#the outfit is based off of his look on the ch cover

[empresskylo]

It's Raining Vengeance - Ch. 6

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Batman x Female!Reader Series Summary: (Based on The Batman 2022) It happened a while ago: the day you stumbled into the batman. And ever since, he seemed to pop up exactly when you needed him. You thought it was stupid to try and be his friend. He thought it was dangerous to let you in. Both of you did it anyway. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1.5k+ Note: this chapter is… ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) #smut

series masterlist | main masterlist | AO3

Bruce tossed and turned all night, barely getting any sleep. This was a regular occurrence, he never had a refreshing night's sleep. And with his thoughts tied up with you and the fundraiser, he struggled more than usual. 

At around 4:30 am he figured he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep again so he decided to get up. It was early, the sun wasn’t even out yet; he was up before Alfred, even. 

He hadn’t cleaned up like Alfred told him to last night, instead, he crashed into his bed still sweaty and with his face covered in makeup. 

If Bruce Wayne was to make a rare appearance today, he’d have to shower. 

He sulked to his bathroom, all the window blinds shut tight as he walked in the dark. 

He had really messed up this time. His fists clenched together as he replayed the night with you back in his head. 

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he act fucking normal? 

He pictured that moment where your lips almost touched his. He had wanted to crash his to yours so badly, but even being socially deranged, he knew kissing someone who didn’t feel that way about you was wrong. And he didn’t want to completely ruin his chances of winning your friendship back. 

He slid off his clothes, eyeing the scars along his chest in the mirror, and sighed. He stepped into the hot shower and soaked his body. 

His mind fell back to when you had your arms tightly wrapped around him as he sped through the city. He had never wanted someone so close to him before. It was strange, but he almost felt at peace when you clung to him. 

When he had carried you back to your apartment the night you had stumbled into a group of mobsters, his arms slid under your thigh and waist like he was always meant to hold you like that. He remembered how his hands were burning through his gloves, his mind racing on how he was cradling you, pulling your body against his. 

He felt himself begin to grow aroused in the shower.

Then he remembered how you had begun to strip out of your wet clothes, forgetting he was there. It was understandable, the way he crept silently through the shadows made it hard for anyone to know when he was near. He had watched the curve of your body and you pushed your pants off, giving him just a slight glimpse of your black underwear. 

Ashamed, he reached down and gripped his growing erection. 

You laid back on your couch, your damp hair sprawled against your shoulders, your shirt hiking up to reveal your thighs. He had watched as you tenderly glided your fingers down your calf to feel the bruises that were forming. 

Bruce wondered what it would feel like to run his hands up your leg. To let his hands linger on your thighs, squeezing them. 

He hadn’t even realized he began to stroke himself until he felt himself grunting in his throat. 

He remembered how you had tried to hit him, and the way he effortlessly caught your wrist. What would it be like to trap your wrists above your head, placing kisses on your neck, feeling you squirm beneath him? 

His hand leaned out against the shower wall, his eyes pressing shut. 

He pictured you in that skimpy outfit, the way your legs looked in those heels. He heard your laugh play in his head.  

His hand began to move faster.

All the times you had been caught in his gaze as he stood in silence while you waited for his reply. How he almost felt like he couldn’t speak as he watched you. 

He thought about the time when you first met and the way he towered over you. You hadn’t run. You weren’t afraid. 

He remembered how he felt when he first studied your shadowed face on that roof, the wind rushing through your hair, leaving a sweet scent of lavender in his nose. The way your pink lips were slightly parted in shock at his appearance. He imagined how they might look after roughly kissing you, plump and swollen. 

A moan fell out of Bruce’s mouth, his breathing heavy and unsteady. 

He wondered what it would feel like to lay on top of you with your hardened nipples pressed against him. How you might moan beneath him. 

What it would feel like to be inside you. 

“Y/N”, Bruce breathed out. He climaxed, grunting loudly as he kept stroking himself to extend the high. His mouth hung open as he groaned, imagining you moaning along with him as he made you orgasm. 

His breathing was loud as he came down. His head hung low, the water pounding against his neck and back. 

This wasn’t what friends were supposed to do. You weren’t supposed to think of your friends like that. You weren’t supposed to picture them while you jerk off. 

And yet he just did. Just as he’s done many nights before this.

Bruce opened his eyes, the pictures of you flooding out of his mind. 

–

You laid in your dark bedroom, eyes staring at the ceiling. You knew you’d forgive Bruce—I mean, you already had. You were fighting against what you knew was wrong and right. You knew you should feel violated by him watching you, so why didn’t you? Why did it make you start to heat up when he had told you? The way his voice was dark and low as he questioned you about the strange man. Was he jealous?

You felt your hand glide down to your panties in a sinful act. 

Friends don’t stalk friends to check upon them. No, they come to knock on their door or shoot them a text. 

It scared you, the way you began to think about Batman. You hadn’t even seen his full-face or his body under the armor, but you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

You closed your eyes.

He was a bit odd in the way he interacted with you. When he was fighting crime, he was strong and confident. But when it came to having a conversation, he faltered. It made you blush to think about how he might actually be a shy person out of the suit.

You picture his lips from earlier, the way they were slightly parted and so close to yours. You could feel his warm breath against your face. You wanted to kiss him. Wished he had closed the gap. But you knew he couldn’t feel the same. You were just some journalist who kept getting in his way. And he was The Batman! 

You imagined yourself reaching out to touch his jaw, feeling his stubble against your fingertips. 

You began rubbing circles over your underwear. 

How he might grunt like he always does at your touch. You imagined running your hand down his bodied suit, wanting to feel the goosebumps against his skin. And how he’d watch you so intently as you did, his glare sending shivers down your spine.

You snaked your hand underneath your underwear now, sliding your finger between your folds.

And if he kissed you, you don’t think you’d be able to hold back your moan. The way he’d overpower you so easily, pushing you hard against that brick wall. 

You wondered what it might be like to torture him, to have that kind of power over him, just the sight of your exposed skin making him go feral.

Oh, how a muscular brute like him must be in bed.

You slid a finger inside of yourself, your heat already dripping wet. 

You wanted him. Wanted him on top of you. Inside of you. Wanted him to fuck you so hard that you lost your breath. 

You pumped your fingers in and out, rocking your hips forward as you did. 

You imagined his lips around your swollen nipple, gently sucking and biting. His other hand sliding up to grab your breast, his throat audibly groaning as he did. 

You moaned into your silent room, your hand sliding up to squeeze your breast over your t-shirt.

What if he was a gentle lover, making you look up at him as he pleasured you.

But then you imagined what it would be like if he flipped you over without warning, making you take him as he slammed you into your mattress. You wanted to know what his voice sounded like as he told you how much he had been wanting this. You’d beg and plead for him to let you come. His hand sliding to your clit to help you reach your high. 

Your fingers moved faster, imagining they were his, and he’d curl them inside you, your juices soaking his hand. 

You came as your hips rocked up against your hand, your breath getting lost in your throat. Your free hand gripped your sheets, your head flying back in pleasure. 

Your eyes fluttered open, the harsh reality of his absence hitting you. 

He’d never feel that way about you. 

Not with the way he looked; tall, muscular, intimidating. He probably had tons of girls clawing at him. So why would he bother with you? 

Ch. 7

#the batman #the batman 2022 #batman x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce Wayne insert #bruce wayne one shot #batman one shot #batman imagine #battinson #robert pattinson #its raining vengeance #bruce wayne headcanon #dc #dc fanfic #bruce wayne x reader #smut #bruce wayne smut #batman smut #the batman imagine #the batman fanfic #the batman one shot

[cyantomatos]

Even Stars Will Fall - Ch 4

Pairing: Eventual Oberyn Martell x fem!Reader x Ellaria Sand Word Count: ~3.1k Warnings: Not really much this time, vague allusions to Ellaria being pregnant and how many people both her and Oberyn sleep with Notes: Shhh it didn’t take me two months to get this out idk what you’re talking about. The visit mentioned at the end was actually supposed to take place in this chapter, but I got there and realized how long the chapter already was, so I’m moving it to next chapter. Which will hopefully be out quickly, since I’m actually really excited about writing it! Big thanks to @emmikmil and @moon-kn1ght for beta reading

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Several days pass before anything interesting happens. 

You dream more, and although you usually can’t remember more than snippets when you wake, the feeling of importance tinged with anxiety is hard to shake after each dream. You try to ignore the way those snippets that you do remember tend to crop up in your life - the cook burning his hand, a prize horse getting loose from the stables, a specific blend of berries being served up in a jeweled bowl for breakfast.

Every time you wake from another dream, you push the anxiety that rises in you down. You don’t know what the dreams mean, and for all you know this could be your mind making things up, trying to make sense of the strange world you’ve found yourself in. You manage to convince yourself they mean nothing. Nothing is better than something, you don’t need more something on top of the already large something of being stuck in a world that isn’t yours.

You’ve taken to spending time in the gardens, fascinated by the plants you find there. There are some familiar plants, fruit trees and bright flowers that you can name from back in your world, but there are also plants you don’t recognize. 

One of the gardeners, a kind older man named Solomon, notices your interest. He doesn’t complain when you begin following him through the many palace gardens, patiently answering all of your questions about the plants you don’t recognize, and a few about the plants you do recognize. He seems to like it, actually.

“Solomon?” You’re perched on the edge of a fountain, enjoying the bright sunshine as your new friend tends to a patch of vibrant flowers. He’d told you earlier they were called Crimson Woodbine, and you had listened with fascination as he listed off the uses for the different parts of the plant. Many of the plants in the gardens had medicinal or culinary uses aside from being ornamental, and you wondered if that had anything to do with the whispers you’d hear about Oberyn’s side projects.

The man grunts in response, concentrating on clearing the few weeds from around the base of the beautiful plant.

“Are you sure I’m not bothering you? I know everyone seems to think they have to keep me happy because I’m the prince’s guest, but if I’m a bother-” Solomon cuts you off with a wave of one dirt covered hand, stretching up from his hunched kneeling position.

“You are the furthest thing from a bother, my dear. To be honest, I enjoy your company. It gets lonely with only the plants to talk to, and I enjoy the enthusiasm you show in learning about them. I find it refreshing for someone so young to be so interested in something many see as boring.” 

You’re about to respond when you feel a hand on your shoulder, and look up to see Ellaria standing next to you with a smile on her face. “I hope I am not interrupting, but it seems your new outfits from Maricel have arrived. I thought you might like to get out of borrowed clothing.” You’re on your feet before she can finish the sentence, and she covers a laugh with a hand over her mouth.

Before you leave Ellaria turns to Solomon, inclining her head apologetically. “I apologize for stealing your company.” The older man waves her off with a smile, turning back to his plants.

She leads you down the halls that you’re steadily growing more accustomed to. When you first arrived it had felt like a maze of opulence, but little things have started to stand out and aide you in moving through the palace. The decorations tend towards ornate vases and statues the closer you get to the official side of the palace, where Doran hosts visitors and conducts his business. As you get closer to the residential side there is a slow transition towards tapestries and paintings, especially of human subjects near Oberyn’s rooms.

There’s a gold vase with sapphire gems cut like blooms at the corner you turn to take to Ellaria’s rooms, set close to Oberyn’s. The painting of what you would assume to be an English countryside if you didn’t know any better signals the turn towards the kitchen, and a small statue of what you think is a horse sits close to your own rooms. You aren’t sure you will ever be able to move about the halls as confidently as Ellaria, but - as you remind yourself - you aren’t even sure you’ll be here long enough to get that chance.

The thought sobers you as you arrive outside Ellaria’s rooms, but the sight that greets you as she flings the door open is enough to sweep your melancholy mood away. It seems like every surface is covered in a riot of colors and patterns, the combination threatening to overwhelm you.

Ellaria chuckles from off to the side, picking up a pale pink dress that looks similar in style to the one she is wearing. “Is it a bit much, dove? I did say Oberyn wanted you to have a full wardrobe.”

You let out a nervous laugh, turning to her with wide eyes and a disbelieving smile. “I think Oberyn and I might have different opinions on what a ‘full wardrobe’ means.” You drift over, picking up a dress draped over the back of a gilded couch that seems to be made of liquid gold as it slips through your fingers. “There’s enough cloth here to make a circus tent. How much did this cost him?” Your voice takes on a slightly panicked note at the end, suddenly wondering if you’ll be expected to pay all this extravagance back.

Ellaria just shrugs, fingering the delicate lace edge of the dress she holds. “To be honest, I am not sure a number could be put to it. Maricel works for the family, as well as a number of other well-off families in Dorne. I doubt Oberyn even asked her for a price, and even she might not know.” She sinks onto the one spot on the couch not covered by silky fabrics. “Maricel makes, and Oberyn pays. Well,” She smirks, leaning back. “Doran pays, really.”

You stare at her, letting the golden fabric slip through your fingers. “Ellaria, I-” Glancing around the room you find yourself at a loss for words, unable to process.

Ellaria reaches out a hand, catching your fingers between hers with a soft smile. “Do not worry, my dear. You will not be expected to repay Oberyn or Doran for these clothes. They are a gift for a guest of the Prince of Dorne.”

It takes some prodding but Ellaria finally convinces you to try the dresses on. Despite their beauty, they end up being surprisingly simple to get on and off. The fabrics are all soft and light, perfect for the Dornish heat. They fit you better than anything you owned back home, and as you smooth your hand over the pale blue silk of one dress as it drapes over your hips, you find this another mark in favor of not leaving.

Not that you’re sure the choice will even be yours. If you don’t know how you got here, who’s to say you won’t leave just as suddenly as you arrived?

There’s a knock on the door just as Ellaria is doing up the back of a burnt yellow dress, the edges of the flowing sleeves trimmed in tiny suns. As she works at the laces, she calls for the person to enter.

You hear the door open, too preoccupied with examining the beautiful embroidery on the hem of the sleeve to look up right away, but you recognize Oberyn’s voice. “I heard the new dresses have arrived, I trust Marciel has crafted-” 

After a moment of silence, and Ellaria stilling behind you, you look up to the mirror she has you positioned in front of. She’s looking over your shoulder off to the side towards the door, a smirk you’ve come to associate with her winning an argument on her face. Slowly you turn towards the door, unsure if you want to see why she’s aiming that smirk at Oberyn. 

You’ve yet to quite place why the prince seems to have a never ending parade of people in and out of his bed. He’s attractive, you can’t deny that, and while it doesn’t lure you, the promise of claiming a night in the bed of a prince is an undeniable draw for some.

But still. So many people?

As you finally feel the weight of his gaze settle on you, however, you also feel yourself beginning to understand.

There’s a paper clutched in one of his hands, although he seems to have forgotten all about it. He almost looks surprised, like you’ve caught him off guard, although you know he had to assume you would be trying the dresses on if he came to see them. As your eyes meet his the weight of his gaze shifts. You watch as he scans down your body, snagging for a moment you think on the suns embroidered on your sleeves.

When his gaze finally meets yours again, you feel pinned in place, reminded vaguely of the frog you dissected in 8th grade science - exposed and incredibly seen by a man standing completely across the room from you.

You want to say something, to make a joke about his seeming inability to speak, but you find yourself just as unable to form words. The only thing you can seem to focus on is the solid warmth of Ellaria behind you, and Oberyn’s almost possessive gaze pinning you in place.

“Love, you’re staring.” Ellaria’s voice seems to break both of you out of the spell holding you in place. You just barely catch a somewhat flustered smirk coming across Oberyn’s face before you’re looking away, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.

“How could I not stare at such a beautiful sight? Maricel has truly outdone herself again, our dove looks even more radiant than before.” Long strides eat up the space between the two of you, and you find yourself looking up to meet his gaze once more. There isn’t the same weight as before, you don’t feel pinned and helpless to look away, but there is still a pull that wasn’t there before. 

Before you can be sucked back in, Oberyn lifts the hem of your sleeve, gaze dropping to the embroidery. He rubs a thumb almost thoughtfully over the gold thread, glancing up at you from beneath unfairly long lashes with a small smile. “It is a good color for you.”

There, sandwiched between the two of them so close you feel surrounded by them, you feel that belonging from the dinner days ago begin to seep in again. It feels right, having them both near you, their attention on you, and you find yourself wanting it to never end.

Oberyn straightens, soft cloth slipping from between his fingers, and although he really only moves a few inches away you feel yourself lean forward to close the distance again. Ellaria’s fingers still twisted in the laces at your back keep you in place, ensuring you don’t embarrass yourself by chasing after the prince.

He holds up the paper in his hand, the smirk on his face making you almost certain he knows how being in your space is affecting you. “I will be gone for a few days, boring matters of state to attend to. I trust you will be absolutely crushed by my absence, but alas, duty calls.”

Despite the fact that you know he’s right, you will miss him while he’s away, something about the smug tone his voice takes on has you leaning back into Ellaria and away from him, letting a smug smile bleed onto your own face. “I suppose we will just have to find a way to entertain ourselves without you.” Ramping up the dramatics you tilt your head back onto Ellaria’s shoulder, eyes closed as you drape a hand over your forehead. “It will be such agony being deprived of your presence, my prince.”

You feel Ellaria shaking against your back, and crack one eye open to see her covering her mouth with a hand, attempting to stifle her laughter at your dramatics. One look at Oberyn shows similar amusement playing out across his face, and the combination cracks your resolve to hold up the act. You collapse into a fit of giggles against the other woman, the room quickly filling with laughter from both of you.

Oberyn holds up his hands, shaking his head with a grin. “Alright, I get the picture.”

With one last lingering look at the suns embroidered on your sleeve he lifts your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to the back that has your breath catching in your lungs, your laughter dying on your lips. His eyes never leave yours, an emotion you can’t quite place shining in them.

“Until I return, beautiful mystery.”

This time when you shoot up in bed, sweaty and panting with a feeling of doom draped about your shoulders like an insistent cat, you can’t shake the feeling off by the time the sun rises. These dreams are something, you can’t pretend otherwise anymore.

You seek Ellaria out, finding her on the balcony of her rooms. You had originally found it odd that Ellaria and Oberyn didn’t share rooms, what with their obvious closeness despite not being married. She had explained that while usually they did share a bed and their conquests, there were times where one or the other or whoever they brought to bed didn’t feel like sharing or being shared, which made separate rooms convenient.

She also smiled and told you that there were times, much as she loved him, that she just needed space from Oberyn.

Despite the separate spaces, you find both of them on the balcony of Ellaria’s rooms, Oberyn freshly back from his trip the night before, a spread of breakfast food on a tray resting on the built-in bench between them. Ellaria sees you first, and a warm tingle spreads through you at the smile that lights up her face as soon as she spots you. 

“Darling! If I had known you were going to join us this morning I would have had more food brought up.” You quickly shake your head, cutting her off before she can call for someone to bring more food.

Instead you settle on the other side of the bench that stretches around the edge of the small balcony, nervously tucking your legs beneath you. “Thank you, but I um…I actually wanted to ask you about something.”

Even staring nervously at the floor, you don’t miss the way they both straighten, twisting to look more fully at you. Oberyn sets the glass of wine in his hand down, and you have to resist the urge to squirm under the full weight of both their attentions.

“It’s…god I’m going to sound insane, but magic is a thing here, right?” You look up and the two of them glance at each other.

“Somewhat, yes. Why do you ask?” Oberyn is the one that answers you, a wrinkle forming between his brows.

You twist your fingers together in your lap, partially out of nerves and at least somewhat to resist the urge to reach out and smooth the wrinkle down. “Well, I uh…I’ve been having these dreams? And at first I didn’t think anything about them, I just thought they were nightmares, but then I remembered I had them as a kid too, and they always ended up coming true. Which didn’t really mean anything, I thought maybe I was just making connections where there weren’t any, but I had a dream the other night and the only thing I could remember from it was one of the cooks burning himself on a pan, and when I went down to get a snack the next day he burned himself while I was down there in the same spot, which I know sounds insane but I swear it’s true and-” 

You don’t realize you’re rambling until Ellaria leans forward, covering your increasingly twisted fingers with her own. The feeling stops you short and you draw in a deep breath, suddenly aware of how low on oxygen you had been running. You lower your eyes from the pretty blue sky where they’d drifted, unable to look at either of them as you rambled. 

They’re both frowning, and panic fills you. They don’t believed you, they think you’re insane, what kind of crazy person thinks they have dreams that come true how stupid is that-

“That sounds similar to Amphise.” Ellaria’s voice breaks your spiraling train of thoughts and brings you back to the present to see her looking at Oberyn. You realize now they both look thoughtful, not judgmental, and you sag with relief.

Then Ellaria’s words register, and it’s your turn to frown.

“Amphise? Who’s Amphise?”

Oberyn leans back, resting against the railing of the balcony with arms crossed. “Amphise is what I suppose your world would call a witch. They are called seers here in Dorne, but have different names in different parts of the world. Seers have prophetic dreams similar to yours, among other abilities.”

“She is the one that confirmed Oberyn and I were soulmates. It is one of their abilities.” Ellaria turns to you, and you shove down the sting at the reminder of their bond. “Normally signs manifest in early childhood that someone is a seer, and they would be trained on how to harness their powers. But since you were not born in our world…” 

“It was never seen, so I was never trained.” You finish her thought for her, and she gives you a small smile of confirmation. “So I’m not going crazy? I’m actually having dreams of the future?”

Oberyn laughs, shaking his head. “No, dove, you are not going crazy.” He leans forward, snagging a grape. “We should take you to see Amphise. She lives here in Sunspear, Doran likes to keep her close since her abilities are so useful.”

You sit up, nodding excitedly. “Can we?” You can finally get answers about these dreams, and the thought occurs to you - what if Amphise might know how you came to be in Dorne? 

It’s Ellaria’s turn to smile. “We can leave now, if you’d like.”

Another thought occurs to you as you look at both of them, one that when you first arrived would have filled you with more excitement but now fills you with a confusing mix of emotions you can’t quite parse out.

What if she knows how to send you back?

Taglist:

@sarahjkl82-blog @ecuadorlady @fan-of-encouragement @knivesareout @writeforfandoms @gorgeousgrogu @leto-duke @xoxabs88xox @kirsteng42 @hauntedmama @urofficial-cyberslut @marvelousmermaid @tanzthompson @lowlights @dobbyjen @tanzthompson​

#ESWF #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand #ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell x you #Even Stars Will Fall

[pan-gya]

happy momiji curse break day :’)

Please Reblog

#sohma momiji #fruits basket #furuba #fruits basket spoilers #furuba spoilers #my art #digital art #i realized what episode released today and scrambled to make this #heh #am i late by 2 hours? yes but shut up #its fine lol #anyways #chapter 116 is one of my all time favorite fruits basket chapters #so i had to do art for it #the outfit is based off of his look on the ch cover #i made a 'standard' momiji and a 'my version' momiji #yeah #baby boy grew up :') #happy may the 4th heh

[favoniuscodex]

ataraxia. - ch. 1 [ diluc x reader ]

ch. 1 - april showers pairing: diluc x gn!reader warnings: injuries, blood, but no violence. sfw. words: ~1.3k words fic masterlist [ prev ] - [ next ] chapter summary: you’re trying to find your dog in the rain. unfortunately, however, you find the collapsed, injured figure of a strange man who definitely isn’t from fontaine... great. a/n: this is more befitting of a prologue but,,, hm. chapter one it is. ch. 2 is done and will be posted sometime tomorrow / today ???

you first meet diluc ragnvindr before he meets you.

the day you encounter him is one rife with unpleasant weather. torrential rains pelt the ground around you, muddying the grasses of your family farm. it makes each step in your well-worn rainboots a struggle, but you trudge on nonetheless in pursuit of your dog. he had bolted out the door the second you peeked your head out onto your porch to ensure that the furniture wasn’t getting annihilated in today’s uncharacteristic weather.

for fontaine, the skies are normally a vibrant blue with clouds akin to soft white cotton filling the sky. today, however, is a different story. grey paints the world above your head and, in the cold of the rainstorm that manages to seep past the protective barrier of your jacket, you shove your hands further into your pockets and carry onwards.

when you finally spot the familiar silhouette of your dog, you’re met with the fallen figure of another. your dog pays the rain no mind, barking repeatedly at the man who lays face down in the dirt, bleeding out slowly. you stop in your tracks after finally realizing what exactly was happening, but your dog fails to cease his onslaught towards the poor man in front of him. your dog nudges the redhead’s hand and, in return, gets a weak pat on the head in response.

he’s conscious, you discern, but you aren’t sure if the man is concussed or not. you have little to no first aid experience. what you do have experience with are treasure hoarders. you wouldn’t put it past them to flop a half-dead hoarder down in order to ambush you, but you can’t just leave the injured man. your conscience wouldn’t be able to handle it, especially if you returned to a dead body in the morning.

in current weather conditions, the strange, collapsed redheaded man wouldn’t make it without your assistance. by the time you make it over to him, his eyes have fluttered closed. you nudge him with your foot and receive no response. your efforts to shout over the rain are fruitless as well, so you kick him harshly in the leg for good measure, trying to see if he would be able to respond, let alone stand up. no response.

so, you do what any rational person does best. you leave the unconscious, wounded man alone with your dog in the rain.

you do, however, return shortly with a wheelbarrow, much to your own behest. you couldn’t carry a man in this weather, especially when he was a.) a stranger and b.) probably covered in wounds based on the way the green grass around him has a faint tinge of red. the transportation of him back to your house is rather unceremonious, but he doesn’t stir from his likely blood loss-imposed slumber. your dog circles around your legs as you walk, but eventually comes to his senses and bolts back into the house, making you grumble jealously to yourself as you struggle to steer the wheelbarrow through the mud.

the shed seems like a pretty good option for leaving this man to come to his senses on his own terms, but his skin is far too pale now to be normal and you’ve already contaminated the corpse. if he does die, you’re a liability and you don’t really want to spend your life in fontaine’s musty jail cells, so you do what every person does with peculiar men they find on their farmlands: you take him into your house.

it’s a bit of a struggle, especially with the way the two of you drip water everywhere, but you miraculously manage to bring him to your dining room table, where you splay him out. you catch your breath and look down at his sopping wet figure with a sigh. even if you weren’t going to treat his wounds, you would still have to change his clothes for him to avoid both ruining your table and to help him avoid hypothermia.

in a brilliant stroke of genius, you leave the redhead on your dining room table alone to go search for a first aid kit, towels, and a fresh set of clothes for your newest guest. you slip into a new, dry outfit yourself before returning to the kitchen. startled at the sight that greets you, you nearly drop your newly accumulated supplies. the redheaded man has managed to sit up and now shakily points a knife at you. the two of you stare at each other and you let out a sigh as he clearly struggles to keep his eyes open, hand wobbling midair.

you have no doubt this man is a brilliant fighter, but you’re quite certain that even lil ol’ weaponless you could beat him in a knife fight at the moment. his ruby eyes seem to acknowledge this, yet he points the weapon at you anyways.

“who are you?” he grunts, before wincing at the movement. you wonder if he has a broken rib because of it.

“(y/n).” you respond and, even in his nearly delirious state, he looks at you, bewildered.

“that does not give me any information.” he says, somehow having the audacity to be annoyed with your response. you narrow your eyes.

“i don’t really care, if i’m being honest,” you respond, setting the supplies down near his feet. “just go back to sleep, you were easier to deal with then.”

“what are you planning to do to me?” the redhead asks. his voice sounds utterly pained and melodramatic and you roll your eyes. this dude definitely thinks he’s the tragic star of some action movie, you think to yourself.

“i’m trying to help you, even with my limited medical experience. i’m going to have to take your clothes off though, not to be creepy,” you explain and you’re not even quite sure as to why you’re bothering to elaborate your plans to this man who decided it was a good idea to wear a fur-lined coat in the middle of a rainstorm. he stays silent for a few more moments before letting the knife fall from his hands. it clatters onto the ground next to him and you only hope that it doesn’t nick the flooring.

“fine.” he responds and your eyebrows raise in amusement at the way he gave in far sooner than you expected. the loud thump of him slumping backwards, passing out once more, provides you the reasoning behind his actions. despite the situation at hand, you can’t help but let out a small laugh at his once-again-unconscious form.

you had certainly gotten yourself into the mess of a situation, huh?

the jingling of your dog’s collar interrupts your thoughts as he pads lazily into the room, looking between you and the man resting on your dining room table, wagging his tail. he stares up at you obliviously and you frown at him, but he just wiggles in response before leaving the room. little shit doesn’t realize what trouble he brought me, you think bitterly to yourself before returning to the situation at hand. right. providing medical attention to a passed out stranger. how exciting.

when you finally finish, your feet are screaming at you to sit down and your body quivers with exhaustion. you hadn’t bothered to put a shirt back on him -- the pants had been difficult (and awkward) enough. plus, the guy definitely had a broken rib. you weren’t about to agitate it further. bandages, stitches, and makeshift splints cover the stranger’s body, but you don’t desire to admire your handiwork.

instead, you sit down at one of the dining room chairs next to him, fold your arms on the table in front of you, and promptly pass out, resting your forehead on your forearms. hopefully when you awoke, he wouldn’t try to stab you, if he would even be able to.

#genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #genshin impact #diluc #//ataraxia

[nikadoesanart]

Dazai in both his PM & ADA clothes

In Chapter 11, we can see Dazai depicted wearing a combination of both his PM and ADA clothing when Chuuya reminds Dazai of his past as the youngest executive in the history of the Port Mafia. I am aware that he is drawn in a similar way in the Vol 3 contents page, but I will be saving that for another time, as he is accompanied by Akutagawa and Chuuya there and I think it's best to analyze that artwork as a whole.

In regards to Dazai’s outfit here being a mix of his ADA and PM ones, overall I think it was done intentionally to show how even though he’s been in the ADA for the last 2 years and defected from the PM 4 years ago, he can’t get rid of his past. He may have been able to literally burn the coat (ch 30, p 15) and create an unbelievably clean record (Entrance Exam p 17, Yen Press translation) but his crimes still followed him, covered up or not. Or another way I’d phrase it would be that he may be on the side that saves people and a better person at heart now, but he can’t shake off his past as it still quite literally clings on to him. Starting with the background, the people and eyes glaring at him could very well be a metaphorical representation of his crimes. For example, it could be some of the people whose deaths he played a part in. It could also be those who were/are supposedly close to him judging him for his decisions and actions as well as how he may likely feel that he is still viewed by society as a monster and "the demonic prodigy of the Port Mafia’s guerrilla squad" (The Heartless Cur, easygoingscans translation) considering that his high intellect alienates him from almost all of society in addition to all of his mafia achievements. After all, he was advised to lay low while his records were made clean for him to even have a chance at being hired by the Agency. For comparison, Fukuzawa’s past occupation isn’t common knowledge to the public and Kyouka’s mafia achievements were an issue at first with her being able to work in the Agency (or really anywhere outside of the mafia). Moving onto Dazai's overall appearance, he looks all disheveled here, as if both the coat and his own physical and mental states are all falling apart and off of him. He’s holding onto the coat like he’s not quite ready to let go of it, likely because his time in the PM is crucial to who he is today. After all, that is when and where he (most likely) met and befriended Oda (as far as we can infer based on existing knowledge in Dark Era, novel version included). Through Odasaku, Dazai found someone who truly understood him and was given a reason to both live and to get rid of his ties to the mafia, which the coat literally represents because he received it from Mori.

Fully leaving his past behind him means leaving Oda in the past and moving on from that part of his life entirely. We know that that is one thing he cannot and likely will not do, even if all he is left with now are small mementos and his memories of that time, including at least a couple of moments that he does treasure. We've seen him hold a Lupin matchbox and even pay the bar a visit right before difficult and risky decisions, and think of Oda when thinking of how he has failed both in the past and in the present or just reflecting in general (when talking with Kyouka on the plane in ch 35, at the end of 55 Minutes, at the end of season 3, and when discussing his views on why things happen with Fyodor in ch 77, etc).

Even in this panel alone, his facial expression clearly shows that he is far from pleased to be depicted and referred to this way and we now know that he was at his absolute lowest, mental health-wise, at age 16 during Storm Bringer (at least as far as we currently know of his past). (Creds to @emmacifer for pointing these two details out) Admittedly, my knowledge for understanding body language is fairly limited, but regardless, look at specifically how and where Dazai is holding onto the coat. His right hand is in his pocket and with his left hand he’s gripping onto what appears to be the area just between the parts of the coat that are in the armpit and lung areas (idk how else to describe it). If you try grabbing your own shirt or jacket in that same spot, you will feel some of the pull on the fabric in your shoulder, almost as if Dazai is trying to create or maybe even recreate this feeling in a more visible way to represent Oda's last words giving him a reason to leave and go towards the side that saves people, or his desire to escape from feeling inhuman. In regards to Dazai having his left hand in his pocket, and because Dazai specifically has his thumb out, that means high confidence (source 2).

(If you do know more about reading body language, I'd love to hear your input on this panel! The stuff about his right hand is purely my own speculation and interpretation vs the part about his left is based on what I read in the linked source) Coming back now to how he is dressed specifically in this panel, Dazai is wearing his coat/overcoat and bandages from his PM days and his vest, shirt, and pendant that he wears now in the ADA. In other words, he is currently on the side that saves people (the ADA) at heart, but he still wears his past on top of that. The weight of his actions, especially as a PM executive, outweigh his accomplishments under the ADA, especially once his crimes and past do get revealed. He is quite literally wearing the source of his (currently known) pain and suffering on top of everything else because that ultimately did play a large factor in shaping him as a person. Both the countless injuries he's sustained in exchange for his achievements (represented by the bandages) as well as the cause of the mental abuse and manipulation he was subject to under Mori (represented by the coat).

Additional sources and credits:

Meaning of hands in pockets Meaning of hands in pockets 2 (the one I used) Huge thank you to Zae, aka BSDiseverything on Twitter for helping to find where Dazai’s demon prodigy nickname is from (I literally reread half of Dark Era by this point and started checking the dark era anime)

#bsd #bsd analysis #bungou stray dogs #bsd theories #bungo stray dogs #bsd dazai #slight manga spoilers #also slight Storm Bringer spoilers

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 144

After much demand, Kink Night at the Undine has arrived. This chapter is really fun, was informative to write, but if you need to skip it, you won’t miss out on the overall story. So, trigger warnings on this chapter for:

- Bondage (mentions of)

- Pegging (possible mention of?)

- Impact play (discussed, both done wrongly and demonstrated correctly)

- Topping and bottoming

To be clear: These are all mentioned from the perspective of a non-participant, non-voyeur. I would probably overall rate this chapter appropriate for 14 years and older, but your mileage may vary. However, kink in general can be very healthy if done correctly, and this chapter was double beta-read, not only by @baelpenrose but also by @charlylimph-blog for accuracy of the scene.  This actually prevented a PROFOUND mistake from making it to queueing, so I am super grateful for their help.

Once I was released from medical after an unnecessarily long lecture from Noah, I found I had a message waiting from Charly with a date and time to meet at the Undine.  Right below that was a message from Sebastian with a uniform-slash-dresscode of sorts.

Aw nuggets. I had forgotten what night it was. 

There wasn’t time to grab clothes from my quarters, but my office was on the way to the bar, so I stopped by to change.  Socks and shoes were a bit of a challenge, since I generally didn’t wear either, so I had to find a vendor to help me fill in the gaps.  Granted, shoes weren’t specified in Sebastian’s list.  However, there was exactly a zero percent chance that I was going to lend a hand at a kink party while barefoot. Just… no. Nope. Not happening.

I wiped my palms nervously against my slacks when I arrived, not sure exactly what to expect.  Charly and I had talked about it, but none of that knowledge wanted to make its presence known at the moment, apparently.  Instead, my mind kept drifting to what in the actual hell she had roped Arthur into doing.  The door opened entirely too soon to reveal a smiling Charly, who grabbed my arm and dragged me behind her to the small group already gathered.

All of my nerves were forced from my body by the sputtering laughter I fell victim to when I saw Arthur - I still had no idea what he would be doing, but he looked like someone took a post-apocalyptic movie hero and hit a button labelled ‘make him a villain’ a few too many times.  The leather jacket and motorcycle pants were fairly innocuous, since I knew he actually owned both and neither were terribly uncommon on the Ark.  Same thing held for the boots - they were just practical in the After and several people held on to that preference with a death grip.

“Cloak’s a nice touch,” I snorted, trying desperately to ignore the campier bits of his outfit.

I was dangerously close to losing it when he scowled and adjusted the laurel crown - I mean, really? - resting on his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have cut my hair this morning,” he muttered. “Damned thing won’t sit right anymore.”

Charly clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, one more run through of what everyone will be doing!”

Sebastian nodded seriously and flicked a towel over his shoulder before handing me an apron. “Sophia has kindly agreed to prep the snacks, while I serve and clean behind people. She’ll clear any dishes in between batches, and one or the other of us will do a lap of the floor every fifteen minutes to ensure everyone is hydrated and there’s no need for medical attention.” He winked at the relief on my face.

Cooking, clearing plates, and momming people into staying hydrated. I could do that.

Arthur brushed off his pauldrons, only forcing me to confront the fact that they were shaped like skulls again, before straightening with aplomb. “I will be Dungeon Master, keeping an eye on everything from there,” he pointed to a scaffold that had been put into place over the bartop, “And intervening as needed if things get out of hand.” Without so much as a twitch of question from me, he explained. “Charly and Coffey can’t be everywhere at once, so I get to perch on high, look ridiculous, and play bouncer if Coffey can’t get there first.”

“Yep,” Charly nodded seriously. For all that she normally seemed built out of chaos and energy, this was Boss Lady Charly. “Let’s keep it safe, sane, and consensual across the board. Speaking of!” She pulled two badges from seemingly nowhere. “Soph, Bash, these are for you.” I took one and immediately grinned when I read it. Staff Only - I Do Not Consent. “If either of you want to play, go for it, but otherwise, probably wear those.  Sexy librarian and millionaire CEO are tropes that exist, so ya know - no confusion for anyone.  Any questions, concerns, cries for help?” When we all shook our heads, she clapped again. “Okay, off you go! Thanks everyone.”

Sebastian tilted his head toward the kitchen and I followed, wiping my hands on my legs again. “Thank you for agreeing to help with snacks.  I know Charly already told you, but I am not the greatest at finger foods that don’t make a mess or won’t be too heavy.”

I hummed for a second before making a few suggestions. “Macaroni and cheese bites, they’re about this big.” I made a circle about an inch and a half across with my fingers. “Just pop and go. Pigs in blankets, the kind with cocktail sausages… meatballs, but probably with lamb instead of beef.  Dumplings.” I shrugged. “Charly swears people actually bring food to these, so once that stuff starts coming in, it would just be portioning it and sending it back out.  We shouldn’t have too much actual cooking to do.”

He nodded and started grabbing ingredients. “So that leaves drinks, plates, and utensils.” When I reached for a rack of glasses, he stopped me. “No.  If one of us drops anything that can break, people can get injured.  I’ve been stocking up on fiber-based plates, forks, and spoons.  Drinks are going to be in those corn-starch gel pouches.”

“Dude,” I groaned. “Those things get so gummy.”

“Straws are real and do exist.”

“Besides, I can already tell someone is going to find alternative uses for those,” Arthur called from behind us. I swear, I could hear him smirking. “You can’t put humans, sex, and flavored liquid in the same room and not expect that.”

I shook my head with a smile, but he had a point. Once we shooed him away, work on the snacks went pretty quick.  Judging by the sounds coming from the main room, it was a good thing, too - furniture being dragged, then Arthur’s voice ringing out to welcome everyone.  Soon, Sebastian was swinging out of the kitchen door with the first trays, and true to Charly’s word, he came back carrying a plate of neatly stacked fudge, followed by Arthur carrying a covered container.

“Scratch the meatballs, someone brought an actual mountain of sausage balls,” Arthur grunted as he slammed the container on a flat surface before retreating.

“Not even a joke?” I mused.

“Must be slipping,” Sebastian grinned. “I mean, he said ‘balls’ twice…”

“Low hanging fruit!” a voice called from the main room.  It must have seemed entirely out of context to the crowd, but Sebastian and I were laughing as we started plating so he could carry more food out to the spots Charly had designated.

A timer went off, so I took the mac and cheese bites out of the oven, snagged a tray of drink-blobs, shoved a fistful of straws into my apron and took off to do my lap of the event.  There were already people taking a break, reaching gratefully for hydration.  Several times, someone would reach for one and pour it in a partner’s  mouth, and on one occasion, a woman offered it up like a gift to a bound man, both biting into it and drinking greedily.

I almost stepped on someone before I realized there was an actual pile of people on the floor. I diverted my eyes quickly from what I thought was an all-out orgy before my brain registered that I wasn’t hearing sex noises - just whispers.  Snapping my eyes back up, it took a moment to figure out that I had nearly stepped on the largest cuddle pile I had seen since my apartment on Insert Winter Holiday.  Crouching, I balanced what was left of the drink blobs on one hand while holding out the straws with another.  In no time at all, the tray was empty and I was heading back for more.

This time, food on one hand, drinks on the other, I exited the kitchen to see Charly wrapping up her rope-bondage safety lecture before starting to demonstrate different knots on a volunteer, with Charly in the role of the top for this scenario. Watching her calmly contort and restrain another human being while calmly explaining the psychology behind it was… kind of terrifying.  I had to constantly remind myself that this person volunteered and that Charly was experienced on both ends of the rope.  

One more sweep of the room landed me with only a dozen or so drinks left on top of a pile of empty trays.  I backed into the kitchen to sanitize and re-load the trays, only to hear Sebastian swearing. “Who the hell brought chili!?”

“Apparently someone thought it was a good idea,” I shrugged, baffled. I mean, it didn’t seem like a good idea to me, but this wasn’t exactly my area of expertise.  “Maybe we put it in bowls, set up a little station in one of the break areas, with toppings? Let people help themselves?”

“Bondage potlucks and chili…” He shook his head. “Trying to remind myself that I’ve seen weirder things, but…”

“I can promise you, they are having fun. And they’re hydrated!” I shook my mostly empty platter of blobs at him.

Sebastian went out to retrieve more food from the people who brought it, and I kept rolling sausages in dough.  “More fudge!” he crowed. “I snagged a piece of the first batch, and it was amazing.”

“You clearly do not see the irony,” I muttered where he couldn’t hear me. “Oh, heavens, no chili! But fudge… fudge is fine…”

The next time I was able to break free and take my designated lap, a slight bit more chaos had descended as everyone had gotten more comfortable.  Several of the more experienced were examining and complimenting each other on their knots and arrangements of their subs. Ivan and Jokul were doing…. Something… that involved Ivan in a gorgeous evening gown and Jokul with a gag in his mouth.  I was almost done with my circuit when a thud reverberated behind me and a black cloak whipped by.

“For the love of…” Arthur growled. I thought he was going to dribble the cowering man he was glaring at like a basketball, but instead he brandished a marker and made two quick X’s on a bare pair of buttocks. “Here and here. Only here and here.” With an irritated flourish, he wrote NOT HERE across the small of the attached back. “This will give someone kidney damage.  Specifically you if I catch you doing it again.” Ducking around to the face of the person he had just used as a whiteboard, he shook his finger. “And I’m not even going to apologize, because you have a safeword and you need to use it. First, last, and only warning, you two. If that hit had been any more than a nervous first tap, you wouldn’t even be getting that.”  Without a word, he snagged the cane sitting on the table nearby and took it with him. “They aren’t getting anywhere near the cane, fucking idiots. Gotta talk to Charly about those two…” he muttered as he blew back past me, so angry he didn’t even acknowledge that I was standing there.

I almost dropped the stack of empty platters when the Imperial March started playing while Arthur stomped back into his position over the bar. “Attention, Deviants!  Courtesy of some poor practices I’ve seen, I would like to invite Sir Coffey and his pet fae Charly to give us a tutorial on safe and proper impact play!”  Applause started as he beckoned them forward, Sebastian theatrically adjusting the lights to center in front of the stage.

I ducked back into the kitchen as Coffey’s voice rang out over the crowd, explaining yet again safewords and consent before launching into what toys were used how and where.  A little public humiliation never hurt anyone, I joked with myself. At least not for some of the people out there.

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia Ch 13

Waking up late was so not the plan for today.

What was supposed to be a nice lovely day is slowly turning into your personal hell. Racing around the kitchen trying to keep an eye on your potatoes as you cut up the other veggies for the pie. So you can shove it into the oven then get ready.

Christ why hadn't you thought to prep your ingredients earlier?

Thankfully the cobbler was super simple tossing the sugar and flour into the bowl followed by the a cup of lemonade. Perfect cobbler base. After the batter was creamy you threw in the freshly washed blackberries. They bled a deep red into the batter around them. You had high hopes as you topped it with butter and threw it into the oven.

Both dishes had very quick bake times so you weren't too worried or stressed about them taking forever. In all honesty the only reason you were frantically running around your kitchen was prepping the inside of the forager's pie. And giving the mashed potatoes an essence of rosemary and garlic as if you were a chef on par with Gordon Ramsey.

Should you do dishes?

No, there's no time to worry about that.

Soon the cobbler is out of the oven and you have replaced it with the two pans of forager's pie. You don't give the cobbler any time to cool as you place the aluminum lid to the pan so the heat stays.

With that taken care of you speed off to your room and grab your outfit. The mini pencil skirt you'd purchased yesterday paired with some shorts so you didn't have to be careful with your movements all day. A plain block colored shirt in a cute primary palette. Finishing with yellow converses.

Changing doesn't take long but you do take some extra time on your hair choosing to style it a bit different today. As you're debating on if you should put the time into a fun makeup look your neck snaps harshly to the right.

There is no crack but it did hurt like hell.

As if that had been a sign from God you opt for your normal look. There will be other events and times for you to do fun looks, but not today.

The oven beeps as the timer goes off letting you know the pies are ready. Just a sprinkle of cheese on top before you cover them with the lid and you are all set to go.

Checking the time you see it's nine-o-two, and while the picnic was scheduled for ten thirty you are a committee member and should be there early to help set up. So without anymore hesitation you are flying out of the house and into your car.

You rush back from placing the food in the backseat to make sure your door is locked.

It is and you are free to enjoy the day...you hope.

Speeding would be the biggest understatement of the year. You were practically at the lodge in fifteen minutes and bustling up to the door. Opening it you rush in ignoring anyone you pass by in your mad dash to the kitchen.

“Hello to you too.” Barclays voice carries from the stove as you whisk past him to place two of your pans on the counter.

“Hi, Tim?” you say out of breath from your one person marathon. Practically vibrating in place unwilling to loose your momentum despite your need for a second wind.

Barclay just points to the den and you're out of the kitchen just as fast as you had entered. Most patrons in the den don't spare you a second glance used to your whirlwind mannerisms when your trying to follow a deadline. As self appointed as it may be.

There is one trio however giving you a mix of concerned and amused looks. Which quickly turn into concerned and interest when you make a bee line straight for them.

“Hi,” you say to Toby and Brian before looking at Tim and pushing the cobbler at him, “Thanks again  for last night.”

Tim can't even get a word out because as soon as he grabs the pan you're already back off to the kitchen. Determined to help Barclay with something before everyone starts moving to the Archway. You hear the chorus of chuckles coming from everyone as you leave a confused Tim, who now has to answer to the questioning glances of his friends, in your wake.

Barclay needed no help as you guessed but he was however open to you covering the food and stacking certain items together before helping to load everything into crates for easier transport. It wasn't long before the others start to make their way into the kitchen to get briefed on the plan.

You notice the trio being motioned in by Jake who holds the door open for them to make their way in too. Brian politely takes the door from Jake as Tim steps in place in front of him and Toby. The jerky movements of Toby's eyes as he scans the room is really hard to ignore. But it doesn't seem like he's looking for anything just taking note of who is in the kitchen and where they are.

“Ok, first thank you all for helping set up the picnic today. I really appreciate it.” Barclay's baritone voice says jostling you out of your thoughts to focus in on him.

“Second, we really don't have much to do for set up since most guests already have their baskets with them. We do have a few spares to lay down though. We'll be splitting off into three teams.” Barclay then points at you, Hollis, Jake, and Kirby.

“Team A is in charge of setting up the spare baskets.”

After getting your group's approval he continues down the line.

Team B consists of Brian, Tim, Toby, and Indrid. Their group is to bring out and set the tables that'll hold the food. Team C is Barclay, Aubrey, Dani, and Madeline. Team C will bring the main courses along with the heaters to keep everything warm.

With teams set and in place you all take to your positions and get a move on before the public arrives. You vaguely wonder why the Hornets aren't here yet but remember most had decorated and cleared out the Archway over the past couple of days. Pushing the thoughts away you grab two baskets and follow after your team. Thankfully there were only a few left over baskets, eight if you include Jake and Hollis' and then your own. Each member of your team carried two baskets through the thicket of trees until you reached the clearing of the archway.

It looked amazing, you'd only been out here one other time back when Bambi was still around. She took you out at night and the two of you just talked about anything and everything, including theories about the giant archway that towered over the clearing and just how it may have come to be.  Back then it had been a field of long grass and purple wildflowers. The grass was so thick the two of you used sticks to move it and insure there'd be no snakes harmed in your late night hike. Now though the grass had been cut save for aesthetically calculated patches of wildflowers and clovers here and there. The field was absolutely perfect for the event, and with the gorgeous blue skies partially clouded the scenery really seemed to pop out.

Especially the small lake glittering just past the archway. You'd never noticed it before but then again you came here in the dead of night.

Getting back to work you set out on placing the spare baskets a reasonable distance from the others. Close enough  to other blankets to feel included but far enough away to have their own space if that was their thing. When you had finished you take your own basket and join Hollis and Jake who finished placing their four baskets down faster with two people. They'd been setting up their own blanket on the outer rim of the perimeter, closer to the treeline than to the Archway. As if they were going to overlook the even and keep an eye out. Which they probably would be, just to ensure that everyone had fun and stayed safe.

Seeing you standing just a few feet away from the blanket Jake gives you his patented superstar smile.

“C'mon, join the party YN.”

With the easy going invitation you fix your blanket beside theirs. This way at one point or another you'd see a majority of your friends today as you knew for a fact they'd come over or be dragged over into seeing the couple beside you.

Kirby joins you three after lazily placing his baskets side by side closer to the archway. With the hustle and fuss of your prep work being done you can take a moment to take everything in.

“I love the shirt.” you say looking at Kirby's 'I'm not Allo but 20$ is 20$' shirt.

He gives a grin before presenting a folded up shirt out of his messenger bag.

“Thought you might...don't wear it now though. Don't want you copying my style, that'd be sad.” he jokes.

“Pfft, please everyone would know it's you who copied me.”

Jake and Hollis watch as the two of you continue your playful banter. Occasionally voicing whose side they were on, Hollis took Kirby's while Jake took yours. It was a fun way to pass the time as the other groups finished setting up.

Especially since you had Mr. Cool Guy himself on your side. How could you possibly not be the trend setter sibling with his vote.

Before long the other groups were also setting up their own baskets, which had been brought out by Barclay and Indrid a few hours earlier. And some Hornets started showing up not too long after that. Either rushing around trying to set up their baskets or sit down with friends after placing their food away. Though the event hadn't really started yet you could hear Aubrey starting up her music a few blankets away. She'd already gathered a small crowd that was chittering away.

Taking it all in you notice a certain trio looking incredibly awkward and out of place. You get up and make your way over to the men ready to invite them to sit with you. After all it's an eight person blanket it'd be a shame to sit all by yourself next to another full blanket.

Toby's dark eyes lock on to you first, you really suspect this boy has ADHD with his quick reflexes and spacial hyper awareness. He actually seems to deflate a bit, like the tension in his shoulders started to disappear the closer you got. You apparently weren't the only one to notice the subtle change in the brunette as Tim focused in on Toby. Meanwhile Brian clocked you just before you were within ten feet of their little group.

“Hey I have an empty blanket if you guys wanted to join.”

Just getting straight to the point was your thing. Most see your bluntness as rudeness but you just don't see a point in dancing around your message.

“Yea, that'd be nice.” Toby spoke before the other two could.

Smiling at him you hold a hand out for him to grab. You aren't really sure what possessed you to do that, but figure you must be in a rare tactile mood. Unlike when you're touched if you initiate the contact it doesn't hurt or squick you out. He grabs your hand and you can feel the scratch of his callouses. You remember Hollis said something about him being a mechanic, that would explain the tough hands.

You lead the trio over to your blanket where only Kirby sits, seems like didn't bring his basket and was going to share with you. Not that you mind at all, in fact this was the perfect time to introduce one friend to another.

“Kirby time to make a good impression.” you call out gaining his attention.

He takes a moment before taking note of the group you're guiding over. Kirby stands up to greet you all.

“Kirby this is my friend Tobias, and his roommates Tim and Brian.” you motion to the other two with your unoccupied hand.

Noticing for the first time that they have their hands interlocked. Not holding like you and Toby are but a more intimate hand hold.

'These bitches gay...good for them. Good for them.' is just playing on repeat as background noise in your head. Ignoring the loop in your brain you continue the introduction.

“This is Kirby, my brother or whatever.” Kirby snorts at your short introduction.

“I'll take it, 's a step up from gremlin.” he turns to the trio hand extended, “Nice to meet you guys.”

After the weird neurotypical ritual is over the five of you sit down and talk while you wait for the festivities to begin. Tim and Kirby dragging Brian along for the deep dive of god awful horror movies.

“You didn't mention a brother.” Toby says fiddling with your hand, someone really needs to get this guy a fidget toy.

“Huh? Oh no. No, not like that Kirby's more like a brother than my biological brother.” you pause while thinking how to explain this more articulately.

“We're just really similar and people thought we were dating, I guess, before we started calling each other 'sibling'.” it's really weird that that was even an issue. At least to you but Allos tend to be weird about mixed gender relationships.

For instance Brian and Tim can get written off as the best of best friends. But you and Kirby decide to sit next to each other for one Saturday Night Dead and the town is already waiting for wedding invites. Maybe this is a small town thing...you'll still blame the Allos.

Toby nods along, whether he actually understands or is trying to move from the topic you can't quite tell. You look down at his hand that's bending your fingers into your palm. His nail beds look better than last week you hope it means he wasn't picking at his skin. It's really not a great coping mechanism.

You let out a small sigh as you get lost in the feeling of Toby playing with your fingers. You're trying to think of something to talk about but the motions are kind of drowning out your thoughts. You can see why this might've been helpful the for Toby last week in the forest.

“...We're friends?” you aren't really sure if that was a question or a statement.

“Yea! Well at least I'd like to be. It's fine if you don't want to though.”

Toby gives a small smile to that, and releases your hand. It seems his anxiety has gone away for the most part. Maybe having the reassurance of another friend is all he needed. Just a little more moral support to get him out of his shell.

You smile back at him as he leans back on his hands. It's nice that you both can enjoy the day without your masks, even if you do feel a bit naked without yours. You wonder how Toby's been holding up wearing only the bandage over his scar. But you know you probably aren't at the friendship level needed to question him about it. No matter how nonchalant he'd been about eating in front of you that first day.

“How're the repairs coming?”

Toby rolls his eyes and lets out a frustrated groan, and for a moment you're concerned you upset him.

“It's a fah-fah-cuck...king rust bucket. Like Jesus fucking Christ first the AC blows out so I check the compressor...” he pauses and squints his eyes at you, “do you know cars?”

“Dad's a mechanic so I know enough. But you're talking about an RV unit and not a regular cabin AC might get a little lost but I can at least lend an ear. Like a rubber duck.”

The right side of Toby's mouth pulls a confused sneer, but his attention is soon turned to Brian who's chuckling having heard what you said.

“'s a coding thing Toby.”

“Uh...okay?” Toby just resigns himself to not understanding this particular topic and continues on.

“Yea so sorta the same basis, I guess. The units still pull air from outside into the vents and use a refrigerant liquid to cool the air it pushes out.” he pauses to make sure you're still following.

After you nod he continues to explain how it runs so the fans and circuits seem to be in order. There isn't a leak in the coils and the liquid's been replenished but it still isn't running cold. You nod while giving him a patient smile as you let him tear through his rant about the “piece of shit unit” because it seems this has been building in him for the past few days.  When he comes to the end of his rant the only thing you can really think to say is.

“That sounds rough.”

Not the most eloquent thing but Toby seems to come down from his vent high, after a few deep breaths.

“Yea it mrrow was. Well is.” he cuts his eyes back to the trio across from you noticing how they all seem invested in their own conversation now.

“Why'd you give Tim a cobbler?” looks like you two will be playing twenty questions today.

“He scared off the creep for me last night.” you shrug causing your neck to jerk to the side.

“'the' creep? Wait! The one that drugged you?” Toby is so lucky he can't feel pain because even you felt that crack that ripped through his neck as he whipped his head towards you.

And honestly you're kinda surprised it didn't draw anyone's attention to you two.

“First I don't think I was drugged, he might've just sent me into a panic attack.”

“Oh sorry the creep that sent you into a panic attack.” you really hate when people interrupt you like that he's really lucky you understand he's actually just paying attention to you rather than talking over you. You'd punch him if it wasn't the case. Punch him right in his cute snarky face.

“Bitch.” You do punch him, in his arm, he lets out a monotone 'ow'. You decide against punching him again for that, it was a hard choice though.

“Anyway, second yea same one. I just really don't like the guy and last night he'd been bothering Ronnie when I stopped by the gas station. She'd apparently forgotten Tim had gone on break and when I tried bluffing that he was there well...”

You took some time to explain the situation last night to Toby. Leaving out the parts where Not Tim showed up. After thinking on that you figure there was a possibility of Tim having an alter that he may or may not know about. And you aren't sure what the etiquette is for this sort of thing, like if Tim did know were you suppose to let him tell you or should you let him know you'd technically met his alter. Judging from Toby's face, the guy really wears his heart on his sleeve, he seems confused about something.

Maybe Tim  didn't remember last night and Toby was asking for him. That does put a bit more weight on your alter theory. And it seems to have more traction as something seems to click in Toby's head. He doesn't share whatever is making him nod. So you leave it be.

Before you know it an hour has past the field nearly full of town residents and Barclay, with his mighty megaphone, start calling people over for food so you all grab a plate from the basket.

“I want purple.” Kirby tells you.

“I could literally hand you any of these and you'd tell me 'thanks'.”

“That's pretty fucking ablest YN.”

You pause and look at the other three on the blanket.

“Is being colorblind a disability?”

A “Yes” from Brian followed by Tim and Toby's deadpan expressions and “No”s.

“Three against two, not ablest just honest...this is purple.” you had half a mind to hand him indigo.

Your group goes and gets food, debating the legitimacy of colorblindness being a disability, before heading back to your blanket. No sooner had you sat down are you body slammed into the ground. The familiar weight of an overexcited eleven year old smothering you.

“Hi can I sit with you?” before you can reply the rest of the Cowell family finds their way over.

“Josephine Cowell, I'm so sorry YN she's just been so excited all weekend. Josephine get off of YN you know they aren't very tactile.” Dia called.

Unlike her husband's hulking form Dia was a petite frail woman, you honestly wouldn't be surprised if Jo towered over her mother in a few years. And though she was small she had a fierceness to her that normally kept both the Jos in line.

“It's not a problem Dia. Jo I think you should eat with your parents first, we have all day to hang out.” Her eyes seem to sparkle with excitement and you can see her mother's apologetic expression just past her.

Understandably Dia is concerned with Jo taking up your personal time. The young girl sees you as an older sibling and wants to spend any second she can with you, but you aren't family. You're a young adult who has their own life to live. The last thing you need is to be babysitting the tween while you tried to relax with your friends today. Dia would do her best to have Jo give you some space.

“Hey you guys can just drop your blanket over here, we don't mind.” Janette, local mean lesbian, calls from Hollis and Jake's blanket.

Jo looks ecstatic at the thought and rushes to her father to pull him over to the area so they can place the blanket down. Booping her nose occasionally in her excitement.

“Hey Dia, Marnie's coming in an hour or so, soccer game got rescheduled. Jo will have someone her age to bug.”

“Marnie's coming?” leave it to a tween to finish setting up and get a plate of food all in under five minutes.

She's not even trying to be on her family's blanket as she plops down next to you. Taking notice of you staring she gives a wide grin practically buzzing with excitement. A bit too much excitement as she starts rapidly blinking, triggering your own as well. At least you have practice eating like this, unlike Jo who only just developed this tic.

After your tics subside Jo eats with you and just goes on into her usual tween drama stories. She's got to keep you up to date after all. It's like a soap opera just less adult topics and no evil clones. Kirby and Nate catch up and somehow rope Tim and Brian into their conversation as well. Toby just sits quietly eating and giving you amused looks every time you lock eyes.

You can't help but feel you're forgetting to do something every time you lock eyes with the brunette. The issue seems to resolve itself when a 'mrrow' slips from Toby as he takes a drink, causing him to cough from swallowing wrong.

An unconscious effort on your part, you lean and rub small circles into his back. Trying to calm his coughs. A mistake as the tween in front of you zeros in on the man as if she's just noticed he existed.

“Hi! Who are you?” if her eyes could turn into stars they would.

“uh...” Toby looks to you for help, as if the child talking to him was an alien species. “Toby...” he says uncertainly after receiving no input from you.

“Toby....”

“Rogers?”

“Are you YN's boyfriend?” Toby wishes he had an excuse to cough now.

His face flushes at the question and before he can sputter out any tongue tied response another 'mrrow' rips through him and his head harshly tilts back. Jo's eyes widen at the tic, she excitedly looks between the two of you. And you aren't sure what's going through her mind at the moment.

“OMG Do you have tourette's? Does he have tourette's or is he like you?” she's practically vibrating as she bounces between questioning both of you.

“umm...touretter's?” you say in Toby's place as the man beside you can't function a sentence right now.

Jo literally squeaks in excitement at the new development.

“I'm Jo Cowell, YN's self appointed sibling. I have tourette's too, I've had it since I was five. How long have you had tourette's?”

It felt like Jo's never ending barrage of questions was just that never ending. Toby took everything in stride, aside from the awkward dating questions. And for how worried she was about her daughter bugging you today every time you tried to catch Dia's eye she was somehow wrapped up in another conversation or her husband. Your saving grace came in a four foot two package wearing a dirty soccer uniform and sporting a fresh black eye followed closely by her frazzled step mother.

“Yikes, ball to the face or fight with the other team?” Janette asked her daughter as she walked towards the blankets.

“Fell off the bleachers.” fucking how? “Jo want to run some drills with me?” Marnie asked with a grin missing her front tooth, and before you know it your blanket was down an occupant and Toby was free of the never ending hell he'd been placed in.

“Do...do you want to take a walk? Get away for a minute.” you asked looking at the positively ruffled man next to you.

He nods numbly and follows after you into the tree line. You both just walk for a bit until Toby's complexion looses any rosiness. When he's back to his normal greyish cool tones you stop to rest. Leaning against a tree Toby follows your lead but slides down the base resting his arms on his knees as his head hits the tree behind him.

“Sorry about her, Jo can be excitable.” you'd remembered as soon as her tirade began that you should have warned him she'd lock on to his tics.

That was a near replica of your first encounter with the tween. Too late to change that now.

“I didn't mind,” he gives a boxy grin up at you “'s just how siblings are.”

There's a fond tone in his voice as he says that. And the gleam in his eyes tell a story of experience with that sort of thing.

“You've got siblings?”

“Yea, an older sister.” he sighs and looks down and the grin falls into a neutral look.

There's a story there, but you aren't one to pry. If he wants to indulge you or even himself he will in his own time. However, a joke should be able to disturb the tension that threatens to darken your moment.

“Oh I bet you were an absolute menace to her.” giving a good natured chuckle, one Toby returns as the fond look in his eyes came back.

“For your information I was a delight as a child.”

“Pfft yea I bet. And just how many times did you break an arm falling out of a tree?”

Toby looks stunned for a moment. Was that something weird to say? You remember the summer nearly everyone in your grade broke their arms falling out of a tree. Hell you would've too if you hadn't landed in a bush, all you got were some gnarly bruises and a few thorns stuck in you. Then you swore a vow to only climb thick limbed trees.

“Like twice...but..how did, how did you know?”

“It wasn't a universal thing? I just figured since we were both from Virginia like your class would've also had like sixteen kids break their arm or something over the summer.”

“Well I was home schooled so I wouldn't know.”

“Wait, like home schooled home schooled, or church home schooled. There's a difference.” giving you a sneer he just shrugs.

“Fucking home schooled home schooled. Don't see how that makes a difference.”  he pops his knuckles. Jerkiness of the motion indicating his tic rather than his choice.

“One you're supposedly taught science and the other you're told Jesus loves you.” you deadpan as you slide down the tree mirroring Toby's position.

“I had two friends, they were twins, who were church home schooled until high school. Nice girls but only so many times I can pretend to know what the hell a veggie tale is.”

Toby snorts and shakes his head. This is probably all you'll get from him about his early life. But he's not dancing around the questions as much as he was a few weeks ago. The quiet is nice and you could honestly just spend the rest of the day in the forest. A cool breeze blows through the trees and you catch the smells from the picnic. For some reason it seems to make you queezy, you'll probably stay here a while longer. You might be getting overstimulated.

“What...what was public school like?”

The question sort of shocks you breaking the moment. And you just stared at Toby for a while before you actually thought of an answer. The answer you wanted to say was “hell, it was straight hell”. You don't think he's talking about the institution itself and more the experience. So you tell him.

You start to weave together a picture spanning twelve long years for Toby. Telling him of pranks or jokes learned, older siblings bugged, holidays celebrated, tearful goodbyes, joyous reunions. Paint pictures of gossiping friends, Jane Austin worthy rumors, unified students banding together to change outdated rules, snowball fights in the courtyard, Snapchat stories shared through the school. The distance that gets put into place the second you aren't legally required to spend all your time with people. The feeling of emptiness as you try to navigate a world you were never prepared for...and doing that alone.

You tried to condense it but you went off into a lot of stories and probably gave him way too much context for everything. But Toby sat there and absorbed everything you had to say. When your mood dropped as you finished he only had one thing to say.

“Sounds like it sucked.”

Looking at him you could see the worried brow and small half smile on his lips. It was reassuring in a sense.

“Yea, yea it did.”

The two of you sat and stared at each other for a bit. A sort of connection being formed from a not so similar but not quite unsimilar schooling maybe. Or the acceptance that someone didn't have to be just like you to get you.

There isn't really a lot of time to dwell on that as a pop is heard followed shortly there after by a crack and sizzle. Soon Toby's face was bathed in a blue glow, as was the surrounding area. Another pop came and the crack and sizzle followed after. Bathing the forest in a neon green hue. Looking up in time to see a third and fourth flare go up and watching them expand in a firey orange and yellow burst. Fizzling out as they made their way down.

“I didn't know there'd be fire...fireworks.” he's tense at his tree as he swallowed the lump that you clearly heard in his throat.

“Yea I...I didn't either.” looking back to Toby you hold out a hand, “Wanna head back to the lodge?”

He pulls his dark eyes away from the sky to look at you and your outstretched hand. Not a moment later he has grabbed your hand and is yanking you into a standing position with him. Leading the way to the lodge as if he were a bat flying out of Hell. His ability to lead you both deftly through the dimly lit forest with barely any sunlight was pretty impressive. At least it would've been had you bee able to focus on it rather than cringing from the noise.

When you get to the lodge Toby doesn't say anything, nor does he let go of your hand. You feel like he's completely forgotten about you even though you're literally joined together. Toby pushes through the doors and makes his way up the stairs. Without a word you let him lead you to where ever it is he's going.

Based on his behavior you have a pretty good guess. When Toby pulls out his room key with his other hand you know you're correct. And that waiting inside would be a very good boy.

“Connor pressure.” are the only words out of Toby's mouth as he flings open the door and falls back onto the ground.

Thankfully he'd let go of your hand. Since he all but dragged you here you figure he could use the company. Closing his door you go over and sit beside his prone form. Not saying a word to each other, just waiting for the others to get back from the festivities.

#sorry for being gone so long #ticci toby #ticcitoby #ticci tobyx reader #ticci toby x reader #masky x reader #Timothy Wright #timothy wright x reader #timothy wright x brian thomas #Brian Thomas #brian thomas x reader #creepypasta fanfic #a cure for insomnia

[buckeverlasting]

Just for Us | Ch. 1: Just for Steve

Series pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Steve Rogers only meant to share you with his best friend Bucky Barnes just once, but now all three of you have to learn the hardest lesson together: sex does not always equal love, and love does not always equal kindness. (College AU)

A/N: After a two year hiatus from this series, I decided to take it in a different direction, so I’ve made some changes! 

Word count: 2,489

Series warnings: explicit sexual content, alcohol, cheating, dubcon, daddy kink, angst

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You noticed him immediately. Steve Rogers. It was hard to miss the bearded, burly man, standing a few inches above everyone else in a sea of people. Plus, you had spent many hours staring at him during that awful 8am lecture you have together. Somehow, through the crowd, he caught you staring and smiled at you. You looked away, blushing furiously, and took a sip from your red Solo cup. God, what a beautiful man, you thought.

Now back to the task at hand: finding the bathroom and then finding your friends in this crowded house. You’d never been to a house party off campus before, but when your friends insisted and also mentioned that a certain Steve Rogers was throwing said party, you caved quite easily.

You had bumped into him after the lecture a couple weeks ago. Literally. As the class was making its exodus from the hall, you dropped your phone, and when you stopped to pick it up, Steve walked right into your butt, as you were bending down. He had been chatting with a friend and didn’t see you. He knocked you off balance but actually caught you in his arms before you hit the floor and pulled you back up onto your feet.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, avoiding his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m fine. I mean, yes, I’m okay,” you said. “Thanks for catching me.” You laughed awkwardly, as you straightened out your shirt.

“No problem.” He stooped down to grab your phone and handed it to you.

“Thanks!” You scampered off before you could do or say anything too embarrassing in your flustered state.

You couldn’t stop thinking about that day. Whenever you remembered him catching you, how he quickly wrapped his arms around you, you sort of tingled all over. After lectures, you’d try to catch his eye, but he was usually surrounded by a group of friends.

And here you were, finally catching his eye but dashing off to find the bathroom instead of trying to talk to him. You squeezed and shoved your way through the living room to the hall and headed up the stairs. You were certain you’d find a bathroom there, and sure enough, you did. There was a short line outside, and you silently drank and scrolled through your phone while waiting. Your friends were wondering where you were. You texted them that you’re waiting for the bathroom but that you’d meet them downstairs in a little bit.

By the time it was your turn, you had finished your drink and tossed it in the overflowing trash can next to the sink. You locked the door behind you. Finally, the thumping bass subsided a little and you were left alone with your thoughts. God, he’s a beautiful man, you thought again. You wondered absentmindedly what that face would look like between your legs. You shook your head. How much had you had to drink?

When you stepped out of the bathroom, Steve Rogers was standing right there. He wore slim fitting jeans and a soft, clingy vintage T-shirt, which showed the toned bulk of his shoulders and chest.

“Hey, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” He held out a massive hand. “I’m Steve.”

“I’m Y/N,” you said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for throwing this party.”

“No problem. Hey, I see your hands are empty,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”

“What?” You couldn’t quite hear him over the music.

He stepped closer to you. You could feel the warmth coming off his body. He smelled clean, like a combination of soap and fresh air.

He bent over a little and spoke directly in your ear. “I asked if I could get you a drink.”

“That would be great,” you said back into his ear.

“Great! Let’s go.” He put his hand to the small of your back and led you down the hall, away from the stairs. Just like when he caught you, your senses came alive at his touch.

“Where are we going?” you asked. “I thought the drinks are downstairs.”

“I put the good stuff in my room, so no one would take it.”

“Oh, what kind of good stuff?” you asked.

“Some whiskey.” He looked over his shoulder at you. He was grinning, and you couldn’t help but grin back. You’d never tried whiskey, but how bad could it be? It couldn’t be worse than tequila.

He led you into the room at the end of a long hall. It was a sizable bedroom, the wall to the right lined with bookshelves and the wall opposite featured a desk between two large windows. In the middle of the wall opposite the door, was a queen-size, neatly made and topped with a fluffy quilt. The room was surprisingly neat and minimally decorated. Only a couple band and movie posters hung on the walls.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the whole room. “I’m just going to grab this.” He took down a bottle of Maker’s Mark and two small glasses from his bookshelf.

You took a seat at his desk and noted his neat stacks of books and notebooks. You turned around and watched him pour a glass. He handed you a small glass about a third of the way full of whiskey. “You can sip it or knock it back,” he said. He poured another and drank his simply by tossing his head back.

You took a sip of yours, and you felt an immediate burning in your throat. Warmth radiated throughout your body. It tasted kind of like the way wood smoke smells.

“It’s not bad,” you say. “It burns a little, but it’s not bad.”

“Good.” His blue eyes shone.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket and ignored it. It was probably your friends wondering where you were. You were busy, and they’d totally understand later when you told them that Steve Rogers invited you to his room. Had they not helped you pick out this outfit you were wearing? Had they not lent you jewelry and shoes? You knew you were going to see him, and this is exactly what you wanted.

Just then someone flung open the door. “Steve, where’d you go?” Someone stepped in the room and looked around. His eyes found Steve and then you. He looked at Steve again, then back at you, and his jaw dropped. “I’m sorry!” he said. “I didn’t mean to…”

You recognized him as one of the guys always hanging around Steve after class. Bucky Barnes.

“It’s okay, Bucky.” Steve poured himself another glass of whiskey. “But I’m not sharing any of this with you.”

“I’m just gonna go.” Bucky closed the door, leaving the two of you alone again.

Steve sat down on the bed and smiled at you. He patted the bed next to him. This was an invitation you could not refuse. You got up from the desk chair and made your way to the bed. You sat down next to him, and the mattress dipped under your collective weight, letting gravity draw you closer together. Your thighs brushed.

Steve took the glass out of your hand and placed both on his nightstand.

“You can go if you want to. You’re free to walk out that door, and there will be no hard feelings,” he said steadily. “But if you stay, I want to make sure you know what you’re agreeing to.”

You nodded slowly. “What would I be agreeing to exactly?”

“I will utterly adore every inch of your body—and I really mean every inch—and make you feel amazing,” he said, “but you have to call me ‘Daddy.’”

This knocked the wind right out of you. You managed one word. “Okay.”

“So, you agree to this?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yes.”

Steve got up and locked the door. “No one will be bothering us again.” He sat back down, and the bed dipped, causing you to bump your shoulder into his arm. He crooked one finger and lifted your chin. “You’re really beautiful.” 

“Thank you, Steve.” You smiled.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Of course, what?”

“Of course, Daddy.”

He leaned in and kissed you on the lips, delicately. Suddenly your skin tingled all over again. He pulled back and looked into your eyes. “Are you ready?”

You nodded and reached up behind his head to pull him closer to you. You kissed him deeply, opening your mouth and letting him flick his tongue against yours. He broke the kiss again and kissed your cheek, your jaw, and a line down your neck. Then he nibbled your ear. You closed your eyes. You felt his hands run down your sides and pull up the hem of your shirt. You lifted your arms, so he could pull the shirt off you. He continued to gently suck the sensitive skin of your neck while unbuttoning your pants and reaching into your underwear. You took the hint and pulled a way for a moment to strip down. You immediately hopped under the covers of his bed.

“Why are you hiding, beautiful?” he asked.

“Because I’m cold.” You pulled the fluffy quilt up to your chin.

“I can keep you warm,” he said. “Hang on.” He stripped quickly, throwing all his clothes all over the room. He stood next to the bed, naked, and half erect. “Get me hard first,” he said.

You scooted to the edge of the bed, still under the covers, and reached out a hand and stroked him up and down the shaft. You felt him growing a little harder. He closed his eyes. “Can you use your mouth?” he asked.

“Mm-hm,” you said.

He took a step closer to the bed, bringing himself right up to your face. You grasped his cock at the base and took the tip in your mouth. You used your tongue to play with the head. Steve groaned. “That feels amazing,” he said.

You took more of him into your mouth, bobbing your head and moaning while you sucked. He reached down and stroked your hair gently. “You’ve been such a good girl,” he said.

You released his cock from your mouth with a wet “pop.” “Thank you,” you said.

“It’s your turn now.” He flipped back the bedcovers, uncovering your naked body. He crawled onto the bed and positioned his head between your legs. “Are you ready?” he asked.

You bit your lip and nodded.

Sensations exploded from your clit as he alternated sucking and swiping with his tongue. He glided two fingers in and out of you as he lapped at you. You were writhing on the bed. He continued to swirl his tongue and nip at the insides of your thighs while you balled the sheets up in your fists.

“That’s a really good girl,” he said quietly.

You almost whimpered when he stopped. You looked up at him. He was absentmindedly wiping his mouth and beard with a corner of the sheet. “You’re very wet,” he said. “Here.” He stuck a single finger inside you and curled it, dragging it along on its way out, making you moan. “Open up.” He popped the glistening finger in your mouth, and you tasted yourself. You looked up at him and sucked eagerly, causing him to let out a low growl.

“Are you ready? You still want to do this?” he asked.

“Yes.” 

“Yes, what?” He reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a condom. Quickly, he unwrapped it and unrolled it down the impressive length of his cock.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl.” He crawled up between your legs, shouldering your knees apart. You let your legs fall back, as he positioned himself on top of you. He reached down to align himself with your pussy. “God, you’re so wet. I’m going to destroy that sweet little pussy.”

With one big thrust, he was all the way inside you. It burned and felt like it was tearing you in two, but feeling so full also felt amazing. You moaned. “You like that, baby girl? You like the way my cock feels inside you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you said. “Fuck me, please.”

He pumped at different paces, sometimes brutally fast and other times he fucked you in long, slow, and sensuous strokes. He alternated from savage to tender, savage to tender. You reached up and dug your nails into his back, digging in harder when he fucked you harder and running your hands up and down his toned sides when he was gentle.

He leaned back a bit, so he could reach down and rub your clit with his thumb while thrusting his hips against you. You threw your head back, and felt a white-hot heat radiating from your core.

“Cum for me, like a good girl.” His voice was low and gravelly as he continued to stroke your clit in little circles.

“Yes, Daddy,” you said breathlessly, which made him moan. “I’m going to cum.” You gasped as your orgasm took over your body and as your pussy spasmed around his cock. He fucked you through your orgasm, triggering more spasms.

“That feels amazing,” he said. “I’m gonna cum.” He grunted and made a few last powerful thrusts as he came inside you. He pulled out quickly and removed the condom. He upended it and let his cum spill onto your tummy. He swiped up some on one finger and brought it to your mouth. “Want to taste?”

You opened your mouth, and he inserted his finger. You licked it clean and swallowed his cum, making him growl again.

“That’s a really good girl,” he said. He reached for the box of tissues on his nightstand and started to clean you up. First, he wiped the cum off your belly, and then he wiped between your legs.

“Thank you,” you said

Then he spooned you. He actually shifted you onto your side and nestled your naked bodies together. He reached down and pulled the covers over you both.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Really nice,” you said. “Really, really nice.”

“Do you feel good?” he asked.

“I feel amazing,” you said.

“Good,” he said. He paused for a moment. “I have a question.”

“Sure, what is it?”

His voice was soft, and you could almost feel his lips on your earlobe. “Do you want to get coffee after class next week?” he asked.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You just ate my pussy,” you said. “I think we can get coffee. I don’t know how I feel about everyone hearing me call you Daddy, though.”

“That’s just in the bedroom,” he said. “That’s just for us.”

“I was only joking,” you said. “I know it is.”

He squeezed you tight to his chest. “Good.”

Read the next chapter

#steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x you #marvel fanfic idea #steve roger #bucky barnes

[themurphyzone]

If I Can’t Love Him Ch 2

AN: Wolf chase scene! Also this Pinky is running for his life while in another universe, Pinky is holding a tea party.

AO3 Link

Ch 2: No Point Anymore

Pinky’s heart pounded out of his chest, the Beast’s roar ringing in his ears. And he did the only thing he could.

He fled.

Papa must be worried. He didn’t know if his son was alive or not. But Pinky would be coming home soon. He’d be at their little cottage by dawn.

And they could put the whole ordeal behind them.

Just him and Papa and Pharfignewton. That was home.  

He tied his mother’s traveling cloak around his neck, nearly tripping over the stairs in his hurry to get to the front door. He almost ran straight into Wakko, who was halfway up the steps. Yakko was just slightly behind his brother, Dot hanging from his brass arm by her handle.

“Where are you going?” Yakko shouted from the stairs. “You never heard my song on Baroque architecture!”

“I wanted to give you a makeover!” Dot added.  

“I haven’t showed you my cobweb collection…” Wakko mumbled.

Any further protests the siblings made were drowned out by the cold wind that blew past Pinky as he squeezed past the ajar front door, which mercifully wasn’t shut all the way. Snow stung his muzzle and eyes, and he lifted the hood of his mother’s cloak, shielding his eyes from the worst of the wintery onslaught.

“I can’t stay,” Pinky whispered. “I’m sorry.”

A pang stabbed at his heart. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot were sweet, energetic kids who’d welcomed him into their home. Chef Flavio had cooked him a feast for a king, and Señora Marita had the loveliest outfits in her wardrobe. He hadn’t gotten the chance to interact with the other servants much, but they all seemed like lovely folks.

But he couldn’t stay. Not when their Master was going to kill him.

It snowed so much in the past few hours. Was Papa okay? Was he lighting a fire right now? Did he make it home safely?

Pharfignewton raced up to him before he put his frozen fingers to his lips and whistled for her. She whinnied upon seeing Pinky’s distress, her hooves frantically clacking against the frozen ground.

“We have to go now, Fig!” Pinky cried, running over to her. His teeth chattered, and he rubbed his hands together in a desperate attempt to keep warm.

His beautiful, trusty horse lowered her head. Pinky latched onto her long muzzle, desperately hugging her white fur.

She started at a brisk trot, allowing Pinky enough time to settle on the base of her neck. Then she poured on the speed until she was galloping faster than she ever had before.

Pinky felt bad for working her so hard when she didn’t have horseshoes to protect her hooves, but Pharfignewton nickered gently and put a stop to that thought.

The wind swirled around them as they fled into the forest, blowing snow into the hood of his cloak. Pinky pressed himself against the gray hairs of Pharfignewton’s mane, but it did little to block out the numbing chill. His fur stood on end, his fingers frozen against the reins.

Pinky spared a glance behind them. Thick fog surrounded the looming castle. The Beast was nowhere in sight.

Unless he came to finish what he started.

Not wanting to find out, Pinky flicked the reins. Pharfignewton was a fast runner, but she could only go so far before she began to tire. And she needed her strength for the entire ride. She plowed through a large pile of snow, scattering flurries everywhere.

Though the trees around them were barren, the gnarled branches blocked out the sky. Pinky gulped, steering Pharfignewton away from a cluster of scary oaks that had screaming faces etched into their bark, their wood-covered hands ready to snatch them up and never let them escape.

The path! Where was the path?

The world was going by too fast. He couldn’t see the path under all the snow. Couldn’t tell if there was a signpost somewhere that would kindly point them in the direction of the village.

He turned Pharfignewton around, hoping to retrace their path. Too late, he realized he could be driving them straight into the claws of the Beast. But hope of finding their way was stronger than his fear.

But there was too much snow. No hoofprints to trace, no landmarks to point them in the right direction. All scary trees and howling wind and dead leaves and a low growl from the darkness…

Suddenly, Pharfignewton reared up in alarm, neighing in panic. Pinky latched onto her mane to avoid getting thrown off.

Then everything was still. Even the wind died down.

The growling became louder.

Pharfignewton’s front legs hit the ground, crunching several fallen twigs under her hooves. Pinky peered at the treeline, unable to see much beyond vague outlines in the darkness.

He lifted the reins, trying to calm himself down enough to spur Pharfignewton away from the Beast. But his breath came out in misty puffs, his heart threatening to leap out from his body.

A gray, ragged wolf stepped out from behind a half-grown elm. There were ribs were visible beneath his pelt, his thin, starving body slinking against the ground as he sized up Pharfignewton. One yellow eye fixed them with a predatory glare, the other was missing entirely. His scarred muzzle was pulled back in a snarl, sharp fangs gleaming.

He was smaller than Pharfignewton, but not as large as some of the wolf pelts Pinky had seen in his village. And from the snatches of conversation he heard from the hunters, wolves in the winter were very, very big and very, very hungry.

They stared each other down.

And Pharfignewton bolted.

The wolf pursued.

Despite his famished appearance, he was keeping pace with Pharfignewton.

Go back to the castle. Go to the village.

Keep running. Find a hiding spot.

Go this way. No, the other way!

“Zort!” Pinky cried. His thoughts were too jumbly, his fingers unable to move the reins. He didn’t know what to do, and Pharfignewton was forced to do most of the legwork.

Pharfignewton swerved to the left sharply, and the wolf crashed into a tree. There wasn’t much room to run on this path, if this was even a path at all.

Pinky cheered, but his joy was short-lived.

The wolf shook himself off and continued the pursuit. Pharfignewton ran straight into a thick snowbank, and though her muscles and legs pumped as hard as they could, she was slowed down enough that the wolf caught up to them quickly.

The wolf snapped at Pharfignewton’s rear legs, and she kicked in his direction. He jumped back, which gave them enough time to break free.

The trees thinned out, the snow not as clumped. No twisted branches threatening to block out the sky.

“We’re almost there!” Pinky shouted. Hope swelled in his chest.

Pharfignewton whinnied in delight, only for the joyous sound to end in a startled cry as the icy ground broke under her hooves, plunging them into freezing water.

The icy river swirled around them, and Pharfignewton struggled to keep herself afloat against the current. Pinky held his breath as cold water surrounded his entire body, his dress and cloak sodden. His head went under, and the chill seeped into his ears. He clung tightly to Pharfignewton’s neck, praying the current wouldn’t sweep his body away.

Then they resurfaced. A cold wind blew, chilling Pinky to the bone. He trembled from head to toe, his voice completely gone.

Pharfignewton soldiered on, but she was tiring fast. They couldn’t keep this up much longer.

The wolf crossed the river and caught up so fast that Pharfignewton didn’t have time to aim a kick in his direction. He howled triumphantly and blocked their path, slinking towards them and ready for the kill.

He sprung.

Pharfignewton whipped around to protect herself. Pinky had no time to prepare for the sudden motion. He was thrown into the mercy of the cold wind, the sky and ground blurring together that Pinky couldn’t tell what was up or down. Then his cloak snagged on something sharp, halting his chaotic tumble.

Disoriented, Pinky looked up. At least, in the direction he thought was up.

His mother’s cloak was caught on a low-hanging branch, a twig protruding from a long tear down the middle of the fabric.

“No!” Pinky screamed, reaching for the tear. If he touched it, would it mend itself?

His numb fingers brushed the hole, which only grew wider with every passing second.

He’d been too careless with one of the few belongings he had left of his mother. The cloak was old and worn, but it was beloved all the same.

Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. If he’d just talked Papa out of going to the fair, gone with him to make sure he took the right route, or never stumbled across the castle and that scary Beast at all, none of this would’ve ever happened!

Although…

The castle wasn’t completely horrible. The servants had put on such a lovely dinner and show to welcome him.

His cloak ripped further. The brittle twig bent further.  

Panicked whinnies and scary growls filled the air. Pharfignewton’s reins were caught around a branch, and she was trying to tug herself free and fend off the wolf at the same time. Her hooves lashed out blindly, and Pinky knew it wasn’t safe to get close to her if she wasn’t careful where her hooves landed. He shouted, trying to let her know that he was okay, but his voice wasn’t working, and not even a narf or poit could escape.

The twig snapped, and Pinky tumbled to the ground. He was cushioned by a layer of snow, so his fall didn’t hurt much. It was very cold though.

Pinky didn’t know if he would ever be warm again.

Pharfignewton kicked out with her front hooves, and a lucky strike caught the wolf on his flank. He stumbled away from her, yelping from pain.

Pinky tried to pull himself up.

Wrong move.

The wolf’s remaining yellow eye fixated on Pinky. Scarred muzzle pulled back, sharp black claws contrasting with the white snow, ragged pelt heaving with desperation…

Pinky had no weapons, no means to defend himself.

Pharfignewton’s reins were still tangled. She neighed for him, begging him to get up and come help so they could escape together.

But if he ran to her, the wolf would get him.  

He was on his own.

There was a snapped twig lying next to him, half-buried in the snow. He held it out as a makeshift club, though the twig wasn’t much bigger than him.

The wolf lunged. Pinky swung his weapon, but the brittle twig broke as soon as it hit the wolf’s leg.

It didn’t leave a scratch.

The wolf’s jaws snapped above his head, and he was once again dangling in the air by his cloak. He was nothing more than a floppy ragdoll, his body flying in every direction as the wolf mercilessly shook him. He tried to pry the cloth away from his neck, but his numb fingers couldn’t get a grip.

He couldn’t breathe—he was going to die—was Papa going to be okay?

The snow had turned black, or maybe his vision was just going dark…

A roar pierced the air.

More wolves? Had the entire pack come to finish him off?

The wolf yelped and lost his balance, dropping Pinky into the snow. A chill seeped into every pore on Pinky’s face, startling him awake. The black spots in his vision were gone.

White fangs gleamed in the corner of his eye, coarse gray fur brushing against his arm.

But they didn’t belong to wolves.

They were the Beast’s.

Pinky’s voice caught in his throat. He couldn’t scream.

The Beast’s fangs were bared, his claws splayed out. Pinky was pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy. Hot breath tickled his face. A large, purple cape billowed around them.

Except the Beast was locked in a staredown with the wolf, who stumbled as he got up. The Beast growled, a thick, long arm thudding down into the snow in front of Pinky. His pink eyes narrowed, focusing entirely on the wolf.

There was a shallow gash in the wolf’s side.

The Beast crouched low. If he planned to kill Pinky himself after dealing with the wolf, then he was just glad he’d die warm.  

And yet…that seemed unlikely to happen.

Then the Beast charged, sinking his fangs into the wolf’s front leg.

The wolf howled, his jaws sinking into the Beast’s cape and thrashing around to throw him off. But the Beast held firm, and only let go when the wolf’s fangs grazed the back of one large ear.

But that didn’t stop the Beast for long. He lunged for the wolf’s side, raking his claws down the ragged pelt. The wolf yelped, and his flailing claws caught the Beast’s right arm, leaving three long clawmarks behind. The wound instantly welled up with blood, and the Beast recklessly swung out with his injured arm, roaring in agony.

The Beast didn’t seem aware of anything besides his injury and the wolf.

Nor was he as massive as Pinky had originally thought.

He was small next to the wolf, but fighting with all the strength of a large predator. And the wolf only came halfway up Pharfignewton’s long legs.

The Beast sprung onto the wolf’s back, clawing at his ears and remaining eye. The lower half of the Beast’s cape was shredded beyond repair, exposing his bare back. The wolf flailed and yelped and snarled, finally bucking the Beast off. He crashed into a tree, taking a moment to catch his breath before standing up on his oddly-shaped feet. His breath came out in misty puffs as he dug his claws into the tree bark to pull himself up.

The wolf ran away with his tail tucked between his legs. He wouldn’t be making a meal out of them tonight.

But even so, Pinky felt sorry for the wolf. He hoped the poor thing would find an easy meal somewhere else.

Slowly, Pinky sat up. Someone nudged him on the back of his head. He turned around, and his nose hit warm fur.

Pharfignewton’s reins had finally come untangled.

“Poit. I’m okay, Pharfignewton,” Pinky whispered, gently taking her face in his hands and planting a kiss on her muzzle. Her blue eyes were downcast, and she whinnied sadly. “It’s okay. You did plenty. I’m sorry I worked you so hard.”

She nuzzled him on the cheek, and Pinky knew all was forgiven.

Then he heard a sharp, ragged breath.

He and Pharfignewton glanced at the Beast. He was having trouble staying upright, blood trickling from the clawmarks on his right arm.

The Beast’s pink eyes met Pinky’s.  

There was no anger. Only remorse and a pain that was far deeper than his current injuries.  

The Beast collapsed on a pile of snow.

Pinky took a step forward, but Pharfignewton pushed him back, nickering anxiously.

“We can’t just leave him, Fig,” Pinky said quietly. “I know what he did, but…he needs help. And he saved us.”

Pharfignewton nuzzled the back of his ear and gently nudged him in the direction of the Beast.

Pinky smiled at her, then approached the fallen mons-well, he didn’t seem like much of a monster now. Though he had fangs, claws, horns, and a temper, he just seemed so…tiny.

True, he was twice Pinky’s height and girth. But as Pinky knelt in the snow beside the Beast, there was no scary monster to be feared. Only someone who needed help.

“It’s just me. Just Pinky,” Pinky whispered gently. “Fig and I’ll get you back to the castle safe and sound, okay?”

The Beast wasn’t fully unconscious, but he wasn’t fully aware either. His limbs twitched restlessly, chest heaving with exertion. He tried to curl into a ball, like he was hiding away from the world, but his injured arm made comfort impossible.

It was the most serious injury on him. He’d gotten lucky.

At least he wasn’t laying on it.

They didn’t have medical supplies. Pinky would just have to improvise. And thanks to the injuries Papa sometimes got while working on his machines, he’d become skilled at improvisation.

So he took off his mother’s cloak. It was worn, wet, and torn down the middle. It was one of his most treasured possessions. Mama had worn it until the day she died, then it was suddenly Pinky’s.

She’d be okay with this. Mama loved helping others, and she believed that’s why the world turned. She wouldn’t mind her cloak being used as a makeshift bandage, even if it could never be mended again.

Carefully, Pinky tore the cloak down its seams until he had two separate halves.

“I’m gonna put this around your arm ‘til we get some proper bandages,” Pinky said. The Beast tensed as Pinky gently took hold of his right arm, using one half of the cloak to sponge away the trickles of blood. He squeezed the Beast’s pinky finger to reassure him. “You’re okay. Just relax. I pinky promise I wanna help. Those promises are forever, you know.”

The Beast didn’t tense up again, but he didn’t move away either. Pinky wrapped the other half of the cloak around the Beast’s arm, winding it around until it was nice and tight.

It wasn’t as good as real bandages, but it would do for now.

His work finished, Pinky hopped up and signaled for Pharfignewton to come over. She faithfully trotted to Pinky’s side, lowering herself so that Pinky could place the Beast on her back. He wasn’t that heavy. It just took a few minutes for Pinky to place the Beast in a comfortable position where his claws wouldn’t accidentally scratch Pharfignewton.

“Pin…ky?” the Beast murmured. His pink eyes were open, but half-lidded from exhaustion.

“Yeah. My name’s Pinky,” he said softly. “Let’s go, Pharfignewton.”

With the snow blowing around them, Pharfignewton began a steady trot back to the castle.

AN: I opted to change the pack of wolves to just a lone wolf, because while Disney’s Beast can take on an entire pack, I have to account for mouse size here. Sorry if the action scene isn’t very good, but the bit where Beast first appears to defend Belle from wolves up until the wolves run off is less than a minute, so I think it’s fine to keep it short.

Pinky is too sweet for his own good, even when he’s on the verge of getting killed.

#pinky and the brain #beauty and the beast au #patb fanfiction

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 2

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/622991219538214912/the-long-way-around-ch-1

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 2210

Warnings: None

Jasper’s POV

Before we even get close to the house, a high-pitched, agonized screaming makes Esme and I both flinch. She had insisted on coming along, though Carlisle, Edward, and I had all warned against it. Newborns can be feral and deadly, and none of us want Esme to get hurt. But she was adamant, and we all respect her too much to deny her a choice. Personally, I think Esme wants to be there so the girl can have someone less intimidating to interact with. I can’t blame her. If I had to wake up in an unfamiliar place after experiencing trauma and indescribable pain, I would much rather see Esme than me.

We enter Carlisle’s study, the smell of bleach strong. Esme tsks upon seeing the state of the girl’s outfit. The bloodied parts of her dress have been cut away and, I assume, burned. What’s left doesn’t do much to protect the girl’s modesty, but someone had the decency to cover her with a towel. Esme flits away and returns within seconds carrying clean clothes. Wordlessly, Carlisle, Edward, and I exit the room. 

The girl’s screams die into fearful whimpers, likely in response to Esme’s cold, unfamiliar touch.

“She thinks she’s in Hell,” Edward mutters, looking at the floor. “She’s terrified.”

That much I know. I can feel the waves of agony, fear, and horror rolling off of her. It makes me want to flinch away. But instead, I merely clear my throat and try to ignore these emotions. “We’ll need to be careful when she comes to. She might not be willing to listen to reason, and that will be dangerous with her newborn strength.” 

Carlisle and Edward nod. 

When Esme calls us back in we find her sitting in a chair near the girl’s head, stroking her hair. “What’s her name?”

“Y/n, Y/l/n, according to the license we found on her,” Carlisle responds, adjusting the morphine levels in the drip. Based on the girl’s--Y/n’s--screams, I doubt it’s doing much, if anything. 

Edward nods almost imperceptibly, confirming my suspicions. Of course we would never tell Carlisle. It would break his heart. As it is, I can feel his intense self-loathing. I do what I can to ease it. 

Y/n briefly opens her eyes to see who is touching her, and I can see, as well as feel, her fear. When she gives into the pain and closes her eyes once more, I move to stand on her other side, opposite Esme, and use my ability to try to calm her down. 

While she’s consumed in whatever hell she’s enduring, I study her. She’s in great distress, obviously, and it pains me to see how young she is. She can’t be more than twenty. Such a short human life. Then again, a rueful voice within me taunts, you had less. Physically, I’m frozen at nineteen, but I feel so much older...Probably because I’m actually a hundred and seventy-six years old. Inwardly, I scoff. If she’s careful, Y/n has a very long life ahead of her. 

We stay like this for many hours. Y/n alternates between writhing and screaming to whimpering pitifully. Her emotions are hard to bear, and I can only guess as to what Edward is experiencing. Esme and I do our best to make her feel better, but with little success. The transformation is a truly terrible process. Eventually, Y/n’s skin becomes too hard for the needles, and Carlisle puts away the drip. A few hours later, Edward perks up. 

“Shouldn’t be long now. The pain is starting to recede from her fingers and toes.” 

‘Shouldn’t be long’ is relative, and it takes four long hours until her heart starts beating frantically in its last effort to survive. 

“Esme, back up,” I advise, knowing that, any minute now, the seemingly harmless girl on the cot could jump up and become a deranged killing machine. 

Esme goes to stand at the back of the room with Carlisle. Edward moves to block the door, and I plant myself directly in front of the cot. Hopefully, if she does become violent, the four of us will be able to catch and subdue her. 

“No sudden movements,” I remind them. “She’s scared enough already and it’s only going to get worse. Once the thirst hits, we’ll be virtually unable to communicate with her until she feeds. It’ll be the only thing on her mind.” My voice is grim, and I can’t help the flashbacks to my many years surrounded by vicious newborns, as well as my own time as one. 

My family stills, a sure sign of stress, as Y/n’s heartrate skyrockets for five tense seconds, and then stops. 

No one breathes. 

Y/n gasps, opens her eyes, and sits up in the span of half a second. I feel her fear, shock, and confusion. 

“What…” She looks around the room, taking us in. When she sees me staring directly at her with my hands clasped tightly behind my back, I feel her fear intensify. It’s a natural reaction to both my intimidating stance and the scars covering my body, and I wish it didn’t bother me so much. 

“Where am I?” Her voice is breathy, eyes wild. I send waves of calm her way. 

Carlisle takes a slow step forward, his palms open in a show of harmlessness. “I am Dr. Carlisle Cullen. This is my wife, Esme, and two of my sons, Edward and Jasper.” He nods at each of us. 

“You’re very safe here, Y/n,” Esme reassures. 

I can tell it does little to ease Y/n’s suspicions, but it was kind of Esme to try anyway. 

Carlisle’s voice is calm and soothing when he continues. “You are at our home, which is about fifteen miles outside of the main town. Your friends brought you here three days ago. Do you remember that?”

“I…” Recognition dawns on Y/n’s face. “I was stabbed. But I was dying, I…” She gulps, a new bout of fear consuming her. “Am I in Hell?”

“No,” Carlisle says firmly. “I’m sorry for the pain. Unfortunately, it’s the only way to enter this new life.” 

Her confusion deepens. “New life, meaning…” She trails off in a question. 

“You’re a vampire,” Edward states simply. 

It’s then that she decides to bolt. 

Edward is on her in a millisecond, having heard the warning from her thoughts. 

“Edward, no!” I lunge forward, trying to all at once keep Y/n from escaping and Edward from getting hurt. 

But it’s too late. The new vampire has already given into her instincts and bitten Edward, hard, in an effort to get him to release her. 

He does, of course. Vampire venom hurts like a bitch. 

Edward howls and falls to the floor; Esme is at his side in an instant. Carlisle quickly guards the door, while I work to force the crazed newborn into the corner of the room. She snaps and throws her arms around, but I easily dodge her predictable movements. 

“Listen to me.” My voice is harsh, commanding, just like it had been all those years ago. But what can I do? It’s the only way they’ll listen. 

Y/n’s eyes dart wildly around the room. I hit her with every ounce of calm and lethargy I’ve got. Thankfully, she soon becomes much more subdued. 

I continue. “We don’t want to hurt you, but if you attack us again you’ll leave us no choice.” I let her mind fill in the blanks of what we’ll do if she does try to attack. Of course we wouldn’t actually hurt her, but she doesn’t need to know that. A little dose of fear will be useful in controlling her. 

“You say I’m a vampire.” Her voice shakes slightly, but she stands tall, defiant, almost. She’s trying to project confidence. I know her true emotions, so I know her exterior is a facade, but I have to admire the effort. She looks at me then, straight in the eye. “Is that why my throat burns? Why I’m so thirsty?” She spits the word out, and I can feel her desperation and dread. She so badly wants to be wrong. I honestly think she would feel better if we laughed at her and said no, we were just playing, that we had actually kidnapped and drugged her instead. 

But of course, we can’t say that. This is her new reality. So my voice is even and honest when I respond. “Yes. You’ll need to hunt soon.” 

Carlisle appears at my left shoulder. “Our coven is different from others. We feed only on animal blood.”

At the mention of blood, her emotions change. Suddenly, she becomes ravenous and hyper-focused. She sinks to the ground and claws at her throat. 

None of us are shocked. Esme, Edward, and Carlisle all went through this process with each other and with Rosalie and Emmett. I went through it with the myriad of newborns I helped train. But still, it’s unnerving to see how one can go from human-like to animalistic, the true predator coming out in a split second.

Having recovered, Edward joins me on my right side. I can feel his annoyance, but that won’t fade until the sting from the venom does. 

“Jasper’s right, it’s all she can think about right now. She’s starting to wonder if we’re threats standing in the way of her obtaining a meal.” 

I nod, feeling her growing suspicion. “Are there any humans nearby?” 

Edward pauses, then shakes his head. “I can’t hear anyone. I’ll let you know if that changes.” 

I steel myself. “Okay. Esme and Carlisle, you go ahead and wait in the forest. Be close once you pick up our scents, but don’t follow, just try to keep a perimeter. She could easily misinterpret us as a threat and decide to attack.” 

They nod and rush to the woods. 

Y/n is now growing restless, and I can feel her indecision. 

Edward looks at her, his gaze hard. “Patience. We’re doing this to help you, so calm down.” 

Y/n lets out a light snarl, showing her displeasure. 

She’s not going to understand that, I think at Edward. She won’t be able to listen to reason until she feeds. 

His annoyance grows, but he doesn’t push Y/n further. 

Once I’m satisfied that Carlisle and Esme have a good head start, I decide it’s time to go. “Come with us, we’ll take you somewhere with blood.” 

Y/n’s emotions flare with excitement and anticipation at my promise. 

Stay at her side but don’t get in front of or behind her unless it’s necessary. She could interpret that as a challenge. Once Edward nods, we take off. 

Y/n obediently stays between me and Edward, knowing we’ll take her to where she can satisfy her thirst. If you promise a newborn blood, you can get them to do anything, I think ruefully. I feel Edward’s sympathy for me, and I shake off my past. Right now, we have a job to do. 

Not two miles into the forest, we catch the scent of deer. Edward and I hang back, letting Y/n’s instincts guide her from here on out. 

She’s messy, but swift. Within minutes, all ten deer are drained. 

I feel Y/n’s dissatisfaction, and hold back a chuckle. Even without tasting human blood, it’s easy to be disappointed by the animal blood. Thinking of drinking from a human again stirs up temptation within me, and I crush it down. My self-control now is much better than in the past, but I’ll always remember the taste of human blood, and that makes it hard to enjoy the eternity facing me of drinking only from animals. I idly wonder if Y/n will choose to stay with us or go her own way, and if she does leave, will she continue drinking animal blood or switch to humans? But now isn’t the time to think about that. We still have to keep a close eye on the situation in front of us.

“Better,” I ask, approaching Y/n slowly. 

She purses her lips, still crouched on the ground. “Sort of.” 

Edward smiles in understanding. “You’ll get more used to it in time. It takes a lot of practice, but you can do it. We’ll be here to help you as long as you need.” 

Esme and Carlisle’s scents reach us, and Y/n crouches, a growl rising in her throat. I do my best to calm her. 

“Don’t worry, it’s just Carlisle and Esme, whom you met earlier. They won’t try to take any food from you.” 

Placated by both my words and ability, Y/n straightens, but a residual amount of suspicion remains. 

“I expect you have a lot of questions.” Carlisle’s voice is steady as he addresses Y/n from a few hundred yards away. “Come back with us to the house, we will answer them all.” 

With a sad-sounding sigh, Y/n nods. I feel for her. She’s got a long, hard road ahead. 

And so do you, a voice reminds me. I hold back a groan, knowing the next few years are going to be tough for us all.

A/n Hello, thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623116614605357056/the-long-way-around-chapter-3

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora

#jasper #jasper hale #jasper cullen #jasper whitlock #jasper whitlock hale #jasper twilight #jasper hale fanfiction #jasper cullen fanfiction #jasper twilight fanfiction #jasper whitlock fanfiction #jasper x reader #jasper x y/n #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x y/n #jasper cullen x reader #jasper cullen x y/n #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper whitlock x y/n #jasper cullen x you #jasper hale x you #jasper whitlock x you #jasper twilight x you #twilight fanfiction #twlight reader-insert #slowburn

[empresskylo]

It's Raining Vengeance - Ch. 10

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Batman x Female!ReaderSeries Summary: (Based on The Batman 2022) It happened a while ago: the day you stumbled into the batman. And ever since, he seemed to pop up exactly when you needed him. You thought it was stupid to try and be his friend. He thought it was dangerous to let you in. Both of you did it anyway. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.4k+

series masterlist | main masterlist | AO3

It was late and you found yourself getting ready for bed, the rain breaking through the sky. You loved when it rained at night, it always made sleeping that much easier (you were certainly in the right city for that).

You slipped your clothes off from work and turned to your dresser. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the pile of black clothes you borrowed from him. You tried to get yourself to not think of Bruce but it proved to be difficult. Against your will, your body leaned over and grabbed the black shirt and sweatpants. You put them on and stared at yourself in the mirror. The clothes smelled of him: minty, a faint scent of cologne, and the coppery smell of a mechanic shop. You liked it. 

You had been thinking all day about your last conversation with Bruce—maybe you were being a bit unfair. You debated going to see him, but you weren’t sure what you’d say. You just knew you didn’t want to cut him from your life. 

Why was this such a big deal? Why was Bruce’s friendship so important to you? Why did he make you so angry? 

You guessed that you were more upset with yourself and the weakness he brought out in you. You already found it hard to trust, and to have felt like you were so close to Batman made it hurt that much more when he couldn’t trust you.  

You had read things wrong. You got way too in your own head about everything between you two. You were trying to force something out of him that he didn’t want. If you could have just been content with how things were… With being friends at a distance. With this shadow that stood between the two of you. 

But the photo he had of you.

No, no. The photo didn’t mean anything. He had told you how his contacts worked and how he’d rewatch events from his night out lurking. It was just a blurry screenshot of you lost in a pile of photos. Nothing more.

You wondered if he ever rewatched conversations you two had. 

You slid under the covers and listened to the rain bounce off the window sill in your room, closing your eyes.

A knock at the door stirred you from your slumber. You squinted as you sat up. Your clock read 2:27 am. Who could be knocking on your door this late? 

You cautiously got up and walked to your front door, your eyes still adjusting to the faint light in your apartment. 

Your heart was racing a bit; you were a little terrified at the echoing knock so late at night while you were alone in your apartment. You shuffled to the door, grabbing the baseball bat you had leaned in the hallway as you went. You went onto your toes and looked through the peephole.

The hallway was dimly lit and flickering. 

A bit stunned, you fell back onto the balls of your feet—Bruce Wayne was standing soaked outside your apartment door. You put the bat aside and straightened yourself out.

Your hand slowly went to unlock your door, a million things running through your mind at once. 

You opened it slightly, the soft light pooling into the room. You peeked out of the small crack and made eye contact with an exasperated Bruce. You both looked at each other for a moment before you opened the door the rest of the way and stood completely before him. 

He slid his eyes over you. You were wearing his clothes. His heart pounded in his chest. Your hair was sprawled out on your shoulders, slightly ajar from laying on it. Your eyes were wide as you looked at him. Your lip was still cut and he could see brushing forming on your exposed collarbone. 

Bruce’s dark outfit—not that different from the one you wore—was rain soaked. His hair sat in wet strands over his eyes. A bruise was forming over his eyebrow. Washed away blood had left marks along his neck. Black paint ran down his cheeks.

Finally, you spoke. “You’re soaking.” Ah yes, stating the obvious, how very observant of you . You wanted to kick yourself for being so nervous.

His lips parted but he struggled to find the words to speak. 

Your hand lingered on the side of your door as you waited for him to speak as you had done many times before.

“I—“ He paused, running his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.” 

You tilted your head slightly, still a bit dazed from sleep. 

“I care.” He took a breath, his eyes wavering. This was all new to him. “I fucking care so much about you. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I just wanted to protect you. You were getting hurt because of me. Because you knew the Batman. I thought if I pushed you away… maybe then you’d be safe.” 

Your voice was slightly raised as you cut his thoughts off, “Don’t decide things for me!” His eyes searched yours. “I’m not a child. I know how to handle myself. If I want to be friends with the Batman and put myself at risk, that’s my decision.” Your hands flew up in frustration. “God, you could have just talked to me about it.” 

He shifted shyly, “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know—I mean, I don’t know how to do this,” he gestured between the two of you. 

“This?”

“Friendship,” his face was turning red. “When I saw the way that man hurt you because you knew me… I—I never felt pain like that. At least not in a long time.” 

“I knew that what I was doing was dangerous,” your voice was meek and quiet.

“I couldn’t bear to know I was the reason you were in danger.”

“Well, it’s gonna take more than that to scare me away.” You smirked at him. 

Your smile made his chest hurt. “You don’t know how much I want to make you hate me.” Your smile faltered a bit at his words. “But I also can’t get myself to stay away from you.” His eyes were looking at the floor as he thought for a moment. “How badly I want to be with you.” His eyes flickered up to yours which were looking at him with confusion. 

“With me?”

God, the way your voice was gravely from sleep was music to his ears. 

“Yeah. I mean, I think—I know” he corrected, ”that I’m in love… with… you.” 

Your ears pinked and you felt your face grow hot at each word he spoke. 

“Bruce, I—“ There you went, saying his name again. It sounded weird to have such a delicate voice saying his name like that–with kindness.

His hands got clammy as he watched you, the way your gears were turning inside your skull. Suddenly, he felt like he had messed up. Like telling you this was freaking you out—which he thought would be a good thing because then you wouldn’t want to be around him anymore and he could keep you safe that way. But in this moment, he selfishly wanted nothing more than for you to reach out to him. 

Bruce looked down at his hands, “I’m sorry, I don’t know how—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfort—“ His words got caught in his throat as he felt your hand reach out to touch his. His eyes immediately locked onto yours. 

You slowly reached up, your fingers lightly touching the bruise on his forehead, then you pushed his hair back a bit. He watched you like a deer in headlights, shocked that this was happening. 

You gulped as you edged closer to him, your bodies almost touching. “Bruce…” your voice wavered as he intently studied you. “I’ve been in love with you.” 

He wasn’t sure he was hearing you right. You had loved him this whole time? 

How could he have been so stupid?

You wanted to yell, to argue with him more, but you couldn’t. Not after he said he loved you. 

You looked down at his lips then back to his eyes. You could see the way his head edged closer to you, restraining himself. 

In a soft whisper, your breath hot against him, you spoke, “You can kiss me.”

His hand came up to your chin, gently tilting your head up. He moved in closer, your lips brushing against one another until you leaned in and connected them all the way. 

His lips were soft against yours, his stubble tickling your cheek. Water from his hair dripped onto you as your hands rested against the middle of his torso. You stood there on your toes as he was hunched over, in your doorway, slowly kissing one another. His fingers were tentatively holding your cheek, pulling you closer to him. 

As sudden as the kiss started, it ended. You looked up at him with doe eyes, his lips red and parted. 

“So you’re not disappointed that I’m actually…”

“That you’re Bruce Wayne?” You felt yourself grinning. “No, I’m not fucking disappointed dummy. I fell in love with you . Just because you wore a mask doesn’t mean you were somebody else that whole time. You were always Bruce, I just didn’t know it.” 

His eyes lit up as he watched you. You giggled, your hand grabbing his as you pulled him into your apartment. His free hand reached up and hovered over his lips, remembering the way yours had felt against his just moments ago. 

Bruce sat at your dining table while you rummaged through your bathroom drawers. 

“It’s really not that bad.” 

You appeared back into the room, rolling your eyes. You grabbed his hand in yours and turned it over, his knuckles split and bloody. “What the fuck did you even do? Punch a wall?”

His eyes stayed on you, his expression never changing. 

“Oh.” Your voice was breathless as he watched you while you cleaned his wounded hand. 

After wrapping it, your fingers went to gently touch the area on his face that was bruised, examining it for anything that needed tending to. 

Bruce’s breath hitched in his throat as you leaned in to get a closer look. 

“You’re in my clothes,” he noted. 

You felt your face blush. “Right. I’m sorry, you can have them back, I—“ 

“No.” he paused. “I like seeing you in them, is all.”

Your eyes flickered down to his and you realized how close your face was to him. 

“I liked the way…they smelt.”

His eye brow raised slightly. You pulled away; his forehead didn’t have any open wounds, just heavy bruising. 

You turned from him, moving your supplies onto the kitchen counter. “Okay, I think you’re all set.” You wiped your hands on a cloth and turned back around. 

A yelp escaped your lips as you turned to face a much-closer-than-expected Bruce. He was towering over you, his eyes concentrating on yours. Your eyes were wide as you looked up at him. His hand reached out, his thumb gently stroking the cut on your lip. 

“I’m fine.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

A moment passed between the two of you as his fingers caressed your cheek.

“Do I make you nervous?” 

You felt your stomach flip at his words. You could tell he was genuinely wondering, unsure of your odd behavior when he got close to you.

You nodded, his hand still against your jaw. 

He pulled away, “Sorry.” 

You reached out and caught his wrist in your hand. “No,” you laughed. “In a good way.” 

Bruce was realizing now that you weren’t afraid of him. You weren’t scared of what he might do. You were just… flustered. 

He suddenly felt very exposed, his face turning red. You walked closer to him, the back of his legs hitting your dining table. His free hand reached out to your hip for support, accidentally pulling you into his chest. 

You could feel his heart pounding as he looked at you with parted lips. 

“You make me nervous, too.” 

You smiled. Oh, how this all could have been avoided if you both weren’t so cryptic about your feelings for one another. 

Both your hands grabbed his face and you pulled him into you. He hesitated before he kissed you back, his hand on your hip sliding around to your lower back. 

Your whole body laid flush against his as you pulled him closer, never wanting to stop. His wet clothes soaked into your own, hardening your nipples from the cold. His hand slid up your back sending goosebumps down your spine. His fingers rested between your shoulder blades and he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. Shamefully, Bruce felt his pants tighten. You broke away from him when you noticed, both of you breathing heavily. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“ he anxiously mumbled. 

Your hands rested on his hips, your lips swollen and eyes wide. 

You didn’t even realize you had said his name until his eyes connected with yours, his words stopping in their tracks. The way you spoke, your voice raspy and low, made his mind go places he thought not appropriate. 

His gaze ran over your face, trying to decipher what you were thinking. 

“Do you want me?” You asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

His jaw tightened, his chest sinking as he nodded. 

In a low voice, he asked you the same question, “Do you want me ?” He was almost afraid to know your response.

You gulped and then nodded, same as he did. 

Relief filled his body, his hand came up and tucked your hair behind your ear. His hand then rested on the back of your head and this time he pulled you in for a kiss. He wanted to roam your body, feel your every curve, but he waited for you to lead. He wanted to make sure that you really wanted this. 

Your hands slid to his belt. Bruce broke the kiss when he felt your fingers slide along the edge of his pants. 

Exasperated, he brushed his hand through your hair, watching you. You undid his belt and zipper, looking up at him with your soft eyes. 

He grunted as you edged his pants down. “Do you want me to stop?” You asked tentatively.

“No,” he spoke, almost too aggressively. You smiled, amazed that you were doing this to him–driving him mad. 

His black pants fell down to his thighs and you marveled at the tent in his dark boxers. 

“You don’t have to—“ he whined, cut off as your hand rubbed against him.

“I want to.” 

Your fingers traced along the elastic of his underwear, leaving fiery streaks in their trail. 

His hands gripped the table behind him as he watched you with heavy eyelids, your body sinking as your knees fell to the floor.

God, you were so fucking beautiful. 

You groped him over his boxers one more time before pulling those down too. His length sprang free, your hand snaking up and gently clasping it. You eyed him before placing a kiss on his tip, making him squirm. Your tongue licked along his whole shaft before taking him in your mouth. Bruce quietly moaned your name, his eyes squeezing shut to control himself as you began to bob your head. 

Your hand gripped his base, moving it in sync with your mouth on the rest that you couldn’t take in. He was larger than you expected. 

Your mouth made sloppy noises as your spit soaked him and lubricated your moving hand. You could hear him holding in grunts which only turned you on more.

Suddenly, Bruce was pulling you up to stand in line with him, making you pout. “Was it not good?” You asked, a bit confused. 

“I wasn’t gonna last.” His pupils were blown and you stared into his eyes, his face red. He wasn’t about to finish this so quickly. He pushed his pants the rest of the way off and slid his boxers back up over himself, scooping you up into his arms. You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck for support. 

He brought you into your room and laid you on your bed, the moon’s glow illuminating his features.

“I want to make you feel good,” he muttered, his hands dancing along the seam of your sweatpants. His knee was between your legs and he hovered himself above you. You nodded, unable to speak. 

Bruce had dreamt of you. Dreamt of how you’d sound if he was pleasing you. He wanted to know if he was right. He wanted to know what you sounded like with him making you moan and wiggle beneath him. 

He slid your sweatpants down and gulped when he saw your exposed thighs and underwear. 

The room was dark but he could still see the way you watched him with wide eyes and pink cheeks. He nervously hooked his fingers on the sides of your panties and pulled them off as well. The cold air hit you and made you take a deep breath. 

Bruce couldn’t control his hands as they came up and squeezed your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed with such ease. Your skin was so soft beneath his fingers, and the way he squeezed you made you shutter.

His hands slid down your thighs, your core heating up at his touch. 

He dropped to his knees and you felt his hot breath against you. 

“Bruce,” you whispered, desperate for his touch. 

He loved hearing you say his name. His tongue connected with your warmth, your hands tugging at the hem of your shirt in restraint. His hands glided along your stomach as he kissed you. His tongue didn’t waste any time sliding between your folds, sucking and circling you. Your hands came up to cover your face, flustered at how you were shaking in his grip. 

His tongue pressed hard into you, making your voice squeak in pleasure. 

Bruce felt himself grow painfully hard at your noises, his hips slightly rocking forward uncontrollably. 

You were panting as you hunched your body forward, your hand sliding through his hair. “Bruce… Bruce… Please,” he stopped and looked up at you, concerned.

“I need you,” you felt yourself tickle with anxiety, a bit embarrassed at how desperate you were. 

His lips shined with your juices as he crawled up on top of you on the bed. Your hands were immediately prying at his shirt. He lifted his arms as you tore it off, sitting up into him. Your palms came down to rest on his chest as you had done before over the bat suit. This was different. This was so much better. 

His normally light eyes were dark, the faded and smudged paint around his eyes making them appear even more intense. It was his turn as his fingers pulled at his shirt that you wore loosely over your body. He threw it behind him and his hand made a fist as he tried to calm himself while  he looked at you. 

“You can touch me,” you said, as if you were reading his mind. His hand came out and stroked along your breast, gently squeezing it in his hand. Your lips parted as his thumb brushed against your nipple. 

His lips came down and connected with your chest, sucking gently at the bud, making your head fall back slightly. His head then came up to place a kiss along your lips. 

“I’ve dreamt of this,” you mumbled between a kiss.

He pulled away, his jaw tense as his eyes flickered between yours. You immediately regretted what you said, afraid you just said something stupid.

After a pause, he spoke. “Of…me…” he gulped. “touching you?” 

You hesitatingly nodded. 

“Me too,” his lip slightly curled up in disbelief. 

“Oh,” you spoke. You felt your thighs try to squeeze together, growing wetter knowing he had likely touched himself to the thought of you. “Is this how you imagined it?” 

He shook his head, “Far better.”

Your stares lingered, watching his chest go up and down in his deep breaths. 

“I want you inside me,” your words were so quiet, he almost couldn’t hear you. Almost. 

With that, he couldn’t take it any longer. He pushed you back against the bed, his hands wasting no time to slide his boxers off and kick them onto the ground. 

His hand went between your bodies, pushing your legs apart. His finger brushed against your core and you gasped. 

You had never felt this way before, the way you were basically shuttering beneath him, turning to putty in his touch. 

His heart was racing, just as nervous as he was excited. 

His hand held his length in his hand, looking at you for consent. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your hips wanting to buck up in anticipation. 

“Bruce, please,” you cried. 

With your words, he lined himself up with your entrance, and then slowly slid into you. 

His elbows held him up on either side of your head, his chest pushing against yours with each of his deep breaths.

You both gasped as he filled you, his head falling into the crook of your neck, trying to muffle his panting.

Your hands were on his back, pulling him towards you as your hips finally thrusted up into his. 

He pulled himself out and then slowly pushed himself back in. 

You both groaned in sync each time he bottomed out. He was going slow, having to stop himself from slamming into you. He didn’t want this to end too fast.

Your nails dragged along his back, his lips sloppily kissing yours. 

You moaned into his mouth as he filled you again, your legs falling apart to let him get further inside you. 

His body rubbed against your clit each time he fucked into you, sending shivers through your legs.

You looked up at him as he looked down at you, both your lips parted, breathlessly breathing. You wanted to tell him to go faster, to make him pump into you with more force, but you couldn’t get the word to come out. You just watched him as he made you moan with each thrust. 

He was already close as he studied your face, growling at the sound you made each time he bottomed out. The way you couldn’t even speak because of how your voice got caught in your throat. 

He began to go a bit faster, one of his hands sliding along the side of your body as he did.

He groaned as he felt your walls tighten around him. Your toes were curling against the bed. 

By now, you probably would have switched positions, or began to rub yourself to get off. But with Bruce, you were stunned. Not sure you could get your body to switch positions even if you wanted to. And he did the second part for you, his thick fingers running circles against your clit after you guided his hand. 

“I’m not gonna—“ He growled, unable to finish his sentence. You weren’t going to last much longer either. 

You bucked your hips up to meet his, urging him to go faster. 

He picked up his speed, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the night air. Your juices were soaking the bed, his cock sliding easily in and out of you, small squirts sounding with each thrust.

His hand that wasn’t rubbing your clit rested against your cheek, making sure you stayed looking at him as you both neared the end.

Your moans were reckless now, you didn’t care about holding back and let them slip out left and right. Bruce’s deep groans vibrated in his chest and against your body, his voice deeper than usual—and that’s saying something.

Finally, you spoke, moaning his name out. 

That was it, that was what unwound Bruce. He swore loudly, growling as he came inside you, his hand fisting your hair. He continued to go in and out of you, elongating his climax as he felt his cock jut forward as he continued to spill himself inside you. 

Your hands squeezed the bed sheets, then gripped his back, then dragged along your thighs as you came beneath him, struggling to keep still. Your legs began to shake, the weight of Bruce pinning them against the bed. 

He kept touching you, making your high drag out as you swore and moaned under him, the whole time keeping eye contact with each other. 

Your hips bucked up as you slowly came down, Bruce now lazily pumping inside you. 

His throat was still making deep noises and he came to a stop, collapsing on top of you. 

You laid under him in satisfaction, your body tingling with pleasure. 

After he caught his breath, which took a good minute, he brought his head back up to you and kissed you. He slowly pulled out, a stream of white seed gushing out of you as he did. 

He rolled over beside you, his hand finding yours and intertwined your fingers. 

Exhausted, you looked over at him, grinning.

“Was that… was it okay? I haven’t done this much–”

You rolled over, your arm stretching over his bare chest. “It was fantastic.” 

He looked down at you, his cheeks pink and his hair disheveled.

He just watched you with content.

Minutes had passed before he finally looked away and sat up, slipping his boxers back on and going to the bathroom to grab you a towel. 

When he walked back into the room, he almost fell to his knees, the sight of your naked body glowing in the aftermath of what just happened. You were smiling at him with red cheeks and messy hair. 

He handed you the towel after he shook himself from his daze. 

His eyes lingered out your window making you look over too.

It was the signal. The bat signal. 

He looked at you with worry, unsure of how to move next. 

“Go,” you spoke. You couldn’t keep him from this. It wouldn’t be fair. 

He was grabbing his clothes as you covered yourself in your sheet and watched him. 

“You’re going to come back…?” You asked, your voice quiet. 

His eyes shot over at you, seeing the hurt that danced across your face. 

“Yes.” He sat next to you and studied your every move. His hand found yours and he squeezed it. 

You felt tears welling in your eyes as you tried to smile. 

“I am going to come back.” His voice was deep and assertive. 

Your hand reached out to hold his cheek, stroking your thumb over his skin. 

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. 

You placed a kiss on his lips and he needily reciprocated. 

Moments after, he slipped out your window and he was gone. Off into the Gotham night.

You felt your chest pounding. 

He will come back.

Ch. 11

#the batman #the batman 2022 #batman x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce Wayne insert #bruce wayne one shot #batman one shot #batman imagine #battinson #robert pattinson #its raining vengeance #bruce wayne headcanon #dc #dc fanfic #bruce wayne x reader #smut #bruce wayne smut #batman smut #the batman imagine #the batman fanfic #the batman one shot

[itawonka-creates]

This Jewelry Will End Up Killing Me - CH 2

[Prologue] [Ch 1] [Ch 3]

“You don’t have to fight.”

Looking at the girl, anyone would’ve thought she was standing on an unstable platform. Her hands could barely hang onto the knife in her hand and she struggled to look straight. Marinette’s voice was weak as she pushed out a sad, “I-I can do it.”

“No, you really can’t.” She’d probably die. The toads were extremely large; what Marinette said about them eating whole goats and children suddenly made sense. The ground vibrated with each hop as they hung around the empty field. He looked down at his own sword and started to wonder if it would even cut it. In his world, cutting a toad with his blade would be like cutting butter. Here, he had no clue. “Look, I’m going to test it out. If my sword doesn’t work then we’ll have to buy one from a shop.”

She looked over his sword and asked, “Didn’t it help you get here? Why wouldn’t it work?”

He shrugged and looked at the different toads in the field. Damian was glad they stayed away from the hill they were using as a vantage point. He walked a bit away from Marinette to take a better look at the area before muttering under his breath, “Tikki, is this going to work?”

Tikki popped her head out from under the gold-trimmed black mantle and looked at the toads. She hummed, “I believe so. Your weapons are fairly similar, but the lack of magical ability may not work in your favor here.”

“What’s the plan then?”

“In an emergency, put on the earrings. You may not be the true holder, but you will still have heightened abilities.”

“Is the true holder even around?”

“Yes.”

Damian sighed, “Let me guess. You don’t know who though.” Tikki shook her head while nervously giggling, much to Damian’s dismay. “For a goddess, you’re more useless than my brothers.” Tikki pinched his cheek and he yelped. “HEY!”

“What?” Tikki quickly flew into hiding and Damian regained his composure. Marinette walked over and leaned forward, “Why’d you yell?”

“No reason.”

Marinette frowned and rolled her eyes, “Sure.” She looked him over and asked, “How are the new clothes?”

Damian stretched a bit and thought for a moment. He kept his original boots and utility belt but wore a dark red shirt and black pants. The mantle was the finishing touch, at least in Marinette’s mind. Damian shrugged as he continued scanning the area, “It’s comfortable, but I want actual armor as soon as we make some more money.”

“Why do you call it that?”

“Call it what?”

“Why don’t you ever use the money’s name?”

“It has a name?”

“We just call it Tikki after the great goddess.”

“That’s weird.”

“No, it’s not. What’s weird is the fact that you made your outfit look like the bizarre costume you first came in.”

He finally found one that seemed the smallest out of the few in the area. He decided that would be the first target and pointed it out with his sword, “How about you? How are your clothes treating you?”

She looked down and frowned, “I’d rather buy fabric and make something for myself.” After Damian pointed out that fighting in her dress would be “a preventable hazard” and “dangerously stupid”, he pushed her to buy a less compromising outfit. He noted how she was quick so anything she can run in was preferable. Still, female armor and clothing for adventurers were more revealing than she anticipated. How Alya wore these outfits with the confidence of the Demon King himself, she had no clue. She ended up going to the boy’s section and buying herself some plain pants and a short-sleeved shirt. If it wasn’t for her small, but visible chest and ponytails she’d probably pass off as a boy fairly easily. She hated it. Still, she was surprised he’d do that to make sure she could move around and stay out of trouble.

Damian went as far as to buy her more comfortable shoes, but that was the most of their funds solely used for wardrobe. The outfit was horribly unflattering, but this was temporary. She dropped their things quickly in her home, not giving her poor parents the chance to ask questions, and leaving while Damian was out of sight. She felt like whining, but Damian was right; she’d fight better in this.

“Later. We don’t have that kind of time right now.”

“Promise?”

“Sure.”

She took a deep breath and nodded, “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Just stay back for right now. I want to see how strong these are first. Once I figure out the best way to take them down, I’ll have you help with the next one.”

The look on her face displayed disbelief, “Really?”

It confused him but he had a feeling she didn’t get to do too much around here. Why? He had no clue, despite the clumsiness she seemed fairly competent. However, Damian wasn’t about to push her in the deep end and have her fight like this. She’d just get herself hurt. “Yeah, but for now just stand back until you’re comfortable.”

“Gotcha.” He stared down the smallest toad and waited for it to turn its back before charging. “Woah.” Marinette realized that his stats did not lie whatsoever. Damian moved in a way she’d only seen by veteran adventurers. She watched as he effortlessly pushed his sword through the toad’s skin and slicing into its side. It tried to swat at him and its scream brought the attention of the other toads, but he stayed focused on the one he just injured.

It was odd for her to be in awe of other adventurers. Her friends always headed the top tier list in her head, but neither came close to the precision Damian displayed. She gulped and thought to herself, “If he just registered as an adventurer today and this was his performance at his base stats, what’ll happen when he levels up?” Seeing him take down the toad and then immediately set his sights on the next nearest one made her tense. She knew he just registered as an assassin class, but he was right. Given the death toll he was racking up, it was perfect for him.

A voice from behind her nearly gave her a heart attack, “Who exactly is this guy?”

Her scream must’ve caught his attention because he immediately made some space between him and his opponent. Damian looked up only to see the same girl he saw on the rooftops with her arms wrapped around Marinette. The girl must’ve caught her from behind and it seemed that she had another man there as back up.

Damian wondered if he was getting robbed. Wouldn’t be entirely impossible, they walked around town with a sack of coins the past few hours. If these two have been spying on them since the market, then they might think they still had money. Damian cursed under his breath as he jumped out of the way from an incoming tongue from the toad he was fighting. Damian looked over to the three and what he saw made his blood boil. The man somehow got her knife, toying with and examining it. The girl had adjusted Marinette in her grip in what seemed like a headlock. Marinette seemed to be struggling while the girl poked at her and, worst of all, looked down her shirt all with a smile on her face. Marinette seemed mortified.

Damian growled and looked up at the toad. It reeled its head back, most likely getting ready to use its tongue again. However, boiling blood and adrenaline was a deadly combination. Without issue, Damian grabbed the incoming tongue and cut it off. The screech from the toad was something out of a nightmare, but it simply irritated him. He slashed at the throat, easily making it fall over. There was no way he could celebrate. Damian ran around the body and charged immediately at the stunned trio.

“Get the hell off of her!” The girl didn’t react at first, still in shock over what she just witnessed, but the boy quickly came in between them. Damian didn’t hesitate to swing at him, but it was blocked by the boy’s shield. By the ring that came from the impact and the look in the guy’s eyes, his strength was unexpected. Damian jumped back, putting some distance between him at the three to plan his next step. From the growing vibrations from the ground, they caught the attention of the rest of the toads. “Move!”

“Steal!”

There was a flash of light and he looked over at the girl. She held one of his batarangs out of his utility belt. “What?!”

The girl still gripped on Marinette’s arm, but their contact was broken by a slimy tongue wrapping around it. The girl instinctively pulled back and managed to get her hand out of the wrap. Marinette was not so lucky. Marinette was yanked up into the air and she reached out to the girl for help. “ALYA!”

“MARINETTE!”

“Alya?!” Damian cursed under his breath and looked at her partner, “Are you Nino?!” He nodded, a confused expression on his face. “Oh my- Get ready to launch me up!”

Alya tried to slice at the toad with her new weapon, but was causing little damage. “Marinette! Hold on!”

Marinette was slowly sinking into the toad’s mouth, “Get me out of here!”

“Nino! Now!” Nino flattened his shield while Damian took a running start towards the creature. As soon as Damian set foot on the shield, Nino launched him up. Damian didn’t hesitate to thrust his sword into the toad and drag it down its side as gravity did the work. The toad fell over and Marinette slid out of its mouth in a pool of saliva and slime.

Alya quickly ran over and grabbed her, “Marinette!”

Marinette stood up and started frantically wiping herself down, “Gross! Gross! Gross!”

Nino sighed in relief, “Good, you’re okay!”

“Not for long.” Damian pulled out his sword and motioned to the last four toads coming towards them. “Give Marinette her knife back.” Nino didn’t hesitate.

Alya tossed over the batarang and pulled out a shortened machete, “Alright, hotshot. Now what?”

“Nino, you have the shield. Keep Marinette out of trouble.”

“Got it!”

Damian looked over at Alya, “You ready to fight?”

“These bastards just tried to eat my best friend, of course I am.” Damian liked the answer.

“Let’s go.”

********************************

The sight hours later could’ve been a headline; four adventures covered in slime entered the adventurers’ guild with sacks full of toad meat. Alya was trying to comfort Marinette, who still seemed shaken up by the entire ordeal, while Nino tried cracking some jokes. Damian went up to the nearest register and pointed at the bulletin board. “We’re here to collect the reward.”

The poor woman, clearly disgusted by the four, took their meat. “Thank you.”

The reward was hefty, but they all agreed that the first thing they needed to do was get their clothes cleaned and take a bath at the nearest bathhouse. “Marinette, where do we get cleaned up?” Marinette didn’t say anything, instead responding with a soft whimper and Alya patted her back.

“Well, it could’ve been worse! You could’ve been eaten!”

“I was eaten!”

“Well, digested then.” Marinette hung her head and Alya sighed. She looked at both Nino and Damian before suddenly smirking, “So, who’s your boyfriend?”

Damian nearly tripped over his own feet, “What?”

Marinette whined before answering her friend, “His name is Damian Wayne.”

“That is not the part to focus on here!”

The shlop noise from Nino putting his arm around Damian’s shoulders made him scowl, “Damian, huh? How’d you meet Marinette?”

“She stared at me.”

Marinette crossed her arms and huffed, “You were dressed so weirdly, what did you expect?”

“What do you mean? He looks fine. Now you on the other hand…”

Marinette rolled her eyes, “He left his clothes back in my room, you should see th-”

“In your room?” Slime flew into the air as Alya flailed her arms, “What do you mean he left clothes in your room?!”

Damian groaned and pinched the bridge on his nose, “Can we talk about this after we get cleaned up?”

Nino grinned and pointed towards a few buildings, “We got two options. The cheaper option is to go to the public bath. Or we could go to the inn there, wash up and have a nice place to sleep. We’d have to get our clothes washed elsewhere either way, but-”

“You want the inn?”

“We would love the inn, thank you so much Damian! After all, we did help you kill those last few frogs.”

Damian groaned, “Fine but they better have spare clothes.”

“That’s one of the more expensive inns, so yes. Most likely.”

“Maybe we can get Marinette looking like a girl again.”

“Alya.”

“Hey! You made a cute boy. I know-”

“Marinette?”

The four turned around and Alya immediately frowned, “Chloe.”

“Excuse you, thief. It’s Lady Bourgeois to you, Miss Césaire.” Alya wiped some of the slime off her face and flicked it towards Chloe. Chloe jumped back in disgust, “Ugh! This is expensive!”

“Nino?” Nino looked up and almost melted on the spot when he saw a familiar blond running towards him. “Nino!”

“Adrien!” Nino pulled himself away from Damian and ran to meet Adrien somewhere in the middle. If Adrien noticed the slime covering his friend, he didn’t show it. Instead, Adrien jumped into Nino’s arms and squeezed tightly. “Dude! When’d you get back? You look good!”

“You stopped sending me letters! I thought you two died! I wanted to make sure you were okay!”

“Yeah, right! If I leave you alone for too long with little miss silver spoon over there then you’d go crazy.” Adrien laughed and wiped away some of the slime from Nino’s face. “Gross, right?”

“Very. What happened?”

Nino turned and pointed at Damian, “Marinette’s boyfriend was fighting toads and needed backup.” Both Chloe and Adrien blinked and took a moment to process the information before asking questions.

“Toads?”

“Boyfriend?”

“Stop saying that!” Damian groaned and turned around, “Let’s just go and get cleaned up.”

Chloe snorted, “I don’t know, the slime seems like an improvement. Don’t you think Marinette? The color really works for you. Actually makes you stand out.”

Marinette frowned and looked to her feet, “Yes, Lady Bour-”

“Marinette, don’t take that.” She looked up to Damian who took out the same sack Chloe had given them earlier, now full of coins, and threw it at her feet. Some of the coins fell out, but what made Chloe irritated was the slime that got on her dress.

“How dare-”

Damian decided to lay it on thick, “Thank you for your generosity, Lady Bourgeois. You’ll find your loan in the bag along with some interest. I figured an indirect method would be preferable given our current state.”

Chloe gagged as she reached down and picked the bag up with a handkerchief, “Yes, thank you.” She quickly handed the money to Adrien and threw the piece of cloth to the ground. “Well, Marinette you look atrocious. For a mediocre designer, this is terrible even for you.”

Before she could get any further, Damian asked Marinette, “Why are you working for her again?” Marinette opened her mouth but Damian immediately shook his head, “Don’t defend her. Just answer honestly.”

Marinette gulped and played with her ponytail, “To help out my family. The bakery if doing well, but the high taxes put us in debt. I thought I’d help out.”

Alya snapped her head over to her friend, “That’s the reason you’re working for her? You told me it was to make connections!”

Marinette flinched, “I knew you’d try to intervene-”

“Of course I’d try to intervene! I’m your best friend! I could’ve paid for everything!”

“I couldn’t do that to your family!”

Alya grabbed her arms and shook her, “Marinette, sweetie, love of my life, both me and my sister are adventurers. My family is fine!”

Marinette pressed her lips together and was about to apologize when Damian interrupted, “She wanted to earn the money herself without relying on people.”

Alya looked between the two a few times before growling at Damian and pulling Marinette close, “Is that why you took her to the fields? She could’ve gotten killed! She’s a designer!”

“Stop treating her like a kid! How do you expect her to do anything by herself when you coddle her like a toddler?” Damian held out his hand, “Marinette, give me your card.”

Marinette nodded, shifting herself in a way to slip out of Alya’s arms before walking towards Damian. She pulled out her card and Damian took it. He looked it over before turning it to the group, “She’s an adventurer. We registered today.”

Chloe snorted but when no one else laughed along with her, she coughed and asked, “Wait, are you serious? Marinette can barely pour water without messing it up.”

Nino ignored the statement as he walked up and hugged Marinette, “Dude! Finally!”

“Nino!”

“Oh come on, Alya. He’s right, you totally baby her. You guys act like she can’t do anything.”

“Yeah, Marinette’s awesome.” The group turned to Adrien and he shrugged, “I’ve seen her interrogate nobles based on their clothes. Anyone that can criticize Sir Damocles at a public even for his suit and tie combo and live to tell the tale with an intact reputation is someone to be feared.”

Alya’s mouth hung open in disbelief while she read the Adventurer’s Card over and over. Damian muttered to himself, “So that explains your behavior earlier.” Damian looked over the group and asked, “Hey, Marinette?”

“Yes?”

“How much is your family’s debt?”

Marinette gulped, “Around twenty two thousa-”

“Considered it paid.”

Marinette blinked, “What?”

“Consider it paid.”

“Wha – How?”

“You acted as bait for the toads.” Marinette flinched and was about to protest but he continued to say, “You earned your share of the reward. Even after paying Chloe back, there’s enough to pay off the debt.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, “Oh really? How much did you get? A few thousand?”

“Thirty five thousand Tikki.”

Chloe choked and nearly screamed, “TH-TH-TH-THIRTY FIVE THOUSAND FOR A FEW FROGS?!”

“Seven to be exact. Although if Alya and Nino want a share of the reward then I’m sure we can go back tomorrow and kill some more.” He looked to the couple and Nino had to shake Alya’s arm to bring her back to reality.

“Huh?”

“Do you want your share of the reward or can we use it to pay off Marinette’s debt?”

Alya looked at Marinette and sighed, “You know I love my Tikki, but I love you too girl.”

Marinette thought for a moment before throwing herself at Alya and squeezing the life out of her best friend, “Thank you.”

Alya didn’t hesitate to return the hug, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Alya pulled back a bit and wiped a bit of slime from her friend’s cheek, “Oh my god, our little Marinette is an adventurer.”

“You sound like my mother.”

Alya took that as an invitation to play it up, “She’s growing up so fast.”

“Alya.”

“And with a man by her side, no less!”

“Alya!”

Nino sighed, “That doesn’t leave us enough for the inn though.”

Adrien sniffed his slime-covered self and nearly gagged, “Nino, I will pay you to shower at least.”

Chloe crossed her arms, “So I guess this is your resignation, Marinette?”

Marinette looked over to Chloe and nodded, “Yes.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, “You’ll be back. I’m great-granddaughter of one of the founders! The goddess has a special bond with our family, you know?”

Damian turned his attention to Chloe and asked, “The goddess?”

“Of course!”

Alya dismissed her claim with an annoyed wave, “She always says that.”

“It’s part of my family’s great history! The great goddess bestowed onto our family a great amount of fortune and prosperity for building the first church in the city. Jealous?”

“No, but I pity whoever has to listen to your family milk that for all it’s worth.”

Adrien was quick on his feet as he grabbed Chloe by the waist and held her back as she tried to lunge at Alya, “Chloe! No! If you get another assault charge, your father will have to force you out of the city!”

“Let me go!” Chloe flailed about for a minute before going limp and sighing, “I’m alright. I’m alright.”

“So if I let go right now, you won’t try to hurt our friends?”

“She’s not my friend.”

Adrien lifted her off her feet and scolded her, “Chloe.”

Chloe squealed, “I won’t!”

“Or arrest them.”

“Adrikins-”

“Promise.”

Chloe groaned and threw her hands up in frustration, “Fine! Fine! Promise.”

Adrien set her down and hesitantly let her go, “Okay.” Her face was flushed once she was set down and looked down to her feet.

Alya snickered, “Oh look, she does have an off button.”

“Alya! Stop already!” Marinette glared at her friend while Alya tried to protest.

“But-“

“No.”

“C’mon-”

“No!”

“Just one-”

“Alya!”

“FINE!” Alya crossed her arms and huffed.

Damian rubbed his temples, “You guys are more exhausting than my brothers.” The group turned to Damian and he realized that he said that out loud. Damian mumbled a quick curse and started to do damage control, “Um – I mean –”

“No, no, you’re absolutely right.” Adrien clapped his hands together and stepped forward, “And how rude are we not to invite our diplomat from Gotham to at the very least rest at our manor. Don’t you think, Chloe?” Chloe grumbled and looked away, not responding one way or the other. Adrien continued, “So on behalf of our great city, we invite you to come back to our manor. You will be given a room to rest, a bath, and dinner.”

Despite Marinette’s pleading looks, Alya asked, “Does that include friends of the guest?”

Adrien shrugged, “Sure.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Chloe stomped her foot and pointed at Alya, “I REFUSE TO HAVE THAT-”

“My name’s Alya.”

“IN MY HOME! SHE’S A THIEF!”

“Just because I started out in the thief class doesn’t mean I’m a thief! I only chose it because the abilities available early on help me during my investigations! I’ve been working on my magic! I want to be a mage!”

“Right, like I’m supposed to believe that! Why don’t I just call-”

“CHLOE!” Everyone flinched at the sudden bark, the shock soon set in when they realized it came from Adrien. Adrien took a deep breath after noticing the looks on the group’s faces. “Sorry! Sorry. Just-”

“They can come.” Adrien turned his attention back to Chloe who shuffled her feet. She had the look of a reprimanded child. Whatever her relationship was with Adrien, he held a great deal of power over her. “They can come.” Chloe visibly gulped and turned to Alya, “Just don’t take anything. Please.”

Any hint of Alya’s previous mischievous demeanor had completely vanished as she nodded. It was more of a reaction than a response. Nino was the first to recover, “Sweet! Living the high life for a night!” Nino grabbed Adrien’s arm and threw up a fist, “Drinks on Adrien!”

“I don’t drink, though.”

“You don’t have to. Me and Alya do. Thanks man!” Adrien laughed nervously, but still seemed on board with it all.

Chloe turned on her heel and started walking, “I’ll call two carriages. You all stink.”

Alya walked over to Nino’s side and grabbed onto his arm. He must’ve noticed her heightened nerves because he wrapped an arm around her and kissed her temple. “C’mon. We’ll be fine. Especially after Adrien shows us the wine.”

“I’m not showing you the wine.”

“He obviously showing is the wine.”

Adrien rolled his eyes and started walking after Chloe. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes immediately went to Marinette. By the surprised look on his face, he must’ve been expecting her right behind him with Alya and Nino. However, he noticed Marinette still hadn’t moved.

Instead, she walked towards Damian. Nino pushed his shoulder and nearly knocked him over, “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

Alya came up from the other side and nudged him, “Oh! Is Adrien jealous?”

“Why? Marinette’s just a friend and they just met today.”

“Really? Today?” Alya looked over her shoulder, “That doesn’t look like a couple whose only known each other for a day.”

The boys looked back and both were surprised. Marinette was awfully close and friendly with the newcomer. His expression was one of annoyance or indifference, but he still allowed her to be close as they walked together. Alya shrugged, “I think they’re cute.”

Adrien hummed, “Yeah. Cute.”

#TJWEUKM #konosuba au #fanfiction #au #damianette #daminette #damimari #damian x marinette #maridami #fantasy #fanifiction #crossover fic #dc x mlb #miraculous x dc #maribat #marinette x damian

[pixelfun20]

Flower Fields, Ch 1

Summary: Season 7 of Hermitcraft has begun, and their newest and youngest member, Tubbo, is more than ready to prove himself in the eyes of his friends. New memories are made and friendships are forged, but old ghosts from the past still linger, and Tubbo will soon discover that fate has a way of letting things come full circle.

Notes: This an fic idea I legitimately came up with yesterday, based off of @give-grian-rights ‘s Watcher!Tubbo and Watcher!Tommy AU (I hope you don’t mind! I just loved this idea). I wrote this a single evening, let it sit for the night, and decided to publish it today. I hope you guys like it! Just to note, I haven’t finalized a title (or plot, besides some major points) yet, so if y’all have any ideas, let me know!

Chapter 1:

I'm not yours, and you're not mine

But we can sit and pass the time

For a moment, he floated in darkness.

Then in the next, he was falling through the air.

He didn’t fall far, thankfully, and his impact was cushioned by another body right underneath him.

Tubbo groaned, blinking against the bright rays of the sun as he tried to adjust from the darkness that had just encompassed him. He shifted, feeling rough cloth underneath him, and realized he was lying on someone.

“Oh! Sorry!” He exclaimed, swiftly moving off the other. He looked down as he saw a man with dark brown hair, a beard, and a leather jacket sit up, rolling his shoulders with a wince. “I think I spawned right on top of you, xB.”

xBCrafted just chuckled, pulling himself up to his feet. Tubbo followed him, cracking his back as he went, and looked around, trying to discern where he was.

Ah, man. It seemed like they had spawned on a small, sandy island, that was, worst of all, completely devoid of trees. Already it was crowding with the arrival of the other Hermits, with a few more pairs repeating the same situation as he and xB, spawning one on top of the other in the enclosed space. In the distance, he could see a large mooshroom island looming above the waves, but besides that there was nothing in sight.

“Looks like we’ll be going for a swim today!” xB chirped as Iskall spawned a foot or so away from them, landing face-first in the sand. “X wasn’t lying when he said we’d have a tricky time starting the Season.”

“And here I was hoping to stay dry,” Tubbo sighed as Iskall shot up, spluttering sand in the air. The two of them laughed at his sorry state.

“Very funny, you two,” the elder man grumbled. Iskall85, or Iskall as he was commonly known, looked considerably older than the two friends, perhaps in his early thirties. He had semi-long, scraggly brown hair and a cybernetic eye, as well as a green sweatshirt and brown vest.

“Oho, is that Scar?” xB exclaimed. Tubbo followed his gaze, and sure enough, a man in a purple bathrobe and dyed-white hair had just spawned, half in the water. Ah, GoodTimesWithScar was an odd one, alright, he thought with a laugh.

“What did he do?” Tubbo giggled. Scar turned towards them, seeming to hear his comment, and put his hands on his hips.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” he announced semi-solemnly. “The wizard life has chosen me.”

Iskall nearly cackled at that, throwing his head back, and xB and Tubbo joined him. Trust Scar to find new and creative ways to start the season! Tubbo made a mental note to drop by in a few weeks and see where this new bit got him.

“Looking good, Scar!” Stress said, coming up behind him. The shortest of the Hermits, she wore a pink jacket and kept her straight brown hair short and to the chin. “How’re you doing, Tub?”

“Great!” Tubbo chirped back. “Excited to start the Season right.”

“Let me know if you need anything, love,” she added, clapping her hands together. “That goes for all of you! I’d chat for longer, but Mumbo and I have some plans we need to discuss. See you all in a bit!” And with that she was gone, hopping over to the other side of the island. Scar went right on her heels, jogging over to Cubfan135 (a balding man in a lab coat around Iskall’s age), who was standing next to Mumbo Jumbo.

Tubbo scanned over the rapidly growing group of people, grinning once he caught sight of a flash of black-striped yellow armor in the crowd. 

“Hey! X!” He called out, waving. A man fully covered in armor, painted to resemble a bee, looked over to them. Through his vizor, Tubbo could see the corners of his brown eyes crinkle in the tell-tale sign of a smile, and he approached the trio. “Love the outfit!”

“Thank you, Tubbo,” XisumaVoid replied, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m quite liking your new design, too.”

Tubbo fought back a blush, looking down at himself. Like the elder man, he’d changed up his usual outfit to celebrate the newest mob addition to Season 6, the bees. He’d changed into a yellow jacket with black stripes on the sleeves over a gray shirt, as well as black pants with a yellow stripe down the sides. 

“Alrighty, I’ll be leaving you two to your father-son bonding,” Iskall cut in, waving a hand as he walked off. “I’m going to go catch up with Keralis.”

“Oh, will you stop with that!” Xisuma said good-naturedly as Tubbo really did his best not to blush. xB laughed again. Iskall just whistled, walking over to where Keralis, a man in his late thirties in a blue shirt and jeans, had just spawned. The server’s admin turned back to Tubbo. “Sorry about that. You know how he can be.”

Tubbo just shook his head a bit, trying to suppress a smile. Ah, it’d been far too long since the Hermits had all been in one place like this. He’d missed the action of it all.

He, Xisuma, and xB chatted together for a few minutes as everyone spawned in and caught their bearings. It seemed everyone had big plans for the Season. While he and Xisuma had gone with a bee theme, xB was apparently planning to really Hermit out the season, far away from spawn. Scar was certainly embracing the wizard part of himself, and rumor had it BDubs and Doc were going to be neighbors, which was a recipe for disaster and, more importantly, funny stories. 

“Okay, everyone!” It was Keralis’ shout that drew the twenty-some players out of their respective conversations. Almost unconsciously, they’d formed an oval around the perimeter of their tiny spawn island. “Intro time! Let’s go, X!”

“What? Why me?” Xisuma protested, but Keralis just laughed and took his place back in the circle.

“C’mon, admin,” Tubbo teased him with an elbow to the side. Xisuma sighed, rolling his shoulders, then stepped out into the center of the island.

“Alright everyone. Welcome to Hermitcraft Season 7! Go!” He clapped his hands together and dashed back towards the shore, the circle immediately breaking up as the Hermits split into their groups and dove into the ocean. Tubbo laughed as he waved goodbye to xB, who took off in a different direction as he went to follow X.

The water was nice and lukewarm, and soon enough Tubbo was backstroking over the ocean. He looked up at the bright blue sky, and smiled.

~~~~~~~~~

They spent most of the first day collecting supplies. 

As it turned out, both FalseSymmetry, Hypnotizd, and ZombieCleo had decided to go in the same direction as he and Xisuma, so they ended up gathering their first bits of wood and stone together. Then there was some issue with the server that caused Xisuma to have to dive deep into the server code, in the open, at midnight, so their first night went without much sleep and with a lot of mob fighting instead.

“Well,” Cleo said the next morning, twirling her axe as Tubbo set to cooking some meat for breakfast. “That could have gone better.”

“I think the first night went just fine, thank you very much,” False shot back, sharpening her newly-minted stone sword. “I’m going to be honest, though, I’m not used to going out at night without an elytra. Or armor. Or a decent sword.”

“Hey, but did you see how many mobs I killed?” Tubbo put in, pulling out some pork chops and tossing one to Cleo. “I’m a god, I tell you.”

“Yes,” Xisuma replied. He was still sitting on one of the beds they’d made, and was double checking some of the code. “God of giving me heart attacks.”

“Not my fault you messed up part of the code! I saved your life!”

“I’d suggest you remember who bandaged that arrow wound, kid.”

Tubbo’s hand flew to his shoulder, where his jacket was torn slightly, and he blushed. “I’m not a kid!”

Everyone turned and gave him a flat look, and Tubbo blushed harder, looking down. It was no secret that he was, by far, the youngest person on the server. Most players were in their late twenties, like False and Impulse, to their late thirties, like Scar and Doc. Even the youngest before he’d arrived had been Mumbo and xB, at 24 and 19 respectively. At just barely 16, Tubbo was, well, a child compared to them.

Loathe as he was to admit it. It had been hard enough in the beginning, when he’d arrived unexpectedly at the beginning of Season 6. No one had been expecting any new players to join that Season, much less a mentally scarred 14-year-old, and he’d ended up being coddled for the first six months or so. Heck, he’d lived with Xisuma until he’d grown so tired of it he’d had to run off and make his own base without asking him, because the answer would have been no.

He was perfectly capable of living on his own! It was just… well, Tubbo knew he wasn’t as good as the others. He couldn’t make the huge, rolling complexes or over complicated redstone machines that did everything for you like the other hermits did. Of course, it made sense; he had a lot less experience and was still learning these things. But it didn’t help the fact that the others, well, they didn’t look down on him, per se, but they were always a little too willing to help, a little too protective. 

“Sure,” Cleo was drawling teasingly, drawing him out of his thoughts. Tubbo snorted and looked down at his breakfast with a shake of his head, starting to eat. 

“Oh, let him be,” Hypno put in, grabbing some food for himself. “I remember being that age. Young and ready to take on the world. At least he doesn't have any creaky old bones. I’m already feeling my back in the mornings.”

“Alrighty then!” Xisuma announced after a moment of silence, rising from his bed and closing the admin screens. “Looks like all the post-spawn bugs have been taken care of. I’m ready to head out for the day.”

“I guess this is where we all say goodbye, then,” False replied, twirling her sword. “I have the best idea for my base this season, but I gotta go north from here.”

“Tubbo and I are heading east.”

“West for me,” Cleo put in.

Hypno just shrugged. “I figured I’d wander for a bit before settling down.”

“No planning?” Tubbo asked, then grinned, glad for the change of subject. “I like your style, Hypno.”

The bandana-ed man inclined his head at him with a smile. He wasn’t a new player to the server, not at all, but from what Tubbo knew he hadn’t been around for a few years. Prior to the last few days as they’d prepared to jump Seasons, he’d hardly even heard of the man before, and thus didn’t know him too well.

Xisuma clapped Tubbo’s shoulder, eyes crinkling from that helmet-obscured smile of his. 

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Tubbo whooped. “Bees, here we come!”

~~~~~~~~~

Perfect.

That was the only way Tubbo could describe the place he’d come across. He sat in the branches of one of the tallest trees in the area, looking out to where the forest he’d been traversing ended and the plains biome, scattered with flowers in small patches around, with gentle hills rolling even further in the distance.

It was an idyllic location, and perfect for his plans for the Season.

Another day had passed, marking it Day 3 of Season 7. After that first somewhat disastrous night, he and Xisuma had separated from their initial group and travelled to find a base together. Xisuma had decided, for some reason, that he was going to build his base in the middle of the jungle, so they had set up camp there for the night. Come dawn, however, Tubbo was ready to go and scout for a place of his own, and with a promise to check in with Xisuma every day or so, he’d set off that morning.

It was early afternoon, now, and honestly, Tubbo was pleased with how quickly he’d found his spot. It was only a half-day’s journey, while walking, from Xisuma, so once he’d gotten elytra he’d be able to visit whenever he wanted. Besides that, news had it that Keralis and Beef were only a little ways out, which would be fun since Tubbo didn’t know them too well.

Humming quietly, Tubbo reached into his inventory and took out the only belonging he’d taken with him from Season 6－a medium-sized notebook, filled with sketches and notes on what he wanted to build and how to do it. Last Season he hadn’t been ambitious enough; Tubbo had started late thanks to living with Xisuma and then had focused on just having a base of his own that by the end of the season it had looked puny compared to the many buildings his friends/guardians had made.

He wasn’t making that mistake again. Tubbo had grand plans for this Season’s megabase, and he was going to make sure it blew everyone else out of the water.

Okay, maybe that was an over exaggeration. But Tommy had always said to aim high.

His heart twisted a bit, as it always did when he thought of his old friends. Back then, he’d known people his own age, and Wilbur and Techno had rarely held back against him when they’d interacted with him, whether through words or PvP.

He wondered how they were doing; it’d been almost two years since he’d last seen or heard from them. He wondered if they’d moved on.

He wondered if they knew he was still alive.

Tubbo shook his head, chasing the depressing thoughts out of his mind. He’d found himself thinking of his old friends less and less over the last year and half, as he’d settled into life in Hermitcraft and begun to heal from what had happened to him. Not to say he didn’t miss them, that he wasn’t missing something in his life, but, well. Even though he thought of them every once in a while, the numerous letters he’d written to Tommy, unable to be sent, had been left behind with Season 6, in a way of really starting anew.

Doc had explained it best. Life moved on, and sometimes it was best to just hold onto the old memories and work on making new ones.

He’d taken that advice to heart. Tubbo flipped open his notebook to one of the middle pages, holding it out and comparing his sketch to the open plains before him.

Yes. This biome would do quite nicely.

Season 7 was going to be something great.

#tubbo #tubbo_ #xisuma #xisumavoid #xbcrafted #iskall85 #hermitcraft #hermitcraft season 7 #watcher tubbo #watcher au #fanfiction #fanfic #hermitcraft fanfic #Hermit!Tubbo AU #I have no self control #And no idea how long I'll roll with this #but I"m quite liking it so far

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Fractured Ice - Ch. 3/7

Xue Yang whisks a solipsistic Lan Xichen off on a murder roadtrip to raise Xiao Xingchen and Meng Yao from the grave. Because that will solve all of their problems, right?

Your hand,” he says. He can’t think straight, but that much he knows to say. “Show me your hand, and I’ll tell you what he said.”

There’s no hesitation in the imposter’s movements. He unwinds the bandages, drops them to the floor, and eyes the naked clan leader evenly.

A black glove. The glove is distinctively fingerless save for the cloth-covered little finger, which sticks up stiffly.

 “...Xue Yang.”

XueXiao & XiYao - Rated M

Read on AO3!  Tumblr: Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 4

Ch. 3: shadows and monsters    

Lan Xichen doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, staring at the guqin, before Xiao Xingchen—

No. Not Xiao Xingchen.

—before the liar—the fraud—the imposter speaks.

“Well?” The imposter’s face is white, voice strained, eyes hot, but he’s sitting very, very still. “What did he say?”

That’s the last thing Lan Xichen is certain of for a while. Those words: What did he say? ringing in his ears, the desperation in the imposter’s eyes, and then, abruptly, icy-cold water on his skin, frigid water flowing around him, as he kneels naked in the stream outside.

The crane is nowhere to be seen, but Xiao—the imposter is on the bank. Sitting on a rock, as if he’s been there for a long time.

“Come on out, Zewu-jun,” he says coaxingly, as if he’s trying to lure a cat off a roof. Lan Xichen’s clothes are draped over his arm and there’s a blanket on his lap. “Let’s talk.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t remember crawling out of the stream any more than he remembers entering it, but he must have, because suddenly he’s being wrapped in the blanket and bundled back into the house.

The imposter sets the clothes down on a chair in Lan Xichen’s old bedroom and stands beside the bed.

“What did he say?” he asks. “He’s in there, isn’t he? I knew he was! I knew he wasn’t gone—”

Lan Xichen barely hears him. He’s almost completely numb, either from the icy stream or shock, but he’s almost certain he’s floating above the bed.

He tilts his head towards the imposter.

“Your hand,” he says. He can’t think straight, but that much he knows to say. “Show me your hand, and I’ll tell you what he said.”

There’s no hesitation in the imposter’s movements. He unwinds the bandages, drops them to the floor, and eyes the naked clan leader evenly.

A black glove. The glove is distinctively fingerless save for the cloth-covered little finger, which sticks up stiffly.

“...Xue Yang.”

The words hang in the air between them, blazing with the full heat of the betrayal, but Xue Yang doesn’t so much as blink.

Instead he claps slowly, grinning as if he’s enjoying himself. “Excellent detective work, Zewu-jun. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, tell me, what did he say?”

“Xue Yang,” Lan Xichen repeats. He’s not sure what he expected, but it was not this. He struggles to put names and events together, find some explanation, but his mind is a throbbing blank. “Xue Yang.”

There’s a knife in Xue Yang’s hand. He’s still grinning, but it’s a grin full of fangs. “Tell me what he said,” he says, “and I won’t slice your face off.”

Lan Xichen hears someone laughing, realizes it’s him, but he can’t stop. He’s overwhelmed with it, suffused with it, completely awash with amusement, laughter gushing through him and clawing its way out through his throat.

And then Xue Yang is laughing too, his knife back wherever it came from, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

It’s a long time before either of them get themselves under control. Lan Xichen feels warm despite the wet hair sticking to his bare shoulders. That old swelling, growing feeling is back in his chest, and he could swear that he’s glowing in the dimness.

“Nothing matters,” he informs Xue Yang. The monster has brought the chair over beside the bed and is sitting on Lan Xichen’s robes, feet up on the bed. “Nothing at all.”

“I guess not,” says Xue Yang. He tilts his head at Lan Xichen. “And, as that’s the case, maybe you can tell me what he said?”

“ ‘Xiao Xingchen.’ ”

Xue Yang closes his eyes in a kind of ecstasy. “He said that?”

“His name would be impossible to confuse with any other words.”

A shudder passes through Xue Yang. “I knew he was still in there,” he says. “I knew it—” He opens his eyes. “I did it,” he says. “ I brought him back, I nursed his spirit—”

Lan Xichen wants to ask him about how Xiao Xingchen ended up in the bag. Not for any real reason. Just base curiosity. It doesn’t matter, after all. He had been right, after all, no matter what Lan Qiren had tried to convince him of. The world is all shadows, all shades, all layers upon layers of curtains and veils.

It can wait.

“My brother didn’t recognize you,” he says.

Xue Yang points to his face. His voice is steady, but his hand trembles slightly. “Face-mirroring talisman. Itchy, but it comes in handy. I didn’t stick around long, though.”

Another layer, another curtain. Lan Xichen is glad of it. More proof that nothing is real, that nothing matters, that he can finally let go.

“Let me see your true face.”

He expects an argument, but Xue Yang just sighs and grips the side of his face. Tugs, peels off his skin. Drops the mask into the pitcher of water he’s set beside the bed and turns to Lan Xichen.

“A bit of a downgrade,” he says, rubbing at the skin around his jaw and temples, “but I haven’t gotten many complaints.”

He’s quite good-looking, actually, in a jarringly youthful, innocent way. Far different from the elegant beauty of the mask. Softer, with no sharp angles anywhere on him, and a well-formed nose. A surprise. Lan Xichen had never actually met him despite Xue Yang’s years as a Jin Clan guest disciple, but the idea of him as a grotesque monster has been fixed in his mind since his slaughter ( supposed slaughter, reminds himself) of the Chang Clan. His voice is lighter than before, almost flippant, with nothing of the genteel tones he’d used to impersonate Xiao Xingchen.

“And underneath?” Lan Xichen asks.

Xue Yang raises an eyebrow. “Underneath?”

Lan Xichen leaves it alone. He’ll peel off the next layer when he’s ready, shed his skin, reveal another level of reality.

“Xue Yang was always described to me as a madman,” Lan Xichen says. “But you…”

“By a group of self-righteous fucks who met me for five minutes as an adolescent?” Xue Yang grins. The half-feral grin feels more natural when coupled with this face, deceivingly innocent as it is, as does the intensity of his eyes and foul language. “Perhaps they were right. Perhaps they were wrong. Does that really matter to Zewu-jun?”

Lan Xichen doesn’t respond. It’s true, Wangji and Wei Wuxian had only met Xue Yang for the few days it took to travel to the Unclean Realm, and Nie Mingjue had only interrogated Xue Yang once.

All three had been unanimous in their verdict that Xue Yang was not right in the head. A sadistic monster with no true emotion, an animal who killed for pleasure instead of necessity.

A-Yao, though…

Jin Guangshan had pushed A-Yao to take a special interest in the young man after all the hoopla over the Chang Clan massacre, and A-Yao had dropped a few words to him about Xue Yang over the years, mostly in response to Nie Mingjue’s tantrums over Xue Yang’s death sentence having been commuted to life imprisonment.

He can hear A-Yao’s voice in his head as if it were yesterday.

“Xue Yang is not a madman,” he had told Lan Xichen during one of their late-night talks. A-Yao had been lounging in his most casual robes, the collar open, belt loosely tied. “He has violent tendencies, yes, and I can see why the false rumors were spread about him. He is often quite rude—” being rude, going by A-Yao’s tone, was a worse trait than any potential for sociopathy “—but he is deceptively clever, hard-working, and brimming with raw talent. The Jin Clan needs more disciples like him.”

And a different time: “If only he had been instructed from childhood, he would have been one of the greats by now.” And then, as if rethinking that, “Or perhaps not. He sits outside of everything. Sometimes I think that is his greatest strength.”

There had been a sense of envy in the way A-Yao spoke the words “outside of everything.” A-Yao, who had spent his entire life doing everything in his power to get on the inside, to climb to the top of the pyramid.

Lan Xichen hadn’t understood it then.

He did now.

He looks at Xue Yang. The delinquent cultivator is sitting with one arm dangling indolently over the side of his chair, his feet still up on the bed frame, not even trying to hide his smile. He’s staring at the ceiling as if counting something invisible up there, twirling his hair with his good hand.

Rule 8: Do not sit with a disgraceful pose.

Xue Yang gives a cheery little wave when he notices Lan Xichen’s attention. Despite everything, the young man looks so—so innocent —

A-Yao had been certain that Xue Yang had not been responsible for the Chang Clan massacre.

Perhaps he had been right, despite what Nie Mingjue had very emphatically believed.

Lan Xichen should ask Xue Yang about it.

He knows he should.

Demand a full account of the slaughter—

But, “Were you flirting with me before?” he hears himself asking instead. He doesn’t think he’s ever spoken that ridiculous, adolescent word out loud, but it’s the only one he can think of that fits.

Xue Yang starts. “What?”

Lan Xichen is thinking of A-Yao’s half-open robes. A-Yao had never so much as made a move—chaste as his marriage was, he’d valued his vows and Qin Su too much to betray them like that—but during their time living together in cramped inns before the Sunshot Campaign, there had been little privacy, and he had not been above an occasional open robe, the occasional outfit change in front of Lan Xichen out of necessity, the occasional soft look when he thought Lan Xichen wasn’t looking, and after his marriage he hadn’t bothered breaking himself of those habits during their late-night talks.

Things Lan Xichen had always dismissed. A-Yao, he knew, had an almost obsessive dread of anyone associating him with his mother’s profession in any way. Had never said anything that could be taken the wrong way, be it to a man or a woman. Dressed neatly and simply. Never indulged in off-color jokes or humor, avoided so much as traveling through the low parts of town, had always been uncomfortable when certain topics came up.

But if he’s right about Xue Yang, perhaps his judgment isn’t so far off after all, and if so, that might mean that A-Yao—

“Before,” he explains. “Because I can’t always tell.”

Xue Yang laughs. His knife is back in his hand, but there’s no threat there anymore. He seems to like fidgeting with things—the knife, his hair, that leaf. He tosses the blade idly into the air, catching it deftly.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d say no to a pretty young man,” he admits.

“You were trying to…” Lan Xichen forces his tongue to form the words, uncomfortable as they feel in his mouth “… seduce me into helping you?”

Xue Yang shrugs. “I’ve done far worse trying to get him back than fuck another man.”

So Lan Xichen’s paranoia was justified, for once, but instead of this knowledge grounding him, it all strikes him as the funniest thing he’s ever heard. That Xue Yang should think infidelity is the issue here. That Xue Yang should have zero shame about it when all Lan Xichen has ever felt about anything that deviated slightly from the straight and narrow has been shame.

It’s all just so—so funny .

He shakes with silent laughter beneath his damp blanket, laughs until tears drip from his chin, till his ribs ache and throat is sore.

“What now?” he asks when the fit has subsided. Xue Yang is still tossing the knife up and down, patiently waiting for him to come back to himself. “What was your plan, exactly?”

Xue Yang straightens up. “You’re going to help me?”

“Of course not. But I’m curious.” Saying this out loud feels indescribably…luxurious is the wrong word, but it’s the one that comes to mind. Curiosity for curiosity’s sake has always been frowned upon in the Cloud Recesses. There is no single rule against it, but it violates a cross-section of rules ranging from admonishments to mind one’s own business to rules forbidding idle speculation.

Xue Yang is staring at his bandaged hand. “I was going to tell you that I know for a fact that there’s a ritual for bringing someone back to life in that forbidden library of yours, and, in exchange for you helping me bring back Xiao Xingchen, I would do everything in my power to help you bring back Jin Guangyao despite the fact that the little weasel did his best to murder me.”

“Execute you.”

Xue Yang shrugs. “Murder, execute, same thing.”

“What could you do?”

Xue Yang looks up from his hand. “Everything you aren’t willing to.”

“Get out.”

“But—”

“Get the hell out.”

Xue Yang reaches into his qiankun sleeve, pulls out a second spirit-trapping pouch, and sets it on the table.

“For your friend,” he says, and leaves.

* * * * *

Lan Xichen stares at the small brown pouch for a long time after Xue Yang leaves.

It stares back at him.

He gets out of bed, blanket pulled tightly around his naked body, and begins to pace the room, pouch in hand, rubbing his cheek on the soft material.

He feels—feels—feels surprisingly good , actually.

Nothing is real. Nothing matters.

And if nothing matters, if nothing is real, then A-Yao’s crimes don’t matter, his crimes aren’t real. All that’s real is the fact that A-Yao is trapped forever in a coffin with a vindictive spirit, stranded in limbo, never to ascend to the afterlife.

A-Yao. His A-Yao.

Nothing’s real, nothing matters.

Nothing but the fact that he wants him back.

Nothing’s real, nothing matters.

Nothing but the fact that the thought of A-Yao makes him happy. That emotion is real. Nothing around him is real, but the feelings inside him are, and right now the thought of A-Yao standing before him again makes his chest swell with warmth, makes him feel like he can jump swordless off the roof and soar, swoop through the air, glide over the treetops and fill his lungs with starlight.

Perhaps he has spent the night flying, soaring above it all. It’s almost morning when he returns fully to himself, standing naked in his mother’s courtyard, inhaling the moonlight, A-Yao’s spirit-trapping pouch still in his hand.

He throws his clothes on and hurries to Xue Yang’s room, yanking the door open so hard he rips the lock off.

Shocked awake, Xue Yang shoots upright, snatching the ornate knife resting on the bed frame. Shuanghua’s frosted white hilt peeks up from under the covers.

“Oh, it’s just you,” he says, breathing hard. He’s still gripping the knife, as if trying to ground himself with the feel of the cold metal on his skin and reassuring weight in his hand. “I almost bit my tongue off!”

“The library,” Lan Xichen says. “Now.”

Xue Yang bites his lip so hard he draws blood.

* * * * *

They spend all morning in the library. All day. All night.

All week.

“You said you knew for a fact that there’s a way to bring them back,” Lan Xichen says on the eighth day. “How do you know this?”

They’re sitting in the main library, eating a very late supper. Eating is forbidden in the library, but nobody dared refuse the Clan Leader’s orders.

Daily Tally:

Rule 40: Speaking during mealtimes is forbidden

Rule 43: Eating is prohibited inside the library

Rule 44: Eating is forbidden outside mealtimes

Rule 528: Do not conceal your intentions

Rule 2,007: Abuse not your authority

Rule 1,959: Reject the crooked road

And, of course, Rule 52: Do not befriend the evil , and the fifty-odd rules relating to demonic cultivation.

Xue Yang looks up from the honey-fried dumplings Lan Xichen specially ordered for him. Nobody has ever looked less evil. His mask is off, resting in a bowl of water beside him, and he looks like a sixteen-year-old who had led a particularly blameless life, albeit a particularly blameless life that’s kept him from getting enough sleep. “Did I say that?”

“Clearly.”

Xue Yang eats a few dumplings before answering. His table manners were better when he was pretending to be Xiao Xingchen. Lan Xichen wonders if he’s intentionally trying to provoke him by keeping his elbows on the table. If so, he’s failed. If anything, Lan Xichen finds the delinquent cultivator—the madman—the monster—fascinating. He’s so utterly different from anyone Lan Xichen has ever known.

He wonders how A-Yao got on with Xue Yang, his mirror opposite. Much as he’s always tried to suppress it, Lan Xichen has always had a taste for the absurd, and he regrets that he never got to witness them interacting.

Well, if all goes well, he’ll have that opportunity soon enough.

“I must have been talking about that thing I saw once,” Xue Yang shrugs finally, licking honey from his lips.

Lan Xichen resists the urge to remind him of Rule 23, Speak clearly . It’s hard to shake decades of being trained to think a certain way, to see rule infractions in every innocuous interaction. “What ‘thing’?”

“A page from a book originating here in this library. It discussed a ritual, but didn’t have all of the details.”

“Do you have the page?”

“It was destroyed in a fire, my luck.”

“What book was it from?”

“I don’t know. It was torn out. I’ve been looking for a book with a torn page.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me sooner?”

Xue Yang shrugs again. “Then you’d only be looking for a torn book instead of looking for potential alternatives. For example, at first I thought we could find the location of Baoshan Sanren’s mountain somewhere in the books, though it’s become clear that that’s impossible. No sense in closing off other potential avenues.”

Lan Xichen rises with a sigh. “Put your face back on. We’re leaving.”

Wrinkling his nose, Xue Yang replaces his face and follows Lan Xichen from the library to his chambers.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Lan Xichen pulls an elegantly-carved blue chest from under his bed. Inside are bundles of books, scrolls, and wooden slips. Each has a portion missing, a page torn out, a section mysteriously shortened.

“Intellectual mice?”

Lan Xichen doesn’t respond. Xue Yang doesn’t need to know that he spent days going through the forbidden pavilion after Guanyin Temple, removing everything A-Yao had gotten to.

He seats himself at his table while Xue Yang goes through the chest. Touching the same books that A-Yao touched is too much right now.

He’s glad he hadn’t put A-Yao’s hat in the same box.

Xue Yang talks non-stop as he rifles through the chest. “…Not many cookbooks vandalized, I’ll guess. The food at Koi Tower was always good. Too oily though. Hell on your stomach, but no need to steal recipes from the Lan, of all people—Ah. Here it is.” Grinning, he holds up an ancient-looking book with unraveling binding and no title. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” He sets it on the low table and kneels across from Lan Xichen.

But Lan Xichen rises, still unwilling to touch the book. “You read it,” he says, crossing the room standing in the door, looking out over the silent Family Courtyard. The shadows are deep, the moon hidden behind mist, the world utterly still.

He wonders if the crane is back in the stream.

Humming to himself, Xue Yang reviews the book, pulls a few others out from the chest, starts copying sections out using Lan Xichen’s calligraphy set.

Eventually Lan Xichen takes out Liebing and begins to play. The music soothes his nerves, quiets the anxious thoughts starting to buzz though his brain: the fear of being so close to bringing A-Yao back, of not being close of enough, of what if this is all a farce, what if what Xue Yang found is nothing, after all—

“Here.” Xue Yang is beside him, papers in hand. “Want to take a look?”

Lan Xichen puts his flute away. “No. Just tell me what my role in all this is.”

Xue Yang grins, tucking the pages away in his qiankun sleeve. “Traveling expenses, mostly. Unless we fly—”

“No flying unless necessary.” Lan Xichen is relieved Xue Yang agrees on this point. He doesn’t want his dreams bleeding into whatever this all is. Not exactly reality, but not exactly not reality. “I’ll make the preparations. Where are we going?”

“The Unclean Realm. We need to extract his spirit from the sarcophagus before we can do anything else. Yes, we’re starting with that dimpled little freak. I figure he’s smart, he can help us with my half—”

Lan Xichen barely hears him. “I’m not going to Qinghe.”

“Clan Leader Nie has the coffin.”

“I refuse to so much as speak to that—that—” Words fail him. It’s not like he doesn’t know any appropriate curse words, but none come close to expressing the hatred he feels at the mere thought of Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang, lying to his face. Nie Huaisang, picking up A-Yao’s hat without a trace of emotion. Brushing the dust off. Looking at the blood on his hand.

A-Yao’s blood.

“That twat-nosed little fucker,” Xue Yang suggests, though he can’t possibly understand why Lan Xichen feels the way he does.

“That—” Fucker .

“Fucker,” Xue Yang says encouragingly.

Lan Xichen shakes his head.

Xue Yang pats his arm, far too familiarly. “I’ll do all the talking to that half-witted little fucktoad, my friend. You just try not to trip and accidentally-on-purpose impale anyone on your hairpiece.”

Lan Xichen’s jaw tightens. “The mere idea of being in the same room as him makes me want to peel my own skin off.”

“Like this?” Heedless of the fact that he’s in full view of anyone strolling through the courtyard, Xue Yang tugs off his mask, laughing.

Lan Xichen slides the door shut. “Put your face back on, please, and please leave.”

Instead Xue Yang clicks his tongue and follows him back to the table. He sits on the corner, tapping his knee with his knife as Lan Xichen sets the table right, straightening the papers and brush set and wiping up the ink splatters. The table is lacquered to prevent permanent stains, and he ought to just wait until a servant comes to clean in the morning, but he can’t abide messes.

“What were you planning for the journey?” Xue Yang asks Lan Xichen as he tidies. “Full procession, servants, half-dozen outfit changes, increasingly ridiculous hairpieces, inns fit for an emperor—”

He doesn’t typically travel with a full procession, but the rest of it is fair. “What other way is there?”

Xue Yang smiles. “Leave it to me.”

***

Up Next: Lan Xichen + Xue Yang road trip.

Or: An innkeeper may or may not meet an untimely end, depending on your interpretation of, “Of course I didn’t kill him. Not even a little.”

Chapter 4

#Lan Xichen decides that solipsism and nihilism make an excellent combination #Or: The joys of library research are many and varied #Fractured Ice #fanfic #xue yang #lan xichen #xiyao #xuexiao

[boogiewrites]

Mae Flowers Ch. 8

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Mae LeBlanc (OFC)

Summary: A modern, magical Alfie Solomons AU. Alfie takes Mae out to celebrate a milestone in her magical work. It turns into an evening of deep conversation and bonding, learning about one another.

Warnings/Tags: Language.Magic/Supernatural.FLUFF. Bonding. Talk of being soul mates. Support/Love. Talk of confidence issues and mild bad memories.

Click on my screenname then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

“Go throw something on that makes you feel like celebratin’ and we’ll go out ‘n do just that.”

It was a simple enough request. But one Mae was having a hard time with. She watched the grass and soul gather in the antique tub's drain, washing the sweat from the sun off her warm brown skin. Wiggling her yellow-painted toes, she took a few deep breaths to ease the sense of anxiety building and give the many potted and ivy plants in the bathroom a good dose of co2.

She stood before her full-length mirror in her room whose colors all deep jewel tones made her feel at peace. A mix of malachite, amethyst, and a pop of color with citrine soothed her as she adjusted her dress. Mae wasn’t the “going out” type. Like most, she had a dress that had been dormant in her closet for ages. The one that you bought on a whim when you had some manic episode where you swore you’d start going out and dating and having fun like everyone said you should. But it just sat in the back of your closet. A reminder of money wasted and goals not met.

She frowned, her dark curls against her shoulders only covered by the thin straps of the bold red dress. Her hands moved across her body, a pudge to her stomach, her hips wide from her pear shape and her breasts barely enough to fill out the cups of the dress. It reminded her of the “hot girl” dresses in 90s movies from when she was younger. Cinched in a baby doll cut and the rest hugging her body in a way she was unfamiliar with showing off. Her denim cut-offs and a tank or shop t-shirt were her go to outfits. She never purposely dressed up to seem more attractive, it was function over fashion for her at this point in her life. The last time she’d gotten “dressed up” had been when Ruth and Nancy set her up with a “nice boy” from their church. What a bust that had been.

She let herself take a deep breath to gather what confidence she could and it only deflated into a sigh. She let her head fall back and made silent protests with clawed hands and an angry face before stomping and glaring at her reflection. Why couldn’t she just feel...good? She was a so-called powerful witch but all she saw looking back at her was an unsure girl. Not the confident woman she wished she was. Her chest aches a bit, a pit in her stomach as sadness came and went, flashes of failed attempts at dates and moments others killed her hard work at feeling confident in one single comment.

“Okay…” she exhaled forcefully. “This is as good as it’s going to get.” She flops her hands to her hips and decides maybe a cardigan would be an acceptable addition to the outfit. She could cover up a bit, but it wouldn’t look like she was trying to hide. Yeah. That’d work. She found comfort in the extra layer, adjusting it over her cleavage as she exited her bedroom.

Alfie stood relaxed and confident as always. He looked up to her, hazy blue eyes under a heavy brow of ginger tinged hair. He blinks slowly and watches her unsure movements. He could very literally see the dark haze of uncertainty around her but only a blind man couldn’t see how shy she felt.

“Why’ve ya got a sweater on? It’s blazin' out.” Alfie asks with a furrowed brow as he sees her usually sunny disposition missing.

“If you think it’s hot now I have some bad news about the summers in the south.” she answers back, a clear deflection.

“I know it’s hot enough to melt ya bollocks to your leg down ‘ere but that’s not what I asked now was it?”

Her face falls into a defensive expression. “It’s part of the outfit.” she says and averts her eyes from his.

“Mae. Now, what would be the point in lying to me? When I don’t even have to get into that noggin of yours to read it.”

“None I guess.”

“So why are ya?”

“Because I don’t wanna get into it,” she states with an attitude-filled head shake. “I’m just trying to...get through this night out you wanted to do.”

“Nope.” he says with a clap of his hands and moves her over to the couch. He squats in front of her and stares her down. “We don’t lie to each other Mae. Not only is it pointless it serves no purpose for growth. And that’s why we’re together. So I’ll ask again.”

“Just read my mind if you wanna know so bad. Since you can just poof everything into existence without trying.” she snaps back.

“You’re acting like a teenager, Mae. You’re a grown woman.”

She glares at him because he’s right. “I’m wearing it because I want to hide. Is that what you want to hear?” she blurts out.

“The truth yes but I never want you to feel poorly.” he pats her knee. “Why?”

She huffs out, feeling her face be red with embarrassment and hurt and anger. “Because I don’t… I’ve never worn this and it’s tight and I’m not… I don’t wear things like this because it’s something hot girls wear and I’m not that.”

“No, you are not.”

His eyes blink and go wide at his response.

“You are a beautiful woman. Not some slaggy young thing. You are of substance. Of...principal and power.” He sees the tears prickle up in her eyes from her rush of emotions. “You also look lovely in that dress. Red suits you. It’s a shame a woman like you would lack confidence when you owe the world nothing. You gracing these mortals with your visage is a gift they do not deserve.”

“You’re just being full of shit now Alfie.” she groans.

“No. No Mae darling I am not. I said no lies did I not? I stand by that.” he raises her chin with his calloused index finger. “I understand that your big big soul is feeling lots of things in this little human body of yours. I know you’ve been hiding it from me and I commend you for trying to handle it all on your own. But the purpose of us existing my love is to NOT have to deal with these burdens alone. Now tell Alfie what is wrong so he may mend it.” he leans in to kiss her forehead and hug her. It was too much for her little heart to handle. “Let it out little one.” he shushes as she sniffles and pretends she doesn’t want to sob and wail.

“I just feel so… boring. So not confident and I don’t like what I see when I look in the mirror. Nothing is where I want it. I don’t look how I should. I don’t-” she hiccups and he wipes away her tears.

“Says who? Who told you you had to look any certain way? Some old rich white man behind a desk who doesn’t give a shit about you and only wants your sorrow to make more money off of things you don’t need based on self-hate? Who do these negative emotions serve eh? Not you. And you are all you have to be concerned with. You are as you are. As you are is how you should be. There is no “supposed to” in reality, Mae love. There is only a culture that hates women. And you are so very fuckin' far above their standards and expectations I cannot even begin to tell you. You are otherworldly. A soul full of sunshine and vulnerability. Things most humans hide from. You are growing and with that comes those damned waves of emotions. This is why we do the shadow work, yeah? We accept all parts of us, and release what no longer serves us? I’m not just talkin’ out me arse love. I promise.”

“You...really?” she sniffles.

“Not to force any standards of beauty upon you my darling little sunspot but you are the most beautiful soul I have ever encountered and will ever encounter. To me you are perfection and I hope one day to make you see that as well.”

She begins to cry again and he takes her back into his arms. “You’re so nice to me-ee-e.” she stutters.

“Only honest pet. You created life with your thoughts today Mae bug!” he squeezes her upper arms. “You are so powerful. And you’ve barely scratched the surface. Now let's dry those tears, right? Let’s take off this shroud of negativity you call a jumper.” he chuckles and takes it off her and then pats her cheeks with it.

“It’s a sweater you cockney bastard.” she lets out a giggle that he answers with an amused snort.

“There she is.” he bops her on the nose. “A smart mouth and cheeky disposition was something I always did favor in a woman.” he muses and helps her up from the couch. “And you are a clever little thing. Far too smart to feel so low about yourself.”

“Thank you.” she says quietly.

“Now chin up pumpkin. We are going to go out and have a wonderful time, yeah? Celebrate your progress and the simple fact it is a beautiful evening and we just so happen to exist at the same time. That’s enough cause for a drink and a good meal.”

“You’re… very good with words.” she says as he fusses with her curls and wipes away any running mascara from her eyes.

“Thank you. Ol’ cockney bastard like me has to have something going for him, eh?” he grins.

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

Mae sat back and enjoyed the breeze in Alfie's antique car that resembled more of a boat to her. It was long, a bit excessive but it did suit him. Something quirky for a man that looked like some sort of mystical cult leader in dress and charm. He could feel the calm around them now. The late evening air humid but the breeze made it tolerable. With her head laid back in a nest of curls and her eyes closed the golden light of the sunset highlighted the round highs of her face. A round heart-shaped face with doll eyes and high cheek bones and a button nose sat in the middle of all the delicate softness. He smiles softly, glancing over and seeing her take in the day's last touch of sunlight as it sets.

“You seem to be doing better.” he speaks softly and pats her knee to break her from her half-hearted moment of meditation.

“I am.” She answers softly.

“You seem like the type to enjoy solitude and silence more than the company of others.”

“Yeah. When I was young I wanted to have ‘my’ people so bad. My own little group. But then I got used to being alone. Now I prefer it.”

“When other's lower vibrations drain your energy it’s hard to want to be around that. We can work on shielding. But tonight is about a good time. What is a good time for you Mae? What is that moment you just sit and relish in and appreciate?”

She tilts her head in thought. Blinking slowly she tries to find her happy place. “In the morning on Sundays. I’ve slept well and have the day off. I’ve got my favorite mug and I’m in my little spot in the sunroom. It’s raining and Percy is asleep on the bench. My music is playing in the kitchen. Outside is quiet and all you hear is the rain. You can forget you live around people on those mornings. Everything foggy and dewy and the sheets of rain run off the glass ceiling.” She lets out a content exhale. “That’s my favorite time.”

“Lovely innit. Life’s simple pleasures.” He mused and scratches his chin. “I believe I can work with that.” He nods. “I know a little hidden beer garden I believe you might enjoy. We'll go there.”

“A beer garden?”

“Yeah.” He says obviously and confused by the questioning inflection in her voice.

“What’s that?”

He turns and blinks rapidly at her for a moment before looking to the road. “You dont-?” His brows furrowed in question. “You don’t know what a beer garden is?”

“Would I be askin' if I did?”

He lets out a small snort of amusement. “‘Spose not. A pub-a bar outdoors. This one's in the old part of the city.”

“I don’t go there much because of the tourists.”

“No tourists where we’re going. Not exactly Bourbon street.”

“So an outside bar? Do they call those beer gardens? Weird.”

“Well, I think you not having tea in every restaurant is weird.”

“We got sweet tea.” She grins.

“We are not having this argument again Mae. That abomination is NOT tea. It’s sugar water in a cowboy hat.”

She lets out a giggle that warms him, recalling an almost argument on sweet tea and good British char one night before bed. Mae didn’t see what the big deal was. But she was promptly informed by Alfie it’s because she was a bloody yank so she never would.

————————-

The place he took her was off the beaten path. A small old white building with a courtyard in the middle with small iron tables and canopies. It was quiet and rustic and full of plants along the walls and in decorative planters. It felt green and wet and lush and alive and she felt oddly at home. A gentlemanly pulling out of her chair before he sat, his crystal pendants glinted in the sun around his neck. They lay at the edge of his vest, a dark and worn fabric over his usual worn in white button ups.

“Order whatever you like darlin' this is a treat for you.”

“I’m gonna order sweet tea.”

“Cheeky bugger.” he smirks and keeps his eyes on the menu.

“I’m not sure.” She says quietly.

“When I say order what you like I do mean you could order the whole fuckin' thing.”

She blinks and thinks a moment. “What if I actually did?” Her big curious eyes have a smile to them as she looks his way.

“I wouldn’t have to worry bout cookin' dinner for a tick then would I?” He answers with a playful nod her way. “I think I’ll go with seafood.” He says after a long pause. “No point in wastin' bein so close to the water eh? Perhaps calamari to start. Fried, of course, because you lot can’t just leave things be.”

“Never had that.”

“Hmmph. Guess you will be tonight.” He affirms with a nod.

“We could get the variety appetizer. I haven’t tried escargot either.”

“A day of firsts calls for a night of the same.” He declares confidently to her. “We are here for you Mae. Indulge.”

———————————

They sit among multiple plates and drinks, the frosted glass of the table growing cool as the sun sets and the garden lights and music turned on. A little candle was lit on the table for “ambiance” the waitress said with a wink. Mae tried to hide a blush but ALfie felt the ruffle of energy come from her and hid an amused smirk.

“Can I have some of your-?”

“Yes, of course, scoot ya bum over here.” Alfie chuckles and pulls her chair next to him. With their arms pushed together she lets out a small but audible content sigh. She continues to pick at his appetizers and he at hers. A vibrating calm between them as they touch.

“Nice innit?”

“It’s really good.” Her answer is muffled by the food in her mouth.

“The food is yes but not what I meant.”

“Wat.” She says with stuffed cheeks and wide questioning eyes.

“This.” He holds his hand out palm up on the table.

She looks at it and blinks.

In his head, he hears. “What the fuck?” And he laughs.

“Put your hand over mine Mae bug.” He chuckles as he holds her hand a few inches above his own. She holds in and swallows, she gives a small shiver in response. He touches his fingertips to hers.

“It tickles.” She giggles and slaps his hand.

“Not into tickling?”

She shrugs. “Not really? Not really had it done before.”

“How’s bout this?” He asks with a nod of his head, lacing their fingers together and resting

“Mmm.” She hums and smiles at him. “That you or the alcohol?”

“Can’t take credit completely. Can’t feel it myself without you.” He says it matter of factly but he feels the sentimental response like warm honey through his veins.

She studies his face a moment and then their hands, taking her time and connecting and disconnecting, tips then palms, moving to put as much skin to skin as she can. With their arms and shoulders pushed against one another, she speaks softly in realization, “It's when we touch.”

He makes a grunt of agreement. “What’s it feel like for you?” His curiosity gets the better of him.

“It’s...good.” She says after a pause.

“You can be more descriptive than that.” He scolds playfully.

“Than what’s it like for you?” She sass's back and takes a drink with her free hand.

“There was a place...long long ago I lived alone. Which is what I preferred. I got away from my old life, a pipe dream to be sure. But it was the happiest I had been before...this life. Feels like that relief. But without the loneliness.” He looks at her and she once again has tears in her eyes. “Oh come now love do your eyes ever dry?” He laughs and dabs at her cheeks.

“That’s better than I could ever put it.” She says and smiles. A sniffle and she squeezes back. “It’s our souls right? They missed each other this much? It’s like I feel warm down into my bones.”

“We missed you more than even my silver tongue can express.”

She lets out a heavy sigh. “I must’ve missed you too. Because this feels…” she smiles sweetly and puts her head on his shoulder, only feeling more contentment. “Feels right.”

“Like morning sunshine. Warm and dare, I admit,  happy.”

“Probably Like a good hug or like when Ruth makes me a pie when I’m sad.”

“I do suppose that would be rather good.”

“The best.” She smiles as she rests her cheek on him. “Man… people are missing out. This is like drugs.” She softly laughs.

“Why did you say it's probably like a good hug? Odd way to put it.”

“Well… people say hugs from people you love or miss are the best.” She pauses. “But I don’t know that I’ve ever had one of those.” She admits.

“I admit I don’t know how you aren’t beloved by everyone. A sunspot like yourself should know of everything good and pleasurable in life. You deserve only the best Mae. And if I can help it I’ll help you feel the love you’ve deserved. Show you how to open up. You are a white witch after all, you radiate love.”

“Guess it’s all going out and not stayin' in” she mumbles and gives him a half-smile. It was a rather good observation.

“So many things you haven’t done yet” Alfie muses as he feels her inexperience in her thoughts.

“I can… feel you up in there.” She pulls away and shakes her head, curls bouncing. She shivers. “That’s so strange I can… feel you in there now.”

“You’re learning how to.”

“It kinda… feels like you’re scratching an itch in my brain.”

“Because I mean no harm, only help.”

“Does it hurt if a bad person is trying to get in my head?”

“For a sensitive little bean like yourself, I would assume so. It’s all about intention. As I’ve said. I see loneliness and fear of missing out and I want to alleviate it. So with good intention brings good feeling.”

“What are you seeing?”

“I don’t want to upset you, darling.”

“It’s my head it won’t upset me.” she snorts.

“I see you alone at a school dance. On the bleachers. Watching everyone else dance together.”

“Yeah. That is a bit upsetting.” She shrugs. “But a long time ago.”

“It was...the first time you felt a real romantic rejection and alienation.” He squints his eyes as he saw a small underdeveloped Mae in an out of style hand me down dress hiding tears as a boy she thought might’ve liked her looked at her and laughed with his date that was the opposite of what she looked like.

“Yeah… it got easier after that.”

“Shutting out everyone else isn’t easier Mae it’s self-sabotage.”

“Well.” She says thoughtfully. “It made it hurt less.”

He looks down at her with understanding. She was so full of life and emotion and she was robbing herself from fear and it made him sad for a moment to see her potential being stunted due to the hateful actions of others. “I’m here to show you how to master your emotions to unlock your potential, love.”

“That sounds...exhausting.” She looks down at his hand and rubs its embrace with her thumb.

“Nah. We can start small.” He insists with a look around. “Let’s start by checkin' something off your list.” He implores as he begins to rise.

“Like what?”

“I’m going to give you that dance.” He states obviously

“I don’t...I’m not a dancer.”

“Neither am I?” He laughs. “It’s about the experience. With it grows your confidence. It’s simple, I’ll show you.”

“I know HOW I just…” she glances around. “I don’t wanna in front of people.” She whispers

“I can fix that. Make it so no one notices us.”

“You can do that?”

“I can do most things you could ever imagine.” She looks around the small courtyard and weighs her options. He stood with a steady hand outreached .”I could even SHOUT ABOUT HOW ICED TEA IS SHIT...and no one can hear.” He grins.

Her eyes go wide but see's no one even glances their way as she rises to her feet. “Are we invisible?”

“No, just an illusion of the mind.”

“Can I be invisible?” She asks as he pulls her to the open center of the patio space.

“I can show you how to be very elusive. Although I don’t know why you would want to be.”

“Because I’m shy. Crippled with anxiety. Full of trauma. Where do you want to start?” She answers honestly but with a chuckle.

“We’ll start with this.” He pulls her close and minds his hands to keep it PG. She was skittish enough without adding physical affection to the mix.

She slowly gives in to his affectionate embrace. A simple back and forth and distanced as she’d wanted in her memory. He can feel the remnants of hurt the memory left around her, her yellow energy turning blue. “I know it means nothing when a man says these sorts of things, and only time will prove it to be true but you don’t have to worry about me rejecting your true self Mae. You do know that?” She looks up at him, knowing she must’ve been very bad at hiding her fear. “As cliche as it is we were made for each other and I have no intentions of abandoning this partnership.” He pauses and she lets out a heavy sigh. “I know love it seems like everyone has left you that’s said that. But I won’t yeah?” He gives her cheek a gentle playful stroke.

“Thank you. For trying to help me.” She says softly, feeling a warmth that wasn’t from the summer evenings still wet heat. “For being nice while I’m… still all...fucky.” She grins and lets out a soft laugh. “I know I’m grown but I feel like such a child sometimes. I’m kinda glad you can read my mind because with feel like I don’t even know what’s going on in there sometimes.”

“You’re going through a...magical puberty Mae and you’re doing wonderfully. I only celebrate things worth it and today-and your work was. Excess innit? Folks like us aren’t meant to be about it. It’ll go to our heads.”

“Good thing I don’t have to worry about that.”

“Your powers are just beginning and you’ll grow as they do. You’ll come to understand yourself and the things you’ve been through as lessons. You have so much power within you little one you’ll be astounded one day looking back at your life before. We have so much to gain, and it’s worth these emotional outbursts your human self insists on having.”

“You make everything sound so fancy and purposeful.”

“It’s just the age and accent dear.” he grins.

“You’re very wise.” She insists with big soft eyes. “I’m glad you’re my person. I need someone to keep things straight like you do.” She leans in and hugs him but doesn’t pull away.

He smiles down at her, a flutter in his stomach for this small gentle creature being accepting of him despite the dark monstrosity he had fancied himself for so long. “You’re too kind Mae.” He places a kiss on her bouncy head of curls and settles into a comfortable embrace.

She sighs and surprisingly to him cozies up to his chest. “I like these Feel Good drugs” she grins as he holds his hand to her bareback with her head on his chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Course. Always will be.” they both feel it warm and encompassing them both. A moment of being on the same page and the barriers between them thin.

———

They stuffed themselves on seafood and local beef and ease was between them now that hadn’t existed before. A bit of honesty went a long way with Mae. Her nature was very trusting in general and optimistic, so Alfie's reassurance left her feeling much more relaxed than she had in a long while. Alford was practiced at restraint as Mae was not. So he could not only feel but see in her eyes as they parted for the night to go to their rooms that she didn’t want to separate. He found it very endearing of her to want him around. He would as always have her make her own choices in her own time. Make her ask for the things she wanted. So instead of making the giant step of sleeping in the same bed, platonically, mind you, he simply whispered a soft intention as she snuggled into her own bed and yearning for that comfort he gave her now.

“Sleep well little one and may the morning find you as sunny as it.”

She hears him in her head and sighs, a happy one this time.

“Goodnight Alfie.” She murmurs, trying to send the thought his way and not knowing if she succeeded. But she had.

@jaegeeeeer​  @brianaisasongbird​ @hardygal69​ @emerald-bijou​ @captstefanbrandt​ @coolgh0st​ @tinastarkandco​ @xstylishmileage​   ​ @peakys-mystic @likedovesinthewnd​

#alfie solomons au #alfie solomons fan fiction #alfie solomons #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons fanfic

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH 13

Waking up late was so not the plan for today.

What was supposed to be a nice lovely day is slowly turning into your personal hell. Racing around the kitchen trying to keep an eye on your potatoes as you cut up the other veggies for the pie. So you can shove it into the oven then get ready.

Christ why hadn't you thought to prep your ingredients earlier?

Thankfully the cobbler was super simple tossing the sugar and flour into the bowl followed by the a cup of lemonade. Perfect cobbler base. After the batter was creamy you threw in the freshly washed blackberries. They bled a deep red into the batter around them. You had high hopes as you topped it with butter and threw it into the oven.

Both dishes had very quick bake times so you weren't too worried or stressed about them taking forever. In all honesty the only reason you were frantically running around your kitchen was prepping the inside of the forager's pie. And giving the mashed potatoes an essence of rosemary and garlic as if you were a chef on par with Gordon Ramsey.

Should you do dishes?

No, there's no time to worry about that.

Soon the cobbler is out of the oven and you have replaced it with the two pans of forager's pie. You don't give the cobbler any time to cool as you place the aluminum lid to the pan so the heat stays.

With that taken care of you speed off to your room and grab your outfit. The mini pencil skirt you'd purchased yesterday paired with some shorts so you didn't have to be careful with your movements all day. A plain block colored shirt in a cute primary palette. Finishing with yellow converses.

Changing doesn't take long but you do take some extra time on your hair choosing to style it a bit different today. As you're debating on if you should put the time into a fun makeup look your neck snaps harshly to the right.

There is no crack but it did hurt like hell.

As if that had been a sign from God you opt for your normal look. There will be other events and times for you to do fun looks, but not today.

The oven beeps as the timer goes off letting you know the pies are ready. Just a sprinkle of cheese on top before you cover them with the lid and you are all set to go.

Checking the time you see it's nine-o-two, and while the picnic was scheduled for ten thirty you are a committee member and should be there early to help set up. So without anymore hesitation you are flying out of the house and into your car.

You rush back from placing the food in the backseat to make sure your door is locked.

It is and you are free to enjoy the day...you hope.

Speeding would be the biggest understatement of the year. You were practically at the lodge in fifteen minutes and bustling up to the door. Opening it you rush in ignoring anyone you pass by in your mad dash to the kitchen.

“Hello to you too.” Barclays voice carries from the stove as you whisk past him to place two of your pans on the counter.

“Hi, Tim?” you say out of breath from your one person marathon. Practically vibrating in place unwilling to loose your momentum despite your need for a second wind.

Barclay just points to the den and you're out of the kitchen just as fast as you had entered. Most patrons in the den don't spare you a second glance used to your whirlwind mannerisms when your trying to follow a deadline. As self appointed as it may be.

There is one trio however giving you a mix of concerned and amused looks. Which quickly turn into concerned and interest when you make a bee line straight for them.

“Hi,” you say to Toby and Brian before looking at Tim and pushing the cobbler at him, “Thanks again  for last night.”

Tim can't even get a word out because as soon as he grabs the pan you're already back off to the kitchen. Determined to help Barclay with something before everyone starts moving to the Archway. You hear the chorus of chuckles coming from everyone as you leave a confused Tim, who now has to answer to the questioning glances of his friends, in your wake.

Barclay needed no help as you guessed but he was however open to you covering the food and stacking certain items together before helping to load everything into crates for easier transport. It wasn't long before the others start to make their way into the kitchen to get briefed on the plan.

You notice the trio being motioned in by Jake who holds the door open for them to make their way in too. Brian politely takes the door from Jake as Tim steps in place in front of him and Toby. The jerky movements of Toby's eyes as he scans the room is really hard to ignore. But it doesn't seem like he's looking for anything just taking note of who is in the kitchen and where they are.

“Ok, first thank you all for helping set up the picnic today. I really appreciate it.” Barclay's baritone voice says jostling you out of your thoughts to focus in on him.

“Second, we really don't have much to do for set up since most guests already have their baskets with them. We do have a few spares to lay down though. We'll be splitting off into three teams.” Barclay then points at you, Hollis, Jake, and Kirby.

“Team A is in charge of setting up the spare baskets.”

After getting your group's approval he continues down the line.

Team B consists of Brian, Tim, Toby, and Indrid. Their group is to bring out and set the tables that'll hold the food. Team C is Barclay, Aubrey, Dani, and Madeline. Team C will bring the main courses along with the heaters to keep everything warm.

With teams set and in place you all take to your positions and get a move on before the public arrives. You vaguely wonder why the Hornets aren't here yet but remember most had decorated and cleared out the Archway over the past couple of days. Pushing the thoughts away you grab two baskets and follow after your team. Thankfully there were only a few left over baskets, eight if you include Jake and Hollis' and then your own. Each member of your team carried two baskets through the thicket of trees until you reached the clearing of the archway.

It looked amazing, you'd only been out here one other time back when Bambi was still around. She took you out at night and the two of you just talked about anything and everything, including theories about the giant archway that towered over the clearing and just how it may have come to be.  Back then it had been a field of long grass and purple wildflowers. The grass was so thick the two of you used sticks to move it and insure there'd be no snakes harmed in your late night hike. Now though the grass had been cut save for aesthetically calculated patches of wildflowers and clovers here and there. The field was absolutely perfect for the event, and with the gorgeous blue skies partially clouded the scenery really seemed to pop out.

Especially the small lake glittering just past the archway. You'd never noticed it before but then again you came here in the dead of night.

Getting back to work you set out on placing the spare baskets a reasonable distance from the others. Close enough  to other blankets to feel included but far enough away to have their own space if that was their thing. When you had finished you take your own basket and join Hollis and Jake who finished placing their four baskets down faster with two people. They'd been setting up their own blanket on the outer rim of the perimeter, closer to the treeline than to the Archway. As if they were going to overlook the even and keep an eye out. Which they probably would be, just to ensure that everyone had fun and stayed safe.

Seeing you standing just a few feet away from the blanket Jake gives you his patented superstar smile.

“C'mon, join the party YN.”

With the easy going invitation you fix your blanket beside theirs. This way at one point or another you'd see a majority of your friends today as you knew for a fact they'd come over or be dragged over into seeing the couple beside you.

Kirby joins you three after lazily placing his baskets side by side closer to the archway. With the hustle and fuss of your prep work being done you can take a moment to take everything in.

“I love the shirt.” you say looking at Kirby's 'I'm not Allo but 20$ is 20$' shirt.

He gives a grin before presenting a folded up shirt out of his messenger bag.

“Thought you might...don't wear it now though. Don't want you copying my style, that'd be sad.” he jokes.

“Pfft, please everyone would know it's you who copied me.”

Jake and Hollis watch as the two of you continue your playful banter. Occasionally voicing whose side they were on, Hollis took Kirby's while Jake took yours. It was a fun way to pass the time as the other groups finished setting up.

Especially since you had Mr. Cool Guy himself on your side. How could you possibly not be the trend setter sibling with his vote.

Before long the other groups were also setting up their own baskets, which had been brought out by Barclay and Indrid a few hours earlier. And some Hornets started showing up not too long after that. Either rushing around trying to set up their baskets or sit down with friends after placing their food away. Though the event hadn't really started yet you could hear Aubrey starting up her music a few blankets away. She'd already gathered a small crowd that was chittering away.

Taking it all in you notice a certain trio looking incredibly awkward and out of place. You get up and make your way over to the men ready to invite them to sit with you. After all it's an eight person blanket it'd be a shame to sit all by yourself next to another full blanket.

Toby's dark eyes lock on to you first, you really suspect this boy has ADHD with his quick reflexes and spacial hyper awareness. He actually seems to deflate a bit, like the tension in his shoulders started to disappear the closer you got. You apparently weren't the only one to notice the subtle change in the brunette as Tim focused in on Toby. Meanwhile Brian clocked you just before you were within ten feet of their little group.

“Hey I have an empty blanket if you guys wanted to join.”

Just getting straight to the point was your thing. Most see your bluntness as rudeness but you just don't see a point in dancing around your message.

“Yea, that'd be nice.” Toby spoke before the other two could.

Smiling at him you hold a hand out for him to grab. You aren't really sure what possessed you to do that, but figure you must be in a rare tactile mood. Unlike when you're touched if you initiate the contact it doesn't hurt or squick you out. He grabs your hand and you can feel the scratch of his callouses. You remember Hollis said something about him being a mechanic, that would explain the tough hands.

You lead the trio over to your blanket where only Kirby sits, seems like didn't bring his basket and was going to share with you. Not that you mind at all, in fact this was the perfect time to introduce one friend to another.

“Kirby time to make a good impression.” you call out gaining his attention.

He takes a moment before taking note of the group you're guiding over. Kirby stands up to greet you all.

“Kirby this is my friend Tobias, and his roommates Tim and Brian.” you motion to the other two with your unoccupied hand.

Noticing for the first time that they have their hands interlocked. Not holding like you and Toby are but a more intimate hand hold.

'These bitches gay...good for them. Good for them.' is just playing on repeat as background noise in your head. Ignoring the loop in your brain you continue the introduction.

“This is Kirby, my brother or whatever.” Kirby snorts at your short introduction.

“I'll take it, 's a step up from gremlin.” he turns to the trio hand extended, “Nice to meet you guys.”

After the weird neurotypical ritual is over the five of you sit down and talk while you wait for the festivities to begin. Tim and Kirby dragging Brian along for the deep dive of god awful horror movies.

“You didn't mention a brother.” Toby says fiddling with your hand, someone really needs to get this guy a fidget toy.

“Huh? Oh no. No, not like that Kirby's more like a brother than my biological brother.” you pause while thinking how to explain this more articulately.

“We're just really similar and people thought we were dating, I guess, before we started calling each other 'sibling'.” it's really weird that that was even an issue. At least to you but Allos tend to be weird about mixed gender relationships.

For instance Brian and Tim can get written off as the best of best friends. But you and Kirby decide to sit next to each other for one Saturday Night Dead and the town is already waiting for wedding invites. Maybe this is a small town thing...you'll still blame the Allos.

Toby nods along, whether he actually understands or is trying to move from the topic you can't quite tell. You look down at his hand that's bending your fingers into your palm. His nail beds look better than last week you hope it means he wasn't picking at his skin. It's really not a great coping mechanism.

You let out a small sigh as you get lost in the feeling of Toby playing with your fingers. You're trying to think of something to talk about but the motions are kind of drowning out your thoughts. You can see why this might've been helpful the for Toby last week in the forest.

“...We're friends?” you aren't really sure if that was a question or a statement.

“Yea! Well at least I'd like to be. It's fine if you don't want to though.”

Toby gives a small smile to that, and releases your hand. It seems his anxiety has gone away for the most part. Maybe having the reassurance of another friend is all he needed. Just a little more moral support to get him out of his shell.

You smile back at him as he leans back on his hands. It's nice that you both can enjoy the day without your masks, even if you do feel a bit naked without yours. You wonder how Toby's been holding up wearing only the bandage over his scar. But you know you probably aren't at the friendship level needed to question him about it. No matter how nonchalant he'd been about eating in front of you that first day.

“How're the repairs coming?”

Toby rolls his eyes and lets out a frustrated groan, and for a moment you're concerned you upset him.

“It's a fah-fah-cuck...king rust bucket. Like Jesus fucking Christ first the AC blows out so I check the compressor...” he pauses and squints his eyes at you, “do you know cars?”

“Dad's a mechanic so I know enough. But you're talking about an RV unit and not a regular cabin AC might get a little lost but I can at least lend an ear. Like a rubber duck.”

The right side of Toby's mouth pulls a confused sneer, but his attention is soon turned to Brian who's chuckling having heard what you said.

“'s a coding thing Toby.”

“Uh...okay?” Toby just resigns himself to not understanding this particular topic and continues on.

“Yea so sorta the same basis, I guess. The units still pull air from outside into the vents and use a refrigerant liquid to cool the air it pushes out.” he pauses to make sure you're still following.

After you nod he continues to explain how it runs so the fans and circuits seem to be in order. There isn't a leak in the coils and the liquid's been replenished but it still isn't running cold. You nod while giving him a patient smile as you let him tear through his rant about the “piece of shit unit” because it seems this has been building in him for the past few days.  When he comes to the end of his rant the only thing you can really think to say is.

“That sounds rough.”

Not the most eloquent thing but Toby seems to come down from his vent high, after a few deep breaths.

“Yea it mrrow was. Well is.” he cuts his eyes back to the trio across from you noticing how they all seem invested in their own conversation now.

“Why'd you give Tim a cobbler?” looks like you two will be playing twenty questions today.

“He scared off the creep for me last night.” you shrug causing your neck to jerk to the side.

“'the' creep? Wait! The one that drugged you?” Toby is so lucky he can't feel pain because even you felt that crack that ripped through his neck as he whipped his head towards you.

And honestly you're kinda surprised it didn't draw anyone's attention to you two.

“First I don't think I was drugged, he might've just sent me into a panic attack.”

“Oh sorry the creep that sent you into a panic attack.” you really hate when people interrupt you like that he's really lucky you understand he's actually just paying attention to you rather than talking over you. You'd punch him if it wasn't the case. Punch him right in his cute snarky face.

“Bitch.” You do punch him, in his arm, he lets out a monotone 'ow'. You decide against punching him again for that, it was a hard choice though.

“Anyway, second yea same one. I just really don't like the guy and last night he'd been bothering Ronnie when I stopped by the gas station. She'd apparently forgotten Tim had gone on break and when I tried bluffing that he was there well...”

You took some time to explain the situation last night to Toby. Leaving out the parts where Not Tim showed up. After thinking on that you figure there was a possibility of Tim having an alter that he may or may not know about. And you aren't sure what the etiquette is for this sort of thing, like if Tim did know were you suppose to let him tell you or should you let him know you'd technically met his alter. Judging from Toby's face, the guy really wears his heart on his sleeve, he seems confused about something.

Maybe Tim  didn't remember last night and Toby was asking for him. That does put a bit more weight on your alter theory. And it seems to have more traction as something seems to click in Toby's head. He doesn't share whatever is making him nod. So you leave it be.

Before you know it an hour has past the field nearly full of town residents and Barclay, with his mighty megaphone, start calling people over for food so you all grab a plate from the basket.

“I want purple.” Kirby tells you.

“I could literally hand you any of these and you'd tell me 'thanks'.”

“That's pretty fucking ablest YN.”

You pause and look at the other three on the blanket.

“Is being colorblind a disability?”

A “Yes” from Brian followed by Tim and Toby's deadpan expressions and “No”s.

“Three against two, not ablest just honest...this is purple.” you had half a mind to hand him indigo.

Your group goes and gets food, debating the legitimacy of colorblindness being a disability, before heading back to your blanket. No sooner had you sat down are you body slammed into the ground. The familiar weight of an overexcited eleven year old smothering you.

“Hi can I sit with you?” before you can reply the rest of the Cowell family finds their way over.

“Josephine Cowell, I'm so sorry YN she's just been so excited all weekend. Josephine get off of YN you know they aren't very tactile.” Dia called.

Unlike her husband's hulking form Dia was a petite frail woman, you honestly wouldn't be surprised if Jo towered over her mother in a few years. And though she was small she had a fierceness to her that normally kept both the Jos in line.

“It's not a problem Dia. Jo I think you should eat with your parents first, we have all day to hang out.” Her eyes seem to sparkle with excitement and you can see her mother's apologetic expression just past her.

Understandably Dia is concerned with Jo taking up your personal time. The young girl sees you as an older sibling and wants to spend any second she can with you, but you aren't family. You're a young adult who has their own life to live. The last thing you need is to be babysitting the tween while you tried to relax with your friends today. Dia would do her best to have Jo give you some space.

“Hey you guys can just drop your blanket over here, we don't mind.” Janette, local mean lesbian, calls from Hollis and Jake's blanket.

Jo looks ecstatic at the thought and rushes to her father to pull him over to the area so they can place the blanket down. Booping her nose occasionally in her excitement.

“Hey Dia, Marnie's coming in an hour or so, soccer game got rescheduled. Jo will have someone her age to bug.”

“Marnie's coming?” leave it to a tween to finish setting up and get a plate of food all in under five minutes.

She's not even trying to be on her family's blanket as she plops down next to you. Taking notice of you staring she gives a wide grin practically buzzing with excitement. A bit too much excitement as she starts rapidly blinking, triggering your own as well. At least you have practice eating like this, unlike Jo who only just developed this tic.

After your tics subside Jo eats with you and just goes on into her usual tween drama stories. She's got to keep you up to date after all. It's like a soap opera just less adult topics and no evil clones. Kirby and Nate catch up and somehow rope Tim and Brian into their conversation as well. Toby just sits quietly eating and giving you amused looks every time you lock eyes.

You can't help but feel you're forgetting to do something every time you lock eyes with the brunette. The issue seems to resolve itself when a 'mrrow' slips from Toby as he takes a drink, causing him to cough from swallowing wrong.

An unconscious effort on your part, you lean and rub small circles into his back. Trying to calm his coughs. A mistake as the tween in front of you zeros in on the man as if she's just noticed he existed.

“Hi! Who are you?” if her eyes could turn into stars they would.

“uh...” Toby looks to you for help, as if the child talking to him was an alien species. “Toby...” he says uncertainly after receiving no input from you.

“Toby....”

“Rogers?”

“Are you YN's boyfriend?” Toby wishes he had an excuse to cough now.

His face flushes at the question and before he can sputter out any tongue tied response another 'mrrow' rips through him and his head harshly tilts back. Jo's eyes widen at the tic, she excitedly looks between the two of you. And you aren't sure what's going through her mind at the moment.

“OMG Do you have tourette's? Does he have tourette's or is he like you?” she's practically vibrating as she bounces between questioning both of you.

“umm...touretter's?” you say in Toby's place as the man beside you can't function a sentence right now.

Jo literally squeaks in excitement at the new development.

“I'm Jo Cowell, YN's self appointed sibling. I have tourette's too, I've had it since I was five. How long have you had tourette's?”

It felt like Jo's never ending barrage of questions was just that never ending. Toby took everything in stride, aside from the awkward dating questions. And for how worried she was about her daughter bugging you today every time you tried to catch Dia's eye she was somehow wrapped up in another conversation or her husband. Your saving grace came in a four foot two package wearing a dirty soccer uniform and sporting a fresh black eye followed closely by her frazzled step mother.

“Yikes, ball to the face or fight with the other team?” Janette asked her daughter as she walked towards the blankets.

“Fell off the bleachers.” fucking how? “Jo want to run some drills with me?” Marnie asked with a grin missing her front tooth, and before you know it your blanket was down an occupant and Toby was free of the never ending hell he'd been placed in.

“Do...do you want to take a walk? Get away for a minute.” you asked looking at the positively ruffled man next to you.

He nods numbly and follows after you into the tree line. You both just walk for a bit until Toby's complexion looses any rosiness. When he's back to his normal greyish cool tones you stop to rest. Leaning against a tree Toby follows your lead but slides down the base resting his arms on his knees as his head hits the tree behind him.

“Sorry about her, Jo can be excitable.” you'd remembered as soon as her tirade began that you should have warned him she'd lock on to his tics.

That was a near replica of your first encounter with the tween. Too late to change that now.

“I didn't mind,” he gives a boxy grin up at you “'s just how siblings are.”

There's a fond tone in his voice as he says that. And the gleam in his eyes tell a story of experience with that sort of thing.

“You've got siblings?”

“Yea, an older sister.” he sighs and looks down and the grin falls into a neutral look.

There's a story there, but you aren't one to pry. If he wants to indulge you or even himself he will in his own time. However, a joke should be able to disturb the tension that threatens to darken your moment.

“Oh I bet you were an absolute menace to her.” giving a good natured chuckle, one Toby returns as the fond look in his eyes came back.

“For your information I was a delight as a child.”

“Pfft yea I bet. And just how many times did you break an arm falling out of a tree?”

Toby looks stunned for a moment. Was that something weird to say? You remember the summer nearly everyone in your grade broke their arms falling out of a tree. Hell you would've too if you hadn't landed in a bush, all you got were some gnarly bruises and a few thorns stuck in you. Then you swore a vow to only climb thick limbed trees.

“Like twice...but..how did, how did you know?”

“It wasn't a universal thing? I just figured since we were both from Virginia like your class would've also had like sixteen kids break their arm or something over the summer.”

“Well I was home schooled so I wouldn't know.”

“Wait, like home schooled home schooled, or church home schooled. There's a difference.” giving you a sneer he just shrugs.

“Fucking home schooled home schooled. Don't see how that makes a difference.”  he pops his knuckles. Jerkiness of the motion indicating his tic rather than his choice.

“One you're supposedly taught science and the other you're told Jesus loves you.” you deadpan as you slide down the tree mirroring Toby's position.

“I had two friends, they were twins, who were church home schooled until high school. Nice girls but only so many times I can pretend to know what the hell a veggie tale is.”

Toby snorts and shakes his head. This is probably all you'll get from him about his early life. But he's not dancing around the questions as much as he was a few weeks ago. The quiet is nice and you could honestly just spend the rest of the day in the forest. A cool breeze blows through the trees and you catch the smells from the picnic. For some reason it seems to make you queezy, you'll probably stay here a while longer. You might be getting overstimulated.

“What...what was public school like?”

The question sort of shocks you breaking the moment. And you just stared at Toby for a while before you actually thought of an answer. The answer you wanted to say was “hell, it was straight hell”. You don't think he's talking about the institution itself and more the experience. So you tell him.

You start to weave together a picture spanning twelve long years for Toby. Telling him of pranks or jokes learned, older siblings bugged, holidays celebrated, tearful goodbyes, joyous reunions. Paint pictures of gossiping friends, Jane Austin worthy rumors, unified students banding together to change outdated rules, snowball fights in the courtyard, Snapchat stories shared through the school. The distance that gets put into place the second you aren't legally required to spend all your time with people. The feeling of emptiness as you try to navigate a world you were never prepared for...and doing that alone.

You tried to condense it but you went off into a lot of stories and probably gave him way too much context for everything. But Toby sat there and absorbed everything you had to say. When your mood dropped as you finished he only had one thing to say.

“Sounds like it sucked.”

Looking at him you could see the worried brow and small half smile on his lips. It was reassuring in a sense.

“Yea, yea it did.”

The two of you sat and stared at each other for a bit. A sort of connection being formed from a not so similar but not quite unsimilar schooling maybe. Or the acceptance that someone didn't have to be just like you to get you.

There isn't really a lot of time to dwell on that as a pop is heard followed shortly there after by a crack and sizzle. Soon Toby's face was bathed in a blue glow, as was the surrounding area. Another pop came and the crack and sizzle followed after. Bathing the forest in a neon green hue. Looking up in time to see a third and fourth flare go up and watching them expand in a firey orange and yellow burst. Fizzling out as they made their way down.

“I didn't know there'd be fire...fireworks.” he's tense at his tree as he swallowed the lump that you clearly heard in his throat.

“Yea I...I didn't either.” looking back to Toby you hold out a hand, “Wanna head back to the lodge?”

He pulls his dark eyes away from the sky to look at you and your outstretched hand. Not a moment later he has grabbed your hand and is yanking you into a standing position with him. Leading the way to the lodge as if he were a bat flying out of Hell. His ability to lead you both deftly through the dimly lit forest with barely any sunlight was pretty impressive. At least it would've been had you bee able to focus on it rather than cringing from the noise.

When you get to the lodge Toby doesn't say anything, nor does he let go of your hand. You feel like he's completely forgotten about you even though you're literally joined together. Toby pushes through the doors and makes his way up the stairs. Without a word you let him lead you to where ever it is he's going.

Based on his behavior you have a pretty good guess. When Toby pulls out his room key with his other hand you know you're correct. And that waiting inside would be a very good boy.

“Connor pressure.” are the only words out of Toby's mouth as he flings open the door and falls back onto the ground.

Thankfully he'd let go of your hand. Since he all but dragged you here you figure he could use the company. Closing his door you go over and sit beside his prone form. Not saying a word to each other, just waiting for the others to get back from the festivities.

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