing dread and ire.

"Do whatever you want to do to me! Just-"

He's just a child. Just an innocent child.

"-just leave Damian alone. And take me." Dick says.

An innocent boy caught in the crossfire of a war he never swore to fight, but was instead compelled to win.

His brother caught in the crossfire. His Dami.

His fault.

Dick's stuck in a loop. It doesn't end, it never does. Once it's starts there's no end to look forward to, there's merely one he can imagine, and they won't let him follow it.

All air leaves his lungs. Everything seems so peaceful when the flames tingling his heart have no more smoke to give.

"Take me."

His fault. His responsibility.

"Dick, no," Bruce pleads from behind him. Only then is it that he realizes the rest of them have grown silent, all eyes on him, reflecting the light nearly pensively.

Only then is it that he realizes he's been toeing the line of hysteria. That he doesn't know how to stop.

"B, I have to. I can't let Damia-"

"And I can't let any of you!" Bruce snaps. Dick is taken aback, only not due to the sonorous anger redirected towards him. Rather by the tears he can see glistening all over his father's irises.

Tears.

Shining all across his father's eyes.

Under the enemy's scrutinus gaze, and still he let the sorrow swim all the way up to the surface.

Cecile has stopped laughing. Openly at least, as her palm is covering her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle the giggles, perhaps not wanting to disturb the show. The bright smile lighting her eyes betrays her nonetheless.

"You're my son, Dick. I can't let you do this. I can't let another of my children do this" Bruce concludes, never ending eye contact.

Never trying to deny the tears.

All Dick wants is to give in to the pain of his own, and let Bruce wipe at his eyes and tell him it's all going to be alright, just when he was little.

But he isn't little anymore, is he?

Is he?

Is he strong enough?

No. Not a question. He has to. He has to be-

"I was dead, I should go in next. There's nothing she can do to me that I haven't already gone through" his brother's voice cuts in, disrupting the debate that's been won in his mind, long before it even started.

"Half of us have died, Jason" Stephanie counters. "I don't mind going myself"

"You're not going Steph"

"I'll go then"

"The hell you are, replacement. You didn't make the cut for our club the first time, you'll not make it now.

"Are we seriously having this conversation right now?"

Cass clears her throat to get their attention.

"Me" she offers, and immediately after she's met with loud protests.

Dick watches as the others continue to fight between them, arguing on who should trade places with Damian. They can't understand that he has to do it. He doesn't expect them to. So when Cecile laughs and asks who's it going to be?, his decision is adamant.

"Like I said. It will be me" Dick insists.

He's not little anymore.

"No." Bruce says sternly. "No, you won't go. Do you hear me?"

He is strong enough. He has to be, so he's going to be.

Dick hears him, although elects to ignore him, staring proudly ahead, at the two men walking inside to retrieve him.

Bruce then is yelling, and the others protest, some are still fighting over which one of them should take Damian's place but it's already too late. The cuffs clink open and the two men go to stand by either of Dick's side as soon as his feet touch the ground.

Dick doesn't fight them. He doesn't mind being pushed around with his arms pressed behind his back so tightly his already sore muscles hurt as his arms are straining to bend backwards despite his flexibility. He doesn't mind, because he's doing it for his brother.

As long as his brother's safely reunited with the others, it doesn't matter whatever they might do to him.

Dick sends one last look to his family, and another full of a different kind of love directed right at Babs. He hopes his eyes delivers the thousand messages he doesn't have the time to relay with phrases.

The room is left in hush when the door slides closed behind him.

As far as looks go, Dick's were farewells.

As soon as Dick's dragged into the small room whose horrid purpose he's seen on camera, he spots Damian sitting upright against a corner, with a gun pressed to his temple.

Dick's shoulders stiffen and a breath catches on his throat. Still, it's all going to be alright. It's all going to be okay. Damian's going to be okay.

"I'd advise you not to try anything smart, or-"

"I won't" Dick interrupts sharply.

Cecile stands to the side and gestures towards a skeletal armchair with untied restraining straps. Dick shudders at the thought of how many people have suffered on this same chair, and his stomach fills with dread as the knowledge that he's next settles in.

"Grayson wh-"

"It's okay Dames" Dick says softly, scrambling to regain his composure as he's forced onto the blood stained metal by the men.

He winces when they securely latch the straps around his wrists and ankles, so tightly the leather is pressing into his skin, disrupting blood circulation.

Damian looks hurt and afraid, so Dick does his best swallow his own accelerating fear and suppress the shivers running down his spine, triggered by the icy feeling of metal on his skin.

"Everything is going to be okay"

Dick locks eyes with him and plasters something that feels like the poor excuse of a smile on his face, but he knows it must appear somewhat comforting to his little brother.

Masking his unraveling self beneath a charming smile and a lighthearted joke has always been his gift and curse.

Cecile clasps her hands together impatiently and nods towards the man holding the gun. He hastily shoves Damian into the arms of the leanest of the men, while his extended arm is turned around to point at Dick's head instead.

Damian yelps and as his arms are restrained behind his back, the hideous burn on his exposed chest comes into Dick's full view.

Dick's breath hitches despite himself and.. and..

It's...

The ghastly tendrils of burnt skin spreading across his little Robin's chest that spell out the word brat…

Dick could never describe the utter despair and pain and sorrow and ire and helplessness he feels, yet he doesn't have the time to stare right through the monstrosity etched onto his little brother's flesh as suddenly his chin is being pushed uncomfortably upwards by the barrel of the gun being pressed firmly against the soft skin right above his neck.

As Dick gulps, his Adam's apple bobs almost visibly on his inconveniently prolonged neck. The underlying dizziness finds the perfect opportunity to strike him again as his head slightly lolls backwards.

He no longer sees Damian, but amidst the sounds of his heartbeat echoing from inside the veins and taut muscles in his neck, a small and strangled Richard finds its way to his ears.

"I'm fine" Dick assures, even though he's nothing but. "I'll be fine. Love you, lil bro"

The absence of an answer doesn't concern him as much as that of shuffling or any indication that Damian is guided out of the room.

That is, until a delicate stray sniffle rips his heart apart.

If he could glance at his little Dami, he'd be able to see his reflection fall from his watering eyes in teardrops that he can no longer contain.

Dick can imagine the silently crying face, and so he shuts his eyes closed harshly, trapping inside all the pain and anguish lest it makes way to the surface

With a wavering voice he demands:

"Now let Damian go"

When he reopens his eyes with a breathy gasp he's all alone, bound to the metal skeleton of the chair.

Relief floods his heart.

If any more blood is to be spilt, it shall be his.

[loverontheleft]

Ready to Leap (Chapter 49; The End)

AU with B as a band teacher and reader as an English teacher. Fluff and smut. Chapters 1-48 can be found on my Masterlist in my bio.

Brendon x reader.

Warnings: So...we’ve (@beautiful-tragic-fallout) created a points system for smut. Also! The new decade brought us new scale items. Enjoy. 😘

0.25 for handjob

0.25 for fingering

0.25 for masturbation

0.25-0.5 for (mild) cum-play

0.5 for blowing him

0.5 for going down on her

0.6 for cockwarming

0.75-1.0 for sex, vanilla

1.5-2.0 for sex, advanced positions

3.0 for bondage, spanking, other kinks, or public sex.

This chapter has a smut score of 1.75, and other warnings include language, dirty talk, minor angst, fluff, literary analysis, and...that’s all I think.

I’m tired and it’s over and done and I’m at peace with it. We had a good ride, y’all. My eternal thanks to @panicsinning for blessing me with this storyline, @beautiful-tragic-fallout for helping me with angst and letting me rant about plot points, @i-think-im-ready-to-go and @yagirlcammmm for always lending an ear when I needed to arbitrate an idea with myself, my patrons for encouraging me always and telling me I’m not crazy, and all of you readers for hanging in there with me through my emotional bullshit. Maybe one day I’ll do a redux of all of this and make it something better. For now though, I hope it’ll do.

-||-

“This is-“ you falter as you step into your home. “This is weird.” Brendon’s hand squeezes yours and you squeeze back reassuringly. “Not - I don’t think it’s a bad weird. Just a strange weird. Being back.” You take a shaky breath and turn to press your face to his chest.

“I know, Kitten,” he soothes, stroking your back. “I know. But it’s okay. We’re okay.” His lips find the top of your head and you steady yourself. “Do you want to go upstairs and I’ll bring the bags in?”

“I don’t - I don’t want to go up there alone,” you finally whimper. Your eyes are closed; you don’t know what seeing the wreckage of the nursery will do to you, but you don’t anticipate it will be anything good. He nods; you feel it rather than see it, and his hand moves in soft circles over your back. “Why don’t we both bring in bags and then we can go up together?”

“That,” Brendon murmurs, “is a great idea.” And with that, you both turn and head back to his car to retrieve the small amount of luggage you brought with you on your retreat. As you trudge up the stairs, he calls your name softly.

“Bren?” You meet his eyes and he looks uneasy. “What is it?”

“Zack and I - the day trip we took - we came back here and cleaned up the nursery.” He looks down at the floor. You’re silent. “I just wanted you to know before you got in there and saw it.”

“Okay.” Your voice is flat, unsure.

“We - renovated it.”

“You renovated it?” You repeat, still unclear on what he’s really saying. He nods. “What does that mean, you renovated it?”

“I-“ he falters. “We - you wanted a big walk-in closet, so-“ you’re afraid you understand now, so you cut him off by turning on your heel and pushing open the bedroom door. “Y/n-“

You ignore him and race to the nursery room door, shoving it open. The sob that forces its way out of your body sends you to your knees. You grope blindly, tears rolling. “All of her things-“ you gasp in anguish. “Where did you put all of her things?” You turn and stare at him, fury blazing in your eyes. “Where are her things?”

“Storage mostly. And- well. Some things got thrown away.”

“You-“ you’re broken, staring at the carpet. “Storage? Thrown away?”

“Y/n, please-“

“You put our baby’s things in storage like we’d forget about her? You threw her things away like she’s trash?” You’re on your feet now, hitting his chest as the sobs wrack your body. His hands wrap around your fists and he holds you tightly.

“Y/n, take a breath.” His voice is firm and his eyes are steady on yours. “Breathe.” You take a shaky breath and he nods, telling you to keep going. “I’m going to talk now,” he says. “All of her clothing and the larger furniture pieces are in the walk-in storage shed at the back of the property. The pieces of her crib got thrown away. I also threw away the diaper genie.”

“Why would you-“

“Because we don’t need a room dedicated to her to remember her. Because we love her and will always remember her and a room dedicated to our loss isn’t healthy.”

“But what if we-“

“Don’t,” Brendon says in a low voice. “Don’t, Y/n. I know what you’re thinking and the answer is no.” You feel crushed and he must read it on your face, so he amends his response. “I don’t mean no, we won’t have more children. I want a family with you, darling. I do. But I don’t think we should focus on that right now, regardless. But what I do mean is, even when or if we have a second child, no, we won’t use this room or those furniture pieces. Y/n, we both know we couldn’t stand to have them in this space, using that furniture.” You process this and he drops your wrists. “I know. I know it’s hard. But it’s the right thing to do. Do you still want to hit me?” He eyes you warily and you shake your head wearily.

“I’m just so tired.” You feel numb and you step back from him. “I’m going to take a nap.” He can hear the dull quality in your voice and he reaches for you. You pull away though, and, stripping your clothes off, crawl into the bed that now feels so foreign. You take another hesitant breath before turning to look at him. “You can come to bed too if you want.”

He takes the invitation graciously and crosses the room, shedding clothes as he goes. When he gets into the bed, you roll over and cling to your pillow. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you sooner,” he whispers. “I should have prepared you. I just - I really loved seeing you so content on the car ride home and I didn’t want to -“

“I understand.” It takes a huge amount of effort for you to say those words, but you realize that you do mean them. “And it’s okay. I forgive you.” Those words are easier but just as true. “It’s just strange.”

“All of it is strange,” Brendon agrees, hesitantly scooting closer to you. “Can I - hold you?” You nod and he scoots even closer, pressing his face to your shoulder. “Get some rest. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. You mean that one too. You feel a sense of relief wash over you both. You’re going to be okay.

-||-

“Darlin,” Brendon groans, rolling over and burying his face in your neck. “I don’t want to get up.” He groans again and you sigh, flinging an arm over his body. “What’s on the to-do list for the day?”

You open one eye and squint at him in the early morning light. “B, you know nothing has changed. We’ve been home for - what? Three weeks now? And the stay at home order has been in effect for...two weeks and three days? You don’t have to get up, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Social distancing continues and we don’t need to do anything. We can lay here all day.”

“Mmmmmph,” he mumbles, nuzzling your shoulder. “Good. All I wanna do today is make you breakfast in bed, make you come a few times-“ he hesitates. “Is that okay?” His nuzzling of your skin becomes soft, warm kisses as you ponder. The sex has been varied like your mood - there are some days when you’re crawling up the wall for him, absolutely desperate for him to fuck you, and others when you just need to snuggle into his hoodie and turn off all the lights and sleep the days away. But his offer now-

“Uh huh,” you whisper, luxuriating in his embrace. “Yeah. You’ve been so good to me these past weeks - and I know no one could have expected this - but…you’ve made it pretty okay-” you fall silent. “So much for that New York trip, huh?”

“Yeah,” he agrees sleepily. “Don’t you worry though.” He yawns once, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him, curled into his side. “I’m still gonna take my Kitten on the best vacation when all of this is over.” You purr contentedly and kiss his chest. “I might go back to sleep for a while,” Brendon manages through another yawn. “Will you be okay?”

“Yup,” you say through your own yawn. “I’m gonna sleep more too.” You snuggle down into his arms and close your eyes. “Maybe we can finish the backyard when we get up?”

“Sounds good,” Brendon agrees, voice revealing that he’s fading fast. “Sleep well, love.”

-||-

You’re the first to crawl out of bed and you sigh contentedly as your feet hit the soft carpet. You shrug into one of your silk robes he left draped over the post by your head and, standing quietly, slip into the closet. You catch your breath the way you always do - your hand flying to your throat. You’d think you’d be used to it by now - her room, her nursery - gone. This gorgeous walk-in closet in its place. It is gorgeous, you concede, running your fingers along the glossy shelves as you pluck a pair of leggings from a pile. You wiggle them up your hips and, letting the robe drop, you cross to a different stack of sports bras and t-shirts.

You turn to the center of the room and let your gaze wander over the long table running the length of the room, covered in trays with your varied accessories and jewelry. Social distancing has caused you to par down your accessories, so you slip your engagement ring on (you always sleep with your wedding band on), and slide a pair of diamond studs into your ears.

Turning to a large 3-way mirror, you examine yourself. “Fine,” you say with a shrug. You grin when Brendon stumbles into view behind you, sweatpants slung low on his hips and bare chest still flushed from sleeping pressed against you. He comes up behind you and caresses your hips and pressing his mouth softly to your neck.

“You are fine,” he purrs, and you giggle, swatting at his ass playfully. “What?” He looks teasingly offended, and you roll your eyes. “You do! Fine as hell. My wife is fine as hell and I want to kiss her.” He nuzzles your neck longingly. You turn in his arms and embrace him eagerly. “I wanna do a lot more than kiss her,” he mumbles against your lips. “If she’ll let me.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, running your hands through his hair. “Yeah, I want you too.” He smiles once more and kisses down your neck. His hands slide up under your t-shirt and he gets it off of you with ease. It drops to the floor and he sets his attention next on your bra. He sheds that with just as much ease and his hands come up to cup your breasts.

“Look at my wife,” he murmurs in your ear. You meet his gaze in the mirror and take a sharp breath. “Look at my sexy wife. Topless and letting me feel her up, play with her nipples-“ he tugs at both gently, making you moan low in the back of your throat. “My wife is fucking gorgeous. Now to get these leggings off of her-“ he removes his hands from your breasts and slides your leggings down your thighs. “No panties?”

“No panties,” you confirm in a hoarse voice.

“What a good girl Kitten is for me,” Brendon groans, shedding his own sweatpants to stand behind you totally naked. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Uh huh,” you gasp as two of his fingers just barely trace your heat. “I did.” He grins and kisses your shoulder. You cry out as his fingers go deep, scissoring inside you. “Oh fuck, Brendon...”

“Brace yourself,” he says in a low voice. His eyes are dark and his lower lip is swollen from biting. You obediently place both hands on the mirror and he grasps your hips with one hand; the other is still working fervently between your thighs. “You want me?”

You nod. You can feel the slick head of his cock nudging the back of your thigh. “Please. I want you so badly.” You gasp when he pushes into you in one firm thrust - “oh fuck yes!” Your fingers claw at the mirror and you lift your head to watch him pant and moan behind you.

“So fucking tight,” he grunts, both hands on your hips. “So fucking tight.” Your legs are pressed together by your leggings that are only halfway down your thighs and he’s pushing hard against the resistance.

“Remember when-“ you gasp, throwing your head back and moaning as he goes deeper, “you fucked me in your office? And had me keep my legs together?”

“Yeah,” Brendon manages, smacking your ass and working harder. “Yeah, I do. That was so long ago.”

“It was,” you agree. “It was like- 39 chapters ago.” You meet his eyes in the mirror and he looks confused -brows furrowed, eyes narrowed. “Sorry - I mean - so many months ago. What? Somebody’s saying stuff. I don’t know.” You toss your hair back out of your face and push back against him for more. “Fuck me.”

“Absolutely,” Brendon says, hips slamming into yours. Your slip of the tongue is forgotten and you whine in pleasure as he drives you closer and closer to orgasm. “Look at us,” he says gruffly. “Look at us fucking. Look at you, taking me like this.” His voice alone is enough to send you over the edge; his cock throbbing inside of you is almost too much.

“I’m gonna come,” you whisper weakly. “Oh fuck me; I’m gonna come.” He smacks your ass once lightly and tells you that you’re exactly right, you are, and you groan and press into his touch. He reaches down in front of you and grazes your clit lightly- you scream and feel your entire body go rigid as your orgasm rips through you. “Oh fuck!”

“Fuck yes,” Brendon sighs in pleasure, gripping your hips once more as he comes, pushing hard into your tightening body. “God, I love you.” His words are staggered between thrusts and you murmur it back to him as your own climax pulses in time with his. “I fucking love you.” He kisses your cheek as he pulls out of you and you whimper, turning quickly and falling into his arms. “Commere, Kitten,” he soothes, lifting you off of your feet.

“Sleepy,” you mumble, nuzzling under his chin. “I’m sleepy now. I got ready for the day and then you came in and fucked all the energy out of me.” He laughs softly and kisses your forehead.

“I’m not sorry,” he teases as he places you on the bed and tugs your leggings all the way off. You giggle and shake your head and say you’re not sorry either. “Good,” Brendon says with a gentle smile. “Now you rest more. I’ll go see what I can do about making you breakfast in bed.”

“It’s noon,” you point out as you wiggle under the sheets and blankets. He grins at you from the doorway and you feel a rush of pleasure go through your body. Your husband is really gorgeous and kind and wonderful. It’s going to be a good day.

“Maybe so. But who are you gonna tell if I make you funfetti pancakes at noon on a Tuesday?” He cocks an eyebrow at you and you grin, shaking your head.

“That’s right. Absolutely no one.” Brendon smiles like he knew that’s what you were going to say, and with one soft blown kiss, he disappears towards the stairs.

-||-

“B?” You’re sprawled over the couch with your head in his lap while he drops bites of funfetti pancake into your mouth. You chew gratefully before nudging him lightly in the stomach. “B, you know what Thomas Foster says about meals?”

“Who?”

“He’s a professor of literature at University of Michigan.”

“You didn’t study at University of Michigan, did you?” Brendon looks at you curiously. You shake your head and he laughs. “Okay, I didn’t think so. You were saying?”

“Thomas Foster. He says anytime people share a meal, it’s communion.” You blink up at him and he laughs again, running his hand through your hair. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because this is my favorite kind of communion,” Brendon says playfully. “You, naked and sprawled on top of me.” He ruffles your hair affectionately. “I wish church was always like this.”

“Hush,” you say, laughing now too. “Not communion always in a religious sense. Just - building a community.” Brendon pauses as you let this sink in. He nods after a moment, passing you another piece of pancake.

“I like that. Building a community. You and me. Our own little community here in this space, one meal at a time.” He nods again, decisively. “This Foster guy sounds pretty smart. What else does he say?”

You grin, stretching and turning to kiss Brendon’s bare stomach. “He says everything is about sex.” Brendon’s eyes light up and you smirk. “Except sex.” His face falls and you burst out laughing.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Brendon protests, lifting you up into his arms so you’re straddling his lap. “Let me prove him wrong.” He kisses you softly and you melt, pressing against him needily. “Let me prove him wrong.”

“Prove him wrong,” you murmur, running two fingers down his chest and kissing him back longingly. “Prove him wrong.”

-||-

“You know what else he says?” You’re drowsy, wrapped in the blanket Brendon tugged from the back of the couch and snuggled into his arms. You look up at him tenderly. “Foster, I mean.”

“What?” Brendon’s sleepy too, and he has every right to be, you think to yourself. He worked hard, making you come three times on his fingers before he’d even let himself feel you on his cock.

“He says that violence and death in literature, and ultimately life, have deeper purposes. Even if that purpose is just to make some commentary on the unnecessary cruelness of the world, that’s an important message for the audience. Life isn’t fluffy and wonderful and everything isn’t going to go our way all of the time. We will get knocked down and we will hurt and we will be sad. But it’s important. Especially when the people who suffer the most keep going. Keep moving forward.”

“And,” Brendon mumbles into your neck, fingers tracing over your stomach, “do you think that’s what we’re doing?” He hesitates. “Moving forward?”

You sigh and rest your hand over his. Both of you sit in the moment, heavy with the loss of your daughter. “Yes,” you say finally. “It is. We’re not moving on. But we are moving forward.” Brendon sighs now too, closing his eyes and wrapping his free arm around your waist.

“And we’ll be okay?” You can hear the fear in his voice. “I can’t lose you, Y/n. I can’t. I’ll struggle with you every goddamn day but please - I can’t lose you. Promise me you won’t give up.” The anxiety in his eyes causes you physical pain. You knew your breakdown hurt him, and you knew it scared him - he keeps going. “I said this the night I asked you to marry me- I know it’s scary and I know it’s a lot. I know it’s a leap, but...Y/n, I knew we could make it then and I know we can make it now. Will you keep holding on with me, keep moving forward with me?”

“Yes,” you say softly. “It is scary and it is a lot and it is a leap. But there’s no one else I’d rather keep moving forward with.” He smiles and you kiss him gently. “You won’t lose me. I can’t promise much but I can promise these three things: I’m yours. You won’t lose me. I’m ready. I was ready then and I’m ready now,” you tell him. “I will always be ready to leap with you into whatever our future holds.”

The End

[greensaplinggrace]

Hello! This is kind of out there but I was wondering if you could do a post apocolypse au? With tons of Barret but not very shippy. With lots of found family though! Thanks

“I know you didn't list Barret as one of the character you write, but you also said that the list was only a sort of guideline and not actually hard rules. If that's the case could you maybe do a prompt for some Dad!Barret and Marlene fluff? Thank you 💞💕” - Anon

Filling two prompts at once here, so I hope this fits the bill for both! Also I got really into this prompt so I’m honestly probably going to continue it? If so, it’ll on ao3, but here’s what I’ve written so far. Sort of the start of the fic/a prologue. A five + 1 type premise, beginning with Tifa XD

-UPDATE! The fic is now finished - PART 2 - PART 3 - ALL PARTS ON AO3

-If you want to send in a prompt, the guidelines are HERE and HERE!

------

His daughter makes him a crown of dead flowers.

Barricaded inside of some long abandoned home, the only pieces of nature still visible are the wilted remains of a bouquet once gathered neatly in a vase. They’re faded, of course. Neglected and passed over for more urgent necessities; victims to the cruel fate of the merciless virus. Just as humans had been.

Just like every other living thing on the planet.

Yet Marlene doesn’t seem to mind. As soon as they’re both settled in for the night she takes the flowers up, small fingers clutching ever so delicately at the crumbling stems, and weaves him a crown. Kicking her feet on an old dusty couch and humming away, she even appears almost happy and content, though he knows she’s not.

He knows she’s afraid. Sees it every day in her frightened tears and hears it every night in the tiny, terrified whimpers of her nightmares.

These things - these small, innocuous pieces of joy she seems to find at the strangest of moments, are the only pieces of innocence she has left. Her only protection from the monsters inside of her head. 

Barret can’t rob her of that; he never could. Even if the flowers she plays with are dead and the couch she sits on once belonged to someone else. So when she looks up at him with wide brown eyes and that big, loving smile, presenting his crown like the glittering tiara she imagines it is, he can’t do anything else but kneel to accept it.

Can’t do anything else but return the smile and play pretend, heart aching with the loss of something he knows she’ll never get back.

Sometimes, he thinks of what his life would be like without her. Thinks of the kids out on the streets and the parents he’s met along the roads. Shell shocked, blank faced victims, waiting for the infected to end it all, and he knows he’s lucky. Lucky to have her at all in this destructive world, and the loss of her innocence isn’t so horrifying in the face of her simply being here with him. Safe and cared for and alive.

Because Marlene is the only thing he has left in the world - she’s the only one who matters - and he knows he’d do just about anything to keep her safe.

More importantly, though. More than anything else. He’d do anything to keep her happy.

So he plays pretend.

He wears the crown made from dead people’s things and cooks in their kitchen. Ignores the plundered and violated remains of their home to search through his own bag for some food, and hopes that his little girl doesn’t go looking upstairs to see the empty baby’s nursery.

Dinner is small again. It’s been beans and carrots for the past week, and it’ll be beans and carrots again today. Considering their circumstances, it isn’t exactly surprising. Watching over Marlene means making certain sacrifices, and raiding the bigger places for better supplies is simply too difficult with a child in tow.

Impossibly difficult. 

But it may soon be necessary, if things keep going the way they are. The thought that he might have to expose Marlene to the atrocities of their new world doesn’t sit well with him, but he might have to start doing so if he wants to keep them both alive and fed. Especially if he wants any tools of a high enough quality to maintain his arm.

Right now it works, but the thing is too slow to be useful for anything except shooting, and he relegates it to hanging limp and useless beside him on most days. Though even when his arm had been working at it’s finest, it was never useful for cooking.

Mechanized gun arms tend to be like that.

“Daddy?”

He hums, pots and pans banging, relieved when the stove starts without problem. “Yes, honey?”

“Where do you think the people who lived here moved away to?”

That warrants a glance backwards, and Barret turns to see Marlene still on the couch. She’s got a large photo album opened up on her lap now, flipping through it with a childlike curiosity. Her feet are still kicking off the edge of her seat, and after a beat of silence she looks up at him questioningly.

He pushes back the urge to snatch the book away from her - to protect her from the darkness only he can see hiding between the pages. 

Alive or dead, those are happy photos. Moments of a better life and a better time, and Marlene’s touch can only make them brighter. So he leaves her to it and returns to his cooking.

“They could be anywhere,” he still tells her, hoping to give her whatever small shred of hope he can, “maybe they’re hiding somewhere safer.”

“Like a Camp?”

“Maybe.” The nearest Camp isn’t for miles, but he knows the army and fast formed neighborhood watches had been evacuating people to safe sites. A lot of those had been transformed into Camps or eventually transferred to other Camps. For anybody living near the city, it isn’t exactly a stretch to imagine.

More of a stretch than Barret can muster, though.

“What if they Clustered?” Marlene asks after a moment of thought.

Barret isn’t at all expecting the words, and he barely manages to bite back an unsavory comment upon hearing them. What Marlene refers to as Clusters, most call Mobs, and he’d rather jump off a damn cliff than ever even look at one again. He doesn’t want to scare her, though. So instead he clears his throat and focuses on making their plates to distract himself, lips tightening. 

“Then at least they’d be safe,” he offers mildly.

“Well then why aren’t we in one? If it’s safe, I mean.”

“Because it’s only safe for certain people, baby.” When she opens her mouth he cuts her off, raising the plates in an apology. “You just have to trust me, okay? Let’s talk about something else.”

At her huff of reluctant acceptance he moves back to the couch, sitting close and pulling away the photo album.

He closes it and tosses it aside immediately, but in the half second his gaze finds the photos, he notices they’re all of a happy old couple. Thin and frail and paler than porcelain from a distinct lack of sun.

Dead, he realizes. 

There’s no way they would have made it.

“Daddy? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m fine. Let’s eat, huh? We gotta finish up soon if we want you in bed on time.”

Marlene pouts at that, suitably distracted, and they both dig into their food with gusto.

Speculating about strangers will get in him nowhere, he knows. Especially when it comes to the dead ones. 

There’ll be time for mourning later.

Much, much later. 

So he sits and he eats and talks about ponies and princesses, the crown still adorning his head, and he doesn’t think about anything except his daughter.

Doesn’t think about a thing except how he’s going to keep her alive.

They finish their meal in record time. Soon enough, Barret is tucking a fussy Marlene into bed. She’s curled up in her cot near the living room heater, bundled beneath some extra blankets he found in the linen closet, and she’s out like a light as soon as her head hits the pillow.

Barret sits and keeps watch while she sleeps. Through the slivers of space between boards, he watches dusk pass peacefully by. The infected begin to meander away once his and Marlene’s disturbance becomes old news to them, and a silence befalls their cozy sanctuary as the sky gradually darkens.

Then shit goes horribly, explosively sideways.

It happens in the middle of the night: a deafening boom that rocks the world and instantly has Barret on high alert. The air around them erupts in a blaze of fire and screams, upper level catching like dry tinder before he can so much as blink. 

Barret jumps to his feet with a yell, turning to grab Marlene as the ceiling crumbles around them. She’s glossy eyed and confused, but he doesn’t have the time to explain it to her. Doesn’t have the time to do a thing as beams pop around them, tires screeching in the near distance. Then the sound of shattering windows rends the silence of the night, a sadistic chorus of hoots and hollers following right at its heels. 

The approaching thunder of footsteps is what pushes Barret into motion. Quickly, with the rise of voices goading him to move faster than he ever has before, Barret pulls their bags onto one shoulder, hefting his little girl over the other, and races to the crooked backdoor. He kicks it down amidst a cascade of red hot cinders, ducking underneath the doorway without hesitation, and looks up to see dewy grass stretching out cold and exposed before them.

Another explosion sounds out from the house, the footsteps beginning to get closer as the war cries rise, and he has no time to waste anymore - no time for second thoughts.

Barret takes Marlene and he runs.

------

After that night, their situation only gets worse. The Mob isn’t tracking Barret down, but it’s clear they’ve set up shop in the surrounding buildings and aren’t planning to move anytime soon.

As a result, Barret gives the city a wide berth. Skirting past the outermost houses and heading into the open fields, he eventually leads them into the surrounding forests. He’s hoping for some modicum of safety within the boughs, but greenery is scarce and the leaves are falling. Winter’s chill becomes more prominent with every passing night to exacerbate the issue, and it drives home their need for four walls and a roof like nothing else ever could.

Yet for now, it’s better than nothing. Better than being left so vulnerable again, defenseless in another family’s home.

The added protection of the trees brings other problems, however. They’re isolated from civilization and traders out here, with no friendly faces to be seen for miles, and the subsequent dip in their supplies is severe. 

By the end of their first week camping out in the forests, Barret finds himself staring at his and Marlene’s very last can of beans, and knows without a doubt that they’ve finally hit the breaking point. 

They’re going to have to go looting again if they want some food.

And it is that thought that finds Barret and Marlene outside the remains of an empty, half hidden store just a few too many paces off the main road. With not a single infected in sight, it looks like the perfect mark.

Marlene huffs into the chill beside him, breath fogging. “What if there are monsters inside?” 

“Daddy will take care of them! Don’t you worry a bit about that.”

Marlene shuffles her feet and ducks her head. She has a death grip on his fingers, body closed off and fearful, and he already regrets making the decision to come out here. All around them, the silence of the abandoned store echoes with a warning.

“I’m scared,” she whispers at the ground, and Barret squeezes her hand lightly in reassurance.

“It’ll be real quick, baby, I promise,” he says, voice strong even as he eyes the flickering store lights with trepidation, “we’ve just gotta run in and out. Grab all the food we can carry and haul ass, huh?”

“But I can’t carry lots,” Marlene replies mournfully.

“That’s no problem! I’ll do most of the carrying. Your job is just to stay on my shoulder and make me feel better.”

“Like a cheerleader?”

“Exactly like a cheerleader. You’re my hype crew!”

Her giggle lights up the dark parking lot, and he kneels to give her a gentle hug. When her small hands come up to wrap around his neck he gets an arm under her, lifting her up with exaggerated force until she’s clutching at his fingers and giggling wildy.

Shifting her to his shoulder is almost easy after that. She’s distracted and pleased, beginning to hum her little happy song again as she kicks her legs in the air, and Barret hates himself for having to make it go away.

“Now you gotta hold on real tight, remember? Cause I need both hands free for this.” He looks up to see her nod and frown seriously, heart aching at the maturity in her expression. 

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll be quiet, too.”

“Good. Just like we practiced.”

“Mhm!”

Then it’s go time.

They move towards the store slowly and enter with care. Barret’s desperate but he’s not going to act the fool. There could be any number of threats inside, and he isn’t going to risk his daughter because he acted rashly - made too much noise or stepped too loudly. Isn’t going to give the infected the satisfaction of seeing him fall.

Marlene is careful, too. She’s got a death grip on his shoulder and his hair the entire time he walks. Yet the pain is nothing compared to knowing she’s safe, so he stays silent as they creep past the threshold. 

As soon as he steps foot in the building he sees the checkout. It’s right beside the door, as he’d known it would be, but it’s holding way more registers and lanes than he’d planned on seeing. Immediately, Barret takes a longer look at the aisles spreading out a fair distance in front of them, and realizes with dread that this store is a lot bigger than he’d given it credit for.

The CVS sign in the far corner blares accusingly from its place above another, smaller checkout.

Medicine is his first thought - his only thought - for a long time after seeing it. And of course it is. Medicine is indescribably valuable during catastrophes such as this. It’s priceless.

And he’s staring at a whole roomful of it.

This store hasn’t been looted, he realizes blankly, and that’s when the second thought hits. Harsh and brutal as if he’s been hit by a truck.

Threat, his mind blares, and he’s instantly tensing as he readies for a battle or a confrontation - anything.

This is no longer a simple search for remaining loot. Any Mob or Camp worth a damn would be on this shit in seconds if they knew it was here, and they wouldn’t shy away from using any means necessary to obtain the supplies.

Hell, if a Syndicate finds this place they might as well give up on life right now.

His heart skips a beat, hand coming up for just a brief moment to squeeze tightly at his little girl’s leg, and she hugs him from above. She doesn’t say anything, though. Merely patting the top of his head in an attempt at comfort.

Smart girl, he thinks, moving to grab one of the shopping carts lying about. It’s completely intact, and even the mere presence of a fully functioning shopping cart at the entrance of the store lets him know nobody has set foot in this place since shit hit the fan.

They’re loud but they’re handy, and Barret plans on filling the entire thing to brimming. With this whole basket full they’ll be able to eat well for weeks.

An insistent hand tugs at his hair. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, honey.” He begins to wheel the cart around, but Marlene’s next words stop him dead.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He demands, but he’s already tensing, gun charged up and free hand coming to steady his little girl. 

He whirls around to face the back rooms just as she yells out a “that!”, and as if on cue a crash rings out, several voices rising in the sounds of a fight. Barret barely has the time to raise his gun and take a step back before the doors are bursting open, a long haired woman flying through to skid painfully across the white tiles.

Marlene gasps. “Daddy, it’s a girl!”

“Marlene baby, don’t-”

Then the doors burst open a second time with a reverberating thud. It’s loud enough to wake any infected in the nearby vicinity, and though Barret doesn’t hear any cries rise up from the surrounding forest, he knows it’s only a matter of time before some creature comes looking.

“Hey!” He snaps at the people coming through the doors. They’re all white men, though two are big and burly while the other is slighter, only coming up to their shoulders. 

All three look pissed as hell. 

“Who the hell is that?” One of them hisses, gesturing with a bloodied wooden bat in Barret’s direction, and Barret wastes no time in directing his gun straight at the man’s ugly mug.

“I’m your worst damn nightmare unless you back the fuck down, boy!” He growls menacingly, and though his chest tightens at Marlene’s fearful whimper, he doesn’t let the stony facade fade.

The smaller man scoffs. “You and what army? The seven year old on your shoulder? I hate to break it to you big guy, but that we could take you both down within seconds.” The cocky shit brandishes a pistol as he speaks, finger pressed so tightly to the trigger Barret’s half afraid he’ll fire wide without meaning to. 

Subtly, he tightens his hold of Marlene, about to speak again when the woman on the ground coughs and rises to her hands and knees. 

“No!” She protests loudly, to both Barret and the smaller man’s surprise. Her voice is scratchy yet strong with heated conviction, eyes burning a brilliant red as they come up to glare accusingly at the other. “She’s only a little girl, don’t-”

“Any fool stupid enough to carry around a brat during the apocalypse deserves to have her ripped from his fingers.” It’s one of the larger man that speaks this time around, and Barret has to grit his teeth through the rush of anger that sears through his veins, seconds away from putting thirty fucking bullets through the man’s worthless smirking face.

“What the hell did you just say?!” He demands.

“I said we’re going to kill you and your little brat, and then after that we’re going to kill this stupid whore for thinking she could steal from us!”

“No!” Barret’s heart almost stops at Marlene’s shout. The way every eye in the room is drawn to her. The way the gun points straight at her head - “You can’t hurt her! She’s ours, now. Tell them, Daddy!”

Barret turns to break the gunman’s line of sight, but surprisingly it’s the woman who speaks again, shaking her head wildly as she struggles to get to her feet. “Please! Please don’t get involved. I don’t want anybody else to get hurt.”

Stunned, all Barret can do for a moment is stand frozen, staring down at her. Her face is bruised and swollen, lip split and bleeding where she’s biting it aggressively to fight back the pain, and her arm curls around her ribs in a way that indicates they’re at least bruised, if not broken. Yet still she tries to rise up in their defense - in his daughter’s defense - despite her injured and unarmed state.

“Daddy-”

“I know, honey.” He can’t risk Marlene but he can’t just stand idly by as someone else gets hurt.

Before he knows it and before anybody can do a thing to react, he’s stepping forward and placing himself firmly between the woman and the three twitchy men. They all buck back like frightened horses at his rapid approach, making harsh, surprised noises that instantly tell Barret what he needs to know.

So he grins and bars his teeth, massive gun swinging around to aim at each of them for a second. Lingering until every last one is skittering uncomfortably, shifty eyed and sweating.

“I ain’t gon’ let you touch this girl and I am sure as hell not gonna let you so much as look or think about my daughter again! Now scram!” Bullets ring through the air, battering the concrete by the group’s heads and making them scream with terror, scattering like ants. Even the gunman forgets his own weapon and fragile bravado to turn tail and flee right behind his friends.

Then, as quickly as they’d appeared, the men are gone; glass doors sliding closed behind them as they stumble and stagger their way through the entire length of the parking lot and disappear into the trees.

Barret doubts they’ll last long with the infected in their current states, so he doesn’t bother chasing them. Instead, heart racing and mouth dry, he falls to his knees beside the woman. Though he pays her no heed as he sweeps his daughter from his shoulders and tucks her close to his chest.

“Are you alright?” He gasps into her hair. “Are you okay? Did they-did they-”

Marlene giggles, squirming against his hold until he’s forced to let her go. She twists her dirty pink shoes against the floor and holds her hands behind her back, smiling up at him so widely her eyes crease with the force of it. “I’m fine, Daddy!”

He sighs and checks her over with his eyes. Nobody had attacked them, of course, but he just can’t shake the fear that she could have died. One stray bullet or unfortunate ricochet. If the men had been any braver or the woman any more willing to use her proximity against them. If…

“You promise?”

“I promise!”

He gives her another quick hug, because she’s his daughter and she’s alive and he can, and then pulls away again to take a look at the woman behind them. 

She’s dead to the world, eyes closed and completely limp. So still that if it wasn’t for her breathing, Barret would be hard pressed to think she was dead.

“Is she our friend now?” Marlene asks, going to her tip-toes to peer around his large bulk curiously.

Barret snorts. “What did I tell you about strangers?”

“To never talk to them or trust them and to always stay away from them!” Marlene recites proudly.

“That’s right! That’s very good, Marlene. If you meet a stranger you come straight to me, okay?” 

He pats her on the head, but that doesn’t stop her from huffing with agitation and clenching her hands into fists, glaring up at him stubbornly. “But you are here. And she helped us!”

“I know-” Barret begins, but Marlene cuts him off.

“We can’t leave her behind, Daddy. She’s hurt and it’s our duty to help people. You always say that.”

“No, it’s my duty to always help people. It’s your duty to stay out of danger so Daddy doesn’t worry about you.”

She doesn’t respond this time around, bringing out the full force of her puppy dog eyes as she pouts, and Barret shakes his head, circling the woman’s battered form. Her breathing is heavy and steady, so at least she doesn’t seem to have a lung problem, and when he runs his fingers along her ribs he’s relieved to note that they’re only bruised and not broken. Painful but manageable. She should be up and about soon.

If they take her back.

Barret sighs, glancing over to Marlene’s wide, pleading eyes. “Who the hell am I kidding?” he grumbles to himself, moving the woman to a more secure position. 

“So we’re keeping her?” Marlene asks, solemnity instantly turning to excitement at whatever she’s gleaned from his actions.

“Only until she’s better.”

“Okay!” Marlene squeals. She holds her arms up expectantly until Barret leans down and scoops her onto his shoulder. “We can bring her back with us!”

“After we get the food, sweetheart. You know we need the supplies.”

“‘Kay. Supplies first, then her, then home!”

“Yeah...home.”

And that’s how it begins. With one person - one chance encounter - and in a second their family has grown.

Tifa Lockhart, she later tells them her name is, while still laid up in the cot they’d prepared for her beneath the swaying boughs of the tallest tree.

She won’t stay for long, is all Barret can think in response, watching his chipper daughter chatter happily into her ear. She’ll leave before the night is out, and we’ll never see her again.

And only later - five more people and two years later - will he realize that he was gloriously, beautifully wrong.

[everyonesawhoregrace]

O B S E S S I O N S - 04 “I’m Not Going Anywhere”

3

2 

1

Her fingers danced along the piano. It's the crack of dawn, the beginning of a new day. Music flowed from the keys, dancing its way throughout the couples small home. The smell of camomile tea whisked with a hint of cinnamon.

Cleo hasn't slept very much, the overwhelming urge to hiccup as her acid reflux continued to punish her. She was tossing and turning in bed, unable to do anything but sit up and drink heaps of water.

It was a day after Arthur was over for dinner. A day after Tommy and Cleo slumped back into their chairs and dragged their sorry arses to clear up the table.

She was biting on her lip, recalling what happened only a few hours ago. She recalls Arthur's foul mouth, she recalls Tommy defending her.

Cleo's fingers moved like zipping bees, she was fast as she got lost in thought.

Her eyes watered as she kept on hearing Arthur's hurtful words. You ought to put a muzzle on that one, she's got a foul mouth like her mother.

I am nothing like her, she repeated over and over, trying to keep herself from crying but poor Cleo couldn't help herself.

It was perhaps, the biggest insecurity of hers. Her mum. Greta was frail, and weak, and an addict. She couldn't provide for her child, and it embarrassed Cleo more than anything seeing how well treated her fellow classmates were. Coming to school with full bellies and a clean clothes. She saw all the mums walking their children to school, kissing them away. Cleo didn't know that lifestyle, nearly every morning she'd have to step over her drunk mum to get to the door. She hated her mum, but she also loved her tremendously.

It was a twisted relationship, but it was something Cleo endured for years.

The memory of her mum, the way she'd choose morphine over her starving daughter. Fill her belly up with liquor, while Cleo was forced to suffer.

Cleo's hand fell over her belly, she swallowed, feeling her throat swell up. "I'll never be like her, little one. I promise you, your papa and I, we'll protect you..."

The sound of his screams jolts Cleo to her feet, she races down the hall, to their bedroom. He wails, he arms thrashing all over the place. He screams, begging for someone to help him. She instantly begins to shake, petrified for her husband.

What used to happen to her lover all the time, only happens once in a while. This night terror that didn't seem to go away. She would grab him, and shake him awake, assure him that he's safe. He's home.

She rushed to his aid, and coddled him. Cleo got on her knees, looking at him as she run her hand over his face. He was sweating, but it was chilly indoors.

"Tommy," She breathed, pressing her lips together. "Tom, wake up!" She shook him. "You're home! You're here, Tommy. You're here!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, thrashing. She tried to gather his arms in her hands, but he was too strong.

"Thomas please!" She begged, her getting louder, closing her eyes.

Finally, he had snapped out of the mines that he was suffocating in and gasped a breath. He sat up, grabbing his chest.

"Tommy," Cleo stood and sat down beside him. "Baby," her hands fell on his cheeks. "You okay?"

He stares blankly into her eyes. The two sit in silence as he catches his breath.

"Cleo..." He manages finally, breathlessly. I'm home.

He was stuck in the mines, it was an ongoing nightmare he had. Where it was him, alone, and the dirt around him tremors and it craves in on him.

"I'm just buried alive." He retells the story as she pours him a cup of tea. "It's like, I can breathe, I know I can breathe, but around me is just dirt. No sign of life. And I'm dying, suffocating, six-feet under, being crushed begging for help but no one can hear me..."

She catches a tear from her eyes as she sits down across from him. Rather than reaching for the cup of tea, he reaches for her hand.

"Did I scare you?" He leans in and wipes under her eye. "You cryin'?"

"Yes but-" She shakes her head, "Tommy, don't worry about me!" She sniffles and begins to cry all over again. Cleo wraps her arms around him and rests her head on his shoulder. "I just hate to see you hurting." She exhales, squeezing him, "I love you so much, baby."

He shuts his eyes, listening to the vibrations of her voice drum against his. Here is where home is. In her arms, fuck everything else. There's no one else in this world like Cleo. Not a single soul who'll listen the way she does.

"I love you so much more." He plants a soft kiss under her earlobe and tucks his head in her neck.

There's nothing better than being in her arms, he's certain of this. And she's just as positive about that too, he's such a good hugger.

But it's Cleo who pulls away first, out of curiosity she asks. "Are you feeling better?"

He glances down at her, his eyes a cloudy grey.

Finally, Cleo gets up, I know what'll help.

"Come on," She extends her hand, "Let's take a bath."

The two sit naked in their bath, it's Tommy against the tub, studying Cleo's back. He soaks her skin with the deliciously warm water, that has hints of lavender in it. He listens to her moan as he drags his teeth along her shoulder. He kisses her softly, unable to help himself. She giggles as he kisses the back of her neck, Cleo's always been ticklish.

She quickly pulls herself away, turning around to face him. The two now opposite to each other, looking at one another. He notices her nipples popping up above the water.

"I have to tell you something." He begins, submerging himself beneath the water. He comes back up, the steam rolls off of his body.

He stares intently at her before continuing. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't seriously considering taking up Arthur's offer in joining the Peaky Blinders."

Cleo's natural, and instinctual reaction would be to bicker at Tommy. Call him naive for thinking it was ok to join the Peaky Blinders. The mere thought of him joining the gang, it's borderline suicide!

"So, what's stopping you?" She asks, thinking she should probably have thanked him for being so transparent. It's a quality she always admired about Tommy, he wore his heart on his sleeve. He was always honest, he didn't hide much. Unless it was for her own good.

"I don't want things between you and I to change." He murmurs, a trace of fear in his voice.

Her mouth dries as she digests his words.

He's right, ultimately, things between the two would change if he did join the gang. With a lot of money, the two could create a lot of problems. Not to mention, the lifestyle of Arthur and John was fuck women and get money. There was nothing substantial. They had a fully loaded pistol in one hand, and their dicks in the other!

Tommy had a future in front of him, the two were working towards that. Train horses, teach children, out one of them up in the Darby. Raise a family, be merry, and proud. Grow old someday and have their children take care of them. The two were working towards that! A life together, a good, meaningful life.

Cleo frowns, looking at her hands through the clear water. "Why do you want join them?" She pauses, before meeting his eyes. "Is it the money?"

He runs a wet hand through his hair. "Yes. And the instability, I don't want you to have to count your change at the market. God forbid our child struggles to afford a simple snack..."

"We can find the money in an easier, legal way, Thomas." She looks him straight in the eyes. "You saw how lost your brother looked yesterday..." She hated mentioning it, but it was true! Arthur had red around his eyes, he looked drunk and high.

"I'm just saying I need to support my family, and I trust myself enough to know that I'm not as weak as Arthur is..."

"What are you talking about?" She inhaled. Wow this conversation has taken a turn. "Baby," He's been really thinking about this. Damn it. "What's going on?"

His eyes blaze, and though he doesn't raise his voice, she can tell he's trying to rein in his temper.

Thomas swallows, "The bills are piling up, Cleo, we can barely afford a crib for the baby let alone groceries."

"Then I'll sell the gold I got from my mums friend."

"And what happens when that runs out?" He raises an eyebrow, challenging her.

"Then, then we find you a job in the city. I'll see if I can work-" She responds sternly.

His eyes narrow. "You're pregnant."

"You are not joining them!" She shouts.

Blue eyes watch her closely. Cleo. Thomas almost gives up, he wants to hold her. But Cleo looks up, her lips tilt downwards. She lets out a shaky breath, pressing her hand to her forehead. A tear rolls down her cheek.

"I nearly lost you when you left for France, Thomas. I nearly lost you. It was a dammed miracle that you came back to me. And now you want to join a gang whose motto is, 'don't fuck with us or else we'll blind youse'? Has it ever occurred to you that I have no idea what to do if there is no you?!"

Thomas sits there, petrified to say anything as she weeps. This whole pregnant this is still a shock to him, Cleo cries at everything. She overthinks way too much. Who the fuck said I was going anywhere?

He pulls in through the water and leaves no space between him and Cleo. He tilts her chin up, "I'm not going anywhere, ey?"

"You don't understand how much you mean to me..." She struggles to say, crying helplessly. She clings onto those words, wishing they'd wrap around his head before it's too late.

"Cleo, look at me,"

She does, wide-eyed and sad.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby, alright?"

She doesn't nod, doesn't frown. His eyes shine as he leans down and kisses her gently. Cleo feels herself responding automatically. She latches onto his body, matching her kisses with his. He grabs both sides of her head and kisses her deeply, devouring his mouth with hers. The atmosphere of the bathroom changes, from a rage and arguing, to pure sex.

Cleo gets on her knees as Tommy grabs her hips, she slowly eases into him without another thought. She gasps into his mouth, as he groans, closing his eyes. Clasping the baths ledge, Cleo moves up and down, with the help of Tommy's hands.

"Ahhhhh." She rocks back and forth against his cock, he fills her up, and she can't help but cry out his name. Finally, Thomas kisses her breasts, biting on her nipples.

"Please!" She cries out, begging for more.

Thomas listens and meets her thrusts with his own. Matching hers, each time. She leans down, kissing him firmly. "I'm so close..." She pours into his mouth.

Thomas can feel himself getting higher and higher. He grabs a handful of her hair and pulls, tilting her head back. Thomas kisses her neck, licking her, nibbling on her skin.

"Come for me..." He taunts, biting on her earlobe. "Come on baby,"

He tightens, as she freezes, and he continues. Thrusting harder and faster into her. Thomas doesn't stop as she obviously reaches her climax. But he realizes he should have because once he comes inside of her, she falls backwards and he has to catch her from falling.

"Oh my..." Her eyes open and she smiles all lopsided. "I don't think I can get out of this tub."

He chuckles, unplugging the sink. "I think you're due for a nap,"

She nods. "Good idea."

He carries his wife to their bed and tucks her in. She falls asleep instantly, sex is amazing, but with her being pregnant she wears out pretty easily. Thomas watches her sleep, smiling at her beauty. Her innocence.

"Hey," He whispers into her ear, coming out her hair. "I won't do it if you want to me okay? I love you."

[wordsturnintostories]

king of bangtan | namjoon

summary: Namjoon. Boyfriend. Recently bitten werewolf. Alpha. Kissing. word count: 2.4k note: okay I wrote this a long time ago, before I even knew bts and now i read though it again, going, “oh wow, this is basically Namjoon…” Did you see his instagram post in Vienna or where was it, with the one fan on weverse commenting how Joon has buffed up? lmao i thought this would fit so well. anyway, thank you to @taeshuworld for pointing out how well Woosung's Face goes with this. i also recommend listening to Wolf. warnings: fluff, werewolf-theme, shirtless Namjoon

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

It’s the third time today that your boyfriend stands (shirtless) before the full-body mirror in your room. It seems he’s discovered something and now he can’t stop checking up on it. It’s probably pointless to tell him now that you’ve been noticing it for a while (to be precise, ever since he was bitten). When Namjoon turns around, nervously glancing at you, probably to gauge your reaction, you shrug. Why is he so afraid of becoming more muscular?

“Don’t look at me”, you chuckle, “I will never complain.”

He turns around, giving you the real thing to admire. And you do, those wide shoulders with the extra neck space to kiss, the chest that has become your second pillow recently, those strong arms that provide comfort, protection, and joy. And you do wanna let him know. He shouldn’t be insecure about how his body changes. No one could have guessed becoming an Alpha would affect him physically so much but now that it does, you are determined to give him all of your acceptance and admiration. You beam at him and softly place your hand on the warm skin above his heart. It’s a simple touch but you love to offer it to him. So he can remember it forever like he does with some of the other spots you have touched him. Somehow, it’s really important to him to keep them. Maybe it’s a werewolf thing but it’s probably just a Namjoon thing.

When his face turns soft, you reach up, caressing his jawline and gently tugging at the soft strands of hair in his neck. He purrs, what a glorious sound. He only stops to place a kiss on your lips.

“Maybe I should have become an Alpha straight away”, he says.

“Why?”

“Well, it would’ve saved me all those hours at the gym, for starters.”

Laughter is bubbling out of you and his face lights up. He beams at you. Suddenly, he’s glowing, this bright happiness is all over his skin like a wrap-around blanket. It’s as if his emotions are pouring out of every pore of his body. Are all Alphas like this? You watch his lips as his mouth opens to laugh with you. He has fangs. Oh God. He looks hot. You can’t stop the blush from making its way onto your cheeks. Immediately, your mind presents to you a hundred different images of Namjoon grinning, and those fangs show every. damn. time. You wish you could just hide somewhere. You’re so not ready to admit what those fangs make you feel. One look into his eyes and you know he noticed. God, he noticed. Your head spins.

“What is it, babe?” he asks and you shake your head.

“Tell me”, he coos, voice husky. You wonder whether he remembers the first time he said those words to you. That night he had crawled on top of you and left you trembling. That night he had made you feel so bold you wanted to trick him, where you had almost kissed him, where you had almost done it because you had wanted to so bad. On his sofa. Blood rushing in your ears. Heart exploding. A raging amber fire burns in his eyes and you know he does. God, he does. He’s turned that memory into his weapon against you. It’s an understatement to say he’s trying to get you all flustered, to turn you on. Another to say it’s working.

“Tell me, baby.”

“Your fangs,” you breathe. It’s impossible to withhold information from him, especially now.

“Mhm,” he hums, giving his lips a delicious lick as he pulls you against him. He grins. There they are. He knows exactly how to get you to your knees. “What about my fangs?”

“They - you”, you breathe and weakly, you blush, “Joon, have mercy.”

Suddenly, he presses you backward, against the wall. His lips crash into yours with all that newfound boldness of his, completely stealing your breath. As promised, you don’t complain. You embrace what he gives and you give what you have, moving against him, using your hands to invite him.

It’s a loud kiss, his purrs and growls vocal love letters from his body to your soul. He has his big hands on your waist, grabbing for your back and moving you to closer to him as he blazes for all the skin you give him access to. You are rewarded with the soft tingle of his hair beneath your jaw as he works on your first hickey ever. You can’t help sounding needy when his tongue is there, licking and planting sloppy fires on your tender throat. Oh God.

His hands are even worse, lifting you up, slowly, so you can wrap your legs around him and you wonder why he’s never done that before. It’s like he’s hungry, like he hasn’t eaten for a long time and now he’s gotta taste you no matter what the cost. Love usually is a sparkling delicacy with him but it turns into an inferno now that he seems to have found a rough vein in himself. Your hands feel the heat on his bare torso. Namjoon moves back, finding your eyes and then he’s against your mouth, wild like his breath. His fangs give you shivers, sharp and sensational when they graze the side of your tongue. Your lips get to feel them too, their exhilarating pressure, their smooth solidness, when he starts nibbling on your bottom lip. He works you with a fire he’s never given you before. Your hand grips his necklace, pulling on it softly. The first second your boyfriend draws away, his tongue swishing over his pink lips, with a grin a hundred times better than what your mind had made up for you, you pull him back, arching your body into his and he growls. That’s the first time you open your eyes and grin, admiring the pink blush on his cheeks, on his throat. His eyes are glowing. You secretly wish you had that same amber fire to give back to him, just to show him how beautiful it is to look at while he is kissing you. He just stares into your eyes.

“I wasn’t done,” you breathe, going straight for his neck. Your body goes into an adrenaline rush when his breath hitches, when he shudders, especially when his heart misses a few beats under your fingers. As if his efforts flipped a switch in you. Yeah honey, I can do hot heavy mess too. You love the soft feeling of cheek sliding against cheek, of cheek against neck; it’s all perfect and rhythmic and you get to smell him as a bonus. Today, there’s perfume mingling with his body’s own scent, it’s all a swirl of woody and sweet, lemon and cologne. Giving attention to his face, you take his lips captive between your teeth and he moans your name as you run your nose along his eyebrows all the while keeping his face in your hands. It’s too precious to let go. Does he know that? You sigh when your shirt slips up and his biceps touch your bare sides. It’s all messy now, wild blood, wild everything as he’s got you and you’ve got him. His hips are dancing against your middle. He’s panting and his eyes are still blazing.

“I wanna - I wanna-” and you can feel something is happening because for a few moments, there is a new tension in his body, a powerful streak of energy. Namjoon shakes his head, his hair as he breathes heavily, as if he’s trying to shake something off. Your chest is still heaving for air and your fingers are shaky but they find his neck. Maybe that touch is the spark that set the explosion off. He trembles. A deep growl fills the entire room. His torso presses you against the wall with him in between your legs and a golden determination fuels him when his mouth hits your neck. It’s all instincts now. “I gotta-“ He almost can’t speak, it’s all low and growly and it gives you shivers. “Joon, do it,” you don’t know what will happen. Love, maybe. It’s Namjoon. It will be good. He’ll take care of you.

His lips press against your skin, his tongue joins. He bites you. Your hands grip him tightly, holding on. There’s a force that takes your body captive, that has it slack against your boyfriend. Total surrender and your head rolls against his shoulder while he keeps nibbling. Whatever it is, pain, ecstasy, exhaustion, you can’t keep your eyes open. It’s the best thing you’ve ever done. Holy. There’s a clicking noise in his throat. When he looks back at you, he looks the proudest you’ve ever seen him. Must be some Alpha shit, you think as you give him a kiss. His pupils are dilated, as if he’d just drugged himself up on you. You would have had to swallow a giggle if all the excitement in your chest wouldn’t have you panting.

“You’re so good to me”, he hums, letting you down with a hazy grin. “You’re a queen.” His cheeks are red, as are his lips and his throat. Even on his chest, you can see traces of rough love. Was that - me? Holy. What is he doing to me?

“Then where’s my crown?” 

Breathing is difficult but you manage. His brown eyes widen, as if he’s just realized something important and he runs to the other side of the room. The barrier between you and the mirror is gone and your reflection stares at you. That’s even more insane; your hair is tousled as heck, where you’d imagined one hickey on your throat, there are constellations of them, and your shirt is totally messed up. Maybe becoming an Alpha had more to it than just physically growing and feeling more responsible. This was a whole new level of needy. Namjoon fumbles through the squeaky wooden drawers of his nightstand and returns with an ornamented paper envelope. Your name is calligraphed on it. Excitement is all over his sweet face when you open your hands for it but he hesitates. You feel a speech coming.

“Happy Birthday, love. I hope you like them.”

The first piece is a necklace. It’s the same necklace that he wears, the same one you’ve secretly admired so many times while he had been sleeping. The silver plate with the engraving looks so nice, you’ve always enjoyed feeling the smooth plate between your fingertips.

“How did you know I liked this?”

“You tug it every time we kiss. Now you can wear it and every time you feel down or lonely, you can touch it and think of me.”

“That’s the sweetest thing. Thank you. You’re the best, Namjoon, honestly.”

“You say that now.”

“Yeah, and I will put it in my phone’s calendar to remind me to repeat it any day you need to hear it. Any requests?” He chuckles. “No, I know I’m the best-“

You raise your eyebrows. “Getting cocky now, eh?”

“That’s not how I wanted that to come out. I meant, just you wait until you see the second gift.”

“Well, you better pray it’s great.”

He smiles at you and you pull it out. It’s a delicate silver ring with three white crystals worked into it on the top. They shimmer fierily in the sunlight that streams through the window. When you turn the ring over in your hand and the light hits the crystals at a certain angle, they light up in a hot amber, just the same amber as Namjoon’s eyes. You gasp, surprised. That’s a ring truly worthy of a queen’s finger.

“Where did you get it? Who on earth makes there?”

“Long story. I found it when we were on vacation in Italy. The day before, the boys and I did a tour of a castle that belonged to some duke back during the renaissance. The next day, we stroll through Florence and I saw this ring in the sun on a street vendor’s wooden table. It reminded me of the duchess’ jewelry and I bought it. I think the vendor gave me a discount but it’s real silver and if you’re wearing it, I would’ve paid every other penny I have to get it for you.”

“I will only accept this if you promise to be my king.”

“Well, technically, I’m your Alpha.”

“King of Bangtan.”

“Okay, I’ll take that. I promise.”

bonus:

With those words, you feel your body starting to tingle strangely. Namjoon doesn’t notice, from the way his eyes rove over the room, where he’d held you against the wall, where the kiss had started. You’re sure he’ll burn every moment of your kiss into his mind until it’s irreversibly stuck, until he’s sure it will never go missing. But something is missing, you can feel it deep inside, like an ache, like a letter written and sent but not returned. This thought tugs on your mind.

When Namjoon stands up, eyes fixed on your wardrobe where his clothes have taken home long ago, a sudden panic rises in your mind and strikes your legs. It’s an indescribable feeling, like you know you have to do a certain thing, but you don’t know what it is. It feels like ants are crawling in your chest and over your neck. You jump up, right after him. Stepping right up to him, the panic calms down but you still feel it.

“Joon, I-“

“Yeah, baby?”

Do it, do it, do it. Now!

You dive in for another kiss, pushing him this time. He’s surprised, takes the hit against the wall with a deep “ooof”. It only adds to your determination. And as if suddenly, there’s only one thing left to see, next to those red lips, next to those glowing eyes, next to the fire in his chest.

“I need to do it back, I can’t- Namjoon,” you’re surprised yourself at how you’re panting, so worked up about something you can’t even understand logically.

His lips pull into a grin and those fangs just - ugh. One shove and you’re there, feeling driven and bold with the way he’s supporting your back, the way you’re standing in between his muscular thighs. And then, he bares his neck. And your body tells you to go for it. To claim him. Just like he claimed you.

“I promise too.”

masterlist | moodboard masterlist taglist: @taeshuworld, @xmagicxshopx, @justanemptydream

[dolantmego]

The Fallout

Summary: You've got the chance of a lifetime. Directing the Broadway premiere of an original script. But your two lead actors throw you for a loop. Especially when Ethan Dolan shows up and just about makes your knees go weak. Professional integrity and family drama? What could go wrong?

Warnings: None really. Mention of an impure thought and some family trauma. Not graphic!

A/N: So this is the first part of a series I’m considering, or maybe its just a one shot. I’m not sure. I was feeling inspired. I hope you all like it? (also this is like 10 pages in Word that is CrAZy) The lines are POV changes? I hope that reads?? I didn’t want to write it in, I was hoping it would come across. We’ll see I guess.

Another opnin’...another show…

Slowly the space begins to fill with people. Some are running around in various states of dress, multiple men are swinging around swords, sounds of tools echo through the expansive area, carts and flats are being pushed from side to side and getting tucked away in corners. You take a deep breath try to expel the morning out of your body, the smell of hairspray, wood, and coffee was usually a comforting one. Usually.

A small girl brushes past you--chased by a small boy who almost knocks you over. And slowly the well oiled machine around you begins to fall apart. The children dash under racks of clothes, crew members are swerving around them with furniture, dancers trip and fall, all while the two children continue dashing around maddeningly.

“Edith! Parker! Slow down!” The resident stage mom, chases after the two children with their mic packs. Usually you’d laugh and enjoy watching the older woman try to wrangle the two kids together. But today? Today you definitely weren’t having it.

You look over to your stage manager--LJ--and your lips press into a hard line. The woman, thank god, already has her lips on the god mic. Her booming voice comes through the speakers in the theatre and everything comes to a halt. Except for you, stepping through the crowd to come to the front of the stage.

“Parker and Edith Dolan to the front of the stage please. Parker and Edith Dolan.” 

You turn around and give a thumbs up to LJ in the back of the theatre who nods back. She goes straight back into her conversation with the lighting designer who is pointing around and making angry gestures at the catwalk. A brief sense of relief fills you, yes your producer fucked your morning up, but LJ dealt with more crap in a day than you think you could ever handle.

The two children appear next to you suddenly, both already in costume. Edith has her arms crossed over her chest and a grumpy expression over her face. Parker is smirking not so subtly. The two shared the same dark hair and pretty eyes, both were beautiful kids. But their attitudes were really starting to grate at your nerves. Just as you open your mouth to settle the situation, the stage mom comes running up along with your assistant--who looks like a deer in headlights as always.

“I am so sorry Y/N. It won’t happen again. They got away from me and I’ve already called their mother, but she is out of town so their father is on his way but he lives in New Jersey so it is going to take some time. The two brats are fighting again.” She gives them a hard look, “Not that they ever aren’t being awful. Couple of spoiled monsters who can’t control themselves if you ask me.” The children look off to opposite sides of the room and you wrinkle your eyebrows. This really wasn’t what you were in the mood for today. And the glorified babysitter seemed to only be getting worse at her job. You hold up a hand so that nobody else talks and turn back around to call to LJ again.

“LJ! Can you draft up this young woman’s severance papers. Her voice is starting to get on my nerves.” LJ doesn’t even look up from her cue book and gives you another thumbs up. You turn back around and move your ‘shut up’ hand into the woman’s face, who has already begun spluttering. Your assistant hands you your phone and you smile at her, “Thank you. If you could go work with LJ on her schedule for today that would be great.” Your assistant--is it bad that you couldn’t remember her name? The poor thing barely ever spoke--nods and takes off toward the back of the theatre. You put your hand in front of the woman’s face back around the cup of coffee you’re carrying and take the moment of silence to take a small sip of the warm drink. Your eyes never leave her’s, though you know the entire company is staring at the two of you.

“Why are you still here?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“You can’t just fire me! My voice isn’t a good reason! I could sue!” She sneers the last word and tries to get up in your face, but you take this opportunity to take another sip of your coffee. The cup goes up in the air between the two of you and she stumbles back like you’ve hit her. Ah ever the undiscovered actress.

You motion to the two kids behind the woman, who both look enraptured with the scene unfolding in front of them. The argument they were having before clearly forgotten as Parker steps in front of his sister. The kids had turned on a dime, one minute they were acting like the 7 and 11 year old you knew them to be, and the next they looked like they’d seen war. Though both of them were in show business, so they probably had. At least you hoped that’s what it was. Haunted looks in children’s eyes were somehow always 1,000 times worse than in anyone else’s.

“You can’t keep an eye on two children. You’re constantly seeking attention and causing issues. You’re a distraction. And I just witnessed you calling them names. Collect your things. Children with me please.” And with that you turned and headed into the audience to the table set up for you to take notes at. Parker takes his sister’s hand and follows behind you quietly. They stand on the opposite side of the table and watch as you sit down and lay out your notebooks and papers for the day.

“We didn’t know she called our parents.” Parker says. His voice was strong for someone so young and you nod, motioning for him to continue talking. “Edith and I were just playing. She told us we weren’t aloud to leave our dressing room at all. But we’ve been here since 8.”

“We were bored.” Edith speaks for the first time and you nod at her. That woman should have been fired weeks ago. You refrain from dragging a hand over your face, the kids hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really. Well they had, but after seeing who had been ‘taking care of them’ in action, you really couldn’t blame them for acting up. You fold your hands in front of you and lean over the table.

“I understand. I’m sure it is very boring for the both of you right now. However, I don’t believe in treating my younger actors like babies. We keep a stage hand with you both so that you don’t get injured around the others. I expect you to listen to them. Running around like you both were isn’t safe. It puts you in danger. The other actors. All the tech people. I know you both are better than that.” You raise an eyebrow and they both nod. The kids were fantastic actors, which was why you had cast them as leads, but they were some of the most curious, adventure-seeking, accident prone kids you’d ever met. “Okay. Now that we’ve got that over with I want to talk to you both about the end of act two? The scene wh--” You’re cut off by the sound of theatre doors behind you flying open.

The kids lean around you and their eyes go wide. A tall man comes stalking down the aisle toward the three of you. LJ stands and rushes over, your assistant scrambles to him as well, and you recognise him as the father you’d met a handful of times. The two women slow his descent toward you considerably, giving you enough time to stand and right yourself.

“Mr. Dolan. I’m sorry about calling you away from work, your children--” He cuts you off as he gets closer.

“Parker. Edith. Lobby. Now.” The kids give you a sheepish look as they brush past you and down the aisle.

“Excuse me Mr. Dolan, I’m LJ the stage manager. We’ve met a couple of times. Of course you remember the director, Y/N. I understand they are your children, but we are about to start rehearsal. You can’t just--” He cuts LJ off with a dark look. And she shuts her mouth immediately. He’s tall, dark, and definitely intimidating. She looks straight to you and you shake your head, motioning that you’ve got this. She throws her hands up in the air and huffs before walking off back to her station at the back of the auditorium. Edith and Parker have halted about halfway up the aisle, curious as ever. Now the man turns his wrath on you.

“Y/N, right? The voice message I was left by you all was completely unfounded. How dare you? They’re just kids! Of course they’re going to get bored. You’re supposed to keep an eye on them. Their contract--” You hold up your hand to cut him off like you had done earlier and his eyes blaze with furry. They were the same eyes that the children had. It would have made you smile, if the eyes across from you now didn’t hold so much hatred.

“Mr. Dolan--” you start

“Ethan.”

“Ethan.” You put your hand down and try a soft smile. “I’m sorry to hear that the phone call you were given was so inappropriate. That staff member has been taken care of. But I will ask you kindly not to use that tone with my stage manager or I. We, like your children, haven’t done anything wrong. The situation is being sorted out. The children are fine, and I’m sure would like to stay for the rehearsal.” You wave at the children up the row who are both nodding and look to your assistant. “Take them backstage and get them fitted for their mics.” She nods and smiles warmly at the children, who follow her quickly.

Ethan settles a bit and looks around awkwardly. You motion for him to take a seat next to where you had been sitting with the children. You didn’t want an angry parent leaving the building, god forbid you give your producer something else to bitch about. He taps his foot nervously and you wonder where the cool, confident man you’d spoken to over the phone multiple times had gone.

“Your children are very talented.” You offer casually, feeling the uncomfortable silence seeping into your skin. He seemed frazzled at about at his wits end, so you’d let him start the serious conversation if he felt the need.

“My children?” The confusion in his voice throws you off. Realization dawns on his handsome face. “No they aren’t mine. Eadie and Parks are my niece and nephew.” Your face screws up in momentary confusion. They look just like him. “They’re my twin brother Grayson’s kids.” He clarifies with a small smile, “They’re great, sadly not mine.”

That made sense, you could see the differences between the men now. The other Mr. Dolan was a bit bigger than the one in front of you, he had a darker tan too. But Ethan had a sort of genuine air about him that his brother lacked when speaking to you. Grayson had been cool and suave in front of you, a goofy dad with his kids--loud as fuck, but the demeanor Grayson had flashed in front of your eyes wasn’t one that held your interest for long. Not that both of them men weren’t handsome, bit you felt yourself getting far more attached to Ethan than you ever were with his brother. It felt like small tethers had formed in the air between the two of you and had slowly began connecting the longer you stood close.

Despite his wistful smile about the children, Ethan carried a small sadness behind his eyes and it makes your heart ache. How such a beautiful man wasn’t already snached up in the 2.5 kids, white picket fence, american dream you had no idea. Suddenly you’re sucked into the thought of what that would look like with the man sitting across from you, and you don’t know it, but he’s thinking the same thing. Would they have Ethan’s eyes? Yours? What would he look like holding such a small baby in his large arms? What would it feel like to be held in his large arms?

You shake that last thought off quickly. It had been too long since you’d been out, you’d definitely let this production take over far too much of your life. Quickly you stand and he does the same, both of you now standing awkwardly in the middle of the theatre.

“Well. It was nice to meet you Mr. Dolan. But I have to be off to start rehearsal.” You hold out your hand for him to shake and he engulfs your small hand in his large one. The warmth and slight roughness to his skin makes you feel things that were definitely not appropriate for this moment in time. Electricity charges between the two of you, and it is Ethan who pulls away quickly this time. Your eyes widen and you rub your hands on your pants nervously. He has got to go. Now.

Right?

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ethan hadn’t planned on all of this for the day. He had to cancel his meetings after assuming that he’d have to pull the children out of the entire production and drag their asses back to New Jersey. Luckily he’d even been in town today otherwise he didn’t know what he would have done. Not that he told the woman on the phone that. The ‘I have to drive all the way from New Jersey’ card usually got him intimidation points from other adults. He learned that early on with the two kids.

He didn’t expect the phone call, but what he certainly didn’t expect was to run into the gorgeous director his brother had told him about, Y/N. Grayson had flirted with you on many occasions according to what he told Ethan, but ‘the woman is an ice wall bro.’ Ice wall was far from what Ethan was getting from the beautiful woman. You were hard and strong, sure. And Grayson always liked the sweet women. Ethan liked all women to an extent, but the ones that kept him interested the longest--more than a couple of hours--were the ones he knew could hold their own. And you most definitely had. He was sure he look terrifying barreling down the aisle like a barbaric wall of muscle. The thought almost makes him flush, but he knew he’d do anything for those kids.

He watches you carefully when you stand, ready to rush off away from him he’s sure. Ethan opens his mouth to say goodbye, but stops when he has a better idea. For some reason he’s suddenly very attached to the idea of spending more time with you. And luckily his guardianship of the munchkins currently backstage provided him the perfect opportunity to do so. Besides, if what you’d done earlier when ordering people around with that cool, strong-- and dare he say it--sexy as fuck tone was gonna happen again? Well he really wanted to be around for that.

“Actually. I’m already in the city, and traffic is going to be hell to get out by now. I was wondering if I could stay and watch the kids?” He smiles his most charming smile and hopes it works, because if he could stay, then you would have to take a lunch break at some point right?

“I’m sorry, but these are closed rehearsals.” A voice sounds off behind him and Ethan whips around to see the short woman dressed in all black with her hands on her hips. Shes got 2 pencils in her hair and a headset around her neck, along with the fury of god in her eyes. Ethan turns back around to you quickly and softens his eyes a bit, hoping the look of hope will bring your pity out.

And oh does it work.

“LJ I’m sure it’s not too much trouble. Right? If Mr. Dolan sits in the back? He did have to come in all the way from New Jersey?” Ethan catches the look you give to the other woman, LJ, who rolls her eyes and throws her hands up again like she did before.

“Whatever! God forbid I have control over my own fucking rehearsal.” She mumbles before halting off to the stage to get actors into places. Ethan tenses up a bit, but when he notices the amusement on your face it’s an instant relaxer. The small smile on your lips and sly look in your eyes made his chest tighten, from the leader, to flustered, to the little minx you’re being now, he was sure he wanted to see what you were like all the time. Everyday.

Fuck. Where did that come from?

Ethan usually likes to shake off thoughts like that. After seeing what Grayson and his wife went through, he was far from interested in getting caught up in the same thing. His little brother, his twin, Ethan’s real other half, had suffered so much dealing with that relationship. Neither of the boys ever said her name, the children only vaguely remembered her. Thank god. He’d never forget the call he’d gotten from Grayson. All the looks their little family had gotten afterword. But Grayson was finally starting to get his groove back, Ethan, Cam, and their mom were helping with the kids, and Parker and Edith seemed to be recovering. They were doing their best.

Standing in front of you made Ethan almost giddy. Watching Gray fall apart like he did kept Ethan far from wanting any woman for more than a night or two. If that. It had been 5 years since everything had gone down. He hadn’t been interested in anybody really. Women had tried, and Ethan was no saint. But committing to more than a night sounded like a suicide mission.  But, he felt drawn to you in ways he’d never felt with anyone before. He found himself desiring to make you smile. To play with your hair. To see what you look like in the morning. Under him. On top of him.

His thoughts were getting out of hand.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Why in the hell had you asked LJ to let him stay? You want to kick yourself, but the hopeful look on his face brings butterflies to your stomach. He does look really sweet. Exhausted and frazzled, but sweet.

“You can sit anywhere you’d like as long as you’re quiet.” You offer him a small smile, and instead of opting to sit in another row he sits right back down in the seat next to yours. You stiffen slightly before holding back a laugh, and take your spot next to him. It felt very fitting. LJ comes walking back downstage and gives you a thumbs up, you grab your notebook and return the gesture, pen in hand.

The lights in the theatre blink to notify the designers to sit and you settle back, comforted in the moments of peace before the show starts. You’d always loved this moment. The room goes quiet and there is a hint of promise in the air for what is to come. It was one of the things that connects you to your job. The idea that everything happens right there before everyone’s eyes, you get one shot. One chance. That’s it. Holding what becomes your baby up for everybody to see is terrifying, which was part of the reason why you kept such a hard ass persona on. It helped gain you respect and get you where you are today.

LJ calls for go, actors enter, and you are instantly scribbling notes down on paper. Frantically writing while trying not to look away from the action onstage. Usually your assistant took your notes, but you had sent her backstage to keep an eye on the children. So you were back to the messy scribbles you’d have to decipher at the end of the day.

During the stumble through, designers come up to you and there are discussions about costumes and lights, sound and sets. You peak over at Ethan and watch him react to the show, but he must notice that you’re looking at him because he turns to you openly and smiles. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to ask what  he thinks, the costume designer taps on your shoulder and starts talking wigs on Edith at the same time the sound designer is asking your thoughts on a crash box vs a recording. You hold up a hand to the costumer and turn to answer the other designer, and Ethan snorts. It almost breaks your cool for a moment. Almost.

A while later you all have finally stumbled through to intermission, and that marks lunch break. You sigh back into your chair tiredly. This was one of the most stressful productions you’ve worked on. You’d never done a premiere before. So here you had nothing to go off of other than your own thought baby. Which at times was great, other times you found yourself overwhelmed and exhausted.

“That was amazing.” Ethan says, you turn and look at him underneath the hand that had floated to cover your eyes. You smile at him tiredly, it really was a great show. You had no doubts. You’d worked hard, but you had rules about talking to other people about the work you’d done. Always give everyone else credit before yourself.

“Everyone is doing a really great job. It’s a fantastic crew of people. If you’ll excuse me for a moment I have notes to give before we release for lunch.” You give a hand signal to LJ who has her crew round up the actors. You smile at Ethan before hoping up with your notebook and strutting through the theatre like you owned the place.

The extra sway to your hips may or may not have been on purpose.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ethan watches as you sashay away from him and up onstage. He sits back in his seat and grins. The way you move so confidently just screamed sex to him. He stops. Again. Not an appropriate thought you dickwad. He holds back a groan when you start snapping at some of the actors for fooling around. He watches as you go through things and explain things to people, almost like a teacher fantasy come to life.

What the hell.

When did he turn back into a horny 19 year old kid? Everything you did just made him want to grab you, or let you grab him? Fuck he really wasn’t sure. He decides to focus on his phone instead of you up onstage, do to the impending possibility of a poorly placed boner.

12 missed calls from Grayson

37 texts from Grayson

Fuck. Ethan quickly opens his phone to texts from his brother freaking out about the kids. Ethan hadn’t texted him back after he’d called Gray to explain that he probably had to go remove the kids from the premises. Just as Ethan starts to text, he gets an incoming call from his brother.

“Hello?” Ethan whispers quietly.

“Hello? HELLO? THAT’S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY TO ME RIGHT NOW ETHAN? WHERE THE HELL ARE MY KIDS? WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL? YOU SAID YOU WOULD CALL.” Grayson got like this a lot with Edith and Parker. Not that Ethan could blame him. He winces at the sound of his brother’s voice cracking on the other end. He’d really been messed up waiting to hear from Ethan.

“I’m sorry! I’m in the theatre right now. It was a misunderstanding. They let me stay to watch the kids perform dude. I’m sorry I didn’t call. They’re okay.” Ethan quickly pulls his phone away from his ear to snap a picture of the two of them for his brother. Right at the moment where Y/N is bending down next to them. Ethan almost groans. You’re beautiful. Strong. And you’re perfect with the two little lights of his life? Fuck fuck fuck.

Ethan can practically hear the tension slip out of Grayson’s body over the phone when the picture sends. He gets up and slips into the lobby as to not disturb the rest of the rehearsal. He doesn’t tell Grayson, but he saves that picture too. The three of you were smiling at each other and the kids looked enraptured with you, somehow Ethan already knew how they felt.

“You should see them up there Gray. They look great.” Ethan can finally talk at a normal level in the lobby, and he straightens to get some walking in after sitting for so long. Grayson sighs on the other end of the line.

“I’m not sure if that was a dig at my ability as a father or a genuine statement Ethan.” He says quietly. Ethan looks down at his feet, truthfully it had been both. But he’d never tell Grayson that. The kids didn’t want to leave New Jersey and Gray was running the  LA branch of their production company. It wasn’t like he’d run off, but still. You could see that they missed their dad.

“No Gray,” Ethan takes a deep breath to hold back the tight feeling in his chest. How had they gotten here? “I just wanted to tell you how wonderful they’re doing. Everyone here loves them. Y/N thinks they’re fantastic actors.” When Grayson responds Ethan can hear the emotion in his voice, he misses his kids. But Grayson was the one with the contacts and the ‘in’ in LA. Ethan had tried, but his branch and contacts were here. Thriving at opposite ends of the country was hard enough for the twins, but Grayson also lost his kids in the mix.

“They are great kids.” Grayson comes through the line quietly and Ethan nods even though his brother can’t see him. They had more tense conversations like this one than not these days. Both taking out their frustration with the separation and distance on each other. Ethan knows things will be more normal when Gray comes back into town for a visit, but the tried look never really leaves his brother’s eyes.

Its at that moment when the double doors to the theatre bust open and a two kids pop out from the other side, making a mad dash for Ethan.

“Uncle E! You stayed to watch!”

“Did you like it E-tee?”

“Did you see me in the air? With the thing and I went woosh?”

“Can you hold me?”

The last one had come from Edith, also occasionally dubbed E, after her uncle. Ethan brightens instantly when the kids bombard him and scoops up Edith in his arms, letting Parker attach to his other side. They looked so much like Grayson to Ethan, but Gray saw so much of their mother sometimes it hurt.

“Hey! There are my monsters, my little loves! Guess who's on the phone and wants to hear all about today?” He nuzzles Edith’s face and she squeals, Parker instantly reaches up for the phone and grabs it out of Ethan’s hand.

“DAD!” Parker yells into the phone, and Edith is already squirming out of his arms and running over to her brother--who’s already got his dad on facetime.

“Guys! Share!” Ethan shakes his head as they continue to argue over the phone, before Edith finally wrestles it out of her brother’s hands and takes a seat on one of the lobby chairs. Parker huffs and squeezes in beside her while she rambles on about something that happened earlier.

“You seem to get them pretty well,” a voice from Ethan’s dreams rings behind him and he smiles before even turning around.

“I was there when they were born. I’ve been here ever since. They have a special place in my heart.” He shrugs and turns to face you, “Thanks for walking them out. What time do they have to be back from lunch?”

“They get a long break right now while the adult actors come back for the knife training. Which none of us are needed for. So I was actually wondering if I might join you all?” Ethan smiles even brighter at your question, which makes you smile back. Your smile makes his chest feel weird, but not the same way that the conversation with his brother had. This was different, warmer. And it warms him even more when you blush lightly.

“Lunch it is.”

[daily-rayless]

20 Years of Art

2000

(OC / Celes from Final Fantasy 6 / OC / OC)

The influence of Final Fantasy 6, off of the Anthology collection, and Yoshitaka Amano caused a significant shift in my art, leading my human figures to be very slender, graceful, and frequently pale. Most of it was of women, some of it was of horses, and by then I was very self-consciously starting to draw men. I mostly worked in pencils and colored pencils. Faces were oval with high hairlines and long, sharp, narrow noses. Also note my evident fear of mouth-seams and lower eyelids. I was pretty terrible at coloring, often feeling that coloring one of my sketches ruined all the nice linework.

2001

(Quistis from Final Fantasy 8 / Rosa from Final Fantasy 4? / Schala from Chrono Trigger / Dark Knight OC from Final Fantasy 4)

This is where more anime influences came in, and I consciously took on a semi-anime, semi-realistic (in my own mind) style. My ideal of beauty was overbig eyes, overlong nose, and oversmall mouth, and I stuck to it pretty relentlessly. Trying to figure out shadows and face structure. Still bad at coloring. I was incredibly proud of that charcoal picture. Was also going through my mandatory Dark 'n Edgy phase, with a big helping of Phantom of the Opera, Sarah Brightman, and my attempts at designing supercool clothes, many of which I wouldn't have actually worn, even given the opportunity.

2002

(Me trying to recreate “Flaming June” / OC, who incidentally looks almost exactly like Sarah Brightman and whose diadem was bodily lifted from a Jodi Lee painting / angsty symbolic wet chain lady / OC)

Deep in the Dark 'n Edgy. Faces are still very heavily made-up, with big lashes, defined upper eyelids, and dark lips. Trying very hard to be a good artist though, have high expectations for the future. I was so proud of that final pose and worked so hard on it. Lined paper? So not a problem. Besides, how else am I supposed to draw during class? A sketchbook would've been even more obvious than the incredibly obvious I already was. I'm able to listen while drawing pretty reliably, and I did manage to take detailed notes while doodling, so at least I had that going for me.

2003

(Celes / OC / OC / Hermes-inspired wing lady)

I was focusing (at least some of the time) on backgrounds and trying to make my work detailed and polished. Coloring is still hopeless. Often when I colored, I would go super light, even when I was using dark or intense colors. It would give my pictures a sort of faint, half-assed hazy look. I remember an art teacher urging me to use more color, but I probably resisted because I knew that way lay total destruction. I'm sorry, well-meaning art teacher. You are unversed in the ways of my pencils. I have killed too many sketches to take those kinds of risks.

2004

(Rosa? / Meliara from Crown Duel / willow-dress lady / Geddoe and Queen from Suikoden 3)

See the Meliara picture? That's supposed to be a night scene in a forest. Front-lit by blazing firelight. I was too afraid to make the colors darker. This is dark enough, okay? Anyway, this year, along with being utterly obsessed with Suikoden 3 and Crown Duel, I was letting my art head in a more realistic direction...

2005

(OC / Queen / Queen / part of Zetta and Salome from Makai Kingdom; I remember deliberately copying those swoopy Ss from one of my friends’ handwriting. Wishes ended up being the first longform fanfic I posted online.)

...that really flourished this year. It's not actually realism, but I made a point to give my characters, especially the women, more realistic bodies. Faces are very round in this period, often with soft features. Noses are prominent. I'm also, finally, using more vibrant colors. I probably got my first Prismacolor pencils around this time. I also got some really cheap markers, but had no idea how to use them so mostly stuck to pencils.

2006

(All OCs)

I look back on this as a good year. I was learning better coloring techniques. (Bold colors! Press that pencil down! Okay, I still had much to learn.) I got an Elfwood gallery while the site was doing its slow mosey into oblivion. But that was an important step, not just looking at other people's art online, but putting my own up as well. There were downsides though. I began to feel more insecure – or maybe more realistic? – about my art, on this site with so many highly talented artists. Still, 2006 is a good year. It was a lot of fun, and I learned a lot.

2007

(vampire and hunter / Fleur from Harry Potter / OC / Avril from Wild Arms 5)

The year of Fleur Delacour. This is when I was writing Kindred. I think it was because I was trying to depict Fleur as distinctly non-human that my art shifted away from that more realistic style. Fleur, and my other figures, became very tall and slender. The anime DNA is still there though. For a long time, I felt the lying-down picture of Fleur was my best work.

2008

(Revya and Gig from Soul Nomad / my attempts at being “abstract” / OC / OC)

This was the year of Soul Nomad and, towards the end, Tales of the Abyss. Unsurprisingly, the anime influences start moving back to the fore. The eyes are becoming larger again, the features a bit more angular and stylized, mouths are shrinking. I'm still desperately trying to figure out markers and wondering why it's so darn hard (I don't try to educate myself, I just flail), but I was proud of that blue OC picture. It made me feel like I was getting somewhere. 2008 is when I started my deviantART gallery, right when everyone else was moving on to Tumblr.

2009

(teacup lady / Persona 4 noir-style comic / Revya / OC)

Then Persona 4 hit. Shigenori Soejima was a huge influence in this period, especially in eyes and faces. Pupils, chins, and jawlines shrink, eyelashes are sparse and stylized, noses are simplified. 2008 and 2009 are about as pure anime as I've ever gotten. Meanwhile, I'm really exited about my dA gallery and trying lots of different combinations of media. I'm super active on dA and FFN at this point, writing Elysion and then a slew of shorter Persona fics.

2010

(Minako from Persona 3: Portable / concept-art-version Minako / lady with dragon ferret thing / other lady with dragon ferret thing)

I'm still drawing with a lot of Soejima influences. Additionally, bodies are becoming even longer, taller, thinner, and bendier. Some of them look absurd to me now. On the other hand, a lot of pictures from this period have a nice elegance to them. I was still using colored pencils a fair bit, but more clumsy markers are showing up. Persona 3: Portable came out, and this is when I was writing Death and Ker.

2011

(mask lady / hat lady / Archaya, Duphaston, and Iryth from Eternal Poison / symbolic autumn lady and her winter baby)

Midway through this year, I hit a breakthrough when I got my first set of Copics – and skin tones, no less. Even though I was still flailing, I was so thrilled with my results. That Eternal Poison picture left me enormously proud, as did the mother and child one. My style hasn't changed all that much, but it's starting to feel less extreme. The focus on big eyes and tiny little mouths remains.

2012

(Elza from Suikoden 2 / Daryl and Setzer from Final Fantasy 6 / Killey and Lorelai from Suikoden 2 / Lyssa, Greek goddess of madness)

This is the year of Elza. Lots of delicate sketches of this lovely scarred lady, and lots of colored pictures too. I've definitely shifted away from pencils towards markers. The Daryl and Setzer one was an attempt to use both, and I was very happy with it. These pictures show their age, but there's still a lot here I like. Mouths are larger too. However, my online activity was starting to lag.

2013

(Rydia from Final Fantasy 4 / Nia from Infinite Space / the prophet and Schala / Argos and Io from Greek mythology)

The mid-2010s weren't entirely great for me, marked with a lot of frustration and discontent. And that definitely carried over to my art, making me feel very disappointed with myself. There was lots of marker work this year. Probably the standout picture is Argos and Io. This is also when I played through all three routes of Fate/Extra, and my art was suddenly full of Hakuno and Emiya.

2014

(Minako / butterfly lady / Marta and Tenebrae from Tales of Symphonia 2 / Elza)

Looking at it now, this was a good year. Lots of nice marker art. The butterfly one was a big step up for me in terms of coloring. The Marta and Tenebrae has a really cool stylized look to it. But I was becoming less enthusiastic about sharing my art with others. I started to post less and less.

2015

(evil Hakuno and Emiya from the Fate series / Mitsuru from Persona 3 / half moon cookie lady / Hakuno)

I barely posted anything this year, though I was still drawing a ton. As far as making strides, this is one of my better years. Coloring will never be my strong suit, but it's a lot more fun, and it looks a lot better. It's almost entirely marker-work at this point. Despite my, er, angst, a lot of people are smiling this year.

2016

(OC / doodle lady / Luna from Roman mythology / hair bow lady)

At this point, it's feeling too recent for me to really see what's changed. I did a fair bit of eraserless work. One problem I still have – and, yes, it involves coloring my pictures – is losing some of the image's personality after I've inked it and erased the initial pencil work. The picture's still there, but not as nuanced as it originally was. The results often feel stiff to me. Doing the first linework in ink, or not inking at all, allows me to keep that sensitive, spontaneous quality. Luna and the bow and doodle ladies were done without erasers. Another thing I did a lot this year was fill backgrounds with busy shapes and colors, which is a trend I’m still following today.

2017

(flapper and dog / Alcyone and Ceyx from Greek mythology / flower hair lady / Kida from Atlantis)

Not a good year. Not that the art is bad, there just isn't a lot of it, and what there is often isn't very finished. I was still mostly dark online, wondering if I should take down my dA gallery. Drawing and knowing I wasn't going to post something took off some of the pressure of my own expectations, but I was still unhappy.

2018

(Altera from the Fate series / Elizabeth Bathory from the Fate series / OC / Aranea from Final Fantasy 15)

This was a really important year for me. I wrote a novel I'm really proud of, and it's done a lot to give me confidence and a sense of creative direction. I also decided that after New Years, I was going to start a Tumblr gallery...just as everyone who was still on the site was jumping off of it. Much of my 2018 work is still sketchy and unfinished, but I also think it's loosening up some. It feels less stiff than the stuff from the middle of the decade.

2019

(Aloy from Horizon Zero Dawn / medievaly lady / Red from Transistor / Red)

The year of Supergiant Games, which led me to focus more on bright saturated colors. It's really hard for me to analyze these objectively. Coloring is better? I worked more on details? I used my metallic gel pens a ton and did shape-cluttered backgrounds? These aren't new things, but I think they paid off okay. I'm more at peace with my level of ability, I've finished more complicated works, and I crawled out of my den and started posting regularly online again. So that's all good. Curious to see what the art looks like in twenty more years.