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spencersawkward · 3 years

Note

I love your ff first of all, I'm obsessed and second of all I would ask you a suggestion, idk if maybe is that too much and you're totally free to not do that but you ever thought to do something in the line of the knive kink? I think it will be awesome

i'm so sorry this took so long! big thanks to my guardian angel @voidsfilm for giving me inspiration bc i literally struggled with this one more than i should have. never written a knife kink but i’m glad i tried lol.

summary: reader finds an antique knife that Matthew's kept in a drawer.

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), knife play (no blood drawn), Soft!Dom MGG, degradation and praise.

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

if there is one thing I absolutely despise, it's working out. getting sweaty, running until my legs hurt and my lungs are burning for air... not really my thing.

but when Matthew brought up the idea a couple months into our relationship, I couldn't say no to him: he had a goofy smile on his face and the kind of look in his eyes that made me relent and ask what kind of stuff he wanted to do.

I think that I've found the one thing that Matthew can't make fun.

"I'm gonna pass out." I bend over and set my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Matthew slows to a stop a few feet ahead, turning around and making a strained expression.

"oh, come on." but his voice is pretty breathless, too. he gently guides me off the path so that we don't get in the way of the other people out enjoying the day. a couple walks by us with their dog, strolling calmly, and I feel a rush of envy. if our workout routine had consisted of a few pleasant ambles around the city, I would have been totally willing.

"Matthew, I wanna go home." I whine impatiently. the only nice thing about this is that he's got one of those stupid sweatbands on his head to keep his hair out of his face, and it makes him look like a 1980's housewife.

"we can go home in fifteen minutes." he smiles, puts his hands on his hips, stretching in an exaggerated way.

"do you promise?" I brush a piece of hair out of my face.

"promise," he's lucky he looks so cute in his workout outfit. "we can even get one of those fancy juices for you on the way back."

"seriously?" I light up. this might actually be worth it; they have this amazing mango and lime combination that I can't ever manage to recreate with our own blender.

"if you beat me to the rock, then sure." he references the enormous boulder in Central Park that we both gawked at on our first date-- ever since then, it's been the end point for our runs. my lips curl into a grin.

"you're on." I take off, making sure to push him out of the way in order to gain a head start. he lets out something of a protestation but is quick to follow. I can feel his feet pounding behind me, trying to catch up.

I may not be good at running long distances, but I'm sure as hell faster than he is.

...

it's quiet when I step out of the bedroom, drying my hair with the towel and wandering into the living room. Matthew is sitting at the table with his sketchbook, drawing god knows what while he waits for me to finish up.

"what are you up to?" I ask softly as I plop down across from him. my head is slightly tilted while the towel rubs my scalp.

"I'm not really sure." he shrugs, frowning and holding up the notebook from a distance as if that'll help him figure out what to do.

"can I see when you're done?"

"of course," he sets it on the table again, then runs a fingertip across his chin. "actually, can you do me a favor?"

"sure."

"I have a set of colored pencils in the desk over there," he points to an old piece of furniture under the window. "would you mind getting them for me?"

"yep," I reply, getting up and leaving the towel on the table. "least I can do after kicking your ass."

on the walk past him, Matthew grabs my waist and pulls me into him, attacks me with tickles. I squeal and hit his shoulder.

"stop!" I laugh.

"you barely beat me!" he gives a dazzling smile and finally lets me go. I lightly smack him upside the head and head over to the desk, rifling through the drawers for the colored pencils he wanted.

as I push around various art supplies, glue sticks and random paintbrushes that look to be on the brink of falling apart, my fingers pass something cool and metallic. I grab the thing and pull it out.

it's a knife; like, a fancy one with an intricately decorated handle and what seems to be a pretty dulled edge. before he can notice what I've found, I start to move the thing between my hands curiously. there's a nice weight to it, but it's definitely old.

"hey, Matthew?" I ask warily.

"yeah?" so unassuming and sweet.

"why do you have a knife?"

there's a scratching as he gets up from the table to walk over to me. I lean against the desk. Matthew doesn't seem too bothered by what I'm saying at all, only gently taking the weapon out of my hands and examining it himself.

"oh, yeah!" he lets out something like a laugh. I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to continue. "do you remember when we went antiquing in Cape Cod, like, a month ago?"

"yeah." I nod at the memory. he'd been lucky enough to get some vacation days and we'd spent them sitting by the water with glasses of wine and nothing but time to talk. it really was a great trip, now that I think about it.

"I found it there." he still hasn't looked up and I realize that there's something he's not telling me. I don't know what I'm missing, but I start to get nervous.

"...why?"

"I was gonna ask then, but I guess I just forgot." his tongue darts out across his bottom lip as he lifts his face to meet my gaze. my heart thuds when he opens his mouth again. "I kinda wanted to try something."

"like?"

"I've been thinking about maybe using knives... in a sexual way."

"what?" I frown, confused by his wording. Matthew seems to realize that he's phrased it awkwardly and shifts his stance. he keeps glancing between the object and my face like he's worried about scaring me away.

"I don't mean I'm gonna stab you or anything," he laughs. "I just mean I think it sounds fun."

my hand finds his, brushing my palm over the steel to touch it myself again. there's a curiosity that burns through me now, something I'm a little unsure about but not enough so to deny the possibility of trying it.

"what do you wanna do with it?" I peek up at him. he bites his lip. we're speaking in gentle tones and I notice that our bodies have gotten closer within the last few moments. a warmth, a tension.

"like, pressing the blade flat against your skin while I fuck you." he takes the thing and demonstrates. the cool silver rests on my neck, too dull to really threaten a serious cut if he were to move too quickly. a shiver runs down my spine at the sensation of the metal.

I gulp, feel the curve of my throat push against it when I swallow. it's nice.

"oh." is all I say. Matthew is watching me intently, but he doesn't make any motion away from it. like he's entranced by the sight of me with a knife to my throat.

"are you interested?" he asks.

I mull it over. on the one hand, weapon play is something I've never considered in my sex life before. Matthew and I aren't vanilla, but this hasn't crossed my mind. that said, now that I can really feel it, there is a desire forming in my stomach. it would be a strange, new sensation.

"yes." the confirmation makes him smile a little. he lowers the thing and instead wraps me in his arms, kisses me passionately until our tongues are dancing over each other. I love how he holds me, our torsos against each other while my body leans slightly back to accept the weight of his touch.

he goes to my head like alcohol. and it's even more surreal when I feel the blade move under the hem of my shirt to rest against my back. I smile into his mouth. he doesn't do anything with it, just leaves it to remind me.

he starts to rut his hips against my lower stomach, getting aroused at the proximity of our bodies and the heated nature of our kiss. there's an urgency to all of it, like he's holding back. I don't want him to hold back; I want him to give me everything he has, everything beneath the surface.

my fingers twine in his hair and tug on the ends, causing him to groan into our embrace. there's no way we're going to make it all the way to the bedroom with the way he's grabbing at my body, so I stumble backwards towards the couch until the backs of my thighs hit the arm of it.

"you're horny." I giggle slightly when he pushes the hem of my shirt up my body, his nails dragging over my ribcage and trailing the object along with it. I feel the excitement growing.

"I'm just glad you're willing to try this." he murmurs the words, holds our foreheads together before his lips eagerly seek mine out, again. somehow, even with a weapon leveled against me, I can sense the love in every single action. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't trust him to treat me with the utmost care.

I work at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it over his lovely shoulders and arms as he unclasps my bra. we're fervent, greedy in our movements, trying to kiss despite the attention needed to remove our clothes. mostly we just tangle up in each other until there's nothing left but my shorts for him to shove down my legs. he keeps his pants on.

"c'mon, beautiful." he mutters, pushing my legs open so that I'm sitting on the arm of the couch. he tilts my head and leans closer to suck on my bottom lip, and then starts to massage my tits. I can feel the handle of the weapon against my nipple.

when he reaches to slide his finger between my folds, I hiss out a breath at the cold sensation of his skin.

"is this because of me or the knife, baby?" he asks, corners of his mouth twitching up while I moan into his mouth. he starts to rub my clit with the collected wetness, teasing me too much. I want to fall back, but I can't. I won't let myself.

"both." I find myself turned on by the way the blade sits against my ribs again. the edge is just sharp enough to elicit a reaction from my body.

"feel that?" he angles the thing the slightest bit. I exhale and nod.

that isn't the response he's looking for, however, because he moves it so that it's under my chin. goosebumps on my skin while I pant uselessly against the weapon. I can feel it press harder with every breath out of my lungs, and I love it. I love the risk it brings out of me.

while Matthew dips his index inside my pussy, I writhe against it and tilt my head even more so he has better access.

"look at you," he lets out a dark chuckle, thrusts into me to the last digit. "you want more of this, don't you?"

"yes, sir." I breathe. my neck is actively moving against the metal. I glance down at his body and see his erection straining against his pants, craving release but finding none as he plunges his fingers in and out of me. I can hardly breathe from sheer focus on the sensations he's giving me right now.

"what are you looking at, sweetheart?" he quickens the pace of his movements and uses the object to make me focus on his face.

"you're hard." the words nearly die on my lips. he stares darkly at me, lifting his brows just enough to make me question whether I should have spoken at all. I bite my lip in anticipation.

"and what are you gonna do about it?" his voice is raspy as he stands back, removes his fingers from my pussy, and lets me drop to my knees. I'm weak both from the stimulation and from the loss of it, but I make quick work of undoing his belt, pulling the pants down his legs until I'm face-to-face with his cock. it sits against his stomach, throbbing impatiently while he watches. he uses the metallic point under my jaw to angle my face up to his.

"are you gonna suck me off, baby?" he smirks. I nod rigorously with wide eyes and an open mouth, dragging my tongue along the underside. Matthew's nose scrunches up for a moment at the shock of contact when I tease the head. all his concentration is on watching me wrap my hand around the shaft and pumping him gently. "spit on it."

I obey and spit right onto the tip before rubbing my thumb over the top to gather the precum. as I start to swirl my tongue and move my lips onto him, he throws his head back, lets out a wanton noise. it urges me on. I take every moment with a deliberate attention to the veins and sensitive spot he has.

"that's it, that's it." he rasps while knotting his hand in my hair. the other keeps the knife pressed to my throat. he lets me move on my own for a bit, gauging my desires from the way my eyes attempt to memorize the sight of his face above me, that jaw dropped in licentious craving. I can tell that he wants to fuck my face, but I go slow just to draw it out a little. it makes the soreness of my jaw worth it when he gets all impatient and flustered.

I hollow my cheeks and bob on his dick, bat my lashes, pull myself off him for a second just to kiss the tip.

"can I use your mouth?" he asks through a restrained groan. I open it and nod, sighing at the feeling of his fingers twining through my hair again before he pushes back into the opening. now that he's got full control, he starts to develop his own movements, sometimes meeting his thrusts by pressing my face against him.

he gets deep in it, never losing his grip on the knife, until my nose is pressed to his stomach. my throat closes instinctively around him even more tightly, and he lets out a guttural moan.

"such a cute mouth when I'm using it." he thrusts until I gag and then he's smiling. "get up."

he removes himself so fast, my eyes water at the sudden lack of blockage in my throat. I gulp air while he hooks his hands under my arms and hoists me up. I'm about to turn around so I can lift my leg and give him better access, but he sits me on the arm of the couch and parts my thighs.

"I wanna see your pretty face." he leans down and pecks my cheek. I smile at the surprising tenderness-- although it doesn't last long. steel sits against the space between my neck and collarbone. it's only a moment before he positions himself between my legs and slides his cock into me.

my back arches and I look him in the eyes, gasping.

"fuck, baby." he drags out the first word as he inches inside. I mewl helplessly at the way he stretches me out, my pussy clenching every few seconds. he keeps one hand on my lower back to support me and bring me closer to his pelvis, and then we're staring into each other's eyes as he finally settles in it.

his hips start to thrust into me, hopeful for any kind of contact while I accustom myself to the shape of him. it happens every time, despite the amount of times we've done this. and I'm bad at patience, but he's worse. his body stutters against mine.

"is it good enough, sir?" I ask quietly. he tightens his grip on my back and on the blade, the edge threatening my skin the perfect amount. I suck in a breath at the way it stings a little.

"you're doing perfectly." he recognizes what I want to hear as he finds my sweet spot and begins to hit it repeatedly, smoothly works my body. I swear there are planets in my eyes when I stare at the expressions on his face, both of us so wrapped up in each other that every other thought becomes obsolete.

he moves the knife to under my chin to rest on my throat.

"feel that?"

I nod so the edge bites more. he smirks.

"just to show you who you belong to."

my hips push up to meet his thrusts, needing more stimulation, more friction. what I want is for him to be relentless, to slam into my body with the kind of hunger I know he has. there are sounds, movements, that he's made before that make me want him to use them. but he's withholding, probably hesitant about the dangerous object on my pulse point.

"I belong to you, sir." I egg him on. he likes the sound of that, grunting and starting to pound into me.

"yeah? you're my dirty little whore." he speaks through gritted teeth. I shiver.

"mhmm."

"I use you how I want, when I want." his fingertips dig into my skin and he yanks me closer so that he can hit a new angle. I let out a surprised noise when he brushes my g-spot. it's otherworldly and I expose more of my neck to him.

"my little slut likes pain, huh?" he nudges the weapon harder into my skin. it doesn't draw blood, but I can sense the mark it'll leave. I love it.

"yes, sir." we're both getting needy, but we can't hold each other the way that we want to in our given positions. my palms are occupied on the arm of the couch to hold myself up and one of his hands is too busy holding the object for us to fuck as deeply as we need.

"are you gonna take it like a good girl when I cum in it?" he mutters. he runs his tongue over my jawline and the weapon nicks my skin. I moan at the mingling of sensations that's building all across my body.

"yes, sir." I plead. it's nearly unbearable, how much I want him. we're chasing our orgasms and I know what will finish me off. he knows, too.

Matthew drops the knife. it clatters to the ground, but there's no time for me to register it with the way he grabs my hips and lifts me into the air, my legs wrapping around his waist while he keeps fucking into me. he maneuvers us with shocking ease, laying me on the couch and positioning himself at the right moment so that I can drag my nails over his back and keep my thighs locked around him.

"mmm... baby, I'm gonna cum." he drives into me recklessly, both of us finally able to cling to each other. the angle is just enough to stimulate my clit and I nod, using the leverage of my legs to pull myself to him and roll my hips for friction.

Matthew slams my body into the couch, grunting in my ear as he finds his climax inside me. it's so deep, I have to work to keep the yell inside, but he's not done. he rides it out and plows into me while I reach the edge.

"tell me how it feels." he orders in my ear. I sigh.

"so-- so good, sir." my voice is thin. "I'm close."

"show me." he leaves bruises on my hips with his hands. I feel the knot finally snap, every muscle in my stomach spasming chaotically. I finish with a loud moan, begging him to drag it out further. my vision nearly goes black at the tide that threatens to overtake my body.

"Matthew--" I gasp. he moans quietly at the way I say his name, still rocking his body into mine while I come down from the shocks of orgasm. it's nearly overwhelming, the pleasure running through my body.

slowly, we come to a stillness and he drops his head into my shoulder, panting. he doesn't let go at first, but then he withdraws from my pussy and lets me take a rest. I lay there on the couch while he kneels between my legs, pressing gentle kisses to my neck.

"I love you." he repeats it over and over.

"I love you, too," I hope he can feel the meaning, despite the sheer exhaustion in my tone. he runs his fingertips across the red marks where the thing went a little too deeply, but I'm not worried about it. "we should try that again, sometime."

"you liked it?" he smiles brightly. I love the lines by his eyes.

"definitely."

he lets out a cheerful noise and buries his face back into my throat because he knows how much it tickles. I screech and giggle, my legs kicking wildly around me. more contented than ever before.

#mgg #matthew gray gubler #mgg oneshot #mgg smut #mgg x reader #knife kink #knifeplay

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gogglor · 3 years

Text

Cap-Ironman RecWeek: What-If Wednesday

Time for another installment of @cap-ironman rec week! Today’s theme: AU’s.

I know AU’s in different settings are half the reason most people read fanfics, but they’re not really my thing on the whole. AU’s where different choices are made, or different events transpire? Absolutely. Coffee shops? Not my cup of... you know.

So, here’s my AU recommendations for mostly “turn left” scenarios. This time with an under-the-cut break so I don’t take over everyone’s timelines (sorry about that last post). Also with some summaries truncated for length.

Alone Like This

Author: GotTheSilver

Word Count: 7,452

Summary: Steve, post waking up, runs away from SHIELD, and Tony's the one who tracks him down.

Why You Should Read It:

First off, GotTheSilver’s been consistently and regularly putting out solid Stony since 2012 and not only are they not stopping, they’re only getting better. This writer doesn’t get nearly the fanfare I’d expect in Stony circles for someone who puts out this much good stuff, and here’s hoping this post can be a part of changing that.

While I am always a sucker for enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, there’s something to be said for stories where Steve and Tony hit it off right away. And watching these two very different people look at each other and see the same sense of being lost, then finding each other again is... excuse me, there’s something in my eye, ignore me.

Second Chance Lives

Author: raeldaza

Word Count: 43,872

Summary: Tony's gonna die of palladium poisoning anyway, why not join a pointless expedition to recover Captain America’s body? And after, well, why not dedicate his last few months to making sure an American hero settles into his new life? What else is he going to do, get drunk at parties?

Why You Should Read It:

This writer doesn’t write a lot for the MCU but when they do, dang.

“Tony is the one helping Steve acclimate to the new century before Avengers 2012″ is a whole genre of Stony fanfics that scratch an itch I didn’t even know I had before I started reading fanfiction, and this is one of the best ones out there. It’s got it all - Steve poorly coping with his PTSD, Tony poorly coping with his immanent mortality, some breathtakingly poor communication between the two most emotionally stunted men in the MCU, and a cat named Roomba. What’s not to love?

Should You Choose to Accept It

Author: elwenyere (look, you’re gonna be seeing a lot of them this week, sorry-not-sorry)

Word Count: 27,106

Summary: After a terrorist attack and a field operation gone wrong, the Avengers realize that Nick Fury's secrets are just the start of a much bigger mystery. Steve and Tony try to keep some things from each other as well, but that can't possibly affect the mission — right? Mission Fic + Getting Together (or Mission: Getting Together) that mashes up elements from Iron Man 3, CA: Winter Soldier, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season one, and Mission Impossible 3.

Why You Should Read It:

You can see my post yesterday for singing El’s praises, but what I really liked about this fic was how how damn creative it is. The CAWS/IM3/AOS mashup is everything I wished the actual MCU gave us and more, with well-developed characters and an exciting story to put them in. And because it’s El, you know the banter’s gonna be on point, the way the characters care for each other is gonna be emotionally constipated but touching, and the pacing’s gonna be exciting enough to draw you in and keep you there. Also, this fic doesn’t have nearly enough kudos so please go read it and fix that or I’m gonna have to try to hack AO3 and that’ll just be embarrassing for all parties involved.

What Happens In Vegas

Author: sabremc

Word Count: 161,951

Summary: “What the hell, Tony?” Rhodey demanded brusquely. Tony winced and drew the phone away from his ear. “You’ve got cops and Feds all over the hotel. I’m watching you perp walk out of the police station on repeat on CNN. They’re saying you tried to bribe Stern? Fox News has you selling weapons on the black market, and God that picture they’re using is the one from Bali in ’09. You look like shit. They wheeled Stern out and put him in an ambulance, by the way. Got some paparazzi swearing you decked the guy. Now they’ve got ‘copters following it like he’s OJ.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Sourpatch, I’ve got it covered. Uh, though, I should probably tell you that, purely in the interests of national security and the greater good, I kind of had to fake marry that stripper-gram you sent. Thanks for that, by the way,” Tony added quickly.

Why You Should Read It:

If you’re deep enough into Stony to see posts like this on Tumblr, you probably know sabre’s what we in the business call a “big name author.” They’re prolific, they’re popular, and most importantly, they write words good (technical term). Seriously, sabre just keeps cranking out high quality stuff over and over again, raising the bar for the rest of us like a jerk (not really. I’m not bitter they write stuff so good I wish I’d thought of it first. Not at all.)

I never read stripper!Steve or stripper!Tony as a rule, but this came so widely recommended that I broke that rule and boy am I glad that I did. This is also the only fic on this list that’s a true-AU, with Steve being a non-powered vet from Afghanistan who left his army career to help Bucky and is stripping in Vegas to raise money for a prosthetic arm. He’s booked to do a private show for Tony, shenanigans ensue, and now they’re fake-married. This fic’s got some top-of-the-line banter and character development, but I particularly love it for its rich setting. Sabre paints a Vegas not just with strip clubs and blackjack tables, but KISS-themed minigolf, romantic dinners on the Eiffel tower, gaudy hotel lobbies, and making out on giant ferris wheels. It’s such a richly developed playground for the characters to play on, and through it, Steve manages to find a life for himself he’d given up on, and Tony finds multiple ways to show his kindness and depth of feeling for Steve. I know the word count’s long for this one but trust me, you’ve gotta read this fic.

Wait & Sea

Author: Lenalena

Word Count: 53,244

Summary: In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

Why You Should Read It:

This one’s old and popular enough to be considered one of the “classic” Stony fics, and for good reason. Lenalena doesn’t write too often and not as much as they used to, but the fics they have up there are an absolute delight.

This is another fic that I skipped a bunch of times for being outside my comfort zone, but when I finally read it I saw why everyone’s so wild about it. In this story, Steve’s defrosted a bit earlier and not revealed as Captain America. He and Tony are sent undercover to sniff out Hydra shenanigans on a cruise and, because it’s fanfiction, they’ve got to pretend to be a married couple while onboard. There’s tons to love about this fic, but the things that bring me back to reading it over and over is first, Tony’s kindness and the way he’s attuned to Steve’s feelings, which... God, just inject “kind, observant Tony” straight into my veins, please and thank you. This is also another really rich setting for a story, and Lena knows how to fold the the hokeyness of the cruise into the seriousness of the mission and the depth of feelings Steve and Tony are finding for each other in a really beautiful, layered way. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, it’s steamy, it’s gripping... why are you still reading this here? Go check it out for yourself!

Ashes to Ashes

Author: dirigibleplumbing

Word Count: 51,582

Summary: After regrouping following some surprise time travel, the world's heroes and sorcerers come up with a plan to protect the Mind and Time Stones by taking them into space in opposite directions. The result involves a lot more time loops than Steve would like, but at least they're getting a second chance to stop Thanos. (As well as a third, and a fourth...) And if Steve takes the opportunity to try to reconcile with Tony, too—well, they have the time, and Steve's going to make the most of it.

Why You Should Read It:

Dirigibleplumbing’s another name in Stony fanfics that does not get nearly as much fanfare as they deserve. They’re consistently a really creative voice in Stony fanfics and I always look forward to their stories showing me something new. Go read all their fics, I need more people to geek out with me over them.

I tend to limit myself on Steve-and-Tony-mend-things-after-Civil-War fics not because they’re not good, but because they’re so heavy, and also the Sokovia Accords have five hundred layers of crap in them that no good fic could possibly hash out well. This one, though? When you add in the Infinity War/End Game fixit? Poetry. Art. Music to my ears. DP wrote a really engaging, twisty story where it’s hard to predict what’s coming next, in spite of it literally being a pseudo-Groundhog day scenario. The characterizations are great, the story is engaging, and the feelings are big and sad and eventually happy. Go read it, you’ll love it.

I have tons of other recs for this category but this seems like a good place to stop for today. Tomorrow’s Alternative Media Thursday, and I’ve got some real gems I’ve been saving for that day (aaaaand possibly a self-rec or two ;)

#capimrecweek #tony stark #Steve Rogers #stony #fanfiction #MCU #ficrec

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letitrainathousandflames · 4 years

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Cody places the chest plate over his sternum, allowing the magnetic clasps to attach the piece to an equally plain one over his back. It feels strange, the lack of protection over his lower body. His midriff remains unprotected under the overshirt.

 “This feels… unsafe.” he grumbles “Too Exposed.” 

Rex hands him the kama with a small grin, the little di’kut. Of course he and Wolffe had mocked him over it, how he was finally gonna wear one like they did. While Cody ties the thing in place, Rex points a finger at him. 

“Listen, senator Organa told us to keep it simple. You’re not headed for battle, vod.” 

“He might just be.” Wolffe quips with a low growl, handing Cody his belt “There isn’t one kriffing person in there that’ll be happy to see a clone in the senate floor.” 

Cody sighs with the belt in his hands. Again, too simple. No thermal detonators hanging from it, much less his holstered blasters. Just a plain strap of leather shielded by plastoid plates. 

He reaches for the arm guards over the table, running his finger over its grooves. The senate. How much did they know about the soldiers fighting and dying for them off-world? How did they feel about their existence? Senator Organa said they might listen to him, but what are the odds of him being forcefully escorted out like a droid speaking out of turn? 

What if he is actually putting them all at risk? If the kaminiise start thinking that even their Marshall Commander is starting to sound like a traitor, how long before they arrive to the conclusion that the clones were a failed experiment and that it would be better to terminate every single one of them? 

His eyes drift over to the carefully folded cape, to the names that he had personally embroidered on its inside, thinks about how no cape, no flag, no amount of fabric would be enough to actually get all of them, thousands upon thousands of men lost to this endless war. Rex walks up to Cody, glances at him to then gently bump his hand guard to the commander’s. 

“Me'bana, vod?” 

Wolffe steps over to his other side brushing his shoulder to Cody’s, and the three of them stare at the names on the fabric as Cody unfurls the cape, spreading it some over the table. The three of them look at it in silence, reading and associating each name to a face, to a voice, to a personality. There are some of Wolffe’s men, lost to the Malevolence’s attacks; some of both Rex and Cody’s men, all lost in Umbara, several of them to friendly fire. And many others, as many as Cody could manage to fit in such a small space. 

That piece of fabric is the only concrete form of remembrance for these men without graves or monuments. Clones can only trust their memories to keep the history of their brothers alive, and it makes Cody’s heart ache. 

“Ni chaabar.” Cody says quietly, and it was only in their Mando’a that he could find it in himself to explain his feelings “I could end up getting us all killed with this.” 

There is a small moment of silence, and then Wolffe sighs.  “We are already getting killed. Every time we fight we lose dozens, hundreds, sometimes thousands of our vod’e in battle, or we watch them die in the medbays.” 

Cody turns to face Wolffe. The commander, as many other clones, was never fond of speaking more than strictly necessary, especially about the bleak conditions in which they all lived and fought in; Maybe it was to protect himself, maybe to protect his men. Maybe it was just his way of managing to cross the tightrope of war without ever looking down. But now he speaks - and Cody listens. 

“They’re keep lowering the age of drafting.” Wolffe traces with his gaze the embroidered name of a wolfpack trooper lost to the Malevolence weapon “First it was by a few weeks, then months, and now…”

Cody notices him poking his cheek with his tongue, shaking his head almost unnoticeably. Wolffe continues:

“I was nine when I was sent out to lead my battallion. I was scared but I was grown and ready.” Wolffe continues, eyebrows creased in a weave of confusion and barely-hidden anger as he turns his eyes to cody “Last week I received word of new batches coming out, most of them eight, a couple of them barely there. The kaminiise are sending out a bunch of still-growing kids to fight before their standard training is even done. We already have accelerated aging to fit the needs of the Republic, but this? This is just sick.” 

“And we can’t say a word about it because we aren’t a people, technically.” Rex adds sheepishly “We can’t say a word about being forced to work overtime. Can’t say anything about being paid in ‘special GAR’s credits’. Or about the overcrowded dorms, or the need of longer breaks, or mental healthcare, or entertainment, or a life outside the army.” 

Rex runs a hand over his cropped blond hair.

  “We are loyal in a way most governments only dream of.” he continues, eyes sharp at Cody “We live and breathe and fight and die for the republic, and we are all proud to do so. But we need to believe that we receive back at least half of the high regard in which we hold the Republic. We aren’t asking for much, and the Republic has denied us the right to even ask.” 

And, after a small pause, Rex swallows down, and his tone shows how much he knows he’s risking just to say it. 

“Do we risk death for our freedom, or do we continue to live as slaves?” 

“Rex.” Wolffe says in a warning tone  

The two of them know of Cody’s loyalty to the Republic. When the idea of having him speak against it in the senate even came up, Cody’s first response was to accuse them of threason. It had taken long enough to convince him to find the narrow path between his fear-based respect for the Kaminoans, his dedication for the republic and the jedi, and his love for his brothers. 

Cody frowns to then run a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes and speaking between his teeth.

“I’m not a slave. I love my duty. I love the Republic!” 

Maybe he should just give up on this. It was all a huge mistake, he had allowed Wolffe and Rex to drag him along with this nonsense. He could just turn his back on this and get back to the barracks, to his armor, to his command, where he belonged… 

He opens up his eyes, and the very first thing he sees is one of the names in aurebesh in front of him, drawing in his gaze like a trance.   Waxer. How could someone with such a kind, gentle heart be so deadly in the battlefield? Cody remembers him, the eager cadet that would always be seen hanging out with his batch brother Boil. Waxer had a heart soft enough to make him adopt a lost child in the middle of a war zone, to pet and feed stray animals and let them in their cover when it rained. He would make such an amazing parent, Cody could almost envision him holding a tiny bundle in his arms, just like Jango would do with his own. He would love his kid with all his heart…  

If he had lived to have them. Instead, Waxer died in a dark world, fallen to a brother’s blast, crying in pain and fear as Rex had reported it.

 Wordlessly, Cody puts on the vambraces, then the arm guards. Lastly, he takes the cape, brushes his gloved thumb over Waxer’s name. He owes it to him. To them, all of the Clone Army of the Republic. He owes it to them to at least try. Cody throws the cape over his shoulders, securing it in the straps on the inside of his chest plate.

 His brothers look at him with pride, and it makes his heart swell. His comlink rings, and Bail Organa’s voice comes through it:  

“Commander Cody, are you ready?”  

Cody looks at Rex and Wolffe, draws in a deep breath.  

“Yes.”  

“I’m about to announce you to the senate. Remember - keep your opening statement short and fast because we don’t know what will be their reaction. And, from personal experience: if they try cutting your speakers up there, just carry on by shouting the rest of your statement. Good luck, my friend.”  Cody chuckles, pressing the comlink.  

“Good thing that us commanders are good at shouting.”

 Mando’a translations:

 Di’kut - Idiot

Me'bana, vod? - what’s the matter, brother? 

Ni chaabar - I’m afraid

Senator Cody picked up from several bits of headcanons across tumblr. I highly recommend checking the #senator cody tag on @transmikecrew‘s blog bc it’s honestly the best and his writing is *chef’s kiss*

#senator cody #concept art #my art #i'm VERY proud of this one #pls rb #my fics

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thedistantdusk · 3 years

Text

Expectations

For the Hinny Christmas Fest, so kindly organized by @fightfortherightsofhouseelves! Got this one in just under the wire! :D Thanks to @floreatcastellumposts and @kmi-kmi for giving it a look over for me! Rated a soft T for references to sex. On AO3.

________

Molly Weasley is a lot of things. But she’s not an idiot.

Even if she hadn’t once been a teen in the throes of a serious relationship on the heels of a war (which, incidentally, she was), she did raise seven children. Seven Gryffindor children. Seven Gryffindor children who, by default, have each thought themselves far more competent at sneaking around than they truly are.

As such, she’s fairly certain of when Harry and Ginny became... intimate... this summer. Not that she wants the details. Her interest is limited to ensuring that her daughter — that all of her children, Harry and Hermione most definitely included — are well-informed on the inherent risks of what they’re doing. The knowledge of their intimacy was just one of those things that even the most oblivious of parents would have found impossible to ignore. In the span of two days, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny went from “taking long walks in the garden” to feigning yawns and calling it an early night at 7 PM. Besides, Ron and Hermione had already been to Australia by themselves; only a moron would truly believe their nights were strictly filled with knitting caps for house elves.

And as has been said before, Molly is a lot of things... but she’s not a bloody idiot. She knows some might expect her to maintain a puritanical stance on sex (as if she hadn’t birthed seven children of her own). She knows some might have disagreed with her stance on letting things unfold as they did. But as she’s learned over the past year, happiness — true happiness — is hard to find.

After months of thinking she’d never see happiness on her children’s faces again, she first spotted it in Ginny’s eyes last May. Back then, it was a creeping, hesitant sort of look... the type that dipped its toes in the waters of joy for a split-second before retreating like a frightened doe.

But as the weeks progress, she sees it more and more often — and not just in Ginny’s eyes. She sees happiness in the lazy quirk of Harry’s lips as Ginny takes his hand beneath the table. She sees it in the bobbing of Ron’s Adam’s Apple as Hermione descends the stairs in a sundress. She sees it in the way Hermione let a sandal dangle from her toe as she tilts her chin towards the sun.

By now, the four of them have coupled up properly, just as she suspected they would. It was in equal parts charming and bittersweet, but Molly knows better than anyone that there’s nothing quite like a war to rearrange one’s priorities.

And when she considers all of that, plus the fact that certain fractals of darkness will never truly leave them (just as they’ll never truly leave her)... who would she have been, really, to snatch such joy away?

So, yes, Molly spends the summer fully aware they’re intimate beneath her roof. But after the plague of chaos and confusion and uncertainty and fear that followed their family for close to a year, she honestly prefers them beneath her roof then in a tent somewhere, filled with cat piss and loneliness.

However — and Molly admits this part makes her a bit cheeky — she does enjoy the unnecessary pageantry they go to over the summer to conceal what they’re doing. The four of them actually think they’re good at hiding it, even as Harry rakes his eyes over Ginny’s... erm... back. Even as she Hermione parades around the kitchen in Ron’s old jumper. Even as she hears, each night, as Ginny’s feet land in the attic as Ron’s land in Ginny’s room. Alas, the whole thing is too hilarious and contrived for her to spoil, so she simply doesn’t.

But then the girls return to school after a summer that’s both agonizingly long and tenderly fleeting. Harry and Ron find a flat together and enter training. What remains of their lives returns to normal, even though Molly feels she’ll always be picking up the piece of a puzzle that can’t be solved.

She keeps herself busy as fall turns to winter, though. She volunteers with Ministry relief efforts. She writes to Ginny often. She makes an effort to try harder with Fleur, to rebuild her relationship with Percy, to assist George if she can, to stay close with her husband. She knows her life will forever be separated into two parts: before and after. She knows that the remainder of her days will contain a deep-seated longing that tinges her world with shades of gray. This is a unique type of pain, she knows… the sort of pain only a mother can feel. The sort of pain that takes her breath away if she lets it.

But she also knows the best way to keep moving is to maintain the traditions that made them a family in the first place.

So she sticks to holiday routines as Christmas approaches. Waking early. Cleaning the house. Decorating with tinsel and paper chains. Preparing for everyone’s arrival. Christmas will never be the same… not without him. But if only for George’s sake, Molly knows she needs to try.

She suggests that Harry spend the night on Christmas Eve, just so he isn’t alone; she assumes (correctly) that they haven’t quite got the nerve to ask if Ginny can spend the night at the flat instead. By now, Harry is essentially an overnight Christmas fixture anyway; even when they do get up the nerve to ask, Molly expects he’ll continue to stay over. Or so she hopes so, anyway. The alternative still makes her feel a bit broken, but she’ll cross that bridge when it comes.

So when Harry, Ron, and Ginny head upstairs after a night of festivities on Christmas Eve, Molly assumes they’ll be back to their old tricks. Hermione’s spending the night with her parents, but it wouldn’t be the least bit surprising if she apparates in. After all, they think they’ve got a foolproof plan that’ll last through everyone’s departure from school. Announcing she’s been aware of this plan the whole time would only spoil things… and Molly doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. Not this year.

After a half-sleepless night, Molly rises early on Christmas Day. She continues to stick to routines, to never deviate from what she can control; today is a day that could be especially miserable, if she lets it. So when she emerges from the toilet at half past seven, she doesn’t expect to see anyone in the cold, dark corridor. From the amount everyone drank last night, she assumed their switching-bedrooms routine would be pushed back, just a bit.

Then again, it’s not just anyone she sees in the corridor, his foot poised on the step leading to the attic.

It’s Harry.

Sleep-tousled, disheveled Harry — and as much as it makes her cringe to admit, he does look… more relaxed.

At least until they make eye contact.

For the life of her, Molly’s never seen anyone transform so quickly from chuffed to terrified. Any hint of relaxation slides from his face, his back going rigid. Harry freezes, stock-still, his white-socked foot still poised on the step, his eyes filled with the sort of blinding terror she hasn’t seen in seven months. If it weren’t for that, really, she’d find the whole thing humorous. But seeing as how she’d rather not see that look on his face again, she opts to take pity on him.

After a bit of gentle prodding, that is.

“Harry, dear,” Molly says softly; she’s certain Ginny’s still asleep, but it’s best not to chance it. “Wherever are you going so early in the morning?”

Harry swallows and awkwardly moves his jaw like he’s forgotten how to speak. “I’m, erm,” he starts, his voice torn between graveled with sleep and high-pitched with terror. “I’m… going to the toilet?”

Molly can’t help the smirk that crawls to her lips as she nods to her left. “You’ve just missed it, dear.”

Shit.

Harry doesn’t say the word, but it’s written across his face, plain as day. He shifts his weight, his face blanching even more; she can almost see the wheels spin in his head as he thinks of another excuse.

“I’ve… erm. Sleepwalked?”

Molly’s smirk broadens to a full-on grin as she crosses her arms over her chest. Is that how he’s going to play it? In that case, she’ll keep up the ruse, too.

“Oh? What an unfortunate affliction!” she exclaims, hoping she’s masking her amusement with feigned concern. “You’ll need to see a healer, Harry. How have you managed to make it down such steep steps in the first place? It’s remarkable you’ve stayed safe so far! In future, I really think—“

But when Harry cuts her off, it’s not with another excuse; it’s with a remark that’s hasty and blurted, but ringing with truth. He just blinks, sets his jaw, and gives her with an expression so endearing, so honest, that it makes her entire Christmas.

“—I’m going to marry her, Mrs. Weasley,” he interrupts, removing his foot from the step as he turns to face her… and right in front of her face, the hollow fear in his eyes fades into sharp nobility.

He draws a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, even as Molly’s head spins, even as her heart leaps to her throat, even as his words breathe more life into her soul than she’s felt in months.

“So I’m sorry if this”— he gestures to Ginny’s room— “is weird. Really, I am. But please, believe me when I say I’ll do the right—”

But Molly has no idea if he says another word. She’s even too taken aback to correct him on the Mrs. Weasley bit. Because she can’t stand another bloody second of Harry having to justify himself… not when she’s thrilled that he’s in her life. That he’s in Ginny’s life. That he’s saved their lives.

Not when he’s just confirmed what she’s always hoped and dreamed for: that he would truly, properly join their family.

She’s not even aware of her feet running towards him, of the delighted squeal from her mouth as tears of joy stream down her face. All she feels is Harry relaxing against her shoulder, his arm awkwardly patting her on the back, even as she continues to jump and shriek.

“Not erm… anytime too soon?” he manages, through her hysterics. “I just didn’t want you to think—”

Oh, please!

Molly pulls away from the hug with a sharp glare. “Harry,” she says firmly. “Of all the things I’ve thought about you, doing the wrong thing never even crossed my mind. So I’ll hear none of that. I just…” She trails off, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t know you’d be so serious so fast! But of course I’m happy, dear. So happy!”

Harry gives her a fervent nod and a smile… and unless she’s very much mistaken, she can see the hint of a tear in his eye too as she pulls him in for another hug.

Marry her.

He’s going to marry her! Harry Potter is going to marry her daughter! He’s going to stand at the altar, his green eyes brimming, the cause of his scar a distant memory. Molly can envision Ginny in white, her red hair gorgeous in contrast, her face split into a smile she can’t contain. Or maybe none of that will happen. Right now, Molly doesn’t really care. All she knows is that they’re to be married... and the thought alone is absolutely beautiful, isn’t it? That something so lovely could come from a year so dreadful?

In truth, Molly did expect this — eventually. After all, she spent months observing how Harry looks at Ginny. She’s seen the softness in his eyes and the protectiveness in his jaw. It’s clear he loves her; Molly just never expected she’d be given permission to properly call him her son in the same year she lost one.

And as she cries and hugs him, Molly is happy for two things: that her family will soon be even bigger and happier than she’d ever hoped... and that her daughter (approximately ten meters away) has always been a very heavy sleeper.

#hinnychristmasfest #hinny fanfic #harry/ginny #expectations

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shadowworks · 3 years

Text

Resolutions

Pairing: Hawks X Reader

Warnings: Fluffy, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol (consumed at a party!) mentions of height difference, Feels. There’s feels.

Word Count: 1.4k

Song suggestion: New Years Day by Taylor Swift

A/N: A group of us decided to do Secret Santa, and my pick was sweet, @redflannel! I really hope you like it, and you’ll be excited for the new year! 🥺

Thank you @some-kindofgnome for helping brainstorm ideas and reading over everything! Honestly, you’ve been through it all. 🤍 Also, thank you @hisoknen, @present-mel & @pleasantanathema for reading it over towards the end. 🤍

Red, this one’s for you!

New Years Eve.

There’s glitter on the floor when you walk through the party. You hear the muted cheers of laughter from the rooftop, all colleagues from Hawks’ agency watching fireworks bloom across a dark sky. A couple girls walk by, holding pretty shoes by their straps and both lost in their conversation. Your interests are elsewhere. On someone, actually.

The hall trails to a corner office on the right, the door's closed but that doesn’t make you turn around. A soft knock, and a turn of the knob follows right before you step inside. The room is mostly dark, save for a dim desk lamp turned on near the city windows.

“Hawks?” You call out in the dark. Tousled locks of gold tip in your direction, and you’re met with honey eyes staring wide from the high rise window. It’s a surprise, though it looks like you’re welcomed.

“Hey,” he offers gently. His low voice isn't as strong as usual. It’s quiet and solemn...not like him at all.

“Hey,” you greet back, closing the door behind you, “What are you doing in here, babe?”

Hawks made his appearance earlier in the night. He poured himself a glass of champagne, and he wandered between conversations through the crowds like a smooth talker. And yet, when it came to the clock reaching nearly midnight, you noticed his vibrant presence wasn’t among the hazy and drunk crowds.

In truth he likes to go off on his own. You've come to find this out through your months working together, but still. This is different.

“Ah well, gotta catch up on paperwork, you know how it is.” He manages, glimpsing back to the glass. You did. But you know he submitted his paperwork days prior...To prove this, the desk’s clean without a single shred of paper on top, and his computer screen is blank, idle, a dull light painting the keyboard.

You take your time approaching the desk, capturing him in the soft light. He’s in a three piece suit, holes cut in the back for his plush crimson wings. Lovely posture, and he holds a half empty glass of champagne in hand, the other tucked in the pocket of his trousers, and so...effortlessly beautiful. It’s hard not to stare.

“Did I submit the reports wrong the first time?” You ask.

“What?—No! That’s not—” you catch him off guard. It’s not something that happens often, but maybe because it’s you he’s affected more as he stares back startled. But his words bubble in his throat, and he turns shamefully to shield his face, with shoulders hitched slightly.

You tilt your head, attempting a peek at his flustered features and you quietly circle around the lengthy wooden desk. “You sure this isn’t for something else?”

That’s not enough. He still doesn’t answer, instead he holds his stare to the flutter of fallen snow pouring down onto the city.

“Hey, look at me,” you tell him. This time you draw close to his form, extending an arm and taking his champagne glass. He lets it slip from his fingers as you set it down for him on the desk. You glance up, hands finding his cheeks lightly dusted in a blush. You cup them softly, guiding his head to face yours, “What’s going on with you?”

His handsomely marked eyes fall lidded. They search your own, intensely looking for something...The heat between your fingers is soothing, and you feel his calloused hands reach upward to lay across your fingers, stroking your knuckles in a gentle manner with his thumb.

“Shoulda taken it easy on the champagne.”

“We both know that was your first glass.”

You feel Hawks slide your hands from his cheeks, his stubble grazing your skin, only to cradle you around the waist and pull you into his chest at once. You instinctively find your arms wrapping around him. He buries his head into your shoulder, breathing deep, holding you tightly in his arms.

Something you’ve noticed about Hawks is he doesn’t always give you the answer right away. Sometimes it takes patience, and the way he is right now? This is something that’ll have to wait until the morning, when the new year has finally begun. And that’s okay.

“Hawks,” you say, craning your head toward his thickly swept hairs. When he doesn’t move from the embrace, you pause for a moment, just before your voice falls to a whisper.

“Keigo.”

His head slowly lifts, looking back at you longing, with all the love in the gleam of his eyes. He gave you his name some time ago, but the conditions are to keep it a secret. You couldn’t say it in the workplace, or around mixed company. But this is an exception.

The world is looking toward the sparks in the sky, while you’re looking at the sparks in his eyes. The sound of muted shouts come from above again; the countdown ringing from drunken voices.

Ten

Nine

Eight

“How about I take you home?” You gently soothe. You watch his features soften.

Seven

Six

Five

“Only if you stay with me,” Keigo breathes back, amber cologne brushing your nose as he flutters his lips against yours.

Four

Three

Two

“I always will.”

One

Your lips press together and fireworks burst from beyond the glass window, shading you two in a blend of blues, greens, and reds. Your eyes are closed, lost in a tender touch.

Happy New Year!

When you both pull apart, it’s slow and you two are lingering. Peeling your eyes open, you glance at each other through the long, boisterous cheers of celebration.

It’s Hawks who moves first, collecting your hand in his as he leads you out the door of his office. He knows how to leave a party in private, he’s good with fast departures, after all. Only a couple people catch the two of you collecting your winter coats, and he flashes a coy smile with a charming flare.

A little too quickly you feel the crisp air bite your skin as you depart into the harsh cold. You’re grateful Keigo draws you toward him, letting the soft plush of his wings veil you from the oncoming wind. The city is alive with continuous noise poppers, and cheering sounds in the distance. But it’s Keigo’s voice which catches your attention.

“You know,” he starts, his tone smoother than before. But there’s a hint of nerves you can detect, just a little as he goes on, “I’ve been thinking a lot about next year.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Guess we could call it a New Years Resolution or something, heh, been leading up to it, but…”

“Babe.”

Finally turning towards you face to face, he leans into you, holding you in another tight embrace and dipping his lips down by your nipped ear, “I’m not just asking you to stay the night...I want you to stay with me in the long run. Stay and live with me.”

Your nerves ignite in a tingling shock. It’s not as though the thought hasn’t crossed your mind before. You’ve been together long enough. A few mentions here and there. Still. Still...Your sight begins to blur. You can’t stop the hot streaks of tears wetting your cheeks, and a smile pulls to the corners of your mouth.

“Hawks are you,” you can’t form the words, not at first, straining for a moment to keep your voice steady, “Are you serious?”

“I’m as serious as can be,” his coughing laugh breaks in between, “I know that’s hard to believe, but I can have my moments….So, what do you say?”

You nod your head, hiding your face in the warmth of his pro-hero coat, trimmed in fluffs of white.

Another soft laugh vibrates from his chest, gloved hands gently running up and down your shoulder. “Can’t hear you under there, little dove, you’ll have to speak louder.”

With another nod you manage to lift your head, smiling wider, “I’d like that.”

“We’ll work out the details later. Right now…” Keigo smiles back. Lovingly, softly, “Let’s go home.”

It ended up being the fastest resolution made.

***

I was listening to New Years Day on repeat, and yes it did inspire a few ideas for the fic. Thanks for reading! Happy New Years 💙🎊

#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks #keigo takami #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia fanfics #my hero academia fanfiction #fluff fanfic #roommates au #shadow tales

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gwynrielsupremacy · 3 years

Text

Azriel surprises Gwyn for her birthday PART. 6

Guys just so you know i need to think of a better name for this bc like THIS IS GETTING BIIIIG (I have a playlist on spotify called "what would gwynriel sing" and i think i'll draw inspiration from there lol)

IT'S GWYN'S POV AGAIN (and this one's a little shorter lol i'm sorry... Rhys is in this chapter bc i honestly share the headcanon that Gwyn and Rhys would be close friends!)

MY GIRLS: @starbornsinger @madie2200 @katiebellf here it is!! And check out the Chapter List here

Gwyn couldn’t deny. She was nervous. That morning the words just rushed out about leaving the library, because she truly felt inspired by Diane’s words. She had spent the previous night awake, even if Emerie and Nesta had long fallen asleep, thinking about what she had to do next. She was feeling braver. Maybe it was because that was the best birthday she had since Sangravah, or perhaps ever, due to the circumstances. She still missed Catrin like crazy during the day, still felt that familiar ache in her chest when she worked at the library in the afternoon, or went training in the morning. But somehow, after everything that has happened in the evening, the lingering image of her sister started being more of a comfort, a companion, than the sorrow and guilt she was accustomed to.

Still, she was nervous.

She did really want to leave the library, and Clotho seemed happy, maybe even proud, to let her go. Merrill didn’t care as long as she kept working for her, at least a couple hours a day. One day, Gwyn thought that would change too. But for now, one step at a time. The night she went to the Town House and dined with the Inner Circle was one of many small steps Gwyn’s been giving these last few months towards more autonomy, independence, and strength. Towards the life she wanted for herself. And now, the day where she decided to move out of the library was the day she took another one.

And Azriel… Honestly, she thought she would be more scared about the prospect of having a mate than she actually did. Most of all, she was happy. She felt lucky and had the confidence that if anything were to happen between the two of them, they would take it slow, at her pace. She wouldn’t have it any other way. That if Azriel were to find out about the bond any time soon; or if she would summon enough courage to tell him. Because if he did know, he would’ve said something by now, wouldn’t he?

Yep. She was very nervous.

What she dreaded the most was the fact that Azriel, well, he may not feel the same once he found out. The Cauldron could be wrong, after all. And all these last months of getting closer to each other, training in companionable silence, laughing together, bantering… She was more than grateful for their friendship, but she knew that Azriel still had some things to figure out – about Elain. If he truly still felt something towards her, that was enough to strain Gwyn’s hopes for the moment. To maintain the quiet feeling to herself, and what it meant; that she was indeed worthy of happiness not only alone, but with another one.

She tried to push all those feelings aside as she was getting ready for dinner at the River House, the High Lady and Lord’s official estate. She looked at herself in the mirror, spinning side to side. It wasn’t much – after all, she didn’t have any clothes besides her robes, nightgowns and training leathers – but the outfit the House provided was more than enough. Her baggy turquoise linen pants and her white, loose crop top made her extremely comfortable, even if the latter was slightly shorter than what she was accustomed to.

She still wore the necklace Azriel re-gifted her. When he told her a few months back about the whole story, she truly understood him. He was in a bad place at the time, but so did she. And even if he had indeed made a mistake, she was glad to have it now. To know that someone gave it to her willingly, that was the thought she held on to. First person considered or not. And besides, it looked great against her freckled skin.

A gentle knock on the door of her new bedroom sounded. “Gwyn, you ready?”

“Yeah, come in”

Nesta opened the door and something sparked in her eyes as she stared at Gwyn through the mirror.

“You look beautiful, girl”

She spun on her heels and smiled at Nesta.

“I do, don’t I?”

They both laughed as they linked their arms and left the room.

“So” Nesta begun, as they walked towards the main entrance together “How are you settling in?”

“It’s very cozy, and I just love that view. The House is providing me everything I need at the moment. Thank you for inviting me to stay.” She gave her sister a grateful smile

“Well, I was serious; you can stay with us for as long as you want.”

“That means a lot.” Gwyn couldn’t contain her smile as she gently nudged her head against her sister’s.

“Don’t mention. I know you’d do the same for me.” And Nesta was right. Without thinking twice, Gwyn would have done the same for both of her newfound sisters. She was so grateful and thrilled their paths had crossed this way.

“By the way” Nesta mentioned innocently when they reached the common area “The room you chose, well, that’s three doors up from Azriel’s. If you have a problem with that, feel free to say it.”

And as she was summoning his presence, that was the moment the Shadowsinger came to vision, talking to Cassian in the balcony – waiting for them.

Gwyn drew on a breath, staring straight at him. When he caught her eye, she couldn’t help her smile. And when his eyes glittered, scanning her from head to toe, she answered quietly to her sister:

“No. I think that’ll be fine.”

*******

The River House was beautiful. Gwyn admired it as the four of them stood by the front door. It was big, but the decoration made it seem comfortable and cozy, despite its size. A true home, Gwyn thought.

Feyre opened the door, a warm smile instantly on her face.

“Come in!”

As soon as they stepped on the entrance hall, Gwyn marveled at the big painting on display. It was a portrait of Nesta as she held the line at the Pass of Enalius. Her cunning eyes seemed to look directly at anyone who came in, daring and challenging. “This is amazing.” She said, tearing her eyes from the image at last and looking at Feyre. Cassian and Nesta had already entered the living room and Azriel stood by the doorway, lingering.

Feyre was still smiling at her when she answered. “Thank you very much, Gwyn. I have others I can show you later, if you’d like.”

“I would love to. You have a beautiful home.” And she could barely conceal the emotion in her eyes as Feyre held her hand and sighed gratefully. She, maybe more than anyone, was well aware of how lucky she was to have such a family.

“We do.”

It was just when she reached the living room and beheld all of those who Feyre and Rhysand loved the most she felt Azriel’s presence still a few steps behind her, his eyes fixed upon her. A tendril of shadow curled up slightly at her wrist, as if saying We’re here. So she looked back for half a second before entering further into the room, only enough to meet his cryptic gaze and give him a half-smile. And couldn’t help the sparkling feeling in her chest when he gave her a reassuring nod.

*****

The night was going on peacefully. Gwyn didn’t say much, and it was rather content in observe. That way, she didn’t feel exposed, and also could get to know the Inner Circle better: their dynamics and bantering, how they acted around each other and discussed both serious and light topics. Elain, for example, was sitting in a chair in the corner, drink in hand. She only joined for dinner, ate quietly and then excused herself from the table for a long time. Rhys and Feyre took turns in watching Nyx, since this evening he went to sleep early. Emerie and Mor were having what seemed to be a very intimate conversation, knees touching and heads close, and Nesta and Cassian, well… They were being their usual selves.

And then she landed her eyes on the Shadowsinger. He was definitely the quietest of them all, even if during dinner he had participated in the more serious subjects of conversation and exchanged a few casual words with Gwyn. She could observe enough to notice he didn’t once glance at Elain, or her at him, and that they kept their distance. He actually seemed to have spent the evening doing the same thing Gwyn was, which was observing; except for him it was natural, a second skin. He certainly had enough time these hundred years to know well about the rest of his family, while she was doing that precisely to learn more about them. If it was easy for her to be like this, for him was instinct.

She couldn't stop but detain herself on the details of his face, though, as he now spoke to Mor, who had subtly approached him. He wore that inexpressive mask, but she could see the way his brows were slightly furrowed, his jaw set just slightly... There was something concerning him, making him uneasy. She wondered, maybe for the tenth time, when she would tell him. Or if she should let him find out by himself. And again, her heart fluttered as he put his hands in his pockets and nodded along, listening to Mor.

How could the Cauldron have chosen this? To have defined them as mates... He was the one who saved her, who’d seen her low, who helped her at the very worst moment of her life. And although she would be forever grateful for it, she was aware he had enough on his plate – to burden him with her feelings... She didn't know what to do. It was at that moment their eyes locked across the room. She didn't realize she had still been staring, and quickly darted her eyes away.

Only to meet with Rhysand’s staring at her from across the table.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry.

Oh, shit. Shit. Gwyn contained her gasp. He heard her. She didn't know for how long, but he could read her thoughts.

I was just going to ask you if you were feeling okay.

She knew what he meant. But still...

"Please. Please don’t say a word". She managed to whisper to that presence in her mind.

He doesn't know? She could feel his curiosity. Although they were still staring at each other, his face yielded nothing.

"I don't think so. Please, just…"

Don't worry, Gwyn. I won't tell him.

She could've cried in relieve. "Thank you."

He only nodded at her and raised his glass, and she could feel his presence fading from her mind.

*****

When they arrived at the House of Wind, a few hours later, Gwyn was still a little uneasy. She needed to learn how to shield her mind properly; even if she felt she trusted Rhys’s word, she couldn’t feel relaxed at the thought that someone else knew about what she’d only recently discovered and were still trying to figure out.

She could barely stare at Azriel when they flew all the way back. They remained silent all the way to the House of Wind, and her gaze remained fixed on the city landscape below them, or on the skies above. Never on him or their closeness, even if she’d caught him glancing at her a few times. They landed just a few minutes after Nesta and Cassian. When she meant to let go of his hand, he held it just for a moment longer:

“Did you have fun tonight?”

She nodded, managing to bring a smile upon her face. She didn’t want him to see how nervous she was; they were never like that around each other.

“A lot. Your family is very…”

“Extravagant?”

“I was going to say kind. But they might be a little extravagant, too.”

The corner of his lips tugged upward, and she let out a quiet laugh. “Are you going to sleep now?”

“In a few hours, maybe. I think I’ll hit the training ring first.”

She nodded. His shadows swirled a little at his shoulders. She seemed to forget about her nervousness for a second as she noticed his slightly furrowed brows, as if he was concentrating: “You know you don’t have to restrain them, if it tires you.”

“They should behave better.” It was all he grunted back, slightly annoyed at his dancing shadows.

“Well, I don’t mind at all. I like them. So at least around me, you shouldn’t worry about it.”

The seconds her eyes held his stare were enough to make Gwyn feel like she could burst – or touch him, again. So she turned away and smiled over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Az.”

All she felt before reaching the stairway was a tendril of shadow gently curling around her arm.

#would you please forgive me if i forgot about something canon like gwyn's mind shielding #is just this is mine now and that interaction between rhys and gwyn would be so cute and like UNDERSTANDING aw #this is fanfiction after all #ok more gwynriel now #me venting through tags #pls sjm make this canon #i live for gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #did someone ask for gwynriel moments #gwyns birthday #gwynriel supremacy #gwynriel #gwynriel headcanon

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swan-of-sunrise · 3 years

Text

Specs and the Flyboy (Chapter Seventeen)

Summary: (Y/N) and Jack follow up on a new lead and make a startling new discovery.

Pairing: Jack Thompson X Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Seventeen Kent, England (Previous Chapter)

“Now I remember why I enjoy living in Los Angeles.” (Y/N) grumbled, switching on the windshield wipers and squinting through the down-pouring of rain. “Don’t you just hate the rain sometimes?”

Jack shrugged beside her, his nose buried in a large map as he replied, “Yeah, I guess so. This rain’s pretty tame compared to the stuff we got in the Pacific, though; that was like takin’ a hot shower in the middle of a humid summer. Definitely not something I missed when I shipped back home.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “You’re right, that sounds a whole lot worse. How much farther until the turnoff?”

“It should be coming up in less than a mile-urgh, sorry, kilometer, and it should be somewhere on your left.”

They continued driving through the rain, the comfortable silence between them only permeated by the sounds of the rental car’s radio signal cutting in and out. Their visit to the SFC had been more fruitful than either of them predicted it would; for one, they managed to steal an entire classified file detailing Michael Carter’s undercover mission within Hydra and for another, that file contained not one but two hidden messages. One was in the form of a code while the other had been written in invisible ink; as it turned out, the final code from ‘M. Carter’s’ file that had stumped (Y/N) for so long was actually a cypher for the code on their newly-acquired file. It had taken (Y/N) nearly a week of staring at various number and letter sequences to crack it, only to be left with straightforward coordinates that led directly to Gravesend, Kent.

Unfortunately, the invisible message hadn’t been quite as useful to them; (Y/N) and a slightly-disgusted Jack had used a candle to heat the urine-covered page and reveal a paragraph of code but no matter what she tried, she couldn’t decode it. She and Jack had poured over all her translation journals and brainstormed every possible style of code but it looked like nothing she’d ever seen before; the code didn’t even resemble any of the ones Michael had invented to conceal his intel. Maybe Peggy and I can work on it together once we return to the States, she thought with an inward sigh, frustrated that she couldn’t use the skills she’d spent years honing and perfecting to help further their case.

“You’re kinda quiet over there, Specs. Everything okay?”

Glancing over at the man beside her, (Y/N) nodded and gave him a fleeting smile before turning her attention back to the road, feeling her face beginning to warm at his concerned tone. “Just lost in thought, that’s all.”

Something had shifted between her and Jack after she’d confided in him about Freddie’s death; he’d been more considerate and thoughtful whenever they spoke, a far cry from the smug and self-assured man she’d first met all those months ago, and for nearly a week now they’d slept together in the same bed. They’d often joke that it was because their hotel suite was too drafty but (Y/N) knew that it was really because sharing a bed had resulted in the best sleep either of them had experienced in a long while. When their unspoken arrangement had first begun, she’d warned herself not to get used to it but she’d failed spectacularly in that regard; as much as she wanted to solve the case for Peggy’s sake, she was dreading the day when Jack would inevitably return to his old life as Chief of the New York SSR and she’d be left alone once again.

“You sure you’re okay? You’ve got that little line between your eyebrows that you only get whenever you’re worried ‘bout something.” (Y/N) looked over at him in surprise and he merely shrugged. “It’s another one of your tells, Specs, along with fidgeting your hands.”

“Geez, remind me never to play poker with you.” She chuckled to herself before looking back at the road. “I was just thinking about these coordinates. Why would Michael bother coding the coordinates of a small town like Gravesend?

Her partner shrugged beside her. “I’ve got no idea, but that’s why we’ve come prepared for anything.” He patted the shoulder holster that was hidden underneath his navy-colored raincoat; her own gun was tucked into her clutch, alongside her various lock-picking tools, her tube of 103-Forget Me Not lipstick and the camera-pen Howard had lent her before they’d left Los Angeles.

In no time, they reached the small town of Gravesend and the heavy rain had thankfully lightened to a faint drizzle as she parked the car. There weren’t many people outside but just to be on the safe side, (Y/N) and Jack walked arm-in-arm down the sidewalk, looking every part the happily married couple; their cover allowed them to easily observe and investigate the town without drawing suspicion, and to keep up appearances, they engaged in small talk as they walked but their focus was entirely on their reconnaissance…well, almost entirely.

“I’m serious, Flyboy, I think it’s very sweet that you call your grandmother ‘Gam-Gam!’” (Y/N) insisted, watching as her partner’s blush deepened. The nickname had slipped out when he’d made an offhand comment about one of the houses looking like his grandmother’s, much to his embarrassment and her amusement. “Listen, would it make you feel better if you knew that I have a special nickname for my grandmother? If I tell you what it is, though, you’d better not blabber to anyone else in the office about it…”

Jack raised a challenging brow at her. “Okay, then. What do you call your grandmother?”

“I call her ‘Ram’, because when I was little I couldn’t pronounce certain letters very well.” Her own face flushed as Jack’s azure eyes twinkled with amusement. “There, are you happy now?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I just…” He trailed off, his expression growing serious as he nodded his head towards something in the distance. “I think we just found out why these coordinates are important, Specs.”

Furrowing her brow in confusion, (Y/N) followed his line of sight and nearly gasped aloud at what she saw; at the end of the street stood a sign that read ‘Attwell Airfield’ and an arrow pointing towards the right. “Well, I’ll be damned…” She looked up at Jack and quirked her brow. “How do you feel about a little snooping around?”

“You took the words right outta my mouth.”

When they were sure that no one was looking their way, (Y/N) and Jack made their way down the end of the road and turned right; they walked down the road for several meters before they came across a small path that led off into a line of trees and bushes. Exchanging a look, they followed the path and slowly made their way through the vegetation towards the direction of the airfield.

“Strange that an airfield was never mentioned in any of the files we got on Thomas Attwell,” Jack commented, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any signs of trouble. “You think it’s new?”

“It’s possible. If I were heading the new Secret Empire, I’d certainly want a private means of traveling.” Shrugging, (Y/N) ducked underneath a low-hanging tree branch and glanced over at her partner walking beside her. “It’s also possible that it’s been around for a while now. Thomas Attwell’s brother was an R.A.F. pilot during the war, remember? It could be family-owned, like the orangery back in Los Angeles.”

They continued their trek through the forest of trees, soon reaching the edge of the vegetation; careful to conceal themselves behind the trunk of a wide tree, they examined the airfield; it was on the small side, similar to descriptions she’d heard of the one Howard owned in New Jersey. The airfield’s hangar was only a few dozen meters away from the tree line but from their spot, it was impossible to see if any planes were situated inside of it.

Just as (Y/N) opened her mouth to suggest they get a closer look, two men dressed in tactical gear and holding rifles rounded both corners of the hangar; they passed by each other right in front of the building’s back door and disappeared around each corner. When she looked over at Jack, he was alternating between looking down at his wristwatch and back up at the corners the two guards had appeared from; without glancing away from his task, her partner quietly asked, “How fast can you pick a lock?”

“Between two and five minutes, depending on the type of lock.”

He nodded. “That’ll have to do. When I give the signal, follow my lead.”

The two of them waited with bated breath until finally, the guards appeared around the corners again. They remained still as the two guards disappeared from view, only moving when Jack motioned with his hand to go; they quietly hurried to the hangar’s back door, and (Y/N) knelt down in front of it to determine which tools she’d need while Jack kept watch beside her with his gun at the ready. It was a sturdier lock than the one she’d picked at Fieldman Family Orangery – obviously she’d need to use something better than a hairpin – but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. Hurriedly rifling through her crowded purse, she selected the appropriate tools and quickly went about picking the lock, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. After a tense minute or two, the door unlocked with a faint click; since she knew that their time was running out, she jumped to her feet and followed Jack through the doorway, careful to close the door shut behind them.

“Storage room,” Jack lowly stated, his gun at the ready as they crept between rows of plane components and mechanic’s tools; careful not to make any noise, (Y/N) pulled her gun and camera pen out of her clutch before cramming it into her raincoat’s pocket. “This way.”

He led them through the storage room and through an open doorway into a larger, less cluttered space; the cavernous room was nearly empty save for a row of large wooden crates, the sides of which were stamped with the familiar horse-and-vine symbol of the new Secret Empire. Once they made their way over to the crates, Jack holstered his gun and carefully pried the lid off of one of them.

“Looks like we’ve finally found all that stolen gold.” (Y/N) glanced up from the stacked and marked gold bars, meeting her partner’s gaze with a raised brow; he nodded and watched as she used the camera pen to take several pictures, replacing the lid while she tucked the camera pen into her other pocket.

The sound of approaching footsteps forced the two of them to hastily drop behind the crate, and they both held their breaths as a man called out, “Okay, this is the last of it; you guys go grab the others while I let the boss know we’re about done loading the plane.”

“C’mon, let’s move.” Jack quietly spoke as the voices and footsteps faded away, and they both hurried across the large room to a set of metal stairs; since they couldn’t go the same way the voices were coming from, they immediately climbed the stairs and ducked into the room behind the windowed door. When it was clear that they were alone, they lowered their guns and took in their surroundings; the room was on the smaller side, with a desk pushed against one wall laden with various radio equipment and papers, and across from it was a massive window. “All clear; looks like a radio room.”

Already reaching into her pocket for her camera pen, (Y/N) tiptoed to the desk and examined the papers strewn across its surface; there were several telegrams and documents but what instantly drew her attention was a marked map, the edges of which were filled in with sequences of random numbers.

“They’re loading it into a cargo plane,” She looked over to where Jack stood by the windows and met his concerned gaze. “All that gold’s gonna be headed somewhere real soon and I’d bet anything it’s going to Leviathan. We need to find out exactly where that plane’s going, fast.”

Careful not to disturb any of the papers too much, (Y/N) began snapping photographs of them with the camera pen. She was in the middle of taking a photograph of the unusual map when all of a sudden, the sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the hangar and was soon punctuated by the shattering of the radio room’s window, causing her entire body to freeze up in shock.

“Get down!” Jack shouted out and before she could even think to move, he tackled her to the floor and covered her body with his own as more gunshots rang out and glass rained down on them. Raising his head a few inches, her partner’s eyes frantically searched hers and his free hand shot up to shield her face from more shattering glass. “Are you hit?”

“I’m fine, but we need to go!” They both crawled over to the window once he rolled off of her, mindful of the glass while they both clutched their guns in their hands. Their backs were pressed against the wall and gunshots continued to ring out as (Y/N) got an idea. “You go back around to the hangar while I draw their fire!”

Jack didn’t look too happy about it but since there was no time to argue he nodded, keeping low to the ground as he made his way to the radio room’s door. She moved so that she stood beside the broken window and waited until Jack left the room to peek around the window’s edge and opening fire, managing to hit two guards before she was forced to duck for cover.

“Dammit, these guys just don’t quit.” (Y/N) grumbled to herself, darting around to fire off a couple more shots and moving back just in time to avoid the fresh barrage of bullets. She didn’t dare look, but she heard the sounds of a scuffle breaking out in the hangar below and assumed that it was Jack taking care of the guards. He certainly took his time there, she thought as she finally released the breath she’d been holding.

“Well, you’re certainly not who I expected to see.” Whirling around, (Y/N) raised her gun at the smirking dark-haired woman standing in the open doorway; the woman’s brow rose, seemingly unperturbed by the gun pointed directly at her chest. “That’s too bad, I’d hoped that Peggy and I would get a chance to catch up.”

A chill went down (Y/N)’s spine at her words and her fingers tightened around the handle of her gun. “Dottie Underwood. So, it’s true, you’ve begun working for the Secret Empire.”

Dottie smirked. “Begun? Oh, honey, we’ve been friendly for quite a while now, ever since they commissioned me to steal from a New York bank’s safety deposit box.”

“The Arena Club pin? The Secret Empire was behind that?”

The Russian spy rolled her eyes in obvious exasperation. “Yes, that’s what I just said. You SSR types are pretty dense, aren’t you?”

“Not dense, just very thorough.” (Y/N) held her gun higher. “Dorothy Underwood, you’re under arrest.” With a quirk of her brow, Dottie took a step forward. “If you take another step, I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

“Do you wanna hear a secret, Agent (Y/L/N)? You’re all out of bullets.”

Squeezing the trigger of her gun, (Y/N)’s eyes widened in surprise when it only made a faint click. Dottie took full advantage of her shock, kicking the gun out of her hand and striking her hard in the stomach with her heeled shoe; (Y/N) flew backwards and landed hard on her back, and she scrambled to her feet as the Russian assassin moved in for another attack. (Y/N) blocked her punch and yanked her down before kneeing her in the torso. Recovering quickly, Dottie backhanded her face and grabbed her arm, flipping her over her shoulder and onto her back once again.

The wind was instantly knocked out of (Y/N)’s lungs and while she laid their coughing, Dottie stood over her with a taunting smirk on her face. “You’re too easy; Peggy would’ve at least made it a challenge.”

“We’ve got Thompson, Underwood, time to go!”

(Y/N)’s eyes darted over to the radio from where the familiar voice of Thomas Attwell had emitted, fear clutching at her chest as Dottie sighed in disappointment. “It’s been swell, Agent (Y/L/N), but I have a plane to catch.”

With a swift kick to (Y/N)’s side, the Russian assassin snatched up the papers on the desk and quickly fled the room; (Y/N) struggled to get to her feet and once she finally managed it, she clutched her stomach and limped over to the radio room’s broken window. There was a large cargo plane at the opposite end of the hangar, and she watched as Dottie strode up its extended ramp beside Attwell, who was carrying an unconscious Jack Thompson over his shoulder.

“No!”

Ignoring the pain of her injuries, (Y/N) hurried out of the radio room and down the metal stairs, stopping for a brief moment to grab one of the dead guard’s rifles before staggering into the hangar. The plane’s ramp had closed and it was already taxing down the runway; she aimed the rifle at one of the plane’s wheels and fired, cursing when the shot missed. In desperation, (Y/N) ran through the hangar as fast as she could but she was too late, for the plane had already taken off by the time she reached the hangar’s opening.

“Jack…Jack…” (Y/N) gasped out, her vision blurring with tears as she watched the plane disappear into the clouds; she felt something brush her foot and when she looked down, she recognized it as Jack’s fedora. Reaching down, she gently picked it up and after staring at it for several moments, she finally allowed herself to cry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: That ending though...wow. I’m sorry for the cliffhanger but I had to! Thank you guys so much for reading! If you haven’t checked it out yet, I created a Spotify playlist for this series and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21pWY7OiMFj8LaYpxhtVtW

Chapter Eighteen

“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist

Tagging: @nnon-it-up @fluffymadamina @remmyswritings @ourstarsailor @darkusangelus @josis-teacup @marvel-jackt-loki-buck @yeetyeetchickenmeat @sameoldbaby @theserenityspace @seeing-but-not-observing @supervoldejaygent @momc95 @brooke0297 @kinda-c0nfused @outoftheregular @mads-weasley

#jack thompson x reader #agent carter #jack thompson #peggy carter #daniel sousa #howard stark #dottie underwood #michael carter #marvel cinematic universe #strategic scientific reserve

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theseshipsshallsail · 3 years

Link

Oliver has developed a particular fondness for dinner drudgery over the past decade. At thirty-four, he felt a greater appreciation for the twinkle in Samuel’s eyes as he lured some unsuspecting academic into a debate he was destined to lose. The all-too-familiar smirk hidden behind a wine glass as Annella caught his gaze mid-rebuttal, the same mischief written over her features as that of her son’s. He even welcomed Mafalda’s regular fretting about his diminuito waistline as she cleared away what little remained of a feast fit for a king.

And then there was the man to his right. The man who held a cigarette in one hand, and his heart in the other. The man who slanted his head on Oliver’s shoulder as the evening wore on, allowing him to drop a kiss to the riotous curls that drew his fingers like a siren’s call. There were no more secrets between the four of them - though according to Annella there had never been any to begin with - and when Elio yawned twice in as many minutes Oliver found his own jaw cracking in sympathy.

International flights never got any easier, and although they’d managed a short nap on the train in from Milan, they were both flagging fast.

The after-dinner conversation had revolved around his latest manuscript for the past half an hour, and slipping an arm around Elio’s side, Oliver tapped his ankle beneath the table. “You still with me?” he murmured softly, and Elio scoffed as he nestled closer.

“Seulement. One more limoncello and you’ll have to carry me to bed.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Or the last,” Elio said, as Samuel raised a toast in their direction.

“Happiness resides not in possessions or gold, but in the soul. Wouldn’t you agree, our wayward Americano?” he asked, prompting Oliver to back up his argument as he stole the last arancini from Elio’s plate.

“Big results require big ambitions, Sami.”

“And nothing endures but change.”

“Always with the Heraclitus...” Elio grumbled good-naturedly, leaning over to kiss Annella on the cheek. “Bonne nuit, maman. Remind me to show you that biography in the morning.”

“The Piaf?” she asked, and Elio nodded as he rose to his feet.

“There’s a new bookstore just opened in the Village.”

“Che magnifico!” Annella said, stubbing out her cigarette. “Tell me all about it when you’re not falling asleep in your tortelli.” Smiling, she took Elio’s face between her palms. “Dormi bene, piccino. Et toi, Cauboi.”

Oliver laughed as he finished shaking hands with the other two guests - stalwarts of the Bocconi Languages department he vaguely remembered from his brief stint at the university. “I doubt that’ll be a problem. The moment my head hits the pillow I’ll be dead to the world.”

Elio raised an eyebrow. “The dead don’t snore like Anchise’s old generator,” he said with a wink as Samuel rounded the table to join them. “Papà, siamo stanchi. It’s been a long day.”

“It certainly has,” Samuel said, hugging him tightly. “Go! Go! Don’t make me sprain anything by rolling you out of here.” Stepping back, he clasped Elio by the forearms. “I’ll ask Mafalda to save you something if you sleep through breakfast.”

“Molte grazie.”

“Anytime, figli miei,” Samuel said, embracing Oliver in turn. “Goodnight, the pair of you.”

“Thanks, Pro.”

Enfolding Elio’s hand in his, Oliver led him towards the villa, taking the time to appreciate the sounds of nature after six months of city living. One day, he’d love to move here permanently - spend his golden years in the country that spurred his reinvention - but there was no rush. Not when the best part of Italy was a permanent fixture in his life, already.

The house was in shadows when they stepped over the threshold, but they each navigated the lofty hallways with ease as they headed upstairs. It was a journey they could do with their eyes closed, and avoiding the creaky top step out of habit they shut the door to Elio’s room behind them with a quiet click. Their room, technically, but in Oliver’s mind it would always be his. He may have usurped it for six weeks in the summer of ‘83, but the overstuffed bookcase and outdated cassette tapes were like a portal to the past, and it never failed to make him feel twenty-four again.

Conflicting though those feelings might be.

The only obvious difference was the double bed now taking up space along the back wall - though Oliver quite missed the creaky single frames of yesteryear. The shutters were latched apart, letting out the stifling afternoon air, and the bathroom doors were pinned open, turning the space into the large suite that originally befitted Elio’s grandfather.

Toeing off his espadrilles, Oliver watched as Elio fell face first onto the bed. Dramatic as always, he groaned into the crisp, blue sheets, so Oliver hung his shirt up in the wardrobe then walked over to tug off his sneakers, placing them beneath the writing desk where he was unlikely to trip over them come morning.

“I haven’t been this exhausted since I finished that three week stretch with the Philharmonic,” Elio said, words muffled, and Oliver chuckled as he sat down beside him.

“Fifteen hours by plane, and a ninety minute schlep on the Regionale? I think that’s to be expected.” Reaching over, he stroked a palm up Elio’s spine, bunching his t-shirt in its wake. “You can’t stay young and restless forever.”

“Speak for yourself, old man.” Elio shot him a sideways glance. “Why are you all the way over there?”

Over there, meaning beyond kissing range.

“I thought you were too tired?” Oliver asked, and Elio rolled his eyes like the precocious teenager he’d fallen so hopelessly in love with.

“Too tired for Democritus and his atomic theory,” he said, shifting onto his side. “Never too tired for you, tesoro.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Cradling Elio’s cheek in one hand, Oliver felt a hot lick of satisfaction as he brushed his thumb over the smooth skin, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, then nibbling gently. A soft whine fell between them, and Elio slung his arms around Oliver’s shoulders, legs banding around his waist like a tether.

“That’s better,” he said, half-hard in his jeans. “Just like old times.”

Oliver sniggered. “Someone better warn the peaches.”

“Connard.”

“And a fine one it is, too,” he teased, swatting Elio’s ass through the stiff denim.

The resultant yelp was a thing of beauty as Oliver ran his nose along Elio’s collarbone, savouring his scent. Beneath the sour musk of travel were the sweet notes of juniper and cherry laurel, and sucking briefly at his pulse point, Oliver actually felt the yawn building before Elio was forced to pull away, sighing in frustration.

“This isn’t happening, is it?”

“Define this,” Oliver said, licking away his pout.

They might not be about to set any records for horizontal gymnastics, but the needy whimper Elio pressed to Oliver’s throat was enough to spur him onwards as they quickly rid each other of their clothing. Silver light streamed in through the windows, casting shadows over their naked bodies, and finesse fell by the wayside when Oliver brought their erections together, stroking them both in tandem. Transfixed, he watched the pleasure flick across Elio’s features, treasuring the way his lashes fluttered if he twisted just so - the glazed expression as he kissed him like they had all the time in the world. Leisurely and indulgent.

“I’m going to come,” Elio whispered scant minutes later.

Like it was a secret.

Like it was something precious.

And it was, Oliver knew, as the other man rutted into his palm, shuddering against him. It was there in every touch. Every tender endearment. Elio might wear his heart on his sleeve, but none of his previous lovers had been privy to the true depths of his emotions, and as he threw his head back in release Oliver couldn’t help but chase him over the edge, inarticulate and inelegant in his abandon.

Pearly white covered his fist as liquid fire rushed through his veins, each movement growing slower and slower until they eventually ground to a stop, swallowing each other’s gasps between needy pulls of their mouths. Groggy with sensation, his lungs felt constricted by the memory of how to breathe, yet sweaty, sated - and in dire need of a shower - they lay there in the aftermath, neither of them willing to give in as their eyelids started to droop.

He loved Elio like this. Loved him always of course, but especially like this. With his hair mussed - his face relaxed - his lips swollen as a result of his kisses, and Oliver sighed fondly as he brushed the curls from his forehead, only to receive an incoherent grumble for his efforts. It was his mind he’d fallen in love with first, though. The way he challenged him constantly. Pushed his boundaries day-by-day. Always striving for more.

He’d been a fool to consider walking away. To give Elio up, however begrudgingly. He was a part of him - perfect in his imperfections - and as Elio drifted off between one blink and the next, Oliver banished such dismal thoughts to the shadows of the past, refusing to give them life when his future lay literally in his arms.

“Goodnight, amore mio,” he whispered, and grinning, hooked his toes in the underwear hanging from the bedpost - his, Elio’s, he couldn’t quite tell - wiped the worst of the mess from their painted stomachs, then followed him into a dreamless stupor.

Something was tickling Oliver’s nose as he floated in the trance-like state between sleep and reality. It was a familiar experience, and forcing one eye open he smiled down at Elio’s crown where it rested upon his chest. Their legs were entangled beneath the sheets, the toes of Elio’s left foot twitching beside his calf, and Oliver tapped an idle rhythm along his spine as he squinted at the blessedly silent alarm clock.

It was almost seven a.m, and with zero intentions of moving anytime soon, Oliver watched the dust motes dance in the pink strokes of dawn. He was still foggy, but with his recent promotion and the increased demands of Elio’s tour schedule, moments like these were few and far between in New York, so Oliver indulged himself by listening to Elio’s steady breaths, unwilling to disturb him prematurely.

The villa was quiet and still as the sun climbed higher in the sky, and when Elio burrowed into his neck, Oliver felt the same dizzy thrill he always had, thanking his lucky stars for the man who’d turned his life upside down in the very best of ways.

Sappho once wrote what cannot be said will be wept, and this room had seen it’s fair share of tears at the start of their relationship. Even now, it was hard to believe how close he’d come to losing it all. But like Odysseus, Oliver had returned to his love, and he had every intention of seeing this journey through to completion.

“In the crooks of your body, I find my religion,” he whispered, continuing to smooth random patterns over Elio’s trapezius, and it was all he could do not to moan in response as an arm wrapped around his waist, skimming his burgeoning erection.

“Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear...”

Verbal and cognizant was more than Oliver would usually expect before Elio’s first cup of coffee, but taking a chance, he tilted his face up to see him properly. “Morning, sunshine. I thought you were asleep.”

Elio yawned into the hand at his jaw. “Not with you scribbling Ancient Greek on my ribcage.”

“You caught that?”

“Ovviamente.” Humming, he dug his chin into Oliver’s sternum. “It felt like you were writing your name at first, but then you drew the symbol for pi, and I figured you were just hungry.”

Oliver snickered. “Did you not notice Mafalda’s continued attempts to fatten me up? Maybe I should tell her it’s your hip bones that leave bruises, instead.”

“You love it.”

“More than she’ll ever know,” he conceded, mourning the loss of skin on skin as he eased out from underneath him. “Alright, genius. Since you’re so good at this...” Pushing the covers out of the way, Oliver traced a treble clef from the middle of Elio’s back to his sacrum, finishing it off with a flourish. “What was that?”

Elio smacked his lips. “Too easy,” he murmured into his folded arms. “And a bit crooked. My old music tutor would plotz.”

“Brat.” Oliver smirked as he knelt between his thighs. “Are you challenging my artistry?”

“Might be.”

“Might be, he says.” Chuckling, he ran his thumb up from Elio’s tailbone, sure and certain. “How about my penmanship, then? What letter?”

A pink flush spread over Elio’s cheek. “D,” he decided, squirming slightly as Oliver’s huff stirred the loose curls beside his ear.

“How on earth do you confuse a P with a D?”

“Have you seen the state of your handwriting?” Elio protested, constantly offended by his messy scrawl. “Aren’t you professor types meant to set an example?”

Oliver scoffed. ”Perish the thought,” he said, dropping a lingering kiss to his nape. Elio’s cock lay flushed with need, and though he had no intention of bringing him off quite yet, Oliver couldn’t resist brushing his palm over the underside. “Indulge me,” he continued, stroking from root to tip. “Let’s play a game.”

“What sort of game?”

“An easy one, apparently.” Fighting his own arousal, Oliver followed the thick vein up then back, tugging gently on Elio’s balls. “But guess right, and I promise I’ll take care of this for you when I’m done. How’s that for an example?”

“Your generosity knows no bounds...”

“Ready?”

“Che diavolo!” Elio turned towards him, and Oliver felt breathless as he looked him square in the eye. “Tell me you’re joking?”

“Just a little longer,” he promised, propping himself on one arm to walk his fingers over Elio’s scapula, leaving a thin trail of slickness when he curved it round to his lower back. “Letter?”

Elio settled down with a put-upon sigh. “An S?”

“Correct.” Oliver pressed a fingertip to the freckle on his hip. “Next one,” he said, drawing a diagonal line up to his top vertebrae, then sweeping down to its twin.

“A?” Elio asked, then went rigid as Oliver poked him between his ribs. “Smetilla! That tickles!”

“It’s supposed to.”

“Why?” Laughing, he batted him away. “Did I get it wrong?”

“Not at all,” Oliver said, splaying a proprietary hand over his right buttock. “But next time, let me finish first, yeah?”

“Never heard you say that before.”

“Don’t be jealous of my stamina, Perlman.”

“Stronzo.” Elio arched into his touch. “Another.”

“Eager, are we?”

Elio snorted into his forearm. “Eager. Horny. Non vedo differenza.”

“Fair enough.” Oliver angled his thumb and forefinger towards Elio’s spine, fluid and precise. “This one’s harder,” he said, pinching them together.

“V?” Elio asked before he could go any further, and Oliver tutted as he began a downwards line towards his tailbone.

“Au contraire, mon chéri,” he said with a playful growl. “Not till I’m finished, remember?”

It was the work of a moment to complete the action, and Elio shivered as he glanced back at him through heavy lashes. “Y,” he muttered, shoulders hitching with a snigger. “A few inches can make all the difference, sì?”

Oliver smiled. “So I’ve been told,” he said, the slight breeze from the window lifting the hair from his forehead. “And what can we derive from that?”

Elio had a specific weakness for his public speaking voice. One which Oliver wasn’t above exploiting at every opportunity.

“Fuck…”

“Nope.”

Slender fingers circled his wrist as Elio cursed him out in several languages.

“Spell it for me,” Oliver encouraged, turning his lips to the salt-gleam dimple above his ass, before remembering to narrow it down. “In English, per favore.”

“S-A-Y,” Elio answered obediently, already sounding flustered. “Say.”

“And you thought you’d never complete your Masters…”

“Attaccati a sto cazzo.”

“Rude.” Oliver licked a stripe across his earlobe. “Be a good boy, and I’ll cling to yours, though.”

“Santo Cielo…” Elio huffed in annoyance. “I really hate you right now.”

“No you don’t.” Oliver snuck an apologetic kiss to his temple. “Not even a little bit,” he told him, copying the exact same pattern from earlier. “Second word, if you please.”

“Another Y?”

“Another Y,” he confirmed, watching as Elio clutched the pillow in a white-knuckled grip.

He remained perfectly still, however, so Oliver drew a deliberate line along his left flank before placing the pad of his thumb back at the beginning, then dragging it to the right. Once more, from the middle, then again from the bottom, and Elio was almost panting when he finally stopped.

“E,” he whispered, causing Oliver’s heart to skip a beat.

Because this was it.

No turning back.

There was an urgent pressure in his throat, and when he tried to swallow it down, the emotions damn near choked him. “Last one,” he muttered, snaking his index finger in another winding curve, and Elio waited until he lifted it away completely before answering.

“That’s an S,” he said, then paused to string all three letters together. “Yes?” Freeing his wrist, Elio rolled over to face him. “Say yes?” he asked, sleep-rumpled and adorably confused, so Oliver hummed something vaguely agreeable as he mouthed at his jawline, needing the rough scratch of stubble to ground him. “I don’t understand.” Brows knit, Elio pushed up on his elbows. “Say yes to what? What is it that you want?”

Oliver had spent weeks trying to find the right words, but ultimately, only three would suffice.

“To marry you,” he said, light-headed - and slightly concerned he was about to vomit. He hadn’t felt this terrified since he’d knocked on the adjoining door nine years ago, nothing but a broken heart and the vain hope of forgiveness to his name. “A piece of paper won’t change anything. I know that. But I told you once - out on that very balcony - that I loved you. All of you. Body, mind, and everything in between. You make me happier than I ever thought possible, Elio. This… you… you’re it for me.”

“Cuore mio…” Elio released a plaintive sigh. “I love you, too,” he whispered, taking Oliver’s cheeks in his hands as he sat up against the headboard. “But the courts... you know they won’t recognise -”

“Legally, no,” Oliver agreed, shifting to his knees. “Not yet. But we can do this our own way. Have a ceremony for us alone.”

“Not alone,” Elio corrected absently, hooking his heels behind him. “Together.” His lips pressed into a firm line, and the seconds in which he blinked back at him were the longest of Oliver’s existence. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked, and instead of answering, Oliver reached for the small box he’d hidden in the bedside cabinet upon their arrival.

“Open it?” he asked nervously, and Elio made a sound that was almost a laugh, high-pitched and fluttering.

“Only you...” he said, and if it weren’t for the tell-tale crack in his voice, Oliver might be worried. “Only you would wait until I’m jet-lagged and sporting a semi to ask me the second most important question of my life.”

“Just a semi?” Oliver slid a palm to the crease of his thigh. “Hang on. Second? What was the first?” he asked, and Elio smiled as he gently butted against him.

“Does this make you happy?”

“Oh...”

Elio held his gaze. “So important you asked me twice, in fact.”

“I did, didn’t I?” No doubt there would be a third time, too. He’d always admired the sight of Elio in a tux - slightly more so than the sight of him out of one - and Oliver resolved there and then to fit it into his vows. “Still, that was before your rejection of all things cliché. How’s a man supposed to plan a proposal around that?”

“Quelle question!”

“Such high maintenance,” Oliver murmured, tipping his chin. “But I wouldn’t change you for the world.”

It was a struggle to kiss whilst grinning inanely, but they gave it a good try nonetheless.

“Are you going to open this or what?” Oliver asked, bracing himself as Elio cracked upon the box to reveal the antique gold and onyx band.

“That’s my grandfather’s ring,” he whispered softly.

“It is.” Giddy, Oliver watched the sunlight glint off the heirloom’s polished surface. “Sami wanted you to have it. He’s had it cleaned and resized for the occasion.”

“My father?” Elio raised an eyebrow. “Plotting again, were you?”

“Not as such,” Oliver said, remembering the two word inscription on the inside. “I couldn’t care less about government approval, but I needed to know we have it from those whose opinion I actually value.” His heart tripped over itself as he chuckled apprehensively. “I think your mother’s already chosen a hat,” he confessed, and Elio groaned.

“She’s going to invite everyone we’ve ever met.”

“She’ll not be inviting anyone if you don’t say yes,” Oliver teased, and the look he received could cut glass.

“Idiota.”

“Charming.”

“In what possible scenario would I ever say no to you?” Elio asked, reeling him in by the Star of David around his neck. “You’re a part of me. You are me.” Leaning in, he nuzzled into his hairline. “Oliver… you’re the best person I’ve ever met. Credimi. You’ve always been my forever.”

“Cor cordium.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t even -” Oliver froze. “Wait. Did you just -”

“Yes,” Elio repeated, eyes bright. “Yes, Oliver!”

It didn’t matter that his own vision was blurred. That the full extent of his vulnerabilities were on display. That Elio saw just how lost in him he truly was. Relief purged his body, sparks detonated across his skin, and Oliver made a chorus of his name as he freed the ring from its velvet cushion. It was cool to the touch when he picked it up - the weight of it heavy with promise - yet with unsteady fingers he slid it onto Elio’s left hand, sealing his declaration with a heartfelt kiss to his knuckles.

“Please tell me these are happy tears,” Oliver whispered, pulling him into his arms.

“Why? Afraid I’ll get a nosebleed?”

“Way to spoil the mood, Casanova…”

“The sweetest pleasures are those which are hardest to be won,” Elio quoted, studying the black inlay almost reverentially.

Oliver studied him instead. “You like it?”

“È perfetto.” Elio sniffed as he ducked his head. “I want to get you one, too. If you’ll wear it.”

“Wear it?” Oliver’s lungs were far too tight, but at least that meant he wasn’t dreaming. “Why would I ever take it off?”

“And change my name. Officially, this time.”

His smile was so wide it hurt his cheeks. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” Oliver said, clutching Elio close, pressing his face into the hollow of his shoulder. This was their life, chosen and built together. Theirs to have, now and for always. “As long as I can call you mine… anything at all.”

#cmbyn #fanfic #elio x oliver #sequel #fluff and smut

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fallout4reactsblog · 3 years

Text

A Very Commonwealth Christmas: Year Two

“Are we seriously doin’ this again?” Gage griped from his place beside the window. “It sucked last year.”

Ada shook her head. “Actually, by my calculations, the endeavor was a great success. Sole’s enthusiasm and overall happiness was far above predicted values. As such, it is only logical to repeat the exercise.”

Cait (who still refused to even look in Gage’s direction) huffed. “So long as we do somethin’ fun this year.”

Preston smiled gently, showing his infinite patience once again. “Of course. I wouldn’t ask you to do the same thing twice, so we’re switching things up a little. Is everyone familiar with the concept of Secret Santa?”

A mixed bag of responses came back.

“Well, it’s simple. I’ve written down everyone’s name on a piece of paper and put them in this hat.” He tipped the hat to show them the neatly folded squares of paper. “Each of us will draw a name, and you’ll get a gift for whoever you draw. Sole was worried that we didn’t exchange gifts ourselves last year, so this year we’re going to make that happen.”

“And what if we don’t like whoever we get?” X6 asked, not looking directly at Deacon, but the subtext was clear.

“You’ll just have to pretend. Remember, for the next few weeks, we’re all good friends as far as sole is concerned. We all get along.”

To Preston’s credit, he did manage to not glare at Gage, X6, or any of the others that were deemed “troublemakers,” but they got the message. He’d made plenty of threats last year if people didn’t get along, threats that were not empty and, undoubtedly, very much still on the table.

“But what about sole?” Piper asked. “Is their name in there?”

Preston shook his head. “They’re not playing. According to them, the effort of us playing is enough.”

Ada took the hat from Preston’ hands. “We will go in alphabetical order to draw names. Cait, you will draw first.”

Cait was at least kind enough to wipe her hands off, freeing them of the looser flakes of dried blood, before snatching out a name. It seemed that the reading lessons between her and Piper had been going well, because she didn’t ask what it said. That, or she was too proud to admit it.

Slowly, they passed the hat around. Some people were better at concealing their reactions than others; Deacon might as well have been wearing a mask for the emotion he showed, but Curie didn’t even try to hide her distaste for whoever she’d drawn.

“Alright, people.” Preston clapped his hands. “Because of the game, I’ve called in some extra help from the settlers to get the other preparations done. You should have plenty of time to get your presents. You’ve got a week.”

Ada

It was a pleasant surprise to have drawn MacCready, in her opinion. Though he wasn’t someone she’d spent much time around, he was a fairly easy man to understand. Plus, it was unlikely he’d be expecting much from her. After all, he would put more effort into his own family celebration than this one, and wouldn’t expect her to do anything but the same.

Still, a part of her wasn’t content with just getting something easy and moving on. That wasn’t the spirit of the game, now was it? But she couldn’t well talk to MacCready directly, so she hunted down the closest person to him.

“What would I want?” sole asked, wiping their hands off on a dirty rag. “Ada, you know that I’m not playing.”

“Of course. But you know all of us the best, do you not? And you have quite a lot in common with my partner.”

“Well, alright.” They leaned back against the workbench to think. “I mean, anything at all is enough to make me happy. A new coffee mug would be nice, though. I’ve been looking for one that’s shatterproof so I can just toss it in my bag on the road and not have to worry about it getting chipped or anything.”

“That is a helpful insight.” Already, her mind was working, thinking about things that could make life on the road easier. “Thank you.”

“Sure, anytime.” They turned back to the workbench. “Good luck.”

Cait

The evening found Cait curled up next the fire, beer in hand, bitching with Hancock about the whole thing.

“How am I supposed to know what Deacon wants?” she said, glaring at the bottle in her hand as if it was to blame. “I don’t know shite about him.”

“No one does. That’s his whole gimmick.”

“Makes him a shitty person to find a gift for, then, doesn’t it?”

“Just get him a box of ammunition or something. It’s a good, generic gift.”

She glared at him. “Do you even know if he uses a gun?”

“Well, now that you mention it, no. But there’s gotta be somethin’ like that that’ll work. Rad-X, or RadAway, or RadSomethingElse that he needs.”

With a sigh, she took another drink. “You reckon sole’ll mind?”

“They’ve gotta know how he is, right?”

She shook her head. “Who did you get, though?”

He crinkled what was left of his nose. “Guess.”

“Someone you don’t want, by the looks of it.”

“I’ve got the ol’ tin can himself.”

She snickered into her drink. “Bad luck.”

He let out a long sigh. “Anythin’ for sole, right? I’ll dig up a gift for crew cut, you find somethin’ for shitty James Bond, they’ll be happy and we’ll move on.”

“Yeah, sure. Anythin’ for sole.”

Codsworth

Of all the people that could’ve drawn Hancock, it had to be him.

Most people, of course, would take the easy way out. A box of chems would be more than enough to make him happy, and would be easy to procure in the Commonwealth. But it just didn’t sit right with him. It just wasn’t his style, so he needed a new idea.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to just get some drugs?” Farenheit asked.

“Positive.”

“Shit.” She blew out a long trail of smoke. “That makes things harder. Do you mind gettin’ your hands dirty?”

“I’ve been known to get into the occasional scrap.”

She nodded. “A while back, John lost his lighter to some punk, a raider or somethin’. He said it wasn’t a deal, never went and got it, but if you could get it back, I bet he’d like that.”

“And where is this hooligan now?”

“Last I heard, he was hiding out in Dunwich Borers.”

Not the safest place, but he could probably talk sole into going with him. After all, if they heard raiders had moved back in, they’d want to take care of business.

It was better than any plan he had, at least.

Curie

She wouldn’t have called herself a mean person usually. She liked to think of herself as someone who was generally kind and understanding, someone who was forgiving above all, someone who wouldn’t judge others based on rumor alone.

Porter Gage was her one (and only) exception. Which made her current situation awkward, to say the least.

Worse was that there wasn’t anyone to ask, was there? Except for sole, no one knew much about Gage, and those she was closest to happened to hate his guts on principle.

But for the next few weeks, that wasn’t allowed. She could harbor no ill will toward Gage, and instead had to consider him as just another friend of sole’s. Of course, usually that meant she would go straight to sole, but they were off-limits for direct questioning. They didn’t want to know who had drawn whom, which left her with only her own critical thinking to figure this one out.

While her critical thinking had not failed her, it seemed her own ability might.

“Sacre bleu,” she swore under her breath, staring down at probably half a dozen mirelurks. This area was supposed to be peaceful, and she’d hoped to track down some pre-war bug spray. It was no secret that he was no fan of insects, and as much as she hated to agree, these mirelurks were really starting to get on her nerves. Damn giant water bugs.

At least she had found the spray, and she was safe hiding up here in the rafters for the moment. How she was getting down was uncertain, and how she was going to dodge the mirelurks without losing a leg was also up in the air, but she’d gotten what she came for.

Danse

At least he had luck on his side. Of all the people to get a gift for, Cait had to be the easiest for him. She may not have liked him, necessarily, but he understood her better than he understood most of the others. The only better pull would have been Preston, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“I’m glad,” Preston said over breakfast. “Maybe it will help her warm up to you a little.”

“I wouldn’t be certain. I understand her hesitance; it’s a wonder to have been so widely accepted by your Minutemen.”

“Our Minutemen, now.” Gently, Preston tapped his shoulder with a fist. “But speaking of the game, I don’t suppose you’ve spent much time around Ada?”

Danse turned to him, surprised. “I would have thought you were more than equipped to be paired with Ada. After all, she has been the other primary organizer for the holidays around Sanctuary.”

“Yeah, but that’s all business.” Preston sighed. “I don’t think I know much about her as a person.”

“She seems to have affinity for the same kinds of junk that sole does. Perhaps something related to that?”

“Good idea.” He glanced up from the fire and smiled. “Thanks, Danse. I bet you’ll get a great gift for Cait.”

“I hope so. You’ll undoubtedly make an excellent selection for Ada as well.”

Deacon

“You’ve known sole a long time, huh?”

“But of course!” Codsworth says, dusting off the top of the fridge. “I have known sir/mum since even before the war. Before young Shaun was born, even!”

“And you’ve just stayed here this whole time?”

“Certainly. A Mr. Handy never abandons his post!”

“Must be hard.”

“It’s certainly not the easiest work, but I am happy to do it for sir/mum. It was easier before the war, when we had such modern amenities as vacuums and indoor plumbing, but I will endure for their sake.”

“That kind of loyalty’s hard to come by,” Deacon said, leaning back. “Sole’s lucky.”

Codsworth made a noise akin to a scoff. “They’d be luckier if they ever remembered to bring a new feather duster as I asked. I’ve been waiting months now.”

He shrugged. “They’ve got a lot on their mind. Little things lost in the mix. Happens to the best of us.”

It’s the nature of Mr. Handy’s to be talkative, which only gets worse when left alone for a couple hundred years. Still, at least it’s fun to stretch those interrogation muscles again. It’s been a while.

Gage

He knew this was rigged. It has to be. His luck wasn’t bad enough that, of all people, he drew Preston fucking Garvey out of that hat. Even worse, no one would trade with him; they said that it’s not the nature of the game. It was fuckin’ stupid.

So he was stuck with the one guy that hated his guts more than anything. Fuckin’ great. Worst part was, he would have to actually make an effort, because sole had been so thrilled he’d played nice last year, and the last thing he wanted was to get on their bad side. The Overboss’s anger was a dangerous thing, after all.

He hadn’t had much of a choice but to ask sole, despite their insistence on not knowing the pairs. An exception had to be made. After all, he wasn’t sure who else to go to, and they knew Garvey well enough to put him on the right track. Which left him here, digging around the catacombs in the Castle.

“Back in the day, there was a sword that the leader of the Minutement carried around,” sole had said. “Ronnie told me about it. I bet if you tracked it down and polished it up, he’d like that.”

So here he was, choking on dust, searching for some rusted-out piece of junk that probably didn’t actually exist.

“You’re doin’ this for sole,” he muttered, rummaging through a shelf that seemed to only have bags of cement.

Anything to dodge the Overboss’s wrath, even playing nice with fucking Garvey.

Hancock

The worst part was that he knew exactly where to start. He didn’t like it, oh no, in fact he hated it beyond belief. But he prided himself on giving good gifts, tin can or no, and this was a real easy one, if he could just make it work.

At least it was easy to convince sole. They’d gone out for a little bartering, he’d volunteered to come along, and from there it was easy enough to suggest they swing by the Prydwen to barter with Teagan and get paid for those technical documents. Both very time-consuming items, and both things that tended to draw attention once sole had their nice clothes on for bartering.

The nice thing about the Prydwen was that sole had keys to everything. All he had to do was “borrow” their key ring, find the right key, and he could stroll into Maxson’s living quarters like he owned the place.

His prize was easy to find. It seemed ol’ Arthur hadn’t moved on as well as he pretended; Danse’s holotags were sitting right on top of his desk, beside his terminal. They clinked as he picked them up. Sole had mentioned they’d had to turn them in to Maxson when Danse got exiled, and he’d noticed the former Paladin often reaching for a chain around his neck to find only empty air. Which made this gift the best anyone would be giving, hands down.

“Hey, there,” he muttered, turning them over to check the name. “We better get out of here before somebody sees us, huh?”

The nice thing about sole was that they were far too engrossed in bartering to even notice he’d been gone.

MacCready

What were you supposed to get a man that already had everything he needed? It wasn’t like coursers were supposed to want things anyway. Heck, did he even have use for anything except fusion cells?

Sole’s time being a precious commodity, it seemed, left him with three options (three fellow synths, if he was honest). One: Curie, the sweet scientist who had been a synth for about five minutes and had as little in common with X6 as anyone could, save for being a synth. Two: Nick, who didn’t like X6 and probably never would. Both bad choices which, tragically, left him with lucky number three.

Admittedly, since last years mutfruit disaster, he and Danse had upgraded from “I don’t like you, you don’t like me, and that’s fine by us” to “your presence around me isn’t the literal worst” which was a marked improvement. Still, he made the effort to catch Danse while he was working on his power armor, which meant he was probably in a half-decent mood and less likely to try to kill him.

“You sought me out for advice because I’m a synth?” Danse’s tone was not pleased. Surprise, surprise.

“Well, it’s not like you don’t have other stuff in common. You had your whole heart in an organization, too, and it gave you everything you needed.”

“When I was a Paladin, you mean.”

“Yeah. What would you have wanted?”

Danse sighed and shook his head. “As much as it pains me to admit, both Curie and I have observed that Generation Three synths seem to have a terrible fondness for Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. They were forbidden on the Prydwen due to their lack of nutritional content, and I would suppose the Institute is no different. If there is anything that X6-88 wants, that’s my best guess.”

“Snack cakes, huh? That’s... surprisingly easy.” He nodded. “I bet I could get my hands on a bunch in Diamond City, I bet. Thanks, Danse.”

“Of course. Happy to help.”

Nick

It seemed to be his lucky day, because his partner was someone he knew well, and had already planned on getting a gift for: none other than Diamond City’s favorite reporter. He’d gotten Piper a gift probably every year, and already knew exactly what he wanted and where to find it. Lucky him.

“Do you think I should do rose this year?” he asked Ellie, crouched to peer into the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. He’d stowed away at least twenty years of perfume in there, specifically for Piper.

“You went floral last year,” she said. “Do you want to repeat yourself?”

“That was more lilac than rose,” he grumbled, but pushed the perfume in hand to the back.

“I don’t think we’ve tried anything citrus-y yet.” She hopped off the desk where she was sitting to look, too. “There’s a nice one somewhere in there. What’s it called? Fresh something?”

“Fresh Citron de Vigne.” He pulled the bottle out of the back. “This one was pretty popular before the war.”

“It might be nice to switch things up for her so she doesn’t smell like a florist all the time.”

He nodded. “All that’s left is to wrap it.”

“I’ll take care of that.” She plucked the bottle from his hands. “All you’re going to do is make yourself frustrated when you rip the paper.”

He glared down at his metal fingers, which tended to wreak havoc on anything delicate, especially wrapping paper. “Thanks, Ellie.”

“You can thank me by giving her my gift while you’re up there.”

Piper

The only real question was black or brown, but that was rapidly turning into one hell of a dilemma.

“He’ll like either of them,” Nat said from the couch. “That’s why you got them.”

“I know. I just don’t remember if I gave him a black tie last year.”

She couldn’t see Nat roll her eyes, but she could feel it. “Just ask Ellie. She’ll tell you.”

“Maybe I should give him the blue one to be on the safe side.”

“The one with the little cats on it?”

“Ugh, I forgot about the cats.” She tossed both ties onto her desk with a heavy sigh. “Why did I even get that one?”

“Hey, you don’t know that he won’t like it until you try.”

She shot her sister a scathing glare. “I’m not going to embarrass him in front of everyone with the blue kitty tie. If it was just us, maybe, but now it’s a whole event and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Which means it’s black or brown.”

Nat was unfazed by her sister’s glare. “Well, which one do you like better?”

“The black one.”

“So give him that one.”

“But I might have given him a black one last year.”

"So give him the brown one.”

“But I like the black one better.”

Nat sighed dramatically. “He’s not gonna care, Piper. It’s Nick and a tie. He’s gonna like it no matter what.”

“I know, but I don’t want him to think I can only get one color of tie.”

“You’re overthinking this. Here, give me both ties.”

Reluctantly, she handed them over and watched them disappear behind Nat’s back.

“Okay, right hand or left hand?”

“Right.”

“Brown it is.” Nat handed over the tie. “There, problem solved.”

She took the tie back and looked at it a moment.

“You know what, I think I’ll do the black one.”

Preston

Sewing was a nice, therapeutic exercise. After a long day of working on putting up lights and assembling trees and assigning cooking duties, it was nice to be able to come home and return to a project. Sole had told him about jigsaw puzzles once, and he figured this was probably a lot the same.

He’d designed this backpack specifically for Ada, less as an independent bag and more as something that could function in conjunction with the bags she already carried. It had been a uniquely challenging idea, and he’d spent quite a few nights on it before finalizing his pattern and beginning to actually cut into some leather.

Overall, it was coming along nicely. He figured it would be done well in time for the celebration. He hoped everyone else was progressing on schedule; if one of them showed up without a gift, well, he didn’t know what he would do. The idea that one of them would disappoint sole had crossed his mind more than once, and he swore to himself that if anyone failed to perform this year, they’d suffer the consequences. He just wasn’t sure what those consequences actually were.

He shook his head. No use in worrying about it before it happened. The best he would probably get would be a stern talking-to anyway, and maybe the chance to punch somebody in the face. Sole wouldn’t want him hurting any of their friends on their behalf.

Besides, depending on whoever their partner was that this hypothetical asshole had wronged, he might not have to do anything. He couldn’t see Cait letting it slide, that was for sure, and Danse believed so heavily in being a person of honor that he wouldn’t tolerate it either, no matter who had gotten screwed over.

In the end, he probably wouldn’t have to do anything, and that put a smile on his face.

“You want what?”

He tried to not let his face betray him as he stared down Dr. Holden in the corner of the Bioscience division.

“A full lab kit for above-ground experimentation. Orders from the future director.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie; sole wanted him to participate in this silly game, which meant they had essentially “ordered” him to get a gift. What could a scientist want more than a full, top-of-the-line lab kit from the Institute?

“But not Father.”

He peered down at the doctor. “If you are refusing, Dr. Holden, I will report back to sole. I’m certain they will be happy to come themselves, or send word along to Father of your refusal.”

Dr. Holden huffed, and he saw the tiniest spark of fear in his eyes. “I didn’t refuse. I just wish they’d go through proper channels when requesting equipment, that’s all.” He scratched a few words on a piece of paper and handed it over. “There. That’ll get you everything you need.”

He said nothing, just took the paper coldly. Not for the first time, he appreciated that sole had authorized him to act on their behalf. For one, it showed trust, and it also made getting around much, much easier. All he had to do was mention their name, which carried the full force of the director’s office, and everyone was willing to acquiesce.

All he had to do now was make sure nothing broke. Glass was a difficult thing to transport, after all. He could relay straight back to Sanctuary, but Curie might see him, and the point was that the gift was a secret, hence the name “Secret Santa.” He could relay to the nearby Red Rocket, but that left him further to go, and more at risk of things breaking.

Decisions, decisions.

The Exchange

Shockingly, everyone had managed to get their gifts wrapped. Granted, some were better than others; Deacon still dominated with his perfect, sharp creases and hand-folded bow, where X6 might as well have just put his gift in a trash bag, but in the end it was the thought that counted.

Everyone had gathered in the newly established meeting hall of Sanctuary Hills, where sole had spent the last few days placing enough chairs and tables for everyone to be comfortable, as well as a few rugs to make the place feel cozy. They’d even made a fireplace appear out of nowhere, no easy feat, and with the settlers’ decorations it really did feel festive. Sole themself was seated by the fire, curled up with Dogmeat at their feet, and their eyes sparkled to see the gifts their friends had brought.

“Well, go on.” They waved their hands encouragingly. “Let me see what you did. I might be more excited than all of you are. Who’s going first?”

“It will be alphabetical,” Ada said, standing. “I will go first.”

She made her way to MacCready, who looked honestly surprised to see a gift appear in his lap.

“Ah, thanks. I’ll just, uh, open this.”

He tore into the paper and opened up the generic cardboard box, furrowed his eyebrows, and pulled out a series of small plastic jars.

“I have noticed you have an affinity for cooking,” she said. “I thought you might appreciate some new spices to try while on the road. It will be very difficult for you to break or spill them while traveling, as they are all in childproof containers.”

“That’s... surprisingly thoughtful.” He shook a container of dried parsley as if trying to figure out what it was. “Thanks.”

“Okay, my turn.” Cait clapped her hands and stood up. “Thanks for not changing your look again, Deacon. I’ll at least be able to find you.”

She dropped the box in his hands unceremoniously. “Don’t complain if it’s not somethin’ you want. You’re not the easiest guy to get a gift for.”

“Well, I appreciate the effort at least,” he said, peeling away the practically mangled wrapping. “If you ever want some lessons on wrapping paper, though, I’m happy to- oh.”

He pulled out a leather jacket, turning it around so that sole could see Cait had made the effort to track down the Atom Cats. A smile quirked his lips.

“Actually been looking at one of these for a while.” He gave Cait a real smile, this time. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she huffed, clearly embarrassed. “I mean it.”

“Which brings us to me! Here you are, Mr. Hancock. One present, as promised.”

“It’s light,” Hancock commented wrily, shaking the box. “You didn’t get cheap on me, didja?”

“But of course not. I simply went for something more personal.”

“Personal?” He raised what was left of an eyebrow as he unceremoniously tore through the wrapping paper. “How did you manage that little trick?”

Codsworth waved an arm dismissively. “I have my ways.”

“Well, shit, I guess you do.”

He pulled the lighter out twirled it in his fingers and gave it an experimental light. It flicked on with ease.

“I guess you refilled it too, huh? That’s really somethin’.”

“So that’s why you drug me out to Dunwich Borers,” sole said, laughing. “I knew something was up.”

“Certainly not,” Codsworth replied, but his tone betrayed that if he could have laughed, he would have.

“Ah, I suppose that means it is my turn, non?” Carefully, Curie picked her way over to Gage. “Happy holidays, Monsieur.”

“Thanks, I guess.” He took it uncertainly. “This isn’t a bomb or anything, is it?”

“Of course not!” She sounded genuinely offended. “It is a gift, and not one that is easy to procure.”

“Just bein’ careful.” He still shook out the can more carefully than was probably necessary.

“Bug spray,” she explained. “It should repel the overly large insects you so dislike.”

Gage actually looked surprised. “I.. shit. Thanks.” He turned his head to the wall, obviously embarrassed. “Whoever’s next...”

“That would be me.” Shockingly, Danse had actually ditched his power armor for the day, at sole’s request. “Here you are, Cait. I hope it proves useful to you.”

She seemed hesitant, but accepted wordlessly, peering into the box. There was silence for a long moment, then she said, “I thought you only knew how to mod energy weapons.”

“I made an exception. That should provide you with exceptional damage and a better rate of fire for your shotgun.”

Cait could only shake her head, say, “Thanks,” and wave for the next person to go.

Deacon took his cue and handed his gift off to Codsworth. “There you go, buddy. Happy holiday.”

“Mr. Deacon.” Codsworth sounded all too pleased. “I should have known.”

Deacon shrugged. “Don’t beat yourself up. At least you know you got what you wanted.”

“How thoughtful!” Codsworth turned to sole. “You needn’t search for a new feather duster any longer sir/mum.”

They nodded, impressed. “I had forgotten I was supposed to be looking for one. Good work, Deeks.”

“Hey, you’ve got a lot on your plate boss.” He shot them a quick set of finger guns. “I’m just helping out with the little stuff.”

There was silence for a long moment before sole said, “Gage, I think it’s you.”

“What, already? Alright.”

He stood up, and when he paused in front of Preston, the room froze. No one even dared to breathe as he handed off the box, waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all, Gage was the only person Preston seemed actively willing to shoot at any time. This could only mean a fight.

“Happy holidays, Garvey.” He almost sounded genuine.

Preston accepted, understandably cautiously. “Thanks, Gage. Happy holidays.”

But when the paper was off, and the box was opened, Preston’s hesitation vanished into thin air.

“How the hell did you even find this?” he breathed, slowly pulling the sword from its sheath. It glinted in the firelight.

“Ah, it was no big deal.” Gage’s face was smug, and he leaned back in his chair with confidence. “You guys shouldn’t leave important relics just sitting around.”

And to everyone’s surprise, especially Gage’s, Preston rose from his chair to offer Gage a handshake.

“Thanks,” he said. “For real.”

For a second time, Gage was stunned into silence before taking Preston’s hand and breathing, “Don’t mention it. That’s the game, right?”

Sole shot Gage a discreet thumbs-up as Preston settled back into his seat, and the poor guy could only nod.

“Well, ain’t that touching?” Hancock leaned over to pass off the small box to Danse, who had somehow ended up seated directly across the circle from him. “There ya go, crew cut. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Danse nodded. “I won’t.”

Sole shot Hancock a warning look as Danse carefully unwrapped it, and he winked in reply, as if to say, “Trust me.”

Danse quite literally choked.

As he pulled the chain out, the box fell from his hands, leaving the holotags in the open air. Sole gasped from their place by the fire, realizing exactly what Danse was holding, and Hancock let his smile widen.

“These should be on board the Prydwen,” he breathed, turning them over in his hands. “They should have been destroyed.” Teary eyes turned toward the mayor of Goodneighbor. “How did you...”

Hancock leaned closer to Danse, clearly enjoying his moment. “Well, it didn’t make much sense that they were on Maxson’s desk if they’ve got your name on ‘em. After all, they’re yours. What does he need them for?”

Danse leaned forward, too, pulling Hancock into a bone-crushing hug. “You could have died. If you had been caught...”

“But I wasn’t.” John Hancock truly looked like that cat who’d eaten the canary. “Happy holidays, Danse.”

“Thank you, John,” Danse replied, and his tone was sincere, without the hint of malice that usually accompanied any of his interactions with Hancock. “Happy holidays.”

Preston patted Danse’s shoulder as he let go, but still managed to shoot an impressed look across the circle at Hancock. Hancock made a peace sign at him, still grinning.

“Well, shoot,” MacCready said. “That makes me next, but I feel kinda stupid about my gift, now.”

He opted to deposit the clearly heavy box at X6′s feet instead of in his lap. It was by far the largest gift, and shockingly neat in its wrapping. He dusted his hands, said, “It’s heavy,” and returned to his seat.

“I admit that I have no clue what this is,” X6 said, prodding the box gently. “It looks too large to be fusion cells, which is what I thought it would be.”

MacCready smiled, just a little. “Maybe it’s a lot of fusion cells. Why don’t you find out?”

X6 carefully unwrapped the gift, and only just managed to open the box before his head shot up.

“Is this whole box full of them?”

“You betcha.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

Sole protested from the corner, “I can’t see what it is.”

“It’s snack cakes.” X6 held up a box indicatively. “They’re difficult for me to acquire, due to the Institute’s strict supervision of my diet, but a vice among gen three synths. I’ve never seen so many in one place.”

MacCready, to his credit, managed not to look too smug at the courser’s apparent wonder.

Nick stood. “Here you go, Piper. I suppose you know what it is. Here’s Ellie’s, while we’re at it, but you can open it later.”

She laughed and held out a hand to stop him from returning to his seat. He looked at her, bemused

“What’s so funny?”

She shook her head and reached under her chair to hand off her gift to him. “Some luck, huh? Happy holidays, Nick.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Some luck, indeed. Happy holidays, Piper.”

They opened at the same time, Piper saying, “Oh, this is a new one,” at the same time Nick said, “Well, how classy.”

They held their gifts up in sync for sole to see, though Piper was still reading the label of her perfume.

“Citrus, huh? This’ll be nice for a change of pace. I haven’t had anything citrus-y before.”

“It’s been a while since I got a new black tie,” Nick replied, examining it. “I like the pattern. It’s subtle.”

“I can’t believe you both drew each other,” sole cut in, though they didn’t seem disappointed. “I bet you’d already planned to do gifts anyway.”

They nodded in unison.

“This does make things a little easier, though,” Piper said. “We didn’t have to set our own date this way.”

Sole shook their head. “Preston, we’re to you.”

“Sure. Here you go, Ada.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I have tried to predict what this would be, but had some difficulty, especially in the situation where you were the gift giver. I am curious, to say the least.”

“Well, I hope you like it.”

She cracked it open, albeit with some difficulty, before declaring. “This was not among the options I predicted.” She drew it from the box to examine it better. “How thoughtful. It even appears to be designed to work in tandem with my current storage.”

“That’s the idea. I know it’s not much, but I hope you can at least get some use from it.”

“To the contrary. You designed this yourself, and took the time to create it. I can see you’ve even stitched my initials along the straps, as well as the initials of those formerly in my caravan. The details and the effort make it quite touching.”

Preston knew Ada well enough to know that he had gotten the best possible response, emotion-wise, and turned to X6 with everyone else.

“Well, you all already know who this is for.” He carefully passed the box over to Curie, who beamed.

“Merci.”

He nodded, not entirely coldly, and she began to remove the paper with a surgeon’s precision, letting out a gasp when she’d opened the box.

“Oh, Monsieur! This is- I have not seen such fine materials since before the war. Where did you find them?”

“They’re top quality, designed for Institute scientists.” A hint of pride lingered in his voice. “I knew you would like them.”

“Yes, I like them very much! I cannot wait to work with new glassware again, it has been so long.”

Sole sighed contentedly from their chair, drawing their attention. “I’m so proud of you guys. I knew it was a risk asking you to do this, but I’m glad you could put aside your differences, at least for a while. Honestly, this has gone better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Anything for you, General,” Preston replied. “You’ve been more than helpful in putting us on the right track.”

They shook their head. “I was happy to do it. It showed me you were all really trying, when I thought we’d be seeing nothing but boxes of ammo. You all went above and beyond, and for that, I salute you.”

They picked up their glass and raised it to the room, smile still lingering on their face. “To all of you, for taking the time and energy, both physical and emotional, to indulge me. I’m beyond proud to call you my friends, and more proud to call you my family.”

“Happy holidays, everyone.”

59 notes · View notes

sluttyten · 5 years

Text

sweet like honey

summary: the day you meet johnny suh and park seonghwa is the day your dreams become reality. fucking two super hot idols? who would say no to that. but the catch is that neither of them know about the other until the secret comes out, and the following competition is one that you never want to miss out on.

words: 13,338

tags: fuckbuddies, kinda dom/sub, possession kink, choking, spanking, kitty/daddy kink, oral (female and male receiving), threesome, jealousy, lots of smut, maybe a tiny bit of angst?, idk there’s some aftercare in there if you squint

pairing: johnny x reader, seonghwa x reader, johnny x reader x seonghwa

When you got the opportunity to work closely with idols, this dream had clung insistently to you: meeting and falling in love with one of the dozens of gorgeous idols you were given contact with. At first, it hadn’t seemed likely. Not that the idols you worked with weren’t attractive or anything like that, but they were always busy, distracted, and focused. They didn’t have time to fall in love with you.

And then you met Johnny.

NCT was massive and you were the lucky (or possibly unlucky depending on how things swung) staff member who would be taking care of the needs of not only NCT but several other groups who had their dressing rooms in that cluster. You had NCT, Ateez, Stray Kids.

They had their own staffs, their managers and stuff, but you worked for the broadcast company and it was your responsibility to make sure that they were actually supposed to be where they were supposed to be at the right time in a good mood ready to go, all mic-ed up and everything.

And Johnny was something else. From the moment you walked through the door he caught your eye. He smiled and laughed, a larger than life personality, and as you were talking with them, going over some basic things, he was staring at you with such an intensity that you were almost uncomfortable, but also fairly turned on as well.

The look in his eyes was something like hunger, like he could devour you whole, ravish you, ruin you.

You fled the room as soon as possible, feeling very warm, possibly a little sweaty. Your head spun and you pushed into the dressing room next door to give the same talk on basic things as you’d just done.

Immediately you collide with Ateez’s Seonghwa.

“Oh, are you okay?” He asks, catching you by the elbows as you bounce back off his chest.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” You straighten the headset you’re wearing just as someone begins speaking in a low buzzing voice for all of the staff to hear. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Seonghwa looks down at you, his eyes gentle on you, taking note of your flushed cheeks. His thumb almost absentmindedly strokes your elbow and your knees feel a little weak from that minimal touch.

He looks at you as if you’re the first girl he’s seen in a while. His gaze drops to your lips, and you have to snap yourself out of it before you let him draw you into doing something you’ll regret, his magnetism too strong for you to deny when he’s touching your arm and looking at you like that.

You look away and see that a few of the group’s staff members are looking at you and Seonghwa, so you pull away and move over to make your announcement.

Luckily, dealing with the other few groups you’ve got isn’t as difficult. There are no attractive members muddling your mind with their eyes or touch.

Things run smoothly that day and you think that’s that. You survived the day and now you’ve even got a little bit of something to feed your fantasies. You think you’ll be clear of dealing with them again, of having your mind fucked like that.

Just as you’re about to leave for the day, hanging up your headset and grabbing your bag, another member of the staff walks in.

“You heading home?” He asks, dropping off his headset as well. Then he looks toward the door, glances around, and looks back at you, and quickly whispers, “Earlier one of the idols gave me his info.”

“Oh, really? That’ll be fun!” You smile, thinking it’ll be nice for him to find a guy. He’s told you before that he’s rather picky about guys plus he’s not comfortable going out to places that are specifically gay. If he’s met a gay idol who’s interested in him, you’re excited for him.

He frowns for a moment, and then says, “No, not for me. No, he said he wanted you to have it. I told him it’s against the rules, but he just gave it to me in case you’d want it.”

He passes a little slip of paper over to you, folded up small. You look down at it, then back up at him. The doorway is still empty, everywhere around you still quiet, so you risk asking, “Whose is it?”

“NCT’s Johnny.” He bites his lip around a smile. “If he wants you, then you’d better go for it. Have you seen him? If I were you I wouldn’t miss out on that opportunity when it comes knocking.”

You know he’s right. Johnny had you feeling like a hot mess earlier when he was looking at you like that, and honestly you would love to have a fun fling with an idol as hot as Johnny. So you pocket the little slip of paper, tug on your coat and grab your bag, thank your coworker and tell him goodbye.

You’re so lost in your thoughts as you walk down the hallway toward the stairs, that you don’t pay attention as one of the dressing room doors opens and a figure starts to step out.

For the second time that day, you collide with someone.

For the second time that day, you collide with Seonghwa.

His arms fully wrap around you now, keeping you from crashing onto the floor.

“We meet again.” He smiles. “Sorry, I should’ve been paying more attention, but I was trying to hurry.”

“Shouldn’t you be gone by now?” You ask him, possibly a bit unkindly.

He blinks. “Yeah, I forgot my phone though, so I came back. My manager is waiting in the van downstairs, so I was trying to hurry.” He helps you back firmly to your feet. “Sorry about running into you again. We need to stop meeting like this. Maybe next time we should plan to meet instead of just literally running into each other?”

He takes your hand and produces a pen from somewhere. The tip of it tickles against your skin as he writes on your hand, inking his info onto your skin, his breath a gentle warmth on your fingers.

You look at the side of his face and wonder if maybe you’d somehow fallen into an alternate universe. Months and months of doing this job and you’d never had an idol look twice at you, but today you’ve had not only one idol give you some of his private information, but two idols have given you the means to contact them.

“Message me sometime,” Seonghwa says with a wink.

And then he’s gone, jogging down the hallway to rejoin his manager in the van.

Later that night, once you’ve gotten home and showered and tucked yourself into bed, you stare at your palm and the piece of paper, your phone unlocked in your lap.

Maybe it’s wrong to do this, but you enter in both of their information, message them both. It’s not like anything that happens with either of them will be really serious, right? They’re both busy idols, they don’t have time for real romantic lives, just for the occasional hookups, and that’s something you can do.

Sex. No strings attached. Totally non-exclusive to each other.

You meet up with Johnny first. It’s only fair. He made his move first, messaged you back first, made it obvious that he wants you.

“Can you meet me now?” He messages you one day.

It’s mid-morning. Normally you would be at work. You would think he’d be busy working or sleeping right now too. But you’re off work today, and you’ve got no plans because it’s a chilly autumn morning that made you not even hardly want to leave bed.

“Where?”

He sends you a location, and you only wait long enough to shower quickly and put on something nicer before you’re on your way.

Over the past few weeks since you first met him, you’ve been messaging almost every day. He made it obvious quickly that he was just looking for sex, and you accepted that just as quickly. Since then, you’d been talking about history, experience, likes and dislikes, kinks. There’d been plenty of dirty talk from him, featuring a sexy pic or two from you (he was hesitant to send nudes for obvious reasons, but had sent you a couple of selfies and even audio clips).

So going to meet him, you were ready for it.

You find it hard to believe that he actually invited you over to his dorm to fuck, but the building you arrive at definitely looks like an apartment building, and when you text him that you’ve arrived at the building, he sends you a floor and apartment number.

It’s then that you start to feel shy, to feel a bit nervous.

But when you arrive at the door, rap your knuckles against it, it is Johnny who stands there when the door swings open.

“Hi,” He grins slowly, leaning against the door as he holds it open. “Come in.”

You can tell as soon as you step inside that this is definitely the dorm he shares with the other members. It just seems clean but still slightly messy. Definitely has the feel of young men inhabiting it.

Johnny closes the door and explains, “Everyone’s gone today, and I figured if you weren’t busy, now would be the ideal time for us to make those messages come true.” He touches your waist and you turn to look up at him. Johnny still looks at you with such a hungry intensity. “I’ve been dying to touch you since I saw you blushing in that waiting room.”

Heat zips up your spine when he pulls you closer. Johnny leans in.

You let your bag slide from your shoulder, your coat slipping off in the same move, and you raise your hands to his shoulders just as Johnny’s hands move down to your thighs. He lifts you up, your arms circle his neck and your legs tighten around his hips, his hands firmly under your ass.

“Can I kiss you?” Johnny asks, his breath already on your lips. His eyelashes draw such fine, long lines down his cheeks, and you’re close enough to count every last one.

You nod.

Johnny kisses sweet and softly, warmly and welcoming.

He moves, sits you on the edge of the sofa’s back. His fingers fall to your clothes, unzipping or unbuttoning whatever needs to be undone. Your shirt falls apart, leaving you in only a bra. Johnny groans and wraps his arm around your waist, pulls you tighter as he kisses you deeper.

You can feel him growing hard against your thigh, and when you drop a hand down to run over his stomach, he jerks. You nip at his bottom lip, drag your fingers against the edge of his pants, pop undone the button and then dip your hand inside.

He’s just as big as you wanted to believe, hard and thick.

Johnny had told you a few days before that it had been a while since he was able to do this. Months if not nearly a year since the last time he was able to have sex with someone.

Still, you don’t expect him to moan and buck into your touch. His hand on your back slips and you slide back a bit, almost falling away from him until his arm tightens again.

“Johnny,” you murmur, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to just fuck. I’ve been wet since the moment you messaged me.”

You take his free hand and pull it down between your thighs, guide him to touch you through your panties, to feel how wet and needy you already are for him.

“Okay, fuck.” Johnny backs off, pulling you with him until your feet are firm on the ground again. “Get on the sofa. I’m gonna grab a condom, don’t go anywhere.”

“As if I would.” You call as he moves quickly out of the room, disappearing down a hallway.

You move around onto the sofa, strip your pants off and fling your shirt to the side as well, so you’re just lying there in the cute lingerie you’d chosen. Just as you’re about to call his name and tell him to hurry, you hear your phone chime from the pocket of your pants, so you dig it out and look at the notification.

From Seonghwa: are you free tomorrow night? I don’t have any schedules, I was hoping we could run into each other?

To Seonghwa: Tell me where and when. I’ll be there ;)

You tuck your phone back into your pocket and lie back on the sofa, the cool air of the dorm pricking against your skin, your nipples peaking up the thin fabric of your bra.

You stare up at the ceiling, at the light dancing there, and you wonder about how you’re about to fuck Johnny, how you’re going to see Seonghwa tomorrow night hopefully to do the same. You wonder how it would be if Seonghwa was here now instead of just messaging you, would he touch you while you wait for Johnny, or would he sit there and watch you now and watch what’s about to happen?

Just imagining Seonghwa seeing you with Johnny, his handsome features set in focus at Johnny’s hands on your body, noticing the fine curves and the cling of your lingerie to your breasts before Johnny comes to peel it off you.

You feel flushed with heat, your hands drift to your chest and you can’t help touching, pinching and rolling a nipple between your fingers.

That’s when Johnny reenters the room, stripped down to his boxers, an unopened condom in his one hand, the other hand on his cock.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” You beg him. You part your legs, Johnny quickly fills the space between them, falling over you until his lips can drag along the line of your throat, down between your breasts, to your navel and then the edge of your panties.

You want so badly for him to take them between his teeth and drag them off of you that way, to cover your pussy with his mouth and bring you to an orgasm on his tongue. But you feel his fingers fumble against your ass and then they’re wrapped around the waistband, tearing them down your legs and off.

You arch up into his touch, wanting him, and Johnny hushes you when you whine, and you watch as he pushes his boxers down and rolls the condom down his length.

He teases. Presses close enough to let you feel him, he moves his tip against your clit, down over your opening, and back up. You whine and buck up, and Johnny just grins and places a hand on your hip, holding you down.

“Fuck me,” You beg him. “Don’t you want to feel how warm and wet and tight I am for you, Johnny? All for you, please.” You reach up, scratch your nails lightly down his chest. “I need you inside me. You’re so big, you’ll make me feel so full, you’ll fuck me so good, Johnny.”

“You sound like a whore.” He groans and at long last he pushes inside you.

The feel is incredible. The stretch, a slight burn as it’s been a little while since you had someone who was quite as big as him. You let out a squeal, squeeze your legs up against his hips, reach for his shoulders.

“My little whore, right?” He pulls back just a bit so he can thrust in harder, deeper. “All mine?”

You bite your lip and whine.

Johnny puts a hand to your chin as your eyes start to slide away from his, he squeezes and makes you look up at him, and the dominance in something as simple as that touch sends a hot burst of heat through your gut. You clench around him.

His gaze burns with that intensity, the hunger. The possessiveness. You want to be consumed by him, enveloped in the pleasure you know he can give you.

“Johnny,” You moan, dig your fingernails into the back of his neck, attempt to bring his mouth down to yours. He resists, his eyes sweeping from yours to your lips, down to your chest, and then even lower to glimpse where he disappears inside you, as deep as he can go. You let out a low moan, “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“This pussy belongs to me.” Johnny says, snapping his hips forward. “You’re all mine. Just mine.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, bite your lip. You don’t let the truth show through, can’t let him see just in case he’ll stop fucking you if he learns this isn’t an exclusive thing.

Again, the thought of Seonghwa comes back. You picture him sitting across the room in a chair, his ankle crossed over his thigh, arms folded as he watches Johnny lay his claim to you, watches you taking Johnny’s cock while you moan like his whore.

When Johnny’s lips crush against yours, you groan and your eyes open. You move your fingers into his hair, knotting there as he rocks into you, moaning into the kiss. His cock hits deep inside you, filling you every place.

Johnny pulls away for a second, his breath panting against your lips, and for another moment his eyes lock on yours. He holds himself up on one elbow, the other hand he snakes down between your bodies, and he watches you closely when his fingers finally give your clit some attention.

He savors the way you whimper and hiss, squirm for him as he rolls his hips and stimulates that little sweet bundle of nerves.

“You’re so cute, so pretty, baby.” Johnny kisses you once gently. “I want you to cum for me, and I want to hear you moan my name when you do.”

“Johnny,” You moan, grabbing for his wrist between your bodies. That doesn’t make him slow down, and you feel yourself racing toward your orgasms though you want to hold off. “Johnny,” you whine.

That knot in your belly grows tighter, his fingers on your clit, his cock filling you so well inside.

You roll your head back, arching against him as shivers begin to wrack your body, and you can’t help the sweet, low moan of his name that pours from your lips. Your orgasm spills through you, squeezing and squirting around his cock, sending him into his own orgasm. Johnny pushes in deep, his hips jolting as he groans and fills the condom.

He sinks over you, holding himself up from crushing you with one arm, and when you nudge your chin forward, Johnny kisses you again, long and slow and sweet once again.

He pulls out after a moment, leaving you feeling empty and needy, so you wrap your arms around his waist and tug, whine at him, “Don’t leave yet.”

Johnny leaves only long enough to tie off the condom and bury it in the garbage bin in the kitchen, then he’s back, wrapping himself around you for a cuddle.

“Was that good?” He asks. You only have the energy to nod. “For me too. Sorry about the whole possessive bit, I know we’ve not talked about that or anything, but I’m definitely into that. Monogamy, I guess.”

You twist slightly and hide your face from him. He doesn’t have to know, you tell yourself.

Seonghwa told you to meet him at his company building. “Wait outside for me. Around back.” His voice sounded tired, but when you suggested that, he denied it.

So there you stood, waiting for him around the back, your arms wrapped around you in the chilly air. You wish you could wait inside or at least in the front of the building where the wind wasn’t hitting so bad, but once you’d arrived you understood why he told you to wait in the back. There was plenty of foot traffic, fans waiting out front.

“The meeting is almost over and then I’ll be right out.” He texted.

You leaned back against the wall, wondering where this was going. You knew that he wasn’t likely to take you back to his dorm. His members were all going to be present unlike Johnny’s. You wondered if he was going to suggest going back to yours (a possibility) or maybe a hotel or something.

When the back door of the building opens, Seonghwa steps out. When he spots you, he grins and holds his hand out, glances back over his shoulder once, then tells you, “Come here.”

You do.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he takes your hand and guides you inside. “Aren’t we going somewhere?”

“Just come with me, sweetheart. I’m trying to get you home with me without anyone paying too much attention.” His fingers lace through yours as he brings you deeper inside the building.

You look around, a bit nervous and even more confused. “What are you going to do? Stuff me in your bag? No offense, but I don’t think I’ll fit and we’ll definitely be caught.” You tug on his hand and Seonghwa turns around. “I thought when you asked me to meet you here, we’d be going somewhere.”

“Like on a date?” Seonghwa asks, lowering his voice as a woman walks out of a room nearby. “Sweetheart, I thought you didn’t want this to be more than sex. You made it sound like that.”

“Yeah, I know.” You look down at your feet. “But I’m hungry and thought we could at least grab a bite or something before we do whatever we’re going to do.”

Seonghwa’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your face up toward him, and his thumb glides over your bottom lip. “Kitten, if you’re hungry I’ve got something that can fill you right up.”

Your mouth falls open slightly, and Seonghwa takes that moment to dip the tip of his thumb inside. Your legs feel weak, your insides liquefy, and you would happily jump on his dick right there in that open hallway, but he pulls away, shoves his hands into his pockets, and smiles the sweetest smile as another woman comes out of that room nearby.

As soon as she vanishes, he takes your hand again.

“You’re coming with me. To the dorm. Half of the guys are going straight from here to the studio.” He reaches for your cheek, brushes his fingers sweetly over the heat of your blush. “San’s going to fuck his girl too, lucky for him she lives in the same building. Mingi and Yunho are going out somewhere. It’ll just be you and me for a while.”

Seonghwa guides you through the halls of the building until you’re just out of sight of the lobby. He reaches into the bag on his shoulder, pulls out a black hoodie, and hands it to you. “Put it on. Tug the hood up. When we leave, get in the front seat with my manager.”

You do as he says, though you’re sure you’re going to look a bit suspicious walking along with the group, with a hood pulled up as if you’re trying to hide your face.

When the other members as well as a few staff members join the pair of you a moment later, you understand. A few of the guys, and some of the staff as well, are wearing matching hoodies to the one Seonghwa had just handed you, a few of them with their hoods up as well. You’ll blend in perfectly.

The few fans gathered outside start snapping pics the moment that the boys become visible and you hide yourself among the cluster of members and staff moving toward the exit, moving toward the van waiting outside.

You don’t understand why there are fans waiting outside even here, but you assume that they’re the stalker fans you’ve heard about. The ones that follow idols everywhere, know everything about them, to a severely creepy extent.

You listen to Seonghwa’s instructions, following him to the van that he and three of the other members are getting in, and as you reach it, you open the front passenger door and slide inside. Their manager in the driver’s seat glances over at you in alarm, but Seonghwa pops his head between the front seats.

“She’s with me, hyung. Don’t mind her.”

The manager scowls, and looks as if he’s about to berate Seonghwa, but then he thinks better of it and settles for shaking his head and staring forward.

The ride from there to the dorm is quiet. You watch the city lights pass by outside the car windows, and you stay quiet when the guys start a livestream in the back, putting on their best faces for their Atinys, keeping them updated and entertained, though they bring the live to an end when they near the dorm.

Just as Seonghwa had told you, Mingi and Yunho disappear almost as soon as the manager’s put the van in park. They’re out and gone. San vanishes a moment later, walking away on his phone. The manager shakes his head and pulls out a cigarette, leans against the side of the van, and tells Seonghwa, “Use protection, I’m begging you.”

You feel very hot after that, but Seonghwa takes your hand and leads you away.

He kisses you the moment you’re inside the dorm, his hands moving to unzip the hoodie, peeling it from your shoulders, he tosses it aside, his hands on your waist as he backs with you across the room, navigating you without having to look, and you follow where he leads.

“Get on the bed,” He groans after a moment, gently pushing you away, but reaching for your chin to touch your lips again. “I want your pretty mouth so bad, kitten.”

You like when he calls you that, a curl of pleasure in your belly each time he says that little pet name to you. “Yes, sir.” You step away from him, moving toward the nearest bed, laying back on it, and Seonghwa stands before you, his thumbs tucked under the waistband of his pants.

You can see his bulge and your mouth waters for him. You shift onto your hands and knees at the edge of the bed, facing Seonghwa, and he steps forward, pushing his pants down. Reaching for him, you pause, look up for approval, and when he nods, you shift a bit closer and drag down the elastic band of his underwear.

His cock is just as beautiful as the rest of him, though not as thick as Johnny, he’s probably just as long, and again you find yourself wondering how you got so lucky as to have two amazingly hot idols wanting you.

Seonghwa puts a hand on the back of your head, lacing his fingers into your hair, and he urges your mouth forward, wanting to feel you on his cock. And you don’t want to let him down.

You start out with a kitten lick to the tip, holding the rest of him with your fingertips. When he rolls his head back and hums in satisfaction, stroking the back of your head, you do it again and then push forward taking his tip in your mouth.

You push yourself further each time you go down on him, and the first time he finally loses his restraint and thrusts down your throat, gagging you around him, you jerk backwards, pulling off of him with a thick string of saliva connecting your lips to his dick.

“So pretty,” he moans, “I want to ruin your lips, kitten. Bet you’d look so pretty with your face covered in my cum.”

You’re sure you would, but you don’t want him to waste his cum all over your face. With your fingers still around his length, slowly massaging him, you lean forward again to mouth at his tip, not going much deeper, not because you mean to tease, but because you’re not a fan of being choked on cock by surprise.

Still, he rolls his hips forward, trying to get more from you. His tip leaks blurts of precum onto your tongue, and the taste of him has you hornier than you’ve been all day. You’re dripping in your panties, and you wish he would touch you.

Again, you find yourself fantasizing about your other lover when you’re with your current one.

Would Johnny sit and watch or join in? As the elder of the two, would he take responsibility, dominating you, telling Seonghwa what to do, how to touch you, telling you how to please him? Or would Johnny passively sit by and admire the way that the younger has you sucking his cock, would he watch as you squirm in desperate need of being touched?

What if he touched you while you blew Seonghwa? If you had Seonghwa in front of you, Johnny behind you with his fingers so deep in your pussy that you could feel him in your belly?

You moan at the thought, wiggle your hips in an attempt to get any kind of friction for your needy core.

“Poor, kitty,” Seonghwa coos. “You’re getting nothing right now.” His hand goes to your shoulder, easing you back off of him. You sit back on your heels and look up at him. “Do you want Daddy to touch you?”

“Fuck, please.” You slip backwards, spread your knees apart. “Yeah, I want you to touch me.”

Seonghwa smirks so rude, his hand falls to your knee. “Oh, kitten. If you want something from me, you need to address me properly.” He sinks to his knees, hands on both of yours. “Call me Daddy, kitten, and I’ll give you a treat.”

You squirm on the bed, run your hands down your body to meet his hands. “Daddy, please, touch me.”

Seonghwa bites his lip and reaches up, hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and gently draws them down your legs. “Sweetheart, I wanna taste you so bad. When you ran into me that first day, when I felt you against me so soft and warm, smelling so sweet like honey, all I wanted was to kiss you. It’s been ages since I got to hold a girl in my arms, to taste her kitty so sweetly.”

His hands squeeze your thighs and he jerks, pulling you to the edge of the bed. He lifts your legs onto his shoulders, and when he lowers his head to your belly, his lips brushing over your skin, his teeth catch the band of your panties and he drags them down with his teeth.

You shiver as the cool air of the dorm and the heat of Seonghwa’s breath touch your newly bared skin, your wet pussy.

“Seonghwa-- Daddy,” You moan, lifting your hips with need.

He dives in, his hot tongue and lips lavishing between your legs, his tongue swirling around your clit, dipping inside you. He moans against you, his hands tight on your thighs and hips. You grip at the bedsheets, wrinkling them between your fingers, and it’s no time at all before Seonghwa brings you to an orgasm on his tongue.

The moment he pulls back, lips wet with saliva and your cum, he fills you with his fingers instead, his thumb against your clit.

You writhe and whine at the oversensitivity you’re feeling, but Seonghwa doesn’t let up, even as you roll onto your belly, his fingers curl inside you.

“You’re so sweet, kitten. I could taste you again and not get tired.” You feel his breath on your ass, the brush of his lips, and then his teeth dig in, and you moan at the pain tinged with pleasure. His free hand comes up and spanks your bottom. “Do you want Daddy to fuck you? Your cunt is probably desperate to be filled. Do you want me?”

Of course you want him.

You nod desperately, bury your face in the sheets when his fingers find that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

“Good girl.” He pulls back, leaving you empty and cold. “Ass up, sweetheart.” His hands jerk your hips up into the air, pussy bare and exposed for him. You can feel yourself dripping down your thigh you’re so wet for him.

You look back over your shoulder and you see him ripping open a condom, you watch him put it on, rolling it down his cock. He’s probably just as long as Johnny, though not as thick around, and either way, you know he’s going to fuck you good.

Seonghwa pushes into you hard and fast, not at all gently, but exactly what you wanted. He grinds in deep, rolls his hips forward, a hand pressed flat to your tailbone. “Shit, kitten, you’re so tight for me.”

“Yes, Daddy.” You grind back against him, trying to get him somehow even deeper. You love the wet, slippery feel of him fucking you, thrusting in deep, his hips rolling, snapping against your ass. “Just for you.” You moan as his hand pushes you into a slightly different position, his dick hitting just right inside you.

Seonghwa moans, and you glance back over your shoulder to see him staring down at his hips jiggling your ass, his cock disappearing inside you, and he bites his lip, his sharp eyes focused.

His eyes lift to yours, and his next thrust slows, torturously slow as he rolls forward. And then he stops just short of filling you completely. He holds there, his eyes on yours.

You can’t help clenching around him, grinding back, needing him deeper.

You want to feel so full, fuller than even Johnny had you feeling just the day before. “More,” You groan, pushing back and circling your hips on his cock. Seonghwa smirks and brings the flat of his palm down against your ass, and you quickly add, “Daddy, more.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Seonghwa digs the fingers of one hand into your hip, hard enough to bruise, and the other hand goes to your hair, twisting it around his fist and pulling so your back arches and the angle he’s hitting inside you has you squeezing around him with every thrust, sweeping bursts of hot tingling sensations through you.

You imagine again a scenario that brings Johnny into all of this, him standing on the bed before you, presenting his fat cock for you to take into your mouth while Seonghwa fucks you like this. As if Seonghwa has some inkling of what you imagine, his hand loosens his hold on your hair, moving his way around until his fingers touch your lips.

“Open up, kitten.”

“Yes, Daddy.” You obediently open your mouth and Seonghwa’s fingers fill your mouth, giving you something to suck on as you imagine choking on Johnny’s cock, him being forced deeper in your throat with every one of Seonghwa’s thrusts. How great it would be to be caught between the two beautiful men, both of them inspiring a lust in you like you’ve never felt.

His fingers drag out of your mouth, over your lips, and you whine his name, taking the brutal force of his thrusts as his hand falls down your body, his wet fingers finding your clit, and your back rest against his chest.

Your moans shiver through the room. Seonghwa’s hot breath is on your cheek, your ear as he says, “Are you gonna cum for me, kitten? I want to see you lose control. You’ve always been so reserved, professional at work, almost innocent in your messages.” His teeth graze your earlobe, his fingers pinch your clit, and he thrusts right against your G spot. “Cum, sweetheart.”

And you do.

Seonghwa doesn’t let up. He keeps fucking you, keeps rubbing your clit until you’re jolting in his arms, whining and crying, begging him to stop.

He lets you fall forward onto the bed, burying your face in the sheets as he keeps fucking you, and you do love the overstimulation, the slight pain of it that feels so good, all of your nerve endings burning. Seonghwa has both of his hands bruisingly gripping your hips, and his pace of thrusting into you is so intense, but still there’s a small part of you that doesn’t feel quite full.

If Johnny was here too you could have them both, have them filling you all the way. Both of them inside you cunt, fucking you with their big cocks.

Seonghwa swears behind you, his cock twitching deep in your belly. He does several of those rolling grinds of his hips forward, and you can only think of how well Johnny’s thrusts would compliment these moves.

To have them both in you would be a magical miraculous thing. Separately they’re great. Together they would have you never able to leave their beds again.

A deep thrust has you moaning, breaking loose any filter you have, and the words spill out without a thought.

“Oh, Johnny,” You moan.

The instant the name leaves your mouth you regret it. You bite your bottom lip, eyes going wide, and every movement goes still.

Seonghwa’s hand slides up your back, and you prepare yourself for his fingers to twist in your hair, tug you back by your hair.

His hand curls around your throat. “What did you just say, kitten?”

“I’m sorry.” You moan again as his fingers flex on your throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to moan another man’s name while I’m inside you?” Seonghwa slaps his other hand against your bottom. “You’re really a little slut, aren’t you? Are you fucking Johnny? Johnny who? From NCT?” You don’t say a thing, but your pulse betrays you, beating faster beneath his fingertips. “He always has seemed like a man whore. Every time I’ve seen him he’s flirting with everyone in sight. Does he fuck you good, kitten? Is he rough with you, man enough for you? He must not be if you’re here now in my bed.”

You moan.

“Bet he’s not got the big cock everyone thinks he does. If he can’t fuck you well, you’re always welcome to my cock, kitten. Do I make you feel better than he does?”

His fingers on your throat draw you back up against his chest. He grinds his cock into you even as you swivel your hips down on him.

“Answer me, kitten.” His lips drag your cheek, his tongue too dangerous to have you feeling anything less than severely turned on. “Does Johnny fuck you as well as me?”

“No,” You moan, gasping as he releases his hold on your throat. “I’ve only fucked him once, Daddy. You’re both so good, big cocks that fill me so well. He wants me to be his, but I kept thinking about you when I was with him.”

Seonghwa swears, a quick and quiet barrage of fucks as he pulls out of you, his hands on your shoulders spinning you around, and you slide down so your face is level with his cock as he tears off the condom and jerks his hand over his length.

He cums over your face, hot strings of semen shooting over your cheeks, your open lips, your tongue. Seonghwa moans and swears and tells you that you look so pretty with your face covered in Daddy’s cum.

You lick your lips and slump down onto his bed, somehow finding a pillow in your arms, held against your chest as Seonghwa leaves the bed.

He returns an instant or two later, a cool damp cloth in his hand as he wipes at your face before he moves down between your legs. It feels so nice on your hot skin, and he leaves little kisses on your thighs, your bottom, and then he’s at your head again, his hands so gentle, his touch so light you barely feel his fingertips on your cheeks as he draws you in for another kiss.

“How do you feel, sweetheart? Good? Sore? Do you want to shower?” He asks, his voice soft. You shake your head and move a little closer to him, as close as you can be with this pillow in your arms. “Do you want to sleep?” You nod.

“Okay, sleep.” He kisses your forehead, barely more than a brush of his lips. “I’ll wake you when you need to leave.”

For now, you’re not even worried about that. You’re just floating in the feeling of sexual satisfaction.

A few days later as you were curled up in bed, texting Johnny while you talked to Seonghwa on speaker, he brought it up.

“So how long have you been fucking around with Johnny?“ Seonghwa asks.

You sigh, “Literally the day we started talking was the first day he and I started talking. I’ve only had sex with him once, same as you. I didn’t think I needed to tell either of you about it. I didn’t think either of you would want more than just sex.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from Johnny. A pouty selfie that you can tell he’s sending you from a late practice. You send back your own of you in bed, just a thin strap of a camisole visible above the line of your blankets.

“Does he want more from you?” Seonghwa’s voice drops, “Than just sex?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t really discussed it, honestly.” You roll over onto your stomach. “Why? Are you jealous? Do you hate the idea of sharing me?”

Seonghwa makes a noise. “You’re not mine, Y/N. I don’t own you or anything, you’re perfectly at liberty to fuck whoever you want. I was just wondering.” There’s silence for a moment in which Johnny texts back just one word: fuck. Then Seonghwa says, “Does he know about me?”

“No.” You answer, possibly too quickly.

“Oh?”

Johnny sends you a follow up video of him dancing, his phone aimed at the long stretch of mirror in front of him so you can see him rolling his hips and biting his lip, playing up a fuckboy kind of vibe.

“He’s not like you.” You say, replaying the video again, unable to help locking your eyes onto the bulge at the front of Johnny’s sweatpants. “He is jealous. He seems pretty possessive anyway, which is kinda hot in the moment, but I don’t know. I’m pretty sure if I told him I was seeing anyone else on the side he wouldn’t be too into that.”

“And you’d be upset to end things?” Seonghwa sighs.

“I don’t know,” You softly admit. “I think I’ve only fucked each of you once and both of you blew my mind. I don’t want to call it quits on either one of you right now because it’s too much fun.”

Seonghwa hums. “I think you’re underestimating--- overestimating? I don’t know-- I think you’ve got him wrong. I think he’s like me in more ways than you think, and if he learned you were fucking another guy he wouldn’t be as ready to let you go. You’re captivating, and Johnny has to know that. He won’t want to lose something like you.”

And you definitely don’t want to lose him. Watching the way his cock looks in his sweatpants in that video, all you can think about is him fucking you into your mattress, but it’s Seonghwa’s voice you’ve got in your ear.

You squeeze your eyes shut and suck in a deep breath.

The day that they’re both back at your studio, their schedules overlapping once again, you feel absolutely on edge. It’s been a few weeks since this all started. You’ve been talking to both of them almost every day. Johnny’s invited you to random places for quick fucks, and you’ve accepted a few times, and each time he leaves you more satisfied than the time before.

You always end up telling Seonghwa about these encounters, especially when you meet him in the back of a building or between parked cars to make out and maybe have him finger you against a car. You think he gets off on it, because he’ll have your lip between his teeth, his fingers inside you, and he’ll growl something about Johnny, telling you to recount your latest rendezvous with the older idol.

And after all these weeks, you still haven’t told Johnny that he’s not the only man in your bed. Things are still non-exclusive, so you certainly don’t feel obligated to tell him about it.

But now they’re so near each other again, and you know they’re bound to see each other, so you try your best to steer clear of not only their dressing rooms but that area of the building all together.

Of course, fate would have it another way.

You’re in the cafeteria, grabbing something to eat when there’s a slight commotion and Johnny comes striding into the room, looking like a model. A few of his members are with him, but he doesn’t shy away from smiling and sending a wink your way.

And then Seonghwa walks into the room right behind them. Yeosang is with him, talking about something, but Seonghwa’s focus is on you.

You flush with heat and try to hurry to finish eating, to get out of there before their paths cross, converging on you.

A few other idols are scattered around the room, so it’s not unusual to have the visiting idols in the cafeteria, but god you’re just itching to get out of there.

Yuta slips away from Johnny’s side and sits down at a table where Pentagon’s Yuto sits. And then Seonghwa and Yeosang approach Johnny and Taeyong.

Your heart stills in your chest as you see them greeting each other. Yeosang and Taeyong begin talking, and you watch closely the way that Seonghwa seems to be sizing up Johnny, looking him up and down, searching his face. Johnny’s smile falters ever-so-slightly, and his gaze flicks towards you for just a second.

You sink into your seat a bit, ignoring your coworker beside you who is in the midst of trying to say something to you.

Seonghwa hasn’t even said a word to Johnny beyond “hello” but still you feel this odd energy that connects the three of you, a burning string that passes through the room binding you and Johnny and Seonghwa together.

Seonghwa tugs up the hood of his white sweatshirt, tucks his hands into his pockets, and suddenly you can no longer see his face, can’t see if his lips move. You can only read Johnny’s face and his body language, see the simplest shifts of his body in the tight black t-shirt he wears.

Then suddenly, Johnny throws his head back and lets out that lovely laugh. Seonghwa is laughing too, and he turns slightly and catches your eye while he laughs with your other lover. You feel a burn in your gut, and you’ve never been less certain of the cause--arousal? jealousy? heart burn? nausea? You’re really not sure.

Taeyong and Yeosang have moved on, but Johnny and Seonghwa stand there talking to each other, looking too damn beautiful together for your sanity. Johnny is just a bit taller than Seonghwa, and you shiver in your seat imagining how it would feel to be pressed between them. You bite your lip absentmindedly.

Johnny’s in the middle of saying something to Seonghwa when he looks over at you again, catching you staring at him with such obvious lust. His words falter, and then Seonghwa’s looking as well. Both objects of your pure, unadulterated lust are looking at you.

You quickly look away, stand up, grab your food and move toward the exit, unable to handle being in the same room as the two of them any longer. And perhaps it really is best that you didn’t stick around to witness what happened in the moments that followed. You only learned of it later.

You’d invited Johnny over once before, late at night when his practice ended and you were incredibly horny and Seonghwa was busy. Johnny had told you that there was nowhere you could meet, so you sent him your address and told him that either he would show up or you would have to take care of it yourself.

So he’d come over.

And now he had once again come over, this time uninvited though not unwelcome.

It was already relatively late when he knocked on your door. You were huddled up under a blanket on your sofa wearing an old threadbare tshirt and a pair of short shorts that you were planning to sleep in. You certainly weren’t dressed for guests, but as soon as you saw it was Johnny standing your door, you’d opened it wide.

Johnny came inside, immediately sweeping you into a kiss, his arms fast and strong around you, the press of his lips hot. You moaned and ran your hands over him, wanting more and more and more. Johnny was happy to give it to you.

He kicked the door shut, backing you into your apartment, swallowing your moans and pouring some of his own back into your mouth.

When he accidentally runs you into a piece of furniture, you yelp and break the kiss, but Johnny trails fiery kisses over your jaw, your neck. He licks and sucks at a spot just above your collarbone that makes your knees nearly give out and you feel a gush of arousal.

“Say you want me.” Johnny growls. His hands sweep down to your ass, gripping tight, massaging. “Tell me how much you want me.”

“God, I want you,” you moan. You let him lift you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. He always makes you feel so little, and you love it. “I want you so much.” You crush your mouth to his again, and this kiss feels like fire, burning through your veins.

Johnny doesn’t move farther than there, just holding you and kissing you, but then he pulls back slightly, presses just a slight kiss to your lips and then another as he sucks on your bottom lip to hear you whine for him.

“You want me?” He asks again once he’s released your lip. His voice is little more than a low rumble. You nod, your fingers at the back of his neck. You do want him so badly, your pussy is already throbbing in need of him. Johnny grins and hovers his mouth right above yours. “Are you sure you don’t want someone else instead? Park Seonghwa?”

You freeze. The fire burning inside you turns to ice. Johnny’s body suddenly feels stiff against yours, but he doesn’t let you down and you don’t try to move either.

“So he wasn’t fucking lying.” Johnny growls. “You’ve been fucking him too? Oh, baby, I thought your pretty pussy was all mine, but you’ve been sharing it with him? Even while you’ve been telling me that it belongs to me?”

You feel his jealousy, possessiveness. A feeling that’s not quite anger radiates off of him, and you can’t put your finger on what that feeling is.

“Johnny, I’m sorry.” You don’t mean it. You’re not sorry about a thing, but you know those are the best words you can offer him in the moment.

Johnny shakes his head. “No, baby. see, Seonghwa had a lot of interesting things to tell me earlier after we saw you looking at us like a little bitch in heat right there in front of everyone. Which one of us were you thinking about then? Me?” Johnny’s fingers brush against the seam of your pants, right over your damp core. “Or him?”

You can’t help squirming against his touch, and your answer comes out as more of a squeak than anything else. “Both!”

“What?” Johnny dips his head and his lips brush your throat. “What was that?”

“Both of you,” You moan. “In the cafeteria I was thinking of both of you. Both of you inside me, around me, touching me. I want you both.”

Johnny hums, the vibrations move beautifully under your skin. “Right answer.”

Suddenly you’re on your feet again and Johnny’s stepping back, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. He nods toward your front door. “Now open the door. I’ve brought a present for you.”

Your hands shake slightly as you lift them to open the door.

Seonghwa stands outside, huddled in his white hoodie, his hands buried in the pockets, his shoulders drawn up toward his ears. And even though he’s clearly cold, he still tries his best to give you one of those smiles that makes your heart skip a beat, and he says, “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Come inside.” You reach out, grabbing onto one of his sleeves and tugging. He stumbles through the doorway, and you immediately close and lock the door and then glom onto him. He’s freezing.

“Are you really gonna fuck us both?” He asks. His teeth only chatter a little bit, and you hate that he was standing out there in the cold while Johnny stoked your internal fire hotter and hotter in here.

You frown a bit over at Johnny and look back at Seonghwa. “I didn’t say I was going to fuck either of you tonight, actually. You’ve both shown up here unannounced, uninvited.”

“But definitely wanted.” Johnny butts in. When you throw another frown his way, he lifts his hands in surrender. “Seonghwa suggested the idea of us together with you. He said you might be into it. After he coerced me into telling him that I thought you were hot and then that we’ve been together, then he admitted he’s been having sex with you too. I probably would have been a bit angrier, made more of a scene, if it wasn’t for my suspicions.”

You wait for him to explain.

“I knew I didn’t leave that many hickeys. I barely touched your ass, yet you had light bruises sometimes. Just small things that I brushed off, thinking maybe I just didn’t remember exactly right where I’d kissed you, how rough I’d been with you.” Johnny shakes his head. “But as soon as he said that, then it all made sense.”

“She likes a little bit of pain,” Seonghwa says then. His cold fingers slip under the edge of your sleeve, circling like a band of ice around your wrist. “Don’t you, kitten?”

You turn to him and bite your lip, struggle not to simper at the cool look in his eyes.

“He told me that you’ve told him about us, about some of the things we’ve done. “ Johnny tutted and shook his head, taking a step closer to you and Seonghwa. “And he told me more, like the fantasies you’ve mentioned to him. And how hot he was sure you would find it if we fucked you together. Is he right about that?”

You nod.

“Do you want us to take you to bed?” Seonghwa asks you. You don’t even care if they wait for the answer, but they do, so you nod. It’s Johnny who sweeps you into his arms, planting a firm kiss on your lips, and he leads you away, navigating through your home to the bedroom, as if he’s done this dozens of times before instead of just the once.

“How’s this going to work?” You ask as you step into your bedroom, Johnny kissing at your neck from behind, and Seonghwa steps around you to take a look at your room. “Like is one of you going to watch? Is one of you going to fuck me while the other gets a blowjob or something?”

“How do you want it, baby?” Johnny asks.

You whine, a bit unsure about how you want it. You’ve fantasized about it so many different ways, now that you’re presented with it in reality, you don’t know how to choose.

Seonghwa sits down on your bed, making himself quite comfortable. He spreads his legs and pats his thigh. “Come sit, kitten. Let Daddy help you.”

Johnny snorts, but says nothing as he releases you.

You come over to Seonghwa and he looks so comfortable on your bed, that you just want to have him hold you, to bury yourselves in your sheets. He looks so soft though you know he’s not usually so soft with you. But you just want to touch him.

It feel strange to settle down over him, to straddle his lap while Johnny stands behind you, his gaze so intent on the pair of you that you can feel it burning against your back where Seonghwa’s hands move to rest on your hips.

You twist your hands in the bottom of his hoodie, and whisper the plea, “Kiss me.”

“Anything for you,” He murmurs, and his lips are soft when they meet yours. The kiss doesn’t stay so soft and innocent for long, very quickly Seonghwa pushes forward, turning things steamy as his tongue meets yours and your hands dip beneath the edge of his hoodie. Your cool fingertips on his warm stomach, and he moans.

Seonghwa allows you to pull his hoodie up, exposing more and more of his stomach and chest. He chuckles when he pulls back to let you drag it over his head, and he shakes it loose of his shoulders, down his arms, and he throws it into a pile on your floor.

You hungrily kiss him, your hands on his chest, his shoulders, delving into his hair, touching him everywhere while he kisses you senseless. Seonghwa’s hands fall to your thighs, and he squeezes, urging you to move on him.

You moan and shift, rolling your hips forward, finding his cock bulging the front of his pants for you to grind against.

“Yeah, like that, kitten.” Seonghwa’s lips drift to your cheek, his hands keeping you moving against him in a steady rhythm and you’re not sure when the room got so hot, but suddenly you can feel the heat flickering like flames on the bareness of your arms and legs

“That’s enough,” Johnny growls, suddenly right behind you, and you open your eyes as he wraps his hands around Seonghwa’s wrists, forcing his hands away from your body. “I’m the oldest, I had her first. I call the shots, kid.”

Seonghwa glowers up at Johnny and shakes his hands away only to lean back, still staring up at the older man. “Make your move then, Suh. Show me how much better than me you are.”

You don’t know what expression Johnny sends back, but Seonghwa averts his gaze at last, dropping his attention down to your chest still hidden by your shirt, your nipples obvious through the thin material. An instant later, Johnny’s hands are on your tits, touching them through the material, and you lean your head back and let out a barely contained moan.

Seonghwa watches, his gaze hot and judgmental, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he sees the way Johnny’s fingers have you pressing your chest into his touch, but still you roll your hips down against Seonghwa’s bulge.

Johnny leans over you, his fingers under your chin to tilt your mouth up against his, and he kisses you slowly, opening your mouth gently and tasting you, teasing his tongue against yours until you’re begging him for more. His fingers curl in the fabric over your chest, and he murmurs a soft and quick sorry, then you hear a sound, feel a tug and a burst of cold.

“Fuck, kitten, you’re so beautiful.” Seonghwa moans, his hands fly to your chest, now exposed as Johnny drops the shreds of your shirt. Seonghwa twists your nipples sharply between his thumbs and forefingers, and the sound you make has both men latching onto you.

Johnny kisses you deeper, Seonghwa buries his face against your chest, kissing your breasts, your collarbones, the base of your throat and over your shoulders. He traces his tongue down between your breasts as Johnny rubs circles against your jaw with his thumb and works magic with his kiss.

You whine and buck your hips, begging into the kiss, “Please, please.”

“Please what, baby?” Johnny asks.

“Can I cum? Please make me cum?” You swivel your hips down on Seonghwa’s clothed cock.

Johnny says, “Of course, baby” at the same time that Seonghwa says, “Absolutely fucking not, kitten.”

You want it so bad, and it’s hard to know what to do when you have both of them giving you contrasting answers. So you just sit still in Seonghwa’s lap and whine like a hopeless kitten for your Daddy. You reach for him, dragging your fingertips down his chest, his abs, down to the waistband of his pants, and when you start to dip your hand inside, Seonghwa jerks back.

“No.”

You shiver at the tone of his voice, so dominant and in control.

“What? You don’t want her to touch you?” Johnny asks. “What’s wrong with you? She gives great head. Don’t you, baby?”

All you can do is nod for him.

“I know how good she is at giving head,” Seonghwa snarks back at Johnny. “She’s blown me plenty of times. I also know that she prefers when I give her head over you. She’s told me so. Says you eat pussy like a messy dog cleaning off a plate.”

Your eyes go wide. You can’t believe he just said that. Yeah, you had said something similar to that once, but only because Johnny had been really lazy about eating you out, clearly not into it then, and you’d ended up faking your orgasm just to get him to fuck you instead. But it was only once.

You twist in Seonghwa’s lap, reaching for Johnny’s waist. “Johnny, no. No, I didn’t say that. You’re great at eating me out.”

Seonghwa’s eye roll was nearly audible. The surprise slap of his hand against your ass was definitely audible; it rang through the room so loudly that you almost heard it before you felt it.

“She’s a liar, this little slut of ours.” Seonghwa tells Johnny. Then to you he says, “You know what happens to naughty, lying sluts, kitty?”

His hand is still warm on your bottom. Yes, you know what happens.

Johnny watches as you slide back off Seonghwa’s lap, standing beside the bed as Seonghwa repositions himself so he can bend you over his knee to spank you. The elder of the two watches in absolute silence as you bend over, your ass in the air.

“She’s good for me. Is she this good for you?” Seonghwa asks as he tugs your shorts down to your knees. He tuts when it’s revealed that you weren’t wearing any panties beneath. “Such a slut. It’s like she knew we were coming, dressed like this and without any panties, all clean and pretty for us.” He trails his fingers ever so lightly over your wet, bare pussy lips. “Johnny hyung, wouldn’t you agree?”

Johnny groans, and Seonghwa strokes between your legs again.

You wiggle and whine until his hand comes down on your ass again.

“Stay still. Count for me, kitten. You know Daddy’s rules.” Seonghwa tenderly touches the warmth of your ass. He’s done this with you a few times now, slowly growing rougher and rougher with you after that first night, testing the limits he can take you to. So far, he has yet to find your limit.

You hear the faint whistle of his hand moving through the air. Feel the sharp burn as it shoots through your body.

“One,” You sigh.

The sweeping burn of pleasure through your veins again, the origin his handprint on your bottom.

“Two.” You twist your head to the side, glancing back over your shoulder to see Johnny, his eyes slightly unfocused as he watches Seonghwa bring his hand down again. “Three!” You moan this time. Johnny licks his lips, shifts a bit, and when Seonghwa’s hand comes down a fourth time, when you feel yourself beginning to drip with wetness, Johnny’s hand falls to his cock.

By the time Seonghwa reaches ten, you feel breathless, so turned on that you struggle to not grind your clit forward against his thigh. Johnny’s openly touching himself, his dick the first to make an appearance this evening as he runs his hand over his length, making slow work of it.

You’re absolutely dripping when Seonghwa dips his fingers between your thighs, tracing the pads of his fingers ever so lightly, yet they come away soaked, glistening wet.

“I think she’s ready.” He says, looking up at Johnny. His gaze flicks briefly down to Johnny’s hand jerking himself off, then he looks to his face again. “Do you want me to show you how to truly eat her out?”

You bury your face, whining with need. You just want to be touched, to be allowed to cum, to be completely and totally taken apart by one or both of these two men that you’ve found yourself in bed with on multiple occasions.

Seonghwa lets you up, and you stand on shaky legs, your ass burning as he lightly pushes you toward Johnny. “Make your choice, sweetheart. His cock or my tongue?”

“Can’t I have both?” You reach out both hands, one coming up against Johnny’s wrist, the other brushing Seonghwa’s cheek. “I want both of you. I thought that was the purpose of this evening? I want your tongue, daddy. You’re so good with it, it drives me wild. But Johnny, fuck, your cock feels so good inside me. You’re so big and thick, it’s like absolutely nothing else I’ve ever had. You both make me cum so good, so hard. I want you to be rough, fuck me, use me, ruin me. Are there any options for that?”

Seonghwa licks his lips, his tongue dancing lewdly for a moment, and then he grins, “I think there could be an option for that.” He looks past you to Johnny. “I want to have her sit on my face. You can fuck her pretty mouth like you were so eager to do.”

Johnny bares his teeth and says, “You might dominate her, boss her around when it’s just the two of you, but I’m not your submissive or even your equal, kid.” He slips San arm around your waist, drawing your body back against his, and you feel his hard erection against your back, the wet tip leaking against your skin. “Baby, you want your pussy filled, don’t you. And no one fills you better than me, right?”

You moan, twist your head to the side as you squeeze your eyes shut. You won’t admit to anything, and you can’t look them in the eyes even if it is true, even if you were saying it just moments ago.

“Her wet, dripping cunt is mine.” Johnny slides a hand down your belly, over your mound, slips two fingers between your lips down there to tease at your clit then dip back further and inserts them right inside you.

You moan, your knees almost buckle, but his arm around your waist keeps you from falling.

Johnny pumps his fingers slowly, his head bent low to press his lips to your ear. “Look at him. I want you to look at him watching me touch you. I should fuck you raw, baby. Leave you dripping my cum, ruined, laid out for him but still all mine. Would you like that?” Johnny’s teeth scrape lightly over your shoulder.

You shiver, tracing your hands down and over your body. One hand you move down to hold at his wrist, to feel his forearm flexing as he fucks you slowly on his fingers. The other hand comes up to your chest and you touch your breasts.

Seonghwa rises a moment later, unable to stand it any longer. But he doesn’t remain on his feet for long, dropping to his knees before you, he drags Johnny’s hand away, leaving your pussy hungry for his fingers, but Seonghwa just stares up at you as he sinks in, flicking his tongue against your clit.

It takes you another moment to realize it’s not actually you he’s staring at but Johnny, his challenge evident in his eyes.

Johnny’s cock twitches against you, and he groans. “I said she’s mine.”

Seonghwa hums against your lips down there, making your insides twist into a knot, and your grasp at his hands situated on your hips. He smirks and leans back just a bit. “I don’t know about that. She’s pretty weak for me. Maybe she’s actually been mine all along.”

You feel hot, both of them put their hands on you as they argue, both laying a claim to you, and you love the possessiveness. You want to feel their teeth on your skin, their cocks both pushing into you, jealousy leaving you a ruined mess of cum and sweat and so much pleasure when it’s over.

Johnny drags a finger up your spine, causing you to shiver intensely, but then Seonghwa’s warm mouth is back on you, his lips sucking around your clit. You feel your eyes rolling back, and you lean back against Johnny with Seonghwa’s hands still holding tight to your hips.

“Daddy!” You roll your hips down against Seonghwa’s face.

“Pretty baby girl,” Johnny hums, kissing your temple. “Do you want me to fuck you now?”

His voice is so low that Seonghwa probably can’t hear it. You can barely hear him over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, but you bite back another moan and nod.

When one of his fingers presses down between your cheeks, venturing toward your pussy, you roll your hips again, and a moan breaks through your lips. “Johnny, please.” You close your eyes, almost whining.

There’s a sharp pinch on your thigh and then a hand moves up your body, easily reaching your throat. Seonghwa.

“Gonna moan his fucking name when it’s my tongue making you feel so good?” He asks, his fingers tightening so sweetly around your throat. You try to swallow but under the pressure of his palm it’s tight. His thumb presses in and you feel the waning. “Moan for me, kitten. Come on.”

“Daddy!” Your voice is barely more than a croak, but it satisfies Seonghwa. Until you moan Johnny’s name half a second later as he stuffs you with his cock, filling your pussy up in one deep thrust while Seonghwa was distracted.

It feels so good to have him use you so roughly, fucking you from behind while Seonghwa chokes you.

A fucked-out smile starts to work its way onto your lips.

Johnny moves fast, hard, and deep, guiding your hips back to meet his thrusts. Seonghwa licks at your clit again, his hot lips kissing over your hips and inner thighs, but when his mouth is back on you, when each of Johnny’s thrusts pushes you forward against Seonghwa’s hot tongue, your body feels overheated, tingles swirling in your belly until one good thrust, one sweet suck from Seonghwa unleash it all.

“Oh god, yeah, Daddy! Johnny!” You cry out, one hand flying to Seonghwa’s hair, the other curling around the back of Johnny’s neck as they both carry you through your orgasm.

They both slow, but neither of them stop.

Seonghwa lets his fingers take over from his tongue as he stands. He catches your chin between his fingers and holds your gaze as he licks his lips in the most over-the-top sexy way. His gaze slides from yours to Johnny, and you gasp in surprise when Seonghwa jerks you away from Johnny, spinning you around and pressing your back down against your bed.

He covers you with his body, and you pull him closer, just wanting to feel full, not caring which one of them it is. Seonghwa slides in quickly to feel how wet you are, and you’re instantly clenching around him, nearing a second orgasm from this constant stimulation you’ve been experiencing. He slides his hands up your thighs, pushes them up toward your chest, letting him reach even deeper inside you.

The mattress shifts, and there’s Johnny’s kneeling beside your face. His big dick is right there, still glistening with your wetness. It takes no prompting from him to have you leaning up on your elbows to take him in your mouth.

You sink into the feeling of being stuffed on both ends, the rhythm of sex, rocking motions. The pleasure swells inside you, taking over completely, swallowing you down into the depths of it until you’re drowning in the headspace.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when Johnny hits the back of your throat, when Seonghwa fills you so deeply you can feel him in your gut. Johnny rocks his hips against your face and you just take it all, gagging and choking, dripping saliva and tears and sweat and your wetness.

“This--” Johnny groans, pulling out for a second to tease the head of his dick against your tongue before you swallow him down again, too hungry for it to let him go for long. He clears his throat and tries again, “This is so good. Better even.”

Seonghwa moans and he reaches for one of your breasts. “You normally feel absolutely heavenly, kitten. But, shit, Suh, you’re right. She’s so wet, so horny for the two of us. Taking us so well, sweetheart.”

You moan in response, loving the praise.

“What if we let a third guy fuck you too, someone else who we know would fuck you just as well as us.” Johnny groans, thrusting down your throat, his fingers tight in your hair. “He’d fill your pretty ass while Seonghwa fucks your pussy and you choke on my cock. She’d be so pretty with all her holes filled. Probably feel even better too, be more of a little slut for us. All ours.”

“Fuck, yeah, she would be.” Seonghwa holds your thighs, his hips slapping against your skin. He groans, “You’d be so fucking tight, kitten. Filled with two cocks, so tight and warm. And imagine how full you’d feel, you always talk about wanting to feel full.”

You do. You so want to feel full. If you were at a point in life where you felt you could risk getting pregnant, if you felt you meant enough to either Johnny or Seonghwa that you would risk it, you would love to have them truly fill you.

Seonghwa’s hand comes down sharp against your thigh, making you moan around Johnny’s cock deep in your throat. His thrusts are growing slower, more intent less about prolonging the pleasure now and more about just getting there.

You squeeze your thighs at Seonghwa’s hips, suck along Johnny’s cock as you pull back only to have him fucking in deeper with his hand twisted in your locks. You roll your hips up trying to get Seonghwa there. You choke around Johnny’s cock.

When you close your eyes and all you’re left with is the pleasure, the sound of your heartbeat muffled in your ears, your pulse vibrating in every last cell of your being, the moans of your two lovers sounding like the sweetest song.

Seonghwa moans deeply, pushing in as deep as he can, his fingers pinch your clit, pinch and roll one of your nipples, and another orgasm explodes inside you so intense that you don’t know how your body holds itself together.

Rolling and drowning, caught in the ocean of them. Crashing waves against your body, and you just let them carry you, sweep you away, drown you and ruin you all at once.

You don’t know when Johnny leaves your mouth, only that suddenly you can suck in lungfuls of breath again.

“I’m gonna cum.” Seonghwa grunts, still rolling his hips, his cock in his hand now, and you struggle to sit up a bit. You reach for your tits, push them together, and give him a place to aim as he bites his lip and rolls his head back and bucks forward as he cums.

It’s so beautiful to see his pretty cock shooting cum on your chest. The way it leaks down his length has you wanting to lean forward and clean him up, but before you can, Johnny’s there, licking at your breasts, his hands gentle on your waist as he eases you back onto your back.

You curl your fingers against his neck, lifting your chest to his lips, moans spilling from your lips as easily as breathing. It’s second nature to part your thighs to make room for him, and Johnny takes his place. You’re so tired by now, your legs ache from the way that Seonghwa had you, but Johnny’s hands now move gently from your waist to your thighs, back up and down.

He sucks hickeys on your chest, taking level slow thrusts, his breath hot where it touches the wet marks he’s left behind. You dig your nails into his shoulders, keen his name until Seonghwa’s lips cover yours, silencing you.

Johnny goes entirely silent when he cums, pulling back just enough that you feel his cum bubbling hot against your clit, dripping down over your pussy but not inside you.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your legs around his hips. Johnny rests his head on your chest while Seonghwa kisses you breathless, slowing it down after a moment until the kiss is little more than just your lips resting against each others.

The three of you stay like this for a while until Seonghwa’s breathing goes quite sleepy. Johnny pulls away from you, but he doesn’t stray far. He picks up the scraps of your shirt and wipes his cock and stomach, your thighs and in between your legs.

Seonghwa groans and flops over onto his back, and Johnny kneels between his legs, still holding the shirt. He’s tender, maintaining eye contact with Seonghwa as he carefully runs the remains of your shirt over Seonghwa’s stomach and his cock. The younger of the two sucks in a breath, looking up at him, but he doesn’t say anything.

You sniffle and turn onto your side, reaching for a pillow to hold to your chest.

Johnny looks at you.

“Baby, how do you feel?” He tosses aside the rag, sliding over to wrap you in his arms. “Was that good for you?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is a croak from the abuse your throat has suffered. “Very good.”

Seonghwa touches your throat lightly with his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was so good. I loved all of it.” You release the pillow in favor of curling up against him instead. “Trust me, Daddy. I can handle whatever the two of you want to do with me. Just be sweet with me afterwards and I’m all yours.”

Johnny snorts, fitting himself right behind you. His fingers ghost over your cheek, down your arm until he slots his fingers between yours. “You’re ours. Our sweet.” His lips press against the back of your shoulder. “Competing for your affection is futile, isn’t it? You’d rather have us both in turns?”

You nod. “Want you both. The day you both came into my life was the best day ever. Just wish I didn’t have to keep it a secret so I won’t lose my job.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You have us, why would you ever need a job?” Seonghwa says. “You be our sweet as honey girl, and we’ll be your sugar daddies.”

Well, now that would be a hard offer to turn down, you think as they both scatter more kisses on your cheeks and shoulders, showering you with affection as moonlight shines through the sheer curtains over your window, casting everything in a wonderful, perfect, and dreamy light.

a/n: park seonghwa is an absolute menace, too sexy for his own good and is singlehandedly ruining my life and turning me into an atiny. I was talking with the fantastic and amazing @vernon-van-chwe about him and also about johnny because seonghwa currently has that whole cherry bomb era johnny look and it inspired this whole long mess of a piece of smut. it was definitely not supposed to be this long (which i say like every time i post something) but seriously, I was hoping to get it done that day and now it’s been like a week..... so yeah

anyway, i hope you enjoyed it. if there are any atinys reading this who are new to my blog! hi, nice to meet you I’m Bea an nctzen who really usually only writes for nct/wayv but I was truly inspired by the god park seonghwa. likes, reblogs, comments (through messages or tags or whatever way) are always and forever appreciated 😘😘😘

#nct #nct smut #ateez #ateez smut #seonghwa smut #johnny smut

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chroniclesinlacuna · 3 years

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Oh oh oh may I ask for "12. things you said when you thought I was asleep" for Felix and Merry? I love Felix so much and haven't read fics with him in a while :)

I am so sorry this is so late! But, thank you so much for the prompt!! I had a lot of fun with it - and...it might’ve gotten away from me a little.

Pinky Promises (read on ao3)

Words: ~1.7k Rating: G

Mason doesn't even bother to look over at him when he speaks up - which, Felix is pretty sure is the most insulting part about it.

"This your biweekly or bimonthly freak out?"

Felix pauses halfway out the window, squinting at the man laid out on the tiling of the roof, staring up at stars. "...I do not freak out every other week. Or every other month."

"They're the same thing."

Felix blinks for a moment, tilting his head, before huffing and dropping down heavily next to Mason. "I hate that."

That gets him a hum, but nothing more, and Felix watches the swirls of smoke unfurling from Mason's cigarette dissipate into the cool night air for a long, quiet moment, his fingers tapping against his knees where they're pulled up to his chest.

Mason lasts another five minutes before he sighs softly, putting out the cigarette on the tile and tucking his hands behind his head. His eyes are closed, but Felix knows he has his full attention.

"So. Where's Merry?" Mason starts it off - he always does. He may snip and grumble about talking about feelings but he never turned Felix away, and he never let Felix stew too long. Something tight unclenches in Felix's stomach and he manages a weak smile, even if Mason doesn't see it.

"Asleep." And oh, how it had sucked to slip out of that bed - pull away from where he’d been wrapped up in Merry. They didn’t get many nights like that, what with Merry having the sleep schedule of a particularly overworked college student still (Felix did occasionally worry that the man was just, one day, going to collapse due to lack of sleep, but Merry keeps insisting that he’s fine, which is concerning in and of itself) and Felix just not needing all that much sleep. Lining both of those up took work, and planning and...and was so worth it, when they managed.

But tonight he just...hadn’t been able to settle, mind going a mile a minute in the dark and the quiet. So, he’d waited until Merry’s breathing had evened out - waited until the arms wrapped around him had settled and relaxed enough for him to slip out without waking him. If he was lucky, he’d be back before he woke up, and it’d be fine.

“And?”

Oh. Right, Mason.

Felix sighs softly, picking at the tear that’s starting to show in the knee of his sweats. “I dunno. Head wouldn’t shut up.”

“About?”

“You know, one of these days you’re gonna have to like. Actually use sentences.” That gets Mason cracking one eye just to glare at him. “Or you could just. Use less, apparently. Go back to one word questions.”

He gets nothing.

Any other day, he’d wait Mason out, if only to poke and prod the bear a little more. But tonight…

“What if I fuck it up?” It’s out before he can fully think about how to lead up to it. How to phrase it, how to...how to deal with it. It’s been pinging around his brain all night - all week, all month, since...since this all started, really, when he actually lets himself think about it.. Because that’s what it boils down to, doesn’t it?

And Mason’s still quiet, but Felix can feel his eyes on him now and as much as he wants his friend’s advice here, he also doesn’t really want to meet that gaze. Doesn’t want to see...whatever might be there. Pity? Derision? Some mix of the two?

Probably not. It’s Mason. His friend. His friend who may not like relationships but who has been on Felix’s side with this from the first instant Felix himself thought it might be serious. He wouldn’t.

But the idea’s still there, scraping at the back of his mind, like the rest of this mess, so he looks back up at the stars instead.

“You talk to him?” Oh, hey look, an actual sentence. Before he can say anything, Mason’s prodding him sharply in the side, and Felix just shakes his head, the laugh he tries for stalling out before it can bubble up, but damn does it try.

“No, no I haven’t. What would I even say?” Oh god, what would he say?

The anxiety should probably be giving him horrible suggestions, but honestly? He’s just drawing a blank, and that’s...almost worse. He can take bad, and stupid, and wrangle it back to normal. He can do that, as long as he has something to work with.

But this? He has nothing. There is no conversation he could have with Merry about this, because just imagining it opens a blank in his mind that he can’t see the end of.

Well, no, scratch that, he can see an end. An end to it all, if he does fuck it up. He can see that just fine. But can’t see...can’t see a way around it. Can’t find a string of words to twist and turn to keep it from happening.

There’s another sharp prod to his side and he squawks, snapping back to the present. “Stop that!”

“Stop getting lost in your head then.”

He glares and scoots a couple inches further away, like that’ll do anything.

Mason snorts at him, settling back down, “Why do you think you have to say anything? Just start the conversation. See where it goes.” There’s a pause, one that Felix can’t quite parse before Mason’s suddenly getting up, and Felix frowns up at him, too confused to really ask why-

“Look, Merry’s a dick, but he’s not stupid. Just try it.”

“Hey!” A voice calls from the window.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Mason shrugs, lighting up another cigarette as he heads for the edge of the roof, “What, it was a compliment.”

“Only somewhat, jerk.” Mason snickers at him, waving a half-hearted salute before stepping off the roof to escape what is likely to be a very awkward conversation. “Also, Nate asked you stop doing that!”

“Nate can ask me himself!” Comes the response from the ground before Felix hears him head back into the warehouse.

Maybe if Felix sits really, really still, this will all just...go away. It’s the only thought that keeps him rooted to his spot as he hears Merry finish climbing through the window to come sit beside him.

It’s quiet then, the two of them just...breathing in the night air. And Felix aches to go back to bed - to breathe in the dark, and the quiet, and put all of this back to the back of his mind where it can’t get in the way, where it can’t hurt.

“Hey you…” Merry finally breaks the silence, gently leaning against his shoulder - the way he does when he’s testing if Felix wants him there, the way he does when he’s not sure. And Felix can’t have that.

He can have his freak out, but he never wants Merry to think he’s not wanted in his space, so he pulls his legs up to his chest again, and slumps against Merry’s side. And there’s a startled breath for a moment before Merry’s humming and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, just like Felix wanted.

“So.” Just. Start the conversation. He can do that. “How much of that did you hear?” And Felix isn’t really sure he even knows what he wants that answer to be.

“Enough.” Merry says, taking a moment to breathe in through his nose in that way that Felix knows means he’s actually thinking about what to say next. He does it a lot more than he thinks people realize.

Quiet again, as Merry thinks, and as Felix lets himself relax. He still doesn’t have a view of how this is going to go, but the fact that it’s going regardless is slightly less terrifying than he’d thought it’d be. Not by much, mind you, but enough.

“...You know. Tina’s put out a ban on any calls after two am that are not an actual emergency, because I kept calling her, in a panic.”

Felix pauses, blinking slightly and pulling back just enough to get a look at him. “Over what?” He can’t see it. For all that Merry’s pretty damn emotional, he’s not...he’s never uncontrolled, like that. It’s a...a control thing, Felix is pretty sure.

(But, then, he didn’t see what happened in the sewers, after he passed out. He only has Adam’s word on that. And he doesn’t want to see that.)

Merry gives him a lopsided, sheepish smile, “Over how I was certain I was screwing this whole thing up.”

What? How in the hell could Merry be the one screwing up anything with this, this is the best relationship Felix has ever had, and they’re still learning each other so of course there’s going to be some growing pains, but nothing that he should be worried about and-

And Merry’s laughing at him. Felix huffs, gently shoving his shoulder before settling back against it, “What’re you laughing about?”

“You just had a full rant getting prepared in your head, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, of course I did - how could you think you’re messing this up?”

“How could you?”

Because- well. Because…

Oh.

Felix groans, shifting enough to bury his face against Merry’s shoulder, reaching out to gently thump Merry’s chest when he feels Merry laughing again. “Shut up…”

“Sorry, sorry...it’s just...I get it, okay? I get it.” There’s a whisper of a kiss pressed to his forehead, and the sigh that slips out of him at the touch is soft, and he can feel his body sag with it.

“We’re a bit of a mess, huh?” He mutters.

“Mm. A little. But we’ll make it work.”

“Promise?”

Merry jostles him enough to get him to look up, even if he ends up crossing his eyes a little at the hand in front of him, pinky finger extended. The grin he feels spread across his face is so wide it hurts, but he’s laughing - really laughing - for the first time all night as he links their pinkies together, leaning up to press a kiss to Merry’s mouth, feeling the whisper of “Promise,” against his lips.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #f hauville #agent m #twc detective #my detectives #merry roka #my writing #long post #marionxfelix #kmabe #thanks again for the prompt!!

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years

Text

Book Four - Part 13

Trick breaks free. Then the real fight begins.

Tws for torture, possession, and blood.

Part 13 - Chase

Anonymous asked: Remember Trick, Chase. In the battle against your own mind, only one person can win. Don't let it, let him, destroy you.

“Here you go, my darling.”

Shifting and whispers in the bed beside him. His eyes slide slowly open, sticky with sleep.

“Nobody will take you away,” Anti is purring to Dapper, clipping tiny cameras to his shirt and the pocket of his pants. “I’ll be watching the three of you all day. Oh, my Trickster’s awake.”

He leans over to kiss Chase’s head, scratching at his scalp. “At least you never cause me any problems. Be good. I’ll be back later.”

“Anti,” croaks Chase, rubbing at his eyes.

“What?”

“I’m really hungry.”

“You eat a lot more than Dapper, you know. But then again, he doesn’t age. He’s low-maintenance. Even the scars tend to fade off him, and he goes all pretty and soft again.” Anti pauses, glancing around the room. “I’ll leave the door unlocked. You can get something from the kitchen. Just don’t let Dapper out.”

“Can’t you bring me something?” asks Trick weakly. “I’m having a down day.”

He can feel it already, his depression getting a tighter and tighter grip on him. He just wants to be taken care of for a little while. Coaxed out of bed and into the shower, brought food and massaged. He knows someone should be here helping him. Knowing what to do. Anti?

“I have to deal with your miserable brothers today,” murmurs Anti, leaning in to nuzzle together once again. “But in a couple weeks, when we’re out of here, I’ll spoil the pair of you all you want and then some. Give master kiss.”

Trick presses his mouth uncertainly to Anti’s cheek, at least soothed a little by the contact, but all too soon Anti is drawing away.

“Have a good day. I love you, Anti.”

He glitches out of view, turning only to flash Trick a smile before he vanishes into color and smoke.

Trick stares after him, numb.

Dapper’s very deeply asleep beside him, face drawn. Anti was talking to him while he wasn’t even awake.

Trick hides beside his brother’s arm and tries to go back to sleep. There’s a faint noise in the edges of his hearing like a faint whimpering, but it scares him too much to think about. He just wants to be unconscious again.

Battle for his mind. Ha. He can’t fight for anything right now.

“Anti’s fucking right,” he whispers. “I am broken.”

Anonymous asked: You will make it through, Chase Brody. You are a survivor through-and-through, and sure you may have had to change for survival a few times, but you are still the strong man with a protective gun in hand, the protagonist enough to lead the story and still be you after all this time. Jack made you for happy endings. And goddamnit you are going to have one, no matter how long the story takes.

Trick glances over at you, eyes dull. He supposes he has survived a lot. But protagonist - he can’t do that. He can’t be that. Right now, all he can do is lie in this bed.

He’s too scared to get up. He’s scared to check Dapper’s pulse and find it fading. Scared to look out his window and feel himself go weak with the confusion and distress from that body on the porch. Scared to see a calendar and know how long he’s been here, here, here, just… rotting.

Just him in this silent room, with moments of Dapper’s company to comfort him, and then silence again. His stomach groans as though to mock him.

“Happy endings,” he whispers, rubbing at his face.

He dreams of that warm smell on a baby’s head and hands pressed into the muscles of his shoulders. Dreams of a soothing mixture of English, German, and BSL to soothe him. Dreams of strawberry shortcake and cats curling up on his lap, of trees with no monsters in them. He would really like that. He would really like a happy ending.

Anonymous asked: Anti hasn't talked about that night because he doesn't actually want to make things better, Trick. He just wants to make you forget everything he's done to you so he never has to apologise. He does it to all of you. He doesn't want to make things better, he just wants to force you to forget, force you to love him. Anti is an abuser. All he will ever do is hurt you worse.

“That night…” mumbles Trick.

He glances down at the deep, ugly burn scar on his hand.

“If I try to go I think he’ll hurt me worse,” Trick whispers, blinking wetly at that old memory in his hand. “I’m scared of him. So angry. He does so many things when he’s angry…”

He hears faint flickers of screams, sees old traces of blood and injuries, watches Dapper’s hands cry for mercy. He curls down tighter against his brother, shuddering.

“I think he will hurt me again,” he croaks out. “You know, I really think he will. I’m scared. I think maybe I wish I could have a little time away? Like Dok and Red and Blue? But then Anti was only more angry. And he makes my head so confused. But you know, I think you’re right. I think maybe he’s always going to be someone who hurts me. I don’t know why we make him so, so angry, but yeah, I think maybe he’s being mean.”

Trick’s eyes well up with tears - and, for a second, a flash of his old ferocity, like the bitter, hurting Trick who crouched against the windowsill in that house near the sea in Norway.

“He makes me do things I don’t want to do and he hurts me and my brothers. Why does he do that? I’m trying to be good. He’s - he’s being a dick. He really is. I think maybe he hurt Dok really really bad.”

Tears begin to drizzle down his cheeks. He turns away from you, panting.

“Fuck him. What the hell? I don’t know what’s so wrong with me, but Dok is sweet. Dapper’s sweet. This is… oh, holy shit, this is all so, so fucked up…”

Anonymous asked: Is it really 'stopping the pain' if it was caused by him in the first place, Trick? Is it really 'stopping the pain' if he's made you forget nearly everything you loved, destroyed and hurt your family, and made you spill the blood of all those innocent lives? Are his lies enough for you?

Trick wipes at his face, feeling pathetic and low.

“He used to stop all the pain,” he says. “And I would float in that haze for days, feeling good, feeling okay, with just these moments where I got the sense that something was totally wrong. Like I was living a life I wasn’t supposed to, cause some god stuck me in the wrong skin or something. But he made it stop hurting. And when we hung out, I’d feel happy and we’d have fun. He’s funny, did you know that? He’s really funny and he can be sweet too. Cause when he’s feeling fond of you, all he wants to do is have you close to him and give you things you want. He glows when you praise him and treat him soft. I thought maybe it was the two of us, right? Like we made each other happy. That’s what I thought.”

He stares out the window at the trees and the golden light of a world that feels miles away.

“But I can’t watch him hurt my brothers anymore,” he whispers. “I don’t think he realizes that that’s what really destroys me. He thinks if he just treats me nice, that’ll be everything I need. Why… why would he lock me away like this? And hurt them like that? Didn’t we do our best? For months now, months and months? Didn’t I love him? All I ever wanted was to make him happy. Now he tells me he has to take me away from the people who make me happy for his sake.

He closes his eyes. A sliver of that faraway sunlight touches him, running over his cheek.

“I don’t think this is going to be enough for me. I can’t stay in this room much longer. And I keep thinking ‘well, surely he won’t make me a prisoner forever’ - and then I look over at him.”

Dapper’s mouth is parted with sleep, his face ashy and hollow. Trick manages to sit up for the first time in more than twelve hours to pull him into his lap and rock him, bent low over his thin little body.

Anonymous asked: Even if it doesn't look like the abuse you've suffered in the past, Anti is emotionally abusing and gaslighting you constantly. The feeling you have that you don't understand anything that's going on and don't know the truth? That's caused by the level of gaslighting you're going through. Being less confident, not feeling like the person you used to be, like everything you do is wrong, making excuses for him, isolation from your family, denying actions you /saw/ him do. It's gaslighting. Abuse.

“Denying actions I saw him do?”

Trick stares out the window, picking at his lip. Pick, pick, picking at his mouth until the blood seeps against his fingernails.

He sighs and shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head like he’s trying to throw the thoughts off. After a few minutes, his discomfort overcomes his exhaustion and he gets up to use the bathroom, leaving Dapper gently propped up against the pillows like a time-traveling Sleeping Beauty.

Trick comes back paler than he was before and sits down hard on the side of the bed, eyes glazed over.

“Anti chained Red and Dapper in the bathtub for a whole night cause they tried to sneak him his Haldol. That’s why Dapper’s arm is busted. Then he told me he’d kill Dok in our sleep if I didn’t take off his necklaces.”

Anonymous asked: When an abuser constantly insists that they love you, your mind learns to rationalize that any abuse is excusable because "they must love me!" in order to keep mental pain at bay. You learn to rationalize that abuse and love can ever co-exist for the sake of your own heart. But the abuser does not love you. Love and abuse cannot co-exist. 'Family' or not, Anti is an abuser, Trick. A violent, physical one. Eventually youll have to choose between real love, & an endless cycle of excusing abuse.

“No, oh, no,” whispers Trick, grabbing at his head. It hurts! There is a wound opening up inside his head, a mallet pounding down against something deeply sealed, a fire burning at his memories. “No, we did love each other. He’s being so horrible, but he… loves us. No, he doesn’t. He loves me? How could he treat me so well when things are good if he doesn’t? He wants to keep me. He loves me.”

But this cycle - this cycle!

He hears a girl laughing. She smells like good cooking and library books. He’s the one making her laugh and it lights his chest up. He presses his mouth to the soft skin of her cheek and she smiles and touches his hand. They say goodbye. Anti slaps him so hard he crashes to the ground. He hears Blue screaming for him to stop, but Anti doesn’t listen. Trick forgot by the next morning.

Trick clutches his head. His fingers intertwine with green hair. “No, no, no. What is he making me forget? He’s - what - what is he trying to turn me into? Please, please get him for me, tell him I need him to clear my head. No - no, but he makes me forget, or - or these are just nightmares. These aren’t real. These are just… just…”

Anonymous asked: It wasn't a nightmare. Don't let him control your head. Don't let him win, Trick. He's been hypnotising you, in your head nearly every single day. Don't you remember when you hated it? When you would cry every time someone was possessed, when him being in your head nearly caused you to kill yourself? Anti doesn't "make the pain stop", he just erases it, destroys it, destroys your sense of self and your freedom over your own mind.

“No, come on,” begs Trick, shaking his head, feeling himself beginning to shake. He needs to lie back down again. He hides under the covers, still holding his skull. “No, that’s not true. I don’t want it to be true. I’m scared. I can’t fight him if he’s really like that. He’s going to hurt me and my family. What do I do? Oh, no, no! He’ll get in my head again - I’m going to forget again and just keep letting him hurt us! Dapper - Dapper’s been stuck in one room for months and months, I have to - I can’t protect anyone, no, he’ll make me forget. He controls me. He’s right, I’m just a fucking puppet. I don’t control my own thoughts anymore…”

Anonymous asked: I'm curious about something, Trick. I'm not even sure if you still remember but there was a girl who Anti captured who you guarded and were told to kill when you all left the area... but you didn't, and you let her go instead. Did she say something to you? What made you directly disobey Anti that day?

Trick looks up at you, astonished. He bites down on his nail, turning away.

“You’re right… shit, what happened?”

Flowers and plants bursting from the earth. Blue’s eyes full of despair moments before glazing over with Anti’s shadow. In the shed, the girl looked back at him, her eyes raised.

“I think she said she wanted to go home to her family,” says Trick. “Or did I imagine that? That she said she had a family to go home to, a family that was looking for her and scared for her? She was all covered up in cuts. Anti used to make Dok do that to people. It was terrible. He would go so wild as he tortured them, just like Anti wanted, but then afterwards he would just shake and shake and shake for days in silence, stuck as deep in his own head as he put his scalpel into Anti’s prisoners. One time, he became convinced there was some sort of infection inside himself that he needed to cut out. I found him in the bathroom, completely delusional, completely incoherent, his scalpel stuck inside his thigh, splurting blood everywhere. I don’t think Anti even said anything about it… Dok cut up someone else that next day. It was always cruel, the torture. For Dok, for his victims. I remember that girl all covered in Dapper’s cuts.

“And I guess I thought I could get away with it. We were all leaving, so why not leave her? But then she brought the magicians. It was my fault she took Dok away.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, head aching.

“And Anti kicked Dap, didn’t he?” he asks faintly. “Maybe I was just angry at him. Like the fire. I didn’t set the fire for Dok, I just wanted to tick Anti off. I don’t know if I left the girl alive because I felt sorry for her or because I wanted to tick Anti off. I think sometimes I do. I think sometimes I want to get him back for all the things he’s done to us.”

As the memories come back to him, so too do the feelings, and with the feelings, a glimpse of reality.

Anonymous asked: Henrik, you can gift your necklaces to other people right? What if you gifted the protection over heart and head to Trick? That might be the only way to keep Anti out of him. I don't think he can fully fight it alone.

Blue eyes slide open on the porch.

Crusted and red. Bloodied on one side.

Henrik’s mouth barely parts. He tilts his head back, trying to readjust, and barbed wire pokes into his cheek, sending blood down his lips, tracing the pale outline of his mouth.

His necklaces hang off his throat. His last, solitary comfort and protection. You want them for his brother?

You must ask someone still standing to be selfless. He can’t care for anyone right now and he’s done his share of the sacrifice. Will you see to it that he is buried by the Chevra Kadisha after Anti kills him? It is his last request. His eyes have gone faraway from you, the pupils shrunk, and he stares at you like a hawk who can see the whole world beneath its endless gaze.

Anonymous asked: Who was it that said the line ‘anti tortured my brothers and made them thank him for it’ ? Cos I think u need to remember that one rn

“I guess he did,” answers Trick faintly. “He’s cruel on purpose. It’s not… it’s not his temper. He thinks it’s funny.”

aether-mae asked: Trick, as much as I love seeing you remember the truth, it’s all for naught if you don’t have a way to get free from Anti. We’ve brought you out of your hazes before only for him to drag you right back in. If you can reach enough clarity, please, please, get the fuck away from him (and bring dapper with you), otherwise we’ll be back to square one again

Trick’s eyes flicker. He looks over at Dapper, chewing on his nails.

“Can’t get out of the house with all the cameras,” he murmurs. “Can I? But I’m allowed go downstairs a little. He’s not, but I am. I don’t know how I could… can’t Red and Blue just come get me, please?”

aether-mae asked: Uhh noodle poodle, come back here please. There’s Dark things in the woods. Hopefully they like kittens..

You hear Trick gasp so hard it’s almost a scream.

“Holy shit!” he sobs. “My cat! Where is my cat, oh no, no, no!”

He scrambles to the door, pulling it open. Panting, he stands outside the room and clicks and kisses for his cat, calling for him like he always does. But Noodle doesn’t come running.

“He’s in the woods?” cries Trick. “My kitten is in the woods? Did Anti hurt him? Is he alive? Noodle! Come here, baby, daddy’s here! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. I’m going to throw up. My cat, my baby.”

Anonymous asked: There was also a boy once, Trick. A kid you ran into when you robbed the pharmacy. I know you ran to avoid getting caught but I think partially it was because the name he had was familiar to you, in the same way your crinkle paper is familiar to you. No matter how Anti tries to shut your memories away, certain things always seem to linger.

Trick whimpers, shaking his head. Yes, he remembers. It hurt for a long time. It hurt for a long time even before that happened, before he even had that one name to cling to. There has always been a hole in his heart, for as long as he can remember.

But then he had his cat!

Having something to care for soothed him more than was probably healthy. He’s lost hope that he’ll see his children again, but his cat -

“I have to get my cat,” he cries. “I have to get away from Anti or he’ll leave my cat behind to die.”

And, on shaking legs, he begins his way down those great stairs, calling for Pot Noodle.

Anonymous asked: Anti took your children from you. Anti took your family from you, all of your friends, your life, your happiness. He took it all and filled your brain with false joy and lies all to make you a mimicry of Jack that he can pretend to control. Break free from him, Trick. Protect your real family.

The house is in ruins.

He doesn’t know when or how it happened. Struggles between Anti and his brothers, maybe, or just Anti himself lashing out. Maybe even Noodle caused some of the damage, in those first days where he was waiting for Chase to get out of the upstairs room and look after him. Some of it is just neglect.

The plant by the entryway door has fallen to its side and broken, the dirt spilling out across the filthy hardwood floors. A light is smashed above it and Trick can smell something like rot and spoiled milk in the air. There’s blood on the coat hanger.

Trick passes his hand over the wall, stepping through his broken home.

Here’s Red and Blue’s room. He remembers curling up with Red on the nights when Dok and Blue were both taken away from them. The room was cool and clean, Red meticulous in his organization and precise in his temperature control. They took what little comforts they could when they could hear their twins crying out from upstairs. Today, the room is in ruins. The sheets are torn off the bed and someone has been scratching at the door, leaving nail marks in the side, one hinge busted entirely. The drawers have been ripped open and the lamp is on its side, broken like it was used as a battering ram.

This home was so beautiful when they moved in, or Trick thought it was. And after everything that happened, he thought that maybe, just maybe, they would have a few months of peace and quiet, warm with the California sun and the love between them. It should have been idyllic.

He’s living in a fucking nightmare.

The basement is surprisingly clean, though Noodle’s sand box is full and his empty dishes have been pushed around and flipped in frustration by a hungry cat. But his and Dok’s bed is still untouched.

They would lie together. He would tell Dok about Anti. Dok would tell him about comfort and freedom and the future he wanted. Trick had barely even been able to listen at the time, ensnared in Anti’s power and his own self-delusions.

He puts his hand down on the mattress. His eyes water and spill over.

This was real family.

Anonymous asked: you were his nurse, trick. you were more than that. you loved him more than anti. you loved dok more than anyone. anti is torturing him, your real twin. anti is trying to force you to forget how much you loved him so that you'll be complacent. don't sit down and take it. fight for your family trick. see how horrible anti has treated you all for years and fight it with all your might.

“Dok was my twin,” he croaks out.

They would hold each other through the worst nights, whispering reassurances and secret sedition to each other, taking care of each other on their down days, days of blood and an exhaustion so deep as to eat holes in you. Dok - Henrik - was everything to him, when he had no one else to turn to. How did he ever forget, even for a hazy moment?

“Dok is my family. Anyone who hurts him like this does not belong. Dok is my family and I have to protect him.”

He holds his head up, breathing deep and closing his eyes.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

Anonymous asked: Red, Blue, and Henrik have done it and you can do, Trick. I feel like this is a truth you always knew. Anti is a snake in the rabbit's den. Anti is a falsity haphazardly placed inside the truth of your brotherhood. Anti does not love you, even if he seems 'fond' whenever you're under his control. He doesn't love you, he wants to control you.

Trick runs his hand through his hair, trying to think. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “And soon, he’ll come back and put me under his control again. I’ll be all confused and listless again, forgetting everything that matters so I can be his. I - I have to act right now. Right now, today. Before he tries to destroy me again.”

Anonymous asked: (1) Anti needs you to believe you'd be nothing without him. He needs you all to believe he is in charge and he is special and free from the rules because it fits his world view, where he's the all-powerful, in charge of everything. But you're not truly under his control. Trick, Dapper, Red, any of you, can be free at any time if you stop conforming to Anti's self-imposed world view. Anti treats you like a means to an end, you're only with him to satisfy his needs, to be the person he wants.

“He can force me to believe what he wants,” says Trick, treading back up the stairs. He’s so hungry he can barely think straight, so he’s decided to do what Dok would want him to do and try to find some breakfast while he thinks. “I need help to keep him out of my head, that’s the truth of it. In Singapore, Blue was the only anchor I had who kept me from getting completely lost in his power. Dapper will help me if he’s up to it, I know that now. I’ll get him some food too. I have to figure out what to do. I have to…”

He stares around himself at the prison of his home. The kitchen is absolutely wrecked, the fridge door left open so everything has gone bad. The stench of meat makes him gag. He grabs a tray of stale muffins and fills up a big water bottle before heading back towards his room, sitting shakily down on the bed.

“Need to get out of the house,” he whispers, his eyes flickering around to the cameras in the room. “Need to stop Dok from being his hostage. But he’s always watching. I have to distract him somehow. Or be very, very quick.”

Anonymous asked: Anti said he'll finish Henrik off if Red or Blue even try coming close to the house. You can't rely solely on their help to get you out.

Trick curls in on himself a little, his anxiety spiking.

“That’s why they haven’t come to get me. They can’t even get close. They… they can’t help me at all while Dok’s on the porch. I have to go get him. But I don’t know how. Dap - maybe Dap can reverse something for me when he gets up. Then I could try a couple times over and figure out what works. I’d feel so much safer. I’m pretty scared. Anti’s really going to beat me if he finds out. He’s focused on Dok right now, right? Not reading messages or anything? I think he’s been hunting Red and Blue in the forest.”

He rubs at his face and takes a big bite of his muffin, his mouth flooding with saliva at the relief of having food again. They finished off Dapper’s snacks early yesterday. Trick was getting about ready to try that rotted cheese he had in the drawers. He chugs half the water bottle and touches Dapper’s shoulder, trying to wake him.

“Hey, little man. Let’s see if we can’t get some food in your tummy, yeah? Dap, here I am.”

Anonymous asked: cracked screen cracked screen cracked screen-

For context, the moderator had, at this point, changed the blog icon from a square of glitches to a square of glitches with cracks through it, like a broken phone screen.

“Is it cracked?”

Trick peers at his camcorder, finding the lens intact.

“Looks okay from my side of things, but there’s a lot of different cameras in this house.”

He feels movement in the bed beside him and turns to see Dapper squinting at him, blinking as he comes back to consciousness.

“That is some truly fantastic bedhead, my man.”

Dapper manages a faint smile for him.

“There’s my guy. Come on, bud, let’s get you sitting up and get you some water.”

He pulls Dapper up against the headboard, propping his pillows up behind him. “How are you feeling?”

“Little better,” answers Dapper.

“Here, have some water. Is that true that you don’t eat as much cause you don’t age?”

“I think so,” his brother says. “But I can’t be sure. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten much. Just survive off what Anti brings me. But I’m okay.”

“We’ll get you some food and clean up your bandages.”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, Blue, if you could get to the house and provide a distraction, Trick is willing to jailbreak him, Dap, and Dok. Is that a possibility?

Blue sits up straight from where he was slouching in the lawn outside one of Dark’s houses, eyes lighting up.

“Yes, of course,” he breathes. “Whatever he needs. He’s really willing to go? I told you he was my little fighter, Ro! Let’s go now and we’ll get in a fight with Anti. I can light him up with my magic back.”

Jackie shifts against the tree he’s leaning on, more skeptical than his sibling. “I don’t know. They’re going to get hurt. If Anti catches them, we’ll have three brothers strung up on that porch. And I don’t think Dapper can take that right now.”

“First of all, have some faith in them,” says Blue, pinching Jackie’s wrist. “They’re tougher than you like to admit and they’ve been through a lot of dangerous situations and come out the other side. Secondly, we don’t have much choice here, my darling. We can’t get past Anti while he has a hostage. He’s willing to kill and the cameras are activated. We need Trick to get Dok to safety.”

“How the hell is he going to get out of that house?” asks Jackie, shaking his head. “Carrying Dok and supporting Dap? I don’t think he could get out if he were on his own. Anti will have his eyes on the cameras even while he’s fighting us.”

“Then Trick will have to be fast,” says Blue, getting to his feet. “And you and I will have to be very distracting.”

A smile curls onto Jackie’s face despite his trepidation.

“Well that,” he says, “I think we can do.”

Anonymous asked: Jackie if you know you can handle the backlash, then maybe taunting Anti about being not afraid, talking about beating him to essence in front of Jack, and being stronger than him, etc, has seemed to definitely do the job in the past.

Jackie starts laughing even as he shifts his weight from foot to foot and rocks on his heels. Blue watches him carefully to see if he’s getting overwhelmed, but he has it together.

“Oh, he’d be so mad.” Jackie rubs at his hair. “But… I guess that’s true, right? I beat him before. I did. We did! He should be scared. He can’t treat my family like this. We’ll go get him.”

He turns to smile at Blue. “Yeah. We’ll get him.”

Anonymous asked: Could Shep or Google sneak in and help Trick get the others out while you two distract Anti?

A window opens in the house above them.

“This isn’t a fucking crossover episode!” shouts Host. “Use your own characters! There’s a such thing as narrative integrity and I will not watch as it is - ”

“Gigi!” calls Blue. “You want to come help us with our brothers?”

Gigi appears in the doorway, letting Moses out of the house. “Sorry, not allowed. Dark doesn’t want me involved.”

“Come on, don’t be a sycophant,” says Blue, flashing Gigi a look that makes Ro roll his eyes. “You know, I think we could have some fun, Gigi. You don’t have to listen to Dark. We might really have a good time.”

Google shakes his head. “I’m good right here, thanks.”

“You like being Dark’s, Gigi?”

Google gazes at him, then across at Dark’s house, where Wilford is chasing the dog around the yard. The peach tree outside the house offers leaves to the wind, pink fruit bursting on its branches. Birds cascade around the roof and windows. The breeze stirs his hair.

“I’m good right here,” he says again, and you think you see, just for a moment, the flicker of a smile on his mouth.

“Well, what about Shep?” asks Blue, glancing around for him. “Host, where is he?”

“Out looking for that cat again,” answers Host. “I recommended he put some meat in a carrier and see what he catches. My bet is on possum, but I would also accept bear cub or porcupine.”

Anonymous asked: Shep? ...Did you ever find Noodle?

“Guess not,” sighs Blue. “Trick’s going to be broken-hearted if we don’t find that cat.”

“He’s been out alone in the forest for days now,” says Ro. “He’s a house-cat, never lived out on his own. Most likely he’s dead.”

“Ro,” snaps Blue, and then remembers to soften his voice. “Sorry, just - a little too blunt, love.”

“Sorry. Yeah, uh, we’ll find him! Somewhere.”

scunneredzombie asked: Trick, if your oldest brothers create a distraction would you run? Can you get away in the middle of a fight, if that breaks out? Blue has faith in you!

“I wish Blue was here,” says Trick quietly, staring out the window. “He’d make everything better. He always does.”

Anti was the one who made him sick… the memory of his body in the hospital feels suddenly overwhelming… Trick bows his head and sighs, clutching his shirt and wringing it between his hands.

“Run away in the middle of a fight,” he mumbles. “Away from Anti. I don’t know. I’m…”

Scared.

“Maybe that’s why he likes me so much,” he says. “Cause he knows I don’t have the guts to stand up to him. I always come back all warm to him. No matter what he does. Even in Norway, before he messed with my head like he has been lately, I was so hungry for any affection for him. Now I still can’t seem to run away. I’m sorry, I don’t - I don’t think I can do this.”

Warm fingers cup his chin. He turns and finds Dapper looking at him, smiling. His little brother’s fingers move back to stroke against the hairs at the nap of his neck and Trick relaxes wearily, eyes sliding shut. He takes a deep breath. Dapper tugs gently at his hair and he opens his eyes to see him again.

“Can I tell you something?” he signs.

“Course, man.”

“When Anti caught you and Henrik, Red and I were both lost deep in his power. He had treated us very badly for a while, but as we came around and became more and more willing to do what he asked us to do - to be what he asked us to be - he started to become warm and loving with us. Our missions felt like adventures back then. Even the killing was satisfying. Red was having breakdowns most every night without ever being able to tell me why, but in the daytime, he and I were Anti’s monsters. In Italy and Denmark, we killed and stole like we were born to do it.

“You and Dok changed things. Anti was obsessed with Dok’s savagery as a torturer for some time, but as he watched it begin to destroy him, he got bored again. And you - ”

“Were always his little yellow-belly,” chuckles Trick. “He didn’t have any interest in me back then.”

“No,” protests Dapper, touching his chin again. “No, that’s not true. You only remember after he reset you. But Trick, you lasted longer than Dok and Red had before you lost the fight to Anti. You fought so hard, Trick. Fought him every step of the way. I think that was the first time I began to get my memories of who we had been back. Because you fight, Trick. You fight when you need to. That’s one of those things that Anti can’t take from you. And I think that’s one of the reasons he gets caught up in this fascination with you. Anti only respects power and ability. To him, you should be helpless, hopeless, lost all the time - a human being with no magic and a lot of pain going on in your head. But you still keep fighting. He can’t understand why. Why mortal things, despite all the suffering and weakness they have to go through, still find things in life worth fighting for.”

Trick stares at him, clinging to his words.

“Now, Trick, Chase, my brother - if you want, you and I can go with Anti. Maybe we could even convince Anti that Dark is right, and he shouldn’t kill the others. Maybe Anti could even make us feel happy for a while. If that’s what you want, you and I can go. I’ll stay with you. We’ll be family. And I think we could survive it.”

Dapper leans forward and lets their foreheads thunk together, just for a second.

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

Trick shakes his head slowly, tears dripping down his face.

“Because that’s not who you are.”

Trick shakes his head again. No. That’s not who he is. That’s not what he wants.

“Trick, I’m too sick to help reverse things right now. I’m sorry. And I know you’re tired too, and I know you’re scared. But Chase… your favorite person in the world is down there, hurt and alone, while Anti plans to kill him. He can’t stay there, not for another minute if we can help it. Right?”

“Right,” he whispers.

“So what are we going to do?”

Trick reaches up to hug him. For a minute, they just hold each other. Eyes closed. Hearts together.

“Dap, I’m not a fighter like you think I am,” whispers Trick. “I want to, I just - I know I can’t. I know I can’t do this.”

“Why? What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“Because - ”

His voice breaks. He draws back with tears in his eyes, holding on to his little brother.

“Dapper, I still love him. I still love Anti.”

“Oh, my brother.”

Dapper reaches out to cup his face in his hands.

“I do too. But we don’t have to stop loving him. We just have to look at him, and see what he truly is, beneath the idea of him we fell for - and then choose to love ourselves more.”

“What if he needs me?” whispers Trick. “What if I’m the only one who could save him from himself?”

“Dok needs you more,” says Dapper, and he presses his hand to Trick’s heart. “And today, you really are the only one who can save your twin.”

Anonymous asked: To Trick (and all who need to hear): Healing from pain is a choice, and it is up to you to consciously /decide/ that you deserve to move on from the weight and hurt you've dealt with for so long. Because you do. You deserve hope and love and freedom. But you have to choose it for yourself.

“You don’t deserve to be hurt for his sake when he doesn’t even want to be saved,” signs JJ, the pair of them sitting side-by-side in their monster’s bed. “They’re right and they always have been, even when you were too lost to realize. You deserve - we deserve - to be free and safe and cared for, Chase. So what are you choosing, my brother?”

“Hey,” whispers Trick.

“Yeah?”

“You’re really good at giving speeches.”

He gets to watch Dapper’s tired face light up with laughter. It makes him smile too. A moment later, they are locked against each other, giggling and rocking each other on the bed, faces squished together.

“You have to choose with me, then,” says Trick. “I know how long you’ve been scared and alone. You got to choose to fight with us today.”

Dapper wipes at tears on his face, hugging him tighter. He doesn’t want to let go just yet.

Anonymous asked: Dapper is right. Trick it takes a looong feckin time to stop loving people who've abused you. It takes even longer to love yourself again. But it's a choice you are capable of making. Choose to love your family, love yourself, more than you love the monster amongst you. Anti is a calloused, cold abuser who delights in pain and cruelty. No amount of love will save him from himself. Go and be with the people who loved Chase before you ever had to be Trick to survive.

“You and the others are the only hope that I have held onto for long years now,” signs Dapper, stuck fast to him. “If you’re ready, then I am too. I’m not sure I can do much, but what I can, I will.”

“Okay, then - then me too, me too,” whispers Trick, wrapping him up again. “Me too. Okay, I’m stuttering like fuck, haha. You gotta give me a minute. Just to breathe. Then - then I’m ready. Okay.”

“You should change out of your pjs, maybe,” Dapper recommends.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Alright, shit. Do you have everything you need if I go get him?”

“I’m okay. I want you to worry about Dok first.”

“No way, you’re just as important as he is.”

“Thank you, but Dok’s in a lot more danger than I am with Anti. Anti won’t kill me, I’m fairly sure. If it comes down to it, get him to safety first and worry about me later.”

“No, I won’t do that.”

“We’ll see what happens, alright? Now go get ready, quickly. I’m sure big brother will be here soon to make a mess and cause problems.”

“His specialties.”

Trick hugs him one more time before getting out of bed, leaving you beside Dapper as he goes to change.

Anonymous asked: Good luck!!!

Chase gives a small laugh.

It seems almost too little, but almost too much: good luck. He needs it more than he knows how to express.

But he is also the gunman, the guard dog, the father, the nurse. He is a fighter and a softie too. He needs luck. He needs hope. He needs courage. He will find them.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

He’s wearing one of Jamie’s blue hoodies, basketball shorts, and worn, well-kept, fading Converse. He has no weapons and no magic.

For the first time in days, he dares to search for his twin’s body outside his window. He can see very little of him from this angle, but he knows him nonetheless. So fucking still. Why is the deck red beneath his unmoving hands?

“Go,” signs Jamie. “Look, in the woods.”

In the woods, movement. Anti appears from the air in front of the trees, eyes narrowed.

“I know you’re there!” they hear him shout from far away. “I can see both of you with the cameras I have in the trees! You’ll never get close to him before I can transport back and stop you! Neither of you will get out of my gaze.”

“He is watching for Red and Blue, as long as they keep him distracted,” signs JJ. “He knows all the magic and help they have. They will not be able to get to Dok on their own. Go, while he is so focused on them he feels safe.”

Trick hugs him one more time before moving towards the door.

“I’ll come back for you,” he vows. “Nobody’s getting left behind this time.”

“Please don’t worry about me.”

“No, Dapper - ”

He turns back to him and takes his face in his hands, drawing his gaze up.

“Don’t give up,” he says softly. “No resigning yourself to anything. Today, you find some hope, okay?”

Dapper bites his mouth. He nods, just once.

“I will come back for you and you will be ready to go. Okay?”

“Okay. Okay. Yes.”

They pull away. Chase goes.

JJ stares after him for a long time, hands clenched.

Then he gets up and he gets dressed.

It feels very similar to stepping back from the edge of a cliff in Lima.

Anonymous asked: Speak of the devil, where is Anti anyway?

“Speak of the devil indeed!” calls Blue through the trees. “Who’s the guard dog now, bitch boy?”

Anti turns his head towards him, snarling, but Blue vanishes behind a wall of ivy. A rock thwacks into the side of Anti’s head and he yells, touching a patch of blood on his skull and then making it glitch out of existence once more.

“How long can you keep that up, do you think?” asks Red, taking aim once again from a slingshot borrowed from the twins. “Can you glitch all day? Or is it like after you stole Blue’s magic, where you got fucking exhausted and crawled away from the battle half-draped across Trick’s shoulders?”

“You’d be tired too if you fought off half a legion of magicians single-handedly,” spits back Anti, and despite the irritation they’re bringing him, there is some wild light coming back to his eyes, a light you have not seen since Jack was still filming videos of him. “I think I can handle one magician and his useless brother just fine.”

Jackie leaps out of the underbrush, swinging his staff and hollering a battle cry, and Anti lunges forward to meet him. A wolf closes its teeth around the staff, shoving him to the ground; fire lights up the wolf’s fur and makes it screech; Anti rolls away again to find Jackie slinking back - goddammit! These fucking annoyances. Fuck, fuck, but he’s glad to be trying to kill them again. There are hot tears in his eyes. He hates them. He will tear them apart like he always wanted.

He follows them farther into the woods, his cameras lighting up in the trees. As long as he has eyes on them, no one will take the ones who still belong to him.

Anonymous asked: Help is coming, Henrik. Your twin remembers you. We're going to get you out of here.

Those blue eyes slide open again.

He doesn’t know what relief feels like anymore.

But he still has that raven on his breast.

He will die his own man.

His eyes slide shut again.

Anonymous asked: Just hang in there a little longer Henrik. Everything will be okay

“Dok,” whispers a soft voice. “Dok. Deutsch. Henrik.”

He has been whittled down to his own faint breathing; it is the only sound or sensation still existing in his chest. In - out. Slower. In.

Out.

In.

Breathe.

“Dok, I’m here. I’m here.”

Warm hands on the side of his face, caressing him, holding him, around the bloodied barbs of the wire. One on the right is close to piercing his eye. He has been trying for days to stop it from getting too close. Now he can no longer feel it. Perhaps it has already blinded him. He can see very little.

“What happened to you, what happened? I’m here. Dok, I was wrong. I couldn’t see him. I’m sorry. I’m here now. We can go. We can go home.”

He has no words left.

“I’ll get you out. Quick, before Anti checks on you. Here I am.”

Chase.

Anonymous asked: You've got this Chase, go quiet, go fast! Be careful of his injuries, Anti has been torturing Henrik for a long while.

Chase grabs at his hair, tears wet in his eyes, and he curses himself for being a crybaby and a sycophant and a coward.

“I’m here now!” he repeats, almost screaming it, and you see him leap to his feet and turn towards the yard, picking up the shovel that Red was using last week when he decided to dig holes in the lawn to trip Dark’s soldiers. Trick turns back to his twin and stalks back onto the porch, drawing the shovel back like a spear. He thrusts it down with keen accuracy and slams the sturdy metal against the thin dog chain lanced around Henrik’s throat. Again and again, he brings that shovel down, finding the weak chain and snapping - snapping - snapping free!

He kicks the end of the chain off him, panting. He sinks back down to his knees, holding his brother again. Trick lets the barbed wire cut into his arms. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“Dok, hey, are you awake, even? Say something to me. Ich bin hier. I won’t leave again, not ever. Maybe you can’t talk right now. Sometimes you get like that. I don’t mind. I never minded. We take care of each other, right? Remember how you used to stay up with me so, so late and rub my shoulders just so I could relax? I was so scared of Anti finding that I hadn’t guarded all night I would stay awake for days at a time. You were my only comfort. I’m here.”

Fingers flicker against his waist. He touches his head against Dok’s, beginning to try and peel the barbed wire off him, but fuck, fuck! Every barb has to come out one at a time, slow and delicate, and he knows he’s hurting his brother from the way he starts to tremble beneath him. Trick’s fingers too are being cut open by the barbs, because it takes real force to begin unraveling these thick bindings, stronger even, perhaps, than the chain. He won’t be able to get this all off in an hour, let alone five minutes.

“I should have stopped this from happening,” sobs Trick, rocking him. “They’re right. Anti’s been torturing you for ages, especially since we came to this house. And I just waited for him to stop being angry. That’s all I did. I should have stopped him. He wanted to make sure you were punished just for trying to live your life without him. Is this the price he asks for? Look at you, my poor Deutsch…”

Wounds beneath the wire. Wounds and bruises beneath the wire. His left hand is swollen immovably, blue and black and red. He has been cut to pieces. Trick has looked at him for only a moment and found a half-dozen injuries.

“What do I do with you, Henrik? Tell me what to do. Come on, you were always the smart one. I won’t leave, okay? Even if he comes back and kills us both. I’m never leaving you again.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Dok? I don't know if you have a camera about you, but... Do you think it would ever be possible to give Trickshot the necklace that protects your head and heart? I don't know if he could ever be fully safe without that magical help. He's deep in the fire, man.

“No, let him keep them,” croaks Trick, stroking Dok’s hair. “They’re for him. They were presents for him. To protect them. You keep ‘em, Dok. I’m sorry I tried to take them from you. I thought I was keeping you safe, but there are more important things than surviving. You didn’t want him back in your head again. He never will be again. I swear.”

He clutches the two ravens on his brother’s heart. Today, the birds do not burn him.

Anonymous asked: Get Henrik and JJ out of there, Chase. The only place you can be safe is far away from him, otherwise there's a chance he'll get into your head again.

“If I carry him they will dig into his body even more.” Trick looks around for help, but he knows none is coming. “I need pliers or something, but where would I get them? Anti locked up everything that Dapper or I could hurt ourselves with. Shovel won’t work. I’ll just - I’ll just have to start pulling them out and hope I can tug him out or something soon. Right? What else do we have? What else can I do?”

Henrik’s tired red fingers rest over Trick’s, still pressed against the necklaces. Trick clings to him, hearing a rough sigh of relief press out of him. It is the only sign of life Henrik has given him other than his breathing. Their hands rest together.

aether-mae asked: Every day I wake up and pray this story isn’t a Shakespearean-esc tragedy. These boys are going to make it. They have to

“Right,” mumbles Trick. “We have to, we…”

Their hands rest together on the birds. He looks at Dok and sees blue eyes slide open.

They hold on to each other.

“You trust me?” whispers Trick.

Dok breathes.

In.

Out.

His body, stiff and aching, relaxes against his brother’s body. His eyes slip closed again, unafraid.

Yes. Of course.

Here they are.

Trick snaps the string of Dok’s second necklace.

Anonymous asked: You guys have been so distant lately. I'm happy for him to have you back Chase, even if just for the moment right now. Also, does JJ still have his lock picking set from Max? Maybe you could break into wherever Anti locked things away.

JJ is standing in the window of the room upstairs, throwing his shoes at the camera above the porch, trying to knock it down.

“I threw the lock pick off the side of a cliff, unfortunately,” he signs. “I was not very future-oriented at the time.”

He has run out of his own shoes. He heads to the closet to get the shoes of the man who used to live here, the man he killed, but when he runs back to the window with his arms full of dress shoes, his brothers are gone.

“Oh, I think he got him,” he says. “He really did move fast. Damn, maybe we should break into Anti’s things though. I’d really like to have some knives.”

Yelling and fighting in the forest outside, and then Anti’s shriek of anger.

Dapper stares out the window, head tilted up, trying to catch sight of someone. Anti flashes back to the porch, shouting threats, but Dok is already gone.

“No fucking way they got to him, I had my eyes on them,” he snarls.

He looks straight up at Dapper. Dapper backs away from the window and goes to hide in the closet. Trick bursts into the room about halfway through and they smack right into each other, skulls slamming together.

“Owwww,” groans Trick, clutching at his stomach.

“Trick! Watch it! Come here, he’s coming!”

Dapper grabs his brother and they slide into the closet, closing the door behind them and hunkering down beneath coats and shirts, hands clutched together.

“Where did he go?”

Anti is stalking around the house, his mouth full of poison and vitriol.

“What the fuck did you do? Who else is here? Dark, if this is you or any of your soldiers, I swear to hell I’ll kill the lot of you!”

They hear Anti shove the bedroom door open, snarling like an animal. He tears the room apart, doors slamming and furniture crashing to the floor. When he finds nothing, he turns towards the closet.

“Where is Dok?” asks Dapper. “Did you - ”

Anti forces his way inside, grabbing them both by the hair.

“Where the hell is he?”

“We don’t know, we don’t know!” cries Trick. “Ow, Anti, ow! He’s not here!”

“If I find out either of you had anything to do with this I’ll feed you to each other!” shouts Anti, throwing them back to the ground. Dapper grabs onto Trick’s shoulder and they press back against the wall, panting.

Anti pauses at the door, eyes flickering.

“What’s that smell?” he demands.

Trick and Dapper exchange glances.

“Moths?” signs Dapper weakly.

Anti stares around the closet, eyes narrow.

“If you catch sight of Dok, tell the cameras,” he says, turning to stalk away.

Trick slumps back against the wall, one hand over his mouth, one hand over his stomach. Dapper pulls him into a hug and they both try to calm down.

Anonymous asked: Is something wrong with your stomach, Chase?

“No, nothing’s wrong, thanks, I, uh - ”

“What are you holding?” asks Dapper, pushing at his hands. “Let me see.”

“No, JJ, stop being a little shit,” scowls Trick, pushing him back, before the sentence has left his mouth, Dapper has stopped still, staring at him.

“What?”

“JJ?” he signs.

“JJ? What’s JJ mean?”

“You just called me JJ.”

Chase blinks, hands loosening on his stomach. “Oh. Dapper, I meant. What’s JJ?”

Jameson looks away, mouth turning down.

“Is that… you? Is that your secret name?”

He’s looking back at him like he might reply when there’s movement in his hoodie. Chase clasps his hands over his tummy again, but too late.

The little white and grey head of a sleepy-looking rat pokes out of the side of Trick’s hoodie pocket.

“Oh,” breathes Dapper. “A baby!”

Trick looks desperately up at Dapper and sees nothing but delight in his eyes. He relaxes a little, letting out another long, shaky breath.

“It’s an important baby. We have to keep it safe.”

“Can I have it?” begs Dapper, cupping his hands.

“No, no,” says Trick hurriedly, holding his hands around the rat, stroking its white head with his thumb. “Gotta let him rest and hide, okay?”

“Little baby… what a pretty fancy rat. It looks kind of sick though. Will we keep him?”

“We’ll worry about that later, okay?”

“Cutie. I’m in love. Oh, don’t let Anti see, he’ll kill a little mouse.”

Anonymous asked: How goes the fight, Jackie & Blue? Anti seems utterly pissed

“Tell my brothers to get out of the house!” he calls. “We’re leaving today and we’re not coming back.”

Anti screams and glitches towards Jackie in a flash, but Jackie rolls away and Blue is there a moment later, intercepting Anti’s attack with fire and plant life, guarding his older brother.

“Feeling a little useless, I admit,” pants Jackie, circling and loading another stone in his slingshot. “He’s got a fuckton of magic, and me? I have this rock!”

He launches it at Anti and hits him dead on once more. Anti snarls and glitches the wound away, slicing through thick vines with a machete pulled from thin air.

“Your tricks won’t stop me!” he shouts, finding Blue on one of his cameras and transporting towards him, knife swinging.

“He’s not pissed!” Blue calls to you, taunting. “He’s just scared!”

Anti shouts and transforms into the wolf, launching himself at Blue, teeth snapping.

Anonymous asked: JJ is him, yes! Jameson Jackson!

“Jameson?” repeats Chase, and though he remembers very little, the name still seems to fit, somehow, in his mouth. “That’s… kind of awesome. You look like a JJ.”

Dapper seems particularly touched by this, his mouth drawing shyly up again.

“Do you know the others’ names too?”

“It’s not my place to tell you,” says Dapper, touching his cheek for a moment. “Give them time.”

“Well, should I call you JJ?”

He pauses, glancing away.

“I’m not… sure yet. Should I call you Chase?”

Trick stares at him, cupping the rat in his hand. The warm head drifts sleepily against his palm.

“I think that’d be okay,” he says. “Trick, he - he wasn’t always kind to you. I’d like for Chase to be better.”

He tucks the rat gently back into his hoodie.

“Get everything you need from the room and let’s go.” Chase pulls Dapper to his feet, stroking the rat in his pocket with long, soothing strokes of his thumb. “We might have to be away for a while, I don’t know.”

“I want a knife.”

“We’ll grab one from the kitchen.”

“Then I think I got everything in here.” JJ grabs a black coat from the closet. It’s too nice and warm to match his thin, worn t-shirt and the short sleep pants he’s wearing, but its pockets are stuffed full of what few things he has - his favorite chalks in a ziploc bag, one half of a torn prayer card, a wad of American cash, the picture of Eshe that Max gave him, a GoPro camera, and a few slips of paper Chase doesn’t recognize. He pulls them from the pocket, flipping them over.

“What are these?” he asks. “What - plane tickets?”

“Anti was going to take us back to England to kill Jack like he said.” Dapper taps the word ‘London’ on the tickets. “There’s four tickets. Figured I’d grab them. I don’t know, I just grabbed everything.”

“Clothes and drawing stuff and everything?”

“Still in the backpack.”

Trick swings the pack over his shoulders. He takes Dapper’s hand and holds the rat inside his pocket in the other.

“Here we are,” he tells them both softly. “Let’s go, okay?”

Dapper squeezes his hand. They race down the stairs together, heading for the backdoor, hoping Anti is still distracted long enough for them to reunite with Red and Blue.

In the trees, Anti sees them step out onto the porch. You see him stop short, expression contorting.

“Get back inside!” he shouts, moving towards them. Chase and JJ exchange glances.

Blue and Jackie are panting in the foliage, taking a second to breathe, already half-exhausted. Blue’s hair is singed from his own fire and his hands are heavy with weeds, while a fresh cut bleeds heavily across Jackie’s forehead, but he hardly seems to mind. There’s a vibrant ferocity burning in his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he coughs, staggering to his feet to race out and protect the others.

“Jackie, wait,” calls Blue, pulling him back down. Jackie looks at him, astounded.

“You called me - ”

“Listen, is this the talisman Dok gave you?”

Jackie touches the raven on his breast. “The necklace, yeah. It doesn’t have any more magic, though.”

Blue grabs his shoulder, looking up at him.

“You can use it, though. When you have it. You burn like a star. You’re my counterpart, my twin. I don’t care if Anti was the one who decided it at first. Now we decide it. You are the other part of me.”

“This is sweet, but my baby brothers are on the other side of Anti’s glare right now.”

“Give me the talisman. It can still hold magic. Take my fire.”

Jackie’s eyes go huge.

But only for a moment. He accepts the idea a moment later, blinking. Mind already ahead. Strategizing. Fighting. Leading again. Like he was always meant to do.

“If you can,” says Jackie softly, pressing the necklace into his brother’s fingers. “Then give it to me. And we will share this fight together, my Blue.”

Blue smiles at him.

And then he lets all the power he can give blaze into that necklace, and gives it to his other self.

“Let’s go.”

Anonymous asked: Go Jackieboy Man, protect your family!! You're a shooting star, Astrifer, and it's time to burn like one!

Ro liked having the light magic. He liked burning like a star. The magic felt like having a blanket of warmth wrapped around his whole body. But even then, that was Emmanuela’s magic, and this - this is Blue’s.

This is Marvin’s.

He would know it without sight or sound or touch. He would know it by the way it comforts him, just like Blue always has. He would know it by the way it makes him brave.

Flame follows Jackie out of the trees, his twin at his side, wreathed in bloom and thorn.

“Look at you two,” snarls Anti. “Aren’t you straight out of one of his stories? I should have known. None of us can avoid the destiny he set down for us. We were always going to end up right here once again.”

“This time,” says Blue. “We finish it.”

“When I raze you to the ground, we will call it finished.”

“Anti,” says Trick quietly, eyes wide. “Don’t, okay? Just - just stop, please. Dap and I don’t want you to hurt them. There’s things we won’t forgive.”

Anti turns to him, lips drawn back in indignant fury. “You little bitch. Don’t tell me what to do. You belong to me so keep your mouth shut.”

Trick’s mouth is tight and trembling. His eyes reflect the fire in Jackie’s hands.

“What if I’m not,” he says.

“What?”

“What if I don’t want to be yours anymore?”

Anti hears himself laugh. He’s shaking his head at Trick, eyes slightly confused. “What? Who told you to say that?”

Trick stands close to Dapper. Anti sees the same expression in their faces - wary and scared, yes, and then something harder underneath. Dapper’s eyes speak to him. After all these years, Anti does not need to look into his head. He can see the change in him.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “Where… did you go? Dapper?”

Dapper doesn’t answer him. Doesn’t comfort him. He steps slightly closer to Trick, head low.

“Get away from them, Anti,” says Jackie. “Just… hell, man, just go. Just leave us alone and don’t come back.”

“No, fuck that,” snaps Blue. “You stay and learn what it’s like to scream in fear all over again.”

Anti breathes out, chest shuddering. The fire freezes over in his bitter blue eyes.

He glitches and he grabs Trick and Dapper, wrapping one arm around Trick’s waits, hauling him off his feet, and grabbing Dapper by the hair.

“Anti, don’t do this!” screams Trick.

“You get the hell away from them!” shouts Jackie, fire lighting in his hair.

Everyone is shouting or signing or both, moving towards each other; fire and plant life and painfully-bright colors burst up around them, Anti has a blade to his little brother’s throat and -

Anti hollers in alarm as something sharp digs into his finger. He looks down at his hand around Trick’s stomach, startled.

“Rat!” he screams, dropping Trick and Dapper immediately, glitching all the way up to the roof of the house. “It bit me, it bit me! Fuck you, Trick, you hid that from me? You - ”

His eyes find the raven on Jackie’s sweatshirt.

Anti looks back at Trick, hiding that rat back against his stomach, eyes frantic.

“Dok,” hisses Anti. “You… you, Trick… you took him off the porch, you - all of you… all five of you, the ones that belong to Jack… traitors.”

ari-trash asked: Oh- oh my god, the last raven necklace! Dok is the rat?? Is he okay? D:

“Uhhh, no, this isn’t Dok!” says Trick hurriedly, pressing him down into his pocket. “He’s fine, I hid him! Dok’s not here and he’s definitely not this rat, no way.”

“You… turned my brother into a fucking rat?” says Blue.

“Hey, I got him safe! He trusts me! He’s fine. Aren’t you, Deutsch?”

The rat does look remarkably settled in that hoodie pocket, its tired eyes closed and its little body rising and falling with soft breaths. Anti is gripping his knife so tightly his fingernails cut into his palm, panting almost to the point of hyperventilation. Fuck, muscles and bones confining him, animal flesh coating him, caging him…

“You keep that thing away from me,” he warns. “Trick. Even Trick. Even Trick has… you really are just Jack’s, all of you. Dapper is the only one who… fuck you, fuck you…”

Jackie keeps his eyes trained on Anti as the others surround Trick and Dok, Blue desperately checking on the little body in Chase’s hoodie, stroking his little head and calling sympathies at his younger brother.

“Anti,” says Jackie.

“No, no, no,” Anti is chanting, pupils shot. “No, no, no.”

Anonymous asked: The time has come, Anti. You are alone, utterly fucking alone. As you always deserved to be. They won't take abuse from you any longer.

The trees are mocking him.

Monoliths erected in the deep rich earth, subject to the will of a magician and dotted in his cameras, playing out messages to him - alone, alone, alone.

He can hear laughter. His head spins. He runs his hands along the smooth cool surface of a pumpkin, turns his green eye toward you in a red hallway, sinks beneath Jameson’s skin, tilts his head at the Darkness and laughs, stares at you without saying a word, eye twitching. He hears Jack whispering his name and Chase asking who’s there, feels the heat of Marvin drawing away from his own prophecies in terror, smells the scrap paper and ink of a trashed research room with a doctor sitting at a table, trying to fix everything gone wrong.

And he remembers something unseen by the cameras as well, something you have only heard of - screaming out for Jack to save him while his body mangled into hollow bones and winged flesh, watching his creator turn away from him.

There was grief in Jack’s eyes, but no pity.

“No,” he groans. “I wiped all that away. I’m beyond it now. No. You don’t remember.”

He hears one of them breathing and the bloody beat of their mortal hearts.

“We don’t have to remember, Anti,” comes a small, sad voice. “Not the past. You’re right, it doesn’t matter. Not really. But Anti, we want… we want to be happy now. We don’t want to get hurt anymore. You have to let go of us, Anti. We won’t stay here anymore. They’re right… it’s done.”

His eyes flash open and he is present again, his shadow cast over the group of siblings standing below him, guarded and together, shoulder-to-shoulder, side-by-side. They all have the same blue eyes.

And he sees grief, and rage, and hurt, and fear, and love, and determination.

But no pity.

Not one fucking shred of their pity.

“Very well then,” he hears himself breathe out, and he watches alarm fill up their faces as his body begins to shift beyond his control. His face is twitching. He can feel it, but only distantly. He’s numb and his ears ring, high-pitched and screaming. His body distorts and spasms, blood racing down his ivory throat. “You want to play Jack’s games? Let’s play. I only need one of you. And he will be mine whether he wants to or not.”

Dapper steps back, shaking his head, but too late. Too late.

Anonymous asked: None of them belong to you. Not even Jameson. He always said the day the rest of them turn is the day he too abandons you. You don't own any of them, you utter mythic glitch bitch.

“Jameson!”

“Dapper!”

“Leave him alone!”

His body crashes to the ground, fingers scraping at his skull. He feels Anti in his head again, just like he has been since that first day.

“You will never get free of me,” he hears his Anti’s voice scratch at the inside of his brain.

“Stop, stop!” his hands cry. His brothers are screaming for him, crying out.

“Possessing him won’t do anything! We’ll stop you from hurting him!”

“You’ll just confine yourself to flesh, coward. Fight us in your real form!”

“Dapper doesn’t deserve to get hurt, let him go! You’d have to be able to possess all of us at once to get away with this, Anti. You can’t make us your slaves ever again!”

“Fine!” screams Anti’s voice from all around them, and Jackie, Marvin, and Chase all falter to the grass, grabbing at their heads. “You think I can’t? You think I won’t control you all at once with nothing but my own power? I never needed your faith! I will make you mindless!”

Jackie hollers in pain, his skull pounding with a terrible pressure. Chase is on his side, protesting with the voices he can hear. Marvin grips at the grass, shaking his head out, shaking, shaking, shaking.

“You’re - you’re losing control,” he gasps. “You’ll destroy yourself, Anti.”

A foot presses against his throat and chokes him. He opens his eyes, wheezing, and sees, looking back at him – himself. With green eyes and hatred in his face, glitching and broken, distorted and transparent, himself. Marvin and Anti and Blue all in the same being. Turning his gaze with a desperate cry, Blue sees broken beings like shadows standing around his brothers, too, dark versions of themselves, corrupted and in pain.

And he hears a bitter voice, his own bitter, aching voice, lonely and afraid:

“So be it.”

#chapter four

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