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ironstarker · 3 years

Note

Tony gets injured during a mission, and his Omega, peter is not happy about it.

Notes: It’s pretty angsty at first but I tried to give it a little extra fluff and warmth at the end for you. Sorry this took me over a year to finish 😅Here’s to hoping this means I finish the other drafts of prompts I got ages ago.

Warning(s): ABO Dynamics, Light Angst, Peter Cries ______________________________________________________________

It wasn’t coming together right.

Peter stared at his sad attempt at a nest with tears swimming in his eyes. After Tony had been called away on a mission, the omega was left to his own devices. The rest of the Avengers wouldn’t let him do a thing in his “condition” (even saying the word made him want to roll his eyes), least of all his alpha. Tony had taken his possessive jealousy to a new level the minute he’d found out Peter was carrying. So, while he went out and risked his neck, Peter was stuck at home, staring at the pathetic lump of pillows and balls of Tony’s shirts that he’d tried to make into a nest in the closet.

Why the closet?

It smelled the most of his alpha, and was small (well, smaller than the bedroom) enough that he felt safe. He missed his alpha, much as Peter didn’t want to admit it, and kept asking FRIDAY for updates on the man. She’d tell him things like, “He’s fine, Peter. The boss asks you to please not worry so much about him.” It didn’t help. Nothing helped, because his alpha was off risking his neck while Peter was left fidgeting over blankets and fussing about his broken nest.

He wanted to cry.

It was frustrating, the hormones that his bump was making him go through. The omega had never thought he’d be this kind of omega. Sure, Peter preened under his alpha’s eyes and he got a little too snippy and possessive when other omegas were around his mate, but the raging hormones were something else. Peter had bawled over a Dodo video of a baby bird being returned to its mama the other day. He’d cried so hard that he’d hyperventilated, and spurred FRIDAY into sending an emergency alert to Tony. When the alpha came home and found his omega in such a state, the man had all but lost his mind.

Needless to say, Peter loved being pregnant. He loved his bump and couldn’t wait to meet his baby and have her in his arms, but for the moment, he felt like a burden.

A burden who couldn’t even make a proper nest.

Before he knew it, Peter was crying again. He curled in on himself (as best he could, given he was approaching seven months along and the swell of his tummy got in the way every time he tried) and sat there near his nest, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. He wanted his alpha. Peter sniffled, reaching for one of the shirts he’d strewn across the nest. It was an old Black Sabbath shirt of Tony’s, one that had seen plenty love itself and came with a smattering of tiny holes near the neck. The omega pushed his nose against the fabric and nuzzled it, stifling the sounds of his sobs in an effort to make sure FRIDAY wouldn’t alert Tony to his distress.

His senses and his hormones were supercharged. It had been hours since Tony (and a few of the others) had rushed off to fight some super powered sea monster. Truth be told, the reason that Peter was crying in the closet was because his alpha was gone, not because of his nest. He bit back a wail as he thought of his alpha, hating how Tony was so quick to rush into danger. Peter had tried to convince him.

“If I’m not allowed to go on missions, you shouldn’t be, either!”

“Baby, that’s ridiculous. I’m not pregnant.”

Peter had stared up at his alpha. They were tucked away together on the couch, Tony with one arm draped around him, his attention on a hologram that FRIDAY was projecting. Peter was nestled into his alpha’s side, desperate (he hated it, how needy the pregnancy was making him) for attention after his alpha had been away all day. The words stung. Peter bit his lip and looked down. It was archaic, the way that Tony treated him now that he was pregnant, and it made him want to scream about how unfair it was.

He hadn’t felt like such a child since before the whole Adrian Toomes incident.

“But alpha, you could get hurt,” Peter tried, and he gave a hopeful glance to Tony’s hand, hoping his fingers would stop moving where they hovered near the hologram.

Instead, Tony sighed. “Peter, this isn’t a discussion.”

“It should be! You’re just as important as I am — ”

“I’m going, Peter. End of discussion.”

In his mess of a nest, Peter whimpered as he remembered how his alpha used that tone on him. It wasn’t often Tony used the deep, alpha baritone to give him commands or bark at him. The thought of it now was enough to bring the boy to near tears. His bottom lip wobbled, and he sniffled and another wave of hiccuped sobs came over him.

“Peter?”

The sound of a warm voice made his breath hitch in his throat. Boggled as his mind was, his first thought went to his alpha — to Tony. But the person standing in the doorway, disheveled and exhausted, was a different alpha. Steve Rogers must have come straight from the battlefield. He had flecks of shrapnel on his uniform, which looked tattered and soaked. His hair was wet, matted down onto his forehead, giving it a dirty blond look. Steve hesitated, and Peter knew it was because of the waves of distress he was letting loose, flooding the air of the bedroom. “Where’s Tony?” Peter whispered.

Steve’s hesitation was all he needed to see to know something was wrong. “Don’t panic,” he started, looking like he wanted to step further into the room and then thinking better of it. “He’s in the med-bay right now, but was knocked unconscious by — ”

Peter did sit around and wait for Steve to tell him the rest. He was on his feet surprisingly fast (at least he had his spider dexterity when it counted), brushing past the alpha. He heard Steve calling after him, but Peter shook his head and didn’t wait around. If FRIDAY had granted Steve access to the private room he shared with Tony simply to relay the message in person, it had to be bad. All the way down to the med-bay, Peter thought about the breathing exercises he’d learned for delivery and practiced them in real time, one hand resting against the side of his belly. The elevator took him down without waiting around for Steve, and Peter’s toes wiggled impatiently against the floor as he waited for the doors to open. He looked down, realizing he’d forgotten to put on shoes.

When the elevator slid open and left him free to rush down the hall (he didn’t waddle, dammit), his feet sounded noisy to his own ears, like the slapping sound was echoing and bouncing all over the place. He was on hyper alert, his senses going haywire. But everything stopped when he saw his alpha through the glass, attached to all sorts of wires and machines. Dr. Cho was hovering over him, using a penlight to check the dilation of his pupils. Peter rushed into the room. She looked up at him, offering him a sympathetic smile. “Peter, there’s nothing to — ”

But he cut her off, letting out a noise that was somewhere between a wail and a croak as he said, “Alpha.”

Tony’s eyes flickered open. He offered Peter a lazy smile. “Hey there, omega-mine,” he said, holding his hand out for Peter to clutch as he neared the bed. “The doc here’s got me on the good stuff. Says I took a pretty serious knock to the head.”

Peter’s attention was diverted briefly to the bandage wrapped around his alpha’s forehead. He pressed his lips together. He knew his alpha could sense the emotions rolling through him. Peter hadn’t even noticed Dr. Cho excuse herself. “You can’t keep doing this to us,” Peter whispered, letting go of Tony’s hand to cradle his bump. There were tears in his eyes again. They clung to his lashes, and his bottom lip quivered. Standing up to his alpha wasn’t something that came naturally to him, but this time it was too much. “I — I can’t stay here all the time, worried about you. You’re going to be the father to my pup Tony. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

The alpha blinked, looking caught off guard by the sudden emotion flitting across his mate’s face. “Of course it does,” he said, his voice quiet. “But you know the responsibility I have as Iron Man.”

Peter shook his head, squaring himself up a little, stubborn in his concern and hurt. He reeked of it, he knew. “Alpha, you’re hurt. You keep getting hurt. You have a responsibility to us. To our pup.” The tears that had built up spilled over his cheeks, creating fresh tracks. “Please,” he whimpered, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the alpha’s stare. Peter knew Tony was hurt. As an omega, he knew it was his job to care for his alpha.

“Okay, okay,” Tony said, the tips of his fingers twitching, coaxing Peter towards him. “Come here. Omega-mine, look at me.” Once Peter did, the alpha met him with a tender expression. “Alpha’s sorry. Come lay with me?” Again, he wiggled his fingers.

Unable to resist, Peter scooted closer to the bed, until he could crawl into it with his alpha. He curled up against Tony’s side, his bump forcing the alpha to scoot over some so they both had enough room. His alpha kissed the crown of his head, where he knew Tony could breathe in the scent of his shampoo. His alpha always said it comforted him, and knowing that brought Peter peace. He settled down, soothed by his alpha’s presence and his warmth. “I built a nest,” Peter said after a few moments of silent cuddling.

“Did you?” Tony sounded vaguely amused, like he already knew where this conversation was going. “How did it turn out this time?”

A long pause. “It — it went okay,” Peter said.

His alpha’s chest rumbled with a quiet laugh. “I’ll donate a few more pillows to the cause.”

Peter smiled, giggling and nosing at his alpha’s jaw. “Thank you for the generosity, Mr. Stark.” He rubbed his hand over his belly, thoughtful. “I love you, alpha.”

“I love you, too.”

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #starker fic #tony x peter #ironspider #my fic #prompts #prompt fic #tony stark #peter parker #abo dynamics

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

Text

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

SLEEPING HABITS

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goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon, noncon, yandere, abuse, profanity, anxiety, arson, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mind control

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

Bakugo respects sleep to the point of obsession. Always in bed before eight thirty, and though the thought of railing his little darling into the mattress is always a tempting thought, a long day of hero-work almost always calls for cuddles and sleep and nothing more and nothing less. He’s just so tired once he comes home, all sweaty and coated in smog with only one petite little gorgeous thing on his mind. He scarcely takes a shower before heading to bed, coming in through the door, grabbing his little darling wherever she is, whatever she’s doing going to waste or having to wait until the morning again, because there’s no chance in either heaven or hell she’s escaping what lock she’s been secured in under Bakugo’s arms, making quick work of shedding all clothes and brushing his teeth harshly in bare-minimum war-like effort, before scooping her up in his arms and collapsing in the bed with a bounce and a much needed groan.

He’ll have her on her side, spooning her, squeezing the breath from out of her lungs, his heavy heartbeats crashing and wreaking havoc through her ribs, hand harshly gripping onto her hip, pushing her ass firmly against his crotch, hissing each time she makes a move. This is how it always goes, every night, no exceptions. She’ll always be locked and pushed to his chest, guarding her as though he’s a dragon protecting his treasure. His breaths wafting close to her ear, those heavy growling huffs making her heart catch in her throat. He’ll breath in the scent of her hair, loving how flowery and serene her scent is as opposed to the smell of smoke and caramel. Finding it a perfect aroma to fall asleep to, pleasant dreams conjured by the associations it provides.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi can’t go to sleep without some sugar. But he too can come home tired after having over-exerted himself with the use of his blue flames, therefor sex isn’t always in the deck of cards for his darling once he comes home. Though, if she thinks she’s off the hook, she’s mistaken, there will be no sleep until he’s satisfied. He’s a selfish asshole about it too, pulling her up and his chest, hands cradling her ass, pinching the soft plump flesh as he makes her grind on him, his tongue and teeth coming to mark-up that pretty soft neck of hers, her soft timid whimpers enough to make him groan, wild energy surging through his loins, perhaps enough to persuade him in ripping those little panties off her anyways.

Afterwards he’ll be lying on his back, having her lie halfway on his chest. One hand stroking with slender fingers up and down her sides, loving how her goosebumps never fail in greeting him. On those days he wants more contact, he’ll swing her leg up over his torso, hand holding onto her ass-cheek, pulling her some further onto his chest. His heart fluttering in gratification as her small hands come to trace his itching aching scars, those careful curious blossom-tipped fingertips dancing over his marred skin, goosebumps of his own flushing the surface in reverence. His spine shivering as he falls ever so softly into sweet-dream sleep.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

Tomura’s sleep habit is sporadic, but despite being tired, his boyish horniness always outweighs his need for sleep. Actually, he finds he sleeps even better after having pumped what frustration the day had given him into his poor little darling. Having her jump up and down the length of his cock, or humping her silly into the mattress. However, he always prepares her first, loving to feel her quivering little thighs locked and spread with his face buried in what sweetness found between them, gorging himself in exploring what places has his darling going cross-eyed. His hungry-hearted curiosity making quick work of finding out which way to curl and scissor his fingers when burying his digits knuckle-deep inside her, feeling her spongy walls clench and flutter about him until her juices drip shamefully down his hand, a cocky smile stretched upon his face as he kisses her stomach. Her prepared slicked-up wet and velvety walls so eager to suck in his cock, the fluttering feel of her walls kissing his girth enough to have his toes cramping and eyes going wild.

He’ll be exhausted afterwards, and clingy, cradling her chest like a toddler. His face using her chest like a pillow, hand squeezing and tweaking at her nipple as though it were some plushie for him to drool over. His foot coming to cuddle and snake with hers until he feels perfectly comfortable. Snores quickly following suit as well as a satiated blissful smile stretched upon his face.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Nothing can help Hitoshi’s darling from doing whatever he wants, however he wants it, whenever he wants it. No amount of groveling, begging, pleading, crying, screaming will stop him. And, although he comes home multiple times throughout the day, having subjugated his darling to his will again and again for several hours on end, sex is still mandatory before she’s allowed to sleep. He’ll laugh as he clutches her mind in a choke-hold, having her focus on every single little movement he makes, making her tremble upon every feather-light touch he bestows upon her, watching her eyes wrench shut upon every vein and bump and ridge as he pinches her clit between his callous fingers, watching as she loses count of how many times he’s made her cum in the span of the mere last hour.

He’ll be a real cocky, manipulative, degrading asshole during their entire play-session, but when it comes to cuddles he’ll wipe the shit-eating grin off his face and kiss her temple softly, stroking and petting her hair as he whispers sweet little nothings into her ear. Still a smidge of cockiness evident in his otherwise awe-struck tone. Limbs flung over and under each other, thoroughly entangled in an intricate and comfortable knot, coated with sweat. He’ll release whatever hold he had on her mind once their done, happy to see her comfort herself in his chest, soft sighs sounding from her small frame, in contrast to watching her pathetically try and snake her way from out of his hold.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Poor darling. She’s lucky she can still stand on some days throughout the week. Praying, wishing and screaming at whomever might be listening, whomever might be in charge of her fate other than Keigo has become like ritual before going to bed. Her prayers are never answered though. It’s a cruel joke, a game, a satire, some form of heaven yet some form of hell. How he comes to her in the shape of an angel, similar to the ones she’s been praying to, only he answers her prayers in whichever way he wants. He’ll have her for hours on end in prayer stance, kneeling, clinging to him as though he were a life-line. He’ll have her slipping in and out of consciousness, with his almighty hands guiding her every movement where she’s grown too tired to do as much as lift a finger in protest, where all that leaves her mouth are cute incomprehensible sounds.

But even he gets exhausted after a while, after a long, long while of snapping his hips forward, jutting into his poor little baby-bird. Sometimes, if he still has the energy, he’ll lay them both in the bath, message whatever strain gathered in her shoulders away, have her melt against him, but on most days: he’ll simply wrap both his wings around her sweat-slicked glowing dewy body, inhale the sweet scent of their love and nuzzle into her neck, whisper small cooing praises and adorations, holding onto her as though she’s absolution, drifting off to sleep while feeling the spontaneous remnants of himself spasm and jolt through her.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Izuku uses everything with purpose, as a lesson, as a reminder, as a threat, as a weapon. Sex is no exception. Does his little darling not understand her place, he’ll gladly teach her. Does his little darling forget who she belongs to, he’ll gladly remind her. Does his little darling think she can leave, does she think she can survive on her own, does she really think she’ll breath better without him? She’ll soon be preaching otherwise while clamping down around the girth of his cock, with his swollen cockhead kissing her cervix each time he pushes into her. He’ll have her screaming, crying, begging for forgiveness, and being the forgiving hero that he is, he’ll allow her rest if she tells him one more time what she’s done wrong and make him believe that she’ll never do something like it ever again through promise upon promise upon tearful promise.

He’ll allow her rest when he’s convinced she’s learned her lesson, where after he’ll always draw a bath before sleeping, carrying her to the water and letting her soak while he changes the bedsheets. He’ll be sweet then, still stern and domineering and intimidating, but refraining from being harsh and brute and cruel. He’ll have her lying on his chest every night, legs secured between his, large hands propping her into position if she slides off or tries shifting, having her ask for permission to leave the bed to do simple things such as using the bathroom. His hand running through her hair, large enough to capture her entire skull in his palm, enough to make her fear sleeping yet enough to make her feel lonely when she wakes up without him.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

On days where Kai is content, or at least something akin to the feeling, all he wants is to cherish sweet moments with his darling. Soft-tinted cuddles in bed where silence is a type of peace that makes his soul feel light like dandelion-fluff. But, days where the hours has spared Kai of the worlds ugliness, sickness and depravity are few and far between. Meaning, it’s not often he comes home content. And when he’s aggravated, when everything feels sporadic and irate and static and like pure and utter chaos, there’s only one thing that can make him feel collected again, like he’s in charge, in control, and that’s having his little darling beneath him with his cock tearing through her, it’s seeing those gorgeous watery eyes look up at him through a thick veil of plead, it’s having her innocence wrapped around his fingers.

It’s soothing, though it looks like punishment, though it looks like torture, it’s the only way he can find peace. Afterwards, lying face to face, tangled together, limbs an artwork of intense and passionate knotwork, his shallow breaths turning to long-felt satisfied inhales and exhales. Feeling the cleanliness of her trembling flesh beneath his fingertips, having her small breakable defenseless body tight against his, the drums of her heartbeats dancing against the thunder-claps residing in his own chest, droplets of tears hanging off her eyelashes as her gem-like orbs look up at him, his hand on her waist. It’s reassuring knowing that perfection still exists in a world devoid of order.

TODORKI SHOTO

Shoto would play all day everyday if he could, but he can’t, which makes the pressure on those hours in which he can play that much more crucially vital. Yet, knowing what’s to come doesn’t mean his darling ever knows what to expect when the night conquers the sky. She’ll be counting the seconds until she hears the front-door unlock, the click sending gunshots to ricochet through her ribs. She’ll hear his booted footsteps on the stone-floors, notice her breathing turning grim and shallow, feeling the beating pitter pattering of her heart in her head, and then she’ll feel him outside the conjuring of her own fears, she’ll feel his slender petal-veined finger gliding up her leg or shoulder, tangling in her hair, his firm lips pressing softly against her forehead, her crippling fear and the rushing of blood boiling past her ears rendering all sounds incomprehensible.

Her mind knows what to expect, what to dread, what to prepare for, but her body never seems to learn. He’ll bite, he’ll claw, he’ll strangle, long digits curling and scissoring in places too deep for her to ever even dream of reaching. Cold then hot then cold and hot or hot and cold or frostbitten and boiling. She always falls asleep with a fever. Cradled and comforted in the same arms that caused her unraveling, her eyes opium-blown as she stares blankly up at him, falling deeper and drowning in chromatic galaxies. Her whole body cold and sweat-slicked and breathless and overwhelmed with Shoto’s inescapable embrace, whether she’s lying beneath him or on top of him or curled up against his chest, she’s not allowed to breath her own air when with him.

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friendlylocalwhumper · 3 years

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continuation of this drabble, where quinn mercilessly interrogates and tortures a clone of themself.

It’s crying so hard that it’s coughing. The stupid clone is sobbing its heart out, soaking the carpet with tears and snot, curled up on its side and ignoring its broken arm being jolted as it quakes.

Quinn has broken it, they think.

Broken… them.

The clone is still far from sober, all reactions dulled by the drug. Quinn hasn’t been going light on their doses, hasn’t given them a break from the mind fog that Jon used to keep them in. They haven’t let up on the pain, either - gauze seems to have eaten them alive, hiding stab wounds, cuts, and half-healed breaks all down their arms, legs, and torso. Really, Quinn has left no part of them untouched. They must be in incredible pain. Sleep would be their only reprieve if Quinn had let them have much of it.

It’s not easy to sleep while forced to stay on your feet, arms tied above your head. Falling lax would cause undue pressure on the arms, stretching the ribcage, causing eventual suffocation. Even the clone drugged beyond the ability to think could figure out that standing makes them breathe, and falling makes them die.

It… they haven’t answered Quinn’s questions in two days. There came a point where all words stopped registering, simply pointless noise in the clone’s ears. They still flinch from Quinn’s voice but don’t seem to understand when or why pain is coming anymore. They don’t know what’s being threatened, what the consequences will be for just lying there and waiting dumbly. Rebellion has been punished so thoroughly that they never pull away anymore, only turning their head to avoid seeing the damage.

The healing magic items that Quinn’s been able to procure have been able to keep the clone alive. Quinn is starting to wonder if someone can be kept alive past the point where their mind is able to remain intact. They may have reached that point.

A terrible melancholy has settled over Quinn upon realizing that they’ve broken it - them. It was comforting to have this version of themself to explore, to take out their frustration on, without consequences. They were sure there would be no end unless the thing died. But no more information can be extracted from the clone, and no more satisfaction can be won, either. They’re too… too sad. Too pathetic, lying there, whimpering for someone to come save them. How idiotic to beg for that, as if anyone’s come to save them before - no, it’s… they’re broken. It’s not stupid to beg for mercy when you’re broken. At that point, you don’t know or care that there’s no hope of being saved. All you want is for it to end.

A frown of contemplation etched into their face instead of a sneer, Quinn crouches next to the weeping thing. Hesitantly, gently, they reach out and move a lock of limp hair from the clone’s face, peering at the teary eyes that fly open.

Quinn finds themself staring into the soul of the most vulnerable version of themself that they will ever encounter. They shiver as they look into those big, dull eyes. Their hand, still poised above the thing’s head, slowly lowers until their palm is cupped on that bruised cheek. The clone’s eyelids flutter in a muted flinch. They do not pull away.

“You broke,” Quinn accuses, more pensive than angry.

The body curled up on the floor holds still, save for the jolting that comes with their waning full-body sobs. They’re chilly under Quinn’s warm palm. A lot of blood loss, few clothes, and not enough nutrition.

Quinn’s own stomach pangs with hunger at the thought. Their skin crawls with goosebumps, their chest tight with some indescribable feeling.

“If I told you to get up onto the bed, would you?”

The question doesn’t seem to be heard or comprehended, met with a blank stare from the clone… except more tears are welling up in their eyes, one spilling down their cheek. Quinn suspects the thing would be begging if it, if they could muster up the willpower.

“Go on. Climb up there. Onto the bed. Quinn, get on the bed.”

There’s a flash of understanding in the thing’s eyes, its brows crumpled in painstaking thought. The clone moves, slow and clumsy, out from under its captor’s gaze to crawl over to the bed. It climbs, falling over and over, not bothering to wait for help from the person who ordered them to try. Quinn nearly flinches at the sound of the body hitting the floor and choking on near-screams it can’t gather the breath for.

Instead of grim satisfaction at the thing’s suffering, Quinn just feels guilt. It is… uncomfortable.

Finally, the clone makes it up onto the bed, heaving for air, shaking all over. They’ve flopped onto their back and turned their head to half-bury it in the pillow and weep.

Quinn stands, dusting off their pants. They approach the bed, reaching for a blanket folded up at the end of it. Unfolding it slowly is their way of putting off making a decision. Are they really done interrogating the clone? Can’t they extract any more information? Is it wise to give up so soon?

The clone chokes on their tears, coughing hoarsely. They can’t groan in pain without making their throat burn from the sound, and that only spurs on more coughing, and more pain, and more groans.

No, Quinn can’t get anything more out of them. The thing is broken. More upset than they’d like to admit, they let the blanket fall open and drape it over the ruined body. The clone nearly jumps out of their skin and lets out a cracking, high-pitched sound of fear. Big brown eyes find Quinn’s as the clone tries to figure out what’s going to be done to them next.

“Sleep,” Says the person standing over them, looking distinctly unhappy. “Close your eyes. Go to sleep.”

Their words are clipped, terse. The clone continues to watch them with unabated terror.

It’s unbearable to be stared at by the shattered thing. Quinn reaches for their dosing box, pulling the lid back and readying up a syringe, filling it to the full dose line. The clone squeezes their eyes shut and turns their head away, and Quinn understands - they can barely stand to see the vials and the needle themself. It still scares them, even administering it to someone else.

The clone isn’t really someone else, though. It’s Quinn.

They take hold of the clone’s arm, their hold on its wrist much gentler than usual. The needle slips into pale skin among the cluster of track marks left from the past month, and from Jon before that. The clone whimpers and Quinn’s own throat closes up painfully. They depress the plunger and slip the needle free, pressing a little round bandage to the site.

“Go to sleep,” They instruct again. The clone’s eyes, open again and still full to the brim with tears, lose their focus even further until not even a slap to the face would get a reaction out of them. Every muscle in the clone’s body relaxes. They are pliant, vulnerable, powerless. Those deeply sad eyes drift closed, but Quinn knows full well it doesn’t guarantee sleep. Drugging them was just an excuse to make the guilt quiet down, make those sobs stop.

It’s fine. It’s not a person. Quinn will just… go relax and pass the time until the drug wears off, and the clone wakes up, and the crying stops. Quinn will deal with what they should do next later. When it’s easier.

#whump #drabble #mine #quinn #clone #dehumanization #torture #captivity #drugged #crying #flinching #stabbed #broken bones #guilty #needles tw

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preciouspeterbparker · 3 years

Text

i wish i were, part 3

part one

part two

summary: it’s getting harder to pretend that everything is okay.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: step- inc*st, smut, underage sex, suicidal ideation (oops), ANGST, depression, self-harm mention (doesn’t actually happen, just intrusive thoughts), it’s all mentioned very casually so if this is triggering for you please don’t read!! <3 , ambiguous ending

this is the last part y’all! thanks for going on this ride with me. this was my first multi-chap fic and it kinda gave me the confidence to know that i’m capable of writing longer stuff without it being super shitty lol. sorry that it’s taken me so long!!

love you all

- bloo

It's getting harder to pretend that everything is okay.

Peter hates to say it, fuck, the thought physically pains him, but he’s glad the school year’s almost over. He’s glad that it’s almost time for graduation, time for Tony to leave for the special summer program MIT invited him to participate in.

He just wants to stop feeling like this, never wants to feel like this ever again. He always feels heavy, weighed down, like his clothes are soaking wet. It’s a feeling that goes deep into his bones, leaving him cold, aching, and tired.

It’s a good thing there’s not really any work left to do for school, other than exams; Peter spends most of his time in bed, headphones on and staring at the wall, the one that separates his room from Tony’s.

He keeps hearing Pepper’s voice in his head. He thinks you hung the moon, babe. It’s so cute. The words make him burn inside, make him want to dig his fingers in and peel his skin back until the feeling spills out of him. Until his blood spill out, until he doesn’t have to deal with this anymore- Fuck-

That’s how his brain is working, now. The intrusive thoughts have reached new levels. Peter’s always had them, he’s been passively suicidal for most of his adolescence, but it seems that any minor inconvenience has him ready to end it all. But it makes sense, he supposes. He’s already hurting, already weary and withdrawn. It really wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge.

Too bad he doesn’t really want to die. He just wants everything to...stop. So that he doesn’t have to feel like this.

And because the universe is obviously enjoying fucking with him, the first thing he sees walking out of first period is Pepper walking down the hallway, a faded black t-shirt hanging from her shoulders, exposing the bright red of her bra straps.

Peter recognizes the garment immediately.

It’s the Black Sabbath shirt, the one he’d kept under his pillow for over a week. The one he’d spilled multiple loads of cum onto before finally putting it in his laundry and carefully slipping it back into Tony’s room once it had been washed.

And now Pepper’s wearing it. Which means Tony gave it to her.

Peter stops, freezes right there in the doorway of Mrs. Flannigan’s classroom. He blinks, staring blankly in the direction the blonde had gone. His classmates protest behind him, pushing forward until he snaps out of it. Taking a few stumbling steps to the side, he leans back against the wall.

He feels like he can’t breathe. Some kid walking down the hall looks at him funny, and he realizes that there are tears rolling down his cheeks. Hastily wiping them away, he slowly pushes himself off the wall and starts making a hasty exit to the bathroom, head down and eyes trained on the linoleum.

Then-

“Hey, Peter- Wait, Pete what’s wrong, what happened?”

Shuddering, barely able to contain the sob that threatens to rip its way out, Peter ignores Tony, just pushes past him and doesn’t stop moving until he’s locked in the private restroom.

With his back to the door, Peter slides down til his butt’s on the cold ground, arms wrapped around his knees as he tries to muffle his cries as he sits there, shaking.

He just wants it to stop.

***

Something’s up with Peter, and Tony has a sinking feeling that it’s got something to do with him. But he doesn’t know what he possibly could have done.

They’d had such a nice time celebrating his birthday. He even had a new photo in his wallet, a polaroid of him and Peter cheesing goofily into the camera. Looking at it brings a smile to his face.

He really does love his little brother. Though he was young, Tony can remember life before Richard and Peter came into their lives. He remembers being an only child as lonely hours spent trying to entertain himself while his mom was busy working, trying to support him as a single parent. He’d been ecstatic upon meeting Richard and finding out that he had a little boy, too, that he was going to get a brother.

Tony knows that he and Peter haven’t been spending as much time together as they usually do, but he just chalked it up to it being his senior year. He wanted to spend the time with his friends, with his girlfriend, making the best of their last bit of time together before everything changes.

Peter’s words from his birthday ring in his head. I don’t want you to...forget me. Maybe he’s feeling left behind?

He’s only got a little over a week left until graduation, and then a week after that he leaves for MIT. That’s not much time at all.

The teen resolves to make some more time in his schedule to spend with his younger brother. Rhodey and the guys and Pep can deal for a couple days.

***

Peter’s pulled out of the clusterfuck of ruminative thoughts that have kept him awake for the past week by the squeak of his bedroom door being opened. He blinks under the covers, instinctively curling in on himself. He’s been under here for hours, but he still feels so cold.

Tony’s voice comes through the small crack he’s created between the door and the jamb, one eye peeking inside. “Peter? Are you….” He pauses and clears his throat before continuing softly, “Are you okay?”

The lump under the covers that is Peter shifts a little. His voice is dull and monotone when he replies, as apathetic as he can muster. “...Just leave me alone, Tony.” So much for that. Even saying his brother’s name hurts, a lot more than he thought it would, making his voice crack pathetically. Peter pulls his hands up to his chest and tries to quell the sudden surge of emotion that rushes through him, stifling a whimper. Please just go away.

Of course, instead of listening for once in his fucking life, Tony opens the door further so that he can slip inside. It closes behind him with a soft click and he takes a tentative step towards the queen bed that’s pushed up against the walls in the corner of the dark bedroom. "Pete…" Peter can hear him softly pad over to the nightstand and flick on the small lamp sitting there. His breathing in the quiet room is near deafening to Peter. “I…” He hovers there for a minute before sighing and sitting at the foot of the bed. “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong. So that I can… I just want to help, Pete.”

The silence stretches on uncomfortably between them and even under the covers, Peter can feel the worried gaze burning him alive.

His skin is crawling with how badly he wants to crawl out of the covers and into Tony’s lap, the way he would when they were younger and he was upset. He needs to get Tony out of here. He can’t-

Peter moves so that his head is exposed, but he looks down at the bed rather than the other teen. "No, it’s fine. I mean I-, I’m fine," Peter sniffles, blinking furiously in an attempt to will the tears away. Fuck. His- fuck, his throat is tight, he can't swallow. His mouth falls open, a shuddering breath escaping as the muscles in his throat spasm. "I get it, Tony. I promise I get it, I really do. I do. She's-"

Fuck. He must really be exhausted, he wasn’t supposed to say that, wasn’t supposed to let on the truth of why he’s upset. Peter's eyes flit around like he's on speed, darting from one focal point to another without him truly seeing anything. His voice is hoarse, thin. It's as small as he feels. Miniscule. Insignificant. He’s gonna ruin everything but he can’t make himself stop. "I mean, I can’t- I can't compete with-" The words come to an abrupt halt, his mouth snapping shut.

Tony nudges Peter’s foot with his knee. “What? Peter.” He bumps against Peter again until the younger boy looks up to make eye contact.

That stupid fucking crease forms between his older brother's eyebrows. Peter wants to slap him. Or kiss him. Mostly he wants to scream.

"Peter, what? Compete with who? Are you talking about Pepper? I know we haven’t been spending much time together, but I’m gonna fix that before I leave, I promise. I don’t want you to feel left behind, not at all but I still don’t get- What’s this got to do with -," Tony starts, placatingly. But there’s something in his eyes, in the barely there tremor in his voice- And Peter suddenly realizes that Tony knows, has to know at least a little bit.

He swears his vision flashes red for a second. "It has everything to do with her," Peter all but shrieks, nails digging crescent-shaped welts into his palms. He feels overwhelmed, trapped. Like a hermit crab without its shell- vulnerable, horribly exposed. It comes out without his consent, and so does his fucking stutter. Fuck it all. "And I know- I know- I know I'm fucked up, Tony, I know it, but I love you, the way that you love h-huh-her.”

He takes a shuddering breath, reeling from saying the words out loud for the first time. “I'm sss-suh-sick, and g-gross and you- I know I'm a fff-fuh-freak and nnn-now- now you’re gonna hate me!" Peter sobs, his entire body shaking as he works himself towards an anxiety attack, a panic attack, a heart attack, fucking something. “I can’t even fu-fu-fu-fucking talk-” There’s snot and tears running down his face, he’s upset himself so much he can’t get through a fucking sentence. He knows he’s making a fucking fool of himself. He’s so stupid, why did he ever think that anything could come from this. He just wants it all to stop, he wants Tony to leave so that he can figure out some way to fix this, to make it all go away-

Tony’s staring at him, mouth parted, dark eyes wide and concerned. "Baby, what- I could never hate you, babydoll." It’s like the nickname comes out instinctually, the sound of Peter’s stutter instantly taking him back to the way he would console Peter when they were much younger, pulling him into his arms and rocking him like his own little baby.

He climbs on the bed and burrows into the nest of blankets and pillows that Peter has created, but he stays sitting up. His arms wrap around his baby brother and pull him up into his lap so that he’s close to his chest, in spite of the younger’s attempts to squirm away. “Calm down, Pete.” Tony presses his lips to Peter’s head when his cries only increase, frowning at how hot the skin of his forehead is. “You’ve gotta calm down,” he soothes. “C’mon, it’ll get better once you calm down, baby, you know that.” One of his hands glides up and down Peter’s heaving back.

Gasping, Peter shakes his head. He buries his face in the space where Tony’s pec and arm meet, taking a shuddering breath through his mouth. He’s trying to calm down but it’s not working. “I’m so- I’m so ssss-sss-suh-sorry, Tuh-Tony!” He feels like he’s gonna pass out. Shifting a bit, he pulls his head back in an attempt to get some more air. They almost make eye contact but he hurriedly looks away. He’s ruined everything. Tony hasn’t reacted to his confession yet but Peter knows that it’s gonna be bad, it’s gonna be so bad when he does.

What’s he got left to lose?

Peter can't help himself; he leans in. The tips of their noses brush, and he pauses there for a moment. He can hear Tony's sharp intake of breath through his own heaving as they finally lock eyes. The look in Tony's chocolate depths is- Peter doesn’t really know. Tony's never looked at him like this before, no one has.

“Tony,” he whispers shakily, breath catching in his throat before closing the distance between them. Time stands still for a moment before something breaks, the tension snapping like a rubberband pulled too tight. Their mouths meet and Peter immediately whines at the feeling of Tony’s lips on his, body instinctively arching up against his brother’s, too lost in it to feel embarrassed of how easy he is to get worked up.

It’s...everything he ever dreamed of.

Tony’s hands move to cup his cheeks, and Peter’s own hands find their way into the other’s dark, wavy locks as their mouths move against each other. There’s a swipe of tongue across his bottom lip, timidly asking for entrance. The younger obliges immediately, letting the warm muscle slide into his mouth where it meets his own. It sends shivers down his spine and he keens when his tongue is sucked into the wet of Tony’s mouth. His dick begins to fill rapidly in his sweats, leaving him feeling lightheaded and a bit disoriented.

Peter’s never made out with anyone before, but this-

He thinks he understands what all of the hype is about, now.

They pull apart, both gasping for air. Tony moves his head slightly, taking heaving breaths that blow onto the exposed skin of Peter’s neck, and his entire body seizes. The elder brother pauses, eyes darkening, before he latches his mouth there and sucking, hard- Fuck, Peter swears he’s about to cum in his pants.

“Tony.” The name is all but ripped from his throat, ragged and wanton and filthy sounding. He didn’t know he could feel this good. There’s precum steadily leaking from the slit at the tip of his cock, and though he can’t see it at the moment, he’s sure there’s a wet spot staining the crotch of his pants.

More moist air on the sensitive skin of his neck, now slightly red from being rubbed by the stubble covering Tony’s chin. “Shit, Peter,” comes the eighteen year old’s wrecked gasp and his hips shift, nudging his own erection against Peter’s thigh. “Fuck, fuck.”

Peter feels like he’s losing his mind. “Tony, Tony lemme- Wanna touch you, please-,” he says, unable to put together a full sentence. The cock he’s been dreaming about for almost a year is within his reach and he doesn’t know how they got here, has no idea what’s going to happen after, but he’s so fucking close to getting what he’s wanted for so long but thought he could never have. His hands flutter restlessly near the front of his brother’s basketball shorts and the bulge that’s pressing insistently against the loose material.

“Yeah,” Tony gasps, shifting Peter out of his lap so that he can lie down on the bed on his side and then he pulls Peter down with him, facing each other. “Me too, can I…,” he trails off, the fingers of his right hand running down Peter’s body from his shoulder down to the sharp point of his hip bone.

All Peter can do is nod jerkily, already reaching to tug at the dark red fabric that’s wrapped around the older teen’s waist. He lets out a desperate, frustrated sound when they get caught, but Tony’s hands take over for him, so he pushes his own pants down to his knees instead. His dick hangs down heavily once it's free of its confines, and there’s a quiet thud as Tony’s slaps against the dark hairs smattered across his lower belly.

Looking at his big brother’s cock for the first time in the dim lighting makes Peter’s mouth water. He can make out the slight shadow of a vein running the length of it, and his tip is big, a drop of precum sitting there just waiting for him to lick at it. He’s bigger than Peter, in both length and girth. It’s perfect, something right out of his fantasies.

Tony rocks his hips forward and their erections rub against each other, prompting them to let out synchronous groans. “Holy shit,” Peter whines, his own hips stuttering as they start to rut against each other in earnest. They quickly get into a slightly stumbling rhythm. It feels so good, their cocks both so hot, so hard. He already knows this is going to be over before it really even starts but he couldn’t care less. “Tony, Tony, yes-”

The brunette all but growls. “That’s it, Petey. Fuck, your cock feels so good, I never- Shit,” Tony pants before spitting into his palm and wrapping his hand around both of their shafts. “Fucking hell-” His toes twitch against the inside of Peter’s ankle. “Pete-”

Peter’s movements get jerkier, his hips stuttering at the feeling of Tony’s wet hand, the way their dicks are sliding against one another. He’s so close, so fucking close. “Please,” he whimpers, fingers digging to Tony’s shoulders where he’s holding on in an attempt to ground himself. HIs tongue licks at his brother’s bottom lip. “Wanna cum, Tony, lemme cum-”

“Yeah, fuck, yes Peter, cum, cum for me-” Tony groans, the speed of his stroking increasing. The rhythm is jerky, and it’s so uncoordinated when combined with their frantic undulating, but it feels amazing.

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” Peter chants as his orgasm slams into him like a brick wall. His muscles lock up, and there are probably crescent-shaped welts in the skin of Tony’s shoulders and back. Thick, white ropes of cum shoot from his cock and make a mess in his brother’s hand. A whine escapes him as he grows more sensitive in Tony’s grasp.

The feeling of the warm liquid smearing over his erection is what does the older teen in. He crushes his mouth to Peter’s as he cums, fucking into his fist and rubbing against the other’s softening cock, licking lewdly into the wet of his mouth. “Pete,” he sighs, pulling away after he’s ridden out the wave of his orgasm.

“I love you,” Peter whispers contently, snuggling in and pressing a kiss to a freckle on Tony’s shoulder. This is everything he’s ever wanted, to be held in his big brother’s arms like this: like a lover. Maybe he was worried for nothing, maybe everything will be okay. Sure, they’ll have to hide it from everyone, especially Mom & Dad, but once they’re both in college… They have different last names, no one would ever have to know. They could be happy. Peter just wants to be happy, just wants this feeling to stay.

Tony shifts slightly and takes a deep breath, the puff of air ruffling Peter’s sweat-slick auburn curls. “Pete,” he says again, softly. “I love you too, I do.” He pauses, pulling back slightly and loosening his hold on the younger boy and rolling onto his back so that they’re both looking up at the ceiling. “But I-”

Peter freezes, the afterglow fading instantly. His heartbeat picks up, and there’s a slight ringing in his ears. He grips the sweat damp comforter in his hands, fingers twitching restlessly, stroking back and forth over the fabric in an attempt to soothe himself. No. No, no no, this isn’t- Tony- He can’t-

Another heavy sigh. “We can’t- We can’t do this again, Pete,” Tony says into the quiet of the night, still slightly out of breath from exertion. His voice is soft, gentle. He’s trying not to hurt Peter; Peter thinks that’s bullshit.

There’s a lead weight in his stomach. He feels like he’s drowning. He feels like he’s gonna be sick. He feels dirty. He feels-

He’s so tired of feeling.

Tony hesitates before pulling his shorts up and sliding out of the bed. He reaches out, brushing his fingers over Peter’s hand, jerks back when the younger immediately tenses and recoils from the touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispers before hastily making his way to the door, shutting it gently behind him.

“Just go, Tony,” he croaks before rolling over in the bed, away from the love of his life his brother.

Peter lays there for the rest of the night, unmoving, staring at the ceiling, tears running down the sides of his face, seeing nothing.

If only he could feel nothing, too.

***

“Where...where ya goin, Pete?”

Peter is putting clothes in a small duffel bag. He makes a mental note to remember to grab a new thing of toothpaste when he gets his toiletry bag together. “I’m, uh, gonna go stay with Ned. For a few days.” More like a few weeks, but he doesn’t need to tell Tony that.

It’s only been two days since they-

Peter’s already had enough. He can’t be here, he can’t skirt around the elephant that is his feelings towards Tony, can’t handle the awkwardness in the air as his stupid fucking brother tries to go on as if nothing ever happened. As if it meant nothing to him.

As if Peter meant nothing to him, means nothing to him.

Peter can...he can be okay with that. He has to be. But he can’t be here. He can’t.

“What about mom and da-” Tony cuts himself off, and Peter can tell that’s not what he is really trying to ask. Of course he’s so fucking disgusted, so fearful of someone else knowing, that he can’t even say it. No, what he really means is-

“I didn’t tell them I kissed you, Tony,” Peter hisses, tears burning in his eyes. He yanks the zipper of his bag closed, biting back a scream when it gets stuck for a second. “I’m not stupid. Why would I tell them what we did? I don’t want them to hate me, too. Don’t worry about what I told them, they said I could go.”

Maria and Richard are under the impression that Peter’s just stressed about his grades and going a little stir crazy. When they’d talked last night, Mom had frowned gently at him, mentioning how down he’d looked lately and letting him know that he was loved and cherished. Dad had actually been the one to suggest spending some time with Ned; maybe seeing his best friend would help pull Peter out of his funk.

If only they knew.

Tony gapes at him, an incredulous look on his face. “But what about Tuesday? You’re gonna miss my graduation? For what, to fuck around with Ned? Peter-”

Something in him snaps. He clenches his jaw, swallows harshly. Glares tearily at his brother. “Would you please just stop it?”

The taller boy sets his shoulders and crosses his arms, defiant. “I don’t want you to go.” His eyes are narrowed, searching Peter’s face. For what, the younger has no idea. Nor does he care.

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Tony,” he yells, glad that Mom and Dad are out at the grocery store, getting supplies for Tony’s graduation party. His voice cracks on his brother’s name. Always on his name. “Not anymore. I don’t- I know you don’t- Do you know how much it hurts me? To- to hear you? To know, to have to listen to-”

Tony’s mouth opens, but no words come out. “Hear us? You- you heard us? When?” His eyes are wide. He must realize exactly what Peter’s talking about, when he’s talking about, and he looks uncomfortable, vulnerable in a way that Peter’s never seen him before. Something ugly deep inside the younger teen feels satisfied for a moment before it deflates. He’s left feeling just as drained as before.

Tony continues, “Peter, I-” He cuts himself off, looks away.

Of course he can’t even come up with something to say.

“For fuck’s sake, Tony, you don’t have to explain everything to me!” It comes out as a sob. Peter feels like he’s a volcano; the words are erupting and he can’t do anything but allow it, powerless to stop them. “Nothing you say will make it better! I know you’re straight! I know it’s- that it’s wrong. I know Pepper is-,” he chokes, gasping. Why is this happening? Everything is going so fast. How is he freezing and on fire at the same time?

“She’s gorgeous and I’m just the path-th-thetic little br-brother who th-thinks you hung the moon.” Peter’s spluttering, flapping his hands at his sides as he tries to do something with the energy humming inside him. He wants out, he needs Tony to go so that he can finish packing. He has to get out of here.

Tony takes a step towards him. “No, Peter, how could you-”

Peter’s sniffling, eyes squeezed shut. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, trembling. Why won’t Tony just leave him alone? He just wants to be alone. “I know I’m ugly and I- I bet you can’t w-w-wait to go to MIT, to go away from me!”

“Babydoll,” is what leaves Tony’s mouth, so soft Peter almost doesn’t hear it. His hands are shaking as they land on his younger brother’s cheeks. Warm tears are gently brushed away by his thumbs. “Pete.”

Brow furrowed, Peter slowly opens his eyes and blinks the tears back in order to look at his brother. Tony looks...scared? What does he have to be scared of?

Peter tries to pull away, out of Tony’s grasp but the older teen just clutches him tighter. “Tony- What? It’s fine, j-just stop! Let me go, I need to finish-”

Tony closes his eyes and crashes their lips together.

don’t hate me

@spidey-sins @silkystark @thegreenmetblue @snailshome @hp-nv-221b @lemondrop313

if you wanna be untagged lmk

#starker #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #starkercest #bloo writes bad things (tm)

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modern-vellichor · 4 years

Text

Grief, is a Beautiful Thing

Stage Two: Anger

Warnings: Grief!! Mentions of death, suicide. Loss of a major character. Battles with depression, silent tears, heart and gut wrenching sadness, minor smut just to keep you on your toes.

Series Masterlist

Anger; a strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility.

Eventually, after weeks of watching the front door with a longing look in your eyes, after weeks of keeping Steve's things untouched, after weeks of waiting up at night for him, you realised, maybe, he isn't coming back. You were mad.

You were angry at Steve, angry at him for lying to you, for leaving you. You were furious at him for leaving you cold and broken and empty and thinking you were strong enough to pick yourself back up again.

You were angry at Bucky for trying. He was always there for you, calming you, telling you everything was okay, and it wasn't, it really wasnt.

You and Steve never argued, never in public anyway. God, if you could see him now, you would scream and shout and make sure he knew how wrong he was, how much you hated him right now. How could he do this to you.

You had disobeyed direct orders on a mission. Steve told you to hold back, but you saw and opportunity, and you took it, it was the right decision. Sure, you got stabbed a few times, but you got what you needed, quicker too.

"I can't believe you, Y/N. I gave you a direct order and you didn't follow it. Look at you now, you could have died"

You rolled your eyes at the love of your life, sighed, and stood up, blood trickling through your fingers clutched to your side.

"With all due respect, Captain, I did what had to be done, and it worked. So don't criticize my decisions", you only called him Captain when you were raging, when you thought he didn't even deserve the acknowledgment of a name.

"You are hurt, you went against me. I could ruin your career for that stunt"

"You wouldn't dare, don't lie to yourself"

"God, you're so fucking full of yourself, Y/N"

"excuse me?", you scoffed, eyebrows raised. Steve immediately regretted his words, uttering hurried apologies. "You know what, Cap, I am full of myself. I'm such a narcissist, such a bad person, huh. Where did our little golden boy go wrong, ending up with a good for nothing gal like me, huh?"

As if right on time, the jet had landed, so you made a grand exit, waltzing off the jet with your head held high, and tears in your eyes.

You couldn't go to your own room, not where the sheets smelled of him, not where his things sat snug next to yours. So you knocked on Bucky's door, he let you in without hesitation. He walked you to his bed, he held you as you cried, cradled you until you slept. He tucked you in under blankets that smelled like coconut, gun powder, and whiskey.

So as you lay, head buried into a pillow that smelt like Steve, tears staining soft satin, you thought about doing the exact same thing.

You picked yourself up, untangling yourself from the sheets, bare feet padding to the elevator. Straight to Bucky's door.

knock knock knock. gentle and soft, barely audible.

"doll?", he was half asleep in his doorway.

"hey, buck", you muttered, smiling sadly.

"what's up?"

"I can't sleep in there, Bucky. I can't do it. I swear to god, hes everywhere", you sobbed.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his room, into his bed. For once, you welcomed the cooing and the soft touches. You appreciated the way he cradled your face in his hands as you cried, catching tears with his thumbs as he watched you fall apart. He was holding you together, his legs tangled with yours, his lips uttering sweet redemption into your hair, hands softly drawing circles on your back.

You leaned into him, wrapping your arms around him in return, you pressed your face into his neck, breathing him in, soaking him up. This was what you need right now, and you fell asleep bathed in the warmth of his bare soul.

Bucky's eyes opened to you making your way out of his room. He sighed, hands reached out to you, lazily.

"why are you up so early, doll?", he checked the clock. 05:57am.

"I gotta work"

"you really gotta take some time off, you're gonna work yourself to death, especially in your form"

You gave him a small smile, "I'll be fine, Barnes. Go back to sleep"

He happily obliged, rolling over and closing his eyes, hearing the far away click of his door closing.

You locked yourself in your office the entirety of the day, making angry phone calls to people who just wouldn't listen, pacing as you waiting on stats to come through, filing reports, organising mission after mission, without even considering a break.

Bucky knocked on your door around 6, pushing it open softly.

"Hey, Barnes. What is it?", you asked, not looking up from your computer as your fingers danced quickly across the keys.

"Its dinnertime, come eat"

"I'm not hungry, but thank you"

"Y/N", you answered his calls, not taking your eyes off the screen. "Y/N, look at me, for God's sake"

You slammed the laptop shut, eyeing him up and down dangerously. Sure, Bucky Barnes might be able to snap your neck with his little finger, but he couldn't break a man down like you could. He couldn't stare at people so hard it bore holes in their skulls, he couldn't exude power like you did, he couldn't tear into someone's soul with spiteful words and a harsh tone, not like you.

"What was that? I'm looking now, Mr. Barnes, please, embarrass yourself further, you have my full attention", you smiled at him, but it was sly and condescending.

"You haven't eaten all day, you need to eat"

"I need to do my job, and I think you've forgotten that I am, in fact, your superior, so get out of my office", with that, you opened the laptop again, and continued on with your furious typing.

Bucky didn't budge, he knew you could get irritable on a good day, and good days usually didn't involve dying, being resurrected, losing half your team, and taking over Stark Industries.

"Y/N, please, come on. You're being irrational"

"And you're forgetting your place, you always do. I care about you, Buck, but now is not the time to be sticking your nose in places it doesn't belong, go annoy Sam or something, I don't have the time for you"

You stood up and ushered him to your door, with a hand on the handle, you gazed at him with a harsh stare.

"Have a goodnight, Barnes, stay out of my office"

You swung the door closed, if slammed shut mere inches away from Bucky's nose.

You avoided him like the plague for the next few days, not meeting his gaze, not uttering his name. You spent all your time locked in your office, not saying anything to anyone, until you had to.

You called a meeting, the pathetic remains of your team gathered around you. A teenage boy, a bird man, a god of thunder and an ex assassin walked into a room, what a wild joke.

You briefed them, you flew them out to the hotel, nicer than the last one you stayed in. You could only get three rooms, Sam got one to himself, he won rock, paper, scissors.

The awkward silence had settled thick and heavy between you and Bucky, sat on your own separate beds, neon light filtering in through the curtain.

"I think it's your turn to tell me a story", that was the first thing he had said to you in days, you were shocked, a little taken aback.

"what?"

"The last time you and I were in a hotel room, you asked for a story, and I gave you one. I want a story."

"oh", you chuckled, "what about?"

He thought for a minute, shifting to face you, blue eyes bright and playful.

"a boy"

You both laughed, all remnants of anger and spite evaporating. This was exactly like Bucky, make everything better with a joke and a laugh.

"I don't really have stories about boys. I was only 18 when I started with Stark. I met Steve when I was 23-"

"How did you meet Steve?", he cut in. You realised then, no one had ever told Bucky that story.

"He never told you?", Bucky shook his head in response.

"Well-"

You met Steve before Thanos, before Bucky, before Ultron even. You were young,

You walked with purpose across the dirt and sand, General Sanchez struggling to keep up as he briefed you. You were in an old army uniform, one that had once belonged to a friend, it was a little tight but it made do.

"Ms. Y/L/N, you said you called backup?", he asked, hesitant.

"I did", on cue, the quinjet handed some feet ahead, and Tony stepped out. "and there he is"

Tony started to walk alongside you and the General, the team walking a few feet behind you.

"Stark, pleasure seeing you again"

"same goes for you, Y/N, what's happening"

"ever seen Godzilla?"

These creatures had been popping up around coasts all over the world, a couple even had gone as far as peaking tails out of the water, ridges on their backs visible deep below the surface. All you knew is that they were massive, monstrously big, and dangerous. They had been testing the waters, seeing how ready you were for an attack, and today was the day. According to radar scans, the biggest off them all had showed up off the coast of L.A, so here you were.

Steve couldn't help but stare at you, walking tall and dignified, head held high, voice strong and authoritative. Even as you were bleeding out on the floor, cheek swollen, lip cut, eyes blackened, he thought you were beautiful, angelic.

"Really?", Bucky laughed. You just nodded, saddened by the distant memory. "you guys always seemed so, settled"

"once upon a time we were running around like kids, sneaking into empty offices to make out like horny teenagers. We settled down eventually", bitterness was evident in your voice as you spoke. You missed those days, running around with Steve's hand in yours. He had really ruined hand holding for you.

"You wanna know what Steve said to me on our first date?", you asked, breath trembling and voice shaky, tears brimming in your eyes.

"sure..", he spoke hesitantly, not sure if that was the right answer or not.

"He said, "you remind me of a girl I knew back in the war", the same girl he left me for. He fell in love with me because I reminded him of a dead girl."

You and Bucky ducked behind a car, both of you officially out of ammunition. You sighed, looking around for any form of weapon as bullets came ricocheting towards you.

"If this is how we go, I'm gonna be pretty fucking pissed", he scoffed, always making a joke.

"me too, Buck"

Your eyes scanned the ground desperately, Bucky was trying to get to Sam, Thor, even Peter, but the comms had been cut. Your eyes settled on a baseball bat not far from Bucky's feet.

"Hey, Bucky?"

"yeah, pup?", for a split second that dream flashed behind your eyes. pup.

you were snapped from your thought by a bullet flying past your ear.

"I got another story for ya", you grinned. Bucky cocked an eyebrow.

"Now?"

"I used to play a lot of baseball in high school", he followed your gaze, mischievous grin playing at his lips.

"you sure?"

And with that, you emerged from behind the car, bat in hand.

"Hiya, boys", you called out to the two thugs stood in front of you, they trained they're guns on you, just not quick enough.

Before they could even process what was happening, you were on top of them, swinging, punching, kicking. Bucky snuck up behind you, joining in on the fight.

Your breathing was heavy as the two men collapsed at your feet, blood spattered across your chest and face, Bucky couldn't help the butterflies in his stomach, red always was your colour.

There was a wicked smile playing on your lips, teeth sharp and glinting, you looked psychopathic, killer, and Bucky loved it.

Maybe he could help you release some of that anger, he hadn't gotten a good beating in a while.

You went out the night you got back. You almost went to knock on Natasha's door to invite her with you, you stopped yourself with tears in your eyes when you remembered.

You didn't tell anyone where you were going, to be honest, you didn't know yet. You slipped out of the compound quietly, the kind of thing Steve would have disapproved of.

You decided on a quaint little bar, a few blocks away, small and cozy. Old jazz hummed softly through the speakers, you fit right in, blending in with the crowd, no one paid you any mind, and you reveled in it. Being normal for once, being another someone in the crowd, instead of some comic book superhero.

A few hours went by, you spent the time people watching. You paid particular attention to a girl, not much younger than you, she looked just like Natasha, she even ordered a vodka and soda, you just smiled to yourself.

You heard someone slid into the barstool next to you, it must have been at least midnight at this point. He ordered an old fashioned, Bucky's signature. You just kept your attention trained on the other patrons, that was until you felt a hand splayed across your back and warm breath fanning out across your bare shoulder, you were ready to punch a man at least twice your size. You turned around, hand balled into a fist.

"Hey, pup"

"Bucky?"

It must've been the drinks, it had to have been. Bucky's tongue was hot and heavy in your mouth, hands all over your body. He kicked your door closed behind the both of you, pushing you up against it, rough. The wind was knocked from your lungs, his lips travelled down your face, leaving a trail of wet kisses across your jaw and down your neck. He nipped at the shell of your ear before growling, low and animalistic.

"I saw you covered in that blood on the mission, and I just couldn't help myself, pup, I had to get myself a taste"

fuck. me.

@vicmc624 @dee-vn

#captain america x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader smut

117 notes · View notes

just-horrible-things · 4 years

Text

Have I worked on any of my WIPs and abandoned storylines? Nope. Have I been writing in a completely different ‘verse instead? Why yes, I have.

Cowritten with @khalwrites, whose ‘verse and characters (other than Ariadne) this features.

---

Maliq’s Revenge

“Ariadne,” Maliq smirks, “You’ve been avoiding me. Don’t you want to catch up, after all this time?” “Ah, my least favourite crybaby,” Ariadne acknowledges him. “What do you want, Maliq?” His face darkens. “Who’s the crybaby here? I’ve heard you screaming down there. Forever the little rebel.” That smug smile creeps back into place as he talks. “You know… she screamed too. But he never healed her, just let her suffer. Days and weeks on end…” He lets the thought trail off, grinning. “I see you still don’t have anything better to do with your time than spew bile.”

He’s clearly trying to provoke her, but she doesn’t have the energy to do more than snap tiredly at him. And she knows full well how bad an idea it would be to lash out. Punching his stupid smug face would be… not even slightly worth it.

“I just wanted to let you know,” he sneers on, false friendliness paper-thin over the barbs, “what happened to your former good friend. You could ask our King, he would agree that Jojo’s screams were musical.” “I’d watch out then,” she retorts, “Yours sound about the same. Better hope he doesn’t start missing them.” “Big talk from the King’s favourite toy.” She snorts derisively. “You used to squeal all the time, I haven’t forgotten.” All she can do is bark at the end of her chain, but she’ll take her satisfaction where she can. For instance, in watching his face twist with upset and humiliation. “I’ll show you squealing,” he growls. And to her surprise, he goes for a knife.

The movement isn’t subtle. She’s shifting her weight before the knife leaves the sheath. It’s not difficult to sidestep the lunge. Her forearm intercepts his to stop him changing angle. She thinks of stepping past him and breaking into a run, but she doesn’t really have room. Her feet move to open up the possibility of tripping him. He pulls back, then slashes sideways at her. She grabs for his knife hand, unafraid of the blade - he hasn’t put enough force into it to do her real harm. She feels it catch in her clothes, feels the sting of a scratch across her shoulder. Irrelevant. Maliq drops the knife in a panic as she spins him and pulls him in close against her body. She didn’t even have to twist his arm. “Guards!” he shouts, struggling, “Unhand me! Guards, guards!” “Still scared of me?” she asks in a low voice, close to his ear. But she lets go of him with a bitter chuckle. “You’re scared of him,” he huffs, straightening his clothes as he backs away in a hurry.

And then he is turning to the guards as they arrive, with a very familiar expression of wounded indignance that makes him look like a snotty ten year old all over again. “She attacked me!” he proclaims melodramatically, “She tried to kill me! Arrest her at once.” Ariadne sighs. “I did no such thing,” she refutes. But she puts up no resistance as the guards lay firm hands on her shoulders. Dread is heavy in her chest. Fighting won’t do her any good. But she holds her head high, looking down her nose with disdain at Maliq.

His obnoxious smile is back in place. “Have fun,” he sneers.

---

She is merely confined to her room, but fear feels like chains, twisting through her ribcage and wrapped ice-cold round her limbs. She tries to take it out on a pillow, imagining Maliq’s face under her fists. But, surprise surprise, it does nothing to ease the fear.

The King won’t believe Maliq’s ridiculous accusations, will he? He knows that she wouldn’t dare, doesn’t he? Surely he knows her better than that, sometimes he seems to know everything she thinks...

It’s not a relief when the summons finally comes for her. But at least she’s escorted to the King rather than dragged.

She bows low for her liege, and waits for his signal to approach. Then she kneels at his feet and bows again, all the way to the floor. Shivers crawl across her skin. She doesn’t sit up until he orders it, and then she looks up obediently to meet his eyes. “You are aware,” he begins, “That Maliq is training for command? He is a powerful mage and I am highly disappointed that you have such dislike for someone so important.” Highly disappointed. Anxiety solidifies into bleak certainty. “I will curb my dislike, Your Majesty,” she is already promising. But - “I didn’t attack him.” I swear. I wouldn’t dare. “Of course you didn’t. I trust that.” Relief floods Ariadne’s body. It’s not as bad as she feared.

“But what I don’t trust,” the King continues, “is your commitment to proper conduct. You made the decision to show disrespect to someone important to me. Am I next? Will you forget your manners around me, forget to respect me and address me properly?” Ariadne exhales. “I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I did not realise I was to show him deference.” She lets her shoulders slump. There will be punishment. “I would never dare to disrespect you, Your Majesty.” But perhaps it won’t be so bad? “I... failed to understand how I was to act towards Maliq, I am sorry.” She doesn’t know whether the flicker in his eyes is good for her, or bad. “Do you believe a lesson is necessary for you to understand why your actions were incorrect?” “I won't repeat the mistake Your Majesty,” she tries anxiously. Is she supposed to beg, here? Can she get out of punishment altogether? “I - I believe I've learned…” “It shouldn’t have happened the first time.” No, no she cannot. “Yes, Your Majesty. I u-understand, Your Majesty.”

The guards step forwards with the usual smooth discipline that makes it seem like they start moving almost before the King’s gesture. She’s been dragged enough that she can move with them as they take her by the shoulders and lift. This time they let her take some of her own weight, a small mercy. She lets her head drop, cheeks hot. “Take her to the cells,” the King orders. “Put her in chains. I will be there shortly, Ariadne, to have a discussion about respect.” “Yes Your Majesty,” she agrees, but she is already being marched out.

She knows the dungeons well. Simply descending the stairs shouldn’t have so much power to terrify her. But the first lungful of frigid air saps the strength from her legs and twists her gut into knots. She wants to dig her heels in and fight and try to run. But she’s tried that before. She’s tried pretty much everything. Maybe this time won’t be too bad?

So she doesn’t need to be thrown into the cell, doesn’t fight the hands that pull her wrists behind her back and cuff them, doesn’t protest when she’s pushed to the ground and shackled to the wall. She is a well-behaved toy, and she hates herself for it. The door closes with a clank that she must have heard a hundred times before, but that still manages to make her stomach drop.

They leave her sitting, but she knows that she should be on her knees. ‘Shortly’ could mean anything, and when the King walks in he will want her on her knees. The chain between her wrists and the wall isn’t so short that she can’t shift her position. They could have been much crueler with the chains. Another reason to hope, perhaps.

But despite everything she tries to tell herself, she is terrified.

To her utter humiliation, tears well up, and she can’t stop them from streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t even hurt Maliq. What was she supposed to do, let him stab her? She holds her tongue for King Edwyn, all the time. Why can’t she have a shred of satisfaction? It’s not like she even threatened the little shit. How stupid of her to think she’d be allowed to speak to him as an equal. He claims that she is an ‘assistant’, a ‘favoured servant’. He pretends she is important in his court. She should know better.

Her tears are hot on her cheeks, and cold where they land on her thighs and soak into the fabric. It’s such a tiny thing to be upset about. She should be used to this by now.

In time her tears dry up, but the suffocating fear persists. She shifts and fidgets, but time drags its heels in the perpetual gloom. She could be here for days, he’s done it before. Or he could stride in at any moment, expecting her alert and contrite and ready to grovel for her worthless skin. Her nerves are taut as bowstrings, and like a bow left strung too long, she can feel her mind cracking under the tension.

She cries again, and stops, and starts again. How pathetic she is.

When he finally comes for her, his footfalls outside the door are enough to make her heart pound in her chest. The tears redouble as she straightens up her posture. As soon as she sees him, she bows forwards as far as she can, pulling against the cuffs until the metal bites into her wrists.

The King lets her tremble for a few long seconds before telling her “You may sit up.” “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she murmurs reflexively as she straightens. She’s acutely aware of how pitiful she must look, gazing up at him with reddened eyes, shivering from cold and fear. Her cheeks begin to warm again, despite the chill air. “You shouldn’t be in trouble Ariadne. Maliq was incorrect to try and harm you, try to provoke you.” Hope is unwelcome, almost painful, closing her throat. She knows the ‘but’ is coming. “Unfortunately it did open my eyes to your inconsistent respect for authority.” He steps forwards, revealing the whip in his hand. “I don’t intend to be cruel to you. I intend for this to be quick. I’m even considering avoiding the whip.” He paces as he talks, letting Ariadne track him with her eyes. She tries to keep her focus on his face, but the coil of leather tugs insistently at her attention. “You are a quick study Ariadne. Talented. You learn. You adapt.”

“Thank you, Majesty.” Ariadne tries to wet her lips, but her tongue is bone dry. “I'm - very sorry I've misunderstood how I should be acting, Your Majesty. Thank you for your kindness. Please, tell me who I should be deferring to, I want to do better.” The words barely take thought. Just empty platitudes. Tribute to his expectations, his control. “Ten lashes?” he asks, still using his disarmingly friendly voice. “Ten burns? Ten breaks? You choose Ariadne, you are learning quickly and I must repeat that I don’t believe this lesson should be dragged out past what is necessary.” “Thank you, Majesty, lashes please, Your Majesty.” The choice is so obvious that she regrets it as soon as the words are out of her mouth. It must be the wrong choice. It’s never that easy. “Very well.”

It’s an effort not to flinch from his approach. She hates how hard she is shaking. Hates how terrified she is even when he is promising her that it will be mild. But there are no surprises, not yet. He unlocks her hands, and she waits for permission before moving an inch. His touch on her shoulders stops her breath and sends shivers across her skin, but all he does is guide her -- into the centre of the cell, turned to face the back wall, and then back onto her knees. “Take your tunic off,” he orders. She doesn’t hesitate to obey, half-folding the garment before setting it aside with shaking hands. “Hands above your head.” He chains them above her head, but he doesn’t pull them so tight as to hurt her shoulders. She has room to struggle. The thought is almost laughable. “Look ahead, and count.” “Yes, Your Majesty.” She expects him to get straight to it. But he isn’t done making her wait. So she listens to him pace behind her. The air seems to fight her, catching constantly in her throat.

“You are very respectful,” the King praises her, “very good at your job. This will only help you improve, do you understand?” “Yes, Your Majesty.” More empty words. Please, get on with it. “And I promise, ten lashes. And I will not inflict any more pain on you.” “Thank you, Your Majesty. I-I’m grateful for the-the lesson, Your Majesty.”

He keeps pacing. More tears well up in Ariadne’s eyes. She doesn’t understand. Why is she so fucking scared? Ten lashes is nothing. The pain won’t even be that bad. She hates it, she didn’t used to be so afraid. He has broken her. A sob catches in her throat. “Ariadne,” the King chides mildly, “it's a promise to keep the pain as low as possible. Control your trembling.” She takes a deep breath in, humiliation only fuelling the tears. “Ten lashes of the scourge.” Wait - scourge? “And don’t lose count.”

Ariadne yelps with the pain - white-sharp at first and far worse than the simple whip he showed her - right across the centre of her back and up to curl around her shoulder. “One,” she gasps, breathless. The pain is still building, heat flaring along the line of torn skin. She knows the scourge he must be using, with the shards of glass woven into the leather.

But the bait-and-switch is almost a relief. If this is the catch… it’s still - she can cope. If this is all. Is that enough?

She thinks she’s ready for the second blow, but she cries out just as loud if not louder as the scourge comes down directly along the same line, redoubling the pain. “Two!”

Her hands catch the chains that hold the shackles up, and her fingers find a firm grip. Pulling hard to distract from the pain. The third strike snaps across her lower back and she doesn’t scream. But before she can count ‘three’, she’s cut off by a fourth -- no, that’s not fair, how is she meant to -- and again and now she’s missed two counts and her back is criss-crossed with fire and she can’t breathe--

“Don’t forget to breathe and count.” Ariadne’s lungs unlock and she manages a gasp, then a deeper breath. “Thre-ee -” her voice wobbles “--nnh--hhh?” She can’t find the words to ask what she desperately needs to know. “Do you not want the other two to count?” She opens her mouth to answer, but only ends up yelping under the next blow. “--four--” she gasps. Oh, she’s getting it wrong but now it must be too late to backtrack-- “I told you not to lose count.” “-- sorry --!” Another stripe of burning pain - was that six, or seven? - oh dead gods, she really has lost count and it’s only been six - or seven? - why is she panicking? “Well?” “Please--!” she stammers frantically, “Please -- may I try again, Yo-our Majesty?”

He pauses. Ariadne gives up on trying not to whimper. Why bother withholding the satisfaction he’s looking for? He’ll take it one way or another.

“Back to the beginning, it seems. Do try to stay on top of things this time.” Ariadne cringes, expecting the next lash. “Yes Ma-ajesty,” she agrees. He’s kind enough to let her take a few more deep breaths before he brings the scourge down again. “One,” she counts through gritted teeth. She’s depending on the chains for support now, unable to keep upright on her own. “Remember to breathe.” The reminders are so condescending. But what’s worse is she does need them.

Another lash, and she cries out again, voice cracked with stress.. “Two.” “And breathe.” She gets three deep breaths, then he makes her yell again. “Th-three.” Breathing deep without prompting, this time.

One deep breath. Two. Three. Another lash. He hits so hard, his strength is unbelievable. Each impact slams her forwards against the shackles and drives the air out of her. “Fo-our -” “Don’t forget to breathe.”

Thank you Your Majesty, she thinks, and she hates that it’s ingrained even in her thoughts now. Each breath is shuddering. The sound she makes under the next lash is breathless and broken. “Five.”

Tears are streaming down her face. She forces herself to keep taking those deep breaths. There’s a tiny measure of calm in it. At least he’s not pushing her too fast now.

On the sixth stroke she screams. It lands right across the worst of the pain, tearing deeper into the existing wounds. She wonders sickly if the bone is exposed yet. She can’t speak instantly and the panic starts to rise again. “Si- six-!” she chokes out desperately. “Breathe,” he tells her. Her hesitation is forgiven. She’s doing well enough. She breathes. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Inhale - shuddering - and hold. Exhale. Hold. Inhale - and the lash falls - she knows it will - while her lungs are full so that she can cry out loud and clear for him. “Seven.” Inhale. Hold.

“I hope that you appreciate the time I spend on you.” “Yes, Your Majesty,” she agrees tearfully, “Thank you for -- teaching me, Your Ma-AAAHH!!-aaahhnnn -- E-eight, tha-ank you, Majesty.”

Inhale, exhale. Sob, hold. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Shudder. Inhale. Pain to make her cry out again. “Nine.” Whimper. “Thank you, Majesty.”

Inhale - ragged, shuddering - no, inhale deeper. And hold. Exhale. Hold. Inhale again. Can’t hold, loses the breath to another fit of shuddering - her bloodied back ripples with pain every time -- and no, breathe. Inhale.

She whimpers, expecting the next blow, but it doesn’t come. “Control yourself, Ariadne,” he chides. Hate stirs in her chest, but it’s dim and distant. The pain is bright and real and now. She inhales. Controls the urge to sob. Holds and exhales.

The King starts pacing again, footsteps loud in the bare cell. Slow, unhurried. “Keep your eyes forward,” he reminds her. “Yes Majesty,” she agrees miserably, clinging to the chains, trying to focus on her breath and not on the sound of the scourge dragging, the distinctive scrape of glass on stone.

“Have you learned the necessity of respect?” Still pacing. “Have you learned why it is important to trust me, to trust my lessons?” “Ye-es Your Majesty,” she answers hesitantly. Can she say she’s learned, when she’s still due another lash? “I, I trust your wisdom Your Ma-ajesty,” she hedges, “Thank you for te-eaching me…” Can’t go wrong with ‘thank you’ and with flattery, she’s learned that much at least. “Only one more, you’re handling this well Ariadne. Do you trust me? Trust what you can accomplish under my command?” “Thank you Majesty - yes, yes Your Majesty, I tru-ust you.” “Good.” But he still doesn’t give her the last lash.

Back and forth, his measured, steady footsteps go. Back and forth the tip of the scourge drags. Ariadne looks only at the wall, as ordered. She trembles, and breathes, and tries not to cry. Her britches are soaked with her blood and cling stickily to her skin. Her fingers are freezing, she can barely feel her death grip on the chains. Back and forth the King paces, and Ariadne waits at his pleasure.

Lightning-quick the scourge moves at last, startling another loud, high wail from her throat. “Ten,” she is finally able to say, and the relief is a heady wave that sweeps through her from the whitened tips of her fingers right to the soles of her feet. “Tha-ank you for teaching me, Your Majesty, I-I won’t fo-orget, thank you for your mercy.”

His hands at her wrists cue her to try and take her own weight again. She pitches forwards, moaning in agony as the movement curves her shredded back. The King doesn’t help her, which is a small mercy. Every twitch of the torn muscles in her back is pain, but she’d still prefer it to his hands on her shoulders, possessive, moving her like a ragdoll.

While she’s panting and whimpering, the King picks up her now-blood-spattered tunic, and tosses it into her lap. “Return to your room, Ariadne.” His tone is cold. “I will heal you in the morning.” “Thank you, Your Majesty, you a-are generous.”

She staggers to her feet with difficulty, clutching the tunic against her chest. The world swims and her ears fill up with hot, wet noise. Her knees hit the stone again and she almost collapses. But she’s trying again even before her vision clears. And on the second try she manages to stay up.

She doesn’t want to put the tunic back on. But there’s an implicit order in giving it to her. And even if there weren’t… the choice is between that, and letting the whole castle see her like this. So she stumbles to the doorway, where she can brace a hand against the wall, and she struggles painfully back into the garment, sobbing as the fabric pulls across the raw swathe of pain that is her back. And with a quick glance back to make sure she isn’t doing the wrong thing, she steps out of the cell and into the corridor.

Her head is spinning. Just putting one foot in front of another is an effort. The King follows her, pace leisurely as she stumbles on. She looks back again, eyes pleading. Did she miss an instruction? But he’s just smirking and watching her struggle. Just entertaining himself with her suffering. Leaning heavily against the wall, she makes her shaky way to the stairs.

She’s made it up a few steps when he clears his throat, and she freezes. Has she done something else wrong already? “I expect you to get some rest,” he tells her, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Yes Your Majesty,” she agrees uncertainly. Begging internally -- please, please just let her go, isn’t she doing everything she’s told? “I will see you in the morning to heal those wounds,” he smiles. “Don’t want them getting infected.” “Thank you Your Majesty,” she repeats, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He lets the silence stretch for a few more uncomfortable seconds.

Then he simply dismisses her. “Go get rest now.” “Yes Your Majesty,” she agrees breathlessly, “Yes, I-I will, thank you.”

What was the point of that?? Just to enjoy one more look at her fear? She hates him. She hates him so much. But she turns away as bid, and forces herself up the next step, then the next.

It’s a long way back to her room, and she knows she won’t sleep. But at least she gets to rest.

Small mercies.

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the-lady-of-stars · 5 years

Text

Lost and Found

Requested by @yourquirkywitch

Thranduil x Reader

Summary: The reader is Thranduil’s long lost Queen and Legolas’ mother. She was presumed dead but turned out to have been put under a curse which buried her deep within the forest for thousands of years. When the ring is destroyed her curse is lifted, and she finally reunites with her family.

Elves only fell in love once in their lives, and Thranduil’s Queen was his one and only. They say that a year is a mere blink in the life of an elf, but without her it was a lifetime.

Many years ago, the Queen of Mirkwood was taking a stroll with her husband and five year old son through the forest. They walked hand in hand, admiring the tranquility of the forest until a strange woman emerged from within the shrubs. She looked aged, curly grey hair circling her head and wild eyes piercing into the couple. The woman, who had since named herself a witch, explained how she had a disagreement with Thranduil’s father, Oropher. To get her revenge on Oropher, the witch placed a curse upon the wife of his son, condemning her to a life confined within the earth. Vines whipped out and tangled themselves around the Queen, dragging her down into the ground as she screamed in fear. Thranduil would never forget the look of terror in his wife’s eyes as she disappeared beneath the earth. It plagued his mind every hour of the day and night.

---------

Thranduil stood at his balcony, gazing out at his kingdom beneath the moonlight. Fond memories of doing the same thing with his wife danced around his mind, making him release a sigh in despair.

Earlier in the month, Thranduil had received news that the One Ring had been destroyed by the fire of Mount Doom by the Fellowship which his son travelled with. The King had never felt as lonely in his life as he had without both his son and his beloved, which is why he was on the balcony waiting for Legolas’ imminent return.

A knock sounded at the door to his chambers, a weak one to say the least. He could hear that whoever was at the other side of his door was barely keeping themselves upright, making him panic that it was his son returning injured from his quest. He raced towards the door, pulling it open but instantly freezing in disbelief at the sight before him. There stood his Queen, his beloved, caked in soil and an array of vines growing around her body. She was hunched over, clearly drained of all energy that she had once contained. Before Thranduil could even blink, her shaky knees collapsed, leaving her in a pained heap on the floor. The Queen reached out to her husband, hands trembling and pathetically grasping for him.

“Thranduil-” she croaked out, tears spilling down her face.

This broke him out of his stupor, so he frantically bent down and lifted his wife in the most delicate fashion so as not to hurt her, the same way he had on their wedding night.

Tears fell from his eyes as he carried his wife whom he had thought to be dead for centuries to the bathroom, setting her down propped up against the bathtub as he ran the water.

“My- My Queen. How- you're dead...” he stuttered, carefully cupping her cheek.

“When we encountered the witch in the forest- she cursed me. She trapped me in a cell deep beneath the earth where no one would ever find me. Told me I’d never see you again. I was so scared, Thranduil. So lonely.” his wife cried.

- Your P.O.V -

“Y/N-” your husband sobbed, pulling you into his tight embrace. “How after all these years are you free?”

“When the ring was destroyed it took all evil with it, meaning the witches spell was undone. I was pushed through the earth and back to the surface by the same vines which dragged me under,” you explained. “Oh how I’ve missed you. Oh- Legolas! Where is my son?”

“Legolas was a part of the Fellowship who destroyed the Ring. He hasn't returned yet but he's on his way. He’ll be so glad to see you, Meleth Nin.”

“Gi Melin, Thranduil,” you sobbed into his chest, clinging to him.

“Gi Melin, Y/N. Come my Queen, I can hardly see you through the soil which covers you. Let us bathe.”

Thranduil reached behind you, unbuttoning the back of your dress and allowing it to slip to the floor as he lowered you into the warm water. You sighed, feeling warmth again after being freezing cold underground for centuries. Moments later, Thranduil slid into the bath opposite you, facing you. He had pulled the dagger from his robes and held it in his hands, beginning to cut the vines off of you. He threw them to the other side of the room, freeing your skin with care. After all of the vines were off, he massaged the red marks they had left from how they dug into your skin.

He then pulled the leaves and twigs from your matted hair, clearing it before washing your hair with shampoo and conditioner. He used a wooden comb to detangle your hair, ever so delicately fixing it and restoring it to its natural beauty.

Before he could do anything else, you pushed forwards with what little strength you had and placed yourself on his lap, pulling him into a kiss. He kissed you back immediately, holding you close to him. As he broke the kiss, he kept you on his lap but began to wipe your skin with a cloth soaked in floral soap. He touched you as though you were delicate china, ready to break at any moment. Once his Queen had been restored to her full beauty, he lifted you out of the tub and wrapped you in a soft towel, setting you down on the bed as he made his way to the wardrobe.

When he opened the wardrobe, you noticed that all of your belongings remained untouched, making you let out a happy sigh. He turned to look at you at the sound, smiling lovingly.

“I couldn't bare to throw anything away. I knew that if I did that it would make me feel like you were truly gone.”

He returned with a silk night gown, pulling it over you sweetly then pulling on some pyjama bottoms of his own. Just as he was about to lift you to the pillows, the door burst open and Legolas barged through with a cry of “I’m home, Adar!”

When Legolas saw you he froze, tilting his head slightly with a confused look in his eyes.

“N- Naneth?” he whimpered.

“Legolas, ion nin-” you gasped.

Legolas’ eyes teared up as he ran to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He cried into your neck, making every fibre of your body instinctively want to comfort your son although he was no longer the toddler he was when you last saw him.

“Look how big you are!” you laughed out through the tears.

“I’ve missed you, Nana. Why did you have to leave?” he sobbed.

“I’m so sorry, ion nin. I love you so much. I can't tell you just how much I’ve missed you. You freed me. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you.”

“I would do it again any day to bring you back, Naneth.”

You looked up, seeing your husband crying at the sight of mother and son reunited. You laughed, sniffling then reaching out to pull him into a hug with the three of you.

The years alone had been painful, but there was always a light at the end of the tunnel. Your family was reunited and you wouldn't give it up for anything.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil imagine #lotr imagine #lotr x reader #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit x reader

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bangtancentricsblog · 4 years

Text

the fallout

i wasn’t planning on taking forever to update this but i did sorry i hope you guys enjoy it. Thank you again to my lovely wife @boymeetsweevil 😍💜💖

WARNINGS: angst, mentions of: (emotional abuse, verbal abuse, manhandling, forced sex{?}), idk please tell me if anything is particularly triggering!

<< pre - next >>

Yoongi is buying weed from Jungkook when Jimin comes bursting into the apartment and manages to land a solid punch to his face. He’s not expecting it, hell at this very moment he can’t figure out what prompted it, but it's when he sees her come barreling after Jimin that he understands. Jimin pulls him up to continue his assault and Yoongi just takes it, Jungkook stands to the side alarmed and hesitates to intervene; it's the appearance of Taehyung that shocks the boy into action wrapping his arms around Jimin to pull him off Yoongi. Jimin’s face is an ugly shade of red as he screams his words at Yoongi, it’s been a month and a half since he’s been sleeping with ____ and so far it’s been a well kept secret. He doesn’t know how Jimin even found out, it’s not like she would willingly offer up the information.

“My sister? Are you fucking crazy, did you know she was in a relationship?!” he yells shoving Jungkook off of him.

“Jimin!” she screams eyes wide when Yoongi meets her stare. For the first time since they’ve met her expression is unreadable. She doesn’t deny it, and something in Yoongi doesn’t feel right. He should’ve known, a girl like her certainly wasn’t single, especially not when she was attending a school away from home. He’s blocked out Jimin’s voice, can only hear the way his thoughts grow louder and the tiny voice in the very back of his head reminds him that he deserves this. He chuckles and he can feel the way Jimin stiffens even when he can’t see him. Taehyung is burning holes in his head, so is Jungkook, both of his friends thoroughly confused by the sudden change in Yoongi. He shakes Taehyung off of him, rolls his shoulders, sniffling and wiping at the blood coming from his nose.

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it, at least she’ll have some nice memories to keep her warm when she leaves.” he laughs, smirking at her, he can taste the blood that's slipped between the seam of his lips. Her cheeks are flushed, the shade looks nice but he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s embarrassed by what he said or she’s thinking of all that they’ve done together. Either way he doesn’t care, he hopes she’s enjoyed herself, enjoyed messing with him and for no reason it seems. He’s quick to leave, yanking his coat off the coat rack and haphazardly sliding his shoes on. The blood hasn’t stopped and he’s wiping at it again when he hears her voice. She's closing the distance between them quickly but he doesn't want to see her.

“Yoongi,” she starts hesitantly and when he doesn't say anything she continues “I'm sorry, but please let me explain it's not what it seems. I know I should've told you from the beginning, but you have to understand I wasn't in the right state of mind. I, he, well it's complicated.” she trails off reaching out to and trying to take hold of his hand.

“Girls like you are so stupid,” he scoffs and she flinches, her arm falling back beside her. He’s glaring at her, eyes narrowed and teeth stained red from the blood. “I don’t care about your problems or your life. You don’t need to explain a thing because I don’t care. I don’t like girls like you, they’re desperate to try and get out that good girl mold so they fuck around with a guy like me. A guy who won’t make something of himself until his late thirties, while you’ve already married some jock with a stable income and popped out two to three kids. You’ll live in this house in the suburbs and dream about a life that isn’t boring and safe while you day drink. So please save your pathetic excuse for someone who cares, like Jimin.” he spits and he doesn’t want to admit that the hurt that flashes through her eyes affects him. She nods her head and turns on her heel leaving Yoongi alone at the top of the stairs and none of what he just said to her makes him feel any better.

It's been a week and a half since you last saw Yoongi, truth be told you missed him. Jimin had tried to get you to talk but you couldn’t, not when he’d looked so guilty for not having been successful at warding his friends off. It wasn’t that he’d failed, more so it was that you had sought out Yoongi. Not because you wanted to mess with him, you’d never planned on doing that, you just didn't think that he would’ve been interested in a somewhat emotionally stunted girl like you. It’s one of the things JB had called you whenever you got into fights, you don't like it but compared to other words it was the nicest.

You liked JB, had been dating for the better part of a year and a half; he was sweet, and handsome, he could be a little demanding and he manhandled you more often than naught but it was because he cared about you. When the semester had ended you and JB had been on a break, but you still wanted to be with him. He’d been the one to encourage your trip home, had told you to give each other some time away from one another and when you were ready to call him and he would be here, and you really wanted him, at least you did.

That had been before Yoongi, sweet, caring, funny Yoongi. Yoongi wasn’t like JB, he was attentive, he listened to you, but most of all he made you feel comfortable. Yoongi had not once forced you to do something you didn't want, had never spoken down to you, had happily gone with anything you asked of him. He didn't raise his voice but rather spoke to you in a tone so soft, so full of affection it was a wonder he was still single. You liked it, liked the way he treated you, liked Yoongi. His smile, his eyes, his laugh, the way he made you feel was nothing compared to the way JB made you feel. Something was different with Yoongi, something you couldn't quite understand but couldn't help but want to never end.

And then it had all come crashing down, it’s what you deserved you think as you lay in bed. Maybe broken people like you didn't deserve happiness and the world was just reminding you of it. You couldn’t really say you knew Yoongi well enough now, but you’re sure it was hurt that had flickered across his face when Jimin had told him the truth. Tears stung the back of your eyes and you blinked rapidly to try and keep them at bay. It didn't work, they slowly trailed across over your nose and onto the other cheek before falling into the softness of your pillow and soaking through.

There’s a knock at your bedroom door, and moments later Jimin opens it slowly. He peeks his head in gaze, taking you curled up in your comforter in the same place he’d seen you since the whole thing with Yoongi went down. “Hey Sweetpea, you feeling any better?” he asks his tone hopeful, he’s seen you through worse so he’s just waiting it out.

“Please go away.” you say a sob catching in your throat garbling the words as more tears fall. Jimin sighs heavily heart breaking at the sight of his baby sister hurting, he hopes you feel better soon. It's not like you and Yoongi were in love or anything, right?”

Yoongi finds himself at the convenience store, it’s late bordering on 2 AM and he can’t seem to make himself go home. He’s by himself, Namjoon is spending the weekend with Hoseok so he’s forced to relive the memories of you and all the places he’s fucked you. The couch, his bed, the kitchen, the hallway, every little nook and cranny taunts him of something he had that hadn't been real. Of a girl he was starting to really like, someone he thinks he could settle down with, someone who had just been looking for a fun time. He scoffs picking up a bottle of beer and two packs of peach rings, he guesses that’s all he’s good for.

He’s never been in a relationship, he thinks of all the girls he’s been with and his body count. But there had been a time where Yoongi had wanted more, had craved it so much he’d tried to find someone who wanted more than just a fun time. Tried to find someone who wanted more than an orgasm but had found none, had been severely disappointed when the one girl he’d met some years ago had told him in explicit detail how non boyfriend material he was. He hadn’t bothered looking after that, had convinced himself that he liked the fuckboy, booty call thing he had with more girls that he could keep track of.

Then there had been you, Jimin’s sweet baby sister. A girl he had never met before but had been drawn to, like a moth to a flame, he’d done more domestic shit with you in the month and half you were sleeping together than he had his entire life. You liked to talk when you weren’t fucking, soft whispered conversations. It was like you were afraid to ruin the calm that settled over you after your orgams. He’d learned of your tattoos, of you life as a child, of you major, your favorite pizza topping. So many things he would usually never care about, but had found him entranced. He’d even learned of a nickname your grandma had given you when you were a kid and has stuck even after her passing.

Had been given permission to call you by it behind closed doors, had tested it on his tongue after you had uttered it. Sweetpea. Sweet because of how you grew into such a sweet young woman and pea because of the green vegetable and how all other girls would be green with envy when you’d finally matured into a woman. He’d laughed before pulling you close as you cried over how much you missed her. Had wiped your tears and even then you were beautiful to him. He shakes his head, upset that he let himself fall back into these memories. That although still fresh in his mind had been happy ones, ones he cherished but now wished he could forget.

Yoongi puts his items on the counter pulling his wallet from his back pocket and paying with a scowl that the cashier shys away from. He takes his bag from her and just barely hears her soft, ‘have a nice night’ when he bumps into someone. That someone is a man, he’s barely an inch taller than Yoongi, with long hair and piercings, lots of them. He finds himself most drawn to the anti-eyebrow piercing, and he briefly wonders how painful it was. Yoongi’s ears are pierced but he doesn’t have any others, he doesn think he could bring himself to put any more holes on his body.

“Sorry man, didn't see you there.” the stranger says and yoongi wants to laugh because how could he miss a whole ass human. He’s not in the mood to fight though so he just shrugs it off.

“Don’t worry about it.” he mutters making his way out the convenience store. He’s halfway home when he remembers that you like peach rings and he bought them out of habit. He sighs and thinks that he’ll just give them to Jungkook in exchange for a blunt or two.

🌻(sent at 2:20 AM)

i have a surprise for you

JB smiles at his phone, before he shoves it in his pocket and grabs a bag of peach rings.

✧✧✧✧✧

taglist: @boymeetsweevil, @bussy-posts @peachymochimochi

#min yoongi x reader #min yoongi #College!AU #college boy yoongi #college girl mc #college boys bts #college au #im jaebeom #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #Park Jimin #jung hoseok #emm writes #mine writings

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beheaded-cousin · 4 years

Text

Aconitum (Belphegor x MC)

Summary: Aconitum, also known as the queen of poisons. Like the poisonous fever, which burns his insides every time. Like the feverish red in her cheeks.

Pairing: Belphegor x F!MC/ Reader (+18 and is not related to Lilith)

Words count: >3000k

Warnings: SMUT, No-con/dub-con, mutual pinning, reader being charmed, reader being in a semi-conscious state “dreaming alike”, somnophilia, fingering, Belphie “hating” humans, oral sex, swearing, Belphegor being confused with his emotions, rough, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, orgasm denial.

N/A: Please, if youre sensitive to any warning topics just continue scrolling your feed. My grammar could be consider as a trigger warning (english is not my native language). Publishing it in a way to celebrate the twins birthday. IT’S MY FIRST TIME WRITTING SMUT AND DARK FIC, SO PLEASE BE GENTLE.

His footsteps echos in the large corridor, breaking an almost sacred silence. Every step made with full rage, the same rage who fogs his mind with blurred thoughts.

“Who do you think you are?” Sassy and bored voice make its presence.

“Who do I think I’m?!” She scoffed. “Who do YOU think YOU ARE? You-”

“A member of the student council, even after little issues. Avatar of Sloth-”

“Bullshit! As everything that comes from your shitty mouth.” Words spilled in such an angry way. She unfolds her arms, putting her hands - which nails are painted with dark purple nail polish, on her waist. A try to show dominance.

He could feel that he was a step close to lose his cool. Something starting to boil inside his belly from just staring at her, who faces him up with such a fierce expression.

Nighttime, passing by 1 AM and Belphegor doesn’t know why he’s roaming around the House of Lamentation. How he wishes he could be in bed now, into his warm sheets, surrounded by his fluffy pillows, dreaming dreamless dreams.

The boiling feeling from early remains. Belphegor doesn’t know if he could call this anger or fury, but it’s passing through his veins like acid, soaking all his cells with an itchy sensation, infiltrating his bones with hellfire.

Something that he couldn’t get rid of.

Like a fever.

Like poison.

If Devil Lord had seen him like this, in the first time they met, maybe the title “Avatar of Wrath” would be his.

“Whether I talk to you, it’s just the education that my parents taught me. Because I have an esteem for your brothers, principally Beel and even Lucifer, who loves you a little too much - more than I think you deserve.” Y/N couldn’t care less if she was being too harsh on words, she just was trying to get rid of this vicious feelings in her chest. Feelings that appears everything time she remembers how she trusted him and, in the end, was manipulated by false words, being a marionette to be destroyed. A ragged doll tossed in the trash.

Something seems off that night. In his wanderings, he didn’t end bumping into one of his brothers, especially for a night that Lucifer wouldn’t be present to impose his order. Mammon and Asmodeus might have been the first to make their escape. Satan and Levi probably were locked up in their rooms. The last time Belphegor saw Beel, he was in a strong and deep sleeping state. How Belphegor couldn’t help but envy his twin brother and for things beyond his lack of sleepiness, for things that he can’t even express with proper ways or words.

It’s all her fault, such a stupid brat, that Belphegor found himself on an unexpectedly miserable and hatred state. Roaming like a ghost, restless with ragged breathing, but tireless as the need to reach somewhere was eating him inside out. It’s like he was stuck in a fucking carousel, riding on circles and circles that could lead him to nowhere but the insanity.

Unconsciously, Belphegor stood up in front of a door that leads to an unknown room. Unable to regain his consciousness, blurred by the restless thoughts, he has open the door and went in, closing the door before him.

“And you know what? Fuck you, Belphegor. Fuck you one thousand times.” She infuriatingly ran her hands through her hair, a beautiful [h/c] hair. Her tiredness was explicit in her [e/c] eyes. “I’m in no mood for you today… I wish I could just-”

“You wish you could what?” The question came in a low and stern voice. Closing almost all the space between them, he was able to see the way her eyes slightly bulged up, the mouth snapped shut, and she swallowed hard. Might it wasn’t to reach his ears, but listen that just fired up the nagging sensation inside him.

Maybe he could just break her in half, there. Make her come apart in just a blink of eyes…

“[Y/N], where were you, huh? Been lookin’ all over for ya! You know what?! Forget the explanation and let’s go already to the majolish…” Mammon shut up his mouth instantaneously as soon as he was able to feel a heavy tension in the air. Putting an arm around her shoulders protectively, Mammon didn’t break visual contact with Belphegor. “Is everything all right here, [Y/N]?”

With an arm, [Y/N] holds him by his waist in a side hug and, with the free hand, squeezed Mammon’s hand upon her shoulder.

The way she relaxed her rigid posture, just by having Mammon around.

How the man beside her got flushed just by that simple action, looking quickly at her by his peripheral vision, trying to act as nothing happened and failing miserably.

Pathetic.

“Yeah, Mammon, everything is all right. We don’t have time to waste here, so let’s go already!” She dragged him away from there, don’t mind at all to tell her goodbye appropriately.

“Hare hare- Hey, calm down! I know you have been waiting to hang out with the GREAT Mammon, but don’t push me around like this.”

After checking around the room, Belphegor couldn’t believe how unlucky he is, as the culprit of his sleepless nights - the guilty and protagonist of his blurred thought - was lying in her comfy bed. Surrounded by fluffy pillows, she had a peaceful expression, immersed in sweet dreams.

It isn’t fair. How could she’d been in such peace while he’s an actual walking mess?

Who does she think she is? [Y/n] was nothing but a pathetic human being, an excuse of a creature, a waste of Father’s power of creation and time.

Like all human beings, a failure.

Powerless and frail, even if made in Their image.

Made of clay.

When Belphegor stops at the bedpost, he notices he was shirtless and barefoot by this time. Looking over his shoulder, was possible to see a trail made of his jacket, shirt and slippers. How? When? He was so immersed in the image before him, made it impossible to realize what he was doing.

A lightly sigh caught his attention towards her again. Seeing her snugs into a pillow, the muscles of her back moving. She was undercovered now, the blanket fell on the ground as she moved in her sleep, showing what she uses as pajamas: Just a dark panty short and a sleeveless nightshirt, made of a thin fabric.

Again, that nagging, burning, itchy sensation was running through his veins with full force, like never before. It’s supposed to be witchcraft, the only probable explanation for all that.

Almost hypnotized, Belphegor climbed onto the mattress and draws close to her body. He needs to feel her warm, as it’s the only way to end his torture. An antidote, a cure for his malady. Ironically, the one who put poison in every burning cell of his body became the one who can bring him relief.

A revelation falls into his mind at that moment, one that made his heart clutch: He wasn’t indifferent towards her and he could never be. She came into his life, vanished all apathy with smiles, but left a blank space after just walk away from him. It’s time for [Y/N] to take her responsibility.

Belphegor embraced her from behind. His nose snuggled between her neck and hair, inhaling in such a desperate way, a tentative to fill his lungs with her scent and only. His hands traveling [Y/N]’s body, venturing on a new territory with sweetness.

“What…”

Her sleepy voice made him stiffen. This couldn’t happen, not right now. This was time to [Y/N] takes her responsibility and his right to purge all that tantric feelings inside him.

“Aconitum” Belphegor whisper the charm in her ear. With a sweet voice, caring like a lover.

“Smells… flowers.”

Feeling her body starting to be heavy again, he let out a long sigh. There’s no turning back now, nothing to hold him down.

In the dim light, sweets touches became aggressive. Like a shadow, his body pressed hard against hers, as to make [Y/N] soak up everything from him. Grasping her soft flesh, leaving redden marks in [Y/N]’s skin, showing the pathway by which his fingers went through. Her skin was so smooth beneath his hands. His lips tracing from her shoulders to her jawline, pecking and biting care freely, sucking her earlobe

When she let out a honeyed moan something inside him snapped, like a shot in his brain. One of his hands grabbed her left breast aggressively under the shirt, pinching her hardened nipple. Did the charm fail? Is she awake now? Looking onto her face, seeking for any trace of awakeness as ragged breaths come out of her mouth, Belphegor could’ve sworn he’s a heart beating furiously in his chest.

“Are you liking that, your fucking brat?”

Belphegor sounds cocky as he grabs her hair, pulling her head closer and exposes her neck further. Shining in the dim light, a silver necklace caught his attention, particularly the [Y/F/SC] pendant. Smiling devilishly, his fingers traced it delicately as had been tracing rose petals, until violently rip it out without caring about as the motion tear apart her skin or about the sharp little scream that came from [Y/N]’s mouth.

“No, no, shh. You don’t need this here, it has no use. Nothing can protect you now. Not from what yourself has sown.” He sneered while licking the blood from the tiny cut in her neck. “It can’t save you from me tonight.” Tossed the delicate - now broken- necklace over his shoulder with disregard.

Rolled her onto her back, with him on top of the sleepy body. Now, appropriately facing her so closely, as he never could, he was able to notice details as one faded scar on her nose and other on the right cheek, black tiny birthmarks spread distractedly over her pretty face and collarbone.

He framed her face with his fingers, as his thumbs ran along [Y/N] cheeks, eyes focused on the well-made lips of her. Belphegor no longer cared as his lips crashed into hers, in a sloppy and wet kiss. Kissed [Y/N] as he was trying to take everything from her body, from her soul and replace it with all that infuriating fervor inside, which consumes him since their first meeting.

Broke the kiss with a long sigh, only to catch the hem of her nightshirt, inching it up, his fingers feeling along your skin as he did. He shoved the shirt over her chest and pulled the thin fabric past the head and tossed it aside.

“All mine, all mine, all mine” Groaned as nuzzled her soft uncovered skin, rocking instinctively atop her body.

Belphegor cupped her breasts, his thumb circled [Y/N] nipples, pinching it, as her breath started to be ragged again. His lips tickled along the curve of her chest. His tongue teased one nipple as his fingers played with the other. He closed his mouth around her nipple, tethering it hard. He purred as he seems she arch her back towards his mouth in response.

“So, do you like that rough, huh?!” [Y/N]’s reaction stoked something inside him, based on his instincts. A carnal reaction withheld for so long. A stark contrast with his celestial origin and demoniacal ascension.

His hand let go of her tortured breast, then moved lower, marking strong and devious, almost treacherous path along her stomach. He slid his hands down and stayed a little longer on her thighs, burying his nails painfully into her flesh. Smelling in the air her probable arousal was turning him insane. He’d tugged down her panty shorts, which were wet from the previous activities as proof to her arousal, pushed it down her legs and unhooked the tangled fabric from her body with his feet.

“I’ll give what your pussy wants so bad, babygirl.” Belphegor murmurs, a thread and a promise at the same time.

His right hand crept down the line of her vee, being satisfied after seeming her arm hair and leg hair standing on the end. He dipped his fingers deeper and runs up and down the length of her pussy. She was so wet for him. His hand dove between her folds and rubbed his index along her clit and circled it pleasantly. She unconsciously whined sweetly in response. His left hand held her by the nape of the neck to him as he keeps the motion, watching she squeaks at it every time. He ran his fingers to her entrance and back. He kept up the motion, focusing on her bud until she was so soppy, slick gathering on his fingers.

“Fuck…” The whisper came in a low tone, leaving Belphegor in doubt whether it comes from his mouth or [Y/N].

Her climax was approaching. He’d feel it in every shiver which runs up her body, the way her thighs twitches under the stimulation; at the moment her face came closer to his, leaving clumsy horned kisses propelled by instinct; she was all tiptoe, hard breaths and sugary weeps.

A memory from the afternoon came to his mind as he stops his motions on her bud. No, he could do better than this.

Belphegor repositioned her body by putting pillows under her lower back and hips. His hard dick throbbed under his pants when he saw how helpless she was before him: spreads legs showing her cunt, slick and soppy with her honey; the quick up and down of her chest; the way her plumps lips were parted, trying to catch necessary oxygen to re-establish; the flustered face, the little whines, the way she was holding the sheets in a white-knuckle hold after the denied pleasure.

His eyes darkened as he approached her once again, like a famished animal. He remade the marked trails through her body with his mouth, delivering soft kisses, licking the salt of her sweat and scratch bluntly with his teeth the smooth skin. His nose brushed along her naked crotch, as his warm breath - so close to the glistening pussy - gave her goosebumps. His hands slipped up to press his thumbs and his nails hard to her hipbones, grabbing her hips forceful as he settled slowly between [Y/N] legs. Instinctively, she closed her legs around his head, only inviting and welcoming him to go further.

He dipped his head, dipped his lips in her wetness and his tongue followed the motion slowly. He dragged his tongue along her lips, finally tasting her ether and become greedy about it, addicted, sucking every drop from her. She was filling him up with so much pride and greed at every moment she responds to his action: As she spasmed when he flicked over her clit and pressed his lips around it; writhed, grinding in his face every time his tongue slipped down her entrance; sweet moans filled the room as he kisses her lips down and back, teasing her at the same time he savored how sweet she could get to him.

In her dreaming state, she moans his name as she came.

Belphegor’s name.

Over and over and over.

The thought he could make her feels so good in her sleepiness state filled him with unimaginable pleasure. He couldn’t help but rutted against the mattress, groaning in her pussy at the feeling of his weight against his cock.

He repeated the motions as she cried in the afterglow, building up another orgasm in [Y/N]. He could feel her body tensing every time, her legs shaking around his head, her fingers grabbing his hair with such force that only added to his horniness.

He sucked her overly sensitive cunt without care as he came into his pants, leading her to a final release which came with a choked cry. He licked his glistening lips as her panting figure came into his focus and he crawled over to her face. He kissed her in such a marvelous way; wet and warm, as he forced his tongue against her mouth. As she was a ragged doll in his hands.

He tried pulled back, but she placed her trembling hands around his face, framing his features delicately with her fingertips, pushing him closer. Her eyes are close still, but maybe the charm wasn’t strong enough.

“Belphegor… Belphie… Please…” She whispered into his lips in a dreaming alike tone, filling him with enchanting words. Charming him onto her more and more, deeper, in a vicious way that he couldn’t escape even if he’d tried. “Fuck me.”

The sound of those words pulled him back into reality. He was hard as a rock again, grinding into her welcome and delicious body, but came at the conclusion that was not the way he wanted to fuck make love with her.

He wants to fuck her brains out with her eyes wide open. In full awaken state. Wants her to know who is the one fucking her good, making her cums onto his cock over and over again, melting until she gets dry. Screaming his name awake, and not in a semi awake-sleeping miserable state, resulting in just a wet dream.

Not Mammon’s name.

Beel or even Lucifer.

None of his brothers’ name, but only his name would come out of her mouth, from own free will, as she comes apart beneath him with her eyes wide open.

Sighing, he pulled apart her completely. Belphegor slowly picked up her nightshirt and panty short, along with his t-shirt and jacket, on the floor beside the bed. Fixed her clothes, trying to suppress a yawning as the tiredness engulfs his body, mind and something he likes to call as a soul.

Before leaving the room, he comes to [Y/N] sleepy figure and left the last charm, with a kiss in her forehead, to heal and erase all his marks around her beautiful body. All his marks but the tiny cut in her neck. A little memento, to show him all that happened wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.

————————————————————————————

When Belphegor waked up, this was past 5 P.M. Soon would be the dinner, one of the worst parts of the day as he has to deal with screams, fights and Lucifer’s presence. And [Y/N]’s presence as well.

His feet guided him around the House of Lamentation until her voice made him stop at the kitchen’s door. She was there, laughing at some stupid fight between Mamonn, Leviathan and Asmo, with Beel by her side and Satan not so much distant. She stood up in Mamonn’s defense, as she always does, between the giggles knowing his brothers n’t took she seriously.

His eyes fell into the tiny cut in her neck. His mouth dribbled, forced him to swallow hard as memories invade his mind. As she could hear him out or feel his intense stare, her head snapped into his direction. Wide eyes and reddened face tell him everything Belphegor wanted to know as he watches her lips part.

A eat shit grin filled his face at same time sort of pride filled his guts, as she turned her attention back to the pit fight before her.

16 notes · View notes

jungxk · 5 years

Text

accidents

filed under: dad!yoongi makes me soft and also h*rny

notes: i really couldn’t resist writing a soft husband and father yoongi drabble. this is a present for those who are patiently waiting for my other fic just one. i’ll be updating it soon but until then pls enjoy!

genre: fluff, comedy, romance

warnings: some brief smut at the end

length: 2.4k

when he was younger, yoongi wondered if he'd even get married let alone have kids. he wasn't really the sappy type; didn't treasure every keepsake, didn't celebrate month-a-versaries and sure as hell didn't coo over tiny baby shoes. but he loved you in his reliable, quiet, comforting way that you adored, and they always did say shit about meeting the right person. which happened to be you. his wife.

two decades later, and yoongi still doesn't consider himself a kids person. the only difference now is that he has his own. three to be exact; all of them accidents, but the pleasant kind. like finding spare change in his coat pocket. although your youngest child - eunmi, who's almost a year and a half - definitely gave him the shock of his life since he didn't think he'd be that guy that'd still be having kids at his age. but you both dealt with it, and coped considering. because it's not like yoongi's kids weren't annoying, whiny, puke-machines. but they were his puke-machines.

"sana, stop wedgy-ing your brother," yoongi hisses while he looks for his card, which is difficult to do with a baby strapped to his chest. "and yugyeom, stop pissing off your sister."

the kids continue fighting anyway, his nine year old daughter currently tackling his seven year old son into the ground and knocking over one of the bagged groceries in the process. he sighs, watching the broken milk carton soak the shop floor helplessly.

"that's thirty-two seventy," the cashier repeats, not even bothering to hide the disgust on her face when his son suddenly starts wailing loud enough for the windows to crack, digging his snotty nose into yoongi's pant leg.

"yeah one minute," yoongi huffs, lifting one of eunmi's chubby legs off his stomach to pat down another pocket.

"noona pushed me!" he cries, tears wetting his rosy cheeks. "appa did you see? she pushed me!"

"yeah i saw," he sighs sympathetically, patting his son's head. "say sorry to him, sana."

"no!" she stamps her foot, little mouth up in a pout. "he pulled my hair! amma says i shouldn't let boys push me around!"

"he's your brother," yoongi looks down at him apologetically. "but she's right, you deserved it."

yugyeom's lip wobbles up at him, burying his damp face into yoongi's leg again before mumbling, "sorry, noona."

"it's okay," sana grins triumphantly, glad that she won.

"you say sorry too," yoongi warns, finally finding his wallet in his back jeans pocket. eunmi is starting to fidget in her carrier so it's difficult to open it without all his cards flying everywhere, yugyeom clinging to his leg making his balance even more unsteady. "it's not nice to push people, sana-yah. especially not your brother, he looks up to you so you should set an example."

"thirty-two seventy," the cashier says again, making yoongi grit his teeth.

"yeah i heard you," he bites back, shoving his card at her. sana's arms are still crossed stubbornly. "sana. babe, come on."

"fine," she hangs her head and grumbles, "sorry yeomie."

"s'okay," the little boy answers, suddenly cheerful and grabbing his sisters hand to run off and wait by the car together, tracking the milk all over the floor to the exit.

eunmi chooses this moment to grab a fistful of yoongi's hair, and he finds it incredible that his daughter's first word hasn't been a swear considering how much he does around her. he snatches his card back from the grumpy cashier even with a baby hanging off his head, silently promising never to venture out to the store without you ever again. and he means it this time.

"i want spaghetti!"

"i want kimchi jjigae!"

"you can't have both," yoongi rubs his temples, the throbbing behind them refusing to relent. the kids had been arguing over dinner for half an hour now, and since eunmi was going through a phase of wanting to fall asleep on yoongi's shoulder and absolutely nowhere else lest she screams bloody murder, his legs were beginning to throb. he was at his wits end. "you're going to have to come to a compromise."

yugyeom tilts his head. "compromise?"

"it's when you decide on something that makes you both happy," he says, shifting the baby onto his other hip.

the children turn to each other for a split second, eyes locking in that way only siblings can when they share a single brain cell. "kimchi spaghetti!"

god, did yoongi need a whisky right now.

"there's no such thing as kimchi spaghetti," he says as calmly as possible, but the urge to consume alcohol threatens to total him. even his kids could tell he was at the end of his proverbial rope. sana takes the opportunity to pluck his phone out his pocket and tap away at it with her little fingers, and yoongi wonders yet again whether it's a blessing or a curse that kids grew up with technology at their disposal these days. "what are you doing, sana?"

"kimchi spaghetti," she answers, turning the phone to show him an array of red pasta dishes on google images. "it's real appa, i promise! look!"

so yoongi does, the brightness of the screen making his eyes water without his glasses. he still didn't buy it but it was almost six in the evening and he was starving and he missed you, so if throwing some tomato sauce and old kimchi next to a bit of spaghetti made the day end sooner he'd take it. sighing in defeat, he plucks the phone from his daughter's little hand and puts on top of the fridge on his way to retrieve the chopping board. "fine. now help me wash some tomatoes, please."

he can't help but smile when the children cheer.

when you finally arrive home a couple hours later, your heart swells at the sight of your husband half asleep on the foot of the bed. even after all these years you had such a big crush on him. having already checked on the kids who were asleep in their rooms, you leave your top buttons undone from where you'd just nursed eunmi. you were coming to the end of the weaning process and soon she'd be exclusively on solids, and fuck if yoongi's favourite thing about parenthood wasn't what it did to your tits. he deserved to enjoy after manning the fort alone this afternoon.

you sit down gently on the comforter, fingers running through his dark hair as he stirs and registers your weight on the bed. his eyes practically light up when he sees you smiling down at him, his saviour in a button down and old nursing bra. he scoots in to rest his head on your thighs, nose digging into your soft tummy. he missed you so much. "when did you get home?"

"a while ago," you giggle, feeling him kiss your belly button through the fabric. he stops when he notices your open shirt, staring at your chest. "i just fed the baby," you laugh again when yoongi's covers you with his body weight so that you lie back against the pillows under him, his head nuzzling between your breasts. you could smell the dry baby vomit and cotton wipes on his shirt, eyes fluttering closed when he begins to kiss up your sternum. "well done for putting the kids to bed alone. how was dinner?"

he grunts, favouring your right breast with his mouth while he fondles the other. "they ate. do with that information what you will."

you grin, splitting your thighs around his hips to let yoongi warm up even closer to your body. "and the grocery store?"

"blonde bitch was at the till again," he huffs over your covered nipple. "i'm just pissed she wasn't the one sana wedgied."

"one of these days she's gonna catch on you don't like her and say something impolite," you chastise, but you're sighing contently under all yoongi's kissing. you had only left him with his own devices for a few hours, but it must have really taken its toll this time. "you know how outspoken she is."

"like her mother," he pecks your collar bone. "i encourage it."

"for now. let's see how you cope when she becomes a teenager."

"please don't," yoongi whines pathetically, because there was no subject he hated more than the mention of his kids growing up. it was by far the shittiest part of this whole procreating thing, watching the little trolls he carried around and coddled get older and need him less and less. he'd never admit it but if yoongi could keep the kids at eunmi's age right now forever, then he would in a heartbeat. cute, chubby, dependant. every father's dream. "so how did your appointment go?"

he feels you stiffen slightly under him. "good," a beat. "really good. definitely don't have a stomach bug,"

"really?" he peers up at you quizzically. "but you were throwing up this whole weekend."

"yeah..." you audibly swallow.

yoongi sits up, giving you some much needed air. you swing your legs over the edge of the bed to stand up again, pacing all the way to the vanity and back while he watches in silence. contrary to popular belief, you had always been the calm one. the one who always took everything in her stride, who never batted an eyelash at life's unexpected turns as if you saw it coming a mile away even though you didn't. yoongi was nowhere near that adaptable, but it didn't matter because you were. if you could handle it, he knew he could eventually too. which is why he looks so concerned when you shoot him a frazzled look.

"babe?" he says softly, resting his elbows on his knees while he watches you. "what is it?"

you peer up at him with your big eyes, so pretty and cute and delectable, and it's like he's nineteen all over again. "i'm pregnant again, yoongi."

a beat. "you're lying."

you shake your head slowly. "7 weeks tomorrow."

fuzzy. that's how yoongi feels, like his body has been emptied of all its insides and stuffed full of cotton. there's not even a train of thought floating through his head because he's too busy staring off into space, shakey hands coming to cover his face after a long five minutes. pregnant. again. he thought you two had already done the surprise baby thing with eunmi, she was supposed to be the happy accident, the cliché third child that no one saw coming.

"four," yoongi mutters.

"huh?" you step closer to him, peeling his hands from his face to reveal his dazed eyes.

"four kids," he huffs, staring up at you in disbelief. he was already tired just thinking about it. there was a time in yoongi's life where he didn't even know if he could keep a steady girlfriend for longer than two months and now he was here. about to be a father for the fourth time. the ice cream and toothepaste craving runs at three in the morning, the foggy pregnancy brain, the back massages, the maternity clothes. you'd have to get a bigger car. and not only that...the birth. feeding, changing, nappies, baby powder, toys, nursery bills. "four...four kids. that's double me and you. do you realise how grossly outnumbered we are..."

you bite your lip while you pet his hair. "i know it's a lot," you say softly, because you had gone through the exact same breakdown a few hours prior. yoongi just sits there dumbly while you cup his cheeks. "to take in, i mean."

he closes his eyes. "i'm going to be forty-one next month."

you wince. if you two were unprepared for eunmi, then this baby would be ten times that. you had settled into this four-bed place after taking out a mortgage just as big thinking that your family would be here for good, finalised your will the year prior, gave away all of eunmi's old baby grows she didn't fit into anymore - so set for a life of five. and now all of a sudden with no warning, it would be six. "yoongi, listen to me."

he looks up at you. "four kids...four. that's like...that's like a litter."

"i know," you say solemnly, pressing your lips together. "i know, okay? the idea of doing this again almost made me rip my hair out in that doctor’s room, so...if you don't think you can do it, tell me. just tell me now. if you can't cope that's okay."

he keeps staring at your open blouse, only half-listening. because amongst the flashing images of bills and calpol and snotty noses and joint pain there's also...giggles. first steps. chubby cheeks and reading late at night. picnics and sunday mornings and fighting over who's turn it was to pick the next song in the car. your exhausted smile after delivery when you hold a baby. school plays. first piece of homework. getting to know his kids slowly, little by little every day, excited for who they’ll become. that special type of relief yoongi only feels when all the kids are asleep and you take him to bed and strip naked for him.

he finally exhales. "okay."

"okay you can't cope?"

"okay," he corrects, taking your hands. "as in i can do it if you can."

holding back your smile is futile because yoongi can feel it against his own when he kisses you, pulling you back onto the bed. only when he removes your underwear and runs his fingers through your slick do you say anything. "i can't believe you knocked me up four times, min yoongi."

"i can," he grunts, rubbing his thumb over your clit while he watches you gasp for him. the upside to all this was that pregnancy sex really was his favourite sex, since his pullout game was never great. clearly. the desire to finish inside you was just too fierce a pleasure to withstand, so yoongi waits until after he cums to entertain the idea of a vasectomy.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi au #min yoongi scenario #yoongi smut #bts x reader #bts scenario #bts au #suga x reader #suga au #suga scenario #bangtan x reader #bangtan au #bangtan scenario

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cupidmarwani-archive · 5 years

Text

Come Into the Water (9/15)

After dinner and a shower in which Sarah wraps her hand in a sandwich bag to protect her bandages, she goes back down to the beach, wary of the pod but hoping again to see Ava, although she doubts she will. The high tide has turned the tide pools into simply a rugged landscape under the water, one which she is all too familiar with navigating as she wades under the stars in hopes of something familiar returning to her. She’s careful to keep her hand dry, but the rest of her quickly soaks and she contemplates getting a bathing suit at some point. It’s probably better than soaking all her clothes in seawater and getting sand in everything. Even just a dedicated pair of boxers would be better at this point.

But her clothes weigh her down as she stands in the tidepools, feet in the algae, water lapping at the backside of her knees in a way that implies intimacy, almost; it makes her think of fluttering kisses, tender moments, a togetherness that she’s never fully been able to explore because her only experience with romance outside of Ava, if that counts, is a professor who dimmed the lights and took advantage, and that’s probably not romance either. Romance isn’t looking anywhere but at pictures of a daughter Sarah’s age, maybe a little older, as she loses the last of her clinging threads of tenacity.

She shakes her head rapidly, as though that will clear the thoughts from her mind, free her from her past. If it was so easy, she wouldn’t be in this town in the first place, but rather, still at school with her head buried in a textbook. In another universe, that’s what she’s probably doing. The summer has faded, and as such, she’d be starting her third year of med school. She’d be living off campus in an apartment with a roommate or two, walking to school in the mornings even when the cold Chicago weather bites at any exposed skin unprotected by her layers of coats and hats and scarves. It made her feel alive, in the past. Now she craves warmth more than she knew to be possible before.

The stars begin to poke out from the velvet night above her, and the longer she stands there, the less she sees. Ava isn’t here. Not having seen her since before nearly drowning, she wonders if perhaps she imagined her in the first place, as well as the other mermaids, and everyone is playing along to be polite. But she has the bite on her hand as proof, the first time she’s had to worry about bandages in a while as her arm has gotten around to healing and, for the most part, she’d been leaving it alone before all this. The raw skin attests that she may need a barrier to protect her from her own coping mechanisms.

The waves get a little higher, a little choppier, and slap her shins and the rocks with ferocity as the moon itself rises. She looks because she can’t help herself, and prays that by some miracle, Ava will just show up. Just arrive and make it all better. But Dr. Riley has been saying a lot about not putting all her self worth and happiness in the hands of one person. This could just be karma. Sarah laughs bitterly for no one to hear and imagines drowning all over again. It wasn’t fun, but maybe it would be simple.

As soon as she has the thought, Sarah scolds herself. It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem. In spite of a recent setback, she’s been doing better. There’s no reason to just throw it all away.

Water keeps rushing at her, tugging at her, and she sits on one of the walls of the tidepools to just ride out the higher sprays of water without thoroughly exhausting herself. For what feels like an hour in the darkness peppered only by light dashes of light from the moon and stars, she sits there and wonders when this crosses the line and becomes nothing short of pathetic.

Just as she’s about to give in, give up, there’s a familiar flash in the shallows and a head rises from beneath the ripples. Blonde hair gone silver in the dim light, a pale face, lips Sarah wants nothing more than to kiss all over again. There are a million words waiting to come out, but she voices none of them. Instead, she slips off the rock where she has taken refuge and swims as best as she can to Ava.

The second she’s close enough, cold hands cup her cheeks and she’s pulled in for a salty kiss which she almost believed she would never again experience. Her eyes slip shut and she melts into the touch with ease. It feels like coming home, almost. But it’s over as soon as it started, and she’s just treading water as she drinks in as much of Ava’s face as she can possibly manage. She feels so at ease. So safe.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” she admits.

And Ava just smiles at her, wraps an arm around her to pull their bodies flush together. She’s not as cold as the water, but she’s not warm. All the same, her body is familiar because it’s Sarah’s, too, and she’s looked often enough to have spent time wondering, imagining, how it might feel should she ever be able to look with her sense of touch. Not that she’d ever ask, of course. But right now, she doesn’t have to ask, because Ava offered.

Ava doesn’t say a word, but this right here is enough. They’re enough, together, in the cool water as they hold onto each other like they used to every single day before Sarah lost herself in the memories rain and storms bring. The water moves around them, and somehow they stay still, but some miracle of Ava’s tail moving slowly, occasionally brushing against Sarah’s legs. It’s a reminder that she isn’t all human. And yet, she doesn’t mind.

“The pod around here,” she says suddenly, spurred on by the sudden remembrance that Ava isn’t a person, that she’s another species. “They don’t look like you do.”

“Of course not. They’re Makos.”

The word is familiar, but not enough so for Sarah to recognize it right off the bat. “Makos?”

“That’s what humans call them, I think,” Ava answers. I believe I’m… someone once told me Grunion. I believe that’s the word. They’re like, this big-” she taps either side of Sarah’s face with one hand, still holding her with the other, “-and they come out of the ocean to lay their eggs. Not here, though. I came from…” Ava considers the coast, staring at it head on, and points to her right. “I came from really far that way.”

“I came from really far that way,” Sarah says, pointing straight at the shore. It’s not a lie. Chicago is really far east from here, and maybe a little north or south- she can’t entirely remember. She’s never been good with geography.

Ava nods and smiles, and they don’t talk about it much more. Sarah’s sure she recognizes both the words “Mako” and “Grunion” but will have to look them up later, maybe in Olivia’s book about marine life. Olivia brings up another slew of questions which would, in all likelihood, be too personal to ask. But she wants to. She wants to pull the first real family she’s ever known together, like tightening the seams by pulling on the end of the string.

Instead of saying a word, she relishes in the safety of this moment. She has the chance to be held, to revel in the light sway of the waves around them and starlight and the occasional kisses Ava deigns to give her. They hold on like this for as many minutes as the tide allows, but as it begins to sink back, replenish the tidepools, Ava bids her farewell and Sarah makes her way back to the sand so she can go home and rest. She has no idea what time it is, but her eyes are heavy and her fingertips wrinkly when she gets back home and drops her wet clothes to the floor in a problem for tomorrow.

She almost goes back to sleep on the couch, but remembers the comfort of last night, of a real blanket around her, and tears open the box of her bedding to pull out a plush comforter and drag it with her all the way to the bedroom. Everything is dusty and strange, unfamiliar, but she collapses onto the soft bed with uncased pillows at the headboard, and realizes how long it’s been since she’s slept somewhere truly comfortable.

As the blanket settles around her in a gift of warmth, she takes a moment to truly question why she hasn’t done this. Unpacking has been hard, each and every step of the way, but this felt easy. Reaching for something to cling to the feeling of arms wrapped around her, refill the empty space in her chest that had been so warm while Ava held her and made her feel worth something. Her physical body temperature rises, but it doesn’t make her feel better. It doesn’t fix the longing left behind.

All she can do in the pitch dark, head pillowed comfortably and hands fisted in the soft duvet, is imagine all the times she might be able to do this again. That full skin on skin contact screams of everything she’s been missing for a long time, perhaps her entire life. It’s something she wants to tell everyone and no one about. It’s a life changing experience that she simply can’t keep out of her immediate thoughts no matter how hard she tries.

Tomorrow, when she asks about Mako and Grunion, maybe she’ll ask what Ava likes. What she can give her. Because she knows Ava likes shells, but she gets those on her own and there’s little more than fragments on the beach where Sarah can reach them on her own. She just wants something to be able to give her in return for this all-consuming feeling and the mussel shells that still have a home atop her kitchen counter, carefully arranged to display their natural beauty.

When Sarah falls asleep, she dreams of salt-filled kisses and the feeling of arms around her waist.

#ciwfic #fic #mine

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impala-dreamer · 4 years

Text

All Our Sins

SPN FanFic

~It has been a long time since your last confession, but you were pretty sure it wasn't supposed to go like this...~

Priest!Dean x Reader, Sam

1,700 Words

Warnings; NSFW. EXTREME BLASPHEMY. Priest!Kink. Dirty Talk. Spanking. Hardcore fuckin'. In a confessional booth.

A/N: For my darling @assbuttaf, who asked for this like a year ago... Hope you all enjoy...

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The candlelight died away instantly as you closed the tiny door of the confessional booth. It had been years since you'd even stepped foot in a church, let alone attempted confession, but there you were, about to sink to your knees.

Afraid to look through the screen, you bowed your head and knelt down, ready to try this whole praying thing.

"In nomine Patris et Filii, Spiritus Sancti. Amen." The priest spoke slowly, his voice like caramel through the grate; deep and rich.

Your lip shook. "Bless me, Father for I have sinned."

"Go on…"

It was hard to speak; your voice shaking, chin steadied by clasped hands. "It's been...well, hell, I can't remember how long since I did this last.

"That's fine, my dear, go on. What do you need to confess?"

"I guess… a lot," you admitted with a sarcastic laugh. "I mean, I curse constantly. I've been in fights, I've killed. Not- humans, but…things."

The priest nodded, his crisp profile distorted by the mesh. "That's...not great." A slick chuckle made your heart skip.

"I've saved people too, Father," you went on, explaining away the sin of murder. "Lots of people."

"I'm sure you have."

There was a pause, a long moment of silence inside the booth. You could hear his breathing, slow and steady; he was waiting for you to speak, to tell him everything. You lifted your eyes to the screen and caught a glimpse of tanned skin and plump, pink lips. Quickly, you dragged your eyes away. He was a priest, not something to be ogled.

“Is that all?” he asked, breaking the silence and halting the sinful throbbing betwixt your thighs.

Startled, you sucked in a short breath. “What?”

“Is that all you wish to confess?” He spoke slowly, deliberately drawing out each letter; the F pulling his bottom lip tight between his teeth. You couldn’t help but watch through the grate; tiny crosses giving you a stunted view of his tongue as it pressed against perfect teeth. “If we are to be forgiven, we must confess all of our sins…”

“N-no,” you stammered, feeling yourself weaken with each word he spoke. “There’s...more.”

“So… go on.”

You took a breath and closed your eyes, gathering the strength you needed to continue. “Well, Father, I...I’ve had impure thoughts.” The words were stuck on your tongue, your mouth drying as your pussy dripped, arousal taking over. “About my friend,” you went on. “My...partner- work, partner. My friend. He’s...so, so beautiful.” The padded bench beneath your knees was doing little to keep you up; the thought of him making your blood sing. “I’ve been very... lustful, Father.”

The priest sat forward, leaning closer to the screen. “How so?”

“I touch myself thinking about him. I can’t help it. I dream about his hands on me; about his big cock inside of me.” The confession sprang free and you went with it, telling your deepest secret to the shadow in the booth next to you. “I cum all the time thinking about sucking his cock; him fucking my face so hard that I can’t think straight. I- I need him.”

“Is that so?” His voice was darker, his breath heavier. “Go on.”

“Sometimes during the day, I sneak away to go to the bathroom and fuck my slutty pussy while I think about him.” It was so easy now that the seal had been broken, and your lips refused to yield. “I stole his undershirt a while ago and I keep it under my pillow back home and stick my face in it while I ride my dildo, smelling him while I squirt all over the place. God, he’s so sexy, I need him so fucking bad. Need him to wreck my drippy cunt and fill me up. Need his cock so bad. So bad.”

He swallowed hard. “You have been sinful, girl.” His tone was rough, condemning. “I don’t know that this kind of behavior can be forgiven. Are you penitent?”

You could feel hot wet you were; the thin panties beneath your pencil shirt were soaked. “What?”

“Do you regret your actions?”

A smile pulled at your mouth. “No, Father. I do not.”

The priest sucked his teeth in disappointment. “You will be punished for this,” he said firmly.

Your heart was racing. “Yes, Father, I know.”

Without another word, he reached over and slammed the partition shut, blocking him from your view. The room grew dark and you held your breath, listening as he moved in the compartment next to you. His door opened and slammed shut.

You hissed as bright light flooded your sight and you squinted to see a tall, dark silhouette framed by holy light.

The priest stepped into your side of the booth and shut the door behind him.

You turned, confused. “Father?”

The priest opened his belt in the dark. “It’s time for your penance, girl.”

A big hand reached out and took hold of your hair, pulling you roughly to your feet. You gasped and bit your tongue, trying not to scream in the House of the Lord. He lifted you up and pressed himself against you, pushing you back into the hard wooden wall. He dropped his lips towards yours but did not leave a kiss, forcing you to imagine what he would taste like, what his mouth would feel like. His lips hovered over your mouth and across your jaw, dropping down to linger by your ear, breathing you in.

“You’re just full of sin, aren’t you?” The hand in your hair tightened and he licked at your throat.

“Yes, Father,” you grit, riding another wave of arousal. It dripped from your cunt; your musk filling the small space.

“We’ll have to fuck it out of you,” he whispered, rocking his hips against you.

“W-what?” Your heart stopped as he spun you around; the fingers in your hair falling to grab your upper arm and shove. You tipped over, hands catching on the seat at the back of the booth; wood slamming hard against your palms. “Fuck!”

Hot hands ripped your skirt up and tore your panties down, letting them fall, pointless around your calves. He slid a thick finger between your thighs, reaching down to feel your leaking pussy.

“All this...sin,” he growled, shoving his finger deep inside of you. “So shameful.”

“Shameful, yes,” you whimpered, rocking back onto his hand, trying to get him to move.

He pulled his hand away and you cried pathetically, arching your back to press your ass against him. You were stopped by his hand as it cracked against your plump cheek.

“Needy,” he condemned, slapping again. “Filthy…” Another slap, fingers splayed. “Lustful…”

Your body was throbbing, inside and out, from the deepest reaches to the surface of your skin. “Please.”

The final slap was delivered and you clenched your teeth as the hand moved away. You could hear the rustle of fabric as he dropped his pants, pulling the clerics away to deliver your true punishment.

“Please, Father,” you begged, aching to be filled.

His hands returned, gripping your hips tightly as he pulled you back; the tip of his cock nudging against your heat.

“Please!”

“Slut.” He drove his cock hard into you, burning your flesh with his heat and the quick stretch of his hefty size.

“Fuck!”

His thrusts drove you wild, setting the pace for your heart as he tried to fuck the sin from your bones. You could barely stand, legs shaking as he slammed into you again and again. He was quiet, moaning through a clenched jaw as he worked; hands bruising your flesh, thighs leaving red marks where they struck your legs.

As his breathing quickened, his rhythm changed, picking up tempo as he neared the end. He reached forward with one hand and pressed his fingers to your clit, rubbing hard, forcing you to cum on his throbbing cock, helping him to let go. You milked him dry, cunt pulsing around him, and he stilled against your ass, breathing deeply, satisfied, tired.

He backed away and you could feel his cum drip from your pussy, leaking hot and steady down your inner thigh. He ripped at your panties, tearing the delicate sides apart, and wiped at your used cunt, cleaning up his mess. You turned then and sat, back aching, muscles quaking. He tossed the panties into your lap and laughed.

“Go forth, my child,” he said, voice dark and cracked, “and sin no more.”

He left you there in the dark, slamming the door closed behind him as he stepped out into the candlelight, black suit and shining shoes all you could see of him.

It took a moment for you to catch your breath, but when you did, you shoved the ruined panties into your purse and followed him, leaving the humid booth behind.

Dean was standing outside the door, frozen like a deer in headlights. You peeked around him to see Sam not far away, his face masked with annoyance and disbelief.

“Did you two actually just fuck in there?” he asked, flashlight beam hitting the confessional booth behind you.

Dean smirked and gave him a little shrug. “May-maybe?”

You slapped his arm. “Dude.”

Sam’s eyes rolled mightily. “For fuck’s sake, guys. We’re on a case. This place is haunted and you’re...you’re… what the hell are you even doing?”

Dean was at a loss, so you stepped in. “Role playing?” you offered, but it did little more than trigger Sam’s gag reflex.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Hey!” Dean snapped, wagging a finger at him. “Watch your mouth, son. We’re in God’s House. Show some respect.”

Sam gasped, offended. “Me? You just-”

“Eh!” Dean held up a hand, halting Sam’s argument. “We’re on a case, Sam. For fuck’s sake, let’s stop this fooling around and get to work.”

With a wink your way, Father Dean headed off into the sacristy, on the hunt for a murderous spirit’s tether.

“You two are going to hell,” Sam muttered as he sighed and moved to follow.

You smiled and watched Dean’s pretty ass as he disappeared into the next room. “Yeah,” you agreed. “But worth it.”

2020 Forever Tags:

@67-chevy-baby @akhuna01 @amanda-teaches @autumnmoon @because-imma-lady-assface @blushingjared @broiderie @burningcoffeetimetravel @classic-rock-angel @coopercharlie16 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @deansgirl215 @deans-baby-momma @deangirl7695 @deanwinchesterswitch @desiree---1986 @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @edge-oftonight @emoryhemsworth @eternal-elir @fandom-princess-forevermore @fangirlxwritesx67 @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @herbologystudent252 @heycasbutt @hornyandsmol @ilovefanfic86 @i-love-superhero @ilsawasanacrobat @imjustadrummer @ivvitm1109 @joseyrw @justagirlinafandomworld @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @kittenofdoomage @laxe-from-outer-space @leatherandfrackles @lessons-of-red @letsby @letsdisneythings @lonewolf471 @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @melbelle45 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @mummybear @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @screechingartisancashbailiff @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @starboycas @stephaniecanfield96us @stoneyggirl @squirrelnotsam @thebookisbtr @the-chocolate-moose @thehardcoveraddict @thevelvetseries @veevm @winchestersister55 @wendibird @winecatsandpizza @winterpoohbear

#spn fanfic #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #priest!dean #one shot

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drx3-imagines · 7 years

Note

Could I ask for a scenario where izaya’s s/o ends up taking a hit from Shizuo for him?

Trigger warning for graphic descriptions of blood and injury for anyone with a weak stomach!

No-one had ever prided you on your common sense for a reason. This moment was no exception either. Honestly, who would praise someone for throwing themselves in front of the fist of the strongest man in Ikebukuro to save the scum of that very same city.

The answer would be you, apparently. All because you loved that scum. Luckily, that scum loved you too because faster than Shizuo could blink, Izaya had stabbed him in the hip and dashed off in the opposite direction to chase after you, who was currently flying through the air.

The scent of blood filled your nose, your entire body aching as the impact of the pile of construction materials hit you like a truck, or rather, a Shizuo. You pathetically skidded down onto the pavement, legs weak and one most-likely broken. You tried to reach forward and take a look at your twisted arm to no avail; a broken arm and a broken leg, just what you need. The people in the area had scattered, not many being very willing to help, considering it wasn’t hard to guess who had done this. Even you wouldn’t have been too keen on staying around to wait for Shizuo if you had actually been his target and weren’t used to his behavior already.

Fortunately, you weren’t stuck waiting for very long as Izaya’s blurry form came towards you at an alarming pace. Your breathing was a bit heavy, forcing you into a violent coughing fit when you chuckled, never having seen him so distraught. Your head was feeling light, lungs tight in your chest and preventing you from speaking very well as Izaya picked you up gently, breath still a bit heavy from running the way he did. “What,” you said, voice shaking, “are you gonna carry me all the way to Shinra’s, noodle arms?” Your voice was amused; obviously, you hadn’t noticed the gravity of the situation.

You also hadn’t seemed to notice the loose pipe sticking out of your side.

Izaya was already moving, thinking of the shortest route there before he even bothered to reply, “____, you need to stop talking, you need to rest.” His voice was stern and all too serious compared to his usual mischievous charm; you had to admit it worried you. What little rationality you had left in you with the fuzzy feeling in your body taking over told you to listen.

“Okay,” your eyelids drooped, the feeling of Izaya’s movements beginning to lull you to sleep, “‘m tired anyways.”

Izaya could almost feel his heart stop in his chest once your words registered in his mind, almost screaming out when Shinra’s apartment complex came into view, “Relax, I meant relax! ____, you need to stay awake, we’re almost there.” He ran through the open entrance of the building, thankful to have been behind another pair entering the doors, before charging up the stairs. He didn’t want to bother waiting for the elevator or the inevitable stops it would make on the way up.

He did his best not to jostle you too much, your eyelids drooping dangerously. Before you knew it, Izaya was kicking Shinra’s front door and then carrying you inside once it had been opened. The vague glimpse of Celty’s suit is the last thing you saw before complete darkness consumed your vision.

You awoke to a beeping, loud and clear and far too close to your ears. Hesitantly, your eyes opened, shutting immediately upon being greeted with a bright overhead light. Your hands made an attempt to raise up and rub at your face and clear your vision, halting immediately at the pain that shot through your left arm before you let out a curse, gruff from the lack of use your voice had been given over the span of however long you were asleep. You winced, turning your head to face away from the light and look around once more.

As your senses began to clear and feeling came back to most of your body, you could make out the sound of voices mumbling in a nearby room. The familiar image of Shinra’s apartment registering in your mind and the ache in your bones coming at you with full force. The loud, pained groan seeming to silence the unidentified murmurs immediately, footsteps coming closer with every passing moment.

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” Shinra’s cheery voice did nothing to help with an oncoming headache and you set a level stare on him, his glasses reflecting the light above you and making you wince.

“Blind. I am blind now, thanks,” you coughed, a sharp pain spreading out from your side to cover every inch of your body, “Oh, what the hell!” Your uninjured arm flew to your side in an instant, gingerly prodding at the skin and taking in the feeling of the gauze wrapped around your waist. “Wait… Am I-,” you lifted your head as much as you could without worsening your already piss-poor state and glancing down; you sighed in relief to see your underwear. You were not, in fact, bare-ass naked on the kitchen table.

Your head thumped back against what you realized was a throw pillow from one of the living room couches and a sigh escaped you. Your head was pounding, every inch of your body ached, the unknown injury under the gauze on your stomach was freaking you out a little, and the beeping from the EKG Shinra dragged in was driving you batshit crazy. You rolled your head to the side, looking at Shinra once more, “Well, this is fun. Why the hell am I here?”

Shinra laughed, “Because I saved your life. You jumped between Izaya and a very, very angry Shizuo, you know?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him as the moment replayed in your mind, “Oh, please! A few broken bones aren’t life-threatening, Shinra.”

He met your eyes, the smile slipping a bit and making you wonder how much, exactly, you had gone through. “____, you were impaled.”

“Yeah, Tuesday night,” your tone was amused, taking Shinra’s words as a joke. That is, until he gestured towards the living room. You turned as much as possible, eyes widening at the sight. All across the couches were towels soaked in more blood than you thought the human body even carried. Numerous bowls were filled with bloodied water, needles, gauze, tweezers, and various other medical supplies. There was a red trail across the wooden floors leading from the door and pooling near the table. It looked like a crime scene or a bloodbath out of some horror movie. Then you saw it, the bloodied pipe lying on the couch wrapped in a towel beside two empty bottles of rubbing alcohol. “That… That was in me?” Your voice was disbelieving, the thought of being that close to death was jarring. Even more so was another realization; Izaya had come to you. He had carried you all the way there, bleeding- dying in his arms.

“Where is Izaya,” it was not a question, your tone having lost all of its prior amusement. You knew him better than you knew yourself and you were almost sure that if the very real closeness of death made your stomach flip, you could only imagine how Izaya was now. He was cruel, detached, and oftentimes self-centered, but he was very, very human. More so than most others you’ve met. Not many things meant something to him apart from you and his extremely short list of friends.

You stared at Shinra intently, his own eyes softening, “He’s asleep in the other room-”

“He slept?” Izaya didn’t sleep often and when he did it wasn’t very much at all.

“I drugged him,” Shinra sighed, exasperated. He was probably replaying the argument he inevitably had upon telling Izaya he needed to rest.

You nodded, a smile gracing your features for a moment, imagining Celty tugging Izaya’s unconscious form into the guest room as Shinra worked. “Alright,” you moved to sit up, wincing and coughing, “I’m gonna go see him.”

Shinra’s brows scrunched up, confused. “____, you can’t walk.”

“That’s why you’re gonna roll my ass in there like a care package from the heavens,” you smirked. Both Shinra and yourself knew that if he didn’t take you, you would go yourself which could only end badly.

He adjusted his glasses before turning and grabbing the desk chair from the other room, wheeling it over to you and carefully helping you seat yourself. Every movement brought a wince and a grunt, eventually leading to Shinra dig painkillers out of his cabinet while Celty made a glass of water. Once the medicine was gone you were being carted down the hall and through an open door, the room dim as dawn had not fully approached yet. Once you were close enough to your boyfriend’s unconscious form, you started prodding at his side with your uninjured leg, toes curling to somewhat grip Izaya’s shirt before you began tugging petulantly. Your voice rose with impatience, “I~za~ya~! Wake up, you bastard! I got impaled and you get to nap? Up, up, up!”

With one just-beyond-gentle kick, he was flinching awake and grabbing your ankle, ready to tear you down to the floor with him when he got a good look at your face. His eyes darted to the gauze wrapped around your waist and his lips formed a tight line. “You’re in here, why?” Shinra’s eyes widened before he exited the room to leave the two of you alone.

That statement wasn’t directed towards him.

“I’m in here because I love you and enjoy seeing your face, you ass,” your brows furrowed, not understanding his hostility.

“For your information,” Izaya’s tone was cold, his movements stiff as he sat up to level his gaze with yours, “you’re injured, if you haven’t noticed. Also, you almost died for absolutely no reason. You should be resting.” His eyes softened slightly; the worry was evident under his apathy and anger.

“Then I’ll rest in here with you then,” you said matter-of-factly. Izaya opened his mouth to protest but you had already begun to move. Your cast tapped the ground roughly and you grunted, the pain raking through your muscles, the medicine’s effects still out of commission. Izaya’s arms were around you in an instant, easing you onto the futon beside him.

With a huff he pulled the blanket over you, scoffing at your proud smile. “You could have really died. Do you understand that?” The smile faded, your brows tugging together. You looked away from him guiltily, the blanket coming to cover your face. “I get hit by him all the time, you didn’t need to do that.” Those words made you turn, a determined stare meeting his eyes.

The same feeling you had when you jumped in front of him welled up in your chest once more. “You’re not the only one here who hates seeing their lover get beaten like a piñata!” Your shouting made Izaya reel back. You sounded sad almost, the images of Izaya getting hit by Shizuo or the various objects he threw at him were at the forefront of your mind, some instances ending more brutally than others. “I didn’t wanna see that again… You’re always picking fights and it sucks to watch sometimes.”

Izaya sighed, expression tired but understanding. If the way he felt watching you bleed out on Shinra’s table was the way you felt on any given day he was particularly unlucky, he definitely needed to tone it down a notch. He wasn’t too keen on it but if it would prevent you from pulling another stunt like this again, he’d do it.

“Fine,” he looked off to the side, avoiding your eyes, “I’ll leave the ignorant protozoan alone… kind of.” You laughed, leaning up as much as you could without pain, and placed a kiss on his cheek. Eyes closing as a cough racked your body before going back to soft laughter once more. Izaya gazed at you, watching your body relax against the futon. He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss against your lips and messing up your hair a bit, “Night, ____-chan.” You hummed in reply, turning your head towards his chest and allowing the drowsy after effects of the painkillers to lull you to sleep.

- Pasya

#anon #pasya #durarara #scenario #izaya #izaya orihara #shinra #shinra kishitani #celty #celty sturluson

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pen-masta · 7 years

Text

Duly Noted Part 1

Castel has decided to give up on finding a girlfriend, he can’t take the humiliation anymore. Joy can’t stand to see her dork down in the dumps and with the help of her sister they find a sure fire way to brighten his day.

1 2

Joy slumps at the kitchen table, her head resting on the hard wood as she stares at the condensation on her glass of milk. She sighs audibly feeling at a total loss, she’s normally the go to person in anyone’s time of need but right now…she’s got zip!

“Hey short stack,” Haley says as she strolls into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Joy says through a sigh.

Haley scrunches her eyebrows at her little sister, “What’s gotcha down sprout?”

Joy huffs loudly and sits up in her chair, letting her head roll back to look at her sister upside down.

“It’s Cassie,” she says exasperatedly.

Haley rolls her eyes but smiles kindly as she opens the fridge, “What is it this time?”

“He got rejected again,” Joy sighs and watches her sister still in her upside down position. “Hardly got him to talk on the way home, could barley keep up with his pace.”

“I thought he kind of ran off today,” Haley says and skims the fridge.

“He’s been holding out since lunch, his eyes were bright red when we left school. And now I’m sure he’s locked himself in his room to be broken without having to worry about watchful judgmental eyes.” Joy pouts deeply, “I don’t understand he’s not a bad guy why are they so mean to him?”

Haley shrugs and takes a water bottle from the fridge, “Girls are mean Joy.” She turns to look at her sister, “What happened?”

Joy turns around in her seat to face Haley, “He apparently attempted to ask out Cameron she’s number 67 on his list.”

Haley snorts a little, “He’s got a list?”

Joy nods, “Yeah he’s going through our yearbook.” Haley giggles and Joy scowls at her sister, “Don’t laugh Haley.”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry,” Haley smiles. “I love that quirky dude but…geez talk about drastic measures.”

“He’s just trying to rid the world of that stupid nickname,” Joy says puffing her cheeks.

Haley’s expression softens, “People still call him that?”

Joy nods, “It’s tearing him apart Hay Bail.”

Haley smiles kindly, “Alright I’m sorry I laughed. Go on what happened.”

Joy sighs and moves to sit up on the table with her feet on the chair, “Well he had tried to start a conversation with her but she wouldn’t have it. She straight up asked him what did he want and after a lot of pressuring she got him to say that he wanted to take her on a date. She and her whole table of cheerleader friends laughed and she made some comment about never being caught dead with Catch Less Cassie.” Joy growls, “The loud noise made everyone look at him and when he tried to leave with his dignity he knocked into some jock and ended up covered the food on the guy’s tray…it was an accident but the jerky jock acted like Cassie did it on purpose…everyone laughed.”

Haley nods, “Where were you?”

Joy looks down feeling a gray cloud forming over her, “I was having lunch in the art studio to finish up a project…I wasn’t there for him when it happened.”

“And now you’ve gotta pick up the pieces,” Haley sighs and sits next to her little sister on the table.

“Yeah but…I don’t know how to piece him back together this time Haley.” She looks at her older sister, “He’s been barley managing the past few months. He hasn’t been himself since the Jillian fiasco, that’s three girls ago Haley!” She whines in distress, “He’s been trying to act like he’s fine, but his confidence is tanking fast.”

“I’m sure it is,” Haley sighs and sips her water, “He’s a nerd but a sweet nerd…and he first went after the semi-popular girls and when they turned him down it started his reputation. Now it doesn’t matter who he asks they’re going to humiliate him.”

“Girls are the worst,” Joy grumbles and lies back on the table.

Haley chuckles a little, “Careful Joy you’re a girl.”

“No I’m an alien,” Joy giggles and sticks her tongue out at her sister.

Haley returns the gesture making her little sister laugh more.

“Well how do you normally glue him back together after a rejection?” Haley asks and lies back on the table next to Joy.

Joy snorts, “Pizza, bowling, and movies with your best friend is not going to fix it this time Haley.”

“Does it normally?” Haley smiles

Joy nods, “Most of the time it gets his mind off of the whole ordeal, but the last few times it didn’t really lift his spirits. He just kind of held that fake forced smile the whole time.” Joy sighs, “I need to fix this but I don’t know how.”

“Well if your normal fixing-Cassie-recipe isn’t gonna work…what kind would?”

Joy laughs, “Having a girlfriend.”

Haley shrugs, “So find him a girlfriend.”

Joy laughs more, “Haley that is so much easier said than done and you know that.” Joy sighs, “No girl in our entire school wants to be seen with Cassie.”

There’s a beat of silence for a moment before Haley sits up.

“What if the girl didn’t have to be seen?”

“What do you mean?” Joy asks and sits up

“I mean what if there was a girl who really liked Cas but she didn’t want to be seen.” Haley smiles, “Like not because she didn’t want to be seen with him, but because she doesn’t know how he’d feel.”

Joy raises a brow, “Whatcha playing at sista?”

Haley smiles, “Joy…what if Cas had a secret admirer. You know someone to send him love notes and crush on him.”

Joy blinks mulling over her sister’s words, “That would boost his confidence…but writing notes from someone who doesn’t exist? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“It would just be until his confidence was firing on all cylinders again,” Haley smiles. “And once he’s back to his old self and flying high again just make mystery girl disappear.”

“Disappear how?”

Haley huffs and shrugs, “I don’t know ship her off to Siberia or something. You’re the creative one here short stack.”

Joy blinks, “Wait I’m the one writing the notes?”

Haley nods, “I’ll help too but yeah that way you can monitor how it’s going you know? See how it’s effecting him.”

Joy looks down at her feet, it is a great idea to boost the ol’ Cassie Confidence especially after the past few bitter endings he’s had…and it would only be for a little while…

Joy smiles brightly at her sister, “Well what are we waiting for! Let’s go make up a secret smitten sweetheart for C-bear!”

The two girls laugh and run off to their craft room.

==========

Castel slams the front door behind him. Dad is working late and mom hasn’t gotten home yet so the house is empty–thankfully. He runs up the steps taking them two at a time until he’s reached his room. Slamming and locking his bedroom door, he tosses his book bag and jacket to the floor without caring to put them anywhere in particular–his room is a mess anyway.

He lies down on his bed burring his bright red eyes into his pillow. What’s wrong with him? Why did it always happen this way? Couldn’t they just say no and leave it at that? He screams into his pillow muffling his shriek of frustration and he cringes a little as he feels the hot tears roll down his face. He’s crying again? Good grief! Pull yourself together dude!

But he can’t as much as he yells at himself mentally to get over it, he can’t take it. Bullies have always been a problem for him, being an extremely intelligent nerdy freak isn’t exactly on the same level as ripped football jock. The bullies were nothing new and he could take that, but the humiliation is just becoming too great now. He can’t deal with it. So in the dark and solitude of his room he sobs, he needs to purge until he’s completely dried out and then he can move past this whole thing. He could just give up on his quest for a girlfriend–not that it’s been a very fruitful quest anyway–but then Catch Less Cassie would still haunt him…maybe even more so than it does now. But maybe that irritating humiliation would be easier to shake off and handle than ending up the laughingstock of the student body as you get regretted by a volleyball girl and end up covered in some jerky jock’s lunch.

Pain fills his heart as the scene replays in his mind and he starts to feel very alone. He misses his big brothers. He wishes they were here and he could talk to them about all of this. What should he do, how would they handle it, how could he ignore it. Zack and Mikey always seemed to have the answers he needed when they were growing up…but now they’re off with their own lives and families. They aren’t right down the hall from him anymore, and even though he’s happy for them and everything it still cuts him deeply when he walks into the empty house.

More tears fill his eyes humiliation, loneliness, failure, and sorrow all mixed together with questions of what’s wrong with him swirl inside of him. His stomach tightens as he sobs hard into his pillow and his clutches it tight in his hands. His head starts to pound as his breaths start to stagger and he feels utterly sick.

Taking a deep breath and forcing himself to calm down he leans up on his arms. Grimacing at the snot and tear soaked marks on his pillow case, he flips the pillow over before curling up on his side facing the wall. His parents will be home soon and he has to save face for them, he doesn’t want his parents to know what a loser their son is. He can’t handle the embarrassment, he can’t ask a girl out, he can’t even manage his own emotions! No they don’t need to know how much of a desperate, pathetic, useless worm he is…he’s not like his brothers. He doesn’t have it all together like they do…and he doesn’t want his parents to know how unraveled he is.

He sighs and closes his eyes deciding to make the days events disappear for a little while. But before he succumbs to sleep he has one resounding thought in his mind, he is done with the whole dating scene for a while.

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