#little ball of anxiety ass fucker

[bunnyb34r]

Well hopefully once I'm fully back on my meds I'll feel better bc oof

[i-will-cry-you-a-river]

“It hurts.” “I know (condescendingly)” for Primecest?👀❤️

Morty should have known better. Well, he knew better, that was the thing. He knew better than to ignore what any Rick - especially Prime - orders him. It was simple too; just stay on his ass until Prime got back.

But Mortys weren't made to be still, sit obediently. They were Ricks' little helpers, sure, but they were curious and a little ball of neurodivergent anxieties. Left alone, they would either masturbate or touch things they had no authorization to touch. Or both. Most of the time Mortys did both.

So, it wasn't really Morty's fault that after finally being untied, he wanted to explore the room. It was so different from his-

Oh. Wait. Prime was his gr- his original family member, wasn't he?

-the Rick-He-Lived-With's garage, he just couldn't help himself. He had to explore all those shiny buttons and sleek designs and strange devices!

He just wanted to look around for a bit. It wasn't his fault that it took longer than he anticipated and that Prime would get home get to the base earlier than expected.

"Well, well, well, look who can't follow orders." A voice came from behind Morty. The young boy winced, dropping the metal object from his hand, which crashed against the floor with a big cling. Morty froze, his freeze reflex completely taking over his fight or flight ones.

"Looks like that fucker Rick couldn't teach you to obedience." Morty could hear the maniac grin in Prime's voice. The blood froze in his body as the fear gradually crept up on him.

It was worse than the screaming belittlements his Rick tended to throw against him. Much worse.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry, I-I d-didn't mean to," Morty forced himself to say it without turning around, his stuttering getting worse as he broke out in cold sweat. He didn't dare to move, he felt like he was a little, defenseless bunny against the big bad predator. It shouldn't have made sense; Prime looked so scrawny, so young and carefree - but that just made him even more terrifying.

"Look at me."

There was no way Morty would refuse it. Ducking his head, he turned around, fidgeting with his hands. The door shut behind Prime with a final-sounding, ominous click.

Morty started apologizing immediately. "I-I'm sorry, R-R- Prime, I d-didn't mean to, I'm so, so, so, so s-sorry! I wasn't-"

"Quiet," the young-looking Rick ordered, and Morty, for once, shut his mouth. "I told you to stay put. It wasn't even a difficult task! Do you even follow what C-137 tells to you, or does he only keep you to up the difficulty level of your adventures? Don't answer," he interrupted, when he saw the pouting boy opened his mouth. "You were allowed to wait, unbound, yet you chose to disobey me. Such a bad, bad grandson…"

Morty gulped. That should have sounded bad and threatening - and it was! -, but… maybe he really was a fucking pervert as his family always accused him to be.

The unusual, kind of very weird Rick rolled up his sleeves as he walked over his seat, then sat on it, not looking away from the fidgety boy. "Kneel," he ordered.

Morty's knees buckled, and fell on the ground before he knew what he was doing. "So you can follow orders…" Prime smirked, and invited Morty closer with his pointing finger. "Good boy," he murmured.

Morty shuddered, and couldn't quite swallow his strangled moan back. He was close to tears, but it was a mixture of frustration, fear, shame, and humiliating want. The smirk became bigger.

"Huh… Maybe you are good for something else than just being a bait. We'll have so much fun until that loser finds us!"

"P-pr-prime, I…"

"Call me grandpa, grandson. After all, I am your grandfather." The salacious grin on Prime's lips promised lots of things. None of them was something a grandfather should do with his grandson. "Now, where were we? Oh, right. Your punishment…"

"No, I, Grandpa, please!" Morty pleaded, but one look from the older man, and he shut his mouth.

Eyes burning with something unidentifiable, yet something so familiar raked over his body. "Strip and come here," he ordered after long moments of tense silence.

A hiccuping sound left Morty's mouth, his eyes crossed over, cheeks pinking and heart rushing so fast as it never before, but he was quick to follow Rick's words. He toed off his shoes, before struggling with the zip on his jeans, tugging impatiently for a few moments. Finally, he managed to wriggle himself out of his jeans and socks, leaving his briefs for a bit longer, then pulled his shirt off in one swoop.

Standing in front of Prime - his original grandfather, the person, who killed Rick's wife and daughter, the reason for Rick's single-minded obsession -, only covered by tiny white briefs, being looked at like that… his inside twisted, and his little prick hardened.

He was a sick, twisted, perverted little fucker, just like his Rick told him he was.

He worried the hem of his undergarment with his fingers, hesitating, but he quickly shimmied out of them at the look in Prime's eyes, so icy-cold and powerful. Biting into his lower lip so hard he could taste the copper of his blood, he kneeled clumsily in front of the unhinged man. He really didn't want to obey, it was uncomfortable, and scary, and the confusing feelings swirling inside him didn't help either. He was on the verge of a panic attack, his breathing labored and shallow, but he just held still like the captured prey he was in front of a much bigger, scarier predator.

Prime was entirely too silent and too focused on the kneeling kid, making the experience even more uncomfortable. Morty could feel that any sudden movement could set Prime off, so he just stayed still, whimpering slightly.

"Well, looks like you do know how to take an order, grandson," Prime mocked, his lips curling up in a cruel smirk. It was both infuriating and strangely arousing, which, in general, was a great way to describe most Ricks. Unfortunately.

"It is almost a shame I need to punish you," Prime mentioned conversationally, his smile sharp and predatory, causing Morty's breath to catch in his throat. "You look so pretty down there."

"Come on, grandson, up here. Grampa's going to spank you until you remember to follow your orders like the obedient little puppy you are. Make you remember it when that loser gets here, trying to take you away, and you won't be able to take even a step. You will always be reminded who you belong to." Morty was covered with goosebumps as Prime let out a possessive growl. He tried to convince himself that he hated that, that all he wanted was to escape from this animal's claws, yet on top of his other bad traits, he was also a very bad liar. He couldn't lie even to himself.

Prime snapping his finger at him, as if he was calling a servant, or more like, a puppy, zapped through his body like a lightning bolt. The degradation… humiliation… possessiveness… objectification…

Morty learnt more about himself in the last few minutes than he did during his whole life. Red faced, but obedient, he crawled towards Prime, draping himself over his lap. Biting his bottom lip, he stared up at Pri- Ric- Grampa?, looking at him for approval, for any sign that would tell him he was doing a good job.

"Just like that, you little masochist," his original grandfather praised. Morty's eyes glossed over, his bright hazel eyes burning with a want for more. His already pink cheeks turned cherry-red; not even the wanton moan that left his lush, pink lips could make him blush more. He waited in breathless anticipation for what was going to happen, for the first slap to land, but it couldn't prepare him for the sting of pain. He let out a startled yelp, but before he could make an even bigger mess for himself by jumping out of Prime's lap, another slap was layered over the first one, now harder, as a reminder to be a good boy. He swallowed his whine, his body tensed, but as the third, the fourth and the fifth landed, his body became boneless, just a little ball of nerves.

Morty tried to squirm away, his senses going override, but the hand that wasn't spanking him, carefully pinned him down. He couldn't see from that angle, but he could feel Prime's breath quickening, as if he was just as affected by the punishment as he was.

Six… seven… eight-nine-ten.

Tears began to form as the last three slaps came in a quick succession to the same place. His tears turned to whimpering and sobbing, not used to this type of pain, especially because it mixed with the emotional one. His tears turned to whimpering, then sobbing as Prime's hand continued to hit Morty's aching bottom. 

"Goddam, you look so pretty when you are so pitiful," Rick Prime mumbled, turning Morty's head towards him with his free hand, making his neck twist painfully. Snot, drool and tears ran down on Morty's red face and open lips, and Morty felt gross, yet all he could see in the older man's eyes was want-

And was that… was that awe?

Another hit slapped painfully on Morty's fragile bottom. He already lost count of how many he had to endure already, and he was at the end of his endurance.

"P-please, d-don't… n-no more," he sobbed. "It hurts!"

A huffing sound reached his ears. Was Rick Prime laughing at him? Mocking him? "Oh, baby, I know. Don't cry anymore, it's going to be the last one. Grandpa knows you are going to be a good boy from now on," he said, his tone filled with condescending fake sympathy.

It should have been a turn off. Should have made Morty's skin crawl, his stomach turn upside down.

It wasn't.

Morty whined, breathing heavily, his heart trying to jump out of his chest as the last hit reached his sore, inflamed ass, making his body jolt forward, rubbing his aching little cock against Prime's clothes thighs. The friction made him cry out, his dripping precum drenching his grandfather's pants. His head felt full of light blue clouds and syrupy honey, like he was floating away.

Tears were running down on his cheeks as he stared glassily at nothing, his teeth unconsciously biting into his bottom lip. His hips mindlessly started to move, humping against Prime's thighs, as he was floating in the sea of pain and pleasure.

"You were such a good boy, Morty. You took your punishment so well." He could hear a low murmur, so low maybe he was just imagining it. He just knew it felt good to think he might have been a good boy.

Hands were caressing him, rubbing over his aching bottom and thighs, bringing feelings back to his body.

"So good, my little grandson." The praise is low again, but feeling less floaty, Morty is more convinced that he wasn't just imagining it. Finally he was acknowledged; he was a good boy. Rick said it, so it must have been true! First, he didn't even realize that the whining sound was coming from you, only when his grandpa's caresses became more present, more real, did he feel the strain in his vocal cords.

Breathing heavily, he returned his body, just to feel Ric- Prime's hand sneaking between Morty's thighs, reaching for his cock. The young boy jumped as warmly big fingers wrapped around his small dick, and he really couldn't be blamed for the small hiccupping noise that left his lips when Prime gently rubbed his slit. His touches were so in contrast with the previous punishment, it gave Morty a whiplash, but he wasn't complaining.

Having somebody else's hand on his cock, even if it was his grandf- Prime's - or maybe especially, because it was his -, was way better than the feeling of his tiny little hands.

"See, what happens to food boys? They get rewarded, while bad boys get punished," Prime teased, altering the amount of pressure he used on Morty's cock. "But I guess, reward and punishment are pretty much the same for you. You are just like your grandpa," the older man murmured. His strokes became more forceful, steady, yet purposeful. Morty couldn't swallow back his moans, his eyes closed from the pleasure, as his original grandfather brought him to the edge of the abyss.

"Yeees," Morty's moans increased, he was so close, so close-

"Cum for grandpa!"

That was all Morty needed. The young boy immediately came, his white cum drenching Prime's hand, pants and it even dripped on the floor. Only his panting breaths broke the silence; the older man let Morty get himself together.

Only when the brunette's breathing evened out, almost suspiciously even, did Rick Prime open his mouth. "Now, get on your knees and open your pretty mouth," he ordered, and helped the dazed boy do as he was told. Morty whimpered as he was forced to sit on his throbbing, aching bottom, slightly dizzy, and so very sleepy, but he obediently opened up.

The older man unzipped his pants, pulling his erection out, aiming it directly towards Morty's tear-streaked, messy, blotchy face, and pretty, puffy pink mouth. He didn't need much, only a few stokes before he was grunting, unloading all over Morty's face, painting his pink cheeks, bloody lips, half-closed eyes and thick eyelashes, curly brown hair white with cum.

It was an unconscious action from Morty to lick his lip to clean himself up, but tasting Rick's - Prime's! - semen didn't deter him. Lazily, he licked it up as best as he could, his little cock twitching uselessly, way too spent and tired to get up once again.

"You insatiable little bitch," Prime scoffed, but it felt loving and fond, instead of berating and disgusted. It made Morty ache more than his stinging ass could ever hurt. "Come," his grandfather said, pulling him up into his arms. Instead of leaving him on the floor, letting to get himself together, Prime picked Morty up, and took him to his room, where he laid the boy next to himself.

They fell asleep curled together, Morty tucked in as the tiniest little spoon, while Prime took the role of a big, menacing spoon, who silently dared C-137 to arrive while the two of them were sleeping.

That loser would never get his lovely little grandson back. Ever.

[slowpoke-fics]

Sacrifice

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Pack x Reader

Request Summary: You're Scotts twin sister and make a sacrifice for the good of the pack

Warnings: death, panic attack, angst, murder described, death described, reader death; I know for a fact I've missed some and this one is pretty fucking rough, as always read at your own risk.

A/N: This one is angsty, and just a tad longer than normal, consider it my apology to nonnie for taking so damn long on this request. I hope you guys love it, and again, this one is rough, read at your own risk.

You're able to grab one of the fucking resilient demonic ninja's off of Isaac. You could smell his pain, his blood, and you could smell Allisons determination. The second one on Isaac was shot with Allisons arrow, it's glowing green, fighting with the clear pain it's experiencing. With a split decision you're next to Allison, pushing her out of the way, a sharp pain through your chest, and then you're numb.

Allison's face is rampant with fear, her shirt holding a tiny cut that didn't grace the skin. Good, she's okay, and then you're falling.

You don't hit the ground though, your brother, Scott, holding your face with a stray tear falling down his face. You reach up and wipe it away, "It's okay Scotty, it doesn't hurt." Scott chokes back a sob, his hand gently rubbing yours, "Is everyone else okay?" Scott starts to speak, his voice betraying him, sounding mangled, "Yeah, everyone is okay Y/n, you're gonna be okay too." You shook your head, "Not in the way you think I am," Scott finally releases a sob, "no, no, big brother," he tries to laugh, trying to give you a little peace with your joke that even though he's minutes older, he's still older, "it's okay, yeah? Me and you, fighting tooth and nail. This was the best gift I could've ever gotten, I love you, and I love the pack. This is okay." You reach behind him, fingers tangled into his hair, you pull him to you and kiss his forehead. "Don't let them blame themselves, and don't blame yourself," another kiss to his cheek, "I love you big brother."

Scott's memories with you flashes before his eyes as the color in yours goes out, how did we get here?

"Scott! You okay?" You look over his body for injuries, he hisses at you making contact with his torso. "Scott, what's wrong? Did you get bit by something too?" Scott's eyebrows raise, "What do you mean 'too'? Did you get bit?" You roll your eyes and turn around, shirt stained with blood, "Yeah, I managed to get away from the fucker while rolling down some hill, now let me see yours." You swat him away, lifting his shirt and taking a good look at the bite mark, "Okay, not too bad, you fix me up and I'll fix you up? Not a word to mom, got it?" Scott nods, walking with you into the house to take care of the bite marks.

Scott can't feel anything, surrounded by you, your lifeless body. His anger, no, pain, soars through him as his eyes glow, a roar deep within him. The only thing anyone in his pack can hear is the scream from Lydia's lips and the roar of pain from Scott.

Isaac barely notices the sound around him, only his own heartbeat in his ears as he listened to yours fade away.

"Isaac you fucking idiot!" You slapped Isaac on the back of the head, he looks at you with lost, glowing, puppy dog eyes, "Sorry, Y/n." His eyes dull to his normal brown and you frown, "You've gotta do better honey, you can't lose control like that, you'll kill someone and I know that's not what you want." Isaac sits on the metal bench in the locker room, head in his hands, "I don't know that I'll ever be able to."

You sigh, sitting next to him with your hand rubbing his back, "You will, just give it time, until then, you've gotta find something that works for you, something that prevents you from breaking someone fucking ribs Isaac." You voice becomes elevated again towards the end, irritated at Isaac's recklessness. "Yeah," he leans his head down to your shoulder, "I know firecracker."

Scott is blind to the feeling on his bloody hand, only noticing it when Allison's tears hit it. Allison brushes a hair out of your face, you looked peaceful, she's eternally grateful for you, for what you did for her tonight and what you've done for her up until this point.

"Allison, fuck," you huff, pulling yourself up from the ground, "let's do it again, I know that this isn't you, your aim is perfect, let it all go and focus on me okay?" She sighs, shaking the bow in her hand, "Maybe the fact that I could actually hurt you isn't helping." You're eye to eye with her, both hands on her face, eyes glowing, "No, you won't hurt me, I'm invincible remember?" She laughs, shaking her head, "Alright, last time." You grin ear to ear and took off running. Allison brings the bow up, listening to you run. She sees glimpses of you, through the trees, and the arrow is gone. She sighs, she didn't hit you, she's shouting at you "I told you! I can't do it!"

You touch her back, startling her, she lets out a small yelp and turns to you. Her eyes go wide when she sees the arrow sticking out of your shoulder. "Oh, Jesus Y/n," her bow drops and she's bringing her hands up to try and get it to stop bleeding. "Oh quit being a pussy and pull it out," you rolled your eyes, grabbing her wrist and bringing it to the arrow in your shoulder. "I'm so sorry I hit you-" she pulls it out and you let out a long groan, already feeling better with the object dislodged. "Don't be sorry, you hit me, let's do it again." Allisons eyes widen, if that's even possible, and shakes her head, "No, absolutely not." You laugh, "Lighten up buttercup, I'm invincible remember? And this time I'm not going easy." She scoffs at you, "Easy? Oh I see how it is, run little wolf, run." With that, you take off running, Allison laughing at your excitement.

Kira is frozen, she feels like she died, you were her best friend. Over anyone else, you'd been the first to accept her, the first to fight for her, the first one she'd confided in.

"Kira, what the hell are you saying?" You're sitting with your arms crossed at a picnic table, nose in your homework. "I-I know that we were friends first, so I was going to tell you first, before I said any-" You slam your hand one the table, "Kira, baby, spit it out, fuck." This is the you realize that Kira's scent holds fear and anxiety. "Kira, what's wrong?" You're more serious now, waiting for the bomb to drop that there's another fight to be had. "I like Scott, like like him, Jesus please don't be mad." You burst into full laughter, tears streaming from your eyes.

When you calm down Kira is staring at you, piddling with the strings on her sleeves. "Oh, my god," you laugh again, trying to calm yourself. "You're not mad?" You laugh harder, smacking the table a few times, "Jesus Christ no, I can't believe-" you stand up still laughing, hugging her. "I don't give a shit," rubbing her back, "you had nothing to worry about, as long as you don't get mad if I fuck your dad." Kira jerks back, shock on her face, "Y/n!" You laugh harder, "I'm fucking kidding, jeez," you sit back down, "fucking sit down and gush to me about my brother."

She shakes herself out of it when she feels her mother enclose her in a hug. Tears finally falling.

Lydia's scream has finally ended, and she's inconsolable. Memories flooding through her head as she lays her head on an unconscious Stiles.

"Lydia god dammit," you truck to the pool, "did you find another one?" You stop at the strong scent of blood, rushing to Lydia, Stiles right behind you. "Are you hurt?" Lydia shakes her head, staring at you, "I already called 911." Stiles looks hurt, arguing with Lydia over why she should call him before the police, but you push him to the side. "Heya honey," you wrap your arms around her waist, "it's okay, don't listen to Stiles grumpy ass, let's me and you go sit." You're not sure why you aren't phased by the body next to you, but you let Stiles do whatever he needs to do for Scott while you try and get Lydia's head back down to Earth.

"Hey Lyds, dontcha think you're a little overdressed to come to the pool?" She lets out a small chuckle and you relax a little, "This can't be my new normal, Y/n. Finding dead bodies? I can't take this." You hold her hand, sighing, "None of us asked for this Lydia, I'm so sorry. If you want I can stay with you for a few days, follow you if you zonk out again?" Lydia just nods, and she feels for the first time that you're as much her best friend as Allison.

Lydia can't stop crying, Scott is trying to get ahold of himself, Kira is crying with her mother, Isaac is breathless and in pain, and Allison is held by her father.

"She did it for me dad," Allison sobs, her father already made sure she wasn't hurt, "she did it for me and I don't know why." Chris shushes her, running his fingers through her hair, grateful for your sacrifice so his beautiful girl could live. "She did it because she loved you," Allison sobs harder, "I know sweet girl, but listen, we have to deal with this. You can cry, scream, break things later, but now? Now we get our stories straight." Allison nods, and her dad is off to Scott to prep him.

When Stiles finds out, it's like every cell in his body failed him. Scott caught him and pulled him into a hug, tears streaming down his face. "I know. I know brother." Stiles can't breathe, it's been a long time since he's had a panic attack, but here he is, without you, panicking.

"Stiles," you sigh, throwing a ball against his ceiling and back into your hand, sprawled out on his bed, "you've gotta stop." Stiles shakes his head, "No, no there is something here!" He tosses the books to the floor, you get off the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind, "You'll find it but you're not going to without sleep. Come on." You tug him back to his bed, "Let's nap, and then we'll come back to all," you gesture to his board covered in multicolored string, "this." Stiles sighs heavily, letting you pull him to the bed. It's not the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last, that you've convinced him to sleep. He crawls in next to you and you throw your arm open, allowing him to lay his head over your heart. He falls asleep to the lull of the thump thump thump.

Stiles shakes himself out of the memory, remembering that he'll never hear that beautiful sound again and vows to hold onto it. He lets out a pained, choked sob, "Scott-" Scotts arms are around him still, Scott can smell the guilt coming off of the small man, "Don't - It was not your fault Stiles. It wasn't anyone's fault." Scott lets Stiles cry, mourn his best friend, the woman he's come to love like his own sister. "Have you told Derek?" Scott sighs, Stiles already knows the answer.

When they get to Derek's place, Derek opens the door, already smelling them and their horribly displaced emotions. "What is it?" Scott lets himself in, Stiles following close behind him and he's checking for his little flame, and when you're nowhere to be found, his heart sinks. "Where's Y/n?" Derek can smell the grief coming off of Scott in waves, not missing the anger that hides beneath it. "Fuck, my little flame," his voice sounds broken, barely audible to the human boy who stares sorrowful at him.

"Derek Hale!" You kick the door open to home, "Derek Hale! Get your ass out here!" Derek almost materializes behind you, but you're just as quick as he is. "Derek Hale! I oughtta kill you, you son of a bitch!" You march to him, taking him off guard by your fist that collides into his face. He's knocked back a couple feet, staring at you with glowing eyes. Your eyes match his, "I am not afraid of your eyes, wolf boy! You turned three people!" Derek shrugs, "So what if I did?" You go for a second punch, this time caught by Derek, he can't smell a single ounce of fear, only fury.

"They knew what they were getting into," Derek lets go of your hand. "Oh, fuck you, Derek," you shove him back, "you can spin that stupid story to whoever you want, but you and I know better." Derek shrugs, "So what? They're better now, stronger, and they like it." You let out a deep growl, "Did you tell them about the death?" You step forward towards him, "Did you tell them how they'd be pulled into every murder in this town?" You shove him back again, following his step backwards, "Did you tell them of the pain? Did you? Of course not." Your hand grasps his chin, squeezing painfully with your claws out, making him look at you, "Hear me Derek Hale and hear me good. If anything," you squeezed him harder, bringing a hiss from him, "and I mean anything, happens to them, I will hurt you." You back away and head out of his house, stopping at his door, "And trust me, I'm a fire you can't put out." He laughs, watching you walk away, but mumbling just where you can barely hear, "I have a feeling I don't want to be burned by your flame."

A growl explodes from his lips, pain filling his entire being. You've been the glue that holds them all together, bringing them back from the brink again and again. How could they survive without you?

Months after your death, they've settled back into the groove of things, nothing ever feels the same without you though.

They talk about you all the time, Stiles has a tendency to try and calm people down like you did. Trying to help keep everyone grounded. He's nowhere near as good at it like you were, but he's trying. Allison keeps your memory around by never changing her lock screen, a picture of everyone in the pack resting on the screen she checks every five minutes. Isaac has found a new anchor, with Scott's help, using himself to be able to control the rage that flurries inside of him after your death. Lydia lives for adopting your fire, absolutely never keeping her mouth shut much to everyone's dismay, but it's a way to keep your image around. Kira has become closer to Allison and Lydia, but she knows they'll never replace you. They don't laugh at her like you did when she talks about Scott, and it's a painful memory. Derek's become much more involved with Scott's pack, dedicated to doing what he can for not fighting by your side the right you died, a debt he'll never repay. Scott finds his peace in his pack, but the hole in his heart for his sister will never fade, like the newly placed fire tattoo on his forearm will never fade.

They are all eternally grateful.

They all know it'll never be the same.

They all hate your sacrifice.

[felswritingfire]

(Hades) Gods x Shade! Reader

No matter how much you try, mortality will always catch up to those who are not of gods. Even the most blinded of them learn this eventually. You take your death with grace, choosing to go and explore this new world as soon as Lord Hades permits you to go, impressed by how little you complain and demand. You are one of the brighter parts of his day (night?).

You drift along, catching certain snippets of other Shade’s conversations as you wander aimlessly. You notice a crack in the wall; deciding to muster up your courage, you slip through it to find yourself in the glowing green torches of Tartarus. With what little you have, you hold it close to your translucent body and push forward.

You’re quick to notice the large glowing ball with an oddly familiar symbol floating in the middle of it. You take your time circling it, feeling compelled to touch it. When you do, a beam of light comes slicing through the dreary air to reveal a mighty god who stares down at you at your shocked form...

Zues

Cause of Death: Lightning Strike

Zues is confused when he sees you. He’s even more confused when you start screaming at him, waving your hands about and threatening to fight him yourself.

“You fucker! You killed me!”

He raises a brow. “I think I’d remember if I killed you.” You flipped up your middle finger at him and his eyebrows drew into an angry v. “How rude! I am the God of Gods-”

“I don’t care!”

Zagreus had to high tail it to you before Zues tried to smite you (possibly a second time).

Suffice to say you hoped you’d never bump into that boon again. And you didn’t. No, the God of Gods and Lightning himself decided that he’d have to make a house call himself (Hades was not pleased when a bolt of lightning came crashing down and left a scorched black ring in the carpet).

He picks you out quickly and you try to zoom out of the lobby until he catches you by the back of your robe and then you’re swinging and yelling profanities at him. He’s kinda amused now instead of angry- you’re just so weak and tiny compared to him. It’s hysterical- ow! Did you just bite him?

After you and Zues finish your little “spitting match”- Hades kicks Zeus out and you're forced to hang out in Tartarus for a bit (“but I’m just a simple fisherfolk! I can’t fight anything!” You cry, Hades does not spare you a look as you're dragged out by Meg).

You think maybe that’s the end until you’re approached by a… a squirrel? You almost punt it when his voice spills out as he shoots into a long prattle about how much of a jerk Hades was and how he couldn’t handle someone as grandiose as him appearing before him. Threatened him as a god or something- you were busy trying to figure out how you were going to kill this guy and make sure he stayed dead.

Turns out, after the two of you chattered (argued) a bit about whether or not he actually killed you, Zeus had some neat stories about the gods.

While you were interested in his children’s and brothers’ and sisters’ stories, he was interested in your stories of the mundane. A simple fisherfolk? That was a word? You just fished and traded? Amazing! Tell him more!

After this particular interaction between the two of you, Zeus really ended liking you. Maybe a little too much, but, aw well, it wasn’t everyday a mortal soul had the balls to argue with him for something he doesn’t remember doing (he probably did. Probably. Most likely). He swore that he’d come and see you everyday as he sat on your shoulder as a squirrel, going on and on about how you should feel blessed to be praised by one such as he. You were about to throw him until a giant hand came out and grabbed him (seemed you drifted too close to Lord Hades’ desk), the hulking god flinging him out of a portal.

He continues to pop up and bother you and, to be honest, he’s kinda growing on you. Also, I’m gonna be frank and lay it out that, if he likes you enough, he’s probs gonna want to smash, especially if you lean more towards the feminine side (he’s fucking AWFUL). It’s up to you if you wanna indulge that or not, I don’t recommend it, but you can if you really want to.

We’re going with the option you don’t smash- he’ll be salty at you for a whole ass day before he comes back the one after that as a rat (Hades kept finding out his forms that he used to sneak in so it was an ever constant menagerie of appearances to keep up the disguise) and is like: “I thought you would miss me too much so I came back before you could even complain.”

Zag likes to watch the two of you interact because he finds it absolutely fascinating. It’s like watching… He doesn’t know what it’s like but he’s having a blast as you roast his uncle to bits. It really helps him out when he’s feeling a bit down after failing getting out one too many times.

When you first get Zeus an Ambrosia, he thinks it’s poison and then he gets all prideful because of course you would give him an offering, he was the strongest of all the gods! Him and him alone!

“Silly, mortal, you cannot poison me! I am a god.”

You squint your eyes at him before you huff and pull the bottle closer to you. “Fine, whatever, I’ll just give it to Zagreus- or better yet, Hades if you don’t want it.”

“No! No! I want it! Give it to me! It’s mine!”

During this time, he’s actually experiencing some purer emotions in life- he’s genuinely giddy that you got him the Ambrosia and asks how you got it. You hold up a makeshift fishing rod and grin at him, telling him you snatched it from some nasty shades before you wandered back down to Tartarus.

His gift to you is a little lightning pin that, when you're in danger, will send a nasty bolt of lightning down on your enemies. You wonder what good it’ll do since you’re dead already, but shrug and accept it, thinking that he looks years younger and friendler when his smile isn’t packed full of ego and pride.

Poseidon

Cause of Death: Drowning

Poseidon, Lord of the Oceans, Earthquakes, and many other things, is simply- how do you say? Amused? It’s the best way to describe it at least. Of course he was mostly surprised when he appeared expecting the Little Hades to be waiting for him just to meet a Little Shade in his place.

“Why, hello there, Little Shade! You wouldn’t happen to know where the Little Hades is, would you?”

You shake your head, he doesn’t miss the way you nervously play with your hands, drifting back as some of his droplets float close to you.

He laughs at your simple reply. “Shy one aren’t you?” He leans closer to you, squinting and running a hand through his beard while he hummed.

You fight the urge to take a step back, the smell of salt water making your stomach churn.

His eyes flutter shut as he takes a deep breath. He takes a moment before he opens his eyes again and a look of understanding flashes across his eyes. “You drowned. Didn’t you?”

You stare up at him, eyes round and glassy. You nod.

Before your conversation can go any further, Zagreus comes running through the window, surprised to see his Uncle talking to a Shade (you look so scared- he hopes that you aren’t being bullied). You’re quick to take your leave bowing to both and passing the boon to the Prince before you scurry away into the cover of the other Shades.

He hums to himself, a cryptid smile on his face as his eyes follow after you. Such a strange little thing you were- he wouldn’t mind seeing you again.

It takes a bit, but he does happen to see you again, by peaking through a fountain in a fountain room in the Underworld. He spies you trying to poke at the water that he happened to choose, but jumping back each time. You face scrunched up into one of pure frustration. He asks if you’re doing alright there, Little Shade? Causing you to flash out of existence for a moment before settling back down and looking into the pool with wide eyes. Posiedon almost busts a gut with how hard he’s laughing and you huff telling him that it wasn’t funny.

He says otherwise, but asks what you’re doing. When your face bursts into a large blush you mumble something that he doesn’t quite catch and he’s left with more questions than answers as you take the chance to phase out of the chamber when Zag walks in and steals his Uncle’s attention for a split second. He furrows his brow before asking his nephew about you, which Zag, surprisingly, supplies rather quickly, seeing as the two of you talk a lot: apparently you’re deathly afraid of water after you were thrown into the ocean by your supposed best friend. The memories of the waves crushing you deeper and deeper beneath them sticking with you even in death. So, you were trying to curb that phobia. Posiedon nods, letting the words sink in before he offers the Little Hades a thumbs up and says he’ll help with that.

The next time you see the god, he’s eager to call you over and explain that he’s figured out what you were doing last time and offers to let you mess with some of the drops of water that follow him wherever he goes. You stare at them, eyebrows furrowed and looking just as sick as a shade could look. Yet, you still nod your head and hold out a shaky hand. He smiles at you, praising you for your courage and flicks one towards you; it floats gently before it rests serenely on your palm, allowing you to feel the cool sensation of the droplet. You marvel at it, still shaking with an anxiety before you nod. He pulls it away, it shoots back to rest next to his head and you thank him for going out of his way to help you and ease your fears.

He remarks that you should fear the water out of respect: it’s unpredictable, terrifying in it’s own right- vast and, seemingly, never ending, what could possibly be more terrifying than the unknown, hm? He continues to say that you should also hold onto a bit of bravery at the very least, for untold treasures come from there for those who look.

After that conversation, Poseidon makes it a habit of having you hold onto his droplets of water, making them slightly bigger each time for you to get used to them.

By the time you’re able to touch them freely without experiencing crippling fear- the droplets are almost the size of you. Poseidon praises you the more you grow out of your fear.

You do eventually open up to him about how you died and he never tells you that he already knew. Just allows you to talk in a soft voice as you recall it. It’s a nice bonding experience for the both of you and Posideon decides that you’re his favorite Shade and he’ll treasure you for as long as you exist.

The first time you get him a bottle of Ambrosia, you come to him shivering and sopping wet. He’s confused and concerned as he hovers to you.

“What happened to you, Little Shade? Are you alright?”

It takes you a moment to be able to speak. “I- I found a bottle of Ambrosia. I thought-” you take a deep breath, holding out the bottle with both hands- “I thought you’d like it.”

It’s one of his prized possessions now, he takes little sips of it once in a while, but other than that it remains as one of his most precious memories. He’s very attached to you at this point and you’ll forever have his blessing. His gift to you, aside from the undying loyalty, is a shell necklace, if you ever need him- you only need to whisper his name to it and he’ll appear in an instant.

Athena

Cause of Death: Exhaustion

Athena had been prepared to meet with Zagreus- not a curious shade staring back up at her with all the relevance of one of her worshippers.

“What business do you have with me?”

She raises her brow at your gobsmacked expression, watching as you screw your face up before bowing. “Apologies, m’lady, I only happened to bump into your…” you look at where it glows, furrowing your eyebrow, “your orb?”

“Boon.”

You nod your head in understanding before bowing your head again. “Again, my sincerest apologies.”

Luckily, she didn’t smite you, instead asking the question of how you were even talking to her. Getting a shrug from you, you say that maybe it’s because you worshipped her (unofficially, you were never able to make it up to her shrine much to your disappointment) when you were alive- maybe a deeper bond is there compared to someone who had never prayed to her for her protection and guidance.

When she hears this, she’s very interested, pressing you to elaborate further when the Young Prince comes jogging out of the glowing window, waving to you. You slink away, passing the boon to him and bowing to her once again before you disappear into the mass of Shades that choose to wander their new home as well.

After the conversation, you had caught the Goddess’ attention, planting a desire in her to see you again. Even going as far as to write a letter to ask her uncle for a council with you after a week passed of her placing her boon in Tartarus so that maybe you would drift too close to it once again. But each time only the little prince would find them (which she was fine with, but it still left such an unflattering taste of defeat on her tongue each time it wasn’t you). She figured it would be a moot point to send the letter, but it was worth a try.

But she decided to place her boon down once more before she sent it out. Just to try. And this time it worked.

You were the one she saw and she was absolutely delighted- not that she showed it, choosing to keep her stoic and sharp expression. You greet her in a similar way before: awed before bowing your head to her. You continue to go on about how you're happy to see her again and, despite how little you had been buried with, you hoped that she would take this- a broken sword, despite the worn hilt and the deep scars the littered what was left of the flat of the balde; it was still polished (at least what was left of it)- as a proper offering to her for all she had done in your life- even if it truly wasn’t all her doings.

She takes the sword in her hand, holding it high, her eyes shining as she studies it: truly, it was a warrior’s blade. She watches as the history and memories flash in the smooth iron. She remarks that it is a remarkable offering, but she cannot accept it. It feels wrong taking a weapon of a warrior such as yourself.

You smile as her, shaking your head, urging her to take it, for you didn’t need that blade in this afterlife. You had already fought your battles, killing the man who you had been battling with and quelling the rage that had followed you since you were a child for revenge. Eventually, dying from the strain of the fight with a feeling of contentedness.

Athena raises her brow, remarking how that sounded more along the lines of Ares rather than her.

You nod, but say that you couldn’t help but desire her help for she was the goddess attached to your favorite animal. She had to fight the urge to laugh, a shaky smile slipping through as she nods at you. Such a silly thing you are. She decides that she’ll take the sword as a reminder of you, no matter where you should go now. She also decides that you were forming a rather soft cradle in her heart.

After this, she is quick to ask Zagreus about you every chance she gets- not that he minds too much, he tells her about how you’ve been helping him train and you’ve even told him about your life when you were alive (“a general, can you believe that? They’re so young!” Zagreus says as he shows her the new move you taught him). She’s only the slightest bit miffed at hearing that you and Achilles have begun to form a sweet friendship. She’s pleased to hear that his father has been trying to barter with you to get you into Elysium, though she’s a tad confused on the reason you refuse to.

She asks you about it one day and you say that it would take longer to see her and you would prefer to avoid that. It was the only time the goddess has ever had to fight down a blush.

When you get her a bottle of Ambrosia, she’s in pure awe at the huge bottle.

“How did you get one this big?”

You lean against the new sword you managed to get your hands on- something simple and obviously used- you offer her a lopsided grin. “Well, not just any Ambrosia would work, so I decided to try my luck with Lord Theseus and, The Great Bull, Asterius. Took me a couple of tries but I managed to beat them and snag it.”

Athena smiles warmly at it, telling you that she’ll treasure it and think of you every time she takes a drink of it. She realizes in that moment just how important you had become to her, never feeling this… soft for a mortal soul in her life. Her gift to you is a shield and a new sword: the shield bares her symbol of an owl while the sword was ornate with a divine glow. She promises that no matter what they’ll protect you and so will she, you only need to call out her name.

Aphrodite

Cause of Death: A Broken Heart

When the Goddess of Love first sees you- she thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous (of course not as gorgeous as her). The sad look in your eye and the slight frown that rests on your lips makes her almost fall in love right then and there.

“Hello, little one- do you know where the little godling is?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, Lady Aphrodite. I know not where he is.”

She raises her brows, a smile on her face. “How did you know I was Aphrodite, my dear?”

You look up at her, a sudden glint in your eyes has her yearning to see it once again. “No one else could be so breathtaking, my Lady.”

Oh. Oh, she likes you.

She chooses to chatter away with you- despite you mostly listening, adding little things here and there, she feels a strange sense of fullness, like she just ate a full and warm meal for the first time in a very long time, by the time Zagreus arrives. You bid your farewell and she can’t help but follow you with her gaze as your transparent form blends in with the other Shades.

Aphrodite is thrilled the next time she runs into you- or rather you run into her boon. She missed the melancholy look in your eyes, she also doesn’t miss the fact that you’ve come bearing gifts this time: an assortment of colorful flowers rests in your arms and you offer it to her. That glint coming and going like a shooting star as she accepts the offering, holding it up to her nose to take in their sweet scent. How sweet were you to hand her something so delicate.

She asks you where you got them and you remark that you made your way up to Elysium. She’s surprised to hear as such- you didn’t seem like the warrior type. You shake your head, your eyes sweeping low. You weren’t a warrior, far from it- a simple florist if anything. You just drifted until you made it up there and plucked some flowers to make bouquets. You mumble that maybe you’ll be more useful in death.

She tilts her head at the comment, beginning to ask until Zagreus is jogging up to the both of you and it was time for you to leave. She’s a tad annoyed, but reminds herself that the little godling didn’t know- simply trying to break out of this dreary place he calls home and see Olympus in all its glory. She’ll just ask next time.

You gave her another bouquet, this one more beautiful than the last, when she gets the chance to ask you her question. Your eyes pool with a mournful look as you gaze up at her, your hand resting over the place where your heart used to beat as you look to the ground. You explain that you were young when you were wed- just as you were young when you died. You were married off to someone you did not love- someone awful, vile, who beat you down daily just to build you back up so they could laugh when they toppled you over once again. You remark about how you could feel yourself dying little by little, your delicate heart bleeding as your want for life began to dwindle away. You grew sick and you would sit by the window day in and day out, staring out and wondering what your life could have been if you were married to someone you loved. A ghost of a smile blooms on your lips as you look up at her, that glint she oh-so loved twinkling in your eye as you say that you did not die in as much loneliness and pain as you could have; having been making a bouquet dedicated just to her love and sweetness: your Lady Aphrodite who you love, ever so much.

She’s shocked when she realizes the tears that drip down her cheeks, her hand coming to caress your cheek (really your head, she was hulking compared to your small form) with her fingertips. She comments that she would accept every bouquet you made and treasure each flower like it was the one you made for her with your last breaths in the living world.

After that interaction, she comes down a lot more, asking Zagreus if he could bring along her darling florist so that she could talk to you. He always obliges, loving to see the two of you chatter about (well, her chatter about, you usually just listened with a smile on your face as you used the flowers you had plucked into flower crowns for him and Lady Aphrodite). You two become a sort of comfort for him when he’s getting frustrated: seeing your usually melancholy demeanor light up as soon as the goddess appears and in turn the goddess becomes something less vain and more gentle as she speaks to you.

At some point, you’ll probably meet Ares himself- the two never that far from each other, also she adores you, so it only makes sense for you to meet him. He’s honestly a tad unimpressed when you first meet, but when he hears about the heart ache you faced he gains a sense of respect for you, remarking that love is a battle in and of itself and you fought valiantly to keep your ability to love freely (Aphrodite might convince you to have a threesome, I’m not gonna lie, she’s attracted to you on a deep level and she has her trysts with Ares- it’s perfect in her eyes. Though she won’t push you if you don’t desire it).

When you first get her Ambrosia, she’s flabbergasted before it turns into worry for how you got it and the potential danger you were in.

She takes the bottle of gold liquid and the flowers that you had so carefully arranged. Her attention, though, is focused on the said bottle of Ambrosia. “My Darling Florist, how did you get this?” Before you can answer she shoots into a flurry of questions. “Are you alright? Did anything catch you? Hurt you? You don’t seem hurt. Oooh-” she puffs her cheeks out, her gaze sharp- “why did you get me this? It’s dangerous!”

You wait for her to calm down. “I apologize for making you worry, but I simply snuck around and grabbed it from some witches- they didn’t even notice me. And I-” you tap your fingers together, a blush blooming across your face as you look away from the goddess and she decides that she craves seeing that expression on you again- “I thought that you deserved it. It’s a much better offering than my silly bouquets.”

Well, aside from the ‘silly bouquets’ comment (which she corrects you on very quickly), she’s absolutely flattered and it might be the final nail in the coffin that has her falling for you, the little shade in front of her. She decides that you hold a piece of her heart in your translucent hands, though she chooses to keep that information to herself.

Her gift to you is a hairpin that matches hers, though if you don’t have enough hair- she says, you can always pin it to your robe. It’s a blatant claim on her part, but it also helps ease the residual heartache that followed you into death. And, hopefully (a personal hope of her), each time you look at it, you’d fall deeper and deeper in love with her as well.

Artemis

Cause of Death: Arrow to the Heart

She’s confused when she sees you, quick to voice her confusion as well. Also depending on if you're more feminine or masculine (and I don’t mean woman or man, I just mean how you present yourself), she will treat you differently depending. So, for now, we’re gonna go with the more “feminine” option:

“Who’re you?”

You bow. “An honor to meet you, Lady Artemis, I seem to have bumped into that orb on accident. Wasn’t sure what it did and the curiosity got the better of me.”

She hums, she perks when she notices your bow. “You’re a hunter?”

You smile, holding it out to her. “Yes, indeed, my Lady- I prayed to you a lot.” You laughed, adding. “Hoped to join your hunters when I was young.”

She’s quite happy to hear that and begins to chatter along with you. For some reason feeling oddly at ease around you. It’s probably because you were a fellow hunter but she simply can’t help the way she grows an odd sort of… adoration? Something like that, she thinks- for you. She almost laments the fact when Zagreus comes to get the boon.

You nod to him, biding your farewell to the Goddess and passing the boon to the Prince. She doesn’t miss how Zagreus’ eyes shine as you walk away. She almost comments on it but bites her tongue, wanting to observe the prince and the dreamy look that drifts over his features, even as you disappear.

The next time the two of you meet, she asks if she can see you in action. You agree and search up ahead to find something to demonstrate your skills on. You’re quick to find a few Numbskulls. She watches as you take a deep breath, your eyes narrowing on your unassuming targets and your footsteps become silent as you skirt closer to them. You nock an arrow, never looking away. Her eyes gleam with thrumming adrenaline at the way the muscles in your arms tense as you draw the string back. The low groan of the wood barely above a whisper as you wait for them to line up. You hold your breath, releasing the arrow- it goes through all three of them, making them break into dust in a consecutive line, a harrowing scream being wretched from them as they fade from existence. You release the breath you were holding and stand, sending a smile to the young goddess whose eyes shine with stars.

She praises you for your amazing skill and sings of your prowess. You shake your head, looking down at the ground as you argued that you were but a simple bow folk in your living life. Nothing more, nothing less.

She begs to differ! That type of skill only belongs to those of her highest ranking huntresses! She continues to gush about you until Zag comes up and, once again, greets the both of you. That dreamy look coming over his face as he looks at you. She watches as you once again disappear into Tartarus, this time though, after you’re gone, she turns to her cousin and shoots into a tangent about why he had never told her about you before and where did you come from? She has to know!

He answers all of her questions to the best of his abilities but there are even some he doesn’t know about, for example: how you died.

Artemis accepts this and decides that she’ll just ask you the next time the two of you meet.

And, true to her word, she does. She asks you point blank and you can’t help but be slightly taken aback. You laugh softly, leaning on your bow as you begin to recount that you were traversing her forest, as you had done many times before, and noticed fresh foot prints of man. You decided that it would be a good idea to look and you found hunters trying to kill her Golden Stag. You had dove in as quickly as you could, shooting one- the arrow sailing in a clean arch through his wrist before he could let loose his arrow. But as you went to nock another arrow- a searing pain in your chest and heart. You looked down to see blood pooling around your robes, dying the olive green of your cloak a wine red. You remember the last thing you saw was the Golden Stag running away. You smiled telling her that you were happy he got away- you don’t know what you’d do if he had been captured despite your effort.

Artemis suddenly remembers that day: her stag rushing to her and urging her to follow him- he bounded through the forest, frantic and panicked. When they got to a clearing, she was quick to notice the blood and the drag marks of a body. Her stag pressed his nose to the ground sniffing at the pool of blood, his eyes watering and bulbous tears slid down his muzzle. It suddenly made sense. You were the one he was mourning for.

She couldn’t help but grab your hands, resting her forehead against the back of them; thanking you for protecting her stag when she couldn’t. You smile at her, bowing your head to her and thanking her for the countless hunts she went on with you. You pull your hands away from her and hold out your bow to her. She asks what you think you're doing in a watery voice and you say it’s an offering. You couldn’t give much when you were alive and you still can’t give much now, but, this bow- it shall treat her right.

She sniffles as she takes it, trying to hold in tears. She vows to treasure it for all of time as she admires the worn wood.

That day, the two of you became closer as comrades, she would actively come down to say hi to you (and encourage Zagreus to take the leap and court you after she learned of his growing affections for you). The two of you would talk about everything you could think of, explaining how your hunting styles differed or how you could set a trap easier. She had realized that she had never felt this carefree with anyone before. She felt like a child. It felt nice.

When you snag her a bottle of Ambrosia- she’s swaddled in a whirlwind of emotions.

“You… You got this for me?” She asks as she takes the bottle of golden liquid.

You nod, that gentle smiling spreading across your face. “Of course. You had helped me so many times- it is only fair, my Lady-”

“Artemis-” she sniffled, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles- “call me Artemis, my friend.”

She finds you to be a perfect friend- a breath of fresh air from home. She may not feel any romantic feelings towards you, but she still holds you in a dear place in her heart. Her gift to you is a new bow and quiver that will never run out of arrows. The bow is enchanted and you’ll never have to fear it breaking for it will protect you for as long as you exist- in this realm or another.

Ares

Cause of Death: Blood Loss

When Ares first sees you, he is… well- he’s impressed that you stumbled upon his boon, but at the same time… He’s a tad miffed? That you found it?

At the very least he’s condescending as all hell about it:

“What is this? A little lamb came to beg me for power? How foolish. No matter how hard you struggle you will never be much more than some little shade.”

“Ah, sorry, my Lord! Didn’t mean to bump into it!” You hold up the basket in your translucent arms, “I wanted to see if I could find some new ingredients to bake with! I do oh-so miss it, sir.”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

He ends up allowing you to chatter on with him despite his obvious judgement on your, what he calls, “soft mortal hobby” until Zagreus comes to do his daily try of breaking out from the Underworld.

As he watches you drift away (after passing the boon and giving words of good luck to the Prince, who happily takes it), he kinda hopes to see you again

And see you again he does! He literally sees you the next day- night? Whatever, he’s never sure when he drops a boon in there- it’s damn dark-

He’s presented with a basket of treats and your gleeful greeting as you chatter that you found ingredients to make some Baklava and you thought that, maybe, he’d like to try it?

He smiles- cruel and sharp- and asks if you truly think that this is a fit offering for a god such as himself?

You shrug, saying he doesn’t have to eat it if he doesn’t want to

He laughs and takes it and you two are off chattering again: him regaling you with his war stories and you of the ingredients you had (somehow) found down here until Zag shows up, once again, the boon is passed to him (this time along with a slice of the delicious, warm Baklava. Which, he’s confused on what it is but he finds out very quickly that it’s his favorite treat).

The two of you talk a lot, which Ares is pleasantly surprised about, usually he’s the scorn of everyone- not that he cares, it causes conflict and he likes that. But you’re so calm and sweet that he just can’t get a rise out of you. Which, on one hand, pisses him off to no end, but, on the other, it’s such a nice change of pace for him. He’s used to the bloodshed and animosity of battlefields- the iron tinged air that follows after the warriors that traverse those fields. And yet, here you are: a shade that always has a treat for him when you run into him and the smell of warm sweetness wafting after you.

So when he learned exactly how you died- he was absolutely floored.

“How did you die, little baker?” He asked one day, fiddling with his knife, tilting it discreetly so that your reflection was in it.

“Oh!” You smiled sheepishly, glancing away from him and placing the bag of flour (how did you even get that? He’d have to ask you next) back into your basket. “Well- you see, I bled out.”

He raised his eyebrow, suddenly very interested. “How? You’re so…” he tilted his head and flipped his knife so that the blade pointed at him and the hilt pointed at you, he poked your arm with said hilt. “Soft.”

“Well…”

You explain that you had a little brother who had a nasty habit of getting into trouble- he was a good person, just made foolish choices- and this time, it had cost you your life. He had pissed off the wrong person and, well, when the man had attempted to grab your brother when the two of you were out walking the stalls on your break- you did the only thing you could think of: you fought.

Of course it went horribly, you’ve never been in a fight before then and, despite all the work you did with dough, it didn’t help much when the man pulled out a knife and dug it straight into your gut. But, you don’t mind too much- your brother’s alive and well and, from what you understand from asking Lord Hades, he had started to be more aware of himself and who he angered. Which made you super happy and proud of him!

Ares can’t help but feel some sort of pity for you. So much life to be taken so quickly and placed in- wait. Why weren’t you in Elysium?

You’re incredibly confused when Ares suddenly disappears (Aphrodite appearing in his place in the blink of an eye- she greets you happily and asks if you have any of Baklava to share today. You do not but you do have some Loukoumades if she wanted some. She did). You’re even more confused when the Underworld shakes and angry yelling fills the entirety of it for a solid ten minutes before all goes back to normal.

You tell Ares about it the next day and he simply hums. Keeping it to himself that he made a whole scene about you not being in Elysium by popping up and butting heads with Hades, of course he got kicked out. That still doesn’t stop him from sending angry letters that can span anywhere from one word letters (usually containing a curse word) to a 30 page essay on why you should be in Elysium instead of milling about in such unkempt places.

The first time you go out of your way to get him a bottle of Ambrosia is the day that both scares the shit out of him and makes him hate you for giving him mushy feelings.

You came to him in, almost literal, tatters: your greenish, transparent form ripped in places, the few wisps of you following after your torn form like they were tied to a string. You had held it up to him in a basket, a plate of Baklava sitting next to it, along with some other treats. “Lady Aphrodite mentioned that she wanted to try my Baklava, so I made her some! Though the Ambrosia is just for you, my Lord!”

He blinked at you, taking the basket in a delicate hold. He turned it this way and that, his chest feeling… warm? He wanted to grimace at the soft warmth that thrummed through his veins, yet it was replaced with a smile as he held up the gold liquid. “Thank you, little Baker.”

It was the first time he felt something so unexplainably soft: so gentle and warm as it settled somewhere between the bottom of his ribcage and the top of his stomach. He listened as you told him how you had gotten it: with Zagreus’ help (you even got to meet Lord Hermes! It was so amazing! He had scoffed at that) he led you to a room with Ambrosia as the prize and, despite the young prince’s worry, you managed to beat the monsters and collect it, mostly, by yourself.

Ares was so flattered, but he couldn’t help the way that your tattered form made him feel a sort of worry. He waved his hands through the wisps of your body before he snapped his fingers and a small blade appeared: a beautifully constructed blade that was an exact replica of his (albeit much, much smaller). He handed it to you, telling you that you should have a proper weapon if you’re going to go out of your way to fight in his name.

Dionysus

Cause of Death: Alcohol Poisoning

Dionysus, unlike many, is incredibly excited to see you sitting there. He adores mortal souls and can’t help but look at them each time Zag chooses his boons and he has the chance to glimpse at their souls (despite his tendency to let them go completely after they die- he can’t help but wonder about them once in a while).

“Why, hello there! What’s a little thing like you doing strolling up to my boon, hm?”

He can’t help but notice the way your eyes are a tad dull, but he writes that off as the dark of Tartarus since it’s gone as fast as he noticed it. You smile up at him, absolutely beaming at the God of drink and madness. “Hello, Lord Dionysus!”

“Oho, you could tell it was me? What gave it away?”

The two of you laugh, diving into a conversation. He offers you a cup of wine and is put off with how long it takes you to decline it. He almost thought you looked absolutely ravenous as you peered into the deep red liquid. He shrugs it off and continues to chatter with you until his favorite Zagman stumbles upon the two of you. He’s quick to say hi to you and even leans down to ask you… something. Dionysus misses it, but still watches the way you stiffly nod before you pass the boon to the prince and scurry off.

He’s tempted to ask about it, but decides that he should probably ask you himself instead of trying to pry. Mortals didn’t take well to people snooping around their private lives, which he could respect.

The next time he sees you though, he relaxes you into a sort of peaceful lull as he chats with you before he drops the question.

You stare blankly at him, that dark look in your eye coming back and making his skin crawl. You suddenly laugh it off waving your hands as you tell him that a god shouldn’t worry about a little ol’ shade like you.

He doesn’t push for an answer but the question still swirls in his mind, even as you toddle off after his Zagman pops up. He decides that he’ll actually ask the Prince this time around.

He asks him point blank and Zag, despite him being hesitant at first, decides to spill how you died. You had been the black sheep of your family, never truly fitting into the carefully set path that they wanted you to follow- so you found solace in drinking from a young age. It had taken the edge off of everything, Zagreus recounted you telling him. It filled you with a warmth you had been missing all your life and you couldn’t help but indulge more and more in it until it slowly became your own personal poison. Dionysus grimaced, for once feeling a sort of queasiness in the pit of his stomach as Zagreus continued on with your story. So, one day, you had drunk yourself into a deep stupor after an awful argument with your parents. But, this time, you never woke up. Instead you woke up floating in the river of blood- the River of Styx.

Dionysus had nodded after the Prince finished the story, playing with the goblet in his hand and swirling the red wine that resides in it. He offers a bitter smile to Zag and bids his farewell (of course leaving a boon of his choice with the lad) popping off back to Olympus.

The next time he runs into you, he asks if you’re feeling alright- if you want to talk. You blink at him, confused at first until realization dawns you. You bite your lip, looking down. He’s quick to assure you that you didn’t have to talk about anything- you two could just have a good time like always. You tell him that you’d like that, not yet ready to face your past. He nods, immediately telling you about an embarrassing story about Ares and how much of a lightweight he was which had you letting out an ugly snort along with your loud cackles.

The god begins to take it upon himself to have you smiling more and maybe remedy those dark clouds that appear in your eyes once in a while. He’s pretty observant despite being piss drunk half the time, it also helps that he’s very intune to your emotions for some odd reason, so he’s quick to pick up on when you feel down or your having something the equivalent to a relapse. He has you drink just a little bit from his goblet since it’s better than quitting cold turkey. And that little bit is always enough to quench your thirst and calm you down. You’ve been needing less and less of it as the days (nights?) pass by.

The first time you get Dionysus Ambrosia is the same day that he almost swears that he’ll marry you. He’s quick to grow emotional with the sheer fact that you went out of your way to get something so special for him, his face almost splitting with how wide of a smile he has on his face.

“You got this for me, man?” He says, holding up the bottle in his hand and inspecting it like it’s a precious jewel. “You know this stuff is hard to come by, super hard.”

You nod, the clouds far from your eyes now. “I had to thank you some way and punching a couple of Shades to get my hands on that was worth it.”

“You punched people for me?”

“Of course.”

He fights the urge to squeal and pops the top off, summoning another cup and pouring some in it. “Here’s to us!” He says as he hands you the cup.

He’s honestly never had so much fun just existing with one person. After that he’s never far from you, one usually not seen without the other around- even despite the Underworld not being Dionysus’ favorite place, he can’t help but be willing to venture down there to see you in person (he’s been trying to convince his wonderful Uncle Hades to let you come up with him to Olympus for a little bit- he’s even got his dad and (other) Uncle in on it. Hades officially hates all of them). His gift to you is a matching goblet that will supply you any beverage of your choice. It also has the double power to protect you from all that wishes to harm you, but you’ll learn that in due time. It’ll be more fun that way, Dionysus muses.

Hermes

Cause of Death: Falling

Usually, Heremes wouldn’t have taken the time of day to chatter mindlessly with a shade. But, it was a different story when that shade summoned him through bumping into his boon- now it’s just interesting!

“Eh? Who’re you? It’s kinda strange for a shade to be here and not my Cos, huh? Did something happen to him? You his stand in or something? That’d be kinda funny because you don’t seem like his stand in- not buff enough or something like that.”

You blink slowly taking in the words of his mile a minute speech as he continues to prattle on. You take a seat in front of the quick mouthed god, getting yourself comfortable as he flutters about and chatters. Not like you minded- he filled in the places where you couldn’t with steady conversation. You nod to some of the quips he makes, just to show you were still listening.

He decides then and there that he likes you a lot and that you should meet Charon. As soon as Zagreus pops up to collect the boon- he grabs the back of your robes and goes zooming off with you in tow. You wave to the panicked prince, allowing yourself to be dragged around. He continues to chatter on and on, only taking a break when he reaches the Boatman (who was not expecting a Shade to be accompanying the God of Messengers). He sets you down, tries to introduce you two to each other- realizes he doesn’t know your name, so you end up telling them your name- and then is quick to say goodbye, after he gives a scroll to Charon, and shoots off.

You end up staying with Charon after learning a bit more about the quiet boatman and Hermes is quite pleased when he realizes that he’d be seeing you around a lot more. He’s quick to flutter about you and chatter for a few quick seconds before zipping off. You wave at him.

The process repeats for a while before he finally takes a moment to really sit with you, Charon having gone to pick up more souls and lead them down the River of Styx. He chatters on aimlessly, asking little questions here and there before he decides to ask the million dollar question: “How did you die?”

You blink slowly as him before murmuring that you fell from a very high place, you head cracking open on the rocks at the bottom and now here you are. He asks why you were messing about on a high place, as that seemed to be something most mortals avoided doing. You explained that there was a kitten stuck in an old root on the ledge and you couldn’t just leave her. So, you crawled onto the branch and put her back onto safe ground, but the root gave way and then you went tumbling to your doom.

Hermes is surprisingly quiet throughout the entire exchange until you reach the end and he says: “you’re a real bleeding heart under all that quiet, huh?” You nod solemnly and he laughs, pulling you into a side hug. How could something with such a fleeting life be so selfless with it? He squeezes you harder before he stands up and bids you farwell, shooting off once again. And, again, you wave as he goes.

He grows attached to you quickly afterwards, bringing you little things that might help make you more comfortable down in the Underworld. Of course Charon is there to keep you company which he’s happy about- and he voices that exact thought to the boatman, who just grumbles out a long: uuuuaagghhh as his reply. He pats his arm and says that he knew he’d get it.

When you manage to get your hands on a bottle of Ambrosia- he’s completely blind sided that he almost trips on his own feet. His face flushing a deep red as he takes the offered bottle.

“How’d- how’d you get this?” His speech is all jumbled and jumpy, though he tries to keep the giddy excitement bubbling in his stomach as bay.

“I saved up my coin,” you said, nodding to Charon who nods back. “And bought it from Charon. I would’ve fought for it, but I’m no warrior.”

A smile splits across his face and the wings on the side of his head flutter. He’s quick to scoop you up and hug you, floating up with you as he does.

Hermes is an absolute giddy mess with your offering, not sure if he should kiss you or simply remain holding you. He had a special place for you before but this just solidifies his adoration for you. His gift to you is a pair of boots with wings on the side of them- an exact replica of his (in your size! Somehow-). He promises that they’ll help you get anywhere you want quickly, also the two of you match! How cute is that?

[thismaydestroyme]

Making out with h after the show to calm him down

author's note: i’m so sorry it took me forever to write this. i literally just saw this. i hope you like it.

word count: 1658

All day Harry has been too jolly. He’s happy the majority of the time, but today is a whole different level of happiness. You were worried after the first night of Chicago that Harry would be sad or feel disparaged after everyone in the pit were holding signs that said, “Justice for TBSL.” Harry knew all of his fans including you would want him to sing that song. However, you were wrong because he woke up feeling happy and jazzy.

**

You’re in Harry’s backstage room preparing for his show tonight. He’s set to be on stage in 15 minutes. Harry demanded you should be in his room with him before he goes on stage because he told you it helps him with his anxiety. Of course you couldn’t say no to him. He’s Harry fuckin’ Styles for christ sake.

“I have a surprise for youuuu.” Harry said all smirky. You’re on his lap with your legs around him so you too can be face to face.

“A surprise for mommy? I should’ve known. You were a bit cherry today.” You said giving him a quick peck on his lips. He shakes his head because he disapproves how quick the kiss was. You raised your eyebrows to signify he needs to stop his mini fit. Harry leans over to have his forehead on yours. You shake your head a little bit, not enough to detach his forehead from yours.

“You’re being a tease.” He whispered. Harry loves having this moment with you before he has to go on stage. He loves performing. The stage is where he feels he can truly connect with his fans and interact with them. Deep down you feel that’s the only reason why he makes music. Sometimes it’s for him but overall it’s for them. It's for them to interpret their own feelings and emotions. Harry is just there to guide them. Harry is their vacuum.

“How am I being teased? You just told me you have a surprise for me, but you’re not telling me.” You said nudging his head back so he can look at you. Harry opens his eyes and just stares at you. He gives you a toothy grin.

“It’s a surprise baby.”

**

Harry is prancing around the stage with a rainbow boa around his neck. He looks like a goddess. A fan threw Harry a sunglasses which reminded you of Elton John because how could you not think of Elton when you see glasses like that. Harry puts the sunglasses on and the stadium started to loose their fucking shit. Harry grins at the fans reaction. You knew that would boost Harry fuckin’ ego. Fucker.

Harry took the boa off his neck and gave it to a fan which they all started fighting for.

“Relax. Relax. There’s more where that came from.” Harry said to the microphone and that made everyone scream. You brought your hands to your ears. You regretted not taking the headphone Harry told you to wear. You thought you could handle it, but these Chicago shows are on a whole different level. These Chicago fans are menace.

The band starts to play and that prompts you to bring your hands down from your ears. You know that sound from anywhere because that’s one of your favorite songs off this album. You didn’t believe it because Harry was serious about not playing this song on tour.

“Don't blame me for falling. I was just a little boy.” Harry looked in your direction and gave you a wink and went back to serenading the crowd. You feel the entire stadium shake beneath your feet. Was this Harry's surprise? To sing “To be so lonely?” You stepped forward to have a better fucking look at your man who’s still wearing that bedazzled sunglasses. Harry is swaying his hips back and forth giving the people what they wanted and giving them a front row ticket to “Horntown Harry.”

You arrogant son of a bitch.

**

After Harry kissed his fans goodbye he ran backstage full speed. You decide to meet him back in his room. You got there first, surprisingly because you’re wearing your Doc boots and you’re starting to feel blisters starting to form. At this point you’re practically waddling. Harry burst in the room finding you in front of his makeup vanity.

“Baby.” Harry said out of breath.

You push yourself off from the vanity and walk towards him. “Mmmh was that my surprise baby?” You said finally in reach where you can push back his loose curls that came undone during his performance.

“Yeah. Did you like it mommy?” He whispered, pushing his face against your hand.

“Mommy liked it very much. So did your fans.” You said grabbing his chins so he can look directly in your eyes. You look down and you see he’s getting a hard on. “Is my baby horny?” You grip his chin harder. He let out a groan and nodded his head. “Baby, I need words.”

“Yes mommy. I need you.” He said and you could tell he’s entering his subspace. You rather him not slip into that headspace because you guys will be leaving this venue in twenty minutes and when Harry enters that space. He hits fucking hard. “Well baby. I think you should lock that door so I can take care of you. Don’t you agree?” You pout rubbing the small area of his chin.

“Yes.”

“Yes to whom?”

“Yes mommy.” Harry whimpered.

“That’s my good boy. Go lock the door.” Harry bolted from your gasp so he could lock the door. You turn around to walk to the small couch that’s across from the door. You spread your legs open. Harry looks at you and you notice that he licked his lips.

“Don’t be shy. Come sit on mommy’s lap.” You pat your hand on your thigh. Harry immediately walks over to you. He spreads his legs so he his legs are on either side of you. You place your hands on his waist rubbing small circles with your thumbs.

“Have I been good?” Harry whispered looking at you with his green doe eyes. You lick your lip and let out a sigh. You love seeing Harry like this. Knowing that you’re the only one who gets to see him in this way. He’s your own personal fucktoy.

“Oh baby, you've been so good to me. You’ve been so good that I believe you deserve a treat.” You said. Harry perked up and you could see all the excitement in his eyes.

“Really?”

“Yes really,” You giggled. It’s like his own version of Christmas day. Being able to pick his own toys out. “What would you like, baby?” You said leaning forward to plant a kiss on his neck. Harry lets out a soft moan. Harry leans his head back so you can have more room to assault his neck. You made sure you left some marks on his neck. You realize Harry didn’t say anything so you stopped.

“Mommy. Why did you stop?” Harry whined.

“Because you didn’t answer my question baby.” You gave him a smirk still rubbing on his waist.

“Ummm…” Harry is trying to think of something. You can see wheels turning in his head, and you couldn’t help but to get excited.

“I want you to use your vibrator on me like you did last week. I came so hard just by the vibrator on my balls. Can we do that again?” Harry said all excitedly.

You couldn’t help but smile at your pretty boy. “Of course we can, darling. But can you give mommy a kiss?” You pouted. Harry grabs the back of your hair and pushes you forwards. You both moan out loving the taste of each other’s mouths. You feel his tongue trancing the bottom of your lip waiting for you to let him in. When you let him in he consumes your mouth. All you could taste from was his minty gum he was chewing before he got on stage. Harry starts to grind on you so you remove your hands from his waist so you can grope that ass he’s been flauting the entire night. The kiss got so heated and you too couldn’t get enough from each other.

Harry’s hands are now on your back and he unclasped your bra. He went under your bra wires so he could squeeze that voluptuous double D’s you took pride in,

“Mommy I nee-”

“We leave in five mintuies.” Jeff shouted while he was banging on the door. Harry got scared and hid his face between your neck. You toss your head back and annoyed how Jeff basically cock blcoked you. You remember Harry is still in his subspace so you remove your hands from his ass and bring it to his back so you gently rub his back.

“It’s okay baby. It was Jeff.” You whispered, still staring at the tile on the ceiling.

You feel something wet on your neck and before you could even question it you hear Harry sniffling. “Baby are you okay? Talk to me.” You try forcing Harry to look at you but he wouldn’t budge so you went back to soothing him, rubbing his back up and down. You both were silent hoping Harry would come back to you.

After a couple of minutes Harry moves his face from your neck and stares at you. You noticed that his eyes are red and there’s some streaks of tears on his face. “Are you okay bubs? What’s wrong?” You whispered, having your hand on his cheeks soothing his heated face.

“I just miss you. We can’t play anymore.” He sniffled rubbing his achy eyes with his hand.

“Honey, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Never. We can always play. We can play some more when we get back to our hotel.” You said still soothing his face.

“Promise?” Harry whispered.

“I promise.”

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Do You Trust Me?

Pairing: Arvin Russel x Reader

Summary: When Lenora finds out she’s pregnant and another girl turns up pregnant and murdered, Arvin and Y/N take matters into their own hands. 

Warnings: Violence, Murder, Sexual Assualt, Teen Pregnancy, Cursing, Mentions of Rape, Bullying, Dark Religious Themes, Talk of Abortion  DO NOT READ IF THESE BOTHER YOU (Very similar things to the movie)

Word Count: 7000

A/N: So Lenora doesn’t die in this but that part is instead replaced by the Reaster girl being found dead (I named her Jeanette... I didn’t remember if they gave her a first name)

A/N 2: I know I’m writing characters that exist already but like I feel like I’m going to Hell for writing this. Any other Christians feel that way about liking the movie?

___________________________________

Secrets were hard to keep in such a small town as Coal Creek. Everyone knew everyone and if one person saw something, the whole town knew about it by next morning. That’s why Lenora had kept her secrets with Reverend Teagarden from all except you. Other than Arvin, you were her only friend in the world. It felt nice to have another girl to talk to because as much as she loved her brother, it was nothing like having a sister. Though you weren’t related, just friends from school, it was the closest thing she had. 

The two of you had bonded over the harassment from boys at school. Unlike Lenora, you had no problem dishing back threats and abuse. You were more like Arvin in that sense, not always terrified that the Lord was going to smite you for defending yourself. You and Arvin were close too because of it. 

The day you two met, he’d gone to pick Lenora up from school one day to find the two of you cornered out back by Dinwoodie and his boys. They called Lenora ugly, as per their daily routine, and said they wouldn’t fuck her with a bag on a her head. Tommy Matheson had a paper bag held over her face, holding her down while she squirmed. 

“There ain’t nothing alive that would willingly let you touch them, Dinwoodie!” You spat while Orville Buckman held you back, his arms wrapped around your body, keeping your arms . pinned to your side, “You’re a vile thing. Hell, I’m sure a dead pig wouldn’t let you fuck it.” 

Dinwoodie spun around and blew a hard smack across your face, “Lenora here ain’t much different than that. But you on the other hand, I’d take you whether you wanted it or not. I like a girl with a dirty mouth. And lucky you, I won’t make you wear the bag.” 

He fisted your hair and pulled your face close to him, trying to force a kiss from you but spat in his face, a massive drip of saliva landing in his eyes and smaller particles spewed across his lips. “You nasty bi-” Gene Dinwoodie reared back, ready to hit you again when suddenly Arvin came out of nowhere, sending a solid blow straight into Gene’s face, sending him flying to the ground with a crack. 

Orville let you go to go after Arvin and Tommy did the same to Lenora. You ran over to her and pulled the bag from her head, seeing evidence of her silent tears all over her face. Once you saw she was okay though, you ran over to help Arvin, who had found himself dragged to the ground by the three boys. Lenora got up too, screaming for them to stop. 

“Stop!” You yelled, pulling at Gene’s arms to try and get him to stop kicking Arvin. He shoved you back harshly by the chest but you caught yourself, returning with a sharp blow to his face with your locked fist. 

The enraged boy smacked you even harder than before, sending your ass to the ground with thud that you knew would leave a bruise. Your hands and knees got skinned up as you skid slightly on the pavement. Lenora kept pulling on the boys too, begging them to stop but to no avail. 

“Ha, sister fucker!” The three of them called out to Arvin before leaving the three of you alone. 

“Are you okay?” You asked the boy that you hadn’t met before, who was curled up in a ball on the ground and holding his stomach. He groaned in response, trying to push himself up but requiring your assistance. “Thank you for what you did back there. I’m sorry this happened.” 

He stretched, flinching at the slight movement. He sent a small nod towards you but then turned towards Lenora, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, Lenora.” Words couldn’t describe the guilt he felt for allowing this to happen. 

“It-it’s okay, Arvin. It wasn’t that bad this time. Y/N here took the brunt of it, unfortunately.” Lenora turned to you, “‘M sorry about that, by the way. You didn’t need to step in for me.” 

You had stood up about the same time Arvin did, brushing as much of the dirt off your bleeding and scraped up knees as you could without flinching, “Those guys are ass holes, Lenora. I did need to.” 

Lenora piped up, “Oh, um, Y/N, this is my brother Arvin. Arvin, this is Y/N. She just moved here.” 

“It’s nice to meet ya.” You greeted the boy with a pained smile, your face hurting from the blows you’d just taken. 

Arvin nodded, “You too.” He paused for a moment, “Can I give you a ride home? I don’t need them boys catching up with you again on the ride home. Besides, your face is getting mighty red. I might have something back at my house to keep it from bruising up too bad.” 

You looked over at Lenora, sending her a questioning look, like asking if you could trust this boy who had just come to your rescue, which may have seemed like an odd inquiry to have since he just tried to take on the guys harassing you, but your encounters with boys in this town hadn’t gone all too well thus far. The girl looked unfazed though with almost a hint of excitement that you could possibly be going to her home. 

“Um, yeah, I’d like that. Thank you.” You tucked a messy strand of hair behind your ear before looking back up at Arvin to see that he was already staring at you. 

That was months ago. You’d gotten settled into Coal Creek by now and the abuse from Dinwoodie had stopped entirely after Arvin had gone full vigilante to beat the shit out of them all. Speaking of Arvin, the day he saved you and Lenora, he asked you on a date and the pair of you had been going steady ever since. If there was ever a couple to not be fucked with, the town had learned it was you two. 

This weekend, you’d gone over to the Russel’s home for supper at their Grandma’s invitation. It was delicious, as usual, as that woman had the God-given ability to produce miracles in that kitchen. As you all finished up, Uncle Earskell asked Arvin to help with something upstairs so he left without a second thought to help his kin. 

Lenora had been looking at you funny all night, as if trying to catch your eye. After helping Grandma (which she insisted you call her as well) clean up supper, Lenora pulled you off to the side, “Y/N, let’s go on a walk. I need to tell you something.” 

The weight in her eyes told you how serious this was so you just nodded, “Yeah, yeah, of course. Let’s go.” 

She grabbed a lantern on her way out the door and towards the barn. It was already dark, despite only being seven in the evening. Lenora led you out there and then closed the door before sitting on the hay. “So what is it?” You asked nervously. Normally, you would have made a joke but something told you that this wasn’t a joking matter. Anxiety buzzed all around her. 

“Y’know the new pastor? Preston Teagarden?” Lenora began, wringing her hands together and beginning to hide under her long red hair. 

You nodded, the question having an obvious answer as everyone, including your God fearing Mama and Aunt, went to church every Sunday. “What about ‘im?” 

“Well… um… y’see. We… we had sex.” She whispered the last word like it was the dirtiest thing she could fathom saying. 

Your eyes blew wide and your mouth dropped open, “You what?” You whispered back in shock. 

“Shh!” She held her finger up to her lips, “He said that to bear yourself as God made his first children was to truly turn yourself to Him.” 

You were having a difficult time processing this new information. Arvin and you had both agreed that there was something off about that new preacher since the first day you met him but you wouldn’t have guessed it was anything like this. “Lenora, that makes no sense. God sees everything. He’s already seen you in your birthday suit. He doesn’t need the preacher to see it too.” 

Part of you felt bad for the way you were reacting, especially when you saw the way your best friend shrunk back a little in embarrassment. Clearly, he’d manipulated her into getting what he wanted, using her faith as a weapon for her sexual exploitation, but of course she didn’t see it like that because his words were specifically tailored to get her to believe him. Now as you said these things, though, it was becoming clearer to Lenora that she had been manipulated. 

“That’s not all…” She continued. 

You held her arm gently, “What is it?” 

Her eyes got wide with fear, “You can’t tell anyone okay? You gotta promise.” Her hand covered yours, gripping tightly to ensure that you grasped the severity of the situation. 

You swallowed hard, honestly scared by her reactions to whatever was happening. This wasn’t like sweet, simple, calm Lenora. Nonetheless, you nodded, “I promise.” 

“I think I’m pregnant.” 

You actually choked, “What? Are you sure?” This was bad. This was so bad. 

Her eyes began to well up with guilty tears, “Yeah, I am. I was pretty sick a few weeks back. Couldn’t eat nothin’ cause I kept throwin’ up. And I haven’t had that time of the month in  two months.” 

“Two months, Lenora? Shit…” You whispered, leaning back against the hay. Even before moving to Coal Creek, you came from a small town in Pennsylvania where this had happened to a few girls. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon in that particular town. Your daddy had been a doctor before he died so you’d seen more than a few cases of teenage pregnancy. For Lenora, though, this was practically unheard of. Good Christian girls don’t have babies before marriage. “Did you tell ‘im?” 

Lenora’s breath shook, “Yeah ‘nd he said I was crazy and delusional. Just imaginin’ things. Said we never did nothin’ in the car. Then he said that I had to get rid of the baby or I’d be branded as the town whore with a bastard son. Even said it’d kill Grandma from the shame of it all if anyone found out.” 

“That is not true, Lenora. None of it. You’re not a whore and it would be best for everyone if that baby inside you was a bastard. That disgusting man isn’t fit to walk the Earth we live on, let alone be a father.” It felt like the blood was rushing through your veins with full force, internally panicking about the situation. This was a big deal and, unfortunately, you weren’t sure if Lenora was emotionally capable enough to handle it alone. She’d always been quiet and lonely and an easy target for cruel people. “Are you keepin’ it?” 

Her breathing shuddered as if she’d started crying, “I can’t kill the baby inside me and go on livin’ with that. But I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared,Y/N.” Lenora threw her arms around you and you held her as her body rattled against yours. 

“Shh, you got me, alright? Me and Arvin. And I’m sure Grandma wouldn’t be ashamed if she knew what Teagarden did to you.” You insisted but she shook her head. 

“You must think I’m stupid for believin’ that man.” She sat up wiping her eyes with her sleeve. 

“No! I do not think you’re stupid at all. That monster took advantage of you, told you things to make you believe that his dirty, lustful thoughts were vindicated by the Lord. And he’s going to fucking pay.” You were furious now as you began to stand up, unsure of exactly what you’d do but you knew you were gonna do it. 

Lenora grabbed your arm and pulled you back down, “No! Wait! Please-” 

“What’s going on here?” Arvin opened the door with a concerned face. 

Both you and Lenora jumped at his sudden intrusion but were even more nervous about what he’d heard. 

“How much did you hear?” Lenora asked her brother, rubbing her hands on her thighs. 

He walked in and slammed the door shut behind him, kneeling down in front of you and his sister, “That someone took advantage of you and Y/N was gonna make ‘im pay. Now what happened? What’s going on?” 

This was one of the things that you’d always loved about Arvin. He had this protective nature over what he loved, ready to do anything to keep his loved ones safe, whether that was his sister, his girlfriend, or his grandmother. His brown eyes held so much sincerity and understanding for his younger sister but also fear for what had been done to her. 

When she didn’t respond right away, Arvin looked over to you with questioning desperate eyes but you chewed your lip, knowing that it wasn’t your secret to tell. Instead, you looked back over to Lenora sadly and nudged her slightly. 

“C-can you say? Please? I don’t wanna say it again.” Lenora begged you quietly, avoiding eye contact with Arvin. Though you could never truly know she felt, you tried to understand all the emotions that must have been running through her. 

Arvin met your eyes, begging you to tell him what had happened. “She’s pregnant. It’s that Reverend Teagarden’s baby. Said that he told her that the only way to get close to God was to show him her in the form of Adam and Eve. But now he’s saying that she’s delusional and that it’s not his.” 

Arvin’s temper flamed inside his chest. That explained the Reverend’s intense sermon about delusion this last Sunday. Nobody did this to his sister and got away with it. “I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking ki-” 

“Arvin please-” Lenora tried to calm him but it was a weak attempt, still trying to stay quiet so Grandma wouldn’t notice.

“No, I’ll end his life for what he did to you.” 

You watched your boyfriend reel around, hands holding onto his hat. He was livid, understandably so. 

Lenora wasn’t quite sure why she wanted to protect Preston Teagarden after what he’d done to her but she thinks it’s that she was more concerned for her brother. Besides, no matter what Teagarden had done, did he really deserve to die for it? 

“We don’t have to hurt him,” You spoke to your boyfriend, “If she wants, she can just have the baby and we’ll help raise it.” 

“But he said it’s not his and that I’ll just be considered some no-good whore. He said it’ll kill Grandma. I don’t want to kill Grandma.” She was almost crying again at the thought of their grandmother ending up six feet under because of the shame of having her as a granddaughter. 

“He said that?!” Arvin nearly yelled. 

“But what if he’s right?” Lenora thought out loud, “I couldn’t live with myself if I got rid of the baby but I can’t risk killing Grandma. Maybe it would be better if I were dead-” 

“No!” You and Arvin both said firmly in unison. You held her hand tight and Arvin knelt down again. 

He swiped his thumb comfortingly across the back of her hands, “Don’t you ever say that. We have both already lost too damn much to lose each other too, ya hear me?” 

Lenora nodded, tears falling down her cheeks when she closed her eyes. 

“Why can’t we just ruin him? You can have the baby and let everyone know what he did. Everyone will know that he’s the father and it’ll destroy his life.” Arvin suggested, all of the miserable ways this could end for the man twisting his heart in sadistic pleasure. 

You shook your head though, “No, they won’t. It’s different for girls in small towns like this. Doesn’t matter what happened, you’re still the dirty no good whore, even if you were raped. The man is treated like a victim for even having the inkling of an accusation brought up.” After a few minutes, you suggested, “Why don’t we run off. We’ll all go to a new town, somewhere where nobody knows none of us. We’ll tell ‘em that your husband died in the war, leaving you with the baby. I’ll go with. I’ll help you raise it.” 

She shook her head, “But what about Grandma and Uncle Earskell?” She did have a point. They were both getting on in age and would need more help than they already did. 

You all sat in silence for a few moments, brainstorming ideas of what to do. Eventually, Arvin looked at his sister, “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”

The three of you went back to the house for the rest of the night, knowing that everyone would be getting suspicious if you were out any longer. 

The three of you kept the secret quiet, barely even speaking about it to each other. You’d been doing as much research on babies in the libraries at school, which earned you quite a few disapproving looks from people who assumed that you and Arvin were expecting. You were serious when you said that you had every intention of helping Lenora and so was Arvin. 

Weeks had gone by with relatively no news. Well, that’s what the town thought at least. After finding out about what the Reverend had done to Lenora, Arvin had told you about his plan to watch him. 

The pair of you had spent several afternoons staked out near the church, watching as he went to the place of worship and then left at night. But then you started noticing a frequent visitor. Jeanette Reaster. The pair would drive off to a little secluded field and, sure enough, Teagarden would have his way with her. Though you couldn’t hear what was said, it was clear that they’d been praying beforehand before she submitted to him fully. Now, you knew Jeanette Reaster and, much like Lenora, she was the last person you’d imagine having premarital sex for the fear of being struck down by God. Whatever this man had said to them must have been real convincing. 

“Piece of shit…” Arvin leaned forward against the steering wheel of his car while you sat beside him. You both watched on as the Reverend laid the girl down and began his assault of falsely “holy” acts. 

For respect of Jeanette, you both looked away during the actual act but when you saw her ride off, Teagarden got out of his car, a bunch of fabric in his hands and sniffed them as he watched her. “That fucking perv. How does nobody know about this?” You asked, disgusted. Reaster was a good girl. She didn’t deserve this abuse. 

“We know about it.” Arvin said, putting the car in reverse, “And that’s enough.” Less than a week later, word got out that Jeanette Reaster had run off. Grandma had told Arvin and Lenora that her mother had said to her privately that Jeanette left a note saying that she was pregnant but the father refused to believe that he was the father. To spare her family the shame, she ran away and begged them to just say that they had no idea what had happened to her. That’s what her parents intended to do for their daughter’s sake but had entrusted Grandma with the secret just so they had somebody to talk to about it.

The day after she disappeared, they found her body on the side of the road just a few towns over. Nobody had any idea of what had happened except for you and Arvin. Both of you were convinced that Teagarden had murdered her to keep his secret from getting out. 

The anger that was held between you and Arvin both was unparalleled. In part, you both felt partially responsible for her death. If only you’d said something, maybe you could have saved her. But neither of you even knew she was pregnant. That monster did to her exactly what he had probably planned to do to Lenora. 

“We have to set things right.” Arvin said, sitting in his car one night with you in the woods, “That girl is dead and I can’t help but feel like it’s on me.” His head hung sadly, the weight of another death weighing on his heart. 

You shifted sideways in the seat, your jeans rubbing against the vinyl car seats. You placed a hand gingerly on his cheek, “This is not your fault. This is the evil of a wicked man.” 

“A girl is dead, Y/N. He got her pregnant and murdered her. He got Lenora pregnant and tried to convince her she was crazy. He’s taking advantage of innocent girls out here and then tying up the loose ends.” Arvin sat there, so much hurt behind his brown eyes. Then an idea dawned on him, “Do you trust me?” 

The question took you off guard and it showed but you answered honestly, “Yes.” 

** 

Perhaps being quieter in church was for the best for this particular scenario. You’d never been as religious as the rest of your family or the rest of the town, for that matter. But this morning, you found yourself on your knees by your bedside. “Lord, please forgive the things that I am about to do. Please understand that I do this with the best intentions of protecting every other girl to cross paths with Preston Teagarden and to avenge the death of Jeanette Reaster. I pray that you please forgive Arvin as well as I know he is a man with nothing but good and love in his heart. In Jesus’ holy name, amen.” 

Almost on cue, your mom knocked on the door to see you on your knees, “Arvin is out front waiting for you.” She announced with a warm smile, noticing your outfit, “You look nice, sweetie! Since when do you clean up all cute for that boy?” She teased, a loving smile on her face as you smoothed out your yellow dress that hung just below your knees. The sleeves were tight and went about halfway down your biceps. It was far from revealing with a neckline that stopped just below your collarbones but it still was tight enough to accentuate the shape of your concealed breasts. A brown belt was tied around your waist, showing off your figure. 

“Yeah, well I figured that for once I might as well dress up and do something nice.” The lie slipped out smoothly despite the racing of your heart in your chest. 

She pulled you in for a hug, “Well you tell Arvin that I want you back by nine tonight! I’ll be going over to Mrs. Hadderson’s for quilting today, just so you know, in case I’m not home when you get back.” 

You picked up your bag and pulled her into a side hug, “Alright, Mama. Love you!” You hollered, running out the door. Arvin was dressed normally, just his blue jeans and t-shirt, but he still looked great as always. 

When you slid into the passenger seat of his car, he perked up and looked over at you, “Not used to seeing you like this on any day but Sunday.” He attempted to joke but found it difficult considering what the two of you were planning on doing. 

After driving a ways down the road, he asked, “Are you sure you want to be a part of this? Because I can drop you off with Lenora and I’ll take care of this myself.” 

Looking over at him to see his eyes scanning your face for signs of hesitation, you placed your hand on his leg, “I’m not letting you do this alone.” 

Not too deep down, Arvin felt terrible for allowing you to partake in this. Death had always seemed to follow him wherever he went; he didn’t want you to be stuck with the same curse. The two of you developed a plan but Arvin had created a backup just in case you decided you didn’t want to partake, not that he would blame you. He was terrified beyond belief himself but he’d decided that for the sake of every other girl in this town and any other one’s Teagarden had harmed in the past, he had to do this. 

The only thing making him feel remotely at peace with your involvement was the fact that you weren’t actually doing the killing. You were the diversion, he was the trigger man. Arvin sighed, relenting to the fact that you were in on this, “Did you bring the rope?” He asked, eyes flicking over to you and your bag between glances at the road that moved beneath the wheels of his car. 

You dug around in your little bag and pulled out a small length of rope, a weapon chosen for the lack of clean up. “Got it. You got the gun?” 

Arvin pulled his denim jacket back just enough to show the handle of the Luger that once belonged to his father. This weapon was chosen for its reliability. Once you guys started, you had to finish otherwise he’d tell everyone. 

Before you knew it, the tires were coming to a crunching halt on the rocky sideturn just around the corner from the church. A sudden wave of nausea came over you and you had to breathe deeply to settle it down. “You okay?” Arvin asked, reaching out for you. 

You swallowed hard, “Yeah.” Sweat began to bead up on your brow as a million different images of what could happen in the next few minutes ran through your head. 

Arvin watched as you zoned out on the dashboard and he knew exactly what was going on in your mind. It was the same inner conflict he’d had this morning before picking you up, when he first pocketed the gun.  “Whatever happens today, I need you to know that I love you Y/N.” 

You sucked a quick breath in. Neither of you had ever used the L-word before. Arvin was scared to because he’d lost so many people and the fewer people he loved, that fewer people he could lose. You had just never loved anyone romantically before and were too terrified that maybe you’d say it too early or think you felt it when you really didn’t. With Arvin, though, you knew it. “I love you too, Arvin.” You leaned forward and kissed him on the lips deeply, wanting nothing more than to stay against his skin for the rest of your lives. But, unfortunately, there was something you had to do first. 

“Remember, just get him to bring you to the field. I will be there waiting. I won’t let anything happen to you, you hear?” Your faces were close together, so close your foreheads almost touched, as he went over the plan one last time, trying to make sure that you knew that you were safe as long as he was around. 

“I know.” You gave him a small, reassuring smile, though it was far from a grin of actual happiness.

Arvin watched as you got out of the car, leaving the small bundle of rope behind, and walked down the dirt driveway to the church. You looked just like someone that pervert would fall head over heels for. There was an innocent sway to your hips and the way you held your bag close to your body screamed insecurity, but the kind of a young girl who doesn’t know how beautiful she is. The funny thing was that this wasn’t something totally out of character for you. Sure, you had a mouth and fist that could dish as much as it could take, and yeah, you and Arvin had been together for almost half a year, but there was still a youthful innocence to you. There was still a brightness in your eyes and a pep in your step, one that hadn’t been beat down by the tragedies of life yet. It was one of the things that Arvin found most attractive about you but it was also one of the things that Preston Teagard would as well. 

The doors of the church were cracked open just slightly when you approached and you could see the Reverend sitting in the pews, reading his Bible, through the gap. Taking one less final deep breath, you pressed the door open and stepped in, the heels of your little white chucks padding against the hardwood. Teagard turned around at the sound, “Why, hello, there.” He greeted warmly. It disgusted you how this man could act no different after knowing what he’d just done but the worst monsters were human. 

“Uh, hi there, Reverend. I’m sorry to bother but I just needed to talk to you about something.” You began, accentuated your Appalachian drawl while trying to make your voice sound as young and innocent as you could. 

He patted the pew beside him, “Well, my child, you’ve come to the right place. That’s what I’m here for. Now, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” 

Skin crawling as you walked, you forced your feet to move towards the man and sit beside him. Right away, his arm stretched behind your shoulders as he sat uncomfortably close. At first, you avoided eye contact, “Well, um, you see, I’ve been… straying from the light and I really want to get right with God.” 

This had to be the first truth you’d told anyone other than Arvin today. You felt too terrible lying in the presence of God so you’d found a way to genuinely get your feelings off your chest while still luring Teagarden into your trap. 

He rubbed his chin and hummed, “The fact that you acknowledge this means you haven’t strayed too far. God always comes back to his flock, even to those little sheepies who’ve gone astray. Why don’t you tell me more.” He urged. 

Your hands squeezed the strap of your bag tightly, “I… I have lustful thoughts sometimes.” 

Preston was lucky he’d had a lot of practice concealing his emotions because he’d be lying if he said that those words didn’t stir something in him, “Now are these just thoughts or have you acted on them?” 

“Oh, just thoughts, Reverend. I’ve never acted on any of them.” You reassured, finally meeting his eyes. They seemed to look at you with such understanding that you could see why Lenora and Jeanette had fallen for him. 

He nodded in approval, “And who are these thoughts about?” 

This was where you’d have to do a bit more lying, “I don’t really want to say.” You blushed bright red. You knew that Preston must have taken this as a sign that it was about him but it wasn’t. Your dirty thoughts never strayed from Arvin. 

Preston looked away and then back down at you, “You’re going with that Russel boy, right?” 

Silently, you nodded, not wanting to incriminate your boyfriend too much in this process of confession. 

“Has he ever touched you?” Preston pressed, his body getting closer to yours inch by inch until your legs were nearly touching. 

The red in your cheeks wasn’t part of the act anymore but genuine. You shook your head, “No, never.” You felt almost panicked at the question. 

“Have you ever touched yourself to these thoughts?” His voice became slower, more cautious as his inquiries got riskier and riskier. 

You found yourself unable to maintain eye contact with him anymore and looked back down at your shoes instead, just shaking your head, “No, I feel too weird. Like it’s a violation or somethin’.” 

Preston looked away, as if considering something, before turning back to you, “Can I show you some place? I find it helps me feel closer to God when I feel like I’m goin’ astray. Perhaps I could help.” 

Hook and sink. He’d fallen right into the trap. With a shy nod, you agreed sweetly, “Yeah, yeah, I’d like that. Is it far?” 

Teagard shook his head, “Oh no, not too far at all. But I’ll drive so we don’t have to walk.” 

Getting him to drive you to the spot was just as easy as you imagined it would be. With a quick glance in the rear view mirror, you noticed a car in the far distance behind you that you immediately recognized as Arvin following. Preston’s car came to a stop in the same field you’d seen him take Jeanette Reaster to a few weeks ago, facing the woods ahead. 

It really was quite peaceful and would have been a pretty sight if you weren’t with a sexual predator. Again, his arm slid around your shoulders and you breathed in deeply, the intense sexual tension making you uncomfortable even though you had every intention of finishing him off before he even got a hand up your skirt. 

“You said that Russel boy has never touched you. Have you ever shown him yourself?” The fact that this man had the nerve to ask you such questions disgusted you beyond belief but you kept up the facade. 

“Like naked?” You clarified, seeing him nod, “No, not naked. We went to the lake one time so he saw me in my bathing suit then but that’s not exactly the same thing.” 

Preston chuckled at your naivety, “No, no, not the same thing at all. You know how you’re supposed to save yourself for marriage to be right with the Lord. But there is nothing that brings you closer back to our heavenly father than to be as Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden, the garden of pure paradise.” 

“How is that so?” You cranked up the childlike inquisitive nature as you looked up at him with big doe eyes. 

Preston had to fight the urge to take you here and now, looking at you like this, but he remained strong for the sake of the process. “They were made in his image. We all were but they were his original children. The pure, unaltered image of God himself, before the sin of man tainted it all. By showing yourself in your pure, unaltered image, you bring yourself closer to the light.” 

Your brows furrowed, “But didn’t you just say that premarital sex is a sin?” This may have been jeopardizing your mission but you felt inclined to point out the hypocrisy before you offed the man. 

He nodded, chest falling and rising with a heavy sigh, “It depends on who you’re with. I’m a man of God myself and I like to model myself after Jesus. I’d like to think that makes me an extension of His love and power and therefore an outlet for you to feel safe to do whatever you need to do in order to be right with Him.” 

With a shaky breath, you bit your lip, “Alright. H-how do I-?”

Preston watched as you fiddled with the hem of your skirt and let his mind wander to what else those fingers might be good at. “First, let us pray.” He reached over and held your hand, “Lord, Y/N is showing herself to you. See her Lord, as you made her. She presents herself to you. Give her strength. Amen.” 

“Amen.” You muttered after him, your fingers slowly going to unbutton your dress. This wasn’t how you’d imagined the first time a boy seeing you in your knickers going. In your mind, it had always been on a nice romantic evening with Arvin and a selfish part of you wanted it to stay that way but then you remembered why you were doing what you were doing and sucked down the reservations. At least you weren’t actually losing your virginity to the monster. 

Nervous fingers fuddled with the button for just a moment too long and Teagarden twisted sideways, hands coming to cover yours, “May I?” He offered his assistance. 

Your heart thumped so loud you could hear it but you nodded silently, letting your fingers fall onto your thighs. With deftly skilled fingers, he had your blouse unbuttoned before long and had pushed it off your shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat at this much exposure, your breasts just barely concealed under only the fabric of your bra. Lord, you prayed silently, please let this be over with quickly. 

Your eyes slid closed, trying to imagine that it was Arvin touching you instead of Preston Teagarden but then the mere thought of comparing the two made you sick to your stomach. They were nothing alike. 

A set of chapped lips kissed your forehead gently, then your cheek, and then, finally, your lips. At first, you drew back, but still kept your eyes closed, trying to mask the disgust with untouched hesitance. You forced your body to relax again and Preston took that as a cue to continue with what he was doing, his lips returning to yours. 

Wasting no time, he’d crawled over you until your back was flush against the seat. You placed your hands awkwardly and haphazardly on Preston’s shoulder’s, trying to feign inexperienced confusion. You and Arvin may not have ever gone all the way, but you’d at least gone this far. 

Preston’s lips moved down your neck and your breath got caught in your throat. As much as you hated it, he knew what he was doing. This man knew all the right buttons to push to make a nervous girl submit to his every desire and, though you were well aware of the game he was playing and had zero attraction to him, the physical reactions were almost impossible to stop. Your body shuddered when his stubble, something Arvin lacked, scratched the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes were open wide now, just waiting for your boyfriend to finally show up and save you from this situation. 

Arvin approached the car and slowly and quietly as he could. The windows were up so it wasn’t too big an issue as long as he wasn’t clanging metal but he figured he didn’t want to take any chances. When approached the driver’s window, his heart wrenched and he immediately regretted putting you in this position. 

Preston was on top of you, his hands roaming all around your semi-exposed chest. He knew that you’d never been exposed like that to anyone before and he suddenly felt sick with himself for allowing the first time to be with anyone beside him, let alone Preston fucking Teagard. 

He expected to have to psych himself up for the actual kill, to have to convince himself to do it but when you locked eyes with him, a silent plea to get the man off of you, it came unnervingly natural. With the rope already wrapped around both of his fists, Arvin reached for the handle and threw the door open, looping the rope around Preston’s neck and dragging him back out of the car. Preston’s eyes were wide with shock and fear, “What the fuck?!” He hollered in fear, the words turning to gagging and choking. His hands grasped at the rope but Arvin had it pulled too tightly. 

Preston’s body was kicking against the grass but his neck and head were pressed against Arvin’s chest, who was kneeling in the field. 

“You really thought you could get away with what you did to my Lenora? To that poor Reaster girl you murdered? And then I bet you were willing to do the same to her over there too, huh?” He seethed, notioning over to you with a flick of his chin. 

The reverend tried to say something, anything to defend himself or get himself out of this situation but Arvin never let up so the words came out as disgustingly graphic chokes. You crawled out of the car, not knowing what you could do to help or secure the situation but feeling useless now. 

In a few minutes time, his lips had turned blue and the thrashing of his body had stopped. Arvin finally let up and the body slump into the grass. He crawled back and away from the man who had only moments ago been all over you, touching you. 

That was when he remembered that you were there still. He’d gotten so blinded by rage that he almost blacked out, caught up in the task at hand. But when he looked up, his heart began to beat again and he stood up, rushing to you, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” 

Your face was pale and blank, almost as if you were in shock. Your top was still totally unbuttoned, white modest bra still exposed to the world but you didn’t look like you cared at all. If Arvin was being honest, this wasn’t how he’d pictured seeing you topless for the first time going. He always hoped it would be romantic and with more than enough time to compliment every inch of your perfect body. Instead, you looked scared and shocked and almost like you could be sick. 

“Y/N?” He urged, coming stand between you and Preston’s body, attempting to break your view of it. He reached down and began to re-button your blouse for you. 

“I’m fine,” You said flatly, only moving to look up at him, “Are you okay?” 

With a glance down at his knuckles, the rope burn was clear to see, but Arvin had been through much worse, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m so sorry that I let him do that. This whole idea was stupid and now-” 

“No,” You interrupted, finally snapping out of your shocked state and bringing your hands up to rest on his, which were on your chest now, “He can’t hurt anyone anymore.” 

Arvin didn’t actually feel remorse for killing the man. The only thing he wanted was to take you back home, or rather far away, where there weren’t any reminders of today’s events. He wanted to show you how special you were, how much he loved you, and how brave he thought you were for being willing to be Teagarden’s last victim for the better good of the world. 

[ghostgothgeek]

Awkward.

DP Shiptember 2021 - First Date

Pairing: Danny and Sam

---

“Ugh!” Danny groaned as he threw another shirt to his growing pile. “None of these are working!”

“Dude, they all look fine to me. Just pick one!” Tucker picked some lint off his shirt.

“I can’t just pick one! It has to be perfect!” Danny pulled on another button up shirt.

Tucker sighed and slid off Danny’s bed and onto the floor. “It’s just a date.”

Danny almost tore his shirt in half in anxiety when Tucker said that. “But it’s Sam! And it’s our first date! If it goes wrong she’ll suck me in the thermos and throw me down a well or worse - never talk to me again!”

Yes, Casper High’s lovebirds finally got together. Surprisingly enough, it was Danny who made the first move. Sure, he was nervous and had some encouragement from Tucker (and Jazz and Clockwork and just about every ghost or human who would listen to his anxious rambling), who assured Danny that his friendship with Sam would most likely be okay no matter what happened, but he finally asked Sam out. Sam was cautiously optimistic (she wanted to be sure it wasn’t a prank) but finally said yes. And Danny has been a nervous wreck ever since. He asked her out two days ago, and Tucker’s patience was being tested.

“Interesting how you think her not talking to you is worse than being trapped in the thermos forever. But exactly. It’s Sam. She likes you for you. Just be yourself, you’ll be fine,” Tucker reassured his best friend for about the twentieth time in the past 5 minutes alone.

“But myself isn’t good enough for her! She’s so pretty and smart and kind and strong and she has a good heart and she has my back and oh god have you seen her with the Fenton Bazooka? It’s so hot and -“

“La la la don’t want to hear that!!” Tucker put his hands over his ears.

“Well she is! And I’m just dopey Danny Fenton,” Danny sighed and plopped down on the floor next to Tucker.

“Dude, that's one of the things she loves about you. She knows who you are. You guys have been best friends for years. You know everything about each other already. It’ll just be like hanging out, but with kissing or something.” Tucker patted Danny supportively on the shoulder.

“I guess…I just don’t want to disappoint her.”

“You won’t. Trust me. I know you guys will have a great time and you’re perfect for each other.”

Danny’s face twisted into a goofy smile, “you think so?”

Tucker snorted, “everyone and their parrot thinks so and has for years. Including Sam.”

Danny exhaled in relief. “Okay good.” He stood up and reached for another shirt in his closet.

“Just go with the light blue one. It matches your eyes. She’ll love that.” Tucker dug his phone out of his pocket after it vibrated.

Danny looked at Tucker in bewilderment then shrugged and put on the aforementioned shirt. He quickly buttoned it up and stood in front of Tucker, bouncing up and down anxiously. “I think this is the one. I feel ready. I can do this. It’s all good from here on out.”

Tucker rolled his eyes at the text he got from Sam asking for his help choosing an outfit for tonight. She and Danny were definitely made for each other. He shot her a quick response saying he’d be over in ten, and looked up at Danny. “You missed a button,” he pointed out.

Danny looked down and groaned. “Fuck!”

——

Danny wiped his sweaty palm off on his pants and took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. He tried shooing away a bee that was trying to get at the lilies he bought for Sam, but the bee kept coming back.

“No! These are for Sam, not you!” He held the bouquet of flowers over his head thinking it would be out of reach for the bee, then started whipping the bouquet in the air, the bee following the flowers in every creative direction Danny could think of. “Stupid bee! You’re gonna ruin everyth- ow! The little fucker stung me! I’ll show you…” He began to form an ecto ball in his hand before he realized the front door was open, and had been for quite some time. Sam was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and trying to suppress a giggle. She was so cute. “Um…hi. How long have you been standing there?”

“Oh no, please don’t stop on my account. Want to introduce me to your friend?” Sam smirked as she pushed herself up from the door frame so she was fully standing.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck and held the flowers out. “These are for you!” He yelled a little too loudly. Danny narrowed his eyes when he noticed the bee on one of the flowers and let out a low growl.

“Thanks!” Sam grabbed the flowers, blowing gently on the one with the bee (which promptly flew away in response). She admired the flowers with a smile on her face. “Wow, you remembered my favorite flower.” She signaled a butler to put the flowers in a vase and grabbed her purse. “Are you ready to go?”

Danny stood there stupidly. He was just staring at her. She looked so pretty. Her hair was down and in loose curls, lavender eyeshadow and black lipstick adorned her face, and she was wearing a simple black sundress that fit her like a glove until the skirt flowed out. The dress landed mid thigh - which is where Danny’s eyes stopped. He couldn’t believe she was this dressed up for him. He was so lucky! His goth goddess was showing off her sexy long legs for him and he couldn’t help but think about how amazing they would feel wrapped around his waist while he loved on her and-

“Danny! My eyes are up here, babe.” Sam smiled smugly.

Danny blushed as his eyes returned to her face. “You look amazing! So pretty-gorgeous! Your legs and your face and wow!”

Sam laughed at his babbling as a small blush dusted her cheeks as well. “Thanks. You look really handsome too. That shirt really brings out your eyes.”

Danny smiled and noted he would have to thank Tucker for that one. Sam turned around and locked her door, and Danny took the opportunity to admire how amazing that dress made her backside look too.

He wiped off his sweaty palm again and grabbed her hand before immediately letting go. “Sorry! Is that okay? Friends don’t do that but I guess we aren’t friends anymore and no not like that I mean we aren’t just friends anymore because we’re dating you actually said yes to me and we’re going on a date and you look amazing! Nice boobs, I MEAN BOOTS! Well, your boobs look nice too but it’s not like that’s your only asset, and speaking of ass,”

Sam busted out laughing and somehow refrained from ruining her makeup with her tears. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I was nervous about this!”

[thefanficmonster]

Just Another One

Sequel to: ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’

Corpse Husband x Actress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Angst, Heartbreak, Mention of bad past relationships, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: They keep proving each other right in the most wrong ways possible. They each want to be guarded even if that means the other will be hurt. Maybe that’s what they want - to hurt one another because they’ve already hurt each other once before.

Requested by the lovely readers who enjoyed the previous fic ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’. Sorry for the large time gap between the posting of the two fics but I still hope you guys will take the time to read it and if so I hope you enjoy it! Love you all with all my heart, Vy ❤

When you go out of your way to avoid leaving the house your options of entertainment are severely limited and you can’t blame anyone or anything but yourself for it. Today, I wouldn’t have gone out of my apartment even if I was one of those people who frequent the outdoors seeing as how the sky is trying to flood the Earth with all this nonstop rain. It does set a mood for a perfect night in but when you spend all your nights in doing the same thing over and over again, the atmosphere is practically meaningless. And so I ‘ve decided to resort to channel surfing as though I’ll find something interesting on TV that I haven’t yet seen on one of my social media timelines.

I pass several cooking channels on my journey, making a mental note of their individual numbers in case I don’t stumble across anything capable of better distracting me from my boredom and loneliness that’s slowly starting to creep in. I pass by a few movie channels showing teenage romcoms as if to celebrate the start of summer so you can imagine how quickly I moved on from those. Then come the celebrity channels which can often get a laugh out of me because of how pathetic and unbelievably ridiculous they are. And so, I stick around one where there’s a broadcast on a movie showing that’s happening tonight in LA. Oddly enough, despite my anxiety, going to a movie showing has always been on my list of things I’d want to do. This can be considered living vicariously or rubbing salt into the wound that I’ll probably never go because my anxiety and fear of being recognized is too severe. Either way I stick around to watch it.

And man do I regret it now looking at several different angels of a couple of actors entering the venue where they are to be photographed and asked questions by the mob of paparazzi that’s gathered due to the massive event. That in and of itself doesn’t sound - and really isn’t - so bad. However, it’s important to note that the actress in this duo is Y/N. Y/N L/N. My Y/N....shit, sorry, I mean my FRIEND Y/N, her arm linked with whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is who is holding an umbrella above the both of them, shielding them from the downpour of rain that is also taking place in LA apparently.

“The two were seen entering the venue earlier this evening, looking particularly cozy in each other’s presence if I do say so myself. The rain probably worked nicely in their favor.“ The first reporter says, her teasing tone of voice sending chills of anger down my spine as I glare at the screen, hands balled in fists, jaw clenched - all my body’s instinctive reactions to what is being shown to me. I know I technically have no right to behave or feel this way, in fact I should be fucking happy for Y/N and her successful career and the progress in her love life. But damn it how can I?! I was so damn close to kissing this girl! I was so fucking close to falling in another trap, tripping and landing in the embrace of another liar and user, another girl who switches partners more often than shoes. How could I’ve been so reckless to get so close to her even platonically? How did we become close enough for me to 1) show her my face; 2) start inviting her over to my apartment regularly; and how didn’t I notice the kind of messed up person she was all that time.

She was all sweet and flirting and shit a week or so ago and now she’s doing the exact same thing with him! The cameras are capturing them perfectly: every laugh, every exchange of a knowing look or nod, ever smack to his arm when he tells a joke. But what bothers me most is the many times he’s wrapped his arm around her to pull her closer. Not just for pictures, but just because the fucker felt like it! And Y/N doesn’t seem to mind it at all. 

“They have been the talk of the town recently, so while they could just be adding fuel to the fire, they could also have been caught by the flame and ‘caught feelings’ as they say. Regardless these two are a view we’d like to see more often.“ The other reporter says and that’s the final straw.

In one swift motion I turn the TV off and throw the remote across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the ground in several pieces, broken by the force of the impact. Just like I am broken by the force of the impact of these news. I don’t know which is worse: the fact that I fell for her and almost let her know it; the fact that she’s just another member of the club I don’t want anywhere near my life; or the fact that I can’t believe it.

Yeah that’s right - one foolish part of me refuses to believe that’s she’d do such a thing. I think that’s the same part which is still in awe of her so you can bet I ignore that part the majority of the time.

She is just another one. Not the one. Having been hurt before doesn’t mean she won’t hurt me or anyone else she’s gonna be with. Hurt people hurt people.

And damn has she hurt me, probably without knowing a damn thing. How selfish can you be, Y/N? How selfish can you really get? And how much am I going to allow you to hurt me?

                                                             *  *  *

“Thank you so much, Andrew. I would’ve died on the spot of anxiety if I was on my own.“ I say to my best friend who is currently sitting next to me on a park bench, in a tux, eating a cheeseburger. I too am still in my gown and am also gorging on a cheeseburger of my own.

“Don’t mention it. Us anxious people need to stick together.“ He bumps his shoulder against mine, stealing a small genuine smile from me, “Plus I couldn’t not come with you. You know how much I like a good rumor.“

I scoff, “Of course you do, but then again there was no need to add to what the media has already made a whole-ass ship out of.” I roll my eyes and take another bite. My appetite hasn’t been in its best condition so I’m only eating this under Andrew’s orders. I have no idea how people can ship us romantically, he’s the definition of an older - and very bossy - brother to me. I wish I could tell each and every single one of those girls who hate me because I’ve ‘stolen their man’ that I’d most likely be their sister in law rather than man snatcher, seeing as how my relationship with Andrew is so sibling-like.

That’s because we’re too alike, no one gets that. People play the ‘opposites attract’ car more often than I consider rational. But  then again when they see a couple like Andrew and I - who are basically the same person in different bodies - they suddenly think we’re super compatible. Trust me, we’re not. And everyone who’s been on set with us will tell you the same.

“What can I say...“ he shrugs, smirking at me, “I like the fun. I bet Becca doesn’t though.“

I can’t help but huff. Andrew is the only one I’ve ever openly expressed my frustrations with Rebecca to. He was super helpful on the subject, seeing as how he can relate - many partners of his have tried to use him, some of which even succeeded. He’s more than qualified to school me on the topic but it turned more into sharing bad experiences. One of which was that instance back at Corpse’s apartment.

“And neither does Corpse I suppose.“ As though he’s read my mind, he pokes the hurt spot, pouring salt in the wound causing me to visibly cringe as though the pain was physical - because it was, I felt it in my chest and in my gut, a sharp stab of guilt and regret. 

Why did I let it come to that? Why did I let us get so close? How did I not think of the consequences?

“I don’t care if he does or doesn’t.“ My hand automatically reaches for the pocket of the jeans I’m not even wearing in search of a cigarette. Not that I’d be able to light one even if I had them on me - Andrew would smack it out of my hand before I could even take a single puff.

He has the audacity to laugh, “You’re such a bad liar, Y/N.”

That’s all he needs to say really - that’s enough to make me feel seen and understood. Though that’s not always a good thing. I often times wish he couldn’t read me so well. Better said: I wish I didn’t let myself be so readable, you know. I’m just glad he’s the one who sees me because if it were anyone else they’d use this vulnerability of mine against me. I’m well aware that it’s a weakness, a really inconvenient one, but damn it I can’t get rid of it. I feel like I’ll be less human if I lose it. Everyone’s allowed to be vulnerable, some just are lucky enough to choose who they’ll be vulnerable around. I’m lucky enough to to have a choice, not so lucky in the people I choose to trust. Guess that’s not a luck thing, it’s just my inability to decipher whether a person is worth all the pain and torture of coming clean to them or not. So far many people have burnt me but two stick out in particular - Becca and Corpse. Corpse especially, which is the odd thing considering he hasn’t even wronged me in any way. At least not yet.

“Your phone’s vibrating.“ Andrew says, pulling me out of my overflowing head when he hands me my phone which I handed to him because of my dress’ lack of pockets.

“Thanks.“ I mutter through a sigh as I take it from him, checking the notification I’ve gotten.

My stomach drops: it’s a message from Corpse.

“Hey I saw you are in LA but we have a stream tomorrow, will you still be participating?“

Before I can reply, he sends me another message.

“I know you’re probably very busy but we get the most viewership on the streams when you’re in them so....“

I’ve probably been staring at my phone screen for longer than I thought since Andrew felt the need to make sure I was still breathing: “Hey, you ok? You look terribly pale.” I can barely hear him let alone reply. I can’t hear my own thoughts to know what to reply to him. “Y/N, you’re scaring me.”

I’m scaring myself too, Andrew. I’m scared too. I’m scared of how broken my picker has become. I almost kissed this guy! I almost entrusted all my thoughts, hopes, wishes and goals to him! What the fuck was I thinking?! Well, at least I know what he was thinking about - viewership. Likes, subs, views, publicity. The more eyes on the stream the better for him and everyone else. I genuinely want to applaud him, no one has been so direct about using me before. I was in a relationship with Becca for almost a year before I accidentally found out what she had been doing the whole time. No one’s ever smacked me in the face with this much honesty. It’s bittersweet really.

I want to laugh, I want to cry, slap myself across the face, slap him...I want to do so much, but all I can do now is sit in silence and think of how I could be so stupid.

He’s just another one, how did I not see that? How do I never see it until it’s too late? Why is one part of me still screaming: ‘He didn’t mean it like that!’

AND WHY THE FUCK DO I WANT TO BELIEVE IT?

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse  @sunnyrae-cessh  @ladykxxx08  @meowiemari  @renupf  @booklover76  @sra-verissimo

[rawstfish]

Gary "Roach" Sanderson head-canons

Warnings: there's a nsfw section at the end

He has an older brother and a younger sister (Middle child-rip)

His mom died when he was eleven. This led to his dad trying to be both his dad and mom, like his dad would dress up in feminine clothing/makeup. (Daddy’s boy tho)

Short brown hair, dark brown eyes, and little stubble, most is on his chin. (Pics at the end for better understanding for the hair)

Has little scratches on his face and deep dark eye-bags. The palest skin you have ever seen.

6’4’’ and lean body type

He was diagnosed with extremely bad social anxiety and ADHD at the age of 13. Roach was given medications for both but later on found out himself that weed helped his social anxiety, and became addicted. He now only takes his ADHD medication before missions for the military. (Literally this man is high all the time)

Also on the rare chance that he’s not high and someone he doesn't know tries to talk to him, he will yell or spit at them. (This was his and Ghost first interaction, and then Ghost knew that they were gonna be besties)

However, if you know him and get him to actually talk, good luck shutting him up. He will say thought after thought so fast.

Joined the military when he was 19 because he didn't know what to do after finishing high school and he didn't want to go to college

Operation Kingfish was his first actual mission

Good at every gun except sniper rifles

He is surprisingly observant but quickly forgets stuff, which is why he carries around a journal. He also does little doodles of the scenery and where he writes down his thoughts. (He also keeps track of all the animal videos he watches in it)

Kinda didn't like Price at first but warmed up to him quickly

Roach strikes me as a he/they

Bisexual

Like baggy clothing, especially flowy skirts because they “let his balls breathe.” Wear these worn out sneakers 24/7.

Has money but lives in a trailer park that has tons of raccoons/opossums/rats that he feeds. They’re his pets, okay?

Also he eats like shit. Just tons of hot pockets/pizza rolls/other microwave foods/the greasiest Chinese food you’ve ever eaten.

Goes to hang out with Ghost a lot because he honestly feels the safest/most comfortable around him. He talks the most around him.

Has the strangest music taste. You take his earbud and it’s just pots and pan hitting each other or you get lucky and it's “computer music.” (Also listen to whatever his friends put on)

Not the best s/o because of how quiet/space out he is all the time. (Like your going to be dating a stick)

He will forget important dates or plans you guys made

Not that affectionate person, he just likes standing/sitting close to you. He’s more of a words of affirmation type guy, barely even that.

He also always smells like weed

NSFW

Lazy and messy fucker, like if you guys don’t feel like you just got out of a shower, then you two are not done.

Huge fan of cock-warming and edging both you and him

Switch

Big fan of you riding him, because less work for him and nice view of your tits/chest.

Really good at eating pussy/ass

Medium to low sex drive

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

Criticize is very much welcome :)

[doiefy]

paper stars // kim doyoung

genre: fluff pairing: doyoung x gn reader word count: 1.2k warnings: language, spoilers for at dawn (would recommend reading it first, or i’ll just tell you who the killers were hehe)

just a short, fluffy headcanon i couldn’t stop thinking about at 3 am, in which doyoung can’t do origami to save his life and reader is stressed for their life. thank you yves for the idea <33

@neonun-au​, as promised!! will also be working on a crack fic for the rest of the characters at some point :D

“You’re surprisingly really bad at this.”

Doyoung sits across from you, his face scrunched up in concentration, stormy eyes filled with nothing but determination as he watches the YouTube tutorial again. He holds the piece of red paper up, his gaze flitting between the origami star on screen and his own handiwork: a sad, unevenly-edged pentagon that folds in on itself when he tries to proceed to the next step. He lets out a frustrated groan, crumpling the paper into a little ball and flicking it off the table like it’s an insect intruding on your time together.

“This is impossible,” he grunts, spinning his chair around like a little kid. When he finally stops, it’s to stare begrudgingly at the jar of origami stars on your desk—a little keepsake of yours that Doyoung’s taken an interest in lately. Quite frankly though, his mission to fill up the last quarter of the jar with shiny stars has been miserable. Though bright-eyed and determined at the very beginning, his resolve is starting to crumble, evident in his failed attempts thrown all over your living room. It’s starting to get a bit ridiculous.

You push your work to the side, snatching the second piece of crumpled paper out of his hands before he can chuck it across the room. “So you’re telling me that you have six PhDs and can solve almost any homicide case in an hour, but you can’t do a kids’ arts and crafts project?”

Doyoung gawks at you. “First of all, I don’t have a PhD in paper crafts, and I don’t solve homicides by folding paper.” He reaches for his phone to rewind the video, then picks up a fresh strip of paper. “Second of all, kids?! A kids’ arts and crafts project? Origami was a prestigious ceremonial practice back in the day—”

“Yeah, and my seven-year-old niece can fold a better paper airplane than you. You’re like, ten times her age,” you joke. He gives you a wounded look from across the table.

“I’ll do it,” he murmurs beneath his breath as he loops the strip around his fingers. “I’ll get it eventually.”

You can’t help but giggle at the way his eyes take on a strenuousness you only ever see at work: the furrowing of his brow and steadiness of his hands whenever he’s deep in thought, trying to crack a case. But you suppose making paper stars is his case to crack tonight. The type of paper, how tightly he winds the strip, the crispness of the folds—he’s subconsciously turned the whole ordeal into an unsolvable mystery instead of just folding the damn paper.

“How are your revisions coming along?” Doyoung asks, and you look back down at your screen. The words of your report are starting to crawl off the screen, shifting in so many directions at once like they're trying to escape your eyes. You sigh.

“I hate going to hearings.” You rub at your eyes tiredly. “The evidence is solid, indisputable probably. But you know what defence attorneys are like. They'll probably pull something out of their asses tomorrow and I don’t know if I’ll be ready for that.”

“Who’s defending?”

You flip through your papers to check. “Byun Baekhyun. Some new guy… Park Chan-something.”

“Byun?” Doyoung questions with a raise of his brow, now setting down his origami to give you his full attention. “I thought he and Lee got into some serious trouble after Seo’s case?”

“That crafty little fucker never gives up,” you groan, and now it’s your turn to slump in your chair, defeated. “He got his name cleared in December and I’m gonna bet he has something up his sleeve for tomorrow. He always does.”

Doyoung reaches across the table to give your hand a reassuring squeeze. And when that doesn’t seem to alleviate any of your stress, he rolls his chair over to where you’re sitting, readjusts his glasses and leafs through a few of your papers. His arm comes around your waist when you drop your head onto his shoulder, and he pulls you a little closer to him while he reads.

“Taeyong’s getting what’s coming for him,” he says at last, gesturing at your carefully-prepared notes and the speech you’ve started typing out on your laptop; while you don’t intend on memorizing everything you’ll say, writing it down definitely helps. “Whether or not you’re confident in what happens tomorrow, they can’t let him walk. They won’t. Just give them your statement… and don’t overthink it.”

Still, despite his words of encouragement, you can manage only a sigh before curling up closer to him and burying your face in the soft fabric of his sweater. He smells like lemongrass and lavender, and a hint of the delicate floral notes you’ve learned are unique to the FVA house—they remind you of the candles in the room where you first met, the library you spend nearly all your time in whenever you visit, the shirts he occasionally allows you to steal from his wardrobe. And as comforting and grounding as it is, having him next to you, your skin is still crawling with anticipation for tomorrow.

Almost six months after Nakamoto Yuta’s arrest, the investigations at LTY have finally come to an end, and with enough to lock Taeyong away. If only it were as easy as throwing his pretentious ass into a prison cell and throwing the key into the Han River; if it were as easy as skipping testifying in court. Jaehyun will be suffering alongside you, but at least he’s good at public speaking. You, on the other hand, always feel like a hot mess of fumbling words and unsatisfactory arguments—contrary to the opinion of all your colleagues.

“There’s no need to be so nervous,” Doyoung says softly, pulling you away from your anxieties and back into his arms. “I’ve heard you speak at hearings, and you’re always much more well-spoken than you think. You were amazing at Yuta’s.”

“Gross. We don’t talk about him,” you grunt, making a face at your new coffee table. Doyoung gives a laugh, pressing his lips to your forehead in gentle apology.

“Sorry,” he murmurs against your skin. “But I mean it, you were good.” He glances at his failed stars. “Some might even say… stellar.”

You flush with embarrassment and swat him away, pushing his chair back to the other end of the desk so you can get back to work without distraction. “Okay, back to your stupid stars. They’re not gonna fold themselves, you know.”

He throws one at you.

The next morning, you find a neatly-folded star in the pocket of your dress pants—perfectly puffed up, perfectly cornered, with a lopsided smiley face drawn on one side. There’s a small arrow drawn where one edge of the paper disappears into another. Confused, you unravel the star to find a quick message scribbled along the length of paper:

Be clear, concise. Relax. Don’t slouch.

“You ready?” At the sound of Jaehyun’s voice, you slip the paper away, accept the cup of coffee he offers you. Despite how early it is in the morning, he looks energized, determined. You focus on that, readying yourself with the words Doyoung left in your pocket and his encouragement the previous night. You nod, smiling.

“Yeah. Let's get this fucker.”

[lesbian-deadpool]

Take A Slice

Part Six: WARNING! BULLSHIT INSIDE!

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 1,761

Warnings: Blackmail, a bit of angst??, some self hate, talks of drugs, aftermath of violence, talks of cheating.

Summary: It just keeps getting worse and worse.

A/N: Bold and italics = Text Messages.

Ko-Fi

(Not My GIF)

***

You were out of it. Completely and entirely, out of it.

The soft feeling of the red-heads plump, strawberry and sugar flavoured lips, pressing against the side of your neck. Her hand, trailing up your sides, pushing and pulling at your shirt. With Natasha humming against you gently, it vibrating into your throat, as she ground against your hips underneath her.

And yet.

Even with all that she was gifting you with, you still weren't able to focus on any of it.

"What's up with you?" Natasha asked, her red lipstick smudged, and probably all over your neck, too.

"Hmm?"

"You're out of it. What's running through that head of yours?"

"Oh." Shit. "It's nothing. Just a little distracted, is all."

"I see that." She took your jaw between her hands, soothingly rubbing her thumbs into your skin. As she gazed down at you with soft eyes. "Anything I can help with?"

God, she was too good to you. Too good for you.

And you had to bring this bullshit into her life. Sometimes you wished that you had never stepped foot in her class, that way this, could have all been avoided. And all because of those fucking texts you got, two weeks ago.

You had to tell her.

You had too.

"Nope." You shook your head.

You suck.

"You sure?" Natasha asked, a humoured smile overtaking her face, "You still having trouble spelling, 'Nietzsche'?"

"His name sucks, okay?!" you exclaimed, making laughter bellow out of Natasha.

You watched her with soft eyes, you adored her laugh. Adored her everything, really. Her hair, falling over her shoulders, the sun shining through the windows, causing the red strands to glow. Summer had just sprung, almost as if it came to chase the girl in your arms.

You were playing a dangerous game.

But, you knew that from the start.

Now, though? Now? It was more dangerous than before.

Because now you were falling for her.

And that was not going to lead to anything good.

Not with all that is happening.

"His name is hard to spell," Natasha agreed breathlessly, with a small nod.

Dread filled you when your phone suddenly buzzed beside you.

Remember what I said.

Natasha noticed the anxiety flood into you, she was worried about you, never seeing you like this. Staring at your phone with fear-filled eyes.

Lucky for you though, she was unable to read any of the messages that had been sent to you.

Nor the next one's that came through.

You know when and where.

Do. Not. Be. Late.

You inhaled sharply, eyes finally finding Natasha's worried ones when you spoke.

"I'm sorry. I have to go."

"What? Why?" she asked, having to move off of you before you ended up pushing her off of you.

"Y/N? Are you sure everything's alright?"

"Yeah, fine. Just-" Quick think of a lie! "-Wade reminded me about a test we both have tomorrow. And I haven't studied for it at all."

Natasha got up with a chuckle, moving to place her hands upon your chest.

"You have always been on top of your studies, haven't you?"

You shrugged, too busy pulling on your socks and shoes, whilst trying to locate your jacket. You were going to need it tonight when it was chilly.

"Hey," Natasha soothed, "Don't worry so much. Why don't you stay here? I'll help you study. I'll even reward you every time you get a question right."

You groaned internally.

Why did she have to go and say shit like that?

"I'm sorry, babe. I'd love that. I really would," you pressed as if to make her understand how much you were telling the truth, as you pulled her in by her hip, "But I promised Wade, we would study together. He's worse at this class than I am."

She laughed breathlessly.

"You two really are the dynamic duo, aren't you?"

It was quiet for a moment, as you moved away from her. Ready to head out of her apartment, when she continued.

"You could always bring him, too."

"What?!" You span around to face her.

"Obviously the "rewards" would be off the table, then. But I would love to meet your friends. At least your best friend. I want to be in your life like people in more normal relationship's do. As long as they keep the secret."

Why was she so fucking perfect.

"But Nat, you've already met Wade, remember?"

She licked her lips with a smile. Memories of that morning, and what lead up to it, flashing through her mind.

"Of course, I remember. I meant I would like to get to know him."

"God. You are perfect." You walked up to her, pulling her into a passionate, love-filled kiss. "I'll set something up later. He'll probably want to play some video games with you."

"Fine by me. I'll kick his ass."

"I'm sure you will, honey." With a peck on her forehead, you turned, grabbing your jacket, calling over your shoulder as you left, "I'll see you soon."

"Good luck."

She didn't know how much you needed it.

***

Rumlow.

That fucker.

He was the one doing all of this to you. Blackmailing you. Forcing you to pick up and drop off drugs, like a fucking mule.

And there wasn't even a reason you could think of as to why he was doing it. Other than "he could".

The only reason you found out was, thanks to the guy you were dropping the drugs off too, was really chatty. And wouldn't keep his mouth shut about anything. That, sadly, included every intimate detail about his sex life.

But at least now, you could put a face to the messages.

And somebody to confront.

"Why?"

""Why" what?" you ask back. Hissing as the alcohol-soaked cotton wool ball pressed against the cut on your lip.

The itch for a smoke rattled throughout your body, hands almost shaking in your state. But you had told Natasha that you would try and cut down smoking for her, and God damn if you were, unbeknown to her, bringing this shit into her life, you could at least do this for her.

"Why did you get into a fight with Rumlow?" Wade clarified.

You took the few moments he gave you as he reached into the first aid kit to think over your answer. You debated on whether or not you should tell him the truth. After all, you hadn't even told Natasha as of yet.

But you just couldn't keep it to yourself anymore.

"He's blackmailing me."

Wade dropped the haemorrhoid cream for your black eye onto the floor, his shocked face snapping to face yours, that was still void of emotion.

"What? What do you mean that bastard's blackmailing you? What with?!"

"I'm a fucking idiot," you hissed at yourself, tears springing into your eyes. Elbows resting on your knees, as your head came to lay in the palms of your hands, "It was my idea."

"What was?" He placed a hand upon your shoulder, stood before where you sat on the kitchen worktop.

"I filmed up having sex. Nat agreed to it. But fuck, if I hadn't of brought it up..."

"Hey! Don't do that," he told you firmly, "It's not your fault that someone is using your private life against you."

You didn't reply to him. Your jaw only ticking, as you shook your head. Still kicking yourself for it.

"Does she know?"

"No," your voice was raw as you thought about your girlfriend. Your perfect girlfriend. Who didn't deserve any of this.

"You need to tell her."

"I know... I just- I just wanted to sort it out, before I ever had too. But now, that's not gonna happen."

"Because you kicked his ass? You did kick his ass, right?"

You smiled, wincing at the pain your split lip caused you.

"Hell yeah, I did." Flinching slightly, as Wade began rubbing the cream onto your bruised eye. "But no. It's not because I kicked his ass. Although that might be part of it now... he was never gonna let it end. He just wanted me to be his lapdog for a while, then run me outta Dodge."

"Lapdog how?"

You shuck your head. "I was basically his drug mule."

"Y/N-"

"It was only hookie weed, but still. I'm sure he's into funkier stuff. He was talking about cocaine with someone on the phone when I confronted him."

"And yet, you didn't share with me," he joked. It was the only thing he really could do before he sighed sadly, "He wanted you out of town?"

You nod.

"Why?"

"No idea. He just yelled at me after our fight, that he wants me outa here. That's all her was blackmailing me for. But, my best guess is that he thought he could "get some use" out of me, before then.

"What are you gonna do?"

"I have no idea. I can't let Natasha lose her job over this shit, man. She loves teaching. Said that it was all she's ever wanted to do."

"Talk to her."

"Yeah, I will soon. I just- Is it so bad that I wanna live in denial, and just be happy with her, for a little while longer?"

"No." Wade shook his head. "You're just in love."

You hummed in agreement. You seriously couldn't believe how fast you fell for that woman.

"Since when did you become so wise?"

"I've always been wise, fuck you for not seeing it."

You were incredibly lucky to have a friend like Wade Wilson. You just hoped you didn't have to leave the people you cared about behind.

Only time would tell.

But first.

First, you had to talk to Natasha.

A small smile was pulled upon your face, while you watched your best friend and roommate walk away with the first aid kit, to return it to its place in the bathroom.

Then something you came to dread happened.

Your phone vibrated.

Pack your bags and move out of the fucking state. Or I post your precious video onto the school's website.

Homepage, baby!

Bet she'd look real good up there.

Maybe there will be a porn future for her after she gets fired.

This will teach you for fucking my girlfriend.

Well, shit.

***

Take A Slice Tag List: 

@wannabe-fic-writer​, @ohfuckno​, @uglipotata72829​

Permanent Tag List: 

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro, @thelastavenger-3000

[mehbzz]

Degrees of Lewdity I was trying to write some medical veterinary kink with Dr Harper and Remy but Bailey would not leave me alone. This kept replaying in my head over and over! A continuation of my previous Bailey fic 18+ nothing explicit, alludes to noncon, forced tattooing, aggressive behaviour, Bailey being a possessive asshole.

You stagger back into your room. You want to curl up into a ball and sleep and cry for a week. You’re in pain, clothes a torn mess and the stress and anxiety is high. you missed your date with Avery, you missed over a week of school and you have no doubt both Avery and Leighton will want to punish you for both those absences.

Bailey standing in the corner of your room smoking is not want you want to see. Panic rises in the pit of your stomach and you wrinkle your nose at the suffocating smell of cigarette smoke. How long has he been waiting? You risk a glance at his face, he doesn’t look particularly angry but you can’t hold his gaze for long, letting your eyes drop and instead follow the lines of the tattoo that swirl along the side of his neck and disappear under his shirt.

“Just because you’re not staying here doesn't mean you get to avoid payment.”

He's not serious is he? You'd spent the past week in a sordid hellhole thanks to him, how does he possibly think you have any money?

His eyes are flicking over you, constantly scanning you from head to toe. It makes you more nervous and more conscious of your tattered state. You grip the edge of your skirt tighter, it was torn pretty badly and your grip was the only thing holding it together, a hole exposing your left hip that ripped right round your side almost to the top of you thigh.

“Turn around.”

“W-what?”

“Turn around.”

Is he making you leave? You reluctantly turn around; you feel a little like you’re turning your back on a predator, your heart jumping and fluttering in your chest. “Hands down.” He’s getting impatient so you let go of your skirt, obeying him without question and letting the loose fabric flutter down your side, exposing yourself to him.

“What's that?”

He jabs your ass hard through the tear in your skirt and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself yelping in fright.

“I asked you a question, treasure.”

“A tattoo.”

“Did I say you could get a tattoo?” He scoffs, “lowers your value.”

“I didn't-“ You can't talk, your tongue feels thick and heavy in your mouth. “they…” you trail off.

It's silent behind you and it makes the panic grow, you feel on the verge of tears.

“Get it removed.” Bailey’s voice is low, angry and you flinch.

“That's, I'm- I can't-” you stutter, “I can’t afford that.”

His hand slides around your exposed hip “Get. It. Removed.”

You nod, to scared to do anything else.

He stands there behind you, his hold tight on your hip for a few minutes, breathing so hard that it ruffles your hair.

He's angry and you daren’t move an inch, trying to get your trembling under control.

“Those fuckers owe me more money.” his grip tightness painfully and you whimper.

His breath hitches at the sound and his fingers flex on your skin as you try not to pull away. Bailey touching you usually comes with pain, the anticipation of him hurting you is making it difficult to keep your breathing under control and you desperately want to run.

“Any more marks I should know about?” His voice is low, gravelly and far too close to your ear.

You want to say yes. You're covered in dark purple bruises and cuts but you know that's not what he means and you're not foolish enough to think he'd offer you any twisted form of sympathy for those.

You shake your head.

His hand leaves your hip to curl around your chin, tugging your head round to look at him. He’s too close, you nervously lick your lips and his gaze zeroes in on the gesture. “You lying to me, treasure?”

“No sir.”

You're not sure where the sir comes from but it seems to appease him. Mouth twitching in what you guess could be the beginnings of a smile.

“You let them mark you again, I won't be so lenient.”

He hasn't let you go and your body is so tense with the expectation of abuse that you’re starting to get cramp.

Bailey sighs, letting you go but not moving away. “Go get it removed. Harper owes me.”

That was not what you were expecting. Is he actually paying for you? You swallow hard, no doubt he’ll add the amount on to your weekly dues but the fact that he’s covering it at all shocks you into silence.

“Go.” the harsh shove almost makes you slam face first into the door, only just managing to get your hands up to protect yourself, your nails scratching off the cheap varnish. The aggression makes you relax slightly, on far more familiar ground than the odd, almost cruel affection.

“Yes sir” you fumble with the door as you try to escape quicker than you can move.

“Payment due on Friday”

You nod already desperately trying to think of how you can raise money.

“If not,” he shrugs lighting another cigarette. “You know what happens.”

You hesitate with your hand on the door handle, unsure if you're allowed to go.

Your indecision seems to amuse him. “You ever work on a farm before?”

The question is not at all what you were expecting and you look at him in absolute confusion. His eyes are raking over you again and you shudder. You think you prefer the violent Bailey to this overly attentive one, at least you know where you stand. His gaze lingers on your chest as he inhales another lung full of smoke. “Don’t think you’re his type,” he flicks his cigarette onto your floor and stomps it beneath his heel. “But we’ll see.” He walks towards you but all he does is push you out of the way of the door. He pokes your hip as he passes. “I want this gone tonight.” You nod reluctantly, not entirely sure you’re going to make it to the hospital and back without fainting, the constant ebb and flow of adrenaline and fear already making you lightheaded. He pauses before he opens the door, eyeing the scratches you’d left, “I don’t appreciate people damaging my property,” his shoulders tense with obvious anger and you take a slow step back. “Damages must be paid for, treasure.”

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Winging It

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay ‘Lady’ Ray

Warnings: A bit of language and lots of cute baby stuff. Parental insecurities. Mostly just fluff with no plot. Dad!Frankie and Mom!Lady.

Summary: Lady doesn't like mommy and me class very much.

Words: 1,535

A/N: I don't know, I just wanted to have a moment with my favourite lovebirds and their spawn. Frankie x Lady masterlist.

”Uh! Gah!”

Jay laughs a little at the sight of Alma, six months old, doing frustrated push-ups on her play blanket while trying to reach for the red ball which, of course, gets pushed further away from her.

”Damn that fucker, right? Here you go, baby.” Jay rolls to ball back to the baby, who grabs it and proceeds to trying to stuff it into her tiny mouth. That doesn’t work, either, so she drops it, and it rolls away again. Not really having figured out how to crawl just yet, Alma reaches for the ball, almost gets it, but pushes it away even further, then watches in disbelief and disappointment while trying to move after it. Jay expects the baby to start crawling any day now but so far, Alma’s only wagging her lower body from side to side, unable to figure out that she actually needs to move her legs to get anywhere.

”Ah!!” Alma’s exclamation is filled with frustration.

”Come on, honey, you can do it,” Jay tries to encourage her dark-haired daughter. Alma pumps her upper body up and down, stares angrily at the ball, and yells, before slumping down onto her stomach, face in wrinkles.

”You get that from your dad,” Jay sighs. She gives the ball back the Alma, who happily examines it, quiet for a moment. Jay leans against the couch, keeping an eye on the kid but also taking the opportunity to enjoy not having to entertain her, even if only for a minute. God knows that’s all she’s done for months until she picked up her studies and working part-time two months ago.

She wasn’t sure what she thought motherhood would be like: would it come to her naturally or would she struggle with it, loath to be so chained to her gender and the role that came with it? She’s never been good at being a woman and what that entails, never wanted the epithet that so often seemed to follow her around in the army.

She’s lucky to have Frankie. He understands this part of her and lets her be who she is. Being together with him has definitely made her accept her womanhood in a whole new way, and she knows that she would never have had kids with anyone else but him. Frankie adores the baby and is just as hands-on with her as Jay expected. Being a mother is hard, she moves from one extreme to the other: immense pride at how well she is handling being a mother, and constant anxiety about not being a good enough mother. Frankie definitely makes the experience easier and it helps to know that he’s just as worried about his capabilities as a father.

The front door opens and closes and shortly after, Frankie shows up in the living-room. Alma drops the ball at the sight of him and gives a happy little shriek.

”Hey, chiquita!” Frankie crouches by the girl and lifts her up, hoisting her in front of his face, giving her a big kiss. Alma giggles in delight, arms flailing.

”How’s mamacita?” Frankie turns to Jay and gives her a kiss as well. She tastes a little sweat on his upper lip; it’s a warm, sunny day.

”So-so. We went to mommy and me group.”

”How was that? Are they still boring as shit?”

Jay’s had a hard time connecting with the other mothers, or at least some of them: they do not share values or opinions about child rearing, and boy, do those women have opinions.

”The Stepford wives are, well, the same Stepford wives,” Jay shrugs. “I suspect they think I’m a lesbian.”

“Excuse me, what?” Frankie stares at her. “Haven’t you told them about me?”

“Well, not as such. They keep bitchin’ about their husbands – seriously, why do people get married and have kids when it’s so obvious they shouldn’t even be together because all they do is nag? – and how they never help out. I said I’ve never had that problem with my partner, we do everything together.”

“Yeah, I wonder where they got the idea from.” Frankie rolls his eyes.

“I’m not calling you my boyfriend.”

“I’ve told you there’s an easy fix to that, we’ll just get hitched,” he shrugs, bouncing Alma on his thigh.

“And I’ve told you no,” Jay tells him patiently, not having this discussion again. She smiles at Alma, so happy in Frankie’s arms, and then glances up at Frankie again.

“Should I grow out my hair?”

“So you wouldn’t look like a lesbian?” he asks pointedly. “Nope. If you want to do it to try how you’d like longer hair, then yes, why not?”

“Would you like it if I had longer hair?”

“Jay, what’s all this? You never cared what I thought about your hair.” Frankie scoots closer, cradling Alma on one arm and sliding the other around Jay’s shoulders.

“I guess I only today realized that it’s just not about me,” she confesses, leaning a little against Frankie. “Everything I do affects Alma. Every snooty mom who looks down on me because I’m not like her is capable of denying Alma a friend to play with.”

“True,” Frankie agrees, “but do you really want our girl to play with kids whose parents are absolute idiots?”

“It’s not like we can conduct interviews with the parents every time she wants to play with someone in the park,” Jay points out with a weak smile. Frankie grins back.

“She’s six months old, baby. Just relax. We’ll figure it out along the way, okay?”

“So we’re winging it, just like we’re winging everything else with this kid?” Jay jokes lightly, thinking of the stacks of books on parenting and developmental psychology she’s read to prepare herself for this life-long commitment.

“I’m a pilot, I’m used to winging it.”

“Oh my God, you’re so funny!” Jay sighs deeply and makes a gun with her hand, putting it to her own temple and pretending to pull the trigger. Frankie shakes his head and looks down on Alma.

“My comedic genius is wasted here, chiquita. I can’t wait for you to be big enough to appreciate it.”

“You’re going to be the king of dad jokes.”

“Obviously.”

Frankie tickles Alma’s tummy, drawing a laugh from her, then looks back at Jay.

“Don’t grow out your hair,” he tells her softly, “unless you want to, of course. I like your hair. It’s so you.”

Jay smiles and passes her hand over her short-cropped hair. Had it been naturally curly, like Frankie’s, it would coil at her ears and the nape of her neck by now. But it’s straight and she’s overdue for a trim.

“Thanks, baby,” she tells him quietly, happy and grateful for his never-ending support. He nods, then frowns a little, as if a thought just occurred to him.

“Maybe I need to go to the next mommy and me group. Set those women straight.”

”They’d lose their shitif a dad showed up there, especially a hot dad like you,” Jay winks at him. ”Tell them I’m at the gym, they’ll love that. But don’t freak out: those of them who talk the most about how cute their babies are, have the most ugly-ass kids I’ve ever seen.”

She makes a face and then looks down at Alma, who’s making little sounds now, restless on Frankie’s arm.

”I’m so happy we managed to make a baby that’s actually cute.”

”With a mom like you, she has to be cute,” Frankie replies, leaning towards Jay for a kiss. She smiles and meets him halfway, lips separates so she can suck his lower lip, the little patch of facial hair right underneath the lip tickling her skin.

The kiss is interrupted by an angry shout from Alma, who is done with cuddles with dad. Frankie puts her down on her back and she proceeds to immediately turning onto her tummy and once again doing a pushup, clearly aiming for the red ball again. Her tiny brows furrow in frustration as she voices her unhappiness.

”Still struggling?” Frankie asks with a tender smile as he watches his daughter try to figure out crawling.

Jay nods. ”And that goddamn ball isn’t taking any orders.”

”She’s close, though.” Alma's almost getting up on her knees, but does not seem to be aware of it: she’s so focused on reaching her chubby arms forward she’s not realizing that she could use a boost from behind.

”It’s a good thing she’s cute, because she’s not that bright,” Jay scoffs, just as Alma emits a loud shriek and jump-starts in an unexpected engagement of her legs, and bounces forward just a couple of inches. It’s not enough to reach the ball but she seems to understand that she did get closer, because she’s flailing her arms in excitement. Frankie and Jay stare at her, both perplexed.

”Well... she shut me up,” Jay finally admits. Frankie rolls the ball towards Alma, who grabs it and then, quite neatly, spits up on it. She looks surprised, and raises her gaze to her parents.

”Wah-wah!”

Jay hands Frankie the burp cloth and stands up.

“Entertain the spawn, Morales. I'm gonna get dinner started.”

[cagestark]

-Unfinished-

That’s the title, btw.

About this: Stuckony, college!au with older Tony. NFF. 9.4k. Minor CBT, daddy kink, spanking mentioned. 

-

“Steve - 3 o’clock.” 

Steve doesn’t tilt his head up from where he is looking at his phone, but behind his dark tinted sunglasses, Bucky knows that his blue eyes are scanning the crowd that crosses the southern sidewalk of the quad. Bucky knows when Steve has spotted the man in question because his mouth parts enough for a breathy exhale, tongue wetting his lower lip. 

“God,” Steve murmurs. “No chance he’s a student.” 

“Forties,  you think?” Not that there aren’t students of all ages moving on campus today, but there are no bags by his side, no pack slung over his shoulder, no sense of eager urgency as he stands watching the afternoon sun play off the fountain that’s dead center of the open, grassy area. Faculty or family, Bucky thinks.

“Couldn’t say for certain,” Steve says. “Wouldn’t say for certain. Jesus, he looks good.” 

“Better than good, come on, admit it.”

“What makes you think he’s interested?” 

“No wife at his side,” says Bucky. “But more importantly, no straight man is stylish enough to wear boots like that.” 

Steve gives a long suffering sigh. He slips his phone into his back pocket, and Bucky takes the moment to admire the way his boyfriend’s shirt clings tightly to his biceps. Buying Steve shirts is a chore, always too loose around his trim waist and always too tight across his chest and arms. A chore, but no crime. At least, not one Bucky’s suffering from. “Well,” says Steve. “Should we introduce ourselves? ‘S only polite.” 

Bucky gives a shark’s grin. 

Up close, the man is even more striking than he’d appeared across the quad. He has thick, dark hair that lays with stylish disorder, and neatly groomed facial hair threaded with gray. His eyes are hidden behind dark Ray-Bans, but they can see his eyebrows rise steadily at their approach, the corners of his full mouth slipping upward. He’s more than a head shorter than they are, but his petite stature belies a strength. 

Steve, ever amiable, offers his hand. “Hi there. Steve Rogers, Art postgrad. This here is—” 

“James Barnes, Criminal Justice.” 

“—do you need any help finding your dorm?” 

As they speak, the stranger’s smile grows wider and wider. He reaches up to push back his sunglasses, really dark eyes surrounded by healthy lines hinting at many smiles. When he takes Steve’s hand in a firm shake, Bucky feels downright jealous of his own boyfriend’s palm. Hastily offering his own, he’s treated to a calloused palm that is small in his own grip but no less strong. 

No wedding ring.

“Tony,” says the man. “Boys, you should know I’ve been playing the game longer than you’ve been alive.” 

“What game?” Steve asks, grinning widely. They all take note of the way Tony’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, the full lips, the neat lines of white teeth, the facial hair he’s taking way too much fucking pride in (though Bucky sure as hell doesn’t mind the beardburn). 

“If you know the game, then you should know how to play along,” Bucky says, winking. 

Tony laughs, the lines around his mouth and eyes blooming. The sound makes Bucky’s gut flutter, his chest clenching tight with fondness that feels too strong to have for a man they’ve just met. “I’m no student,” says Tony. Then, a little more cautious:  “I just finished moving my son in. Freshman; bioengineering.” 

Bucky’s eyes nearly roll. He reaches out to put a stabilizing hand on his boyfriend’s strong shoulder, leaning into him dramatically. Yeah, Bucky has father issues, what else was he going to get growing up with a ma who raised him and his sisters alone after their old man walked out? The gray in Tony’s facial hair had called to him, but the downright authenticity in him being a parent? Bucky can feel his cock tingling already. 

“You hear that?” Bucky leans in to whisper into Steve’s ear dramatically. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Tony watch them, notices dimly the flicker of anxiety that passes through his expressive eyes, the drawing of his brows together. His eyes widen with more than a little incredulity when Bucky goes on to say: “He’s not just a daddy, he’s a dad.” 

Steve slips an arm around Bucky’s shoulder and pulls him close, patting at his head with theatrical indulgence. “Your weakness,” Steve sighs. 

Tony snorts, turning away to stare out over the quad and pretend to give them privacy. A healthy flush rises to his face, a few shades short of a flush. Flattered, Bucky thinks. Maybe he’s been turned down recently for his age, for having a grown son. Maybe he thinks he’s getting too old to attract lovers but he’s dead fucking wrong. 

Steve murmurs something else to him but it falls on deaf ears because Tony’s head has turned back towards them, eyes widening in horror. Bucky reels just in time to catch a football as it strikes him in the chest, knocking the breath out of him a little. Sprinting across the quad towards them is a familiar, dark skinned man who looks more delighted than concerned.

“Jesus Christ, Wilson!” Steve barks, demeanor changing from soft to authoritative in an instant. “What the hell are you thinking, kickin’ a ball this direction? You could have hit someone!” 

“Just Barnes,” Sam pants. “No great loss.” 

“I’ll remember that next time we’re in a sociology class and you’re begging for my notes, buddy,” Bucky says, throwing him the ball. Sam catches it with a dry thud, tucking it under one arm to greet Steve with a pat on the back.

A hand touches his shoulder and he turns to see Tony, eyes flickering between his sternum where the ball made contact and Bucky’s face. “Are you alright? I’m sorry I didn’t notice it sooner. Fuck, I thought it was going to take your head off.” 

“I’m alright, doll,” Bucky says, realizing a little too late the endearment slipping off the tip of his tongue. 

Tony snorts in a way that makes Bucky feel silly for falling into familiarity so soon. “I’m hardly a doll; I’m twice your fucking age, James.” 

“Bucky,” Bucky supplies. “Friends call me Bucky. Twice my age, huh? Does that mean you’ll call me ‘baby’?” 

“Means you should address him as sir, Buck,” Steve chimes in. Tony licks his lips, a subconscious action that he and Steve can’t help but zero in on. Feeling the heat of their gaze on him, Tony reaches up to slide his sunglasses back down over his eyes, a loss Bucky downright laments. The silence that rests between them feels thick with something. Promise, Bucky hopes. Chemistry, for sure. 

“Oh Jesus,” Sam mutters, breaking the moment. “Y’all make me sick with that fifty-shades of gray bullshit. If I have to hear Rogers spanking the holy hell out of you one more time I’m going to mistake it for a domestic dispute.” 

“Hey, let’s not make light of domestic violence,” Steve says. When he glances over (hoping for a blush, a flush, any sign that their banter is affecting him), Tony’s head is ducked, and maybe he’s looking at the ground, politely playing spectator in the conversation, but Bucky thinks that maybe he’s looking at Steve’s hands, broad and strong and capable of delivering spanks that have Bucky’s teeth chattering. 

Bucky ups the ante. “Can’t mistake it for nothing than what it is, Wilson, not when I’m thankin’ him after every spank.” 

“If you were spanking him right,” says Tony suddenly, flashing eyes that burn from behind his sunglasses. “The only word he should be able to say is please.” 

Bucky’s mouth goes dry, a ringing in his ears as he stares at Tony’s confident, experienced gaze where it rests on Bucky’s own boyfriend. He’s got the urge to go down on his knees then and there, to ask for a demonstration that will leave his ass aching for days. By the time his soul returns to his body, he’s missed half of whatever Sam is saying.

“—came over here to find you two fuckers because some of the other boys asked me to. Want to throw some ball? The field’s clear for it.” 

“Hell yeah,” Bucky says to cover up the fact that he wasn’t listening. “Steve?” 

“Sure,” the blond agrees in his calm, agreeable way. 

Tony clears his throat, taking a step away from the group. Bucky and Steve share an alarmed look from behind their own sunglasses. Tony strikes them as the kind of man who always keeps a foot out the door, but they don’t want him to get away so easily. Especially if what he really wants is to be there as bad as they think he does. 

“Nice meeting you boys,” he says. “Enjoy your game—I’d say stay out of trouble but if you’re anything like I was, that will only encourage you—” 

“Whoa, you’re leaving already?” Bucky asks. At risk of coming on too strong too soon, Bucky reaches out to put a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder, watching him closely. When the man’s mouth parts a little, no sign of being uncomfortable visible in the set of his shoulders or the lines of his face, Bucky squeezes a little, feeling burning skin through Tony’s leather jacket.

“We could really use a referee,” Steve offers. In a stage whisper: “Bucky cheats.” 

Bucky pulls away to lightly punch at one of Steve’s broad shoulders. “That’s Steve’s way of saying I’m talented. If we have an unbiased judge for once, will that put to rest this cheating bullshit, Steve? Then Tony, you’ve got to come watch. Unless you’ve got someplace to be. Is your wife waiting in the car, maybe?” 

Tony snorts softly. He holds up his hand, free of rings. “No wife. But if you’re any good at this game, you already knew that.” 

“If you’re so knowledgeable, then you must know that we needed to hear you say it,” Steve counters lowly. It’s Steve’s turn to put one broad palm on Tony’s shoulder, and the size difference between them is enough to have Bucky’s throat squeezing tight like when Steve’s got a hand around it. Fuck, he could see it all in his head like the filthiest show: Steve bending Tony in half across the island in their off-campus apartment together, Tony’s smaller figure riding Steve, making eyes at Bucky across the room. But he’s getting ahead of himself. “What do you say, Tony? Help us settle an old score?” 

“At your service,” says Tony, grinning widely. 

-

“What the fuck are you doing, Tony,” Tony mutters under his breath to himself. The field looks lovely,  even if the lines are faded and not yet repainted. The grass is lush and green, providing the perfect background for Steve and Bucky’s pale bodies. They’ve got him set up on the first row of the stands so that he has ‘the best vantage’. 

The vantage is pretty fucking good. When the two grad students had joined their half-dozen friends, the two had immediately shed their shirts, giving them to Tony for safekeeping. Thank God for sunglasses, because it gave Tony the freedom to let his eyes wander over two of the most sculpted chests he’s ever seen outside of a magazine or television. It’s fucking obscene how broad Steve’s shoulders are, the way they taper to his slim waist. Neither of them has a single hair on their chests, and Steve is notably lacking the fine line of hair that Bucky has running from his navel down into his shorts. 

Tony remembers those days. Waxing, working out, keeping his body firm and appealing so as to attract and delight whatever sex he wanted to go home with that night. That had changed after Pepper, her not-so-playful wondering of Why are you trying so hard, Tony? You’ve already got me. Their breakup years ago had swept all the dirt from beneath the rug, and her accusations of infidelity still stung after all this time. 

Still reminded Tony that he was just a washed-up old man compared to these kids horsing around on the football field of his alma mater. If he wanted to have a midlife crisis, he could go to the nearest dealership and buy a corvette. But is that all this is? When the two had approached him like tigers closing in on a tasty meal, he’d felt flattered. Almost embarrassed. He’d done such things during his college days—volunteered to wear the ugly red shirts that would set him apart as a student underclassmen could look to to ask questions. Escorting freshmen and sophomores to their dorm rooms had been the perfect way to strike up conversations, and Tony had ended up inside those dorm rooms more times than he could count. 

He’d never been interested in men like him, though, always more interested in people his own age. If he’d seen a man in his (very) late forties with so much gray, he never would have given them the time of day. Too old for the casual lifestyle. He’d been prepared to tell the boys that, to send them on their way. But the same reason he didn’t was the same reason why he wasn’t meant to have casual-sex anymore. He caught feelings too quickly. Fifteen years of monogamy has reconditioned his brain, and now he craves the connection. Wonders what Steve and Bucky do on dates together, if they want to travel, if there’s room between them for another person. 

“Tony, you dumb bastard,” he sighs to himself. Then, louder, cupping his hands around his mouth: “Hey—! That was holding, Bucky! Roll around with Steve on your own time!” 

On the field, Bucky has Steve pinned to the grass. His torso, damp with sweat, catches the light as he twists to listen to what Tony’s saying. The grin he gives is far from apologetic, and judging by the way one of Steve’s large hands splays against the curve of his boyfriend’s waist, Steve is hardly a victim. 

The rest of the team boo at Bucky, Sam cuffing his head gently as they all set up another play. 

This must be foreplay for them, Tony thinks fondly, working hard to keep from grinning. The two of them have basically spent the entire game with their hands on each other. Tony won’t say he’s unaffected by the sight of two attractive men grappling with each other, of the position of power he’s in. When he shouts stop, they stop. Clearing his throat, he shifts, leaning forward to plant his elbows on his knees and hide the growing bulge in his jeans. His own jacket has been removed and sat to the side, too hot to wear it in the direct sunlight. 

When Steve misses a signal because he’s too busy looking at Tony in the stands, it’s a good fucking feeling. 

The kiss the two of them share when Bucky scores a touchdown (even if he’s on the opposite team from Steve) is open-mouthed and deep, both of Steve’s hands cupping either side of Bucky’s face to hold them together, the searing heat between them enough for Tony to feel even so far away. One hand drifts down to cup Bucky’s ass and Tony groans under his breath, forced to turn his gaze away. 

By the end, Bucky’s team has won. 

“Losers buy drinks!” Sam shouts to cheers from all. 

A Monday night and they’re going out for drinks, oh to be young again. 

Tony meets them on the field and is roped into an exuberant, sweaty hug from the victorious Bucky. They are easily a head taller than he is, and even though Tony isn’t some twink (he works out plenty often, though warding off heart disease isn’t sexy in any way shape or form), he can’t help but feel dwarfed. The hard planes of Bucky’s body pressed flush against his own, the way Steve’s eyes glitter as he takes in the sight of them—there’s a heat pooling low in Tony’s gut. 

“Congratulations,” Tony says, breathing in the masculine scent of sweat. “And Steve, my condolences.” 

“Thanks,” Steve laughs. 

“Enjoy your drinks, gentlemen,” says Tony. 

Bucky pulls back, frowning down at Tony. “What, you’re not coming with? Steve owes you a drink too. The referee gets the first drink, as a matter of fact. Come out with us.” 

“Yeah, Tony,” says Steve coming up to wrap an arm around Bucky’s waist. The look they give him leaves no room for interpretation. Tony isn’t slow—for some reason he can’t begin to imagine, these two want to fuck him. Taking him out for a drink is far from a contract set in stone, but it’s the next step to Tony ending up between their sheets. Steve lifts a hand to thread it through Bucky’s dark hair. “Do you want us to beg?” 

Tony licks his lips. “That would be a sight.”

“Is that a yes?’ Bucky asks. “Or should I get on my knees? You know—to beg.” 

That image spears through Tony’s gut like a lightning bolt. “I could come out for a drink or two.” 

-

One by one, their friends take their leave in various states of intoxication, many of them with aching cheeks and chests from laughing. Tony is a fucking hit, witty and sarcastic and clever. He roasts the boys like he’s one of them, but Steve and Bucky are all too aware of how he isn’t. The wisdom in his eyes, the sadness of his silences when he slips out of the conversation and loses himself in his thoughts. 

Sam plays the most excellent wingman. When he leaves, dragging Bucky up out of the chair to grab him in a bone-aching hug, Sam mutters in his ear, “I like this guy. Treat him good.” 

“And then there were three,” Tony murmurs, voice nearly lost to the noise of the bar. “Should we call it a night, or should we order another drink?” 

“I don’t know about you two,” Steve says, “But I need to slow down. Maybe we should order something with a little more sustenance than the typical bar food.” 

“Burgers?” Bucky offers. “What do you say, Tony? Are you in?” 

Tony’s glossy eyes flicker between them, narrowed in playful confusion but with a healthy dose of skepticism. He’s had more to drink than any of them, starting out with hard liquor (letting everyone try his expensive aged whiskey) before tapering off to beer. His body is loose, face flushed, but he’s just as quick. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you two are trying to get me...sober. Which is actually a refreshing change of pace from the people I’m usually at bars with.” 

“You don’t have to stop if you don’t want to.” 

Reaching out, Tony finishes off the last of his draft before pushing the glass away. The smile he gives them is so fucking handsome, none of the anxiety or self-consciousness in his gaze the way there had been at the quad. What this incredible man has to be self-conscious about, Bucky has no fucking clue. Tony rubs his hands together. “So. Burgers?” 

Over burgers, the conversation changes tempo from the fast-paced, superficial topics they’d discussed among the other college boys. The three of them may as well exist in their own little world; once the bar’s busy hours began, they moved to a smaller table in the corner to free up seats for larger parties, families flooding in to have their last dinners with their college kids before driving away. Gravitating towards each other, heads always leaned close to be heard over the music, Bucky has seen the waitress turn away from them more than once, unwilling to break the spell they all seem to hold over each other. 

“So your son’s going to school for bioengineering?” Bucky asks, licking grease off his fingers. 

Tony’s eyes watch the movement, so Bucky plays up the action, giving a flash of teeth and tongue before sucking his fingers clean. He’s already feeling more sober, the greasy food soaking up the alcohol in his stomach. Tony reaches out for his sweating water glass and takes a large gulp that has Bucky hiding his smirk. “Peter. Yes, he’s always been especially interested in advanced prosthetics.” 

“He’s in the right place then,” Steve says. “We’re number one in engineering this side of the Mississippi, and the head of the bioengineering department is top in her field.” 

Tony smirks. “No need to sell me on the college, kids. I went here myself.” 

Bucky leans forward. “Major?”

“Which one?”

“Ho-ly shit, Steve. You hear that? Which one. All the ones, Tony, all the ones.”

“I have a Masters in electrical engineering and physics.” 

“Fuck me,” Bucky breathes. “You’re a genius.” 

“It’s funny that you say that,” says Tony. “I have been called that once or twice or ten dozen times.” 

“Can we ask about Peter’s mom?” Steve asks. He immediately regrets the question when Tony’s face falls from its easy smile. The crowd mills around them just outside the gravitational pull of their table, and Tony leans back in his chair to watch it for a long silent minute. Steve nudges the older man’s foot under the table. “Hey—you don’t have to answer that.” 

Tony waves a careless hand, though there’s nothing relaxed about his expression. “It’s fine. Peter was the result of a one night stand during my younger less responsible days. Mary and I co-parented fine. She passed away after a terrible accident many years ago, when Peter was just a boy.” 

Bucky’s heart aches, a physical weight in his chest it sinks like a stone tossed into water. “I’m so sorry,” he says. 

“Me too. She was a very good woman and an incredible mother. After she died, I knew I couldn’t care for a young child on my own, so I remarried. Pepper is an awesome step-mother; when I was leaving Pete’s dorm, he was just booting up his laptop to Skype with her and show her his room. We divorced a handful of years ago because of—irreconcilable differences. It was rough on Peter.” 

“And on you,” Bucky surmises. 

Tony winces. He lifts his water to try and hide behind it. “That obvious?” 

“Do you miss her?” Steve asks. His face is clear and open and sympathetic; Bucky knows him well enough to know that he isn’t the easily jealous type, that even if Tony said he was still madly in love with this ex-wife Pepper (and what kind of name is that, Bucky wonders) Steve wouldn’t take it personally. 

“No,” says Tony without preamble. “The fighting was bad. I worked too much, I didn’t want more children, I didn’t make her feel wanted. She was convinced that if I wasn’t being intimate with her, then I was being intimate with someone else. My porn history is what really tipped her off to my changing proclivities. I thought, I’m too old to be having a sexuality crisis. She thought I’d misled her—tricked her into marrying a gay man.” 

“There’s no such thing as too old,” Steve says with tenderness. “And you hardly could have tricked her if you hadn’t known yourself.” 

Tony’s smile is misty, distracted. “Yeah. Well. Jesus, boys, would you look at the time?” 

“Tony.” 

“It was sweet of you kids to humor me, but I really should get going. It’s a long drive back to New York City.” 

“Are you sure? You had a lot to drink,” Bucky says. There are a host of reasons why he wants Tony to stay—at this table, in this moment, in this bar—but more than anything, he wants Tony to be safe. And he wants Tony to want to stay. 

“I’ll sober up on the walk back to the university’s parking lot, don’t worry.” 

“Our place is close by,” Steve says. “We live in an apartment for graduates. It’s small and the walls are thin, but it’s clean and you’re more than welcome to stay and drive back in the morning.” 

Tony frowns. Bucky wishes that he’d push those ridiculous tinted glasses back so that they could see the darkness of his eyes and whatever might be swimming in them. Face flushed with either drink or anger, the older man scoffs, pushing away his water. “I really don’t get you two. There were half-a-hundred other men and women in the quad who would have been happy to go home with you. Why the hell did you target me? Look, here’s some life advice: try to avoid picking up middle-aged men with as much baggage in their past as they have bags under their eyes.” 

“Wait a minute—” says Steve firmly. Bucky can feel the tenseness in his form mirrored in his boyfriend’s body, a rising sense of alarm that the night is not turning out the way they had hoped. It happens sometimes: Bucky and Steve will pick up a person only for the night to end outside the bar. But judging by Steve’s clenched jaw and the way Bucky’s own heart pounds, this isn’t a situation they’ll be able to walk away from - not without shooting their shot properly. 

But Tony makes a derisive noise to stop Steve before he can start. Reaching into his wallet, he takes out an obscene amount of cash to leave it on the table. “Please. No more. Thanks for trying to repair an old man’s pride.” 

They watch his figure as he begins to shuffle his way through the crowd towards the exit. 

“I don’t wanna let him go,” Bucky says. “Not right now, but not tomorrow morning, neither.” 

“You really like him,” says Steve, more of a statement than any question. He takes a last drink of water before standing hastily. “Then we’d better not let him walk away without knowing.” 

Outside, the air has a chill in it. People stream along the sidewalk wearing jackets to protect them from the beginning hints of the New England fall. Their height gives them an advantage as they search the crowd for a shorter head of dark, impossibly fluffy hair. Steve takes a firm grip of Bucky’s arm, pointing, whispering a breathless, there! 

Bucky sees him. Tony has stopped the next building over and is leaning heavily against the brick wall, both hands rubbing at his face as if trying to wipe the remnants of sleep away. The people flooding in and out of the bar have disguised Bucky and Steve’s exit; they nearly make it to him unseen before he turns and begins to walk away back towards the university, when a knot of fear that’s tied itself deep in Bucky’s throat makes him call out, “Tony!” 

Glancing over his shoulder, Tony’s face displays a complex series of emotions that Bucky can’t properly follow—but at least he doesn’t run. Stepping out of the crowd’s current, he lingers at the mouth of an alley while the two younger men catch up to him. 

“I know I left enough cash,” Tony says tiredly. 

“We aren’t here about the cash,” Steve says. “We really had a good time tonight, and we don’t want it to end. If you’d rather head home alone instead of with us, could we at least get your number?” 

“My number?” Tony asks, eyes wide. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “What for?” 

“To text you,” says Bucky. “To maybe set up another time to meet up whenever you’re back this way.” 

“Come on, boys,” Tony murmurs, his voice nearly lost to the crowd. He looks at them with soft, sad eyes. “Come on. Let's just quit pretending.” 

“Who’s pretending? What will prove it to you? You want me to beg? I offered it once before. I’m not above it.” 

Neither of them can miss the way Tony’s throat bobs at the suggestion. Before anyone else can say a word, Steve’s hand is pressed to Bucky’s shoulder. When Bucky glances over, he sees the cool level gaze and immediately goes soft and spacey in the head (though hard everywhere else). 

“Go on,” Steve says to Bucky. His voice is low and sure and goes straight to Bucky’s cock. “That’s what he wants. You want to give him what he wants, don’t you? Get down on your knees and beg him.” 

“Steve,” Tony croaks. 

The rest of his sentence is lost at the sound of Bucky’s knees connecting with the pavement. Tony looks good from down here, Bucky thinks dimly, looks good from every angle, but there’s something about being on his knees that makes Bucky see through different eyes. 

“Please don’t be done with us,” Bucky begs through numb lips. Behind him, the raucous mill of the crowd melts into white noise. They’re only just inside the mouth of the alleyway. People would barely have to turn their heads to see them and the thought sets Bucky’s nerves on fire.  “Please, give us a chance.” 

A long breath comes out of Tony’s nose, jaw clenching and unclenching. His looks from Steve to Bucky again and again before he lets a tentative hand reach out and touch Bucky’s hair. Bucky’s eyes fall shut at the feeling. There’s a reason why he keeps his hair long. Mouth parting, he tilts his head into the older man’s touch. 

“Jesus,” Tony breathes. “What am I going to do with you, kid?” 

“There’s plenty you could do,” Steve offers. “But you don’t have to do anything at all, if you don’t want to.” 

Then Tony is kneeling in front of him, shifting those tinted glasses until they rest in the impeccable cloud of his hair. He takes up all the space in the alley, all the space in Bucky’s vision, all the space in his brain. 

“What about you, James?” Tony asks. “What do you want?” 

Without any hesitation: “I wanna make you feel good.”

They kiss. There’s no preamble, no gentle exploration; Bucky and Tony are both masterful kissers after years of experience, and at the moment neither of them are sober enough to worry about finesse. Bucky takes Tony’s tongue into his own mouth and suckles, swallowing the way the older man groans. His facial hair abraids Bucky’s mouth and chin, the sting making him feel raw and hot all over. It’s one of the best kisses he’s ever had, and if it’s an omen of how the evening will progress, it’s a very fucking good one. 

“Fuck,” Tony mutters, pulling back. His breath fans across Bucky’s face as he laughs, one hand coming to rest on the younger man’s shoulder. “I’m not twenty-five anymore; this kills my knees.” 

Steve, who had nearly blended into the shadows while watching them with bated breath, helps Tony up, adding, “I guess Bucky and I will be the only ones on our knees tonight.” 

Then it’s his turn to kiss Tony, tilting the older man’s chin upwards and cupping the back of his head with one broad palm. They are the antithesis of each other: one tall and broad, pale and blond. Bucky groans at the sight of his boyfriend’s jaws opening, the hint of hollowness in his cheeks as he licks into Tony’s mouth. 

“God,” Steve mutters when he pulls back to catch his breath. “That whiskey tastes even better comin’ off of your tongue.” 

“How close is your apartment?” Tony asks. 

“Too far,” Steve says roughly. “Too far for me to not have my hands on you. Yes or no?” 

“Yes. Yes, yes.” 

The two of them coax Tony deeper into the alleyway, his boots echoing off the concrete. When they’re a safe enough distance from the prying eyes of the street, Steve leans with his back against one brick wall, pulling Tony’s back to rest against his chest while Bucky presses himself flush to the man’s front. There’s no hiding Bucky’s erection which presses into the soft cotton of the t-shirt beneath Tony’s jacket, and when Bucky shifts a thigh between the man’s legs, there’s no way to miss Tony’s erection either. 

Tony sighs in pleasure as Bucky drags his thigh along his cock. When his head tilts back, Steve is there nuzzling into the side of his neck, scraping teeth along the sensitive skin. 

“Fuck me, look at him, Steve,” Bucky pants. With hands firm on Tony’s hips, he tugs the shorter man up while angling his own hips down until the bulge of their cocks can drag against each other. “He’s so fuckin’ beautiful, isn’t he?” 

“Like art,” Steve rumbles into Tony’s neck. “Wanna pin him up against the wall—” 

“I think I can feel what you plan on pinning me with,” Tony breathes, arching his back. 

“You think?” Steve asks, rutting his hips upwards. It punches a gasp from Tony’s mouth that Bucky swallows with his own. 

Between them, Tony must feel like the pivot on a seesaw, dragged back and forth, both of them desperate for whatever part of his body they could touch. Steve splays a wide hand against Tony’s breastbone between his open jacket and drags his palm from one pec to the other, fingers taking one clothed nipple (hard and delicate as a glass bead where it pokes through his t-shirt) and working it over, tender and merciless. 

In front of him, Bucky guides his hips so that Tony maintains a steady pace where their cocks are grinding together. He hasn’t cum in his pants since he was fifteen years old with his first girlfriend writhing against his lap, but he feels liable to repeat history tonight. 

“You feel so good,” Bucky groans into the juncture of Tony’s neck. “Been thinking about this ever since I spotted you on the quad, even more at the bar. Every time you’d flirt with the waitress I’d almost pop a stiffie. Nobody’s got a right being as sexy as you are.” 

“You’ve got it—ah!—wrong,” Tony pants. He’s wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, the fingers of one hand tangled and tugging at his hair. “Watching you and Steve roll around on that football field was like pornography. The hell do you think I had my jacket in my lap, for?” 

Bucky barely manages to stifle an embarrassing sound in his throat. His balls feel tight and heavy, as if he’s been edging himself all day long. His jerking thrusts against Tony’s jeans begin to become sporadic as he chases that high. His sweatpants will be ruined—they probably already are, if he’s leaking like a faucet how he thinks he is—but all consequences and repercussions fade as the coil of heat in his gut winds itself tighter and tighter. 

“‘M gonna cum,” he gasps, shivering when he hears the breath Tony sucks in at his words. 

“You want that, Tony?” Steve asks. “You want him to cum or do you want him to wait? You get to decide tonight—” 

“Steve,” Bucky says, voice strained. “Don’t make me stop, please don’t make me, he feels so good, Steve—” 

“Stop him,” Tony gasps, though his own hips offer no help considering he arches them to rub the burning line of their cocks together. “Don’t let him cum.” 

Steve reaches out to press firmly on Bucky’s chest until he stumbles back away from the warm cradle of Tony’s hips, an undignified noise slipping past his lips. From a distance, he’s treated to the incredible sight of them: Steve holding Tony flush against him, the way Tony’s eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, the obscene bulge in his denim and the way his entire body jerks when Steve thrusts his cock against the lush curve of Tony’s ass. 

“Jesus, you all aren’t making it easy on me,” Bucky says, palming his eyes. 

“Tony’s right,” Steve says firmly. “He deserves better than this. We need more room.” 

“Apartment?” Tony wonders through swollen lips. 

“Apartment. Let’s go, sugar, we’ll take a shortcut.” 

-

What the hell am I doing? Tony wonders for the thousandth time that day as they walk briskly down alleys and jaywalk across streets. The thought replays in his head like a track on repeat. His own erection wanes quickly thanks to a heart condition and as a lovely perk of aging, but he hardly minds when he sees how ridiculous the two younger men look trying to hide their half-hard cocks while navigating the downtown area. Tony removes his jacket and offers it to Bucky who has a tell-tale patch of darkness where the head of his cock has rested. The sight makes his heart pound. 

What the hell am I doing, he thinks again when the two of them pin him to the wall in the elevator of their apartment building, both of them grinding their respective erections into his hips while teasing the sensitive skin of his neck, hands creeping up under the hem of his t-shirt to trace his quivering stomach. 

He feels infused with some sort of youthful madness. The three of them stumble out of the elevator with swollen mouths and tented pants and he feels young again. Even for just a moment while Steve takes the time to unlock their apartment door. Then the three of them are tumbling over the threshold and Tony remembers—right, he’s on the wrong side of forty. 

“Goddamnit,” he hisses when his knee cracks against the doorframe. The twin expressions of horror on Bucky and Steve’s faces have his pained groan turning into laughter, even as Bucky leans down to wind one of Tony’s arms over his broad shoulders and help him to the couch. 

“Jesus, you okay?” Bucky asks, kneeling down between Tony’s spread thighs and tenderly running his fingers over Tony’s clothed knee. 

“Fine,” Tony laughs. “Still a little drunk.” 

Bucky’s eyes flash upwards, pale, liquid heat. His fingers trail up, up, until they trace the seam at the crotch of Tony’s jeans. “Too drunk?” 

“Not that drunk, kid,” Tony smirks. “Not by far.” 

“Good,” Steve says from where he’s locking up the door. “Do you want Bucky to suck you off?”

The idea, spoken so casually as Steve pauses to rifle through the drawer of the foyer table, sends a bolt of electricity down Tony’s spine. He’ll never get used to it—that flippant way Steve speaks about Bucky, as if Bucky is just an item Steve feels welcomed to loan out. Sure, you can take him home, Tony. Just rewind him before you bring him back. 

“I think he likes the thought of that,” Bucky says lowly, his mouth curving upward to hint at wickedness. 

Steve stops, rustling papers falling silent as he glances over his shoulder at them. “Tony? What do you want?” 

“I’m amenable,” he admits, far more breathlessly than he’d like. 

“Then get to it, Bucky, I’m looking for our papers we got from the clinic.” 

“Lookin’ in the wrong place,” Bucky teases. “On top of the ‘fridge.” 

Then he leans forward and licks a broad line up over Tony’s denim-covered cock. It barely registers as pressure on his dick, but it’s the imagery that has the blood rushing from his head in a torrent so strong he feels dizzy. Bucky keeps his eyes cracked open, glittering as he takes Tony apart, laving him from outside his jeans, dragging the line of his teeth down the growing bulge to laugh at the sound that slips past the older man’s lips. He opens wide to mouth at Tony’s balls, the heat from his breath and tongue seeping through the denim. 

“Finally,” Steve breathes, drawing Tony’s attention. He holds out two pieces of paper—how the hell he expects Tony to read given the lack of blood in his brain, Tony has no idea. “Bucky and I get tested regularly. Here’s our most recent screening, and we’ve only slept with each other since then.” 

“I don’t have mine,” Tony says. His voice sounds strained from the effort it takes to keep his hips still and not fuck up into Bucky’s mouth. “Condoms okay?” 

“More than fine,” Steve says. “God, look at you, Bucky. Makin’ a mess of him.”

“Get me something and I’ll blow him proper.” 

Steve retrieves condoms while Bucky unfastens Tony’s jeans. He gets distracted by the sight of Tony’s cock straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs and leans forward to nuzzle against it. It takes all the breath from him. When was the last time Tony felt desirable? To have Bucky looking at him this way, refusing to withdraw his mouth from Tony for longer than a moment at a time—it fills up an empty, wounded part inside of him that he had avoided acknowledging in the first place.

“Finally,” Bucky breathes, snagging a condom up from where Steve drops them on the couch cushion beside Tony. Tony wants to mirror the sentiment, but his throat is shut tight while he watches Bucky tear open the condom with expert fingers. 

Steve kneels down next to his boyfriend. One hand cups Bucky’s jaw and briefly turns his head so that their mouths can meet. If Tony thought he was breathless before, he knew differently now. It’s pornography in person, it’s erotica come to life watching both of these hopelessly attractive young men kiss each other so filthily, tongues flashing pink when they adjust the positions of their mouths. 

The aching of Tony’s cock is painful. When he reaches down to rub the heel of his palm over it, it offers only the briefest reprieve, his eyes fluttering shut. Then Steve’s fingers wrap gently around his wrist and his eyes open to see the both of them watching him, flushed with swollen mouths. 

“Sorry,” Steve rumbles. “We are easily distracted.” 

“Then you’re among like-kind,” says Tony. 

“May I?” Bucky asks, holding up the condom. 

“Please.” 

“Hips up, sugar,” Steve murmurs. There’s a fluttering of embarrassment at the endearment—in some ways Tony feels infantilized—but it’s been so long since he was called any sweet name (besides Peter’s fond, exasperated dad’s) that a larger part of him feels choked at the name. Swallowing hard, Tony shifts upward so that Steve can work the jeans and underwear down and off.

Bucky reels off a line of expletives at the sight of Tony’s cock: long, cut, flushed. It jerks under their gazes, the head slick and sticky. He can’t help but laugh under his breath at the expressions on their faces. The laughter ends when Bucky reaches out to trace his fingers up his shaft, thumbing at the sensitive skin beneath the head. 

“You’re perfect,” says Bucky. 

“It’s a cock.” 

“Yours,” says Steve. “Is there anything about you that ain’t perfect?” 

“I’m positive there is, but I really can’t think of them right now,”  Tony says, thighs tense from the effort it takes to keep still under Bucky’s explorative touch. When a warm palm cups his balls, rolling them tenderly, feeling the heft of them, all semblance of language leaks from Tony’s ears. 

“God, you need to cum, don’t ya?” Bucky asks. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it? Bet you don’t like to cum with your kid in the house, but he’s been hanging around night and day to spend time with you before he went away to school. Has there been nobody since your ex, Tony? It’s like you were saving it up for us. It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll take care of you. Just how you deserve.” 

With careful fingers, Bucky places the condom at the tip of Tony’s cock before rolling it down his aching shaft. Then Bucky is chasing the edge of the latex with his mouth, heat and pressure enveloping him. Tony makes a guttural sound, fingers scrabbling at the cushions of the sofa for purchase.  

“Don’t be greedy, Buck,” Steve says. With a hand on the nape of Bucky’s neck, he coaxes his boyfriend back off of Tony’s cock so that he can lean forward and lap at it with his own tongue.

“Holy shit,” Tony slurs drunkenly. While Steve sucks on the head, Bucky places open-mouthed kisses along the shaft. They urge Tony’s thighs wider and wider so they can comfortably take turns rolling his balls in their palms, tugging softly, hurting him in the best way. It helps to keep his orgasm at bay, though he still feels it creeping over him. It centers in his lower gut, a liquid heat relocating to his balls. 

“He’s getting close, Steve,” Bucky breathes, his lips brushing against Tony’s shaft. “His balls are drawin’ up. Feel—” 

“God, you’re right.” 

“Don’t want to cum yet,” pants Tony. 

“Do you want us to stop?” Steve asks. 

That idea is painful in a way Tony can't tolerate. 

“No, just—” His hands release their death-grip on the sofa to bat their hands out of the way. Using one hand to press his cock towards the flat of his stomach, his other hands slaps at his heavy sac. Gasping in pain, he doubles over on instinct to protect his most sensitive parts while the pain lances bright and sharp through his gut. As he catches his breath, he feels how his erection has waned. Still hard, but not in the danger zone. Had he been any closer, the blow to his balls might have made him cum, no matter how bad it had hurt. Tony’s always been one of those people to enjoy pain with his pleasure. 

“I don’t like that,” Bucky says, frowning as Tony uncurls and leans back to his original position. “Don’t hurt yourself. We coulda just put a ring on you—” 

“Rings will only do so much,” Tony laughs, still trying to catch his breath. Then, with surprising diffidence, he mentions, “Sometimes, I like to be hurt.” 

Steve groans, collapsing forward to rest on Tony’s thigh. Muffled, he says, “Don’t tell me that, Tony. Have mercy on me.” 

“Steve’s a sadist,” Bucky admits, grinning. He leans forward and laps at the latex covering Tony’s cockhead. 

Tony lets out a shaky breath through his nose. “Is that so?” 

Steve lifts his head and pins Tony in place with the heat behind his gaze. “Can’t help it,” he says, voice rough. “I love...confusing people. Take Bucky for example: the first few spanks, he flinches away, right? Puts up a real fuss. But position him so his cock’ll only brush against my leg if he’s arching his back, and he’ll be thrusting out his ass for me to spank in no time at all. Work a person over with pleasure and pain and they’ll start cravin’ both.” 

“Work me over enough so that it doesn’t hurt so fucking bad when you’re following too close at the grocery store and step on my heels, will you?” Bucky deadpans.

“You're doing too much talking,” Steve says. With a firm hand, he cups the back of Bucky’s head and coaxes him down until Tony’s cock bumps his cheek. “Go on, baby. Choke on him.”

Tony gives a groan that is mirrored (though muffled) by Bucky. That impossible heat and force of suction surrounds his cock as Bucky’s lips slide lower and lower, tongue working against the thickness as best as it can. When Tony’s cockhead brushes the firm back of his throat, Bucky’s dark eyelashes flutter shut. Steve is just as enraptured as Tony, watching with hooded eyes even as he presses down with more force on the back of Bucky’s head. 

Bucky gags, the back of his throat spasming around the most sensitive part of Tony’s cock. Tony moans long and low, reaching out to brush away the stray strands of hair in the younger man’s face. Bucky’s eyes flutter open at the touch. The whites are flushing red, tears at the corners as he continues to gag and gag and gag, massaging Tony’s cock with his throat. 

“He loves it,” Steve whispers over the wet, obscene sounds of Bucky choking. 

“That true?” Tony grits out. “Do you love choking on cock, Bucky?” 

Steve relents his grip so that Bucky can pull back, mouth wet and red and gasping for breath. “Your cock,” he says with a cracking voice. “Love choking on your cock, daddy.” 

“Fuck,” Tony groans, legs shaking. “Don’t call me that, you shouldn’t call me that—” 

“He shouldn’t call you that, or you shouldn’t like it?” Steve wonders. 

“Both.”

“He loves it too,” Steve whispers. He’s the devil on Tony’s shoulder, feeding him everything he needs to hear to drag him deeper to sin. “Look at him. If you bent your leg and gave him your shoe to rub against, he’d cum quicker than you could blink. It’s the power imbalance. He’s getting off on it, so why can’t you?” 

Bucky pulls back. His voice is throaty when he laughs and says, “Steve, I think you’re usin’ your mouth too much.” 

The blond man laughs. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” 

Then both of their mouths are back on Tony’s cock, licking and sucking, making sure to run their lips over every last inch of him. Sometimes they are distracted enough to pull back and kiss for a moment, mouths swollen. Sometimes they refuse to part from Tony, instead lapping at each other’s mouths from around Tony’s cock. The heat in him builds slow like water turned from simmering to boiling. He reaches out and pets his hands through both of their hair, Bucky’s so fine and dark, Steve’s so thick and golden. When one of their thumbs drifts to the sensitive skin behind his balls and rubs in a slow, firm circle, all at once he feels like he’s vaporizing. 

“I’m going to cum,” he warns. 

Steve pulls off, nuzzling wetly at Bucky’s temple to say, “Go on baby, you’ve earned it. You finish him off.” 

Instead, Bucky pulls off too, looking at Steve with mournful, sulky eyes. “I want his cum, Stephen.” 

“Don’t talk to me, talk to him!” 

Bucky turns that heated gaze on Tony instead. He looks absolutely debauched: face flushed, sweat gluing strands of dark hair to his pale temples, mouth red and swollen. Leaning forward, he drags his smooth cheek along Tony’s throbbing cock. “Why can’t I have it,” Bucky mutters with all the morose energy of a teenager. “Come on, daddy, lemme have your cum. I'd strip this condom off of you and drain you, suck you dry."

It’s, fuck—what, like it can’t tempt him? It does. He hasn’t cum in anyone’s mouth since Pepper (and as per her preferences, she’d then spit). He’s never had someone acting positively thirsty for his cum. It's a heady feeling, something he could get drunk off of, could get used to. But Tony was a young queer man during the AIDS crisis. He knows that safety matters more than the heat of the moment. 

“You’ll take what I give you,” he says. “And I will give it to you, once we all know it’s safe and we can enjoy it properly. Now—be a good boy and, and suck daddy off.” 

If Bucky notices that the words are stilted coming from Tony’s mouth, he doesn’t show it. A noise slips from his throat, raw and high and desperate, and then he is leaning forward and taking as much of Tony’s cock past his lips as he can, groaning wetly when it chokes him. Tony’s fingers tighten, pulling harshly at Bucky’s roots as the heat in his balls builds back to boiling point. 

A warm hand reaches out to push Tony’s shirt up, baring the long line of his soft abs. He places his palm just beneath Tony’s navel just in time for the muscles there to clench up tight as Tony cums. 

For a moment the pressure builds and builds, leaves him standing at the precipice and looking over the edge for so long that he thinks it might last forever. Then one firmer press of that thumb behind his balls snaps the tether that held him back from plummeting down. His entire body tenses as his balls draw up tight. No sound escapes until his cock finally begins to release its spend, and then the only sounds in the room are Bucky’s wet gags and Tony’s choked groans as one of the best orgasms of his life is wrung out of him. Maybe it’s a good thing he shoots into a condom instead of down the kid's throat, because it seems to last forever. Steve presses him firmly to the couch even as his body spasms in the throes of pleasure, a comforting weight. 

“Jesus,” Tony whispers to the ceiling, body wracked with aftershocks. 

“Did you hear that?” Bucky rasps letting Tony’s softening cock slip from his mouth. Tony blinks down at him, unsure if there was something he as supposed to hear—a knock on the door, the wet sounds of the best blowjob of his life—but then he realizes that Bucky is speaking to Steve. “He said he will give it to me. That means we’re not finished, right? There’s gonna be more between us, right Tony?” 

Tony breathes out, his heart soft. Now that he’s cum, he feels the post-coital exhaustion coming over him. Christ, it must be late. The best way to spend his evening (if they’ll let him) would be to spend it pressed between their stacked, warm bodies.

“I’d like there to be more,” he admits. The blood returning to his brain brings back all of his doubts, his fears, his insecurities. What the hell is he doing, letting two young men take him home, letting two young men work their way into his heart like this? Surely it is doomed. But if there’s even the slightest chance of otherwise, then Tony feels obliged to follow it down, to see it through right to the end. 

“We can take all this slow,” says Steve, the voice of reason. “Exchange numbers. See each other next time you’re in town to see Peter. See what happens.” 

“I’m an exclusive kind of guy,” Tony admits. Realizing the irony of having such a conversation with his pants down, he works them back up over his hips, tying off the condom and depositing it in a trash can Steve produces from beneath one endtable. “Fifteen years of monogamy will do that to a man. If I’m talking with you two, I won’t be talking with anyone else.” 

“That’s fair,” Bucky says, leaning his cheek against the denim of Tony’s jeans. One side of his mouth quirks upwards. “Besides, you’ll have your hands full with the two of us, anyway.” 

“We’d extend that same courtesy,” Steve says, poking Bucky in the ribs. “Besides—I don’t think anyone is going to be peaking our interests. Not if they aren’t you.” 

“That’s sappy.” And everything he’s ever wanted. 

“It’s true, though.” 

“Steve’s a big softie,” Bucky teases. Throwing his voice in a poor imitation of his boyfriend, he adds: “I’m Steve and my childhood asthma left me with a huge complex—I want to make you crave pain and then make you vegan pancakes in the morning.”

“That’s it—” Steve slaps Bucky upside the head. “No pancakes for you in the morning. None.” 

“What about for me?” Tony wonders softly. 

Steve’s smile, when he turns it on Tony, is bright as the sun. “For you? All the vegan pancakes.”

Bucky mutters something foul under his breath, and all at once Steve is towering over him, chest nearly pressed against Bucky’s shoulder, a solid disapproving wall of muscle. The brunet has to turn his face into Tony’s thigh to hide his smirk. Tony watches the display of dominance with raised brows. 

“You’ve been pushing me all night, Buck, and I’ve just about had it.” 

“Just about?” Bucky asks. 

Steve’s eyes cut to Tony. “You said something earlier today, about the proper way to spank somebody. Care to show some pointers, daddy?” 

Tony’s cock, spent as it is, gives a valiant jerk. At his feet, Bucky’s entire body shivers. He turns to look up at Tony, his eyes like molten silver with all the heat and desperation packed behind the irises. It’s been so long since he spanked anyone properly (or was spanked in return); surely it would take him a few swings to get back into the hang of things. 

He has a feeling that Steve wouldn’t be the only one learning a thing or two tonight. 

Clearing his throat, he says, “I think I can help with that.” 

[sinkix]

《What your fav Haikyuu!! Character says about you│Nekoma Edition》

Yo-hoo! Here’s another part to this potential(?) series! I hope you enjoy the possible call-outs in some of these lmao. Writers block been kicking my ass recently but I had a lot of fun writing these. Enjoy <3

You can find the Karasuno ver. here 

✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧

Kuroo:

Have a hand fetish and will not say no to choking.

Daddy kink™

Will not accept anything below 6 inches.

More of a dog person but would love to own a black cat.

You drool over tattoos.

Your grades are mostly B’s but you know in your heart you deserve that A, and tbh you probably do. Chase ur goals bby.

Halloween is likely your favourite holiday.

You have to resist not to carve a dick into the pumpkin EvEry GodDAmN YeAr.

You either study for 6 hours consecutively or cannot study at all and you get very frustrated at this.

Have the potential to be a good leader and command the room but probably don’t put it to use as much as you should.

Your playlist parkours from sad 3am crying into your pillow songs to aggressive punk music you could rob a store to.

You like bad boys who hang around bars and look like they would put out a cigarette on your forearm and call you a slut. Just stating facts sweaty xoxo.

Either dress very feminine and girly with a ‘smol girl uwu’ aesthetic or a hardass punk who would kick your ass for a can of beer no in between and tbh both are equally hot.

You’re a big softie at heart either way and just want to be held and told everything will be okay.

Ur a hoe for when people stroke your hair or caress your chin it’s your ultimate weakness.

Watched Rick & Morty.

Twice.

Sleeves rolled up veiny forearms and donning a silver watch are your muse and something you fantasise about frequently.

Most of your memes are shitty top text bottom texts that are somehow funny and I don’t understand why lmao.

You call someone ‘bro’ even if it’s someone you’re immensely attracted to.

Did someone say ties? No it’s just ur dirty ass thoughts thinking about that hot business dudes attire from across the street and how you wish they were tied around ur wrists.

Probably had a crush on Jeff the Killer as a tween and are relentlessly haunted by your old Wattpad library. 

Tbh any dark-haired dude with bedhead that screams rugged and probably not good for you is something that draws you like a moth to a flame.

You often question why every person you’ve fallen for has been a Scorpio and curse that tendency of yours.

Dw man they’re hot so I feel u.

Kenma:

Went through a ‘I’m not like other __’ phase and it’s something that you think about a lot and wish you didn’t.

Watched dan & phil as a kid.

Any mention of Pokemon has you turning into a rabid beast you get way too excited.

It’s cute though dw bby.

Pretty antisocial but interesting to talk to.

Your family often question how you’re able to sleep in till 3pm and judge you heavily for it.

Nocturnal night owl gang rise up.

Frequently have bags under your eyes but somehow manage to pull it off.

Listen to ASMR on the down-low and will never admit it to a single soul.

Frequently go on BL binges and have many related book marks.

You pray that someone will never find your laptop bc holy fuck the amount of smut on that.

You wear scarves & beanies even when it isn’t that cold outside.

100% went through a scene hair phase/attempted to.

You dye your hair a lot or REALLY want to.

You have a voice kink low-key so anyone with a pleasant/soothing sounding voice just gets u goin’.

Cats are your favourite animal and you either do or want to own several.

Would name them after video game/anime characters u fuckin nerd lol.

Speaking of cats ,you fantasise heavily about cat-boys and have a folder dedicated to them.

Oversized hoodies are your vibe and always ball the sleeve hems in your fist as a comfort mechanism.

Shopping centres are your worst nightmare and trigger your claustrophobia or social anxiety and honestly I feel that spiritually.

Have a cute sticky note collection.

You like a lot of music consisting of guitar and slow/soothing beats.

You also fw EDM/ techno on occasions.

Honestly wouldn’t wanna anger you since you have a seething temper when pushed far enough.

It’s the kinda temper that’s eerily quiet but no less terrifying, like the other person can tell you are graphically plotting their demise.

You love sleeping to the sound of rainfall and often play those nature ambience videos while you sleep.

Never tidy your sheets and it’s just a big scrunched up heap of fabric in the centre of your mattress most of the time.

Make your fucking bed.

Lev:

Your ships are chaotic and shamelessly controversial.

Would do something just for the sake of creating mayhem lmao.

You were the fucker who stuck their chewing gum under the desk, I see you.

Your brain never stops whirring it’s a constant hurricane of crackhead energy and you have no idea how to turn it off. 

Would eat a stick of pencil lead for $2

You don’t help your situation with the amount of coffee/energy drinks you consume.

The class clown who cries themselves to sleep.

Such a wholesome dumbass but somehow kinda intimidating??? 

Even if you’re not confident you can do something you’ll try anyway and honestly I respect that about you.

You !! use!!! a lot??!! of!! random punctuation!!! so you always??!?!? seem!!111!! excited!!!!!11!?

Every time you’ve ever tried to make a sandcastle it has failed.

You tried to eat the sand once but we don’t talk bout that.

You would  also pick up slugs and snails and chase your friends around with them.

Can never tell whether people are laughing with you or at you and while you don’t let it show it high-key bothers you when you’re laying alone in your room at night.

Not one to hold grudges, you carry a ‘shit happens’ mentality which is v good but it sometimes leads to people taking advantage of it or walking all over you.

Your meme collection is both questionable and horrifying.

Like how many cursed images and heavily distorted pictures does one person need.

Never organise the files on your PC/laptop so it looks like a complete dumpster fire.

The one at sleepovers who persistently woke everyone else up with their snickering and refusal to sleep till dawn.

For the love of Asahi charge your damn phone.

I see that red bar and ‘12%’

Charge it now.

Bought a plant one time, gave it a name and talked to it frequently.

It died not long after bc u forgot to fucking water it.

No one better ever make you responsible for a pet.

Type of person that when someone asks you to tag along on an endeavour no matter how stupid it is you will agree.

2am skydiving in france? hell yeah.

Midnight shopping spree and spending over half your pay check? count you in.

Exploring an abandoned hospital and performing an Ouija board to summon the demons of hell? you’re damn right you’ll be there.

I hope you have a mum friend by your side bc if not how are you still alive.

You sometimes put the milk in before the cereal and it’s something I’ll never forgive you for.

Yaku:

Very responsible and usually make the right decisions.

You do have moments where you act like a complete dumbass though.

Like u go from 50 year old to 5 year old in the blink of an eye.

A hopeless romantic but it’s a side you don’t often reveal.

Prefer strawberry milk over any other flavour.

You’re the type of person to shower twice a day w/o fail.

Where that stank smell coming from? Not you clearly bc your skin is basically 90% The Body Shop’s rose scented soap at this point.

You get stomach aches a lot and you can’t figure out why.

Probably an allergy to everyone’s bs.

Really good at dirty talk even though you don’t seem the type so people are always taken aback.

You have to be really in the mood though otherwise it falls flatter than Oikawa’s ass, use your skill wisely.

You often call people clowns when you know you’re secretly the biggest one going.

Honk honk, hoe.

You send messages in one paragraph rather than multiple texts unless you are REALLY excited.

People underestimate you at times then are shocked when they realise you are capable of being a fire-breathing dragon from the flaming pits of hell.

You like spicy chicken wings.

Such a petty little shit at times lmao.

Enjoy the view from the top of mountains so you either hike a lot or really want to.

Way more of a cat person since it’s just much more convenient for you.

Usually pretty cheerful or calm and people are drawn to your stable/friendly aura.

Went through a phase of drinking mountain dew and your body still feels the awful effects

Fav element is probably air.

You’re 5′6″ or shorter.

Box dyed your hair brunette several times and can never get the pigment out to this day.

Yamamoto:

Whenever you smell something weird in the room you always internally freak out and think it’s you.

Head-butting walls is your hobby.

You fell off your bike as a kid and still have the scar on your knee.

Probably have tons of ear piercings.

Would tame a pigeon and call it Larry.

You get frequent nosebleeds and can never tell if it’s a medical issue or your extreme simping for fictional men/women.

Hopefully the latter.

You constantly chew your pen/pencil in class so you never lend them to anyone out of embarrassment.

I really hope no one ever lends you stationery bc 30 minutes later it’ll look like it was mauled by a rabid rottweiler.

You really want to own a dog and would call it something intimidating like Banshee or Diablo.

You bleached your hair that one time and it almost fell out so now you’re forced to stay at least 10 metres away from all at-home hair dye products.

You tried your best though bby so A for effort, even if it did look like dehydrated ramen afterwards.

Your grades are mostly C’s and you’re barely passing bc you just don’t care about your classes lol.

Still though you’re actually pretty smart so put it to good use you lazy oaf, channel that crackhead energy into something good.

Your phone screen has several cracks in it from when you dropped it on the bathroom floor while shitting and you’ll always be angry at yourself for that.

You have some really weird quirks but you make it work.

Actually a v chill person but you just kinda attract chaos/trouble wherever you go.

Carry a lighter with you even when you don’t need one.

Shy texter but once people see you irl you are the complete opposite, you just dk how to text without coming across as awkward.

One of those people that’s unintentionally funny and always get confused when you make someone laugh but it makes you feel good regardless.

Have a cool necklace collection and own at least one dog-tag/army style pendant.

Should really consider buying a rabbit you would look so cute w/ one.

You have really nice legs and people should compliment them more.

Either severely dehydrated or overly hydrated to the point you are peeing pure tap water so for the love of god please learn moderation, your kidneys and bladder will thank you for it.

Inuoka:

Your favourite character would be Hinata but you like people taller than you so your love for Inuoka spawned.

You really enjoy using the double spiderman meme.

Cannot correctly verbalise your feelings without creating a minimum of 10 misunderstandings but once people are used to it it’s kinda endearing.

You usually wake up in a good mood and people can never fathom how or why.

You either stay up till 5am or you wake up at that time no in between.

A morning person bc you love the sunrise.

Change your lock-screen very regularly bc you get bored.

Your humour consists solely of poop jokes.

When you don’t understand a joke you laugh anyway and hope they don’t ask you if you actually get it.

Happened once and you’re still traumatised from the cricket silence that fell upon the room.

Really like the taste of lemonade and drink it more often than you should.

Often think about what you would look like with a shaved head.

More of an extrovert but def have occasional introvert tendencies where you wanna be left tf alone.

Never allowed to pick up anything in stores bc the last time you did you sniffed a scented candle and it shattered to the floor.

Constantly have spontaneous ideas of what to change about your appearance.

You use a lot of hand gestures like thumbs up and peace signs.

‘Dude’ and ‘lmao’ is 90% of your vernacular.

Your nails are a disaster, some are down to the nub while others are pretty grown out bc you only bite a select few please sort it out.

Look really good in red.

Your laptop has way too many tabs open from random google searches of words you didn’t know the meaning to.

You read a lot of books but for like 10 minutes at a time bc you have the attention span of a walnut.

You are the type of person to nuke your AO3 tags with things that aren’t even relevant purely bc you found them funny.

Your Tumblr drafts are a nightmare, you have like 100+ in the works yet keep starting new projects why do you do this.

Happy sunshine but you have a LOT of mood swings like that shit comes out of nowhere.

Cry pretty often but no one ever sees and it’s usually because of said mood swings.

You always smile and pick yourself up again though which I commend you for.

TYPES IN CAPITALS IN SITUATIONS THAT DO NOT REQUIRE SAID PUNCTUATION SO YOU SEEM LIKE YOU’RE YELLING ALL THE TIME.

[poisonedapples]

The Dark Side of Christmas

Summary: Christmas is known as the happiest, most welcoming time of year. But when you’re Roman, that’s not always the case.

TRIGGERS: Roman has PTSD but it’s not stated by name in the fic, fighting, swearing, mentions of past shootings, mention of a car accident/explosion, blood. panic, past death and grieving, mental health problems, anxiety, dissociation and flashbacks, Christmas, tell me if you notice any more, cause this one has a lot

Note: HAPPY LATE HOLIDAY! This was supposed to be done by Christmas, but this month has Sucked so I’m using that as my excuse. My friend @theultimatemomfriend was my secret santa for something I did in the Powerless server, so here is your gift mixed with my own self indulgence! Hope you like it <3

But also , thank you to @romansleftshoulderpad and @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 for saving me some time and editing it for me. I appreciate you two

He was driving in a car.

She was screaming at him at the top of her lungs, all about how he was a failure, couldn’t do simple things, is only a disappointment to everyone that’s ever known him. The screaming was like a concert speaker right next to his ear; loud, loud, loud.

He couldn’t steer in these conditions. Not with a rocky road that bent in so many directions, a skinny single lane on a cliff with traffic cones instead of a protective railing. His foot was all the way on the brake, yet the car was speeding down the road faster than he’s ever driven before. The tires were screeching. She was still yelling.

It’s so loud.

She jumped on top of him suddenly, grabbing a hold of his neck with her long nails digging into his throat. Everything burned, he couldn’t breathe, and no one was steering the car anymore.

It’s so loud.

High pitched screeching echoed from nowhere. She was still screaming in his ear while his neck fell asleep, desperately trying to pull away her hand in order to breathe.

You’re going to die.

The car fell down the cliff. Completely on its side, such a smooth yet loud fall, the car came crashing into the woods under it, fire consuming his sight and all of his brain, the loud crash coming to a complete, deafening silence after an overwhelming boom.

Roman’s body jerked awake.

He scrunched up his shoulders to immediately cover the tingling part of his neck where he was being strangled in his dream. His mind was foggy while his body felt ready to run a marathon, heart beating fast and every inch of his skin shaking violently. Roman curled into a ball trying to calm down in the pitch black room, to no avail.

Phone. Phone. Phone has light, where’s my phone-

Roman’s Rapunzel figure on his bedside table crashed to the floor from his lack of coordination, pretty stones meant for healing and love moving out of their places and into undusted territory. Roman dropped his phone on his chest once he grabbed it but was only grateful it didn’t hit the floor this time, turning on the bright screen and blinding his eyes.

It was better than the darkness.

5:48 AM, his clock said, the lock screen blurry-looking because of Roman’s unfocused eyes and the tears pricking out certainly not helping. But he could tell there were no notifications over the night.

It’s always weird when he has to delete the Instagram app. His phone doesn’t buzz nearly as much without it.

He unlocked his phone and opened up one of his word puzzle game apps. Although it pained him to admit that Logan was right, lighthearted thinking games helped him on nights like these. Where all he needed was to calm down, but no people were around to help him with that.

As the game loaded and he was wondering what words to make with the letters F, I, G, U, E, and R, Roman clung tightly to his giant stuffed animal Magic Bitch the Queen, a rainbow pegacorn that was perfect for squishing. The name only made it better. Weirdly more calming.

Things were calming down. He definitely won’t be able to go back to sleep tonight, but given the date it was a miracle he felt as calm as he did—

“Virgil, quiet down-”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want!”

“Virgil!”

...Nevermind. 

Roman curled in on himself at the sound of the yelling. He hated fighting. He hated it with a burning passion, loud noises made him jump out of his skin and it was only worse when it was them yelling. They’re usually a lot more calm when Roman is around, but sometimes things just...got out of hand.

This was one of those times.

“This bitch thinks he can just walk in here and act like he owns the damn place! Well newsflash fucker, you’re not the only person who cares about Roman! Stop acting like you can fucking control him!”

“I’m not controlling him! Is it a crime for me to want to care about my own brother!? Last time I checked, you’re not family!”

“Remus-“

“Oh cram it, calculator watch!”

“Go fuck yourself, you walking STD!”

“Virgil Foster! If you end up waking Roman, I swear-”

Patton paused mid sentence when he saw the figure standing in the middle of the steps. Everyone looked over at Roman, his hand fiddling with the end of his sleeve and way too tired eyes. His posture a little too straight, smile so dead it was hardly a smile at all. “It’s alright, Pat. I was awake anyway.”

“I assume another nightmare?” Logan asked.

Roman went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Filling it with milk until it was overflowing, Roman smiled. “You know me so well.”

Patton’s face grew concerned while he chugged some of the milk, Remus crossing his arms and glaring at Virgil. “You wouldn’t be having these problems if you’d stayed at my place instead of this dump.”

“This dump is our home, trash panda. Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Ironic.” Remus towered over Virgil with his hands on his hips when he stepped closer, Virgil hissing when he got too close. “All I’m saying is that isn’t it better for Roman to be with family who can help, instead of stuck in the same place that caused all this in the first place? With people who don’t even understand?”

“You know that I’m here, right? That I can hear you talking about me? Cause I can hear you talking about me.”

“Or maybe he needs to be around family that actually cares instead of being around the same deadbeat bastard who only comes visit to be the same pile of dog shit he makes everyone step in!”

Patton sighed. “Virgil, please stop. Can we please just go back to bed? Without all the fighting?”

The looks on Remus’ face was too taunting. Blood boiled in Virgil’s veins from three weeks of dirty glares at each other while he watched his best friend curl around him for comfort instead of anyone else. The cockiness of him trying to take Roman off to Florida for the holiday, like he was the only one who cared. He hated his stupid gross smile and how Roman snickered at his dirty jokes, he hated how he was genuinely helping and how useless their help was.

How threatening this bitch actually made him feel. But Virgil refused to lose.

“I’ll go to bed when this bitch stops acting like he can walk into my fucking house and act like he owns the fucking place! Eat my food, use my water, and steal my fucking friend because apparently this human embodiment of the feeling you get right before you fucking projectile vomit is the reincarnation of Christ!”

“Virgil!”

“And I’ll go to bed when this ‘Roman’s my best friend’ wannabe stops getting in between my family because his self esteem’s so low in the ground that sharks can have sex on it!”

“Fuck you!”

“JUST SHUT UP!”

Everyone paused when Roman screamed, his hand too weak to hold onto his glass and his hands shaking too hard to fiddle with the end of his sleeve anymore. His eyes were glassy and his chest felt like it was caving in on itself, with evil butterflies chewing apart his ribs and leaving hollow discomfort. Patton’s eyes went soft as he slowly approached Roman, keeping a loose grip on his hand and saying something to him that Roman wasn’t listening to in order to calm him down. But he was just tired. So tired. Tired of the yelling and the fear and the everything that he just wanted to get away.

So he did.

“Roman?” It was all he’d heard from Pat even after all his talking, but Roman still decided to ignore it. He quickly slipped on some shoes and grabbed his coat from the closet, opening the front door without another word.

Patton’s eyes widened when he realized what was happening. “Roman, wait-“

But just like that, the door had slammed behind him and he was making his way down the street.

He could already see his therapist’s “I don’t get paid enough for the shit you put me through” face when he eventually talks about this, but that was future Roman’s problem.

...He still had no clue where he was going.

That was always the worst part about Roman’s “run away from your problems” habit. He never had any plan. He could end up three towns over, he could end up across the street. In one of the first incidents, he ended up at a McDonald’s right on the outskirts of the state and fell asleep in the bathroom stall. When he called Logan and told him where he was, it was an hour drive to come get him since they didn’t trust him to drive back in his state. That’s why they first started looking for a therapist for him.

He wished he had his car this time. Walking around in freezing weather with pajama pants is cold.

Roman made his way down the hill where the house was to head downtown, where a good handful of stores were open at every time of day. He needed the heat.

“Eileen, you will pay for making me lose my beauty sleep.”

“You’ll be okay. It wasn’t working for you anyway.”

“...Hey!”

...And the distraction.

It was at 11:30 when Ellie woke him up. Dragging him out of bed and making him help her “sneak” out—if you could call going through the front door sneaking—, they ended up in a supermarket at around midnight on Christmas Eve. 

“I got Remus this giant ass octopus stuffed animal that was literally like ninety dollars, but I need a gag gift for him. Something completely and utterly stupid, and I need you to help me look for it. So I can go home sooner.”

“A giant octopus isn’t a gag gift to you?”

“He’ll love it and you know it.”

“...Touche. Maybe just get him toilet paper?”

“Too enjoyable. Too useful. He’ll set the rolls on fire in the backyard or something.”

“...Nevermind then!”

The first store Roman found with its lights still on was a small convenience store next to a gas station. His legs were starting to get slow from the cold, teeth chattering slightly with his arms tucked close to his body like a penguin.

Roman went inside.

“Oh my God, Roman, it’s perfect.”

“What is it?”

“‘Maybe you touched your balls’ hand sanitizer. I’m getting five.”

Roman tried not to laugh too hard, especially when the store was so quiet at this hour, but he couldn’t help it. With slight sleep deprivation and the look on his sister’s face, Roman burst out a laugh and gave Ellie a lazy push. Ellie took five of the hand sanitizers and piled them in her hands, making their way toward the checkout.

Alone in a store on the night of Christmas Eve.

Roman didn’t want to think about it, but then again, he never did. And every time he focused on one thing, half of his brain was still on his sister.

His throat felt weird.

“I’m dreaming of a white...christmas…”

Ellie was basically skipping on her way to the checkout. She loved old Christmas songs, and not being able to resist the temptation to perform must be another “Sanders Siblings” thing.

Roman was staring at the chip aisle when his chest started to expand, his hands growing weak and absolute fear taking over. Why was breathing so hard? What is it now?

His eyes became glassy again, his vision becoming more distant and distorted until he couldn’t tell what he was looking at. But his ears seemed to focus on something else. Something so distant but close at the same time, ringing in his ears while he felt like he was looking through a TV screen.

“And since we’ve no place to go...let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…”

Fuck. Shit. Roman started fumbling in his pockets for earbuds, but in his haste to leave the house, they were forgotten in his room. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He could hear the silence of the store, but in the back of his brain he could feel the sound of gunshots.

“He’s alive, but he’s been hit around five times. Get him in the ambulance.”

He knew there wasn’t hands on him. He knew there wasn’t any blood, his or otherwise, on the floor. But it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

“Duck!”

There was no figure that caught Roman’s eye as they made their way to checkout. There was no moment of adrenaline as he tried to cover his sister, ducking for cover while people walking down the street also screamed. There was no glass breaking. There was no shots of pain as he realized the blood on the floor was his. There was no noise. No screaming. No sirens or commands being shouted or deafening silence that made Roman want to scream. It didn’t exist.

But it didn’t feel like it.

He didn’t know how to work his limbs, his body felt fake and his vision was just a TV screen looking at a world that felt anything but real. His ribs felt like they should be in pain for more than just his shaky breaths and his back should be cold from the hard floor instead of being supported by a cooler door.

What was the pattern again? Three things you can hear—wait, no, fuck, what was it? What was it?

There was blood going through his jacket and blood on his fingers. His thumb was cut from a piece of glass and he couldn’t move off the floor. As tight as he could, he kept a grip on his older sister. The hand sanitizers had sprawled out across the floor, the hands that were holding them now lied lifeless in Roman’s grip.

Roman heard something. More than the music, that stupid fucking music, but he could focus. He wanted to cough until he could breathe again, he wanted to be here, without a single doubt that history can't repeat itself. But trauma doesn’t work that way.

Shooting down on Taft Avenue. Four injured, one dead. 

“Roman, hey, it’s just me, it’s just Virgil—shit, hey, it’s alright, focus on me. Let me get you out of here, okay? God you’re heavy, okay-”

It’s Virgil. It’s just Virgil. No Ellie, Ellie’s dead, Ellie’s been dead, it’s just Virgil, he’s here. 

Thank God.

“Here, just listen to this for a bit. You’re the reason I have a Disney playlist, I hope you know that.”

They were in a car now. Roman could feel the pressure of Virgil’s bulky headphones on his ears, as well as the start up to Tiana’s “Almost There”, even if his hands he was staring at still didn’t feel like his own. The explosion in his chest lessened some, even if his breaths were still short and it was a miracle he wasn’t sobbing yet.

Virgil moved one of the ends of the headphones to the side. “Feeling a little better?”

Talking took so much energy, way too much energy, but he’d worried Virgil enough for one day. “...Yeah…”

“Do you need the volume turned down?”

“...Maybe.”

The music got a little quieter, and Roman felt his body relax a little more. He didn’t even realize it was overwhelming him.

“Alright...now, five things you can see?”

“Virge-“

“Five things you can see, fucker, let me help you.”

Roman let out a huff of a laugh, but looked around anyway. “Uh...you, carseat, wheel...um...the thing…”

“Thing?” Virgil looked around. “...You mean glove compartment?”

“...Yeah, that.”

“Okay, one more.”

“...Coat?”

“Alright, four things you can hear?”

“Music, heater, uh...I don’t know…”

“Can you hear me?”

“...Now I can.”

Virgil laughed. “That’s good enough, I’ll take three. Three things you can touch?”

“...Headphones, coat, seat.”

“Alright, good...two things to smell?”

Blood. “Pat’s air freshener, and the fact that you haven’t showered.”

Virgil lightly punched him in the arm, Roman letting out a small laugh through a shaky smile. “And I bet what you’re tasting is the fact that you haven’t brushed your teeth.”

“...I did not come here to get roasted.”

Virgil shook his head in amused disappointment at him, but started the car and put it in reverse. Roman sighed, looking out the window at the soft snowflakes and lights on houses that made his stomach curl. He hated this holiday. All it did was bring back bad memories, every corner surrounded in his triggers and nightmares increasing tenfold with the stress. He wanted to go home. He didn’t know where home was.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Roman looked over at Virgil, with his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel as he tapped nervously. Roman rubbed at his eyes. “Do you want to? I heard you and Remus.”

“This isn’t about me, it’s fine.”

“You’re my best friend and he’s my brother. It involves me too.”

Virgil didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the road intently, and Roman wondered if he should just put the headphones back on his ear and let that be that. But he really didn’t want them to keep fighting, so it’s better to at least make an attempt, right?

Roman put the headphones around his neck. “We were buying his gift.”

“What?”

“The night Ellie died. Her and Remus had a little tradition of getting each other a gift and a gag gift. The older we got, the more inappropriate they became, which was very ‘them’, in all honesty. She had forgotten to get it earlier though, so she took me to the store at midnight on Christmas Eve so we could pick something out. And that’s when the shooting happened.

Virgil didn’t react, but Roman gave him a tired smile. “I’m fairly certain that’s why he gets so protective. He feels like he caused it somehow, so he tries to solve all my problems on his own. It’s sweet in its own way.”

Virgil hit the break roughly at a stop sign. “Well now I feel like an asshole.”

“...You were a little bit of a bitch. But I don’t blame you, since so was he.”

“I just wanna help you too, you know? I get it, he’s your brother and all that shit, but he’s not the only person who cares about you, so he can back the fuck off. Especially when he’s spending time in my fucking house.”

“You say that like three other people don’t pay rent.”

“It’s my house when it’s convienent to my argument, fuck off.”

Roman laughed, Virgil taking a turn to a stoplight and waiting. “I just want you two to work things out. We can talk once I go home, take my meds, and at least sleep for two hours.”

“Only two hours? You’re starting to become me, Princey.”

“It’s an anxiety disorder buddies thing.”

“Fuck yeah, anxiety disorder buddies. Who can’t wait for therapy to start up again.”

Roman pumped a fist up lazily. “Next thursday!”

“Next thursday mother fucker!”

They both started to laugh, the soft glow of the read light and the headlights of passing cars being strangely calming. Roman’s eyes felt so heavy, the glassy tears he still had sealing his eyelids together like glue. “Wake me up when we get there.” He mumbled.

“And if you have another nightmare?”

“We get there when we get there.”

Roman heard one last soft laugh before his body went still. He wasn’t completely peaceful, but at least he was sleeping. It would be enough for now.

Virgil didn’t wake him up when they got home. It took both him and Remus to be able to carry him inside, but they managed to do it without waking him up permanently. He moved, but at least he managed to sleep some.

When he wakes up, they’ll fuss at him for running away and Patton will hug him close for Roman’s comfort and his own. He’ll make Remus and Virgil talk peacefully about each other without too much complaining until they can at least stand to be in the same room as each other. Then when things are calm, the brothers will cry when they remember the date, and Patton will give them blankets and hugs while the other two stand around a little awkwardly until it’s lunch time. Neither of them will eat much, but leftovers exist for a reason. They’ll be taken care of.

But for now, Roman will sleep.