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the-iceni-bitch · 4 years ago

Text

A Christmas Crush

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Fem-Reader

Words: 6693 (yikes)

Summary: Bucky has been infatuated with you for months. Will the Christmas Spirit finally help him make his move?

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content (just all of it), fluff(I don’t know y’all, I have trouble qualifying this one), slightly dom partner, overprotective partner, SMUT (like over 3700 words of it y’all!), 18+

A/N: Sooo, this was supposed to be like 2500 words guys but I got a bit carried away. Made it in right under the wire for day 3 of my birthday week. This is also an entry for the Merry Hoemas challenge that is being hosted by @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes @pumpkin-and-pine and @starlightcrystalline. I chose the dialogue prompt “I’m not going to fall in love with you. I promise.” (from The Holiday). Please enjoy!!

“You better be wearing something nice, Barnes! No cargo pants!” you yelled out to the living area as you finished applying your makeup in the bathroom.

“Yes, boss!” He yelled back at you as he adjusted himself in the dress pants he borrowed from Sam. They weren’t uncomfortable, just tighter than he was used to.

“Dude, leave your crotch alone!” Wilson chuckled at him.

Bucky scowled at him and did his best to focus on anything else. “I can’t believe I let the two of you talk me into this.”

“You know how the boss-lady is, once she gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her.” Sam gave him a grin as he lounged on the sofa, sipping a glass of scotch. “Would you relax? We’re going to a club, you literally fought of a group of five assassins on your own last week. This is nothing!”

“I’m used to fighting, I haven’t been dancing since….”

“Oh god, have you not gone out since World War II!” Sam threw back his head and gave a laugh from deep in his chest. “Hoo, boy this should be entertaining!”

The three of you had been on a surveillance assignment for the past three months, and a replacement team had finally arrived to take over for you. Your flight back to the states wasn’t until tomorrow, and you had insisted that all of you find something to do to get over the stir craziness that had taken over. When you found a flyer for a hip hop Christmas party at one of the fancier downtown clubs, you ran back to the suite and insisted that you all head out. Sam was of course down immediately, but it took you a while to convince Bucky it would be a good time.

It was hard for him to not feel like the third wheel sometimes with the two of you. You and Sam loved your hip hop, and Bucky still remembered the first time he walked into one of your sparring sessions while Wu Tang was playing and had to immediately turn around and leave, ears turning red as you and Sam shouted mirth-filled apologies after him. He was slowly warming up to the aggressive music style, but still occasionally pined for the days of the Andrews Sisters and Bing Crosby.

He squirmed in the dress pants again; when did they start making suits so tight? He rolled the sleeves of his deep green shirt up over his forearms, trying to get more comfortable as the lights glinted off his metal hand, when you finally came out of the bathroom.

“You two boys ready to go?”

Fuck me, he thought.

You were wearing a bright red dress that was covered in sequins. It was in a wrap style that was wide open across your chest, exposing the valley between your breasts almost down to your navel. A thin gold chain with a dark green stone dangled around your neck and nestled in your cleavage, drawing the eye as is twinkled in the dying light through the windows. The skirt portion of the dress was short enough that it was almost obscene, and the apex of the wrap was almost up to your hip. You topped off the look with a pair of thigh high black velvet boots.

“Damn, mama, you look good!” Sam whistled at you as he stood up and spun you around with one hand.

“You’re not too bad yourself Wilson. Barnes, you clean up real nice!”

He couldn’t speak. He was suddenly extremely aware of just how tight his slacks were, and he strode over to grab all your coats from the rack and hold his in front of his crotch as he handed Sam the other two, hoping it wasn’t obvious what he was trying to hide as he slipped it over his shoulders.

“Ok, then, let’s head out!” You said, giving Sam a look as he helped you slide into your wool coat. He just shrugged at you before donning his, and the three of you got on your way.

Sam and you walked arm in arm on the way to the club, chatting idly and laughing at the occasional quip. You tried to engage Bucky in the conversation, but he just marched behind you scowling, collar pulled up against the chill in the air.

He couldn’t deny he had developed a bit of a crush on you over the course of your assignment. You always tried to keep morale up in the surveillance house, brightening the air with your laughter as you baked some sort of treat for everyone, or broke out an obscene amount of liquor when two of you had a shared shift off. He still remembered the time you had indulged in the gin just a little too much during a game of poker and passed out with your head in his lap. He hadn’t slept or moved from that position the entire night until he had to relieve Sam in the morning, reluctantly removing your face from where it had nestled during your rest.

He did his best to move past his crush, trying to convince himself it was just an infatuation that needed to wear itself out.

Then he saw you fight for the first time.

Sure, he had seen you sparring with Sam, and may have even done a session with you himself he hadn’t been concerned about how his body would react in such close proximity to you. But when that group of thugs attacked the house last week, he really saw you in action.

You moved like water. Dodging every blow that was thrown at you and landing flurries of strikes of your own that seemed like they shouldn’t have caused any damage but would reduce your opponents to puddles. Bucky almost got knocked out when you had pulled out your knives to spin them through your expert fingers like they were extensions of your will. He’d had to lock himself in the bathroom after the fight to jerk himself off, imagining it was your hands wrapped around him.

Now he watched your ass swaying back and forth in front of him as you arrived at the club, wearing those boots and that dress that made you look like walking sex. His mood soured as he handed his coat to the check girl and shoved his call ticket into his pocket, so he headed to the bar to get himself a drink.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder and gave a wince as he turned to face you.

“C’mon, Barnes, it’s Christmas!” You were giving him a heartachingly beautiful smile. “Wipe that frown off your face and come dance!”

He softened as you looked into his eyes. It wasn’t your fault he felt like a pervert everytime he stood next to you.

“I think I’m going to go grab us a table for our drinks, you go have fun with Sam. Maybe I’ll join you in a bit.”

“If you’re sure?” You cocked an eyebrow at him and bit your lip, and he felt his gut clench and his cock twitch at that look.

“I’m sure. Enjoy yourself.”

You gave his arm a squeeze before ordering yourself a shot of vodka that you immediately tossed back before heading to join Sam on the dance floor.

Bucky took his double scotch to one of the tables scattered around the floor and perched himself on a tall stool. His gaze scanned the dance floor before finding you and he let out a groan.

If he thought your fighting was beautiful, it was nothing compared to your dancing. You looked ethereal and free as you tossed your hair, rolling your hips as your arms raised above your head and followed the motion in your torso before they sank back down and rolled along your sides, highlighting the curves of your body. Sam suddenly grabbed you by the waist and spun you, causing you to throw your head back with a beautiful lilting laugh.

Bucky tossed back his scotch and flagged down a waitress, handing her his card and instructing her to keep the drinks coming. Maybe if he drank enough it would relieve the unbelievable ache he was feeling in his chest.

You and Sam joined him at the table after a few songs. You were breathless and flushed and all he wanted to do was kiss you then take you to an alley out back and fuck you stupid.

“Barnes, you are being a bit of a Scrooge here.” You grinned at him as you nibbled on a pretzel. Sam had headed to the bathroom, and you flagged down a waitress and ordered yourself a vodka cranberry before turning back to him. “I’ll order you to have fun if I need to.”

He grinned in spite of himself when you gave him a wink. “Sorry, Y/L/N, this isn’t really my type of party.”

“Aww, Bucky,” he took in a sharp breath, you’d never used his first name before. “You just need to loosen up. I can lend you a hand with that if you need it.” You reached a hand over and wrapped it around his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.

He almost said something then, but the waitress arrived back at the table at that moment with your drink and you turned to give her a smile and thanks. Sam arrived back from the bathroom then with a bourbon in his hand, accompanied by a beautiful woman with a bright smile.

“Bucky, Y/N, this is Marta, she’s a model!”

“Well hi there Marta, you going to steal my dance partner?” You were giving the girl a massive grin as you teased Sam.

“Yeah, Marta doesn’t really speak English.” Sam grinned.

“Oh, sorry.” You asked her the same question in Swedish.

Marta’s smile grew even bigger as the two of you started babbling away at each other while Bucky and Sam just shook their heads. Marta grabbed your hand suddenly and started to drag you away from the table.

“Be right back boys!” You said over your shoulder as you and your new friend headed off to the bathroom. Bucky watched you walk away and gave a deep sigh.

“Jesus Christ, man, you need to make your move already!” Sam said, exasperated.

Bucky almost choked on his scotch. “Dunno what you’re talking about.” He mumbled, wiping his chin with a napkin.

“Bruh, you’ve been staring at Y/N non-stop this whole night. Not to mention the fact that you were moping around the surveillance house for the past few months like a kicked puppy.” Sam shook his head as he tossed back the rest of his drink. “Oh, and if you thought you were sneaky about your little post-fight bathroom session last week, you are very mistaken.”

Bucky snapped his jaw shut and felt a flush creeping up his neck as he imagined your reaction to the discovery he had been touching himself to thoughts of your body underneath him.

Sam waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry, Y/N didn’t notice. I sprayed the fuck out of that bathroom with Febreze after you left. I am never doing anything like that for you again, though.”

Bucky’s heart rate went back down in relief. “We work together Sam. Even if that wasn’t the case, what am I supposed to say to her?”

“Geez, man, just fucking kiss her!”

“Fuck, Sam, we haven’t even been on a date! Don’t women usually want that sort of preamble?”

“Some women, sure. But don’t treat them like a monolith. Y/N appreciates directness and the worst thing that could possibly happen is she tells you to back off.”

“She could stab me.”

Sam guffawed. “Don’t look so turned on at the thought, dude. She’s noticed how weird you’ve been acting. She thinks you don’t like her. One of the main reasons she made us all go out tonight was to hopefully get you to warm up some.”

Bucky sighed, he hadn’t meant to push you away. “I dunno, Sam. She’s super fucking intimidating.”

“Get over it, Barnes. If you don’t make a move, someone else definitely will.”

“Oh my god, Sam, get your ass out here! It’s Christmas in Hollis!” You and Marta were back on the dance floor now and you were bouncing up and down, waving your hand excitedly at Sam.

“Aw, shit, that’s my jam!” Sam was backing onto the floor now, trying to get Bucky to follow him before giving up and turning to you and his date.

An unsteady woman sank into the seat Sam had just vacated and gave Bucky a lecherous grin before she started talking to him in slurred Swedish.

“Sorry, I can’t understand you.” He shouted at her.

“Oh, American man.” The woman purred at him in what he assumed was supposed to be a sexy voice. “You, me, fuck in bathroom.”

Bucky didn’t hear her. A giant blonde man who looked like a knockoff Thor was dancing behind you now, trying to put his hands on your hips and grind his crotch into your ass.

Bucky watched you turn and place a hand on the intruder’s chest, giving him a polite smile as you stopped your dancing, saying something to him that Bucky couldn’t make out over the music.

The guy didn’t take the hint and put his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against his front and putting a thigh between your legs, edging the hem of your skirt upwards.

Bucky didn’t realize he had been gripping the back of one of the chairs with his metal hand until he heard a crunch and looked down to see he had bent the frame when he clenched his fist.

“Knulla.” The suddenly sober woman said, standing up abruptly and scurrying away from the table.

Bucky found himself striding towards the dance floor, fists clenching and a low growl emanating from his chest.

That dirty fucker was still trying to hump you as you gave him a firm shove, trying to turn back to Sam and Marta. He wrapped a hand around your upper arm and jerked you back. Sam stopped dancing and tried to step in, but the son of a bitch slapped him in the face before turning back to you and smashing his mouth into yours, shoving his free hand up the front of your skirt to try to get at your pussy.

Bucky arrived just as you pulled back from the cocksucker and drew the offensive hand back so sharply, a snap resounded across the floor and he let out a scream.

Bucky punched him in the face before grabbing him by his collar and tossing him away from you as three security guards came rushing to the scene, too late to offer any sort of assistance. Marta managed to intercept them and started screaming at them in Swedish as you and Sam moved between Bucky and the giant Swede who was now a blubbering mess on the floor.

“It’s good Barnes, you can relax.” Sam said.

“Bucky, it’s ok. He isn’t worth it.” You were as close to Bucky as you had ever been. He could feel the heat radiating off you as you put a hand on his chest.

You had never seen Bucky so angry. His jaw was clenched so tight, you were worried the tendons in his neck were going to snap. He was breathing deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring as he glared murderously at the man who had touched you.

“Baby, you can let it go. I’m ok.” You murmured low enough that only he could hear you.

He looked into your eyes and relaxed, taking a deep breath through his mouth and nodding as the security guards dragged your assailant out of the club.

“Good boy, now you owe me a dance.”

Bucky’s look instantly changed to confusion as you dragged him onto the dance floor, giving him a breathless laugh as you started dancing again.

He had no idea what to do with himself. You saw his look of utter helplessness and turned to face him. You placed his hands on your hips and your hands around his neck and looked into his eyes. You’re hips started rolling to the rhythm as the rest of your body swayed in time with the music. Bucky was too aware of his feet and broke eye contact to stare at them, trying to figure out how he was supposed to move.

He felt your hand lift his chin and you shook your head at him before bringing the front of your body flush against his. You lined up your hips to his and started rolling them, your legs on either side of his massive thigh as you gyrated against him. He let out a moan and screwed his eyes closed.

You brought your face against his neck and whispered in his ear. “Just relax honey.”

You dipped your hips slightly and he followed you, nuzzling into your neck and inhaling your scent as his brain finally stopped overanalyzing what he was doing.

You felt the muscles underneath his shirt tightening and releasing as he rolled his body against you and your pussy clenched over his thigh. You gave a soft gasp and hoped the rush of arousal hadn’t soaked through your panties and onto his pants. His hands were pressing into the soft skin of your hips, and you knew you would have light bruises there tomorrow.

You pulled away suddenly and Bucky groaned at the loss of you before you flipped your hair forward and dropped your ass, separating your thighs slightly as you slowly drew your back up Bucky’s front before nestling your ass into the dip in his pelvis that seemed made to fit you.

Bucky growled into your hair and nipped at the soft skin behind your ear before starting to grind himself into your ass. He brought his metal arm to press against your abdomen and push you further into him, while his other wandered up between your breasts, giving one of them a soft squeeze before loosely wrapping his fingers around your throat

You felt him harden against you and let out a small gasp, starting to pull away before his metal arm locked you in place.

“Don’t you fucking move.” He growled in your ear, nipping gently at the lobe with his teeth.

His hips were moving at their own rhythm now, the music forgotten. Neither of you noticed Sam making an exit with Marta, grinning back at you before shrugging his coat over his shoulders and heading out into the snow.

Your breath was hitching softly as Bucky rutted himself against your ass, and the sound was driving him crazy. You could feel your cunt throbbing as it became slick, your arousal soaking your panties and threatening to start leaking down the insides of your thighs. He suddenly stuttered his hips and let out a hiss before stilling.

“Shit.”

He had come in his pants like a teenager, filling his boxer briefs and leaving a small wet spot on the front of his slacks. His arms released you as he stood up straight, leaning his forehead against the back of your head and screwing his eyes shut. He’d never been so embarrassed.

You shuffled the edge of your skirt down before turning around and pressing your lips against his softly. He groaned against your mouth as he brought his hands to either side of your face, tangling them in your hair. You discretely untucked his shirt as you kissed him, covering the evidence of his orgasm graciously. You pulled away before he could really lean into the kiss, and he let out a dissatisfied sigh.

You looked at him through heavy lids, biting at your kiss swollen lips before taking his hand and dragging him to the exit. “We’re going back to the hotel”

You tossed the coat tickets at the girl at the counter, breathing heavily as you tapped your nails impatiently. You snatched the coats from her without a word and tossed Bucky’s to him before charging out the door.

Bucky almost slipped several times back to the hotel as you set a brutal pace. He couldn’t get a read on you now and was worried he’d ruined things already.

You rode the elevator up to your floor in silence, one hip cocked to the side as you clicked the opposite heel against the floor rapidly. As soon as the doors opened, you strode down the hallway like you were possessed and Bucky hurried after you, concern written all over his face.

You arrived at the room first and wrenched the door open, leaving it open behind you as you stepped inside. Bucky was a few steps behind you but stopped at the entrance. He was certain you were going to lay into him as soon as he entered and wanted to take a moment to collect himself. He was running his metal fingers through his hair when your arm suddenly shot out, your fingers wrapping around the collar of his shirt and hauling him inside as he let out an uncharacteristic yelp.

You slammed the door behind him and pressed him up against it, shoving your fingers under his collar and wrapping them around his neck before you smashed your mouth to his violently, clashing your teeth against his before shoving your tongue down his throat.

Bucky overcame his surprise quickly and grinned against your lips as he slid his coat off his shoulders before cupping your ass and giving it a squeeze.

Your lips left his suddenly, leaving him breathless. You gave him a small smirk before sinking to your knees and starting to undo his belt.

“You’ve been keeping this pretty cock from me baby. My pussy’s been gushing thinking about your hot length in my mouth.” You were kissing around the bulge in his pants as you slipped his loosened belt out of the loops and undid the buttons. He leaned his head back against the door and hissed through his teeth. He’d never had a woman speak to him like this before and it was making his cock ache. He jutted his hips forward and you rubbed your face against his cloth covered erection before drawing his slacks and boxer briefs down his legs swiftly, freeing his dick to bounce back up against his abs.

You spat in your hand and wrapped it around him, drawing a groan from his chest. You started peppering soft kisses along his shaft as you ran your hand up and down slowly. “God Bucky, you’re so fucking big, I can’t wait to feel this in my pussy. I need to taste your sweet cum first though honey.”

You softly ran one finger up the underside of his shaft, tracing the vein that ran from root to tip before dragging your tongue in a heavy stripe over the same path.

He wrapped your hair around his hand and let out a hiss. “Fuck, Y/N, who taught you to talk like that?”

“Mmm, you like it sweetie?” You asked him wickedly as you ran your tongue over the sensitive slit along his tip, lapping up the pre-cum that was starting to collect there.

“God, yes.” He couldn’t believe how much the filthy praises you were giving turned him on.

“I’ll give you as much as I can honey, but I’m worried this cock is going to fuck out my throat.” You took him in your mouth then, relaxing your throat as you drew in his entire length, feeling his balls hit your chin as you swallowed around him.

“Shit!” he thought you were going to go slower and he almost came immediately when you hollowed your cheeks around him and pulled him out slightly before taking him in again, bringing a hand up to fondle his balls.

He braced his metal arm against the door as he started to thrust his hips, fucking into your face as you choked around him, tears streaming down your cheeks and drool leaking from the corners of your mouth.

“God baby, you’re taking my cock so good. That mouth of yours is fucking amazing.” His hips picked up speed and he gazed down at you. You looked sinful, a flush in your cheeks and over your chest as you gazed up at him through thick lashes. You moaned around his cock as his praise caused a fresh rush of arousal to leak from your cunt.

“You gonna take my cum down like a good girl?” His hips were starting to stutter and you felt his cock twitch at the back of your mouth. You let out a tiny whine and tried to nod as he shoved himself all the way in, stilling himself as you felt his release run down your throat.

He pulled his softening cock out of your mouth and wiped the drool from you chin before softly cupping your cheek.

“Stay right there for a second pretty girl.”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered at him, your voice husky now that your throat was raw.

He unbuttoned his shirt and rolled it off over his shoulders, then removed his undershirt and tossed it aside too until he was standing in front of you naked.

You let out a low moan at the sight. His muscles were sculpted beautifully, his chest dusted with dark hair that tapered to a happy trail that led down to his thick cock. The skin around his metal arm was scarred and puckered, and other faint scars were visible elsewhere on his body, giving him an air of danger and menace. Your cunt clenched as you took in the sight, biting your lips as you ached to run your hands over his body.

“Stand up.” He ordered you. He didn’t know what had come over him. He had spent months wanting to beg you for some sign of affection, but now that you were there kneeling in front of him, he just wanted to take it from you. And you were willing to give him whatever he required.

You drew yourself up slowly and he picked you up with one hand and wrapped your legs around his waist. He brought your mouth down to his and teased your lips open with his tongue as he carried you to the bedroom.

He knelt on the bed with you straddling him and started to trail rough kisses down your neck, sucking occasionally to draw a bruise against your skin.

As he reached your shoulders, he wrapped his metal hand through the chain around your neck and gave it a yank, snapping it off you. He drew the shoulders of your dress down, exposing your tits as you arched your back up to meet him.

“God Bucky, please” You whined as nuzzled his face into the valley between your breasts, his stubble scratching the skin there.

“You want something, baby?” he asked you wickedly, kissing slowly up the slope of your breast until he almost reached your nipple, then moved his mouth away again.

You groaned and wound your fingers into his hair. “Need your tongue on me, please baby.”

“Where did you want it sweet girl?” he asked innocently before cupping one breast in his hand and rubbing the nipple with his nose. “Did you want me to lick you here?”

“Yes, yes, fuck!!” His tongue swirled slowly around your nipple, drawing it to a sensitive peak. “God Bucky, that’s so good!”

He brought up his metal hand to palm your other breast and you gasped at the contrast of the cool metal against your warm flesh. He tweaked the other nipple and you groaned. “You want my tongue on this one too, honey?”

“Pleasepleaseplease….” You whispered breathlessly, whining when he moved his mouth where you asked him. You started grinding yourself into his thigh, desperate for release as your pussy quivered and wept.

“No.” He ordered, grabbing your hip with his metal hand and holding you still. “You don’t get to come unless it’s on my cock sweetheart.”

You let out a thin keen as tears leaked down your cheeks.

Bucky brought his face back up to yours, holding your chin with his other hand and kissing you hungrily. You cried into his mouth in desperation.

“You want this cock, pretty girl?”

“God, yes. Please, Bucky!”

“You asked me so nicely, honey. I’m gonna give you what you want.”

He gripped your dress in his metal hand where it had gathered at your waist, gave it a twist, and ripped it off you, sequins and beads flying off the bed and across the floor. He grabbed your panties next and shredded them, bringing their ruins up to his face and inhaling your scent deeply before tossing them aside and giving you a wicked grin. You bent one leg up to start to remove your boots when he slapped your hand away.

“Leave those on.” He growled at you.

He took a moment to pause and look at you, memorizing every slope and curve of your body. He spread your legs wide and gave a low moan when he got a look at your pussy, coated in slick and swollen with desire. He drew two metal fingers softly up the inside of your thigh before running them over your sex, coating them in your arousal and making you moan. He brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them clean.

“You taste so good baby girl. Maybe once I’ve fucked you stupid with my cock I’ll eat you out.”

“Unnhh, Bucky, give it to me.” You begged him.

“You need something baby? You gotta be specific.”

“God, need you inside me. I fucking need your cock. Bucky, please.”

“Alright sweetheart. You better have at least five orgasms on my cock sweet girl. Otherwise I might have to spank you.”

He lifted your right leg and looped your knee over his elbow, opening you wide as he brought himself up to your entrance. He slowly drew his length through the slick gathered there as you whimpered, then he slammed into you, bottoming out right away and knocking the air out of you.

“FUCK!!!” you screamed as you came immediately, clenching and fluttering around him as you went rigid and started to tremble.

“That’s one, baby.” He grinned as he started to fuck into you, not bothering to wait for you to come down from your orgasm. “Shit, this pussy was fucking ready for me. Look at you gripping me so good, like you’re fucking made for my cock.”

“God, Bucky!” you whined. “You’re so big, keep moving baby. Fuck that’s so good!”

Lewd squelching noises filled the room, combining with the slap of flesh against flesh as he drove into you hard.

“Mmm, you’re squeezing me so tight, honey. You gonna come on my cock again?” Bucky slipped a hand underneath your ass and tilted your hips just a bit and felt you clench around him.

“Shit, right there. God, I’m coming again. Don’t fucking stop.” Your face screwed up as your second orgasm ripped through you, curling your toes in your boots as your legs quivered with the strain.

“Good girl.” He praised you as you fluttered around him, your release soaking your thighs as it seeped out around his cock. “I’m gonna move you now, sweetheart, get ready.”

His hand moved under your waist and he wrenched you up until you were flush against his chest. The coarse hair there scratched against your sensitive nipples and you gave a soft whine at the change in position.

Bucky stared into your eyes. Your face was a mess. Lipstick smeared all over your mouth and chin. Mascara and tears running in streaks down your flushed cheeks. Mouth open and panting with need and pupils blown wide as you gazed at him through your thick eyelashes.

You looked like the perfect mixture of sin and sex. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

He wrapped both his arms behind your shoulders and buried his hands in your hair, pressing your face to his and forcing his tongue between your lips and teeth, running it everywhere it could reach inside your velvety mouth, growling into you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and opened yourself up to him, whining as he increased his pace even more and you felt the tension gather in your core again.

“Give me another one, baby. My good girl. Show me how good that pussy is for me.”

You buried your face in his neck and groaned as you felt every muscle below your waist go rigid and another orgasm wracked you. You didn’t know if you could handle two more.

“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good. This pussy is making a mess everywhere.”

He pulled out of you suddenly and you gasped, hoping for a reprieve. But he just flipped you so you were on all fours and slammed back into you, making you scream.

“Just two more pretty girl. Then I’ll fill this pretty cunt with my cum.”

You didn’t know how he could last this long as he pounded into you relentlessly. He drew you up straight suddenly so your back was against his chest and you gave a small whimper. Your throat was raw from him fucking it and from your screaming, and the only sound you managed to make now was a stream of unintelligible mewls.

You leaned your head back against Bucky’s shoulder as he brought a hand up to palm at your breast. His metal fingers moved to the apex of your thighs and started drawing rough circles against your clit. You felt tears leaking down your cheeks as your pleasure began to gather. He drove them into you suddenly and you let out a thin wail as your entire body went stiff before vibrating with your release.

Bucky guided your fall forward gently until your face was resting against the blankets. Your arms couldn’t hold you up anymore so they laid limply next to your face as Bucky gripped both of your hips and drew them back to him over and over. You felt drool leaking from your open mouth as you blinked slowly. You were absolutely cock drunk. The sheer number and intensity of your orgasms had made your brain short circuit. He really had fucked you stupid.

Bucky slapped your ass suddenly and you gave a sharp gasp as you came one last time, fisting your hands into the blankets to try to keep from passing out.

“Good girl.” Bucky murmured at you. You could feel the smile in his voice and you felt your cunt clench around him at the praise. His hips started to stutter and you felt his cock twitching inside you.

“You ready for me sweetheart? This pussy treated me so good, I’m gonna fill you up.”

You managed to moan out a single word through your hoarse throat. “Please…”

The wantonness in your voice pushed him over the edge and you felt his hips still suddenly as he released inside of you. The feel of his hot cum coating your velvety walls made you moan like a whore.

“Fuck, baby. That was so good.” He gently lowered himself on top of you and you felt him soften inside of you. He peppered gentle kisses along your shoulders and the back of your neck as he pulled out of you slowly. You gave a contented sigh as he rolled off you and headed to the bathroom. You’d never been fucked so well in your life.

You heard the water running and you managed to lift your head to watch Bucky return, holding a damp washcloth. His abdomen, thighs, and cock were coated in your release, glistening in the soft light of the bedroom as he walked back towards you and sat down on the edge of the bed. The sight of his naked form filled you with a renewed sense of desire.

Bucky rotated you carefully until you were lying on your back and brought his face down to yours and gave you a soft kiss before moving himself between your legs. You heard him suck in his breath sharply when he got a good look at you, drawing your knees apart to get a good look at your pussy.

“Fuck honey, you’re beautiful.”

The skin of your mound and thighs was flushed red where he had thrusted into you repeatedly and it was all coated in the evidence of your multiple orgasms. Your cunt was swollen and pulsing as his cum slowly leaked out of you, collecting in a small puddle on the sheets.

Bucky gently cleaned your thighs and mound with the cloth, being careful to not irritate your already sensitive skin. Then he worked your folds apart with his metal fingers and drew the damp fabric over your slit slowly, collecting his release from your entrance. You gave a groan and pressed yourself into the cloth when he tried to pull it away.

“Jesus, sweetheart, already?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and stared at him. “Bucky, you promised.”

He shook his head and tutted his tongue at you. “No, I said I might eat you out after I fucked you stupid. No promises were made.”

“Bucky, please?” You begged him, your voice husky with lust.

He gave you a look then moved to kneel between your legs. “Can’t say no to you, pretty girl. Not after this pussy treated me so good.”

You gave a soft chuckle followed by a gasp as he flattened himself on the bed and drew your left leg over his shoulder, softly kissing and sucking down the inside of your thigh before he nuzzled himself into your folds.

He softly licked at your entrance, lapping up the renewed evidence of your arousal as he dragged his tongue up and down your slit before he wrapped his lips around your tiny bud and sucked softly.

“God, Bucky! More…please…” You moaned at him, winding your fingers into his hair and pressing him further into you.

He gently teased two metal finger around your entrance before inserting them slowly, grinning against you as he felt your pussy flutter around them.

He started fucking them into you steadily while he gently sucked at your clit, crooking his wrist to hit your sweet spot as he picked up speed.

“Fuck! Right there! Don’t you dare stop! So, so, good! Please baby!” You started babbling, the pitch of your voice getting higher as he edged you closer to your release.

He latched on and sucked hard at the same time he added a third finger, and you came apart around him, soaking his chin and stubble as your thighs tried to crush his head between them and your pussy clenched and twitched around his fingers.

Bucky crawled back up the bed and laid next to you, drawing you to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. You nuzzled your face into him and let out a low humming noise to show how content you were.

“God, it took you long enough, Barnes.”

He laughed and kissed the top of your head, pulling the blankets over the two of you and flicking off the bedside lamp.

“You know, you could have made a move yourself.” He murmured against your hair.

“And offend your World War II sensibilities, grandpa? You would have run away screaming.”

“Grandpa?”

“Whatever, you were scared of me. I didn’t want to frighten you off before you took advantage of your crush.”

“Right, crush.”

“Mmm, if this is how you fuck on the first date, what are you going to do when you fall in love with me?” You teased against his chest, your breathing growing deeper as you drifted off to sleep.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. I’m not going to fall in love with you. I promise.” He lied as he dozed off.

The snow was falling heavy over the city. And Bucky was dreaming about marrying you.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #merryhoemas #writing challenge #december writing challenge #fanfic #fanfiction

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lovelylogans · 4 years ago

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spring cleaning

there’s a pack rat in the family. who it is will not surprise you.

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: food mentions, alcohol mentions, general messiness, jokes about hoarding

pairings: patton/virgil, offscreen logan/roman

word count: 2,412

notes: hi! this is just a quick little fic as i beta and finish off the next chapter of debutante. this is based off the gilmore girls season three episode twelve “lorelai out of water” cold open. takes place the spring after the main storyline, after alliance but before debutante.

⁂

virgil’s phone buzzes at 10:13 am on a sunny spring sunday. he pauses just after he drops off the brunch plates for mrs. torres, babette, and east side tilly, digging around in his back pocket to squint at his recent texts.

logan sanders: Please help.

any other time, this kind of text would probably send anxiety flooding his veins like ice water. as he’s been warned, sure, he’s a little anxious that he’s misreading the situation, but he shakes that aside and snorts.

“called it,” he mutters under his breath, before he wipes his hands on his apron and types out christ, you’re folding easy this year. is that a new record?

a brief pause. then, No, the record was twenty-four minutes. To be fair, that took place when I was ten years old, we were moving into the house, and you were already going to be involved, so I perhaps I should propose that does not count against my spring cleaning record.

ah, that’s right. god, helping patton move had kind of been a nightmare. helping anyone move is a bit of a nightmare, but with patton there’s a whole new layer of shenanigans.

Another buzz. Also, I need this to be hastened along. I have a Socratic seminar in English tomorrow, and though we have settled on a tentative truce I refuse to let Dee achieve the highest grade in the class.

he shoots back i’ll be there asap.

“jean,” he calls to the counter, but jean, having been warned as well, waves him off.

“i got it, at least he waited till the we hit the between-masses lull.”

“you’re the best,” he says, hanging up his apron and ignoring mrs. torres’ hoots about his arms—he's like ninety percent sure she’s spiking her own orange juice so she can have a screwdriver with her pancakes but he hasn’t caught her with a flask in hand yet—and heads out the door.

the citizens of sideshire are fully soaking in the pleasure of a sunny spring day—it’s one of those days, where the weather’s warming up slowly, but there’s sure to be more cold snaps before they fully settle into spring, so lots of people are taking advantage of it. families are sprawled with picnic blankets in the grassy town square. the “long-haired freak” (taylor’s nickname, not his. virgil’s pretty sure his name is dave, but also, he’s not totally sure his name is dave, and as such usually avoids any complications by saying “hey, man,” whenever virgil sees him) is out hawking fruits and vegetables from his garden. lots of people are out on walks, some with earbuds or headphones on, some calling out jolly greetings to other people taking advantage of a blue sky and temperatures that are soaring above freezing.

“hey, virgil.”

“hey, felix,” virgil says, craning his neck to catch sight of—well, he guesses felix and riley are technically his tenants? but that always feels weird to say—his neighboring business owners. felix is busy making sure a promotional poster’s taped to the window. “how’re things?”

“ah, y’know, y’know,” felix says, waving their hands around. “weather’s warming up, so we’re getting into busy season. guess people want to be able to flaunt new ink in the warmer weather, y’know?”

“hey, speaking of—” virgil says.

“oh, yeah,” felix says, scratching at the half of their head that was once shaved bald but is now growing in stubbly. “you wanna have riley do one this time? they can draw up some sketches for you, if you want. or i can, if you want, but it might be a minute ‘cause i’m all hands on deck for this massive full-back piece.”

“nah, riley’ll be cool, it’s been a minute since they’ve done one for me,” virgil says. “i’ll drop by later with some reference photos, ideas and stuff.”

“i’ll make sure they’re refreshed on what your style is before the consultation,” felix says. “appreciate the business.”

“appreciate you and your spouse taking over this empty shop so taylor didn’t get a chance to,” virgil returns, as he usually does whenever felix or their riley thanks him for something. he’s really awkward about accepting gratitude, he’s working on that with emile and patton.

“god, could you imagine taylor next door,” felix says with a theatric shudder. “bad enough he runs half the town.”

“i’ll call tomorrow to make the appointment?”

felix flashes him a thumbs up, and virgil raises a hand in farewell as he continues on his way.

he ends up pushing his sleeves up to his elbows as he walks to the sanders’ house, occasionally saying hey to other residents of sideshire, or tilting his face up to the sun.

this winter’s been brutal, even worse than it usually is for the northeast, with absurd amounts of blizzards and ice. on the days where it wasn’t shoveling ridiculous amounts of snow on the whole town, the sky had been gray and overcast, and what little sun there was could barely stream weakly through the clouds.

but now, the sun sinks softly into his exposed skin, warming him without overheating him thanks to the breeze, carrying the sweet scent of tentatively blooming flowers planted by particularly audacious gardeners.

it is a perfect, lovely spring day.

by the time he gets to the cheerful yellow clapboard house, he’s taken enough deep, calming breaths to ensure that he is a calming presence. he ascends the stairs of the wraparound porch—oh, huh, looks like patton or logan’s making an attempt at being a gardener, that looks like mountain mint—and knocks lightly on the front door.

“please come in,” logan shouts, sounding exasperated, and virgil obligingly pushes the door open.

he toes off his shoes, even as he overhears patton’s voice, cajoling.

“hug-a-world! c’mon, you’ve gotta remember your hug-a-world!”

hug-a-world, virgil mouths to himself, before it comes back to him in sudden, vivid technicolor and he rounds the corner.

and, sure enough, surrounded by the detritus of the sanders home, patton and logan sit in a hastily-cleared space in the middle of their living room, patton holding a stuffed ball tight to his chest.

“of course i remember the hug-a-world,” logan says, still with that tone of exasperation, but lessened now at the sight of a beloved childhood toy.

“you can’t make me throw away your hug-a-world,” patton declares viciously, which would almost be believably threatening if he were not clutching a stuffed ball made to look like a globe to his chest, and if his curly hair was not sticking up in a configuration that virgil thinks of as chaotically unruly, and if he were not wearing a pink-and-blue sweater he usually busts out around easter, and if someone did not know patton as a person. “you learned all seven of your continents on hug-a-world!”

see, without fail, almost every year patton gets suckered into the whole concept of the spring clean. and, without fail, logan or virgil will try to point out that he does this every year, and patton insists no, really, this time for sure he’ll get rid of some of the clutter around this house, it’s about time!, and then he gets sidetracked getting attached to objects he finds that he suddenly cannot bear to get rid of, despite the fact that said objects have typically been buried away in a dark closet all the rest of the year.

which means that logan and virgil sit with him and try to point that out, and patton wavers, before he decides to keep or donate or trash it, and it seems like it’s going okay, until the next thing he touches turns out to be another thing that he suddenly cannot bear to give up.

it’s gotten a little better since that time they introduced the marie kondo method, but also, that much worse, because of course he insists that everything sparks joy!

but this is way more mess than usual. there are cardboard boxes and piles of clothes and bits and bobs that are in piles that come up to his ribs. virgil squints it at it suspiciously.

“attic,” logan says wearily, in explanation. “he got boxes out of the attic.”

oh, shit, the attic. god, that thing is stuffed to the brim with boxes, no wonder the living room looks like someone upended the odds-and-ends drawer for a giant into the house.

“but—c’mon,” patton says, in that same sweetly coaxing tone that usually makes them all throw up their hands and leave the rest of this spring cleaning mess for next year’s spring clean. he holds out the hug-a-world to logan. “hold it. marie says so.”

“marie does not realize that she has a special case with my hoarder of a father and therefore should customize the approach of sparks joy, because you have too wide a definition,” logan says, but he reaches out and takes the hug-a-world with both hands anyways.

virgil examines logan holding it, thinking suddenly of a much tinier logan with a gap in his front teeth holding the same toy in the same way, though the fabric had been much more vibrant shades of blue and green then. there had been a solid stretch of time that the hug-a-world had been the toy that logan had hugged falling asleep, back in the poolhouse. he’d taken the hug-a-world to the diner and to school and all around the inn and to the princes’ apartment and back again.

a side of logan’s mouth twitches up, and then, as if suddenly conscious of it, he forces the corners of his mouth to turn down as he stares at it.

“remember?” patton repeats, staring at logan and the hug-a-world fondly. “we used to take turns to squeeze it as tight as we could and then wherever our pinkies would end up, that’s where we were going to go together when you grew up.”

“yes,” logan says, and then loses the fight against his mouth, because it twitches up into a smile again. “many a trip to uzbekistan was planned that way.”

“look!” patton says, pointing and tilting his head. “that’s canada, then, where’d your other one get you?”

logan moves his other pinky in order to squint at the faded fabric. “i believe that’s cambodia. possibly vietnam, i was rather splitting the border.”

“why not both?” patton says pragmatically, or as pragmatically as he can sound planning a potential trip based off hugging a ball.

logan hesitates, holding the ball.

“look,” patton says. “hey, how about virgil helps clean it up, and the hug-a-world can live in your room?”

logan chews at the inside of his lip.

“if it sparks joy,” patton sing-songs.

logan heaves a sigh.

“the hug-a-world will live in my room, then,” he says, before looking to virgil. “we’ve started a pile for you right here,” and pats a pile of what mostly looks like clothes that can be either repaired, repurposed, or sneakily donated.

virgil takes a breath, and says, “i’ll crack open a window and put on some music, then. patton, you take your allergy medicine today?”

patton tilts his head to think about it.

“that’s a no,” virgil says. “i’ll grab it on the way. water, snacks? we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“are we?” logan says doubtfully, twisting to look at him.

“we are finishing spring clean this year!” patton insists. “i mean it this time!”

logan arches his eyebrows at virgil, and virgil mouths play along, and logan sighs before he turns back to the pile, pulling out an old jacket at random.

“i have never seen you wear this. it should be donated.”

“that was from raf, we can’t just toss it!” patton cries out in dismay, and virgil heads for the kitchen.

he fills up three glasses of water, chops up some celery and apples, fills up three mini ramekins with peanut butter, and sets it all on a tray, along with the round white pill that patton takes for his allergies.

he plugs in his phone and scrolls to a roman-made playlist, lowering the volume so that they’ll be able to hear each other, and proceeds to make his meandering way around the piles of Stuff as best he can without knocking anything over.

on his way, he moves to crack open the windows of the living room, allowing the floral-scented air to waft into the messy room, to hear the chirping of the birds under patton and logan’s debating.

he pushes aside a pile of old books on the coffee table and sets the tray down, mostly ignored as logan manages to triumph and tosses the jacket into a box labeled DONATE.

virgil settles down next to his pile, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce, and gosh all of the clutter of patton and logan’s lives looms over them like a mountain at this angle.

“okay,” virgil says encouragingly. “good, that’s good! raf’s old jacket will probably make some other teenager very happy to have it.”

patton sighs, staring after the jacket. “yeah, i guess.”

“this is good,” virgil says stubbornly, before tugging at a piece of fabric sticking out at random and unearthing a blanket.

“oh, i was wondering where that got off to!” patton says, delighted.

“i thought that got lost in the moving shuffle,” virgil agrees, because the last time he saw this he was pretty sure it was tossed over the back of their rented apartment couch.

“so this blanket has not been washed in at least six years,” logan says.

“well, that can be fixed!” patton points out. “i say keep.”

“we’re never going to finish,” logan groans.

“of course we’re gonna finish!” patton says.

“yeah, logan,” virgil says unconvincingly. “listen to your dad.”

patton beams at him, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek; logan rolls his eyes, before he turns his attention to the blanket.

“so, you claim keep for your room,” logan says. “you already have so many blankets.”

“well, we can always use more blankets!” patton points out. “worse comes to worse, we’ll put it in the linen closet.”

logan tilts his head, before he sighs, and places it in a pile of other fabrics that they seem to have decided to keep.

“all right, fine,” he says, then fishes out another piece of fabric. “next item—”

“look how fast we settled that!” patton says brightly.

“pretty fast,” virgil agrees dutifully.

“we’ll totally finish spring clean this year,” patton says confidently.

(they do not finish spring clean this year.)

#my post #text #my fic #my fanfiction #the sideshire files #sideshire files #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #moxiety

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enviedear · 4 years ago

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that damn american ᵒⁿᵉ

do you respect yourself?

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which y/n l/n meets draco malfoy on the first night of the transfer. she decides she doesn’t enjoy him much after he asks her if she respects herself.

PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 2k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

aaaa okay first chapter i’m so excited lets just jump right in :) you should note this a modern au without voldemort.

your first thought as you exited the hogwarts express was ‘holy shit, i’m literally a sea away from my mom right now’.

you genuinely couldn’t believe that, one, she agreed this and two, that you were here.

well, of course she agreed. so long as your brother, quinn came as well. that took a lot of convincing since he’s dead set on becoming a professional quadpot player. after the school confirmed that quadpot matches would also be held at hogwarts, he had no choice.

“i really gotta learn how to pack. this backpack is heavier than me, i’m killing my shoulders right now, y’all.” april fusses, thick southern accent dripping off her words.

“jesus christ, i can hear you complaining over my music. i didn’t sign up for conan gray featuring april everson.” sophie snides, turning the volume up.

april gives her an annoyed look and begins walking toward the carriages, you and sophie trailing after the tall girl.

“ah, are you the transfer students?” a scottish voice asks.

you look to your side and spot an older woman.

“yeah, well, some of them. i think the rest are still on the train getting their stuff.” you respond, thinking of your brother and the other remaining fifty something students.

“in that case, the three of you can go ahead and get into a carriage. but when you get to the castle, wait in the lobby please. i’ll be with you shortly.”

the three of you nod and hop onto an awaiting carriage.

“they’ve really got the whole ‘old wizarding school’ vibe down pat.” sophie says, staring at large castle.

“for real. ilvermorny seems so modern compared to this place.” you add.

“well girls, i think we should go in instead of waiting out here. i wanna see more!” april shouts, throwing her hands up at the castle and sprinting inside.

“last one in is a pukwudgie!” sophie laughs, running inside.

you roll your eyes and walk in, “sophie you are a pukwudgie.”

the ginger shrugs, “whatever. i didn’t come up with the phrase. but check out this decor.”

you look around the castle lobby and see the numerous amounts of stone statues and portraits of old wizards. it’s vastly different from ilvermorny. your school decorates its lobby and school with art from the students, quadpot trophies, famous wands, and banners of the graduated students. it’s much more, lived in.

“i like it but it’s kinda remindin’ me of narnia,” april smirks, “wonder if i’ll meet my very own peter pevensie.”

“i’d much rather meet my very own plate of dinner. even though dad said british people can’t cook.” sophie says.

“what if they don’t have pie! as the president of the ilvermorny pie fan club, i will cause a scene if i don’t get pie.” april jokes.

“april they eat beans on toast here. i think you’re going to have to ask your mom to send you pie.” you giggle.

the woman from earlier walks in, your fellow ilvermorny students following behind.

“ah, we’re all here,” she says, walking to the staircase in front of you. “my name is professor mcgonagall, head of gryffindor house. now, you’re all going to be sorted. the first years have just finished. and i must remind you that where ever you are sorted, you will remain. the point of this program is to have you meet new young wizards and learn about hogwarts. i understand that you had more leeway at ilvermorny choosing houses, but the sorting hat never makes a mistake. now, follow me.”

sophie whispers to you, “i heard that the house rivalries here are enemy like.”

at ilvermorny the only real rivalry is between your house, wampus, and april’s, thuderbird. but it’s more of a sibling rivalry, no actual bad blood.

you quite enjoyed the competitiveness of your house, which you shared with your brother. the both of you loved sport, just in two different ways. he was his best out playing quadpot while you enjoyed cheering him on with the wampus cheer team.

entering the dining hall is a wild experience. the hogwarts students are looking at all of you with a mix of impressed and curious faces. when you all reach the end of the hall mcgonagall lifts a hat from a stool and calls out a name, “taylor allen.”

you watch the horned serpent get sorted straight into ravenclaw and clap along with everyone else. the names continue on until april is called.

she smiles up on the stool and awaits the sorting hat’s decision. after a full minute the hat shouts, “SLYTHERIN!”

april looks surprised but her smile doesn’t fade as she sits down at the slytherin table.

next is your brother who seems to be basking in female attention more than the experience of the new school. you can’t blame him though, he seems to gain fans where ever he goes.

the hat barely touches his head before again, shouting, “SLYTHERIN!”

you furrow your eyebrows at this. you didn’t expect the both of them to end up in the same house, and it leaves you worried that you might be left in a house all alone.

after more names are called, most of them going into hufflepuff or gryffindor, you hear your name.

“y/n l/n.” mcgonagall says.

you make your way to the stool, ready to hear what the hat has to say. the moment it touches your head it begins speaking, scaring you only slightly.

‘ah, competitive like your brother and a will to succeed like your friend. you could do good in hufflepuff, you’re loyal to your core. or maybe gryffindor with that daring attitude. you’re just too complicated for that though. i know, better be, “SLYTHERIN!”

there is no way.

you slowly walk to april and quinn, who look equally as suprised.

“now, y/n, i know we’re friends but i don’t think we’re too much alike to be getting sorted into the same house,” she looks at quinn. “you said they based this off your personality, didn’t ya?”

your brother scratches his neck, “well yeah, that’s what i thought.”

“well whatever, at least we get to be together!” you smile.

“yeah but what about sophie? it would be a bummer if she doesn’t-” april is interrupted by mcgonagall calling, “sophie yates.”

you give april a worried look and she returns it.

sophie however looks utterly content with the tattered hat upon her ginger head. she’s got an amused smirk on her face, and throws the both of you a wink.

“SLYTHERIN!” the hat bellows.

sophie rushes toward the table and sits beside quinn who has a bemused look on his face.

“how in the world did we get so lucky?” you laugh, grinning at your friends.

quinn sighs, “how in the world did i get so unlucky. i’ve got three snitches around me at all times now. it was bad enough being in wampus with just y/n.”

april rolls her eyes, “quinn no one is going to snitch on you. unless you pull another stunt like you did in fourth year.”

“i’ve told you like ten times! i didn’t mean to give you the damn puking potion.” he groans.

“you shouldn’t have been trying to give it to anyone. you’re lucky i only told mom. if headmistress wilma would have found out you would’ve been straight off the quadpot team.” you point.

your conversation is interrupted by a deep voice. in the front of the room behind a podium, stands an absolutely ancient man. headmaster dumbledore.

“i’m so happy to welcome our first years and our ilvermorny exchange students. i know you’ve all been waiting to eat so i’ll make this short. this is the beginning of a new school year, and i can’t wait to see what it has in store. now,” the man raises his arms, “let us eat.”

dinner was good. but nothing like an ilvermorny dinner. there were no burgers, quesadillas, pie, or salmon. you were going to miss all the diverse food back home, but the slytherin common room sure made up for any complaints.

the room was dark and brooding, but it somewhat reminded you of the wampus common room. instead of the windows showing a jungle, the habitat of the wampus cat, the slytherin common room is underwater.

“dude this is baller.” quinn say to his friend and fellow teammate, sebastian.

sebastian grins, “i can’t wait to take pictures down here. i bet i could make a dope album cover.”

sophie laughs, “yeah so long as you actually finish a song.”

the boy makes a face at her before walking toward the boys’ dorm with quinn.

“having them both here is going to kill me.” you say, eyes narrowed as you watch them walk up the stairs.

“oh who cares! whatever trouble they make is on them. enjoy your year y/n.” sophie says, sitting down on the green couch.

you nod and take a seat on the rug, facing her and april. by now, it’s only the three of you in the common room, everyone else flooding to the dorms.

“speaking of enjoying things, i made us all a new playlist on the train ride.” sophie smiles, pulling out her phone.

“if you put any weird shit on it like you did the last one i’m going to kill ya. there was no reason to add ‘i beat my dick today’ to a playlist with lorde on it. it was disgraceful.” april teases

you laugh and grab the phone out of sophie’s hand. you look at the playlist titled, ‘the time they went to hogwarts’, and notice it has only one song on it.

“there’s only one song soph.” you state, confused.

“exactly,” she says snatching the phone back. “we’re going to add the rest over the course of the year. i want it to tell a story.”

“what’s the first song?” april questions.

“doin’ time by lana. because it’s still summer, we have to represent ilvermorny, and the song hits.” sophie says, drawing out the last word.

“well, go ahead and play it. we might as well break in the new common room with april’s shit dancing.” you joke, sticking your to tongue out at her.

she flips you off as sophie starts the song.

the three of you dance around the common room and sing off key, aside from sophie, who has had plenty of practice in the thunderbird choir.

you’re leaning on a desk, ‘seductively’ swaying your ass against april as sophie records the two of you, when you hear a throat being cleared.

april and you spin around, making eye contact with a tall platinum blond.

“what in merlin’s name are you doing?” the boy sneers.

you chuckle, “dancing. why? do british people not dance?”

“of course we dance. but usually we respect ourselves while doing so,” he looks at sophie who’s still recording. “and what is that? how did you get music to come out of it?”

april’s eye bulge, “you mean the phone. honey, i knew y’all weren’t a fan of muggles but you have to be lying about not knowing what a phone is.”

the boy still looks both confused and irritated.

“and what was that little comment about respecting yourselves? are you trying to suggest something?” you say, eyes cold.

“i’m merely asking if you respect yourself. i’ve never met a decent woman who dances like that.” he snides.

“you’re a dick.” you say, simply.

“and you seem to be a bint.” he huffs,

you furrow your brows, “what the fuck is a bint?”

sophie calls from behind her phone, “i’m guessing whore from context clues.”

the boy smirks and grabs a book from the coffee table, “i’m draco. draco malfoy, and if you’d like to not be called a bint i suggest you refrain from grinding against other people in a public area.”

“well, draco malfoy, you’re a little fuck and i could care less what you call me. suck my dick.” you smile sarcastically.

you hear sophie mutter a faint, ‘worldstar’, which causes april to break out in a fit of laughter.

the boy makes one last disgusted look at the three of you before walking up the stairs.

you turn to your friends, beaming, “looks like we’ve already made a friend.”

#—myfics !#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x y/n #harry potter #draco x you #draco malfoy series #draco malfoy x slytherin #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x american! reader #draco x ilvernmorny! reader #draco x poc! reader #draco x black!reader

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crookswithbooks · 4 years ago

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Unwanted Company

Day Six - Blitzo is lonely and Stolas is horny. Together, they make a wonderful pair.

Christmas in Hell was an interesting affair.

Being a commemoration of the birth of their tormenter, most demons chose to celebrate the holidays by burning Christ memorabilia or getting drunk and cursing his names in the streets. Sometimes both. Others merely ignored the holiday, seeing it as just another winter day, or in other words just another day as winter in Hell was essentially the same as every other season in Hell, i.e. terrible and on fire.

Stolas was an exception to this rule. As a mortal he had loved the holidays, and that love had transferred over into the afterlife. He liked to see it as less of a celebration of Jesus and more a celebration of capitalism and beautiful aesthetics. That was more his style. Unfortunately, the rest of his family did not share his love for the season. He was subjected to another series of lectures by Estelle when she discovered wreaths hung about the house, lectures that involved the catapulting of many an object towards his face, and Octavia merely groaned and left the room whenever he tried to coerce her into a Christmas carol.

Thus Stolas was forced to turn to his one source of comfort when his family decided that even they were fed up with his shenanigans. He twirled the phone wire around his fingertip as he waited for the call to pick up.

“Oh Blitzy~!”

On the other end of the line, Blitzo felt one of his eyes twitch. He was already in a terrible mood and this phone call was the cherry on top of the shit sandwich. As it happened, Blitzo was not a Christmas person. He was happy to take advantage of the season’s marketability for his business, but even that only served to sink his spirits more than they already were. It was depressing to watch the atrocious acts that greed prompted humans to commit.

Now he found himself curled up in his office chair, all alone with not even Moxxie or Millie to keep him company; both of them had taken a day off for the holidays even though Blitzo knew for a fact that neither of them bought into the Christmas spirit either. He had invited Loona to join him but the conversation had lasted for about two seconds before she flipped him off and went to go burn down a building with her friends for anarchical reasons.

He was lonely. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but it was true. So it was just his luck that he was to receive a phone call from the one person he would never choose to spend the holidays with.

“What do you want you piece of shit dicklord?” Blitzo grumbled, slumping down on his desk so that his chin rested in his arms. He was too tired to be genuinely angry at him and so his words were devoid of their usual ferocity.

“You flatter me. I was wondering if you wanted to join me for the evening? I was thinking we could…” Stolas smiled as images flashed through his mind. “Entertain each other?”

Blitzo opened his mouth to tell him to fuck off but found himself pausing. He had caught a glance of the picture hanging over his desk, one of him and the rest of I.M.P smiling after a successful kill. Blitzo had his arms clutched around them and the others smiled up at him, admit a bit reluctantly. He stared around again at his empty office and before he knew what he was doing, he said, “Okay.”

“…Okay?” Stolas, who moments before had been lounging casually upon his bed, now sat up, a hint of hope and confusion coloring his tone. “Okay, you want to join me for Christmas?”

“Yes?” Blitzo cringed further into the safety of his arms. What the hell was he doing? Surely he couldn’t be considering spending any amount of time with the horniest owl lord in hell, and yet… It was too late to take back his words so he pushed forward, hoping not to regret them further. “We’re not doing anything, just to be clear. However, I don’t… entirely hate the concept of your presence right now. So… what do you say?”

Stolas had no idea what had prompted the change of heart, but he wasn’t about to turn down an offer like that. “I would love that. And you’re sure this is what you want?”

Weirdly, Blitzo was.

When he arrived he was greeted with a text that merely read Meet me on the balcony ;), thus implying that the use of a front door was one they would be forgoing that night. Blitzo sighed and prepared for the painful climb up the tangled tresses and onto the sculpted balcony. He pulled himself over the last rung with a pained grunt, using the length of his tail to secure him the rest of the way over. At first he didn’t see anyone and he was almost worried he had fallen for one of Stolas’ tricks despite himself. That was when he noticed the owl demon skulking in the shadows of the doorway, the light from the moon casting specters on his looming form.

“Hello Blitzy,” he greeted softly, his head tilted incredulously to one side. “I didn’t think you’d really come.”

“Yeah, well, I almost didn’t,” Blitzo confessed bitterly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Truthfully speaking, I have no idea why I’m here. I hate a lot of people, and I mean a lot of people, but you take the cake for the filthiest scum of the earth I’ve ever encountered.”

“The night’s still early for talk like that.” Stolas waltzed forward, his steps a lilting, sensuous thing. Blitzo found himself staring, hating himself for doing so. As much as he insisted it was purely business to friends and co-workers, Blitzo couldn’t deny that he didn’t entirely hate their nights together. It certainly beat whatever plans he would have had for the evenings. Stolas leaned on the railing besides him, his gaze piercing as he stared down at Blitzo. Later the imp would deny the blush that crawled unwanted up his neck.

“I’m fairly certain I said nothing was happening tonight,” Blitzo reminded him, brushing off his pants. “I just wanted some company and you happened to be the easiest solution.”

“Of course,” Stolas agreed, nodding enthusiastically. “I would never think of doing anything untoward to you. I know our past has been mostly, or rather completely, sexual in nature, but I do have interests outside of intercourse you know.”

Blitzo scoffed. “Oh, like what? And please never say intercourse like that again. I feel like I need to take a shower.”

Stolas traced a fingernail across the railing, a slow, lazy path. Blitzo’s throat went dry and he reminded himself again that nothing was happening that night. His body, however, did not seem to get the memo. “I am a fan of stargazing myself and I’m actually quite a good herbalist. I’ve also been known to enjoy conversation from time to time. What about you? Any interests outside of your own personal pleasure?”

“Every interest is to serve my personal pleasure,” Blitzo said smugly, his tail coiling tauntingly behind him. “It’s the only real thing worth pursuing in this dump of a hellhole we’re all living in. I don’t have time or use for hobbies.”

“Is that why you’re so interested in killing?” Stolas prompted. “It provides you pleasure to watch others fail and die?” There was no malice or judgement in his voice, just plain curiosity. Blitzo hesitated a moment before answering.

“It pays the bills,” he said at last, the current line of questioning making him strangely uncomfortable. “I don’t really like it so much as it’s convenient. Not to mention those assholes deserved it. Not a single human gets by without doing something disgustingly rotten to someone else and damning themselves for all eternity. Why do you think we have such an overpopulation issue?”

“But you can’t really believe that, can you?” Stolas insisted, drawing closer to the imp. Blitzo’s skin prickled with goosebumps and he took an instinctual step back. “Surely there’s some good in people. At least one of them?”

“There isn’t,” Blitzo snarled, anger fueling into his voice to make up for his discomfort. “And I know for a fact you don’t believe so either.”

“Ah, you caught me,” Stolas admitted, but instead of moving back in defeat he only drew in closer. This time Blitzo found himself unable to move, his feet seemingly stuck to the floor. “I find humanity to be quite undeserving of any kind of mercy. But I know you don’t.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh but I do.” Stolas met his gaze, but something had softened in his eyes and it was no longer the predatory look from before. “I don’t just want you for your body, you know. I’ve watched you with your supposed ‘co-workers’—I’ve seen the way you look at them. You care for them. That’s why you’re here with me tonight. I’m a replacement for them, aren’t I?”

Angry heat flashed through Blitzo and he moved to step away but Stolas caught his wrist in one hand. His grip was surprisingly strong, a fact that did many things to the imp. “Don’t lie to me. Not on Christmas.”

“Oh please,” Blitzo snorted, rolling his eyes and ignoring the pounding of his heart. “You don’t really buy into all that cheap Christ stuff, do you? It’s just a scam to sell candy and toys to desperate parents. Christmas spirit is just a lie we tell ourselves to sleep better at night.”

“Maybe I don’t believe all of it,” Stolas admitted, his other hand sliding down Blitzo’s throat and curling around the base of his neck. Blitzo felt a shudder work its way down his body and he cursed the fact that this always happened whenever he got around the other demon. “But is it so wrong to want to celebrate, to spend time with the people you love?”

“What about your own family, huh?” Blitzo shot back, the words his only defense mechanism as Stolas slowly unraveled him. “You have a real one so why don’t you spend this stupid holiday with them?”

For a moment the seductive façade faded and it was just Stolas, eyes widened and beak tightened into a frown. “They’re busy,” he snapped quickly, and the look was gone before Blitzo could evaluate it too heavily. “Besides, I’m spending it with you. Per your agreement, if you remember.”

He took another step forward so that their two bodies were pressed flush up against the railing. Blitzo’s hands tightened on the cold metal and he averted his eyes. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“Then stop me,” Stolas said in reply, knowing for a fact that the imp wouldn’t. As he leaned down, the heat of their bodies mingling, Blitzo considered breaking the moment, pursuing the look on Stolas face from earlier. In the end though, he decided they would have enough time to discuss it later that next morning, after the events of the night had faded into a distant dream.

Right then, though, Blitzo had a horny demon owl to attend to.

#hazbin hotel #blitzo #stolas #stolitz #helluva boss #stolas x blitzo #twelve days of ficmas #fanfiction #christmas

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unidentifiedflyingfks · 3 years ago

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Movie: FINAL GIRL (2015)

Cast: ABIGAIL BRESLIN of Little Miss Sunshine and Zombieland

WES BENTLEY of and The Hunger Games, Yellowstone, and my personal favorite P2

ALEXANDER LUDWIG also of The Hunger Games and Vikings

This movie has literally kept me up all night with questions. Mainly how did they get Abigail Breslin, Wes Bentley, and Ragnar Jr. all to agree to be in this awful movie? Then, answering my own question, can literally anyone with $$ make a movie and pay reasonably well known actors to play in it? Then, is everybody fucking with me?

***Side note: the term ‘final girl’ is a common trope in horror referring to the last girl left alive, or the survivor. (Ex. Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween)

The director, Tyler Shields, is better known for his photography career and before that professional inline skating, funnily enough, where he worked alongside the likes of Tony Hawk and other pro skaters. His photography seems to be centered around shock value with works including items like black guys lynching a KKK member, Lindsay Lohan as a vampire, a crocodile biting a crocodile skin purse, and more recently a photo of Kathy Griffin holding what looks like Donald Trump’s severed head. (Spoiler alert: Donald didn’t take it well) Basically all playing off of easy to reach social issues that will exploit controversy without offering anything other than surface level discomfort IMO. Final Girl was his debut film and while I will credit its high production value and actors I soo wanted to like, that’s where it ends.

(Tyler shields and his infamous photo)

The movie begins with Wes Bentley’s character interviewing a child (young Breslin) who just lost her parents under seemingly violent circumstances. She demonstrates puzzle solving skills and seemingly photographic memory as well as a apathetic view of death—as when she says “death happens” right after the death of her parents. So Bentley recruits her for **something** hard that most people can’t do. He also reveals his wife and child were killed by **someone** (not the villains the whole plot centers around because if they’re seniors in high school at the time they would have been about 6 when his wife was killed assuming it was recent to the death of Breslin’s parents since we’re…. ah doesn’t even matter. Too stupid.)

First of all, I love Abigail Breslin. She’s beautiful, funny, and I especially like her as #5 on Scream Queens. Buttttt, let’s keep it real she was horrible for this role. It was never believable that she was an elite agent trained since childhood to mirk people with her bare hands. That being said, her training basically consisted of talking yourself up, choking Bentley, and taking DMT (Also, what?) so it’s not all on her. I would have even been with it if she used her aforementioned puzzle solving skills and smarts to beat the boys, but instead were treated to unrealistic fights scenes with Breslin’s character takes multiple punches to the face while looking the daintiest I’ve ever seen her.

Stop there if you’d like, you have the jist, but there is a little more.

Anyway it all starts when she’s launched on her mission. Is it the first mission of many, or what she’s been training for her whole life, we don’t know. Breslin befriends a girl in a 50’s style diner with instant milkshakes and they start talking about their love interests. The girl has the hots for a guy other than her boyfriend, and Breslin has the hots for her mentor/dad (basically, right? It’s Wes Bentley I get it, but it’s still kindaaa weird right?) That encounter amounts to very little then Breslin meets Jameson, Alexander Ludwigs of ‘Vikings’, who dresses for prom and invites her out. (Yeah, that’s all I got too)

They meet up with Jameson’s three dumb friends and they’re all wearing their prom garb too. Then they drive out into the wilderness to some teenage drinkin and fuckin couches in the woods—again, not that you’ll see any fuckin’ inthis movie, killin’ motivated crimes only for these teen boys. Breslin’s pops out some DMT laced liquor for the boys and they start playing a game of truth or dare out of a bag for some reason. After a weird spiel from Jameson about a rabbit he feels bad about letting die slowly, Breslin conveniently draws ‘get tied up’ from the truth-or-dare bag. She’s tied behind the back, not that it really matters because she gets out instantly. Then they tell her their plan for the four of them to hunt her down ‘The Most Dangerous Game’ style. They give her five minutes to run, but one guy is too eager to kill her and runs off before the five minutes is up. Luckily he’s tripping balls by now in the way only people who have never tripped any balls imagine tripping balls is like, so while he’s battling two deadmou5e-like apparitions Breslin can steal his axe and kill him with it. Now she’s armed, oh never mind she left the axe in that guy’s chest.

Then she kills another hallucinating guy after taking a couple blows, then she goes after the third guy. Number 3 is also clone kid #7 from UltraViolet, his worst fear is that his girlfriend, the one from the 50’s diner, is fucking Jameson—which she is—and also that she will find out about their “hunting trips” and he will have to kill her for it. After hallucinating all of this, including a fist fight with Jameson who apparently isn’t even there, it is revealed to be Breslin’s character encouraging his hallucinations the whole time. She then kills UltraViolet-child-actor with a rock to the face in the the best kill scene of the film.

(See?)

The only one remaining at this point is Jameson, who incidentally is the only boy who didn’t take the DMT laced drink. Breslin is beat up and exhausted by the time Jameson encounters her. Before THEIR fistfight they engage in a game of wits (not For realz). They each answer each other’s questions with Breslin revealing she enjoyed killing the boys and Jameson AKA Ragnar Jr. admitting they’d already killed 20 women the same way. He then asks her to join him and continue killing together, but she declines, they fist fight, she chokes him like she choked Bentley in the beginning, and drugs him.

(This is the high school goof supposedly responsible for 20 murders. I just can’t get over this. As an avid reader of true crime, numbers like this are unheard of for a guy of his age. Also are we supposed to believe 4 guys in Tuxedos in this seemingly small town have killed 20 women and no one noticed? GTFO)

When Jameson wakes, he’s in a noose on a stump teeter tottering for his life as he starts to hallucinate. He satisfactorily begs Breslin for mercy, then is overtaken by his worst fear—the ghosts of his victims who startle him off the stump and to his death by strangulation.

After Ragnar Jr’s dead, Bentley walks out of the forest with a sniper rifle and I almost freaked TF out. I don’t feel good about comparing it to LOTR, but it’s like Gandalf calling in the giant eagles to take Frodo home after he’s travelled a third of the world to get there ON FOOT. What. Was. The. Point. Seriously. (Actually seriously—would the birds have been corrupted by the ring of power, or is that just like a major plot hole? And was Breslin on hard drugs for a little while and I didn’t hear about it?)

Anyway, after that Breslin and Bentley go to a diner, order pancakes, agree that they taste terrible, and that’s it. The end.

I know you may be thinking ‘yeah unidentifiedflyingfks, but your missing the deeper meaning—they all took the DMT and it made them face their worst fears!’ Yeah—I get that, but it still doesn’t mean it works. I would have literally rather it be magic than DMT. They’d probably all have different reactions and probably not even be incapacitated in the ways depicted in the movie. For it to expose everyone’s ‘worst fears’ is fucking magic anyway so let’s go ahead call a spade a lazy, half baked plot line, m’kay?

What really irks me about this movie though, is it could have been good. Have Breslin act within her skill set and find ways for her to use them that make sense, or at least give her some boxing classes and have her lift weights for Christ’s sake. Also these teens have killed 20 girls already? Where did they even come from? Also Bentley knew and this was the best way he could come up with to take them down? And who told him to act like a total weirdo creep in every scene? I don’t expect much. If you can’t make it good make it funny and this was neither. I wanted to like this movie, I still like Breslin and Bentley, but for as many reviews I read that wanted to give it 0 stars and couldn’t, I will. Never forget…. Oh never mind forget it all.

***0/5 FF’s, first certified TERRIBLE MOVIE!!

Here’s some user comments I found 😂😂 ->

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themockingcrows · 3 years ago

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Doki Doki Grist Panic! Ch. 5

This chapter is SFW!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802735/chapters/79743136

“Bullshit,” Dirk said, leg crossing over the other pointedly, arms over his chest. “There is no way in Hell you got a freebie that nice. There’s gotta be a price.”

It’d been a long while since he’d been in their area, and even longer since he’d sat down with them civilly. Dave would’ve been happier if he hadn’t made his appearance in the middle of the night, let himself in from the rooftop, and immediately accosted him while he was taking a much needed nap for information. The message from Bro about his safe reappearance had been taken to heart, and he’d hurried there as fast as he was able to flash step and jump. Public transport was for chumps. Bro, needing to keep himself busy while Dirk was in range, was sat in the kitchen making midnight brownies from the box and nibbling a spoonful of batter while the oven preheated.

“So, what. Like. More time taken?” Dave asked, taking his new sword back. “I’ve tried calling the old one out, it won’t come.”

“What about the timetables. Did they get an upgrade too? Or your uniform?”

Dave frowned and kicked back onto the open half of the sofa after dispersing the sword. He was still tired, his head ached, and he was feeling emotionally wrung out by his recent betrayal revelation. Dirk’s pestering questions, some that he’d already answered once, was rubbing wrong on his few nerves.

“He said it was the same far as he could tell, remember,” Bro piped up, finally able to put the batter into the pan before popping the spoon back into his mouth to hold it instead of dropping it in the sink.

“What he said.”

Dirk furrowed his brow and shook his head. “I still call bullshit. When I got my weapon upgrade it had a price. A pretty noticeable one.”

“What was so bad about your price, didn’t it just fuck with your powers?”

“It fucked with my humanity, but go off I guess,” Dirk muttered, finally unfolding his arms to lean back into the sofa more comfortably. “The whole heart rending thing started seeping out even when I didn’t want it to. It took a while for me to feel safe around people. I. ...I felt things too strongly,” he explained. “All my emotions were off kilter, and behind it all this intense blankness.”

“Sounds normal,” Dave snorted. “You’re the king of the poker face.”

“Excuse the fuck outta me, he’s just the prince,” Bro said, popping the spoon out of his mouth. “MY ass is the king, kid’s got room to grow before he hits that rank.”

“Before my heart starts giving out like yours did, you mean,” Dirk said flatly, eyeing Bro as he closed the oven with a bit more force than needed. It was still a sore spot, after all. Spoon in the sink, he came around to the futon with the bowl on offer. Dave took it up and ran his finger around the traces of fudgy lines within before popping a glob worth into his mouth with a hum.

“It didn’t start weakenin’ this bad till after I gave everything up. More fees.”

“This bad. Which means it started when you were still working,” Dirk said. “Believe me when I say I’ve been on top of this shit ever since taking up the mantle after you. I might not be as OP as you were just yet, but I’m already pretty fuckin’ close, which means I’m keeping an eye out for all the little sneaky ways I’m gettin’ fucked over by Yaldabaoth.”

An agent of heart in the literal and metaphorical sense, it made sense that was what his prices would be linked to. Dave glanced at his own hands for a moment, wondering if it was true of himself as well, if his most recent upgrade had taken more time from him without his knowing. If so, how much was gone now? He used to have at least a basic sense, could keep track, but now what? What if it had taken a few years from him without his knowing? What if more was coming in the form of an upgrade to some other aspect of his powers? Were they already upgraded like the sword without him noticing…? Why did the beings that ruled their lives and souls demand so much for them in exchange for these powers. Was it to keep them expendable? In a sense they were being built like glass cannons, cosmic powers crammed into fragile bodies. It made sense there’d be some breakages along the way, and it made even more sense that those beings wouldn’t give too much of a shit considering there would always be another to take the mantle afterwards.

Dirk was watching him from the corner of his eye behind his pointed shades, and eventually he spoke up. “You’ve got that look on your face again. You’re thinking too much.”

“I’m thinking just enough for a guy who might drop dead in battle if I time shit wrong someday,” Dave said. “Just the right amount.”

“Morbid.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Dirk made a face of his own before sighing and looking up to the ceiling. “Fine, fine. ...Man it’s been a while since I saw you. You still growin’?”

“Hardly. Maybe a bit,” Dave admitted. “But I’m done by now, surely. What about you? I didn’t get that good a look at your uniform, but it’s changed hasn’t it?”

Dirk grimaced a bit, but nodded. “Yep. Could’ve done without the pumpkin pants, but what’re ya gonna do, you know?”

“Heels still, too?”

“Mhmm. I miss my flats,” Dirk sighed. He looked to Bro with a frown. “You could’ve warned me the shoes weren’t a personal choice.”

“Kid, you think I’d run around fightin’ in heels for fun? What am I, Sailor Mars? Besides, excuse me for bein’ a little bitter at tossin’ the torch over, but I figured you’d deal with it when it happened, and I was right.”

“Ninja in heels, nice,” Dave smirked. “Can I see the uniform? I haven’t gotten a decent look at it in a while, and definitely not since the upgrade.”

“Man, I already bounced my ass all the way over here in it, can you just see it next time?”

“Might not be a next time,” Dave pointed out. “I’ve still got a prick to take care of, I don’t know how big a cut that new sword did on my time, and new enemies can turn up at any time even on your turf. You know that.”

Bro looked amused instead of upset. “You heard him, let’s see how you’re fillin’ the uniform out and makin’ it your own,” he said, gesturing a turn around gesture with one hand as he leaned over the back of the futon to snag the bowl back from Dave once most of the chocolate seemed to be gone.

“Dicks, the both of you,” Dirk grumbled, but pushed up from his comfy spot on the futon with a sigh. Bidding farewell to his comfortable sneakers, he stepped back and set his hand over his chest, lowering his head down as he focused. The light started near his feet and above his head at the same time in a solid ring of fuschia, before quickly snapping down to meet each other in the center as if drawn by strong magnets. Wherever the rings passed changed into the uniform he bore, the white sheer stockings, the black and white ankle boots with the noticeable heel and strap. The fuschia pumpkin pants, the green ribbon hemming the bottom in a sturdy woven pattern, the princely tailcoat and ribbons, the fanned sleeves with the matching green ribbon hem woven in on the edges, the fingerless gloves. The fact that the uniform was finished with a small jeweled tiara added a bit of flash that hadn’t been quite the same before. Dave grinned, but Dirk immediately drew his katana from the air and pointed it towards him.

“What,” Dave said flatly, unimpressed.

“What do you think?” Dirk said. “Wanna head up to the roof, do a bit of practice?”

“...Man, I’m tired, it’s the middle of the night, I’ve got enough shit to worry about. What if there’s another attack?”

“I’m here to back you up if there is,” Dirk said, unmoving. “I wanna see your upgrade in action, measure how close we are now in power.” There was no playfulness in his voice now, flat as his expression, controlled. He stared while barely blinking, and the way he held his sword meant it’d be just as easy to swing it Bro’s direction as well. One step forward and he’d draw blood on Dave as it was.

Dave’s stomach settled uncomfortably. He didn’t want to do this. Sparring as practice was one thing, but sometimes Dirk could get a bit… odd when under Yaldabaoth’s influence. Seemingly even more so now compared to the last time they’d been in close contact. It’d been stupid to goad him into changing in hindsight, but what could he really do?

“Stop pointing that at me and I might.”

“Make me.”

“If you start shit inside this apartment I swear to Christ I’ll whoop both your asses, magic or none, don’t even test me,” Bro warned. “Rooftop’s your best bet, somewhere quiet outside off town’d be even better. Don’t need a light show attractin’ attention to where you live, y’know?”

Dirk glanced at him without moving before slowly lowering the sword and putting it away. “Fine then. You’re right enough, I’d hate to cause problems for you despite appearances. How about we make it interesting, then. Race to the outskirts of town, have our spar. Loser buys breakfast for everyone tomorrow and has to go pick it up.”

“You’re stayin’ the night?” Bro asked, confused.

“Of course I am, I’m not hauling my ass back home instantly after coming all this way,” he scoffed. “Might stay tomorrow too if you let me. Make a mini vacation out of it.”

Awkward, Dave got up from the futon once the sword was put away, sighed, and changed. His uniform felt the same as before, no changes, though after a bit of rest he did think he felt a bit lighter at least. Dirk cocked his head.

“Did you always have shoulder and forearm guards?”

“Wha- Fucking. God damn it,” he hissed. So there were changes after all. Subtle, but there. The shoulder guards were layered and matched the fabric below, while the forearm guards were black and white, disappearing beneath the edges of his gloves. His silhouette was becoming more knightly, he supposed. What was next, full body armor? How would he move in that?

“Interesting. ...Come on, then. There’s a race ahead of us,” Dirk said with a playful looking smirk finally. It made Dave relax somewhat, knowing there was still some lightheartedness to it, but it didn’t relieve him entirely. There was still a fight ahead, and without someone where to pull them apart meant he’d either need to yield and get Dirk to believe him, or manage to beat him to make it stop no doubt.

All three went to the rooftop, Bro standing with his hands in his pockets, feet bare on the rough surface, minding the spot Dave had been feeding birds before where they left scraps of seeds behind. Dirk and Dave approached the edge of the roof, while Dirk gestured further out towards the darkness beyond the city’s edge.

“First one there gets first strike.”

“I can’t guarantee that, what if I get there second and sneak attack you,” Dave complained.

“Well, now it’s not a sneak attack, is it. Guess you’ll just have to get there first and do whatever you want, then,” Dirk shrugged. “C’mon Dave, let’s get going,” he said, bending his knees and jumping off the edge of the building. He fell for a ways, Dave peering over the edge to watch him go, and angled towards another building as he went, beginning to run and bounce from roof to roof at speed.

“Better hurry up,” Bro said, coming closer to see how far ahead Dirk was getting. “You’ll be fine. I don’t think he’ll do anything too serious. There’ll be brownies here when ya’ll get back. Or at least there should be, no promises if you take forever.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’. God damn it,” Dave muttered, stepping back a few paces to get a running jump of things before bouncing off the roof into a freefall. His cape whipped back from his body in the wind, and he’s sure he gave someone a heart attack if they were looking at the right time, but he had somewhere to be and no time to walk down the flights of stairs and deal with the creaky ass elevator that rarely ever worked. He landed on the next roof solidly enough it rattled him for a moment, recovering enough to rise and begin to ping pong between buildings after Dirk’s distant form. Dare he slow time to catch up…? It’d make things more fair, right? They hadn’t started at the exact same time, and if Dirk had this ability surely he’d do it too.

The gears appeared in the air behind him, bright and steadily ticking as he jumped and bounced around from place to place, spinning faster for a moment as he summoned the timetables and gave them a spin. Time slowed, the streets below moving at a crawl, and Dirk in the distance slowing down. Making use of this limited burst of slowness, Dave put away the timetables and rushed forward with his head lowered, scaling a wall to gain some extra height before taking another long bouncing leap. Soon enough he was caught up with Dirk, and as he bounced past him, time sped back up.

“Son of a-” he heard Dirk hiss behind him.

He heard a crackle, and just managed to dodge what looked like a shot of pink lightning that had been aimed at his back.

“Dude, what the fuck!” he cried, not daring to stop running now, breathless. The buildings were shorter now, further apart, they’d have to start going down the streets soon, scaring people in their backyards with flashes of color.

“You used powers, I can use powers,” Dirk defended. “Or would you rather this?” he asked, shimmering the air as he pulled his sword out and rushed close enough to take a swing before Dave bounced off the building's edge to the next one once again.

“I’d rather none of it!” Dave shouted at him, pulling his broadsword out so he wouldn’t be bare handed as they rushed along. He wanted to spar on the way TO the sparring spot? Fine. He turned on his heel and took a swing, barely missing Dirk’s legs as he forced a jump sooner. Dirk landed a few feet away with a well timed click of his heels on the rooftop, eyes vivid in the darkness, accented from below by a streetlight. Instead of continuing to run though, he ran at him with his blade ready to strike, forcing Dave to go on the defense again and try to parry the strike.

A katana versus a broadsword would always have an advantage of speed, of being able to rush strikes in, to cut the air cleaner. A broadsword however had stopping power. If Dave could land hits, they’d matter much more. He managed to land one after deflecting several of Dirk’s flurry strikes, slashing down hard to make him back off long enough to start running again. They were NOT going to have this battle on a rooftop damn it, they were gonna have it on the solid ground an-

Dirk struck him out of midair with a bout of pink lightning that seared along Dave’s spine and rattled his soul. He felt his heart hammering as he tucked, ducked, and rolled onto the street below, a bit dazed as he stood up and raised his sword in preparation. There was next to no time till Dirk came after him again from above, having to block strongly enough that he skidded backwards a few paces under the force. Blades still locked, Dirk grinned and leaned forwards.

“Gets your blood flowing, doesn’t it.”

“God you’re creepy sometimes, y’know that?” Dave grunted, breaking the block and brute forcing Dirk back. Strong as Dirk could be, Dave was still physically stronger than him hand to hand even out of uniform, and he knew how to use it to his advantage. The fact he had to do it in the middle of the street was annoying, though.

“Car,” Dirk said, casually turning and crouching before leaping away like a magical rabbit, leaving Dave to stand there in the headlights staring down the confused driver and passengers. He grinned awkwardly, waved, then turning and jumped off into the night as well after Dirk, praying they could actually make it outside of town before getting tangled up again.

No such luck. The Walmart parking lot was their next battle site, Dirk striking Dave down out of the air with his knees and forcing him to avoid parked cars once again. They struggled in close proximity before separating far enough to exchange blows, till Dave finally grimaced and slowed time once more.

“Cheate-!” Dirk started as soon as he saw the timetables come out, voice distorted and pink energy crackling from his free hand, unmoving. Dave caught his breath. He adjusted his grip. When the timer counted down in his head, he sprung forward on the attack and forced Dirk to his back, dodging the lightning by planting a knee on the middle of his arm.

“Man can we stop already?” Dave asked, gritting his teeth right afterwards as Dirk struggled to push the sword back away from his neck. “I don’t wanna whip your ass up and down this parkin’ lot, but if you make me I will. I wanna eat brownies and take a fuckin’ nap.”

“You gonna eat brownies and take a nap when your wannabe boyfriend comes back? Gonna go easy on him again?” Dirk spat. Ouch. Sore spot. “At least my affairs are in order and my job is my top priority.”

“Bullshit, what about Jake.”

“Don’t bring him into this.”

Dave hissed when Dirk managed to force him off, tackling him down. The swords were abandoned as they wrestled back and forth, Dave’s cape tangling around them as he tried to keep Dirk’s hands from aiming a proper strike at him. He wound up flat on his back with Dirk over top of him, clung to his wrists to keep them down and not directly useful.

“The whole reason you switched locations was because of him! And you’re still not datin’ yet!�� Dave said, grunting when Dirk suddenly got a surge of strength and damn well knew how to use it. He managed to get one hand loose, but instead of letting out his lightning, he balled his fist up and decked Dave across the face. Dave shoved his hand up into Dirk’s face, bashing his nose with the heel of his palm before scrabbling for his wrist again and dragging it down. Blood began to pour from Dirk’s nose, dripping down steadily off his lips and chin and onto Dave’s chest.

“He’s signed under Abraxas, it’d never work. Yaldabaoth’s a bastard when it comes to those who work under them as it is, add in that it’d be impossible,” Dirk grunted, straining, wishing he hadn’t dropped his sword.

“You don’t know that!”

“Shut up, you almost fucked an alien who wants to kill the Earth, you’re in no position to give me romantic advice while I’m trying to kick your ass!” Dirk cried, wrenching his hands free and raising both up towards the sky. Moments before he could slam them down on Dave’s chest, time slowed to a complete stop. Face sore and tasting blood, Dave scrambled out from beneath Dirk and crawled quickly for the swords. He kicked Dirk’s further away before grabbing his broadsword and standing, waiting till the timer ran out to swing a solid strike at his back. When Dirk went down, he stepped hard on the center of his upper back and set the blade against the side of his neck in warning.

“Yield, dude, I’m done,” Dave said simply. “I wanna go home, I wanna eat brownies, I want a nap. I’ll deal with the threat when it’s time. It’s stupid to bust each other’s asses when what I could really use is someone to talk strategy with,” he admitted. “...I think there’s somethin’ I could use your powers for, specifically, but I’d need to figure out what to do first. That is, if you’d even be willin’ to help me with it.”

“...God damn it I didn’t wanna buy breakfast for everyone,” Dirk muttered, breaths heaving, fists curled tight in their gloves.

“Yield,” Dave said more seriously, pushing the blade against Dirk’s neck enough to draw blood. He couldn’t trust him till he said it, not entirely.

With a sigh, Dirk relaxed his body. “Fine. I yield.”

Sending away his broadsword, Dave leaned down and offered Dirk a hand up to his feet. He waited a moment before taking it, hesitating just enough Dave worried, but the way he clasped his hand afterward was warm as ever. Comforting. “Y’know, we’re lucky if this doesn’t wind up online somewhere as two freaks in cosplay brawlin’ at a Walmart.”

“Bet it’s already up there with the others,” Dirk smirked. “Maybe it’s on a fan page.”

“A fan page? You think people give a shit about us enough to make a fan page ?”

“Hey, they’re common in Japan as it is, they’re common in Europe. I’d be shocked if there’s not several already for us. Just under no names since we don’t give any when we do shit.”

“Maybe. ...God, what if they make a movie,” Dave said with a grimace, only now realizing how possible that actually was. Merchandising deals, even. All without him seeing a cent of it. Damn, what a thankless job.

“I’d say knock on wood, but honestly it’s pointless with how many of us there are workin’ at any given time. If it’s not us, it’ll be one of them,” Dirk shrugged, dusting himself down. He sighed, collected his sword, and sent it away. “C’mon, let’s get back so you can have your damn brownies you were bellyachin’ about. You can tell me about your plan while we eat.”

“Look, box mix brownies are god tier, and we’ve got ice cream somewhere in the freezer too unless Bro ate it without me knowin’, combine them and you’ve got a winnin’ combination. Who up at half past fuck off in the mornin’ wouldn’t want a piece of that?”

Dirk smirked a bit. Dave was still so young… They weren’t even that far apart in age, and he just seemed so young by comparison. Maybe it was just him. Maybe it was Yaldabaoth’s opinion at work. But that such a fresh face and wide eyes could save the world just as readily as himself was really something to take in.

“You’ve got a point.”

#homestuck #dave strider #dirk strider #bro strider #my fic #magical boy fic hell yeah hell yeah

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bnha-soulchild-au · 4 years ago

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By the age of ten Bukugo Katsuki is convinced he doesn't have any soul bonds. He’s seen the marks on his skin, but he doesn’t believe them for not even one fucking second.

Why should he anyway? It’s not like anyone out there cared even one bit about him.

Well one person might.

He shook his head fiercely, he needed to snap out of it. He didn’t want to think about him, with his wide green eyes and innocent smile. He was close enough to sparking up as it was, it was never a good idea to make it any worse with anger.

He had three marks, if his parents were to be believed. One was a simple black cat, taking a nap with its tail hanging over a ledge. That one was believable enough, simple, it could be anybody really.

The second was a black needle and a red thread, his mother told him that must be his mark for her, since she worked in the fashion industry. He hated that this one fit, that it worked. He hated the fact that he could possibly be bound to the hag by fate. He hated that it meant that every fucked up thing she did to him was justified in the eyes of fate.

He hated that it meant that he was supposed to be here, stewing in frustration and humiliation as the gloves slowly absorbed his sweat. He was quite literally a ticking time bomb, if he so much as moved too quickly his hands would be utterly scorched.

He hated the fact that it meant he somehow deserved it.

The only thing that made it better, was the fact that he had a green mark. It was a green key with two bunny-like ears, he could have laughed. Green marks didn’t exist.

Nobody out there had ever had a green mark, it was unheard of. It made him think that the whole thing was a hoax, an elaborate lie his parents told him to keep him in check. He might not have any soul marks for all he knew, not real ones anyway.

He was fine with that...

...and he was fine, all the way up until the end of his work study with Best Jeanist.

He hadn’t looked at the marks in years, he hadn’t thought about them in years, they were irrelevant, meaningless. Just shapes and colors, there was no meaning to them.

He hadn’t liked the man, he came off as a snob and was always telling him to play nice and smile for the people. It was all pointless showmanship, and by the end of his internship he hadn’t learned a single damn thing, much less been in a real fight.

He got more violence at home in a single night than he got this whole damn week, it was absolutely pathetic.

On the last day of his internship though, something happened. As Jeanist combed gently through his hair, Katsuki noticed something. It was barely visible in the shadow of his long sleeved denim costume, but it was a flash of red just showing in his vision as Jeanist worked from behind him. He had to wait until he got another glance as he repeated the motion, to fully comprehend what he was seeing. It was just on the inside of his wrist, a black explosion in the shape of a mushroom cloud, with a small red heart inside of it.

Katsuki felt a wake of chills hit him, almost instinctively he could tell that the mark was his. He didn’t know how he knew but he knew. That was his mark and Jeanist had it. Katsuki did his best to hide it, the internal crisis he was having as his whole world seemed to be knocked off kilter.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

It was all he could think about, he was running on autopilot, while his mind shut down entirely trying to process that the marks were real and he’d just felt what it was like to find a soul parent.

He couldn’t deny that they were real, not any more, and Katsuki was suddenly overwhelmed with multiple emotions at once, shame that he was bonded permanently to his wretched mother, fear about what the fucking hell a green mark might possibly mean, and some amount of shock that there was one right here, a soul parent.

He wondered dully why he’s never felt this sensation with either of his parents before.

Dragging him forcefully from his thoughts, Jeanist started to speak. “I know that you’re probably disappointed with how this week went. I know we didn’t see much action.”

The gears clicked in Katsuki’s mind after a moment of silence passed between them. He realized that he was expected to reply and gave a simple grunt. “Damn right I am….”. He couldn’t muster more venom than that though, not with his mind as it was. He needed to destroy something before it became too much, he could already feel the nitroglycerin coating his sweaty palms. His racing thoughts made him sweat and he needs to blow it up before it hurts someone.

Though, in this close proximity to Jeanist, the idea was pushed down. With the amount of nitroglycerin built up, all he’d do is either hurt Jeanist or startle him and neither of which was good.

“I do hope you understand why I had you do the exercises I did.” Jeanist prompted, clearly goading Katsuki for a better answer. There’s that condescending tone again, he could practically hear him tilt up his nose in disdain. How the actual hell could he be my soul parent?

“Of course, I fucking do! I’m not a dumbass.” He latched on to the anger, it was familiar, not like the utter confusion that had come with the discovery of the mark.

Jeanist hummed placatingly as he continued to comb through his hair, the damn guy was really into this shit. He was so intensely focused on it that he hadn’t looked anywhere else, it was probably the only thing that saved Katsuki’s sudden change in demeanor from being noticed. “Oh, then tell me. Why did I?”

Katsuki would literally rather be doing anything else, but no, here he was a grown-ass teenager, having his hair done like he was some girl’s doll. The answer he said tasted bitter in his mouth. Especially as he remembered the echo of his mother’s voice screaming similar sentiments just the other day.

“...everyone thinks I’m a villain, because of the way I reacted to being chained to the pedestal at the sports festival. “. Katsuki huffed, doing his best to keep the undesirable emotions from his voice, keying up the annoyance as a cover. It was still lingering just below the surface.

That was his fucking soul parent he was talking to, holy shit.

He violently pushed the desire to just ask the man about the mark on his wrist down. Get your shit together you were in the middle of a damn conversation.

“In order to be a hero, the public needs to trust me right, that’s your damn point, and people won’t trust someone like me?” Katsuki added, summing up the week's events in a single conversation. Tsunagu gave him an affectionate pat to the shoulder.

Why the hell is he so chummy, all I’ve done this week was cuss and yell at him? That wasn’t guilt he felt, he swore to god it wasn’t.

“I’m glad, I was convinced you didn’t listen to a single word I said this week. It seems like I was wrong.” Jeanist finished up his work and spun the chair around so Katsuki was facing him. The man was smiling warmly, the denim mask didn’t hide the way the creases at the corners of his eyes hinted at the smile.

“So what you’re saying is that I have to pretend to be someone I’m not, just to make people happy? That sounds like bullshit.” Katsuki found himself seriously considering what Jeanist was saying for the first time this week, and that was his honest assessment. This was bullshit, so long as he saved their sorry asses they should be grateful. He shouldn’t have to pretend to be nice about it.

Jeanist’s smile faded and he took a moment to consider Katsuki’s question. “Not necessarily, would you say that you are truly to the core a villain?”

Katsuki’s mind froze for a moment, visibly flinching. While Katsuki had hinted at the idea before he hadn’t expected the man in front of him to blatantly ask him about it. If he wasn’t such a mess at the moment, he would have heard the slightly playful tone to the man’s voice, indicating that he didn’t actually believe what he was insinuating. However, when he said those words, all Katsuki could see was his mother. The close connection between the two of them as his supposed soul parents brought to him the stunning realization that everyone believed it, that he was a villain at heart.

For a split second, he considered bolting off, because fuck this. This was too much bullshit and he couldn’t handle it all at once.

Jeanist noticed the change and his brow furrowed slightly in concern. Shit. Calm the fuck down, you asshole of a brain, shut the fuck up just until I can get the hell out of this place, until I can finish this conversation and have some space to breathe. The pro kneeled so that he was eye level to Katsuki, and shit, what the fuck was he supposed to say?

It shouldn’t be that hard of a question. He was going to UA for Christ’s sake, the best hero school in the nation. He was in a hero agency right the fuck now. He was talking to the 4th ranked pro hero in the nation. Why the fucking hell was this such a hard question? Of fucking course he was-

-he was a hero...

...wasn’t he?

All he could see was fucking Deku and his terrified face as he burned his notebook to ashes, as he told him to jump off the roof.

How the hell else was he supposed to deal with that damn nerd?

Especially when the quirkless moron was spouting shit about going to UA to take the entrance exam?

The fucking asshole was going to get himself killed!

What other ch-

“Katsuki?” Jeanist had a hand on his shoulder. The same hand that has that mark. He shook him gently, pulling him from his thoughts. The hero noticed the more focused look in Katsuki’s eyes and continued. “You are a hero, I know that. Sorry, that I didn’t make my intentions more clear.” His brow was still furrowed with concern. “You are a hero, and I may know that, because I know you. However, the person walking down the street only knows you from the media, and the way you act in front of them.” Jeanist sighed. “I only meant to say that you don’t have to pretend. I can see qualities any good hero needs within you, you just need to draw them out.”

He hated how good hearing that made him feel, he hated that his words had affected him so deeply the first time. Is this the soul bond, is there something unnatural making me feel so susceptible to what he’s saying?

Whatever it was Katsuki hated it. He hated caring what his opinion was, because his opinion was the only one he could guarantee was that of his soul parent.

….why was that still getting to him? So what, the hero had a fancy mark on his wrist? What’s the big deal? Does that suddenly make his opinion on Katsuki mean something?

Fucking

Hell

Jeanist decided to add one last statement to his lecture, while Katsuki processed his thoughts. “The only difference between a hero and a villain, is how they use their quirks. You can choose to be a good hero, and nobody can make that choice for you.” Jeanist paused, giving Katsuki time to say something but what the hell should he say. Should he agree? Should he argue? Should he stay quiet?

All he could see was Deku’s stupid face, and hear his mother’s voice telling him how horrible he was. What a horrible child to be bound to for eternity…

..horrible…

..rotten..

..brat…

...demon spawn

...the fucking devil incarnate…

“Katsuki.” The hero’s voice was softer this time, he placed his other hand on his opposite shoulder. God how pathetic must I look to make him wear that expression? The concern was still there, but the man was clearly trying to steady Katsuki. When had he started shaking? He was trembling like a leaf. What the fucking hell is wrong with me today? They were alone in the room, just the two of them. It was silent, except for the two of them. It was like they were wrapped up in their own little world, apart from the rest of reality.

Why is he acting so nice, why the actual hell is he being so nice?

Stuff like this doesn’t normally bother me. Why now?

Katsuki knew why, that mark had given validation to everything that his mother had done to him over the years. That was undeniable proof that the marks were real. That’s why, that’s why it meant so much more when he called him a villain, so much so that for a minute he actually believed him. Even if he hadn’t really said anything at all.

“Tell me what’s going on?” Jeanist gave his shoulders a comforting squeeze. Katsuki’s determination shattered a little at that. It was such an easy way out, stop fighting and let him take over, let him ask questions until he was satisfied. He took a shaky breath, why the hell was he out of breath?

I’m freaking the hell out because my soul parent is right in front of me and I’d convinced myself that they didn't exist. That’s why I’m freaking the fuck out.

He’s right here, just say something.

Say anything…..

“Please, talk to me.” There was no disdain, no hatred, annoyance, or fear. There was no frustration or anger, his voice was soft and reassuring. Jeanist gently shook his shoulders to accentuate the plea. His willpower that was keeping him stubbornly in place buckled, collapsing before him.

Katsuki spoke before he could think about what he’s saying.

“Your wrist, it has a mark on it. I think it’s mine.”

Fuck

Fuck my life.

Oh my fucking god you didn’t actually just say that aloud. Way to go, you couldn’t have been even just a bit more subtle.

Jeanist’s eyes widened as he looked instinctively to the mark just on his wrist, perfectly covered in most cases, except for the once that he hadn’t been paying attention. He looked back to Katsuki with a strange implacable expression.

They stared at each other, and Katsuki could feel his nerve wilting under Jeanist’s soft gaze. Katsuki really couldn’t remember the last person to look at him this way. He figured it must have been Auntie Inko, she was the only person that came to mind.

Without a word, Jeanist finally pulled his sleeve up to show the mark properly. The mark was just a bit larger than a nickel and on the center of his inner wrist, it was two colored, the black explosion contrasting sharp on the pale complexion of his skin that never saw the light of day.

Katsuki could feel it again, it was a faint sensation. It was like a realization, like it had been a long time coming. He had always held all the pieces, but he never knew what picture he was looking at. He stared at it wonder, feeling more than a little awestruck. He almost wanted to touch it but he suddenly and jarringly remembered how soaked his hands were. He quickly pointed his palms away and sparked off the excess nitroglycerin.

Jeanist blinked at the action but otherwise didn’t comment as Katsuki moved on to tug on his collar.

“I’m like 95-ish percent sure that’s my mark.” Katsuki hated how timid he sounded, the gruff gravel was still in his tone but it was softened by uncertainty, the sharp bite to his tone entirely absent. The embarrassment from speaking out was quickly fading in favor of itchy nervousness. “I’ve got a few marks and I’m sure one of them has got to be yours.”

Hearing the waver of his voice Jeanist quickly assured him “Only show me if you truly want to, please don’t feel obligated to.” Katsuki brushed the comment aside.

“It’s not like any of them are in uncomfortable places, there’s no reason not to.” Katsuki commented absently. “Plus, I'll drive myself insane if I don’t make sure.”

He pulled back his collar to reveal the first mark on his collarbone. It was the green key, and Katsuki showed it to the other hero who raised his eyebrows in surprise, but there was no recognition there.

“That’s a soulmark? I’ve never heard of one that color.” Jeanist asked in curiosity.

“I’m pretty sure it is? I have no fucking idea what green is supposed to mean though.” Katsuki commented as he moved on.

Katsuki covered that one up, and moved on to the one on his ankle. He shoved off his boot and rolled up his pant leg to reveal the black cat. Jeanist shook his head softly and Katsuki’s stomach dropped.

Was he really just imagining things?

Was it all in his head?

Did he just make an utter fool out of himself for nothing?

The only mark left was…

A thought occurred to Katsuki, it was a horrible thought. The only way to find out was to show him. Katsuki pulled up his shirt to reveal the last mark on his lower abdomen.

It was the needle and thread, the mark his mother swore was hers. It was the mark she had used to keep him prisoner with her. Many times it was the only reason he didn’t walk away, or tell someone about what it was like at home. It was his soul bond, it was dictated by fate. So why would anyone be able to stop it, even if they tried?

Even if he hadn’t truly believed in them, he hadn’t disbelieved in them either. It was enough to keep him still, with nowhere else to go.

Jeanist looked at the mark and somehow his posture softened further, and a wide grin erupted across his face. He could practically feel the radiating joy and comfort from the hero.

No, fucking way.

He couldn’t believe it, his mother was a horrible manipulative bitch on the best of days but this.

What she had said had done its job, it was intended to make him stay fucking put, to prevent him from questioning her and questioning freedom from her. That’s exactly what it fucking did.

How many times during his childhood did he walk right up to fucking Izuku’s house to tell him or to tell Auntie Inko? How many times did he turn around, figuring that they couldn’t possibly understand? That they wouldn’t do anything because he believed it was his fucking fate, that he fucking deserved every second of it.

He watched Jeanist looking at him like Deku used to look at him, before Katsuki had gotten his quirk. He was looking at him like he was the center of the damn universe and it was way too damn much to death with.

He couldn’t tell how he felt, he felt a little sick like he wanted to vomit as a cold pit of horror settled in his gut, and scream bloody fucking murder at his mother for screwing with his head like that. He really wanted to break out laughing, a little but hysterically because well fuck if her plan didn’t fucking backfire. He’d never trust her again after this, her or his father. If he could help it, he’d spend as little time there as he was able so he could get rid of them as soon as possible.

There was also a metric ton of relief flooded over him. He wasn’t bound to her for life, he didn’t have to listen to her spit those hateful things anymore, or at least he wouldn’t believe them. He just had to bear it a few more years and he could be rid of her, rid of the both of them, forever.

A small part of his mind quietly admitted to him that he was glad he could be different than she was, that he had a chance to be the hero he wanted to be. Not the villain she had convinced him he was.

More than that, most importantly, his real true soul parent believed that he could be a hero. The number four hero who was sitting right in front of him, looking at him like he was looking at the most important thing in the world, the hyper attention made him feel weak with insecurity.

They stared at each other just like that, neither knowing the gravity of the revelations that the other was sorting through. The moment passed quickly and Jeanist pulled him into an awkward hug considering he was still kneeling on the ground and Katsuki was still in the chair.

Katsuki could feel the gentle reverence in the hug, he could feel the simple and untainted affection in it. It was such a welcome and unfamiliar feeling that it made him sink into it, all past worries between them forgotten as they take comfort and pleasure in the simple and honest gesture.

It tore down the last of Katsuki’s composure, he let out a gasp and cried stubbornly into the embrace. He fought it the whole way through, every hiccup and sob was forced its way past the willpower holding it back. Jeanist rubbed gentle circles into his back for as long as he needed, whispering quietly to him.

They missed patrol that day, on the last day of his internship but Katsuki couldn’t bring himself to care.

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 5 years ago

Text

Bless me father

Summary: You really needed to get laid. It’s been a long two years. And when the hot stranger walked through the door of your favorite pub and said all the right things, you were sure you made the right descision when you took him home for that night. That was until you saw him 2 weeks later. In the church. Baptizing your friends child.

Words: 4.852 (holy crap)

Pairing: Priest!?John Constantine / F!Reader

warnings: Smut (and a very questionable plot)

A/N: I can’t believe I wrote this. I started this a month ago. Aparently this happens when I listen to too much Hozier and watch that certain episode of Fleabag to often (check Season 2 out). This also started out as something entire differently. But to quote @fanficsrusz (who wanted to be tagged so there you go) We’re going to hell anyway so... enjoy?

„Oh my god.“ You whispered. Looking at your sister, who was sitting beside you.

“What?” She leant to you to whisper back.

“The guy I told you about… From the pub…”

“Can we talk about him, when we’re not in a church at a baptism?”

“It’s him.” You looked at her with big eyes.

“Who?” She asked giving you the side eye.

You gestured towards the man who was holding the baby that was about to be baptized.

“I slept with the fucking priest.”

1 week earlier

It had been one of these days. You know days when you woke up to get to work and had a mood that could only get better instead of worse.

It started with the coffee machine at home being broken. Then your car wouldn’t start, so you had to take the bus to get to work, which resulted in you being 30 minutes late. Thankfully your boss didn’t mind, it had been the first time. But when you got to your desk and saw the amount of work that waited for you, you wanted to scream. Instead you rolled your eyes and got to work.

10 hours later, the only thing that could lift your mood was a beer at your favourite pub.

They knew you there. You basically spend most of your free time there. Not as a crazy drunk person. But you enjoyed your occasional beer. And the company.

“There you are. I was wondering if you would get here today.” Alex, the owner of the pub, said as you sat down in front of him. He looked like your godfather. But younger. And more Swedish.

Your beer was standing in front of you only seconds later. You took a big sip.

“Jesus this day sucked.” You sighed, losing your coat, putting it on the seat next to you.

“Wanna talk about it?” Alex looked at you.

“It’s just one of these days…” You knew exactly why you were in such a shitty mood. Alex looked at you calmly.

“It’s been 2 years on the day, hasn’t it?” He asked. You nodded, picking up your beer and emptying it.

“You need to get over it.”

“You don’t just get over your husband dying in a car crash.” You looked at Alex, who was sighing.

“I know. But he wouldn’t want you to be miserable. He’d say you need to get laid. It’s been 2 years Sweetheart.” Alex winked at you, which made you chuckle. Yes. That sounded like Jake. And Alex would know. He was his best friend.

“And how do I get laid? It’s not like there’s a line somewhere.”

The door of the pub opened, and your head turned in the direction, to see who entered. Good thing you already drank your beer. There was no other words as to describe him as sex on legs.

Completely dressed in black, he looked through the room and slowly made his way to the opposite end of the bar you were sitting in. He had short dark hair, no beard, which brought out his perfect cheekbones. Alex chuckled beside you. You closed your mouth which apparently had opened and coughed looking at him.

“Maybe he can get you laid.” He whispered grinning, walking down the bar to take his order.

“Oh my god shut up.” You called after him, which made him laugh loudly. The hot stranger looked at you, his eyebrows raised, before his attention was on Alex to order.

Another beer was placed in front of you a couple of minutes later.

“I need to get up early tomorrow. No more beer for me. But I’ll take a tea.” You told Alex.

“It’s not from me.” You looked at him, and he nodded in the direction down the bar.

“Oh come on. Stop messing with me.”

“I’m not. He told me to get you your favourite. Because you looked like hell.”

“You’re kidding.”

He shook his head.

“I’m not.” He held his hands up innocently. You looked at him, and came to the conclusion, that he was not messing with you. You got up, took the beer and walked over to hot guy.

“Are you always randomly offending people, or am I the exception?” You asked, standing beside him. He turned in his seat to look at you. His brown eyes taking you in. Damn.

“It wasn’t my intention to offend you. I merely wanted to improve your day.”

“By saying I look like hell?”

“By inviting you for a drink, so you wouldn’t think about what is on your mind.”

“Right.” You looked confused at him, there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

“If you want talk about it…”

“Why would I talk about my issues with a complete stranger?”

“People say I’m a good listener.”

“What people?”

“People.” He shrugged his shoulders. Alex apparently had served him his drink. Scotch.

You still looked at him confused, as he picked up his glass and brought it to his lips. You breathed in deep, as you saw his jawline work. Jesus fucking Christ…

“Tea?” Alex stood beside you, trying to hide his grin.

“Thanks.” You took it and sat down beside hot stranger guy who looked at you.

“I’m John by the way.”

“Y/N.”

“So what is on your mind?”

“Just a shitty day I guess.”

“Talk about shitty days.” He shook his head, breathing out loudly.

“Oh?” You asked.

“First day at the new job. Not exactly happy how it went.” He explained.

“Wanna talk about it? People say I’m a good listener.” You smirked at him. He laughed, holding his hand in front of his mouth. That was cute.

“Not much to talk about. I took over the job that had been done by someone else for almost 20 years and everything is a mess. It will take me forever to sort it out.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It is complicated. Thank you. The first one who finally understands me.” He genuinely smiled.

“You are very welcome.” You winked at him and you could swear you saw him blush, but he hid his face in his hands very quickly.

You looked across the room to spot Alex who was giving you two thumbs. You rolled your eyes and put you attention back to John.

“So what about you?” He asked you.

“What about me?”

“Why did you have a shitty day?” He put his head on one of his hands, turning his whole attention to you.

“Oh… Just… Work stuff. And a broken coffee machine in the morning. And… then my car wouldn’t start. Shit I forgot about that.”

“Good thing it’s Friday. Or do you need your car tomorrow?”

“Nope. I’m planning on staying in bed the whole weekend.” You nibbled innocently on your tea and John coughed, having just drank from his scotch.

You put your hand on his back, rubbing it gently.

“You okay?” You asked him. He nodded.

“Thank you.”

“So, if you just started working here, have you seen any of the sights?” You asked him, having talked for about an hour about what came to your minds.

“I actually grew up here.”

“You did?”

“In the orphanage on the other side of town.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry. What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s been 40 years, I think I can tell you, that my parents died in a car crash, when I was 4 years old.”

“Must have been hard to grow up there.”

“It was.” He looked at your hand, which was laying on his. You didn’t even notice that you put it there. He turned his hand, enwinding your fingers with his, drawing small circles on the back of your hand. You closed your eyes, breathing in deep, before you opened them again to look at him. The look he gave you, with his slightly parted lips, eyes as dark as chocolate, made you shiver.

“We’re closing.” Alex shouted and you blinked a couple of times, before you turned your head. There were only 4 people left, including the two of you.

“Put it on my tab?” You asked Alex.

“Sure thing. What about you?” He looked at John, who still had the same expression on his face. He searched for a couple of notes, and handed him over to Alex.

“That’s 20 to much.”

“Keep it.” He finally looked at Alex, smiling gently.

“Well thank you. Please come back as often as you like.” Alex smiled. John nodded.

“Do you need a lift home?” Alex asked you.

You looked from him to John.

“I think I’m good Alex. Thanks.”

“Well then. See you tomorrow.” Alex handed you your coat. John stood and held it out for you, helping you put it on.

“Thanks.” You knotted the belt of you coat, looking up at John. He really was tall. You didn’t notice it all the time you were sitting beside him.

“Can I give you a lift home?” He asked, putting his jacket on.

“That would be great, yes.” You smiled up at him, already going to the door.

As soon as the cold night air hit you, you were wide awake. Were you about to invite a complete stranger into your home? Well not complete stranger. You liked him. He wasn’t wrong when he told you, that he was a good listener.

The door behind you opened, and John stepped out, a cigarette in his mouth, lightening it on his way over to you. What was it about good looking men and cigarettes?

“Where’s your car?” You ask.

“I don’t have a car.” He came to stand in front of you and nodded his head to your right, where a motorcycle was standing.

“I’ve never rode a motorcycle.” You confessed.

“Well another first time.” He whispered, putting the hair, that had fallen into your face, behind your ear, softly touching your ear, caressing you cheek.

“Another first time?” You asked hoarsely, your hand hesitantly wandering up his chest. He was so close.

“First time at the new job. First time at the pub. First time meeting you. First time…” He turned his head, to push the smoke out of his lungs, throwing the cigarette away. You could feel his heart beating, beneath your fingers.

“First time?” You asked shakily.

“We shouldn’t do this.” He whispered as he bend down to kiss your lips. His soft lips lay firm on yours, his arms coming around you, to put you flush against his chest. Your hands wandered into his neck, up in his hair, making him open his mouth, where your tongue found his. He bit lightly into your lip as you parted for some air. Apparently you needed air to survive. A weird concept when you knew you could be kissing him instead.

He looked down at you. You could see the passion in his eyes. But there was something else in it. Confusion? Regret? You weren’t sure.

“Let’s get you home.” He again whispered and helped you sit on his motorcycle, putting the helmet on your head, before he himself sat in front of you, grabbing you hands, crossing them around his waist. You clanged to his back.

“Where to?” He asked. You gave him your address, offering directions.

“No need. I know exactly where to go.” He winked at you, as he put his helmet on and started the engine.

You barely made it through the door of your house, as John picked you up, pinning you with your back on the door, kissing you demanding. Your legs came around his hips, as his hand wandered up your thigh, his other hand next to your head on the wall. You whimpered, as he began to roll his hips, making you feel just how aroused he was.

“We shouldn’t do this.” He whispered again, his tongue drawing a line down your throat, kissing your neck.

“You... You keep saying that… But you’re doing it anyway.” You stuttered, drawing your head back to rest at the door behind you. He pushed you further up, his hand wandering from your thigh up to you cleavage. He opened the first buttons of you blouse, before he quickly shoved it open, buttons flying everywhere. His tongue dipped between you still clothed breasts, before he put the cup of your bra down, and gently sucked on your nipple, before he bit in it, making you cry out loud.

“Keep doing that, and I’m going to…” You started to say, as his lips closed around your other bud, sucking hard, his tongue flicking around it.

“Oh god…” You cried out, your whole body shaking. He stopped what he was doing, looking at you.

“Did you just..?” He raised an eyebrow. You grabbed him by his shirt, and kissed him hard.

“Yes I did just cum John. And you haven’t even touched me anywhere near to where I want you to touch me.” Growling he pushed you off the door.

“Bedroom.” There was no question in his voice. You put your feet down on the ground, suddenly feeling very confident, as you removed your blouse and opened your bra, never leaving his eyes, as you let them both fall to the ground. His eyes taking you in. You turned around, walking up the stairs to your bedroom. It wasn’t long until you felt two arms around your waist, his head coming to rest on your shoulder before he picked you up again, tossing you on your bed shrieking. You turned, resting your weight on your arms as you looked up at him. The only light in the room was the moonlight that came through the windows, accenting his figure even more. He wasn’t just hot. He was beautiful.

“You’re wearing entirely to many clothes, John.” You said, wetting your lips, as you looked up at him. You pushed yourself up, to knee on the bed and began to open his shirt. One button after the next, before you slowly pushed it down his shoulders. Kissing his collarbones, your hands rested on his chest. You let your tongue wander down, nibbling on his nipple. You looked up at him, his eyes watching your every move.

You kissed yourself down his stomach, dipping your tongue into his bellybutton, before your hand began to rub him through his pants. He was impressive to say the least. He moaned, as you slowly worked your hand up and down. You could see his jaw tense, he closed his eyes, surely enjoying what you were doing. You were about to open his belt, when you felt his hands on yours.

“Lay back, legs up.” He whispered demanding.

You bit your lip, as you let yourself fall down into your bed. He grabbed your legs, slowly dragging down your pants and panties in one go. He tossed them behind him, kissing your ankle, as he slowly kneeled down, spreading your legs on his way down. You suddenly felt very exposed, laying like this in front of him, and tried to close your legs, as you felt his lips on your inner thigh. You looked down at him, as his head lay in front of you, just looking at your core.

You were about to ask, what he was doing, when he gently pushed himself up and his lips lightly sucked on your outer lips. You let your head fall back in the sheets, moaning deeply. It had been more than 2 years since anyone than you had even touched you.

Sucking and licking his way up he closed his lips around your clit and flicked his lips over it. Your hands flew into his hair to hold him there. You could feel him smiling, as he licked himself down to your opening, shoving his tongue into you. You couldn’t look away from his eyes, that were intensely looking at you, as he began to eat you out. You were breathing heavy, when you felt two of his fingers pushing into you, his tongue working on your clit. Your hips started to move to get him deeper ,when his fingers brushed over a particular spot inside you, that had you nearly screaming.

“There it is...” He himself nearly moaned. He put all his attention to this spot, while you grabbed the sheets beside you.

“Fuck. I’m gonna...” You moaned.

“Come” He murmured, sucking hardly on your clit. You came, your whole body shaking, breathing heavy, rolling your hips, as he fingerfucked you through your orgasm. You were pretty sure you saw stars at some point.

He pulled his fingers out of you, putting them in his mouth before he leant down to you, kissing you, tasting yourself. Your hands crossed behind his neck, making their way down his strong back, your fingers sneaking in his pants, lightly scratching his ass.

He growled, reaching for your hands.

“Hands up. And leave them there.”

“Yes Sir.” You groaned, putting your hands above your head, resting them on your pillow. Who would have thought you like being manhandled?

He opened his belt, pulling it out of it’s loops in one movement, throwing it on the ground. You bit your lip. The anticipation was nearly killing you.

He opened the buttons of his pants, letting them drop to the ground. Apparently he wasn’t a big fan of underwear. Crawling on top of you, you suppressed the urge to put your arms around him. He kissed himself up from your hips, leaving a line to your breasts, up to you neck, before his lips were on yours. You could feel him at you entrance, rolling your hips to get some kind of friction. He bit in your earlobe and sucked on the skin behind you ear. Your hands came to rest on his back, lightly scratching his skin, as he looked at you.

“Didn’t I say to leave your hands up?” He asked, moving his tip up and down your slit, making you moan.

“I never said I would.” You rolled your hips, his tip slightly sinking into you. He smirked before he pushed forward and thrusted his length into you. You closed your eyes, opening your mouth but no sound came out of it. You felt so full.

“Open your eyes.” He whispered, his left arm sneaking behind your back, lifting you up slightly. You opened your eyes, breathing in deep as he began to slowly move inside you. Unintentionally you clenched your muscles, making him moan.

“God you’re tight.”

“It’s been some time.” You groaned, rolling your hips to meet his movements.

“For me too.” He grabbed your leg, putting it over his shoulder, fastening his pace.

“I find that hard to believe.” You shuddered, as he brushed against that spot again.

“Hmmm... Harder” You moaned, your hands wandering down to touch yourself.

He started to thrust harder into you, grabbing your other leg, putting it on his shoulder too. He was so deep inside of you, you would be sore for days. His hand came down, to where you were touching yourself, moving your hand faster, as he quickened his movements.

Your whole body shook as you came within seconds, hissing he pulled out of you to come on your stomach. You were both breathing heavy as he leaned down to kiss you, before he let himself fall on his back next to you. Neither of you moved or said anything for a couple minutes, both of you trying to control your breathing. When you began to shiver, this time from the cold, you got up to the ensuite to pee and clean yourself a little. Walking back you saw him looking at you, so you extra swayed your hips. As you climbed back into your bed, warm arms came around you to pull you on his chest. You put the blanket above both of you and fell asleep within the next minutes, listening to his heartbeat.

…..

Your sister looked at you with big eyes, before she straightened up in her seat, eying the priest. There was no doubt. It was John, that was wearing a beige robe, taking about how blessed this child is, now that it is about to be baptized and become a child of god.

“I mean he is hot. You didn’t lie there.” Your sister said, turning her head to you.

“He still is a priest. A catholic priest. Who is supposed to live in celibate.”

“From what you’ve told me, I don’t think he lives in celibate.” She whispered, wiggling her eyebrows. The priest looked through the crowd and was startled for a second, as he spotted you. You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you had the best sex of your life with a catholic priest, so you didn’t really pay attention to what he was saying.

You were standing outside together with your sister, when you shivered. Your sister looked behind you, and then back to you.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” She kissed your cheek. “Don’t blame yourself. He should have told you. Also. He’s really really hot.”

“Not helpful.” You whispered back as she smiled.

“Father.” She greeted him and left you standing with him.

Shaking your head you exhaled and turned around.

“Can I do something for you, Father?” You raised your eyebrow and John looked down at you. He had lost his robe somewhere on the way and was only wearing his black pants and dress shirt. And his clerical collar. You crossed your arms in front of you. Waiting for him to say something.

“I should have told you.”

“No shit.” You hissed. A couple of heads turned towards you and you nodded smiling at them until they turned away from you.

“Would it have mattered if I told you?” He asked. You thought about that. Would it? You took to long to answer, and saw him nodding his head, a little smirk on his face.

“I can’t talk about that on the baptism of my friends baby.”

“Then come see me later. I’ll be here.” He gestured to the church.

“ I’m sure you will.” You said and left him standing.

“Oh please. Don’t tell me you would have said no, if he had told you. You merely regret the lost opportunity of moaning Father when he made you come.” Your sister said.

“Rude.” You punched her arm, drinking your second glass of prosecco. You had left the party after the baptism rather shortly. Your sister following you. Now you were sitting on her balcony, looking down the street.

“What did he say after I left?” She asked.

“He wants to talk. I should come see him at the church.”

“What are you doing here then?”

“Trying to talk myself out of going there, because I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself, if he’s standing in front of me.”

Your sister shrugged her shoulders. “We’re all going to hell anyway. If you get all hot and bothered because you get laid by a priest, who cares? We’re atheists anyway.”

“How are we related?” You asked her and shook your head laughing, emptying your glass.

“Okay I’m going.”

He was standing outside of the church, when you exited your car. The sun just started to go down, leaving a pink light to illuminate everything. He spotted you right away and walked towards you, putting his cigarette out, which he had been smoking.

“You have some explaining to do.” You told him. He nodded.

“Let’s get inside. I have to get my stuff.”

“Okay.”

You walked behind him into the church. You shouldn’t be thinking about how his naked skin under your fingers felt. Or how he tasted, but you couldn’t help yourself. Stopping in the middle of the aisle you looked up to the big cross hanging in front of you.

You never had been raised religious. Your parents didn’t believe in it, and neither did you. Still, it felt weird. Having thoughts like these in a church. The house of god. Where people came to pray.

“If it would make you feel better, I could take your confession.” John was standing at the altar, waiting for you.

“I’m not catholic. And I don’t think you taking my confession would help me ease my thoughts. Shouldn’t you be confessing? Or punishing yourself? You didn’t just break you celibate, you lied. You drank. Aren’t these all things, you’re supposed to not be doing? Stop smiling at me you idiot.”

“I’m sorry. And yes. Yes you’re right. I did break all the rules to have you but I don’t regret it.”

“No?”

He walked towards you and your breath hitched, when he stopped right in front of you. You could feel his warmth and smell his scent.

“Let me take your confession.” He whispered into your ear and you swallowed. Where you about to have kinky sex in a church? He tilted his head, towards the confessional and started walking towards it, disappearing on the left side. Headshaking you followed him, sitting down on the right side, closing the curtain. There was little coming from the other side where John was sitting.

“So what should I confess to you now?” You asked, crossing your legs.

“That’s not how it works. You say Bless me father for I have sinned and then you tell me when your last confession was.”

“But I’m not catholic.”

“Humour me.”

“You just want me to address you as father because you like hearing it, don’t you?” And deep inside you, you did too. You were met with silence on the other side

Ah fuck it.

“Bless me father for I have sinned. I’ve never confessed, so it’s been a little more than 32 years.”

“What do you have to confess?”

“Apart from sleeping with a catholic priest who is sitting next to me?” She quirked her eyebrow. You could hear him chuckle.

“Yes. Apart from that.”

You sighed.

“Well I’m not exactly familiar with your rules. But... I guess it’s safe to say I use God’s name in every way not appropriate. Let’s see... I once lied to my mom about going to a slumber party with my best friend, when I really went to sleep with my boyfriend. Oh I stole a bathrobe at a hotel once. I’m good at this.” You laughed a little.

“This is not supposed to be fun.”

“Well maybe you should confess your sins then.” You suggested.

“You’re no priest.”

“And I’m not catholic and yet her I sit, confessing my sins to you.” You were met with silence again.

After a couple minutes you were pretty sure, that he wouldn’t talk, so you stood, walking out of the confessional, when a hand grabbed your wrist, and he pulled you back, closing the door behind you, pushing you down on his lap. His lips were on yours, as his hands wandered under your dress up your thigh. Your hands were in his hair. You couldn’t believe this was happening. He rubbed you over the thin fabric of your panties, before he pulled it to the side and shoved his finger deep inside of you. You bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning. Arching your back, your hands came to his shoulders, lifting you up and down, as you rode his finger. He added two more and you positively lost your mind. Until he firmly grabbed you hip, keeping you still, stopping all his movements, with his fingers buried deep inside of you.

You looked down at him.

“You want me to confess my sins?” He asked you, slowly moving his fingers inside of you. You bit your lip and nodded.

“I came here to take care of something, but on my first night here I met you.” His thumb came up to your clit, beginning to slowly draw circles, while his fingers still moved within you. You whimpered.

“And instead of focusing on my task here, all I can think about is the various places I want to fuck you in.” He began to move faster.

“It’s difficult as it is, trying to play the priest, but you...” He shook his head. “You I haven’t counted in.”

It took a while until the information he just gave you, processed in your brain.

“You’re not a priest?” You asked.

“I didn’t say that.” He smirked.

You crossed your arms around his neck, as you felt your orgasm approach fast.

“John...” You breathed as you came, tugging on his hair, as you rode down your high.

You barely heard his zipper, before he replaced his fingers inside you with his cock.

“Oh god.” You moaned quietly.

“Again with the blasphemy.” He chuckled, grabbing your legs, to put them behind his back, picking you up and pressing you against the wall. He started to push into you faster and harder.

“Bloody Hell John” You moaned, as you felt his finger rubbing your clit. You were about to come again.

“That’s where we’re all going anyway honey.” He groaned in your ear, as he spilled inside of you, taking you over the edge with him.

#ff #fanfic #fanfiction #keanu reeves #smut #I'll be outside #waiting for the ground to open #because you know hell and stuff #john constantine x reader

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wanna-b-poet31 · 5 years ago

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Crowley’s Truth and Aziraphale’s Lies (A 3-part series) Part 1: Crowley’s Heartbreaking Honesty

So I could do a whole series about why Crowley (in all his piety) is fallen and Aziraphale (in all his temptations) is not. However, I wanted to focus this series strictly on the use of honesty and lies throughout Good Omens. I argue that honesty (and the irony of an honest Demon and a lying Angel) is a tool for establishing their place in-between Heaven and Hell. They serve as hybrids, a liminal space between holy and hellish, allowing for their supposed “flaws” to shine, and enable them to form their own side.

Crowley’s Motivation:

One of Crowley’s defining traits is his imagination. Unlike any other celestial entity, he can create ideas, questions, and fabrications at a moment’s notice. Crowley’s no Saint, he lies to Hastur easily (about calling the demonic counsel), he impersonates Aziraphale stunningly, and (if Aziraphale recalls correctly) he takes credit for all of the horrendous things humanity has done throughout the years (even earning himself some commendations along the way). So he CAN lie, quite well actually, so long as he has the proper motivation.

And, without fail what IS his motivation? Who (or what) inspires him and allows him to focus his thoughts even when he’s panicking (and possibly trying his best to cope with his piles of trauma)? Certainly not humanity alone, and certainly not because he has any sense of self-preservation. The man ran into a burning building head first without a second thought; he drove his beloved car through literal hellfire; he walked across consecrated ground despite being burned simply because he told himself he could. No, he there’s only 1 thing that motivates him.

Aziraphale (of course)

Crowley: Would I Lie To You?

Crowley lies at least 5 notable times throughout the series.

His reports about the ill-deeds he’s responsible for are riddled with lies and half-truths (which is a general fuck you Hell kind of lie)

He fails to tell the higher-ups in Hell about his knowledge about the Anti-Christ, the location of the Anti-Christ and neglected to correct Hell about it (a Fuck you Satan kind of lie)

He hides and ignores the agreement he’s made with Aziraphale from Hell (A Fuck you Heaven and Hell kind of lie)

He deceives Hastur, several times but most notably after Ligur’s death (a fuck you Hastur kind of lie, and he’s murderous so he deserves it sorta)

He Impersonates Aziraphale (An F to the U to Heaven kind of lie)

The notable exemption from this list is Aziraphale.

Unlike the demons who he deceives at any given moment (particularly in defense of Aziraphale), he refuses to lie to Aziraphale.

Are you Satan and have just “blessed” Crowley with the staring role in the Apocalypse? Yeah, great (lies through his teeth about wanting to partake).

Are you a Duke of Hell inquiring about where the Anti-Christ is and trying to confront Crowley about his relationship with Aziraphale? “So Longggg Suckaaas” I’m gonna lie lie lie and possibly kill you for coming towards me.

Are you heaven trying to torture my best friend >lover< with hellfire that will surely kill him? Not today motherfucker, because guess what? Now I’m him and I’ll lie my ass off to protect him.

Are you an Angel who shows free will and loves humanity as much as he does? 404 Error lies not found.

This is not to say he’s always straightforward with Aziraphale. because God, Satan, Someone knows he’s got a flair for the dramatic. But not even does he lie through omission. Whenever Aziraphale asks a question, no matter how light-hearted or series Crowley’s being, he will always give an honest answer, even if it sometimes goes over the angel’s head. >see: Crowley being a blubbering mess because his best friend died and Aziraphale not quite understanding that the best friend is him<

He’s also oddly cryptic when he’s asking for holy water, but never once does Crowley lie. Sure, he’s trying to speak in code “because the trees have ears”, but when he says it’s for insurance, not a suicide pill, it is for insurance.

He can tell that his relationship with Aziraphale has morphed in such a way that it would put him and Aziraphale in danger if Hell ever found out about it. Aziraphale, simply, does not believe him that his only motivation is protection because it is too close to his own fears about Crowley being destroyed.

Which is why I think he’s so upset about the word “fraternize”. First, there is a class element involved with the Victorian use of the word (usually referring to someone of a higher class interacting friendly to a lower class member). Where Aziraphale may have meant comradery (and brotherhood, which also not how Crowley views their relationship) Crowley certainly acts as if he took it to mean Aziraphale was speaking to him like an enemy or an “inferior” species.

This is only further supported by Aziraphale’s accusatory “we may have both started out as Angels, but YOU are fallen”, placing (in my opinion) too much emphasis on Crowley’s fall (a huge trauma trigger for him). But this whole characterization of their relationship is a lie Aziraphale tells himself to repress his fears about Heaven’s traumatic treatment of him. By this point in their partnership (as we’ve seen) both he and Crowley go out of their ways to treat each other as equals. To deny it, to repress their feeling is a slap. in. the. face.

Further, the audience for lying clearly matters to Crowley. In the relative privacy of the park, Aziraphale says “fraternize”, which doesn’t do enough justice for the kind of intimacy the uniquely share. It implies they could be enemies or strangers (which they aren’t, they’re at least friends). Crowley is so intimately aware that even now, in the 1800′s, it’s them (and humanity) against divinity. And, Crowley refuses to lie to Aziraphale, especially about the sort of relationship they share. Sure he won’t tell the other demons, and sure as hell won’t tell the angels how deep their relationship goes, but in this private moment, where he’s approaching as a partner (not an adversary)? It would be the worst kind of lie. It would ignore or erase the new space they’ve created for themselves where they can be equals.

In the above gif, we see Crowley angry and lash out. He says harsh words and insists that he doesn’t need Aziraphale. Since we’re counting, I don’t think this is a lie. Now no, he clearly does need Aziraphale in his life, but he’s just been smacked in the face with the insinuation that they are not equals, they are not friends, they are enemies, and I believe him at this moment, a very hurt Crowley, decides if that’s how Aziraphale is going to treat him, then he will treat him like all his other enemies. At the moment he says I think it he means it because Crowley cannot make time for someone who won’t take his concerns seriously and thinks so little of their relationship. If he can’t be seen as an equal, he’d prefer not to be seen at all.

Although, this is a temporary truth, and one Crowley is willing to correct Aziraphale about in a way he never does for his hellish counterparts. Crowley cares too deeply to wish Aziraphale any real harm, even if Aziraphale can’t call a spade a spade. Crowley sure as Hell would move heaven and earth to demonstrate the extent of his love. He shows as much in his rescue in 1941, and again when Aziraphale once again lies and says “we’re not friends...I don’t even like you” in the bandstand. These lies actively hurt Crowley but not once does he retaliate with. Instead, he meets Aziraphale with blunt honesty. Saying “yes you do” doing everything he can to get Aziraphale on the same page, and share their truth.

Look at the above gif. Not only does Crowley KNOW Aziraphale is lying, but Aziraphale knows it too. While he clearly loves Crowley and has loved Crowley for some time, his inability to work through his anxieties and rely on Crowley as a support system, as a partner, he can’t come to terms with his own trauma.

So, he lies.

He lies and he hurts Crowley. He lies and he dismisses Crowley’s honesty. He lies and he harms himself because they both know this is a facade he can’t keep up much longer. He lies, and Crowley still meets him with honesty and forgiveness.

And honestly, it breaks his heart to be lied to, but he knows the alternative solution would be no best friend at all. Under normal circumstances, Crowley could be patient. He could wait for Aziraphale to come to terms with their relationship almost for forever. But, shit hits the fan, and he needs to show Aziraphale that two of them need to stop dancing, stop being cryptic, and cut through the bullshit for once.

Which brings me to the first Gif of this section. Take a moment, scroll the ridiculous amount up, and just look at the indignation on his face. in the earlier gif “Would I lie to you?”, he clearly consciously makes a point to never lie to Aziraphale, despite it supposedly being “the demon’s way”. Not in anger (like at the bandstand) not even if it’s uncomfortable (like when he’s criticizing Aziraphale for being so clever and so stupid), not even if the angel is (knowingly or unknowingly) hurting him with his lies.

Crowley draws the line at tainting his relationship with the kind of lies Heaven tells, and the kind of disregard Hell tells. Because despite the lies he’s told by Aziraphale, Crowley knows who he can trust, who he needs on his side, who he wants to spend the end of the world with, and it sure as hell isn’t Hastur or Beelzebub.

Because at the end of the day, Crowley knows what the two of them share together. One great way to see this comparison is to checkout @theladyzephyr ‘s meta on Crowley and his glasses. Because while he does let his guard down for Aziraphale (even if only drunk), his autonomy, his consent to wear/not wear his glasses is taken from in by Hastur in the above gif’s scene. Aziraphale, for all his lies, does not cross the same boundaries as Hell does, and genuinely cares for Crowley. He shows remorse for his actions and is clearly just as hurt by his own lies as Crowley is.

A Very Crowley’s Conclusion

But what does this mean in terms of his Honesty? Well, for starters, demonstrates that while he has the power to lie, and could lie to Aziraphale (functionally I mean) he chooses not to.

He might, every now and then poke him and partake in some friendly banter, but never is it mean spirited, not even when they’re both at their breaking points. His ability to lie but restraint from lying; his ability to deceive, but his choice to trust, sets him apart from the rest of the demonic mold.

Quite honestly, He probably could tempt (like really tempt) Aziraphale to his side. He could manipulate and push the Angel into situations they both know he would be uncomfortable with. But, he doesn’t. He doesn’t become the abusive force Heaven and Hell have pushed on the two of them because that’s not how he wants or needs to cope with his loss. No, he needs an equal, not a lackey. He needs an equal, not a boss. He needs love, not control.

It becomes clear that his loyalties have never (at least not in the series) been with Hell. Crowley doesn’t trust or care about his fellow demons. He kills one (permanently) and another (not so permanently) without hesitation. He defies (actively and with little regard for the safety of other celestial creatures) the desires of Hell, working with his bestie to ensure the world breaks even.

Consequently, he’s creating a “third” option with Aziraphale. It is distinctly not a human space (neither of them is human). It’s is not heavenly or hellish, but space for them to be who they are, fight for what they love and feel safe knowing they are a team (romantic or otherwise). And it’s clear based on who he lies to and how he lies, that he’s not cut out for the Demon frenzy or the demon.

Their third space is what Crowley’s been working for since day one because Aziraphale is worth lying to others to protect and worth telling the truth to love.

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk

#ineffable husbands #good omens #go #crowley #anthony janthony crowley #crowley loves aziraphale #IT'S ALL FINE #sorrynotsorry #good omens meta #meta #long post #thanks for coming to my ted talk

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theholycovenantrpg · 4 years ago

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In the beginning was ESTIENNE WICKEN, a GIFTED loyal to the cause of the MORTALS. They are said to be TWENTY-FIVE and use THEY/THEM pronouns. In this New Testament they serve as a MEMBER of the ROUND TABLE. Blessed be their name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

It came as no surprise that Estienne made themself at home within the shadows. In the bouts of their plague-induced fever, they were able to find blissful peace within the darkness, sinking into it, wrapping themselves in it until one could not distinguish itself from the other. When they awoke, they realized that they were able to walk into the shadows, manipulate it, have it pour from the tips of their fingers and snuff out any light. Though they have a startling amount of mastery over their ability to travel within the shadows and coax it into doing their bidding, Estienne is beginning to feel the weight of their skill. They never speak of it, never try to pay it any mind, but they are beginning to find it more and more difficult to step out of the shadows and into the light, to tear themselves from it and become their own person again. When they overextend their abilities, they have to take lengthy periods of rest before testing their shadow mastery again. At first glance, it is difficult to see the marks of the Blood Plague upon them, until one realizes that Estienne’s hair is midnight black and how large the pupils of their eyes are - swallowing any notion of light.

THE HISTORY.

The sun rose to bring them joy, the moon danced in the sky to appease them. If one were to tell Estienne that the world did not turn on its axis for them and them alone, they would wipe the glittering tears from their eyes. And it would not be tears of disappointment that they would be brushing away, but tears of amusement - pure, unabated laughter spilling from their lips. Before they had opened their bright eyes to the world, it was what their mother and father had told them. The world belongs to you, dear Estienne, she would murmur against their soft, dewy cheek. Never let your grip upon it falter. Why should they relinquish the hold that they had upon it when the world gave its heart so freely? If it were to give, was Estienne not allowed to take? And so they did take, as soon as they learned how to ensnare every single heart that had the misfortune to drift their way. With a bat of their lashes and a soft pout of their mouth, each soul became theirs. They stole the hearts of their mother and father, leaving nothing for the abysmal creature that they were forced to acknowledge as their blood and kin. For Estienne, there were only words of love - life was a bed of roses with a perfume so sweet and thick that it nearly suffocated them. For everyone else? Estienne left nothing but a thicket of thorns to rest upon. The rest of the world could wallow in its despair and suffering, could bemoan its idiocy and shortcomings. But not Estienne, never Estienne. And there was not a single drop of remorse within them to be found.

Why should they be remorseful about sitting atop the throne others had placed them upon? The Wicken name carried such a legacy that it was easy for them to ascend, made easier by the strings that their parents pulled, by their unparalleled banter and enigmatically beautiful features. It was as though their rise in society was dictated by the stars themselves, if Estienne were to believe that any other higher power that could control their destiny. But alas, the highest power to be found was themself and themself alone. Which was why they had no problem playing puppet master, like the Dead God once had - pulling at their lesser’s strings. It began first with their parents and their elder sister, turning them against one another, curious to see how the poison of their mother’s words could make their sweet, simple sister turn to rot. Imagine their mild surprise when she remained sweet as ever, but wilted like a dying rose. It was this single action that caused the ripple of interest to see just how far Estienne could pull at a person before the strings that they worked at snapped. First, they turned their mother against their sister, then their father against their mother, until the Wicken household seemed primed to rent itself apart.

And Estienne watched it all, like a bored god, lounging upon their heavenly throne while their lessers clawed at one another with words that were worse than any poison and far more cutting than any set of knives or claws. But their little game was brought to a stuttering stop when the Wicken household’s newest acquisition, a bawdy, tasteless tutor, was brought in. How they managed to shoulder their way into society’s most illustrious estate, Estienne will never know. What they did know, however, was what it would take to make this irksome little thorn in their side a nonissue. All it took was a well-placed coin in the hand of a beggar child, a bloody handkerchief, and time. Within a handful of days, the plague had invaded their home and left the door open so that Death itself might stride through it, taking souls just as mercilessly as Estienne was want to do. And, arrogant as they were, they were no match for the Blood Plague when it burrowed itself into the very marrow of Estienne’s bones.

They don’t remember much of the fever that overcame them or the bedside vigil that their parents kept, candles placed upon the nightstand as though in homage of the soul that had not yet left their beloved child’s body. Their mother wept and wailed, their father choked and sobbed. Even if their sweet Estienne were to survive this, what would they do with an heir touched by the plague, gifted or not, the flawless legacy that they had produced was destined to be marred. Little did they know that the vestiges of their soul that they deemed the weakest were being burned away, that their beloved Estienne was only growing more and more formidable as hellfire itself seemed to cauterize whatever might have made the Wicken heir less than. In the throes of their pathetic mourning, Estienne’s parents had shown themselves to be shams, they dared to reduce their child to the status of mortal when Estienne was anything but. With every tear their parents had shed, they had sealed their fate - their mourning became their damnation. The Estienne that had gone through the hellfire of the plague held no patience for those who regarded them as anything other than the deity they knew themselves to be. So, when their bloodied eyes opened and stepped out from the room which they had resided in, they left their parents’ corpses behind. It was their world to hold and their world to rule, after all - there was no room for nonbelievers; woe to those who dared to hope otherwise.

THE CONNECTIONS.

ISOLDE WICKEN: Half-sibling. It seemed as though the universe decided to have a little joke when it dared to make Isolde and Estienne siblings. After all, it could only be seen as laughable when they stood next to one another, forced to do so when posing for portraits, Estienne deliberately placed in front of Isolde; the flawless meant to overshadow the obviously flawed. Though they shared the same aristocratic mannerisms and enigmatic smiles - Estienne’s far more charming than Isolde’s - that was where any notion of similarity between them ended. As Isolde builds her name among the Holy Land’s society, Estienne can’t help but remind her how easy it is for them to pull at her strings; despite how she seeks to distance herself from them, they are tied to one another by blood and by name. Though it may be somewhat of an inconvenience for her, it is most advantageous to them - what sort of fool would deny the portrait that they have painted for themselves, that of the new orphaned Wicken heir, sibling of the great Seer of the Holy Land, more or less fated to rise across the Round Table and lead it with no less than the Hundred-Eyed God to guide them?

DAMIEN WARD: Imitator. The ancient story of the Anti-Christ is well known - abomination of the world, a bastard child born of the devil and a mortal, the herald of the end of the world, so on and so forth. An old tale, and a rather tired one if Estienne is being honest. Damien’s time to capitalize on whatever influence he may have had has long passed, his name is as withered and dead as the God and Devil that it was once associated with. From what Estienne can tell of their friends within the Infernum kingdom, there is a general sense of restlessness that stokes their debates in the conclave, a need for someone, anyone, to satiate their hunger for more than the lull that they seem to have fallen into. Luckily for them, Estienne has heard of the shortcomings - namely, Damien’s - and is more than happy to give them the thrill and excitement that they so crave.

ORIAS: Muse. There are very few things that Estienne finds genuinely beautiful aside from their own reflection - in fact, they can count the number of times they have used that very word upon one hand. But Orias is the exception that proves the rule. It comes as no surprise that a demon as primordial as they would incite such unabated fascination from the person who considers themself and only themself worthy of adoration? From the moment they laid eyes upon them, their attention became fixated, like that of a wolf locking its gaze with that of a deer. Perhaps they want to draw the false prophet closer only to sink their teeth into their neck and draw out blood. After all, there is a sort of morbid fascination that accompanies the destruction of something - someone - so beautiful and pure. Crushing a creature as primordial and powerful as Orias within their palm should be enough of a trophy to satisfy them for centuries to come.

RYUK: Thorn. It’s not because they’re jealous of him. And it’s most certainly not because he was the only entity to ever tell them no. So when directly asked, Estienne chooses to say nothing because they don’t want to be seen as a liar either. When Estienne first asked him to visit their chambers, it was purely for business reasons, of course. They wanted to show Death that they feared nothing, not even him, and were promptly denied without so much as an apology. It was a slight that Estienne was, admittedly, poorly prepared to deal with. Since then, that slight has been as vexing as a hangnail - bearable but annoying nonetheless. But Estienne has nothing but time and resources to waste away, so they might as well spend as much of it as they can reminding Ryuk that those who deny them are meant to suffer.

Estienne is portrayed by Davidson Obennebo* and was written by ROSEY. They are currently OPEN.

#literate rp #new rp #fantasy rp #biblical rp #lsrpg #onb #o #nb #g #estienne wicken

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chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

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Passchendaele - XXIII

A/N How much has changed

T/W Mentions of war violence, death, and grief

Mail lines had been cut earlier in the week, meaning letters to and from home were undeliverable. The soldiers’ morale was low from this, most only really hanging on after mail delivery days with calm words from their families. Even still, the capture of Passchendaele was a huge success for the British army and the moment of peace from battle as well as the newly arrived sunshine for the men was more than appreciated. Uniforms were hung up over crumbling brick walls and half destroyed window ledges to dry and most of the men walked around in their undershirts, finally being able to feel the warm springtime sun. A few men were sent to bring in a few crates of food rations and supplies from their old trenches, the trucks not able to make the trip over the still flooded battlefield.

As Corbyn had assured him, Daniel was permitted another week’s rest by the General who was more than impressed with his valour and determination, his leadership ultimately helping the Allies to gain this major foothold in the war. A few German cots were left over in some of the destroyed buildings so Daniel and Corbyn assembled themselves a little room in an old house where Daniel could rest.

He was still heartbroken and arguably traumatized by the events of the prior few days or weeks and after such a physically draining battle, he was back to square one; tucked warmly under a blanket on the cot, silent. Corbyn didn’t mind, still graciously taking care of his friend whenever he could, and he was just grateful that Daniel was more willing to eat now.

Daniel felt like the ache in his heart would never go away; if he dwelled on it too long, thinking too much about what had happened, it would feel like someone had a knife through his chest, twisting it and pushing it deeper until he lost his breath.

It was torture.

So Daniel tried not to think about it, leaving his tin box shut tightly as it only contained memories he didn’t want to relive: Elizabeth’s photograph, Zach’s dog tags, and Christian’s few belongings. He stayed on his cot for a few days, more coherent than before the capture but still broken, letting himself take time to himself to unwind. He wished he could write to his mother, missing her comforting words of wisdom and reassurance. He wondered if she knew that Christian was killed yet. He wondered if she thought he was dead too.

Daniel prayed a lot since their arrival at Passchendaele. Although his faith may have dwindled since the start of the war, he felt like the only way to push onward was to trust in God. He knew his three favourite people were in good hands.

Sunday brought cloudless blue skies and warm weather, drawing Daniel out of bed for the first time in four days. Some of the soldiers were sat around the ruins of the small church, the sun brightening up the area filled with lighthearted chatter and freshly served rations, a few of the men barefoot as their socks were hung to dry beside them. Corbyn was amidst them, smoking a cigarette and laughing at whatever story someone was sharing. His smile only grew when his eyes landed on Daniel approaching them.

“Hey, Seavey!” he cheered, the rest of the men looking over to the quiet young man and welcomed him excitedly.

“Want a smoke, mate?” one offered. Daniel politely declined as he sat next to Corbyn on one of the upturned church pews.

“Good to see you up.” Corbyn patted him on the shoulder.

“It’s good to be up.” Daniel reached forward to grab a can from the crate they were using as a small table. “What’s for lunch?”

“Only the best lukewarm stew a man could ask for.” one of the men across from him grinned through a thick Australian accent as he took a drag from his cigarette, his dark blonde curly hair sticking up in all directions.

“Lovely.” Daniel cracked a half-forced smile as he pulled the lid open and shuffled through his pockets for a spoon.

“Besson here says you led us to capture the town, is that right?”

Daniel looked around the group who were all staring at him expectantly. He looked back down as he swirled his spoon around the dark stew, “Um, I don’t know about ‘led’ necessarily.”

“Don’t be daft. We all know you did.” Corbyn scoffed.

“Just had a pinch of luck, I suppose.” Daniel shrugged.

“Blimey, mate, we captured an entire town in one day! That’s more than a pinch of luck.” the blonde man gaped, leaning forward to stamp out his cigarette on the side of the wooden crate, “Us Aussies and New Zealanders had been trying for months. You made it look easy.”

Daniel bit back his embarrassed smile as he took a bite of his lunch.

“It was definitely the back up you lot got from the Canadians that pushed you.” another man spoke from his place on the ground, lit cigarette between his fingers as his cap embroidered with a maple leaf rested over his eyes to shield him from the sun.

“You bloody wish.” Corbyn laughed.

“You should count yourself lucky that you had our manpower.” the man sat up, dropping his cap to the ground and he ruffled a hand through his shaggy brown hair, offering a cheeky smirk to Corbyn and Daniel as he took a drag of his cigarette under his mustache.

“We’re all on the same team.” Daniel protested softly over their bickering. “We all did it together.”

The Australian man shrugged teasingly, “Yeah, maybe, but-”

A shadow fell over their small group and they all glanced up to see the General standing over them, his usual serious scowl across his face and his hands behind his back, “Sorry to interrupt lunch, gentlemen, but I must request to see both of you down by the lines as soon as possible.”

“Yessir.” Daniel and Corbyn offered him a salute as they watched him walk off through the destroyed town.

“Down by the lines? Christ, we better not be going back into battle. My socks aren’t dry yet.” the Australian held up his bare foot to the group.

“Bloody disgusting.” the Canadian gave him a shove, making him laugh loudly.

Daniel and Corbyn packed up their few belongings, slinging their rifles over their shoulders just in case. They said their quick goodbyes to their new friends before making their way to the dirt road towards the battlefields. Daniel ate as they walked, his boots scuffing against the rubble below them. The sunshine led the way, both young men silent and growing more hesitant with each step, wondering what the General was to speak with them about.

General Dolan was stationed in one of the dugouts in the overtaken German trenches and Corbyn and Daniel were directed there by one of the higher officers. Daniel left his empty lunch can on the side of the trenches as they approached. The structure of the German trenches was much more impressive than the British; steel beams and wood posts holding up the ceilings of massive dugouts, torches lining the walls with sufficient lighting and sets of metal military furniture filling the space. General Dolan was sat at the desk, scanning the maps that were laid out over the desk and had been left behind in the raid.

“Sir.” Corbyn greeted, both men saluting once again.

“Thank you for your prompt response.” General Dolan spoke, glancing up at the two of them, “Can either of you read German?”

“No, sir.” they both answered.

“Pity.” the General shuffled the maps to the side to focus his attention on the two men in front of him. “I wanted to speak with you about your incredible work you’ve done for this Division. Both of you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Corbyn responded.

“Besson, you’ve been with us for almost a year now, is that right?”

“Yessir.”

“And Seavey, you’ve only been here for a few months?”

“That’s correct, sir.” Daniel nodded.

“Listen, you both have helped our country greatly in the amount of times you’ve both been here, especially with capturing Passchendaele, and your teamwork and dedication to this Division is unmatched.”

Corbyn and Daniel waited for him to continue.

General Dolan took a soft breath, glancing between the two young men with narrowed eyes as if analyzing them, “This war is no where near over. There’s no end in sight currently but we are making progress, especially with this foothold we just got over the German advances.”

The General lit a cigarette. Daniel looked to Corbyn who met his gaze, shrugging lightly and they both looked forward again.

“Now, I’m not supposed to do this so early on in the war so don’t go spreading it around, you hear me?”

“Yessir.” the two men spoke strongly.

“But I believe you two men have done us plenty. Look these over for me and tell me if they are up to your expectations.” General Dolan blew out a puff of smoke as he picked up two pieces of paper from the tabletop and held them out towards them. Corbyn stepped forward to take them from him.

Daniel glanced over his friends’ shoulder. In Corbyn’s hands were two discharge papers, already filled out with each of their names and military descriptions and only requiring their signature and a stamp from the General himself.

“If you wish to stay, you may.” the General broke their silence first, a small smile playing at his lips. “But otherwise you are free to go home to your families.”

Daniel could feel his eyes filling with tears and he looked to the ground to regain himself, taking a shaking breath and nodded quickly, “Thank you, sir.”

“Will we be sent back out here if our services are still required?” Corbyn asked straightly.

“If you take the discharge, no. I wrote it in as stated in Paragraph 392, Section 25 of the King’s Regulations. ‘His services are no longer required.’ Once home, you can no longer re-enlist into this war.”

“Thank you, sir.” Corbyn tried to hold back his own smile.

“Sir, if I may...” Daniel asked.

General Dolan nodded for him to continue.

“If a man has been fighting under the age requirement, would he be permitted to be discharged, sir?”

“Absolutely.” General Dolan seemed taken back by the question. “Under Section 6: ‘Mis-statement of Age on Enlistment, soldiers under the age of seventeen at the time of application must be discharged if brought to the attention of a commanding officer’. Are you aware of an underage solider, Seavey?”

“No, sir.” Daniel breathed. “Just curious.”

“Sign right here if you agree with the terms.” the General pointed to the blank line near the bottom of the page. Corbyn passed Daniel his own form as he bent down to take the pen from the General.

Daniel scanned the page again, disbelieving to what he was really holding in his hands.

This is to certify that Sergeant Daniel J Seavey enlisted in into the 1st Division, 3rd Battalion, D Company, Rifle Section of His Majesty’s Royal Army on the 12th of February 1915. He served in Belgium under General G. B. Dolan and is now discharged from the service by reason of his services no longer being required by the military as of May 9th, 1915.

“Seavey?”

Daniel looked up to Corbyn holding out the pen towards him, his wide smile on display, the General behind him with a content upturn on his lips too. Daniel took the pen from his friend and leaned over the desk to sign on the line as well.

They watched as the General stamped the official crest onto the bottom of both pages and stood up to offer them each a firm handshake.

“Congratulations, men. You did exemplary work out here and you made your country very proud. Now pack up your things and you’ll be on the next truck towards home.”

Daniel and Corbyn thanked him once more, both sharing their last formal salute to their officer who did the same back and they left the dugout. Daniel smiled down at the parchment in his hand once they were back outside, feeling like a weight was off his shoulders but still pressing down on his chest, knowing who won’t be there waiting for him when he would get off the train.

#ww1 #world war one #historical fiction #ww1!wdw #why dont we #wdw #daniel seavey #corbyn besson #jonah marais #jack avery #zach herron #daniel seavey fanfic #why dont we fanfic #limelight #christian seavey #wdw fanfic #wdw imagines #why dont we imagines #✉

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rabbitcruiser · 4 years ago

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Christmas Day

Christmas Day is a Christian holiday that celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ, and it is also celebrated as a non religious cultural holiday. It is a public holiday in many countries, and is celebrated in some countries where there is not a large Christian population. It takes place after Advent and the Nativity Fast, and begins Christmastide, or the Twelve Days of Christmas. The name of the holiday is shortened from “Christ’s mass,” and throughout history the day has been known as “midwinter,” “Nativity,” “Yule,” and “Noel.”

The New Testament gospels of Luke and Matthew describe Jesus as being born in Bethlehem, in Judea. Luke’s account tells of Joseph and Mary traveling to Bethlehem from Nazareth for a census, and Jesus being born in a stable and being laid in a manger. According to this account, angels proclaimed him as the savior, and shepherds came to visit him. Matthew’s account tells the story of the magi following a star in the sky and bringing Jesus gifts.

The month and date of Jesus’ birth is unknown, but the Western Christian Church placed it as December 25 by at least 336 CE, when the first Christmas celebration was recorded, in Rome. This date later became adopted by Eastern churches at the end of the fourth century. Some Eastern churches celebrate Christmas on December 25 of the Julian calendar, which is January 7. The date of December 25 may have been chosen for a few reasons. This is the day that the Romans marked as the winter solstice, the day when the Sun would begin remaining longer in the sky. Jesus also was sometimes identified with the Sun. The Romans had other pagan festivals during the end of the year as well. December 25 also may have been chosen because it is about nine months after the date commemorating the Crucifixion of Jesus.

Christmas celebrations were not prominent in the Early Middle Ages, and the holiday was overshadowed by Epiphany at the time. Christmas started to come to prominence after 800 CE, when Charlemagne was crowned emperor on Christmas Day. During the Middle Ages it became a holiday that incorporated evergreens, the giving of gifts between legal relationships—such as between landlords and tenants, eating, dancing, singing, and card playing. By the seventeenth century in England the day was celebrated with elaborate dinners and pageants.

Puritans saw the day as being connected to drunkenness and misbehavior, and banned it in the seventeenth century. But, Anglican and Catholic churches promoted it at the time. Following the Protestant Reformation, many new denominations continued celebrating Christmas, but some radical Protestant groups did not celebrate it. In Colonial America, Pilgrims were opposed to the holiday, and it wasn’t until the mid nineteenth century that the Boston area fully embraced the holiday. But, the holiday was freely practiced in Virginia and New York during colonial times. Following the Revolution it fell out of favor in the United States to some extent, as it was seen as being an English custom.

Around the world there was a revival of Christmas celebrations in the early nineteenth century, after it took on a more family oriented, and children centered theme. A contributing factor to this was Charles Dickens’ publication of A Christmas Carol in 1843. His novel highlighted themes of compassion, goodwill, and family. Seasonal food and drink, family gatherings, dancing, games, and a festive generosity of spirit all are part of Christmas celebrations today, and were part of Dickens’ novel. Even the phrase “Merry Christmas” became popularized by the story.

In the United States, several of Washington Irving’s short stories in the 1820s helped revive Christmas, as did A Visit From St. Nicholas. This poem helped to popularize the exchanging of gifts, and helped Christmas shopping take on an economic importance. It was after this that there began to be a conflict between the spiritual and commercial aspects of Christmas as well. By the 1850s and 1860s, the holiday became more widely celebrated in the United States, and Puritan resistance began to shift to acceptance. By 1860, fourteen states had adopted Christmas as a legal holiday. On June 28, 1870, it became a federal holiday in the United States.

Celebrations of Christmas in the United States and other countries are a mix of pre-Christian, Christian, and secular influences. Gift giving today is based on the tradition of Saint Nicholas, as well as on the giving of gifts by the magi to Jesus. Giving also may have been influenced by gift giving during the ancient Roman festival Saturnalia. Closely related and often interchangeable figures such as Santa Claus, Father Christmas, Saint Nicholas, and Christkind are seen as gift givers to children—the best known of which is Santa Claus. His name is traced back to the Dutch Sinterklaas, which simply meant Saint Nicholas. Saint Nicholas was a fourth century Greek bishop who was known for his care of children, generosity, and the giving of gifts to children on his feast day. During the Reformation, many protestants changed the gift giver to the Christ child, or Christkindl, which was changed to Kris Kringle in English. The date of giving changed from Saint Nicholas Day to Christmas Eve at this time. Modern Santa Claus started in the United States, particularly in New York; he first appeared in 1810. Cartoonist Thomas Nast began drawing pictures of him each year beginning in 1863, and by the 1880s Santa took on his modern form.

Attending Christmas services is popular for religious adherents of the holiday. Sometimes services are held right at midnight, at the beginning of Christmas Day. Readings from the gospels as well as reenactments of the Nativity of Jesus may be done.

Christmas cards are another important part of Christmas, and are exchanged between family and friends in the lead up to the day. The first commercial Christmas cards were printed in 1843—the same year as the printing of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. In 1875 the first commercial Christmas cards made their debut in the United States. Today both religious and secular artwork adorns the cards.

Music has long been a part of Christmas. The first Christmas hymns came about in fourth century Rome. By the thirteenth century, countries like France, Germany, and Italy had developed Christmas songs in their native language. Songs that became known as carols were originally communal folk songs, and were sung during celebrations such as “harvest tide” as well as Christmas, and began being sung in church. The singing of Christmas songs went into some decline during the Reformation. “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” came about in the eighteenth century, and “Silent Night” was composed in 1818. Christmas carols were revived with William Sandy’s Christmas Carols Ancient and Modern in 1833, which included some of the first appearances of “The First Noel,” “I Saw Three Ships,” “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” and “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” Secular Christmas songs began to come about in the late eighteenth century. “Deck the Halls” was written in 1784, and “Jingle Bells” was written in 1857. Many secular Christmas songs were produced in the 20th century, in jazz, blues, country, and rock and roll variations: Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas” was popularized by Bing Crosby; “Jingle Bell Rock” was sung by Bobby Helms; Brenda Lee did a version of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree;” “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” was recorded by Gene Autry. Elvis Presley also put out a Christmas album.

A special meal is often eaten on the day, and popular food varies from country to country. In United States, turkey with stuffing—sometimes called dressing—is often the main course, but roast beef or ham are also popular. Potatoes, squash, roasted vegetables, casseroles, and cranberry sauces are common. Popular drinks include tonics, sherries, and eggnog. Pastries, cookies, and other desserts sweeten the day, and fruits, nuts, chocolates, and cheeses are popular snacks.

Finally, Christmas decorations are an important aspect of the holiday and include things such as trees, lights, nativity scenes, garland, stockings, angels, wreaths, mistletoe, and holly. The Christmas tree tradition is believed to have started in Germany in the eighteenth century, although some believe Martin Luther began the tradition in the sixteenth century. Christmas trees were introduced to England in the early nineteenth century. In 1848 the British royal family photo showed the family with a Christmas tree, and it caused a sensation. A version of the photo was reprinted two years later in the United States. By the 1870s the putting up of trees was common in the United States. They are adorned with lights and ornaments, and can be real or artificial.

Christmas Day, also known as Christmas, is being observed today! It has always been observed annually on December 25th.

There are an innumerable amount of ways that you could celebrate Christmas:

attend a church service or read the gospel Christmas accounts

watch a Christmas film

listen to Christmas music

complete an Advent calendar or wreath

give gifts

view a Nativity play

watch a Christmas parade

visit family or friends

visit Santa Claus

read books such as How the Grinch Stole Christmas! or A Christmas Carol

light a Christingle

view Christmas decorations

go Christmas caroling

make Christmas cookies or other foods associated with the holiday

Source

#Christmas Day #ChristmasDay #25 December #it's snowing #Christmas Tree #Nativity scene #manger scene #Christmas Tree Topper #original photography #Schweiz #Switzerland #Xmas 2020 #real tree and real beewax candles #homemade stuffed turkey #but not this year #Cabernet Sauvignon #Christmas Lights #Merry Christmas #Merry Xmas

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swiss-cheeze · 5 years ago

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Roxie || Tommy Lee

A/N: I kind of hate this, I didn’t know how to end it so I just ended it really.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs, physical abuse, verbal (?) abuse (?) maybe (?) idk.

———

The bus rolled across the rocky road as you and the rest of the band sat out in the front room with Roxie. You sighed softly as you read over the same sentence a third time for the past few minutes, the bus was so quiet and boring that you couldn't concentrate how you normally would, having music would normally be your go-to with your walkman but considering you had left your headphones back in the state you had just left you couldn't exactly do much considering you where only another five hours away from the next stop.

“Hey, Sixx, I keep-” Tommy said quickly as he walked from the bunks to Nikkis seat. You looked up from your book as Nikki handed Tommy something and he quickly snorted it, you cringed softly at the motion. “I keep having this vision, right, where my drum set, it rises up like this…” Tommy brought up his hands flat and rose them slowly as Nikki looked up briefly, “And then bam! Smoke, lights, and the whole thing starts spinning around, and I'm playing drums upside down and…” Tommy paused, '' I should just draw it for you”. The drummer turned around to his fiancee, “hey Rox, you got a pen? Gimme a pen” and then Tommy turned back around to face Nikki, “but, like, a cage or something. I dunno” the drummer sighed as Rox grabbed a pen before fiddling with it, you knew this wasn't good, a weird vibe suddenly came from the girl.

This can't be good, you thought as you watched Roxie play with the pen before looking to Tommy.

“Your Mum’s a cunt” Roxie sneered, your eyes widened as Vince, Mick and Nikki all looked around to Rox. Tommy did the same with the same amount of confusion the rest of you had, you shot a look to Mick and the guitarist simply shrugged softly.

“What? Why would you say that?” Tommy said uncertain to the girls sudden words as he twisted in his seat to look to Roxie, confusion and annoyance written on his face clear as day.

“Because she is. Shes a cunt” Roxie sneered again. Tommy was getting annoyed.

“Quit it.” the drummer said flatly, “gimme the pen alright?” Tommy said as he turned back around to Nikki, mumbling a ‘the fuck?’. This was when Roxie started.

“It's not like she has ANYTHING to do with us getting married” Roxie said annoyingly as she waved her hand around for effect. Tommy turned around to face Roxie as you shared a look with Vince.

“Baby, its sweet, alright? Its-its tradition!” Tommy said trying to prove his point. Roxie stood up annoyed.

“Which tradition!? The mandatory meeting of the cunt!” Roxie shouted as Tommy pointed a finger to Roxies face and quickly half stood up. You placed the bookmark into your book and gave the argument your full attention knowing you would soon need to step in.

“Don't call her that again, you hear me?” Tommy growled as he stared Roxie down before the drummer resumed his position with Nikki. Roxie geared up with a breath as she slammed the pen she had grabbed into Tommys shoulder.

“Here’s your pen!” the woman said aggravated. Tommy backed down into the seat next to him as he turned around quickly.

“OW! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Tommy yelled as he looked to Nikki with confusion and then back to Roxie.

“Fuck you, and fuck your mother!” Roxie yelled and pointed to prove her point. Roxies hair was out of place and a sneer was resting over her mouth as she took a step back as Tommy stood up.

“That's it! This fucking bitch is out of here. Pull over!” Tommy yelled quickly as he pointed towards the driver before grabbing Roxie and pushing her towards the bus door. You sat on the edge of your seat, gearing up to jump in and stop the fight if it got any worse; surely it couldn't, right? “Get the fuck off my bus! Get the fuck out!” Tommy yelled as he continued to push Roxie making the girl stumble with the seating in her way, as Tommy pushed the girl towards the front of the bus Roxie retaliated and pushed Tommy back with all her might. This made you quickly stand up knowing it wasn't going to end well.

“You are such, a spoiled little mama’s boy. ‘Cause you wanna crawl back inside her cunt!” Roxie yelled.

“OI” you yelled, it was directed towards the pair but it didn't stop either of them as Tommy took his swing. The sound gravited throughout the bus and you gasped as your hand covered your mouth.

“Jesus Christ!” Nikki said as Tommy breathed heavily as he stood up properly. Roxie stumbled slightly in her place as she tried to find something to steady her, you could hear her labored breaths as she too couldn't believe what had just happened. The girl flipped her head up as she uncovered her bloodied mouth and looked to her blood covered hand for a moment, letting the action sink in as she looked back to Tommy. The blood covered her red washed lips and fingertips.

“I told you not to say that.” Tommy said breathlessly, “fuck!” his hair was a mess as he quickly ran past you and into the bunks behind you, almost taking you with him in the process with the amount of force he used to get passed you. You looked to Roxie with sympathy as did the rest of the band as her shaking hand came up to wipe her mouth.

“Oh baby” you said softly, you grabbed the nearest box of tissues and quickly walked over to the girl, Roxie looked towards you with fear as she thought you may hurt her too, “no darling, im tryna help” you said softly. Roxie sniffed and nodded as she let you guide her to the nearest seat and tilted her head up by her chin softly to see the damage, you sighed, “I'm gonna go get a wet cloth, stay here” Roxie nodded as you gave her the tissue and she dapped at her swollen lips. You looked to Nikki, Vince and Mick, “make sure she doesnt go, do, or say anything while I'm gone for five seconds okay?” you asked as you stalked behind the door leading to the bunks, back room and bathroom. As you walked towards the bathroom you could hear the ragged breathing from Tommy as well as his fast paced footsteps in the backroom, he obviously knew what he had done and knew he couldn't take it back. You scoffed softly as you entered the bathroom, and put a cloth under some warm water before exiting the bathroom, only to find Tommy looking towards you.

“I- I really didn't-” Tommy started before you cut him off.

“I’ll speak to you after I’ve cleaned up your fucking mess, once again” you said as you sent a death stare to Tommy who physically looked in pain, took a step back, nodded and slumped on the large couch behind him as he placed his head in his hands. Moving back into the front room you saw Roxie nursing a bottle of vodka as the others had gone back to their business, you scoffed and rolled your eyes as you stepped forward and crouched in front of Roxie, the girl let you slip the vodka bottle from her, still trembling, hands and place some on the washcloth. Gripping Roxies chin softly you guided her head up and started the clean up; wiping the swollen lip with the vodka infused cloth, making the girl hissed softly at the sting, before going on with her chin, around her mouth and hands.

“I’m sorry” you heard Roxie say softly as you kiss the girls fingertips softly, a soft sigh left your mouth as you looked to her.

“I hope you do know it is kind of your fault” you said as you dropped the cloth onto the table nearest to you before sitting down on the walkway floor in front of the girl as she took a painful swig of the vodka, her eyes scrunching up from the pain as she nodded.

“I know it is, i dunno why i did it” Roxie said softly as her eyes welled with tears as she looked to you, “can I at least stay on here until the next city?” the girl asked with hope, you were about to respond with a warming smile before Mick cut in.

“I don't think that’d be a good idea,” the man said gruffly, Roxie looked to Mick with sadness as she nodded and sniffed softly.

“Understandable” Roxie said softly as the girl stood up.

“What? No!” you exclaimed quickly as you stood up, “no way are we letting you off here and now,” you turned to Mick and gave the old man a death glare before turning back to Roxie, “you’re staying here until we get to the next city, no questions asked or anything else said” you replied quickly, “it’s only another five hours, after that I’ll personally buy you a plane ticket back to where you live” you said to Roxie, the girl smiled brightfully as she brought you into a strong hug.

“Thank you so much” Roxie said into your neck, you smiled as you hugged the girl back tightly. Nikki sighed as you let the girl go.

“I’m gonna go and talk to Tommy in the back, when we’re done you can put your things back in your suitcase and get ready and everything” you said with a smile. You turned around to walk out the back and shot another glare to Mick who simply stared at you as you left through the door. Walking down the hall filled with bunks and stinking, sweaty stage clothes you stepped over the discarded shoes, underwear, drumsticks and a few baggies of cocaine. You sighed softly as you came to the backroom and opened the door to find Tommy sitting with his elbows on his knees and one of his legs bouncing; deep in though the drummer didn't even notice you had walked in. You coughed. “Ahem” Tommy looked up with wide eyes as he stood up quickly and walked towards you.

“(Y/n), i’m so sorry,” the drummer began as he stood in front of you and held your biceps in a piercing grip. You kept your cool, “is Roxie still here? She's not gonna marry me now, (Y/n) please tell me what's going on instead of gaping there in front of me like a fish out of water!” the drummer pleaded, his voice raising with every word. You looked to Tommy with a dead stare, “WELL?!” Tommy yelled.

SLAP

Tommys face turned to the right as he stumbled slightly and fell back onto the couch, Tommy looked to you with a confused face and a gaping mouth, “WHAT THE FU-”

“Thomas Lee Bass,” you said calmly, Tommy looked to you as if you had the plague and his eyes widened, “you just punched your now ex-fiance, we are less than five hours away from the next city. You will buy Roxie a new plane ticket back to her own town, you will pay for the taxi she takes and you will pay for whatever flight she wants whether that's first class or business or anything she wants.” you stared at Tommy with a death stare as the drummer looked as if he was a puppy thrown into a wall, “you will go out there and apologise to Roxie for punching her, tell her you’re paying for her plane ticket, the food or drinks she gets and the taxi she uses to get home,” you sat down next to Tommy and placed a hand on his thigh. Tommy sighed and placed his head in his hands.

“Roxie kind of started it” the drummer mumbled, you sighed softly as your hand came to Tommy's back and rubbed his sweaty back.

“I know” you said softly, “she knows too, but you’re the one who took the swing when you knew you should have been the bigger person” you said softly. Tommy nodded as he leant into your touch and your side, you sighed softly as you let Tommy cuddle into your side as the drummer put his face into your neck and sniffled.

“I-I really liked her” Tommy whispered as he got comfortable in your arms and you placed your head on Tommys.

“I know Tommy, we liked her too” you said softly, “but” you sighed softly as you recalled what Nikki had told you a week ago, “Nikki has been fucking Roxie since the Looks That Kill shoot, even Doc knows” you said softly. You felt Tommy slump against you as if he knew already.

“I thought so, he does it with every girl I come in contact with” Tommy said softly, “he can have her if he wants” the drummer sniffled softly as you kissed the top of his head.

“It’ll be okay Tommy, you’ll find someone. I know so, these are just bumps in the road” you said softly as you played with Tommys hair, the drummer snuggled into your neck as he let the previous events of today play out in his mind over and over.

#colson baker #motley crue #tommy lee #vince neil #mick mars #nikki sixx #daniel webber #douglas booth #iwan rheon #machine gun kelly #tommy lee x reader #colson baker x reader #motley crue x reader

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 4 years ago

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5th November >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Luke 15:1-10 for Thursday, Thirty First Week in Ordinary Time: ‘There is rejoicing among the angels of God over one repentant sinner’.

Thursday, Thirty First Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA)

Luke 15:1-10

There will be rejoicing in heaven over one repentant sinner

The tax collectors and the sinners were all seeking the company of Jesus to hear what he had to say, and the Pharisees and the scribes complained. ‘This man’ they said ‘welcomes sinners and eats with them.’ So he spoke this parable to them:

‘What man among you with a hundred sheep, losing one, would not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the missing one till he found it? And when he found it, would he not joyfully take it on his shoulders and then, when he got home, call together his friends and neighbours? “Rejoice with me,” he would say “I have found my sheep that was lost.” In the same way, I tell you, there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one repentant sinner than over ninety-nine virtuous men who have no need of repentance.

‘Or again, what woman with ten drachmas would not, if she lost one, light a lamp and sweep out the house and search thoroughly till she found it? And then, when she had found it, call together her friends and neighbours? “Rejoice with me,” she would say “I have found the drachma I lost.” In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing among the angels of God over one repentant sinner.’

Gospel (USA)

Luke 15:1-10

There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents.

The tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to listen to Jesus, but the Pharisees and scribes began to complain, saying, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So Jesus addressed this parable to them. “What man among you having a hundred sheep and losing one of them would not leave the ninety-nine in the desert and go after the lost one until he finds it? And when he does find it, he sets it on his shoulders with great joy and, upon his arrival home, he calls together his friends and neighbors and says to them, ‘Rejoice with me because I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you, in just the same way there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance.

“Or what woman having ten coins and losing one would not light a lamp and sweep the house, searching carefully until she finds it? And when she does find it, she calls together her friends and neighbors and says to them, ‘Rejoice with me because I have found the coin that I lost.’ In just the same way, I tell you, there will be rejoicing among the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

Reflections (4)

(i) Thursday, Thirty First Week in Ordinary Time

A question we might sometimes ask ourselves in our more reflective moments is, ‘What do I really value in life?’ At the conclusion of today’s first reading, Saint Paul gives his own answer to that question, ‘I believe nothing can happen that will outweigh the supreme advantage of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord’. For Paul, his relationship with the Lord is the supreme value, before which even those religious credentials he boasted about in the past now seem of little value, such as keeping the Jewish Law faultlessly. We spend our lives growing in our appreciation of the Lord as our supreme value, as ‘my Lord’. What did Jesus really value in life? Today’s gospel reading suggests that we are all his supreme value, especially when we find ourselves lost in some way or other. The two parables Jesus speaks in response to the criticism of the Pharisees and the scribes reveal his real priorities. He is like the shepherd searching for his lost sheep or the woman searching for her lost coin, in that his whole ministry is driven by his search of those who feel lost in themselves or lost to God or to the faith community. Jesus valued those whom the religious leaders of the time dismissed as sinners. The Lord values us, even when others are tempted to give up on us, or we are tempted to give up on ourselves, because of what we have done or failed to do. To the extent that we grow in our appreciation of how much the Lord values us, we will be freed to keep valuing him above all else in life, recognizing with Saint Paul, ‘the supreme advantage of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord’.

And/Or

(ii) Thursday, Thirty First Week in Ordinary Time

We spend a certain amount of our time looking for something, and that is certainly true if you are as prone to loosing things as often as I am. We also find ourselves looking for people in various ways. Parents look for their children if they ramble off. Men and women look for someone they can share their lives with. We all look for friends, people with whom we can journey and who want to journey with us. Underneath all this searching and longing is a more fundamental search for God who alone can satisfy the deepest longings in our hearts. Saint Augustine wrote that our hearts are restless until they rest in God. Even more fundamental than our search for God is God’s search for us. God’s search for us took flesh in the person of Jesus. He said of himself that he came to seek and to save the lost; Jesus gave expression to God’s longing to be in communion with us. The shepherd who searches for his lost sheep and the woman who searches for her lost coin in this morning’s two parables are images of Jesus’ search for us, of God’s search for us in Jesus. God never ceases to seek us out because we are all lost in different ways. Our search for God is always in response to God’s search for us. In the words of the first letter of Saint John, ‘We love because God first loved us’. If we open our hearts to God’s searching love for us in Jesus then we will be moved to search for God.

And/Or

(iii) Thursday, Thirty First Week in Ordinary Time

At the beginning of today’s gospel reading Jesus is criticized by the experts in the Jewish Law for sharing table with sinners, those who were adjudged not to keep the Jewish Law, the Law of God. In reply to that criticism, Jesus speaks the two parables we have just heard, one which features a man and the other a woman. The actions of the two characters in the two stories seem a bit extravagant. Why would a shepherd abandon ninety nine sheep, leaving them at risk, to go in search of one sheep that has strayed? Having found that sheep and carried him home on his shoulders, it seems a little over the top to invite friends and neighbours to join in a celebratory meal? The same questions could be asked of the woman. Why spend the day searching for a lost coin, and then entertain friends and neighbours to celebrate with her when she found it? The cost of entertaining was probably more than the value of the coin. If the actions of these characters seem a bit extravagant, it is because, in telling these stories, Jesus is really talking about the ways of God, which are extravagant by human standards. Jesus is saying that God’s love for us is so strong, God’s desire to be in communion with us is so great, that God seeks us out with great energy whenever we stray from him and end up lost. Then when we allow ourselves to be found by God, God’s joy knows no bounds. This is the God whom Jesus revealed in his style of eating, his way of life, and that he continues to reveal to us today.

And/Or

(iv) Thursday, Thirty First Week in Ordinary Time

The joy of the gospel has been a very strong theme of the preaching and writing of Pope Francis. His recent letter on the call to holiness in today’s world was entitled ‘Rejoice and Be Glad’. The note of joy is very strong in today’s gospel reading. When the shepherd finds his lost sheep, he ‘joyfully’ takes it on his shoulders and when he gets home he calls together his friends and neighbours, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me!’ When the woman who lost her coin finds it, she too calls together her friends and neighbours together and says to them, ‘Rejoice with me!’ The shepherd and the woman are both images of Jesus. He is seeking out the lost, as they did, and gathering them together into a new community. As he does so, he says to all, ‘Rejoice with me’. ‘Rejoice at God’s good work’. However, there were those who, far from rejoicing with Jesus, took offense at what he was doing, ‘This man welcomes sinners and eats with them’. On another occasion, Jesus compares such people to children who refuse to dance when other children play the pipes. Their sullen response to what God was doing through Jesus was in sharp contrast to the rejoicing in heaven. Jesus wanted some of that heavenly joy to be reflected among those who witnessed what he was doing. God’s good work continues today through the risen Lord and the Holy Spirit, even in the midst of these difficult times for the church. There is something here to rejoice in. The Lord continues to say to us, ‘Rejoice with me’. In the words of Paul in the first reading, we all possess what he calls ‘the supreme advantage of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord’. We know that the Christ Jesus our Lord is at work within us and among us and that is reason for joy.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

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