#i really like the green soul fire you see in the house of hope
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Our Death Was The Start (Til Death Do Us Part)
When two similar people die at the same time in similar ways, their souls may end up tied together in the afterlife, connecting them in a way that almost nothing can break. Danny Fenton dies screaming in pain, hoping for help that won't come. At the same time, Jason Todd dies with a scream caught in his throat, hoping for help that comes too late. Danny comes back to half life. Not even the boundary of death will stop Jason from doing the same
Danny did not remember much from the moments when he died. He remembered pain, a searing, burning, tearing pain that was impossible to put into words. He remembered green unlike he had ever seen before, a green that seemed to be more than just color as it pushed its way into his eyes, his nose, his throat. He remembered screams. One was his, but he couldn’t tell you which one it was. He remembered some small part of his mind, the only part not drowned out by green and pain and noise, praying and hoping and dreaming that someone would come and help him, to save him, to stop the pain.
Nobody came.
(That doesn’t mean nobody answered)
—
Jason remembered far too much about how he died. He remembered every broken bone, every maniacal laugh from a split, bleach white face. He remembered every thought and prayer and plea he sent to the shadows on the ceiling, that one of them would morph into Batman, into Bruce, into his father. He remembered how even as the timer on the bomb ticked lower and lower, and the shadows remained stubbornly unmoving, how he had still had hope. He remembered the fire and the force of the explosion, and he remembered his scream, channeling everything he could into calling out for help, for someone to save him.
Nobody came.
(That doesn’t mean nobody heard.)
—
Sam and Tucker had tried their best to calm him down afterwards, swallowing down their own horrified expressions to try and comfort him. They helped! They really did. But they didn’t know what was going on anymore than he did. They were lucky that his parents had gone out with Jazz when it all went down. If they had been home, there would be no hiding it. If they had been scheduled to come back soon, they would have noticed something.
Instead, the three of them had a few hours before anyone else would arrive at the Fenton house, and the few hours was enough for Danny to change back into himself (it was both relieving and horrifying that he could do that. A relief because that meant he wasn’t dead, right? But if he could do that, what did that make him?) and for his breathing to return to normal (Five breaths a minute was not normal, but anymore and he felt like he was panicking, gasping for air that he didn’t need. At least he was still breathing.)
His parents came home a little happier than they had been when they left, but their heads still hung low. Jazz didn’t look much better.
“So we have some good news,” Tucker said from his spot on the couch almost the moment they walked through the door. They had talked for a while about how to break the news to the Fenton’s. Danny had tried to convince them that he should be the one to say it, but he couldn’t get through it without his voice cracking and his body shaking. That, and his voice was almost gone, vocal cords screamed raw.
“We know that you said we weren’t supposed to go downstairs without you guys, but we were just so curious about how it worked, and we wanted to see,” Sam said. “Turns out, you forgot to plug it in! It’s working now.”
As Danny had expected, neither of his parents verbally responded to that, instead opting to run down to the basement, nearly walking over each other in their rush to get down the stairs. Jazz did not follow them.
“You three really shouldn’t have gone down there!” she stated, pointing at the three of them. “You especially, mister!” Her gaze landed on Danny, and he suppressed a flinch. “I know that Mom and Dad have always been lax about lab safety and all of that, but you should still know better than to go down to a potential electrical hazard without supervision. What if one of you had gotten hurt?” None of them could stop the looks they sent to each other, and Jazz didn’t miss them. Her gaze hardened further. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing serious!” Tucker said quickly. Too quickly. “Danny got a little shocked. But it was like, nothing more than static electricity type shock, you know?”
Jazz’s gaze softened just a little. “Are you ok?” Danny nodded his head. “Are you sure? How about mentally? Even a small shock can be traumatizing if it was in the wrong situation.”
“I’m fine, Jazz,” Danny said. He kept his voice soft, so the unhealthy rasp to it wasn’t noticeable. Her eyes softened as she reached over the back of the couch to hug him. He bit his tongue to suppress a flinch, and returned the hug the best he could at the awkward angle.
“I’ll trust you,” Jazz said as she pulled away. “Don’t make me regret that. Now, what do you want for dinner? I doubt Mom and Dad will be emerging from the basement any time soon.”
Sam and Tucker decided to stay for a dinner of chinese takeout from a place Sam chose. One of them was always pressed up against his side, always talking in easy, light hearted conversations. It was easy, to lose himself in the conversation, to not think about what happened to him.
It was less easy, when they both went home for the night. They had wanted to sleep over, but neither of them were able to get their parents to allow them on such short notice. (They both offered to sneak out and stay with him anyway, parents be damned. He told them not to. Amity Park was not a dangerous city, but they still shouldn’t be walking around alone in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t be safe. He needed them to be safe.)
Sleep did not come easily to Danny. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw blinding, burning, searing green. Every time he opened them again, his ceiling was illuminated with the same green, illuminated by a light that came from his eyes. It took hours for Danny to fall into an uneasy sleep, and he’s certain it will be full of nightmares.
It’s not. Instead, Danny dreams of a boy.
He looked to be just barely older than Danny, and just as scrawny, at least at first glance. His hair was black, with a single white streak towards the front, draping over his sleeping face. The weirdest thing about him was the outfit, all bright yellows, reds and greens, with a very noticeable lack of pants and an equally noticeable domino mask covering his eyes. In any other circumstance, it would have been an incredibly memorable, and likely concerning, outfit. But with everything that had been happening, it was so far down on his list of “Weird Things Happening Recently” that he barely even processed it.
He was much more distracted to find himself with snow white hair and the hazmat suit he had been wearing when- he stopped the thought there. He spent an hour trying to change back to himself, then panicking about not being able to, then calming himself down after he figured out that it was a dream. After all, what else could it be?
Danny would have started to explore the dream, or do literally anything else besides sit there, if there was anything else to do. All that surrounded him was an empty black void, broken only by the sleeping boy. Maybe there was something further away from the boy, off into the darkness, but Danny didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to leave him alone. The boy looked peaceful, but something in his chest insisted that he wasn’t, that something was terribly wrong, so Danny sat next to him, cross legged, and waited.
It was an odd dream, one that seemed to drag on for hours and hours. Danny awoke from it slowly. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, clearing the face that he had been staring at for who knows how long out of his vision. He didn’t recognize where he was.
Danny was wide awake in a heartbeat, sitting upright with a start, only to hit his head against the wooden beams mere inches above him. He muffled a cry of pain, reaching his hand up to his head, and taking stock of his surroundings. Now that he was more awake, he began to recognize bits and pieces of his room. He had somehow managed to get under his bed.
He tried to roll to the side, only to find that his leg was stuck. Danny’s eyes traced his leg in the not-quite darkness, finding it stuck in his bed. His breath caught in his lungs. It wasn’t stuck in the covers, or tangled in the boards of his bed frame. It went straight through all of them, as if they weren’t even there. He tried to pull his leg out from the bed, but it was completely stuck.
It took Danny the better part of 15 minutes to get his leg free. It didn’t calm him any when he did, seeing as he had pushed his leg through the bed, once again as if it wasn’t even there. He rolled out from the bottom of the bed, grabbing at his carpet and coughing away the dust that had accumulated under the bed. Danny scrambled for the phone, typing in Tucker’s number as quickly as he could with his shaking hands.
It had barely rung before Tucker picked up. “Are you ok? What happened?”
“I don’t even know,” Danny said, his voice shaky, his words coming to fast. “I woke up under my bed with my leg stuck through the mattress. I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ll figure it out. I can get my parents to pick you up if you don’t want to walk. I assume your parents won’t mind?”
Danny didn’t even need to check where his parents were; he could hear the sound of them clanging around in the lab downstairs. (He could hear the whirring of copious amounts of electricity. He could hear the swirling sounds of the portal. He could hear Jazz shifting in her bed in the next room over. He shouldn’t be able to hear all of this.) “Yea. Call Sam?”
“Of course man.”
—
The day was long, and hectic, but Danny was able to keep himself from falling through anything solid for the whole day. Tucker had offered to let him sleep over his house to try and help him, and while Sam’s parents had vehemently refused, she had promised to sneak out sometime during the night to hang out for a while. So when Danny fell asleep that night, it was in a sleeping bag on Tucker’s floor, closer to sunrise than sunset, with the soothing sounds of Doom’s start up menu playing in the background.
Danny dreamed of the boy again. This time, he didn’t panic over his hair or his outfit. He didn’t bother trying to look around the area to figure out where he was. He didn’t bother with much of anything besides settling into the same place he had taken last night. Knowing that this was a dream, that none of this was real, made it far easier for him to put aside the parts of him protesting that this was wrong. It didn’t need to make sense, didn’t need to be right, since none of it was real.
(It allowed him to write off the vibrations coming from just below his chest, tucked behind his ribcage, as an oddity from his dream. It allowed him to excuse the soul deep satisfaction that staying vigil by the boy’s side filled him with. Dreams were weird. This one was no different.)
The hours passed slowly, at least for a dream, but Danny didn’t mind it. The tranquility ended abruptly by the sound of Mrs. Foley’s voice.
“What are you doing down here?” Her voice cut through Danny’s dream, and he opened his eyes to see the Foley’s living room ceiling, with Mrs. Foley’s concerned face looking down at him. He sat up quickly, looking down at himself. None of his limbs were stuck through the floor, which was a good thing, and the couch was next to him.
“Uhh…” Danny fumbled through his sleep-addled brain for a believable lie. “I didn’t feel like sleeping on the floor, so I slept on the couch instead. Fat lot of luck that did me?” Danny gave an awkward laugh. Relief flooded him when Mrs. Foley joined in.
“I think that we have a yoga mat in the attic somewhere,” she said, helping Danny to his feet. “If it’s an issue next time, I’m sure one of us can find it. We don’t need any more tripping hazards in this house!” She made her way into the kitchen. “I’m thinking of making pancakes for breakfast. Let Tucker know that if he’s up and ready in the next 10 minutes, I’ll make bacon for him too.”
Danny gave a quick thumbs up, before scurrying back to Tucker’s room, directly above where he had woken up. He was lucky; he didn’t want to know what would have happened if he had been found on the kitchen floor. Or worse, halfway through the kitchen ceiling.
Tucker was, as Danny had expected, still passed out on his bed, drool gathering in a little puddle on his pillow and blankets tangled around his feet. And the bed posts, somehow. Danny didn’t bother trying to wake him up quietly. Nothing short of an earthquake would wake Tucker up. And maybe the promise of bacon, but that was more a “stay awake” bribe than a “wake up” bribe. So Danny did what he’d done at almost every sleepover he’d had with Tucker over the years. He climbed up on the bed and started jumping.
The bedframe creaked protestingly at Danny’s weight, the mattress shaking violently beneath him. Still, Tucker didn’t stir. Danny jumped harder, and higher, putting more force into each of his bounces, determined to get Tucker out of bed. Tucker rolled over in his sleep, grabbing the non-drool soaked pillow and flipping it over his head. That was a good sign; just a little while longer and-
Danny’s feet didn’t touch the bed. They didn’t touch anything. He just hung, suspended in air, hovering over Tucker’s bed. He’d gone ziplining before, knew how it felt to be strung up, still feeling the tug of gravity even as you’re safely tucked in a mess of lines and harnesses. He’d been in a low gravity chamber, once, when he was little, and that still didn’t seem comparable to this. He couldn’t describe it. He’d never experienced anything like this before.
(That was a lie. He remembered when he couldn’t get himself to the ground right after the portal. He didn’t think about that. He wouldn’t. But the memory brought with it a scream echoing in the back of his head, in the back of his throat, and it took all his power to bite it back down.)
Tucker sat up in the bed, rubbing at his still closed eyes, hair pointing every possible direction. “And here I thought you’d never give up,” he said through a yawn.
“Tucker,” Danny said, voice nothing more than a panicked, strained whisper.
“Mhum?” Tucker mumbled. Finally, he opened his eyes. He wasn’t able to suppress the yelp of surprise, before he clamped his hands shut over his mouth. Slowly, he removed them. “How are you doing that?”
“I don’t know,” Danny hissed. “I don’t know how to stop doing it either!”
“You’re not going to like, drift away or anything? Because I don’t know what I’d do if you started floating away like a lost balloon.”
“I don’t think so?” Danny said. He gave a hesitant spin in the air. It was easy. Far easier than it should have been. “I think I can control it ok? Maybe if I just…” He moved over to the side of the bed so that he was hovering over the floor, and slowly started to will himself to the ground. It worked, his descent slow, controlled. And then his foot met the floor, and kept going.
Danny froze with the floor up to his ankle. “Tuck…” The two of them met eyes. Tucker drew in a sharp breath. He reached out with one hand, grabbing onto Danny’s shoulder. His grip tightened when his hand didn’t phase through Danny’s shoulder, grabbing tightly and pulling. Danny’s foot came out of the floor, and the two of them stumbled back. This time, Danny didn’t slip through the floor.
Danny blinked back panicked tears. “What’s wrong with me?”
Tucker was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out, ok? You’ll be ok.” Danny nodded.
“Boys! If you want bacon, you have two minutes to get your butts downstairs!” Mrs. Foley’s voice called out from downstairs. Tucker and Danny shared a look. They’d figure it out. Right now, bacon was more important.
—
Over the next few weeks, Danny’s life only got more and more chaotic. He’d had to go home after spending the night with Tucker, mostly because Danny couldn’t get a hold of his parents over the phone. He wasn’t surprised at that; he doubted they’d come up from the lab since the portal turned on, doubted that they’d even slept since then. They wouldn’t stop their research for something like the phone ringing.
(They wouldn’t stop their research for him.)
It was lucky, in some ways, that they stayed sequestered away in the basement over the next week before school started back up, because Danny’s powers had only gotten progressively worse. He had taken to using straws and only straws whenever he got a drink, to minimize the amount of time he was holding the glasses. He’d deep cleaned the bottom of his bed, pulled out the old hoodie and battered up shoe box of model parts he’d had spares of. It was uncomfortable to wake up every night in a pile of dust and junk every night, especially when he still had to wrestle various body parts out of his bed frame.
The only part that had stayed consistent and peaceful since the “accident”, as Sam, Tucker, and he started calling it, was the dream. It was always the same; the boy sleeping, the darkness, comforting in its completeness, and Danny, keeping watch over him. After the third night, Danny started to talk. It wasn’t quite to the boy; that would insinuate that the boy could hear him, and Danny didn’t think that he could. Even if he wasn’t talking to the boy, he was talking at him.
It was never anything serious, at least to begin with. It was little details, about Danny’s life, his friends, his family. Once school started back up, he talked about classes and teachers, about Dash.
And then the ghost animals started coming through, and Danny’s dreaming rambles became a lot more serious. He had talked about it with Sam and Tucker, of course, but he couldn’t tell them everything. He couldn’t tell them about the sensation in his chest, so cold it burned, when the two of them had been in danger. He couldn’t tell them about the fear that was gnawing at him from the inside when the creatures scratched him and he bled the same color they did. He couldn’t tell them about how the newly functioning Fenton Thermos always seemed to draw him in too, when he used it. He couldn’t tell them how scared he was about what it all meant.
(How was Danny supposed to say that he thought he had died? That they had watched him die? His heart still beat, he knew that much. He tested it himself, when he was awake. But he was like these creatures, and these creatures were dead. What did that make him?)
The boy did not move during any of the nights. He just slept on, with an expression far too peaceful on his face. The boy listened, even if he didn’t react.
(The boy hadn’t always listened. Danny didn’t know why he knew, with such undying certainty, that the boy was listening now. But he was. Danny was sure of it.)
Maybe it was because it was the only sense of routine that Danny had anymore that made him not tell Sam and Tucker about it. The reasoning sounded like something Jazz would say, which tended to mean it was at least somewhat correct, even if it was annoying. It wasn’t that Danny didn’t trust the two of them about it, but every other part of his new powers was something that the three of them had spent picking apart. They had spent hours trying to figure out how they worked and how to control them, and Danny was incredibly grateful. He didn’t know how he’d go through it alone. But the dreams…
They seemed intimate in a way he couldn’t describe. Personal. He didn’t want anyone else to go poking around the dreams, didn’t want anyone to disturb them or the boy that slept inside of them. They were just dreams, after all. What harm could they do?
It was the night after the Lunch Lady fiasco. Danny had gone to bed with a nasty bruise on his side and an existential crisis a mile wide. He’d never seen a humanoid ghost before that. He’d never been recognized as a ghost before, especially not by someone who would, presumably, have that same “ghost sense” that he did.
Danny laid back in the darkness, hovering next to where the boy laid. He spoke softly, even as his thoughts ran away from him. It was hard to panic, next to him.
And then the boy sat up, and panic suddenly came a whole lot easier.
---
@maddoxarcane @justhauntley @silicon-puppy-pudding @isis-
I won't be doing a tag list past this first chapter. I'll be tagging it on my blog as ODWTS, and am aiming to post updates every other Wednesday. We'll see how that goes.
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dp x dc fanfic#dead on main#dead on main ship#jason todd/danny phantom#jason todd/danny fenton#soulmate au#ODWTS#dc x dp#dc x dp fic
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Hi! What are your opinions on each of the greens ?
Have a good day/night!
Otto: I think he gets a bad rap, not in absolute terms but relatively to the people like Viserys and Daemon. If you hate Otto for pushing Alicent to marry Viserys, you should hate Viserys much, much more. Otto is "merely" complicit in what happened. There was no one Vissy could've said no to more effectively than Otto. It just goes to a double standard you see a lot with these farcical black-green debates where people change their opinions on whether it's ok to judge people by in-universe standards depending on what "team" they're a part of. He has a habit of telling unfortunate truths that get him in trouble, but most of the things he says are just, like, objectively true, but people don't want to hear it. Daemon is actually a danger to the realm and his brother, Rhaenyra does actually have to give the scions of great houses a hearing, Daemon did actually groom Rhaenyra to claim the throne, Alicent's children do pose an inherent threat to Rhaenyra by their mere existence.
From a Doylist perspective, like many other things, I think episode 9 really butchered Otto's character. All of a sudden the guy who has been working hand in hand with his daughter for the past few episodes didn't tell her about the plot to seat her son on the throne??? And now the guy who got fired by Aegon for being too slow and measured in his war planning is pushing to kill Rhaenyra immediately? And he wants to send the Kingsguard to do clandestine assassin work? And he's reluctant to ban child fighting pits for like no reason? I'm sorry, you don't have to be a feminist to not like that!
Alicent: I have talked about her at length. Nixonian Queen. I kneel. The war will make her worse, and I enjoy it. One of the characters I think on-balance the show improved.
Criston: Not a good guy by any means, but dismissing him as just a resentful incel is just boring. It's very clear he was, at best, conflicted about his tryst with Rhaenyra to begin with - he liked her, they had a lot of chemistry, but he does genuinely believe in his vows. The marriage thing is obviously silly and naive, but from his perspective it's him trying to do right by her (and also preserve himself and his soul), which puts him a step above many other Westerosi men who canonically often feel no obligations to the women they sleep with outside of marriage or the children created. There is a real difference in values between him and Rhaenyra that goes beyond him hating women, even if his values aren't strictly speaking good. I'm sorry, but the fact that a Westerosi man is as sexually repressed as an average Westerosi woman is genuinely a point in his favor! I sincerely hope he and Alicent make each other worse. Substantially improved by the show.
Aegon: This is going to be controversial, but baffling/over-the-top/ill-thought-out decisions like Dyana and the child fighting pits aside, I much prefer this version of Aegon to F&B. I don't care that he's kind of pathetic, that's fun, that's drama, that gives room for character development and growth into the king he ends up becoming. It's clear the writers do want Aegon to be kind of sympathetic, but it seems they didn't consider what stuff like Dyana would do to that, which to me indicates they meant the focus of that scene to be Alicent and her behavior, not Aegon. Which is stupid. One of the worse victims of inconsistent characterization, switching between vaguely sympathetic drunken frat bro to outright sex criminal every episode, or even in the same episode.
Helaena: I like what they've done with her. It's more interesting for her to be a doomed neurodivergent prophetess than just a little dumb, even though she hasn't done a ton so far. Similarly, in an RP I was a part of, Jaehaera was depicted as not simple, just autistic and it was much more interesting.
Aemond: BORING! Don't care about this guy, sorry. Maybe I'll like him more when he is pathetically down-bad for Alys Rivers, but right now he's just like budget Daemon to me, who I also find boring. He was more interesting as a bullied teen.
Larys: He's a tough guy to adapt because his motivations are kind of nonsensical behind a vague idea of getting back at Rhaenyra (?) for dishonoring his brother (??) by putting his children in line for the throne (???). The foot thing is kind of gross and I do wish they'd have given him an actual motivation but whatever. The actor's good and I do like him and Alicent on balance. Improved by the adaptation.
Tyland: We love our little bureaucrat don't we folks? Hope he gets more screen time later on.
Jasper Wylde: FUCK YOU SHOWRUNNERS WHY IS THE GUY WHO HAS HAD ONE LINE THIS ENTIRE SEASON PART OF THE COUP BUT NOT ALICENT FUCKING HIGHTOWER??????
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A work in progress.
(( this is the first time I post something on tumblr... I hope it reaches someone! ))
(( Please let me know what you think! ))
It will start right at the North Pole.
Predictions from the distant past failed to calculate the exact point of impact, but modern technology has made things so, so easy… we can pinpoint the precise spot where the first lightning bolt will fall, even if we can’t do anything to stop it.
The sensors will go awry, the entire world will take notice for a moment. A lightning bolt? On a perfectly starry night? Where did it come from? Questions that will stall the minds of the brightest minds in the world, while disaster spreads through the ice fields, crawling so close to the floor, devouring everything on its way.
The Loathsome Mist will return, and with it, the shadows of the beings we stole this world from, so long ago that no one remembers anymore.
The Second Sacrifice will begin, and this time there’s no unlikely hero, no charitable soul to stop it as its core.
As time draws near to the end of the world, and all my attempts to stall it crumble to dust, I am faced with a choice.
I can either brave this alone, and pray to the stars that I find a solution like I did almost six hundred years ago… or I can submit, and seek his aid.
I’d rather die and take the whole world with me than having to talk with that pusillanimous buffoon again.
So I guess I am on my own.
Diary of Mustafá, the Witch. Entry Number 882.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
My heart is beating so hard, it feels like it could just jump straight out of my throat in any second now. My lungs are on fire, my neck and my arms hurt as I get up. I can feel my own blood flowing from my arm and falling on the floor, mixing with the magic flowing in the air. Green, purple, golden, red, I can’t distinguish them as they swirl and dance… and I can’t really stop and marvel at it. Not with this sense of impending doom on my back.
I try to get my bearings, after all I hit my head real hard on my fall down the stairs. The stairs! I am standing on the stairway of the apartment complex where I’ve lived for the last three years. It’s dark, pitch black in fact, and yet I can perfectly see my blood dripping and my favorite hoodie being ruined by it.
It’s a very small space, barely having any room for an extinguisher on every floor. Ah, that’s right, and I’ve seen several extinguishers already, so I must have gone down a few floors. I started on floor eight, and I am on floor…
With some of the blood on my fingers I paint the walll, illuminating some of it with the bright color of pure magic.
3rd Floor.
I fell five floors straight!? No way, I must have run a little at least… run… run from…
The sound of steps interrupts me. They are slow, calm, she’s getting closer. She knows I don’t have the physique to run nor the knowledge to somehow disappear myself. And yet I push myself to start trotting down the stairs again, no point in trying to hide from her!
As I go, I furiously tap on my phone, sending messages to the Fellowship. It’s not like any of them can help me now but, at least they can make sure to save whatever we can from the work before she takes it from my cold, dead hands.
xXxNoCookieLikeBIGCookiexXx: SHE’S CHASING ME, 82 IS CHASING ME.
ケンジー・イズ・マイ・ワイフ!!!: WHAT. OMG RUN, RUN!!!! O.o
jeepers creepers man: what do you mean “chasing you”???
xXxNoCookieLikeBIGCookiexXx: SHE’S CHASING ME, SHE APPEARED IN MY HOUSE AND IS NOW CHASING ME.
ケンジー・イズ・マイ・ワイフ!!!: TAVY-CHAN RUUUUN!!!
jeepers creepers man: ok ok, calm down, calm down.
jeepers creepers man: i assume you tried to talk to her and it went poorly
xXxNoCookieLikeBIGCookiexXx: CAN’T TALK RUNNING
jeepers creepers man: ok ok, fuck, hmmm…
ケンジー・イズ・マイ・ワイフ!!!: I’M GONNA WAKE UP CANNY-KUN HE’LL KNOW WHAT TO DO
GalaxyTaco to your rescue!: shit shit SHIT I knew this was going to happen man
GalaxyTaco to your rescue!: she’s gonna come for us next guys you better get ready.
I don’t have time for this.
With a loud sigh I jam the phone in my pocket and stop running, panting, gasping for air and fighting for my life as I reach the door of the bottom floor. I didn’t even notice how her steps were no longer echoing in the stairway, I was just desperate to push that door and look for an exit.
Only to find her standing right there, a bored look on her face and her hand raised in my direction. The Alchemist was a head smaller than me, at least! But her tiny frame commanded a strange, powerful presence. Her skin was dark, darker than mine at least! But what really caught my attention from the very start were her eyes: unnaturally golden, wide awake and yet so dull, dead.
“End of the line, Octavia.” Her cold, emotionless voice makes me shiver. “Give me the book or I’ll take it from you.”
“C-Can’t we discuss this?”
“You don’t want a part in this game, kid. If this is the only way to make you understand, so be it.”
Green, purple and golden, the octarine light of magic, flowed through the Alchemist’s veins and straight to her hand. I have no idea what she has in mind but I do not want to just wait and figure that out. I raise my own hand, throwing it down as I jump back into the stairway. I may not be powerful enough to cast a proper fire, but I know how to make smoke.
"GOLTHOI!"
I don’t know why I yelled, it just felt appropriate. There’s a very small yet loud explosion, as if something had broken on the floor between us, and then a thick cloud of smoke expanded and covered the whole door. As I fall back, I can feel something brush past me, mere inches from my head. A ball of green light that breaks into pieces of glass on the wall behind me, surely aimed at my face before my little gambit.
This woman wants to kill me.
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
Oh I’d make it as hard as I could. As I ran back up the stairs without really thinking where I will hide from this crazed Alchemist, I can’t help but look back and wonder how I ended up here. To think that a few months ago I would have simply kneeled and submitted my life at the first chance to end it all…
And now here I am, running for my life, clinging to my backpack with all the strength I can muster and pushing my body far beyond its pathetic limits just so I can continue pushing my nose where it doesn’t belong.
Truly, the life of a translator really is non-stop excitement.
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Congrats on 100! You deserve it and so much more ily. can you please do #8 fluff for Sasuke? Maybe he’s saying how much he doesn’t like people, or the reader is really insecure and telling him about all her flaws? I hope it’s okay and congrats again! :)
Hi, sweet Nonnie! Thank you for the request. You know how I looooove my soft Sasuke, haha. This was really fun to write, although it took a lot of noodling in my brain because I had so many ideas for the fic. I hope you enjoy the end result!
Words: 1.8k
Warnings: sfw, hurt/comfort, fluffy fluff, soft! Sasuke, minor heartache, insecure reader
☁️ Prompt: "I can't see anything I don't like about you."
You sat on the edge of the bed, nervously twisting the hem of your skirt between your fingers as Sasuke shook off his jacket. His cheeks were light pink, his black hair slightly disheveled from his hands running through it all evening. Was he as nervous as you were? Impossible. He was perfect and pretty and… Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha.
And you were just… You.
He sat next to you and held your hand in his, tracing the lines along your palm and humming softly. With each swipe of his thumb, the volcano in your stomach rumbled with desire. The two of you had been flirting on and off again for months now, any time he had business in The Cloud. He always came back, like a carnivorous flower in summer, finding you throughout the village with his adorable crooked smile and striking dark eyes. Only this time had been different.
“Hi,” he said, enjoying the way your face lit up when you noticed him standing next to you at the fruit stall.
“Sasuke!” You sang, wrapping him in a hug. You were the only person who had touched him in so long; it felt nice, touching you. He smirked against your hair as he gripped onto your hips and breathed a small, “Yeah.”
“‘I’m still working for a bit, but I can meet you at my place later?” You asked, blinking up at him. He saw your mouth turn downwards and he thought about kissing you, but all the people around made him weary. He pulled away from you, letting the grim reality of the situation set in, as he shook his head.
“I can help,” he mumbled, looking towards the two stools behind your stall. “If you want?”
You spent the afternoon letting him sit next to you. He would smile at the customers as they browsed through your apples, but you never expected him to actually interact with them. Instead, you’d make him feel helpful by allowing him to rearrange the stand when the stock got low, or asking for him to hand you one of your handcrafted tote bags when a customer requested one. After your shift, you took him out to the orchard and you both watched the sunset in the shadows of your green apple trees, enjoying the cool breeze that occasionally cut through the warmth of Sasuke’s embrace.
Nothing mattered when he was with you - that’s what Sasuke liked the most about visiting here. How he could be anyone and do anything. You made him feel safe and seen, in a way no one else ever had. It was the reason why he responded with “awhile” when you asked how long he was staying this time. It was the reason why he followed slowly behind you as you walked back to the house, questioning if he was making a mistake. He’d wanted you for so long, but he didn’t know how to tell you. Would you feel the same?
He looked from your palm into your delicate eyes, watching him with a burning intensity that made his soul sing. He trailed his finger up your arm, tracing the over the small veins in your wrist, before he cupped your cheek with his hand. Your breath was cold and sweet as he leaned forward, brushing his nose against yours.
“Sasuke?” Your voice was so small and fragile; lovely like a harp. He hummed as he lowered his lips to hover over yours and pierced you with his eyes, shooting you straight to the inky blackness of space.
“I’m not good with words,” he confessed, intertwining the fingers of his free hand with yours. “But I have to tell you something.”
Fire; deep and blue, swirled around your hand in his. Soft silence filled the space between your bodies as his minty breath tickled the skin of your chin. “So… I’d like to show you instead.”
There was a heartbeat of stillness before he pushed his lips to yours, pulling you into the flames and burning you up. Your soft gasp entranced him as he slid his tongue into your mouth and explored around, enjoying the sensation of your small hands tugging at his hair. He leaned his head to the side, deepening the kiss as a force impacted one of his four walls and he, for the first time, welcomed someone inside.
Somehow, articles of clothing had been shed to the floor, leaving the two of you half naked in just your underwear. His slender hands slowly rolled over your stomach, tracing the outline of your lace panties delicately as his mouth continued to devastate you with gentle kisses along your jawline. You gripped onto his strong bicep and he rolled you onto your back, grazing his teeth along the sensitive skin of your neck and sucking your earlobe between his lips. He was like your personal dark devil, sinking you deeper and deeper into the belly of the underworld.
When his finger tugged at your panties, adjusting them lower down your hips, every muscle in your body inadvertently tightened and you whimpered, squirming your legs. He pulled back, his midnight eyes heavy-lidded and focused on your glossy mouth, his breathing shallow and steady.
“What’s wrong?” He murmured, pecking your cheek and moving his hand up to caress your face.
Blood was pounding in your ears, drowning his voice out as you whispered, “I’m sorry.” You felt your eyes grow wet and you turned away from him, fluttering your eyelashes shut as a hiccup escaped through your lips and your body twitched. Sasuke’s voice was faint as you rolled to your side and pulled the blanket over your head, hating yourself.
Here it was - after months and months of torturous flirting and doubting yourself - Sasuke was here, with you, in bed. And you just ruined everything. There was no way he’d talk to you again after this. How embarrassing.
You reflected on how you must look from his perspective, all whiny and insecure and exasperating. He had confessed to you before about how easily irritable he could be sometimes, and you were sure this moment would forever be Top Tier Annoying in his mind. He was just about to fuck someone he’d, supposedly - you still couldn’t believe he felt the same way about you this whole time - chased for months, only for them to start sobbing before he could even take their panties off. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The comforter shifted up and then fluttered back down again, the colorful fabric no longer hugged fully around you as the heat of Sasuke’s body was trapped beneath the blanket with you, warming your soul from the inside out. He rested his arm on your shoulder and pulled himself closer to you, spooning you to his chest as you continued sobbing gently against the sheets. He was silent, allowing you to work through your demons on your own, only occasionally shushing you if a sob was too strangled, too painful for him to listen to.
He hated knowing he did this to you; guilt gnawing at him like a hyena to a bone. He moved too quickly. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get carried away. He knew you were sensitive - it was his favorite part about you, the way you floated through life with enough empathy to let all his darkness into your beautiful light; sunlight over him no matter what he did - and this is how he repaid you. He was selfish. Always had been. He didn’t deserve you. But he wanted you. It was the reason why he tightened his arms around you as your trembling subsided, why he buried his nose into your hair and breathed in your soothing scent. He could fix this.
“M’sorry,” he said softly. He smelled like the Redwoods, sweet like rain and moss and clouds.
You rolled over to face him and he rested his hand on your cheek, catching the stray tear drops with his thumb. You looked at his chest. “When I was little, I used to think I was ugly.”
You sniffled and he stayed still as a statue, listening to you intently. “I would come home every day and write letters to myself.”
“‘Dear Me’”, they’d start, ‘Today, no one wanted to play with you. You deserve it. No one wants to look at someone like you.’” You saw his lower lip quiver as you trailed your eyes up to his face, but he stayed quiet. “I would scream into my pillow at night, begging to the gods to make me pretty. ‘Please. Just make one thing about me pretty.’”
Another hot tear streaked down your face, but this time Sasuke didn’t catch it with his thumb. Instead, he moved closer and rolled you to your back, gently getting on top of you as he kissed the tears from your face, whispering, “You’re pretty. You’re pretty.” He chanted it as gentle kisses trailed down your cheeks, along your jaw. Whispered praises filled the air as he tenderly kissed every part of your body that you hated; doing what he could to convince you of his affections. He would create constellations for you, would rip a hole in the sky and suck out your fears, would move mountains and rivers and oceans, would go to hell and back - he would do anything to make you smile. He never wanted to see you cry again.
“Sasuke,” you whispered as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, “I ruined everything.”
“No,” his voice was stern as he pulled back to look at you, “You didn’t. You’re perfect.”
You intertwined his fingers with yours as your other hand streaked through his dark hair. “Do you hate me now?” You felt silly needing so much reassurance from him and you averted your eyes away from his. He gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him as he shook his head.
“I could never hate you,” he assured, smiling down at you. “Ever.”
“But-” He silenced you by pressing his lips to yours. It was a gentle kiss, soft as silk, touching you in a way his hands never could.
Your lips trembled under his as he pulled back and whispered against your mouth, “I am not good with people. I get frustrated. I get upset. It’s hard for me to open up.”
You waited as he took in a shaky breath. “But when I’m with you, I don’t feel that way. I feel… good.” He kissed you again and you melted in his hands. “I can’t see anything I don’t like about you.”
You danced in the dark together for the first time after that, touching each other fully and without hesitation. He explored every inch of you and you of him, until the morning sun had faded into the harsh afternoon light and you were both nothing but tangled limbs and heavy hearts. He cradled you after, holding you tightly like a child does their teddy bear, and as you allowed yourself to fade into a restful slumber, you read his touch like a lost tome, finally able to translate the words: I love you.
Please consider reblogging to support my work and as always, scream at me in the comments if you enjoyed! <3
#azurelyy.100event#soft sasuke#sasuke fluff#sasuke x you#sasuke uchiha#azurelyy writes#sasuke x reader#naruto fanfiction
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Songs About You - Chapter 17
Author's Note: Hello all! I'm sorry if this chapter sucks. I'm not sure who is even around to read this story anymore since it has been so drug out. I did my best to give birth to the idea of this chapter that I had in my head. As always, feedback, comments, and likes are food for the soul.
Word Count: 4.3k
Masterlist
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It seemed anxiety, bordering on near panic, was going to become a constant state of being for Aelin. Gone was the self-assured, cool, confident, and collected woman of the past. Everything she had been, known, hoped, wanted… it all seemed painfully stuck in the past, as unmovable of the mountain peaks surrounding the city.
Perhaps if therapy had been attended, as suggested by a multitude of her friends on more than one occasion, the necessary tools to address how she was feeling would be handily available. In her toolkit. Having to endure needles in her eyes sounded more preferable than attending therapy, so naturally, she had not gone, preferring to shoulder her emotional baggage.
The emotional turmoil of today was stemming from her reluctantly agreed upon dinner at Rowan’s cabin. It had been the price to pay for his visit to her the book shop yesterday. The smart part of her brain screamed no, but a too quick “yes” produced by her messy heart had passed over her lips instead. And it was an answer she’d give and give again just to see the smile that had graced his handsome face, setting his green eyes alight with joy. When this ended, because she knew it would, there was no doubt in her mind, that she would be the proverbial cannon fodder of this situation.
Wincing as she hit a particularly rough pothole, Aelin made a large mental note to chastise Rowan for it. The winter season had only worsened the already shit road and SUV be damned, it didn’t seem to make it any more bearable. Fleetfoot shifted her footing in the passenger seat, glancing over, giving a judgmental look.
“Don’t look at me like that, it’s not my fault this road isn’t maintained,” she muttered in contempt.
Lucky for both the golden-haired girls, the A-frame cabin was soon in few, lit by beautiful glass bulbs strung from tree to trees. While his house wasn’t her style, much preferring luxury and the things accustomed with the that lifestyle, there was something perfect about the view she had now. It was quieter than even where she lived. And if possible, it seemed more stars could be seen winking in the sky. The light blues and purple of dusk were fading away into dark blues and black as the sun continued its decent below the horizon.
Cutting the engine, Aelin sat a moment, taking in two large breaths and talked herself down from the anxiety that was clawing violently up her throat. There was no reason to be nervous, not really, if you got past the fact she was spending another evening in his presence, in the home that would one day house his family…
Fine. Everything was perfectly fine. That was the mantra that would headline the forefront of her mind tonight—it had to be. The alternative distressingly cruel.
“Let’s go, girl.” Fleetfoot didn’t need to be told twice, bounding over her lap and out the car door, rounding the corner of the house before her feet had even touched the pine needle ground.
“Well, someone was eager,” she grumbled under her breath as she followed the same path the dog had taken. The backdoor was open, spilling added light across the porch and grass. Chairs circled a firepit that had already had a crackling fire within it. Blankets hung on the back of two chairs. Her mouth watered as a small breeze kissed her skin, bringing with it the smell of garlic and a little spice. The silver haired man had refused to tell her what they were doing, other than he was making her dinner, which he also decided to withhold what it was they would be eating.
Gently, she knocked against the door trim before walking in. Rowan gave her a smile as he lowered a wooden spoon down from his lips and set it down on the counter. “Couldn’t wait for a taste?”
“A cook always has to sample the dish before serving it to others. I wouldn’t want feed you something terrible.”
“My refined palate appreciates that.”
Rowan rolled his eyes, but the small laugh let her know he knew she was just being difficult. She took a seat at the bar top that overlooked the stove. The meal looked simple but it smelled divine, especially with her sitting almost directly over it. “Are you going to tell me what’s on the menu now that I’m here?”
“You’re insufferable sometimes. I hope you realize that,” he answered, flicking her nose.
“I’m wonderful, thank you very much. The only intolerable one here is you.”
“Keep it up and I’ll give the dogs your plate and your part of the dessert.” His face was straight, no slight tick in his jaw or arch of a brow to tell if he was kidding. The discarded spoon was picked back up and used to stir whatever sauce was simmering on the stove top.
Worrying her lip, Aelin said nothing but continued to watch him mill about the kitchen. He flicked off the burners and bent down, giving her a better view of the kitchen. It was like a beacon in the dark, the small image pinned to the fridge with a magnet, that immediately ensnared her wandering gaze. A heavy unease settled in the pit of her stomach the longer she stared at the photo. His tall frame appeared back in her view, but he might as well have been invisible because she just kept staring—a very tangible feeling of nauseousness working up her throat.
Rowan was going to be a father to a baby that would be here before they both knew it. And he would be filling his spare time with raising him or her. Cooking meals in this very kitchen and coming home to someone who Aelin couldn’t stand. Until now, a small part of her had been delusional, quietly whispering that he would still have time for her when it came down to it. But he wouldn’t. This man would be all in for that life that hung proudly against the silver fridge face.
In the haze of her tunnel vision, she had missed him moving until he was turning the stool and pulling her against warm, muscled chest. His heart was thrumming erratically against her ear. This man was far from dumb and likely knew just the reason for her terror-struck silence. “Aelin,” his voiced pleaded against the crown of her head.
“What are we doing Ro?” she cried into him.
“We’re having dinner.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Aelin declared, shoving her palms against his stomach in a paltry attempt to put distance between them. He gripped her harder, snuffing out the hope for any separation.
“Rowan, let me go,” she begged, the words vibrating against them both.
“I can’t, Fireheart.”
“Rowan, there’s a baby on your fridge. Your baby. It’s growing and some months from now, it’s going to be more than just a black and white decoration to look at.” He was lying to himself if he thought he could keeping living his life like this and it broke her heart because he didn’t seem to have an iota about it.
“Aelin, you don’t think I know that?” he barked angrily, stepping back and bumping into another stool. It’s high-pitched squeal making her look up at him. Loosing a frustrated breath, his green eyes weighed heavily on her.
“I can’t change that. I know I’m going to be a dad and it wasn’t how I thought my journey to fatherhood would go, but I know more than anyone, that July is going to bring so many changes. So don’t sit there and preach at me about that stupid black and white photo. I didn’t even put it up there. Lyria did. It’s from when she first found out and it’s a blob. It doesn’t even look like a baby.”
From her vantagepoint, it looked like a potato. Gods, likening a baby to a potato was surely going to get her some gods-given karma down the line. Unsure of what to say to the passionate, yet angry monologue, Aelin elected silence.
“I’m scared out of my mind, but I’m excited, too. Some little human out there is going to call me dad. And I’m going to read poetry to them every night before they go to bed and take them hiking on Saturdays with my friends. I’m going to stroll the streets of downtown Orynth, telling them about a time when there used to be a queen and kind of this country, and how the opalescent buildings were an unheard-of masterpiece when they designed and built. I’m going to take them to Emrys’ and introduce cake when they’re old enough. And we’ll see you when we come to buy books because I want them to know 1,000 different lives. I have to make the most of what I’ve been dealt.”
Tears burned, falling for herself, and falling for the man at her front. Rowan loved that baby, and it was beautiful to see it. But the life he painted; it made her envious. What would a life like that, with him, be like? Would they fight about what book to read? What would be the first poem they would read to their child? Would he get the history just right having not grown up here? Would she have to correct him with a teasing smile?
“What if” was the most painful start to any self-harm idea her brain and heart could muster. What if she had met him a few months sooner? What if it had been her and not Lyria? What if Lyria hadn’t been pregnant at all?
What if. What if. What if.
Calloused thumbs swooped across the swell of her cheeks, wiping away the moisture sliding down. He tilted her head, catching her gaze with his. “There’s a limit to what I can give you, Aelin. I know that, but I’m trying to be here, for you. And if that’s enough for now, then let it be enough. And when it’s not, ask me again to let you go.”
It was appropriate to say while he cradled her in his hands—the declaration literal and figurative and a bittersweet understanding. She knew that whatever unspoken thing tying them together didn’t adhere to the constructs of reason or reality—it unapologetically existed. And for now, the small kernels of time and of himself that Rowan offered to her were enough.
However, they’d both be nothing but fools if they believed with any real hope that this would last beyond July. The gods didn’t cater to mortal whims, not even love or desire, despite what countless words penned in books tried to argue. Aelin knew this better than anyone having suffered unbelievably so in the face of the cards she had been dealt.
Before her parents had died, Arobynn betrayed everyone, and her uncle and cousins’ unwitting complicity in his schemes, her life had been one of unwavering love, joy, and happiness. Every day was not sunshine and roses, but there hadn’t been one thing she’d willingly change.
It occurred to her that she had not offered any sort of response to Rowan’s quiet plea apart from silence. With a rueful twitch of her pink lips, she said hardly audible, “Okay.” The two syllables tasted acerb against her tongue, but she’d utter them again and again if it meant he’d look at her the way he was now. With one last smooth stroke against the apples of her cheeks, he asked, “Are you hungry?”
Aelin gave an enthusiastic nod, which had him freeing her and returning to the other side of the counter, dishing out food onto two plates in a manner that could only be described as routine. A quick jerk of his head silently commanded her to follow him as he took their dinner outside. Once she was seated comfortably in one of the chairs surrounding the fire, did he pass her a plate and take his own seat.
The first few bites had her letting out a low moan that had no right appearing anywhere except within the confines of her bedroom—but damn the gods, she couldn’t help herself. Rowan sounded like he was semi-choking across from her and it made a small, feline smirk of delight grace her lips. There was power in the knowledge that she could and did fluster the man.
Deciding to spare him anymore discomfort, she mercifully kept her indecent sounds and thoughts to herself for the remainder of their dinner which fell into a pleasant, companionable silence. Gently, she discarded the plate on the ground beside her and leaned back into the chair, taking a sip from her beer, and looking up at the stars. Millions of tiny light balls gleamed back at her, some stark white, others hardly more than a dull glow.
“When I was a kid, my parents used to tell me that the stars were all the people that we’d lost looking down on us. It used to make me so upset because I thought it was ridiculous and at that point, I had already learned that they were balls of exploding gas. But as I got older and lost them, I came to the decision that their explanation was the only one I wanted to possess any conviction for. At the very least, it’s a far more beautiful sentiment than any scientific truth.”
Aelin refused to look anywhere but up, not wanting to see pity, understanding, comfort—anything in response to her confession. Vulnerability made her feel weak and broken and she’d shown Rowan more of herself in the months of their friendship than she’d shown must people in years. He was constantly disarming her; strategically knocking a stone loose from the wall she’d armed herself with and with the right move, it would irreparably crumble.
It was inevitable. It was coming. And she wasn’t ready yet… but she wanted to be. Living as a ghost of herself was exhausting and depressing and life was passing her by. Aelin had been a victim of life, of shitty circumstances, and had endured things some people could never imagine even on their worst day. There was more to go through, so much to face and work through, but in the perfect silence of this starlit night, it felt like her parents were by her side, reminding her they’d never left, not really.
“I wish someone would have told me stories like that,” his voice said a little gruff. Hesitantly, she flicked her blue and gold gaze his way, admiring how the firelight played off the sharp angles of his jaw. His green gaze was trained on the sky above as he continued. “I’m not sure if you’ve been to Doranelle but it’s so different from Orynth. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s the largest city east of Wendlyn or because it’s a main trade port for many routes, but it’s never quiet. Something is always going on.”
She’d been once, as a young teenager on holiday with her family, and if she thought hard enough about it, she could almost taste the spice-laden air and hear the vendors selling their wares along the winding, elegant streets. Beautiful pale stone buildings with blue tops and mosaic tiles decorating their walls stood out in her brain. And their palace with its jasmine-wrapped columns and stained glasses ceilings were such a stark contrast from Orynth’s own palace of shimmering opal walls.
“It wasn’t until I was older that I knew the sky held so many stars. The bright lights of the city in culmination with the pale stone buildings, rivers, and mist make it eerily bright all the time. The sun and moon obey the same laws there, but night never seems as dark as it ought to be. Not like here, where on a moonless night, you can’t see five feet in front you. It’s beautiful at home and I was privileged growing up there, but when I was able to see more of the world, I realized there were somethings more beautiful than others.”
His piercing green gaze dropped to hers and held as he said the last part. For someone who wasn’t entirely forthcoming and made it seem like sharing personal information was akin to pulling teeth sans anesthetic, Rowan was a born storyteller. Perhaps, it was because she was sweet on him, but she was more inclined to believe it was in the way he spoke about things. His accent grew thicker, voice lower, his body more relaxed, and green eyes a little brighter.
“I went one summer after I had turned fourteen or fifteen, I can’t quite remember. We traveled every summer for my belated birthday gift. My parents wanted me to be well-rounded and to know the world. That year, Gavriel and Aedion were able to come with us. We’d traveled before as a family but never that far, for that long. It felt nice to just be ourselves without constantly wondering if photographers and journalists were going to be writing about what we were wearing, or what restaurant we frequented, or what new bill my father or mother were trying to pass.”
She loosed a bitter chuckle and picked a little too angrily at her cuticles, causing one to bleed. Rowan’s large hand rested over hers, snuffing out the anxious tendency before she could cause more damage.
“Fireheart, what happened with your uncle and your cousin? I know Elide said they betrayed you, but I saw how your face lit up when you talked about them. It’s clear you miss them. Your parents aren’t here but from what I’ve gathered, they are. You don’t have to tell me. I can feel you stiffening under my hands and you’re holding your breath. Gods, I know it’s painful for you, but you don’t have to carry around those feelings by yourself. There are so many people in your corner who would be more than happy to shoulder some of that weight… You just have to stop holding on to it so tight.”
That wall of hers? Well, there went another stone or two as he laced their fingers together, his gentle but not subtle offer to bare her grief ringing loudly in her ears, as though he had shouted it for the heavens to hear. It wasn’t that her friends hadn’t offered their ears or shoulders before, because they all had, numerous times, but she’d been too devastated to let any ounce of control go. Then, came Rowan, no better than an avalanche bulldozing a mountain full of trees, decimating everything in its wake.
He pushed when she didn’t want to be pushed. Held her when she didn’t know that’s what she wanted. Listened to her fall apart and stayed anyways. He wasn’t perfect. He had hurt her and likely would hurt here more in the future, but in their skewed dynamic, he had given her room to breathe. In shouldering of all the messy, the bad, the dramatic—it had lessened that crippling burden she’d been carrying around for years to just enough to remind her that there was more to life than what she’d been accepting.
And for his gift, she would give him another ugly truth despite the possibility of it opening up an emotional chasm deeper than any fissure on this continent. “I didn’t know how corrupt Arobynn was. To me, in most everything before and for two years after the death of my parents, I just saw him as ‘Uncle A’, my godfather and dad’s best friend. Every holiday, family birthday, fancy gala—he was there. He was my rock after it all. Him and Aedion and Gavriel.”
Aelin shifted forward in her seat and adjusted their still laced fingers on her knee, not wanting to lose the grounding contact, but unable to bare his dark emerald gaze a second longer. It seemed childish to hide, but sometimes if felt like he could see into the very darkest parts of her soul, the ones she didn’t offer up or acknowledge, and that level of discomfort was threatening to flicker out the small tendril of courage she was gripping onto.
“I didn’t know the extent of their involvement in his seedy underground dealings until the middle of the trial. Gavriel was the chair of the historical and restoration department for the city, appointed by my mother. Nepotism at its finest, I know. He had his own construction company as well and Aedion grew up learning from him. After college, he took over more responsibility in the company, leaving Gavriel to devote more time to the public and political aspects of restoring the city. Little did I know then that their company built and restored many underground areas of the city. I think at first, they didn’t realize that they were paving the network that would feed into success of The Vaults, but it became very clear, later on, that they knew. They knew and they continued anyways.”
She gave a harsh chuckle, the notion of their part in the crime syndicate somehow still bitterly amusing years later. Only amusing because they’d let themselves be deceived in the face of overwhelming evidence. Hardly any of the evidence of their involvement had been presented at trial when the betrayal had cut through her like a hot blade. Aedion’s eyes, so like her own, had found her in the sea of people within that room, brimming with guilt and unshed tears. He had looked devastated.
But she had been devastated. And blind-sided. And betrayed. And hurt. And angry.
Again, she had been made a fool at the hands of those who supposedly cared for her. A public spectacle for all the court-goes to gawk at while she crumpled in the front row.
Absent-mindedly, she rubbed at her chest, a poor attempt to soothe the ghost of twinging pain. “I don’t know what Arobynn had over my uncle, but I know it had to have been something because why else would you help a criminal? Half the city’s tunnels existed when we still had a monarch. They deserved the chance to be restored and appreciated. The finished result though surpassed what was initially documented and planned but that didn’t come to light until the underground syndicate was dismantled. No one could figure out how criminals were thwarting law enforcement left and right and all along, the answer was right under their feet.”
“I hadn’t been here long when crime started to uptick. I got mugged outside my truck one night and it was like the guy disappeared into thin air. I tried to chase him but when I turned the corner, there was nothing but empty streets. Makes sense now,” he remarked in an acrimonious tone.
“Manholes, specific businesses, canals… everyone who belonged to the Vaults learned where and how they could use these tunnels to their advantages. Arobynn had his finger in everything from prostitution and drugs to street fighting and ordered hits. When you sit at the right hand of the country’s governor, you make a lot of connections, and he used every one of them to his advantage. My uncle and Aedion redid all the tunnels as my mother asked, but they built new ones seamlessly connected too, creating an intricate and unmarked web unless you knew where to look. Had it not helped Arobynn’s rise to power and criminal empire, I might be impressed.”
Feeling restless and angry, she abruptly stood from her chair and took a few steps back. The air around the fire too warm. Rowan’s hand too heavy. The feelings still too raw.
“I didn’t stay the rest of the day Aedion and Gavriel testified, and I ignored every attempt they made to explain themselves since. There was nothing they were going to say to me that could make their involvement any less painful. I know all the charges were dropped after they disclosed the tunnel maps and trade routes for product moving in and out of the city. I think I could have forgiven just the tunnels, in time, but Aedion was helping run the street fights and Gavriel knew what businesses were operating under the table. I just can’t help but think had they spoken up about Arobynn’s illegal dealings, he might not have had the network, power, or capital to have had my parents murdered.”
And there it was. The repulsive, dark truth that had been festering deep within the walls of her heart for years. Resentment and hate bitterly clamored up her throat as she bent over, hands braced on her thighs, gasping for air. Was she a monster for having no understanding, no compassion for her family? Was she wrong to blame them? Was she as cruel as Arobynn?
The world started to tip, black spots filling her vision as her knees buckled and the ground growing increasingly closer. Familiar muscle flushed against the side of her body, guiding her delicately down. “I don’t know much Fireheart, but there is no world in which you could ever compare to a man like that.”
One hand held firm against the crown of her head, keeping her upright, while the other ran long, soothing strokes down her back. Nothing else was said between them as they sat there. It could have been five minutes or two hours—Aelin wasn’t sure, but she thanked the gods for the still silence and for the friend she’d found in Rowan. Tonight, had been one of courage and candor, and she had faced it head on.
She had not yielded when her heart and head had been screaming otherwise. The world, her world was shifting. It was a dull throb somewhere in the depths of her bones, demanding to be felt, noticed.
Change was coming and she would no longer be afraid.
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Tag list:
@lunadorned @theresyourfireandblood @backtobl4ck @leiawritesstories @morganofthewildfire @rowaelinismyotp @jorjy-jo @theresyourfireandblood @numbers-colors-fashion @swankii-art-teacher @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @stardelia @astra-ad-mare
#rowaelin#rowan whitethorn#rowaelin fanfiction#songs about you#aelin x rowan#throne of glass fic#slow burn#wordsafterhours#throne of glass au#confessions#angst#gavriel#aedion#aedion ashryver#arobynn hamel#aelin fireheart#aelin galathynius#aelin ashryver galathynius#queen aelin#rowan x aelin#rowan#throne of glass
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So, for the reader appreciation day of the event, I used the second personalization prompt for the lovely softnightwhisp! Again, I cannot say thank you enough to them for constantly reblogging, spreading my posts out a bit more so that they can be seen by more people, for commenting on things I write, for enjoying my writing, so…hopefully this says some of the thanks and I hope you enjoy 😊
Personalization Prompt #2 – Whisp
BLACK: what face claim from an anime, comic book, or cartoon do I associate with you?
Oh, this was another hard one. Of course, I associate you with the face claim I used in The Ever Young, but when I sat down and thought about just you as a person, I think the one I settled on was Urumi Kanzaki from Great Teacher Onizuka, just because she has the heterochromia, I feel like you have long hair (just a vibe I get), and she has a more mature look to her rather than a really young one, since I don’t think you’re someone who looks super childish.
WHITE: what flame type and box weapon do I think you’d have in the khr!verse?
As mentioned in the other personalization prompt, I really do headcanon you with Sky Flames in the khr!verse. As far as box weapons go, while it’s an unconventional one, I do see your Box Weapon as a Sky Turtle. And not like a tiny little turtle, but a very large one, almost a tortoise. Of course, I am going off the spiritual meaning of turtles as being associated strongly with wisdom and a feeling of being grounded, which I feel both fit you as a person.
RED: what aesthetics do I associate with you?
Oversized sweaters. Sharing shows with someone you love. The lure of the unknown and paranormal. Solving puzzles. Making connections, reaching out to those in need. Tight hugs that last long, right when you need them. Handwriting outlines for school papers. Big and fluffy clouds tinged pink in the setting sun. The sound of a crackling fire, the smell of bonfires in early autumn.
BLUE: what are three songs I’d put on a playlist for you?
HOME – A HOUSE ON THE HILL, fullmetal alchemist brotherhood ost
THE SECOND WALTZ, andre rieu
NEW SOUL, yael naim
YELLOW: what fictional world out of all my fandoms would I picture you in?
Most definitely, I can easily see you within the KHR universe, but I can also pretty easily picture you in both the Bleach universe and the Servamp universe as well.
GREEN: who would I pair you with out of all my fandoms?
In KHR, it’s either Gokudera or Mukuro. For K Project, it’s Yata. For Nanbaka, it’s Jyugo. For Welcome to Demon School, Iruma-kun!, it’s Goemon. For Bungou Stray Dogs, it’s Steinbeck. For Servamp, it’s Nicco. For Eyeshield 21, it’s Unsui. For Ronin Warriors, it’s Cye. For Kekkaishi, it’s Masamori. For GetBackers, it’s Shido. For Black Cat, it’s Sven. For Karneval, it’s Yogi. For Gangsta., it’s Delico. For Bleach, it’s Ishida. For Naruto, it’s Gaara. For Deadman Wonderland, it’s Senji. For Ouran, it’s Kasanoda. For Durarara, it’s Shizuo. For Yu Yu Hakusho, it’s Kaname. For Gintama, it’s Hijikata. For Mystic Messenger, it’s Saeyoung. For Ikemen Revolution, it’s Jonah. For Blush Blush, it’s Cole. For Date Warp, it’s Rafael. For The Outsiders, it’s Johnny. For Class of the Titans, it’s Archie. For Ultimate Spider-Man, it’s Scarlet Spider. For Gravity Falls, it’s Stan. For The Mighty Ducks, it’s Charlie. For The Covenant, it’s Reid. For Jungle Fury, it’s Casey. For Ninja Storm, it’s Blake. For Mystic Force, it’s Nick.
PURPLE: what gif reminds me of you?
PINK: if you were an AU, what type of AU would you be?
Ohhhh, this was a fun one. I definitely think the AU has to have some mystery elements to it, with really well-done foreshadowing that you only pick up on during a second readthrough/watch…but I also want it to have supernatural elements, so maybe a paranormal detective style AU, if that makes sense?
RAINBOW: if i were to write a khr sequel, following Tsuna’s demise, and could only use my reader’s as characters, who would you be?
Though the answer makes a) no canonical sense as the Arcobaleno are no longer needed as of end of manga and b) is a little sad, given the curse of the Sky Arcobaleno, I do see you as the next Sky Arcobaleno.
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Chapter one: the voices inside.
Hello
"Hi?" I call out.
An image of an emerald dragon forms in my mind.
The dragon speaks, Hello
The dragon's forehead steadily gets closer to mine and as we collide inside my mind, I can hear and see everything that ever happened to them and why they are here. I feel overwhelmed by the amount of information.
I can see an image of other people and dragon pairs at the end.
Go and find them
"Are you really going to just leave after all that?" I yell into the air but it is in vain for they have already departed.
I feel a necklace around my neck, a pretty emerald gem in the centre.
"Oh well, back to sleep." I say out loud.
No, go find them
"You're picky for someone who left in such a hurry before."
I could use some breakfast so I may as well go and make something.
I make some pancakes and top them with marshmallows. I see the marshmallows and a green flash crosses my mind, right as I breathe fire out of my nose.
"What did you do to me dragon?!"
Calm down, this is nothing abnormal, soul bond stuff.
"You're so annoying. You think that flash of info I got just explained everything? I didn't know what most of those images meant."
So go find them
"I have work and stuff. I can't just skip work and all my responsibilities to go find some random people that I've seen in a picture in my mind one time."
A kid with blue hair that looks around 15 rushes into my living room, "Found you! I knew you wouldn't even try to find me but I found you, haha."
"Hey random kid, you can't just barge into my house like this!" I yell.
"Oh I know haha, I'm Jonathan and I'm your neighbour." He says.
"Oh, you're that kid. I see you on the street sometimes."
"Yep, so I knew where to find you when my dragon told me I had to seek out the people in the photo lol. I assume you got the same assignment."
"Yeah."
"So let's go and find them! Now!"
"Nice try kid, I'm sure you are enjoying playing superhero but I have work and you have school."
"Awww, but, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity."
"And you can't put your life on hold to chase after random people you saw once in your mind that you don't even know where they live."
"I found you didn't I? I'd say I'm already good at this."
"You have no lack of enthusiasm that's for sure. Do what you want kid but I'm going to work."
I start to walk out the door and then realise I'm still in my pajamas so I push the kid out of my house and go and get dressed.
I leave the house again and see the kid still hanging around but I grab my skateboard and start to speed towards work.
The green necklace suddenly starts pulling me down another street and suddenly I'm rolling towards a girl with curly blonde hair holding a tray of pastries. I crash into her and we both go toppling to the ground along with the pastries.
"I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean to." I say to her.
"Oh it's alright, no big deal. Accidents happen." She said with a big bright smile.
"You're pretty."
"Oh, thank you. While unexpected I'm certainly not opposed to a compliment, especially from someone as cute as yourself." She said with a wink.
"Let me help you pay for the pastries."
"No need, I own that pastry shop."
"But it'll still take you time to make them again."
"Please no worries at all." She pushes her hair back and pulls her curly hair into a bun in one swift moment, exposing a yellow gemstone necklace.
"Oh! You have a gemstone necklace too! I suppose your dragon also said to find them right?"
"Oh this? Yeah, nice to meet you fellow dragon bonded individual lol, we need a nickname for this? Do you remember how many of us there were?"
"Um, I'm green, you're yellow, I met blue earlier. So orange, red and purple?"
"Yeah that makes sense. I thought I saw pink but that could be red. It was only just a glance you know."
"Oh yeah I know."
"Well I have to go and open the bakery, I hope that you have a wonderful day. I'm glad to be on a team with such a cutie such as you."
"Yeah bye." I say as I start to blush.
Ok I really have to get to work, I can't get distracted by pretty women right now.
I make it to the fashion company that I work at, and start to look over the designs for today. I see a lot of magical girl costumes at the side. I pull them aside and send them to Ed, who handles side projects when I don't want to mass produce an item or send it to the team yet without a physical reproduction.
A model walks in and asks me a question. I look up and catch a glance of an orange gem.
I quickly catch their eyes. "Dragon gem necklace? Me too!"
They look confused for a split second and I'm sure I've made a fool of myself in front of someone who has no idea anything about dragons. Then their face softened and they looked at me with recognition.
"Oh yeah, I did see a dragon earlier and get this necklace. I'd assume that you are one of the ones I was urged to find."
"Yep. That's me."
"Oh well that's convenient that we work together."
"Yeah, I certainly think so."
"I'm Delilah." She says and I catch her soft brown eyes and smile at her.
"I'm-" I get interrupted by Ed calling me over the floor.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I have to go and attend to him, but I'm sure we will have plenty a chance to get to know each other later." I wave to Delilah as I walk over to Ed.
"So what did you need so urgently?" I say to Ed.
"Just making sure you don't get distracted by women during work." He says as he elbows me with a cheeky grin.
"Oh come on, are you the distraction police now, funny coming from you."
"I get my work done, that's what matters right boss."
"Oh sure. So what did you actually want?"
"Magical girl costumes in my cue?"
"Just do your job and trust my creative decisions please."
"Oh come on."
"I want to see them in fabric before I decide, I do that with pieces all the time. You are trustworthy and I trust your skills in making outfits."
"Ooooh, am I the boss's favourite?"
"Don't push it."
I spend the rest of the day busy at work. As I leave to close there's someone hanging around near the back door where I store my skateboard as I work.
"Hey, I assume you are green." They say as they stub out their cigarette.
"Yeah, are you purple?"
"Yep, I'm Iris, they/them thanks. If you make it an issue I will make myself an issue to you."
"Oh no, I'm fine with that."
"Well, good." They said looking surprised, "Not that I have to share this with you but I've had to fight for that growing up."
"How old are you?"
"18."
"Ok, I'm 20."
"You have pronouns of your own?"
"Uh, yeah, she/her."
"Aight, see you later at the meeting I guess. Pink organised it and it's at the church. Not really my idea of a meeting spot but I guess it's hard to miss."
"Oh alright. See you then I guess. When is it?"
"Pink said Sunset, you'll understand when you meet him, now bye."
"Bye." I say feeling kind of confused.
I start to roll home on my skateboard waiting for what the sunset shall bring and wondering on what Iris said about Pink.
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I hope you enjoyed the story, I'll be posting all the chapters here in time.
#original story#original writing#original fiction#creative writing#writing#hummingbirdoriginaldragonstory
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Okay here is a sneak peek to the reincarnation story for Snirius I was talking about the first four chapter will be super long dealing with each life til Chapter five where they are on the Hogwarts express
I am your Loyal servant and you are a country King. If the whole world plots to extinguish your light, If they find the need to make you break and cry, Don’t you worry, dear, I am right by your side. So just smile for me; it’ll be alright.
Children laughter could be heard in the castle courtyard as children could be seen playing around. “Siri!” A gentle voice called out as they run giggling as they played smiling brightly, Sirius turns smiling seeing his Severus running to him before the other jumped into Sirius waiting arms. “There you are!” Their friends cheered seeing Severus, “Sorry I had to finish the cleaning you know how Mistress Luciana gets, plus Master Luke stopped me to remind me of lessons.” Severus pouted before sliding out of Sirius hold and bowing to the other children even though they are friends Severus is a servant among the royal and rich. He is Sirius personal Servant and handpicked to be the new Druid of the Kingdom to advise Sirius in his role as king. “We know Sevie it’s fine how about we play a new game?” Lilith spoke up her bright red hair tied up with green ribbons spoke, holding Jameson hand making Severus giggle again. “Why are we playing house? Are you and Jamie going to play wife and husband?” He was teasing as Frances and Albelgal laughed along with Remus. Lilith smirked as Jameson blush, “no, well yes but it's you and Sirius will be having a royal wedding!” She giggled seeing the surprise before a blush settled on his chubby cheeks. “R-really Lil’s we can’t!” He stuttered out looking around, “Why not?” She pouts as their friends snickered while Sirius was just amused still holding onto Severus, “W-well um we don’t have a dress or veil or even rings!” He nodded thinking he got them out of it. “P-plus Sirius hasn’t agreed.” He looked at Sirius who hummed. “I have no problem marrying Severus.” He smirked seeing that cute surprised looked on Severus face along with those rosy cheeks.
“See there then it is simple your robes are fine as a dress next time I will bring one. We are about the same size anyway and Al and I can make a veil along with a ring Jamie and Remie can walk you while Frances is the priest oh it will be so much fun!” The others begin even with Severus weak protest, he turns to Sirius who just smiled petting Severus head. “Don’t worry it will be fun just relax Sev.” Severus couldn’t help the way his heart skipped a beat looking in Sirius eyes, ‘I can’t relax not when you are looking at me like that Siri. I know we are kids and I am just a lowly servant but I know I love you. Even if They will be angry if you wish it then I will then I shall do it.’ “As you wish my prince.” He whisper looking into those silver eyes. Sirius huffs out a laugh before squeezing Severus hands before walking away. The girls dragged Severus away giggling putting a flower crown on his head that had ribbons tied into it and handed Sirius something that Severus couldn’t see yet. Jameson and Remus held Severus hand as flowers were pushed into his hands before being walked down to Sirius who looked at him with an expression he couldn’t tell of what but it made his heart flutter and his soul sing he felt the magic in his body thrum as they locked eyes. He knew his eyes must be glowing and the flowers in his hair were glowing feeding from his magic he couldn’t help but smile shyly at Sirius even if this was a silly game and they were kids he couldn’t help but dream and hope it would one day be real.
(There was fire, sounds of swords cutting through the air smoke filled the air as screams also. He was running rushing dodging and casting spells he needed to make it to hurry to him as he held the vial in his hand. His lungs and legs begged him to stop to breathe but he needed to hurry. His tears falling as he saw the bodies on the ground and he wanted to crumble to fall to the floor and never get back up but he couldn't now. Not with the surrounding madness.)
Tell me what you think, this isn’t all that I wrote I just wanna give you a sneak peek at it!
#fanfic#ao3 author#ao3fic#ao3 fanfic#snirius#severus snape#sirius orion black#morally ambiguous sirius black#dark sirius black#reincarnation
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what is iris going to do for jack?
"Shoes off at the door," Iris called over her shoulder. Her voice echoed through the empty first floor as she stepped up from the entryway into the expansive main living area, the kitchen just beyond.
From beneath the kitchen sink, she removed her first-aid kit, which she always kept handy. Lavender and Hazel were accident-prone children, and Iris spent many summer days kissing skinned knees and stroking hair as she poured foaming iodine onto bleeding hands. The two boys who had been unceremoniously dumped into her front yard looked like they might need a little more than she could give. But she would do her best.
Tristan Emrys hopped onto the kitchen counter and removed his broken sunglasses with a sigh. "These were my favorite."
Jack Halley chose the more reasonable approach of collecting a chair from the dining room table before he sat down nearby. He was silent. His eyes were unfocused as he stared down at the tile floor of the Espinosa's new kitchen.
Iris was worried he might have a concussion and put a gentle hand beneath his chin to lift his head. She took a pen-light from the kit and flashed it in each eye just to be safe. When she was satisfied that he didn’t seem to have any apparent brain damage, she said, “I think you’ll live."
"He must have a hard head," Hazel grumbled and leaned her hip against the counter top, arms crossed over her chest.
"Hazel, will you find yourself in my makeup bag and bring it here?" Iris asked.
Tristan screwed up his dirt-smudged face in confusion.
Hazel huffed in annoyance, but she turned and stalked off in the direction of the boxes piled high next to the door anyway. Iris guessed what the boys could not know, that Hazel had really been frightened to see them crash like they did. To see Jack's eyes so wild with fright. Iris might have been an empath of sorts, but her daughter was the one who felt things like the ocean does, overflowing and often violent. She hid her fears behind a sea wall of minor aggressions, but Iris knew how fragile those breakers could be.
While lost in thoughts of sea salt and floods, Iris lifted Jack's hands to inspect them. "Some of these cuts might need stitches, but I should know better once I clean them up."
Jack's eyes kept trailing back to the kitchen window, which looked out on the forest beside the house. "I swear I saw something out there."
Iris nodded her head. "I know, but you seem to me like a very tired young man in need of some rest before we discuss what it is you saw. Hmm?"
Jack turned his gaze back to her. "You don't believe me either."
Anyone else who looked in Jack Halley's eyes would see the nameless color of them. Hints of green, gold, and gray. They would see half a dozen fitful nights of very little sleep. They might even catch a glimmer of the anger that had lived, burning inside of him long before loss brought his life to a bloody stand-still.
When Iris Espinosa gazed into them, it was like what happened when other witches peered into a bowl of dark liquid or an antique mirror poured from silver. She saw through the eyes into something deeper.
To Iris, eyes really were the window to the soul.
She saw Jack’s hopes in shades of summer green. Hope was usually a soft, glowing thing, a heart of white and a halo of whatever color the soul associated with the related emotions. They bobbed like fire flies through memories and future dreams. Jack was still boyish and rough-hewn - a series of stick and mud forts, late-night campfire stories, and the splash of cold water on bare shins. He hoped for simple, concrete things.
Iris’ heart instantly ached for him.
His fears stood high above in flickers of fiery gold. Burnished in fire so hot that Iris nearly lost hold of his chin. They gleamed a hammered-out sheen, armored dragon scales, a monumental serpent. It towered in the mind’s eye, all phantasm and claws. Jack tried to pull away as he felt the fear rise within him.
But that tumultuous gray sky swallowed the beast. Like clouds hiding away the sun behind their hands, they swept out over a wind-tossed sea, and the boy was lost among the gray. This was not hope or fear at all. It was something Iris knew well. Need, want, desperate, aching, empty. This boy was missing something, and he likely had been for a while. He didn’t even know what it was anymore, that thing to fill the void.
Iris drew back.
Jack stared. “What did you do to me?”
“I want you to tell me,” Iris said softly, “everything you remember about that night.”
Jack opened his mouth - whether to protest or explain, she was not certain - but she stopped him.
“Not now. You’ve had a long morning, and what we need to discuss is going to take a lot more than you’ve got to give right now. Do you understand?”
Jack almost shook his head before he realized that he did understand. “Ma’am,” he said politely - Martha raised him to always be polite if possible and especially to people who could unabashedly hold your gaze for as long as Iris could, “do you need some help moving in?”
Iris turned her gaze to her daughter next, who had just returned with herself, a bottle of witch hazel water (the plant she was named for). “Yes, I’d appreciate that. Wouldn’t you, honeybee?”
Hazel stared for a few moments longer than she thought she should. Their magic was very different, but she could still see when Iris had been working. Something like dreams hovered around her, a cloud of miracles. Magic bending over and around itself to grant Iris Espinosa what she wished.
“Sure,” Hazel said finally, “we’d love some help.”
Previous and Next
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A Modern Christmas Short Story
Juyanne James
The Meeting
My grandmother’s house is a place I often go to in my dreams—and sometimes I go there for real. The house sits bravely near the edge of an old country road; its only protection from the harsh world is a stout and mighty chinaberry tree that my grandfather must have planted over a hundred years ago. So, a while back, I’m invited to a meeting at my grandmother's house. When I walk in, I wonder if I should be there. I still feel like the child I had been so many years before, my soul aching as much as my body ever did, looking for my mother to comfort me after being hit in the head with one of those little green berries, hoping that she would just this once allow me to remain in the house with the grown folks, and not outside with those heathen children.
On this day, when I go to the meeting, I open the door and the front room is still the same—only it’s winter now and a fire blazes quite genially in the fireplace. Over the mantel, the portrait of my grandmother and grandfather in their mid-lives hangs in just the way I remember it—my grandfather wearing his handsomeness like a badge across his broad chest and my grandmother leaning into her husband with one hand resting on his forearm. She also, in white, though now yellowed, and he in his one and only suit, now only a shade of black; it is the color of old death. Otherwise, the walls remain empty, like hospital rooms where the sick are expected to arrive soon.
I hear laughter and raucous conversation coming from the kitchen, which is the farthest room of the shotgun house, and I must walk through my grandparent’s bedroom to get there. The voices carry through the thin walls, and I begin to recognize who some of the people are. I cannot mistake my grandmother’s voice, which has always been deep but hollow like it flows through a thick tube of glass, and my mother’s as well, which is just a more youthful version of my grandmother's. I hear my Aunt Sherry, who is still busy trying to boss my mother around, even after all these years. This makes me smile, and I briefly think of how terribly young we all were back then, even the grownups.
Then everything gets weird because I think I hear Oprah telling someone to let her sit up close, next to Jesus, and Coretta Scott King saying that if anyone is going to sit at the right hand of the Lord, it should be her. There are other voices mingled in, and to tell the truth, I can hardly wait to get to the kitchen to see what’s really going on. I open the door—now there’s a door to the kitchen, but back in the old days, we just walked straight in—and have mercy, there is the Lord, my savior, Jesus the almighty, sitting at the head of this long table, you know the kind where you have to place an extension in the middle, only this extension is as wide, or wider, than the table itself; it’s like somebody, my grandmother I imagine, had invited too many important people for dinner, expecting perhaps that not all of them would actually show up, but when they do, she has to keep lengthening the table to accommodate them.
As I look around the room, I realize that there has been an extra room added on, and this isn’t the kitchen anymore but the dining room, and the kitchen is still beyond in a room added to the house.
My grandmother sees me standing there all mystified and confused, and she lifts one hand and motions for me to come on in, and says, “Close that door behind you.” She is standing, not sitting, just to the back and right of Jesus. She has on her apron and those same slippers that I remember her always wearing. My instinct tells me to run and hug her and give her an age-old kiss of greeting, but I see my mother, who I haven't seen in so many years, and I want to plant my eyes on her and leave them there, sure this time to follow her around so that she will not get away from me. It’s true. When I see my mother sitting next to Alice Walker, of all people, I feel like I am finally home. I want to ask Alice to move over and let me sit next to my mother, but I know that’s not going to happen, especially the way these women are arguing about who’s sitting where. Briefly, I wonder how the seating was arranged, and more importantly, who made the guest list.
“You are late,” my grandmother says to me, as if she is reading my state of mind and wants me to catch up with what’s going on. “Take a seat there.” She points to one of the two remaining seats.
“Hurry,” someone says, “Don’t let Satan try to steal his ass a seat.”
I realize it’s Missy Elliott, who sits on the opposite side of the table across from Alice Walker, and next to my Aunt Sherry.
Everyone in the room nods their agreement, and their eyes tell me to sit down, quickly.
I can’t help the befuddledness of my motions; I can barely move. Looking down the table at all these precious guests, well, it stills my heart. ] may as well be a butterfly trying to land on each of their shoulders. I am floating in a moment in time, just holding on as best I can.
Jesus then speaks, and I think about true freedom, how none of us ever know how it feels. “I have looked forward to eating this meal with you,” he says. “Let us pass the bread and divide it evenly among you.” So he breaks the loaf of bread and takes a small piece for himself and then passes the two larger pieces to the women sitting next to him, my first grade teacher, Mrs. Corning, on one hand and Zora Neale Hurston on the other. My teacher breaks off a piece and passes it on to Oprah, and Zora takes a piece and passes it on to Mrs. King. Oprah, to Aretha Franklin; Mrs. King, to my mother; Aretha, to my Aunt Sherry; my mother, to Alice Walker; Aunt Sherry, to Missy Elliott; and Alice, well, she has no one to pass the bread to unless she reaches over the empty chair and gives it to me, but Missy Elliott has already practically thrown the final, piddley piece that has come down that side of the table to me (this is that fresh version of Missy, when she first came out with a hit record). Alice and I look at Aretha and say nothing. Alice places half of her bread on the plate of the missing guest. I wonder if anyone, besides me, wants to know why my grandmother will not take her seat.
“I am to remain standing,” she says, again, as if reading my mind.
“Who is greater,” Jesus asks no one in particular, “the one who sits here at the table with you or the one who will serve you? Anyone who wishes to be first must be last. You must be the servants of all.”
Before anyone can answer the riddle, my grandmother tells me to go and get the woman in the kitchen. I obey without asking the logical questions “Why?” or “Shouldn’t I be here to discuss what Jesus has just proposed?” Never mind, I go.
As I am walking past Oprah, I hear her say to Aretha, “Perhaps we could get you to sing a song while we’re waiting for the next guest to arrive.” I don’t hear Aretha’s reply, but I must admit to myself, I would love to hear something off the Amazing Grace album or if that fails, her Greatest Hits will do.
When I open the door to this new kitchen, the one that has been added to my grandmother’s house, seemingly just for this occasion, I see an aging black woman, in a maid’s dark uniform with a white apron. She looks prematurely old, like life has beaten the shit out of her. She is bent over the stove, stirring something that is bubbling and leaving circles of steam floating up to her face. I wonder how my grandmother can suddenly afford a maid.
“Mmn, that’s just about perfect,” this woman says to me. She speaks as though she has known me all my life. “You know, it’s your favorite: blueberry cobbler.”
And even though I don’t know this lady from Adam or Eve or any of their offspring, I suddenly want to ask her to be my new best friend.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “These things been decided long ago.
l ignore that last remark and remember why I’ve come. “My grandmother says for you to come there. Now.” This part I add for emphasis, like I am in charge of this shindig.
“Oh, she did,” the woman says.
“Yes, Ma’am.” I have remembered my manners.
And the woman lays down her spoon and follows me, like I am Jesus petitioning his disciples. I look back, wondering how my cobbler is going to be finished. She hadn’t even rolled out the crust yet.
She tells me, “It'll be alright. Don’t worry.”
When we get back to the other room, it seems as though every voice is raised in disagreement. I truly can’t believe these women are behaving so rudely, in front of Jesus. It’s like they have no faith in the system, no trust that things will be done to their satisfaction.
I hear my aunt, who never was one to wait, for anything, ask Aretha to sing, “Mary, Don’t You Weep.” But before Aretha can answer, my teacher, Mrs. Corning, says, “No, you know what I’d love to hear? ‘Order My Steps.” My teacher and I smile because we both know this is her favorite song in the world.
“That’s not one of my songs, hon,” Aretha says, dryly, like there’s a big piece of bread stuck in her throat.
My teacher and I look at each other because we can’t believe what we just heard. When did Aretha get particular about singing other people’s songs? When did she stop being the Queen of all things lyrical? Our eyes tell each other to just let it go.
“I’ll sing it,” Missy Elliott says. “Missy be putting down on some church songs, chicky.”
I don’t know why, but I believe her and I’m all for having her try, but my grandmother and my mother, in unison, with emphasis, say, “No singing at the table.”
I sit down in my seat at the opposite end from Jesus and wait. I see my grandmother talking to the woman I’ve just brought from the kitchen. Suddenly, the woman’s face lights up. I swear, it’s like she has turned ten shades brighter. Like Jesus has touched her and all her troubles have suddenly rolled away. She even begins to resemble someone I should know.
“Oh, Lord, Jesus, you done shown mercy on me.” It’s all she can say, as she looks over at Jesus. I know she wants to go to him and perhaps kiss his feet or bring him a glass of water—anything she could do to show her love for him. I see tears forming in her rich brown eyes, and I think that Zora could have created this woman in one of her novels. She is Phoebe perhaps, or Janie’s grandmother, only before she got so old and gave out.
“Go on,” my own grandmother says to the woman. “Take your seat at the table.”
The woman walks slowly past Zora, Mrs. King, my mother, and Alice. When she arrives at the empty chair, she says, “This’ll be the first time I been to a meeting inside a real house.”
Instinctively, I know she means it’s the first time she’s been asked to come out of the kitchen and eat. Part of me wants to cry, too, because I’m all soft and warmhearted like that, but also because I know exactly how the woman feels. This is the first time I’ve been allowed to eat with the likes of these magnificent women, especially since my grandmother and my mother and my teacher and my aunt passed on over.
They just don’t make people like them anymore. That’s when it hits me that I am the special guest, that these aren't people my grandmother would likely meet up with in heaven. These are people brought here for me. And then, I surely want to cry. I want to lie down on the floor and bawl like a baby, only there'd be no kicking and screaming, just calm, dedicated tears rolling off my happy face and onto the well-worn floor. Where do we go from here? I ask myself.
Zora says, “Who's going to wrassle us up something to eat? Y’all know I like to cook; just don’t expect me to keep a tidy kitchen.”
“I’ll do it,” my mother says. And no one dislikes the idea because they all know she can throw down on some vittles. Even my aunt doesn’t object.
But Jesus stops them all. “Have you so little faith?” he asks. “I fed thousands with two fish and five loaves of bread. Haven’t we more than that here on the table.”
We all take a look, and sure enough, there are apples and pears and jam and butter and another loaf of bread and some kind of cheese that’s been hardly touched. But just to make sure, we look at Aretha and wait for her agreement.
“Don't look at me,” she almost sings, her round cheeks next to bubbling. “Ree knows how to make do.”
“I believe you do,” Mrs. King says. I’m surprised at her tone because it’s almost flippant, like she might still be questioning the friendship Aretha and her husband had so many years ago.
My teacher, perhaps from years of knowing how to break up a clash of characters, turns the attention back to Jesus. “Teacher,” she calls him,
“I was wondering what message you'd like to leave with us before you go.”
He’s going? We haven't even eaten yet.
“The greatest of the commandments never changes,” he says. “Love God, our father, above all, and then love your neighbor as you love yourself.”
“Amen,” Oprah says. “That’s the message I try to put out every day. It’s my ministry. I believe that if we can all just learn to take care of one another, this world will be a better place. Don’t you?”
“Yes, Ma'am,” my aunt says. “Satan will surely test you.”
“Yes, Mrs. Sherry, you’re right,” Oprah returns, but before she can carry on with this little sanctified discussion with my aunt, my mother stands up and clicks her spoon on her water glass.
“Excuse me,” she says. “You all have been wonderful to come here today and spend this time with my daughter.” And looking at Jesus, “The Lord knows, I thank you.”
Jesus nods his head. Everyone else clears their throats and says things like, “Oh, that’s alright. We're glad to do it” and “Don’t mention it, none” and “No, no, thank you for having us.” And as they say these things, they look at my mother and then they look at me, as if to say, “Yes, we mean you, too.”
My mother continues her speech, and for some reason I think she’s about to start off on a tremendously long monologue. This can’t be true, though, because Jesus is pulling out his chair, preparing to stand. “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want,” my mother begins. And Jesus sits back in his seat.
My mother continues: “Those was words my mother always told me to say whenever I was in trouble or when I was about to take a trip or even for good times when things was good. And when I got married and had chirren of my own, I told them to repeat the 23"? Psalm.” Then she looks at me. “No matter how bad things get, you can always count on the Lord.”
“I do,” I say. I can’t help but break in. “I do, Momma. I do.”
“Then I did my job right,” she says.
By the time she says these last words, she and I both have tears streaming down our faces. I am that child again, wanting to run into her arms and find sweet solace. And that’s when I know it’s just a dream, that if I walk over to her standing there, only her spirit will be waiting, and that part of her I cannot touch, at least not physically, so that I can feel it, wrap myself in it.
She and my grandmother give each other a hug then, as though they have just met each other after a long, difficult absence. They are so glad to be with each other. My mother’s stout self wraps her arms around my grandmother's frail frame, and in my heart I want my mother to remain there where I know she’ll be happy.
Jesus says, “Surely, I am with you always, even till the end of all ages. Now, I must surely go.” To me specifically, he says, “Take everything you have and use it. Remember that all things are possible.”
That’s when my eye catches the true knowledge of the woman sitting next to me, this woman whom I have brought from the kitchen to eat this special dinner with us. She is my friend, Glenda, from so many years ago. She has reportedly lived a miserable life, touched specifically by the cruelties of life after she caught a terrible disease. Only a few years before, I had learned that she'd died, almost unrecognizable to those who’d known her. She had been poor and had chosen to take a seat at the back of every table in life, never wanting to be a hindrance to anyone. Somehow, in my long journeys, I had forgotten her and had carried on with my life without looking back to search for her. Seeing her there now, at this table with me, even in my dreams, I know I’ve been given that chance to say goodbye.
“No need,” she says to me. “Don’t worry about it. The cobbler’s in the oven.”
With that, Jesus rises and goes from the room, saying, “Peace be with you.”
Does it suddenly feel like Christmas to anyone else?
I would like to say that when Jesus left, all the women continued to behave themselves, but you see Zora was there and she said, “All right, yall, let’s spread some jenk and have a good time.”
And even my Aunt Sherry liked that idea. Suddenly, there were Chippendales in their tights and bowties bringing out bowls and bowls of cobbler and bottles of Cristal; no, I mean Brut champagne.
“Break me off,” Missy Elliott said, flashing her gold, and I knew she liked this idea. Pretty soon, my grandmother’s house wasn’t a sad and lonely place at all.
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Cheery green and purple gloves covered her hands as she weeded the garden, getting the row of lettuce clear of the pesky things that wanted to choke their vegetables. She heard a snap behind her and felt those steady, patient eyes on her back. Like she always felt them. Whenever she worked outside, inevitably he would show up from the house across the street to offer her assistance with her work. Jaycee felt her cheeks heating up even before she turned around to offer what she hoped was a serene smile.
She wasn’t even a novice yet, not for another eight months, and hadn’t quite gotten the hang of everything. Like how to remain unaffected by men like him. Ones with dangerous smiles and a glint of trouble in their eyes. “Mr. Brady. Good morning,” she murmured, keeping her gaze from meeting his, shifting back down to get at the garden once more. “I’d hoped you would be playing piano today. I like to listen while I garden,” Jaycee said, chancing a look over her shoulder. He was coming closer, and then he was beside her, worn denim-covered knees in the dirt and he dug in, plucking weeds.
“Good morning, J.” No one else called her that. “Thought I’d be of more use over here. Good works and all. Are you gonna try to save my soul?” he asked, his tone always so irreverent. It should annoy her, but mostly she thought he was kind of charming. Handsome. Off limits.
Men were mysteries she’d never really wanted to unravel. She’d never done more than held hands. Kissed a couple boys. Nothing more, and she liked it that way. Men were always a little scary. Bigger. Stronger. Violent. Kaleb. His name was Kaleb. He didn’t seem like that, scary. Just a little funny. A little too close. Always watching. His music was lovely, that was true, and if anyone chanced to look outside when he played, a little mouse of a nun-in-training might be dancing in the shadow cast by the brick church that kept her so busy. She had always liked dance, and music. Had done a bit of acting, too, but it had always come back to her being in the church.
God and his children needed her more than any ballet company or stage did.
“I’m sure if you were really concerned with your soul you’d be inside the church, not in the garden,” she retorted, but smiled anyway while they each threw weeds into the bucket between them. Then they moved together, down the row, and the bucket was on the other side of him, nothing between them. Her hip brushed his. His fingers brushed the side of her wrist. Kaleb had sent shockwaves through her with those simple touches, turning her cheeks from pink to brightest red before she stood abruptly, threw her gloves down into the bucket, and went inside, calling back to him. “I’m needed inside.”
If she looked back, she’d be annoyed to see that smug look on his face as he watched her, then turned away to go back across the street and to his home.
She had confessed after that. Impure thoughts. He would laugh about it, no doubt.
The next time she saw him, again she was outside, but had found a little kitten stuck under a grate, and was trying to reach it without having to call the fire department. Laid out in the curb, her arm reaching down, she hadn’t even noticed him. He was just suddenly there.
“Pennywise trying to snatch you, J?” he murmured, startling her into sitting up quickly. He reached down to help her to her feet.
“There’s a kitten,” she said, and a small meow backed her claim up, sounding pure misery from the grate. “I think I’m going to have to call the fire department, or the city. I just can’t reach it…” Jaycee, a soft spot for animals, sounded nearly as miserable as the cat.
“Wait a sec,” Kaleb said, backing up and for once not looking like he had ideas about ways she could pass the time. He was gone for a while, Jaycee sat again and spoke to the kitten in a baby voice, promising to save it, until he returned. A pool skimmer. He had a pool skimmer. It might even work.
Jaycee beamed a smile at him and moved away, letting him try. Try number one ended in a falling kitten, now sounding indignant as it was coated in wet muck and still unsaved. The second, it kept dodging the skimmer, not trusting it after attempt one. “Shit,” he murmured, brow all furrowed in concentration. She had a little smile on her face, thankful for his help.
“Language,” Jaycee corrected him automatically, drawing a chuckle from him. And the third try was the charm, it seemed, because he had the kitten up and in her reach. Jaycee reached in and plucked it out by the scruff of it’s neck and cradled it in her lap, brushing the wet fur to clear some of the debris from it. Kaleb settled back, watching her and the cat with a crooked grin that was almost enough to melt her. He made her forget herself, and the vows she wanted to make. How even? And he had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes she had to tear her gaze from as she scrambled to her feet, the kitten in her arms. “I’d better go wash it up and feed it…” she said, blushing and looking away from him. Though, she offered her free hand to him, a hand up from the ground.
He used her, clasping her hand and standing quickly, not letting her go for a long moment, squeezing her hand before he did. That brief contact left her out of breath and rushing inside, cheeks flushed. He always made her do that.
“Goodbye, J!” Kaleb had called to her retreating back.
The next day, a basket in her arms, Jaycee snuck across the street with the kitten meowing every step of the way, like a darn alarm. “Shhh, cat…” she huffed, glancing around and knocking on his door. Pondering running as the music inside stopped, when she heard footsteps coming from the other side of the door. Barefoot. Shirtless. Hair messy. “Oh. I’ve interrupted you,” she breathed out, taking a step back, then another.
“No,” he said, shaking his head and taking her in, all covered up and carrying a loudly protesting basket. “Come in?”
She couldn’t, shaking her head quickly. “May we speak out here?”
He shrugged and came out, not bothering to tug a shirt on over jeans that rode low on his hips and looked well-worn. Looking like that, she might need to save her own soul from the thoughts he gave her. “Guess we can. Can I get you a drink? Something?” he asked, eyes straying to her increasingly distressed sounding basket.
Jaycee sat, worrying her lip between her teeth, staring down into her lap. “I’m not supposed to be here. I don’t have permission to leave the property today,” she informed him. “But, I need a favor.” Lifting the basket, she chanced meeting his eyes. “They won’t let me keep her. Cass. I’m not allowed a pet there, so I must find her a home. I was hoping… Would you keep her? I could bring you money to care for her! To help. I just want her to live somewhere with someone who cares for her. And you seem like you might care. You’re the one who rescued her,” she babbled on, bringing out the little kitten to show him. Cute and fluffy now it was free of all the muck that had left it filthy in the sewer. He had slowly smiled as she rambled and was truly grinning as she brought out the kitten and met his gaze. “Please, Kaleb…” she asked, her tone pleading. Mr. Brady forgotten in favor of his given name.
He nodded slowly after a moment, sitting by her, reaching out and scritching the kitten’s chin now she was quiet, no longer protesting her confinement to the basket. “Sure. Cass, huh? Cute. I’ll try to be a good home, J….”
And she could visit the cat, it was all Jaycee wanted. She let loose a breath and gave him a truly grateful smile, pushing the basket over with her foot. “There’s money. You can get her a box and litter and all she needs…” It wasn’t much, and she didn’t have much, but she wanted to help with the cat. Their cat.
He laughed and put the money back into her hand and traded her the cat, taking the furry bundle and cuddling it. “I got it. She’s fine. Promise,” he said, grinning at her with a cat in his arms. Jaycee couldn’t stop herself grinning just a little back at him, at how adorable that he was with the furry little kitten purring, eyes closed, and nuzzled under his chin. “You don’t need to pay me to take her, and come over whenever you want, she’ll need plenty of play, plenty that both of us could keep busy. When you’re not nun-ing and working on saving the savages like me,” he teased her, a sparkle in his eyes.
Nun-ing. What a silly man, she thought, standing and scooping her basket up. Jaycee almost petted the kitten, but she was all curled up on him and she’d have to chance accidentally touching him, and she didn’t think she could handle that. The mere thought had her cheeks heating. “I’d better get back to nun-ing,” she murmured, stepping lightly down from his porch. “I’ll check in on her, promise,” she said, bowing her head and rushing back across the street to get back to her work, already missing the kitten she had grown so fond of in the space of 24 hours.
Her days became busier. There was always gardening to do. Always cleaning to do and praying. There were charities to help with and she spent a few days a month working as a helper in a community health center that helped the low income. The church did what it could for the people. But part of every day was spent sneaking over across the street to play with a kitten that soon became a cat, playful and sweet, and talking to Kaleb, their conversations slowly becoming more and more in depth as they learned about each other, slowly getting used to him and his low laugh and his tendency to touch her whenever he had the chance to. Pinning her hair back when she’d played too much and tendrils had come loose. Clutching her hand to help her up, his thumb always brushing the inside of her wrist now when he did it. His hand was at the small of her back when he walked her down the steps. She always ended up confessing to lying. Because she lied in her confessions and about where she was whenever she’d disappear to the neighbor’s house. And never mentioned that more and more often when she was meant to pray and meditate, Jaycee’s thoughts would stray to the neighbor, his warm touch, his smile that always made her sigh.
“Why are you becoming a nun?” he asked her one day when she was sprawled on his porch, holding a string and watching Cass chase and play with it, giggling as she jumped around.
His question caught her off-guard and she let the string go, making Cass end up all tangled in it, her feet in the air, smacking the piece of yarn. Taking a few minutes to untangle the cat and her thoughts, Jaycee took a deep breath. “When I was younger, I’d go to mass with my mother. Somehow, the sisters always seemed so serene. So sure of their place in the world. They knew that they had the church, God, and good works to do. They were never unsure of themselves, it seemed. And I guess that serenity appealed to me. Religion was always there for me, God was there. I was never alone. As I got older, I realized the world was a scary place, that the people in it were terrifying. That there was so much that was unfair and wrong, but that the church could maybe, somehow, help with that. And I wanted to be a part of it. So I volunteered when I was a teenager. Then, I did more. I was helping with the soup kitchen. The community garden. The health center. The sisters were good to me. Always made me feel like I was family. So, I decided to join.” She glanced up at him and shrugged. “A few more months and I become a novice. Not even a full-fledged almost nun yet. I’ll probably leave here then, when I take my final vows in a few years. Find somewhere I fit that needs me,” she said. The thought made her sad suddenly. She’d have to leave her friends. Him. The cat.
Kaleb didn’t look much enthused by the idea either.
“Will you play the piano for me before I go today?” she asked, trying to make him smile.
He got up, scratched Cass’ belly and ran a hand across the back of her neck. “Of course. I’ll play you something that makes me think of you,” he said and went inside. Soon the notes were pouring from the piano and filling her. Her eyes closed and she didn’t even feel it when Cass left her lap to curl into a ball in the chair sitting by the front door. She was swaying, listening, and finally smiling as he kept playing. He was good. But, listening, realizing that he might be playing a love song, it scared Jaycee. Had her scrambling up and glancing to the door before she ran, leaving him playing still as she crossed the street and went inside where he couldn’t overwhelm her anymore.
More than a week went by without her seeing him. He wasn’t outside when she was. He didn’t come out when she was doing chores outside. No one answered his door when she knocked. Because she worried and wanted to see her cat. Yes, the cat.
Another week and she was truly worried. He hadn’t mentioned a trip. Every time she passed a window, she glanced out, searching. Every time she was outside, half the time was spent staring at his house, waiting to see if he or Cass would appear.
Suddenly one late afternoon she was putting up cleaning supplies after washing church windows, and he was there, smiling behind her. Without thinking, Jaycee had thrown her arms around him and held onto him for a long beat, too long, before letting go. “I thought something happened to you!” she cried, backing up, warm all over from being so near.
“I had to go home. My mother got sick and my father is shit at being nurturing. So I went to help her out. I’d have told you if there’d been time,” he said, grinning slowly. “You missed me…?” he teased, brow raising at her.
“…I barely noticed you were gone. And language, Kaleb,” she reminded him, smiling. “Is your mom all right now?”
“Lying’s a sin, J.” He nodded in response to her question, looking relieved. And tired.
“Oh shut up, I missed my cat,” she retorted.
“I’d say that’s a lie, but I know you actually did. But did you miss me more?” More teasing, her cheeks were heating up. Darn him.
“I was worried,” she repeated, shaking her head at him.
“Cass missed you, too,” he said, reaching out to touch her chin. “Got time to tell her hey…?
“Let me finish…” she said, and he started helping her to put her tools away. And reached to rub the smudge of dirt from her cheek where she’d probably brushed it against the dirty extender thingy for the squeegee she’d used on the windows. “Thank you. Let’s go see our cat,” she said.
Cass was on the porch. Her normal spot. But she’d gotten sick on the patio furniture. Her breathing was slow. Loud. Jaycee pulled her into her lap but the cat was just limp, forcing her into a panic. “What happened?” she asked, Kaleb coming up behind, looking calm but for the eyes. He was hard to rattle, she’d found. And was thankful for it in the moment.
“I’ll call a vet,” he said, taking out his phone and going inside. He came out in a few moments with a blanket for Cass and helped the very panicked Jaycee wrap her up. “All right. Taking her in, are you coming…?” he asked, though he knew she loved Cass and wouldn’t let her go alone. The young woman had the cat cradled to her chest as she meowed at her, and made her way to the car without a word while he locked up.
The ride was tense, made slightly better by the way Kaleb kept reaching out to cover her hand as she held onto their cat. And then they were waiting, hands clasped, while the vet worked on Cass. It was a long few hours, spent without much talking. Just tense hand holding. At one point, Jaycee had dozed with her head on his shoulder.
Later, night had fallen hours before, the vet had said Cass was stable. Could go home, if they wanted, or let them observe her overnight. They opted to let the vet keep her. Just so they knew she’d be all right. She’d gotten into some kind of plant they would need to track down and get rid of. Made her sick as could be. Kaleb had kissed temple when the vet had said their cat would be okay, relief making tension flow out of him. Both of them.
Kaleb drove them back, it was after midnight and she’d winced realizing the time. “The doors will be locked,” she murmured. “I won’t be able to get in.” Crap. Jaycee glanced at him and sighed as they neared their homes.
“It’s all right. Stay with me. We can go get Cass together in the morning.” It sounded innocent enough and Jaycee couldn’t see a reason to say no. She’d be in trouble come tomorrow, but Cass was safe and that was worth it to her.
“All right..” she said, glancing out the window as they arrived to his home.
She’d never been inside his home before. Only the porch or just outside his door, looking in at him. It was a stark place, really. Not much to it, but lived in. Jaycee hesitated before she went to wash up in his bathroom and change into the t-shirt and baggy sleep pants he’d given her to borrow. She didn’t take her hair down. He was rattling around in the kitchen, getting them a snack since they’d never eaten dinner while worrying over their cat.
Joining him, Jaycee came and sat on a stool at the bar in the kitchen, watching him throwing together sandwiches and chips, music playing softly from the other room, sliding her a glass of something amber. “You need it,” was all he said as she looked at him questioningly. And drank from his own. Jaycee sipped, coughing at the first burn and glaring at him.
“Seriously. Drink up. You’re wound up tight,” he said, giving her the plate with her sandwich and the opened bag of chips for them to share from.
She sighed and drank again, nose wrinkling at the taste. Awful. “Why do people drink this?” she asked, biting into her sandwich.
“Not because it tastes good, but it does help when you’ve had a shit day.” He smiled her way. “I know. Language.”
Jaycee blushed and kept eating, sipping from her glass every now and then. Both reached into the bag of chips at once, hands brushing. She’d pulled her hand back, like it had been burned, chipless. He shook his head.
“I don’t bite.”
“Of course not, just…” She shook her head, not finishing what she was saying, surprised to find her glass empty. And her sandwich was gone, nothing but crumbs left. She moved around him, her feet bare, one hand holding the pants up to rinse the plate and put it in the drying rack.
He moved behind her to do the same with his, startling her as his body brushed against her back, but it was a delightful feeling.
“Another drink, J…?” he asked, lips near her ear.
No one was more surprised than her when she nodded, and shuffled sideways to get out of his way so he could pour it and press the cool glass into her hand. His arm was flung around her shoulder, a friendly gesture that seemed so much more, as he led her to his living room and they sat together, despite there being plenty of room on the sofa for them to not be so close. He made it hard to think. Hard for her to move away from him when he was so… there.
“She’ll be all right. Home in the morning. Just as playful. We’ll have to find that plant. Must be something in the yard somewhere. She’s been getting more bold… going out more. I think she’s looking for you, actually…” Kaleb said, working on his drink, arm still around her.
“I know. Maybe if we get her fixed, she won’t want to wander…” she suggested, drinking and pulling away from him finally, trying to make herself distant from him. “I missed her. I’m… I love her,” she said, glancing at him as he shifted over to lay his hand against the nape of her neck. His thumb brushed the sensitive skin there.
“I know you love her,” he said, still moving his thumb and setting aside his drink. “What’s your hair look like down…?” he asked, reaching out to tug pins from her hair before she could protest, though all she did was flutter a hand helplessly as pins fell and the dull ache that seemed to always be there when her hair was pinned back left her. Spilling slowly from the confines of the pins and being twisted up, her hair fell over her shoulders and down her chest, nearly to her waist.
“I’m not supposed to,” she murmured, running a hand through it, rubbing out the soreness. “Well, I just…keep it up because it’s better that way.” More modest. Like her long pants and skirts and sleeves. She drank deep from the glass and coughed again, making him laugh.
“I like it,” he said, sighing and running fingers through it. And she was leaning into his touch. Blame the liquor, the long day. Or her hormones. Whatever it was, she wasn’t keeping so much distance between them like she normally did. “I like you,” he murmured, sliding his thumb over her neck and bringing her in closer. “There’s something here, between us,” Kaleb said.
“I like you. I shouldn’t. We shouldn’t. You make me… warm,” she said, tipping her face up to look at him, her mouth dry then. She licked her lips, not sure what he wanted from her, not really. She’d had no experience with this, not really.
Breath mingling, he’d drawn her so close, Kaleb’s lips hovered over hers and his fingers played in the long tangle of her hair. She sucked in a breath in the heartbeat before he first brushed his lips over hers, gentle, slow. Her hand went out, gripping the front of his shirt instead of shoving him away. It only pulled him in closer, bringing his lips full against her, harder. They shifted towards each other, lips parting for the other, her body shivering against his. Each kiss was slow and deep, getting more intense with every break they gave each other, panting as their kissing turned from slow to urgent in the space of moments. He took her glass and set it down, shifting her into his lap before she could resist, kissing and brushing his hands over her sides, lifting his shirt with each touch, finally brushing her skin.
Jaycee pushed at his chest even as her hips settled against his, her eyes wide. “Ah… Kaleb, I can’t…” she said, between kisses, her protests weak even to her own ears. “I made promises…” She’d promised celibacy, even without her final vows, and she’d never. “I can’t, please,” she said, lips hot on his.
“You’re too alive to lock yourself up in the church forever, too beautiful,” he said, kissing her neck, by her ear, her hair a cloud around them. Her fingers were digging into his shoulders, then up to run through his hair. He’d pushed her shirt up and teased his fingers over her slight curves. “And you love me. You’re in love with me,” he said, his tone soft by her ear. Sure he knew her deepest secret.
She froze. He knew. “No,” she protested, weak.
“Don’t lie to me,” he said, hands still busy, brushing and teasing, lifting her shirt off.
“Too fast,” she said, though her lips were on his again, and her hips had shifted, showing him she wanted something, though she wasn’t sure herself what she wanted. What he could give her.
“Maybe that’s true,” he agreed, lips brushing down her collar bone now, fingers working at the back of her bra until it was undone and he pulled the straps down and pulling it off. “You can say no, tell me no, if you want me to stop.” He punctuated that with his mouth closing over one tight, pink nipple, his hands still running up and down her body.
“Oh my…” she said, unable to say more as her head fell back, hair brushing his knees as she gave in for a moment. Letting herself feel, letting his tongue and mouth devour first one breast, the other, back again, until she was moaning, gripping his hair, her hips rocking in an unsure rhythm against his until she rocked, grinding against him, and felt his hardness nudging between her thighs. “I can’t!” she cried, pushing back from him but not moving from his lap, arms covering her chest.
He caught his breath, watching her, flushed cheeks and hair falling over her face. His hands skimmed over her arms, crossed over her chest. “J… You’re beautiful. I love you.” He gently pried her arms apart, pressed his hand between her breasts. “You love me,” he said again, watching her.
“I do…” she said, finding it right that there in that moment she spoke the typical bridal as he said she loved him. How could she deny it when she was laid, literally, bare before him. “I shouldn’t,” Jaycee murmured, wrist in his hand still, and feeling the other over her heart like a brand.
“Don’t hide from everything in that stuffy ass church,” he said, bringing his lips back to her chest, his hand sliding down to grip her ass and pull her in, harder against him. She was relenting at his kisses and touches, her legs spreading, her body relaxing until he shifted over to lay her on the sofa, his lips trailing down from her breasts over her belly, kissing until she was drunk with it and didn’t feel the pants sliding off her hips until they were off and he was nibbling the white lace at her hip. Making her back arch up even as she tried to push her knees back together. Not happening when his shoulders were between them. “Lay back, let me make love to you,” he begged, voice hoarse, hands sliding over her body, between her thigh, teasing over those pure white panties that he ached to peel from her hips. His lips moved to tease her too, breathing her in.
She kept trying to push her knees together until his mouth found her center and Jaycee gasped, reaching for his hair again. How did anyone ever stop this? She wondered, body undulating under his. “…Please,” she asked.
One word and he tugged her panties off her slim hips and dropped them to the floor with the rest of her clothes, tossing his shirt off to join them. His jeans were uncomfortably tight, but he didn’t want to scare her. His hand pulled her leg over his shoulder, kissing his way over her silken skin. Then to the other thigh. Breath touching where she didn’t even know she wanted him. When his tongue finally did touch her, Jaycee moaned low. He reached down and worked his pants open, unable to take the confinement when she was sounding like that, tasting like she did. He swirled his tongue over her clit making her writhe against him, hands clutching at the sofa cushion. Groaning, he loved her, sucking and kissing between her thighs, tongue teasing softly over her slit and then back to her clit to circle it again until she was making noises, squeaks, body rigid with her fighting the feelings rushing.
“Relax. Let it happen,” he said against her thigh before he slipped a finger inside of her, pumping it in time with the movement of his tongue over that bundle of nerves that had her coming apart underneath him, her legs trying to clamp shut.
Relax, he had said. Jaycee hadn’t expected how amazing his tongue would feel. Her cheeks blazed and when he moved his finger and tongue faster, she had let out a series of moans, hips bucking, and she tried to push her knees together, to stop or prolong that feeling, she wasn’t sure which. And he didn’t stop. His tongue kept going, another finger and he’d turned his hand, touching something within her that made her call his name in a hoarse whisper while her body shook and she shivered.
Then his lips were back on hers and she tasted herself on them and her knees hooked around his now bare hips. Kaleb kissed her hard, his cock nudging her entrance, freezing her.
“J…?” he asked, fingers in her hair, forehead pressed to hers, shuddering with holding back.
She nodded, not wanting to leave any stone unturned tonight. She was sinning already. Why not feel it all? She wanted it. Jaycee wanted him.
Wet and tight, suddenly nervous, she waited, wincing, for pain. But he simply started to kiss her again. His finger brushing her clit until she was gasping, squirming again. And then he slid inside. Slow. Shallow thrusting now, just letting her get used to the feel of it. Jaycee shivered, cried out, and gripped his shoulders, short nails digging into his skin. Then her hips rolled. And he went deeper, a bright exquisite pain that was gone the second he kissed her, an apology in it. She was full, afraid to move, wondering if she would do it wrong, if he wouldn’t like it with her. His head fell to her shoulder and he sucked in a breath, breathed her name out, and drew his hips back, then forward again. This time, she called his name and brought his lips to hers again so she could kiss him hard and hungry. Yes, this was what she had wanted to give up? Was she crazy? He moved on top of her, making her cry out when his fingers slid back to her clit. Jaycee’s hips rose, unsure at first, but gaining confidence, rocking with his his, meeting his thrusts, until he kissed her harder, bruising her lips, and his body went taut, his thumb circled her clit faster, and they both came, crying out into each other’s mouths, tears of completion on her cheeks.
After, he’d rolled her on top of him. Rubbed her back. And fell asleep.
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Distracted — Five Hargreeves
Requests: “shit, i forgot. I'm the one who asked for smut prompts #30, #31, #61 and #96. Could you write them for Five Hargreeves? Thank you! So sorry to spam you with the asks X-X”
Smut prompts :
30. “I’d hold on to something if I were you.”
31. “Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic.”
61. “what would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?”
96. “I think you forgot to lock the door, that means anyone could walk right in and see you like this.”
Couple: Five Hargreeves /Fem! Reader.
Warnings: smut heavy, NSFW, dirty talk, swearing, degradation. (I was in a bad mood hkjskjs)
Word count: 4k
A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!
I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.
Let me know if you want to be added for a taglist for a specific fandom (Criminal Minds, The Umbrella Academy, Riverdale, Roman Godfrey, or all)
English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.
Requests are open. Love you ❤️
— — — — —
Five Hargreeves had a bad temper. It was explicit, hanging from his chest on a giant sign that said: “ABANDONATE THE HOPES IF YOU ENTER HERE.” And he knew that.
Inside his body he housed a sarcastic, explosive and sulky soul, with no patience for half the world. Everything about him exuded a dangerous, authoritarian, arrogant energy, mixed with distilled look that have always been able to subdue anyone.
Five is the type of man who, while everyone dreams of easy solutions, he knows that if he wants something to be done he will have to do it himself. He likes a hunting, taking the lead in any situation, having no problem breaking rules to make things happen.
And he was perfectly comfortable with that. Taking control of his world. Until, of course, you show up. Taking the key to his Olympus as if it had always belonged to you.
You were the one thing that Five Hargreeves couldn't subdue. He was unable to impose to you his reputation as a man who should not be challenged. Because that was exactly how the world saw Five. Like a man you don't challenge. Even his siblings realized, after a certain point, that it was not advisable to play with him.
But, apparently against all common sense, none of this had an effect on you.
You were not afraid, or pondering your words. You rolled your eyes at the things he said, mocked his arrogance and always looked at him with a combination of a smile and a look that, holy mother of God, Five hated. It was the typical expression that said: “ I know a lot more than you do, but I will be quiet because you are not worth my time.”
Five Hargreeves had a bad temper. But you raised it to stratospheric proportions.
It was completely exasperating, outstanding, you were a brat who didn't hear the voice of an adult, so used to being daddy's little girl. Because that was how he saw you. You were only 24 age while he was 30. It was expected that you heard him! But no. You did not give a damn.
“If you listened to me and chose the Colombian, that wouldn't be so bad!” Five scolded again.
This was the twentieth time he had said that to you.
There was a routine with the Hargreeves siblings: you brought coffee on Mondays, since you passed a great coffee shop on the way. Diego was responsible for bringing Japanese food on Wednesdays, Luther for Indian food on Fridays and Klaus for pizzas on Saturdays. It was a banal thing, but it brought a comforting feeling of, no matter how not anyone would admit, tradition.
But it was obvious that you had to piss Five off on that too.
“And I already said that they don't do the Colombian before ten in the morning.” You passed the page of a magazine you were reading, ignoring his tantrum.
“And you can't wait ?!”
This time you looked up at Five, giving a mocking expression.
“Oh, forgive me, your majesty. I will delay my journey just because your eexcellency wants Colombian coffee.” You laughed, turning your attention to the magazine.
Five felt the tips of his ears heat up, the fingers of his hands go white from the force that he clenched his fists. You were so fucking annoying!
"You are unbearable." He said, because he saw no other way to express the hateful little monster you were.
You looked up at him again. “Serious? Me? You are the one who is complaining about not getting your blend coffee.” You turned your attention to the magazine “Like a child who didn't get chicken nuggets in the shape of dinosaurs.”
What?! Fucking what?!
Five opened his mouth in bewilderment, now anger rising up his neck. How dare you, fuck?! You were younger than him!
"What did you say?!" He repeated, his voice low but deep, his eyes bloodshot with rage.
You didn't take your attention away from the magazine by replying: “Like a child who didn't get chicken nuggets in the shape of dinosaurs.”
Oh, no. Oh fucking no.
Five slammed the coffee travel cup on the kitchen counter, walked over to you and closed your magazine brutally. You looked at him indignantly.
"What a fuck ..."
But Five didn't give you time to finish. He stuck both hands in your arms, forcing you to get up from the chair so quickly that the object fell to the floor. He pushed you back, lifting you up and making you sit at the wooden table, his eyes still on fire with your words.
"Child, isn't it ?!” He snarled, spreading your knees with his hands, settling his body still standing between your legs.
You were wide-eyed. Looking at him in amazement. Your heart was pounding in your chest so hard that you thought Five would be able to hear it, while your breath had been lost somewhere between the path from your lung to your nose.
Holy shit.
It was no secret that Five Hargreeves was gorgeous. This was not an opinion, it was a fact. With midnight hair, emerald green eyes and alabaster skin, it was not surprising that he was able to steal his breath wherever he went. And you were not immune to his charm. To be honest, you never thought it would be.
But the difference between you and the girls who fell at his feet was that ... well, you practically lived with the guy every day. You had been friends with Klaus for two years, and as a result you ended up becoming friends with the brothers and captivating them. It was almost atypical that you weren't with them. So, as a result, you ended up having time with Five too.
And, truth be told, it destroyed your will to want to impress him. As was common whenever see someone beautiful. Five Hargreeves was, in every way, arrogant. Irritating. Unbearable. Maybe it was your lust mixed with irritability, but you decreed that you didn't like him. That you would never want to fall into his bed.
Well…until now.
Until he accommodates his fucking tall, lean, firm body in the middle of your legs. Until his hands are glued to your arms in a touch of fire. Until your heart was racing like never before.
"You called me a child, didn't you?"
You wouldn't be able to answer anything in that second, even if your life depended on it. So you just nodded, a slow, cautious nod, like prey looking at hunter.
"I will show you my age!"
Five kissed you. In a way that no one had kissed you before. It was something hungry, angry, full of lust and with a desire that made you sigh softly. His hands were still on your legs, coming down to the back of your knees and pulling you firmly forward, sticking your whole body against his in a possessive way. His tongue invaded your mouth without waiting for an invitation, renouncing everything you had to offer as his.
That was a really kiss.
You put your hands on the back of his neck, running your fingers over the silky, black strands, letting your body be pressed against his as if you had been waiting for it a lifetime. Five pulled your legs closer, guiding you to close them around his hips and, once you did, his hands, determined and hungry, roam the sides of your body possessively.
"Five ..." a groan cut off your speech when his hands clung to your waist, pressing the hard and firm member to your core covered in the thin legging pants you wore.
"You already moaning and I haven't even touched you yet." His voice was overwhelmingly arrogant, full of amusement and convincing.
You were going to answer, because you weren't the kind of girl who kept quiet with a tease, but Five's hands made your waist roll around handily against his member, and a louder groan interrupted any line of reasoning you had.
“Oh, how adorable.” He scoffed, lowering his mouth to your neck and closing a hickey where pulse was “I wonder how the moaning will be when I do ...”
His right hand moved up to the inside of your thigh, rubbing his thumb in circles until he got to where you needed it most. “This.” Then he forced the movements where your clitoris was covered.
Your groan was louder than you would like to admit. The air became caustic, rarefied, the atmosphere became something breathtaking, claustrophobic, poignant. And, before you know it, it was already a wet clay in his hands.
Five Hargreeves had won. He had you exactly where him wanted.
Your moans grew louder when he tuned his thumb movements together with his pelvis movements against you. Your hands tightened on the back of his neck, your teeth closed on your lower lip in order to contain the volume, and your breathing was shaky. Your hips pushed against him, the thin leggings being smeared by the arousal that oozed from you, and as soon as his hand was only an inch away, you followed it with your hips.
“Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic.” Five played with the voice at the bottom of your ear.
You pulled the air against your teeth, whimpering, wanting anything he could give you.
“I bet ...” his lips slid under your skin without kissing, just making you wish, up to your lips and hovering there, a sigh away “If I asked you to take your clothes off and let me fuck you in this table like a good whore, you would gladly do. It is not?”
His free hand went to your face, taking a stir of your hair out of your eyes and placing it behind your ear. You were unable to contain the moan, closing your eyes tightly for a second, trying to contain how much your body screamed.
"Y-yes." You whined.
“Good." Five sprinkled a kiss on your lips before walking away.
You opened your eyes, your chest rising and falling with your heaving breath, your legs shaking. Your body screamed in protest at the separation, and you sent him a confused and inquiring look.
“You will learn who is in charge here." Five gave you a sly smile. "I'm only going to fuck you when you understand this."
Then he turned his back on you, took the coffee and disappeared in the blue flash.
This son of fucking bitch!
- - -
You were angry and frustrated. To say the least. Your body was on fire and mind replayed that day over and over in your head. It had been four days since Five's little exploits in the kitchen, and, to be honest, not only had he started the teasing.
Five gave you malicious and discreet smiles, gestured a lot more with his hands when he spoke just to remind you of what they could do. He hovered his body close to your whenever possible, brushing his shoulder against your, his hand gently on your back when he needed to pass beside you. His fingers even slid under your thigh under the table when you were having dinner. It was always like that.
And you were already crazy.
In the beginning, you sent him and their little game go to hell. He was not going to get what he wanted. But as the days went by, and Five started to touch you more often, the fire inside you burst, and it felt a lot less... torture if you just... gave in. The thought of sleeping with someone else just to appease that didn't bring you the same euphoria, you didn't just want sex, you wanted Five.
You knew he was playing with you. Just wanted you to give a sign that you were surrendering, so that he could give you what you wanted.
And after seven days, you gave in.
It was Monday, your mood was already an angry monster, but this time, you arrived a little later.
“Y/n, you are lateeeeee.” Klaus sang from the kitchen, biting off a large chunk of whatever it was before he sat down.
Vayna, Luther and Five were also at the table. Vayna and Luther talking about nothing important and Five reading a book under metaphysics.
"Traffic."
You lied, placing the tray of coffees in the middle of the table. Five and Luther were the first to get, Vayna still getting used to coffee addiction.
“Allison and I are going to watch something today. Why don't you come with us? ” You sat next to Klaus, throwing one leg over his.
"Is it going to be in the cinemove?”
He denied “In the living room, you can sleep here after."
You shrugged. “Okay.”
"Did you go to a different coffee shop?" Luther raised his eyebrows, having just swallowed his coffee.
“No, why?”
“It tastes different.” He drank some more.
“It is Colombian.” You put the cards on the table, in a game that only you and Five knew.
You didn't look at him, but you could feel his eyes on you and a sly, malicious smile brushing the right side of his mouth. That was the only interaction that you felt Five driving you that day. The hours had passed and it was already one in the morning when the movie in the mansion's ended. It was not atypical you slept in the mansion, the guest room was almost called “your room” at that time. But there was… there was something different this time.
As you unbuttoned your pants, with the night breeze coming in through the window, you thought that maybe it was because you never slept there having feelings for one of the siblings. So impure feelings. There was something about sleeping under the same roof as Five that made you ... nervous. But as soon as you removed the piece and placed it on the bed, the blue flash flashed behind you.
Your whole body went tense, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and your heart was racing as if, suddenly, you had just returned from a marathon. You swallowed, the heat of his body hitting your back, while his hand went up your arm gently.
"You are such a good girl." Five's voice made your legs tremble, the butterflies in your stomach roll.
In this moment, feeling things that you never thought you would be able to feel, you wished always were a good girl for him.
"Did you do that for me?" His mouth joined the pice of your shoulder and neck.
You knew he knew he did, but the bastard wanted to hear it from you. Five wanted you to confirm that he had won.
“Yes” You whispered, the moonlight allowing you to see when his hand went down to your belly, playing with the cos of your dark blue panties.
"I knew you would be a good girl for me."
Then, taking you by surprise, Five pushed your chest onto the bed, bending you over, pulling your hips towards his with the other hand. You sighed when you felt his already hard member hit your pussy just covered by thin panties, now wet with your mess. Your hands closed on the sheet, your heart almost screaming in relief at the contact of his body behind you.
God, you wanted him so fucking much...
“What am I supposed to do with you?” Hargreeves reflected on a rhetorical question, his hands sliding over your surrendered body, squeezing your flesh with a force that would leave marks.
You whimpered, rolling your hips over his member. "Please"
“What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?” Five slapped your left cheek.
You moaned softly, tightening the sheet, your body refusing to remain an inch away from him. Your hips needed more from Five's, your whimpers increasing as he took off your panties and ran his fingers through your wet folds.
"Five!" You moaned louder, biting your lip as he played with your entrance.
"Should I just fuck you with my fingers?" He caused your entry with two digits "Or with my dick?"
You were an incoherent mess, days of denial and desire that burned arthrosis in your body.
"Answer me!" Five slapped you again, this time louder, more grotesque, making you cry out.
"Y-your dick!" You tried to say, “P-please. Fuck me with your dick, please. ”
You were desperate, that was the truth. Desperate for contact, desperate for touch. Desperate for anything that Five Hargreeves could want from you. Anything he wanted to give you.
"Hard?" His voice was now dark, slightly wicked.
“Y-yes! Please!”
Then Five stuck his hand to the back of your neck, curling his fingers in your hair and pulling your face up, making you face the ceiling as he leaned over and snarled at your neck:
"How hard?"
"Give me all!" You begged “Please, Sir. Give me all."
That title seemed to drive him out of his mind. Because the only thing you had in response was the sound of his belt falling to the floor and the rustle of his pants and boxers down, his right hand never leaving your hair. You groaned in anticipation, tears pricking your eyes from the desire that had accumulated so long when you felt the tip of his dick press against your entrance.
Five lowered his mouth to your ear, holding his hand more in your hair as he said: "I’ d hold on to something if I were you. "
Then he entered you. Hard, rough, wild. Opening all your walls and spreading your abundant liquid all over his dick. You opened your mouth in a silent scream, your nails etched hard on the sheet, tears streaming from your eyes without warning. Five gave you just a few seconds to settle for his size, starting to beat inside you at a relentless pace.
This time you screamed. Your heart pounding in chest, your pussy pulsing around Five with so much desperation that you heard him moan and curse behind you. The pace was rough, heavy, wild and full of lust. He fucked you like a rabid animal, devouring everything you had to offer, filling every last inch of you. The sound was of pornographic moans and bodies clashing with arrogance, filling the entire mansion with sounds that would not be forgotten.
"S-sir!" You moaned loudly, pushing your ass to Five at the same rate, making he hit the deepest spot inside you.
“Fucking such good slut!” He dumped one more slap on your ass, freeing his hand from your hair and joining both of them at your waist, pulling you towards him in an heavy rhythm.
Each thrust was an electric current poured into your body, excitement running down your thighs and melting both of you. Five groaned louder, leaning over and biting your shoulder, clenching his fingers aggressively against the innocent skin on your waist.
“I think you forgot to lock the door, that means anyone could walk right in and see you like this.” Five blew in your ear, receiving a loud groan in return, as yours tears flowed.
Your pussy tightened around his dick, pulsing in such a tight way for he.
"Oh, would you like that?" He teased you, feeling your walls tighten again. “I bet you would love to everbody see the slut you are to me. ”
"Sir!" You screamed, throwing your head forward, pressing your forehead to the sheet as you sobbed.
"Answer!" One more slap.
"Y-yes! I-I like could show that I'm your slut! ” You sobbed.
Five came out of you, making you whimper loudly in frustration. He turned you over on the bed, placing you in the center as he climbed on top of you, settling in between your legs and entering without warning again. You screamed, sinking your face into his neck as your legs closed around his waist, pulling his deep into you.
"Such a good bitch."
Five felt your limit riding fast, leaving you more breathless, tearful and desperate. You no longer measured the volume of your moans, your hands clenching your nails on his back, your waist rolling around to make him inside deeper.
"S-sir!" Then, without being able to control yourself anymore, you exploded. Came in long streams of broken moans and shaky breathing.
Your head fell on the pillow, your chest arching while you were on top of the climax. Five groaned at the scene, his limit being your expression of pure ecstasy. He sank in you as anatomically as possible, filling you with the hot liquid that overflowed from inside you.
You were both panting, sweaty and tired. Five let himself relax on top of you, partially loosening his weight, still stirring a few strokes to ensure that you had welcomed all his cum.
"Good girl." He praised you, giving you a small kiss on the neck, stepping out of you and rolling to your side on the bed.
"That was ... wow." You laughed softly, trying to catch your breath.
Hargreeves laughed too, taking the time to get out of bed, looking for the boxers and pants. You bit the inside of your cheek, suddenly not knowing what to do or what to say. Your heart sank at the thought of him leaving, and your mouth was faster than your common sense in saying:
"Wait!"
Five turned to you, his brows furrowed in question as he buttoned his black pants.
"Can you ... could you ... stay?" You took a chance, your cheeks quivering under Five's intense gaze that never left you.
But, instead of the denial you were expecting, his eyebrows furrowed even more in doubt.
“But I am not leaving.” He said it as if it was obvious.
Did you blink a few times “No?”
“I was just going to get a towel to clean you up. There are certain things that I don’t like do naked.”
You opened your mouth to answer, a little shocked, but Five disappeared in the blue flash only to appear a second later, with a towel in hand. You sank into your own shame, muttering softly to yourself in incoherent sounds, you let Five clean you up.
“Did you think I was leaving?” He scoffed when he finished, looking at you with that smug look.
You rolled your eyes, turning to the side on the bed, your back to him.
"No." You mumbled.
Five laughed, settling better on the bed. "Come here." He said, patting his chest.
And, well, as much as you would like to consider yourself a rebellious girl, you did. Turning to him again, you snuggled into his body, laying your head on his chest while Five pulled the blanket up to cover the two of you.
Five Hargreeves had a bad temper. But at that moment, with you, you did not fail to notice the lazy and caring circles he made on your shoulder with his thumb.
Tagged: @bubblegumflamingos
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Helloo, i recently got into P1harmony, and they’re such nice guys but i still want to know more about them. So, could you please read their auras?? Thank you, i love your work, hope you’re doing well. 💓💖💕💘💞
P1harmony Auras/Energies
Keeho has a very big and particular explosive energy that has a hard time controlling it. he influences his environment with his energy and mood and he feels like he has a Mercury in 3rd house or a Gemini Mercury with a fire rising sign. in any case, his energy is very overwhelming which might causes problems to people more sensitive. He also needs to be more in sink and control it so he doesn't overbear people around him
Theo's energy is the type of person that keeps a lot inside him and he only bursts out to the ones he trusts the most. he has a calm yet internal chaotic energy with a soul of green shades. Can easily impact others with his energy
Jiung is the "I sponge and throw back" type of energy. He feeds himself on people's energy and moods so he can mimic and represent them. In good hands he might be one of the sweetest out of the group. Shy and reserved yet full of energy
Intak gives up an aura of someone who's not sure of himself, of someone who doubts a lot and someone that can easily fall into melancholic energies and influence people around him. He has a good and calm aura but he needs to work on his self esteem so he won't become petty
So Soul's energy is .. Weird ? Since I don't follow the group that much I can't tell much but it feels very calm. like a very calm energy and aura but so calm that it's weird or like it's like a calm before exploding ? I can't really explain ! He gives me the same vibes than that one member of The Boyz who creeps me out. His energy is also very instinctual, like he acts based on instinct and not on emotion, like there’s a huge lack of empathy on his energy
And finally, Jongseob. Again I don't know much about the boys but I can bet that this is someone who has suffered a lot in his childhood, I see a lot of violence and deep wounds that have scared his soul. He is very chill, empathic and someone that also feeds on energy of other people as he doesn't really know how he is supposed to feel most of the times.
#p1harmony#p1harmony astrology#p1harmony aura#p1harmony headcanons#p1harmony imagines#p1harmony scenarios#p1harmony reactions#p1harmony blurbs
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𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖗 | 𝖇. 𝖇𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖘
→ pairing: beefy shadow monster!bucky barnes x black!reader
→ word count: 5367
→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, dub con, a tinge of somnophilia, exophilia, #monster fucker, smut, sex, rough sex, masturbation, rough masturbation, sex toys, butt stuff, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, voyeurism, explicit language
→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo
wiping the other’s tears away
→ author note: guys, i’m... this is who we are now. we are monster fuckers. this is based on @idga-buck INCREDIBLE ask that was bred from this post. i honestly don’t know if this holds a candle to that ask because, whew girl. that shit fucked me up when i first read it! anyway, hope you guys enjoy because i might be planning a little monster fucker series based off of this and another certain someone that is mentioned in the fic.
→ read hirsute
The stress in your shoulders makes it hard to lift your arm once you finally reach your apartment door. It takes everything in you to shove your key into the lock and slam your hip against the old, swollen wooden door to pop it open, but just crossing the threshold into your sanctuary helps soothe your nerves. Everything falls to the floor within an instant— purse, messenger bag, coat— hell, even your keys. Hopping on one foot to remove a light brown, velvet heel, and then the other as you make your way towards your bedroom, ignoring the lively green house plants scattered around window seals and the living room.
You don’t even bother to turn on the lights. Don’t make a pit stop in the kitchen, or even the bathroom to remove your makeup. Hunger pains be damned. There are exactly two things that will help with this mood— an orgasm, and sleep. Thank God one always leads to the other.
It was 10:12am, just two hours into your work day, when you knew what you were going to need to help forget about this day. Emails piling up, phone ringing off the hook, picking up the slack for coworkers because you’re just so well versed in this… we could really use your help. Took its toll. By 10:12am you were ready to scream, punch your perky, always in a good mood cubicle mate, and rip your hair out— so you knew, right then and there, that you were gonna fuck yourself stupid when you got home.
Perverted thoughts lingered all day as you rifled through old court filings and scoured obscure statutes. Thighs tightened as your sex started to dampen at fantasies of being bent over your boss’ desk. Caught yourself staring, more than once, through his open door as he chatted on the phone, bright blue eyes glinting underneath the natural sunlight that poured into his office, crinkling on the sides as he laughed.
Then he would furrow those brows as he read through briefings. Jaw and lips set tight, eyes squinted as he nibbled absentmindedly on his bottom lip. Big hands and thick fingers made the pen in his hand seem entirely too small. Pink tongue darted out to wet pink lips.
You’ve spent many a night with thoughts of Andrew Stephen Barber; and tonight will be no different.
Dark shadows are cast across the floor and bed, small slivers of moonlight creeping in. The sound of your shoes hitting the floor don’t even register in your ears as you wiggle out of your skirt and panties and fall onto the soft, warm, inviting Queen mattress.
Deft fingers make light work of the buttons on your silk blouse but the other hand can’t wait— slipping down your stomach and between sticky, hot flesh. A sharp inhale fills your chest as you rub slow circles against your clit, pangs of quick excitement starting to fire off. Your fingers push down to your slit, prodding and stroking gently as a new wet starts to slick your muscles.
A lazy smile curls onto your face. The stress of the day starts to evaporate as you melt into the mattress, the circles against your clit quickening, hips starting to roll and push up into your hand. The expensive silk of your blouse falls off your shoulders just a bit as you push it away from your chest, exposing two bare tits and quickly thickening nipples.
You take hold of one— tweaking it slow. Pinching and rolling the nub before palming your tit all together, cupping and pushing the mound of flesh up your chest. A swipe of your tongue— rough and torrid— against your nipple makes you grunt deep. Makes your hips jut upward as you prod that now filthy wet slit and hole.
Muscles flex as the sound of your dirty deed fills the empty space. Wet squeaks and sloshes bounce off the walls as fingers thrash back and forth and up and down against your clit. Heavy, thick thuds of your palm pounding against your body when one, two, three fingers finally slip inside— but they aren’t enough. Not wide enough or long enough to feed the hunger.
Then… there’s a shift. The atmosphere in your apartment— your room specifically— just changes on a dime. The tiny hairs on your body start to stand on end, goosebumps raising on your skin. Your eyes slide open, blinking up at the ceiling as your pumping hand slows down to just a creep before stilling completely. An already racing heart starts to beat harder, lips part, eyes and limbs completely frozen in place as fear strikes you.
You’ve felt this before, at random times since you moved in. Sometimes in the shower or in the kitchen, when you’re getting ready for work, or catching up on a show— but mainly at times like this. When you’re stretched out on your bed, naked, fingers rooted deep in your cunt, when you feel like you’re being watched. Like there’s a thousand eyes on you all at once.
There’s even a chill that takes over the room, sometimes getting so cold that for a brief moment, you can see your breath. You’ve gone to management a few times, who of course did nothing— but a few of your neighbors put your mind at ease, it happens to them sometimes too. It struck you odd that it was mainly just your female neighbors who experienced the random chills, but you brushed it off. You live on the southside of the complex, the sun gets blocked by the surrounding buildings. You also live on the first floor— heat rises, cold sinks. It happens.
You swallow hard, shutting your eyes, trying to center yourself again. A small laugh escapes your lips seconds later— you’re ridiculous. Maybe it's time to lay off the horror movies for a while.
Shrugging out of your blouse the rest of the way, you roll onto your side and pull open the drawer of your nightstand. Out comes the cute little heart shaped butt plug, complete with a pretty pink crystal gem. A small bottle of water based lube is next, and then, the pièce de résistance. Your ten inch tall, two inch wide realistic dildo.
Your stomach tightens with anticipation as you fumble with the flip cap of the small purple bottle of lube. Just a dollop is enough to coat the steel plug, the excess on your fingers used to wet your warm, puckered hole. Melting back into the mattress, you roll your shoulders, let your eyes flutter closed, and grab your bottom lip between your teeth as you massage your rim with the rounded tip, gently pushing.
A soft moan vibrates in your throat as your body opens up. Your hole twitches, clenching tight around the toy as it disappears with a quick pop as soon as the widest part is shoved in, leaving nothing to be seen but the pink heart flush against your hot rim. You draw your legs up, calves pressed against the backs of your thighs, butterflying open as you drag the fake cock through your folds— against your clit— using your slick to lubricate the soft silicone.
Fingers find your nub soon after, slapping quick, before stroking the delicate flesh as you start to tease your slit. The cock head slips in easy, but you're so tight, so worked up and eager, muscles swollen, that it takes a little more effort to swallow the rest. Tiny little wet squeaks fall from your lips, body tenses and curls inward as you push, push, push— mouth falling open, face splintering with pleasure.
It takes not even ten seconds for your body to adjust, hips wiggling and shifting to get comfortable, before you're pulling the massive toy out and shoving it back in. You start to murmur, indiscernible, clipped words filtering through full lips— a hot tongue slipping out, sweeping over teeth as your hips start to get into it.
You’re soon too far gone to notice the black shadows moving around the room. Chalk up the feeling of the little hairs standing on end, the goosebumps popping up across your body to your arousal— and not the two piercing blue eyes that illuminate at the edge of your bed.
~~~
Bucky could reach out and touch you he’s so close now. He’s careful still— almost getting caught by you earlier, his anticipation for your almost nightly show getting the best of him. Making him sloppy.
He’s haunted these walls, these rooms, these buildings for decades, if not a century or more. Seen generation after generation moving in and out, kids growing up into adults, adults growing old, the old dying off— but you— fuck, you’ve got to be his goddamn favorite of them all.
Deep brown skin. Lithe and delicate. A soft little quiet thing, engrossed in her solitude and house plants, more than happy to shut the rest of the world out more often than not. You’re gentle. Your soul, your physicality, except in these moments. When you fuck yourself like this, and it doesn’t matter when— in the mornings when the sun is soft, in the late afternoons, your body covered in the oranges and pinks of the sky, late at night in the absolute darkness with nothing but the moon and the shadows— you’re anything but gentle.
Unrestrained and wild you are when in the throes of your arousal. Writhing and loud, a thin sheen of sweat on your brow. Eyes clamped closed so tight sometimes sweet little tears squeeze out and slip down your cheeks. Two perfect tits, mounds of soft flesh, jiggle and bounce with the aggressive thrashes of your fingers against a glistening, sensitive nub.
Nights like tonight are his favorite. When you’re acutely aware that he’s here, but too scared to really give it much thought. When the fear strikes you stiff. When you pull out that monstrous fake cock and spread yourself wide— stretch that pretty, pink, wet cunt. The squelch, the squish of the foreign object being jammed into hot, distended muscles.
Your smell. So sweet and pungent— distinctly you. It’s constantly on the tip of Bucky’s tongue, filling his nostrils, swirling in his head and chest— taunting him. Intoxicating him. Begging and beseeching him to just reach out and touch. Taste. Oh, to have your scent— your flavor— on his lips to savor. He wants to bury his face between those thighs, drown between them. Slither into you and curl up, take up residence.
Bucky’s gotten bold as of late— now, not even waiting until you’re fucked out and sex drunk, falling into a peaceful, post orgasm slumber to move around. No. Now he shifts while you’re still awake, still fucking— toy sowed deep, fingers slapping, hips snapping, back arching.
You’ve snapped your head towards him once or twice over time as you’ve caught his movement in the corner of your eye. Sat straight up, mouth hanging, eyes wide, chest heaving as you stared into the darkness— waiting. Scared shitless. You even tried to cover yourself, hands over your tits, legs closing into each other.
It made him laugh.
You’re already his. That body claimed— no need to cover it up now.
Even tonight, he’s even bolder still. Right at the edge of your bed, peering on. It’s a damn near perfect view when you get like this— sloppy. Legs splayed open, heels dug into the mattress, hips arched off the bed. Your slick glistens underneath the moonlight, splashed on your thighs, strings connected between two puffy, balmy lips. It’s nothing but an invitation— an invitation that he can’t ignore for much longer.
He pushes his knee into the mattress, and then the other, his substantial weight dipping it. Piercing blue eyes snap towards your face as he stalls, waiting for any indication that you feel him there— a smile curling onto his lips when it doesn’t come. So he pushes closer, settles right at your feet. Reaches out, hovers long, black fingers over your chest— so close that his pointed, sharp nails graze your skin.
Makes you gasp.
Bucky snaps his hand back, but you don’t stop. You shiver. Goosebumps ever present on every inch of your skin— but you don’t stop. In fact, you get faster, harder. Pounding that fake cock into your cunt, pushing your hips higher as you slap and knead at that sticky, swollen nub.
You like it.
You like his touch.
Pride swells in Bucky’s chest. Maybe you’re much more receptive than he originally thought. Maybe it’s the fear itself— knowing you’re being watched by something, not someone— is what turns you on. And it makes Bucky bolder still.
He looms over you, hand pressing into the mattress right by your head. Head tilting as he leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against your cheek. You jump again, mewl loud when his nails scrape against your skin, between your jiggling, bouncing tits. He wants to fuck you so bad. Stuff you full of his monster cock— he knows you can take it. Knows you can stretch wide for his veiny, dripping prick. Suck those pretty tits into his wet mouth, those hard, perky nipples between his sharp teeth. But he won’t, not now.
You’re so close.
And this is always the best part.
So he pushes away, away from the bed. Hovers up near the ceiling, eyes shifting from their brilliant blue to pitch black so he can enjoy your finale. Then he’ll wait a while, maybe a few nights— maybe a few hours, who knows— to encourage an encore.
With a little help, of course.
~~~
You cry out, shrieking into the darkness as the coil planted deep threatens to snap. The chill in the room has your nipples hard, but the heat blooming across your skin has you damp and sticky. There’s gusts of something— splashing over your naked body— but the windows are closed. The air conditioning turned completely off.
It feels like breath. You’d swear it— and it’s so close. Like someone, or something, is right on top of you. Shudders wrack your body, adrenaline rushes as ice floods your veins. Alarm, panic, sheer horror gripping you.
But, you cum before you can rationalize it. Before you can pinpoint it.
It’s so sweet, the orgasm, so deep as the warmth of it spreads like wildfire. Toes curl hard, so hard they go numb as the waves crash, each one harder than the one before. Heart in your throat, the blood rush in your ears. Muscles spasming, clenching and clamping down around the silicone cock, clit jumping with each contraction of your cunt.
It lasts for awhile— your body knowing that this is what you needed. So you ride it out as long as you can, fingers still rubbing and thrashing against your clit until it’s too sensitive. You stuff the cock into you one last time and leave it there, fixed so deep as your body falls back against the mattress. Your asshole constricts around the plug, twitching and fluttering as the last jerks of your hips start to subside.
Chest heaves with deep, long, ragged breaths. Tits pushing up and down, jiggling, stomach flexing as you go limp. Limp and fucked out. Asshole and cunt used, hot— weeping lube and cum. You’re a mess. A beautiful, sated, sloppy mess.
A lazy smile on your face, eyes hooded, you stare up at the ceiling. Unaware that you’ve found two black eyes just perfectly— stare right into them as they peer back at you.
Sleep starts to pull, a mushy, hazy brain giving in all too easily, not giving you time to recognize that you’re being watched again. That there’s a presence looming just over you— all around you. Or maybe, it's a mechanism. Maybe you don’t want to recognize it. So you roll over onto your side, shimmy underneath the blankets to gather some warmth. Shut your eyes and give into the sleep— vow to stop watching those cheesy scary movies so late at night.
They’re making you paranoid.
-
The sting of cold on your extremities makes you stir. Letting out a yawn, you flex your toes, pulling the blankets up to your chin as a chill ripples through your bones. You roll onto your back, and push out a breath, not opening your eyes to see the white puff of air. Another shiver, a deep one, rolls through you again, making you shift underneath the blankets and push your face into the pillow.
Moments later is when you perceive a warmth. A soft moan trembles in your throat as you smash the back of your hand against your face, still teetering between sleep and consciousness. The ache between your legs grows harder to ignore— the warmth, starting to sear. Your hips buck soft. Another groan scratches at the back of your throat.
You’re writhing within minutes. A white hot molten pooling in the pit of your stomach and spreading out to the tips of your fingers and toes. The cold nothing but a distant memory as the familiar burn of lechery encompasses your tight body.
It feels so real— a long, forked, rough tongue lapping at your folds, swishing around your clit. You jump suddenly, gasping deep when something like teeth, so many sharp teeth, nibble and bite at the meat of your thighs. There's pressure, pressing down on your stomach and wrapped around your thigh as you draw your knees up slow, digging the balls of your feet into the mattress. The pressure, it’s warm and vast— something like a palm… there’s scratching, quick little tickles over your stomach, your tits, your ankles and calves.
Fingernails. Long, jagged fingernails.
You give in to the fantasy— the dream. Not opening your eyes, not giving into the consciousness that tugs at you, not wanting to lose this euphoria. The pressure on your stomach gets harder, heightening the sensation of the tongue against your core and almost pinning your writhing hips to the sturdy mattress.
The tongue, rough and wet, slithers through your folds, flicking quick against your clit before the mouth sucks you right up— lips, clit— right into it. Tongue flattening against your slit, teasing your pink opening. Then, oh God, and then it slithers inside, that tongue. Massages your hot, swollen muscles from the inside. Your body jolts up, away from the mattress, a breathy, drawn-out snarl bursting from your lips.
You fall back against the mattress— liquify into it really and let your hands roam, finding your taut, thick nipples. Tweaking and rolling them, pinching between deft fingers before palming your tits feeling the goosebumps that have popped up on your flesh again. Your knees fall apart, legs splaying open, putting your swollen cunt on full display for this invisible force.
It’s not long before your hips are jutting up into the dream tongue, the lips, the teeth hard and fast, a sharp sting piercing your clit just as you start to cum again. Loud, shaky moans fill the room as your hips pulse and your back arches. Cursing, whaling as the dream tongue swipes and flicks, lips wrap around your nub again, sucking hard, coaxing every last drop of your release out of you.
Thighs, stomach, arms, cunt burn as a delicious stretch, a used ache settles deep in the exploited muscles. Long, hoarse breaths fill your chest, the air rushing so fast, and yet so slow that it makes you dizzy. You couldn’t move if you wanted to, everything is just so fucking heavy.
Brain is mush again, cloudy and dense, stupid with ardor. Lazy, broken moans vibrate through your vocal chords, body twitches with quick aftershocks every now and again, making you giggle. You feel like you’ve been hit by a mack truck. It’s so nice.
Once your breathing has slowed back to normal, you roll your head towards the window, open your eyes just enough to see the moon cutting into the room. Relief floods through your veins, happy to find it’s still night time, still dark, your room still moody, giving you time to fall back asleep with the pleasant thoughts of whatever just happened— but you’re a mess again. Skin sticky and damp, panties ruined. Your eyes droop and close as you push out a soft breath, hand slipping down your body. You should really clean up.
Maybe in a few minutes. You push your knees together slowly, swaying them back and forth as your fingertips find your clit, toying with it gently. They calm your jumbled nerves quite nicely and immediately— the touch familiar. Your fingers stretch out, tips push down just a little lower as you smile stupid and lazy and blink slowly up at the ceiling.
The smile doesn’t last long.
Your eyes pop open as a simultaneous sharp gasp fills your chest with cold air. Blood runs ice cold through your veins.
“Good,” a scratchy voice sounds as your fingers push through a tuft of thick hair just between your legs, hot breath sticking to tacky flesh.
Shallow, quick breaths squeak through your teeth, eyes wide, lips and chin trembling as your limbs grow heavy— oh so heavy. Frozen. You slam your eyes shut when a hand slides slowly up your side, serrated nails skipping across your skin. A sob chokes out as you slam your eyes shut, fear gripping every inch of your body.
The wet, long, hot tongue of your dreams swipes at your core again but you’re still sensitive— jumpy— hips pushing down into the mattress to get away from it. A second hand grabs your hip, squeezes it hard, stilling your lower half as it laps at you again. The crawling hand finds your left tit, cups it— kneads it slow— rolling the thick bud between even thicker fingers.
“Look at me.” The voice sounds again, like gravel, low and rough.
Your clit is sucked into an instant warmth, a wide, flat tongue massaging— rolling— gently. A soft, tiny little noise thrums in your throat as a shudder ripples through already irritated muscles. The sound pleases whatever is between your legs, as it chuckles deep, the vibrations adding to the sensation of its tongue.
It pinches your nipple— quick, hard— and bites down into the meat of your thigh while also squeezing it with it’s other massive hand, “I want you to look at me.” you hesitate— and it doesn’t like it, “Look at me.”
The chill in its voice forces your eyes open, but you keep them on the ceiling as silent tears trickle down the side of your face and onto your pillow. An influx of air fills your lungs when a hand pushes up to your face. A thumb swipes underneath your eye gently before an index finger curls to wipe away the wet emotion.
“You’re pretty when you cry,” it says, a little softer, still rubbing your cheek slowly, “Look at me.”
Against your better judgement, fighting through the fear, you blink, shifting your eyes towards your drawn-up legs. There are two big eyes, unnaturally blue, probing and upturned, staring back at you, disappearing in the dark as it blinks before they settle back on you. In fact, they stay on you as it’s tongue flicks out at you again, sweeps through your folds, teasing your opening, your clit again. It palms your tit, squeezing before sitting up, exposing it’s true size.
Your eyes follow slowly upward as it towers over you, it’s knees pressing into the mattress, dipping it deep with its weight. You struggle to breathe, eyes flutter quick as your lips tremble, taking in the umbra. There’s a wide chest, thick biceps and forearms and hands and fingers that push your legs back— towards your chest and stomach. Stocky thighs and a—
You gulp slow, sitting up on your elbows as your eyes zero in on the throbbing, weeping cock between its legs. The moon illuminates the pulsing veins running the impressive length, the wet, red, dripping cockhead— cum already dribbling out, splashing on your skin. It’s hot and silky— dense, the cum, as it wipes the spot away with it’s thumb, a nail cutting into your skin.
It grabs itself, strokes it’s massive cock slow as it drags its eyes along your naked body. Another shudder trembles through you when it teases your cunt with it’s cockhead, pressing into your clit, dragging through your folds, prodding at your slit. You let your head drop slightly, let your eyes close to slits, let your mouth drop as it’s fingers skip up and down your thighs, it’s jagged, black nails tickling you.
Errant hips canter upward, pushing your clit against its tip again, coating it with your slick before you let it settle back against your opening.
“Now that you can see me, beautiful,” it’s raspy voice sounds, starting to push into you, “I want you to scream.”
It juts into you hard, pulling a loud scream out of you— just what it wanted. You pant as it pushes, deep, deep, deep, until its hips are flush with yours, cock completely sunk. It doesn’t move right away, lets you wiggle and twitch, hiss and grunt as you adjust to the size— the absolute fullness. Stretched so wide, clasped so tight around this pulsating cock that you aren’t sure that you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.
But you’ll risk it.
It locks one of your legs around it’s waist, throws the other over its shoulder, slipping its massive hand down the length, down your calf, over your knee, along your thigh until it’s fingers settle on your cunt— on your clit. Slow circles are drawn into your flesh, a gentle pressure applied as it pulls back, cock dragging out of your death grip. You hiss as it sinks back in, reaching something deep.
It’s blistering after that. Within seconds, hips are snapping, skin slapping against… skin? You aren’t even sure. Long fingers are everywhere, tits, stomach, legs, cunt— gripping, groping, pinching. They venture up to your chin, up to your parted, swollen lips, where they linger. You send wide, innocent eyes up to its blues, tits sliding up and down as you lunge with each thrust— and open your mouth wider, sliding your tongue along the tip of its finger.
When a husky moan rumbles through its chest, your heart soars unexpectedly. It’s pleased with your eagerness— your reception.
You’re empty suddenly. A strong hand grips your side, pulls you roughly down the bed. Flips you over before yanking your hips upward, propping you up on your knees. And then, you’re pinned— an unyielding grip around the back of your neck holding you in place. You grunt and start to whimper, another bout of fright coursing through your veins as it smashes the side of your face into the sheets and pillows.
It fucks back into you slow, a long, shuddering groan spilling out of your trembling lips, “My pet,” it speaks again, squeezing the back of your neck a little harder, “Such a sweet little thing.”
Reaching back, your fingers graze over a sinewy thigh, taking hold as you start to spring forward with each drive of its hips. You slam your eyes closed, more emotion squeezing out of them. The dull burn is back in the pit of your stomach. Your toes and fingers start to curl and flex as each stroke gets sweeter and sweeter, hitting that deep little spot within.
Goosebumps pop up again. Heat blooms across your skin, filling your face and chest and stomach. Spit dribbles from the corner of your mouth as two pouty lips form a perfect little “o” as you start to shriek, each sound coming faster and faster, louder and louder. Your fingers find your nub again, rubbing and slapping to set this release in motion. The sound of your slick is sloppy, wet— and gorgeous, to both you and it.
You’re cursing, sobbing, begging within minutes, teetering right on the edge. It starts to thumb at your asshole, rubbing the rim gently, pushing just inside— coaxing you on.
That’s all it takes. You tense hard— toes curl, fists ball, stomach clenches— and then stiffen as your orgasm hits. A white hot flushing through as you quake, cunt spasming around it’s heavy cock. Jammed full, orgasm rippling, fingers still thrashing against your constricting clit, you’re dizzy, warm all over, sweaty and freezing cold all at the same time.
Your companion— this monster of the night, lurking in the shadows— hammers on behind you, pumping, gripping, squeezing, pushing you down further into the mattress as his strokes get sharper. Stronger. More forceful.
It gets loud. Growling so deep and heavy that the sound shakes the walls— the bed. God, the poor neighbors. It grips your hip with one hand so hard you yelp in pain, hands flailing, trying to grip and grab anything they can as it fucks into you.
One, two more jabs and it stills quick— and that’s when you feel it. Another white hot, this time all concentrated in your overstimulated, tight, wet cunt. Long ribbons of cum, silk soft and warm, fill you up, up, up— to the brim. It’s cock veins pulsate, it’s girth seemingly growing wider, stretching you more as it unloads. Cock jumping in your tight grasp as cum weeps from it.
You take it all, humming loud and proud, panting as you feel it’s seed spill out, down the inside of your thigh.
It drags out slow, as if not wanting to at all. Like it likes the feeling of your messy, cum filled cunt all wrapped around him. You feel that swollen cock head through your folds again, slowly pushing up and down your clit, teasing your slit. A finger, and then another glance over your asshole— lovingly. Softly. Massaging the twitching rim before burying it’s hard cock between your cheeks, slapping you with it.
“No more,” you plead, voice small and broken and pathetic, “Please, I can’t.”
Another chuckle rumbles through its chest, “Ok sweet girl,” there’s a hand on the back of your head, stroking curly, damp, surely tangled hair, “Such a good girl.”
Hands are back on your skin again, fingers pushing and pulling, adjusting you on the mattress. You’re flat now, splayed out on your belly, legs spread, hands shoved underneath your pillows and head. Balmy skin, puffy flesh is soothed by slow gushes of breath, making you jump and whine more— whimper more. The bed sinks again as it moves, pulled again, your back up against a massive chest and hard stomach.
It wraps around you, slinging an arm and a leg over you, enveloping you in its warmth. Rids your face of the wetness, pushing the remaining tears away with its thumb. Nuzzles in close— a scratchy cheek against your own.
A heavy hand over your heart.
“I like this,” it says soft, tapping along with your heartbeat, “The rhythm.”
You hum again, happily fucked out and cock drunk, already feeling an ache settling into your muscles and bones. Hips and ass push back into its hips, pushing its dense cock against you— wanting to feel it resting against your cunt, “You got a name?”
“Brarthronoz.”
“Excuse me?” you giggle through a deep yawn as your eyes flutter.
It— he nuzzles again, pushing his face closer, “Bucky is fine, pet.”
“Bucky,” you sigh a little, “I like that.”
You fall asleep with the soft rhythm of his breath against your neck.
-
When you wake, he’s gone— but you kinda figured that anyway. The oranges of the sky and rising sun chases away all the shadows. You go about your routine but a little slower— inflamed, throbbing arms and legs make showering and brushing your teeth a little harder this morning.
You look for him though, in the corner of your little kitchen, in that small spot where the sun just never quite reaches.
A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth when you find a pair of bright blue eyes fixed on you, a little wink encouraging you further.
“Toast?” You ask cheekily, a wide smile on your face as you offer him a plate.
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Fire Dogs: 2
It’s been almost a week since Steve, Sam and Bucky came to fight the wildfires. You’ve got a routine down with the guys, and so does Cooper. You always have food ready for them when they leave and when they come home. Coffee is always ready for them when they leave and Cooper is waiting at the door for them when they get home.
Each man has taken huge comfort from your therapy dog, and he loves all the extra attention he’s getting from the three men. Cooper does force his way into each of their rooms at one time or another over the week and you’ve got a feeling that those won’t be the only time you’re alone on the couch.
Cooper had followed Steve into his room tonight and you’d gone to bed alone.
You wake as you’re being lifted. “What the hell?” You gasp with a start but you’re shushed softly, his scent fills your nose and you calm quickly.
“It’s me Fawn. I’m putting you to bed.” Steve says softly as he carries you up to your bedroom. “I’m gonna share a room with Buck, you can’t keep sleeping on the couch.”
“No, you’re fighting the fires. I’m just hanging out here.”
“And getting up at all hours to take care of us.” He argues as you try to get out of his grip. “Fawn, I’m not backing down from this one.” He says, his Alpha coming out as he tightens the hold he has on you, his face is close to yours, close enough for you to see the little flecks of green in those blue eyes of his. You sigh and loop an arm around his neck,
“Fine.” You grumble, you’ve heard the Alpha command in his voice, the voice that you literally can’t argue with. “But wouldn’t it make more sense for Sam and Bucky to share?”
“You’d think. If they have too much together time they get snippy. So I’ll just bounce between the two beds.”
“Are you sure?” You hope to change his mind but his face tells you that isn’t happening.
“Yes. You’ve opened your home to us, let us borrow your dog and taken care of us. You deserve your bedroom.” He says shoving open the door with his foot. He sets you gently on your feet and then gives you a soft smile. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” He leaves and closes the door gently behind him. You climb into your bed and sigh softly, it is nice being back in your bed. Not that you’ll ever tell Steve that. It smells like him, it’s comforting and you fall asleep quickly.
You’re up a couple hours later, you pass a sleepy looking Steve in the hallway and a slightly confused Cooper. You head down the stairs and get some coffee going for Sam and pop the blueberry bagel he likes into the toaster. Then you move on to Bucky’s food. You take the plate you’d prepared the night before out of the fridge and peel off the cover. You turn the oven on warm and slide the plate in then go back up to bed and find Cooper sprawled out across it,
“Move over Coop.” You grumble as you climb back into bed. You’re asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.
The next time you wake it’s 8:30 and you’ve got to get food ready for Steve. You can hear him in the shower as you head back down to the kitchen. You like to make a full breakfast for the first meal to make sure that they don’t get hungry too quickly while they’re working. Today you’re planning on doing breakfast burritos, something that you can each assemble on your own. Steve comes down a half hour later, just as you’re wrapping up your own burrito.
“How did you sleep?” He asks reaching for a shell.
“Pretty good, Cooper is a bed hog.”
“I’ve noticed he likes to be almost on top of you when he sleeps with you.”
“Part of his training. The weight can help people with anxiety or stress and you all have such high stress jobs.”
“We really appreciate both of you. You sound like the best host from what we’ve heard from the other guys.”
“I’ve always been a caregiver so it’s nice having people to help. Even if I can’t help in the same way that you guys do.”
“Believe me, knowing that we can come home to a bed, good food, a kind soul and a therapy dog is more help than you’ll ever know.” You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face,
“Good. Any requests for dinner tonight?”
“Something pasta?” He offers finishing off his breakfast.
“Okay.” You agree and hold a hand out for his plate.
“Thank you, for everything.” You nod as he stands up and heads for the door.
“Be safe.” You blurt before you can stop yourself.
“I will.” He says, a pleased scent rolls off of him before he heads out to work. Your conversation with him has given you an idea, but you’re going to need some help.
You get to calling other therapy dog handlers in the area. You know that it’s a big ask for them to come to the base of the mountain when it’s on fire but it’s for a good cause. You’ll set up with as many dogs for as many shifts as you can, every couple of days to give the dogs a bit of a break, the handlers too but mostly the dogs.
You’re able to get fifteen people in the area and you have two dogs per shift, even the 4 am shift. You’re able to rotate the dogs in a couple of shifts, so that no one is going too often and the dogs can get a little bit of a break.
You’re so excited that you’re able to do this for them, and you get to start today. You decide to head to basecamp to let Steve know. You want to make sure that the firefighters stop at Blots coffee shop before they head back to their homes tonight. You head toward base camp, it’s only a few miles up the mountain and park near one of the trails you know that skirts the forest. The smoke is worse here than it is near your house but it’s not terrible. You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder then make your way up toward Pancho’s Bar where you know they run the fire fighting operation.
As you walk the air gets thicker with smoke, it’s not so bad that you can’t breathe but you can taste the smoke on every inhale. Before you get to Pancho’s you see Steve a little further down the street talking to two other firefighters. He seems so much bigger in all of his gear, as you make your way toward him he sees you and his brows furrow. He pushes past the other firefighters and makes his way to you with long strides.
“Fawn?”
“Hey,” you say and Steve looks, almost worried.
“Fawn, what are you doing up here? Is everything okay?”
“I’ve got a surprise for the firefighters. Down in town.” You tell him suppressing a cough, “I didn’t want anyone to miss it so I thought I’d come up.”
“Oh, hey Grey.” You have to stop yourself from frowning at Brock, he’s such a jerk and his smell is always so sour.
“Brock.” You say before you start to cough.
“C’mere,” Steve says pulling his face mask away from him you step closer and when he hands it to you you take it. “Take a couple of deep breaths for me okay?” He says and cool fresh air tinted with his scent flows into the mask that you hold over your mouth and nose. It soothes you more than you’d like it to. “The smoke is way worse up here. You should head back to town.”
“Please let people know to come down to Blots for the surprise okay?”
“So how do you know Grey?” You do frown this time.
“Sam, Bucky and I are staying at her place.” Steve says gruffly not looking at Brock but keeping an eye on you. You hand Steve back the mask and give him a little smile. “I’ll make sure to tell people. Please go right back to town.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Bye Grey!” Brock calls and before you can leave Steve stops you with a gentle hand on your arm.
“Why does he keep calling you that?”
“Because I’m boring. Like the color grey, there’s nothing exciting about me.” Anger crosses his face and he glares in Brock’s direction.
“That isn’t-“ he pauses as you cough again and he once more passes you his mask, “breathe.” You do as he says, “we’ll talk about this back at the house. But that’s not true okay? It’s not true.” You nod then hand back the mask. “How did you even get up here?”
“There’s a trail that Coop and I use a lot, on the edge of the woods and it’s quick and easy.”
“Straight home okay?”
“Yea.” You agree before realizing that he’s just given you an Alpha command, you glance over your shoulder at him and when you see he’s watching give him a little wave before you start walking back down the mountain. You feel his eyes on you until you round the corner. The wind has picked up a bit since you’d come up but it’s nice, and moving the smoke further up hill. It probably doesn’t make fighting the fires easier but at least it’s not pushing anything downhill.
You hear the crack but it doesn’t register until it’s too late. The branch hits you in the shoulder and you collapse under the weight of it.
You’re dazed, you must’ve hit your head because it’s throbbing but you’re not sure if you’ve lost consciousness or not. Your right arm is pinned under the massive branch and your left has some wiggle room but not enough to do you any good, especially with the throbbing pain in your left shoulder. You try to push with your legs to slide yourself out from under the branch but have no luck. Your phone is in your right pocket, right where you can’t reach it. But your watch might be able to help you still.
“Friday?” It beeps twice, “call Steve.” He’s the first person you think of.
“Calling Steve on Stark Phone.”
“Call him on watch!” You say but it doesn’t. “Damn it!” You watch the watch until it says connected. “Steve! I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m pinned under a branch. Halfway to my car. God please be able to hear me. I can’t reach my phone. I really need help.” You take a steadying breath to try and keep yourself calm. “Go down the hill by the forest, you can’t miss me. Please help.” You try to free yourself again but it’s hopeless, the branch is too heavy and you manage nothing.
God you hope that Steve heard you, or that his voicemail did. You don’t know how long you lay there, occasionally struggling against the branch but you suddenly hear him.
“Fawn!”
“Steve! I’m here!”
“Fawn! Keep yelling Honey!”
“I’m here! By the woods! Steve!” You can’t see him yet but you swear that you can smell him, so you keep yelling, “I’m here! Over here!”
“I see you Fawn! I’m coming.” Sure enough a set of hands lift the log off of you and another set pulls you out from under it. “Don’t move.” Steve says easing you gently back onto the ground. “Did you hit your head?”
“I don’t know. I think so?”
“Buck, check for concussion.” He orders from where he’s holding your head.
“Bucky? What time is it?”
“Almost 7. Sam called about an hour ago, but I didn’t answer because I was busy. When you called I knew something was wrong.”
“Steve calm down.” Bucky growls pulling a flashlight from his pocket.
“I feel like such an idiot.” You whisper as Steve takes a deep breath. Bucky shines a flashlight in your eyes then holds up a finger.
“Follow the finger.” He says and you do as he says and he gives you a smile. “You’re good.”
“I’m just glad we found you.” Steve says softly. “And that you’re okay. Does anything hurt before we move you?”
“My left shoulder but that’s what the branch hit first.”
“I’m going to just check it really quick okay?” Bucky says and you nod, he gently probes at your shoulder. He hits where the branch did and you hiss at the jolt of pain, a low growl comes from Steve. Bucky runs you through a couple of moves to see if it’s dislocated and once he’s satisfied that it’s not he gives you the all clear and Steve helps you to your feet.
“Buck, let Fury know I’m going back with Fawn.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Last time I let you go alone you got hit by a branch.”
“That’s what we call a freak accident.”
“I’m still not letting you go alone.”
“But you’ll miss the surprise!”
“I’m staying with a therapy dog. I don’t need to go meet other ones.” He huffs, you can practically feel the irritation rolling off of him. You frown but he has a point, you glare up at him, “Let’s go Fawn.”
“Stop it.” You snap, even though your stomach lurches at your defiance of his Alpha command.
“Stop what?”
“You keep Alpha commanding me!” He looks surprised for just a second then schools his expression.
“I’m sorry.” He says softly, “I didn’t mean to. When an Omega does something dangerous it just kind of happens.” You stare at him, how the hell does he know you’re an Omega?
“I’m not an Omega. I’m a Beta.” He looks sharply over at you his eyes narrowing.
“Huh,” he doesn’t say anything else but gestures for you to follow him down the mountain.
When you get to your car you look over at Steve, still in all his gear.
“Do you need to go get anything?”
“Buck can drive the truck back rather than getting a ride. Do you want me to drive?”
“If you don’t mind.” You hand him the keys, you’ve got one hell of a headache and your shoulder is throbbing but Bucky gave you the okay to go. After you get in the car and buckle you sigh softly before muttering, “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“Causing problems. I was just so excited about the dogs that I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have gone up.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” He agrees, “I had a big long speech ready for you but you beat me to it.” You laugh softly then wince, laughing hurts. “Let me know if we need to take you to the ER.”
“I will.”
“If you’re comfortable I’d like to take a look at your shoulder and probably ribs before we go to bed. Bucky is our best EMT but I still know what I’m doing.”
“Fine,” you grumble and he shoots you a look. “I’ve learned over the last week it’s just easier not to argue with you. Besides, I don’t need you Alpha commanding me again.”
“Damn right it’s best not to argue with me. But I won’t Alpha command you to do anything, at least I won’t on purpose. Please let me know if I do again okay?”
“Oh, okay.” You’re surprised, but you do appreciate it.
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