#I feel called out in the chilli's tonight - wheeze- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

real-jane · 3 years ago

Text

home fires

[bucky barnes x reader]

summary: two people starved for touch from the one person they’re allowed to have. she’s home now—what's next?

words: 4k+

a/n: I did NOT set out to make the follow up to your own spicy but HERE WE ARE. enjoy!! took inspiration from 'house shaped heart' by nikita gill (at the end).

poems and promises masterlist

It's when you're snoring on his shoulder that Bucky realizes his worst fear has not come true:

Yes, he has something to lose, but you're no longer the thing he longs for, out of reach. You are here.

If you were conscious, you'd see how he flinches at the thought, squeezing you tight enough to make you wheeze. But then--you'd spring from your comfortable posture and kiss him again, and he'd remember why he drove three hours one way to retrieve you. Not like he regrets it. He can't even bring himself to rouse you after pulling up in front of the house and turning off the engine. He might sleep in the truck, sitting up all night to make sure you're comfortable.

When you do finally stir, and stare blearily up at him in confusion for a second before smiling lovingly, he is reminded that you want him. Bringing you home was the better part of getting you back. There's no way he'll lose you again.

"Hi."

"We're here," he says.

You stretch your arms over your head, and cringe when the chilly air touches your belly. "Mm. That was fast."

"Time flies when you sleep through the whole drive," he chuckles.

He slides out of the truck, tugging you with him. He's tempted not to let you walk, but you shiver in his arms. Bucky presses you against the door the moment it's shut, in case you've gotten wise to his desperation to have you back again, and your feet remember how to walk away. You tuck yourself between the placate of his coat, the one which has never seen a dewy morning, and peer up at him all sleepy and gorgeous... he shakes his head.

"Let's get you out to the barn to make your apologies to Alpine," Bucky murmurs. And to meet her. The horse he bought with you in mind. You'll be so mad, but he found her 'special, straight off the community board in the Sinclair gas station, hanging right over the motor oil, and Alpine likes her, and-

You cup his cheek. "Not tonight, Buck."

"Name a better time."

"Tomorrow."

Bucky scoffs. "Wha-you're kidding me? That horse won't eat a single carrot outta my hand, and you wanna deprive him until tomorrow?"

You giggle. "Tonight... it's half over, baby. You tellin' me you want only three measly hours to show me what I've been missing for two weeks?" You smile bigger as his scowl deepens. Bucky feels his cheeks flush. "I think the big galoot will forgive me. Not so sure about you."

He narrows his eyes. "Fine. Don't blame me when he won't even greet ya tomorrow."

"You missed me.”

The accusation lands like the gentle tease it's meant as, but his chest aches. He nods once. "Feels right, you bein' here. You fit."

"Is that so?"

"Since that first night, I think," he says, allowing his mouth to turn up at one corner in fond remembrance of how well you adapted, even though you weren't in the best mood on the night you arrived all those weeks ago. "All pissy with Steve for not letting you pack anything yourself, grumbling about how cold it was, and still-you plonked right down on the porch in my granny's rocking chair like it was yours."

Your face lights up. You duck under his arm (as he raised his hand to rake his hair back in mock frustration), and yank him towards the porch. "Your bag, doll?"

"Forget it." You bypass the pair of rocking chairs in which you had sat next to Bucky with a glass of bourbon enough times to call it ritual, and pull him to the swing. He sits at your insistence, and holds fast to your hand when you try to dart away again. You clock his frown and brush his chin. "Still got a bottle behind the desk?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"This a special enough occasion to break it open?"

"Yes, but uh..." he scratches his chin. "Been drinkin' too much since you left. Rather not, tonight." Bucky tugs you to stand between his knees. "I wanna feel everything."

Your eyes crinkle at the corners. "That first night. I didn't want to come," you admit softly. "But one glass of your bourbon, sitting in that rocking chair, and I thought... 'maybe it won't be so bad, if he's offering me the good stuff.'"

He swallows hard, nodding. "I was scared shitless, darlin'."

"Of what?"

"You. You shook my hand like you didn't know who I was."

"Buck--compared to who was after me, you were a godsend. And I was too fucking cold to think, anyway."

"I know. Drove me bananas, seein' you shivering, and you had the gall to ask me for a blanket so you could 'conk out on the couch,' as if I'm some caveman who would'a let ya!"

"Caveman, no. Cowboy?" You snicker. "Definitely. I don't care how much city there is in you, baby, you're all cowboy now."

"Is that supposed to be some sorta euphemism for 'gentleman?'"

"I guess. Cavemen don't have custom Stetsons, and you haven't yet worn the Olathe brand off the soles of your shit-kickers, cowpoke... except, what are those, James?" You point at his shearling-lined loafers.

Bucky shrugs. "Slippers."

"You drove six hours in fuzzy slides to rescue me?"

"I wasn't considering my footwear, doll! I had a harebrained idea, I ran out the door."

"Mm. You like me."

He chuckles against his will. "Believe I said no such thing."

"Well, I think you're okay." You curl your fingers over the collar of his shirt. It's the one you most often stole on chilly mornings... the one which still smelled like you after you left. Bucky gestures for you to lean down. When you don't lean far enough, he cups your nape and stands over you. "Bucky... I–you know our time together meant so much to me," you whisper. The teasing tone has fled from your voice, now that you're close enough to study his irises. "I wanna make sure you... want this. Me. I got on your nerves a lot–"

"Every second, honey." Bucky cradles your cheeks in his palms. "Nobody else I'd rather be annoyed by. Christ, I can't look Alpine in the eye after how I acted the night before you left."

"You cooked for me."

Bucky nods. "I hoped it would make you stay."

"I wanted you to ask."

"Didn't have the words. I thought linguine with shrimp would say it all, this far from the ocean."

"God. Do you know how much I cried that night? Mmph. Turned my face into the pillow so you wouldn't hear me." You press your forehead into his shoulder in imitation of what you're describing. Bucky rubs your back.

"...I heard you, doll."

"Why didn't you come up?"

"Why–well. Imagine for a minute, you're me: run-of-the-mill cowpoke who looks an awful lot like a guy who used to terrorize Captain America," he starts. You sigh, but nod for him to go on. "I can't show my face in polite society. This is my granddad's farm, honey. If I didn't have a blood claim to it, not one soul on this earth would've sold me a slice of land. It sucks having to drive an hour into civilization for coffee which doesn't come outta a red can. The water is cloudy, and it only gets hot on its own terms. Half the time, the acre immediately surrounding the house is just mud from all the rain, at least in the spring. Why would I have ever expected that the woman of my dreams was crying about leaving this piece of just-my-luck? This ain't heaven, baby. It ain't even next door. I thought you were desperate to leave me, and your tears were ones of relief."

You kiss him.

Clear as Bucky can figure, you're trying to drive the point home that this is what you want, but it's so desperate the way you worry his top lip, he can't help but groan. All he ever wanted was to be wanted. Here you are, making sweet little noises of protest when his lips take a languid drag, threatening like he might stop-asking for the air to vanish between you so you can get closer. You are sweet like your favorite tea. Bucky never would've thought kisses should taste like chamomile, but now he's kissing the only woman he's ever made a cup of tea for, and it feels right. Your movements slow as you melt into his chest, but your lips part to allow his tongue egress and his cock strains behind his zipper. You shiver-from excitement or from the chill, he can't tell-and Bucky pulls back enough to observe your face. Blissed out, sleepy, and cold. He huffs a laugh and gives you a peck.

Bucky ushers you into the warm house. The door clatters behind you, and you gasp. Bucky turns as tears spring up in your eyes.

"Hmm?"

"No. I'm just. I'm here." The last part comes out like a whisper.

Bucky folds as soon as you raise your arms, clasping both of his around your waist and lifting you off the ground. You bury your face in his neck and sniffle.

"Happy tears?" he murmurs into your hair.

"Mmhm." Your throat catches around the tears which no longer restrain themselves. "Remember when you shoved me into a cold shower the night I couldn't wake up from the terrors?"

"I got just as wet," he teases, feeling his collar dampening. "What made you think of that?"

"You held me, shrieking like a wet cat to high heaven, and the next morning, all I could remember was you holding me."

"All I ever wanted to do."

You tap his shoulder so he'll set you on your feet, but you lock your hands behind his head to prevent him from going far. Your eyes shine from tears, and the wrinkle between your eyebrows deepens.

"What?"

"You don't really know me-"

"What I don't know will come with time." Bucky kisses your forehead.

"I'm a mess."

"You're perfect."

You swipe tears from your face and glare, which only makes him smile more. "You don't have your head on straight."

"At least you see me for what I am," he laughs.

"Bucky-"

He dislodges your hands from their iron grip and holds them in his own. "Listen. You're tired, I'm delirious... I have a bed with your name on it, and all I've been dreaming about is waking up with you still there. Let me tuck you in? In the morning, after you've thoroughly apologized to Alpine for abandoning him, I'll make you waffles, and you can question all my motives while I try to kiss all the maple syrup off your lips. Do we have a deal?"

"Okay. Wait-Jesus, what am I gonna do all the way out here, for a job?"

He blinks. "...You're serious?"

"Not gonna freeload off you, Barnes."

"I'd love your help around the farm obviously, and showing the horses, but I have money which has been accruing interest in the bank for eighty years, so. Keep kissin' me, and you'll be a kept woman."

Your expression softens from panic to sweetness again, and you give him a gentle kiss. "I'm gonna earn my place," you say against his mouth.

"'M sure you will. Get your butt upstairs to my bed, please."

You pull back and gape at him. "Hang on-you have one horse fit to show, and the rest are retired!"

"Two, actually, but someone didn't wanna go out to the barn tonight, so-"

"Oh my god! Is it new? What breed is it? Let's go-"

Bucky grasps your shoulder. "She is a dapple gray."

"She?" The hearts in your eyes are almost enough to make him give in.

"That's all you get, ma'am! Don't make me carry you up those stairs like a sack of potatoes."

Your gaze darkens. "Are you coming with me?"

Bucky smirks. "If that's alright."

You gulp, and then bolt.

You take the stairs in pairs, and Bucky's hot on your heels. He steps up behind you when you pause in the threshold of his bedroom; you're waiting. For permission, or some such thing, so he kisses the skin below your ear. Like he's found some kind of release button, you sag against him. One glance up at him under heavy eyelids, and Bucky's making silent vows to you he hopes you'll understand... because he's lost all power of speech, from the intensity of wanting you.

I'll stay up all night, if you want me too.

If you say no, that'll be okay.

Please don't say no.

You pull him by the front of his shirt; you don’t have to glance behind you to know how many steps it takes to get to the bed, or where to reach to pull down the quilt. You do so quickly, and then you make haste for his buttons. His hands raise to help with yours, but you bat his hand away. “I gotta do this right,” you whisper. When the buttons are fully released, you take a moment just to let your fingers trail over the skin you’ve exposed; he knows you don’t mind scars with the way your lips follow behind them, but he doesn’t expect you to revel in the soft thatch of hair over his sternum with equal reverence.

“You’ve seen my chest before,” he chuckles when you bite your lip, but you graze a nail over his nipple to test if he’s sensitive and he sucks air sharply between his teeth.

“Couldn’t touch, before. Especially not when you’re hauling hay, I’d get in the way.”

“Beg to differ, darlin’. You coulda walked right up to me and grabbed my cock. Had me weepin’ in the palm of your hand.” The way your eyes dilate makes Bucky growl. He pushes your hand southward, to prove how reactive he is to you. The pressure and warmth from your touch through the denim is torture. Your mouth drops open. “Did you want me, then? Would you have let me touch you?”

It takes a second for the question to register in the fog, but you nod. “Where, baby?”

“Shh–I’m in charge, here,” you breathe, not believing a word you’re saying. He smirks.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You tell me what you want, then.”

“To apologize for leaving you. Properly. Make you feel good.” You depress the zipper on his jeans, and Bucky makes quick work of the heavy belt buckle to make it easier. You take it out of his hand, but you’re almost bashful–torn between doing whatever you’ve been dreaming of doing to him, and navigating this very new dynamic with the real thing. He closes his fist around your wrist and pulls it away from his body until you take over, yanking the belt free of the final few loops.

“Hey–why are you so nervous?” He asks when he realizes you’re shaking.

“I’m okay,” you peep, reaching for him again, but Bucky stays your hands. He kisses your temple.

“You don’t have to do a thing. I won’t be disappointed.”

“I want to. Just can’t believe I get to. I–I used to lay right there–” you point at the bed behind you– “thinking about your hands.”

Bucky closes his eyes as a rush passes over every nerve in his body. “I’ve been sleeping in the same place you touched yourself. Fuck. How about you let me touch you, huh? I’ll forgive you for leaving. You don’t have to do a thing.”

You release your lip from between your teeth, wet and plump, and smile in amazement, and Bucky is done for. He rests his forehead against yours. “What did you think about?”

“Mm. Standing at the sink, looking out the window when you’re coming in from tying bales, and um…”

“Say it.”

“You’d come up behind me,” you admit quietly. “Slip your hand into my jeans–”

“My jeans, you little thief,” he grins, nipping your earlobe. You moan. Bucky turns you in his grip, so your ass is pressed against his dick. He slips his hand under your stolen flannel, dipping his fingertips between your skin and the waistband of the jeans in question. “Like this?” he asks.

“Lower.”

“Mmm be specific?” Your annoyed whine eggs him on. “Come on. So bossy all the time and you can’t tell me about one little fantasy?”

“You like it,” you breathe, canting your hips to grind back against him. “You’d touch me. Over my panties, because you’re a cowboy, not a caveman.” The last addition has him shaking with laughter, even as he does what you say, slipping his hands over the silk of your soft stomach to the transition between silk and lace. You’re so warm, and the gusset covering the place his fingers want to be is soaked through. “But–then… uh, shit.” He finds your clit and your knees shake. “You ask me what I’ve been doing all day–”

“Whatcha been doin’ all day, sweetheart?” Bucky murmurs in your ear. “Waiting here all wet for me?”

“Ruined a lot of panties over you,” you gasp as his fingers tug the lace barrier to the side. “Definitely would’ve fucked you sooner.”

Bucky would’ve fucked you day one, but he’d never take advantage of a woman in duress. This is something he heretofore thought as good as a dream, not something he could actually have for his very own. He teases a finger between your folds. The fact that you seem to have a kink about this cowboy thing is as adorable as it is fucking hot.

“That what you want? Me to get all worked up hucking hay, and get out all that energy with my fingers in your pussy? Don’t think I could use you like that, doll.” Even still, he works a thick finger inside your heat and he can’t help but buck against you at the feeling of your inner muscles adjusting to him.

“No, I want you to spend all that time you’re doing chores thinking about me, missing me, that you can’t take it anymore.” Your head falls back against his shoulder, forcing your chest to jut out and tempt his other hand to release your buttons. “You just want me so bad, you gotta have me. Even if all you can do is finger me when I’m up to my elbows in soap bubbles.”

Bucky turns his teeth into the curve of your neck. “God, babydoll. You want to be needed so badly I can’t do my work, as if I didn’t stalk around this farm with my dick so heavy I was hurting with wanting you. You got your wish. I have to touch you. All I think about is makin’ you feel good–and you tellin’ me about it makes it worse, I’m gonna bust in my boxers like a teenager.”

“Buck–oh god.” He eases a second finger beside the first, and your eyes roll back. “Really thought our first time would be nice and slow but I need you now–”

He throbs. “You feel incredible. I could take my time all night.”

“No. Push my jeans down and fuck me.”

Bucky could swear he’s died and gone to Heaven. Finally having his hands on the woman he loves–his heart stutters over that wave of realization in the midst of tearing your jeans down your hips, releasing his dick and pumping himself desperately to be prepared without coming the instant he’s inside you–he’s lost in the moment. He thinks just for a flash about the first dirty dream he had about you, sharing a bath in a room full of candles, and then you’re grasping for him, pushing your face against the sheets he’s been sleeping between since you left, and he thinks–no, this is perfect. Needy, desperate… and leaving no room to wonder whether this is what you want, too.

He sinks into you slower than either of you want, if the groan you make is any indication. Bucky takes a second to help you out of the shirt you borrowed, and then he digs his thumbs into the base of your spine, where you’re always complaining aches after a long day.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan when the muscle releases under his firm touch. Then, he moves.

He’s robbed of your expressions with every thrust, but not your gorgeous sounds. You’re made for him. Nothing has ever felt this good–he can’t remember another woman’s body. It’s you, forever. Your body, your pussy–just you. He rolls his hips to find the spot that makes your gasps turn feral. The points of your nails find his arm where he braces over you. You draw blood. Just makes him thrust harder.

“My sweet girl,” he moans. “You can’t even form a sentence, can you? All that sass fucked right outta you–jesus christ.” Your inner muscles squeeze him so tight, and you glance back at him over your shoulder, raising your hips enough that he has to work for the harsh thrust he’s been successful with thus far, and fuck… you may get wetter when he talks to you like you’re at his every whim, but you have all the cards. He’d let you do anything to him. He’s yours. He’s never felt anything this good–

“Baby,” you sigh, fluttering around him, “gonna come, you need to pull out–”

“‘M sterile. Serum side-effects.” Bucky grinds into your ass harder, holding his hips flush against your pillowed skin so hard he’ll surely make finger-shaped bruises in your thighs. You push up, arching your back until you’re seated on him. Bucky holds you close, arm bracketing beneath your breasts. He's fully clothed, you're entirely nude... it's the hottest thing he ever could imagine. He waits, on bated breath, for you to ask for what you want. You turn your head so you can kiss him softly.

“Hey,” you whisper. “Never knew it could be like this.”

Bucky smiles against the corner of your mouth. “What, like fireworks?” He snaps his hips.

“Oh! Baby,” you croon. “Please let me come.”

“Sure you’re sorry?” he asks, even as he reaches between your spread knees to tweak your swollen clit. You shudder.

“‘M so sorry! Thought I didn’t have a choice. I know better.”

“You choose me?” Bucky holds your hips down so he can fuck any coherent thought out of you. You keen, but you nod.

“You, you,” you gasp. “Want you to come, too–”

“I’m gonna come, don’t you worry… shit.” Bucky tries to hold on through your orgasm, but your muscles squeeze him so tight that everything goes white for a minute, and he’s seeing stars. His own muscles go slack through his release. He has to brace his vibranium arm over you to keep from collapsing against you, using the other to hold you up around the waist. The other option would be sliding into a boneless heap on the ground. That feels quite unromantic, given the circumstances. So. He rolls with you in hand, peppering your shoulder with soft kisses. Even as he softens inside you, Bucky feels his body thrum with a newfound awareness of yours.

The clock glares at him in blue electrified letters. He groans. “Have to be up in two hours, fuck.”

“Regretting this, cowpoke?”

“That is not as sexy of a nickname as you think it is,” he laughs into your neck. “God, I was tired before, and now I know what your skin feels like and I think I might not need to sleep for a week.”

“You gonna let me clean up?” You ask, brushing his hair off his forehead.

“Mmm. I could. But then I’d have to pull out.”

“Poor baby.”

Bucky nips your shoulder. “Try to fit in the tiny shower with me?”

“You’re obsessed with me,” you say, kissing the end of his nose as he eases himself from you with a grunt. He gives you a very grumpy glare, but pats your ass.

“Come on. I expect you to wake up with the dawn, too.” He ignores your clothing on the ground, but shucks his shirt for you to put on in case you're cold for the walk across the hall. Bucky pauses at the door when you sigh.

You prop your head up on one arm and smile. “Can I be a little sappy?”

His heart clenches. “I prefer it.”

“I’ve never felt this way before, Bucky. About anybody.”

Bucky straightens with pride. He looks you over, looking fucked and blissful on his bed, and smiles with the same amount of softness he feels inside. “You’re home, babydoll.”

You can’t speak for happy tears. He winks at you.

Under the spray of hot water, with miles of skin to explore, Bucky holds you close. The whole farmhouse could burn down, but as long as he’s with you, he’ll have a place for you to take shelter in his heart. Nothing as secure as that.

Thanks for reading! :)

Kate’s masterlist - Marvel Masterlist

bucky tag list: @peterhollandkait @honeywithemoney @nahthanks @dracris33

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes

277 notes · View notes

painless-innit-colourful · 3 years ago

Text

The Light Behind Their Eyes

It’s been a long-time headcanon of mine that the songs of Conventional Weapons exist in the universe of Dangers Days. And I’m sure you can guess which one this fic concerns... After a few terrible weeks for the rebels, there’s a special guest on Dr Death’s radio show, and they’ve got a very special message for the Zones.

It's been a bad few weeks in the Zones.

It began almost three weeks ago, when Dr D announced over the airwaves that Jet Star and the Kobra Kid got themselves dusted. Since then, it's been almost every night; killjoy names no one you know has ever heard of being given their two words on the evening 'cast. S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W sightings are more frequent, and claps happen every few hours. BLI seems to finally be cracking down on the desert rebels like they once promised they would, and it's leaving crews down members and everyone losing hope. Some say 'Destroya and the Pheonix Witch have abandoned us', but you try to hold out hope. Destroya protects the droids foremost, and only heaven knows if they're currently having as bad a time as the 'joys. As for the Pheonix Witch... Supposed sightings have dried up, but you're not surprised. With all the dustings lately, she must be busy. Whispers throughout the desert say they can hear the ghosts of the passed killjoys shouting out in the static, singing their songs long into the night in a spiritual procession through the sand wastes. A parade of death, like a cemetery drive on the move. It's a depressing thought, but it holds up to reason. The mailbox is full.

You're alone tonight; you needed some air. The campfire's been burning for hours, and though it could attract some less than wanted attention, it's a put it out or go inside kind of night. Next to it sits an empty can of Power Pup (it's been tasting worse recently) and your radio. It blares some old Mad Gear song, which Dr D introduced as a "favourite of our Fab Four" when it started. His intros have been weirdly short these past few hours. You sit back and try to enjoy the last thirty seconds or so of the song. The sun set hours ago, and the stars are out. You wonder if the old dust trails about ghosted 'joys becoming stars are true.

"Alright, children," Dr Death's nightly greeting sounds out into the night air. "The lights are out, and the party's over. But before I go, I've got one more treat for you." In the background, while he talks, you hear the strained tones of an acoustic guitar being tuned. That gets your attention. Guitars - electric ones - are common at Zone concerts, but since they're so quiet, no one plays acoustic guitars. The only other time you've ever heard one was when you came across a half-broken thing with your crew in the burnt-out shell of an old building. No one could figure out how to make it sound anything but rusty. "I've got an old friend with a pretty shiny piece of junk here, and they'd like to play you a song. Let's just say, you won't get this at none o' your Mad Gear shows. Sing yourselves to sleep tumbleweeds, and don't let the static swallow you up. Goodnight." There's a moment of quiet as whoever shuffles towards the microphone, and you hit the 'record' button on your radio just as Dr D softly utters: "S'all your's Party." The archaic tape recorder splutters and whirrs to life, wheezing from disuse before the little crimson light blinks on, just as whoever it is in the Dr's studio starts to strum gently. You sit back again as they begin to sing:

"So long to all my friends, / Every one of them met tragic ends."

Somewhere in the second line, their voice breaks and Dr D murmurs something you don't catch. Their playing isn't amazing, but the guitar seems to almost be crying its notes, surrounding them in emotion, though maybe that's just you. These past weeks have been harsh, and you haven't heard something so gentle in a long time.

"With every passing day, / I'd be lying if I didn't say / That I miss them all tonight / And if they only knew what I would say,"

Something about the lyrics makes you want to go get your crew and hold them tight, protect them from the elements and BLInd and whatever's out there in the static to be afeared of. Everyone in the desert knows someone who's recently joined the parade of the dead, whether they were your best mate or the chilly weirdo you got into a fight over PP prices with at Tommy's. You wonder if the singer has lost someone recently too.

"If I could be with you tonight, / I would sing you to sleep / Never let them take the light behind your eyes / One day I'll lose this fight / As we fade in the dark / Just remember you will always burn as bright."

The desert seems to grow still around you, as even the wind stops to listen to the melody of the 'joy on the radio. Who is that? You recognise their voice somewhat: you've heard them in the background of Dr Death's broadcasts before, and any voice on the radio that isn't one of the DJs or Cherri Cola gets your attention. Right before they started singing Dr D called them Party... You wrack your brain for any Killjoys with Party in the name, and the only one that comes to mind is Party Poison, of the Fab Four. Could it be them? Dr D said before that last Mad Gear song that it was a "favourite of our Fab Four", and the loss of Party's friend and brother was the beginning of this awful few weeks for all the Zones so... it could make sense. Then again, maybe it isn't.

"Be strong and hold my hand, / Time it comes for us, you'll understand / We'll say goodbye today, / And I'm sorry how it ends this way, / If you promise not to cry, / Then I'll tell you just what I would say-"

Their voice grows stronger, more sure of themself as they sing, though they break again a little on "promise not to cry". As they get louder, someone (presumably Dr D) starts drumming using his desk, and the wind around you picks back up, whipping sand into a frenzy and nearly dousing your campfire early. You can hear something far away in the desert; the wind is moaning, and the sky responds.

"If I could be with you tonight, / I would sing you to sleep / Never let them take the light behind your eyes / I'll fail and lose this fight / Never fade in the dark / Just remember you will always burn as bright."

The passion behind their words sounds like a promise. The wind intensifies; the desert itself is howling, the sand puts your campfire out and leaves you alone in the noisy silence. Your empty Power Pup can is scooped up by the wind and tossed away, clanging against something on the way down, the sound like mournful crying. Without the firelight, the stars that suddenly fill the once-empty expanse above grow brighter to compensate. You shuffle closer to your radio and turn it up slightly, and hear the song of a defiant killjoy join the cacophonous fray:

"The light behind your eyes. / The light behind your- / Sometimes we must grow stronger and / You can't be stronger in the dark. / When I'm here, no longer / You must be stronger and-"

As the singing 'joy enters the bridge, something appears in the sandstorm. People: killjoys, running, dancing, singing in unheard voices, laughing to jokes never heard. Their colours are brighter than the stars, their smiles wider than the Zones. They are walking as one, up and down the dunes, a heaving mass of people celebrating, firing rayguns into the dark, toasting Power Pup like it doesn't taste like dog food. Someone else appears before you as you grab your radio and hold it tight, lest the wind carries it off. You look up to see her dark cloak, her halo of violet light, her mask staring back. As the sandstorm rages and the wind tears at you like needles, it snatches at the top of your head, taking your mask as it rests there. It flies away towards her at speed, and she catches it in an outstretched hand. The dancing 'joys shine brighter for a moment, and something in the pit of your stomach makes you feel weightless. You start to rise to your feet, but she steps forward, her hand reaching towards your own.

"If I could be with you tonight, / I would sing you to sleep / Never let them take the light behind your eyes / I failed and lost this fight / Never fade in the dark / Just remember you will always burn as bright. / The light behind your eyes."

The Pheonix Witch stands before your trembling form and presses your mask back into your shaking hand. She steps away, and you feel lightheaded, the dancing lights burning too bright, a hundred stars leaping skyward. She turns and walks towards the procession of ghosted killjoys, leaving you once again alone in the sand. The colours of the procession fade to greys and blacks, and then altogether. The Witch disappears, and you see your vision blur with tears. You slump sideways and lie there in the desert, at the centre of a sandstorm, radio clutched to your heart, mask scrunched in one hand. You vaguely hear the singer repeat the last line "The light behind your eyes” again, and again, and again, like a lullaby into the night.

When you wake, it's all white noise. At some point the tape recorder stopped - you're not sure how, as your radio is still clutched to your chest. Your mask is still in hand. You shake off the sand that's piled around you.

The sandstorm. You check for grazes, but nothing hurts. It's freezing, you realise, and still hours away from sunrise, or alarm clock radiation, as one of your crew likes to call it. You better get inside before you die of hypothermia or something. You turn off the radio and head into the building in which your crew are sleeping.

Somewhere in the desert, a crow caws.

---

Taglist: @chaoticemopigeon @antikalvinclub (remember this thing?!)

#y'know. it took me a good five minutes to remember the original premise behind this thing #hi yes if you didn't see the post i made before this: i wrote this in august 2020 and completely forgot about it until recently #i feel like i'm 13 listening to dd while editing. planetary go came on and it was like hearing it for the first time again #full three minute dance party in my room #anyway when i say i've had this hc for a while... lmao #crim writes #mcr #danger days #the light behind your eyes #danger days: the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #the pheonix witch #party poison #IT'S BEEN OVER A YEAR SINCE I'VE BEEN IN THIS FANDOM OH MY GOD #okay since it's done now i'll be here crying to kids from yesterday if you don't mind

25 notes · View notes

babayagakeanu · 4 years ago

Text

Are You Ticklish?

Summary: John Constantine may have found reader’s secret tickle spot and gets her to confess her feelings for him

Warning: none just super sweet fluffy goodness! Hope you like it!!

Living with John Constantine, occult detective and self-proclaimed anti-social was one thing; having an uncontrollable crush on him since you moved in three years ago is another thing. Don’t worry, he doesn’t know and that’s how you would prefer things. You were afraid to get involved with a man so closed off from the world, and not to mention the guy is a smoking basket-case. So naturally, any flirtatious advance made by him, you brushed off with a laugh and an exit into another room. This time was different, though.

You had planted yourself on your bed with a good book and a steaming mug of chamomile tea in your hand for the night, ready for tonight’s story and tea to lull yourself to sleep. You hadn’t heard John come in from the city’s chilly grasp until you hear him mutter a few curse words under his breath. You rolled your eyes at his bitterness in some situations and continued to read your book.

Your solitude was cut short when his deep voice rang through the apartment. “Y/N? Are you home?” You were hoping that if you ignored him that he would just leave you alone and go to his room. Instead, he noisily rumbled through the refrigerator, looking for some type of substance to eat. He ate for a little bit before piling his dishes in the sink, and you silently whined knowing that you would have to clean them later. You remained quiet, hoping that this one time the man upstairs would give you a fucking break.

Unfortunately, it’s not today.

John’s heavy hand raps against your door, and you had half the mind to not answer him. Begrudgingly, you open the door to find him staring there, dark circles resting under his eyes and his wrinkly white dress shirt unbuttoned a little, it gave him a rugged look that made your thighs rub together. “Yes, John?” He notices the way your dressed; your shorts hugging your hips and the way the thin material of your white shirt exposed parts of your breasts that should not be seen by his eyes. He swallows the lump that was forming in his throat before he manage to squeak out, “I was wondering if you ate dinner? I had some of that Mac and cheese. Just wondering if you got to have any.”

You smile, and somehow John manages to crack one too. “No, John. I wasn’t hungry today. But, I’m glad you found time to eat today.” He huffs a laugh and steps into your room, something he hasn’t seen since you’ve moved in. “Oh, sure John! Come on in!” He rolls his eyes and ignores your snarky remark and looks around your room, decorated with family, memorabilia, posters, and little fairy lights to give your room that ambiance. He plops down on your bed, causing the springs in your mattress to creak and pop under his weight. “Please do not flop on my bed, I can’t afford a new one.”

“Well, stop having so many guys over, and you won’t have to buy a new one.” You turn to John, your blood boiling. “I don’t have men over all the time, John. Last time I got laid was two years ago. So thank you for calling me a slut, John, you can leave my room now.” You try to force him out the door, but he plants his feet into the ground.

“Jesus, look, I’m sorry okay?” John looks down at his feet, “That’s, um, good—you know, not to have any guys over.” You were confused for a second, but you decided to humor him. “Why, John? Is someone in love with me?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes and pokes at your stomach, automatically forcing you to cower away from him.

“What, Y/N? Is someone ticklish?” He lunges for you, ignoring your shrieks of protest and continues his torment against your sides. “J-John! Please st-stop it!” He chuckles, “Not until you tell me why you haven’t gotten laid in so long.”

“Okay, okay! Fine!” He stops and gives you a minute to catch your breath, watching as the swells of your breasts heave under your heavy breaths. “I, well, I haven’t had a guy over because I’m in love with someone.” John’s lifted smile falls a little, the disappointment filling his heart with lead. It felt heavy in his chest, like it was about to fall into his stomach, crush his organs and kill him slowly.

“Oh,” he pauses, “you have?” He waits for you to nod your head and you smile all goofy at him. “What?” He laughs half-heartedly, not in the mood to joke anymore.

“John, are you really this dense?” You laugh more, this time with your entire belly, wheezing a little bit. “John, I love you. It’s always been you, even when I was with my ex, it will always be you. If you don’t love me back, that’s okay. I’ll move out and you won’t have to see me—”

His lips are on yours before you get to finish your sentence, the taste of coffee and smoke filling your mouth, begging for you to taste him. You let the kiss sink in before responding with every fiber in your being, pouring all the love you’ve gathered for him all these years into it.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that.” He smiles before laying you down, ruining men for you for the rest of your life, you wouldn’t have it any other way, though.

#keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x reader #constantine x reader #constantine 2005 #reader #Reader Request #love #tickling

164 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 5 years ago

Text

Sugar and Coffee [2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

➜ Words: 2.2k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

“In this recipe, we’re using baking soda instead of baking powder. Why? Does anyone remember the reason when we talked about our recipe of mille-feuille?” You’re twirling your pen in your hand, bored out of your mind while someone answers that baking soda doesn’t have the acid that baking powder would normally add and how baking soda has much stronger leavening power than baking powder. Theory has never been your area of expertise. You’ve always preferred to do the actual baking and go through trial and error than learning through the textbook. So with your mind wandering and from fear of falling asleep, you pull out your phone to text Seokjin. He’s been answering your texts slower these days. “Alright, next class we’ll put our hands to work in the kitchen. Don’t pack up yet! I got some emails asking about the midterm so I just wanted to answer those questions here! Yes, it will be a collaborative exam and you can re-make anything that we’ve learned thus far in the semester. Baking is all about working together, so before I leave, I’ll post who everyone’s partners are. Come down and take a look before you go.” With the lecture finished, you pack up your belongings, shoving it all into your bag and swinging the strap over your shoulder to walk down the steps. It’s crowded already, but as people filter out, you’re able to get ahead to look at the paper. And as luck would have — you’re partnered with Jeon Jungkook. It’s outrageous. As if having the same internship for three months wasn’t enough, now he’s your midterm partner. You spin around to the teacher, beelining straight to him. But Jeon Jungkook beats you to it. “Is there a possible way I can switch my partner?” “I second that.” For once, you back him up. It’s probably the only thing you can agree on. Jungkook looks to you before redirecting his attention back at the man who has his brow quirked. “Is there a legitimate reason?” “Umm….” “Our schedules don’t align,” Jungkook lies without batting a lash. “Yeah.” You nod. “He has classes when I don’t and uh, he’s working on different projects when I have work….” “It would be more convenient if we had different partners.” “Wow, you two figured out you have incompatible schedules a minute into finding out you’re partners? Well, I’m sure you two can work something out.” Mr. Chu smiles, overly positive in a way that irks you. “Things have a way of working themselves out.” In these circumstances, you’re not too sure about that. Jungkook swallows hard, finding whatever excuse he can. “I’m afraid Y/N won’t pull her weight.” “Excuse me?!” You can’t believe he blatantly threw you under the bus in front of your face. “That’s completely untrue! He won’t be able to pull his weight.” “We’re just incompatible partners.” Jungkook outright ignores you. “I am happy to work with anyone, Mr. Chu. Just not her. Park Jimin said he would be fine to switch his partner and work with me.” He hitches a thumb over his shoulder to his timid friend standing near the door who realizes he’s being talked about and gives a polite wave. Yet, the teacher gives a long sigh. “Look, you two. I know there’s bad blood between you both but wouldn’t this be a great opportunity to overcome that like the adults that you are?” “I—” “Mr. Chu—” “I’m sorry, but there won’t be any switching.” He shakes his head. “Often times, you can’t choose who you work with in the real world. You just have to get over it and be professional. Learn a two or thing from that. That’s the point of this midterm. If there are concerns about the project, then you can visit my office hours. Otherwise, you’ll be working together and that’s final.” It’s official. You hate your fine pastries class — and it used to be your favourite too. “Fuck. Fuck,” he’s muttering, kicking the gravel from underneath his feet. You approach him with crossed arms. “You don’t have to keep saying it.” “What? That this fucking sucks?” “Look, I don’t like you anymore than you like me. You don’t have to make it harder than it needs to be.” “Oh yeah? You want to make it less hard? How about you stop existing then.” “Okay, fuck you, Johnson. Stop pouting like you’re fucking four years old. Are we going to talk about the project or do you want to flunk?” “Stop calling me Johnson.” “Or else what?” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You’re so childish.” “I’m the childish one?” you scoff in disbelief. “I’m not the one practically throwing a tantrum.” “Whatever. But what’s there to talk about? We’ll make carrot cake.” “What the hell?” You’re appalled. He’s not even going to ask you? “No, we’ll make the charlotte royale.” “No, you idiot.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. You scoff again. This was absolutely unbelievable. It’s a shame that no one’s listening into this conversation — there’s no way you would be able to retell just how absurd this was. “Did you just call me an idiot?” “Yes, carrot’s the easiest. We’ll get it done and over with.” “I don’t want to get it done and over with.” You point right at him. “Unlike you, I care about my grades, okay? So what if it’s easy? It won’t get us the marks we need.” “Since when did you care about your grades?” “Okay, fuck off, Jeon.” Having enough of him, you decide to walk away but Jungkook soon calls out after you. “Are you going to give me your phone number?” You’re horrified enough to spin around and regard him with a disgusted expression. “What? No!” “For the project, you dumbass. You think I’m asking because I want to know?” You roll your eyes to the back of your skull and close the distance with three strides again. Surprisingly, the both of you civilly exchange contact information without ripping each other’s heads off but you don’t want to be with him longer than you need to. “When are we going to meet up? We should decide so I don’t have to text you.” “I’m fine with whenever.” “Tomorrow then.” “Sure.” You leave already texting Jin your grievances. He doesn’t answer since he’s so busy, but you’re ready to unload. // The next day comes too quickly. The first person you see in the morning is the last person you ever want to see — and Jungkook isn’t amused either. He regards you with a lazy gaze, dark circles, oversized black hoodie and jeans that he probably picked up off his floor and put on after giving a good sniff. Other partners are already in the kitchen figuring out their recipes, but you have yet to decide what to make. You swear the asshat is just disagreeing with you to make it harder and more miserable. “What don’t you understand? What you’re asking for is too unreasonable.” “Really? You think whipping meringue by hand is too difficult? Maybe you shouldn’t be baking then, Jeon.” “It’s time consuming,” he groans and rubs his temple. “And it’s not worth it. If you want to spend your time doing something impressive than we should make something like fucking I don’t know, Napoleon cake and call it a day.” “Okay, sounds good to me.” “What? Actually?” “I don’t see why not. You can make the puff pastry while I make the custard. We assemble together.” “You make it sound easier than it’ll be, but fine. We can meet up tonight. What, don’t give me that look. It’s not like you’re busy. And spending time with your boyfriend doesn’t constitute as being busy. The sooner we get this done, the sooner it’s over.” “Fine. How about eight?” “Seven thirty. See you then.” You’re exasperated. He’s a jerk. And you go on your way while shaking your head. 8:21 am. Y/N: still cant believe my luck 5:43 pm. Seokjin: Hey where are you? 5:44 pm. Seokjin: We should meet

Jungkook lives his life precariously. He is flexible and follows his instincts. That’s not to say he’s irresponsible, reckless or that he’s fickle. He’s adaptable and it’s the reason why he started baking anyways — a whim that he fell in love with.

Jungkook prefers to go with his gut feeling than plan every step of the way. And it’s his gut feeling that tells him you’re nothing but an absolute headache. “Let me suck on your muffin.” Yoongi’s expression dies, washing over into an impassive state. “Say that again, Kim, and I’ll never bring my extra muffins again.” Taehyung whines on the couch while Jimin laughs. Yoongi looks over at Jungkook. “Hey, want one, Kook?” He tosses him a blueberry muffin anyhow but Jungkook chucks it at Hoseok who catches it in both hands, almost missing. “Nah. What time is it? I gotta go.” “Where are you going on a Friday night at seven?” “Ooh, it’s a date, isn’t it?” Taehyung grins. “What kind of girl?” “Who is it?” Hoseok clarifies the question, cheek full of muffin. “I haven’t heard you talk about anyone ever.” “He wishes.” Jimin giggles, have an inkling of where it was he was going. “it’s not a date, dumbass. I have a meeting with my midterm project partner.” “Damn,” Yoongi comments, biting into the muffin he baked earlier in class. “That’s rough.” “His partner’s Y/N,” Jimin says with a sparkle in his eye, watching Jungkook get up from the couch. Taehyung’s eyes bulge. They nearly fall out of their sockets and he wheezes, pounding his chest as part of the muffin stuck in his gullet. “You’re partners with that psycho bitch?” “Yeah.” The youngest of all of them sighs. “I couldn’t change.” Jungkook walks past, but Yoongi stops him, plopping a hand on his shoulder. The usually cold man seems sympathetic for once and holds up his muffin. “Are you sure you don’t want one?” He dreads it — having to ditch his friends on a Friday night and the warmth of his dorm room. All in exchange for the chilly wind outside and the empty kitchens that’re eerie without souls inside them, just metal bowls and silver appliances. But Jungkook drags himself there anyway. He’s ten minutes early since he’s not one to leave people waiting. But when seven thirty eventually rolls around, you’re nowhere in sight. 7:34 pm. Jungkook: Are you coming or not He waits for an additional twenty minutes, sitting on the stool, playing games on his phone. Then he realizes the time and gets started anyhow. The puff pastry always takes longer to make anyways. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t frustrated — Jungkook’s frankly pissed off and if you decided to ditch him, you’ll have one or two things coming, that’s for sure. Jungkook beats two ounces of butter with a tablespoon of sugar. Then he folds in two beaten eggs, one tablespoon vinegar, cold water, three tablespoons of vodka, and salt. He folds in the two and a half cups of flour and forms a dough in his hands until it’s soft and pliable. Right when he wraps the bowl in plastic and slides it into the fridge to chill for an hour, the door to the kitchen opens. “You’re late.” You’re not even dressed in an apron nor is your hair tied back like it’s supposed to be but he doesn’t comment. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you? It’s been an hour and I’m done my part.” Silence. You don’t respond. Jungkook scoffs. It was a new low for you to give him the silent treatment when you’re the late one. Your head is downcasted, facing away from him, giving him the cold shoulder. You don’t spare him one glance as you go over to the fridge, pulling out eggs, sugar, flour, milk, vanilla beans, and butter. You pour milk into the saucepan haphazardly and it splashes everywhere on the counter. “Hey, watch it!” Jungkook rips the carton away from your hands. He didn’t know you were this much of an amateur. He watches you in mortification as you move to the flour bag, scooping out a whole cup instead of six tablespoons. He wonders if you had a stroke. “Y/N, you’re supposed to do the eggs next. What the hell is wrong with—” You burst into tears. Jungkook’s heart stutters. He pales. He freezes in place. He feels his entire body go rigid. And his brain breaks. ….. What. Tears. Full on tears are streaming down your face. You’re wailing, covering your face with your floured hands and crying into them. Your entire frame shakes as devastation wrecks through your entire body. He’s never seen you look so small before. He’s never seen you cry. Jungkook puts milk down, swallowing hard. He watches you with eyes as big as saucers. “I...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” You sob. “J-Jin brok..e up w-with m...e.”

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #btsboulangerie #Y'ALL SHIT IS HITTING THE FAN #AT LEAST IT'S ABOUT TO

580 notes · View notes

randomoranges · 3 years ago

Text

tonight i went on my evening walk with my mom and ran into a student and her family. she lives on the street behind mine. it was a pleasant chat but as we went our seperate ways, i made the comment about how strange it was and how can u imagine if id been wearing some shirt with a curse word or something

and it made me think. about the teacher persona and how the line btwn teacher and private life are often blurred together. what would a reaction be if it was Something Even Bigger - what if i was kissing a SO of the same gender - what if i was wearing such and such clothing - doing this - at this place - existing in a context that is other than teacher?

the incidents mentioned are real. stories that have been on the news. teachers whove posted bits of their real lives that then lost jobs, despite never doing anything wrong on the job.

the colleague bit is also true. it happened at the school i work at a few yrs ago.

anyways.

thoughts and such

Take a Walk on the Wild Side

It’s a perfect night out for a walk and so, after dinner, they put their shoes back on and head out, taking advantage of it being Friday night and not too brain dead. There’s a gentle breeze announcing the upcoming end of summer and the first soft tendrils of autumn and it’s nice – a good break from the oppressive heat of a few weeks ago.

Étienne, as always, links their arms together and chatters away as they walk. Edward is happy to listen and offers insight when needed.

They’re halfway through their walk when they hear a loud “M Édouard?!” and Étienne let’s go of Edward’s arm on instinct.

A few steps later, it turns out that the voice belongs to one of Edward’s students and she’s out walking with her parents, the family dog and her sister.

The girl is excited to see her teacher not at school and then nearly does a double take when she realises that M Étienne is also out walking with M Édouard.

There’s polite chitchat that goes around – general comments from the kids, pleasantries from the parents and all the while, both Étienne and Edward put on pleasant smiles while one recurring thought runs through their head. Are they still safe?

They hadn’t been doing anything untoward, but even if the girls hadn’t noticed anything, surely the parents must have seen that they’d been walking together with their arms linked.

Étienne hates that he’s bothered by it, while Edward wonders if this is going to turn into a thing.

“Do you live nearby?” The mother asks and the question is open enough that they can save face if they want to.

But do they?

There’s nothing criminal to what they’d been doing. An evening walk just like this family. They had lives outside of work and what they did after school shouldn’t matter to anyone. Yet, for some reason, Étienne and Edward both feel as though they’d been caught red handed committing some heinous crime and the feeling is nauseating.

“Other side of the bridge, that ways about,” Edward motions with his hand and his student exclaims that her house is that way as well, because of course it would.

As it turns out, they live on the street right behind them and Étienne marvels at how they’ve never run into each other before.

The sister asks where he lives and Étienne laughs, thankful for the innocence of children. Because, obviously, two men walking together at night would not be living together.

He’s relieved.

He’s also a little saddened.

Disappointed, really.

Étienne gives as vague as an answer as possible and satisfied, the girls chatter excitedly amongst themselves, while the adults wrap up the conversation and then leave, wishing each other a lovely weekend.

Once they resume their walk, Étienne can’t find it in him to link their arms together and Edward takes an extra step to the side. They walk, silent, lost in their own thoughts, and it’s only once they’ve crossed on the other side of the overpass that they glance in each other’s direction.

They share a look that seems to ask if any of what had happened was real, and finally, Étienne cracks first, a desperate chuckle escaping. Edward joins soon after, a full on nervous laugh and soon, both of them are wheezing at the absurdity of the situation.

It is both a coping mechanism and unwinding, but when they finally catch their breath again and resume their walk, it feels less loaded. Edward steps back close and Étienne lets their hands brush together, until he wraps a finger around Edward’s own.

“Perhaps we should move. Change names. Jobs. Leave the country.” Étienne offers, only a little serious.

“I’m honestly surprised it took this long for us to run into a student.”

They look at each other again and fall silent, contemplating the situation.

“Do you think the parents know? Or the girls? – Do you think this will get out?” Étienne voices the questions that had been burning both their minds and the fears that come with it. It’s one thing mentioning in the school agenda that discrimination won’t be tolerate against religion, skin colour and sexual orientation, but it’s another to put it in practice towards staff. There’s a million and one different ways to make it look like they’re being canned for something different, if the school wants to.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know and I don’t know what would be worse. God – and we weren’t even doing anything bad.”

That’s the problem with teaching. There is no such thing as a “private life.” They’ve heard the stories. One “bad” photo on social media and a career finished. One bad day that leads to dismissal. They’re lucky they have elementary students, but still.

Edward remembers the horror fiasco that had happened a few years ago to a colleague of his. An innocent video that had been cut and changed look as though his colleague was saying hate messages. It had blown out of proportion. Parents had been frightened. The police was called. Interventions were made. The man left the school, on his own terms, deciding it would be best for him and the school. Even though he was innocent. Even though his words had been taken out of context. Even though he’d done nothing wrong.

Would this happen to them?

It’s a sobering thought.

Yet, Edward isn’t ashamed of who he is. Neither is Étienne. They are proud of who they are. They believe people should be allowed to be themselves.

Then why is it that they feel such fear?

“I guess we won’t know until Monday,” Étienne says, trying to be reassuring, “We’ll play it by ear and hope for the best. As you said, we weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Yeah – you’re right...” He falls quiet for another moment and then lets out a frustrated puff of air, followed by a short laugh, “At least we weren’t in a strip club,” He says, trying to be light.

“What?”

“When I was doing my internship. One of the teacher’s at the school, he told us of this anecdote. He’d gone to a friend’s stag party at a strip club. And one of the stripers was a student of his – I forget if she was a current or former student. He was mortified, but she recognised him and went right over, calling out to him as if there was nothing wrong. I mean – there’s nothing wrong with working in a club, but the relationship dynamic makes it a little awkward. Or – I would feel awkward. I wish I had her level of confidence though – not be afraid that a student seeing us together might cause a minor scandal and our jobs,” He adds as an afterthought.

Étienne reaches for his hand again, gives it a squeeze and then links their arms together. Edward sags against him and is happy when they turn on their street, close to home, where it’s safe.

“We’ll be fine – whatever happens, we’ll be fine.”

Edward wants to believe him and hopes Étienne will be right.

It’s a different evening, days and weeks and months and maybe even years later. Different yet similar. Another late September evening with a gentle breeze and the promise of autumn to come. It’s night time by the time they go out for their evening walk and it’s a little chilly – a perfect excuse for Étienne to link their arm with Edward, as they’re often known to do.

They chatter away, about one thing and the next, and Edward is happy to listen and provide feedback when needed.

They’re halfway through the walk, when they hear a shout of “M Édouard?!” and approach the voice, Étienne never letting go of Edward’s arm.

It’s a student from Edward’s class, who is surprised to find his teacher out for a walk and not in a school setting. He’s with his own family; parents, an older sibling and the family dog. The kid does a near double take when he notices Étienne and can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that he’s run into two of his teachers outside of school, even if he thinks it’s cool.

The adults exchange polite conversation and eventually the older sibling asks if they live close by. This time, Edward does not shy away from his answer and says that yes, they both have their place not far from here, on the other side of the overpass.

Both student and sibling seem amazed, remarking on how they live literally a block away from there. Étienne laughs, commenting on the smallness of the world, and telling them to come by their street at Halloween, to get candy – at the house with the haunted garage.

The kids’ faces light up, eager and excited, and the older sibling knows where the house is – having gone a few years back and how cool it had been. Amused, the adults wrap up their conversation, and after wishing each other a pleasant weekend, both groups head their own way.

FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #au #fic #teacher au

6 notes · View notes

agustdomain · 4 years ago

Text

October Ink | #4

TW: Blood, Violence, Murder

Taehyung made a promise to you, one you were terrified he’d keep. After all, love was the most dangerous monster of all.

“WIll that be all?” Your smile grew wider as you pocketed your notepad, your favorite customer waving his hands.

“As much as I’d love to eat another slice of pie, I better exercise some self control,” Hoseok’s beauty was in his kindness, in the way he made sure to acknowledge he knew you were waitress who tried to get the whipped cream on his pie right. If it weren’t for your guarded heart, you were sure you would’ve fallen for him now.

“Don’t tell my boss,” You leaned closer, “But I’ll pack you a slice. On the house.”

“You’re the sweetest, Sweet Pea,” You laughed at the realization dawning on his face. Heading back to the kitchen, you could say that today, although uneventful, was a successful day.

The bell ringing at the door made you look out from the back. You waved at Yeji, thankful she was able to pull through tonight. Curse your cheap ass used car. Broken down for the third time in two months.

You had not envisioned this kind of life for yourself. You from two years ago might have a meltdown if she could see you, now. Well, present you would tell her to screw herself.

You were living and you were surviving.

“You’re good to go, Sweet Pea,” Your manager patted your shoulder as she swept past, her words making you beam. There was nothing like getting to leave early on Friday night shifts. This little diner thrived the most on late night pit stops.

After putting away your apron, grabbing your belongings, and clocking out, you headed out through the front. Smiling at people as you walked past, you made sure to nod at Hoseok as you slipped the container onto his table. His smile was small this time, his eyes elsewhere as he watched you go.

“I’m so ready to pass out,” You groaned, stretching as you stepped out onto the pavement. The sun had just begun to set, and you cursed at the chilly air nipping at your skin. That was one thing you hadn’t grown accustomed to yet- you were a dry heat kind of person, through and through.

Yeji didn’t say much, even when you asked about her day. She was usually chatty, but you guessed you could say you didn’t know everything about her. She had only recently moved in next door, and after she saw you this morning cursing at your car, she had offered to give you a lift home. Any other person, you would’ve refused. With your options limited, you had accepted without a second though.

“Hey, Y/N,” You hadn’t noticed her saying your name; everyone that knew you around these parts called you by your nickname, Sweet Pea. It was a safety measure, just in case your past were to come back and haunt you. Only your manager and Yeji knew your real name. That was your first mistake.

“Yeah?”

She drummed her fingers on the wheel, eyes flashing over to you. “You got any plans for the night?”

You tilted your head back and forth, before you ended with a shaking of your head. “Nah. Probably order takeout. Watch Friends or something. Go to bed. Why?”

“Just… just wondering. You know, I never see anyone around your place,” Seeing you stiffen, she rushed out, “I’m just… I don’t know. You seem so friendly. I’m just surprised you’re not seeing anyone or have any friends dropping by.”

The words, as innocent as they may have been, twisted up your insides with thorns. As much as you tried to avoid thinking about it, your past had no way of being pushed back down. Your lips twitched at the memories of your little siblings’ squeals, your mother’s cooking, your dad’s shows blasting from the living room. Heart plummeting at the thought of him.

I’ll always find you. His promise, one that haunted you around every corner.

Without realizing, you two had pulled into the complex. Gathering your purse, you got out of the car, more eager than you were before to just crawl into bed and block out the world. As the two of you walked toward the steps, Yeji reached out and grabbed your arm.

Alarm bells rang in your head as you tightened up, eyes shooting over to her.

She let go- a little too slowly- and stepped back. “I just wanted to say sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine,” Your words sounded breathless, uneven. She was weirding you out, now. You’d only known her for a couple weeks. Why was she butting in all of a sudden?

Clutching your coat tighter, you bounded up the steps and toward your apartment. Maybe you were being a little too rough on her. She was only being friendly after all. As much as you wanted to avoid the thoughts, you knew who really had you spooked.

You weren’t sure if escaping him had been luck or something far more complex, but you had taken the chance and ran. Putting your family in danger was out of the question, and the alternative was just as miserable. So over a year ago, you had packed a small suitcase and with little money you had, hit the road.

The feeling of his lips on your skin stretched throughout your body, goosebumps breaking out as you shakily put your keys into the lock.

Fangs, grazing your neck.

Shoving the door open, you locked it tight, including the chain. Resting your head against the cool wood, you breathed in deeply. You forced yourself to push those thoughts away, his smile creeping into your memories, stamping out the bottomless eyes and elongated claws. His laugh blossomed in your ears, blocking out your cries and shrieks of terror at the sound of a body thumping to the ground.

“I would never-”

“Get away from me.”

His face changing, his own fangs nicking his lip. The love toward you, gone.

Your ears strained then, picking up on something long before your mind registered. The sound of a door from down the hall, slowly creaking open. Your blood went cold, body freezing as you listened. Reaching into your purse, you fumbled for your keys as your other hand reached to undo the deadbolts.

A scream broke from your lips as rapid knocks shook the wood in front of you. After checking the peephole, you blew out a breath before pulling the door open. Yeji stood there in the dim light, face unreadable.

Glancing over your shoulder, you started to explain, “Someone’s in my-” before something struck you in the side of your head, sending you crashing into the apartment. Blinking away the spots in your vision, you peered up at Yeji with a frown as she stepped into the apartment with the clunk of her boots. Slamming the door shut behind her, she crossed her arms as her face slipped into a mask of rage.

It dawned on you, then, that everything before this had been the mask. This was really her.

“Now I know why you don’t have any friends. You’re a bitch.”

“What-What?” You tried to shake off your grogginess, but she had gotten you good. Getting to your feet seemed to be impossible, so you tried pushing away from her, further into the darkness of your living room. She flicked the lights on, pulling off her long coat as if she were making herself at home. Horror crept up on you, knowing already what kind of monsters existed in the world. Was she… one of them? Was she... like him?

“I was just trying to be friendly. Maybe get a feel of who would miss you when you’re gone. Really, I was just trying to be careful. Just in case anyone wanted to show up tonight uninvited. But I’ve been watching you for a while now. Pathetic. No one’s coming, and no one’s going to care when you’re dead.”

She stepped toward you, your hand fumbling for your purse. “You’re… wrong.”

Tilting her head, she stopped. “Am I, Sweet Pea?”

“Yes,” Your tongue was heavy, your body the weight of a ton. Still, you fought it. “You’ll… regret this.”

It was a bluff, you knew. In fact, you knew this was it. But it felt good to see her wonder for a moment, wonder what you meant. It all disappeared in one blink, the same bottomless eyes you’d seen on the man you love bloom in her irises. Her nails bled as they elongated, turning as black as her gaze. Teeth sharpening, fangs jutting out as she stepped closer.

“Maybe I would’ve gone easier on you if you’d just been nice,” She paused before a chilling laugh broke past her lips, “Who am I kidding? I never do.”

The floor creaked from the hallway, her eyes bouncing toward the direction of the sound. Turning back to you, she hissed, “Who’s here?”

Your body knew before you did. Goosebumps broke out across your skin, your breath catching right before he stepped out of the shadows. He was just as you remembered him, long dark hair curling around his ears, magnetic eyes pulling your gaze toward him.

Him and that blue trench coat he never took off. You didn’t know what was worse: that Taehyung looked as you’d always known him, or that lurking just beneath the surface, the same monster in Yeji was here in this room, too.

It happened so fast, you stumbled as he pulled you up and behind him.

You breathed in sharply, one hand slowly moving to your bag, hand searching for your pocket knife as you heard his voice for the first time in 14 months.

“If you want to live,” He tilted his head, “There’s the door.”

Peeking around Taehyung, you saw the shift in her face, the one he had, too. Human to Monster. “I’ve been craving her for a long time, asshole. She’s mine.”

He hummed, and your heart sighed at the familiar groove in his shoulders, the scent of his perfume lingering to your nose- no. You knew the truth, now. Snapping out of it, you heard him say, “Delusional isn’t a pretty trait, darling.”

Fury twisted her face, her fangs breaking through her mouth as she shrieked, “I’m going to kill you!”

Lunging for him, he ducked out of her reach as his hand went for her neck, slamming her into the coffee table. You heard a crack, heard her wheeze as she reached out and clawed at his face. The hit sent his head twisting in your direction. You swayed at the sight of the gashes on his face, blood dripping from the wounds. Your stomach dropped as his eyes transformed, his head turning back to her.

“You’re going to regret that.”

You stumbled back in horror, watching as his mouth flashed toward her neck. When he pulled back, her ripped out throat went with it, body stilling on the table. You stumbled backward, knowing what was coming as your hands grazed the bookshelf pressing into your back. Everything you’d done, all of it, was for nothing. He found you. He was going to kill you, then probably kill your family for running from him.

You broke past the fear just as he finally turned toward you, blood painting the bottom half of his face. Even as a nightmare, he was beautiful.

Fumbling through your purse, you could cry with relief when your hands gripped the cool silver. Letting your purse sink to the floor, you unbent your pocket knife behind your back. Bracing yourself, you waited just as he stopped in front of you before you plunged the knife into his side, his eyes widening in shock.

You wondered how you looked, if he still saw the buried love you had for him. Even you saw it sometimes in the mirror. All you could see was the betrayal blooming in his face as his hand shot out, boxing you in as he pulled the knife out with his other hand. Your lunch threatened to rise in your stomach as you spotted the dark liquid on your knife, his hand letting it clink to the ground.

“Whoever told you silver works on us...lied,” He grimaced, “Though it does hurt like a bitch.”

“Tae… please…” You closed your eyes, flinched at his damp hand grazing your cheek. You were shaking, breathing hard. This was it.

“I missed you.”

“What?” Your breath caught, horrified that he could still cause that reaction.

He studied your face, and it scared you that all you recognized was the same adoration he always had for you. Even after knowing the truth, why did he still look the same?

Nodding once, he skimmed his thumb across your cheek. “I did. I do love you. That will never change.”

“Don’t. Please,” Your tongue felt heavy, refusing to believe that after all you’d done, he’d still found you. “How did you…?”

Leaning forward, his lips brushed your jaw, your skin lighting up. He hummed when he could hear your heart rate picking up, his lips finding your ear as he whispered, “I said I’d always find you.”

“I… I…” You searched for the words, wondering if there was any way to stop this. “I love you, Taehyung.” It wasn’t a lie. It was the other truth you had run from. You were running from a monster, and you were running from a monster whom you loved.

“I know you do, sweet pea,” You closed your eyes at that, “Pretty clever to go by the nickname you swore you hate.”

“How did you find me?”

You let him kiss your cheek again, hating yourself for savoring the feeling. It wasn’t easy to just turn off the love you had for the man you’d thought you would marry. Even when you knew he wasn’t exactly a man.

“At first I thought you’d go far, anywhere to get me away from your family. I knew you were smart, so I followed your trail hundreds of miles out. That’s why it took me a while to realize how deep your love for your family goes. Maybe you did go far at first, but your bond with them is so engraved in you, I knew you’d get nostalgic. I thought of the places you adored, and one struck me in particular. A little run down town you and your family visited once when you were a child. One you dreamt of visiting again, if ever given the chance.”

How? How could he have possibly remembered that?

“And I have a friend. Hoseok. Had him keep an eye on you. Everything was fine until he saw this one,” He tilted his head toward Yeji, “hanging around too close. That’s when I knew I had to make my move.”

“You… left me alone?” You were confused. The betrayal licked at your throat, tears flooding your eyes as you pictured Hoseok’s warming presence. He was Taehyung’s friend? And if he had known you were here all this time, why hadn’t he just killed you then?

He stepped back, eyed his blood-coated fingers. Frowning, he said, “I know you’re terrified of me. But I would never hurt you.”

You shook your head, all the memories flooding back. Sensing something was off with him. Following him, even though you knew it was wrong. Watching as he sank his fangs into someone’s neck, draining them of their blood and their lives. Saw the horror when he spotted you, how it transformed into anger. “You were mad. You wanted to kill me.”

“No. I was mad because you thought so low of me. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have dated you in the first place.”

“How sweet,” You spit, noticing how he genuinely looked upset. What did this even mean?

He shook his head, gritting his teeth in frustration. “You never even gave me a chance.”

“You’re a killer, Tae. A monster. And because I found out, I was next.”

“Never.” His word sent a tremor through your body. “I would never kill you. You are the love of my life. But… I am who I am. I planned to tell you, someday, but you found out on your own. There was no coming back from that, and you ran. Ran without a second to spare.”

You collapsed on the couch, cradling your head in your hands. Was he lying, trying to make you put your guard down? Either way, you were screwed. He wasn’t going to kill you… but that didn’t make it right.

He kneeled in front of you, your heart softening as you drank him in. His face was as soft and loving as it had always been. His hands tentatively touched your knees, and when you didn’t move away, they rested on your thighs. The fear in your heart was sitting comfortable with the all-consuming love you had for him.

“Tae,” You whispered, and like he knew what you were thinking, he leaned in and brushed his lips on yours, pulling back and waiting for you. Everything came crashing down as you fell into his kiss, his lips moving and molding yours. He was built for you, the one you feared and loved.

Picking you up, he held you in his arms as he pushed you back into the bookshelf, groaning at the feeling of you. “I love you,” He whispered, said it again and again like it was your name.

He showed you how much he loved you that night in the darkness of your little apartment, with every kiss erasing your fear little by little. You didn’t understand him, didn’t know what this meant or how you were going to handle this.

You didn’t even know if you could trust him.

What did you know?

Monster or not, the love you had for him had never left.

“Take me home, Tae,” You whispered as the sun slowly broke the horizon. He could probably sense your distance, your heartache. He didn’t say a word, only pressed a kiss to your temple.

A promise, you knew.

No matter what you decided, he meant it. He would never do to you what had scared you off.

Just like that, your deepest fear unravelled, your love for him overtaking you like it did when you first found him.

You were in a different type of danger now, one in which you were familiar.

Love was the most dangerous monster of all.

#angelo drabbles #drabble season #halloween drabbles #october ink #bts drabbles #bts scenarios #bts oneshots #kpop scenarios #kpop drabbles #kpop oneshots #taehyung scenarios #taehyung drabbles #taehyung oneshots #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst

32 notes · View notes

sdottkrames · 4 years ago

Text

We have seen each other through it all

By: @sdottkrames for @an-odd-idea, my pinchitting for @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: general

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, Tony Stark & May Parker & Peter Parker

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, May Parker

Summary: Peter's first year at MIT was a bit harder than he anticipated, and Tony plans a road trip to help his spider-son feel better. But of course, there's some mishaps along the way!

Link to AO3: Here

“Tony, I thought this was supposed to be fun ?” Peter tried to grin, but it turned into more of a grimace through his chattering teeth.

“Yeah, it was. Until this hunk of junk decided to quit working.” Tony gestured to the heater in the corner of their motel room, which was wheezing and sputtering in an attempt to stave off the cold of the Wyoming winter. It wasn’t working. Tony had tried to fix it, multiple times, but it was so broken there was no repairing it. It needed to be completely replaced. He and Peter had decided to tough it out in favor of getting sleep, but they were quickly regretting that decision since neither of them were sleeping.

The pair fell silent, their breaths making clouds in the air. Tony could hear Peter’s teeth chattering and Friday reminded him quietly in his earpiece that spiders couldn’t thermoregulate. Tony forced himself out of the relative warmth of the ratty, though thick, blanket he was under and went in search of another one. He hissed as the little warmth of the blanket was abandoned, but pressed on.

What I wouldn’t do for this kid, he thought ruefully as he walked to the closet, which ended up being empty. Every closet was bare, and the front desk had already given them their allotted one extra blanket each. Tony groaned quietly and headed back to the bedroom, looking at the lump that was Peter on one of the two twin beds.

“FRI, how’s he doing?” He asked his AI, panicking a little when he didn’t hear Peter’s chattering.

“Peter’s temperature has dropped to 96 degrees Fahrenheit. Hypothermia occurs at 95 degrees. I suggest warming Mr. Parker up as soon as possible.”

Tony cursed. Last Christmas, Peter’s first Christmas back after the blip, had seen record cold temperatures. New York had nearly frozen. But when May and Peter’s heater broke, they hadn’t said a thing. May too proud to admit she needed help, and Peter too unsure of himself to ask for it. That had ended badly. Tony had received a panicked phone call from May when she came home from working at the hospital to find Peter barely conscious and ice cold. They had learned the hard way that their spider baby couldn’t thermoregulate. It had taken nearly three cups of hot chocolate, 5 blankets, and lots of cuddling to revive Peter.

Cuddling.

In a stroke of inspiration (and kicking himself that he hadn’t thought of it sooner), Tony grabbed the blankets from his bed and padded over to Peter’s.

“Scoot over, underoos,” he said, nudging the kid’s side.

Peter sluggishly rolled over, and Tony threw his two blankets over him, then crawled under the small pile. The warmth from their shared bodies and the extra blankets was almost immediate. They both sighed in shared contentment at the same time. He quickly wrapped his arms around Peter, rubbing briskly to encourage warmth.

“Are you s-s-sure you’re okay w-with this?”

Tony shook his head. Even after all the movie nights Peter had fallen asleep on him, the cuddles last winter, the hugs Tony had given him, the kid still didn’t believe he deserved to be loved and held and taken care of.

“How many movies are you going to fall asleep squished into my side before you believe that I really don’t mind it?”

Peter hummed unintelligibly in response, and Tony felt him burrow closer, Peter’s face finding a home in Tony’s neck, the soft curls tickling Tony’s nose. Peter’s eyes drooped shut.

“Alright, I know you’re tired, but no sleeping until we get your temperature up, okay?”

Peter nodded, but his eyes stayed closed.

“Okay, bud, talk to me. What’s been your favorite part of this trip so far?”

Peter lifted his head, and Tony grinned as he saw a little more light in the young hero’s eyes. It took a minute for Peter to think. Tony guessed it must be a hard decision. They’d been on the road for almost a week, and had stopped in a different spot every night. Philadelphia, the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame, Chicago, the St Louis arch, Mt. Rushmore. It had been a fun trip, albeit a bit chilly, but tonight had taken a turn for the worst.

The wind whipped outside their window, accentuating the thought and making Tony shiver. It was cold enough inside, he didn’t even want to think about the outside.

“I’ve loved all of it, but mostly just because I’ve been able to spend time with you.” Peter’s voice was small and unsure, but Tony’s eyes burned with tears he quickly tried to blink away as his heart melted . What had he done to ever deserve this kid? Suddenly, the bed felt a whole lot warmer.

“Don’t go making me soft, kid,” Tony joked, but his voice was thick and his arms tightened around Peter.

“You’re already soft, old man.”

Tony scoffed. “Alright. If you have enough energy to crack jokes, you’re warm enough to sleep.” Just to be safe, though, he called out to Friday. “What’s his temp, Fri?”

“97.8 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Bedtime for the spider baby!” Tony said, and Peter made a few snuffling noises as he burrowed impossibly closer to Tony. Within a few seconds, Peter’s breathing had evened out and Tony knew he was off in dream land.

Tony took a few moments reveling in the warmth and comfort of holding his son before he drifted off as well.

***

“Tony, they are huge !! Like, I knew they were big, but they’re ginormous!”

Tony chuckled as they continued driving through Yellowstone national park, just 10 feet from a herd of buffalo (the cause of Peter's excitement).

This was exactly why he had planned this trip with Peter. Peter had come home from his first semester at MIT and Tony had instantly known something was wrong. There was a spark missing from those doe eyes, he spoke a little less, picked at his food a little more. It had worried Tony sick. So when May had suggested the two of them take a road trip together during Pete’s three week Christmas holiday, he had jumped at the opportunity. He instantly knew it was the right decision when Peter’s eyes lit up as they planned their trip. Tony let Peter pick all the spots, too excited by Peter’s excitement to shoot down any idea.

“Can we go see the geysers next? Old faithful has been on my bucket list for forever!”

“Sure, kid.” How could anyone say no?

Peter continued to stare and smile.

***

“You’re going to kill me. You’re actually going to kill me. When I die, I’m going to haunt you so bad.”

“Pete, if you can survive the vulture and green goblin, you can survive the bunny hill.”

Peter grabbed Tony’s arm, panic overwhelming him. He couldn’t seem to stand up right on his skis, and there were so many people around. He was sure that he would fall and someone would ski right over his hands or legs, or he would run into someone and knock them over and be left with crippling embarrassment.

“Nice and easy, underoos. The hill isn’t that steep. If you start going too fast, move your skis like this,” Tony turned his skis horizontal. “You’ll stop pretty quick, okay? I’m gonna stay with you the whole way, I promise.”

Peter swallowed and nodded, slowly inching his way down the hill.

Tony had learned how to ski many years ago. His father had deemed it below the Stark name, so Tony made a point to learn as a way to rebel and had fallen in love with the sport. Living in Malibu had hindered his ability to really practice, but he went once a year to Colorado or Utah and spent a week on the slopes, usually joined by Rhodey. When they’d planned the trip, Tony asked to stop at his favorite resort in Colorado, and Peter had enthusiastically agreed.

Now he seemed to be second guessing it.

“Pete, it’s okay.”

“But what if I’m not good?” Peter looked at Tony with such open vulnerability, and Tony’s heart ached for the anxiety he could see in Peter's eyes.

“Listen, the first time I skied, I fell on my butt more times than I can count. More times than I want to count. Everyone falls down the first time! If you fall, nobody is going to laugh, I promise.”

Well, Tony lied. Because when he fell, Peter laid there giggling, his worries forgotten in the thrill of speeding downhill, and Tony couldn’t help but laugh along. Then he fell down and it made them laugh even harder. It was a good 5 minutes before they were able to get up and ski again.

When they got back to their hotel room (thankfully one with a working heater), their noses red and legs sore, they collapsed together onto the couch. Tony automatically put his arm around Peter, and he felt the young hero snuggle closer.

“Are you having a good time, buddy?” He asked, his hand running through Peter's soft curls. Peter moaned quietly, his body slumping as the tension left under Tony’s gentle ministrations.

“Yeah, the best.”

***

It wasn’t until the second to last day of their trip that disaster struck again. They were driving in the middle of nowhere Iowa, Peter was asleep while Tony listened softly to AC/DC to keep himself awake, when suddenly Peter bolted up, wide awake.

“Everything alright Pete?” Tony asked.

”Bag. I need a bag,” Peter’s eyes were wide with panic as he looked for a plastic bag, and Tony knew exactly what was happening. He quickly pulled over, and Peter jumped out before the car was stopped. Tony got out and walked around, rubbing Peter’s back as he heaved into the snow.

“Get it all out, Pete. It’s okay.”

“This is so embarrassing,” Peter moaned.

“Oh, if you only knew how much Rhodey had to see me puke. Have fun your freshman year, but not that much fun,” Tony said, soothing his hand in circles across Peter’s back. “Feel better?”

“A little weak, and my stomach hurts still, but I think I’m okay to keep going,” Peter said, his legs shaking as he stood up. Tony looked on in concern, but Peter wouldn’t meet his eyes as they walked to the car. He hugged his arms around his middle, effectively closing himself off, so Tony let it slide to not embarrass him further.

They drove on in quiet for about a half hour, and Tony’s concern just continued to grow. “Pete, you know I’m being serious that you don’t need to be embarrassed, right? You musta eaten something bad. It’s okay, bud. We’ll just stop and get you some nausea medicine at the next Convenience store. It’s really no big deal.”

Peter didn’t lift his head. “I hate that you keep having to take care of me.”

“Whatdya mean?”

“I mean, like, you invented time travel for me! You nearly died for me. And then I can’t even handle college by myself because I just miss you so much.” By now, Peter was crying. Tears streamed down his face, and Tony had to use every ounce of his self control not to take his hands off the wheel to wipe them off. “And classes are so hard, and I just...I don’t know what I want to do with my life and I feel like I will just fail and disappoint you and May. And you take me on this trip to make me feel better,” he glanced at Tony. “I know you did it because you could tell I was having a hard time, so don’t try and deny it. And then you have to take care of me cause I can’t freaking thermoregulate and I’m scared to ski and then my stomach hates me,” he broke off in a sniffle, seeming to deflate after laying down the burden he’d apparently been holding on to for months.

Tony let the silence marinate for a minute before reaching out a hand and placing it on Peter’s knees. “Peter I need you to listen and really get this into your thick head, okay? I do not regret for a single instant going back through time to save you. When I lost you…” Tony pressed his lips together and willed back the panic inside him, though he knew Peter could hear his heart rate change. “It was the worst moment of my life. Having you back is the greatest gift in the world because you complete my family, Pete. So I don’t regret anything. And as for taking care of you, bud, I literally signed up for it when I decided to give you that suite. I made you my responsibility. And I don’t regret that either.”

He glanced at Peter and was relieved to see a watery smile on the kid’s face, so he pushed on. “And as for school, it’s hard your first semester. It is. But you are doing much better than you think you are.”

“Really?” Peter asked, his voice breaking.

“Guarantee it. And I promise you, you will never disappoint me or May.” He grinned at Peter, before amending his statement. “Well, we were pretty disappointed when you ran into a burning building with no back up, but you will never be a failure to us. You don’t need to be perfect or know exactly what you want to do right now. We love you just the way you are, bambino .”

Peter sniffled. “Okay.”

Tony squeezed Peter’s leg. “Well, now we got that outta the way, how bout some tunes?”

Peter laughed and plugged his phone in, playing some AC/DC softly. He was asleep again by the time they got to their next hotel, and Tony gently shook him awake.

“Ugh,” Peter groaned, before his eyes shot open and he desperately searched for a trash can. His eyes zeroed in on one by the hotel entrance and he rushed over, barely making it there before his stomach emptied its meager contents.

“Alright kid. Let’s get you to bed,” Tony said, rubbing Peter’s back, and guided him gently to the front desk and then their hotel room.

Peter flopped onto the bed and started snoring almost immediately. Tony shook his head at Peter’s ability to fall asleep instantaneously. With the sound of his son’s soft snores in the background, Tony brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas. He figured Peter would probably have to throw up again eventually, so he laid Peter’s things out and let him rest for now.

Sure enough, Tony woke to the squeak of the bed and the click of the bathroom light, followed closely by the sound of retching.

“Oh, bud,” Tony sighed. Peter’s face was filled with tears again, and his forehead was shimmery with sweat. “You’re really not feeling good, are you.”

Peter shook his head.

“Alright. First things first, do you think you can get up to rinse the gross taste out of your mouth?”

Peter did, and Tony flushed the toilet and grabbed the clothes he’d laid out earlier.

“Okay. Let’s get you into some comfier clothes now.”

Tony helped Peter changed into his pajamas, Peter feeling too sick to be embarrassed. He wasn’t too sick to squeak in surprise, though, when Tony slid his arms under Peter’s, lifting the boy up.

“Tony! What’re you doing?”

“Carrying you to bed, spider baby.”

Peter sighed, and wrapped his legs around Tony’s waist, laying his head on Tony’s shoulders. It was exactly how Ben used to carry him when he was little. It was comforting to be held like that again. Being sick always made Peter feel like a kid again, just wanting to be held and coddled, and he forced back the embarrassment so he could fully enjoy the experience.

“Stop that,” Tony said, digging his fingers into Peter’s sides.

“Stop what?” Peter mumbled into Tony’s neck.

“I can literally feel you overthinking and feeling bad. I do not mind taking care of you; in fact, I enjoy it. So there!”

“Okay,” he whispered. Then added. “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony gently placed Peter onto the bed and smoother his hair back. “Not a problem, okay?” He moved to grab a water bottle and the medicine they’d gotten earlier. “Take some of this, and we’ll go back to bed. Hopefully this is just a 24 hour bug and you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Peter took the medicine, but didn’t feel like going back to sleep. “Actually, do you think we could watch something?”

“Sure, bud. Whatever you want.”

As the soft sounds of Animal Planet enveloped the two, as Peter allowed himself to relax into Tony’s side, Peter willed himself to focus on Tony’s assurances. He committed those words to memory, something concrete, tattooed onto his very being.

Tony ran his hands through Peter’s head, scratching softly and making Peter’s eyes droop in pleasure, and soon they were both asleep.

***

Peter crashed into Tony, giving him the tightest hug. Tony hugged right back, just as tight.

“Thank you, Tony. I really had a good time,” he said, trying to hide the stupid tears filling his eyes by nuzzling into Tony’s shoulder.

Tony wasn’t fooled. He pulled Peter away and gently wiped his cheek. “No problem, bambino. Remember what I said. You’re never a burden. You’re never a failure. You got this.”

He and Peter had had a couple more conversation reiterating those truths, and they’d brought May into it on the way to drop Peter back off at MIT. They’d determined that Peter would come home one weekend a month, and they would go visit him one weekend as well. Peter had forced back the guilt and just allowed their love to fill him.

He hugged Tony once more, pulling May in for a group hug before giving her one of her own.

“Bye baby,” she said. “I love you so much. And if you need anything, I’m right there.”

“Me too, underoos,” Tony chimed.

“I know,” he said, and meant it. With Tony and May in his corner, he could do anything.

#the friendly neighborhood exchange #mine #i love my iron dad and spidey son #tw vomiting

20 notes · View notes

mytardisisparked · 5 years ago

Text

When Sunrise Comes Early: Chapter 2

Obi-Wan didn’t really remember igniting his lightsaber and jumping into the fray, but he must have, otherwise he would not currently be Force-pinned against the wall by a Sith Lord.

The other Jedi were in similar positions around the room, save for Yaddle, who was still unconscious. When the Jedi had finally overwhelmed the Sith, he had thrown them all back, holding them with such a power that not even Yoda was able to work his way out of the Dark Lord’s grasp.

Obi-Wan gasped for air as the Sith squeezed their diaphragms harder, like an invisible snake constricting it’s prey.

How on earth can someone be so powerful? Obi-Wan thought, even as his mind grew hazy.

The dark figure cackled. “Incredible. Who would have thought that crushing the Jedi Order would have been so literal?”

Obi-Wan could hardly see now, what with all of the spots swimming around his vision. Somewhere, so distant, he thought he heard Mace say something, but it hardly mattered now. The Sith had been too powerful for them to defeat and Obi-Wan was just... so... tired...

Suddenly, a voice broke through, shocking Obi-Wan into full consciousness.

“Master?”

With some difficulty, Obi-Wan raised his head and looked toward the entrance of the council chambers where Anakin stood, utterly shocked, as he took in the scene.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan wheezed, “run!”

But Anakin didn’t listen, he rarely ever did. He swiveled his gaze to the dark figure at the center of the room, fury blazing in his eyes. “HEY!”

The dark hood rustled as the Sith turned to look at the young boy, snickering. The mouth that was just visible under the cloak opened to speak, but he never got a chance to talk; Obi-Wan watched in surprise as Anakin thrust his hands out in front of him, throwing the cloaked man to the ground.

In that split second of the Sith’s confusion, he relinquished his grip on the Jedi masters and they sprang into action, pinning him to the ground. Underneath the pressure of their hands and the Force, he snarled wildly.

Mace Wind squatted by the dark figure’s head and pulled the hood of his cloak back.

Obi-Wan wished he could have been surprised to see the face of former Chancellor Palpatine underneath, but, in truth, he had never trusted the man and, after his recent actions, it made sense. The only thing Obi-Wan could feel was a growing sense of horror at how close to his padawan the Sith Lord had come. The intent behind his actions was now terrifyingly clear - he planned to turn Anakin Skywalker to the dark side.

Obi-Wan walked over to his padawan and pulled him into a hug, carefully keeping himself between Palpatine and Anakin.

“Mr. Palpatine, didn’t we just drop you off at your apartment?” Mace said, looking over the face of the Sith without much expression.

“Foolish child!” Palpatine directed his attention to Anakin, who was now peeking out from behind Obi-Wan’s back. “I could have saved her! I could have saved your mother!”

Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s grip tighten on his robes.

Mace gave Palpatine a disgusted look. “Lets get him into a prison cell with Force-binders and inform the Senate of what’s transpired here.”

Palpatine went utterly still and strangely quiet as the Jedi hauled him out of the council chambers. As they left the room, he looked over his shoulder at Anakin and Obi-Wan and gave a low laugh that set Obi-Wan’s hair on end.

“Foolish. Both of you.” His eyes met Obi-Wan’s. “I could save him, you know. I could bring him back.”

An image flashed through Obi-Wan’s mind, for just a moment, of a very tall man with kind eyes and a warm smile who was looking fondly upon a small boy at his side, ruffling his auburn hair.

The Jedi pulled Palpatine out of the doorway and the vision ended, leaving Obi-Wan feeling terribly cold.

Mace kneeled next to Yaddle. “She’s alive, but she will need a healer.” He spoke quietly into his comm link, calling one up.

Obi-Wan glanced down at Anakin, who was huddled by his side.

“Obi-Wan.” Mace drew his gaze away from the boy. “Why don’t you take a moment with your padawan and then come find me in the garden.” He glanced down at the boy, looking a bit concerned. “I think we have a few things to discuss.”

Obi-Wan nodded and placed a gentle hand on Anakin’s back. “Come along, lets get you to bed.”

Both of them were quiet on the walk back to Anakin’s room, but the emotions rolling off of Anakin in the Force told Obi-Wan enough. Fear, guilt, and just a tiny seed of anger - Anakin’s thoughts were of his mother.

Obi-Wan ushered the boy inside and directed him to sit on his meditation mat. The Jedi settled himself across from him, folding his legs neatly.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan spoke quietly, “thank you for helping tonight. You did well.”

Anakin’s eyes flashed up to his master’s, surprised. “You aren’t mad?”

“Why would I be mad? You saved my life.” Obi-Wan smiled.

“But I-” Anakin looked away. “I got angry. I’m still angry. He hurt Jedi and he had the nerve to bring up my mom-”

Obi-Wan stopped him with a gentle look. “It’s alright to get angry; what really matters is what you do with your anger. The moment has passed and Palpatine is in custody.” He rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You can let those feelings go now.”

Anakin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. He reopened them after a moment and looked at Obi-Wan. “I’m still kinda angry.”

Obi-Wan grinned. “I know. Let’s go get something from the kitchens and see if that helps.”

With a shining grin and a bit of a skip in his step, Anakin leapt up and darted out the door, Obi-Wan following closely behind with a laugh.

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

Having gotten his padawan a snack and successfully convincing him to go to sleep, Obi-Wan trudged up the stairs toward the garden where Mace was already waiting.

“How is he?”

“He was upset, but we worked on letting emotions go a bit and I think he will be alright in the morning,” Obi-Wan sighed.

Mace nodded and began walking, motioning for Obi-Wan to follow.

“I’ve been thinking about Anakin’s mother lately.” The older Jedi looked contemplatively up at the night sky. “Does he still ask about her?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Sometimes, but not often. He mostly tells stories about things they used to do when he was younger.” He bit his lip. “I do believe he thinks of her more than he lets on, though. I can often sense her in his thoughts during meditation and when he dreams.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Why do you ask?”

“I think it might be of some benefit to young Skywalker if we found a way to free his mother.”

The younger Jedi’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing, waiting for Mace to go on.

“You’ve mentioned on more than one occasion that he struggles with balancing his emotions. He harbors fear and anger deep inside. I believe that the knowledge that his mother is free would ease his mind a great deal and help open him up more to his training.” He folded his arms against the night’s chilly air. “There are a lot of logistical issues that we would need to work out, of course. Namely, how we would free her since the Republic, and therefore, the Jedi, cannot directly interfere. We would also need to figure out where she could live. I don’t think she should live too close by since that might distract Anakin and encourage too much attachment.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “But these are all things we can work out as we go. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

Obi-Wan was stunned. Mace didn’t usually show this much individual care for any of the Jedi, let alone the young padawan he continued to remind everyone he didn’t trust.

“I think this is an excellent idea.” Obi-Wan swallowed and smiled. “Anakin is a very caring person; knowing that his mother is free and cared for would, I believe, ease his sense of duty to her and allow him to focus more in his studies.”

“Excellent.” Mace smiled, the first true smile Obi-Wan had ever seen cross his face. “Lets keep this quiet for now, but we should start work right away. With the Senate focused on the case of Palpatine and his Sith affiliation, it will be easy to work on planning and executing a way to free Shmi Skywalker without interference.”

Obi-Wan’s face darkened for a moment. “What do you think will happen with Palpatine?”

Mace stopped walking and sat down on a bench along the path, suddenly looking ten years older. “I don’t quite know. The Senate will either vote to imprison or execute him. I’m not entirely certain how imprisonment will work; we don’t have the technology to hold a powerful Sith lord for an extended period of time.” He sighed. “That being said, I’m not fond of the idea of executing an unarmed man either, Sith or not. The public might feel the same way. Even if we tell them Palpatine is a Sith, they likely won’t understand the magnitude of that term; they have only ever seen him do good things for the Republic, save, of course, for his indiscretion with your padawan.”

“It is a predicament.” Obi-Wan settled on the bench next to him. They were quiet for a moment as Obi-Wan thought, an idea forming in his mind. “Master, do you remember the year-long mission I had with Master Jinn? The one where we were charged with protecting the Duchess of Mandalore?”

Mace raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“Well, during that year, the Duchess would often share stories of when the Mandalorians fought the Jedi. She told me once that they used to have some sort of prison cell that rendered Jedi incapable of accessing the Force and utlizing it in any way.” Obi-Wan ran a hand over his beard. “Sa- the duchess mentioned that, when she regained her throne, she planned to destroy the devices, but it might be worth asking if there are any still in existence. Or, if they are gone, we might be able to find the schematics to build one to hold Palpatine.”

Mace was quiet - Obi-Wan could practically hear the wheels of his mind spinning.

“That might be a possibility. I’d say its worth looking into. Are you still connected with the duchess?”

“I- ah, I haven’t spoken to her since that mission, but we were close for the duration of that year.” Obi-Wan thanked the moon for being waned enough to not reveal the flush of red he knew was creeping up his neck.

“Good. We will send you and your padawan to Mandalore to speak with Duchess Satine about the possibility of using one of Mandalore’s Force-suppressing prisons.” Mace stood. “We will need access to the device as soon as possible if we are to suggest it as a possibility to the Senate, so you will need to leave tomorrow morning.” He turned and gave Obi-Wan a softer look. “Once you return, we can continue to discuss the situation with Shmi Skywalker.”

He wished Obi-Wan a good night and left the young Jedi, stunned, on the garden bench.

Mandalore?

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his ginger locks.

Satine.

He felt his heart start to pick up speed and tried to channel the calm energy of the Force to slow it back down. There was absolutely no need to panic. Sure, he hadn’t seen Satine since he was 19 and there had been some lingering resentment between them for a variety of reasons, but she would certainly be able to function like a professional adult, and so could he.

And yet, as Obi-Wan looked up at the great expanse of stars and planets above the gardens, he had the nagging sense that he was already in over his head.

--------

Hey everyone! Thank you all so much for the support you showed on Chapter 1 of When Sunrise Comes Early. Seriously, It means more than I can express. I apologize that it has taken some time for me to release the second chapter, but I was struggling to figure out exactly what I wanted to happen next (and also I had final exams so that was a fun interlude in my life yee yee). I have a solid plan now though, and I’m excited to share it with you guys!

BTW- I originally published the first chapter to say that Anakin was 16, but I made an edit and changed his age to 14 because it felt better. Just wanted to clear that up.

#When Sunrise Comes Early #star wars #fanfiction #obi-wan #anakin #mace windu #satine kryze #obitine

58 notes · View notes

just-my-sickly-pride · 5 years ago

Text

Tie Your Hair Back, Baby || Brian May x fem!Reader

PLEASE NOTE: THIS IS A RE-UPLOAD OF A FIC I POSTED LAST YEAR ON A DIFFERENT BLOG. I DID NOT STEAL THIS; IT’S MINE. The other version has since been made private. There have been some very minor changes made to this version.

summary || you have a crush on brian may. that’s obvious. and he doesn’t have a crush on you. that’s also obvious. but maybe - just maybe - you could be wrong about that. the flat is empty, it’s saturday night, and it’s just you and brian sitting on the couch. who knows what could happen? friends to lovers. modern day au. college au.

rating || explicit (18+). do not read if you are under eighteen. there’s some fluffy aspects to some of the smut, but it’s mostly smut. there’s hints of various kinks in here - brian has a thigh kink, reader has a hand kink, etc. - but nothing that extreme at all. as always with my work, there’s an abundance of profanity.

word count || 8.5k.

author’s notes || this is for the anon who said this was their favourite fic ever and was sad that it was no longer available. i’m so fuckin’ sorry this has taken longer than i said it would to upload - legit, it just completely forgot oop. it just popped into my noggin this morning and i went oh shit i forgot to do that, so here it is! yet another modern day college au! but not in the same ’verse as the try series, obviously.

masterlist

You blinked open your eyes, taking a moment to register your surroundings, and then stretched. You yawned, looking down at yourself. You were in the room that you friends Brian and John shared, lying on top of Brian’s bed, which was made, but you had a blanket thrown over you, and someone had slipped off your shoes, which sat neatly by the door. You knew you’d dozed off while scrolling mindlessly through social media on your phone, so you must have fallen asleep with it in your hand — but over there, on the bedside table, your phone had been plugged into the charger.

Shit. How long had you been asleep?

You sat up, feeling groggy. You’d come over to the little flat that Brian, Freddie, Roger, and John shared to study with Brian for the upcoming exams, but you’d only studied for about an hour and a half before you’d decided that you were too exhausted to focus any longer. Brian had offered his bed for a nap, as he always did. You’d thought about inviting him to join you for some activities that did not involve napping, as you always did. But held your tongue — as you always did.

That had been at three. You checked your phone — now it was almost six in the evening.

“Shit,” you sighed. Talk about a wild Saturday night. You yawned again, and staggered out of bed, heading to the bathroom to splash water on your face and have a drink.

You looked bedraggled, in short. While the old, oversized T-shirt you were wearing had been fine to sleep in, denim shorts had not been the most comfortable. You tried to fix your hair, but it was a bit of a lost cause, and your eyes were slightly bloodshot, your face puffy, and very much not in a cute way. Thank God you’d been friends with Brian for a long time, long before you’d started fancying him — he’d already seen you at your worst a thousand times, so you never had to worry about impressing him.

Not that there was any point in trying to impress him, anyway. He’d never see you like you saw him. But you’d come to terms with that. You were okay with it.

Or so you told yourself.

You shuffled out to the main room. You’d fallen asleep to the sounds of conversation and Roger getting worked up over some Xbox game, but now the house was silent.

Brian was on the couch, reading. He had one foot resting on the edge of the coffee table in front of him, and a mug by his foot. He glanced up at the sound of your arrival, smiling softly. Your heart squeezed at the sight of it. “Good kip?” he asked.

You hummed, nodding. “Where is everyone?”

“Well, it’s a Saturday night,” Brian said. He stretched, as if he’d awoken from a nap himself — he’d clearly been focused on his book for a while. “So who knows where Rog and Fred are. At someone’s for pre-drinks. I think one of them mentioned something about a new club in Soho. And Deacy and Ronnie are on a date. Deacs made it clear that he won’t be coming home tonight.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Oh, how saucy.”

Brian smiled, shaking his head. “Leave him alone.”

“No, I think it’s great.” You headed over to grab Brian’s mug, which was empty. “They’re so cute together. I’m making tea, want some?”

“Yeah, if you’re making it,” Brian said easily. He checked his watch. “Oh God, is it that late already?”

“That’s what I said,” you said, padding over to the kitchen. “Did you take my shoes off when I was asleep? Plug my phone in and stuff?”

“That was Deacy, actually,” Brian said, turning back to his book. “He didn’t realise you were asleep, and went to get changed for his date, and he thought you looked a bit chilly, so he took it upon himself to make you more comfortable.”

You smiled. “That was nice of him.”

“Yeah, he can be nice, when he wants to be,” Brian joked.

“Sorry I fell asleep for so long, by the way,” you added. “I’ll just have a cuppa and then I’ll head off.”

“No, don’t be silly, stay,” Brian said with a slight frown, not even looking up.

You had dinner there frequently, knocking elbows with the boys as you all tried to fit around the small dining table, but hearing Brian insist that you stay, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, still made your stomach flip.

Especially since it was an empty house for the night. You knew nothing would happen, of course it wouldn’t, but it was easy to let your imagination get away from you. What would Brian do if you marched over there right now and kissed him? With no prying eyes or ears, no concerns about someone coming home at any minute? Would he kiss you back? He was a good kisser — you’d heard it from John, actually, of all people, who’d said he and Brian had snogged for a particularly wild game of truth or dare at some party — and you weren’t too bad yourself, you’d been told. And Brian’s hands; you could wax poetry about those hands. God knows you’d spent enough time staring at them, imagining what they’d feel like on your skin, in your hair, in your mouth, in your—

Tea. Right.

You sighed, shaking your head to clear it, and put the kettle on.

“What d’you want for dinner, then?” Brian called.

“Hm?” You moved from the kitchen, away from the roaring wheeze of the kettle.

Brian glanced up from his book. “What do you feel like?”

You shrugged. “I’m not fussed. I’m not really hungry right now, actually.”

“What about that Thai place?” Brian suggested.

“I thought you weren’t a fan of it,” you said. “We can get something else.”

It was Brian’s turn to shrug. “No, I’m happy if you’re happy. I know how much you love it.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind.”

“I’m sure.” He picked up his phone off the couch, and said, “You like the pad see yew, don’t you?”

“With chicken, yeah,” you said. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll get it next time, then,” you said. “No discussions.”

Brian glanced up at you, smiling. “All right,” he said with a chuckle. “Deal.”

The kettle switched off, and you headed back to the kitchen, going about making two cups of tea. You found a packet of biscuits on the counter — judging by the way it had been ripped open and left on the counter, Roger had had a go at it — and brought them over with you.

You set down the mugs on the coffee table, and the biscuits beside them. Brian reached over and took his mug, taking a sip. He hummed contentedly. “Cheers. Food should be here in about half an hour.” He picked up his book again and continued reading.

“How is it?” you asked, nodding to the mug in his hands and taking a sip from your own.

“Perfect. I don’t know how you do it, but it’s perfect every time.”

You smiled, glad that Brian still had his nose in his book, so he couldn’t see how horribly adoring the smile was. “Practice.”

“Must be.” Brian put his tea down again, and took a biscuit.

You settled back against the couch with a sigh, tea in hand.

It was so quiet in the flat; you weren’t used to it. Brian’s flat was a place of noise and music and banter and, oftentimes, mess. Now that it was unoccupied, bar you and Brian, it felt different. Not better or worse, just different.

You could understand why Brian usually liked to be alone when the flat was empty. It wasn’t often he could read in the living room without being disturbed.

Not that he was completely without distractions. You were there, anyway, and as content in the silence you tried to be, you quickly grew bored. Your phone was still in Brian’s bedroom, and it felt too far away to be worth the effort of getting up.

You found yourself watching Brian, as was not uncommon. He was mostly still, apart from when his lips moved the slightest bit every so often as he mouthed the words that he was reading. His hands, long and slender, flipped each page fluidly. You leant over to read over Brian’s shoulder. Lots of complicated science words. No thanks.

You tapped your nails against your mug, sighing. Naturally, there was always the option to just stare into space and daydream completely inappropriate things about Brian — that was how you spent most of your university lectures these days — but it felt a little too much with Brian less than a metre away from you.

It was almost unbearable being this close to Brian while no one else was around. Every movement he made seemed magnified, and every thought of yours was so loud in your head that you could have sworn that Brian would‘ve been able to hear them. You gripped your mug tightly, giving your hands something to do. Your eyes flitted up and down Brian’s body, instinctively searching for some way to touch him without arousing too much suspicion. If you didn’t touch him in some way, no matter how innocuous the touch may be, you felt like you would explode. You’d always been a tactile person; you liked holding hands and hugs and cuddles with your friends. Some people called it needy. You liked to think of it as affectionate.

You tried to hold back around Brian, though. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

But there was one thing that you could do.

You reached out and touched his arm, gently running your finger up and down his forearm. He transferred his book to one hand, and held out his other hand to you. You took it, resting it on your knee, palm facing the ceiling, and traced your finger over every line and vein in his skin.

It was something you tended to do whenever you grew bored and Brian was nearby. You had no idea if Brian knew that you were just looking for an excuse to be in contact with him, that you needed it like you needed oxygen, but you hoped he’d just put it down to restless fidgeting. He never seemed to mind, anyway.

You placed your mug back on the table, and flipped Brian’s hand over this way and that, idly inspecting. Finding every callous he’d gotten from years of playing guitar, every small scar, every freckle. You were familiar with it all well and truly by now, but that didn’t matter.

The more impulsive part of your brain wondered how Brian would react if you took his hand and sucked his fingers into your mouth.

It was harder to resist than you cared to admit. But you managed it.

You turned his hand over again, and drew a line with your fingertip from his palm to the inside of his elbow. He breathed in sharply, and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. You drew the line again, and he shifted in his seat.

“Does that tickle?” you murmured.

Brian hummed. “A bit.”

You wanted to draw the line up his arm, over his shoulder, and up his neck. But you didn’t. Instead, you let his hand go.

“You can keep going,” Brian said, keeping his hand on your knee. “I don’t mind.”

“Are you asking me to?” you said, your voice lilting playfully.

Brian paused, and then said, “No,” and took his hand back.

You pouted to yourself. You knew Brian wouldn’t flirt back, but it still stung.

Now you were back to square one, and your body was begging to touch Brian once again. You wanted to snuggle up to him, feel his arm around you. Wrap yourself around him. Maybe put your hand under his shirt, and count his ribs with your fingers. Press kisses under his jaw.

God, you had to stop it. It had to be unhealthy to let your mind wander like that so often. But it was just so hard not to. So easy to justify to yourself that if you couldn’t have Brian in real life, you could at least have him in your imagination.

Brian was still reading, oblivious to your self-inflicted suffering.

How much could you get away with?

You shifted closer to him on the couch, pretending to read over his shoulder again. He angled the book so you could see more easily, and you moved even closer, practically curled up against his side. You sighed, pretending to get comfortable, and, in a moment of complete lunacy, hooked your legs over his lap, leaning against the couch.

“Is this all right?” you asked, as nonchalantly as you could manage.

Brian made a noise of disgruntlement, and raised his arm. You took a moment to comprehend, but then you realised — holy shit holy shit holy shit — he was inviting you in. You shifted closer, and leant against his shoulder, and his arm came around you, dragging you in closer still, and then settled around your waist. “That’s better,” he mumbled, barely even looking up from his book.

You swallowed, your heart about to burst through your ribcage. You tried not to give away how nervous — and excited — you were, and took a deep breath to settle yourself.

It wasn’t the first time you’d sat like this. Or similar to this, anyway. But usually it was when you were both drunk, or there wasn’t any room on the couch to spread out, or you were tired and desperate for a cuddle. You’d sat like this with basically all your friends before. But it almost never felt this... intimate.

You’d never felt this turned on with your other friends, anyhow.

“Can you turn the page for me?” Brian said, and you reached over and did so.

You’d have done anything for him. You’d have killed a man if he’d asked.

“What are you reading about?” you asked, just for a reason to stare at his face. He was so close to you. You could lean over and kiss his cheek, or tilt his chin towards you with your hand and kiss his mouth. But you didn’t.

Brian sighed. “Would you like the long answer or the short answer?”

You considered this. “Both.”

Brian paused.

“Sorry, am I annoying you?” you cut in.

Brian looked to you in surprise. “What’s that?”

“I keep distracting you from reading.”

Brian flipped the book shut and set it on the ground beside the couch. “I was only half-reading it anyway.”

You made a face. “Sorry.”

“No, not your fault.” Brian smiled at you, reassuringly. “Are you all right? You seem a bit off.”

Kiss me. “No, I’m fine.”

Brian’s thumb brushed over the side of your ribs through your shirt, just tiny little motions, and you pressed your lips together to stop yourself from making some stupid noise you’d most definitely regret.

“You sure?” he prodded.

You nodded, ducking your gaze to hide your face.

You could feel Brian’s eyes on you, and you looked down at your hands in your lap. Brian’s hand slipped lower, and when his fingertips came in contact with the bare skin that your shirt revealed, you sucked in a breath, your back arching slightly.

You swallowed. “Um,” you squeaked. You frantically tried to think of something to say, to distract you, because Brian’s touch was muddling your brain and muddling your impulse control. “Do— We—“

“Yes?” Brian prompted, and he sounded... smug, almost.

He knew what he was doing. He knew. Which meant that he wanted to make you flustered.

You looked up to him, meeting his gaze. The look on his face made your stomach drop, and you breathed in shakily. “Bri...”

“Yeah?” he breathed. His hand, painfully slowly, slipped under your shirt, up your back, and you bit your lip.

“What are you doing?” you couldn’t help but ask.

Brian’s hand froze, his face dropping. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

“No,” you blurted, shaking your head. “No, that’s not what I...”

His movements continued, fingertips running up and down your skin, and you shivered. “I just meant...” You closed your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts. “I just thought that you... I—“

Brian hummed, urging you to continue.

“You know what I mean,” you said.

“No, keep going,” Brian said, his voice warm with amusement. “I want to hear it.”

You opened your eyes and scowled at him. “Don’t be an arsehole.”

Brian chuckled, and his hand moved downwards, coming to rest on the skin just above your belt. Before you could ask why he’d stopped, his other hand began tracing up your leg. “What were you saying?” he asked.

“I can’t even remember,” you said. “It didn’t matter.”

Brian’s hand reached your knee, and travelled up higher. Your heart was pounding. “Try to remember for me,” Brian said softly.

“I don’t have to do what you tell me,” you said, but it came out sounding breathless.

Brian’s hand paused. “I can stop.”

“Fuck you,” you huffed, and Brian grinned.

You wracked your brain. “I...” Brian started moving his hand again, almost reaching the top of your thigh, and you wouldn’t have even been able to recite the alphabet if he’d asked. “I didn’t know... that you— I thought you only saw me—“

Brian’s hand began moving towards your inner thigh.

“Fuck,” you breathed.

“Keep going,” Brian murmured.

“I thought you only saw me as a friend,” you blurted. “I never would’ve thought that you saw me as anything else.”

You automatically shifted, opening your legs, as Brian’s hand went even further. You wondered if you’d soaked through your underwear yet. You must have been getting close to it.

“You are my friend,” Brian replied simply. “And I thought the same. I thought you’d never be interested in me. But clearly, we seem to be on the same page here.” He hesitated, looking at you tentatively. “We are on the same page, aren’t we?”

“I think it’s safe to say we are,” you said weakly.

“Good,” Brian breathed. His thumb rubbed over your inner thigh now, so close to where you wanted his hands the most, and it was driving you insane.

“I could have my hands on your thighs all day,” Brian said.

“Really?” you said, genuinely surprised. You’d always been self-conscious about your thighs. You liked to pretend that they didn’t bother you, but pretending was easier than actually believing it yourself.

“Are you joking?” Brian said, his eyes wide. “God, I—“ His hand gripped your thigh. “Yes. Sorry, is that—“

“Don’t apologise,” you cut in, shaking your head. “That’s... so hot.”

“I’ve literally dreamt about your thighs,” he said. “Every time you wear shorts, or a skirt, or even those tight jeans you have, I can’t tear my eyes away from them. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed me staring. All the others have.”

“I never noticed,” you said. “I never knew.”

“Well, now you know,” Brian said. “And now that I know you want me like I want you, I will be eating you out until you’ve come so many times that you’re begging me to stop. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Bold of you to assume that I’d ever want you to stop,” you said, surprising yourself.

Brian laughed. His eyes stayed on your face, watching you carefully, and his hand went to your belt. The sound of it being unbuckled was almost deafening in the quiet of the house, and you bit down on your bottom lip. Brian undid the button, and then you helped with the fly.

His hand dipped into your shorts, and when you felt his fingers press against your damp underwear, your breath stopped.

Brian’s jaw went slack. “Jesus,” he whispered,

“That’s entirely your fault, you know,” you said.

“God.” Brian breathed out sharply, gazing at you in awe and lust and disbelief, and then slipped his hand into your underwear.

You let out a soft moan, your legs falling open even further. One of your hands gripped Brian’s bicep, the other his shirt, as Brian’s fingers, the same fingers you’d been fixated on for months, began to move through your folds, circling around your clit.

“Tell me if I’m doing a good job, yeah?” Brian said.

You nodded, unable to speak, too focused on the feeling of his hand and the warmth spreading throughout your body.

You were a mess within minutes, panting and whimpering, and Brian hadn’t even slid his fingers inside you yet. “Get in me,” you demanded.

“What?”

“Get your fingers inside me, fucking hell, fuck me with your fucking fingers.”

Brian laughed. “I just wanted to make sure you were wet enough before I—“

“I was wet enough before you even touched me, Brian. It’s just rude n— oh my God.”

He’d pushed two fingers inside you at once, and it felt so good it was like a punch to the chest. Your grip on his bicep was vice-like, and you could feel the muscles moving under his skin.

If you’d thought Brian was skilled with his hand before, it was nothing in comparison to now. You were quickly climbing, your eyes closed, panting out yes and right there and letting out choked moans and whimpers.

“I’m— I’m close,” you said.

“You look so good like this,” Brian said, and crooked his fingers inside you, making you cry out. “I can’t wait to fuck you. You’re going to feel so incredible around me.”

You moaned. “Yes.”

“Are you close?”

You nodded. “S—so close.”

Brian quickened his movements further, and you sucked in a breath. You could feel your orgasm building like a wave, and you knew you only had seconds left—

The buzzer rang out, loud and obnoxious, and you and Brian jumped in surprise.

You groaned. “What the fuck?” you cried.

“The food,” Brian said, followed by a frustrated click of his tongue.

The buzzer blared again, and Brian pursed his lips, looking beyond irritated. “Great fucking timing,” he muttered.

“You’re telling me.” You pressed your forehead into his shoulder, breathing hard. Your whole body seemed to twitch, searching for the release that never came, and you instinctively clenched your thighs around Brian’s hand, moaning.

Brian hissed. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he said.

The buzzer blared once more, and Brian sighed, and retracted his hand.

“Fuck!” you whined, frustrated. “Can’t it wait?”

“It’s not really fair to make the delivery person wait there while I get you off,” Brian said. He nudged you. “Come on. Up.”

You growled, but climbed off his lap, and he hurried to the PA system. “Be down in a second, so sorry,” he said into it. He grabbed a tissue and wiped his hand, then snatched his keys from the table by the door, and disappeared out the flat.

You huffed. Your shorts were still undone, belt hanging loose, and you could think of nothing else but of your need to orgasm. Food? You didn’t need food. You weren’t even hungry. The delivery person could go fuck themselves. The buzzer could go fuck itself, too. The restaurant where the food had come from could go fuck itself. Everyone and everything could go fuck themselves; except Brian, who could fuck you instead.

You dragged your hands down your face, squeezing your thighs together again. God, Brian was good. You knew he would be.

You shivered, and went to grab two beers from the fridge. It was uncomfortable, being as wet as you were, having to walk around like you weren’t.

It felt like an eternity before Brian returned, Thai in hand. The smell of it made your stomach rumble. Maybe food wasn’t so stupid after all.

“Hungry?” Brian said, dumping the plastic bag on the table.

“Yeah, actually,” you said. You popped open the beers, and brought one over to him. “You?”

He took the bottle from you, his eyes snaking down your body and back up again. “Yeah,” he said casually.

You throbbed between your legs. “Did they give us cutlery this time?” you said, peeking inside the bag. “No, they didn’t. They always forget.” You went to the kitchen to grab some forks.

When you returned, Brian was at the table, sipping his beer. He ogled your thighs openly as you walked back to the table, and you smiled to yourself.

You sat down, and both of you began eating. There wasn’t much conversation at first, but it didn’t take long for it to start flowing. It was just the same as always, but now you didn’t have to hold back the flirty comments and heated glances, and it thrilled you to no end that Brian seemed to feel the same way. You both ate fairly quickly, and when you were done, Brian hurried to clean up.

When he was in the kitchen, you realised you’d both left your unfinished mugs of tea on the coffee table, so you took them, and the biscuits, to the kitchen.

Brian took the mugs, and dumped them in the sink, not even rinsing them out, and then took the packet of biscuits from you, discarding it on the kitchen counter.

You frowned. “What—“

Brian kissed you, and it was like a dam broke within you. You kissed him back furiously, hungrily, and Brian responded in kind, his hands squeezing your arse, pulling you flush against him. He bit at your bottom lip, and you pushed your body even closer to his.

He gripped your hips, and started backing you up until you bumped into the kitchen counter. He leant down to grip the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up onto the counter, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, but he pulled back. “Shorts off,” he said.

“Here?” you said, but you nudged him back and slid off the counter to strip off your shorts and underwear.

“Just one thing,” Brian said. “Just to make up for earlier. Get back up on the counter.”

“I can’t,” you said. “That’s... not sanitary.”

“We’ll clean it later.” Brian said, almost frantically. “I promise.”

You thought about it, and then sat back up on the counter. “This feels wrong.”

Brian dropped to his knees and grabbed your hips, shunting you forward, almost off the counter entirely, and you yelped, putting a hand on his shoulder to balance yourself.

“Lie back a bit,” Brian said. “Put your legs over my shoulders.”

You gaped. “You’re joking. Like this?”

“I’m really not.” Brian pressed a kiss to your knee. “We don’t have to, but I’d really like to, if you’re all right with it.”

You swallowed, and swung your legs over his shoulders, leaning back, propping yourself up on the heels of your hand.

Brian moved in closer, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Thank you,” he said, and he sounded genuinely grateful.

He pressed more kisses to the soft skin of your inner thighs, and you could already feel your chest heaving with anticipation. One of your hands wound itself in his hair, and you let your head fall back and your eyes slide closed, revelling in the feeling.

When Brian’s mouth finally reached its goal, you gasped, and Brian moaned.

“Oh, fuck, Bri,” you sighed. You tilted your hips, giving him a better angle. He gripped your hips so tightly it felt like you would have bruises in the shape of his fingertips, and when he flicked his tongue in just the right way, you knew that if he kept this up, you wouldn’t last long at all.

He removed one hand from your hip to slide his fingers inside you, pumping them rhythmically as his tongue worked its magic. Your fist tightened in his hair. “Yeah, like that,” you panted. “So good.”

Brian hummed, and you made a noise at the extra stimulation. “Bri, please,” you begged, although you had no idea what for. “Please.”

Brian doubled his efforts, and you whined. You were growing close again, and Brian’s mouth and hand were so perfect, and you had a moment internally of, holy shit, Bri’s actually eating me out, this is real, I’m not imagining this, before you tumbled over the edge with a cry.

Brian coaxed you through it, and you relaxed the grip on his hair, gasping for breath. You soon had to nudge Brian away, overstimulated. Brian kissed your thigh again, a wet, sloppy kiss that made you smile and laugh breathlessly, and then he was wiping his face on the back of his hand and getting to his feet, pulling you in for a kiss. You hummed happily onto the kiss, and reached down to rub at the bulge in his jeans. He bucked forward into your hand with a moan.

You pulled back, looking Brian in the eye. “Fuck me,” you said.

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” Brian said, and surged forward, kissing you deeply, running his hands over your thighs. He ducked his head to kiss your neck, biting down every so often, and electricity shot through you every time he did.

He found your pulse point and bit down, harder this time, and your grip on him tightened.

“Did that hurt?” he mumbled against your neck. “Too much?”

You shook your head. “No,” you said. “Never too much.”

Brian began sucking on the same point, and you began blindly fiddling with his jeans, unbuttoning them and inching the fly down.

Brian only stopped his work on your neck when you shoved your hand down his boxers and took hold of him, stroking up his length with a curious touch.

His hips jerked forward again, and he bit down on your shoulder to muffle his moan.

“I fucking knew it,” you said.

Brian peppered kisses along your jaw. “Knew what?”

“That you had a big dick.”

Brian laughed. “You had your suspicions, did you?”

“I can see it no matter what you wear,” you said. You pulled back, and cocked an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice me staring.”

“I guess we’re both unobservant,” Brian said wryly. He stepped back, and held out his hand. “Come on.”

You hopped off the counter and took his hand, and you both hurried to his and John’s bedroom. As soon as you’d reached it, Brian just about slammed you against the wall and kissed you fiercely. You gave as good as you got, and in no time at all clothes were being torn off and thrown to the ground, and Brian’s cock was in your hand, and he was biting at your lips and neck and kissing you with a passion that made you weak in the knees.

“Bed,” you said, and Brian spun you around, backing you up until your legs hit the bed.

You put a hand to his chest, pushing gently, and Brian stepped back. “What?” he said. His lips were red and swollen, his cheeks flushed, and some of his wild curls hung in his face. He looked fucking gorgeous.

“Protection,” you said, and Brian huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, obviously,” he said, and went to his bedside drawer. He rummaged around for a while, and you crawled onto the bed, sitting cross-legged, enjoying the view.

“Shit,” he muttered, tossing a bottle of lube onto the bed. “Just a moment.”

“Where are you going?” you called after him as he left the room.

“Rog and Freddie’s room,” he called back. He returned seconds later, condoms in hand. “They always have way more than they need. They say they need all of them, but they’re just being arrogant. As usual.” He dropped them on the bed — the sight of them made your stomach bubble.

Brian met you on the bed, kissing you, lowering you down onto your back, and he began trailing his kisses down your body, sucking your nipple into his mouth, and you hissed. “Oh, God, that feels good,” you groaned, and Brian moved his attention to your other nipple, making you shiver.

Soon, though, he continued his journey down, nipping at your hip bone as he went. He climbed off the bed, then, standing at the foot of it, and took hold of your ankles, dragging you down the bed so forcefully that you yelped. “Jesus Christ, stop manhandling me,” you said as Brian knelt on the floor between your legs.

“Does it really bother you?” he said.

“No,” you admitted. “It’s hot. But it’s the principle of the thing.”

Brian chuckled. “Sorry. I’ll be a gentleman next time I throw you around.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Brian sat back to grab your knees and pull you forward a touch more, and said, “Please excuse me, ma’am.”

You giggled. “Fucking dick.”

Brian laughed, and dropped kisses onto your thighs. He tapped your knee with his hand, and you took it as a cue to swing your legs over his shoulders.

You stroked your fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to—“

“What did I say?” Brian said, kissing your thigh again. “I’m going to eat you out until you’re begging me to stop.”

“I thought it was just a figure of speech,” you said with a chuckle.

“Nope,” was all Brian said, and you laughed again. His tongue pushed into your folds, and you closed your eyes, completely giving over, letting Brian take care of you.

It felt like no time at all before you were climbing to a climax, and you were panting and moaning and whimpering Brian’s name, and then you were coming, feeling it pulse through you, your head thrown back, your blood roaring in your ears.

When you came to, Brian was kissing your thighs again, with such reverence that you almost felt self-conscious.

“How was that?” he murmured.

“All right,” you said with a shrug, and Brian laughed.

“Ouch,” he said, and you could feel his grin against your skin.

You sat up, propping yourself up on the heels of your hands, and Brian looked up at you. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said. Although you wouldn’t admit it, you just wanted to see him between your legs. You’d imagined it so many times, it was almost hard to believe that this time, it was real.

Brian locked eyes with you, keeping your focus, and began sucking a hickey into your inner thigh. You bit your bottom lip, almost wincing at the pain of it, but as if you’d stop him.

Every so often he’d pause and briefly inspect his work, deciding whether he’d done enough, before getting back to it. When he was done, your whole thigh felt like it was burning, but the reddish purple mark that Brian left behind was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen.

“I guess I won’t be wearing shorts for a while,” you said.

Brian looked distraught. “For the love of God, please wear shorts. Please. I’m fucking begging you.” He surged forward, kissing you, pausing every few seconds to speak. “Seeing you — in shorts — with that on — your thigh — knowing I put it there — will be...” He broke away, kissing under your jaw, moaning softly, his hands on your thighs. “I won’t be able to handle it,” he whispered. “In the best way. It will blow my fucking mind.”

You nodded. “Okay,” you breathed. You’d already come twice, but you felt so turned on that you couldn’t even try to banter with him. “Okay.”

Brian kissed you, and your hands ran down his chest. “Fuck me,” you said, moving your lips to his collarbones. “Can you fuck me now?”

“Yeah?” Brian said.

You nodded, kissing his chest. “Yeah.”

Brian climbed onto the bed, and you followed him, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. Your kisses grew frantic and greedy, Brian flipped you over, dotting your chest with bites as he pushed his fingers into you, stretching you out. You moaned, spreading your legs as far as they would go. He eased a third finger into you, and you breathed through the ache.

“All right?” he said, checking in.

“All right,” you said with a nod. “It’s been a while.”

Brian hummed, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

“I’m too impatient,” you huffed, and Brian smiled, and pushed his fingers in further, making you yelp. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” you blurted, when Brian froze. “You just surprised me.”

Brian kissed your lips lightly, fucking you with his fingers slow and deep.

“Slow as you need,” he said again. “I want this to be good for you.”

“It’s you,” you said, your voice hard to counter how sappy the words were. You rolled your hips up into his hand. “Of course it’ll be good.”

Brian replied with another kiss.

He kept up the rhythm until you were squirming and even more needy than before, begging him for more.

You pushed Brian’s hand away, out of you, and flipped him over just as he’d done to you, wrapping a hand around his flushed and swollen cock and pulling him off with a featherlight touch. Brian laughed, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Oh, you’re cruel,” he said, followed by a choked moan, bucking his hips up into your hand.

“Oh, I’m cruel?” you said, softening your touch even further. Brian whined. “Who’s been finger-fucking me for hours without making me come?”

“You’ve already come twice,” Brian gasped. “And it wasn’t hours, don’t be dramatic.” He sobbed, one hand gripping the sheets. “Oh, fuck.”

You leant down and slid the head of his cock into your mouth, and he cried out, “Ah, shit! Fuck.”

You sucked him off, tasting the salty pre-come on your tongue, your hand making up for where your mouth couldn’t reach. Brian’s hands moved to your hair, and he grunted as you swirled your tongue around his head.

You could’ve sucked his dick all night, but soon he was tugging on your hair, telling you to stop, the words rushing out of his mouth urgently, and you pulled off with a wet pop. “Yeah?” you asked, still jerking him off with your hand.

“Shit— stop,” Brian said, sitting up sharply and grabbing your wrist, stopping your movement. “I’m too close to coming for you to do that.”

You hummed, grinning, pleased. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” Brian huffed. He guided your hand, still holding your wrist, to his lips, where he pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to your fingertips. “I want to be inside you when I come, all right?”

Something twisted in your stomach at that, something bizarrely affectionate, at the way he’d said it, almost gently, in a way that was so very Brian. You let your fingers brush over his lips, and he smiled, an adorable, warm, happy smile, that shouldn’t have fit the hot, horny, sweaty situation at all, but somehow was beautifully perfect. You smiled back, but you pushed the feelings aside. God forbid things get too mushy and cute. You were expecting to be completely fucked into next week, after all.

You took your hand back and searched for the condoms, snatching one off the bed and ripping open the foil packet. Brian sat up, watching your face with keen eyes as you rolled it onto him, and as soon as you were done he grabbed you, throwing you onto your back and kissing you. You responded enthusiastically, hooking your heels over his hips, and then he was lining himself up and pushing into you.

Your breath caught, and you pressed your forehead into his neck, grunting.

“You all right?” Brian said, his hand stroking soothingly down your side.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just... Yeah, I’m fine. Go. Keep going.”

Brian did, and you let your head drop back onto the pillow, pressing your lips together. It was an ache you were familiar with, but one you hadn’t felt in a good while now, and Brian was definitely on the larger end of the dick spectrum.

Brian nuzzled under your jaw as he pushed in further, and then he was fully seated. You ran your nails lightly up and down his back, wordlessly telling him that you were okay.

“Oh my God, you feel amazing,” Brian moaned. He lifted his head, searching your face, concern creasing his brow. “Are you— Is it all right?”

You laughed. “You’re not going to break me, Bri.”

“But is it... Do you want this? Are you sure?”

You pulled him down for a kiss. “Yes, I’m fucking sure,” you said. You rolled your hips, and Brian squeezed his eyes shut, failing to suppress a moan. “Now fuck me already.”

So Brian did, pulling out and ramming back into you. He began to set up a rhythm, and you wrapped yourself around him, your nails now claws on his back, and he was gasping out your name, telling you how amazing you felt, how much he’d wanted this, and all you could do was say his name in return. You rolled both of you over, settling back onto him, and he gripped your hips, thrusting up into you. You held him still, and slowly rocked your hips. His eyes just about rolled into the back of his head, and it was the biggest ego boost you’d ever had.

“How do my thighs look right now, Bri?” you teased, rocking your hips again.

Brian smoothed his hands down them. “Like they belong to a goddess,” he panted, his hips bucking up against yours. “You’re fucking incredible.”

You groaned, rocking forward, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone. “Fuck.”

Brian laughed, and you looked to him quizzically. “What?”

“It’s just...” He laughed again, rubbing the back of one hand across the bridge of his nose. “It just suddenly hit me that we’re having sex right now.”

You blinked at him, registering his words, and then burst into laughter. “What the fuck do you think we’ve been doing?”

“No, I mean—“ Brian snorted, and he looked so pretty like this that you didn’t even think about leaning forward and tracing your fingers across his cheekbones and jaw. “I mean, I’ve been... wanting this, wanting you, for so long, and I thought I’d never have you. Like, ever. I’d just about resigned myself to just being quietly miserable whenever we hung out together, because I never thought that you’d ever go for me, of all people.” Your fingers moved to his lips, just resting over them, feeling them move as he spoke. “It just finally sunk in that this is really happening.”

“You’re a bit of a sap, aren’t you?” you joked.

Brian shrugged, glancing away. “Well, I just—“

“No, I was just being an arse,” you said with a smile. You pressed against his lips with more force, and he opened his mouth for you, playfully biting down on your fingers. Your smile stretched into a grin. “I feel the same.”

Brian’s lips closed over your fingers, and his tongue pushed between them, swirling around them. You were transfixed by it, feeling the way his tongue moved, and you began rocking your hips, just little movements. Curious, you pushed your fingers further into his mouth, down to the knuckles, and Brian moaned, his eyes sliding closed, taking them.

“Fuck,” you whispered, taking a shaky breath. You rocked with a little more force, and Brian moaned again, rolling his hips up to meet you. You pulled your fingers from his mouth, slowly, feeling his teeth scrape against your skin, and you said weakly, “You’re really good at that.”

Brian didn’t respond, flipping you over again and, before you barely even had time to register what had happened, he was fucking you hard into the mattress, slow and deep. You clutched onto him, overwhelmed by how good it felt, begging him to keep going, to fuck you harder, to come for you. You coasted on the edge of coming, the sweet spot of feeling both heady with arousal and unable to orgasm, and you clenched around Brian, making him curse and ram into you. He paused only momentarily to kiss you, and you smoothed his sweat-dampened curls from his face, and then he was fucking you again, chasing his release, and you wanted nothing more than to see his face when he came, to hear the sounds he would make. You bit into his shoulder, and his movements grew erratic, so you bit into his neck, then his shoulder again, and he moaned your name as he came. You pulled back and kissed him, smoothing back his hair again, and he ducked his head, kissing your neck. You shuddered, your body begging for more, and then Brian was answering what you’d never asked for, his fingers circling your clit, his lips pressing kisses down your neck, murmuring encouragements into your skin. You whined, feeling so sensitive but so desperate at the same time, and it didn’t take long for you to come, warmth washing over you.

Only then did Brian pull out of you and flop onto his back, beside you, and you both took a moment to breathe. You turned your head to look at him, and he turned his head to look at you, and you were both panting, beaming. You chuckled. “So that happened.”

Brian nodded. “Yeah. Wow. It really did.”

“And?” you said. “Did it live up to the hype?”

Brian shook his head, rolling his eyes at your phrasing. “Yes,” he said simply. “Exceeded it.”

“I’d have to say the same,” you said. You rolled onto your side, smoothing a hand over his stomach. “If I’m being honest.”

Brian’s hand moved to rest on top of yours. “Well, honesty is all I could ask for.”

You snuggled up closer to him, kissing his shoulder.

There was another moment of silence, and then Brian was getting to his feet with a groan, discarding the condom in the bin.

You sighed. “I’m exhausted now.”

“Yeah?” Brian said, looking unimpressed. “You’re exhausted?”

You played along, nodding. “Oh, yeah. I came three times tonight, you know.”

Brian crawled over you. “You did, did you?” He dropped a kiss to your lips. “And who made you come, hm?”

“No one important,” you said airily, and Brian nipped at your lips.

“You’re insufferable,” he said, kissing you again.

You hummed against his mouth in agreement, nodding, and you could feel him smile.

He broke away. “If you give me five minutes to catch my breath, I could arrange for you to come a few more times, if you’re interested,” he said.

You looked at him bewilderedly. “You’re not serious?”

He shrugged. “I’m serious if you want me to be.”

You considered it. “All right. Since we’re clearly going all-in here, I’ll take you up on the offer. If — I get to suck your dick tonight. I’m talking serious dick-sucking. Your brain is gonna melt out of your ears.”

Brian grinned. “Sounds good to me.” He sat back. “Are you thirsty? I’ll get us some water.”

“Yeah, all right,” you said. Brian climbed off the bed, pulled on his boxers, and disappeared around the corner.

You stared at the ceiling, taking the opportunity to figure out your thoughts. You and Brian had just slept together. You and Brian. The same Brian you’d been pining over for months. Your friend, your study buddy, your crush.

Tonight had been amazing. And it was going to continue to be amazing, until you were both just about dead from exhaustion, by the sounds of it.

But was tonight where it ended? Were you just an outlet for Brian? He’d said he’d wanted you for a long time, but were you just someone he thought was hot, and just wanted to bang? What was the next step? Was there going to be a next step? Should you expect one, or was that too much?

Brian returned with the waters, and you sat up. “Thanks,” you said as he handed you one, and you took a sip.

Brian had already drank half of his, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. You focused on your water.

After a minute or so of silence, Brian said, “Are you secretly freaking out about this as much as I am?”

You gulped down your mouthful. “A bit,” you admitted. “Why are you freaking out? You don’t... You’re not regretting it, are you?”

“No,” Brian said quickly. “God, no. Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.”

You frowned. “The opposite?”

“I...” Brian hesitated. “Please don’t freak out.”

“I’m already freaking out,” you said, freaking out even more. What was he going to say? Was he going to kick you out and stop being friends with you?

“Well, uh, please don’t freak out directly in response to what I’m going to say.”

“No promises.”

Brian took a swig of water, looking like he wished it was something stronger. “I... I like you,” he said, avoiding your gaze. “More than a friend. I fancy you, really. I have for a while. But I understand if that’s not what you’re after, and I’m sorry for just being — presumptuous, I suppose. I should’ve clarified it earlier, and of course, if that’s not what you’re after, then tonight can just be a one-off, and we can forget about it, or we can laugh about it later, or whatever.”

“I like you too,” you said, and Brian’s head snapped up, and he looked so hopeful and happy that you just about died.

“You do?”

You nodded, unable to keep the grin off your face. “Yeah. Yeah, I like you.”

Brian leant forward and kissed you, almost sloshing water all over the sheets. He pulled back, gazing at you adoringly, and your heart just about stopped in your chest. You laced your fingers together, and pressed your lips to the back of his hand. It felt right, holding his hand. Like there’d been a missing puzzle piece in your life, and you’d finally found it and slotted it into place.

He set his water down on the bedside table, and then took your glass from you, putting it down beside his. “I really do hope that none of the others plan on coming home tonight,” he said, squeezing your hand. “I have a lot planned for you.”

“We’ve got time,” you said, and you couldn’t believe that it was true. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“I know,” Brian said with a shrug and a cheeky smile. “But we’ve got time now, too, don’t we?”

He tugged you over for a kiss, and you threw your arms around his neck. You knew that the boys would immediately clock what had happened when they saw you still at their place tomorrow, and the hickeys dotting your body, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter. You had Brian, and his beautiful hands and gorgeous face and wonderful dick. It was all yours now. And you weren’t ever letting it go.

#wow this was a THROWBACK to read through and edit again!#forgot how much i liked this one #mine #brian may x reader #queen fanfiction #rpf #smut

483 notes · View notes

welcometoloving · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome to Loving: Chapter 2

Shane sat atop a white picket fence running down a dirt path towards a two story, dull light blue house overlooking the beach. He had chosen a spot where the paint was not peeling, and the points of the pickets had dulled, yet they still dug into the seat of his pants; he took no notice, however, his full attention directed to the wind through his hair and the island just off the coast. Though it was fully daylight, it still gave him an eerie feeling; he could see why the devil supposedly made it’s home there. He was interrupted from his thoughts, though, by the sight of three other teens heading towards him down the path.

“Hey Shane, where've you been?”, called out the one in front. The two behind him laughed.

“Just sitting here”, he called back. “What do you need?”

“We’ve been looking for you. We’re gonna go check out that hill in the woods!”. He pointed his thumb in the direction of the trees. Shane paused.

“I thought we were doing that Tuesday?”

“Well there’s been another sighting. Plus, there’s a full moon tonight. It’s prime hunting time!”

“I thought the moon had no effect on ghosts”, Shane inquired.

“Well, it can’t hurt,” replied the boy behind the one in front. “Besides, Tuesday’s gonna rain, and who wants to go ghost-hunting in the rain?” Shane thought for a moment.

“Alright, fair point”, he acknowledged. He jumped off the fence and turned towards the house further along the path. The wind changed direction, blowing in from the lake, and carrying upon it a peculiar smell of fish, incredibly faint, yet recognizable nonetheless. Shane wrinkled his nose, before the wind changed it’s direction again, and the scent disappitated. He looked back towards his friends.

“Well come one, let’s get our gear ready!”

* * * * * * * * *

Up in a small room on the second floor of the light blue house by the lake, the four teens sat and sorted their gear. Flashlights, trail mix, rain ponchos, granola bars, pocket knives; all went into the backpacks. Shane held up a black rectangular device, with a screen, buttons, and a radio speaker. He addressed the girl to his right.

“Hey Seher, what is this?” he asked. Seher glanced over.

“Oh, that’s a spirit box. It runs through radio channels. People say ghosts can say things using it.”

“BS”, interrupted the boy across from Shane. “Like a ghost would talk through radio stations!”

“Shut up, Jack”, said Shane’s brother, Anas. “As if a ghost would talk to you.” He paused, thinking for a moment, before continuing. “Actually, Jack may have a point; imagine being able to catch a radio station out here!”

“Why haven’t we used it before?”, Shane followed up.

“I ordered it a month or two ago,” responded Seher. “Took a while to get here. Delivery trucks don’t really come to tiny, isolated towns”

“Fair”, Shane responded. His brother chimed in.

“Hmm, small isolated town, off the map, unknown. Great place for a haunting, or a disappearance!”

“Heck”, added Jack, “It’s a miracle this town hasn’t vanished already!”

“Oh, it’s no coincidence,”, said Shane and Anas’s mother, coming up the stairs. “But never mind that; when are you four going to head out?”

“Oh, we were just on our way”, replied Anas. He and the others placed their cameras around their necks, picked up their loaded backpacks, and filed out the bedroom door. They jumped down the stairs, and exited the house into the waning light of the late afternoon.

* * * * * * * * *

As darkness settled across the treetops, four figures entered a narrow, winding path through the woods. Further and further they travelled as the light slowly waned, bouncing between trunks and rocks, sneaking up on each other through the shadows, and occasionally turning their heads to appreciate the small amounts of starlight that showed through the bough’s silhouettes.

“BOO!”, yelled Jack, jumping out from behind a particularly thick trunk. There was a scream, and in response a startled jump from Seher up front. Shane turned, facing Jack and deadpanned,

“I heard you coming from a mile away, easy.”

“I didn’t”, wheezed a very scared Anas. “What the actual frick?”

“Seems like we found our first ghost for tonight”, said Seher. Jack turned inquisitive towards her.

“Who?”, he asked?

“You”, replied Seher, “If you don’t stop fooling around!” Jack turned to Shane and said in a low voice,

“I think I’m being threatened”.

“I dunno, maybe you should check again”, said Shane. Jack gave a wicked grin, before turning back to the other two, who had gotten a bit ahead.

“Well, couldn’t hurt to make sure”, he said, before hastening to catch up with Seher and Anas. They continued on for another half hour, before coming to a clearing in the woods, centered around a rocky hill. Boulders littered the far side, but the near was clear and grassy. The moon shone brightly above the clearing, full and luminous. It was complemented by the hundreds of visible stars, which, contrary to the warm night, made the four teens shiver. The air stood still, and gave the whole area a silence that was eerie to behold. Jack, Anas, and Shane looked towards Seher, who, taking the cue, stepped fully into the clearing. Head forward, she issued instructions to the other three.

“We’ll climb the hill on this side, it’s a lot easier. Then we can set up the cameras on the top towards the forest. Jack, can you make a salt circle for us to retreat to if things get sticky?” Jack pulled out a half-empty container of salt.

“Sure,” he responded. “Where do you want it?”

“Oh, at the very top should do,” said Seher. “We can also set up the cameras inside it too so that nothing can mess with them”.

“Random squirrel in the trees, ready to ruin our plan to catch video evidence of ghosts”, laughed Anas. He turned to the trees, both middle fingers brandished high. “Screw you, squirrels”. Shane laughed and gave Anas a soft punch to the shoulder.

“Let’s not provoke the most dangerous creatures on Earth”.

“Ghosts?”, Seher asked.

“Squirrels”, Jack confirmed. “Those little bastards will get us all one day.”

“Crazy people”, Sana breathed, exasperated. “We’re hunting ghosts, not rodents”.

“Hey!”, protested Anas. “Us rodents are a noble race, perfectly worth hunting… oh wait oh no”.

“Well, if you insist”, said Jack, hoisting the camera stand he was holding like a gun. Anas backed away.

“Woah man, hold up,” he began, before Seher interrupted them.

“Okay you two, it’s time to stop fooling around and get ready. Jack, did you finish the protective circle?”

“Yeah, and the cameras will just take a few minutes”. Jack and Shane got to work on the cameras, while Seher and Mark pulled out other equipment. Eventually, they had both finished their jobs, and they settled into a sitting circle on the far side of the hill, next to the rocks. Seher laid the spirit box in the middle, and switched it on. The device emitted a loud stream of static, before developing a more recognizable, steady pattern of discordant sound and vague, disjointed syllables. Seher addressed the box.

“Is there anyone here with us? If so, please say something”. The box continued on it’s pattern of channels, with no discernable alteration. Seher tried again.

“If there is anyone here with us, please communicate using the box”. The wind picked up, blowing eerily through the trees. The air grew chilly, but they couldn’t tell if it was the wind or something else. The noise made by the box began to distort, as if trying to from a meaningful word. Finally, something seemed to come through, though just barely recognizable.

“Leave”, said the distorted voice. The four teens looked at each other with worried yet curious eyes.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”, said Seher. Again, the box began to form syllables, before forming another word, more clear this time.

“Go”, it said. Shane looked up.

“Did it just say go?”, he asked.

“I think so”, replied Jack. “But go where? Go away? Does it want us to leave?” The box’s emissions became violent. Out came a third word, clear as day, cutting through the air and through their minds.

“RUN”. Now they were afraid. Shane, Jack and Seher all looked at each other, then back at the spirit box. Anas spoke.

“Guys?”. They ignored him, and he started again. “Guy’s we need to leave”. The other three looked at him, then followed his gaze off into the forest, past the rocks. Lurking between the tree trunks, barely visible, was the shadow of something that looked like a man, but was thin, emaciated, and unnaturally tall, with long, spindly limbs. They froze in shock for a moment, before coming to their wits.

“Quick! Behind the circle!”, whispered Seher. Instantly, they scrambled to the salt line, careful not to disturb it. Once inside, they all stood, huddled together, and faced the figure in the trees. Jack, in front, raised his camera, and a small clicking noise came from it. Delicately, the shadow stepped forward, blending into the shadows, a hazy silhouette against the shadows of the trees. It continued forward, slowly, tentatively, it’s long legs bending and straightening in a way that made the teens sicken. Finally, it reached the edge of the shadows, and, after pausing for a moment, moved forward into the moon-lit clearing, parts of it’s form now horrifyingly clear.

That was too much for Anas. He opened his mouth and tried to scream, but no sound came out. Whipping around, he bolted towards the path back through the woods. Hesitating for a second, the others followed him as the thing moved slowly closer and closer to the hill.

The flight that ensued was panicked and clumsy. Each blundered their own path through the dark woods, vaguely along the trail, but none had time to mind the branches that scratched at their arms and faces, or the leaves that filled their open mouths and got caught in their hair. Occasionally, one of them would glance around, to make sure the others were with them, and, satisfied by the sounds of the other three crashing through the trees, would turn their full attention back to their frenzied escape. Eventually, they found themselves free of the woods and, in the full light of the moon and the stars, they analyzed the shadows of the trees. Backing slowly away they eventually determined that the shade was no longer in pursuit, and they were in fact safe. Convinced of their safety, they still hastily made their way back to the house, and collapsed on the porch.

“WHAT the HECK was that?!”, shouted Anas. They all looked at each other.

“I… I think we found ourselves a ghost!”, said Seher, astonished.

“I can’t believe it!”, exclaimed Jack.

“I know, right”, said Shane.

“No. I actually cannot believe it,” Jack clarified. “Ghosts don’t exist. There’s gotta be some other explanation. Like maybe a bigfoot-like creature, or a trickster of some sort.”

“We literally saw a walking shadow”, said Anas. “Explain that”.

“You know what?”, said Jack. “I will. You hear me?!”, he yelled, pointing to the trees off in the distance, past the road and field. “I’m gonna find out your secrets!”. The other three laughed.

“Sure you will,” said Seher.

“Mark my words”, replied Jack. “Soon, the forest will learn to fear the name of Jack Fyons!”

“Can’t wait to see the newspaper articles”, said Anas. “Local boy destroyed by own hubris, not a single person who knows any Greek mythology surprised.”

“You’ll see”, assured Jack. “You’ll all see. And what’s better, you’re gonna help me.”

“Uggh”, groaned Anas.

“Oh no”, uttered Seher.

“...this is where the fun begins”, said Shane, laughing.

#story #welcome to loving #supernatural #supernatural mystery #mystery #fiction

2 notes · View notes

jojosbizarrewriter · 5 years ago

Text

SDC Dio x Reader

//Wow, okay so here’s the introduction into a mini-series spanning hopefully five chapters or less but if people like it then I will continue with it! So enjoy this intro! Also please note that this isn’t going to include anyone but you and Dio ;)

What is impulse control even LMFAO

Word count: 1405

Tags/warnings: minor blood, choking, mentions of death

Introduction

What you thought would be a peaceful night at the bar was actually a fight to get away from two smug idiots who wouldn’t leave you alone. Their drunkenness was taken too far and they were now stopping at nothing to get at you. this resulted in the only thing you could do and it was get away from them. They called for you as they were right behind you as your quick walk turned into a run once finally outside.

While running, you had turned down an alley expecting to hopefully confuse the attackers, though instead, the deeper you got you ended up colliding right into someone’s chest while you were looking behind to see if the drunkards were still on your six and unfortunately they were but still quite far back.

Blinking rapidly you try to adjust to the depth of the darkness this far in the alley, your body still pressed against whoever you had the misfortune of running into and instinctively your hands came up to feel if it was really true.

“Oh my lord! This is the happiest moment in my life!!” you cried out as the analytical side of your panic was now overcome by the fear and anxiety of the fools that were surely getting closer “Please!! You have to help me-” your breathing was the first thing that caught up to you in that adrenaline-induced situation though you forced out your next words in a wheeze.

“Two guys are chasing after me and I-I just need help!” you stuttered out before finally getting the chance to look up at who was there, though his face was still unrecognized thanks to the shadow that covered it.

However, it was the earthy sounding chuckle that escaped his mouth that brought your full attention forward from the two who had arrived from their exhausting run. The taller of them both was so drunk that a single heavy breath in caused him to lean over puking with a hand pressed against the wall, his buddy fell to his knees as he continued heaving for air to enter his lungs.

“You little bitch, you took us for a run didn’t you?” The one leaning over had finally said amidst the very tense atmosphere, though his free hand had reached into his pocket for a switchblade that he was holding onto.

“I’m gonna get ya for that once I’m done stuffing you-” he adds with a sick laugh afterward and his friend stood up with a pocket knife in his hand now as well “And yer pretty boy here isn’t gonna stop us either.”

Turning around to face them, you shake your head violently as your eyes were watered up with tears before the surface tension broke and they slipped down your already tear-stained cheeks.

“Get away from me you fucking creeps!” your trembled voice cracks as you step away from whom you ran into “I bet you’re in on this too!” though he didn’t respond and only looked down at you, his golden-amber stare now visible under this new perspective and it sent a spine chilling shiver up all over your skin and the hairs on your neck rose.

You didn’t think the fight or flight system would feel like anything but by the world that you stand on, you felt like your legs could run a marathon with all of this pent up fear behind the wheel. Thus you hurled yourself in the direction which was the only way you could and that was deeper into the alley, but your doubts were proven wrong when you come face to face with your biggest enemy. Even now in a time like this when you wished to get away from the stress of your life and you're only left with what’s kept you exactly where you are. A wall.

“Perfect irony huh?!” you breathed out a nervous laugh, the tears still rolling as your weak arms pull up and your hands ball into fists. You want so badly to start pounding on that wall but your mind urges out the thoughts that have plagued you for well into the beginning of your adulthood.

“Just when I wanted to start living for me and not other people!-” your labored breathing had passed and you let out a loud cry before your fists came down against the wall.

You had barely felt the stone before it was suddenly cracking and blowing back like you had caused the damage, the sudden shock of this along with the gust of wind it produced blew your hair back over your shoulders. Standing in silence, your hands open palm up, visibly you are entirely shaken to the core by every event leading up to this and only now are you really finally noticing how chilly it is tonight.

“You look like a shivering kitten in the rain,” speaks a deep voice from beyond the shadows of the alley, though there was now a faint halo of light surrounding you thanks to the wall you had thought you had blown through. “Fear doesn’t look good on you, but damn is it enticing.” his voice went from smooth silk to rough gravel in tone as a hand reached out from the dark and grasped around your neck.

You suck in a breath when five fingers effortlessly lift you off of the ground in the form of a choke, your hands grab onto the yellow sleeved arm and grasp tightly as the air was restricted from your lungs.

“No no no…” he cooed lightly with a repeated click of his tongue “I can see your fear when I look into your eye, unknowing of what’s to come in...the possible urge to participate in the fight..or run away,” he says to you gently while he sets you down on your feet.

“Those men back there were doing you harm, yes? Well, no doubt, I took care of that problem for you. But-” He stops and releases his grip around your throat and you drop to your knees in an attempt to bring the air into your system. He paced around you in circles like a hawk about to drive down on its helpless prey who has no idea it’s coming for them, he continues after you’ve conjured up the ability to stand and face him clearly “I want something in return.”

Now that you could completely and mentally establish all that has gone on up until this point, all the petrified anger boiling in your veins finally spilled and wouldn’t let you back down.

“Listen here you mustard packet son of a bitch I’ve had enough of this drunken nightmare. I’ve just blasted through a wall and you choked me out - also, next time ask first, and then you want something in return for doing god only knows what to those perverts who wanted to kill me?” you rushed out everything that had connected up until now, the mysterious man didn’t seem fazed by your comment on his fashion.

“Well, aren’t you smart? It would be a treat to see your face if I told you how that came to possibly be, but nonetheless, yes.” then not but a second later, four fingers had found themselves shoved in between the fold of your skin and to the veins in which your blood was now being drained.

“Please forgive me for this dear, but your scent is just too irresistible I’ve got to have a little taste.” his sultry tone was alluring while you still were catching up with the fact that the very thing keeping you alive is getting taken away.

“Funny how I’m right next to winning my freedom yet..” your voice softens as you continue to lose blood and your consciousness fades “I still manage to lose…” your eyes begin to well up with tears but this time they don’t fall and are instead caught by the free finger of the predator taking your life, however, he slips his fingers out from your neck and catches your body as you fall forward due to the onset of the dizziness.

Your face lay right against his chest and you hear him hum slightly though it was the only thing you could hear other than a more gradually paced heartbeat “Hm...well I’ll be taking care of you now. As long as you choose to rule by my side as my partner in return.” He suggests without a second thought and the last question that passed through your mind before you slipped into a deep slumber was,

“Why me, of all people?”

////Hey, you made it to the bottom! If you enjoyed then I’m really glad!

More is to come with Reader and Dio and I will be posting chapter one sometime between Sunday and Monday because my work schedule is hella thicc with hours :’D

#dio x reader #dio brando x reader #jjba x reader #reader insert #writing #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader

84 notes · View notes

bearfeathers · 6 years ago

Note

Ineffable Husbands: 44 + 71 :3c

[PROMPT ME!] | [AO3]

Whew! This one was exhausting. Sweeping love confessions tend to do that to a writer lol

***

"Crowley. I... I need to speak to you. Please. Will you come?"

Nothing could have made him move faster. When Aziraphale had phoned him in the middle of the night, he'd sounded troubled when he'd asked him over. Given that they had rather recently performed their little body swapping act to avoid punishment for the Notpocalypse, it's enough to make Crowley worry. Had the angel heard something from Heaven? Should he expect the same?

"Angel?" he calls, closing the shop's doors behind him with a snap of his fingers.

The lack of answer only puts speed in his stride and he reaches the back room at a near sprint. Not here either. Something's definitely not right.

"Aziraphale!"

He takes the stairs up to the angel's flat two at a time, the door flinging open long before he even reaches it. But as he enters, he finds that Aziraphale doesn't seem to be in any danger. He's sat on the sofa, his coat on the rack nearby. He's looking particularly let loose (well, for him anyway) with his sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, his bowtie untied, and a glass held between his hands.

"Couldn't be arsed to answer me, I suppose? I was only screaming my bloody head off for you down there," Crowley says. But when he sees the small puddle of liquid at the bottom of the glass and the flush on the angel's face, he can see what part of the problem is. "You've been drinking tonight, haven't you?"

It's really not much of a question. It's as plain as day that he has been. The empty wine bottles on the coffee table are kind of a dead give away.

"No. I mean, yes, but that's not—that doesn't have anything to do with why I asked you here," Aziraphale says. "Or... Well, I suppose it does, it's just not the reason, um..."

The angel isn't just in his cups. He's about as drunk as Crowley can remember having seen him and that can't bode well. Crowley leans to the side, resting his weight on his hip against the wall as he crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly very aware of the fact that he's never even seen the angel's flat before.

"You said you needed to speak to me," Crowley reminds him. "Suppose you might like to sober up for that?"

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, Aziraphale shakes his head in response. If Crowley hadn't been concerned before, he is now. The angel never likes to have serious conversations while inebriated. What could he possibly have to talk about that he can't be sober for? That he called Crowley in the middle of the night for? It’s obviously of some importance but Crowley can only begin to imagine what it is. Aziraphale hardly looks happy about it and the demon’s gut churns unpleasantly.

"Alright," Crowley says. He carefully pries himself from the wall and approaches the worn but comfortable looking sofa, taking a seat on the far end. He wants to be close, but still leave the angel enough room so that he doesn’t feel smothered, sensing that this is something which should be approached delicately. “Do you want to tell me what it is, then?”

With a nod, Aziraphale leans forward and places his glass on the coffee table. For a moment Crowley thinks he’s about to refill it, but thankfully he leaves it just where it is and leans back in his seat. The angel presses his hands to his face with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Aziraphale says. “I didn’t... didn’t realize what time it was.”

Crowley shrugs a shoulder. “Well, I mean, I don’t actually need to sleep and you sounded like you had something important. Is it about... them?”

He stresses the word, knowing his counterpart will pick it up. But Aziraphale shakes his head, not looking to be in any better spirits for it. So no news on that front. But if not that, he doesn’t know what could have the angel so tied in knots. He watches as Aziraphale looks down at his well-manicured hands where they now rest in his lap. He tugs his fingers, curls them around each other, squeezes them, laces them together, bends them at angles which should be painful. Such a familiar quirk by now and an easy tell when it comes to reading him.

“This might sound a bit... strange to you, Crowley. And you may not like what I have to say,” Aziraphale warns him. “But I ask that you please let me say it.”

This is starting to scare him, and he isn't the type to scare easily. “Angel, I don’t know what–“

“Please,” Aziraphale reiterates, hazel eyes pleading and dark with some mixture of emotion that Crowley can’t identify. “Then you can say or do whatever you wish.”

Crowley doesn’t know what else to do than agree. He nods his head, rubbing his palms against his thighs as he does so. “...alright.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says, seeming genuinely relieved.

It seems he’s taking a moment to gather his thoughts or compose himself as he inhales deeply and closes his eyes once more. He’d said that Crowley may not like what he has to say. Frankly, they’ve said a lot of things to each other that the other hasn’t liked over the years. But after the Notpocalypse, he felt as though they’d come to a new understanding of each other. That they’d reached a new place in regards to one another. He doesn’t very much like the idea of being knocked from that place.

“I’ve been doing a great deal of thinking... for a long time now, but also much more of it very recently,” Aziraphale says, opening his eyes but not looking at him. “After our recent adventure put things into perspective. And I’m–I’m just–I wanted to... to...”

Barely two sentences in and he’s already getting himself this worked up. Crowley feels the need to interject, but remembers his promise to allow the angel to say his piece.

“The thing is, I know the things they say about me. Up... Up there. I do,” Aziraphale says. “And it’s not even that I blame them, I can–well, I understand. They don’t think I know, but I do. And truth be told, I’ve never been very good at being an angel so they’re not entirely wrong.”

“Angel–“

“All I’m saying,” Aziraphale declares loudly, talking over Crowley, “is that I never quite... fit in. I was never quite good enough. But in the same token, I don’t think I’m quite, well... bad enough for Hell. So I thought to myself–I–I thought, what exactly would you call an angel who isn’t good enough for Heaven but not bad enough for Hell?”

Crowley doesn’t bother to try and answer.

“I thought that sounded very nearly human,” Aziraphale says. “But the thing is–the thing is–I’m not that either. I don’t fit anywhere. And I tried to just–just pretend that I did. That if I did so long enough then I would fit, I would be a good enough angel. But that’s... It’s just not who I am. It’s not something I can bury deep enough that it goes away.”

The angel finally meets his gaze. His eyes are wet with tears threatening to overcome him at any moment. It makes Crowley’s chest tight, leaving him feeling robbed of air that he doesn’t really need.

“All of this made me realize. You’ve... You’ve always–always felt like home to me,” Aziraphale says, his voice waterlogged. “When you said we were on our own side, I... I couldn’t fathom at first why it... it just made so much sense. Because that’s how it’s always been. Even when we were at odds you... I felt closer to you than anyone or anything else. You are... You are the single most important thing to me in all of Creation.”

The demon breathes out, half startled wheeze and half anxious laugh. “Now I know you’ve been drinking.”

He hadn’t meant it to, but it’s clear the comment stings. If only he could make the angel understand that it hadn’t been meant as a joke, but rather a statement of plain disbelief. Because he can’t even begin to comprehend how they’re having this conversation right now. Crowley’s lost count of the number of times he’s pictured this scenario in his head. Only it was never Aziraphale who had initiated it.

“For a very long time I didn’t know if I... What I mean is that angels are made to love, but I didn’t think we were equipped to love the way that... that...” Aziraphale’s nearly choking on the words and Crowley feels as though someone has a vice on his heart. “The way that I love you. Because I realized that’s what I felt. I love you. I've been so—so afraid to say it. For so long. So afraid of what could happen to either of us if I did and... And I don’t know if I should be apologizing for making you wait six thousand years or... or–or for ruining our friendship by saying it, I just... I just needed...”

Crowley needs to say something. Anything. Whatever will stop those fat tears from rolling down the angel’s cheeks. But his tongue has shriveled up in his mouth because Aziraphale loves him. That’s what he said. That he loves him. Him. Crowley. So he does he only thing he can think to do in that moment.

In hindsight, he realizes he’d practically thrown himself at the angel in his haste, but neither of them seemed to mind. Crowley lunges to close the gap between them, his hands on Aziraphale’s face as he kisses him into silence. Aziraphale whimpers against his lips and grips Crowley’s shirt tightly, trying to somehow bring him even closer. Crowley has wanted this for more years than he can count. But not like this. He never wanted it to hurt.

But it was bound to, wasn't it? Six thousand years of dancing this dance, of hurting and helping each other, of loving as quietly as they could. This is just ripping the bandage off. A hurt that will pass. That's all it is, he has to believe that.

“Stop,” Crowley breathes, the second they part. He can feel the sting of tears in his own eyes now, can feel them running hot down his cheeks and leaving chilly trails in their wake as they meet the open air. “Stop. Just... Stop, you idiot.”

“I’m sorry," Aziraphale hiccups.

"No, that's not what I—don't apologize," Crowley says, keeping his forehead pressed against the angel's. "Why the hell did you have to be drunk to tell me this?"

"I thought it would be easier if you... if you didn't recip—rec'pr... if you didn't feel the same," Aziraphale explains. "I didn't think I could bear to hear it sober."

He wasn't sure. And here Crowley thought he'd been the obvious one. He thought he'd given himself away more times than he could count and here the angel tells him he hadn't known.

"You have to have known," Crowley says, his voice hushed, wrecked. "How could you not have known that I love you more than anything?"

"I didn't know if you could. I didn't know if either of us could," Aziraphale says. "I just... I've just been so confused and I thought... just having you as a friend was enough but—" He laughs, but there's little humor in it. "—you know how overindulgent I can be so... so... I had to know for sure. But the thought of driving you away, I couldn't..."

The angel makes a small, miserable noise, as though the mere thought has caused him pain. Crowley feels it, too. He knows that pain like an old friend.

"Angel, nothing's ever driving me away," Crowley assures him. "The only way I'm going anywhere is if you tell me to."

There's a brief nod from the angel as he sniffles quietly, his hands gently pushing the demon away. For a moment Crowley feels a stab of panic, until Aziraphale reaches up and pulls his shades from his face. He folds them neatly, placing them on the coffee table by several empty bottles. He takes his time in framing Crowley's face with his hands, brushing his thumbs along sharp cheekbones and staring deep into eyes as gold as wheat fields in the midday sun.

"I just... wanted to see your eyes for this," Aziraphale says, still weepy. "I love your eyes, you know. I know why you hide them but..."

He stares into them as though he's found something there and Crowley can't for the life of them imagine what that is. But it occurs to him now that the angel is still incredibly drunk and, doubt being such a good friend of his, feels himself drawing back.

"Look, are you sure about this?" Crowley asks. He reaches up to hold the angel by the wrists. He has to be sure. "Because if you sober up and you're not, I don't think I'll be able to take it. So I need to know."

"I wouldn't have started drinking if I weren't sure, but... I—I see what you mean. I'll sober up now," Aziraphale agrees. "Just give me a moment..."

They tend not to have the nasty side effects that come with sobering up that humans do, but it doesn't mean it's pleasant. He can tell the angel is sober and experiencing a headache—he always gets them when he drinks too much wine—the moment the bottles are refilled and he winces. Aziraphale presses the heel of his palm to his eye with a soft hiss, undoubtedly regretting some of his decisions, but hopefully not the one Crowley is most concerned with.

"I'm sorry about that, my dear," he sighs, still wiping at the tears in his eyes. "Will this do?"

"That depends," Crowley says, trying and failing to sound calmer than he feels.

There's a flicker of confusion in the angel's eyes before he understands what Crowley's asking of him.

"I love you," Aziraphale says, gently smiling at him as though saying it had been the easiest thing in the world. But then, he is an angel, Crowley supposes. It's bound to be easier. "I've always loved you. I just... didn't always know it. Or understand it. But I do now. And you, um..."

"Of course I love you," Crowley says, trying not to shout. "Did everything short of putting it up in neon lights."

"...or saying it," Aziraphale adds.

"...or that. But look, you weren't the only one with doubts," Crowley informs him. "I never said anything because I thought if I did, you'd be gone."

"I think... I think at one time, that admission might have frightened me," Aziraphale admits, looking just a touch guilty. "How long have you...?"

"Since the beginning," Crowley says. "Since the second you told me you'd done the fool thing of giving away that bloody sword of yours."

"And you... knew, then," Aziraphale prods.

"About my own feelings, yeah, sure," Crowley says. "Not about yours."

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry," Aziraphale sighs, reaching for his hands once more and holding them between his own. "I'm sorry I didn't understand any of this. I'm sorry it took so long. I'm sorry I... cocked it all up so spectacularly."

"You haven't cocked anything up. What's a few thousand years between friends, right?" Crowley says with a half-laugh. He clears his throat. "Or... whatever it is we are."

"Us?" Aziraphale ventures. "I think we can be 'Us' for now and perhaps—perhaps figure the rest out in the morning."

Right. Morning. He'd been sleeping before this, hadn't he? It hardly feels like it now. But he supposes he should get home and give them both some space to think this all over. That must be what the angel's implying. He's distracted from his thoughts by the feeling of his hands being squeezed and finds Aziraphale with a near-death grip on them.

"I know you were sleeping prior to this," the angel says slowly. "And I was thinking of... perhaps sleeping this headache off. So I wondered if you might—you don't have to, of course—but perhaps you might consider—ah—well... staying... here. With me."

Crowley feels like he's been repeatedly slapped in the face by life tonight and now she's just decided to straight out come for his life. Aziraphale is asking him to spend the night. Aziraphale, who has nearly never slept in 6,000 years, is asking Crowley to go to bed with him. The demon is starting to wonder when the other shoe is going to drop on this one, but strangely, even as he asks himself that, he has a feeling it isn't going to.

"Yeah," Crowley manages to say around the lump in his throat, forcing the words past a tongue that's shrivelled up in his mouth. "Yeah, alright."

And the way those simple words make Aziraphale glow... It's nearly too much for him. He claims to hate seeing Crowley hide his eyes, but doesn't seem to realize that half the time it's just because he's too damn bright. More than once, Crowley's been afraid of being burned for getting too close. But now, as the angel takes him by the hand and leads him away from the sofa, Crowley wouldn't dream of letting go.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fic #replies

44 notes · View notes

casualhottubnacho · 6 years ago

Text

Trigger Warnings: Mention of blood, mention of attempted suicide, hinted rape.

The European commons were quiet, the air filled with hushed murmurs from debating countries and the click of shoes on polished flooring. Reichtangle was reclined in a plush armchair, his legs crossed, his head resting in the palm of his hand. He was staring blankly at the countries that were milling about, waiting for either something to happen or for the day to just be over. He could have easily, oh so easily started some drama, but he wasn't particularly feeling it today.

He had almost fallen asleep out of pure and unfiltered boredom when approaching footsteps snapped him out of his daze. He didn't lift his head, acting as if he truly had fallen asleep. The footsteps stopped directly beside him on the left side. A honey-smooth voice with a heavy accent was barely caught whispering by his ears. “Falling asleep at a meeting? What are you, 10?” Reichtangle fought down a scowl and turned his head. “Calling people names? What are you, 10?” He mocked.

He had never truly paid attention to the other countries here, so he had a chance to call this individual a stranger. Their lip was twitching into something akin to a smile, though not one of humor or joy. “Real mature.” They muttered. Reichtangle raised an eyebrow. “He says, immediately after attempting to insult me.” The country pursed their lips briefly before sitting down in the chair beside Reichtangle. The country couldn't fight off a scowl, glad that his mouth could hardly be seen against his skin.

“Mind telling me what you want?” Reichtangle snarked after a few silent moments. The country hummed and leaned back in their chair, watching the ceiling. They were tiny compared to Reichtangle, he noticed. “Oh, it's nothing much, really. I'm just contemplating how much land I should take from you.”

Reichtangle fell silent for a heartbeat, stunned by their boldness, before he began to laugh. It wasn't a small laugh, either. No, it was loud enough to catch other countries’ attention. A dozen or so heads snapped over to watch him cover his mouth with a hand in an attempt to stop his chuckling. “Oh, that is hilarious!” He managed to get out. “Really, you should-”

He was suddenly cut off by the country flying out of their seat and into his, sitting down on his lap. It would have looked sexual or comedic had it not been for the dagger pressed to Reichtangle's skin, right beside the hand that was digging into his throat. His eyes widened as he struggled for breath, the other country tutting as he did so. “Reich, Reich, Reich… I think I may need to teach you a lesson, no? Seems fitting for the disrespect you've shown me so far.” Reichtangle couldn't respond, but that doesn't mean he didn't try. The other countries in the room had fallen into perfect silence.

Though the country was minuscule compared to Reichtangle's height, the withering look in his eyes made Reichtangle want to curl up inside. He knew, without a doubt, that this country could and would break the peaceful rules of the commons and would not hesitate to kill him. “Let's say… Oh, why don't we just see how far we can go.” The country muttered. The perfected blade in their hands, concealed so neatly by their body and sleeve, began to ghost its way down Reichtangle's neck and to his chest. “I'll let my people decide just when to stop, okay?” The stranger purred, tightening their grip on his neck. He couldn't stop a strangled gasp for air from leaving his throat, one hand rising to attempt to get this country away.

“Poland! Stop!” One country yelped. That yelp turned into a squeak of fear and scrambling footsteps as ‘Poland’ whipped their arm back, letting the dagger fly. It hit the wood beside the country's head with a Thump!, embedding itself into the wall with ease. Poland grinned a sick grin and readjusted himself. “I think you'd look lovely as my pet, no?” He murmured, clicking the T in Pet. Reichtangle could hardly see at that point, more than less talk. All he could manage was a rather pathetic whimper. He tried to rip Poland's hands away, but the country squeezed for only a moment. That moment seemed to stretch on forever for Reichtangle as his vision went dark for a heartbeat.

When he could see again, Poland used their free hand to pull his head down by the chin, leaning into his ear. “Expect me later tonight, bitch,” He whispered. He suddenly released his hold on Reichtangle and stood up, striding over to the table where his knife was still stuck. Reichtangle coughed and wheezed, his chest heaving as he attempted to take in as much air as he possibly could. Sweat was beading down the back of his neck as covered his coughs with a fist, hunched over in his seat. When he could look up, he saw no Poland, only the shocked eyes of the other European countries.

Reichtangle left the meeting early. He got the feeling everyone preferred that. He stumbled into his home, shutting and tightly locking the front door behind him. He was gently holding the still-bleeding wound on his neck. He hadn't even noticed the claw marks until he had excused himself from the meeting.

He winced as he gazed around his darkened house. He wanted to lock the windows, but he had a horrible feeling that that wouldn’t stop Poland. He wished he could stop thinking Poland's muttered threat, but it was at the forefront of his mind. He trudged into the bathroom and opened the cabinet above the sink, pulling out a roll of bandages. He felt awkward as he rolled it around his neck, covering the wounds.

Once finished, he tilted his head back and forth, trying to get rid of the crick in his neck. After failing to succeed, he sighed heavily and set the roll of bandages back in the cabinet. He turned and hauled himself out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, carefully removing his shoes beside the door. Once inside, he shut and locked the door behind him, slowly removing his coat, folding it, and setting it on the dresser. He did the same with his tie before he began to unbutton his shirt, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he did so.

“C'mon, you can undress better than that,” Poland's voice cooed from behind him. Reichtangle jumped and whipped around, his half-done shirt exposing the majority of his chest. Poland, who was now directly in front of him, whistled and ran a hand over his bare skin. “Damn.” He murmured before glancing up. “Why don't we do this a little differently?” Reichtangle sucked in a breath and took a step back. “What do you want from me?” He hissed, trying to reassure himself. He could take Poland now, he was ready this time… Still, he caught the feeling that a dagger wasn't the only thing up Poland's sleeve. He seemed more one for tricks than brute force, though he had seemed to enjoy using both a while ago.

“I told you. I want your land. You have plenty of it… Why not just give it to me?” A pause. “But you're too prideful for that. I'll simply have to take it by force.” He shot forwards, pinning Reichtangle to the wall. One hand held his waist while the other began to work quickly on the remaining buttons, finishing quickly. When Reichtangle stayed pushed against the wall and wouldn't budge, Poland grunted in annoyance and yanked powerfully on the shirt. It ripped rather loudly and fell to the floor, leaving Reichtangle completely bare-chested.

His breathing picked up as Poland's hand lowered.

The next morning, Reichtangle laid curled up in a tight ball, his entire body shivering. Whether from the mildly chilly air in the room or something more internal, it was hard to tell. He felt… well, he didn't quite know what he was feeling at the moment, but it wasn't anything good. He felt raw and exposed, violated in the one place that he truly felt safe. Or, used to, anyways. But he was Reichtangle, the fearsome Second Reich of Germany. He was an immensely powerful country, and he was certainly not going to cry.

Or maybe he was.

A tiny, pathetic sob left his lips as he curled in on himself even further, his entire body feeling wrong. His body felt sore, and had it been consensual, it would have been in a strangely pleasing way. This was not. He had been attacked on a personal and emotional level in his own home, the one place in the entire world where he had felt okay. Happy. Secure. Take your pick. None of them were true anymore.

The one thing that he felt glad about was the fact that Poland was gone. He had left at some point that morning with a note that read Be back later. Reichtangle didn't want to think about that. He needed to get up and out of bed, he needed to shower, he needed to go into work… He couldn’t be bothered to even lift his head. Even when his phone began buzzing and wouldn't stop, he couldn't even raise a hand to silence it. He just let it ring. On and on and on.

Some of the messages went to voicemail. He could hear them echoing around the room, but he didn't register what they were saying. Others hung up and didn't try calling again. Reichtangle preferred those.

At around noon (at least, he guessed around noon), he managed to sit up. He didn't do anything past that. He just sat there. Around an hour later, he got himself out of bed and tried to walk to the shower. His legs wouldn't work in his favor, so he had to pull himself along with the walls for assistance. When he finally reached the bathroom, he decided he wouldn't be able to stand much longer, turned on the shower, and sat down at the bottom. He let the water do all the work and he buried his face in his knees. He didn't cry anymore. He just sat in silence.

Once he felt a bit better, he switched off the water, dried himself with a towel, and stepped into his bedroom. He grabbed clothes at random and threw them on, stumbling into the kitchen, suddenly desperate for food. As he poured himself a small bowl of cereal, he glanced at the stove clock. It was only 4 o'clock, but he had a feeling that if he didn't hurry and eat, he'd end up passed out with his face in a bowl of cereal.

Once he had shoveled down some food, he left his bowl on the table and hauled himself to his room. He barely made it to his bed before he collapsed, landing face-first onto the pillows. He only got a few hours of sleep (Read: 3) before Poland arrived once more.

This pattern continued, on and on and on until Reichtangle thought he would never escape from this Hell. Some days, he never left his room, while others, he got in to work (though not on time) and got some things done. If he had a normal job, he would have been fired, but you can't exactly fire a country from being a country.

As his land and his people began to belong to Poland, he could feel his physical size dwindling every day. It was becoming very, very obvious that something was very, very wrong, but when questioned, Reichtangle would excuse himself for a moment and not return to that area for another day or two. Many other countries had put two and two together, but no one said anything outright. Their fear of Reichtangle had shifted to a fear of Poland.

Some days, Rectangle couldn't remember what it had been like before Poland had begun his destruction of Reichtangle's carefully constructed life. Other days, he could remember all too well. Those days were always horrible. Some of them, he contemplated ending it all. Actually, he thought of this quite often. Anything seemed better than his current life. Yet whenever he could pluck up something akin to courage to actually go through with it, Poland would arrive. There was a day where Reichtangle attempter and almost succeeded. Poland had been screaming. Not out of fear, but out of anger. He, quote, “...Would not lose his precious plaything to something as weak as suicide.”

Reichtangle didn't try after that.

In fact, he stopped trying anything at all. He just let it all happen. He was resigned to his fate of living in constant fear, with danger looming over him every single night. There wasn't much he could do anymore.

=============

@differentcountryhumans WHOOOO boy i've been up since 4:50 (it's 6:59 now) and ohmygod this took some time. But!! Kinda proud? I don't like the ending but I'm not good at ending things... Anywho, this was really fun to write? UwU 💙

#tw // blood #tw // suicide #tw // rape #all are hinted/ mentioned though not explicitly described #countryhumans #countryhuman poland #countryhuman second reich #countryhuman reichtangle #countryhumans swap! au

73 notes · View notes