#so it shouldn’t be hard for him to get the idea that they’re twins in his head | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boxofbonesfic · 1 year

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Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [3]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why.

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 6,133

A/N: oof. this one is a long one, but i really hope you all enjoy. no smut, but be assured… it’s on it’s way. 😈

Dinner is privately catered, a stoic chef cooking for the four of you in the big communal kitchen in the largest villa, the one you were staying in with Ransom and Lloyd. You’re practically ravenous, splitting your time between watching him impatiently through the large open archway into the kitchen and staring enviously at Nathalie’s over-full glass of wine.

“Don’s supposed to be getting here tomorrow, he and Kathy are coming with mom and dad,” she says, and Lloyd nods. Your brother had refused Lloyd’s offer of airfare, as had your father. They were both hard-headed and cynical on the best of days, so you assumed it had been because they thought he was trying to buy them off. If he was, it had certainly worked with Nat. Who, despite your mutual dislike of Lloyd, had not been able to stop thanking him. He preened under her praise of course, peacock that he was.

“I can’t wait to meet the in-laws.” He says, hoisting a glass of wine as if in a toast to your absent parents.

“My in-laws,” Ransom reminds him, and Lloyd makes a face you can’t discern beyond vague irritation.

“That’s what I said,” he snaps back, his lip curling.

You roll your eyes at their bickering. “When are your parents getting here again, babe?” You ask, talking over Lloyd’s irritated muttering. Ransom cocks his head.

“Day after tomorrow. But they’re not staying here, you know my mom. Full amenities.” He shrugs dismissively. “Why?”

“Just curious,” you say, eyeing the chef over his shoulder again. It looks like he’s plating up the food, which you’re grateful for, because you’re hungry enough to eat a horse. You don’t exactly hate the idea of the Thrombeys staying somewhere else. The plates come out hot, and you’re grateful to be served first, picking up your fork immediately. The chicken is flavorful and well seasoned, and your eyes roll as you bite in.

“Oh my God,” you say, and Nat releases a similarly pleased groan.

“Right? This is—Christ. Do they rent this place out like, monthly?” She leans over to elbow your brother-in-law. “Because I would definitely move here. Only if the personal chef is included, though.” You eye Nat’s glass of wine jealously as you eat, knowing it would pair perfectly with the chicken. Probably better with her fish, but I can’t eat that. You know you shouldn’t be sullenly coveting your sister’s dietary freedoms, after all, she’s not the one who decided to go ahead and get pregnant.

You wonder what Ransom’s parents will have to say about the baby—you know part of the purpose of this trip is to butter them up to the idea of being grandparents. Linda wasn’t exactly the most… supportive of you and Ransom getting together, her cold acceptance the one constant every time you were forced to interact. Maybe, you think, placing an absent hand on your belly as you push the food around your plate, she’ll finally find something to be happy about.

“Hey, hello,” Nathalie snaps her fingers in front of your face to get your attention. You scowl, slapping her hands away as she laughs. She’s never quite grown out of her irritating younger sibling behavior, and you don’t want to smile at her childish antics, but you can’t help it. “I was thinking maybe we could go into town tomorrow, maybe see the sights, take some pictures—”

“That won’t work,” Lloyd replies before either you or Ransom have time to consider it. “I have work.”

“Work?” Nathalie scoffs. “What work? We’re on vacation,” she says, shaking her head. “And besides, we can just meet you after, can’t we?”

“No.” Lloyd’s voice is oddly strained, like he’s angry at the suggestion even being made. “If we can’t all go, we should stay here.” You frown—you don’t like him snapping at Nat like that, and you make your displeasure known.

“Lloyd this is our trip too. We’re allowed to do things.” He cuts his eyes at you before they soften just a little at the edges.

“The two of you shouldn’t go places alone.” You get the feeling that isn’t really what he wants to say. “The town is nice, but it can get… dicey.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Besides, it’s a family trip—”

“Honestly, Lloyd, if you’re upset at being left out, just say so,” you snap, reaching rather forcefully for your water glass. It takes a moment for you to realize that everyone is staring at you—Lloyd’s eyes angry, Ransom’s amused, and Nathalie’s worried. You’re tired of him nagging you, his secretive smiles, knowing little glances—you’re already sick of it. You know they’ll probably chalk it up to hormones, and you’re willing to let them believe it, ignoring their looks as you focus on your food.

“How about we make plans tomorrow?” Nathalie says, her voice small. You know she’s capitulating to save herself having to sit through the argument she can tell is brewing. And hell, maybe it is hormones, but you’re not going to put up with Lloyd bossing you around all week. You don’t take part in the small talk that creeps up around the table in the wake of your outburst, and you feel a shameful amount of pleasure at having thrown Lloyd for a loop. For once, he’s broody and irritable instead of smug, and you can’t help but revel in it.

Nathalie excuses herself back to her little cabana, and you to the suite you share with Ransom, knowing he’ll be there soon to chastise you. You pop into the shower, standing gratefully underneath the scalding hot spray. It’s the one thing you’ve never really understood, your husband’s staunch defense of his brother. There’s little you know Ransom would deny Lloyd if he asked, and Lloyd never hesitates to take advantage of his brother’s good will.

When you exit the shower, your prediction has officially come to fruition. Ransom is sitting on the bed, his arms crossed as he purses his lips at you.

“Sweetheart, picking fights is not going to make things easier.” You roll your eyes.

“He’s a prick,” you huff. “He’s controlling and rude and smug—”

“And he’s trying to get closer to you—to us. He wants to be a real part of our family,” Ransom says, his eyes dropping pointedly to your belly before he drags them back up to your face. “Why can’t you try and get along with him, too?” You huff as your husband stands and walks over to you. Stubbornly, you don’t return his hug, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss into your hair. When he doesn’t let go, you sigh, wrapping your arms around his broad torso in return. You turn your head, pressing your cheek to his chest. You catch sight of the bracelet on the dresser, and sigh again.

“I am trying to get along with him,” you say petulantly, and Ransom fixes you with a deadpan stare as he leans away. “Fine. I can… I can try harder. For you,” you add the last part pointedly. “I know you guys are close, and I don’t… Ugh. I don’t want to get in the way of that. I just… I didn’t like how he was talking to Nat,” you admit, and Ransom laughs. You do too, even as you slap playfully at his arm in Nathalie’s defense.

“Spoiled rotten, both of them,” Ransom cedes that to you, at least—even if he has to incriminate Nathalie in the process. Which you don’t really mind—it’s not like it isn’t true. “Let’s give him this one day, okay? We’ll all go to the beach after he’s done work.”

“Fine.” You say, shaking your head as you move toward your suitcase. The resort staff had offered to unpack it for you, but you were less than keen at having a stranger go through your things, so you rummage around until you’ve found one of Ransom’s old university t-shirts.

“I don’t even know what work he could be doing here, like five-thousand miles away from his job,” you mutter as you climb into bed. With only a touch of shame, you watch your husband get undressed, leaving a trail of clothes behind him as he goes to shower too.

“Did you take your vitamins, Sweetheart?” Ransom calls from the bathroom, and you curse. You aren’t used to your new regimen of prenatal vitamins and supplements, and you grimace, remembering the size of them.

“No, but I’ll take them tomorrow,” you call, and Ransom pokes his head out of the bathroom, a stern look on his face. “Fine, now,” you climb back out of bed and grab your toiletry bag. You’d been surprised when Ransom had insisted on you seeing the family doctor after your own, and doubly so when he had prescribed you a veritable laundry list of pills. Even now as you line up the bottles on the dresser, you feel intimidated by their sheer number. Vitamins for you, vitamins for the baby, supplements for you, supplements for the baby, something for your blood pressure, for the morning sickness—too many to count.

Ransom gives you a satisfied nod before ducking back into the bathroom. You want to stay awake until he comes out—you’re not finished with this Lloyd conversation, not by a long shot—but your eyelids begin to droop before the water even shuts off. Your awareness is patchy, brief moments of clarity as it becomes harder and harder for you to surface from underneath the pitch black weight of unconsciousness.

You’re alone, and then Ransom is in the bed with you, and then he isn’t, and then his voice, and then—

Nothing.

—

You greet your first morning in the villa groggily. The morning sun streaming in through the gap in the blinds paints a blinding stripe across your face as you squint. There’s a chalk-dust taste on your tongue when you sit up, and you grimace, swallowing dryly. Each of your limbs feels like it weighs easily twice as much as normal as you drag yourself to the bathroom, nausea twisting your stomach into an acid mess. After your—now routine—session of heaving up absolutely nothing, you rinse your mouth out in the sink.

The digital clock on the dresser tells you its half past ten, easily an hour or two after you usually wake up in the morning. The villa is quiet, though, no signs of Ransom—or Lloyd. You chalk it up to luck as you pad down the short set of steps into the empty kitchen. You can hear the ocean if you listen hard, just underneath the sound of the comforting breeze passing through the trees before it flows in through the wide open windows. You open the fridge, and find evidence of breakfast—sliced fruit, cold pancakes.

Ignoring the pancakes, you grab the plate of fruit, pulling off the saran-wrap covering it before popping a date into your mouth.

“Oh, you’re up. How’s your stomach this morning?” You glance briefly around the open door of the fridge at your husband, before closing it.

“Ugh. I puked again this morning,” you say, swallowing at the memory of the acid bile on your tongue. “Not looking forward to nine months of this.” You pop another piece of mango into your mouth.

“Well, you know they say there are good remedies for morning sickness.” There’s a suggestiveness in his voice that makes you laugh, a bashful heat rising in your cheeks. You shake your head, plucking an orange slice from the plate before looking fully up at—

Your chest tightens—this isn’t Ransom at all.

It’s Lloyd.

How he’d managed to sound exactly like Ransom you aren’t sure—their voices are similar, but certainly not identical. You hadn’t even realized at a glance, his telltale mustache missing, as were the thick signet rings on his fingers. The smile on his face remains disgustingly innocent, as if he doesn’t know what he’s done.

“Something wrong?” He asks, parroting Ransom’s drawl with terrifying accuracy.

You swallow, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact that the hem of Ransom’s t-shirt skirts the tops of your thighs. And more than that, you are aware of the fact that you are alone.

“I th—” The words stick in your throat. “I thought. Um. You were Ransom.” Your voice is tight, like your white knuckled grip on the fruit plate. Lloyd’s eyebrows rise, and he clucks his tongue, a apologetic little pout forming on his lips.

“I’m sorry, Princess.” You know he isn’t sorry, he isn’t sorry at all. “Even the best get us mixed up from time to time.” He breezes by you, making a show of looking in the fridge. He’s so close to you that you can feel the heat of him, smell his cologne. Your body is tense and frozen as he rummages through the fridge behind you, too close for you to move without touching him.

He’s doing this on purpose.

You know the thought is unreasonable, but you can’t help thinking it anyway. Lloyd hadn’t claimed to be Ransom, not really. It was you who had made the assumption, and to be fair, you hadn’t even voiced it. He just didn’t correct me. As per usual, Lloyd’s proverbial cup fucking runneth over with plausible deniability, and you’re stuck debating whether what you’re feeling is even real at all.

After what feels like an eternity, Lloyd closes the fridge. The few extra inches of space the shut door allows you to slip around to the other side of the kitchen island, keeping your eyes on him the whole time. Lloyd leans forward to pluck handful of grapes off of the tray.

“No need to be so anxious, Princess. It was an honest mistake.” His smile is too amused for the situation, and it unnerves you. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” You say, wishing your words had come out in the slow and measured way you’d meant for them to. Instead, they’re rushed, hard.

Defensive.

“Exactly.” Lloyd pops the last of the grapes into his mouth, and claps his hands together in a manner you know is meant to be agreeable. Try to get along, says the needful Ransom in the back of your mind. For me.

“I’m going to, um. Go and get dressed.” You gesture loosely at yourself. “If you could send Ransom my way, I’d appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” He purrs. You retreat back to your room, careful not to rush. You feel Lloyd’s eyes on you the whole way, and it isn’t until you’re in the bedroom with the door shut and your weight leaned heavily against it that the feeling dissipates. You’re tying the bandeau on the back of your swimsuit top when Ransom comes in, and for a moment you forget the nagging feeling as he sweeps you into his arms, nuzzling the side of your neck affectionately.

“Sweetheart, I’m glad you’re up.” He smooths greedy hands over your hips before tapping your ass sharply through your linen shorts. “Almost makes me want to take you back to bed.”

You giggle, slapping at his wandering hands.

“I was promised a beach outing,” you reply, reaching around him for the matching blouse. “You can take me to bed after.”

“I’ll remember that,” Ransom replies, pulling his own trunks out of his suitcase. He’s already starting to tan, freckles appearing over the bridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks. You can’t help but inspect him closely, especially after… you shake your head, adjusting your top in the mirror.

“You’re staring, baby. Do I have something in my teeth?” He asks, cocking his head at you.

“No, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. There’s nothing to tell. “It’s nothing.”

—

“Baby girl!” Your father sweeps you up into a crushing hug, your mother fluttering around from your left to your right like an excited hummingbird. “You don’t know how happy we are to see you.” He plants an embarrassingly loud kiss on your cheek, and then moves out of the way to allow your mother her turn. Nathalie sucks her teeth from beside you.

“Where’s my warm welcome?” She complains jokingly, crossing her arms. “Am I chopped liver or something over here?” Your mother clucks her tongue at your sister over your shoulder.

“We see you every Sunday for dinner Nathalie,” she says, and over her shoulder you see your father roll his eyes.

“Yeah, and every time you need money.” He gripes, but moves to hug her anyway.

“Now that is a grossly unfair assessment of my character,” Nathalie sniffs, ignoring your father’s outstretched arms in favor of giving him a cold handshake. He laughs, and you wonder if the booming sound of it travels all the way back to the gate from here. Your father has always been a cheerful man, and you see that the long trip hasn’t dulled that disposition. The only thing that seems to be putting a damper on his mood is—

“Sir. I trust your trip was comfortable,” Ransom says, leaning forward to shake your father’s hand. He regards your husband with a cool, muted smile before returning the gesture. You aren’t sure why your father—and your brother, who has disappeared from the back of the shuttle with your sister-in-law—have taken such a dislike to him. It had been tough work convincing him that Ransom wasn’t just some rich weirdo looking for a good time, and to be quite honest, you aren’t sure if he’s entirely convinced, even now.

“It was.”

You could cut the fucking tension with a knife, you think, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“So, um. Are you guys hungry? And where’s Don? He and Kathy have been looking for a bathroom for like, ever,” you mutter, unable to resist trying to diffuse the tension with chatter. If your father was cool on Ransom, you knew he actively disliked Lloyd.

Getting piss-drunk at my wedding didn’t fucking help, you think grimly, looking between your dissatisfied father and your husband. You know Ransom—he isn’t going to bow and scrape for your father’s approval. And, you’d had this argument before.

“We’re going to need help unloading all the bags.” Your mother answers, and you look at her confusedly.

“All the bags? Guys this is like, a four day trip.” A disbelieving little laugh escapes you before you can swallow it. “How much did you pack?” Your inquisition is interrupted by the sight of your brother, Nathalie worming her way in between you to point him out. He and his wife are pushing one of the resort’s little dollies, no doubt with the intent of loading it up with suitcases. You peek around the back of the van, and your mouth drops at the veritable mountain of suitcases.

“Squirt,” your brother greets you, and you scowl at the nickname.

“You have got to stop calling me that. We’re all grown up now, Don,” you say, and he laughs.

“When you’re taller than me, we’ll talk about it.”

Everyone seems overjoyed to see you, and you wonder guiltily if you really have been away so long. Nat is prone to complaining about the distance between you, but you generally chalked that up to her clinginess. And sure, your mother usually found a way to lament seeing you now on holidays and special occasions, but…

“I bet you’re all exhausted,” Lloyd replies, interrupting the chain of your thoughts. “Why don’t we get you guys unpacked—we’ve got reservations in town at nine.” You turn to look at him in confusion. No one had told you about dinner reservations. And by the easy smile on Ransom’s face, he certainly isn’t surprised by the news, and neither is Nathalie.

You seem to be the only person out of the loop.

Ransom squeezes your hand, drawing shapes on the back of it with his thumb as you all make your way into the main villa for coffee and presumably awkward chit-chat. About as soon as you walk inside and kick off your flip-flops, Nathalie drags your mother and Kathy off to take in the amazing view, leaving you alone with the men. They seem about as eager to talk to each other as you are to play mediator, and you leave them in awkward silence to get ready for dinner.

When Ransom edges into the bedroom, you’re already dressed, sweeping your hair up into a messy, loose bun. He hums with approval as he approaches you, smoothing his hands appreciatively over your bare shoulders. His lips follow, and you can’t help but giggle. Your eyes meet his in the mirror, and Ransom’s playful smile turns smarmy as you watch his gaze travel down to your breasts, pushed up by the bra you’re wearing.

“You look good enough to eat.”

“You like it?” You ask, turning to face him, and he chuckles.

“If we hadn’t already made dinner plans…” He trails off, cupping your cheek with one palm. Ransom’s fingers trace down the side of your throat, catching at the delicate silver chain nestled there. The pendant rests just above your breasts, a tear-drop shaped sapphire winking in the light from the vanity. It was Ransom’s first birthday gift to you, the first one of many extravagant displays of affection.

“You should wear your bracelet,” he says, nodding at Lloyd’s gift. You haven’t put it on since he’d given it to you, and you wonder if Ransom’s suggestion is because he’s noticed. “It would match with your necklace.” He picks it up, and begins fastening it around your wrist without your input. You eye yourself skeptically in the mirror when he’s finished, holding up your arm so that you can see the jewelry together. It does match—absurdly well. Even down to the little leaf designs on the prongs holding the stones in place.

Weird.

It does look nice with the flowy, silky taffeta dress you’re wearing to dinner.

“I still can’t believe how much this cost,” you mutter. The stones sparkle in the light as you turn your hand.

“Oh?” Ransom asks, glancing at you in the mirror as he buttons up his shirt. “How much?” You cock your head at him.

“What?”

“How much?” He repeats the question casually, like he doesn’t understand why you’re looking at him like he’s grown another head. “What,” he asks with a little laugh. “Lloyd tell you not to tell me, or something?”

“Fif—It was fifteen-thousand dollars, Ran.” You know you’re staring, but you can’t help it. “You told me.” Like something clicks in his brain, Ransom makes an oh face, and then smacks a hand against his forehead.

“Ugh. Jet-lag,” he says, shaking his head. “I forgot.” He smiles at you warmly in the mirror as he finishes buttoning up his cuffs. You want to chalk it up to his rich upbringing, after all, fifteen-thousand dollars is a paltry sum to someone with Thrombey money. Easy to forget.

Isn’t it?

You and Ransom greet your parents in the living area, and both they and your brother and sister-in-law look much refreshed. Lloyd is there too, Ransom’s spitting image in perfectly reversed colors. You know you shouldn’t feel… a way about him looking at you, about his eyes traveling slowly down the bodice of your dress to where your hands are clasped in front of your belly. His brows rise a fraction at the sight of the bracelet, and the corners of his mouth turn up in a little grin. You’d describe it as almost triumphant—but it’s gone just as quickly as it had come, and you’re left wondering if you’d even seen it at all.

“Are we all here and ready?” Ransom asks, and the quiet murmur in the room ceases. You’re still not quite sure how he does that, how he commands all of the attention in a room with no effort at all.

“No, we’re missing Nathalie—where is that girl? I’m starving,” your mother replies, beginning to dig into her purse for her phone. As she pulls it out, Nathalie rushes through the sliding door to the patio, still tugging on her shoes.

“Sorry, sorry, I was on the phone with Jaiden,” she mutters in apology, rolling her eyes. “He is so clingy.” She smooths her hands over her dress, and then claps them together. “But I am ready to go! Starving.” Your family begins moving outside toward the cars, and Nathalie slides her arm through yours.

“If he’s so clingy, why didn’t he come with?” You ask suspiciously, and she rolls her eyes a second time.

“He… would have. I just, I don’t think, um. Meeting the family is the best idea. We’re not, you know. Serious.” You poke her with one outstretched finger as you walk, and she swats at your hand in protest.

“Does he know that?”

She snorts.

“He should. We don’t do anything but f—study.” She looks quickly in your father’s direction. He’s busy getting into Ransom’s rental, but you know that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening carefully.

The ride to the restaurant is a quiet one. You can’t quiet your thoughts no matter how much you try, and it’s noticeable—your mother tries to fill the gap in the conversation left by your absence, trying in vain to get your father to acknowledge Ransom’s conversation hooks with more than terse one-liners.

Fifteen-thousand dollars. You don’t know why you’re still thinking about it but you are, turning the thought over in your head as if it were a pebble in your shoe.

Fifteen-thousand dollars. You would think it was a sum you wouldn’t soon forget—but Ransom had. It wasn’t just that he had forgotten—when you’d been on the plane, he’d delivered the dollar amount with offhanded familiarity, it just didn’t… it didn’t make sense. Does it have to?

It feels like you’ve only just gotten into the car when you’re piling back out of it again. The restaurant is like something out of a movie, set into the cliffside as the sound of crashing waves echoes up from the rocks below. You lean over the railing, marveling at the sight of the moon’s face reflected in the dark, shifting waters.

“Oh you look so pretty,” Nathalie gushes, reaching for her phone. “Let me take a picture—Ransom get in here, God,” she gestures at your husband. “This is a Kodak moment.” The smell of him is comforting and familiar as he presses close, tucking you into his body as he tilts your head up for a kiss. “Aww, that’s cute. Stay just like that!” He brushes his lips against yours, a soft laugh puffing across your cheeks.

“Bossy, isn’t she?” He asks, and you laugh too.

“I think we’ve had this conversation.”

Ransom wouldn’t lie to me. You’re still thinking about it—fifteen-fucking-thousand dollars—how could you not be? But you want to believe him. After all, what would he have to gain by lying? You lean forward and kiss him fully, and you feel his fingers sink appreciatively into the curves of your hips through the layers of your dress. He wouldn’t.

“Alright, alright lovebirds, I’ve got enough pictures,” Nathalie says. Ransom kisses you one more time—out of spite, you’re sure—before he grabs your hand, and you make your way into the restaurant with your family.

“I had the terrace reserved,” Lloyd says, a haughty sort of pride evident in the words. No one else seems to notice or mind, though. Your mother gasps appropriately at the sight of the candlelit table, and as she and Nathalie titter about how beautiful it is, you swear you see Lloyd’s head inflate two sizes.

“It’s just lovely,” your mother gushes, trailing her fingers along the silky tablecloth. The plates are all ceramic pieces, and you can tell they’re handmade, probably by a local artist. There are seashells set along the table too, in between the place settings and around the glasses.

“It is lovely,” you say, admitting it begrudgingly as Lloyd basks in your praise. “Thank you, Lloyd.”

“Anything for you, Princess.” He purrs. “We’re all family now.” His grin makes something cold settle at the base of your spine, and you watch as he turns to the host. “A bottle of Prosecco for the table, please.” He leans in close, and whispers loudly, “And a bottle of sparkling cider, please.” You wince. Your parents are also still blissfully unaware of your condition, and you certainly don’t want LLoyd tipping them off. You glare at him, but either he doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care as he gestures at the the table.

“Please, sit, everyone.” Lloyd holds court like Ransom does, and you hate to admit that you find him equally enthralling. He’s just as good at telling stories, at commanding rapt attention, just like your husband. Ransom pulls out a chair for you, and you feel your face heat. He still makes you feel like a giddy newlywed, even though you’re staring down the barrel of two years in just a couple of months. You sit, and Ransom takes up residence at your right. Much to your chagrin, Lloyd sandwiches you in on the other side.

You stop yourself from shooting him a sharp look—there aren’t any assigned seats at this table, and unfortunately for you, it seems like no one else is privy to your discomfort, all seating themselves without issue. You try to ignore him, propping open the menu. There are little English translations underneath the Greek, and you squint, trying to see them in the low light.

“Would you like some help, Princess?” Lloyd asks, and you hate that his voice manages to be silky smooth even through the thickness of his Boston accent. A glance at Ransom tells you he’s trying to engage your brother, and surprisingly doing a fair job of it without your help. Lloyd’s thigh brushes up against your own as he scoots closer, his arm going around the back of your chair while he leans in close.

He smells like Ransom.

The thought is unsettling. They’re probably wearing the same cologne or something, but either way, you don’t like not having an additional physical tell.

“All of the seafood is down here —no fish for you, though, right, Princess?” He hums amusedly. “Red meat here, chicken here, pasta, and salads.”

“Thank you.” You smile curtly at him retreating a few inches to the other side of your seat. To your dismay, he follows. His fingers brush your bare shoulder as he presses in tighter. You know that to anyone looking, it seems like he’s helping you. You aren’t sure why you feel differently, like there’s a different sort of intent simmering underneath his innocent touches.

“Oh, any time.” He lingers for another second or two before settling himself firmly back into his seat. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Fifteen-thousand dollars. You purse your lips, pushing the thought back out of your head with effort. Ransom’s hand covers yours, and you turn to him gratefully. The conversation around the table falls to a low hum as the waiter approaches. When the orders are all taken, you see a look pass between Ransom and Lloyd, one you don’t understand. A thin tendril of jealousy curls in your gut, even though you don’t want it to. They’re brothers, twins, of course you can’t be privy to every aspect of their relationship.

It doesn’t stop the sting, though.

Ransom stands, clearing his throat as he clasps his hands behind his back.

“I just wanted to thank you, Phil, Bonnie, Don, Kathy, Nathalie, for joining us. Family is… very important to me, to my brother and I,” he gestures at Lloyd. “And I know blending two very different families is difficult, at best.” He looks at your father when he says it, and to your surprise, he nods. Ransom produces a black velvet box from his pocket. You feel your breath catch in your chest as he turns to you.

“When we first started dating, I remember you told me you were looking for something solid. Something forever, and I quote ‘like my parents have.’” Your eye darts quickly over to your parents to gauge their reaction. Your mother’s lips curve up into a soft smile, and even your father looks rather touched. “You told me about how hard things were, when you were younger, the way your parents sacrificed everything to make sure that you could stand here, with me, now, and I thought to myself ‘those people gave me the greatest gift, and they don’t even know it’.” He laughs, shaking his head a little.

Ransom pushes his chair out of the way, and walks around to the other side of the table where your mother is sitting.

“This is for you. It isn’t anything compared to what you’ve given me,” Ransom looks lovingly at you and warm pride fills you at the sight. “But it was the best I could do.” He places the little jewelry box in front of her. “Please, open it.”

“You really didn’t have—” Your mother goes silent, covering her mouth with one hand as she looks at your father. “Phillip, I��”

“How did you get this?” Your father’s voice is tight with emotion as your mother reaches with trembling fingers into the box. Threaded between her fingers is a delicate silver chain, with a heavy looking pendant—a locket, hanging from it. You recognize it, but only because you’ve seen it about a dozen times in all of the family albums.

“We-we sold this.” He lets a disbelieving little laugh as your mother holds it up. “We had to. Two babies, and another on the way—we couldn’t let them cut off the power, or the heat, so…”

“It was my grandmothers,” your mother’s voice is thickly laced with tears as she places it carefully back into the box.

“Well, when she told me that, I thought maybe I could track it down. I had to enlist my brother’s help, of course,” he says, nodding in Lloyd’s direction. “Couldn’t have done it alone.”

Lloyd nods graciously in a way that tells you he’s pleased. “Amazing the things you find when you’ve got high enough clearance.”

He winks. Your mother is openly crying now, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin so as not to muss her makeup too much. To your astonishment, your father’s eyes are wet too. And though he doesn’t shed any tears, you don’t mistake it for anything less than complete astonishment and gratefulness. He stands up and sniffs, his mustache wiggling above his lip as he walks over to your husband and hugs him, clapping him loudly on the back.

“Welcome to the family.” He pats Ransom again between the shoulders with a clap. “Son.”

Fifteen-thousand dollars.

Your father nods at Lloyd before sitting back down, and your mother carefully tucks the jewelry box into her purse.

“Government clearance, huh?” Don says, nodding respectfully at Lloyd. “What’s that like?”

Ransom sits back down beside you, and you turn to him, squeezing his hand as he settles back in. Servers come out with drinks, and suddenly the table seems more lively than it was ten minutes ago, the terrace brighter and more welcoming against the starry night and dark sea. You feel somehow disconnected from it all, though, as though a glass pane stands between you and everyone else as the thought rings again in your unwilling head—fifteen-thousand dollars.

“I can’t believe you found that for my mom,” you say quietly, and Ransom smiles at you, shrugging. “That was like, ten Christmases worth of gifts all in one.”

“Do you think that means I can skip ten Christmases?” He asks, and you laugh, shoving at his arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know if we were going to be able to get it. Plus I didn’t want Nathalie getting it out of you.” You know you should feel happy, this is a big stride, and a happy night. You want to be happy. And most of all, you want to believe. You want to more than anything. Because you already know where you’ll end up if you don’t.

You know where the thin, winding thread of that distrust leads, and you don’t even want to think it. It’s such a silly chain of if, then’s that you don’t want to follow it all the way through to the end, not when you can be happy.

Because if Ransom is lying, then it wasn’t him on the plane at all—

It was Lloyd.

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Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

#cevans fanfiction #cevans fandom #cevans characters #lloyd hansen #ransom drysdale #lloyd hansen x you #ransom drysdale x you #lloyd hansen x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #dark!lloyd hansen #dark!ransom drysdale #lloyd hansen imagine #ransom drysdale imagine #lloyd hansen smut #ransom drysdale smut #darkfic #boxofbonesfic #doppelganger fic

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dc418writes · 1 year

Text

•Daddy Dare Care•

✨Pairing✨: mechanic!Ari Levinsonxblack!reader

Summary🪄 : Ari’s bright idea to stay with the girls to give you a break may not go as smoothly as he thought (Operation: Rekindle addition)

⚠️: dad!Ari (truly a menace Lol), all fluff💕

A/N🎙️: Just something short and sweet. It started out a bit self indulgent since it was my birthday on April 18th☺️, but since that has definitely passed and it switched to Mother’s Day (which also has since passed🫠 lol). Either way, we now have a change in celebrations! Hope you guys like it! *If I can push myself, I have 2 other belated bday/self indulgent fics I want to put out but we’ll see!*

*DISCLAIMER!*: Although collage was made by me, I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of any pictures used as they were all found on Pinterest

“Ari, you sure you’re gonna be okay?,” you ask in a hushed whisper daring not to wake your sleeping twins. As angelic as they looked at this moment in their matching bassinets, long lashes resting peacefully against their cheeks, you wouldn’t believe they were screaming like mad men an hour before.

Aliana was hungry, but wouldn’t take your breast milk from the bottle her father so nicely warmed for her. She wanted it from the source, which wouldn’t have been an issue if her sister Brynn wasn’t so keen on staying attached to you today.

So unsurprisingly, she wasn’t happy when you and Ari had to trade.

And sensing her sister wasn’t happy, Aliana therefore would not feed and instead cried in solidarity with her sister.

Like she’s done pretty much every other day since you’ve moved in, Mrs. Holloway shuffled her way across the hall knocking on your door to check on your little family and make sure everything was fine after over 15 minutes of wailing. Although a very sweet gesture, you really weren’t in the mood for her “what I used to do is…” at that current moment.

“I probably shouldn’t even be-,”

“Y/N it’s Mother’s Day. You deserve to get out the house and have a break,” Ari responds. “Go and have fun, we’ll be good.”

You honestly felt guilty how much you longed for more than the monotonous cycle that was your life these past months. Not a complete change, just a little twist in the routine if you will

Seeing your friends going out for dinner and on trips made you miss your college days of exploring the city or those around. Not caring about what time you came back because you only had yourself to worry about.

Yes you knew you needed a break - your doctor and the girls’ pediatrician always emphasized that during your respective appointments - but you honestly felt like you didn’t deserve it. As your mother said when you announced your pregnancy, “Say goodbye to whatever you consider fun and the life you had before. It’s now solely about those two until they’re good and grown. Heck even past that really.”

By the time you realize you’re crying, Ari’s already wiping away the lone tear with his thumb sweetly smiling at you as he caresses your cheeks.

“Baby I know it’s hard, but this is good for you. It’s okay to have a life outside of our girls.”

“Is it though?,” you whisper. “What if 20 or so years from now they need therapy because I wasn’t there?”

“…Well seeing that they’re infants, I doubt they’ll even remember this,” Ari lightly chuckles successfully making you smile - even if for only a few seconds. “Plus it’s only a few hours sweetheart. It’s not like you’re leaving for good. At least I hope not.”

His feigned suspicion and playful, narrowed eyes make you giggle as you lightly shake your head. “I’ll admit that was a bit dramatic.”

“But it’s just you being a concerned mama, which I understand.”

There he was being that grounding force you always needed. Helping quiet the noise from your brain to bring you a step closer to peace.

His warm palms still on your cheeks as you gazed into his eyes, you were happy to have him back - unfortunately only just for a short amount of time.

Ultimately, he was your center and from his absence you learned without him everything was off.

Unknown to you, he felt the same way of your presence. During your time apart, he honestly thought he wouldn’t make it how his body seemed to crave more than your touch. To hear your footsteps coming down the hall. Feel you under the same roof even if you weren’t in the same room.

Your buzzing phone signals your best friend’s arrival outside making you both separate - and further miss having such an intimate moment with each other again.

“If you need anything please call. Don’t try to struggle through so I don’t worry.”

“I will.” Ari’s hands on your hip and lower back gently move you towards the door not giving you a chance to possibly change your mind. “And you try to have fun. I don’t even want you thinking about us until you get back. Okay?”

“Kay,” you sigh stealing one last look at your beautiful girls. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Just be sure to call when you’re on the way so we can kick everyone out and have everything cleaned up from the party.”

“Very funny.” His lips on your forehead smooth away your worry lines; instead replacing them with a flush of heat and a soft smile.

Instinctively, he wanted to lean down and meet your lips as well but he somehow restrains himself. Flashing his adorable tilted smile as a last assurance everything would be fine before you’re out the door walking down the steps to your friend’s Lexus. After a final wave, you’re both gone and he’s left with the quiet apartment and two sleeping babies.

Definitely not secretly worried himself as he sits on the couch with both bassinets in front of him. His girls and the tv in perfect view.

“Alright ladies, looks like it’s just us,” he quietly speaks to no one in particular. “So far so good right? Yea I think so too.”

As if sensing her father’s anxiety and mother’s absence, Brynn begins to wiggle and whimper as she typically did before having a full fussy meltdown. Luckily he’s able to get her before she could wake up Ali. Gently holding her close to his chest as he slowly rocks back and forth quietly shushing her.

“Hey it’s okay, I’m here babygirl. Nothing to worry about we’re alright.” In a matter of seconds she’s back to sleep and Ari’s smiling to himself comfortably sitting back against the soft, decorative pillows.

What was he nervous for? He had everything completely under control and these next few hours would easily fly by.

Or so he thought.

A couple hours later and his little angels were wide awake loudly broadcasting their requests for new diapers through their tears.

“I know sweetheart, I know. Daddy only has two hands though, so he’s working as fast as he can,” he responds in a sing-song tone to Aliana using one hand to try and tickle her cries away while the other steadies her squirmy sister.

He never really realized how long this takes not having any help.

Now they sat, relatively calm, in their high chairs watching as Ari opened their containers of food to place on the small plates in front of them.

“Okay my loves, dinner is served.”

With a fist full of smushed peas and carrots, the nine-month olds each inspect their hands before deciding they’d rather not.

“What’s wrong? You guys love this.”

Brynn just smashes more veggies between her fingers while Ali fiddles with the side of her chair as if trying to let herself down.

“Cmon girls you gotta eat,” Ari states grabbing two plastic spoons in each hand. Expertly, he’s able to get something on each one before holding it up to the twin’s mouths. Ali whines moving her head away, and Brynn smacks the utensil from his hand finding it quite hilarious when it drops to the floor.

“Alright, if you don’t want that let’s try this then.”

With the clean spoon, he digs into the clear baby food container before holding the yellowish goop to Brynn’s lips letting her taste. Smacking her lips once, her face contorts in disgust as she holds her tongue out not wanting anymore of whatever that was.

Ali does the same with the addition of smearing the remaining food from her lips to her cheeks and nose.

“It’s chicken and rice guys, I know it can’t be that bad. Here, watch dada.”

Getting a healthy spoonful for himself, he quickly realizes that probably wasn’t the best idea once it settles into his tastebuds.

Whatever this was definitely did not taste like the chicken and rice he was used to. And why did it almost taste like medicine?

He’s quick to spit it back into the jar gagging and frantically searching for a napkin to wipe the remaining residue from his tongue. His two angels giggling the entire time enjoying the impromptu show from their father.

“Glad my pain could make you laugh,” he shakes his head sliding the terrible chicken and rice to the side so he’d remember to throw it away later - and any other food from that brand.

Sighing, he journeys back to the fridge wondering what could work for his extremely picky girls as his oceanic blues scan along the shelves.

“Well since those two were a no, maybe we’ll have better luck with this.”

He takes one small container of strawberry yogurt and scoops the pink substance on one mini placemat before taking another to do the same on the next.

Just as they did with the peas, the yogurt oozes between their fingers then is brought to their mouths where they seem to enjoy the cold treat.

They reach for more practically sticking their entire hands in their mouths trying to eat as much as they could. He even hears a “mm” come from Brynn while Ali gnaws on both hands with that adorable dimpled smile.

“You like it girls?,” Ari asks chuckling at his messy little ones who’d definitely need a bath when they were done. “Don’t worry we got plenty more.”

Returning to your apartment, you’re a bit nervous as to what you’d find on the other side of the door not hearing anything from Ari since you left.

Everything seems okay though, seeing the pristine kitchen and dishes drying on the pad next to the sink.

As you step further into the living room, the only noise is some colorful cartoon character running across the tv screen while Ari snoozes with his head on the couch’s armrest. He must really be exhausted how his mouth is parted letting his snores freely escape to the open air. There’s even a bit of drool glistening in the corner of his mouth.

And you’d still gladly give him another child if he asked.

Perching on the edge of the cushion, you turn to run your thumb over his thick brow while gently calling out his name until he’s shifting and mumbling. “Ari, I’m back.”

One eye squinted, he tiredly smiles as he stretches his limbs - and you try to hold yourself together watching his muscles flex under the black Nirvana graphic tee. You shyly turn away, busying yourself with one of the girl’s rattles once his tummy pokes out along with a bit of his happy trail.

“Back already?,” he asks with a yawn.

“Ari it’s almost eight,” you softly chuckle as he looks towards the window to find it completely dark outside. A short “hm” rumbling in his chest as he sits up.

“I was out longer than I thought then.”

“How was everything? Were they fussy when I left?”

“It was good,” he smiles instantly making your own form. “And no, they actually stayed asleep for a couple hours before they woke up. Then had diaper changes, ate, and played until they got tired. Before you ask, yes I took plenty of pictures.”

He chuckles at the way you giddily bounce as he hands his phone over. The screen already showing a photo of your babies with messy faces and hands as they ate their yogurt. How did they always manage to get it in their hair?

“How was your girl’s day?”

“Pretty good. We went to that new little area, Midtown. They have some cute shops and things so we stayed there, talked and ate.”

“And see? Everyone’s fine, no one in any emotional distress,” he adds nudging your side and making you roll your eyes.

“I know I know, the world didn’t end,” you giggle standing as you hand his phone back - trying to ignore those fuzzy feelings in your stomach for the second time today when his hand touches yours. “I’m uh gonna go peek in on them before getting ready for bed.”

“Okay, just uh let me know when your done so I can change and everything.”

It’s been months, and it’s still taking time for both of you to get used to the new arrangements of your “separation”. At least once a day Ari had to remind himself how it was your bedroom now. How he was basically the guest in your home.

You, on the other hand, would never get used to the cold bed though having had your own personal heater for years.

Secretly, you didn’t wash the pillowcase from his side for the longest not wanting to get rid of his smell. The last remnant of his former presence in your little apartment.

Nodding your head, your sandals dully flap against the carpet as you make your way to your girls. More than ready to attack those chubby cheeks with kisses and nibble on fingers/toes if you could. However stepping foot in the door, that excitement soon turns into dread.

“Um Ari,” you sweetly call over your shoulder, “come here please.”

In seconds, he’s by your side still yawning the residual sleep from his body.

“What’s-,” his words catch in his throat as the horrendous scent finally touches his nostrils. “What died?!”

In their crib, Brynn and Aliana sat quietly covered in green, pasty poop that seemed to have run from their diapers out onto their starry mattress cover.

More specifically, Brynn sat squeezing poop in her fists while Ali lied on her back staring at the ceiling as if saying, “why me?”

“Exactly how much yogurt did you give them?”

“…Two.”

“Two?!”

“A-and a half,” he adds nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“Ari!,” you whine with hands on your hips. “The girls don’t do well with lots of dairy or sugar. It’s why we have the ‘only one’ limit.”

“But they really liked it! You should’ve seen how cute they were doing that excited shake thing. Plus they wouldn’t eat anything else I tried to give them,” he explains hoping to make it to the twins first birthday.

Sighing, you kick off your shoes before leaning down to pick up Ali being careful to not get any feces on you. “Let’s get you cleaned up my love. Can you get B please?”

Hesitantly, Ari reaches over the wooden railing to get his daughter trying to control his gags as she joyfully reaches out wanting to be held closer. “Please tell me you didn’t try to eat it.”

“Sorry I messed up,” Ari whispers as the four of you lie in bed. The girls, now freshly cleaned and in new onesies, each on their stomachs gently breathing. “Now you’re never gonna want to leave again.”

“It’s okay Ari, it was an accident. Need I remind you of the trip to your mom’s?,” you both chuckle.

“I just don’t want you worrying every time you step out the door.”

“That’s gonna happen no matter what. I love you guys and don’t want anything to happen.”

That innocent admission had a bright gleam forming in Ari’s eyes and a warmth blooming over his body. He tried ducking his face deeper into the pillow, but that smile was hard to hide.

“Thank you for everything today. I feel like I don’t say it much, but I appreciate all you do for us.”

Luckily his blush was easier to conceal from how dim the room was. “Anything for my girls.”

#ari levinson #ari levinson x black!reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x woc #ari levinson au #chris evans #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x woc!reader #red sea diving resort

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joshsindigostreak · 1 month

Text

Moonburn

Prologue

Two of Swords, Reversed: Delays, indecisiveness, extreme dread, anxiety, and stress.

Vampire Hunter!Jake x Witch!OC

Authors Note: Hello!!! This is the start of Jake’s story! I hope y’all like it as much as I do. His side of the story has been in my mind the whole time I’ve been writing ISHIYE and I’ve been itching to share it with you. This is only the prologue but I promise there’s much more to come! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist ❤️

*Set prior to the events of I See Hell in Your Eyes. This is the beginning of Jake’s story. This can be read independently from ISHIYE but there will be cross references as it’s in the same universe.

Word Count: 3,845

Warnings: Brief violence, descriptions of blood, that’s about it for now.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in Tucson, but a blown motor had him stuck there for God-knows how long. The shop he towed his car to didn’t give him much of a time frame, just that they would call him whenever it was fixed. In the meantime, Jake Kiszka had settled in a cheap motel. Well, not extremely cheap, but it was comfortable enough that he knew wouldn’t get scabies from sleeping there.

Nevertheless, he took this as an opportunity to take in the sights of the Grand Canyon state, at the very least Pima county. The sights in question were any local Nests that he could find and snuff out any Undead that were loitering around places they shouldn’t.

The last three days (or nights depending on what species you were), he had been tracking a small group of them that were dumb enough to hang around the same places in the city. Vamps were always easy to spot. Their attempts to blend in with humans were awkward and stilted. Like aliens who had landed on earth the day before and had never seen a human before. That was also how you knew you were dealing with one of the young, and dumb, ones. The older the Vamp was the easier it was for them to blend in. If they’re smart enough to survive past fifty years or so, they usually start adapting to whatever environment they’re in.

It was one of those Vampire details that confused Jake as a kid. How did they forget their humanity so fast? You’re human one day and the next night you’re a blood sucking monster, his dad would tell him. But the idea that it only took a few hours to forget whatever life you had before was almost fascinating to him.

He was always taught that the new ones were practically feral and sloppy, which was how they got picked off so easily. They’d leave bodies behind, risking exposure to the humans who walked around in pure ignorance to the creatures that walked among them.

Sometimes, if you were lucky, you’d catch them before they even claimed their victims. Skulking around in the dark trying to remain unseen but all of their movements looked the same, at least to Jake, which was why he was always able to figure them out faster than his siblings. He was the quiet observant one, always having his eyes on a swivel. His twin was the social one. He could talk his way into any place or establishment that he wasn’t supposed to be in, and he had a particular knack for being able to build a rapport with some of the Vamps they’d be tracking.

It worked even better when they were in parts of the country where the only thing anyone knew of them was their last name, and the weight it carried. Knowing their name was one thing, but knowing their faces was another, and they used that to their advantage. It was also well known that they were identical, but over the years their personal aesthetics had skewed so hard in the opposite directions that they’d have to be side by side to truly see it. Though sometimes the confusion as to who was who worked in their favor.

Jake turned his attention to the horizon from inside the car. Due to a low inventory from a week full of fender benders the rental place only had a Toyota Corolla available on the lot. A silver Corolla from 2006, to be exact. Jake had stared at it for nearly five minutes behind his dark sunglasses, as if he could turn it into literally anything else with his mind. But when the rental agent informed him of the only other option, a burgundy minivan, the hunter agreed and signed the papers for the car through gritted teeth.

There he was, ridding the earth of Hell-borne filth in a clunker with hubcaps.

The sun was peeking over the horizon; the sky turning different shades of pink, yellow. and blue. Jake had a strict rule to not move in on a target until the sun was fully up and visible. “Your shadow is your friend, and your clock no matter what,” his dad would tell him. A hunter never wanted to risk a Vamp having the home field advantage that was the night. Even overcast days were iffy at times.

Once a Vampire laid their head down they, as obvious and cliched it sounded, slept like the dead they were. It was some biological failsafe to protect their species from accidental sunlight exposure. Or at least that's what his walking-encyclopedia of a little brother reminded him along with other scientific facts about the species.

He was parked on the side of the road a blocks-length away from the house he was watching. Vamps were known for their practicality when it came to their Nests. They liked invading houses and squatting in them after they made the residents their evening meal. This particular house was by its lonesome on this road, the nearest house was almost two miles away, which Jake didn’t mind because his plan for the four Vampires he had tracked to this location would be fucking cake.

At last, the sun shined its beautiful rays, warming up the world and preparing it for the day. Jake could almost hear the joke his twin would’ve made about it being a “dry heat” had he been there. His right hand reached to the passenger seat for his crossbow, lifting it slowly with reverence. He kept his gaze fixed on the house as he carefully opened the driver’s side door. He didn’t shut it all the way, just enough to make that first little click in the frame.

As he approached the house he looked at all the windows to see which ones were covered up, a clue as to where in the house they were sleeping. He walked the perimeter a couple of times, going slow to make sure he didn’t miss anything and to let the sun rise even higher.

Rounding the back of the house, Jake went up to the back door. He reached out and gently twisted the doorknob, and it fully turned without protest.

They really were stupid, he thought to himself.

The revelation that the door was unlocked let him know that they were also over confident that they’d be safe during the day time. Jake couldn’t wait to prove them wrong.

He walked into what was the kitchen, before it had been ransacked by the real intruders sleeping elsewhere. Multiple cabinets were flung open, their contents strewn everywhere on counters and the floors. Smears of blood decorated the surfaces and the floors, streaked with what had to be fingerprints.

Going from room to room, he saw similar scenes around the house. He still hadn’t located what he was there for but there was one bedroom at the far end of the house left. The door was slightly ajar, and from his spot in the hallway he could see a window with the curtains firmly drawn. Bingo. They were all in there, soundly asleep. A classic, “shooting fish in a barrel” situation.

Carefully he opened the door further and peaked around the room. This had obviously been the primary bedroom, with a sizable king size bed against the far wall, with two Vamps sprawled out on the duvet, with a third curled up on the carpet at the foot of the bed.

The hunter silently aimed the crossbow at the one on the floor, directly at its chest. At this point it was muscle memory, his finger squeezed around the trigger automatically, shooting the stake right into the Vampire’s heart. His eyes flew open in surprise, but it was too late, the color drained from his skin and it shrunk back against his bones. The usual yellow cast bled into his eyes, and as a final signal that all too familiar death rattle bubbled up from his mouth, a little too loudly for Jake.

At the sound the female Vamp on the bed sat straight up, looking directly at Jake.

“You bastard,” she hissed as she slapped the male Vamp next to her awake. She lunged at Jake knocking the crossbow out of his hands as he tried to shove her off of him. The two rolled around on the floor, battling for control. The hunter managed to get on top of her, straddling her waist as he quickly grabbed a stake from inside his jacket with one hand, and used the other to try to control her hands and keep her pinned down. His reflexes worked perfectly and he was able to shove her arms out of the way fast enough to drive the stake into her chest in a flash. Like the other Vamp before her, she withered in front of his eyes.

Just as her death rattle completed the process the other male Vamp jumped on Jake’s back, straining his neck to nip at Jake’s flesh with his fangs. The hunter nearly growled as he twisted his body to fling the Vamp off of him. He didn’t go very far, but it was enough for Jake to get on his feet and grab another stake from his jacket. The Vamp stood up and lunged at Jake again, this time shoving him against the nearest wall. Jake winced as he was forced backwards and felt the drywall crack; the breath nearly knocked out of him. The stake was pinned between the two, curled in his fist and pointed down at the floor in a useless position.

Jake looked over the feral Vamps shoulder, and realized he was close enough to the corner of the room that he could potentially gain control. With another growl, he used all of his strength to push him away and into the other wall. The Vamp's head bounced back against the wall, and in the nanosecond of delirium Jake was able to tilt his other hand up and ram the stake into the remaining Vamp, directly next to his sternum.

The Vamp sagged against the wall as whatever “life” he had faded away. Jake let him go completely and didn’t care where he landed on the floor. He stepped back and didn’t let his guard down until he was sure they were the only creatures in the house. He ran a hand through his messy hair, wincing when his fingers hit a few tangles and pulled at his scalp. Instead of fighting through them to the ends of his hair, he pulled it back, wanting the feeling to stop instantly. A brief flashback of dirty gnarled fingers twisting into his hair and yanking upwards flashed before his mind’s eye and he shook his head to rid himself of the memory and rubbed his hands quickly over his face.

Jake turned back to his crossbow and strapped it on his back. Now the fun part was about to begin. He looked down at the nearest corpse, the one he had just killed against the wall, and grabbed him by the ankles and started dragging him through the room. He flung the back door open once he got to it, and heaved the Vamp outside and into the sun. The corpse started to sizzle and burn before it hit the dirt. One down, two the go.

He repeated the process until all three were piled on top of each other outside, burning through their clothes and turning their bodies to ashes. As Jake watched the flames, he reached into his jacket again, this time for the celebratory cigar he always brought with him on Nest raids. He brought it to his lips and leaned forward, lighting it using the flames of his latest bounty.

He stood there, and the fire reflected off his dark sunglasses. He took long and slow drags of the cigar, satisfied with his work that morning. For a brief moment he wished his twin had been with him. He didn’t mind doing things on his own, but it always felt a little sweeter to have Josh standing next to him.

Soon enough the three Vampire’s were nothing more than a pile of ashes. Jake found a shovel in the yard, and used it to dig a shallow pit to dump the ashes into. It wasn’t to “bury” them, no, there was no honor in this. Instead it was just a quicker way to quite literally cover up his tracks.

As he drove back to the motel, he couldn’t wait to sleep the day away, satisfied that there were three less bloodsuckers walking around.

~!~

A few days later, he found himself in front of a dive bar just outside of town. The Tipsy Tumbleweed stood before him, its red lighted sign blazed into the dark of the parking lot. A few of the letters blinked, indicating some of the bulbs were on their last legs.

The heels of his boots clacked against the wooden floor inside, and the idle chatter amongst other patrons met his ears. He loved a good bar like this. Understated, knew exactly what it was, and didn’t try to be anything more. The walls were covered in various purple neon signs, the biggest one was on the wall behind the bar itself, with large letters spelling out: Sinners Welcome. Yeah, he was going to enjoy himself tonight.

Just as he sat on an empty barstool, a loud and melodious laugh floated through the air behind him. He nearly broke his neck to look at the source, and that was when he saw…her.

Her back was to him, her dark jeans and black t-shirt wrapped around her curves beautifully, her dark hair tied up in a ponytail but was long enough that the ends fell between her shoulder blades. She was standing in front of one of the booths against the far wall, chatting with the two people who sat on either side.

He couldn’t see her face yet, and everything in his body told him to sit fucking still so he could possibly get a glimpse of it. He barely registered the young voice of the bartender asking him for his order. He kept his eyes set on the mysterious woman while he quickly mumbled something about a whiskey. He wasn’t normally that rude but as the bartender went off to make his drink she finally turned around and started walking towards him. Her large hazel eyes scanned the room as she walked and she waved at one of the tables, telling who-ever-the-fuck hi. The same dark hair framed her face in some loose layers and when she flashed a smile at someone else, Jake nearly fell off the stool. He suddenly felt like he was back in sixth grade, when Abbie Willis picked him for her kickball team in P.E. and he tripped over absolutely nothing while walking over to her. Josh never let him live that down.

For a moment, Jake thought she was walking towards him, but she breezed right past him to exit through the Employees Only door. He turned on the stool to face the bar, hoping to god that the heat in his face wasn’t obvious. Instead, he made the most awkward eye contact with the bartender who was placing his drink in front of him. She was a tiny thing, definitely shorter than him with sharp cheekbones and curious round eyes. She couldn’t have been older than 21.

“Umm…thanks,” he said, trying his best to recover from whatever that was.

“You're welcome, I’m Stacey if you need anything else,” she said brightly before turning to walk to the far end of the bar, where another man was sitting at the corner.

Jake’s eyes followed her and silently observed that side of the bar, taking in everything. Part of him wanted to turn around and watch that Employee door in hopes that she would come back out, but he didn’t want a repeat of what just happened.

He took a sip of his drink while he observed, but just as he started to relax the man at the end of the bar tilted his lowball glass back to take his own sip, and one of the lights on the other side shined through the glass and displayed the…red…contents. It wasn’t runny, it wasn’t grenadine, it was blood.

Did he sneak that in here? Jake had obviously seen Vampire’s drink from glasses before, they could be formal when they wanted to, but out in the open like this? That was ballsy as hell.

A drop escaped the glass and landed on the corner of the man’s, well, Vampire’s mouth and his tongue darted out to catch it. The bartender Jake now knew as Stacey was just standing there, chatting away as if she hadn’t even seen it. The hunter immediately thought that the Vampire had Persuaded this young girl into not noticing, and if he was already doing that, what else was he planning to do?

Jake immediately shifted into hunter-mode, his casual evening cut short by duty calling. He sat there, listening as best he could over the loud music and crowd noise. Soon his glass was empty, and as Stacey walked back by he got her attention and she stopped in front of him.

He ordered another whiskey, but before she could hop off to make it he asked her a question, “hey umm…who's that down there?” He tilted his head slightly in the Vampire’s direction.

A sheepish smile spread across her face, “oh…that’s Lou. He’s in here a lot.” Even in the dim lighting Jake could see the color rush to her cheeks when she said Lou’s name.

A regular Vampire, huh, not for much longer, Jake thought.

He opened his mouth to ask another question but Stacey’s eyes suddenly went wide and she darted off to the Employee door without another word. He vaguely heard her say the name, “Cecilia” as she exited but he wasn’t sure.

Jake sat there confused as to what spooked her so quickly, and he stole another glance at “Lou” the Vampire.

“So, another whiskey for you?” A smoky voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Jake whipped his head back to the direction of the voice and suddenly, she was in front of him. He gaped at her, once again reverting back to his awkward prepubescent self. All he could do was nod like an idiot. A new glass was placed in front of him, the amber liquid perfectly poured.

“This one’s on the house,” she said as she leaned against her hands on the edge of the bar. The motion made her collar bones visible just beneath the scooped-neck of her t-shirt. Fuck.

“O-oh you don’t have to-”

“Nonsense, I like giving out a free drink once and awhile, especially to new faces. I even top shelved it for you,” her lips formed a smile and she tilted her head at him, as if she already knew the effect she had on him.

He took a sip, savoring the liquor on his tongue before swallowing. Perfectly smooth.

“Now, what are you doing here,” she asked, a little less friendly than before.

The question threw him off, why would she ask that?

“Just checking out local places while I’m in town,” he answered with a level tone as he took another swig of his drink.

“Hmm…yeah but what were you doing just a couple minutes ago?”

He looked at her strangely, “just sitting here?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt his throat tighten up out of nowhere. What the fuck?

“Uh-huh, just sitting here? Not scoping out the place?”

“No? Why would I-,” his throat tightened up even more, making it harder to breathe. Jake struggled to take in a breath as he gripped the glass in front of him.

“You do know where you’re sitting, right?” She leaned even closer to him, lowering her voice.

“At a bar…?” That was the truth, partially, but he didn’t know where she was going with this.

She smirked at him, “oh I guess you didn’t notice that this bar happens to be next to a cemetery?”

Cemeteries were probably one of the few truly neutral places you could be. Neutral in the sense that creatures knew better than to start trouble in them, and hunters were lumped into that protocol as well. They were their own liminal space with their own rules, and Jake remembered Sam rambling about the spirits that reside in them did not take kindly to truces being broken on their land. If Jake had actually killed the Vampire at the end of the bar, it would not be pretty for him once the spirits figured out what happened. If the woman in front of him knew this rule, then what was she?

“Fuck,” he rasped.

“Yeah, fuck is right. So what is a hunter like you coming into my bar where we mind our own business and coexist as best we can?” Irritation was evident in her voice.

This was her bar? Oh, he really fucked up.

“Listen I wasn’t trying to start anything,” he tried to explain but his words had his throat nearly closed completely.

“Sure you weren’t,” she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small vial full of pale green liquid. She held it up in front of him, “sir you look very…purple…are you feeling alright?”

He stared at the vile in her hand, and he wasn’t sure if he was connecting the dots or just seeing them, but he tried to whisper a guess.

“W-witch..?”

“Oh nothing gets past you,” she mocked. “And yes, I am, thank you for asking.”

At this point all he could do was wheeze at her.

“Now, I can reverse that little concoction you happily drank, but only on one condition.”

His big brown eyes started watering and he nodded.

She twisted off the cap of the vial and slowly poured the contents into Jake’s glass as she spoke, “you have two minutes to get out of my bar before I get that Werewolf in the corner to throw you out.”

Jake quickly drank down the whole glass as best he could, oxygen finally entering his system as his throat loosened back up.

“S-sorry…” he whispered.

“If you ever come back here and try that shit again, it’ll be a lot worse. Now go,” her voice was final, and she flicked her eyes over his shoulder and at the door.

Jake didn’t hesitate to slide off the barstool and walk right out, not looking back even though he wanted to.

As he drove back to the motel, all he could think about was the Witch that just nearly killed him, and how her eyes bore into his, and for once in his life, Jake Kiszka was the one intimidated and outmatched.

To be continued…

Tag List: @dannyandthekiszkas , @readyforthegarden , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal , @myownparadise96 , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmelbourne, @twistedmelodies , @that-witchy-pan , @gold-mines-melting , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface , @sadiechar , @char289 , @stardustvanfleet , @sunfl0wer-power , @holdingup-fallingsky , @bladenotblaze , @gretavanlace ,

#jake kiszka #jake kiszka x oc #moonburn #strangers to lovers #starcrossed but they don't know it #angst #hurt/comfort #themes of PTSD #lingering guilt #parental issues #abandonment issues #and just two broken people trying to figure the fuck out of life #greta van fleet #jake gvf #my fics #my writing #🌙🔥

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smokestarrules · 2 years

Note

I want ALL of your Amity's analysis. Do u hear me? ALL, hahaha

ok bet

The family Amity grew up in was very simple: Odalia and Alador are the authority, Edric and Emira can do no wrong (though, of course, it’s more complicated than that), and Amity can never be enough.

Luz was everything Amity wanted to be herself.

She loved Grudgby, but she stopped playing it because she didn’t like the person she was while playing.

She has no fucking idea on how to talk to people, including and especially Willow.

Amity wasn’t going to fucking dissect Luz, and neither was Principal Bump.

Amity Blight does not cheat. That is an essential part of her character. She does not cheat to get to where she is, because 1) Blights don’t cheat (and it doesn’t matter whether or not that’s actually true) and 2) Amity doesn’t cheat. Amity doesn’t cheat because she’s worked hard for every single thing she’s ever been given and cheating would undermine her entire character.

She doesn’t have many safe spaces, so when she does find one, she makes sure to go all-out on making it feel like home.

Amity grew up having to justify every single thing she did to her parents, having to justify her own existence, and that especially includes things she enjoys.

If Luz hadn’t joined Edric and Emira in the library during Lost in Language, the relationship between the twins and Amity literally would have been damaged irreparably. She would have never spoken to them again.

Luz was the first person on-screen to make her laugh.

She is just a little bit dumb sometimes <3

Luz saying “We can fix this together” in Understanding Willow is one of the most monumental moments in Amity’s entire life.

If it weren’t for Luz, Amity almost 100% would’ve campaigned for the role of Grom Queen. Because Luz was there, though, her fears changed, and she knew it.

Amity was going to confess to Luz before she had to go and fight Grometheus in Enchanting Grom Fright, but Luz offering to take her place stopped her in her tracks, because she wasn’t at all ready for that.

Amity’s fear, too, is the culmination of everything she was scared of losing, not just Luz rejecting her advances.

After King’s reassurance in Eclipse Lake, she’s self-aware enough to understand that the similarities between herself and Hunter don’t necessarily have to be a bad thing, and she makes a conscious effort to reach out to him.

She started learning Spanish before she was stranded in the Human Realm in an attempt to further connect with Luz.

Amity does not snoop through Luz’s things even when she thinks knowing more could help because she’s had that happen to her and she understands how small it makes you feel. She is ridiculously emotionally intelligent when it comes to Luz, and, later, when it comes to herself.

She would do anything for her friends.

She’s the only witch who’s ever read The Good Witch Azura series, which she latched onto because it served as a sort of escape for her. She sees herself within Hecate, because despite her wrongdoings, the narrative treats her with kindness. Consequently, the book in which Hecate is effectively redeemed is the only one she hadn’t been able to collect herself.

She sets incredible boundaries with her father. He’s trying now, sure, but that doesn’t take back the years of pain, and it shouldn’t.

Amity gets noticeably more and more silly as the time goes on, because she’s coming back into herself.

Also as time goes on, her magic grows more versatile!

She was not trying to antagonize Willow in Labyrinth Runners, but trying way too hard to protect the person that she had once hurt so deeply. It’s a setback, nothing more, and one that arises from miscommunication. It’s settled, too. They’re on the same page now.

And because of that, Amity is able to let herself be silly with Willow, too!!

She may be the least powerful (certainly one of the least powerful, at least) of the main cast, but that’s a good thing.

It’s also a good thing that we haven’t seen her library hideout since season 1, as cute as it was. She doesn’t need it anymore.

Over time, her relationship with her siblings has improved to the point that they know her well enough to know how to calm her down, and she’s comfortable with them to be able to talk freely about Luz.

Amity still had hope for Odalia, because even after everything she’s done to her, Amity still wanted to believe that she wasn’t all bad.

She tried so hard to make sure Luz also got through the portal in King’s Tide. She would’ve stayed behind if Luz did.

Amity knows full well in Thanks to Them that Luz is feeling guilty, if not the extent of it, and she tries to help out by setting up Halloween costumes that she thinks they’ll both love; Hecate and Azura, which is the thing they bonded over initially.

Recognizing that Luz doesn't feel like she deserves love, Amity quotes her girlfriend to show her that, yes, she does, and this is how much she means to her.

#what? you did say 'all'#god this took a while but it's worth it dhgjkdlfsghdf #toh #toh spoilers #the owl house #the owl house spoilers #amity blight #luz noceda #willow park #lumity #smokey answers #anonymous

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kxisuke · 2 years

Note

Heyy can you write how it would look when y/n met port mafia members by accident bc she burst into meeting room bc she didn’t know they had meeting in that moment and she is Moris wife, at the meeting were Black lizard squad, Koyo, Chuya, Akutagawa, Higuchi and Dazai who is her older brother

✧ AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING

✧ p. mori ougai

✧ tw. none, kinda spoilers?

— a/n. ahhh thank you for the request and for being so patient with me! this is kinda shorter than i wanted it to be tbh, but please enjoy!!

The sounds of your angry footsteps echo through the empty halls of the Port Mafia Headquarters, and you silently vow you’re going to kill Mori as soon as you get your hands on him. How dare he leave poor Elise all alone in her room. You had walked in on the girl, who was quietly crying to herself among her crayons because he had just abandoned her without saying anything. Sure, she was being a little dramatic, but at the same time, he should have some care for the girl who's like his own daughter.

“I’m gonna kill you, Mori. You better be in here.” You approach the giant doors to the meeting room, the last place to check on your list, fuming to yourself.

You didn’t expect to walk into a whole strategy meeting, with Mori sitting at the head of the table. The whole Black Lizard Squad as well as a couple other members were also there, as expected, but the person you were not expecting to see was your older brother and long-time rival, Dazai.

“Y/n?” Mori only has a second to respond to your intrusion before you have multiple weapons aimed directly at your face. You can feel the hint of a smile tugging on your lips at the defensive reaction from the Black Lizard Squad.

Maybe they are as good as Mori makes them out to be.

Reaching into your pocket, you swiftly pull out a knife of your own, hurdling it at Mori. He doesn’t flinch as it embeds itself in the top of his chair, millimeters away from his head.

“Now, now, let’s not get hasty.” With a wave of his hands and a curt command, the weapons back down from your face. Your angry voice pierces through the room, prompting a smirk from Mori.

“That’s for leaving Elise all by herself. You shouldn’t just abandon her without telling her, y’know.” He chuckles, gesturing to the various people in the room—all of whom are silent, watching this interaction. They have no idea who you are or what you’re doing here, attacking the head of the Port Mafia so casually.

“Can’t you see I’m busy? Duty calls, love.” Reaching up and removing the knife still balancing over his head, he points it at you.

“I’d like you to all meet my dear wife, y/n l/n. Treat her as you would treat me, and we won’t have any problems.” You can see the shock on Dazai’s face—and frankly the shock on everyone’s faces—as Mori introduces you.

“So you’re the fabled ‘Black Lizard’ that Ougai is always talking about.” Scanning the room, you can immediately place who’s who based on the descriptions Mori has given you. Eyes landing on Chuuya, you size him up.

“You’re shorter than I expected.” His mouth contorts into a scowl, and he starts towards you with anger in his eyes.

“Why you...”

“Chuuya.” Mori’s voice interrupts him, and he retreats back to his place, grumbling to himself. Almost skipping over to where your husband is sitting, you rest against the back of his chair, leaning over and landing a quick peck to his cheek.

“You’re too hard on me, y/n.”

“I only do it cause I love you.”

“Ugh, get a room.” You hear Chuuya and your brother making exaggerated gagging noises from where they’re standing next to each other.

You glare at him before kissing Mori directly on the lips, snaking your hand onto the back of his head and gripping his hair. You can hear Chuuya groan and Koyo chuckle to herself. Higuchi’s a blushing mess, and the Akutagawa twins just stand and stare with what you can only guess is shock. Mori smiles into your lips, and when you finally take a breath for air, he pulls you into his lap, trying to contain his excitement of having finally officially introduced you into the mafia.

“Now... let’s get back to business.”

#mori x reader #mori x you #mori x y/n #mori ougai x reader #mori ougai x you #mori ougai x y/n #ougai mori x reader #ougai mori x you #ougai mori x y/n #mori ougai #ougai mori #bungou stray dogs x y/n #bungou stray dogs x you #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n

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pixeldistractions · 1 month

Text

So Maria and Johanna became frequent patrons of the arts center. Maria worked on her new hobby, and Johanna expanded her social circles with all the new kids she met there. Spitfire as she may be, Johanna could also be very friendly. Each time Maria came to pick her up from the kiddie corner, she seemed to have made a new friend.

Today she was talking with a boy at the science table.

When he turned around, Maria gasped.

“His name is Milo,” Johanna announced, and Maria was grateful for that information because she hadn’t met the twins enough times to know which boy was which. It was shocking how much he looked like his dad. Looking at his face made her heart hurt.

He looked at Maria funny for a minute. “Oh, hey, aren’t you the kitchen lady from my dad’s work?” Then he added sadly, “I mean, his old work.”

The kitchen lady. Maria laughed. He wasn’t wrong. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“He doesn’t work there anymore,” Milo said, “but I guess you probably know that. You made me a grilled cheese once when I came to the hotel after school. It was really good.”

“You can’t go wrong with grilled cheese. You know, your dad is my best friend.”

“Oh, weird.” Milo made a mystified face. Not in a bad way, but like he’d never considered his dad having a best friend before.

Maria was totally unsure how much she should or shouldn’t meddle here. She should probably mind her own business, but she knew too much and she cared too much. Jordan told her about the confiscated phone and how he hadn’t been allowed to talk to his kids for three days. She knew Jordan was upset about it, and it looked like Milo was, too. Maria loved Jordan, and Milo came from Jordan, which meant that her love extended to him, even if they didn’t know each other very well yet. Her heart ached for them both.

“He can’t wait to talk to you again,” she said.

There was a small panic on the boy’s face. “Oh, I have to do all my homework before I’m allowed. But I can’t do it.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“‘Cause fractions are really hard, and my mom can’t help because she’s always working. My dad is really good at fractions, because you need fractions for building stuff. But he can’t help me now because he’s gone.”

Oh, sweet boy. Maria wanted to hug him, but that would have been totally weird, so she didn’t. But she had an idea. “Wait, what if he can help you? Do you have your homework here?”

“Yeah, It’s in my backpack.”

“Hang on just a second.” Maria stepped around the corner to make a phone call.

It was 4pm, still too hot in the desert for climbing and late enough for work to be done. Chances were decent that Jordan would be free. She often called him at this time of day.

And he picked up.

“I have to show you something,” she said. She pointed her camera at the kiddie corner where Johanna and Milo were still chatting. “Look who JoJo found at the arts center. Do you think they remember each other from the hotel? It’s probably been a while since they were both there at the same time. But JoJo just walked up to him and they started chatting.”

“And they’re getting along?” Jordan asked.

“Like peanut butter and jelly.”

“That’s so funny. It’s great, really. One less thing to stress about, huh? I kind of wondered if they would get along. Is Felix there too?”

“It doesn’t seem like it. Just Milo,” Maria said. “So, I don’t know if I’m overstepping here. I probably am, and you can let me know if this is a terrible idea, but do you want to talk to him?”

Jordan only thought about it for a second before answering. “Yeah, I do.”

Maria brought the phone over to Milo, and seeing his father’s face on the screen, Milo lit up. His mother would be angry about this, but Maria didn’t feel like she’d done something wrong.

Milo got out his homework, and Maria propped the phone up on the table. Then she left them to it. She didn’t want to eavesdrop.

“But I want a turn talking to Jordan,” Johanna whined.

“You had a turn last night. Tonight it’s Milo’s turn. It’s really important. You can talk to me instead.”

“But I always talk to you.”

“Don’t you like talking to me?”

“Yeah, you’re still my favorite.”

Maria hugged her baby, feeling lucky for this one thing. Nobody would ever come between her and this little girl. “Thanks, baby.”

“But when we’re playing animals, Jordan is my favorite.”

Maria laughed. “Oh, okay. That’s fair.”

Over in the kitchen area, Jordan and Milo were having a happy little chat. They talked about school, video games, and how his brother was at a student council meeting after school. They talked a little bit about math, but that wasn’t the only thing they talked about. They didn’t talk about Colette. And Milo especially liked to hear that Jordan planned to visit Wisconsin in December.

He didn’t quite understand, though.

“You’re coming home? Mom got a new couch, it sucks. Or if you want, you can have my bed and I’ll sleep in the living room. The couch isn’t that bad.”

Oh, the heartbreak Jordan had to deliver. Milo didn’t understand that they wouldn’t all live under one roof like the seemingly happy family they pretended to be. It would never be like that again.

“No, I’m sorry, buddy. You’re gonna keep your bed. I can’t sleep in that house anymore. But maybe your mom will let you stay over in the camper with me on the weekend. Someday she will. But, for now, we’ll hang out a lot. We’ll see movies. We’ll go skateboarding. We’ll do whatever you want.”

Jordan felt like the biggest piece of shit in the world and there weren’t enough promises to make up for it. “Let’s talk about those fractions, huh?”

After about an hour, Milo brought Maria’s phone back. It was okay that they took an hour. Maria hoped that they had a good long chat and weren’t talking about fractions the whole time.

And Lord help her if—no, when—Colette ever found out about what she had orchestrated here. Maria was a dead woman walking.

“Thanks, um, Maria, right?”

Better than the kitchen lady. “Yeah, any time.”

“Well, I gotta go now. My mom’s picking me up in a minute.”

Pray for me, Maria thought.

— from “boxes and squares #4.2: then have some faith” (3/5)

footnotes from previous stories: Jordan is the neighborhood dad

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #sims story #sim stories #jordan #maria #milo #johanna

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evilhasnever · 10 months

Text

Back in uhh May, @wishthefish sent a drabble prompt which was: “xiyao with children, and they’re obsessed with slime. That stuff that is so hard to clean off things. Both LXC and JGY are against it (but jgy tends to indulge children…)” (I went a bit off track, but today I got inspired for this because I thought of who exactly bought them the slime! Anyway here are 1000 words of rather self indulgent xiyao parenting! Bit of struggle, bit of flirting.)

Since Jin Guangyao returned to work full time, he’s been doing as well as he ever did on the professional side of things - but the anxiety never fully left him. He's handling it, but merely “handling it” is not the standard of excellence he aspires to.

He’s doing his very best not to be a helicopter parent, not to text every hour, not to install several cameras in the house and connect them straight to his work monitors—actually, that idea is still on the table. Wei Wuxian has already sent him a few links to purchase the equipment at a discount.

In short, Jin Guangyao is all too aware of the innumerable bad things that can happen to a child. Two children. Adventurous ones. His husband thinks everything will be just fine, but his husband has a remarkably optimistic outlook on life that Jin Guangyao doesn’t share.

Fortunately, technology is wonderful - and the next best thing to ubiquity. Jin Guangyao works from home three days a week and hires the best babysitter money can buy the other two. He interviewed over thirty of them, and dug criminally deep into their records before confirming his choice.

On the weekends, he and Lan Xichen are obviously dead to the world, since it’s the only time they are both home. Sometimes Lan Wangji will offer to babysit, perhaps in return for the many times Xichen had done so for him - but it happens rarely and, out of unbecoming possessiveness, Jin Guangyao almost prefers it that way. Jingyi won’t shut up about uncle Wangji already.

Lan Xichen takes over in the afternoons most days - it’s easier for him to take the evening off because he works in the family business; Lans, all of them, schedule their meetings at ungodly AM in the morning and often leave the rest of the day for personal pursuits, be it the gym, research or whatever else.

It was working, it really was, until one day Jin Guangyao gets home to three pairs of big, apologetic cow eyes welcoming him in the lobby as he enters, guilt written all over three beloved faces.

“What are you doing?” he asks, eyeing his twins and Xichen sitting on the floor in a line. His husband is in the lotus position, and he can tell the twins have tried and failed to copy him - mostly from the way they’re sitting all crab-legged and red-faced, but thankfully not crying.

“We are meditating,” Lan Xichen says, in a transparent attempt to sound serene, “on some things we should not do again, and why we shouldn’t.”

“I see,” Jin Guangyao carefully replies, putting down his satchel. “And what are some of these things, out of curiosity?”

Without saying a word, Rusong points to the living room, ever the little tattletale.

Jin Guangyao hears Lan Xichen sigh before he takes in the sight of his living room - his pride and joy - now looking like a crime scene. A quick prod with his foot tells him it is neither blood nor strawberry jam that is splattered on the white couch. On the carpet. On the tv. And somehow, up in the air conditioner filters.

“What is it?”

Lan Xichen replies from the corridor. “Slime, I am told. It’s not harmful, just… hard to clean.”

Jin Guangyao sighs. “Well, let’s clean up. Take them to their room, I’m sure they’ve learned the lesson.” Still in his suit, he starts googling how to clean up slime while Lan Xichen ushers the kids to bed.

He does, however, take off his tailored pants to kneel and scrub the carpet. He is still working on it - vinegar, water and elbow grease - when Lan Xichen returns, looking so, so remorseful. And like he absolutely wasn’t caught peeking at his bum - because he’s currently feeling remorseful, of course.

“I’m sorry, A-Yao. Let me take over the scrubbing.”

Jin Guangyao lets him, if just to appreciatively consider the sliver of skin revealed above his waistband when he bends.

“Who bought them this? I know you didn’t, gege. Fess up.” If he knows his husband, he knows Lan Xichen would never do anything so unwise. He may indulge the kids, but he is a very convincing person, certainly capable of diverting them towards a more palatable, preferably harmless toy if the need arises.

“Huaisang brought it and I didn’t get to intercept before he handed it to them,” Lan Xichen admits, sitting up on his haunches with a browbeaten expression.

“So that’s why you were in timeout, too?” Jin Guangyao chuckles, giving him a teasing side glance.

“I should have acted faster,” Lan Xichen says, with disproportionate gravity. Done with the carpet, he stands up and wipes his hands thoroughly before pulling Jin Guangyao into a half hug. He props his head on top of Jin Guangyao’s, heaves a sigh that echoes through his skull. “I’m sorry, A-Yao.”

Jin Guangyao frowns but doesn’t move. “It’s just a couch, gege. We can replace the upholstery.”

“Yes. But I meant… I’m sorry I dismissed your worries so carelessly, when we talked about babysitting. Acting like parenting is easy or-or fun at all times, was really presumptuous of me.”

Well. If it took only a couch to get Lan Xichen to accept Jin Guangyao’s concerns as legitimate (and let him install some cameras), it was all worth it.

“Apology accepted,” he murmurs, pulling back from the hug just to lean up on his tiptoes and tease Lan Xichen’s lower lip. “This A-Yao really needs a shower now, but perhaps my husband could give me a hand with that?”

Xichen blushes happily, then seems to catch himself. “Ah, yes. But before that, there’s one more tub of that unfortunate substance to deal with in the kitchen. They… they tried to make a smoothie with it.”

Jin Guangyao’s eyebrow twitches, which is as much distress as he is willing to display when he’s angling for *at least* a handjob.

“Alright. You do that. I’m going to call Nie Huaisang to thank him for the gift.”

#xiyao #Xiyao drabbles #I don’t usually write pure domesticity so I hope you like it?#ask box #Lan xichen #jin Guangyao #baby cameos

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oleander-nin · 2 years

Text

Allergies: Rise! Donnie x Reader

Oops, I think I dropped this. Was a request.

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

Donatello was confused. He knew in his mind that there should be a simple answer, but he couldn't find one. The internet wasn’t helping him, nor were any of Leo’s medical books, and Donnie was starting to get worried. But most of all, he was confused, and Donnie hated being confused. Especially about such a seemingly simple question. Why did he seem to stop functioning whenever Y/n came near him?

Donnie has known Y/n for a couple years now, and they’ve slowly secured their spot in his heart as his best friend. He knows for a fact he’s never felt so weird around them before, he would have avoided you otherwise. Which is what he’s doing now. He could hear their laughter ringing through the lair, obviously finding something one of his brothers said or did funny, and it made him feel weird. A burning sensation seemed to settle in his chest, and Donnie had to remind himself to unclench his jaw. He could tell he was jealous, that was a feeling he was quite familiar with, but he wasn’t too sure of what he was jealous about.

Definitely not of you. He hides away in his lab because he already spends too much time with them. Using the same logic, he shouldn’t be jealous of his brothers either. After all, they spent the majority of their time with him, and probably would be hanging out with him right now, if not for the fact that he sent Y/n away at the door when they first arrived 4 hours ago. Was it mean? Probably. However, it was necessary as it is quite hard for Donnie to work when just looking at them made his stomach tie up in knots and keep his brain from properly functioning.

So jealousy is most definitely one of the emotions he’s feeling right now. Another was frustration, specifically at the fact that he can’t seem to find out what is wrong with him. that was another one Donnie could easily slap a label on. The third emotion however? The third is the mystery emotion, the one that he seems to only feel every time Donnie sees or thinks of Y/n.

Donnie gets knocked off his train of thought when someone busts through his lab's doors. Donnie looks over and groans at the sight of his blue-coded brother. Leonardo sports an obnoxious grin on his face as he waltzes up to where Donnie’s sitting. Donnie turns in his chair, his back to Leo. As much as he hated to admit it, he was still a bit jealous that his brother was hanging out with you.

“Soooooo….” his brother starts, leaning down on the backrest of Donnie’s chair, “why are you avoiding them?”

Ah, getting straight to the point then. How unlike Leo, this must be serious for him. Donnie freezes for a second, wondering how Leonardo figured it out, but quickly regains his composure.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about ‘Nardo.” Ah yes, lying. What a great way to start.

“Oh come on! You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you” Leo exclaims as he throws his hands in the air. Donnie sighs and turns his chair around so he’s facing his brother.

“You should believe it, it’s the truth! I have no idea what you're talking about. The only person I ever try to avoid is you, but that never works out, otherwise you’d be somewhere else, and I'd be left in peace.” Donnie says, glaring up at his brother. Did he just spit out a bunch of lies? Yes. Did he care? no.

Leo rolls his eyes at him, looking around for a place to sit so he could properly scold his self-proclaimed twin. Leo takes great care in exaggerating his movements as he brushes a bunch of Donnie papers and stationary out of the way, making Donnie twitch in anger. As much as he would love to strangle his brother, Donnie knew Splinter would be disappointed if he did.

Leo dons a smug grin as he sits on the desk, swinging his legs back and forth as he leans back.

“As much as your words wound me hermano, I still don’t believe you. You, my good sir, are avoiding Y/n-”

“I am not! How dare you even insinuate that! They’re my best friend, why would I ever avoid them!” Donnie says, more lies tumbling out of his mouth as he tries to save his precious ego. He knows he’s been caught, but he wonders why Leo cares so much as to confront him.

“Don’t interrupt me, especially when we both know I’m right. You’re avoiding Y/n, and it’s making them upset-”

“They’re upset?” Donnie interrupts again, his voice quieter now. Donnie feels sick now. He hadn’t meant to make them feel upset. He just wanted to fix himself so he could hang out with you normally again. He never wanted to hurt you. Maybe if he just asked for your help, you’d know what was going on? Leo looked at his brother, noting his downcast eyes and the way he paled at the revelation of Y/n’s inner turmoil at Donnie’s avoidance.

“Well if you’d quit interrupting me, I'd explain. After you sent them away, very rudely I might add, they came over to play some video games with me and Mikey. They told us how you told them to buzz off, and asked us if you were mad at them. Gosh Donnie, you made one of the only humans who likes us think you hate them. I came here as soon as they left!” Leo took a deep breath before continuing, calming himself down a bit.

“So yeah, I wanna know. Why are you being such a jerk and avoiding Y/n.” Leo’s eyes bore into Donnie’s at the question, and Donnie genuinely wonders for a second if he manifested the ability to read minds along with his teleportation.

Donnie takes a deep breath at his brother's words, his eyes looking anywhere but Leo’s. He leans back in his chair, trying to figure out the best way to explain to his brother the problem he's recently been plagued with.

“I think I’m allergic to Y/n” Donnie mutters finally. After hearing nothing in reply, he peaks up at his brother, only to be met with a completely dumbfounded expression gracing the slider's face.

“You think you’re WHAT? Wha-? how did you-? Why did you come to that conclusion!?” Leo sputters out in utter shock, not believing what he heard. Donnie’s face hardens as he scowls

“Oh please, you’re not the one who has to deal with brain malfunctions every time they come near you! I can barely say a word to them anymore without looking like a complete idiot! Plus my body temperature rises, my mouth dries up, and my chest starts to feel tight! I can’t live like this!” Donnie’s voice starts to rise as he speaks, his breathing becoming more heavy and ragged, his throat starting to close up as he gets more and more heated. What Donnie wasn’t expecting to hear in reply to his almost breakdown was laughter. Donatello’s face morphs into one of offense and distaste, his eyes growing cold as he looks at his laughing brother with a scowl.

Donnie can feel his muscles tightening, and he vaguely notices his now white knuckles as he clenches his hand into a fist. It was taking just about everything in him to not punch his brother right then and there.

“Get out.” Donnie’s voice was quiet, but firm. His jaw tensing as he crosses his arms, no longer in the mood to talk to his brother about his problems. He can figure this out on his own, he always does. If worse comes to worse, he can always ask April.

Leo calms down his laughter at that, smiley dopily at his brother, his eyes clouded with confusion.

“What?” Leo still holds a smile on his face, although it has definitely shrunk. He tilts his head a little, trying to study the softshell’s steely face.

“I said, get out. I don’t want to talk to someone who’s just going to laugh at my problems Leonardo. Honestly, I really didn't want to talk to you in the first place.” Donnie stares at his brother impassively. Leo’s smile fully drops now, understanding how his actions just closed his brother off even more.

“I’m sorry I-”

“Are you not listening to me! I said GET OUT!” His voice being strangled by the evident hurt in his heart. Donnie sends one last glare to his brother before spinning his chair around and pulling his chest firmly to his desk, caging himself in to hide his shaking body from Leo.

Leo’s gapes at his brother, mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the right words to say. Leo sighs, his hand running over his face. He didn’t mean to laugh, he didn’t, but it was just too absurd. I mean, Donnie not knowing what a crush was? Really? The only thing Leo really could do was laugh.

“I, uhm, I’m sorry. It caught me off guard.” Leo glanced at the chair his brother was residing in, the unbearing silence seemed to be an invitation to continue. “I mean, it was just so unbelievable to me that I didn’t know what to do. You’re the smart guy, the one who knows everything, so I kinda just assumed you were kidding.”

Leo notes his brother's continued stillness, and wonders if he can even hear him.

“You have a crush Donnie. You’re not allergic to Y/n, you just, y’know, like them.”

Oh.

Donnie swivels his chair so he wasn’t facing Leo, but wasn’t completely blocking him off anymore either. His mind races with scenarios, trying to figure out if his brother's words hold some truth. He’s wrong, right? Donnie can’t have a crush on Y/n, their his best friend! It’d ruin your whole vibe together! Right? Donatello can’t deny that it did make sense, his whole “sickness” towards them matched a lot of the symptoms a crush causes. He just can’t believe he never noticed it.

Donnie notices his brother's tense posture, watching as he fiddles with his fingers and picks at his cuticles. Donnie stands up and starts to walk over to him, Leo’s eyes snapping up to watch him. Leo’s eyes dart back and forth between Donnie and the door, and Donnie could tell he wanted to make a run for it. Leo gave Donnie a nervous smile, putting his hand on the back of his neck.

“I really thought you were joking, sorry.” Leo mumbles, wincing slightly at his brother's stoic expression. Donnie sighs, and leans against the desk Leo’s sitting on.

“No, you’re fine. I would’ve laughed at you too.”

The turtle twins both just bask in awkward silence for a bit, neither wanting to break it in case the tension they can both feel so heavily snaps.

“Soooo, we can both agree that you’re not allergic to Y/n now, right?” Leo glances over at Donnie, who’s now looking back at him with a very annoyed expression. Donnie blows out a huff of air before nodding his head.

“Yeah, definitely not allergic.”

10.16.22

#rottmnt donnie #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #donatello hamato #tmnt fanfic #lol i suck at writing #creative writing #rottmnt #rise leo #litteraly spent 3 days on this #i hate it so much #crossposted on wattpad ig

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loverontheleft · 9 months

Text

There, Right There (revised)

Original request: “a virgin B and the reader basically is teaching him and praising him. helping him learn. i can’t remember all of what i said but basically molding him into the man he is today 😉” COMBINED WITH: “Okay but like can you do a oneshot where the reader’s parents don’t know she’s dating Brendon and they decide to stop by and visit, but when they open the door they find them messing around on the couch and that’s how the find out and they have to have an awkward dinner together afterwards.”

Brendon x reader

Notes: we’re in some bizarre parallel universe where vices!B is a virgin. I know, it doesn’t make sense to me either. Suspend your disbelief. Roll with it.

Warnings: dirty talk, language in general, oral sex for both, basic sex—pretty vanilla.

Word Count: 4.9k ➡️ 9.6k

-||-

“No, it’s fine, my parents aren’t going to be home for hours. Let’s make out,” you whisper against his lips, tugging at his belt.

Brendon’s still hesitant; you can see the look in his eyes. “Sugar, you brought me here for Thanksgiving dinner and to meet your parents…we shouldn’t—in their house, on their couch—because what if they walk in?”

You kiss him hard as you undo the buckle, and you’re able to slip a hand down inside his jeans. He gasps into your mouth as his hips buck forward into your touch, and you know he wants to be convinced. “They won’t. They’re grocery shopping. And besides, we’re not gonna mess around on their couch. We can go back upstairs to my childhood bedroom. We can make out on a twin-size bed in front of all my participation trophies and boy band posters. I know you want to,” you purr in his ear, and he groans—it’s deep and reverberates through his chest against you; just the sound of it makes you want to get naked, drag him to the nearest horizontal surface, and see all the different ways you can get him to make that sound again.

That being said, it would be the first time you had him fully naked, first time you’d gotten to do much of anything with him, and as much as you’d enjoy seeing him sprawled on the plush, black leather couch of the living room, one hand clutching the cushions and the other pulling your hair as you blow him eagerly, you know your original plan of getting him upstairs is better. And besides, you don’t really want the first time you suck his cock to be in your parents’ living room. Tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth a little before releasing it, you grin and pull hard at the edges of his belt in your hands. “Let’s go.”

You guide him up the stairs, and he must regain some confidence along the way, because he pushes you into your room and onto your bed. You shriek and bounce a little, giggling as he crawls on top of you and slots a thigh between yours. “Well, hello there,” you murmur into his mouth, rubbing against him.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispers, and you push his hair out of his face so you can meet his eyes. He cups your face and kisses you gently; you’ve found a great pace on his thigh but his soft kisses, while lovely, aren’t going to get you where you’re trying to go. So you deepen the kiss, one hand tangled in the back of his hair to keep his mouth crushed to yours, while the other grips his shoulder to keep him down against you.

You’ve been together for about six months now, and you’ve each spent nights in the other’s bed, but it’s never gone further than urgent, deep makeout sessions and some over-the-clothes touching—and you haven’t had a chance to go further, because you’ve both always had most of your clothes on. You’re not upset by it exactly; it just feels odd that things are progressing so well emotionally, yet moving so slowly physically.

Part of you wonders if the emotional side is going well because you two haven’t had sex, but you push this idea away. You love him, you know that, but you also want him. You want him under you, over you, deep inside you—all of it. And you know the desire is mutual too.

“I just,” Brendon murmured against your neck one night last week, “want you to know that I do want to.” You were half-asleep and not quite sure what he meant until he continued talking. “I’m not sure why I’m waiting or holding back; I want you so damn badly.” You’d honestly expected something to happen then, but he just held you firmly against his body, fingers tracing your stomach idly until you both fell asleep.

You also know he’s a virgin. He’s always called it a choice, not a ‘waiting for the one’ thing exactly, but a ‘mindful abstinence’ scenario. Either way you look at it, you’re positive you’re going to be his first, and you’d really like to be his only.

Even though he’s not sensitive or shy about his virginity, you’re still reluctant to push him. You don’t want him to think that you’re only interested in him sexually, despite the fact that his touch absolutely electrifies you, and every time you so much as look at him, your body tenses with desire. But you’re starting to think you’ll need to make the first move here after all; Brendon has always been such a gentleman with you that he’s probably afraid of inadvertently pushing you. He knows you’ve had sexual partners in the past and knows about your, in your own words, ‘voracious sexual appetite.’ It’s because of all this that you suspect he’s afraid to initiate anything more, just because he doesn’t want you to think he expects it of you.

Now that you think about it though, you’re not sure he’d have any real expectations. He’s openly admitted to being a virgin, but he hasn’t gotten into the specifics. That lack of information gives you the distinct impression that he hasn’t done anything past what you’re doing right now: making out and grinding, rubbing, rocking on each other. It might be time to push him along, just a bit.

Making up your mind, you lean down and murmur, “I want to be on top of you,” in his ear, and he groans a little, nodding.

“Want that too,” Brendon manages, and you roll over him and press him into the mattress, your thighs spread over his hips. You go back to your earlier movement, but stop after a moment. Your jeans are bothering you, and you said it yourself; your parents shouldn’t be home for hours. You slip off of him and, laying flat on your back, wiggle out of your pants, kicking them off the edge of the bed. For good measure, you squirm out of your shirt as well.

He’s a little wide-eyed at the sight of your underwear, and the desire on his face is so plain that you just have to be on him again. Whenever you’ve spent the night, he’s preemptively given you a pair of his boxers and an oversized tee to sleep in. He’s always turned away to be respectful and ‘give you your privacy as you change,’ even though you’ve gently teased that you don’t mind him looking.

Brendon’s definitely looking now, and you can see how hard he is. You need to feel him. Gripping both of his shoulders, you settle back down, and he pulls your face down to kiss you. “So damn hot,” Brendon mumbles; you can feel his cock straining through his jeans, and it makes you wonder if he can feel how wet you are.

“You’ve seen me in a swimsuit; this is basically the same,” you murmur through the embrace.

“No,” Brendon groans, “because swimsuits are for… swimming… and we are not swimming.”

“Very astute,” you tease, and he laughs a little sheepishly. “You feel so good,” you tell him as you circle over his erection. But as nice as the friction from his jeans is on your clit, it probably isn’t great for him—or not as great as you could make it. “But you should take your pants off,” you tell him after a moment and you think his eyes get wider as you slide out of his lap. “Only if you want to, though. It’s fine if you don’t want to.” You really hope he wants to.

Brendon scrambles up and unzips his jeans, almost hissing in relief when his dick is fully free of its denim prison. He hasn’t even gotten his pants fully off, but you’ve grabbed him and pulled him back down to the bed. “Sugar, I don’t—oh fuck,” he groans when you pounce, lips attaching to his neck while you work on getting his shirt off. He’s shoving at his jeans under you, and you realize it may have been faster to let him strip before dragging him into your bed. However, this way is more fun for you both.

“There.” You feel him kick his pants off. Now that he’s down to just his boxer briefs, you seek his hardness against your heat; just two thin layers of fabric are keeping you two apart. This is as close as you’ve ever been to something significantly physical happening. You need him; you can’t fight the breathy moan that slips from your mouth when he starts rocking tentatively up against you.

“Fuck,” Brendon groans, his thrusts erratic and his breathing a little heavier; you nod in agreement. “Will you…?” The question trails off and he looks uncertain, flushing a little. “This feels so good. Does it feel good for you too? Can you—will you come like this?” You nod quickly, and he smiles so radiantly, so happily, that you want to come for him right then. “I’ve never…I’ve never made anyone come before.”

This makes you kiss him hard. “Maybe you haven’t in person,” you tell him with a small smile, “but I promise I’ve definitely fantasized about you while touching myself. The mere thought of you touching me has made me come.”

“Fuck.”

“And I’m close now,” you add, bearing down on him and picking up your pace, alternating between circles and rocking strokes, feeling everything inside you coil tightly. “God, feeling your cock press right against my clit is making me so wet, getting me so close. I’m gonna come from this, B, gonna come all over you—wait, hang on.” You reach back and unclasp your bra, flinging it in the same direction as his shirt.

“Fuck,” Brendon groans again, and you grab his hands, bringing them up to your bare chest. “Your tits are fucking phenomenal.” He’s felt you up over your clothes, but only when you’ve had a bra on. At night, when you’re covered by just a t-shirt, he doesn’t let his hands stray from your stomach.

“I know, right?” You’re teasing him, but you’re still happy to see him so in awe of you. “Gonna go back to grinding on your dick; need you to play with my nipples, okay?”

“Play?” His eyes are glazed over with longing, and his hands move over you reverently.

“Play,” you confirm, moving again. “Roll, pinch, tug, lick your fingers and tease, you know. Play.”

“You’re incredible.”

“I’m close,” you correct breathlessly. “Need you to just—yeah, that’s so good, baby, fuck yes!”

Brendon’s quickly licked his thumbs and he’s moving them over your nipples in quick circles, lightly pinching and tugging a little. You’re moving faster, moaning low in the back of your throat as he pinches a bit more firmly at your urging.

He’s biting his lip, and you’re working yourself down hard against him; your orgasm is right around the corner. You’re so close—if he’d just—

“Damn, I love you,” Brendon whispers, and you gasp, your first spreading and rolling through you. That wasn’t what you had in mind, but it’s effective; it’s fireworks in your brain and sparks through your entire body, hearing him say that. You keep rocking against him, riding him through it, all the while murmuring how much you love him too. He’s gazing up at you longingly with his hands down on your hips now—not guiding or moving you, just feeling you roll and press over him.

“You’re so hot; god, watching you come like this and feeling you against me; I fucking love you—I didn’t mean to tell you like this but, fuck,” he groans, and you lean forward to kiss him. His tongue swipes across your lips, and you readily yield, letting him explore your mouth while you come back to full awareness. His hand is on your face again, cupping your cheek, and you can’t stop kissing him. It’s the frenzied bliss of confessing your love that’s fueling you, but the pool of lust in your stomach is helping too.

“I love you too. Now put your hand in my hair,” you whisper against his lips. He does as he’s told, and you sigh happily at the feeling of his fingertips massaging your scalp. “Now pull,” you instruct, and Brendon hesitates. You smile a little reassuringly. “It’s okay, baby. You won’t hurt me.”

He gives your hair a soft pull, and you shriek immediately. “Ow, fuck!” He looks so upset when you yelp in faux-pain that you can’t even commit to teasing him. “Oh B, I’m sorry. I was kidding. Just messing with you. It felt good. Really.”

He gives you a playfully dirty look. “That wasn’t nice, Sugar.” He’s teasing you now too, but you take the opportunity.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, love. Wanna see how nice I can really be?”

He swallows hard, and you grin, crawling backwards down his body, resting your chin on his thigh and tipping your head to one side. “Because,” you purr, running two fingers along the length of his covered erection, “I can be really nice. If you wanted me to be. Do you want me to be nice, Brendon?” You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lower lip, knowing what it must be doing to him. He presses his head back into the pillow with a groan and nods. “Thank god,” you murmur, and you caress him through his boxers before you pull back and tug them at them.

You’ve never seen him naked, but you’ve drawn some conclusions from feeling him. You’re guessing that his cock is a good length—not so big that you’d hesitate to take him entirely, yet not so small that you’d wish he’d be able to get a little deeper—you’re confident he’ll fill you perfectly, and that he’s thick too. You’ve spent many nights home alone fingering yourself to the idea of his cock; putting aside your guesses and theories, you love him and crave this intimacy with him. All the same, you’re still hoping your fantasies are accurate. Now, you’re about to find out. You guide his boxers down eagerly, and you have to catch your breath.

“Oh, fuck yes,” you whisper when you find your words. He looks confused and a bit self-conscious, so you settle in between his legs, spit into your hand, and start stroking him. “I love being right.”

“What do you me—oh shit,” Brendon hisses when you lick up his length and close your mouth over the tip, letting your tongue swirl and circle before sliding the rest of him into your mouth. You shift up on one elbow to get slightly above him, but you’re pleased; your accuracy regarding his size did make you a bit worried in this particular area. You’ve got a sensitive gag reflex; you’ve never been able to blow a guy without watering eyes and burning in the back of your throat, and that’s even on smaller than average-sized dicks—which is not the case here. However, what you lack in deep-throating capability, you more than make up for in enthusiasm; you know you’re going to make it good for him.

Maybe it’s just because it’s been a long time since you’ve had a dick in your mouth, or it’s because you’re so focused on what you’re doing, but it takes you a moment to realize Brendon is being really quiet. You look up at him through your lashes, letting him slip from your mouth so that the head of his cock rests against your lips. He’s looking back down at you, breathing hard and biting his lower lip.

The look in his eyes is a mixture of wild lust and extreme self-control, so you lick him a few times, letting your tongue curve around him. “Bren, this is okay, right? Me doing this?” You slide one hand up his thigh to grasp one of his, and he takes it, lacing your fingers together. He nods eagerly, and you sigh in relief. “Okay, you’re just being really quiet…I like hearing how I’m making you feel,” you tell him with a small smile, and he squeezes your hand.

“It’s great. You’re great —no, you’re fucking fantastic — it’s just — no one has ever — you’re the first to —” and he cuts himself off with a sharp gasp when you stroke him firmly with your free hand. As your hand works, forming a circle with your fingers and squeezing and flexing around the base of his cock, you move your mouth down his shaft, moaning happily when he twitches against your tongue.

You pull back off him completely after a moment, switching back to jacking him now that you’ve gotten him slick with spit. “You’re telling me,” and you pause to breathe, because you can feel yourself getting lost in the feeling of his cock in your hand, “that no one has ever gone down on you before?” Brendon shakes his head, bucking his hips a little into your hand. “What the fuck. Seriously?” You’re perhaps exaggerating your disbelief a tad, because you’re secretly satisfied you’re his first, but you know it’s making him feel better.

He shrugs a little sheepishly, and you sputter in indignation. “You’ve got the perfect cock. They’ve been missing out. I’m about to set the bar of comparison high for you, B, but only if you’ll make some noise to let me know how I’m doing.” He nods weakly and you grin, turning back to his dick in your grasp and letting your lips open and spread around the tip.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he sighs, and he puts his free hand, the one not holding yours, in your hair, just caressing. “Don’t ever want to compare; want you to be the only—oh god, baby, fuck— don’t stop!”

You let your grip loosen and your tongue run over the underside; you can’t help but moan a little when he pulses in your mouth and you taste the tiniest bit of precum. You’ve registered what he’s said about not wanting to compare and you being the only one who ever blows him, and it makes your heart lurch in happiness.

Brendon must take your moan as permission to let some of his own slip out. Most are wordless, just pleasure, but a few are laced with some of your favorite phrases, such as, “God, Sugar, your mouth,” and “so fucking good, holy fuck,” being among them. You feel a thrill go through you; they sound even better coming from him. There’s other things he could say that would practically make you come on the spot, but you’ll teach him those later.

Now, you must do something he really likes, because his hand tightens in your hair and he pulls lightly with a “fuck yes, baby.” You smile internally, pleased with yourself. More importantly, you’re proud of him for loosening up and giving in to the feelings.

You let your cheeks hollow out as you suck hard around him once and then go back to working him with both your hand and tongue, tracing his frenulum and teasing the vein running the underside of his cock. “God,” Brendon whispers, pulling your hair again with a broken moan. The combination sends a wave of hot lust through you, and you know if you let your other fingers press between your thighs, you’d come just from getting him off and hearing him react to you. “Think I might come.”

“That’s my plan,” you tell him when you pull back again. “Wanna feel you come, want it in my mouth,” you whisper, hand flying over him. “Want to make you feel so good; want you to come.” He meets your eyes and you can feel him tense in your grip.

“Sugar, I’m gonna—” but you don’t let him finish; you take him again, just the tip, your hand still encouraging, and suck hard. He seems to think about guiding you away, given the way his hand in your hair pulls back, but you tighten your lips around him. Brendon’s back arches a little, and he’s breathing hard. “Sug, I’m right there—you really don’t have to—”

“You can come in my mouth or you can come all over my tits,” you tell him, staring up at him intently. “Which do you want?” He moans that he can’t decide, your mouth is too good, he can’t think clearly, and you grin. He’s made his choice.

You lick your way down again, squeeze tightly with your hand, and hum a little. It pushes him over the edge, and Brendon swears loudly. He’s throbbing and pulsing his release over your tongue, and you moan because he actually tastes good to you.

His head is thrown back, and he’s just letting the words fall from his mouth. “Fuck, your mouth, making me come; letting me come in your mouth, sweet Christ you’re incredible oh god, baby yes, fuck, so wet and tight, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh god, fuck me that’s good…”

You keep sucking, and he keeps giving you more, and when he’s finally spent, he lets out a low moan, shuddering and pulling his hips back gently. You sit up, wiping idly at your lower lip and letting him see you swallow with satisfaction. He felt you swallow during, but you want him to see it too.

“Shit, you swallowed for me,” Brendon murmurs. “That’s so damn hot.” You crawl up over him, kissing his neck and jaw, whispering how much you love him. He groans, cups your face, and kisses you hard. “I love you. Your fucking mouth, baby…you’re incredible.”

“You know, I’ve got something other than my mouth that’s incredible, wet, tight, and all for you, if you want it,” you murmur against his lips with a smile, and he makes that strangled half-whimper, half-moan sound again. You roll off of him and onto your side, bringing him with you so you’re face to face. Your hands are still laced, so you release his fingers and curl your own around his wrist, guiding his hand down to your underwear. “Feel what you do to me, Bren? God, I’m so worked up, so wet for you. I fucking love sucking your cock; it makes me wanna come so hard,” you whisper.

Brendon groans your name. “Holy shit, can I touch you?” He strokes you tentatively through your panties, marveling at how they’re soaked through.

“Please,” and you don’t even mind that it comes out as a sharp, desperate plea. Brendon nudges your underwear aside, and he runs three fingers through your wetness, groaning to himself. He makes small circles over your clit and entrance, touching you so gently. When he looks up at you again, middle finger pressing into you, his eyes are dark, his lips parted as he breathes hard.

You want to live in this moment forever; his fingers on and in you, his face flushed post-orgasm, his eyes heavy with desire. “Sugar, I wanna make you feel good,” he whispers.

You grind against his fingers, making a small happy sound. “You are making me feel good.”

Brendon shakes his head a little, pulling his fingers out of your panties and slipping all three in his mouth. He groans a little and swears under his breath when he tastes you for the first time, and you do too; you can’t help it. “No,” he finally says, letting his fingers free. “You taste so fucking good. I wanna make you feel good with my mouth.”

“Oh god. Fuck Bren, please.” You didn’t know, didn’t really know, how badly you wanted it until he said it. Of course, you’ve thought about him eating you out—often—but it hasn’t been your primary focus right now. He makes his way down between your legs, and you sigh contentedly; his eyes are so bright and eager.

“You’ll, you know, help me? ‘Cause. Well. You know I haven’t—before. You do know that, right? I haven’t—” he cuts himself off and kisses the inside of your thigh, his eyes still on yours.

“Of course, Bren. I’ll help if you need it, but that’s a good start right there.” He smiles before kissing your other thigh, his lips warm and suckling gently while his hands reach up to slide your underwear off. “Why don’t you just do what feels right to you, and I’ll guide you along if I think you need it?”

Brendon nods, a little hesitant, and you run a hand through his hair, moaning softly when he presses forward. You want to be sure that you’re extra responsive for him, and not just to reinforce what you like, but because you know it’ll make him feel more confident.

His mouth on you is everything—it feels like he’s kissing you, so gentle and sweet. The way his tongue dips and caresses has you writhing happily, and you hope he can hear every whimper of pleasure. You know you’re dripping wet from the grinding and then blowing him, and he must like the taste, because he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and pushes closer while tugging at your hips to keep you rubbing against him.

His tongue is working between your thighs while his thumbs massage your hips. Occasionally, his hands move inward to tease you a little before moving back up to lift and cup your breasts, rolling your nipples in his wet fingers. “Yeah baby, that feels so good,” you whisper, and you can tell he’s smiling from the playful sparkle in his eyes.

You tug his hair and spread your legs more; he groans for a moment and crawls back up over you, bringing his face close but pauses, unsure. You’re pretty sure you know what he’s thinking, so you pull him in, kissing him deeply. “I like tasting myself on your tongue,” you whisper against his lips, and his cock twitches against your thigh.

“Good. I really wanted to kiss you,” he tells you, breathing heavily.

“Kiss me anytime you want,” you reply, and he lets one hand linger between your thighs, just stroking as he kisses you again.

“Want you to feel good, my love,” he murmurs, lips moving from yours to your jaw before settling just under your ear. “Want you to feel like I felt, coming hard.”

“You’re doing so well, baby; licking and kissing my clit, eating my pussy so good. I fucking love it. Love you. Want your tongue back on me, need it. Can I have your tongue, Brendon, please? Please, B, lick my clit just a little more, suck on it—god, please.”

His breathing hitches, and he pulls back to look at you. “Are you...are you begging me?” His voice is a blend of awe and confusion, like he can’t believe he’s hearing you correctly.

“Yes. Do you like it?”

“Fuck yeah.”

He kisses your neck, fingers thrusting gently. “I wanna hear more,” he tells you, and you grin, biting your lip.

“You’ll hear more when I get what I originally asked for.” You love him, but you don’t beg often; you don’t want him getting too used to it.

“Fuck, you’re so damn hot,” he groans, tugging your hair and moving back down your body, suckling at each nipple and rubbing your clit with one finger when you moan. “Want my mouth all over you, taste every inch of you, my girl.”

“You sure you’re a virgin?” You tease. “Because you’re doing a damn good job at this. It feels amazing, Bren; I don’t want you to stop.”

He smiles wide, kissing your stomach, letting his tongue graze your skin. “I’ve just thought about this, with you, for a while.” Before you can do more than ‘awwww,’ he’s back between your thighs, and his tongue is rolling and teasing while his fingers spread you. You wince a little and move down to bring his fingers closer together, and he murmurs an apology against you.

“S’okay baby, just keep using that tongue and those lips; goddamn, you were made for this.” He quirks an eyebrow, his amusement evident. “I mean—your mouth. Your mouth was made for this.”

He laughs, nuzzling your inner thigh with his nose. “Nice save, Sug; I know why you keep me around now.” You go to protest, and he shakes his head, grinning. “Kidding. Good to know you like it.”

“Fucking love it,” you moan, and with a hand in his hair, you guide him back where you need him. His tongue darts out and licks you softly, and he closes his eyes for a moment, just relishing the moment and you sigh, perfectly content. This is what heaven must be, you think. A hot guy between your legs, eating you out well and looking fucking ecstatic to be doing it.

He’s really into it now, and he groans, slipping a hand under the small of your back to grab your ass and raise you up a little, so he can lick with broader, longer strokes. You whimper and adjust, wanting more attention on your clit. He takes the hint after another bit of shifting on your part, and he murmurs another apology.

“No, it feels so good,” you tell him breathlessly. “I just wanna come for you.”

He pauses, eyes wide. “You’re gonna come?”

You laugh affectionately, stroking his hair. “Well I could try not to, if you’d prefer.”

“No! I just—I didn’t think—I mean…yeah, I don’t know.” He fumbles for the words before giving up, and you giggle.

“You didn’t think you’d be so damn good at eating pussy?”

He nods, his smile mirroring yours now. “You really like it?” God, his face doesn’t match his words at all; he sounds so insecure, and part of you just wants to take him in your arms, kiss him, play with his hair, and tell him how good he is to you and how sweet he is. The other part of you really wants his face between your thighs, finishing what he’s started.

“Hell yeah, Bren, you’re great at this. But I’ve known since we first made out that you’d be damn good at eating me out. It’s just been a matter of time. No one who basically fucks my mouth slowly and deeply when he kisses me is going to be bad at oral.”

Brendon smiles and runs his fingers along you before picking up the pace that he used prior to this most recent praise interlude. “Thank you. I don’t want to get cheesy or sappy, but I’m so glad this is happening with you. I’m so glad it’s you. I want you to come,” he murmurs, letting his tongue slip back and slide over you messily. “Can I have you, sweet baby? Can I taste how sweet you really are when you come for me?”

“Fuck,” you groan, feeling everything within you tighten and shift towards your climax. “Just, god, tongue on my clit; oh fuck yeah, just suck it baby, yes, Brendon, just like that, eat it, eat my cunt, fuck, I’m gonna—oh god—there, right there, baby don’t stop, oh fuck, now!” You dissolve into a wordless squeal and he echoes you with a low groan, slipping two fingers inside you so you have something to squeeze around while his tongue rocks back and forth rapidly over your clit as he sucks. Your grasp on his hair is tight; you’re tugging hard, and you really hope his neck is okay, but you can’t stop.

He’s making these sinful noises against you, and he’s moved from your clit to wide, long strokes to gather your taste. When he pulls back, his lips are swollen and shining, he can’t stop smiling, and you whimper as you reach for him.

“Commere, baby,” you whisper, reaching a hand down. He takes it and moves back up your body and settles over you, his erection resting heavily in the valley of your hip bone and pelvis. “B, I want more. Think you can give me more?” You rock your hips a little and he moans, dipping his head down to kiss you. You tangle your fingers in his hair, moaning into the embrace and shifting so you can really rub against the base of his cock.

Brendon sinks down on top of you; you can feel his cock throb against your clit. You wrap your legs around his waist, tug his hair, and smile when he lets out a sharp sound of satisfaction and pulls away to stare down at you.

“What did you have in mind, pretty girl?” He’s breathing hard, beads of precum are teasing your hip and stomach, and you want him so badly that your entire body is aching. You give him a meaningful look instead of saying anything. You can see the thought process play out over his face: he looks confused, then shocked, and finally excited, though he’s trying to restrain himself. “Wait—really?”

You nod, biting your lip, and he inhales sharply as he subtly rocks his hips. You want him inside you. You need him inside you. “I wasn’t kidding earlier. I don’t want to push you, though; I know this is a big deal for you. So if you don’t want t—”

“No no, I do want to. I mean, only if you’re sure,” he murmurs, trying not to look too eager.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you tell him, squeezing his hand and kissing him again. “I love you.”

“You love me,” he whispers when he pulls back. He looks at you so softly, so tenderly. “I promise, I’m never going to get tired of hearing that. I love you too, sweet girl. So much.” He brushes a hand down the side of your face. “And I want this. I want you.”

You’re grinning at each other, and it finally clicks; you reach out and fumble in your bedside drawer, hopeful you’ll find a condom. On your back like this, you can’t fully explore the drawer, so you roll over onto your stomach to search more thoroughly. Turning under him seems to be an even bigger tease for Brendon; he buries his face in the curve of your neck and rubs his cock against you desperately.

“My god, that’s good,” you gasp, rocking your hips back against him. “Feeling your hard cock right against my ass; fuck, I want you so badly. If I don’t find a condom in the next thirty seconds, I need you to just...grab my hips and fill my pussy up with your cock— oh my god, fucking take me, okay?” Brendon lets out an unintelligible groan, but from how he clutches at you and grinds more urgently, you think he’s agreeing. Your fingers stretch further into the back of the drawer, and you find what you’re looking for. “Got it.”

You pluck the one remaining foil packet from the box and bring it up to your face to examine it. “I’m not sure how long that box has been in there…” you mumble, more to yourself than him, as you do mental math. “At least six years. These are probably expired. It’s not a good sign when the expiration date on the foil is faded…”

You shift to face him and you can see Brendon looks conflicted. For his benefit, you weigh the options aloud. “Technically any condom is better than no condom, but…” you shrug a little. “I’ve got an IUD and a clean bill of health. You want to be a little reckless and fuck without a condom?”

His eyes go wide, and you kiss him, grinning against his mouth. “You look worried, B. Don’t stress. It’s not really that bad of a choice in our specific situation. We can still use this if it’ll make you feel better, but I don’t really think we need to. Also, there’s only one, so when we want to go again, you’ll end up in me without a condom anyway.”

Brendon pulls back and stares at you. You can’t quite read his face, but it seems like he’s grappling with some decision in his head. Finally, he asks, “what happens if you get pregnant?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t. Not the right time, and I’ve got an IUD anyway.”

“Accidents happen,” he points out, and you tug his mouth back to yours for a deep kiss.

When you part, you stare up at him with a small smile. “Then my devious, elaborate plan to trap you with a baby is complete, and my father will be waiting with various firearms to force you into making an honest woman of me.”

He laughs now, because he can tell you’re kidding. “You promise you’re okay with it?”

You nod, stroking his hair. “Definitely. I’m not worried at all, and I want your first time to be incredible. You’d feel me and only me; you’d get to come in me and feel my wet cunt take everything you can give. I need your cock. You wanna give it to me, B?” you murmur, grinning when he groans your name under his breath.

“Fine, you’ve convinced me. But because,” and his face and voice get very serious, “there’s just the one condom, and I would totally marry you if I knocked you up.”

“…Is this a proposal?”

“God no, this would be a terrible proposal,” Brendon laughs, and you relax, laughing too. “I’m going to do so much better, so much more romantic and meaningful than that, whenever we get to that point.”

“Oh, good. Just know I would’ve said yes, but I also would’ve teased you mercilessly about that for the rest of our lives, because it was pretty bad. Now, I need you inside me, please. I’m out of lube too, but we don’t need it—you’ve got me so damn wet for you. Just touch me; use my wet pussy to get your cock nice and slick.” You guide his hand down, rocking your wetness over his open palm.

Brendon sighs your name happily, smooths his hand over his length, and strokes a few times before looking at you with some anxiety. “What if I’m…bad?” He looks as though this question has been weighing on him, and you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close.

“Oh, my love. First of all, I’m confident you won’t be, but also please know I’m also not expecting the best sex of our lives. We will get there eventually, but this right now,” and you gesture between the two of you, “isn’t about pleasure. Not really. This is about connection. Intimacy. We’re in love, so you can’t be bad at that, and the pleasure will come from the intimacy.” Brendon smiles in relief, and you see some of the tension leave his body.

“And,” you continue, now nuzzling a path along his jawline, “Don’t forget that, as of today, I’m obsessed with your dick.” You capture his earlobe in your teeth, tugging lightly so his cock twitches against you. “It’s truly phenomenal. Should’ve gotten you naked way sooner,” you murmur. “Want your cock in me all the time now. In my mouth, in my pussy, in my hand. You’ve turned me into your personal cockslut. Going to quit my job and follow you around on tour now, just so I can get more access to your dick.” Brendon laughs, and you bite his earlobe a little harder. “Not kidding,” you tease. “You’re gonna have to forcibly lift me off of your cock in order to go on stage each night and I’ll be waiting in your dressing room after, ready to go again. Now, kiss me with your perfect mouth and let me have your perfect cock. We can sort out the tour fucking schedule later.” You roll, so you’re on your back with your knees bent and legs spread. You can see his breath catch in his throat, and you smile, closing a hand around his erection as he hovers over you. “I love you, Brendon.”

He murmurs it back to you, and you guide his cock close enough to touch you. You can feel the warm pressure; you know he can feel how wet you are from the way his eyes close briefly in bliss and his lips part. “Right there, B. Let me feel you. Want you to feel me.”

He presses forward, and you both gasp at the sensation as your body adjusts to him. It’s been a while for you; your toys and your fingers can’t compare to how full he’s making you feel right now. And, on top of that, he’s just filling you—he hasn’t even started moving yet. Still, you’re certain now that he doesn’t have to worry about being bad. Just being in you is making your body tense in anticipation; it’s like you two were physically made for each other.

“God, you feel so good,” Brendon manages in a ragged voice. “So fucking tight and wet and hot, oh my god—this feels so right. You’re mine,” he continues, and you grin, cupping his face in one hand and moving the other to his back.

“Yours, baby. Try moving,” you coax. “You can go slow if you want, but you don’t have to.” At your words, his hips rock forward, and you cry out with pleasure. You didn’t think he could get any deeper, but he has, and you whisper how good it feels, how good he is, as you cling to him. Brendon’s eyes roll back a little at the feeling of bottoming out in you, and his breath is coming in short spurts as he thrusts.

“Did it hurt?” He looks down at you, concern in his eyes.

“What? N—”

“When you fell from heaven, I mean. Because it feels like there’s an angel on my dick.”

You stare at him, trying not to laugh. “Shit, Brendon. You were doing so well. Now I’m sure you were a virgin before this moment, saying something like that. That doesn’t make any sense. What would fucking an angel even feel like?”

“Feels like this,” he teases, and you groan, smacking his shoulder. “You don’t like my lines?” He pretends to look hurt, and you roll your eyes goodnaturedly.

“Honestly? That may have been the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Worst thing you’ve ever heard so far, Sugar,” he corrects, rocking against you at a slightly different angle.

You’re about to reply, but you cut yourself off with a sharp moan when the head of his cock rubs against your G-spot mid-thrust. “Ah, fuck yes! Shit! Just like that—God, B, you’re perfect, fucking perfect.” And he really is; he instinctively knows how to fuck you just the way you like, with his hips angling his cock up against you and his hands roaming.

“Perfect, huh? So am I forgiven for the line?”

You laugh a little breathlessly, digging your nails into his shoulders as he picks up his pace. “Forgiven, but definitely not forgotten. That’s gonna stay with me forever. That’s gonna haunt me.”

He laughs too, and you rock up into him, sighing happily. “Bren, baby, seriously it’s so good, but can you—” you take his hand and place it on your stomach before moving it lower, resting on your pelvis. “Just press a little, oh, a little lighter—fuck—yes,” you sigh, and he leans over to kiss you desperately. It’s during this urgent embrace that you manage, “Remember how I said—oh fuck that’s good—this wasn’t about pleasure? I meant that mostly—holy shit, do it just like that, god I fucking love your cock — in terms of orgasms for me. It’s gonna be really hard for me to come again; I’ve come hard twice, and that’s my limit,” you tell him. “So I definitely want you to come again, but don’t be upset or feel bad about anything when I don’t. I’m doing great; you feel amazing, and I’m loving just feeling you—goddamn, your cock is the best— being with you.”

He shakes his head a little and pauses in his thrusts, frowning. “No, Sugar, you should come again too.”

You shrug, scratching his back affectionately. “I’m just telling you what I know, B. I’ve never come again after two, even on my own. I’ve tried, believe me, but it’s like my body just refuses. It’ll feel incredible, I’ll love how good you make me feel, and you’re making me feel so damn good now, but I won’t be able to come. It’s okay, baby. Promise.”

He considers this, dropping down to his forearms to be closer to you. “And what if I can get you to a third?”

You stare at him longingly. “Then you’ll be stuck with me forever, because I’m not losing a man who can get me to three, especially his first time.”

“Watch me,” he tells you, and you honestly think he might succeed; he sounds confident now, and you’ve always loved that about him. You know it’s only a matter of time before he’s as confident in bed as he is on stage. That thought, paired with the mental image of his fingers flying over his guitar and how that translated to his effortless teasing of your clit and nipples, makes you arch under him and cling to him desperately.

Brendon’s thrusts are slow and steady, and he’s gathered you in his arms to kiss you deeply. “Sug, you’re fucking incredible,” he murmurs against your lips. “Can’t believe how amazing you feel, can’t believe how deep I am in you, can’t believe I get to come inside you—fuck, I’m close.”

You contort yourself around him, a leg high around his waist and the other wrapped around his thighs. Your arms are flung around his neck, and you’re pressing yourself up into him, whimpering when he grabs your hips and lifts you slightly. “Oh god,” you moan, and it’s deep and guttural. That’s what surprises you most—you’ve only ever made that sound right before a mind-blowing orgasm. Sometimes you squeal or shriek right before you come undone, and sometimes it’s like this; a moan of pleasure and bliss that echoes up from your core.

Just the feeling of his hands on your hips, holding you as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge of orgasm, is driving you wild. You know you’re probably being louder than you should be, so you try to channel the energy into clawing at his back and biting down on his shoulder.

Brendon groans your name as your nails rake across his back, and you feel his cock throb inside you. “Gonna come in you, Sug, gonna fucking fill you up with my cum, love you so much, gonna give you everything,” he gasps in your ear. You beg him to do it; you moan how badly you want to feel him come inside you. His thrusts are growing frantic and less refined; your headboard knocks against the wall violently, your bed frame is squeaking in protest as he picks up his pace, and you spread your legs under him.

“Rub my clit and come in me, oh fuck Brendon, yes, fuck me hard, fuck me just like that— really take me, oh god, oh fuck—come in me, fill me up with your cum — c’mon Bren, give it to me, fuck me, fuck me, come in my wet pussy— oh shit, take me baby, yeah, fuck, like that! I’m yours, I’m fucking yours, claim me, claim my cunt, come in me,” you beg, and Brendon makes a low, desperate sound as his thumb teases your clit. You writhe under him, gasping how much you love him, and he pushes in once more, groaning in ecstasy as he comes.

Knowing and feeling that he just came in you is what unravels you completely. You can feel his cock pulsing; you bite his shoulder again, moaning as your body tenses and you come for him. This orgasm, fueled by the feeling of his cum deep in you, is like stars exploding. Every inch of you is trembling, your back is arched, your vision is black and sparkling, and you think you might be shrieking his name as you tremble. You can feel how hard you’ve just come, but the fact that you came at all surprises you.

“My god, you’re fucking incredible,” Brendon mumbles, burying his face in your neck and breathing hard. “Sugar, feeling you come on my cock just now after coming in you —that was everything. And it was your third orgasm.” He looks up and gives you a playful smile. “Consider me stuck.”

“So stuck,” you agree; you can barely find the words to express how good it was. You’re breathing hard, still clutching him, reveling in the feeling of him deep in you, and he drops down to kiss you longingly. You’re both sticky with sweat and smeared cum, and you know you’ve got to somehow get down the hall to your old bathroom. It’s right when you’re about to explain this to him—how he has to pull out of you, and both of you have to get out of this twin bed and take a shower to get presentable before your parents get home—that there’s a knock at your door.

You both freeze, and your mother’s voice rings through the room. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes, you two.” You hear her turn from the door and walk down the hall, then turn back. “We’re all looking forward to meeting you, Brendon.”

“Fuck,” you mumble, mostly because your plan for a lazy shower with lots of touching has been foiled. Brendon’s pulled out of you, and you groan, before closing your eyes. “Well, I guess we should go shower,” and you stretch lazily in your bed, missing his cock but loving the feeling of his cum in you. He doesn’t know it yet, but you have no intention of ever using a condom if that’s how being filled by him feels.

“How in trouble are we?”

You open one eye to look at him, and you can see the concern all over his face.

“Not much trouble, honestly. It could be way worse. She didn’t sound mad. I would know if she was pissed. She might not have even heard anything.”

Brendon looks at you dubiously as you say this, and you laugh a little; you recognize the unlikelihood of her not hearing any of it. She obviously knew he was in the room with you, and she’s also obviously been home for a while cooking; she’d have to be either deaf or an idiot to not know what was happening upstairs. Your mom is many things, but she’s neither deaf nor an idiot.

“Now what?” Brendon’s starting to look a little panicked, and you sit up to kiss him softly.

“Now we walk down the hall to the bathroom and take a quick shower.”

“We’re just going to—”

“Well the other option is we go downstairs to meet my family without showering.” You grab his hand and bring it between your thighs, letting him feel. “But I don’t think that’s the best plan, all things considered.”

Brendon’s fingers trace you tenderly, and he kisses you again. “I know this is not at all the point right now, but I fucking love feeling your pussy after I’ve come in you. Feeling us together. So sexy, knowing I came in you.”

“Mmm,” you agree, nibbling down his neck. “Love it. Love being full of your cum, love feeling you come in me. And when we’re not at my parents’ house, we can lay in bed as long as we want, touching and feeling as much as we want.”

He takes your hint, laughing a little as he shifts to stand up. At your curious look, he explains. “Oh, I’m just thinking about how you said you were my cockslut. Pretty sure I’m your pussyslut now. Want to live with my tongue, fingers, or cock buried in you.”

“I can get on board with that,” you tell him with a small grin, slipping into an old bathrobe and tossing him his boxers. “Let’s go shower, B. I’ll try to not drop to my knees and suck your cock clean if you’ll try to not fuck me against a wall.”

-||-

“Where’s your ring?”

You blink at your father in confusion, since this is the first he’s spoken all night, and he looks between you and Brendon, who’s seated beside you. He calmly takes another bite of turkey, chews slowly with his eyes on you, then swallows. His attention is now fixated on Brendon.

“It’s my understanding that the two of you were…spending some time together upstairs. If it was loud enough to distract my wife and my mother from making cranberry sauce, then you must be intent on marrying my daughter.”

“Oh, Paul,” your grandmother protests. “Now is hardly the—” but she falls silent when your father raises a hand. Your mother is flushed, your aunts and uncles all look bewildered and embarrassed at this turn in conversation, while your younger cousins try to hide their smirks by shoveling stuffing into their mouths.

“Dad,” you hiss, wishing you could kick him under the table. Brendon looks pale, and his fingers flex on your thigh. “Can we not?

“Yes, I’d certainly rather you not,” your father comments, eyes locked on Brendon. He’s starting to stammer out an apology, but you silence him gently. Your irritation with your father is boiling over, but you won’t let that transfer to anyone else. “No, don't stop him,” your father continues. “I think I’d like to hear the apology from the boy who thinks he can do whatever he pleases with my daughter in my home.”

Your mother must kick him, because he flinches a little and gives her a dirty look. He turns back to Brendon. “Well?”

The condescending tone and chilly look are the last straws for you. You throw down your napkin. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Dad. Obviously I wish we hadn’t been overheard, but I’m not going to apologize for…being…with the man I love. I’m an adult; you can’t bully me or Brendon like this. I'm sorry you feel disrespected; that wasn’t our intent. I can promise you, neither of us were even thinking about anyone else. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go pack.”

You push back from the table and grab Brendon’s hand; your mother is standing now too, asking why on earth you’re packing, and your father is silently stabbing green beans one at a time and chewing viciously. Everyone else is just watching in fascinated horror.

“I’m packing because I’m leaving,” you snap. At the crestfallen look on your grandmother’s face, you cross to her and kneel by her chair. “Just to a hotel for the rest of my stay. I wouldn’t miss tomorrow,” you promise her in a much softer voice. Eyes still on hers, you stretch a hand out to Brendon behind you. He takes it, and you bring him down beside you. “Every year,” you explain, “on Black Friday, my grandmother and I watch reruns of the Macy’s parade, bake the first batch of gingerbread of the season, and I help her do her online shopping. We used to drive around, but this is easier, and we can stay in our pajamas.”

“That sounds great,” Brendon murmurs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I can drive you in the morning.” You smile at him gratefully, and your grandmother pats his hand.

“You should stay and help,” she tells him. She must see the surprise in your eyes, and she shrugs. “He’s cute and you apparently like him very much. I should get to know him.” She gives you a sly smile, and you laugh, nodding. You’re secretly pleased; Brendon is the first boyfriend she’s shown any interest in actually knowing.

Meanwhile, your mother has sat back down and is shaking her head in amused silence, your father is staring stonily at his plate, and your cousins are working on sculpting their mashed potatoes into a volcano with a gravy core.

“We good?” You direct this at your mom, who rolls her eyes affectionately and nods. She’s always been far more tolerant of your behavior, calling you her ‘wild child,’ and you secretly suspect she was a bit of a wild child herself.

“You two don’t have to go, you know. He’ll get over it.” She gestures at your father, who lets out an indignant snort. “Ignore him. You’re more than welcome to stay here.”

“No,” you tell her with a small laugh as you guide Brendon back upstairs. “We really should go to a hotel. We’re far from being done.”

#brendon urie #my work #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #fanfic #imagine #brendonurie #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco #my work revised

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cock-holliday · 2 years

Text

Fictober22 — Day 28

Fandom: TXF

“Do you ever just…realize how insane airplanes are?” Mulder asked softly, staring out the window as the tunnel attached to a large airliner.

Scully looked up from her magazine, following Mulder’s line of sight and snorting, “In what way?”

Mulder shrugged, “They shouldn’t be able to stay in the air,” he said, shaking his head, “Fifty thousand pounds of steel held aloft by sheer willpower.”

He turned to look at her and Scully quirked an amused brow.

“It should be an X-File, Scully,” he concluded.

Scully huffed a laugh, “Allow me to fill my usual role,” she began, shutting her magazine and sitting it on the empty seat beside her, “There’s nothing supernatural about it. It’s hundreds of thousands of hours of manpower. Dedicated calculations and an appropriate amount of careful control. Wind, trajectory, weight versus gravity,” she shook her head, “It’s cold hard science, Mulder.”

“Sounds sexy,” Mulder mused, returning his attention to the window, “You have to admit, there’s so much about science that’s practically magic. Everything has to line up perfectly. The combination of factors just so. Anything outside of a tight control of circumstances and everything comes apart…”

Scully raised a brow, “Your singular airport bar beer getting the better of you?”

Mulder laughed, shaking his head, “Just thinking.”

Scully was about to let it go, but something seemed to be hanging in the air between them. Something he wasn’t saying.

“Science takes a bit of faith,” Scully added, pulling Mulder’s attention again, “There are constants, of course, but variables are an inherent aspect of science. Circumstances beyond our control. We can input the data and trust that a formula will produce results within a rigid framework…” she paused, “But nature has a way of throwing curveballs.”

Mulder nodded before looking back out the window again.

Scully could see the faint ghost of Mulder’s reflection in the glass, and he looked pained.

“How close to the real thing do you think clones are?” He asked softly.

So that’s what this was about. Whether he was asking her or asking himself—maybe asking the universe—Scully wasn’t sure.

She didn’t know how to answer him.

“Do you think implanted memories are still actually memories even if they weren’t yours to begin with?” He continued, “If we’re still shaped by them, even it we aren’t the one to experience it, isn’t that basically the same thing?”

“There’s only one of each of us, Mulder,” Scully told him softly, “Twins may be identical in genetics but they’re two different people. Snowflakes are all unique. Fingerprints are unique,” Scully shook her head, “Nature and science repeat themselves…but not completely. Everything is made new.”

Mulder’s reflection bit his lip.

“Do you think she remembers me?”

The clone or the real Samantha?

“So much time has passed,” Mulder said softly, barely above a whisper, “If she’s still out there…I’m not sure she’d remember.”

Scully reached between them, taking Mulder’s hand and squeezing, “You’re impossible to forget.”

Mulder gave a small pained smile, “So our colleagues say.”

“I’m serious,” Scully added, “I’m sure you left an impression on her just as she did you,” she smiled, “We don’t forget the people who love us. Not that easily.”

Mulder seemed satisfied with her response, but he stared down at his lap, “She’s never been on a plane,” he said softly. “The idea scared her.”

Scully squeezed his hand again.

There was nothing she could say to make it better. Nothing to quell his worries. He had had his hopes dashed again and again, and now that he had something to hold onto, Scully worried that he’d be let down in the worst way once more.

Their flight got called over the speaker and Mulder rose wordlessly, clearly still deep in thought, letting go of Scully’s hand as he stood.

He headed towards the gate, unaware that Scully hadn’t followed after him.

“Mulder,” Scully called softly.

Mulder stopped, turning back to look at her.

Scully wanted to ask him to stop looking—an impossible request. She thought to encourage him that they’d find answers, only she had waning confidence they ever would. To aid in his disappointment would be a betrayal.

“I’m with you,” she told him, giving a little nod.

Mulder smiled, a small smile, but a genuine one at least, “I know,” he said back, jerking his head toward the gate, “Come on, I’ll race you for the window seat.”

Scully strode up to him, giving a small smile as she caught up.

She couldn’t give him false hope, but she wouldn’t dash his hopes either. She’d do all she could instead, which was to stand beside him.

#txf #txf fanfic #xf fanfic #fictober22 #msr #day 28

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 months

Text

My Brothers, Corrupted

Book Five: Section Seven

Jackie and Marvin have a rough time of things. Henrik comes back towards the surface, at least for a minute. Masterlist

Tws for self-hatred, past abuse, suicidal and depressive ideation, and Marvin lashing out at the audience. Tws may not be completely exhaustive - keep in mind the heaviness of the fic and look out for yourself.

Thank you to @lehhoh7822 for taking the time to compile this book!

Anonymous asked:

Happy birthday Jackieboy! How goes the end of the ballet? Or are they not quite there yet?

He pants in the darkness of the alley, his hood over his head. He flexes his fingers. Stretches his neck. Spits.

“Yeah,” he says lowly. “Apparently that one doesn't turn out so well in the end."

At his feet, a trio of bodies. He turns and walks away, shaking blood off his hands.

Got to get the anger out somehow.

Anonymous asked:

Jackie what happened?? What did you do?

“What? They’re the ones who picked a fight.” He strikes the wall beside him, hard. “Drunk fucks.”

And if he went to a bad part of town in the hopes that somebody might provoke him, that’s nobody’s business.

Anonymous asked:

Aww Jackie. I'm sorry the play wasn't pleasant and upset you. But can I ask why you needed to beat up three people over it? Did something happen?

“They were hollering at some girl. I handled it for her. I did good. I stopped it. I did!”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and trudges home, kicking at rocks.

Anonymous asked:

There are healthier ways to punch things, JBM. Considered buying a punching bag or joining a gym? Martial arts lessons? Just anything but beating up strangers unless you suddenly like the idea of jail.

“Not the same rush,” mutters Jackie, eyes dark. “He spent so long teaching me to be his killer. Learned to like the adrenaline. The control. He would always be so proud of me… and I guess I’m just fucked up enough to enjoy the power of it.”

He stares down at the ground as he walks.

“Do you remember when we all went back in time, and Marvin told me what a hero I was? And how I was a good big brother and they all loved me? I want to be that person again. I’m trying to be Jackie. But there are parts of me that will always be Red, and I’m not sure I can handle that. There are parts of me that will always be scarred by him. No matter how much I heal.”

He kicks a stone. “I just want to go home. I shouldn’t have done that. I know. I was angry before. It made me feel better, that’s all.”

Anonymous asked:

Heroism is not random acts of vigilantism, Jackie. Heroism is self sacrifice for the good of others. You don't need to pick fights to be a hero again.

“I like picking fights, though,” he says. “I’m his little killer. It’s the only thing I’m good at. Fights and tech. I can’t even make Blue smile anymore.”

Anonymous asked:

Ah yes, "all you're good at" as though you haven't been brave and powerful and strong for months now purely for the sake of your brothers, as if you havent been sacrificing every part of yourself for the good of their health and safety. You're still more of a hero than you ever were a killer.

That makes him smile a little, playing with his hands.

“They deserve better. That’s all.”

Anonymous asked:

How'd the ballet go Jackie? Also, Blue is going to need your support and encouragement when you get home, he's not doing well, and you're the only person he seems to feel like he hasn't hurt.

“What? What’s wrong with him?”

He reaches the steps up to their apartment, gripping anxiously at the bars of the staircase. “Chase might be a better help to him than me.”

Anonymous asked:

Blue asked for you specifically! He seemed to want to be comforted by you before. Maybe spending some time together would be good for both of you.

“He wants me?”

Jackie steps quietly into the apartment, locking the door behind him. Their empty living space looks back at him, but at least he knows the fridge and cupboards are stocked now.

Blue’s door is slightly open. Jackie peers inside. His twin is hiding beneath the covers, quiet. There’s a couple little packages on the bed, wrapped up in newspaper.

Anonymous asked:

Ooohh packages? What's inside? And how are you doing Blue?

Jackie pulls apart the top package carefully, finding the Princess Bride wrapped up inside. He grins and looks up to find Blue looking back at him, eyes tired.

“Happy birthday,” Blue mumbles.

“Thanks,” says Jackie softly.

“You’re coming to bed?”

“How are you?” Jackie redirects, blinking at him.

Blue pulls his covers up to his chin. “Fine.”

“Oh, good,” says Jackie, sighing. “The cameras thought you were upset.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Then you should sleep.”

Blue gazes at him, mouth tight.

Anonymous asked:

The anger and guilt and self-hate are a part of the healing process, Marvin. Chase is right, it takes time. Time and therapy and building of a support system. You can't expect to magically be healed in only a short amount of time AND without talking to a professional or taking medicine to help with your moods. You can take action to heal quicker, but you're refusing it.

Blue slides back onto his side while Jackie looks through his presents - his new jackets and shoes and the book and some candy. He’s eating Hot Tamales by the time he looks up again, and it is then, in the lowlight of their only lamp in the house, that he sees Blue shaking with tears, silent against his pillows.

Jackie crawls over him on the bed, confused, and uses his sleeve to wipe at his reddened face. It’s not like Blue to cry. He gets mad. He does not cry. Jackie is often the same way.

“Not fine?” asks Jackie.

Blue moans and buries his face in his pillow. Jackie hovers over him, hand on his shoulder, brushing away his tears.

“You can… have anything you need,” offers Jackie anxiously. “Just tell me. I can try. I’m not good at any of it but I can try. I would bring you anything.”

“Nothing’s going to fix this.”

“Fix what?” asks Jackie, bewildered. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I wish you could just - the way that Chase always knows exactly what Henrik needs. I wish you could do that.”

Jackie chews on his nails. “But I can’t do that.”

“I know, trust me…”

“So you have to tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“This isn’t fair,” protests Jackie, squeezing his shoulder. “Tell me, tell. You’re a liar. You said you were fine.”

Anonymous asked:

Blue, you are YOU. You are not Anti nor just what he left behind. You're an individual and you belong to yourself. Your body is yours, and your mind is yours. I understand the self hatred, it's brought on by your immense trauma and guilt. Stop, slow your thoughts, identify your strengths, learn to accept compliments and good words from yourself and others, and develop some self compassion instead of mercilessly judging and criticizing yourself for various inadequacies or shortcomings.

“Compliments, I can do compliments,” says Jackie swiftly.

“Jackie - is there blood on you? Hey!”

“Don’t worry about it, don’t worry. I love you. You’re smart, did you know that?”

“You jackass, you did not get in another fight. Come on, we’re going to the bathroom to clean you up right now.”

Jackie lets Blue pull him by the arm towards the bathroom.

“You read so fast I bet you could learn anything if you just felt like it. You know like five languages. I love how you - how you hold yourself? Like you know you’re something just a little bit unnatural. Just a little dangerous. You should because when you use your power, you look like some kind of constellation come to life.”

“Jackie…” Blue blots blood from his face with a washcloth, pushing the soft hair from his face. “I don’t need compliments. I just want to take care of you, okay?”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” shouts Jackie.

Blue slows, blinking at him. Jackie blinks back, their hands tentative in the air between them.

“You won’t let anyone do anything,” croaks Jackie. “Just angry and unhappy all the time.”

“Hypocrite,” whispers Blue.

Jackie just looks down, shaking his head. After a long moment, he slinks forward and places his head on Blue’s shoulder, hiding against his neck, and Blue is still.

“You are… you. My twin. I don’t care what name you go by. You don’t have to be anything else.”

The tears are back. Dripping down his cheeks.

“I want to be.”

“Then I want to help,” says Jackie. “As long as what you want to change is the parts of yourself that hurt you, and not the parts of yourself that just want the pain to stop.”

Anonymous asked:

Fine, okay, hate yourself forever if that's what you want. But Blue, goddamnit, you absolutely cannot treat your brothers like this. You cannot be cruel to them and take out your anger on them. You are hurting the people around you because of how much you hurt inside. Go to a therapist. Go to a psychiatrist. Get help, you have people willing to do it. Stop yourself in this tirade before you burry yourself in the dirt.

Jackie doesn’t know what to do with a crying Blue. He just… clings to him.

“I know how awful I’m being,” sobs Blue. “It keeps me awake. I feel like I can’t help it half the time. Something about them… not my Chase. It’s Dapper and Dok.”

“JJ and Schneep.”

“How am I supposed to see them that way when I saw them through Anti’s eyes?” Blue cries, clinging to his brother’s hoodie, to his hair, to his shoulders. “I beat Dok until he was screaming for me to stop, telling me he would do anything, I - ”

“You didn’t do that. That was Anti.”

“I held Dapper in my bed and forced him to lie down with me. I could have done worse. I could have done anything. That’s the worst fucking part. Anti could have done anything to him with my hands. He could have tortured him, could have made him kill, could have had sex with him, whatever he wanted. And I was in the same boat. He could have used my body for anything. And the two of us, we would lie there under Anti’s control, in that bed, for hours every night, neither of us moving, both of us trapped, helpless, helpless. Every time I look at him I’m - I’m - ”

He’s back in that bed again. Anti’s beneath his skin. Anti’s using him to beat Henrik, Anti’s using him to hypnotize Chase til he’s quiet again. Anti’s there. And Dapper’s looking back at him, just as trapped, just as despairing, and there is nothing he can do, nothing he can do, he has to do something, he has to do -

“Ow, ow, Blue!” cries Jackie, and when he comes back to awareness Blue has to tear roses out of his brother’s arms, gasping at the blood running down them.

“Oh, shit, I - Red, I didn’t mean to, I just - I’ll bandage it, I’m sorry!”

Anonymous asked:

You were violated, Blue. The others didn't deserve what happened to them, but you didn't deserve what happened to you either. You were stepped off your powers and your very autonomy, but even if it doesn't feel like it, you still have your worth. Not as a puppet but as a person and a brother and yourself.

“How do I come back from being used like that?” asks Blue. “Doesn’t it just fuck you up forever? He just… really took everything from me.”

“We’re here,” whispers Jackie.

“I look at all of you and see him. I look at myself and see him. Everything is drifting through his fog. I don’t even have the memories of a time where he wasn’t there.”

“You’re going to have to trust me on this one,” says Jackie, placing a hand on the back of his twin’s head and drawing him close. “You are a very distinct person from Anti. And I really think that we can… get better, in some ways.”

“You don’t sound all that sure.”

“I’m not,” admits Jackie weakly. “Because I think I’ve been feeling the same way. Like his killer. It helps me to talk about it because then at least I realize what it is I’m feeling.”

“I just feel bad about myself,” says Blue. “And… terrified every time I remember. Every time I look at JJ and Schneep, or something else reminds me. Then I lash out and I’m just playing his game again.”

Anonymous asked:

Start building something new, Blue. You can't heal if you keep insisting you're still Blue, but you don't have to be Marvin either. Be somebody new, make someone you can love. You don't have to hate yourself forever. Dye your hair, get a new piercing, or buy clothes that feel familiar. Be /you/. Not Blue, not Marvin. You don't have to just wallow in the hate. Change things about yourself that annoy you. Reinvent yourself, and stop pushing your family away.

“I’m sorry,” says Blue quietly. “There’s so little of me left I don’t know where to start building from. I don’t know what I want. Don’t trust myself to do anything to my own body. Like it’s not mine. I’d be scared to change it. I - ”

There’s a short sob somewhere down the hall.

Jackie stands straight up, his hand falling from Blue’s head in an instant. His eyes are wide and alert.

“Jackie - ”

“That was JJ,” he says. “That’s my little brother.”

And just like that - just one second later - he’s vanishing down the hall.

He’s gone.

Blue stands in the bathroom, mouth trembling. Jackie’s blood drizzles into the sink. Tears slip down his face, defeated and angry, and he hiccups on a sob of his own.

Anonymous asked:

Is JJ okay? And Jackie, get back to Blue as soon as you can, he's going through a lot right now, though I know all of you are and it must be hard to prioritize.

“Jamie, Jamie.” Jackie races towards him, pushing open his door. He knows what Blue says in situations like this. “Honey, love, here I am.”

His brother is gone from his room and Jackie’s heart panics for a second - he stole him away from me! - before he hears him crying from the closet. Jackie tears open the white door and kneels down beside him, gripping his shoulder. “Dapper, JJ, my little man. Look at me, pal.”

“Trapped, room, trapped, room, trapped, room,” JJ is signing, over and over again. “Trapped room trapped room trapped - ”

Jackie drags him right out of the closet, shoving the door to the room open and pulling him into the living space. He shoves open the door to their little cement balcony.

“No, no, I’m in trouble, I’m in trouble,” scream JJ’s hands, tearing at his hair.

“Not in trouble. You’re not in trouble. He’s not here. He won’t hurt you.”

“They locked my door in the psych ward, couldn’t get out, couldn’t get out! I’m trying to be good, I don’t want to go back, I’m in trouble!”

“No, Dap, no, you can stay, you’re not in trouble…”

Blue slides numbly from the bathroom, treading into the living room to listen to his twin’s loving voice soothing and reassuring JJ through his panic.

“I can’t sleep alone, I can feel him looking at me, and the bed is so cold, I haven’t slept alone in years!”

“I can stay with you if you want, just breathe, Jaimer, just breathe for me.”

Blue’s heart gives one sharp thud of pain. He clenches his fists and thorns and flame wreath his fingers, making them shake. His head swims. He hates this. Anger and guilt and despair.

Forget it.

“I’m right here, Jamie, my Jamie…”

Blue stalks back to his room and locks the door behind him.

Anonymous asked:

You aren't trapped JJ, it'll be okay. See, you can go out on the balcony! No one will take you away and no one will force you to be locked up anymore. Your big brother is letting you leave the room, letting you go out in the fresh air. You'll be okay. Never have to be trapped again.

“I couldn’t get out of my room at night at the hospital, and I was scared, I was scared, but I didn’t want - didn’t want to get stuck, had to be good to get out, had to - ”

“Breathe, Jaimer, slower for me, okay? Slower. They locked your door?”

“They can’t just let people wander at night…”

Jackie rocks them both back and forth on the floor, his brother pinned to his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me that was stressing you out?”

“I just wanted to be good so I could go home. Everybody was always watching me in that place. I’m just always a prisoner.”

“Ah, Dipper… fuck’s sake, I’m sorry this keeps happening. We just wanted you to be better, didn’t mean to reinforce anything he taught you. Were you just masking? Do you even feel better at all?”

“I do feel better, I do,” JJ answers him quickly. “But sometimes I think that coping with this - with all of this - the masking is the coping. If I can hide it I’m doing better. If I can tell that Anti’s not real when I see him across the room, if I can ignore him - that’s better than I was before.”

He’s wiping at his reddened face. Jackie rocks him slowly, watching him.

“But you still feel bad?”

JJ huffs out a sigh and places his head against Jackie’s shoulder, squeezing his knee for a second. “I just got scared, that’s all. There’s a part of me still so worried that Anti is here, in a way. That we’re going to fall back into old patterns. That you’d lock me up if I acted badly or that Blue is going to hurt me because I remind him of Anti.”

Jackie’s eyes darken. “Dude. He wouldn’t do that.”

“I can’t help my paranoia,” signs back Jamie, letting his eyes slide shut. “And I see it in his face: sometimes he does want to hurt me. To melt away the parts of me that remind him of Anti the same way he melted my knife.”

Jackie doesn’t know what to say. He rocks JJ until his brother’s breathing has slowed and his heart is jackrabbiting against the both of them, maybe ten minutes later.

“Let’s go back to bed,” he says softly.

“Don’t leave me,” pleads JJ. “When my bed is empty, he comes to fill the space beside me. His hands run over my stomach.”

“I won’t, Jaimer. I won’t.”

Anonymous asked:

Oh, Blue honey, don't feel too awfully dejected from Jackie running off... You know he's hypervigilant when it comes to the younger three, but I'm sure he'll come back to you. You deserve care and comfort just as much as they do, maybe even more right now. Believe yourself to be worthy of comfort, even though the self-hatred tells you otherwise. Jackie loves you just as much as the others, he just trusts you more to handle yourself alone. For better or worse, honestly.

Blue changes into PJs quietly, the energy gone out of him. For a few minutes, he hears Jackie pulling at the door and calling his name, confused, but he doesn’t answer, and eventually his twin slips away again.

Off to deal with his favorites.

Maybe it’s his fault. He knows how stubborn he’s been. He’s refused help for so long that the others don’t know how to give it to him anymore, or even to recognize that he needs it. He doesn’t like to be fussed over much anyway, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to be babied.

But it might be nice. Just for a minute. It might be nice to have Jackie call him little brother and cuddle up with him in their bed, just the two of them, instead of shying away from each other on either side of the mattress like they do most days. Like they don’t know what to do with each other anymore.

He wonders if Anti was what was holding the pair of them together - Anti and the need to protect their younger siblings. Red hated having a newcomer when they first met, after all. It wasn’t until Anti reset the both of them and shoved them into brotherhood that they decided they loved each other. Maybe they’re not even friends. Just survivors who were stranded on the same life boat, and now that they’re back on dry land, Jackie can go wherever he wants.

He lies in bed for a long time, but he can’t sleep. He’s slept all day. He trudges out into the hallway and peers into JJ’s room, just for a minute.

Jackie is curled around his younger brother, the pair of them asleep on the floor under blankets and each other’s arms. Jackie keeps Jameson safe.

Blue checks on Henrik and Chase.

“Dok?” he murmurs. “Why are you up?”

Henrik turns to him, blinking in the darkness.

“Do you need something?” he asks.

Henrik shakes his head. Chase is asleep in their nest, hand stretched out in the space where his twin should be.

Blue gives Henrik a kiss on the head. “Go to sleep, my darling.”

Henrik gazes up at him. For a second, his scarred hand rises to stroke across Blue’s cheek, cupping his face.

Blue thinks he would probably make everything right if he were here. Henrik would probably open his mouth and make everything in the world right.

He leads his little brother gently back to their nest and lies him down beside Chase, who readjusts instantly to hold him. They’re all magnets, clicking against each other, and Blue is just something plastic trying to fit in.

“Good night, sunshine.”

Henrik watches him leave their room, his blue eyes glittering in the moonlight. Blue closes the door behind him and goes back to bed.

Anonymous asked:

Blue you won't ever be anything but Antis if you keep insisting on not getting help. There's a reason you're not healing and don't feel okay, and it's because you won't talk to anyone, and you won't express how you feel, and you won't see professionals. You are sabotaging yourself. You need to see someone, get outside help. I know what it feels like to hate yourself, and taking it out on others around you is the worst thing you could do. Stop cutting people off with your hatred and guilt.

“I’m so glad you came,” Chase is telling him the next day, over and over. “I’m so glad you’re here. Thanks, I just - I’ve been worried. I love you, you know?”

He does know. He wants to be all fluffy and affectionate with him again, but he doesn’t have the energy. He doesn’t want to be here. But maybe everyone’s right.

He can’t handle this on his own.

“Mathew?” calls the receptionist.

“It’s Matti,” he says wearily, getting to his feet. “Chase, I’ll just be a few.”

“Take your time,” says Chase, squeezing his hand goodbye. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

Blue steps back into the doctor’s office and sits down in an examination room, slumping back against the wall and closing his eyes, worn.

Anonymous asked:

Tell the doctor about the unstable moods and anger you're dealing with, Blue. It might lead to you getting a psychiatrist and someone to talk to.

“So. What are we here to look at, Matti?”

Dr. Bowlan looks at him with this placid smile on his mouth, a clipboard resting on his knee. Blue sighs through his teeth, sick of this already. He knows, doesn’t he? He circled mood swings and irritability on his intake paperwork. He went through the questions the nurse asked him.

“Little interest or pleasure in doing things?”

“Every day.”

“Feeling down, depressed, or hopeless.”

“Most days.”

“Trouble falling or staying asleep, or sleeping too much.”

“Most days.”

“Feeling tired or having little energy.”

“Every day.”

“Poor appetite or over-eating.”

“Most days.”

“Feeling bad about yourself or that you are a failure or have let your family down.”

“Every day.”

“Trouble concentrating on things?”

“Some days.”

“Moving or speaking slowly or being restless and fidgeting.”

“Not at all.”

“Thoughts that you would be better off dead or hurting yourself in some way.”

“… Every day.”

“In the past two weeks, have you done anything or planned to do anything with the intent of ending your life?”

“No.”

“You’re not feeling good?” murmurs Dr. Bowlan, bringing him back to the present.

Blue shakes his head. No. He’s not feeling good.

“I’m taking it out on the others,” he says thinly. “I’m angry at all of them. It has to stop. I can’t help them like this.”

Anonymous asked:

There's definitely some problems here, Blue's clues. Please let the doctor help you find a solution without much sass or fighting it! /lh

“I’ll be as sassy as I want,” Blue mutters. Dr. Bowlan has talked him through every aspect of his feelings that he’s willing to talk about - so a whole five minutes of discussion - and he’s ready to go.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Matti, I think it might be a good idea to try some antidepressants and see how those go. I need to see you again next week and you need to take them every day. The truth is that medication really works best in conjunction with therapy. You could get into the same place as your brother if you would like…”

He listens to him drone on about therapy. He just wants to take the pills and go. Finally, he receives a prescription, and, with a mumbled thank you, he’s gone again. Chase beams at him from the waiting room, but Blue just sweeps past.

Anonymous asked:

I'm so proud of you for going to the doctor for help, Blue!

“Yeah, that’s a good first step,” agrees Chase warmly, hastening after his sibling, not sure why Blue is heading for the alley to the back of the building instead of walking back towards the bus stop so they can get him to work on time. “Blue, the bus stop is - ”

“I don’t need your fucking approval!” screams Blue, whirling on you, and it’s then that you see his eyes are blazing blue. “I don’t want to fucking talk about it! Just leave me the fuck alone, everyone, shut the fuck up, I don’t care!”

Chase leaps back, shocked, as the ground beneath his feet grows hot even through his new shoes. Fire crackles in Blue’s hands.

“Don’t send me another fucking question or another goddamn condescending congratulations or I’m going to - ”

He spins around again, seething through his teeth as his power makes his body shake. He needs to shut the fuck up before he says worse.

“Blue,” begins Chase, and Blue hears the shake in his voice. “You can’t be using magic in the city - there’s magicians, Jackie said - ”

“Just give me a minute!” he howls.

Chase cowers back against the wall and goes quiet.

Anonymous asked:

I'm so proud of you for going to the doctor's, Blue. Just remember that you need this help, and it'll be good for you in the long run. You'll make it through, even dealing with annoying doctor visits and your irritability. Be safe and let the doctors help as much as they can. - 🎒

His heartbeat seems to pulse up into his throat and his breaths come fast and shaky. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He hates this. All of it. Anger like a swelling of magma. Hot. It hurts his chest. He’s going to be sick. Grips his soft stomach and hates that too. Ugly and breaking down. He spits bile and weeds groan up from the cracks in the cement, twisted and back, dead by the time they’re grown.

He knows he’s scared Chase and he hates that too. His brother is hiding beside a garbage can, peering out at him like he used to peer out his broken window, on watch, hiding. Chase has learned how to live like a rat. Hates it, hates it. Flame up his back. He’s wreathed in his own fire. He glows with it - with the power, with the pain. Anger’s just hurt that doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

“We’re done talking about this,” he says through gritted teeth. “Talk to me again and I’m just going to ignore it. Just leave me alone.”

He draws himself up after long minutes. Chase curls in on himself against the trash cans, eyes big and wary. He reaches out to take Blue’s hand but won’t meet his gaze anymore. Head down, scared of him.

It’s his fault. His chest hurts from how hard his heart is beating.

Anonymous asked:

None of the congratulations were meant as condescending, Marvin. The audience is genuinely proud of you. Not everyone is out to annoy you, man. Chase, don't take anything he says personally, Blue is feeling extreme emotions and what's best right now, like with Jackie going to another room when he gets angry, is to just let him blow off the steam in a safe environment.

Chase glances up at Blue, who just ignores the message and keeps pulling him towards the bus. He wants to open his mouth to say something - I’m proud of you and I know they are too, is that so wrong? Why are you so angry all the time, why won’t you eat what I cook you, why don’t you come hang out with me and cuddle a little like we used to? I wish you would talk to me. Haven’t I been where you are? - but he isn’t going to push his buttons. He’s going to be good. He puts his head back down and keeps walking. Blue’s hand is hot in his own.

Anonymous asked:

Chase, were you scared of Blue just then? Maybe you should express that to him and clarify that you still love him despite it? I think he needs time alone once you get home, so on the bus or in this alley is your shot to talk with him about how he's making you feel.

“I’m sorry, I just lost control of the power, I would never let it hurt you,” Blue tells him in one breath, sitting down on the bus and then going silent again.

Chase chews on his mouth, staring at the silver floor of the bus. Yeah, he was scared. He closes his eyes tight. He knows that heat, Blue’s heat, Blue’s flame. It was somehow different from the hot California sun. He remembers feeling it crackle against his skin, making his hair stand up, making the forest floor stink of smoking plant matter and, when Blue got really angry, smoking flesh. He can see his brother plunging the knife into Anti’s chest. Anti is screaming. Blood and ink splurt across the dirt. He smells copper and flame.

He presses his face into Blue’s shoulder and just hides. He squeezes his palm. I love you. I love you.

Anonymous asked:

Chase, it'll be okay, don't worry horribly. You're already doing good thing with small reminders you love him and being patient with him. Your fear is understandable in the face of anger given who your abuser was, but you braved through it like you always do, fighter. Blue needs lots of help right now, the problem is getting him to tell you all what help he needs.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go to work today,” says Chase. If he won’t tell him what help he needs, he can at least try to look after him. Try not to worry. “We could go for a walk. Have a day off. I want to bake a cake or cookies or something, we could - ”

“I’m fine, amata,” says Blue lowly.

Long silence. The rushing by of the city.

“Would you even be taking the antidepressants if I wasn’t around?” Chase asks miserably.

The bus pulls to a stop outside the library. Blue gets to his feet, turning his back to him.

“If I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t have anything worth taking antidepressants for.”

Anonymous asked:

For Blue: It's okay to mourn the person you could have been. It's okay to be angry or resentful at that lost chance. It's okay to be sad about it too. But i, and your brothers, want you to know that there are so many parts of you, the you that exists right now, that are beautiful and lovely and meaningful. Just because your past is lost doesn't mean your future has to be too. You deserve to heal and work through this raging fire in you until it's protective, comforting fire again. We all believe in you.

He’s just… lost all control.

He’s lost control of himself, lost control of his relationships, lost control of his magic. It’s so much easier to lash out than to admit just how… lost he is.

He doesn’t want to talk about it. He really doesn’t.

Stepping into the library, he settles in behind the front desk, accepts a re-shelving assignment from his boss, and gets to work. At least this is something he can do right - book here, book here, mark the date. But it’s so meaningless. He doesn’t know how Jackie gets satisfaction out of just pushing buttons and monitoring the audio.

This isn’t what he was meant to do.

He can sense it, the same way he can sense that this person - this person he’s acting like, this person he’s become - it isn’t who he’s meant to be either.

He doesn’t know how to get that person back.

Maybe he could try changing his jewelry or his shoes or his hair. But it’s so scary to think that maybe, even if he tries everything he possibly can…

The person in the mirror will still not be him.

He re-shelves C.S. Lewis and wipes quietly at his eyes behind the bookshelves.

Chase is chatting to someone on the other side of the library, and it takes Blue a minute to realize that JJ has brought Henrik from home. That’s right, they were going to hang out here today. At least they’re close. His little brothers. He has to keep an eye on them. He has to make sure they’re okay. Even if he only seems to be able to be a jerk around them.

The sound of their voices is the only solace he has. He takes a shuddering breath and gets back to work.

He doesn’t know if he can heal from this. But if it would help them… well, he’ll try.

Anonymous asked:

Blue are there any mirrors in the library? There could be a mirror portal somewhere within that you just don't know the password for?

“I’ve thought about that,” Blue agrees. “I think it’s likely, even. There’s mirrors in the bathrooms and one upstairs in the kids’ section. But I have no idea how to open them even if I knew which one it was. It’s just this feeling that something is here. I wish I knew. I almost feel like I - like I should know.”

But it’s just one more patch of fog in his blank brain. He scowls and tries to stop thinking about it. He wishes he had any past at all to ground himself in.

This is when he notices a head pop over the bookcase he’s shelving.

“Are we talking about magic?” asks JJ cheerily. “I’ll help you look.”

Blue sighs, a little endeared despite himself. “I guess. But how are we going to find the password even if we know the mirror?”

“C'mon, we could at least check things out.”

It feels as hopeless as everything else. Blue mumbles excuses, putting books into their places.

scunneredzombie asked:

You should go with Jamie, have a look around with someone else who has magic understanding! It might be helpful if you teamed up with someone else, Blue.

Blue glances up at JJ, who smiles back at him. Fuck’s sake, he’s a forgiving little man. Blue hopes that’s who he is and not just an abuse response.

“Okay, babe, fine. Lead the way.”

“To the bathroom!”

“What, how are we going to check both?”

“You work here. Just say you’re cleaning it.”

“I’m not a janitor.”

“But I bet you know where the ‘closed for cleaning’ signs are.”

Little shit. Blue rolls his eyes and grins frailly back at him, getting to his feet.

“Come on, then.”

Anonymous asked:

Do either of you know any old Irish sayings/idioms/song verses/poetry? You can use those to take guesses at the mirror password if you think it'd work!

“I’m sure Blue knows plenty of nerdy old poetry,” says JJ.

Blue flicks his ear. “Too much to know what would work. And I think it might be a little suspicious if I just stood around chanting poetry and Irish sayings in the bathroom.”

“It’s not any of these anyway,” says JJ, pushing out the door. “Or the one upstairs. No portals.”

“How do you know?”

“I could feel it if it were.”

“I can’t tell any difference between any of them,” says Blue, frowning.

“With all love, Blue, I’m a little more powerful. But you’re probably just not sensing anything because there’s nothing there to sense. I’m not even sure it’s in this building. Just… near.”

Blue crosses his arms over his chest, annoyed. “I can tell it’s here, alright? I know it is.”

“I’m not doubting you,” says JJ. “I agree there’s something close.”

“Well, it’s not like there’s mirrors just standing in the middle of the field where they have the farmer’s market. It’s just grass and that fountain out there.”

JJ shrugs, moving to the window of the library. There’s the field with the fountain pouring down a straight sheet of water, the bus stop, and beyond it, more buildings and streets. It’s a pretty little library in the center of town, old enough to have stood for years and years.

scunneredzombie asked:

Can mirror dimensions be made by using the reflections in water? If the fountain has water come down in straight sheets or has anything particularly glimmery, that might be a place to check!

There’s a pause between the two of them.

And then they’re pushing each other out of the way to race back out the door, darting out to the fountain in the field.

“It’s big enough to walk through.”

“You can see your reflection in it no problem.”

“It goes all day and all night and over the winter I bet the pool at the bottom freezes over and sits.”

They exchange looks. JJ picks up Blue’s hand and sticks it into the stream, his own fingers wrapped around his wrist.

And Blue still doesn’t sense the stronger magic here, and he does not magically remember a password, and he certainly does not pass through the stream to another world, and yet -

There is a faint memory right here.

And he knows he’s stood in this exact spot, and made his way through the water.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I think this is the place.”

At the top of the fountain, carved in stone, a lapwing bird.

Anonymous asked:

Welcome home again, Magnificent, you've found them!

“Sort of,” says Blue. “If I could actually get through it.”

“We could wait for someone to show up, maybe?”

“I guess I can keep an eye out from the library or something.”

Anonymous asked:

It's a long shot, but maybe try the "I love you, farewell" password that was used on the portal to your house back before Anti? I think it was something like "Te amo, valete". Just a thought!

The recognition of it draws a sudden and brilliant smile to Blue’s mouth and laughter comes bubbling out him, awed.

“Holy shit… that was our password.”

He glances at JJ, who smiles at him.

“We… we hid a mirror in the city, I think, and we… yeah, we had a password, I told Jackie he had to say he loved me before I’d let him leave… it was just a joke, but we say it damn near often enough anyway now, don’t we…”

“I miss that place,” signs JJ softly.

Fuck, but Blue would like to find it again. A home… a real home, just for them.

“Ammo,” he says. “Vale.”

He touches the water, but nothing changes. He blows out a breath. “Well, at least we know ours.”

Anonymous asked:

Are there any Irish poems about birds or lapwings you could try? Or maybe poems or quotes from books, since you're so near the library?

“That’s another next step, maybe,” agrees JJ. “There could be clues in the library. We could go back inside and look, if you’re not, like, remembering anything.”

Blue stares up at the fountain, wishing it could all come back to him. Not just magic but… everything. Like it would fill up some missing piece inside him. Lapwings… he doesn’t know anything about them except that they have to do with the magicians, and that he must have been attached enough to have one inked onto him. He thinks he knows some bird poems, though?

“Hope is the thing with feathers,” he offers softly, but nothing happens. But Dickinson wasn’t Irish anyhow. Maybe he could find some Irish poems or sayings or songs about birds.

scunneredzombie asked:

Yes, I knew it! You guys found it, good job! Now to go about finding the password... Any other memories surfacing, Blue?

“Yeah, that would be convenient,” sighs Blue. “A good old flashback and then we can hop right over to Hogwarts.”

He touches the water again, sighing at the coolness. “A password, huh? Wait, we had a mirror dimension for the five of us. How did you get in and out?”

“You made it work for me,” answers JJ gently. “Doesn’t have to be spoken aloud.”

“What did we do instead? A sign?”

“Yeah, a sign.”

“So it could be any words or any hand motion or anything,” grumbles Blue.

“Or even images. I’ve heard it can be images.”

“Great. Narrows it down.”

“Might be easier to meet some magicians.”

“Well, they won’t show themselves, will they? I’ve been using magic to make roses for weeks now. They don’t seem to have even noticed.”

“You could do something really grand.”

“Yeah, and then they could come try and take us away like you said those British magicians did.” He pulls away from the water, dejected. “They could be just as bad as the British ones. And they told you the Irish magicians had stopped answering them anyway, right? That they’re probably gone? That’s probably it.”

It’s bitter and painful in his chest and he doesn’t even know why.

“The Irish magicians are gone. Even if we could get through, there would be nothing to find.”

“You don’t know that.”

He gives JJ a dark look, feeling himself sinking back down into the mud he’s been stuck in.

“What, you’re hopeful now? Not drowning in your own despair anymore? Guess once the moment of need is over you’re finally ready to poke your head out of your shell and try things for once.”

JJ’s face flashes with anger, and he lifts his hands to shoot back a reply, and then -

Something scared in his face.

He wraps his arms around himself, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion, his mouth going taut, slightly open, slightly unsure -

“Honey,” says Blue, suddenly unnerved.

JJ stares at the world around him, eyes huge, blinking at the sun and the grass.

“Outside,” he signs weakly. “Outside, I’m not - I’m not allowed, I’m supposed to be - ”

Blue grabs his shoulders, trying to steady him. “Dap, stay with me. Hey. You’re fine. I’m sorry, I just…”

“I’m in trouble.” His air is coming faster now, his eyes fixed dangerously on the sun. Blue grabs his chin to pull his gaze away before he blinds himself. “My room. Hurts me, throws me down the stairs. Brat.”

JJ grabs his throat, coughing and pulling at his neck like there’s something wrapped around it, shaking his head.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Blue swears rapidly at himself and wraps an arm firmly around JJ’s shoulders, pulling him hurriedly back towards the library. “I’m sorry, I’m here. I didn’t need to say that, I just… I didn’t need to say that. Come on, we’re okay.”

Anonymous asked:

Jameson, are you okay?? What triggered you, love? You're not a brat, and you're free now, free to leave the room whenever you want. Anti is dead. You're not a prisoner anymore.

“Yeah, you’re good, you’re good,” murmurs Blue, tugging him into the doors of the library and pulling him behind the desk, just grateful that his coworker is upstairs. For all that he gets after him, he knows exactly what JJ wants to do right now - squeeze into a tight space and hide. Which is exactly what he does, hunkering down beneath the computer desk and curling up like a hedgehog, panting.

“Blue? What’s going on?”

“Chase, he just - we went outside and I kind of said something that maybe - but I think it was mostly just being outside, you know, just the sun and everything, I just gave him a little sass for not helping with Anti and - he just - ”

Horrified, Chase races around the desk and falls to his knees beside his brother. “JJ. You’re okay! Fuck, Blue, you two were outside for ten minutes and this - ”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

“What did you say?”

“Just that he didn’t used to try and do stuff, you know, that he would just sit in his room all hopeless.”

“You’re unbelievable,” snaps Chase. He leans closer to wrap himself around JJ, hugging him close.

Blue rears back, pierced. What, Chase is mad? Chase is never mad. Defensive, sure, or scared, or tired, yes, but not mad. That isn’t something that happens.

“Amata, he has a million and one triggers. I was a little short with him, but he just has trouble being outside. You’re just going to pick him over - ”

“Just get out of here, Blue! JJ, can you talk to me? What was it, Jay, what was it? I swear, you and Jackie act like you’re the only ones who are big brothers sometimes! Well, I got people I’m supposed to protect too. And you’re being an ass.”

Blue stares at him, mouth open. Chase doesn’t talk to him like this.

“I’m taking him and Henrik away the second he’s calm,” says Chase, ignoring his gaze, his mouth set stubbornly even though his voice shakes and stammers more than usual, his eyes pricked with tears. “I love you so much but you just keep - you just keep - ugh! If you’re going to treat us this way then maybe you should just leave us alone!”

Blue…

Blue can’t even answer.

He turns away, then turns back. Turns away, turns back.

“You guys were going to hang out here with me today,” he offers lamely.

Where he can hear them. Where he can watch over them.

“We’re going away,” repeats Chase quietly.

He closes his eyes and wraps himself tighter around Jameson, their heads pressed together.

Anonymous asked:

Blue I know you don't want any positive praise or encouragement thrown your way. Maybe you only know the reason but maybe you've just wrapped yourself in cynicism so tightly that you have to push everything out to an arms distance, so you either sit and stew in your own negative emotions, or when you do open up, all that bitterness seeps out and you've proven your cynicism right when things boil over. The world is screwed up, and it's hard to admit that you're screwed up too. It's even harder when you feel like you're asking the same screwed up world for help of all things, but your pride and your cynicism aren't the same thing. You need your pride restored, you need your cynical self dialed back. I hope therapy helps you. I hope the antidepressants don't cause you any grief. I hope YOU believe you can dare to hope again.

Our well-wishes may seem sappy and overly sentimental, but they come from a place of sincerity. The fact is, we don't know how else to help you. We're lost. You're lost. We're all getting redirected in circles but you're going to find a path for yourself. And we'll still be along with you the whole way through.

Blue sits down numbly in one of the big green reading chairs by the window upstairs.

He reads from the corner of his eyes, trying to ignore you, his tongue wetting his mouth. He pulls on his hair and hunches over himself, feeling sick to his stomach again. All the time. It’s his anxiety. Hurts his tummy.

Now he’s made Chase mad.

Chase - Chase wrapped around JJ - picking JJ - wrapped around JJ’s little finger just like Anti was - lying in bed and the two of them are looking at each other, helpless - he feels his arms wrap around JJ and he knows from the way he squirms that he does not like it, but all Anti does is laugh, and Blue can’t do anything about it, can’t make it stop -

He shudders. Cynicism. That’s what it is. He’s lost some ability he used to have. He doesn’t know how to get it back. All that’s left are scars.

A hand on his own pulls him back from his head again. Blue looks up quickly. Maybe Chase came to find him and apologize. To be his cozy little amata again.

But it’s not Chase.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” rasps Blue, swallowing as he tries to put his front of calm back up. “You okay?”

Henrik gazes at him, head tilting slightly. He reaches up and cups Blue’s face. Blue laughs weakly and reaches down to hold the back of his head in return, stroking his fingers through his hair.

“What, are you worried?”

Henrik blinks at him, fingers playing against Blue’s palm.

“Can I have a kiss, then, if you’re worried?” asks Blue boldly, pinching his ear.

Henrik’s mouth thins, his eyes soft.

And then he lifts up and gives Blue a kiss on the side of his temple, scratching his beard for a second. He gets up and turns, and before Blue can say anything, Chase is appearing on the top of the stairs, pale but calm again.

“We’re going to go now,” he says quietly. “JJ just blanked out for a second. He’s fine.”

Blue looks away, sulking. Whatever. Of course he’s fine. What a baby. And now Chase is all on his side. Right away even. Fine, whatever.

“Your shift’s done at six?”

“Yes,” he says shortly.

Chase nods, shifting on his feet, and reaches out for Henrik, who turns to go with him.

“Take the camera with you,” says Blue, pushing your camcorder towards him. “I don’t fucking need it.”

Chase stares at him for a second, mouth pursed. Then he takes the camcorder. He’s pretty sure Jackie hid an emergency GoPro in Blue’s book bag anyway, but it hardly matters.

“Bye,” he says. “Love you.”

Blue glares out the window, simmering. Chase sees leaves budding from inside his clutched fists.

Chase turns unhappily to walk away.

“Love you too,” you hear Blue whisper, and then he’s out of your sight and your hearing.

Stewing in his own negativity, closed off and alone.

Anonymous asked:

Blue, escaping the life with Anti was never going to be a clean ending. I wish you guys could have had a clean slate to build your new lives off of, or at least revert to how things were before, but the fact is, life's not like that. It doesn't matter that you don't want to hear that change takes time, or that you need professional help, or that you can't take care of your family while neglecting yourself: all those things are true.

You can either dig your heels into the ground and insist on drowning in your own self-hatred, or you can admit that you're scared, and accept some help to leave some of that behind you, even if it's just a little. You don't have to pretend to be Marvin, you don't have to continue as Blue. But you need to let go of some of the stubbornness of each identity to move on and become whoever you feel that you are or who you can be.

Whatever the case, we can't force your decision but at least THINK on what we're saying before blindly rejecting it. We care about you, even if you sometimes don't.

It was never going to be clean.

Chase cries in the pews of the Jewish building - he doesn’t know if it’s a synagogue or a temple or just a communal place - where he’s wanted to take Henrik for weeks now. He didn’t plan to be crying when he imagined it, of course. But it was never going to be clean.

It was always going to be Jackie’s screaming in the middle of the night and an ugly burn on Chase’s hand. It was always going to be JJ talking to a monster who is no longer there and a blank stare in Henrik’s face. It was always going to be Blue’s fury and a bottle of antidepressants.

“I wish he had taken Dok and run like he said he would,” he sobs into JJ’s shirt. “That first night he tried to run. In Norway. We were in Norway? I just remember him trying to take Dok and go. I wish he had escaped that night. Then the two of them would still be okay. Not like this. Not like this, this isn’t right, it’s not how it’s supposed to be. At least they could have gotten away. But he stayed for us, I remember, I remember that much. The beach… we were on the beach… I don’t know how long ago. Just not like this.”

He’s the only sound in the whole of the little building. It’s not the most impressive religious building Chase has ever seen. There’s an open area with some fold-up metal chairs and plastic tables and a rickety old piano, and then a partition before the area with the pews and the set-up in the front. The sign on the door says the building is open to visitors but warns that there are always cameras watching, and services are Saturday at six with a community dinner afterwards, thank you very much. It smells like styrofoam and Pinesol. JJ holds Chase in the pews, hugging him wearily. Henrik stands in the corner of the building, tracing his fingers over a glass box holding a huge scroll inside.

“Blue just needs some time,” offers JJ, trying to pull away enough to sign clearly, though Chase refuses to let him go. “Henrik too.”

“He’s so unhappy,” cries Chase. “I hate it, I hate this.”

It was never going to be clean. It was always going to be ugly as fuck and messy and miserable.

Fuck, even if they were still with Anti, things would be even worse.

“He was going to cut my voicebox out,” weeps Chase, stammering so hard he’s not sure JJ can understand him. “Didn’t he say that? He kept touching my throat. Said I didn’t need it cause we can all sign. I didn’t need to talk to anybody but you and him. We were going to be pets. He would have killed the others. It took me too long. It took me so long. If I had fought sooner, they wouldn’t be like this. Still messed up, yeah, but not this much. Not this bad. I should have fought for all of you sooner.”

He lets it come pouring out. The ugliness. If Blue won’t express it, he will.

It was never, never, never going to be anything other than this. Because “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” is bullshit and all Anti did was hurt them. Now they have to come clawing their way back out of the traps he laid in their heads. Maybe they’ll be a little stronger, in some ways, but they’ll also be scarred up and vigilant. It’s traumatic in the same way grief is - it never really stops hurting. You just learn to deal with it better. Every day, if you can, you learn to deal with it better. But some days you just go falling back into the abyss, and you have to start climbing again.

He kisses JJ’s head fervently, one time, two times, again, because he needs to, because he loves him, because he’s sorry. JJ lets him. He smooths tears from his face and just holds him, for a long time.

Someone’s playing Clair de Lune in the other room. Chase covers his mouth, realizing he’s been too loud. Maybe they won’t judge. Not in a place like this.

Long, deep breaths. Long, deep gasps for air. He starts to calm down again. Jamie smells different than he used to. Different than Dapper, who usually smelled like chalk and old mattresses and copper. JJ smells like green apple detergent and coconut shampoo.

“Sorry,” mumbles Chase, realizing he’s gotten snot all over his new shirt, and JJ just shakes his head and presses their cheeks together, rubbing on him like a cat for a second.

“Do you think he’s thinking about it?” asks Chase, sniffling. “About whether he’s going to get some help or not? About if he’s going to be able to get past this?”

JJ nods. Chase nods back, headachey from his crying, and squeezes JJ’s ribs.

“Don’t know how to make it better,” he confesses weakly.

JJ draws away to sign, wiping more of his brother’s tears away as he goes. “It’s not your job to make it better,” he says. “If there’s anything you can do for him, he needs to let you know. But it’s not your job to keep anyone happy. Not anymore. Just you. Just work on making you happy.”

“But I want you all to be happy.”

Jameson grins and draws him back into a hug.

“Together. We’ll work on it together. It won’t be pretty… won’t be clean. But we keep working on it.”

Anonymous asked:

It's not your fault Chase. Don't put the weight of it all on your own shoulders, you'll tear yourself apart. You need to be focused on your own and Henrik's healing most of all right now. Blue is going through a lot, but it's completely reasonable to want to have space from him with how cruel and snappy he's being lately. It's not your job to fix everything. There are a lot of things for all of you to deal with individually, and you mustn't let one of you take on all the responsibility.

“You got too used to it,” signs JJ.

“To what?”

“Trying to make him happy.” JJ looks down at his hands. “Once he got sick of me. You would try to cheer him up or distract him so he wouldn’t come after the rest of us.”

“Did I?” He wipes at his face. “I don’t remember.”

“You were always trying to keep us all safe.” JJ leans against him, looking up at the ark. “We all tried to look out for each other when we could. But now… well, nobody’s being tortured, Chase. Nobody’s dying. We can prioritize ourselves instead of spending all our time worried about one of us being in literal imminent danger.”

“What if he is in danger?” asks Chase miserably. “With himself.”

“Then he needs to start expressing that so we can help,” JJ answers. “In the meantime, we have to look after ourselves, and if we get extra time or energy we’ll try to help each other. And all of us can help look after Henrik until he’s a little more… conscious.”

“He’s my responsibility,” protests Chase.

“We can all help, Chase. Even with him, you can take a break if you need one. We can all look after him. Which, uh, does beg the question… where did he go?”

Chase turns around. His brother is no longer standing by the Torah.

“Shit!”

Anonymous asked:

Uh oh, Doktor on the run! Maybe he went to where the music was coming from?

Chase scrambles to his feet and hurries back to the community area of the building, almost tripping over his feet as he goes. Shit, then he’s probably encountered the person playing the piano, and they’ve probably tried to engage with him, and he’s probably just stared at them, and then they could be mean to him, or think he’s an intruder, or yell at him, or -

But there’s just one person in the room.

Chase stills in the doorway of the partition, staring.

Henrik plays Clair de Lune perfectly, relaxed on the stool of the piano, his fingers drifting easily across the keys.

Anonymous asked:

Woah, Henrik knows piano? Even after so long without playing he can do it perfectly, that's amazing.

“Yeah,” says Chase frailly. “He, uh. He’s a genius. Always was. Even Anti would say that. But I didn’t know he played. I guess I forgot.”

Soft laughter from the piano. Henrik’s laughter.

Chase is frozen, staring at him. Henrik glances back at him and Jameson. His mouth smiles. His eyes are clear.

“Come here,” he signs with a free hand, beckoning. “Come over here.”

Anonymous asked:

Wh- Is Henrik back??! ;0;

Chase steps up to him, letting his hand come down on his shoulder, grounding himself there at his brother’s back. Henrik plays with one hand and reaches up to pull him to sit beside him with the other. He takes Chase’s hands and positions them on the piano.

“Do you remember the scales we were working on?” he asks.

He says it like it’s so normal that it makes Chase jolt on the stool. His voice… his voice like nothing has changed.

“Dok,” he whispers.

“Show me, then, come,” says Henrik, tapping his fingers on top of Chase’s.

“No, I… I don’t remember. Did we used to play?”

“You do not practice while I am at work! You will never learn.”

He’s teasing him. He’s playful.

“Dok, look at me,” begs Chase, pulling his gaze.

And he does. He just - he does. He looks at him.

“What?” asks Henrik, and then, when Chase does not answer: “Something is the matter?”

“Dok, do you know what’s going on? Do you know where we are?”

“Yes?” Henrik’s staring at him like he’s the crazy one. “Yes, home, in the living room. Are you alright? You have not been drinking?”

The warm sun is coming through the window of their house - Henrik can feel it on his face. It’s fall and the leaves of the trees are orange in the forest outside. Queenie leaps up onto the back of the piano and mewls at him.

“Bad girl, get down,” he scolds. “Jamie, are you making coffee? Will you get me a cup?”

Jameson comes up behind him and gives him a hug around his shoulders. Unexpected, but he does not mind. He is new to their family but he already fits right in.

He’s safe and things are good. He breathes out a low, satisfied hum. All is well in the world.

Anonymous asked:

Oh, uh.... Chase, JJ, do you guys know whether you should go along with him or try to bring him to the present time? He seems alright at least

“This could be him waking up,” says Chase, reaching out to cup Henrik’s face. “Dok, Henrik, it’s me, it’s Trick. Chase. We’re in Ireland. We got away from Anti, we’re safe! You can come back to me.”

“Chase,” JJ interrupts. “He’s not in any distress. Why don’t we just take it easy and see if he’ll come back to himself gently? This means he feels safe. It’s a good first step.”

“I want to talk to him.” Chase squeezes Henrik’s hand, pulling him away from the piano. “Deutsch, it’s me. He’s gone.”

“What is happening?” asks Henrik, eyes darkening. “Why are you talking like this? What’s wrong?”

scunneredzombie asked:

Chase, remember after his shutdowns sometimes Henrik would think he was existing back before Anti or he would forget where he was/who he was? This might be a more extreme version of that. Let him come around slowly.

Chase glances at the camera, his mouth tightening, but he gives a small nod, blinking. He looks back at Henrik and Henrik stares at him, obviously confused. Henrik glances around the room, seeming to take in the brick walls and the camera in Chase’s bag for the first time, and Chase sees his eyes start to glaze -

“Schneep,” he says quickly, taking his hand. “Show me how to do the scales again. I’m paying attention now.”

Henrik looks at the piano and settles down again, shooting Chase a look. “You never learn,” he teases. “Okay, set your fingers here…”

Chase lets his brother arrange his fingers. He wishes Henrik were all the way here, yes. But he thinks you’re probably right, and he just needs to be patient, and be glad to have this part of him.

Talking! He’s talking! His heart lifts and he smiles as Henrik starts showing him how to play the scale, chattering at him while Jameson stands beside them, watching along.

“How often do you play, Henrik?”

“You know I’m out here often,” he murmurs back, his free hand beginning a melody on the right side of the piano. “Even at night, after a long shift. But I try to be quiet then. Of course sometimes my more nocturnal brothers join me.”

He clucks JJ’s chin, pinching his beard.

“Are you happy?” asks Chase wistfully.

Henrik grins at him oddly. “What’s gotten into you? Things are good, my friend. What is happiness if not peace and a place in the world where you are loved.”

Beethoven down the keys of the piano, easy and affectionate.

Anonymous asked:

Henrik, how often do you play? Do you know Hava Nagila??

“Oh, boy, how Jewish am I?” snickers Henrik. “Hava Nagila, hava…”

He plays the first few lines and breaks down laughing, shaking his head. “What, I’m Jewish so I know Hava Nagila? Okay, yes, fine, I do. But I know everything. Because I’m smarter than everyone. Checkmate.”

Anonymous asked:

Hava Nagila is just my favourtie old tune haha! Of course you knew it though, no one is smarter then Henrik von Schneeplestein

“Yes, that’s true. You are not only correct but you also have good taste in music.”

Anonymous asked:

Is Henrik... back? Has he woken up? It seems at least part of him has!

Watching Henrik switch through a variety of songs - mostly at JJ’s request, Chase feels a little bit better. Here’s a part of him. Here’s… him, just a little lost. And aren’t they all?

Chase has been thinking more about Dok than Henrik for a long time now. But Henrik isn’t so different than his Dok that it makes any difference, it seems. Henrik is just a more egotistical, less scared, happier Dok. Chase snickers as Henrik melds two songs together within five seconds of JJ’s request and then congratulates his own intelligence. Isn’t this what he’s supposed to be like? Isn’t this what safety looks like on him?

He doesn’t mind. If Henrik is a little confused, he doesn’t mind.

It’s still him.

Anonymous asked:

Anti always said that you were just a more anxious Chase and he was just a quieter Henrik... Maybe you guys didn't change so much after all, hm.

Chase tentatively plays along as Henrik shows him Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. “Maybe we didn’t. Are we good friends, Henrik?”

“Course we are. Who else help you look after the children and pick you up from the party when you are dumb enough to go somewhere there is probably beer? And then you must cook me cheesecake as payment, is only fair.”

“Ah, is that what you like?”

“It’s what I demand.”

Chase laughs. He wonders how Blue and Red and Dapper can seem so different to who they used to be while Henrik doesn’t feel so different from Dok at all. Maybe they just… had each other to hold onto for longer. Someone who always knew that secret name - that secret person they used to be. They never had to be alone.

Chase and Henrik play a timid lullaby, laughing over the keys of the piano.

Anonymous asked:

Do you have any memories of where you are, Schneep..? Would you still feel okay if we told you you're not at home?

“Of where I am?”

Queenie meows at him from the couch. He glances over, but she isn’t there. The house is cool for a moment, and then growing warmer.

Henrik blinks. Looks around.

Something not quite right.

A smell of smoke in the air.

Where’s your hero now? Where’s Jack to save you and your little time traveler now? I’ll burn everything you love to the fucking ground. Just try to run, I’ll find you anywhere. I’ll stalk you til you collapse at my feet.

Henrik stares. A fire has caught along the edges of the door of their home. Outside, the trees are burning.

Chase grabs his shoulders, speaking to him, though Henrik cannot make out the words. He lays his head down on Chase’s shoulder almost on instinct, staring as everything around him begins to change. He hears the cat scream. His head hurts.

“Oh,” he murmurs, as Chase’s hand rises to touch his cheek. “Oh, who did this to you? Why did you not call me?”

He examines Chase’s hand. There is a marred, puckered section of skin, burned badly, maybe down to the bone. Henrik feels sorrow and then fear. He can hear Chase crying. He closes his eyes. He needs to hide. He needs to - needs to go away, needs to - survive this somehow, survive this somehow…

“Oh, I am going to have so much fun with you,” a dark voice growls. “We’re done. You’re useless to me. And that means I’m finally going to slaughter one of you little fucking bastards like I should have done a long time ago.”

“Anti - Anti, n-no more, no more… I want my brothers, I want…”

“No cameras, Dok, no siblings, and no more fucking pretending. I’ll show you just how much of a monster I really am. Just you, me, and a length of barbed wire. I’ve heard that Jews believe you die twice - once when your body gives out and one when everyone forgets you. I’ll be the one who kills you both times, Henrik.”

A line of wire clatters across the floor.

“That’s a promise.”

scunneredzombie asked:

Henrik, stay calm. Anti is dead. Anti is dead and you're free. You have a home with all of your brothers again, an apartment where you all live safely. You have Noodle and Chase and all your siblings who love you and regret not being there to protect you. You are safe and loved still, even if you aren't in the mirror portal you remember.

Henrik doesn’t shake or cry out as his memories swallow him up.

“Dok,” calls Chase, holding his shoulders tight. “Look at me, stay with me. You’re okay. I promise. We been looking after you. It’s okay now. It’s okay.”

His head just sinks down until his chin hits his chest, his eyes sliding shut and his posture curling, like he can hide himself from everything in the world. Chase tries to be gentle with him, tries to ground him at the same time. Soft hands on him. Murmuring to him. Trying not to let him know he’s scared.

After a while, Henrik’s breathing steadies out again. Chase soothes his finger across his chin, trying to draw his gaze, and Schneep looks up at him with big, sorrowful eyes.

Chase sighs and lays his head down on his twin’s shoulder. JJ pecks at the keys of the piano, and after another minute, Henrik takes an interest. He puts a hand out and plays a shy scale, sniffling a little and sitting up, calm again, but silent.

Anonymous asked:

"And just as there is wonder in / every new life created / there is sadness and regret / for the unsaid and unfeted / Just listen for the music / that your ears cannot hear / just strain yourself for the melody / that's so far and yet so near"

Henrik goes back to Clair de Lune, slower now, sweeter.

JJ and Chase sit in silence beside him. When he’s finished, Chase rubs his back until he glances over at him.

“That’s okay, man,” says Chase quietly. “You can just hide a while longer if you need to.”

Henrik gazes at him.

“Ready to go?” Chase asks his brothers, trying not to be sad.

JJ nods. “Maybe if he wakes up in the apartment, he’ll feel safer there. With the cat and your bed and everything.”

“And I can bring him back for services sometime.”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be okay?”

“Yeah. It’ll all be okay.”

“Okay. Come on.”

immabethehero asked:

You did it! You’re out the woods, I’m so proud of you guys! You deserve to relax and enjoy your peaceful lives.

JJ laughs quietly, watching Chase talk to Henrik quietly on the bus, the pair of them pressed close together.

“Out of the woods… well, the trees get thinner every day, at least. Yes. Let’s go home and relax a little.”

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prophetparadox · 7 months

Text

DMC OC Week 2023 Day 2: Connections to Cast/OCs

Art by @thatfuckerjackinabox

Day two of @dmc-oc-week-specialedition! Technically the canon characters and the OCs connections are two separate prompts, but Avalon isn't as sociable as Kay is, unfortunately. So I figured I'd just combine them into one and it'd make up for the lack of a social life this man has.

Dante and Vergil: It’d be a stretch to say that Avalon really knew the twins, but he certainly knew of them. Growing up in Red Grave City, it was hard not to notice the twins with white hair going out shopping with their mother. Especially since they had the tendency to get rowdy. But he never even knew their names, or at least he didn’t hear them enough for them to stick out in his mind. After the demon attack, the boys went missing and he assumed they were just among the casualties that night, though perhaps he hoped they might’ve escaped. He didn’t think of them much afterwards though, after all, they were just random kids. It’s not like they meant anything to him.

Arkham: Arkham was like a mentor to Avalon, a man he respected who could help him with the subjects he wished to know about. He hadn’t dismissed him as crazy for talking about demons, which is more than most people. He enjoyed spending time in his company. When he mysteriously vanished one day, Avalon was distraught. He never found out what happened to him, though that might be for the better. Considering Arkham was involved in raising a specific tower…

Kay: There were many hybrid children back then, but for some reason this one stood out to him even years after. He didn’t care to learn any of their names, and she was no exception, but Subject 39 was hard to forget. Out of all of them, she was the most disappointing to him, he couldn’t understand why she survived to the end when many others didn’t. He hated her the most. He has no idea that she was the one who ended everything, that she seeks vengeance towards him, and that she will kill him when she finds him. This means he also doesn’t know that she is the one he’s looking for, the last loose end left behind. Their clash is inevitable though, and the odds aren’t exactly in his favor.

Vigilex (belongs to @keyboardthenerd): He hates everything about this. First, this demon insists they work together to find the respective hybrids they’re searching for, and then he just won’t…leave him alone. It has to be a trick, an attempt at manipulation to get him to sell his soul or allegiance, but what does going on a date have to do with that? Avalon can’t get rid of him. Shooting him never works, and stabbing him doesn’t either. Every time he thinks he’s shaken the fish man off, he finds his way back with a smile. The worst part about it though? Is that he’s starting to enjoy Vigilex’s presence. He actually likes him after all the attempts to get rid of him. He refuses to admit it though. Doing so means Vigilex wins, and then he’ll never leave. He shouldn’t be falling for a demon in the first place and it infuriates him beyond belief.

Clayton (belongs to @mrmercer13): They’re dating, your honor. (Their relationship hasn’t exactly been developed a whole lot but I didn’t want to leave him out either.)

#Prophet posts #dmcocweek #DMC OC Week #Devil May Cry

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wyn-n-tonic · 2 years

Text

Invisible Strings - I

Word Count: 3.1k+ Relationships: Robert "Bob" Floyd/OFC!Georgia. Warnings: Hangman being a shithead. Author's Note: I fell into the Top Gun: Maverick fandom very quickly and was absolutely taken with Bob. I can't get him off of my mind nor do I want to. I had this idea regarding a sibling-like relationship between him and Phoenix, more than just a flight partnership, fostered by the friendship his girlfriend starts to build with her after they finally meet for the first time.

This is written in the third person, allowing me to write scenes for just Natasha, just Bob, just Georgia or any of these three with any of the others who make an appearance in this series. Feedback is forever appreciated.

Bars like this usually smell like shit but this is… something else.

People say sailors smell like fish but it honestly depends on what they sail for. Some smell like fish, others smell like a lazy day on the water. This, however, is the unique stench of stale bodies who have only bathed in recycled water and the sea for weeks on end.

For the unacquainted, it could be overwhelming. But when the port establishments count no the money—and trouble—brought in with it, it’s nothing more than the smell of a beer stained tin can. Something missed for the ones who are home too long and fidgety for the ocean again.

In the middle of it all stand the ones who take the air above the water, huddled around two ends of an old pool table and staring each other down—three against three where it used to stand five against five.

“So, what’s she like, Babyface?” The tall one, broad shouldered and cocksure, asks. “You never talk about her—hell, we’ve never even seen a picture of her”—he leans over the table and lines up his shot, eyes forward to the man in glasses—“is she even real, Bobby Boy?”

The rack breaks as the cue ball hits the others, scattering them around the worn green felt. “I mean”—he moves around the table, eyeballing his next shot—“she has to be on some level, it wasn’t just your mama calling you Bobby on the phone that night but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t shake hands on a bet with Coyote that it was probably a phone sex line—oh, don’t give me that look, there’s no shame in sex work, Babyface, this is the United States Navy.” He spreads his arms wide as his ball goes to pocket. "We’re the proudest sluts in America.”

Bob’s face is well past beet red at this point, approaching something closer to the color of blood that stained the snow somewhere they probably shouldn’t have been last week. For some reason, the mention of Coyote turned his stomach more than the mention of his sex life. That reason's the same one they’re home a week early: mission failure. Most of them go out on time but Rooster went after Coyote and Phoenix went after him, giving Bob no choice but to tag along for the ride.

The brunette to his left with a perfectly placed bun leans over the table beside him, eyes following the line of the shot in his sights. “She won’t hate me will she?”

Phoenix—Natasha. Five-foot-seven of nothing but hard lines, wit and incredible speed. Admiral once said that if she were Han Solo, Bob was Chewbacca, the most in-sync team he’d ever seen fly with something akin to a twin-like link allowing thoughts and intuition to flow between them. If she hadn’t dodged right and around the moment half a word left his lips, he’d have been the one laid up in the infirmary awaiting transport to a San Diego hospital at 30 knots per hour. Or worse. If it wasn’t for Natasha.

“No,” he shakes his head, scratching the shot entirely to look up at her. “There’s no way she could.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure,” he tells her. “Why the sudden questions?”

Phoenix throws a thumb back towards the door with a nod. “‘cause she’s been sizing me up from the door for the past five or so minutes.”

But when Bob follows her gesture, all he sees is a wall of khaki-clad broad backs staring back at him, three identical buzzcuts at varying height screaming that they’re not long out of recruit training.

Hangman steps to his other side, the sound of a sharp breath being pulled through tight lips and exhaled into a low whistle. “Is the future Mrs. Robert Floyd on the other side of that young, pent up, wall of seamen? Fuck.” He looks over at Bob and smiles, “better go save her before she hears something dirtier than, ‘gee willikers, sweetheart, you really butter my biscuits.’ You need assistance with it?”

She steps to the side of the men, a sweet smile on her face as she tries to move forward with a polite rejection, but the one on the far left blocks her path, prompting Bob’s feet forward with Jake not far behind him, whistling over to the piano for Rooster’s attention. The music stops as he pushes himself up from the bench, grabbing his half-drunk beer from the dusty top and taking long drinks in turn with every stride.

“—come on, sweetheart, just give us your name and let us buy you a drink. You can’t tell us you’ve got somebody waiting here for you, not done up like tha—“

“Seamen Recruits,” Rooster barks, the bottle hanging from the tips of his fingers. “Do we have a problem here?”

Three sets of flat, beady, bloodshot eyes turn towards the lieutenants, widening in realization as they shake their heads.

“No.”

“Absolutely not.”

“No, sirs,” the last one finally says. “No problem here, sirs. Just offering to buy a beautiful woman a drink.”

“Really?” Rooster asks, arms crossed over his chest. “‘cause it’s looking a lot more like you’re harassing her—who, by the way, is a lieutenant’s wife. You know the rules, boys.”

“Sir, we can—“

“Beautiful, can is just the word we love to hear,” Jake claps a hand down on the shorter man’s shoulder. “Penny, my dear!” He yells over the crowd, silent as they watch the interaction. “Ring the bell three times, we’re getting several rounds on our generous crew mates here tonight!”

Cheers erupt as the bell rings out, the men deflating in stature with nothing more said as they walk away, Rooster following behind shouting orders to the bar to order the most expensive items on the menu.

“Hi, handsome.”

Seresin lets out a low whistle. “Hello, yourself, gorgeous,” he says back to the redhead in low-cut, yellow sundress. “It's no wonder Babyface didn’t want to tell us about you.”

“Babyface?” She looks to the man in glasses. “That fits.”

“Hi, Peaches.”

“Peaches? That’s one hell of a name, Mrs. Floyd.”

“You can call me Georgia,” she says. “You must be Hangman.”

Bob’s taken her hand in his as she moves closer, fitting the small weight of it against his own as his eyes dart back and forth between the two. Jake smiles and claps a hand on Bob’s back. “Your girl has a callsign before you, Bobby Boy. You think there’s anyway I can tempt her away from you?”

She scrunches her nose and squeezes tightly to the hand wrapped around hers. “Don’t set yourself up for heartbreak, I heard you’re not a big fan of being shown up.”

He stares down at her before releasing a breath on a laugh and squeezing the back of Bob’s neck. “You heard right, Mrs. Floyd. But I don’t think I would either way, you seem like just the kind of trouble our Bobby needs.”

Trouble? She mouths to Bob as the other man walks away. “Is that what you need?” She asks him, the gap between their bodies disappearing as he pulls her close to him, the hand he holds now angled behind her back.

“Yeah,” he whispers into her ear. “I think that’s what I need.”

“Or maybe a little less,” she suggests. “You’ve never asked me to pick you up in a bar before, Bobby. Don’t tell me they’ve got you drinking now.”

He lets out a breath, a shiver running down his spine as the index finger of her free hand drags up the bridge of his nose before meeting the bridge of his glasses and pushing them up to his forehead before leaving them to rest on top of his head.

The noise of the crowd drones out to a low buzz around them as she presses her lips to his, a soft, sweet brush.

“We have an audience,” she says when she pulls away, nodding over his shoulder to the ones around the pool table staring. “Is that Natasha?”

“Tall brunette? Looks like she wants to kill a man? Or five?”

“She looks scared shitless, actually.”

Bob laughs, pressing his lips to her cheek before letting his glasses fall back to position. “Come on,” he starts in their direction. "She's really nervous to meet you.”

Georgia pulls him back. “She’s nervous to meet me?”

“Yeah, she thinks you’ll hate her,” he says, eyebrows pinching as he watches her tuck her bottom lip beneath her teeth. “Do you hate her, Peaches?”

She shakes her head, wavy strands of red bouncing with her movement. “I don’t know her.”

“Well, come on.”

She tugs him back again as he steps forward.

“Bobby, what if she hates me?”

“Baby, how-uh”—he reaches out to push a strand of hair behind her ear—“how long has that been on your mind.”

“A while,” she says. “It’s not like I’m jealous, I just…” She trails off as she looks over his shoulder again to the pilot that holds his life in her hands day in and day out.

“Just what?”

Brown eyes dart back to his blue ones and she shakes her head again. “I just don’t know how to tell somebody I’ve never met that she means the world to me.”

That tight lipped, mouth closed smile of his spreads across his face, wide-eyed and ecstatic the way he was on graduation day or the first time he’d taken her to bed when they were not quite sixteen. Proud, like he’d done something right.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Phoenix saved my life the other day, that’s why we’re home early. Couple of our guys had to be taken for medical help, we got leave a week early because of it.”

“Why—“

“Peaches, I think she’s wondering something similar. You asked me once if I let any of them really see me. I let her because she, more than anybody, needs to know who and what I have waiting for me.”

On the other side of the crowded room, Jake leans over to Rooster. “Who the hell knew Floyd’s girl was so hot? I mean, you know, by my standards. What is he packing that he gets to go home to that at the end of a mission?”

“Respect, to begin with,” the only woman in the group responds, arms folded over her chest as she watches the couple walk toward them. Watches as Georgia loses her steam and clings closer to Bob with every step, her fingers intertwined with his.

“I’ll tell you what, though,” Jake leans in. “If my high school girlfriend looked like that, I’d be fine with her being the only one I ever fu—“ He loses the last word with an elbow to his stomach, breath punched out as the couple joins them.

“I-uh”—he clears his throat, looks from her to the group and back—“everybody, I’d like you to meet Georgia. Georgia, this is Rooster, Fanboy, Payback”—he points to each one individually—“you already met Jake and this is—“

“Natasha,” Phoenix says, stepping forward and putting her hand out. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Georgia.”

Georgia searches the other woman’s face, eyes darting from the outstretched hand and back to the brown eyes that stare back at her and then, finally, to Bob. Who she could’ve lost—never seen again, never hugged again.

She steps away from him then, forward toward the taller woman, and pulls her into a hug.

Phoenix goes rigid, a moment for her normal human functions to kick back in. She isn’t Navy Barbie Natasha in this moment and even if this type of interaction is weird for two strangers, they’re not really that—at all.

“Thank you,” Georgia says, letting go to step back towards the one she really came to see.

And then the night goes on. An hour passes with stories, each round of drinks bringing out the grittier and grittier details of the close calls and less than savory encounters through every directive received or port docked. Georgia’s eyes go wide with every one, especially with the things Hangman describes.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Floyd, your boy doesn’t ever get up to no good with us.” The toothpick between his teeth bounces with the words, dangerously close to falling before he finally takes it between his fingers to point across at Bob. “The only trouble Babyface over here gets into is forgetting to return a book he borrowed —still waiting to get my copy of the Kama Sutra back, buddy.”

Crimson creeps up the length of Bob’s throat, grip squeezing into Georgia’s hip as he swallows thickly. “I—“

“A picture book, Jake?” Georgia asks. “Why does that not surprise me? And all of these little statements you’re making, trying to embarrass him, or me, are really just making you look like an asshole.”

“Mrs. Floyd,” he holds his hands up in surrender. “I promise, that’s not exactly what I’ve been doing. I am pleased, however, to know that somebody in this relationship isn’t afraid of saying a bad word or two. Like I said, I think you’re exactly the kind of trouble our Bobby needs.”

Georgia looks around at the crowd, at the way it’s thinned in uniforms and grown in civilians, and then finally back at the one she came for. “Everybody and their loved ones here tonight,” she begins, eyes darting to Jake’s. “Out to dinner or making plans. And then there’s you, all alone and shitting on other people to make yourself feel big. That’s why they call you Hangman, right?”

A beat passes and then another, that shit eating grin on Jake’s face growing wider. He leans forward, hand on his chest. “I didn’t mean to get under your skin, sweetheart.”

“Baby,” Georgia turns to Bob while pushing up to stand, “I think it’s a good idea if I go, get some sleep before our flight tomorrow.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No,” she leans down and brushes her lips against his, hair falling to curtain them from view. “Don’t get marked AWOL, baby, I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Natasha,” she looks up and over Bob’s head. “It was really nice to finally meet you.”

“And you.”

Bob looks to Jake as Georgia’s fingers slip out of his hand, eyebrows pinched as his eyes dart over his face.

“I like your girl, Babyface,” he finally says, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest. “She's snappy.”

He starts to speak, half a retort on the tip of his tongue as he raises his hand, but shuts his mouth when Phoenix elbows him. “Don't bother, Bob.”

Bob pushes himself up and walks after Georgia, halfway to through the crowd to the door already.

“You are such a dick,” Natasha rounds on Jake. “How do you go from standing up for her against harassment to being the one harassing her?”

“I'm hurt, Phoe,” he responds. “It wasn’t harassment, it’s not like I asked her if the carpet matches the drapes. All playful fun, I mean…look at them”—he gestures towards the couple now, Bob’s hand resting low on Georgia’s waist—“maybe he’ll fuck her hard enough that it makes room for a sense of humor in his body.”

“You're a pig,” Phoenix says.

She finishes her beer as she stands, slamming the empty bottle down on the table before skirting around it to follow the sounds of Hangman oinking in her direction.

“I said you didn’t have to come with me.”

“That's not fair, Peaches,” he tells her. “I haven’t seen you in months and you leave, obviously upset, and tell me I don’t have to come with you. Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you, Bobby?”

He looks her over, features washed in the dim light of the parking lot—looks for any new freckles or scars, any hint of change in her appearance. Nothing new, even down to the red rings of crying, covered with just enough concealer, around her eyes. Bob shrugs. “Because I’m not more like Hangman or Rooster?”

She laughs, holding onto the steering wheel to pull her leg beneath her in the seat as she turns toward him. “You think I want you to be like Hangman?”

Bob shrugs. “Yeah, you know… confident.”

“You are confident,” she says. “But you’re also not an asshole, the two traits don’t have to coexist. His bullshit is a mask just as much as your silence and reservation is when you’re on duty.” She leans across the center console towards him. “I honestly think it’s really cute that they think you don’t cuss.”

“That's because I only do it when I’m between your legs or”—his hands cradle her face, thumb rubbing across her bottom lip—“if you’re between mine.”

“Bobby, you can’t talk to me like that tonight,” Georgia says, leaning back. “You only have permission to be at this bar and the base until tomorrow at seven and I can’t fuck you in this car.”

His shoulders raise to his ears and drop down again. “Why not?”

“Because the last time I tried to do that, you freaked out thinking you’d get a citation or court-martial.”

Bob nods. “I do have a perfect record.”

“You smell like twice baked tin foil.”

His shoulder presses into the back of the seat, elbow planted beside the headrest and he rests his own head against his palm. “The last time you tried to fuck me in a car off base, I was living in the barracks with all the enlisted men.”

“Robert, watch your mouth.”

“I guess you didn’t hear me, Peaches,” he continues. “I only have one roommate now and he’s out to dinner with his partner, got special permission to leave tonight.” He holds her gaze, midnight blue eyes barely reflecting in the light, watching her put together this suggestion.

“O-or not,” he finally says, reaching down to adjust himself over his pants as he turns forward again. “We can wait, sweetheart. Another day won’t kill us.”

“What about your perfect record?” She asks. “What about your promotion?”

He shrugs. “Cyclone's been pretty easy on us lately. It’s not like we’re stealing one of the planes, the others have done worse.” He looks back at her, smirk playing on his lips. “I reckon if we get caught, the most I’ll get is a slap on the wrist. Maybe a lecture about how I haven’t made you an honest woman yet.”

“I thought we decided we didn’t need a piece of paper to prove our relationship to anybody?”

“Are you coming back with me or what, honey?”

Interested Parties: @pilothusband @green-socks @justjaclin @marvelousmermaid

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