#they look like shit though. i am embarrassed. i guess i should probably hand draw them and take pictures and paste that in

[milkweedman]

...so im writing up a little guide for how to learn to spin on a drop spindle, bc my friend wants to learn and physical distance means i can’t teach it in person -_-

my little guide has somehow already gone over 4000 words and has 5 mspaint diagrams, most of them quite detailed

[ptergwen]

If you do smut can you do like stark!reader x peter parker (spiderman) are dating 3-4 month and y/n and peter had their very fluff first time then next morning y/n has hickies all over her neck and her thights stomach... and tony/ her dad sees it and is confronting them with it😂 i love your stories 🤤

just saying hi

w/c: 2.5k

warnings: veryyyy suggestive, swearing, some pretty embarrassing moments

a/n: thank you babe! i didn’t write the actual smut but y’all can guess what happened 😭 also this is super long i couldn’t help myself

-

it was everything. it was everything you ever wanted your first time to be and more.

you’d brought up to peter during a make out session one night that you were ready to go farther than you two already have. there was one base you didn’t hit yet. the fourth, the final. you were thinking about it for a while before that, and peter would be lying if he said he didn’t.

your love has always been physical, whether it’s you kissing peter’s cuts after a mission or him tracing hearts on you with his fingers. there’s also the more sexual side of things. that part, you both enjoy just as much, maybe even a little more because you know exactly how to make each other feel good after all the trial and error.

what better way to combine the two than, well, making love?

last night was your sign from the universe, your go ahead to do it. you had the compound to yourselves because your dad had taken all the “big kids” out for the night. you’re both well into college, but he refuses to see you as adults. that meant no peter and no you. you two were a little offended until you realized you could make use of your alone time.

you started off searching for a movie. that turned into you wrestling peter for the remote because you didn’t feel like watching back to the furure yet again. wrestling turned into you on top of him, which turned into you kissing him, which turned into peter throwing the remote somewhere and carrying you up to your room with his lips still on yours.

neither of you had to say it. you were on the same page, same wavelength, two brains in one as peter layed you down and trailed his kisses lower and lower.

peter was so gentle with you, except for when you told him not to be. those were the times he didn’t hold back. he was attentive and sweet and showed you quite a few times how much he loves you. you showed him just the same. yeah, it was really everything.

“morning, baby. you awake yet?” peter hums against the shell of your ear, arms wound comfortably around you. “kinda,” you mumble back with a goofy smile. he presses his lips to your ear and nuzzles his face in the side of your neck. “kinda... how’d you sleep?” you can hear the grin in his voice. his nose nudges your bare skin where a fresh hickey lies and makes you scrunch your own up.

“good, really good. always love sleeping with you.” you’re both aware of the alternate meaning that has now. “funny,” peter lets out a breathy laugh against you and brushes his thumb over your stomach where your shirt got ridden up. you sigh, enjoying his soft touch and reaching behind you to play with his curls. they’re a lot messier than usual from you tugging on them all last night.

peter removes his face from your neck and carefully turns you onto your other side. you’re facing him now, eyes trained on his concerned expression. “hey, just wanna check. how are you feeling? still sore?” a tiny smile stretches your face. he really does care about you and how you feel after everything. you know for a fact most other guys wouldn’t.

“i mean, yeah. you were... it was a lot, but i’ll be fine in a few days i think.” the mention of peter being a lot makes color rush to his face. you laugh quietly at that, cupping one of his cheeks that’s turning pink. “oh. i, um, i didn’t know that. sorry.” he smiles shyly as you smooth your thumb over his warm skin. “don’t be. it wasn’t as bad after i... adjusted a little,” you reassure him, making him lean into your palm.

“i really am sorry, y/n/n. can i make it up to you?” peter checks with you, eyes going up from yours to down your body. he hooks a finger in the waistband of your pajama shorts. “make you feel better?” the way he finishes his question with a bite of his lip is definitely tempting. so is your stomach yelling at you to put some food in it. you’ll have to wait.

“later. right now, you can make me breakfast,” you beam at him and take his hand. peter pushes his palm against yours, letting you lace your fingers together as he puffs some air out of his cheeks. “yeah, that’s gonna go well.” “i’m supervising. it will.” you capture his lips in a kiss, one he instantly reciprocates, free hand resting on your hip. just as it’s heating up, you break it.

“i’m hungry for actual food,” you giggle and roll out of his embrace. “ok, ok, ok. let’s go see what we have,” peter gives in with a chuckle, grabbing the same hand he was just holding and following you down to the kitchen.

he ends up popping some frozen waffles into the toaster, you sitting up on the counter with your phone out while he struggles through the different settings. “should i put it on bake? no, that doesn’t sound right,” he talks to himself with eyes squinted in concentration. “your dad made this thing so... detailed.” it’s an old stark industries toaster, one with options you probably don’t even need.

“yeah because he loves his toast, so maybe don’t break it. he’ll kill you or something,” you half playfully half seriously suggest. peter is one clumsy guy. he tsks at you and crouches down to read the words on the dial. there’s conveniently a setting for waffles, so he hits that one. he’s not sure how he hadn’t noticed it before.

since he’s down there, he takes one of your ankles in both hands and starts to kiss up your leg. it tickles when he gets to your knee, drawing a giggle out of you, but your phone still blocks his face. you’re doing it on purpose. “baby,” peter tries to get your attention in a soft voice. he presses a couple more kisses to your knee. you have to hold your breath so you don’t laugh again.

“baby girllll,” peter drags out, lips moving up your thigh. he nudges your phone with his nose much like a puppy would. “aye, i’m talkin’ to you here,” he says in a fake new york accent. you finally put it down next to you. “i’m listening.” you’re giving him a satisfied smile as he goes back to kissing you.

“just saying hi,” he looks up at you and moves your shorts aside while he kisses further and further to where you want. you scoot closer to him on the counter.

that’s when he stops. not only stops, gasps in horror. “what?” you ask quickly, his eyes fixed on your inner thighs. “i kind of, uh, marked you up. like, a lot.” he runs a finger gently over the bruised skin. you’re suddenly very aware of it now. it doesn’t exactly hurt, just feels bumpy and weird. you peer down at yourself to see the damage, eyes going wide.

“shit... they’re on my neck, too,” you remember, murmuring to him. you’ll have to cover these up before everyone gets home. worry flashes across peter’s face. “oh my god, i didn’t even realize. it- it was dark and you told me-“ “pete, it’s okay. it’s pretty hot,” you stop his rambling, reaching down and putting a hand on his shoulder. he frowns up at you.

“really? are you sure i didn’t go too far? because you can tell me.” you’ve always appreciated how much peter genuienly values your thoughts on things, in the bedroom and in other parts of your relationship. it does lead to a lot of second guessing, though. you squeeze his shoulder and let out a breath. “i’m sure, okay? it’s really not that serious. i’ll just change so no one can see.”

peter winds an arm around one of your legs, body relaxing ever so slightly under your touch. “okay.” he gives your thigh one final kiss, then rests his chin on it. “what about your neck?” “uh...” you hadn’t considered that yet. “makeup? a scarf?” you’ve seen enough tv to know neither of those work, but they’re your only options.

“yup. mr. stark is really gonna kill me now,” peter says under his breath, tensing up all over again. you furrow your eyebrows at him. “what? we’re literally grown adults, we can do whatever we want-“

tony claps loudly as he steps into the kitchen, announcing his return home. peter jumps up from between your legs faster than fast. he moves so he’s next to you, and you hop down from the counter.

“hello, daughter of mine. spider of man,” your dad greets you two, you pulling down your shorts with a plastered on smile. “or would it be man of spider?” he plucks an apple from the bowl on the table as he ponders his question. steve and wanda file into the room next. “second one,” peter replies, grinning a little too much to be normal. tony takes note of that.

wanda comes over to the fridge for a snack, which is close to where you and peter are. “how was last night?” you ask her to take the attention off you two. wanda settles on a yogurt and turns to you. “it was good. we shared a few hotel rooms, had our own party.” she glances over at peter, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “seems like you two had a fun night of your own.”

peter’s mouth drops open. “how did you-“ he forgot she could read his mind and now knows everything that happened. you slap a hand over your forehead. “you couldn’t think about anything else? for, like, a minute?” you whisper yell at him. he uses his eyes to plead with you. “i’m sorry! i was looking at the hickeys-“ he realizes what he’s saying. “crap.”

shooting you a wink, wanda shuts the fridge and goes to join the rest of the team in the living room. lucky for you and peter, steve started lecturing tony about washing his fruit before he eats it. he didn’t hear any of that. there’s still the problem of your visible hickeys that you have zero seconds to hide.

“how the fuck am i supposed to cover these? they’re right in the center, peter!” you panic, your heart starting to race as peter fumbles for a dish towel. that’s the best he could come up with? “no!” you toss it back at him. he throws it on the counter with a pained look. tony and steve make their way over to you.

“oh, hush. a couple of deadly pesticides won’t shake me, stevey boy,” tony insists and takes another big bite of his apple. steve huffs in disapproval and crosses his arms. “you’re a big baby, tony. if you’re not gonna do the right thing, at least buy organic-“ with the world’s longest sigh, tony chucks his apple into the open garbage can.

“there. no more apple discourse.” steve shakes his head at your dad’s behavior. “that was a waste. you could’ve finished it.” “not with your nagging into my literal ear.” steve raises his hands in surrender before making his way out of the kitchen. tony side steps past him and over to you. “enough of that now. let’s have a welcome home hug from my girl.”

you share a look with peter, a look of pure fear that’s in both of your eyes. he’ll definitely notice the hickeys if he gets that close to you. he holds out his arms expectantly while peter scratches the back of his own neck. “sure, dad. welcome home.” an awkward smile on your lips, you bury your face in your dad’s chest and wrap your arms around him in one motion. this way, he didn’t have time to see you from too close up.

peter exhales in relief at the narrowly avoided disaster. that’s until tony makes a request. “missed me that much, kiddo, huh? come out of there.” “but, i’m so comfortable. i wanna stay like this,” you insist, a niceness to your voice tony immediately sees through. he drops his arms from around you, eyeing peter suspiciously, who averts his gaze to the floor.

“nuh uh, you did something. both of you,” your dad states, taking a step to stand between you and peter. peter gulps down a breath before speaking. “mr. stark, it was-“ tony holds up a hand. “don’t worry, kid. i’ll figure it out.”

he gives peter a proper stare, searching him for clues of some sort. it’s a good thing he isn’t wanda because the details of your night would have been exposed. he couldn’t find anything, so now it’s your turn. he’s a little disappointed you’re the one hiding something.

“oh, y/n. not you,” tony sighs as he gives you a looking over. he starts with your face, your eyes following down as his do. it’s when he gets just past your chin that he sees them. the little hickeys littering your skin, some already deep shades of purple. he rips off his glasses in disbelief.

“absolutely not.” he closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with the same hand his glasses are in. “i’m not seeing this. i’m not seeing this if i don’t look.” you scoff at his reaction. “dad, you know we’re together. you can’t expect us to not...” “don’t say it,” tony begs, getting the urge to hurl his half eaten apple. he turns and faces peter.

“parker, you really did all of that?” peter only blinks, nervously meeting the eyes of his mentor. “to my daughter?” tony adds on to scare him even more. “i- i-“ a burst of frustration comes out of peter. “you left two teenagers alone the whole night. what’d you think was gonna happen?” he’s shocked at his own words, his face showing it. tony raises his eyebrows. both your hands cover your mouth.

not wanting to deal with peter, tony addresses you instead. “i don’t care how you do it, cover those up. don’t let me see them ever again. understood?” you nod a good amount of times and reach for peter’s hand. he’s about to give it, then tony glares down at what’s happening. peter pulls back immediatelty. “understood. we’ll, um, do better next time,” you agree, tony winching at the idea of a next time.

“you, parker... treat a lady with a little more respect, eh?” tony clicks his tongue at him. he’s referring to all the hickeys. peter’s lips form a line, a sarcastic one that says oh well. “i tried, mr. stark, but y/n wanted me to-“ “christ, that’s enough.” tony furiously shakes his head and starts to walk away from you two. “never again!”

you’re thanking god when he sets off for the living room, you hiding your face in peter’s chest, his face in your hair. “that was terrible. that was the worst thing ever,” you say into him. “i’m sorry, baby. we gotta be more careful.”

it’s not over yet because then, the toaster dings. you’d completely forgotten about the waffles. you and peter both separate with your millionth shared look of terror. tony comes rushing back into the room, very familiar with that noise.

“first you destroy my daughter, now my toaster? pete... you’re in for it, kid.”

[foli-vora]

my girl

A/N: look, I don’t even fucking know. I saw the reference picture and my mind just went absolutely feral. What started out as what could be a simple threesome, soon turned into this—whatever the fuck this is. I refuse to apologise. I enjoyed this ride and will now throw this out into the abyss like a grenade and run back to the safety of my blankets, ashamed to ever return.

This is for @autumnleaves1991-blog Writers Wednesday ❤️ such an incredible idea! Thank you for letting me join in!

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader x Francisco “Catfish” Morales

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: this is straight up filth. FILTH. SMUT 18+ NO MINORS!! Swearing, alcohol, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lactation kink—not everyone’s cup of tea, I get it... dirty talk, Dave’s a bastard and Frankie’s a pussy eating king—both things we know by now. Um, enjoy, I guess?

+

“Fuck.”

You laugh lightly, head falling back onto Dave’s shoulder as Frankie drops his cards to the table with a drawn out sigh.

“You can’t lie for shit, Morales.”

He shoots a half hearted glare at Dave, crossing his arms stubbornly. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing, York.”

You snort quietly, fingers intertwining with the hand resting comfortably on your thigh. “It’s not a good thing, either. Drink up.”

“Two against one is hardly fair.”

Dave grins, momentarily pressing against your back to reach for his own beer before reclining comfortably back in the chair, pulling you tighter against him as he goes. “You say that like she’s a threat—she’s as hopeless as you.”

“Rude.”

The sun still warms your shoulders as it starts it’s descent below the heavy tree line behind your property, the bright summer glow fading into something softer, more relaxing, and you eye the mess of paper plates, cups and random toys strewn about in the yard—the leftover destruction of your sons first birthday.

Dave’s fingers softly pinch your chin and return your focus to the table and the drinking game currently taking place, coaxing another beer into your hands while he kisses softly below your ear. “Stop looking at it—we’ll do it in the morning.”

“Yeah, when I’m long gone.” Frankie mutters, grinning at you before tipping his head back and polishing off another can while Dave laughs quietly.

He liked Dave. The guy was strange sometimes, what with his out of town work and mysterious friends that made the hairs on the back of Frankie’s neck stand, but Dave was a good guy... adored the absolute hell out of you and that’s all that mattered. He served, too, but unlike Frankie choosing to retire, he took up an opportunity with the CIA. Not too shabby.

Frankie’s checking in with his babysitter a little while later, having lost again, when he hears a little moan. His eyes move towards the sound before he can help it.

What the fuck?

Frankie shifts in his seat, not looking straight at the pair of you in fear of fucking flat out moaning. He chalks it up to just not being with someone for a while but wow. He could see you from the corner of his eye, see Dave’s hands and the way they move to squeeze and pinch at your tits as his mouth practically devours yours. You’re complete putty in his hands, melting into his lap and taking whatever he gives you hungrily.

Maybe he should go.

Fuck. Did you just whimper?

Jesus. He needs to leave now.

“I’ll head off... give you two some space—”

Dave’s low voice stops his rise from the chair, his ass hanging awkwardly over the seat as eyes that match his in colour and depth zero in on him from across the table. “What’s the rush, Morales?”

“No rush. I just don’t want to intrude—”

“You’re not. Sit down. Have another beer.”

Say no. Say no.

“Sure.”

He resettles in the chair, immediately reaching for another can as wonders why he suddenly feels so fucking studied under Dave’s watchful gaze.

“So how long have you wanted to fuck my wife?”

You blink in shock, “David!”

Frankie just about chokes. Beer spills from his lips and he hacks a cough in surprise, sleeve catching the drops of liquid that fall from his chin. Fuck. Fucking shit. What the fuck is he meant to do? He’s gonna get his ass kicked, and if he’s being honest with himself, he fucking deserves it.

He should’ve fucking left.

“Man, I swear—” He swears what? He can tell by the way Dave’s looking at him that the man already knows. He’s not angry—not even a little bit. He’s just... smug. And curious. What kind of fucking game is this guy playing?

“Oh god, Frankie, I’m so sorry—please ignore him. David, what’s the fucking matter with you?!”

You bristle when he blatantly ignores you, instead raising a brow in challenge at Frankie. “Am I wrong?”

Frankie works his jaw, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to work out Dave’s play. He doesn’t seem to be looking for a fight. Doesn’t seem to be doing it out of spite or wanting to upset you. He has no idea how to act, what to fucking say.

Dave nods, grinning. “Thought as much.”

His hand cups your chest, squeezing the flesh softly, and you squirm in his touch, cheeks flooding with embarrassment for your friend as Frankie swallows uncomfortably, eyes immediately finding the crushed cans on the table. “Dave—”

“He doesn’t mind—do you, Morales?”

You watch in slight surprise as Frankie’s eyes flutter to your chest, watching the way Dave handles you roughly before they’re moving away again, almost shy.

“It’s alright. You can watch. Can’t he, honey?”

And then Frankie’s looking at you, eyes unsure and questioning but burning with something that has a thrill running along your spine. You nod quietly, heart beating unsteadily as Frankie’s eyes widen slightly, body squirming in the chair.

“If—if you want to.”

He exhales softly, now watching with rapt attention as Dave brings both hands up, undoing each button of your dress until your modest cotton bra is on show, nipples poking through and straining against the fabric. He feels the air leave his lungs the second Dave pulls at the cups, spilling your tits out to the open air and his wandering gaze. He can’t help but make a noise at the sight of them, cock hardening to the point of discomfort as Dave massages them softly, your eyes rolling a little as he pinches at your nipples.

Frankie stiffens in the chair, breath catching and stomach dropping.

Fucking shit—

Dave hums lowly in appreciation, feeling a warm dribble across his thumb and fingers as you squirm from the familiar tingle in your breasts. “She’s trying to stop and dry it up, but it takes a while, doesn’t it, honey? Not that I care—more for me in the long run.”

Frankie almost whines. Fucking whines. He catches it just before it falls from his throat, close to embarrassment. Dave knows—the bastard. You look so good. So fucking good. Fuck, there’s so much—

“Have a taste.”

You moan softly at the idea, and Dave hushes you softly as he presses a kiss to your throat.

Frankie eyes the milk that falls from your nipple before glancing up and meeting Dave’s gaze, lips pursing in thought despite the way his cock throbs in his jeans. What was the ulterior motive here? Was it a test? Was he just looking for a reason to knock him out? Does he even care?

Dave watches him, expression unwavering, almost teasing as he coaxes more milk from your tits and runs his fingers through the warm stream sliding down your skin.

“What’s the catch?” Frankie eventually asks, voice hoarse, and Dave grins.

“No catch.”

Did he get up too fast? By the way Dave laughs at him, he probably did. He doesn’t care. He can’t get around the stupid fucking glass table quick enough.

Frankie drops to his knees in front of you, attention completely focused on the way Dave squeezes gently at your nipple and draws more milk from your tit.

He wants to double check. He knows Dave would never push you to do something you didn’t want to, but there’s been a bit of alcohol involved, and even though he knows your tolerance level is much higher than a few beers, hell—even tequila doesn’t bring you down, checking doesn’t hurt. “Are you—”

You nod, “It’s okay, Frankie.”

“Go on.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Frankie’s lip attach to you the second Dave opens his mouth, his tongue running immediately over your nipple and groaning when the taste of your milk sinks into his taste buds. So fucking sweet. You whine into Dave’s ear when Frankie increases his pressure, greedy for more as you flood his mouth, and your stomach tightens at Dave’s low hum.

“Feel good, honey?” He asks quietly, other hand cupping and rolling your free nipple in his hand as Frankie moans softly against your skin, the prickle of his facial hair so different to Dave’s clean shaven face, but no less pleasant.

“S-so good—”

Dave’s fingers gently pinch at the hem of your dress, sliding it up along your thighs and pooling it above your waist before coaxing your thighs open a little more, Frankie immediately moving into the free space as soon as he could. Dave pulls your panties to the side, running his fingers through your slick folds with a low groan.

“You’re so fucking wet. Do you like him sucking on your tits?”

You whine quietly, hips arching into the two fingers that swirl around your entrance before they slide in and curl against your hot walls. He moves slowly, dragging them almost lazily in and out of your pussy as he feels more of your arousal coat his hand.

“Yeah, you do like it—so does he. Do you think he can hear how wet you are, baby? Do you think he can hear my fingers move in this greedy little cunt?”

Frankie groans. Loudly. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so fucking turned on. He can hear it. It’s driving him fucking mad. He wants to look, wants to watch how your face moves as Dave finds that spot deep along your walls, but he can’t pull away from you. Not yet. If this is the only chance he gets to do this, then he’s taking it and fucking running.

Dave’s gentle as he pulls his fingers from you, swirling his slick soaked fingers around and over your nipple before coaxing Frankie to the other side. The obscene groan that vibrates against your chest sends flutters through your entire body as Frankie laps at your skin with a ravenous frenzy, tongue smoothing over every bit of wet skin he could find before latching onto your nipple without abandon.

Dave picks up on it immediately. “Easy. You hurt her, I hurt you.”

A tongue smoothes over your nipple in silent apology, and your fingers run through the flattened curls of Frankie’s hat hair in acceptance, his face nuzzling against your skin as you bring him closer. Dave’s fingers return to your pussy, leisurely circling your clit, swollen and throbbing from lack of attention.

“Do you want to cum, honey?”

The needy whine that leaves your mouth has him cooing into the side of your face, fingers picking up speed and pressure at the desperate little buck of your hips.

“Maybe if you ask Francisco nicely, he’ll eat this pretty pussy until you cum.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Is he serious?

Frankie shudders against you, cock straining so fucking hard against his jeans he almost wants to cry. He’d beg if he has to. If that tiny little taster Dave gave him was anything to go by, you’d drive him fucking wild.

“P-please Frankie—”

Dave tuts lowly in your ear, “‘Please Frankie’—you can do better than that. He can’t hear you.”

“Fuck. Please—”

“Please what?”

“Please eat my pussy—please—”

Dave winds his fingers into Frankie’s hair and tugs sharply, the other man detaching from your tit with a wet smack of his lips. He eyes the small trail of milk sliding into Frankie’s beard and scoffs quietly, “Messy.”

Frankie’s already flushed cheeks darken even further, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is how fucking stunning you look, legs spread and face morphed in ecstasy as Dave rubs over your clit with a shadow of a smirk—the man knew he drove you crazy.

God, so fucking wet—

You’re dripping. He can see it. He watches the way your entrance flutters, pussy clenching hungrily around nothing as Dave slows his movements.

“Well? You heard her.” He parts your folds, baring you in all your slick fucking glory, and Frankie all but fucking loses his god damn mind. He dives in, uncaring that Dave’s fingers are there and his tongues probably running over them more than he cares to count. Dave doesn’t seem to mind.

The cry that falls from your lips has Frankie pressing forward, mouth pressing greedily against you as his tongue works at your pussy, lapping at your weeping entrance before lathing attention to your clit, tightening his lips around the nerve and letting his tongue massage over it.

“Oh fuck, Frankie—”

Dave hums, curved nose trailing softly along the side of your face as you thrash in his arms, bucking into the mouth that all but fucking devours your pussy. His tries to ignore the way you shift on his lap, the way your ass drags so fucking nicely over his hard cock straining under you, tries to ignore the delicious fucking sounds coming from both you and Frankie, but he can only endure so much.

He bites into your shoulder, eyes tightening as he fights off the waves of tempting bliss tingling at the base of his spine. Not yet. He wants more.

“Come on, baby. He’s been so good—cum on his mouth. Give it to him.”

Your body thrums with waves of electricity at Dave’s words, each swipe of Frankie’s tongue driving you further and further until you’re stiffening, Dave cooing quiet praises and quickly slapping a firm hand over your mouth as you find your peak, crying out and shaking in his arms as Frankie holds onto your thighs, tongue burying itself in your fluttering pussy to take everything you give him.

Your cries turn into whines, and soon you’re squirming, trying to get away from Frankie’s mouth. He takes the message before Dave can intervene, pulling away with a shaky exhale and desperately trying not to blow his load in his fucking jeans. He had a feeling Dave would never let him live it down, but it was so fucking hard not to. You were wrecked.

He watches you come down from your high from the floor between your thighs, heart hammering as Dave softly runs his fingers along your skin, voice almost silent as he murmurs in your ear. Dark eyes are soon on him and Frankie briefly worries he’s overstepping his welcome, until Dave speaks.

“That’s what you get when you lose, Morales. Imagine what you’ll get if you win. Deal ‘em.” Dave nods to the cards on the table, acting like he didn’t have you still trembling in his arms with your tits out, and dress bunched around your hips with your pussy still spread and quivering.

Frankie swallows, nodding silently and moving back to his seat, reaching for the cards with a sudden urge to win and wipe that fucking smirk off of Dave’s face.

+

Tags: @anu-simps @seasonschange-butpeopledont @withasideofmeg @you-got-me-starry-eyed @mouthymandalorianalso @frannyzooey @wyn-dixie @intu-witch-tion @amneris21 @mad-girl-without-a-box @pinguinstudiert @sergeantbannerbarnes @betterthanbucky @kat-r-in @starlightmornings @randomness501 @antisocialthat70sshow @buttercup--bee @sleep-tight1 @spideysimpossiblegirl @greeneyedblondie44 @hope-for-the-best-98 @bunniwarrior @fangirl-316 @acourtofsnakes @leaiorganas @princess76179​ @mamacitapascal @221bshrlocked @danniburgh @lv7867​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @julesorwhatever​

[mystic-sky]

Summary: third-year Gojo’s first kiss with fem reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of marijuana, sfw aside from teen Gojo ogling at your tiddies.

A/N: I wanted to break from my heavy smut writing with something wholesome and sort of vanilla. Enjoy SSS trio and you on a summer night in August.

It was your second summer together, the summer before everything went to shit. The memory will forever be engraved into you, into Gojo Satoru. Forever engraved into Geto Suguru before his departure, and forever engraved into Ieiri Shoko, who had just discovered her newest infatuation with marijuana.

The moment feels ridiculously more ethereal than how you remember it. Suguru and Satoru snicker as you take your first pull. You’re coughing your lungs out, shoving the blunt back between Suguru’s fingers. He allows his laughter to die down before passing it between his lips (most effortlessly) to inhale.

“Like this,” he holds it for a moment, and releases a puff of the high into your face. Your throat closes and you heave again, squeezing your knees as you hunch over.

“You’ll get used to it,” Shoko says, taking hold of the blunt to take her own pull before passing it to Satoru whose just behind you, sitting on the railing. 

He’s blocking the setting sun, which you were grateful for in a way. You eventually got better at smoking before the thing burnt out, much to everyone’s dismay.

“Get us ice cream, oh handsome, honored one.” Shoko bats her long eyelashes at the snow haired male. She shoves an elbow at your side. You quickly join in.

“Oh dearest honored one, bestow us with snacks to cure the munchies.”

He hops down from the railing, and he’s still taller than the rest of you. “Hmm, say the handsome part again, won’t you? Then, I might consider it.” His sunglasses slide down his nose, and he’s more in your face than Shoko’s, even though you never exaggerated the handsome part specifically.

As nose barely touches nose, you’re a bit flustered by the heat of his body emanating onto yours. It was already hot outside, but you surely felt it.

“I’m the handsome, honored one,” you begin, sliding his sunglasses off of his face and putting them on your own. “And I am going to spoil my friends with ice cream— because I’m the honored one.”

“Cute,” he’s holding an loose, irritated scowl, whirling around and quickly walking up ahead of you lot, earning chuckles from the rest of the group. “Are you guys coming or not?”

“Oh we are, handsome honored one,” Shoko snorts on the handsome part again before cheesing at you. You’re imitating his facial expressions with the shades on— wow these things are pretty cool, you think. And clearly expensive. 

It’s a decent walk to the convenience store now that the sun is down, and no longer scorching the open skin of your back. Him and Suguru are snickering about something like usual, peering back immaturely at you and Shoko. The both of you are unamused, wondering if the two of you should pretend to mumble things about them too, just to rile them up. 

She asks you for your hair tie by whispering in your ear, and you stifle a fake laugh, earning raised eyebrows from the two males. You swiftly pull it off your wrist and hand it to her, watching her stuff what she could of her bob cut into a frazzled ponytail.

Stepping foot into the store was probably the sweetest relief of that night. The coldest air poured down your backs as the door chimed loudly upon entry. You slide the sunglasses up to rest on your head, realizing just how bright the in-store lights actually were.

You and Shoko broke off from the boys to choose what you pleased. She picked up a teen idol magazine as you paced just a few steps ahead. You’re grabbing a few snacks as well, something crunchy to fill whatever it was your stomach was feeling. 

The four of you meet again in the ice cream section, and Satoru doesn’t actually care that you and Shoko have picked out more than just ice cream. He’s got an armful of things you never even tried, so you ask him,

“What’s that? S’it good?” He’s distracted by your breasts being pressed together by full arms of snacks. A single strap of your tank top is falling off one of your shoulders, and it makes his gaze stutter about on your frame. Suguru snaps his fingers behind him, forcing a response from Satoru.

“I’ll let you try some,” the response is quick on his tongue, and he scowls at his dark haired friend who had been mocking him in the back ground about his looming crush on you.

“All you get is chocolate stuff,” Shoko inserts herself between you both, analyzing Satoru’s snacks. “Can I get cigs too?” 

He shrugs. He hardly had any limits on his allowances. Money to him was limitless, and that’s why, especially with his sweet tooth, he had absolutely no discipline. He’s at the register minutes later, with more items in hand than the rest of you. He argues that since its the the last week before the summer ends, who knows when you’ll get another outing like this one. 

You are all back by the pier again, sitting on the railing you aren’t supposed to be sitting on because you could very well fall into the sea. Stomachs full of flavored corn snacks and sweets, the munchies are now gone and you’re all talking about... well, a whole lot of nothing.

Shoko, as seemingly spontaneous as ever, wants to dip her feet in the water. 

“I don’t wanna go alone,” she tugs at Suguru’s side. “Carry me there.”

“What? No.” He’s gnawing unapologetically on a bare popsicle stick. Her eyes plead, the same ones from earlier, and he gives in out of annoyance. The two them walk down the steps to the beach. 

You never asked her if she left you alone with Satoru that night on purpose, or what her goals might’ve been, but an opportunity it was, nonetheless.

“The blue one’s better,” he says simply, sucking on the flavored block of ice.

“Than the red one?” You peered at your own popsicle. “I guess it’s up to preference.” 

Your mouth pops off of the tip loudly before you suck again. He wishes you didn’t make it look so lewd.

You ogle at the box of flavors, the rest of them would surely melt by the time you all got back to the school. You turn your head back to feel white hair graze against your arm. He invites himself to taste your popsicle, prompting hard blushes from you. He imitates the loud pop you made just before. 

“Blue is still better,” he smirks at your sudden discomfort. He’s somewhat at eye level with you, and you swallow hard. He’s always flirting with you, messing with you— trying to get some sort of reaction out of you. 

“Just cause you bought it for me doesn’t mean you can invite yourself to taste it whenever you want.” You bring the pop to your lips and suck softly, looking directly at him. He’s blushing now too, but he tries so hard to hide it. He’s stuck on the way that you’re barely shy about it. You’re not telling him to back up like you usually would. Your eyes are sparkling as bright as they’re able with barely any sun left on the horizon.

“Your mouth’s blue,” you break him from his sultry thoughts. He licks his lips, feeling somewhat embarrassed about it.

“Yours is red,” he deflects, he’s definitely not prepared at all for what you say next.

“If we kiss, our lips are gonna be purple,” He’s all for it, but he’s still surprised when your cold lips entwine with his. It’s a sweet taste, but the feeling of the kiss is a cross between sticky and numb. Suddenly, some warmth blooms in the center of it, and you feel each other entirely. Your tongue doesn’t feel like he thought it would, but at least he knows why. You pull away, wrapping your mouth around your pop, nonchalant as ever.

“You’re just always in my face like you wanna kiss me,” you shrug, you’re analyzing him subtly through the corner of your eye. His expression is sort of deer-like. He’s always wanted to kiss you, yeah. Did he think it was going to happen like that? Not exactly. 

“Cause,” the response is seconds late, “I do.” 

He’s not so shy anymore, closing the space between your bodies.

“So just do it,” you look up at him, and his eyes are glimmering at you. He presses his lips to yours, warming them again against your soft and pillowy flesh. A sweet sound pours through his mouth, one he didn’t know you were capable of making. He wondered if all girls tasted this sweet— with the exception of the ice cream. You kissed him back so bashfully, despite your seemingly assertive personality before hand.

The kiss lasts longer than you both realize, prompting sticky ice cream to dribble down both your arms but neither of you care that much. 

Your wet mouths part, and surely there’s a bit of blue on your lips as much as there is red on his. You find yourself looking away from his piercing blue gaze, trying not to draw attention to the blush painting your face. 

“There isn’t anything to wipe my arm up with is there,” you mutter, watching the red juice slither down your arm. You’re tempted to lick it up to prevent it from traveling further but Satoru speaks again.

“We could go rinse our hands by the fountains if you want,” he says, cracking a goofy grin.

“That sounds like a good idea,” you look towards him. “Why are you smiling like that?”

He chuckles lightly as the fingers on his cleaner hand find your face, smooshing your cheeks inward and puckering your lips. “Well would you look at that,” he grins again.

“They definitely are purple.”

[semischarmed]

The Visit

I glance at my phone. 30 minutes. 30 minutes in this chair waiting for the doctor. 30 minutes in a freezing cold examination room wearing nothing but the disposable gown the nurse told me to wear. Now, I’m normally quite patient, but I begin to worry that they may have simply forgotten about me. I sit up straight, ready to leave the chair and ask for the nurse, when my new doctor comes into the room in a rush.

“Hey, Hey! Sorry, sorry. My last patient meeting went a bit over. That alright?“ He grins and verdant eyes sparkle. The man was dreamy. I could say nothing beyond nodding in agreement. 

“Great! Glad to hear it” he beams. I feel an explosion of warmth within my chest and stomach and can’t help but smile back. 

”Thank you so much for understanding. I’m Doctor Ryan! Good to meet you.” I readily shake his hand. Firm. Sturdy. Calloused.  

“Okay great, so we’re just gonna run through your vitals, and… says here you noticed an odd mark show up near your penis?” I flush bright red in embarrassment at the mention. Unperturbed, he continues without skipping a beat “Hmmm.. we’ll definitely want to get that checked. Probably harmless, but could be something bad…  I know the nurse probably covered most of these questions and took your vitals, but [he smirks] just wanna sure we get everything checked correctly, alright?” Damn it. Doctors always have a such way with words, I can’t help but melt in their arms. I feel a numb happy sensation wash over me and again nod in agreement. He was cute, too cute. God. Of course, whatever he thought this appointment was, he was completely off. Most likely picked up the wrong sheet or something, cause I only came for some immunizations. 

Still, the man has me spellbound. I comply with his every whim as he continues running through his normal questioning. In every word, he further puts my will to sleep, with every phrase he draws me closer. To me, his every sentence has progressively slowed the world around us. Not that I’m complaining. I am adrift, motionless in his pool of questioning, sandwiched between warm ocean and sunlight. For a short few moments, I am at peace. I was practically sleeping by the time the second round of questions finished. I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and break my spell slightly and I focus in on his beautiful face. “You okay there, bud?” More nods his way.

“Awesome. Let’s get started then.”

———

The physical was.. something else. We start with just an examination of my body. Pale, scholarly eyes remark on my every blemish, my every curve. It would be a nightmare in any other scenario, but in the secure glance of my doctor, I knew I was safe. Still, near his radiant heat, I could not help but get just a bit flustered. My answers are short, odd, my heart rate jumping to his vicinity.

He wiggles his stethoscope in the air. “We’re just gonna get your heart rate okay?” My mouth is hanging open and drooling slightly, but I nod. Really, it’s all I can do. Stunned to obedience. He just spoke so confidently, so assured in his examination. His tone was out of this world. It’s bright but resonant, like each word reverberated his command in my chest. His voice was no less potent. Sound-waves embrace the air with sweet honey, but an undertone of audible trust. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else, still caught in this man’s spell. Now, a handsome man gets me feeling the same way a doctor often does. But he was both. I can manage nothing beyond a smile and continue nodding “okay.” 

I moan at the touch of the stethoscope. It was ice. Penetrative, cold ice, but in his expert hands, it felt like gift from the man. I imagine the metal is a piece of him, precious metal, precious silver embedding itself in me. I want it in me forever- uh, the man, not the stethoscope. 

He grunts. Fuck. “Sorry” I say sheepishly. That moan was definitely audible then. Further embarrassment floods me, only tempered by by the tingling sense of relaxation I felt in being examined by this man. He takes the odd outburst in stride, giving a half smile before continuing. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first”. The man was a professional through and through.

---

In the middle of making sure my reflexes were still functioning, his face winces, and his upper lip trembles, immediately breaking my illusion. He lets out a quick gasp “Ah.. I.. aahhh” barely audibly. I watch as his knuckles grasp the sides of the cushion in my chair desperately, going white in the process. For the first time in our entire session, the haze cast by this man’s being is broken entirely. I feel the dullness in my mind clear as I take note of the oddness from what had just transpired. His mouth goes wide and his face scrunches up into an emotion that I can’t quite place between pain and pleasure. Maybe both? In any case, before I can even investigate further, it relaxes immediately. Emotionless. 

Then, his eyes twitch before going glassy. Doctor Ryan looked like he was about to throw up. Pleading eyes stare into my soul, but the rest of his face remains blank. I am shocked beyond shocked at this point to do anything beyond stare in disbelief while a shit-eating grin slowly paints his face. His eyes blink back to lucidity- now focused on me, and single tear pools on the corner of his left eye and drips down his cheek. He stops it with his thumb before it can drop further, before nonchalantly wrapping plump lips around it. In a slight suction noise, when he pulls the thumb out his mouth in what looks to be a deliberately seductive manner, staring intently at my face the entire time. What the fuck. 

Immediately, he returns to examining me, making no mention of what had just occurred. This time though, his movements seem just a bit erratic, a bit unrefined. I also catch brief glimpses of that same cringing face every time he moves to the next step in his examination, like he was pulling long-forgotten memories from what should be a fairly standard procedure. He repeats the physical, this time going over my every part much more slowly. Any touch, any connection we had seemed to linger just a bit longer than needed. He almost seemed... Interested? Nervous? Whatever case, with every movement, and every step, his hands get a bit steadier, actions more confident. Whatever just happened to him seemed to be over. I am intrigued, if a bit scared. He was acting suspicious. Too many things seemed to line up for me to dismiss this as just normal checkup. In lustful wishes, I invoke whatever I can, hoping I’m correct. I try to sneak a peak at the outline of his admittedly large penis in his scrubs. Absolutely Flaccid. Odd. Disappointing, to say the least. Whatever this weird, hot doctor was doing, he wasn’t getting off on it.

When he gets to my lower body, he abruptly splits my knees open, spreading my legs wide. Another moan almost escapes me. Thankfully a veil of disposable fabric separates my doctor from my now semi-erect penis. Unthankfully, I can’t help but tent the gown full mast when his ice cold hands begin to trace and snake slowly around my inner thigh. I look at him in shock and he just beams back at me like the past few minutes had not just happened. “Hmmm… great legs…” My face goes crimson and I scream internally at my own inability to control my own body. “Okay, your -hNnggg-ah cha-chart, yes. Apologies for the outburst… your chart seemed to mention some concerns about your penis? Let’s take a closer look” He states, looking up at me with a half-smile. 

“No- er, I think- ah, you got the wrong-” I can barely stammer out a response in the raw stimulation of Doctor Ryan grabbing and gently examining my cock and balls. Pleasure bloomed wherever his fingers glided over. This was a mental battle I could not win. Mind versus body. I was fighting myself, my own urges. He makes gentle cupping motions around my balls, back and forth. I look at him in bewilderment. There was no way this was just for a normal examination. He smiles pleasantly, “just checking for anything out of place… so far, so good”. Mystery solved, I guess. He slowly wraps thick fingers, encircling my cock in an embrace. Not solved. Not solved. I am rock hard. He gives a short chuckle. “Well, at the very least, your nerves appear to be working…. Blood flow looks good as well…Nothing out of the ordinary so far”. I am beet red at this point. Fuck me. I can’t even compose myself in front of this man. 

Then, Doctor Ryan gives it a tug. FUCK. 

“Holy shiiiiiit” I moan out. I turn my head away as my body quivers and gives in to a moment of divine pleasure. Betrayed by my own senses. A second, higher pitched moan escapes my now open throat, barely audible, while the a tiny bit of clear fluid spills onto the doctor’s unflinching hand. I can’t bear to look this guy in the eye. I need a new fucking doctor.

“You know, this is completely natural. Absolutely a normal human body response. Don’t worry about it” he says absentmindedly as he continues. “If anything, at least we know you can still produce, so it doesn’t look like there’s anything to worry about”. He mumbles happily. Outside my sightline, I swear I hear a licking, slurping noise. His hand, looked a bit wetter than before too.That being said, my brain has shut down from humiliation. At this point all I can manage is a blank nod. 

“Well, good news- you’re perfectly hea- Oh! Actually, do you mind?” He begins to unbutton his coat and then proceeds set it on the table beside me.  “You know it’s always a bit hot and stuffy in these rooms”. My eyes can’t help but visually eat at the feast before me. Bare chest and stray hairs poke out from his scrubs. The sleeves are taut around his massive biceps. Despite the objectively unflattering material, it can’t help but conform slightly to his muscular physique. It was pretty clear before, but it was definitely fact now. My doctor was hot as fuck. Something about his last question eats away at my my brain. It wasn’t hot at all. The room is cold, dry, sterile. Hell, this whole hospital is. It’s like he has me back in a trance though. Words smooth as silk, body like sculpture. He had a power over me, so I nod in compliance without even acknowledging how absurd the previous statement was.

“So, as I was saying... the good news is your vitals are all in line.” He laughs kindly, patting my stomach “Maybe eat a bit more protein every now and then”. The voice is warm and reassuring. My brain relaxes to the end in sight to this half dream-half nightmare. I start to get up to get changed before I realize the entire reason for the visit.

“Hey-er, wait! My Immunizations! I needed to get some immunizations done for my-“ 

“Oh?” He cuts me off, eyebrows raised. Intrigue paints his face.  

Then he leans in close, head right up to my ear until the parts of chest peaking from the hospital gown touches the stray hairs poking out from his scrubs. Until we share warmth in that cold examination room. He breathes alongside me in rhythm as he exhales.

“You…don’t need any immunizations. I do… well, I did, anyway. It’s too late for him now...But we do have something planned, for you-we’re gonna try an experimental processss. A brand new… test…just for you...” He whispers. He pauses as he continues to breathe and I feel the hot, damp air emanating from his mouth coat my ear. “We need to test you for... stimulation.” Dear God. That last word he draws out in a far, far different tone than before. It neither clinical nor polite, and it hit like a brick. There was raw emotion in that last word. Raw lust. He cups the other side of my face pulling my left cheek to touch his. Like his chest, it’s quite warm. I’m flush with redness and confusion. I gulp nervously.

His tone returns in its warmth and politeness, contrasted by the intimate position we are in. “Hmmmmm salivating...mmmm... Quite a bit actually. You’re either haven’t eaten… or… you’re hungry for something.” I can’t manage out anything coherent amidst the sensory overload. He continues confidently, “C’mon... I’m your primary care physician? Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you...” He sticks his hand down his own pants, scratching to readjust. With our chests together, I am brought to our present moment. A moment in paradise. When he ebbs, I flow. Like a dance, my chest caves in with every exhale as his puffs out. He does in turn. We were partners. His scent pours out unconfined, unfiltered by distance, concentrated in our proximity. Like rainfall and crushed grass. I could live in it. With our cheeks pressed together, I feel his every movement. Every word spoken drawn in by my inhale. These would be mine to keep. This moment was ours and ours alone. He brings up the same hand, now a bit slimier to take a whiff before shoving that sweaty, funky smelling hand right to my face. I can’t control myself and start inhaling my hot doctor. I lick the man’s hand clean. Delicious.

I continue lapping it up in silence before he finally breaks it to speak. “Mhmmmmm... that’s the stuff... Maybe if we feed you enough of this hot doctor’s cum, you’d pick up on some of his residual intelligence and figure who’s really running this man.” My eyes light up, and the pieces finally all click together in my head. I chuckle. 

“Good to see you too, Ben.”

———

“Leave it to humans to take something so beautifully sensual and twist it. He’s a bit too good at compartmentalizing. In many respects… It’s fucking hot. But, you know, when he’s in this work mode, he sees you as nothing more than sack of meat. We’re not getting anywhere with him without a little push”. Without warning, Ben pulls the doctor’s pants down and fiddles with his new dick- still flaccid. Jesus Christ it’s huge. 

“Look, even this... appendage. Yes that’s an atypical response. I mean look at me, look at this new body we acquired. I’m swimming in this human’s hormones.” He wraps his hand around and begins pumping it. “But see here, it’s still all clinical in this head. I can only get inside him so far. We need something to end this human’s resistance. We need something extra to break him out of this trance. We need raw emotion.”

Just then, the door comes wide open. It’s Austin.

As he closes the door behind him, I see his face more clearly. It’s Austin’s body, but its pilot is undeniably Ben. Austin had a certain swagger to him that my little alien buddy just can’t quite replicate.

Ryan’s mouth opens wide and I watch as his true form exits from my doctor’s mouth and shoot strait into Austin’s welcoming nose. I watch as the doctor goes lucid. His eyes go wide and he stares at me in horror before attempting to escape. Before he can, he is pinned to the ground by the far larger Austin. “Cmon man, smell this fucking body. Feel something”

“If you can’t… we’ll do it for you. We’re going for a wild ride.. relax and enjoy it.” Austin’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and I watch as he gives a crazed grin, jaws open unnaturally wide. His tongue sticks out, his head is bright red, and pulsing silver courses through now-prominent veins. Damn. My Doctor looks at me with one last pleading glance, but all I can do is moan “I want you mine.” 

Doctor Ryan lets out an involuntary scream when he notices the changes in Austin’s face, which only work to his disadvantage as a pulsating, semi-solid mass of silver falls into his open maw. Austin sticks their mouths together. Using his tongue, he maintains a steady passageway for Ben. Using his lips, Austin keeps the doctor’s pried open to forcibly receive the precious silver. Their heads bob back and forth as more and more of the slimy mass falls into doctor. I watch as a massive lumps outline themselves in his throat, then his chest, before disappearing into the depths of his body. I notice a little bit pool and spill out the corner of his mouth. When the process is over, Austin’s body falls limply to the side. I stare at the messy pile of silver goo still smeared over Ryan’s drooling mouth. Should I?

I lean over, giving my dream man a kiss. My eyes flutter at the prospect. Ugh, he’s perfect. I feel the every contour of the face of man who would soon be ours, before sucking up the excess silver an a bit of his drool in my mouth. No use putting this stuff to waste. 

In a flash, I feel ecstasy. “Jesus fucking christ” I moan, as I feel a burst of energy from within. The parts of silver which were Ben settle into me, surging me with power and I feel his thoughts reverberate in my mind. In that split second, I also feel the vertigo of looking from two bodies at once. I feel the immense pleasure of controlling two bodies at once and the parts of silver which were Austin become immediately apparent. Goddamn what a fucking power trip. Austin was mine. A quick rush of stolen confidence from my previous tormentor floods my insides and I welcome my updated sense of self. Fuck yeah. Took a part of him for me. He’s never getting this back. I stare at his body and will it up. My dominion, now. While his head still hung unconscious, I move my fingers and tingle in delight as I watch his hands follow. The moment is fleeting though, and I feel the disappointment as my vision recedes back to my singular one.”Hope you liked that” I feel Ben state in my head. “Just a taste. This piece of us you’ve ingested... I think it’s best you keep it. I find this setup beneficial to us both. We can keep in constant contact this way. You might find some residual power left over Austin too, thought probably not in the way you think… at least… not yet.“ 

Before I can question him in my head, the doctor’s body shivers awake and then spasms before letting out a primal scream. Ryan’s looked... bigger? Almost swollen. His body occupied the same space they did before, but there was a larger presence to him. His muscles pump up, obviously riled into a frenzy. “Just a little attitude adjustment, and...Goddamn easy mode, Fuck!” He faces me. His eyes are rolled to the back of his head and silvery veins pulse all over his body. Seconds later, he settles and his eyes return to focus me. “Fuck yeah, you wanted this doctor, right? Bro, you know my bod’s way better. Fuck it though, I don’t care  as I’m a part of the ride. Remember your fucking promise.” He states through gritted teeth. Unnatural coming out of the normally Angelic Doctor Ryan. 

“Your Doc’s too nice though, right? You… Ben… you deserve better. I’ll make us better for you. Look how much fucking bigger, how much more of a fucking man we are with some Austin mixed in....” I am speechless, but he’s right. The doctor now exuded a dominating presence. In any other circumstance, I’d be frightened and compliant. In the presence of Ben, I felt safe.

“Thank Ben he brought us inside this man. Mmmmmm his brain is delicious… I feel so much smarter inside him. We’re gonna fuck him up. Make him better, like you did to me. Twist his head. Make him want your cum almost as much as I do. Make him want to spread more Ben around…. Mmmm speaking of, I feel him inside me. He’s squirming into us both out and goddamn it feels good.” Ryan’s body moans Austin’s moan. “I can’t wait for you to learn how to do this... to put yourself inside me-Please! Fuck! Learn it faster! That... part of me you stole… I feel good as part of you, right? You like it in you, right? Pure fucking jock. Take good care of it…more where that came from”. It was definitely my doctor, but between the behavior and facial expressions, undeniably Austin. Well, post-Ben Austin.

“I-Arrgh” I watch curiously as the doctor’s body shivers. “Ben’s... ready for you.” He winks as his eyes briefly roll to their sockets and roll back. Austin-er Ryan’s demeanor immediately changed ”Had to do a little arranging inside this doctor. We just need one final piece. Ryan’s body ready to receive its new masters. I need you to put as much cum inside this man as you can... I really like this one, his position is useful. But his mind... it’s so vast. He’s no Austin...It’s gonna take a lot more of our genetic material to tame it.”

Austin-er Ben does pushups on the floor. He clears a few hundred before wiping his sweat all over his scrubs. Of course, despite channeling Austin’s very essence, this body is not nearly as buff or as muscular as his so I watch as Ryan is forced to push up and down beyond his limits, tears streaming down his eyes, hands and legs shaking in protest, forced smiling all the while. Previously crisp scrub are now stained, damp in Ben’s body’s perspiration. The smell this weird, hybrid mix emanated was unique. Of course, it still had the cleanliness I’d expect from a doctor. Fresh cologne and nature- exactly what I’d expect from the healthy, professional man which had previous examined me. This man before me was not the same man as before. Because, interwoven was the musk, the testosterone, the pungent stink of our deranged puppet Austin. It was altogether divine. 

“Look at this.” He states with a sneer as he does a bicep flex. His damp scrubs hug his muscle tightly, almost breaking at the seams. The bicep is throbbing. “I feel this body crying in pain and exhaustion. From his mind though... do you know how muscles are made? Tiny tears regrown stronger” A pulse of silver darts through his veins, immediately returning it to stillness. “What wonderful new information. We’re gonna use that. Fill into these layers with a bit of Ben, and a bit of you”. He starts laughing now “Doc Ryan here doesn’t call the shots…This isn’t his body anymore… It’s ours.” 

With that, Ben lifts my gown and sticks his drenched head near my already-hard cock. Fuck he’s warm. Our sweat and scents mingle and I feel my inner thighs go moist in the perspiration in the air. 

“Austin, to the forefront. Combined effort. We need him body and mind. Let us create a new Ryan,” he states. My doctor slowly wrap his thick, plump lips over my dick. Moment’s later, the man’s wet tongue slides forward. I shudder. A bit tickles in a spot just below the head and I squirm on the spot. Jesus fuck, oh- oh fuck, he’s good- he’s really good.

My shaking hands are sloppily held in place. I move them reflexively in the onslaught of pleasure. It’s like Ryan’s body was made for this. Absolute Heaven. I let out a loud moan as I continue to squirm in the confines of my position. Ben had commandeered some control of Austin’s unconscious body, and it stood there, just over me, holding my hands in place and body. Its eyes were rolled back, mouth drooling. Bits of spit dribbled to my forehead. I paid them no mind. Basically an extension of my own bodily fluids at this point anyway. Besides, whatever made Austin, Austin was mostly inside Ryan now, helping Ben add a wonderful new addition to our collection. 

Ryan’s sensual motions, His body expertly bobbing, beckons mine. Erotic symphony. I can do nothing beyond quake in my seat. I hold for as long as I can but it’s too much. This was it. First, I moan. Then, I scream. FUCK. Goddamn bliss. Sweet Release. Pure Ecstasy. I am reduced to babbling internally as I release more and more of myself inside Ryan’s welcoming mouth. Using his powerful chest, he creates a slight suction, greedily taking as much of my cum inside as he can. The body begins to choke for air, but I feel Austin and Ben smile instead and continue inhaling my cum. Their eyes only relayed one word. More. There’s not much else I could have done anyway, because I continue to spew load after load inside the man. It’s the best I ever felt, the longest it’s ever been and the most I ever given. I sit in extended euphoria, paralyzed in bliss. Logic aside, ethics aside, this was my new order. Our new order. In my mind I strive to continue on, to bring more to this light. So many delicious fucking bodies in this town. So many new ‘me’s destined, yearning for my control- even if they didn’t know it yet. That last bit might have been some of Austin’s megalomania in me.   

The phone rings at Ryan’s side and he picks it up. Someone patches in a call. 

“Doctor are you alright? We heard some odd noises“. I watch Ben in alarm. He cracks his head to the side, cock still in his mouth, and veins coursing in silver fluid display prominently in his temples. He switches demeanor almost seamlessly back. In contrast, like strings cut, Austin’s body falls over me, unmoving. I didn’t mind. I inhale his jock essence as I listen in.

“Yewph- Iw- Ehem.. I’m quiw ahwigh, *gulp*… ahhh yeah.. Apologies, Nancy this appointment is taking just a bit longer than expected. I’ll be ready soon- just need a little more time with this one.” Every word again resounds warmly, calmly, politely in this man. When Ben channels Ryan, it’s like I’m hearing the same person who examined me earlier. He was ours. I glance his way and a bit of my cum is still on his lips as he continues his conversation. He happily draws it to his mouth with a finger and sucks it clean. My cock is drenched in the doctors sweat. Fucking hot. Ben found us a real catch. “Dr. Ben” ends the call and mentally, he’s back to our present situation, back to huffing in breathless pleasure, as he continues sucking the any residual mess in me clean. He gives me a wink as he finishes. 

Ryan then stands over to Austin, and, in a reverse of the process from earlier vomits out the same silvery mass, now slick with streaks of white, back into its container. There was significantly less this time. From the still open mouth of Ryan, I watch the tiny man emerge, giving me a motion that indicated he was smiling. “I’m staying in this one a bit longer. Driving this particular specimen gives me a pleasure not wholly physical.” The mouth slowly closes and Ryan’s eyes show life again. He smiles. I look expectantly at the two of them. They begin making out. The sounds are sloppy and I can’t help but get a bit jealous. Taking note, they both stop abruptly before giving me a wink. The both speak at once while Ryan begins stripping stark naked.

“Can’t help it...You should come and stay in this room for a while. My next patient’s got quite a body we can utilize, based on this man’s memory. You still got some cum left in you? I can’t expand further without it” I nod happily. If Ben thinks he’s cute, we had to at least try. What am I saying? I can produce like a motherfucker, took part of my bully inside, made it mine. I may not look it yet, but I was alpha now.  

“Austin, strip down, I need some new clothes, and yours are a better fit.” Austin’s face cringes and I watch as his normal personality returns. Normal was a stretch, because he was far more subservient now than he was before this all began. Ben then looks at me with a toothy smile as he walks over to my pile of neatly folded clothes and digs out my underwear. He nonchalantly strips stark naked and then proceeds to put on my underwear. “This is a tight- Hmph!” He struggles to get each thick leg through “-ah, your clothes...Mmm! So tiny”. This results in my hot, nearly naked doctor wearing my underwear tightly. It’s pulled to its seams as it’s forced to constrict and hold together the doctor’s massive package. I watch as his cock begins to get hard, only to be restricted by the fabric. He moans at the setup. “Ayyyyeeee fuck! Fuck yeah. It feels like you’re in here, squeezing this host’s cock and ass. I’m gonna make sure he wears this forever. I’m gonna make sure this imprints our scent into this man. Look at me. Look at this muscle. Ryan..mmmmm.... all the brains and brawn in the world couldn’t help you. Every time he gets hard on, I want him to be wearing this. I want his penis to scrape this, to be bound by it, forever a reminder of who the real Ryan is now.”

Ben’s new doctor personality switches back. He politely gestures to his pile of clothes, still freshly warm before looking at me. “If you’re gonna be my assistant, you’ll need to look the part,” he states with a kind smile. I eye the warm pile, almost steaming in the residual heat. Ryan’s body licks its lips. Ben again. “Wear it. This man is ours, forever. Take ownership of that. Of those clothes. There’s so much of your genetic material embedded inside this particular specimen, at this point these are your own as much as it is his.”

I rush over to put the scrubs on, to feel the residual heat in my doctor Ryan envelop me. I relish in it. Still warm and moist with his sweat. It was like I was wearing the man myself. Of course, it fits loosely over me, and I barely pass as an assistant. He leans over to me. “smell it” he whispers. “Smell yourself. I like you better this way”. He’s right. I smell so fucking alpha in this getup. Ben then begins putting on Austin’s clothes, which are a much better fit. 

In contrast, Austin is forced to wear the remainder my clothes, which he creepily sniffs first and ends up with it fitting way too tight and revealing on him. I gesture to offer the scrubs I just put on instead, but he immediately declines in a huff, “No... I’m fucking better this way. More... complete” He moans “This was the way I was meant to be... yours... wearing this makes me feel like you’re here inside me, wearing your own clothes. I belong like this...This is your body, it misses you, and he doesn’t feel whole until you’re back home.” He pats himself. “I can’t wait for you to become this. And I’m not fucking taking no for an answer either. One day, I’m putting you where you belong- inside me so we can never be separated again. Moving around feels empty when you’re not in here doing it for me”. What the fuck did Ben do? The guy, my previous bully was horny just being near me. It felt amazing.

I silently thank Ben. Whatever Austin was rambling on about turned me the fuck on. I smiled. That piece of Austin I ingested earlier- I think his shitty vocab’s been rubbing off on me. Regardless, Austin was right- wearing him, controlling him from the inside was where I belonged. I deserved it. Deserved him. “Wait for us at home- we won’t be long” Ben instructs Austin through Ryan in a fatherly tone. Austin complies, leaving the room, staring longingly at me until he no longer could. 

Ben puts on his coat. “Well then, that’s settled. I hope your cock is ready, human, we have a full schedule of bodies to possess.“

-End of “Ben Pt. 2″-

A smarter version of me would have split this into two parts. Also, preemptive apologies to anyone in a medical profession.

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 9

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Yondu finally confronts Reader about the late night escapes, and invites himself to tag along, to Reader's dismay.

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Just Reader and Yondu this chapter.

Word Count: 3,953

You jumped right out of your skin but somehow managed not to cry out, whipping around to see Yondu's silhouette standing in the doorway to the kitchen. It was a bit of a terrifying sight if you were to be honest. You'd hate to see it in a dark alley.

"What the fuck!" you whisper-yelled. "Don't do that! You trying to give me a heart attack!?"

"Don't change the subject. Where ya sneakin' off to?" Yondu had intended to use the voice he used when trying to intimidate an opponent, the one he uses when trying to get the message across that he's not going to take any shit, so ya better just cough up what he wants to know. However, it came out sounding a bit more like the tone he used to scold Peter with when he'd get caught sneaking girls on the ship after curfew.

You did your best to look unfazed and close the door. "First off, it's my house. I'm not sneaking, I'm just going. And what are you doing sneaking up on me?"

You were trying to turn the tables on him, but he wasn't going to bite. "It's the middle of the night and yer being awful quiet about it, ya really try'na tell me that's not sneakin'?"

"Yes." You tried to keep your tone even, but it was hard not to sound annoyed. "It'd be rude to wake up the others."

"Uh huh. Well if yer not sneakin' then why not turn on a light?"

"Don't need it. Lived here all my life. Know the place just as well in the dark."

"Right..." Yondu eyed you, sure that you'd come up with an excuse for anything else he'd throw at you. Might as well just cut to the chase. "Where ya going?"

"Out," you reply, "For a walk."

"You're going for a walk, in the middle of the night?" He could hear it more now, he sounded like he was getting ready to threaten to ground you. Not exactly the tone he was going for. He blamed it on the lack of sleep. Brain must be instinctually reverting to "Yell at Quill" mode. Stars knew he did it enough when Quill was a boy that it became second nature.

"Yes." You cross your arms over your chest, only to realize it made you look like an argumentative teen. Oh well, too late now. You kept them crossed.

"So, you suddenly just up and decided, in the middle of the night, that ya'd fancy a walk, in the dark, in the forest?"

"Yes." you reply again, realizing a second too late that he shouldn't have known where you were headed. "No- Wait I-"

Yondu chuckled. "Save it. I see everything... And I've been mighty curious to know what you've been sneaking off to do at night."

You stare at each other in the dark for some time before you break the silence. "I have the sneaking suspicion that you intend to follow me."

"You'd win that bet." Yondu said with a grin that you could barely see in the dim light.

You roll your eyes. "You'll get bored. Better off to just go back to bed."

"After you." Yondu gestured towards the hall from the doorway. You could hear a smirk in his voice.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "I'm not leaving alone, am I?"

"Nope."

You really wanted to leave, and obviously you would prefer to do it alone, but if bringing a suspicious passenger was the only way you could do so, and likely the only way to prevent this happening again, you'd suppose once wouldn't kill you. In fact, denying could potentially only make his suspicions worse, and you didn't feel like possibly being reported to Fury over nothing if he got the wrong idea. You had been on enough jobs to know how quick a misunderstanding could go south. "Ugh. Fine. But you know curiosity killed the cat." Still, it wouldn't hurt to try and convince him to stay behind.

"Ain't a cat. Not even sure what a cat is." Yondu chuckled, fully aware that he was being irritating. He might not have exactly known what the Terran idiom meant, but he still knew it was just an idiom. Enough experience with Quill had taught him that Terrans say strange things.

You look up to the ceiling "Just hurry up."

Yondu disappeared in the hall to pull on his boots and returned a moment later pulling on his duster jacket. You had to admit his silhouette was actually even scarier with the addition of the jacket, but you didn't let it show.

You wordlessly motion him out the door and shut it behind the two of you. The walk across the yard to the tree line was awkwardly silent until about a couple meters away.

"So what ya keep coming out here for anyway?"

You answered with a question of your own. "You been spying on me?"

"Not exactly. Just happened to notice ya out the window a few times, and thought it was odd that you'd be sneaking out of yer own house."

The two of you broke the tree line, finally walking amongst the trees. "I told you I wasn't sneaking."

"Sure, sure," Yondu chuckled. "Ya didn't answer my question, girlie. What's out in this-here forest that keeps ya coming out here at night?" He kept pace with you as best he could. Your steps were sure, the ground was littered with rocks and sticks, but your gait never faltered. You clearly knew these woods well, and it was evident you knew just where you were going. You hadn't even bothered to use a light. Yondu would almost think you had night vision if he didn't already know better that Terrans didn't.

"Nothing. I just come out to enjoy the scenery. Relax a bit," you finally answer.

"Ya know, yer almost a good liar." Yondu chuckled.

"I beg your pardon!" you say, offense fully clear in your voice.

"What? Take it as a compliment," Yondu laughed, unfazed by your outburst. "But yer gonna have to do better than that to pull something over on me. I can spot a lie lightyears away." Ok so he might have been exaggerating, but you didn't need to know that. "And that there, that wasn't the truth."

You scoff. "What do you know? You don't know anything about me and you're really going to stand there and act like you do?" The nerve of him. You should have just pretended to go back to bed and then came back out later, or better yet, oiled the hinge on your bedroom door the other day when you noticed it starting to squeak. Probably what alerted Yondu to leaving.

"I know more than you think." Yondu countered, nearly tripping on a large branch.

"You don't know anything about me." You repeat. You started walking faster out of spite.

A smirk fell over his face. If you wanted to be difficult, fine. He could just have fun teasing you until you loosened up, and he had a feeling he knew just what might push your buttons.

"I know yer ticklish." He grinned, seeing how you visibly tensed.

You run a hand down your face. "You guys aren't going to let that die, are you?"

"Nope," Yondu chuckled, "it's too funny."

"It's not," you say, glad the dark was hiding the blush you could feel on your cheeks.

"I think it is," Yondu disagreed, reaching out to poke you and chuckling when you jumped and flinched each time his finger connected with your side. He grinned, mentally drawing up the theory that you didn't like to show weakness.

You swat at his hand and tell him to quit.

He laughs, but thankfully obeys, saying, "Aw, cheer up now. It ain't that embarrassin'... though I do wonder now why that Fury guy would keep an agent around that seems mighty vulnerable to torture..." He was teasing, of course. Just trying to get a rise out of you. It worked.

You throw him a look of daggers and he holds up his hands in a relenting gesture. "Don't worry, secret's safe with me, girlie," he teased, continuing to grin before nearly tripping again. He sighed, beginning to search his pockets for a light. There was no sense tripping around out here in the dark. You may apparently know this forest floor like the back of your hand, but he didn't, and he most certainly didn't feel like rolling an ankle.

He spoke up again. "I also know yer hiding something."

You freeze for just a moment and then turn to him. "No. Nice try."

He closed the meter wide distance between you. "Ya can deny all ya want, sweetheart, but I can still tell."

"Whatever." You turn and start walking again, this time at a regular pace.

"Don't give me that," Yondu said, finally finding a light in one of his inner pockets. He flipped it on and you instantly covered your eyes, which had been adjusted to the dark and very much didn't like the sudden intrusion of the bright light.

"Agh- Turn that off!" you scold.

"What for?" Yondu asked, he had also suffered slightly from the sudden brightness, but at least he could see where he was walking now.

"Well, besides the fact that you just blinded me- you'll attract bugs."

"Ah right. Yer scared of creepy-crawlies. My mistake." Yondu laughed, making a show of shutting the light off. "Wouldn't want ya to be all scared stiff like ya were earlier."

You glare at him best you could with your eyes trying to adjust back to the dark. "I'm not scared of bugs. I just don't feel like getting bitten up by a bunch of midges. The bites itch like hell."

"I dunno... ya looked pretty scared of whatever that bug was in the kitchen today." Yondu teased, but he did make a mental note that midges sounded quite unpleasant.

"That was a spider," you say, then muttering, "...and that's different."

Yondu hummed. "Seems a lil' funny that you'd put a giant one in my boy's bed then, seein' as yer so scared of 'em yerself."

You stumble over your words for a bit, before admitting that you hid the fake spider before the incident with the real one happened, adding, "-and I wasn't scared of it!"

"Sure ya weren't..." Yondu said teasingly. "Guess ya won't be bothered if I tell ya about the big one crawling on yer shoulder then." He repeated the same trick as earlier, imitating a running spider on your shoulder with his fingers and laughing when you jumped a mile and smacked at his hand.

Face flushed with embarrassment at falling for the same trick twice you say, "You're an asshole."

"Yep," came Yondu's reply. Theory confirmed: You hated showing weakness. After a few steps he spoke again. "Where we goin' anyways? Ya seem pretty sure about this path. Get the feelin' we ain't just wanderin' aimlessly."

You sigh, but relent. What could it hurt? "It's just a little further."

"It where ya go all the time?"

"No, just most of the time." you admitted. "Sometimes I do just... 'wander aimlessly.'"

"But not tonight."

You sigh again. "No. Not tonight."

After a bit you finally happen upon a small clearing. In the middle of that clearing was a large old oak tree. Its trunk was nearly two meters in diameter and had lovely patches of moss growing on it. Thick branches poked out just low enough to climb on, it was beautiful in the dim light of the night, but it was even more beautiful in daylight.

"Here," you say, "This is where I go. This is my favorite tree."

Yondu was actually stunned for a moment by the magnificence of the the tree, and that didn't happen often. "I can see why. It's certainly a purty one..."

He walked with you closer to the tree and broke off to walk to one side as if he intended to do a lap around the trunk.

"Careful," you say, not wanting him to go any further around the more shadowy part of the tree, "Ground's got a bit of a soft spot over that way. Wouldn't want you to sink in."

Yondu, who, like anyone, obviously wouldn't enjoy that happening, stopped his journey and headed back your way. Better to stay with the person who knew the land, at least when he couldn't see for himself if he was about to fall in a hole.

You approach the tree and sit at its base, gesturing an invite for Yondu to do the same if he chose. He did. You look up at the thick branches and say, "My dad used to bring us out here."

"Us?" Yondu questioned.

"My brother and me."

"Didn't know ya had a brother."

"Didn't ask."

"Would ya have said if I did? Ya don't exactly seem the most forthcoming type." Yondu laughed lightly.

You huff in response. You look back up at the branches and remember the time you and your brother would climb the old tree. sometimes even your dad would try climbing with you, even though he wasn't as agile as his children. You remembered the fun, the laughter, the three of you playing chasing games around the tree. They were some of your fondest memories of before your dad got sick. Before he couldn't take you and your brother out to the tree anymore, though of course by that time the two of you were old enough to make the trip on your own, though it never was quite the same.

You had sat in silence for a bit before Yondu asked, "So what's eatin' ya?"

"What?" you ask, pulled from your thoughts.

"I've kinda gathered ya wouldn't be comin' all the way out here in the middle of the night if everythin' was all fine and dandy, so what's got ya down, girlie?" It seemed obvious to Yondu from what he observed that this would be the case. After some thought, he realized he only caught you heading towards the forest on bad days, like when Rocket messed your kitchen or the night you fought Quill. You were here, therefore, something must be wrong.

"Nothing."

Yondu didn't buy it. "I noticed you disappeared for a long while in the middle of that movie Quill wanted to watch. It have anything to do with that?"

"I told you, I'm fine." you say bitterly. It honestly irritated you how accurate his assumptions were, but just because he was right didn't mean you had to affirm his assumptions.

Yondu sighed. "Alright then, be that way."

After a few moments Yondu breaks the silence again. "So... where are yer family? I know ya said yer daddy's passed, but what about yer mama? Or this brother ya mentioned. Where they at? Why ya out here in that big house all alone?"

You inhale. You considered not answering, but then thought it couldn't hurt much. You could talk a little since he wanted to be nosy. Not like you were going to spill your entire life story, just the sparknotes. "Well, my mom's gone. Died giving birth to me."

"Oh." Yondu was almost sorry he asked. "And yer brother?" He now assumed you were the younger sibling, but he felt it would be in bad taste to mention it. He hoped talking about him might lighten the mood.

"Gone too." you answered.

He winced. He hadn't expected to hear that you were alone alone. "How?" Yondu asked.

"I don't want to talk about it." you replied.

Yondu saw you draw your knees up and rest your chin on them. He realized he shouldn't push his luck. "Sorry to hear that."

"Why? You didn't do it," you say sarcastically. "It's life. Everyone dies eventually." You un-hug your knees and lean back against the tree. "Just how it goes. Life's a bitch and then you die alone."

Yondu catches a crack in your voice but doesn't mention it. He frowns. "Come on now. There's more than that. Ya don't got to spend the rest of it all alone and miserable." He said this because he had to believe it himself. How close had he come to doing just that when his crew mutinied? If Kraglin hadn't still been loyal and if Rocket and Twig hadn't helped with an escape plan, he'd've been slain by the hands of the Kree- if he was lucky, or back in the slave barracks- if he wasn't. He'd never have gotten the chance to save Quill, and even if he hadn't intended to make it out alive, he couldn't deny he was grateful the ship had gotten to him and Quill just in time so that he could spend more time with his boy.

He didn't know your exact age, but he thought you looked at least a little younger than Quill. That was too young to have such a bleak outlook on life. If even he could find even a shred of happiness to cling to, then surely you could as well. He continued, "Surely ya got ya some friends- Or ya could find someone and settle down... start a family.... fill that house of yers with little ankle-biters- Hey, where ya going?"

Your breath hitched and you had stood up quickly, walking back the direction you came. "I'm heading back. You can follow or stay here. I don't really care," you say, trying to keep your voice even and not looking at him as you walked towards the edge of the clearing.

Yondu hurriedly stood to catch up with you. Sure, he could eventually find his way back without you, but he couldn't deny he'd get back much quicker with a guide that knew their way back in the dark. "What'd I say?" Yondu asked, correctly assuming he had said something wrong.

"Nothing. It's just late. Time to start heading back." You still wouldn't look at him, and he almost thought your voice sounded strange, like you were fighting not to cry or something.

Yondu followed you quietly, wondering if he should press the issue or not. He decided to not, convinced he would only make it worse. He hadn't intended to dig up any bad memories, he hadn't expected to find out you really were alone, although it was a sentiment he could empathize with. It's how he had been during the mutiny and Tazerface killed all his good men. Surrounded by people, and yet utterly alone.

He didn't know what it was exactly, but he knew he wanted to make it better. You weren't a child, but still, all he could see now was a sad little girl with no mama or daddy. No brother, no family. All alone. He thought to himself that if he had a heart it might be breaking. Or at least cracked a little.

He made another attempt at conversation, hoping to smooth things over. "So Quill says ya like to shoot arrows?"

"Um... yeah. A bit."

Did he hear a sniff? Surely not.

"Maybe ya could show me how ya Terrans do it sometime."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." You sniffed again, and Yondu thought he saw your hand come up to your eyes as if to wipe them.

Aw hell. You were crying. Damn. He wasn't sure what, but he was sure it had to have been something he said. He cursed himself. He hated when people cried. Bad enough when someone he stole from tried whipping out the waterworks, even worse when Quill would cry when he was scared or hurt as a boy. The only thing worse than seeing someone cry, was watching as they tried desperately to hide it, but yet couldn't quite stop. 'Cause that meant they weren't trying to get anything from you, they were just genuinely in too much pain to keep it together.

He had to do something to make you stop, so he did the only thing he could think of. He whistled.

A gentle melody played from his lips and you gasped as a streak of red shot through the air. You stopped in place from the shock and before long, you could see the outlined shape of what you could only describe as a fat little troll. It was cute, and so unexpected that you couldn't help but huff out a laugh.

You finally looked at Yondu and he saw the hint of a confused smile playing over your lips. Much better.

He could see the question in your eyes and went ahead and answered without you needing to speak. "Just thought you could use some cheering up." he said. Nice to see he's still got it. That trick always worked to cheer up Quill when he was little.

"I'm fi-"

Yondu cut you off with a shrug. "Yeah. Yer fine. Got it." He whistled again to call his arrow back. "Well this was mighty entertaining, all this... nature and whatnot. Should probably get a move on so this old man can get some sleep." He exaggerated a yawn before walking forward, prompting you into motion as well, seeing as you were the guide. "I'm sure Bug and Twig would like it out here if ya ever decided ya wanted to come out here when the sun's actually out."

You hummed. "Maybe." You tried not to stare as you walked together out of the forest. Had he really just used his weapon... to draw you a picture... to cheer you up? You wanted to laugh but you bit your tongue as you remembered he had also used it to kill a spider for you earlier that day. For as rough as he portrayed himself to be, he was definitely displaying big softie energy. That thought did make you laugh.

"What?" Yondu asked, hearing your snicker from beside him.

You shook your head, now grinning. "Nothing."

"Uh huh." Yondu said, mild suspicion in his voice as he side-eyed you. Whatever. It was better than hearing you try not to cry.

After awhile you finally broke the tree line and made your ways back across the yard and to the backdoor.

You reached the door first and pulled out your key.

"Good to see ya have some sense." Yondu said. "Quill said Terrans always leave their doors unlocked."

You gave him a look as you unlocked the door. You wanted to refute that, but you knew that, at least in the rural areas where you lived, people actually did tend to do that. You settled for saying, "Well, not everyone does. But still, it'd be really irresponsible to just go and leave the door open to any stray passerby with a bunch of obvious aliens inside."

Yondu scoffed.

"What?"

"Ya Terrans thinkin' yer the only ones in the universe. Callin' anyone not from Terra 'alien.'"

You frowned. "Sorry."

Yondu grunted and waved you off. "Eh. Ya'll get there eventually. S'pose if this place wasn't as backwards as it is then we wouldn't be able to lie low here."

You tried not to be offended at that, because he was right. That was literally the reason they were able to hide here.

The two of you re-enter the house and manage to get back to your respective rooms quietly. You changed into something more comfortable to sleep in without waking Mantis and settled into bed.

Before falling asleep you thought about the clearing and your tree. About how you needed to warn Yondu not to walk too far towards the backside of said tree.

You should really find the time to install a sturdier trap door on that tunnel.

[thecousinsdangereux]

the land of race car ya yas

A short little ficlet for @corvophobia who has drawn a bunch of art for the bees racer au of my dreams. This is ALL based on her drawings, so make sure you check out her stuff. Happy birthday, Amber! You are one of my two favorite British children. <3

(Please note that I know nothing about street racing. I've only watched the Fast and the Furious movies. Forgive me....)

--

“How’d you do that?”

Blake’s used to the question or some version of it, and maybe that’s why she takes in the words before she notices the tone, imagines a scowl (a lowered brow, hands curled into fists, the flash of teeth as the scowl turns into a snarl) with the same instinct that has her shoulders tensing. It’s only mid-turn that she realizes the question is laced with wonder rather than anger, but even this awareness doesn’t prepare her for the sight that meets her. It’s a woman, her smile wide and unrestrained by pesky things like self-consciousness or insecurity, and her eyes are nearly glowing in the low light, purple and bright and full of open admiration. Her black leather jacket, classic in cut, has the sleeves rolled up mid-forearm, revealing a prosthetic of black and yellow, and her grey jeans are tight, showing off a body that Blake has to work to avoid following the curves of. Her hair is long, blonde, curling around her shoulders and down her back, artful in its disorder, down to the single, stubborn cowlick at the top of her head.

In short, she’s beautiful, and Blake stares for longer than she should, feeling heat in her veins.

“Do what?”

She manages a response, but it’s absent minded. She’s just noticed the light dusting of pink on the woman’s cheeks, coloring the spaces in between her freckles, and it has her re-evaluating, pulling her thoughts to the effort she’s put into her own outfit that evening: a cropped and sleeveless hoodie with blocked colors of white and purple, tight leather shorts, and clunky boots that hit just under the knee. Blake looks good and this woman knows it, which makes them even on this particular front, and that's a settling sort of feeling.

“Win,” the woman says simply, her smile growing. “And don’t just say NOS.”

“NOS,” Blake drawls, just because she can, and she’s rewarded by the woman’s laugh, rewarded even more when she steps closer.

“No, but what’s your delivery method? Direct port, obviously, but you had to have used a custom kit, right? I’ve been telling you, Yang, I need to recalibrate yours. Can I look at your car? Would you mind if I just took a tiny peak just to see what you’ve done with your injection site? We really need to upgrade, Yang. A nozzle with less back pressure will give you a better squeeze. I’ve been telling you!”

She hadn’t noticed the other woman, but blinks at her now, a red blur waving her arms about, hoping from one foot to the other, firing out words faster than Blake — an aficionado of all things fast — can keep up with. The woman (Yang?) seems to find the act familiar and reacts with affection tinged with a false exasperation (put upon for Blake’s benefit or maybe as a means of gentle chiding), sighing and placing a hand on the smaller girl’s shoulder.

“And I’ve been telling you, you can’t just ask people to look at their shit!” She turns to Blake now, and this time her eye roll is definitely for Blake. “Sorry about that, I swear we’re not trying to steal any of your trade secrets. Ruby just… really likes cars.”

“It’s so pretty too,” Ruby coos, batting away Yang’s hand and taking a step towards the vehicle Blake had used to push past Yang at the last moment, a fact neither of these women seem to hold against her. “The purple stripes. But I bet the engine is prettier.”

It’s unprecedented, really. Blake’s been on the scene for a while — longer than she would admit to anyone here — first as a tagalong and now as a driver, but she’s never had an encounter quite like this. The unexpectedness of it all has her feeling off-balance, has her reacting without any of her customary cool anger as Ruby stares at her hood (as though if she focuses hard enough, she’ll be able to see through the metal to the parts underneath). Maybe that’s why Blake responds in a way that’s decidedly unwise, without any further thought at all.

“You can take a look. I don’t mind.”

“Really?” Ruby squeals, but doesn’t wait for Blake to confirm, darting around her and flipping open the hood in the span of three seconds.

“Really?” Yang asks, and the word sounds wildly different coming from her, sliding out from behind her crooked lips like thanks or maybe a challenge (or maybe both). “Not worried about my mechanic figuring you out before the next race?”

Blake should be, of course. But.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Maybe not the smartest move.” Yang crosses her arms; the chrome of her right glints under one of the flickering street lights. For the first time, she looks away from Blake’s gaze, eyes darting over to check on Ruby (who’s leaning so far into the front of Blake’s car that her feet nearly lift off the ground) and then to another group of drivers, a good distance behind them, but clearly watching in curiosity. It’s never wise to gather after a race, but everyone always does when it goes well, and for the first time, Blake’s glad for it. “She’s pretty vicious about giving me an edge. I wish I could say it was familial loyalty, but really, she just wants to make the fastest car in the city.” Yang pauses, tilting her head in thought. “Or country. Or world. Not sure when she’ll be satisfied, to be honest.”

“Sisters?” Blake asks. She can’t really see the resemblance, but then again, she hasn’t spent as much time looking at the younger of the pair, even though she should probably be less focused on the elder (the one not pouring over her engine. Sun and Ilia were going to kill her).

“Yeah.” Yang probably doesn’t realize how much her smile grows in the confirmation, saturated with pride and love. “Scary brilliant too. Give her five minutes with a car and she’ll take it apart, put it back together, and it’ll run better than it ever has. But all that means she always thinks it’s the car that puts a driver ahead.”

Blake arches a brow. “And you think she’s… wrong?”

“Well, yeah.” Yang’s closer than Blake remembers her being, maybe because her legs are long, her strides somehow longer, and it only takes a step before she’s close enough for Blake to feel the heat radiating off her body. “I know it’s only the driver that puts a driver ahead. That’s why I’m here talking to you instead of looking at your car.” Her lips twitch and she amends her statement quickly. “Part of the reason, at least.”

The other part of her reasoning is made pretty obvious when Yang’s eyes trace up Blake’s form once more. It should probably bother Blake, but it doesn’t, maybe because she’s done the same to Yang during this conversation (more than once). Still, there are things better avoided, and Blake knows this better than anyone. She does her best to get back on track.

“It wasn’t me,” she says (almost blurts), and then feels her neck warm when Yang looks at her quizzically. “Before, you asked how I won. But it wasn’t me, not really. You could have had it if you hadn’t fired your nitrous early. You were impatient.”

It’s too blunt, Blake knows this as soon as the words leave her lips. She’s backtracked too much, retreated into aloofness as she was wont to do, but Yang only laughs, and the sound cracks through Blake’s go-to defense, a corner of her lips curling before she can stop it.

“You’re right. I used to be way worse, back when I started out, but I’m a lot better now. Usually.”

“So what happened today?” It’s the question Yang wants her to ask, of this Blake is sure, but it hardly feels like a chore.

“Ah, bad luck, I guess. I took one look at the driver next to me and all that impatience came rushing back. All I wanted to do was finish the race and meet her properly.” She winks. Combined with the cheesy line, it shouldn’t work as well as it does (but it does). “I’m Yang.”

“Blake.”

They don’t shake hands, and Blake’s glad for it. There’s something buzzing between them, a tingling sensation at the tips of her fingers, the build up right before a lightning strike, and Blake’s not entirely sure what the contact — however brief and friendly — might do to her.

“Next time, maybe I’ll be a little more prepared.” Yang’s eyes roam across her face, settling once more on gold. “But probably not.”

“Immersion therapy,” Blake quips. “Give it time.”

Yang whistles sharply, and it takes Blake a moment to realize that she’s called her sister back over. (Blake had forgotten about her entirely, though the grease on her hands and face leads her to believe that Ruby had done a thorough dive under her hood, the sort Blake ought to be worried about.)

“Time is exactly what I plan on giving it. A lot of time, if you’ll let me.” Yang nudges her sister back in the direction they’d come from. Ruby waves, offers a wide grin of thanks, but Blake’s stuck on purple.

“Well. Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she murmurs.

“Looking forward to it.”

And Blake, who started racing to get away, who started racing to run, who started racing so she never had to stay in one place for long, finds that she is too.

—

“What the hell is your problem?”

Blake’s used to this question too, or some form of it, and this time, the tone is exactly what she expects. The small, white-haired woman in a vest and tie, however, is not.

“Listen, I’m sorry I hurt your boyfriend’s feelings by being a better driver than him, but you’re only embarrassing yourself now.” Blake takes another look at the woman’s attire; her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and — despite the country club hairstyle and the heels — the hint of a tattoo on her pale skin, just under the fabric makes up Blake’s mind for her. “Or… Girlfriend?”

“Not quite,” says a familiar voice.

Today, Yang has decided to show off her abs (and she most certainly does have abs) with a cropped jacket of black and gold checks, and Blake can’t quite bring herself to look beyond that for too long, though she catches the black driving gloves, the oversized and gold sunglasses, the oversized cargo pants. In the seconds it takes for Blake to wind her brain back up, Yang grins, cocksure, and continues.

“Though you were right about the gay thing. I mean, look at her.”

“Look at you,” the other woman sniffs, actually physically turning up her nose. “Could you be any gayer?”

“Yeah, I could be wearing a vest and tie,” Yang fires back, but it’s clear the banter is familiar, it’s obvious these two know each other well enough for their back and forth to not contain any real barbs.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Blake drawls, before she’s able to stop herself, and Yang turns back to her with an arched brow. “Good to see you again, Yang.”

“Oh, is it? Could have fooled me!” The other woman’s ire has been refocused, and it’s seemingly stronger than before, the pitch of her words higher, more dire. “Given you nearly killed her just now.”

“Weiss,” Yang sighs, but Blake winces, feeling the sting of the words despite Yang’s quick glance of reassurance sent her way.

“I didn’t realize you’d pull off when I drifted. I thought you’d… lean in.”

It’s not an excuse. They’d been neck and neck towards the end of the race (again), and when she’d nudged the side of Yang’s car — far gentler than she would against anyone else — she’d assumed the woman would give as good as she got, like most every other racer she’d gone against. But Yang hadn’t taken any chances, and it’d cost her the race.

“We don’t do that here,” the woman — Weiss — says, lips pursed to the point of contortion, but Yang only laughs.

“We do that here all the time. I did way worse to Mercury last week.”

“Yes, but Mercury is a creep.” Weiss pauses, considering. “We only do that to creeps here.”

Blake’s hands lift, a show of peace. “Hey, no one handed me the Beacon Street Racing Etiquette Guide when I joined up the other week. Maybe you could loan me your copy.”

This doesn’t exactly smooth things over with the woman, especially not when Yang snickers, but Weiss can clearly see the writing on the wall, and tosses her hair over her shoulder with a huff.

“Whatever. I’m telling Ruby about this,” she warns Yang (or maybe Blake, or maybe both of them), before stalking away, her last words called over her shoulder. “She’s not going to be happy.”

There’s no concern on Yang’s face as she watches her go, if anything she looks amused. “Sorry about that. She’s… protective.”

“I can see that. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been friends with someone for a while.” It’s a guess (and a probe), but Yang doesn’t correct any of her phrasing, so it must be close enough to the truth.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean protective of me.” Yang’s grin shows a flash of white teeth. “Weiss bet on me tonight. You lost her money. And that’s the real sin.”

Blake’s surprised at how easily her laugh comes (more surprised how easily the fondness slips through the cracks in her chest). “Oh, I see. So I can kick your ass up and down the streets as long as I convince her to bet on me in the future? Good to know.”

“I’m not sure that’s the message I want you to be taking from this,” Yang drawls, but still smiles, flicking her glasses up to her forehead. “Besides, like she said, Ruby’s the one to look out for. She seemed all sweet and innocent yesterday, but gods help the person she turns her disapproving stare on. I’ve seen people break into tears on the spot.”

From what Blake had seen yesterday, Ruby isn’t the sort that loses her chipper bounce very easily, so despite Yang’s teasing tone, she files the information away as useful. If she were being a little more self-searching, she might question the action, given her tendency to not stick around in any one place for long. (Surely Beacon isn’t any different. Surely she couldn’t know now if it were.)

“Lucky she missed the race today, then.” Her lips curve, a sharp corner that would require a drift. “What, she couldn’t bear to see you lose again?”

“Oh, ha ha. No, she had class. And she knows there’s no skipping for racing; that’s the only hard and fast rule for our household.” It’s not what she expects, the straight answer backed with genuinity, but it strikes Blake as endearing, somehow, especially when Yang continues. “I started racing here so we could pay for those classes, so I think it’s only fair.”

“That’s — ” Kind. Authentic. Surprising. Blake’s not sure which word to use so she disgards them all. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type who was racing for the money. Not that… there’s anything wrong with that. Especially in your case.”

Yang laughs. “Hey, don’t mistake me. I started racing here for the money, but it’s not why I race in general.”

“So why do you?” Blake asks, even though she suspects she knows the answer. (It’s not wise to take your eyes off the road, but she’s done it in both of her races with Yang, eyes darting to the side to find the woman speeding alongside her: eyes wild, grin wide, the fervor of the moment all over her face. There’s freedom there, more than there is anywhere else, and Blake thinks she sees that in Yang as much as she does in herself.)

“Same as you, I think,” Yang murmurs, closer now, sliding in when Blake’s distracted once again.

“I’m not sure you know me well enough to say that.”

A bluff, of course, but it gets the intended result.

“Not yet.” From this close, Yang looks taller, and Blake has to tilt her chin to look into her eyes. “But I’m still looking to fix that.”

Blake wets her lips. It’s too much, and she’s not sure she can tack on ‘too soon’ to quantify the thought, make it less tame. If she had to guess, Yang will always be too much, like sunlight after coming out of a room. Blake’s not sure she’ll ever adjust to the rays, or if she wants to.

“Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she says again, and Yang laughs again, totally unabashed.

“Okay, I’m sensing a trend here. What, you’re not going to let me take you out unless I win a race again you?”

“If I say ‘yes’, what are you going to do?”

It’s not cockiness that overtakes Yang’s face then, not exactly. It’s confidence or want or determination or maybe just the flush that comes from the thrill of a challenge. Blake’s setting herself up for something here, she knows, failure or disappointment or something like it, but right then, she doesn’t care. There’s a freedom in this sort of race too, and that she’s come to love.

“Oh, that’s easy, Blake.” Yang leans in a little more, and Blake knows it’s audible, the way her breath is cut short. “I’m going to win.”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone's Symphony | Day One | Persephone

Hey lovelies— so as per my usual shenanigans I've decided this will have no schedule and that I will play god to my own creation because what is life without some chaos? The pros are you might not have to wait a week between updates, the cons are you might have to wait a week between updates. In all seriousness, please enjoy my lovelies!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 3.1k

Previous | Next

Master List

She can’t hear what the man in the truck says to him— the walls of this house are surprisingly thick. She supposes that’s a good thing. It means she will be able to go about her days normally while cooped up here. Well, as normal as possible. She doubts she’ll be able to get away with her three am rom-com marathons and ice-cream binges. She doubts she’ll get away with screaming in her sleep— and in the shower and at the breakfast table and when doing any, little thing that makes her remember that her life is one, constant nightmare.

It’s only three days— all she has to do is stay awake for three days.

While his head— her body guard’s head— is turned she leans against the kitchen sink, inching back the white lace curtain for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s like a little game at this point. She peeks at him, his eyes snap to hers, and she squeals and drops the curtain. Thank god the walls are thick. It’s almost unnerving how tuned he is to every little movement— not almost, it is unnerving but she supposes that is what makes him a good fit for this job. A good fit for keeping her alive. Like she has been doing for months now, she ignores the way her chest squeezes painfully.

Through the little strip of window that she allows for herself, she traces over his features one last time. Cropped black hair, a square jaw, at least two days worth of stubble. He looks like a bodyguard— rough, dangerous, manly— and that’s before taking into account the sheer size of the man. She is on her tiptoes, one hand pushing against the stainless steel below her for dear life, and she still has to crane her neck to properly see his face. She refuses to let her eyes wander any further than that— she had already glimpsed at the rest of him when he had made the short walk from the truck to the house. She already knows he’s massive.

His eyebrow twitches and she drops the curtain— she may not be as fast as he is but she’s a quick learner. Had she held the curtain open longer she is sure his eyes would have flicked to hers again. Those are the rules of the game, after all. She hears a muted thumping and the door handle jiggle from across the room, spinning towards the faded farmhouse door. She watches as the door handle turns, her throat tight, wondering where all the air in the room went— it was there a second ago.

The door pushes open and she jumps away from the sink, only just realizing what it’ll look like if he comes inside to her still hunched over the window. Of course, he’s already seen her but that’s beside the point. Part of the game is not talking about the game. A boot comes into view— the black, military grade kind— and it hits her like a punch to the gut that this is real— there really is someone out there trying to kill her. Now she really can’t breath. She can only force her lungs to expand to draw in some oxygen before her bodyguard finds her sprawled in an unconscious heap on the ground.

The boot is quickly followed by a leg, which is then, by default, followed by a torso and a head. A head that turns and watches her freeze, red handed like a bandit, in the middle of the kitchen. Gods, she should have just kept leaning against the sink— this is worse! Her hands are up and everything, shot out in front of her like she’s about to jump him or something. Yes, her— the girl currently in a hoodie that pools around her legs, displaying her knobby knees and bad posture— about to jump him— the man who had to practically duck to get through the doorway. She could laugh. In fact, she almost wishes he would laugh at her. She wishes he would do anything but look at her with that blank expression and those ice blue eyes.

“Uhm—” she blinks, trying to think of something to say other than holy shit you’re a giant— which, for the record, is what she wants to say— “hi?”

Are you serious, y/n?

He tilts his head at her and she almost cries. Not the same fear ridden, heartbroken, panicky cries of late. More so the awkward, why the fuck would you say that to the man charged with keeping you alive brand of cries. The normal kind. She drops her hands to her sides, slipping them into the pouch of her hoodie and tangling her fingers together. She can only allow herself to display one embarrassing thing at a time.

The man stays silent for a moment, each second of which makes her cheeks flame hotter and hotter, before finally opening his mouth. “Hi.”

Her chest deflates— some of the heat subsiding. He copied her. Whether purposefully or mockingly it alleviates some of the stupidity she’s feeling. She takes a few steps backwards, her bare feet pittering rather loudly over the worn hardwood. Well, that didn’t last long— there’s that embarrassment again.

“I’m y/n,” she squeaks out— gods, is Mickey Mouse in the building? “I guess you already know that though, huh?”

It was a stroke of genius putting her hands in her pocket— at least now he can’t see the way they shake furiously. She has to resist smashing her head against the sink. Nothing about this situation is optimal, to say the very least. Here she is making small talk with a man who could tear her in half. Her eyes drift to where his red henley pulls taut around his biceps— are they bigger than her head?

“James—” her eyes flick back up, face hotter than the sun, both from her blatant staring and the deep gravel of his voice— “but most people call me Bucky.”

Her eyes widen. She doesn’t know why, probably because she’s an idiot or because she isn’t expecting him to say more than three words. He seems like the strong, silent type. Maybe that is just the rom-coms though. Maybe her brain is just mush now.

“Okay,” she all but whispers, backing further into the sink. His piercing eyes have yet to leave her— something which makes her knees knock together and fingers clench. “Which should I call you?”

He tenses, his dark eyebrows pulling together, and she has to swallow the bile that rises in her throat. It’s day one and she’s already offending him. She pulls her lip between her teeth, biting down until the tangy, metallic taste that she has grown too familiar with these past months floods her mouth. She tells herself that she does it to keep from cursing. Lying to herself is another game she likes to play.

The longer he remains quiet, the more she regrets asking the question. His blue eyes are still latched on her, drifting over the space between her eyes and her busted lip, but somehow they also seem miles away. She can’t tell if he’s looking at her— seeing her— or if he’s seeing something else entirely. It isn’t until she pushes off the counter, taking a hesitant step forward, her foot slapping against the wood like it’s trying to embarrass her again, that he blinks. She pulls one of her hands from the puddle that is her hoodie, sliding it over her hair. Can he see the way it shakes?

Probably.

“Nevermind, forget I asked. It was a dumb ques—”

“Bucky,” the word is rushed out, falling over her own stuttered babbling. He slows after that, his face remaining stoic but his cheeks dusting with the slightest hint of pink. “Call me Bucky.”

She doesn’t point it out— she doesn’t have a death wish. Her being here right now, standing across from a literal giant, barefoot and shaking, is proof enough of that. Instead she nods gently, lowering her hand slowly. He’s not going to attack her— he isn’t a wolf— but still she takes the precaution. Better safe than sorry.

“Bucky it is then.”

He nods stiffly and she pretends like it doesn’t make her hands shake harder. She waits for him to speak, eyes drifting over the blue cupboards and the breakfast nook, taking in the applications of the home and trying not to scream. She feels so out of place, not used to the warmth in the room— the lingering smell of yeast and the flowers in the vase on the table. She used to bake all the time. Now she can barely bring herself to microwave frozen dinners. The sun that filters through the crack in the curtains and lands against her cheek feels like pure fire. She spends her days in the dark— she wouldn’t be surprised if she was allergic to the sun itself now. Allergic to all the things she used to enjoy.

The silence is too much— she has to speak to keep her throat from closing. If she doesn’t then it may not open again.

“So—” she draws the word out, her eyes flopping to the floor where her toe scuffs against a particularly worn board— “we just kinda follow each other around then?”

His face doesn’t change, his lips remaining in the same, expressionless line— a master of one trade. “Pretty much. I follow you.”

“And make sure I don’t die.” She fills the rest in— there’s no point not to. He’s definitely seen the pictures.

Finally his expression shifts, his lips pressing together tersely. It’s an answer in it’s own right— he pities her. He shifts his weight between his feet, the floorboards creaking below him. It could just be her but the sound slices through the room— loud and unforgiving— and she can’t stop the way she flinches. He freezes, obviously noticing her reaction. She almost slaps herself. Leave it to her to make an already tense situation worse. Is it going to be this awkward the entire time?

“You’re not going to die.” His voice is softer than his boots, barely reaching her ears as it cuts through the rigid atmosphere.

She doesn’t know what to say— how do she tell her bodyguard that she doesn’t believe him? He’s supposed to be the one saving her life. It feels risky to suggest that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Like telling the universe that she wants to die. She doesn’t want to die. It’s just hard not to think about death when it follows her everywhere she goes. For twenty-four years she was just y/n. Now look at her.

The queen of death.

She doesn’t know what to say so instead she changes the subject.

“Are you hungry?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She makes grilled cheese for lunch. It is nothing special but the smell of the butter alone makes the energy she has to scrape together to make them worth it. She can’t remember the last time she cooked like this— the last time she tasted anything but freezer burnt macaroni and lumpy gravy. A couple times she almost drops the spatula, her fingers not used to having to be so coordinated, but the promise of melted cheddar has her fighting through the tremors. That and the audience of one, standing next to her with his arms crossed like he’s judging her culinary skills rather than looking for snipers.

It’s all in her head. That’s what she tells herself at least.

“You want extra cheese?”

She can feel Bucky’s eyes on the side of her face— is there something on her cheek? “Sure.”

It’s all in her head.

She flips the sandwiches, watching as the fluffy white bread is replaced with a perfect, golden brown toast. Her stomach growls, the sound somehow louder than the sizzling pan in her hand. The scream bubbles in her throat again— fuck. Why must everything she does be so humiliating? Why can’t she just keep it together for three days!

“Bacon?” Cue the voice crack.

“Bacon?” He repeats the word back like he hasn’t the faintest clue what a pig is— like somehow he’s a giant of a man but has never touched a piece of meat in his entire life.

Like it’s the dumbest question he has ever been asked. She swallows— hard— her cheeks pooling with heat again. She’s starting to wonder if it ever even left. If he asks she’ll blame it on the steam rising off the pan or her hoodie or both. But he won’t ask— he won’t speak until he has to. It did not take her long to gather that fact.

“You’ve never had bacon on grilled cheese?” It feels like he’s glaring at her.

It’s all in her damn head.

The floorboards groan underneath Bucky again and instead of flinching this time she tries to imagine what they might be saying. Save me, he’s crushing me! She flicks her eyes down, glancing at those military grade boots and then at her own toes, tiny and feeble compared to the size of his gear. One wrong step and her foot would likely be broken. She isn’t too worried about that though— he seems careful. His movements thus far have been slow and calculated, skirting around her and leaving at least a few feet between them at all times. Maybe that isn’t to keep from stepping on her though— maybe he just doesn’t like her. She wouldn’t blame him.

“You say it like that’s unheard of.” He doesn’t say it angrily but there’s no exuberance in his voice either— just the monotone she’s come to expect. It’s been one hour and she can already see how the next seventy-one are going to play out.

“Where I’m from it is.”

There’s a pause— the sound of butter crackling against the pan and of the steady picking up of rain against the kitchen window as it eats away at the sunshine— and she’s expecting the conversation to drop there. He isn’t there to entertain her, after all. That’s what the TV is for— what Leonardo DiCaprio is for.

But then there’s an answer. “Where are you from?”

The corner of her mouth lifts— an action so foreign she can practically see the dust shedding from her rusty smile— and she turns from the frypan long enough to meet his icy eyes and to throw out an arm, putting the front of her hoodie on display for the stoic man.

“SoCal.”

Her mouth lifts higher when Bucky raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly. He could be mocking her but she chooses to believe he’s interested. She chooses to believe that they are making progress and that she won’t have to spend three days talking to the walls. She turns back to the sandwiches, flipping them for the last time before laying down a few strips of bacon next to them.

She isn’t expecting him to keep going but she also isn’t complaining when his voice tickles her ears again. “Caltech, huh? S’that Pasadena?”

She tries to keep her smile from morphing into a full blown grin— she isn’t sure if her poor lips would be able to handle it. It’s been too long since she last used her mouth this much; both for smiling and talking. “Yes sir— born and raised.”

He hums and she watches from the corner of her eye as he leans to the window, peering out of it for a moment. There’s no one out there— at least she strongly doubts there is. This place is in the middle of nowhere. She hasn’t even heard a car since the truck that dropped Bucky off drove away. It’s supposed to be peaceful. She doesn’t see it. All she sees is the dreadful but necessary silence— at least hopefully that way they’ll hear someone coming.

“How about you? Where are you from—” she flips the bacon, pushing it around the pan, her mouth watering at the thought of the greasy, gooey goodness she’s about to consume— “You mind finding some plates?”

She hears him rummage through the cupboard above his head— well, above her head, in front of his— before two mismatched pieces of dishware appear before her nose. Grabbing them, she lets the corners of her lips tick up just the tiniest bit further.

“Indiana— but spent most of my time in Brooklyn.”

“It shows.” She muses, not turning to see whether or not he appreciates the comment.

It’s true regardless— she can hear some of the mannerisms of New York in his voice. Not many. He hasn’t said enough for her to truly gauge just how strong his accent is. Still it’s there, in the gruffness of his tone, just like she’s sure the SoCal shines through in her. At least it normally does— lately she hasn’t exactly been the picture of sunshine.

She removes the sandwiches from the pan, layering them carefully onto the plates. After staring at them for a moment she settles on the one that she wants, handing Bucky the bigger of the two. It’s only fair— he could probably eat at least four. She watches as the giant gives it a glance, rolling her eyes when he hesitantly lifts it to his lips, taking the smallest of bites. Is he afraid of a sandwich?

“I promise I’m not trying to poison you— I need you to stay alive, remember?”

He only grunts.

She has to turn away when he takes a bigger bite, her eyes refusing to detach themselves from his lips. Unprofessional and inappropriate. The orphan and the bodyguard. She takes a bite of her own sandwich, shoving the thought to the back of her mind and replacing it with the heavenly taste of gooey cheese, melted butter, and greasy bacon. She doesn’t have to dissect the thoughts of her delicious food like she would have to the other ones. Cheese doesn’t require a checklist about whether or not her grief quota is up to code. Clearly it’s not— clearly she’s just sick in the head. She takes another bite.

The two eat in silence for a couple minutes, the tension in the room melting for the first time since she introduced herself. Thank gods for cheese.

After a few more moments Bucky sets his plate down, turning back to the window. At first she thinks she is hearing things— like her mind is now also playing tricks on her as well as making her feel like a terrible person— but then it registers and she has to fight back another inappropriate smile.

“You were right about the bacon.”

Maybe three days won’t be so bad.

____________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license​

[princess-of-the-corner]

I love the idea of Deku not being able to pronounce Katsuki at first and when he's older he kinda forgets that his name *isn't* Kacchan because he's called him that for so long

Okay okay okay so like. I don't think they'd /forget/ but I have this entire planned sequence of events in my head that does involve the names thing.

So like. I already mentioned in my AU that Bakugo kinda just. Gets slammed into realizing things are kinda fucked a hell of a lot earlier. Like, how he's acted, how things are between him and Izuku, a lot of shit. The entire different environment at UA gets him to notice.

And instead of doubling down on being a dick or even just quietly ignoring it, something spurs him into talking about it.

They do have a long talk. Like. A long, long fucking talk. About how much has happened between them. And talking through a lot of things that /both of them/ are realizing were wrong. Because yeah Izuku isn't entirely in denial by this point, but even he wasn't entirely aware of some things that they did(I am not victim blaming, but I can see why Bakugo, already under the assumption that Izuku looks down on him, would see Izuku doing things like 'calling him a cute and embarrassing nickname despite no longer being friends' or 'using the insult Bakugo made up as a Hero Name' as insulting and prompt a reaction).

After probably talking for a few hours at this point, they've agreed to work on it. Things might never be how they were, but they aren't completely broken. (Bakugo thinks it might be broken and really thinks that Izuku should tell him to fuck off but even though he won't admit it he wants his friend back and is willing to push down the guilt of everything he's done because how can he ever apologize enough?)

ANd they do discuss the name thing. Because Bakugo is like 'well I should probably call you by your name instead of the insult, right?'. And Izuku is fine with it now because it /was/ an insult but he's turned it into something with a positive meaning and the others call him that too now.

But when Bakugo tries to fully start over with the last name shit, Izuku is like 'no way in hell'. Because he doesn't want to start over, he wants to repair what's there. And that means not pretending like the past hadn't happened.

Bakugo is hesitant and is like 'fucker we have too much history to be /friendly/ yet!'. And for a moment they table the conversation.

Things aren't over yet! Because the ending of this arc is..... Okay I know half of my followers read Other Magic, so y'all know that scene where Chloé and Juleka kick the shit out of each other in the woods to fully kinda begin to resolve shit? That.

It's a planned fight, no Quirks just hand-to-hand. They go all out and ofc the rest of the class has no idea what's happening or why this is so emotionally charged.

But before they fight, Izuku is like 'Here's a deal: If I win, you have to call me by my first name again. If you win, I'll refrain from calling you 'Kacchan' all the time!"

And then yeah they do fight. And it's fun and exhausting and ultimately ends in a draw.

Izuku: "Hm. Guess we both win that bet then."

Bakugo: "Yeah. Whatever.... Izuku."

Izuku: "We should do this again sometime, Katsuki!"

And boy he wants to shout about how that was /not/ what he thought he meant by 'not calling him Kacchan' but he is having too much of an 'Oh. Oh no.' moment to protest.

(ofc they still use the nicknames most of the time but.... well. If you want it to /mean something/ then the first names are brought out!)

[anxious-allie-ren]

Miscalculation

Hey cuties! So, I have started writing fanfiction! I have been posting on both AO3 and Wattpad. Both links are in my linktree in my bio! But, I’d like to share my first one-shot here. Let me know what you all think!

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

Let's be honest, The Finalizer is boring.

Not a, "Oh, it's a calm day with nothing to do, kind of boring." But more like, "I'm trapped on a steel death ship in the vacuum less mass of space" kind of boring.

Okay maybe that's because you are trapped. You have been trapped for what feels like months. In reality, it's been a few weeks and you're really close to going insane.

It was a small error that landed you here. A tiny miscalculation that landed you on the path of Snoke's little apprentice. Should you have double checked to make sure you had enough fuel to get back to D'Qar? Yes. Did you? No. Instead you waste your credits on some shitty fried food at the docking station on Coruscant and take off. This leaves you stranded on Jakku. Luck was clearly on your side that day because this was the exact day Snoke's dog sent his bitches out on a mission. There you are, in your X-Wing with what seems like the biggest bullseye on you.

It doesn't take them long to sniff you out. You're ripped out of the cockpit by a knight in an all black mask with long shields placed on either side. The knight drops you to the ground and you can immediately see you're outnumbered. Six large armored men have circled you. Okay, so the blaster you're pointing at the one who man-handled you probably wasn't going to do shit. But that doesn't stop you from holding your ground.

"I am not afraid to shoot. I will blast you all right now."

This earns a chuckle from the group. That first knight speaks up.

"You're stranded on this sand pile with no fuel. I doubt you have enough plasma to shoot half of us."

You huff at his comment but stand your ground, keeping the blaster pointed at him.

"Trudgen, just grab her and let's get back to the mission. Master can decide what to do with her."

You take note of that fucker's name as two of the other knights haul you up by your arms roughly. You're dragged to the ugliest ship you've ever seen in your life and thrown in a dingy compartment.

"We'll be back rebel scum. Don't try anything." Trudgen said as he placed your blaster on his belt. Not like he has enough weapons strapped to his body or anything. You roll your eyes and try to sit in a spot that isn't covered in dust.

"No promises."

And that's how you ended up on the Finalizer. You made the journey here hell for the knights. You did eventually learn the rest of their names after eavesdropping on their conversations. When you arrived Vicrul and Ap'lek placed your hands in binders and led you to an interrogation room. After you were strapped into the interrogation chair the knights made their way to leave.

"Uh, excuse me? Where the fuck are you guys going? You can't just strapped me in to this stupid chair, way too tightly might I add, and then leave without saying anything!"

Vicrul and Ap'lek share a look and then turn towards you.

"We aren't the ones interrogating you, scum. Master is interested in you." Vicrul says, shrugging his shoulders.

"I have no idea why. Not much to be interested in." Ap'lek mutters as he turns to leave again.

You rolled your eyes as both knights leave the room. So you would be getting the honor of meeting Snoke's apprentice. Wonderful. From what you learned being in the Resistance, Kylo Ren was an overgrown toddler with a laser sword. So the likelihood of you coming out of this interrogation alive was small.

You probably sit strapped to that stupid chair for hours before Commander Ren decides to stroll on in. He comes through the door swiftly, feet pounding on the ground loudly. He stops in front of you and gives you a quick once-over. The mask finally meets your eyes.

"Are we just going to stare at each other? Or are we going to get this over with?"

Kylo ball his hands into fists and begins to circle the interrogation chair.

"I don't think you are in any position to ask questions right now. What were you doing on Jakku?"

"Your little boy band didn't fill you in already? I got stranded on that shitty planet. Didn't exactly go there by choice."

He stops in front of you again.

"And why did you get stranded?"

You immediately think back to your little error. You feel even more stupid looking back on it. Admitting to it is not something you were looking to do right now. What the fuck was the point of this? Was he really just going to ask you trivial questions? You figured Snoke would have taught him better than this if he's really so powerful.

Kylo leans down quickly, grabbing the sides of the chair by your head. The sudden movement makes you jump, wrists smacking against the restraints.

"I can hear all of your thoughts. It would be wise to watch what you think. Now answer the question."

Of course he can hear your thoughts. He's a fucking force user. Rookie mistake on your part really. But the idea of him actually hearing every thought you think does unnerve you.

"I ran out of fuel. Had to make an emergency landing, okay? Is that answer good enough for you?"

Kylo finally leans back up. He stares down at you and even though he's wearing that stupid fucking mask you can just tell he's got a judgemental look on his face.

"What kind of pilot runs out of fuel?"

You begin to argue back but he stops you.

"Not a very good one. A good pilot would have checked that they had enough fuel to get to their next destination. A good pilot wouldn't have spent all of their credits."

"Listen you fu-"

"A good pilot would have landed near a fueling station, not in the middle of nowhere. But I guess that's my point. You aren't a good pilot. Another useless member of the Resistance. So breaking you down is going to be easier than I thought."

All you could do was stare at him. He read your thoughts. He already knew everything. He wanted to embarrass you, make you feel small. It worked for a second. But if you were going to die today, you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing your embarrassment.

You square your jaw and look right into the eyes of his mask.

"That's where you're wrong, buddy."

Kylo leans down so his mouthpiece is by your ear and whispers, "We'll see about that, little one."

He stands back up and stomps out of the room quickly. Leaving you feeling shocked, angry, and oddly aroused.

____________________________

So to everyone's surprise you did not die that day. Instead Kylo had you placed in a cell and that's where you've been for weeks. Stormtroopers come and feed you or take you to a refresher to bathe. Commander Ren has stopped by a few times since your original meeting. Nothing much has come of those ones either. Mostly him staring at you and asking trivial questions. Which just agitates you.

You can't seem to figure him out. He hasn't asked anything regarding the Resistance. What is the point of keeping you prisoner if he isn't going to get any useful information from you? It doesn't sit well with you.

When he doesn't visit you're left alone. Staring at the same four walls does get boring eventually. You've taken to sitting near the door and trying to listen to the stormtroopers conversations. Sometimes bucket heads spill some interesting tea. You learned last week that General Hux once got a boner after getting choked by the Commander.

That's what you're doing currently. Listening to the chatter when you suddenly hear the distinct pounding of boots. The last you knew, the Commander was away on a mission with the knights. As the footsteps draw closer you move quickly to your feet and back away from the door. Kylo strides through the door, chest heaving and fists clenched. You can feel the anger rolling off of him. So you're guessing his little adventure didn't go so well.

His hand flies up quickly, using the force to choke you.

"How many times do I have to tell you to watch your thoughts?"

Okay, so he heard you. You really gotta work on monitoring that. Wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of a toddler tantrum.

Just as the thought crosses your mind you're dragged across the floor towards Kylo. Your toes just barely touching the ground as you move. His hand wraps around your throat and he leans his masked face down into your own.

"I've given you far too many warnings. Now you're going to be punished."

Your eyes go wide as you look up into the soulless mask. This is it. This is where you die. You're going to die at the hands of this fucker and even worse, you're turned on.

Kylo spins you around and pins you to the wall. He kicks your feet apart using his boot, shoving his knee between your legs. You feel his thigh rub against your core. It takes all your self control to stop yourself from grinding down on it. He can feel the arousal pouring from your body.

He pulls his hand from your neck and leans back.

"I'm afraid you're enjoying this too much, little one."

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, to no prevail of course. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest. But the anger from this whole situation has begun to build. You're sick and tired of being in this cell. You're enraged by his trivial fucking questioning. And now, he's teasing you. You've had enough of it. You are not going to be his toy.

"I'm not enjoying anything. Im stuck in this stupid cell guarded by bucket heads. You've done nothing but ask me useless fucking questions. What is the point of this? Why keep me around if I have no use?"

You watch as he reaches up quickly and yanks the mask off. You weren't sure what you were expecting. But it wasn't that. When you imagined the Commander of the First Order, you pictured some burnt deformed old man. Not a hot ass guy with perfect fucking hair.

He throws the mask off to the side and glares down at you.

"You've certainly got a use and now you're going to fulfill it."

Suddenly, you feel the most glorious swirling against your clit. You gasp and try to squirm away from him. He pins you harder against the wall and begins kissing up your neck. You begin to feel the pressure building just as he starts to remove your shirt.

"Fuck, I don't know what you're doing. But don't stop." You pant out.

Just as the words leave your mouth the swirling stops.

"What the actual fuck?"

"You didn't think I'd just let you cum, did you? This is a punishment."

That is the final straw. You were so close to ecstasy. So close to release. You have had enough of this little twat. You collect yourself and use all the strength you can to push him away from you.

"Enough fucking games. I'm not some toy to be played with. Either show me the reason I'm still here or kill me already!"

Commander Ren is quick. If you weren't aware of his position, you'd think he was a bounty hunter with how fast he can move. So fast in fact, that he has you pinned face down on your shitty cot before you can think. You're bent over with your hands held in his fist behind you. You try to squirm but only end up grinding your ass back into him. Either that's his lightsaber or he's really excited to see you.

"Who is the general of the Resistance?"

The question catches you off guard. Why the fuck is he asking you his trivial questions now? Of all fucking times. He certainly knows the answer to this one, so what's the point of this?

You must have been stuck in your thoughts for too long, because a strong slap comes across your left ass cheek. The sound echoes throughout the tiny cell and you're certain the stormtroopers outside heard it.

"Answer the question."

"Uh, General Organa. She's your mom, right?"

Stupid response. He grabs a fist full of your hair and yanks your head back. He growls in your ear, "I would advise you shut the fuck up. Stop being a little brat and cooperate or this will only get worse."

Kylo releases your hair and holds you down with the force. He yanks down your pants, revealing your slick soaked panties to the room. Kylo looks down and smirks.

"You're drenched. Bent over and pussy wet for the enemy. What kind of pilot would do that?"

He lands another hard slap to your right cheek this time. Giving it a small kneed afterwards.

"Oh that's right. Not a very good one."

You try to move against the force hold but it's no use. He's got the upper hand here. But you're not going to let him degrade you like that.

"That's rich coming from Snoke's little bitch."

His fist is back in your hair and his other grabs your hip, pulling you back against him. He grinds himself into you and groans out, "You're going to regret that, little one."

Kylo pulls himself away enough to pull down your panties. You feel his gloved finger glide through your slick down to your bundle of nerves. You gasp and wiggle your hips back towards him trying to gain more friction.

"What is your squadron?"

Not this bullshit again. He's playing with your pussy and asking you these dumbass questions? He pulls his hand away and lands a slap to your pussy, causing your legs to shake.

"I hate repeating myself, so answer the fucking question."

Your head is spinning and your pussy is clenching around nothing. You have no clue what the point of these questions are but you'll do anything to get him to touch you again.

"Blue Squadron! Fuck."

Kylo's hand comes back to you, this time bare. He begins rubbing slow circles around your nub, applying the perfect amount of pressure.

"Now that's a good girl. Keep answering your Commander and you'll get rewarded."

"You're not my fucking commander." You gasp as he inserts two thick fingers into your needy hole. "My commander is Poe Dameron."

You realize what you've said after it's too late. It's not exactly classified information. But it's certainly not something you should be sharing with the enemy. You've got to get it together if you're going to make it through this little visit.

"Dameron, hm? Interesting."

You hear the sound of his belt buckle and zipper coming undone. He releases his long, girthy cock from the confines of his pants. It lands on your ass as Kylo grabs hold of both your hips.

"Are you ready for your punishment? I'm going to destroy this little cunt."

You arch your back, pushing your ass up. "I really doubt that. But you can try."

With our warning, Kylo buries his whole length in your wet heat. You gasp as he knocks the air out of your lungs, taking you by surprise. He begins thrusting into you at a slow pace, taking his time. You can feel every glorious inch of him, from tip to hilt.

You moan out and wiggle your hips, trying to get him to speed up. "If you're going to punish me, you'll have to try harder than this."

He snarls at your comment, squeezing your hips and picking up the pace. The little cell is filled with the sounds of your breathy moans, his grunts, and skin slapping. You get so lost in the pleasure you nearly miss him speaking to you.

"Where is the Resistance base?"

You almost answer. You almost let that information slide, forgetting where you are and whose cock is buried inside you. But then it all clicks. He's trying to distract you for information. Nice fucking try Commander Cunt.

"Fuck off."

Kylo grunts and releases one of your hips to instead grab a fistful of your hand. He yanks your head back and forces your back to arch further, making his cock reach deeper inside your pussy. Kylo begins pounding into you, each thrust hitting your sweet spot.

"Where the fuck is the Resistance base?"

Your moans are loud at this point. You couldn't care less about the stormtroopers outside hearing you. This all feels too good. But you aren't going to give in to him this easy. The resistance is counting on you. You are not some weak pilot that gives in to this moody bitch.

"Fuck. Off." You moan out in response.

Kylo's other hand leaves your hip and snakes down your front. He begins rubbing fast circles against your clit. You scream as you feel the pressure beginning to build again.

"Tell me where the fucking base is, pet."

You scream out in pleasure and frustration. You're so close. Just teetering on the edge. You so badly want to let go. So you crack.

"Fuck! Fine! D'Qar! The resistance base is on D'Qar! Please just let me come! Please!"

Kylo smirks, knowing he's won. He picks up the pace on your clit and groans out, "That's right, now be a good girl and cum all over my cock."

That was all you needed. You screamed in ecstasy, "Yes, fuck Kylo!"

Your pussy clenched around him as you came, your juices covering him. Kylo grunted, fucking you through your orgasm.

Soon after you came down from your high, you felt his cock twitch inside you. Kylo quickly pulled out of you and yanked you up by your hair.

"On your knees and mouth open, rebel bitch."

You quickly dropped to your knees and did just as he said, closing your eyes. Kylo pumped his cock over your face, using your slick and cum as lube. He threw his head back and let out a feral groan. Strings of his milky seed covering your face.

Once he was finished, you swallow what had gotten in your mouth and began wiping the rest off your face, licking it from your fingers. Fuck he tastes delicious. When you could finally open your eyes, he was already by the door. He had tucked himself away and put his glove back on. Kylo grabbed his helmet and looked back at you.

"Just as I thought. You're a useless Resistance member. So easy to destroy."

You sit there stunned by his words, letting everything that had just happened sink in.

"It has been fun breaking you, little one."

With one last look, Kylo places his helmet back on his head and walks out of the cell.

You stare at the door and replay his words. Maybe you were a shitty Resistance member. Others probably wouldn't have broken that easily, or at all. But with some of his cum drying on your face and a satisfied feeling, you can't find it in you to care.

You're secretly hoping Commander Ren needs more information. You might come to enjoy his little visits.

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

I hope everyone enjoyed! If you all are interested, I can post on here more. Let me know! 

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Two

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2921

Warnings: bad language words, blink and you’ll miss the angst, just some fluff

A/N: divider credit- @firefly-graphics

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission

You awoke with a start, feeling as if you were late for work or something important and forgot to set your alarm. Your heart beat an erratic tattoo against your ribcage. Scrambling for your cell phone, you blindly reached across the side table near your bed in a panic. Unplugging the phone, you brought the device an ungodly closeness to your face. It was only 6:17. On Saturday.

Your pulse throbbed behind your eyeballs, and a strange stickiness coated the inside of your mouth. Did you drink that much last night?

How could you not? Timmons was a fair boss, and you enjoyed your job, but that dude loved the sound of his own voice.

The quarterly business dinners were mandatory for all employees, even for the P.A.s. Typically, they weren’t so bad, but last night, Timmons felt the need to toot his own horn for landing a massive contract with Stark Industries slash The Avengers. He went on and on about how great it was for the firm.

He was like a giant kid in a candy store with his ramblings. ‘We will be promoting the face of The Avengers and everything that goes with it,’ he spouted off like the firm was god’s gift to public relations.

You groaned at the reminder of last night’s presentation. The contract wasn’t even in effect yet, and you were sick of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Timmons could be a real buzz kill.

Rolling to your back, you brought your phone up to tap the screen to read the emails you received overnight. On display was a text from 11:04 by someone named James. It read: “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Your mind went back to last night again, trying to recall who this James was. He must be significant if you plugged his contact information into your phone already. Had you met someone last night?

Drawing a blank, you clicked on the text bubble to pull up the thread. Briefly scanning through the numerous texts, everything came rushing back. In an attempt to text your sister, Robyn, you mistakenly texted this mysterious, James.

You felt like an utter buffoon when you learned he wasn’t Robyn. You always did have a way with the cute boys. Probably why you were single. You groaned out loud as you read on.

You im safely inside my apartment. Pretty sure no one followed me home

James Did you triple check the lock on the front door?

You yes dad yeesh

James There are a lot of bad people out there. Just want to make sure you’re safe.

You sounds like you watch the news too much but its sweet of u to care

James I know from experience.

You r u the bad guy or have u been the one mugged?

James Let’s just say I have friends that have dealt with the bad things of the world.

You right i almost forgot ur a military-trained assassin athlete mchottie

James Did you ever send your sister a text?

You shit thanks for reminding me i have such a crazy story to tell her

James Only good things, I hope.

You oh yeah all the good things an enigmatic yet handsome stranger cares more about my safety than any of my ex-boyfriends ever did.

James My ma raised me right.

You id say

James_ I hate to cut this short, but I think you need your rest. Especially if you’re meeting your sister tomorrow._

You i dont want to agree but ur probably right

You whats ur name btw?

James My name? Why? Do you plan to continue texting me after tonight?

You duh ur fun to talk to

James Oh.

You or not its cool if u dont want to

James It’s James.

You nice to meet u james im (y/n)

James Nice to meet you as well.

You my sister just texted me back and were still meeting at 9 i should go 

You goodnite james

James Goodnight, (Y/N).

Oh. My. God. Had you seriously drunk-flirted with a stranger and offered to keep texting him? You had no shame with a few drinks in you.

You brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and sighed loudly.

What did you know of this James? He had a New York area phone number. Check. He could have been a real dick about your mistake but wasn’t. Understanding. Check. He worried about you getting home safely in your inebriated state. Caring. Check. Not too forthcoming with the nine to five. Secretive. Check. His mouth looked so soft and plush, and his eyes were made to drown in. Gorgeous. Check.

A heat simmered beneath your skin as you recounted the shortlist you’d made. Were you lusting over someone you’d exchanged less than forty texts with? Had you somehow woken back up in high school?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you stared at the screen displaying the message thread. Were you really considering this? You nodded your head to answer your own question. Where was the harm in a little shameless flirting? If worse came to worst, you could always block him.

With your mind made up, you began typing into your phone, constructing an apology.

You Good morning! First off, I want to apologize for the way I behaved over text last night.

You Though, I do like to imbibe in the occasional drink or two, I am, by no means, a lush.

You Please take everything I said with a grain of salt. Apparently, I get loose-lipped and cheeky with free wine. ����

You Again, I’m sorry and understand if you wanted to cease our correspondence for my behavior.

You blew out a breath and tossed your phone aside. It was up to fate now and a stranger named James.

You laid in your bed for several minutes staring at the ceiling, contemplating between whether to send a ‘haha just kidding’ text and what the weather would be like, so you could forego shaving your legs in the shower today.

Your phone chimed during the pondering of hair removal, indicating a new text. You knew it was James proclaiming you a freak and to forget his number, but secretly, you hoped it was Robyn canceling today.

Seizing the phone from your mattress top, your heart’s beat increased with each second you went without looking at the screen. Finding the courage, you flipped the device over to read the message.

James Quite the formal apology, Ms. Professor.

You smiled at the text. It didn’t tell you to pound sand or eat shit. No, it was teasing and in jest. You sighed in relief.

You Cease our correspondence too much?

James No, no it was perfect if this was 1863, and you were breaking up with me via telegraph.

You Stop!

James Exactly! ‘Never speak to me again!’ Stop. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ Stop.

A belly laugh disrupted the tranquil air of your bedroom. You quickly thumbed out a reply once you caught your breath.

You You’re incorrigible.

James I’m glad to see you are using proper capitalization and punctuation this morning.

You Ha!

You When you are buzzed and/or tipsy, capitals and periods be damned. Like you’re so perfect when you’re drunk.

James We all have our flaws.

Was he implying he was a sloppy texter when drunk, too? You shrugged it off as him being cryptic again.

You What are you doing up so early on a Saturday? I didn’t wake you, did I?

You were suddenly stricken with guilt. You should have waited for a more reasonable hour to send out rapid-fire apology texts. Not at 6:36 in the morning. You didn’t want last night’s behavior hanging over you, though. Better to clear the air now than later. You could always ask for forgiveness again if you had disturbed his sleep.

James I had just gotten back from my run when I saw your texts. I have training this morning.

You Oh, right. For your hush-hush, super top secret mission/quidditch game.

You You ever gonna tell me what you really do?

James_ Maybe. Someday._

How far away was someday? Was he planning to text you until you both died or until he got bored? How did texting relationships even work?

You Or is it one of those situations where if you told me you’d have to kill me?

James 😈

You There you go again--being all mysterious.

James Keep ‘em guessing and coming back for more.

You Has that strategy worked well for you in the past?

James Got you to text me again this morning, didn’t it?

You scoffed at what he had suggested. He was correct, but your stubborn streak would deny everything.

You The only reason I texted you this morning was to apologize for acting like a drunken fool last night.

And to squash the curiosity burning in your veins. But he didn’t need to know that.

James Oh.

The reply caused you to furrow your brow and your stomach to drop. You regretted not adding more levity to your last text. Of course, it wasn’t the only reason you were drawn to him.

You I appreciate that the selfie you sent wasn’t a dick pic. And you genuinely seemed to care about me getting home safely. Thank you.

You And maybe- a teeny, tiny bit- is honestly interested in getting to know you better.

You waited on pins and needles for his text, watching the pulsing ellipsis on your screen. Was he just humoring you?

James Hook. Line. Sinker.

Reading his response generated a flush from your jaw to your hairline. You growled in embarrassment. You fell for the oldest trick in the book. He baited you for a compassionate answer, and you delivered beautifully. Hook, line, and sinker, indeed.

You You’re an ass. I take everything back.

James Don’t be mad. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, but you played into my trap wonderfully.

James If it makes you feel any better, all kidding aside, I want to get to know you better too.

James I fell asleep with a smile on my face last night and woke up with one this morning.

James Because of you, (Y/N).

A flutter broke apart in your chest. You hadn’t time-traveled back to high school; no, this was junior high territory.

You You’re lucky you’re so damn charming, James.

James Doll, you have no idea.

The subway ride into Manhattan usually gave you the chance to get a little reading in since it took nearly fifty minutes from Queens. Not today, though. You spent the entirety of the train ride texting back and forth with James. It was mundane stuff, but you were getting a grasp of who James was as a person.

You Favorite color?

James Black. You?

You Blue.

You Favorite ice cream flavor?

James Chocolate. Yours?

You Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.

James I didn’t realize we were getting specific.

You We weren’t, but that’s my favorite.

You Favorite movie?

James I like the classics- The Wizard of Oz, It’s A Wonderful Life, Frankenstein.

You I have too many to list, so don’t ask.

You Okay. Lightning round because I’m almost to my stop.

James Where are you going again?

You paused your reply for a brief second, wondering if you should divulge your destination. You’d known James less than twenty-four hours; although, it felt like weeks after this morning. Where was the harm in telling him where you were meeting your sister? There were nearly nine million people in this city. There was no way you’d ever bump into each other.

You A bakery in the Upper East Side called Two Little Red Hens. Ever been?

James Don’t think I have.

You Well, since you like chocolate, they have a fantastic cake called Brooklyn Blackout. Super rich but delicious.

James Sounds right up my alley.

You Cats or dogs?

James I’m gone too much, so cats.

The answer piqued your interest. Maybe he was an athlete. Wouldn’t it be practice and not training, though? Or he’s FBI or CIA.

You Socks on or off for sleeping?

James Off.

You Silver or gold?

James Silver.

You Morning, noon, or night?

James Night.

You How do you take your coffee?

James Room for sugar and creamer.

You Boxers or briefs?

James Boxer briefs.

You laughed out loud, looking around the subway car to see if anyone was paying attention to you. Per usual, they weren’t.

You Touché.

As soon as the train stopped, you gathered your purse close to your body and made for the exit. You followed the crowd of fellow passengers through the turnstile and ascended the stairs onto street level.

The morning sunlight caressed your skin like a warm blanket. The humidity wasn’t too bad, yet, but the threat of afternoon thunderstorms still hung in the air.

Even with the reasonably early hour, the sidewalk was stuffed with people, carrying to-go coffee cups or shopping bags. You fought for your little spot of real estate on the grimy concrete.

Stopping at a red traffic light, waiting to cross, you typed out another question for James.

You Pineapple on pizza--yay or nay?

The light changed as you finished, and the throng of pedestrians around you guided you across the street. You spotted Robyn outside the bakery as your phone dinged with a new text alert.

“Wow, I’m surprised you made it on time,” Robyn said as you hugged hello.

You looked at the clock on your phone. 8:58. “You and me both, sister.” Glancing back at your phone’s screen, you giggled.

James What kind of monster puts pineapple on their pizza??

“What’s so funny?” Robyn asked as you accompanied her through the bakery’s door.

With a grin on your face, you punched out a quick reply:

You Well, it was nice knowing you, James. It was a swell friendship while it lasted--a whole 11 ½ hours.

Robyn elbowed you softly in the ribs with a look on her face, seeking an explanation.

“Ow,” you grunted. “What?”

“You tell me. I half expected a zombie to walk through the doors today after your text last night. Not Suzie Sunshine.”

You both edged closer to the counter as the line in front of you dwindled.

James Say it ain’t so, doll! Pineapple on pizza? Really??

You let out a low chortle as you skimmed the text. You glimpsed up at Robyn as you shuffled forward in line again. “Believe me, I’m pretty hungover,” you replied, shoving your phone in your back pocket. “It’s a funny story. I’ll tell you everything when we sit.”

Robyn stared at you warily, still trying to figure out what had come over you. “Okay,” she conceded, stepping to the register to order.

With each of you supplied with an iced coffee and a peach ginger scone, you found an empty table by a window along 2nd Avenue and proceeded to tell Robyn about James.

When you stopped to catch your breath, remembering the whirlwind the last twelve hours had been, you peered at your sister for her reaction.

She stared at you like you’d grown a second head. She shook her head in disbelief. “(Y/N), what where you thinking?”

Your brow pinched in confusion. Was she actually scolding you? You crossed your arms over your chest. “I was thinking about how my big sister is always telling me to meet new people and how it’s time I thought about settling down.”

“Not like this it’s not,” she hissed. “This is how your body parts end up in someone’s freezer!”

You choked on the piece of scone you shoved in your mouth before she started ridiculing you. After coughing to clear your airway and taking a sip of your iced coffee, you leered at Robyn. “Oh, my god! Dramatic much? Have you been binge-watching Dateline again? Jesus Christ, Robyn, he’s harmless,” you countered.

“You think you’ll be so careful, but you’ll let one little detail slip, and he’ll find you,” Robyn said before taking a pull from her coffee.

“You mean, like, how I was meeting you at Two Little Red Hens at nine o’clock?”

Robyn’s mouth popped open in an O. “What the hell, (Y/N)?” she stage-whispered. “Are you trying to get yourself kidnapped and sold into sex trafficking?”

“Please,” you drew out in one long syllable. “He doesn’t know what I look like. How would he snatch me?”

“He could look you up on Facebook.”

“Without a last name?” You shook your head, no.

“What about a reverse search on your number?” Robyn asked, pushing the plate holding her scone away. “That’s a thing.”

“Perhaps, but it seems like a lot of effort for a mistake I made. It wasn’t like he was seeking me or anyone else out.”

Robyn huffed out a breath and folded her arms in exasperation. Always the protective big sister. You could tell you were breaking her down, though.

“C’ mon, Robbie. It’s all in innocent fun. I’m not saying I’m hoping he’ll turn out to be Mr. Right, but the banter is fun,” you remarked. “James is charming and witty and nice to talk to.”

Robyn shook her head once more, frowning. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

You reached across the table for her hand and squeezed gently. “Me too.” You smiled slyly, remembering last night’s dinner and Timmons gushing about The Avengers. “If not, I know how to get ahold of a couple of centenarians who know chivalry isn’t dead.”

Chapter One | Chapter Three

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[sunsetcurvecuddles]

Hello you told me not to hold back so I’m gonna be ANNOYING feel free to ignore indefinitely until you’re feeling it but I’m gonna send you like a bunch of prompts cause I can’t sleep and am stalling finishing my own fic.

First one: Bobby (obviously), Reggie or Luke or friends I don’t even care, tea and blankets

lol hi have a rebuke cuddle-puddle disaster, also available on ao3 here. warning for swearing and very vague allusions to physical child abuse.

i guess we belong to each other | reggielukebobby | 1.8k words

--

Luke has his guitar in his lap and his writing notebook by his side even though it's late at night. He's playing his acoustic, so that he has no chance of stirring Bobby's parents from where he's sat in their studio, and though he'd never admit it to anyone, it's cold enough that he's found one of Alex's hoodies in the back of the studio, a black one Alex never wears any more, and he's bundled up in it to try to fight off the chills. He regrets storming out earlier this evening — not because his parents might be worried, he's still too mad at them for that, but because he misses his own warm bed in a house with central heating.

But it's late, and he doesn't want to bother Bobby, who's already been generous enough as it is (and is exceptionally grumpy when he's woken in the middle of the night). So Alex's old hoodie, smelling vaguely of the dusty studio and distantly of Alex, will have to do.

A noise distracts Luke from his writing. Something outside the studio, maybe an animal, but it sounded like footsteps. Cautiously, he draws his guitar closer, running through what he could say if it's Bobby's parents, his heart suddenly rabbit-fast in his chest.

A head pokes through the door.

Luke's shoulders drop with relief.

It's Reggie.

He looks a little scruffy, not like himself, because usually Reggie pays such close attention to his appearance, fusses over his hair and colour-codes his outfits and shaves with the precision of a professional painter. But he kinda looks messy, which makes Luke's stomach feel even colder than the air around him.

“Oh! Hey, man,” Reggie laughs, putting on a big smile, and it'd fool anyone else — Reggie's too experienced at this for his own good. “I didn't know you'd be here!”

“Hi, Reg,” says Luke, sounding a little distracted even to his own ears as he carefully looks Reggie over. He's not walking like he's been hurt, and there are no visible injuries. So that's something. Jesus, Luke wouldn't know what to do if Reggie turned up here with a fresh version of the bruises Luke sometimes catches him trying to hide. “You, uh — you good?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Reggie agrees easily, saunters into the studio and slumps down on the couch next to Luke. The relaxed way he moves soothes Luke's worry somewhat. “The house was just — ugh. You know how they can be.” Looking over at Luke, Reggie adds, “Hey, isn't that Alex's hoodie? I was wondering what had happened to that.”

“Hey!” Luke sputters, a little defensive. “He didn't, like, loan it to me or anything, it was just here! I found it.”

“It is cold,” Reggie concedes, pulling his flannel a little tighter around him. “Wish I'd brought my jacket, but it was in the kitchen and I didn't wanna. I dunno. Didn't wanna get in the way.”

Luke nods, puts his guitar to the side so he can press up against Reggie's side. Hip to hip, his cheek on Reggie's shoulder, links their ankles together and puts an arm over Reggie's stomach. Almost automatically, Reggie links his arms around Luke in turn.

Honestly, Luke was intending to steal some of Reggie's body heat, but after Reggie's walk outside and in such a thin layer, he thinks Reggie's probably leeching his own. Luke lets him go ahead; Reggie seems to need it more than he does.

They sit for a moment, both unusually quiet, huddling and not talking. Not so much for a lack of things to talk about, but more because any topic that comes to Luke's mind feels insurmountably complex and emotional. There’s so much stuff he can't tell Reggie — so much stuff Reggie isn't telling him. So they sit together and try to create some warmth without the need for disclosure.

Until there's another set of scuffled footsteps outside.

“Not Alex too,” Reggie sighs, at a whispered volume so that the newcomer can't hear him, “he squirms so much in his sleep, man, I can't share this pull-out with him again.”

Luke muffles a laugh with the back of his hand, but he can't help worry it's Alex, too. Things have been... okay, he thinks, with Alex's folks since he came out, but he also knows Alex hoped for better. Suspects there are things Alex isn't telling them (so they all have that in common).

But it's not Alex. Preceded by an armful of blankets that he's almost tripping on, Bobby staggers in, still in his pajamas and with his eyes almost all the way closed. “Luke? It's fucking freezing, I thought I'd—” He stops when he gets far enough in to see Reggie on the couch too. “Oh, shit.”

“Hey, Bobby,” says Reggie, voice a little nervous. “I hope it's okay that I—”

“Shut up,” Bobby grumbles, and dumps the whole pile of blankets on top of Reggie. “You guys are stupid. You're both out here, in the freezing cold, and neither of you come wake me up?”

“We didn't want—” Luke starts, at the same time as Reggie insists, “You were sleeping—!”

“Idiots,” Bobby growls, rubbing his eye with his sweater paw and yawning. He looks stupidly cute, like a little kid. “You're idiots, and I hate dealing with you. I'll be back.” Turning to leave the studio again, he turns back and adds, “Hurry up and burrito yourselves in those blankets, I swear to god. And Luke, isn’t that Alex’s hoodie?”

“He left it—!” Luke starts, but Bobby’s already gone, leaving Luke with Reggie, cackling at him.

—

By the time Bobby returns, Luke and Reggie have folded the couch out into its bed form, and are snuggling under the several blankets, giggling together as they talk about how grumpy Bobby had been.

“We should have woken him up,” Reggie snorts, “I think then he would have been less pissed.”

“I would have,” Bobby agrees, sounding somewhere between menacing and amused, as he reappears over them. His hair is all shaggy in his face. He's carrying a teapot. And cups. “Sit up.”

Luke does right away, Reggie pulling himself up a little slower. Bobby sits cross-legged at the foot of the couch-bed, tucking his socked toes under his own legs to keep warm, and pours them each a mug of what smells like peppermint tea. Suddenly, Luke can't imagine anything better in the world. When Bobby offers him a cup, he takes it eagerly, wrapping his cold hands around it and enjoying the steam wafting up to his face.

“Wow,” says Reggie softly, eyes wide, “thanks, Bobby.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Luke echoes, letting out a sigh as he takes his first sip.

“Forget it,” Bobby says, a little bitey. Luke knows it's because Bobby hates being seen as nice, so he doesn't take it personally, and he knows Reggie won't either. He has his own cup, which he drinks as though it's done something to offend him, scowling off into the corner of the studio. Reggie nudges Bobby with his foot from under the layers of blankets, and a tiny smile tugs at Bobby's mouth as he nudges Reggie back with his elbow.

After the cup of tea, Luke feels better. He feels warmer on the inside, now, and sleepy too. Reggie is starting to get that dopey, slow blink that shows he's on the verge of sleep as well. Bobby clears his throat and holds out a hand, beckoning for their empty cups. Luke and Reggie hand them over.

“Okay,” says Bobby, after a pause. “G'night, guys.” He goes to stand, but Reggie leans forward and catches Bobby's sleeve.

“Would you stay?” he asks, as if he can't help himself, as if on sheer impulse, but he doesn’t look embarrassed afterwards.

“Reg!” Luke says, a little startled. “It's cold out here, he won't want—”

But he sees Bobby's face, and he stops himself. Because he can see it in Bobby's eyes. That he does want. He’s Bobby, so he won't say it, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his gaze fixed on some point behind Luke and Reggie's heads, but Luke has known Bobby for too long to miss something this obvious, no matter what else Bobby can hide from him.

“That being said,” Luke backtracks hurriedly, “it would be warmer with you here, Wilson. I'm happy to be a leech.”

“That's all I'm good for, huh?” Bobby snorts, but he's already setting the mugs down on the floor near the side of the bed, already shuffling the teapot down there too. He hops up for a moment, and Luke wonders where he’s going, before he realises Bobby is just switching off the light. When Bobby comes back, he pauses, like he's not sure where he fits, and Luke and Reggie make eye contact for only a second before they move apart, leaving a space in the middle.

Bobby looks even less sure of himself, eyebrows knitted, jaw tight. His hands flex and one of them twists in the hem of his sweater. Luke gets it. It looks too much like it's on Bobby's behalf, like they’re doing it to make space for Bobby. Bobby’s always had trouble accepting anything that seems like it’s for his own benefit.

“I already sucked all Reggie's warmth up,” Luke explains.

“Yeah,” Reggie agrees immediately, and Luke loves him, “and you're warmer than Luke anyway, man. I wanna huddle with you. As a penguin, you would be my first-choice huddle-buddy.”

Bobby barks a laugh. “The fuck? What does that even mean?” Finally, he wriggles his way under the blankets in between them, and rolls his eyes when they both throw limbs over him right away, twining legs and arms together and resting cheeks on his chest.

“Like, if we were penguins. You know? In the winter?” Reggie says, like this is totally obvious and self-explanatory. “If I was a penguin, I'd be looking for the Bobby-penguin in the winter huddle to stick close to.”

“Aaand I'm at my capacity for dumb shit,” Bobby says, closing his eyes pointedly, but it's a scam, because his hands come to run through Luke and Reggie's hair. “Goodnight, morons.”

“Goodnight, Bobby,” they chorus. This close, Luke could almost brush noses with Reggie, has to try to focus his eyes to keep Reggie from getting blurry. Reggie sticks his tongue out at Luke just a little, and Luke grins back, links his fingers with Reggie’s over Bobby’s stomach, rubbing over Reggie’s knuckles until Reggie’s fingers don’t feel so much like icicles. When Luke uses his free hand to tug the neckline of Alex’s hoodie up over his nose, the familiar smell of the third piece of his heart soothes him right down.

The feel of Bobby’s fingernails on his scalp makes Luke’s eyelids flutter, and before he knows it he’s dopey, the world feeling blurrier and safer and cozier. Honestly, more like home than his own house would have. He no longer daydreams of returning to his own warm bed. Instead, he feels the way Bobby’s chest rises and falls with his breaths, pushing his and Reggie’s joined hands up and down. If he listens closely, Luke can hear Bobby’s heartbeat, familiar and steady.

Maybe the cold isn't all bad.

--

other prompt fills here :)

jatp taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @queenmolina @nickalicious @bi-reginald @malecacidd @burntchromas @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @cinnamonstickrayofsunlight @chickwiththepurpleguitar @fairylightsandrainydays @joyandthephantoms @fighttoshine @michelangelinda @queenofthequillandink 

[emilycollins00]

Two faces of the same coin

Pairing: Tenma x ghost-looking! reader. Part 2

Part 1

Here we go! Enjoy! 💕

.

You were used to people reacting a certain way when seeing you since you were young.

Be it your pale skin, eyebags or voice, you ended up not taking it too personally as you grew up. After all it was a general statement you didn't have the best sleeping pattern, and that your hair and posture needed to be worked on. Still, you enjoy peaceful time alone -no glances or scared whispers- although you had to admit this boy had broken a record.

"Dammit...!"

After even frightening you from the intense shriek that came out of his throat, in a poor attempt to run away from you he had stumbled and crashed into a chair so hard you were now wincing as he fell to the harsh floor.

Ouch. Concerned, you approached the groaning teen in pain. “Are you-?” Tenma didn't let you even finish. Violently shaking he turned his back on you, curling into a ball.

“This is not real, this is not real, this is not...!"

He kept mentioning words like curse and death in between, and you could only stare back trying to process what was happening. "Sorry If I scared you. I was-”

“I won't say anything!" he kept on pleading, refusing to open his eyes "I really-REALLY don't taste good please just let me leave!!"

It wasn’t working. You decided to get up from the floor, which only made Tenma pale even more at the sound of something moving.

“I won’t, uh- do anything.” you hesitated. “You, uh, hurt your head right?”

The loud and repetitive pleads died slowly on his lips, and as he opened one eye to glance your way he might have as well. Pale face, somber looks… you both stood in silence in the empty room for a while, you waiting patiently.

"...what?"

He seemed to find again his voice, or at least enough for you to hear. You brushed the dust off you as he flinched at the sudden movement, still on guard.

"I'm, uh- I'm not a ghost." You took out your student card, your name and student photo -equally terrifying some would say. "See?"

An uncomfortable silence filled the air.

Tenma stares at you for a long moment. One could practically see the wheels turning in his head, trying to keep up. And then, just as quickly as he had paled, the color red made way to his face.

“…ah?”

Right. Great answer.

You tilted your head while putting the student card back in your pocket. Maybe he hit his head harder than it looked? “So... what are you doing here? Not that you can't, I guess. I also like it here even though we are not supposed to but- you know. You surprised me a bit too."

Tenma's eyebrows knitted together as he slowly stood up from the floor, not understanding what you were saying. The adrenaline rush was leaving him and could feel himself starting to calm down a little, finally letting his guards down.

“What do you mean. I-Isn’t a library a normal place to work?”

“Yeah. This is the old building though. The new one is on the opposite side..."

You waited patiently watching how Tenma breathed in once again, crimson becoming more and more intense as seconds passed. You had never seen anyone behave like that and he hoped the ground could swallow him about right now. “I... I knew that! I knew that I was just looking around because uh- I’ve never seen this place before!”

“It is rusty.”

More awkward silence from you both. Tenma looked at you and at his pile of books. You looked at them too in reflex, not understanding why a student could have so much book carrying around. "Sumeragi... Tenma?"

"Don't look!" said leader troupe was quick to hide his name, though he was well aware it didn't matter at this point. He tried to avoid your gaze. Shit. Shit, shit, shit last thing he needed today. "Just- don't tell anyone. I'm serious!"

Without sparing another second glance at you and still feeling his face burning, he took everything and left.

His forehead hurt.

One week later

“Why do we have to do this every time?”

“Come on! Don’t tell me you’re afraid to lose?"

“I am not afraid to lose." Tenma frowned at the other two members of mankai. The three were sitting under the shade of a tree in the courtyard, something they took as a routine whenever they didn’t use the cafeteria. Background laughs and conversations could be heard from students around the patio, enjoying their free time before the bell rang and called them back again to their respective classes. He huffed. "This is stupid."

"Got it!" Taichi moved around his arm dramatically "Ready…? Rock, paper, scissors!”

Three hands presented their results with different reactions altogether.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Aw yeah, paper is the best! It's your turn to go buy drinks Ten-chan!”

“I wanna strawberry juice.”

“Soda for me!”

“Tsk,” Tenma squinted his eyes at his hand and sighed, getting up and dusting away grass from his uniform, taking their coins. “Fine. Strawberry juice and a Green tea.”

“H-hold on, I said soda!”

“I’ll get going.”

“Yeah.”

“Ten-chan I was joking please!!”

It had been a few days after the library incident and so far, he hadn't heard any weird rumor of him- to which he counted it as a big safe considering the situation. Weird, but safe.

“Oh come on.”

After buying Taichi’s and Juza’s drinks, Tenma kept shoving his hand into his pockets, cursing at his emptiness. He was sure he had brought his wallet with him to school… maybe he left it in his room after all? A sigh left his lips, wondering how long would his bad luck last.

Until his exams passed maybe? He hoped not. He had managed to get Tsumugi to teach him at night after a few days of begging his homeroom teacher, revising together all concepts that Tenma couldn't seem to grasp. It had been embarrassing to let him check all his late school results, but at the end of the day it was Tsumugi. And well, Tsumugi was fine. Unlike Itaru, he was always-

“Excuse me.”

Tenma covered his mouth at the close sound of the eerie voice. A shiver definitely running from the last strands of hair until his very own toenails.

Yeah, finding you blinking at him- too close for his taste- took all the strength he had to not scream in public. He stepped back from you. his heart practically on his throat. “W-what are you doing!?”

“Ah, sorry. Thought talking louder would be better. Didn't mean to scare you”

“UH?! I-I wasn’t scared! I-uh, I was just surprised!" Even in plain daylight of the hall in comparison to the sinister darkness of the old library room, Tenma still felt like he was talking to a- Well.

A ghost.

You took a step back away from him too, pointing your forehead “You don't have a bump anymore.”

He touched his own forehead unconsciously. Right, Igawa had made a fuss about it when he saw it. Thanks to Omi’s ointment though it was already almost not existent though. He always worried too much.

“I’m glad.”

"Uh, thanks."

Very much opposite to your physical appearance, your voice while husky and kinda odd, was calm. It made Tenma feel weird, though it was probably because you kept staring at him. Why didn’t you go away?

“Are you... a fan? Do you want like, an autograph or something?”

You pointed behind him. "I was just waiting for my turn.”

His cheeks grew warm self-consciously, moving so you could insert your coins.

“I’m guessing you couldn't find more coins for three drinks,” You suddenly commented looking at the drinks in his hands. Ignoring his confused face, you crouched down and picked the drink, turning to him. "You complained kinda loud so... here. Not sure if you'll like it but I think it's good."

"What? I don't need it."

“It’s fine. Take it as an apology." you shrugged offhandedly. You placed it on top of his other drinks and turned once again to the machine. "It was my fault I scared you anyway.”

Tenma stared at your hunched figure while you got another drink. "Then," you waved your hand slightly and left the place quietly to who knows where.

He didn't even manage to wave back. What had just happened?

“Oh man...”

“Tenma-kun, are you okay?”

Students' whispers made him come back to his senses, losing sight of the path you had walked out. “What?”

“Did that person say anything weird to you? You know, like threaten you or something.” they pointed to where you left

“Uh- no.”

Some sighed relieved while others stared at the machine, as if you might have cursed- somehow.

Tenma frowned. It was true it hadn't been the smoothest conversation, but saying you might have tried to do something to him felt wrong. "Why do you all say that?"

"Ah? Mmm well..."

"Just look at them I guess."

"Yeah I don't know man. Gives me the creeps whenever they walk around. As if our school wasn't already scary inducing."

"Whoah, that's so mean."

"Are you saying you don't think it's true?"

"Tenma-kun, if you have time want to come have lunch with us? We..."

As they kept talking, Tenma looked down, the drink you had bought in his hand; Chocolate milkshake.

"It was my fault I scared you anyway.”

Later on

“Stupid old library...” he found himself growling for the umpteenth time "Should have just leave it be."

Another week had passed before he found the courage and once again, adventured himself around the old halls, carrying one chocolate drink.

I must have gone crazy.

Tenma just didn’t wanna be in debt with anyone. Yeah, that was it. Even if you scared the soul out of him, he had somewhat gotten the sense that you weren’t all bad -although your memories still left him trembling- and if there was something he hated more than anything, it was people making assumptions of others. He learned it from Mankai. Especially from his own troupe.

“Are you lost again?”

However old habits are hard to break.

“Dammit! Do you always need to talk like that?!"

"It's my voice, can't help it." You two had found each other at the corner of the hall. Tenma wasn't sure if this counted as good or bad. "…Do you need help to find the new library? I can draw you a map if you want me to”

“I-I was just about to do it, I don’t need-!”

“Ah- you should be careful not to crash on a chair again. Some are really old“

He placed the two drinks on the table making you blink, not sure how to react.

The awkward silence stretched, and Tenma felt his own cheeks heat up. "D-don't misunderstand, I just don't like to be indebted and I really didn't need that drink last time okay?"

A few seconds pass by. And then. Then he hears your laugh.

“You’re a really nice guy you know.”

His stomach jumps and doesn’t say anything for a while. Embarrassing. He felt his face was going to light on fire. He tried to focus his attention on something else- Not that he enjoyed it. The place itself wasn't comfortable looking.

“...Why do you hide here anyway? It doesn’t help with, well,” he didn't finish the sentence, feeling it sounded wrong -even though it was kinda true.

“I wouldn't say I hide" You hummed mindlessly while opening the drink, giving it a go before turning your attention back to him "I found it a few months ago while looking for a place to study. People overreact when they see me, so I’ve been coming here. I think it’s a pretty chill place myself.”

Tenma stared at you. At your dark eye bags and messy hair. You could definitely get a role in any horror movie you might want for sure. Yet there you were, happily drinking a chocolate milkshake in the old side of your very own high school.

“...You are weird.”

You laughed again. “For someone who’s supposed to be scared but still frequents the same place, I’d say the same about you.”

__________________________________

When I said it was gonna be a long request I meant it.

Have a wonderful day! 💕

Part 3 soon!

[jhoudiey]

You like to play God, don't you?

Wrote this fic a while back, #ChickenChallenge starts trending on magicam again, and Yoru ends up trying to distract herself with her friends. Ends up watching Jade as he builds a terrarium, and ends with dumb and dumber fluff. 1825 words.

hey you’re that chicken girl from NRC right?

Yoru stared at her phone. Idia had finally updated it so that she was able to use it freely, her hands no longer an issue on the touch screen. She normally didn’t pay attention to notifications, but had texted him earlier that night hoping to hang out, instead her magicam had exploded, messages popping in so quickly she could hardly keep track

show me ur feet

where else do you have feathers?

check it out, I’ve got weird feet too!

Whoa! Is that from a magic accident!? Crazy!!

omg ur disgustingggggg!!!!

you fucking freak!

ahahahaha no way your real. You’re like a chicken!!!!

can you send me a pic of your chicken feet? They’re so freaky I wanna show my friend!

you ever jerked a guy off with those? Do you want to?

She stared at the picture of the penis in her inbox with disgust, is this how normal people communicated? Why were all these people she didn’t know suddenly messaging her anyway? It was already past midnight, didn’t they have anything better to do? She exited her messages and found there had been a series of throwback posts from NRC Halloween, #ChickenChallenge was trending again. She sighed and closed the application, having lived through that once had been enough, she had no desire to repeat the experience online.

Idia still hadn’t texted her back, but her mood was soured. Focusing on her alchemy work wasn’t enough to distract her from the constant buzzing coming from her phone.

“Fuck this” she grumbled, throwing her phone onto her bed before launching herself out the window. She didn’t need to wait for a text back from Idia, she’d just show up, the same as always.

As luck would have it, however, Idia was busy. He wasn’t gaming as was usual for him at this time of night, but was in the middle of a video chat with Vita, making it much more awkward to sit in the corner of his room quietly. She didn’t want to know what they talked about when it was just the two of them. She wandered back out of the dorm, hesitating in the Hall of Mirrors. It was late, she should just go home...but… he might still be awake too.

She knocked on the door tucked down the halls of Octavinelle dorm, silently cursing herself for going down there in the first place.

“Come in”

Jade welcomed her into his and Floyd’s shared room, a small smile painted on his lips. He was in his pajamas, though clearly invested in building a terrarium, plants and stones laid out carefully on his desk in front of him. She spied Floyd, his pajama shirt discarded on the floor beside his bed, fast asleep curled around one of his pillows facing away from them. He’d likely turned away from the lamp light Jade had kept on as he worked.

“Ahh, I guess it is too late, I’ll go” Yoru mumbled looking between them, she’d never gotten along comfortably with Jade.

“You can stay. I don’t mind, Yoru-san,” He held his hand out to offer Floyd's desk chair to her “Would you care to join me? Clearly something is the matter or you wouldn’t have come by so late. I do know how much you loathe to be here.”

She hesitated.

If she stayed, she’d have to deal with his casual cruelty and observant eye, if she left she may have to deal with another dozen messages about how she was a disgusting bird freak who really should be embarrassed to look like that, not that she needed the reminder. She sighed and crawled onto the chair, her legs tucked in against her body, arms clutched around them as she watched Jade work. He was meticulous.

Like everything he did, every movement was measured, everything planned well in advance to come together just as he imagined it.

“Is this what you normally spend your weekends doing?” She asked, her eyes following his graceful hands as he arranged some moss.

“Hmm, it is something I am quite fond of, yes.”

“Why? Wouldn’t it be better to keep a garden or something? What’s the point of this?”

He laughed quietly.

“This is what humans call ‘a hobby’ I believe. The point is to enjoy it, Yoru-san.”

She rested her chin on her knees, her eyes drifting across his desk to the discarded pieces of clothing on the floor near Floyd's bed. She felt Jade watching her and turned her gaze back to him.

“But why do you enjoy it? What’s so good about building a tiny garden in a jar?”

“You mean what’s so entertaining about creating and controlling an entire ecosystem one can hold in their hands? I wonder…”

She snorted.

“Ahhh, so it’s just something else you can manipulate. Makes sense.” She grinned at him, his hands expertly arranging rocks along the bottom of the jar.

“How cruel, Yoru-san, to suggest my innocent hobby is anything but… I can’t deny the implications though.”

“Hah, so you admit it then. No wonder you like it...” She chuckled, her eyes wandering once again to Floyds sleeping form, his back slowly rising and falling with his breaths.

“Admit it? No, I simply enjoy when certain things go as planned” He smirked at her. He’d caught her wandering eyes twice now, though she was trying to hide it. She hadn’t come here to see him, after all. She faced him again, not wanting to meet his eyes instead focusing on his hands.

“Do you ever add bones?”

“Oya? What is it you’re trying to imply, Yoru-san?”

“...They’d be good for the soil. I can bring you some, if you need.”

“I suppose that would raise fewer questions than gathering them myself...Thank you.”

“Mmmm” She nodded with her head still on her knees, content to watch him in silence. He was building a whole planet before her, a God playing with nature to whatever suited his whim. A rock here, moss there… no wait… over there instead. It was fascinating and tedious at the same time. His hands weaved patterns from nothing, a garden blossoming from his fingertips. She felt her attention slipping and closed her eyes, the soft tinkling of his tools being drowned out by the slow tide of Floyd's slumbering breath. She tilted her head towards him, her own breathing slowing to match his like the sea lazily lapping at the shore.

“Why don’t you lie down with him, Yoru-san? I don’t mind” Jades voice cut through her dreamy haze, jolting her upright.

“What? No. Huh?” She stuttered, horrified that Jade had somehow known the comfort she felt in that moment. “I’ve gotta go, I must have fallen asleep. Bye Jade” She hurried to leave, bumping into Floyd's desk in her haste. The precariously stacked books toppled over and fell to the floor, making an awful racket in the near silent bedroom.

“Oh shit, sorry!’ She whispered in a panic, hoping she hadn’t woken Floyd. She scooped to pick the books up, her wings threatening to topple the chair she had been sitting in just moments ago. Jade laughed as he watched her struggle.

“Fufufu, Yoru-san. You seem quite flustered, did something I say upset you? Perhaps my suggestion to sleep with Floyd-”

“No!” She yammered quickly. Too quickly. “No, I’m just tired. I have to go!” She pushed the books back onto the desk haphazardly and turned to leave, hoping that Jade hadn’t caught sight of her face, red as it was sure to be. How could he have known what she was thinking?

“Hmmpppfff” Floyd whined, wrapping his arms around her waist, his face buried in feathers. “You’re too loud, Fugu-chan, be more quiet”

Jade smirked at the pair of them as Yoru struggled to free herself from his grasp. Floyd whined into her back, dragging her into his bed so he could go back to sleep.

“Yoru-san, it’s better if you don’t fight him, he can be quite insistent when he wants something” She knew he was right. To get free she’d have to peel him off of her, and with how tightly he held her it would be hard, Floyd really was too damn strong. She sighed and stopped resisting, feeling her feet leave the floor as he flipped her over him to settle her between his body and the wall.

He murmured wordlessly as he shifted around her wings, careful not to pull out any feathers accidentally. He settled between them, his head resting slightly above hers, his face nestled in her hair, body pressed tightly against hers. She was glad Jade couldn’t see her anymore, she could feel him watching them still, but with their faces turned away from him he wouldn’t be able to read her expression. She felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest, she was sure Floyd must have felt it too, though if he did he made no mention of it. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she had come over, all she had wanted was to chat a bit, to forget about the people on magicam trying to ruin her night. She had to admit though… This was nice too. Ever since spring break they’d been more comfortable with each other physically, Floyd often clinging to her whenever he slept over, but so far that hadn’t left the confines of her bedroom. No one ever saw how often she clung back, she’d made sure to disengage from his grasp before he woke whenever she found herself too near him. It was much too embarrassing to be found like this, her face burning again knowing that Jade was probably enjoying himself immensely, proven right yet again.

The lamp clicked off, Jade finally retiring, Yoru felt herself finally relaxing. Her body jolted as tension left her, and she laid her arms across Floyd's, drawing lazy circles on the backs of his hands with her fingers. He sighed into her hair and pressed himself against her a little tighter at her touch, fast asleep once more. Yoru closed her eyes knowing it wasn’t safe to fall asleep where she lay, she had to get up and go home or she’d never hear the end of it. 5 more minutes then you have to go home she told herself, but it really was very comfortable, laying with Floyd like this.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Euuuggggghhhh Jaaaaade, turn your alarm offffff” Floyd complained loudly. He was close...too close. Yoru’s eyes snapped open with a start, she’d fallen asleep in his arms.

“Ahhh, I must have forgotten to turn it off. My apologies, you two fufufu”

“Mmmmm~ good morning, Fugu-chan” Floyd murmured as he tightened himself around her once more. She felt him smile as he nuzzled his face into the nape of her neck, her face blazed red once more.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

airhorn sounds in your ear as you try to sleep ITS FIC TIME, CHILDREN

His father’s first reaction is, predictably, nervous. They’re sitting in the living room as a family, all sort of hanging out, but doing their own thing. Hoarders is passively playing, Lydia is tucked under the couch with a book and flashlight, Emily is in the corner with her laptop, and BJ and Charles are each sitting on opposite ends of the couch, going through their phones. He gets a very sweet text from Adam, showing that the other teen has put the photo Lydia took of them in a frame, and he grins, and holds the device to his chest, feeling giddy and flustered. His dad notices. “What’s got you in such a good mood?” Charles smiles, and BJ figures this is as good a time as any. “I got a text from my boyfriend.” Charles stares. From her chair in the corner, Emily’s typing slows, and then stops, as her brain catches up with that sentence. His phone pings again, and he looks back down at a message from Barbara, then back to his parents. “And my girlfriend.” Emily closes her computer. Her smile is enormous. “Shut up.” “No, seriously!” he grins back at his mother, and then notes the color Charles is going. “Adam and Barbara?” Emily asks, knowingly, and he nods. “We made it official yesterday. I took em to th’ Smallpox Hospital.” “Awww! That’s so romantic!” “You’re dating?” Charles finally finds words. “Unclench your everything, dad, jeezus.” “It’s just… do you think that’s a good idea?” “I think it’s a great idea,” BJ says, a little defensive. “What, I’m not allowed to date? M’too weird for it?” “That’s not what I meant, BJ,” Charles frowns. But he can tell it kind of is.

“Charles, honey, he’s sixteen. He’s going to date,” Emily says softly, and Charles looks back at her. “But two people at once? And they’re-” “They’re what, Chuck?” “Humans. They’re human, BJ.” “Holy shit, they are? Here I thought they were just really crappy demons.” “I just don’t know if you’ve thought this through. Wouldn’t you be happier dating another demon?” “I don’t know any other demons, dad,” he growls, temper flaring. “Unless you want me to date Sam, an’ look like a total creep, since he’s stuck at like, ten.” “Stop it, BJ.” “You stop it! Just be happy for me!” “I am.. Happy. For you.” BJ sits back, crosses his arms, and scowls. “Got a funny way of showin’ it.” His father stands, and takes to pacing. Christ. “We should lay out ground rules.” “Me an’ Adam an’ Barb did that already.” “No, I mean, house rules,” Charles says, rubbing at his beard. “Things you’re allowed to do, and not. Oh, god, first things first, I’m going to get you a box of condoms.” Betelgeuse feels himself flush, and then Lydia finally pipes up, sticking her head out from under the couch. “Gross.”

“You’re seriously blowin’ this out of proportion. We’ve barely held hands!” “I was a teenager. I remember how things escalate. The last thing we need is someone pregnant. Especially with whatever a human and a demon would make.” “Th’ anti-Christ, maybe,” he says, unhelpfully, and he sees the way his dad’s expression twists into further worry. “It was a joke! Oh my god!”

His mother, bless her, swoops in, just then. “BJ’s just told us good news,” she says, standing, and putting a hand on Charles’ arm, which stops his pacing. “I need you to reassess how you’re making him feel, right now.” Charles looks from his wife to his son. BJ rubs at his nose, embarrassed and upset, and probably purple, and he sees his father make a choice. “BJ, I’m sorry,” Charles comes over, hesitantly reaches down, and Betelgeuse responds by throwing his arms around his dad. Chuck rubs his back. “Tell me about them,” he says, “and I promise to be cool. As cool as I can be, at least.”

That’s at least something. He can tell his dad is still worried, but he does listen, as Betelgeuse describes his two partners. “We spend a lotta time together,” he tells his father. “An’ they’re both goody two shoes. Seriously, they’re borin’, nice people.” “Tell us how you met them, BJ,” Emily smiles. He regales them with the story of Barbara and the flower, and then Adam in the library, and by the time he’s done, he’s back to feeling green, all smiles and excitement and stimming hands. It feels really, really good to not be alone.

Monday comes a day too soon, and he sort of misses the atmosphere of the library, because at lunch, he’s forced to pick up trash, with Honeywell watching him intently from a bench. The only consolation prize to this is the vice principal’s time is also being wasted. He doesn’t miss how a few kids walk by and intentionally throw things at his feet for him to pick up. They don’t get away with it, though, because either they trip and find their shoelaces are mysteriously tied together, or for those unlucky ones without laces, they’ll find a snake in their lockers. The miserable part is, Adam and Barbara aren’t allowed to hang out with him while he’s working. They’d tried, and were told in no uncertain terms to leave him alone, leave him to his task, or they’d be sent to the other side of the campus to do the same thing. A little bit of punishment, he understands. But he draws the line at threatening Sexy and Babs. He’s absolutely plotting exactly how he’s going to ruin the overbearing adult’s day when he feels a strange sensation in his chest, like a slight tug. He pauses. It’s not a pain, not really, more like a pull away from himself, which doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what it is. He has to assume it’s another demon thing.

He glances at his watcher, who seems engrossed in paperwork.

Man, if only this guy would fuck off, he could be enjoying lunch with his friends- The pull away from himself is stronger, this time. He concentrates on it, and then remembers how physical the summoning of clones is, requiring a motion like he’s tossing something, and he gives that a try, this time, gently lobbing nothing at a student passing by. The kid looks surprised, and then goes rigid, and he thinks maybe he’s killed someone for the first time, but then the teen straightens up, and stands, stiff, facing him, and BJ feels mentally split, between two bodies. He raises his right hand. The student mirrors the action, eyes wide, confused. He lowers it, then kicks his leg out to the side, and again, he’s copied. Not copied.. Followed? The other student is like a marionette, and his mind is the strings, or something close to that. “Possession,” he grins, wickedly, and then he pulls himself back all to one body, and the kid falls on his ass, confused, and scrambles away.

Oh, he is so going to use this new power for evil.

“BJ Deetz! I don’t see this quad getting any cleaner!” Honeywell has looked up from his paperwork to find Betelgeuse standing there, grinning to himself, and the teen responds by spinning around, and throwing nothing at the overbearing authority figure. Honeywell also goes rigid, and BJ lifts his hands, directing the VP to stand, and the hapless adult does so. “Looks clean enough to me,” he mouths, and hears that sentence come out of Honeywell’s lips. “Clean enough to eat offa!” With a swiping motion, he forces the man to knock his own hardly touched lunch to the ground, and then BJ crouches low, and the adult follows, shoving his face into what was clearly leftovers from some night’s dinner, and coming back up with a mouthful of noodles and dirt. The big man’s eyes are wide. He’s scared, confused. It’s thrilling. With a hand motion, BJ forces the breather’s face back into the mess of food and dirt, and doesn’t let him up until the muffled cries become truly panicked. Possession out in public might be a bit too noticeable, though, because there’s a gathering group of kids watching what the teacher is doing, their phones out, taking video, and he doesn’t need them connecting his own strange movements back to Honeywell’s. He makes a final hand motion, releasing the adult, and shoves his hands in his pockets, just in time for Adam and Barbara to appear as faces in the crowd. Honeywell, freed, sits up, coughing and sputtering, and looking horrified. “What the heck happened?” Adam asks, and BJ shrugs. “He started throwin’ a fit, outta no where,” he lies, but he feels the vice principal watching him, staring up from the dirt, where he’s still sat, dazed. He gives the adult a grin. “Totally fuckin’ weird.”

The rest of his lunch period is freed up, suddenly, as Honeywell goes to clean himself off in the men’s room.

This fun new ability requires further testing, but not right now, now when Adam and Barbara are around. Soon, though. Very soon. “I’m really bummed we can’t be in the library anymore. I tried to pop in to grab something this morning and the librarian chased me out.” Adam looks genuinely sad, at that, which startles BJ out of his downright vicious thoughts. “By the way,” Adam adds, “They put up the casting sheet today. Want to guess who got that dentist part?” Barbara is grinning wide. “Me?” he croaks. A few other kids tried for it.. He didn’t think he’d get picked, honestly, thought that maybe someone more likable, or more friendly, would be chosen over him, but Barbara squishes his cheeks in her hands. “You!” she cheers, and he blushes. “You’re going to be amazing! But that means,” she tells him, suddenly serious, “-that you have to actually try.” He nods, as much as he can, her hands still on either side of his face. “Effort,” he grunts. “Got it.” She leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose. He scrambles to throw his hood over his head, and cinches it closed, knowing for a fact he’s gone pink from the tips of his hair down to the roots. “BJ?” Barbara giggles, as he peers out at her from his hood. “Should I not do that?” “NO! No, no, I, uh, just.. Warn a guy, next time.”

He hadn’t thought through the logistics of this, clearly, because he can’t be scrambling away from them every time one of them kisses him, just because his stupid hair won’t behave itself. God, he’s going to have to start wearing a beanie, or something, until he can get this color thing under control. Annoyingly, his dad was right. He really hadn’t given this much thought, beyond, Adam and Barbara pretty, wanna kiss them. Now he’s got to work out the logistics of how he’s going to actually achieve that goal, without basically, for lack of a better word, outing himself. He doesn’t want to think that something like what happened with Kevin could happen again, but he hadn’t really seen that situation coming, and it had ended about as poorly as a budding romance can, with parental murder. So yeah, he’s not exactly confident he can trust them with this secret. Better to keep it to himself, play his cards close to the chest, not let them all the way in. That’s safest for all of them. Good plan, BJ, he thinks to himself, watching Barbara dust wood shavings out of Adam’s hair, a leftover byproduct of his shop class. No one gets hurt. No one has to know anything. He can keep playing human with his cute new partners for as long as they’ll let him.

Stretching before him, suddenly, he foresees a lifetime, several lifetimes actually, given the span of existence for a demon, lifetimes full of deceit and lies and partners who age without him, and it all makes him very tired, and sad. This is going to be how it is, he realizes. He’s going to pretend and mimic and do his best to fit himself into a template that he wasn’t made for, and he’s presumably going to be doing it forever, maybe until the minute the last human takes their last breath, because playing human is as close as he can get. It's easier to play pretend, throw a glamour on and act along, than to be himself and risk the pain and rejection, or the truth that maybe his worth is tied into what he can do, not who he is. It all leaves him dizzy, this sudden moment of unwanted clarity. He pushes it down, far down at it can go, to somewhere deep in his chest, and tries to come back to this moment, right now, because his boyfriend is looking at him. “You going to stay in that hood all day, shy guy?” Adam smiles, and BJ peels the hood back, and runs a hand through the mop of green mess that passes for his hair, and smiles, like he didn’t just have a mini existential crisis in the middle of a Monday afternoon. “What do you guys do for lunch when you’re not being wooed by an errant library assistant?” Betelgeuse forces an extra bit of pep that he doesn’t feel into his voice, and Barbara brightens. “You can come meet my friends!” She says, and he lets her lead him by the hand, across the quad, a corpse playing pretend at being alive, holding hands with the living.

They find Barbara’s friends at the lunch tables. He’s never sat over here, never really had reason to be over here at all, actually, because each table is always claimed by a friend group, and he’s never felt welcome enough to try and squeeze in with any of them. But he sort of has a group now, he supposes. If three can be a crowd, it can be a group. He does feel eyes on him as he’s directed on where to sit by Barbara, other kids at other tables watching him, maybe confused on how he’s ingratiated himself enough to actually have a place to sit. Barbara arranges where they sit, seemingly very intentionally, with herself between Betelgeuse and Adam, and Allison and Blair on the other side of the table, and they begin eating. The air is a little tense. He picks at his lunch, leftovers Charles packed for him. It smells amazing, but he doesn’t want to scarf it all down, not when he’s feeling watched, the way he is. And he is being watched, very intently so, by Barbara’s friends, who are apparently also Adam’s friends. Everyone but him seems to know so many other people. It’s almost insane, like, how do they keep them all straight? He’s only vaguely aware of which one of these similar white girls is Blair, because he’s spoken to her, at least once. Allison might as well be a balloon with a face painted on it. “So,” Blair puts down her fork. She’s eating a dry salad with little chunks of chicken in it, low carb, low cal. He’d be worried for her health if he gave a shit. “So,” he copies her instinctively, tilting her head the same way she does, holding his hands in front of himself in a mirror of her own movements. Barbara catches what he’s doing, and gives his arm a gentle pinch. “Is this for real?” Blair isn’t asking him, she’s looking between Adam and Barbara, who are both looking a little surprised at the sudden question. “What do you mean?” Adam asks, unsure, and Blair gestures between the three of them. “This whole.. This! When Barbara said she suddenly had two boyfriends, I had to check my calendar, make sure it wasn’t April Fool’s. And then it turns out to be you and..” Her eyes fall back on Betelgeuse. “Him. You, Adam, I get. You and Barbara together, that makes sense. But, like, BJ?” “Sure, if you’re offerin’,” he says, and Blair makes a face. Go on over to Ao3 to read the rest!! There's more waiting for your hungry eyes over there

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Feverish and Teary & How Long Has it Been Since You’ve Eaten- Prompt Fill

@thatonekidellis​ Jon, Tim, and Martin have a rough time after the Unknowing. Especially Jon.  I hope this is kind of what you were asking for?  

@janekfan​ you get a ping because this is your au!

CWs: nausea, vomiting, fainting, fever, food mention, alcohol mention, canon typical mentions of Tim's pre-unknowing mindset, canon typical Jon not taking care of himself.

I am still accepting bingo prompts, so let me know which character, which prompt, and if you want a drawing of a fic!  Bingo card by the wonderful @celosiaa​!  This one is twice my usual length because it is two prompts and I did not want to cheat!

The Unknowing blows up.  

As simple as that.  

All according to plan.  

It really is as simple as that.  

Jon, Tim, Daisy, Basira.  Piled back in Daisy's car.  Ears ringing.  Soot slowly settling.  Trying to drive away before the actually police get there.  

It hasn't been Jon's problem how to avoid arrest.  

He is even more glad it isn't his problem now, as he slides down the beat up seat in the back of Daisy's car.  Ash streaks the window, mixing with the light rains that is starting to fall.  

Jon tries not to vomit the nothing he's eaten in the last couple days.  Nothing in him but frayed nerves and statements.  Hadn't even managed to stomach dramamine before their trip.  

Jon just wants to sleep.  

They still have their hotel reservation for another couple hours, so Daisy drives them back there to clean up before heading back to London.  Yes they have to go back today, it's less suspicious.  Jon isn't sure if that is actually true, but he doesn't have the energy to argue.  

Tim showers.  Jon sends a text to Martin.  'Alive.'  

He doesn't answer Martin's near-immediate call because just then he's dry-heaving into the small bin in the corner.  Stiff and shaking and sweaty and miserable.    

Jon showers.  Too dizzy to stand, he sits on the shower floor.  He hates that.  The tub feels filthy.  He feels filthy.  He scrubs his skin raw.  He stands.  He throws up more nothing.  He scrubs himself again, leaning heavily on the wall.  

He wants to talk to Tim.  He wants to tuck himself into Tim's arms and never move again.  Christ, he's running an impressive fever.  Probably.  It's hard to tell.  And his brain is swimming too much to even think about asking the Eye.  

He's cold.  He shivers in his threadbare joggers and stolen jumper (Martin's).  

He wants to join Tim on the bed by the window, but Tim ...looks too deep in a melancholy thought to even notice.  Somewhere between losing his drive for anything, adrenaline crash, and losing the last hope of a last glimpse of Danny, if Jon were to guess.  

Jon could say something.  He knows he could.  But, hasn't he caused enough of a fuss?  Made Tim and Martin trail after him after the ...the.... with Daisy and... that.  If he'd have just stayed quiet and stayed still... well Tim would still hate him... and might not be alive... but ....but he's caused so much worry with that.  And then with... his other kidnapping No.  He can't think about what that... what... not without puking again which... the point is not to worry Tim.  Which means he should try some medicine again.... if he can keep it in him half an hour he'll survive the drive back.  Probably.  

Christ, when is the last time he bothered to drink anything?  

He lays there in a daze until Daisy bangs on the door telling them it's time to leave.  

Tim sleeps on the drive back.  Finally giving into the last few sleepless nights.  Jon is jealous.  

Last night had been spent tangled together, shaking, awake, and silent.  Anxiety too thick to slice with words.  Not even nothing to turn off the lights, because the fear is a little easier to manage in the light.  Jon couldn't stop thinking about Nikola.  He couldn't stop thinking about plastic hands on him.  Couldn't stop thinking about how many things could go wrong and how he could lose Tim and Martin when he only just got Tim back.  

Jon was pretty sure Tim hadn't been sleeping the last few nights.  Jon knows he hasn't.  Not that he has slept well in a long time.    

In any case, Tim sleeps.  Jon doesn't.  

Daisy glares at him through the review mirror.  Jon isn't sure if she is still waiting for him to prove himself monstrous so she can attack, or if she is making sure he isn't ill in her car... again.  (He really wishes he could forget his first ride in her car.  Really really really wishes.  It was not a pleasant experience for anyone, and Daisy had made him pay the cleaning bill.)  

It doesn't matter, he slides down further in his seat and closes his eyes tightly.  

His head hurts.  

Thankfully the medicine knocks him out soon enough.  

Martin greets them at the institute door.  Melanie by his side.  

Jon hazily wakes up to Martin gently touching his shoulder.  

"You actually made it!  I'm so glad you're safe... I was so worried, Jon why didn't you answer your phone, I've been so worried, I mean I know you would have said something if something had happened, but Christ I've been so worried about you, come here."  

Jon starts mumbling some apologies, but is interrupted by Martin gently gathering him in a hug.  Jon sinks into it, fervently hoping Martin doesn't notice the heat rolling off of him.  

Thankfully Martin is too distracted, gathering Tim in a crushing embrace.  Likely very relieved that Tim didn't die, and knowing Tim is harder to break than Jon with his delicate bones and fragility following many incidents.  

Jon... doesn't really know what he's trying to accomplish.  Just... get out?  Or go in?  Or get to the cot?  Or just curl up on the cold tile of the basement toilets?  Get away from people he will inevitably worry?  

Just go somewhere where he can fall apart without taking anyone else down with him.  

It looks like Martin has been crying.  Jon hopes it isn't over him.  

Tim needs to recover from the emotional toll of the last few days without having to pick up the pieces after Jon Again.  

Jon slowly backs away.  

His head is swimming, but that's okay.  If he can just reach the Archives.  The cot.  Anywhere.  Anywhere away from this moment.  This breath.  

His vision swims violently, and there is no doubt in his mind that he is going to be very well acquainted with the pavement in a matter of seconds.  Either that or he's going to be ill?  No.  Sidewalk.  He's going to eat the sidewalk.  Heh... first thing he'll have eaten in days.  

He isn't sure if he loses consciousness or not.  It's hard to tell in the blur of motion and sounds and his spinning head.  Sound is almost gooey in this state of almost unconsciousness, but he thinks someone might be shouting.  Or several someones.  He should maybe worry about this?  But in actuality, he is praying he properly passes out to save himself any more embarrassment and save himself from his unsteady insides.  

His face hurts.  

Someone is holding him.  

Jon fights to open his eyes.  They don't seem to want to look in the same direction, rolling in their sockets instead of doing what he wants them to.  He blinks hard a few times, failing to bring things into focus.  Glasses?  Does he still have those?  Did they break?  No... still there.  Skewed on his face.  Just... too dizzy to see, then.  

Daisy and Basira are glaring at him.  Melanie is walking away.  Possibly.  Hard to tell when the world is tilting with unsteady regularity.  

Jon closes his eyes again, pressing a groan against the nausea that threatens to overcome him, despite the medicine.  

"Jon?"  

"Burning up."

He's too hazy to put a name to a voice.  The words dripping in the air around him, tightening around his chest, silly string sitting on his skin in fibrous heaps that jiggle uncomfortably, cold and clammy.  

Shit, thinking in gibberish.  That can't be good.  

“Does anyone know how long he’s been ill?”  

Someone grunts.  

Footsteps.  Two sets?  I’m asking away.  Leaving him.   

“I.... I don’t know.  I don’t think he was feverish last night?  But... I haven’t exactly been... It’s.  It’s been hard.”

“Jon?”

He’s being jostled.   He whines.  Stomach flopping dangerously.   

"Jon?  Are you awake?  Can you open your eyes for me?"  

"Oh shit, he's gonna puke."  

He's being lifted, shifted on his side, bin shoved in his hands.  Where he throws up more nothing.  

He's crying now, feeling like utter shit, and unfortunately more awake.  

He isn't sure if eyes swimming with tears is better or worse than the unsteady world tipping around him and making him feel worse.  

"Christ, Jon!"  

He finally pries his eyes open.  Martin and Tim solidify above him.  More or less.  Still fuzzing in and out of focus.  

Now that he's crying, he just... can't stop.  Fistfuls of Martin's sweater.  

"Oh Jon..."  Martin's arms circle him, carefully.  Gentle not to jostle him more.  

"Buddy.  Think we can get you off the sidewalk?"  Tim.  Cupping his face.  Smoothing back sweat and tear soaked hair, long since escaped his bun, still not dried from his earlier shower.  "My flat isn't far, you know?  Didn't bring my car here, though.  Still... wasn't..."

Tim cuts himself off, but even addled as he is, Jon can fill in the rest of the sentence.  

So can Martin apparently, because Martin frowns.  It's never been more apparent that he's been crying quite recently.  "Still weren't sure you were coming home...  Tim..."  And his eyes start looking damp.  

Tim is tearing up now.  "Martin... let's not in the street...  I can carry Jon back to mine, it isn't far.  You can come too.  We'll get some take out.  Drink some whiskey.  Get Mr. Smoking hot cooled off.  We can talk then.  It's.... it's been a rough week."  

"Jon?  Can I carry you?  I think that might be less rough than a cab ride?  Do you need a few minutes?"  

Martin's voice is soft, and Jon thinks he could sleep right there.  In fact, he might.  So he nods.  

Martin lifts him carefully.  His head swims again.  This all is feeling rather familiar.  Jon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.  He tries to relax despite the lingering anxieties about heights.  Martin feels safe.  Tim is also safe now.  He lets himself drift.  

He wakes briefly on the trip.

"Hey bud, how are you feeling?"  Tim.  Tim seems off.  Too many things crossing his face to parse out, probably even for someone with a better sense than Jon of what those subtle face changes mean.  But Jon is too hazy to think.    

Jon's mouth feels gummed up.  His eyes feel gummed up.  

He's thankful his mouth doesn't taste like something died in it, though.  Although he is very aware how unhealthy it was that he's spent a good portion of the day with his body trying to turn itself inside out, and he couldn't so much as produce bile.  

Jon feels sick thinking about it, so stops.  He drifts again.  

He wakes to a damp rag on his forehead, no memory of anything past the explosion. 

How did he get here? 

"Sorry, that looked like a nice sleep, but you'll feel better with some medicine in you, and some water.  We can try some tea later, once the meds work.  And some food hopefully."  

Martin helping him sit up.  Just enough to get a few sips and some pills into Jon.  Which, Jon thought was probably optimistic, but he'd try it for Martin.  

"When was the last time you ate?" Martin again.  

Jon blinks at him in confusion.  "Is it over?"  

"Is what over?"  Still Martin.  

Where's Tim?  Where's Daisy?  Where's Basira?  Where's Melanie?

His breathing picks up, and that makes his head spin again, and makes him wonder just how long he can keep the medicine down.  

"Is it over, what happened?"  He's panting now, halfway to a panic attack.  

"Jon?  Jon!  Calm down.  Can you take a breath for me?"  

How did he get here?  Where is he?  This looks like Tim's flat, but there is Tim?  Did he survive.  

Jon reaches for anything.  But comes up blank.  

"Where's Tim?  What happened?"  He gasps out.  It feels like his ribcage is shrinking, being laced up the front. fighter than the corset he had worn in acting class in uni.  

"Tim's... taking a moment.  As soon as we got you here... he.... it's been rough on him, you know?  He did all this for... and I know he said he wanted to live.  He wants to live... but he's... not been in a good place and it's helped that you two are talking again... and that he's had company more... but he saw an old picture with.... with his brother.... and that polaroid with ... with Sasha.  Well, he keeps going between you know tearful and sorry and cackling about how everything blew up.  It's... probably a lot to have three revenge schemes going at once for the same.... not a person really... but ... Her.  And then... having it sorted.  But...  Listen Jon I don't know.  What don't you remember... or what's the last thing you remember?"  Martin edges on histerical near the middle, but takes a turn for the sad near the end.  

"I remember the... the world was all wrong.  Then... then it blew up.  Is it over?  Martin are you real.  Is everyone alive?  What happened to you?"  He's desperate.  Desperate breaths too shallow.  Words interrupted by jagged pulling of too thin oxygen.  He's going to pass out.  

He does.  

He wakes feeling... clearer.  The last period of wakefulness a distant and flighty thing, dancing just out of his reach.  The rest of the embarrassing day back in vivid detail.  Tim's sitting over him.  Or rather, curled around him.  Jon's hair is being played with.  A stray curl looped around Tim's finger as he laughs softly to himself.  Muttering that he's alive.  That Jon's alive.  That Martin is alive.  he didn't lose anyone else.  That that clown is finally dead.  Finally.  

Gentle and warm hand on his face, refreshing the cloth.  Checking his temperature.  

"I..."  Tim chokes on a sob.  And Jon tries to remember how his arms work so he can let Tim know he's there.  

"Tim?"  

"Hey bud... sorry."  Tim wipes his eyes on his sleeve.  "It's been a hell of a week.  I... don't know how to feel about it.  Fuck I need a drink....  And to check in with Martin.  I... he hasn't told me what happened, but he's upset.  And.  Fuck I should have noticed you were ill, why didn't you say anything?"  Tim's voice starts to rise, and Jon tenses.  All the times Tim yelled at him still too fresh in his mind.  He trusts Tim.  he does... but Christ he is still afraid.  Afraid that it can't last, that it isn't real.  Where it be a trick of his mind, or some manipulation tactic to an end Jon can't see, he doesn't know.  

"Hey.  Hey.  Buddy... Jon.  I'm sorry.  didn't mean to yell.  It's just... been a day.  I'm not mad at you.  I just... I'm worried about you and Martin and I...I don't know how to feel about everything that happened.  I'm sorry you feel like shit."

Jon feels... like shit.  Marginally less nauseous, however.  A little less like he's going to pass out again.  Probably been given plenty of pills by Martin.  

"Sorry."  He croaks.  Voice probably shredded with smoke.  And fever.  

"He, bud, don't apologize.  I'm sorry I didn't notice you weren't well.  I... I thought I knew better than to be that preoccupied.  I mean... I guess I didn't make it worse this time, but..."  Tim sighs.  "I'm disappointed in myself because I don't want to fuck this up again.  And no don't apologize again part of that was on me and yes part of that was on you and we've done apologies to death.  All we can do now is keep going.  I just wanted to protect you and I couldn't see you were fading in front of my eyes.  Again.  I know you haven't been eating or sleeping, but I haven't been either so I didn't want to call you on it, and I didn't want you to call me on it, but I should have noticed.  I know I couldn't have done much, but I didn't do anything but shut you out again.  I could have told someone to stop to get you medicine, or food or even a bit more rest.  I know that would have done fuck-all, but I still could have offered you a little comfort and warmth and had us brought straight back here."  

Tim's crying properly now.  Jon is too.  Not sure if it is the fever, or just... everything.  There is so much to feel and think and worry about and yes they saved the world but that the fuck comes next.  

What comes next is that Martin enters with tea for Jon and a bottle of whiskey.  

Jon scrubs at his eyes.  "Martin what happened?"  Jon can see he's been crying again.  That is starting to scare him.  It's a goddamn miracle he hasn't pulled an answer out of anyone yet today.  

"It's... well it isn't fine.  I... well our plan worked here too.  Just... you know... Elias.  He can.... He can do things.  It's fine.  It's worth it."  Martin swipes at his eyes furiously.  

Jon pushes himself up, ignoring the room tilting around him, and hugs Martin.  Jon's still crying.  Martin sniffling.  Tim also crying.  It's... a very damp hug.  And Jon knows he's too warm to be comfortable to hold, and he's shivering hard enough to rattle Tim and Martin.  

"I'm... I'm so sorry Martin."  Jon chokes out.  

"It's alright.  It was worth it.  And you both.  Christ I am so glad to see you again... I thought... I thought.... I didn't..."  Martin is fully sobbing now.  Tea set down on Tim's bedside table, the whiskey being pried from his hands by TIm.  

Late that night the bottle is empty (and so are a couple more), Tim and Martin have killer headaches, and Jon is still feverish, but less so.  A lot of tears have been shed.  And Jon has been plied with enough liquids that he feels a little less like a crumbling husk.  

By the time that Tim and Martin are ready to think about food, Jon is finally feeling like he can maybe stomach something.  They order takeout.  Jon... has some broth. 

By morning Jon manages a few bites of leftovers.  

By afternoon, Elias Bushard is arrested.