#And I was like well I usually go until right before bedtime when I’m binging it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojos-sidepiece-69 · 4 years ago

Text

Tokyo Tech Training- Chapter 5

The four of you first-years finally stumbled back to your dorms at the end of the day after an overdose of brain-rotting movies and binging food that would bring you one step closer to Type-2 Diabetes. You decided that a hot shower would help dissolve your stress from earlier, but that didn’t seem like nearly enough...a lightbulb flicked on over your head as you remembered that Tokyo Tech had a natural hot springs on location, and that sounded more than promising. You hadn’t used it yet, but you hoped it was empty; you signed in contentment at the thought of laying in hot water in the dark, unbothered: no thinking about anything, not even your literal deal with the devil. You could worry about that disaster tomorrow; today was enough of a shitshow in and of itself. It was 11:55 PM, so you quietly padded through the dorms so as not to wake anyone up.

You exited the building and strolled to the hot springs behind the building, taking in the cool night air. You inhaled slowly, and the scent of cherry blossoms filled you with tranquility.

In order to get to the hot springs, you had to pass through a small bamboo shed to rinse yourself clean and change into one of the clean bathing suits that were provided in the lockers. You shut the door to the shed behind you softly, and began stripping off your clothes. You kept your clothes out on the bench, much too tired to stow them away in a locker. The water droplets from the shower head felt cool and refreshing, and you walked over to the corner to pick up a swimsuit.

However, a small part of your brain told you that there was no way anyone would see you here; after all, it was dark and past the usual students’ bedtime on the weekdays. They were all such early risers. So you decided to forego a swimsuit and lay in the hot springs completely nude, because that would be the most relaxing. Who was going to judge you, anyways? People did this all the time. You grabbed a white towel to take with you for drying off after the soak, and headed out towards the spring.

You slipped into the hot water and sighed deeply, closing your eyes. You were in the moonlight surrounded by cherry blossom trees, beautiful black rocks, and the peaceful sound of water flowing. You leaned your head back against one rock and smiled, almost drifting off into sleep. The water felt like silk draped around you, and you were in it deep with only your head above the surface. “I didn’t peg you as the type to skinny dip at night, princess. But you keep proving me wrong,” said a familiar voice in a cocky, insolent tone. Your eyes flew open in fear, unfortunately landing on Gojo Satoru leaning back against a rock five feet away from you, head tilted upwards.

Your heart rate quickened with anger. This was supposed to be your night alone, head clear except for the sounds of running water. Your fool of a sensei was supposed to be 38 floors above you somewhere downtown, probably screwing another girl. Not sitting across from you, ruining your night. “What the hell are you doing here?” You said angrily, crossing your arms.

“Well, after a long day of exorcising high-grade unregistered curses all on my own, I thought I deserved a nice little dip in the spring. Funny, though, don’t people usually put something on before they jump right in?” He teased you and you instantly remembered how exposed you were to him. Even if it wasn’t anything he hadn’t already seen before, it still made you nervous. Why were you nervous? Nothing was going to happen. This was your night to unwind. You looked at him for a minute, trying not to stare. He had taken off his stupid black sunglasses and had his eyes closed, head still tilting up. He hadn’t opened them or looked at you yet, and you were just waiting for his eyes to pierce into yours. He looked like a sculpture, his strong arms resting on other rocks and his collarbones glistening with moisture. You scoffed at his comment. “Why are you here, exhibitionist?” He asked with a smile, and your face reddened at his comment.

“I’m not an exhibitionist. You think I care about getting your attention? I’m not that pathetic,” you jumbled out. “And if you must know, I’m here to relax after all the shit you’ve put me through in the past few days.” His smile deepened as he finally turned toward you and opened his beautiful eyes. You swallowed as he got up from his position and moved closer to you in the water. “Sweetheart, I haven’t put you through anything you didn’t want to do yourself. And I would argue that you do quite a lot to get my attention. Already forgetting about just yesterday, when you were jizzing all over yourself to the sight of me? You couldn’t keep your hands out of your pants.” Your chest started heaving as you forgot how to breathe.

He moved closer. “As for relaxing, I think I can help you with that.” He stopped about a foot away from you and your stomach flipped. “But I’m only going to help you if you ask me real nicely, like a good girl.” You silently cursed him for being such a stupid tease. Your brain was telling you to just get out of there before things escalated, to keep your ego and moral high ground intact, but those things were long gone. You hated yourself for thinking with your heat instead of your head. Damn it. You chewed on the inside of your lips, salivating at the sight of Gojo in the water. You could see droplets clinging to his chest, torso, and...v-line. His boxers were underwater, but he smirked when he caught you staring. “It’s not polite to stare,” he said intimidatingly, standing at full height, while you were still mostly underwater.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, and you almost folded under the weight of your lust. Seeing him touch another woman yesterday only made you ten times hungrier for him. You needed a taste or you would lose your mind.

You could only manage a weak, “Come here,” but that wasn’t enough for him. He tutted and shook his head. “I said, ask politely. Remember the magic words?” You wanted to strangle him. “Please, Gojo?” Your voice almost cracked with impatience. “Wrong! You’re forgetting already?” He laughed, crossing his arms. Your mind flashed back to your first night together, when he asked you for those “magic words” before he went down on you. Oh. “Please...come over here, Sensei,” you said quietly, and he flashed his white teeth. “Good. Was that so hard?” He closed the remaining distance between you and you could’ve sworn your heart was going to burst right out of your chest.

He bent over and wrapped his fingers around the backs of your thighs, lifting you up onto the edge of a large, smooth black rock. Water spilled down from your body, revealing it all to Gojo. His head was directly level with your chest, but he didn’t make any sign of moving it yet. “Gojo, come on, I already asked you nicely. What else do you want?” You whined quietly. “Nothing, I’m just admiring the view,” he smiled, rolling your eyes at his boyishness. He secured both of his large hands tightly around your waist to keep you from slipping off the rock, and started sucking at one of your breasts. He started with just moving his tongue over your nipple slowly, and then took the whole breast in his mouth. He moved his tongue in a way that was making your pulse quicken and your thighs slick.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him in closer. He pulled his mouth off of your breast, and you looked down at it and nearly moaned at the sight of it: wet from his mouth, and left with tiny purple spots to mark his territory.

He moved onto your other breast, his face completely shoved against it. You could feel him smile against your chest, tongue again swiping torturously slowly across your nipple. You started panting, and you felt embarrassed that he could feel your heart moving at a million miles per hour while he was somehow still completely calm and collected. You gripped roughly at his wet hair, and whispered to him, “Need...need more.” He looked up at your blushing face and quirked an eyebrow. “More? You should’ve just said so. Always remember, communication is key,” he said as he roughly parted your thighs. “Shut up, idiot,” you choked out after his stupid insertion of a “wise” life lesson. He kept your shaking legs open with a Vice-like grip, and dipped his head down. His breathed teased against your opening for a few seconds, until he finally gave into his need to taste you.

His tongue took a broad stroke up your heat, lapping at the juices. He moaned lightly and pulled his head back out to make eye contact with you. “You taste so fucking good, sweetheart. You’re just gonna sit nice and still for me while I taste you, okay?” You nodded, and he went back down. He talked into your pussy as he said, “So pretty and wet, just for me,” and you just about lost it. His hands massaged and rubbed at your inner thighs softly while his tongue ravaged your pussy. He stopped at times to suck and blow onto your clit, and you had to forcefully bite down onto one hand to keep from screaming out and waking up everyone in Tokyo. The other still gripped onto Gojo’s hair. You could only moan softly as your teacher got you wetter and closer to your destination.

You pushed your legs around him tighter, and he kept moaning softly as he picked up his pace. He pulled his head back to look up at the mess you were, and made direct eye contact while inserting one, then two, of his fingers. You let out a feral sound, and he laughed at the effect he had on you. His ego liked how easily he could make you lose your mind, begging for him desperately like he was the only man on earth. He never broke eye contact while he grinned and pumped his fingers in and out of you. Your release was threatening to fall over, but you seemed to have an issue finishing without him telling you to. “Pl-please,” you panted breathily, and Gojo laughed up at you again.

“Okay, okay, needy. That’s it, you did amazing for me. You can cum now,” as he bent down to place another heavy kiss on your clit. You moaned loudly into your mouth as you came onto his luscious lips, and he groaned slightly. He pulled you off of the rock and onto the ground, and your legs almost gave out. He licked the mess you made off of his lips before saying cheekily, “You liked that, huh. Just can’t keep away from me. You feel more relaxed now?” You couldn’t help but nod, head still spinning from your intense orgasm.

“I could tell,” he said. Before you could think about returning the favor, your white-haired man-whore turned around and walked right out of the hot springs. Your eyes trailed over his back muscles longingly as he entered back into the bamboo shed. He left you with a dull ache between your thighs and a heaving chest. You raked a hand through your wet hair and squeezed your eyes shut. And just like that, the rational thinking and whatever was left of your moral compass came flooding back in. God damn it, again?! So this was going to be a regular thing now? Being fuck-buddies with your ridiculously attractive teacher? This was so illegal...but then again, since when were any of the rules in this Jujutsu world unbreakable?

You sunk back down into the hot springs and sighed. The amount of shame that washed over you was significantly smaller, because as much as you hated to admit it...he really did help you unwind. And release some pent-up stress. Okay, a lot of pent-up stress. You leaned your head back against a smooth rock and decided on a short nap before taking on the challenge of walking up to your dorm because you weren’t sure you’d be able to walk straight.

After a fifteen-minute power nap, you heaved yourself up out of the water and wrapped the fluffy white towel around your body. You made your way into the shed again, sleepily searching for the bench with your clothes on it. You could’ve sworn you put it on that one over there...your eyes narrowed as you frantically searched all the lockers for your clothes. Where the fuck were they? You couldn’t just walk back through the school in a towel, you’d get in trouble for sure...and then it dawned on you. Bastard. Gojo, the biggest fool of them all, probably thought it was a funny idea to snatch your clothes, leaving you even more of a hot mess than you already were. You were threatening to boil over in anger, so you picked up your phone to call him immediately.

He picked up after one ring, “Want more already?” He said airily. You could tell he was driving away fast, back to his place. “Shut the fuck up and listen for once in your life. Did you take my clothes?” Your voice shook. He gasped. “Why would you accuse me of such a thing?! I would never. That being said, yes, I took them. I couldn’t help it, your little pink panties were just so cute,” he laughed.

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Get over here right now. I’m not walking back through the school in a towel,” you said sternly. “Not a chance, sweetheart,” Gojo sang. “You’ll have to come get them yourself if you want them.” That wasn’t about to happen. “Go fuck yourself,” you said, and before hanging up on him, he replied, “Oh, I will, darling.” You were so angry that you ran all the way back to your dorm, not caring about loudly your feet were stomping on the floorboards. You saw three sleepy, confused faces peep out at you from their rooms, but they dismissed seeing a large, white fluffy bird fly past them as a weird dream.

You slammed your door shut and threw your towel to the side, putting on some actual clothes. You put your hands up against the wall and breathed for a minute, trying to process your emotions. This boy was going to leave you in a wheelchair and in therapy. You were ripped from your animalistic rage when you heard your phone chime. It was a single picture from your sensei. Him dangling your lacy underwear from his long index finger. You felt a familiar blush rising to your cheeks, but shook it away as you threw your phone against the nearest wall.

🌹

#smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #chapter 5 #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #long fic #series #netflix

58 notes · View notes

shessoparticular · 4 years ago

Text

Blurred Lines | Part 1 | #ShawnMendesWritingCircle

Thank you @saysweartogod-og for starting this #ShawnMendesWritingCircle challenge!! Hope ya’ll enjoy the first part of my shawn x pa! reader fic!

Being the personal assistant to one of the biggest popstars in the world was a busy job whenever Shawn was doing press or touring but you seemed to just be “one of the boys” whenever Shawn was recording new music. He now owned a small cottage just outside LA that he used exclusively to record all his new stuff, staying away from the now notorious cabin the woods where he recorded a lot of his earlier stuff. It quickly became one of your favorite places to spend time with one of your favorite people in the world.

You had all but moved into Shawn’s recording cottage to be on hand whenever he or his writers or producers needed anything. Shawn had insisted on you taking the guest room, claiming there was absolutely no reason for you to spend money to rent a place when he had the whole place to himself. Part of the deal was that you’d have to be on hand basically 24/7, not just for him, but for the whole team. If they wanted coffee, you got it. If they wanted any type of food, you got it. If they wanted a specific notebook, you got it. You had been Shawn’s assistant for two years and knew his favorite brands and items without giving it a second thought, stocking up on things you could’ve been asked for which made the number of times you’d actually have to leave the house minimal. Shawn This led to getting an insight into Shawn’s writing and producing habits for up to 10 hours a day. Recording time was the best time to spend around Shawn as you were free from a lot of the authoritarian figures who watched over the two of you constantly.

You knew it was inappropriate but of course you had a little bit of a crush on Shawn, who wouldn’t? Constantly throughout your working relationship, you had forgotten that he paid your bills and he was actually your boss, although he treated you like you were friends. Andrew and the team had specifically hired someone around his age hoping that they’d be able to work well with Shawn, but they never imagined that you’d have as good a relationship as you had now. You’d stay up together on the bus in the middle of tour, talking about absolutely nothing but somehow, you’d never run out of things to say, often chatting your heads off until you saw the sun come up through the front window. You’d often end up asleep on random couches in expensive hotel rooms when you decide to binge watch a movie trilogy or a season of a random show. You’d even snuck out without the others knowing, seeing the sights of whatever random city you had found yourselves in. The one thing the two of you never discussed was a kiss you had shared after a night out in Europe. You were both under the influence of a hell of a lot of alcohol and agreed to never speak on it again, Shawn saying it was a mistake. You definitely didn’t agree, it was now like it never actually happened, despite how much you wanted it to happen again. The lines of a working relationship were blurred a long time ago.

“Hey y/n, can you grab me a new bottle?” Shawn asked, holding up the empty flow bottle, distracting you from your thoughts as you sat on the beanbag placed along the wall of the small studio room. “Got you” You laughed, standing up and grabbing a new bottle from the fridge next to you, tossing it to the tall boy situated on the chair close to the desk holding a heap of expensive recording equipment. You had been too distracted by your own thoughts to see that he was staring at you before he asked the question, with the same look you would give him whenever he wasn’t looking, a look of adoration.

Shawn had developed a crush on you as well. It was kind of inevitable for him, spending all this time together, feelings were bound to appear. He was professional though, and never let himself cross the boundaries though, except for that one night. He valued your friendship too much to let anything get in the way of you keeping your job. He was happy to have you around in any capacity.

“What’s on the agenda tonight, popstar?” You asked as you took a sip of the bottled water you’d gotten out for yourself, plopping yourself back down on the beanbag. Sunday’s meant Shawn was working by himself in the studio, free from the distractions of the other producers and writers, allowing him to be the sole creator of any ideas that came to mind that day. This was your favorite way to watch Shawn work. “It’s like 6pm and I’m honestly nearly done here so what do you think about some UberEats, that beer in the main fridge and whatever new Netflix standup comedy is out?” He asks, playing around with some buttons on the panel on the desk in front of him. “Only if I get to pick where we order from” You laughed in response, pulling up the app on your phone to search for your favorite fast food burger joint. “I think I can deal with Chick-fil-A again” He chuckled. He knew you a little too well.

Shawn returned to whatever he was creating on the sound desk in front of him, leading you to unlock your phone and open up the photos app. You spent the next however many minutes aimlessly looking at all of the photos of the two of you together, silly selfies when you were both going insane on tour and the typical tourist photos in front of landmarks all over the world featured, your mind going back to every moment you’d captured together. You smiled to yourself thinking of the memories you’d shared together.

Three hours later the two of you were curled up under blankets on the L-shaped couch, chugging your beers, chowing down on the chicken sandwiches while a Netflix standup special was playing in the background. You and Shawn rarely ever paid attention to what was playing on the TV, too engrossed in your own conversation. The two of you had discussed any random topic you could think of while consuming a copious amount of alcohol. The two of you both hadn’t had alcohol for a while, so it was affecting you a lot more than it usually did. “So… is there a girl yet Mendes?” you giggled, the beer finally making you a little bit buzzed. You were always pretty professional around Shawn and he rarely ever saw you under the influence. In the two years you’d known him, he’d never had a girlfriend. Of course, there were girls around, look at him! But they’d never stuck around. “Why do you ask me this when you already know the answer is no? We spend all our time together, I don’t have time for anyone else” He laughed, taking another swig of his fourth beer.

“So, are there any boys?” He retorted while you rolled your eyes at him. “Yeah there’s one annoying one who depends on me for everything, his name is Shawn” you cracked yourself up, you and Shawn knew at this point the alcohol was overwhelming you. You had stayed up for another few hours, finishing off a few episodes of Jane The Virgin. “I think it’s bedtime for you, look at you” he snickered while he cleaned up the leftovers and empty bottles. You were still laid up on the couch, but now half asleep. “Only if I get to stay in your bed” you replied with a giggle, looking up at him while he stood over cleaning off the coffee table in front of you. Drunk you had a lot more courage than your sober self. “I suppose, only if you stay on your side” He laughed, obviously a bit tipsy as well. You helped him scoop up the rest of the mess before you headed towards his bedroom door instead of your own.

“So, what are we gonna talk about? I haven’t shared a bed with a boy since you started cockblocking me two years ago” you teased, looking at him from across the bed. “Cockblocking?” He asked while confused. “Yeah. You think any guy is gonna wanna try and get with me at a bar when I’m always with this extremely good-looking tall dude scaring them off?” You replied truthfully, the alcohol had obviously worn off by this point of the night. “You think I’m good-looking?” he teased, poking his tongue out at you. “Of course I think that! I’ve only had a crush on you for the last eighteen months” you finally admitted, afraid of his reaction. “That’s the alcohol talking” He sighed, with a slight look of disappointment on his face. “It’s really not. I just don’t want to risk my job, Shawn. We’ve been so professional together, trying to not break any rules. I never wanted people to think that I got to where I am by sleeping with my boss. I’d never go against Andrew or your label, Shawn. I love our relationship and how we are together so much. I’d never risk that because of a stupid little crush” You were almost crying at this point, wiping away tears as you sat up in the bed.

“It’s not a stupid crush y/n. You know heaps of people around me have said that we look like a couple. I like you as well, you must know that already. I have for ages, that’s why I’ve never dated anyone since we got to know each other. We just can’t act on it; it would be so unprofessional” he admitted. “I wish we could, I really do. You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now. But as you said I would hate for people to think any less of you because of it” he continued. “That’s what I thought, I want more than anything for us to actually be together and I’m annoyed that it took alcohol for me to tell you. Do you even remember when we kissed in Germany?” you asked him. “Of course I remember it. I think about it all the time” He exclaimed. “We can’t be talking about this y/n” He sighed, looking over at you. “Can’t talk about what, Shawn?” You sassed back, your sadness quickly turning to anger. “Us. There can’t be an us” He stated simply. “Then stop leading me on Shawn! You can’t treat me like more than a friend and turn it around on me when it suits you. It’s embarrassing. I don’t know if you remember, but you kissed me Shawn, not the other way around. If you want me to just act like your employee, that’s exactly what I’ll do” you yelled almost quietly, taking your pillow and storming back into the guest bedroom. You made sure to slam both his and your door as loud as you possibly could.

The next morning you made your way out to the kitchen to make your morning coffee before Shawn joined you. “I made you a coffee, boss” you sassed, passing him the extra cup you had just poured moments before he entered the kitchen. If he wanted you to act like an employee, that’s exactly what you’d do. “Thank you. I ordered from that breakfast place you like down the road. I just have to make a phone call; can you just go to the door and grab it? It should be here any minute. Then I want to actually discuss what the fuck actually happened last night.” He stated, finishing his iPhone out of his pocket. “Sure” you replied, heading to the door quickly, with your coffee still in hand, to meet the delivery driver. You grabbed the food and tipped the driver before heading back inside the door while Shawn finished off his phone call.

You didn’t want to listen in, but you couldn’t help it. “Yeah, yeah of course” he replied to the person on the phone. “No, I’m definitely single. I’d love to take you out once you get to LA” he told the person on the other side of the call. You couldn’t help but freeze in place when you heard what he said, dropping the coffee cup, allowing the liquid to spill everywhere and the porcelain to break all over the floor, tears filling your eyes. “I’ve gotta go” He hung up quickly before looking over at you near the entrance. “y/n?” He questioned as soon as he saw the tears in your eyes. “Yeah, I heard that Shawn” You replied angrily, dropping the bag of food on the kitchen bench before storming off into your guest room, locking the door behind you.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes imagine #ShawnMendesWritingCircle #shawn mendes x pa! reader #shawn mendes x y/n

187 notes · View notes

lostintranslaation · 4 years ago

Text

history always repeats itself

By @wh0doyouthinkyouareiam for @clover-roseee for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange!

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Ned Leeds, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Pepper Potts

Summary: When Peter gets bitten by a spider at the Stark's lake house, he thinks he's got it all under control. He's gotten through a spider bite once before, right?

(hint: he doesn't quite have it all under control)

Read it on AO3

Peter shrugs his backpack over his shoulder and winces. He’s been busy recently and between trying to finish out his senior year strong and helping with May’s homeless shelter liaison program and spending more time with the Starks, Peter hadn’t had much time to go out on patrol. So yeah, he was out of shape. But was it normal to be this sore?

“Peter? Can you hear me?” Ned cranes his neck around Peter’s locker. Peter blinks.

“Uh, yeah.” Peter closes his locker. “Sorry, I just zoned out for a minute. What were you saying?” He shoves a knuckle into his eye to counteract the pressure building in his head.

“Have you seen the new Star Wars movies yet, the ones that came out during the blip? I think there’s, like, two, maybe three. They switched the actress for Rey, but I heard they’re pretty good other than that.”

“I haven’t, have you?” Peter pulls his hood over his head as the two of them push open the doors of the school to start their daily walk to the train back to Queens. At least some things never change.

“No. Haven’t gotten the chance yet, y’know? Been a little busy. But,” they stop at the bottom of the stairs, “I got a new Lego set from the latest episode for my birthday last week. I was thinking, if you’re free tonight, we could put it together and binge all the movies that came out while we were gone?”

Peter sighs and leans on the railing. “That sounds like a lot of fun, but I promised Ton- Mister Stark that I would babysit Morgan tonight.”

Ned’s jaw drops. “You call him Tony?” Peter just smiles and looks down. “Are you guys… close? It seems like you’ve been hanging out with the Starks a lot recently. Babysitting tonight, the lake house last weekend…” Peter huffs out a laugh.

“Last weekend was just to help them out. They needed a couple boxes moved in their garage and Pepper called me to help out because Tony’s still… not in moving-boxes condition. But yeah, ever since… you know, he’s been acting different. Nicer, I guess. He’s like, actually wanting to spend time with me, which is a nice change.”

“Well, either way it’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. “Hey, I gotta go. Tony told me to just come to their apartment after school got out.” He starts walking backwards. “But text me about a raincheck for our Star Wars binge, okay?” Ned nods and Peter turns around to start the three-block walk to the Stark’s Manhattan apartment.

It’s chilly out, the kind of cold where fall is fading into winter and the sky is grey and the streets are wet even though it’s been a couple days since it last rained. Peter tries not to focus on the headache building behind his eyes and the stiffness in his neck and hopes that Morgan will be up for a nice, calm movie night or something like that.

Knowing her, she probably won’t be, though. She’ll probably want to play horses or something like that and Peter will have no choice but to trudge around their apartment with her on his back, perfecting her princess wave she’d tried so hard to teach him but couldn’t quite accomplish.

And despite all this, despite the fact that when she gave him the eyes he was physically incapable of telling her ‘no’, he wouldn’t change a thing. He couldn’t change a thing, not even if he wanted to. The first time he’d babysat her, she’d asked for a juice pop and then the next thing he knew it was a couple hours later and they were sitting on the couch watching Sofia the First, three juice pops in. When Pepper and Tony returned, they just offered sympathetic smiles that said that they’d been there before and sent him home with a nice check.

The doorman at the Starks apartment building was nice and Peter sometimes would buy him a coffee if he had a little extra cash when he came over to visit. But today all Peter could do was offer up a weak ‘hi Mister Hudson’ and a tight-lipped smile.

“Hello Mister Parker,” he greets as Peter walks through the doors. “Up to see the Starks?” he asks before pressing the floor number in the elevator. And after not receiving a verbal response, “Rough day at the office?”

Peter sighs and leans back against the cool wall of the elevator as it starts its ascent. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself and tries to suppress a shiver. “I’m just tired. Nothing new,” Peter says. “How are you?”

“I’m doing great. You know, Ava had her baby a coupla days ago.” The man’s wrinkled face splits into a giant smile and Peter can’t help but smile himself.

“Congratulations! How does it feel to be a grandpa?”

“Oh, it’s incredible. She's incredible,” he flips open his creased leather tri-fold wallet to show Peter a photo of a pink squishy baby with giant eyes and a small tuft of dark hair atop her head.

“What’s her name?” The elevator dings and the doors slide open.

“Nina,” the doorman replies, still smiling fondly on the photo in his hands.

Peter claps the man on the back. “She’s beautiful, Mister Hudson. Have a great rest of your day.”

“You too, Peter. Try and get some rest.” The look in the man’s eyes is sincere. Peter smiles and the doors slide shut again.

Peter leans against the wall in the entryway and kicks off his shoes near the door. He closes his eyes and hangs his head, but the moment of solace does not last long before Morgan’s footsteps come pattering down the hallway to greet him.

“Peter!” He kneels down and pulls her into a hug.

“Hi Morgie.”

“Do you wanna have a tea party tonight? Mister Bear is gonna be there.”

“That sounds like a blast.” He straightens back out and immediately doubles back over, an involuntary groan escaping from his lips as his stomach cramps. He sways on his feet and a wave of nausea rises in his throat but he swallows it back down. Clipped footsteps echo down the hall.

“Heya Pete,” Tony rests a hand on the top of Morgan’s head and she squirms out from underneath his touch. “You feeling okay?”

Peter forces his face into a tight smile and straightens back out. “Mmmhmm,” his voice is higher than normal and he clears his throat. “Just peachy.”

“Do you have the keys?” Pepper asks from down the hall and Tony answers back in the affirmative.

“Alright, we gotta get going.” Tony extends an arm to Pepper and she laces hers around. “We shouldn’t be back too late, maybe elevenish. You know the drill. Dinner and bedtime like normal.” Peter nods and tries to ignore the tension building in the back of his neck.

Pepper walks down the hall and slings her purse over her shoulder before kneeling down to give Morgan a peck on the top of her head. “Be good for Peter, okay?”

Morgan nods and beams up at Peter, “We’re having a tea party, right Petey?”

Peter musters up a small smile to return to her. His head is pounding now and he leans against the wall for support. “Yep!”

“Well don’t have too much fun,” Tony shrugs his coat over his shoulders and him and Pepper step into the waiting elevator. They wave as the door closes.

“Bye Mommy! Bye Daddy!” Morgan waves back.

She takes Peter’s hand and looks up at him. “Ready?” Peter nods. The headache is blinding now and he can hardly think straight. The room is spinning and waves of nausea roll over him to the point where he has to rest his hands on his knees until the bout passes.

“You okay?” Morgan rests a hand on Peter’s sleeve and sharp spikes of pain race up his veins towards his neck. He coils away from her touch and ends up on the ground. This can’t be good. He takes a breath and rolls up the sleeve of his sweatshirt. A raised red bump greets him.

The Starks’ garage was a mess. Old bots and other projects that Tony didn’t need anymore littered the floor and boxes of old tools and car parts were stacked up to the windows. At one point, Peter moved a stack of firewood into the house near the hearth. There was a nest of spiders wedged between the logs and Peter swears he saw one bite his arm. But he was sure it was nothing to be worried about. He was Spider-Man, after all. Whatever spider had bitten him, it was sure to be no worry.

But now, as he swallows back the bile rising in his throat and his arm that had been bitten throbbed so deeply he could barely think, he wasn’t so sure.

The skin around the bite was red and swollen but other than that didn’t look too abnormal. Peter rolls down his sleeve and forces his face into a smile. “I’m okay, Morgs.” Her face is unconvinced so he takes her hand with his good arm. “I’m okay.”

“Promise?” She holds out her pinky.

“Promise.” He hooks her pinky around hers and she nods. “Are you hungry? I think we should eat before we have our tea party.”

“Can we have dino nuggets?”

Peter pushes himself up off the floor and takes a moment to catch his breath before responding. “Whatever the princess wants.”

She takes his hand and pulls him towards the kitchen, slower than she normally would, but with all the usual enthusiasm. His feet blunder underneath him and legs float as if disconnected from the rest of his body. A bead of sweat races down his temple and he catches it with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

In the kitchen, he blows out a shaky breath and digs in the freezer for the chicken nuggets. His chest feels full of tissue paper and he can’t suck in a full breath.

Once the nuggets are in the oven and a glass of juice has been poured for Morgan, Peter searches through the cupboards for some tylenol or ibuprofen or anything really. Once he gets his hands on a bottle of ibuprofen, his shaking hands are barely able to twist the cap off, but once he does, he shakes out a handful of the tiny orange pills and swallows them, chasing them down with a glass of apple juice.

Some time passes and Morgan plays her music and Peter is almost able to take his mind off of the warning buzzing in the back of his neck and the increasingly painful stomach cramps that come and go like a wretched tide.

Once they’ve both eaten, (Morgan more than Peter, for once.) Morgan leads Peter down the hall to her room and shows him to a seat at a table set up with her pink-and-white porcelain tea set and stuffed animals resting in their own chairs in front of their own teacups and saucers.

Morgan picks up the teapot and “pours” the tea for herself and Peter and each of the guests at the table. Peter zones out for a moment, but Morgan must have said something to him because she’s staring at him expectantly.

“Petey?”

“Yeah?” Peter blinks. His stomach is full of bricks and it aches like it never has before. He clamps his arms around his middle and breathes as deeply as he is able.

“I said do you want sugar,” Morgan sighs, exasperated.

“I think I’m good.” Peter replies. He can no longer ignore the pain and his sweatshirt is damp with sweat.

Morgan sets the sugar bowl down on the table and rests her forearms on the white tablecloth. “You’re not very fun to play with today.”

Peter looks up and his head pounds. “I’m sorry babe. I just don’t feel very good. Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

Morgan sighs. “I guess. But only if it’s Nemo.”

“Nemo it is. You go get it started and I’ll be right in.”

As Morgan bounces off to the movie room, Peter stumbles into the bathroom, leaving the light off to ease his headache. He rests his head on the cool granite of the bathroom counter and breathes for a moment, working up the courage to fight back the nausea that threatened to cripple him. His heart is racing and so is his mind, trying to match up his symptoms with something, anything that he could remember from his time being a Boy Scout when he was younger and Ben was still around. It almost felt like it might be a black widow bite, but wouldn’t there be fang marks? Or maybe there wouldn’t, Peter doesn’t know.

“Petey? Are you coming?” Morgan’s voice pulls him from his head. He splashes water onto his face and takes small deliberate steps to avoid toppling on his way to the movie room. It’s only a couple rooms down the hall, but still, Peter is sweating and his legs are trembling and he practically collapses down onto the couch when he arrives. Breaths come in labored pulls and his head is swimming in pain.

Morgan orders FRIDAY to start the movie and FRIDAY complies, but Peter has a difficult time focusing on the movie, or anything besides controlling his breathing and not puking all over the rug.

Peter doesn’t know how, but somehow, he was able to make it through the movie and to Morgan’s bedtime. She had fallen asleep on his shoulder and he somehow hadn’t noticed until after the movie had ended.

He moves to wake her and everything hurts. He doesn’t remember feeling this horrible since the first spider bite. Oh no. It couldn’t be happening again, right? No, right. Yeah. It couldn’t happen again. Unless…

“Is it over?” Morgan sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“It’s over, baby. Time for bed. You should go and use the potty and brush your teeth really quick so we can get you to bed. It’s getting late.”

“I would do that all really quick if I could get a juice pop.”

Peter sighs. “Alright. One juice pop. Then bed.”

“Deal.” She hops up from the couch and bounds toward the kitchen.

Peter leans forward, an involuntary groan escaping from his lips as his stomach cramps again. When he stands, his vision blacks out, and he comes crashing down to the floor.

Tony’s watch buzzes on his real arm. Peter’s photo lights up the display. He pulls his phone from his pocket and picks up the call.

“Hey Pete, how’s it going? Everything alright on the home front?”

“Daddy?” Morgan’s voice is shrill, like it only is when she’s scared.

“Morgan? Are you okay?” This grabs Pepper’s attention and she comes closer to Tony and the two of them walk away from the center of the social circle to the outskirts where they can hear better.

“It’s Peter,” she says. “I think he fell down and now he’s sleeping really hard and I can’t wake him up.” Her voice wavers and Tony’s heart speeds up, fluttering and skipping over beats like they’re nonessential.

“It’s okay Morgie. You did great. Can you tell me where he fell?” Pepper’s eyes are wide and Tony fights to keep his demeanor calm when all he wants to do is freak out.

“In the movie room.”

“Did he hit his head when he fell?”

“I…” Morgan whimpers, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay babe. No worries. Everything is all good. Mommy and I are going to be home in just a couple minutes, okay? It’s all going to be okay.”

“Okay…”

“I’m going to give the phone to Mommy, okay? And we’ll be home really soon.”

“Okay.”

He hands the phone to Pepper and they leave the party in a whirlwind of curt goodbyes and squealing tires until they are back at the apartment and running through the lobby, barking inquiries about Peter’s condition at FRIDAY.

When the elevator doors finally open at their penthouse apartment, Tony and Pepper sprint down the hall to the movie room. When they finally get there, Tony’s stomach drops. It’s a sight no parent should ever have to see, one of their kids pale and sweaty and passed out on the floor while the other looks on with tears in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks.

Tony skids across the floor and his knees creak when he droops down close to Peter (he would pay for that later). “Peter? Time to wake up buddy. It’s not bedtime yet.” He cups Peter’s cheek and he can see Pepper ushering Morgan out of the room out of the corner of his eye.

Peter shifts under Tony’s touch and groans. His eyes open, just slightly, and then close again. “Come on buddy. Talk to me. You can do it.”

“T’ny?” Peter breathes. His face is so pale. Way too pale.

“Yep, it’s me buddy. What’s going on?”

“I,” his face scrunches in pain and he lets out a breath, “I dunno.”

“It’s okay bud. No worries. Everything’s gonna be fine. Cho’s on her way, but she’s about 20 minutes out. Be honest, can you wait that long? Or should I take you to the ER?”

“I dunno.”

“Okay, okay. That’s fine. We’re gonna get this all sorted out, no problemo here.”

Peter hums and closes his eyes. “Oh, no siree, we’re gonna want you to keep those peepers open right now, okay? Peter? Open up.”

Peter hums again and opens his eyes back up. He gasps and sits up suddenly, like he just realized what was happening. “Morgan?” Peter whips his head around searching for the girl and Tony manhandles Peter back to the ground.

“Morgan’s fine, kiddo. She’s with Pepper.”

He blows out a breath. “Okay, that’s good. That’s good.”

“How long have you been feeling this miserable bud?” Tony maneuvers himself so that Peter’s head on his thigh and he tangles his fingers in Peter’s sweaty curls.

“Since yesterday. Got bit by a spider.”

“Again bud? You have quite the luck with spiders, huh?”

Peter squints up at Tony. “Could you turn the lights down? Head hurts.”

“FRIDAY, lights down to 15 percent.” She complies.

“Tony, I don’t—“ Peter claps his hand over his mouth and gags.

“Woah, it’s okay. It’s okay. Let’s get you—“ he pushes Peter up into a sitting position and rubs his back. Peter gags again and vomit splashes onto the dark carpet. “There you go. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sor—“ he doubles over again and groans.

“Hey, it’s all good. No apologies here. I was thinking this rug was getting to be out-of-style anyways.” Peter just whimpers.

“It hurts Tony. Like, really bad.”

“I know bud. I’m so sorry.”

Peter leans into Tony’s chest and Tony rubs his shoulders. “Make it stop,” Peter whines. “Make it stop, Tony, please.”

Tony holds Peter closer. Peter is hot. Like, just-ran-three-miles-in-the-August-heat hot. “FRI, ETA on Cho?”

“Helen Cho will arrive in seven minutes.” Even though she’s just an AI, Tony swears her tone is sympathetic.

“Can you tell me where it hurts bud?”

“My stomach and… my— oh Tony my head too.”

“Cho’s gonna be here any minute bud. Just hang in there.”

“Mmhmm,” Peter nods into Tony’s chest and he can tell that he’s crying. It makes his heart ache.

The next seven minutes pass slowly and painfully, but somehow, they pass. When Cho gets there, she takes the situation by storm and all Tony can do is watch.

“Did he say what kind of spider it was?” She pricks the back of Peter’s hand with a needle and hands Tony the saline bag with instruction to squeeze.

“Uh, no he didn’t.”

“How long has it been since he was bitten?”

“36 hours, max.”

“And what are his symptoms?”

“He said his head hurt, and his stomach. Fever and sweating. Nausea and vomiting too.”

She holds his eyelids up and flashes a penlight into both of his eyes. “Anything you want to add, Peter?”

“Hard to breathe. Can’t really move my legs.”

“Got it. It sounds to me like this might be a black widow bite. Were there two fang marks at the bite site?”

“I don’t… I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay. No worries. I’m going to give you muscle relaxants, painkillers, and something for the nausea.” She digs around in her kit and produces three syringes that she systematically plunges into Peter’s saline line.

“Givit to me straight, doc,” Peter slurs. “How long do I got?”

Cho huffs our a laugh. “You’ll be fine, Peter.”

“Oh goodie.”

“Yes ‘oh goodie’. You’ll still be hurting for a couple more hours, but we just gotta let the venom flush out of your system. So that means lots and lots of water.”

“Hope I don’ drown.”

“Looks like those painkillers are kicking in nicely,” Cho smiles as she packs up her bag. “Call me if anything changes.”

“Thank you.” Tony puts a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s no problem.”

As Peter fades in and out of consciousness, Tony works on getting him cleaned up and changed into a pair of Tony’s old sweats, carefully threading the IV line through the sleeves of his sweat-damp hoodie. The bite is swollen and red and Tony feels sick at the thought of Peter feeling so horrible for so long.

Tony wedges his arm under Peter’s and the two of them wobble over to Peter’s room together. Peter collapses into the bed and Tony helps him get comfortable, pulling up the comforter and brushing his slightly-too-long curls off of his clammy forehead.

“Daddy?” Tony whips his head around.

“Morgan? Aren’t you supposed to be asleep right now?” He sits on the edge of Peter’s bed.

Morgan just shrugs and fists her pajama shirt in her hands. He beckons her over and pats his knee. “C’mere madam secretary.” He pulls her close and bumps heads with her. “Pete’s fine. See?” He points over at Peter, and Peter raises his arm in a pathetic wave.

“Hiii Morgie,” Peter says, a touch too loud. “I’m gettin’ aaalllll better. No problems here, no siree.”

“See babe? He’s fantastic. A little high, but other than that, he’s doing great.”

Morgan looks back up at Tony and sniffles. “Are you sure?”

“Sure? Honey, I’m positive.” Morgan nods and crawls up into the bed with Peter, where he tucks her under his arm.

“Well,” Tony slaps his knees, “I think I’m going to turn in for the night. Holler if you need anything, okay?” Peter mumbles something along the lines of ‘okay’ and Tony switches off the lamp. “Love you guys.”

“Love you too,” Peter mumbles and Tony’s heart melts.

#my fics #friendly-neighborhood-exchange #clover-roseee #i hope you like this!!#while i was writing this i was like. perched on top of my chair with my laptop balanced on my knees bc i kept feeling SPIDERS on my LEGS #peter parker #tony stark #peter parker whump #irondad and spiderson #irondad whump #morgan stark #pepper potts #spider bites #hurt/comfort

36 notes · View notes

talesfromthesnogbox · 5 years ago

Text

Stuck Here With you

Rating: M (Rating for explicit conversations about sex)

Words: 3,586

Summary: Richie and Eddie are stuck quarantining themselves together... what could possibly go wrong? OR based on this tweet: "@cjkasulke: APPARENTLY you have all just been *waiting* for this moment to confess your love to your roommates, so many of you live with people you have been silently in love with for y e a r s"

Notes: This is so stupid. Yes, I wrote a quarantine fic. Yes, this whole thing is a serious matter and I am an adult who's working from home and it all sucks, and there are people dying all over the world, and I do care, but I just thought people needed a little bit of a laugh, ya know? Anyways, this is wildly out of character and not good in general, but drop a comment if you like it, or if you think I'm a horrible person, whateves.

AO3

*~*~*~*~*

Richie woke from his catnap with a startled jump as he heard the front door slam shut.

“Jesus Eds, is it 6:30 already? Did I sleep all day?” He asked with a laugh.

“No asshole, it’s noon.” Eddie slammed his briefcase on the breakfast bar and worked his tie open. “This pandemic bullshit has gotten out of control.”

“Is that why you’re home right now…”

“Yes! Jared that fucking lunatic went off and brought some girl home last weekend and now he’s got a fever, so we were all sent home, and I’m stuck in isolation.”

Eddie was pissed, but Richie could see through his thinly veiled layer of anger; there was fear.

“Oh. Do you hang around Jared a lot at work?”

He sighed. “No, no I don’t, but it’s just a precaution until he can get tested properly.”

“That’s good then, right?”

It was good. After seven full days, Eddie finally emerged from his room with a cheery smile. “Jared’s in the clear, turns out he just picked up some STD, and I get to go back into work tomorrow.” He plopped down on the couch.

“That’s great Eds, but I hate to break it to you…” Richie pointed towards the TV where the headline read “California officially shut down”.

The first few days felt like any weekend would. They had extra groceries delivered, they binged some true crime documentary on Netflix, they had a group Skype session with the Losers, they did pretty much anything that took their minds off the current situation. But then the fifth day hit.

It was only 7am when Richie dragged himself out of bed for a coffee. Sure it was early, and he had nowhere to be, but time meant nothing anymore.

Usually Richie’s clamoring about the kitchen woke Eddie up. The first few nights that Eddie moved in after Derry were rough; turns out, Eddie was a pretty light sleeper, and Richie was loud. But today, there was no Eddie in sight.

He continued on his way, pouring himself a bowl of cereal when he saw it through the window to his backyard… and promptly spilled milk all over the counter.

On the bright side, Richie had found Eddie. The only downfall was he’d found him in a pair of tiny running shorts and a tank top doing squats on his deck.

“Fuck!” Richie swore, grabbing a tea towel to clean up the mess he’d made.

“Richie?” Eddie stopped his squats and ran into the house. “What the fuck happened dickwad?”

“N-nothing, nothing happened, it’s just early and I lost my grip.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“So um… what’s happening in the backyard there, Jillian Michaels?” Richie giggled.

“Fuck off. I usually go to the gym before work, but now that the gym’s closed, I had to improvise.”

“Ahh, I see, trying to pick up the new future Mrs. K with…” with thighs I want to wear as earmuffs and that tight ass? He was glad there was an entire counter between them to hide the fact that he was currently at half-mast.

Eddie gave him a strange look and shook his head. “Shut the fuck up. I’m a divorced 40-year-old living with his best friend, I don’t think I’m going to be picking someone up that easily at the gym. Besides, Santa Monica women aren’t really my type…”

“Oh? Well when this is all over, I know a few places we can go pick up chicks. West Hollywood, Beverly Hills, hell even Studio City. Name your type Eds, we’ll find her.”

“Aren’t you gay? How do you know so much about picking up women?”

“Closet case my boy.” Richie winked and took a bite of his cereal. “I’m as good of an actor as I am a comedian.”

“No wonder there were never any articles about how much of a playboy you were then.” Eddie said straight-faced, walking back out to finish his work out.

“Eds gets off a good one!”

*~*~*~*~*

After that eventful morning, Richie tried his hardest to stay in bed until after Eddie’s morning routine was done. One almost-embarrassing situation in his pants was enough to last a lifetime around his best friend of however-many years, he did not need it to escalate from there.

As the days passed on, the two of them found ways to entertain themselves. Eddie took to reading on the deck in the mild April weather, and Richie decided to pick up his guitar again for the first time in years.

He was a little rusty, but after a few hours of practice, it was like riding a bike, and before he knew it, he was back playing the tune he’d spent hours playing as a teenager.

Richie hummed along to the tune of “Eddie My Love” as his fingers formed the familiar chords with ease. He didn’t even realize Eddie walking in from the backyard, a stunned look on his face.

“Rich?” He jumped, startled at the sound of the other man.

“Hey Eds, sorry was I being loud?”

“N-no.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know you played.”

Richie chuckled. “Yeah, I picked it up in high school after Went agreed to teach me a bit. I was in a band in college, but we kinda sucked.”

Eddie scoffed. “You don’t suck, that tune is lovely. What is it?”

Richie’s face felt hot all the sudden. “Uhh, I can’t really remember the name, just something I used to play a bunch. It’s an oldie my mom really liked.”

“Can you teach me?”

His eyes widened. “Y-yeah, here, come sit.” He moved more away from the body and more towards the neck of his acoustic, allowing Eddie to sit nestled between his folded legs. “Okay, um so you hold it like this, and your fingers go here.” Richie curled Eddie’s fingers around the neck of the guitar, placing them in the correct spots on the frets. “So we start with a G chord.” His other arm snaked around Eddie’s shoulder to show him how to strum the chord.

Eddie shivered, completely engulfed by his best friend, noticing for the first time how much he loved his arms being wrapped around him like this.

“Then we move to an E minor.” Richie shifted Eddie’s fingers again and strummed. “Then A minor, and up to D.”

Eddie moved his fingers, pliant beneath Richie’s big hand. His heart beat fast, and he could feel Richie’s breath warm on his shoulder as he played.

For a moment, Eddie could convince himself that Richie felt the same way about him, but only for a moment. They were best friends, and just because Richie was gay, it didn’t mean he was interested in Eddie, no matter how hard he wished that he was. He would never have Richie, but he’d always have this moment.

*~*~*~*~*

“Alright, that’s it. We’re getting drunk.” Richie pulled out a rather large bottle of vodka and a few other spirits. “I’m mixing you up a quarantini.”

“A what now?”

“Quarantini, Eds. We’re getting shitfaced.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Rich, there’s no way in hell I’d—” he paused. Maybe this was the perfect way to come on to Richie. Lowered inhibitions were a great excuse to do something potentially stupid, and if it all went sour, he could blame it on the alcohol. “You know what, fuck it. Mix me a quarantini.”

“That’s the spirit!” He mixed the drinks and dragged Eddie over to the couch. “Alright, we’re indulging tonight. I want not a peep from you. I never got to do any of this gay shit before, and now is the perfect excuse to start a new series. We’re watching RuPaul’s Drag Race.”

Eddie nodded his head. “Drag racing, okay cool, I like cars.”

Richie burst out laughing. “No asshole, drag race… like drag queens.” He popped on a random season and hit play.

Four episodes and many quarantinis later, both Eddie and Richie were yelling at the TV.

“How could they send April home, she’s like the hottest one there!” Eddie put his hands up.

“Right? Look at how hot he is ugh I just wanna…” Eddie glanced over at Richie with a smirk. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I see it.” He pulled out his phone, April’s instagram profile already loaded. “The scruff is driving me mental.”

Richie chuckled. “Eds, that sounds kinda gay.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” Eddie said, face heating up. “Um, surprise?”

“Oh… shit dude, yeah, um, congratulations. Thanks for telling me.” Richie brought his friend into a tight hug, the alcohol running through his system making him feel a little light headed.

“Thanks for being cool about it.” Eddie mumbled, pulling away a bit, but still resting within Richie’s grasp.

“Hey man, I get it… I’m a closet case too.” He laughed.

The two were silent for a moment, content in each other’s grasp, until Eddie couldn’t handle the silence anymore. “Come on, next episode. I hope Laganja gets booted, I can’t stand her.”

Many episodes and quarantinis later, Eddie was fully shitfaced.

“Come on, bedtime for Eds.”

Eddie giggled. “Yeah Rich, take me to bed.” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that made Richie’s heart stutter.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough from you.” Richie deposited Eddie onto the bed, helping him with his shirt, when Eddie pulled him down hard.

“Oops, sorry Rich.” He giggled. “’s not my fault, you’re trying to get me out of my clothessss.”

“You’re wearing jeans, I can’t let you go to bed in jeans Eddie. What kind of asshole wears jeans in quarantine.” Richie giggles, undoing Eddie’s zip and pulling his jeans down his hairless legs. Fuck, his legs are amazing. “Eds, do you wax?” Richie giggled, rubbing a hand up his thigh.

“Pffftt, we’re in isolation shithead, I haven’t been to my wax girl in weeks.”

A jubilant laugh bubbled from Richie’s chest. “Shit, I’ve learned more about you tonight than I have in all the years I’ve known you. You really are a twunk.”

“A what now?”

Richie planted himself down on the bed beside Eddie. “Twunk, hunky twink.”

A look of realization dawned on Eddie. “Ohhhh, that makes a lot of sense. The dude at the checkout told me I was a twunk when I went to buy those underwear without the butt.”

Richie’s brain went blank. “Eddie, do you wear thongs?”

“No asshole, the other thing without the butt. Jock something, I can’t remember.”

“A jockstrap? Eddie are you trying to kill me right now?”

“Shut the fuck up asshole! They’re good for working out in. And they don’t give me lines in my nice suit pants.” Richie was speechless. “So if I’m a twunk, what are you?”

“I—I—I think it’s time for bed.”

“Oh.” Eddie said sounding dejected. “O-or we could just hang out?”

Richie was at an impasse. He knew they were walking a thin line right now, and he shouldn’t stay, but he wanted to see where this would take him, he didn’t want to leave Eddie’s side.

“I think I could hang out for a bit.”

Their “hanging out” didn’t last very long. Within ten minutes, the two men were out cold.

Richie woke up first the next morning and left the soundly sleeping Eddie to go make a pot of coffee. His head was pounding, and as much as he knew the bright sunlight was going to burn his eyes, the fresh air couldn’t hurt.

He’d never been more thankful for his manager who also happened to be a fantastic decorator. The outdoor couch may have seemed stupid to him when he first bought the place, but at times like this, it was a great choice. He could relax, and look out towards the ocean, and forget everything that happened the night before.

That is until Eddie decided to join him.

Richie’s breath left his lungs once he got a good look at his friend. It was like a blast from the past seeing him in a pair of tiny red running shorts, much like those he wore when he was a kid, but now… now they were so much more. Richie’s mouth watered when his eyes caught a good look at how Eddie’s ass filled out the shorts. A large tank top donned his torso, one that Richie had been gifted, and definitely not been too comfortable wearing himself judging by how low cut the arm holes were. He looked hot, not that he wasn’t always attracted to Eddie, but this felt like something had changed, a sexual awakening of sorts, and Richie would never look at his friend the same way.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungover.” Eddie complained as he sat beside Richie. “That stupid drink went down like water.”

“Yeah man I hear you, I feel like shit.”

“I had fun though, it’s been a long time since I’ve had that much fun.”

Richie looked over to him. “No regrets about spilling your guts then?”

Eddie winced. “Okay, maybe you didn’t have to hear about what kind of underwear I prefer.”

Richie burst out laughing. “No, I definitely appreciated that tidbit of information, Eds. I’m proud that my twunk theory was right.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself you coward.” Richie mumbled to himself.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“N-nothing.” He said, darting inside. “Going to work on my new show, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Richie had to get out of there. Last night was a lot, sure, but something felt different today. Seeing Eddie in his boxer briefs felt almost safer than whatever the hell he was wearing today. It’s almost like… almost like he’d purposely dressed up for Richie, and it was killing him. He didn’t know how much more he could take before he combusted.

Unfortunately for Richie, this new look seemed to be Eddie’s new uniform. Richie could tell that now Eddie was out to him, he felt more comfortable being himself, but Richie hated every second of it.

He dreaded seeing Eddie in the morning, dreaded knowing what fresh hell lay beyond his bedroom door in the form of a 5’9 firey bundle of sex personified.

Nearly a month into their quarantine, it was finally warm enough for Richie to sit out by the pool. He donned the brightest swim trunks he could find and rubbed his pale skin down with sunscreen, soaking up some vitamin D.

He’d been out there for just under an hour when he heard (and felt) a splash from the pool where Eddie jumped in.

“Okay, I take back everything bad I ever said about you having a pool when the ocean is right there. The pool is definitely more relaxing than the beach.”

Richie giggled. “I told you, asshole.”

“Oh, and I totally figured out what you are now. If I’m a twunk, you’re an otter.”

“A what now?” Richie removed his sunglasses and moved to sit on the edge of the pool.

“An otter.” Eddie rested his elbows on Richie’s thighs as his calves framed his torso. “At least that’s what I think. It’s like a softer bear. You’re not quite as big and not enough hair to be a bear, and you’re still too thin to be a cub, so you’re an otter.”

“I understood exactly none of what you said except for ‘bear’. I met a bear on Grindr just before Derry that made me realize I like being the bigger body in bed.” Richie winked saucily.

“So you’re a top then Trashmouth?”

Richie’s brows rose into his hairline. “I—I—we are not talking about this right now, not when you’re this close to my dick.”

“Oh come on, you used to talk about your dick all the time.”

“Yeah, I was a closeted kid who’s balls hadn’t dropped yet, obviously I wanted to come off as heterosexual as I could.”

Eddie laughed. “Okay, good point.”

The two sat in the same position for a few minutes, exchanging no words between them. It felt intimate, it felt like Eddie was flirting with him, but he’d never been good at picking up signs. Could Eddie want this too?

“I am though.” He said quietly, finally breaking the silence.

“You’re what?”

Richie’s heart thudded in his chest. “A top, I guess. I don’t mind bottoming, I like it, but I guess I just…”

Eddie grinned. “You like being in charge?”

“No, fuck no.” Richie laughed.

“Really? Huh, okay.” Eddie nodded, mostly to himself.

“Hey, what the fuck does that mean?”

“Nothing, nothing at all Tozier.” Eddie pushed off of Richie’s legs and floated on his back towards the inflatable lounger.

*~*~*~*~*

The week that followed was agonizing. All Eddie wore was those stupid shorts and a variation of t-shirt/tank-top/fucking crop top, and it was driving Richie mental. He felt like a teenager again, he’d never had so many hard-ons in one week in his life.

It was only a matter of time before Richie snapped.

Richie was descending the stairs from his room one fateful morning and groaned rather loudly when he saw what was waiting for him.

The shorts seemed shorter, tighter on his ass (damn all those squats he does) and his already short shirt seemed to rise up, showing the lovely dimples on his lower back as he reached for a bowl from a high shelf.

“Hey Rich, can you help me… what’s wrong?”

He huffed out a laugh. “What’s wrong? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Wh—did I do something?”

Richie stared at Eddie in disbelief. “Did you… did you do someth—the shorts man, what’s with the shorts!”

“The shorts? I always wear the shorts.”

“I fucking know you always wear the shorts, that’s the problem!” Richie’s stomach rolled. He thought he was going to throw up, he’d never been this candid about his feelings in his life.

“You have a problem with the way I dress? Fuck you, dude.”

“Fuck me yourself you coward!”

Both men fell silent. The tension could be cut with a knife, it was so thick between them.

“Richie?”

“Fuck man, I’m sorry I freaked out on you like that, I just don’t know if I can take this anymore. We’ve been cooped up for a month and I swear I’ve done more jacking off in the last month than I ever did as a teenager.” As good as it felt to spill his guts, he definitely thought he was going to pass out any second.

“I—I don’t…”

“The worst part is, it’s not even just that I’m horny. It’s you! Shit man, I’ve been dreaming of you since we were fucking teenagers. And now… now here you are looking like a goddamn… a goddamn what’s the word… a goddamn snack, telling me shit about the sexy underwear you buy, and asking me if I’m a top. Eddie, I don’t know if you’re flirting with me or not, but Jesus fucking Christ, it’s taking every single fiber of my willpower to not rip your clothes off right now.”

Eddie held back a smile. “Wait, I’m sorry, what? You couldn’t tell I was flirting with you? Are you fucking blind? Actually don’t answer that, I know you’re fucking blind.”

Richie was sure he was gonna get a nosebleed any second. “S-so you were flirting with me?”

Eddie laughed out loud. “Yes you idiot! Literally since the moment I got here, I have been flirting with you. You didn’t get the hint that I have feelings for you?”

“What the fuck, no man! Like you said, I’m fucking blind. I thought you were straight until a few weeks ago!”

Eddie moved to lean against the island, closer to Richie. “You dumbass, I tried so hard the night I came out to you, why do you think I told you about what fucking underwear I wear?”

“I don’t know man, I’m not good at this shit.”

“Clearly!”

Richie cast his eyes down. “S-so, so you really like me?”

Eddie reached for his hand and interlaced their fingers. He pulled Richie closer to him, so he was pinned between Richie and the island. “I love you, dickwad.”

Richie huffed out a laugh. “I love you too.” He blinked rapidly, looking up towards the light. “Oh god, why am I crying.”

“Get over here you big baby.” Eddie detangled his fingers from Richie’s and brought his hand up to the other man’s cheek, bringing him in for a kiss. It was sweet, it was chaste, it was everything Richie wanted from Eddie when they were younger.

But he wasn’t a teenager, and he wanted more.

He dove forward, tongue clashing with Eddie’s. It was hot, it was toe curling good. He snaked his other hand down Eddie’s side, curling around his hip and moving to squeeze his ass. Eddie groaned and ground himself into Richie’s thigh.

“Fuck.” Richie said pulling away. “Fuck, how are you so hot? We’re fucking forty man.”

“Me? Dude, look at you. Your arms… your chest…” Eddie snaked his hand under Richie’s shirt, scratching at the smattering of hair on his pecs.

“Jesus man, I’m not gonna last… fuck… bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

*~*~*~*~*

The two men finally emerged from Richie’s bedroom for dinner later on with kiss bruised lips and satisfaction plastered on their faces.

“Anything good on?” Eddie asked as Richie turned on the TV. “Rich?”

Richie laughed. “You better come see this.”

“QUARANTINE LIFTED” The headline read as news anchors happily recounted the fall in new cases, and the rise in recoveries.

“You’re fucking joking.”

#reddie #reddie fic #Richie x Eddie #it fic #yup this is so stupid #yet here I am posting it #my writing

42 notes · View notes

nadiawrites14 · 4 years ago

Text

whagt the hell nadia has a creepypasta oc???

its october mf

wc: 3.6k

not very well written and a bit of a hot mess but still love this tall king <3

There was this kid at my school.

There was a kid at my school, and I just really need to talk about him. I think it’s something I need to put out there. I am talking about it because anyone and everyone I talk to seems to never remember his name, or him in general, but I can’t stop thinking about his face.

I was never popular at school, and my brother always outshined me in that fact. He was a cheerleader, and I was his nerdy, unattractive sister. His friends were never friendly with me, and it wasn’t easy for me to make new ones, so I mostly kept to myself. Besides a few nice classmates, I was a bit of a loner, and this led me to Charlie.

Charlie Nguyen had always attended school in my city. I knew of him — we’d never actually talked, besides nearly 10 years of attending school together. Come to think of it, I don’t think anyone really talked to Charlie. He was always there, a lingering presence, and seemed to get on better with teachers than he did with other kids. Despite both of us being outcasts, we never interacted, right up until recently. He just tapped my shoulder in the hallway once, shyly staring at his feet and asking if I would like to eat lunch with him in the library. Despite his crooked posture and timidness, he towered over me. I was only as tall as his shoulder. I had nothing to lose from it, really — it was more preferable to spending lunch with Ernest and his friends, so I accepted cheerily which made him very happy.

Talking to him, I was shocked at how much I missed out on by never bothering to strike up a conversation. He was funny, sweet, and a hell of a lot more intelligent than I had believed. I’d often seen my teachers slip back 70s and 60s to him, but in one of the library’s secluded corners, we discussed politics and art and existentialism. I don’t even know how we got into talking about philosophy and what defines the self, but by the time the bell rang, my lunch was not eaten and I was much more enlightened than I was before. It was like a lightning bolt. I told him I’d be glad to eat lunch with him tomorrow as well, and he seemed very appreciative of it. As I headed to my last class, I realized I forgot to ask for his number, but decided I’d ask the next day.

Something about Charlie was just so alluring. I didn’t know much about him at all, even after our daily lunches began — he was 17, from Fresno, and his mother passed when he was young. Half-Vietnamese, half-white, and he spoke broken Spanish and loved to draw cartoons in the margins of his notes. I found myself chatting with him through text past my bedtime, where we’d discuss our lives, our academics, our interests. One thing Charlie and I really bonded over was our shared interest in both Shakespeare and horror movies. He’d been enamored since he read Romeo and Juliet his freshman year, but Hamlet was his favorite. At the time, I was peeling through AP Literature with straight A’s and was much more concerned with Tolstoy and Plath and Camus, but his fascination with the bard was certainly something I could bond with him over.

I prefer the comedies, though. Midsummer’s Night, Much Ado, As You Like It. Charlie’s interest in the tragedies ranged from the general to the obsessive, where he would produce sermons and sermons of how much the words and writings spoke to him. Considering how much death was in Hamlet and Macbeth, his other favorite, it concerned me, but I passed it off as nothing unique. After all, he was also a fan of slashers and all things horror. He loved a good scare. Whenever I tried to coax him into visiting his house for a movie night or a sleepover, he’d defer, and I would glumly accept the sentence. Once I switched the proposed setting from his house to mine, he gladly accepted.

Ernest was a little bit less enthusiastic about my liaisons with Charlie. They had gotten into scuffles before. Ernest got a very stern slap on the wrist for pulling on Charlie’s crutch in the hall once, freshman year. I told him a week in advance, just so he knew to vacate the house the next Friday and allow me and what he so lovingly called ‘the creepy asshole’ to watch a movie together. Ernie huffed and puffed about it the whole week and it really began to get on my nerves. The entire week, he bugged me and demanded just what I saw in that freak. I excused it as brotherly overprotection, but as Friday grew closer, I started to realize that it was fear.

When he dropped me off that morning, I confronted him in the car. “Why are you so scared of Charlie?”

Ernie scoffed. “I’m not scared of Charlie.”

“You sound pretty paranoid when you’re dropping a curfew on me and telling me to not get too close or talk too much.”

“Well, mom and dad are out of the house, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Charlie is a freak. He’s... creepy. I can’t place my finger on what’s up with him. Esme, just tell me, have you ever left the room with a splitting headache when you’re with him? Has your phone ever started bugging out? Hm?”

I thought back. Well, a few lunches in, I did have such an awful headache I had to excuse myself from class to go try and throw my guts up in the bathroom. It wasn’t that, though, and it had subsided by the end of the school day. The back of my skull would sometimes pound and contract, but I didn’t think it was anything, reducing it to pollution or mold in the school. It always ebbed when I left the school. For my phone, it would get a little buggy. Just a little buggy, though! I had no reason to think it was Charlie’s fault! It’s not like we live in a world where that shit happens. He’s not some psychic, he’s a weird, lonely kid with trauma. That’s it. And I let Ernie know that by screaming an expletive and slamming the door on him, spending the rest of the school day with a headache tenfold worse than the one I had all those weeks ago. By lunchtime, my head was pounding so fiercely I almost slipped and fell down the stairs.

Charlie noticed, and asked what was wrong, a worried look on his face. I asked if we could postpone, and went on to talk about how awful my headache was. He seemed very disappointed about it but nodded and accepted with a smile. I felt so guilty about it, but it was quickly absolved, because when I walked out of the library with him I must have blacked out in the hallway. Charlie and one of the other teachers brought me to the nurse’s office, where my mother brought me home as I moaned in the backseat.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. A literal blur behind my crowded vision and the blood rushing in my ears, but I do remember awaking in the darkness of my room at around 1:00 AM. The red light on my digital clock said so. I awoke to the sound of something like water boiling, or when a witch’s brew bubbles inside of a movie or cartoon. It was bubbling, dripping, wet — but when I pulled back my curtain, everything appeared dry. No rain, not even any clouds. The stars were quite clear, due to the fact that it was a new moon. Despite that lingering sound of bubbling and popping, I was able to fall back asleep. I don’t know how long I slept, but when I came downstairs the next morning, my parents (and an over-concerned Ernie) were adamant that I stay home all weekend. I accepted that the next two days would be filled with boring movie binges and cups of hot soup and tea, and I plopped back under the covers. My head began to pound every time I checked my phone. I noticed Charlie had sent me a few texts, but I didn’t have the heart nor the energy to check what he had said.

Sunday is when things actually began to get weird. The batteries in the remote for my TV had gone kaput, and I remembered that Ernie usually kept the same type in his desk for his old lamp. It was easier to walk across the hall to his room than down two flights of stairs into the basement. I knocked, and when there was no response, I entered. The lights were off. This was strange, because Ernie always loved to keep lights on. My parents constantly griped about seeing his outline in the window as late as 11, either from the strip LED lights that lined his room, the fairy lights, the candles, or the overhead light. I flipped the light switch and rubbed my eyes, as it was the most brightness I had seen in the past two days. Beginning to feel a tad nauseous, I took a seat at Ernie’s desk, trying to recall which drawer he kept his batteries in. As I searched, though, I noticed one drawer was shut from the inside, most likely from a heavyweight.

I should have just kept it shut. I shouldn’t have pressed. I should have gotten what I needed and left it alone, left my golden boy brother’s life completely alone. Then I could live knowing he didn’t have any dark secrets despite being a little bit of a bully and just a tad too standoffish. But, being the curious girl I was, I kept pushing until the drawer gave in.

Composition notebooks. The white smudges across the notebook covers had been filled in with dashes of pen, each one meticulously filled in. All five of the notebooks had this pattern. Blacked out, no name on the lines or any signage, otherwise normal in appearance. By that point, I should have known, but I kept going. I was once again shrouded in that same allure I felt around Charlie, the strange sense of being drawn in. When I opened the first notebook, I had to stop myself from making a sound. Every single page. Every single page in that notebook was filled with scratches in multicolored ballpoint pen, pleads and hypotheses and prayers. Drawings, maps, entries. The pages were thin from being worn down so deeply with the frantic pen marks, and many of the pages had been torn through from the intensity of the writing. My nausea grew and I began to feel my head pounding again. But I just couldn’t stop. Trying to process those frantic words written and dated and laden with tables and records and drawings was like trying to decipher hieroglyphics. Particularly, there was one symbol and one familiar figure that was retained throughout the notebook’s contents. An O with an X slashed through it. It reminded me of how I marked my bubbles on Scantrons, one line through, one line through, shade in the bubble. And the figure. The figure. A faceless man, a white oval of a face atop a suit and tie, and what looked to be tentacles pouring out from the sides.

I was snapped out of my trance by the sound of footsteps rising up the stairs. I dumped the notebooks back in my drawer, besides the fourth one, which I tucked in the back of my shorts and underneath my sweatshirt. Ernie looked at me weirdly as I exited his room, but I offered a weak smile and held up the pack of batteries. He nodded, and I disappeared back into my room.

It fascinated me, and it scared me. When the oncoming headache and nauesa had left, I scanned over all his words and entries, observing each of his drawings and sentences and deconstructing like a true AP student should know how to do. I always assumed Ernie was going to parties when I heard his window open and shut or when he warned me he wouldn’t be home until late, not investigating supernatural entities in our affluent suburban town and measuring sound waves through apps he’d downloaded onto his phone. I hadn’t known Ernie was this brilliant. It took me about two hours of reading and rereading that singular notebook until I had connected the dots.

A few years ago, our cousin Ronnie disappeared. Ronnie and Ernie were best friends, close like brothers, and were inseparable at each and every family gathering. What I knew for certain about Ronnie is that he also had a particular fascination with ghost-hunting. He went out on frequent escapades with his girlfriend and her brother with some handy professional equipment in the most ‘supernatural’ bits of California. Most of my family excused it as a strange hobby that didn’t subtract from Ronnie’s successful business career, not until all three of the ghost-hunting squad disappeared without a trace while investigating the Lassen National Forest. No DNA, no bodies, no signs or directions or a reason were ever found. Even their car and all their expensive equipment, all of Ronnie’s research, had vanished into thin air. It seemed he had become one of those ghost stories he so adored to pursue. It didn’t hit me that hard, as I hadn’t known Ronnie all that well, but I hadn’t factored in how much of Ernie’s personality had changed since the disappearance. He had become more standoffish with his rivals, more competitive with his athletics, more jumpy and paranoid.

I should have known by the way he looked at Charlie. I assumed it was drama I had missed out on or the pure perils of high school hierarchies. But I had never noticed how hateful, how accusatory it really was. For some reason, I was certain that Ernie had it in his head that all of these things were connected. The Faceless Man, the disappearance of our beloved Ronnie Halaifinoua, and the outcast at my school who was seemingly responsible for bugged out phones and splitting headaches. It made no sense, but at the same time, it was like a missing piece to a puzzle that I simply had to snap into place. I hid the notebook in my schoolbag, and went back on Monday armed with a bottle of aspirin and comfortable clothes, ready to confront Charlie.

At lunch, I took two aspirin and handed him the notebook wordlessly. We sat in silence as he slowly peered over the pages, absorbing the information behind blank eyes without a single sound. When he reached the final page, he set it down and asked, “Did you write this?”

“Ernie did.”

Charlie sniggered at that and crossed his legs. “Well, he’s onto me, now, isn’t he?”

I stared at him, slack-jawed, feeling duped. “You’re— you’re—“

“What, supernatural? I’d like to think so,” he gave me a mellow look. “Ah… you may want to take another aspirin. Watch this.”

I popped one and I watched. He closed his eyes and snapped his fingers. The lights above us flickered off, then on, then off again, before the lights reignited. Charlie opened his eyes, suddenly breathless, and nodded. “I can’t… usually do it with that much control. It needs work.”

I slammed my hands down on the notebook, my mind barreling at 100 miles per hour with a smattering of questions in tow. “Everything. Tell me everything. Now.”

Charlie folded his hands and gestured to the aspirin. I shook my head and pulled the bottle to my side. He cleared his throat, steadied his gaze, and began. “I wouldn’t call myself willingly supernatural by any means. I did not ask to be this way. I have been tossed through more foster homes in 17 years than I can count on my hands, and I would give anything to give up this life. I hate living a life where I’m unable to control my abilities. I don’t want to hurt others, I don’t want to do this, but sometimes it gets out of hand. Lucky for you,” he said. “Some people will gain immunity once exposed to it long enough.”

“Gain immunity to what?”

“It has a lot of names depending on the universe you’re in. They mostly call it the slender sickness, but you can call it the static sickness, faceless-man-itis, whatever. You do you. Headaches, nausea, hallucinations. Malfunctioning electricity. Static. The whole thing.”

“So it is you.”

“Always has been. Well, not totally. Faceless Man? The Faceless Man, as your brother says, he may or may not have touched my mother with his hand, therefore touching me as well and handing me a degree of abilities that I drag with me. It’s my cross, Esme. I’ve been avoiding his gaze for the past 16 years and have always managed to just be out of his reach, but my powers are getting stronger and it’s all getting more and more out of hand. I needed to go to someone.”

“Does he have a name? An actual one.”

“Many names. The Operator, the Business Man, Chernobog. Apparently, now, the Faceless Man. And I guess he’s my parental figure now. I’ve been chilling with him more often. Crazy dude, gotta say,” Charlie said, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his legs. “Crazy, crazy things.”

I looked at my hands, unsure of what to feel. “Did he kill my cousin?”

Charlie’s face went slack. “He’s killed many, many, people, but I don’t have control over what he does.”

We sat in silence for a long moment until Charlie spoke again. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

My heart began to pound. “Ernie’s after you,” I said, running a hand through my hair and letting it fall over my face. “I think he might try and hurt you.”

“So… movie night is postponed indefinitely, then,” he replied.

I grinned sadly at him. “Don’t make me laugh, this is serious. I don’t want you to be harmed.”

His arms dropped to his side, and he smiled at me. He smiled in a way that drew me back in all over again. “Esme, be here tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”

He vanished back out into the hall. I chose not to follow him. But, for the first time, I had a surprising lack of a headache, and I don’t think it was because of the aspirin.

That night, I slipped the notebook back into Ernie’s drawer. I think he may have figured it out, though, because when we bumped into each other on the stairs, we stared at each other for a good minute saying nothing. I believe it was my way of telling him which side I was on, because when he surrendered his gaze he slammed the door shut behind him and I heard rummaging in his room. I walked to school the next morning.

When I came to lunch the next day, Charlie was already waiting for me. He handed me a gift bag. “It’s a present,” he said. “For you.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I’m moving. You might never see me again.”

“Oh, Charlie…”

“I say might. Might. There’s a chance we will meet again. Perhaps in another lifetime or in another universe. We can figure it out, alright? Alright.”

I shared my lunch with him, half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and we toasted to his new life with our milk cartons. When we left the library that day, our pinkies were interlocked. As he turned to go to class, I pulled him back, and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll miss you,” I said.

He hugged me. It was like hugging one of those plasma balls where your hair stands up when you touch it. I had just stuck my fingers in a socket, but when I pulled back, all I could see were Charlie’s grateful, glowing eyes. “I’ll miss you too. Goodbye, Esme. Goodbye.”

My hair on my arms was still standing up and my cheeks were dark with color. I had a mark on my pinkie from where it touched his.

Since that day, I haven’t seen Charlie Nguyen. Ernie is still doing tests and taking entries though they become more inconsistent and confusing each and every day. I have an idea of who’s altering his readings. The present Charlie gave me, though, might hold some importance for me in the future. It’s a key without something to unlock, a piece of quartz, his copy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet with all his annotations in the margins, and a pair of earrings with ghosts on them. Quartz conducts electricity. I remember learning that in class. I always keep it in my pocket now. When I ask my teachers about him, they seem confused, as do the other students. Ernie and I have seemed to make a silent pact as to not discuss the matters of the supernatural. I think he’s looking for Charlie. He’s looking for anything that will bring him closer to the truth.

I feel farther to the truth than ever before, but I know I cannot be far from it. It’s a matter of time. Ernie has begun to have headaches lately.

#AHGH charlie love u #i started writing this like 2 months ago and finished it on a whim last night #im trying to write as much as possible while im on this literary induced high #we will see #anyway enjoy charlie lore #my writes #charlie nguyen #creepypasta

2 notes · View notes

blackcoffeeandblankpagess · 5 years ago

Note

Hiya chicky! I guess with all that is going on in your life I was wondering how you're doing with your ED recovery? Is intuitive eating going well? It seems like you've reached a place where you're much more relaxed around food and it's so incredibly inspiring. How did you get away from being rigid, measuring all your food, calorie counting, having strict labels, etc? What are the biggest pieces of advice you could giving someone who is trying to get to that place? What steps did you take?

Hello!! This message is sweet

I’m doing…so so. Always on a generally upward trajectory but currently in a little bit of a dip because…stress.

But tips! I gotchu

Literally the best advice I can give you is to pick like…one to three things to focus on at a time and don’t worry about the rest. Like at any given time there are approximately 239823498234923 things I could do better or be less strict about but if I just woke up and said “today i will stop counting calories and stop measuring and never step on a scale again and only move intuitively” my brain would probably explode. I’ve done all of those things pretty much but it was a long slow process to get there. But it works!

You can do this on a big scale like…january first what is my big ED recovery goal for the year or you can pick a few things each week or month. I like to pick like 3 things at the beginning of each month to focus on that month. So like for instance in March two of my goals were: Eat enough (as in, have that extra bedtime snack dammit) and Don’t worry so much about yesterday (as in, when you wake up instead of obsessing over the details of what you ate yesterday before choosing what to eat for breakfast today….just don’t!) If you tell yourself I’m just gonna try this for 30 days…if you ACTUALLY stick with it by the end of the month you’ll be like wow look I’m still alive and noting has changed! and then it seems less scary

Going off of that point, I think the best thing to do is to just force yourself to do things that make you uncomfy and realize over time that literally nothing bad will happen. For instance way back in the day I used to weigh myself every day which was BAD but I was terrified of giving that up because what if I gained a bunch of weight but didn’t check so I didn’t know??? I decided to only weigh myself every few months and realized my weight was basically the same every single time and I did not in fact need to micromanage it to do this. Your body likes homeostasis. Also, I had the astonishing realization that the number actually means nothing. Like if my clothes fit EXACTLY the same and I think I look exactly the same…what would it REALLY mean if the number on the scale was suddenly like 10 pounds more??? It wouldn’t really mean anything. So fuck it. I only know my weight from doctor’s appointments and I usually don’t let myself look at it until like months later so that I’m far enough removed that if it might affect me it won’t but really I just go based off of how my clothes feel etc. because that’s more meaningful than any arbitrary number.

The most recent and I guess one of the biggest hurdles is just letting myself eat whatever I want when I want it. This one is kinda weird because I feel like whenever I thought about eating freely I was like oh well but if I’m eating whatever I want whenever then shouldn’t I put like…27 spoonfuls of cream and sugar in my coffee instead of drinking it black because shouldn’t I theoretically like that more if I’m just doing whatever I want??? But it’s not like that. For me at least it’s more of like, if I go out to eat I expend zero mental energy on thinking about the nutritional content (numbers wise) in food and just get whatever sounds good. It means having a glass or 3 of wine and not worrying about it. It means going out for ice cream even if I’m a little full. What I realized is that (and again, I don’t want to make it sound like gaining weight is bad because it is totally healthy and fine, but I think I thought it was a lot easier to gain weight than it really is (at least for me) and I was holding so tightly onto this grip of “control” for literally no reason) every single time I’ve ever been stressed that I ate too much, etc. nothing ever happens. So then I was like…well wtf I should just do what I want and not stress because there is never ever ever any real impact on my “health” from a food decision so IT’S FINE!. And it is fine! In the fall I ate so much pizza, ice cream, and beer I can’t even tell you and my body stayed the same! Your body doesn’t want to change radically unless you are doing something radical! (this is not to say that if you are underweight you won’t gain weight because again, your body wants to find it’s healthy spot) but I think the current culture has brainwashed us into thinking if we eat 1 cookie that isn’t paleo-gluten free-insert more BS here- we will gain like 500 pounds over night or be “unhealthy” like wtf! eat what you want! it’s fine!

Maybe my opinion is skewed because 9 times out of 10 I am eating mostly veggies, fruit, oatmeal, whatever. But I never deprive myself of something if I’m craving it. I’ve eaten ice cream or cookies or brownies for dessert almost every night for the past few months just because. It’s fine!

I feel like I got off topic but my point is that you really need to just let yourself live the way you envision your ideal relationship with your food and body because even though that might sound terrifying, you will probably realize that you can actually eat the way you want and the world won’t end and then POOF! It becomes infinitely more easier to eat that way in the future because you have gone through it and seen first hand that nothing crazy happens and you don’t need to be super rigid! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, my stress fracture was really the game changer for me. I sat on my butt for months, drank more beer, ate more cheese fries at midnight with my friends, and my body didn’t change. I was like WTF! I could have been doing this all along!

And it makes me nervous to say that because I don’t want it to sound like it would have been bad if my body did change because that is okay but I think most people coming from an ED think if they deviate even the slightest bit from their rigid routine their body will change in some drastic way and it just isn’t true. I think this fear comes from the fact that a lot of people with EDs do live in extremes, with starving, binging, purging, etc. etc. so we are used to our bodies changing frequently but in reality if you aren’t living in an extreme way, your body is not going to keep fluctuating in extremes (**I understand this is a generalization I feel like it’s almost impossible to talk on this subject without generalizing to some extent so if you do not fit into this mold I see you! I’m just talk from personal experience)

Okay I just read this over and I feel like I was really harping on the idea of don’t worry! your body won’t change in an extreme way! and you could argue that maybe the more important thing to realize is that it’s okay if your body does change, and there are much more important things in life, etc. etc. but…I feel like most of us understand those things intuitively, it’s just that that fear is still there. idk! idk the right thing to say! also...it’s totally normal for your bod to change throughout your life, it’s okay! I just think that a lot of us have a deep fear that if we eat a little differently suddenly things are going to change like...over night which is just not the case. I feel like I literally need to write a novel to get this point across correctly *is stressed*

Two really good resources for this- 1. The book “The Fuck It Diet” 2. The blog The Real Life RD

Okay, that’s a lot. One step at a time.

#answered

9 notes · View notes

deans-baby-momma · 5 years ago

Text

Past Haunts-Part 18

A/N: Guys we are getting closer to the end. Only 3 more parts after this one. AHHH!!! When I began posting this, November seemed so far away and now here we are. Also none of these pictures are mine, I borrowed them from google.

Sleep ended up being hard to come by, what with worrying about the conversation with Dean and what we would decide. What did I want? I had never considered Dean ever finding out about Whitney so I had never gave what I want or needed much thought.

Did I want him to have a relationship with Whitney? Did I want him in our lives? She and I had managed for almost 13 years without him. From chicken pox to simple colds, from late night movie binges (cartoons when she was younger) to arguments over bedtime when she became school-aged. How would Dean factor into all those? Would he even be a hands-on parent or long distance? I knew his 'job' had him traveling, so would he even have time to be present for things such as birthdays and holidays?

And then I had to take into consideration of what that would mean for me. I have been a single parent all her life, the mother and the father, so could I relinquish half of those responsibilities if he wanted to take them on? And what would that mean for us, me and him? Would we be a couple or would we just be co-parents?

By the time my alarm sounds at 5:15 am, I still have no answers. I surrender to the fact that I wouldn't get any resolve until I find out Dean's wishes or demands.

I turn the alarm off and go about my usual morning routine. I didn't want Whitney to suspect anything was going on. If Dean had changed his mind and didn't want to support us, I refuse to allow Whitney to be heartbroken. Knowing her dad didn't want anything to do with her would not only hurt me, it would devastate her.

I turn the coffee pot on, hoping she doesn't realize the brew is more than I usually make. I know Dean likes his coffee and it will be a nice icebreaker. I pull the Corn Flakes out, along with a bowl and spoon and sit it all on the table before I head to wake her up.

I hear the rumble of the Impala turn onto my street seconds before I see him pull into the driveway. No, I haven't been standing by the front window, watching for him. I step back out of his line of sight but I can still see through the pane into the front yard and driveway.

Dean sits in the car for a few minutes before stepping out and heading toward my front door. As much as I am dreading opening that door, I am also anxious to see him, to find out how he wants to proceed. I wait for the doorbell to chime and force myself to count to 10 slowly before approaching the door.

Twisting the knob, I will my hands to quit shaking. I'm so nervous! This upcoming discussion is a make it or break it type of communication. I open the door to find Dean standing on my porch, smiling. I can tell he is just as nervous as I am. And it takes a load off, knowing he doesn't know how this will go either.

"Morning, Dean," I say with a smile. "Come on in." I step out of the doorway to give him entrance.

He steps in timidly. "Is she here?" he asks, looking around.

"No, I sent her to school. Didn't think she needed to be here for this," I tell him as I close the door and head to the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Please?" he answers as he follows me. "So, Becks…"

I pull two mugs out of the cabinet and fill them, my back to him. I turn and hand the steaming cup to him. "So…"

We both look at each other over the rims of our respective cups as we drink.

"I was serious yesterday, Becks. I want to support you and her in whatever way you need."

I swallow the liquid in my mouth. Ok, well we are going to get right to it then.

"Okay."

"I don't know the first thing about what kids need these days, especially girls. Do you need money for diapers, formula, what?"

I couldn't hold back. I laughed so hard I snorted. "Dean, she's almost 13! She hasn't been in diapers or on formula in over a decade!"

Dean blushes and I feel sorry for him. "Don't worry about it Dean. I will let you buy her pads and tampons when it's time though."

Dean balked at that. He practically looked ill! "Becks! I do not want to even think about that when I think of my daughter."

I control my laughter down to a giggle. "I'm sorry. It was just too good to pass up," I apologized.

By the time the clock on the wall struck 12 noon, all questions have been answered and I know now what Dean's desires are and how deep and his commitment to supporting, not only Whitney but me too, is. He couldn't promise to always be here but he could promise to try with all his might to be at as many special occasions as he could. And that is all I wanted; him to try!

"So there's no one in your life Becks? No secret boyfriend you're keeping hidden?" Dean inquires as we eat the sandwiches I had whipped up for lunch.

"Uh no," I answer after swallowing my bite. "I've never had time or the desire to worry about feeding someone else's ego."

Dean nods and takes a sip of the tea she'd made. Then the words hit him, what she had said. He swallowed thickly, wondering if he even had a right to ask. But he wanted-no, he needed-to know. Before he lost his nerve he opened his mouth. "No one? Since…." but he trailed off, not able to actually ask. Not wanting to hear it though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"No, Dean. No one. Except you. Before….or after."

Please let me know your thoughts here!!!!

@vickiq9761 @flamencodiva @mysteriouslyme @travelingriversideblues-x @akshi8278 @keymology @hoboal87 @squirrelnotsam @spnbaby-67 @natura1phenomenon @drakelover78 @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @larajadeschmidt13 @tftumblin @blacktithe7 @lilulo-12 @adoptdontshoppets @cpag7 @austipoppa

#dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #SPN #spn 4x13 #After School Special #Sam Winchester #rebecca quentin #angst #fluff #eventual smut #whitney quentin winchester #episode rewrite #daddy!dean

31 notes · View notes

ciaossu-imagines · 6 years ago

Note

Headcanons of the Varia before bed routine with s/o? Sfw or nsfw, up to you. Sending love and praise to your works, btw! Please and thank you, admin!

Aww, thank you, anon dear! I’m glad you enjoy my writing and I’m more than happy to write these for you! Thank you for the request and I hope you’ll enjoy!

Xanxus

Xanxus has a really odd sleep schedule. He naps frequently around the Varia base, just falling asleep wherever he is (he has no fear; the man is wide awake the second he feels any ill intent or murderous auras) and it’s actually really rare that he crashes in his bedroom. He tends to stay up until the wee hours of the morning as well, being a natural night owl.

Not that it really matters though, since it’s even more rare for him and his partner to share his bedroom. He finds it hard to sleep with them in the bed, most of the time, and they have their own room. He’s been known to pass out in their room once or twice but most of the time, if he does want to spend the night with them, he calls them to his room.

It’s guaranteed that any night they sleep together is because they’ve just had sex. That’s the only reason Xanxus invites his lover into his bedroom and it tends to be the only time they stay there for the night so any routines they have for bedtime are generally quite naughty - sex, a little bit of aftercare, maybe a nightcap after that and then falling asleep in a tangle of limbs. Sex wears Xanxus out enough to keep him asleep, even with his partner in the bed, at least for five or six hours. He’ll normally wake before his partner though, tug on some clothes and head out to his office to go over work or just kick back, throw his feet on his desk, and drink and eat (he’s always starving when he wakes up after mornings with them - he tends to expend a lot of energy whenever he’s around them, after all).

Squalo

Squalo is a big fan of night-time showers. He always takes one at night and he really likes it if his partner shares one with him on the nights they can be together. There’s nothing sexual to it, not usually. He just finds it relaxing to shower with them, washing each others hair, trailing face-cloths along each others bodies, sometimes scattering kisses after them. It’s a very intimate moment in their otherwise chaotic lives and it’s a routine he cherishes whenever they actually get to indulge in it.

Squalo doesn’t really have a side of the bed and he and his partner will often switch sides depending on their moods. They do have specific pillows though.

Squalo tends to fall asleep last, no matter what. While he’ll cuddle with his partner if they really need that until they fall asleep, once they are asleep, Squalo prefers to have his own space on the bed.

Belphegor

Bel, much like Xanxus, demands that he and his partner have separate bedrooms. He needs his own space - while he loves his partner in his own way, there are times he just doesn’t want them around. His mood changes so often and some nights he won’t let them out of his arms but other nights the very idea of sharing a bed with them makes him want to cut something (or someone) up into little bitty pieces. His partner knows this quirk of his and, for their own safety, doesn’t mind the arrangement. When Bel wants them, he calls them into his bedroom and they spend the night together. When he doesn’t, they get to sleep in their own bed, in their own room (which, honestly, isn’t a bad deal as Bel does spoil them and their room is very comfortable and lavish).

When they do spend the night together, Bel likes to watch television in bed together on nights that they’re not intimate. There’s nothing like passing out while bingeing a new series they’ve fallen in love with. Somehow one or the other of them will wake up at some point in the night and switch the television off because it always ends up being off in the morning but it normally always starts off being on.

Bel has a very definite side of the bed - it’s the left side and his partner better deal with that because it’s not changing. He doesn’t like his partner to be on his side of the bed at all when they fall asleep but somehow, in the morning, Bel will have pulled them over to his side of the bed and will be wrapped around them like an octopus. He’s very clingy when he sleeps.

Lussuria

Lussuria likes falling asleep with his lover and will happily share the bed with them. However, because he has very specific conditions he needs to fall asleep though and his partner really doesn’t get a say in them. Lussuria needs to be cold to fall asleep and the windows will be open and a fan positioned to blow along him. He’ll try to be a little considerate of his partner though - their side of the bed will always have a lot of blankets on it. He also can’t have any light at all in the room when he’s falling to sleep and, if his partner wasn’t the same, they’d have to deal - he’ll cuddle them to keep them unafraid if they were afraid of the dark or anything but no light is an absolute rule.

Lussuria likes to just relax with his lover for a little bit in bed before falling asleep. He dedicates at least half an hour before bed to the various apps and games on his phone (he loves various otome game apps - he plays Arcana, Mystic Messenger, and all the Ikemen games) and he’ll love nothing more than being side by side with his partner, leaning up in their shared bed, both of them showing each other funny things on their phones or helping each other with levels on their games.

Lussuria has a high libido and he finds he sleeps really well if he’s had an orgasm. While it’s not an everyday thing, it’s a very, very frequent need and a part of his routine. If his lover isn’t feeling up to it, he tends to masturbate right before falling asleep. It doesn’t matter that his partner is right next to him - it actually tends to excite him more, especially if they’re already asleep.

Levi A. Than

Levi is all about cute relationship things once he gets a partner and is going to be the one who insists on having special bedtime routines with them and all that. He really loves heading into bed with his partner about an hour before they’re actually ready to go to sleep and just relaxing with them, bringing their day to a close in each other’s arms.

There is so much cuddling. Levi wants his partner in his arms always and he’ll make it a point to snuggle with them before falling asleep with them in his arms. He likes to just be there with them and talk quietly together, no electronic distractions or other worries, just catching up on each other’s day and talking about all the little things that make up their life together.

He always makes sure that they both have a glass of water on their respective bedside tables, reminds his partner to take their melatonin together every evening, and will have a white noise player that he turns on if his partner enjoys it as much as he does.

#replies #katekyo hitman reborn #khr #khr headcanons #khr imagines #levi a than #belphegor #bel #xanxus #superbi squalo #headcanons #slightly citrus

97 notes · View notes

somewhereapart · 6 years ago

Text

All That Was Good, All That Was Fair (Rated M)

Vegas-verse. Every Friday night, Robin and Regina veg out on the couch and binge-watch a TV show. A month into their marriage, onscreen chemistry ignites a passion they can't help but indulge.

Click here to read/review on Ao3.

Friday rush hour traffic is one of Regina’s least favorite things, extending the drive from Santa Monica to Pasadena into something truly intolerable. So she avoids it, most weeks. She stays late at her office, or she treats herself to a post-work dinner or a little shopping spree at Santa Monica Place. She arrives in time for Roland’s bedtime, but not much earlier.

Even so, she’s grown pretty fond of Friday nights over the last month.

If she hasn’t eaten, Robin has dinner waiting for her when she arrives, and if she has, he usually has a bottle of red breathing on the countertop. She tosses her purse in her room, shrugs out of her heels and peels off her work clothes, then washes her face, swaps her contacts for the purple-framed glasses she’s taken to leaving at his place lately, and changes into something more comfortable. Not pajamas, not yet, but leggings and a long t-shirt, or soft cotton lounge pants and a tank.

She’s still a novelty to Roland, so he usually insists on at least one story from her, snuggled up together in his little bed. She’d been worried about this, at first—about getting a little boy to lie for them consistently (especially once they’d settled on their current living arrangement), but also about whether they’d connect. Whether her maternal urges would translate into actual maternal affection and action.

She needn’t have worried. Having that little boy cuddled up against her, giggling at the story she’s reading about a barn cat and her wily kittens, Regina feels her heart expand and swell until it feels like it might just crack.

Usually, she passes him off to his father after story number one, or at the very least story number two, and then she takes the rest of bedtime to relax. Sometimes she showers, sometimes she just liberates a glass of that wine and savors it slowly while she waits for him on the sofa.

And then they veg out.

They’ve been watching their way through Outlander, something that absolutely cannot be on the TV while Roland is awake. Too much violence—even Regina had had a hard time stomaching the last episode, her heart starting to race with telltale panic when the male lead had begun to be subjected to a gory, violent whipping from an English military captain. She’d had Robin mute it and had rolled from her side to her back, tipping her glasses up toward her hairline to take momentary advantage of her terrible eyesight. She’d intended to keep her blurry gaze trained on the ceiling and take slow breaths until both the scene and her anxiety had passed. Instead, she’d mostly ended up squinting at Robin to make out the way he grimaced his way through it, his hand resting on her ankle, thumb rubbing absently back and forth.

As he’d punched the mute button back into life, he’d muttered, “That was fucked up; you had the right idea,” and given her a half smile. “Sometimes being blind as a bat has its advantages.”

Regina had given him a little shove with her toes as she tipped her glasses back down and turned her attention back toward the screen.

She’d been grateful that he hadn’t made a big deal about her reaction, but then, he never does. Even later, when the same sadistic bastard had winded their heroine with a sudden brutal gut punch, catching both Claire and Regina entirely off guard. She’d let out an embarrassing yelp, slamming her eyes shut against the memories of steely hands on her arms, of her back colliding with the edge of a door jamb, of nursing a swollen lip as she “worked from home.”

As she’d cursed Leo for interrupting what should have been a perfectly enjoyable Friday night, she’d felt Robin shift swiftly and then the sound cut out again.

“It’s off,” he’d assured her. “Completely off.”

Heart hammering, she’d opened her eyes again to find he’d turned the TV off entirely.

She’d blown out a breath and murmured an apology that he refused to accept, and then he’d asked if maybe she wanted to turn on something more lighthearted.

They’d switched to comedy news, with a promise from him to watch the rest of their episode and tell her what happened this weekend.

She’s determined to power through, determined to watch this show that she enjoys and all of her ghosts can go to hell where they belong.

So here she is on his sofa, wine in hand, waiting for him. It had been a single-story night for her, and as she’d left the room, Robin had told her he’d cued up the end of last week’s episode for her so she could catch the “important bits at the end.”

She trusts that it won’t be anything upsetting, especially since he’s left her to watch it by herself, but she still takes a deep swig of wine before she hits play, nerves dancing in her belly until she sees that Claire has clearly been rescued from her ordeal and is riding across the Scottish countryside with one of the men from their party.

A few minutes later, she realizes why Robin had wanted her to watch it, her jaw dropping slightly as English (and secretly married) Claire agrees to marry hunky Scottish Jamie to become a Scot herself and be protected from the British Army.

She pauses it on the end credits with a shake of her head, and finishes her wine, pouring another glass and carrying it, an empty glass for Robin, and the rest of the bottle into the living room.

She’s feeling pleasantly relaxed when Robin finally joins her, apologizing for the delay—Roland had insisted on three more stories after she’d left.

“Pushover,” she smirks.

“I seem to recall you reading him three stories before bed just last week,” Robin taunts back, settling onto the sofa with a satisfied sigh and reaching for the wine.

“That’s different; I still have to win him over,” she excuses, earning a doubtful look in response.

“I think we both know that little boy adores you,” he says, holding the bottle up in an invitation to top her off. She probably shouldn’t, she’s already had a glass and a half. She should pace herself. But she’ll also likely end up scooting down to lay across the expanse of sofa sometime in the first fifteen minutes, and then she won’t drink anymore. So, why not?

She holds her glass steady as he refills what she’s sipped away and asks, “All caught up?”

“I am,” she nods. “I hope her marriage-for-necessity goes as well as mine.”

He pauses to smile at her, bottle halfway back to the table, something warm and appreciative in his gaze as he says, “I’m flattered, milady.”

Regina shrugs, sips her wine, and dismisses, “Don’t let it go to your head. You had a pretty easy act to follow.”

“You’ve been a challenge to win over,” he points out, settling back into the cushions and reaching for the remote to start the next episode. “At least when it comes to the benefits of the institution.”

“I do like these little Friday night dates,” she admits. “Even when Leo and I got along, even before things got really bad… It was never like this. We’d stay in and watch a movie, have popcorn and wine, but… I don’t know, it feels different with you.” Regina takes another swallow of wine, and a deep breath, before admitting, “I don’t think I ever really felt safe with him, truly, after the honeymoon.”

“But you feel safe with me?”

“I do. You’ve never broken my trust.” It’s a deep topic for what should be a casual movie night, but she’s trying to be open with him. Trying to be a spouse, trying to share with him the way he so easily does with her. “With Leo, it was always in the back of my mind. Even before the abuse started, I’d wonder… would tonight be the night he wanted something I didn’t want to give? Was I selfish for not wanting to give it? Would I ever stop resenting that he changed the rules on me in the first place?”

Robin doesn’t seem to mind the turn of topic; he’s set the remote down again, paused it less than a minute in to give her his full attention. And now he tells her, “You weren't selfish. He was. And I don’t think you should ever have to stop resenting a person who waits until you’re in bloody Italy, alone for three weeks, to tell you he wants your body after all.”

She stares into the dark surface of her wine and whispers, “I should have refused. Gone home and asked for a divorce, or…” Regina sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses for a moment and muttering, “It would have humiliated everyone—him, me, our families. But I should’ve done it.”

“It’s not your fault,” he assures, the warmth of his palm settling on her knee and squeezing there. Regina looks up and gives him a smile, nodding more in appreciation than agreement. And then he wonders, “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Do you think he’d have let you refuse? If you’d been adamant, do you think he’d have gone along with you?”

He sounds genuinely curious—doubtful, but curious—and while she’s loathe to give Leo the benefit of the doubt about anything in their relationship, she thinks she knows the answer to this one.

“Yes,” she tells him. “I think I could have stopped it. It would have ruined the rest of the trip, and probably ruined our marriage. In retrospect, that probably would have been a good thing, but at the time… it didn’t seem that way.” Another sip, and she gripes, “And now it’s ten years later, and I am still so angry at him. I hate him.”

“Me too,” he tells her, not quite solemnly, but with gravity, his fingers squeezing gently against her.

“Well, at least we have that in common,” she teases, trying to lighten the mood and get them away from such a heavy topic. She doesn’t want to think about all this anymore, she’s thought it to death for the last decade, so she nods toward the remote, urging, “Start the show,” and glugging down another swallow of wine.

“You sure?” he asks. “We can keep talking if you want.”

But she tells him, “No,” and, “This is our night to relax, it’s our thing. I don’t want him here. He’s taken up enough of my time.”

“Alright,” Robin agrees, reaching for the remote again with an affable, “As milady wishes.” Just before he pushes the button though, he hesitates and admits, “I watched ahead.”

“Robin!” she scolds. “We said we were going to watch together. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything triggering,” he tells her, and she scowls because she can’t really fault him for that one. “Or at least that it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

She lifts one brow, trying not to be too annoyed (if she thinks about it, it’s really very sweet) as she questions, “And?”

“For this one, just lots of sex,” he assures her. “And while she doesn’t really have a say in the whole thing, he doesn’t push her. He waits for her to be ready.”

“Okay,” she nods. “Sex won’t be an issue. I’m fine with sex.” And then her brain catches up and she narrows her eyes, asking, “Wait—‘this one’? How far ahead did you watch?”

“Three episodes,” he admits, and she scoffs. “We usually get through two or three! I won’t spoil anything, I promise.”

Regina rolls her eyes and grumbles something into her wine glass about how they’re supposed to be experiencing it together. “But thank you,” she grumps, because he’s not wrong. It is better to know when it’s coming.

Still, Robins frowns and offers, “Get comfortable, and give me your feet. I’ll make it up to you.”

It’s worthy penance for his little crime (she shouldn’t be so hard on him, really), so she downs the rest of her wine in one go and then does as offered.

.::.

Halfway through the episode, she wants to eat her earlier words about being fine with sex.

It’s not that the sex is triggering, not at all—Robin was right; for a forced consummation, it was handled in a way she could stomach. She’d even say their clumsy first round was almost cute in its hesitant, fumbling, only-one-orgasm-between-the-two-of-them way.

It’s round two that’s giving her the issue, coupled with the way Robin has spent the first half of the episode kneading his thumbs in her arches; tugging her toes until a few of them give soft, satisfying pops; massaging the sensitive spot behind her ankles. He’s watching the episode with interest, but he’s already seen this, so he’s not skimping on the foot rubs in the slightest, his touch very… intentional. Affectionate, and… sensual? Not intentionally arousing, she doesn’t think, but having someone (not just anyone someone, but someone with whom she’s had incredible sex) stroke and caress and relax her while watching someone else get, uh… stroked, and caressed, and relaxed is making her feel a little, well… horny, for lack of a better word.

There’s nudity and groping and thrusting and moaning, and she’s very aware of Robin’s presence right beside her. Very aware that she’s done those very same things with him in their not-so-distant past. Very aware that there’s a part of her—certain parts of her—that would very much like to do them again.

She licks her lips as she watches a post-orgasmic Claire bite her way down Jamie’s torso, and imagines her bare skin sliding along Robin’s, imagines the way he had kissed his way down her torso in Santa Barbara. His thumb presses into her arch again, and she feels her cheeks flush; she shouldn’t be thinking about fucking him with him right there beside her. She certainly shouldn’t be letting her mind wander from Claire giving Jamie a blowjob to Robin going down on her, to the way he grasped her thighs, the way he traced his tongue over her clit again and again and—

“I miss sex,” she murmurs right around the time Jamie hits his climax.

She doesn’t even realize she’s said it out loud until she hears Robin chuckle from the other end of the couch, his fingertips teasing over the edge of her foot as he murmurs, “You and me both, darling.”

Her cheeks flush, and she bites her lip. She shouldn’t have said that, and she tells him so: “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say that to you if we’re not having it.”

“It’s alright,” he dismisses easily, while Jamie drifts off to a post-coital nap. “I agreed to the terms—and while I don’t want to push, I will remind you that the terms are an assumption of no sex, but sex isn’t off the table entirely.” She shifts, rolls onto her back so she can look at him as he says, “We’ve had sex before, and I am more than happy to do it again—when you want it and only when you want it. Sex is entirely on your terms, that was the deal.”

“I suppose,” Regina concedes. “But it’s not really fair to jerk you around, is it? It’s using you. You’re not a convenient bed to hop into whenever I feel an urge.”

“No, I’m your husband,” he tells her softly, and with so much warmth. Like their marriage is something special and sacred. “And sex may not be a requirement for this marriage, but it’s something we can both enjoy with mutual consent. It’s not using me if I want it, too, Regina.”

“And… you want it?” she asks, biting her lip.

Robin smiles at her and says, “Always.”

She snorts, shaking her head at him, but Robin just argues amusedly, “Can you blame me? You’re gorgeous. Sexy and smart and fun and passionate, and I don’t think I need to remind you—or maybe I do—that we got ourselves into this situation because of our mutual drunken desire to fuck each other immediately and repeatedly.”

She laughs at that—and can’t deny it. They certainly don’t suffer from a lack of mutual attraction. And he’s not wrong, she supposes—he’d made it very clear from the beginning that he was open to sex if she was. She may have insisted on nothing after the honeymoon, but that had been her choice. And she’s free to… choose differently. If she wants.

It’s not changing the rules on him like Leo had with her, and it’s not pushing him into anything he doesn't want. And it’s not going to mean that next week, if he wants sex and she doesn’t, she’ll be expected to have it. Mutual consent, he’d reminded her, never anything they don’t both want.

And with Jamie and Claire going at it once again onscreen—this time with more tenderness and passion, and with Jamie dropping kisses on Claire’s breasts that make Regina’s own nipples tighten in envy—she definitely wants. Her thighs clench and she licks her lips, sitting up finally and shifting closer to Robin.

Her hand runs along the back of his neck, over his shoulder, their faces drawing closer until they’re only a breath apart. Just before she kisses him, she whispers, “Pause the TV,” and Robin grins.

She can feel him fumble blindly for the remote, the sound cutting out just as the episode is ending, and then there are no distractions for them but each other.

For the first few minutes, they just make out passionately, enjoying the taste and feel of each other after weeks of keeping things platonic. She’s missed the way he kisses, the way he moans in appreciation and tilts his head just so to deepen the kiss, even if his nose bumps against her glasses in the process.

Regina chuckles warmly and pulls back just enough to lift her frames off and toss them on the coffee table next to her wine. As much as she loves the look of him, she won’t need 20/20 vision for the next little while.

When she turns back, Robin reaches for her, murmurs, “Come here, darling,” and urges her to move even closer. She shifts until she’s straddling his lap, enjoying the way his palms slide up over the soft material of her leggings, up her thighs, her hips, around and down to give her ass a squeeze as she leans in and kisses him again.

It's only a pit stop, though. Moments later, his hands are rising again, stealing beneath the loose-fitted t-shirt she's wearing and coasting up her back, around her ribs, sneaking in between their bodies to cup her breasts. Regina presses into the touch, eager for it—if they're doing this, she wants to do it.

He gives her a squeeze, nipping at her lower lip as his thumbs rub over her nipples. She lets out a little moan at the shiver of pleasure that chases through her, whispering, “Please.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate—no sooner have the words left her lips than Robin is honing his grasp, giving her nipples gentle tugs and squeezes. Pleasure sparks and burns through her middle, another soft moan sounding in the back of her throat.

It never takes much with her, and he knows that by now. Her nipples are so sensitive that even these light touches are enough to have her growing wetter, her hips starting to pitch and rock against his. He’d changed before coming out here, too, so there’s only her leggings and his thin cotton pants between them. She can feel him growing harder against her, the slow, grinding friction between them serving counterpoint to the way he teases her nipples.

It takes an almost embarrassingly short amount of time before she’s gasping into their increasingly sloppy kisses, every exhale trembling out, or falling free on a soft cry. If they keep this up, she’ll come before they’ve even removed a stitch of clothing.

As if the thought leaves her head and goes straight to his, he gives her nipples one more light, twisting roll through his fingers and then skims them down her belly and grasps the bottom hem of her shirt. It’s up and off in no time, and then his mouth is on her, lips dropping kisses from her collar down to one pebbled peak, giving it a maddeningly gentle suck before he kisses over to the other, does the same, then completes the circuit back up to her lips.

He only gives her a quick smooch, their noses bumping as he asks, “Do you want your nipples sucked, darling, or your clit?”

Regina swallows hard against the flicker of anticipatory pleasure that skitters through her at the offer, her nails raking through his hair as she asks, “Can I choose both?”

Robin grins, nodding, and gives her a little hoist up to get better access to her breasts, jostling a laugh out of her before it melts into a moan at the feel of his tongue against sensitive skin. He licks first, lazy spirals around each nipple in turn, until her breath has gone thick, and then he chooses one to lavish attention on, sucking and flicking his tongue against the tip and teasing it with kisses.

One of his hands has found her ass again, kneading while he riles her up, and Regina has the vague thought that she really should do more for him than the occasional scrape of her nails along his scalp (it makes him shiver and flare up with goosebumps). But it’s been weeks since they’ve done this, weeks since she’s had her nipples licked and sucked, and she wants to take the time to enjoy it. There are many bedroom-related cravings she can take care of herself, but this, God, this isn’t one of them, and it just feels so good.

She’s making these noises now, soft little mewling moans in the back of her throat as he switches to her other breast and treats the nipple to the same delightful attention. She wants more, needs more, wants his tongue on her clit and his cock inside her (quick, deep thrusts just like the ones that got her all hot and bothered in the first place), but she also doesn’t want this to end.

She moans his name, and “God,” and “That feels so… unh!”, her desperation making Robin chuckle. He does it with her nipple sucked tantalizingly into his mouth, though, and the vibration of it makes her clench.

Regina threads her fingers through his hair and grips, tugging him away from her breast and ducking her head down for a heated, tongue-filled kiss. When it breaks, she steals another grin from him by whispering, “Eat me out.”

A quick peck and he surges forward and sideways, jostling her off him and back toward her former position on the sofa. She collapses back with an eager snicker, wriggling when he grasps the waistband of her leggings and gives them a tug.

“Why is it,” she wonders as she helps him rid her of the snug material, “that I am entirely naked, and you’re fully dressed?”

“I don’t know that I’d call sleep pants and a t-shirt fully dressed,” he argues, but he yanks his shirt up and off regardless. “But I see no reason not to even the playing field a bit.”

Her vision is fuzzy with him this far away, so she shuts her eyes and smiles as his hands find her knees, parting her legs wider to accommodate him as he shifts to kneel on the floor beside the sofa and moans appreciatively at the sight of her.

His thumb swipes down over her clit, down to her opening and back up, and he tells her, “I love how wet you are right now. Can’t wait to taste you.”

And then he does.

Regina’s head tips back on a breathy sound of pleasure as his tongue finds her clit and licks and licks, finding a sort of swift, flickering pattern that makes her fingers fist in the cushions and her back arch.

“God, just like that… just… Mmm, just like that and then—oh…”

He stops, just for a moment, and asks, “And then what?”

Regina glances down at him, glad for a moment that he’s a little blurry, because it means she doesn’t truly have to look him in the eye as she says, “Then suck my clit until I come. Please. I can’t do that myself and I’ve missed it.”

“I’d be very impressed if you could,” he smirks as he bends back to his task, on a mission now. His tongue flicks and flutters against her clit, quick barely-there sucks interspersed every few moments to tease her.

When she’s moaning and grasping restlessly at his hair and rocking her hips up into his attention, growing closer and closer, he finally draws her clit in for a good, proper suck. Regina cries out, one hand dropping to find the one of his gripped at her hip, their fingers weaving as he sucks at her again, again, then holds it out and starts to give her these little pulsing sucks that make her thighs shake.

“Oh, God, Robin!” she cries out, her belly clenching, her fingers tightening against his. He releases her, then drags his tongue down, fucking her with it for a few seconds before he runs it back up and captures her clit again, treating it to more of those pulsing sucks.

With all the build-up she’s had, it doesn’t take much longer, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her gut until it releases in a spring of long-overdue bliss. It’s the first orgasm she hasn’t had to give herself in a month, and Regina revels in it, lets him draw it out until her hips are trembling in his grasp, her toes curled tight, moans far too loud for a house with a sleeping child down the hall, but she’s not thinking, she doesn’t care.

When he finally eases off, she goes boneless, melting into the couch with a satisfied sigh and a pleased little chuckle.

Robin sucks warm, damp kisses over her inner thighs, his beard tickling there as he murmurs, “Was it everything you hoped, darling?”

“Mm, definitely,” she praises, still trying to catch her breath.

“Do you want more?” he wonders, planting a kiss right at the join of her hip and thigh. “Or did that satisfy your desire?”

Regina squints down at him, a little frown on her face and reminds, “I said I wanted to have sex, and I meant it. If I’d just wanted foreplay, I’d have made that clear.”

She hears him mutter, “Thank God,” and giggles a little, still feeling relaxed and giddy. “But you know you can always change your—”

“I know,” Regina interrupts, sitting up and pulling him into a kiss that tastes like her. “And thank you.”

He nods, their foreheads bumping, his fingers tangling into her hair as he leans in for another kiss.

When it breaks she bites her lip, nudges her nose against his, and breathes, “Take me to bed, Robin.”

#outlaw queen #oqhappyendingweek #somewhereapart writes #oq au #whiv #verse: vegas

33 notes · View notes

theporgsyourelookingfor · 7 years ago

Text

Get to know me(me)

So I am bored. I found this post with questions but since i probably won’t get too many asks and i do think some of these are a bit silly i decided to answer ALL OF THEM in my charming yet honest way. for your (and my) entertainment.

I kinda wanna tag people but i don’t know if anyone wants to do this (let alone read all this) BUT if you are as bored as me CONSIDER YOURSELF TAGGED BY ME!

HERE WE GO

1: Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed?

CLOSED. not that i actually have many closets here... I only have one walk in closet named Narnia and I am pretty sure a Ghost lives in ther. But a friendly one. It talks with my cats and stalks me while I’m in the shower (I know this because sometimes the air suddenly gets really cold. I just go “oh hi” and move on)

2: Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotel?

i haven’t done this but that might be because i forget this is a thing. and the bottles in finnish hotels are big? and attached to the wall? idk i don’t do hotels that often

3: Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out?

in? what does this even mean?

4: Have you ever stolen a street sign before?

I WISH

5: Do you like to use post-it notes?

yes. I use them as bookmarks.

6: Do you cut out coupons but then never use them?

nah

7: Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of a bees?

a bear. i’d hug it. soft death

8: Do you have freckles?

no?

9: Do you always smile for pictures?

yeah, even if i don’t feel like it

10: What is your biggest pet peeve?

people walking slow in front of me when i’m Busy and Pissed Off. also people who don’t realize how ignorant they are about some things

11: Do you ever count your steps when you walk?

no, i get bored

12: Have you ever peed in the woods?

Yes.

13: What about poop in the woods?

what about it?

14: Do you ever dance even if theres no music playing?

Yeah. I also jump around and run everywhere in my tiny apartment.somehow i always end up running into my bookshelves

15: Do you chew your pens and pencils?

YES. ALWAYS. SERIOUSLY. I WON’T EVEN NOTICE. PITY THOSE POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS WHO LEND ME PENS.

16: How many people have you slept with this week?

Keep reading for more random questions, stories, music and pictures of cats.

17: What size is your bed?

big enough for me and two cats

18: What is your Song of the week?

youtube

19: Is it okay for guys to wear pink?

oh my supremelord what is this radical thinking?!?!

(yes. someday this won’t even be a question.)

DID YOU KNOW PINK USED TO BE BOYS’ COLOR?

20: Do you still watch cartoons?

hell yeah (if i only had the time)

21: Whats your least favorite movie?

can’t think of one right now #positivity

22: Where would you bury hidden treasure if you had some?

how bing of a treasure are we talking about?

23: If you're a girl, bra size? If you're a guy, pants size?

IF YOU’RE NON-BINARY, WHAT COLOR IS YOUR HAIR? why thank you for asking, it’s blue with a hint of purple and green.

(i’m not saying all enby peeps do or should have Extra Colored hair, this just happens apply to me and this question annoyed me.)

24: What do you dip a chicken nugget in?

stuff.

25: What is your favorite food?

chocolate. yes, it’s a food.

26: What movies could you watch over and over and still love?

The Last Jedi and other Star Wars. Most Disney Classics. Anastasia. Phantom of the opera. Lord of the rings. Peter pan (the 2003 one). And many many more but i don’t remember them rn.

27: Last person you kissed/kissed you?

I’ll tell you when that happens

28: Were you ever a boy/girl scout?

no. i wanted to but my mom said i couldn’t handle camping in the woods

29: Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine?

sure if i’d get good money out of it

30: When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper?

Christmas cards! and i used to write letters to my old friend but then she started dating and forgot about me. I heard she and Boyfriend have a dog now.

31: Can you change the oil on a car?

don’t have a car, don’t really care.

I do have a motorbike but I know people who do better job with that so i let them handle it

32: Ever gotten a speeding ticket?

not yet

33: Ever ran out of gas?

oh yes. and last summer I had a creepy old man coming to help me assuming i was a girl and didn’t know what the hell was going on

he: ”oh but you have to do THIS!”

me: “yeah, i’ve tried that too.”

he: “no but like THIS THEN!”

me: “i told you this bike doesn’t work that way.”

he: “oh but i have to help a sweet damsel in distress!”

like dude I am literally wearing a binder and men’s jacket can you please stop

and after that he asked me to go riding with him but then all of a sudden he was like

“oh but will you have a scary man in a leather jacket back home who wouldn’t like you going out with me?”

and i was like “...actually, yes.”

like yeah sure let’s pretend i’m a straight little helpless girl with a super jealous boyfriend so you will leave me alone.

(my imaginary boyfriend is called Robert, he moved here 3 years ago from the north where we met and he just got out of jail for helping his brother try to commit murder.)

34: Favorite kind of sandwich?

35: Best thing to eat for breakfast?

eggs. just because that’s all i can do.

36: What is your usual bedtime?

37:Are you lazy?

i tell myself i am but i’m not really sure... i do a fuckton of studying and writing

38: When you were a kid, what did you dress up as for Halloween?

when i was a kid we didn’t have halloween here. now we do tho. and i do remember dressing up as a ghost to some school party

39: What is your Chinese astrological sign?

Pig?

40: Are you horny?

no, but i have beautiful antlers.

41: Do you have any magazine subscriptions?

no, but this got me wishing for one

42: Which are better legos or lincoln logs?

43: Are you stubborn?

maybe

44: Who is better...Leno or Letterman?

should i know who these people are?

no, i will not google, moving on

45: Ever watch soap operas?

sometimes.

46: Are you afraid of heights?

if we go high enough

47: Do you sing in the car?

with the right people and right music

48: Do you sing in the shower?

no. my Ghost roommate wouldn't like it.

49: Do you dance in the car?

yeah.

50: Ever used a gun?

51: Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer?

in high school?

52: Do you think musicals are cheesy?

sometimes, but that’s the point

53: Is Christmas stressful?

yes, but i’ve lived on my own for a while now and have carefully avoided all the christmas stress and shit.

54: Ever eat a pierogi?

a what now?

no but now i am extremely hungry.

55: Favorite type of fruit pie?

blueberry. i don’t care if that’s not a fruit it’s the only pie i do.

56: Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?

i wanted to be a marine biologist because my last name means “seaweed-y” or “algae-y” and i would have literally been Marine Biologist Dr. Seaweed.

that would still be VERY cool

57: Do you believe in ghosts?

if you have read this far you can probably guess the answer

58: Ever have a Deja-vu feeling?

have i had this question before?

59: Take a vitamin daily?

yeah. my dad wants me to

60: Wear slippers?

if i had ones

61: Wear a bath robe?

IF I HAD ONE

I WOULD NEVER TAKE IT OFF

62: What do you wear to bed?

i got two star wars pajamas and i regret nothing

63: First concert?

these guys. they are a legend. i was like 3. best time of my life

youtube

64: Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart?

65: Nike or Adidas?

do i look like i got money for this shit?

66: Cheetos Or Fritos?

nope

67: Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?

both?

68: Ever hear of the group Tres Bien?

no.

69: Ever take dance lessons?

i have. my mom took me to ballet when i was like 2 and i stayed there until i was 12 because my grandma would get me a cinnamon roll after every lesson.

70: Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing?

do i picture a future spouse?

71: Can you curl your tongue?

I CAN. IN MANY WAYS.

72: Ever won a spelling bee?

we don’t have those. or at least i haven’t heard of any

73: Have you ever cried because you were so happy?

yes. last night i had a dream i had a baby and i cried like one.

74: Own any record albums?

yeah

75: Own a record player?

yeah

76: Regularly burn incense?

77: Ever been in love?

on some days I’m in love with myself.

78: Who would you like to see in concert?

Let me introduce you to our lord and savior Antti Tuiksu:

youtube

(this music video is the light of my life)

79:What was the last concert you saw?

don’t remember. i don’t have the money for this kind of luxury

80: Hot tea or cold tea?

(get it, HOTh? ahahahahah.)

81: Tea or coffee?

Hot Chocolate

82: Sugar or snickerdoodles?

83: Can you swim well?

yes.

84: Can you hold your breath without holding your nose?

yes.

85: Are you patient?

last year i waited for 8 hours in this jewerly shop to get a free tattoo (it was a campaign thing, the brand turned 80 years. the same people who made Leia’s necklace in A New Hope!) and JUST WHEN IT WAS MY TURN THEY RAN OUT OF INK AND NEEDLES so no tattoo for me but it was a weird and funny day.

86: DJ or band, at a wedding?

Porgs shall sing in rey and ben’s wedding.

87: Ever won a contest?

i am sure i have but i do not remember it.

88: Ever have plastic surgery?

i have not

89: Which are better black or green olives?

no olives

90: Can you knit or crochet?

I CAN KNIT!!!

91: Best room for a fireplace?

bathroom

92: Do you want to get married?

i mean yeah if i find the right person for it but i’m not getting my hopes up, it’s not that important for me

93: If married, how long have you been married?

94: Who was your HS crush?

Troy Bolton

95: Do you cry and throw a fit until you get your own way?

i don’t need to

96: Do you have kids?

yes, two:

97: Do you want kids?

yes. and you will hear about it.

98: Whats your favorite color?

Black and

99. Do you miss anyone right now

@morsoullakko

AND WE’RE DONE!!! DID SOMEONE ACTUALLY READ ALL THIS??? HI, I LOVE YOU AND I HOPE I DIDN’T WASTE YOUR TIME!

my boredom is cured.

#about me #personal #i think i'm funny #now that you know me uncomfortably well you might as well message me and be my friend #though i already think of all of you as my friends #i ws bored #i did this for 3 hours #there's pictures and videos #funfunfun #not sw

21 notes · View notes

writing-radionoises · 7 years ago

Text

Wifi Connection

Hi! I'm Stan Marsh, I'm sixteen, male, and questioning my sexuality! Looking for friends :) He swears he's scrapped and retyped the exact same sentence over and over, wondering if it was good enough for his Instagram as he sat in the corner of his new and empty room, silently. Stan Marsh, sixteen, male, questioning. Stan Marsh, sixteen, male, questioning. Stan Marsh, sixteen, male, questioning. The info is ingrained in his mind, almost wishing he still lived with his dad so maybe he could break in and steal some of his wine or something. Stan Marsh has lived in South Park all his life, his mother eventually divorced his drunk of a father and moved far away from South Park, though. Stan, his mother, and his sister have been living in New York city for about a month now. He starts school next week, and honestly, there is nothing Stan was more scared of currently. For the first time ever, Stan Marsh was about to do something without Kyle. His very best friend, who was stuck in South Park with his dad and all his friends. His entire life, since fucking diapers, Stan and Kyle have done everything together. Hell, the ginger was the reason he began questioning his sexuality. Probably the same reason he even discovered his love for music. After moving, the only contact he has left with his very best friend is through Skype. Even so, it was rare he was able to talk to his ginger friend. And when he did, Kyle was often joined by his little brother, Kenny, or sometimes even Cartman. Sure, Stan was just happy to end to see his friend at all, but really wished he could talk to him in private, or even face to face again. A knock on the door startled the noirette as he looked towards it. "Stan, dinner's ready and on the table. Come down when you feel like," said the soft voice of his mother. "Okay, I'll be down soon," he responded, falling silent until he heard his mother walk away from the door, then standing up. He scanned the empty room, his eyes then landing on the guitar in the corner, then picking it up. It was covering in little stickers, along with a signature from his father and one from Kyle. Kyle's handwriting was curvy, lots of loops and such. His dad's signature, which had been signed with his stage name, is much more messy. It resembles his own handwriting, the lowercase letters looking more rushed, the capital letters barely even looking like letters. Without even realizing it at first, his hands began to half-mindedly pluck at the strings, forming some kind of melody that eventually brought words into his mind. Placing the guitar aside and jumping up, Stan rushed to find a notebook and pen, beginning to scribble down music notes and lyrics. It was a strange feeling to actually be able to write a song, or anything resembling it, for the first time in many, many months. Kyle used to help him, writing down lyrics and guitar chords when he played. They'd look over songs together, Kyle pointing out good things about the songs and such to outweigh the negativity Stan pointed out. It was a nice memory. Laying in the curly ginger's lap, holding up sheet music and blabbering on and on about how bad it was, how he'd never be like his dad or anything, only to be shushed by the other and be told how beautiful his voice was because it was his voice and no one else's. It was well past his normal bedtime by the time Stan actually felt satisfied with the lyrics and music, though he cared not. In the morning, Stan was awoken by his sister, who was saying something he couldn't quite comprehend. Though, he sat up from sitting on the floor, rubbing at his eyes and standing up. He walked downstairs and grabbed the cup of coffee on the table, taking a sip as he looked around the kitchen, figuring his mother was already at work. "Dad called you earlier. I don't know what he want'th, but thoguht you might wanna known," said Shelly, practically ripping her hair out instead of brushing it. Stan nodded, heading upstairs to hole up in his room once again. He opened up his laptop, logging in and quickly regretting so as he saw his background, biting his lip. It was one of the very last pictures he had of his group of friends. Kenny sat on her knees in the snow, her hood down and long, blonde hair a mess as she smiled widely. Cartman laid against Kenny, looking bored as he fiddled with his gloves. Standing above Kenny and Cartman was Stan and Kyle, Stan clinging onto the shorter one for balance. Even though it was likely he was at least tipsy during that photo, it's definitely his favorite. The noirette opened Skype, the app already on Kyle's profile. Super Best Friend // You are you, and that's what's amazing about you <3 A slight smile came to his face as he remember what he set Kyle's name as. The last conversation they had was about how Cartman seemed to be bullying Kyle even more now that Stan was gone, to which Stan quickly ignored the responses to avoid a mood drop. Not Craig's brother: Hey Kyle, you awake? I wanna show you something. After sending this message, Stan looked through his other friends' profiles. Best Girl // You're pretty either way! Stan smiled a bit, he could almost hear Kenny's optimistic and bright voice once again, yelling at Cartman about something. The last conversation being about her saving enough to finally get top surgery. Fat tits // Not sure if I'm mentally or physically ill but it's all good Cartman wasn't the best to talk to, sure, but it was nice to actually see his contact. Though, it's pretty clear he isn't usually active on Skype. When he is, he mainly just spams his contact list with a bunch of memes or something. There was a bing that brought Stan back to reality, quickly going back to Kyle's profile. Super Best Friend: Hey! Good morning :) Super Best Friend: I'm home alone for awhile, so sure! Not Craig's brother: Okay! Give me a moment, I'll call you Stan stood up and grabbed his guitar once again, along with the sheet music he'd written last night. He set the stuff behind his laptop, backing it away from his body as he called the ginger. Kyle immediately answered, a bright smile on his freckled face. His red hair was a mess, as always, though it made Stan want to brush it, run his fingers through the other boy's hair once again in some attempt to tame it. His green eyes glittered with tiredness, yet happiness. Obviously, Kyle had just woken up. He was still in pajamas and clinging onto a pillow. Stan waved. "Good morning sunshine, you obviously look the best right now," he snickered softly, to which Kyle shrugged. "Man, you've seen me look worse. We used to have sleepovers like every weekend, and that included weekends where I felt fucking awful," he answered, Stan nodding in understanding, "Though, good morning to you too." The noirette smiled, suddenly being brought back to reality once again as Kyle asked what he wanted to show him. Stan gave a soft "oh," then grabbing his guitar and sheet music from behind the computer. "I . . . Ended up actually writing something last night instead of trying to drown out my thoughts, haha . . . I'm really used to showing you my work, so I thought you'd like to hear . . ." He drifted off into thought, brown eyes looking off into a distance. The two fell silent for a moment before Kyle spoke once again, "Of course I would, I'm always eager to see what you've done with that guitar of yours." Stan nodded once again, taking a breath before beginning to play the tune he had written down. "I knew you once, and it was nice. I knew your brain and your heart, all your insides. Oh, I could tell, just with a look, what you were thinking. That's all it took. You shared your secrets, and I shared mine. Silence was comfy, without having to try . . . We swapped our smiles, gifted advice . . . Yes, I knew you once. And it was nice . . ." The ginger stayed in awe at the words, his green eyes wide open in slight shock that the noirette even wrote something like that. For about as long as Stan had been doing music, Kyle had known him to do complicated songs, similar to things you'd hear on the radio. Yet, somehow, a song so short and soft seemed to bring more emotion than all his past songs combined. "Stan . . . You should start posting songs on the internet. You could get money out of doing this and maybe . . . Maybe . . ." Kyle drifted into thought, biting his lip as Stan tilted his head to the side. "'Maybe' what?" He questioned. "And maybe you could come back to South Park."

Song: I Knew You Once - Dodie Clark

#south park #south park style #sp kyle #sp stan #sp style #drinking/#meg's concept #south park fanfiction

14 notes · View notes

branlovestowrite · 7 years ago

Text

Complicating Factors: Chapter 1

This is my work in progress fic, which I have only been posting on FanFiction.Net. After 12 chapters, my muse has fizzled out. I hope by revising & reposting this, I can get inspired again. Your comments and suggestions (chill vibes only!) are welcome and encouraged!

Complicating Factors

Rating: M for language and smut in later chapters

Summary: Emma Swan is a single mother trying to contact her ex and father of her child, Neal Cassidy. While she expected some awkwardness when meeting Neal's mother, Milah Gold, she never expected the undeniable attraction she feels toward Milah's younger boyfriend, Killian Jones. No Magic, Modern AU. Captain Swan.

"Swan!" Emma jumped when she heard her friend Mu call out her name. She had been lost in thought as she sat at her desk, having a slow day. She had started working at Grumpy's Bail Bonds nearly two years ago, and spent most of her time doing administrative work: helping with contracts, filing, and managing the books. Working at a bail bonds agency had a lot less excitement than what was portrayed on TV.

'Mu' was short for Mulan, but she hated using her full name, thanks to her Disney counterpart. Mu liked to remind everyone that she was born a full 8 years before that movie came out and was named after the legendary Chinese warrior, not a Disney Princess. The woman was a few years older than Emma, her features reflecting her Chinese heritage, and enhanced by her purple hair and tattoos. Mu's short stature did nothing to reduce the intimidating air she gave off as she leveled her gaze at Emma now.

"I figured you were wearing earbuds by the way you ignored me," Mu said.

"Sorry," Emma replied. "I guess I got lost in thought. I was thinking about how dull this job is compared to what we see on TV shows."

"Well, that's because you haven't been out with me to chase a skip yet. But that's all about to change. You have a date tonight."

"What?" Emma asked, confused.

"This one likes hook ups. His history showed he likes blondes, so I put your pic up on Tinder. He wants to meet you tonight."

"You used my picture as bait?!"

"Relax!" Mu said. "I'll be there the whole time. You only have to go in and keep him occupied. I'll come up and cuff him from behind. Do you have anything slutty to wear?"

Emma was flabbergasted. "I don't know about this, Mu."

"Come on Emma! You need to learn how to do this sooner or later. The payout is way better than desk duty. I'll split tonight's take with you 50/50 if that will make you feel better."

Emma was uneasy with this plan, but Mu was right that she would need to learn this sooner or later. It had been hard to find a decent-paying job after her stint in jail, and she needed to start picking up skips if she ever hoped to have enough money to give her four-year-old son, Henry, the life she felt he deserved. She took a deep breath and said "okay."

"Great!" Mu said. "Do you need me to see if Aurora can watch Henry?" Aurora was Mu's girlfriend. They met in college, finding an immediate connection through their Princess-style names.

"Maybe," Emma replied. "Let me see if Regina can get him first. He's already got things over there and he and Roland are like brothers."

Emma's time in jail came after she was arrested for cocaine possession. She and her boyfriend at the time, Neal, had never done anything more extreme than some underage drinking and pot smoking, and even those cases were very rare. Emma hated the feeling of being out of control, and tended to stay away from drugs for that reason alone. She had no idea that Neal was dealing. Unknown to her, he'd hidden some of his stash inside her suitcase. He disappeared two days before the cops came to search the apartment. After their search, they'd asked Emma to identify if the suitcase was hers, and she stupidly did. They arrested her and pumped her for information about the supplier. Though she didn't know anything, she was sentenced to two years with credit for time served. She'd learned of her pregnancy shortly after her arrest. Unable to contact Neal, and having no family to speak of at the time, she'd had no choice but to let her son go into the foster system until she could finish her sentence. She was extremely reluctant for her son to be a foster child, remembering her own bad experiences, and she begged the Social Worker to find a good situation for him. He'd been placed with Regina, and lived the first two years of his life with her, until Emma was released, able to get a job, and set up a stable home.

After being reunited with her son, Emma realized she had no help. Regina offered to step in for Henry's sake. Regina was…prickly, to put it lightly, but she did truly love Henry. She and Emma were slowly starting to build a good relationship. It helped that Regina had recently married Rob, a man she met when Henry and Rob's son, Roland, were in daycare together. Rob was a widower whose wife died in childbirth. He and Regina began dating when the kids were a little older than two, and just married in a small ceremony about 6 months ago. Emma liked Rob, and though they were only a little more than 10 years older than her, in their mid-30s, Emma looked up to Regina and Rob as her surrogate parents.

Henry and Roland were very close in age and greatly enjoyed each other's company. They still attended the same daycare and had playdates nearly every weekend. It was not uncommon for Henry to spend the night at Regina's, though Emma usually did nothing with those free nights but sit around her small apartment and binge watch shows on Netflix.

She picked up the phone to call Regina and explained the situation. Regina said she was happy to help, and offered to let Henry sleep at her house and drop him off at daycare in the morning. Emma was grateful and said she would call to talk to Henry before the boys' bedtime.

With that out of the way, she returned to the situation of what to wear on her date. She didn't have anything slutty to wear, so Mu decided they needed to go shopping.

"I don't really have the money for a dress," Emma said.

"No worries," Mu replied. "I'll put it on my credit card. I'd consider this a work-related expense."

Emma knew better than to protest. She figured that whatever dress she got would definitely not be worn again unless they had another job like this one, so it was justified as work-related expense.

A few hours later, Emma stood in the back of the office, wearing a skin tight pink dress and black heels that were higher than any she'd worn before. In addition to buying the dress and shoes, Mu had dragged her to a salon for a blowout, which left her long hair hanging in soft waves down her shoulders. They'd finished the transformation by Mu dragging her to an empty office that served as a break room, saying it had the best lighting, in order to apply makeup. Emma had never worn this much makeup in her life. Her green eyes were rimmed with black liner in a cat eye shape that was just thin enough to not be garish. Her lips were accentuated with a soft pink color that emphasized their shape and made her face glow. As she looked in the mirror Mu held up, Emma couldn't help but feel pretty.

"Hot," Mu said. "I'd bang you if I were single."

Emma blushed involuntarily. "Thanks for the compliment," she said with sarcasm.

"Remind me when we get there to take a few pictures of you before we catch the guy. It will be useful if we need to pull this Tinder sting again."

They headed out to Emma's car, an old, yellow VW Beetle and the only thing Neal knowingly ever gave her. She was surprised she got to keep it once she was released from jail. She and Neal met when she was attempting to steal the Bug, which he'd already stolen. He must have gotten a clean VIN for the car, because when she got out, the keys were returned to her. Despite the bad memories from Neal, Emma loved this car. It probably wasn't the best family car, but it was reliable and had been a huge help when she was trying to rebuild her life.

Once at the restaurant, Mu and Emma reviewed the plan one final time and headed inside. Mu wore a beanie over her purple hair, and kept her distance several paces behind Emma. Emma spotted her target at the bar and walked over to him.

"Hi," she said, putting on her most charming smile. "Are you Jack?"

"Yes," he replied, returning her smile. "You must be Emma. I have to say, I'm somewhat relieved."

"What?" she said demurely. "You thought I lied on the app?"

"Well, truth be told, your profile pic doesn't do you justice."

She put her hand on his arm and leaned in a bit closer. "Same to you."

He winked at her, and Emma felt a rush of adrenaline. This was actually kind of fun. She continued to talk with Jack while they ordered drinks. The plan was for her to maneuver him to a secluded corner table that Mu picked when she scouted out the place, but Jack was proving resistant to moving from the bar. He seemed to want to show Emma off to the other men there, which made her want to scoff in disgust.

When Jack turned away to order more drinks, she let her eyes wander around. They landed on a man across the bar who was almost too good looking to be real. He had dark hair and lightly tanned skin. A scar was on his right cheek, just above the dusting of a copper-tinted beard along his jaw. Even in the dim lighting, she could see that his eyes were a brilliant blue. Though he was sitting, she could tell he was tall and muscular, and his body language exuded confidence. He met her eyes and held her gaze, raising his right eyebrow in a curious gesture. She had to stop herself from responding with a smile, remembering that she was supposed to be here with Jack. Tearing her eyes from the delicious-looking man, she refocused on Jack, who thankfully had not noticed her distraction.

Eventually she got Jack into the corner, and Mu came up and cuffed him, just as they planned. Mu told Emma that it would be better if she took Jack to the police station in the Bug and then came back for her. Emma agreed and wandered over to the bar. She was perusing the menu for something to eat when she felt someone walk up behind her.

"That was not how I expected your evening to end, love."

A shiver ran down her spine and she turned to see Captain Delicious. In addition to his amazing looks, he had one of the sexiest accents she'd ever heard. She tried her best to school her features and not give away her attraction.

"Well," she began, "I like defying expectations."

He smiled, and his whole face lit up. He gestured to the empty stool next to her. "May I?" She inclined her head and he sat down.

"So," he said, "were you in on that performance?"

"Yes. I work with the woman who took him away. She's my friend and she's training me."

"You work as a bail bondsman?"

"Bondsperson," she corrected. "It’s not official yet. Mu just started teaching me how to catch skips. Most of my days are spent at the office doing admin work."

"I see. Could you tell me your name? Or would that blow your cover?"

She smiled. "Emma. Emma Swan."

He extended his hand and she took it. As they shook hands he said, "Killian Jones, at your service."

"It's nice to meet you, Killian."

"And you, Emma."

"So, Killian, what do you do to earn a living?"

"I'm a professor. I teach History at Storybrooke U."

"Interesting," she said, dragging the word out. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Well, in my younger days, I was in the Royal Navy. But I never saw myself as a career soldier, so when my time was up, I got out. I spent some time traveling with my brother, and we went diving on shipwrecks. I started a blog about our travels, which turned into a book deal. Then I took the money from that, went back to school, and many, many years later, ended up with my PhD in History. My specialty is Maritime History, but I mostly teach World History now."

"A PhD? So you're actually Dr. Jones?"

He laughed. "Only to my students."

Their conversation continued, and Emma found herself truly enjoying the exchange. All too soon they were interrupted by Killian's phone ringing. He looked at the screen, frowned, and silenced the ringer.

"Apologies, love. I need to make my exit. I unfortunately need to go have an unpleasant conversation."

"Is everything alright?"

"Nothing dire. I just need to go talk to my sometimes girlfriend. She's been a bit hot and cold lately."

Emma's heart sank a little. Of course a gorgeous guy like him would have a girlfriend. She put on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she extended her hand and said "It was really nice meeting you, Killian."

"You too, Emma. I hope I can see you again. Do you come to this bar often?"

She shook her head from side to side. "This is my first time here."

He fished out his wallet and placed one of his business cards on the bar in front of hers. "Well, if I can ever do anything for you, please reach out to me."

"Thanks," she said, unable to hide her disappointment at his departure. He put a hand on her shoulder and winked at her. Even that innocent touch was enough to fan the flame inside. He seemed to realize this, smirking as he walked away without another word. His arrogance helped her move beyond her attraction, and she scoffed out loud.

She put his card in her purse, finished her drink, and closed out her tab. When she stood to leave, Mu was there with a happy look on her face.

"All done!" she said. "Leroy will get you your cut tomorrow. Let's head back to the office so I can get my car. I need a hot shower."

"Sounds great," Emma said, following her friend out of the bar.

The next day started well, with Emma collecting her payout and finding herself $500 richer. She was tempted to spend it all on something frivolous, but she decided it would be better to save it. Nearly all of it went to her savings account, but she did set aside $50 to take Henry to do something fun that weekend.

After that she quickly finished the paperwork she had waiting, and gave a client a ride to court. When she got back it was lunch time and she was out of things to do. Mu wa in, so Emma decided to work on her personal project: trying to track down Neal.

Emma would be perfectly happy if she never saw Neal again, but she knew that wasn't fair to Henry. He was starting to ask questions about his father. Emma had considered lying and saving her son some pain, but Regina counseled her against it. After considering Regina's advice, Emma had told Henry that she didn't know where his father was, but that she would do everything she could to find him so they could meet.

The trouble was, Neal Cassidy was hard to find. There was no record of him in Boston. It was a somewhat common name, but every lead she tracked down was a bust. After a while, she started to lose hope. Luckily, her friend David, a police detective, offered his services to help.

Emma met David through his wife, Mary Margaret, a teacher at Henry's daycare. Mary Margaret was quite possibly the most upbeat person Emma had ever met, but she was so genuine that you couldn't help but like her. David was not quite as chipper as his wife, but still annoyingly positive. They were good people, and Emma was happy to have their help. She hadn't heard from him lately, but still felt it couldn't hurt to call.

"David Nolan," he answered when she called his cell.

"Have you still not saved my number in your phone, Dave? Or are you just messing with me?"

"Nope, still haven't saved it. I like the mystery of not knowing who's calling me."

"You're weird," Emma replied.

"I'm glad you called. I was meaning to call you. I got a lead on your project."

"You did?" Emma was cautious. She'd run into so many dead ends in this search.

"Yeah. I came across some arrest records from about 15 years ago. A kid gave the name Neal Cassidy at arrest, but his real name was Neal Gold."

"Of course!" She exclaimed. "He gave me a fake name. I'll add that to the list of lies he told me."

“Well, the trail runs cold there, but he was picked up by a woman named Milah Gold. She was listed as his mother."

"Milah Gold...I'll look her up. Maybe I can find her and get to Neal that way. Thanks Dave!"

"Happy to help. Oh, and Mary Margaret mentioned having you and Henry over for dinner Friday night. You in?"

"Sure. I'll let her know when I pick up Henry this afternoon."

"Great. See you then, Emma."

Emma hung up feeling refreshed. She began searching for more information about Milah Gold, and the search was immediately fruitful. Milah owned a small boutique in a trendy part of town that sold vintage clothes. Emma decided to pay the boutique a visit that afternoon, before she lost her nerve.

She parked a few blocks down from the boutique, in the first open spot she found. Taking a deep breath, she began to walk to the store. Unfortunately, she wasn't paying attention where she was going and ran right into a man carrying two cups of coffee, which were spilled all over her white shirt.

"Fuck!" She cried out. The coffee wasn't too hot, thankfully, but it stained her shirt and her bra was now clearly visible under the wet fabric. She looked up, ready to chew out the offender, when she recognized his blue eyes.

"Emma?" He asked before she could say anything.

"Killian...hi," she replied, giving him an awkward smile.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"I could say the same."

"I'm here to-" he started, but was interrupted by the shop door opening and a stunningly beautiful woman with flowing brown hair stepping out. She was taller than Emma, and looked to be somewhere in her 40's.

"Killian?" The brunette asked. "Is everything alright?"

"Milah," he replied. "I'm afraid there was a bit of a mishap with our coffees." He pointed to Emma.

"Oh no!" Milah replied, taking in Emma's soaked shirt. "Come inside dear. I am sure I can find you something to replace the shirt my boyfriend so haphazardly ruined."

It took Emma a moment to connect the dots. "Milah?" She asked. "Milah Gold?"

Milah stopped and stared at Emma. "Yes...and you are…?" Her tone was wary, but not unkind.

Killian stepped in. "This is Emma Swan."

"You know each other?" Milah asked. "Are you one of Killian's students?"

"Um...no," began Emma. She remembered Killian mentioning there was some tension with his girlfriend, and she chose to take his lead on this.

"Emma and I met the other night at Tony's. She had some trouble with her date."

Milah smiled, but there was definitely some jealousy there. "Always the gentleman."

Milah pulled Emma inside and found a shirt for her. She led the younger woman to the changing room and Emma gratefully replaced her shirt with the much nicer sweater. She tried to pay Milah for the item, but Milah refused, saying she would put it on Killian's tab.

"So," she said after Emma was cleaned up. "What brings you here?"

Emma sucked in her breath. This was awkward, but she would not back down. She hated disappointing her son.

"Do you have a son, Neal?"

"Yes…" Milah said.

"He and I used to date. I haven't heard from him in almost five years, but I really need to talk to him."

"Why?"

"Well, you see, he and I have a son together. Neal doesn't know about Henry. I want my son to have the chance to meet his father."

"Neal has a son?" Milah asked. "You mean to tell me that I'm a grandmother?"

"It would appear so," Emma responded. She took out her phone and showed Milah a picture of Henry.

"Oh," Milah replied. "He looks just like Neal did as a boy."

"Do you know where I can find Neal?"

"I'm sorry, no. I haven't spoken to my son in ten years. We're not on the best terms. Maybe Robert can help.”

"Robert?"

"My ex-husband." Milah replied. "He's a lawyer, but he also teaches at Storybrooke U."

"With Killian?"

"Different department, love," Killian chimed in. "He teaches contract law."

Milah seemed to have forgotten Killian was there. She stepped closer to her boyfriend and looped her arm with his in a clearly possessive gesture.

"I don't like talking to my ex, but I agree that Neal should know he has a child. I'll reach out to Robert. Could you come by again on Saturday, maybe around 10? I should have an answer then. And maybe you could bring my grandson? I'd love to meet him."

Emma was unsure, but decided to continue on this path. Milah was obviously insecure about her relationship, but she figured it couldn't hurt for Henry to get to know another family member.

"Okay," she said. "We can do that."

"Great!" Milah said. She picked up a business card from the holder by the register and circled her cell phone number. "Call me if anything changes. I can't wait to meet Henry!"

Despite Milah's territorial behavior, Emma could see she was truly was excited about meeting Henry. She gave Milah a warm smile and said goodbye. Just then a customer came through the door, carrying a box of clothes. Milah indicated this was a client who was selling some pieces, and asked Killian if he would go get new coffees for them. They gave each other a chaste kiss and Killian followed Emma out the door.

Killian and Emma stood awkwardly looking at one another, just outside the store's entrance. He began nervously scratching behind his ear before saying "she's a good woman, Milah is. She's had a hard go of it, but she's got a good heart."

"Good to know," Emma said. Even now she couldn't shake the attraction she felt toward this man. He now had his hands in his pockets, the muscles of his forearms flexing as they peeked out from his rolled up shirt sleeves. She caught herself staring a moment too late, and looked up to see him with that damn eyebrow cocked up again.

"I have to go," she said as she felt her cheeks turn crimson. "See you around Killian."

"You too, Swan."

Emma got in her car and berated herself. What was she doing? This man was dating a woman she'd just learned was her son's grandma. Was she really lusting after a man who was, for all intents and purposes, Henry's step-grandfather?

#cs fanfics #cs fanfic #cs ff #ouat fanfiction #ouat ff #killian jones #emma swan #milah #complicating factors fanfic

16 notes · View notes

athousandmilez-blog · 7 years ago

Text

New Year, New Me → 017

Tagging: Miles Sterling & Nick Vaughn.

Timeframe: Sunday, December 31, 2017.

Location: A friend-of-a-friend’s party.

General Notes: Nick and Miles hang out at a New Years Eve party and it’s the first time anything happens between them around other people. So like, a big deal.

Miles: Miles always found himself somewhere new to ring in the new year. Sometimes it was with family, other times with close friends — this year, it was neither, as he found himself wandering the basement of a friend-of-a-friend’s home. The place wasn’t quite packed, but there were plenty of faces Miles didn’t recognize. One who didn’t fall into that category, obviously, was Nick, who Miles hoped was still behind him as he finally moved to a spot of open air, right near the TV where a crowd had formed to watch the whole New Years Eve countdown thing. “I’m not cut out for this anymore,” Miles said when he could finally see his friend again. He was glad they were here together, given the events that unfolded a little prior to Christmas, followed by completely different events on Christmas. But they always somehow found their way back to being each other’s sidekicks at parties like this. “It’s already way past my bedtime. I don’t think I’ll even last until midnight, man.”

Nick: Nick usually took his New Years Eve plans very seriously. The previous years, he’d made it a point to scope out the biggest parties, of the ones that were likely to be the most memorable. This year was different. Nick didn’t even realize New Years was so close; he’d been so focused on just trying to get through the overwhelming holiday that was Christmas. When word got out that a friend of a friend was throwing a small New Years party, Nick wasn’t sure he even wanted to go. He almost didn’t, although he knew that he should go socialize and see his friends. It turned out Miles was going, though, and if Miles was going then Nick had to show up. They always seemed to end up at these parties together — even if it was unplanned. It was practically tradition. Nick smiled and nodded at people he recognized as he walked through the apartment, realizing he’d seen a lot of these same people at previous parties although he couldn’t remember half of their names. Maybe if he was feeling the spirit of New Years later he’d ask them. But for now (for once) he wanted time to ease into making himself mingle with everyone. Nick didn’t think twice before walking with Miles to an open spot, still near everybody but further enough away to have breathing room. “Sure you can, man. I believe in you.” He half smiled at him. “Everyone says that until they start drinking and get too hyped up to sleep. Then you wake up the next day and regret everything.” That’s how Nick always started the New Year.

Miles: Miles shook his head, looking down at plastic cup in his hand, which actually contained water this time around. “I’m not even, like...all that fun when I’m drunk,” he pointed out, though it wasn’t like Nick didn’t know that. “I mean, only past a certain point. Everyone has that uphill climb when you’re full of adrenaline and stuff but once I’m over that it’s just not pretty.” So he was trying to prevent that this time. Or maybe just prolong it, at the very least, so he’d be in that heightened state to bring in 2018. “I won’t be regretting it tomorrow, though. I’m a good boy.” He lifted the cup of water to prove his point. “I hope you’re staying adequately hydrated. I don’t mean to mom you, but you never know with you.” At this point, he really didn’t know what Nick was up to sometimes. He was learning all these surprises about him lately. But that didn’t matter right now.

Nick: Nick glanced down at Miles’ cup knowingly. Leave it to him to be the more responsible one. Nick supposed that’s why he managed to stay out of trouble. Well, for the most part. Excluding the Greg thing which he really didn’t want to think about right now, because Miles was finally starting to look like himself again. “I think you’re fun.” He said with a shrug as he glanced at a few people who passed by. “You’re right about that though. Probably best for you to not ring in the New Year with a hangover.” Nick has, but that doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. Just the events leading up to it. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He replied, but he wasn’t necessarily offended. That comment wasn’t necessarily unwarranted, after all. “I actually haven’t been drinking. Yet.” He tacked on so it wouldn’t seem to out of character for him. “But I’ll stay hydrated. Don’t worry, Mom. I even made sure to pack a Capri Sun in my jacket pocket so drunk me would want to drink more liquids.” He patted the side of his jacket, figuring Miles would think he was kidding, but he always made sure he was prepared to overdo it even when he didn’t plan on it. “Chances are we’ll both remember this New Years Eve. It’s almost midnight anyway.” He turned his head to glance at the TV people were currently gathered around. Almost midnight, but not quite. “Are you excited for 2018?” He turned back to Miles with a small grin. “Any cool New Years resolutions?”

Miles: Miles didn’t want to feel the familiar warmth in his chest whenever Nick said something as simple as finding him fun, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. It didn’t take much nowadays. “Yeah, well. You get to laugh at me,” he settled on saying in response after a moment, again watching the water swirl around in his cup before raising his head again. “Just being honest. I know how you roll at these things for the most part. Capri Suns are terrible for you, for the record. You’re probably better off with just straight vodka at that point.” Though Miles had to admit a juice box sounded good right about then. “Yeah — ten minutes?” He squinted as he tried to read the little timer in the corner of the TV, but there were a lot of drunk people in the way. “Sure. I’m not sure it’ll be much different from this year, but we’ll see.” He shrugged. “Not really. Maybe do a little bit more with my mom, especially after everything. But I’m already super jacked so it’s not like I need to work out or anything. I guess I could keep perfecting my stripping skills to steal your job, though. What about you?”

Nick: “When do I ever laugh at you?” He asked rhetorically, amused before the conversation shifted to Miles insulting him and his Capri Suns. “Think what you want about me, but leave the Capri Suns out of this. If they were bad adults wouldn’t let their kids have them.” He states matter of factly, although that statement was clearly not entirely factual. His Grandpa let him drink a beer when he was eight so clearly some people weren’t really worried about those things. “Seeing your Mom more is a good one.” He nodded. “So your other resolution is to see me jobless. Nice.” He couldn’t help but laugh. Normally he’d be concerned about people overhearing what he did for a living, but truthfully no one was even paying attention to them. “Well, I’m going to try to find another job. Especially with you trying to steal mine. I need to be one step ahead.” He playfully glared at him for a fraction of a second. “And I want to finish Stranger Things with you. That’s also important.” Nick nodded. “And I want to be a guest judge on Cupcake Wars. But that’s every years resolution.” Obviously.

Miles: “I could try to remember every time but we’d be here a while.” Truthfully, they usually ended up just laughing together anyway. “I’m not saying I don’t like them. I’m just saying they’re not good for you. They aren’t a useful alternative to alcohol. Parents let kids have plenty of terrible things.” He shrugged. “Well, these skills have to go somewhere. Sorry, man.” He was glad to hear that Nick was going to look for other jobs. Something about him being there still rubbed Miles the wrong way after what had happened. “That will be good for you,” he said seriously. “Stranger Things, too. I’m annoyed that we’re gonna be a year behind everyone else but it’s no one’s fault but ours, I guess.” He knew that they were just going to have to try harder not to talk the whole time. “I would watch the hell out of that episode. I think you’d have more luck just becoming a contestant, though.”

Nick: Nick rolled his eyes playfully at the comment, but didn’t feel the need to reply. “Sugar water is good for humming birds, maybe scientists thought it’d be the same for kids.” He shrugged. Who was he to argue with the creators of Capri Sun? He just thought they tasted good. “Maybe I’ll end up mixing it with vodka at some point so it’s extra bad for me.” He joked. At the talk of him finding another job, Nick nodded. “Yeah... I want to. I don’t know if I’ll find anything better, but we’ll see.” At the Stranger Things talk, Nick smiled again. “We’ll get there, dude. Even if we have to binge it right before season three starts. Maybe it’s even better this way so we won’t have months of withdrawals like everybody else.” They’d have to avoid spoilers like the plague, though, considering everyone else in the world has seen it besides them. “That means more to me than you know.” He said seriously, raising his hand to his chest as he did. “You really think so? That’d be the ultimate dream. Maybe you could come with me and be my teammate. I think we have the same creative vision.”

Miles: “Do they say artificial flavors are good for hummingbirds, too? I must have missed that scientific discovery.” As if Miles actually cared about eating healthy. He put a lot of crap into his body. “That doesn’t even sound like a terrible idea. I mean, it is a terrible idea but I still want to try it.” He figures if he was up for it later he’d go hunt down the ingredients for Nick’s new cocktail. “I think there are plenty of better options for you. You just have to work your way up. But anything’s probably better than that.” Maybe not anything, but there were certainly quite a few that would be a start. “Seriously. I’m not great under pressure, though. I guess I could just tag along and taste things as you go but you can’t count on me to do any baking. I’ll crack, man.” He noticed a sudden commotion near them, and Miles turned to see the crowd gathering further around the TV as the countdown got closer to midnight. “Well, looks like we’re almost in 2018. I have a feeling it’ll be your big Cupcake Wars break for sure.”

Nick: “I don’t know, I’m not a birdologist.” Nick laughed, nodding. “It’s a horrible idea. But you can try it with me if you want. We should do it right before we leave so you don’t have to worry about getting sick in front of all these people.” He only had one jumbo Capri Sun anyway, so the cocktail wouldn’t be particularly big. “I’m gonna try. I dunno. We’ll see.” Nick shrugged. He wasn’t really sure if he’d be able to find anything that paid as well as his current job did, and that was the important part. But he’d at least try. “I believe in you. I need you there, dude. You’re the only other person who knows how the competition works as well as I do.” He said genuinely, gently slapping Miles’ shoulder as he spoke. The excited yells and murmurs from beside them soon grabbed his attention, though, and he turned his head to glance at the TV currently airing the countdown. “And this will be the year you get your big Stripping break.” He turned back to grin at him. “We’re so underprepared, though. We don’t have 2018 sunglasses or tiaras or anything. I guess we’ll just have to do the countdown super loudly to make up for it. You ready?”

Miles: “I will almost definitely throw up.” They we’re pretty good at bad ideas, though, so he was still into it. “I guess that’s all you can really do.” There was certainly no harm in trying. “But it’s too much pressure, dude. I know I’d fall apart under the circumstances. Cupcakes are too serious for me. I just like to watch. And eat them.” He was definitely more of a judge type, but that was Nick’s aspiration. “Man, I hope so. It’s my life’s dream.” It was now Miles’ unspoken duty to give Nick shit about the stripping thing as often as he could without downright disrespecting him. “Well, we can just borrow them from someone else here. I doubt any of these drunk people would notice.” He could stick with the countdown thing, though. “Yeah. I mean, it’s no big deal.” He shrugged. He had never considered it a huge thing. He’d stay where he was and watch drunk couples kiss at midnight and cheer with the other drunk single people and then that would be it. “I might have to go find the dog to kiss me at midnight, though. Start my year off right.”

Nick: Nick nodded in understanding. “Maybe if I ever get on as a contestant we can sneak you in to be a judge. Or security or something. Then I can just sneak you the cupcakes.” And probably get kicked out of the competition, but he’d risk it. “If you need help working on your professional stripping skills, don’t be afraid to ask. I’ve got years of experience now.” Nick didn’t freely talk about what he did with just anybody, but it was easy to joke about this with Miles, because he knew he didn’t think less of him for being a stripper. “Honestly, probably not.” He rose an eyebrow as he heard the crowd go wild again, and Nick wondered if he sounded like that when he partied. He probably sounded worse. “Good plan. But if you can’t find the dog, you might want to find a human backup. ‘Cause if you don’t you’ll get ten years of bad luck.”

Miles: “I could deal with that. Although if we’re being totally honest, we’re both better off as we are.” Miles himself much preferred watching it from his couch whilst eating store bought cupcakes that he didn’t have to work for. “I appreciate that. You should teach lessons. I’d do it.” He wasn’t sure where Nick drew his line, but if Miles had to guess, that was probably it. Miles continued to watch the people around them begin to grab onto each other and move in closer, in all of their respective pairs as the clock ticked down. “There are very few people here I would consider worth these luscious lips.” He chuckled, but he was totally serious. He turned his attention back to Nick with a shrug. “Besides. I think you know as well as I do I only really want to kiss one person lately,” he admitted, having no fear in doing so. He was sure to lower his voice, though. He knew they weren’t a ‘thing,’ they weren’t boyfriends, and Nick wasn’t ready to even be anything close to that in front of people. Miles didn’t mind. “But it’s not necessary in front of all these people. I can kiss that person another time.”

Nick: "I hate to admit it, but you're probably right. I need to practice first. Really get good at making a solid cupcake." Nick loved cupcakes, so he probably would try to make some from scratch one day to see if he could. He wasn't banking on a good outcome, but hey, who knew? "Maybe that should be my new job. Stripper teaching. That's how I got into it, you know. A friend taught me. Maybe there's a market for stripping coaching out there." He said quietly enough so no one else would hear him. If they did, that's when he'd shut up. It was all fun and games until someone heard him. "Luscious lips? Have you been using Lip Smackers, or what?" His lips tugged into an amused grin. "Well, God, Miles. If you wanted to kiss Lily that bad you should have just invited her." He said, clearly joking, although maybe that was too soon to joke about. But he knew what Miles meant, and his heart was undoubtedly warmed by it. His words made him feel things he never expected to feel, but he wasn't pushing them away this time. This time he was embracing them. "What if..." His voice suddenly took a serious turn, and he felt ridiculously vulnerable. Not to mention stupid. There were a thousand negative thoughts now running through his head telling him that he shouldn't say that he was about to say, but his heart wasn't seeming to listen to them. "What if that person wants to kiss you here?"]

Miles: “I volunteer to be your taste tester.” Miles might end up trying some admittedly bad cupcakes, but it was all in the name of helping Nick improve. Plus, a bad cupcake was still a cupcake. “Really? Is that a thing? To be fair, you kind of inadvertently showed me a thing or two.” He had technically stripped in front of him, after all. “Yes, luscious — I said what I said. You’re right, though. The cotton candy kind.” He had actually been obsessed with those for a while as a kid. At Nick’s joke, Miles rolled his eyes, though he appreciated the humor in the situation as a whole. “You’re hilarious.” He shook his head and sipped from his water, immediately pushing Lily out of his thoughts. None of that mattered when he was with Nick. And it became even truer when Nick spoke next. Miles raised an eyebrow at him as he peered over the edge of his cup. “What?” was all he could say at first. He finally lowered his drink then. “You don’t... I mean, it’s... Nick, there’s people around,” he finally settled on, glancing at the crowded area around them. “It’s not a big deal to me, you know. I know I’m not your...” He trailed off. He didn’t need to say it. He shrugged instead. “It’s just not a big deal,” he repeated.

Nick: “You might have to be my only taste tester. I don’t think anyone else is brave enough.” So Nick definitely appreciated the offer. “Well it is now.” He paused, caught off guard by the comment. He smiled slightly, a little embarrassed. “...That doesn’t count.” Nick laughed at the luscious lips talk. “Good, everyone knows cotton candy is the best kind. That and the soda ones. I liked the root beer one, personally. It just didn’t make my lips very luscious because I kept licking it off.” Hence the name lip smackers, he guessed. The playful conversation slowly gave way to something more serious, and Nick was left feeling exposed. But he wasn’t denying what he just suggested. “I know there is. And I know... I know you’re not. But...” He shrugged slightly. “Then it shouldn’t be a big deal if I do it.” He said cautiously. He knew it was a big deal. It felt like a very big deal.

Miles: “I feel like that’s typical between the two of us. We have to do things for each other because no one else is willing to breach this territory.” It was definitely strange territory sometimes, so Miles couldn’t particularly blame other people. “It so does count. Only difference is I didn’t have to pay for it. But I got the full experience.” He laughed lightly, knowing it was probably the alcohol coursing through his veins making him speak so nonchalantly about it, especially in front of other people. “Okay. I’m done now, promise.” Maybe. Time would tell. “They do that on purpose, y’know. Make it so you keep licking your lips and make ‘em even drier so you have to keep buying more. Get with it, Nicholas.” He wanted to figure out where this had come from, why Nick was suddenly interest of the prospect of kissing him in front of other people. But all Miles could really do was blink, unable to try and put the pieces together. Why now? Here? “If…” He trailed off, looking over at the TV once again, which was now counting down the final minute of the year. “If you’re sure,” he finally said, holding his gaze again. “But don’t — don’t push yourself.” His voice was lower again, and he took a step toward Nick. It felt like too much space between them to be talking about something so…intimate. “I’m not gonna tell you no.”

Nick: “If you ask me they’re missing out.” Just because their ideas didn’t make sense or seem good to other people didn’t mean they were any less valid. Nick was glad Miles thought the same way he did — half the time it seemed like he was the only person who understood what he was saying. “Lucky you.” Nick frowned at the teasing. “If you tried to pay me for it we would no longer be speaking.” He wasn’t exactly mad, he was just used to it being a touchy subject. “Are you sure?” He deadpanned. “Shit —- you’re right. I can’t be mad at smart business strategies, though. Maybe I should have asked for lip smackers for Christmas. My lips have been way less luscious than when I used to use it.” Nick didn’t know exactly what had gotten into him. All he knew is that over the past few weeks, something had changed with him and Miles. It was subtle, but they were no longer trying to hide the fact that they wanted to kiss each other. So Nick, from time to time, had moments where he thought that he wanted to try to kiss him again. Apparently, right now was one of the moments. “I don’t want...everyone to see us.” That thought made him nervous. He continued to keep his voice quiet. “I’m not ready for that.” He held his gaze in return, trying to be honest. “But I want to be able to kiss you at midnight. Because I want to.” He could hear the countdown in the background, and it was getting closer and closer to midnight. Nick reached out to grasp onto Miles’ sleeve and took a step backwards, hoping he would take the hint and move with him closer to the wall and away from the crowds of people.

Miles: “I am lucky. But I didn’t need to pay you.” Miles wanted to remind him that he got his fair share, but he left that part out. “Okay, now I am,” he promised. “That would have been a good gift. Though I think what I did get you was better.” He was proud of the t-shirt. Meaningful gifts and all that shit. He nodded slowly as Nick spoke, even if admittedly he should have been more taken back by what he’d said. He knew he should have cared, but...it was Nick. He wanted to be with him. If this was what Nick needed, then so be it, even if that meant hiding in the shadows. Though Miles supposed this was a step in the right direction. He watched Nick pull his sleeve, blindly stepping forward to follow him. They were moving further away from the view of others, which was fair, and what Miles would have expected anyway. He felt like he was a part of something much larger, sneaking around and trying to keep it under wraps. It made his heart race. He looked over his shoulder, watching the seconds tick down. “I hope...” He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go with that at first. He paused and bit down on the inside of his cheek. “I hope next year is, um, easier.” They’d both had to deal with some shit this year, about a lot of things. Miles just wanted things to be simple. He looked down, his hand sliding up Nick’s arm slowly. Ten seconds. Miles met his eyes, his palms feeling sweaty like he was fourteen and about to have his first kiss. It still didn’t feel real sometimes, even seeing Nick in front of him, but he held his gaze and waited.

Nick: “Do you ever get tired of being so hilarious?” His words were clearly coated in sarcasm, but he knew that Miles was (mostly) being harmless. “Yeah... That was the best gift.” He said genuinely. He hadn’t expected it, but he loved it and was planning on wearing it whenever he could. As he and Miles walked further back, Nick’s heart was racing. Maybe this isn’t what most people thought of when they thought of kissing who they wanted at midnight. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to Miles, because they’d be hidden. It wasn’t like it was in the middle of the room. But still... to him, it felt like it was. It felt like the step before taking that step, and it was exciting as it was nerve wracking. “Me too.” Nick murmured back when they stopped. For a moment, it felt like they were two awkward teenagers, just staring at each other and unsure of what to do. Miles’ hand traveling up his arm and the way he was already standing so close made him want this even more — and suddenly he was very sure of this decision. On the count of six, Nick tugged him even closer by his sleeve. On the count of three, he lifted his hands up to cup either side of Miles’ face. And on the count of one, he leaned in to gently press his lips against Miles’. His nose bumped his a little clumsily, and he almost smiled, but he was too preoccupied by how good it felt to be able to do this.

Miles: “It’s really hard being me.” He wanted to flip his hair, but he didn’t have the long hair to flip and it just wouldn’t work. At least Nick could do the flippy bangs thing. “I’m glad you liked it. Yours was way better, though. It’s been on repeat.” He’d been so psyched about it he could have actually cried. And maybe he did later on. He’d never tell. He hadn’t expected the night to come to this. Honestly, Miles didn’t think he’d be kissing anybody this year. But if it was going to be anyone, he was obviously glad it was Nick. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him as they came closer while the countdown continued behind them. When it finally reached midnight, Nick pulled him in and kissed him. Miles could hear champagne popping open somewhere behind him, cheering, and he was positive that there was a lot of sloppy drunk kissing going on, but his eyes had slid shut at this point, his hands on Nick’s waist to hold him there. He hoped that this was going to set the tone for the new year. That this meant maybe things were going to be easier and Nick would feel more comfortable doing things like this. He was grinning when he pulled away, realizing there was nothing he wanted more from the night than for exactly that to occur. “It’s a shame it didn’t taste like lip smackers.”

Nick: “Poor you.” He really did love his gift, and he was glad to hear that Miles liked his too. “Good, I thought you might like it. I wouldn’t say it’s better. We both got equally good gifts, I think.” For as long as the countdown seemed to take, the kiss itself didn’t seem to last nearly as long. Or maybe the selfish part of his brain just wanted more of it. He’d kissed Miles before, but it was always in private. And more often than not, not even the two of them would really acknowledge it. This time it was different. It felt more real. Pulling back slightly, he opened his eyes to look at Miles. Unable to help it, he laughed at the comment. “Maybe next time we’ll remember to get some.”

Miles: “Alright. I can agree with that.” It spoke volumes how well they knew each other. They were able to get each other things that others wouldn’t even think of. Miles could have kept kissing him all night into the next morning if it were realistic, but they’d definitely get kicked out of the party eventually. He was content that they’d even kissed at all, to be fair. “Yeah. Next time,” he agreed. He obviously still remembered, but now it was difficult for him to understand why there was ever a time where the two of them tried to pretend they didn’t feel a certain way about each other. There were very few things holding them back now. Just a few more obstacles that Miles was sure they could eventually work through — hopefully — and then maybe everything would just work out fine. “Happy New Year, man.” He lingered for a moment, then shifted his attention behind him. No one seemed to even notice them, which Miles had suspected — but still. He understood. “I think we should go find some champagne.”

#017

1 note · View note

nilesarchives · 5 years ago

Text

New Year, New Me ― CANON. (current verse)

Nick and Miles hang out at a New Years Eve party and smooch at midnight. It’s the first time anything happens between them around other people (even if no one actually sees them). So like, a big deal.

Later on in the night, they’re both drunk and Miles asks Nick to come back to his place. Stuff goes down... well, sort of. NSFW.

Miles always found himself somewhere new to ring in the new year. Sometimes it was with family, other times with close friends — this year, it was neither, as he found himself wandering the basement of a friend-of-a-friend’s home. The place wasn’t quite packed, but there were plenty of faces Miles didn’t recognize. One who didn’t fall into that category, obviously, was Nick, who Miles hoped was still behind him as he finally moved to a spot of open air, right near the TV where a crowd had formed to watch the whole New Years Eve countdown thing. “I’m not cut out for this anymore,” Miles said when he could finally see his friend again. He was glad they were here together, given the events that unfolded a little prior to Christmas, followed by completely different events on Christmas. But they always somehow found their way back to being each other’s sidekicks at parties like this. “It’s already way past my bedtime. I don’t think I’ll even last until midnight, man.”

Nick usually took his New Years Eve plans very seriously. The previous years, he’d made it a point to scope out the biggest parties, of the ones that were likely to be the most memorable. This year was different. Nick didn’t even realize New Years was so close; he’d been so focused on just trying to get through the overwhelming holiday that was Christmas. When word got out that a friend of a friend was throwing a small New Years party, Nick wasn’t sure he even wanted to go. He almost didn’t, although he knew that he should go socialize and see his friends. It turned out Miles was going, though, and if Miles was going then Nick had to show up. They always seemed to end up at these parties together — even if it was unplanned. It was practically tradition. Nick smiled and nodded at people he recognized as he walked through the apartment, realizing he’d seen a lot of these same people at previous parties although he couldn’t remember half of their names. Maybe if he was feeling the spirit of New Years later he’d ask them. But for now (for once) he wanted time to ease into making himself mingle with everyone. Nick didn’t think twice before walking with Miles to an open spot, still near everybody but further enough away to have breathing room. “Sure you can, man. I believe in you.” He half smiled at him. “Everyone says that until they start drinking and get too hyped up to sleep. Then you wake up the next day and regret everything.” That’s how Nick always started the New Year.

Miles shook his head, looking down at plastic cup in his hand, which actually contained water this time around. “I’m not even, like…all that fun when I’m drunk,” he pointed out, though it wasn’t like Nick didn’t know that. “I mean, only past a certain point. Everyone has that uphill climb when you’re full of adrenaline and stuff but once I’m over that it’s just not pretty.” So he was trying to prevent that this time. Or maybe just prolong it, at the very least, so he’d be in that heightened state to bring in 2015. “I won’t be regretting it tomorrow, though. I’m a good boy.” He lifted the cup of water to prove his point. “I hope you’re staying adequately hydrated. I don’t mean to mom you, but you never know with you.” At this point, he really didn’t know what Nick was up to sometimes. He was learning all these surprises about him lately. But that didn’t matter right now.

Nick glanced down at Miles’ cup knowingly. Leave it to him to be the more responsible one. Nick supposed that’s why he managed to stay out of trouble. Well, for the most part. Excluding the Greg thing which he really didn’t want to think about right now, because Miles was finally starting to look like himself again. “I think you’re fun.” He said with a shrug as he glanced at a few people who passed by. “You’re right about that though. Probably best for you to not ring in the New Year with a hangover.” Nick has, but that doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. Just the events leading up to it. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He replied, but he wasn’t necessarily offended. That comment wasn’t necessarily unwarranted, after all. “I actually haven’t been drinking. Yet.” He tacked on so it wouldn’t seem to out of character for him. “But I’ll stay hydrated. Don’t worry, Mom. I even made sure to pack a Capri Sun in my jacket pocket so drunk me would want to drink more liquids.” He patted the side of his jacket, figuring Miles would think he was kidding, but he always made sure he was prepared to overdo it even when he didn’t plan on it. “Chances are we’ll both remember this New Years Eve. It’s almost midnight anyway.” He turned his head to glance at the TV people were currently gathered around. Almost midnight, but not quite. “Are you excited for 2015?” He turned back to Miles with a small grin. “Any cool New Years resolutions?”

Miles didn’t want to feel the familiar warmth in his chest whenever Nick said something as simple as finding him fun, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. It didn’t take much nowadays. “Yeah, well. You get to laugh at me,” he settled on saying in response after a moment, again watching the water swirl around in his cup before raising his head again. “Just being honest. I know how you roll at these things for the most part. Capri Suns are terrible for you, for the record. You’re probably better off with just straight vodka at that point.” Though Miles had to admit a juice box sounded good right about then. “Yeah — ten minutes?” He squinted as he tried to read the little timer in the corner of the TV, but there were a lot of drunk people in the way. “Sure. I’m not sure it’ll be much different from this year, but we’ll see.” He shrugged. “Not really. Maybe do a little bit more with my mom, especially after everything. But I’m already super jacked so it’s not like I need to work out or anything. I guess I could keep perfecting my stripping skills to steal your job, though. What about you?”

“When do I ever laugh at you?” Nick asked rhetorically, amused before the conversation shifted to Miles insulting him and his Capri Suns. “Think what you want about me, but leave the Capri Suns out of this. If they were bad adults wouldn’t let their kids have them.” He states matter of factly, although that statement was clearly not entirely factual. His Grandpa let him drink a beer when he was eight so clearly some people weren’t really worried about those things. “Seeing your Mom more is a good one.” He nodded. “So your other resolution is to see me jobless. Nice.” He couldn’t help but laugh. Normally he’d be concerned about people overhearing what he did for a living, but truthfully no one was even paying attention to them. “Well, I’m going to try to find another job. Especially with you trying to steal mine. I need to be one step ahead.” He playfully glared at him for a fraction of a second. “And I want to finish Stranger Things with you. That’s also important.” Nick nodded. “And I want to be a guest judge on Cupcake Wars. But that’s every years resolution.” Obviously.

“I could try to remember every time but we’d be here a while.” Truthfully, they usually ended up just laughing together anyway. “I’m not saying I don’t like them. I’m just saying they’re not good for you. They aren’t a useful alternative to alcohol. Parents let kids have plenty of terrible things.” Miles shrugged. “Well, these skills have to go somewhere. Sorry, man.” He was glad to hear that Nick was going to look for other jobs. Something about him being there still rubbed Miles the wrong way after what had happened. “That will be good for you,” he said seriously. “Stranger Things, too. I’m annoyed that we’re gonna be a year behind everyone else but it’s no one’s fault but ours, I guess.” He knew that they were just going to have to try harder not to talk the whole time. “I would watch the hell out of that episode. I think you’d have more luck just becoming a contestant, though.”

Nick rolled his eyes playfully at the comment, but didn’t feel the need to reply. “Sugar water is good for humming birds, maybe scientists thought it’d be the same for kids.” He shrugged. Who was he to argue with the creators of Capri Sun? He just thought they tasted good. “Maybe I’ll end up mixing it with vodka at some point so it’s extra bad for me.” He joked. At the talk of him finding another job, Nick nodded. “Yeah… I want to. I don’t know if I’ll find anything better, but we’ll see.” At the Stranger Things talk, Nick smiled again. “We’ll get there, dude. Even if we have to binge it right before season three starts. Maybe it’s even better this way so we won’t have months of withdrawals like everybody else.” They’d have to avoid spoilers like the plague, though, considering everyone else in the world has seen it besides them. “That means more to me than you know.” He said seriously, raising his hand to his chest as he did. “You really think so? That’d be the ultimate dream. Maybe you could come with me and be my teammate. I think we have the same creative vision.”

“Do they say artificial flavors are good for hummingbirds, too? I must have missed that scientific discovery.” As if Miles actually cared about eating healthy. He put a lot of crap into his body. “That doesn’t even sound like a terrible idea. I mean, it is a terrible idea but I still want to try it.” He figures if he was up for it later he’d go hunt down the ingredients for Nick’s new cocktail. “I think there are plenty of better options for you. You just have to work your way up. But anything’s probably better than that.” Maybe not anything, but there were certainly quite a few that would be a start. “Seriously. I’m not great under pressure, though. I guess I could just tag along and taste things as you go but you can’t count on me to do any baking. I’ll crack, man.” He noticed a sudden commotion near them, and Miles turned to see the crowd gathering further around the TV as the countdown got closer to midnight. “Well, looks like we’re almost in 2015. I have a feeling it’ll be your big Cupcake Wars break for sure.”

“I don’t know, I’m not a birdologist.” Nick laughed, nodding. “It’s a horrible idea. But you can try it with me if you want. We should do it right before we leave so you don’t have to worry about getting sick in front of all these people.” He only had one jumbo Capri Sun anyway, so the cocktail wouldn’t be particularly big. “I’m gonna try. I dunno. We’ll see.” Nick shrugged. He wasn’t really sure if he’d be able to find anything that paid as well as his current job did, and that was the important part. But he’d at least try. “I believe in you. I need you there, dude. You’re the only other person who knows how the competition works as well as I do.” He said genuinely, gently slapping Miles’ shoulder as he spoke. The excited yells and murmurs from beside them soon grabbed his attention, though, and he turned his head to glance at the TV currently airing the countdown. “And this will be the year you get your big Stripping break.” He turned back to grin at him. “We’re so underprepared, though. We don’t have 2015 sunglasses or tiaras or anything. I guess we’ll just have to do the countdown super loudly to make up for it. You ready?”

“I will almost definitely throw up.” They were pretty good at bad ideas, though, so he was still into it. “I guess that’s all you can really do.” There was certainly no harm in trying. “But it’s too much pressure, dude. I know I’d fall apart under the circumstances. Cupcakes are too serious for me. I just like to watch. And eat them.” Miles was definitely more of a judge type, but that was Nick’s aspiration. “Man, I hope so. It’s my life’s dream.” It was now Miles’ unspoken duty to give Nick shit about the stripping thing as often as he could without downright disrespecting him. “Well, we can just borrow them from someone else here. I doubt any of these drunk people would notice.” He could stick with the countdown thing, though. “Yeah. I mean, it’s no big deal.” He shrugged. He had never considered it a huge thing. He’d stay where he was and watch drunk couples kiss at midnight and cheer with the other drunk single people and then that would be it. “I might have to go find the dog to kiss me at midnight, though. Start my year off right.”

Nick nodded in understanding. “Maybe if I ever get on as a contestant we can sneak you in to be a judge. Or security or something. Then I can just sneak you the cupcakes.” And probably get kicked out of the competition, but he’d risk it. “If you need help working on your professional stripping skills, don’t be afraid to ask. I’ve got years of experience now.” Nick didn’t freely talk about what he did with just anybody, but it was easy to joke about this with Miles, because he knew he didn’t think less of him for being a stripper. “Honestly, probably not.” He rose an eyebrow as he heard the crowd go wild again, and Nick wondered if he sounded like that when he partied. He probably sounded worse. “Good plan. But if you can’t find the dog, you might want to find a human backup. ‘Cause if you don’t you’ll get ten years of bad luck.”

“I could deal with that. Although if we’re being totally honest, we’re both better off as we are.” Miles himself much preferred watching it from his couch whilst eating store bought cupcakes that he didn’t have to work for. “I appreciate that. You should teach lessons. I’d do it.” He wasn’t sure where Nick drew his line, but if Miles had to guess, that was probably it. Miles continued to watch the people around them begin to grab onto each other and move in closer, in all of their respective pairs as the clock ticked down. “There are very few people here I would consider worth these luscious lips.” He chuckled, but he was totally serious. He turned his attention back to Nick with a shrug. “Besides. I think you know as well as I do I only really want to kiss one person lately,” he admitted, having no fear in doing so. He was sure to lower his voice, though. He knew they weren’t a ‘thing,’ they weren’t boyfriends, and Nick wasn’t ready to even be anything close to that in front of people. Miles didn’t mind. “But it’s not necessary in front of all these people. I can kiss that person another time.”

“I hate to admit it, but you’re probably right. I need to practice first. Really get good at making a solid cupcake.” Nick loved cupcakes, so he probably would try to make some from scratch one day to see if he could. He wasn’t banking on a good outcome, but hey, who knew? “Maybe that should be my new job. Stripper teaching. That’s how I got into it, you know. A friend taught me. Maybe there’s a market for stripping coaching out there.” He said quietly enough so no one else would hear him. If they did, that’s when he’d shut up. It was all fun and games until someone heard him. “Luscious lips? Have you been using Lip Smackers, or what?” His lips tugged into an amused grin. “Well, God, Miles. If you wanted to kiss Lily that bad you should have just invited her.” He said, clearly joking, although maybe that was too soon to joke about. But he knew what Miles meant, and his heart was undoubtedly warmed by it. His words made him feel things he never expected to feel, but he wasn’t pushing them away this time. This time he was embracing them. “What if…” His voice suddenly took a serious turn, and he felt ridiculously vulnerable. Not to mention stupid. There were a thousand negative thoughts now running through his head telling him that he shouldn’t say that he was about to say, but his heart wasn’t seeming to listen to them. “What if that person wants to kiss you here?”

“I volunteer to be your taste tester.” Miles might end up trying some admittedly bad cupcakes, but it was all in the name of helping Nick improve. Plus, a bad cupcake was still a cupcake. “Really? Is that a thing? To be fair, you kind of inadvertently showed me a thing or two.” He had technically stripped in front of him, after all. “Yes, luscious — I said what I said. You’re right, though. The cotton candy kind.” He had actually been obsessed with those for a while as a kid. At Nick’s joke, Miles rolled his eyes, though he appreciated the humor in the situation as a whole. “You’re hilarious.” He shook his head and sipped from his water, immediately pushing Lily out of his thoughts. None of that mattered when he was with Nick. And it became even truer when Nick spoke next. Miles raised an eyebrow at him as he peered over the edge of his cup. “What?” was all he could say at first. He finally lowered his drink then. “You don’t… I mean, it’s… Nick, there’s people around,” he finally settled on, glancing at the crowded area around them. “It’s not a big deal to me, you know. I know I’m not your…” He trailed off. He didn’t need to say it. He shrugged instead. “It’s just not a big deal,” he repeated.

“You might have to be my only taste tester. I don’t think anyone else is brave enough.” So Nick definitely appreciated the offer. “Well it is now.” He paused, caught off guard by the comment. He smiled slightly, a little embarrassed. “…That doesn’t count.” Nick laughed at the luscious lips talk. “Good, everyone knows cotton candy is the best kind. That and the soda ones. I liked the root beer one, personally. It just didn’t make my lips very luscious because I kept licking it off.” Hence the name lip smackers, he guessed. The playful conversation slowly gave way to something more serious, and Nick was left feeling exposed. But he wasn’t denying what he just suggested. “I know there is. And I know… I know you’re not. But…” He shrugged slightly. “Then it shouldn’t be a big deal if I do it.” He said cautiously. He knew it was a big deal. It felt like a very big deal.

“I feel like that’s typical between the two of us. We have to do things for each other because no one else is willing to breach this territory.” It was definitely strange territory sometimes, so Miles couldn’t particularly blame other people. “It so does count. Only difference is I didn’t have to pay for it. But I got the full experience.” He laughed lightly, knowing it was probably the alcohol coursing through his veins making him speak so nonchalantly about it, especially in front of other people. “Okay. I’m done now, promise.” Maybe. Time would tell. “They do that on purpose, y’know. Make it so you keep licking your lips and make ‘em even drier so you have to keep buying more. Get with it, Nicholas.” He wanted to figure out where this had come from, why Nick was suddenly interested in the prospect of kissing him in front of other people. But all Miles could really do was blink, unable to try and put the pieces together. Why now? Here? “If…” He trailed off, looking over at the TV once again, which was now counting down the final minute of the year. “If you’re sure,” he finally said, holding his gaze again. “But don’t — don’t push yourself.” His voice was lower again, and he took a step toward Nick. It felt like too much space between them to be talking about something so…intimate. “I’m not gonna tell you no.”

“If you ask me they’re missing out.” Just because their ideas didn’t make sense or seem good to other people didn’t mean they were any less valid. Nick was glad Miles thought the same way he did — half the time it seemed like he was the only person who understood what he was saying. “Lucky you.” Nick frowned at the teasing. “If you tried to pay me for it we would no longer be speaking.” He wasn’t exactly mad, he was just used to it being a touchy subject. “Are you sure?” He deadpanned. “Shit —- you’re right. I can’t be mad at smart business strategies, though. Maybe I should have asked for lip smackers for Christmas. My lips have been way less luscious than when I used to use it.” Nick didn’t know exactly what had gotten into him. All he knew is that over the past few weeks, something had changed with him and Miles. It was subtle, but they were no longer trying to hide the fact that they wanted to kiss each other. So Nick, from time to time, had moments where he thought that he wanted to try to kiss him again. Apparently, right now was one of the moments. “I don’t want…everyone to see us.” That thought made him nervous. He continued to keep his voice quiet. “I’m not ready for that.” He held his gaze in return, trying to be honest. “But I want to be able to kiss you at midnight. Because I want to.” He could hear the countdown in the background, and it was getting closer and closer to midnight. Nick reached out to grasp onto Miles’ sleeve and took a step backwards, hoping he would take the hint and move with him closer to the wall and away from the crowds of people.

“I am lucky. But I didn’t need to pay you.” Miles wanted to remind him that he got his fair share, but he left that part out. “Okay, now I am,” he promised. “That would have been a good gift. Though I think what I did get you was better.” He was proud of the t-shirt. Meaningful gifts and all that shit. He nodded slowly as Nick spoke, even if admittedly he should have been more taken back by what he’d said. He knew he should have cared, but…it was Nick. He wanted to be with him. If this was what Nick needed, then so be it, even if that meant hiding in the shadows. Though Miles supposed this was a step in the right direction. He watched Nick pull his sleeve, blindly stepping forward to follow him. They were moving further away from the view of others, which was fair, and what Miles would have expected anyway. He felt like he was a part of something much larger, sneaking around and trying to keep it under wraps. It made his heart race. He looked over his shoulder, watching the seconds tick down. “I hope…” He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go with that at first. He paused and bit down on the inside of his cheek. “I hope next year is, um, easier.” They’d both had to deal with some shit this year, about a lot of things. Miles just wanted things to be simple. He looked down, his hand sliding up Nick’s arm slowly. Ten seconds. Miles met his eyes, his palms feeling sweaty like he was fourteen and about to have his first kiss. It still didn’t feel real sometimes, even seeing Nick in front of him, but he held his gaze and waited.

“Do you ever get tired of being so hilarious?” Nick’s words were clearly coated in sarcasm, but he knew that Miles was (mostly) being harmless. “Yeah… That was the best gift.” He said genuinely. He hadn’t expected it, but he loved it and was planning on wearing it whenever he could. As he and Miles walked further back, Nick’s heart was racing. Maybe this isn’t what most people thought of when they thought of kissing who they wanted at midnight. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to Miles, because they’d be hidden. It wasn’t like it was in the middle of the room. But still… to him, it felt like it was. It felt like the step before taking that step, and it was exciting as it was nerve wracking. “Me too.” Nick murmured back when they stopped. For a moment, it felt like they were two awkward teenagers, just staring at each other and unsure of what to do. Miles’ hand traveling up his arm and the way he was already standing so close made him want this even more — and suddenly he was very sure of this decision. On the count of six, Nick tugged him even closer by his sleeve. On the count of three, he lifted his hands up to cup either side of Miles’ face. And on the count of one, he leaned in to gently press his lips against Miles’. His nose bumped his a little clumsily, and he almost smiled, but he was too preoccupied by how good it felt to be able to do this.

“It’s really hard being me.” Miles wanted to flip his hair, but he didn’t have the long hair to flip and it just wouldn’t work. “I’m glad you liked it. Yours was way better, though. It’s been on repeat.” He’d been so psyched about it he could have actually cried. And maybe he did later on. He’d never tell. He hadn’t expected the night to come to this. Honestly, Miles didn’t think he’d be kissing anybody this year. But if it was going to be anyone, he was obviously glad it was Nick. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him as they came closer while the countdown continued behind them. When it finally reached midnight, Nick pulled him in and kissed him. Miles could hear champagne popping open somewhere behind him, cheering, and he was positive that there was a lot of sloppy drunk kissing going on, but his eyes had slid shut at this point, his hands on Nick’s waist to hold him there. He hoped that this was going to set the tone for the new year. That this meant maybe things were going to be easier and Nick would feel more comfortable doing things like this. He was grinning when he pulled away, realizing there was nothing he wanted more from the night than for exactly that to occur. “It’s a shame it didn’t taste like lip smackers.”

“Poor you.” Nick really did love his gift, and he was glad to hear that Miles liked his too. “Good, I thought you might like it. I wouldn’t say it’s better. We both got equally good gifts, I think.” For as long as the countdown seemed to take, the kiss itself didn’t seem to last nearly as long. Or maybe the selfish part of his brain just wanted more of it. He’d kissed Miles before, but it was always in private. And more often than not, not even the two of them would really acknowledge it. This time it was different. It felt more real. Pulling back slightly, he opened his eyes to look at Miles. Unable to help it, he laughed at the comment. “Maybe next time we’ll remember to get some.”

“Alright. I can agree with that.” It spoke volumes how well they knew each other. They were able to get each other things that others wouldn’t even think of. Miles could have kept kissing him all night into the next morning if it were realistic, but they’d definitely get kicked out of the party eventually. He was content that they’d even kissed at all, to be fair. “Yeah. Next time,” he agreed. He obviously still remembered, but now it was difficult for him to understand why there was ever a time where the two of them tried to pretend they didn’t feel a certain way about each other. There were very few things holding them back now. Just a few more obstacles that Miles was sure they could eventually work through — hopefully — and then maybe everything would just work out fine. “Happy New Year, man.” He lingered for a moment, then shifted his attention behind him. No one seemed to even notice them, which Miles had suspected — but still. He understood. “I think we should go find some champagne.”

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

Back at his place later that night, away from the party and back to a celebration of their own, Miles closed the distance between them completely by pressing his lips roughly against Nick’s. It was nice not to think. He was just doing. It felt pretty invigorating, as a matter of fact. He stepped forward, effectively backing Nick up against the closed door of his bedroom as he did. He brought his hands up to cup Nick’s face. “I had to be quick. Getting you out of there.” Miles was quiet as he dropped one hand to gently pull at the fabric of Nick’s shirt and moved the kisses down to his neck instead. “Before you found someone else.” His words were muffled by Nick’s skin, which he couldn’t for a second step away from now that he had him where he wanted him. Not like he was saying anything important anyway.

The kiss distracted Nick from words in general. Miles was being rough, and while they’ve always been spur of the moment, Nick hadn’t seen Miles this eager, ever. But he didn’t question it, because he just wanted to feel something. He didn’t want to think. He sucked in a sharp breath as Miles backed him up against the door, and Nick moved his hands to slide up Miles’ shirt, grasping at his sides as his friend trailed the kisses down to his neck. He leaned his head to the side as a low moan escaped his throat, and he tried to pull Miles closer. “Who says I haven’t already?” He wasn’t sure why he said that, but he wasn’t himself. He didn’t mean it, but he didn’t care. He began to none too gently tug Miles shirt upwards. “Take it off.”

“Shut up.” Miles might have laughed in another situation. Maybe if he were less drunk. And slightly less desperate. The feeling of Nick’s hands on his bare skin sent a chill up Miles’ spine. Anytime he was with Nick, the slightest touch left Miles downright buzzing with anticipation. “You wouldn’t be here,” Miles countered, his voice low. The thought alone made him press his body firmly against Nick’s. It was most definitely a possessive thing. He didn’t have to be told twice, leaning back a bit to yank his own shirt up over his head and throwing it to the floor beside him. He didn’t waste any time pulling on Nick’s shirt to get rid of his as well, and Miles took the opportunity that they were apart to tug him toward the unmade bed. “You’re welcome to go find whoever that is instead, though. Don’ let me keep you.”

Nick had no choice but to listen to him, easily getting lost in how good Miles’ lips and hands felt on his body. They always did, every time they did this, but he was even more hyper-focused on the sensations now. He wasn’t sure what had possessed Miles to come up to him like he did, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. Nick’s heart thundered in his chest as Miles pressed his body against his own, and he swallowed, not having any vocal response to it. Miles wasn’t wrong, and they both knew it. Instead, he helped Miles pull up his shirt before they made work of removing Nick’s. He stumbled with him toward the bed, and he put his hands on Miles’ chest to push him onto it when they neared it. “Shut up.” He breathed, merely repeating Miles’ own words from either. With that, he climbed onto the bed with him, surging their lips together so they wouldn’t have to keep talking.

When it was just bare skin against bare skin, Miles often found it was impossible to control himself — especially with Nick, and especially as drunk as he currently was. Everything he felt was heightened. It was sort of a shock every time Nick touched him. He had definitely deserved to be told to shut his damn mouth. It was not the time to be a smart ass. He dragged his hands slowly down the front of Nick’s body. He stopped when he reached his pants and they came to rest on Nick’s sides instead. But Miles couldn’t help but arch his body upward, desperate to feel him. The sensation had him exhaling dazedly against Nick’s lips. Part of him still felt, deep down, that he had to be quick, like Nick wouldn’t be so cool with it if Miles dragged it on too long. That was what he reminded himself of as he lifted his hips again. He just wanted to touch him, but he did also want to test the waters first.

Nick could faintly hear Scout walking around outside the room, but it didn’t distract him from mindlessly kissing Miles and running his hands down his torso. He wasn’t thinking about how he shouldn’t do this, or who he was doing this with. He just wanted something, and he quickly decided he wanted this. His breath hitched when Miles arched upwards, and letting himself just go with it, he rolled his hips downward. His head dropped down to bury his head in Miles’ neck, trailing a series of kisses along the side of it. Something, though, was stopping him from running his hands further south. When it came to having random hookups after parties, old Nick would have already been in the middle of the ordeal by now. But his hands still remained at Miles’ sides. It felt good, and off at the same time. It didn’t feel real. He could thank the alcohol for that.

Miles was still feeling that confidence, the desire to just go for what he wanted — and he knew exactly what he wanted at the moment. He shifted and started to sit up until Nick got the hint, allowing Miles to flip them over and straddle Nick’s waist instead. He thought he’d gone slow enough by now, considering Nick’s reactions. Miles sat back a bit so he had space to reach between them and get Nick’s belt out of the way, followed by the button and the zipper on his pants. He leaned down to kiss him deeply again, one hand planted on the bed next to Nick’s head while the other dipped below the waistband of his boxers. He may have been forward, but it wasn’t too far fetched from any of his preceding actions. He wasted no time, wrapping his hand around him and moving slowly. He’d been wanting this, and he only hoped it would end up being just as good for Nick.

Nick was essentially just going off instinct, so when Miles began to sit up, Nick followed his lead. And before he knew it, their positions were being flipped and suddenly Miles was on top of him. And he should like it; it should have spurred him on even further. He always liked feeling Miles’ weight against him. Instead, he felt a little caught off guard. The weight was less arousing and more alarming, but he ignored it, because maybe he just wasn’t expecting it. He ignored it and instead kissed Miles’ back roughly, shifting his hips under him almost awkwardly as his friend slipped his hand under his boxers. He murmured something unintelligible against the man’s lips. He still wanted this, he told himself. He needed this, so it was going to happen. Nick’s hands slid up Miles’ back and into his hair, pulling him down closer while bucking his hips up slightly.

Miles had the slightest feeling in the back of his mind that Nick wasn’t totally there, which he chalked up to the alcohol. Things were pretty cloudy overall when they were drunk. Miles liked to think he could read Nick fairly well, at least as much as Nick was willing to let on. But his reactions seemed genuine, and so Miles saw no reason to back off, not until Nick gave him a clear one. He wanted him to feel good, though. Miles wanted Nick to know where he was abd who he was with, not be in a drunken haze through it. He leaned back and pulled his hand free in order to take Nick gently by the wrists and bring them together. He didn’t think twice about it, his left hand pinning them to the bed above Nick’s head, just as a general reminder that he didn’t have to stress or think too much about it; Miles just wanted him to feel good. He kissed the spot right under Nick’s ear, then got close to whisper, “Just relax,” as his free hand slowly made its way back to where it was before.

Nick and Miles had only gotten this far once before, and that seemed like ages ago now. They’d let themselves slip on numerous occasions; they’d kissed. They even did that recently. They hadn’t quite gotten to this point, though, with Miles’ hand down his boxers, stroking him gently. He wanted to melt into it; he wanted to want to do the same for him so badly. He tried to lose himself in the touches, to remind himself that it was Miles and that this was just supposed to be fun. For a second, it worked, but then Miles was taking his wrists in his hands and pinning them over his head. And it didn’t feel like he was with Miles anymore. It sounded like him; it looked like him. He knew it was him. But for a second, all he could picture was someone else pinning his hands over his head in a similar - but completely different way. All he could hear was that voice whispering things to him that he wanted to forget. Things that he was trying to forget by coming out tonight. Those thoughts were enough to ruin everything. “No.” He firmly said, jerking his hands out of Miles’ gentle hold and shaking his head. He scooted back away from him and tried to sit up, fingers grasping the sheets below him tried to stop the bile from rising in his throat. “I’m sorry - I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I was wrong.” Nick’s words sounded jumbled even to his own ears. His head was foggy, and he felt sick to his stomach. All he wanted earlier was to have fun and not have to worry about anything. Now he just wanted to leave. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard as he got up, heading to grab his discarded shirt. “I’ve gotta go.”

It was pretty abrupt. One second Miles was lost in the heat of the moment believing everything was fine, and the next Nick was wriggling away from him and telling him no. Miles was drunk, sure, but not enough to not recognize that no meant no and it was time to back off. He leaned back and watched Nick move away from him, explaining that he couldn’t do this. The sudden change was slightly dizzying as Miles worked to wrap his head around what had changed. “Hey,” he said quietly after a moment. He didn’t want to touch Nick and freak him out, but he needed him to know he was hearing him. “Nick, hey. It—it’s fine. We don’t have to do anything.” He followed Nick’s movements with his eyes, watching as he went to pick up his shirt off the floor. “Don’t…” He trailed off. He really didn’t want to overstep, but clearly, he already had in the worst way. “Don’t go. We…we can talk.”

Nick struggled to think clearly as he re-buttoned his pants and pulled on his shirt, but Nick didn’t even have to look at him to tell he was confused. He avoided looking at him completely and shook his head at his words. “I don’t want to talk.” If he’d wanted to talk, he wouldn’t be here in this room with him. “I’m gonna - go somewhere.” Maybe back to the party, maybe he’d take a few more shots so he couldn’t think at all. “Find somebody else.” There was a slight bite to his words. He didn’t mean that. It wasn’t Miles’ fault, and deep down he knew that, but everything was too much. He felt guilty and filthy and defeated all at the same time. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

Miles was taken aback. Part of him was confused, while the other part of him had a vague idea of what was going on based on what he knew — and he felt disgusted with himself, on top of being upset that Nick was speaking to him like he’d done this on purpose. “It’s not like I’m—” He stopped himself. It wasn’t Nick’s fault. He couldn’t help the way he was feeling. Miles couldn’t even begin to imagine the shame, the disgust. It didn’t even slightly compare to now Miles felt now and he had to recognize that. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to do anything. I’m sorry.”

He heard Miles begin to say something, and his heart stuttered in his chest at his tone. Nick closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get a handle of himself, but failed. “I know - I know you didn’t. I’m sorry.” He shouldn’t have lashed out, but he didn’t know what to do or say. He had wanted to do this with Miles. Miles wasn’t doing anything wrong. “I’m the problem, okay? So can we just not talk about it, and go back to the party, please? Or. I’m going to. You can do what you want. I just need to go back out there.”

Miles didn’t know what to say. He knew he couldn’t really help. He couldn’t take away what Nick had gone through. He just wished he had the answers. “You’re not the problem.” He knew what he meant, though. Miles just didn’t want him to see himself as a burden. “Can I, like, call you an Uber home or something?” He stood up from the bed and picked up his own shirt, pulling it over his head. “I want you to be safe.”

Nick didn’t know what to say to him. He just completely ruined the moment - and probably made things weird for Miles. But he couldn’t help it. He wished he could just go through with it and not think about anything. But apparently he wasn’t drunk enough for that yet. “No.” He swallowed again and shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m good. Be careful too, okay?” He hovered by the door, and he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what to say. “I’ll see you later.” With that, he pulled the door open before softly shutting it behind him, deciding he was going to do his best to forget about what had just happened.

#CANON #new year new me #current verse

0 notes