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joaquinwhorres · 2 years

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Tailspin - Part 2 (Fanboy Garcia x F!OC)

SUMMARY ››››› Having grown up just across the bridge from North Island, Carolina Alvarez has been told her whole life to stay away from the Top Gun boys. And for the most part, she has. That is, until Fanboy catches her putting quarters in the jukebox at The Hard Deck and initiates a game of cat and mouse that ends with her exactly where she swore she’d never be.

PAIRING ››››› Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x F!OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,845

WARNINGS ››››› None

MASTERLIST ››››› Here

A/N ››››› I can't believe I forgot to mention my lovely beta-readers @rae-gar-targaryen and of course @bobfloydsbabe. @bobfloydsbabe has also done me the honor of allowing me to use her OC Jasmine Lane in this story which I am beyond thankful for.

Caro never planned on coming back to the Hard Deck.

Given her reluctance to even step foot in the navy bar in the first place and the subsequent events which had done nothing but affirm her initial aversion, coming back now seemed borderline masochistic. She'd already spent more than her fair share of time within the wood paneled walls.

But she'd promised him that she would come for a drink, and she was nothing if not a woman of her word.

No matter how ill-thought her word might have been.

Caro took another deep breath in as she eyed the oceanside bar out of her passenger-side window. And then, before she could convince herself to do the smart thing and just go home, she pulled her keys from the ignition and propelled herself out of the driver's seat and towards the wooden front doors. She allowed the momentum of her decision to push her through the doors and back into the last place on earth she wanted to be.

Even in the early evening light, the interior of the bar looked largely the same. It was still full of men and women in the same starched tan uniforms. It was still undeniably and inescapably Navy themed. It was still what some might generously describe as cozy.

Caro scanned the room, eyes searching the groups of laughing friends and jockulating sailors that dotted the room. Her eyes caught on several tanned figures with their dark hair buzzed short, her breath catching in her throat each time before they turned and revealed a nose that was too long or lips that were too thin.

She had just decided to get herself a drink before doing a walk around when, halfway through her first step, she was very nearly run over.

"Oh!" Caro exclaimed, hands shooting out to hold the shoulders of the auburn haired woman who had suddenly shot in front of her. The move was successful in keeping them from fully colliding into each other and tumbling to the floor. Instead, the other woman startled back, the drink in her hand sloshing between them as her head whipped forward from where she'd been staring over her shoulder.

The surprise on her face only grew.

"Doctor Alvarez?"

Caro blinked, her mind venturing through the haze of surprise to pin a name to the familiar face that stood before her.

"Jasmine!" Caro breathed, letting her hands fall from her patient's shoulders. "Hi."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't get any on you, did I?" Jasmine asked, eyes scanning Caro's loose floral shirt and jeans for the tell tale splotches of alcohol. Caro joined her in the quick assessment, and shook her head.

"You missed me," she said, eyes rising back to meet Jasmine's face. "How are you?"

"Good." The word was high and breezy and sounded very much like the "yeah" Jasmine offered whenever Caro asked if she'd been keeping up with stretching at home. "You?"

"I'm good too," Caro lied, offering a professional smile that seemed to put even her most nervous patients at ease. Only instead of noddign or smiling or wrapping up the conversation there, Jasmine's head tilted once more, this time more slight as her eyes also narrowed the smallest bit in assessment. She'd forgotten that Jasmine was well versed with the bedside smile. She'd probably given out plenty of them hserself. "I'm here with the office for Bryson's birthday," Caro explained, hoping to carry the conversation along and away from herself.

This seemed to successfully distract the other woman as Jasmine's eyebrows shot up. "Here?"

Caro laughed, running a hand through her hair. "He picked it out, I don't know."

"Not really the place for birthday drinks," Jasmine remarked, looking around the room, and Caro could not possibly have agreed with her any more than she did right then.

"You come here often?"

Jasmine barked out a laugh, her characteristic grin finally making an appearance. "Are you hitting on me, doctor?"

The question pulled Caro out of her head, a laugh escaping her as she felt herself relax a little, the surprise of seeing Jasmine and anxiety over being here at all leaving her for a moment. It was Jasmine's gift, she'd noticed; getting people to step out of themselves if even just for a moment. It was part of the reason Caro had come to enjoy their weekly sessions so much.

"You just seemed to know it well."

Jasmine acknowledged this with a bobble of her head. "Yeah, it's the big place to come after work on base."

Caro really should have known that. She knew Jasmine was a doctor on base and this was a Navy bar. It made all of the sense in the world for Jasmine to be here and not expect her entire chiropractor's office to be seated around one of the tables.

"Any advice, then?" Caro asked.

Jasmine's smile grew at the question, and Caro had to admit it sounded a little dumb asking for advice on how to navigate a bar, but before she could say as much, Jasmine was talking. "Yeah. Stay away from sailors, and don't put your phone on the bar."

Despite the fact that Caro was the absolute last person who needed to be warned away from Navy boys, she still felt grateful that she wasn't the only one who seemed to see through the sailors' charades.

"Thanks," Caro smiled, this one warmer and more genuine than the first she had offered, and Jasmine seemed to notice this too. "I guess I should probably work my way over to the group, but it was good to see you."

"You too," Jasmine nodded, her brow creasing as she noticed something over Caro's shoulder. "Tell Bryson happy birthday from me."

"I will," Caro answered, but she'd hardly gotten it out before Jasmine had started off, disappearing quickly in the crowd and leaving Caro alone once more.

Despite the crowd, the battle towards the bar was fairly easy and service came rather quickly. It wasn't long before Caro had a tequila soda in hand and was approaching her coworkers table. The group of three had already been here for forty-five minutes, and a couple of shot glasses and three glasses with varying levels of drink in them were scattered amongst them. It seemed that they were not too far gone though because Robin noticed her fairly quickly.

"Caro, you made it!" the office manager greeted, beaming and moving over in her seat so that Caro could slip in. "Hard time leaving the house?"

That was an understatement. Not only did she have a difficult time getting out the door of her house, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to get out of her car for a good fifteen minutes. Instead, she sat in the parking lot, staring over her steering wheel as she tried to find it in her to go inside the bar.

"There was a little drama around missing shoes. Sorry I'm so late," she apologized. Robin laughed, shaking her head knowingly at Caro as the coworkers across the table gave her looks that belied their suspicions. Gia eyed her carefully, as if she might break at any moment and the younger receptionist didn't want to be caught in the mess. Bryson, for his part, looked a bit too happy to see her; as if his large toothy smile could make up for her own discomfort.

"You're fine," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "It's just a shame you missed the singalong."

"The singalong?" Caro repeated. If Gia had been the one to mention it, Caro might suspect that she was being messed with, but not only was Bryson too earnest to ever even think of the joke, he couldn't keep up under the pressure of continuing it.

"Some guy unplugged the jukebox and played a few songs at the piano," Gia filled in. "Him." She reached across Bryson, pointing out a man wearing a ridiculous Hawiian shirt and aviators indoors. Everything about him practically screamed Top Gun pilot, and that was before Caro even noticed the dark haired woman in the khaki uniform next to him.

Her eyes didn't linger on the pair long, too drawn to the jukebox in the corner that looked exactly the same as it had the first time she ever saw it. The urge to cross the room and greet her old friend rose in her, a wistful smile crossing her lips as she listened to it belt out "The Boys Are Back in Town".

"I know, he's cute, right?"

Caro tore her gaze away from the jukebox and back to Gia, blinking as she worked to make sense of the comment. The singer, she remembered, prompting her eyebrows to shoot up at Gia. "He looks ridiculous."

"But his voice," Bryson practically swooned. "I'm telling you, that voice alone could get someone pregnant tonight."

She felt the rustling of Robin's foot swinging under the table and into Bryson's shin, causing the man to wince.

"Has anyone brought you a drink yet?" Caro asked, choosing to breeze over the awkwardness even as Bryson reached down to rub at his leg.

"Just these two," he said, gesturing to Robin and Gia as he straightened up. "I'm eyeing out my prospects now, though. Letting my gaydar acclimate."

Gia and Caro laughed at this, Caro looking out over the bar as if she had any kind of skill in picking out men. Her eyes skipped along the different groups, hoping to catch the gaze of someone looking over at the table when instead she caught sight of an oddly familiar blonde leaning over the bar to get the bartender's attention.

Her eyebrows knit together as she tried to place where she'd seen him before, flipping through the variable rolodex in her head. It wasn't until she turned to the college years that she came up with it though, and she doubted she would have been able to place him if she had seen him anywhere else.

He was a Top Gun pilot.

A former Top Gun pilot.

"You ok?" Robin asked, and Caro blinked, turning back to the group and offering a fleeting smile.

"Yeah," she affirmed, her voice sounding distant, like it hadn't returned to the table with her. "I just thought I saw this pilot my old roommate used to hook up with."

"Really? Where?" Gia asked, sitting up in her seat to peer into the crowd even as Caro shook her head.

"It's probably not him," she said. "People don't come back to Top Gun."

The statement was met with sympathetic looks from Bryson and Robin that made Caro feel very much like coming here was a mistake. Not only did she have to deal with her own neuroses all night, but now there was this.

As if God wanted to confirm this thought, a new song came on the jukebox, the twanging chords of the intro knocking all of the air out of Caro's lungs. Her chest constricted at the sound of Van Morrison's voice picking up the first verse.

"Caro?"

Instead of looking at whoever said her name, Caro's eyes snapped to the jukebox as if by muscle memory. It was a stupid reflex, a useless one. Because she was right: people didn't come back to Top Gun. What did happen was long work weeks made high strung people ready to assume the worst and most ridiculous outcomes of totally normal coincidences. If this could even be called that.

But as her eyes landed on the brown-skinned man in the service khakis standing by the jukebox, his hair still buzzed and smile just as bright as ever, all semblance of logic and rationality escaped her.

Because this should not be happening. He could not be looking back at her across the bar right now.

"Oh my God," Caro whispered, feeling very much like she was going to throw up.

Across the table, Bryson leaned forward. "Girl, you are whiter than Gia. What's happening?"

She knew what he was saying, knew what he meant, but she couldn't manage to form any sort of response other than repeating again: "Oh my God."

Over by the jukebox, the man's smile seemed to waver slightly, as the rest of the table turned to shift their concerned looks from Caro to the direction she was looking. He gave a small, awkward wave.

"Is that…?" Gia turned around first, cutting herself off as if not wanting to speak the end into existence. It's not like they needed her to finish the question anyway. They all knew exactly what she was going to ask.

Caro nodded slowly, watching as confusion and concern overtook his features and missing Bryson's eyes widening in shock. "Holy shit."

"He's coming over here," Gia announced needlessly as the others were already watching him start to move towards the table.

Robin shifted in her seat next to Caro, trying to usher her out of the booth. "I'll head him off," she said, making a shooing motion which Caro followed on instinct, only stopping once she was standing at the edge of the seat, looking between her coworkers and the last person she wanted to see.

"No, I–no," Caro said, fumbling in her attempt to pull herself together. "I think I should…you…I'll–I'll be right back."

The other three looked at her silently, Robin looking very much like she wanted to stop her. But she didn't. Instead she pressed her lips into a line and nodded.

Caro mirrored the gesture, pausing for another moment before turning to move towards him.

The two met by the bar where the crowd was thickest and preoccupied by getting their drinks or enticing someone into coming home with them. Caro was thankful for the crowd now if only for the fact that it meant she didn't have to be stuck alone with him.

The aviator planted himself before her, a tentative smile back on his lips now that he was certain he at least had her attention.

"Hey," he greeted, brown eyes soft and excited, just like they had always been. They pinned Caro to the spot making her feel suddenly small and even more unprepared for this moment than she thought possible.

"Hi," she breathed. The word came out more as an exhale than actual language, and his lips quirked up slightly more at the sound.

"Come here often?"

It was odd, hearing the question come from him with the same words and same intention she'd had when asking Jasmine fifteen minutes ago. Yet despite the teasing lilt in his voice, the line made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Never," she managed, and he chuckled at this.

"I'm guessing you still don't talk to Top Gun pilots then?"

"What are you doing here, Mickey?"

Whether it was the question itself or the accusational tone that delivered it, the confused-concern washed the smile from Mickey's face once more. Only the corner of his mouth seemed to keep its bit of happiness, curving up just slightly into a sheepish sort of look.

"I got called back," he answered with a shrug. "Payback's here too–Reuben." He gestured to the pool tables where a group of sailors stood watching them, including the man with the ridiculous Hawiian shirt, the woman with tied up dark hair, and a familiar dark-skinned pilot who had apparently grown a mustache since she'd last seen him. "I'm sure he wants to say hi."

Caro blinked, shaking her head slightly in disbelief as she returned her attention to him. "Why'd you—I didn't think—you're back?"

"Not for good," Mickey admitted, his shoulders sinking as he said it. "Just a few weeks."

"A few weeks," she repeated.

His confusion was dwarfed by obvious concern now, and he took a moment to look at her, really look at her, eyes roving and assessing each detail of her that might have changed in the past five years. She wanted to disappear then, off into the crowd like Jasmine had or melt through the floor; whatever was fastest.

"Are you ok? You seem—" he trailed off searching for the right word but ultimately seemed unable to find it, switch gears instead to ask: "Is something wrong?"

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," Caro admitted.

Something in her face or maybe the fact that she didn't even attempt to deny that something was very obviously horrendously wrong hit Mickey, and hurt flashed in his eyes.

"I tried to text you," he said, hesitantly, and Caro's breath caught in her chest once more. He hurried to explain. "Just to tell you that I would be in town. I know we haven't spoken in a while, but I wanted to see you."

Mickey took a step towards her, and Caro leaned back, out of his reach. "Why?" This word was once more just breath, and if she had any control over her faculties at the moment, she wouldn't have even asked it. She knew why, and she didn't want it confirmed.

He shrugged. "I missed you."

She closed her eyes and turned her head away at this, unable to bear the hopeful look on his face. Like this was what she wanted to hear after all this time. Like she wanted to hear anything from him at all anymore.

"Caro–"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as right when he began to continue, Caro was jolted to the side, a cool splash and the overwhelming smell of hops hitting her at the same time.

"Oh my God!" the person who had bumped into her exclaimed as Caro looked down at her shirt to assess the damage. "I am so sorry."

Caro looked up from the dark spots of beer on her shirt, her eyes meeting Jasmine's. There was something far less apologetic in the other woman's eyes and instead more…searching.

"It's ok. It happens," Caro dismissed, pulling the wet shirt from her skin and fluttering it as if that would dry it. For his part, Mickey had darted over to the bar, gathering up a stack of cocktail napkins which he now offered to Caro. She took a few from him in exchange for a quick, tight smile and then proceeded to dab at her shirt.

"I don't think that's going to cut it," Jasmine frowned at the napkins that were already falling apart in Caro's hands. "They have paper towels in the bathroom though, and maybe we can try to rinse it?"

Caro nodded, casting a look at Mickey who seemed very much like he wanted to follow them into the bathroom if it meant that he got to continue his conversation with Caro. "I'm sorry, Mickey," she apologized. "I just–I can't."

She didn't stick around for his response. Not even when he called out her name at her back. Instead, she crossed the bar as quickly as possible, napkins pressed into her side to soak up as much beer as possible. Jasmine matched step.

"You ok?"

"I'm fine. It's an old shirt anyway–" Caro started, but Jasmine shook her head.

"No, I mean with him."

Caro looked at Jasmine, and peering into the other woman's concerned face, she started to piece together what had just happened and why she was on her way into the woman's bathroom. "I probably could have thought of a better way to get you out of there, but you looked trapped." She pulled the door to the women's bathroom open, ushering Caro inside.

Caro sighed, dumping the napkins into the trashcan by the door before moving to the closest sink to start attempting to rinse the beer from her shirt. Behind her, the door swung closed and the rapid sound of the paper towels' dispenser handle being pressed filled the bathroom.

"That's my ex," Caro finally offered, her voice more unsteady than she would have liked it to be while speaking to a patient.

"Your ex?" Jasmine repeated, her pace on the handle slowing as she met Caro's gaze in the mirror. "Like, your ex, your ex?"

Caro nodded.

"Holy shit," Jasmine swore, her hand falling from the paper towels, instead looking blankly around the bathroom as if searching for someone else to ask if they believed this shit. It took a few seconds for her to come back to herself, Caro's shirt now thoroughly damp with the tap water instead of beer. "Do you want me to kick his ass?" she asked finally, placing her hands on her hips and looking for all the world like she would.

Caro snorted. "No, getting me out of there was more than enough. Thank you, by the way."

Jasmine grimaced, tearing off what had to be at least a couple of yards of paper towels and bunching it together. "Us lady doctors need to stick together," she smiled, offering the bundle to Caro. "Especially when it comes to Navy guys."

Caro laughed at this, thinking of Mr. Simmonds who had once gone off in the waiting room about how he would rather wait forty-five minutes for Dr. Katz than be seen by "the lady doctor." Jasmine, who had also been in the waiting room, had looked straight up murderous at the comment and demanded from Bryson that her appointment with Dr. Houten be switched to the lady doctor and only ever the lady doctor from then on out.

Caro accepted the towels and began to attempt to at least alleviate some of the dripping from her shirt. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," Jasmine said with a shake of her head. "At least not until we've successfully gotten you out of here and not just trapped in the women's bathroom."

Caro sighed, defeatedly. Not only were the paper towels not working even a little bit, but there was no way that she could stay to celebrate Bryson while she was half-soaked and Mickey was here. Jasmine was right: she had to escape.

"I'm thinking, I go out there first and run cover, and you grab your purse from your table and make a break for the front door."

Caro laughed, walking over to the trash can and throwing the useless paper towels in. "You don't have to do that."

"I know, but I'm going to."

Caro smiled as she looked at the other woman, gratitude filling her. "Thanks, Jasmine."

"I think after this, you get to call me Jas."

"Ok," Caro nodded before gesturing to herself. "Then, Caro."

Jas nodded back in agreement before giving Caro an assessing look. "So… you ready, Caro?"

She wasn't. But she never would be. Instead, Caro nodded, dumping the wet paper towels into the garbage. "Might as well be."

The WSO rejoined the group looking just as lost as he had standing alone in the middle of the bar, watching Caro be whisked away from him by some stranger. Rooster noted the look on Fanboy's face with a low whistle, the rest of their group shaking their heads in a mixture of sympathy and amusement, the exact amounts of each emotion clearly varying per person. Only Payback remained still, instead eyeing Fanboy as if he could determine exactly what was said just by looking at his back-seater.

"Shot you down pretty bad, huh?" Rooster asked, his attempt to keep the amusement from his voice clearly failing as he clapped the young aviator on the shoulder.

Coyote didn't even try to hide his own entertainment, as he offered his own commentary. "You were so confident going in," he laughed, mimicking a plane taking off with his hand. "And then…" His plane took a hard nosedive, hurtling towards an explosion which Coyote made sure to voice, his fingers wiggling in shockwaves. Rooster chuckled at this, his hand remaining on Fanboy who had yet to say anything or even shrug him off.

"You ok?" Payback asked.

The sound of genuine concern prompted Phoenix to turn and face him, her eyebrows furrowed together even deeper at this. Even Rooster seemed to take notice of the tone, offering Payback a quick glance before looking back at Fanboy.

"Hey, it happens to the best of us," the pilot said, shaking Fanboy's shoulder a bit before letting his hand drop to his side.

The other man still didn't say anything, just nodded.

"What's up with him?" Phoenix asked, the question directed to Payback and sounding very much as if Fanboy wasn't even there. Which, to be fair, he didn't really seem to be. His gaze had been drawn off towards the bathrooms, his focus unwavering as the corner of his lips pulled down into a frown.

Payback pulled his eyes from Fanboy to Phoenix. "That's his ex."

"Your ex?" Rooster's eyebrows shot up as Coyote let out another laugh.

"Man, you know you gotta run game before you hit up an ex," Coyote remarked, shaking his head. "C'mon."

This comment seemed to be the first one to actually reach Fanboy as he returned his attention to the group. "She didn't answer any of my texts. I mean, we haven't been in touch, but she didn't even open them or anything," he shook his head, seeming to run out of steam or ability to resist Caro's magnetic draw. Or maybe he just knew that the girl's bathroom door was about to open as it did, Caro and the girl who had spilled her drink all over Fanboy's ex, coming out.

Caro chanced a look over to the jukebox and then towards their section of the bar, her shoulders straightening as she noticed Fanboy's attention on her. Her head snapped forwards and she took off quickly to her table of friends, weaving determinedly through the other groups of bar patrons.

"She probably blocked you," Phoenix said bluntly, her eyes tracking the girl's progress as well, watching as she arrived at the booth, grabbing her bag from the seat and offering a few quick words.

Everyone reacted to this differently. Coyote snickered, Rooster grimaced, and Bob winced in sympathy. Fanboy's attention was ripped away from Caro, the full desperation of his look levied against Phoenix who seemed almost…annoyed.

"So what did you do?" she asked, arms crossing across her chest and a single brow lifting up.

"Nothing!" Fanboy defended, and while he did sound understandably offended, there was also the tiniest bit of doubt in his voice. Just enough for someone who had spent hours upon hours with him to notice.

"C'mon she had to have dumped you for a reason," Coyote pressed, joining in on Phoenix's interrogation.

Fanboy's head whipped to Coyote. "She didn't dump me," he snarled. The small display of aggression seemed to take the bit of energy and life he had out of him, as his shoulders slumped back down. Fanboy dropped his gaze to the ground shaking his head. "We just broke up at the end of Top Gun. I had to go back to my squadron and she was going to her grad program."

"So, it was a summer fling thing?" Rooster asked, placatingly.

Fanboy shrugged looking helpless to find the words to describe exactly what had transpired five years ago.

Payback shook his head. "Nah. It was more than a fling."

This confirmation was enough for Phoenix, her arms dropping to her sides as she looked up at Payback. "That's right, you were at Top Gun together," she remembered.

Payback nodded in confirmation. "Yeah, and they seemed legit. I was surprised you guys called it quits."

Fanboy shook his head, offering another shrug. "It was the plan," he said. His gaze wandered from Payback to the direction he had last seen Caro, this time finding her at the door, tugging it open and disappearing outside in one quick motion. "It's what she wanted."

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tehriel · 1 year

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Category is: Religious discourse with Papa Emeritus the Third

Chapter 5 of my long fic Character interaction is my fucking meat and potatoes my guy. I hope you enjoy religious discourse as much as I do. TW: Religious topics, vaccines, trumpet and heinous flirting

Before note: Our reader is a painter commissioned by the clergy to paint a portrait of Papa. They have recently been stabbed in the arm but have chosen not to involve the church because they want to get the work done and get out of there. They are also trying to keep Papa at arm’s length by playing a game of assumptions with eachother.

Chapter 5 - Blocking in

“You okay, caro Pittore?” He was watching you set up, leaned on the desk to the side, “You seem tired. You up all night partying without me, huh?”

It had been a couple days since your first session, and for some reason, sleep eludes those on a hit list. Contrary to what the detective might have said, finding the wounded asshole in the ghoul mask was not easy. You’d heard nothing about the case. You’d grown increasingly glad you had decided to keep the blade that was then sitting in your backpack feet away. The town was beginning to creep you out. It had the atmosphere of a Lovecraft novel, signs, symbols—Jesus chrimany! there were so many fucking churches for such a small town. Made you wonder if you should be drinking the tap water.

“Mm, yeah, late night working on commissions and an uncomfortable motel room bed.”

“Oh, so I'm not your only one?” He piqued a brow.

“Oh no, the others I do through the phone. Sit, Papa,” you smirked, stretched out your fingers, and gingerly patted your shoulder.

“You know there is a remedy to your uncomfortable motel bed. It's called ‘mine’.” He grinned and took his time to sit and arrange himself for you.

“Wow, we are starting out early today,” you mused, grabbing your brush.

“Hey, you uh, caught me off guard last time, you could say. And today, I am on top of my game.”

“Oh? Is that so?” You looked around the scene, feeling his eyes on you as you worked, “I’m blocking today; you don’t have to be super still again, just colours. It's kinda like a camera beginning to focus, going to be fuzzy for a while.”

“I have an answer for my question last time.”

“Oh, and which question would that be?” You begin mixing at your pallet, and the stretch of oil paint begins to rekindle.

“Why you began painting.”

You cocked your head with intrigue.

“You fell in love with someone so beautiful you wanted to capture them eternally.”

“Oh, Papa, I didn't take you for a romantic~” you chuckled.

“Do I not? Passion is an original fucking sin, old as time. To love something more than god, heh?” He shook a finger and clicked his tongue.

“Tell me about this love, woman, man, or other? Paint me a picture, Papa,” you smirked, testing his open-mindedness, but realised your hand was beginning to shake. They had been doing that since the attempt. Your left hand was being useless in all ways, too. You tried to loosen your shoulder, only to feel the pain of seven stitches.

“Hmmm, she was a… gymnast, flexible.”

“You know I made her use it,” you chirped along as you worked through your world coming loose.

He made a growl of agreement. “She was going to be an athlete, and though you originally fell in love with her, you then realised you fell more in love with painting her. So when you got into the most prestigious university in your home country, and she was to be in the Olympics, you tried long distance until you both inevitably let go. And that is the story of your long lost Lenoir.”

You realised your hands had stopped shaking to listen to him. You huffed a soft laugh, “I still dream of her, my Lenoir. I wonder if she even thinks of me these days.”

“It would be very fucking hard to forget you, caro Pittore,” He growled.

“Yikes, Papa, you’ll have me blushing,” you laughed off easily, brushing away his compliment, “And you? Any heartbreak in your midsts?”

“You tell me, Pittore.”

And you understood. He was saying it was a two-way street. If he couldn't know about you, he wouldn't let you in either. You respected it. “One word, Jeremy.” You were then more curious, figuring out how fruity Papa was.

He broke his pose for a moment to clutch his heart, “Ooft, tell me of my sweet Jeremy.” He returned to his position. You were always acutely aware of his hand placement on his thigh.

“You met him on a field trip with your satanic college(?).. yeah, if you can say catholic college, satanic college is correct,” you decided to yourself. He seemed quietly amused, “Multiple colleges, skill building. Your college hated his and visa versa, but you met him during…tug of war. You tripped over a stray ball from the field, and you both landed in a tangle.”

“Uh, huh, I like where this is going. Ah~ take me now Jeremy~” he made a lewd face.

“Cupid slapped you both; this is before when you believed in fate.”

“Nice callback,” he nodded along.

“It was meant to be, you know? But he kept getting caught up in the dogma of his college hating your college. Kept pulling away while simultaneously telling you that he loved you; really confusing shit, you deserve better, Papa.”

“Why does this one fucking hurt?” He laughed.

“Like a fool, you stayed until he finally had his fill of you, and then you returned to being your mother’s footrest.”

“Ah, look at us, so tragic. A miracle two people so fucking broken could find each other, si Pittore?”

“Let us cling onto each other forevermore, create a safe corner to lick each other's wounds. Us against the world, I will fix you, and you fix me.” You chuckled at the toxic nature of it all. You reflected on the story you made for him and frowned at yourself, taking a sip of water. Part of that was your experience with Rhea. Inspiration didn’t always come from nowhere; could he have done the same with some of his stories for you? No, you weren’t dissecting it. You would leave as strangers.

His eyes had also darkened. “Enough of heartbreak,” he waved off, almost forgetting he was still supposed to be posing for you. You saw... hurt, just a brief moment of it. You left a mark on his cheek in paint.

“Look at me, Papa,” you said, only realising your wording after—suddenly breaking off any of his notions.

“I am,” he said simply, and he became still.

You blocked in the square of his jaw. You watched the slight rise and fall of his chest, the slight shift of his painted lips and the bob of his throat swallowing. His eye, the white one, for the first time, you wondered if it was natural. The way he looked at you, you wondered how much of you he was seeing. “Beautiful,” you said to signal that he could relax again.

“Yes,” he said quietly but couldn't find any more words. He became tranquil, thoughtful. “Yes.”

You sipped your water, hands becoming clammy again, your attention shifting to the ghoul’s mask beneath his foot. You cursed yourself for squinting to see any signs of red powder.

“I… find myself wanting to talk to you, but I am… unsure how to talk without asking questions,” he admitted after a while.

“I can understand that,” you said softly, “I’m happy to discuss discourse, news… just nothing in personal history,” you shrugged, “I imagine we have wildly different world views, it could be interesting.”

“Discourse, huh? Hard questions, then how do you feel about the church, what with all your religious trauma and all?” He grinned, showing his teeth. It seemed he wanted to see you squirm because he was Papa. Because he is the head of the church.

You bit your tongue in thought, “Are we going to stay friends after this one?” You wondered out loud, giving him a cheeky look.

“We are friends, Pittore?”

You shrugged, “friendly?” You supposed. “Let's see,” you began blocking in the shapes of his gown; it would be challenging because the fabric ripples would change the next time. You would have to take a photo of this moment to rearrange him the best you could. You aimed up your phone. “I think faith is beautiful,” You said simply.

“I know what you mean—I sense a but.”

After taking some snaps, you returned to painting. “But,” you began, and Papa smiled, egging you on. “Churches are often… bad translations of original stories, people put their own spins on things, and teachings that are often good in theory can get distorted in any which way. Not to mention the hypocrisy…”

“Hypocrisy?” He arched a brow.

You hadn't looked at his face in a moment; you'd been on a roll. You hadn’t realised it, but though the discourse wasn't about you—it was a core belief. It was you. “Ah, it doesn't matter what I think.” You waved off in an effort to shove yourself back in the box.

“No, no, this interests me; I can see the hypocrisy in other churches, that makes sense to me, they fucking lie for control, make eternal promises for money, praise the elite, it's… but I cannot see it in my own.”

You ran your tongue over your teeth; you suggested discourse because you liked going in. But there was a struggle with wanting to keep Papa at arm's reach; then again, this might help with that. It might just frighten him away. “You told me about free will; that's a core Satanic belief, right?”

“Si.” He nodded fervently.

“and I haven't seen inside your church, so this is partly the assumptions game on my behalf, alright?”

“Si,” and he remembered he was supposed to keep still.

“You can relax your skull hand again, by the way,” You added absently. “I don't believe free will can exist within an established hierarchy because there can only be one Papa, correct?”

“You are correct.” He frowned lightly as he placed the skull down to stretch out his leathery fingers. His brow was almost always slightly downturned; beneath that makeup, you would guess they were nice eyebrows. You painted in a little gesture of them.

“What if it's another’s will to become Papa?”

“I supposed they cannot, but we treat everyone equally,” he debated, “it is our vow to protect the free will of others…” he explained, and it took a lot of him not to move his hands. You watched the fingers of his right-hand flicker on his thigh.

“I'm painting your other hand now,” you advised, “does ‘Papa’ come with power over others? Does it encroach on their free will?”

“I, of course, am trying not to, you know, it's very fucking important to me.”

“Then does that encroach on yours?”

You watched him beginning to unfold a little.

“There is a silent expectation in the church. This portrait wasn’t your will; it was the will of the church.”

“It is my will that the church is sated in all ways possible,” he said so with a purr of confidence as he relaxed into his conviction.

“And what about my will, hmm? As someone not a part of the church?”

“Oh, your will? What is your will, dear child?”

“What if…” you had a think, “What if I want to be Papa?”

“I can call you Papa if you would like; not sure it would be recognised.”

“You'd call me Papa?” Your smile twisted.

“Of course, Papa,” he raised his chin with a half-lidded smirk.

“Feels like you did that on purpose.”

“I don't know what you mean~”

“And if I want to wear your pope-hat?”

“That would deny my free will because it is my fucking mitre.”

“You don't want to give me your pope-hat?”

“No, you disrespect it. You call it fucking ‘pope-hat’.” His chin jutted out slightly.

“Fine, you acknowledge some power play here, so can anyone hold a sermon?”

“It's true; the cardinals, sisters, and I are the only ones who generally hold mass.”

“What, everyone else's voices don’t matter?” You were teasing.

“All voices matter.. unless they're fucking stupid, like trumpet.” He growled ‘trumpet’, “I don’t think we’ve ever been asked.”

“So, if it was my free will to hold a sermon?” You arched a brow.

“Then, as someone who upholds free will, I make it happen.”

“What if I want to make it about Jesus Christ riding a donkey, in the literal sense? Or inflated Christian fan fiction teachings?” You were just having fun with him at that point.

“Then that wouldn't be very fucking respectful to the free will of the church, would it?”

“And if it was my free will to be disrespectful?” You grinned.

“Then you would be a fucking brat,” you don't know when he started breathing deeper. His usual growl hindered on a groan.

“No, Papa, it wouldn't,” you shook your head, and he tilted his. “Brats like the idea of someone who’d tame them or try to. That hinders my freedom; why would I want that? I want someone whose free will aligns with mine to run wild and free like a twin flame that burns the sky. I want no hierarchy.” Your cheeks flushed, and you reminded yourself you only painting a portrait.

He was biting his lip, “is it still your will to hold a sermon?”

“Only because I don’t think Sister Imperator would allow it,” you chuckled behind your canvas.

“Sister? But I am fucking Papa,” he frowned.

“Go on then, Papa, show me what free will is worth,” you stuck your head out and challenged with a smirk.

He shook a finger at you, “I will make this happen. I will show you my church isn't hypocritical.. or it's trying not to be,” he amended.

“On that note, how many women or people of colour have been Papa?”

He made a fizzling noise, “Fuck. alright, alright, we are a forward church but there are things that still need addressing, yes. We already celebrate the female orgasm, but I happen to also like the idea of a woman of colour being my fucking Papa,” he informed unabashedly. “Things are fucking sticky sometimes. If you want to go there, where do vaccinations sit with your absolute ‘free will’. Huh?”

“Hey, you're a church; that’s more of a you thing.”

“So you have no answer?” He looked pleased with himself.

“Well, like your free will is your ‘mitre’, free will is also a person’s health. To endanger another person’s health is to take away their free will, yeah? Vaccinations are for the populis as well as the individual. Get jabbed.”

“I hate how fucking quick that was for you. But spoken like a true Papa of the church.”

“I studied philosophy and art at university,” you explain, absently filling in the chair’s golden form.

“I see why you have problems with the church. Did you really not grow up in a heavy catholic boarding school?” He asked without realising.

“Catholic college, because it was the only school in town. It wasn't particularly traumatising, but it did cordon off some ways of thinking until later in life. Also, incense reminds me of taking naps in forced mass,” you answered without thinking before touching your lips as if to take it back.

“Fuck, I apologise,” he began.

“It's okay…I started it,” you ended and looked away to the sun as it began to dip.

“No, it isn’t. I… I uh, understand there are times it is scary to let new people in. We didn’t meet at the right time.”

“That’s…” you shook your head and sighed, disengaging with the conversation. “I really didn't get very far again.” You looked over your work, “I can put more hours in the background before I see you again….”

“I want to be here for it,” he said stubbornly, “and before you say another fucking thing about underpaying you… I think you're being too nice.”

You began washing and whacking your brushes to the drop sheets below. “Too nice?” Where was this coming from? “You can relax; we’ve run out of light for today, the downside to using natural light.”

He pulled himself out of the chair with a moan you pretended to not hear, “You could stand to be meaner. You just tore my church a new unholy hole; you did not fucking care whether I liked what you had to say or non. It was.. beautiful discourse. I see you care for big-world concepts but leave some care for yourself, too, Pittore. I see you working hard. You should take what you fucking deserve.”

He’d stunned you into fumbling for words before you could adequately hide again, “Is this a religious teaching from Papa Emeritus the Third himself?” You looked in mock surprise, covering up hurriedly in humour.

“Hey, I'm being fucking serious. Know your worth… I can see it. I, uh, found your Wikipedia page,” he looked sheepish before he stretched and looked away from you.

He sounded like Marie, and you also liked how his accent tackled 'Wikipedia page’. “Oh, did you now? What does it say about me~?”

“Ah, I didn't read much; I wanted to see your work. You are very impressive, caro Pittore.”

“Thank you,” you didn't let the compliment sink particularly deep. That would mean caring about Papa’s opinion, and you wouldn't allow yourself. You deliberated—fine, “I googled you too,” you peeked up from spraying your pallet to store in an airtight place.

He was smiling.

“I like your voice, Papa.”

Then he was grinning. “Grazie, Caro.”

You both stood there momentarily before remembering you were storing things.

He leaned against the desk and stretched out some more, which came with interesting hip movements. “We have a mass tonight; Cardinal Copia is taking it, so I didn’t have to prepare. I think you’d like him. He thinks entirely too fucking much, all the books and all the ‘discourse’... If you wanted to come…” he shrugged as if it made no difference.

“I…” and then you remembered your last nights of terror, of the endless dark. The nightmares of waking up to a man in a ghoul mask standing over you. Your left arm arched. You didn't particularly want to go back to your motel room. “Will there be nuns?”

He chuckled, “Yes, but I will keep them at bay. I am very talented at that sort of thing~”

“You know I wasn't kidding about the incense putting me to sleep?”

“I'm sure I could keep you awake all fucking night if you wanted me to,” he promised, voice low.

“How did you ever get so quick on your feet?” You laughed, pretending whatever he had to say had no effect on you whatsoever.

“I uh, practice rigorously.”

“Well, maybe I am curious to see what a black mass looks like; just how hypocritical could it be?”

“Then I am honoured to be a part of your first.”

You scrubbed your hands in the turps bucket. People think artists' hands are soft, but they’d be incorrect. Marie’s, maybe. You moved on to a rag, then would wash them in a bathroom when most convenient.

Papa had the look of someone wanting to look at your painting but knew he could not.

“Soon,” you promised.

“Not too soon, I hope,” he said honestly.

“You really are….” you sighed.

“Fucking brilliant, uh?”

“Not what I was going to say.”

“I need to change; I don’t want to upstage the cardinal.” He opened the door for you and stepped to the side.

“Oh, is the pope-dress too much for the event, am I overdressed then?” You lead out to the hallway and wait for him to show you the way.

“Pope-dress?!” He raises a finger to his lips, “This is a test; firstly, I'm happy to wear dresses. Secondly, this is not a fucking pope-dress. It's a chasuble, and before you say anything, this is not a ‘pope-scarf’; it is a pallium.”

You were just laughing at this point. “Oh, that so is a pope-scarf.”

“So fucking uncultured,” he chuckled and scanned over your smile. “Ah, looks like you need to get cleaned up too.” He reached for a moment but let his hand fall, “uh, your cheek has paint on it.”

“Oh? So does yours; I just wanted to fit in around here.” You made no move to get it; you'd deal with your appearance in a mirror.

“Ah, I see what you have done. Is it because you are the new Papa?”

“Exactly.” You gingerly touched your left shoulder in curiosity. It was hurting more than it had that morning, feeling hot. You might need to check you haven't split anything.

~~~

If you like this kind of thing, I am adding to it every day on archive c: It is completed and in editing phase~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/44321002/chapters/111461152

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pokeinalover · 2 years

Text

Hello Portal fandom

It's me again, the girl who only recently got to play the games and barely knows what's going on in here

And even in those conditions i can see that the only reason there's no portal 3 is because valve is scared of the number 3, because it's so easy y come up with an idea i did it in under 5 minutes.

So that's what I bring today! Could be some chelley drawing or something but no, I'll just annoy everyone reminding them there's no portal 3 xd

If i wrote portal 3 (but it won't be called portal 3)

A.K.A what i think would work if valve had the guts to do it

So, we know that Cave Johnson died because he thought it was a good idea to buy a bunch of moon stones and experiment with them, that they used to do the portal liquid-fluid-white-thingie and that got him sick and killed.

I'm other words: Moon rocks = Toxic for humans.

The portal liquid that Chell is exposed to for like a good few hours is made out of this stones and was still in an experimental phase when aperture went to shit, they weren't sure if it was toxic. Therefore that (and well, the few seconds she spent on the moon) could have been enough to make her sick too.

So picture me this: Chell is sick, she knows why, she had to listen to Cave's bs while in aperture, she probably also saw somewhere along the way out that there are other aperture facilities in USA (In Ohio, googled it to make sure) and she knows that there's nothing where she was and even if there is, getting on GLaDOS nerves a third time doesn't sound like a good idea. So, out of options, she decides to go to the other aperture facilities in Ohio in hopes to find a cure.

She gets there, the place is a mess and it's more ruins than labs, even worse than the facilities in portal 2, making this a more open adventure because i think it's necessary (don't worry about missing the lineal chambers and GLaDOS, I'll get to that later). There's a bunch of stuff lying around, a lot of broken tech. She picks a few things that are more or less in decent conditions, a round thingie amongst them, and connects them to a computer in hopes to get some info about what the hell to do in this place. Much to her surprise and disgrace, that round thingie that seemed to not be very functional and was scorched and broken was Wheatley, and somehow the software survived falling to earth like a meteor (somewhat blue sky way) but his hardware is basically trash. He is automatically transfered to new hardware because protocols and blablablah (maybe an update so that he can move on his own instead of having to be Carried around, that Could be neat but idk)

Chell does not want to deal with Wheatley after portal 2, obviously. She's mad, she has a right to be mad. So she just leaves. But then the roof collapses and because Chell has that habit of savings robots that she should leave to rot because they were mean to her (the turret or potatOS) she saves his ass and whether she likes it or not she's kind of stuck in this place with him.

So yeah, there's space for a Wheatley redemption arc! Because he deserves it, idc. So now they have a sick Chell and a very sorry about what happened Wheatley (but still Wheatley, you know what i mean xd) having to take the very broken and fucked test chamber route because it's the only way around the facilities to find a cure for Chell

Alternatively, because Chell would be a few days in there and i think we should acknowledge she needs to sleep and stuff, when it's night we could be back at the original aperture facilities with GLaDOS and playing as one of the test subjects that get "released" in the portal 2 coop so that we don't have to let go of GLaDOS completely but yes narratively because i know she's iconic but she doesn't really have a lot to do with Chell's life in this. (Idk if as a fundamental part of the game or a dlc, that's jus an idea i have xd). Plus we can have bits of Caro and get more into old aperture like this. This could also be disguised as Chell dreaming she's back at aperture because PTSD but she's not, it's really happening to other test subjects.

The rest of this is something i have yet to think through but so far so good i think.

And i would call this Portal Answers or Portal two sides since Valve seems to be scared of number 3!

I'll probably come back when I've thought the rest of this through

Please feel free to correct me and leave your opinion!

#chell portal #portal #portal 2 #portal 3 #portal two sides #portal wheatley #Wheatley #Chell #GLaDOS #portal glados #valve make third parts cowards

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rosella-writes · 2 years

Note

"Ayurnamat - The philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed." for zev and alistair?

oh lovely, thank you so much Tato. 💚

Rating: T

Words: 1016

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

It wasn't often that it was just them.

Alistair burrowed his nose deeper into Zevran's loose hair. It spread over his shoulder in smokey-fragrant tangles and caught in the sweaty crease of his elbow — Zevran just hummed and snuggled closer under his chin.

"Why are you awake, amore?"

Alistair grunted and shifted. Zevran hooked his leg tighter around his in protest. "Thinking."

Zevran snorted. "That is dangerous, yes? With thinking comes doubt, with doubt comes sadness, with sadness comes malcontent." He sobered slightly, and his grasp tightened slightly before relaxing again. "Be content with me, tesoro."

"I just —" Alistair's voice caught in his throat. He cleared it. "I think about it when she's not here."

"Hmm? But she is with you so scarcely."

He grunted an affirmation, and thought about his wife, asleep in a too-large bed in a wing as far away from this room as it was possible to be in the keep. He hoped her lover was there to warm it for her.

Zevran pulled back and rested his elbow beside Alistair's head — he leaned on his palm and stared down into Alistair's eyes, his gaze as sharp and assessing as it was safe and warm. He knew Zevran wasn't searching for weakness to exploit — he was searching for a way to understand.

"This isn't about Rhiannon, is it?" Zevran murmured.

Alistair sighed, and soothed the spinning thoughts away with slow strokes of his fingers on Zevran's back. His skin there was smooth and warm, contoured by relaxed muscles.

"Everything is about Rhiannon," he said, "eventually. If I follow it far enough."

Zevran frowned. He reached his spare hand up to comb through Alistair's beard. "How so, amore?"

He thought of when he surrendered control of their direction to her — this strange Dalish elf he'd just met, tattooed and grumbling and far from home. He thought of the moment she tried to give him back his rose, and he'd pushed her hands away. He thought of the hard glint in her eye when she placed her hands on his shoulders and told him Goldanna wouldn't know family if it struck her between the eyes. Everyone's out for themselves, and I'm sorry you learned that this way. He thought of the set of her mouth when she asked him to be king, to marry Anora, to stand aside while she let Loghain go...

"Speak to me, caro," Zevran murmured.

Alistair took a deep breath. "Well, I can't help but think of how everything could've been different. If I'd said this or done that or if she'd been different or I'd treated her different, blah, blah, blah." He huffed out a sigh with a dramatic roll of his lips. "And... well, yeah, That One."

Zevran knew the sound of those capital letters in his voice. He smiled slightly and nodded. "What about her?"

Alistair stared up at him for a moment, feeling his heartbeat pumping ice through his veins. It hadn't felt real until it was time to say it out loud. "Anora. She wants an heir. From me."

Zevran blinked. "Why shouldn't she? It is simple enough to give her one."

"No." Alistair recoiled, drawing his hand off of Zevran's back. "I don't... we don't do that. No. We both made it clear at the start that this was just... it's a marriage of convenience, Zev. She has her love, I have mine. And besides" — he shuddered for dramatic effect, attempting to stave off Zevran's concerned look — "I don't want to imagine her naked, much less see it. At this point it would be like seeing Goldanna stripped down past her skivvies."

Zevran raised one brow and the corner of his mouth.

"No, don't you — no Zev, stop thinking that," Alistair spluttered, laughing in spite of himself.

"I said nothing."

"I could see it written all over your face."

Zevran hummed and smiled warmly now, all teasing gone. He drew his fingertips absently across Alistair's chest, painting lines of heat through his hair.

"My dear king," Zevran murmured, "I was a Crow once, yes? I saw princes raised high and kings laid low. I saw rumoured heirs killed and gutted and poisoned — well, I killed a few of them myself. So I struggle to fully understand your plight. Fereldan politics do so bore me."

Alistair snorted and shifted under him, but Zevran leaned harder against his chest.

"But I know you, tesoro," he said gently. "You are a good man. A loving man. It is so in the way you treat even the daughter of your sworn enemy. Any other would have put a babe in her and not given it a second thought. But you? That you agonise so speaks to your character."

Alistair stared up into the warm amber of Zevran's eyes, feeling his own well up with hot tears. He blinked them away and cleared his throat. "What do I do? I can't ask Rhiannon, I can't. She'd tell me to do it."

Zevran sighed, then raised his hand to cup Alistair's cheek. Alistair leaned into the warmth of his palm. "I cannot tell you that, my dear one. This choice is yours and yours alone. Besides" — a sad smile tugged at his mouth — "Rhiannon learned long ago not to make decisions for you, no matter how much you beg. She would have you take your life into your own hands."

"I wish she had learned that sooner."

The sad smile spread on Zevran's face, twisting his black tattoo. "I believe she wishes that too. But there is nothing for it now. What is done is done."

Alistair took a deep breath and released it, raising Zevran up and down with the expansion and relaxation of his chest. He realised he'd been rubbing his thumb back and forth on Zevran's rib, as if to soothe himself — he wondered if he'd scrubbed the skin raw.

"There is only forward," he sighed.

Zevran hummed his agreement, then leaned forward to steal a sleepy kiss. His mouth missed slightly, locking crossways on his lips, but it spread warmth through Alistair's heart all the same.

#zevistair #dragon age #my writing #zevran #zevran arainai #alistair #alistair theirin #alistair x zevran #rhiannon mahariel #only mentioned but it's her throuple after all #dadwc

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jiilys · 3 years

Note

would u help me out for a second. im in the mood to write for the first time, and i think your style is beautiful. sitting down n actually trying though, im stuck as fuck! i’m realizing that in your dialogue/scenes you’ve got a lot of Little Things. little tiny elements that are subtle & just enough. how are you deciding that lily is building a house of cards at the moment or sirius is sitting in a tree or whatever during a given scene? how do you come up with those ideas for dialogue that are so silly & real & sneakily tender? do you know where it’s going when you begin? any advice for just… starting something?

ps: i appreciate you. you make it look easy & that’s very very cool

This is a lovely question!! Sorry it took me so long to get to it, I didn’t want to get it wrong. Also I’ve included some examples to try and explain what I mean in practise, but it also comes off rather like plugging. tragically this is unavoidable. Anyway, all that being said I have no idea how to advise you about dialogue and coming up with it, I think just listening to people talk helps. Don’t forget contractions, and when in doubt always trust the reader to keep up, real people don’t say perfect or even grammatically correct sentences a lot of the time. We also cut each other off all the time, especially when we’re trying to be funny. Like, here’s an example from warm front:

“He’s not even two. He probably would have thought it was, like, having a lie down or something.”

Harry was laughing now, “A lie down?”

“Yeah, a spontaneous, truck-induced–“

“–Permanent–“ “

–Permanent, lie-down. I’m almost jealous now actually.”

Another thing, but people say um and like or can't speak or cut themselves off, especially when they’re nervous. James when Lily says she loves him for the first time: ‘“Wow,” He breathed, “I’m– wow.” He put both hands on her cheeks and kissed her crazy, abruptly, dumbly. Her head spun.’ He can’t even speak! Dumb boy.

I think natural dialogue sometimes just requires you to read it aloud, which is very embarrassing but ultimately quite useful in trying to figure out whether something sounds normal or not. Use casual words, and try not to go dictionary hunting: if you cant think of the word chances are your character can’t either

In terms of concepts I have no idea, but I do have a few tips. I write all my short one-shots in one document (its called ‘just bad’ lmao) so its easy to start something, write a few lines, and then if it doesnt work just start a new concept, but still have all the old stuff handy. if you feel like you’ve written yourself into a corner its probably because you took a wrong turn earlier, so its just a matter of going back up and figuring out where you turned onto the dead end, or where a line could be funnier and/or sadder and/or more meaningful. Sometimes the bare bones of a decent line is there but you have to work it a little.

In this harry/ginny thing where harry is apologising for all the attention and ginny brushes him off she says:

“It’s nothing,” her voice, all force, “Anyway, it’s more funny than annoying.”

The response went through a few drafts, all variations on the same thing:

(1) “You’re funnier.” [too short, doesn’t make sense, and not really that funny. unholy trinity]

(2) “You make it funny.” Harry said, looking at her for real, “It’s not– you make it like that.” [this could work! I have no idea why I cut this, I think I forgot abt it lmao]

(3) “You’re the funniest person I know, Harry said, sincerely, and Ginny felt her heartbeat all through her, “You make it funny.” [jumping from ‘its more funny than annoying’ to getting this sincere out of nowhere is a little much, even for harry who is famously whipped]

I ended up going with this:

“It’s nothing,” her voice, all force, “Anyway, it’s more funny than annoying.”

“You’re funny.” Harry said, looking at her for real, flustered, “I mean– you make it funny. That’s all you.”

It follows the flow of the conversation and I think the way he says it, ‘you’re funny’ like its obvious, and then being like oh fuck and over-explaining it stumbling a little “I mean– you make it funny. That’s all you.”. You know when you like someone and you say something that gives you away before you can stop yourself? I wanted it to sound like that. Just gotta keep in mind how people behave, we are so stupid a lot of the time, we give ourselves away.

The thing about short stuff i find is implying a lot of history without actually describing a lot of it. I normally do this by having memories come up as almost shards, one second of feeling. You know when you’re in a conversation with someone and they mention someone or a past event, and it rises to the top of your brain, but only for a second? i find sometimes when you’re reading stuff people will try and replay entire memories or events mid-conversation, which is not something you do when you think. You don’t need to replay it beat by beat, you were there! This sounds vague as hell so I’ll try and show you what I mean:

From good crimes: “Petunia is engaged.” Lily’s voice, raw and wrong, “To Vernon. Eliza Hunt told me at the supermarket.” Sudden flashes of Petunia, the only time he’d ever met her, sat in the back of Lily’s twenty-first, pinched and whispering. “Whose Eliza Hunt?” This seems as good a thing to say as any.

pretty on the nose (the phrase ‘sudden flashes’ is pretty so i'll allow it from past me). But see how you don’t need to know how Petunia didnt talk to anyone, how she left early, how she was the odd one out: you don’t need to read all that, you already know because she was sat in the back and because pinched is such a mean verb, spiteful and sharp, you can already imagine how the evening went without me saying so

From my proposal take, after Sirius finds out they’re engaged: Sirius’ grip on his shoulder tightened for one second, still grinning, and James knew what he meant. “I know.” He said, because only Sirius had been there for all of it, when they were fifteen, drunk on Firewhiskey for the first time and James had said I think I’ve fucked it, I think I’ve fucked it but I like her for real.

you don’t need a description of the whole night, what party they were at, who they were with, what they were talking about: the important bit is that Sirius was the first person he told, and that they’re both remembering that at the same moment because they’re soulmates lmao. You know when something big happens for a friend and you feel so full of pride & love that you feel like you’ll burst into confetti?? this needed to feel like that, and you only need a flash for it

I feel like I’ve sort of strayed off from what you asked me, which is really advice on how to start something. I normally start with a line, usually of dialogue, and then try and build from there because dialogue is my thing. You might have a different thing! Some people write from concepts or locations, or an image. i might start with one or a few lines of dialogue, write them down, and then try to build from there. For example for the proposal thing I started from james just saying “Marry me”, which I find more romantic than ‘will you marry me’, purely because it sounds like he simply couldn’t stop himself from saying it, like it rushed out. Another example, this thing started from just “don’t be mad at me” “okay” James agreed instantly, because he is such a sucker for her.

When I write I don’t normally know where I’m going! I normally set out to write something I think is vaguely funny and evokes An Emotion, and then I just play around with stuff until I get there. when I write certain stuff and I have scenes in mind, stuff I want to happen, but I find that if I try to plot it to tightly its not exciting to work on, because sometimes you write a good line by accident, that you hadn’t thought of when you sat down, and you surprise yourself. That is a really nice feeling! i want to maximise that feeling.

'What I mostly try to remember is that writing something down, anything down, is useful. Sometimes you write for a whole night and dont get anything useable, but its like clearing pipes. Sometimes you have to flush through shit to get to the good bits. All the rough stuff, the things you don’t like or didn’t work, you wrote to get you to the stuff that did work. All of the bad shit got you here! It wasn’t a waste, you were working to find the good thing

If I had any tips its just the usual stuff, read! It is annoying how much that helps. Also, and I know this may make you shudder, but reading poetry is useful just because in no other literary or media form is language so important. In comics you have pictures, in novels you have plot and character, in film you all that and cinematography, but in poetry you live and die by how good the words are. If you want recs here’s my poem roundup tag, that I do sometimes, or if you want something just now read this by Anne Carson, which uses words like ‘smashing’, ‘boatwash’, and ‘green’ in the best way possible. Also it has these lines: “Recently having learned to recognize the type of tree called sycamore, / I see them in any forest— / the ones that look harrowed, / in shreds, but / go also / straight up into life,”

I mean, think of a sharper image than that?? It’s not possible. Just try remember to stay true to your characters and that in real life, the little stuff is the big stuff. Little things the people around you do normally show they care more than big speeches, and if you want to show love that’s how to make it feel lived in. You want to build a world! the little stuff is usually the world. Take some from your own or dream the ones you wish you had.

This truly was a very kind message and I’m so grateful you like my stuff, I hope any of this was even half-useful, although now reading it back it is borderline nonsensical. I’m going to bed now, good luck with the writing, and don’t forget to send it to me!!

caro xoxo

#writing bitching #said it already but loved this message it was so thoughtful. seemed pretty articulate to me i think ur writing is gunna be just fine!!!#rooting for you & anyone trying to write something rn. words suck and are difficult! they are also better than drugs & sex. regretable #kindnesses

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sugar-petals · 4 years

Text

hey angel (m)

♡ sub!felix + reader

↳ The JYP Halloween party is ditched on short notice. That means: You have a down-to-celebrate boyfriend in full angel costume on your hands.

words. 5k

tags. domestic au, finger sucking, hickeys, latex, corruption kink, fingering, vaginal sex, footjob, harnesses, cunnilingus, kitten antics, edging, aftercare

★⎡CARO’S NOTE⎦› here goes the cutie on duty 👼

genre. domestic + smut/crack

„So sorry mate,“ Bang Chan’s voice resounds through the speaker. „I thought it could work but… We can’t celebrate tonight. Really sorry, Felix. Changbin and I already got dressed up too, but, you know things got shut down. JYP won’t let us with the Corona rules and stuff.“

„Oh no…“

„Yeah, man. Looks like we’ll have to do it next year.“

„You even prepared the food already, right?“

„We’re handing it out to staff and eat it at home. I know, it sucks. I spent half the morning in the kitchen. I can like keep the pumpkin cookies so you can eat them tomorrow after practice or so.“

„I feel so sorry Chan… and thank you.“

„I’ll be calling Hyunjin and Han now as well. Really sorry we’re cancelling short notice. I hope you’re still having a nice evening bro. Maybe we can make it happen for Christmas.“

„Okay. Cheers mate.“

„Yeah, cheers.“

Felix puts his phone down looking more than deflated in his angel costume, puffs out a big sigh. You can tell he really looked forward to this. Just an hour before, you bothered to sew the wings in place rather than rely on the wobbly back-pack like construction that came with it.

They’re firmly attached to his white top now, and all for nothing. He glued them together by himself with a pack of synthetic feathers ordered on Etsy for a ridiculous shipping cost, along with a little halo that he clipped into his hair. Which, because maybe it really does sense his mood, dangles low and even a bit lopsided over his head.

„It’s the party of the year,“ Felix flops down on the living room couch. “I can’t believe this.“

You sit down opposite to him, starting to clean off the table where masses of cosmetic products and leftover feathers have piles up.

„Next time, Lixie. We can keep the costume. Poor Chan, he organized the living shit out of everything.“

„I’ll just go and shower, get this off, and stuff,“ he points at his face. Felix applied his own makeup with a little help from you here and there, including some golden sparkles. Just yesterday, he bleached his hair. It’s sculpted down to every strand with hair spray now. Felix unties his sneakers with the little gold stars on. Just before he starts plucking off his halo, you get an idea, pick up your phone from the table.

„Wait— Let’s at least make some pictures with your phone, you put so much effort in this. You look so cute. The fans might want to see it as well.“

„Oh! You’re right,“ Felix stops right in his tracks. „For Instagram.“

After tightening his sneakers again and you making sure the halo sights right, Felix walks around your flat in search for a nice backdrop. You follow, quickly flipping through some filters to try, and adjusting the flash on the camera.

After posing at the fridge — strange idea — and in the bathroom turns out a little awkward as well, you decide that such an elaborate costume needs a themed background, and only the bedroom offers just that. You recently changed the duvet to sky blue sheets with clouds on them. The overall interior is mostly clean white as well, with some thrifted vintage furniture. Fairy lights, heavy curtains, a wooden ceiling. Perfect.

„We’ll caption it as… post your own stay-at-home costume, something like that,“ Felix plops down on the bed, acting as if he just took a seat on the cloud in the very middle.

„Sounds pretty good,“ you press release, and the first picture pops up on your screen. „Can you turn a little towards the light? That the sparkles are showing.“

„Yay, I love the sparkles!“

„Just like this, just like this. Don’t move. The sparkles!“

A five-picture series of more snapshots ensues, with you adjusting Felix’s face a few times by hand, even, turning his chin by sheer millimeters to find the perfect angle. He’s stunning.

„I have another idea.“

„Oh?“

„I remember what I wore for Halloween three years ago. The costume must be somewhere. I think it fits together with yours.“

„What, oh wow?“

„What was it again, wait…“

You already begin to sort through your wardrobe, checking each hanger, each drawer, end up where you store your socks, and finally pull out a larger plastic zip bag from the very depths of all that chaos. There it is. Nice.

„Lix, if you’d turn around for me, please.“

He immediately does. Blushing.

„Thank you, angel.“

You pull off your sweat pants, your grey shirt, socks, your bra. Time to dress up. Only your simple black panties stay on. On goes a pair of scarlet stockings, snug and high. Then, a dark red latex skirt that goes in big circles and flounces, down to the mid-thigh.

Added: A tight sleeveless peplum top that admittedly… and deliberately squeezes your boobs a little. Not too much. More important is that your nipples are showing right through, and the cleavage is sweeping, every demon would be salivating at your feet. If an angel does: Remains to be tested.

Around your waist and chest and over your shoulder goes a black harness, pulling everything together. Some very pointed, glossy pumps with thin heels complete the costume. They’re not crafted to be walked on in the very least, their balance is terrible. You’re planning something else with them. Cherry on top: Devil horn headband. Really curved and pointy, too. Can’t go wrong. You click your tongue and take a spin. The skirt flares out perfectly. Ready to go.

„Felix, time to turn around.“

He does. You can tell he didn’t cheat.

„You’re, you’re so hot in this,“ Felix buries his face right in the comfort of his sweater paws, hoping they would not give away his embarrassed little face. But — his voice does, effortlessly so.

„Come on, have a look at me. Real closely, angel, come. You’re allowed to.“

Felix gazes through his fingers with what sounds like a little meep! in a much more high-pitched tone than his usual speaking range. He’s cute.

„Hey pum’kin. Miss Lucifer speaking. Where’s the barbecue?“

Felix and you recently agreed that hell must be one big and extremely hot cave where everyone’s grilling and having a good time. Australia, essentially.

„Welp!“

„Damn right. Infiltrating God’s realm one cloud at a time. Any last words?“

„It’s so intimidating!“

Felix digs himself into a mountain of pillows on the bed, with only his eyes and nose peeking out. You shrug, adjust your horns.

„Hm. Time for my first satanic act I guess.“

„Oh no!“

„Wait just one minute, be a sweet and patient boy.“

You leave Yongbok confused given that you’re quick to hurry to the kitchen. However, what you return with puts a giggle on his lips right away.

„Boom. It is served.“

„Yes, yes, please!“

Poufy black cocoa cupcakes. The ones with the cute little ghost frosting on it, and the melted chocolate inside. Felix finds them irresistable since the last Halloween party, to the point where you bake them mid-July. The current set of cupcakes was meant to be a contribution to Bang Chan’s eerie and delectable buffet. As for now, they’re in deep need of someone hungry since you made a lot of them, assuming a post-workout Changbin would devour at least five or more.

„Good move,“ he admits, a little shaky, and you proceed to tray the cupcakes on the bed — stuffing Felix for a solid ten minutes until there’s chocolate all over his face. What you’ll be quick to confess is that you’ve been deliberately messy feeding him, with all the crumbs in particular.

„Spoiled honey bun,“ you plant a kiss on top of his head.

„These taste so good, I swear.“

Next up is Felix who has to carefully maneuver the sweet treats into your mouth without spoiling your outfit.

„If you get crumbs into my cleavage, I can’t put your face in there later you know.“

Fierce nodding.

„That’s the spirit.“

Under your eagle eyes, he proves to be an obedient little cherub doing his job pretty well. The cakes are delicious in how spongy they are, and the liquid chocolate warms up so well on the tongue, it melts even more. You’re more than pleased and have Felix store away the remaining four pieces only after quite a while.

„I’ll have them for Brekkie, woo!“ is what he’s fast to proclaim, and you agree he’ll need them the next morning. Once you’re done with him, that’s gonna count as a hangover even Chan’s wildest party couldn’t give him.

„We’re talking dinner first, Felix.“

At this point, all the sugar is kicking in. Or it’s the chocolate being some kind of aphrodisiac. Whatever, could be either, you’re feeling like you’re up there at the ceiling, and you’re not the only one. Felix coming back to the bedroom so bouncy and cutieful just gets you even more in the mood.

You sit at the edge of the bed, slanting backward just a little. „You look like you need some more corruption, I won’t lie,“ you pat your lap, beckoning. He can ditch wifi because this is his favorite hot spot waiting for him. Felix sits down looking tiny as ever, eyes full of anticipation and his pants full of… big fat late night erection.

„I don’t mind at all, Miss. I don’t, oh my god…“ he mumbles into his nonexistent Aussie trucker beard, and you’re clear that whatever the skirt did to him, his brain must be doing kangaroo somersaults right now. In the meantime, something very eager is poking right at your lower belly. Captain Boomerang already came fully armed tonight and the Suicide Squad isn’t even anywhere near to be seen.

„Oh hey hey, cupcake. Getting really big there,“ you wipe at the curled little corners of his mouth. Some crumbs come off. His lips already twitch the way you know they want to do naughty things on you. He doesn’t seem to notice. Autopilot Felix has already taken over.

„Don’t hurry with it,“ he stares, mouth half-open, but his little grinds prove him a dirty — in an entirely direct sense — fucking liar. Like he’s literally rubbing himself against your stomach.

„Boy oh boy. You’re not even trying.“

„I’m fucked!“ is what Felix soon realizes with the daggers you’re shooting at him through your hopefully very satanic-looking eyes right now. Alongside catching up with his darn hips doing their own thing.

„You are.“

„I’m sorry for grinding, God help me!“

„He won’t. Cuz I’m here on your cloud. Cue stage number two of my demonic plan. Safeword?“

„It’s chocolate!“

„Mh. Good pick.“

The rest as usual. Tapping the thigh, yellow for pause, towels plus water ready, and always double-checking the lube in case of Jisung putting a glass of vegemite under your bed as his latest practical joke. Yes, it happened. It’s a whole new level of demonic. On the other hand: perhaps Felix’ ass could’ve actually handled it, Made in Australia it is.

„Let’s go honey angel,“ you curl at his hair with a little finger just to tease him a little more. The answer is a little meow, at this point Felix’ communication skills have simplified to kitten vocabulary which always happens when he is nervous and looking forward to something.

Next thing poor Felix knows, his face has entered the scorching satanic abyss that is your cleavage. Literally, you’re burning up. It’s fucking October and Felix has you breaking a sweat from all your horniness (literally, your horns are just that chic) already. Twice the reason to punish the shit out of him. If that can be considered anything near a punishment.

A shower of various „Mh— nh!“ and mewling noises comes to rain down on you while Felix face takes a trip down mammary lane, and that, too, is literal. He’s salivating. So much about rain. Actually, great lubrication. Felix always does things best by instinct.

„Yes, good boy. Great job.“

Now that his mouth is wet already, you’re unceremonious about shoving your fingers right down his throat after he resurfaces. Blushed, hard, and ready to choke himself since he’s already running short on breath. It doesn’t take long until he’s gagging himself stupid and the sparkles under his eyes start running.

„Pretty, pretty,“ you lean down a little, kissing his nose. „Give me all you got.“

„Gh—gch—“

The answer is as slobbery and unintelligible as can be. To a normal human, at least. You’re a demonic top. That automatically means having an Ivy League major in gag noise translation.

„Oh yes, I know,“ you stroke his hair, using your free hand that usually rests at the back of his neck. „Talk to me about it. Exactly what I was thinking. Do go on.“

And he does, louder than ever. If there’s one satisfying sound, it’s this, that heavenly deep voice doing all kinds of nasty acrobatics is making you go crazy. That Felix is absolutely close to cumming in his angel pants is very much clear to you given how the veins and muscles on his neck are having a chaotic Halloween party on their own.

Which includes his tongue taking turns on your two fingers as well. And a wide-eyed Felix struggling, swallowing, holding on to your shoulders with his little feet twitching in their sneakers. Like mad… and you love it. But also — hopelessly sucking and moaning and slurping and squealing until his neck has way too much saliva on it for you not to make it your next target. Felix is so good at this. Way too good.

„Looks delicious,“ you lean in, your hair tickles his ears. And now, you’re busy nibbling, biting a little… and most importantly, giving Felix a wet hickey that will send his makeup artist — my God, you really torture the unsuspecting man almost weekly — into a meltdown. Rowdy and unholy is the look you’re going for.

In the meantime, Felix is still wrapped up trying to hit your fingers at the back of his throat. If his cute bouncy run and rude boner moment didn’t turn you on already, now you would be. The way he’s just sucking in his own spit makes you realize that you won’t ever need a fire brigade for your flat.

You emerge from his neck and raise your brows. Felix is just hard-wired to impress. „Just how much saliva can you produce!“

„Ch… Mnh— Nh…“

Hitting some more complex syntax and consonants there, is he.

„Oh, I get it now. You stayed hydrated during the day. Thanks for explaining, mate. That’s the secret.“

Whether that’s perfectly scientifically correct down to the enzyme theory and shit neither of you can google right now. At least you know that you’re both drenched on either end so that’s that.

Once Felix is so horny from deepthroating your damn hand that he has pull off and yellow-word, you’re already prepared for introducing a new position which you can prepare while he’s gathering himself and wiping off his chin. You hand him a second towel for his neck, and present him a little hand mirror to see how the hickey turned out.

„It’s shaped like, hm,“ he pants, words still slurring a little. „I dunno! It’s really cute!“

„Let me see… No doubt that’s a rice cake hickey. That’s the shape.“

„You’re right!“

And off he goes snapping a selfie with it while you get comfortable on your back, cleaning your own fingers.

„Just don’t upload that one to Insta instead of the cloud shots, we’re not gonna survive another Manager call at 1:15 AM.“

„Can I use your phone for it? That’s where it’s supposed to be on, anyway.“

Felix giggles a little. That cute brat. Always knowing how it’s done.

„Sure babe!“

And voilà, Felix is already occupied setting a good view of his new rice cake-shaped friend as your phone background. Good thing, helps his erection cool down a little, he was about to blow up his poor white pants. The acceptable unfair feat being that he’s just riling you up even more like that on the other hand.

„If you come to mommy now,“ you wriggle one foot in the air, the other splayed on the duvet, knee slightly bent. „Rubbing her pussy and doing your thing, you know how it goes.“

„Angel duties calling! What am I doing!“

At the speed of sound, Felix stores your phone back on the bedside table and crawls over in an instant. He props his chin on your abdomen and blinks.

„Sorry Ma’am. At your service. Never wanna keep you waiting.“

A big smile rouses his cheeks, and you boop them from either side. His peach fuzz is so soft and his eyes are so beautifully dark. You don’t waste any time keeping your skirt down for any longer. Another blink and Felix is already pawing — well, kneading and caressing technically — between your legs. He’s visibly understanding just how wet the whole finger sucking circus has left you now.

„What if I used my heels on your cock, boo. Still no cumming. Just my heels and my lil’ prince.“

Satanic plan stage number three. Felix has gotten to savor it last Christmas and for his birthday, and some time around the holidays in summer.

„I love it yay!“ Felix claps his hands. Baby, baby.

„C’mere then. Just keep on rubbing.“

His arms are fairly long enough. While you’re dragging the slender heels of either shoe right across the outlines on his crotch, Felix, eyes loosely closed, maintains a steady rhythm on your clit with three fingers lined up on the fabric of your panties.

„Oh fucking hell, Felix, shit—“

Whenever you masturbate, that alone would never do. You’d get frustrated after a while. Need more stimulation. But when Felix is on angel duty to keep your pussy soaked, it doesn’t need much to make your clit throb, even with your underwear still on. Guess that God’s little helpers know how to work their magic to make your head spin.

He’s hitting the right spot, with the right moves, and his other hand doesn’t miss out on a single opportunity to stroke at both the in- and outside of your thighs. The touch is so subtle, you twitch. Felix strokes on, delirious himself. His eyelids flutter.

„Fuck…“

Despite the little pause from earlier taking out most of his tension, your heels leave Felix with pants that are even more bulged out. That’s making it easy to direct your feet to jerk up and down at either side. You’d never know either of you would be so into this. Foot fetish and all.

Once he’s edged you to the point of moans, last thing you properly remember is calling it quits with the panties and telling him to line himself up. The heels kicked off, the skirt still on, you decide that unpacking your Halloween treat has been long overdue. You slide his pants down, roll down a pink condom, and grab his cock at the base to glide it all over your wet lips.

„Lix, come fuck me. You got me all horny. Satan is recruiting.“

„With me it’s not sinning,“ he smiles, brighter than the sun and you do right along. It’d be hard not to. Felix truly has the innocence of a virgin, the subtle confidence of an intermediate, the caution of a pro, and the kindness of a real veteran.

„You’re right about that Felix,“ you say, prop your entrance at the very tip, let the wetness do its job. „Come kiss your honey girl.“

And he does. Entering you with care for the right angle, letting your hip do the rest. What’s been circling and sucking your fingers so deliciously is now doing a hot job teasing and pleasing your tongue all over. His lips are amazingly soft and plump, they open so gently and feel electric on yours. A gentle squeeze around your left breast sparks a moan into the kiss from you. It’s Felix massaging your breasts while deepening his penetration, and you can tell the vegemite can stay under the bed today. You can tell Felix is getting more than flustered knowing it was all him who made you this dripping wet.

Even his dick seems to blush in sync. It’s fucking pink and red. Oh wait, that’s the condom. But knowing him and from your viewpoint, it’s still more flushed than before, no kidding. Faithfully pumping in and out of you at its full length now. You wrap your legs around his waist, the thrusts become deeper, shorter, parting you open much more, and filling you out so properly.

„So good. Right there, angel. Just right there. I’m loving that.“

Felix has a great dick. Best handy size, the girth’s comfortable, all nice and bendy, virtually no curve, you can always gyrate on it in any way and even take a complete 180 if you go from cowgirl to reverse (which you’d be doing right now but he’d crush his wings if he were on his back like that so no). Cherry on top, compact but soft balls that don’t steal the show but still do the trick during doggy. They’re whipping up the best cum in the world, so.

The slow kissing goes on and on and Felix tries to walk the tightrope of neither letting your pussy lips suck the orgasm out of him, nor making you cream his cock with shaky legs from all that gorgeous sloppy friction, and the kissing, and his sweet cherry shampoo scent that has your brain in absolute limbo.

With everything hanging by a thread like that, every kiss becomes special and full of a suspense that makes your lips tremble — either set, and Felix can hardly bear it himself.

His little halo is dangling back and forth, and you can tell by his face that all that thrusting has him in serious trouble. And you? Are fucking leaking and groaning, and that little shallow series of first contractions before your orgasm is already preparing you.

The sugar high from the cupcakes is fading, but your adrenaline is sure to replace it. You just want Felix to fuck you more and rock against him, and hold his head, and kiss him. God, his mouth is so warm and inviting, tastes so good like cocoa.

The pace joins yours without any effort, it adapts when your rhythm changes, and it stabilizes everything when you’re currently riding the high of his cock really filling you out so you can clench your muscles around him, feel him and tell him just you wait, I’ll milk you. He’s such a good kisser. You can feel all of your wetness running down your ass like it’s Christmas.

„Felix, I’m overflowing.“

„I’m so sorry,“ he whines into the kiss. „I’ll be washing the sheets.“

„Listen, baby,“ you break the tongue-on-tongue, „you doing laundry is really sexy. But the overflow is the best part. Just look what you’re doing to my body.“

You could ravage him on the spot. He’d probably lose it and cum in two seconds. Holding yourself before the edge is so tough right now.

„Shit… yellow again. Need a moment.“

Felix has to resort to a bit of cockwarming, and you use the little break to rid yourself off the harness. It’s not perfectly comfortable when you’re lying down. You’re about to fling it off the bed that Felix asks to wear it. Oh. Very well. It actually goes as a nice contrast on his white top, and the straps make it easy to adjust to him. And he wants it to sit on him really tightly. Oh again.

You realize—

On you, it’s only a fashion piece. Something random that came with the costume.

On him: It’s kinky.

„Hey hey. You look sexy, pum’kin,“ you pat at his chest. „Look at your waist, wow.“

Your sweet boy. It’s like it’s made for him. So cinched and the exact opposite of his costume. He’s a corrupted, dirty angel now, it’s perfect. With his pink neck and all sweaty face, and his little puppy gaze that will haunt you in your sex dreams because it literally just gets into your pants so much. Oh god, you just wanna cum. You have to distract yourself with chaste images of Felix washing the dishes or writing grocery lists with little hearts and emojis on them but that just makes it five times worse.

The way he puts the harness on with his dick inside you is so mouthwatering and cumworthy, you can’t wait to resume and switch your own brains off on that angel cock. Once Felix is ready to exit phase yellow and resume the session, your hands magically gravitate towards the straps of the harness at this waist.

„Can I?“

„M—hm!“

You have the time of your life grabbing and guiding him by the harness, controlling every thrust. Felix clenches up his teeth from how lavishly his cock is squeezing into your pussy.

„Oh babe,“ you groan out. „Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Come on, angel.“

He’s not going to take it much longer. Felix is tensing all over, neck to the knees, it’s a huge shock wave in the making. That climax is going to be like a fucking punch into outer space.

„I’m really at my limit, I’m, I’m…!“

„Cum for me, angel,“ you reach to his neck to bring his lips down again. Your mouths going into shaky contact brings a big soaring moan with it.

„Ahn—!“

You lock lips, his face scrunches up, and you can tell that cum worth of three orgasms is currently pooling into the condom. You don’t belong to the mile high club, but going by how far up this feels, you might as well be. Those sweet shivers. And the little whines. It’s all too much for him, this one got him bad. Felix cumming is like the angels really are singing. With bells and harps and all that shit at once.

After pulling out, the ruined condom goes off lightning fast. Felix’ cock gets some much-needed cooling, but his face is on heavy duty. How he does it after almost getting his lights turned off, it’s a mystery, it must have been six whole loads he shot into you. You’d already be collapsing in his shoes. Felix still being able to put his mouth to work is an act of divine intervention. Honestly though, it doesn’t even take half a minute. Sloppy head from Felix is cryptonite, your stamina comes tumbling down. His tongue just knocks you out with an overwhelming rush of pleasure.

“Oh— yes...”

What is gravity? You don’t know what north and south mean anymore. He laps and sucks you through your high and your legs give up their soldier service. All you see it fluffy blonde strands of hair peeking from below your skirt, a glimpse of the harness, the rest is heavy growling and swearing from all of the contractions and Felix getting raw and dirty Down Under with no fears, literally none, to bury his face and move it around and let his tongue loose. Time and again Felix shows you he’s a swallower. Satanic agenda: success.

For tonight, your pussy will be nothing but glitter, cum, and spit. Swollen like crazy, properly fucked, and tipped to the absolute limit. Felix keeps on slicking up his face completely, and then brings you into the afterglow with his fingers. One at a time, barely adding stimulation. Just fetching you where you are and climbing down. Looks like you’ll share the cupcakes, this is a couple hangover in the making. In Felix’ case in particular. It’s like he signed up for testing a mad scientist’s latest designer drug.

„Wow wow… So you served me choco cupcakes and God’s menu,“ is the last thing he can say in his delirium before falling over. He’s so fucked out and went so wild on eating you, a part of the harness came off. Thank god his nose is so small, all that swiping could’ve broken the bridge and whatnot. And his lips, they’re twice as plump. You really have to compliment in on what his mouth has done today because that was some champ shit.

You’re both buffering on the sheets for a solid five minutes until you roll to the side. Towel… water… forehead kisses. Yes, forehead kisses most importantly. After gathering yourself a little, you pamper Felix into a heart rate around 90 rather than 120. And with the onset of exhaustion for the two of you, that’s not too hard after some minutes passing. Whispering sweet nothings and praise is all you do up until 2 AM and after. Felix is somewhere between worlds, one foot in the door of the dreamland, the other soaking up the care and the intoxicating, thick scent of the room that has a lot of cherry shampoo in it.

At some point. You loosen the harness, pull off his shirt with the wings attached. The halo you unsuccessfully try to spot in his hair. Turns out: It flew off. Felix really must’ve made Satan proud if it fell down just like that. Good job. Felix has earned a title of being a dirty angel now, and by the way he’s chugging water now, a wet one on top of that.

Five tons of spit, six, seven, who knows how many he’s afforded for today. A head pat is not enough, it has to be several, and Felix passes out onto the pillows. As good as you can, you wipe him down, bin the condom, get off his shoes and his half-pulled down trousers. After staggering to the bathroom, your skirt and peplum shirt follows, the stockings stay on, they’re cozy as hell. Last but not least, you remove your devil horns. It feels like they granted you the most unknown demonic powers.

Next time Felix is on his way to making you cum again, you’ll be wearing them, and you’ll last the way you did tonight. Meanwhile, Bang Chan is blowing up your phone because Felix pressed send by accident earlier, but you don’t notice. It just keeps on vibrating on the bedstand and Chris will have to riddle over the rice cake selfie for the rest of November.

Felix dozes with an angelic little smile on his lips and puffs his cheeks in his sleep, his makeup wiped and his hair truly messy. Instagram can wait. Maybe you’ll get to brush your teeth a little later, it usually takes some time until you wake up again and topple to the sink. You huddle together, tuck your sweet baby pum’kin into his second favorite spot at your chest. Ah, the glory of Felix little spooning.

As the last signature, you nibble at his ear, call him your cutie pie, and switch the lights off. You have to listen closely but if you do, it’s like Felix is purring in his sleep. Whatever your own dreamland is planning to launch on you tonight, you’re looking forward to it.

PS — oh, my good ole fellas, a last cursed disclaimer. i must insist on the following for obvious reasons. vegemite makes for some terrible strap lube okay 😂🇦🇺

like my writing? donate: ko-fi

#felix x reader #sub!felix #felix smut #skz #stray kids #felix x dom!reader #skz smut #lee felix #lee felix smut #lee felix fanfic #skz fanfic #female reader #sub!skz #sub!stray kids #sub felix #sub skz #felix fic #original content #hey angel

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mr-walkingrainbow · 3 years

Note

cooking for abimel!

Cooking. Aka STRESS BAKING.

Oh hell I loved this prompt Gracie. (Your in my head as that, or Shawgroves, cause you changed from Shawgroves to gracepeirce? Sighhh this is life with an Autistic person who identifies someone’s names differentlyyyyy)

Mel walks In the door, half expecting to be pummeled with a hug from one of her two sons.

Probably Luchario, he’s more of a hugger.

Though Jordy sometimes got clingy, so she wouldn’t count him out just yet.

She pauses, a moment of confusion running through her at the lack of physical contact.

Then she smells the air.

Ohh that makes so much more sense.

The smell of something sweet and delicious wifts through the air. An aroma so delectable it has her mouth watering already.

Luke and Jordy are probably snarking down scraps or begging for raw samples if not flat out inhaling everything.

Her mouth twitches as a second thought crosses her mind.

Could this be...?

No,

so far, their was nothing that would lead to that.

Maybe something good happened. Her wife was known for celebrating the small things, especially if it made her family happy.

Thoughts currently at bay, she pulled off her favorite leather jacket, (Lovingly named ‘Spell’ by Abigael. Who had taken a fierce attachment to the item, treating the garment as if it was family).

“Lovely! Guys! I’m home!” The Latina called out, haphazardly kicking off her shoes.

“MAMI!” She hears her kids cheer from the kitchen.

Even after hearing it for seventeen years, it doesn’t stop the jaw breaking smile from taking over.

“Hello Mijos! -Oh! Hello Jordy!” She speaks to the now empty space behind her.

They had mastered their Whitelighter powers by now, so if she randomly felt a hug from nowhere, she wasn’t to be alarmed.

Mel walks into the kitchen, smile immediately dropping at the site before her.

Their is layer upon layer of sweets, cakes, and cookies . everything imaginable scattered across counter space.

Her kids are in the middle of a sugar high in the bar seats, giggling maniacally over a pile of assorted cakes.

“Hey Mami!” Luke calls again, she forces a smile just for him.

“Hello Caro,” her voice turns warning, “You two shouldn’t eat too much more, wouldn’t want to get stomach aches?”

“Aw come on!” Jordy waves, one hand filled with cake, a lollipop permanently between their lips, “Well be fine! Besides! Mom said we could eat whatever we want!”

“Yeah..that’s what I’m worried about.” Her admission is small, and doesn’t reach her teens ears.

So she quickly turns in search of her wife. Knowing exactly what had happened.

She’d only seen it a number of times, one actually being in the Tomb. It was something you’d never assume she’d do, and you didn’t hear this from Mel, but her wife,

Was a stress baker.

Yup. You heard her.

A Stress Baker.

The demon overlord and gateway of magic, was a literal Stress Baker.

“Cariño?” She calls out to the brittless Kitchen.

“Oh! Melanie!” Abby pops out from behind the counter, covered in flour and sugar, “I didn’t hear you arrive! How was your day?”

“Um,” Mel bit her lip, approaching hesitantly, “It was good. Kevin actually payed me a visit today! It was really nice seeing him again!”

“Oh that’s wonderful sweetie!” Her wife crows.

She then seems to notice the assorted items around her, “Oh! How atrocious of me! Please. Help yourself to anything!”

The Latina could feel her expression strain, along with stress baking, Abby usually donned a strictly polite attitude, treating her almost as a guest rather then her wife.

It was shutting down, she’d actually learned. When something was bothering her so much she’d put on the perfect act, cookie cutter if you will, to pretend everything’s ok.

“Honey, sweetie angel, my one and only Wife,... what happened?”

“Whatever do you mean Mel?” Abby rings in a near robotic way.

Mel gets up, crossing the counters so she’s standing in front of her wife. Reaching out and gently enveloping the laters busy hands in hers, stilling them.

“Cariño,” she spoke warmly, “I know you. I’ve been married to you for twenty years. And your stress baking again. I just want you to know that whatever is wrong I’ll be here with you. You don’t have to shut down to survive.”

Abbys frozen expression wavers, gazing at her surroundings with new eyes.

“Bloody hell, I really let it get away from me this time.”

Her eyes are filled with shame, something Mel kisses away on her lips.

“It’s ok.” She assures, “I’m here now.”

The tension in Abigaels shoulders sag, as she slumps forward into the latinas awaiting embrace. One hand around her waist, and the other stroking her forehead just as she knows she likes.

“Today was... difficult.”

“Oh?” Mel hums, “How so Cariño?”

“Demons, people, arguements,” the Britt moans vaguely, Mel understands she’s probably going partially nonverbal, “They wanted the impossible. Got mad when I couldn’t make it happen. They-“

She abruptly cuts herself off. Presumably shutting off all verbal communication now.

The Latina could feel her wife tremble slightly, straining with the urge to continue talking and explain.

“Hey,” she cooed, continuing to stroke the laters forehead, “It’s ok. I understand. I’m sorry they did that to you.”

Abby just nodded miserably against Mels shoulder.

“No wonder you were stress baking,” the lesbian muses to herself, “I still don’t know how you mange being in charge of everything.”

Mel takes notice of the obvious silence, “Yeah I’m probably not helping.”

“No,” Abby finally states, “Just being with you helps. It always does Atlantis.”

She smiles warmly, giving a final kiss to her wife’s crown, “Ok then. Let’s clean up a bit, pick one of these random desserts, snuggle on the couch with your favorite blanket, and have the teens pick out some movie id probably disapprove of.”

Abigael smiles greatfully, eyebrows crinkling, “You always get me, Melanie.”

Mel grins, “What is a wife for?”

“Helping me eat all of this?”

“Ha!” She scoffs, “As if I’d let it all go to the kids! Their already halfway to a sugar Coma and a door away from heart attacks.”

Her wife laughs joyfully, almost lightly, as if a heavy weights been lifted off of her.

And the two of them go off and have a super gay snuggle fest and watch Miss Peregrines home for peculiar children, and Carmilla.

(Because I live for shoutouts to other fandoms and I hope that made @transmazikeen smile)

HAHAHAHA BASKOOSH! HOW YOU LIKE THAT???? Sorry it wasn’t technically cooking, but since Abby is like canonly a stress baker I’ve been dying to write something like this.

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icollectyoursins · 3 years

Text

Gift Headcanons Melone x Reader

Look. I know the holidays have just passed, but I am unashamedly a SIMP for all of La Squadra and I wanna give them gifts. I just love them. So here, have some (mostly) tender gift giving and receiving for da boyz. I’m excluding Sorbet and Gelato because I know next to nothing about them, sorry!

This one was very hard to keep this one SFW, but I tried!

Risotto

Prosciutto

Pesci

Illuso

Formaggio

Ghiaccio

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Mostly SFW, second bit is light NSFW, no sex, but lingerie is involved.

Word Count: 1559

Giving:

Melone is uh... gross, so most of his gifts are sort of sexual, even if you don’t know it (like very large heels). That being said, he does give some sweet gifts every now and then! It’s always something you’ve been eying for a while or boasting about and 100% a pleasant surprise that makes the nasty things so worth it.

He loves getting you jewelry! Anything from earrings, rings, bracelets, necklaces, body piercings, body jewelry that wraps around you. He just loves making you shine! Or, he’ll impress you with fancy drinks in ridiculous bottles (looking at you Crystal Head Vodka), weird things that he can enjoy with you and then use to decorate the house with. Also (unsurprisingly) lingerie. Any kind that looks good on you he will get it.

He’s honestly a mix of both private and open when giving gifts. You’re together and close, but not 100% alone. He wants a few people to see how happy you two are.

You sat on the couch with a phone in one hand scrolling through social media while the other idly rubbed circles into Melone’s back. He was hunched over his computer, typing various commands with nimble fingers. It had been so far into the relationship at this point that you didn’t even bother asking what he was doing. You were just there to make sure he didn’t mess up his back too much.

Suddenly, he sat up, stretching out his back before looking over to you, head still tilted back slightly. He smiled in a way that would have been sweet if it wasn’t Melone, but you got the message. You think.

“I have something for you, mio caro/mia cara. Would you like it?” He purred. There was something about the sparkle in his pretty blue/green eyes that made you curious and hesitant at the same time.

“That depends. Am I going to like it?” You teased, letting out a light chuckle which he returned.

“Of course!” He said, voice full of false defensiveness. “When have I ever given you something you didn’t like?”

“Do you want a list? I can give you a list!” He laughed again, getting off the couch, waving his hand dismissively at you.

“No, no need for a list. Just stay where you are, I’ll be back.” Melone kissed the top of your head as he passed behind you. “Oh, and close your eyes.”

You couldn’t even get out a final quip or protest. He was through the doorway with a coy wink and a smile. You rolled your eyes before closing them, waiting patiently for him to return, though you did look at your phone one time while waiting. What can you say? He took a little longer than you expected and so you had some extra time!

Finally, he came back with two gifts in hand. One long, slender gift bag which you assumed had some kind of alcohol in it and the other was a thin box wrapped in ribbon. The grin on his face said that this was either innocent, harmless gifts, or something a little on the more devious side. You couldn’t quite tell.

He swiftly made his way back to the couch, placing the box in your hand while he began showing off the mystery contents of the bag. With slow elegance, he pulled out a rather odd and sensual liquor bottle. He presents it to you on an open palm. From the clearness, you could tell that it was probably vodka or something like that. The bottle was a glass-blown pinup of a woman with her arms folded over her head. Definitely vodka. Only people who made vodka would be this extra. And only Melone would buy a bottle of a naked woman.

The wicked grin on his face told you that he was very proud of this piece. You laughed light-heartedly, examining the bottle in your hands.

“Well, it’s certainly unusual!” You mused. “As long as the drink is good, I don’t care!” He grinned, licking his lips as his eyes drifted down to the box. This was his favourite part of tonight. Unless something else were to happen, but that was entirely up to you.

Setting the bottle down on the coffee table you moved on, pulling the bow apart with ease. Taking the lid off revealed a thin layer of tissue paper with holographic dots on it, how cute. Underneath was-

“Melone!” You shrieked. He only chuckled.

“There’s more than that, amor mio/amore mio. Here, let me!” He reached it, pulling out a beautiful, delicate gold chain that looked as though it wrapped around your torso with smaller chains crossing over your chest. There was a matching bottom too, with glittering gold hanging off what would be your hips if you were wearing it.

“Oh, Melone!” Ah, there it was, that wonderful joy only he could bring out. Like music to his ears! “They’re beautiful, thank you so much!”

He swiftly caught you in a hug, pulling you close to him before he brought your face up to his, pulling you into a passionate kiss that left you breathless. Everyone around you who was staring turned away, giving you a little bit of privacy.

Receiving:

Oh my god, does this man love being spoiled. Melone will love pretty much anything you give him. Honestly, probably was sugar baby at some point (or maybe he’s yours), but yeah, happy receiving lots and lots of gifts from you.

I can see him enjoying sweet things with whipped cream and strawberries, lots of sparkly things and shiny things. Basically, anything he would get you, he would also enjoy receiving. If it’s something you can use erm... together *wink wink* he is, like, basically drooling already.

Does not care how you give him the gift, though if you have the guts to give him that kind of gift in front of people, he will absolutely feel something stir in him. But for the most part, he’s happy with anything.

You adjusted your “outfit” in the mirror while you were waiting for Melone to find your little treasure hunt. It wasn’t much, just a few small notes hinting towards something more and more as he got closer.

It started at the door with a cookie and a note telling him to follow the trail to his gift. Once he read it, he was excited in more ways than one. He followed the notes around the house. Some told him to do chores like fold the laundry to get to the bottom where the next clue was, or water the plants.

He loved every minute of it, happily pairing each sock with its missing partner and smoothing out any creases in shirts. A sweet tune hummed from his chest while he sprayed each delicate flower, smelling the sweet scent until he got dizzy and feeling each leaf to make sure it was healthy before moving onto the next. It was agonizingly slow for both of you, though that was the point. If you were going to tease him all the way to the bedroom, then he was going to make you sit and wait.

Melone’s eyes flicked up to the clock. He’d been there an hour already. Poor thing must be so tired waiting. But, he still has more chores to do, right? His suspicions were confirmed when he found another note, hidden in a succulent, telling him to grab something from the fridge.

“Di molto! I wonder what that could be?” He asked the air sarcastically before practically skipping to the fridge where he found another slip of paper saying to look for something sweet and light. A hummed chuckle buzzed on his lips. “Hmm, sweet and light. Sweet and light. I wonder what that could be?”

You rolled your eyes. The kitchen wasn’t too far from where you were hidden in the bedroom, so you could hear every exaggerated word that he said. You scoffed, muttering out some kind of insult under your breath.

“Sweet and- Ah! This will be perfect.” He mused, grabbing 2 things from the fridge. You hoped one of them wasn’t honey, but then again, who would keep honey in the fridge? Honestly, probably Melone. Not for any particular reason, just because!

The door was closed with a joking hip jerk. He didn’t even bother looking for the next clues. He just made his way straight to the bedroom, calling out to you as he entered. You were nowhere to be found, much to his dismay. However, he did find the box you left for him on the bed.

Eagerly, he tossed what was in his arms onto the bed, then the box lid as he plunged into the gift. His eyes grew wide as he pulled out a harness he’d only been dreaming about using for years. A sound of pleasure rolled through his body. That’s when you came out of your hiding spot, wrapping your arms around him from behind.

“Oh, you spoil me, mio caro/mia cara!”

“I know, just don’t get whipped cream on the bed. Or strawberry leaves.” Melone laughed darkly, turning around and wrapping his arms around you.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered against your lips before smashing into them gently. As far as he was concerned, he would do whatever you wanted after tonight!

-----

Translations:

mio caro/mia cara = my darling (masc and fem)

amor mio/amore mio = my love (masc and fem)

#melone #melone x reader #melone jojo #melone prompts #sfw

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themetaphorgirl · 4 years

Text

I asked for cute and cuddly things so I could write something adorable!! I tried to combine as many as possible!

@therestisconfettis : “the psolc babies making a pillow fort!!”

@birds-are-better-than-you : “My brain immediately goes to people actually listening to him talk instead of cutting him off, but thats just rooted in sadness”

@fragolinaa : “I just want people cuddling him, maybe someone who hasn't yet like Emily or Dave?”

@purpleturtle31extra : “Spending an off day exploring music together! Like showing him songs that remind you of him or a certain memory..”

anonymous: “cute cuddly idea: u mentioned Emily and Dave getting Spencer legos. Write a little thing of a rainy day or whatever and everyone’s just chilling building random shit with legos and then there’s gonna be Spencer actually building something with proper ratios and actual potential urban planning and everyone else is just like “hmm... I have built something vaguely resembling a plane”

anonymous: “omg cuddly mom alex?? maybe spencer napping with her and he has a nightmare??”

I hope I touched on everything!! I think I captured at least a little bit of everything!!!

----------

“Hey,” Emily said. “Are you feeling okay?”

Spencer dragged his fork around his plate, his chin resting heavily in his hand. “I’m not hungry,” he said dully.

“This is your last day to eat whatever you want,” she pointed out. “Go get something sugary. Donuts or something.”

He shrugged, and she bit back a sigh. Everyone else had left on Wednesday afternoon to spend Thanksgiving break with their respective families- literally everyone, even Hotch- and while they’d had a nice Thanksgiving at James’s house, and she was enjoying having her room all to herself, she and Spencer had been left behind, and the kid was moping like it was his job. She was starting to figure out that while he liked doing things on his own, he needed the security of knowing that everyone else was nearby.

“I guess I’ll go get some chocolate milk or something,” Spencer sighed, sliding down from his chair.

“See? There you go,” she said. “Treat yourself.”

As soon as he slid down from his chair and trudged away she pulled out her phone.

the cause of hotchner’s headaches

9:09am

You guys need to help w the kid hes so sad i dont know what to do

James texted back first, which didn’t surprise her.

doctor james, medicine man

9:10am

Is he okay?

the cause of hotchner’s headaches

9:10am

HES SAD I CANT HANDLE IT COME HELP ME

spaghetti grandpa

9:11am

He’ll be fine. He knows everybodys coming back today right?

the cause of hotchner’s headaches

9:12am

HE IS SAD NOW COME OVER

She set her phone aside as Spencer walked back up to the table with a carton of chocolate milk in his hands. “Can you open this for me, please?” he asked.

She did and handed it back, but he didn’t drink it. “How about we go watch a movie or something?” she suggested. “While we’re waiting for everybody to get back on campus. That’ll be fun, right?”

He shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “What time is it?”

“A little after nine.”

He scrunched up his face, calculating. “Who do you think will be back first?” he asked.

“I don’t know, babe, we’ll have to see,” she said. “Drink your milk and we’ll get out of here.”

He sighed. “I don’t think I want it anymore,” he said. She shot him her best impression of Alex’s mom look. He rolled his eyes, but he drank it anyway.

Outside the dining hall it was cold and gray and dreary, rain falling just steadily enough to be irritating. She pulled the hood of her jacket over her head and made Spencer put his purple galaxy-print raincoat on over his his sweater before they walked down the steps.

“Do you think the weather will ground planes?” he asked anxiously.

“Your guess is as good as mine, squirt,” she said. “It’ll definitely rain all day, but I don’t know if it’ll affect planes. You’ll probably know better than me.”

He said nothing, but he slipped his small hand into hers. She squeezed back gently. The kid had been perfectly well-behaved the whole time she’d been left to watch him, but it was frustrating to see him so sad and quiet and droopy. She didn’t think it was possible to be homesick for other people, but Spencer definitely had a bad case of it.

They settled in the common room, but the cozy space seemed cavernous and empty without the rest of the group. Spencer left his coat and his shoes in his room and settled into Alex’s usual spot on the couch, leaning on the armrest.

“So what do you want to do, kiddo?” she said. He raised and lowered one shoulder. She huffed. “I’ll just pick something then.”

“Nothing scary, please,” he said, his chin resting on his folded arms.

“No, don’t worry, I learned my lesson,” she said. She grabbed a Star Wars off the shelf- she wasn’t sure which one it was, but she figured she couldn’t go wrong with something sci fi.

“Hotch’s plane lands at eleven, right?” he said as she plunked down on the opposite end of the couch.

“I think so,” she said. She reached over and ruffled his hair lightly. “Stop overthinking, you’re going to blow a fuse in there. Everyone will be home soon, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried,” he mumbled.

They got about halfway through Star Wars (she still wasn’t entirely sure which one it was) when they heard Dave and James on the stairs. “Hey, guys!” Dave called. “We’ve got presents!”

Emily paused the movie. “What do you mean, presents?” she said. “What’d you bring me?”

James and Dave each held large plastic tubs that they dropped with heavy clatters on the floor. “Spencer, you’ve been having fun with the legos we got you for your birthday, right?” James said.

Spencer raised his head. “Yeah,” he said slowly.

“Well, we decided to dig around for our old lego collections you can have your own giant collection,” Dave said.

He slid off the couch. “Really?” he said.

“Yeah, absolutely,” James said. “Go get yours, we’ll put them all together.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up. “Okay!” he said, darting off to his room.

“Oh my god, thank goodness you two are here,” Emily said.

“You know, you said he was sad, and I didn’t believe it till I saw him,” Dave said, wrenching the lid off the first bin. “He looks like a deflated balloon.”

“See? I wasn’t lying,” Emily said. “Poor kid has been moping all week.”

James checked his phone. “Hopefully everybody will get in without any problems,” he said. “Alex texted me a little bit ago and said they delayed her flight by an hour.”

“Oh, yikes,” Emily said. “She’d better get back here soon. And don’t tell the kid that, he’ll worry more.”

Spencer ran back into the room with his legos. “How should I organize them?” he asked. “Color first or size first?”

“How about we, you know, build something?” Dave suggested as he sat down on the couch. “C’mere, passerotto, I think I have all the pieces to the batcave.”

“Ooh, which version?” James asked as Spencer sat down on the floor in front of Dave.

“I don’t know. I think I built it once when I was Spencer’s age and then never touched it again.”

Emily leaned over James and scooped up a handful of plastic pieces. “What are you going to build?” she asked.

“Hey, don’t copy me!”

They worked on their projects mostly in companionable silence, sometimes absent chatter. Rain continued to tap at the windows. At least Spencer seemed distracted at last, focused on his projects.

Lightning cracked, white light shining through the window for a brief moment, and everyone jumped; Spencer knocked over one of his structures. “Holy shit,” Emily said. “That was terrifying.”

“You okay?” Dave asked, touching Spencer’s arm lightly.

He nodded, leaning against Dave until he lifted him onto his lap. “Do you think everybody’s okay?” he asked. “Planes can’t always fly in this sort of weather.”

“I’m sure everybody’s fine,” Dave reassured him. Spencer bit his lip, still staring out the window. “So what have you been building?”

“Scale model of campus,” he said. “Well, it’s not exactly to scale. But it’s pretty close.”

James held up a lump of legos. “This was supposed to be a plane,” he said. “But it doesn’t look particularly aerodynamic.”

Spencer laughed. “What kind of plane is it supposed to be?” he asked. “It looks like an off-kilter Cessna.”

“I don’t know. Just...a plane,” James said.

“I’m trying to see how tall I can build this thing without it falling over,” Emily said. “Not much success yet.”

“I’m sure you know, caro,” Dave said, poking Spencer lightly in the side. “How tall is the tallest lego structure ever?”

“The tallest one is in Milan, it’s a hundred and fourteen feet, eleven inches tall,” he said. “The previous tallest was just a hundred and fourteen feet tall, in Budapest.”

“Milan, hm?” Dave said. “Maybe I’ll go see it next time I’m over there.”

“There’s one in Tel Aviv that was built to be four feet taller but-”

Lightning cracked again and Spencer jumped. Dave rubbed his back lightly. “It’s okay, it’s just a bad storm,” he said. It was too late, though- the attempts at distraction had failed, and Spencer was clearly back to worrying, the corners of his mouth tugging down.

Dave looked over at Emily. What should we do? he mouthed. She shrugged helplessly.

Thankfully, right at that moment heavy footsteps echoed on the stairs. Spencer raised his head. Please let it be one of our group, please let it be one of our group, Emily thought fervently.

A tall figure in a rain-soaked coat made it to the top of the stairs, almost terrifying for a split second, but he threw back his hood and shook his head. “Jesus, that was a nightmare,” he said.

Spencer scrambled to his feet and ran towards him, nearly kicking Dave in his haste. “Hotch!” he shrieked, throwing his arms around his waist.

“Hey, kiddo!” Hotch said, bending to hug him. “Hey, careful, it’s raining really hard out there, I’m drenched and I don’t want you to get wet.”

“How was your flight?” James asked.

Spencer, undeterred, still clung to Hotch; Hotch ran his fingers through his thick short curls. “Unbelievably shitty,” he said. “Flights were getting canceled left and right, it’s just storming bad everywhere. If I hadn’t gotten such an early flight, I might not’ve made it back.”

“That’s what we’ve been worrying about,” Emily said. “And when I say we I mean Spencer.”

Hotch tugged him back so he could see his face. “Hey, stop worrying,” he said. “Everybody will get back eventually. I promise.”

“I can’t help worrying,” Spencer said. “What if everybody’s flights get delayed? What if something happens to their planes. What if-”

Hotch scooped him up. “Hey, I think the dining hall’s open for lunch,” he said. “Anybody else hungry? I didn’t have time for breakfast before my flight and all they gave me was one packet of pretzels.”

“They stopped giving away peanuts because of allergies becoming more common,” Spencer said, leaning his cheek against Hotch’s shoulder even though his coat was soaked with rain.

“Yeah?” Hotch said. “How about you go get your coat and your shoes, okay? I’m starving.”

“Okay,” Spencer said reluctantly. Hotch set him back down on his feet and he ran down the hall to his room.

“I am so glad you’re back, Hotchner,” Emily said, sweeping her lego tower back into the bin. “He’s been so sad with everybody gone.”

“I can tell,” he said. “Has he been like this the whole time?”

“Oh, yeah,” Emily said. “I’ve barely been able to get two words out of him.”

“Even when they came over for Thanksgiving he wasn’t talking much,” James added.

Hotch sighed. “I didn’t even think about this,” he said. “Poor kid.”

Emily’s phone buzzed. “Oh, it’s Penelope,” she said. “I’ll put her on speaker. Hey, Pen, how’s it going?”

“Terrible!” Penelope said, her voice crackling over the line. “I made the flight from California to Texas for my layover, but they canceled my connecting flight. It’s storming too bad.”

“Oh, yikes,” Dave said. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she sighed. “They have me booked for a flight first thing in the morning, and the airline is putting me up in a hotel for the night, but it’s so frustrating.”

“I’m sure,” James said. “Stay safe, okay? Do you need anything?”

“Are you kidding? The hotel has like a million channels and room service, I’m doing great!” Penelope said. “I’ll call you guys in the morning before my flight, okay? Talk to you soon!”

Emily sighed as the call ended. “Well, that’s one down,” she said.

“Penelope’s not coming?”

Spencer peeked out of the hall, his rainboots on and his coat dragging from his hand. “Yeah, her connecting flight got canceled,” Dave said. “But she’s safe, and she’ll be on a flight tomorrow, okay? So don’t worry.”

Judging by the way he pressed his mouth together, he definitely was worried. Emily pushed herself up from the floor. “Let’s go get lunch, okay?” she said. “Before Hotch starves.”

The rain had gotten decidedly worse, coming down in heavy sheets and flooding patches of the courtyard. Her umbrella helped a little but not much; Dave complained loudly the entire walk over. Spencer stayed glued to Hotch’s side, clinging tightly to his hand even once they made it to the warm safety of the dining hall.

Hotch pulled Spencer’s hood down as they got in line. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

He frowned, then covered Spencer’s ears. “Emily, be honest,” he said. “Did he eat while we were gone?”

“Not for lack of trying,” she said. “I kept putting shit on his plate and he barely touched it.”

“Did he just eat ice cream and candy?”

“He didn’t even want sweets. Or coffee, even.”

Hotch’s frown deepened. “Well, shit,” he said. He dropped his hands to Spencer’s shoulders. “Okay, kid, you have to eat something. If you don’t pick, I’ll pick for you.”

Spencer shrugged. “That’s fine,” he said.

Hotch met Emily’s gaze, eyebrows raised. “I told you,” she said.

She followed Hotch down the cafeteria line as he filled up two plates. Spencer stayed so close he ran the risk of getting stepped on, his small hand clinging to the hem of Hotch’s jacket.

Dave and James had beaten them to their usual table, and neither of them looked particularly happy. “Bad news,” James said. “JJ just called. Her parents rescheduled her flight. They were worried about the storms, so she’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”

Emily glanced over at Spencer. “But she’s okay?” he said anxiously.

“She’s fine, caro,” Dave said. “And she’ll be here tomorrow.”

“What about Derek and Alex?” he asked. “Have they called? Or texted.”

“Not yet,” James said. “Maybe they’re already on their flights, though. I”m sure we’ll hear from them soon.”

Hotch set the tray down on the table, then picked Spencer up and set him down in his chair. “They’ll be fine,” he said. “So how did Thanksgiving go for you guys?”

Even with their attempts at changing the subject and trying to draw him into the conversation, Spencer seemed to sink further into himself, his legs tucked up under him and his chin resting in his hand, his plate still mostly untouched. Emily couldn’t blame him for being sad. All week it had been just the two of them in the nearly-deserted dining hall, and even with the boys there it seemed wrong without the rest of the group- Penelope shrieking about something that didn’t need to be shrieked about, Derek regaling them with stories from football practice, JJ’s pretty laugh bubbling over, Alex keeping the peace and stopping cups and plates from getting knocked over and tilted onto the ground.

Hotch didn’t make much headway getting Spencer to eat, but at least he ate a little bit, and their little group braved the storm to get back to Lincoln House. “What have you guys been up to?” he asked as they settled in the common room again, coats and umbrellas hung up to dry.

“Legos,” James said. “This was supposed to be a plane.”

Hotch laughed. “Yikes,” he said. “I’m glad you’re not planning on going into engineering.”

“Yeah, probably for the best,” he said ruefully. “I-”

“Hold on, hold on,” Dave interrupted. “Did you guys see the group chat?”

Emily fumbled for her phone. “No, I didn’t, I...oh.”

“What’s wrong?” Hotch asked.

“Derek’s flight got canceled too,” James said. “He says it got delayed and he sat on the tarmac for three hours, but they pulled everybody off the plane. His mom’s already picked him up, so he’s fine.”

Emily glanced over at Spencer. He curled himself up smaller, his knees tucked up to his chest, chewing on his thumbnail. “But he’ll be here tomorrow?” he said.

“Yeah, he’ll be here tomorrow,” Dave reassured him.

Spencer lifted his head. “Can we call Alex?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, of course,” Emily said, immediately pulling Alex’s contact info on the screen. “Here, kiddo. Just press-”

Lightning cracked, and with a sharp pop the common room went dark.

“Holy shit!” Emily shrieked, the phone falling from her hand.

“Did a fuse blow?” Dave said.

James got up and looked out the window. “Well, judging by the other buildings on campus...I think the power’s out everywhere,” he said.

“Well, fuck,” Hotch said.

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Watch your language!” she said in mock horror.

“Oh, shut up,” Hotch said good-naturedly. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait for the power to come back on. Spencer, do you want to go ahead and call Alex? She’ll probably be glad to miss the power outage.”

“I think the tower’s down too,” Spencer said in a small voice. “There’s no signal.” He held the phone back out to Emily. “Thanks anyway.”

She reached for the phone, and as the lock screen flickered she caught the faint mark of tears on his cheek. “Oh, no,” she said. “Oh, fuck. Spencer, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” he said, but there was a distinct wobble in his voice.

“Spencer, it’s going to be okay,” Hotch said. “The power’s going to come back on, and everyone will be home soon.”

It was too dark to see, but she could hear Spencer sniffling in a valiant effort to keep form crying. “I know,” he said. “But I-”

Hotch picked Spencer up and placed him in Emily’s lap. “Stay here with Em for a second,” he said. “James, Dave, come with me.”

Spencer dropped his head against Emily’s collarbone as she wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s been a rough week, dude. You didn’t get to go home and see your family, and you miss everybody. And you’re worried because of the storms. It makes sense.” She kissed the top of his head. “And now we’ve got all this power outage shit. But it’ll be okay.”

Hotch dumped an armload of stuff onto the nearest armchair. “Thank goodness for Penelope’s illegal candle stash,” he said.

Emily twined one of Spencer’s short curls around her finger. “What’s with all of the pillows and blankets?” she asked.

In the dim light she could see Hotch grin. “We’re going to make a blanket fort,” he said. “C’mere, Spencer, I could use your brain for this.”

Emily set Spencer on his feet as James and Dave brought in their collections of pillows and blankets. She busied herself lighting candles and placing them in safe places around the room as Spencer directed the older boys in their construction. He seemed to perk up a little bit with something to focus on, especially as they let him be in charge.

“Okay, I’ve made some blanket forts in my day, but this one is pretty cool,” James said.

“That’s because Penelope has about eight million blankets and they’re all soft as baby puppies,” Emily said as she crawled into the fort. “I claim the blue pillow!”

All five of them fit comfortably inside, the interior lit with a string of battery operated fairy lights, also taken from Penelope’s room. Spencer nestled himself between Hotch and Emily. “Are we going to tell Penelope that we borrowed all of her stuff?” he asked.

Hotch handed him his favorite blanket. “I think if we leave the fort up till she gets back, she won’t mind as long as she gets to hang out in here,” he said.

“What should we do?” Dave asked. “Power’s still out, and there’s no wifi either.”

“Oh!” Emily said. “Okay, I’ve been trying to get you to listen to this album for weeks. Now is the perfect time! You’re a captive audience.”

They took turns passing each other’s phones back and forth, listening to different songs in the comfort of the handmade blanket fort, playfully arguing over each other’s tastes in music as the warm glow of the fairy lights cast soft shadows. Spencer seemed a little less tense now, snuggled safely between Hotch and Emily with his blanket hugged to his chest.

She hadn’t kept track of time, but it was at least two hours before the power switched back on, the overhead lights suddenly way too bright after the dimmness of the tent. “There we go,” Dave said, sitting up and checking his phone. “And we’ve got signal again!” He stretched his arm over James and Emily to hold out the phone to Spencer. “Here, passerotto, see if you can call Alex.”

He took it eagerly and tapped at the screen to bring up her info, but his excitement faded almost instantly. “It went right to voicemail,” he said. “Thanks anyway.”

James scrambled ungracefully to his feet. “Hey, since the power’s back, who wants to watch a movie?” he said.

“Not a Star War, please,” Emily called. “I can’t tell any of them apart.”

Hotch propped himself up on his elbow. “Hey, Spence,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m sure Alex is fine.”

“Yeah,” Spencer said. He turned to Hotch, one corner of his mouth tugging up in a rueful little half smile. “I bet her flight got canceled too. It’s okay.”

James flipped the overhead lights off, leaving them back in the glow of the candles and the string lights, and crawled back into the fort with the remote in his hand. “All right, if anyone has objections, y’all can get up yourself and change it,” he said.

Emily settled back as the movie started. Spencer was quiet beside her, but after a while he rolled over onto his stomach, his forehead pressed against Hotch’s arm and his blanket tangled around his legs, and she smiled when she heard his first little snore.

“Hotchner,” she whispered. “This blanket fort idea was genius.”

Hotch grinned. “Sean made me make one for him while I was home,” he said. “I figured Spencer might like it too.” He paused. “Is he asleep?” Emily nodded. “Thank god.”

James sat up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Guys, I still haven’t heard from Alex,” he said. “It’s still going right to voicemail when I call her and she hasn’t answered any texts.”

“Maybe her signal’s out too,” Dave said. “Don’t worry about it. Alex can take care of herself.”

James pouted. “Yeah, but...I might be a little worried about her,” he said. “It’s not like her to not answer.”

“Awww, you miss your girlfriend,” Emily teased.

“I do! I do miss her!” James said.

“Guys, if any of you wake up Spencer, I will murder you,” Hotch hissed.

“I’m sorry!” James whispered back. “I just- I think I need to be worried about Alex.”

Suddenly a familiar person knelt down and leaned into the tent. “You’re worried about me?” Alex said, her long red hair hanging loose around her shoulders. “That’s so sweet!”

James scrambled up, smacking Dave in the face in his haste. “Oh my god, I missed you!” he said. He tugged her closer, cupping her face in his hands, and kissed her deeply. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she laughed, running her fingers through his hair. “My phone died and I didn’t pack any of my portable chargers in my carryon. Where’s everybody else?”

“Everybody’s flights are delayed,” Emily said. “Spencer’s been beside himself.”

“Oh, poor thing,” she said. “Is he sleeping? I don’t want to wake him up.”

“Yeah, he just dozed off,” Hotch said. “He’s going to be so relieved to see you.”

Emily scooted over to make room. “C’mere, the movie hasn’t been on for very long,” she said.

“Hey!” James protested. “She’s my girlfriend, shouldn’t she be next to me?”

“Well, she’s my roommate, and I’ve had her for longer,” Emily said. Alex laughed as she settled between her and Spencer, busying herself with snuggling him against her side and tucking him in. Emily leaned over to whisper in James’s ear. “Besides, we all know you two are gonna go fool around the second you get a chance. You’ll get your quality time, don’t worry.”

Even in the dim light she could see him turn red. “What are you guys whispering about?” Alex asked.

“Nothing!” James squeaked. Emily made a rude hand gesture and he smacked her arm. “Emily! Stop it!”

She snickered as she leaned her head against Alex’s shoulder. “How was your week being in charge?” Alex asked as she adjusted Spencer’s blanket around him.

“Could have been worse...could have been a lot better,” Emily said. “He was so sad. I’m not good with sad kids.”

“I’m sure you did great,” Alex reassured her.

The movie was almost over when Spencer began to shift and whimper in his sleep. “Is he okay?” Emily asked.

“He’s-” Hotch winced as Spencer kicked him in the shins. “Ow. Bad dream, I think.”

Alex sat up. “Okay, I’m going to wake him up,” she said.

“Careful, he can be pretty feisty,” Hotch warned.

Alex stroked his hair back from his forehead as he tried to pull away from her. “Spencer, wake up,” she called gently, her hand resting on his chest. “Come on, darling.”

She kept coaxing him until his eyes finally opened. “What’s going on?” he mumbled.

“You had a bad dream,” she said.

He blinked. “Alex?” he said sleepily. “Did your plane land safely?”

Hotch laughed. “Yeah, kiddo, her plane landed safely,” he said. “Get the sleep out of your eyes.”

Spencer rubbed his face and blinked again. “Alex!” he yelped, throwing himself into her arms.

“Hi, baby,” she said. “Did you miss me?”

“A little bit,” he said, tilting his face so she could kiss his cheek. “Was your flight okay? Was there a lot of turbulence?”

“Everything was fine,” she reassured him as she cuddled him against her side. “Now, sh, I think Dave is getting invested in the movie.”

“No, I’m not,” he said absently.

“Yes, he is,” Emily teased.

Spencer settled down with his head on Alex’s knees; Hotch tugged his blanket around him. “Everybody else will be here tomorrow,” he said. “Penelope’s connecting flight got canceled, and Derek’s got canceled, and JJ’s parents rescheduled her.”

“That’s good,” she said, stroking her fingers through his hair. “Go back to sleep, darling. You look so tired. And everything’s going to be okay, nothing to worry about.”

The rain had settled back into a light tapping on the window; the thunder and lightning had long since stopped. Emily leaned back against her pillows, smiling in contented relief. Alex was right. Everything was going to be okay.

#au: patron saint of lost causes #caitlin writes things #emily prentiss #alex blake #alex miller #aaron hotchner #hotch #dave rossi #james blake #spencer reid

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theweasleyslytherin · 4 years

Text

i knew you (ron weasley x reader) part 6

part 1/masterlist

summary: Ron inexplicably broke up with Cassiah Black just days before their final year at Hogwarts, leaving them both with broken hearts and no future plans, but too stubborn and too proud to fix things. The centuries-old rivalry between their Gryffindor and Slytherin houses only make things worse, and friendships are truly put to the test. Will they find their way back together before the year ends, or will the end of their time at Hogwarts be the last time they ever see the each other?

warnings: angst, drug/alcohol use, eventual smut ;)

CHAPTER 6 - awkward situations

I hope I cross your mind when you're too high and wide awake I hope you wonder if I'm happy, if I'm still the same And when you turn over, see her there I hope you think of me and how you wish it would've ended differently

i don't miss u, Caro __________________________

"Blimey, Neville, stop staring. She's gonna think you're a complete creep."

Neville blushed, immediately snapping back to looking at Ron and shielding his face in embarrassment. "M'not staring," he insisted, "She just happened to catch my eye, is all."

Ron snorted, leaning back in his chair and giving the boy a knowing look, "She must happen to catch your eye a lot, then, Longbottom."

The 'she' in question, Luna Lovegood, paid the boys no mind. She was completely entranced by the book she was reading, blocking out the chaos occurring around her as students filed into the classroom. Her wavy blonde hair was falling in a curtain around her face, protecting her from the outside world.

Neville sighed, knowing that trying to play it off was useless. He was a horrible liar. "Just please don't mention it to anyone. I'm never gonna get up the courage to take to her and its... embarrassing," he admitted, his cheeks turning pink.

Ron nodded and clapped a hand against Neville's back, "I wouldn't dream of it, mate." Especially, he thought, since Neville had generously failed to mention the way that he spent all of their class together stealing glances at Cassiah from across the room.

Speaking of which, where was she? The lecture was about to start, and being a prefect and all, she usually made it a point to not be late. It was usually more like Ron to be late than Cassiah – she was kind of the brains of the operation – but this semester he had made it his goal to focus more on his schoolwork and hopefully get his grades up before graduation.

Almost as if on cue, Cassiah burst into the room in a flurry of flying robes and unorganized stacks of paper and books. She looked flustered, her hair pulled into a disgrace of a bun on the top of her head and her robes flailing behind her. Ron still thought she looked beautiful, although it did remind him of the time she got too fucked up at a party last year and thought she was going to throw up. Ron had pulled her hair back into the world's worst bun – not dissimilar to this one – just in case, but she'd ended up sipping water and pulling it together. She always did.

Cassiah's normal seat with the Slytherins was taken. Frankly, Ron was surprised that the guys hadn't saved her seat, but then again, she was late and it was Malfoy and Crabbe he was talking about. Cassiah's gaze travelled over the room searching for an empty seat close to the front when Ron was hit with a horrifying realization. This was a pretty big class, and he and Neville were pretty much the only people in it without a whole friend group. So, not only were there no seats in the front of the classroom, but there were no empty seats anywhere. Except, that is, at his and Neville's table.

"Bloody hell," he cursed under his breath and at that exact moment he watched Cassiah realize what was about to have to happen. Neville looked vaguely nauseous.

And then she was walking towards them.

Cassiah forced her lips up into a tiny, awkward smile, and Ron ducked his head, not wanting to look. He couldn't look. She stood in front of the table for a moment, commenting simply, "I guess I'll be sitting here, then. Hello, Neville."

Neville let out a shaky, "Hi, Cassiah. How are you?"

"I'm good, thank you," she replied. She looked like she was choking for a second before finally adding, "Hi Ron."

Ron was forced to look up from his textbook that he was suddenly very interested in, "Hi, Cassie," he said quickly. He could've sworn he saw a dash of pain rush over her face at the use of his old nickname, but he'd never called her anything else. He must've been wrong though, because she dropped her books down at the table and took her seat without another word. It felt as though every eye in the room was watching them.

Cassiah must have noticed this, too, because she craned her neck to look over her shoulder and say aloud to the class, "Alright, everyone. The show's over." A few people chuckled nervously in response, and Ron started to, as well–

And that was when he saw it. With her neck exposed at this angle and her hair up in a bun, it was on full display for him to see. He shook his head quickly and squinted, not wanting to believe it. There was no way that this was real. His stomach dropped down to his feet and his throat swole up.

There it was on Cassiah's beautiful, tanned neck. A massive, purplish bruise that he instantly recognized as a love bite. Now he was going to throw up.

She turned back towards the table and they locked eyes for a moment. For a moment, blue met hazel and the whole world stopped.

But Ron felt his eyes beginning to shine with tears he wasn't willing to let her see, and just as quickly as the moment had begun, it ended as he turned away and began stuffing his books into his bag. She'd totally seen him staring and now he looked pathetic.

"Ron, what are you doing?" Neville asked, concerned and completely oblivious to what had just happened. He had been fortunate enough to not be at the right angle to see the absolute monstrosity on Cassiah's neck. Whatever guy had left it there must have had some sort of vampire fetish.

Ron fumbled over his words as he practically jumped up out of his seat and slung his back haphazardly over his shoulder, "I don't feel well all of a sudden. I reckon it's a stomach bug. I've got to go see Madam Pomfrey."

So much for prioritizing his schoolwork, he thought bitterly. Three weeks into school and he was already ditching class over a girl. He left the room in such a hurry that he didn't hear or see a single thing anyone might've said to him. His blood was pumping in his ears so loudly that he couldn't hear anything over the ringing.

At least he wasn't fully lying about the stomach bug thing, because he did puke in the bathroom once he made it safely out of the classroom. It didn't make him feel any less heartbroken, though.

___________

"So Cassiah is definitely seeing someone new," Ron confessed to Harry at dinner later that day.

Harry furrowed his brow, giving Ron a strange look. "Yeah... I already knew that, mate. She went on that date with Ernie Macmillan," he said calmly. Ron shook his head before staring at his feet, willing himself to get his emotions under control. Harry saw through him and prodded, "Judging by the reaction, I'm guessing there's something you're not telling me?"

Ron swallowed and looked back up, but still refused to make eye contact with Harry. He couldn't bring himself to do it for some reason. He nodded, "Yeah. A massive hickey on her neck this morning in Potions. I had the pleasure of a front row seat because she was late and had to sit with me and Neville."

"Shit," Harry said plainly, "That's why you've been off tonight. You've barely even touched your dinner."

Ron pursed his lips together, staring down at his still-full plate of roast beef – his favorite. But he still felt sick from the morning's events and he couldn't bring himself to eat it. He poked lamely at it with his fork.

He knew he should eat – he had Quidditch practice tonight and he needed his strength. Plus, he should be ravenous after heaving up breakfast and not eating all day, but he felt nothing.

"I don't know who it even could be," he stated instead of answering Harry's comment, "I mean, Macmillan just doesn't seem like the type to be so aggressive on the first date, but who else could it be? I hadn't heard of her seeing anyone else."

Harry considered. "Yeah... But, and please don't take this the wrong way. But you don't really run in the same circles anymore, so I don't know how you would hear, anyways."

"Thank you so much for pointing that out, mate," murmured Ron, and cursing under his breath, "Bloody hell, what am I becoming?"

The sat in silence for a few minutes, Ron picking at his food like a bird. He listened quietly at the other boys talked and laughed boisterously amongst themselves. He was honestly a bit dazed out, staring at the reflection of the candles in his glass, when he heard Seamus call out his name,

"Ron. Black is walking over here, just warning you, buddy."

And for the second time today, Ron looked over to see Cassiah approaching him. This time, she looked even more nervous that the last. What could she possibly want? he thought, feeling his jaw set tight. Whatever she needed, she could ask her new boyfriend.

"Um... hello," he stuttered when she stopped in front of him, all plans of acting cool and detaching flying out the window the second he was in her presence.

"Hi," she said back, smiling softly and then letting her gaze flutter nervously to all the other Gryffindor guys. Ron realized, watching her, that this was the first time she'd seen any of his friends since the break up. They used to be her friends, too.

Bloody hell, she was speaking again. "Ron, I heard you say you were sick earlier when you left class. I know we're not really... talking right now," she paused, pursing her lips together as if working up the courage to speak, "But I know your grades are really important to you this year and I just wanted to offer you my notes. I take pretty good ones, if you remember," she offered, laughing awkwardly at the end. She was smiling, but something about her energy was making Ron feel nervous in return.

"O-Oh," he stammered, mentally smacking himself for acting like a bloody idiot, "Thank you, Cassie. That would be great, actually." He paused for a moment, and then plastered a smile onto his face so he didn't look as rude as he felt.

She nodded for a second, almost as if she was expecting him to say no, and then thrust forward a handful of papers to him. He took them from her, studying them for a moment. Same magnificent penmanship and color-coordinated note-taking system. So part of her was still his same Cassie, despite the blemish defiling her beautiful neck.

"Thank you so much," he said, smiling up at her, "I'll get them back to you as soon as I'm through with them."

"Aright," she stated.

"Aright," he reassured.

She bit her lip before finally saying, "Take care, Ron."

"Take care, Cassie," he replied before she turned on her heal and walked away.

When he turned back to his friends at the table, none of them were breathing. They were probably too scared.

"What?" he remarked, "Just cause we broke up we can't be friendly?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at him and answered, "We never said that. I just didn't think that you wanted to be friends with her, especially after the hickey situation earlier today."

Ron sighed. Harry was partially right. It really hurt him to know that Cassiah was moving on, but perhaps she was the wrong person to be angry with. Their interaction had left him feeling a lot better about things. He was the one who'd pushed her away and forced to be open to other options. At least she'd picked someone as benign and neutral as Ernie to move on with. Perhaps the only person he should really harbor any bad feelings towards is himself.

"Well," he considered, "It seems like she's trying to be friendly, and maybe if she's trying, I should try to get over my feelings to be friends, too. It's better than being enemies."

And he meant it. If he could get over his feelings for her and the hurt he felt when he thought of her, it would be better to be friends with Cassie than not have her in his life at all. So that's what he would do.

He dug into his dinner, suddenly having his appetite back and ready for Quidditch practice.

__________________________

So they're talking again! That's a step in the right direction... right...?

We'll just have to wait and see ;)

Sorry that this chapter is sooo short. The content for the next chapter just didn't seem to make sense with the rest of this one. It'll be up soon, though.

Thank you so much for being so supportive! xx jenna

Published on my Wattpad (halebscallison) and my Tumblr (theweasleyslytherin).

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star-birthmark · 4 years

Text

Better: Formaggio x Reader x Mista (18+)

To that one anon that asked, “Uwu if you could throw us some more of that juicy formaggio and mista being in love with the same s/o it would be muy greato” It’s finally done, the NSFW part 2 to my Formaggio x Reader x Mista fic . It took me a while, but it is finally done. This is my first not sfw post on this blog, so go easy on me everyone!

CWs: drinking, dirty talk, slight degradation, threesome, slight cucking (lmk If I should add any other tags)

Without further ado: Better (NSFW) (6k words)

You had a strange relationship going within Passione, two men at once. One of them, Mista, a teammate of yours in Bruno’s gang. The other, Formaggio, a supposed “rival” of yours from La Squadra. Though you figured things were going smoothly enough, both men had certain complaints about the arrangement. Formaggio, not content to be your little secret, wanted to claim you for himself and himself alone. Mista, younger than both you and the older mafioso, still felt inadequate against his male companion. One fateful night, the three of you were spending time together, and things soon escalate. Catching you and Formaggio together, Mista embarrassingly asks the older soldato for advice on how to please you... Together, the two of them give you the rough, degrading night that you had long hoped for.

- - -

Formaggio leaned back in his chair, staring up at the night sky. He reached over for the bottle resting on the table nearby, taking a sip of the drink and stared out to his view of Naples. It was his week off, the week Risotto gives all his men, so the assassins can clear their heads from the mafia, and this week happened to be his. He was spending his evening alone sitting on his apartment’s balcony. Trying to forget about work, the young man lounged in a warm red crew neck and sweatpants. It was a perfect night to relax, spend some time unwinding, and mess around with something. Formaggio wiped his mouth after taking a sip and frowned. A perfect night, except that you weren’t there with him. And he missed you, but you were out with Mista that night.

His phone rang from inside the house, and he rushed to pick it up. Prosciutto was on the other end of the line, quick to start speaking, as usual.

“Hey man. I know it’s your week off but the group’s having a poker night. Melone got a little extra from a recent hit and he’s feeling lucky enough to bet it. You in?”

Formaggio shook his head. “Nah… I’m watching the game with (y/n) tonight.”

“Is that Guido guy gonna be there?”

Little Feet’s stand user huffed, not wanting to be reminded of that. “Yeah… he will.”

When Formaggio had initially agreed with Guido Mista that the two of them would “share” you, he didn’t quite realize that agreement’s implications. He hadn’t realized that “sharing” meant you would still be dating Mista, meanwhile he’d be regulated to your secret “side piece”. It was frustrating, especially given the fact that you dated him first, and the fact that he was forced to agree with this arrangement because you’d hate for your precious Capo, Bruno Buccellati, to find out you were in bed with a member of La Squadra. It wasn’t fair. Formaggio had you first, and how he was regulated to the sidelines as your little skeleton in the closet.

The whole situation would be so much easier if he actually hated Mista, then he could just kill him, but he didn’t. Ever since meeting him, the two mafiosos had become incredibly close friends, even going so far as to spend time together without you even being there. They both knew that if it came down to it, they’d be willing to kill each other, but for now, they enjoyed each other’s company. Formaggio wanted to hate Mista so badly, but he couldn’t ignore the smile that came to your face whenever you looked at him while the three of you were hanging out. He supposed he should take it as a compliment, in a sick kind of way. He and Mista were very similar in personality. And since Mista was two years younger than you and Formaggio, the younger soldato often asked the older for advice on how to better survive in the mafia. So perhaps, in that way, Formaggio should feel complimented that you’re so taken by someone so similar to him. But it wasn’t him specifically, though, and that ate him up inside. Formaggio stood up from his chair and got ready to drive over to your place.

He missed you. He missed calling you his. He didn’t like that the only reason he was allowed to sleep with you was that Mista was a chill guy that happened to be cool with it. He was the superior mafioso and he wanted to claim you for himself.

Good thing he’d soon get his chance.

- - - -

The three of you had been planning a night together for a few weeks now. Just a chill night spent together, watching a soccer match, a couple of drinks between you all and nothing intense. Formaggio was finally on his week off from La Squadra, Mista was open for the night and you were just happy to see them both in the same room. You knew perfectly well how odd your situation was, to simultaneously be with two mafia men, one a teammate of yours and the other a supposed “rival”.

But you’ve fallen in love with Mista and fallen back in love with Formaggio, and you were incredibly grateful that the two of them liked each other. The only issue that arose was with the mafia itself. Bruno knew how dangerous La Squadra di Esecuzioni could be, and both you and Mista knew that Bruno shouldn’t find out about your little outings with Formaggio.

Thus, even if the assassin didn’t love the idea, you decided it would be best to continue dating Mista, and Formaggio would be your little secret. Though, you couldn’t help but want it to more than that. The Formaggio you used to date back in the day, paled in comparison to the man that you spent time with now. He was stronger, more confident and assertive, and well… hotter. You could tell how much he hated being your side piece while Mista was your main, but you didn’t want to lose either’s company.

You heard a car horn blast near your building and looked out the window at the sound, seeing Formaggio’s car parked near your front door. Rushing out, you entered the car. Formaggio gave you an up and down and smirked.

“You’re looking good, baby.” You turned over to him with a smile.

“You think so?”

Formaggio grinned, placing a hand on your upper leg and giving you a teasing squeeze there.

“I know so, babe.”

You gave him your own flirtatious giggle. You knew it was odd to have two “boy toys” as Mista called it, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Are you excited about tonight?” You asked your driving companion, and his hand went further up your leg.

“Yeah… should be fun. Napoli’s playing Roma. Should be an exciting game.”

“Too bad Mista’s rooting for Napoli though… only the smart ones root for Roma.”

“Well you and I grew up together in Roma, dolcezza, don’t forget.”

Formaggio grinned, giving your inner thigh a teasing pinch, before he suavely took your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it romantically. You rolled your eyes at him, slapping him on the arm.

“Nothing funny tonight alright? I just want it to be chill, the three of us.”

You watched as Formaggio’s mood visually soured as he nodded and made a sharp turn onto a new street.

“Yeah yeah, the three of us… Why? Did Mista say he wanted that?”

You look at him confused. “No… I want that.”

Formaggio gave you a quick glance and you soon realized what he meant. You shook your head, giving him an annoyed huff. Why did he have to act like such a baby?

“Oh dio mio, are you still on about this whole thing?”

Formaggio gripped on tighter to the steering wheel. “Yeah… I am. I had you first.”

You gritted your teeth, angry with him. “Oh, you had me first huh? So? Mista was around when you weren’t. Moron, I’m not some object. I’m a human being you know?”

However, your face softened away its annoyance when you saw how genuinely upset Formaggio was, even if he wasn’t showing it outright. You knew he didn’t like being hidden away like this. You sighed, a sad smile on your face.

“Oh… Formi… caro, cuore mio…”

Formaggio gave you a stabbing glance. “Stop it with the pet names (y/n).”

You saw right through that toughness. “You know you still have a special place in my heart amore… No one can change that. This whole thing is just to save face alright? I joined Passione to find you, and Mista was there for me… I thought you were dead. But I still love you too. I love you both…”

Formaggio gulped. “Why can’t you transfer to La Squadra? Your stand would be better used there anyway.”

“Formaggio, you know that’s not how that works. And besides, Mista won’t give me up that easily.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a playful smile on your face. Formaggio shook his head, a low chuckle taking over him. He couldn’t stay mad at you, his own emotional Achilles heel. You were just too important to him.

“If I were Mista, I wouldn’t give you up either. I’m not giving up on this though.”

Finally, the car pulled up in front of Mista’s place, the chosen location for the three of you for that night. You often rotated the three apartments for your hangouts, and this night fell on Mista to host. You and Formaggio stopped right before Mista’s front door, the assassin hesitating to knock. Your hands were full from holding things for the night, so you couldn’t knock either. Formaggio looked over his shoulder back at you and you shrugged.

“Formi, knock already will you? My hands are starting to hur-”

Formaggio cut you off by turning to you and planting a deep, passionate kiss on you. You let out a surprised whimper as the young man took your face in his hands. You had expected a normal, quick, loving kiss from him, just a show of affection before keeping it more platonic for the evening. But this was far from sweet and loving, it was needier, more desperate. Formaggio moved his hand down to the small of your back and pulled you flush against him. It was almost as if he only wanted you to think of him for that moment. He finally broke the kiss briefly, letting you breathe. You looked up at him, eyes hazy.

“Umm… uh... Dante I-”

Formaggio cut you off again with another kiss, smirking to himself. You only addressed him by his real name when you were super infatuated by his actions. When it felt like you two were back in Rome together, just normal people. He must be doing a real number on you with this kiss. But before you could drop your things and kiss back more forcefully, Formaggio let you go and quickly knocked on Mista’s door, leaving you bright red in the face as you straighten yourself out.

Mista opened the door, incredibly excited to see you two. You’d been gone on a mission for the past week and he hadn’t gotten a chance to spend time with you, and he was antsy about it. Being younger than both you and Formaggio, he felt that he needed to prove himself to you both, given that he was a sort of addition to your already existing relationship, but you kept assuring him that you valued him just as much as anyone else.

Formaggio was the first to walk in, giving Mista a small hug before collapsing onto the couch in front of the TV. The pregame programming was starting and Mista and him were already wearing their jerseys. Mista took your supplies from you, putting them in the fridge before returning to your side, taking your coat from you, and hanging it up. You could tell what was going on, from his jittery movements and him nervously wiping his clammy hands off on his jeans. When he finally went to speak to you, you instead pulled him in, giving the younger member of Bruno’s team a quick peck on the lips.

“Calm down alright?” You said to him sweetly, and he nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a while since anything’s happened between us.”

“I’ve been busy… why? Did you think anything’s going to happen tonight?”

Mista blinked at your overly direct flirt, suddenly getting even more excited. “Do... d-do you want something to happen?”

“Hmm… nope. No funny stuff tonight. I already told Formaggio.”

Mista thought for a moment, relieved. “Thanks… You know I get self-conscious when he’s around with us...”

“And you shouldn’t be. You’re perfectly capable on your own.”

“Yeah but… he’s better than me at um… you know. You know he’s better.”

“Well you’ll get better. I-”

“Can you two stop talking in the doorway and come sit? I can hear you…”

“Yeah, we’re coming Formi! One sec!”

Mista turned away from you at the sound of the other man’s voice while you shouted to him. Mista was always more nervous whenever he was around both you and Formaggio. He felt he had at least some form of superiority over you, given that he’d been part of Bruno’s gang longer, even if you were older than him. But he always felt inferior to Formaggio in one way or another. Mista had had a few nights alone with you, but when he asked you straightforwardly if he was as good at pleasing you as Formaggio was, you couldn’t help but say that Formaggio was still better, not wanting to lie to your teammate. Such honesty definitely bruised his ego, but Mista was still going to try to hold his ground in this odd relationship. He owed that to himself.

“Alright… let’s go other there.” You instructed Mista before giving him a longer kiss. You chuckled as the other’s face became bright red.

“I uh… umm... I… okay, (y/n).”

“Aww… you’re so cute, caro.” You teasingly ruffled Mista’s hair and he followed you to the couch happily.

The three of you sat together on the couch, getting ready for the game to start. Mista was quick to open three beers, one for each of you, and the drinks were soon knocked back. You rested your head on Mista’s shoulder to make him feel less nervous, running your hand up and down the other’s chest. Formaggio felt a bit annoyed at the display but decided not to do anything about it.

The soccer match soon began, the three of you too preoccupied with the excitement of the game to notice just how many of the beers you had already emptied. All three of you were starting to get rather buzzed by the time the second half of the game was coming to a close. Roma was beating Napoli three goals to two, and Formaggio was having the time of his life drunkenly making fun of Mista for his soccer team preferences. You were enjoying your time with them both, going from resting your head on Mista’s shoulder, to laying against Formaggio’s chest, to having Mista’s head resting in your lap, to snuggling back into Formaggio’s arms.

By the end of the game, you had already lost your inhibitions enough to be sitting in Formaggio’s lap, giggling to yourself while playing with Mista’s hair as he sat nearby. Formaggio kept his hands on your hips while still watching the last remaining minutes of the game, though whenever your attention would stray from him, he would grip onto your hips tightly, leading you to gasp just a bit. Mista felt emboldened enough by his drunken state to kiss you while you were still in the other’s lap, and you were more than willing to indulge him, both of you lightheaded as you kissed him back roughly. Formaggio looked up at the two of you, his face flushed red. The act of seeing you make out with someone else, especially Mista, was strangely hotter than he’d like to admit, though that could have very well been the alcohol talking.

None of you were watching the game anymore. None of you were thinking normally, you were all getting far too comfortable with each other, and the night was still young. It was a recipe for disaster.

When the game finally ended, Roma beating Napoli, you and Formaggio celebrated, meanwhile Mista went off to his room to change out of his jersey, wanting to forget the game ever existed. Formaggio watched Mista walk down the hallway out of sight, before turning to you. You turned around to make eye contact with him, still in his lap, both of you lightheaded from cheering and drinking.

Ceasing this opportunity for alone time, Formaggio eyed you up and down, enjoying what he was seeing. “Hey there bambina… Come here.”

With that, the mafioso leaned into you and began placing slow but meaningful kisses all over your neck and jaw, his hands still gripping onto your hips tightly. You looked down at him, knowing he should stop, but also not really wanting him to. You bit your lip, looking around the living room for any signs that Mista had come back from his room. There were none.

“Wait what if Mista comes back?”

“Let him. Who cares? He’s probably thinking the same thing I am.”

Your attention was soon commanded by a telephone ringing, the sound coming from Mista’s room. You heard the other male go to pick it up, greeting Bruno who was at the other end. It seemed that Mista would be gone for a bit.

You let out a small hum as Formaggio’s hands moved up and down your back. Looking down at him, Formaggio glanced back up at you, his green eyes squinting in his own unique form of mischief, even if his lips didn’t leave from your neck until he was sure he had just left a deep, blood-red mark there. Formaggio gently ran his thumb over the hickey, a toothy grin coming over his face.

“I wonder where else I can put one of these...”

Your face flushed red at such a comment, assisted by all the alcohol in your system. You felt your desire for him begin to grow larger in the pit of your stomach. You promised both him and Mista that there wouldn’t be anything that night, but you were quickly throwing that promise out the window. Turning around so your chest faced his, you leaned down and took matters into your own hands by kissing the assassin before he could tease you about your broken vow for the night. Formaggio chuckled against you, kissing you back with fervor while his hands went back down to your hips to gently work your body back and forth over his lap. You let out a small whimper into his ear and Formaggio couldn’t help but groan at the erotic sound. He turned to you, no longer smiling. Instead, a look of quiet awe swept over him, the same way it did every time you two slept together. Like he couldn’t believe you were real. That you were his. At least partially.

“Are you okay with this?”

He asked, his hands still gripping onto you. You answered him by kissing his neck the same way he did to you and at the same time, moving your hips over him without him needing to guide you. Your lips left him for a second and you muttered a shy, “yes.”

The sound of your voice, combined with you moving over the growing tent in his pants got Formaggio going faster than he’d realized, muttering huskily to himself, “Now that’s the spirit…”

Knowing you wanted it, his hands began to roam, one moving underneath your shirt to feel you up through your bra, and the other moving to roughly pinch your ass. You flinched forward with a high pitched squeal, subconsciously jolting your hips forward with one harsh movement over his pants, and causing you to moan, and for Formaggio to let out a growl deep in his throat.

He looked up at you, his lip swollen from your kissing and from biting on it.

He smiled. “You wanna do that again tesoro?” You remained silent for a moment before shyly nodding.

His hand went to your ass again, this time giving it a teasing smack, causing you to jolt forward again, much to the pleasure of both of you. Seeing that your partner was encouraging you, you kept your hips moving at the same rough pace, meanwhile, your lips returned to his, both of you getting lost in each other. You couldn’t stay mad at him, no matter how much he provoked you. Your bodily desires began to dominate your thoughts and before long, both of your shirts and your bra had been thrown to the other end of the couch and you were still grinding on him. Formaggio regained his focus when the two of you broke your kiss, eyes blown out in pleasure.

You leaned back to give him a full view of your chest, prompting the man to gasp out a desperate, “Oh my god…”

Enjoying his view, Formaggio took it one step further, now latching his hot mouth onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting at the tender bud. Your mouth hung open as soft moans poured out, your hands gently running through the other’s red hair.

The two of you were becoming impatient. With one last peck on the lips, you got off of your lover’s lap and both of you hurriedly slipped off your respective pants.

Formaggio chuckled, bringing his experienced hands up to your hips to pull you back to him. “Who gave you the right to be this sexy?”

You giggled a bit at his flirting. “I’d ask you the same.”

“Are you ready? I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

“Why don’t you find out?”

You chuckled as you climbed back into his lap, resting your knees at either side of his legs to raise yourself so his face was at eye level with your chest. Getting the hint, Formaggio snaked his hand down in between your legs and placed a confident hand over your clothed pussy. You let out a small gasp, and your knees almost gave out from how sensitive you had become. Formaggio ran his thumb over your covered clit, and you gripped onto the back of the couch in order to not fall forward. Your own hand came down to stroke along your partner’s cock through his boxers, squeezing a bit just where you’d remembered he was most sensitive.

Formaggio let out a loud groan at that and bit his lip to silence himself. “You alright babe?” He asked softly, placing more pressure on the swollen bud.

You smiled. “I should be asking you.”

“Are you alright though?” He asked again, rubbing your clit a little harder.

You nodded after letting out a moan. “Y-yeah… just really wet…”

Formaggio tugged the last remaining cloth off of you, your sensitive heat now exposed to the cold air. Formaggio marveled at how wet you were, bringing a hand up to rub little circles around your clit once more.

“Yeah… you’re ready.”

It wasn’t long until you both gave in. With a quick motion, Formaggio tugged off his boxers, releasing his hardened cock. Leaning in to give him a deep kiss, your hands came down and gave the length a few tentative strokes before you leaned forward, lining up his head with your entrance. Formaggio groaned feeling your wet warmth seep over him, taking his cock in hand and rubbing its tip with your sensitive slit. You shook desperately at the teasing, your hands coming to Formaggio’s shoulders and gripping tightly. Taking the hint to finally give in, Formaggio aligns himself with your hole. You let out a loud gasp as he sunk your hips down to meet with his until he was finally bottomed out inside of you. You hissed at the brief feeling of discomfort before your hips began to instinctively move up and down to provide sweet friction between you two. You rested your head on Formaggio’s shoulder as your hips worked his cock up and down, your walls squeezing at the head for extra intensity.

“Mmm… yeah… keep going just like that dear. Oh fuck you’re so tight. You’re so good for me baby.”

Formaggio kept his hands tightly gripping onto your hips as he helped you moved along his shaft, the young man getting more and more turned on by the lustful moans leaving you for him to hear.

You could stay there forever, being this close to him, in complete bliss. It felt so good. So right. But your drunken mind had forgotten one important thing. Or well… person.

Without either of you noticing, the door to Mista’s bedroom opened, the younger man walking out, starting to talk to you.

“Hey (y/n), sorry I was in my room for so long. Fugo had called to talk about a mission next week and it took a long time cause I’m drunk and I can’t really think straight you… know…”

Mista looked up to see you and Formaggio together on his couch, the other man’s back facing him, both of you lost in pleasure and enjoying each other’s company. Hearing the sounds escaping your lips, Mista got the idea of what the two of you were doing, but he didn’t have any idea what he should do about it. He didn’t have to think long however when you glanced up and saw him in standing there, watching you and Formaggio fuck. You stiffened, stopping your hips movements and covering up your chest with your arms.

Formaggio charmingly asked, “what’s wrong sweetie? Was is feeling too good-wait what?” He snickered before turning around to where you were looking to see Mista as well, muttering an understanding “oh.”

Quickly sobering up, you tried to leave Formaggio’s lap, only to find his strong grip was holding you down onto his cock. You looked over at Mista, unable to meet his gaze, embarrassed that you were still moaning slightly at the pleasurable contact.

“Mista I’m so sorry I um… I know I promised you I wouldn’t do anything with Formi tonight but um… I’m sorry. And I’ll make it up to you I-”

“Can I join you?”

Both you and Formaggio were understandably surprised at such words, both turning to the younger stand user curiously. The thought caused you to grow in arousal even further. “Join us?” You asked.

He walked over to you two, still joined together, and sat nearby on the couch. You glanced down to see that the other man had already become hard in mere moments. Mista glanced up at you, his hand slowly going to stroke his own length through the fabric of his pants.

“Yeah… I figure I could get better at fucking you if I learn from him, (y/n). Plus… it’s kinda hot.”

Reaching over, Mista placed a tentative hand on one of your bare tits, the other hand more roughly stroking himself. You watched as Mista’s face grew bright red in embarrassment and desperation. You got the sense that he’s had the idea of joining you and Formaggio for a while now. Speaking of which, Formaggio soon took you out of your drunken thoughts by cackling loudly at what Mista was proposing. All three of you lacked common sense after a night of drinks, and it had already begun to show.

“So you think I’m better than you huh? Alright, fine.”

Formaggio looked Mista up and down, the assassin’s confidence boring a hole into the young man’s embarrassment. Mista sighed, slowly nodding.

“Yeah. I do.” He muttered shyly.

You sighed. “Or… you two could share me.”

The two men looked at each other, a smile on each of their faces. A smile came to you, leaning down to grasp Mista’s face in one hand, meeting your lips with his. The other hand brought Formaggio’s mouth to your tits. He soon figured what you wanted and resumed his ministrations there, biting and sucking at your sensitive skin.

Mista hungrily leaned into your touch, bringing the kiss deeper as his tongue intertwined with yours. The noises leaving him signaled that he was already hard enough to take you, but Formaggio was having none of that.

He placed a strong hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Sit down Mista. I’ll teach you a few pointers, but I’m going first.” He growled before grabbing your chin in one hand to pry you two apart, taking your lips for his own. Mista sat back and watched the two lovers return to their previous passions before he so rudely interrupted them. Too desperate to remain in his clothes, Mista stripped down and sat next to you on the couch, his hand going down his body to start stroking his already sensitive cock.

It didn’t take much to get Guido Mista going. The fact that he wasn’t the most experienced sexually didn’t help his case either. Just one sight of you getting fucked by someone obviously more adept than him, had his cock twitching and beginning to leak precum.

Formaggio, amidst his rough pounding of your body, eyed the other’s member, seeing how turned on he was. It gave him quite the ego boost to have the younger soldato realize that you belonged to him, the man fucking you in that moment instead of the boy pathetically watching.

Mista wanted to learn from him on how to please you.

Formaggio’s hips sped up further, the pressure in his lower half building ever closer to his release. He watched your face twist in euphoria, until an idea came to him. His hand came behind you, and in a swift motion, he slapped down hard on your ass in a loud spanking. You moaned loudly at the slap before Formaggio took your cheeks in his hand again and turned you to face Mista, who was still jacking off at the sight of you two.

“Go on dolcezza, tell Guido how good it feels for me to fuck you.”

Mista groaned at such words. He didn’t know why getting cucked like this by Formaggio did so much to him. All three of you were into it, but no one knew why.

Formaggio spanked you again, harder this time. “Go on sweetie, tell him. Tell him how much you also like it when I spank you.”

You whimpered as Formaggio lifted you up higher to bounce you up and down his shaft. “Oh god. It feels so good, he fills me so well ugh…”

Formaggio spanked you again. “Is he better than me?”

You bit down hard on your lip, too embarrassed to say. One last strike on your ass caused you to blurt out, “no… you’re better Formi!”

Mista hissed after hearing you say that, reaching his first climax, his cum running down his hand, yet his member remained hard all the same. You grabbed his hand away from his length, leaving him trembling. Making eye contact with him, you brought his hand to your mouth, sucking and licking the cum off his fingers, an act that had both men groaning in needy desire for you. Formaggio bit onto his lip hard. His cock was reaching its peak. Hurriedly, he let go of his tight grip on your hips.

“Get off (y/n). I wanna cum in your mouth.”

You quickly get off of his lap, kneeling in front of him on the floor. You were about to suck him off before he spoke again.

“Aww come on dear. Don’t you think you should help Mista too? Don’t be selfish, baby, he should find out how much you love being taken from behind…”

He grinned and Mista let out a moan, his hand already working up to his second orgasm. You smiled, sharing a knowing look with the assassin before you climbed onto the couch on all fours and began to blow him. Mista brought his hand up to your dripping heat, and ran a nervous finger over your aching clit, causing you to moan around the other man’s cock. You focused on your attention on the blow job, bobbing your head up and down the long shaft. Mista hesitated to move forward into you, wondering if he should ask for what to do.

Formaggio rolled his eyes at the other’s nerves. “Just take her already, man. She’s a big girl, she can take it.”

He teased, prompting Mista to get on his knees, lining his rod with your gaping hole. You were feeling too empty after Formaggio had pulled out, a problem Mista was about to fix.

In one quick motion, Mista plunged into you and you gasped, stopping your blow job for a moment. Mista wasn’t as long as Formaggio, but oh god was he thicker. It felt so good to have him inside you. He started off with slow, shallow thrusts, nervous that he might hurt you or that you didn’t like what he was doing. Of course, he was wrong. One harder thrust already had you losing your mind on his cock.

“Oh god… Mista.”

You whimpered before Formaggio grabbed a fistful of your hair and brought you down on his cock, its tip reaching the back of your throat.

“Pay attention to me baby, keep blowing me. I’ll teach Mista how to fuck you right.”

Humming in pleasure as you continued using your mouth on him, Formaggio leaned back, his body slick with sweat from your efforts. Both men were lost in pleasure over how incredible you made them feel. Still, the two of them were nothing if not troublemakers.

“Hey Mista, enough of this pathetic ‘love-making’ shit. You gotta do better than that. Hasn’t (y/n) told you how much she likes it rough?”

He grinned, keeping your head down as he rammed his length in and out of your mouth, gagging you slightly. It wasn’t long until, with one final thrust, the assassin reached his limit and came down your throat. You choked a bit, but managed to swallow it all down. Formaggio let go of your hair, brushing it out of your pretty, blushing face. He didn’t realize how much he’d fallen back in love with you. You were so good for him.

Formaggio smiled, still panting. “Oh god… I love you baby. Come here.”

He pulled you forward, giving you a brief kiss before you broke the contact with a moan at one of Mista’s particularly hard movements. Mista, having seen how rough the other man was handling you, threw his hesitation out the window and began to pound you even faster. Formaggio reveled in your elated expression at the quickened pace and decided to kick it up a notch.

“Hey Mista, has (y/n) ever told you how much she loved having her hair pulled?”

Formaggio joked breathlessly, still recovering slightly from his huge orgasm. Mista looked down at your moaning form as you bounced desperately on his cock, an overconfidence smirk coming to him at his new found arrogance.

“No ‘Formi’, I don’t think she has!”

He teased back, grabbing your hair in one hand and pulling it back to fuck you even harder than before. Your head came back and Mista leaned forward to make eye contact with you as he ground his hips against yours. Both of you felt your orgasms approaching.

Formaggio a little embarrassed at Mista using his pet name, nonetheless, turned to you in confidence. “Does it feel good baby? Do you like his dick?”

“Y-yeah… it feels so good.” You managed to moan out.

“Are you gonna cum from him fucking you, baby?”

“Y-yeah…”

Formaggio reached down, a practiced finger moving to rub directly on your clit. The action brought you over the edge, and soon you let out a loud gasp as your climax washed over you, causing your whole form to tremble in jubilation. Feeling your walls clench down on his length, Mista reached his end soon after, pulling out and cumming all over your back.

Formaggio set you down gently on the couch while Mista came to his senses, the three of you all panting in the thick, musky air of the apartment. You were the first to speak.

“Oh my god… that was incredible you two.”

You giggled. You tried standing up to get dressed, your legs failing you after your intense climax. Formaggio caught your fall, and you shyly thanked him.

“Umm… we should do that again sometime…”

The prospect caused the two light headed men to look at each other in shock. “Really? You wanna?!”

You grinned mischievously and each of them remembered why they fell in love with you. You were just as nuts as they were.

“Yeah, are you kidding? A girl can’t just pass up another night with her two boyfriends.”

Formaggio raised an eyebrow at the last part. “Two boyfriends huh? I thought I was just the side piece.”

You chuckled, finally finding enough strength to stand up over them.

“I’ll keep you around for more caro. I love you too much not to. Both of you. Now... I feel gross. Which one of you boys wants to join me in the shower?”

Both Mista and Formaggio looked at you in shock at your crude words, watching you head down the hall. Mista turned to Formaggio.

“How’d we get so lucky?”

“You mean how’d I get so lucky? I had her first…”

Mista rolled his eyes. “Alright stronzo, how’d you get so lucky?”

Formaggio thought for a moment, realizing how incredible you really were. “I don’t even know…”

With that, the two of them shared a grin and rushed down the hall as well to head to where you were. The fun was only beginning for that night.

#jjba #not sfw #jjba writing #formaggio #guido mista #part 5 #Vento Aureo #jojo's bizzare adventure golden wind #la squadra #bruno's gang #long fic #fem reader #cw drinking #cw dirty talk #cw degradation #cw cucking

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dontasktheradiodemon · 3 years

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Sitting Room #1 (12/31/2020)

Click here if you’re like “what the heck is this about?”

Alastor decides that today is a good day to lay on top of a piano and sing. Valera @autokrates decides to accompany by playing the piano. Angel @sluttyspiderpolkacock plummets out of the sky and kills Alastor in one shot.

Alastor

What do we have here!

Alastor's been wandering the estate scouting out sources of entertainment—when he crosses paths with a sitting room stocked with a gorgeous grand piano. Entertainment located.

He trots over, plays a few keys to make sure it's in tune, considers his options, and then hops up to sit on top of the piano. Nice! Sturdy. He lays down on the piano.

What kind of song is appropriate to play while laying on a piano?

He thinks for a moment; then summons up his microphone, kills the lights, sends his shadow to play a dramatic arpeggio, rolls dramatically onto his back, and sings into the mic, "At first I was afraid~ I was petrified~"

Valera

Valera was happily sitting in the gardens, enjoying the ocean breeze of their home planet, the rustling of the leaves and the perfume of the flowers. It was only them and their thoughts out here.

How serene, how calm. You'd never guess their house was full of overpowered sinners hiding from a mass execution. All their fears were assuaged, not a single of the myriad of terrible incidents they'd expected had come to pass...

Wait. Was that... The opening bars for I Will Survive? Was that *Alastor* they saw through the gauzy curtains?

Fuck being alone with their thoughts, they *had* to get in on that good time. Hope Alastor doesn't mind if they hop right through an open window to offer some backing brass for his piano!

Alastor

Alastor sits up when the room is suddenly invaded—oh, how wonderful! There aren’t all that many places where you can start a musical number and fitting musical accompaniment just barges in! He’d thought he’d have to summon up his own private brass band.

Hand on his chest and hamming up as much as he can, he goes on, “Kept thinking *I* could never *live* without you *by my side*~”

Valera

Look at the man go, Gloria Gaynor would be proud. They plop themselves down next to his shadow on the bench, humming along under their breath while they ready themselves for their cue. In fact, while they're here...

A twitch of a fin, and a hazy amber spotlight flickers into existence to shine down on Alastor. There, mood lighting for the star of the show. Nothing but the best for a guest!

Alastor

Oh! Look at that! Proper lighting! They could be in Hell’s finest jazz club. Alastor’s really warming to his new role as a diva. “But then I spent so many nights, thinking how you did me wrong, and I grew strong~ I learned how to get along~”

He winks at Valera—time to really let loose—and belts out, “And now you’re *back*, from *outer space*—!”

Angel

Shielding his face from the glass, Angel continues to fall as he wildly fishes through his fluff for the charm Valera gave him for emergencies. It was so nice ( for his once human aesthetic appreciation ) that he told himself he'd never have to use it.

Then again, putting himself in this predicament wasn't exactly a conscious decision of his either. Making a clean enough break to salvage as he fell to his certain death was an unorthodox placement of priorities, but time was wasting. SOMETHING flashed before his eyes.

_ " ... And now you're **back!** From **outer space - !** " _

_Alastor...? I thought this was gonna be takin' me to Valer -_

And DOWN he sailed like a crimson comet into a cacophonous landing of glass, rattling keys, strings, once immaculately polished wood, and ( 1 ) local Radio Demon. A singular beat of moaning and groaning before he locked eyes with the island's Hostess with the Galactic Mostest and sprung to his feet, hip popped and arms dramatically jazzed.

" CIAO, MI LUCE DEI MIEI OTTO OCCHI ~ !! How's my BABY ~ ? "

Valera

An inhale as Valera prepares to start laying into the trumpet, smiling around the mouthpiece as Alastor belts out the lyrics. An inhale, and-- uh oh.

A tingle runs up their spine, eyes widening as they drop the instrument and jolt to their feet. Too late for any warning, here comes Angel, streaking from the ceiling in a blaze of glory and glass and splinters flying up from the shattered remains of their poor undeserving piano. They'd be more upset if they weren't immediately distracted by Angel Dust's darling voice.

Beaming fin to fin, Valera lunges forward to wrap their arms around their friend, tail all awiggle behind them as they bury their face in tit fluff. "Il mio amore! Mio caro! I'm so glad you could make it! Seapup is doing great, he'll be over the moon to see you here." A happy sigh, and they look up at Angel through his fluff and purr... Wait. Shit. Pull back, they have to peer around him to the wreck of the piano where their diva had once been.

"Alastor, do you need a medic?"

Alastor

Of all the ways to go, Alastor wasn’t expecting a meteor made out of red velvet.

And then the meteor climbs off of him and starts speaking Italian.

Alastor blinks up at the ceiling, half-dazed. “Probably, but that’s never stopped me before.” He sits up gingerly, leveraging himself out of the pile of devastated piano. “You know—I actually came to this universe to *avoid* getting murdered by an angel.”

Angel

It was very possible to not have enough arms with which to hug a dear friend, even when you had six. Angel gave her a big squeeze, tight enough to momentarily lift clawed feet from the floor as he nuzzled his face between her horns.

" GREAT! Place blew like ya wouldn't BELIEVE, Babe. Emergency getaway fa SURE ~ " he sang with a flash of an open palm of charm debris, which would promptly disappear into his fluff before he swept his cloak behind him.

" ALASTOR! THERE ya went! " Angel extended his hands to offer some help. " Ya ok? Sorry about that, uh, sudden change a plans. "

Valera

Oh to be a fish wrapped in the arms of a spider. What warmth, what comfort. A few seconds of bliss leave Valera's hearts feeling ready to melt, what could be better! A mental note to see about getting Angel Dust another charm, and she moves around to look Alastor over from a barely respectful distance. Poor thing got GOT.

Alastor

He sure did get got. He actually takes Angel’s hand to help haul himself up. “It’s not the change of plans I mind so much as your choice of landing pad!” Audience laughter. He cracks his back a few odd angles, then straightens out and starts brushing himself off. “You were at some big overlord shindig, weren’t you? Did the exterminators get in?” Oh, wouldn’t that be a delightful way to ring in the new year, getting rid of that rotten lot. The only overlords he cared about were either not the type to go to such a party or else excluded from the exterminations anyway. “Glad *you* made it out.”

Angel

" Uh... " It was settling in little by little, now. The foreboden consequences of his actions. " Yeah! They did! Uh, I wouldn't check into the place right now! Y'know, signals goin' haywire, S. O. S. 's off the shitshow... Thinkin' of it's givin' ME a headache, so I can't IMAGINE what it'd be doin' t' YOU, Smiles... Lucky ME though, ah? " _He used to be a much better liar._ Angel's ceaselessly sheepish smile left little to be assumed. Knowing this, he whipped back towards Valera, arms wildly animated as ever. " SO! How's e'ryone holdin' up over here? " He started a strut about the room, testing the soreness of his leading leg. " Ya DO have room fa one more in this fancy schmancy pad, yeah? "

Valera

She steps back, satisfied that Alastor wasn't about to keel over dead, and reaches out to take two of Angel's hands in hers to squeeze. Friend is here, nothing else matters yet! Even if the way he's acting is super sus, he's probably in shock from his DYNAMIC ENTRY to an ALIEN PLANET. That's the story she's sticking with until proven otherwise. Nobody needs that stress.

"Everyone's doing great, Angel! We've got four different Alastors, two Pentiouses, and we haven't even had any..." A glance towards her ex-piano. Another glance towards the radio demon brushing himself off. "... *Major* damage! I'll show you your room, if you want!"

Alastor

“No major damage *yet,* anyway! There’s still time to knock down a lighthouse or two!” He sounds absolutely gleeful.

At the moment, he doesn’t trust Angel at all. The dramatic entrance is perfectly fine, of course—he’d do no less himself—it’s this *insistence* that Alastor not check in on their universe. He absolutely needs to check in on it, as soon as possible.

But he’d rather hear about it from Angel first.

Not in front of their host, though. For the moment, he continues quietly straightening out his clothes and bones.

Angel

" PROPERTY DAMAGE ~ " he sang with a playful swing of their clasped hands, " Ain't a party wit'out a HEFFER of a BILL... " Angel then shadowed Valera's glances. Might be true of _some_ places, but certainly not HERE, his best friend's grand estate they've opened to such a handful of sinners out of the goodness of their heart.

" Sorry... about ya piano, though. I'll get ya a new one! " _No, you won't._ " I've got connections! " _Not anymore._ " Might not 'ave any special Veci designin' on it, but I'll do ya good! " _You just made THE worst mistake of your life. You're fresh OUT of GOOD._

**_YOU'RE never gonna know peace AGAIN._**

" I'm ON YA TAIL. Lead the way ~ " Angel belted playfully with a brush of those flickering fins and a glance back at Alastor. " Ya all good, there? If y'all wanna finish ya song later, I've got m'strings on me ~ "

Valera

"What, you want to replace my piano?" She scoffs, arms reaching up to give Angel's shoulders a gentle squeeze before dropping down to twine a hand with his. "Darling. Mio caro, I don't care about that old thing. You're alive! You made it here! You're in one piece! That's all that matters to me."

Trilling cheerfully, she rocks in place. Hand in hand with her best friend, safe in her home, decidedly not murdered by Heaven's dogs. The ominous stress could come later, for now she had to be a host. "We'll get you set up with a room, get you a warm meal, and then we can all play some music together, since you've so *generously* offered. Sound good to you two?"

Alastor

"Considering what happened the last time I tried to sing it, I think continuing 'I Will Survive' would be tempting fate." He plays the whistling sound of a falling missile and a distant explosion. "You don't both need me there to assign a room, do you? Perhaps I should head down to the kitchen and get that warm meal going!" Angel certainly hadn't gotten anything to eat at that big overlord function, Alastor would bet anything on that.

Angel

Angel clung to Valera's words and the way she fussed over him with such tender loving care like a lifeline. _This_ was what he deserved, ( wasn't it? ) He planted a kiss off her temple and smiled meekly. " Sounds good t' me! But uh, " he started with a sweep of a free arm in Alastor's direction, " Ya just gonna up an' be a host e'rywhere ya go? Valera ain't got this place staffed better than ours so you can chill? I'm already here, an' no one CRASHES as hard as ME ~ "

Valera

"Oh, I don't know, Alastor. Maybe tempting fate is where the REAL entertainment is."

Valera snorts, idly plucking a few stray splinters off of Angel's fluff. "I'm pretty sure I'd have to hold him at gunpoint to keep Alastor out of the kitchen. And unlike you, I simply don't have enough arms to keep all four in check. You might as well accept your fate of trying alien cuisine prepared by the radio host himself."

Alastor

“TEMPTING fate, sure! But it loses some of its charm when fate succumbs to temptation and pile drives me!” He pauses thoughtfully. “Although ‘falling man lands on innocent grand piano’ is a delightfully ironic twist, isn’t it?”

He flings an arm around Angel’s shoulders. “You’d rather have me cooking, anyway! Valera’s helpfully provided a list of Veci recipes that are *edible* to humans—but I’ve been tweaking them to make them *palatable* to humans.” Palatable by Alastor’s standards, anyway, which are either “freakishly high” or “raw bloody meat” with basically nothing in between.

Angel

Angel combed some more splinters from his chest with his hand before abruptly bending his knees to level with Alastor's pull. " Guinea piggin' it is, then! I don't think ya ever made anythin' I passed on. " Raw bloody meat included. _Everything_ was appetizing after a hard day's work. " DO ya worst ~ " With a pat of his back, he again took Valera's hand. " I'll sample the edible stuff anyways, t' compare an' not let all ya hard work go wastin' ~ "

Valera

Gods, Angel was comically tall compared to the other two, it was easy to forget that the spindly spider was slouching all the time. She purrs and gives Angel's hand a squeeze, bumping her nose to his cheek in the approximation of a kiss. "You're a peach."

A moment, and she turns to lead Angel away. So much to do! Did she have brushes..? Yes, she could brush him off, make sure he was splinter free without needing a whole shower... Don't mind her, she's already ten steps ahead trying to figure out how many extra pillows she should put on his bed.

Alastor

“Sample shmample! You’re getting a full plate. I’ll bet the closest thing you got to a proper meal at that party of yours was an olive in your martini.” He half-bows in farewell, and leaves them to head for the kitchen.

Angel

_Well he wasn't WRONG._ If memory served him, that last shot wasn't meant for his taking, either. Lightly chewing the inside of his cheek, he gave Alastor a shallow curtsy and fell into Valera's stride.

" So ~ ! " Angel whistled as he panned his sights over the architecture and decor of the hallway, affectionately hooking his arms about Valera's elbow and shoulders. " How big IS this place? I been t' Hell's palace fa a job before, but if I learned ANYTHIN' about VECI... " He snorted to himself before he could even finish his joke. " Y'all's style is... _outta this world ~_ "

Valera

Valera saunters along, an arm looping around Angel in return to give him the gentlest squeeze. "That joke was *terrible*, darling. As far as the estate goes? Fifty bedrooms, twenty of which are meant for guests, twenty nine for staff, and then the master bedroom. Though I'd call it more of a master apartment, the previous owner sure liked having plenty of space to themselves."

The size of the place was really one of the reasons Val barely ever visited this place, too much room. But that made it perfect for this visit. Space, isolation, plenty of areas for sinners to hide away if they needed privacy... And bedrooms big enough for the stupidly tall sinners to feel comfortable in. Here's Angel's! A twelve by ten four poster bed, white marble and gold from floor to ceiling, a balcony suitable for any necessary brooding or swooning over a sea view... Just what a spider needed. Plus a tiny orange ball comfortably sleeping in the middle of that luxurious bed, but don't mind him.

#extermination party palace #autokrates #sluttyspiderpolkacock #chat log

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blissfulalchemist · 3 years

Note

"we've lost so much time" for hypatia/conner? <3

Okay so this was going to be so much longer (like 5k kind of long) but the other time I wanted to use this line I realized wasn’t going to fit so you get like half of what would be a chapter. Lo Siento. But it’s still pretty long. (◕‿◕)♡

I needed to buy a burner phone, or at least something separate from the three I currently had. Two for the Alchemists, because it was better for them to just pay for a personal cell phone now along with one for work, and the one that was for only Abe and my mom. Four, I was on to four phones now that Tia finally called me. Seven months of silence from her, I would have worried more about her but it seemed she kept the crystal keychain. I could at least always tell she was alive when I could check in, a small blessing with her.

She wanted to meet up with me in person, three days and she’d be back in St. Louis, not the smartest decision if you asked me. She needed to stay away from here as much as possible, she shouldn’t have even been contacting me really, not that it ever stopped her before. I sigh as I open the door to my apartment, the only thing I was able to do on my own, keys tossed into the bowl on the small kitchen table, as I make my way to the fridge. I don’t know why I do when there’s no appetite to be had. My stomach hasn’t stopped turning since I heard her voice once more.

They need my help, they, she’s found people to join her little crusade, I wonder if I’ll get to meet some of them. Couldn’t tell me exactly what it was they needed my help with, it has to do with getting information or else I wouldn’t have been called. The sharp ring of cell phone prime stops the rumination of what exactly Tia and her merry band of thieves are up too.

“If it isn’t my favorite warlock,” Abe greets as if I was the one to initiate this call, “How are things in St. Louis?”

My eyes roll, as I fall into the couch trying to relax, “How many times do I have to remind you I’m not a warlock,” my voice is the only part of me that’s obeyed as I drop the American accent.

“Well you did make a deal for some power, my boy,” he retorts, I can almost see the smile he has.

Yeah some power I have being your dog, “St. Louis is fine. They’re all still trying to look for Caro.”

“And after seven months,” Abe hums a second, “Have you been able to find anything else about her? What makes her so special to them?”

“I can’t get access to anything, I’m no hacker.”

“Surely your magic can get you somewhere,” his tone has dropped lower, I’m not doing my job in his eyes, or I’m just being difficult, “A little persuasion never hurt anyone.”

I stiffen, “You know exactly how I feel about your idea of persuasion,” my voice meets his in a growl, “That’s crossing into dark magic. I don’t do dark magic.”

“If you want to get out of this job and debt,” Abe taunts, if he was at a desk I’m sure he’d be leaning over it to look deep into your soul, “you better get a little more comfortable with the idea of it.”

My jaw clenches, “I’ll ask her myself, she’s returning in a few days.”

He’s silent for just the smallest amount of time, “Is she now?”

I nod, leaning back against the couch, “She said they needed some information I have access too.” I don’t know that I do but I just hope that my bluff will get some hint on who Tia might be with.

“Well I hope you can get it for them,” should have known better, “Till next time Enache.” The call ended and I was back to being alone once more, eyes lazily looking at the clock on the wall, too early for any type of sleep and mom would be out in the garden still. I flipped the stereo on grabbing the old journal mom sent back with me, she wanted help translating and seeing if there could be any improvements to the spells from some great aunt some long time ago. It's been harder to get through them with Tia being gone, some of my ancestors encoded their works and Tia always had a different way of thinking that cracked it faster than me. It all started to blur together and the next thing I felt was weightless.

Maybe weightless wasn’t the right word as I felt sunlight burn at my eyes as I seemed to sink father into a bed. Wherever I was, it was warm and surrounded by the scent of citrus, my arms wrapped around its source. My lips turn upward, I know exactly who it is with me as I sink my face deeper into her hair pulling her closer. I’d have this dream before, I know I have, to finally have it real and right here with me….I can’t think of anything better.

She stirs, her hand grabbing onto mine, “Good morning, C-man,” Tia’s greetings haven’t changed for me and I don’t think they will any time soon, “You know what today is?” Did I? I open my eyes looking to my left hand, no sign of a ring and the only thing glittering is the lingering golden lily on her hand. “Smallville,” she teased, “you forgot what today was didn’t you?”

“I-. No,” its somewhere stuck in my brain, I should know this answer, “It's about us, I know that.”

She laughed, turning to face me, her hazel eyes sparkling like peridots in the morning light, “Of course it’s about us,” her fingers trace down my jaw, “It's Mardi Gras, the day I ran away,” I know her hands are going to start tracing around the runes along my ribs.

“Why should that matter so much? Why can’t it just be Mardi Gras again,” there’s something off with my words, they don’t feel right speaking to her. I speak to her differently during these times, I know I do….so why does it feel like I’m forcing my speech in a way I dislike?

“We’ve lost so much time because of it Conner,” she says softly, the sun’s rays bringing forth the gold in her hazel green eyes, “I should have never-.”

I sigh, tilting her chin up, “I know why you did it,” Conner, she called me Conner….did I never tell her my real name? I take another look around us, I can’t place how I know, how I can even see it, but everything looks so soft around the edges and….foggy. I always told her in these fantasies, told her everything, we were both finally happy because there were no more secrets between the two of us. A chill starts on the back of my neck.

“I know but think about all that could have happened between us if I never did,” she kisses me, her lips soft and guiding, just as I always imagined it would be, the alarms in my mind attempting to overpower how good this all feels.This can’t be real….it feels real but….Her arms pull me closer, enticing me, “We could have had all this sooner. You and me together….”

There at the end of that word, I can feel it, the barest touch of a claw just outside of this fantasy….someone else was here. I jump up from the sheets, Tia’s eyes going wide, “I have to go,” I’m almost naked and I search for some kind of clothing, guess even in a dream I still had feelings of needing to cover up around others.

“Conner wait,” she calls, hand reaching for me, “Don’t go.” Her eyes plead with me despite the small laughter she tried to use to hide the desperation in her voice. I hesitate. “Just stay here with me,” she’s on the bed on her knees, arms moving around my neck, biting her lower lip, “We can have everything you ever wanted. We never have to part again, we can live here, it can be anything you want.” Everything I ever wanted….so tempting of an offer. I’d never have to be Abe’s dog, never have to worry about leaving this place I call home, never have to have Tia away from me….

I take hold of her hands, shaking my head, “No,” I breathe out, stunning her a moment, “You’re not Tia. This isn’t real,” my thumb brushes along her cheek, as she presses her face more into my hand. I want to stay…., “I have to go.”

I turn away from her, my head making contact with the top of the van, I should have known it was her van, I can’t help but smile. “Conner don’t go! Stay!” She pleads once more, whoever made this fantasy did a good job in matching the way Tia’s voice sounds when she’s near tears, I only ever heard it the one time, “Don’t leave me here all alone! I need you! I don’t want you to leave me again!” Her words sting, though there’s no reason for them too, I never left her, “I’m sorry. I regret leaving you. Please stay with me, help us make up for lost time.”

I stiffen momentarily before a smirk comes to my lips. Nice try, I want to yell out to whoever it is that’s wanting to hold me here, “See now I know that you’re not her,” I look over my shoulder to the fake, “All you can do is just look like her, you could never match the real thing.”

I step out of the van, into nothing solid with everything vanishing around me. I’m falling, my heart races, hands reaching out for something, anything, to slow me down. “Constantin,” a woman’s voice whispers next to my ear, it would sound sultry and sweet if not for the sharp annoyance at the edge of her words, “you can’t hide forever from me.” I shut my eyes, willing myself to wake up, the voice not letting up in whispering my name. There’s a little familiarity to it, but I can’t place it as I keep hoping to reach some kind of ground, the impact would surely wake me from this, now, nightmare. Red eyes reach past my eyelids, the fire in them clear, her voice certain and filled with that faux sweetness, “I’ll find you. Maybe not today but I’ll find you soon enough.”

I hit the sofa, gasping while I bolt right back up, her laugh a whispering echo in my ear for a heartbeat more before it's gone and Coltrane the only thing I can hear again. I can’t catch my breath, my hand gripping my chest, heart beating faster than I can ever remember, the room is closing in. My heart won’t stop racing, I’m going to fall, there’s not enough air. Not enough air. Not enough space. Things are closing in. Something’s wrong. I can’t figure out what. I have to stop shaking. Everything needs to stop spinning. The record’s warped, the notes are out of place. I know they are. I need to find an out. I need to breathe. When did it become so hard to breathe?

There’s a shrill ring over taking.

Loud, too loud. I need to make it stop. Need the quiet. I need it quiet to all stop. It’s all still spinning, legs shaking, I can’t even look at the screen. I can’t even get the simple word of hello out as I answer. “Constantin,” her voice is soothing, softened after so many years, “Constantin, honey, what’s wrong?” I’m younger, or at least my voice sounds childlike as I can tell I’m mumbling what’s wrong in my mother tongue, “Oh, mica mea grădină,” I can almost feel my mom’s arms around me. I can’t remember going to the ground, rocking back and forth, head between my knees.

“Here focus on me, Grădină,” it feels like a strangled scream comes out at her nickname for me. Her voice is slow, steady, the perfect volume, “Hai Luluțu, dormi un picu. Dragul mamei, puiuț micu.” I know the words….the melody….it’s a lullaby. One she’s sung to me since I could remember, “Oare când oi fii voinicu. Să n-am grijă, de nimicu. Haida nani nani,” I can hear the way her voice is coaxing mine to join in through the sobs. I’m trying to take breaths as slow as I can, the near muscle memory wanting to take over. She keeps going and finally I can start to make out the carpet below me and the black coffee table in front of me, “Puișorul mamii. Domi in leganuț. Puișor draguț, luna și cu stealli.”

She holds the last word, my voice meeting hers with the first real words I can process myself saying, “Să-ți păzească viselii. Să-ți mângâie genialii.” Slowly I feel the tension in my body release as I continue to sing with her. The rocking stops, sobbing ceases, and soon I am able to breathe once more. “I’m sorry mama,” the first words out of my mouth as I wipe at my face, feeling a headache coming on.

“Grădina mea,” she says softly, soothing the slowing of my heart finally, “There’s never a need to be sorry.” She lets out a breath, I can see the wrinkle in her forehead she always got when she worried over me, “What got you so spooked Constantin?” I open my mouth to answer before she cuts me off, “And don’t go saying it's nothing. I’m your mother, I want to help you.”

I close my eyes, shaking my head, “It’s just a nightmare, mama, I must be working too much is all.”

“Maybe it's time for you to come home and quit this new job of yours,” I can hear the undertones of annoyance. She hadn’t been happy with this job since I told her I couldn’t visit more than once or twice a year if I was lucky. “This whole thing has just gotten worse and I’m worried about you.”

“What if I video chatted with you a little more,” I suggest getting up from the floor finally, turning down the music, “Would that make you a little happier?”

“No,” I smile at the quickness of her answer, “It’s not the same.”

“I know but it’s better than nothing.”

“What happened to that girl you used to talk about?” I stiffen, eyes shifting looking for cameras that aren’t there, “You didn’t have trouble sleeping then. Did you break up?”

“Mom,” I groan, “I haven’t dated while I’ve been out here, you know that.”

“Firstly you should,” I roll my eyes, “You not having the time is more proof that you need to be back home. Secondly, I think she had something to do with this ‘increase in work stress’. Or did you forget that this was the second time I’ve caught you in a panic attack?”

Was it the second time? I didn’t think so, that couldn’t have been right, “This is the first time mom, the other time you probably just caught me at a bad time.”

“Constantin,” she paused before letting out a slow breath, mom was done trying to worm her way through my lies, “I’m always here for you, you know that right?”

I nod, “Yeah, I know you are mama. I love you for it.”

“I love you too,” she was quiet a moment before letting out a small gasp, “Oh, my package. You got that right?” It’s still sitting on the kitchen counter, it came in three days ago, “I put some tea in there for you. It should help you sleep.” I rest the phone between my ear and shoulder, tearing open the box, “I also put some cookies and jam in there for you. All your favorites.”

It's nice to hear the smile in her voice again, I can’t help but meet it with my own as I look through everything, “Thanks mama,” I pull out the jar of tea, feeling the low hum of power they emanate, “I should be going to bed here soon.”

“Okay mica mea grădină,” I hear the faint sound of a bell, she hadn’t even left the shop yet and I was working too hard, “Sleep well, honey. I’ll talk to you soon. I love you.”

“Love you too mama,” I hang up after that, filling the automated teapot with water setting it to the correct temperature of her chamomile tea. I never had to worry about making the tea sweeter with mom’s recipe, the chunks of sugar being what imbued the tea with its magic. Sure chamomile already helped in relaxation but some needed more help and sleeping pills could be addictive, not mom’s tea though. She really must have been worried about me to have sent some, she was right too though, not that I’d ever tell her that.

It was about six months ago that I started to get a feeling as if I was being watched. Sleep was harder to have as I would wake to something echoing in my ears while I felt like I was in a fog. I brushed it off as worry for Tia’s safety due to her radio silence, now though….there was something about the dream that felt too real. It was coated in magic, it had to have been, I couldn’t tell what kind but I could tell they needed more time for something. The woman said she would find me….I just couldn’t place who would be looking for me after all this time.

One came to mind but there was no way they could have been looking for us after all this time, those were just random attacks. I shook the thoughts from my head as I filled a mug making my way to the bedroom flipping the tv on, the theme to Dateline playing. Three days, three days and I’d be seeing Tia again. I should bring her some of the cookies….then again, mama made them special for me.

#conner enache oc #bloodlines oc #one day I will have a banner made for him but ce la vie #Thank you for the suggestion Ash! I love you!

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hobbitsnapes · 4 years

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The Red Hoods Protègè chapter 9

Older Damian Wayne x ofc

(Photo made by my lovely friend @tyuuniverse)

Summary:Red hood has taken a young vigilante under his wing and subsequently changes Damians life forever. (I suck at summary’s)

A/N:Here it is guys. The reveal of who angel is. I’m so thankful for each and everyone of you who’s red this story, who’s liked it, shared it and who keep up with it. I love you all and can’t wait for you all to see what’s coming up after this. I’m gonna be honest and say, I was (who am I kidding I still am as I write this.) terrified. I never expected people to like this story. It’s not something you typically see and it’s not a character who’s written about often. But again, thank you. I’m hoping this reveal is up to par with what you’re hoping. I hope you like it. Again, thank you for giving me a start at writing and keeping me going with my stories.

“Do you have your taser gun?” Jason asks, as he watches her load up her pistol. “No, why?” “You didn’t bring it last time.” “Usually I don’t take it, why should I this time?” She asks as she looks at jason. Her head tilted slighting. Confused at why she should take it this time around. “This guy isn’t our usual psycho. His real name is Lazlo Valentin, commonly known as professor pyg. He had a schizophrenic breakdown and now wears a mask to resemble a pig. He was a scientist prior to his break. He’s an obsessive perfectionist who believes that all humans are broken and needing to be ‘fixed.’ His idea of perfection is turning people into what he calls them Dollotrons. He’ll kidnap a person, and with whatever he can find, preforms surgery and uses chemicals to make them mind controlled automatons. They feel no pain, and they never stop unless killed. I honestly would rather you sit this one out, not because you can’t handle it. But because of how sick this fucker is.”

At this point, Jason is looking her in the eyes with what could only be described as fear. “And I don’t want you going out alone with this bastard. God only knows what he’d do to you if he got to you.” Jason looks down at this, picks his final gun up and looks her in the eyes again. “Alright, but I need you to promise to be careful. He’s not big or strong or even that smart. But he’s sick enough to get to you.” “If I can handle gas Huffers laughing gas, then I think I can handle Mr. Piggy.” At this Jason laughs.

The crunch of the shards of metal and gravel send sounds throughout the top floor of the beauty parlor. That is until they reach a back door. Once they enter they hear a faint sound of music. The music growing louder the further they reach the basement.

The sound of O mio babbino caro playing along with a voice singing along to it. The voice off key and definitely male along with groans of pain and yells growing louder once they reach the basement door.

They reach a back metal door that leads them to a long staircase, the voices clear as day once they reach the bottom steps. The room wreaking of blood and stale rusty pipes.

They see through glass windows surrounding the makeshift operating room pyg standing over a metal operating bed. He’s singing along to the song along with snorting every few seconds. The closer they reach they see what looks to be a woman on the table with a doll mask covering her face. “You’re done here Valentin. Step away from the woman.” Her and Jason turning their heads to the voice behind them. Out from the shadows walks in Batman. Robin standing right behind him. “And you two. Get out of here. You’re not needed.” Batman says as he eyes her and Jason. “Oh no no no no. Pyg is not ready yet. Pyg must fix her. We are not ready. Pyg must make her perfect. Pyg can make all of us better.” “Okay that’s enough Mr. piggy. Now get the fuck back before I shoot you in between your eyes. Then we’ll see if you snort.” She says as she raises her gun at the deranged man. “He said leave!” Robin yells at her. “And you go fuck yourself bird boy! I’ll shoot you too! Now, I said GET BACK!” “Pyg not ready! Pyg is god! Pyg will fix you all! Now rise my Dollotron and show them how perfect you are!” The woman on the table sits up from the table. Her stitches tearing open when she stands to the ground. She isn’t even Phased by it as she swings at her. Angle dodges the hit and swings her foot up and into her face. The woman falling to the ground. Angel gets on top of her and hits her in the face again. The woman barley making a noise at the hit and punching her in the face. She climbs on top of her and tries choking her but before she can angel takes out her hunters knife and impales the woman in the gut. The woman letting out a cry from it as angel gets on top of her and rips her mask from her face. And as soon as she rips it from her face she's met with a horrifying discovery. “M-mom? No, it it can’t me. Y-you’re dead! YOU’RE DEAD!” She cries as she holds the lifeless woman’s face in her hands. Sobs wrecking her body at the horror of what she’s done. A hand pulling her away and into a strong chest. “It’s not her sweety, it’s not her.” She doesn’t hear what Jason says as she rips from his hold and runs to Pyg. (Trigger warning.stabbing)

“YOU DID THIS TO HER!” She screams as she impales him in the stomach with her knife. Ripping through his flesh as she tears it out from him and into him over and over as he screams out in pain. “YOU DID THIS!” She screams repeatedly. The sound of ruling flesh and cracking of bones along with cries of pain filling the already loud room. She stabs him one final time in the heart, his head dropping to the floor.His lifeless body laying in a heep. (End of trigger)

She’s ripped away again by Jason. “Stop! Stoop! He’s dead!” Jason yells as she fights out of his grip. She rips away from him, a hit landing her on her back. The impact knocking the wind from her lungs. She looks up to see robin standing above her. She stands back up and swings back to hit him but before she can, he grips her by the throat and slams her into the wall. His chest pressing so hard against her she can feel his heart through his suit. “DAMNIT! WHY DID YOU DO THAT!” Robin screams at her in her face. His grip on her throat tightening. “HE WAS KILLING PEOPLE AND TURNING THEM INTO MIND CONTROLLED ZOMBIES! ALL YOU FUCKING DO IS LOCK THESE PSYCHOS UP SO THEY CAN GET OUT AND KEEP DOING IT AGAIN! AT LEAST WE ARE GETTING RID OF THEM!” She screams, she takes her pistol and hits him over the head with it.

He stumbles back as he clutches his face.

She runs away from him towards the door. But before she can make it, a blade is thrown and strikes her shoulder blade. The searing pain of the sharp blade tearing into her flesh and scars. A blood curdling scream ripping out of her as she grips her shoulder. She falls to the ground as tears leak into her mask. The pain white hot and it takes over her body.

A hand is placed on her face and as she looks up, her eyes meeting Batman as he kneels to her. “Here let me help you.” “NO GET AWAY FROM ME!” She screams as she gets up away from him. She rips the blade from her shoulder, a scream tearing through her as she does this. She looks at robin with tears pooling through her mask and onto her face. Adrenaline Coursing through her as she runs out of the room.

Before Damian can move he’s tackled to the ground. Jason on top of him hitting him repeatedly. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE! SHE WAS FINALLY BETTER AND YOU HAD TO GO FUCK IT UP!” Jason screams as he hits Damian repeatedly. He starts to chick him but is ripped off from Damian and into Bruces chest. Jason thrashing as he hits Bruce. “YOU DID THIS! YOU HURT MY DAUGHTER!” Daughter? Jason doesn’t- then a memory comes to him from a few weeks ago

Damian and her are walking through the park, his arm on her shoulder. They’re trying to collect all the toys that were used with Titus to put into her bag. They Grab the last plush bear and put it in the bag. “You know, you never told me much about your parents, can I ask what their names are?” She seems startled at the question, until she smiles and looks up at Damian. “Oh yeah sorry about that. My moms name is Julie, but she’s not around anymore. My dads name is Jason.”

‘It can’t be?’ Damian thinks. There’s no way it can be her. He runs out the door and sees a trail of blood, he follows the droplets to a broken window. He gets onto the roof and sees her about 5 buildings away. He runs from building to building, trying to keep up but staying behind her enough so she won’t see him.

She drops from a building and this causes him to panic. Why is he panicking? He can’t stand her, so why is the idea of her-he can’t think of that as a pain settles into his chest. He jumps from the same building onto the ground. The gravel meeting his shoes causing a large sound throughout the alleyway. She’s nowhere in sight and the blood trail is gone. He checks behind walls,Behind a dumpster but comes up with nothing. That is until he goes behind the next building and sees her mask on the ground. He grabs it and looks up, he’s met with a tall apartment building. He sees an open window and grapples to it.

He climbs through the window into what looks to be a bedroom. He hesitates to enter, that is until he sees her suit on the floor. The back of it having a patch of blood from the blade. He looks around in the dark room and again, she’s nowhere to be found. He goes to the door and opens it, he creeps into what looks to be the kitchen and sees a light from under a door. He hears water running and what appears to be crying.

He slowly opens the door and his worst thought was correct. There she sits in the bathtub, her knees brought to her chest as sobs wreck her body. Her back to him enough to see the blood trickling down from the water, but that’s not what got his attention. On both shoulder blades, deep red scars that have healed over cover them. The flesh healed but the scars still appear to be deep.

She turns her head at the noise and looks him in the eyes. Tears falling down her cheeks. “A-alexia?” She lets out a yell as she launches at him. Her nails scratching his face as she pushes him out of the room. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

Damian stumbles back as she slams the door shut. He hears a noise a few feet away and looks up and sees Jason. “You, you’re her dad? You can’t be! You’re no fucking father! YOU CAN'T BE!” “So you’re the one she’s been going out with all this time. You’re the one who’s made her the happiest I’ve ever seen her. For weeks she’s come home with a smile on her face but never told me who it was. And for the record her name isn’t alexia.” “Then who the fuck is she jason!” “Her name is Saundra. And while she isn’t mine she is my daughter Damian. Just as I was the son to Bruce.” “You’re no father Jason. She’s not your daughter! She’s a psychotic murderer who belongs in Arkham! Along with you!” “Say what you want about me, that I’m a killer, that I’m psycho, that I belong behind bars or in a padded cell. But don’t you DARE call her that! Did she tell you what actually happened to her?” “No I didn’t.” Both men turn around seeing her. She’s wearing a long nightgown with her wet hair hanging in her eyes. Tears falling down her face. She takes in a deep breath, she shudders slightly. Her fingers fidgeting with her dress pockets. “My mom and dad, they loved me. They never wanted me to be sad or feel pain. They hid all of the bad things in the world away from me. They gave me love, along with anything I ever wanted. They always made sure I was protected. Well turns out my dad wasn’t always a nice guy.”Tears are falling freely down her face, she hiccups and wipes her eyes with the palm of her shaken hands. H-he grew up on the streets, committing Petty crimes to get by. That was until one day he was approached by a guy. The guy was looking to rally up a crew to rob a bank. They all wore masks and hid their identities from one another. The guy they were working for had a name. His name was. God, t-the joker. One by one each of the guys were killed. My dad got away from him and changed his name. He later met my mom and had me. Well joker ended up finding us. When I was 16 I never knew what pain, sadness, or anything bad was. My dad made both my mom and I pack up our bags and we fled to a home on the outskirts of Gotham. That night, I watched as my mother was beaten, stabbed screaming for help. My dad was beaten with metal bats repeatedly. I-I tried getting away but was hit over the h-head.” At this point she’s sobbing uncontrollably, shaking as her hands ball into fists at her sides. Her head hanging to the ground. A-and was taken to the ground by joker. My dad screamed at him. ‘Please, not my little angel.’ Those scars, I got from him. He slashed a Serrated knife into my flesh over and over until he reached the bone. When he was done he let out a maniacal laugh as I lay there screaming in pain as blood soaked my nightgown and the floor. He then bent down to my face and said ‘aww poor little angel lost her wings.’ Am I still a monster Damian? Or am I one of that sick fucks countless victims? I wasn’t the first or the last as he kills many more, that is unless he’s finally stopped. We could all be safer, happier, and kids won’t be ripped away from their family.” She looks up at Damian, his face cold as ice as he stares her down “You’re still nothing but a killer. Rather than doing what’s right you chose vengeance over justice. You’re just as bad as they are.” “AND WHAT WAS I BEFORE DAMIAN! When you didn’t know! You saw who I was and I showed you the girl I was before he killed my family and left me for dead! I bore my heart out for you but didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d understand what happened to me! THAT NIGHT YOU TOLD ME YOU HAD FEELINGS FOR ME!” She’s shaking as she screams at him. Her voice breaking towards the end from her songs and sore vocal cords. “And I could never be with someone who does the things you do.” At that Damian leaves.

As she hears him jump out the window she falls to the ground. Sobs taking her over. Jason grabbing her and holding her tight to his chest. “He-he kissed me dad. He made me feel like I mattered to him. Like i wasn’t just a monster.” She sobs into his chest. He rocks her back and forth and rubs the bottom of her back. “And what he said doesn’t matter. He’s a fucking prick. You do matter, in fact you’re the reason I keep going. If I didn’t have you..god I can’t even imagine. You’re my world bub.” “How did you know who he was? And why did you say you were once Bruce’s son? What haven’t you told me dad?” Jason bows his head down so as to not look her in the eyes. “I lied to you. There’s things I haven’t told you about my life. But, I only did it to protect you. I promise that.” “Tell me the truth dad. Please. I can’t handle anymore lies.” She grabs the side of his face as she says this. His eyes meeting her tear filled ones. “If I tell you. Please promise you’ll remember I did this because I wanted to protect you.” “I promise dad.”

As Jason lays there on the couch, he looks down at her as she sleeps soundly. Her stuffed bear clutched to her chest. He lazily runs his fingers through her hair. Her tears finally dry tracks on her face. As he looks at her peaceful face, he makes a promise to make those who hurt her pay.

Tags: @psychovigilantewrites @comic-nerd-dc @comic-brew

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne fanfiction #older!damian wayne imagine #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne #batfam x reader #batfamily #batman #red hood #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #dc #dc imagine #dceu

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