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tssidesfics · 2 years ago

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Credit to @wisecolorthing for helping me come up with this nightmare crack fic. I can't entirely remember how we started talking about it but the conversation wandered to Remus in a Spencer's and this was born. It is pure crack. Completely ludicrous and ridiculous while also being completely in-character because we're talking about Remus, here.

God should have skipped the flood and just unleashed Remus on the world a few thousand years early.

Then again, humanity might never have recovered at that point, so what do I know?

Welcome to my little circle of hell, everybody. Yes, you are all correct that my relationship with the others can be best surmised with the "this house is a fucking nightmare" vine, but you don't get any points for it because it's not hard to figure out. I subsist off coffee, spite, and sarcasm (but differently from Janus, who subsists off wine, spite, and sarcasm) and exist solely to, in Remus' words, "vibrate like an overripe chihuahua on meth and five espressos with a dildo turned on up its ass"--AKA I am an anxious mess when I'm not spiraling ever-deeper into the bowels of worst-case scenario-ism. I live in a very weird gay man's head with my roommates, some of which (Logan) feign sanity 80% of the time and the other 20% conduct deranged experiments on furniture, food, and sometimes people like he's the last mad scientist left and has to preserve his culture. Some of them are actually (mostly) sane, like Patton (although we have to affectionately--and in Rage's case, literally, but they have a complicated relationship--beat on him to make him start crying when he needs to, so all things are relative). Some are just plain weird, like Roman (seriously, he's not even a type of crazy I can qualify, he's just unhinged). Some delight in feigned psychopathy (Janus). Some really need anger management therapy (do I seriously need to clarify?...actually, yeah, Logan could use some too). And some, AKA the problem child of this fever dream, defy description, but a DSM-5 edition bursts into flames every time they get a very specific little lopsided smile on their face--the one that slowly dawns like panels of light until it's blinding and suddenly nauseating to look at. That feeling is always proceeded by destruction of property. Always.

And of course Janus and Rage are gleeful enablers. Is it any wonder why I yeeted myself off the first exit ramp out of that 24/7 Mardi Gras festival?

In case it was not made shockingly apparent by literally everything about me, hi, I'm Virgil. Kill me.

My Nightmare #347 began with Patton yanking himself out of Thomas' head into the passenger side car-seat with a giddy smile on his face. "Hi, Thomas!"

Thomas screamed and jumped so hard he swerved. I neglected to appear to him physically--given I didn't want to make matters worse--but I did start fluently cussing and climbed the wall.

"Patton!" Thomas righted to the car as a cacophony of honks chastised him. "Hi, buddy. Next time, not in the middle of traffic!"

"Oop. Sorry, Thomas." At least Patton was appropriately contrite. I didn't often consider him an asshole--"cinnamon roll" is so apt he literally turns into a cinnamon roll sometimes--but today, I could make an exception. "I was wondering if we could all hang out with you at the mall today."

"Pat, it's hard enough with you guys providing running commentary on my every social interaction in my head," Thomas pointed out. "I'd like to just enjoy seeing Joan again while they're in town and I will have to corral at least five of you if I let you out."

"But Thomas..." Patton whined, bouncing frustratingly in his seat. "The Mindscape is boring!"

"You can bake an endless amount of cookies and turn it into whatever you want. I literally don't see how it could ever become boring."

"Logan won't let us change it from your living room."

Thomas sighed. "What are the chances I can convince Logan to lighten up a little?"

I snorted so loud Thomas heard it.

"Thank you for your contribution, Virgil." Thomas rolled his eyes. "If I let the rest of them out, do you promise you won't let them get into any trouble?"

I squawked. "You're expecting Patton to control the others? Are you insane? Patton couldn't control a drowsy teddy bear!"

Patton popped back into the Mindscape to turn hurt eyes on me. I crossed my arms. "No," I said. "I stand by what I said. Your backbone is made of silly putty."

"All right, Virgil," Thomas interjected before Patton could crank up the Guilt Trip'O'Meter as high as it would go. "You raise a good point. Why don't I leave you in charge?"

"I would rather crawl into a hot and rot, thanks."

"C'mon, I can feel how stir-crazy you're all getting. It's making me more antsy than usual."

"I don't see why that's a problem, considering you have never sat still anywhere a single day in your life. Someone could hold Joan over a barrel of piranha telling you they'd drop them if you couldn't sit still for an entire five minutes and it would be all your fault that Joan died."

Too late, I realized my mistake. Remus cackled loudly and sank out somewhere I didn't want to know but had to follow lest he murder the literal only reason Thomas had ever gotten me remotely under control.

"Why would you do that?" Thomas asked dully.

"You see why it's a bad idea to expect me to control these lunatics?"

Logan sighed, adjusting his glasses and snapping his folder closed. God knew what went on in those things; we only got independent internet access when we manifested and he certainly couldn't raid a bookstore without manifesting, yet he always had one in his lap, diligently working. It was morbidly fascinated. "Honestly," he grumbled. "Thomas, I believe that yes, your mental health would benefit from letting us manifest as a group. I can control the others."

"Logan," I began. "Buddy. Pal. My guy."

"Call me three of those ever again and there will be scalpels plunged into locations you do not want to think about."

"You cannot control them," I told him. "History has demonstrated multiple times that the only person who can control us is Thomas, and he's going to be busy catching up. He's going to let go of Remus' leash. Do you really--and I mean think about this--do you really think the time you want Remus off Thomas' leash is in a mall?"

"Fine. Then we'll leave him behind. At least venting some of--"

"He'll just start shooting off intrusive thoughts like a machine gun. You let more than one out, you open the floodgates."

"You're being paranoid."

"Funny that. I can't imagine why I'd be paranoid. Sounds completely unlike me, I'm normally so laid-back."

"The sarcasm was unnecessary."

"You're finally learning when I'm sarcastic." I was impressed. "Nice, Lo. I was getting worried."

Logan clicked his pen menacingly.

I grinned. Logan was easily one of my greatest allies in the Mindscape--Roman was insufferable, Janus, Remus and Rage were out of the question, and Patton could be obnoxiously patronizing--but never let his capacity for violence be underestimated. I once saw him take Roman's katana to a bundle of sticky notes because one of them gave him a paper cut. Despite that capacity for violence, however, I delighted in pushing his buttons.

"Are we manifesting today?" Roman called down the stairs with barely-restrained delight.

"Unless you can guarantee Remus won't set the mall on fire, hell no!" I called back up.

There was a long moment of silence. "Remus, I'll let you have Mrs. Snuffykins for one night if you behave yourself if we manifest!"

I had absolutely no idea what that was--I wanted to think a stuffed animal, but with Roman and Remus, all bets were off--but Remus' ecstatic screech was enough to tell me I probably didn't want to find out.

Roman looked back down at me. "He'll behave."

I arched an eyebrow.

"Prince's honor."

"Historically meant shit, Princey."

"Yes, but not Disneyally."

"That is not...remotely a word," Logan said, somehow a mix between dumbfounded and awed.

"Look, I'm just not optimistic that letting Remus out when Thomas isn't keeping an eye on him would end in anything except Thomas going to prison for arson, murder, or public indecency. Or worse."

"I'll keep him in line," Roman vowed. "Please, Virgil? I'm going stir-crazy in here, we all are."

I crossed my arms.

Roman pouted.

I snorted.

Roman glared.

I arched an eyebrow.

Roman slumped.

I grinned. "Deal with it, everybody. No manifesting. Get comfy. Janus, think about pushing your luck and I am ripping out each individual one of your scales and burying them in places you don't want."

"How delightfully Remus of you. Except for the part where you'll actually follow through on the threat."

"From Remus it wouldn't be a threat, it would be a bonding activity."

"Speaking of," Patton said shyly. "Didn't Remus run off after you said something about Joan getting hurt, kiddo?"

My eyes bugged out of my head. I sighed and hung it. "Why is it always me?" I mumbled and sunk out to chase Remus through the Mindscape.

~*~

After fishing out Remus' limbs from a pond of piranha he'd dismembered himself into when he heard me chasing after him, I borrowed some super glue from Roman's room and stuck him back together. It should have fixed him up good as new but it was Remus and any attempts I made to change things around here were easily superseded by one half of Creativity. Which meant Remus was now walking around with his penis glued to his forehead, fully erect.

Not as much time had passed by the time we returned as I expected. Which would have been great if not for the fact that the Conscious Mind was conspicuously quiet. All the dishes were clean, there wasn't any crap on the floor, and there were no Sides milling about. I could have taken the time to check each of their rooms upstairs but why waste the time when I knew exactly where they all were?

"Roman, you are in your thirties. A store called Forever 21 is not for you," Logan was saying after I manifested in the general direction of the others. "Hello, Virgil."

I glared. "What did I say?"

"Aw, but Virge--"

"You're inviting a Remustrophe right now, you realize that, right?"

Janus grinned. My blood ran cold.

"I WANT EVERY DILDO YOU HAVE!" echoed across the mall, and with horror, I realized what I'd done.

I'd loosed Remus Sanders on the Spencer's department store.

~*~

The good news: nothing had caught fire yet. Potential loss of life was yet to be determined as Patton yelped and rushed over to the prone body of the clerk behind the counter. That also proved fine when I saw him slump in relief after probing her neck for a pulse.

The bad news: Remus had slipped the superglue I'd used to piece him back together out of my pocket and was now using it to attach dildos, ripped out of their packages with plastic and cardboard shredded across the floor, to his costume. He was also dripping with something viscous, disincentivizing me from touching him to stop him from unleashing more chaos.

By rights, seven dildos glued to his top should have torn the damn thing, but it was made of sturdier stuff than that. I studied him for a long moment, trying to work up the nerve to approach, while he just continued to wreak havoc. Janus, meanwhile, the only one not preoccupied with horror or despair at Remus' antics, meandered over to the bowl in which they kept their sarcastic pins, perusing them idly.

"You better be planning to pay for those," I warned, then looked around. "Wait. Where's Rage?"

Logan glanced around. "Likely inflicting property damage on a jewelry store. He rather dislikes those."

I pinched my sinuses. "Logan, could you rein in your alter ego, please?"

"I am too evolved for my alter ego to be that idiot," Logan told me with overblown indignity.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you're the only one who can talk some sense into him. The cameras may not be able to recognize Thomas' face on all of us, but the less reason the cops have to potentially stuff him in a cell, the better."

It was true. Somehow, whatever bizarre magic allowed us to manifest in the real world also confused cameras and people so no one could trace the destruction of property likely to follow us back to Thomas. It was the only reason I wasn't already in the fetal position on the floor forgetting the basic components of breathing.

Logan rolled his eyes and broke off to track down Rage. I turned my attention to Roman.

"No," Roman said firmly.

"He's your brother," I told him.

"Yes, and it's your fault he's here. You were supposed to watch him."

"I wouldn't have had to take my eyes off him if you guys hadn't snuck out in the first place. I'm one Side. Do you really think I would have stood a snowball's chance in hell of keeping Remus from doing exactly this?"

"And I have any better chance?"

"No, but the alternative is explaining to Thomas what you guys did."

Roman glared at me.

I glared back.

Roman pouted.

I continued glaring.

Roman stomped his foot and whined.

I pointed at Remus, who was now smashing glasses on the ground and eating the shards. Blood was rushing from his mouth and gathering in puddles on the floor. He was still dripping.

"I hate you," Roman informed me bluntly.

"Oh, like you've ever made a secret of that?"

Roman adopted a punched puppy expression at that one.

I sighed. "Yeah, yeah, you've been doing better, now go wrestle your brother into a cage or something."

Roman dragged his feet over to Remus and summoned a hasmat suit he put on. Remus sliced into it with a rather sizable shard and sprinted away before Roman could catch him. Without thinking, I lunged after him, only succeeding in sliding down the length of his body like he was covered in lube.

Oh, wait, it was lube. It smelled like one of Remus' worst farts and tasted like it too. You would have thought the dildos would have either failed to stick with his clothes soaked in lubricant or at least they would have given me something to hang onto to stop him from escaping, but all they did was slap me repeatedly in the face with silicon penes of various sizes.

Remus left a slimy trail behind him as he cackled deeper into the store. I was positive he was headed somewhere with matches so he could set the building on fire.

I pressed my face into the floor, into a puddle of lube, and sighed. Miserably, I hauled myself to my feet and turned back to everyone else. "You are in so much trouble," I assured them without passion, dragging myself off to find Thomas and get him to suck Remus back into the Mindscape before additional damage could be done.

I found him in the food court, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding deeper into the store. Altogether the world seemed relatively unaware of the happenings, another magical defense mechanism. It wasn't that people never noticed what we were doing, it was just that they were less likely to find it alarming. Although once the fire alarms started going off, people would pay attention.

"Thomas," I greeted without etiquette, coming to pause next to his table.

"Holy shit," Joan summarized perfectly. People aware of our nonsense were usually pretty good at spotting us and processing our appearances.

Thomas looked dejected. "No."

"Remus escaped."

Thomas flopped forward like a fish on land and smacked his head full into the table. The pain reverberated through my skull. "Time to--"

The fire alarm blared. Rage ran past with a shotgun, screaming, "Adios, coppers!" as he went.

Thomas watched him run past. "We don't have to stop him, do we?"

I considered it for a moment. "Nah, he can stay. As long as everyone goes back in, we should be able to keep Remus there."

People ran past screaming. A panicked exodus spilled from the food court. Some people knocked into me and I stumbled. Thomas caught my hoodie sleeve, then gagged and pulled his hand back.

"Remus," I explained.

"Right." Thomas looked in the direction everyone was running from. "I guess I have to go toward the fire to stop him, huh?"

I nodded sadly.

"Sorry, Joan," Thomas explained. "Next time, my place."

"Deal. Want some help?"

"You don't need to see what I'm about to see."

With that, Thomas and I made our begrudging way toward the fire.

~*~

It resolved relatively easily once Thomas gave Remus a disapproving stare. We all didn't do well with Thomas' disappointment, even Remus, so he moped back inside the Mindscape without much complaint. Everyone else returned to the living room in my doghouse and I locked myself in my room, refusing to emerge. Rage stayed out for a while longer and later we found out three police stations had been set on fire with all prisoners escaped. No loss of life, which I didn't know how to feel about.

Later, through mystical means, the stolen dildos Remus had taken were discovered in Ron DeSantis' home. We laughed for a week.

I amend my earlier statement. Maybe we really do need to use Remus as the next great flood. He'll just focus his attention on the fascists and we'll all be better off.

Yo, God, you should get on that.

#sanders sides fic #character thomas sanders #virgil sanders #virgil pov #first person pov #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #rage sanders #anarchist sides #rage blows up police stations #and remus frames george santos for petty theft #antifascist #acab #crack taken seriously #funny talk of god and biblical stories

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mama-grimm · 2 years ago

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❛ you okay? caught you staring off into space again. ❜

@alphabeowolf-ism

Salem hadnt noticed anyone had wandered into the throne room untill she heard young Ava's voice.

"Oh.... i was just remembering something from a long long time ago."

#salem answers #fallentitan98 #alphabeowolf ism

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deathleadsarc · 2 years ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 . . . *when you get this, post theme songs for your muse! then tag 5 or more people!

I. Lacrymosa of Evanescence. Out on your own // Cold and alone again // Can this be what you really wanted, baby? // Lacrimosa // (Blame it on me) // Dies illa // (Set your guilt free) // Lacrimosa // (Nothing can hold you back now) Now that you're gone // I feel like myself again // Grieving the things I can't repair and willing // Lacrimosa // (To let you blame it on me) // Dies illa // (And set your guilt free) // Lacrimosa // (I don't want to hold you back now love)

I can't change who I am

Not this time, I won't lie // To keep you near me and in this short life // There's no time to waste on giving up // My love wasn't enough // Lacrimosa // (And you can blame it on me) // Dies illa // (Just set your guilt free, honey) // Lacrimosa // (I don't want to hold you back now love)

II. Graveyard of Halsey. They say I may be making a mistake // I would've followed all the way // no matter how far // I know when you go down all your darkest roads // I would've followed all the way to the graveyard

Oh, 'cause I keep diggin' myself down deeper // I won't stop 'til I get where you are // I keep running when both my feet hurt // I won't stop 'til I get where you are // Oh, when you go down all your darkest roads // I would've followed all the way to the graveyard

III. Stigma of V. Deeper, deeper, the wound just gets deeper // Like pieces of broken glass that I can't reverse // Deeper, it's just the heart that hurts every day // You who was punished in my stead // You who were only delicate and fragile

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my brother // Even if I try to hide it // Or conceal it, it can't be erased // "Are you calling me a sinner?" // What more do I have to say // I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry my sister // Even if I try to hide it // Or conceal it, it can't be erased // So, cry, please, dry my eyes, ooh

That light, that light, please illuminate my sins (Oh) // Where I can't turn back // The red blood is flowing down // Deeper, I feel like dying every day // Please let me be punished // Please forgive me for my sins // Please

IV. The Sharpest Loves of My Chemical Romance. There's a place in the dark where the animals go // You can take off your skin in the cannibal glow // Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands // Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo

I've really been on a bender and it shows // So why don't you blow me // A kiss before she goes

Give me a shot to remember // And you can take all the pain away from me // Your kiss and I will surrender // The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead // A light to burn all the empires // So bright the sun is ashamed to rise and be // In love with all of these vampires // So you can leave like the sane, abandon me

V. Film Out of BTS. Don't have to be right // Just wanted you to stay the way you are // Kind-hearted, always smiling, but // If tears can be measured, it took this long but // I've barely made it by your side (Barely made it) // And found you (Ooh)

From all the memories stored in my heart // I gather up the ones of you, link them together // Gazing at them projected across the room (Ooh, oh, oh, oh, ooh) // I fall asleep with you vivid in my arms

The words you whisper, the resonance // Wander aimlessly around the room // The fragrance I smell, the warmth I feel // As long as it lasts, as long as it lasts

You, in my imagination // Are so vivid, oh // As if you are right there // But I reach out my hand // And you suddenly disappear

♡ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘. I've stolen it from @valour-bound ♡ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆. @shiroi---kumo , @flameleads , @galeleads , @hmrtia, @infernal-ism, @zangyo , @wolvensden + anyone else who's interested!

#most of her themes are instrumentals lol #so this was kinda hard #dash games.#some of these are highly directed toward her long deceased brother #and the first is for the mother hahaha #so....

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beantothemax · 1 year ago

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All shepards had duties.

This was common knowledge.

Tend to the sheep, ensure they all stayed in the pasture, and guide those who strayed.

Sometimes the lost sheep came to him in his searches, standing at his feet and begging to be brought back to the safety of the pasture.

And so he would. He would take the poor sheep back to the others, and all would be well.

Sometimes he would take a stroll beyond the pasture, and one sheep in particular would bleat at him indignantly.

It was almost amusing, seeing the lamb yell at him. He continued to stray beyond the pastures just to hear the bleats of frustration.

However, the game he played with the little lamb grew and developed, and soon changed completely.

Now, he would step beyond the pasture, and the little lamb would inch closer and closer to the edge where he stood, curious.

Sheparding was lonely business. There was no one there except the shepard and his flock, so one was wont to speak to his sheep.

The shepard was speaking to his little lamb, who had grown quite big at this point, in his usual spot outside of the pasture. The ram sat on the border between the pasture and the fields beyond it, listening intently to him ramble about old histories.

As he spoke, the ram, forever his little lamb, stepped into the field with him. He made no move to stop nor encourage the ram as it continued to venture further into the field, before sitting in front of him and staring at him.

Waiting for him to continue speaking.

Smiling, he resumed his story, and his ram listened.

Tragedy always befell the sheep who strayed too far from each other. A natural thing, he tried to tell himself.

Yet the stench of blood refused to leave his nose.

The blood of his lamb.

He had walked with the ram, talking and debating, when they stopped in front of a cave. It had seemed perfectly fine at the time, with no occupants inside that could hurt his precious ram.

Yet he had been careless. He hadn’t ensured the ram would stay with the other sheep that night, and it had gotten away, wandered back to that cave.

And had gotten gored beyond saving.

He would never forgive himself for allowing one of his rams to die such a terrible fate. It was his fault.

The blood of that ram, so precious and dear, would forever stain his hands.

What a terrible shepard, he told himself. Such an awful shepard, allowing the lamb to wander into the wolves’ den.

The ram stood at the feet of another shepard, begged to be led back to the flock. Begged forgiveness for going astray.

Yet the shepard said there was nothing to forgive. No punishments to be wrought.

The ram had simply been following a different shepard. It was not the ram's fault, nor was it his.

Neither sheep nor shepard were at fault for what the wolves had done.

The shepard dreamt that night. He dreamt of a man, kneeling at his feet and clutching at his robes. The man had the same golden hair as the shepard’s lamb, the same odd blue eyes.

The man begged and cried for forgiveness, called him by a name he had not heard in a long time.

“Temenos...” The man pleaded. “Please, forgive me... I beg forgiveness...”

And the shepard touched his face gently, cupped his cheek and kissed his tears from his face.

My little lamb, he said. There is nothing to forgive. You were doing as I had taught. The fault is mine.

And the man wept. He held tighter to the shepard’s robes, leaned into the gentle touches he offered.

“I should not have left you,” he sobbed. “Yet I swear forevermore I shall not leave your side. I no longer draw breath, but I shall remain. You may not see me if not in dreams, but I shall be here. I swear it.”

And when the shepard awoke the next morning after the man’s oath, he remembered only one thing. A name.

Crick.

THE STORY OF THE SHEPHERD AND THE LAMB……….. TH. SYMBOLS. THEY ARE ISMING…,,,,,,,, that genuinely got me a little…

#MAV I AM DISSOLVING INTO A PUDDLE #I dont know a better way to say it but the whole lamb story is just. it’s new…..#asks #adventures-of-turnabout #inbox fic

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years ago

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This chapter has my whole heart!!! Urgh, I just want to swoosh them together immediately. The angst mixed with the knowledge that they love each other is just perfection and it's testement to what a phenomenal writer you are (>^^)> The NOTE!!!!!!!!!!! I've read it about 17 times. I don't even know how you did it, but it's perfection. I loved it more than I can say. The humour and little Loki-isms throughout is just wonderful - you know him so well.

Heimdall thought for a moment. His eyes wandered far and away. Into a space and time Loki could not see. “I only want what’s best for you, your highness. It will be too early if I take you there myself. Speak with Thor, he will know where she is.”

“Thor barely remembers what he had for supper last night. And what does that even mean? You are worse than mother!” Loki grumbled.

To Have and To Hold - Chapter 5

THaTH Masterlist Complete Masterlist

Summary: Violet finds the love note Loki meant to give her, making her question why she left in the first place. Meanwhile, Loki finds out where she's been hiding. A/N: I wanna thank @lokisgoodgirl for being my BETA and @michelleleewise for all the wonderful ideas, and @springdandelixn for helping with the letter. You guys are the absolute best! 🥰 Pairing: Loki x OFC/Reader Word Count: 2.3K Tags/Warnings: Lots of angst. Dividers By: @firefly-graphics

You held onto the bathroom sink tightly, looking into your puffy red eyes through the mirror. You cried when you found the napkin. You threw the book across the room and proceeded to work yourself into a frenzy destroying the guest room you were staying in.

You’d offer to pay for any damages, obviously, but you knew your brother would probably want to check you into the base’s infirmary for your blood pressure anyway. “All this stress can’t be good for the baby,” you could picture him saying.

All this time, Loki was going to apologize. He was ready to talk with you. The bookmark napkin you found in the baby book you brought with you fell out as you began to flip the pages. You noticed his elegant script right away and your heart fluttered.

You started to read his apology. His love shone through every word. Every pen stroke. You even laughed at his little notes in the corners.

But you recounted the way Loki looked at you when he found out you were pregnant. Even when he looked so angry, he was beautiful. That look said it all. He didn’t want the baby. He didn’t want you! It was the only look you could recall every time you brought up his face from your memories. The hateful, untrusting sneer. The malice in his eyes.

What were you thinking?! You were being stubborn. That’s what it was. You were trying to survive again on your own. Loki’s rejection, in the beginning, triggered a flight response in you. Something you hadn’t felt since before your relationship together.

You can’t go back now. He would see that you lied about still being pregnant. You had never lied to him. This would break his trust and his heart. He would really leave you now.

“Violet? Violet, open the door,” your brother yelled. You opened the door walking past him. “Are you ok? What happened?” He followed you as you sat on the bed, clutching Loki’s note in your hands.

“I made a mistake, Callum. A huge mistake. I just fucked up my life and I can never go back,” you cried.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s ok. It’s ok.” Callum said putting his arm around you. “Look, I may not know much about all that stuff that you superheroes do. Heck, you’re the only superhero I know.” You tried to smile at his attempt to make you feel better. “But I do know that humans make mistakes. And there is never a mistake big enough when you ask for forgiveness and mean it. Well…save for mass murder or kicking puppies…”

You cried into his shoulder, the pain of losing Loki because of your own misgivings felt like a sharp knife cutting around the outline of your heart. Every time you thought about past events, the knife would continue around the edge. Then the thought of your child not having a father because of your selfishness was what finally finished the incision and cut out your heart completely.

“I’m a monster. A stupid, stubborn woman who couldn��t even think to talk it over with the man I love. He tried so hard, Callum. So hard! And every time I just shut him down.”

“What happened? What changed? You were so mad at him this morning.”

“He loved me, Callum. And I…we didn’t even get a chance to talk.” You handed him the well-worn napkin. Loki’s elegant script crossed and re-written from all the words he tried to say.

“Wow. That’s some note,” Callum said. “What are you going to do? What does it mean?”

“It means nothing,” you yelled, getting up from his side on the bed and pacing. “The only reason I left was because I thought he didn’t want the baby. Odin would have taken it. At least that’s what Thor had implied. I don’t know! I didn’t know…I didn’t know what he wanted,” you cried looking into Callum’s eyes. “I never gave him the chance. And now it’s too late. He thinks the baby died and if I go back to him and tell him, he will never want to be with me again!”

“Vee, you’re making assumptions again. I mean…isn’t that what got you in this mess in the first place? You need to talk to him. He needs to know that his child is alive!”

“And then what? Have the child taken away by their awful grandfather to be raised in some foreign world without their parents?”

“Do you honestly believe that Loki would let that happen?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“Has Loki never considered your feelings? Has he ever not done what you asked him to do?”

“No.”

“To me, you’re just scared to face the consequences of your actions.”

“Wouldn’t you be?!”

“Well, ya. I wouldn’t want an angry demi-god mad at me,” Callum said standing up and facing you. “But, I also don’t have a demi-god in love with me.”

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Loki said behind Bruce and Thor. Bruce had queued up your last security footage on the screen. They watched as you gathered your stuff and headed into your shared bedroom. Then the footage stops.

They’ve watched the same footage for the past two months. Loki, more religiously, trying to find small clues about your whereabouts. They’ve looked everywhere. Loki asked all your friends who weren’t part of SHIELD. Bruce and Thor searched all your previous residences, no one knows where you are.

Loki wouldn’t quit until he found you. Until he disavowed the notion in your head that you weren’t enough. He should’ve made that clear from the very moment he found out about the pregnancy. Even more so when the child was lost. He should’ve made sure you knew that you were loved and cherished. Especially by no one more than him.

“Did she mention anything to you while you spoke on the phone that night?” Thor asked.

“No. Absolutely nothing. She wasn’t very forthcoming over the phone. She just sounded really unhappy and miserable.” Gods, do I make her miserable? Did she leave me? Loki thought.

“FRIDAY, continue the tape from where you stopped,” Bruce added.

“Unfortunately, Dr. Banner, I am unable to fulfill that request due to a small power outage your experiment created that night.”

“Oh, that’s right. Our little project with Mjolnir created an electric arc causing a brief black-out.”

“What?!” Loki shrieked. “Two months! Two. Whole. Months! We’ve been watching the same asinine footage! And I’m just now finding out about this? How long was this black-out?”

“Two minutes or so. The backup generators go online after one minute of being down. Then it takes another minute to reboot the system.” Bruce replied, unperturbed.

“Enough time for her to leave the compound unnoticed?” Thor queried.

“Enough time for her to get outside into the neighboring woods,” Loki added. He remembered that last bittersweet night with you. Where he took you to a secluded glen by the river’s edge and you both confessed your love for each other.

“FRIDAY queue every video of the hallway, common rooms, and exits when the generator took over.” The large screen was split into tiny squares. Each video shows the moment electricity came back onto the campus.

“I-I don’t see her,” Thor said looking intently at the screen.

“THERE!” Loki yelled pointing to the bottom right-hand corner.

“You saw Violet?” Bruce asked.

“No. It’s the flash of the Bifrost!” Loki answered.

“How can you tell?” Bruce asked as he examined the screen where Loki pointed. “It’s all so bright…” he trailed off as FRIDAY expanded the video till it was on full screen. The video started with a flash. The lights were turning on in the compound and around the main driveway and airstrips. But in the corner of the screen, a small, unfocused, multicolored light shone offbeat with the rest of the lights of the compound.

“Heimdall?” Thor queried. “Heimdall!” Loki said with a growl.

“She is clever that one.” Heimdall’s voice echoed from behind Loki. He turned around and found himself inside Himinbjorg, Heimdall’s temple. Loki looked around for Bruce and Thor but couldn’t find them.

“Where is she?” Loki demanded. “And how dare you keep this from me. Why did you help her? This is an act of treason, Heimdall. I could have your head for this!”

“It was my obligation to help all and future members of the royal family,” Heimdall simply stated. Future members of the royal family? Loki thought. A small flicker of love and pride flickered inside him giving him hope that the two of you would be reunited soon.

“Why does everyone have an opinion on our futures? What happens to Violet and I will be decided by no one but us! I demand you take me to her at once.”

“Thor barely remembers what he had for supper last night. And what does that even mean? You are worse than mother!” Loki grumbled.

“A side effect, I’m afraid, when you can see everything and anything all at once,” Heimdall said mysteriously. “And may I be the first to congratulate you, your highness.”

“For what?” Loki growled. In an instance, the image of Heimdall disappeared along with the gilded temple surrounding him. Loki was faced, instead, with a smile-laden Thor.

“You’ve just seen Heimdall haven’t you?” Thor asked.

“Yes, and he seems to think you know where Violet is!”

“Me? Brother, I assure you, I would’ve taken you wherever she may be if I had known where she is.”

“According to Heimdall, you do. So out with it! What have you two been speaking about?”

“The last time I spoke with her was on our last mission.”

“Where you let her get shot!”

“Will you ever let me live that down?”

“NO!”

“Fine!” Thor started thinking, trying to recall his conversation with you to the best of his ability. “We talked about our traditions. Then she got scared. And she mentioned something about wanting a knight and not a prince.” Thor looked up at the ceiling trying to recount the conversation he had with you weeks ago.

“This is ridiculous.” Loki reached up and tried to touch Thor’s forehead.

“No. No. I don’t want to be a frog again!” Thor yelled backing up and waving his hands in the air.

“You will be whisked to Asgard as soon as you two make it official. You’ll be the princess to the people. And If Loki decides, and wins, his claim to the throne, a Queen someday.” Thor patted you on the back with a warm smile on his face. “All I ever wanted was a quiet life back home, close to my family. I just wanted my knight in shining armor to grow old with. Not the Prince to make me his princess.” “Have you spoken to Loki about this?” Thor asked.

The image warped away from his mind. Loki saw it all. He saw your confusion and pain. He saw the heartache of a life forfeited. One way or another you would have to sacrifice something. In a world where he wanted to give you everything, the last thing he wanted to give you was an ultimatum.

“She went home,” Loki whispered.

“But we checked her last residence prior to moving to the compound and no one has seen her,” Bruce answered.

“No,” Loki whispered. “She went to be with her family. ‘A quiet life back home, close to family,’ she said.”

“That would be difficult. She came from a military background. Moved around the world a lot.” Bruce commented. Loki remembered you mentioning that a while back. “Her only family is her twin brother…”

“Callum,” Loki finished.

“Why haven’t we checked with him?” Thor asked.

“He is still active military. Moves around a bit himself. The last known home station was an air base three hours south of Paris. Châteauroux-Déols.” Bruce read aloud from FRIDAY’s briefings.

“She’s there I can feel it,” Loki said looking at the screen one more time. Loki moved quickly, walking past the two men and making his way out into the hallway.

“Brother, where are you going?”

“I’m going to get her back!”

⬅️ Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 (Coming Soon)➡️

🏷️ @emarich7 @michelleleewise @coldnique @vickie5446 @psychospore @mukagentropy @lokisgoodgirl @silverfire475 @fictive-sl0th @springdandelixn @wheredafandomat @goldencherriess @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallows @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @tallseaweed @holdmytesseract @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie

#loki fic recs #loki angst

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undyinglament · 2 years ago

Text

Tag Dump | Primary Muses

Zephirin

✧ — ⋆ I’ll pay any cost. IC. The Just ✧ — ⋆ Mistakes become regrets. Isms. The Just ✧ — ⋆ Dreams were shattered like a stained glass window. Visage. The Just ✧ — ⋆ Redemption lies plainly in truth. Headcanon. The Just

Asahi ✧ — ⋆ It just seems unlikely that it’s me who was to blame. IC. The Infatuated ✧ — ⋆ The most dangerous thing is to love. Isms. The Infatuated ✧ — ⋆ The sun will rise. Visage. The Infatuated ✧ — ⋆ I want to be adored. Headcanon. The Infatuated Fandaniel(Amon) ✧ — ⋆ Heart shattered apart with your sanity. IC. The Hopeless ✧ — ⋆ You crave the applause yet hate the attention. Isms. The Hopeless ✧ — ⋆ Just let go. Visage. The Hopeless ✧ — ⋆ Your act is a ruse. Headcanon. The Hopeless Fandaniel(Hermes) ✧ — ⋆ Help me forget. IC. The Unanswered ✧ — ⋆ I hope it’s already too late. Isms. The Unanswered ✧ — ⋆ You made the choice to be. Visage. The Unanswered ✧ — ⋆ Stirs of whispers trail and linger. Headcanon. The Unanswered Erenville ✧ — ⋆ He was made of sunlight. IC. The Wanderer ✧ — ⋆ I will remember. Will you?. Isms. The Wanderer ✧ — ⋆ Love is love is love. Visage. The Wanderer ✧ — ⋆ Dance in the rain. Headcanon. The Wanderer Varshahn ✧ — ⋆ One can’t function without the other. IC. The Simulacrum ✧ — ⋆ Like the moon - a part of him was always hidden away. Isms. The Simulacrum ✧ — ⋆ Softness as a shield. Visage. The Simulacrum ✧ — ⋆ He carries secrets in his eyes. Headcanon. The Simulacrum Vrtra ✧ — ⋆ A force to be reckoned with. IC. The Satrap ✧ — ⋆ We are in daylight now. Isms. The Satrap ✧ — ⋆ You are not weak just because your heart is heavy. Visage. The Satrap ✧ — ⋆ You wear a mask for so long you forget who you were beneath it. Headcanon. The Satrap Elidibus ✧ — ⋆ It’s almost over. It’s just begun. IC. The Emissary ✧ — ⋆ It only destroys me in the end. Isms. The Emissary ✧ — ⋆ I’m trying to remember you. Visage. The Emissary ✧ — ⋆ Will I end up emptier?. Headcanon. The Emissary Emet-Selch ✧ — ⋆ You wake up still tired. IC. The Veracity ✧ — ⋆ A reverie endeavour. Isms. The Veracity ✧ — ⋆ Alone at the edge of the universe. Visage. The Veracity ✧ — ⋆ Unspoken truth lingers. Headcanon. The Veracity Jullus ✧ — ⋆ Standing together as one. IC. The Pride ✧ — ⋆ With tears in my eyes I begged you to stay. Isms. The Pride ✧ — ⋆ I can barely breathe. Visage. The Pride ✧ — ⋆ This time we are not afraid. Headcanon. The Pride Ardbert ✧ — ⋆ With sparking crystal soul aglow. IC. The Mirror ✧ — ⋆ Here’s to the greater good for all. Isms. The Mirror ✧ — ⋆ It doesn’t take a killer to murder. Visage. The Mirror ✧ — ⋆ Have you ever died in a nightmare?. Headcanon. The Mirror ✧ — ⋆ The difference twixt fate and free will. Azem. The Mirror

#✧ — ⋆ I’ll pay any cost. IC. The Just #✧ — ⋆ Mistakes become regrets. Isms. The Just #✧ — ⋆ Dreams were shattered like a stained glass window. Visage. The Just #✧ — ⋆ Redemption lies plainly in truth. Headcanon. The Just #✧ — ⋆ It just seems unlikely that it’s me who was to blame. IC. The Infatuated #✧ — ⋆ The most dangerous thing is to love. Isms. The Infatuated #✧ — ⋆ The sun will rise. Visage. The Infatuated #✧ — ⋆ I want to be adored. Headcanon. The Infatuated #✧ — ⋆ Heart shattered apart with your sanity. IC. The Hopeless #✧ — ⋆ You crave the applause yet hate the attention. Isms. The Hopeless #✧ — ⋆ Just let go. Visage. The Hopeless #✧ — ⋆ Your act is a ruse. Headcanon. The Hopeless #✧ — ⋆ Help me forget. IC. The Unanswered #✧ — ⋆ I hope it’s already too late. Isms. The Unanswered #✧ — ⋆ You made the choice to be. Visage. The Unanswered #✧ — ⋆ Stirs of whispers trail and linger. Headcanon. The Unanswered #✧ — ⋆ He was made of sunlight. IC. The Wanderer #✧ — ⋆ I will remember. Will you?. Isms. The Wanderer #✧ — ⋆ Love is love is love. Visage. The Wanderer #✧ — ⋆ Dance in the rain. Headcanon. The Wanderer #✧ — ⋆ One can’t function without the other. IC. The Simulacrum #✧ — ⋆ Like the moon - a part of him was always hidden away. Isms. The Simulacrum #✧ — ⋆ Softness as a shield. Visage. The Simulacrum #✧ — ⋆ He carries secrets in his eyes. Headcanon. The Simulacrum #✧ — ⋆ A force to be reckoned with. IC. The Satrap #✧ — ⋆ We are in daylight now. Isms. The Satrap #✧ — ⋆ You are not weak just because your heart is heavy. Visage. The Satrap #✧ — ⋆ You wear a mask for so long you forget who you were beneath it. Headcanon. The Satrap

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daisys-gard3n · 3 years ago

Note

What jojo men like super drunk sex 👉👈

Pls remember to drink responsibly yall

Abbacchio:

Yes, it's not healthy for him and he perfectly knows it. But it's so much fun when the two of you are shitfaced and get touchy-feely because the alcohol makes you two hot, makes you strip clothes off, makes logic fly out the door, and two seconds later he's messily making out with you and smearing his dark lipstick all over your lips and on your collar bones. He's a lot more chill than usual but in a flirty way, as he smiles down at you while he fingers you and laughs about how cute you are.

"Mm...Fuck...You're...You're so fuckin' cute...So cute, Bambina/o...You're so hot...When you moan 'n shit...What? Don't laugh, you're...You're getting fucked here soon!"

And when he's able to get his cock into your hole, he's just railing into you with everything he's got. He's more sensitive and fuzzy on the inside and all he can do is speak in moans while he fills you up so good, wrestling his tongue inside of your mouth as he strokes your insides.

Kakyoin:

Compared to regular shot-gunner Jotaro and legal partier Polnareff, Kakyoin cannot hold his liquor for the life of him. One mug of beer and two shots later and he's shitfaced. He's more giggly and crude than his usual put together get-up. He's hugging up on you and feeling up as he giggles and talks about how cute you are, encouraging you to take a shot and getting you as equally as shit-faced as he is. The two of you are burning up, layers shed off and you feel Kakyoin's lips kiss your neck, leaving a fiery sensation in your veins and your hands wander onto his body as well.

Next thing you knew, you were in a bathroom stall as Kakyoin pulled your pants and underwear down and started to just devour your sex. He's messily licking and slurping at it, groaning and moaning so loud as he looks up at you with hazy eyes. His free hand is down his pants and rubbing his cock while he gives you oral, frantic on wanting to make you and himself cum with the small window of privacy the two of you had for the moment.

Young Joseph:

Look me in the eye and tell me this man isn't a super party animal when he's wasted. This man chugs mugs of beer like water, downs shots of tequila like no one's business, and does the stupid frat party upside down keg challenge just for his amusement. Never challenge this man in a drinking contest because he will pull through, even when he is dead drunk.

Playing spin the bottle and it landing on Joseph? Him crawling over and making out with you as his buddies hoot and holler in the background? His tongue playing with yours? Him pulling away and whispering "find me if you wanna have drink."

Of course, you and Joseph went somewhere private and it just derails into you straddling him and sinking yourself down on his cock as he messily kisses you, feeling him stretch you out and close to an orgasm with his load on the way to fill you up. The alcohol makes him more fuzzy on the inside and more horny, his words slurred and actions messy as the two of you tried to reach orgasm.

"Mm, like that...Fuck...You take my cock...Like a...Like a champ! Oh, fuck. How was I not...Banging you earlier? Fuck me, you're so tight. Ride that cock babe...Oh, fuck. Make me cum!"

He had to stop drinking so much bc this is how he ended up with his one night stands and kinda how he made josuke

Gyro:

He knows how to have fun, especially during the wild west where the only two forms of entertainment were shooting things and drinking. Just drinking with him by a campfire under the stars is a whole vibe, telling jokes and being drunk enough to actually laugh at Gyro's isms. When Johnny is eventually passed out after reaching his threshold, Gyro is next to you with his hands on your thigh as he casually flirted with you. It was definitely the alcohol that was making your skin burn up and suddenly finding him extremely attractive all of the sudden.

"Can you show me a good time, Dolcezza?" He invited you into the whole mess. Minutes later, you found yourself in his lap and aggressively making out with him as the two of you tried to shrug your clothes off in the process.

He would make comments throughout the time you're sitting on his cock, but the alcohol slurred his brain too much and all he could do is curse and moan as the feeling of you riding on his cock. Not even caring if Johnny would hear you, but he was knocked out at the moment so it's not like he would wake up. And getting oral from this man while he's so drunk on alcohol and you???? Feeling his facial hair as he pleasures you???? immaculate.

#leone abbacchio #noriaki kakyoin #joseph joestar #gyro zeppeli #not sfw #gn reader #jjba headcanons

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merryfortune · 3 years ago

Text

Help yourself to seconds (and thirds)

Written for the 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #65 Spice

Ship: Chatshipping | Naoki/Yusaku

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Word Count: 2,057

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Post Canon, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Panic Attacks, Food as a Love Language, Meeting the Parents, Found Family (?)

Yusaku stood in the doorway awkwardly. He wanted to muster a smile, he really did, but meeting new people was not exactly his strongest point. Luckily, he had Naoki next to him and he was a lot better at that, being a social butterfly and all that. Not to mention, it was Naoki’s parents that Yusaku was meeting.

With a hand gesture for a flourish, Naoki spoke up to the entire floor of the apartment complex, probably: “Mom, Dad, this is Yusaku.” he said at the top of his lungs.

“Hi.” Yusaku waved his hand and spoke in a very, very tiny voice. He could feel his knees knock.

“Oh, honey, Naoki’s brought his classmate over!” Naoki’s Mother cried out from the kitchen and began to shuffle over in her fluffy slippers.

“Mom!” Naoki groaned. “I told you, Yusaku is my boyfriend. I’m a bi king, remember?”

His Mother, Yusaku noticed, was quite short and quite stout as well. She also had Naoki’s nose - er, no, other way around. Naoki had her nose. Upturned at the front and was kind of chunky looking. She had flushed, rosy cheeks and cat’s eyes glasses as well as the biggest grin.

She came over closer to fuss with Naoki, pinching his cheek, “Yes, yes, I know but you’ll always be my little princey-pooh.”

“Moooom,” Naoki groaned, blushing, embarrassed, “you're embarrassing me in front of my boyfriend.”

Finally, Yusaku began to relax and even let the corners of his lips curve into the tiniest smile, “I think it's sweet.” he admitted.

She then turned her head to size up Yusaku. He felt incredibly studied under her gaze as she tried to determine whether or not he was eligible to date her only son. Yusaku was all but sweating bullets until her gaze softened, became maternal even unto him.

“It's good to finally meet you.” Naoki’s Mother said, addressing Yusaku and reaching out to him, holding his hands. “You seem like a very nice boy, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Shima-san.” Yusaku replied shyly, but his heart just jumped a million steps.

“Let’s get you inside, supper’s almost ready. And you should meet Naoki’s Father as well.” she said, fussing, she very much had her own tempo and appeared to expect that everyone else to match it.

Yusaku slipped his shoes off and wandered more into Naoki’s apartment, crossing the threshold. The entire place smelt of home-cooked food, specifically curry that was warm and made him salivate. It was a very normal-looking apartment, too. The walls were coloured cream without so much as a chip in the paint, let alone entire cracks. The floors were hardwood and marked with colourful rugs. The set-up was cosy and situated perfectly for a tight-knit family of three.

Naoki’s Father had been watching the news and Naoki raced up to him, plopping his hands on the back of the lounge, “How’re the ponies goin’, Dad?” he asked.

“We’ll make a few bucks yet, lad.” his Father affectionately replied.

Naoki’s Mother shook her head, “They never learn but it is exciting, nonetheless. They’re very tuned into the news, you know.” she explained.

Yusaku smiled. He wondered if Naoki’s fanboy-ism for the Link VRAINS had gotten its start from mimicking his father watching the news as boy before finally sinking into his own hobbies to obsess over. Yusaku could all too easily imagine an elementary school Naoki sitting his father’s lap, watching the news, getting all the adult jargon explained to him and then regurgitating it all to his classmates the next day.

“Also, Yusaku’s here for dinner.” Naoki added to his Father.

“Oh! Oh, um, yes that was tonight.” his Father said.

“I was just trying to tell you that.” his Mother lamented.

Naoki’s Father got up from the lounge and laughed sheepishly, “Couldn’t hear you over the TV, sorry.”

Naoki’s Mother rolled her eyes and Yusaku bit his tongue. The rapport and banter he could see in front of - and was a stranger to - was very fond and playful. He envied it. He… He wanted to be apart of it but that was selfish. He was just Naoki’s boyfriend and whilst meeting the parents was a huge milestone, aiming that high this soon felt too ambitious for him.

Interrupting his bittersweet reverie, Naoki’s Father walked up to Yusaku and bowed in front of him, spurring him to imitate on impulse. Then, Naoki’s Father offered his hand to shake and Yusaku returned that gesture as well. He tried to have a firm grip, he didn’t want to leave a limp impression and judging by Naoki’s Father’s approving grin, he did well.

“It's good to meet you, boy.” he said.

“Likewise.” Yusaku replied.

Naoki’s Father had a brilliant smile. It was wide and wonky and looked good on him. He wasn’t much shorter than Naoki as well, making Yusaku feel extraordinarily tall around the three of them. His hair was also a darker shade than Naoki’s, Yusaku noticed. They really did look like three peas in a pod, to be expected of them, he supposed.

“Naoki, why don’t you be a dear and set the table? I’m almost done in the kitchen.” his Mother called out after checking up on the pots and pans that she had simmering. Then, she turned her head to Yusaku, as though she had just forgotten something dire. “Oh, Yusaku, honey, how spicy do you like your curry? We have it very hot, did you know Naoki’s Father and I honeymooned in India. We can’t get enough of authentic curries nowadays because of it.”

“That sounds really exciting.” Yusaku replied. “But, um, I’m not a picky eater.” he assured her. He swallowed the rising feeling of how he had never been given the option of being a picky eater.

“Good to know.” Naoki’s Mother beamed, nodding her head as she rounded the half-wall. She patted Yusaku’s shoulder when she arrived beside him, “Now why don’t you sit down and get comfortable? Put your feet up, you're our guest. Do you need anything? Something to drink? I can heat up some naan bread to nibble on if you want entre.”

“I’m alright, thank you, Shima-san.” Yusaku replied.

“Oh, please,” she playfully smacked his shoulder, “you are seeing my son, please, call me “Mom” or “Oka-san”, whatever floats your boat.” she insisted.

Yusaku blushed and he couldn’t even start to stutter out a reply so he just nodded his head then sat himself down at the dining table. He watched as Naoki flitted about, placing down cutlery and napkins, giving Yusaku a cheesy smile as he rounded the bend of the table to set down a combination especially for Yusaku. It did flatter Yusaku, making his heart skip a beat and when Naoki finished, he sat down across from Yusaku and held out his hand.

Yusaku smiled and he placed his own hand on the table, letting Naoki hold it. Their fingers threaded together and it was very romantic for all the six seconds allowed because soon enough, Naoki’s Mother brought down pots of rice and curry, plates of naan bread. It was a verifiable feast with three different styles of everything, Yusaku could swear.

Just looking over the table now laden and burgeoning with food, he could feel his stomach swell in anticipation of what his eyes thought he could eat. His mouth watered and Naoki’s Mother noticed. She giggled impishly, sitting down next to him and Naoki’s Father sat at the head of the table.

“Like what you see?” Naoki’s Mother whispered to Yusaku as a joke.

“Y-Yeah.” Yusaku breathlessly replied.

“Then let’s dig in.” Naoki excitedly said. “Thank you for the food.”

“Thank you for the food.” Yusaku and Naoki’s parents chorused back to him and then it was a jovial feeding frenzy.

Yusaku just watched as Naoki and his parents shared the bowls between them, ladling out helpings of food and when Yusaku hadn’t even budged an inch, Naoki’s Mother was sure to help him out. She piled up the rise and curry on his plate and he just stared. He admired how thick and rich the sauce was, the various cubes of hand cut meat and luxurious looking vegetables scattered through it.

Yusaku then, finally, at long last, picked up his spoon. He had a small nibble and it was immediately the best curry - no, the best anything, sorry Kusanagi - that he had ever eaten. Period. The beef curry that he had sampled was utterly opulent, the sauce was succulent and the beef was tender. The sauce was so spicy that Yusaku couldn’t tell if his eyes were watering and his nose was running because of it or because of this dinnertime atmosphere. He had never experienced anything like it before and apparently, given the cravings he was having, it was everything that he had ever wanted.

He swallowed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. He felt embarrassed, being rude, but he couldn’t help himself. The fun, innocent tears of eating food that was too hot and spicy gave way to everything that had made him anxious about dating Naoki, meeting his parents, being here at all.

Yusaku sobbed at the dinner table, stopping everyone in their chatter and tracks. He just bawled and no one quite knew what to do. He hated that he was being stared but years of envy and pittance had bubbled to the surface, because of a meal, of all things, and just weren’t stopping.

“A-Are you okay, Yusaku?” Naoki’s Mother asked and gingerly, she reached out and put her arm over his shoulders, giving him a half embrace from the side.

Yusaku choked down a sob and tried to look up, he saw Naoki who looked beside himself with concern.

“Naoki,” Yusaku said, “y-you're really lucky to have all this. Thank you for sharing it with me. I-I’m just…”

“Is this about the… thing?” Naoki asked.

Yusaku nodded. He hadn’t told Naoki everything yet. Just that he had been kidnapped as a child and that it has seriously messed him up ever since. He hadn’t told him about being Playmaker or even about Ai but Yusaku did want to tell him more but… Look at what he had. It was wonderful. Two parents, a warm, loving home, a regular school life, decent grades. Yusaku didn’t want to burden him and yet, being around him and even his folks, Yusaku could feel himself lighten up with respite for once in his life.

“I-I’m sorry for…” Yusaku murmured as he got over the last bumps of his bawling. “It just… I’ve never had a family before and you guys made me feel very welcome.” He could feel hot tears rise again, right behind his eyes but they were overflowing with gratitude.

“It's okay, oh you poor sweet possum.” Naoki’s Mother murmured, stroking his back to soothe him.

“We may not know what you’ve gone through but you seem very strong to have taken it on at your age. It's okay to cry, it's not weak, if that’s what you're worried about. Its good to let it out when its too much.” Naoki’s Father added on with words of kindness.

“Thank you.” Yusaku hazarded a meagre smile.

“And if you ever need anything, anything at all, you’ve got me. Promise.” Naoki smiled.

“I know. It means a lot.” Yusaku replied.

Naoki’s Mother smiled a small smile, “Feeling better now?” she asked.

“Yes.” Yusaku replied and though his hands were trembling, he picked up his spoon and he ate more with joy. “It's very delicious, Oka-san.”

Naoki’s Mother beamed with pride, “And there’s plenty of it, so don’t be shy. Look at how skinny you are! Let’s put some meat on the bones. C’mon now, help yourself to seconds, if you want them.”

“Yes, please, and I hope to go for thirds, as well.” Yusaku uncharacteristically joked with them but it more than amused Naoki across from him.

“That’s the spirit. What’s mine is yours around here, Yusaku.” Naoki encouraged him.

“Thank you.” Yusaku replied, his voice a little wobbly but with his outburst gently put aside and he was absorbed more into that wonderful dynamic that Naoki and his family had. Truly, Yusaku thought to himself as he continued eating, there was nothing more precious nor a higher honour than being Shima Naoki’s boyfriend.

#100ships challenge #yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #chatshipping #yusaku fujiki #fujiki yusaku #naoki shima #shima naoki #writing tag #i enjoyed writing this dynamic a lot and being able to utilise the one headcanon i have for this ship #also bi king naoki!!!!!!!!!!!

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rainbowvamp · 2 years ago

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merlin live thoughts - compiled for your convenience - ep 1

[added to give context.]

[narration begins]

kilgarha [not going to spell his name right don’t care] calls merlin a young man in the narrative intro and then switches to boy the next time. why is he a young boy in the little voice over?

[intro music plays. scenes playing over intro music] why don’t i recognize any of the scenes in this intro? has it been this long?

[back to Merlin hiking to camelot] saw merlin wanted it to be lancelot. was sad. usually i start with the lancelot eps but i am not. not today. [ :( ]

he smiles cute. what a dork. good for him.

[merlin walks into Camelot and doesn’t know they’re about to kill a guy] he’s so excited for the little horns blowing and then it’s like heart break. oh baby. baby. poor baby. what a terrible introduction

why does uther say his [own] name like that? i hate him.

what’s fair and just about killing a guy uther?

i want to have a mean nickname for uther but uther is already a bad name.

[after they kill the guy I am confused] what societal -ism is magic an allegory for in this damn show????

[angry mom yelling at uther from the place where her son’s just been killed] hammurabi’s code? okay girl ig.

[girl goes in a puff of smoke] best magic disappearance in the whole show. not used nearly enough. more people should disappear like the dead guys mom.

[merlin wanders around looking for gaius] he’s holding his little backpack straps the whole time and it makes him look so young. baby. baby. baby.

[first view of gaius office/chambers/whatever] i like the set for-

[pauses to obsess about weird set choices] wait i’m sorry. what the fuck is this

[description in alt text]

why do you have this? i’m cackling because there’s no explanation that i can think of that isn’t joyous or hilarious. is there an ao3 tag for Gaius’ weird rabbit mask? missed opportunity not to have this be the mask merlin wears in my enchanted fic [mercelot cinderella au]. fuck. that would’ve been hilarious. comedy rewrite of the enchanted fic where Lancelot falls in love with merlin while he’s wearing this.

okay. unpausing now.

[gaius falls over a railing that has probably been there for 20 years] how has this old man survived this long if that’s all it takes to make him fall the heck down his own stairs in his own house.

[gaius freaking out about Merlin’s magic and it triggers my daddy issues] gaius is very yelly. yells yells yells.

[Gaius says] who are you?? i love this line

[tbh I have no idea what this is a reaction to] gaius is funny in this episode. why isn’t he like this all the time?

gaius’ actor is so earnest when he says thank you. last time anyone will say that to merlin in this show. lol

merlin has his own room and a window. living large! all i can think about is lancleot standing by the window. but it’s fine.

collin is such a good actor. he’s so enthralled by camelot at night.

[voice over of hunith’s letter] gaius is charged with keeping merlin safe. forgot that.

also, “may god save you both” feels like it doesn’t fit.

[morgana’s telling uther killing the sorcerer sucked] i love morgana’s accent. is it in the rest of the show? if not we deserved more of it.

“the more brutal you are the more enemies you’ll create” including morgana. especially morgana. morgana was right.

[lady helen in her tent, but I couldn’t remember her name was lady helen] love the little mindless humming while the singing lady braids her hair. lady helen. good for her. she has a good smile.

also she missed some hair while she was braiding but we all make choices.

[knights protect lady helen and also dies] sometimes i forget there are knights other than the ones we like.

[lady helen killed by doll stabing] don’t see how having your son killed gives you the moral high ground to kill an innocent person. seems like this makes you the bad guy as well.

how does kilgaha [not changing it] know merlin’s name. i should know this shouldn’t i. idr. [I don’t remember. You’ll see this a lot if I keep doing these]

gaius just taking care of merlin is so cute.

he dropped the water on purpose. [so merlin would pause it with his magic like a little testy test]

[merlin grabs a mop for spilled water] what a good boy cleaning up without being asked.

“don’t do magic merlin” neither gaius nor merlin has any idea how to stop him from doing magic.

[gives the guy the medicine he’s not supposed to take all at once and doesn’t finish his warning ] merlin: stands there and watches him drunk the medicine all at once when he could’ve stopped him.

[arthur being an ass to that little boy with the wooden circle scene] arthur’s hair is kind of good in this scene and it makes me mad because this scene makes me want to claw his fucking eyes out.

who is that kid[with the wooden circle that Arthur throws knives at]?he deserved better.

[arthur says] “run” ugh i want to fucking hurt him. not in a fun way.

[merlin no arthur start to argue] i know they’re establishing that Arthur will grow and merlin has courage, but… ugh.

merlin is also sassy. “i could never have a friend who could be such an ass”

[merlin’s I could take you apart with less than that line] “don’t use magic” immediately intends to use magic to hurt the crown fucking prince. dummy. fails at it because has some sense. dummier

[merlin gets thrown in jail] also. jail? for what? attacking royalty? too high a sentence. unrealistic. [/j]

[fake lady helen enters to meet uther]lady helen’s dress is really weirdly designed. good hair though.

gross that uther kisses her hand. gross that uther.

[I forgot why-]merlin sleeping on a bed of straw? oh that’s right. jail.

gaius taking care of merlin again. [gets merlin out of prison. But there are conditons I remember the scene]

oh it’s the stocks!

gwen is coming!

gaius is laughing. what a jerk. who probably saved merlin from a. couple years in prison. so ig it’s fine.

i love that gwen is in camelot red. it��s so pretty on her and probably signifies who she’ll be later.

[gwen says Merlin’s not a big hero type] she’s so unintentionally mean and awkward. i love her.

“you don’t look like that.”

“i’m in disguise” [merlin’s smile is so cute]

he has such a cute smile.

[Gaius says]“you are a question that has never been posed before merlin.”!!!!

kilgarah :( trapped below. so sad. [kilgarah is calling merlin]

[merlin takes lady helen a potion for her voice] the preparation for lady helen’s voice looks nasty.

merlin is nosy. what the fuck bro. you can’t just do that.

okay plot, but wtf?

[lady helen discovers him in her room.]he looks so suspicious. he doesn’t even say what it is. he just hands her a suspicious bottle from his suspicious hand. don’t drink it girl!

[arthur and merlin meet on the street] god i fucking hate arthur. in this ep.

he [merlin] takes off his coat. they’re gonna throw down.

[arthur throws merlin a mace!] okay, but fighting a subject with a fucking mace? what the fuck “my lord”? [me quoting what merlin just said because I think I’m clever]

“how long have you been training to be a prat my lord” is one of the best lines in this show.

[they destroy various stalls while they fight] also, arthur better be paying for any wears that he is ruining with his little pissing contest.

love that arthur is being beaten up by inanimate objects. love less that he gets to win @ the end.

gaius is yelling again :/

[merlin while gaius is telling him he can’t use magic] “if i can’t use magic i might as well die” that’s a homosexual metaphor if i have ever heard one.

gaius is giving me whiplash with the yelling and then the caring. i cant process it. ik that’s probably how normal parents behave but that just isn’t vibing w/ me. [*]

uther is eating a strawberry and i hate him for it because i like strawberries.

he looks like the guy from buffy in this scene. hate that.

i am too emotionally basic for the complexity of these characters. help. [*this is me processing my inability to process gaius earlier]

merlin: hears a voice[kilgarah] and goes looking for it in the middle of the night.

merlin: this is a good idea.

[merlin covered gaius with covers before he sneaks out] love that the magic is just stop motion of them moving the blanket up him. we love practical effects.

[in the dungeons] knights playing dice. ig we should be writing more about that now.

the dice keep moving and none of them are thinking “magic”. why?

i can’t even fault merlin for going to find kilgarah because i too would go somewhere potentially dangerous if i felt like i was wanted there.

cgi on this dragon is… well. it’s there.

[I decide I want to know how many times destiny is said in this series]

destiny count : 1, 2,

merlin: arthur is the worst. um, i kind of don’t want him to succeed. i would kill him myself if i could

destiny count : 3

i want merlin to escape his destiny, actually.

destiny count : 4

where is kilgarah even going? just away . perching where he can’t be seen to be mysterious.

[merlin going around the castle to give morgana a potion]a jaunty little jog up the stairs.

[morgana thinks merlin is Gwen and she starts to get undressed.] um… real sus not to announce you aren’t who she thinks you are merlin…

[arthur is such a jester] morgana is right about arthur. if someone hasn’t already saved arthurthejester as a url, they should. that’s a good one.

[gwen walks in while merlin is pretending to be gwen] gwen should be mad about this actually. if i were gwen i would simply stomp on merlin’s toes for being in the lady morgana’s room without permission while she was changing. that’s 2008 for you ig.

the weird arthur/morgana thing they almost did. i’m glad they didn’t do that.

[maid sees real lady helen in the mirror] lady helen kills a maid. not worker friendly. don’t approve.

i’m not mad she wants to kill arthur. im mad about all the other people she kills to kill arthur. do assassination normally girl. don’t kill commoners to get back a nobles.

[morgana walks into the feast in the red dress] i think morgana looks very nice. it’s gross that merlin says god have mercy. it’s also gross my most beloved demisexual merlin is looking at her with lust. not compliant with my headcanon. episode is bad now. [\j]

merlin and gwen interacting gives me life. i love them. i genuinely love them. i apologize for any fic i have ever written where they weren’t absolutely together.

they’re not flirting, but they’re flirting.

[re: men gwen would date] “obviously not you.” i love her. she’s so awkward. it makes my heart so happy.

[back in lady Helen’s room] i think the dead maid twitched! she lives! she just passed out! oh good :) stop killing servants 2k22

uthers crown looks stupid. i hate him.

he looks at her[lady helen] with gross eyes.

what language is she [lady helen]singing in? someone? anyone?

i am also entranced by pretty people singing pretty songs.

merlin is so smart covering his ears. baby. baby. baby.

why the cobwebs though?

if she was just gonna stab him [arthur] why didn’t she just sneak into his room disguised as one of his guards to do that? like… knights are noblemen, kill them if you want.

[when merlin saves arthur] i appreciate that we’re seeing merlin be a good person, but he should have simply let him die.

[uther makes merlin a manservant] “i will reward you by making you a servant and usurping you from whatever life you have to serve my terrible son.”

the only good thing about this is arthur also does not want merlin to be his manservant.

[gaius going> now you can keep the prince safe w/ magic] protect the prince with your magic? this could be queerer. this should be queerer :/

merlin being handed the magic book

[pause thought to] destiny count : 5

is like being shown that other gay people existed and thrived in the time before. it matters so much to see those real artifacts of queerness. i made magic queer again. i feel better.

final thoughts:

i love merlin, gwen, morgana

i wish lancelot was here

gaius is fine ig

arthur and uther make me want to commit real actual criminal murder.

stop killing common people to injure the nobility. this is wrong and unforgivable.

okay. ep 1! this was fun. i’ll post this eventually. maybe. if you’re reading this i posted it.

00:25 - june 30

#lore rewatches merlin #chaos lore #on mobile. sorry there’s no read more #long post

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sleepawaywriting · 4 years ago

Text

Mornings, Part I

[Piers x Reader, NSFW]

okay so this is half domestic headcanons, half unadulterated horniness. i love the goth boy okay I JUST WANT HIM TO GET SOME SLEEP.

NSFW (18+) UNDER THE CUT

You learn a lot about a person by sleeping with them. In your case, literally. Sleeping next to someone can be an exercise in trust, as it can be extremely vulnerable, and potentially disastrous. After all, you never know who you truly are while asleep until someone is there to bear witness. You could see everything: their nightly routine, their little habits and quirks. What did they prefer to wear, if they wore anything at all? How did they wind down? How did they get comfortable? Did they read? Listen to music? Did they prefer one pillow, or two, or ten? Did they surround themselves in a cocoon of blankets, or sleep completely uncovered, mocking the monsters under the bed? Did they stir at the slightest disturbance, or could they sleep through the end of the world? Were they restless in their slumber, or still as the grave? Did they snore? Did they talk? Did they steal blankets in the night, or did they cling to their partners? You personally found all of these details fascinating. It was as if the other person was sharing a special part of themselves, a part not too often seen by others.

You especially appreciated it now, as you dozed in-and-out of consciousness on a warm, cozy Sunday morning, lying entangled in the slender arms of your loving boyfriend. Your mind tended to wander on mornings like this, when you had no duties, no obligations, and could simply bask in the comforting presence of your slumbering musician. You thought it was funny, how you personally had very little change in your own sleeping habits since dating the ex-Gym Leader, despite your newly-inherited responsibilities as the Champion of Galar. Piers, on the other hand, had gone through an entire circadian metamorphosis since the two of you became intimate. Before you had moved into his flat in Spikemuth—a shocking and borderline scandalous development in your relationship, as far as the tabloids were concerned (you rarely paid them too much mind)—and before he had stepped down as Spikemuth’s Gym Leader, you were amazed if he managed to sleep more than four hours a night. You had an idea of how rarely he slept before you started dating—after all, why else would he send you texts in the dead of night and wee hours of the morning? But it wasn’t until after the two of you began sleeping together that you fully understood the extent of Piers’ problems. He had insomnia, that much was clear, and tended to become restless in the hours that you normally retired to bed. He claimed that all of his best ideas came to him late in the night, and would spend hours scribbling in his trusty journal while you cluelessly snoozed away next to him. Upon discovering this, you felt somewhat guilty, but he assuaged your worries by waxing poetic about how your soothing presence provided him with endless inspiration—that even while asleep, you helped organize his frenzied, haphazard thoughts long enough to translate them into song (and no matter how many times he admitted it, hearing how much you effected his music never failed to make you blush like a starstruck teen).

After moving in together, and as your domestic routines began to blend, so did your sleeping habits. It was surprisingly easy to get Piers into bed with you, you discovered. You simply had to tip-toe down to his basement studio and subdue him with a gentle kiss to the neck, along with some soft words teasing the shell of his ear. Though your schedules were not entirely in sync, as you had very different jobs, your sleepless songbird was finally getting some well-deserved rest. Gone were the mornings spent opening Spikemuth’s Gym, and spending most of the day prepping Gym Trainers, training Pokemon, and fighting rambunctious, overly-confident Gym Challengers, who often underestimated the rockstar’s abilities, much to your frustration. Now that he was a full-time musician, his workday didn't begin until late into the afternoon, and his concerts would often go late into the night. During your busiest times, when your Champion duties required you to be up at sunrise, you would have to bow out early most nights, feeling guilty when you could only support your boyfriend’s gigs about half of the time. Of course, in typical Piers fashion, he was endlessly understanding, and there was nothing quite as sweet as the feeling of going to bed alone, only to wake up and find him exhaustedly cuddled up next you, face buried into your chest or the small of your back (along with your menagerie of Pokemon, which, due to many of them being simultaneously competitive and cuddly, the two of you had to make a schedule for which Pokemon got to share the bed on certain nights).

You never expected Piers to be such a massive cuddler, but you very much welcomed it. At the beginning of your relationship, you suspected that Piers was averse to touch, as he tended to tense or not entirely reciprocate when you first began kissing or embracing him. You soon discovered that this was far from the truth, and that the poor guy simply wasn’t used to the type of affection you so enthusiastically showered upon him. Once the two of you lived together, it became increasingly obvious that he adored and craved your touch, often snuggling up against you and draping his arms around you when asleep. You also learned, that despite having trouble falling asleep, once Piers was securely in dreamland, it was almost impossible to wake him. On most mornings, escaping his Bewear-like grasp was your first Champion challenge of the day. On top of being a heavy sleeper, he was also a heavy sleep-talker. This rarely bothered you, in fact, you enjoyed having full conversations with him while he was none the wiser, with topics ranging from Marnie’s homework, Obstagoon’s yearly PokeCenter check-up, scheduling future gigs (he often mistook you for his manager in his sleep-addled stupor), and other silly, mundane things. He never remembered any of it, no matter how much you tried to jog his memory (he once mumbled out an imaginary itinerary for your future wedding—you never told him this, but it was a secret you held near and dear to your heart). There were many mornings where you would lie next to him, mindlessly scrolling through your phone or checking your emails, only for him to jolt half-awake, ask you, groggily, to write something down (usually an idea for a song), then immediately plop back down onto his pillow, snoring comically.

Those mornings were much like this one: quiet, unassuming—where you would debate for several minutes on whether you were gracious enough to let him sleep in, or impatient enough to wake him. You weren’t exactly in a hurry to get out of bed, as this was one of your rare days off, and the warmth radiating from Piers’ body, the welcoming scent of his lingering cologne, and the light pitter-patter of rain on the roof of the massive structure overhanging Spikemuth was enough to tempt you back into sleep. Your head rested under your boyfriend’s chin, your face close to the base of his neck, and you gently brought one hand up to trace a finger along the smooth metal of his collar, which he rarely removed. You weren’t sure if it was because he never wanted to, or if he simply forgot it was there, and either sounded like him, if you were being honest. Yawning quietly, you nudged your head back, wanting to get a better view of Piers’ sleeping face. Your bedroom happened to have a window facing the outside of Spikemuth’s container, allowing the diffused morning light to bathe your room in an overcast veil. He seemed to be sleeping soundly, despite his perpetually-grumpy expression still present, if somewhat more relaxed. You smiled to yourself, remembering when you first admitted to him, early in your friendship, that you assumed he hated you because of how he always seemed to look annoyed around you. “Hate to break it to ya, love, but that’s just my face,” he said then, making you feel embarrassed for assuming the worst about him, but also somewhat flustered that he referred to you as “love”. Back then, you wanted to write it off as one of his many Spikemuth-isms—that perhaps it was just a more casual nickname where he was from—but here you were, proven wrong.

Sighing softly, you looked over his sleeping form, admiring the way the stormy glow highlighted his features. You had always found him both incredibly adorable and handsome, despite the things he would say about himself in hushed tones on his worst days. His large, sad blue eyes, though closed for now, paired nicely with his high cheek bones and dark, striking eyebrows. You drew the tip of your index finger down the bridge of his nose, slightly crooked from the handful of times he had broken it in his youth, through back-alley scuffles and far-too-wild concerts. You tried not to giggle when the muscles in his face twitched as you reached the tip, giving it an extra boop for good measure. And, of course, you loved his mouth, the way his lips felt so soft and inviting against your own, the way they curled into the most adorable little smiles. The way they felt against your skin, at your wrists, the dip of your neck, across your shoulders, between your breasts, down your stomach, flush against your sensitive, needy heat, along with his overly-generous tongue.

Oh.

Suddenly and without warning, you really wanted him. Biting your lip, you didn’t wish to disturb the musician’s peaceful slumber, nor did you want him to spend the energy on reciprocating, which you knew he would insist upon (it was difficult to get him to be the least bit selfish about his own pleasure). Not to mention, you were still fairly groggy yourself, but you were equally as longing for your boyfriend, and the way his body would react to your loving, methodical touches, the way his beautiful voice would sound upon waking up in the throes of pleasure. Then, you remembered something. It was an idea the two of you had discussed before, whispers of heated fantasies in the dead of night, something that you had been waiting to act upon, but only at the right time, when it would truly be a surprise. Well, now was as good a time as any, you thought, smiling mischievously to yourself.

Ever-so-slowly, you wriggled out of Piers’ all-encompassing grasp, trying desperately not to laugh at how ridiculous you looked—arms firmly pressed to your sides, legs squeezed together, shifting yourself to-and-fro like a newly-hatched Caterpie. Once free, you sat up on your knees, careful to not shake the bed with your movements. Next came the difficult part, you thought, as he was on his side, and you needed him to be on his back for your plan to work. Placing one hand gently on his shoulder, and the other on his hip, you subtly began nudging him onto his back. You almost startled when he suddenly moved, shifting onto his back of his own accord. You winced internally, fully prepared for him to stir awake and be reasonably confused as to why you were leaning over him, but he quickly settled back into sleep, completely oblivious to the waking world. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, smiling at the silly, dramatic, sprawled-out position you boyfriend had assumed.

Carefully, you straddled his waist, making sure to place most of your weight onto your knees. Since the weather was getting warmer, even in the rainy, coastal town of Spikemuth, the both of you were sparsely clothed, with Piers completely bare, save for a thin pair of briefs. Looking him over, you watched the slow rise-and-fall of his chest, and admired the way his long, thick, two-toned hair cascaded down his pillow, descending into rivulets of stark white and midnight black against your bedsheets. He had just showered the previous night, which meant it was extra soft and fluffy, and just messy enough to make him look even more attractive, without risk of becoming a tangled mess. From your angle, you took the time to appreciate his slender frame, which you found endlessly attractive. You loved everything about him, from his prominent collarbones, to his flat chest, to the slight indents of his ribcage traveling down to the smooth plane of his abdomen, punctuated by his sharp hip bones. It took everything in you to not draw your hands up his torso, feeling every muscle and the occasional edge of bone beneath your eager touch. You frowned slightly, remembering how he would occasionally jab at himself, stating that he looked like a skeleton or a walking corpse at times. Though you knew he was joking, at least for the most part, you were adamant on reminding him just how much you adored his body, which was something that simultaneously baffled and flattered him. Your effortless and brutally honest compliments never failed to turn him sheepish, avoiding your gaze and hiding his warm cheeks behind his long, thick bangs. And you would keep reminding him, again and again, that he was plenty attractive, even if you needed to give him a a few more hands-on demonstrations to prove it, which you were more than happy to provide.

Taking a deep breath, you leaned over him, slowly placing your hands on either side of his head. Leaning down, you simply couldn’t resist brushing your lips against his own, just the softest, feather-light touch, holding yourself back from diving in and kissing him blissfully awake. Moving down, you grazed your lips across his neck, planting a gentle kiss at the base, right beneath his choker, noting the faint, yet sharp scent of leftover hair product, and the smooth, silky scent of mild soap. You left a trail of soft kisses across his collarbone, smiling into his skin as you noticed goosebumps appearing at your touch, then moved down to his chest, leaving a few kisses over his sternum before boldly swiping your tongue over one of his nipples. He flinched, and you looked up at his face, fearing the worst, but he simply turned his head to the side and settled back into sleep, breathing deeply. You could have imagined it, but you thought his cheeks took on a slightly rosy tint, contrasting with his normally pale complexion.

Continuing your journey downward, you lavished his soft belly with loving kisses and the occasional warm, gentle sweep of your tongue. Reaching the top of his hips, you nuzzled the soft, dark hair trailing down from his navel into the waistband of his briefs, before shifting your body down between his knees. You gingerly spread his thighs apart with your fingertips, lying down onto your stomach and slowly shimmying yourself forward, fitting comfortably between his long legs. Kissing up his soft inner thighs, you began to apply more pressure, teasing the sensitive skin with the edges of your teeth. You journeyed further upward, sucking on a particularly sensitive patch of skin that made his legs twitch beneath you. Hearing him exhale, you looked up, noticing as his breathing became slightly more labored. With a satisfied grin, you reached up with one hand, lightly palming the growing bulge beneath the soft fabric of his briefs. You adored the way Piers’ body reacted to even the slightest, most teasing touches, and the fact that you could make him feel so good so easily was a massive turn-on. It certainly helped boost your confidence—not to mention, seeing the handsome musician thoroughly enjoy himself never failed to make you weak in the knees.

It only took a few moments for your boyfriend to grow hard and wanting beneath your ministrations. You released him from his briefs, taking a moment to admire his cock in all its unapologetic glory. You suddenly remembered his reaction to you the first time you saw it. You must have been making some kind of face, because he immediately interjected with, “It’s not that big, is it?”, to which you replied, “Oh, ‘It’s not that big, is it?’,” playfully mocking his accent for good measure, “Mr. Humble over here with ‘It’s not that big’. Seriously?” you smiled and rolled your eyes as your boyfriend laughed. You then told him it was pretty, which made him laugh even harder, but you were being completely serious. It was big, as in long, but not too girthy, and as pale as he was, save for the last half, which was flushed pink (it was actually quite similar to the rest of him, now that you thought about it). It also never failed to make you feel so full and satisfied, hitting all the spots inside of you that made you whimper and squirm. You wanted to be re-acquainted, preferably soon, but for now, you had other plans.

You decided to tease him a little more before fully indulging yourself, drawing the soft pad of your index finger up the underside of his shaft before circling it around the tip, taking your sweet time to feel every dip and curve. His breathing grew heavier, and now you could see that his cheeks were fully flushed, his brow tensing slightly as you all but tickled his aching cock. Licking a stripe up your hand, you gently wrapped it around him, keeping your grip loose enough as to not overwhelm his senses right away. Stroking him slowly, you lavished the rest with gentle kisses, reveling in the way his hips twitched and his breath stuttered once you began swirling your tongue around the tip. He was so warm, and you felt him throb beneath your hand, his hips practically jolting in place when you gave the tip a generous squeeze. You briefly wondered if he was dreaming, and if so, if he was dreaming about you.

Watching, enamored, as the tip began to leak clear pre-cum, you felt a hunger welling up deep within your chest and between your legs. You slowly began to take him into your mouth, securely holding his hips down in case he unconsciously thrusted up inside of you (though you weren’t opposed to the idea, you didn’t want him to wake up to the sound of you gagging). You took him down about half way, before delaying his gratification by withdrawing and, again, swirling your tongue around the tip. His entire body shifted this time, a soft, tired, breathless moan escaping his lips, sending a sharp pang of arousal deep into your lower belly. Your brain grew foggy, a wave of lust and adoration clouding your thoughts as you took him all the way, brow furrowed in concentration, wrangling in your gag reflex once the tip hit the back of your throat. He moaned again, and if it wasn’t the most beautiful, erotic sound. His voice was already gorgeous under normal circumstances, but especially in the morning, when it was tinged with the slightest bit of gravel and honey-like richness. It made you feel hopelessly needy, your own arousal, slick and hot, pooling between your thighs.

You continued with the same action, slowly taking him until he hit the back of your throat, then withdrawing, listening intently to the way his moans became more haggard and desperate—until about the fifth time, when you pulled him in completely, daring to swallow around him and practically choke yourself on his cock. You heard him gasp, a startled moan escaping him as you felt a hand grip the back of your head. Well, good morning, you thought, trying not to smile or laugh with a cock stuffed halfway down your throat. You drew up off of him, your eyes connecting with his sparkling blue ones, his pupils blown wide, noting how his adorable flush had spread up to his ears and down his neck. Before he could say anything, you took him again, setting a more intense pace now that he was awake.

“Fuck—,” he groaned loudly, hips stuttering as he carded his long, slender fingers through your hair, his other hand clinging to the one holding his hip. You laced your fingers through his own as you drew up off of him again, sucking on the tip almost obscenely before licking a firm stripe up the underside of his shaft.

“So good, love,” he praised, shuddering as he threw his head back onto the pillows, taking a handful of your hair and tugging slightly. Pulling him back into the slick heat of your mouth, you moaned around him, his breathless praise making your heart flutter. Feeling him throb inside of you, you moaned again, breathing out through your nose, before bracing yourself and taking him as far as you could go, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He practically convulsed, making a delicious choked, startled noise when you felt him spill down your throat—hot, musky, and not entirely unpleasant. He held your head firm to him as he rode out his orgasm, a string of curses, praises, and broken moans leaving his exhausted body, before you tapped him twice on the hip, indicating that you needed to breathe.

“Ah, sorry—!” he startled, releasing you as you practically gasped for air, settling back onto your knees. He leaned up, reaching out to cradle your face with one hand, drawing a thumb along your cheekbone before hooking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His gentle touch made you shudder, closing your eyes as you steadied your breathing. Upon hearing your name, you opened them again, your heart swelling at your boyfriend’s tired gaze and dopey, lovestruck grin.

“I… I just—,” he started, stumbling over his syllables, drawing a hand back through his messy hair, “You— you’re so— ah, fuck it,” he gave up on words and decided to just pull you up into his lap instead. You laid on top of him, chest flush against his own as he drew you into a lazy, tender kiss, and you couldn’t help but hum at the way he slid his tongue lovingly between your lips. Cradling your chin, he broke the kiss, staring deep into your eyes.

“I love you,” he practically whispered, and you felt your face heat under his intense gaze. Suddenly feeling shy, despite the filthy things you just did to him, you hid your face into the crook of his neck.

“I… I love you too,” you squeaked. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you, and you could feel the vibrations of his voice beneath your flushed cheeks.

Sighing, you settled into him, listening to the rain and breathing in his warm scent as he came down from his high. You had almost dozed off again when he suddenly spoke.

“Ya know, if ya want me to do somethin’ for ya, I could—“

“Not right now,” you hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his neck, “Can we just stay like this, for a while?”

“Of course,” he replied, voice gentle and smooth as silk. He felt you smile against him, before you yawned dramatically, nuzzling further into him. He began tracing soothing circles into your back, sending tingles down your spine, and you quickly fell asleep to the sound of his breathing.

#piers x reader #piers pokemon x reader #piers #piers pokemon #swsh #pokemon sword #pokemon shield #pokemon piers x reader #pokemon piers #pokemon

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creaturebehavior · 4 years ago

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9 months ago, i was getting transferred from the cardiac floor to the psych ward. I was taken there in a wheel chair, and i still had to use a walker. i was freezing cold and hot and sweaty. My vision was still severely blurred, i was still shaking for days, my feet were numb, my heart was still rapidly palpitating. I sat on the bed, and the blinds were open, the room was incredibly bright. I was still hallucinating, mildly. But i was coming down fast. Something that happens whenever I’m having a spiritual drug comedown is, everything around me looks tinted in green. I attribute this to my heart chakra bursting open as I feel God with me in the room. (i realise that might sound crazy, but this is just what I believe) I hugged myself and I cried. I remember saying to myself out loud, “no one said life was going to be easy. but i am alive. And i am choosing, right now, to do this. I am choosing life. I am choosing life. I am choosing life. Right now, I am choosing this. I made it out alive again, and there has to be a reason for it. All the times i have escaped death, and still, I am here. I am going to do this. It’s not going to be easy. Nobody said it was going to be easy. But i am going to do this.” I looked around the room, i told myself to take it all in. I spoke out loud again, I said, “You are going to remember this. Remember this. Remember this. You almost died. Remember this moment. Don’t even forget this. This is the day you’re deciding to stop fighting life and deciding to just live. Nobody said life was going to be easy. It’s been so hard. But you made it here. You made it here alive. I am never going to put you through this again. I promise.” I was speaking to God as well. I said, “We are going to do this. I don’t know why I was born, I don’t know why I’ve lived the life I’ve lived but I know I can do more. I have gotten through everything before. I can get through more. I trust you. I am going to do this. Thank you for keeping me here. Thank you for loving me.” I told myself, “I love you Ema.” I probably said it over and over. I was definitely crying. I was in so much physical discomfort. So much emotional pain. No matter how much I would try to escape from reality and from the trauma of the past, I continued to bring myself more trauma and more pain. To escape reality never worked. I knew that for sure. And somehow, I made it here alive. By the grace of God only. I got up and looked at myself in the mirror. I cried at how beautiful I looked, I cried about how I never deserved the torment I put myself through, especially not after all the torment life has put me through. It’s all I was familiar with. I didn’t know how else to live. But i was ready to change everything.

And at 9 months sober, I’m still not completely sane. I don’t know if i ever will be, and that’s alright. But life in general is more manageable than ever. And i’ve grown more in these 9 months than I ever could have imagined. I am still growing every day, much more than I give myself credit for. I went to a meeting tonight, picked up my 9 month chip. On the way home my mind wandered about the mistakes I had made that day, and to some silly mistakes I had made in the past. I had to stop myself in my tracks. I said out loud, “I love you Ema. Don’t beat yourself up” and I started crying. I said, “You are allowed to be kind to yourself.” I am still learning to love myself, but I love myself more than ever. I’m still processing a lot of trauma, I’m still breaking from old patterns I’ve been accustomed to for a lifetime. When I catch myself hurting, I offer myself compassion. I am trying to grow out of perfectionism and control-freak-ism and the funny thing is, this process alone breeds many mistakes. I am still taking baby steps to become more vulnerable with others. I am still working hard to build up my self esteem. I am still learning to forgive myself for the harm I’ve caused myself and others over the years. I am still learning how to not accept others mistreating me. I am learning to protect Ema and I am trying to get Ema out of their comfort zone (which was pure misery) and step into a life that is healthy and that helps them to flourish and thrive. I am still learning how to stop being too self-sufficient, still learning how to lean on others. God holds me through it all, with unconditional love and offers me a strength I couldn’t live without. God’s love has been the biggest catalyst to this journey of recovery, not only abstinence from drugs and alcohol but learning to love myself inside and out and how to embrace life’s never ending challenges. It has taken a lot of courage and strength to get to where I am today. I am proud of who I am today. I am always going to be growing. And growth never happens overnight. It’s important to reflect sometimes on where we used to be. I live a life today, full of such opportunity. I am so grateful to have come this far.

#2021 #recovery

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theshipsfirstmate · 5 years ago

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Sex Education Fic: My Heart Is Like Paper, Yours Is Like a Flame

Post-s2 finale. Maeve makes her way to the shop. So does Otis. (aka, the immediate elimination of the Isaac obstacle.)

A/N: Fun fact: the working title of this fic was just, “I Lost Your Jumper.” I just have a LOT of feelings about these two and think Maeve Wiley deserves the world.

I also can’t believe we haven’t had a canon Maeve/Jean scene yet — all of those two together in s3, please and thank you. Anyway, hi new fandom! (p.s. please let me know if I messed up any of the British-isms or references, so I can fix.)

Title from “Such a Simple Thing,” by Ray LaMontagne.

My Heart Is Like Paper, Yours Is Like a Flame (AO3 - wc: 4248)

She picks up her pace as she makes her way to the shop, and tries to make the burning in her legs drown out the ringing in her ears. She looks up to the same stars she’s seen every night since she can remember, and tries to exhale away the chaos of the day. She blinks a few times whenever her vision starts to swim, and tries not to picture Elsie waving from the back seat.

She’s not sure how long she wanders around the brightly-lit aisles, browsing without really looking, in no rush to get back to Isaac or her empty caravan. After however many minutes, she barely even hears the door swing open or the squeal of a trainer on the tile floor. But she’d know that voice anywhere.

“Maeve!” It’s one syllable, but somehow he still ends on a stammer. “Hi, I was just-- You’re here!”

Her head snaps up, out of her daze, and she realizes she’s almost walked right into him. He’s close, too close, and she takes a quick step back, nearly knocking a dozen packets of crisps right off the shelf.

“Hi, Otis.”

He smiles, wide and bright, and it makes her jaw ache. “Congratulations on the Quiz Heads!”

Right.

The finals seem like ages ago, and she can’t imagine what it might feel like to be celebrating right now. “Thanks.”

“I saw you on TV.” He’s still smiling, and she’s still biting back the corners of her mouth until she tastes copper. In avoiding his eyes, she notices that the tips of his ears are turning bright red. “You guys were incredible.”

“Thanks,” she says again. Her insides feel like a spin cycle, and now, mixing in with the anger and sadness and regret, is the way he makes her feel. She doesn't know what to call it, really. Or, she does, but she won't.

“I was wondering, if-”

“I’m sorry, Otis,” she interrupts. “I just— I really can’t do this tonight.”

His face falls, perhaps more steeply than she’s ever seen in the year or so she’s known him well. He tries to hide it, but he does a shit job.

“Okay, yeah,” he answers slowly, before pointing at the refrigerated shelves behind her. “I told Mum I’d grab milk on my way home.”

They awkwardly shuffle around each other, doing their best not to touch, and just before she turns away for good, he blurts out, “Look, I’m sorry if my message upset you. I just- I saw you on TV and I had to-”

She frowns. “Your message?”

“Did you not...” He frowns and tilts his head, looking not unlike a sky-eyed puppy dog. “Is that not why you’re brushing me off?”

She doesn’t even have the energy to hate the hope that tickles in her chest. She just has to get out of here. “No, Otis, I’m brushing you off because I've had a shit night.” He opens his mouth as if to ask, but she won’t let him. “And I don't want to talk about it -- I just need to get some things and get back home.”

She doesn’t mention Isaac. She wonders for a moment if it would make his eyes flash that frosty blue they do sometimes -- and then shakes her head to clear the thought, selfish and stupid, from her mind.

Instead, he just looks at her, for what feels like a very long time. “Yeah, sorry, of course.” But it’s never that simple, not with Otis. “And I’m sorry again, about the voicemail, if that’s-- I only wanted to say, uh, congratulations. You were brilliant today.”

She dips her head so he won’t see her eyes shimmer, and pats at her pockets, realizing they’re empty but for a few pounds. She can’t really remember looking at her phone after making the call this afternoon, though she knows she must have.

“Hear that in the least patronizing way you can, please,” he tacks on to the end of his run-on thought, with another sheepish grin, but she’s hardly even listening anymore. It’s too much for tonight.

“Thank you,” she says once more, almost mechanical at this point, grabbing a handful of random items from nearby shelves and tossing some bills at the cashier, who barely has the chance to hand her a bag before she’s out the door. “Goodnight, Otis.”

She wants the night sky to swallow her back up the second she steps outside, squeezing her eyes shut as tears track icy down her cheeks. But still, she hears him echo softly behind her. “‘Night, Maeve.”

_______________

She spends the entire walk home preoccupied by what he could have said in a voicemail to leave him so flustered and apologetic -- and then about 20 minutes tearing her caravan apart looking for her phone before she remembers Isaac again.

He smiles at her when she opens his door, and her stomach drops at how smug it looks. She sought him out in the first place, looking for a refuge in shared trauma, but after her encounter with Otis, she finds she's not really in the mood for his morose sarcasm.

“You’d think a personal chef would be a bit more punctual,” he teases, and her middle fingers go up on instinct after she drops the shopping bag on the counter. His grin widens; he’s the type to take that as the highest form of flirtation.

“Did I leave my phone here?” She tries to ask casually, forming the words around the adrenaline that's still burning in the back of her throat.

“No.” Isaac frowns, and he’s pretty good, but she’s known too many liars to not recognize the twist at the corner of his mouth. “No, I don’t think I saw it.”

It takes her five seconds to spot it on the side table. Her whole shit kingdom for just one man who doesn’t try and manipulate her.

“Christ,” she scoffs as she clicks first to voicemail and then over to missed calls. “You think you’d know to be better at this.”

And with that she storms out, leaving the groceries scattered on the countertop and Isaac’s protests blowing in the wind. (“It won’t work!” he calls after her, like she hasn’t heard it a million times in her own head.) She doesn’t shed a tear until she’s back in her own caravan, curled up in a bed that still smells like her sister’s strawberry-scented cuddly toy.

_______________

It's just a few hours later when she wakes with a start. Her eyelids feel like sandpaper from all the crying, and the emptiness around her is almost deafening -- she was only just beginning to get used to the idea of a fuller house.

When she’s struck with a pang of loneliness so sharp it makes her breath stutter, she realizes there’s only one person she wants to talk to.

She reaches the steps in front of Otis’ house without remembering the walk, and without a plan -- internally debating the merits of chucking pebbles at the top windows until she finds his, trying her luck at the door, or, alternately, turning around and taking her crazy arse back home.

The question is answered for her when she shuffles her feet as she nears the front door and startles at the sound of a nearby female voice.

“Who’s that? Eric?”

She rounds to the side porch to see Otis’ mum sat at a table with a mug of tea, wrapped in a yellow robe that doesn't look nearly warm enough for the late hour.

“Hello, Dr. Millburn.”

The woman’s brown furrows, but not menacingly. She looks distracted, Maeve thinks, too distracted to properly worry about the intrusion. “Who are you?”

“I’m Maeve. Maeve Wiley,” she answers, feeling an only slightly lesser version of the panic that crept up on the disastrous night she went over to meet Jackson’s mums. “I’m a friend of Otis’ from school.”

“So you’re the mysterious Maeve.” Dr. Milburn narrows her eyes again, and this time it feels a little more like being looked through.

“Mysterious?”

“Well your name seems to come up quite a lot, but I'm not sure I actually know anything about you.” Maeve scuffs her foot against the deck, absently hoping her makeup isn’t too smudged. “Though I did re-read Wollstonecraft on Otis’ insistence of your recommendation. Liked it much better than I remembered.”

That sets a proud grin on her face, and a swarm of butterflies in her stomach, but it’s easy to tamp both down when Dr. Milburn’s demeanor darkens.

“I thought maybe it was just a crush,” the woman continues, “but now I wonder if maybe you’re a fellow... clinician?”

Maeve’s first instinct is to lie, but there’s something oddly comforting about the idea that Otis’ mum’s concerns about her seem to be due to their work together -- and not the fact that she’s a red-eyed caravan park girl who turns up at people’s houses in the middle of the night.

She sighs. In for a penny, and all that. “I’m not a therapist,” she answers. “I’m in charge of cash flow and scheduling.”

She steels her shoulders as the other woman does the same with her gaze.

“It’s very serious, what the two of you did. And please note the past tense,” she says coolly. Maeve knows his mother is only referring to the clinic, but still, her stomach bottoms out. “It’s incredibly unethical.”

“It was my idea to charge,” she admits quickly, and this time it isn’t just taking the fall. “Otis, he has a gift for helping people... when he can focus it the right way.”

She remembers hearing him diagnose Adam that first time, with a calming reminder to accept every part of himself. She remembers how happy he’d made Aimee with the simple suggestion that her own pleasure might be worth consideration. She remembers watching him talk Liam down off the moon at the dance, before she was even certain that speech was for her. It’s so genuine, what he does, and she’s never felt anything like being around him.

“He’s incredibly talented, and kind,” she tells his mum, letting emotion flood her better judgement, “and he just-- he really cares.”

The sound Dr. Milburn makes is barely a chuckle, but when their eyes meet again, there does seem to be a touch of something like maternal warmth. Maeve’s honestly not sure she’d recognize it if she saw it.

“Yes,” the woman says, knowingly. “Perhaps he's not the only one.”

That’s the problem with her feelings for Otis, she realizes sharply. They’re rose-colored glasses, and she can’t ever afford to lose the big picture.

His mother sighs, and tips her head back, either towards the stars or the upstairs windows. “I suppose I’m not in much position to judge anyone tonight.”

It’s a statement that begs more than a few questions, Maeve thinks, but she’s 100-percent sure she’s not the one who should be asking them. After a beat, Dr. Milburn seems to realize the same.

“Upstairs,” she offers. “The one at the end -- you’ll think it’s the bathroom.”

“Thank you.”

_______________

Maeve rushes inside, and up the stairs, down the hall, with barely even a breath. Otis’ light is still on, but he’s lying in bed -- and he nearly jumps out of his skin when she bursts through the door without bothering to knock.

“What did you say in that message?”

“Maeve!” He shoots upright immediately, folding his legs in towards himself and scrabbling at the covers. She can’t help a little smirk at his frantic discomfort.

“The voicemail, dickhead, what did you say?” Every one of her emotions feels like it’s breaking the needle, but most pressing at the moment is curiosity.

“What?” His hair is all stuck up in different directions, and he’s looking at her like she’s speaking a different language. In other circumstances, she might find it endearing.

“Isaac deleted it,” she explains fast, like it’ll make it less humiliating, “and I just want to know what you--”

“He what?”

“He’s an arsehole, I’m over it.” Otis won’t be, she can see it in the pinch of his lips, but she doesn’t let it pull focus. “What. Did. You. Say?”

“I, uh-” He stammers and then heaves a deep breath, nervously reaching down again to smooth the covers at the end of the bed. It’s like he can’t meet her eyes, now that he understands why she’s here. “Do you want to sit?”

“No.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Out with it.”

She glances around his room while she waits. It’s not like she pictured, but it’s nice.

“Okay, I, well… My dad’s been around recently, and-”

“Otis.”

“I said I was sorry,” he admits at her prompting. “For what I said to you at the party, for Ruby, I--”

She doesn't want to, but she flinches at the memories. “You were drunk,” she shrugs.

“I was.... horrendous,” he continues. He seems to have found some of his composure, she notices his eyes look particularly icy. “I was angry, and shitty, and spinning out on the punishment of getting the thing I wanted most, right when I wasn’t allowed to have it. I found it unfair, and I took it out on you— I knew how to hurt you, and I did. And I’m so, so sorry.”

She doesn’t answer him, so certain that if she speaks, the tears burning at the backs of her eyelids will spill over.

“But you’re not selfish, Maeve, you have to believe that.” He’s right when he says that he knows her -- that was the most painful part. “You’re not selfish, you’re strong.”

She snorts derisively, and looks down at his floor. “I’m not that strong,”

“You are.”

“Saying it again doesn’t make it true, Otis.” Now she’s the one who can’t meet his eyes.

“I’m telling you,” he insists. Stubborn as always. “I know you may not always be able to see it, but I-”

“I had to call social services on my mum today, okay?” The admission comes out in a rush, and so do her tears.

“Oh, Maeve, I’m--”

“Don't say sorry,” she warns, swiping at her cheeks and willing her voice not to shake. “She’s using again, and it wasn’t safe for Elsie.”

She stares at his bedroom floor for a long moment, clenching her fists until her wrists start to twinge. When she does look up, he still seems horrified -- and she can’t really blame him. “She's never gonna forgive me.”

When Otis finally speaks, though, it's soft and almost pleading. “Maeve, will you please just come and sit?”

Exhausted, she gives in, crossing the room to take a seat on the side of his bed as he swings his legs around to sit next to her. She holds herself together for a split-second, but when he gingerly reaches out, as if to take her hand, it’s too much. She twists into his arms on a sob, and if any fragment of her heart was left to break today, it would at the way he’s right there to catch her.

“It’s not your fault.” He talks to her softly as she soaks through the shoulder of his sleep shirt, soothing a hand up and down her back. “I’m so sorry you had to do that.”

She doesn’t scold him for the apology this time, it would feel hypocritical with his arms around her. She doesn’t even protest when, after a few minutes, he maneuvers them back until they’re leaning against the wall at the head of his bed.

Otis keeps an arm wrapped around her shoulders, and Maeve curls into his chest, absently noticing his Super Mario pajama pants and letting the image tug at the corners of her mouth. He smells warm and familiar, and after a while, her tears start to taper off and she relaxes against him.

“Could you just… keep talking for a bit?” she murmurs. “It doesn't matter what about.” He nods, but he’s so close that his lips accidentally brush against her forehead, and they both freeze for a second at the spark.

“My dad’s been back around because he cheated on his new wife and she kicked him out,” Otis offers. “The older I get, the more I’m realizing that he’s kind of an awful person.”

The next part he says lower, and she can almost feel the sadness rumbling in his ribcage. “My mum told me I look just like him when I lie. Ola said I try so hard to be a good guy that I end up the opposite. I’m just worried that the parts of me that come from him are destined to be rotten.”

“If that’s how it worked, I’d already be fertilizer,” Maeve deadpans, eliciting a weak chuckle on each side.

“I don’t want to be like him,” he continues after a beat. “I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want to hurt you.”

There’s so much in his voice that she has to look up, and when she meets his eyes, her breath hitches in her throat.

“I don’t want more apologies, Otis,” she protests, weakly. “Tell me something good.”

His arm tightens around her for just a second. “Back when I was invisible, I could be kind of a dickhead. It didn’t matter much, really, only Eric was there to hear it.” It’s strange to think about, how the time before they knew one another wasn’t all that long ago.

“But you’ve helped me become somebody, Maeve,” he continues. “Somebody better.”

“Otis--”

“And so tonight, I just called to tell you that. And to tell you how proud it made me feel to see you win that championship. And to tell you how sorry I was for treating you the way that I have. And to tell you that I lo-”

“Don’t!” She sits up on a gasp, pressing away from his chest as her heart thuds against her sternum. She doesn’t get too far, his palm is still on her shoulder as her hand fists in his shirt and then snaps back to her side. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” he says, clear and certain, like a heartbreaking deja vu. “We’re good together. Great, even.”

“And what do you expect me to say back?”

She’s not sure why, exactly, she’s immediately antagonistic, but the second he began to say it, Maeve thought of a recurring dream she has sometimes. She’s stuck in a car, buckled into the passenger seat, and there’s a cinder block on the accelerator and no one around for miles.

“N-nothing,” Otis stammers, finally taking his hand off her arm. She knows it’s true, he’s not the type to bargain with words like that. “I mean, anything. Whatever you want to say.”

She’s learned how to wake herself up from the dream most nights, to focus on the details that tell her what’s happening isn’t real. But his expectant face, hopeful and nervous, tells her that they’re speeding towards the point of no return. It’s almost time to crash or bail.

“Maeve, you’re the most brilliant person I know.” He says it so easily, and there’s no dishonest twist to his mouth when he does. “You’re smart, and stunning, and I-”

“I lost your jumper.” It’s not at all what she means to say, but it’s what comes out when she cuts him off. “The one you let me borrow.”

Otis sputters a little in confusion, but he does his best. “That’s okay,” he answers, and she glances up to see his brow furrow.

“I mean, I kept it, for a long time. Too long,” she explains in a rush. “And then after you gave me that trophy last term, and I read your letter, I came to bring it to you.”

“Maeve, it’s fine. I have loads more.” He still doesn’t understand.

“But when I got to your house, you were with Ola. Like, with her, with her. ” She looks up again to watch it click. “And so I ran away and I threw your jumper on a clothesline in the caravan park.”

“Oh,” he exhales, wincing a little. “I didn’t know.”

“I waited too long. I was a coward, and I waited until you were happy with someone else, and then I tried to steal you back,” she confesses. “So I’m not all brilliant.”

He frowns as she finishes. “You are, though,” he replies, adding a teasing grin that he does his best to drop when she glares back at him.

“Fuck off.”

“Look, it wasn’t right with Ola. And we both knew it, I think,” he explains in that soft, earnest way of his. “We were just… trying something because it seemed like it might work for a while.”

For a split-second, she thinks of Jackson, and how it always felt like they were playing with borrowed time. “I think I realized, afterwards,” Otis continues, “that what I liked the most about her was that she liked me back.”

“She’d have been crazy not to.” It’s almost an admission on her part, and when he raises his eyebrows at her, she scoffs lightly and moves back to sit next to him again. The bed isn’t large, so their arms brush against one another, and Maeve takes a deep breath, in and out, and takes his hand in hers, looking down to watch their fingers tangle together.

“Otis, I do, still,” she tells him, struggling for the right words over the thudding in her chest. “Like” feels insignificant. “Love” feels monumental. And then there’s the matter of the rest of it.

“But I don’t know how we could expect this to work,” she admits after a moment. “We’re so different. You’re you, and I’m...me.”

She can practically hear his consternation at that, but when she looks up, she doesn’t see any pity on his face. In fact, he looks a little angry. “Do I have Isaac to thank for that, too?”

It peeves her a little, that he’s not entirely wrong. She’d thought she was past fighting with her inferiority complex after Jackson, but Otis is different. He always has been.

When her silence serves as an answer, he sighs. “Maeve, when I say you’re the most brilliant person I know, I don’t just mean your freakish, National Quiz Championship-winning brain.” Instead of swallowing her smile, she turns to press it into his shoulder. It feels like progress, and his answering grin makes her heart skip a beat.

“I mean that you’re... formidable. You’re clever and profound and beautiful and so much more,” he says, his voice at a low, impassioned decibel. “And you are strong. You’re gonna be amazing at whatever it is you want to do.”

A kitchen table with four chairs. But maybe not all of them are empty.

“I’d just like to be there cheering you on,” Otis finishes. “If you’ll have me.”

For a moment, she allows herself to imagine a world where it’s that simple. But part of her brain is still trying to pry the cinder block off the gas pedal. “What if it’s too much?”

It’s the least painful version of the question she really wants to ask. The rest light up like neon signs in her brain as she watches him weigh his answer. What if I lose you? What if you betray me? What if you’re just like everyone else I’ve ever loved?

“It can be whatever you want it to be, Maeve,” Otis says finally, with a squeeze of her hand, and the concession is a little dizzying. “All I’m asking is for us to maybe try being in the same place at the same time for once.”

He makes it sound easy enough. At the very least, it loosens the knot in her chest from icy panic to something warmer. “I think I want to kiss you,” she says, grinning so hard it crinkles her nose as she watches his eyes go wide.

“Yeah?” It comes out on a breath, and she nods, pursing her lips.

“Yeah.”

It’s soft and sweet, and even more than she had hoped. The part of her that had allowed herself to picture this moment had worried a bit that Otis might kiss her too delicately, like a china doll. But he’s bolder than she expected, bringing a hand up to cup her jaw and diving in like he’s been waiting for the chance. It thrills her to think that he probably has.

She loses whole minutes kissing him -- trying to remember every time she caught herself glancing absently at his lips while he was talking -- and when they pull back to catch a breath, he looks as dazed as she feels.

“Hi,” he whispers, with a foolish smile she can’t help but match.

“Hi,” she replies, threading her fingers through his hair before leaning in again. “I’ve missed you.”

They stay up, talking and kissing, for awhile longer, eventually sliding down the wall until they’re staring at each other from across his pillows. When her eyelids start to drift closed, he presses his lips to her forehead -- this time on purpose -- and she feels more content than she has in a very long time.

In the morning, maybe she’ll see if she can get his jumper back. Or, even better, she’ll just borrow another.

#first mate fic #otis x maeve #sex education #maeve wiley #otis milburn #sex education fic

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chaoticsagi · 5 years ago

Text

FICTOBER 2019 | DAY TWO | “JUST FOLLOW ME, I KNOW THE AREA”

Prompt: 2 - “Just follow me, I know the area.”

Fandom & Ship: Community, Jeff x Annie

Summary: Jeff, Britta and Troy fly to DC to surprise Annie, but without Annie there to plan it all, it kind of falls apart.

“We’re lost,” Troy whines behind him, his voice rings in Jeff’s ears. This is the fifth time that Troy has moaned in the last 3 minutes and Jeff’s starting to lose his patience with him.

He thinks to himself how, if they had listened to him earlier and actually followed the map he had out on his phone, they wouldn’t even be in this mess. But then his phone died, and then so did Troy’s. Now they had no map, no address, no hints as to where the hell they should be headed.

He pictures them all in Annie’s apartment, imaging them with a hot drink and their feet up on her sofa, listening to her tell a story in her animated Annie fashion. He tries to ignore the fact that they’re currently roaming the streets of DC hopelessly in a desperate attempt to find her apartment building in the cold air. Their luggage drags along behind them and they can’t ignore how tired, bored and cold they all feel.

The thought of seeing Annie again was the only thing keeping Jeff going at this point. Even if Britta and Troy were there with him. He does kind of wish he could see her alone, but when he announced his plans to his friends, they all begged to join him, and Jeff couldn’t say no.

“Just follow me, I know the area,” Britta says confidently, but it only causes her friends to groan. “I lived in New York, remember?”

“You do realise we are not in New York right now, right?” Jeff feels the need to check, unsure why Britta thinks her faux-knowledge of a completely different city will help her here and now. It’s one of those weird Britta-isms he’ll never understand, but he hopes for her sake she’s on to something. For the love of God, please let her be onto something.

“Shut up,” she nudges his side and storms past him, walking off down the street.

Troy and Jeff pick up pace to follow her, knowing they don’t really have much choice at this point, both their phones are dead and they have no idea where they were. They might as well not lose Britta, even if she is dead weight.

They wander aimlessly for a few more minutes? Hours? Days? Jeff’s lost track of time by this point, and every second seems to be crawling by agonisingly slow. It’s time to face facts, they have no clue where they are. He just wants to see Annie. Why is it so hard?

The idea of surprising Annie with an impromptu semi-group reunion seems stupid now that they couldn’t even find her. Jeff thinks back to their original, half-hatched plans and wonders whether they should’ve just got her to meet them at the airport. She’d probably be embarrassed with his poor planning skills, he thinks to himself after.

“Shall I just call her?” Britta asks 5 blocks later, and Jeff and Troy turn to each other, eyes full of anger (Jeff) and confusion (Troy).

“You’ve had a phone on you the whole time?!” They shout in unison.

“Duh doy. These phones last like a week without charging,” Britta pulls out a very outdated phone from her purse. It looks like a brick and Jeff’s pretty sure he can see an antenna sticking out of it. It looks like a lost relic from the late 80s. “It may not have all your fancy apps on it, but it does the trick.”

“Jeez Britta, how old is your phone?” Troy comments, curiously inspecting the device in her hand. “You seriously need an upgrade.”

Returning back to the task at hand, Jeff rubs his temples vividly. “So you’re meaning to tell us we could’ve called Annie hours ago? Did you seriously not think of that?”

“I thought the whole point of this was that it was a surprise,” she spits out.

He glares back at her. Her reasoning is stupid and he’s not afraid to tell her that.

“Shut up, Winger. Maybe if you didn’t spend the whole flight sorting through your selfies and draining your shitty phone battery, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

Troy stifles a laugh and stops immediately when Jeff sends him a pointed look.

“I wasn’t even doing that,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. So what? He may have been looking through some old photos of the group all together, reminiscing about the last time he saw Annie… Didn’t mean anything though.

Britta presses call on Annie’s icon, putting the phone on speaker. They can all hear her flustered voice when she finally answers.

“Hi Britta,” Annie calls out in her familiar voice. It sends a chill down Jeff’s spine. That, or cold breeze that just picked up. “Is everything ok?”

“Heyyyy,” she drawls in response. Jeff and Troy stand by, listening in.

“You haven’t locked yourself out of the apartment again, have you? Is there a problem with the rent or something? Have you been robbed?”

“Nah, I’m all good,” Britta continues. “Actually, we do need your help… We’re a little lost.”

“Lost?” Annie’s voice is laced with concern, he can practically sense imagine her sitting at home, heart racing, eyes filled with panic. It’s a pretty cute picture, but he doesn’t want her to worry too much.

“We’re in D.C. but we don’t really know where we are right now… What’s your address again?” He sighs, feeling a bit bad they’ve ruined their surprise.

“Surprise!” Troy adds in before Annie can even react.

“You’re in DC?” is all she says before pausing for a moment. They wait, huddling further into their jackets, unsure if she sounds excited or not. “I’ll text it to you now Britta.”

“We’ll get a cab right over. Thanks, Annie!”

“I can’t believe you guys are here!” She jumps up and down as they walk into her apartment. It’s a tiny, tiny excuse for a place. The walls are bright yellow - very Annie - and the kitchen slash living room just about fits them all inside. Thank god the others hadn’t been able to make it; they were already at maximum capacity.

“I missed you,” Troy pulls her in for a big hug. “Plus I have to tell you all my pirate stories - something these two clearly don’t appreciate.” Troy sends Britta and Jeff a glare as he moves away.

Britta ignores him, approaching Annie next. “Your place is… cute,” she tries.

But in reality it’s cramped, and Jeff’s pretty sure he can feel a breeze coming in through the closed window, he mentally tells himself to check that out later.

He can tell she’s really tried to make it as homely as she can, with throws and pillows and little dashes of Annie about the place.

“Thanks,” Annie shrugs. “It’s the best I could do with my savings right now. Oh, and please thank your parents again for covering all the rent while I’m gone, I owe them.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously.”

It’s Jeff’s turn next.

He’s finally standing in front of her, a moment he’s been picturing ever since he dropped her off at the airport with Abed. And yeah, he definitely never imagines Troy and Britta in all his fantasies, but he knows it’s nice for them to all have a group reunion so he’s not exactly complaining.

“Hey,” he breaths as she steps towards her. He feels a weight on his shoulders, full of words unsaid, longing and feelings. The woman he loves is stood there in front of him, and more than anything he wants to go over to her, pull her close, and press his lips on hers. But he can’t. Not right now, at least.

A silence lingers between them, before she moves closer and wraps her arms around his waist.

“Hey,” she near-whispers back into his chest and the vibration of her voice against him sends shockwaves around his body. For the first time in a while, he finally feels alive. It’s stupid and he tries to ignore it.

“Missed you,” he stops himself from saying more. He really doesn’t want to open his mouth and admits just how much he hates Greendale when she’s not there. He’s been getting by ok, and he doesn’t exactly want to scare her off.

She leans up to whisper in his ear, “I missed you the most.”

She smells like vanilla, all warm and homely and comforting all in one and he can’t help but let a smile dance across his features as he holds her.

“Break it up, guys,” Troy yells across the room, to which Britta adds some gagging noises for dramatic effect.

“Yeah. I didn’t come all this way to be a third wheel, Winger.”

Annie pushes herself out of his grasp, smiling at her houseguests.

“Who wants to go get dinner?”

Jeff stands by watching the three, all happily discussing where to go. He thinks to himself how lucky he is to have them all in his life still, how lucky he is that they’re all here together despite their Greendale days being long gone. He never could have imagined it would be like this, but he’s so glad it is.

This is it. This is his family.

They drop their things off at the hotel before heading for food, and because they all have so much to catch up on, they almost don’t notice the restaurant clearing out for closing time.

So they eventually end up at some random bar Annie recommends and it’s pretty packed inside. Full of people much younger than Jeff, he notes, but tries not to think about it too much.

His mind wanders to whether she’s moved on, found some young, good looking guy here in DC that’s more suited to her new FBI lifestyle than he is. But the thought makes his stomach churn and his head cloud with anxiety and insecurity and he thinks it’s best to leave those thoughts alone.

He ends up ordering himself a scotch while they all listen to Troy’s recap of his time in Australia and then sneaks out the entrance to the smoking area for some fresh air.

It all feels so surreal now, Jeff’s not really sure how to feel.

“You ok?” he recognises her voice immediately, and turns to spot a familiar head of brown, shiny hair and bright blue eyes looking up at him.

“I’m good,” he nods, his voice doing very little to mask his true emotions.

Not that it matters. He knows Annie can read him like an open book anyway. He doesn’t know why he bothers trying to hide anything from her.

“Just follow me,” she says, grabbing his hand. “Don’t worry, I know the area.”

He looks at her puzzled, remembering when Britta said the exact same thing. She giggles at his quizzical expression and winks back. Troy had told her the story earlier and she found it completely hilarious.

She leads him away from the bar, just down a quiet, secluded street around the corner. She’s walking faster than he’s ever seen her move and he wonders what her urgency is and where she’s taking him.

She doesn’t say anything, just stops abruptly outside a closed shop, and before he even has a chance to ask her what she’s doing, she leans onto her tip toes and slants her lips on top of his.

His heart explodes and his head goes fuzzy and he can’t quite believe this is happening. He pulls her body closer, his hand nestled into her hair and the other tight on her waist, holding her close.

Her lips taste fruity, like the cocktails she’s been ordering all night (some things never change). Her tongue finds its way into his mouth, and he has to stop himself from moaning too loudly in response. He’s waited far too long for this. His heart pounds in his chest, threatening to leap out if he gets too excited.

Eventually, they part, their chests heaving and their lips red. Her nose is a little pink from all the friction. It might just be the best thing he’s ever seen.

“We should go back before they notice that we ran off,” she smiles innocently and holds her hand out for him to take.

He doesn’t have time to overthink what just happened. All he knows is he can’t wait for the rest of their little secret moments together this weekend.

#fictober19 #jeff x annie #jeff/annie #jeff and annie #annie x jeff #community #otp: like a perfect duet #idk what this is but it's kinda cute #jeff winger #annie edison #britta perry #troy barnes #not sure if i like it but #HERE HAVE THE FIC #fan fic

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wildefiction · 5 years ago

Text

Elysian

Pairing: Rob x Reader

Word Count: 1,723

Chapter: 2/?

Chapter Summary: Rob invites reader over to his place to continue their movie marathon, but something seems...off...with Rob.

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, Slight class-ism (minor characters)

A/N: That writers block tho! Seriously, it’s good to be back.

TWO

The following morning, as you pulled open the front doors of a very large, very sterile-looking office building set into the heart of downtown, you were glad you'd agreed to only one movie. Black, strappy heels clicked against reflective slate tiles beneath your feet; portfolios held securely beneath one arm.

"Right this way, Ms. [Y/F/N]." "Can I get you anything to drink?"

The receptionist was a bright, young intern. Bold, coppery hair fell nearly to his shoulders, his striking blue eyes lit with an eager kind of excitement as he showed you to the conference room.

"If you've got any tea, I'd love some."

Smiling as the man nodded and bustled away, you took a moment to glance around your surroundings. As conference rooms went, it was fairly ordinary - a long, glass-topped table was set in the middle of the space, surrounded by about twenty leather office chairs. One wall was constructed entirely of crystal clear glass, though the only view was more of the same tall, lifeless buildings.

Turning as the door shushed open behind you, a woman approached, a grand smile on her face; one hand extended in your direction.

"Ms. [Y/F/N], it's so good to finally meet you. My husband and I have heard good things."

The woman's grip was firm, confident, and immediately you got the inclination she was going to be the one you'd need to impress.

The man from earlier had returned, a selection of teas, creams and sugar arrayed on a dark serving tray.

"Thank you Dylan, that will be all."

Glancing to the woman whose hand you still held after smiling in appreciation at Dylan, you wondered if this woman was as dismissive with everyone else as she appeared to be with him. His own smile faltered, quickly replaced with a wary expression of disinterest as he turned and left the two of you alone.

The next two hours were spent presenting your work to the owners of Caliber Entertainment.

By the time you'd been shown to the door by Dylan, you were exhausted. While confident in your abilities and your work, your struggle had always been selling yourself.

Regardless, you were happy to be out of there. While meetings like those were a necessary evil, you really wanted nothing more than to go home, take off these damned heels and relax.

Pulling your phone from the pocket of your blazer, you typed in the lock-screen password and found several messages waiting.

[Rob]: Hey, finished at the studio a little early today. How was your meeting?

[Rob]: Thought I might stop by the store, pick up a couple steaks...you hungry?

The rumbling of your stomach as you read the words was answer enough.

Noticing the last text had come through only a few minutes prior, you hurried to type out a response.

[Y/F/N]: Starving. I didn't know you could cook.

Almost immediately, the device in your hand chirped with an answer.

Rob: One of many things, I'm sure. Movie at my place tonight? Should be home in twenty.

Trying to remember if you'd ever actually been inside his house, it took only a moment to realize you hadn't.

Sending off a message to let him know you'd bring the beer before dropping the phone on the passenger seat of your car, you couldn't help but be excited at the prospect of spending another evening with Rob.

Pulling into your driveway a short time later, you were surprised to see him sitting on the front porch. The ridiculous grin that spread across your face was hard to hide, so you decided not to bother.

"Well look at you, all dressed up...heels and everything eh?" His teasing tone matched the mirth in his expression.

"Don't get used to it." The phrase was clipped, but accompanied by your smile, still firmly in place.

Reaching out to grip his arm while you kicked off the footwear, the blazer quickly joined the abandoned semblance of professionalism.

Crouching to pick up both items, you proceeded through the front door, calling out an invitation for Rob to follow.

"Let me just change real fast, no way am I doing movie night in jeans."

Nodding, Rob headed for the kitchen "I'll grab the beer."

Disappearing down the hallway to your room, the closet stretching along the north wall held more clothes than you knew what to do with. Unfastening the buttons of the dark-washed denim clinging to your thighs, you reached a steadying hand out to balance against the dresser as you peeled them from your body, abandoning them in the wicker hamper set in a corner.

"Hey, [Y/F/N] - have you got any pepper? I think I'm out."

Nodding to yourself, you quickly realized that he couldn't hear you. Grabbing a pair of cutoffs, you turned, stepping into the bottoms and pulling them up as Rob paused in your doorway.

Peeling the flowy chiffon fabric of your business shirt off over your head, you answered his question without missing a beat; completely unfazed at your state of undress.

"Yeah, I think so - one sec."

Pulling open the second drawer of your dresser and selecting a solid-white tank top, you pulled it over your head while heading for the door.

Walking past the man into the hallway with the shirt still covering your head, you missed the flustered look on his face.

Closing his eyes, the back of his head fell against the doorjamb. The initial attraction he'd felt towards his neighbor had started to blossom a few months prior, but he'd never said anything to her about it. He liked the way things were between them, but her obvious nonchalance for being half-naked around him was going to change that.

Pushing a breath between his pursed lips, he stepped away from the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face as he joined [Y/F/N] back in the kitchen.

"Here's that pepper you needed." "Ready to go?"

Dropping the pepper mill into his outstretched hand, you made for the front door, flipping light switches as you went.

Following you from the house, Rob pulled the door shut behind him, watching with a small smile as you skipped barefoot down the sidewalk.

The sun-kissed warmth of his deck seeped into the bottom of your feet; the smell of the grill wrapping you in the savory flavors of summer.

Twisting the caps off of two amber bottles pulled from the cooler, you handed one across to Rob. Closing the lid on a large stainless steel grill, the man turned, accepting the drink with gratitude.

"So, how was your day?" Flopping down on one of the adirondak chairs situated around the wrought-iron grate of his fire pit, Rob turned his eyes up to yours, the light blue-grey hue fixed in place. Raising the bottle to his lips, he took a long swallow, awaiting your answer.

"As good as can be expected I suppose. I despise having to suck up to rich assholes though."

After a pause, you laughed.

"No offense." Tilting your bottle towards him in apology, the lopsided grin on your face made him chuckle.

"None taken." "Hey, how do you like your steak?"

Rob stood from his seat, wandering over to check the grill.

"Medium rare, please."

Shielding your eyes from the late-afternoon sun, you peered out across the expanse of chillingly still water, ripples of light dancing across the surface of his pool.

"So...do you ever actually use your pool or is it just for sheer decorative purposes?"

"Oh, uh, well..no real point when you live alone right? Sometimes I swim laps I guess."

Shrugging nonchalantly, Rob turned back to the grill, transferring the food onto a serving platter.

"Can I help with anything?" Placing a hand against his back, you peered over one shoulder.

"That looks amazing, I could eat a goat right now."

Rob chuckled again. Pointing towards his kitchen, the tongs still in one hand, he shook his head.

"Could you grab the salad please?"

Over dinner, which was even better than it had smelled, the conversation revolved around work and the increasingly fleeting amount of free time both of you found yourselves with.

It took you longer than you cared to admit to notice towards the end of the meal that Rob was acting a bit strangely. Pushing what was left of his food around the edges of the plate and offering little in the way of conversation or eye-contact when he did speak, the sudden shift in his behavior concerned you.

When he began to stutter and it took visible effort for him to form complete sentences, you reached across the table, tentatively covering his hand with your own. The touch startled him enough that you nearly pulled back.

"Hey man, you okay?"

While the question remained friendly and open-ended, the idea that he might not want to share what he was thinking only occurred to you after the fact.

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” The smile he offered was anything but convincing; wilting quickly, it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. Rather than push the issue however, you reflected that same uneasy smile, drawing your hand back and rubbing the suddenly clammy skin against your bare thigh.

"Ready for movie number two?" Standing suddenly, Rob reached forward, grabbing your empty plate before hurrying inside.

A seed of doubt wedged itself in your chest, tendrils of unease taking root when your brain began to throw every possible scenario around as to why his behavior had so suddenly changed.

Slow to follow, by the time you'd walked back through the patio doors and crossed the house, Rob was kneeling in front of the entertainment center, elbow deep in Lily's toy box, muttering under his breath about something.

In one fluid movement, he stood, clutching the remote he'd apparently been searching for in one hand.

Perching on the edge of the sofa, eyes shifting between Rob and the screen in front of you, the worry that flitted around your consciousness continuing to grow. Where earlier in the afternoon, he’d been all smiles and carefree laughter - his rigid posture and the awkward silence blanketing the room in a thick fog allowed only one valid conclusion to form in your mind: Rob was angry, and somehow, somewhere - you’d messed up.

TAGS: @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven @natasha-cole

#wildefiction #rob benedict #rob benedict x reader #spn x rpf #supernatural cast #elysian

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