#and now it's just this? ugly and haunting fact staring her straight in the face just before she's about to promise herself to this man

[amnerise]

thinking about the lyric “it’s over/it never began” in regards to amneris ................ yeah

[boop-le-snoot]

BUTT-DIAL? NO, BOOTY CALL | tony stark

explicit, 5,4k words. wrong number text, family shame & wedding drama that isn't even his and a ruined first date. despite the implications of the situation, both reader and tony are very entertained. meet-ugly series, part three.

[no y/n, no "you", no name, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns]

💚 masterlist ☀️ taglist & faq 💚

Another sunny day spent wasted in a conference room full of boring, old, conceited chairmen. Tony Stark vehemently refused to commiserate with them, their boring speeches and blunt, straightforward thinking. Sitting through a meeting was like walking on nails barefoot: painful, pointless. Mind-numbing.

His phone beeped loudly and he reached into his pocket, pretending to not see Pepper's disapproving look. Both of them knew he was hoping for a sudden Assemble call - that would surely get him out of the meeting - but as much as he hoped, they never struck at the right time.

Except, this time it wasn't a call for assistance, and neither it was an automated spam message with Pizza Hut promo codes. Tony's eyebrows drew close and his lips upturned as he read and re-read the obvious rant written on his screen, typing up his answer before he managed to resist the morbid curiosity that was fueled by his boredom.

Whoever it was, they were justifiably angry and the whole situation was almost too comical to be true, except he'd known people exactly like the runaway bride, selfish, greedy and stupid. He totally understood the woman's desire to just go and load up on tequila shots somewhere - so he bid her a haste farewell, all the while snickering to himself.

"It's Rogers," Tony offered in the way of explanation to a glaring Pepper, locking his phone away and settling in to continue pretending he was listening as another old, crusty white man offered his input on topics he was too much of a dinosaur to even really know about.

He couldn't stop thinking about the incident over the days, the story making him snort more times than he could count as the memory randomly crossed his mind in the lab, at the coffee pot or during dinner. So when a message came through from that very same number, the smirk snuck up onto his face before he even read its contents.

A brief crash course in memes from Parker had turned out to be more useful than ever. Irritating Rogers with pictures got old very fast, however, in moments Tony got rendered speechless they proved to be the perfect substitute for trying to articulate all his thoughts on the matter.

Celebrity appearance, she said? More likely than one would think. The engineer had nearly doubled over in a fit of laughter when she'd texted him that; obviously, the woman had no clue who she was texting with and he decided to further indulge in his curiosity by asking for her name: Friday did the rest.

A phone number and a name, ten minutes, and all her social media were free for him to stalk. Investigate- uh, observe. With little effort, Tony found both her and her brother, the unlucky groom, and the runaway bride and even her step-dad. On paper, they all looked like average middle-class families. Nothing seemed amiss.

It didn't mean anything, but Tony caught himself thinking about the woman. Perhaps it might have been the mischievous gleem in her eyes that was easily spotted in every picture or perhaps the raunchy sense of humour not much different from his own. Pretty, witty and smart - what's there not to like?

"So that's why you've been going around, smiling like a middle-schooler with a crush," Natasha's voice whisper-shouted in Tony's ear as the spy discreetly peered over his shoulder into his phone. He had the chat pulled up, debating on starting a casual conversation-

"Jesus Christ, Romanoff, somebody needs to put a bell on you," Tony snapped, startled, pressing the button to lock his phone immediately.

"Uhuh," The redhead replied, side-eyeing a snickering Barnes. "Who is she?"

Tony rubbed his face, feeling the beginnings of a blush starting to creep in. He felt like he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to and the rest of the team acting like children wasn't helping the matter. "I got a butt-dial text about some wedding drama. Some chick's brother's fiance was fucking her own stepdad and ditched the wedding for her old man."

Stunned silence settled briefly into the room as Romanoff's eyes widened and Barnes choked on his orange juice. Serves him right, Tony thought, and continued his coffee-making process in quiet irritation.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Wilson half-laughed half-yelled. "You gotta spill the tea, man, this sounds too good to be true. Stories like that just don't fall into your hands."

With a sigh, he recounted the woman's story and read the texts aloud, silencing his snickering enough to be able to keep a straight face - but not for long, Rogers decided it was the time for another one of his Captain America Is Disappointed In You speeches and Tony himself couldn't even disagree.

Now that he thought about it, he came off as a kind of asshole. She and her family was going through something traumatic and he went and treated it like free entertainment. Which, to be fair, it was, but she didn't deserve to be treated like a circus clown. She actually seemed like a good sister and friend.

"Just text her," Natasha rolled her eyes at him, grabbing the coffee pot out of his frozen hand. "You're not Steve, you can keep a decent conversation via text."

Being compared to Steve and his pre-historic messaging habits really did a number on Tony's ego; the eyeroll he gave Romanoff was truly out of this world, all but teleporting him to his lab where he tried to find a way to approach the woman without coming off as incredibly creepy, as if the fact that he'd stalked her on social media didn't already put him firmly into the weirdo category.

Most likely, Tony would have spent many many days on overthinking before just grabbing one of his suits to make a truly impressive landing on her small balcony downtown; thankfully, fate had intervened and saved him from making another epic mistake. He'd made a note to ask Thor about it sometime, settling down with his tablet and popcorn bowl to watch TV on the team's movie night.

Or, more precisely, Tony settled in to watch the drama unfold as the various members of the team fought tooth and nail for the film that they wanted to watch. He never cared about it much, dozing off halfway through most of them - his teammates had the worst taste in movies - so he didn't bother joining the scuffle except when it was Peter's turn to pick. For obvious reasons.

"If you can't decide I'm gonna have someone else pick a movie," Natasha rolled her eyes, equally fed up with fully grown adults acting like spoiled toddlers.

With a stutter of his breath, Tony's hand reached for his phone as he had an Idea.

Seconds tickled as the "typing..." bubble appeared and disappeared multiple times. She must think he's just a thirsty frat boy; Tony's brow furrowed, but the curiosity was far too strong in him. Something about her vibe, her feisty nature captivated him and kept him thinking about her.

The agreement came as a surprise. In the two minutes the woman had spent thinking up her answer, Tony prepared himself to be rebuffed gently, or, worst case, be called a creep. But no - she agreed, but not before vehemently insisting that if he would end up being a creepy serial killer, she would haunt his ass for the remainder of his life.

Friday couldn't come soon enough. Tony spent most of the day loitering between his lab and the penthouse, glancing at his phone every now and then to make sure she wouldn't cancel on him last minute. The engineer wanted to see the witty, no-filter-having woman in the flesh.

And see her, he did. He'd pulled up in front of the hole-in-the wall Ramen&Bar place Clint had been raving about weeks prior - contrary to popular belief, Tony was perfectly fine with going to places that didn't have Michelin stars - and leaned against the door of his Audi R8, eyes immediately taking note of the figure calmly walking down the street, head tilted down where she was typing up a reply to him.

Tony smirked as she lifted her face up to see him, mouth immediately falling open. The shock was obvious; it lasted mere seconds until her shoulders dropped and she sighed almost... In disappointment. He frowned.

"I jinxed it, didn't I? Here's my celebrity appearance," The laugh was a little nervous and quite sardonic. "Hi, Tony, nice to finally see you."

He smiled, unsure, quipping back easily. "Let's face it, I'm not the worst famous Tony out there." Opening the door of the building for the woman, she stepped in eagerly enough, eyes immediately falling on the bartender and the few dimly lit tables in the back.

"Not by any means," She turned towards him, walking backwards. Tony met her stare; it was just like he'd imagined it to be, curious, mischievous and a little daring. She didn't even attempt to play subtle, raking over him from head to toe. "Not at all, I think," She gave another teasing smile, finally turning around, addressing the bartender and rattling off her order without as much as looking at the menu.

Tony couldn't stop staring. He was aware it was creepy, she was aware of his clever brown eyes barely paying attention to their surroundings or the beer or the food. The woman just quirked an eyebrow every time she caught him. His curiosity couldn't wait any more. "Why aren't you freaking out?" He blurted out, cursing himself out almost immediately after the words left his mouth.

"My almost-sister-in-law was fucking her own stepdad," The woman deadpanned. "I ran out of fucks to give, sorry." She thoughtfully chewed her food, briefly looking to the side. "Not to sound like an asshole, but don't you have enough people fawning over you? Doesn't it get old?"

Tony nodded, choosing to stay silent on the matter besides offering an amicable, "That's valid."

The mischief lit up again in her eyes. "You look taller on TV," She snorted, immediately falling into a fit of laughter at his face full of outrage. He sputtered, muttering something about audacity of some people, which made her only laugh harder. "Here's a pro tip from my 4'11 bestie: when someone calls you short, you snarl at them and say you're fun-sized. She swears by it," The woman remarked conversationally, grinning a two hundred watt smile.

Tony was glad at least someone was enjoying their little... Date. "And you know all about fun, don't you?" He aimed for grumpy; it came out as teasing. His famous smirk made a return appearance as he watched her throat bob.

The atmosphere between them had changed at some point; the same old routine of teasing and dancing around each other, but this time, Tony all but purred in satisfaction, finally meeting someone who was an even match to his wit and charm.

"I do," She replied with that cocky confidence, her devil eyes lighting up, lingering on his face. "Got a problem with that?"

The plate was pushed away, napkin falling into the food carelessly as he gestured for the waiter to bring the check. "As a scientist, I cannot confirm whether a theory is true until I have direct evidence," The bullshit flowed easily from his mouth, but the woman appeared to be amused by it - for a change. "M'fraid I'm gonna need that evidence," His fingers drummed on the table, impatiently, inches away from her hand.

"Of course, Mr. Stark," Her voice dropped, she was fully aware of what she was doing by calling him that. That, and those deep, magnetic eyes made Tony's trousers feel a little too tight for comfort.

His phone rang loudly, dissipating the atmosphere they had created with a shrill noise. Captain Cockblock struck again.

Fumbling fingers, Tony tapped the green icon, shooting an apologetic look to the woman. "Rogers, there better be another alien invasion or I'm revoking your phone privileges," The woman chortled, taking a sip of her beer, trying hard not to seem like she was listening in and failing spectacularly at it. "Today, out of all days? Can't Strange fill in for me?" The engineer palmed his face, running a hand through his neatly done-up hair. It would be covered in soot and sweat in an hour anyways. "Fine, I'll be there in twenty minutes. Romanoff better be hauling Barton's lazy ass out of Bed-Stuy." With a frown, Tony poked the red icon and stuffed the phone back in his pocket, looking for all and all, like an angry adolescent.

The woman, however, didn't indicate any signs of displeasure. Her hand timidly reached out for his, giving it a brief squeeze. "Go, save the world, Mr. Stark," Her smile was sympathetic. They both stood up at the same time, Tony watching her incredulously as the woman untied a scrap of red fabric from around her neck and placed it around his wrist, tying the fabric with a loose but, frankly, pretty knot. "I like that bandanna, would be a shame if you didn't return it," She explained, shrugging her shoulders.

Tony snorted, fondly rolling his eyes, before beelining for the door, activating his Iron Man suit on the way out. Turning around before take off, he noticed her throw a couple of crumpled bills to the server who was too busy ogling him.

He forgot to pay for dinner, Tony realized as he made his way to the other part of the city. Well, fuck, he would definitely have to see her again.

---

An alien invasion during her first good date in ages - scribble, scribble, sigh. She couldn't do much more than that - just as she thought her string of bad luck had ended, the world turned around and flipped her a juicy bird, all but laughing straight in her face. Like that already wasn't enough, oh no, she groused as she spied the debris and random abandoned cars on her way home - it looked like some portion of the battle had been close to her home and only the sheer mental exhaustion that resulted from her life being turned upside down during the last month prevented her from having a full-on freak-out in the middle of the eerily quiet street.

Truly, the fucks she had to give had been expired.

The gloomy mood was interrupted by a cry - for help or of outrage, she didn't know, but the kindness in her, the very values she'd been raised with didn't allow her just to walk by, and with another resigned sigh, she tucked the nice blouse she'd put on for the date under her warm sweater and set off in the direction of the sound, finding the culprit in little under a couple of minutes.

Freeing the trapped civilian wasn't easy but, thankfully, neither it required super-strength or any kind of heavy machinery. The man thanked her and with him in tow, both of them set off to inspect nearby nooks and crannies. Logic won that day - if there's was one person, there could be more.

Hours later, sweaty, sore and bruised, the woman greedily chugged the water bottle someone had passed onto her as the amount of medics and firefighters had finally reached the threshold of when her help wasn't needed anymore. While her date and his colleagues fought whatever nasty that thought NYC was a sandbox battleground for their amusement, the woman found herself helping out with retrieval & evacuation of the civilians that didn't make it out of the neighborhood before the heat of the fight reached it. There were no deaths registered as of then and deep inside, she felt proud, knowing that she had contributed to the statistic at least a little.

Her phone was dying, her body was covered in dirt and scratches from head to toe and the bruises were beginning to ache. Tony's worry-worting was cute but the tiredness overcame her, making her brain sluggish and her demeanor short, so she hastily pocketed the phone, trailing over to the closest man in uniform she could spot.

"Sir?" She addressed him, eyeing the unfamiliar logo on his jacket. "Can I go, please?" She pointed to the yellow tape surrounding the makeshift medical station.

"I'm going to have to see your ID first," He replied apologetically, tapping away on his tablet.

With a sigh, she dug through her purse, giving it to him and using the brief moment of respite to smooth back her hair and dust off her clothing. There was a cloud of concrete and dirt surrounding her.

"I'm afraid I can't let you go just yet, Mr. Stark left strict instructions for you to be picked up by him personally," The agent gave the ID back with a suspicious glint in his eye.

"Oh c'mon," The annoyed whine escaped her lips before she registered it. "It was our first date," She offered to the puzzled agent, only succeeding in making him lean back and inspect her with a raised eyebrow. "Bye," She replied none too kindly, walking off to find a place to sit down.

The time passed in a strange way. The aches and pains and exhaustion made it stop, and if someone would have asked her, she wouldn't know how much of it has passed until her eyes reluctantly cracked open at the sound of a familiar voice, coming to see a pair of expensive shoes covered in dust. At least she wasn't the only one that looked like she'd taken a roll through someone's gritty attic.

"Morning, you Tasmanian Devil," Tony sounded jovial, all things considered.

"Hello to you too, Tin Can," The woman greeted him on par, without missing a beat.

"Now, now," He offered her his hand, which she took gratefully, before pulling her to her feet. "I come with peace offerings. Your building is under quarantine and I've got a perfectly good bed and a shower with thirty settings on it at my place. Whatcha say?"

She only pretended to think about it. Her reply was haste. "I don't make a habit of going into strange dudes' towers but I'll make an exception this once." A shower and a bed sounded heavenly.

Finally getting the chance to look at him, Tony appeared to be unhurt but equally exhausted and dirty. A few scrapes on his face and arms, he was missing his blazer, and had a weary tone to his face. Some parts of his Iron Suit were still on him - like the chest plate - but besides that, he was whole. The red of the bandanna she gave him was equally dirty but still neatly tied around his wrist, just like she left it.

"How's your relationship with heights?" He asked her and all she could do was blink, watching curiously as his body was enveloped by the red and gold, crawling over his skin like a swarm of shiny termites. That was all the warning she got before the metal arms - quite literally - sweeped her off her feet. "Faster this way," She could hear the nonchalant shrug in the metallic voice coming from the helmet. "Now hold on."

Awe and fear culminated inside the woman but the weariness had long since surpassed comfortable levels and all she did was give a weak nod and close her eyes as Tony lifted off, gusts of wind making her skin break out in goosebumps and her hair stand up wildly on her head. During the short trip her eyes fluttered open only once just to close back up immediately - all she saw were clouds, white and fluffy, like marshmallows, and the shining beacons of NYC skyscrapers somewhere far away.

The paralyzing anxiety fully dissipated only when her feet found purchase on the tiled floors, Tony's arms never ceasing to support her swaying frame until the breaths she took were her own and not the result of her fluttering heart and muted panic. "You with me, Wonder Woman?"

"Yes, Weird Science," She mumbled. "Thanks for the heads up," The annoyance had to find a way out and that it did.

"You're welcome," The cocky smirk returned to Tony's face as his suit receded, leaving him barefoot, dirty jeans and a torn tee. He stretched with a sweet groan, gesturing towards the door. "Friday will direct you towards the showers. Feel free to grab a t-shirt from the closet."

The woman nodded, too awestruck by the man and his hospitality, eyes darting all over the tastefully decorated room, the expensive knick-knacks scattered everywhere, the absolutely enormous sloppily made bed. Tony Stark liked to live luxuriously - even the shower was a state of the art technological wonder.

Dirty pants and dusty blouse went flying somewhere in the back of the bathroom as the woman stood up on her tippy toes, reaching for the sky, stretching her sore muscles. The glass wall of the shower had began to fog up from the hot water. The knock went barely noticed by the woman who jumped as Tony's voice startled her out of her daydream.

"Forgot I ran out of towels here..." He trailed off, voice dropping as he spotted her only in her underwear. She turned, responding with a lopsided grin, spying the stack of fluffy grey in his arms, the arc reactor in the middle of his bare chest. He smirked, "Damn. Can I join you?" Giving her what only could be described as a respectful once-over.

Tired as she was, her sense of humour and wit didn't go down for a much needed nap just yet. "I don't know, you tell me. Can you?" Turning back around, the woman made a short show of unclasping her bra and tossing it in the general vicinity of her dirty clothing pile. She'd worn a cute matching set of undies that day and the fact didn't go over Tony's head, she was sure.

The door clicked shut just as she raised her face to the stream of water, feeling calmer with each second, muscles relaxing themselves as the hot stream washed away the dirt and the dust off her body.

"And I thought this evening was ruined," Tony's voice insinuated from behind her. A hand reached for the soap, his body heat scorching compared to the steaming water. He stayed just a few inches away, enough to feel him, enough for her body to respond and crave more. "It's nice to be wrong for a change. Refreshing."

The woman hummed, reaching up to run her fingers through her wet, knotted hair. "First decent evening in ages. I wasn't gonna let some uninvited Predator knock-offs ruin it for me," She was more than a little peeved at the space invaders interrupting her nice date. Tony was a great conversationalist, it was easy to talk to him and he had a brilliant sense of humour. Not to mention the obvious, he was easy on the eyes.

"That's the spirit," The voice was closer now, almost in her ear. Even though her eyes were closed, the woman was aware he was reaching for something, letting him butt her hands out of the way to lather her hair, scrubbing at her scalp meticulously, until the sounds that left her mouth bordered on embarrassing. Once that was done, Tony moved onto her body, running his hands over her back, the outside of her hips. "M'not stepping over, am I?" He asked quietly, touch faltering every time he brushed over a scrape or a bruise.

"No, you're doing great, Tony," It wasn't exactly conventional - sharing a very intimate shower after an interrupted first date, but then again, nothing about this man was conventional and her life had already been turned upside down no less than twice recently. The woman didn't lie, the gentle, caring touch felt soothing.

Arching her back, she lifted her arms to repay him with the same, raking her fingers through his hair, leaning into the shudder that ran throughout his body. It was nice to bask in whatever they had going on, so the motion to face him was almost reluctant. Water droplets stuck to his eyelashes and his eyes were tired but not in a way that suggested he'd kick her out first chance.

Their kiss was sweet, slow, like they already were familiar with each other in a special way. The woman tugged on his lip with her teeth - such was her character - and he pressed closer to her, raising a hand to hold the side of her face. In muted curiosity, she couldn't help but wonder if there ever had been someone that waited for him once his battles were over.

Tony's eyelashes, the very same that had no business being this long on a man, fluttered against her cheek as they stood under the shower, letting water wash away the day.

"I've always wanted to kiss in the rain, like they do in the movies. This is the closest I've gotten," She whispered, gently kneading the arch of his shoulders. "Feels better than it looks, to be honest."

Tony snorted, reaching for the knob to turn it off. "Cheesy," He teased her, wrapping a warm, fluffy towel around her body. Both people made quick work of drying themselves, exiting the fogged up bathroom, making way into the bedroom, padding soft on the carpet and falling down on the bed carelessly.

"I'm the queen of cheesy one-liners," The woman raised her eyebrows, scooting under the sheets next to Tony who opened his arms wide, a smirk on his face. She didn't give him the chance to reply, slotting her lips over his instead and groaning as their heated bodies once again rested against each other.

She ran her hands over Tony's defined pecs, glossing over the arc reactor, raked nails over his tummy, eating up the sighs leaving his mouth at the gesture. He was a beautiful man, she wasn't going to lie to herself. The warmth that settled low in her belly grew, spreading throughout her limbs and temporarily overshadowing the exhaustion.

The engineer, too, was quite excited - his erection poked her hip - and content to be steered to her wishes by the hand in his hair. Groans and sighs left his moist, parted lips as his eagerness bled into his hands, grip firm and steady on the panting woman's hips.

Adrenaline did something to her body, caused it to ache sweetly, a hunger to be satisfied only by a lover's touch. And touch she did; her mouth tasted him, alternating sucking gentle marks onto his throat and nibbling on the skin stretched thinly over his collarbones. Tony's sighs grew in depth and volume with every silent action of worship.

No inch of his body was left untouched, the woman was an all-hands-on-deck kind of lover, happily making her way down until soft lips wrapped around the crown of his cock, making his hips arch into it, hands fisted in the soft white sheets. "You devil," Tony gasped out, limbs turning to jelly, watching the woman all but devour his cock.

She popped off minutely, a trail of sticky saliva running down her chin, sticking to his glistening cock. "The power of Christ compels me?" With a smirk, her tongue trailed from his balls to the very tip, paying extra attention to the frenulum, making Tony shudder and gasp out an embarrassed laugh.

"Uh-uh," Stripped of his usual snark, he was but a man at her mercy.

"It's not very compelling," The predatory stretch of her lips widened as she took mercy on him, giving his cock a few slow tugs with her hand. Her mouth, her hand and his cock were dripping. "Gonna let me do all the legwork, Mr. Stark?" She sat up straighter, inadvertently drawing his eyes to the apex of her thighs where the woman's sex glistened in the dim light, lips swollen and inviting.

It sounded like she was mocking him, teasing him, egging him into a lustful frenzy none of them had the energy for but craved anyway. Tony Stark wasn't the one to back down from a fair challenge so he relented, flipping them over with ease, landing between her spread legs, eyes drawn to the momentary bounce of her breasts. Tony wasted no time in suckling a hard nipple into his mouth, humming in response to her choked-off moan of surprise.

"Tony," Her body arched into his touch, tender skin hot under the callouses on his fingertips.

"Yes, demon, dear?" A lopsided grin and laughter in his eyes preceded the wet stripe Tony licked down to her navel. "Wasn't there something about not telling demons your name? Guess you have power over me now," He trailed off cheekily, soft breaths puffing over her mound.

The woman bit her lip, peering down to rake a hand through Tony's hair, snagging a fistful to gently steer him towards her pussy. Tony's smile was one of satisfaction as he obediently followed her silent order, nosing along the line of her cunt, dipping his tongue to run slow, sloppy lines through the soaked folds.

"Fuck," She mumbled, spreading her legs without shame. "Yeah, right there," Her fingers turned white at the agility of Tony's tongue on her clit. He was swift and relentless in pursuit of the spots that made her moan and clench around nothing. The moisture of her sex soaked his goatee but he couldn't care less.

He growled when she attempted to withdraw, wrapping his muscular arms around her thighs to keep her still for his pleasure, wringing noises that increased in volume with every stroke of his tongue on her sex.

"Tony- please, Tony, I'm gonna-" The warning was brief; her back arched as a broken moan found its way past her moist, parted lips, her pussy spasmed, dripping all over his face and the sheets.

The engineer hid his smile against her thigh, discreetly wiping the obscene amounts of moisture she produced. It wasn't very long until her hands, slightly shaky, were tugging him upwards to meet his face in a rushed, graceless kiss. There was an equal lack of finesse in the glide of his erection along her sex.

"Okay?" He mumbled into her ear, lining himself up with her fluttering cunt.

"Please," She gasped, her hands pushing his hips onto her, eagerly lifting up to accept the sweet intrusion.

There was a quiet stutter in both of their breathing, hearts thudding against their ribs as he finally bottomed out, the thickness of him nestled snugly inside the rippling muscle. The pace he started out was agonizingly slow and inexplicably sweet, neither of them wanting to end their coupling prematurely but not being able to hold back the need that consumed them both.

"Fuck, you're so good to me," Tony's mumbling was overshadowed by the slick sounds coming from the place they were joined. "Gonna fill up this pretty pussy."

The woman keened at the idea, digging her nails into his ass, pulling him further into her.

"You'd like that?" He picked up the pace, blunt tip of his cock catching up with the tail end of her previous orgasm and re-lighting the fire in her belly anew.

"Yeah, Tony, please," No trace of the previous coyness in her voice, the woman was more than ready to beg, murder and steal to feel the man come undone in her arms.

It didn't take long, not with the adrenaline making their blood sing and the chemistry they shared. The brutal pace of Tony's hips quickly grew sloppy and erratic, the tightening of her inner muscles egging him on. He chased his release with deep, powerful thrusts that had the bedsheets rustle pitifully and beads of clear swear drip down his forehead.

As soon as her body arched once more, Tony let go of his control, slotting himself deeply into her spasming heat, cock throbbing as he painted her insides white with his seed, groaning incomprehensible compliments and profanities through his teeth. Chest heaving, the engineer couldn't do much more but let himself carefully fall onto her chest, aftershocks making him twitch when the woman began running a gentle hand through his hair.

"We're doing this again," He decided, still breathless but already a step ahead. She laughed.

Tony Stark taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @downeyreads @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @slothspaghettiwrites @bluecrazedandbeautiful

[nastybuckybarnes]

Monsters  -  Two

Pairing: Dark!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a man who just wants to do better. But he can’t stop the monster from coming out every now and then. As a last and hopeless attempt at calming The Winter Soldier, SHIELD finds him something they figured would help. An innocent young woman with not a lot going for her. Or, The Winter Soldiers newest victim.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Smut (DUBCON), Somnophilia, Injuries, Dark Themes, Language,

Word Count: 3.2K

A/n: Here you go! Pissed this out in like, an hour because I’m starting to really really like this series already lol. Hope you enjoy!

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!

Part One!

~*~

You pace around the kitchen of the small house, fingers stuck in your hair, pulling it at the roots.

You've been here for four hours. Alone. The Captain gave you few words before pushing you into the house and closing the door behind himself, leaving you alone with nothing but your thoughts and the worst-case-scenarios that your mind has been conjuring since leaving Fury's office.

There's no way for you to leave the house. That much you gathered quickly. After bruising your fingers trying to pry the door open, and wracking your brain trying to figure out a loophole for the DNA keypad, you gave up. The windows are all made of the thickest glass you've ever encountered, and nothing you’ve thrown at them made them crack in the slightest.

So you brought yourself to the kitchen, hoping to find a weapon to use to defend yourself, only to be disappointed. All the cabinets and drawers are locked. Why everything is locked and reinforced so much, you have no clue. And it only makes you more nervous.

Now you pace, back and forth and back and forth in the kitchen, trying desperately to figure out what they have planned for you and why they're doing this. They're supposed to be heroes, for god's sake. 

Protectors. And yet they lock you in a strange place, with no contact with the outside world and no chance of escape. You find yourself wondering if they're really any better than the people they fight.

The front door beeps twice then opens, freezing you mid-step.

You stare at one of the two hallways leading to the kitchen, each hallway meeting in the front foyer and leading to the front door. The fact that there are two ways to access the kitchen puts you at ease and on edge at the same time. You won't know where the intruder is coming from, but you'll have an escape if they mean to harm you.

You strain your ears, listening intently for whoever is in the house. It's futile, however, because anyone entering the house would be a highly trained spy and would know how to stay quiet and be undetected.

"Jesus Christ, they really did it," A male voice whispers from behind you. You spin around, facing the hallway behind you. You stare up at him and instantly recognize him as the Winter Soldier. 

He's wearing a casual outfit, black fitted jeans and a black hoodie, hands shoved into his pockets. His hair is long and unkempt around his head, and his eyes are a striking blue that seems to stare straight through your body and into your soul.

He remembers seeing a picture of you, one picture among thousands of others of women that fury deemed 'replaceable'. His lack of regard for human life made the metal armed soldier uneasy, and seeing you here in front of him makes him feel sick to his stomach.

"A-are you gonna hurt me?" The words fly from your lips before you can stop them, and you flinch away from him, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate a hostile move on his part.

He sighs, the sound bordering on a scoff, and shakes his head, metal fingers coming up and raking through his hair.

"No. I'm not gonna hurt you. Not on purpose." You peak your eyes open at that, curious about his intentions.

"C-Captain Rogers and Commander Fury said that I'm here to 'personally help you' and to 'take care of you'... what do they mean by that?" He looks at your frightened eyes then down to the ground.

"I uh... it..." He shakes his head and groans.

"I've been... falling back into old habits. At night... I get triggered into the soldier. And I've been trying to... hurt my female companions lately. The Captain thinks that having a woman to help satisfy my... primal desires will make me less of a hazard on the field." The words roll over in your mind and you look up at him.

"So I've been taken as some sort of sex slave?!" He winces at the way you spit the ugly words, not wanting to think about it like that.

"Well... no... I don't know! I was opposed to it, but they insisted. So... I picked you out of everyone. You've got a pretty face... and your body..." He trails off, eyes roaming up and down your figure then returning to your eyes. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and nods. "Out of everyone, I'm glad it was you. You're... perfect." You ignore his compliments and shake your head.

"Do you realize that I've been taken against my will here?! I've been brought here to service you in a way that I don't want to. And now I'm going to be forced to have sex with you? None of this is consensual! None of this is right!" You shake your head angrily, trying to come up with a solution.

"You said you're against it, so tell them to let me go! I didn't agree to any of this!"

"Did you or did you not willingly come meet with me?" You jump, spinning around quickly as Fury walks into the room, arms crossed over his chest. Your hands tremble, anger and fear chasing each other through your veins.

"You willingly came to the tower to meet me. You accepted the job by coming in for the meeting. You cannot by law say that that was against any of your human rights. You accepted a job then came in to learn about the requirements. That is your own fault." You shake your head, hands clenching into fists.

"I changed my mind during the meeting. I told you I didn't want to do it. I signed no contract, I made no legally binding agreement." The man in front of you grins.

"There's fine print in everything I send. The email specifically said 'by going to this meeting I am accepting the position and all it entails'. It's not my fault you didn't read it. Now I advise you to stop complaining. Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy this position, and any others he decides to put you in."

You grimace and glance over your shoulder at the soldier. His cheeks are pink and he's staring at the ground.

"Now, I came to drop off your belongings. They're being put into the bedroom as we speak. I took the liberty of throwing in a few things I thought the two of you may need. Now, Barnes, any questions?" 

You turn around and look at the brunet, eyes pleading with him to tell the other man to call this whole thing off. He stares into your eyes for a long silent moment then looks over your shoulder.

"I think this arrangement will help my performance on the field and in the office. I want to get started right away." Your heart sinks and you shake your head.

"Alright. By all means," Fury gestures towards you and you turn away from the brunet, tears prickling your eyes.

You go to push past the dark-skinned man when he grabs you by the wrist, staring at you with hard eyes.

"I can be a very patient man, but even my patience has limits. You agreed to this position, you chose your fate. Don't blame anyone else for your lack of attention to detail." You tear your arm from him and level him with a hard glare.

"Barnes, bring her upstairs. If she can't be talked into submission, maybe other methods will work better." An arm is wound around your waist and you start thrashing immediately.

"No! Let me go! Stop!" He ignores you, scooping you up in his arms with ease and taking you up the stairs.

"Let go of me! Help! Please! Someone Help!" He pushes into a huge bedroom and tosses you onto the bed, arms crossing over his chest as he stares at you.

"No one can hear you," Fury says, coming into the room shortly after. Tears streak down your face and you glare at both of them.

"Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be out ruining another innocent person's life?" He chuckles and looks over at the soldier.

"You've got a fiery one. Have fun with her." He turns and leaves the room, the beep of the lock letting you know that he's left the house.

You and James have a staredown as you sit on the bed and he stands by the wall, not moving, simply staring at you.

You finally give in, looking down at your hands, fingers trembling. "Please don't do it," you whisper, desperation dripping from your words. He sighs heavily and you feel the few shards of hope you have left glue themselves back together.

"Please. I just... please don't hurt me." When you look up he's directly in front of you, making you gasp.

"Why are you so against it?" He asks suddenly.

"I just..." You don't want to confess your fear to the man in front of you. You don't want him to know that he haunts your nightmares already.

"If you can't give me a good reason then why shouldn't I?" His voice is harder than before, stern, with an aggravated edge to it.

You take a deep breath and clench your hands into fists.

"Because you scare me," you finally whisper. "I've heard so many stories... seen so many things... and you scare me. I don't want to believe them but... this makes me wonder if they're all right about you. If you're truly the monster they say you are." The air is still and heavy with the weight of your words, and you find yourself regretting them instantly.

A metal hand is suddenly around your throat, pushing you and forcing you back on the mattress until your back hits the headboard.

You grab his wrist fruitlessly, struggling to drag in a breath as you look up at him. His eyes are dark with anger, and his chest is heaving.

"A monster? You think I'm a monster?!" He chuckles lowly without humour, shaking his head as he kneels on the bed. "I'll show you a fucking monster." He lets go of your throat and you gasp, coughing as the pressure gets released. You're definitely going to have finger-shaped bruises in the morning.

He grabs your knees and tears them apart, ignoring the scream of pain that leaves your lips as you feel a muscle in your thigh get pulled.

"Do you know how easy this is for me?" He demands, grabbing the fabric of your shirt and tearing it down the middle.

"Overpowering you is nothing to me. I could break you so fucking easily if I really wanted to. If I wanted to be a monster. I could make you cry and scream and wish for death." You sob loudly, fighting to free yourself as he presses his half-hard length against your centre through the layers of clothing separating the two of you.

"If I wanted to fuck you, I would. If I wanted to show you how much of a fucking monster I can be, I would. Because I can. And there's nothing you can do about it. You'll never be strong enough to fight back, strong enough to run. You belong to me now. Realize it. Embrace it. And don't fucking get on my bad side or you'll regret it."

He pushes off of you, kneeling between your legs and glaring down at you where you lay. You're shaking and sobbing, but he gives no indication that he cares.

"You haven't seen a monster yet, but test me again and I'll show you what a monster really looks like." You hiccup another sob, eyes staying trained on him. He glares at you for a moment longer before spitting at you. You flinch, humiliation pumping through your body as he chuckles.

"You're pathetic," he whispers, pushing himself off of the bed and leaving the room without another word.

You stay trembling and crying on the bed for what feels like hours after that, not moving for fear of aggravating your captor and your injured leg.

Meanwhile, Bucky sits in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand and regret swimming in his mind. He didn't mean to hurt you so bad, but you calling him a monster when you have no idea what he's been through? He won't tolerate that. He needed to put you in your place. To show you who you belong to. If you cooperate, you can enjoy yourself but if you misbehave, you'll be punished.

~*~

You're not sure when you fall asleep, but you're slowly roused from your slumber by a warm tongue sweeping itself over your clit.

A soft moan leaves your lips and your roll your hips gently, sleep clouding your thoughts.

The mouth disappears only to be replaced by something hot and big. Your eyelids flutter before slowly opening, and you feel confusion fill you as a big body hovers over you.

"Wh-what...?" You trail off, mouth dropping open in a silent moan as the man pushes his cock inside of you, stretching you out in the most perfectly painful way.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" He asks, voice thick and husky, the slightest twinge of a Russian accent decorating his words. Your hands find his shoulders and you blink a few times, the events of the day rushing into your brain.

"Wait... s-stop..." He doesn't. Instead, he cradles your head in his hands and presses gentle kisses to your face.

"You're okay. It feels nice. You like it. It feels good when you listen." His voice is so deep and perfect... you can't help but nod.

"This is what you're here for," he grunts, pumping into you harder. He grabs your hips and pulls out of you, only to flip you onto your stomach.

"This is why they brought you here. You're here for me to fuck. For me to have." He pushes back in and you gasp as he hits deeper than before.

"Yeah... feels so good... you were made for me, weren't you?" You find yourself nodding to his words again. He fucks into you hard and fast, his mind focused on his own release.

"Your cunt is so nice and tight and wet. So perfect for me. Waiting for me to fuck it, destroy it." You mewl in response, arching your back as he pounds into you, the slap of his hips against your ass making you even wetter for him.

You block out the shame of it all, ignore the fact that a few hours ago, this man was hurting and humiliating you.

His thrusts stutter for a moment before he picks up the pace again, this time reaching his metal fingers around to toy with your clit. "Gonna make you cum on my cock. You might not admit it, but you fuckin' love getting used like a dirty little whore. You like having your pussy fucked full of my fat cock. You fucking love it." 

Your body starts convulsing, pussy clenching hard around him as he pushes you over the edge into an orgasm. Your eyes roll back, head spinning at the intensity of it.

"Fuckin' feel that... fuck... Fuck!" He spills inside of you, warm white filling you up then spilling out over your swollen cunt.

He pulls out and collapses on the bed beside you, panting hard. Your body aches, pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing while his seed spills out of you, staining the sheets.

You lower your hips and stretch out on your stomach, catching your breath and riding the aftershocks of your climax.

He rubs your back gently and you're surprised by the intimate and kind gesture.

"You only get punished when you're bad," he whispers. You don't acknowledge him and he sighs.

"I'll probably come to you again tonight, and I'll probably be rougher. I can't control myself when he takes over. If you fight back then it'll only be worse for you. Just lie back and take it, okay?" You still say nothing, yelping when his hand comes down hard on your ass. "Okay," you finally whisper, skin burning where he hit you.

"Good. Now, I'm gonna go make dinner. I expect you down in half an hour." He climbs off the bed without another word and leaves the room.

You stay there, silent tears sliding down your face at the fact that this man just fucked you, but worse, you liked it.

~*~

Dinner is silent, you limping to the table and wincing every time you shift your weight. Your ass burns, your pussy aches, and you definitely tore something in your thigh.

But Bucky seems to be in good spirits.

You only manage to force down a few bites before you push your plate away, stomach flipping uncomfortably.

“Eat,” he says, staring at your full plate then looking up to your eyes.

“I’m not hungry,” you whisper, voice rough and scratchy from the way he crushed your throat earlier. He sighs heavily and tosses his fork onto the table, leaning forward to look at you.

“My goal wasn’t to hurt you. Just to show you that I’m only a monster if you want me to be. I can be nice to you. I made you cum twice while you slept.” 

That explains the deep throb in your pussy.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I think they’re right. I need you. More importantly, the soldier needs you. I think I'll be able to control him better. I know you’re not the biggest fan of this, but you’ve gotta admit that you enjoyed it.” You say nothing, but the way you shift in your seat makes him grin.

“This can be good for both of us. Just relax and accept it. I won’t hurt you again, not on purpose. And not unless you give me a reason to.” You simply nod, not wanting to be having any type of conversation with this man.

“Hate it all you want, but you can’t deny your body’s reaction to me. Just give in.” You glare at your plate, the word ‘monster’ bouncing around in your mind as he resumes eating as if he isn't holding you hostage here.

~*~

You can’t sleep. Your body aches too much and you’re far too terrified of him visiting you in the form of the Soldier.

It’s a little past two in the morning, and you’re fighting your heavy lids when the door to what he deemed as ‘your’ bedroom opens.

His eyes are dark and distant, and you know that this isn’t the same man as before.

He’s naked, cock hanging freely between his legs. An impressive nine inches of thick, hard flesh, waiting to abuse your cunt yet again.

He climbs onto the bed and pulls the blankets away from your body. You try to relax, you really do, but with the rough way he strips you of your clothes, it’s hard not to panic.

His hands come beside your head as he situates himself between your thighs, his huge frame making you feel even smaller and even more intimidated. He nudges his hard cock at your entrance and you wince as he pushes in with little preparation.

It stings. The stretch and pull off his cock dragging against your walls.

He gives you no time to get adjusted before he starts a fast and borderline brutal pace, not giving a single fuck about the way he’s abusing your pussy. You whimper, hands coming up and instinctively pushing against his shoulders to try and get him to slow down.

He mutters something in Russian, then grabs your hands and pins them above your head, squeezing your wrists together tightly in his metal hand. You yelp in pain, trying to twist into a more comfortable position. He doesn’t let up and you accept the pain, allowing it to distract you from the vicious way he’s fucking you. His other hand grabs your legs and pulls them up over his shoulders, leaning down so his body is hovering just above yours.

His hips slam into you, cock hitting your cervix painfully with each thrust.

“Ow! S-slow down, please! I-it hurts!” You beg him to have mercy, and he quickly grows tired of hearing your voice. The hand supporting his weight comes up and presses hard on your throat. With no free hands, he presses harder against your wrists to keep himself upright, the pressure on your neck growing with each savage thrust of his hips.

The edges of your vision start to get spotty and black, your mouth parted in a desperate attempt to drag in a breath of air. Your body starts going numb, and soon you can’t even feel him inside of you. Your ears start to ring and after a painfully long moment, the world goes black.

The soldier continues fucking your pliant body, even after you’ve passed out. He fucks you hard and fast until he finally finishes.

He cums hard, filling you up with his seed and leaving his mark on your abused walls. He pulls out of you with a soft grunt, then leaves you alone and unconscious in the middle of the bed, cum painting your swollen pussy white, and bruises already forming on your wrists and neck.

~

[star-lemonade]

School reunion (1/3)

A.C.E Junhee x Reader

Cw: bulling, kinda angsty, Junhee is a sweet heart though

Rating: T (Series R)

Word count: 3.6 k

Summary: You hire someone to accompany you to your school reunion.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. The laptop sat on the kitchen table and the page in the browser was taunting you. You stared at the screen from your spot against the kitchen counter. The empty boxes waited for you to fill in your information. Should I really do this?

You sighed and filled some water into the kettle just to delay having to make a decision. The other thing on the kitchen table was not better. It was an invitation to your school reunion. The reunion was scheduled for the Saturday of the following week at your old school. School. Even the address on the paper brought a bad taste to your mouth.

“You’re so ugly, who would ever date you?”

“I dare you to kiss her.”

“Yak not even for money”

You shuddered. No, no, there is no way I will go there alone. You sat down at the table and began to fill in the form. Name, address, phone and age. On the next page they asked about the occasion or event and you typed: school reunion.

Time? about 3 hours. I won’t stay there for too long.

Gender preference? Hmm I don’t actually care. ‘Don’t care’ was not an option, so you chose ‘man preferred’ over the ‘man only’, ‘woman preferred’ and ‘woman only’ options.

Age preferences? 25-35. I can’t show up there with an 18 year old.

Your finger hovered over the enter button. The shadow of your school days was still haunting you and made your hand heavier until you finally clicked check out.

You had officially rented a plus one for your school reunion.

A day after you had filled out the form you received a message from an unknown number.

“Hello, this is Junhee. I will accompany you to your school reunion next week. Would it be okay if I asked some questions so I can prepare?”

“Hi, Junhee. What do you want to know?”

“How should I introduce myself?”

You chewed on your lip. As you typed the next message your face felt warm.

“As my boyfriend.”

It felt so sad to ask this of a total stranger and you prayed he would not judge you for it. Please don’t question this, please don’t question this.

“How long have we been together?”

I guess that is a valid question someone could ask. You thought about it for a moment. It should not be too short but also not too long. The fact that you did know much about each other would make it not believable that you are together for years.

“A few months maybe?”

He asked a few more questions like “where and how did we meet?” (“at work while getting coffee”) and you answered them with whatever struck your mind.

“Okay. I think this is enough for me. Thank you!”

You sighed. This was actually more complicated than you had anticipated. At least now it felt real as opposed to just a scam to get money from people. Three dots appeared on your screen again.

“One last thing. This is also in the terms of service, but we all must remind our customers about this: I am not a hooker and you did not book sexual favours.”

Your face burned when you read that. Surely no one had asked for that before, had they?

“Of cause not, I just don’t want to go alo-”

Before you really thought about it, you had accidently pressed ‘send’ instead of backspace. Oh no. OH NO.

“Shit.”

My escort knows how pathetic I am. ‘As if he did not know before’ another part of you interjected. Your phone vibrated again.

“It’s okay, I will do my best to keep you company :)”

You did not know what to answer and just send:

“Thank you.”

As the reunion neared you found yourself thinking about it more. A sort of dread had settled in your chest. After all these years you would finally face your bullies. The people who had belittled you for not been pretty enough and made you believe that you could never find anyone who loved you. The worst thing was it seemed that they were right. You were single and you even had to hire someone… no. No, you would not let them get to you. The past years had been the happiest you had ever been. You had friends, even if they were not many, and you did well at your job. There was nothing not to be proud of. Even if you were single now, that did not mean you were unlovable. It just meant that you had not met a person that fit. You would walk in there, head held high and show those petty bitches you were not afraid of them anymore.

Your mood oscillated between confident and anxious for the whole week. You did not want to give them the satisfaction of knowing you were still so affected by them, that their mere presence could make you stay away. No, you had to go. Like this you killed the time to the day of the reunion.

You had rented a dress from a rental service. It was not too fancy but you simply did not own that many dresses and the ones you had did not seem appropriate. Someone on the organizing committee had decided that nice dresses and suits were what they wanted to see. You had messaged Junhee to wear something appropriate for that dress code.

“In a few hours it’s over.”

Your mirror image was not convinced by this but it was all you could do now. Backing out last minute would make you look bad, even if you really wanted to. All of this seemed like a bad idea. What if they found out that you had hired someone to play your boyfriend? You would be the laughing stock of the whole school and this after you had not been in school for years. For a moment you considered just taking off the dress, putting on some sweaters and sitting down on the couch. Your phone made a noise. A new message had arrived.

“At 5 pm at the station, right?”

Junhee.

“Yes. See you there.”

As if it was mocking you, the sun shone from a bright blue sky. The people on the street smiled more than you had seen in some time. On the other hand it was maybe your imagination. Now that you were walking to what could be the worst night of your recent history, everyone seemed in a better state than you.

You arrived at the station.

“I’m wearing a red dress.”

Maybe the dress was a bit much. It had seemed like a good idea. Wearing red would make you stand out. Now, however, that was the opposite of what you wanted to do. Fading into the background, turning invisible and just straight up going back home was what you really wanted right now. The only thing that was that held you back was the thought of the money you had spent upfront for your plus one.

Two young women stopped next to you. One of them sat her backpack down and tried to stuff a paper bag into it.

“Should I help?”

Her friend watched her struggle with amusement. Despite her offer she did not help backpack girl but looked around instead.

You shifted your attention to your phone. Junhee had seen your message. Good. I hope he will be here soon. So we can get this over with.

“Jeez, I wish my boyfriend looked like that,” the girl said as her friend proclaimed: “I’m done. Let’s go.”

Backpack girl dragged her friend away. At least she had a boyfriend. It was not like you needed a man in your life but it would be nice sometimes. Next week I will try tinder. From past experience that was not likely but the thought alone seemed to pacify your mind for now. Getting a boyfriend was future-you’s problem. Present-you had to worry about that goddamn school reunion.

Someone said your name.

“Hmm?”

You were not sure which part shocked you the most: the crisp black suit that hugged the man’s body perfectly, the curly dark hair that looked straight out of a romcom, the beautiful lips and handsome face, the million dollar smile or the soft voice that said your name. It was hard to choose.

“Ehm?”

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Junhee.”

“ID please.”

You showed it to the sour faced student behind the supermarket counter. He nodded and you paid. Buying hard alcohol in broad daylight was highly suspicious but this situation called for it. You definitely could not do this sober. Junhee had sat down on a bench not too far from the supermarket. The black suit and white dress shirt fit him perfectly. It was as if watching a photo shoot for the next wedding catalog. Oh, this is a catastrophe. You unscrewed the bottle and took a good mouthful. The cheap alcohol burned in your mouth and all the way down. No one in their right mind would believe he is my boyfriend. It could not be more obvious that you had hired him. Junhee watched the cars go by. The sun made his hair seem more brown than black and the light breeze moved the soft locks. You took another gulp and stuffed the bottle in your handbag. Did I accidentally book a model? There had not been an option for that of course. I should have asked for a photo. You left the store and walked over to Junhee. Maybe I should just send him home and go drink at a bar.

When he saw you, Junhee stood up. His charming smile filled you with dread. This is a car crash waiting to happen.

“Did you get everything?”

You nodded. Soon the alcohol would hit your brain. Maybe then you would care less about everything. You could not bring yourself to send Junhee away. He had come here, looking sharp and you had paid money for him to be here. Your stinginess won against better judgment, so your only option was the original one: go to your old school.

It felt like there was a black cloud of doom that thickened as you got nearer. The bad experiences from the past made every step you took towards that hell hole more difficult. You wanted to run away.

“Can I take your hand?”

Junhee. You had almost forgotten about him. He had not said anything for the past ten minutes or so. Maybe he felt that now was not a good time to talk. You offered your hand. He interlaced his fingers with yours. It had been some time since you held someone’s hand and it made your heart beat faster. Or maybe it was the liquor.

You turned the corner and there it was. The building looked the same as in your memory. Whoever had the idea of starting the evening here before instead of going to a restaurant directly, did not have your gratitude. Walking through the front door stiffly, you clenched your hands. Your whole body was tense. You were ready to fight or flee at any second.

Voices were coming from the gym. Next to the open door stood a table. On it were pens and stickers. As you approached a woman came through the door and smiled at you. It was the most fake smile you had seen in some time.

“Welcome! Please make a name tag for yourself.”

She made a swiping gesture to the table. You let go of Junhee’s hand and wrote your name on a sticker. The woman watched Junhee as he made a tag for himself. You had never been the jealous type but right then wanted to claw her eyes out.

“Have fun.”

You almost felt her looking as you entered the gym. The hall was filled with bar tables groups had formed and all eyes were on you. At one of the empty tables you stopped.

“I will get something to drink. What do you want?”

You barely heard your own answer over the ringing in your ears. The ceiling had been decorated but it made the hall seem more shabby. As if the paper garlands were only there to hide the cracks in the grey concrete. You looked around.

They looked back at you from the other table, pointed and smirked at each other. Your bullies. They looked old. The ten years since graduation had carved lines into their faces but they tried to hide it by applying too much makeup.

You felt sick.

“Hey.”

A hand landed on your shoulder and you jerked. Junhee pulled back his hand. He studied your face.

“Do you want to leave?”

You looked up. Leave? Leaving meant giving up. They won if you left. No, no you were strong. Your hand strangled your purse. You would not run away from them. Junhee‘s brown eyes watched the tremor in your hand.

“Let’s go,” he whispered and took your hand. Your skin was cold and sweaty against his as Junhee dragged you out. You were so shocked, you did not even say anything until you had left through the front door.

“Stop!”

You ripped your hand free from his grasp.

“You should not stay there any longer.”

“That is not your call to make,” you snapped at him.

His face flushed.

“No, but it is the right one.”

Before you could talk back he continued in a calm tone: “You don’t care about any of those people and they don’t care about you.”

He waved his hands.

“I don't know what happened in the past but you are not here to meet some old friends.”

Your eyes burned. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s humiliating. You tried to blink the tears away but your vision blurred.

“Not here.”

Junhee grabbed your shoulder and led you away. The tears fogged your vision, so you just followed wherever he was going. Your feet moved on their own accord and you were thankful for it. Holding back an undignified sob took up all your mental capacity.

“Sit.”

You collapsed on the bench. There was nothing holding the tears back now. You looked like an idiot in front of everyone. Your bullies had seen you turn up with an escort only to run away the second they looked at you. And now you cried on a bench in front of said escort. How pathetic had your life become? You had not felt this bad since leaving school.

Get a grip. There was nothing to be done here. You did not feel better by telling yourself this, but at least one of these could be fixed. Try to stop crying.

You concentrated on a point on the ground. The concrete was cracked there and something green had started to push its way to the surface. Plants are amazing. They can even exist in these places.

Your eyes still burned and your nose was all clogged up, but you had stopped crying.

“I’m sorry, Junhee.”

You looked up. There was no one around. When did he leave? You sighed and your eyes burnt again. I guess it is just that kind of day. Going home sounded like a good idea but you could not bring yourself to get up. The weight of your sorrows kept you on the bench. You could not even blame Junhee for leaving either. Usually you were very composed and rarely had outbursts of any kind, but today was just not your day.

“Here.”

A bottle of water entered your field of view. Your gaze followed the arm that was holding it up until you met Junhee’s eyes. You took the bottle and almost cried again because he was still here. For better or worse he had not abandoned you on a bench.

The water was cold. It had clearly been in a fridge not too long ago.

“Thank you.”

Junhee sat down next to you and waited while you drank the water. This day, although it was not over, was already a train wreck. Very carefully Junhee asked: “Can we get something to eat?”

You nodded slowly. Food was not a bad idea. You had skipped lunch because you had not been hungry at the time.

“Sure.”

Junhee stood up and looked around, hands on his hips. He turned to you and asked in a hushed tone:

“Where do we have to go?”

There was nothing funny about it but you laughed anyway. Junhee looked like a lost puppy and when he saw you laughing, he pouted. Now this really was funny.

“The station is that way.”

Junhee looked at his phone. He took off his tie and pocketed it.

“Technically I’m free to go now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “We just got here and ordered food and you want to go?” was what you wanted to say but swallowed it. You were still embarrassed and grateful that Junhee was there with you. He had made dumb jokes all the way to your favorite restaurant. It was almost on the other end of town but it was the only place you wanted to be right now.

“So, you wanna leave?”

“Leave? No, no!”

He waved his hands frantically.

“I … meant I’m not here because of work now.”

The soju had painted Junhee’s cheeks a rosy red. It looked good on him.

“What do you do when you don’t do this?”

You gestured vaguely at you and him sitting together in your favorite restaurant. Surely it had to be model or something like that just based on what you had seen so far. Technically you were not supposed to ask personal questions but your contract was done. Technically.

“I’m a student. I study computer science, but I will graduate soon.”

He took a sip from his drink. That rang a bell in the back of your mind. Computer science? Someone was talking to me about that not long ago. Who was it?

The waiter came and set your food on the table. He opened the lid of the barbecue that was mounted in the table.

“Have a good meal.”

“Thank you.”

When you left the restaurant, the sun had set. You felt a little awkward. It had been nice spending time with Junhee even if you had been very distressed earlier. Before you could really think about it, the words fell from your mouth.

“Thank you for spending the day with me. It was nice.”

You did not look at him. It felt unnatural but you meant it and had to say it.

“It was nice for me too.”

Junhee’s hair was not as neat as earlier. The waves had flattened and the way he always combed it left it looking disheveled. His cheeks were flushed from the food and the drinks.

You were not sure what to say. “Goodbye for ever” seemed a bit odd.

“Good luck with your studies. See you around.”

“Goodbye.”

You left Junhee at the restaurant and walked home. It was not too far so you could walk. The night air was refreshing after the stuffy restaurant. It also cleared the dryness of your eyes and nose.

Your apartment was dark and empty. You took a quick shower, put on your pyjamas and went to bed. The day had been emotionally exhausting and you were drifting into the fuzzy precursor to sleep. Your mind drifted through some memories and thoughts but nothing was clear. It hit you. You were wide awake because your brain had found the answer to the question. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand. The light from the screen nearly blinded you.

John, a name he had chosen because none of his overseas clients could pronounce ‘Seungmin’, was the CTO of a company that had their offices in the same building as your company. Without thinking much about it you sent Junhee John’s number.

“He is looking for some computer science people. Maybe that’s something for you. Anyways good luck and best wishes.”

You tried not to think too much about that day. It still felt like a defeat even months later. You had run away from your bullies. They had looked at you and you had folded. It was a bitter memory. The logical part of you noted that it was not worth your time, that you should focus on the tasks at hand and live your life.

You spent time with your friends and on your hobbies. Indeed your spirits lifted slowly. The less time you spent ruminating about the past the more time you could spend on other things.

“Let’s get lunch. I’m starving.”

You agree with your colleague. You grabbed your phone and keys. Your colleague was already at the elevator and held open the door.

Two floors down the elevator stopped and the door opened.

“Hey!”

John and some of his staff entered. You waved and smiled. John was a man in late 40 or early 50s, you had never asked, but he gave off the youthful energy of someone who loved his job. A ‘ding!’ announced the closing of the doors but John jammed his leg and arm between it.

“Hurry up, newbie! We can’t have you starve on the first day!”

Steps echoed in the hallway and the newbie flew into the tight space. The young man had dark hair and wore round glasses. With the dark blue sweater and the jeans he gave off the youthful vibe of a university student. He was very handsome and your face burnt.

Junhee.

[watermelonlipstick]

Nerves (Request)

This was my first request, and it was fun to write! Anon wanted a reader around Sam’s age whose nerves Dean mistakes for fear until he confronts her about them. Thanks for reading, and of course I would love any advice or critiques!! If you have a request, drop it in my inbox and I’ll definitely write it if I feel like I can do it justice. Just a little bit of weekend fluff. 

Title: Nerves

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Word Count: 2715

Summary: When helping Sam’s college friend, the reader, Dean can’t figure out why she’s so scared of him. 

gif from forgetthisbull

“Dude, Dean, I’m serious. Don’t be a fucking creep to her,” Sam said, shutting the door to the Impala and following his brother into a greasy spoon called Little Bavaria with white scalloped curtains.  

“Dude, Dean, I’m serious,” Dean mimicked in a nasal sing-song. “And when am I ever a creep?”

Sam glared at Dean in exasperation. “Please? Just please? Can I have one friend you don’t hit on?”

“Fine! Drop it!” Dean snapped, yanking open the door and pulling his face immediately into a saccharine smile for the rosy-cheeked grandma-type standing behind a cash register that could not have been made after 1983.

“Thank you,” Sam said, obviously relieved. He scanned the room before seeing her sitting in a back booth.

You waved excitedly to Sam as he walked toward you, looking like a sun-kissed and confident man rather than the floppy haired boy you remembered.

As the brothers made their way over to you, a waitress dropped off plasticized menus and glasses of water. Sam waited for you to stand up before wrapping you in a bear hug. He smelled clean and familiar in a way that made you feel slightly lighter immediately.

“I like the new hair, it looks good on you,” he said, charming as ever.

You reflexively touched your head. “Oh! Right, I forgot that was after college. You look great!”

Sam’s smile was easy and wide as he turned to Dean. “This is my brother Dean.”

Dean raised a few fingers in a weak wave, decidedly not giving you anything Sam could construe as bedroom eyes or a flirtatious smirk. “Nice to meet you. Sorry it isn’t under better circumstances.”

“Yeah, well,” you trailed off.

“Should we sit?” Sam asked, graciously offering you an out.

After the requisite coffees and Dutch babies were ordered, Sam looked across the table angelically. “I’m really sorry this is happening,” he said, his voice smooth and soothing.  It was all Dean could do not to roll his eyes, one arm slung across the booth behind Sam as he slouched back. He tried for the appearance of nonplussed neutrality. “If it’s okay with you, I think you should stick around us until we figure this out. I don’t want to leave you alone in that house,” Sam urged.

You kept the relief off your face better than you’d expected you would. You were trying to play it cool in front of Sam and his hopelessly cute older brother, but you were scared enough of going back your new house that you just repeated what they ordered, unable to focus even on the menu. As you had been doing for the last day and a half since you called, you thanked God for the small instinct to call Sam. Sam, who you hadn’t seen in a few years but was the least judgmental person you’d known in school. Somehow you knew even if he thought you were crazy he would come anyway. Now he was here, bigger and looser than you’d remembered, not making fun of or pitying the girl who thought her house was haunted, and you felt like you could take a deep breath for the first time in weeks. In a weaker moment you might’ve cried, and for that reason it was better that Sam had brought his brother. It might not have been so embarrassing to break down with an old friend, but you couldn’t ugly-cry in front of the Rebel Without A Cause at the table, all pillowy lips and long eyelashes. Distractedly you tried to remember if Dean looked this good in the two or three pictures Sam had scotch-taped to his dorm wall but couldn’t call them up. You channeled all the chill-girl energy you could muster and shrugged. “If you think that’s better, I can.”

“I do, yeah. It’s just that we don’t know what’s going on yet,” Sam offered. “If you need to get some stuff from your place, we can come with you. Right, Dean?”

“Sure,” Dean said, his tone clipped and his lips pressed tight. “Whatever Sammy wants.”

You heard a thump under the table and Dean smiled slightly more reassuringly.

Over breakfast Sam had about a hundred questions about everything you’d been up to lately. He seemed genuinely interested as you told him about the new job you’d moved here for, wanting to know more about the goofy drama between your coworkers and odd clients as though it was fascinating. You’d forgotten how much you desperately missed him until you saw the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and heard his laugh twinkle out over the coffee steam and powdered sugar. All the while, Dean seemed to be boring into you with those green eyes, sometimes adding a meaningless trite comment or chuckle but not genuinely engaging. You tried only partly successfully to ignore him, focusing on Sam and your food and how nice it was to feel safe.

3 cups of weak coffee after you’d finished eating, knowing you’d be jittery but not caring from the giddiness of the reunion, Dean took out his wallet and threw about double what you’d guessed the tab might be down in cash. “Should we go get your stuff?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you answered, taking one last sip before getting up from the table. A look you couldn’t decipher passed between Sam and Dean so quickly that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been staring right at them. You followed the boys out of the restaurant, feeling a very odd and fleeting moment of jealousy when Dean thanked and winked at the older woman behind the cash register, giving her a slow languid smile like warm honey. He was so pretty. As quickly as the thought had come over you, it was replaced with disgust at yourself. At a time like this, when your whole world was in chaos, you were worried about some hot guy—who clearly wasn’t into you from the way he was acting—instead of your own safety. You were still cursing yourself mentally when you slid into the back of the gigantic black car they’d arrived in.

Sam’s friend was cute. Like, really cute. Beautiful, even, and Dean was beyond annoyed that this was the one time he promised Sam he wouldn’t hit on one of his friends. Not that it seemed to matter, because she only had eyes for Sam. It was like she melted when she saw him, staring only straight at his kid brother all through the time they stayed at the breakfast spot. If Dean was being honest with himself, he was more than a little hurt, not used to being looked at with anything less than adoration by the women he wanted. What added even more salt to the wound than the way she seemed so infatuated with Sam was the way that she looked when she saw Dean. Dean peddled in monsters and the looks of attractive women, and he knew fear when he saw it. He’d spent the rest of breakfast with Sam’s comment about him being a creep running through his mind on a loop, careful not to lean too close into her or say anything less than strictly G-rated. Unfortunately, that limited him more severely than he realized it would.

When she got into the back of the Impala, she sat straight up like she was in a cotillion class, not comfortable enough even to sit normally in his car. Was Sam right? Was he a creep? Dean suddenly felt weird and predatory, like maybe the blood and guts of hunting was changing him in some irreparable way that people could sense. He tried to smile agreeably the way Sam did up at her in the rearview mirror and saw a shark reflected back at him. Looking quickly away, Dean put both hands on the wheel the way he thought someone non-threatening would.

It didn’t help that Sam thought something was off, which meant Dean wasn’t pulling off his act and maybe couldn’t even pretend like he wasn’t the kind of person who makes a beautiful girl’s eyes go wide in fear. Each time Sam had side-eyed or kicked him under the table, the point was re-emphasized. Dean was desperate to relax but worried he’d freak this poor girl out somehow, so he kept himself tightly wound as he took directions to her house.

By the time they’d finally figured out the problem—not, as you thought, that your house was haunted but that a coworker was in fact a witch trying to torment you—the three of you had gotten into a semi-comfortable rhythm. You were crashing on the couch in their motel room, carrying your toiletries into and out of the bathroom every morning like you were at sleepaway camp and trying to keep your clothes as wrinkle-free as possible while living out of a suitcase. Some parts of it were so nice; you were still just as grateful for the protection you felt as you had been in that café, and you had forgotten how comforting it was just to know there was someone else around. Other parts, however, were not. You hadn’t slept on a couch, let alone a scratchy-creaky motel one, for so many days since college, and you were remembering why. On top of that, Dean was so compelling that it felt like you expended half of your energy each day just trying to keep yourself from staring at him.

And naturally, the more you got to know him the harder it got. He was not only the pretty boy that was obvious from the first time you met, but also so kind and respectful, seeming to be very aware of the potential discomfort of immediately sleeping in the same room as a strange man and giving you a wide berth for as much privacy as possible. He even picked up coffee in the mornings before you and Sam got up, that first day getting a black coffee, a nonfat latte, and ‘whatever the coffee guy said was most popular’ because he didn’t know what you’d like. If anything, it felt almost as though he was being a bit too gentle, and you wondered if Sam had told Dean you were some kind of fragile and delicate bird that startled easily. When you’d asked Sam about it after a couple days, he just shrugged and said he hadn’t really told Dean much other than some stories from college. You decided to drop it. Maybe Dean was just like this, which made it all the harder not to develop the kind of crippling, blushing, oh-my-god-is-he-going-to-sit-next-to-me crush you hadn’t felt since middle school.

When the coworker had been ‘taken care of’—a careful answer from Dean that you chose not to pursue—you were left feeling unmoored. It wasn’t like you could go back to the now-destroyed house, or even imagine how you’d explain away the chaos of the last couple weeks to the few people you knew here. Sam seemed to pick up on it intuitively, and offered for you to come along with him and his brother until you figured out what you were going to do next. Like it had when he had driven across the country and tossed you the last life raft over the formica table at Little Bavaria, it felt like Sam was saving you. He seemed excited when you said you would, and was out grabbing sandwiches for the road while you and Dean packed up the motel room when Dean asked if he could borrow you for a minute.

You were so embarrassed at the small, cartoonish voice that agreed, sitting on the side of the bed while Dean draped himself effortlessly—God, how could he look so cool even just sitting down—over the arm of the sofa.

“I, uh, if you’re going to come on the road with us I think we should talk,” he started. Your pulse started thumping in your chest and you hoped you weren’t blushing as you raised your eyebrows, signaling for him to continue. Dean cleared his throat and fiddled with his ring before continuing. “Listen, I don’t know how much Sam told you before we met, or whatever, but I swear I’m really not that bad.”

You’d been focusing so hard on not looking desperately infatuated that you weren’t able to keep the surprise off your face. “Bad? Of course not, you’ve been amazing. You and Sam saved my life. I’m so grateful,” you sputtered.

“Right,” Dean said, looking slightly confused. “Then I’m sorry if I did something maybe, because I don’t want you to think I’m some, like, animal—”

You cut him off. “Dean, you’ve been unbelievably sweet, way above and beyond what you needed to do. I’ve felt so safe the entire time I’ve been with you guys, and now you’re letting me stay with you for even longer; I don’t know how I can repay you, seriously.”

Dean looked up at you, his confusion tinged around the edges of his eyes with something wounded. “Then why are you so scared of me? You jump whenever I come in the room, you only look at Sam, you don’t even slouch when I’m around. I know I can’t do Sam’s puppy dog eyes act, but come on, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You act like you’re waiting for me to sock you.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again, realizing you didn’t know what to say. It was hard enough to think with Dean’s eyelashes sweeping over his cheekbones like the most delicious metronome you’d ever seen, let alone process what he was saying. “I—Dean, I’m not scared of you,” you finally squeaked. His face didn’t change with the spark of recognition that would’ve allowed you to stop there with a soggy handful of dignity left, and you took a deep breath to steel yourself to continue. “God, this is so embarrassing,” you murmured under your breath. “Okay,” you started, hoping your voice sounded resolute and firm. “I mean, it’s just that you’re so cute, and cool, and self-assured, and I was worried I was going to do something weird or whatever, and now I guess I have anyway. I’m truly sorry if I made you uncomfortable, or especially feel like I wasn’t anything other than thankful for you and everything you’ve done. I’ll try to act like less of a total freak, I promise.” 

You winced, waiting for the inevitable pity from this gorgeous man who must hear these proclamations from every woman he meets. Instead, Dean chuckled, which was maybe even worse. Pity you were ready for, could swallow and heal your ego from in private, but open ridicule was too much.

“Okay, well, that was fun. Sorry,” you said, smacking the tops of your legs and getting up from the bed. Dean grabbed one of your wrists as he pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his eyes.

“No, wait, sit down,” he said, smiling.

You obeyed, feeling a little lump of embarrassed tears forming in your throat but not seeing a way to extricate yourself from the room gracefully. Dean’s callused thumb swiped affectionately across the back of your hand.

“That is way better than what I thought,” he insisted.  “Sam made a big deal about how I shouldn’t act like a creep to you, and it got in my head. I thought I was coming off as a total perv or something.”

His eyes locked you in like quicksand before you could answer, not pitying or withering at all as you’d thought, just soft and tender and the impossible green of a perfect matcha. “No, I’m the perv here,” you offered, attempting to make light of your shyness.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweetheart,” Dean purred. Heat swelled up into your cheeks, and Dean brought your hand to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to the back of your hand as he gazed up at you.

As you were desperately scrolling through the Rolodex in your mind for something witty to say, Sam opened the door to the motel room. You were equally and fiercely relieved and stymied as his hulking frame filled the doorway, grabbing the duffel he’d left on the tile. “You guys ready?” he asked, his smile bright and carefree.

Dean dropped your wrist and winked at you as he got up from the couch unhurriedly. “More than ready, Sammy. Let’s hit the road.”

-

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass, @akshi8278​, @dream-believe-and-love​

[whumpingcrow]

Pt.18 "Poor Thing"

CW: noncon (explicit, 18+ please), dubcon, blood mention, injury mention, multiple whumper mention, whumpee in a collar, death mention, captivity whump, panic attack, alcohol, verbal abuse, homophobic slur, creepy/intimate whumper, August is pretty foul in this chapter so general warning for him, slight dehumanization (let me know if I missed anything!)

August didn't want Elias anymore. That had to be what was happening. Why else would he not come looking for him, why else was he allowing him to be used up and abused by all these strangers in this room the entire night? It seemed like each time one person came in and did something to him, they would leave and tell someone else, and it felt like it had stretched on for hours, and still August never came looking for him. He felt dirty, sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, covered in a sheen of sweat and tears and blood and people's disgusting fluids. His shirt was torn in some places, his shorts riding low on his hips, the only thing that remained perfectly intact was the collar around his neck, which someone had tightened further at some point and he couldn't figure out how to loosen again. August didn't want him anymore, so he was giving him up to be used by whoever else wanted to use him. And that was more painful than anything that had been done to him the last hour or two.

When the door opened again, Elias could have let out an anguished scream, tell them to leave him the absolute fuck alone and suck themselves off or use their left hand, but all he had the energy for was a hopeless flinch. He didn't even want to look up, a fire went shooting up his neck and through his jaw when he moved his head. He closed his eyes when the person approaching crouched down in front of him. Maybe if they saw how tired he was, they would take the hint and leave him alone. Instead, he felt a few slender ice cold fingers wrap around his wrist, slowly lifting his hand away from his body.

"I...I can't," he sniffled weakly, his voice wobbly and far away, "please. Please, I can't." He said it without much conviction, all hope that anyone would be able to understand him was long gone, and so his begging had been reduced to tiny, feeble whines, for the most part.

The person let out a soft hushing sound, then something cool and smooth was pressed into his palm. When he got up the courage to open his eyes, he was surprised to see a glass of water being pushed into his hand. He looked up at the person, at the young woman with wild orange hair and a round face that he couldn't find any outright malicious intent behind. She let go of his wrist, then tipped the bottom of the glass until it fell against his lips. He didn't realize how thirsty he was until the cold liquid hit his parched throat, and he guzzled it down gratefully. It tasted better than anything he'd ever had, he felt tears in his eyes at how grateful he was for it.

"Are you hurt?" She finally asked him. Her accent was heavy, her voice low and silvery. He could openly sob at how kind she was speaking to him, and the fact that it was in English.

"Oh," he breathed, his chin dropping to his chest as he relaxed from the stress that was turning his muscles to stone, "p-please can you find...can you help me find August?" He begged.

"I...I can. But are you hurt? You're bleeding." As she said it, she reached out with the skirt of her dress and wiped away some blood from his mouth.

"I'm ok. Th-think I got slapped a couple times." He took a deep, shuddery breath, then all at once realized she wasn't going to hurt him and he felt an overwhelming relief set in, one that tore a broken sob through his throat. "Oh god. Jesus fuck."

"You're alright. Do you have a name?" She sunk back to a sitting position, one that probably would be considered unladylike in her flowing dress, and watched him carefully. He was confused as to why she was sitting at his level, looking right at him, having spent the last few hours with people towering over him or suffocatingly close on top of him. He saw her eyes flick down to his collar, the tag there, but she didn't say Bunny, she only looked back up at him expectantly and waited for him to answer himself. He loved her at that moment.

"It's Elias." He cried, using the back of his hand to wipe the tears and sweat and grime from his cheeks.

"Ok Elias. My name is Camille." She hesitated for a moment, then readjusted her skirt. "Can I get you anything?"

Elias shook his head quickly, sniffing a few times. "Please don't leave me alone in here," he was rushing, pleading, "someone else will find me, please don't leave me here-"

"Ok, ok," she soothed, "I won't." She shifted a little, glancing up at the door nervously. "You...You’re not supposed to be here, are you? You have somewhere else you call home, right?”

Elias blinked at her, beginning to tremble all over. He thought about the truth, that he only came so that he didn't have to see someone die for the second time, someone that he loved more than anything. Suddenly he couldn't breathe, couldn't see anything, hear anything, besides Tyson crying, bleeding, begging him not to leave, as if he had a choice. He wanted nothing more than to be back in his arms, but he also knew August wouldn't just leave it at that, he would come back and hurt them both. He wasn’t worth all the pain and trouble, Tyson deserved better.

"I...I want to go home but it's not s-safe." He covered his face with shaking hands, trying to mute his frightened sobs.

"Why isn't it safe, Elias?" Timidly, she leaned forward, rubbing gently at his arm to try and calm him.

"August will hurt me... he'll hurt me and Tyson if I go back home. It's easier if I just stay here." Even as he said it, rushing the words out like he was afraid August would come and hear him speaking ill of him, his shoulders shook with his cries and he could hardly stay sitting upright.

Now Camille was silent, then she quickly pulled him against her chest and held him close, stroking through his unruly hair. The whines of despair he let out made her chest ache with pity, and she couldn't do enough to comfort him. She was so frightened for him, this was beyond what she was used to seeing, a person being kept in this condition. He was so torn up, so traumatized and haunted, and she didn't really want to think about what had been done to him before she found him. She'd heard others mumbling about a new toy in the other room, had heard “pet” thrown around a few times, but she didn't expect a person. And in this state, she could never live with herself if she just left him here.

"Listen to me," she began, using all of her might to keep her tone calm and even, "I'm going to help you. Where's your home?"

He was so tense and rigid in her arms, she could practically feel the conflict he had about telling her, he wanted to leave but he was so afraid, and she could feel his hopelessness starting to drip off of him and soak through her dress and onto her, too. "In Los Angeles," he breathed, "w-with Tyson Banks."

"Ok. I'll find him, and then I'll come back for you. Ok? Can you wait for me?"

He wept again, forcing himself to nod his head. He could wait, if it meant he could get back to Tyson, get home, he could wait.

She pulled away from him then, telling him that she would leave the room so that he could calm down. He felt better when she promised she would wait just outside the door for him, make sure no one would come in to bother him, and he could come to her if he needed anything.

The room was silent for the few moments that Elias was alone, and he could hear the laughter and loud voices of the drunk people through the walls. He couldn't comprehend how any of them could be having such a good time after seeing him in the state he was in now. He guessed that it was different to them, that it felt good to be the one in control, but he still felt baffled by it.

He didn't have much time to dwell on it before the door was swinging open. August stomped in, throwing a bitter look at Camille, who had foolishly just tried to convince him to stay out of the room. He shut the door behind him hard, then approached Elias with his face set in a frown.

"Where have you been?" He grumbled, taking in Elias’s newly disheveled state. "What happened to you?"

His tone was angry, and Elias realized then that August hadn't known what was happening, that what he allowed all of those people to do to him was wrong, and his lungs burned in newfound anxiety.

"I'm s-so sorry, August!" Elias cried, reaching up to grab at August's shirt to try and steady himself. His apology was desperate, despite how he couldn't force it to be very loud. He pulled himself to his wobbly knees with a huff. "I didn't want to do an-any of it but you told me...you told me I was made to be used and they wouldn't listen to me b-b-but I tried I t-"

"Shut up, Eli," August snapped at him, setting him on the edge of the bed and staring at him hard. Elias tried to sit straight, to not look so god damn used up and ugly, but he didn't think there was much he could do to pull that off, his grime felt heavily visible. August's voice was gravelly when he spoke again. "Who did this to you?" He looked over Elias again, shaking his head disdainfully at him when he was still silent, then snapped, "who the fuck did this?!"

Elias flinched, his eyes squeezing shut so he wouldn't have to see the strike he felt was coming. "I don't know! E-everyone! People just kept coming in and...and then when they left more people... I do-dont know!" He froze when August walked toward him, grabbing his shoulders aggressively as he did.

"What did they do?" Now his voice was eerily steady and calm, and he sounded bitterly furious, and Elias was shaking in every inch of his body. "What did they do to you?"

Having to think about it again, about the hands and the noises and the bodies and the constant breathlessness made Elias panicky again, and with an anguished sob he became pliable in August's bruising grip, subjecting himself to any punishment August saw fit. "E...everything." He cried, whimpering at how August's fingers pressed harder into the soft skin of his arms. "I'm s-so sorry!"

When August tossed him to the ground, he couldn't help the loud shriek of pain that he let out. He was already so tired and sore, he couldn't even peel himself off of the carpet once he was down. He felt...broken. Pathetic.

"You really are just a stupid fucking idiot, aren't you?!" August shouted at him, his voice erratic and full of poison. Elias had heard him angry before, sure, but he didn't think he'd ever heard this much fury in his words. He must have really messed up. Terror tightened around his lungs when August crouched down and grabbed the collar with both hands, yanking him forward until their faces were intimidatingly close and Elias could smell the alcohol on August's breath. "Does this mean nothing to you?! You are mine, you pathetic little faggot!"

He should apologize, he knew he should beg and plead and say that he was sorry because he was so disgusting and horrid, but he couldn't get any words out, he couldn't even breathe. He was completely paralyzed, aside from the horrible trembling, blown eyes staring into August's face as tears spilled down his cheeks. With hands at his throat and his windpipe uncomfortably crushed, he felt an icy dread, a realization that he wouldn't be saved this time, this time death would take him and keep him, and he was afraid. That girl, Camille, was going to help him, she said. She couldn't help him if he was dead.

"P...please, August," he finally forced out in a whisper, barely audible. "I-I-I’m so s-sorry, August. I'm y-yours, I know tha-that. Ple-please."

People were still laughing just outside. August was breathing heavily, Elias hardly at all, and for a moment, couldn't have been longer than one thud of Elias's wild heartbeat, August looked just as frightened as Elias felt.

Maybe it was how quiet Elias was, how he could barely get the words out, how horribly he was shaking and utterly unable to do anything to fight back or struggle, or maybe a combination of them all; but something about the way Elias was so pitifully shattered made August just...let go of him, dropping him back to the ground with a deep, tired sigh. He stood up, looking down at Elias as he curled into himself and choked out a few feeble whimpers. He stayed down for a few more moments, then he forced himself back up to his feet with a breathless whine, feeling August's interested gaze on him as he stumbled forward. August was waiting for him to topple over, with how run down he looked. He looked just about on his last leg, like a wounded beyond recovery animal that should be put out of his misery. August was starting to hate himself for selfishly keeping him alive in these conditions. Poor thing.

"They hurt you?" August asked, although his voice was only vaguely interested. Elias ignored the question entirely and instead nestled into August’s chest, not even caring that he didn't reciprocate the touch.

"M'sorry," he sighed heavily, closing his eyes, "s-so sorry, August."

With a disgruntled hum, August moved Elias away from him and started to undo the buttons on his shirt, watching him start to squirm, physically overwhelmed by the fear of being touched anymore than he had already been that night. He was silent, didn't have the means to beg August not to, but his body language practically screamed don't do this to me please no more I can't take it.

"Not gonna do anything, Bunny," August assured him, pulling his ruined shirt off of his slender shoulders carefully, "you're filthy, just gonna clean you off." Now that he was looking him over without the haze of anger over his eyes, he could really see how scared he looked, and he was appalled at himself on Elias's behalf. To be used and hurt and defiled by all those strangers, and here August had wanted to take it out on him, make him think it was his fault. Somewhere in his explanation he mentioned how August had said he existed to be used, he was only doing as he was told, how dare August punish him for that? And he couldn't be too sure, but he did sound remorseful with his apology, like he truly believed he was in the wrong, even though August knew he wasn't. Usually he loved when Elias was apologetic like this, but now it seemed to weigh so heavily on him and it was only depressing and bleak, not tragically beautiful like usual.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper with you," he said grudgingly, stroking Elias’s hair back and out of his face. His fingertips caught in a few knots and tugged just a little, and Elias flinched. "I'm just...I'm pretty drunk and I was upset that you'd disappeared."

Elias winced at the apology, like he couldn't handle the idea that August was in the wrong. "I told them I didn't want to. I said that you wouldn't like it, that I shouldn't, they didn't listen to me-"

"Angel," August cut him off, swiping at the tears on his cheek, "Elias, listen to me sweetheart. You're alright, I shouldn't have reacted that way." Elias whined in response, refusal to accept the obviously misplaced apology written all over his face. August could see the distant storm clouds of panic cycling back across Elias's face, in the way his eyebrows twitched and his eyes darted around the room, blinking furiously.

"N-no, I messed up. I messed up and I'm so fucking sorry I'm so sorry August ple-" before he could escalate back into hysteria, August pulled him into a tight embrace, swaying him side to side slowly. Every now and then a tremor made him collapse further into the hug, and he let out a small, pathetic mewl, and August wondered if it hurt to stand. Instead of asking, he just scooped him up into his arms and took him to the bed, holding him to his chest as he sank down to the mattress.

Because of the way he answered, August wasn't sure exactly what all those people had done to him, but it must have taken quite a toll on him, because within 15 minutes he was asleep, melted against the bed and August's chest heavily. August could feel Elias's fingers twitching slightly as he stroked his fingertips over his skin and through his hair melodically, telling himself it was just to make up for all the harshness of the past few hours, pretending he wasn't enjoying holding him so close and touching him so innocently.

He tried to ignore the buzzing of people just outside for a little longer, pretend that all the intolerable people weren't really there, drinking his booze and messing up his house like they hadn’t just put Elias through hell, but he had to slide out from under Elias eventually to get them to leave. He was glad that there were only a handful of stragglers left, all left with no issue. He poured himself another drink and forced himself to tidy up a little, but he couldn't find the motivation in his drunk, distressed state. Instead he went back to the bedroom, shedding his own clothes with exasperated grunts here and there, surprising himself by not spilling the drink in his hand.

He stopped in the doorway of the second guest room, observing Elias sleeping for a few minutes. He was still in the collar, his frail arms wrapped around himself to replace the warmth that left when August did. He wondered if Elias was really sorry, if he really believed he belonged to August, if any of what he said in his panicked or tortured states were true. He wanted it to be, he wanted his twisted pet to be devoted to him only, to need him, to ache for him, that was the point of all of this, wasn't it?

After he polished off his drink, he crawled slowly on top of Elias, watching him stir just a little before settling back into sleep. He kissed his nose gently, then his cheek, watching his lips twitch slightly when he kissed him there, then he let out a soft hum when August kissed his shoulder. His body was clinging onto sleep still, he probably wasn't even aware of the minuscule sounds he was making every time August's lips pressed into his skin. It was when his mouth was against Elias's rib cage, lapping at the rapid thumping of his heart and the uneven rise and fall of his breath, that he finally woke up, his hands dragging along the sheets until his fingers brushed against August's wrist.

"What are you doing?" He grumbled, his nose wrinkling as he forced himself into consciousness. He blinked a few times, looking fearfully up at August.

“I feel awful about what happened,” August mumbled, trailing his thumb down Elias’s sternum teasingly to his naval, “And I bet you none of those bastards even thought about making you feel good, huh? They all took whatever they wanted and didn’t think twice about you, right?”

A light blush caught on his tired face, and Elias had to tilt his head back because when August was looking up at him, so close, eyes hooded with alcohol and lust, it was too damn hard to look at him head on. He let out a soft sigh, too exhausted to beg August not to keep touching him and talking to him that way. "R...right."

"Poor thing. It's a damn shame, for them," he continued, "they don't know how much fun it is to make you feel good." He ran his palm the rest of the way down his stomach until his fingers latched onto the waistband of his shorts, tugging at them lazily.

"August I-" he began, but he was silenced as August reached up to hold his face. There was no use protesting, there never was. And August had been so unbelievably angry earlier, Elias didn't want to risk setting him off. He had to play it safe, he reminded himself, had to survive until Camille came back for him. He took his bottom lip into his mouth, could taste blood from the busted part of his mouth when he did.

"You can sleep if you want, Bunny. You just lay back and relax, let me take care of you." His finger trailed over Elias's throat, just above the tight collar he still had on, watching him quiver at the touch with a grin. Finally, he offered a reluctant nod, turning his head to the side in a sort of surrender.

August was still drunk, so it didn't take long for his touches to go from trying to make Elias feel better to selfishly toying with him. He had said Elias could sleep, but the closest he got to that was closing his eyes tight and pretending he wasn't awake, or there, or alive at all, feeling tears streaming down his cheeks. August didn't care that he was crying, in face at one point he leaned over and kissed a few of the tears away, whispering something of a lewd compliment in his ear.

Elias tried to convince himself that, despite how it felt, August using him like this was different than the others, better in a way. August knew him, there was some type of affection behind it, something besides sick lust. But even though he wanted to believe that, when his eyes were closed, August was just another body, taking what it wanted, making itself feel good at Elias's expense. Elias wondered if that's all he was, too, just on the other end of the spectrum, he was just a body to be used.

At one point, he really did fall asleep, his body too exhausted to stay awake, even more tired out from struggling against August every now and then. He lay under August, head tilted back and brow furrowed slightly, tiny whines and breathless moans were slipping past his partly opened mouth. August pulled off of him soon after that, pulling the blanket over the both of them, holding Elias close against his chest as he slept. Against his better judgement, he left the collar on, listening to Elias's weak gasps as he tried to breathe around it. He'd slip it off later, he just wanted to enjoy it for a little longer. That was his dynamic with Elias, after all, forcing him through pain and discomfort until it was too much, and then more, just for good measure. Through his drunken haze, August felt pride in his work, in how much he'd broken him down. All of the guilt he felt days ago for how much he'd hurt him was gone then, replaced by a warm and fuzzy fondness. He watched his perfectly trained pet sleep for awhile longer, than eventually the booze carried him into a dark and dreamless rest as well.

[snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales]

Stay (Part 1)

A/N: This is something that came to mind with a playlist I have of random Ed Sheeran songs, I hope you guys like it.

Thank you to @jazziwritesthings, @xteenwolfwritingsx, @mymonandsymon, @weeabooper and @msmischief101 for looking it over for me.

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

(Nor do I own any of the songs in the playlist that inspired this story by Ed Sheeran. All credit where credit is due.)

Word Count: 2,200

Warnings: None that I know of. Mild swearing? It’s really just fluffy.

When Derek comes across a familiar scent at a diner late one night, it leads to the most unexpected revelation in his years in Beacon Hills: His mate. (Aka: Wherein I am a sucker for a good mates story and my brain decided to write one.)

Series Masterlist

Xxx

Sitting at the local diner, Derek focused on his hand as it clutched and unclutched his keys against the table top, occupying his time. To his right sat Scott, and his left, Stiles, and in the center, a large awkward silence between the three.

Smirking, Derek couldn’t help the grin when Stiles scrambled away from the table as their order number was called. He had only seen Stiles move that fast a few times, and it never failed to be amusing.

Clearing his throat, Derek shifted in his seat, sitting up taller, tugging his leather jacket collar for good measure. Scott mumbled something about drinks, and after a second of hesitation disappeared off to some unknown corner supposedly getting them all a glass of something.

Someone walked over to the ancient juke box on the opposite side of the restaurant, and Derek wanted to groan. He had been listening for footsteps going that way all night so that he could come up with some diversion to keep whoever it was from changing it off of his selection. He was sure Stiles and Scott probably thought he had some secret vendetta for all things music, and that was fine. So long as nobody messed with his choice of song.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t an awful choice, and when Derek turned to see who else in this God forsaken town seems to have a decent taste in music aside from himself, Stiles obstructed his view by sliding into his seat with three steaming hot plates, mumbling a “Hot, hot, hot! Very hot!” And Scott obscured him from getting a decent scent so he could at least maybe seek them out later when he plopped three milkshakes down on the table, the combo of food and drink masking any hope at a scent.

Pushing his chair back slightly, and leaning back away from the tsunami of smells, he felt everything go on high alert when one clear smell hit him like a tidal wave. “Vanilla….”

“Well, I was gonna take the vanilla, but fine, by all means, take it, just don’t go all sourwolf on me.”

Derek quickly shot Stiles a glare before turning back to the jukebox to see no one, but the overwhelming scent of fresh vanilla, like fresh cookies, took over all his senses. It made his burger taste like dirt.

Finally pushing away from the table, he followed the scent that definitely got stronger near the jukebox, and followed it in a loop, past an empty table, and finally back to his own table, noticing a new person standing and talking to Scott and Stiles.

A low growl rumbled out of his chest before he could catch it, but it didn’t seem to startle her a bit. Walking a little bit closer he asked a bit harshly, “Who are you?” Really, he just wanted to get close enough to see if she really was the source of the smell, but the scent was forgotten when he heard her speak.

“I’m Y/N, Scott and Stiles’ TA in English this year.”

No wonder the smell had seemed so familiar. He knew her. They grew up together.

She held out a hand for him to shake, and it took a minute for him to zone back in after her voice had caused him to go into some sort of trance.

Shaking his head gently to free the cobwebs, he offered his hand in return, and they both took a sharp inhale on the contact, sparks flying up and down their skin.

Realization dawned on him the same time she made wide eyes and seemed to put it together herself.

Eyes glowing red, Derek pulled her gently closer to him, faintly registering Stiles and Scott laughing nervously and flailing to stand up and block out people’s view of his very obviously not human eyes as they settled on her very obviously completely human eyes.

Until their yellow glow gave away her secret. Derek smirked. Years of time together played on warp speed in his mind.

Blinking the red away, he couldn’t help but smile as she stood there still doe eyed.

“Oh my God, I’m the mate of a freaking Alpha werewolf,” she let out quietly, almost under her breath.

“Holy shit,” Stiles mumbled, hand coming over his mouth as he plopped unceremoniously back into his chair, the momentum making it scrap against the tiles a few inches with an ugly sound.

“Just one. Can you please not date just one of our teachers, Derek? Is that too much to ask?” Scott was unabashedly announcing for the whole restaurant to hear. Granted it was mostly empty by now, and the song was coming to an end, leaving them in silence.

“That’s up to Y/N,” Derek said, still holding her hand. “If she agrees to go on a date, that’s not my fault. And if she agrees to be my mate, well then I am off the market after that.”

“For the love of God, please just say yes,” Stiles implored her. “Maybe he will finally be more tolerable when it’s all said and done.”

Derek reached out and whacked the back of Stiles’ head gently, before raising an eyebrow in question as she gave his hand a squeeze.

“Hey! You took my line!” She cried in protest with a small smile.

“What?” Stiles looked between the two of them before she lightly whacked the side of his arm. “Hey! Oh. I get it now. Ha ha. Actually, now, I hate this idea. I take it back. Release one another! It’s easy. See?” Stiles tried to pull their hands apart and it was quite comical to watch. After realizing nothing would change, he sat down with a huff, cradling his face in his hands and saying in a mock broken tone, “Why me?”

Xxx

Staring into the flashing jukebox in the corner of the dive restaurant that had haunted Beacon Hills longer than any monster, you smiled lightly at the selection to choose from.

It was probably your subconscious, remembering things long forgotten, hidden under song titles that concealed the memories, but you could have sworn you kept getting wafts of nutmeg and leather, something that was so intrinsically….. him.

You smiled a bit wider at memories that began to play for only you, seeming to change with the flashing of the lights on the machine, pulsing to your song selection.

Cut grass in the summer, and the smell it brought.

Soaking wet in the rain, darting into any alcove nearby and standing close together under his jacket he held high like an umbrella.

Tripping on the slick, freshly cut grass, and laughing till your sides hurt and grass stains painted your clothes and skin, like tattoos of proof from a summer day.

Him laughing at you as he stared down where you fell, and his wide eyes beside you when you took his hand outstretched to help and instead yanked him down to join you.

The bubble of laughter that soon left him despite himself, as your own giggle betrayed you, and soon you both were snickering on the grass, letting the rain paint your skin with tracks as it continued to fall lightly.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by a familiar voice, looking up from your seat back at your table to see Stiles at the counter balancing three trays loaded with food. You snickered at the little balancing act he pulled trying to keep the contents on the trays and not falling to the floor. Sitting up straight as the smell came your way again, it was so strong, it was as if he were just a few tables over.

Looking to the side, you didn’t see him, however you saw Stiles setting down the trays of food at a table across the restaurant, Scott coming from the opposite direction, arms laden with drinks, and whoever sat in the third seat at their table obscured from your view by Stiles’ body as he distributed the food, lightly bopping to the beat of the song, and making you smile.

Deciding to go over and say hi, you got up, walking around your table, walking past the counter and grabbing the bag of fries the waiter was trying to wave Stiles down for. You shook your head. How Stilinski forgot fries, you didn’t know. As you walked up to their table, it was just the two of them, their mysterious third party missing, but the smell you had noticed earlier strongest in the vacant seat. It couldn’t be who you thought, they hadn’t lived here in years, but you couldn’t ignore the scent as you stood talking to Scott and Stiles.

As Stiles thanked you for the fries, you felt a wave of the smell wash over you, causing you to turn and face the supposed source, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of an older face, but those same eyes you had been thinking about not minutes before.

He didn’t seem to recognize you, and for some reason that amused you. He had a suspicious glint in his eyes, but that was the extent of it.

A low growl rumbled out of his chest before he could catch it, but it didn’t startle you a bit. In fact it surprised you at the deep stirring it caused in your gut.

Walking a little bit closer he asked a bit harshly, “Who are you?”

Despite his puffed up chest and seemingly harsh words, you noticed him take a deep breath through his nose, taking in your scent he used to always say smelled like cookies, vanilla and cinnamon, but the breath stopped abruptly when you answered him.

“I’m Y/N, Scott and Stiles’ TA in English this year.”

Realization seemed to hit him, the glint in his eyes sparking to life with memory, and he took an easy and free deep breath, finally recognizing the scent. If you blinked, you’d miss it, but the faintest of smiles was on his face.

You held out a hand for him to shake, and it took a minute for him to zone back in after seeming to go into some sort of trance.

Shaking his head gently to free the cobwebs, he offered his hand in return, and you both took a sharp inhale on the contact, sparks flying up and down your skin.

Realization dawned on him the same time you made wide eyes and seemed to put it together yourself.

Eyes glowing red, Derek pulled you gently closer to him, and you faintly registered Stiles and Scott laughing nervously and flailing to stand up and block out people’s view of his very obviously not human eyes as they settled on your supposedly very obviously completely human eyes.

Until their yellow glow gave away your secret. Derek smirked. Cut grass, rain, grass stains and mud, hiding out in secret places and sharing secrets over years and years, laughing until your sides hurt. All of it hit you at once, and it made something take flight in your stomach, beating its wings to get out.

Blinking the red away, he couldn’t help but smile as you stood there still doe eyed.

“Oh my God, I’m the mate of a freaking Alpha werewolf,” you let out quietly, almost under your breath.

“Holy shit,” Stiles mumbled, hand coming over his mouth as he plopped unceremoniously back into his chair, the momentum making it scrape against the tiles a few inches with an ugly sound.

“Just one. Can you please not date just one of our teachers, Derek? Is that too much to ask?” Scott was unabashedly announcing for the whole restaurant to hear. Granted it was mostly empty by now, and the song was coming to an end, leaving them in silence.

“That’s up to Y/N,” Derek said, still holding your hand. “If she agrees to go on a date, that’s not my fault. And if she agrees to be my mate, well then I am off the market after that.” Something in what he said made you so indescribably happy, but also insanely mad at the thought of him ever being on the market. You swallowed the growl you felt building back down.

“For the love of God, please just say yes,” Stiles implored you. “Maybe he will finally be more tolerable when it’s all said and done.” Glancing at Stiles as he spoke, you looked back to Derek with a smirk.

Derek reached out and whacked the back of Stiles’ head gently, before raising an eyebrow in question as you gave his hand a squeeze.

“Hey! You took my line!” You cried in protest with a small smile.

“What?” Stiles looked between the two of you before you lightly whacked the side of his arm. “Hey! Oh. I get it now. Ha ha. Actually, now, I hate this idea. I take it back. Release one another! It’s easy. See?” Stiles tried to pull your hands apart and it was quite comical to watch. After realizing nothing would change, he sat down with a huff, cradling his face in his hands and saying in a mock broken tone, “Why me?”

Xxx

Tags: @mayahart02 @palaiasaurus64 @shydinosaurcandy @lucyqueenofthestars @c-breanne1999 @l4life @ethereallysimple What’s this?

[louiseleblancdiggory]

hello! I saw that someone was asking you rowaelin as ts songs and I wonder if you could do cruel summer?

So. Many. References!! I hope you like this, because I can certainly picture this scene perfectly. I have a few TS rowaelin prompts, so I might do a whole masterlist just for it separated by albums..... Anyways, enjoy!!

Cruel Summer

--

Aelin was already used to the smell of beer and loud music by now.

When she and Lysandra had just finished freshman year of college, both decided to ditch the dorms and look for an apartment off campus. Everything was either extremely expensive, too far away from campus or both. They were about to give up and just spend another year in the university’s dorms when they found an apartment.

Well, it was more like a shoe box, but it worked just fine. There were two small bedrooms, one bathroom and a living room with a kitchen. Aelin and Lys had almost no money for furniture, so a lot of the space in the apartment was filled with bean bag chairs and thick rugs instead of actual chairs and tables. The painting was fading, the constant need to call a handyman was exhausting but Aelin found it somewhat… comfy.

The rent wasn’t expensive at all and Aelin discovered why the day she moved. The apartment was right above a dive bar, and the thing was kept open 24/7 from Friday to Sunday, opening every day of the week and closing around three in the morning. The music was so loud all the time that sometimes the floor shook. Whenever they opened their windows, the suffocating smell of alcohol would impregnate the apartment.

That was fucking torture during the first days.

Two years later, Aelin found the loud sound and constant smell of beer reassuring, steadying. She and Lys had lived so much shit in that apartment that it stopped being an ugly shoe box and became a home. An ugly home, but a home nonetheless.

Around two months after moving upstairs, Rolfe, the bar owner, offered them jobs at the Sea Dragon. They lived right above it, he said, and so he could alleviate them from a part of their rent and pay a normal salary at the same time. Always in the need of money, both Lys and Aelin accepted.

The dive bar wasn’t shabby, at least not for the neighborhood it was in. It was a hole-in-the-wall, red stools near the bar and a few dark wooden tables around the room. With some pool tables, an old jukebox and an almost never working vending machine, the place looked like it had been left in the 50s. The uniforms were all black, but the shirts were tight button downs and the skirts were pleated.

Aelin fucking loved that place.

She worked there the double amount of hours than Lys did, and she enjoyed herself immensely. She loved choosing the next song and flirting with some customers. She adored teasing old patrons when they were losing at a pool game, and she discovered that she was great making drinks.

The Sea Dragon was Aelin’s little heaven. She worked there the whole weekend, never missing a day. Sometimes during the summer she would work there every day.

And that’s when she met him.

The first time Aelin had seen Rowan Whitethorn during the summer before junior year, she almost dropped the drinks she was holding.

He was standing by the vending machine, the faint blue glow making his silver hair shine. He had a frown on his face, but not even that managed to make him look any less attractive. Dark green eyes, a straight nose and hard features, Aelin wanted him from the second her eyes fell upon his figure.

She gave the drinks to Lysandra, murmuring what table they were supposed to go before walking up to him.

“Any problems?” She said as a way of greeting. The man was staring at the vending machine as if it had personally offended him.

“Aye. It ate two dollars of mine and I didn’t get those disgusting candies you Americans like.” He said, not turning away from the vending machine. Aelin bit her lip, both at his very hot and strong Scottish accent and to hold her laughter in because of the expression on his face.

“You’ll have to be more specific, sir. I can name twenty disgusting American candies from the top of my mind in ten seconds.” She was smiling, her voice tone soft. At that, he turned his head to her, eyes widening slightly. Aelin’s smile grew at that. “Unfortunately this vending machine has a mind of its own. Maybe if you ask gently or smack it violently, it will spew your candy.”

He laughed, scratching the back of his head. “You work here? Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Rowan.”

“Nah, don’t worry.” She gestured with her hand. “This vending machine is a bitch. You can try punching if you’d like.”

“Your asking me to vandalize your work place?”

She shrugged, turning her head to the bar and shouting. “Rolfe! Can he punch your useless vending machine?”

Rolfe turned to her, staring at both of them and the vending machine before shrugging too. “It’s not like that thing can break. It’s probably older than you by now, blondie.”

Aelin turned back to Rowan. He was looking at her with awe and slight fear. “Go ahead and punch it.”

“I won’t punch your vending machine.”

“Rolfe’s vending machine.”

“Semantics.”

Aelin merely shrugged, walking back to the bar. “Your loss, Rowan.”

“I didn’t catch your name!” He shouted at her, but didn’t move in her direction. She smiled, his accent sounding like music to her ears.

“Because I didn’t tell you!” She shouted back.

After that, for the rest of the summer, Rowan had been to the bar every weekend. Sometimes he would bring in some friends, sometimes he would just sit there and talk to Aelin whenever she had some free time. He was there to do his last two years of college in Boston, his small group of friends joining him. Rowan liked to talk about Scotland and hear about the States whenever Aelin had free time to talk to him, and after a few weeks she would bribe Lysandra into taking more shifts so she could spend more time with Rowan.

When Friday arrived, Aelin would wait excitedly for his and his friend’s arrival. They were a lively group, all five of them, joking and drinking all the time. Aelin would constantly pass by their tables just to hear their lovely accent laced with alcohol and laughter.

It was obvious that Rowan was interested in her, just as it was obvious that Aelin was interested in him, too. Rowan was an extremely nice and hot guy, and Aelin found herself always at ease and laughing around him. There was no pressure, no expectations. Aelin had left clear since the beginning that she wasn’t interested in a relationship. Ever.

 She didn’t mention that it was because of her last one, and Rowan had said that it was the same for him. He had broken up with his five years girlfriend the year before moving, and Aelin got goosebumps just from thinking about dating someone again.

The whole relationship was about… fun.

They slept together during the whole summer, becoming friends while doing it. When classes started again, they remained friends who eventually fucked, both agreeing that the other one could end it the moment they felt like it. Both agreeing that there were no romantic ties, no deep and hidden feelings. It was cool, a new sort of heaven with no rules.

Until there was. Until there were ties and feelings and that perfect heaven seemed very breakable.

Until Aelin became a part of Rowan’s routine, and until Aelin found herself too at ease around him. It had been a natural shift, one that Lysandra had said it was bound to happen. Both were on pre-med together, both spent most of their free time together too. They were great friends, slept together and were single. According to her best friend, it was only a matter of time until their friendship became something more.

It had taken a whole year. Things were normal-ish until spring came. With spring break around, Rowan and Aelin spent every hour of the week together, usually at her apartment of at the bar. Rowan had gone so many times to the Sea Dragon, that Rolfe said he was considering buying him as a piece of decoration or as some sort of bar scarecrow to avoid fights. With his black clothes and serious face, Rowan looked like one bad boy from one of the cheap romance books Aelin always read, Rolfe told him while Aelin’s cheeks heated. Rowan had laughed at that, turning to Aelin with humorous smile, and she simply flipped him off.

It had been Aelin’s best week in a very, very long time. But the aftermath just made her freak out.

After Chaol, Aelin had absolutely no interest in getting into another relationship. Her six months with him had been enough to make her hate the prospect of sharing her life romantically with someone again. She didn’t need to find a new guy to open up just to have him throw all her insecurities and fears on her face again. No, Aelin was perfectly fine single.

She kept telling herself that, but every time Rowan was around the hesitation and fear would disappear from her mind. Every time he laughed with her, Aelin would feel her heart beating faster. She could barely contain her own smile when Rowan looked at her. She wanted to touch him all the time, wanted to be around him all the time.

Rowan didn’t seem nearly as hesitant of his romantic feelings towards Aelin, but that probably was due to the fact that he didn’t have a shitty ex haunting his thoughts all the time. Actually, Lyria was a lovely woman who had come to visit during winter and said more than once that Aelin should make a definitive move on Rowan. The girl had given Aelin her number and every now and then the two would talk. 

If Rowan had spent five years with someone nice and lovely as Lyria, an actual relationship with Aelin wouldn’t last two weeks. And Aelin would get hurt again. He had obviously hinted many times that he wanted a relationship, but Aelin had just played dumb every time.

She analyzed all her fears, all her emotions and how Rowan made her feel.

She was fucking terrified of all of it.

So she ditched.

By the end of spring, Aelin simply stopped talking to him after saying that she didn’t want a serious relationship at all. Classes were over, and whenever Rowan and his friends came to the bar the next weeks, Aelin would go upstairs and Lys would cover for her. Sometimes, Aelin would look out of her window during the night, hoping to see Rowan under it. It was a way of her seeing his face again but avoiding him seeing her.

It was absolutely miserable.

This time last year was when she had met Rowan, and if she stopped to think, she had been a completely different person. Lately, Aelin didn’t flirt with the customers anymore, instead she would be constantly thinking about flirting with Rowan. She couldn’t look at that stupid vending machine’s blue glow without remembering when she first met Ro. Everything in the Sea Dragon reminded her of him, and she hated it. She hated how he had invaded her space, her little heaven, her life, and messed everything up. She hated the hours he spent in her apartment because now he was also a concept of her home.

She hated how much she wanted him.

“Summer is a cruel bitch.” Aelin complained.

“You love summer.”

“I loved summer. Now it just feels like a knife going down straight to the bone.”

“Just go fucking talk to him, you stubborn prick.” Lysandra said and Aelin simply groaned.

“I could be bleeding out right now and he would be the last one to know.”

“You’re so dramatic, gods. You should be trying but you’re just screwing it up.” Lys frowned.

It was the first Friday in two years that Aelin wasn’t working on the Sea Dragon. Instead, she and Lys decided to have a game night and play some old game board they found in the Sea Dragon’s storage.

“I don’t want to get hurt.” Aelin mumbled, rolling the dice. Lysandra rolled her eyes at her best friend.

“You look hurt right now.”

“I’m happy right now.” Aelin lied, taking the dice and giving to Lysandra.

When Lys put them down, Aelin simply scowled. She didn’t want to have this conversation again. It was summertime again and she was supposed to be having fun, not moping around for a guy that wasn’t even her boyfriend.

“Baby.” Lys said, taking Aelin’s hands. “Chaol was a fucking asshole, we know, but Rowan is different. The two of you were friends for a year, acted like a couple for the most part of it, and he never acted like Chaol. What would change if you gave him a chance?”

“What if he hurts me, Lys? I dated Chaol for six months and didn’t even like him the way I like Rowan. And yet he broke my fucking heart.” Aelin sighed, rubbing her eyes with her palms. “Can you imagine how much worse it will be if Rowan does it?”

“But—“

“No.” Aelin said, getting up. She grabbed her phone, going to the apartment’s door. “I’m not interested. I’ll get over it. It’s just some stupid crush because I spent way too much time with him. I’ll be better off recovering from not having a relationship than I will from recovering from a broken heart. Again.”

“Ace…” Lys said, her face sad.

“I’m gonna go drink something. You coming?” Aelin asked, ignoring her friend’s pity. Lys simply shook her head, and Aelin left, slamming the door behind her.

She went down, entering the bar and pouring herself a drink. None of the baristas stopped her, all knowing her face all too well.

“Tough night, blondie?” Rolfe asked from where he was sitting at the other side of the balcony.

“Tough summer.” Aelin grumbled, taking the whole bottle of whatever she had just poured to herself. She took a swig and Rolfe didn’t even blink at that. After two years, Aelin knew what boundaries she could and couldn’t overstep.

“Your boyfriend was here earlier. Looked like shit, if you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t. And he’s not my boyfriend.” Aelin drank again, her head already feeling lighter. “Never was.”

“Well he looked like it. For a whole year.” Rolfe looked at her, a small smile playing on his lips. “Is this because of Chaol?”

“Since when do you keep tabs on my love life, Rolfe?” She was too sober to have this conversation again. She took down three gulps, almost coughing at the alcohol burning down her throat.

“You’re my best waitress and you’re always here.” Rolfe laughed. “I probably know more about you than anyone else, blondie.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips. Although Rolfe was an asshole most of the times, Aelin had grown to like him a lot. He was like an uncle sometimes— nosy but always there.

“Should I call him?” Aelin asked, drinking once more before she stared at Rolfe. She had been entertaining the idea for a while now, even though she wouldn’t ever admit that to Lysandra.

“I would.” He shrugged, pointing at the half empty bottle on her hand. She looked down. Whiskey apparently. “But I’d drink about two more of those before.”

For the first time in a while, Aelin actually chuckled. “Yeah, I think I’ll let drunk Aelin decide this.”

Rolfe grinned at her. “I’ll call you a cab when you come crying to me later about your silver headed fling.”

“A cab?” She raised an eyebrow.

“If you’re gonna declare your feelings while drunk, do it in style, sweetheart.” Rolfe winked at her. “Make a whole goddamn scene.”

Aelin stared at the vending machine when Rolfe left. She could feel the alcohol loosening her whole body, allowing her to think in a broader way than she would have allowed herself while sober.

She had fallen in love with Rowan, that much was obvious. It had been slow and almost imperceptible, but it had happened. Maybe a part of her had loved him since the first time she heard his heavy accent and saw his handsome face. Maybe she had started falling when he passionately talked about Scotland, or when he gave her his whole attention when she was the one talking about her childhood. Maybe it had been during their classes when Aelin saw how smart he was, and how much he also appreciated her own intelligence.

Maybe it had been a little bit in every single situation, every moment filling her heart a bit more.

She wanted him so bad, but she was also so scared of having her heart broken again.

She kept thinking for the next few hours, listing the pros and cons of trying something with Rowan.

“Better live regretting something you did than live your whole life regretting what you didn’t, right? Better to take years to recover than to spend the rest of your life wondering what it could have been.” Aelin said to herself, her words slurred. She was on her second bottle and the alcohol was certainly impacting her.

“Are you ok?” Ansel, the other barista, was looking at her strange.

“I’m drunk and talking to myself. Go to work, Briarcliff.” Aelin chided.

“You’re insane, Galathynius.” Ansel grinned, turning to another customer.

At that moment, Aelin made her decision. Her sober self would probably think it was insanity, so she needed to do that now. She needed to take action before she chickened out again.

“Rolfe! The cab!” Aelin shouted, hearing Rolfe’s rich laughter across the bar.

Five minutes later, Aelin was in the back of a cab, drunk out of her mind and with tears streaking down her cheeks. She didn’t really know why she was crying like a baby. Maybe a still lucid part of her was terrified to do what she was planning. Maybe some part of her was crying out of fear of rejection. Maybe the tears were due to her burning throat after so much whiskey.

Who the fuck cared?

“You can stop here please.” She pointed to a pretty house.

She had been there before during the last summer, almost every night when she wasn’t at the Sea Dragon. She would recognize that garden gate even if she was stripped away from her senses.

“Your boss already paid.” The driver said, smiling at her. “Good luck.”

Aelin nodded, a pit opening inside her stomach. “Thanks.”

Gods, what the fuck was she doing?

Without further thought, she snuck in through the garden gate, walking to the backyard. She stopped in front of a window on the second floor. The whole house was dark, and Aelin was feeling the hesitation in her despite the adrenaline and the alcohol.

She cupped her hands around her mouth, closing her eyes. “Rowan.”

She stared at the window for a few seconds, waiting for a light before cupping her mouth and screaming again. “Rowan Whitethorn!”

At that, a single light flickered in his bedroom. Aelin’s heart was beating so fast she though she was going to puke it out. Suddenly, this whole thing seemed like a very bad idea. But it was too late, so she just raised her chin and gathered whatever courage had been created by the whiskey.

Rowan pushed back his curtains, opening the window and scanning the backyard until his eyes fell on her. Immediately, his brows furrowed and eyes widened. “Ace? Is everything fine?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She said, but then shook her head. “Actually that’s not true.”

Rowan seemed so confused that Aelin almost gave up. “What the fuck happened? You disappear for more than a month and then show up at my backyard at three in the morning?”

“I lied before, ok?” She shouted. “And I don’t want to come up with a stupid excuse for it because I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you. I have nothing against relationships. My ex broke my fucking heart and now I am terrified of them. And then you come around and fuck everything up.”

“That’s your secret? That’s what you lied about? Your ex? You came all the way here to tell me about your ex while drunk?” He crossed his arms, looking both pissed and hurt.

“You dumb fuck.” She replied, running her hands through her hair. This could have gone so much more smoothly. “I lied about what I said the last time we talked, about wanting a relationship. The secret is that I didn’t ditch you because I don’t want a relationship or because of my ex. The secret is that I am so fucking in love with you for months now that I am terrified of dating you because you can break my heart in a million pieces.”

“What did you say?” He said quietly, and if her attention wasn’t solely on him, she would have missed.

“Oh well, shit. We’re already here, aren’t we? For whatever it’s worth, Rowan Whitethorn,” Aelin screamed, opening her arms. “I love you! Ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?”

Rowan stared her in silence for a few seconds before retreating into the bedroom. He didn’t say a word, and Aelin’s heart sank. She felt her throat constricting, her stomach turning and turning.

She was about to go back home and hide under the covers with a pot of ice cream when one of the lights from the first floor turned on. Aelin stared expectantly at the glass doors that separated the house’s interior and the backyard. The door opened, and Aelin sighed when she saw Rowan coming to her, his steps purposeful.

“I—“ She started, wanting to explain everything better.

Rowan cupped her face with his hands, his fingers tangling in her hair. “I love you too.”  He said before bringing his face down and kissing Aelin.

Her arms circled his waist, and she pressed her body against his. It had been too long since she kissed him, and Aelin sighed as Rowan’s warm mouth moved on hers. She tilted her face up, standing on her tiptoes. She opened her mouth, hands tightening around him as he deepened the kiss.

They stayed like that for minutes until both drew back, breathing deeply. Aelin opened her eyes to see Rowan grinning like the devil at her, and she smiled back at him.

Tags:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @maastrash @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass

[ambivalent-anarchy]

Yo Momma

Masterlist

Gender: Female

Pairing: Peter Parker x avenger!reader

Warning: None

Was just randomly thinking about how each avenger would react to a yo momma joke, hence the name of the one-shot

There's like 0.2% of fluff in this really it's just an avengers crack fic

(Starts in the first Thor movie)

---------------------------------------

You first met Thor of Asgard when you were just nine years old.

Of course, you hadn't known who he was at first. No one did. He was just another new face at the little diner your mom loved until he smashed a mug on the floor while yelling, "This drink, I like it. ANOTHER!"

Your mom always taught you that it was rude to stare, but at this point the entire diner went quiet as everyone watched the man with long blond hair who, though he was wearing normal clothing, looked so out of place.

Even once the diner went back to normal, you couldn't keep your eyes off of him.

"Mom, that man's weird," you whispered as you watched the brown-haired woman in front of him attempt to explain why crashing a cup is wrong, which he was obviously not seeming to understand.

"Don't stare, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know what his deal is but we're not trying to find out, okay?"

"Okay," you replied, still finding it hard to keep your eyes off of the strange man.

"Now I'm gonna go to the restroom, alright. While I'm gone, stay in your seat and mind your business," she ordered. "I don't need to come back having to rip you from the hands of a giant."

You nodded. "Yes ma'am."

The second she left, you looked back at where the man had thrown the mug to see that no-one had picked it up. Frowning, you walked over with your hands on your hips. "Excuse me," you said, tapping the man on the shoulder, gaining his table's attention.

The brown haired woman smiled. "Awww, hi sweetie!"

"Are you going to clean that up?," you asked, pointing towards the mess on the floor.

In return, he scoffed, pushing your hand off of his shoulder. "Go away, little girl."

"My momma says you look like a giant," you noted.

Another woman at the table, this one in glasses, snickered. "Well, she wasn't wrong about that."

The strange man rubbed his chin as he looked down on you. "Little girl," he called out with a small scowl. "Have you no mind of who I am?"

You tilted your head. "Uh, what?"

The brown haired woman laughed nervously. "I already told you, Thor, or whoever you think you are.. no one knows you here."

"Thor's a weird name." You crossed your arms and gave a childish glare. "And you have a weird voice," you added.

Thor rolled his eyes, somehow becoming as emotionally invested in the argument as you, a child, were. "You're a weird, tiny, little girl."

You stuck out your lips. "You're mom's a weird, tiny, little girl!," you yelled back before walking back to your booth. Once there, you turned your body around in your seat. "In fact, your momma's so ugly, she went into a haunted house and came out with a job application!"

"Oh, shit!" The brown haired girl and her friend laughed as they watched Thor's face turn red.

"You keep my mother's name out of your filthy mouth, you-"

Your mother walked out of the restroom and grabbed your hand to leave the diner. "Come on, [Y/N]. Ready to go?"

You shot a shit-eating grin back to Thor's table, having gotten away with your little bout of disobedience, before turning back to your mom. "Yes ma'am."

If only you knew that diner experience would come back to bite you in the butt much later...

~~

You were sixteen when you met Thor of Asgard, again.

"Don't be nervous, kid," Happy told you as you watched the elevator numbers go up. "They're not really that intimidating. Plus, we just got a new kid and he's your age, so you'll be fine if you just keep your head on straight."

"Okay," you mumbled, tapping your foot on the ground anxiously.

It wasn't long ago when Iron Man found you while he was flying through New York. He hadn't even noticed you at first, but the pure energy radiating from you was jamming J.A.R.V.I.S.'s system and well, normal people don't just have pure energy radiating from them.

You discovered your power when you were twelve years old. It was something you hid, until he found you and decided that you didn't need to hide it anymore. Where he would take you, you could actually be yourself, powers and all.

You were going to be meeting the Avengers. You were going to be an Avenger.

"Seriously," Happy groaned. "You're actually heating up the entire elevator. Calm down."

"Sorry," you said, only just then noticing your fingers were lighting up. You took in a deep breath, focusing on calming your nerves. But there was one thing that was just bugging you.

The day the Avengers first saved the world, it was broadcasts EVERYWHERE. Everyone knew who they were.

And it totally was more than just a simple shock to you when you recognized the face on your tv screen.

The guy literally bashing aliens to smithereens was the guy who was at the diner. The guy who'd saved the earth several times since then was that guy.

And you joked on his mom right to his face.

"Question."

"Shoot."

"Does Thor have good memory?"

Happy's brows drew together at the random question. "Uh, I dunno. Why exactly?"

You shook your head nervously. "No reason."

The doors of the elevator opened and you were met with the largest, more than likely most expensive living room you've ever seen (and will ever see) in your entire life.

Sitting on the couch was a teenage boy. A really cute teenage boy in a striped button up shirt. At the sound of the elevator opening, he turned his head from the tv screen to look over. His eyes lit up in recognition at seeing you and he immediately ran over.

"Um, hi!," he greeted. "My name's Peter. Mr. Stark told me to give you the tour when you get here." He held his hand out for you to shake.

The second your palms touched, he immediately pulled away, a yelp of pain coming from his lips. "You're hands are like- REALLY HOT!"

"Oh, sorry!," you said, giving an apologetic smile. "I'm just really nervous."

He held his hand carefully, holding it by his side. "So I take it you have fire powers or something?"

"Pure energy," you corrected. "I can manifest it from my body into these really big blasts and stuff."

"That's super cool!"

You blushed. "Thanks, but I'm still learning to control it. If I get too emotional, it gets pretty bad."

Peter smiled, placing his hand on your shoulder (which was covered up with clothing). "Well, that's what we're here for, [Y/N]. To get better."

He led you down the hall, showing you different rooms and all the places you were allowed to go in. You even had a room of your own. One you could customize however you wished. Needless, to say, you knew you'd enjoy your time there.

And on top of it all, Peter turned out to be just one big ball of perfection. He was sweet, he listened, and holy crap was he cute.

"So," you asked. "What's your power?"

Peter's mouth curved into a smile. "Follow me." You followed him to a room that wasn't too far from yours. You chuckled, noticing how giddy he was being as he unlocked the door.

He led you into the room and you gasped as the first thing you laid your eyes on was a big Spiderman graffitied onto the wall of the room.

"Holy cow, dude. You're Spiderman!"

"Yep," he answered with a smirk. "Oh! And now that you're one of us, that means you get to make a name and have a cool suit too! You're gonna love it here-"

"Parker, is that the new recruit?," a new voice broke in.

You noticed that Peter immediately stood up a bit straighter, so you followed suit as you looked at who the man was. "Uh, yes sir, this is [Y/N]."

Your eyes went wide. "You're Captain America!," you gasped.

He nodded in return. "Steve. Nice to meet you. Come on, come meet the rest of the team."

You gave a nervous chuckle as you walked forward, following wherever Steve was leading you.

"Hey," Peter said, nudging you in the arm. "Relax. They'll be really nice."

You nodded. "Mhmm. Hey, question." He turned, giving you a helpful smile. "Does Thor have a good memory?"

He chuckled. "That's an oddly specific question. Any particular reason you ask that?" Peter looked at you jokingly. "You didn't flip him off in the street or anything, did you?"

You shook your head. "Nah. Not exactly."

Peter gave you a questioning look as the two of you followed Cap into a large dining room.

You looked around and there you saw every single avenger you'd ever heard of. Hawkeye eating a turkey burger. The Winter Soldier and Falcon seemingly playfully arguing over some tv show. Tony frickin' Stark running his fingers through some little girl's hair. Black Widow sitting at the dinner table having a peaceful conversation with some guy with glasses that you couldn't recognize.

And of course, Thor sitting in a seat facing away from the door, nursing a mug in his hand.

Just like last time, you thought. You sucked in a breath. Fuckkkk. Please don't remember me.

"Hey," Peter whispered. "You're getting really hot right now. You should relax."

"Oh," you said, taking another deep breath. "Thanks."

Tony looked over from where he was sitting. "Well don't just stand there. Introduce yourself, [Y/N]!," he yelled.

And slowly they all turned towards you, even Thor. His eyes met yours and your eyes met his. His face lit up in recognition and immediately all of the words fell out of you as you found yourself running to him.

"I'm SO so sorry okay?!?!? Look, I know I KNOW- believe me I do- that I was SUCH A JERK b-but... you gotta UNDERSTAND okay???? I was only NINE and I was stupid and dumb and would say just about ANYTHING at that age - but I mean you gotta admit that youwerealsokindofajerktoo- BUT I MEAN THAT'S TOTALLY FINE OKAY??? IT HAPPENS. IT'S NATURAL!! But like please PLEASE DON'T SMITE ME Mr. Thor I'm SO SORRY I'll literally do ANYTHING!!"

You were breathless when you finished your frantic apology, staring desperately at the God of Thunder with large 'please don't kill me' eyes.

The rest of the room was silent, everyone either waiting expectantly for what was next to come or silently conversing with their eyes, all basically saying to each other 'what the heck was that'.

Thor stared back at you, his expression unclear.

"Thor, anything to say to that?," Tony called out, having no idea what had just happened but being extremely amused nonetheless.

The long, blond haired man furrowed his brow and slowly placed his mug down on the table in front of him. He looked back at you and smirked.

"Tell him the joke," he said, pointing at Tony.

"What joke?," Natasha asked.

Thor chuckled. "When she was a smaller human, this girl and I met at a diner. She spoke very rudely of my mother. It wasn't until Jane explained to me what a 'your mother joke' is that I fully came to appreciate it."

"Dude, you joked on Thor's mom?!," Peter exclaimed, half-shocked, half-amazed.

Thor looked back at you. "In retrospect, it was quite hilarious."

You stared back, jaw hanging in shock. "Y-you're not gonna kill me- I-i mean, you're not angry?"

He laughed as he pointed towards Tony again. "Do him!"

You looked to Tony who was sitting back in his chair, holding his arms up in a "bring it on" fashion. "Uh...um, your mom's so ugly..she-ah.. she went into a haunted house and came out with a job application..."

Peter gasped. "You said that to THOR?!"

You blushed. "Look, I'm not proud of it either okay?"

"Oh we're gonna get along nicely, kid," Falcon, who you would soon come to know as Sam, snickered.

"So do you actually do anything or are ya just a smartass?," Rhodes quipped, causing you to immediately mumble some choice words under your breath.

Tony nearly cackled. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing," you lied.

Peter coughed. "[Y/N], your eyes are kind of glowing."

Bucky looked to Bruce. "I think you're gonna have to work on anger with her or something, bud."

"No wait really, what'd you say?," Tony said, still laughing.

You shook your head, but everyone was staring at you again. Ugh, might as well.

"...your mom's so old I told her to act her age and she died..."

[stronghours]

SUNSHINE IN THE SKY REPRISE

And it came to pass, a few weeks after she and Jules made a bad decision on his thrifted futon, that they met again during 4th of July merrymaking. 

Lux toddled in grey lake water among Ava, Claire, and Archie (Celeste down and out with summer flu). Lux couldn’t swim, a fact disclosed in private to Ava, which Ava hadn’t kept to herself, and the group formed a stooped, anxious ring around her doggy-paddling. She was forced, among the smell of hot dogs in the safe green grass hundreds of yards beyond and the ominous cloud cover above, to make sure only her ass whomped her protectors’ knees when the waves tried to boil her body up and away. She’d made a mistake, and her only wardrobe protection beyond her suit itself and her spandex underthing was a hastily added solid color sarong, which while dry didn’t match, and while wet, just looked lousy and modest. But she couldn’t be parted with it and had made up a past bout of minor skin cancer, a pin-mole insidiously located on her protected inner thigh, the paranoia of which haunted her still. Even Ava dropped her chin for the C-word.

Now she suggested Lux float on her back and allow her perception of the water to form fingers in the magic slot located on her lower back, and soon she’d be floating like crazy among the wacky kids and her hot workmates and her boss and all their invisible pubes. A wave slapped dirty fingers up Lux’s nose.

“It’s kind of like learning a language,” Archie contributed. “Got to learn it when you’re young. Looks like your parents fucking doomed you.”

“My pap pap slam-dunked me in our above-ground when I was five,” said Claire, who floated tummy-down in frog position by exerting no effort Lux could observe. “I bobbed right back up, but like, what if I hadn’t?”

Lux, six feet tall, decided to use it to her advantage and planted her knees in the sandbar. She could just about do it and keep her eyes and forehead in periscope position.

“Reuben and I are thinking of installing an above-ground,” said Ava, and seeing Lux shrink, rose to her feet and splashed water across her dewy collarbone. Lux pushed every single one of them out of her mind and stared between the chops out into the open sea to make-believe Michigan somewhere on the other side. A rhythmic slap approached from the left and the white bow of a lifeguard’s canoe sailed past their collected heads.

“Hey now,” scolded the familiar voice behind the sunglasses, “only three hot bitches are allowed in the water at a time. Think of the community.”

Ava sloshed around at the familiarity, but everybody else had already noticed it was, absurdly, Jules, and sent up a bunch of soggy greetings, all except Lux who rose into a semi-crouch in the drifting seabed out of surprise, and Ava, who let them all perform verbal recognition on her behalf and only spared a nod.

Jules looked very high school, very lanky on the bobbing bench, with the oars braced under his tanned arms and his cute red tank top cinched under his fanny pack. He rode the up-down of the surf the same way he did most things, with enough bored grace to suggest he’d learned quite enough and had more interesting things to do. Lux had recently learned this conceit of his could be bypassed, and she was glad he kept the sunglasses on when he looked her over.

“What’s up Cathy,” he said, with the same Sophomore carelessness, and she plunged her head under an oncoming wave, the pressure preferable to the dawning knowledge that now, he had information he could disclose, and he’d had it for weeks.

She rose again, squinting. She couldn’t tell if he had caught on.

“What?” he asked. “What did I do?”

“You got another job, Jules?” Ava surged forward, displaced Lux. “Roscoe doesn’t give you enough to do, on top of commissions?”

“Give me another commission and you’ll find out.” He drew the left oar’s pole hard under his titty to keep the nose of the canoe from slicing into their crescent. The mechanism bucked like a horse and the wind snatched the ugly white hat off his head and toward an oblivion of preteens due north. Claire yelped and threw herself into the water, rippled away to go fetch it. “You ever been in the cellar underneath Rawhide, Ava? That’s like, thrice-darkness. I was gonna kill myself.”

“I’ve never been in a situation that required me to be in the cellar underneath Rawhide.” Prim Ava glanced pityingly at Lux, who allowed wave after wave to pummel her head in her effort to stay low. “Poor baby. She can’t swim.”

“Throw her off the pier,” Jules suggested.

“It worked for Claire’s pap pap,” Archie said, and braced an annoying hand on the back of Lux’s neck. “Sorry babe, looks like you’re going down.”

Lux threw herself underwater before Archie could push her into the drink. Beneath the top swell she had enough time to touch her palms to the sand and try to dig her hands where she’d braced her knees, but she was blind, and the divots were washed away and the grains were swept off and replaced swept off and replaced, and she panicked when the water tugged the sarong’s knot. She resurfaced from the green and grey, coughing and yanking the weedy fabric around her legs. Ava, shining and petite against the sky, so securely tucked to smoothness, had finished with Jules herself and was high stepping back to shore.

“…I’m just saying, you should definitely try it out –” Archie had spoken in the interim. Jules was nodding. He’d shoved the sunglasses up and over his curly head and while his gaze was trained forward to take in the gamboling bathers, Lux could feel him keeping her in the corner of his eye.

 -

She remembered being in good if overenergetic spirits. She recalled a hot yellow sun. She wore her lavender halter with the powder-blue culottes, her hair freshly hennaed from the night before and trustily bunned. She traveled from a three-hour duo with Ava regarding some mind-numbing bouts of predicament ropework that left her guiltily bored of the client and his ballerina snobbishness, but pleased with her improving knots, and with the fact she could at least trick Ava into thinking she was a viable rope top. She’d exited the bus prematurely and entered the sidewalk throng to burn through her constipated spirits, past a raucous patio partition of a dippy sport’s bar and collided with Jules himself, exiting.

It was like striking a human-size grasshopper. He recoiled, elbows up, and almost upset a busboy’s tray. She reared at his excess, ready to dive into the full indulgence of her insult. In the past year after the Annelise Petro incident she’d only seen him at a distance. Their last words, exchanged in close quarters within Jules’s car more than twelve months ago, had not been civil. He was much tanner than she remembered of him in previous summers. He’d filled out in the chest and shoulders. For a second, she could glimpse he’d gained some weird physical vitality – but as she observed, the color drained from his face. His shoulders slumped. He looked sick as a dog. She’d thought he was drunk.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and steered his head away from her. “Do not,” she ordered, “Do not fucking puke on me.”

He pulled himself straight but didn’t dislodge from her grip. “Don’t say anything,” he hissed, dirt-sober, and before she could make him clarify, a middle-aged couple loomed over his shoulders. The woman, a full six inches shorter than both Lux and Jules (it was just then Lux realized she and Jules were precisely the same height) sparkled nervously, trussed in Cubs blues.

“Oh Jules,” she said, “Who’s this?”

She was blond and ferrety, but in the man, Lux could see a sour and fleshy shadow of Jules’s own face and bearing. He looked at her with the same stern contemplation Jules had leveled on her in the past, and Jules presently, dead in the eyes, curled in on himself like a shrimp.

She’d inexplicably exited her rancorous ditch and stumbled over Jules in the no-man’s land of Blood Relatives. She wanted to, against all rational thought, shove him behind her back and put her arms out.

Instead, she reached a hand to the man (dad? Oh boy, what fun) and chirped, “Hi, I’m Catherine!”

And to the woman (mother? God in heaven), “don’t we just all love Jules!”

The woman shriveled with feeling that hardly looked like relief. The man gravely shook Lux’s hand, and she was pleased with his grip’s condescending pressure. Her body moved far ahead of her brain. She could see herself at distance, popping one toe behind her planted heel, one hip cocked, tits pushed out, but no further than her glowing smile. “And how do you two know each other,” the man said, said, explicitly did not ask. Neither man nor woman introduced themselves.

Jules, white-lipped, opened his mouth but Lux flowed over him. “2007,” she answered, “Leidermeister Playhouse, down in, uh, are you from around here? No? Well, Tinley-ish. Way down there. Spring musical. I was on playbill. And Jules was doing costumes for Pippin.”

For the first time, Jules treated her to the sweet sight of his smug, sick face struck totally dumb.

“Theater!” The woman bubbled. She put her hand on her companion’s meaty forearm, placating.

But the man was not letting her go without a fight. “Theater,” he said. “And what part did you play.”

She treated him to her glowing smile first (cracking, a little). If Jules had learned his own abysmal manners from these creeps, then he’d somehow made improvements on his own time.

“The Mother,” she improvised. “Of course.”

“Stepmother,” Jules piped up, at last.

It was all yadda-yadda to Lux, but the man finally checked the neon dial of his watch, gripped the woman by the elbow, said they would have to start taking pains for a cab if they wanted to catch the game in time. “Sure,” Jules said, though his permission hadn’t been asked, his advice unsought. “You’re not far away.”

“You call her and say you saw us, sir,” the man said. “She’ll expect it.”

Jules was too busy accepting limp patty-pats from the woman, who shot Lux a tragic grin before she scampered up the sidewalk, followed by the broad back of her presumed husband. No proper hug, no I-Love-You, no masculine head smacks or back whacks or take-care-of-yourself-you-hear pronouncements. They just walked away. Her own parents would be appalled.

The life was coming back to Jules’s face, but he was still doubled over, as if from a cramp. “Jiminy Christmas,” he uttered, and she wanted, in a surge, nothing more than to pinch his cheeks and trap his head in her armpit and noogie him to death and bust his fluff. Instead, she assisted him away from the crowd, and before long they strolled down a quiet residential street, arm in arm. She decided to give him five whole minutes to recover from the encounter, but he did it in two.

“Ledermeister,” he said to her, appalled.

“Leider,” she corrected.

“You nutty bitch,” he dared, but there was no gas behind it.

“It’s like you think I’m some kind of pervert or something,” she said, and before she could help it, she started to nag. “What did you think I was going to say? Jules makes rubber sex suits with built-in condoms? I saw him in street clothes in a high-etiquette dungeon fingering my boss’s twenty-one-year-old latex bottom?” She felt him up a little in her haste, accidentally, and he squeaked. “Who actually has something to lose here?” She asked. “Who’s the fucking dominatrix here?”

“You don’t like me,” Jules said, coolly. “I had no idea what you would say.”

He sounded terribly calm. The sidewalk was dappled in shadows of maple leaves and, boxed in by reasonable townhouses on both sides, she was inclined to stay calm as well, and in her calm, she found a strange truth.

“I like you just fine,” she said.

“Oh.”  

She liked him just fine. She liked him more than she liked Ava.

They walked.

“God, it’s fucking hot,” she said. It would be more comfortable not to have their arms around the other, but she didn’t unlatch.

“I moved to this neighborhood a couple weeks ago,” he said. “We’re not too far. I’ve got a window unit.”

A window unit meant he’d accumulated an actual window; a net gain from what she remembered of the dismal basement unit she’d ducked inside three times over their three year acquaintance, along with a damp cement strip notating the kitchen and two hoary pipes jutting six inches from the ceiling where tawny water dripped into provided buckets and Jules himself, barefoot, crisscross applesauce on a carpet square stringing the hundredth of ten-thousand waiting bugle beads with one or two local drag queens, staring open mouthed at a small, shit television propped up on a pile of clean laundry encased in a garbage bag, and onscreen a shoulder-padded daytime soap actress made lines like “there’s nothing to worry about Blake – do you really think I’d expose the Nazi treasure to outsiders?”

“Yeah, let’s,” she said.

He’d found a squat, orangey building with collapsed flower beds out front and only the faintest smell of weed in the halls. She noted, vain, that he opened the doors for her and motioned her up the stairs first and it wasn’t until she’d reached the top landing of the third floor, and he was sorting out keys that she felt the pluck of that old sexy situation, which was Going Inside a Boy’s Apartment, something she hadn’t done since college, and even at that time, something that usually happened under the close watch of protective friends. She couldn’t eye him either, to see which way his intentions were shifting – he was already eying her – but then he let her inside and the feeling was wiped out by absurd, maternal relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she blurted out. “This is so much better.”

The place still smelled like paint and floor wax, and she walked about at her leisure, touching the walls, and flapping her arms, knowing she wasn’t going to crash into a spiderweb or trod on mummified centipedes. The only furniture yet was a pulled-out futon (he was a bedmaker, who knew) and the walls had been built out to delineate a kitchen. She lifted the back of her shirt to the air conditioner.

“I thought you were an idiot for accepting that place, before,” she told him, regarding the old basement. “Or you’d picked it to antagonize people on purpose.”

“Give me a break! I was broke. I was nineteen.”

He shed one flip-flop on his way to the kitchen. She watched it prone on the floor while she calculated.

“No, no,” she reminded him. “When we first met, Ava said you were twenty. We were in a bar. She made you duck under the table when the bouncer made rounds. You were illegal.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, unevenly thwap-thwapping back to her. He handed her a beer. “I was here a whole year before you showed up. I came before you.”

He sat on the edge of the futon, and she considered that perspective as he scratched the back of his shin with his bare foot. He had long, narrow feet, and when he was looking at things that weren’t people looking back at him, his eyes tended to glaze over. He was looking at the blank wall.

“Hold up,” she said. “How old are you now?”

“Old enough for you to sit next to me,” he replied.

It didn’t mean anything, coming from him. She left her beer on the windowsill and sat next to him. He’d have to get a nicer bed at some point, she thought, bouncing up and down a little, and wondered if, all along, his manners and his living situation pissed her off so much not because, as she initially believed, they were representations of his obnoxious personality, but because she had been frightened that he was going to get hurt and clearly no one else around was going to warn him otherwise.

“You must have left your parents pretty quick,” she said.

“That was my aunt and uncle, just now.”

“Were they more fun when you were growing up?”

“My grandma raised me,” he said. “For eight years. Then we swapped.”

She unfastened her sandal straps and tried to dream up a guess about him that could possibly be correct, but she had the feeling if she said raised in a house? He’d go no, in Mr. Toad’s canary-colored caravan, and the woodland squirrels taught me how to sew, and I lost my virginity to Morlocks. She wondered if she was the first girl he’d ever brought up here. She wondered if his aunt and uncle already knew he was gay. She wondered if he was gay. And in her wonderings, she missed, at first, his growing impatience beside her. He touched her hand; she accidentally flipped her right sandal underneath the futon.

“Crap,” she said.

He rolled his eyes and slid to the floor, slipped between her legs, and with one cheek pressed to her thigh he rooted one armed underneath the springs and came out with the sandal, which he deliberately tossed several feet away. He came up on his knees, face lifted to hers, and she had to spread her own knees to accommodate him. His stern little expression was very cute, and she was warm with pleasant condescension, something sorely missing from her and Ava’s ropework that afternoon. She was tired of art, she decided, ignoring Jules’ cold hands creeping up the back her shirt, and she was tired of fantasy and she was sick of endurance feats physical and mental, and she was tired of her own cowardly communication, so much so the tiny bubble of unearned pride she felt for Jules’s ability to maneuver himself into the positions he required ballooned, out of control, into an old familiar cocoon where she couldn’t hurt him and he couldn’t hurt her.

“Nobody knows,” he told her, perhaps feeling it too. “But I can be a good boy.”

Jiminy Christmas, indeed. But he couldn’t have her for cheap, and he clawed her spine too confidently. She put her palm to his left cheek, let her thumbnail scrape over a pale divot where it looked like the nap of a paint scraper had teased out a pill of his flesh, years ago.

“Listen,” she asked, and squeezed his ribs with her knees. “If you had met me while I was with relatives, and I looked scared about it, what would you have done?”

His fixed gaze skittered to the side, over the wall, across the floor, and while he didn’t retreat, he only spoke up when his face reached a zenith of clumsy guilt. “I would have fucked around with you first,” he admitted. “Only a little.”

“I thought so,” she said, and smacked him a nasty one across the face.

With no furniture around, the crack resonated. Jules took it open-eyed. He didn’t whine or argue and only clenched his jaw a couple seconds after, when the real pain hit. He faced her again, glowing and pink, his left eye watering. She couldn’t help it. She grabbed his head and squeezed and clawed and palpated, yanked his lamby hair, perfect for yanking, and beat his butt with her heels. His head thrashed and his hands flapped around behind her back. She seized one and forced it down on the blanket and let the other undo her halter knot while she bridled him with her free thumb. His back molars rose on the edges in sharp ridges, and she whirled her wrist under his chin until she could see him swallow from the inside. The whites of his eyes showed.

“Good boy my ass,” she said, to herself, but he heard and appeared wounded. “Okay, okay,” she conceded. She wiped her thumb on his face, forgave him silently, and even her playful meanness disintegrated. He crawled over her lap and rubbed his red-hot face in her shoulder, gnawed painlessly on her clavicle. His shorts stuck out in front.

She knew a hundred ways of positioning and a hundred more roleplay scenarios he’d probably accept without suspecting she used them not to her pleasure, but to protect her modesty. She was sick of it all, hadn’t fucked or been fucked properly since she’d been his age, and was horny enough to maim. She took him again by the shorthairs along the nape of his toasted neck, and when he sighed down her back, she pressed his hand to her groin.

“Feel,” she ordered.

He felt dopily, paused, and resumed. Squeezed. Offered no comment.

“Tell me what that is,” she said.

He had delicate ways when he had enough patience to reveal them. Without asking permission he slipped a hand down her waistband, far between her legs, far too quickly for her to chase him off, and by the time she felt him properly, he held her so the head nestled in the heel of his hand, wedged against the meat of his thumb. He felt her up against the underside vein of his silky wrist.

“That’s the cock that’s gonna fuck me,” he answered, correctly.

 -

She had condoms in her purse. He had Vaseline in a bric-a-brac moving tub besides the futon. He rolled onto his narrow tummy, and she flipped him onto his back again so fast he nearly rolled off the mattress. She wished, as she watched him raise a knee and finger himself, that she’d brought her toolkit with her from the club where she kept her nitrile gloves and her fancy salves and her more mobile toys. Jules laid himself out on the futon like somebody else would on a beach, languid and comfortable and she pressed one of his nipples with impatience. She suspected he’d be chatty, but he didn’t speak at all during the preliminaries. He had more body hair than she would have expected, but not enough to grab, and a severe bathing suit tan line that reminded her of Ava’s jabs about the minor gossip between him and Roscoe. She wondered if some queen paid him to lay out on a patio somewhere, if that kind of arrangement still happened, and she wondered if he could let go of the sniping and the attitude long enough to show that hypothetical crowd what he was showing her now – that he was, actually, a very good boy.

When he was ready for her, the very good boy reached out with his arms (and made gimme-gimme clutches with his hands). She obligingly sank on top of him, then, quicker than she intended, into him, guided by his hooked shin and a decisive hand on her ass. She clawed his scalp and arched, involuntarily driving herself forward. A telltale sensation like he’d dumped a bucket of his own blood over her head soaked her from head to toe, and for a hot second she thought it was too late – then he jerked one her nipples until she shrieked and came back to him, stunned. 

You’ve got more than that in you, she heard him say, through the haze in her brain, and in between two blinks he swapped out the sadist faunlet for, once again, being her very good boy, and he undid her bun with one hand and guided her head so he could kiss her mouth and calm her down. She saw from above his legs lock around the small of her back. She was shocked she could get hard enough to effectively penetrate, a shock that blissfully vaporized as she rocked inside him.

His own cock, which they mutually ignored, was restrained by her soft stomach. Her breasts ached, pressed against his chest, and she had to break free from his clasp to prop herself on her forearms. He followed her, licked her lips until she gave up and sank back down. The tip of his nose was cold against her cheek. She could feel his lashes and the curve of his eyeball roam around in the socket. He was a ferocious and intent kisser, not nearly so languid now, and every goosebump outside his skin and strand of muscle beneath rose to her, encased her in his prickles. His focus made her quite aware of a separation between her hips (melted, as far as she was concerned) and her brain, electric-bright now, entertaining Jules by turns as a barbed, poisonous plant, as a nuzzling, brainless creature, as a mean bottom slut who clawed her bottom and held her hair in a knot in his fist, who maybe needed to be exercised as a handler would a spirited pony, in order to nurture his kindness, improve his manners, and keep his juices fresh – and she giggled involuntarily, a tight muscle in her back relaxed, and she came inside a boy for the first time.

She either made an unacceptable noise, or a had been making noises all along. A downstairs neighbor ratta-tat-tatted their ceiling, Jules’s floor. Practical as a fillet knife, Jules pushed her out of his ass, swung one leg wide, slammed his heel rudely against the floorboards, uttered “fuck off, asshole” then rolled back to her again and rubbed his face between her breasts. She cuddled him a couple tender seconds, which he tolerated, before scuttling backward and regarding her from a lucid distance as she disposed the condom.

“Come back here, she said. He looked like a praying mantis.

First, he stuck his legs off the thin mattress and with one judicious sweep of his torso, seemed to crack every bone in his body. Then he crawled over and allowed himself to be held.

“Oh,” she noticed. “You didn’t come.” His dick was still hard, and when he laid his back flat against her hip, it bobbed due west of his belly button.

“Relax, it doesn’t always happen for me.”

She ignored him and let her ego propel her forward. He reclined on her like she was a chaise and breathed through his nose.

“You know what Ava calls you?” She asked, jerking him onward and upward, hopefully.

“I’m a community opportunist,” he answered smugly. “Plus, Roscoe’s houseboy.”

Two out of two, verbatim. She drew her nails up and down his stomach and he twitched, fought against curling up. “Houseboy,” he repeated, hissed. “The last houseboy passed away in the fucking nineties. They peeled him down with the wallpaper.” She felt, through his spine, how he tried and failed to work up a temper. “Then they tatted his chalk outline above some burlesque artist’s John Willie tramp stamp. Mistress Avalon sure is concerned with faggot business.”

“Your boys don’t make you come?” She asked, a hill over him now, and above arguing. He sparred solely with himself.

“What boys? These guys – big guys –”

She went back for more Vaseline, not great for this kind of thing, but she was getting the idea Jules had a sensible nursery spirit and rarely abused himself. He didn’t appear to know much about his body and froze like a striker frame when she rolled the tip of him in her palm for more than fifteen seconds.

“– They think your asshole is your only sex organ,” he continued. “They hate themselves for loving twinks. And then they give you the reach around and if you aren’t wet like pussy then oh-h-h-h my god, it’s like the fucking sky is falling –”

She sat up, and his feet paddled the blanket to stay in contact. He reached behind her and grabbed her hair again but didn’t pull. He turned his face into her neck, and he shook all over.

“Being a slut is really hard,” he said, woefully, failing to hide, for a millisecond, the ghost of what might have been a sweet kid. Or it was her imagination. Either way, she made him come all over himself. It didn’t seem to register to him until the drops hit his chest. He looked down at his sad, wet dick and then back up at her, so testily she laughed in his face. He was smudged pink all over from her lipstick, and she pinched his springy cheeks.

“I’m a cradle-robber,” she declared.

“Okay, Methuselah,” he said, unimpressed, and darted away into the dirty ivory bathroom before she could slap his ass.

He recovered rapidly. In the sunny room things took a slumber party turn. He fetched her abandoned beer, dug out makeup wipes he inexplicably possessed, and repaired the damage to her makeup. He berated her when she couldn’t stop giggling.

“I was kind of wondering…” he began.

He paused. Sex had made him tactful.

“Go on,” she allowed.

“I was wondering if I’d ever figure out why you bothered being a dominatrix.” He used the point of his little finger to clear wet black scuzz from the corner of her eye. She hardly felt it. “Ava’s got her thing about being top dog. Claire’s a sadist. And somebody needs to get around to neutering Archie before he starts spraying the furniture. You, a mystery.”

“You think about me!” She preened and wiggled.

“You go on.”

“I like,” she confided, “to strap muscle hunks to the pommel horse and tickle them until they scream.”

“Gee whiz.”

“I like straitjackets, but I don’t like rope,” she continued. “And I like floggers, but not single-tail whips. And I like human furniture, but not human ashtrays.”

“The Marquis de Lux over here.”

He’d reached around and started French-braiding her hair. She put her ear to his chest and found his mousey heart.

“My mom and dad were angels,” she continued. “And my sisters were angels and my aunts and uncles and my grandparents. They were angels from the start. So was I. I liked it. Doctors like it too. When a kid is angelic, and very, very, very, very good, and says the right things, and rolls over. They give you what you need.” She thought that over. “They decide to give you what you need,” she clarified. “I was rolling over constantly. I didn’t know how to stop. It freaked me out.”

Jules’s heart answered wug-wug-wug. He sat in her lap and tried to get her braid to stay fixed in a twist. “See, I’m the opposite,” he said. “I’m a huge cunt, but I’m always looking for an excuse to be nice.”

Her hair unwound down her back. He clamped her bobby pins between his teeth, to deliberately make the job harder, then, looking down in their laps, spit them on the floor. And as quickly as she decided she needed to find her clothes and depart, having revealed too much, she stayed the entire night.

 -

On the lifeguard pavilions, the green flags were lowered, and yellow flags were handed up.

“Archie,” said Jules, from the safety of the canoe, “Head on back to dry land. No! no,” he called when Archie took Lux’s elbow. “Cathy and I need to talk really quick.”

“It’s not safe,” Archie said.

“I’m Red Cross certified,” Jules said, arms outspread up the oars as far as they could go. “I’m a beautiful heroine, waiting to happen. Also, I’m in fucking charge.”

“Go away, Archie,” Lux agreed, and Archie slopped to the shore, his broad back damp red in the sun’s undergrowth. Dark clouds approached from the west.

“Actually, that’s my boss.” Jules pointed to the sand straight ahead, where a bronzed ingenue, her thigh muscles sticking out like bread loaves, appeared to be watching the duo intently.

“You’ll get in trouble,” Lux cautioned.

“She wants to ride me hard and put me away wet, I think I can get away with it. I feel like you must have,” he added, pointedly. “She’s nineteen.”

It was hard to glare when wet, and it was hard to talk with Jules high and dry. Lux was clammy and clingy, and she couldn’t understand why he sniped at her. Then he crouched down, chest to knees, under pretext of scraping the oars straight down his gunwales and snapped, with pure, guileless annoyance: “Why are you pissed off? I’m the one who should be mad.”

That was too much to bear. “Jules –”

“I showed you my hole and said call me.” He straightened, the little snot, sincerity evaporated. “And you didn’t call me. Now I feel cheap.”

“Jules,” she said, sticking to her own path. “They don’t know.”

“Of course, they don’t know!” He said, clueless, if technically correct. “I didn’t think you’d spread it around to that crowd.”

“Shut up, Jules,” she tried again, and when his mouth opened automatically, she really blew. “Shut the fuck up!”

He shut the fuck up.

“They don’t know. They don’t know.”

She refused to say anymore. She wasn’t in the mood to roll over. Funny, how fucking a guy in the ass could spackle over a few of the gaping holes in her dignity. Patiently, she watched Jules rock to-and-fro, his face oscillating between his premature certainty and the vanishing tail of what she was trying to explain. Then he exclaimed, “huh!” and raised his face to the heavens.

Whistles sounded north and south, and one of his canoe companions raced twenty yards past, churning the creaming waves to reach the point to disembark. Jules ignored it all.

“Oh.” He started, blank-faced. “There’s bossola.”

He waved to the girl on the beach, who was really putting her back into her whistle. “Jesus, baby,” he said just as abruptly to Lux, who had been forced to retreat a few feet to find higher ground. “Now I’m really starting to worry.”

It was either of their guesses, as to what situation he was talking about. Lux wasn’t sure herself, and doubted he knew. His confusion reminded her less of him now, more of him the morning after, when she’d woken up, found him sitting bolt upright, staring at the walls of his clean, sunny studio. He’d turned to her bleary face, and with no confidence whatsoever, asked, Is it really so much better? 

“You want to climb up?” He asked now. “I’ll tell boss you have a cramp.”

“No, I can make it by myself.” She strolled backwards, ass out of the water, and twisted the sarong in front.

“I told Roscoe I fucked a girl for the first time,” he called to her, his eyes cast demurely downward. “You should have seen the sweat roll down his back.”

“I’ll call you,” she promised.

“Yeah, you better,” he advised, and shielded his face against the bursting spray. “Before someone else does. Ladies love the canoe.”

One perky heave-ho, and he displaced bow and stern, fixed his little craft perpendicular to the beach, and cast off toward the pier.

On the beach, Archie and Claire scuttled in the sand, packing their bags, and shaking out their towels. Claire held Jules’s rogue, soaked hat. “I was going to swim back over, but she yanked me out,” she explained, and pointed out Jules’s bossola, who had, watching Lux emerge from the dirty waters, eyed her face, eyed her cleavage, and continued stalking down the shore. She had an ass that needed to be seen to be believed. Lux hoped Jules wouldn’t tease her too much. She might call him sooner, to demand that exclusively. Possibilities, vistas, scenarios, she thought of all these and wrapped her towel around her waist, and she faced the dreary city skyline and she dreamed, and the full force of her imagination asserted itself.

“I’ll give it to him when I see him next.” 

Domme Lux took property of the hat.

Ava, ever watchful, caressed their folded umbrella. “I thought you and Jules didn’t get along,” she said. Deliberately did not ask. Lux, in that moment, didn’t care. It wasn’t her job to teach Ava manners.

“I like him just fine,” she said.

[mystyrust]

Fracture - Ectober 2020

Day 2 Prompt: Bones / Pulse  

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203635

Word Count:  2387

Tags: Past torture, identity reveal

There were many ways Maddie liked to spend her weekend. When her kids were younger, she and Jack would take them out to museums or parks – a family outing. Now that her kids are in high school and have a lot of homework, they don’t go out every weekend anymore. In fact, it feels like they haven’t had time to bond as a family in months. Jazz is always in the library and Danny is always with his friends – sometimes even sleeping over – or catching up on missed homework. Maddie could never figure out why Danny had a backlog of homework to catch up on, yet always had time to hang out with Sam and Tucker.

Now, with her kids spending all their free time by themselves, Maddie liked to spend her free time in her lab, creating and improving her inventions to catch the elusive ghost Phantom. It had been around the time that Phantom appeared that Danny and Jazz became more distant – while both her children were in support of the ghost vigilante, Maddie and Jack were against it, devoting their free time into solving the mystery of what made Phantom different from every other ghost that haunted Amity Park. They wanted to catch it, run experiments with it, and dissect it.

So this weekend was like any other – Maddie was huddled in her lab with Jack, working out the schematics of a new invention – when their Fenton Ghost Detector beeped; a strong ecto-signature was detected inside the Fenton household. This was normal if the ghost came out of the Fenton portal – this signature came from… the living room. Maddie and Jack ran up to find Phantom having stumbled through the front door, leaking ectoplasm behind it.

“What do you think you’re doing here, spook?!” Jack raised his ecto gun at the intruder, his large frame standing in between Maddie and the ghost. But Phantom was in no shape to fight.

“I… I need help,” The ghost managed to gasp out. Maddie paused in confusion. The ghost had tears streaming down its face, heavy breathing, and ectoplasm leaking down one limp arm. It’s mimicking of human physiology was fascinating. And to come to ghost hunters for help? Either this was a trap, or it wasn’t thinking straight.

“The..guys in…white… barely got away from them,” Phantom continued to explain. Maddie noticed him sway where he stood. And that was the weird part – he stood. Not floated. And he had legs, instead of a spectral tail.

“Please, before they… finish me… like they did…”

Jack lowered his ecto gun ever so slightly – not lowering his guard, but still confused about what to do. It was odd, seeing the always confident Phantom reduced to pleading and begging its former enemies. Something in his psyche was so shattered from his experience with the GIW…

Maddie didn’t know what to make of that, but she couldn’t waste a perfectly good opportunity when it knocked phased right through her front door.

“Let’s… let’s stabilize him for now,” Maddie said, lowering Jack’s aim. “Then we can ask him what happened. And decide what to do after that,”

Jack nodded in agreement. He gingerly placed his ectogun down, approaching Phantom with both is hands up and in front.

“We’ll help you, spook,” Jack spoke loud and purposefully. “But we’ll need to take you down to the lab to do that,” Phantom nodded slightly, and Jack took that as permission to walk up to the ghost. Phantom was… he wasn’t heavy but Jack wasn’t expecting the ghost to be as solid and corporeal as he was. He lifted the ghost in his arms, and followed Maddie down to the basement.

The ghost offered little resistance, but he was breathing heavily, and leaking a concerning amount of ectoplasm from his limp arm and one of his legs. It must be difficult to keep up the charade of struggling to breathe, when he’s lost as much ectoplasm as he has, Maddie thinks.

They place him on an examination table, with Maddie grabbing a scanner and running it over his damaged arm.

“Jack…” Her voice shuddered, “His arm is… it’s fractured.”

“What? That makes no sense, he doesn’t even have…bones…” but the scanner showed Jack exactly that.

There were a million and one questions that ghosted Maddie’s lips: How did you get bones? Do other ghosts also have bones? Where do the bones in your body go when you form a spectral tail? Are your bones made of calcium, just like human bodies? But the words that left her mouth were:

“You have bones?”

All her years of academic study, her dual MD/PhD, wasted on a Captain Obvious™ moment.

“Yeah, no duh,” Phantom cracked an eye open, while the rest of his face continued to grimace. “And it hurts…like hell…” There was that snarky teenaged attitude the Fentons were so familiar with.

“How do we even treat this?” Jack asked. One of Phantom’s legs was badly muddled – peeling the suit back revealed deep and numerous gashes. He was losing ounces of ectoplasm a second, and if these injuries were on a human, he’d need blood transfusion and stitches.

“Well, we can supplement ectoplasm to help his healing factor. And then…” Maddie gulped. “Stitch the leg. And set the arm.”

Maddie went to the back of the lab, returning with a set of tools. Scalpels, needles, and bandages. The glint of the metal must have caught Phantom’s eyes – how was he still conscious? A human with this much blood loss would not be awake right now – and the ghost started hyperventilating.

“What are you –? No, please! Please don’t! I wasn’t – !”

“Phantom! We’re helping you!” Jack yelled back. Phantom stared at Jack, eyes fogging over and breathing uneven.

“I’m sorry I never…I should have told you sooner,” Phantom cried. It was an ugly cry, from a body and heart in pain. Maddie didn’t know what else to call it. What kind of guilt could be eating Phantom alive, from the inside?

“I can’t –” Phantom grunted. “I can’t change back! I’m sorry, I’m sorry I should have –”

“How about we help you first, then you tell us what you should have told us when your arm and leg are better?”

Phantom, still sniffling, nodded silently.

Maddie set to work with putting stitches on his leg, while Jack hooked an IV of purified ectoplasm. She looped phase proof thread – from Jack’s Fenton Fishing Pole – onto a surgical needle, and set to work, closing one of the many wounds. Since the wound was deep, Maddie needed to stitch the inner layers first, before sewing the outer layers shut. She was marveled at the level of detail in this ghosts’ body – maybe she could ask him about that when he was healed up.

It was strange that only one leg was injured, while the other leg looked fine. It was stranger how Phantom’s breathing and crying hitched every time her needle pierced his flesh.

“Phantom, can you –? Can you feel the needle as I –?”

“Mhmm,” Phantom managed to grunt, tears freely flowing from his eyes. “Please hurry, Mom.”

Maddie froze in her tracks. Why did he even –? Okay calm down.

He can feel pain. He can display emotion. He can appear delusional with loss of bodily fluids. And in that delusion, he seeks a parental figure.

He has the psyche of a child, her rational mind concludes. So she’ll play that part.

“Almost,…Almost done, sweetie.” Maddie responds hesitantly. “You’re doing great.”

As for the feeling pain part, she isn’t how drugs can affect a ghost – and she can’t take a chance that Phantom will react badly to some experimental medication they use on him. She can only hope that he passes out at some point, and doesn’t feel any pain for the remainder of the procedure. From watching previous footage of his battles in chronological order, Maddie had concluded that Phantom has a fast healing factor. She can only hope that healing factor is still fast. He’ll be fine.

Funny how in the course of an hour, she stopped thinking of Phantom from an “it” and started to think of Phantom as a “he”

It took thirty more minutes of verbal coaxing and soothing for Maddie to finish stitching Phantom’s leg. He promptly passed out when that was done. While Phantom was asleep, Jack finished bandaging the arm, adding a splint to keep it straight.

Finally, with ghostly patient asleep and treated, Maddie and Jack sat down, exhausted.

“Well, I never thought – ” Jack paused, unsure how to word it. They learned more about Phantom’s physiology today than ever before, and he broke every known convention about ghosts that they’d researched thus far. Not to mention a ghost turning to a ghost hunter for help.

“I want to take a sample of his ectoplasm while we can,” Maddie said. “But he might not have enough to spare. And I have a feeling that we’ll get more questions than answers under the microscope, too.”

“You’re right,” Jack agreed. “I wonder what he went through, for him to be as injured as he was and decide to come to us, of all people. Heh, Danny and Jazz would freak.”

“Well, Danny’s sleeping over at Sam’s again, and Jazz was tutoring someone else this weekend.” Maddie mused. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Phantom stayed here for a few days without them even knowing.” It hurt her to know how detached her children had become from her, and it hurt her to know that her assessment of the situation was objectively correct – Jazz and Danny were rarely home.

“Well, he mentioned the guys in white,” Jack said. “If they are the ones who did this to him, and we protect him from those guys, we can earn his trust. And then maybe he’ll let his guard down enough for us to …at least solve the mystery of what he is.”

The two scientists stare at the sleeping form of Phantom, noticing how even in a seemingly unconscious state, his chest rises and falls with each breath.

“With his consent, I suppose,” Jack added.

_

A few hours later, in the middle of dinner, Maddie and Jack are interrupted to rude knocking from their front door.

“Ugh, not another door to door salesman,” Jack grunted. Answering the door revealed that their rude guests were none other than

“GIW,” an agent dressed in white answered, holding up an identification badge. There were two agents, both equipped with ecto guns and headphones, Maddie noted.

“Yes, we can see that,” Jack responded, keeping the shock out of his face. “If you wanted to come over for dinner, you should have called earlier. We don’t have leftovers.”

“We came to inform you that Phantom has escaped our captivity,”

“We didn’t even know you had Phantom in captivity,” Jack raised his brows in surprise.

“Just a few hours of questioning. We underestimated his abilities, and his allies.” The agent continued. “We’ll need extra weapons, the latest of whatever you’ve developed.”

“Well, we don’t have anything, since we gave you everything we made last time,” Maddie interjected. “So we don’t have anything complete yet. And besides, wouldn’t it have been faster for you to send an email or announcement that Phantom escaped? You must have lost a lot of time driving around to come tell us in person.”

“You never know who could be listening.”

“And besides,” the agent in the back added, “There was a chase. We don’t know where he disappeared to, but we suspect he stopped by here.”

“And why do you think he stopped by here?” Jack was very good at keeping the caution out of his voice, Maddie noted. If it were her, their cover would have probably been blown by now.

“Isn’t it weird for a ghost to hide out at a ghost hunter’s house?”

“True, but the same ghost uses technology he stole from a ghost hunter, and he can go into the ghost zone from the portal in your basement,” This was nothing new to Maddie. In fact, it annoyed her that Phantom used Fenton tech, because it meant he somehow evaded ghost detectors in their home to acquire it, or it was handed to him directly by Danny or Jazz. That last one hurt the most; she couldn’t bear the thought of her children going behind her back to support someone who was the very antithesis of everything they stood for.

Or, someone who used to be that. Maddie isn’t sure how she feels about Phantom now, but at the very least, she doesn’t want to hurt him anymore.

“Well, we’ve been home all day, and our equipment didn’t detect anything. But if we find anything new, we’ll call.” Jack told the two agents.

“Alright, stay on alert!” The first agent said, before leaving. Jack closed the front door, and the two waited until they saw the agents sit in their vehicle and drive off, before moving from their spot. Thank goodness they didn’t come inside or into the lab; the lab’s high ectoplasmic content could somewhat mask Phantom’s signature, and could be explained as a false positive on ghost detecting radars, but they wouldn’t be able to hide an unconscious ghost – an unconscious ghost! How wild is that?! – if the agents wound up downstairs.

Maddie breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s been a few hours, let’s check on him”

Maddie and Jack headed downstairs to their lab. Just as they had left him, Phantom was sleeping on the examination table, hooked to an IV of ectoplasm. The fracture on his arm looked like it would heal completely – the naturally cool body temperature of the ghost helped, along with his quick healing factor. His leg looked significantly better, though Maddie wasn’t sure if the stitches would leave behind scars.

Maddie pulled a notebook from the work table, adding and updating her notes with everything they’d learned about Phantom today.

“Can ghosts get scars?” Maddie mused out loud. “Or is it unique to him?”

“I dunno, I guess we’ll have to ask –”

Their conversation is interrupted by a groan – Phantom was waking up – followed by a flash of bright white light. The Fentons covered their eyes, and when the light died down, they’re met with even more questions than answers.

“Danny?!”

[massivelycreepypineapple]

An Army Of Two

Pairing: AU!Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N is battling depression and is doing her best to hide it from her new neighbour Dean who is hell bent on talking to her. But little does she know that he’s smarter than he lets on. 

Warning: Depression, angst and some fluff.

Word Count: 2959

A/N: You know how you have an idea and it’s all brilliant in your head? Yeah that was me. But I just had to ruin it by writing it down. But even so, I’m curious to see how this has fared. So by all means critique away!  

Masterlist

❅ ❅ ❅

Y/N sat on the middle of her bed hiding under the blanket. She had gone beyond her limit for the day and she was struggling to keep it together. And what a rotten day it was. She was hanging out with one of her friends. They were at a cafe, catching up after a while. It wasn’t that Y/N didn’t like her, she just felt like being left alone for the most part, so she didn’t really have the same level of enthusiasm as her friend. But she was still polite, and talked as much as she could, not letting F/N know just how bad her mental state had gotten since the last time they spoke. But things soon went south.

~flashback~

“So Y/N, what’s going on with you?” Asked F/N.

“Oh you know, just a lot of work. it’s pretty fun, I work in the travel section of the magazine and they send me to a lot of places to write about.”

“Sounds wonderful!”

“Yeah. Although the travel does exhaust you, It doesn’t hurt that you get to sample a lot of the local cuisine for free.” Y/N chuckled.

F/N laughed at that, “Yeah, now it all makes sense!”

“What does?”

“The fact that you’ve put on weight. Is that why you’re single?”

~flashback end~

Y/N was shocked at that. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t realise she had put on weight, or the fact that she was single because of that. She had a lot of things to feel insecure about, it was after all her constant state of being. The voices in her head never stopped. But the one good thing was she never really thought of her body as bad. But after that comment, everything came crashing down. Another insecurity got added to the growing list. To think she was actually having a pleasant time.

She shouldn’t have been surprised, however. F/N was always a bit of a bitch. She didn’t have enough empathy and the ability to be sensitive to someone’s situation. But she was one of the few people who even acknowledged her in college, and they did kind of become friends. So when F/N wanted to meet up, Y/N didn’t know how to say no. So after that dreadful lunch, she came straight home and hid herself under the blanket.

Every horrible thought she ever had came to her and soon new ones related to her body arrived and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Suddenly she heard her doorbell ring, bringing her out of the funk. She was hesitant at first, then slowly made her way to the door and opened it without removing the latch. She peaked through the small gap and met with a pair of gorgeous green eyes.

“Hey, Y/N”, Said Dean with a soft smile.

“S’not a good time, Dean.”

“Oh okay, I just wanted to borrow a couple of eggs. I’m in the process of baking a cake and I’m running short.

Y/N sighed and closed the door, opening it up fully signalling him to come inside. She walked to the fridge and pulled out the egg crate of half a dozen eggs and gave it to him.

“Keep it.” She said.

“I just need two.”

“No take it. I don’t want it” She snapped slightly, soon regretting it.

“Y/N… what’s wrong?”

She shook her head at him, “Nothing.. just keep the eggs, Dean. I hardly ever use them.” Which was a lie. She loved bacon and eggs. It was her go to breakfast.

“Okay..” He said hesitantly. He didn’t move and just stared at her with worry in his eyes. She hated it. She didn’t deserve it.

“Something else you want?” She asked.

“Umm no. This is all.” He slowly turned to leave.

She followed him out and closed the door not waiting for him to say anything else. She leaned against the door and shut her eyes. Damn Winchester. He only recently moved into the apartment and she was already developing a major crush on him. They met in the hallway when she was coming back from grocery shopping one evening. He seemed like a nice enough guy. They’d always chat when they bumped into each other. Which was kind of often considering they lived opposite each other. He was always trying to find out more about her, but she’d just politely make an excuse to get away when things started to get too personal. it was a wonder he was still nice to her. She felt like an absolute dick.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate him. Caz she so did. He made her smile when she didn’t think she could. She welcomed his chats and his corny jokes. She found him absolutely endearing and it didn’t hurt that he was a sight to look at. But she was afraid he’d find out about her depression and anxiety and she’d soon become this burden of a person for him to be careful around. Even if she could never get someone like Dean to like her back, she still enjoyed what little time he spent talking to her and she didn’t want to ruin it by accidentally letting out too much.

She made her way back to bed, falling asleep without dinner and dreaming of green eyes and handsome neighbours.

Next Day

Dean’s POV

Dean was excited. He had baked a cake last night for his extremely adorable neighbour. He knew there was something special about Y/N. The second he met her, he was smitten with her, but she was so aloof. Every time he’d try to get to know more about her, she’d clam up and make some excuse to leave. He knew why she did that. He’d seen that kind of behaviour before. But it wasn’t his place to bring it up. If she wanted to tell him stuff, she could in her own time. So all he did was make sure she smiled at least a little when they talked.

He picked up the cake and went over to ring the bell. He knew she was home. Call him a stalker, but he tends to pay more attention when it comes to Y/N. She opened the door and raised an eyebrow at him with a small smile. God how much he loved that smile. He wanted to see that often. She never smiled enough. In fact she almost always looked so sad. He shook himself from his thoughts and put on a shit eating grin.

“You did provide the important ingredient after all, so half of this is for you.” He said. “Can I come in?”

“I suppose so” She replied after a beat and led the way in, leaving the door open since his was. Dean walked to the dinning table and placed the cake while Y/N went to get a knife and a box for her half. He looked around her apartment and found the place to be pretty messy. He didn’t really pay attention last night when he was here. He was too busy questioning her foul mood. But looking at it now, raised alarms in his head considering she was normally a tidy person.

Y/N placed the box on the table and handed him the knife. Dean raised an eyebrow at that, “You don’t want to have some now?” sounding a bit hopeful. He wanted her to taste his cake. He was a good cook, but his desserts were to die for, or so his friends and family would say.

“I just had something to eat. I’ll be sure to have it later.” She said tucking her hair behind her ears.

He knew things weren’t okay. He knew she was going through hell because her behaviour reminded him so much of a childhood friend. He wanted to be there for her.

“Please? Just a small slice.” He gave her puppy dog eyes that could rival his brother’s.

Y/N looked at him for a while seemingly contemplating what to do next. He understood that her instincts where telling her to not eat. He had somehow put it together when she forced the eggs upon him. He knew for a fact that she loved eggs and bacon. He smelled it every morning on his way to work.

Dean’s eyes lit up when she finally nodded. He cut up a slice for her to eat and he took some himself. He watched her take the first bite and her eyes closed in bliss.

“Dean, this is absolutely heaven! I didn’t know you could bake like this.”

He chuckled at her, “Yeah I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Oh by all means don’t hesitate to show me some tricks if this is how they taste!”

Oh she was good. She’d make a good actor. He knew she meant it, but he could see the hesitation in her eyes and the slight shake of her hand when she took the first bite. He couldn’t help but feel his heart clench. Who hurt her? She deserved the damn world. He was taken aback by that thought. He had never felt so protective of someone except his brother, Sam.

He grinned at her, “I’m glad you liked it, sweetheart. I really am”

“You should open a bakery. This is honestly so good.”

“I don’t know. I just might.” He smiled. At that moment and to his disappointment he heard his phone go off in his place and he excused himself to go answer it.

Y/N’S POV

God he was a fantastic baker. He really was. And she meant what she said. But she couldn’t stop the voice in her head that plaguing her since last evening. “The fact that you’ve put on weight. Is that why you’re single?”. God she felt so ugly and fat. She could feel Dean’s eyes on her. So she had to fake this till he left. But luck for once was on her side when his phone rang and he left.

She closed the door after him. The voices came back full force and she was getting hysterical. She didn’t know how to stop it. She was gonna lose this battle. She was gonna succumb to her demons. She was so tired of doing this by herself. She ran to the bathroom to wash her face, hoping the cool water would help but it didn’t do much. She stared at herself in the mirror finding all the flaws and insecurities that have haunted her for years now. She finally saw what F/N saw. She had indeed put on weight and she felt so disgusting and ugly. No wonder boys don’t notice her. Dean was only being nice because he had yet to find friends in this part of town. Once he does she’d be just a neighbour, nothing more. It’s why she tried to be aloof. But he was just too damn stubborn and adorable, he made her feel safe. She hadn’t felt safe in a long long time.

Totally disgusted with herself, Y/N went to the toilet and shoved two fingers down her throat and started puking out everything she had eaten so far, which wasn’t much to begin with. Suddenly she felt a hand rub her back and the other holding her hair up.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it all out.” Dean whispered to her. Y/N was sobbing and gasping at this point.

She didn’t realise that she left the door unlocked. She puked some more before gasping out, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Why are you here?”

“Shhh Y/N, don’t apologise. I came here to see if you wanted to hang out. And then I heard crying and came in here to see you… hurting.”

Y/N started crying harder as Dean held her tightly on the bathroom floor. Once she calmed down a little, he helped her to the sink so she could clean up. He then picked her up and placed her gently on the bed, resting her against the headboard. She was still sniffling, but she calmed down from before.

Dean leaned forward and gently placed a kiss on her forehead and sat in front of her. She was afraid to look at him. So she settled for watching her fingers as they fiddled with her top. Dean didn’t make her talk. He just sat there and rubbed her legs and gave her time to get her thoughts in place. But Y/N couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“I’m broken and fucked up.” She whispered.

“You’re not fucked up, sweetheart. I promise. You’re just fighting a very hard battle.”

“I feel so stupid.”

“Why, honey?”

“You saw me. Now you know. I’m gonna be a burden to you. And you’ll feel forced to be careful around me and that’s gonna get exhausting and you’ll resent me and-“ She started breathing heavily. Her vision was getting blurry again and she realised she was crying. But she couldn’t breathe and her lungs were burning.

“Y/N it’s okay. Just breathe, sweetheart. I got you. I ain’t going anywhere ok?” He cupped her cheeks forcing her to look into his eyes. “I need you to breathe with me.” He placed her small hand on his chest. “Feel that?” She nodded. “Good. Now just follow my breath.” He guided her through the breathing and kept praising her in between. She then finally calmed down.

“I’m sorry, Dean. You don’t have to be here for this. You can leave.” She said her voice breaking a little.

Dean stood up and removed his jacket and got into the bed beside her. He wrapped his strong arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “Y/N, I’ve known for a while that you aren’t doing well.”

Her eyes widened at that and she looked at him, “What? How?”

Dean was quiet for a while before he spoke, “I knew someone who went through something similar. He was a childhood friend and I had known him for years. My brother and I were his closest friends.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died a year ago. He lost his battle.” Said Dean looking at her with sad eyes.

“I’m sorry” She whispered.

“Your behaviour, the way you’ve been acting, it kinda gave me some clue because I had seen it before with him. I figured you weren’t eating well when you gave me the eggs.”

“How?”

“You love bacon and eggs, Y/N. You make it every morning. I can smell it when I leave for work.” He chuckled.

“Oh…” She blushed embarrassed.

“Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. Like I said, you’re fighting this battle. And you’ve been doing it all alone for a while now. It ain’t easy. I brought you that cake hoping you’d eat something. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t realise that things were so bad that you made yourself throw up.”

“It got worse.”

“What happened?”

“I went to dinner with a friend of mine last night. And she said something.”

“What did she say?” He said, arms tightening around her.

“She said I had put on weight and then asked me if that was the reason why I was still single. I know it’s so stupid and it’s such a small thing. But it stung. I’m so pathetic! And she didn’t even say anything wrong. I am ugly and no one would want me.” Y/N started crying again.

“Oh sweetheart. You listen to me and you listen to me good, ok? You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. Your smile is the most brightest part of the day. I’ve wanted to ask you out on a date for a while now. I never did because you seemed aloof. So I figured you didn’t want that with me. You had enough going on as it is. An awkward neighbour is not something I wanted to add to the list.”

“You want to date me?” Y/N was shocked. Of all the people, this gorgeous man wanted to date her.

“Yeah” he chuckled. “But that can wait, Y/N. You come first right now.”

“I’m no good for you, Dean. I’m gonna exhaust you and be a burden and you don’t want that.”

“I’ll decide what I want and what’s good for me okay, honey? And I’ve decided that it’s you.”

“But-“

“Shh, Y/N. You’re amazing just the way you are. Even if you don’t feel the same, I’m here ok? I’m not going anywhere. You’re not gonna fight this alone. A battle may be smaller than a war, but it still needs an army. And this is gonna be an army of two. Together we will shut those voices up.”

“Thank you, Dean. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” He smiled brightly.

“And what if I want to date you too?” She asked hesitantly.

“You do?” He asked a light blush and a cute smile on his face.

“Y-yeah…I’ve liked you for while. I didn’t think you’d see me as anything more than a neighbour. Especially when you find better people to hang out with.”

“Baby, you can’t get rid of me even if you tried.” He squished her really hard making her gasp and laugh. “I love your laugh and smile. I’m gonna make sure you do that more often.”

“Okay” She said smiling up at him. “That won’t be too hard if it’s you doing it. I don’t know how, caz I’ve only known you for a short while but you make me feel safe.”

Dean pulled her in his lap making her squeal and kissed her on the lips making her ears turn red. 

“Your ears are cute when you blush.” He grinned at her.

She whined and hid her face in his neck making him chuckle even more. He was there for her. He kept the voices at bay. She felt safe now that she was in his arms. Maybe she could win this battle after all. Just maybe she could come out of the other side with her life intact.  

❅ ❅ ❅

TAGS BELOW

@akshi8278 @hobby27

[bbaronpiper]

Trouble

This is a project I did with @artsaree​  You can read hers here

well, I’m so nervous about this since we all know how good she is at writing but I really did enjoy writing this. haha so basically we had the same theme, setting and character traits. 

Arón x reader

Usually, you spent your Sunday nights locked inside your home. Enjoying the calm before the storm people call Monday. Reading and researching about random stuff. At a young age, you always had this unusual, intense curiosity inside you which by the way leads you to your current situation. You turned your head to the side only to see Arón smiling cheekily at you. For some reason, being behind bars was like a joke to him.

Yep. You are locked behind bars instead of your room on a Sunday evening with your boyfriend who looked like he was having the time of his life, grinning at you like an idiot.

It was a week ago when Arón woke you up from your sleep. Poking on your cheeks lightly. You slap his hands away hoping he’ll stop. “Y/N! someone’s at your door” he whispered close to your face.

“Go get it, cabron.”

“You get it. This is your house Y/N. It was you he was calling for” probably just too lazy to get up as well

“Uugghhhhh!” You then pull the covers out of your body annoyed at whoever this person is doing at your door at 2 am. Dragging your feet across the floor lazily until you reached it. Yawning before unlocking it. Revealing a tall man with broad shoulders and a beard probably the same age as Arón. You didn’t recognize him at all. You had to rub your eyes to get the sleepiness out of your system.

“Y/N/N!” the mysterious man who interrupted your sleep said excitedly as he proceeds to hug you while you just stood there dumb founded. It took you a while to come to your senses and push him away.

“umm, sorry, who are you again? And how do you know my nickname? The only one who calls me that was-“ you cut yourself as you examine him closely. You watched as he smiled cheekily at you knowing you already recognized him.

“aaahhhhhhh!!!!!!!! Marco!” you screamed excitedly and covered your mouth once you realized you had neighbors.

You heard rapid loud thuds coming from the bedroom coming closer to where you’re at.

“Woahh!!! The fuck are you doing with that bat, Arón?” raising your arms up trying to stop him. You would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the bold look he had on his face.

“I heard you screaming so I came as fast as I coul- are you okay? Who’s this? He said pointing to the man standing next to you, raising his eyebrow.

“This is Marco, my cousin. Marco, this is Arón my boyfriend” pointing at Marco then at Arón introducing them to one another. “Come in! come in!” you said squealing like a little child.

To cut the story short, Marco asked if he could stay with you and Arón for a few weeks until he finds a place to settle in. You haven’t seen him in 10 years. His family moved away when you were 8 due to some family feud and never saw him until today. Marco was your favorite. he was the only guy cousin you had, the rest were all girls which you didn’t get along too well. You were different than them you didn’t like tea parties and all that shit. You and Marco almost did everything together despite the 6 years age gap.

You spent the first nights staying up late with him catching up, telling stories reminiscing your childhood completely leaving Arón alone in the other room doing his work. This night, you decided to have a few drinks on your backyard.

“Ohh it’s still here?” Marco asked. Pointing at the old basketball ring hanged up on your wall. It was the same ring you two played with when you were kids.

“Yep!” you said popping your lips at the word. “You remember how you used to lift me up just so I can shoot the ball?” you said smiling to yourself at the memory.  

“What? Like this?!” Marco stood up abruptly walked behind you, trapped you inside his arms and lift you up. Your distinct crazy laugh was heard everywhere when you realized he trapped your arms as well so you can’t possibly reach for the ring. Once Marco realize this, he quickly let go of you making you fall to the ground laughing along with you. “You… stupid.. asshole!” you said in between laughs.

“Ahem, ahem!!” You heard someone clearing their throat. You instantly looked up to see Arón staring down at you with his arms crossed. Jealousy evident in his eyes. Marco was about to help you get up when Arón beat him to it. “I got her” he said through gritted teeth as he bends down held you by the waist and helped you get back to your feet like a child.

“Gracias” as you said nervously. Your face was close to his making you look straight into his eyes. You’re fully aware he’s pissed by the looks of him. He made sure you knew it. It was one of Arón’s bold personality. He speaks up and acts on it. He wasn’t afraid to show or say what he’s really feeling. “Time for bed?” you smiled innocently and smacked his ass. Trying to lighten the mood but he just nodded in return.

The walk inside the house was quiet with Marco following you both close behind. You can feel Marco’s not comfortable but kept his mouth shut. You said your goodnights once you reached the door of your own bedrooms.

You are now laying in bed with Arón with your head against his bare chest. You then reached to your side table and got a marker. You started drawing on his chest trying to connect his moles to each other. It’s your own way of showing him affection and sometimes just to mess up with him as an attempt to make him smile. You did it even to your own moles on your arms sometimes, you’re not sure where you got this weird trait but you figured it comes in with your eccentric personality. You always tried to connect the dots physically and even in real life situations. Arón usually let’s you do this to him except for tonight as he sat up on the bed leaving you confused.

“What was that?!”

“What was what, Arón?” sitting up as well pretending not to know.

“That! you let a random man live with us, ignoring me the whole week and now he’s touching you?” he said clearly annoyed.

“First of all are you jealous? Second, he’s not a random person he’s my cousin! And lastly, baby, I am not ignoring you!” you defended trying to make your point.

“Y/N you haven’t seen this guy for a decade! How do you know he’s your cousin? Just because he called you by your nickname?” Arón clearly stating the facts “also, so what if I’m jealous?! I’m your boyfriend and I don’t want anyone else to touch you like that!”

You burst out laughing as you just straddle onto his hips, facing him. “Bebe, I asked for his birth certificate” you kissed the tip of his nose as you laughed even more finding this argument stupid. “oh, you think this is funny, now?” he said sarcastic.

“I’m well aware you didn’t like him by the look on your face that night he came. But please just give him a chance, Arón. He’s really nice” your opinionated self, argued. “And besides, you have nothing to be jealous about. It’s not like I’m gonna fuck my cousin.” Wiggling your eyebrows at him.

Arón knows he’s gonna lose this argument. You were always the one who’s outspoken about your beliefs and opinions and fights for it. so, he just let it go for now.

“Oh right, but I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight making sure he knows who you belong to” he smiled cheeky at you as his hands gripped on your waist lifting you up away from him and slamming you onto the bed.

---

The next night was different, you spent it with Arón on your backyard trying to make up for the nights you ignored him as he likes to say. He was puffing a smoke while you sat on his lap tracing your fingers on the moles on his chest connecting it like you usually do. He was wearing a shirt but you do this often you know their placement by now.

You heard the door opened and closed followed by the sounds of keys hitting the counter top knowing Marco arrived home from his house hunting. You heard him called your name and you yelled back at him saying you’re out back. Within a few seconds, you saw him poking his head out the door.

“Have you guys had dinner yet? I brought some food”

“Okay we’ll be right there in a few” and with that he disappeared and went inside.

Arón took one last puff from his cig, turn his head away from you and exhaled the smoke. “Oh now, I’m starting to like this guy” he said laughing a little. You smacked his chest in return and walked with him towards the house.

“So, how’s your house hunting?” Arón asked Marco. You kicked his foot from under the table knowing exactly what he meant by this. This ass was excited to get rid of your cousin.    

“oh it was okay, I actually have my eye for this house just 2 blocks away from here. I might get it.” he shrugged taking a bite on his food not looking once at Arón. “By the way, Y/N/N, I drove past the house we used to sneak out to when we were kids. Do you remember? The one with the swing on the backyard? You always ask me to take you there before”

You felt Arón shifting in his seat, clearing his throat. Uh oh.  “Oh yeah, but the owner moved away years ago and no one lived there ever since. I wonder if the swing is still there”

“We wouldn’t know for sure and I wouldn’t dare go and check it out. It looks like a haunted house now.” Marco answered. “okay I’m going to bed, quite tired. Goodnight guys!” he informed us maybe just trying to avoid Arón’s glares. But before he completely disappeared from our sight, he turned around and said “ And oh, if you two are gonna get it on tonight please try to tone it down a little?” Marco winked at you both trying to hold back laughter. You then proceed to slap Arón on his arm while he’s smirking knowing he did that on purpose.

“Let’s go check it out” Arón suggested.

“Now?” smirking at him. Arón’s bold personality and your eccentric ones doesn’t mix well at times like this. You know it would turn ugly. He was always willing to make a move despite knowing the risk. While you on the other hand who has intense curiosity about things and will never be afraid to get involved, always get the two of you in trouble. But you did it anyways.

You are now climbing the fences with a huge sign written with private property on it while Arón waited for you on the other side. “Catch!” you said as you jumped onto him earning a low groan from him. He caught you by the waist and put you down on the ground. The light from your phones are the only source of light, everything else was dark. You held his hand as you excitedly drag him to the back of the house almost running. “Slow down Y/N! I swear I’m gonna laugh at you if you land on your face” Arón teased you.

You raised your hand showing him that your fingers are intertwined with him. “Well, I’m taking you with me, cabron” as you laughed in his face.

It was not long when the dark surrounding was illuminated with red and blue lights.

“Joderrrr” Arón remarked as soon as he saw it. You giggled a bit trying to hide your nervousness as he let go of your hand, raising both of his up in the air when he saw two police officers getting out of the car and starts walking towards you.

“Do you know that this is a private property?” the lady cop asked. “And we would like to see your hands too ma’am, please raise them up slowly” she added referring to you.

Nodding your head yes to the officer as you did what you were told looking at Arón while he tries to suppress a laugh. You widened your eyes at him warning him to keep it together before you pissed these two officers even more.

“Since you both are aware that this property is off limits and you intentionally broke the law, we have to arrest you” The other police officer informed you.

Your eyes widened for the second time now as the lady cop is now securing the handcuffs around your wrist. Your heart was beating fast knowing this is now damn serious.

“Sir, she has nothing to do with this, this was my idea” Arón tried to save you. His protective side taking over. The officer ignored him, grabbed both of his arm, placed it on his back and secured it with a handcuff. “She’s here with you, therefore she’s an accomplice”

“Couldn’t you just let us off with a warning. We’re not thieves. There’s nothing to steal here anyways” Your outspoken self, added while you are now both being led to the police car. The cop just raised his eyebrow at you cockily “Ma’am, There’s no exceptions to the law.”

You are now sitting beside Arón inside the police car while the two officers roam around the property checking for more possible accomplice.

“We should make a run for it” Arón confidently suggested looking at you. “Yeah that’s a great idea no?” he questioned you. You looked back at him like he’s some crazy person while shifting at your seat trying to get comfortable with your arms behind your back. “No one in their right mind would do that”                      

“Well, that’s the real question here. Are we on our right minds?” He said. It wasn’t a question at all.  You stared at each other for a while before a small smile slowly form into your lips. Arón burst into laughter and you joining him. Oh boy how you are deeply in love with this man. You thought to yourself.

“I told you our personalities get us in trouble when mixed” you scooted closer to him as he did the same. You pecked his lips but he seems to want more. So he leaned in again and kissed you deeply this time. You had your eyes closed, your lips moving in sync with him not caring that you’re currently at the back seat of a cop car.

“Hey, don’t blame me! You were the one who’s so curious about that swing you and Marco used to love!” Arón then said after pulling away rolling his eyes playfully as he said his name.

“Fine! I’ll blame your stupid jealousy instead!” you fought back. You then saw the police officers walking back to the car.

“Well at least I’ll have you all alone to myself now” Arón grinned and winked at you. You nudged him using your shoulder as you both laugh at the thought that the only way to get you alone with him nowadays without your long-lost cousin in the view is to get you locked up in a jail cell with him.

[promiscuous-jalapeno]

Ledge

{Dimitri x F!Byleth}

Genre: N//SFW / Angst / Comfort Word Count: 1,984 Summary: Dimitri’s jealousy and tense grapple with his feelings towards Byleth come to a head. This is feral ass Dimitri post-timeskip being jealous and confused and possessive of Byleth. A/N: Happy Happy Happiest Birthday’s to @flatsuke ! I tried to get this done by yesterday but I failed im sry!! Thank you for being such an amazing friend to me, thank you for all of the laughs and late-night talks and headcanon sessions. Thank you for always being so kind and giving to everyone you meet. I really hope you like this and I hope this next year brings you so much joy ILY happy birthday <3 !  Additional Content Warnings: Blood mention, Fingering, First Time

     He cared not that it was raining. The pungent smell of soil had somehow taken on an acridity to him now; only serving to remind him of the years he wandered alone, early morning sun beating down where he lay on the warm earth, the whispers from his mind begging it to reclaim him and complete the damned circle.

     Another sleepless night, but at least the cloak of darkness offered him some form of respite from the waking nightmare. Her. Everywhere he went, she was. The ghost of her smile from all those years ago haunted him to this day, even when he close his eyes.

     Part of him hated her. No—no, he could never hate her. Not truly. Jealous. He was jealous of her. How she seemed unfazed by the last few years. Preserved and untouched by the brutal, gripping hands of time. Still delicate and brilliant and mysterious; intricate as stained glass.

     Whereas he...

     Dimitri’s hands wrung themselves. Time had captured him in its unforgiving jowls. Left him bitter. Gnarled and ugly. Slicing him with its jagged teeth before it spat him out like the poisonous thing he is. His soul was not one for consumption.

    Had he known what was to become of him, he might have asked her to dance all those years ago. Unburdened by the fear of appearing with all the grace of a newborn colt, the swinish steps or the sweat brought to his palms by the reality of their distance—or lack there of. And how the way she smelled would surely linger even in his dreams for weeks to come. He would have asked her to dance...

     His way had been the cowards' way, back then. But, he supposed, perhaps that much hadn’t changed. If he could muster a laugh, it would be self-deprecating. Even now he felt unworthy of her touch, more so than ever before. He had no right to ask anything of her. He could barely stand the sight of his own soiled hands.

     And yet, the sickening weight in his stomach and the tenseness in his jaw when he saw her whispering with a smirking Sylvain…or the way he clenched fists until his knuckles turned white when he spied her going over maps a little too closely with anyone else, suggested that as much as he like to deny it, he wanted her for himself. Even if just to bring him a remnant glimmer of the man he used to be.

     Perhaps that’s what fueled his angry display earlier that afternoon, when he caught her sparring with Felix in the training grounds.

     Felix behind her, hands on her hips to square her stance. His face close to hers, lips that could just as easily kiss her speaking instructions. The way his touch lingered on her sculpted arms as they swung her sword and cut the air thick with tension. 

     Both of them sweating, parrying each other much to Felix’s clear delight. How he could stand there drowning in his own torment whilst the two of them were seemingly lost in their own private world…as if they had not known hardship and loss…his blood was boiling by the time they even noticed he was there.

     Felix jut his chin in Dimitri’s direction, scoffing between labored pants and haughtily swiping his gloved fingers through his damp hair. “Gotten yourself another craving for blood, have you, boar?” Felix spat, condescending.

     Dimitri didn’t reply to the clear challenge, only gripped the training sword so tightly he was sure it might snap under the pressure. He didn’t wait for Felix to ready himself, either. His sword swung down so fiercely it whistled in the air, vibrating his bones the minute Felix countered.

     “You—“ Felix grit. He had no time to question between the onslaught of blows from Dimitri. 

     Crack—crack, Crack. Felix met him at every turn, albeit with only fractions of a second saving his skin. Unable to rebuttal the full power, all he could do was displace the momentum of the swings, his feet digging into the loose soil at every step to keep himself from staggering.

     Dimitri could see it so clearly now. How he had changed. Felix was an excellent swordsman, but his technique was a little too perfect. Too technical. Too tight. Time had made Dimitri an opportunist, even if the trade-off meant he was less than noble in order to best. He found an opening, the wooden hilt like a hammer driving into Felix’s ribs, whilst Dimitri’s elbow made contact with his jaw, sending Felix flying back and into the dirt.

     “Dimitri...”

     Byleth’s voice calling his name finally came into his consciousness. The sound reeked of disappointment. Had she been speaking the entire time? He had almost forgotten where he was. The training sword fell from his hand with a plunk and it’s echo seemed the loudest sound he’d ever heard.

     Felix spat blood, wiping his weeping lip with his sleeved arm, piercing eyes seemingly looking straight through Dimitri. “So...he shows his true self once more. Welcome back, vile beast. Glad to see your fighting style is brutish as ever.”

     Dimitri’s heart raced, hands shaking at his sides. But what scared him was the fact that they shook not out of fear or repentance for what he’d just done, but out of anger, and the withheld desire to go further still. He watched Byleth extend her hand to Felix before he ran from the place without a word.

     He walked until it began to rain. He walked until it became dark, and then he walked some more. He wasn’t sure where he had been, but somehow his feet brought him back to the cathedral.

     His muddy steps reverberated in the empty space until he reached the heart of the room where he stood and closed his eyes, palms open and unable to discern between drops of rain falling from his mangled hair and the tears he’s sure were there.

     In between the stifling silence and the cascading drips of water on marble came that voice again. His name. “Dimitri.” Quietly spoken behind him. How had he not heard her approach?

     “...Dimitri,” she said again.

     “Leave me,” he warned.

      No. He didn’t want to see her face. Her eyes and words dripping with understanding, or worse—pity. The very sight of her served as a reminder for how much he had changed. How lost he had become, perhaps never to be found. And worst of all, he was afraid of what he would do to her if he faced her.

     “I’m not leaving you.” She repeated like a prayer, each time softer than the last, desperate to drill the message into his heart like a wedge into a block of ice.

     Slowly, she coaxed him toward her, and much to his relief he saw not pity nor understanding in her eyes. Nothing, save for a blank expression, waiting—reading him. She was soaking wet, too. Had she been out looking for him all this time?

      Their breathing synced in the silence. Her cold wet fingers reached for the clasp at his chest, unlatching buckles that sent his heavy, rain-sodden cloak to the marble floor. The sudden weight off of his shoulders cathartic. Then she reached to his face. Dimitri felt the pleasant sharpness of her nails against his forehead as she swept his dripping bangs to the side tenderly. Cold like ice.

     He gripped her wrist in his large hand right as she pulled away from his face. She must have known what he was feeling. Must have seen the heat in his stare, or sensed the danger palpable in the air between them. He gave her a moment to run from him, then. Please, please run, he begged with every shred of restraint he had left. But she sucked in a sharp breath, took a step closer instead, and Dimitri pulled her into him by the wrist and kissed her deeply.

     He had never kissed anyone before. He wasn’t even sure he had been doing it properly until she moaned against his lips, and he felt her melt a bit in his arms. That sound...and the feeling of her relaxing into him, had his sanity and self-control blurring a blinding white.

     He moved with purpose unknown to himself. He was removed, entirely, from his desires. Hands he surely knew as his own were tearing and yanking at clothing before he had a chance to think his actions through. And she was pawing at him, in return.

     He had touched all the places he had only dreamed of, before. Her soft breasts and pert nipples he invited into his mouth. Her thighs; the thighs of a mercenary, thick and strong and lovely. And between them, a heavenly warmth he knew he may be undeserving of, what with his thick, calloused fingers that had been tainted by the blood of those he’d slaughtered, but he plunged inside of anyway.

     She let out an adorable, sexy sigh. Pleading for him to continue. “Ahh, yes...”

     Clinging to his broad shoulders she let him work her until her legs began to give. And when he withdrew his hand and placed the fingers in his mouth. He had never cursed himself so vehemently for his inability to taste.

     Lifting her until she straddled his hips, he lowered her onto his cock with little regard for anything but the determination to feel himself inside of her. The moment he was fully sheathed, a boyish whimper rippled from his throat, followed by a desperate growl.

     With feverish rapidity he bounced her up and down on his cock, guiding her hips and elating in the way he forced a moan from her lungs with every rough slam. Their skin, still slick from rain and now slicker still with sweat, sticking together in all the places they melded.

     This was better than he had ever fantasized, even all those years ago as he tossed in his dorm, dancing between the state of sleep and wakefulness, visualizing her glowing celestial in the doorway or in his bed, slender fingers slipping into bedclothes. She was real. Here—now. Accepting him inside of her despite everything he was. Clinging to him and meeting the thrusts just as urgently as he.

     He slammed her back against a wall of rubble, using that leverage to fuck her as hard as he could, as deeply as he could go. Pushing everything he was and felt, every emotion and sorrow, inside of her. Tiny pebbles tumbling down among tufts of dust but neither caring. She didn’t wince or flinch, not for a moment. Of course, she didn’t...she was the strongest person he’d ever known. How had he not seen it before? She could take anything he had to give, perhaps she was the only one.

     He kissed her again as his hips quickened pace, driving them both to The Divine. Each heated dive inside of her echoed an Amen in the catacombs of his mind. He had never felt a oneness akin to this. Not even shedding blood with a comrade on the battlefield. He wanted to own her, to keep her this close for all time he had left. But he knew that wasn’t possible, so instead, he settled for spilling himself inside of her.

     Dimitri felt sharp teeth close around his bottom lip as he twirled his cock to feel her every inch, but he didn’t care if she made him bleed. He was committing her to memory. He had left her with His Warmth. A fraction of the warmth she had so kindly bestowed upon him in the time they’ve known each other. But a warmth, nonetheless. And though he knew he had done nothing to deserve it, perhaps by some grace of the Goddess he’d be given time enough to continue his repayment.

[shedreamsofstars]

the secrets that make and break us - chapter one

“I can’t do it anymore Ladybug,” he said bluntly, running a finger absentmindedly over his ring. “Do what?” “Keep the truth from you. I won’t stand back and let the secret of our identities ruin us.”

With his already strenuous relationship with his father in ruins, Adrien has had enough of secrets tearing people away from him. Fearing the same will happen with Ladybug, he resolves to reveal himself to keep them from meeting the same fate.

...xxx...

Secrets tore people apart.

Adrien Agreste knew that better than most.

They dug under your skin and festered beneath the surface, rearing their ugly heads at the worst possible moments. Like the one when he'd discovered that his father had been more than just the antagonist in his personal life.

It had been stroke of luck that Hawk Moth had not noticed Chat Noir's advance. He was distracted by Ladybug purifying an Akuma and this alone had allowed him to execute a close-range attack. The hand of fate had guided his staff right towards the man's chest, knocking him off his feet and the Miraculous right off his coat.

It clattered to the rooftop beside him, leaving behind a scrambling man Chat knew all too well. Or hardly at all, as the situation would have it.

It should have been the ground-breaking moment that finally gave Paris' heroes the upper hand – knowing Hawk Moth's identity meant they were closer one step closer to retrieving the Butterfly Miraculous and saving Nooroo.

But all Adrien felt was the ground shifting violently beneath his feet as his world rearranged into something unfamiliar before his very eyes. His ears filled with white noise, drowning him in a deafening reprise as he tried to make some sense of why his father was snatching up the Miraculous and disappearing in a cloud of white Akuma's.

He knew Ladybug was talking at him, but even her voice couldn't break through to him as he stared blankly at her lips, trying to figure out the words they were forming. He was losing his balance, the world teetering from side to side until Ladybug's hand rested firmly on his shoulder.

Her touch steadied him – it was likely the only thing that kept him from slipping and plummeting from the rooftop down into the traffic below.

Adrien didn't return home that night.

Nino had been confused by the last-minute request, but he had been more than happy to let him stay the night. He'd have to deal with Gabriel and Nathalie's wrath in the morning but getting some time away from his father was worth it.

Besides, what could his father do that was worse than him terrorising Paris?

As Chat perched on the top of a brick chimney scanning the city skyline, he wondered what Ladybug had made of the whole situation. It had been a week since they'd discovered that Gabriel Agreste was Hawk Moth, and he hadn't seen the girl since.

Looking out over the familiar city, it seemed that everything was the same on the outside. People still traversed the Champs Elysée with joy and the Eiffel Tower still glittered on the hour.

It was the same on the outside, but his world on the inside couldn't have looked more different as he traversed the Parisian rooftops nightly, flitting from one place to the next with an ease that bordered on deliberate carelessness.

Adrien had never gotten along well with his father, that was a well-established fact in the Agreste household. But that didn't mean that he didn't want to. In fact, it had been one of the only things he had wanted for years. To have his father understand him, to have him see him more than just a tool to exploit and further his business reach.

But there was no hope of that now.

Not when Adrien had spent the better past of the week avoiding the man at every opportunity he could. Whenever he was forced into his company, Adrien had done nothing but seethe with quiet anger and loathing at the man that sat before him, so calm and carefree.

How could his father live knowing that he was the cause of so much hurt? How could he be so unaffected by everything around him. He didn't even seem worried that Paris' two superheroes now knew his identity and could reveal his darkest secret at any moment.

What kind of man-

"Chat Noir!"

The boy spun at the sound of Ladybug's voice, his anger cooling a little at her very presence. His heart slammed wildly in his chest as he caught sight of a flash of red to his side, turning just in time to see the girl land gracefully on the rooftop below him.

"Milady," he responded with a light air he didn't quite feel as he hopped down to join her. Instinctively, he reached for her hand and bowed low, letting his lips brush against her knuckles. He held onto her fingers a beat longer than was proper, but if she noticed at all, Ladybug didn't comment on it.

"I got your message Chat. Is everything okay?" she asked, her dark hair glistening in the setting sun.

"No, actually …"

"Hawk Moth?" she interrupted, glancing around as if there was some imminent danger present. She swung her yo-yo defensively, the sound of it cutting through the air sharp and dangerous as she spun to face him again.

"No," he responded. "It's not him, but it's about him."

"Oh," Ladybug said quietly, letting her yo-yo fall slack in her fingers. She was silent a moment, tilting her head as if to try and figure out what he wanted to say. Even as conflicted as he was on the inside, he couldn't help but notice how adorable she looked right then.

"You … you saw who he was," Chat said simply, dropping down to the ground and leaning against the brick wall behind him.

Ladybug nodded. "Yes," she replied softly. "We both did."

"But you haven't told anyone."

Adrien had expected his public life to implode just as much as his internal one at the revelation that his father was a criminal mastermind, but the news channels had been nothing but crickets. Ladybug had remained silent, and he didn't know whether to be grateful or not.

"No. I don't know what to do with that information yet." she said, taking a seat beside him.

"Why not? What's stopping you from going straight to Nadia or literally any other reporter?"

She sighed, fiddling with her fingers in that nervous way of hers. It always reminded him of something, but he could never place what. "It's difficult to explain but, exposing him could hurt someone I care about."

"… Adrien?" he asked cautiously.

Ladybug looked surprised but nodded. "Among others, yes."

A thick silence settled around them just as Chat realised he was out of time. The small talk was done. He had called Ladybug here for a reason, one he had refused to tell even Plagg, and now it was time to follow through

He took a deep breath and turned to the girl beside him. "I can't do it anymore Ladybug," he said bluntly, running a finger absentmindedly over his ring.

"Do what?"

"Keep the truth from you. I won't stand back and let the secret of our identities ruin us," he said, repeating the words he'd been practicing inside his head all week.

"Chat, what do you mean? We can't reveal ourselves - you know that. It's dangerous, and we could-"

"I don't care anymore. I thought that I'd be able to know him someday, you know?" Chat said, his green eyes glassy as all the pain and hurt at his father's betrayal caught up to him.

Talking to Plagg had been one thing, but to actually voice the words he'd been feeling inside was harder than he had ever expected. Even still, he pushed on, knowing that there was no going back now.

"I wanted us to understand each other and have something real between us. But his lies were always more important. They kept us apart and now he's so far gone I can never reach or forgive him."

Ladybug reached for his hands, and a part of him wondered if she was doing it to keep him from slipping his ring off. Not that it mattered anyway. They both knew that he didn't have tor remove his Miraculous - there were other ways for him to achieve his goal.

"Chat," she said, her voice full of concern. "Who are you talking about?"

"My dad," he choked out. "We've been fighting Hawk Moth, but it's been him this whole time and I never knew. The secrets kept us apart and I can't do it anymore."

Ladybug's eyes went wide as the pieces began to fall into place. "Chat, stop talking-"

"No Ladybug! I don't want us to end up like him – so deluded by ourselves that we can't even tell the difference between right and wrong. That we can't even trust one another."

"We won't Chat. I'll always trust you; you never need to worry about that," she said, but there was a flicker of doubt in her blue eyes and he caught onto it instantly.

"You don't believe that. Our secrets will come back to haunt us one day," he said, voice defeated. "Forgive me Ladybug, but I can't let that happen."

Chat knew the exact moment Ladybug figured out what he was about to do. She lifted her fingers to cover his lips, as if she could somehow stop his words escaping if she could just reach him in time, but she was too slow.

"Plagg, claws in!"

She sat transfixed in horror, hand still outstretched as Chat's mask and suit began to disintegrate in front of her. She screwed her eyes shut tight, but by then the damage had already been done. She'd seen who he was underneath, who he always had been.

She knew that Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste were one and the same.

It was a relief to have another person know the truth if he was honest. A cold and welcoming relief. Like he had spent the longest time tied with invisible bonds, and now that they were gone he could move easily again, without restraint.

It felt like he had finally set himself free.

Adrien risked a glance towards Ladybug, but she had turned away from him. "Ladybug," he whispered, placing a gentle hand against her shoulder and urging her to face him. Now that he no longer had to hide himself from her, everything would be easier. If he could just explain to himself to her, she'd see that too.

"Ladybug, please look at me," he said again. She resisted at first, but she could only hold out for so long. As she turned back to him, all the elation he had felt at revealing himself vanished the moment he caught sight of her tear stained cheeks.

"Ladybug, you're crying," he said, tone filled with alarm. He leaned in towards her to wipe at the tears, but she swatted his hands away angrily. She jumped away from his touch and pushed herself to her feet, sniffling softly.

"Chat … what have you done?"

...xxx...

full disclosure, i have no idea where this is going, i'm just along for the ride lol. this started off as a fluff piece believe it or not, but it accidentally turned into this angsty mess. 

i've never written for these two before, so i don't feel like i have their voices down just yet, but hopefully i'll get better at that. thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed. feel free to let me know your thoughts if you have the time

[myakkoh]

midnight cloud (sunlight shines through)

(Read on Ao3)

Once again, please allow me to credit @vandrell and her terrible challenge to me to write YP!characters.

Side notes: Slightly graphic violence, character death, blood, mentions/implications of Fierce Corpses eating a human, please read at your own risk!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s startling to see dead bodies of his fellow clansmen on the ground.

Wen Ruohan swallows and dips his sword down to hurry to the ground, his robes billowing in the wind. Behind him, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji follow silently, and—maybe it’s good that the Twin Jades of Gusu is there with him this time around. They can calm the souls of his dead clansmen, and purify the resentful energy in the air, make sure there’s no lingering spirits.

As much as he hates those who still live and preach under Wen Chao’s rule, his father’s rule, Wen Ruohan doesn’t lie with the fact he wishes his clansmen didn’t die such a brutal death. They don’t deserve such death like this. But—upon seeing one of the clansmen who sided with his father, he can see why they deserve death like this. Licks chapped lips before turning towards the entrance to the insides of the tower.

Most surveillance towers for the past couple of months have been attacked; dead corpses scattered, heads rolling, and lingering resentful energy. The Sunshot Campaign hasn’t figured out who has been behind those attacks, but it’s the same person every time. It’s easy to tell, since the same talismans show up every time, the same result happens.

No one in the cultivating world can cause this much slaughter within one night.

“More corpses,” Lan Xichen murmurs, gently stepping off his sword. His xiao hangs on his side, and Wen Ruohan has to look away, the memory of soft music and warm smiles curling across his mind. “Do you think the perpetrator is still here?”

“Perhaps they’re inside?” Wen Ruohan suggests softly, steps off his own sword and sheathes it. His boots touch the puddle of blood, and when he lifts it up, it’s dripping dark red under the sliver of moonlight.

Lan Wangji doesn’t say a word, only sweeping past him as crimson red immediately seeps into white and blue robes. His gupin is secured on his back, and he vanishes into the tower. Wen Ruohan can tell though, Lan Wangji is sick with worry, no matter what the others do to try and cheer him up. He hasn’t been doing nothing, after all, Lan Qiren–

Stops, pauses, lowers his eyes from the remainder of the other he fell in love with a couple of years ago. Lan Qiren is still missing, vanished without a trace, and he—they have no way of finding out where he is. His golden core hums silently within ice, as if soothing him, before it twists into fire, warmth spreading across his body.

“Are you alright?” Lan Xichen softly inquires behind him, makes him turn his head towards his friend. Lan Xichen may be Sect Heir, just like Wen Xu, but he’s more patient than his older brother, more willing to understand. But—Lan Qiren is his and Lan Wangji’s cousin, and they’re mourning, just like him, hopeful to find him.

“I’m fine,” he says shortly afterwards. “We should find xiao-Zhan before he runs into any trouble.”

“Wangji will be fine,” his friend soothes him. 

“I hope so.”

The scent of sweet iron hangs in the air as they enter the tower, shadows twisting at every corner, moonlight dancing upon every window and opening there is. It’s how dark that scares Wen Ruohan the most; he lifts a hand, channels his spiritual energy to create a small flame in his palm. Weaker than what he can usually use and do, but it will be sufficient for now.

Corpses are slumped against the wall once he directs the flame towards one direction, blank eyes staring into nothing and faces slacked wide open with horror. Empty screams come from open mouths, ashen grey skin wrinkling, as if someone had taken their spiritual energy. He can hear Lan Xichen softly inhale at the inhumane way they were killed, the whispers of shadows hissing for revenge.

It’s not startling, but—the resentful energy is hanging heavily on his shoulders like boulders, like the burdens and responsibilities he has swore to take upon himself. Licks his lips as Lan Xichen steps up next to him, Liebing already in his friend’s hands. A single note unleashed throws the resentful energy back, honey golden eyes seemingly shining within the flame in the palm of his hand.

“It’s stronger,” the Lan Sect Heir murmurs as he tucks Liebing away.

Wen Ruohan throws him a curious glance. “The resentful energy?”

“Yes.” Lan Xichen tucks his hands into his sleeves, a serious look firmly placed within his eyes. “You remember how easy it was for Wangji and I to cleanse most of the resentful energy by ourselves.” He slowly nods, and Lan Xichen continues, “I believe the perpetrator is currently here with us. It’s slowly gathering somewhere close by as well.”

“I see.” Only a Lan would be able to figure out where the current flow of resentful energy is.

Lan Xichen hums, stepping forward on the blood-drenched floor and Wen Ruohan follows him, the small flame flickering pale blue for a moment. Pauses, feels his chest squeeze from the remainder of what he now has, before he pushes forward.

There’s no point or use in lingering in the past, not when he has other things to do in the present.

Takes another step forward and–

A scream, then a familiar haunting melody floats in the air, gently and full of anger. Fear and shock curls across and under his skin as he meets Lan Xichen’s eyes, doesn’t think twice before he sprints ahead, the small flame vanishing. It’s so, so easy to tell who’s playing the melody, so easy to burst into the room where the song is coming from.

Lan Wangji stands in front of him, his back turned and stiff. Green flames flicker around the room, dancing ever so slowly like leaves in the breeze. There’s Fierce Corpses here, too, for some strange reason, slowly swaying side to side, the scent of rotting flesh hanging heavy in the air. They’re not moving, only crowding around a near-naked woman on the ground and near a dark figure in the shadows.

Wang Lingjiao shivers, shaking in front of them with running tears and ruined makeup, doesn’t look like the proud bitch that she is when she’s around Wen Chao, nor the woman who commanded some of the cultivators of the Qishan Wen Sect’s army. There’s ugly wounds, large gashes on her body, scalding and dark red, blood sluggishly leaking out. She’s shaking so badly, and Wen Ruohan nearly feels pity for her.

Nearly.

Lan Xichen stops beside him, and Wang Lingjiao begins to scream. Her eyes grow wide, wild with fear and horror flashing in them, settled on the dark figure in the shadows. One step they take, and she screams more, louder and louder and louder. 

“Stay away from me!” she screeches, a Fierce Corpse lifting its head up at the sudden noise. It nearly lunges at her, but a sharp note forces it still. Wang Lingjiao points towards the dark figure, her mouth twisting into a snarl. “You monster! We killed you! I saw you die!”

I saw you die!

Wen Ruohan’s breath catches in his throat, and moonlight shines accusingly through the windows. Is it you? 

A soft chuckle escapes the dark figure, the green flames suddenly roaring into a blazing inferno. They step forward, soft footsteps echoing across the bare room, gentle rustling of robes, a sharp contrast to the tedious tension in the air. Then a hand lifts from the shadows, holding a black dizi, and–

He forgets to breathe.

Lan Qiren hasn’t changed too much, despite looking dangerously thin and a daunting look in his eyes. Grey and blue robes swish against the stone floor, a grey forehead ribbon fluttering around his head, the black dizi being spun in one hand and the other hanging by his side. Intimate dark golden eyes are tinged with crimson red, an unnatural twist of steady contempt tugs at pale lips.

Resentful energy circles around him, hisses, and crackles, and at one lift of a hand, it dives towards Wang Lingjiao with a soundless howl of delight.

One scream, another, and Lan Xichen makes a sound of sheer apprehension as Wang Lingjiao raises her hands to her face, before scratching down. There’s trails of where sharp nails have gone down, skin harshly tearing apart wherever those fingers are led and danced upon. It’s horrifying, the way the resentful energy is directing where she will harm herself next, but he can’t look away.

There’s a look of quiet malice shot towards the woman, before hands cautiously lift the black dizi to pale lips and a quick succession of notes are sounded. The Fierce Corpses’ heads snap up, makes him watch in horror and fascination as they lunge towards Wang Lingjiao and tear.

This time, he looks away, tries to ignore the sounds of flesh being torn apart, the sounds of Wang Lingjiao’s screams and gurgles, the scent of fresh blood entering the air. He can practically taste the sweet iron in the air, before he glances towards the Twin Jades of Gusu.

Both are quiet, Lan Wangji’s eyes grim and his mouth set in a straight line, Lan Xichen quiet and seemingly contemplating something in his mind. It’s easy to see, though, they are disturbed by the violent acts of tonight’s current events. But—Wang Lingjiao deserves it, after everything she has done, especially to him.

To Lan Qiren.

Wen Ruohan turns and heads towards said cultivator, those beautiful golden eyes looking up at him through a slow blink. “Qiren,” he breathes, as Lan Qiren lowers the black dizi from his lips and down to his side. His golden core flickers with icy delight, familiarity, and it sings.

“Ruohan,” Lan Qiren says evenly, after a moment of silence. It takes all of Wen Ruohan’s will to not immediately grab the other man and drag him into a bone-crushing hug, for all his stupidity and sacrifice, for not allowing them to know where he went, for making him feel like this.

“You look well,” he offers.

“Mn.” Lan Qiren tilts his head to the side, before he focuses on Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji. His lips press into a straight line, like he’s wary of them attacking him. The crimson in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Xichen, Wangji.”

“A-Ren,” Lan Xichen says softly in greeting. Pauses like he’s contemplating a thought in his mind, before a soft smile stretches across his face. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Lan Qiren inclines his head, gives a simple nod while staying silent. There’s a slight furrow of brows, seemingly considering something, and Wen Ruohan wants to make a joke to lighten the situation, but he can’t. He hasn’t seen Lan Qiren in so long, doesn’t know how he’ll react to him anymore. Doesn’t even know if he’s the same anymore.

His golden core flickers in his chest, like it’s missing something, and he places a hand on top of it, feels his chest tighten when Lan Qiren doesn’t meet his eyes. Only focusing on the Twin Jades of Gusu Lan with those familiar dark golden eyes with red. 

“Why?” Lan Wangji asks, breaking the silence. The implications of the question is easy to guess, to notice the slight tremble through the younger’s voice.

Dark golden eyes sharpen, the crimson tinge making it seem like he’s enraged. Lan Qiren’s voice is soft, cold, when he speaks. “For?”

“Why–” Lan Wangji gestures to the Fierce Corpses, who seem to have finished feasting. Dark red drips down from their mouth, heads lolling around, blank eyes staring at them. Wen Ruohan suppresses a shiver as he looks down and sees the bloodied and messy pile of flesh and bones. “–would you use them? This is not right.”

Are you going to tell them the truth? Wen Ruohan wonders as he watches Lan Qiren, the man’s grip on his dizi tightening. It would be so easy, to have it out in the open, when Lan Qiren is vulnerable, an easy target... he grits his teeth silently and breathes. It would be easy to protect him, make sure he’ll never be alone after disappearing.

“It’s gone,” Lan Qiren says flatly. The words are enough to make Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji immediately understand. Wen Ruohan only stares at him. Doesn’t he trust the Twin Jades? They’re his cousins, the ones who he grew up with, surely he’d tell them about what really happened. “I will be there for the Song of Cleansing later,” Lan Qiren continues.

“Of course,” Lan Xichen says warmly, with a voice that suggests they will be discussing it later without the audience. Makes Wen Ruohan startle and glance towards Lan Qiren’s indifferent face.

It’s colder, dark golden eyes looking more tired than normal. He seems more pale than usual, and there’s no smile when he looks at him.

How he wants to make the man smile, to be that soft-smiling teenager he’s met at Cloud Recesses, the one who indulges him and talks to him about plans to better the future of cultivators. He wants to see him leaning over the table with several experimental talismans scattered around, eyes half-lidded with concentration again. Wants to see him arguing with Wei Wuxian about the morals of cultivators and different cultivation methods again.

Wants to see how his eyes soften again when Wen Ruohan finds something he adores. Wishes to watch the way he stands under the falling snowflakes from the sky and with wonder on his face. By Heavens, he already knows why he wants to. Wen Ruohan swallows and steadies himself.

“Xichen, xiao-Zhan,” he says and three pairs of different shades of golden eyes look towards him. “Would you mind if I speak with Qiren alone?”

Lan Xichen looks surprised by the sudden question, before he nods slowly and gestures to Lan Wangji. The youngest of them gives Wen Ruohan a subtle glare, mouth pressed more tightly together, and whips around, heads towards the door, with his brother following suit. They all know how close Wen Ruohan and Lan Qiren are, despite everything that has happened.

He hopes they still are.

When the two brothers leave the room, Wen Ruohan breathes in sweet iron once more and turns to face Lan Qiren. Dark golden eyes meet his, narrowed and suspicious, but his shoulders are slowly relaxing. The Fierce Corpses stagger, but they don’t move.

“You didn’t tell them,” he says.

“I told them nothing but the truth,” Lan Qiren says, lips pressing more tightly together. A half-truth, even if Wen Ruohan doesn’t understand why. 

“You told them half of it,” Wen Ruohan tells him, closes his eyes when the memory of waking up to Wen Qing crying flickers through his mind. It was painful to watch, still is, always will be. His golden core burns. “Why did you give it to me?”

“Give what to you?” The way Lan Qiren is still denying the truth makes him want to laugh. The Gusu Lan Sect are not righteous for nothing, probably have rules for this, but he remembers the founder, and Lan An was an example of a Lan who fell deep in love. That’s enough to tell him.

How Lan Qiren fell in love with the second son of Wen Chao is beyond him, but he gave a sacrifice, and all Wen Ruohan wants is to curl around him and never let go. Lan Qiren is already hurting so much, is already suffering from whatever backlash there is to losing everything there is to be a cultivator. He just wants to never let go again.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he says softly, and hears Lan Qiren’s breath hitch. “Did you think I wouldn’t be able to tell?”

“I never gave you my golden core,” Lan Qiren says coolly, already lying through his teeth.

Wen Ruohan smiles humourlessly. “I never mentioned your golden core,” he whispers, waits for the next statement of denial, but it never comes. Instead, Lan Qiren is staring at him with wide eyes, the crimson in them slowly fading away, fear and horror etched into it. “So I was right,” he concludes, and Lan Qiren glares at him. “Why? I was fine without my golden core.”

“Does it matter?” Lan Qiren mutters, looks away from him.

“You had a future, Qiren,” Wen Ruohan murmurs and takes Lan Qiren’s free hand into his own. The other doesn’t resist him, allows Wen Ruohan to pull him to his chest and hold him there. “Why would you risk it all to give your golden core to me? When you know that I can feel the difference between mine... and yours?”

Looks down at Lan Qiren, who closes his eyes, and Wen Ruohan tightens his grip on him, slightly afraid the other will disappear from his arms. It was so easy back then to figure it, with the unfamiliar feeling of snow and ice in his chest, instead of the raging inferno he had carefully cultivated by himself. The amount of spiritual energy was significantly less, as well as how weak he left.

Wen Qing is a doctor, and he’s read her theory about transplanting golden cores from one person to another. He knew after waking up to her crying and Wen Ning’s attempts to soothe her. It was cruel, unnecessary, especially when Wen Xu was the Sect Heir and he was just the younger of them.

He doesn’t understand why.

Lan Qiren laughs bitterly against his chest. “I am just a cousin to Xichen and Wangji, Ruohan,” he says, so quietly, barely audible over the roaring of flames. “They do not need me to be a Sect Heir in case they both die. There are more worthy choices than me.” One shaky breath. “But the Wens have no one but you and Wen Xu. If Wen Xu dies, then you will have to lead.

“Who would follow the other sects for peace if both of you die?” Lan Qiren shakes his head, but there’s no regret in his eyes. Just solemn acceptance. “No, it’s better this way. You are more important than me, so no one can take advantage of you if you do need to end up leading.”

It hurts, even if it's true, even if Wen Ruohan wants differently. Lan Qiren is just as important to the Gusu Lan Sect as Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji. He’s brilliant, the one who creates new talismans needed in order to improve night hunting. The only one who rivals him in that area is Wei Wuxian, and that idiot enjoys arguing with Lan Qiren about different possibilities.

He’s important to Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji because they’re family. He’s important to Wei Wuxian and surprisingly Jiang Cheng, because they’re friends. He’s important to Wen Ruohan, because Wen Ruohan knows he’s in love and can never let go.

I love you, Wen Ruohan thinks desperately as he holds Lan Qiren in his arms, and breathes in the dull scent of gentians. “You’re important,” he murmurs and draws back a little to watch the other’s expression. A barely seen furrow of brows in confusion. “More than me. To me.”

“... what?” is whispered with a sliver of disbelief.

“You’re important to me,” Wen Ruohan says quietly, slowly lifts the other’s hand to press his lips to it. Hears Lan Qiren’s breath hitch as he slowly drags them across cold skin, trailing down to the heartbeat in his wrist. Can feel Lan Qiren’s wrist stiffening against his lips, like he doesn’t believe what’s happening.

He lifts his eyes to see Lan Qiren staring back at him, hope and terror dancing across dark golden eyes. He opens his mouth, and hears his voice crack as he speaks again, lowering their hands down, laces them together. “Don’t leave.”

Don’t leave me.

Lan Qiren pauses, as if considering what to say. Then faintly smiles, a concealed twitch of pale lips, before stepping close to him. “I won’t,” the other promises, to both requests.

Wen Ruohan doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say another word, only pressing his forehead to the other’s.

I love you.