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keilemlucent · 3 years

Note

while your currently drunk you can think about what it would be like to go clubbing with keigo. His possessive nature would def jump out wanting to keep you close at all times. you’d rock against his body as he holds you close keeping a keen eye but also enjoying the way your body sways over him. if he’s also inebriated who’s to say he won’t press you against the nearest wall rubbing himself against you and whispering in your ear how he could take you right here and now 🥰🥰 just a lil something

i am seeing this sober (and with my hangover cured lmao) BUT lemme tell u... the clubbing keigo brainrot is oh so 😩💕

(nsfw)

warnings: dubcon, a little yandere keigo, alcohol, drunk reader, drunk keigo, public sex, dacryphilia

...

Keigo is particularly possessive. Not necessarily in a way that is a cause for alarm, but more so something of note.

You've come to expect the way he hovers close to you in public. How he always wants to have his hands on you, whether that be the firm press of his palm on your lower back, or a tight grip on your waist with his chin hooked over your should. Really, any way he can, he stakes his claim.

It's a little more overt and shameless when the environment allows it to be.

Occasionally, there are small clubbing events for heroes and their company to unwind. Usually open bar. Frequently messy. But cell phones are confiscated at the door, so it's more than welcomed. Heroes really never get a chance to be, so why not be sloppy together?

Keigo loves to take you to them. He loves getting the chance to show you off and let anyone who looks your way that you are his. He curbs the urge in public, sure, but here? It doesn't matter. Here, there's hungry eyes that follow your every move, but they wouldn't dare try anything. Keigo doesn't let you out of his sight. Doesn't stop touching you, and he makes sure that anyone who looks sees how fucked you are for him.

After a few drinks, you’re bolder. Your words slur a bit, not enough to make him worry, but just enough for the sway and circling of your hips to be a little freer. You can get a bit bashful around so many pros, but with the stain of liquor on your lips you’re more than happy to dance the night away.

Keigo adores it. Loves that he gets to hold your hips almost to the point of bruising as you giggle and twirl to the club beats. He loves how unrestrained you both get to be, loves how you rock against him, back arching and neck craning to nuzzle of your nose against his jaw. He can’t tell if you’re just being sweet and gracious or quietly asking for more.

He has subtle restraint, he always does, but with a few shots having burned his throat earlier in the evening... it’s easier to indulge. He guiltlessly drags you back into him, grinding against your ass. You roll your hips back into his, leaning into his wandering touches. He can feel your breath hitch as his hands slip lower and plays with the hem of your dress.

Keigo wishes he had an ounce of shame (no, he really doesn’t, this is way too good) as he backs you into a darker corner, wings ruffled and raised. He gets a little rougher, pushing you up against the velour-covered wall, chest first. You flatten to it and brace yourself with sweaty palms. Sweet as can be, you flash him wobbly, wanting smile. You grind back into him, spine curved perfectly under the satin of your dress.

He knows people are watching, and honestly? Let them. Let them see how desperate you are. The strobing lights and neon obscure you enough that the details of you will be hidden, but they’ll know. Keigo’s wings ruffle at the thought debauching you in front of the impromptu, wanting crowd.

He lays his body over yours, feathers shuddering in time with his heavy breath. You’re rolling your hips back into his crotch, his cock is hard enough that he’s leaking (who knew the thought of casual ownership got him off this much?)

His lips drag over your neck, teething at the soft juncture of your shoulder. You moan his name, voice cracking with desire that makes him wild. His forearm braces next to yours, and he presses you into the wall, makes you feel the weight of all of him, wings and lean muscle.

He pulls from your neck with a growl and can’t help but pleased with the fat bruise he left behind.

“I should bruise you a collar of these,” He drips into your ear, teeth tugging at your earlobe. “If fucking you here doesn’t show everyone whose you are, that would get the message across, don’t you think?”

Your breath hitches from under the palm he slips over your lower tummy.

“Please, Kei’.”

He doesn’t know what exact thing you’re begging for, but he’ll give you everything. Anything. He rucks up your dress, and a hand slipping down the front of your panties and teasing along your slit, debating.

If he were at home, he’d take the time to prepare. He prefers to work you open on his fingers and tongue for a good while before fucking you. He doesn’t feel... right fucking you without you cumming once, twice, three times (as many times as you can stand), Under normal circumstances. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

His hold slips from your hip to your jaw, turning your gaze to his and goddammit, if the sight doesn’t take his breath away. Your eyes are glassy, pupils wide and inky, and your lips are parted, perfectly. Wanting and waiting.

(He briefly debates fucking your throat but decides against it. He’d prefer to lick you clean on the limo ride home.)

Keigo presses his lips to yours, stealing your breath and licking into your mouth. It’s sloppy, he can feel the spit dripping down your chin as he massages your tongue with his. It’s fucking filthy and he loves it. The liquor is just making him ab bit more... honest.

He pulls away to unbutton his pants, untucking his breezy shirt to pull out his cock with a few lazy strokes. The little whine you give has him back on you, covering your body with his and teasing you sex with a single finger over your panties.

“I’d make you beg,” he muses, softly against your ear again, “But I have a feeling you’re a little too impatient to do so properly.”

You sputter something, whether it’s a denial or affirmation, Keigo doesn’t care. He’s already pulling your panties to the side, and slipping two fingers between your lips, hardly prep at all things considered.

Keigo spits down onto his dick and calls it good enough.

You rock back into him, shuddering and panting. You’re unabashed in it, ignoring the eyes in the room, all of your attention on him. The thought makes his cock twitch in his hand, and he can’t wait any longer.

He hikes one of your legs up high and spears into you in one swift motion with a beat of his wings.

Your breath punches from your lungs and your palms smack against wall. You’re already weak in his arms, from the alcohol and Keigo’s thick cock splitting you. Despite the lack of preparation, you’re less tense than you could be. Thank god for vodka.

All the same, Keigo starts slow. He wants you to hurt when this is over. He wants you to bear his bruises and imprints. You should be limping when he’s done with you. He’ll take care of you at home, patch you up how you both like so much, but for now--

He wants to leave an... impression.

Keigo picks up at his pace, gasping out a breath as he bottoms out, grinding against your ass and insides in a way that has you clenching and slurring out little pleas for more. And god, he’s happy to oblige.

He picks up his tempo, hand slipping tightening around your jaw, tucking your face to his and nipping at your lips. Your claw at the wall in front of you, but all of your leverage is in Keigo’s hands, and he uses it well.

The beat of the of the club music is the perfect tempo, the thump of it mostly disguises the slap of his hips against yours. But even the shadows of the rainbow lights can’t hide how he’s fucking ruining you. You’re hiccupping out cries for ‘more, please Keigo!’ loud enough that a few of his fucking colleagues have inched closer. It makes something in Keigo burn and he quickly goes for your neck again.

And sinks his teeth in hard enough for you to sob.

It has you clenching around him, and he knows he isn’t going to last much longer. The rhythm has his insides clenching, and he wants nothing more than to fill you up--

The thought of it, of you leaking with him, has white explode around the edges of his vision.

He spills inside of you, thick and hot and you gasp at the feeling. You fumble for his hand, and Keigo clasps yours easily, squeezing. The cant of his hips goes sloppy, just like the two of you.

Softened, he slips out of you. But Keigo is quick to replace his cock with two fingers, plugging you and tsking.

“You didn’t cum, did you, dove?”

You shake your head, still half-crying and needy, “N-no, I d-didn’t.”

“Can you keep yourself upright if I fuck you on my fingers?” Keigo muses, though it’s a genuine question. “Be honest.”

You swallow and rub at your wet, streaky cheeks, “I d-dunno. ‘M really shaky, Kei’.”

He already knows that, but it’s cute that you tell him like he’s not the cause of it.

“It’s a good thing you’ve got me then, isn’t it?” Keigo kisses your cheek, too kind for how filthy you are. “I’ll keep you up, sweetheart.”

You nod, give a little ‘thank you’ that gets broken as he spread his fingers in your cunt. His own cum drips down his wrist and he can't bother to care. He can’t bother to care about anything that isn’t the sweet little whines or the flush that is dusting your cheeks beneath tears and smeared makeup.

He bullies the bundle of nerves inside you without any care other than making you fall apart. Maybe it’s bad, the desire he has to force you to come undone by his hand in front of his peers. You’re his partner, and a bit illusive consider the relative secrecy of your relationship.

What a goddamn introduction.

He slips another hand around your front and rolls your clit beneath to fingers. Keigo can’t help sucking another bruise into your neck, like the first one wasn’t enough of a statement.

He speeds up his treatment as you breath gets more ragged, as you repeat his name to the flash of the strobes and lean back into him. You tense around him as you cum, crying out with a thump of your head against the wall. He holds you through it, not slowing or faltering as you shake and sputter.

Carefully, Keigo lets down the leg he’s had pinned. He anticipates how they falter, and already has an arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“Thank you,” You murmur, your voice gentle and soft. Far too soft for what you’d just done. It’s sweet though, the way you’re pliant for him as he straightens you up.

You’re filthy, thighs covered in a mix of him and you. Keigo’s damp in his own boxer briefs and it’s not exactly... comfortably. And certainly not ideal for dancing.

You turn toward him. Your arms wrap around his neck and god, you’re too cute as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you’re sobering up, or maybe you’re cock drunk, he isn’t sure. But it’s the same comfort that you need. He smooths a hand up your back, laying kisses over your temples and hair lines.

His colleagues are still watching, maybe more than before, because Hawks has a reputation for being a greedy, impulsive bastard, but what he doesn’t have is any reputation for being sweet.

The vulnerability of it has him moving his wings to encircle the two of you. A bit of much-needed privacy.

“How about I call us a ride home?” Flying drunk is never good idea. (He found out the hard way.)

You nod, gripping the front of his shirt, “I don’t think I can’t dance anymore.”

“I imagine you can’t, huh, dovey?” He teases with another peck to your cheek.

You whine and beat his chest with your fist for a moment without a hint of ire. The night is still relatively young but given the drink in your veins and the cum in your cunt, perhaps it would be best to turn in for the evening.

(Or Keigo could fuck your throat on the ride home. The thought is still appealing.)

You mutter something unintelligible against his neck, and Keigo silently reminds himself to make sure you drink a bottle or two of water before bed. Maybe he can get a snack in your belly before you knock out for the night.

(Or, maybe, Keigo could have his own ‘snack’ by cleaning your cunt with his tongue as you doze off--)

Keigo purrs with his thoughts as he tucks his wings to his back, ushering you to the exit, all the while feeling the (horny, jealous, surprised) stares of his colleagues at his back.

#salem writes #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #drabble #hawks imagines #hawks smut #hawks #ANYWAYS #god... it's been awhile since i've written smut #feels GOOD #still managed to make it soft #but lemme tell ya i have so much clubbing brain rot #and possessive kei makes my brain go BRRRR

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rocorambles · 3 years

Note

ayoo let me get fucked by akaashi and kuroo at the same time :3

HAHAHAHA omg what I love about this pairing is that you just know Kuroo will be like a hyperactive kitten while Akaashi is just there wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into regretting all his life decisions. BUT the fact that he still gets a taste of you makes it all worth it even if Kuroo does annoy the shit out of him.

Warnings: NSFW, Degradation, Dirty Talk

You giggle and squeal as Kuroo suddenly hoists you up and throws you over his shoulder, playfully slapping your ass as you lightly make a show of pounding your fists on his back before extending your arms and making grabby hands at Akaashi. The editor sighs, staring at your childish antics with a deadpanned expression, but he’s always been weak for you and he lets you excitedly grab his hand and allows himself to be dragged along after the two of you.

Kuroo throws you on the mattress so hard you bounce back and you wildly flail, only to let out a quiet grunt as a tall lean body pounces on you none too gently, letting his body slump and go limp on top of you, jokingly suffocating you and playing dead as you laugh and attempt to shove him off to no avail. But luckily your savior with blue eyes is there to rescue you and you smugly smirk at a confused Kuroo who’s now staring wide eyed at the two of you from his new position on the floor, courtesy of a hard shove from the ex-setter.

You loudly moan, emphasizing your hand motions and the arch of your body as you pull Akaashi into a kiss, sighing blissfully as your lips lock, letting him take control as he sensually explores your mouth, hands gently running and caressing every inch of your body as he carefully helps you remove your clothes. And Kuroo pouts, feeling left out and forgotten, only to open his mouth in disbelief when you briefly turn to look his way and stick your tongue teasingly out at him before turning your attention back to the man currently holding you.

But both of you startle when there’s a sudden additional weight on the bed and you whimper as a hot wet tongue licks and bites down the side of your neck, calloused hands punishingly pinching your nipples.

“That wasn’t very nice of either of you.”

Akaashi scoffs, half a mind to say something snarky right back at the messy haired man, but he’s distracted, attention focused solely on you once again as Kuroo wrangles more and more pained and pleasured moans from you as he continues to mark up your skin, and he coos, tenderly kissing your slack open mouth.

“Is Kuroo being mean? Want me to make you feel better?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, fingers already drifting down to your inner thighs and you clutch at Akaashi’s shoulders, eyes rolling and head falling back on Kuroo as the editor gently circles and rubs your clit. It’s so much, the delicious fire burning in your stomach from the stimulation of both your clit and nipples mixed with the electrifying jolts from every nip and harsh tweak Kuroo laces his touches with. But it’s not enough and before you know it, you’re pleading for more.

And how could Akaashi deny the hazy lust in your eyes, the way you’re desperately humping down on his hand, the slick pooling between your thighs?

It’s embarrassingly easy for him to slide a finger inside of him and he smirks as he quickly adds a second finger, curling his fingers leisurely as he takes in how overwhelmed you look from just a couple of digits, drool beginning to trickle from the corner of your pretty mouth, your pussy tightening around him with every filthy word Kuroo growls in your ear.

“Look at you, kitten. You already look like a dumb broken slut from a couple of fingers. How are you going to take both our cocks?”

Your breath hitches and Akaashi groans as you clamp down on his fingers at those words, pussy growing even wetter and he nudges a third finger inside of you.

“Yeah, you like the thought of that? Want to be stuffed full of cock? Of course you love that, you little whore. Our little whore.”

And that’s all it takes for you to come undone and both men groan as your body convulses and thrashes between them, Akaashi continuing his stimulation of both your drenched pussy and your clit, Kuroo tenderly kissing the back of your neck as he continues rolling his nipples between your fingers.

You let them help you ride out the waves, letting yourself get lost in the sensations until you’re trembling, whimpering as it borders too much. And you give both of them a loopy grin as they smile fondly down at you.

“There’s our silly slut. Welcome back, sweetheart. Ready to keep on going?”

Keep on going?

You gasp as something hard nudges at your sopping wet pussy, your nails digging into Akaashi’s shoulders as he slowly bottoms out inside of you, sinking into the sweet kisses and encouragements Kuroo peppers you with. You’re so full, deliciously full, and as you adjust to the cock inside of you, you can feel arousal flaring up inside of you once again.

“Kei-Keiji, please fuck me, please fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, FUCK!”

You scream as the normally reserved man seemingly snaps, and suddenly it’s all you can do to hang on as blinding pleasure drowns you with every thrust of Akaashi’s hips, sobbing in pleasure and surprise at the feral pace he sets. But a foreign touch reaches you through the fog and you weakly turn your head, whimpering when Kuroo catches your lips in a kiss as he continues to trace the rim of your puckered hole with lube covered fingers.

“You’re going to be good and take both of us together, right?”

And you barely get a chance to nod before he pushes one knuckle inside of your tight hole, chuckling at how your mouth opens impossibly wide as you gasp and silently scream.

He takes his time, almost painstakingly so, and you’re a writhing, desperate mess as you cry and beg him to hurry up, sniffling when all he does is just scissor his fingers inside of you, adding an obscene amount of lube. But he slyly grins when he finally hears what he’s waiting for, hears you lewdly and explicitly begging for his cock.

“What a fucking cock slut.”

You don’t even feel embarrassed at his words, just giddy and deliriously happy and relieved when he finally slides his cock inside of you and both men groan, cocks twitching at how you wantonly smile, looking like debauchery itself, and they swear they can see your brain melting in the mix of drool and tears leaking down your face.

And you wouldn’t be surprised if your mind was broken, it certainly feels like it as both cocks plunge in and out of you, Kuroo matching Akaashi’s break necking pace.

Your breasts bounce from the force of their thrusts and you’re so close, stumbling on the edge once again, unable to think of anything else except cocks and cumming, incoherent slurred words and sounds slipping past your lips. All it takes is Akaashi once again reaching down between your legs and Kuroo biting down hard on your shoulder to have you crashing and you wail as you fall apart, dragging both men with you as your walls clench and milk them dry.

You feel like jelly as your trembling body is gently laid down, still drowning in post-coital bliss, and your heavy eyelids flutter as your body tries to sink into slumber. But you blearily blink your eyes, a questioning hum as something swipes down your leg and your face heats in shame when Kuroo grins at you, cum on his fingertip and suddenly you’re all too aware of how sticky your inner thighs and pussy feel, obediently and shyly letting him stick his finger in your mouth and sucking it clean.

“Get some rest while you can, kitten. Because we’re doing this all over again as soon as you wake up. You have two other holes I want to test out.”

Kuroo yelps when he’s roughly shoved out of your line of vision and suddenly blue eyes are kindly gazing at you.

“Ignore the idiot. Get as much rest as you need.”

And you’re quick to listen, eyes almost instantly closing and dozing off as the two men quietly bicker in the background while cleaning you up and tucking you in bed.

#haikyuu smut #kuroo smut #akaashi smut #kuroo x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #Kuroo #Kuroo Tetsurou #akaashi #akaashi keiji #haikyuu x reader

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adhd-disaster-willie · 3 years

Text

home is wherever you are tonight

summary: Alex and Willie are suffocating beneath their respective parental figures, so, barely 20 and scrambling to just breathe, they leave LA. And they also slow dance.

notes: this was gonna just be a like 800 word fic of them dancing but I have no self control so I ended up with this monstrosity. (also, maybe listen to apple pie by lizzy mcalpine while reading)

word count: 2,600

---

“I been runnin' 'round

Try'na find a place where I can breathe

But me oh my

I found you

Under an april sky

And you feel like

City life, apple pie baked just right

Home is wherever you are tonight”

---

The early morning tastes like coffee and Willie’s breath mints, gentle laughter lingering on his lips. And Alex has never been a morning person, but with the first rays of sun in his eyes and boxes crammed into every empty space in his car, he thinks that maybe he should wake up early more often.

The road seems to stretch endlessly ahead of them, but Alex can’t tell if the tension in his chest is anxiety or anticipation. Willie squeezes his hand in reassurance as he starts the car and they take a deep breath in unison, realizing it’s maybe the first time they’ve ever been able to truly breathe.

They’re several miles down the highway, shoved in between cardboard boxes and the dry August heat; and Alex’s car is cramped and smells of fast food and summer and Willie Willie Willie. Alex adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, mumbling the words to whatever song is playing on the clunky, staticky radio. The whole world seems softer, with the sun dipping just below the horizon, the last dregs of light sticking to the clouds and painting them pink. Alex sighs contentedly, a grin tugging at the ends of his lips. Willie has their hand stuck out the open window, giggling into the rushing air like it’s telling him the whole world’s secrets. And with their other hand gripped in his own, no reason to let go ever, Alex thinks that the secrets of the universe are laid right out on the dashboard for him to hold.

“What’s so funny?” Alex asks, although it’s less of a question and more a reason to hear Willie’s voice.

“We’re running away together,” Willie replies breathlessly. He laughs again, throwing his head back and stretching his arm farther out the window like he’s trying to touch the clouds.

“Well I wouldn’t quite say we’re running- oh okay.” The last part is in response to Willie putting their index finger over Alex’s lips and looking at him like he’s crazy.

“Yes we totally are. Buzzkill.”

Alex huffs, but it doesn’t hold any weight and is laced with a smile. “I’m driving, idiot. Stop- okay move your hand please.”

“Make me.”

“Willie.” Alex’s fixes a stern gaze on him, just long enough to send them into a fit of giggles before he turns back to face the road. It’s several minutes of comfortable, soft silence before Alex sighs in resignation. “I guess you can say we’re running away.”

“Ha!” Willie pumps his fist, narrowly avoiding smashing the ceiling. And really, considering the age of Alex’s rickety car, smashing would probably be the right word.

Alex raises their intertwined hands briefly. “Here’s to running away.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Willie cheers. They crinkle their nose and kiss Alex’s knuckles, hugging their hands to his chest.

“That’s…” Alex shakes off the crimson tint to his cheeks. “You’re not drinking anything.”

“Not yet,” Willie replies, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

Willie falls asleep with the sun, something that’s baffled Alex for years. The sky is twinkling with stars and the horizon with city lights, and Willie’s curled up around a pillow, their cheek pressed against the window, breath fogging up the glass. Alex shifts slightly to turn down the music, maneuvering around cautiously to reach the knob without letting go of Willie’s hand. He can’t help from humming under his breath, it’s an older Queen song, one Alex remembers listening to with tangled headphones, huddled in the corner of the gym to avoid the atrocity of dodgeball.

“Love of my life…” Alex trails off, mouthing the lyrics. Beside him, Willie stirs slightly, mumbling something incoherent.

“Hmm?” Alex likes having conversations with a mostly asleep Willie, it’s incredibly entertaining.

“Love you more.” Eyes still closed, Willie pats Alex’s cheek and nods decidedly. “Mostest.”

“Is that so?”

“Love of my life!” Willie sings along loud and off-key, voice slurred with sleep. “M gonna love you forever.” They fall back, last bits of consciousness gone, and Alex blinks back surprised tears.

“And ever,” he finishes softly, squeezing Willie’s hand. Forever sounds nice.

The rest of the drive floats by like a spring breeze snaking through a field of long grass. Willie wakes up at some point, eats an ungodly amount of popcorn and screams the lyrics of American Idiot out the window at the bustling city, like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to hear the song. Alex can’t help but laugh loudly when a conservative looking old lady glares at them, utterly scandalized.

“I think you just ruined her night,” Alex quips with mock seriousness.

“As I should!” Willie flops back into the seat, adjusting their tangled seatbelt and looking at Alex with a lopsided grin.

Alex laughs for what’s maybe the millionth time today, and it hits him that this is the most he’s ever involuntarily smiled in a day. It’s half past 8 and he’s settled at the base of a tree with Willie perched on a branch just above his head, rambling on about color theory or something equally as confusing. The drive would’ve taken 4 hours without Willie pulling on Alex’s elbow and squealing for him to stop at everything mildly interesting, but Alex isn’t entirely complaining, even if his back is sore.

It’s odd, to be leaving LA, but Alex thinks that everyone knew he couldn’t stay there his whole life, not with the church on his drive to work and the streets full of too many people that know him too well. And maybe he didn’t like change, but it can’t be that much of a change if Willie is still there with him. Willie grounds him. So do Luke and Reggie and Julie and Flynn, but in a different way. His parents tied him to the floor, his friends root him, let him grow and have a place to come home to at the same time. And Willie? Willie is the ground. He is the soil and the curling grass to Alex’s timid tree. Willie is home, wherever they may be.

“2 miles,” Alex states, pulling gently on Willie’s ankle, letting them know that he wants to look at them. Willie hops down and Alex winces even when they land safe and sound on their feet.

“Why do you do that?” Alex questions huffily, crossing his arms over his chest.

Willie gives a half shrug. “ ‘S fun.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Hmm.” Willie drapes their arms around Alex’s neck, pulling him into into a gentle kiss. Kissing Willie feels like rain after months of drought, sun breaking through a canopy of trees, and Alex is sure that it always will, until they’re old and grey. Alex smiles against his lips, pulls apart and rests his forehead against Willie’s, biting his lip in a soft smile. “C’mon.” He clasps Willie’s hand and sticks it in the pocket of his hoodie, bumping their shoulders together. “Lets go home.”

“Home.” Willie breaks out in a grin that glows like the full moon on a clear night. “Yea.”

---

The apartment complex is wedged in between a suspicious looking butchery and a quaint little antique shop with butterflies painted on the dusty windows that Alex reminds himself to take Julie to at some point, when his friends all inevitably visit in the whirlwind that they are. The pale yellow wall paint is peeling and the stairs are much more wobbly than Alex is comfortable with, but he lets out a breathless, bubbly laugh at the sight of it. His parents aren’t there, nor is Caleb, or any of the things back in LA that were suffocating them both to the point that they booked it, half-broke and with only 2 months of warning.

Alex swings their hands, looking at a very bouncy Willie with his eyes blown wide from excitement. “Hey, we’re home.”

“We’re home!” Willie grabs Alex’s face roughly, fumbling to kiss him with their hands shaking and lips curled up in a giddy beam. They settle for holding him in a crushing hug, swaying them back and forth gleefully.

“You’re excited,” Alex chuckles, brushing at his crumpled hoodie when Willie breaks away.

Willie sticks his tongue out childishly. “So are you, admit it.”

Softening, Alex cups Willie’s cheek and exhales softly. “Of course I am.” He crinkles his nose affectionately as Willie leans up to peck his cheek. “Now-” Alex stacks as many boxes as he can fit in his arms. “Lets do this.”

---

It’s 2am and Alex is completely and utterly exhausted. Half the boxes are open, they unpacked most of it just looking for the air mattress. His record player is resting on the counter, there’s a pile of books in one corner and several trashbags of clothes in another. Willie is sitting crosslegged on the floor trying to work the portable air pump and scowling at the still deflated mattress like it stole his wallet.

“Y’know, you’d think they would provide some sort of instruction book,” Willie says poutingly. They fall back onto the wooden floor with an annoyed sigh.

Alex looks up from where his head is buried in his arms, sitting on the single bar stool they’d managed to fit in the car. “There was an instruction book, speed bump. You threw it out because you claimed that ‘everyone knows how to work an air pump!’”

“But I’m not everyone!” Willie whines. “You should’ve warned me.”

“I… okay.” Alex bows his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Lets blow up the mattress and call it a night, okay?” He lowers himself to the floor, hovering over Willie and tucking a strand of hair behind their ear. “Give me the pump, I’ll figure it out.”

“Hmm.” Willie hauls themself up, yawning loudly. They settle themselves in Alex’s lap, head tucked into his shoulder while Alex wraps his arms around them and fiddles with the mattress.

“M gonna fall sleep here,” Willie mumbles into Alex’s shoulder.

“Yea?”

“Mhm, g’night.” Willie burrows further into Alex, tucking his hands into his hoodie pockets.

Alex exhales, a fond smile tracing his face. He lifts one hand to card his fingers through Willie’s long hair, using the other to blow up the mattress. Willie groans in frustration at the loud noise and Alex has to fight a laugh.

“Alright get up, we have to- Willie.” Willie’s latched himself onto Alex like some sort of leech, pretending to be asleep despite the soft giggling escaping his lips.

“William,” Alex says, snickering. Willie doesn’t budge. “Pretty boy,” Alex tries. That always works.

Willie melts, lifting their head and flushing bright red. “Stop taking advantage of me,” He grumbles as he stands, pulling Alex up with him.

“Stop letting me,” Alex retorts with a teasing chuckle.

But instead of flopping unceremoniously onto the mattress like Alex expects, Willie pads tentatively to the wide window facing the flickering city and lets out a breath of awe. He hugs himself firmly, brushing his thumb over his bicep. Alex approaches them and snakes his arms around their torso, perching his chin on their shoulder and humming in question.

“I’m okay,” Willie answers the unspoken question, nudging Alex’s head lightly. “It’s just overwhelming but like…” he pauses, eyebrow furrowed in thought. “In a good way. It’s a lot, but it’s all good.”

Alex nods in understanding. “Yea, I agree.” He intertwines their fingers, rocking back and forth. “Lots of good.” He presses a kiss to the top of Willie’s head, lingering for a moment to relish in his presence.

“It’s beautiful,” Willie remarks, eyes raking over the bright city lights. It looks so distant and yet so familiar at the same time.

“You’ve seen the city a million times.”

“Ok, but this is a different city,” Willie responds. It’s true. It’s like the same puzzle with all the pieces arranged differently, except for one in the middle that the whole rest of the world revolves around.

Willie wriggles in Alex’s grip and spins around, tossing their arms over his shoulders and fidgeting with the hood of his sweatshirt. “Dance with me,” he says, voice soft and silvery, a whisper of cloud waltzing across the moon. Alex raises a doubtful eyebrow.

“You wanna dance… Willie, we’re exhausted.”

“No, no, no,” Willie shakes his head slowly, eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “Just-” They settle one hand one Alex’s shoulder and the other on his hip. Humming a gentle, lilting tune, they begin swaying side to side, drumming his fingers to a beat only in his head. “Dance with me.” He presses an idle kiss to Alex’s lips, chapped from the wind and laced with fresh apples . “Please.”

Alex hums in consideration, moving Willie’s hands to hold them in his own. “One second.” He ducks out of Willie’s arms, earning a squeak of protest.

Alex has had his record player for years now, Ray gave it to him as a Christmas present when he was 15 and he definitely cried. He’d gone through 3 boxes packing his records and Willie had looked… mildly concerned. But ha, who’s laughing now? The vinyl starts, popping occasionally in the way that makes Alex giggle with joy. Alex steps back proudly, floating back over to Willie and mimicking their previous position, one hand on their hip and the other on their shoulder. Willie smiles fondly at the song choice, Apple Pie by Lizzy Mcalpine, though he knows that nothing else would’ve fit.

“Remember the first time we listened to this song together?” Alex asks as Willie stumbles over his feet.

Willie nods. “Course I do, hotdog. You got sooo blushy.”

Alex shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, you kissed me so it worked out.”

“It did,” Willie whispers.

Alex spins them messily, laughing aloud when they slam into his chest without warning. "Very graceful," he remarks sarcastically.

Willie scrunches his face affectionately, pecking the tip of Alex's nose, singing gently as he draws back. "Home is wherever you are tonight."

It’s a tender moment, until Willie steps on Alex’s foot and snickers an apology. “Oops-”

“Ow, Willie. You don’t know how to slow dance do you?” Alex teases.

“Ok-”

Alex sighs warmly, god sometimes all the feelings were just so big and overwhelming. “Just, c'mere-” He draws Willie closer to him, embracing them like he’s the only thing in the world. And maybe, for the moment, he is. Willie tucks his head into Alex’s shoulder, breathing in his scent, lavender and dust; and Alex follows suit. His eyes flutter shut and he hums contentedly, heart giving a leap at the sheer domesticity of dancing in the empty living room in their pajamas, Willie tracing slow, sleepy circles on his back.

They’re hardly dancing anymore, really, wrapped up in each other like the sea and the shore at high tide, swaying to their synced heartbeats. The unfamiliar walls and creaky floorboards, cold beneath their socked feet, suddenly begin to look like home beneath all the strangeness and Alex can’t help but grin.

Alex’s home is in the crook of Willie’s neck and the light curve of his spine; the scent of rainstorms and cotton holding him close like he’s prone to break. And perhaps one day he will break, fall apart in Willie’s arms. But with the scratchy record humming in the background, and Willie’s body melting into his own, he thinks that their arms would be the best place to fall apart in.

---

art i made :)))

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #willex #willex fic #willie jatp #willie wilbur williamson #willie nolastname #alex mercer #netflixwewantjatp2 #julie molina #willow writes

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jungjaehyunnies · 3 years

Text

broken promises; j.jh

☆ summary: nobody ever told you that falling out of love was just as easy as falling in love. ☆ genre: fluff, angst, slight smut ☆ warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing, sex ☆ word count: 3.3k+ ☆ note: happy birthday to my favourite person in the world c: this is also my first nct fic :o <333

The first time you recalled feeling your heart jumping out of your ribcage was the fourth time you met him.

You and Jaehyun only ever interacted through Mark, your high school acquaintance turned closest college friend and Jaehyun’s basketball teammate. With conversations limited to polite nods and smiles and small talk before one of you would walk away to class, he rarely crossed your mind.

That was, until you’d stayed out late studying in the library one night and came across Mark and Jaehyun practicing at the basketball court halfway to your dorm. And Jaehyun was sweaty… but hot and sleeveless. And when Mark convinced you to stay back an extra twenty minutes for them to finish up so that you wouldn’t need to walk across the dark campus alone, you’d perhaps spent too much ogling at how his biceps flexed with each movement he made, whether he was attempting to shoot or defending himself.

You couldn’t quite remember how Mark had been able to convince you to join him in a small match against Jaehyun (two vs. one because he had the height advantage amongst you three); it was something to do with Jaehyun apparently being a competitive asshole who absolutely needed to prove that he was better than both you and Mark playing together.

Oh yeah, he was definitely competitive, you realised within thirty seconds when you were bulldozed onto the ground by a heavy weight and you fell straight onto your ass, pain shooting up your spine.

You fell just a little bit in love when he held your hand to pull you back up to your feet, with soft, apologetic eyes that seemed to pierce through your soul and a promise to make it (‘it’ being your bruised tailbone) up to you some time within the next week or so.

The next time it happened was when he held true to his promise and took you to a twenty-four hour coffee shop just outside of campus, purchasing you the biggest cup of coffee they offered as well as a slice of strawberry cheesecake and keeping you company for seven hours.

Exam season was around the corner, and you were both stressed. You were ready to pull your hair out. Studying had become a chore, but you just needed to manage for another two weeks.

Jaehyun didn’t seem to mind though. He picked up on your small signs and studied quietly with you, only taking the occasional break to ask if you wanted some more cake or coffee, or to make small talk and discuss briefly about your classes. Neither of you took the same classes, but you took comfort in the fact that you both tried to help each other where possible.

By the time it was past midnight, you could tell he was tired of studying. You didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered constantly around the café, how he started dozing off every few minutes before blinking his eyes open, and how his handwriting had become sloppier with each line.

Despite that, he kept you company and walked you back to your dorm.

“You really didn’t need to walk me back,” you said. Although you were very grateful he had done so, you felt guilty for taking up his time when he was clearly ready to knock out. “I feel bad now though, do you live close by, at least?”

“It’s fine,” Jaehyun responded, lips pressed into a cute, closed-mouth smile that made you want to squish his peachy cheeks. His ears were tinted red, he glanced at you shyly and admitted, “I actually live in the dorm near the café. Same building as Mark.”

That was a twenty-minute walk back.

“But, really, I don’t mind,” he insisted. “This was nice. We should meet up again after exams are over.”

With the promise to meet up again without the need to study, he engulfed you in a hug that filled you with so much warmth, you were sure you’d stopped breathing.

The third time you experienced that feeling, you were both half-drunk at an end-of-exams party.

You may have been half-drunk but you were sober enough to be dragging Mark back to his dorm together. You and Jaehyun had wrapped your arms around the dead weight between the two of you that was struggling to walk in a straight line and ready to pass out.

You groaned as Mark’s knees wobbled and threatened to give out under him.

“I told him to eat dinner properly before the party but he never listens to me,” Jaehyun grumbled, heaving more of Mark’s weight onto his shoulder to relieve you of the pressure. “Fucking dumbass.”

With a huff, you complained right back at Jaehyun, “If you took it easier on us during beer pong, he wouldn’t be dying like this.”

Jaehyun was unbelievably talented at beer pong and had looked way too unbelievably attractive across the table when you three had been playing. It was unfair.

“It’s not my fault you guys suck,” he pouted in response. “Besides, Johnny was the one who made him chug two bottles of soju in a row after beer pong.”

You sighed in defeat. He was right. You’d all lost count of how much Mark had to drink, who was way too desperate and excited to let loose after the stress of exams.

Getting Mark’s keys out of his pockets and into bed took a lot of grumbling, dry heaving and whining before your friend finally knocked out. You watched through tired eyelids that threatened to close shut as Jaehyun placed a few pills and a bottle of water by Mark’s bedside.

He was a sweet friend, and your drunken mind couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like taking care of someone more than a friend.

“He’s going to feel like shit tomorrow,” Jaehyun spoke softly, as the two of you walked out of Mark’s dorm and closed the door behind him. “And uh…” he trailed off.

“Hm?”

“I don’t want to sound too forward, but you can stay at mine tonight if you want,” he said, all in one breath, words slurring together from the rush. It took you a few seconds to process what he had just said, and when you looked up at him, his ears were tinted pink again.

Cute.

“Only because it’s past two now,” Jaehyun reasoned, “And you look so tired and it’s not safe for you to walk back alone in the dark right now.”

You were hesitant, but ready to take the offer. You were indeed very exhausted, your feet hurt from walking and dancing around in heels all night, and the alcohol (and also dragging Mark here) was draining all the energy out of you.

But… spending the night in Jaehyun’s dorm? Even half-drunk, you knew that was possibly not the best idea.

Gnawing at your bottom lip nervously, you said, “I don’t want to impose though.”

Jaehyun shook his head. “You won’t be,” he responded before offering you a cheeky grin. “Besides, we can wake up Mark tomorrow and make him buy us breakfast for dragging his ass home tonight.”

A giggle escaped from you as you agreed, looking forward to the nagging and teasing you would put Mark through tomorrow morning.

It took a lot of arguing between Jaehyun (who insisted on sleeping on the couch) and yourself (who felt too guilty to allow him to do that after he offered you his shower and clean clothes), before you both settled on his mattress. You promised him that you would pay for his next meal and coffee for letting you stay over for the night.

Just before you dosed off, you felt Jaehyun’s fingers thread through your hair delicately and heard him murmur, “You’re so gorgeous.”

Each time you ended up meeting up with Jaehyun, you found that the two of you continually made promises before each farewell to pay the other back. Walks back to your dorm slowly progressed into lingering touches and attending every one of his basketball games, which then became pet names and stolen kisses between classes and during study dates over the months.

One night, he dragged you to the amusement park a half hour away from campus, promising to win you all the plushies you wanted. His fingers stayed intertwined with yours for the whole night, thumb rubbing circles over the back of your hand whenever you got the slightest bit nervous over a thrilling ride.

You tried not to express your disappointment when he eventually let go of your hand so that he could hold an ice cream cone in one hand and a giant sloth plushie in his other arm. Your disappointment didn’t last long, though, when you eventually found yourself in a small gondola of a ferris wheel that hovered over the pretty night lights, cuddled up in his arms.

“Can I try some of yours?” Jaehyun asked, referring to your half-eaten cookie dough ice cream.

When you nodded absentmindedly and lifted your waffle cone up, you didn’t expect for Jaehyun to press his lips against yours. It took all your self-control to not let go of your cone and to thread your fingers through his fluffy hair as you melted against him.

Just as you were ready to press up closer to him, the cheeky bastard pulled away. Before you could blink, he’d taken a massive bite out of your cone with a grin and said, “Mmmm, yummy.”

“Jae!” you gasped in disbelief. About half the remaining of your cone was gone.

Jaehyun giggled, showing off his dimples, and pecked your lips softly.

“I’ll buy you a whole tub tomorrow, I promise,” he murmured, making it up to you, his nose nudging your cheek. “Happy birthday, baby.”

For someone who had a cute, peachy, dimply face, your boyfriend sure had a body that screamed quite the opposite, and it was still mildly surprising to you after all this time together.

“Mmm, I love you,” Jaehyun murmured, soft lips pressed up against your neck and his hips pressed right up against yours.

A gentle pull at his hair elicited a delightful groan from him as you muttered, “You’re only saying that because your dick is in me right now.”

“Say it back,” he whined in response, the movements of his hips coming to a halt as he tickled your waist. God, he was so needy, but you weren’t going to complain because you secretly loved it. Just not when you were just about to experience a mindblowing orgasm.

You squirmed under his grip, laughing but refusing to give in. “Baaabeeee,” he drawled, “Say you love me back.”

“Maybe I will after you fuck me and make me cum,” you said and wiggled your hips, “Or I’m never saying it back.”

Jaehyun gripped your thigh, lifting your leg around his strong back and you bit back a moan from how wonderful he felt inside of you even with that slight movement. “I can do that,” he murmured, before slanting his lips against yours, tongue delving into your mouth as he slammed back into you and eventually brought you to a delightful state that had you seeing stars.

Another round later, you were too exhausted to do anything but curl up in Jaehyun’s strong arms and seek out his warmth. “I love you a lot,” you mumbled, eyes closing shut, as you kissed his chest. “You’ll wake me up before you go for practice in the morning, right?”

“Of course I will, baby, I promise.”

Those promises were nice, until they became meaningless.

You broke your promises to attend each of his games as your workload picked up over the next semester, and Jaehyun broke his promises of waking you up each morning before he left for practice.

And, both of you eventually broke promises to keep each other around and to love one another forever.

You weren’t sure when the cracks started appearing and when you’d started falling apart, but you guessed it was inevitable to slowly fall out of love at one point, but you hadn’t expected it to happen so fast and so easily.

It started off with less dates and less sleepovers. You could blame that on both of your insane schedules at college, but in the end, despite how busy you were, you knew you both should’ve made time for each other.

Somehow, updating Jaehyun about your days (which weren’t very eventful) suddenly became a chore. You got the feeling that he felt similarly, as he started responding to your texts much later and later, sometimes even a day’s delay between your messages. But, you were too stubborn to let go of what the two of you had.

At one point, you’d realised that the two of you hadn’t even had sex for two months. If Jaehyun wasn’t too tired from basketball or practice, you were too stressed over your studies. Sex used to help you both relieve from your exhaustion and stress on top of showing each other how much you loved each other, but now, it wasn’t even an afterthought.

Stolen kisses between classes eventually stopped too, and your goodbye smiles started feeling more forced and effortful.

Almost out of obligation, the two of you went to a nice restaurant to celebrate your one-year anniversary, and things almost seemed back to normal. Like a spark reignited.

You’d dressed up nicely and he looked as handsome as ever. You were, for once, able to catch up on each other’s busy schedules and enjoyed a meal together finally.

But, eventually, when you found yourself back in his dorm, hands and knees on his mattress, as he pounded into you from behind, you couldn’t help but wonder if the two of you were just using each other at this stage.

No soft ‘I love you’’s or teasing, no alternations between rough and soft sex, and no whispered sweet nothings this time. Just the sounds of panted breaths, skin slapping against skin, and the final moans of release at the end.

Aftercare seemed like a routine, like muscle memory, as the two of you engaged in the same motions you had done so familiarly months ago.

You and Jaehyun tried cuddling, but eventually you both fell asleep facing away from each other. When you woke up, he had already left for practice.

Weeks of overthinking had you gnawing nervously at your nails, shaking in stress (perhaps that was from your insane caffeine intake too, but you weren’t sure at this point), and pulling at the ends of your hair.

You hated to admit it, but you knew that it was over. You weren’t stupid. You just didn’t want to let go of it.

You finally broke down to Mark over a tub of cookie dough ice cream. Mark was so panicked and taken aback from seeing you cry out of nowhere as you two walked to the library from your shared class, that he bought you ice cream, bubble tea and three slices of strawberry cheesecake before dragging you to his place.

He offered you his blankets, his hugs and all his snacks, while he shooed his roommate outside the dorm.

“Do you know what Jaehyun thinks of me?” you mumbled pathetically, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.

“Uh, I-“ Mark seemed hesitant to respond. From his curious gaze, you figured that Jaehyun hadn’t spoken to him about whatever relationship problems you guys had. “He’s your boyfriend. He loves you. He’s so in love with you, Y/N.”

No, he’s not.

You stayed silent, too embarrassed to say anything, and curled up under the blanket he’d offered you, staring blankly at his TV screen until you dosed off.

Jaehyun, 11:07pm: We need to talk. Can I come over tonight?

You weren’t sure how long you spent staring at that small notification on your screen, but eventually, you agreed, despite every fibre of your body begging you to respond with ‘no’. Couldn’t you keep him for at least a little bit longer?

You waited anxiously after class, waiting for a knock on your dorm door. That feeling of your heart slamming against your ribcage returned, but it didn’t feel good this time.

It felt heartbreaking, because you knew how this was going to end.

When your boyfriend arrived at past nine, he looked at you with a grim expression that showed he was just as exhausted as you were.

“Mark told me what happened yesterday. I’m really sorry,” Jaehyun said, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. “He told me to fix this and I am. We should end this.”

Jaehyun looked into your eyes earnestly. “I really love you, Y/N. I really did, you have to believe me, and I do still want to, but I don’t- I don’t know what happened,” he added, voice quivering with the last few words as he reached up to brush a tear away from your cheek.

He was a soft person, and he tended to cry when others cried as well.

Within seconds, you found yourself back in his warm embrace again, your tears soaking his hoodie while his own ran down his cheeks. You hesitantly brought your arms around his waist. If this was going to be how it ended, you didn’t want to finish this off on bad terms.

“I know, Jae,” you said, pulling away slightly to look up at him in understanding. “I think we both knew this was coming.”

We were just too cowardly to admit it.

“I’m so sorry. You deserve so much better than me.”

When you tried denying that and shaking your head, Jaehyun placed his hands firmly on your shoulders, eyes red and cheeks puffy as he looked into your eyes. “You are! You’re an amazing person with a beautiful personality, and you’ll find someone better who won’t break their promise of keeping you around forever. They won’t be an idiot like me… and if they are, I’ll beat their ass.”

You couldn’t help but laugh even in this situation. “You’re not an idiot,” you argued weakly, wiping his tears from his cheeks as well. “You were the best boyfriend I could’ve asked for. I just- I don’t know… I don’t know how we got here either. I’m sorry, too.”

Jaehyun managed to crack a smile. “I don’t know either. We’re both idiots,” he said and pulled you in for another warm hug.

It felt comforting this time.

The breath you let out almost felt like one of relief. You’d loved him so much and ended up being so terrified of losing him that you held onto him as your boyfriend, and yet this felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

“I don’t want to lose you, though,” you admitted. “I’m okay with this but… I don’t think I can lose you.”

Even if you’d fallen in love with him, you weren’t sure you could go around with life without him. He’d wormed his way into your heart and your daily life, and you knew he would be an amazing friend, despite the history. You couldn’t bear to imagine what it would be have a Jaehyun-sized hole in your life from here onwards.

Jaehyun stayed silent and held onto you for a few more minutes before the two of you let go of each other. He took a step back outside your dorm, as if clearly setting the new boundaries now.

“Let’s take some time apart. I think some space will be good for us,” he suggested, reasonable as ever. With a soft smile that displayed his dimples to you for the last time in a while, Jaehyun added, “We’ll be friends after that, I promise.”

But, promises were made to be broken.

#jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jaehyun scenarios #nct scenarios #jaehyun imagines #i don't know what else to tag but oh well c: first fic here yeeee #sorry to post something sad on vday i love angst too much gjklsdj #*myfics

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onfreckledwings · 3 years

Text

hoping you’ll see (what your love means to me)

15x20 fix-it songfic. shameless feel-good fluff. because our babies deserved the world.

When Dean dies on a Thursday in November, Cas is there to welcome him at the proverbial pearly gates. Sort of.

He can’t really even call it a gate. It’s blue skies, sloping mountains, pine trees, and open fields. The sun shines more brilliantly and warmer here.

The air breathes cleaner; the breeze is cool and languid.

He doesn’t realize he’d been walking until he comes to a stop, dirt swirling around his legs. Nothing hurt: not his hip, not his knees, his back, or chest.

Nothing.

“Well at least I made it to Heaven,” Dean murmurs to himself. In the next moment, Harvelle’s appears a few yards away.

“No way.”

He walks the short distance before standing in front of the bar, and he’s smiling so wide and he can feel his laugh lines on his cheeks and the crinkles of his eyes.

Harvelle’s Roadhouse

The same neon lights in the windows, the same sign. Everything is exactly the same.

“Hell yeah,” and then he’s walking up the porch and has a palm on the door before he stills.

Dean shuts his eyes briefly before opening them with a silent chuckle. He knows who’s there. Even before he turns his head.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean turns around to see Castiel standing a few yards away.

He feels his face cracking from smiling so wide, and he feels his eyes stinging with tears behind them. He faces Cas fully now, hands shoved into his pockets, and begins to walk towards him.

He ducks his head, almost shy, and glances up at him through his eyelashes. “Castiel,” he greets with pressed lips, eyes gleaming.

Heaven is strange, he thinks. He feels no sense of unease here. No nerves, no jitters. He only feels contentment. Peace. Joy.

Cas tilts his head in that fucking adorable way he does, and Dean can feel something behind his ribs melt. He stops when they are a few inches apart.

Cas’s eyes are bluer than Dean has ever seen them. Moss green and ethereal blue.

Sky and Earth.

The wind gusts gently around them. The blades of grass dance.

Cas lifts a hand and places it on Dean’s left shoulder. Cas’s shoulder. Dean smiles a small, watery thing.

“Are you...real? How-” and Dean trails off. He somehow already knows the answer. Cas squeezes his shoulder and smiles.

“Yes. It’s me.”

Dean’s eyes well up and his nose starts to tickle. He looks up to the sky and wets his lips in that way he does to hold tears at bay, before meeting blue again.

Dean reaches between them and grips Cas’s always-crooked tie. Cas looks confused at first, maybe even a little scared. But when Dean’s free hand comes to cradle the side of Cas’s neck and lets his fingers brush the strands of thick hair at its nape, Cas’s face smooths out and he stands a little taller.

One lone tear breaks free from the corner of Dean’s eye, and Cas’s thumb is there to catch it as he sweeps it over his cheekbone before cupping his jaw.

Dean tugs him close before snaking his arms around Cas’s waist under his trench coat and hugs him close, face buried in the angel’s shoulder. He melts when Cas envelopes him, cheek resting against his crown, hands rubbing soothing patterns against Dean’s back.

“You’re early,” Castiel whispers.

Dean gives a small chuckle. “Yeah, well...I’m a dumbass.” And then he’s inhaling slow and deep against Cas’s skin. Cas smells like sweet summer rain, the crisp air of fall.

He smells like Cas.

“And I missed you,” he murmurs against the warm swath of exposed skin on the angel’s neck before pressing a feather-light kiss there.

Cas seems to melt at the contact and grips Dean tighter. Dean feels fingers card through the short strands of his hair and Cas’s other hand comes up to cup the back of Dean’s head.

“I missed you too.”

Something occurs to Dean then, and he lifts his head to meet Cas’s eyes. His hands travel up Cas’s arms until they rest on his shoulders.

“Hang on...how did you get out? How did you get here?”

Cas simply smiles and gives Dean a knowing look. “Jack may have had something to do with it.”

Dean unfurls a bark of laughter from his chest before grasping that tie again.

“That’s our boy.”

Cas smiles again, and Dean thinks he’ll never ever tire of seeing it.

His eyes flit between Cas’s and his lips and back again, and he flattens his free palm on Cas’s chest, just over where his heart would be.

“Cas,” he begins, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, “about what you said..before you left-”

“You don’t have to say anything, Dean,” Cas offers quietly. “I don’t expect-”

“Well that’s good,” he cuts Cas off, “‘cause I wasn’t really plannin’ on talkin’. I’m shit with words.”

Cas blinks quizzically. “Wha-” but he trails off when Dean grazes the stubble of his cheeks with the soft pads of his thumbs.

Dean starts to tremble slightly when he cups either side of Cas’s jaw again.

He dives in.

Their mouths slot together perfectly; Cas’s is warm and soft and pliant, and Dean brushes his tongue against the crease of Cas’s lips, and Cas lets him in.

Dean knows then that he’s in Heaven.

Everyone’s here.

Dean’s eyes scan the entire barroom from the table where he and Cas sit: at the bar, there’s Ellen, Jo, Ash, Bobby, and Karen discussing their hunting glory days. Charlie and Kevin are huddled with their laptops at one of the booths (because there’s WiFi in Heaven, apparently), and are probably discussing the latest sci-fi series or some other nerdy thing.

John and Mary are sitting at one of the candle-lit tables, holding hands and murmuring in each other’s ears that is always met with soft laughter.

Rufus is there too with Aretha at one end of the bar, Johnnie Walker Blue in hand. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man smile the way he is right now, so earnest and genuine.

Missouri and Pamela sit at the table nearest to Dean and Cas, talking about when Pamela séance’d Cas after Dean was rescued from Hell.

“I think he was just trying to show off in front of his boyfriend,” Pamela teases with a laugh as Missouri drops her face in one hand.

“Good Lord,” she marvels. “Some first impression there, Castiel. Burning out a woman’s eyes? Oh!”

Cas ducks his head. “It was an accident, I assure you,” and Dean can’t help but feel a little bad for the guy.

Pamela pats Cas on the back. “All in the past, sweetie. No harm done. Well, no permanent damage anyway,” and then tilts her head back in laughter. Dean can’t help but snicker.

Everything is fucking perfect.

Contentedness blooms in his belly, warming his insides until he feels like his body is humming. Everybody he has ever loved and lost in one room.

Sam, Eileen, and the others will be along, Bobby had said. And he feels complete peace knowing that Sam is in good hands, and that they will take care of each other until their times come.

Dean sits back in his chair, glass of wine in hand. They’re a bottle and a half in, celebrating Dean’s arrival, and his head is buzzing in the best possible way.

He glances at Cas from across the table through his eyelashes.

His trench coat, suit jacket, and tie are all draped on the backrest of the chair, because we gotta get you out of this holy tax accountant get up, man, and if he’s honest, Dean wants to feast his eyes a little.

Cas’s white shirt is unbuttoned at the neck, and Dean’s mouth goes a little dry at the naked dip of his collar bone. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and Dean marvels at the ripples of muscle and bone in the angel’s forearms, his fingers itching to touch.

Dean smiles. His cheeks are warm, and something curious blossoms behind his ribs.

“Dean?”

He snaps out of his trance and meets Cas’s eyes. “Hmm?”

“Are you alright?” Cas asks, and Dean realizes that he’s been caught staring.

Dean smirks. “Mhm. Jus’ enjoyin’ the view.”

Dean almost dies (again) when Cas blushes and ducks his chin with a roll of his eyes.

Yeah, he can get used to this.

The jukebox in the corner starts playing a new song, and Dean straightens in his chair with a wild grin.

“Oh hell yes,” he shouts with a slap to the table, wine bottles and glasses clattering. “I love this song. C’mon Cas, you’re dancin’ with me.” He stands and reaches for Cas with an outstretched hand.

Horror flashes across the angel’s face. “Dean, no. I’m a terrible dancer. I couldn’t-”

“Well, that makes two of us then” he says and grabs Cas’s hand and pulls him to his feet. “Come on. My ‘got-dead’ party, my rules.”

Cas groans and throws his head back with a grimace as he lets Dean guide him to the dance floor. “‘Got-dead’ party? Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, shhh,” Dean smirks as he turns to face Cas. “Here, lemme lead.”

Dean clasps Cas’s hand with his own and draws them to his chest, his other hand wrapping around his waist coming to rest on his back. Cas’s free arm mimics Dean’s.

Attached at the...everything.

Their mouths are inches apart, and Dean’s bowed legs go a little weak as he stares into Cas’s eyes. The lighting in the bar changes to ambient, almost candle-like glow.

Lying beside you, here in the dark,

Feeling your heartbeat with mine.

Softly you whisper, you're so sincere;

How could our love be so blind?

They sway somewhat in tune with the rhythm, but Dean’s a little wine drunk and accidentally steps on Cas’s toes. More than once.

“Sorry,” Dean giggles—giggles?— and lets all of his weight lean into Cas, who accepts it willingly. Dean’s lips press against his temple, and Cas hums appreciatively as Dean starts to sing low into Cas’s ear.

We sailed on together,

We drifted apart,

And here you are, by my side.

So now I come to you with open arms,

Nothing to hide, believe what I say.

So here I am, with open arms,

Hoping you'll see what your love means to me,

Open arms.

“‘s how I feel about you, you know,” Dean murmurs as he nuzzles the bolt of Castiel’s jaw. “I’m not good with words, but..,” Dean slurs and sucks a gentle kiss into his neck. “This could totally be our song.”

“Dean…” and Dean pulls back slightly at the crack in Cas’s voice. Tears spill over from those cobalt blues, and Dean’s thumbs are quick to catch them as he frames Cas’s face.

“Hey, hey. None of that,” he says through a smile, licking his lips. “You’ve got me. You always have. And I’ve got you, so…” he smiles and presses the softest of kisses to Castiel’s mouth before resting their foreheads together.

They never stop dancing.

Living without you, living alone,

This empty house seems so cold.

Wanting to hold you,

Wanting you near,

How much I wanted you home.

Now that you've come back,

Turned night into day,

I need you to stay.

“I love you,” Castiel says, and he brings their joint hands to his lips and presses a kiss to Dean’s knuckles.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and nods knowingly. It may be a little easier to accept love up here, but sometimes old habits die hard. Even in death.

“Me too,” he murmurs, and he wraps his free arm even tighter around the soft, curved line of Cas’s waist for emphasis.

So now I come to you with open arms,

Nothing to hide, believe what I say,

So here I am, with open arms;

Hoping you'll see what your love means to me,

Open arms.

As the song ends, Dean thinks maybe this could be his forever. Surrounded by family, both given and chosen; blissful in his angel’s arms. The love of his life. The one who has saved him more times than Dean can count. At utter peace knowing that Eileen will take good care of Sam, and he looks forward to the day when they can all be together once again.

Until then, he’ll take this. The life he’s always dreamed of but was too scared to hope for. A life of love, warmth, comfort, and peace.

A life after death.

And he’ll think, maybe, just maybe, he deserves it.

fin.

@blacklightguidesnic tortured me this morning and put this incredibly soft scene in my head. here you go ♥️

#destiel #I did a thing #15x20 #SPN fix it #supernatural #deancas #self reblog #fix-it fic #spn finale #spn coda #deancas coda

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lemonpeter · 3 years

Text

STARKER, by Peter B. Parker

Chapter 6: Honeymoon

A/N: did we really write 6k words of p*rn and sugar baby fantasies?? yes we did.

also bloo is a 7 year old, so here is the link to peter’s shorts (it’ll make sense near the end)

Warnings: nff, daddy k*nk, brief somnophilia (and minor under discussed k*nk with that), brief choking, sugar baby-esque relationship

Masterlist ao3

————

When Peter woke up, the first thing he registered was the feeling of a warm, thick erection pressed up between the bare cheeks of his ass. A soft whine left his mouth as his belly flipped, his own cock stirring against his thigh. His back arched into the touch, grinding back against his husband’s dick.

His hole twitched wantonly and he paused, waiting to see if his movements caused any reaction in the older man. Turning his head slightly, he strained for a moment as he looked at Tony’s sleeping face.

The bearded man’s mouth was open slightly and a soft snore escaped him under the teen’s watch. His hand, which was resting limply on Peter’s hip, twitched and he pushed his body a bit closer to the warmth in front of him.

Peter bit back a groan at the sensation of the velvety flesh gliding across the skin of his crack, slick with residual cum and lube. He could tell that he was still open and loose from the night before, could he just- he could just slip it inside, right? It would be so easy. All he had to do was tilt his hips the right way and it would be in, filling him up.

Maybe...maybe just the tip? He was sure Tony wouldn’t mind. They hadn’t exactly...talked about it, but it had never been mentioned as a limit. (Not that they’d had that conversation-)

Biting his lip, he reached back behind him to stroke the hot, rigid organ a few times. It was heavy in his palm, and just feeling the thick weight of it there made a shiver run through him. He paused his actions to use one hand to pull his cheeks apart so he could run his pointer finger over his puffy rim, sucking in a breath when the tip of the digit breached him with almost no resistance.

He pushed a little and then his finger was truly sucked in, muscle clenching below the second knuckle. A soft keening noise filled the air and Peter tried desperately to resist the urge to crook his finger and press against his prostate.

Somehow he managed to hold himself back, slowly sliding the digit out until his opening was twitching around air once more.

Checking again for any signs of consciousness, he shifted his hips and nudged Tony's ankle with his big toe.

Nothing.

Peter took it as a sign. He again grasped the man's erection in his hand and brought the head to his hole. He let it rest there for a moment before pushing his hips back, the tip making its way inside easily. There was a bit more resistance once the flare of the head was inside, but the teen persevered, whimpering slightly until it was inside him, along with the majority of Tony's cock.

It felt so good, the stretch and fullness causing liquid flame to pool behind his belly button.

He started thrusting softly, canting his hips back to get some friction inside him and spitting into his hand before reaching for his own neglected dick. The sensation caused his muscles to tighten their grip on his husband, who began to stir in response to the stimulation.

“Mmmm. Baby...wha’s goin’ on,'' Tony slurred, still not fully awake. “Was havin’ a good dream…” He blinked groggily, trying to rouse himself from the sleep-induced haze that was clouding his mind. Moaning softly, his hand tightened on Peter’s hip as he realized that the pleasure he was feeling had nothing to do with the remnants of his dream. “Fuck, Pete, Jesus-”

A whimper left Peter’s mouth at the sound of the older man’s raspy morning voice cursing at him. “I couldn’t w- I couldn’t wait, Daddy, needed you. Needed your cock,” he mewled, clenching around Tony’s erection.

“Yeah, baby boy? You needed Daddy’s cock inside you so bad you couldn’t even wake me up first? Had to take it for yourself, didn’t you,” Tony growled deep in his throat, hot breath ghosting over the shell of Peter’s ear. His hand tightened where it was clutching the teen’s waist while the other moved to grip at the pale expanse of his throat. “Daddy’s greedy little thing.” Without any warning, he snapped his hips forward so that his entire cock was sheathed in the boy’s quivering hole, buried to the root.

“Yeeeesssss,” Peter cried, drawing the word out as he threw his head back in pleasure. “Please, Tony- Daddy, please.”

“What, what is it, Pete? What do you need- Tell me, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want. You know that.” His lips skimmed across the sensitive skin just below Peter’s ear, tongue peeking out briefly.

Peter mewled at the sensation, surprised at how good it felt and desperately wanting more. “Just- just need you to fuck me,” he breathed, leaning his head back against Tony’s shoulder. “Please. Need you.”

Tony hummed softly, his hand around Peter’s throat tightening slightly as he flexed his fingers. “Do you, now? Even after everything we did last night?” He nipped at the skin over Peter’s jugular.

He would gladly do anything that his husband wanted. It just seemed like a wonder to him that Peter was up for anything at all. They’d had a long, eventful night. He had to be at least a little sore.

Little did he know that the younger man was relishing the feeling of his rim stinging slightly as the motions of Tony’s cock tugged at it. The pain meant it was real.

“Yes! Please, Daddy,” Peter whimpered, eyes slowly slipping shut at the way Tony’s hand tightened. It was just pressure, not affecting his breathing in the slightest, but it was incredibly effective. The sign of possession was obvious, only aiding in making him that much hornier.

Maybe one day he’d get Tony to choke him for real, to cut off his air supply and keep him at his mercy.

The older man nodded, taking the opportunity to slowly start thrusting his hips in earnest. His cock slid easily from the teen’s hole before he was pushing in again, creating a quick but fairly-gentle pace. Just how Peter liked it. He felt owned and cherished at the same time.

He felt loved.

Peter slowly moved his hips in tandem with the larger man’s thrusts, keeping up with the pace and fucking back onto Tony. He knew neither of them were going to last long this early in the morning, but that was okay. As long as they both felt good.

Tony groaned behind him, his hot breath ghosting against Peter’s skin. “That’s it, baby. Is this good?” His hand on Peter’s waist started slipping lower, curving over the teen’s hipbone and settling there for the moment.

“It’s so good, Daddy, thank you,” Peter moaned, clenching around Tony’s cock as he kept moving. “You’re so big, makes me feel so good. ‘M so full.” His cheeks burned as he talked, but he let himself say the words. No need to be embarrassed when there wasn’t anyone else to hear him.

The one person who could hear had a visceral reaction, hips stuttering for a moment. “And you’re- god, you’re so tight,” Tony ground out, biting down on his lip. “Squeezing me like that. It’s almost like you’re still a virgin, fuck.” He groaned low in his throat.

They definitely wouldn’t be lasting long.

Peter shivered at the words, rolling his hips back again. The fire behind his belly was spreading, the tension growing closer to snapping. His erection slapped against his stomach, and he whined at the small bit of friction. It wasn’t enough.

Tony’s hand on the boy’s hip finally moved to wrap around his weeping cock, slowly pumping him in time with his thrusts. “Here, baby, here you go.” The strokes were slick, aided by the pre-cum that had dribbled out from Peter’s slit to run down the ruddy shaft.

The teen started, pelvis jerking forward rather than pushing backwards, fucking into the channel that Tony’s hand created. “Oh! Oh, yes, Daddy,” he moaned louder, breathing hard. “Thank you- oh!”

Tony’s cockhead brushed against Peter’s prostate without warning, causing his entire body to jerk and tremble with the shock of pleasure. “Oh, Daddy, please, don’t stop! I need-,” He cried, breath hitching.

Tony groaned quietly, his movements speeding up as he listened to the wrecked, breathy noises Peter was making with each thrust. “Won’t stop, baby, don’t worry. I’m not stopping, never gonna stop fucking this pretty little hole.”

Peter’s cock twitched in the man’s grip, signaling how close he was getting to his orgasm. A little embarrassing, given the short amount of time they’d been going, but he couldn’t help it. He was still new to being touched, and being fucked by Tony was otherworldly in terms of pleasure. Even the slightest touch from him was so much better than anything he’d ever felt before.

His husband could tell the boy was almost there, but he wasn’t far behind himself. Tony just kept moving, fucking into Peter and drinking up the wonderful sounds he made while at the same time trying to hold off his own release. He had to satisfy his baby first, no matter how good he felt.

“Oh- fuck, Tony,” Peter moaned, gasping softly. “I’m- I’m gonna cum, Daddy. Gonna, gonna cum.” His hips jerked, movements becoming erratic as the fire in his belly started burning through the rest of his body. He was so close he could practically taste it.

“Cum for me, baby, it’s okay. You can cum,” Tony encouraged through clenched teeth. He didn’t stop, keeping his movements as consistent as he could, knowing that a steady rhythm was a sure way to send Peter over the edge once he was close. But he felt his own high approaching quickly, every thrust inching him closer.

Peter closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself be lost in the pleasure before opening them again. He wanted to watch Tony’s hand on him as he came, wanted to see the way the man very literally gave him his release.

The teen’s dark eyes trailed over his own lithe body, taking in how every muscle was tense with how close he was to his high. Then, just a little lower, was his cock. Flushed pink and still leaking over Tony’s fingers. His husband’s hand moved quickly, helping him get that much closer. Always helping him. “Tony...”

“Cum, baby,” Tony murmured. It wasn’t quite a command, but the intent behind it was clear. He was giving the younger man permission. Like a gift. “C’mon Peter, cum for me.”

Peter cried out again, taking the words for what they were, hips jerking once, twice more before he was cumming. “Oh, fuck!” He spilled onto the bed, cock twitching in Tony’s grip as he rode out his high.

Tony kept fucking him through it, moaning softly at the clenching of the boy’s asshole as he watched Peter’s cum dripping onto his hand. “My messy baby...shit, you’re perfect.” He took his hand off of him when he whined in overstimulation, but didn’t stop fucking him. “Can Daddy cum too, fill up your little hole, baby? Or do you want me to stop?”

“No, don’t stop. I want...want you to feel good too,” Peter whispered, hiccupping slightly as he lay there limply, still somewhat lost in the aftershocks. He clenched down weakly, trying to make things tighter for Tony. From the noise he got in return, he felt like it worked how he wanted it to.

“I won’t take long, baby, promise.” Tony moved his hand down from Peter’s neck, shifting so that both hands were on his hips. That way he could pull him easier, fuck him back onto his cock. “You feel so sweet around me, you know that baby? I’ve never felt anything so- fuck, so perfect.”

Peter preened at the words, taking it as praise. “I want you to feel good, Daddy.” He rocked his hips softly, gasping when the head of Tony’s cock brushed against his prostate again, this time just for a second. “Just want to make you feel good.”

“You do, Pete, you make me feel so good, honey.” A choked moan pulled itself from his throat as he felt his balls tightening, drawing close to his body. “Shit, baby, I’m almost there.”

“Cum, Daddy,” the teen whispered with this wrecked voice, strained from all the noise he had been making. “Fill me up with your cum, add to what’s already in me. Can you feel the cum you put in me last night?” He sighed, his own spent cock twitching between his legs at the words. “Want you to make a mess in me, Daddy. It’ll keep me ready for you later.” He bit his lip gently, looking up at Tony as best he could.

“Fuck, Peter,” Tony groaned. The sight of the teen’s big brown eyes blinking up at him as he said such dirty things did him in. His hips stuttered to a stop as he buried himself deep in the slick channel. “Here you go, baby, fuck.”

Peter felt the warmth flooding him as Tony came, every spurt pulling a quiet moan from his mouth. “Oh, Daddy….” He pushed back slightly, lazily grinding against his husband. “Thank you,” he said sweetly.

The older man rode out his high, breathing heavily as he curled close to Peter. He didn’t even pull out, just kept his softening cock inside of the teen.

“I love you, baby,” Tony whispered in Peter’s hair as he held the smaller man to his chest.

Sighing softly, Peter pressed a kiss over his husband’s rapidly beating heart in return, then he craned his neck to brush his lips over Tony’s adam’s apple. “I love you too.”

The pair stayed there for a while, tangled in the luxurious white sheets and simply holding each other in the afterglow. Peter was running his fingers through Tony’s salt and pepper locks and gazing at him affectionately when the older man spoke up.

“Let’s get a shower, sweetheart. We’ve got plans today.”

“Oh?”

“You’re officially a Stark, baby boy. And now, it’s time for you to see exactly what comes with that.”

***

Peter munched on a granola bar, frowning at the truly absurd amount of crumbs that fell to his lap with every bite.

The EDITH glasses sat beside him, folded blue lenses glinting in the fluorescent lights of the training room.

He hadn’t necessarily meant for things to go quite how they had. None of it was supposed to go this far.

He’d just wanted more time with Tony. That was all. Just a few moments together to give himself some type of closure, to patch the gaping hole in his chest.

It had spiraled so fast from there, though.

Absently rubbing his thumb over his ring finger, Peter made an unhappy noise at the feel of the bare skin. A sick feeling curled in the pit of his stomach as he ate, looking down at his hand. He wanted his ring. But he had to eat first, in order to satisfy the desperate growling of his stomach that had finally gotten his attention, before he could let himself go back into the illusion.

Back to his husband.

In the silence, he let himself fall back into his thoughts.

He was on his honeymoon with Tony, something he’d once thought he would never experience. Things could go any way, exactly as he wanted them to.

But what did he want?

He figured that the change in wedding scenery was proof that he wasn’t completely giving in to what were his most true desires, even if he wanted the things he’d had in mind on some level. It seemed that even if he wasn’t able to be completely honest with himself yet, the STARKER program had no such qualms about accessing the deepest parts of his brain, where the things he hadn’t admitted to himself resided.

A pleasant heat curled in his belly as he thought about what Tony had last said. The implications of the obscene amount of money that he was now entitled to. As though the luxury of their hotel wasn’t enough.

As though the luxury of Tony wasn’t enough.

Peter couldn’t deny that he’d thought about being spoiled in such a way. Growing up with so little, it was a dream to be able to just spend money without any care or reservations. And being with Tony made that easily attainable.

The illusion gave him the perfect opportunity to finally indulge in his sugar baby-esque fantasies. With his new husband, the man who vowed to take care of him, to never let him want for anything ever again.

Definitely something he could get used to.

Nothing could stop him from being treated like a princess and pampered to his heart’s content. He could go anywhere he wanted, do anything he wanted. He could have anything he’d ever wanted (or, as he was learning, never knew he needed.)

The boy thought he deserved a bit of that, at least for a little while. At least in his own mind.

No matter what he did, it was okay. There were no ‘real world’ repercussions (although he really didn’t like thinking of it that way.)

And following that logic, he couldn’t get in trouble no matter what he did with his Tony.

That little fact had definite implications. It meant that the possibilities were endless, there were no limits other than his own imagination. And he had every intention of taking advantage of that to do all of the things he had dreamed of experiencing.

After all, who was there to stop him?

Peter finished off his granola bar with a few more crumbly bites, tucking the empty wrapper into his backpack with the others when he was done. He dug through the bag for his water bottle, taking a few small sips before putting that away as well.

Brushing the crumbs off of his lap, he looked down at the glasses. He was so happy with all the things he’d done already. He’d gotten to not only see Tony; he’d been intimate with him, and introduced the man to his family, and married him.

And all he saw in his future was more. More sex, more love, more happiness. Everything he’d ever wanted and so much more than that.

He reached for the glasses, fingers closing around the cool metal as he pulled them closer. Then he put them on again, taking a deep breath as he prepared to enter the illusion.

All it took was a little focus and there he was again, wrapped up in the covers. With his love, somewhere that no one could take them away from each other.

***

They’d already stopped at a few places, spending what was truly an obscene amount of money. But it didn’t matter. Peter was able to get everything he wanted and Tony didn’t even bat an eye or so much as glance at the price tags. He was happy to watch the way the younger man's eyes gleamed with each purchase.

Their next stop was another one he figured Peter would like. Hopefully it would be a good surprise.

Peter stared up at the storefront, mouth wide as he took in the name. La Perla. A squeal left his mouth before he could stop it, followed by a soft blush spreading over his cheeks. He tried not to jostle the iced latte he held in his hand, lest he spill it on the floral-patterned red silk of his airy button-up top. “Are you serious?!”

Tony just smirked and raised his brows, eyes shielded by the lenses of his expensive sunglasses. Peter thought he definitely looked the part in his charcoal three-piece Tom Ford suit and Gucci oxfords. The silver in his hair seemed more prominent today, catching the light of the mid-morning sun.

But not even his Daddy’s beauty could sidetrack him for long.

“Oh my god,” Peter breathed, a grin overtaking his face as he clutched excitedly at the older man’s hand, fingers skimming over the watch that wrapped around his wrist. It was a nice complement to the thin, dainty chains that hung from his own neck and draped down into his shirt. “Let’s go, let’s go!” He tugged at Tony’s arm, pulling him along as he made a beeline for the large glass doors, nearly skipping in the Louboutin derby shoes he had picked out earlier.

Tony followed happily, watching the way the denim of Peter’s darkwash jeans hugged his ass.

And he continued watching, eyes never straying as Peter paraded through the store.

The young man’s eyes glided over racks full of lingerie and he grabbed at various pretty things in all sorts of styles and colors. Sheer, lacy bralettes and miniscule pieces of fabric stitched together to make a thong practically jumped at him. Elegant babydolls seemed to call his name as he pulled them into his arms. He looked at a sheer robe, the deep blue color catching his eye. He picked it up before scanning the racks again.

Everything was soft and dainty, things he desperately wanted to wear. He wondered how much of it Tony would like to see him in.

Hopefully all of it.

His fingers rubbed over the silk edging of the robe he’d picked before something else caught his eye. A flash of deep red and something sparkly.

“Daddy, look! It’s your color,” Peter cried, clutching a strappy garnet...something to his chest. Tony could see rhinestones - or likely actual gems - glittering on it.“We’ve gotta get this!”

The older man just smiled at him, eyes twinkling behind his shades.

He’d created a monster.

***

Throwing himself belly-down across the bed, Peter let out a groan. He toed off his shoes, which probably cost as much as some people’s rent, letting them drop to the floor without a care as he flexed his socked feet. “I’m tired,” he whined, pouting up at Tony playfully. One of his hands toyed with the end of one of his necklaces, the delicate ‘t’ charm hanging there.

The older man just chuckled as he shut the door to the hotel room and locked it before bending over to pick up the bags from the floor, giving Peter a glorious view of his ass in the tailored pants of his suit. There were at least ten of the bags scattered on the carpet, all of varying sizes and colors. “I bet you are- you spent a lot of money today. It’s hard work, ain’t it, baby?”

Peter huffed out a laugh of his own. He turned to nuzzle his face into the cloud that was the down comforter. Letting his eyes close, he sighed and burrowed into the cozy warmth. “What time is it? Can I take a nap?” His voice was muffled but he couldn’t be bothered to turn his head.

Looking down at his wrist, Tony moved the cuff of his suit jacket so he could squint at the face of his watch. “It’s almost three.” He paused and thought for a moment before opening his mouth again. “How about this: we nap for an hour and then head up to the pool?” At Peter’s dubious noise, he rolled his eyes. “It’s a saltwater pool, baby, I know how you feel about chlorine.” His voice was amused as he waited for the other’s reaction. “No chemicals to ruin your skin or curls, I promise.”

Peter shimmied excitedly and he did turn his head, then. His eyes sparkled as he gazed up at the man. “Oh, you’re so good to me,” he said, grinning. Shuffling around on the bed, he slipped under the covers and snuggled up to the pillows. He patted the spot next to him impatiently. “Now, come nap. I need a big spoon.”

Tony placed the bags on the coffee table by the sofa and made his way to the bed, removing his shoes and his suit under Peter’s watchful eyes. When he got under the covers in his white undershirt and boxers, he didn’t even blink an eye at the $15,000 trail in his wake. “Your wish is my command, baby,” he grinned, nestling up behind the boy.

They were both out like lights.

Tony was the first to wake up. He took a moment to just lay there, watching Peter as soft snores escaped his mouth, a thin line of drool connecting him to the pillow underneath his head. They had shifted during their nap, ending up facing each other with their legs intertwined. He looked down at his wrist, sighing when he saw the time. A few minutes after five o’clock. So much for an hour. They needed to head up to the pool now, if they wanted to have a decent amount of time before it was time to get ready for their dinner reservation. Careful not to disturb the younger man too much, he stretched a bit, whole body tensing before he relaxed back against the mattress.

Peter made a soft noise in his sleep, hips twitching forward against his husband's thigh.

Laughing softly, Tony climbed out of the bed before he could be tempted by the little minx. "Insatiable," he muttered to himself, smiling fondly at the snoozing teen.

He made his way to their luggage, rifling through the suitcases until he found his midnight blue swim trunks. Stripping out of his clothes, he pulled the shorts on before turning to dig some more until he found Peter's swimsuit and rolled his eyes at the sight of the garment.

They were tiny little things, Peter’s trunks, the inseam only 4", and similar in color to Tony's but with rainbow chickens taking up a majority of the fabric. The younger man referred to them as his ‘cock shorts’.

Holding them in his hand, Tony walked back to the center of the room and tossed them on the comforter as he climbed on the bed on all fours. He redistributed his weight so that he could reach out and run his right hand through Peter’s hair before stroking the side of his smooth face. “Peter, time to wake up, baby,” the billionaire said gently, not wanting to startle the slumbering man.

The teen groaned in response, but nuzzled into the touch just the same. “‘M sleepin,” he mumbled without opening his eyes. “Lemme sleep.”

Tony chuckled and pushed himself up onto his knees in order to slowly pull the covers down to the foot of the bed. “We’re gonna go swimming, remember?” His eyes roamed over Peter’s prone form, now spread out like a starfish in his jeans and top. “If we don’t go now, we won’t have time before dinner, baby,” he coaxed him softly.

Peter sighed and buried his face in the pillow for a moment before rolling over onto his back. He blinked blearily in the older man’s direction, propping himself up on his elbow as he ran his left hand through his hair, the sight of the gold band there making a smile twitch at his lips. “Okay,” he yawned as he rolled his shoulders and neck. Then he caught sight of Tony’s bare chest in the afternoon light. “Mmm. You’re ready already? Where are my-” His eyes landed on the brightly colored swim trunks. “Oh, my cock shorts,” he chuckled, reaching forward to grab them.

Tony’s eyes were rolling before he even registered it, and he turned away from the younger man to put together a bag with sunscreen and their water bottles. “Get dressed, you goof.”

Once Peter had gotten changed (which admittedly took a few minutes longer than it should have, given that he’d put on a bit of a show for his husband, who watched him with heady eyes), they headed to the elevator in their trunks and flip flops. Their hands were linked between them, and Peter let himself lean on Tony, enjoying the contact of their bare arms and torsos.

The couple walked through the metal doors when they opened and out onto the rooftop.

A gasp left Peter’s mouth at the scene before them. The infinity pool had to be one of the most breathtaking things he had ever seen. It took up around half of the expansive roof, and seemed to blend directly into the city skyline, no clear line where one ended and the other began. Luxurious-looking chaises were lined up in a row, and there was a small fire pit with circle seating in another area.

Then he noticed the sign off to the side of the elevator. This area is currently reserved for a private party.

He turned to look questioningly at Tony with furrowed brows. “The sign says it’s closed,” he pouted, taking on the tone that had become increasingly familiar throughout the course of the day. It was almost second nature at that point.

Tony snorted, pulling the smaller man along with him towards the loungers. “Who else do you think had enough money to rent out the rooftop of the most expensive hotel in the city, baby boy?”

The words had the fire in Peter’s gut igniting instantly. His Daddy was one of the richest (if not the richest-), most powerful men on the entire planet.

And he got him all to himself.

“Daddy,” he said sweetly once they had set the bag down and grabbed a few towels. At Tony’s soft noise of acknowledgement, Peter held up the bottle of sunscreen. “Can you help me with my sunscreen? I can never reach my back, and since we don’t have tons of time, it’ll probably be faster if you just do all of it.” He grinned up at the older man from where he sat cross legged on the cushion, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses.

There was an answering grin from Tony as he took the bottle and moved to sit behind the teen. “Of course, sweetheart,” he said, squirting the citrus-smelling substance into his hand. Rubbing his hands together, he warmed the sunscreen up before beginning to rub it into the freckled skin of Peter’s shoulders and back, then his arms.

Soft sighs left the brunette’s mouth, coupled with a few groans when Tony used just enough pressure to have his dick chubbing up in his shorts. “Feels good, Daddy,” he said breathily when Tony moved to sit on the chair beside them and looked at him questioningly, pulling Peter’s feet into his lap. “Love it when you touch me.”

Tony grinned back at him, reaching up to rub sunscreen into his legs and relishing in the harsh breath that the boy let out. He let his fingertips drag along Peter’s inner thighs as he worked, fingers occasionally dipping inside the legs of his swim shorts.

Once he was finished, he bent at the waist and nuzzled into the crease of his husband’s hip, the tip of his nose brushing against his burgeoning fabric covered erection. He placed a gentle kiss there before pushing himself into a standing position so he could look down at Peter as he squirted another small dollop of the lotion into his palm. “Settle down, baby boy,” he chided, rubbing the sunscreen into the skin of Peter’s face with two fingers.

Peter just pouted yet again, narrowing his eyes at the older man. “Tease,” he huffed out, playfully pushing Tony away from him when he could tell he was finished applying the sunscreen and was instead just running his fingers over Peter’s skin.

Tony just kept grinning as he got started on his own UV protection.

They splashed around in the pool for a while before Tony decided he wanted to swim a few laps. Peter found himself in the corner, taking in the way the sun was just beginning to set, the first bits of color beginning to bleed across the sky. He peered over the edge of the glass down at the city below, struck by how similar the view was to when he was swinging over-

“What’cha doin all the way over here, baby?”

The boy jumped at the words, a hand flying up to his heart in surprise. He was thankful for that particular section of the pool being shallow enough for him to stand. “Oh, you scared me,” he breathed and rested his forehead in the center of Tony’s chest, allowing himself to be pulled into the man’s arms. “Was just taking in the view. You done swimming?”

Nodding, Tony leaned his head down to press a kiss just below his husband’s ear. “Yup. There goes my exercise for the foreseeable future.” Another kiss, this time a little lower, closer to the junction of Peter’s neck and shoulder. “Let’s go dry out before the sun’s completely gone.”

They ended up laying on the loungers, just watching each other with hungry eyes as dusk approached, the sky changing around them.

Peter was once again hard in his trunks, but this time he had no reservations about letting a hand skim down his chest until it was resting over his cock. His breath caught in his throat and he rocked his hips up into his touch. He never moved his eyes away from Tony’s, even as he used his other hand to tease at his nipples while he continued to rut softly against his palm.

“Fuck, Peter,” Tony groaned roughly. He rolled over onto his side, reaching out for the younger man as he adjusted himself in his shorts.

The teen licked his lips and shook his head softly. “Uh-uh, Daddy,” he admonished. “You can look, but you can’t touch. I gave you a chance earlier and you didn’t take it.”

Eyes darkening in response, Tony retracted his hand and didn’t even pause before reaching down and pulling himself out of his swimsuit.

Peter gaped at him for a moment before he reminded himself that no one could see them. His heartbeat was thudding in his ears, a pink flush overtaking his face and upper body as he followed the older man’s lead. He took his dick in hand, stroking in time with the other’s movements.

“Look at you,” Tony breathed, running the pad of his thumb over his cockhead. “So dirty for your Daddy, aren’t you baby? Touching yourself out here in the open where anybody could walk out?” He clocked the way Peter’s hand jerked at the words and continued, his own muscles clenching. “But I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you, Peter? I wanna hear you say it baby.”

Suddenly the tables were turned, and Peter willingly gave up the control he’d intended to have. “Yes, Daddy, I’d love it. Want everyone to see how much I love you,” he whined, fucking into his fist. Shit, how was he so close already? “Want you to f-fuck me, so everybody knows how well you t-take care of me-” He cut himself off, gasping as the tugging behind his bellybutton grew stronger.

“No,” Tony said, the change in tone making Peter obey immediately and let go of his erection.

Which- Okay, that would have to be explored later.

“We don’t have time for all that, baby,” the older man continued, expression softening at the wounded look Peter was aiming at him. “We’ve gotta get ready for dinner.” He stroked himself a few mores times, savoring the feeling, before tucking his cock back into his swim trunks. Standing after a moment, he watched as Peter did the same, pulling the ridiculous cock shorts back up.

Peter was still sulking when they got into the elevator, so Tony backed him into the corner, hands dropping to grab at his ass. “Don’t worry, Petey,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “Daddy’ll give you what you want after dinner. I promise.”

That seemed to do the trick, as the younger man smiled up at him and puckered his lips to ask for a kiss. Tony happily obliged.

When they got back to the room, Peter called first shower, going through through an abbreviated version of his pre-sex ritual. He walked out of the bathroom in one of the large, fluffy bath sheets when he was finished, accepting the kiss Tony pressed into his cheek as they passed each other.

Once he heard the shower start up, the teen dug through their shopping bags from earlier that morning until he found the one from the lingerie store.

Tony was in for a surprise when they got back.

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #B&B write #Peter’s EDITH!verse #SbPBP #nff

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walkerwords · 4 years

Text

“The Bowman’s Sister” Part 3 of 4 - Daryl & Sister!Reader

GIF CREDIT: AMC

PART I PART II PART IV

Word Count: 3030

Daryl Dixon & Sister!Reader (Rick x Reader in future)

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “World Gone Mad” by Bastille

Note: I didn’t put a summary on this one cause it’s def a filler chapter. I don’t remember who exactly gets bit during the flu pandemic thing in the cell blocks so I made it pretty vague. All i really wanted to do here was touch on the friendship that is growing with Rick and (Y/N). The next chapter will have some violence etc since one eyed wonder makes a reappearance.

-------

You jogged down the stairs of the watchtower, passing Tyreese on the way as he headed for his shift.

You had finally convinced Carl to get some sleep after you kept finding him hiding away in the tower in the middle of the night. He agreed to let you keep watch as long as you taught him to use a bow. You felt that was a fair trade so you had agreed.

You and the younger Grimes had bonded pretty quickly. He reminded you of how Daryl was as a kid. Always running around getting into trouble and making sure everyone was okay. You could tell he was developing a hard exterior but still had that childlike innocence when holding his baby sister or tending to anyone who was hurt. He had a lot of his dad in him and you figured the rest was his late mother and those who were helping to raise him.

You decided early on that Carl Grimes would be someone you’d lay your life on the line for and not just because he was a kid. But because he was one of the only good ones left in the world.

Walking back towards the cell block, you ran into Rick. He was coming out of D when he spotted you. He gave you a quick wave as you made your way over to him. “Another late night?” he asked, fatigue weighing on him clear as day. Since the run that you, Daryl, Glenn, and Rick had gone on, you had noticed that he was distancing himself a bit more here and there. When you asked Daryl about Rick’s odd behavior at times, he just shrugged and told you that sometimes the new world screws with people. You decided not to push it further.

“Just tryin’ to earn my keep,” you said to Rick, stretching out your shoulders. Rick nodded, looking past you towards the main yard.

“You’ve been staying out late a lot lately,” he said. “Sleep is actually a good thing, you know?” he joked. You chuckled slightly.

“Yeah, but if sleep won’t come, no point in tryin’ to force it when I can take over for someone who actually needs it,” you pointed out.

“Like my kid?”

“He’s not invincible even if he thinks he is,” you said, tilting your head up to look at the night sky.

“Thanks,” he said. You look back to him. “He doesn’t listen to me much anymore, so it’s good you can get him to get some shut-eye.” You shrugged off his thanks.

“Boys his age are always rebellin’,” you said, “I doubt that’s gonna change in the Apocalypse.” Rick laughed, running a hand through his messy curls. The two of you started to walk. You didn’t have a particular destination in mind, but you didn’t care. It was nice to just be outside, safe, and having a conversation. You talked about everything from what the two of you did before the Turn to why he decided to use a prison as their new home.

“It wasn’t easy,” Rick said, “We slept in the main field the first night. Cleared it of Walkers and then dealt with the rest of it the next day.”

“You know what? I’m surprised more people didn’t think to head to a prison in the first place. Or at least an abandoned one,” You said. “Hey, I bet Alcatraz is a hit right now.” Rick laughed at your joke, smiling wide.

“It is on an island,” he pointed out.

“Exactly. Do you think Walkers can swim?”

“Oh god, I hope not,” Rick said, eyes wide in mock horror. “That’s the last thing we need.” You laugh, trying not to imagine Michael Phelps going full 2000 Olympics while gnashing his jaw.

“Where did that word even come from? Walker?” you asked, remembering how weird it was to hear that first night in the cell block.

“I heard it shortly after I woke up in the hospital,” Rick explained, “A man, Morgan, he saved my life and that’s what he called it when he shot it in the street.”

“Hospital?” you asked, confused.

“Yeah, I was shot before this all happened,” he said, gesturing around. “I was in a coma and didn’t wake up. My partner tried to get me out, but he had to go save Lori and Carl, make sure they were safe. He thought I died, you know?”

“I would have thought the same thing,” you said, “you’re a lucky son of a bitch. Must have been terrifying waking up to all of this.”

“It was...disorienting. I thought I was in Hell. Then when Morgan explained to me what was going on, I couldn’t believe it. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes…” he trailed off. “But then I met Glenn in Atlanta and he brought me back to my family.”

“Crazy how sometimes you just meet the right people at the right time, isn’t it?” you said, looking at him in the dark. He looked at you and smiled softly.

“Yeah, it is,” he was quiet for a moment before he noticed the ring that was still on your finger. You twisted it around with your thumb absently. “You know, if you ever want to talk about him, I’m here,” he said, gesturing to the ring.

“Thanks,” you said. “It’s funny, I haven’t actually spoken about him since he died. Nobody to talk to and I know that’s why Daryl worries about me. He doesn’t get why I don’t want to talk about them, but I just don’t know what to say. It’s not like I can change anythin’.”

“No, but maybe the more people who know about them, can help keep their memory alive,” Rick offered. You thought about it for a moment before nodding, more to yourself than him.

“Thanks, Rick,” you said. He reached over and squeezed your shoulder briefly. “And that goes for you too,” you finished. He let out a breath and nodded as well, already understanding what you were offering. “You know, being out here, it reminds me of when Merle was locked up the first time,” you said, changing the subject.

“The first time?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, my big brother was the biggest pain in the ass. Especially when it came to the county sheriff,” you laughed. “The first time, he and Daryl were being idiots as usual. I was at school, I think, and the boys decided to race motorcycles down by the tracks. Merle’s moronic friends were tryin’ to get Daryl to steal a bike nearby. I think it belonged to some kid that was a few years older than Merle. Daryl, of course, wanted to do it so he seemed cool in front of Merle’s asshole ��friends’, but big brother said no and that he would be the one to do it.” You smiled as you thought about the day you got the call from Daryl who was concerned about the whole thing. “Turns out the owner was actually home and the bike was a lot more expensive than everyone first thought.”

“And let me guess,” Rick interjected, “Merle broke the bike.”

“Along with three bones and a bunch of other property damage and that was before he even got back to the tracks,” you said with an exasperated sigh. “Dad was pissed and since Merle was eighteen, he got charged and booked. I took Daryl to go see him while he did his time. Never liked bein’ near jails. Pretty ironic I’m living in one now.” You laughed quietly to yourself, but then you realized Rick was quiet. You looked at him, trying to see his face in the dark. “What is it? Am I really not that funny?” you tried. Rick cracked a small smile before it disappeared again.

“No, that’s not it,” he said before taking a deep breath. “I guess it’s just weird hearing about your brothers when they were younger.” Rick rubbed the back of his neck before glancing at you. His face was solemn and something was clearly bothering him. “I’m sorry about Merle.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Rick. Daryl told me what the Governor did,” you told him, but he was shaking his head.

“No, not about...not about that. I’m sorry about leavin’ him in the first place,” he said, but you were confused.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“Daryl didn’t tell you about what happened in Atlanta?” you shrugged.

“He said y’all got separated after you ran into a large herd. Daryl said you went back for him, but you couldn’t find him. I’m surprised you even did that, from what Carol and Glenn said, Merle was very...Merle while stayin’ with ya.” Rick nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“It was my fault,” he said softly, the toe of his boot digging into the gravel.

“What was?” you asked, your voice low as well. Rick finally looked up at you and that weight was even heavier in his eyes. “Rick, what happened?”

“Merle was out of control,” he explained, “he was shootin’ Walkers on the rooftop, the shots bringing more and more towards the building we were in and he was just runnin’ his mouth. Kept mouthin’ off to another guy we were with, using slurs and whatnot.” You sighed at the information. You knew Merle could be a complete asshole, especially if he was using, and based on what Rick was saying, that was definitely the case. “He got into a fight,” Rick continued, “he was gonna get us killed so I handcuffed him to the roof, to one of the pipes. When we went back to get him before we left, one of the men, T-Dog, he dropped the key and…”

“You had to leave him,” you finished. Rick nodded, his hand coming up to rub at his brow.

“We went back for him, I swear,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours, “but he was gone when we got back up to the roof. He had cut his own arm off to get out of the cuffs. He made his way out of the city and we didn’t see him again until Woodbury. I’m sorry, (Y/N), if I hadn’t of cuffed him to that roof, he may have been alive right now.”

“Or he would have pissed someone else off and gotten himself shot or gotten too high and stumbled right into a Walker,” you told him. “I loved my brother, with everythin’ I had, but I wasn’t blind to his idiotic tendencies. Daryl either. We both knew how reckless and stupid Merle was. Hell, if I had been on that roof, I may have done the same thing. You were fightin’ to survive, you don’t have to apologize for that.” Rick stared at you in complete awe.

“How can you be so...okay with all of that?” he asked. You reached out and took his hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

“Because I know you didn’t intend to leave him to die. I can tell you that much. I’m rather good at readin’ people,” you said with a small smile.

“Because you’re a shrink?” he asked, his shoulders dropping a bit more.

“Because I pay attention and I know who’s good and who’s not and you Rick Grimes, are one of the good ones,” you said. “So, don’t apologize. At least not to me. You have to start thinkin’ about what’s next.”

“And what is next, (Y/N)?” he asked.

“I haven’t quite figured that out,” you said, letting go of his hand, “but when I do, I will make sure to tell ya. Deal?” He nodded.

“Sounds good to me, Dixon,” he said with a smile. You smiled back and before you said anything else, a scream echoed from the cell blocks. You and Rick looked at each other before taking off towards the block. Rick pulled his gun as he ran and you cursed yourself for only bringing your knife with you. You pulled it from your belt as your boots pounded against the ground.

You both reached the block just as a Walker stumbled out of a cell, it’s face covered in fresh blood. Two more followed, reaching for your friends as they fought them off. Stabbing the closest one in the head, Rick shot the others that reached for a scared woman.

It was chaos in the prison as people screamed and the Dead rose. The noise only agitated the others that pressed against the fences outside. In the dark, you split off from Rick, searching frantically for your brother. You didn’t know if he was on watch or if he had gone off on his own. You were just praying that when you found him, he would still be breathing.

You ran through the corridors, looking for Daryl. The gunshots from the block had finally calmed down, but you could feel the fear in the air. Your mind raced as you tried to think of ways that the Walkers could have gotten into the block. You and Michonne had just checked the tombs that morning, securing the entrances. Then there was the fact that the individual blocks were always locked just in case.

Gripping your knife, you ran back down the hallway and pushed through the metal door, exiting into the night air. Suddenly, something grabbed your arm and you raised your blade, ready to drive it home. “(Y/N)! Stop, it’s me!” your arm froze as you focused on Daryl. He was breathing heavily as he looked at you. You relaxed, pulling him into a hug. He hugged you back, squeezing you tight.

“You okay?” you asked as you stepped back, checking his exposed skin for bites.

“M’fine, you?”

“Yeah, just a bit out of breath,” you said. “What happened?”

“Looks like some kid got sick, died in his sleep. He turned and bit others.”

“Our own people were the Walkers?” you asked, sheathing your knife.

“Ya,” he said with a frown.

“Shit, that’s rough,” you said. Daryl nodded in agreement, before grabbing your arm. “What are you doin?” you asked as he dragged you toward the administration building. “Daryl?”

“How do ya feel? Ya feel sick?”

“No, I feel fine. Where are we goin’?”

“Whatever is goin’ on, I’m not lettin’ you get it,” he said as he pushed into the building. Carl was already there, holding his baby sister.

“So you’re taking me to an abandoned hallway?” you asked, confused.

“We need meds,” he said. “Till we get em’, yer stayin’ in here,” he said, finally letting you go.

“You’re puttin’ me in quarantine?” you asked, your brows going high.

“Damn right I am,” he said, handing you his spare gun. “Ya never had a good immune system to begin with. I ain’t takin’ any chances.”

“Daryl‒”

“Nah,” he interjected, “yer gonna listen to me for once, (Y/N). Don’t try to play big sister right now. Just do this one thing for me and stay here, alright?” You wanted to argue, but then he said something that made you shut up. “I can’t lose you like I lost Merle.” You sighed and nodded.

“Okay, Daryl,” you said, moving the loose strands of hair from his face. “I’ll stay with Carl,” you promised. “Just come back in one piece,” you said, already knowing he would be one of the first to volunteer to go look for the meds they needed. Daryl nodded and kissed your forehead. He then turned to Carl.

“Watch out for my sister, kid,” Daryl said. Carl nodded, standing up a bit straighter at Daryl’s words. He squeezed your arm once more before leaving the building and locking it behind him.

“Guess it’s just you and me, Grimes one and two,” you said, sliding down against the wall. You sat, letting your legs stretch out in front of you. Carl joined you a second later, carefully resting Judith in his lap.

“Shouldn’t it be Grimes two and three?” he asked.

“Nah, you two are definitely the top two Grimes in my book,” you said with a small smile. Carl smiled up at you before playing with his sister’s little hands. “Don’t worry about her,” you said, easily reading his expression, “she’s a lot stronger than she looks. She’s gonna be fine.”

“How do you know?” Carl asked, his voice a bit smaller than usual.

“Didn’t Daryl tell you?” you asked, gaining his attention, “I’m psychic,” you whispered. Carl rolled his eyes but laughed nonetheless.

“Maybe psycho, but not psychic,” Carl joked. You placed your hand on your chest in surprise.

“Wow, Grimes, never thought you’d be so cruel. I don’t know how our friendship can survive this.” Carl snorted at your words.

“Didn’t realize we were friends,” he said, still smiling.

“And I didn’t realize your daddy never taught you to be nice to people who teach you valuable skills,” you said, nudging his foot with yours.

“I’ll work on it,” he said just as Judith yawns.

“I agree with her,” you said, leaning back and closing your eyes. “Judith has the right idea.” You then felt Carl shift next to you, leaning into you and putting his head on your shoulder as Judith lay across both of your legs. You didn’t open your eyes as you sat with the Grimes children. Your lack of sleep lost the battle with your worries about Daryl and the sickness that had come to the prison and soon the three of you were sleeping peacefully.

At the end of the hallway, Rick peered in through the window and watched as you held onto his kids, protecting them and offering them security. He wasn’t the best at trusting people in this new world, but he liked you and liked your spirit. It was easy to be your friend and he loved how easily you and Carl bonded. He only hoped that you would be around for them and Daryl.

However, unbeknownst to him, things were going to get much worse and very soon and it wasn’t just a virus that crept up on the prison, but an enemy that lay in wait.

#the walking dead imagines #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #twd #twd imagine #daryl and sister!reader #reader insert #walking dead prison #walkerwords

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storyknitter · 4 years

Text

Someone to Lean On

Inspired by @whumpster-dumpster ‘s prompt found here! (Seriously, go follow her, her prompts are amazing!) Warning for blood.

16 ATC, Yavin 4

“Quit acting like you’re not dead tired. Sit. Down.” Knight Kira Carsen’s hissed order carried a thread of worry that Theron would have picked up even without his implants. As the shuttle lifted off, her skirt brushed against his knees and he glanced up surreptitiously at the two Jedi who fought so well together. Even after working with the duo for months, he was always surprised by their synchronicity; one’s lightsaber protected the other’s weak spots, the places left open to attack, without question or hesitation.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find that protectiveness extended to the rest of life as well.

Master Nabeshin – Vassanna – met her friend’s gaze, silently communicating... something before turning to him. “Is this seat taken?” she asked softly and gestured to the empty segment of padded shuttle bench to his right.

Unprompted, his mind drifted back to the safehouse on Rishi and the kiss they’d shared – hesitant, soft, sweet. Despite the aches and pains that had wracked his body, he hadn’t wanted to stop, and the precious few moments stolen here on Yavin only served to make him want to kiss her again – and again and again.

Theron couldn’t help a small grin. “It’s all yours.” He ignored the curious glance from Satele and the naked jealousy on Doc’s face as Vassanna slipped onto the seat beside him, close enough to feel her saber pressed against his hip. If she hadn’t been so elegant about it, however, Theron would have said that she’d flopped onto the bench. Stifling a yawn, she pressed her fingertips to her temples, rubbing lightly.

“You okay?”

She glanced sidelong at him and gave him a weak smile. “Headache. And maybe a bit tired. This planet, it’s... it’s hard to meditate here. Then this whole thing with Revan and the, um ...” Trailing off, she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “It’s just a lot,” she whispered.

The haunted look in her eyes made him want to hold her close, to reassure her that everything would be all right. Ugh, what was his problem? She was a Jedi and could take care of herself perfectly fine. So instead, he simply nodded in agreement.

Though her comments brought his concern about the newly freed Sith Emperor to mind again, he brushed the thoughts aside for the moment and focused on Master Nabeshin. Kira was right: she looked absolutely exhausted and far older than her nearly-twenty-five years.

“If you’re tired,” he said, glancing purposely at his shoulder, “you could take a quick catnap on the ride back to the coalition base.” It wasn’t much, but at least he could relieve some of her stress. Dropping his voice conspiratorially, Theron leaned closer to her, a smirk playing on his lips. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” A faint whiff of something sweet and floral mingled with the distinctive odor of combat, wafting past his nose.

Vassanna hesitated only briefly before resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes slipping closed with a sigh. Something in Theron’s chest clenched as she melted into his side, a soft, murmured thanks falling from her lips. Behind Kira, Doc turned away with a frown.

(Satele watched from across the shuttle as her best – and if she were honest, her favorite – Knight spoke quietly with her son. Closing her eyes, she searched the Force and found exactly what she had expected and, perhaps, feared: a small, impossibly delicate tendril connecting the pair, shimmering faint, but sweet.

Please, she begged the Force, let this end better for them than it did for Jace and me. Please.)

Theron enjoyed the Jedi’s weight against him more than he probably should. He leaned his head against the durasteel wall behind him, excusing his momentary weakness: he simply needed to rest his eyes, just for a minute. It had been a long, hard fight after all, and his left shoulder was beginning to throb and burn. He couldn't remember exactly when the re-injury had happened, but it was nothing a bit of kolto couldn’t fix.

It seemed as though he had hardly taken a deep, meditative breath or two before the shuttle touched down at the base camp, his eyes snapping open and his neck complaining rather painfully. Everyone filed out slowly, their aching muscles stiff and complaining, and Kira reached down to wake Master Nabeshin.

“It’s okay,” Theron said softly, unwilling to disturb the woman sleeping on him. “I’ll give her another minute or two. She clearly needs the rest.”

Kira nodded – though he ignored the mischievous little smirk that accompanied it – and dragged Doc toward the base. Within a handful of moments, however, Theron’s implants were pinging, his remaining time on this rock scheduled, divided up and parceled out. His presence was required immediately and he was forced to wake Vassanna.

Stomping out his disappointment with a sigh, Theron jiggled his good shoulder gently. “Master Jedi? Rise and shine.” A small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth; she’d woken him with the same phrase on Rishi whenever he’d fallen asleep on his datapad, which might have happened once or twice. “C’mon, it’s time to wake up.”

He shook his shoulder again as ice crept into his veins: her body remained limp and heavy against his side. “Vassanna?” She shouldn’t be so sound asleep – the shuttle ride hadn’t been that long. “Vee, wake up.” The nickname felt strange on his tongue, but a vague fear he couldn’t put his finger on pushed him to wake her any way he could.

Vassanna’s head lolled forward as he shifted to face her, the back of her neck stained dark, and Theron had barely registered it as blood before she tipped off of the bench, tumbling to the floor. Letting out a string of curses as his heart stopped beating, he leapt out of his seat and caught her before she hit the durasteel floor, his left shoulder screaming in protest.

“Kira! Doc!” he called over his still-active comm, a tang of desperation creeping into his voice. “Come on Jedi,” he muttered, “open your eyes. Please, Vassanna.”

Despite the fear coiling in the pit of his stomach, saying her name was... something else. He’d gotten so accustomed to calling her “Master Jedi” that using her actual name felt intimate, forbidden, and– no, focus, dammit.

Cradling Vassanna in his aching left arm, he bit the fingertips of his right glove, tugging it off with his teeth and dropping it at his side. Carefully, oh so carefully, he undid the clip holding her hair up in its bun, long dark hair pooling over his lap and spilling onto the floor.

As Theron gingerly ran his fingers across her scalp, he found the source of the bluish-purple blood coating the back of her neck and, now, his bare hand: a deep, jagged cut she must have received when Revan had thrown her at the large stone pillars that surrounded the arena. His heart rate picked up speed and he swore again.

“What the hells happened here?” Doc snarled as he dropped to his knees next to the inert Jedi and began scanning her, medkit open at his side. “What did you do?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything; she got hurt in the fight.”

If looks could kill, Theron would be as dead as his ancestor.

At a gesture from the medic, Theron removed his hand. Kira assisted in treating Vassanna – only temporary stitches and some kolto gel, thankfully – while Theron held her close, his heart still threatening to hammer itself out of his chest.

As Doc worked, Vassanna stirred with a moan of pain, flailing weakly. Before Theron could stop himself, he’d taken her hand in his, sticky with drying blood, and squeezed tight.

“Shh, you’ll be okay, just breathe,” he murmured.

“Smell good,” Vassanna mumbled into Theron’s side, and he blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“How do you smell so good?” She was slurring her words, which probably wasn’t great, but Doc rifled through his case and retrieved a hypo-syringe, jabbing it into her bare upper arm. Vassanna flinched and let out a small whine before continuing. “It’s hot and muggy,” she said, her speech clearing, “and miserable and you kriffing smell good.”

“Pretty sure that’s just the head wound talking,” Theron said with a smirk. “But thanks – I showered this morning.” His retort garnered a chuckle from Kira and even a snort from Doc.

“What?” Vassanna sounded so confused. Theron wondered if she even knew what she’d just said. Her eyes grew wide as she noticed her hand in his and the blood covering both – her blood. “What happened?” she whispered, meeting his gaze. The worry and fear he saw in her eyes twisted his gut and all he wanted to do was make things better.

“You’re all set, gorgeous,” Doc said, packing up his tools. “You’ve got a pretty impressive bruise and a serious laceration, but ol’ Doc’s got you all fixed up.”

Yeah, thanks to me, Theron thought, jaw clenching as he restrained himself from decking the good doctor. An emotion he tried not to name coiled around his chest, squeezing and crushing him, making it near impossible to breathe. Jealousy, a small voice in the back of his head whispered. He smothered the feeling as best he could: he had no claim on Vassanna.

But maybe you want one, the sly voice said.

Boxing up that little voice until he could properly analyze it – alone – Theron looked back down at Master Nabeshin. “I think you hit your head while we were fighting Revan,” he said softly, resisting the urge to brush the loose wisps of hair out of her face. “How are you feeling?”

Stars, her eyes were beautiful. How had he not noticed the flecks of silver in them before?

Vassanna bit her lip and he had a brief moment where all he could think was kiss her: she was cradled in his arm, sprawled across him, her saber-calloused hand still in his. His thumb rubbed absently across the back of her knuckles and he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from hers.

“Hey!” Doc’s voice broke through whatever enchantment held Theron in its grasp. “Dial it back, lover-boy.”

Theron nearly choked when his brain processed the medic’s comment. Lover-boy? “What the fresh hells are you talking about?” Heat rushed up his neck, seeping into his ears and cheeks. Dammit, was he actually blushing?

Kira was doing a terrible job of concealing her laughter, though she at least had the decency to turn her face away from them.

“I’m fine now,” Vassanna said hesitantly. “Thank you.” Her cheeks also seemed tinged with color, Theron noted wryly.

Slowly, cautiously, she tried to stand. Kira and Doc flanked her immediately and with their assistance, she only wobbled slightly when upright.

“C’mon, gorgeous. Let’s get you to the med tent,” Doc said. He tossed a pointed look at Theron as he continued sardonically, “You need your head examined.”

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Note

I saw you mention that Jake is a lightweight, so here’s me begging that we get some drunk Jake content at some point 🥺😭💞 or at least get to hear what type of drunk he is, it’d make my friggin day

CW: Alcohol use

Tagging @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump

Takes place after the Safehouse Raid. Also features a fact about Chris that was mentioned on his intake paperwork but may have slipped your notice at the time!

Addie doesn't drink and she doesn't eat meat, so when Jake wants to chill with something to take the edge off before he has to really buckle down to study - and a giant burger with fries - he has to do that alone.

Well, not alone - he's never alone here, and wouldn't want to be. Antoni is responsible for the burgers and homemade fries, Leila is next door at Naomi's house watching some TV show and laughter drifts out Naomi's window loud enough that Jake can hear it all the way through theirs.

Leila’s probably going to move out soon, and they’ve gotten word of a bonded pair of rescues that might need to move into the space Krista and Leila have left behind. Might not be much longer they have this particular group together.

Well... Antoni and Chris probably won’t go anytime soon. Antoni has shown no interest, and Chris... probably wouldn’t last long.

Nat's out at a group meeting, and Jake chose not to go with. He goes to fewer meetings, now, since the raid. He stays close to home, keeps his head down. Talks to a few people he knows really well, yeah, and meets up with the frat guy on campus for coffee and, like, talking shit out, but mostly Jake is pretty happy to just... stay here. Talk to the rescues, and Nat, and call his mother on the phone so she can disapprove of his life choices.

For now, Jake is eating, Antoni cleaning up from cooking, and Chris... Chris makes drinks.

"Did, um, did it for, for-for for Sir every day," Chris says brightly, as if talking about a trip to the zoo rather than the details of a daily horror. "Gin and, and tonic, cold as it gets without, um, without... being, being ice. Little, little bit of lemon, plus a, a, a a a twist of peel on the, the side. Or limes, he, he, he he he-he... he liked lime with gin a, a lot..."

"I don't like those, thanks, I don't even think we have gin." Jake puts his hands up in the air, smiling. He has a mostly empty Jack and Coke in front of him - second one, actually - and he feels mostly relaxed, a gentle warmth spreading through his shoulders and down his back. Less angry, and he’s angry all the time these days, not that he wasn’t before.

"Not a gin and tonic kind of guy."

Not like he'd drink the same thing as that goddamn asshole smarming up the fucking television anyway. The fucking Governor... Jake can’t even see him any longer, and unfortunately they’re going into an election year and the smug fuck’s all over the TV with his advertisements now. If Jake could just get ahold of that video of Chris... Jesus, he could end the Governor’s career, his whole life.

Maybe if he could find that video, it’d have some kind of identifying... something that could help them figure Chris out, more. His real name, whether or not he has any family... but no, the video had mentioned a legal guardian, and Chris - terrified and looking an inch from tears - had mentioned Aunt Jo, Joanne... Jake can’t figure it out. He’s missing something... something... important.

He hasn't told anyone else yet. Sooner or later, he'll have to. Chris first? Nat? Drive to an empty lot on the old factory district and scream to the fucking sky?

He hasn't decided yet.

He’d rather drink until he’s in a better mood, first.

"Well, well, well well well I trained Mixology, what do we have?" Chris asks, glancing back and forth between Jake taking a bite of his hamburger and Antoni leaning with his back against the counter, watching them with a slight smile in his slightly narrow face.

"You trained in-" Jake stops, his mouth is full, he needs a second. He chews and swallows, leaning on his elbow on the table. "You were trained to make drinks?"

Chris nods, green eyes locked on his, before he gives a little grin and bounces on the balls of his feet. "I, I liked those classes."

Jake and Antoni briefly meet eyes. Antoni shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I only took cooking classes and learned cleaning.”

“Well, maybe next you could make us something fancy you know how to do,” Jake says - the pride in Chris’s eyes, this is something he can do for them, is unmistakable and as uneasy as it makes him, part of him really wants to let Chris show off for once. “D’you know anything with vodka? Antoni keeps some in the freezer he thinks I don’t know about-”

“Don’t you dare,” Antoni says with a one-sided grin, pointing a finger at Jake. His barcode is visible in his T-shirt and jeans, in this one place where his arms can be bare without danger. Normally they’d have had it removed by now, but Antoni keeps refusing, not giving any reason. “I spent my money on good vodka, you don’t drink good vodka with anything but itself, Jasha.”

“Okay, okay. You’re no fun.” Jake pouts, a little, and Chris grins so brightly at the unfamiliar, rare expression of humor that Jake worries his face has to hurt. “I’d share my liquor with you, you know.”

“I don’t want it,” Antoni says primly, even sticking his nose in the air, and Jake laughs, shaking his head a little, picking up a fry and tossing it Chris’s direction. Chris catches it in midair and stuffs it in his mouth like it might disappear if he doesn't. “I don’t want your Jack Daniels swill, thank you very much.”

“My apologies, not all of us have your refined tastes.”

“Apology accepted.”

Jake throws a fry at Antoni this time, and he only ducks to the side, the fry landing harmlessly in the sink.

“You have terrible aim, Jasha.”

“You ducked! I’d’ve hit you right in you forehead if y’didn’t!” Oh, he’s starting to slur his words, pick back up the accent he’d had growing up, before he and his mom moved out here. Probably a sign he should stop drinking anyway - Chris made his Jack and Cokes stronger than he usually drinks them and being 6′3″ and made of muscle after working out since he was a teenager seems like it made him look like he can hold his liquor, but his liver never got that memo.

“Hey, Ant.” Jake clears his throat. “Antoni.”

“Yes?” Antoni grabs the bottle of vodka from the freezer, fogged and cloudy with frost, and slides into a chair, glancing over at Chris and patting the seat next to him, between Antoni and Jake. Chris grins and plops down into it so hard the chair creaks a little at the thump of his weight. He sits with his hands between his legs, palms resting on the wood of the chair, leaning slightly forward. It’s similar to and the opposite of his posture in the Contract Signing video, his eyes wide and bright, smiling slightly instead of crying, bouncing his feet off the ground in a constant blur of motion that allows the rest of him to be, largely, still.

“What do I call you?”

“What?” Antoni blinks, confused, popping the corked top off the vodka bottle and taking a swig straight from it, not even bothering with a glass. He’s a little less refined with every week that passes, a little more casual in the way he holds himself, the way he sits, in the way an odd lilt has begun to seep into his syllables, harsher R’s but drawn-out, softer everything else. Jake wonders if he’s witnessing some kind of grand experiment, some days, in what it means to recover yourself and learn that you are something else entirely, in a way you could never have anticipated, than what you were made to be.

“What do I call you? Y’call Chris, ah, Chrisha-” Jake trips over the diminutive, his tongue struggling against the unfamiliar phrasing, and Antoni grins, taking another drink. Chris’s fingers skip up to the table, begin to sneak their way to the last bits of Jake’s second Jack and Coke. Jake catches him at it and puts on a stern face, shaking his head, picking the glass up and finishing the rest, watered down by melted ice to nearly nothing, by himself. He sets the glass down, the remaining ice clinking against itself. “No, man, you’re not 21 and I’m the closest thing to a responsible adult in this house right now.”

Chris drops his hand back between his legs again, but his smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows wider. “Oh, oh, okay, Jake. Maybe next, next time?”

“Turn 21,” Jake says, pretending for the moment that he himself wasn’t sneaking cheap beer behind the bleachers with the other guys back in high school.

Chris is just testing, like always, but in different ways. Always testing to see if they’ll be like Sir in this way or that, learning about himself while he does it. Jake hasn’t let him down yet - and he has to hope he only ever lets Chris down in ways they can recover from.

“... and you call me Jasha,” He continues speaking to Antoni. “So what do I call you?”

“Hm.” Antoni thinks. “Ansha? I don’t know. I think...” His eyes go slightly distant, with the furrow of his thick eyebrows that suggests the pain that always comes with trying to consciously remember what was taken from him. “I think someone called me that once... Are we so close, you think?”

Jake shrugs. “I think so. Do you not?”

“I think we are, yes.” Antoni shrugs right back at him, then reaches out and pours a bit of the vodka over the remaining ice in Jake’s empty glass. “Jasha, what do I do if I don’t want to move out of the house?”

Jake blinks at him, taken aback. “What?”

“I don’t want to leave here. I like you, and I like our Chris, I would not want to leave him.”

Chris bites down on his lower lip - not the practiced little nibble of teeth against sensitive skin he learned to weaponize, but a genuine attempt to hold back the surprised ecstatic smile trying to take him over. “You, you, you you-you-you-you-”

“I wouldn’t,” Antoni says softly. He reaches out to squeeze Chris’s shoulder, once, Chris leaning heavily into the touch. “I would not leave you willingly, Chrisha.”

Jake glances at Chris, bouncing in his seat, his head cocking back and forth in a kind of rhythm, feet tapping on the ground. Eternal whirlwind movement, he’d doing cartwheels on the lawn if they were outside. He won’t sit for long, he’ll be doing handstands in the living room or twisting himself in pretzels, getting out the energy that races through his muscles in any way he can.

“I wouldn’t, either,” Jake says, thinking. He picks up the vodka Antoni poured for him and takes a sip - the vodka is weirdly smooth, runs down his throat with only the barest hint of fire. “Oh, this shit’s dangerous, isn’t it?”

“It is if you are you,” Antoni says, giving him a wicked little smile. “And not me.”

“Ha. Jackass.” Jake grins, to take the sting out, and catches the moment of worry fading from Chris’s face to be replaced with the smile he’s been wearing all along. “There's something I’ve thought about...”

“What?” Chris asks, cheerfully.

Jake looks at him, considering. Then he just shrugs on more time. “Nothin’. I’ll tell you later when I can talk about it without rambling all over the place. I’m too drunk for good conversation right now.”

“I, I, I liked this, this conversation,” Chris says, a little shyly. Jake bumps his foot against Chris’s under the table, and watches Chris toss his head with a smile, hair over his eyes falling to the side.

“Yeah,” Jake says, taking another drink of the vodka, watching Antoni drink straight from the bottle and Chris sip the glass of Sprite and grenadine. Chris has only had a few sips, but the more he drinks, the bouncier he gets. “Yeah, I’m likin’ it, too. Like family dinner, except y’guys already ate and everyone but Chris is drinking.”

He holds up his glass, and Antoni clinks his entire bottle of vodka against it, and Chris clinks his Shirley Temple, and the three of them laugh.

“To family dinner,” Antoni says cheerfully. “May it always include vodka.”

Jake blinks, hearing the soft dip of the v into a different sound, almost a w. Vwahd-ka.

“To family dinner,” Jake says brightly, tossing another fry to Chris.

“To, to, to, to to to family,” Chris says, soft and nervous, as if he expects them to correct him, demand he take it back.

“That one is better,” Antoni says, pitching his voice low, too. “To family, Chrisha.”

Jake has an idea, but it might not be as safe for Chris as their situation is now.

He’s got one more year of school, and then he’ll have the education he needs plus three years of shelter life under his belt, and maybe... maybe he can ask Nat to help him pull off the one big dream Jake’s allowing himself to have. Let her use that fucking blood money she keeps in a bank account growing in bits and pieces each year since she left WRU to do something that’ll piss those fucking human traffickers off royally.

Maybe... maybe he can take Chris with him, and Antoni, too.

“To family,” Jake says, louder than the other two, holds up his glass, and downs the rest of the vodka in one long drink.

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aromanticautobot · 4 years

Text

OptiRatch Concept: Ratchet goes out for a drink by himself one late night after work. He sees a mech slip something into a young archivist's drink, and he rushes to the rescue. (How Ratchet met Orion)

After a long, grueling shift at the hospital, Ratchet would often get a drink. A job in the medical care field is emotionally and physically draining, especially after hours upon hours of being trapped in those bright corridors with the sick and unwell. Ratchet's processor would remain fired up, analytical and trained to catch every detail well into the night if he didn't take the edge off. Hard focus and stress will do that to you. There was a cozy bar not too far from the hospital, tucked between a train station and a cosmetic shop, and right across from a decently nice hotel. Drunken mechs would usually sit at the windows and whistle and howl at the newly polished bots that left the shop. The bar was a very common place to pick up onenight stands and cute, flirty bots looking for a good time.

Ratchet was never into socializing whenever he was in the bar. It was always late, he was always tired and drained, seeking out a buzz before he retreated home and slept. He was a regular at that bar for that purpose, and the only mech that ever recognized him was the gruff bartender.

He took his usual seat at the bar, waving to the mech and setting a few credits on the counter. This was a busier night, there was more of a crowd, more loud voices and more loud music. That meant Ratchet wouldn't stay for long. He wasn't much of a partier.

The bartender slid a cube over to him, nodding his helm in a silent greeting before making his way around to other customers. That was about as friendly as he got.

Sipping his cube, Ratchet shifted his weight and moved his sore pedes a little. It felt good to be off of his feet, even for a short while.

When it was this late, bots tended to be more drunk and more rowdy. Ratchet had learned not to make eye contact, he had learned from his experiences of mechs attempting to pick fights with him to impress the dolled up date they picked up from the cosmetics shop. Ratchet had learned to stare at his drink while he sat.

Perhaps it was fate that led him to glance up this one time. Perhaps his neck cables were sore from looking down for too long, and he needed to stretch them.

His optics found the very pretty sight of a small archivist, sitting at the bar a stretch down from him. The mech was red and blue, his paint decently kept, he was no diva from the nextdoor shop, but he was well groomed. He looked small, sitting with his servos clasped in his lap, legs pressed together. He looked adorably shy.

His attention bought, Ratchet leaned to rest his chin on his servo to watch the sweet looking mech. Big, round optics, a shy smile, a pretty, well curved frame and a cute aft. The archivist was nice to look at. Taking another sip, Ratchet contemplated walking over and striking up a conversation. He could be quite the charmer when he felt like it. . . He could converse, buy him a drink, exchange contact information. . .

Yes, he wanted to talk to the pretty archivist.

The stool creaked as he rose off of it, but before he could take his first step, a large green mech took a seat beside the archivist and handed him a drink.

Oh.

A little bummed, Ratchet sat back down and took a long drink of his cube. That's alright, he was a bit tired to charm a mech anyway.

The bartender refilled his cube when he finished the first drink, grumbling when he recieved a very small tip.

Ratchet was about a quarter in to his new drink when out of the corner of his optic, he noticed the same archivist as before, that had been completely sober, sitting up tall and timid, was seemingly completely wasted. He stumbled and fell flat as he got out of his seat, knocking a cube of energon onto a nearby femme and making her shriek angrily.

Strange, Ratchet thought to himself, watching the small mech grip the counter to haul himself back up. He only had that one drink.

The green mech from before came to his aid, slipped an arm around his waist and hoisted him up, supporting most of his weight. He tossed a couple credits to the femme, smiling apologetically, before pulling the archivist towards the door.

Ratchet set his cube down and watched intently. He had been watching that archivist, he was absolutely certain that the one cube was all that the mech had. One cube wasn't enough to reduce a mech to THAT state, he couldn't be completely drunk from one drink, unless- FRAG, was he drugged?

Leaving his high grade on the counter, he slid off the seat and ran for the door, the stool rotating and squeaking as he left. Pushing a couple dancing mechs out of the way, he made it through the heavy bar doors, and into the street.

"N-N. . . No. . . Sssss. . . Stop. . ."

The archivist's slurred voice was barely audible over the voices in the bar. Ratchet broke into a sprint, watching the green mech drag the resistant archivist into an alleyway.

"Hey!" He shouted, and the mech stopped, turning to watch him approach. He slowed to a stop as he neared them, suddenly regretting his decision. His spell of bravery seemed to be over, he had thoughtlessly charged after the pair, and now, standing before them, he had no idea what to say.

"What?" The green mech said impatiently. "I'm trying to get my friend home."

"I watched you drug his cube," Ratchet lied. "I've called the authorities. If you run now you won't be caught."

The mech hesitated before scoffing. "You misunderstand, this is my friend. We were just out for a drink, and he got a little carried away." He laughed a little, but it wasn't too convincing. "You know how some bots are. I told him to slow down, but here we are."

"He's your friend, is he?" Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest. "What's his name, then?"

Another moment of hesitation before the mech spoke, "Bluezone. His name is Bluezone. We work together."

"N-No-" The barely conscious archivist was weakly pushing at his chestplating, resisting against the arm supporting him. "N- I'mmm. . . Orrrion. . . Or. . . Pax. . ."

"That's his nickname." The green mech sputtered before Ratchet could say anything.

"P-please. . . Let. . ."

"They'll be here any minute." Ratchet said with confidence, despite the fact that he hadn't called anyone. "If you don't want to be charged with attempted rape, you ought to be running."

They stared each other down for a moment, and for a second, Ratchet worried that the mech would call his bluff.

But the mech simply shoved the archivist off of himself and bolted for the train station, brushing against Ratchet roughly as he ran past him.

"Frag!" Ratchet stared after him briefly, before looking down at the small mech he had saved. "Are you okay?"

"Please don't. . . Please don't touch. . . Mmm. . . Me. . ." The archivist was shakily trying to push himself off the ground. Tears were running down his cheeks.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." A pang of sympathy pulsed in Ratchet's field. "Can I help you up?" A weak nod answered him. He took the archivist's arm and pulled him upward, taking the majority of his weight and leading him back towards the bar. "Does anyone know you're here? Can someone pick you up?"

"I. . . Mega. . . Ngh. . ."

"Mega? Who's that? Is that a friend of yours?"

The archivist appeared to black out for a moment.

A huff left Ratchet. That was unhelpful. The mech was too out of it to give him any useful information. He should go into the bar and ask if anyone there was named Mega, but he didn't want to leave the archivist alone, or hand him over to some other mech that would take advantage of him.

"What the frag am I going to do with you?" Ratchet mumbled to himself. He couldn't take him home, he had no idea where he lived. His own home was too far away, he didn't think he could carry the mech's wait for that long, and the train conductor most likely wouldn't let them on.

Looking around, Ratchet tried to plan.

His optics found the sign for the hotel across the street, tall and bright, windows casting yellow light onto the dark street. It was where the families of patients would stay whenever their loved one was in the hospital.

Perfect.

"Come on." He pulled the weak archivist across the road, practically dragging him. Whatever the frag that dreadful mech used on him, it was strong. He was in and out of consciousness, mumbling and crying every so often.

The receptionist was a tired femme, who halfheartedly checked them in and tossed the room key onto the counter, before yawning and falling back into her chair. It took nearly all the credits from Ratchet's pocket to pay for the room, and the femme waited impatiently as he counted them out in frustration. Ratchet huffily thanked her and went to dragging his companion to the elevator.

The trip to the room was a rocky one, but Ratchet managed, stumbling into their quarters as the archivist slipped from his hold for a second. Ratchet used the last of his strength to hoist the mech onto the fluffy, bouncy hotel berth.

Feeling the feathery comforter beneath him, the archivist seemed to panic. "N-No. . . Please. . ." He whimpered, tears streaking his handsome face. He weakly tried to push at Ratchet, his movements sloppy and uncoordinated.

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm not going to do anything." Ratchet stepped away quickly, servos up. "I just couldn't take you anywhere else."

He had no idea if the archivist heard him before he slipped into a drug induced recharge.

Sighing, Ratchet sat down on the creaky hotel sofa. He was exhausted, and he had spent all his credits on the hotel room. How the frag was he going to board the train to get home?

Whatever.

He didn't regret saving the little archivist, even if it meant he was stuck here. He'd figure something out in the morning.

The smell of warm morning energon is comforting to wake to. Ratchet's systems onlined peacefully as he breathed in the sweet air, his optics opening to the ceiling of the hotel room. He had fallen asleep on the sofa, wrapped in a thin sheet. His back twinged with the pain of sleeping on the springy, creaky surface. Even when he was young, he felt old.

"Uh, good morning," a shy voice took his attention away from the ache in his spine.

Yawning, he sat up, pushing the sheet off of him. He looked up to take in the pleasant sight of the archivist, standing timidly at the end of the sofa, those shining optics watching him nervously. "Good morning." He greeted with a small smile.

In the archivist's servos were two cubes of steaming energon. "I'm Orion Pax." One was offered to him.

"Thank you." Ratchet took it and brought it to his lips, taking a small sip before introducing himself. "My name is Ratchet. You had quite the night, young mech. Do you remember any of it?"

Orion inhaled slowly. "I do, I remember most of it." That was surprising. "I remember you stopping that mech, and bringing me here." His voice cracked a little, and Ratchet's spark broke as tears came to his optics. "I want to say thank you, I really appreciate it."

"Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah, I just. . . It was really scary. I never thought that. . ." The little archivist sighed, trailing off and sipping his energon. He didn't seem to want to finish his sentence.

"Well, I hope you learned something. Never accept drinks from strangers." Ratchet reached out and patted his shoulder. "I'm sorry that you went through that."

An awkward moment of silence.

"Is there anything I can do to pay you back?" Orion reached into his subspace. "I have credits, I can pay you."

"I would love to say no, and let you keep your credits, but I spent all of mine on this room, and I can't get on the train to go home. Just enough for a train ticket would be wonderful."

"Of course!" The archivist quickly pulled out a small pouch where he kept his money. "Where do you live?"

"Near Iacon. I have an apartment."

"Really? I work at Iacon." Orion dropped a few credits into his servo and slipped the pouch back into his subspace. "I work under Alpha Trion at the Iacon Database."

"I thought you had an Iacon look to you." Ratchet . "You know, if you'd like to take the train back together, I wouldn't mind the company."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm supposed to meet a friend." Ratchet hid his disappointment. "But. . . If you want to exchange contacts, we could meet another time. I could buy you lunch, or a drink, or whatever. I owe you so much!

"You don't owe me anything, Orion. But I would enjoy meeting you again, only if that's alright with you."

The archivist graced him with a warm smile that ignited a heat inside him.

I would very much like to see you again, Ratchet thought to himself.

Yikes

Not my best writing but it's gonna be

A-Okay

#autobots #gay robots #optimus prime #ratchet #tfp #transformers #transformers prime #also on ao3 #ao3 author #optiratch #orion pax #maccadam #high grade #drunk robots #ratchet definitely loves him #optimus x ratchet #orion is cute as hell

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writing-for-amusement · 5 years

Text

Keep It Secret, 4

Summary: Ever since your soulmate told you to stop writing on your skin because they didn’t want to communicate, you did as they asked even though it hurt your heart. During the first day of your new job as an “emergency woman” on a film set, you forget your notepad and planner, so you have to write on your skin. When you’re then called to the makeup trailer to deal with an emergency, you meet Zendaya Coleman, with your supply list on her wrist. You vow to keep your status as her soulmate a secret, even if it hurts, because all you want is for her to be happy. Even if it’s to your detriment.

A/N: Okay, so, this chapter is a little short, but... I REALLY wanted to break it off where I did because I like to keep the suspense going lmaoo... Anyway, I hope you like this, I’m actually pretty content with how it turned out!!! Fun fact, I actually didn’t know how I wanted to do the cat, so I legit went on a pet adoption website to find inspiration!!!!

You can still get on any of my taglists!!!! Also, what do you think will happen next?????

Disclaimer: I do not know or claim to know Zendaya Coleman; I am essentially using her as a face/name claim to my fic idea. The same goes for the other people in this fic. That being said, I hope you like this!!!!!

Warnings: drunkenness, mention of vomit, a kitty cat, some angst, swearing

Word Count: 2023

Permanent Taglist: @pparkerwrites, @jordyns-library, @natblidaclexa, @peterseuphoria, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @beccaboo929, @softrdj, @icecoldban

KIS Taglist: @hailqueenconquer, @imaginerequestpage, @adventurousbooknerd

Chapter 4

Zendaya kept looking at you with those perfect furrowed brows, her hair gently moving in the breeze. Internally, you were floundering for an answer, flipping back and forth between what your heart and soul wanted, and what you knew Zendaya wanted.

Externally, well, you hoped you didn’t look as panicked as you felt.

“Is it me?” Zendaya asked in a small voice.

You hadn’t thought anything could have hurt worse than your daily pain of being around her and not telling her. But this, this was much worse than that. Every atom in your body was screaming in pain, in anger, as Zendaya looked so sad, confused, and broken.

Your hands briefly reached out to take her by the shoulders to add emphasis to what you were about to say, but you let them fall back to your sides.

You bent slightly so you could look her in the eyes. Zendaya raised her gaze to yours and you gave her a pained smile.

“It’s not you, Zendaya,” you explained. “It’s not you, I promise. I promise that it really isn’t you, it’s me.” You inhaled shakily to steel your nerves. “Look, I, well, we—”

Jade suddenly laid on the horn, making you both jump in surprise. You whirled around to see her animatedly motioning for you to get going. Then, she rolled the window down and yelled in slightly slurred words, “Let’s goooooooooooooo!”

“Okay, Jade, Jesus Christ, just a minute!” you yelled back. After watching your friend slump back into the car, you turned back to your soulmate.

She was chuckling and that made your heart lift slightly. “Such a character,” she sighed lightly. Then, her eyes were back on yours.

“Zendaya, I promise, it’s not you. But I gotta go, okay? We… we can talk later, alright? I’ll see you next time you’re on set.”

“Okay, Y/N,” she said hesitantly. Then, her demeanor brightened. “Okay. I don’t know why, but I really believe you. I’ll see you soon, Y/N. Be safe driving.”

You smiled and nodded, turning back and getting in the car. Zendaya waved at you as you reversed and drove away.

“What took you so long?” Jade whined.

You sighed at her and shook your head. “Just relax. You’ll be with your cat before long. If you must know, Zendaya asked why I never let her touch me.”

Jade gasped dramatically. “What did you say?”

“Well, I was going to tell her the truth, until you butted in with a car horn!” you explained with frustration lining your voice.

“Oh no,” Jade breathed. “Oh no.”

You glanced at her and were about to reassure her, when you saw how white her face was. Quickly pulling over, you urged her to open the door and vomit out there. It might not be your car, but you knew you’d be the one to be cleaning it, and you definitely didn’t want to be driving with that scent.

Your phone chimed as your friend leaned out the door and released her stomach onto the pavement. Glancing at the notification, you saw that it was a message from Zendaya.

“Hey, I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that,�� the message said.

You dropped the phone into the empty cupholder and vowed to answer it once you got to Jade’s place. It seemed that the many daiquiris had finally caught up with Jade fully, as she was wobbling on her feet and slurring her words.

Thankfully, Jade didn’t throw up again as you helped her to her apartment. Her cat, an orange and white tabby named Cyborg, meowed from his spot on the back of the couch. He was named Cyborg because he only had one eye, but the other was a gorgeous green. Cyborg was the sweetest and most affectionate cat you’d ever met; he was also very chatty.

As you helped Jade through the apartment, Cyborg meowed loudly at you, following from a respectable distance. You nodded at him and hummed your understanding as you let Jade fall into her bed. He followed you as you went to the kitchen to get Jade a glass of water to drink before bed.

“I know, Cy, I know, she always leaves you alone,” you said sympathetically to the cat. After another meow, you said, “Well, if you want me to visit more, little kit-kat, you have to talk to your mama. I doubt she’d let me come in here willy-nilly.”

He gave a small mew.

“We can’t know what she’d say; your mama is a little crazy,” you explained as you bent down to rub his cute head. He purred loudly and licked your fingers briefly before following you back to Jade’s room.

“Drink,” you ordered as you brandished the cup at her. Jade, surprisingly obedient when this drunk, followed your command and drank it all in one gulp.

As you were tucking her in, Cyborg curled up in the crook of her knees, Jade muttered out, “I’m sorry I ruined your moment with Zendaya.”

“It’s alright, Jade,” you ruffled her hair. “You actually saved me.”

“No,” she argued gently, “you need to tell her. You need to tell her, or you’ll never become prom queen, Y/N.”

“Okay, Jade, whatever you say,” you chuckled. “Sleep time now.”

“Mmkay,” she said as she curled into her blankets. With an amused shake of your head, you kissed your friend’s forehead and left her room.

After plugging your phone in, you settled onto the couch with one of the blankets Jade hoarded for her couch. As you were drifting off to sleep, you shot straight up and snatched your phone from the table.

“It’s not your fault,” you typed out to Zendaya, “you do deserve an explanation, I just don’t know when I’ll be able to give it.” Then, after brief hesitation, you also sent, “I hope you sleep well, Z.”

Satisfied that you actually remembered to reply after dealing with a drunken Jade, you leaned back into the couch and fell asleep peacefully.

You woke up the next morning to a pounding on the front door and a weight on your chest. A loud purring vibrated through your chest and you saw that, of course, Cyborg was curled on your chest, content as can be. His eye was squinted shut in happiness, but it popped open as the knocking on the door picked up again.

“Okay, kit-kat,” you announced with sleep in your voice as you sat up. Holding the cat in your arms, you padded to the front door and looked out the peephole.

Standing on Jade’s porch was Zendaya, looking incredibly well-put-together for what was apparently 7:30 a.m. Her hair was tied back, she wasn’t wearing any makeup, and seeing her there made your heart pound in both a good way and a bad way.

Opening the door after maneuvering Cyborg as if you were cradling a piece of luggage with one arm, you said, “Zendaya, what are you doing here?”

“I got your text last night,” she explained as you let her in. Cyborg meowed from his comfortably limp place under your arm. “Who’s this?”

“Cyborg, Jade’s cat,” you replied, holding him up. He meowed loudly. “Haven’t you met him? Jade said you’ve visited before.”

Zendaya scratched the cat’s head and shrugged a shoulder. “I think he was in the hospital that night, getting the rest of his eye removed.”

You nodded in understanding before putting the cat on the ground. He wound around your legs and mewed softly. Looking up at Zendaya, you saw that she looked conflicted.

“Can we sit?” she asked, gesturing to the couch.

“Sure thing,” you said easily, picking the cat up again as you plopped on the couch. Zendaya sat down at the other end and pulled her knees to her chest.

“I’m gonna level with you,” she stated almost immediately. “I just… can’t get you out of my mind, and I don’t know why.”

“O-oh?” you asked, translating your nerves into petting the cat that was curled in your lap and purring like crazy.

“Yeah,” Zendaya said flatly, the confusion lacing her tone. She let out a growl as she ran her hands over her head. “I just don’t understand why, why you’re so enchanting to me.” She yanked her hair tie out of her hair. “Like, even when I’m not around you, I’m thinking about you, about what you’re doing, about if you’re smiling or not. I’ve never… never thought about someone like this before.”

“I… I’m really not that special,” you admitted with a half-smile and one shoulder shrug. Cyborg meowed as you stopped petting him, prompting you to continue.

“You are, though!” Zendaya said passionately. “You are just so bright and smart and clever and sweet and fuck, I don’t know! You’re just wonderful and,” she suddenly leaned closer to you, “and I feel like you feel a lot of the same things about me.

“When I noticed that other people touch you, but you always shy away from me, I had no idea I’d get so frustrated. I started testing it, you know… Every time you shied away from me, I got more and more hurt, more and more frustrated. And I can’t figure out why it bugs me so much. All I can think is… that you’re something special. There’s something about you, something that you won’t tell me about, but I want to know… I need to know.”

Your heart was pounding loudly in your ears as you ran your fingers through Cyborg’s long fur. You couldn’t look her in the eye because you knew that once you did, you wouldn’t be able to keep the secret anymore.

It’s what she wants.

“Y/N,” her gentle voice prompted you. “Please, talk to me.”

You swallowed nervously. “I,” your voice was dry as your mind and soul fought in the most intense boxing match of the century, “I’m worried that… if you know… you’ll hate me. That… That you won’t want anything to do with me.”

“Oh, Y/N,” she murmured your name. “Nothing about you could ever make me hate you. Please, just, just tell me what it is.”

You opened your mouth to speak, only to be interrupted again.

“Y/N, is your ass still here?” Jade’s loud voice demanded from the hallway. “If you took an Uber home, I’m gonna be so mad—” she cut off as she entered the living room and saw you and Zendaya on the couch.

“Hi, Jade,” Zendaya greeted awkwardly.

“Fuck,” Jade said plainly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I fucked it up again, didn’t I?” Her eyes, wide with panic, locked with yours. “Fuck, did I interrupt?”

“Yeah, Jade,” you informed her, “yeah, you did.”

“But, I mean, this is your house,” Zendaya added.

“That’s true,” you nodded, “it is your house.”

“Shit,” Jade whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt the whole confession again, I’m so sorry—”

“Jade!” you interrupted her, your eyes wide.

“R-right,” she muttered, taking a step back.

“How about we go onto the porch?” you offered to Zendaya.

“Y-yeah,” she seemed confused at your loud interruption. You rarely raised your voice like that; hell, you barely yelled across set.

You got up and dumped Cyborg’s relaxed body into Jade’s arms before nearly marching to the front porch. Zendaya followed a few steps behind you, still surprised at your abrupt, almost irritated actions.

You plopped into a chair and rested your arm on the armrest, laying your head into it. Under your breath, you muttered, “Fucking Jade and her shitty-ass timing…”

Zendaya laughed at your words, making you glance up as she sat on the porch swing. Jade was lucky with the house she had bought; she’d told you that it had needed a lot of work, but because of that, the price had been incredibly cheap for an LA suburb.

“Sit with me on the swing?” Zendaya asked hesitantly.

You hesitated slightly before nodding, getting up and sitting down on the swing. You internally winced as you felt like your weight made it creak almost ominously.

“So,” Zendaya prompted a bit nervously, “you were saying?”

#zendaya x plus size reader #zendaya x reader #zendaya coleman x reader #zendaya coleman x plus size reader #keep it secret fic #reader insert #plus size reader #please let me know what you think

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pips-fics · 5 years

Text

tw: vomiting/emeto

jisung woke up shaking like a leaf and in a cold sweat. he could smell himself and he did not smell nice. he smelled sour and somehow like armpits and feet at the same time and that combined with the arm digging into his stomach - the arm digging into his stomach?

he opened his eyes for about one second and the world somehow managed to spin, in spite of it being nothing but pure darkness. in spite of that as well, jisung managed to gather that the arm belonged to minho, who had either gotten lonely, gotten cold, or had sleep walked to jisung’s bed in the middle of the night. his memory jarred, jisung vaguely remembered that they were at a hotel in - where were they? some country, he couldn’t remember, but it wasn’t korea, and despite his uncontrollable shivering and how much he normally didn’t mind minho invading his sleeping territory, he needed to get this stupid arm off of his stomach. and he needed to shower. and change the bed sheets, because there was probably a jisung-shaped sweat stain on them as of now. if minho was awake, he’d be appalled to be touching jisung right now.

so, as slowly and quietly and smoothly as he could jisung rolled off the bed. the rolling, it turned out, was an awful idea. and actually, the whole being out of bed thing turned out to be one of the worst ideas jisung had ever had, apparently, because his legs didn’t seem up to being stood on.

maybe he just needed to sit for a second?

he slumped to the ground with his back to the bed and leaned forward, letting his head fall into his hands. maybe he’d just… stay here. at least it was cooler on the floor. and jisung was tired… so tired. his eyes drooped. his body slumped to the side. every part of his body hurt, but he wanted so badly not to move that he could almost call himself comfortable. that is, he was willing to lie to himself for the sake of sleep.

until his stomach lurched and he realized that sleep wasn’t in the cards. he put a hand over his mouth, suppressing a gag. no. he was not going to be sick. he swallowed, again and again, but he was only making his throat dryer and that was making him feel sicker. a hiccup wracked his whole body, making his situation all the more precarious, and he was left shaking with the effort of keeping his stomach where it belonged.

no. no, no.

a moan slipped out from between his lips. his stomach hurt so bad. he closed his eyes. maybe he could meditate the sick feeling away.

“jisung?” shit, minho.

maybe he could pretend he was asleep. maybe if he just stayed quiet-

“jisungie?” oh, no, that was minho’s pre-panic voice. so then pretending to sleep wasn’t going to work.

“minho-hyung, go back to sleep.” in hindsight, jisung had no idea why he thought that would do anything but pique minho’s interest. he could imagine the way his expression mirrored the curiosity of a cat, partly hoping for something good, partly hoping for something entertaining.

jisung wished he could convince him that this was neither of those things, but sure enough minho’s face came peaking over the edge of the bed with that exact expression on his face.

“hannie, why are you on the floor?”

“it’s-“ jisung hiccuped. “it’s comfortable.”

minho frowned, staring more closely at the younger boy as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “let me try!”

jisung sighed. he could hardly prevent minho from sitting on the floor. hell, he couldn’t even keep him out of his own bed. unsurprisingly, minho was beside him in a few seconds. he was quiet for a moment. then:

“this is not comfortable. objectively.”

maybe minho would leave, go back to the comfortable bed, if jisung could just hold it together for one minute- he swallowed a hiccup that somehow turned into a gag and a hand clamped over his mouth and some sort of disgusting noise as he swallowed back down stomach acid.

minho’s eyes locked onto him instantly.

great job, dumbass.

“you do not look good.” fuck, jisung did not feel good at all.

“thanks,” jisung managed, just barely. he squeezed his eyes shut. he was not going to open his mouth again for the rest of the night, he was not-

minho’s hands were suddenly on jisung’s face and jisung was still not going to open his mouth but he had nothing against flailing a bit. until he realized that flailing had nearly as bad an affects on his stomach as opening his mouth had. reluctantly, he stilled, and much to his surprise minho had pulled back.

“jisungie, are you sick?”

jisung shrugged, avoiding looking even slightly in minho’s direction.

“let’s go to the bathroom.”

oh, jisung so did not want to move. “no.”

minho frowned, and stood up. huh, maybe he had given up. out of character, but-

he returned with the tiny little hotel trashcan that had originally been under the desk.

“just in case,” he explained. jisung scowled.

“no, i’m not gonna- fuck,” jisung’s stomach lurched and he snatched the trash out of minho’s hand, startling the older boy as he retched loudly. fuck.

——

jisung had never looked so small. so weak. so still and worn out and scared. jisung was always so sharp and put together and on top of everything and stable.

right now he looked downright fragile and minho was not prepared to deal with this. the first time jisung retched, minho had nearly jumped out of his skin, and that time nothing had come up. within the next second, vomit was filling the plastic bin with an appalling noise and an even worse odor, and minho had to resist every molecule in his body just to prevent himself from running away.

he wasn’t even squeamish. just scared.

“i’ll-“ minho started to stand, his shaky hand on jisung’s shuddering back. “i’ll get chan, or woojin, just wait a minute, jisungie.”

minho started to move away, but hesitated upon feeling a slight - weak - tug on his pajama pants. he looked down just as jisung’s hand slipped to the ground, his body wracked by another heave. minho shuddered.

“sungjie, i don’t know how to help you, but chan or, or woojin - they would know.”

minho jumped as jisung made another noise minho had never heard before. the younger boy’s shoulders jolted and more sick poured out of his mouth, and then he looked up and shook his head almost violently and made that noise again and- oh, god, was he sobbing, was that what that sound was?

“you can’t, minho, please, i-“ he hiccuped. “i don’t want to bother them, i didn’t want to bother you, you should–“ jisung retched and spat up some bile.

“woah, hey,” minho crouched down again. “i’m not gonna just leave you here alone, i just-“

“no, you need sleep and jeongin has an extra bed,” jisung hiccuped and minho braced himself for more puking but was instead met with the kind of short breaths that tended to anticipate a panic attack. honestly, not exactly preferable.

“jisung. hey. please, take a deep breath. please.” minho took his own advice and then put a hand on jisung’s shoulder. “sungie, look at me, i’m not gonna leave, not gonna wake up anyone else. you’re okay. i’m okay.”

jisung looked, his eyes glinting and wet in the darkness. minho’s heart ached, but he was relieved as the younger boy’s breathing began to slow.

“okay, good. good. do you still feel sick?”

jisung hesitated briefly, then nodded. minho frowned and played a bit with jisung’s sweaty hair.

“baby, you probably have a stomach bug. we should really get you to the bathroom.”

“no…” jisung whined pitifully. “don’t wanna be… upright.”

“okay,” minho said amicably. “i’ll carry you, then.”

that, as desired, got jisung’s attention. “no! no, i’ll, i’ll walk, just… will you help?”

minho was already grabbing his arm, helping him to his feet. “okay, let’s go!”

two steps later and minho was absolutely terrified that he was about to get puked on. also, carrying jisung would have been easier. as it was, the sick boy was stumbling sideways because his face was buried against minho’s shoulder, making gulping, gasping sounds that were making minho nauseous. minho was holding the entirety of the younger boy’s weight up - which wasn’t much, actually, but carrying deadweight was never easy. carrying deadweight while in constant fear of being puked on was even harder.

fortunately, they made it without disaster, just barely. as soon as they were near the toilet, jisung crumpled to he ground with a gurgling heave.

minho flicked the bathroom light on, almost instinctively turning it off as jisung began making pitiful noises of distaste.

“turn it off!” the sick boy looked awful. sweaty and shaky and pale and just slightly green, slightly flushed. his eyes squinty from the light, one hand on his stomach, the other on his very obviously aching head.

“sorry, babe, i have to be able to see.”

he checked the clock: 12:53 am. he checked on jisung: still throwing up quite a lot, now trying to hide his face in his arms as he did so. minho grabbed some pillows and blankets off the hotel beds and dragged them to the bathroom, snagging a bottle of water from the refrigerator on the way.

“sungie, drink some water.”

“uh-uh,” jisung groaned. he’d been quiet for a bit, so minho had begun to hope that he was done for a while. apparently not, seeing as he suddenly lurched forward. minho winced at the multiple consecutive splashing noises that followed. as jisung started to cough, minho was struck yet again by how small, how young he looked.

on the plus side, his little stomach seemed to be empty, if the unproductive retching was anything to go by. still he remained slumped over the toilet. minho made a face. it smelled awful.

“jisungie, lean back.”

“no,” jisung mumbled, voice slurred. minho sighed as jisung dry heaved again.

“you’re making yourself sicker, baby, come on, get your head out of there please, and i’ll flush it for you. then you can go back. with slightly less vomit-smell.”

jisung shot minho a look of pure disdain, but followed his instructions when the older boy helped him lean back against a pile of pillows. a literal mountain of all eight pillows that came with the room, which were now piled on the floor of the bathroom.

jisung looked so small…

shaking his head to clear it, minho flushed the toilet, then grabbed the water bottle and knelt down next to jisung. the kid looked absolutely exhausted. minho could hardly blame him, but still. it hurt, seeing him like this.

carefully, minho brushed jisung’s sweaty hair back on his head, giving him a gentle head massage as he did so. “mmm.” jisung seemed to like it.

“okay, you have to drink some water. please.”

slowly, reluctantly, jisung’s eyes blinked open.

“you’re kind of freaking me out, babe,” minho said quietly. “you need to stay hydrated.”

“fine,” jisung grumbled. minho almost grinned, he was so relieved. “just a sip!”

“okay, okay, here!” minho handed the younger boy the water bottle and watched him take a single sip, then another five or so when he saw minho watching.

“done.” well, minho was honestly surprised he’d drunk that much. thankfully, jisung looked slightly better. minho took the water bottle and screwed the cap back on. he left for a minute to put the water back in the refrigerator, and when he got back, jisung was very much asleep, laying comfortably on the pillow pile.

——

jisung woke up at some point, nauseous once again. apparently there wasn’t much in his stomach, because as painful as violently spewing up pure stomach acid was, it didn’t last long.

he leaned back onto the pillow pile, vaguely remembering minho putting it there. speaking of… where was minho? jisung swiveled his head around, doing a double take as he nearly missed him - there he was, laying on bathroom floor, dead asleep in spite of the cold, hard ground beneath him.

jisung really hoped minho didn’t get sick.

his stomach lurched again and jisung hunched over the toilet yet again. apparently, he’d been wrong about assuming his stomach was empty, because he threw up a whole lot. he really hoped minho didn’t get sick, because getting sick fucking sucked.

——

when minho woke up in the morning, he wrinkled his nose immediately. the bathroom smelled absolutely rancid. he pushed himself up off the ground, his whole body aching from the floor he’d slept on, and rubbed his eyes. he was so tired he could hardly remember where he was, let alone figure out the smell.

then his eyes landed on jisung, who had once again fallen into that apparently comfortable position of hanging his head over the vomit-filled toilet, who must have woken up in the middle of the night and been sick again, who was going to be in so much pain when he woke up.

minho clicked his tongue and gently moved jisung away from the toilet before flushing it. minho inspected jisung closely, then, checking his complexion and his temperature. he was still a bit warm, but the kid felt notably less sweaty than he had last night and looked slightly more alive, so that was something. minho just hoped he’d be up to replenishing his liquids as soon as he woke up, because chan and woojin would find out about this soon and they’d no doubt be exponentially more forceful than minho had.

#unedited #but honestly i just wanted to get some writing posted asap #skz #stray kids #sickfic #tw vomit #tw emeto #vomiting #lee minho #han jisung #lee know #han #kpop #kpop sickfic #kpop emeto #sick jisung

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