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little-diable · 9 months

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Twin Flame - Dean Winchester (smut)

Inspired by the song "Twin Flame" by Brennan Story. I love love love this fic, and I hope y'all will love it too. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Months ago Dean had broken the reader's heart, a desperate try to protect her. But he no longer manages to stay away, needing to find his way back to her.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, slight breeding kink, makeup sex, some heartbreak in the beginning, a very very happy end

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.8k words)

Well this road don't get no shorter, I would've drove the whole thing for you, my tank down to a quarter, and it'll be gone soon

„What is up with you lately, Dean?” Sam’s voice filled Baby, worried eyes watching his brother. No reply left Dean as he kept driving on, caught in his memories like a fly trapped in the web of a spider set to kill. He was stuck, without a way out, and yet, deep down inside he prayed that he’d never be able to leave those memories behind.

Whenever he got a moment to let his thoughts wander, he had to think of her, the one who still holds his heart in her hands, even after all these months. Being with her had been something he had never experienced before, a new sensation he longed for like a man dying of thirst dreaming of any water he could drink. Loving her had been everything Dean wasn’t, it had been sweet, easy, it had been too good to be true.

Whenever he was lying awake at night, eyes staring at the dirty ceiling of the motel rooms he and Sam found shelter in, he imagined her laying next to him, head resting on his chest, listening to his calmly beating heart. Dean still felt her weight on him, if he closed his eyes he could feel her right there with him, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear, words that had been etched into his mind.

“Dean?” Sam tried again, worried eyes flickering back to the dark road ahead, knowing that it would take them at least a couple more hours to make their way to the bunker. “Hey man, c’mon, talk to me, I can tell something is going on.”

“It’s nothing, Sammy.” His voice told Sam everything he needed to know, exposing the hurt, the sadness flushing through Dean’s system. Dean’s green eyes were hazy, no longer filled with that special glint spurring him on whenever they were on a hunt, it felt as if he was no longer in the car with Sam, just a body without a soul tied to it.

“Is it about her? Dean, you should just call her, reach out, it’s never too late.” A sharp inhale of cold air was forced into Dean’s lungs, teeth grazing his lower lip to stop his angry words from rolling off his tongue. He couldn’t reach out, couldn’t call the one whose heart he had broken, leaving her behind without looking back once, choosing the life with his brother over her, a hunter just like him and his brother – a woman Dean wanted to protect from being hurt because of him.

The cold words he had spoken to her were still ringing in his ears, how he had pushed her away, nothing but a stupid spiel Dean stuck to, in order to save her from a life filled with uneasy times, with hunts that would leave their marks on her. Dean Winchester would do everything to keep her safe, even if it meant breaking (y/n)’s heart, and his own.

And my drink been feelin' lighter, 'cause I'm a lover not a fighter, and I seen that you caught fire, when you put me out

“Sammy, wake up, we’re home.” Dean’s rough voice filled the dark night, hand shaking his brother’s shoulder. It took Sam a moment to wake, hands rubbing his tired eyes. Slowly did the younger Winchester brother undo his seatbelt, halting his movements as he noticed that Dean wasn't moving.

“What’s wrong?” Worry dripped from the tip of Sam’s tongue, watching his brother’s gaze flicker between the steering wheel and the phone Dean kept clinging to.

“I have something to do, I’ll be gone for a few days.” Silence filled Baby, a silence so loud, Dean started to shuffle around in his seat, waiting for his brother to speak up or to start moving, already annoyed with the time they kept wasting just now. Dean was feeling antsy, nervousness filled his system, a sensation so unfamiliar he couldn’t help but curse it.

“Dean,” Sam whispered his brother’s name, hand finding his shoulder. “Get her back, stop worrying about dragging her down with you, she’s stronger than the both of us combined, she’ll do just fine being around us.”

Dean couldn’t reply, throat too tight, mouth too dry to produce any sounds, unsure what to say to the brother of his that looked at him with so much hope swimming in his pupils. Sam didn’t know much about the night where Dean had left her, he didn’t know of the words he had spoken, hurtful words that have left their scars on his and her soul, it’d be a miracle if she’d take Dean back. But he couldn’t breathe without her near, couldn’t live on without her by his side.

……

“Absolutely not.” (Y/n)’s eyes met Dean’s desperate ones, body turned from him as she tried to close her door, without any luck, wood caught by the boot he had pushed past her entrance. A string of curses left her, jaw ticking in anger as her eyes found their way back to his, reading the pleading swimming in his pupils before she slowly took a step back, inviting him back in.

Dean followed her through the all too familiar four walls he had once started to call his new home, the house they should grow old in, the house they should raise their children in, nothing but mere dreams that have evaporated into nothing but a hazy dream both could no longer recreate.

“I always knew you’d step low, but turning up here is ruthless, even for you, Dean Winchester.” (Y/n) had her arms wrapped around herself, eyes not daring to leave his once. Slowly he sank down on her couch, right next to her, not giving (y/n) a chance to move away. Without thinking he reached for her hand, moving faster than she had anticipated, catching her fingers before she could move them away as if he was a flame she burnt herself on.

“I wasn’t planning on coming here, hell, I wasn’t planning on ever setting my foot back in this house.” His whispers were torn between sounds reminding one of cries for help and a voice so quiet one could have problems understanding what he was saying. An angry huff left (y/n), glassy eyes focusing on the calloused fingertips stroking the back of her hand, pushing an all too familiar sensation through her body. She was trembling, begging for whoever was listening to relieve her from the pain she had never been able to let go of, and yet she had tried to keep on moving, without looking back once.

“You broke my heart, you left me without an explanation, just your awful words. One day you were here, and the next you were suddenly gone. It took me a while to give my life a new meaning, to adjust to hunting on my own, but I managed just fine for the past months, Dean. Why do you have to return the second I’m finally okay on my own?” Her tears started rolling down her cheeks, dripping from her chin like a once dry waterfall regaining its impressive strength. With his other hand finding her jaw, Dean started drying her tears, heart clenching in his chest as he was once again reminded of the pain he had pushed her through.

“I know, and I’m so sorry for being so fucking selfish, but I can’t stay away. Every second without you by my side is pure torture, you’re the only thing I can think of, no matter when or where I am. I’m sorry sweetheart, I really am. All I ever wanted to do was keep you safe, after watching you getting hurt because of me, because I couldn’t step back from a hunt we should have called backup for, I knew i had to get away from you. I can’t be the reason you get into any more danger. But as much as I hate myself for saying it, I can’t live without you, not any longer.” A heavy sigh left (y/n) as she looked at Dean, focusing on the pain filling his green pupils, on the lifeless expression tugging on his features. He was no longer the Dean she had once been with, no, he had changed, their breakup had left its marks on him, as much as it had left its marks on her. And yet she still longed for him, after all the sleepless nights she had cursed him for.

“I need time to think this through, you have hurt me so much, Dean, so much. But I still love you, a lot. You can sleep on the sofa and we can talk in the morning.” Slowly Dean let go of her, pulling his hands away to give (y/n) enough space to rise to her feet. With one last glance thrown his way, she disappeared down the hallway, letting the door to her bedroom fall shut with a soft thud.

And as Dean sat on the sofa he had once put together with (y/n), he couldn’t help but give into the tears welling up in his eyes.

And I'd set fire onto, these boots running from the hard truth, that you don't need me the same way I need you

……

Dean woke with a groan leaving him, back aching from the uncomfortable position he had been sleeping in. It took him a few seconds to remember the past hours, how he had turned up at (y/n)’s place, how he had cried into his hands as she had parted from him. His green eyes shot open, finding a pair of all too familiar eyes already staring at him. (Y/n) was sitting on the edge of the sofa, wearing the same shirt she had worn hours ago. Only now did Dean realise that the shirt had once belonged to him, pushing a very welcomed heat through his aching body.

“I made some coffee.” Her soft voice left his heart skipping beats, needing to cherish these moments should she ask him to leave in the upcoming minutes. Slowly did Dean sit up, stretching his neck and arms before he murmured a “Thank you, sweetheart”, taking the cup of warm coffee (y/n) pushed into his direction.

“I didn’t catch any sleep, but I got enough time to think.” Dean braced himself for the words she was about to speak, teeth grazing his lower lip. His heart was racing way too fast for the early hour, and yet Dean didn’t manage to calm his system, palms growing sweatier with every second. He struggled to look into the eyes he’d see whenever he closed his at night, desperate to feel her close, pupils that were once so familiar, so loved, pupils that felt like nothing but a fever dream now. “I love you too much to push you away, but it’ll take me some time to trust you again, Dean. You have to accept that we’ll both get hurt on hunts, with or without Sammy. And you’ll accept that I’ll join you on all hunts I want to join, you won’t get a say about my decisions. Are we clear?”

He looked at her for a few more moments before his hand found the back of her neck, pulling (y/n) in for a bruising kiss. With a gasp leaving (y/n) she moved closer, arms finding their way around his neck, allowing Dean to pull her into his lap. The kiss was fuelled by their longing for one another, hearts begging them to never part ways again, unable to endure another wave of heartbreak.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back, whatever you need. I love you so much, sweetheart, I don’t want to live another day without you by my side.” Dean murmured his words against her lips, pulling her in for another kiss as his hands disappeared underneath the comfortable shirt of his she was wearing. Her breath hitched in her chest as Dean shuffled them around, pressing (y/n) against the sofa with him nestling between her thighs. Moans clawed through the two as Dean began to roll his hips, rubbing his hardening bulge against her damp panties.

“Been dreaming about you touching me, as much as I hated myself for it, I couldn’t help but miss you, your lips, your fingers.” A soft, throaty laugh rumbled through Dean as he pushed her shirt up to expose her chest to his hungry eyes, lips finding her hardening nipples almost instantly, leaving his marks on every inch of her warm flesh.

“Fuck, no matter what I tried, my mind always wandered back to you. I imagined the words you’d moan, how you’d wrap your fingers around my cock. Can’t believe I’m getting another chance to love you.” No longer could she reply to his words, (y/n) had almost forgotten the loving words his mouth and mind were able to create in moments like this one, set on making her feel the love his heart pumped through his system. “I need to be inside of you, it’s been too fucking long. Do you have a condom?”

“No, but I’m clean, I didn’t sleep with anybody but you.” She was almost scared to ask Dean if he had touched another woman, struggling to form the question that now rang through her mind, leaving her breathless. Dean pushed another kiss against her lips before he shuffled out of his clothes, exposing his twitching cock to her wandering eyes.

“Good, you’re mine to touch only, forever mine. I didn’t touch anybody else, just the thought of it made me sick, no matter how much alcohol I needed to try and forget about us.” With her hand finding its way back to his neck, and with her legs slowly wrapping themselves around his hips, (y/n) chased his slightly swollen lips.

The sound of their moans leaving them in unison was drowned by their kiss, Dean moved slow at first, needing to hold back before he’d cum right there and then, no longer used to feeling her tightness wrapped around his cock. Both clung to one another as he fucked her into the sofa, with one hand placed on the arm rest and the other on her waist, leaving marks with his fingertips digging into her skin. (Y/n) arched her front against his, trembling legs not daring to loosen their hold on his waist, wondering if she was only stuck in a dream, or if Dean was truly fucking her, reminding her that she was his.

And no matter how hard I try, I'll never learn to say goodbye, you say it's okay to cry, baby that river done ran dry

“God, how I missed feeling you, feels so perfect, so fucking perfect.” With his forehead pressed against hers, Dean added more speed to his thrusts, growing rougher as her walls fluttered around him, tensing every now and then. Dean had lost count on the amount of times he had dreamt of feeling her again, of loving her just like he had always promised he would.

“Same, fuck, don’t ever leave me again, Dean.” (Y/n) choked on his name, hand disappearing between their bodies to circle her sensitive bundle of nerves. Both knew that they wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer, it felt as if they hadn’t been able to let go for months, unable to touch themselves without thinking of one another. But both had tried to make themselves cum for weeks on end, unable to do so, since their minds painted pictures too painful, pictures they could now finally leave behind.

“Where do you want me to cum, sweetheart? Fuck, I won’t be able to hold on for much longer.” Another moan left (y/n) as Dean’s lips found her jaw, kissing their way down her neck. It took her a moment to reply, choking on her breaths, unable to think clear with her thoughts growing hazy.

“Inside of me, please, Dean, fill me up.” She felt his cock twitching inside of her, forcing her to add more pressure on her clit, crying his name as she came. Dean followed her down the edge, eyes rolling back into his head as he came with a “Fuck” leaving him.

Both were heavily breathing, not daring to part with their bodies still joined, just like their jumping hearts. (Y/n) murmured his name as she combed a hand through his hair, eyes finding his, “I love you Dean, no matter what will happen between us, I belong to you, as much as you belong to me.”

#Dean Winchester smut #Dean Winchester imagine #Dean Winchester x reader #supernatural smut

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glassartpeasants · 4 years

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Fragile Hearts

Tomura Shigaraki x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Hanahaki disease, sad reader hours, reader is insecure, mentions of death, name calling, this is really sad so read at your own risk

A/N: I wish this shit didn’t hit different. Wanna know why? Probably because i’ve got 2 series going down at this moment. Crying In The Club plus and a Shigaraki one thats still in the making. So we’re suffering together ya’ll.

It’s angst month motherfuckers >:)

~~~

God he looked so handsome today. Those beautiful ruby eyes always found a way to creep into your brain. How could they not? You felt a wave love whenever you stared into them. It always gave your heart joy staring into them.

But it always gave you pain.

Maybe cause you were to afraid to confess? Or was the fact that he seemed to not even show a pinch of interest in you. Or was it the fact that he seemed much more interested in a different women every day. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he indeed hire prostitutes or escorts.

You never showed it but every time you saw a different woman leave his quarters it always felt someone had stabbed you right through the heart. You knew he was a reserved and quiet man. Hell he barely talked to anyone if it wasn’t for a meeting or telling someone off. He was a pretty angry and harsh soul. While you, well,

You were that kind of soul that you would have given the shirt off your back to anyone in need. Many villains (mainly Dabi) asked why even bother becoming a villain if you were so kind to them all, in Dabi’s words “Villains are suppose to be rude and horrible.” It was an reasonable question really. The true reason you became a villain was simple.

You held a unruly grudge against heros.

When you were about 8 years old a fire had started in your family home. The flames were so bright. You remembered that day so vividly. The screaming of your family trying to get everyone out. But they were stuck inside while you had managed to go over to a neighbors house and call the cops but when you called and they heard your voice they said,

“Listen kid we have bigger things to do. Next time when you call make sure there’s a real emergency instead of prank calling us.” And then he hung up. The cops, who were there to protect you had hung up on you.

And that fateful call was what sealed your families fate.

After that, you never really believed in the hero system. They had failed you and your family. Which was lead you to villainy. You may have been a kind soul but you would rather use that kindness to help out someone who you feel is worthy. The League of Villains picked you up off the streets, so to you, they were your only family.

~~~

You laid down on the bed that occupied your room, staring at the ceiling. It was nicer then the old bar you guys use to live in but, to you it didn’t feel the same. You were happy for how far you guys came but it just felt like most of the PLF kinda made you sad. You didn’t know why but it did. Maybe was it due to the fact that you wanted it to be just the league? You weren’t fond of these new people. Probably cause they tore you down a lot.

Your quirk was Energy, your quirk allowed you to use energy of the sun to heal you and use sun rays. But the down fall of your quirk was that it was absolutely useless at night. So you had to rely on your combat skill in the night. That was one of the reasons they didn’t like you, cause your quirk kinda had a big flaw. But they also merciless teased you about being kind to your fellow league members.

You wanted to scream at them. Tell them off, do something at least but, no matter what you thought you could do. Your confidence faded when you remember that they would probably tell Tomura about your outburst. And since he has a habit of decaying people without warning, you just decided it was best to keep your pretty mouth shut.

You sigh as you get off your bed before changing your clothes to pj’s. You put on the black tank top and pajama pants which were super soft and fuzzy. Putting on some socks you open the door and make your descent into the kitchen. You tried to be as quiet as you could. Not wanting to wake anyone up while you ran to get a midnight snack.

Once reaching the kitchen you turn on the lights and almost let out a scream but took a breath instead.

“Oh geez Dabi, scared the shit outta me.” You laugh before making movements towards the fridge.

“Good, gotta keep that blood pumping.” He chuckled before setting his whiskey down.

You grab your snack before going next to Dabi and sitting down. You picked up your fork and begun to eat only to almost choke at Dabi’s words.

“So when are you gonna tell the boss you have a thing for him?” You almost choke on your food before looking at Dabi with wide eyes. What?! Was your staring that obvious? Oh god...

“H-how did you know?”

“We maybe surrounded by them but i’m no idiot. I can tell when someone has the hots for someone else. It’s just funny seeing you even try with that gremlin.” Dabi laughed at you while you crossed your arms.

“So what if I think he’s hot? I know that I’ll never have a chance with him, considering all the woman he has coming in and out of his office.” You say with hints of sadness in your voice. It wasn’t hard to tell. You knew what this feeling was. You knew you had grown a one-sided love for your boss.

“Well if you think that you better be careful.” You uncross your arms with a confused look on your face.

“If your talking about me getting with him I know’ll get my heart bro-”

“No, I’m talking about you getting Hanahaki Disease.” What in the ever loving hell is that?

“What the fuck is that?”

“I can tell you one thing is that it never ends up being in a happy ending. So pray you don’t get it.” Dabi said before drinking the rest of the whiskey and going towards his room.

You furrow your brows as you look down at the table. Hanahaki Disease eh? Well you could probably look it up tomorrow, since you have no missions tomorrow as far as your knowledge.

“The disease can’t be that bad, right?”

~~~

You wake up to a burning pain in your chest. You let out a little cough before going over to your bathroom to take a shower. This time you let out a louder cough, it felt like something was in your throat. Ugh this feeling was always the worst damnit.

You start coughing trying to get whatever the hell was in your throat out. You pounded at your chest before a little daisy popped out of your mouth. You fell on your ass while holding your throat, rubbing it as you looked at the flower with confusion.

“How did that get in my throat?” You crawl over a scoop up the daisy. Looking at it with amazement and confusion. This is impossible, how the hell?

Grabbing your phone you opened up google and searched online for any answers on what this could mean.

‘i just coughed up a flower, what the does that mean?’

You wait for the screen to stop loading only to drop the flower and scurry away from it as fast as possible.

No way...this couldn’t be real, how could this happen! You knew you liked your boss but when you read the article saying it can only happen from a one sided love you knew you were boned.

How can you get rid of a love that has taken so long to blossom? Only for it to be your down fall. You kept reading up on it while sitting on the bathroom floor. The more you read the more scared you became. You could die from it if you didn’t get it treated! But the procedure was said to be very risky and highly dangerous. So it was pretty much up to you to get over your feelings for Shigaraki. Yeah that was going to be a pain in the ass.

Time could only tell.

~~~

Day One

You sat at the meeting while your eyes couldn’t help but stare at him. He was so gorgeous, who could you ever compare to the girls he brings to his beck ad call? They were perfect! You just felt like no matter what you did, you never could get the attention of your leader. No, you need to work on yourself! The disease can’t get worse or else-

“(Y/N)! Were you even paying attention?” Shigaraki’s voice boomed causing you to yelp. Snickering could be heard around the table causing your face to heat up in embarrassment. You look at Spinner and he sends you a apologetic look.

“No Shigaraki, I’m sorry. I had something on my mind.” You say looking down. You’ve never been one with getting yelled at.

“Well get your head out of your ass and pay attention and if your not going to the doors right there.”

“I’ll pay attention.” You said as you looked down, trying to stop the tears that threatened to spill. Your nails dig into your clothes thighs as you only listen to Shigaraki. You wanted to but all you could hear was sweet voice that you wished was there instead of the one now.

~~~

Day 5

You looked terrible to say the least. You couldn’t believe that is was growing this fast! I mean when you looked into it it said 2-3 months but you didn’t think it would grow so unreasonable fast!

Thinking about it and pushing your panic aside you’ve come to the conclusion that its going faster because of how deep your love and loyalty is for him. It’s so deep rooted that the flowers are growing faster.

Especially the one growing on your neck.

You’ve looked into what each flower means and the first one which was a daisy meant innocence, purity and loyal love. This time however, it was a rose. You looked it up and saw that it meant girlhood, modesty and secrecy. You knew why this one had popped up. Probably cause of the fact that you’ve been hiding in your room a lot lately. You didn’t want anyone to catch you hacking up flowers. It was already painful as it is so you don’t need any judgement stares.

That didn’t mean your coughing didn’t go unnoticed though. Your coughs were loud enough that Toga and Spinner came to ask if you were okay a couple times. You told them you were and that you were just sick and that you would get better soon.

‘If by better then you mean dead.’

You shook your head before putting your head into your pillow. Effectively screaming into it out of frustration. How in the ever loving hell where you going to get rid of this damn thing if you couldn’t keep him out of your mind?

~~~

Day 14

You felt like shit. Your entire being just felt weak in general. There were bags under your eyes and more little flowers covering your face. If it were glued on and not attached to your skin, you would have thought it as cute. Now? You hated them, you hated yourself. What would your parents think? Seeing you dying over a man that doesn’t love you back. unknowingly killing you from afar.

A knock came at your door and before thinking you said come in. Your eyes went wide and before you could change your mind Dabi walked in and locked the door behind him.

“How long did you think you could hide huh?” Dabi said as he sat on the bed next to you. He may not have shown it but he was worried. He had known your little thing for Shigaraki but he didn’t know it would be this bad.

“I don’t know. How can I get rid of it when I can’t even look Shigaraki in the face. He would think I’m weak.” You said before coughing up another flower. This time blood was seen covering some of the petals.

“Shit this is worse then I originally thought. It’s at stage three already. Yours is progressing insanely fast. What will it take to realize that he doesn’t love you.” You knew Dabi meant good with his words but you couldn’t help but feel a little bit of your love for him chip away.

Which caused a flower to fall off of your face.

“That’s it.” Dabi said as he picked up the flower and held it in his hands. You look at him with your brow raised.

“Stay here. But before I do what im about to do, just know I’m doing this to save your life understand?” You nod worried about what he’s planning. All you can do is sigh and hold your pillow closer to your chest as you waited to see what Dabi had in store.

~~~

Day 16

You laid in you bed watching some netflix when Shigaraki barged into your room with an angry look. Your eyes widen as you clung to the sheets you had wrapped yourself in.

“So I’m hearing that you love me.” He made it sound like a statement rather then a question. You look all over in the room to avoid his gaze. You shut your eyes only to have your head jerked towards shigaraki, making you look into his crimson eyes.

“Well news flash, I don’t feel the same way.” You swore you could have felt your heart drop in his stomach. Tears rimmed your eyes as Shigaraki looked all around your face noticing all your flowers. Looking into your eyes noticing how they were slowly turning white, making him let out a little chuckle.

“Your pathetic, you let something like love get in the way of my goal? Your so selfish you know?” Your tears were falling at this point. Blurring your vision while you felt a strong pain on your cheek. Shigaraki had ripped off a flower. A pink rose that bloomed on your right cheek.

“I find this hilarious honestly, look at you, needing my validation. When guess what bitch? Your not getting any. And you never will so you might as well tear off all these flowers off your disgusting face.” You couldn’t say anything before pain filled your entire being as Shigaraki picked off every flower that covered your face and neck, leaving you bleeding.

You feel a light feeling in your chest as you felt like you could breathe again. the flowers that bloomed on your shoulder were slowly withering away. The feeling off something in your throat went away as well as all the flowers that bloomed on your body that was still left had withered and fell off. Your once blurred vision now crystal clear as you looked Shigaraki right in the eyes.

“Look better. Now if i ever see another flower on your face or in your room I’ll dust you myself understand?” You nod your head yes before Shigaraki let go of your face.

You hid yourself under the covers in order to avoid his gaze. Not seeing the little face of sadness that crossed his face.

~~~

“Did you do it?” Dabi asked Shigaraki when he saw him leave your room.

“No shit sherlock.” Shigaraki said as he walked past him only to be stopped by Dabi’s arm.

“It was for the best. She would have died if you didn’t.” Dabi spoke softly before taking his arms away, Not looking Shigaraki in the eyes.

“I know.”

Shigaraki walked away before going to his room. Once he stepped in he closed the door behind him before falling to the floor. He threaded his hands in his hair before pulling out all the flowers he had taken from your face. Each one of them a different color. A cold feeling entered his heart, knowing that you were suffering because of him.

He had to remain strong. He couldn’t have love be in the way. At least that’s when he told himself at first.

Ever since you showed up at the bar that faithful day, he knew he had to have you. He knew that he needed you. Why else would his heart beat so fast when you walked past. He always imagined you by his side, sitting on his throne with him. his queen of the villains.

If only he had confessed sooner. If he had he would not have to see you dying in your room because of it. Watching your life slowly slip from your eyes as the days passed by. You were hurting because of his stupid mistake.

And now he had to suffer the consequences.

He held your flowers close to his face. They smelled of you. Reminding him of the deed he had just done. Tears hit the petals of the flowers, effectively collecting shigaraki’s tears. It hurt. Why did it have to hurt so bad.

A blue poppy was slowly growing on Shigaraki’s neck.

#tomura shigaraki #tomura shigaraki x reader #tenko shimura #mha #bnha #shigaraki x y/n #mha shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #Shigaraki #mha tomura #tomura shiragaki #TOMURA #mha angst #bnha angst #tomura shigarkai #tomura shigaraki angst

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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for mermay, 12 ot4 nsfw?

Here you go! 12 was “captured.” Barclay’s design is based on a basking shark, Indrid’s on a flying fish.

They’ve done it.

The crew of the Washington has captured a live mermaid; not the remains of one, not the stories of drunk or scared sailors, but a genuine, breathing, swimming mermaid.

Joseph keeps pointing out that, technically, they’ve caught a merman. One with a smooth, almost black tail, coppery hair and beard, and a human torso that puts sculptors to shame.

Not that Josephs attention to those details is for any reason other than scientific curiosity. He, Captain Hayes, several officers, and Duck Newton, the botanist joining them for this mission, are all regarding the merman in the tank constructed for just this purpose. Their guest is pressed to the far side of the glass, watching them with frightened eyes.

The only person who looks less comfortable than him with this scenario is Duck.

“I still say there’s no reason to keep the fella cooped up in here. Look at him, he’s terrified. And I don’t buy for one second the crew was gentle when they hauled him up. He fought at all, they probably got rough with him.”

“It is a good thing, then, Mr. Newton that you are not in charge of this endeavor.” Hayes says with a disapproving glance at the scientist. Duck frowns the instant the captain looks elsewhere. Joseph is more on Duck’s side, the mans willingness to speak up when he sees something unkind one of Joseph’s favorite traits. But he’s certain there’s room for compromise between the two views; after all, that’s why he’s here.

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

This is the worst day of Barclay’s life.

One minute he’s searching for urchins near shore, the next he’s being pulled towards the surface in a net. The last thing he sees under the waves is Indrid rounding the rocks, his red eyes widening in anger and sorrow as Barclay is heaved into a longboat.

Barclay wishes he could tell him it isn’t his fault; the other mer has done so much to look out for him, but you can’t stay ahead of danger forever. Instead he’s huddled in the far corner of his prison, wanting to know what’s happening but terrified of drawing the human’s attention back to him. A parade of them come and go, some pointing at him or talking in circles while looking his way. One, black haired and tall, is in the room the most, writing at a desk and pulling books from a short set of shelves. His most frequent companion is another dark-haired man, shorter and stouter who keeps glancing at the first man whenever he thinks he’s not looking, then turning away with a pink color in his cheeks.

The moon is up now, and only the tall human remains, writing by the light of a lantern. Cautiously, Barclay rises so his head is out of the water. At the splash, the human turns.

“Oh, good evening. I, um, I’m sorry for not introducing myself sooner, but I decided it would probably be less frightening if I let you come to me in your own time. I’m Joseph Stern.”

“Barclay. Uh, are, are you the one who had them catch me?”

Joseph shakes his head, “No. I’m one of two scientists aboard this vessel. Her primary goal is to find new valuable riches for trade, but a secondary one is to collect knowledge of rare and exotic creatures, so that we might broaden our understanding of the world. I specialize in animals and my colleague, Duck, is an expert in plants.”

“...That doesn’t explain why I’m here. I’m neither of those things.”

The human sighs, “I know, but most of the sailors and officers view you as an animal.”

“But not you?” He narrows his eyes, swimming backwards.

“Not at all. In all my research, I’ve found nothing to suggest merfolk are any less men than myself. The way you and I are talking now confirms that.”

“So I can go now?”

“No” he must notice the alarm in Barclay’s face because he sets his hands on the rim and the tank and adds, hurriedly, “but you’ll get to eventually. My job is to learn all I can from you, about your kind, your numbers, things like that. I’d prefer to do it in a more comfortable setting but I was, um, overruled.” He gives Barclay a reassuring smile, eyes bluer than open sea on a summer day, “You’ll be a free man in no time, I promise.”

Barclay nods, sinks back under the water, and eventually falls asleep. When wakes up at dawn, Joseph is still there, asleep in his chair. When Barclay asks if that’s how humans sleep, the man shakes his head, “No, we have beds. I just didn’t want to leave you alone your first night here, in case there was something you needed.”

His stomach growls as another human arrives with a tray of food and a pot of something that smells very, very good. He leans out of the tank, startling Joseph when he turns around.

“Oh! Um, I asked them to bring fish for your breakfast but you can try some of mine if you like. Assuming it won’t make you sick?”

“I’ve had human food before. But that’s new” he points at the pot, “Ma-, uh, the humans I know only drink tea.”

Joseph hands him the cup of what he soon learns is coffee and he sips it with a sigh; it’s bitter, but woody and dark in a way he enjoys. The human leaves, returns a few minutes later with a second cup, slides the tray within arms reach of Barclay and pulls a notebook from his desk, “Do you mind if we talk over breakfast?”

Barclay doesn’t mind at all. In fact, as the days go by he minds his captivity less and less. He and Joseph talk for hours, not only about mer society but about humans and their lives as well. About myths and stories, and a great deal about food, which Joseph brings him in abundance. Some of it gets soggy when Barclay tries to hold it, and they settle on Joseph keeping it between his fingers or in his palm while Barclay samples it. The first few times they do this the human blushes and looks away. When he finally meets Barclay’s eyes, the mer grins at him and licks his palm clean.

Joseph also takes great care to ensure Barclay isn’t bored. Barclay learns some chess and card games by watching Joseph and Duck play after dinner. In exchange he teaches Joseph how to play Five Shells High. When Joseph isn’t around, Barclay talks to Duck, and finds him good company, funny but also happy to let Barclay think in peace.

He still longs for his freedom, for the ability to dive and swim in an endless sea. However, as Joseph sits beside his tank in the evenings, reading to him and smiling whenever Barclay reaches out to toy with his hair, he’s not in much of a hurry to get home as he should be.

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

Any other time, Duck would tease Joe for mooning over a merman and reading him bedtime stories. Trouble is, he’s not much better.

The night they brought Barclay aboard, Duck was halfway to bed when someone threw a crab through his open window. Peering out revealed another merman, silver haired and wary.

“Duck Newton?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, that is a relief. I was afraid I’d alerted the wrong human to my presence.”

“You threw this into my room on purpose?”

“Indeed. I, ah, foresaw you being both sympathetic to my plight and disinclined to tell others of my being here.” He stays close to the hull, voice a lilting whisper.

“The fella we caught today a friend of yours?”

“Yes, a close one. Is he alright? I, my visions show he is safe and that the human looking after him is kind but I, I am” his red eyes look sadly down at the water, “I am worried all the same.”

Duck wants to reach out to him, stroke that moonlight hair and tell him not to worry, “Ain’t no shame in carin about a friend. He’s safe, and he won’t be stuck on this boat forever. And the man stayin with him is a decent, honorable sort.”

The mer sighs, rests his head on the side of the ship, “Thank goodness.” When he turns his face to Duck, it steals the breath from his lungs, “may I come to you again for news of him?”

Duck smiles, “Sure.”

Indrid, as the mer calls himself, comes back every night. Luckily, Joe spends his nights in the cargo room with Barclay instead of in his and Duck’s quarters, so there’s no one to witness their conversations. It’s not that the other man would react badly; as much as Duck likes him, Joe is a little too inclined to defer to authority, and might put Indrid in danger without meaning to.

Better still, when Duck is ashore searching for specimens, Indrid keeps him company. The mer swims parallel to his path in the sand, or follows him up briny tributaries to show him rare plants.

Unlike Barclay, Indrid has visible fins beside the one on his back; two he can extend from his sides. All are the same silver-blue shade that colors Duck’s dreams these days.

Tonight they’re talking at the window about Duck’s travels when Indrid goes still. Then he sinks under the waves as the door behind Duck opens.

“Mr.Newton, who are you talking to? The men said they saw a creature off the side of the ship.”

“Uhhhhhhhh”

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

“I despise you.” Indrid glares over the edge of his tank.

“I said I was sorry! Ain’t my fault I can’t lie for shit.”

“No, but you could have told me about that issue before it got me imprisoned on a ship!”

“Hey, you’re the one who can see the future, you coulda warned me they were comin.”

Joseph and Barclay trade a concerned look; after an initial chirp of joy at seeing Barclay, Indrid directed all his focus to glaring at Duck while Woodbridge gave them their orders.

“Um, Indrid, right? I’m sure Duck didn’t mean for you to be caught. And we’ll both make sure you’re comfortable while you’re here.”

Indrid spares a dagger filled glance for Joseph, then swims to the side of the tank closest to Barclay’s enclosure, popping up and leaning over to his friend, the two of them trading clicks and trills. The conversation calms Indrid some. Barclay explains later that he assured his friend the stay was only temporary and, while the conditions were not ideal, the company was good.

All the same, any time Duck sits near Indrid’s tank, a silver tail splashes him with water. The botanist takes it in stride, seeming to accept it as a deserved penalty for getting Indrid trapped.

Several days later, as they’re both working, the botanist sets down his pen, stands, and sets his back against Indrid’s tank.

“Joe, gimme a hand please.”

Joseph pushes as hard as he can, and the tank scrapes across the floor.

“I can still splash you from here.”

“That’s not why I’m doin it. You and Barclay keep starin at each other all sad; seems mighty cruel to keep you where you can see each other but can’t touch.”

Indrid falls silent until they get the tanks side by side. Then he rises from the water and leans out to rub his cheek against Duck’s own with a trill of thanks. The research room is more peaceful (and much drier) after that.

Three nights later, dinner stops by the hold to see if either of the mers needs anything from him. He opens and then immediately shuts the door and backs away; he’s learned that mers are demonstrative, but heated, frantic kissing and moaning suggests something they’d rather not have him present for. Lord, why did it look like Barclay had two…

The hall is hotter than a furnace, and as he walks down it as fast as dignity will allow, Duck steps from the officers dining room. Wordlessly, Joseph grabs him and pulls him the rest of the way to their room.

“Everythin okay JoeOHfuck” Duck’s heads thuds back against the door as Joseph palms him through his trousers, “what’s gotten into you huh?”

“I, I need, I saw, um” he rests his forehead on the door, hands gripping Duck’s hips, “Barclay and Indrid making use of their rare chance at privacy.”

“Uh huh” Duck kisses along his jaw, “and here I’ve been wonderin how to get you back into my bed since that night in Port Royal, when it turns out I just need to find some mermen and pay ‘em to fuck in front of you.”

“It’s not just that” Joseph looks down at him earnestly, “it’s you too. It’s so hard to keep my hands to myself, to maintain decorum and poise and not beg for your kisses every minute we’re at work. Seeing them together snapped the rest of my control, I need release but more than that I need you.”

“Right here, darlin” Duck pulls him down into a kiss, leaves a trail of them across his face, “so show me just how much you need me.”

He thuds to his knees, the two of them tugging and tossing at clothing until Duck’s legs are bare and Joseph can bury his face between them. He loves doing this, loves feeling enveloped by the perfection that’s Duck;s body. His hands grope and circle, relishing the muscle and fat beneath his hands as Duck holds him by the hair and tells him how good it feels, how well he’s doing, the grip tightening the closer his orgasm gets, until Joseph can barely breathe from how hard he’s pressed against him.

He barely gets a chance to kiss his thigh in thanks before Duck hauls him up by his coat to kiss and spin him to the nearest bed. Black hair streaked with grey falls across green eyes as Duck grins down at him.

“My turn.”

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

Barclay can’t look at Indrid without blushing; it’d been so long since they fucked and he’d forgotten just how nice it felt, how teasing and playful Indrid was as a mate. Case in point: as their kisses deepened, he whispered in Barclay’s ear that Joseph had seen them and was, as he spoke, pawing Duck in their room. Barclay moaned at the words and Indrid laughed, spread his side fins, and leapt into Barclay’s tank to lick and bite at the sensitive patch of tail that hid his cock.

“My, my dearest, it seems Joseph is skilled with his tongue as well. Perhaps if you ask nicely we will use our mouths on you at the same time.”

Indrid is currently sighing as Duck combs his hair. Barclay takes a moment to watch the scene unfold: Indrid’s made no secret of his attraction to Duck (or Joseph for that matter), and Barclay likes seeing his friend happy, likes the way Duck touches him with the tenderness he deserves but will often deny himself.

Joseph opens the door and calls, “Duck? Hayes wants to speak with us.”

The human departs and Indrid blows a kiss when his back is turned, then winks at Barclay. Barclay is about to ask if they have time to trade kisses of their own when Indrid freezes.

“Oh no.”

Indrid cocks his head and Barclay follows suit, voices reaching him from the hall.

“Captain Hayes, I must object to this plan. We can get all the information we need from my interviews with Barclay and Indrid, there’s no need to take them away from their home.”

“This is not about information, Mr. Stern. The company that funded this mission did so in the hopes that we would return with mermaids to sell. Which we have, and the two them alone will make not only the company but all of us rich men indeed.”

“Who gives a damn about riches? They ain’t fuckin treasure to be traded.”

“Mr. Newton-”

“Duck’s right, this is completely inhumane. If I’d known this was your goal, I’d never have agreed to this voyage.”

“The decision is final. And I’d advise you both to tread carefully from how you speak to me from here on; men of science or no, this is my ship, and what I say is the law.”

Indrid flicks his tail, swimming back and forth in agitation as Barclay curls his arms around himself; he doesn’t want to be taken away from home, and he certainly doesn’t want to be someone’s prized possession. Worse, Joseph doesn’t return, and so there’s no one to comfort him as he worries and Indrid sorts through unhelpful futures.

He’s half-asleep when the door opens, gasps as a hand touches his shoulder.

“Can you heave yourself out of the tank?” Joseph whispers

Barclay nods, pushes himself up, out, and then into the human’s embrace. Across from him, Duck manages to carry Indrid in his arms on the first try.

“What are you doing?”

Joseph touches his face, “I promised you that you’d get to go free. I keep my promises.”

With that they struggle out the door and up stairs, Indrid helping them determine when the coast is clear to reach the edge of the deck. He’s already dizzy, breath coming in gasps. Indrid wastes no time, launches himself into the sea with a graceful splash.

“What, what will happen to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Joseph smiles sadly. Barclay kisses him to the thunder of footsteps, then falls into the sea.

The last thing he hears is Duck muttering, “Well...fuck.”

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

“Pirates would have at least given us a pistol.” Joseph lays on his back in the sand as Duck tosses rocks into the sea, The Washington disappearing on the horizon.

“Yeah. That’s why Hayes ain’t one; he’d have to be too damn nice.”

Joseph chuckles, “True.”

Duck’s certain this is not even remotely what was supposed to happen, and it’s certainly not what either of them expected. Flogging, being thrown in the brig, brought up on charges when they arrived home all crossed their minds. Not being marooned on a small, deserted island with only the clothes on their backs.

He doesn’t regret his choice. Joe doesn’t either. All the same, they spend a few hours on the beach bemoaning their fate or silently considering how to mitigate it. By evening, they determine it could be far worse. They’re study of the plants and animals of the region means they know what’s edible and what’s poisonous, there are fish in the shallows and a small spring hidden in the rocks and trees towards the center of the island. Duck suggests building signal fires when they can in case other ships are near, and they set up a rough lean-to as shelter from the sun. They spend the next few days figuring out how to survive, and Duck discovers just how charming Joe looks when he’s unshaven.

(His budding facial hair also leads to the discovery that Duck;s thighs are incredibly ticklish).

They’re alright for now. Duck’s just worried about how long their luck will hold.

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

Joseph is making a new spear, eyeing the storm clouds on the horizon, when Duck’s voice catches his attention.

“Uh, you might not wanna wade out just yet. Looks like there’s a shark.” The other man points to a dark fin sticking slicing the water.

“That doesn’t look like-”

“AHJESUS” Duck is knocked back onto the sand by shape with silvery fins and hair. His further commentary on the matter is cut off by Indrid kissing him, tail wiggling happily as he does.

“I did not get to do that when we fled, there was no time, but oh how I wanted to.”

“Seriously, he kept saying I was smart to kiss you when I could.” Barclay’s entrance onto the beach is more graceful, using the surf to slide up the sand and settle at Joseph's feet.

“Oh yes, that reminds me” Indrid rolls off Duck, grabs Joseph’s shirt, and pulls him down into a kiss.

“Y’all hunt us down just for some kisses?” Duck scoots over to join them, draping an arm over Indrid.

“Nope. When Indrid’s visions showed us what they were gonna do to you, we knew we had to come get you. You, you’re here because you saved us-”

“It was the right thing to do” Joseph strokes the dark brown of his hair as Barclay rests his head on his stomach/

“And neither of us could stand the thought of losing you, especially not like this.”

“We would have arrived sooner, but we had to make arrangements for your rescue and get permission from the mer whose territory we’re technically in.

“Fascinating. Are there borders, or identification or-”

“All in good time” Indrid purrs, nipping his ear. He shudders down to his toes as Barclay begins kissing his hips and belly.

“Like the way you think, ‘Drid.”

“You will like how I do other things as well. Now come here” Indrid pulls Duck into his arms as Barclay crawls up Joseph’s body to kiss him properly. There’s salt on his lips, sweetness on his tongue, and Joseph sighs as he wraps his legs around the smooth, cool texture of his tail. Barclay smiles into the kiss, rolls his hips as Joseph teases his fingers up and down his sides.

“I missed you so much.” Barclay murmurs, “nights aren’t the same without you keeping me company.”

“I missed you too.” He nudges his hips up, letting the mer know he’s heading in the right direction.

“Holyfuck, you have-”

“Two, yes, is that not what humans have?” Indrid cocks his head at Duck.

Joseph hides a smile, “See, Duck, I’m not the only one who finds you irresistible.”

“That and when Indrid gets going, he gets going fast.” Barclay adds. Indrid flicks water at him with his tail.

“No kiddin. Joe, you gotta see this.” Duck climbs off Indrid, revealing two cocks protruding from the upper part of his tail. Joseph’s brain fails to supply any thoughts other than yes

Indrid preens under the attention, lazily stroking one shaft, “Are you all going to just gawk at me, or will one of you come and attend to the situation?”

“May, um, may I?” Joseph looks between the three of them, unsure whose permission he’s asking or what he’s asking it for.

“Heh, oughta tell you two that Joe needs someone to order him around in bed.” Duck smirks as he crawls through the surf to kiss Joseph’s shoulders.

“Is that so? In that case, be a good human and come ride my cock.” Indrid gestures to said cock with a flourish.

“But I was gonna go down on him.” Barclay mock pouts.

“We can do both at once. If he will hurry up and get his trousers off. Honestly, why do humans insist on so much clothing?”

“Because our dicks don’t stay nice and hidden until we need ‘em.” Duck disrobes along with Joseph.

Red eyes rove across Duck hungrily, “I see. A lovely sight all the same. Now Joseph, come face away from me.”

He straddles Indrid’s hips on shaking knees, warm sand the perfect counterpoint to cool scales.

“Do not worry about taking both, my foresight suggests it will be too much right now. AHhnnn yes” he wriggles when Joseph strokes the shaft, bringing it into position.

“The ridges are intriguing.” They also feel incredible on his hand, and he rushes to feel them inside him.

“Do humans not have those either? Honestly, what do you haveAHahhhoh, oh nevermind, oh you’re so tight and warm, oh this is wonderful, Barclay, you have to try this.” The ridged cock bumps and thrusts into him, and Joseph tips his head back to moan.

“I will. Got other things to do right now.” Barclay lays along Indrid’s tail, kissing both it and Joseph's legs before closing his lips around Joseph’s swollen cock.

“Lord, ohlord that’s good, Barclay, Indrid, fuckplease.”

“Please what, Joseph?” Indrid thrusts more roughly.

“Just please, please don’t stop, it’s incredible, you both are.” His mind is going blank, his whole being thrumming with a singular desire; to be good, to filled and used and wanted.

“Fuck, Joe” Duck paints kisses along his back and shoulder, “you look damn good like this, takin it two ways at once.”

He pets Duck’s thigh, kisses him messily “You, someone should take care of you.”

“Yes they should” Indrid “come, sweet one, let me show you what I can do with my tongue.”

“Hell yeah” Duck scrambles away, and a moment later his moans fill the air, underscored by Indrid’s pleased laughter.

Barclay hums, making Joseph jolt and squirm. The merman pulls back, winks at him, then drags his tongue along the cock not buried to the hilt in the human.

“MMMPHHmmmmmm” Indrid’s garbled shout of delight makes the other three laugh.

“Jesusfuck, Barclay can you do that again, his mouth gets even better when you do.”

Barclay obliges and another moaning trill washes over the beach.

“God, it’s so fucking hot, watching him fuck you, wanna see it everyday” Barclay dives back down and soon Joseph’s orgasm crashes into him, his whole body twitching as pleasure overwhelms his nerves. Behind him, Duck lets out the singularly charming groan he always makes when he cums. Indrid is close behind him, spilling sticky and cool inside Joseph and across his thighs and Barclays chest. The other mer growls, roughly pulling Joseph off or Indrid and into the sand with him, the particles burning his knees as the merman grinds him roughly back and forth across his cock, not pushing in but not needing to, cumming in a few short seconds with a howl of ecstasy.

They rearrange themselves, panting, so the mers are mostly in the surf and the humans mostly on the sand, he and Duck pulling their clothes back on to avoid sunburns in the worst possible places.

“That was exquisite” Indrid sighs, resting between the humans with his silver tail draped across Barclay’s dark one.

“No kiddin.”

“And we finished not a moment too soon.” Indrid points out to sea.

Rounding the side of the island is a small sailing boat bearing the words Amnesty.

“Man, I cannot wait to get us all home” Barclay smiles, kissing Joseph’s hand.

The human leans down and kisses him back, “Me neither.”

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #Indruck #agent stern/barclay #duck newton/agent stern #trans agent stern #trans duck newton #mermay fills #mermay

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kafka-ish · 4 years

Text

stanley’s sister has got it going on | r.t.

richie’s got a crush and he’s got it bad. the only thing that’s keeping him from the girl he’s been chasing is his best friend—her brother.

word count: 4,665

warnings/included: nsfw (not explicit), fluff, swearing, fem!reader

a/n: as i was rereading this i realized that this is the dirtiest thing i’ve ever written??? (so far). in comparison to other works it’s probably vv vanilla so pls bear with me

In the defense of Richie Tozier, it wasn’t his fault he ended up catching feelings for Stanley Uris’s little sister. There were a lot of things he couldn’t control. Like when his mouth opened and out came a poorly done impression of his chemistry teacher. (Which just so happened to have been done as Mr. Ford was standing behind the boy).

Richie may as well just start a list of things he can’t help, marking y/n Uris down as number thirty-three.

“Hey, Richie!” Well, well, well, if it wasn’t the person Richie had been most desperately trying to avoid. “Are you going to Stan’s tonight?” y/n asked. She was standing outside of his car door while he was in the driver’s seat, flicking through the radio stations, trying to find a good song for the ride home.

Upon hearing the voice, Richie stopped fidgeting with the knob. It was honestly hopeless trying to find a good song at this point. None of the good stuff comes on until later. He turned his head to meet eyes with the accompanying voice from outside his car.

Bad idea.

Of course, y/n chose to wear a tank top and the shortest skirt possible that day. Hell, any day he’d find his thoughts lost in her. Whether she was wearing a bikini at the quarry or in an oversized t-shirt and checkered pajama pants.

“Earth to Richie?” y/n laughed. She waved her hand in front of his face, trying to capture his attention. Little did she know, that wasn’t necessary.

“Actually, I was thinking about being a no-show today. I’ve been neglecting my training.”

“Oh! You train? Which gym?” She was grinning wide and her gaze burned a hole through his heart.

“The arcade. I gotta keep my skills fresh if I ever wanna keep that high score.” y/n rolled her eyes, but his comment still made her laugh.

“Well, can you take me home? Once you drop me off I promise you can have all the time in the world to work on your skills.” Emphasis on ‘skills’.

“Promise, eh?” Richie repeated, giving the girl a hard time. “Did Stan forget how to drive?”

“No…” The ‘o’ part was drawn out. “He has his bird watching club today and I don’t feel like sitting in the sun for an hour while I wait for him.”

Richie smiled to himself, thinking for a moment. On one hand, he shouldn’t be alone with the sister of one of his best friends’, as he had different intentions. On the other hand, he couldn’t just leave his best friend’s sister hanging like that. In hindsight, he had come to the conclusion that there was a possibility of Stan getting mad at him either way.

Taking Stan’s sister home it was.

“What are you waiting for, y/n/n, get in.” Richie finally made his decision.

y/n cheered happily, thanking him, as she rounded his car and opened the door to the passenger’s seat.

“You have no idea how happy this makes me!” y/n smiled, her expression reaching ear to ear.

“Oh yeah. I bet you’re over the moon about getting a ride from your brother’s best friend in some beat up chevy.” Richie tried his best to distance himself. He really did. But he couldn’t help but notice y/n’s figure in the tight-fitting clothes, especially when she sat in such a close proximity to him.

“I don’t think you get it, Tozier.” y/n hummed as she started turning the knob on the dash, finally settling on some rock station. She lowered the volume so they could still talk without yelling over the atmosphere. “We never hang out.”

“We’re hangin’ out right now,” Richie argued, daring to look away from the road for one millisecond just so he could steal a glance at her.

“Yeah, but… You hang out with Bill, Eddie, and Stan, and stuff.” She sounded disappointed.

“I guess it’s different with them.” Richie shrugged. It was different with them. Bill, Eddie, Stan, Ben, and Beverly even, had their group together. They had the same classes together. They faced off a killer clown together.

“I get that you guys have your own friend group and stuff.” y/n said quickly, not wanting to sound lonely or weird from her previous statement. “But we’re friends. Aren’t we?” She said this with an unsureness in her voice that Richie didn’t know how to reply to.

I should’ve just left her at school. What’s so bad about waiting in the sun while Stan’s off watching some stupid birds? I guess it is kind of hot out. But a little heat won’t hurt anyone, right? Besides, she’s wearing a tank top.

Richie peered over at y/n who was looking out the window as her head leaned against it.

A white, lacy tank top that makes her skin look even more—

“Richie?” Concern washed over the girl’s eyes. Her attention turned to him instead of the scenery that passed by them.

Richie whipped his head away from her body and stared blankly at the road. It was almost as if he were a ghost. Except he actually had color in his face.

“What is it, y/n/n?” Richie’s eyes were still on the road.

“I asked if we were friends.” The girl giggled, not being able to take anything seriously for longer than five minutes. “But that’s a stupid question.” She looked down and began to pick at her nails.

“Of course we’re friends.” Richie insisted. The only problem is that I want more and your brother would kill me.

Something inside of y/n calmed at the affirmation. “So we should hang out.”

“Already told ya, y/n/n. I got a date with destiny today.”

“I don’t mind being the third wheel.”

To be frank, that was the last thing Richie needed. It was bad enough that middle schoolers would wait lined up behind him, watching as he lost at some silly arcade game that he still had a passion for. He didn’t need some hot girl hanging over his shoulder while he did so, too. But Richie’s mouth had betrayed his thoughts.

“Only if you want to, y/n/n.” He had avoided trying to call y/n anything other than her name or her nickname. He wouldn’t allow himself to call her any of the cutesy trademark pet names he’d call other girls that he would shamelessly flirt with for fun. He started implementing this tactic in sophomore year once he really started to notice her.

At first, it was the way she greeted him every time the losers met up at Stan’s house. Maybe he was crazy, but he swore she gave him special attention: always running up towards him when she saw him, her lingering by his side before Stan yelled at her, asking if she had anything better to do. Her smile was seemingly wider and her eyes brighter whenever she held conversations with him compared to the other losers—or maybe that was just Richie looking into things too much.

Due to drama and false rumors, y/n had started hanging out with the losers more this year. It was an attempt for her to take her mind off of the absence of friends on her part. None of the losers seemed to mind, even Stan. Thus, she became a regular when the group went on swimming trips to the quarry or slept over at each other’s houses. This didn’t really help Richie’s case. Now, he was basically forced to see her figure in a swimsuit and in every other setting imaginable. Not to mention, he couldn’t do anything about it either.

The two had finally arrived at the arcade. Richie had managed to snag the closest parking spot to the entryway and y/n relentlessly made fun of how he never parked straight until they got in the door.

“Okay, kid. Once you get your license, you can criticize my ‘bad’ parking. But for now, since you’re hitching rides for free, I say you better just keep quiet for now.”

“But you’re so over the lines! I can’t imagine your coloring if that’s how you park.”

“I’ll have you know, y/n, I don’t color. For one, that shit’s for babies. And I am way past that preschool shit. And second of all, coloring’s way lame.” Richie had made his way over to the Street Fighter machine and inserted a quarter in the slot.

y/n watched him thoughtfully for awhile as he fidgeted with the joystick and jammed the buttons.

“Do you want anything to drink?” she asked, growing bored of watching the same repetitive visuals from over his shoulder. But she didn’t think she could ever grow tired of watching him.

“Hold on.” His hand smashed against the buttons in rapid fire movements while he simultaneously maneuvered the joystick. A few seconds after, the game played a pitiful noise and the boy let out a groan. Richie had lost.

“That’s a weird way of saying coke.” y/n hummed before skipping off to the lounge area.

On her way back, she saw Richie’s face contort in frustration. Once again, he had lost to the game.

“Cheer up, buttercup!” y/n passed handed him the glass bottle and Richie had finally stepped away from the Street Fighter machine.

“Easy for you to say. You don’t got an inanimate object beating ya four to one.” Richie pretended to wipe the nonexistent sweat off his brow and looked down to y/n, offering her a smug look.

“Would a kiss make you feel better?” The girl leaned closer to him and got up on her tippy toes, preparing to peck him on his cheek.

This was the first of y/n showing any sign of real interest. And while Richie wanted to bask in the glory of his long time crush finally coming around, his thoughts also drew to Stan. What kind of friend would he be if he made a move on his friend’s little sister? Technically she’s the one making the moves-

Cut it out, Rich!

His internal monologue argued for a while before he realized y/n’s lips were attached to his face.

“W-what are you doing?” Richie belatedly snapped out of his thoughts and came to his senses.

y/n pulled away. Her arms crossed tightly around her chest and her posture was now slightly hunched over. Oh.

“I thought I could make you feel better.” She mumbled. When she eventually spoke, she let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding in. “Can you take me home?” She asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

“Of course.” The two started heading for the door and Richie tried to slow his pace so that his long legs would be in sync with hers. “To be honest, y/n/n, I was kinda getting tired of this ol’ dump anyways.”

A small smile graced y/n’s lips as he talked. Even if she was still embarrassed from the previous events.

“You’re not gonna be a professional video game player?”

“Oh no. That dream’s been abandoned for a long time now.” Richie quipped back. He was turning the keys into the ignition and began to drive off.

The car ride to Stan’s place was silent. Either because of the turn that had taken place earlier at the arcade, or because Richie didn’t wanna open his big mouth and accidentally slip up; ruining his relationship with both Stan the Man and Stan the Man’s hot sister.

Richie’s old chevy slowly came to a stop at the front of Stan’s house. The sky was cloudless and an unnerving shade of blue today, highlighting how perfectly trim and green Uris’s lawn was.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” y/n finally spoke up. Her voice foreign to Richie’s ears after the fifteen minutes of dead air from the two of them. But it wasn’t that foreign. Her voice echoed through his brain practically everyday. Whenever classes got boring or nights seemed endless, Richie found himself either replaying past conversations between them. Or other scenarios… She was an unhealthy addiction he couldn’t quit. Like smoking, only hotter and way more deadly.

“What’s there to talk about?” Richie faced y/n, putting on his best ‘I’m-not-interested-in-you’ face, when he really felt quite the opposite.

“Richie, I feel like you don’t like me.” Her accusation was dead wrong, but there was hurt in her eyes. Somehow, Richie had managed to convince the girl of his dreams he hates her when that couldn’t be less true.

“I don’t.” He forced a chuckle to ease the tension but y/n wasn’t having it.

“Can I tell you something?” y/n asked. Richie nodded, a quizzical look on his face. Before continuing, y/n swallowed. She didn’t usually get nervous, but Richie was someone to get nervous over. “I like you.”

Her words felt like something out of a dream Richie once had before.

“What can I say, kid. It’s impossible not to.” Of course, y/n didn’t really like him. At least, not like that. She was probably just saying this for shits and giggles. Pulling his leg. A classic Richie stunt.

“I mean, I like you like how Ben likes Beverly.”

Richie’s eyes then widened at the declaration and his body stiffened.

“It’s okay if you don’t like me back,” she said with such ease that Richie admired. She shrugged and the thin strap of her tank top fell down her shoulder. Richie couldn’t help but notice, his eyes wandering where they shouldn’t.

“Listen—” He gulped. His eyes kept trailing down no matter how hard he tried not to. “Listen,” he repeated, now meeting her big eyes, “I don’t not like you, y/n/n. In fact the funny thing is… is—” his words got caught in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Not with Stan’s breathing always down his back (whether Stan was actually there or not).

“What’s so funny, Rich?” Her soft, sweet voice filled his ears once again. It was like a spell, because suddenly (and conveniently), the thought of Stan was no longer in the back of Richie’s mind.

“I like you too, kid.” His voice was low, but y/n still heard him.

“So what’s stopping this?” A sly smirk formed on y/n’s face. She climbed over the control panel and her already short skirt rode up to be even higher.

y/n sat herself on Richie’s lap. The boy had to keep from pinching himself. What was happening was straight out of a wet dream of his he’d probably had last night.

The girl on his lap was toying with a strand of his hair while looking into his eyes. Her shoulder was still bare from the strap that fell off it.

“I’m so glad you feel the same way.” Richie didn’t think he could help himself any longer with the sultry way she was speaking and the fact that she was on his lap. “Now I can do this.”

y/n placed a tender kiss to the awestruck boy’s lips. It was slow and steady. She didn’t want to mess things up since they had just admitted their feelings to one another.

But Richie was impatient.

As soon as she pulled away, he connected his lips to hers again. He was sloppy and fast paced with his movements, yet still full of passion.

y/n giggled into his mouth which caused Richie’s heart to skip a beat. She’d been waiting for this moment since she first laid eyes on him.

The first time Richie stepped foot into the Uris household, y/n had greeted him excitedly.

“y/n could you get that!” Stan shouted to her from their den. He was busy setting up board games, making sure every last piece was in its designated place.

“Why do I have to?” y/n grumbled, still walking out of her room so she could get to the door anyway. “You were closer.”

“I’m preparing for game night. This is the first time my friends are coming over and I want everything to be suitable.” Stan was polishing the game pieces now.

“I don’t think your friends will mind if one of your little thing-a-ma-bobs is out of place.” y/n jokingly tipped over one of the players to Stanley’s game that he had already put into place but she quickly put it back upon noticing the discontent that marked his face as she did so.

“I’ll mind.” Her brother replied calmly.

Another knock at the door.

“Can you please get that?”

y/n got up and walked over to the door. She was first met with a lanky boy whose legs were too long for his torso and eyes were too big for his face.

She didn’t expect Stan’s friends to be hot.

“Hi!” y/n exclaimed, hoping to give off a good impression on the group.

“I didn’t know Stan had an underaged maid. I guess the Uris’ will do anything for labor work.” No one laughed at Richies joke.

“That’s Stan’s sister, dipwad,” Eddie said, disgusted at his friend.

Richie made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth and the group shuffled in, meeting Stan in the den.

“Stan you never told me you had a hottie for a sister.” y/n could hear Richie’s voice from across the hall. Her intestines turned into butterflies and she could pass for a canary with how red her face had gotten.

But despite having the hugest crush on Richie, y/n never shared any classes with the boy. She was a year younger than Stan, but in the same grade as him because of the accelerated classes she took. So y/n had to admire from afar.

Well, not anymore.

Her lips were now attached to his neck, eliciting a moan from him. She smirked at that and started to roll her hips against his. Her name fell from his lips over and over and over again which evoked her to keep going.

“Richie!?” An angered voice called from the outside of his car.

It was the one and only. Stanley Uris.

It was too late to act fast. Richie pulled y/n off him and looked guiltily out the window to see the face that matched the voice.

But Richie already knew who it was.

“Who me? I dink you ghat de wrahng goey.” Richie did his best Irish man accent but it was no use.

“Okay, Richie, cut the crap.” Stan’s face was twisted up in an expression that almost scared Richie. His hands were folded against his chest and he was waiting for an answer.

Richie simply couldn’t bring himself to answer the boy. He sat in shame with y/n next to him staring at her brother. Richie may as well have had ‘I’M SORRY’ written on his forehead with the way he was gaping at Stan.

“y/n get out of the car.” Stan said, breaking eye contact with his friend.

The girl complied, whispering about how sorry she was to the boy who drove her home before getting out. After that, she didn’t dare glance back at him in his car and Richie didn’t have the energy to even look anywhere besides the steering wheel.

That was last week. Since then, Stan and Richie hadn’t said a word to each other. Richie hadn’t spoken to y/n since then either. The tension was too thick between Stan and Richie and Richie didn’t want to mess things up more than he already did.

“I c-cuh-can’t believe yo-you liked y/n.” Bill chuckled.

It was after school and the two were in the library. The details of what happened that day eventually got out. Both Stan and Richie had told their sides of the story and the losers were respectful enough to not take sides. They just hung out with Richie when Stan wasn’t around and hung out with Stan when Richie wasn’t there.

“What’s so bad about that?” Richie looked skeptically at his friend, trying his best to defend himself.

“I mean, yea-yeah sh-sh-she’s cute—”

“She’s beautiful.” Richie cut off but Bill rolled his eyes.

“What-h-ever. I-it’s just funny tha-hat you wuh-would go after her.”

“I already told you she kissed me first.” Richie proclaimed, a little too proudly.

“Sh-he’s Stan’s sister!” That was true.

“And a good kisser.” That was also true.

“Gross, Richie.” Bill returned to the book in front of him, but Richie kept egging on the conversation.

“I don’t see why someone has to be off limits just because they’re related to a friend.” His annoyed tone was evident and Bill gave him a sympathetic look.

“It-t’s b-ba-basically written in th-the br-r-ro code.” Bill paused for a moment and Richie didn’t know if it was because he was embarrassed of his stuttering or if he was gathering his thoughts. “But i-i-if you li-li-like her… wh-who am I to s-suh-say any-th-thing.”

If Bill was insinuating what Richie thought he was, then that made him cooler than he already was.

And that’s how Richie found himself in y/n’s room Friday night. The losers were meeting up at the Aladdin to see the new Jim Carrey movie and somehow Richie had been able to get himself out of it, claiming he was overdue on chores and couldn’t make it.

“Th-that’s t-too bad, R-Rich.” Bill said over the phone (but he knew better) while the other losers pressed their ear up against it, listening in. “The c-co-omedy should be ri-right up your alley.”

“Dumb and underdeveloped?” Eddie asked Bill. “I don’t wanna see a movie just to hate it,” he complained.

“Yowza, Eds. And I thought you appreciated my jokes.” Richie feigned hurt over the speaker. “Anywho, I gotta make like a tree and hang up. The ‘rents are asking for me.” They weren’t.

“O-okay. Maybe nuh-nuh-next wee—” Beep.

Richie had already hung up.

y/n grabbed his hand, which was clamped over her mouth and took it off. She was bursting to the seams with laughter.

“I can’t believe you’re a liar now,” she tsked, trying to fake an ‘I’m-not-mad-at-you-just-disappointed’ look that her English teacher had given her once.

“Only under these circumstances.” He was fast to attach his lips to hers. They didn’t have much time and he wanted to make the most of what they had now.

Richie was on top of her now, his lips still on hers. He kissed her everywhere from the crown of her head to the crook of her neck. If his kisses left a print, her skin would be buried under them.

“Rich…” She sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering from the pleasure he inflicted on her when he had found a sweet spot behind her ear. y/n kissed him back hard with force and a sort of dominance Richie didn’t know she had in her.

She flipped them, so that she was on top now. y/n took this liberty of having full control to take off her shirt and Richie’s as well.

Richie smirked and began to kiss lower. His pace was slower than he originally started. Painstakingly slow. y/n wined at how delicate his lips felt tracing her skin but she needed more.

“Touch me,” she urged. Richie obeyed, his hands were now on her chest, massaging and caressing her delicate skin.

There weren’t enough words to describe the thrill and satisfaction Richie gave her. y/n could relish in this boy’s embrace forever with how good he made her feel. She began grinding against his jeans, just like the day they were caught by Stanley, so she could ease the ache for him between his legs.

Richie chuckled, feeling her press against him. He knew precisely what she wanted but to give or not to give in was the question.

“y/n/n, we don’t have that long,” He warned.

“I don’t care.” She started peppering his face in kisses the same way he had done to her. At the same time, she began to unbutton his jeans. Who would Richie be to turn down sex anyway?

She was fast at getting him inside her. Definitely not inexperienced. But Richie didn’t want fast. Not with y/n, at least. He wanted their first together to be slow, sensual, special—

“You’re amazing,” he grunted and she blushed in response.

Her pace quickened at his praise. Their movements together felt electric and y/n herself was so hypnotic, Richie felt he could get lost in the thought—or the feeling —of her forever.

A feeling that was indescribable washed over Richie once the two of them were finished. He had stayed inside of her, and y/n was now laying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and tracing circles on his skin with her thumb. Their chests rose and fell together at the same time, a small action that Richie melted at the sight of.

“For the record, I didn’t want it to happen like this,” Richie said. There was a sort of fear palpable in his tone.

“For the record, you kissed me first.” y/n eyed him suspiciously before giving him a peck on the cheek. “And what does that mean? Did you…” She shyly decided on her words for a moment. “Did you not want to..?”

“No, no, no, no.” Richie immediately counteracted the girl’s suggestion. “I so wanted to do this. I’ve dreamed about doing this—” Richie stopped himself before his talking could make things worse, but y/n found his rambling amusing.

“So, what did you mean?” y/n tried again. She reached out to hold his hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

“I mean.” He let out a sigh before continuing. “I wanted us to be, like, an official couple and shit before we do this shit.” He motioned between them and to where they were still joined.

y/n flushed at the sight and covered her face.

“Hey.” Richie was soft. Softer than y/n had ever seen him be. He took her wrists in his hands, uncovering her face so he could admire her.

She was stunning even after sex.

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing.” He was almost embarrassed to admit it, but with y/n he didn’t feel the need to be afraid. “I want us to go on dates and hold hands and tell each other about our day.” He was looking at the ceiling, daydreaming at the thought.

y/n’s eyes searched his face thoughtfully. “Of course, Rich. I want that, too!” She kissed his lips once more, elated at the boy in front of her. Her face fell shortly after she had a sudden understanding. “What’re you gonna do about Stan?”

“Who’s Stan?” But Richie’s fake grin wasn’t fooling anyone. “Uh, well, we could tell him…” But when Richie saw a certain uneasiness consume y/n’s face, he ruled that option out. “How do you feel about dating in secret?” He offered. The situation wasn’t ideal, but at the time it seemed to be the lesser of the two evils at hand.

“Okay,” y/n whispered. “So you should leave.”

“Woah, babe, I just got here.” Richie sat up, looking for his shirt.

“Yeah, but the movie should’ve ended by now.” y/n gestured towards the alarm clock on her nightstand causing Richie’s jaw to drop.

He was heading towards the window now, knowing he had enough time to get out, but he wanted to be careful.

“See you tomorrow then?” y/n giggled at how clingy he could be.

“I’ll call you.” And Richie just couldn’t get enough of the smile she was wearing.

“Sounds like a date!” He yelled from outside her house.

During the drive home, Richie’s thoughts became lost in y/n once again. This was just the beginning.

#it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #it x reader #it imagine #it fanfic #it fic #richie tozier #it richie #richie tozier x reader #richie x reader #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier fic #richie tozier scenario #richie tozier fluff #richie tozier smut #bruh can this be classified as smut idk

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vampiregirl1797 · 4 years

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When You Need to Escape to Your Happy Place

Spencer Reid x Reader

GIF Not Mine.

Click Here For Masterlist.

Word Count: 2,621

Warnings: talk of a toxic relationship, but otherwise SO MUCH FLUFF.

Summary: A fight with your father leads to you seeking out Spencer’s calming presence.

‘Can I come over?’ I said, speaking quietly in an attempt to keep my voice from cracking due to all the tears I’d shed in the past hour.

‘Of course you can.’ Spencer’s voice was soft, but I could hear the concern in his tone— he knew me well enough to know that a call past 11pm followed by me asking to come over meant one of two things: I was drunk, or I’d had a fight with my dad again and I needed to get out of the house. In this case, it was the latter.

‘Great, I’ll be up in a few minutes.’ I murmured, hanging up the phone and wiping the moisture from my cheeks with the sleeve of the oversized hoodie I was wearing.

Spence had become my safe place, somewhere I could escape and feel content and free. My dad and I didn’t get along, and honestly it had been that way for as long as I could remember. I’d given up hope that we ever would, but that revelation didn’t help when I was still living at home and was faced with his presence more often than not. The relationship was complicated, but honestly I couldn’t wait for the day I could afford to move out and never have to live through forced conversations again. The thing with my dad was... he was a bully. An emotionally manipulative bully. Maybe it was harsh, and a few years ago I would have felt awful for even thinking it, never mind saying it aloud, but it was the truth. Our opinions differed, and when they did he would scream at me and tell me I was childish for not respecting his opinion, when in actuality I had no problem respecting that his views were different from mine. What I did have an issue with was him being blatantly ignorant to the information I tried to bring to his attention, especially if that would lead to him questioning his own opinions.

Aside from that, he also didn’t respect my personal space, or my right to have control over my own body. I’ve never been close with my dad, perhaps due to our differing personalities, but either way I’ve never felt comfortable around him. Whenever he’s in a room, I’m hyper aware of his presence, unable to completely relax. If he’s on the same sofa, I’m focused on making sure he stays out of my space, the prospect of him accidentally touching me putting me on edge. I’m less chatty, partly because I know he most likely won’t respond to anything I say to him anyway, but also because I minimise my talking to avoid saying something that may lead to an argument. Occasionally, he’d demand a hug, or some form of affection. He wouldn’t ask, he would demand: ‘give me a cuddle’ or ‘give me a hug.’ Now for me, this would be equivalent to a stranger walking up to me and demanding physical affection like I owe it to them. When I say no, he pulls his face and makes snide comments intended to make me feel guilty or to earn my mum’s attention to get her in on the guilt trip too. I don’t understand how he thinks I’d feel comfortable enough around him to casually give him a hug, especially since we’ve never been close, and we don’t get along. It’s as if he feels he’s owed affection from me because I’m his daughter, and that’s not the case.

Due to our distant relationship in close living quarters, I was unable to act like I wasn’t uncomfortable around him, it was apparent in my tone whenever he spoke to me and I answered him, it was obvious in my behaviour whenever he ‘told’ me to do something (he never asked) and as a result, we argued a lot over my “attitude” towards him. And believe me, I’d beaten myself up over my tone when I speak to him more than a hundred times, and I’ve actively tried not to do it, but it’s instinctive and because I simply cannot pretend to be something I’m not. I just can’t do it.

This was why we’d argued tonight. He’d told me to clean the living-room, I’d put some Ariana Grande on over the Alexa, he’d yelled at me for putting it on too loudly because of the dog, I’d pointed out that mum had it the same volume whenever she cleaned the house and it was never a problem then. I’d tried turning it down but I couldn’t hear it loudly enough to get into the proper groove of cleaning, I’d stormed to my room to grab my headphones, he’d lectured me and told me my attitude stinks and ordered me out of his sight. So after throwing on some sweats and an oversized hoodie I’d stolen from Spencer a few weeks prior, I’d left. I ended up driving around for a while and when I stopped I found myself in front of Spencer’s apartment building.

‘Hey honey,’ Spence greeted after he’d opened the door. He waited until I’d stepped inside before he asked the question that made my already brittle defences crumble, ‘are you okay?’

Just like that, the tears returned and I found myself instinctually nuzzling into his chest as his arms wrapped around me. I loved being in Spencer’s arms, he was so tall that being hugged by him was guaranteed to make me feel safe and content as I was surrounded by his scent and warmth. I don’t know how long he held me for, but by the time my sobs had subsided, my throat felt raw and my head hurt from all the tears I’d shed. When I pulled back, his usually cinnamon eyes were dark with concern, but he didn’t speak, knowing by now that if I wanted to share then I would in my own time. Instead, he took my hand and led me over to his sofa, and when I saw the blankets and two cups of still steaming hot chocolate he must have prepared for my arrival, I nearly broke down in tears again. He was such an amazing, kind, considerate man and honestly I’d been in love with him from the moment we met six months ago. I’d wanted to tell him, but the timing never seemed right, with him getting called away at a moments notice because of his job, and also because I was a chicken who was afraid of him rejecting me, and then me losing him altogether.

‘I’ve bought all of your favourite movies on Prime,’ he murmured, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and allowing me to snuggle into his side, ‘what do you feel like watching?’

‘Hmm... I would love to watch Moana, but I’m intruding on you so—.’ I never got to finish as he shushed me and played the movie I’d requested.

A small but genuine smile broke out on my face and I rested my head on his chest to hide it, knowing he’d want to know the reason for the goofy expression on my face. The truth was, whenever Spencer took care of me, or did something for the simple reason that it would make me happy... it made me all warm and gooey inside. And that happiness, that warmth, often found a way to make itself known, whether it was through a blush or a goofy grin. Either way, I always attempted to hide my reaction from Spencer, afraid he would want to know the reasoning behind it.

I felt my eyes flutter closed as Spence settled a grey fluffy blanket around the both of us; the comforting warmth and the smell of him was enough to relax me down to my bones, and to allow the emotionally taxing day to catch up with me. The last thing I remembered was hearing Spence humming along to “You’re Welcome” as Mowi sang to Moana.

Waking up was disorientating when I found myself in a bed that wasn’t my own and surrounded by furniture that certainly didn’t belong in my bedroom. But then Spence’s arms tightened around my waist and I figured out where I was, relaxing again immediately. I turned to face him, my arm wrapping around his middle and my leg settling over his hip as I got as close as physically possible. A contented noise fell from my throat as I inhaled the scent of him: he smelled like citrus from his shampoo, faintly woodsy from his cologne and like soap from his fabric softener. It was heaven and I swear if I could somehow bottle it up, I’d never leave the house without it.

I didn’t realise that Spence was already awake as I rearranged myself around him, but he didn’t mind, in fact he was delighted at her willingness to snuggle back up to him once she’d remembered where she was. He’d felt her stiffen when she’d woken up, which was why he’d pulled her closer a subtle way of reminding her of his presence. Now here he was, fully rested, more comfortable than he’d ever been and able to observe Y/N’s beauty closer than he ever had without her catching him staring. If he believed in such a thing, he’d swear he’d woken up in heaven.

Despite how comfortable I was, I couldn’t fall back asleep. So after I took a few moments to appreciate the tranquility of the moment, because honestly, I’d never felt this content in well, ever, I reluctantly shuffled out of bed, careful not to wake the sleeping genius. I shrugged off the hoodie I was still wearing, leaving myself in a tank top as I made my way to his kitchen, deciding to make him his favourite breakfast as a thank you for looking after me last night. I was familiar enough that pulling out the necessary appliances to make him some chocolate chip pancakes didn’t take me long, and pretty soon I was pouring his coffee and adding the obscene amount of sugar. Once that was done I was about to yell for him, but he surprised me by wrapping his arms around my waist. I squealed and almost dropped my cup of coffee, but I couldn’t deny how good it felt to have him holding me again. If he wasn’t careful, I was going to get addicted.

‘Good morning.’ He murmured against my shoulder. I shivered at the feel of his warm breath against my skin and the sound of his voice husky with sleep. God, how was it possible for me to be so attracted to him?

I cleared my throat before I answered with a, ‘good morning. I made you breakfast.’

‘You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. I love your pancakes,’ He smiled brightly as I turned to hand him his plate. He seemed reluctant to release his hold on me, much to my delight, but he did and he made his way over to the breakfast bar to eat.

I slid into the stool next to him and we ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both enjoying the food and waiting for the caffeine to kick in to allow us to wake up properly. After a while, I decided to share with him my reason for needing him last night, he deserved it and honestly, there was no one easier to open up to than Spencer.

‘Thank you for looking after me last night, Spence.’ I murmured, his warm cinnamon eyes were soft with understanding and another emotion that evaded me, ‘I got into a fight with my dad again, about something stupid as always, but the result was the same.’

‘I’m sorry, honey.’ He murmured, his hand enveloping my free one, the warmth from his touch radiating throughout my body, ‘you know, if you wanted, you could always move in here.’

I blinked at him, surprised at his offer, I knew how much he appreciated his space and I couldn’t believe he was offering me the opportunity to invade it, ‘Spence that’s really sweet of you to offer, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it but I can’t afford to pay rent. That’s one of the reasons I’m still at home, it’s one less expense when I start at university.’

‘You wouldn’t have to pay rent,’ he assured me, continuing before I could protest, ‘think of it as helping me out, okay? I’m gone on cases more often than not, sometimes the apartment can be empty for days at a time. If you’re here, you can look after the place for me, keep food in the fridge, and make me feel more secure knowing that someone is watching over everything. Think of that instead of rent, okay?’

I took a deep breath and thought it through instead of immediately dismissing the idea, like my instincts were telling me to— I didn’t want to take advantage of him. It would be nice to get out of my parents house, to find myself in a warm environment absent of my father’s toxic presence. Plus, living with Spencer would be like a dream come true— one I’d admittedly had a few times— but what if I got too lost in my own feelings and it ruined everything? But he would be on cases more often than not, so that limited the time I could potentially jeopardise our friendship. But I feel like I would be taking advantage of his generosity— living here rent free, only having to keep the place tidy and the fridge stocked, was that a fair exchange?

‘Just know that I wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t completely happy and comfortable with my proposal.’ His soft voice broke me out of my thoughts, and I felt a sheepish smile on my face as I processed his words. He never failed to amaze me at how in tune he was with my thoughts.

‘Honestly, Spence, it sounds perfect, but I just worry that it’s not a fair exchange for you.’ I bit my lip, worried he’d realise I was right and take the offer off the table.

‘It would be, Y/N.’ His eyes softened to chocolate and shone with nothing but reassurance, ‘Honestly, more than the cleaning and grocery shopping, it would be nice to have someone here. I feel so alone when I return from a case that more often than not I’m eager to go back to escape the emptiness of my apartment. But if you’re here, it won’t feel so cold, it’ll be warm and welcoming.’

I swear to god my heart melted to a puddle of blood and goo in my chest from his words. The sincerity in his eyes told me he meant it, and what kind of heartless monster would I be to argue with him after that admission?

‘I’d love to move in with you, Spence.’ I whispered.

His smile lit up his entire face, his cinnamon eyes glittering with happiness as he wrapped me in a tight hug. I was powerless to resist his excitement and a delighted chuckle fell from my lips as he stood and span me around in a circle. A part of me couldn’t believe that this was happening, that I was finally going to be able to escape the prison I was starting to think I’d be trapped in forever, to move in with the only man I felt truly comfortable around. But one thing was for sure, in that moment, I was happier than I’d ever been in my entire life, and I knew that as long as Spencer was in my life, I’d never feel any different.

A/N: I know, I know all I’m writing is Spencer Reid imagines lately, but I can’t stop!! I hope you liked this one, even there was no declarations of love like in my previous Spencer one-shots, I kinda love how this turned out.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds

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aliciameade · 4 years

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Taken by Surprise

Title: Taken by Surprise Author: aliciameade Rating: E for exciting Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Here come the prompt fulfillments (and Bechloe)! “Chloe strapping up, sat on the couch, Beca straddling and riding like there’s no tomorrow”

This is super-established Bechloe. You can consider them married.

Also on AO3

Beca doesn’t like surprises.

Correction: Beca acts like she doesn’t like surprises.

Chloe’s allowed her to keep up the ruse for years, downplaying things like unexpected gifts while watching the excitement sparkle in Beca’s eyes while unwrapping them.

Sex is no different. Whenever asked if she’d be okay with Chloe doing something like waking her up with sex, Beca scoffs and rolls her eyes but doesn’t actually say ‘No, thanks.’ And when she wakes up with Chloe’s face between her thighs, she’s usually moaning, ‘Don’t stop.’

Which is why Chloe doesn’t make her intentions for the evening well-known. Does she catch Beca in the kitchen and press her up against the refrigerator, causing magnets from their travels together to fall to the floor with a clatter, and kiss her in a way that implies she wants more?

Yes.

“Oh, my God,” Beca mumbles against her lips but Chloe can feel her smiling before Beca’s returning the kiss with just as much eagerness. “Not that I’m complaining,” she says when they part for a breath, “but what is this about?”

Chloe’s hands slide up from Beca’s waist to tease over her chest and then dip back down to grab her ass with a playful squeeze. “Since when do I need a reason to kiss you?”

The squeak that escapes Beca at her grab makes Chloe smile and she gives Beca a chance to catch her breath. She’s winded from the sudden onslaught, a blush high on her cheeks, but her eyes are as bright as they are dark. “You don’t,” Beca says before diving back for more but Chloe steps away before their lips touch again. “Hey!” Beca pouts; “What the hell?”

“What?” Chloe asks with an innocent shrug before moving across the kitchen to grab a packet of microwave popcorn from the pantry. She tosses it onto the counter in Beca’s direction. “Wanna pop that? I’m going to go grab extra pillows.”

“...Sure,” Beca replies, someone absently. It’s obvious her mind is still reeling from Chloe’s unexpected physical ambush, which is exactly what Chloe wanted.

She does grab extra pillows; she can’t show up in the living room for their movie night without them.

But she grabs something else. Specifically, the violet silicone dildo from the drawer where it sits among many other options waiting to see if it’s their lucky night, but the handcuffs, vibrators, clamps, and scarves will have to wait their turn.

She snags the small bullet vibe that fits inside the special-use briefs she put on after her usual evening shower, as an afterthought, and gets things put in place.

Her sweatpants are forgiving but not that forgiving and she laughs at the obvious bulge created by the seven inches now strapped to her hips. Its mere presence is a turn-on despite her amusement and she grasps it briefly and thinks about what’s about to come. She also wonders how men deal with having a real one; she knows if she did, she’d have a hard-on all the time as horny as she gets every time Beca so much as crosses her mind.

(Beca, if all goes as intended; and herself.)

She’d chosen to forego a bra after her shower, choosing an easy-to-remove tank top instead. She knows what her arms do to Beca, as well as her breasts, nipples plainly visible now that her arousal has firmly taken hold.

She uses the two extra pillows and blanket to conceal her surprise as she leaves their bedroom but Beca’s still in the kitchen, the sound of popcorn and Beca humming floating through the house. Her absence gives Chloe a welcomed few extra minutes so she can get their little snuggle fort set up without worrying about ruining the surprise.

There is already a pair of wine glasses on the coffee table with a freshly opened bottle of white and she smiles that Beca took an extra step to add some romance to their at-home date night.

She gets herself comfortable on the couch, taking care to adjust the toy so it’s not standing at obvious attention (not that she blames it; she is already incredibly turned on), and waits.

“Hey, sorry,” Beca says when she returns, bowl of popcorn in one hand and a few napkins in the other. “I got a call right when you went upstairs.”

“No prob,” she answers with a bright smile and outstretched arms. “Come cuddle.”

Beca rolls her eyes a little but smiles as she sinks down onto the couch next to Chloe. She sets down the popcorn in exchange for the bottle of wine and a glass which she pours, immediately handing it to Chloe.

Chloe lets her hand rest on Beca’s back, scratching at it lightly through the thin T-shirt she changed into after work, along with sweatpants of her own.

Chloe finds a specific kind of domestic bliss in the fact that they can have a date in their sweats and they’re both happier for it. “Anything super important?” she asks.

She doesn’t really want to talk about work; she has one specific thing on her mind at the moment, but she’ll always listen to Beca if Beca wants to talk.

“Not really,” Beca responds as she pours a glass of wine for herself. “Cheers,” she continues and Chloe taps her glass to Beca��s to sip together. “So, what are we watching tonight?” Beca asks as she settles back into the couch and against Chloe’s side, feet propped on the table.

Chloe balances her glass on the arm of the couch and picks up the remote to start scrolling through movie options but she has no intention of choosing something they’re actually going to watch to the end. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“What about that one with Julia Roberts?”

“Gonna have to narrow it down from that, babe,” she laughs.

“Where she’s a hooker.”

“Bec,” she laughs with light admonishment in her voice as she navigates to Beca’s suggestion.

“What? She’s a hooker! I wasn’t judging her for that,” Beca says defensively while reaching for a handful of popcorn. “I support sex workers. You know that.”

“I know, I know,” she says, still chuckling as she rubs Beca’s back.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

They’re thirty minutes and three-quarters of a bottle of wine into the movie when Chloe can’t take it anymore. Beca’s shifted enough that she’s tucked into Chloe’s side and Chloe lets her hand start drifting up from Beca’s knee from where it’s been resting somewhat idly.

There’s no real response from Beca; it’s a rarity that Chloe isn’t touching her in some way so a hand on her thigh isn’t anything too newsworthy.

She gets her attention when she presses her fingertips between her thighs.

“Trying to cop a feel?”

“Maybe,” Chloe teases, pressing further until Beca’s legs give way and loosen a bit to let her move more freely.

“On our 2,189th date? Moving a little fast, aren’t you?”

Chloe laughs at that and Beca lifts her head from where it’s been resting against her shoulder to face her. She’s surprised either of them lasted as long as they did after the little prequel Chloe had given them earlier in the evening; Beca’s lips are on hers before she can come up with a witty reply.

It’s clear that prequel has been simmering within Beca’s libido. She kisses Chloe with a hunger Chloe knows well, one she’s felt from Beca so many times and felt within herself. She even grabs Chloe’s hand and pushes it right under her shirt until her breast is in Chloe’s hand.

“Why’d you make me wait?” Beca breathes against her lips before pushing her tongue into her mouth again. She’s already shifting, readying to move into Chloe’s lap and Chloe can’t imagine this playing out any better.

She squeezes at her breast, other hand joining it to tease the other, and waits for a chance to speak. “It’ll be worth it,” she finally manages when Beca pulls back to immediately reach for Chloe’s tank and remove it one quick motion. Her own shirt follows and Chloe twists her hips to help free her surprise from where she’d wedged it mostly out of the way just as Beca swings a knee over her lap.

She settles right on top of it and actually yelps, hips popping up and away. “Dude, oh, my God!”

“What?” Chloe says with a smile, immediately pulling Beca down by her waist to sit on her lap, the dildo being forgiving and leaning back so its hardness presses against Beca without being uncomfortable.

“You’ve been wearing that this whole time?” Beca’s eyes are as wide as her nipples are hard and instead of answering her, Chloe leans down to bring one of them to her mouth. It draws a moan from Beca immediately and her hips tilt once, twice, until they’re rocking a slow rhythm to grind herself against Chloe.

It’s killing Chloe to wait, but she believes in her own words: it will be worth it. She drinks in the way Beca’s body moves against hers, how with a glance up from where her tongue is still toying with the hard peaks of Beca’s breasts, Beca’s watching her, how Beca’s hands glide over her hair and shoulders and arms and back and breasts until her left hand is sliding down Chloe’s stomach until it’s slipping under the waistband of Chloe’s pants and she feels her wrap her hand around it.

It makes Chloe’s hips twitch as though she could really feel it and she sucks maybe a little too hard on Beca’s nipple but all she gets is a hiss of an inhale in response before Beca’s moving backward enough that she can pull the toy from Chloe’s pants.

Chloe lifts her head, then. She wants to watch what Beca decides to do next. Her hand strokes over its length once before reaching down again and Chloe fights back a shiver when she feels Beca’s fingers slip under the tight-fitting briefs, between her legs, to touch her.

“God, Chloe,” she breathes and Chloe feels her finding her way blindly until there’s a muffled click followed by vibration that makes Chloe’s ass lift off the couch for a second.

“Fuck,” Chloe says, half-laughing from how suddenly intense it is.

“Getting there,” Beca says with a laugh of her own as she stands up to push her pants and underwear down her legs. She reaches for Chloe’s next, making quick work of the pants to toss them aside so she can straddle Chloe again.

“Did you bring the—”

It’s already in Chloe’s hand, and warm from where it’s been hidden between her body and the arm of the couch.

“Of course you did,” Beca smiles, grabbing the bottle to flip its cap open while Chloe’s hands drop to her hips to hold her.

She makes a show, really, of coating the toy with lube. The incessant vibrator and the motion of her hand mess with Chloe’s brain and it doesn’t take long before she’s actively pushing her hips up for more of the handjob Beca’s giving her.

“That is so damn hot,” Beca says after a few seconds of watching it but then she stops, letting go to slip the same hand between her own legs briefly.

Then she’s shifting forward, one hand on the base of the toy to hold it steady while she sinks onto it easily.

Beca’s eyes close and she’s still for a few seconds and Chloe knows she’s squeezing it; she knows because if it was Chloe’s fingers entering her for the first time, she’d be squeezing them, too. Chloe always thinks of it as Beca’s way of welcoming her home. “Holy shit,” Beca says after a moment, eyes opening but heavy as her hands, one of them warm and wet, land on Chloe’s shoulders. “I can feel the vibrator.”

“Good?” Chloe asks even though she knows the answer. She runs her hands up Beca’s back, then drags her nails down to make her back arch.

Beca hums, her hands working on Chloe’s shoulders almost like she’s giving her a massage, but Chloe knows what it is: impatience and excitement and the physical manifestation of Beca’s struggle to hold herself back.

“Then fuck me, Beca,” she says hotly, almost like an order because she knows Beca likes that.

It works; Beca’s jaw drops at the command and her hands stop moving. Instead, they tighten and her hips start moving.

“Just like that,” Chloe sighs. She lets her hands roam lightly; she doesn’t want them to be too distracting as they ghost over Beca’s stomach and breasts and neck. She wants Beca’s focus to be on one thing. “Ride me hard.”

“Dirty,” Beca says with a smirk after shivering at the words, but she does.

Chloe’s hands move to hold her hips; she wants to feel Beca at work as she fucks herself, and Chloe.

It doesn’t take long for it to spiral from both of them holding on to a shred of control to Beca throwing her head back as her hips work hard, taking Chloe in again and again as deeply as she can.

Chloe meets her every time, hips pushing up as Beca pushes down to try to go deeper, always deeper.

They’re both loud and Chloe spares one ounce of thought to how they used to sneak around in college when they shared a house with eight other girls, muffling moans and filthy words with pillows or hands or whatever body part was within reach. She has nostalgia for those moments, but she does not miss them.

“Faster, baby,” she says with a groan, the vibrator and their rhythm driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Beca responds immediately, trading the hard, deep thrusts to sit down hard to take Chloe in as far as possible for impossibly fast rocking.

Her moan is loud with the change and Chloe’s hands move without conscious thought to grab her breasts, to hold them and feel them, to watch the way they move with the rest of Beca.

Beca’s hands slip off her shoulders and Chloe sees in her peripheral vision as they instead grab the back of the couch. It pulls Beca an inch or two closer and must change the angle favorably because she’s suddenly moaning like she’s about to come and that makes Chloe let go of her fight to keep her own orgasm at bay.

“Are you gonna come for me?” she asks. She knows she is; it’s obvious but she knows Beca likes to be asked. She also knows Beca likes when Chloe reaches down to rub her clit with the pads of her first two fingers when she’s close.

“Fuck,” Beca says through a moan. “Yeah.”

“You’re going to make me come, too,” she says with her own moan.

“Fuck,” Beca says again.

Then there are no words.

It’s a hot, desperate race toward a mutual finish line and Chloe doesn’t have to do much more than hold on and let Beca get them there.

It’s loud.

It’s intense. So intense that Chloe’s voice cracks from how loud she is.

Beca’s hands are in her hair and they twist and yank, probably involuntarily, as she comes, her body shuddering again and again as Chloe’s own orgasm drives her hips up into Beca to drag it out.

“Holy shit,” Beca says once they both start to calm down as she collapses forward, face in Chloe’s neck. “Holy shit, that was amazing.”

They’re both breathing hard and Chloe, despite how hard she just came, isn’t ready to be finished. She runs her hands up Beca’s sweat-slick back to tangle into her hair and pull, just hard enough to get Beca to lift her hand and sit back with a moan of surprise.

“Don’t stop.” She starts working her fingers against Beca again, gently at first as she watches until the look of surprised amusement on her face gives way to lust.

“I won’t if you don’t,” Beca answers before leaning in to kiss her, slowly and deeply as she starts to move again.

Chloe shakes her head; she has no intention of stopping any time soon. When Beca leans back after a few seconds, renewed energy visible in the way her body is moving, Chloe can’t help but bite her lip and groan. “You look so good like that.”

“Yeah?” Beca says with a toss of her hair; much of it is clinging to her skin but that only adds to her sex appeal. She also likes Chloe’s attention and holds it by running her hands up her own body to her breasts to play with her nipples while she starts to rock more quickly.

Chloe presses her fingers more firmly against Beca and she sees the way it makes her slow, steady rhythm stutter, just the tiniest bit. “So good.”

It’s slower the second time. Chloe lets her head fall back to rest against the couch, allows her eyes to close other than glancing at Beca now and then. It’s enough to feel her, to hear her, to translate the way she moves to the way she’s making both of them feel. It’s less about a panicked need for release and more about extending the pleasure until, when Chloe’s fingers slip from her own distraction from pleasure, that Beca’s quiet sighs shift back to a moan of neediness.

They don’t even say anything; their communication is purely nonverbal now. Chloe sits up and wraps her arms around Beca’s waist to pull her in and keep her close. She lifts her chin to catch the hard kiss Beca gives her. She holds on as Beca’s long, slow, rolling rhythm suddenly changes into the same hard, quick beat they’d finished on the first time.

Chloe’s fingers aren’t on her this time; she knows they don’t need to be. Beca’s so aroused she’s going to come no matter what. Chloe can’t even feel the vibrator anymore; it might be dead for all she knows. It’s Beca and the way she’s riding her that’s driving her closer and closer to climax.

Beca whines against her lips and Chloe just moans as they cling to one another as orgasm overtakes them both.

It’s a deeper, longer climax this time and she knows it is for Beca, too. Maybe even more so if the way she moans again and again as her hips buck and jerk against Chloe for much longer than usual.

It isn’t until her own orgasm has subsided for several seconds that she realizes she’s right, that Beca’s been driven so far into arousal that she’s experiencing something much more intense than Chloe had and Chloe thrusts her own hips up a few times, best she can with how heavy Beca is on her, and she watches Beca completely fall apart.

It’s a sight she won’t forget as long as she lives.

(She has several such sights in her memory.)

She watches Beca lose it, the kind of deeply out-of-body orgasm they manage maybe once a month if they’re lucky, and she’s glad she decided the blanket she brought down earlier would best serve them if she was sitting on it.

She doesn’t dare lean forward to kiss her; not right now. Beca’s in another world entirely and Chloe is content to watch, her own body quivering with a small explosion of an empathetic orgasm. She will wait until Beca returns to earth before she does anything to interrupt it.

When it passes, Beca slumps forward with a groan of pure exhaustion and pleasure, arms heavy and uncoordinated as they wrap around Chloe’s neck. Chloe catches her, of course.

“Love you,” she mumbles against Chloe’s neck, a soft tip of a tongue grazing her skin after the words.

“I love you, too.” Chloe’s hands stroke her back and move higher to gather her hair and pull it away from her skin so she can cool down more easily.

It makes Beca shiver but Chloe knows how good the air feels in a moment like this so she waves her free hand to fan the back of her neck, drawing a sigh of contentment from her.

A few more seconds pass and Chloe feels Beca moving backward, using her hold on Chloe as leverage until Chloe’s surprise for the evening slips out of her. The disconnect helps bring Beca back to consciousness and she sits up again, though not without an amusing struggle that has Chloe helping her by bracing her hands against Beca’s shoulders so she can lean against them.

“Worth the wait?” she teases when Beca’s bleary eyes finally meet hers.

Beca huffs a laugh and nods. “Fuck yeah.”

The End

#bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe fic #pitch perfect #fanfic #super smut alert #none of these are going to be edited here's hoping to no glaring errors #smutpacalypse

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whumpbby · 4 years

Text

smells-like-ink-and-fire replied to your post “<p>Australian instinct not to touch octopuses is warring with the urge...”

Oh to see Bruce's reaction. I'm sensing a mild heart attack

Bruce certainly had a mild stroke.

He was just about ready to go back to his quarters for the night, filling out the last bits of paperwork, gathering his empty coffee mugs (Alfred always shook his head at B whenever the mugs started to pile up) and feeling every bot of his age... when the noise from the corridor drew his attention a moment before the door to his office burst open to reveal a red-faced intern begging Bruce to come down to the bay quick, please, you have to see this!!!

So, prepared for everything, Bruce followed the intern at a run, because the last time they’ve had this sort of commotion, the big holding tank was cracking and they needed to act fast.

However, when he stepped into the bay - a part of the centre open to the ocean, with a ramp leading into the water - he stopped and for a few good blinks didn’t know what he was looking at. There was Dick, because of course Dick was in the centre of whatever was happening, and there was Tim who was screaming something at him, and there were a dozen of the staff positioned away from the water, staring at Dick who was trying to haul a body up the ramp... a mer body. A excessively bleeding mer body.

And then Bruce’s brain decided to finally notice that what he thought was a trail of blood, was in fact the rest of the body of the creature - not a mer, not even close.

His first reaction wasn’t helpful at all.

“Dick, what the hell are you doing?!”

Wasn’t his proudest moment, that. Dick ignored it, thankfully.

“B, help me! He’s wounded and I need...!” He tripped and fell into the water along with the octomer, both slipping back down the ramp. “Fuck! Tim, come on, help me!”

“Don’t come near it!” Bruce ordered.

“B, come on! He’s hurt!”

God, that’s what he got for adopting the bright, friendly kid eighteen years ago - he couldn’t be the dad whose children brought home stray kittens or puppies, could he? No, his son brought them a goddamn eldritch beast.

“Leave it in the water,” Bruce spoke over the raising noise, toeing his shoes off and walking into the water. “We don’t know if it cans survive out of it. We’ll use floating stretchers to support it. Tim, get me the first aid box. Julia, send a message to Clark, we need his expertise!”

Together with Dick, they’ve hauled the octomer onto the floating frame until the creature was stable and they could look at the wound. It was surprisingly docile, probably due to blood loss, it was just staring ahead and twitching weakly when touched. And there was an octopus wound around its neck.

“What the hell? Is that...?”

“Yep,” Dick answered. “I’m about 99% sure it’s Robin. And call me crazy, but I am also pretty sure it was the one to bring the big guy here.”

“Why would it do that?”

“Dunno, but we’ve helped the little fella, right? It probably thought we can help the big one, too.”

That was quite crazy, yes, but Bruce’s closest friend had fins and a tail, so he wasn’t in a place to doubt possible intentions of an octopus. When it was all over, he was going to have a drink and a bit of a breakdown, because here he was, handling a damn cryptid that might have, or might have not, bee the one who saved his son’s life a few months ago...

The cryptid had to take priority. The wound on it’s side was deep and gory, as if something took a chunk out of it with its teeth. A shark? Possibly. Couldn’t have been a big one, the wound was too narrow. And a shark that small would be surely dealt with before it got a chance to attack...

Bruce carefully touched the octo’s mouth and pushed its lips apart to see two rows of nightmare-fuel teeth.

“What are you doing?” Dick was confused.

“Doesn’t look like a shark bite.” Bruce, always on the case, mused. “In-fighting?” Usual mer were omnivores, but they didn’t have a habit of taking chunks out of each other. However, if there was another octomer in the area...

“Territorial dispute, you think?”

“Maybe.”

By that time Tim had returned with the first aid kit and got to work at tending the wound. Tim was their first-aider when it came to mer, because his marine research partner was a reckless brat that tended to appear in the centre with a wound of some sort more often than not. Tim had experience with sewing up tails.

“This is so creepy,” the young man in question muttered while threading a needle. “The skin texture is... it feels like skin. If I faint, don’t let me drown.”

“Don’t worry Timmy.”

Of course, they didn’t forget that they were dealing with a wild and unpredictable creature. The octomer was strapped to the raft and Bruce had an eye on his movements, he also got two researchers to stand close by with tranq guns in case they were needed. He also had another technician film the whole encounter, because research. When Tim was sewing whatever he could of the wound, Bruce took some samples - a bit of a flesh hanging from the wound, a lock of hair, a saliva swab...

“B, really?”

“The more we know, the better prepared we’ll be when something goes wrong, Dick. How are the vitals?”

They really didn’t have a baseline for it, but the mammal-like mer weren’t that different from humans when it came to the basics, so they could only hope the octomer were similar in that respect - this one had nipples and a bellybutton, so the’re probably was a connection with mammals somewhere down its genetic tree...

“Heartbeat’s weak, but stable for now.” Dick recited with a worried frown. “We could try a transfusion, but...”

But they didn’t have a clue what kind of blood wouldn’t make the matters worse. Only after the samples were processed, they’ll know for sure. The octomer was somewhat conscious, because it kept shifting under their hands, the arms underwater were twisting around themselves inside of the net spun around them - either from pain or fear. Bruce considered sedation, but discarded the idea, as long as it moved they knew it was alive and not crashing.

Another tense half an hour passed with no one knowing what to actually do, but not wanting to leave the bay in case something happened. Bruce grilled Dick on the details of the situation that led them there while Tim worked quietly and the technicians took notes and the red-bellied octopus was swimming around them in a manner that could only be called fretful.

At a point Dick reached for it and it wound around his free hand. “It’s okay, kid, he’s going to be okay,” he spoke softly to the animal. “You did good bringing him here, he’ll get help.”

Bruce bit down on a smile tingling in the corners of his lips, because he loved his son with all he had and this was one of the reasons why. The boy was kind to every creature than needed it, regardless if it understood or not.

And he had a strange feeling that Robin somehow did understand.

#smells-like-ink-and-fire #headcanon #octo!jay

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years

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Could you write about a girl getting harrassed by max or surfer nazis for a weeks by then and the boys taking notice help her out of a possible dangerous or taboo situation and let her join their lil coven? I know you could write something really awesome!

I goofed and forgot this was an answer to an ask haha! Okay so I'm gonna give fair warning, this is gonna get a bit graphic. I mean you wanted a traumatic taboo, and, well, wish granted!

Initiation's Over, Time to Join the Club

Poly!Lost Boys × Fem! S/O

+18 CONTENT WARNING: Sexual Themes, Sexual Assault, Potential Triggers, Violence, Gore, Offensive Language! READER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

It had only been a few days since you tried to break free of the Santa Carla gang known as the Surf Nazis. Doing so proved far more difficult than you could have imagined. You couldn’t even be on the boardwalk anymore. They were everywhere, as soon as you were spotted former friends would crowd around you. They weren’t stupid enough to do anything physical, but they’d harass you to the point of running back home. There was one reason that you kept coming back.

The boys.

You started talking to them earlier this summer. Purely by accident. You had gone on your own to get a quick food run at the Kung Pao Lotus, and somehow got your order mixed up with the smallest of the group, Marko. You managed to catch him as he was leaving the restaurant and somehow that was all you needed. They took to you so quickly. Polyamory was such a foreign concept, especially when it comes to romantic relationships. But as your feelings developed over these past few months, you found yourself falling victim to each of their charms. There was just something so other worldly about the bikers. It was an unspoken mystery that only drew you in further. WHenever they had to leave for the night you’d ask them if you could join, but they all seemed particularly against the suggestion. There was always an air of discomfort, like they had something they didn’t want you to see. Regardless, Marko, Dwayne, Paul and David had swept you off your feet into the dark Santa Carla nightlife, and soon you found yourself making the choice between them, or your old gang.

But when you tried to back out of their so called “rivals”- honestly only the SN’s thought of themselves that way, things got nasty. A few of them started showing up around your neighborhood. You could see them in busted down trucks or rumbling motorcycles just strolling through your neighborhood. Your mom’s car was trashed, absolutely covered in spray paint, your garage was vandalized, trash bins were dumped out all over your yard- you were starting to get scared.

Even still you avoided bringing up the subject to the boys. You didn’t need them worrying about something like this. After all, you were a big kid, you could handle yourself. Whenever your ex-friends walked by on the boardwalk David would raise his brow when you ducked behind them, quickly covered by an excuse.

“Sorry I thought I saw a quarter on the ground,” you’d throw out, nervously standing up.

Even Paul was beginning to notice your uneasiness whenever Surf Nazi’s circled your path.

“Listen, kitten,” Paul assured, sitting on the steps beside you while you picked at your cotton candy. “If those assholes are giving you shit.. We can protect you, babes. You just say the word and I’ll rip their heads off.”

“Me too babes,” Marko would chime in, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. “All it takes is one word.”

The suggestion of mass slaughter just didn’t sit well with you and you shook your head. “No, guys don’t worry it’s just a bunch of petty pranks. They haven’t done anything that bad. I promise.”

You were so certain that in a few days they’d grow bored. After all, it had been a week and a half by now! Things couldn’t escalate more than they already were. While they weren’t your friends anymore, they still wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, right?

It was a late August afternoon, maybe an hour before sunset. Today was a record breaking heat wave, the hottest it had been today was almost one hundred and eleven degrees. It was your mom’s idea to send you to the beach instead of sulking at the house. Truthfully you were a little glad you did.

The ocean was just beautiful, cradling the slowly setting sun leaving streaks of pink and blue stained with the slowly encroaching touch of night. Stars speckled the darkest corners. Pulling out your polaroid you couldn’t resist snapping a few pictures for Marko. He loved it whenever you brought him any day time photos. They never came out before sunset, you just assumed maybe they were busy elsewhere until late afternoon. If you tried to invite them out during the day they’d each give you a disappointed response.

“Shhiiiiit, kitten,” Paul would sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean, we would if we could,” Marko would try to assured you, holding your hands in his. Dwayne would nod along.

“Daytime just isn’t our time.”

David would tilt your chin up with a calm smile. Somehow you just knew whatever it was, he’d tell you when you were ready. “I’m sure you understand, doll. I hope you aren’t too disappointed?”

“Oh! N-No, of course not. It’s just a trip to the museum, I doubt you guys would like it anyway.”

Oh well… Instead of fretting, you tried to savor your peaceful moments,

This week had already been such a pain. It was a welcome change to just walk through the rolling shores, wading past clumps of bubbly sea foam. Closer to the caves you could spot surfacing tide pools where little sand crabs shuffled just beneath the surface. Greenish anemones shuddered at your tender touch and would retreat within themselves. If you were lucky you spotted a few whole mussel shells! You kept an old bag slung over your shoulder with a towel and a change of clothes, planning to change out of your (print/color) bikini and wrap skirt once the sun had fully gone down. Maybe then you could meet up with the boys for another night out. As you began to approach the rocky coast lines skirted across the abandoned hotel you could hear muffled snickers just barely audible above the ocean’s song.

At first you assumed them to just be maybe a group of tourists, probably drunk off their butts. When you tried to continue walking towards the hotel they grew closer. Footsteps kicked up into a pursuit. When they turned over the outstretched caves you easily recognized the greased up surfers sporting frosted tips, skunk striped hair and shredded up clothing. They continued to chase after you until you had managed to duck into a cave off the edge, but even still they followed. Now you were cornered.

“This isn’t funny anymore, Ricky,” you hissed, trying to cover yourself with your arms. “Look I left alright! I don’t wanna be a part of whatever it is you guys have going on!”

“What, can’t old friends just say hi?” You could see he brought Tank and Munk with him, both sporting grins that you knew meant nothing good. Every time they took a step forward that made you take two more back.

“Yeah right,” Munk tried to agree, shrugging. “Aren’t we friends anymore, Y/N?”

“Don’t you wanna play? We came all this way so we could hang out.” Tank circled next to Ricky. Your heart raced so loud it made your ears hurt. They were cornering you! With rapid head movements you tried to find any alternate pathway that could get you out, but all of them were too high up! Any access to the further cave systems had been smashed to pieces! Your best bet was trying to wedge yourself between the three thugs.

You had to wait. Holding out just until that golden opportunity revealed itself to you. Just as Tank moved slightly further than Munk you found a thin opening. With everything you had, you bottled forward trying to push past. Success!

Two steps in and you felt yourself torn back by your hair. The sharp sting caused you to shriek, grasping at the base of your scalp in an attempt to provide yourself any semblance of relief. Day light was grown thin. At this point you did everything to fight out of their grasp. Kick, thrash, punch! At one point you swear you caught a good chunk of Ricky’s skin under your nails. He hissed, throwing you against the drenched cave walls. The cold, damp sand beneath your feet felt solid while you tried to pry yourself up. Not this time. Munk pinned you by your arms, snickering at your terror.

“No! Stop it! Get away from me,” You cried, tyring to kick at Ricky. His fingers quickly tore your skirt off, looking down at the wet bikini still clinging to your body.

“Nooo, stop it, get away,” he mocked in a shrill tone. He forced your face up to look at him, his thumb and pointer finger squeezing your chin tightly. “You fuckin’ asked for this, walkin’ around like miss high and mighty!”

“She's just too good for the Surf Nazi’s now, eh Ricky?” Tank chuckled at the suggestion, arms crossed.

“Nah, I don’t think she’s good enough for us, that’s why little miss Y/N left,” Munk added, licking your cheek. The wet appendage dragged across your jawline to your cheek. It was enough to raise the bile in your stomach as you wrenched your face away.

“Well,” Ricky added, just as the sun went down sapping up any lingering light and leaving you in utter darkness. Your sobs echoed in the cave. There was nothing in the darkness, a pair of calloused hands grasping at your legs. When you tried to kick a swift sting crashed into your mouth. The blunt force made your ears ring, a bitter copper taste staining your mouth. Worst of all, you could feel unwelcome fingers prodding at the flesh kept beneath your bikini bottoms. “I bet you she’s good enough for one thing, don’t you think, Y/N? What’s say we give that cute little pussy of yours some play time, hm?”

There was sheer and utter panic. You continued to scream until your throat was shredded. The uncontrollable urge to vomit tempted your stomach when he tried to tease you from over the fabric. You must’ve wiggled out of someone’s grasp because you managed to lift your leg into the air sending a solid kick his way. “You fuck bitch! I’m gonna- wha-? Ahhh! What the fu- AHHHHHHH!”

There was a massive gust of air just past you that swept across. Ricky’s blood curdling screams dissolved into a hideous cacophony of squelching splatters. Munk still had a grasp on your arms, rapidly trying to search for his accomplice. “Ricky? Ricky man, what the fuck happened?! Tank where is he?”

Again another burst of air, but this time an echoing cackle followed. Low, rumbling. It delighted in their panic, or rather, he did. Whatever hidden male lurked in the shadows made quick work of another. Tank’s screams echoed through the cave. Again more sickly sounds of torn flesh followed by an eerie silence. “Tank? Tank answer me, man! What the fuck is this, what's going on?!”

Your own eyes began adjusting to the darkness. You could see a form walking your way, another higher pitched snicker eager to drag you into the same jaws of presumably horrid fates that had taken Ricky and Tank. You tightly shut your eyes, anticipating your inevitable demise.

There was no such occurrence. Finally your arms were released by Munk and his terror swept through the caves. You clung tightly to yourself in the darkness, trembling at the enclosing footsteps you could hear just over his screams.

“Looks like we made it just in time, kitten,” a voice asked clearly. You froze in place. It couldn’t be.

You still couldn’t make out much, but that heavy scent of aftershave coupled by an ancient musk, like the aged pages of a beloved book told you all you needed to know. Tears stung your eyes. It was almost impossible to breathe through it, blubbering into the arms of a familiar comfort that were already spread to grasp you.

“David! Oh god, David,” You sobbed, crashing into his torso trying to muddle the sickening stench Ricky had left on you.

“Shhh, it’s alright now,” he softly coaxed, the soothing sensation of him petting your hair putting you at ease. “It’s all over.”

You could hear the other boys approaching you, even still you couldn’t see them.

“I told you we’d protect you, kitty-cat,” a laid back tone assured you, placing a hidden hand on your shoulder. Paul.

“I think it’s becoming too dangerous for you out here.” The firm, tender voice of Dwayne spoke up. The sand beneath your body sunk to accommodate his weight. His calloused fingers brushed away loose hair you didn’t even realize was in your face. Another hopped down from… above?

But.. there were no overhead platforms, just cave ceilings caked in stalactites. What had even happened? The jingles of jewelry over leather were followed by a tender face laying atop your shoulder nestled in the crook of your neck. Curls tickled your cheek, Marko’s lips sending chills over your flesh as he spoke beside your ear.

“If you want, Y/N, you could be with us all the time. If you were one of us, we’d never let things like this happen to you.”

One… One of them?

“What-,” you tried to ask, still tightly held in David’s arms. You tried to look up, but there was only a thick blackness barely outlined by an ever darker form. “One of- of you? What… are you guys?”

Now you knew why that rolling chuckle earlier sounded so familiar. David’s chest rumbled against you as he couldn’t help but laugh. You could feel the worn leather of his gloves caress your face. His hand traced your features and cradled them tenderly in his palm.

“Would you like to find out?”

The suggestion raised your flesh, chills tricking down the base of your spine as if you were frozen in the grasp of a predator. The darkness, the way they avoided sunlight! The way… the way they came to your rescue. When you needed them most.

“Y-...,” you halted your answer. This time you really pondered it all. But even still there was a certainty to your thoughts. Your body and soul knew what they wanted. All it took was one little word.

“Yes”

Now you could see him. Well, not all of him. Just a pair of bright, luminescent white eyes wrapped in hellish spirals of red. Then there was another set. And another. Four sets of eyes all ready for you. A sharp pain surged through your neck, but you didn’t dare scream. For each set of eyes there was a following sting. Neck, shoulder, wrist, arm… and then you saw them all perfectly within the dark. The unyielding pain had brought a perfect clarity, and an unexpected stillness within your ribs. You couldn’t help but giggle, wiping away the puddles of blood smeared across David’s face. His grin spread wide, fangs still dripping with freshly drawn rubies that had stained your body red. Now it was your turn to grin, a fresh pair of fangs bared for your new dearest mates to admire in this dank, dark cave.

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pinktintedmonocle · 4 years

Text

Revenge Is A Dish Best Served At An Undetermined Temperature - A Red Dwarf Fanfic

On the hunt for new sleeping quarters, Rimmer is finally forced to confront his past when a detour sees him and Lister end up in the very Officer’s Club where the infamous gazpacho soup incident occurred.

In this fic I’ve gone with the idea that there is more than one Officer’s Club on board Red Dwarf. That is something that for some reason I always just assumed to be the case, but after doing some research I’m pretty sure there is actually only supposed to be one. But I like the idea that there are a few dotted around the ship and that Rimmer has always avoided stepping foot in the one where he was served the gazpacho soup, so I decided to stick with it.

“Do you think the reason they’re called shag pile carpets is because people shag on them a lot?” asked Lister, hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

Rimmer frowned. “Can’t say I’ve ever given it much thought, Listy. Possibly. Although why then are they called ‘shag pile’ and not just ‘shag’? Where does the pile come in?”

Lister turned his head and looked at Rimmer with a grin. “Maybe it’s ‘cause after you’ve shagged on one and you lie on it for too long after you get piles!”

“And on that note, I’m leaving”, said Rimmer. He started to clamber to his feet but Lister grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back down.

“Rimmer, you can’t just love me and leave me!” Lister protested. “Come on, let’s have a cuddle.”

Rimmer puffed out his cheeks in annoyance. “We’ve got things to do Listy! We can’t just lie down and canoodle all day. We need to finish looking at the rooms on this floor and the next before we take an extended break.”

“It’ll just be a quick one!” said Lister. “Five minutes, tops. I swear. Then we can get on.”

“Fine”, Rimmer replied, making himself comfortable on the plush carpet. “But only five minutes!”

Lister turned and pulled the end of a nearby table cloth. It rose into the air with a shower of dust (clearly Kryten hadn’t cleaned this room in a while, Rimmer noted) before it fell to the floor and Lister wrapped it around them. He rested his head on Rimmer’s chest and was soon snoring softly.

Rimmer sighed, resigned to the fact that they were likely to be there for much longer than five minutes. He shifted slightly and grimaced. Was it possible for a hologram to get piles? He wasn’t particularly keen to find out. He let his head fall to one side and stared at the soft carpet. It was deep plum, a rich and luxurious colour. It was also, Rimmer realised with a frown, oddly familiar. He had a memory of walking on a carpet just like this, of glancing down at well-polished dress shoes as they sunk into dark purple softness. When was the last time he had worn those shoes? It was definitely before he died; in the memory he could see a crease in the leather along the toe line, a feature missing from hologrammatic footwear. But when had he worn such smart shoes when he was still alive? There had been the occasional wedding or funeral when he was younger and still living at home, but his feet were fully grown in the memory. There was only one time when he would have worn shoes like that as an adult; that night, that terrible, terrible night…

Rimmer swivelled his head around as far as he could with a still slumbering Lister on his chest, taking in as much of the rest of the room as possible. There was a big table, now devoid of its cloth, with a dozen or so ornate chairs surrounding it. On a sideboard were napkins tied with delicate purple ribbons that matched the carpet next to an assortment of spoons and crockery, as if in preparation for a dinner party. Rimmer knew this, because he’d been to one of those very dinner parties on the worst night of his life.

Because this wasn’t just any room, it was the room, the room that Rimmer had avoided stepping into for the last thirty years. It was the Officer’s Club where he had been served the Gazpacho Soup.

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

Rimmer had been rudely woken in the early hours of the morning by a thud, a yell and a boot colliding with the side of his head, all in quick succession. He had sat up wildly in the dark, yelling for Holly to turn the lights on, only to be confronted by the glare of a very disgruntled Lister who was sprawled out on the floor.

Rimmer had blinked groggily, staring down at his irritated lover as he rubbed his temple. “Listy, what are you doing down there at this ungodly hour? Why are you throwing things are me?”

Lister scowled up him. “You rolled me out of bed again, smeghead! I was havin’ a great dream about eating lamb vindaloo with Jim Bexley Speed in a campervan made of cheese. He was just carvin’ a block of cheddar out of the wall so we could grate it on top of our curries when you flopped over and threw me to the ground!

“It wasn’t intentional!” Rimmer said defensively. “You know what I’m like when I’m sleeping, I move around more than Jane Fonda during an aerobics session, I can’t help it!”

Lister hauled himself up, wincing. “Yeah, I know, but it’s the third time this week, Rimmer! I can’t go on like this, man. The other day I was so knackered I dozed off in me cornflakes and got grated onion up me nose!” He sat on the edge of Rimmer’s bunk and sighed deeply. “This just isn’t workin’.”

Rimmer had felt his whole body stiffen and a feeling of cold dread trickled down his spine as he prepared for Lister to break up with him. It’s fine, he told himself (it wasn’t), I don’t need him (he did), I can still function perfectly well without being able to kiss him whenever I please (he couldn’t).

So it came as an immense relief when Lister simply said, “We need to find a bigger bed. Like, now. I swear, if don’t get me head down and have a proper kip soon I’ll be barmier than Holly after… well, I’ll just be barmier than Holly full stop.”

“Oi!” protested Holly, appearing on the vid screen with a frown. Lister ignored him.

And so the pair of them had spent all morning traipsing around the ship, attempting to find a room where both of them were happy to lay their hat (“I don’t have a hat”, Rimmer had said, confused. Lister had rolled his eyes. “It’s just an expression, man.”)

This was easier said than done. Every mattress that was squishy enough for Lister was far too soft for Rimmer, while every mattress that was firm enough for Rimmer had Lister claiming that it’d be more comfortable to sleep on concrete. Lister’s favourite rooms were too bright and garish for Rimmer, while Rimmer’s preferred dwellings were so gloomy and spartan that Lister had sarcastically suggested that they might as well just go and live in the Tank.

After several hours of this, both of them growing more irritable with every rejected abode, they had ended up yelling at each in a random corridor for a good ten minutes before Lister had thrown himself at Rimmer and glued their lips together in a highly charged kiss. Still stuck together they had stumbled into the nearest room and proceeded to have it off on the surprisingly soft carpet. And after that came the conversation about shag-pile, shagging and piles before Lister fell asleep and Rimmer realised with a sickening lurch exactly what room it was they had just made love in.

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

Rimmer closed his eyes tightly, screwed up his face and waited for the inevitable wave of nerve shattering panic to hit him. Perhaps, if he stayed very, very still during this episode of mental anguish Lister wouldn’t wake up until it was mostly over and he had regained coherent speech and the full use of his limbs. Was it even possible to have a completely silent and motionless anxiety attack? All of his previous ones had been quite obvious and all had ended up with him being committed to the ship’s psychiatric ward on a stretcher with his arms pinned to his sides. What would Lister do if he woke to find Rimmer in such a state? He imagined himself strapped on a bed in the Medi-Bay, Kryten trying to coax him to open his mouth just enough to put a holo-thermometer in it while Lister hovered anxiously by his bedside and the Cat just pointed at him and laughed.

In fact, Rimmer was so busy trying to make his panic attack as non-verbal and unnoticeable as possible that it was several minutes before he realised that he wasn’t actually having a panic attack. But why wasn’t he? This was the room in which all his hopes and dreams had been shattered into a million pieces, the room in which his aspirations to become an officer were taken away from him by a poxy bowl of icy vegetable broth. He remembered how excited he’d been when he finally got an invitation to attend a dinner in one of the Officer’s Clubs, one of those little pockets of exclusivity that seemed to be present on almost every floor, before he’d actually arrived and it had all turned to smeg. He had vowed to himself that night as he left the club in shame that he would never set foot in that room again and he had stuck to that vow for over thirty years. Every time the others suggested a party in an Officer’s Club he had made sure they chose one of the other ones, any other one, just not this one. He should be beside himself, wracked with unbearable anguish, but instead he just felt…indifferent.

There must be an issue with the hologram simulation suite, Rimmer thought, desperately trying to think of a reasonable explanation and immediately imagining the worst case scenario. Maybe Kryten is cleaning in there and unplugged my emotion banks so he could hoover, or the Cat has turned off the neutral processors so he could plug in his hot wax machine. Or maybe my light bee is on its way out and isn’t connected to the mainframe anymore. In a few minutes I’ll probably just be a gibbering wreck in a hard-light husk and Lister will hate me for leaving him. Again. Rimmer’s breath caught in his chest and he started to hyperventilate. He tried to reason with himself that, being dead, he didn’t actually need to breathe and could stop at any time, but that just made him think about being properly dead, being gone dead, the kind of dead that meant he couldn’t snuggle with Lister in the evenings, and that just made his breathing even more erratic.

Lister stirred, his nap distributed by Rimmer’s heaving chest. He lifted his head and blinked blearily at the hologram, his eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“Rimmer! What’s the matter, man?”

Rimmer tried to speak but couldn’t fit words in-between his shuddering breaths. He pushed Lister off him, clambered to his feet and stumbled across the room before bracing himself against the table.

Lister quickly followed him and laid a hand on Rimmer’s back, rubbing soft circles into the hologrammatic flesh. “Just try and breathe slow, Rimmer. In through your nose, out through your mouth, yeah? Try and relax, man.”

Although still caught in the throes of anxiety, the soothing motion of Lister’s hand calmed Rimmer down just enough to allow him to begin to even out his breathing and regain the power of speech.

“Panic attack”, he rasped. “I’m not, I’m not-“, he broke off as his breathing sped up again.

Lister placed his other hand on Rimmer’s back as well and continued to rub gently. ““Right, panic attack. Do you know what caused it?”

Rimmer took a deep, shuddering breath. “Because I didn’t have one!”

“Have one what?”, Lister asked, confused.

“A panic attack!”

“Hang on”, said Lister. “Are you telling me that you’re havin’ a panic attack because you didn’t have a panic attack?”

“Precisely!”, Rimmer snapped, before leaning further over the table and continuing to pant. Lister’s ministrations on his back ceased and instead the shorter man grabbed Rimmer firmly by the shoulders and turned him around so they were facing each other.

“Rimmer, just talk to me, man! What’s going on?”

“It’s this room!”, Rimmer wailed. “It’s the Gazpacho Soup room! It’s the room that haunts my nightmares and in which my dreams were cruelly snatched away from me and yet I can’t seem to care! Which must mean that there is something horribly wrong with me and that soon I’ll shut down permanently and I’ll either just disappear completely or freeze in place and the Cat will use me as a hat stand!”

Lister blinked slowly as if trying to absorb a lot of information at once.

“What’s your middle name, Rimmer?”

“What”?, asked Rimmer, so perplexed by this non sequitur that he suddenly stopped hyperventilating.

“Well”, Lister explained, “If you’re really shutting down and losin’ parts of your mind there’ll be more missin’ than just the memory of how you felt that night. So, what’s your middle name?”

“Judas”, Rimmer replied, not missing a beat.

“And the names of your brothers?”

“Howard, Frank and John.”

“The school you went to?”

“Io House.”

“The name of the company that runs the ship?”

“The Jupiter Mining Corporation.”

Lister’s hands moved down from Rimmer’s shoulders to his arms and he squeezed his biceps softly.

“And what do you think about Kryten?”

Rimmer huffed. “He’s a square headed git.”

“And Cat?”

“Feline imbecile with the concentration span of a brain damaged goldfish.”

“And what about Captain Hollister or Toddhunter or Petersen? How did you feel about them?”

“The undisputed champion of Mr All American Lard-Ass, insufferable posh goit, vile Danish gimboid with all the charisma of a particularly rude and putrid skunk.”

Lister took a step closer. “And how do you feel about me?”

Rimmer gazed down into Lister’s dark brown eyes and felt a blush rising in his cheeks. “You know how I feel about you”, he said softly.

Lister stood on his tiptoes, leant in and pressed a gentle kiss to Rimmer’s lips before stepping back with a smile. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, Rimmer.”

Rimmer blinked in confusion. “But there must be! Why aren’t I panicking? It makes less sense than the plot of a Sylvester Stallone film!”

“It makes perfect sense, Rimmer!”, said Lister. “You’re not panicking because of some electrical fault or because Cat has decided it’s time to remove his leg hair, you’re not panicking because I think you’ve just got over it.”

Rimmer’s mouth fell open in shock. “Over it? Listy, the Gazpacho Soup incident was the single most humiliating experience of my life, how on Io would I have just gotten over it?”

“Because you’re not that person anymore, Rimmer!”, Lister exclaimed. “You were still really young when that happened!”

“I was thirty!”

“Thirty is still young!”, Lister protested, tugging on his dreads in exasperation. “I mean, most people are still figurin’ out who they are at that age; nobody’s properly grown up by then apart from antiques experts and chartered accountants and I’m pretty sure they’re just born old anyway. But you’ve been through so much smeg since then, man; you’ve been to an alternative universe where time runs backwards, you were a prisoner on a planet created by your own mind, you’ve battled GELF’s and simulants, you’ve learned that cloning yourself is a really, really bad idea and you even became Ace and went off to save the universe for a bit! Your world is so much bigger now than a bowl of smegging soup!”

“But it was the worst thing that even happened to me”, Rimmer said weakly, doubt creeping in his voice. “It haunts my dreams…”

“Yeah? When was the last time you dreamt about it? Last week, last year? Have you even dreamt about it in last decade?”

Rimmer’s mind raced. When was the last time he had actually thought or dreamt about it? It had seemed just like yesterday when the memory had rushed back to him while lying on the carpet, but now that he had calmed down it was starting to feel like something that had happened a long time ago to someone who wasn’t quite him. When he had returned from being Ace it had been easy to slip back into his old ways, to wear his old persona like a cosy if slightly worn blanket. But was that really him anymore? He had seen and done so much since he’d died, both on board Red Dwarf and during his time as Ace, so many wonderful and horrific things, but he’d never really thought about how they might have changed him. But he had changed, hadn’t he? The person he used to be would never have been brave enough to amid his feelings for Lister, let alone start a romantic relationship with him. He stared at Lister, eyes wide.

“Do you really think I’ve just gotten over it?”

Lister nodded and stepped forward again. “Yeah, Rimmer, I really do.”

Rimmer’s shoulders slumped. “I never thought I’d get over it, not ever, and now apparently I have without even realising it. I mean, they were my final words, Listy! Gazpacho Soup. I thought nothing as terrible as that night would ever happen to me, that it was the worst thing to ever happen to anyone in the whole universe. But you’re right; after everything we’ve been through, after everything we’ve seen, the way I felt about that soup just seems…pathetic.”

“Hey now!”, said Lister. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No! Well, not exactly.” Lister frowned. “Look, when you’re young there’s always things that seem like they’re the whole world, you know? Like they’re the be all and end all, the thing that defines you, and then when you get a bit older and look back it’s like, a bit embarrassin’ to think that you ever felt so strongly about something that doesn’t seem very important anymore. But that doesn’t mean that you should be ashamed for ever feelin’ that way, because at the time it was that important and at the end of the day it’s those things that make us us, you know? The way you felt about that soup then helped to make you who you are today, along with a billion other things that might seem a bit silly now but without which you wouldn’t the person standing in front of me. Because of all those things you became the person that I fell in love with, rather than someone I just wanted to punch in the throat. Don’t get me wrong, you’re still a complete smeghead, but you’re so much more than that now. You’re so much more than you were, Rimmer.”

Tears pricked Rimmer’s eyes and he blinked rapidly to clear them. “When did you become so wise, Listy? Or have you just been taking learning drugs and making your way through the philosophy section of the library?”

Lister hit him lightly on the arm. “Oi! I’ve always been wise!”

They stood in silence for a moment, just looking at each other, before Rimmer spoke again.

“Did you really mean all those things, about me being more than I was?”, he asked tentatively.

Lister raised a hand to cup Rimmer’s jaw. “Yeah, I did.” He closed his eyes as he rested his forehead against Rimmer’s. “’Cause it true. After years of wadin’ through smeg and your own neuroses you’ve actually become an alright person, and I love you for that.”

Rimmer felt breathless again, although this time it was from pleasure rather than panic. He leant into Lister’s touch. “I love you too, Listy”, he said, his voice filled with tenderness. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything, more than my pet lemming or a well pressed uniform or a particularly thrilling game of Risk.”

They kissed, gentle and sweet. Lister placed his other hand on Rimmer’s hip and one of Rimmer’s arms snaked around Lister’s back, pulling him even closer. Just as the kiss began to intensify there was a loud rumble and Lister pulled away with a grimace, one hand falling to rest on his stomach.

“Think I need to get some grub. Come on, we’ll pick this up later.” He winked at Rimmer before walking over to his pile of discarded clothes.

Rimmer watched him go, eyes on Lister’s bare arse, before he tore his gaze away and looked down at his own body instead. He realised with a jolt that he was also still completely naked. “Uniform!” he barked and a fresh blue suit shimmered onto his body.

As Lister dressed, Rimmer turned his attention to the table. When he had first set eyes upon it on that night it had seemed so grand and intimidating, an Officer’s table in an Officer’s Club, but now he saw there was nothing special about it at all; it was just a table, and a rather drab one at that. Similarly, he could now see that the bowl of Gazpacho Soup had always just been a bowl of soup, despite the importance that he had attached to it at the time. A bowl of cold soup couldn’t love you or hold you or comfort you on the long and lonely nights; it was just a stupid smegging status symbol, a strange and frankly quite disgusting dish adopted by the kind of posh goits who went to public school and became politicians and laughed at the poor behind their backs.

Rimmer walked over to the very chair that he himself had sat in three million years ago and ran a hand over its dusty velvet back. It was an odd feeling, to discover that you’d gotten over something that had once seemed so important without even realising that you had. The Rimmers had not been the sort family to forgive and forget; they had been the kind of people who held on to every grudge and petty jealously until the day they died. Great Aunt Susan had received a lifetime ban from family Sunday lunches at the age of eighty-seven for falling asleep during the main course and knocking a brimming gravy boat over a pristine hand-embroidered tablecloth belonging to Rimmer’s mother (although Rimmer had always suspected his Great Aunt was quite relieved to not have to attend the meal anymore; she was far too old for all the hopping, which is probably why she fell asleep in the first place). His brother Frank had cajoled his rival for Janine’s affections into being the best man at their wedding just so the poor sod was forced to watch another man marry the woman he loved; Rimmer still remembered the way he had broken down in tears during his speech and had to be carried out by Howard and John while Frank sneered evilly, clutching the hand of his new bride. The man who he had thought was his father had been the worst of them all, stretching his sons to ensure they could join the Space Corps just because he was rejected for being one inch below regulation height. There was, Rimmer realised, a distinct possibility that he was the first ever Rimmer to actually let something go. He allowed himself to feel a little smug about that.

“Hey”, said Lister as he wiggled back into his trousers, “Can you imagine the look on Captain Hollister’s face if he could see what we’ve done in here? Having sex in one of his precious Officer’s Clubs before declaring our love for each other stark smegging naked! He’d probably have a heart attack! It’d be a good revenge for the way he treated us, wouldn’t it?”

Rimmer snorted in amusement. “Yes, it certainly would Listy! Just a shame it’s three million years too late.”

Lister grinned. “Well, you know what they say, Rimmer; revenge is a dish-“

“I may have gotten over it, but if you finish that sentence with the phrase ‘best served cold’ I will garrotte you with a napkin ribbon.”

“I was going to say ‘revenge is a dish best served at whatever smegging temperature you want to serve it at’!” Lister replied defensively.

Rimmer rolled his eyes. “People don’t say that, Listy.”

“Yeah they do! ‘Cause I’m the only person left alive so whatever I say is what people say. Besides, only proper disgusting things are served cold, like salad and that raw fish you get in fancy restaurants.”

“Sushi”, said Rimmer.

“Bless you”, said Lister. “Anyway, all the best things are served either hot or warm; curry, naan bread, lager. Talking of which, think I’ll get Kryten to knock me up a chicken balti for lunch. You comin’?"

“What, to watch you wolf down over spiced poultry with all the grace of a BEGG devouring a fresh pile of garbage? I may love you, Listy, but there are some things I draw a line at. Think I’ll finish looking at the rooms on this floor while you stuff your face.”

“No, you won’t!”, protested Lister, waggling a finger as he finished tying the laces on his boots and shrugged his jacket on. “You’ll ignore all the decent ones and choose one that looks like a crypt. Come on, quick lunch then we’ll finish lookin’ together.”

“Alright, fine”, Rimmer huffed. He walked to the door and held it open for Lister.

Lister sauntered over and stopped in the doorway, pressing Rimmer against the frame and brushing his lips against the hologram’s ear.

“And you know, the faster we eat and choose a room, the less time it’ll be before you can bend me over backwards and shag me into a mattress.” Lister stepped back with a wicked grin and started to walk down the corridor. Rimmer gulped and took a moment to compose himself before following swiftly behind.

As they walked Lister reached out and gave Rimmer’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You OK now, Rimmer?”

“Yes”, said Rimmer, a rare but genuine smile lighting up his face. “In fact, I’d say I’m more than just OK.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes”, said Rimmer. “I’m super.”

Thanks to @janamelie, @daveylisters and @ohhhyestottytottytotty for their help in figuring out how old Rimmer was during the Gazpacho Soup incident.

I was considering waiting until the 25th November to post this fic, but I’m been working on it for three smegging months and now it’s finally done I just really needed to post it and get it out into the world! (Or out into the Internet, at any rate). Hope you enjoyed it, dear reader, and hey – if you liked it you could always read it again on Gazpacho Soup day!

#Red Dwarf #reddwarffanfic #reddwarf #reddwarffanfiction #arnold rimmer #arnold judas rimmer #dave lister #david lister

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 3 years

Text

It’s no secret that Republicans are anti-intellectual, but it makes you wonder what their end goal is? Why do they keep electing dumber and dumber presidents? Is it just to own the libs? Do they just not care? They’ll get what they want regardless of how smart their presidents are, so why always pick the low hanging fruit?

The only smart Republican of the last 60 years was Bush Sr, and he was a one-term wonder who rode Reagan’s coattails into office.

Nixon was notoriously incompetent as VP, almost beat Kennedy in 1960, threw what should have been a career ending shit fit in 1962 after losing the California governor’s race, but not only came back in 68 and win because Goldwater was so unpopular in 64, but won 72 in the greatest landslide in history up to that point. Corrupt to the bone, he resigned before he could be impeached for hiring burglars to steal dirt on a political opponent, covering it up, and lying about it.

Ford was appointed VP to replace scandal stricken Spiro Agnew, specifically chosen because he was known as an honest politician. His reputation evaporated the second he became president because his first act was to pardon the guiltiest man in the country; he lost handily in 76.

Reagan was an actor who wanted to play politician so he could hurt the people he didn’t like; blacks people, poor people, gay people, women. It was a power trip for him, and because he was good at reading cue cards and delivering jokes written by other people, everyone let him get away with murder. He committed treason by selling weapons to Iran; this isn’t hyperbole, the actual definition of treason includes giving aid to out enemies, and after the oil and hostage crises of the 70s, Iran was an enemy first and foremost. Oliver North took the blame and had his secretary shred the evidence, the President Bush pardoned everyone involved. Reagan won in an even bigger landslide than 72 in 84, and Bush won in a major upset against Dukakis in 88.

Bush lost in 92 in no small part because of Ross Perot splitting the ticket; no third party candidate has ever done better nationwide than Perot in 92, with 19% of the vote (though he didn’t win a single state, which some minor candidates have done). Clinton won with 43% of the popular vote. Forty-three percent! 57% of people voted against him, and he won. 92 was a farce, as was 96 with less than 50% voter turnout, the lowest in modern history. Perot ran again and got 8.4% of the vote, Republican Bob Dole only got 40.7%, and Clinton got 49.2%. This means that less than a quarter of eligible voters voted for Bill Clinton, and he still won. FARCE!

Al Gore rightfully won in 2000, but the conservative majority Supreme Court stole it from him. Florida was too close to call; whichever candidate won it would become president. George W. Bush’s brother Jeb was governor, and he ordered the federally mandated recount be stopped, breaking the law. The Supreme Court decided not to restart the recount for no discernible reason besides they wanted Bush to win. He was notoriously dumb, stereotypically dumb, so dumb a lot of people thought it was an act and voted for him because they thought he was a secret genius who was just pretending to be a cowboy running for president off his daddy’s legacy. He was the stupidest president we had ever had up to that point, and hired a lot of smart people to do horrible things so he could claim plausible deniability. That Obama didn’t send Dick Cheney to the Hague was a deafening silence. Bush only won re-election in 2004 because he started a war in Iraq in 2003 and the country didn’t want to change horses midstream; same exact tactic his daddy used, only this war lasted longer than the Gulf and “worked” as planned.

2008 was a ceremonial race; McCain didn’t stand a chance. He was not incompetent, but his running mate was. Sarah Palin was even dumber than Bush, and like Gingrich in the 90s was responsible for a conservative revolution we’re still feeling today. Barack Obama wasn’t an amazing president, but he was an AMAZING candidate. Everybody loved Obama in 2008, he won more votes than any candidate in history until 2020. McCain was a career moderate, and after the last 8 years of failure both parties were running on a platform of “I am not George W. Bush.” Turns out a young charismatic smart black man is less like Bush than another old white guy.

Obama lost a ton of momentum going into 2012 because he didn’t really DO anything his first term. His only major accomplishment was the Affordable Care Act, which was an act of the Democratic congress than anything else, and it still wasn’t nearly as progressive as it needed to be (the US is still the only developed nation without universal healthcare). Romney, a Republican governor from the Democratic stronghold of Massachusetts, could have beaten him were he not a classist piece of shit. Romney hated poor people more than Reagan, and once wore brown face to a campaign event to make himself look more like Obama (they didn’t paint his hands or neck, just his face). Obama made a lot of promises he didn’t keep, in no small part because of the Tea Party and the devastating losses in 2014 (we suffer under Mitch McConnell because of that).

2016 was a dumpster fire that shouldn’t have happened, and if either party had run a different candidate, it wouldn’t have. Sanders would have beaten Trump, Clinton would have beaten Cruz. It was a perfect storm of a very unpopular and insincere grandma running against a cartoon supervillain. You couldn’t repeat that with what we know now. Your vote in 2016 came to represent who you were as a person; people took it to the extremes, and the sunk cost fallacy made the entire Republican party shift so far rightward that we have actual concentration camps now and NOBODY GIVES A SHIT! Trump was a game show host, a used car salesman famous for being tacky and dumb and offensive. He was KNOWN for running his companies into the ground, that was his MO, he made a career out of bankruptcy, and Republicans still can’t believe that he drove us into the worst economic depression since the last Republican (history repeat itself, whoop-dee-doo). Biden won in 2020 because of record turnout, though 2020 was closer to the intentional walk of 2012 than the home run of 2008 in terms of enthusiasm for the candidates.

If we’ve learned anything its that Republicans just keep getting worse and worse, so it’s getting hard for me to imagine what 2024 has in store. Will Trump risk losing the popular vote 3 times in a row for a second term? i think he’ll pretend to so he can scam millions of dollars out of his base, but he’ll either lost the primaries and tank the Republicans by running third-party, or he’ll drop out and endorse one of his spawn. If Biden decides not to run in 2024, the nomination will almost certainly go to Kamala Harris, at which point I expect the Republicans to run a woman as well, so that we’re guaranteed the first woman president; she’ll be young, and white, and blonde. My money’s on Ivanka. Kamala vs. Ivanka will be a repeat of the 2016 dumpster fire, only worse because then everyone would be acting like both candidates are feminist icons, #GirlPower #SheRunsTheWorld #WarCrimesAreBetterWithTwoXChromosomes If Biden DOES run again, then I suspect the Republican pool will be wide early on (Prick Scott, Ron DeathSantis, Uncle Tom Cotton, Nikkki Haley, you name it), only to shrink before the primaries as they all coordinate to get behind someone strong enough to defeat an incumbent.

Republicans are very good at coordinating; they are the party of “Follow the Leader.” Whoever is in charge has 100% authority, no ifs, ands, or buts, no questions asked, just follow orders. It would be easy to call them lemmings, but it’s more insidious than this. They run dumb candidates for president, but have very smart people working behind the scenes to do horrible things. They’re willing to follow orders blindly to ensure that the party prospers, whereas Democrats are chicken running around with their heads cut off. There are no Democratic leaders. Pelosi? Schumer? Nobody likes those dinosaurs! The only really popular Democrats are progressives, and they will never have power as long as the moderates have a majority of the caucus. AOC could be a senator someday; she could replace Schumer whenever he retires, but that would hinge on her not having any moderate primary challengers. Moderates are still very popular because they are seen as “electable,” even though they never DO anything once elected. Progressives have big ideas and the concrete plans to get them done, but the moderate establishment is afraid of losing power, and would rather placate the other side doing nothing, changing nothing, making no waves. The party needs to shift leftward, or the country is doomed.

I would suggest the progressives splitting off to form a third party, but that would almost certainly destroy left-wing politics in this country as every safe seat would become split. In an ideal world, it would be a nominal change; they would be the Progressive Democratic Party, they would continue to run in blue districts and caucus with Democrats on votes, but would advertise themselves as anti-establishment. They would be like the New Democrats in Canada, which now that I think about it is a very bad idea because the New Democrats have no power and end up giving more votes to the Liberals and Conservatives instead. The Progressive solution is intended to show the caucus that the moderates don’t have total control, but it would end up with the moderate Democrats shooting themselves in the foot, running against Progressives in every seat, handing them to the Republicans. Every election cycle people act like a loss would spell “the end of the _____ party,” but this would actually be it for the Democrats. It would be a turning point, like the 1960s, with millions of people changing parties out of principle, a major shift. A Red Scare

I just want to crawl in a hole and die. I hate politics.

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noona-clock · 4 years

Text

Indefinitely - Part 5

Genre: Dystopia!AU

Pairing: Jaebum x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of death, some emotional angst

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 | Words: 3,656

He... heard something? Like... on the radio?

“What do you mean --”

Jaebum shushed you before you could finish your question, and he rotated the volume dial on the radio to turn it up.

You pressed your lips together and listened to the static coming through the speakers. ...But then the static was interrupted by a voice.

“If there are any survivors out there who can hear this --”

Both you and Youngjae gasped, and you scrambled to sit up on the couch, your attention now laser-focused on the radio.

“--please know you’re not alone. We’ve started a settlement in Windenburg, and we have plenty of space. We welcome any and all survivors.”

“Windenburg?” you asked softly, not wanting to talk over the rest of the message -- if there was anything else.

“I think it’s about... two-hundred miles from here?” Youngjae stated, though there was a hint of caution in his voice.

“Two-hundred?!” you cried. Jaebum set the radio down on the coffee table in front of you, startling you and causing you to jump slightly. He sat down next to you then, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

...Why was your stomach doing somersaults right now?

“We have to go,” he said, keeping his eyes on the radio as the message repeated again.

“How can we get there?” you asked. You were surprised to hear your voice was a bit shaky; there was no reason it should be. Maybe you were just still so surprised about what you’d heard on the radio.

...Yeah. That was it. It had to be!

“There have to be cars around the neighborhood,” Youngjae piped up.

“I’ve been checking when I’ve been gathering food,” Jaebum replied, sighing. “Most of them are at less than a quarter of a tank, but... I think there was one that had about half a tank of gas left. Maybe more. It’ll at least get us most of the way there, and we can just walk the rest.”

“Most of the way... as in...?” you questioned hesitantly.

“Probably one-fifty,” Jaebum answered.

Your eyebrows shot halfway up your forehead. “So, we’d have to walk fifty miles.”

“Unless you can come up with another plan, yes. We’ll do it over a few days, it’s not like --”

“Where would we sleep?” you interrupted.

“Do you want to get to this place or not?” Jaebum asked sharply.

“Well -- I mean, yeah, but -- but what if it’s a trap or something?!” you pointed out.

“A trap?” Youngjae repeated, the confused disbelief very obvious in his normally friendly voice. “Why would it be a trap?”

“What if -- what if they want to do medical testing on the survivors to see why we didn’t catch it?”

Okay, honestly, you had no idea where all of this was coming from. You knew going to this settlement was the right choice, but... I don’t know. You liked living here. You’d finally settled down here, and now you were going to have to move again.

Jaebum obviously understood the reason behind your questioning because he took a deep breath and turned to face you better.

“I know it’s scary,” he said quietly. “But we have to go. We’ll all be together, and if -- for some reason -- it turns out to be a trap, we’ll make our way back here. But do you want to live in a house with no power and a dwindling food supply forever? With just the three of us?”

Jaebum was making direct eye contact with you as he spoke, but... it wasn’t his usual eye contact. It wasn’t stern or intimidating. His gaze was actually... kind of soft. And comforting. In his own way.

“No... Sorry, I’m just --”

“I know,” he murmured. “But you’re not alone.”

“Yeah, the world is kind of messed up right now,” Youngjae interjected. “But I think you’re being a little... paranoid.”

You glanced over at Youngjae, and even though you now trusted him with your life... you still turned back to Jaebum.

He just nodded, and then you let out a defeated sigh.

“So, when are we leaving?” Youngjae asked, sounding way more optimistic than you felt.

“I guess... tomorrow,” Jaebum shrugged. “We can pack up first thing and leave whenever we can.”

Yes, you had to leave eventually... but did it really have to be tomorrow?

You looked over at Youngjae again, your brow furrowing slightly. “Are you sure you want to leave? I mean... this is your home.”

Instead of looking cautious or unsure, Youngjae simply smiled at you. “Yeah. As long as you guys want me to come along, I want to stay with you.”

A soft grin came to your lips, and you said, “Of course, we do.”

Jaebum simply muttered a “Yeah” before he stood from the couch. And then he added, “I’m gonna head off to bed, try to get a good night’s sleep.”

You figured you should do the same, so you grabbed your blanket and laid down on your couch. “Good night, guys,” you said just as you did every night.

And, just as they did every night, Youngjae replied with “Night” while Jaebum said absolutely nothing.

You shot Youngjae a look which said ‘See? I told you he hates me.’

Youngjae looked back. ‘You are so wrong.’

You just rolled your eyes.

The sounds of footsteps, doors opening and closing, fabric rustling, and zippers unzipping woke you up the next morning.

It’s not surprising to anyone that you hadn’t been sleeping incredibly well for the past month, and you’d gotten to a point where even the softest noise could awake you from your restless slumber.

Today, those noises were the sounds of Jaebum getting things packed and ready to leave.

He came back in the living room when you opened your eyes, taking the blanket from his armchair and beginning to roll it up.

“Hey,” you said, your voice groggy and sleep-filled. “Let me help.”

“We’re taking one backpack each,” he murmured as you sat up and stretched out your back and arms. “Roll your blanket up and gather up anything we might need while we’re on foot.”

You hummed in response, rubbing your eyes a little and yawning before swinging your legs over the side of the couch. You sluggishly grabbed your blanket and started rolling it up. Jaebum held out his hand, and once you’d finished, you gave it to him.

“Youngjae!” you called out, shuffling over to the other couch and reaching out to shake his shoulder. “Wake up, we’re packing!”

You knew it would take much more than that to wake him, though. Somehow, this guy was the absolute deepest sleeper you’d ever met. Most days, you let him wake up naturally because none of you were on any type of schedule. But you could tell Jaebum wanted to get going as soon as possible, so you took both hands and shook Youngjae again.

“Come on, Youngjae,” you said, bending closer to his ear. “It’s time to get up. We’re leaving soon.”

Youngjae stirred, but he didn’t open his eyes or say anything or give any indication he was awake.

So, you shook him again. You called out his name again.

And again... and again... And finally, after the fifth time, his eyes slowly blinked open.

Well, now you’d finally found one of Youngjae’s flaws. With his good looks, positive personality, infectious laugh, and kind innocence, you were beginning to wonder if he was the perfect guy.

But, nope. He was annoyingly difficult to wake up in the morning.

“We’re getting ready to leave,” you told him once one eye was fully open. “You need to pack up your things.”

He mumbled something and began to close his eye... but you whipped his blanket off of him and grabbed his upper arm.

“Nope, you’re not going back to sleep. Get up.”

“Okay, I’m up. I’m up,” he muttered.

As you tossed his blanket back over him, you thought you heard Jaebum chuckle out a “Finally” under his breath. But when you looked at him, he was too focused on packing up his backpack, so... you must have imagined it.

You spent the next half-hour or so gathering everything you’d brought with you a month ago plus a few things from Youngjae’s house you figured you might need.

Unsurprisingly, Jaebum was already waiting out by the car he’d taken from one of Youngjae’s neighbors by the time you were all packed and ready to go. He was leaning against the driver-side door, his forehead wrinkled with concentration as he read a book.

“Ah, The Great Gatsby,” you said once you got close enough to see the cover. “Seems like an entirely different universe compared to now.”

Jaebum chuckled softly as he closed the book and shifted his gaze up to you. “I doubt we’ll ever drink champagne again.”

“Or hear a live band.”

“But, on the upside, we probably won’t get into any car wrecks,” Jaebum pointed out as the front door opened and Youngjae came out to join you.

“This is true.”

“What’s true?” Youngjae asked, hopping down the front porch steps.

“Nothing,” you said with a gentle laugh. “Just talking about good old Gatsby.”

Youngjae frowned in confusion, but simply shook his head a little instead of saying anything. He then headed to the backseat, opening the door and heaving his backpack inside.

Which, I guess, left you in the front seat.

“So... you know where we’re going?” you asked Jaebum, just to be sure.

“I found an Atlas in the bookshelf,” he answered, nodding inside the car.

You bent slightly, seeing a large spiral-bound book in the passenger’s seat. When you stood up straight to look at Jaebum, you quirked an eyebrow.

“You trust me enough to be the navigator?” you asked, only half-joking.

“Yes, of course,” Jaebum answered. There was a tone of offense in his voice, and even though you had been half-joking, you could tell he was not joking in the slightest.

Just like it had last night when he’d sat down next to you on the couch, your stomach did a little somersault. Probably because you were going to be responsible for getting you guys to this settlement place, so basically everything was riding on your map-reading abilities.

“Well, I will not let you down,” you said, bringing your right hand up to your forehead and giving Jaebum a salute.

Jaebum just nodded, but just before he turned to open the driver’s door, you saw a tiny smirk pull at his lips.

And there went another somersault.

...Huh. Interesting. You couldn’t really accredit that one to being the navigator, so...

Had your stomach flipped because of... Jaebum’s smirk?

Surely not.

...Right?

Even after driving the speed limit, barely braking and accelerating more than necessary, and turning the air conditioning off, the car was only able to take you just a little over one hundred and fifty miles. If you were calculating the map correctly, you still had about forty-five to go on foot.

“The day is barely half over,” Jaebum said as he slid his backpack onto his shoulders. “We can get at least ten miles done before we stop for the night.”

You studied the map again, biting the inside of your cheek as you tried to space out ten miles along the route you’d created.

“Looks like there’s a town in about twelve,” you announced after a few moments. “Brindleton Springs.”

“Perfect,” Jaebum nodded. “We’ll find a place to sleep there, see if there are any supplies we can find.”

“All right, which way, Navigator?” Youngjae asked, sounding far more upbeat than either you or Jaebum had.

You looked up from the Atlas, grinning at your friend before you pointed off down the interstate. And once you slipped the book of maps into your backpack and heaved it onto your shoulders, you headed off, trailing behind your two friends.

...So... Jaebum was a friend now?

Maybe.

He probably didn’t consider you a friend, but you just might consider him one.

A part of you was curious to ask him about it, but another part -- a much bigger part -- knew that was a bad idea. Most likely, he just wouldn’t answer. If he did, he would probably ask why it was important to be friends. Either way, things would get awkward, and if you were going to be traveling on foot for the next few days...

So, you let Jaebum lead the way while you trailed behind with Youngjae. The two of you talked about whatever random subjects came to your mind, occasionally requesting input from your strong and silent leader. You sang pop songs which had been popular before the Epidemic. You dreamed about what the settlement would be like -- mainly what kind of food they might have.

After ten miles, however, things began to quiet down. You were all getting exhausted, and you still had two miles left to go until you reached Brindleton Springs.

The sun was getting extremely low in the sky, and the air was getting chillier. Compared to how far you’d already walked, two miles seemed like nothing. But now that it was dark and cold? It seemed like it was going to take forever to reach your destination for the night.

You began to walk with your arms across your body, hugging yourself tightly to try and ward off the frigid temperature. You kept your eyes focused ahead of you, hoping they would get used to the darkness fairly soon.

No one had said anything for probably the past ten minutes, and you were just about to break the silence by asking where the three of you should stop for the night... but then you felt the toe of your boot catch on a very small pothole in the road.

You let out a surprised cry, immediately uncrossing your arms and holding your hands out to break your fall as you tripped to the hard ground.

A sharp, stinging pain jolted through your leg as your knee hit the asphalt, and you felt the fabric of your jeans rip. The stray rocks of the road dug into your skin, a pained gasp escaping from your lips.

Almost immediately you heard the thud of footsteps running over to you, and a pair of hands wrapped around your upper arms.

Jaebum picked you up easily and said, somewhat urgently, “Are you okay?”

You held onto his forearms, bearing all of your weight on one foot as you kept your injured knee bent slightly.

“I just --” you answered. “I only scraped my knee, but Jesus, it hurts.”

It was the same kind of pain you experience with you stub your toe. It’s only the most minor of injuries, but it hurt enough to make you cry and be in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

“Here, sit down,” Jaebum murmured, guiding you down to the road and gingerly setting your leg down. “I brought some first aid things.”

As he turned to rummage in his backpack, the stinging and pain of your skinned knee began to throb until you could feel it all the way up to your head. Embarrassingly, tears began to fill your eyes, and by the time Jaebum turned back around with an alcohol wipe and band-aid in hand, you were sniffling to try and keep yourself from crying.

“Does it really hurt that bad?” he asked quietly.

“I mean, kind of,” you replied with a watery murmur. “I -- it’ll be fine.”

Jaebum nodded, opening the wipe and moving to gently press it to your knee. You hissed as soon as the cooling alcohol touched your open skin. You had to bit the inside of your cheek to stop from reacting verbally. It was just a skinned knee, and you were more than old enough to handle it.

Jaebum then delicately placed a band-aid on top of your knee, disposing of the trash in his backpack and sliding it back onto his shoulders.

“Can you walk?” he asked as he stood up.

You nodded, and when he held out his hand to you, you took it just a little bit hesitantly.

He pulled you up quickly but carefully, waiting just a few moments to make sure you really could walk. Which, of course, you could. It’s not like your entire leg had been chopped off or something.

You fell behind Jaebum and Youngjae, unsurprisingly, walking slowly -- almost limping -- and... to be honest, you let yourself fall down a hole of self-pity.

Your knee was stinging. You had to walk with a limp. You were slowing down your friends. You were walking to a place that was still over thirty miles away. It was cold and dark and you were exhausted and you didn’t know where you were going to sleep tonight. You were hungry. You hadn’t had a real meal in about a month. Your parents were dead. Your life as you used to know it was done, completely, forever and ever.

It was all just too much at the moment, and the tears began to slide down your cheeks without you even realizing it.

Your vision became so blurry that you had to stop walking, and truthfully, you almost plopped down on the road right then and there.

But Jaebum was by your side before you got the chance.

“We only have a little over a mile to go,” he murmured quietly, taking a hold of your arms again to make sure you stayed upright. “Can you make it?”

“It’s just too hard,” you answered, your words slurred with emotion.

“What is?”

“Everything!” you sobbed. “We still have so far to go, and I’m so hungry and tired, and I know you guys are, too. I have nothing to complain about, it’s just -- it’s too hard. I don’t know if I can --”

“Yes, you can,” Jaebum interrupted. He kept hold of one arm but he moved his other hand to cradle your cheek and force you to look at him. “You can. I know you can.”

You shook your head the tiniest bit. “I’m not -- I’m not strong enough.”

“Yes, you are. Your parents wanted you to live, didn’t they? They told you to leave so you could have your best chance. Right?”

You sniffled and tipped your head in a nod.

“This is your best chance. It’s hard right now, I know. You miss them. Thinking about them never being a part of your life again is basically... unfathomable. But you can’t give up.” He raised his eyebrows and repeated sternly, “You can’t give up. They wouldn’t want you to give up. I don’t want you to give up, Youngjae doesn’t want you to give up. We’ll figure something out, okay? We’ll get to this place, we’ll be with other survivors, and we’ll have a life again. We’ll live again. You will live again. Okay?”

You met his gaze, and even though tears were still escaping from your eyes, you nodded.

“Promise me,” he murmured.

“I promise.”

Jaebum searched your face for a few moments before nodding and taking a step back. “Are you sure you can walk?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you whispered, now avoiding his gaze because you were so embarrassed.

Again, you followed behind Jaebum and Youngjae, though you managed to keep any more tears from falling -- for now. Youngjae also did fall back to walk beside you for a little while, putting a friendly arm around you and not saying a word.

When you finally reached the sign welcoming you to Brindleton Springs, Jaebum led you to the nearest place where you could spend the night -- a park. There were no buildings in sight besides a gas station and what looked like a school down the road, but apparently, he didn’t want you to have to walk any farther than you needed to.

As he began to set up camp on some benches, Youngjae gathered some sticks and kindling to start a fire. You limped over, taking off your backpack and reaching for your blanket.

Jaebum strode over to you, taking your backpack from your hands and setting up once of the benches for you as a bed.

“Here,” he murmured, taking your arm and helping you over to it. “It’s not much, but it’ll have to do.”

Youngjae was currently focused on getting the fire started, so you spoke softly so only Jaebum could hear.

“Thank you.” And you hoped he knew you meant not just for now but for earlier, too.

He nodded, and you thought he would move away to make his own bench bed... but he surprised you by saying. “I’m sorry there wasn’t a better place to stop for the night.”

You stared at him for a moment, blinking a few times before you spoke. “No... no, it’s not your fault.”

...Jaebum had just apologized? To you? For the fact you had to sleep on a bench?

...Was he feeling okay?

“All right, that should last a few hours,” Youngjae murmured, standing up from the fire he’d started.

Within just a few minutes, all three of you had settled onto a bench with your blankets. Your knee was still stinging, and you knew you weren’t going to get a good night’s sleep... but you decided to start the night with your usual routine, anyway.

“Good night,” you called out, though your voice was just a bit weaker than it normally was.

“Night,” Youngjae replied.

You closed your eyes, not even anticipating a reply from Jaebum. Because he never said anything back to you when you wished them a good night. Ever. He never had.

But tonight, you heard, “Wake me up if your knee starts hurting.”

...Oh. Well, that was new.

Part 6

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strawberrysoup · 4 years

Text

Let’s Review || Chapter 1

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

This story is, as advertised, fucked up. It’s inspired by the recent influx of Dark!Steve and Dark!Tony fics and there is a lot of potentially triggering material so please read with caution. Our heroes are not heroes in this story; they’re criminals with limited to no consciences.

There weren’t many things that Penny Parker could really rely on. Her paychecks fluctuated unfathomably every two weeks, the electricity bill was never consistent, and for some reason even when she drove her car dry it never took the same amount of gas to fill the tank. Peter’s class schedule seemed to change every time she asked about it, his after-school club activities were never on the same day, and why did she have to sign this report card but not last quarter’s, Pete? Consistency was something she’d learned not to hope for. Mostly she kept her fingers crossed that things would somehow work out to her advantage, day by day.

For the most part, it did. She’d dropped out of high school when uncle Ben died to start working, to help support aunt May and Peter. It had taken three years to get her GED between the three jobs she worked, but she managed. GED accomplished, she checked off that box on her mental list and signed up for night classes at the local community college. It was hard, but she could make it work. Then aunt May had died.

Custody of 14 year old Peter Parker had been hotly contested, as Penny had only been 21 at the time of aunt May’s death. Technically, she was an adult. She had two jobs, a steady income, an apartment, a decent credit score. Somehow, like most things in her life, it had just kind of worked out and she was granted sole custody of her younger brother. She’d dropped her night classes, picked up a third job overnight, and kept her fingers crossed that social services never asked why her “two bedroom apartment” only had one bedroom.

Semi-decent luck was the only thing that really kept her life running, and by extension Peter’s. She knew it would wear off someday, she’d been granted the lion’s share of good fortune in Queens when it came to looking after her brother and it wasn’t super fair. She just didn’t think it would end so spectacularly. The end of the luck was supposed to be a low, painful fizzle.

Instead, it was a flashbang that started with Peter acting like a cokehead. Peter had never been a particularly twitchy kid; Penny had leeched all the chaotic energy from their mother’s womb and left the intelligence behind for her kid brother. Over the course of several months though, he’d begun jumping at the drop of a hat. Penny would turn the corner into the kitchen and startle him so badly he’d have an asthma attack. If she even glanced at his phone when a notification lit up the screen he’d lose his mind, accusing her of not respecting his privacy and dart away into his room. Asking if he needed anything from the store was suddenly the Spanish Inquisition and god forbid she offer him a ride to school.

Because she’d graciously left all the IQ points for Peter, Penny had a tendency to do stupid things. Like assume Peter’s behavior was because he had gotten a girlfriend or was just going through usual teenage boy hormones that made him act like a jackass. Luckily the dumbass wasn’t actually a cokehead, considering he still blanched whenever she had weed in the house, but fuck if he wasn’t acting like a freak. It came to a head when she happened to be coming home from her second job at the same time he was getting home from one of his after-school club meetings.

She hadn’t been sure what she was seeing at first. It was definitely Peter, he’d hit a growth spurt finally and started to put on some height and muscle mass but was still a lanky little shit, and he was arguing with a man in a suit who was walking next to him. Both were being followed by a slow-moving car with blacked out windows and no front license plate. Peter’s body language was uncomfortable, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders angled away from the man and tucked in, eyes down.

When Penny called out to Peter, the man had gotten into the backseat of the black car which promptly drove away. Her brother had gone red in the face and ran up the steps to their apartment complex without waiting for her to catch up, locking himself in the bedroom and refusing to come out when she followed him in. She’d given up on being the casual guardian, the cool big sister who let him live his life. Penny had begged him to come out, to tell her what was going on. She just wanted to help, how could she help him if he wouldn’t talk to her?

It had started with simple answers, after Penny had started to cry, through the door.

Who was that man? Tony Stark.

What did he want with Peter? To offer him a job.

Why were they arguing? Because Peter rejected the offer.

He was lying. Penny knew what it sounded like, the way his voice changed. She’d been glued to his side since their parents died when she was 13 and it had only gotten worse with uncle Ben’s passing. Peter was lying through his teeth and Penny had no idea why, no idea what to do. Helplessness had settled over her shoulders like a lead blanket, her chest tightening. If Peter was willing to lie to her, then whatever was happening with Tony Stark was really, really bad. And she had no fucking idea what to do.

***

“JARVIS, bring up Peter’s file.”

The voice cut through the silence of the car like a shot, Happy glancing at the man in the backseat through the rearview mirror questioningly. Usually his boss was in a pretty good mood after having harassed the high school kid he’d become obsessed with over the last several months, but the tone of his voice said otherwise.

“Of course, sir,” the AI responded dutifully from the Stark phone, a document appearing on the screen, “anything in particular, sir?”

“Peter told me he was emancipated after his aunt’s death and that he lived alone. I think my boy’s lying to me, J,” Tony’s voice was lower than usual, irritation apparent in his stony expression.

“Straight home, boss?” Happy asked quietly, humming in response when the man in the backseat nodded.

“Records show that Peter Parker is under the guardianship of one Penelope Parker, 24 years of age, relation: sister.”

“So he did lie to me,” Tony ran a hand over his goatee, sighing through the motion in disappointment before anger overcame him again, “You mean he lives in that shithole with someone? She’s supposed to be taking care of him, that place is a fucking drug den!”

“The police have indeed responded to 23 calls involving illicit drug use in that apartment complex in the last 10 days, sir. Another 10 calls were answered in response to domestic violence, 5 calls in regards to loitering, 7 calls in—”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” he waved his hand impatiently before the AI could recite every reason his boy shouldn’t be living in such a fucking pigsty, “tell me more about Penelope.”

The name was said with enough venom that Happy’s eyebrows went up, glancing once again at his boss in the rearview mirror as he navigated through the congested New York City streets.

“Penelope Parker, 24 years of age, born in New York City, New York. Dropped out of high school at 16, accomplished a GED at 19. Currently employed at Little Hands Daycare, Starbucks Coffee, and Kroger’s. Owner of a 2001 Toyota Camry, license plate 605-CEG, rents a one-bedroom apartment in Queens for $1,200 a month, credit score of 713, 1 speeding ticket, no medical insurance—”

“Stop,” Tony grit his teeth, tilting his head from side to side to crack his neck, “a one-bedroom apartment. No medical insurance. Didn’t even graduate from fucking high school. How the hell did she get custody of my boy?”

“Custody of Peter Parker went to his closest living relative, with the stipulation that social services kept up regular visits on account of the young age of the guardian. Records show that visits kept up for roughly 3 months before ending.”

“3 fucking months, those useless fucks,” it came out as a snarl, “look up the case workers, I want their names. And their heads. On a platter. Get a lock on their wifi signal, I want to know what they’re doing at all times. I already have a tracker on Peter, hack into the GPS on Penelope’s phone and keep track of her too.”

“The phone number listed on Ms. Parker’s work forms is a prepaid burner with no GPS capabilities. I can use triangulation to pick up on her general location when she connects to cell phone towers.”

“Seriously, a burner phone? Is she a drug dealer?” Tony’s eyes shot up to meet Happy’s in the mirror, “Oh my god is my baby’s guardian a drug dealer?”

“There is no evidence of any misconduct on the part of Ms. Parker, sir,” JARVIS stated calmly, despite the edge of infuriated panic from Tony, “she has no arrest record or suspicious activity.”

“That doesn’t mean anything and you know it JARVIS,” Tony pressed his head back into the cushion behind him, squeezing his eyes shut, “I’ve got to get him out of there, sooner rather than later. Happy, once we get home, start coordinating with Rhodey for extraction plans. JARVIS, keep an eye on any activity on their WiFi network.”

“Shall I connect to the webcam on the laptop computer, sir?”

“And the camera on my baby boy’s phone,” on his own phone, Tony opened his picture gallery to swipe through the images he already had of Peter, a small smile taking over his mouth in the process, “Keep any recorded video for at least 24 hours, let me know if anything interesting happens.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Happy, let’s get everyone ready for my boy’s homecoming,” Tony stated, shifting in his seat as they pulled into the private garage beneath Stark Tower, “its coming up sooner than we anticipated.”

***

Penny had started googling Tony Stark the moment she realized Peter wasn’t going to part with anymore information. The longer she sat in front of the laptop, the more panic began to grow in her chest.

Tony Stark was a bad man. A very, very bad man who made very, very dangerous weapons and had lots of very, very important and powerful people in his back pocket. There was no real evidence, of course. None of his misdeeds could be proven in court, none of the weapons he invented could be traced to his company, none of the people he practically owned would even admit to knowing the man. He was incredibly powerful and so fucking dangerous that Penny’s teeth ached at the thought of him even being near her baby brother.

“Fuck,” she muttered dragging both hands through her dark brown hair, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

There was no reason for a man like Tony Stark to be offering Peter a job. Sure, Peter was smarter than anyone she’d ever met. The kid’s IQ had to be off the charts, he’d gotten into that insanely expensive private science school in Midtown. But there was no reason for Tony Stark to recruit a high school senior, even if he was a budding genius.

“What are you doing Pen?” Peter’s voice was raspy from crying and the sound made Penny jump, turning in her seat to look at the teenager behind her.

“I’m…,” she glanced guiltily at the laptop before sighing, “I didn’t know who Tony Stark was off the top of my head. I had to look him up.”

Peter quickly reached out and closed the internet browser before shutting the lid of the laptop, running his hand through his hair in a way rather reminiscent of his sister, “You shouldn’t google him, he’s got enough of an ego that he probably gets an alert every time his name comes up.”

Penny bit her lip, rubbing her hands together in her lap before gathering as much courage as she could and pushing out the chair at the table next to her, “we need to talk, Pete. I need you to tell me the truth about why he was talking to you, no bullshit. I can’t help you if I don’t know the situation.”

The teenager hesitated for all of 30 seconds before dropping into the chair, his expression one of dismay, “I can’t tell you anything, Penny. Its too dangerous, he could hurt you—”

“I’m not worried about me, Peter,” she cut him off, hand rising when he started to open his mouth again, “Stop. Listen. Its my job to take care of you, to keep you safe. Start from the top, how did you meet Tony Stark?”

Another hesitation, eyes darting away from her face before he answered, “on accident. He saw me on the street, I was looking for a job at one of the coffee shops near school.”

Penny held her tongue, refusing to lecture him on getting a job and derailing the current conversation, “and he approached you?”

“Yeah,” Peter rubbed a hand over the back of his head, “Asked me my name, about my uniform. Asked me if I liked science since I went to a special school. I thought it was cool, he runs a research and development laboratory. Then he started… showing up in different places.”

“You think he was in those places deliberately?” The question was a quiet prompt when Peter seemed to clam up and he nodded in response.

“It was weird, but I… I liked the attention,” it was whispered, tears gathering in his eyes as shame built in his chest, “He told me how, how smart I was and how impressed he was by me. Talked to me about science and then just… about me. He wanted to know what kinds of things I liked to do for fun, what kind of movies I liked. I kind of thought we were friends but then…”

“Its okay, Peter,” Penny reached out and grabbed both of his hands in hers carefully, tears in her eyes as well, “what happened then?”

“He started getting handsy,” he murmured, a shiver going down his spine, “at first it was just, just like him putting his hand on my back when we walked through a door. Or he’d put his arm over the back of my chair and touch my shoulder. It was weird because he was an adult but… he’s handsome, Pen. He’s really, really handsome and I was excited because he was interested in me for some reason but now I realize that it wasn’t good and it’s not good and I shouldn’t have let him and I’m so sorr—”

“Don’t say sorry, Pete,” a quiet sob escaped Penny’s mouth and she covered it with her hand, the other still clutching at his, “Don’t apologize, you have done nothing wrong. Oh God, Peter, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I noticed that you’d started acting differently but I passed it off. Oh my God, I should’ve talked to you so much sooner. I should’ve asked what was going on. How long has this been going on, Peter?”

He was quiet for so long that another sob was ripped from Penny’s lips and she shot forward, dragging her little brother into a nearly suffocating hug. Fuck, fuck how long had that piece of shit been conditioning her little brother. That fucking pedophile how long had he been stalking her little brother. Fuck the age of consent in New York, fuck the law, Peter was a baby—he was a fucking child.

“You don’t have to answer, Peter, its okay,” it was a soft whisper, her hand carding through his hair while he cried against her, “I’m going to figure something out, okay? I don’t know what yet, but I’m going to make sure that he leaves you alone. I’m going to take care of this, I’m going to take care of you.”

“You can’t, Penny,” his cries were breathy and quiet, “you can’t take care of me this time, he’ll hurt you—”

Penny couldn’t say it out loud, because Peter would lose his mind, but Penny would let Tony Stark murder her in front of an audience if it meant he’d leave Peter alone. Every promise she’d ever made, to her mother on her deathbed, to aunt May on hers, was to keep Peter safe. To make sure he had every opportunity. Peter was so smart, he had so much potential, if she could just give him the chance, if she could just get him to the point where he could make something of himself—then she would consider her life perfect. She’d die knowing she had done her job, she’d opened the gates for her brother’s success.

“I’ll figure it out Peter, one way or another.”

#steve rogers x oc x bucky barnes #steve rogers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #dark!tony stark #background starker #dark!mcu #let's review #let's review chapter 1

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ladyvader23 · 5 years

Text

Darth Vader’s Helmet

For El Droide. I do take requests!

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

Everyone stared at him.

It wasn’t unusual to have eyes on him at all times. Ever since he’d left Tatooine at age nine, someone had always been watching him. The Jedi, the public, the Senate, Darth Sidious; and now his crew. But he’d had this crew long enough that they shouldn’t have been so open with their stares as he stormed through the corridors of the Devastator.

With each step, paranoia grew. Just yesterday, people had been pretending not to see him as he passed. Today they gawked at him as though he’d painted his cloak neon pink. So, what was different about today?

Unable to stand it any longer, he stretched out in the Force, probing the emotions of the men around him. Usually he ignored them, considering them well beneath his consideration, but if they wanted to stare, then he was more than willing to turn his own attention on them. Let them face the consequences.

As expected, there was the usual fear, but it was overshadowed by a mix of horror and--amusement?

He stopped in his tracks, his breathing echoing in the hall. Those around him began attempting to scurry off casually, pretending that they hadn’t been staring. But it was too late. Vader reached out, grabbing an officer he didn’t know or care to know by the neck, dragging him back to stand in front of him. “Why is everyone staring at me, corporal?” he demanded, loosening his hold just enough for the man to answer him.

The man’s eyes widened to a point Vader didn’t even think possible, and he gaped, his mouth moving but no sounds coming out as he looked straight into Vader’s mask. Vader shook him roughly. “Speak. NOW.”

“Y-y-your….hel--helmet, My Lord…” He squeaked.

Vader frowned. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“What. About. My helmet. Corporal?” He hissed, moving in closer to the man’s face.

The officer had gone deathly pale. “It’s...different….”

That didn’t help. How could his helmet be different? He’d been in the bacta tank...he hadn’t bothered to check his suit when he’d pulled it back on. The helmet was always the last thing to put on, secured using a claw that lowered it snugly back into place. He hadn’t made modifications to the helmet, nor had it been damaged in battle, and Luke and Leia…

The thought stopped cold.

Luke. Leia.

More specifically, Leia.

Without another word, he crushed the man’s windpipe and dropped him, striding as quickly as he could towards the nearest port window.

No, no, no, no…

With each step, the dread grew until he was standing in front of the window, looking in horror at his reflection.

Even with the red tint of his lens, he could see that the paint on his helmet was of all different colors. There were flowers and images of what he supposed were supposed to be Tooka, rain drops, and...was that...a rainbow?

His stomach clenched, horror sweeping over him. How many people had he passed wearing this? He hadn’t even paid attention, so it wasn’t like he could accurately hunt them all down and kill them before rumors were spread--worse, he was still out on deck…

He pivoted, moving as quickly as he could without outright running back towards his quarters and the safety of his pod.

The corridors were mercifully empty. Likely, whoever had seen him stop and kill the corporal figured their lives would be forfeit if he caught them looking at him in this humiliating state. It gave him time to com Miss Laena.

“How may I help you, Lord Vader?” Her voice answered on the second ring.

“Bring my children to my quarters. I would speak with them.” His mind replayed all of the art Leia had brought to him over the last few weeks. I made this for you, daddy. The inside of his meditation pod was plastered with her art. Not because he enjoyed art, but because he’d read that supporting children in their activities helped them grow intellectually. While his children would definitely not grow up to be artists (for more reasons than one), he had no opposition to anything that would give them a better chance to grow up as healthy and intelligent as possible.

Now he was seriously reconsidering the art issue.

“It will be done, My Lord.” He hung up just as he reached his quarters, the pod opening for him automatically. He winced and groaned at all of the taped drawings that shifted as it did so.

He sat in his chair, turning around so that the twin’s nanny wouldn’t see his humiliating state as she dropped them off, and waited. Sure enough, not five minutes passed when he listened to the doors open, Miss Laena whispering to the twins to go meet with him, before she left. The moment she did, he turned back around to face his children.

Luke and Leia were in the middle of putting on the special breathing masks he’d made for them so that they could breathe easier in the pod while he spoke to them face-to-face. They paused when they saw him wearing the helmet. His eyes narrowed as Leia let out a giggle.

As if he didn’t need more proof.

He forced his voice to remain calm. He didn’t want to have to chase them down through the Star Destroyer wearing this infernal helmet. They would definitely bolt if they thought they were in trouble. “Luke. Leia. Come in.”

Only Luke seemed wary at the invitation, though he followed his sister into the pod. The doors snapped shut, and Vader reached up and removed his helmet, turning it over in his hands. His children, by this point, were used to seeing his scarred face. They had never reacted in fear. He was their father, and they knew he would give them the entire galaxy if it made them happy. That’s all they cared about.

“Would you care to explain how my helmet got this way?” Again, his voice, so different than when he was in the suit, was calm. Too calm. Luke shifted uneasily from foot to foot, glancing at Leia, who either didn’t notice or didn’t care that a storm was brewing.

“Art, daddy.” Leia told him proudly.

He clenched his jaw, pushing back the irritation. Openly fighting with Leia was like arguing with a less reasonable version of himself. It did nothing but make things worse. “How did you even get it off the claw?” He shook his head. The answer was obvious: the Force. “No, nevermind, how did you get it back….?”

Then his eyes landed on Luke. The child who had a fascination with machines of any sort. Who, whenever he was brought aboard the Devastator, took too much interest in “daddy’s machines.”

Oh yes. Leia wasn’t completely implicated in this.

“Don’t you like it, daddy?” Leia frowned. Too innocent. She was five. She knew better, and yet…

“That’s not the point.” Now his voice was beginning to rise, a fresh wave of shame and humiliation washing over him at the consequences of so many officers seeing him with a painted rainbow on his helmet. “I need this to command my men. They need to respect me. They can’t do that when I’m walking around with your latest creation on my face.”

Leia crossed her arms, pouting. “Then make them.”

He released a breath. It was the perfect answer any Sith father would want to hear. He couldn’t tell if she knew that or if she legitimately thought he could just make people respect him with childish paintings on his helmet. “That’s not how that works.”

“Why not?”

“It just doesn’t.”

“Well it should.”

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t.” His frustration was mounting. He turned his attention on Luke, who flinched. “Did you also paint something on here?”

Luke kicked his foot absently on the floor. A clear sign he was guilty. “No.” When Vader stared at him in disbelief, in a quiet voice he amended his answer. “I drew the kitty.”

Of course he did.

Vader held the helmet out to his children. “You are going to go find Miss Leana and clean this helmet.”

Leia’s lip began to tremble. “You don’t like it?”

“Do not cry. I have hung plenty of your pictures on the wall. I don’t need to wear it too…”

But tears were starting to fall. It was almost as bad as the time she’d brought him a picture that looked like a blob of squiggles and Vader had guessed wrong what it was. She’d taken that offensively too.

“Leia, I told you, I can’t wear this…”

The tears fell harder.

“Leia.”

She was outright sobbing. “You h-hate my pictures!”

How was this even happening? She was literally in his pod, a pod that was supposed to help him rejuvenate in the dark side of the Force, surrounded by her drawings. How did she even come to this completely illogical conclusion?

But, children were not logical. Especially five year olds.

He huffed. “Fine. I will keep it. But I still cannot wear it.”

“No, you hate it!” Leia bawled.

“I don’t.” He did, and he could see Luke’s skeptical expression, but the boy didn’t rat him out. His son was always more sensitive to other’s emotions. “I will place it in a place of prominence at home on Coruscant.”

“What’s prom...prom…”

“I will put it in my quarters at home in Coruscant.” He amended. He carefully placed the helmet on the armrest of his chair then scooped them up in his arms, holding them close. He sent soothing feelings specifically towards his daughter, and thankfulness towards his son for not ratting his true feelings out. “I just can’t wear it here. Maybe…” he hated himself for saying it, but he did it anyway, “Maybe I’ll wear it at home.”

Oh, he seriously hoped she forgot about that. But it did the trick. She brightened up. “Really?”

“Yes. I’ll consider it. No promises. Now can you please stop crying?” Force, he hated it when they cried. Even if he suspected she was doing it because she knew that about him and wanted to get out of trouble. One day it wouldn’t work.

But today was not that day.

As she reached up to dry her eyes, Vader turned to Luke. “Can you get me my spare helmet?” Given how often he came back from battle with a broken helmet, he had plenty to spare.

In his arms, Luke squirmed. “Um. Maybe, maybe you could...not wear a helmet?”

“That’s not possible.”

“Well. Maybe this once….”

His lips thinned. “Luke. Leia. Just how many of my helmets did you decorate?”

The twins were silent, looking anywhere but at him. He had his answer, and he made a note to reinforce some rules with Miss Leana about watching his children when he couldn’t. But, in the meantime, there was no way he was leaving his chambers. Not with a helmet like that.

“Can we stay with you daddy?” Luke asked.

He sighed. “I apparently have to work from my chamber, so yes.” Both of them brightened, but given the extent of what they’d done, he couldn’t quite let them off easy. “Oh, Luke? Leia?”

“Yes, daddy?” Leia asked, batting her long lashes at him.

It was almost enough to make him reconsider. Almost.

“You’re grounded.”

#dad vader series #dad vader #is best vader #luke and leia #vader and twins #fanfiction #fic #written by me #for a request #he just can't win

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mavenlockwood · 4 years

Text

and if i seem dangerous, would you be scared?

Once, her apartment had been her safe space. A getaway from the outside world, filled with her different favorite flowers and plants alike, more of a greenhouse than an apartment. Even on bad days, her connection to nature was always a soothing presence, and Maven could throw herself into the soil just to distract herself from any outside influences pressing upon her mind. When it was just her and nature, the warmth of a flower bud against her palm, growing out towards her as if her magic were sunlight, everything else could wait for a little while.

The warmth is gone.

It’s one of the first things she notices, upon finally returning to her place.

She’d stayed away for days, dazed and afraid, this new reality set upon her with a vicious lack of remorse or mercy. They made her feed, she remembers, dark and red and thick, coating her throat and she wanted more, more, more. And running for her life, with a speed that should not have been possible, never pausing to look back. Everything after that is more of a blur, maybe from shock, or her body still processing what happened, but she stayed away from the city. Out on the trails she used to love so much, felt so comfortable she could even run at night with no issue. Now there’s a body out there. Nearly ripped to shreds, like some wild animal attack. That’s what she is now, isn’t she? No better than an animal. There’s blood on her tank top, blood on her skin and blood underneath her fingernails that Maven’s not sure will ever come out.

She wonders how long it’ll take someone to find it.

She wonders if there’s anyone to miss them now that they’re gone.

Her apartment is dark, and quiet, and cold. It no longer feels like a home, not like it used to. Even as she flicks on the light switch, illuminating the space that’s jam-packed with the garden she pulled in from the balcony to protect them from the storm, but Maven can’t feel them, anymore. Any of them. A gift that’s always been with her, since she was old enough to understand what magic was, she’s known about her connection to nature. Took it for granted, maybe, thinking it’d always be there even when nothing else was. Now it’s like a limb has been cut off; she keeps trying to reach out with it, but nothing happens. No flames, no flowers, not even a spell a child could recite with ease. Nothing.

Maven walks over to one of her potted plants, sitting on a counter top. It’s already wilting from her time away, a finicky little thing that made a fuss whenever she shifted it a quarter inch further away from it’s light source. Keeping it maintained had once been a source of pride for the nature witch, a testament to both her natural skill and her connection to nature. But now when she sticks her fingers down in the soil, trying to coax it to come back to life and grow again, it’s just cold. And a new grief settles inside her chest. Everything she’s ever known, everything she’s ever cared about and liked about herself, it’s all gone. A vampire. Her new reality; funny, how some part of it didn’t seem to truly settle in until now.

( Not even when she tore through that person’s throat. )

A loud outcry of anger and agony breaks out from her lips, an overwhelming swell of emotions that crashes against her like a tidal wave. Faster than a blink, she has the plant in her hands and is hurling it at the wall. There’s a loud crash as the clay pot shatters, and a large dent is left in the wall while the broken pieces fall to the ground, as broken as Maven feels right now.

She slides to the ground, curling against her knees as she cries, deep and desperate. Alone. So, so alone. And Maven doesn’t know what to do. Helpless and hopeless, what a combination. She’s always prided herself on being able to take care of herself, being able to handle anything the world could throw at her. But not this. This is too much. They did this to her, made her like this, made her drink blood, and now she’s on her own, wishing she were just dead instead.

They should’ve just killed her. It would’ve been better.

#&. self para #short and sweet but she needed something #to usher us into this new reality #(and by that i mean under 1k)#death tw #suicidal thoughts tw #cause i mean. girl is a vampire. and isnt ok with that.

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reverseopossum · 3 years

Text

Drunk Histories

(A decontextualized chapter from something I’m writing)

Nina’s forgotten that I don’t drink, and offered to get drunk with me. I appreciate the spirit of the offer enough that I don’t reject it. She and Ava and I sit at their kitchen table, an overturned ultralight shipping crate, and Nina steadfastly holds up her end of the offer.

Martian alcohol is pretty much straight distilled ethanol. You have to mix it, otherwise there’s a solid chance that your body will refuse to swallow it and you’ll aspirate pure alcohol, which is Double Plus Ungood. Ava brings out some powdered orange juice she’s been saving and mixes it in what I assume to be a sensible proportion. A variant on a screwdriver, we decide. A new, truly Martian drink, the Screw You Driver. I sip mine, which makes Nina laugh whenever she notices. I’m still on my first when she’s on her fourth. She catches me counting and Ava inching the pitcher further away, and says that watching me watch my country slide into fascism is stressing her out.

“It’s not just my country,” I say. “Haven’t you heard? They’re claiming ownership of Mars now. Citing the American people’s financial contribution under the old government. They’re demanding sole access to our data, control over our media and mail, and that we stop criticizing them. Apparently you’re all Americans now.”

“Should we be worried about that?” Ava asks. She does sound genuinely concerned, even appalled, but it’s the kind of concern you would have on hearing that a friend’s druggie uncle was arrested for peeing on the mailman. The claim is ridiculous, and probably impossible to enforce.

“What are they going to do?” I ask. “Bully the space nerds? Steal our lunch money?”

“It’s not like they’re going to send an invading force,” Nina says. “But they could stop us from getting supplies, couldn’t they? They own the space elevator.”

“I thought China was almost done building one,” I say.

“They were,” Nina says. “But then it took damage from some stray debris, and the war distracted them from fixing it.”

Well, shit.

“Good thing we grow food here,” Ava says, shrugging. In the pause that follows, I can feel her calculating what she would have to do to sustain all of us. Tear out the new trees and plant lots of potatoes instead, replace some of the air purifying plants with edible varieties, maybe task us with keeping some plants alive in our living quarters. Keep the tilapia tanks more crowded. Send a surface party for ice to supply the extra water. Do all that and ration calories to a bare minimum, and we might get by until the new dome is ready, if we abandon most of our research to free up labor for construction. We may or may not have to eat the lab mice.

Otherwise, our only real hope is that some other country will go to the unthinkable expense of a massive supply launch sans space elevator. That’s to say nothing of all the sides of Martian life I know nothing about: replacement parts for air recyclers, radiation shielding, and climate control. Without supplies, we can only survive if nothing breaks. It’s optimistic at best, laughable at worst. But it’s improbable that the new American regime would actually cut us off from using the elevator. Not when it would anger every country in the world simultaneously, and when we’re such a valuable symbol.

“We should have a Martian Congressional Congress and declare independence,” Nina says with drunken conviction.

“Congressional Congress, Doctor?” Ava asks. (As a rule, Martians call each other Doctor or Professor only in dire sarcasm.)

“As an act of rebellion,” Nina says. “That’s what the old Americans did. Right, Jonah? Back when they had powdered wigs and shit?”

“Continental Congress,” I say, laughing in spite of myself. “For us, it would be a Planetary Congress. And if we’re going to declare independence, we should do it right. Who has really pretty handwriting?”

“Hang on,” Ava says. “This is my moment to shine.”

She darts into her bedroom and brings back, of all things, an expensive-looking calligraphy pen, a brand new ink cartridge, and a pad of thick creamy paper. “I told you I have the randomest hobbies,” she says, loading the pen. Nina and I stare in rapt attention as she writes the biggest, fanciest F and underlines it with an elaborate flourish.

Fuck you, she writes in enormous flowery script. She thinks a moment, and adds beneath it, Love, Mars.

“Well, folks, there it is,” I say. “We’re a country now. And the national anthem is Space Oddity.”

“Can I design the flag, too?” Ava asks, taking out her personal screen.

“Knock yourself out.”

The result is a tiny white rocket launching against a field of dusky blue. The plume beneath the rocket is vivid orange-red, and shaped like an enormous fist with an upturned middle finger.

“The blue represents wisdom, rationality, and an eye turned toward the infinite,” Ava deadpans.

“Red is for lust,” Nina announces. “With which, we assume, humanity will procreate among the stars.”

“Red is for Mars, dumbass.”

“How far can you zoom in?” I ask. “I’m thinking since it’s a digital drawing, you could add a little person in the rocket flipping the bird. Then people find it if they zoom in.”

“Or what about mooning them?” Nina asks.

“Dude,” Ava says. “And then if you zoom in further…”

“Um…”

“Not on the ass! I’m thinking he’s kind of looking over his shoulder, and if you zoom in on the face, you can see the other new flag everyone’s talking about reflected in his eyes. So they know who it’s meant for.”

“That’s too heavy-handed with the symbolism,” I say.

“Then why did your old government put the Illuminati on money?”

“That’s… you know what, that’s a fair point.”

“No pledge of ‘llegiance, though, ‘cause it’s creepy,” Nina says, slurring slightly. The drinks are catching up with her.

“We need a national bird,” Ava says. “Everyone has an eagle or some shit.”

“Ben Franklin thought it should be a turkey,” I say.

Nina blows a raspberry and points both thumbs down. “No turkeys on Mars,” she says.

“A lab mouse with mechanical wings?” Ava suggests.

“Guys,” I say. “I’ve got it. A spherical bird in a vacuum.”

“Beautiful,” Ava says. “Majestic. I’ll start drawing it. What about a national motto to put underneath it?”

“I’m not that kind of doctor,” Nina says.

“You don’t need a doctorate to come up with this shit,” I say.

“No,” Nina says, “that’s the motto.”

We hang the Declaration of Independence on the sample fridge in the neuro lab, and Nina makes the seal with the spherical bird her home screen. Someday we’ll be independent, but for now it’s impossible. For now, it’s a joke.

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