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vidalinav · 3 years ago

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Stu(died)-Chapter 3

Summary: Cassian takes care of a sick Nesta

Nessian Modern AU-university setting.

Masterlist, Stu(died) Chapter List

(Rolls eyes hardcore) I am continuing this fic for literally five people. Smh.

Nesta comes to their tutoring session late and that’s the first thing that tips him off. Already his phone is in his hand ready to call 911. He has Nesta’s number in his phone saved. The first person listed in his text log under Nerd. He can always text or call her. He belongs to The Rat Pack in Nesta’s Snap Chat group, and he knows he can always contact Emerie or Gwyn if something is truly wrong. Yet he dials in 911 and his thumb hovers over the call button.

If she doesn’t show up in fifteen minutes, Cassian swears he’ll call.

Nesta’s never late. In fact, she’s annoyingly early. She practically has a stop watch in her hand at all times, counting every minute she waits. When Cassian comes running in five minutes later, as he so often does, panting with some excuse, Nesta doesn’t even bother looking up from her textbook. She merely gestures to the seat, a heavy sigh on her lips, like she’s running out of time to bore him death even as she fascinates him to pieces.

Her books should already be splayed onto the table, her pencils straight and neatly lined up. Today, the table is empty.

He’ll give it fifteen minutes and then he’s calling.

But Nesta shows up before another minute ticks by. She steps out of the elevator wearing that grey polo he’s seen on her a million times. She lugs her way to him, dragging her feet with the weight of those textbooks he’s sure are in her bag.

She’s wearing a mask, today, and that’s another thing that sends his brain screeching somethings not right here! It covers half of her face, and her eyes look tired from where they peak above the fabric. Cassian doesn’t even bother waiting for her to settle. Already he’s crossing his arms, his brows crinkling with concern and something like irritation.

How dare she think studying is more important than her health.

“Go home,” he says as she nears. Nesta only blinks as if as not understanding his words. The fact that she doesn’t immediately argue is enough for him to start gathering his things.

“What are you doing?” She says as he stuffs his notebook in his bag, “You have an exam in two weeks.” Nesta sets down her own, it slaps at the table with a heavy thump. Cassian can hear the zipper unzipping but not as well as the cough that roars out of her mouth.

It’s loud and wet, and Nesta pauses as if to get her bearings, covering her mouth with her arm. She coughs and coughs and Cassian lays a hand to his own chest. He can almost feel how much it hurts, how she gasps.

Cassian shakes his head, “No, I’m taking you home.”

Nesta’s brows furrow and she gets that look in her eyes. He just knows she’s going to fight him on this. “I--”

Cassian cuts her off, “please, save your breath. You’re going to make everyone sick.”

“I’m wearing a mask!” Nesta argues.

“It’s almost midterms.” Cassian gestures to the other occupants in the library. He sees one person with their hoodie pulled up over their head, clearly sleeping... and moves on to someone else. A group in the corner who’s standing by a whiteboard. “You want to take your chances with sleep deprived students?”

Nesta seems to think about that. While she does, Cassian zips up her bag and throws it over his shoulder. It’s as heavy as he thought it might be. Briefly, he thinks of making a joke about how she must have stuffed a body in here, but he doesn’t think she’d appreciate it, given how quiet she is.

Mentally, he starts making a list of everything she needs. Medicine? He’ll get the pills and the syrup, never mind if she scrunches her nose at the taste. He’ll get her soup. Not the canned. Cassian will buy the ingredients. He’s sure he can make something appeasing. Vaguely, he can remember his mom’s recipe. Beef broth and cabbage and squash. Hopefully she can stomach it. Never mind, the salt will be good for her.

“Hey,” she whines, blinking up at him slowly, “give me my bag.”

“Have you not heard me? You need to be home lying down. Not here, helping me study. Why on earth did you think this was a good idea? I’m taking you home.”

Nesta crosses her arms and the intimidation tactic seems ridiculous with her face half covered and her endless sniffling. “You can try, but I’ll just refuse to tell you my apartment number.”

Cassian scoffs, “I know where you live. I can see your room from the house when you study at night.”

“Who says that out loud?” Nesta shouts.

She must be terribly ill if she’s yelling in a library. That’s all he can think as he gestures to the elevator, bags in hand.

“Never mind that. Let’s go,” Cassian says, walking ahead without her.

He can’t hear her shuffling though, so he turns back to find Nesta leaning on a chair, holding her stomach. He can already feel himself sighing.

Cassian rushes back just in time for Nesta to rip off her mask, and move to the closest trashcan. It’s situated under one of the bulletin boards and as Cassian sidles up to her, rubbing at her back and pulling her hair away, he looks to the papers tacked to the board.

Join the rowing team. Looking for tutors. Research participants wanted.

He can hear the retching and Cassian reads on.

Babysitter wanted for professor, transportation needed.

“I haven’t thrown up since middle school,” Nesta says pathetically. She frowns as he hands her his bottle of water. Her nose and cheeks are red and for some reason he thinks of Rudolph, lighting the way for Santa through the storm.

He feels bad for little Rudolph...

“Now will you let me take you home,” Cassian sighs. He hopes it doesn’t sound like an ‘I told you so’ but she should really be lying down. He lays a hand to her forehead, but she brushes him off, moving towards the bathrooms.

“I’ll wait right here,” he says, but Nesta moves ahead as if she doesn’t hear him at all. Cassian can’t find it in himself to mind. A sick Nesta is guaranteed to be a stubborn Nesta, he just knows.

When she gets out, she looks surprised to see him and that’s another look that just proves how sick she must be. It’s a fairly obvious prediction that he’s going to wait next to the girl's bathroom, counting ceiling tiles. It’s a perfectly ‘Cassian with Nesta’ thing to do.

“You’re skipping class?”

Nesta coughs again, and she looks perfectly pitiful as she blinks her tired eyes. Cassian can feel his lips frown, and he shifts her bag more securely on his shoulder if only to keep himself from reaching out for her. Already he can feel his hands bunch into fists because he wants to grab her own and squeeze it until she's reassured. He wants to hug her until she feels better.

But he can’t.

Cassian lists every action he wants to do. Kiss her forehead where Nesta rubs her hand, because she must have a headache from how sick she is. Put on her favorite movie, so she can fall asleep to its sound. Run to every store, raiding every Walgreens and CVS until he comes back with a pharmacy.

What might she allow now that she’s sick? Will she let him fuss like he wants to?

But Nesta rolls her eyes in that haughty way of hers. “You can’t do that.”

“I can’t do what?” Cassian asks and he wonders if she can read his thoughts. If she studies him so well, reads him like one of her textbooks, memorizing facts and facial features.

“You can’t skip class,” she argues. “Why am I tutoring you if you’re going to skip class?”

At the words, all Cassian wants to do is sigh. She’s thinking about attendance at a time like this...

“Nesta, there is no class more important than you.”

Her brows crinkle at the center like she’s going to start arguing, but Cassian allows himself one touch. He places his thumb there, between her brows, smoothing out the lines. Nesta rips away, blinking up dazed and all too confused. Cassian would laugh at the look, if he didn’t need the distraction.

He juts his head to the elevator quickly. “Let’s go. We can walk slow, so don’t overexert yourself.”

Nesta scrunches up her nose, so cute and red, but she follows him anyway albeit a little petulantly. She holds her hand out for her bag, but Cassian turns toward the doors, pretending not to see.

“How does me being sick make you bossy?”

Cassian doesn’t dare to respond. He doesn’t know whether he’ll admit that he wants to take care of her, that’s he’s so worried a knot twists in his stomach, or if he’ll make some joke, he knows will make her mad. Maybe that’s the better option, he thinks. He can handle a mad Nesta. He likes a mad Nesta, but a Nesta who so easily rejects him?

Cassian doesn’t know about that.

“You don’t have any classes left this week, right?”

Nesta coughs into her sleeve before answering. Though she means to sound queenly, she only sounds sick, “you know where I live, and you also know my class schedule... seems suspicious if you ask me.”

“I’ve known you for two years.”

“And murder victims are three times more likely to be killed by someone they know."

Cassian huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, “Do you still go to sleep watching SVU? Or have you switched to Lifetime movies where the babysitters always try to kill the wife?”

“People should be wary about the people they know,” Nesta shrugs as if that’s answer enough.

Cassian snorts, “well you don’t have to be wary of me.”

As the elevator doors open, Cassian gestures for her to go first and Nesta does, but not before crossing her arms.

“That’s just what a murderer would want me to think.” She squints as if dissecting him, limb by limb. “You kill me, and I’ll haunt you. You won’t be able to sleep at night without thinking of me.”

Too late, Cassian thinks.

It’s much too late for that.

Rudolph has the patience of a five-year-old when she’s sick. Cassian learns this fairly quickly when he runs inside a Walgreens on their way to Nesta’s apartment.

There’s a bench that she can sit on, where she can wait if she feels tired, but no. Nesta decides she needs to run errands. She has an entire basket filled by the time he finds her again. She’s by the greeting cards, holding three open at a time. Cassian huffs with a receipt and medicine in hand.

“Here,” he says, giving her the cough medicine. “Take some of this.”

Nesta doesn’t even bother with pouring. He watches as she rips the cap away, taking a swig right out of the bottle, gulping it down.

“That’s way more than the suggested amount,” he cries, “you can get drunk on this stuff!”

“Good, maybe I’ll forget this day ever happened.”

Cassian sighs... it seems all he does is sigh when she’s like this. A sick Nesta is a petulant, irritated Nesta with a permanent furrow between her brows.

“I know you feel sick,” he tries to placate, “but I bet you’d feel a whole lot better if we get you home as soon as we can... so you can lie down and sleep.”

Nesta only picks up another Halloween card. She ignores his suggestion, laughing under her breath as she reads whatever inane joke is written there. Soon, she’s coughing though, and Cassian reaches for the basket just to stop himself from rubbing a hand down her back, combing his fingers through her hair.

Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn, his thoughts scream.

Cassian looks to the contents to distract himself from her watery eyes, and that’s when he notices what she’s grabbed. It seems that while he was in the cold and flu aisle, Nesta was raiding the snacks.

“What is this?” He gestures to the basket. Two boxes of cereal. Caramel corn. Baked Lay’s and cans of Arizona tea. Cassian takes one and holds it up. “Really Nesta?”

“What it’s green tea!” she argues, shoving another card back in its slot.

“This is all... junk,” he tries to explain, but Nesta’s already glowering.

“Look I don’t question your decisions. You don’t question mine.”

Cassian gives her a bland look. “You question my decisions all the time. Before we came in here, you literally said ‘why are we going in here, Cassian? Weren’t you supposed to take me home.’ You said that.”

Nesta simply raises her chin, pulling out another card. “I recall no such thing.”

“Fine,” Cassian grumbles, “if you want to eat yourself to an early grave and ignore everything that could potentially make you feel better than that’s just fine with me.”

“Good,” she says, putting back the other cards. Nesta settles for a pop-up that sings Monster Mash when she opens it. She sets it in the basket he holds, walking ahead without even looking back. “I’m ready to check out.”

“Really?” Cassian jokes, mockingly. “Are you sure you raided the candy aisle?”

Nesta stops in her tracks, peering through the section with printer ink and paper as if she can see the other side. He swears he’d facepalm if he wasn’t carrying all this stuff.

“You’re right,” she says, nodding.

“Wait!” Cassian calls. “Where are you going? Nesta!”

Too late. He can already hear crunching bags.

The variety packs.

Cassian sighs, lugging their things to the aisle next door.

“Can I use these vegetables?” Cassian asks, as Nesta shoves open the door to her room. He’s surprised she’s not still by the freezer. When they first get back to her place, she sticks her head in there and he wonders if he should suggest taking her temperature, or if she’s doing it just to show him she’s annoyed.

Perhaps her ears bleed from the sound of his voice.

That seems like something Nesta would say.

“They’re Emerie’s. Why?”

“To make soup,” Cassian explains, rifling through the contents. There’s zucchini and summer squash. Onion, fresh parsley and carrots. Cabbage and lettuce. Fresh fruit. He can make a nice stew out of this.

Nesta scoffs, “I don’t need soup.”

She enters her room, shoving the door back behind her until it leaves only a crack.

“You can leave now,” she yells. “I’m home like you wanted.”

“Are you lying down?” He asks, crossing his arms sternly though she can’t see him.

Nesta sighs loudly, “you’re annoying!”

“Maybe if you got some rest, I’d be less annoying,” Cassian sings brightly.

He can hear the soft sound of her voice. “Doubt.”

Cassian shakes his head with a smirk. He opens his snapchat where The Rat Pack is the first on the list, but the group name has changed... to People I Tolerate.

That’s got to be Nesta.

Cassian laughs under his breath and types. Can I use your vegetables? Making Nesta soup.

Emerie’s bitmoji pops up at the bottom, but the person who texts back first is not Emerie, but Gwyn.

You’re at our house?

Cassian can almost hear her voice. Stern and cautious. He’s almost certain she doesn’t like him. Gwyn looks at him with even more disdain than Nesta when he's around. That stay away from my friend look.

He sighs. Yes, Nesta’s sick.

Gwyn’s quick to respond. I can come home early. I need to drop off a paper, but I can be there in 30.

Cassian rolls his eyes and types, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of her.

Nesta’s face pops up. I can take care of myself.

“No, you can’t!” Cassian yells.

“Yes, I can!” Nesta yells back, but then she starts coughing again and he can hear her groan in the other room. Cassian raises a brow at her door.

I’m going to make soup. I’ll make enough for all of you, but can I use stuff from the fridge? I’ll replace it all.

Emerie’s face pops up and then disappears quickly. He’s about ready to go to the store himself or at least next door to the House, but Emerie’s text appears.

I have no objections to this.

Cassian smiles in relief, and he’s about to set down his phone when another notification appears. It’s Emerie again.

And if you make good soup, you can stay indefinitely.

Cassian sends a winking emoji. Nesta sends back the emoji with the straight mouth and eyes. Before he can frown at what that means, Cassian sees that the group name has changed... to Three’s Company.

That’s got to be Gwyn.

Stone cold, Emerie texts back.

Cassian decides he’s going to ignore that for the moment and focus on the objective at hand.

Soup.

Cassian pulls out the vegetables and looks through the cupboards. Emerie, it seems, has all the good spices. He finds the broth packets stored in the back, and he pulls out some beef from the freezer. It’ll need to defrost but he can start the broth now, get the vegetables soft, and brown the beef later. It’ll take a couple of hours anyway.

Occasionally, he hears a cough as he works. Then a sweet laugh... followed by a cough and a groan. Cassian feels bad for her he does, but he can’t help but find the whole situation amusing. She should be resting and yet she seems to be wide awake.

Nesta doesn’t come out of her room though. It’s as if he’s not even there, and he takes that time to look over her shared apartment. There are three doors, each with a letter at the front. The N is blue, the E, green, and the G, pink. He doesn’t know how it’s possible to have a living room that looks like all three, but somehow it works. It’s studious and bright. Colorful, but subdued. There are way too many throw pillows and books scattered everywhere, but there’s also a TV with a fireplace under it. He can just imagine Nesta laughing at scary movies. Some slasher fic she’ll watch like she’s taking notes.

He can imagine Nesta everywhere, in fact.

This is where she eats. Where she sits. Where she studies. This is where she trips over shoes if they’re not neatly lined up and where she complains about dirty dishes. This is where she cooks... if she does cook. Cassian doesn’t know.

Maybe he’ll get to find out one day.

Once the water starts boiling and the meat is in the microwave to defrost, Cassian goes to check how Rudolph is doing.

He knocks on her door lightly, pushing it open. “Nesta?”

Cassian’s never seen her room before, say for when she sits by the window with her curtains wide open, and just like then, it seems like an invasion of privacy to do so now. But Nesta’s plopped on top of her bed, tucked beneath her blue comforter, and she sets down her phone when he appears at the door.

Her whole room is filled with blues and creams, and it looks exactly what he imagines Nesta’s room to look like. The large calendar, an agenda on the desk, bookshelf after bookshelf lining her walls. There are also things he doesn’t know of her yet. Pictures and posters and a.... stuffed lobster? Cassian holds it up.

“Would you stop looking around?” Nesta groans. She has her arm resting over her eyes, and he wonders if it’s because she doesn’t want to see him looking or if she feels that bad that the light is bothering her.

She should be getting some rest, he thinks.

“Where did you get a stuffed lobster?”

Nesta coughs out her response.

The sound makes Cassian grimace, his chest ache with need, but he doesn’t rush over like he wants to. This is her house, her room... and this is Nesta who doesn’t like to be coddled by anyone.

“It’s a heat pack,” she says at last, after she catches her breath.

“A heat pack?” Cassian looks to the soft red claws that dangle. He’s never seen anything so soft be a heat pack.

“For cramps,” she says as if it’s obvious. Nesta must take his silence to mean ignorance for she lifts onto her elbows, raising a judgmental brow. “Please tell me you know what periods are or am I am going to have to go back to teaching you biology?”

“No,” Cassian draws out, “I know what periods are.”

Nesta mumbles a thank god and Cassian watches as she shifts under the covers, pulling them up until they hover just beneath her mouth.

“Are you cold?” Cassian asks, looking around her room. He spots his burgundy hoodie neatly folded and nearly yanks it from her desk. “Here. Wear my sweatshirt.”

“I just washed it,” Nesta whines, “I was going to give it back to you.”

Cassian’s confused by the words, but he merely gestures for her to budge up. He’s thankful when she doesn’t argue. He rolls the sweatshirt over her head and Nesta fits her arms through the sleeves.

“You didn’t have to wash it,” he says, watching as she pats down her hair. If only he could pull it up for her, comb his fingers through it. She could use his scrunchie too, if she wanted.

Nesta rolls her eyes, and he can only imagine what she thinks. He can practically hear the words. Of course, you wouldn’t care about clean clothes.

Her expressions practically give her away--everything she feels and thinks. Cassian wonders if he knows how open she is to the rest of the world. He wonders if she’d hate him if he told her this.

“It was going to smell like me,” she frowns.

Cassian wants to huff out a laugh. That is perfectly fine by him.

“Stop laughing,” she whines, “I’m being serious.”

“Yes, you’re being very serious.” He can’t help his smirk as he gazes up at her. He doesn’t even realize he’s on her bed, sitting to the side of her all bunched up in red. Her nose to the fabric. He almost wants to say she looks cute in his hoodie, all sick like that, but he knows she’ll only bite at him, remarking about how he has some weird fetish for sick girls.

Cassian holds back a laugh as he hears the microwave ding. He needs to turn the meat around, so it doesn’t cook through, but Nesta grips his arm. His head whips towards her and... Nesta’s gazing up at him. Her eyes are a soft blue. Just like her room.

“You’re warm,” she says. To explain herself, he thinks, and why she holds him as if she doesn't want him to move.

Cassian’s lips raise lightly, and he places the back of his hand on her forehead. “You must be worse than you’re letting on if you're okay with me being in your bed.”

Nesta scoffs, “you’re on it. Not in it. I’ll make that distinction very clear.”

“You can’t be that sick then,” Cassian shrugs, smiling. “If you’re making everything sound like a tutoring session.”

Her cheeks flush a bright pink and Cassian thinks she must have a fever. He wonders if he should search for an ice pack or make one, so she doesn’t get too hot.

“Are you tired?” He asks, noting how slowly she blinks. “You did drink a lot of cough syrup.”

“I also took a NyQuil,” she says, closing her eyes.

Cassian huffs, “remind me to teach you how read warning labels when your fully coherent.”

He can hear the microwave ding again, and it reminds him of an alarm. Wake up! It seems to say. Being in Nesta’s room does feels like falling asleep. Rather dream-like and hazy. The microwave dings incessantly, but Cassian doesn’t want to wake up just yet.

Her hand is still on his arm. It’s so much smaller than his and he wants to trace the skin there and see if it’s as soft as it looks. Cassian doesn’t dare look at her, in case she doesn’t just bang together two loud cymbals and tell him to get up and out and away.

Cassian looks ahead instead, fixing his gaze on the stuffed lobster on her desk.

“Nesta,” he starts and then swallows. He feels nervous, his hands clammy. “Nesta, I really think you and I... we’d be good together.”

Cassian takes a breath, and he stares at the lobster as if it’s her face. “We’ve known each other for a long time now and I... I haven’t hid how I feel about you.” His heart is beating way too fast, and he doesn’t feel any freer from speaking the words, but Cassian decides it’s time to rip the Band-Aid off. “I thought maybe... we could try it out. See if you might be comfortable with it. If you might like me... too?”

He doesn’t know why he words that like a question, but Nesta doesn’t say a word. Cassian looks back, hoping there’s no disgust in baby blue. He doesn’t know what he’d do if she just outright says he’s trash and she’ll never like him.

But Nesta’s fast asleep.

Cassian doesn’t bother sighing as he grips her limp hand, setting it on the blanket. He doesn’t bother being disappointed when he tucks the comforter around her. Her cheeks are a lobster-red and he rubs a thumb lightly there, wondering what it would be like to hold her face in his palm and kiss at her nose. Would she complain as he pecked her lips? You’ll get sick Cassian.

Then we can stay in bed together, Nesta.

No. Cassian’s not disappointed at all.

He’ll tuck away his dreams where tomorrow lives.

Today, he’ll stick to what he’s good at, so Cassian heads to the kitchen to make soup.

~ ~

Mwahahahaahah

In case you missed, here’s the stuffed lobster in the flesh.

Tagged:

@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08 @confusedfandomslut @dread3r @sv0430

"Why am I still writing this fic?" I say angrily, as I angrily type it in my angry word document.

#nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #nessian fanfiction #vidalinav writes #Stu(died)

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littlefreya · 4 years ago

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Easy Prey

Summary: Direct sequel to Jerk. Ring or not, August promised himself that he will make you his, in whatever mean possible and he kept that promise.

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (2nd person pov)

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+, dark, kidnapping, bondage, dubious consent, teasing, dirty talk, gunplay (yeah add this to the list of kinks I gave you), sweet degradation and praise.

A/N: You thought August is going to sweet talk this one, didn’t you? Surprise! This was a short drabble brought by a prompt, turned into a one-shot and then my beta @agniavateira suggested this as a sequel to Jerk before I posted. Since most of you may be in a thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, enjoy my own early b-day gift to you! Many thanks to @wondersofdreaming and @sapphirescrolls who convinced me to post this.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. Your feedback is my fuel. 🖤

Easy Prey

August Walker lived his life swinging between the two sharp edges of a sword; but then, how could he not? He had to maintain a handsome prime-alpha male reputation while hiding his true cruel nature masked beneath mist and shadows.

It took everyone by surprise once it was revealed that the slick, charming agent was a vicious, Armani-wearing monster. A hard-to-swallow pill for most, but these two diverse entities were always one and the same:

August Walker was John Lark the way darkness followed light.

And how unfortunate it was of you to be lured into the spider’s web, stunned by the beauty of the pearly silk; you’ve gotten too close and had your limbs caught in the sticky threads. Now captured, you’ve earned yourself a taste of August’s sweet toxin yourself.

Fear wasn’t even close to the sensation that was gnawing in your gut.

The suite was cosy; a sleepy fire crackled in the mantle, shy beams of maple light kissed your bare breasts while you laid upon the softest pillows. It felt like a sinister joke compared to the ropes charring the supple flesh of your wrists. August had you stripped of any remnants of protection of course, save for the little jewellery circling your finger which he eyed with a blank stare that screamed in its contained silence.

Fully clothed, he stood at the fore of the bed, wearing a blue three-piece suit as if he was attending a royal wedding. A magnum was clutched in his right hand and a dagger in the other. The calmness and elegance of his appearance only made you arch and grunt in your fruitless attempts to set yourself free.

“Ropes too tight, angel?” He hummed, his voice so pleasant it felt like your lungs were floating in a void. His crystal-pale gaze dawdled upon you, invading beneath the skin, penetrating the warm crease between your legs which you fought to keep shut.

He felt it, or maybe even smelled the arousal that wafted at his direction and chanted his name.

“I’d save my strength if I were you. We’ve already proven that no one can hear your screams and we have a long night ahead of us.”

His words covered the bones of your spine with a thick layer of frost and in your searing throat, a bitter substance reemerged. Screwing your eyes shut, you wished more than anything for this to be a nightmare; but every time the binds twisted about your hands, you remembered the dreadful meaning behind the pain.

It was there to remind you of the harsh slap that was reality.

August tilted his head, a smile beginning to spread from each corner of his mouth: all pleasant and charming as if this was nothing but a couple’s naughty getaway.

“You can’t wake up from this, this is not a dream… or a nightmare, depends on your disobedience,” he assured, boding a sudden hollow in your chest. “Now, which one do you prefer? The knife or the gun?”

“Fuck you!”

Defiant, you gathered yourself to scream a trembling cry, sending your legs to kick the mattress in a hopeless fight. Only it made things worse as August was able to spot the little dew-kissed orchid between your legs, glistening-wet with invitation.

Flicking a tongue over his upper lip, he crept close. His broad shoulders strained, his posture that of an elegant predator; as you saw the large outlines of his heavy cock stretching his navy-blue trousers, even hatred and horror couldn’t mask the pang of need that shot through your core.

Despite the panic, the traitorous instinct of life whispered of undisclosed, primal lust. You wished so badly you could fight or hide it, but alas there was no hiding from August. He could sense it, see it, and even taste it on his wicked tongue.

“Gun then,” he answered and slid the knife back into the holster in his belt.

Your breath hitched as the mattress dipped beneath his weight, and you watched paralysed as he aimed the gun between your legs. Strong tremors coursed along your skin and your knees buckled and wobbled as the cold metal touched you; and yet, in that very moment, you did the impossible and moaned.

“Has it been that long since you had a dick inside you?” August observed with a vicious grin crisping his lips. It made his moustache twitch almost comically.

“Don’t worry sweet angel, we’ll fix that soon.”

Pushing the gun between your kneecaps, he forced them open and ran the barrel feverishly down your inner thighs. The metal was freezing against your flesh, eliciting little tingles to spiral beneath the tender brush. Gasping, you looked away from him ashamed. You were terrified, not just of him, but from how much the wanton centre of your sex clenched from his ministrations.

You were bound and kidnapped by a dangerous man, and yet in your mind played the sick fantasies of him unbuckling his belt and giving you his full girth hard and wild.

“You will soon have me in every hole,” August continued with a promise on his honeyed lips while lowering the brim of the weapon perilously close to your radiating heat and toying with the sensitive area teasingly. “I will make it hurt real bad, you’ll feel me there for days if not more,” he hummed and swerved the barrel between your engorged lips.

“Please!” You gasped and writhed away slightly, tugging on the binds that began chafing your delicate skin. August raised his glare to meet your pleading eyes and leaned forward, his shadow looming over you entirely. Reaching one hand to your nape, he clutched you forcefully while his icy glare pierced right through your skull.

Slow and sensual he began to run the gun between your soft petals, gingerly grazing the hard shaft at the plump peak of flesh that made you cry out with both pleasure and despair.

“Aww...” He keened and groaned. Never stopping his coaxing of your cunt with the still object, his breath huffed hot upon your cheek as he rounded his beautiful lips in faux pity. “Poor helpless little butterfly.”

Crying and dazed, you stared directly into his eyes. Words of plea kept running caged inside your head, unable to make their way out while you watched August’s large shoulder move back and forth. The movement resulting in the unwanted pleasure. Back and forth, he stroked you, gradually increasing the pace, and not without style even. Ruthless, August was keen on making you come.

You weren’t even sure what it was that you begged for at that point.

Grunts and sobs escaped your throat unwillingly. You squirmed and pushed against it, your body craving for more: not just for the rough friction that tingled at your cunt but also at the large bulge visible at his groin. The more rapture began to creep through your flowing tendons, the further you sank into delirium, wondering how he would feel like buried deep between your tight walls, fucking you the way only someone who has no boundaries would.

“Fuck!” You screamed, grinding against the metal while August leaned even closer and kissed the corner of your mouth before groaning and moaning at your lips. His hand worked hard between your thighs, the cold barrel now warm, the hollow edge coated with your elixir.

The wall of your protests crumbled as the simmering surge of climax began pushing itself down your belly, leaving you teetering between self-loathing and ecstasy.

“That’s right my beautiful butterfly, I’ll pluck your wings,” August promised in a husky whisper, watching you as you coiled and cried louder, your walls convulsing tightly around a sad, empty space as you came. If only you didn’t wish it was August choked between them instead.

As you slumped down, sweaty and breathless, he drawled a growl of content and slowly withdrew the gun to hold it next to your shivering face.

“I swear, Sloan’s assistants keep getting sluttier every year; the last one I fucked had a thing for me choking her,” he mocked while grazing the wet barrel against your cheek, “do you think you’d be into that too, sweetling? My hand around your throat?”

Rounding your eyes in utter fear, you swallowed the dryness in your throat. August sighed with a malicious little grin while twisted awe danced between the blue, sparkling sapphires that examined you ecstatically, so fascinated by how easily he managed to break and bend you to his will.

Still holding the neck of the gun pressed next to your cheek, he reached the other hand above your head. A part of you was relieved for a moment, thinking he was about to untie the bind.

But your hope quickly died as you felt his fingers rolling the ring that decorated your finger.

The diamond reflected onto the deep blue of his eyes as he examined it closely before throwing it directly into the fireplace.

“No!” You cried out brokenly, as the last memory of your old life disappeared in flames.

“Save your tears beautiful,” August retorted, his voice once again so soft it chilled your very core. He shifted his entire weight between your straddled thighs, and leaned in to kiss the wetness below your eye, “you won’t be needing it anymore.”

His tongue slipped out to collect the briny liquid that gathered on your cheek, and another hum of delight rumbled in his chest as his covered cock unmistakably ground against your mound, “I am your man from now on, might as well accept it and let me do whatever I want.”

Shivering under him, you took a deep breath, your body already swaying in demand as you felt him throbbing beneath the soft fabric of his pants. To your own horror, your head fell into a slow nod of shameful consent.

It wasn’t just August you were afraid of, but also for yourself.

#henry cavill #August Walker #august walker x reader #henry cavill x reader #august walker fanfiction #august walker x you #dark!fanfiction

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astro-rain · 3 years ago

Text

delicate; b.barnes

chapter twenty - “collateral damage”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2k

synopsis: bucky and y/n deal with the emotional fallout of her departure from wakanda.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: mildly suggestive content, nothing explicit, 18+ readers please.

The flight home was wretched. Sleeping on the jet was impossible. Every time she shut her eyes she saw his face. If her mind did somehow manage to drift off to sleep, Y/N dreamed of him and woke up trying not to rip her hair out.

"We can still stay in contact, right?" Bucky asked as they were walking back from the waterfall.

They had left their catharsis by the water, still upset, but now calmer and more logical.

"I don't think so..."

"What? Why? It's not like we don't have the technology to do it."

"I know, but.." Y/N trailed off, trying to think of a sensible excuse.

Obviously they could stay in contact if they wanted. But any kind of phone call would be able to be tracked or recorded. That, and she didn't want him to hang on to someone who betrayed him. She couldn't imagine the guilt she'd have hearing Bucky's "I miss you's" or "Baby doll's" from miles away, knowing she lied to him.

"You don't even have a phone..."

"That's an easy problem to fix."

"I know... I just think you should focus on the rest of your healing, and... you know, I'll have a lot of work once I get back...." she took a breath. "I don't know if it's super healthy for us to cling on to each other when it... may be better to move on..."

"Move on?"

"Yeah..."

Bucky stopped walking and turned to face her. They both stood still and he stared at her, confused, as if he was trying to figure something out. He knew her well. She was scared he'd see right through her.

"So let me get this straight. When you're here we can talk all the time and... plenty of other things. But when you're away we can't even call each other?"

"Bucky..."

"That's not all, is it?"

She sighed. "I'm just... worried... about- like-... getting in trouble. If someone overhears or tracks a phone call...What if someone finds out where the 'Winter Soldier' is and comes here to exact revenge?"

That was partly true. She'd never want anyone bad to find out where he was. But no one was tracking her phone calls; she wasn't really a person of interest. In all likelihood, it probably wasn't something she'd have to be terribly worried about.

However, if anyone overheard or saw Bucky on the phone, they'd know it was her, and she doubted anything she could say would convince them that she didn't tell him about the arm.

Or maybe no one would find out. She just didn't want to take the chance. The last time she took a chance, this happened. She wasn't willing to do it again.

He stared at her with dejected eyes. "You know you don't have to worry about me. I'll be okay."

She rested her hands on his forearms and laughed sadly. "Bucky, I don't think I'm ever not gonna worry about you."

He was already in her heart. She didn't think he could leave now.

He let his eyelids fall shut. "I really don't want you to go."

She closed her eyes as well and let her forehead rest against the top of his chest.

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't want to leave you either. But you're gonna do so well, even without me. And every day I'll wake up and think 'wow this man is sexy and has good coping mechanisms! I wish I was him!'"

In the midst of his sadness, she made him laugh. It was a despondent, quiet laugh, but she managed to lift his mood all the same - even if just a little bit. She'd always make everything better.

He gazed down at her, eyes heavy, and without even thinking about it... "I love you."

She looked down at the grass below her feet. "Buck..."

"I do. I'm sorry but I do."

She wrapped her arms around the middle of his back, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in tight, one arm up her back and the other cradling her head.

In the tiniest whisper, she let the truth flow out from her chest. "I love you, too."

The clouds provoked her, so peaceful and quiet, while her head was a big, loud mess. Y/N leaned her head on the window, glaring at them and wondering if she should've said what she did. That she loved him. Internally, she debated whether or not it would make things worse. But she wasn't going to see him again; she might as well have left him with the truth.

Time was lost to her. She thought she would be landing soon, but she couldn't be sure. She couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

Bucky sat at the lake - their lake - and just stared into the water. It felt so strange to him, that she was gone. One minute she was here and now he was just... alone.

It was so quiet. Too quiet. Of course being alone was quiet, but after Y/N left, the air just felt empty.

He wished he could talk to her. Whenever he was upset, all he wanted to do was talk to her.

"So, is this... d-do we say goodbye now?" he asked when they got back to his hut.

"Yeah..." she sighed. "yeah."

"Are you going back to Europe?"

"Yes. Belgium. Haven't been in my apartment in forever."

"Belgium," he wondered. "It's nice there. Safe. What are you gonna do for work?"

"Probably just continue where I left off on my research. Fancy brain stuff, ya'know?"

He grinned, proud. "My smart girl."

She looked around her, as if watching for something. Or someone.

"Buck, I think I have to go now."

"Just one more minute? Please. I wanna remember you like this. Not sad and crying."

Y/N smiled, grabbed his hands, and kissed his knuckles. Both flesh and metal. Because they were both part of him and she loved him. All of him.

Then, she placed both his hands on either side of her face. Softly she said, "remember me like this," before bringing their lips together.

He looked down at his vibranium arm, twisting his wrist to watch how the plates whirred.

Since the first moment he put it on, he had been using it to be gentle, loving, and affectionate. This arm was good. This arm wasn't used for death and destruction and violence.

With this arm he held her, kissed her, loved her. And now she was gone. And now it felt like dead weight.

— ONE WEEK LATER —

Whenever Bucky looked at his bionic arm he saw her. It began to make him sad.

His hair had been getting longer and longer. He could cut it now, now that he had two arms. But every time he tried, all he could do was stare at the arm and hear her voice in his head.

"That's your heart. That's you. You're all heart, Buck. You're so deeply, wonderfully human. All the way to your bones."

That was the first time he expressed real distress about missing a limb, he recalled. That was the first time they kissed. Funny how that transition was made, funny how she could remedy some of his worst emotions.

His days were boring and uneventful and nearly silent. He sat alone a lot. There was no laughter anymore, none of her laughter. There was no more holding, no more kissing, no more loving. The arm just felt... wrong? Like what it was born from had died.

In Belgium, Y/N felt incredibly uncomfortable. She knew she just needed to adjust to the change, after getting to used to life in Wakanda - life with Bucky. Her vacant apartment didn't feel as homey.

It had been, what, a year and a half? About a year and a half since she had been home. About a year and a half spent with Bucky.

Her apartment seemed so... barren. Void of life. And cold. She was used to the Wakandan heat. When she closed and locked the door behind her, she looked at the golden square that the sun cast through her window. It reminded her of that heat.

Y/N sighed, cursing her very own hippocampus for providing her with memory.

"God, I wish you had an AC in here."

She was in his bed. Well, she was on top of him, straddling him, in his bed.

"Is it hot or is it just you?" he joked, poking at her sides and trying to not pout at the loss of her lips.

"Ha. Ha," she rolled her eyes and brought her face back to his.

"Wait," Bucky said and gently pulled her face away to examine it. "You are a little warm."

"It's okay," she quickly tried to resume their previous activity.

"Hold on-" he got cut off as Y/N kept pecking his lips over and over.

"I have-"

Kiss.

"An idea-"

Kiss.

Lightly he pushed her shoulders away, nearly giggling. "Stop it! Just wait a second!"

Bashful, she conceded. "What?"

"Just-" he reached out and put the vibranium hand on her forehead, effectively cooling her down a bit. She closed her eyes and flashed a goofy smile.

"That feels nice."

Then, suddenly, he wrapped both his arms around her back and flipped them over so that he was on top. He smirked.

"Oh yeah, you just wait."

She hung her keys up and took a deep breath, absorbing the emptiness. This was her new normal; she just had to get used to it.

"I just- I don't really... I don't think I need it," Bucky tried to explain.

Want it, he thought. I don't want it. I can't stand to even look at it.

"You don't need it?" Shuri asked.

"Yeah, it-uh it takes a bit of getting used to and I think I just need a break. And I wouldn't want to damage it so... figured it's better with you."

He was better at lying than he gave himself credit for.

"Okay," Shuri accepted his answer and began to detach the bionic arm. "But you let me know if it's uncomfortable or painful anywhere so I can adjust it. Alright?"

"Alright. Thank you."

Finally he was rid of it- that cursed metal weighing down on his soul. Maybe now he could focus on other things. Maybe. It didn't seem likely...

However, as the days drew closer, it did make him slightly - only slightly - less nervous about the trigger word experiment. Now he didn't have a weapon attached to him. Though he reckoned he was the weapon.

No. He wasn't supposed to think like that. He knew Y/N wouldn't want him to. He knew she would say something like, "You aren't what they tried to make you into. You're you and all HYDRA's awfulness can't change the good at your core. My Bucky. You're perfect."

He'd deny to high heavens that he was the farthest thing from perfect. Bucky had no clue how she could say such things. But her conviction never faltered.

Soon enough the day came. The experiment. All he could think about was how she was supposed to be there. He didn't want to do this without her.

But now, he found himself sitting at at a fire on some mountain with one of the Doras. It was dark and it was scary. He was scared.

"It is time," said Ayo.

Nevermind want. He wasn't sure if he could do this without her.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I won't let you hurt anyone."

He was still scared. He still didn't trust himself. But, staring into the fire, he thought back to a past conversation.

"You don't have to trust yourself. That's hard enough as it is and Hydra didn't make it any easier. You just trust me, alright? ... And I will not let anything happen to you."

Bucky didn't have to trust himself. He just had to trust her. Even if she wasn't here, even if she was on another continent, all he had to do was trust her. When Ayo began reciting the trigger words, that was the one thing thing he held onto. The one thing that kept him afloat.

His trust in her.

delicate taglist: @emmojoy @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance @ilovespideyyy @xpurpleglitter @bluelakeee @darkacademic2 @eclipsedplanet @paradisedixon @crazy-beautiful @coffee--writes @lilithknight1111 @buckybarnesishot310 @softladyhours @alwayssandy @those-sea-green-eyes @hero-ically @devilswaldorf @cc13723things @small-death-and-codeine @avengersgirllorianna @cataves @thatbitchsposts @talktomeaboutthestars @surrealpsycho @headheartbellarke @bubbly-moonwarrior @bluemoon-icecream @buckeyecreates @augustbucky @itsthemaree @undiadeestos

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brightly-painted-canvas · 3 years ago

Note

Credo che possiamo affermare con assoluta certezza che tutte le bambine della parrocchia avrebbero una cotta fotonica per Nico l'animatore del Grest, E LE MAMME SAREBBERO PURE PEGGIO, "tanto un caro ragazzo lui..."

Ah, sì. Poco ma sicuro. Headcanon accepted. Passerebbe il tempo circondato da bimbe (e bimbi perché no) adoranti che lo seguono ovunque e che parlano di lui talmente tanto a casa che tutti i genitori si sono fatti assurdi film mentali su questa figura mitologica. E poi se lo trovano davanti all'orario di uscita e pure le mamme perdono la testa.

A riguardo, piccolo aneddoto personale: anche io quando facevo l'animatrice ero molto apprezzata dai più piccoli XD Una volta un bambino di seconda elementare mi ha regalato una carta Pokémon e mi ha chiesto di sposarlo.

Quindi, dato che avevo promesso avrei provato a scrivere un po', complimenti: hai vinto una drabble ispirata proprio a questo fatto realmente accaduto! :D

Innocent proposal (animatore!Nicky AU)

When the bell rings, announcing it’s time to gather up the teams for prayers before heading to the mess hall for lunch, Nicky is still helping Jacopo solve a math problem.

“It’s okay. We will finish this tomorrow.” he smiles at the 9 years old, who looks ready to bolt, summer homework already very far from his young mind.

“Grazie, Nico!” he exclaims, while dutifully picking up his book and pencil case.

Nicky gets up, helps the kids gather their stuff, cleans up the study room and heads down to the gym, where Don Luigi is waiting for all the 120 kids attending this year’s oratorio estivo to sit on the floor before starting his usually brief and often sung pre-lunch prayer.

The gym is already full of it’s typical colourful mass of kids, from the ‘juniores’ to the ‘seniores’, all with caps and neckerchiefs of their team’s colour: blue, red, yellow or green.

Nicky is about to slalom through a group of rowdy seniores to reach the side of the gym where the other animatori are seated, when he feels a tug at the back of his t-shirt.

He stops, turns his head and looks down, surprised in seeing little Chiara biting her lips and still holding the hem of his shirt in her tiny fist.

“What is it, darling?” he asks, smiling down at her.

When she lets him go, he turns and crouches down at her level, balancing on his heels, to give his whole attention to the shy, sweet 7 years old.

“Vanessa taught us how to make beaded bracelets.” she says, her voice so thin it’s almost impossible to hear her mumbling beneath the chaos of the gym.

“Did she? That’s very nice!” he encourages her, while in his mind he is revising his animatrice friend Vanessa, that very morning, cursing at all the colourful beads boxes she had to carry from the storage to the art laboratory.

Chiara, who already has her own bracelet around her small wrist, produces another bracelet from her jeans’ pocket: it has beads of all the colours of the rainbow, not really placed in a logical order. At the center there is a dice shaped white bead with an ‘N’ printed on it.

“This is for you.” Chiara says, possibly even more softly than before.

“Grazie, Chiara! È bellissimo!” exclaims Nicky, accepting the gift and immediately snapping the plastic elastic band around his thick wrist: the bracelet it’s a bit tight, but he’s surely gonna wear it proudly all through summer camp now.

“It’s because I think you’re very nice and handsome and I like you very very much.” says Chiara then, somewhere somehow finding the courage to even raise her voice a bit.

Nicky blinks exactly twice, then he smiles sweetly, trying not to burst into a laugh in the face of such a cute love confession: “Thank you, I like you too.” he says, taking the girl’s tiny hand in his huge one. He can’t help falling a bit in love with every small kid he tutors during oratorio estivo each summer: they’re adorable, even the most troublemakers.

Then Chiara asks suddenly: “Will you marry me, Nicolò?”, catching him so off guard he almost loses balance on his crouching and falls on his ass.

He fumbles, looking into her hopeful, big green eyes as she waits for an answer. He knows he can’t get away with a joke or an attempt to gloss over. He has to give her a reply, so as not to hurt the shy girl’s feelings.

Later that evening, Nicky is sprawled on the couch eating popcorn, distractedly watching some superhero movie on Joe’s big flatscreen TV while his boyfriend slowly and lovingly massages his sore feet and calves. Joe has had Nicky’s legs propped on his lap since the moment they sat down, claiming that helping Nicky relax and ease the pain of more than 8 hours spent standing, running and lifting heavy stuff, was his favourite job.

Above them the ceiling fan whirs in a monotone and Nicky is almost falling asleep were it not for the loud booms of explosions from the TV and the many sounds of late summer evenings coming from the street’s bars and restaurants below. Joe’s apartment is in a very lively neighbourhood.

By the minute Nicky is feeling his eyelids drooping and his breath becoming deeper and slower and he’s about to let slumber win when Joe suddenly moves, getting up.

“I bought gelato. The pistacchio and stracciatella one you like so much. Want some?” he asks, already smiling, knowing that not even deep tiredness could deter Nicky from eating his favourite summer dessert.

“Ti amo tantissimo.” he just mumbles as a reply, smiling dumbly with his eyes half closed and his neck skewed at such an odd angle he must have at least five chins showing. He can’t even English at the moment, so he just continues with much fondness: “Cosa devo fare io per meritarmi un amore grande così…”

Joe snorts, having heard him from the kitchen.

He comes back a few minutes later, one cup of ice cream and a spoon in each hand, and places them on the coffee table before bending to kiss Nicky on the (slightly sweaty, ugh, gross) forehead.

“You have to kiss me, hold me close even if it’s summer…” he starts listing, plopping down on the couch and then in Nicky’s arms, linking their legs, pushing his face against Nicky’s too warm collarbone.

His mop of curls brushes under Nicky’s nose and he huffs, but still accepts the weight (and warmth) of his boyfriend on his tired body.

“You have to take me out on dates, go to the beach with me when oratorio estivo is over and, one day, you will have to marry me.” continues Joe, each word kissed against the skin of Nicky’s neck.

“Marry? You wanna get married?” asks Nicky, worsening his multiple chin situation to look down into Joe’s glinting eyes.

“Eventually? In our late twenties? When you’ll be a doctor and I’ll be a famous artist? Yes.” he confesses, suddenly almost shy, but with a gaze full of trust and love.

“That’d be nice.” immediately replies Nicky, heart engulfed in the same sentiment he sees in Joe’s perfect eyes: “But alas,” he sighs theatrically, placing the back of his right hand above his forehead, for emphasis.

“‘Alas’ what?” asks Joe, pushing himself up a bit, looking confused.

“I’ve already accepted one marriage proposal today, I’m afraid.” admits Nicky, showing the beaded bracelet on his wrist, his new love token.

“Excuse me?” protests Joe, his disbelieving expression so cute Nicky can’t help but grin and boop him on the nose.

“Yeah, a young suitor asked for my hand in marriage, today. In, let’s see… 11 years, she will be of age and we will tie the knot.” he explains, barely succeeding in holding back a laugh.

Joe sighs exasperatedly, a mischievous grin spreading on his beautiful red lips. He flops down heavily once again, punching the air out of Nicky’s lungs and then he rubs his itchy, bearded chin on his boyfriend’s chest. “That’s alright,” he declares after he’s satisfied with his retaliation methods: “I’ll just have to kidnap and marry you before that, then.” he reasons.

“Oh, you brute.” sighs Nicky, finally placing his hand on Joe’s jaw to guide him up and steal a kiss from his smiling lips.

Joe kisses back, with mirth and then with intensity, stealing his breath and dissipating, in an instant, all of Nicky’s tiredness.

When they part, Joe has his hands in Nicky’s hair and Nicky’s left hand, the clever bastard, now rests on Joe’s ass.

The movie, the lively evening outside, the fatigue of the day, everything is forgotten. Except: “Now that that’s sorted out, amore mio, pass me the gelato.”

Notes: Nicky is 18 and Joe is 21 in this, I guess. Sorry for the mistakes, English is (obviously) not my first language. Hope you enjoyed!

#fanfiction #drabble #tog fanfic #the old guard #kaysanova #joe and nicky #nicolò di genova #yusuf al kaysani #annoying italian dude nicky #nicky animatore estivo #modern au #inspired by true facts (happened to me - as in i got proposed once by a 7 years old while being animatrice di oratorio estivo)#don luigi is the priest in my church when i went to oratorio estivo too #ask #reply #regina-del-cielo

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cyndavilachase · 5 years ago

Photo

I’m Looking Forward Now 💖Thank you and good bye

So, it’s been a little over a week since Steven Universe Future ended…

I’ve been hesitant to write this, honestly, but I’m tired of holding myself back from properly expressing myself in fear of appearing overly invested in the media I consume, even in private. Writing helps me organize my thoughts and feelings, and I feel like these thoughts in particular may resonate with many, so I want to share them. I want to talk about what Steven Universe has done for me personally, both as an artist, and as a person.

I’ve been around since the day the first episode of the original series aired. I actually remember when Steven Universe was just a logo on Wikipedia’s “List of Upcoming Cartoon Network Shows” list, back when I was a freshman in high school. It piqued my interest, but when commercials finally dropped for it, I thought it was going to be bad because of the way marketing handled introducing Steven as a likeable character. There was still something about it that made me want to give it a chance though, so I went online and watched the pilot before the first episode's release. I was hooked immediately. I knew I was going to love it, and I did. I fell so absolutely in love with Steven as a character, and the world that he and the gems lived in. I became obsessed. I was always so excited for new episodes to come out. Little did I know what else it would do for me as I went through my adolescence alongside it.

As the show progressed, it was evident that what I wanted out of a western animated childrens’ cartoon was finally coming into fruition: this show was becoming serialized. There was continuity, there was plot, there was character development-- it was getting deep. It was pushing the groundwork that Adventure Time laid out even further (thank you, Adventure Time).

I will give credit where credit is due: earlier western childrens’ cartoons I grew up with like Hey Arnold, and Rugrats, among others, also touched on heavy topics, but Steven Universe was able to take similar ideas (and even more complex ones, concerning mental health and relationships) and expand on them outside of contained episodes and/or short arcs. These themes, which were a part of the show’s overarching story, spanned across its entirety. Continuity was rampant.

What did this mean? It meant kids cartoons didn’t have to be silly and fun all the time and characters weren’t just actors playing a part in 11-minute skits. Steven and the gems would remember things that happened to them, and it affected them and how they would function and play a part in their story. This was a huge deal to me as a teenager. I always wanted the cartoons I grew up with featuring kid characters to feel more. In my own work, I often felt discouraged when combining a fun, cutesy western art style with themes as dark or layered as anime would cover. I always thought it had to be one or the other because an audience wouldn’t take a combination of the two seriously enough, based on discussions I had with classmates, friends, and online analysis I read at the time. Steven Universe proved to me otherwise. This show was opening the door for future cartoons exploring in-depth, adult concepts. I felt so seen as a kid, and was inspired to stick with what I love doing.

I was actually very worried about the show’s survival. It was in fact immensely underrated and the fandom was miniscule. Then in 2014, JailBreak dropped, and it’s popularity exploded. Part of it was because of the complex plot and the themes it was covering like I mentioned, but also because of its representation.

I remember when fandom theorized that Garnet was a fusion due to grand, tragic reasons. Turns out, she’s simply a metaphor for a very loving w|w relationship. This was huge. I cannot stress how important it is that we continue to normalize healthy canon queer relationships in childens’ media, and Steven Universe finally was the first to do that proper. Introducing these themes offers the chance for a kid to sit there and ask themselves, “Why is this demonized by so many people?” I asked myself exactly that. Ruby and Sapphire were my cartoon LGBT rep. They were the first LGBT couple I ever ecstatically drew fanart of. I was dealing with a lot of internalized homophobia at the time, and they showed me that I was allowed to love women and feel normal about it. The process of overcoming this was a long one, but they played a part in my very first steps into becoming comfortable with my sexuality. I could go on and on about it’s representation in general-- how it breaks the mold when it comes to showcasing a diverse set of characters in design, in casting, and in breaking gender roles. It’s focus on love and empathy. Steven himself is a big boy, but he's the protagonist, and the show never once makes fun of his weight, or any other bigger characters for that matter. It wasn’t hard to see why the fandom had grown so large.

Fandom was always a joy for me. It was a hobby I picked up when I was in middle school, like many of us here did. I would always cater my experience to fun, and fun only. I only started getting more deeply involved in SU’s fandom when I had just turned into an adult. During the summer of 2016, between my first and second year of college, I drew for the show almost every day non-stop when the Summer of Steven event was going on and posted them online. This was a form of practice for me in order to become not just more comfortable with experimenting with my art, but also to meet new artists, make new friends, and learn to interact with strangers without fear. I dealt with a ton of anxiety when I was in high school. When I was a senior applying to art school for animation, I decided I was going to overcome that anxiety. I made plans to take baby steps to improve myself over the course of my 4 years of college. Joining the fandom, while unforeseen, was definitely a part of that process. I started feeling more confident in sharing my ideas, even if they were fan-made. I fell in love with storyboarding after that summer, when I took my first storyboarding class, and genuinely felt like I was actually getting somewhere with all of this. I remember finally coming to a point in my classes where I could pitch and not feel hopelessly insecure about it. I was opening up more to my friends and peers.

But this process, unfortunately, came to a screeching halt.

My life completely, utterly crumbled under me in the Fall of 2017 due to a series of blows in my personal life that happened in the span of just a couple weeks. My mental health and sense of identity were completely destroyed. All of that confidence I had worked for-- completely ruined. I was alone. I nearly died. My stay at college was extended to 4 and half years, instead of the 4 I had intended. I lost my love for animation-- making it, and watching it. I could no longer watch Steven Universe with the same love I had for it beforehand. It’s a terrible thing, trying to give your attention to something you don’t love anymore, and wanting so desperately to love again. I dropped so many things I loved in my life, including the fandom.

Healing was a long and complicated road. I continued to watch the show all the way up until Change Your Mind aired in the beginning of 2019, and while I still felt empty, that was definitely a turning point for me with it’s encapsulation of self-love. I was hoping James Baxter would get to work on Steven Universe since he guest-animated on Adventure Time, and it was incredible seeing that wish actually come true. The movie came out and while I enjoyed it and thought highly of it, I was still having issues letting myself genuinely love things again, old and new. It was especially difficult because cartoons were my solace as a kid, when things got rough at home. I remember feeling sad because the show ended, and not getting the chance to love it again like I used to while it was still going.

By the time Steven Universe Future was announced, I was finally coming around. I was genuinely starting to feel excitement for art and animation again. I wasn’t expecting there to be a whole new epilogue series, but happily ever after, there we were! Prickly Pear aired, and the implications it left in terms of where the story was going did it. I was finally ready to let myself take the dive back into fandom in January of this year. My art blew up, something I wasn’t expecting considering my 2-year hiatus. Following this, I was invited into a discord server containing some of the biggest writers, artists, editors, and analysts in the fandom. I had no idea there were so many talented people in the fandom, some already with degrees, some getting their degrees-- creating stuff for it on the side just for fun. The amount of passion and productivity level here is insane, and so is the amount of discussion that has come out of it.

I didn’t realize it at first, but it was actually helping me gain back the courage to share ideas. I lost my confidence in pitching while I was taking the time to heal, and graduating meant there would no longer be a classroom setting I could practice in. This group helped immensely.

I have made so many friends through this wonderful series, and I have so many fond memories talking to like-minded creatives, getting feedback and a myriad of sources for inspiration, as well as all of the memes and jokes and weekly theorizations that came about as we all waited on the edges of our seats for episodes to air. I needed this so badly, I needed to get back in touch with my roots, when I would go absolutely hog-wild over a cartoon I loved with people who loved it as much I did. Future has been a blessing for me in this way. I graduated feeling like I was back at square-one, but now I feel like I’m on my way again.

It’s 2020 and while I’m doing great right now, I am honestly still recovering from the total exhaustion that followed after graduating a few months ago, and finally leaving the campus where my life fell apart behind. Needless to say, watching Future was like looking into a mirror. Watching one of my favorite characters of all time-- one that grew up with me-- go through so many of the same things I went through not too long ago was absolutely insane to watch unfold. It’s such an important thing too, to show a character go through the process of breaking down over trauma and all the nasty things that come with it, and to have them go on the road to healing. Steven got that therapy. He wasn’t blamed. The gems were called out. The finale was everything I could have ever hoped for. The catharsis I experienced watching it was out of this world.

As I continue my own healing journey, I will always look up to the storyboard artists, revisionists, and designers that I have been following over these past 7 years, as well as the new ones introduced in Future. It's been such a joy watching these artists release their promo art for episodes, talk about their experiences working on the show, and post the work they've done for it alongside episodes airing.

Thank you Rebecca Sugar, the Crewniverse, and the fans, for making this such a truly wonderful and unique experience. Thank you for reminding me that I am, and always will be, an artist, a cartoonist, and a fan. Thank you, my followers, for the overwhelmingly positive response to my artwork. I have had so much fun interacting and discussing the show with you all again over these past few months. Steven Universe and it’s fandom will always have a special place in my heart, and it will always be a classic that I will return to for comfort and inspiration for decades to come. I am sad that the cartoon renaissance is over, but so many doors have been opened thanks to this show. I am so, so excited to see what this show will inspire in the future, and I hope one day I get the opportunity to be a part of that.

Goodbye Steven, thank you for everything. I wish you healing, and I wish Rebecca and the team a well-deserved rest. ♥️

-Cynthia D.

5K notes · View notes

plush-rabbit · 4 years ago

Text

Fugitives

Word Count: 6.6K

A/N: Diavolo has been on my mind lately and I want to take him out on a date

Summary: Just a nice, little day/night day with Diavolo

The Royal Academy of Diavolo looms heavily behind you, the book on your lap is opened, the pages still as the wind has died long ago. You stare at the foreign words, your head still fuzzy and beginning to hurt no matter how long you’ve stared at the words. You’re beginning to believe that the words on the page are part of some elaborate joke that any of the brothers or Solomon have failed to inform you of. The only thing that wrecks that thought is that you’re sure that the angels would have told you something by now.

The stone bench that you rest on is cold, a moss-like substance that creeps around the legs of the bench. The stone once light, ordained with intricate designs that you can never quite follow with your eyes, turns darker, the designs now eroded over time, are still ever present and you think that it might be some sort of demon magic. You frown at your thought and shake your head. Of course it would be demon magic.

Your finger grazes along the page of the book, sticky notes are bright against the paper, your notes written in ink that try to simplify the words You stare at the page, the words blurring together as your mind begins to wander. The moon looms overhead in a kaleidoscope of colors, illuminating the sky and shining onto you.

“You seem troubled,” a voice speaks beside your ear, breath warm and smelling of something sweet.

You jump, snapping the book shut and turning your body to make room from you the unknown stranger. You have a face riddled with horror, your body aflame and you begin to call the name of a brother, the book held tightly in your grasp until you meet the eyes of Lord Diavolo.

You breathe rapidly and his face, one that was no doubt held a pleasant smile falls. He waves his hands in front of him, apology spewing rapidly from lips and it takes a moment to recollect yourself. “Ah,” you smile nervously, wide and strained, “Lord Diavolo, hi.” your smile falls when his smile does and he stands straighter, blocking the rays of the moon from hitting you. “I- It’s my bad. I wasn’t- I should have been paying attention.”

His smile returns and it’s softer, almost pained, his eyes refusing to meet yours. “I’m sure I’ve made it a point that you nor the other exchange students have to refer me as-” he raises his fingers to make air quotations- “‘Lord Diavolo.’”

You chuckle nervously, tension light in the air but still making your face flush and legs bounce nervously. “Yeah, but if I don’t, Lucifer might pop a vein or kill me.” You tilt your head and shrug your shoulders. “It’s kind of his entire thing. You know-” you look at the soon-to-be king and smile politely at him- “rules and all.” The book is still held tightly in your hand and you look down at the cover, clicking your tongue before placing the book inside your bag. “I- uh. School is about to start, right?” You give a quick glance to the demon who continues to stare at you. His expression is quizzical, a furrow between his brows and lips pursed. “Lord- I mean, Diavolo?”

He breaks out of it quickly and you stand, a strap of your backpack sliding over your shoulder, the weight of it pressing into your shoulder. “How are you doing with the curriculum? I’m sure it’s much more different than what you’re used to.” He speaks slowly, testing each word on his tongue as if this- the interaction, the words and all, are new. He catches your guarded expression and adjusts himself. “It’s just that you looked troubled. What was that term that you humans use? A nickel for your thoughts?”

You smile and let out a soft chuckle. “Penny,” you correct. “A penny for your thoughts.”

“Penny,” he repeats. His eyes are on you and they burn. His gaze is strong and you come to realize that this is the few times that you’ve ever had a proper interaction with the Lord. It’s always been interrupted, always filled with the presence of others. Always stiff and formal. “A penny for your thoughts?”

Your hand tightens on the strap of the bag. You glance to the side, unable to decide if you can really worry him with such feeble troubles. You’re sure that he would listen to you, that he would take every word with caution and care, that he wouldn’t dismiss you so quickly. You wet your lips, your teeth grazing against your bottom lip and you think you can hear the voices of Lucifer and Barbatos lingering against a corridor.

You look back to Lord Diavolo and once more to the side. “Hey, uh-” he tilts his head, taking half a step towards you- “do you have anything important to do today?”

He shakes his head no. “Only review papers but when you have Barbatos as a friend, well, that can be done at any time.” His smile stretches, humor laced into his words. “Why? Were you hoping to join?” He almost sounds hopeful and it makes an awful twist at your stomach appear.

“I-” the knot in your stomach pulls taut and you glance up at him- “I was wondering if you wanted to go get something to eat. Like now? Like Akudonald’s or something.”

He brightens immediately. “Really? I’ve been meaning to try it but Barbatos has never been a fan of that type of food and Lucifer always denies going out.” His smile tightens and he looks down at the ground. “Something about being too busy,” he mutters, his eyes returning to yours after a moment. Your heart aches for the Demon Lord and your bag feels heavy. You take a step toward him, the stone of the bench scratching against your pants and he's quick to take your hand into his. As if also knowing what lies beyond a corner- because how could he not with senses like his- he pulls on you quickly, already turning around, hand in hand, ignoring the stray looks of demons and others alike.

Designer shoes click against the concrete, sullying the heel and making sharp noises while your worn shoes slap against the concrete, your body desperately trying to catch up towards his. A strong, heavy hand holds you tightly and you can feel just how fragile you are in his hand. You struggle for breath and soon you are crossing grass, ruining the impeccable lawn under footsteps and slowly, the reality of what you are doing sets in. You laugh, squeezing your hand in his, ignoring the way that your bag hits against your back in an almost painful manner. You’re laughing as you begin to ditch school to go with a prince to a fast food chain.

As if your laughter is infectious, he begins laughing as well, pulling you closer until the ground is nonexistent, the wind harsh against you and you’re struggling to keep up. It’s painful, an awful pain that you know will leave you sore, that will make you regret ever moving. But it’s fun. It’s freeing to just run hand in hand, to ditch school and laugh and for a moment, the worry of school and assignments, leaves you as you run with Diavolo though the school grounds. Never one to break rules- at least not under the watchful eye of Lucifer and the brothers- this is freeing, allowing yourself to break free from the tight hold they have on you and go and explore- even if it is just a simple lunch.

Grass turns into pavement, the pace slows down and your feet hurt, stinging above the harsh pavement. You’re doubled over, hands on your knees as you try to breath through your gasps. Your laughter is breathless, wheezing as you rise and let out a shaky laugh, lungs burning and mouth dry. You stare up at him, your body warm as he gives you a smile, not even the slightest hint of sweat on his brow and you scoff. The school blazer feels tight on your body, the dress shirt underneath sticking to your body and when you turn back, the school is far from where you both stand.

“Not tired?” You ask, rising, rolling your shoulders and adjusting your bag. He shakes his head no. “Figures- demon stamina and all,” you add when he gives you a quizzical look. “Anyways, now that we’ve escaped school, we’re technically fugitives.”

He laughs at your comment and you can feel pride swell in your chest. You’ve always been a fan of making people laugh, to hear them enjoy a joke- it’s something you take great pleasure in. “Fugitives, huh?” He looms above you, broad shoulders and piercing eyes that seem to glow under the moonlight and yet his laugh is loud and joyous, brash and full of something sweet. “I’ve never been a fugitive before. What does that entail?”

You smile at him and take a step closer to him, running a clammy hand through the ends of your hair. “Well Diavolo, that means we can do whatever we want-” you raise a finger and your smile narrows, turning kittenish, a slit of your teeth peeking between your lips- “so long as we don’t get caught.” You point your finger at him, your smile growing. “It’ll be fun, I promise! We can do whatever you want to do and-”

“You know-” he leas down, face relaxed, a slow smile appearing on his face- “as future king, I can technically do what I want without consequences.”

Your smile falls. You hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time with the others, so used to having to sneak around and keep secrets that you’ve failed to realize that you are standing on the outskirts of school with the future king. You open your mouth, ready to apologize for wasting his time or for- for something. Heat rises to your face- this was a horrible, impulsive idea.

You fail to realize the worry that crosses the future king’s face as your own expression falls. He can sense something negative brewing inside of you- something anxious and fear riddled and he forces a smile, standing straighter and in an attempt to remedy the situation, he speaks. “But I’ve never played fugitive. You know, if we get to do things that I’m not able to do, well the list will be short. I’ve been dying to try Akudonald’s. Will-” he meets your eyes, and there’s a skip in his chest- “Will you accompany me to Akudonald’s?”

When you smile brightly and nod your head rapidly, he lets out a sigh of relief. He walks beside you, knuckles brushing against each other and despite doing many dangerous acts in the past, this simple act of touching you is enough to send adrenaline spiking throughout his body. He listens to you speak, the way you talk about fast food chains from your realm and he’s delighted to hear about. He loves human culture, he loves the entire enigma that people- that humans- pose and while it might not have been loved at first sight, it was most definitely something at first for him. The young lord was intrigued by you, intrigued by the human that you are, the need to befriend, to stay close to somebody, the need to be alive and the excitement that shines in your eyes through the simplest things. It was the idea of you that he loved and then as he continued to invade parts of your life and you continued to live your life, to make the forced small talk with him, to laugh at a horrible joke he once read in a book. He knows he feels some type of attraction towards you and whether it’s romantic or a deep sense of platonic, he knows that it’s there and he doesn’t want the feeling to ever leave him.

You talk and you spiral from topic to topic, telling a story fast, speech slurring together and words being stuttered and he listens to you intently. He ignores the eyes on him as he walks through the city, knuckles against yours, trying to ignore the desperate, touch-starved part of him that wants to hold your hand in his. You talk and you talk and he listens until you both stand in the parking lot of the long awaited fast food chain.

“You know-” he pulls his hand away from you and he knits his hands together- “I’ve never been here before.” Something settles in his stomach and he hasn't felt something as intense in so long. He thinks he might die but it doesn’t fit in the schedule that Barbatos has prepared for him.

“Nervous?” Your voice is small and he can only nod. He doesn’t know why and he hopes that you don’t ask. He can hear you hum and he feels so silly. He’s a prince. He shouldn’t be nervous for a meal that won’t even make a scratch in his pocket and yet- “You know,” you voice startles him out of his own thoughts, “I’m always scared of trying new things. Even in the Human Realm. There are things that I won’t try due to how new they are. A lot of people are like that. I- You know-” he can see your reflection look up at him and the way your hand twitches at your side- “when I had to eat fried bat and this one stew with like eyes in it and a tail-” his eyes widen and he interrupts what he’s sure is an encouraging speech.

“Fried-” he frowns. “I was sure I had requested for the brothers to give you human food. Just something to start your adjustment here before you got used to all the food here.”

Your frown is deep and he can’t help but let out a soft laugh. “I-” you tilt your head and roll your lips. “I- You know, they are so lucky that I love them.” You shake your head. “I’m going to abuse my pact power.” His smile widens and he lets out another laugh, louder and enough for him to double over and feel his face flush.

“There are plenty of times where I’ve caught Lucifer doing something-” his eyes dart to the side- “rather something un-Lucifer-like. I’m sure I could send you a few pictures.” His smile is devilish and he enjoys the sound of your laugh.

“If you have any of Lucifer sleeping or in a bathing suit, I’d be extremely grateful.” You leave his side, going to grab the metallic door handle. You turn to him, gesturing with a jerk of your head towards the establishment. “Come on then.”

His steps are quick, walking the few feet that separate the both of you. The door is held open for him, a friendly gesture by you, allowing him to leave the fresh air of outside and enter the restaurant with cold air, the smell of grease faint in the air. He stands beside you, eyes on the menu.

“What are you-”

“I think I might get fried devil chicken and maybe a Little Devil’s Slushy Soda.” You turn to look up at him. “I’ve had one before. You could try the burgers but just remember to ask for no pickles.” His eyes widen and he's looking at you, his mouth parted to ask a question, only to be interrupted when you continue to talk. “You know, I’m surprised that out of all the foods that you have here, the one that Devildom shares with the Human Realm is pickles.”

“I’ll- uh-” he clears his throat and looks back up at the menu- “I’ll get the same as you except for the drink. I think I’ll get an Orange Acid.” He can see you nod in the corner of his eyes. “Should we-”

“I invited you out, I’ll pay.” You move to the front of the register and he’s quick to clear his throat and stand before you, taking in the attention of the attendant, eyes wide and a flicker of their tail, the slightest hint of fear emanating off of them. “Dia?”

His smile widens at the nickname. “Nonsense-” he turns his head towards you- “you’ve already invited me for a day out, the least I could do to repay you is pay for a simple meal.” His smile is sharp, eager to please as he turns back to the demon worker, their body stiff. “Why don’t you go and find a place to sit? I’ll take the food to you in just a second.” And with that, the prince turns and orders the food, his voice clear and precise, stiff and simple in his words and you can only shrug. You are in no place to argue with him.

You walk to sit at a booth, the bench solid underneath you, the table cold and free of any mess. You sit patiently, your legs bouncing underneath and hands meeting together in an awkward hand hold. It’s only until then that you realize you can remove the bag. Once free, your body is empty, the bag beside you, the blazer on your body scratching at your neck and you’re quick to remove it and stuff it unceremoniously inside your bag. You roll the sleeve of your dress shirt, adjust the collar and lean against the back of the bench, looking up and smiling when Diavolo holds a tray of food, the drinks carried by another worker with pale skin, ears pointed and lowered in an almost fearful way.

Diavolo sits in front of you, the plastic tray clicking against the table and the drinks are lowered, onto the table. The demon speaks lowly under their breath and gives a small bow before turning around and leaving the both of you to your meal. You give a roll of your eyes before turning around and grabbing at the small carrier box that holds your food. You pull your drink closer, the heaviness of it inside and pop your straw. Diavolo follows suit and takes a careful bite from his own chicken.

Even as he eats, he’s proper, holding the chicken with a plastic fork, taking careful bites. Granted you do the same, but only because the seasoning of it would burn your hands. How it doesn’t burn your mouth, you have no idea.

It’s quiet, the only sounds exchanged from between the both of you are the crunching of the chicken and the slurps from the drinks. It’s all so awkward. “So,” you start, bringing the straw to your pursed lips, the cold drink heavy on your tongue, “how come you don’t just come here on your own? Like without Barbatos or Lucifer? You are the future king-” your eyes trail on the condensation that lingers on your thumb- “I don’t understand why you have to wait for others permission.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his hands still, the food untouched and when you look up at him, you wonder if you’ve insulted him in some sort of way.

You frown, taking the final bite from your chicken. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I was-”

“No, no,” he’s quick to say, giving you a wave of his hand. “I understand. I-” he furrows his brows and his jaw gives the faintest twitch- “I am allowed to do what I please but I suppose I would rather not do things alone.” The silence lingers for a second after his statement before clearing his throat and returning to eat. “You know-” he places his hand in front of his mouth and talks- “I’m glad that I was able to try this. It’s actually quite good. You’ve had this before?”

You nod. “Yeah, I come here with Mammon or Levi. Beel likes it here too but the servings aren’t quite what he’s used to so he goes to Hell’s Kitchen.” Your foot begins to tap, your hand going to hold the drink as you pull it close, narrowing your eyes when the condensation outside of the drink drips onto your pants. “Neither of the others like it. Solo prefers to cook his own food-” you smile when Diavolo grimaces at the mention of the sorcerer's food- “and Simeon doesn’t want Luke to eat too much fast food. Which I’m confused by since I always assumed Angels never really faced any consequences of what they ate. They’re like ethereal-” you gesture with your drink, pointing it towards the demon across from you- “cholesterol shouldn’t be a thing with them.”

He smiles softly and shakes his head, putting down the plastic utensils, grabbing a napkin to clean his hands. “It’s not about cholesterol.” The drink is bitter against his tongue. “It’s more about sin and all that. Temperance playing part to not overstuff yourself, the avoidance of gluttony and taking what you want in excess. Angels are very particular about those sorts of things. You must have taken notice how Luke always offers the first batch to anyone else but him, how he gives and refuses to eat more unless offered or split with someone else.” Diavolo smiles at you, it’s tight, not quite reaching his eyes and there’s a feeling inside of you to press further. “While Luke is quite a good angel, he’s still young. He can be easily swayed with just the right words. Simeon is merely protecting the young one.” He fails to realize the heaviness of the conversation, only interested in sharing information with you, taking another sip from his drink and meeting your eyes, which are wide and almost fearful. He smiles gently. “You have nothing to fear. Luke won’t fall, Simeon is an old angel, he’ll take proper care of Luke.” His eyes glance down to your plate. “I’m done. Would you like to leave now?”

“I-” your eyes widen and you take a deep breath, releasing it slowly- “Yeah. Yeah, let’s uh, go.” You rise slowly from the booth, bag in hand and you wait beside the table, watching as he rises from the seat. “You got anything else you want to do? We can go to a store or get a snack?” Diavolo holds the door open for the both of you and you walk beside him, pulling out a bottle of hand sanitizer and cleaning your hands. You hold it out for him and he tilts his head, slowly putting his hands under the nozzle. He mimics your own motions. He brings his hands to his nose and takes a sniff. You smile at the reaction. “It’s peach scented,” you tell him.

“Ah, of course.” He lowers his hands, eyes glancing at your bag that digs into your shoulders. “Would you like for me to hold your bag?”

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s fine. It just has a notebook and my blazer stuffed inside, it’s lighter than it looks.” You smile up at him, waving your hand in front of yourself. “Thank you for the offer, though,” you chirp, pausing for a moment to look at his arm and with a deep breath, you hope what you are deciding to do is something that you are allowed to do. You link your arm with his, holding your own hand and he bends his arm, holding his hand in his, keeping his pace slow to have you beside him.

“Do you think we can stop by Madam Scream’s? I’ve been dying to try the skeletal muffins. I heard they have quite an exquisite taste, something akin to eating a soul if I heard correctly. But then again, nothing tastes quite as good as the real thing.” He looks down at you eagerly, his smile wide and a bounce in his step. “What do you say?”

“You’ve-” you furrow your brows. “I- Of course. I’ve been meaning to try to coffin cookies that they have there but,” you hesitate and purse your lips, “souls?” You look up at him. “You’ve eaten souls before?”

He blinks owlishly at you, only to realize what exactly he said and to who. He clears his throat, a nervous smile on his lips as he corrects himself. “Old souls, of course. Hell can get a bit too packed every once in a while so there’s often a day reserved to let demons and others alike to a- how should I put it? Go hunting?” Even he sounds unsure of his wording. Worry knots in your stomach and it must be evident across your face. “You mustn't worry. I have you and the others under protection. No one will harvest your soul anytime soon.”

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, slightly relieved but also slightly horrified that that was an actual fear that had never occurred to you before. “I- Thanks Dia-” your hand pats against your other. “Thanks for the clarification.”

“Of course!” His tone is back to his chipper self. “I’m doing my best to keep you happy while you spend your time here. I’m hoping that as time goes on, your voice will prove useful in how humans interact with us demons. I’m quite aware of the-” he pauses for a moment- “reputation that us demons have gathered. But I’m positive with you and Solomon here- along with Simeon and Luke- that that can all change, so if you ever need anything else, please feel free to recommend things to either Barbatos or I.”

“You know-” you look up at him, and he tilts his head downward, his eyes a shimmering gold that under the moonlight of the sky, seem to dance with hints of honey and intense devotion as they hold your gaze, only to look away after a second- “sometimes I feel intimidated by everything around here.” You can feel his attention return to you, and you look forward, ignoring the stares of the wandering demons, tightening your hold around him ever so slightly. “Shocker, I know,” you smile sarcastically, letting it fall for a moment afterwards. “But Devildom is so big, I feel like I haven’t explored it in full ever since I’ve been here. If I do have to recommend something to you Lord-”

“Diavolo,” he reminds you, his hand tightening around his own, eyes glancing down to yours, meeting your eyes for a moment that makes him unable to breathe. “Dia is also fine,” he mutters. “I quite like the nickname.”

You smile up at him and he’s drowning, digging his nails into the back of his hand, trying to resist the urge to cover your hand with his. He’s unsure where the line of the friendship is drawn, where the friendship can begin without worry or fear. You’ve taken the first step with linking arms and he is unable to do anything more than just stare occasionally at you and let worry nip at him.

“Dia,” you correct yourself. “If I’m able to recommend something to you Dia- Oh!” You press yourself closer to him when a demon walks too closely- something bold and an act of defiance to you or to him- he isn’t sure, but he’s sure he’ll remember the smug face. He’s sure he’ll remember the way you smell of orange blossom and lilac. “As I was saying. Dia if I could make a suggestion, it would be that-” you arm tightens around his- “we can spend a bit more time together. You always seem so busy and I- I know that we aren’t exactly close but you still offer the castle as a safe haven for me and I would appreciate knowing you a bit better before wanting to take advantage of your hospitality.” Your fingers dance against the side of his elbow, pulling against his coat jacket. Your breaths are shallow, your heart beating quickly and he can smell the nerves on you. He allows himself to feel a bit of joy in knowing that he can give you the type of feelings that you give to him.

Your arms leave his when you approach the bakery and he already misses your touch. “Of course, we can.” He watches himself in the reflection, trying to find a flaw in his appearance but unable to. “Whenever you wish to spend time with me, just send me a message.” His hand holds the beautifully crafted door handle and he turns to look at you. “I’ll drop whatever I’m doing if it means we can another day like this.” And with that, he opens the door, allowing you to enter, followed closely by him, his hand ghosting over your lower back as he nudges you inside the bakery that smells sweetly of death and bitter with the scent of candy.

You sit on a worn, stone bench. The rock faded and pale, the designs once intricate now nothing more than grooves along your fingertips. Beside you, Diavolo sits, his thigh against yours, a careful maneuver as he hands you your own treat, and carefully holds his in his hand.

It’s quiet as you both eat your sweets, the moon high against the sky, the colors now different in the sky, darker and cooler, the stars brighter, against the sky. The fountain in front of you is monotonous, the same design spat from the nozzles and splashing against the water on the lower level. Demons pass by, groups walking together, singular demons walking across the small park, and there’s a heaviness that sweeps across your body. Something so bitter and making your throat tight, the cookie, once sweet, is now bitter on your tongue and you hold the box on your lap, the cookie forced down your throat by your own hand, as tears prick your eyes. You swallow the cookie with a heavy feeling, holding the box in your hands, nails digging into the cardboard.

“It’s late,” you mutter, looking at the splashing water. “I’m surprised Barbatos hasn’t contacted you by now.”

“I put my D.D.D. on silent.” You can feel his eyes on you. There’s a soft crunching from him, the tension thick in the air. “I’m surprised you haven’t been contacted by the brothers either.”

You shrug. “I think they knew that I wasn’t feeling well. They must think I’m with Solomon and the others.” You turn to him, your fingertips nudging open the box of sweets. “Would you like a cookie?” You grab one, an oddly perfect circle, fingers pinched around it carefully as you offer it Diavolo. “They’re really good. A bit sweet and soft.” Your eyes soften. “Oddly enough, it reminds me of a chocolate chip cookie without the chocolate or chip.”

He takes the treat from you, bringing it to his lips and taking a bite from it, crumbs against his lower lip until his tongue peeks out and swipes it away. “Penny for your thoughts?” He takes notice of how your smile falters and then returns, the almost stiff, forced way that the corners of your lips turn and it leaves him with a sense of dread.

You turn from him, looking back at the fountain, the number of people slowly dwindling as time continues. “I have to be honest Lord Diavolo-” he frowns at the usage of his title- “the reason I invited you out was because I didn’t want to go to class. I-” you take a deep breath and in turn, exhale for a moment too long- “I just wanted to say sorry. For you know-” you look back at him shameful- “using you, I guess.”

It’s silent for just a second before he lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head and placing the cookie down on the lid of the muffin container. He can feel your leg jerk against his and he waves his hand, eyes shut tightly as his snickering comes to a slow stop, only a few bursts breaking through. “I have to say, I’m surprised you’re still an honest person even after living with demons for so long.” His smile, playful and sharp, turns softer, teeth glinting between his parted lips. “That’s something I admire strongly about you humans- how resilient you are.” He’s slow to place the unfinished treat inside the container of muffins. The box clicks and scratches, the treat placed where a muffin lies and he pauses for a moment before carefully grabbing on in his hand, gentle to pick up the baked treat in his hand, before gesturing it towards you. He gives a nod of his head, prompting you to take it. When you take it, your fingertips brush against his and he’s almost remorseful to let go. “Truth be told, I had an inkling of a thought that’s why you invited me out. You seemed troubled in the courtyard when I had approached you.” He watches as you take a careful bite, your lips parted against the rounded top before coming to a soft close. “I also must admit that I had taken advantage of that. Rather than talking to you and your avoidance of class, I had taken an opportunity to go out and spend time with you.” Your gaze on him pushes him to continue further. “You see, I have wanted to go to Akudonald’s for some time now and not many others do and I don’t get along with the other brothers as well as I do with Lucifer. Solomon is rather particular about the food that he eats and Simeon and Luke prefer to not go out to eat fast food unless it’s a special occasion-” he glances at you- “sin and all. But you- I-” he sighs and looks at the fountain that you once stared at- “Everyone else gets to be your friend, everyone else gets to spend time with you and I suppose when I saw you alone and troubled, I took advantage of that.” He scratches his neck, nails pulling against the sensitive skin and his chest feels tight.

Your container opens and he watches you carefully place the unfinished treat inside. It’s a tight fit but it’s placed inside. “I guess,” you start, edging closer to him, letting your thigh rest against his once more, “we’re both guilty fugitives.” You smile at him, your hands slowly creeping towards him, your fingertips light on his burning skin, and he’s swallowing nervously, turning his hand to allow you to thread your fingers into his hand.

“I don’t think we’re cut out for this fugitive lifestyle,” he murmurs, golden eyes glued to how your hand fits into his.

“I think we are,” your fingertips ghost above his knuckles and with a gentle pull, you both rise. “We just happen to be fugitives with feelings- guilty feelings.” You smile up at him, and despite only ever knowing an artificial sun, he’s sure that you smile is the one brighter, something warm and forgiving, understanding to love and quick to accept. He’s sure that your smile is the closest he’ll get to sunlight itself. “You okay with the hand holding? I-” you bite your bottom lip, letting it roll between your teeth and he squeezes your hand tighter, leaving pale imprints on your skin- “I like holding hands.”

His smile widens and he nods vigorously. “I don’t mind it. I’m actually quite happy to hold your hand.” He’s still for a moment, standing before the bench. Carefully, he goes to hold the box in your hands, placing it in his hands, above his own box. “It’s a bit late into the evening, as much as I have enjoyed our time together-” he walks forward, pulling lightly on your hand- “I should return you back to the House of Lamentation.”

He calls your name softly, a whisper from him that you have never heard of from the jovial demon that stands beside you, hands interlaced together. “I really did enjoy our time together today. I-” he pauses for a moment, gripping your hand a bit tighter- “I had fun. I hope we can do this again. You know,” his voice tenses for a moment, “hang out.” Words stick and die in his throat. There’s so much more that he wishes to imply with those few words. A future king and he’s worried of how he might come off. A bitter smile graces his face, his face flushing and he’s grateful that the moon above isn’t as bright as the others.

“I’d like to hang out with you as well,” you reply, edging closer to him, until your arms brush by each other. “I think for the next time-” your thumbs brushes against his hand, leaving him shivering in its wake, a phantom touch unlike any that he’s known before, makes him warm and cold all at once- “we can explore a bit more of Devildom. If you’d like to, of course.”

Eager as always, his reply comes quickly, heart on his sleeve and emotion evident on his words. “Of course, I would. You name the time and place. I’ll drop whatever I’m doing for you.” He’d do whatever you would want him to, pact or no pact, he’d get on his knees and cup your face in his hands, giving you whatever you desired if it meant you could still be with him. “I mean it, you know. You mustn’t worry if you’re bothering me.”

The gates to the House of Lamentation creak open, the cobbled floor beneath you is rough and scraped from years of use. The trees loom overhead, branches casting shadows that give you an excuse to hold tighter onto him. The walk is silent, hands held, words spoken and shared, and when you stop in front of the door, shadows dance underneath. You hold his hand, unable to let go, wanting to hold it for a moment longer before you part. Inside you can hear muffled voices, and with a heavy sigh, he lets go before you. The box of sweets is placed in your empty hands, and you look up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. The moonlight that shines onto him makes him appear that much more otherworldly. His tongue wets his lips and you can feel your breath shudder in your chest.

He lowers himself, pushing away stray hair from your forehead, lips soft on your burning skin as he presses a feather of a kiss onto you. Your body stiffens and when he pulls away, his smile is almost sad. He turns and he’s barely down a step when you choke out his name. On the other side of the door, the voices cease. He turns to you, and you grab his hand, looking at him for a brief second, royal eyes that are heavy with the glow of hesitation stare at your hand that grabs his. His gaze doesn’t falter as the palm of his hand is pressed against your lips. He lets his hand fall to his side, watching as you give him a goodbye, telling him to message you when he’s gotten home- having him nod his head in a promise and you enter your home, leaving him standing under the pale light of the moon, his hand rising, and with his palm slowly cupping over his mouth, his lips pressing gently against where you kissed him, he walks home.

#diavolo headcanons #shall we date diavolo #diavolo swd #obey me #shall we date #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo headcanons #diavolo x y/n #diavolo x mc #diavolo obey me #its been a while since i wrote a fic #ahh #hope you like it!!

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rikalovesrice · 3 years ago

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My Thoughts on Trollhunters : Rise of the Titans

WARNING : ALL THE SPOILERS IN THIS REVIEW

Mmmmm. Okay. So I just finished the movie. I’m fatigued as always so this’ll be a bit of a mess lol. Gotta spew the thoughts while they’re still fresh, y’all know how it is.

Right out the gate, I definitely want to talk about the things I loved.

The animation was, of course, phenomenal and gorgeous!

Voice acting was incredible as always

MUSIC SLAPPED

Douxie. I just loved seeing Douxie again and honestly kept my eyes trained on him for most the of movie lol

OK DOUXIE AND NARI SWITCHING?? BODIES??? Definitely didn’t see that coming and I legit started screaming lol

Nari in Douxie’s body is the most precious, chaotic, and wholesome thing like holy cow that was so adorable LOOKIT DOUXIE CROUCHING AND CRAWLING AROUND ON ALL FOURS WITH THOSE NOODLE LIMBS OF HIS I CAN’T --

We called Nari’s mind control and Douxie trying to reason with her!

In the very few scenes they were together, Douxie’s love and affection for Nari really came through. You could really feel how much he cared about her. ALSO THAT TENDER HUG AND NARI’S LITTLE HAPPY SQUEAK MY HEART NO--

Loved Barbara. Always love Barbara.

Walter and Barbara getting engaged

Nomura back in action

Claire being the powerful sorceress she’s become

Loved seeing Aja, Krel, and Varvatos all together again.

NARI VS SKRAEL WAS ALL SORTS OF EPIC AND CRUSHING EMOTIONS.

The way Douxie yelled Nari’s name and ran to her after she died and the remnants of her magic falling all around him, like she was saying goodbye, just *UGLY CRYING*

It was so cool to see Charlie out of his den and flying about like the mighty dragon he is

Loved the Guardians of Arcadia pulling Excaliber out together.

All the gang all going after Bellroc together

YES JIM MY BOOOOOOY

BLINKY DIDN’T DIE

Aarrgh I love you so much

Stuart, what a bro!

We saw a hint of mercy in Bellroc towards the end.

Toby’s death... That was a huge curveball. Jim might as well have cut my heart out with Excaliber as he sobbed over his best friend.

Uh.....um....and.....Er...what else........ .___.

..........Alright so.......It’s about to get a bit brutal from here on out as I talk about the things I didn’t like at all. And the really sad thing is, at least to me, the cons far outweigh the pros in this movie. Because I’m actually having difficulty picking out things I enjoyed, they were so few and far between...which really sucks.

So here we go.

Gosh, where to begin... I guess I’ll go ahead and say this : I’m really disappointed.

Like as I’m here typing this, I’m just thinking, “...That was it? That was the movie?? The big finale???”

So much of this movie just felt....unnecessary. I hate to say almost like filler. The entire intro re-caping the series really wasn’t needed. And then Toby went and restated it all again when he was being interrogated. The pacing, oh my gosh...Guys, the pacing in this movie was not good. The action started and it never seemed to stop. There wasn’t a single moment of rest, of levity, of our characters just being themselves, getting to know each other, being friends outside of the battle. No Reckless Club Segment. No fun, just... I mean Claire and Aja didn’t speak to each other at all. Douxie and Toby hardly interacted. Steve was turned into a gross male pregnancy joke. Jim and Krel barely spoke. Douxie and Aja had nothing to say to each other. Even Aja and Krel didn’t have any moments together. The list goes on. The whole movie was just go, go, go. And it’s so frustrating because there was time for it but it was poorly executed.

Like was the whole break-in to the Chinese Trollmarket really necessary?? Guys, I really found myself not caring. I didn’t care to see this random side quest involving an insignificant new troll character and a Trollmarket that had little to no bearing on the plot. Did I love seeing Charlie, Archie, Blinky, and Claire? Of course! But these scenes were so pointless. So needless. They could’ve written other ways for all our heroes to go after the chronosphere (Maybe we could’ve had Zoe for crying out loud). But instead this vital artifact was the hands of a character we don’t know and don’t care about in a place that turned out to have basically nothing to do with anything.

Deaths. The deaths in this movie. Because of the pacing in this movie, there wasn’t nearly enough time for the emotional impacts to sink in. Nomura? Gone and the only ones mourning her are Aaarrgh and Douxie, who barely knew her. Walter’s death was handled better since we got to see Jim and Barbara actually having a moment to mourn him. The weight of Nari’s death was singlehandedly carried by Douxie, but even that was over before it started. The immense gravity of Toby’s death, which really got to me, was also short-lived to make way for an ending that...I don’t know.

ALSO DOUXIE JUST??? BEING OKAY WITH HIS FAMILIAR, THE ONE WHO RAISED HIM AND WENT THROUGH SO MUCH WITH HIM FOR CENTURIES, LEAVING HIM FOREVER TO BE TRAPPED IN THAT DUMB TROLLMARKET WITH CHARLIE LIKE???

“I hope he’s happy.”

WHAT. THE. EVERLASTING. FRICK.

Douxie’s reaction objectively doesn’t make a shred of sense. Geez, it’s almost like Douxie was expecting Archie to up and leave him someday to be with Charlegmane. Just...what???

What also frustrates me so much is how this movie undid so much characterization and development that happened in Wizards. Or more like all that development didn’t even matter.

What was the point of Steve’s arc in Wizards if he was just going to be reduced to...this?

I was so excited to see Douxie really being a Master Wizard. To see him lead the Guardians of Arcadia alongside Jim. To see him in action as Successor to Merlin and Protector of this Realm.

But no.

Douxie, who had such an incredible arc in Wizards and a character who’s come to mean so much to me in my life, was nerfed and sidelined.

And then time restarts and I can’t help but wonder why any of this mattered at all. What the heck was the freaking point of the suffering, the loss, the pain, the growth, enduring and overcoming so much, the friendships and family spanning across three shows... All gone. Starting all over. Undoing everything, except what Jim went through. As much as I love Jim, I didn’t think he’d be the only character I’d be getting closure for at the grand finale of this entire franchise. But that’s what happened and I really hate it.

Just...all in all, this movie wasn’t satisfying. Not to me. It had its good moments. But not nearly enough. The comedy was misplaced and fell flat. The climax was sorely anticlimactic and didn’t hold a candle to Eternal Knight. The writing, the direction, characterization...For some reason it was all lost and confused and none of it felt right and so much didn’t make sense.

I’m not at all upset with the writers, though, because they still pulled through and did what they could. When the movie did something right, it was beautiful. The things I loved about it I truly adored. No, I’m not upset in the least bit with any of the creative team.

I’m upset with Netflix. I’m upset that Wizards was robbed of the seasons it should’ve had. I’m upset with big cooperations stifling creators. I’m upset that this’ll be it. This is the ending we got and nothing can be done about it.

Aaron did say there’s every possibility for the franchise to continue in some capacity, and I’m hoping for that someday. Because so much, too much, has been left unanswered. So much left to be explored that couldn’t. But until then....I guess this is it. This is what we get.

Now, I want to remind everyone that this is my own personal experience with the movie. These are all my opinions. If you enjoyed every second the movie, that’s wonderful! And who knows how my thoughts will change upon another viewing. But in the meantime, Rise of the Titans really missed the mark for me. I wanted found family badassery and fluff. But nope. Just fighting and heaviness and no payoff. It’s such a letdown...a real shame.

But yeah...Thanks to any and everyone who read to the end of this haha

I still love Tales of Arcadia. It’s a series that has blessed and inspired me so much as an artist, writer, and as a person in general. I do want to keep making ToA content for a while. Cause this movie isn’t the end. Not my ending, at least.

I’ll continue to hope for more Tales of Arcadia in the future (a Douxie spin-off series please Lord pleaaase). We shall see. Until then, fics and fanart fixing this mess galore haha

Until next time everyone! God bless!

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spooderboyandtincan · 4 years ago

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You’re Gonna Miss Me

(When I’m Gone)

Read on Ao3

/ST*RKERS DNI/

~~~~~

Tony doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

That’s a lie. Utter bullshit. He’s lying to himself. Tony knows exactly why his heart is fluttering in his chest like he’d run a marathon, why his chest struggled to rise like there was twenty pound weight rested on it.

Though to be fair, when he made an anonymous donation of a meager 50,000 dollars to Midtown Science and Technology, he hadn’t expected Peter’s decathlon team to put in a request to the school board to travel abroad, and he definitely hadn’t expected the school to immediately approve it. He thought they’d use it to replace the sudsy water in the bathrooms they called soap with the real stuff or some shit, not whisk his kid away to Vienna for a whole week where Tony couldn’t even hug him, couldn’t protect him.

Peter is thrilled, though. Ecstatic. When he’d broken the news to Tony and May, he’d been over the moon with excitement, his round cheeks flushed pink and his eyes gleaming. Even two weeks ago, Tony had felt a deep sense of apprehension kindling in his chest, but with the date seemingly so far away, he’d pushed it to the back of his mind.

He wishes now that he’d done something. He should have told Peter he couldn’t bear to be without him like he was an actor in a cheesy soap opera (it was true, he couldn’t); tell Peter he needed him on a “mission” that would mysteriously be canceled. Though they’d probably end up taking a plane or a suit to Vienna anyways (despite what he liked to say to Rhodey, he was not at all immune to Peter’s puppy eyes); hell, he should have purposely tripped on the stairs and broken his leg so Peter, sweet, kind, empathetic Peter, would immediately decide to stay by his side where Tony could keep him safe.

He missed Peter when he was at his apartment in fucking Queens, thirty minutes from Stark Tower. He didn’t know how he’d handle having him 4,222 miles away. He didn’t know if he could.

“Damn,” he hisses, pushing himself from his bed with a grunt and making a beeline towards Peter’s room. He dashes in. The sight of his sleeping son (read: lump of blankets) is enough to take his breath away.

Tony had missed him. It had been four hours since he’d tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, and Tony had missed him. Peter was fifteen feet away.

This trip is going to be the death of him. He’s going to drop dead of a goddamn heart attack before Peter even gets on the plane.

Tony sinks carefully onto the mattress and rests his hand on the boy’s neck, some deep, parental instinct in him immediately soothed by the slow, steady beat of his pulse. Peter is curled under the thick blue blanket, only his chestnut curls visible which are tinged blue from the Iron Man nightlight on the wall, his breath puffing out in those little snuffling snores that Tony absolutely adores.

He leans down to kiss his temple, inhales the familiar scent of his favorite strawberry shampoo and is overwhelmed by the wave of infinite love that washes over him. He loves this kid so much it sometimes hurts.

Leaning back, he smooths his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone. He doesn’t want to leave the boy’s side. He doesn’t know if he physically can. Maybe asleep Peter has somehow sensed this, because there’s a small mewl from the bundle of blankets, and two bleary doe eyes flutter open.

“T’ny?”

“Hey,” Tony whispers, running a hand through his curls. “Hey, jellybean. Sorry I woke you up.” Peter rolls over with heavy limbs and rubs his eyes with a fist in a childlike motion, yawning in a way that resembles all those yawning kitten videos he’s made Tony watch.

God, he’s adorable, Tony thinks. His heart is melting. He’s so small, so young. Tony feels an instinctual, almost uncontrollable urge to protect this kid, to wrap him in his arms and keep him from harm for the rest of time.

Peter is oblivious. “‘S… s’okay,” he mumbles. His hand sneaks out of the blankets and tugs on his arm lethargically, which the genius knows is sleepy Peter language for “cuddle with me.” Tony chuckles fondly and slides under the covers.

He props himself up on an elbow and gazes down at his beloved boy, stroking a finger down his cheek. Peter smiles sleepily up at him from his assortment of pillows. “Hi.”

His face splits into a wide grin. “Hi, Pete.”

Peter frowns at him then, a sudden change from his drowsy, half-asleep state. “You… you ‘kay? Wha’ time’s it?” He tries to sit up, but Tony hushes him gently with a “Everything’s okay, bud, just a typical 2am visit from your friendly neighborhood Iron Man.”

He smiles, so Tony counts the joke as a win. It’s not one of his best, but hey, forgive him if he’s a little anxious about his kid going to another fucking continent.

(He refuses to acknowledge that it’s not just being away from Peter that’s stressing him out, it’s the fact that anything could happen to him while they’re apart.)

Tony looks back to Peter, opening his mouth to talk, only to find that he’s completely conked out. He balls up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and wipes the line of drool tracing down the boy’s chin away, finding that a soft smile has formed on his face, the one that only makes its appearance around Peter.

Peter snuggles into him the second he lies down, resting his curly head just over his heart. Tony wraps a protective arm around his back and rubs small circles on his soft blanket hoodie. “G’night,” he whispers, bending to kiss the top of his head. “Sweet dreams, baby. I love you.”

He can feel Peter’s heartbeat thumping steadily against his chest- can hear his soft kitten snores. The warm weight of his body is so comforting that for a moment he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this trip isn’t going to be the end of him. That everything’s going to be okay.

~~~~~

Peter’s starting to regret eating all those waffles for breakfast. He feels shaky all over, like he could collapse or throw up any second. He’d told Tony he was going to pop in the bathroom, but he’s been in there for at least ten minutes, settled back on his heels on the cold, grimy floor of an airport bathroom, trying to breathe properly.

Speaking of Tony, he can hear the man just outside the door, typing on his phone and sipping from a cheap cup of coffee. Peter immediately experiences a hot flash of guilt, realizing that he must have grown worried while he was gone.

Sure enough, the door swings open and there’s a soft knock. “Pete? Everything okay, bud?”

Peter stands up and unlocks the stall. “Tony,” he sniffles, taking an unsteady step forward. Tony rushes forward and gathers him in his arms

“Whoa, hey, hey, you’re okay,” he says gently, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “You’re okay, Pete. Breathe, just breathe, bud. It’s okay.”

“I don’t-” Peter whispers. “I don’t know, Tony, I-I wanna go, but I can’t, I don’t know w-what to do.”

“Breathe, honey. It’s okay, I’m here, we’ll figure this out, okay? You just gotta take a breath, alright?”

Peter tries- fails. Tries again, and manages to gasp a breath in. “Sorry,” he croaks, when he can properly breathe again. “Tony, I-I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” Tony murmurs, squeezing him tight. “Nothing to be sorry for, Pete.” After snatching a paper towel and soaking it in the sink, he runs the scratchy cloth over Peter’s face and kisses his forehead when he’s done. “Okay, bubba. You wanna go back out or stay in here?”

“Out,” he replies without hesitation. The flickering white lights above are starting to give him a headache, not to mention the leaky faucet and the freezing tile floors and the faulty air conditioning. Tony leads him out with an arm around his shoulder and guides him to a little nook, where they both plop down on a neon green beanbag.

“My parents died in a plane crash,” Peter whispers.

Tony squeezes his shoulder. “I know buddy. I’m sorry.” Unlike a lot of the “sorries” Peter has heard, this one is sincere. Sometimes he forgets that Tony is an orphan too.

“I- I mean, logically, I know the plane won’t crash,” he continues, “But I guess it’s still hard for me to believe that. Like a- a gut feeling?”

The man nods in understanding. “I know how you feel, kiddo. I was terrified of cars after my parents died- I took the subway everywhere despite the paparazzi bloodhounds.” Tony doesn’t broach the subject of his parent’s deaths often, especially not in a crowded public airport, so Peter makes sure to pay attention.

“Then, the fear just kinda… vanished.” He wiggles his fingers dramatically. “I started driving without even thinking, didn’t realize I was in a car ‘til I got on the highway. I had to pull over when I did, but since then, I’m perfectly fine with cruisin’ at 80 mph. But,” he says seriously, meeting Peter’s eyes. “I think you should listen to what your gut’s tellin’ you, buddy. It’s important to listen to yourself- what inner you is saying.” He pokes Peter’s belly a couple times for good measure, which makes his face scrunch up adorably.

Peter nods, and really tries to listen to his gut. The pair both go silent in concentration, and then- his stomach grumbles. They both burst into laughter, born more from nerves than hilarity.

“Inner you wants to eat,” Tony snorts. “I think I saw a place with the biggest blueberry muffins of my life by the escalators, wanna stop there?”

Despite eating a huge stack of waffles just hours earlier, Peter wolfs down two of the gigantic blueberry poppyseed muffins, much to the amusement of Tony.

They made their way to the gate, where Peter’s teacher, Mr. Harrington was lounging, dressed in an ugly red sweater, his long legs stretched in front of him.

“Peter!” he cried as he spotted them, scrambling to his feet. “Thank god, I was beginning to think I had the wrong date! We’re leaving today, right?”

“Oh, yeah Mr. Harrington, we’re going today!” Peter laughs. He’s used to dealing with his scatter-brained teacher. “I’m actually here early, the plane’s supposed to leave at 1:00.” He gestures vaguely to the big digital clock over his head reading 11:54 AM, EDT.

Mr. Harrington frowns. “I thought it left at 8 am! You mean I’ve been here for hours in this awful chair when I could have been sipping a piña colada in my jacuzzi?!” He collapses back in his chair and pulls a sleeping mask over his eyes with a sigh.

“Sorry, Mr. Harrington,” Peter chuckles, then pulls Tony to a row of uncomfortable seats in the corner of the waiting area.

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit, just watching the various travellers rush past. A little girl, around two or three, comes up and shyly asks for Tony’s autograph, but no one else recognizes the genius. (Thanks to his foolproof disguise of a baseball cap and scarf covering up his iconic beard, the genius claims.)

“So, what are we thinking?” Tony asks after about half an hour. “Do you wanna go?” He secretly hopes Peter will say no, hopes that they can go home and binge watch all of the Star Trek episodes and fill their bodies with junk.

Peter nods hesitantly. “I think so. I-is that okay? I might change my mind, but- yes. Yeah, I think I want to go.”

Tony squeezes his hand. “Of course it’s okay baby, that’s perfectly fine. If you change your mind, you know what? That’s great too. Whatever you want, that’s what’s important.” He kisses Peter’s forehead and lets his hand linger for a moment where it rests on the boy’s cheek. “If you change your mind at any point, I’ll come pick you up, okay?”

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter breathes, slumping heavily against his side.

“Of course, bud. Anything for my Peter.”

They stop for lunch at a cozy little coffee shop, which is thankfully devoid of fans and paparazzi. Peter orders (or rather, makes Tony order) a small hot chocolate (with extra marshmallows and whipped cream) even though drinking a lot before a non-stop ten hour flight is probably not the best idea. (He can’t help it. He’s nervous.)

When the pair gets back to their gate, they find Ned and his family. The boy’s greet each other enthusiastically, performing their signature handshake, while Tony simply throws up a peace sign to Ned’s rather stunned parents.

The friends pull out their phones -probably playing one of those ghastly animated games that Peter is always quoting. Tony pretends to look busy on his phone, but really, he’s just trying to distract himself from the terrifying fact that he’s not going to see Peter for a week.

Too soon, the speaker crackles, a crisp voice announcing, “Attention. We are now boarding flight 367 nonstop to Vienna, Austria. Now boarding flight 367 nonstop to Vienna, Austria.”

Tony’s heart stops. Peter freezes.

No, they think at the same time. Not yet.

Peter turns to Tony, panicked. “Hey,” the man says, pushing away every anxiety, every worry away so he can focus on his kid. He sees Ned approach them, but stop when his father places a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe, baby, it’s okay.”

“Tony.” Peter wraps his skinny arms around his waist.

“I know, baby, I know.” Tony kisses the top of his head and hugs him close. “Follow my breathing. You’re okay. We’re good.”

Around them, the members of the decathlon team are rising, but Tony and Peter sit in those unforgettable chairs, clutching each other tightly, not yet ready to let go.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Peter whimpers.

“I know kiddo, me too. I’m gonna miss you so much, but I’m always gonna be here, okay? If you need me, just call, or text, use morse code, doesn’t matter. I’m always here for you.”

“I’m here for you too,” Peter says. “I- I’ll call you every day.” Peter’s bottom lip is trembling, just barely, but enough for Tony to hug him a little tighter and kiss his forehead. “I love you, Tony,” he sniffs.

“I love you too, Pete. I love you so much.” Tony’s not crying. He’s not. The restaurant a few stores down is just cooking onions, that’s why his eyes are watering.

Peter pulls away and grabs his duffel bag, taking a step toward the loading dock. Tony tries not to burst into sobs. Stay, his mind whispers. Please stay.

Then Peter turns around, eyes full of tears, and slams straight into Tony’s chest, hugging him so tight he can barely breathe. Tony rocks them back and forth, cherishing everything about his sweet boy. When they finally break apart, Peter says, “I’ll be back before you know it,” echoing what Tony has said to him so many times before he leaves for a business trip.

Then he smiles a watery smile and runs to catch up with his best friend. Just before he disappears into the loading dock, he turns around and waves wildly at Tony.

Tony waves back, grinning. “I love you,” he mouths.

“I love you too!” Peter mouths back, and steps into the dock.

“I love you,” Tony whispers, hastily wiping the dampness from his eyes. “I love you, Peter.”

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

Taglist: @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923 @slytherin-hamilton-life-12 @dead-inside-pt2 @name-me-regret @zanderljones @spidy8664 @hold-our-destiny @tinystark-blog @bittersweetbeneath

If anyone wants to be added/ removed please let me know! (also, i think i missed a few people, and a few usernames have been changed, pop me a quick message so i can add you again!)

#chapter 1/2 #peter parker #tony stark #ned leeds #anxious thoughts #panic attacks #peter parker needs a hug #peter parker gets a hug #tony stark needs a hug #tony stark has a heart #tony stark acting as peter parkers parental figure #other tags to be added #no st*rker #st*rkers dni #my writing

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nbrook29 · 3 years ago

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Lmao I don’t know how this happened 😆

***

June 26th 2021, Saturday

When Sander wakes up, it’s to the early morning June sunlight hitting him straight in the face. There’s a vague smell of alcohol lingering in the air, and he groans pitifully when he remembers the amount of beer he drank last night; well, it wasn’t that much per se, but for his not-usually-drinking self it was a bit much, which would explain the sour taste in his mouth. He could be beating himself up for letting a little too much loose and messing up his rather strict rules, but it’s finally summertime and he was feeling so happy and free. Exams are done and over with, bigger gatherings are allowed again, and most importantly, the love of his life has just graduated high school and-

Wait.

He blinks his eyes open, arm reaching to the other side of the bed expecting a warm body, but it’s met with cold sheets instead.

Where did that love of his life go?

Bones cracking when he sits up on the bed, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes like a little boy, looking around the room, a twinge of worry in his mind. Robbe was way more drunk than him yesterday, being a giggly, inebriated, lovely, messy mess that was barely standing when the party came to an end. Sander had to practically carry him to their cabin, with Robbe wrapped like a koala around his back, holding tight as he mumbled love declarations into Sander’s hair until he fell asleep, arm looped around his head and cheek resting on top of it. It was unbearably cute, but it was also a miracle Sander’s legs didn’t give out because as small as Robbe is, carrying his dead weight on his back is a challenge.

For a second, a dark scenario enters his mind, and he’s working himself up over Robbe maybe getting up at some point to throw up and being so drunk he choked in the bathroom (yes, he’s a tad dramatic), but then a scrap of paper lying on the makeshift bedside table that is his backpack catches his sight and relief washes over him.

It’s clearly torned out from his sketchbook and he smiles before he even reaches for it.

Come and find me when you wake up x

Little hearts were added all around for good measure and then there’s another message below.

P.S. You’re so fucking hot xxxxx

Snorting, Sander thinks back to yesterday’s afternoon when he showed up to pick Robbe up with his dad’s car so they could meet everyone in Ostend. The way his jaw dropped wide open seeing his brand new look makes him feel very smug at the mere memory.

Right next to the note there’s that piece of confetti he put in Robbe’s long hair at the party, his boyfriend blushing so prettily when Sander told him he couldn’t find a flower as beautiful as him around so the confetti had to do for the time being.

That’s Sander’s favorite activity: pulling a blush out of him with his sappy lines. Well, maybe after getting lost in their out of this world kisses. Or making love to him, slow and sweet or fast and dirty, Sander’s not picky.

5 minutes and he’s out the door after the quickest shower of his life, minty fresh and ready for a quest to find his other half. It’s still very early, the clock showing a few minutes past eight, and to be honest, Sander wonders how on earth is Robbe up and about already. He was fully preparing for a morning full of Robbe’s moans (not the good kind), cursing him for letting him drink so much and swearing on his life that he’ll never touch alcohol again.

The beach is almost empty, barely a few people lounging on the sand, and it takes him no time to spot longish brown curls flying with the force of the wind. Robbe looks lost to the world around him, sitting cross-legged and leaning back onto his arms, face turned to the sun to catch the early morning rays. A soft smile is dancing on his lips as he takes in the sight of the calm sea stretching till the horizon to the sound of whatever is playing in his headphones (probably Bowie because Robbe has a Master’s degree in his music now, courtesy of Sander Driesen) and he looks the most relaxed Sander has seen him in weeks. He looks beautiful.

And Sander is so so in love with him it hurts.

The boy must’ve sensed his presence because he turns around just when he’s a few meters away, his smile growing wide at the sight of him, squinting a little and wow, how does he look so good after a night like that? Sander wonders whether it’s his lovesick devotion that makes him see Robbe through a filter or if sleep did its job marvellously this time.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Robbe pulls at his jean jacket to sit him right next to himself and wastes no time before looping his arms around his neck, peppering his lips with good morning kisses.

“Hey, drunkie,” Sander teases once Robbe gets his fit, earning a half-hearted glare and a soft scoff.

“I was not that drunk.”

“You fell asleep on my head while I was carrying your butt to bed.”

“Well your head is very comfy,” Robbe states matter-of-factly, leaving no room for further discussion because he shuts up any snarky comment Sander may have had with another kiss. That’s a-okay with him, and he tangles his hand in Robbe’s gorgeous locks that he will worship till the day he dies, never missing an occasion to bury his fingers in the tangled strands. The other hand joins in the fun, tugging playfully at the earring he’s also a tiny bit too obsessed with and delighting in the high-pitched sound it pulls out of Robbe.

“What are you doing here so early? I thought you’d be dead to the world till at least noon.” Sander makes himself comfy in Robbe’s embrace, leaning against him and playing with Robbe’s long fingers that are resting on his stomach.

The boy huffs a quiet laugh, a warm puff of air tickling Sander’s neck. “I think it’s the sea breeze making me sober up quicker than normally,” he pauses, hand nudging lightly at Sander’s chin to make him lift his head back and meet his eyes, a soft smile on his lips as he continues. “That and also I think that I was less drunk on alcohol and more drunk on love.”

Sander may be the king of sappy lines, but Robbe has a few of his own up in his sleeve, and everytime he pulls one out, it makes him melt into a pile of goo. Sander crashes their lips together in a kiss that’s a little too heavy for a morning in a public space, but hey, they’re drunk on love and he doesn’t care, Robbe doesn’t care either, and there aren’t many people around them anyway so fuck it. He hums into the kiss, Robbe’s tongue grazing the roof of his mouth almost as by accident, and it’s so good, it always is.

“Last night, it felt so... life-changing, you know? And I don’t know why cause not that much is changing, really.”

“You’re graduating high school, it feels big.”

“Yeah, but I’m staying here for uni, I’m not moving or anything. I don’t know, I think I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic lately.” Robbe shrugs like he doesn’t really understand it, but doesn’t want to dwell on it either. There’s a small frown between his eyebrows though so Sander reaches to smooth it out with his thumb.

Then, something comes to his mind. “Maybe it’s because of us?”

Robbe’s frown gets deeper. “What do you mean?”

Sander turns around in his arms, nodding at the surroundings, voice laced with excitement. “You know this is the first time we have been at the beach since we met?”

Brown eyes blink at him in confusion, but then they light up and match Sander’s excitement.

“Oh my god, you’re right! Fuck, it feels like a different lifetime.”

A very miserable, shitty lifetime if you ask Sander. For both of them.

“I was so lonely back then,” Robbe sighs.

Sander notices a tiny shadow of sadness fogging Robbe’s eyes, like it always happens when he thinks back to that period of his life. Some wounds were cut too deep to fully heal, but Sander’s always there to bring him back to the present.

Tugging lightly on his hair to make him look back at him, Sander gives him a lopsided grin.

“Not gonna lie, I’m very pleased this time around the only person that’s allowed to kiss you is me.”

Robbe hums, a smirk brewing on his lips. “Hmm, I don’t know, I wouldn’t say no to a kiss from Jens I think.”

And Sander knows he’s doing it on purpose, absolutely loves to rile him up and play the “Jens” card when he wants to be snogged into submission. Robbe learned early on that even though Sander’s aware he’s just joking, his possessive streak always comes out in situations like this, making their kisses extra good and their sex extra hot.

“Careful now,” Sander breathes against his mouth, the pent up tension that accumulated last night and wasn’t relieved because Robbe was too drunk hitting him hard. It seems to be mutual because Robbe bites his lip seductively, impish smile letting Sander know that he’s getting the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“Or what?”

“Or I’m gonna carry you to bed the way I did last night, but the finale will be a little different.”

Suddenly, Robbe’s smile turns softer, the gear change leaving Sander a bit confused, but he welcomes it with a chuckle when Robbe snuggles close to him, nuzzling into his neck and letting out a content sigh.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs sweetly against his skin, breaking and healing Sander’s heart all at once.

“I love you too, cutie. In elk universum.”

A giggle erupts from Robbe at the universe line. “It’s been a while since you said that.”

Sander presses a kiss to his temple. “I think I'm feeling a bit nostalgic too.”

***

The beach is slowly starting to fill out with people and bursting their little bubble so they get up reluctantly to the sounds of their grumbling stomachs that demand late breakfast. They notice their friends in the distance, spreading a huge blanket on the sand and carrying armfulls of food, and they walk over to them slowly, smiling goofily at each other and swaying their joined hands, paying no mind to people around.

“Hey, Sander?” Robbe says suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna be dating a college boy now,” Robbe announces, and he sounds so proud and so adorable that Sander has to tease him a little.

He sighs, putting an extra edge of sorrow into it. “I think you’re getting too old for me, Robin.” A choked-off sound of pain follows, Robbe’s mellowy state not stopping him from jabbing his elbow in Sander’s ribs when he’s being a cheeky little shit. He should’ve known better by now - Robbe’s elbows are merciless.

They arrive at the spot shoving each other playfully until Zoe yells at them to behave and sit their butts down like good boys to eat their food. They dig in without needing to be asked twice, their previous bickering forgotten as Robbe feeds him sandwiches, pretending they’re airplanes and making Sander and everyone around laugh hard.

This, today, yesterday, is a new memory. One that wipes away the angst he used to associate sea and beach with after enviously watching Robbe in the arms of someone else.

This time, Robbe’s smiles are directed at him, his eyes are constantly seeking out him, hand slides surreptitiously into his hand, and Sander’s heart is bursting with happiness.

They’re going on a roadtrip this summer, just him and his favorite skater boy, and Sander cannot fucking wait. Just like he can’t wait for their future together.

And if there’s a ring sitting in his bottom drawer nobody needs to know for now.

Robbe will find out in 55 days.

#wtfock #sobbe #my fics

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wyn-n-tonic · 4 years ago

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Golden, Like Daylight -- Part V

Word Count: 2,005 Warnings: PTSD. Allusions to sex (it borders on the edge of smut but we should know by now I'm shit at that). Hint of a praise kink. Bit of marking kink. Death. Ben Affleck. Author's Note: The last few chapters have taken a lot out of me, I put a lot of my own experiences with PTSD and mental health into them. I tried to make this fluffy, I needed that comfort after a hard week and I feel lighter for it. As always, thank you so much for your kind words and loving this like I do.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

“Fuck you.” Benny stares straight into Tom’s eyes. "This is my fuck you money.” The held breaths are louder than gunshots, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come.

Cold Camp Davis grunts a laugh, “We don’t have enough men to carry all this money so we might as well be warm.”

Benny giggles like a child as he grabs a strap, zippo clicking to ignition again.

The laughter that bubbles up is like a light, warmer than the thousands of dollars burning bright against his eyes.

Frankie, you might as well take your salary out on the front lawn and pour some kerosene on it.

He hears it so clearly in his head and in his heart, Leah teasing him for all the lights being on the first time he took her home.

Tom stands up, dumping an entire case down to tinder in the cold air.

Eight dates in and she’d already witnessed one of his attacks. It was the third date, he’d wanted to take her home that night. His body on hers for hours. Wanted to make breakfast the next morning, having already committed to memory the way she takes her coffee. Instead, she spent that night holding tightly to his hands as his panic crescendoed in the backseat of his car.

If it wasn’t then that he realized he loved her, it was in the way she turned to look at him when he quietly said,

The lights being on make me feel safe.

It wasn’t pity, like he’s used to. It wasn’t the look somebody gives a broken man with a broken mind and a broken soul. The only change he found in the already soft features was an understanding behind the dark eyes staring back at him.

This fire makes him feel safe now.

He’s always straining in the dark. It’s not just about watching his six. It’s all twelve hands on deck with two eyes and a ringing in his ears so intense he can feel it in his toes.

But here? It beats back against the edges of gloom that have continuously threatened to consume him.

He can sweep enclosed spaces in minutes, assess the situation and the danger within. It’s a lot harder in the extended wilds, nothing but the moon to guide the eye.

Before Leah—and for a while there after—he combed room for room upon his arrival home. He’d ask her to stay in the car, his conceal carry coming out as soon as the door would swing open.

He’d sheepishly grin, collecting her from the passenger side after his survey and she’d hug him. Holding tightly around his middle section, pressing her cold hands up under his shirt to that hot place where his heart beats and whisper with genuine gratitude,

Thank you for protecting me, Frankie.

It was never condescending, that’s all he ever wanted to do. Protect her. Protect himself. Protect the men giggling like schoolboys around him right now.

And he liked being told what a good job he did at that. —————

“What's Frankie short for?” Barely audible, her breath fanning across his chest as she continues to catch it. Like willing waves of normalcy in the aftermath of a hurricane.

“Francisco.”

“Francisco,” she repeats, dragging out the o. “Do you like it?”

“Used to make me feel like I was in trouble, very harsh coming from pissed off higher ups and even angrier parents but it sounds…” he thinks on that for a second, the events of the night still rippling through his body, “a lot sweeter in your mouth.”

“Watch yourself,” she hums a kiss into the flat plane of his breast before sinking her teeth into the flesh there, biting as hard as she can.

A chuckle vibrates from deep within him, “one hell of a bite too, I won’t soon forget.”

He looks down into her eyes, bright with mischief as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth now. He’d had hickeys before but never like this. He surveys the purple marks across his body, somehow burning brighter than the rest of him, and a contentedness pools in the pit of his stomach. Her stamps on him in easily hidden spaces to match the lipstick stains she’s started marking across his right cheek in the moments before they walk into the bar or the restaurant.

Little ways she says mine.

And he is hers. He knows it in the steady way his lungs rise and fall underneath her now.

He brushes a soft wave from where it tickles across her nose, “is Leah short for anything?”

Her nose scrunches, “not a goddamn thing.”

“Do you know what it means then?” His large hand is sprawled across her lower back, the weight of it an anchor.

Don’t leave me, it says.

“I don’t know,” she drawls, the slight twang coming forward in moments of exhaustion and inebriation, “just think my mama liked the sound of it is all.”

His heart is blazing underneath her cheek as she settles against him once more, her soft voice tumbles towards him, “Francisco…” as her eyelashes brush against his skin and he swears he can count them all on sensation alone.

“Yeah, baby?”

He feels a smile tug at her lips, stopped in its tracks where she’s rooted into him. It’s the first time he’s called her that.

“I have nightlights.”

The light makes her feel safe too. —————

He’s standing over Tom’s body and he hates to admit it but the feeling washing over him is one of relief.

Relief mingled with guilt.

Guilt that nobody was watching his six, his back wide open to the world behind it. Five seasoned fucking veterans and nobody watching the higher ground.

Relief at the silence he knows will engulf the group now. No more orders from a child who should’ve never been granted the lead to begin with.

Guilt because he was climbing up a fucking rock when he should’ve been doing his job as a friend and brother.

Relief that it wasn’t his brains splashed across stone.

His head is fucking pounding and it has been for days, pain dulled by consistency but never not there.

At least I can feel my fucking head.

He thinks of all the other things he can feel now, the things service beat from his body.

The ache in his limbs, heavy with exhaustion.

He’s dreading adding the dead weight of a dead body to the load.

The pang in his stomach, too used to consistently hot food.

He wants black coffee and bacon and tiny spoonfuls of sweet potato puree he airplanes into his own mouth to show Luna it won’t hurt her. Hell, he’d take the mushed peas right now.

Benny’s sobbing. The one amongst them all that never breaks is the broken one now.

He’s staring off again at everything and nothing, Santiago and Will unfurling bags for the body.

What a present to bring home.

It was always the risk they faced, they knew it.

If you were lucky, truly lucky, you came home whole. Untouched, unscathed, unmarred. The safe deployments, the technical shit, the brains behind the operations never seeing bloodshed. Everybody else though? Some were held together by duct tape and pure grit.

Others tied up in a flag with a bow.

Daddy’s not coming home but here’s a purple heart for the dress uniform he’ll never wear again.

I should’ve done more.

He’s not getting a purple heart for this.

I should’ve held on tighter.

He didn’t die in service to his country, he died in service to himself.

I should’ve made a bigger issue of the weight.

Another family he’s failed to protect.

I should’ve said no. —————

The darkness is cut through with a warm glow in every outlet as the clock tips over the edge of midnight.

Wednesday, the eleventh of October.

Nose to nose, the excitement of the day hangs over them like a wave threatening to crash. A giddiness in their bed forcing sleep to the edges of thought.

“Do you think they’re gonna know?” Her voice is soft, featherlight. Trying not to disturb the peaceful bubble they find themselves in now.

“No,” he lifts to press his lips gently into hers, “but I can’t promise I won’t shout it out on the altar.”

Panic takes her eyes, he knows it all too well and he’s gripping tighter before she can inhale. Fingers splayed across the small of her back, the weight of it a comfort to the tender bones and aching muscles.

I'm right here, it says.

“Breathe, breathe,” he’s speaking softly into her hair, “it was just a joke, baby.”

“You're not funny, Francisco Morales.” She speaks it like a fact, like she doesn’t spend hours in his arms filling his head with the music of her laughter. She says it like he isn’t watching smile lines appear in real time, falling more in love with each one.

“Would it be so bad though? If I did? If people knew?” It’s hope in his voice that she’ll say yes. That he can announce to his best friends all at once, every single one, before Santi leaves again. He doesn't want his happiness to arrive by text message. He wants to see the light of congratulation dancing around him.

“I don’t want to jinx it,” she’s scared, “besides… it’s not traditional.”

He scoffs, “what about us has ever been traditional, mi alma?”

“I'll make you a deal,” her fingers run through the stubble along his jaw, thumbs lingering over the patches, “don’t shave this tomorrow and you can tell the boys.”

“You want me to keep this malnourished shit on my face? For our wedding?”

Her giggles vibrate against him, “Yes. I have plans for it after you say I do.”

He growls, “this deal sounds pretty sweet to my lazy soul, what do you get out of it?”

“Hmm…” she brings her hand up to tap on her chin, “well, to begin, I’m getting a hot husba—”

“Debatable.”

“I'll fuck you up, Morales, take the compliment.”

He laughs a kiss into her, “what else?”

“Benny and Will will become automatic attack dogs around me, I’m fairly certain they will clear their schedules for all of April to stand guard outside the room. My own personal security team.”

He laughs again at the truth in her words, “what else?”

She pushes forward again, taking his lip between hers. A soft kiss with the burning desire for more.

“I’ll wake up on Thursday morning with a rawness between my legs that I’m usually only gifted on the weekends.”

His grip tightens, any suggestion of sleep leaving his body in a rush of blood straight through him, “I will never shave again.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time, my love.”

He rolls himself into her at that, kissing down her jaw. Her neck. The sensitive skin of her breasts, low lying cotton barely above indecency. He raises the hem, the curve of her belly burning hot against his lips, two hearts now beating inside her.

He grabs the elastic around her hips and gently pulls, kisses so soft across her pelvis they feign an innocence to his true intentions. Her legs kick out to help discard the fabric tangling her ankles as he settles broad shoulders at the base of her being.

Her fingers twirl through the soft curls that have been crushed against a pillow for hours by her side.

He kisses her soft thighs, slowly dragging his rough cheek against the delicate flesh.

“Francisco,” her fingers flex tighter as he looks up to meet her eyes, “don’t be such a fucking tease.”

He smiles wide, the devilish grin splitting his face as he drops his eyes to where she wants him, the fever that’s taken over her body in the last three months beckoning him in.

His hands are heavy on her hips, clenching deep purple into her. Marks in easily hidden spaces, his little ways of saying mine.

#frankie morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #francisco morales #i believe in francisco morales supremacy #triple frontier #fanfic #fanfiction #pedro pascal #oc #ofc #original character #original female character #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal fanfiction

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bodyswapmischief · 4 years ago

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Carrying my Father's Weight

I can't believe the person I was looking at was me. I looked at myself in the mirror and I patted my beefy stomach. Although it might not seem like it, this was the fittest I've been, since puberty. I ended highschool weighing 280lbs. Coming into college I feared the freshman 15. But, I knew I couldn't let that happen. Now, I stand here weighing 220lbs. My first year of college completed and ready to go home. Even though I don't have abs yet, I can't wait to show off my progress.

However, I would be lying if I didn't say I dreaded going back and seeing my dad. He's not mean or abusive. In fact he was a really good dad. Growing up, it was just me and him. After my mom died, my dad's whole life changed. Instead of falling into a depression, he started working out. He transformed from average chubby dad body to hot as fuck personal trainer.

However his good genetics skipped me. As a kid I was skinny. But once puberty hit, my metabolism just went down the drain. And, I piled on weight non stop. It felt awkward being the fat son of a personal trainer. He tried hard to make me feel better about myself. We went to doctors but nothing worked. But, I still felt like shit looking at him walk around shirtless, get all the attention from my ladies, and be admired by my teachers and friends. Most people couldn't believe I was his son.

The worst part is that by the time I was a senior in highschool, we looked the same age. How is that possible, you wonder. I have know idea, and I would like the answer myself. It probably help he had me when he was young. He was 16 when he got my mom pregnant. But still, he looked like he was in his mid 20s. I on the other hand, probably, prematurely aged because how fat I was. Instead of looking 17, I looked like I was, also l, in my mid 20s. Most people thought we were brothers and a few people mistaked me for the older brother.

But, it wasn't all bad. Yeah, I did get made fun of, by my friends. But, looking older than my age made me popular. Having a full beard and beer belly was all the ID to by beer for all my friends to underage drink. Nonetheless, I enjoyed my time away from my dad. It was a nice break. But, in a way I missed him, too.

But, upon landing, I was looking at something I never expected to see. I saw my dad. But he was not the fit 200lb man of pure muscle. No, staring at me was as 300lb man of pure fat. His stomach is sagging. There are fat filled breast were his pecs once were. And, he begins to waddle his way towards me. His face looks aged ... more like a man in his late 40s. Yet, a smile on his fat filled face. I recognize that he is using my old clothes.

He tells me I look good, strong, and like I have been working out. But, I'm completely shocked. He ask me questions. And, I give mindless answers. For most of the ride home I stay silent. His tries to tell me that an injury caused him to have to stop working out. And, as soon as he stopped working out the weight just piled on. But, it doesn't make sense. And, after awhile I don't care if it makes sense. I'm finally the hot one. I start making some fat jokes. His face gets red, but he laughs. He tells me "I guessed I had those coming."

It was late when we got home and we both were incredibly tired. I took my stuff to my room and instantly lied on my bed. Ideas of hanging out with my friends and new fat dad filled my mind.

But, as the sun rose. I notice my body feels groggy and sore. My lower back is in so much pain. So, I tried to roll on my side. But, I struggle. My eyes shoot awake has I recognized the sensation. It like I am 280lbs again with a big belly in the way. I tear off the blankets and use all my energy to sit up. Ripped pieces of fabric, lay under my fat body. My belly hangs between my legs and my hairy breast sit on the shelf of my stomach. I look the fattest I ever have been. I look even fatter than my dad was yesterday. I start to notice that my body seems hairier and specks of grey are sprinkled in.

I waddle to the closest mirror and panic. I saw my face, but it looked older. I look like I was in my 40s. I went on the scale and it read 320lbs. This was in fact the biggest I have ever been. I squeezed into the biggest clothes, I had. But, now they are too tight. My sweat pants are skin tight. And my shirt doesn't fully cover my beach ball stomach.

I stumble through the hallway and down the stairs, in a hurry, calling for my dad. As, I enter the kitchen, I have to lean against a counter. My heart is beating fast and I am out of breath. A young man enters the kitchen from the back door. He looked no older than 20. He looks at me and smiles.

"Hey, Dad, you good. I just came back from my run. You should join me. But, by that tight sweat stained shirt ... It looks like coming down the stairs is exercise enough." He laughs as he rubbed his sweaty chiseled abs.

I immediately recognized him, although this is the youngest I have ever seen him. This new young jock infront of me is my dad. "Dad, what the fuck is going on..." I say between breathes, I can feel all this confusion and excitement affecting my heart.

My dad, in his new young body just laughs. "My memory charms never did work on you. Well, I guess your old enough to know, now. I mean you are my son after all. Our family are descendants of an ancient race. We have abilities that help us survive. But, I have been shunned and cursed. I have the ability to trade any aspect of a person body. I can steal everything if I want to ... to become them. But, I abused this power and my own kind cursed me to gain weight at an incredibly fast speed. I knew eventually I would have to leave this body and trade it for a completely knew fit body, like I have done a thousand time before. But, I grew tired of not having an identity to call my own. And, out of all my vessels this was the best."

The man talking to me was not the father I knew. There was evil in his eyes. My heavy body shook as he threw me from my seat onto the floor. My back in even more pain. He chokes me with one hand and caresses my face with the other.

He continues, "That's were you coming in. Being my spawn, you also gained a gift. The more fat you have, the faster your metabolism becomes. And, you body naturally forms muscle. You have the gift of vitality. So, since you were young I drained you of your muscle. I fed you my fat. But, since you've been away from me our connection was weak. But, now that your back I dumped months worth of fat into you. I may have gotten greedy by taking some of your youth. But, don't worry I'll keep you as young as you need to be to stay alive. Oh, and I believe your college days are over. Now to the world, you'll be my over weight father and I'll be the all star son. It been thousands of years since I've been able to enjoy a body, with out the fear of gaining weight. No more jumping in and out of lives. Now that you know the truth, I don't have to hold back. All the weight that I gain will instantly go to you. No more careful planning like when you were just a boy. By my calculation. With my endless fat supply and your ability to burn off fat ... your weight will balance out at the good old size of 400lbs. So, 80 more pounds to go untill your at your permanent weight. So enjoy this size will you can big guy."

My dad stops choking me and pats my stomach. "Your gonna be one big fat daddy. But, I'll take care of you pops. Now, you should rush to a store and get fatter clothes, before nothing in this house fits you anymore. But, by the looks of it, it's already too late. Guess you gotta get creative, and remember all the credit cards are under my name. I'm going to break you boy. I'm going drill into to your head the you will for the rest of eternity be a big fat giant blob of walking fat. Living under you "son"s" shadow. Now, while you figure out how to adjust to your 400lb life. I'm gonna finally have some fun. And don't think of trying something funny becuase weight gain isn't even the worst thing I can do to you."

By this point tears are rushing down my face. My dad puts on a shirt, grabs the keys and walks out the door. I struggle to stand, as I feel my body very slowly gain weight. The shirt I was wearing rips off my body. Through the mirror I can see new roles of fat forming. I waddle to the scale. It now reads 233.56lbs and counting. The sweats and underwear have big rips do to my fat ass. I hold my gut in my hands. I wipe the tears from my eyes. And, I think "what the fuck just happened and what am I gonna do."

#body #male #swap #transformation #tf #stories #mischief #story #gain #weight #theft #muscle #age #age modification

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charlie-boio · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Here For You

Summary: Stiles has been avoiding you for a few weeks and you aren’t sure what’s wrong. Is this the end of your friendship?

Word Count: 3200

A/N: I enjoyed this little idea. Hope you do too. It’s pretty cute in my humble opinion. Also I based their high school schedule (like how long their classes last) off of where I graduated high school so I know it’s probs different but idc. Also I’m not super comfortable with how well written this is but I like it 😊

WARNINGS: angsty, but with some well deserved fluff

You took in a short breath, and then another. Your knees were starting to burn, the back of your throat felt like it had been scorched, and your head was pounding. The pain and nausea in your stomach wasn’t going away, but you thought that you didn’t have much left to throw back up. At this point, you were merely dry heaving.

These past few weeks have already been pretty much hell for you. For the past three weeks, Stiles had been bailing on your Friday movie nights, and last Friday was no exception. You didn’t even bother to text him and ask if he was coming, and apparently, he hadn’t cared.

Feeling the lowest you had ever felt in your life, you had just decided to melt into your bedding and binge watch cooking shows. What had started as a dull ache on Friday had taken a dramatic turn for the worse on Monday, and you simply could not catch a break with the pile on of essays, projects, and tests that your teachers handed you.

In all honestly, you could not catch a break. Never mind the slow burn of feelings that were building inside of you for Stiles, but now it appears you were also losing him as a friend. Which hurt…more than anything.

You shook your head, feeling yourself shudder. Standing on shaky legs, you flushed and went to rinse out your mouth.

“Just get through school,” you muttered. “Then you can go home and sleep this off.”

You finally left the bathroom and walked slowly towards your class, hand clutching desperately at your right side. Grimacing with each step, you opened the door and shuffled inside.

“About damn time! Get back in your seat y/l/n!” Coach Finstock barked at you, causing everyone’s eyes to snap up and pierce right through you. You shrunk into yourself more than you already were.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, walking carefully over to your seat without disturbing your side too much, which was a fruitless task. Sitting down, you looked over a Scott, whose eyebrows were furrowed together. Stiles didn’t bother looking up, his face buried in his notebook. You felt your heart break just a little more at the sight, so you forced a smile and whispered that you were okay, knowing that he could hear you. Scott’s eyebrows stayed knit together, but he turned away from and put his attention back on Coach’s lecture, letting the matters drop for now.

Coach’s class went by in a foggy haze, the occasional stabbing pain in your side brought you back to reality until the bell rang. Stiles jumped out of his seat and rushed out the door, not sparing you a glanced. Scott was close behind him, but not before sending you another worried look, to which you gave him a forced smile. His eyebrows furrowed, but he left anyways.

You moved slowly, face grimacing with each step. You couldn’t help your mind wandering to Stiles, imaging him helping you through the hallways to your next class. You two always used to walk together…

Shaking your head, you continued forth, barely managing to make it to your next class on time. Thankfully, you didn’t have another class with Stiles until after lunch, but you had this class with Lydia.

“y/n are you feeling okay?” Lydia asked, her face etched with concern.

“I’m fine, just a little nauseous, nothing to be worried about,” you said, but your wavering voice betrayed you. Lydia quirked up an eyebrow and pressed the back of her hand to your forehead.

“You’re awfully warm sweetie. I know you said, ‘You’re fine,’ but maybe you should go home. Just in case,” she said sweetly.

“I can’t. My parents are out of town for their anniversary.”

“What about Stiles? He usually gives you a ride to school anyways right?” Not for two weeks, Not for two weeks, you thought sadly.

“Um-I-“

“Girls, pay attention please!” your teacher snapped at you two. You and Lydia mumbled your apologies. Thankfully, class went by without another opportunity for you to talk to Lydia, and when the bell rang, you two parted ways since her class was across the school.

You managed to get through your next two classes, trying to pay attention to your teachers and zone out the stabbing pain in your side, the pounding in your head, and the heavy weight in your heart. You were hoping and praying with all of your might that you could get through the rest of the day. You weren’t sure how the fuck you would get home, but you decided you’d cross that bridge when you got there.

If you get there, you thought miserably, but you quickly shook that thought from your head. You were overreacting, obviously. How could you be so stupid? You got your period on Saturday, and occasionally they could be a little extreme.

“Stiles, you really didn’t have to do any of this…” you said sweetly, a small smile stamped on your face.

“Come on, kid. You’re my best friend, of course I’m gonna take care of you!” Stiles said, flashing you a toothy grin.

He had surprised you out of the blue, hearing that you had gotten your period and that it was kicking your ass this month. Stiles brought chocolate, popcorn, movies (Star Wars, obviously), blankets, one of his sweatshirts, sour patch kids, and a heating pad after you had complained that yours broke. He spent the next hour setting everything up and not allowing you to lift a finger despite your protests.

After settling down, you had tried to cuddle with him like you two usually do, but your cramps weren’t having it so you settled for having your head in his lap, the heating pad laid across your lower abdomen, blankets curled around both of you while Stiles continuously ran his fingers through your hair, soothing you.

“Any better?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,”

“Come on, kid. You don’t have to lie to me. Not ever…”

“It is better, since you came and helped me,” you turned your head slightly to look up at him, and you saw his swirling amber eyes looking down at you with adoration. You felt your heart skip a beat while you smiled at him.

Stiles leaned down quickly and placed a lingering kiss to your head. “You know I’m always gonna be here for you kid. Always,” he mumbled into your head.

You closed your eyes and sighed happily, his fingers resuming running through your hair. You could’ve died happily in his arms.

Bitter tears that burned your eyes welled up, threatening to fall at the memory. What did I do…? You thought miserably to yourself.

Closing your eyes, you shook your head, ridding yourself of both the tears and the memory. If you cried right now, the pounding in your head would only get even worse, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could last like this.

Unfortunately, the bell rang for the end of fourth period, and fifth was lunch with the rest of the pack, including Stiles. You felt a pool of dread hit the bottom of your stomach. Stiles used to sit next you at lunch, cracking jokes back and forth with his sarcastic comments. Now, he sat as far away from as he could, and you had a feeling that today would be no exception.

Sure enough, walking into the cafeteria you saw all of your friends sitting together, happily chatting away. There was a seat saved for you on the far right while Stiles sat at the far left across the table from you, right next to Lydia. For once, it didn’t look like Stiles was drooling over her; instead they were quietly arguing about something, but you were too far away to hear what it was.

Still, you sat down and did your best to smile through the physical and mental pain of everything. However, your stomach had decided to dial up the pain a notch, making sure it was something you no longer could ignore. With each beat of your heart your head pounded louder and louder, the voices around you starting to fade.

Uh oh. This isn’t good I need to get out of here!

You tried to stand, legs wobbly, but the second you stood up your vision began to tunnel, your pain double by the second. You could vaguely hear Scott, and you felt the pack’s eyes on you.

“I need to…to…” you stuttered, and you felt your knees buckle as you sank to the floor. Before you could hit the ground hard, a pair of strong arms snaked around you, breaking your fall. You could vaguely hear someone scream for help.

Your breath hitched, ears ringing as you fell into darkness.

“HELP! PLEASE SHE NEEDS HELP!” Stiles shouted through the hospital, nurses and doctors rushing over. You were in his arms bridal style after you had passed out in the cafeteria. He had managed to catch you before you could hit your head, and he had sprinted as fast as he could to his jeep to drive you to the hospital.

That was two hours ago, and there hadn’t been any word on y/n’s condition. Not even Melissa could tell them anything, and Stiles was getting tired of hearing ‘We are doing everything we can right now,’

“Stiles?” Scott asked gently.

For the first time in his life, he was still. Absolutely still. He didn’t fidget with his hands, bounce his knee, or even pace. He merely sat there; hands clasped together. He didn’t even have the energy to cry anymore; all he did was stare at the floor and just let every single one of his negative thoughts rush through his head.

“Stiles,” Scott said a little more forcefully. Stiles barely turned his head, his drawn low.

“Look I already know what you’re gonna say-“

“The ‘I’m Gonna Avoid Her So My Crush Can Go Away’ plan? The one that everyone thought was the stupidest idea ever?” Lydia interjected, having found about this plan at lunch.

“Stop it, okay? I get it!” Stiles snapped, then he sighed loudly and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, it’s just…I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known something was wrong. We’re best friends…she’s never gonna forgive me,” Tears lined Stiles’ eyes. Turns out he did have more to spare.

“Stiles, you and y/n are idiots,” Stiles’ head snapped up, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “You two have edging around a relationship for at least three years at this point, and each time you’ve both been like ‘Oh there’s no way they like me back!’ Seriously! I’m tired of hearing it,”

“Scott, what if it’s too late? We don’t know what’s going on-“

“Why am I not surprised that you’re all here?” Melissa’s voice came out with a carefree tone. She had a clipboard with her, and she looked relatively at ease. Immediately Stiles shot up and made his way over, his hands fidgeting with each other, not taking note of Melissa’s relaxed stance.

“What happened? Is she okay?” Stiles asked, his eyes pleading. Melissa gave him a reassuring smile.

“Stiles, relax. She’s totally fine. She just had appendicitis, nothing super major I promise,”

Stiles took a deep breath, feeling the tension from waiting around slip away from him. He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face. “She’s…she’s gonna be okay?” he asked tentatively.

Melissa smiled at him. “She’s going to be just fine,” she looked over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “Now, usually it’s family only, but for you I’ll make an exception. ONLY Stiles,” she finishes when everyone else tried to rush past her. Melissa gave him a knowing look, telling him the room number.

Suddenly standing behind the closed door of your room, he felt his anxiety come crashing down again. He had acted like a complete idiot these past few weeks, not being to stand the fact that you would probably never feel the same way about he as he felt about you. He thought he was doing what was best for both of you. Now he wasn’t sure if you’d even want him around as a friend anymore.

I wouldn’t he thought to himself miserably. It took a few more deep breaths before he was ready to open the door.

Thankfully, you were asleep, but he hated how pale you still looked. The hand with the IV laid across your stomach, your chest rising slowly as you took in deep breaths. Stiles crossed over to your left side and pulled up a chair, taking your left hand and placing a gentle kiss to the top of it. With his free hand, he slowly pushed a stand of hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear.

He had almost lost you today. Appendicitis was a simple procedure, sure, but what if something worse had happened? What if it was something worse, and he missed it because he was too cowardly to tell you how you felt?

“No more hiding,” Stiles whispered to you. He settled his head against the bed on your side. His hand that wasn’t laced with yours was gently stroking your arm while his eyes dropped lower and lower until complete exhaustion finally took over and he fell into a fitful sleep.

Your body felt light and heavy at the same time. This didn’t feel like your bed, or the cafeteria where you were last. You could vaguely remember being carried, but it was all a pain filled blur. You scrunched your face before peeling your eyes open, your heart skipping a beat. There you saw Stiles, one arm resting on your leg while the other clutched yours. You couldn’t help the small smile that spread across your face. Was he really here?

You moved your hand to run through his hair, causing him to stir. Stiles looked up at you, eyebrows furrowed together before shooting up into his hairline.

”You’re awake!” he jumped out of his seat, his hand never leaving yours. A huge grin broke out across his face which contradicted the tears that fell from his eyes. He leaned over and pressed a long kiss to your forehead, your eyes closing at the feeling. “How are you feeling? Do you feel alright? Is there any pain? Because I can go get a nurse for some pain medicine. Or are you hungry? Because you didn’t eat at all at lunch and I doubt you ate this morning since you left class to throw up or maybe you did since-“

“Stiles shhh its okay, I feel okay I promise,” you said, voice a little hoarse. Stiles sighed happily before sitting back down, both of his hands coming up to play with your fingers. You wanted to relish in the moment, but you couldn’t help the nagging feeling that took place in your mind. He doesn’t really care, once you’re better he’ll go back to ignoring you.

“Stiles-“

“I like you,” he blurted out, his face beet red. “And I’m sorry. Really fucking sorry okay? I’ve had this giant crush on you for the longest time, and I had no idea how to address because you’re just absolutely everything to me. I thought that if I put some distance between us that it would be easier, but it wasn’t. I could tell that you were upset, only this time it was my fault. Look, if you don’t feel the same way, or even if you hate me after what I did, I get it I fucking deserve it, it’s fine. But after today, seeing you collapse like that, I don’t think I can’t not have you in my life. I really, really like you y/n, and if you can forgive me one day, can we at least stay friends?” his eyes were pleading with you, tears lining his eyes.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “So…you don’t want to be with me like that…” you whispered.

“No-I mean yes, of course I would love more than anything to be more than friends, but you-“

“Stiles,” you said with a small smile. “I feel the same way. I have for awhile now…”

His eyes lit up, the tears falling now. “Really?” he asked softly.

“Really.”

“But,” he looked away from you, swallowing thickly. “I-I’m not like, super strong or a good lacrosse player. I’m not a werewolf. I’m only human, I’m just…me.”

“I don’t want any of those things, I want you. I want the boy who can always figure out the cases, the boy who would come over and take care of me whenever I’m upset, who came over every Friday to watch movies with me, and the boy who never ever fails to make me laugh, even when it’s the last thing I want to do.”

You continued to run your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him. His smile grew with your words, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief moment.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

Stiles stood once again, leaning over you while trying not to crush or hurt you in any way. He cupped your face with one hand before gently placing his lips on yours. The kiss was soft, your lips moving slowly against his. It didn’t become any more heated then simply kissing, but your heart still exploded. You two kissed until your lungs burned, Stiles pulling away for just a moment to take a quick breath before diving back in, tilting his head a little, the kiss picking up its pace slightly.

After a few more moments, Stiles pulled back for good, smiling down at you while he pulled his chair even closer you as he sat down, and you were positive that your grin was just a big as his. You leaned over and wiped the remaining tears off of his face, him leaning into your touch.

“Can I take you on date?” he asked.

You quirked an eyebrow at him, “Just a date?” you joked.

“Well, I feel like I should take you out on a proper date before I ask you to be my girlfriend,” he laughed, and you smiled at him.

“Okay, then in that case, I’d love to go on a date you,” you said, affection laced in your tone.

He smiled dopily at you, resting his hand back on the bed next you, your arm coming around him comfortably.

“Get some rest, kid. I’ll be right here, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, always,”

You sighed, closing your eyes, and for the first time in a few weeks, you were able to sleep peacefully with Stiles by your side.

#stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles x reader #stiles #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #mitch rapp #mitch rapp x reader #thomas #the maze runner #american assaisin #sam taylor #sam taylor x reader #thomas x reader #dave hodgman

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totallysharkycomplete · 4 years ago

Text

Waiting For You Part Three (Ford Pines x Reader) Her Family Too

“Morning,” Stanley grumbles as he enters the kitchen.

She told him he could stay the night at the cabin, but she wanted him gone in the morning. She doesn't reply, but grips the counter with white knuckles.

“Listen, I know you said you wanted me gone-”

“Correct,” she cuts him off, refusing to look at him.

“But listen,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I want to help, this is all my fault and I want to help you get him back.”

Again she is silent. Stan sighs and turns away from her, she looks at him walking away before noting the burn from yesterday peeking out from his tank top. She grabs his forearms to stop him. “Sit down,” she instructs before going to get the first aid kit. Although the first encounter with Stan made her lose her fiance, he was Ford’s family, which meant he was her family too, and family looks after each other.

He obeys and sits at the table. He watches as she sets the kit on the table for digging around for a few things. She moves behind him and applies something to his shoulder that burns. He hisses and slightly pulls away before settling back down. She knew it would burn but didn’t warn him.

“This is going to scar,” she informs him.

“It’ll be a good reminder to be less of a jerk,” he jokes, causing her to smile.

She continues to clean the burn, apply an ointment and a bandage. “You can stay until that heals. Just so I can make sure it doesn't get infected.”

“Uh, right.”

----------- The next few days are spent awkwardly shuffling around each other as she continues to take care of Ford’s experiments, while looking around the house for his journals. She didn't think he would hide them there but it was as good a place to start looking as any. The majority of the day she spends in the basement tinkering away at the portal.

Stan makes his way down there one day to find her wiping away tears as she rearranged some wires. Her arm was deep in a metal compartment and she was on her knees.

“I don’t know much about science, but aren’t you not supposed to mix water and electricity.”

She scowls at him having not noticed him come in, then turns away to dry the rest of her tears. “What do you want?”

“Like I said, I want to help, just tell me what to do.” He walks to stand in front of her but she doesn’t look at him. “I know I messed up, but can’t you at least look at me?”

“No!” She snaps. “You look so much like him!” A sob escapes her. “I hate it,” she cries. “I hate it so much! I hate you!”

Stan can feel the heavy weight of guilt in his chest increase. Still, he kneels down to embrasse her. “I know kid, I hate me too.”

To his surprise she holds him back while she cries. After a few minutes her sobs calm down and she pulls away. Her cheeks are tear streaked and eyes red and puffy. She looks up at him before looking away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t know you enough to hate you.”

Stan let out a chuckle.

“Also, I don’t think I’m being fair, I lost my fiance, but you lost your twin brother too. How are you?” She looks at him again, sincerity in her eyes.

Stan is taken aback. How could she be so caring about him when he just ruined her life? He swallows, feeling a lump start to build in the back of his throat. “Me? Just peachy.” He lies.

She stands up and moves back to what she was working on. “You’re a bad liar, just like Ford.” ----------- She agrees to let Stan stay with her indefinitely. Deciding she can’t kick her family out when he had nowhere to go. One day a few months in, he approached her with an idea to turn the cabin into a tourist attraction.

“A shack of mystery, The Mystery Shack!” He grins.

“No, definitely not. Absolutely not.” She argues.

Stan sighs. “Listen, you told me yourself the grant money had run out. Unless you want to get a job at that greasy diner, I’d like to hear what else you plan to do for money.”

She turns away from her work with a groan of annoyance. “I… I don’t know. That feels almost disrespectful to all of Ford’s work. Showing it off like some cheap roadside attraction.”

“We don’t have to use his work, sweetheart.” He coos, she makes an almost disgusted face at the nickname. “I’ll make up all new attractions, fake of course. Wouldn’t want the rubes of this town getting freaked out or nothing.”

Reluctantly she agrees. She moves the rest of Ford’s experiments to their room or the basement. Since Ford was gone their room seemed too big to be in all by herself. She moved into a smaller room across the hall, and with Stans help they sealed up his room until they could get him back.

It wasn’t long until Stan was getting customers. At least a few everyday. She had told him she wanted nothing to do with it though and spent her time in the basement.

A few months of this routine had passed, Stan swindling the townsfolk and anyone stupid enough to come in. He glued different animals together, bought wax figures, anything to get people in, and she couldn’t really complain. He was taking care of all the bills as she tried to fix the portal.

One night Stan heats up some soup and claims to have made dinner. The atmosphere while they eat is more tense than normal. Finally Stan decided to ask if he did something stupid and not notice.

She stares at the soup without looking up. “Today marks half a year, Stan.”

“Oh,” now it's his turn to stare at his soup. “I hadn’t realised.”

“Unless we can find the other two journals this is hopeless,” she cradles her head in her hands.

“As long as we don’t give up, it’s not hopeless.” Stan disagrees.

Later that night she sits in her new room on the edge of her bed. She looks down at her hand, and thinks about how empty it is. How empty she feels. How she would give anything to feel Ford’s hand in hers right now. How she’d give anything to not feel so alone. Her body shakes as she begins to sob. She lets herself have a real good cry for the first time in half a year.

Stan could hear her cries. He was standing outside her door which was cracked open. He was unsure whether to let her cry it out or if he should intervene and stop her from feeling so sad.

After letting her cry for a few minutes he walked into her room without knocking and sat beside her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her hand. She leaned her head onto his chest.

“When is this feeling going to stop? I don’t want to be sad anymore, Stan.”

“I don’t know kid,” was all he could say. Anything more and he would cry as well.

Eventually her cries died down and she began falling asleep against him. He tried to lay her down on the bed but she grabbed onto him.

“Please stay, I don’t want to be alone.” she sniffed.

He didn’t argue and layed down in bed next to her, a foot away. She held his hand as she fell asleep.

The year anniversary of Ford’s disappearance Stan cried for the first time. He thought he was alone as he stood in front of the broken portal.

“A whole year, huh, Sixer? Time flies. Don’t worry, I’m taking care of the kid for ya’. We’ll have you back in no time, we…” Stan lets out a sob and places his hand on the portal. He allows himself to cry. Even when he feels arms wrap him in a hug from behind he continues to cry.

She presses her forehead to his back and holds him while he cries. When he begins to calm down she lets go and wordlessly excuses herself from the room, knowing he wouldn’t want to talk about it. ---------- Three years pass and still not much has changed, except Stan has roped her into working in the gift shop on busy days. He doesn’t like how much time she spent in the basement, and she had to admit she liked the experience of talking to people who were traveling. Most had a fun atmosphere about them.

However, on day a familiar face comes in. Stan was already on a tour when the door chimes. “Welcome to the Mystery Shack, tours are every half hours and…” She stops when her mind registers who it is. “Fids!” She shouts and runs around the counter to give him a hug.

He chuckles. “Good ta’ see you to, friend.”

“What brings you here?” She lets go of him and takes a step back.

“I kept hearing about this ‘Mystery Shack’ and had to find out if it was really this old cabin.” He tells her.

She bashfully looked at the ground. “The grant money ran out. Had to make money somehow.” She confides in him.

“I just never thought this would be Ford’s style.” He confesses, and watches her face fall into a frown.

“Fids, I…” She thought hard about how to tell him. “You were right about that portal being no good. I….” She sighs. “There's so much I need to tell you.”

“How ‘bout we have dinner and catch up sometime then?” He smiles, not knowing that Ford wasn’t included in the ‘we’.

She offers him a small smile. “That'd be nice.”

They agree on a date and time for her to come over to his place, and he goes to leave when Stan ushers a crowd of tourists into the gift shop. He makes his way over to you.

Your face is panicked and you look from him to Fids. Stan leans against the counted and mouths to you, “What a bunch of rubes.” He then turns to Fids and offers him his hand to shake. “Mister Mystery at your service.”

Now Fids looks at Stan’s hand, then to her, back to Stan. She sighs and places a hand over Stan’s, pushing it down. “Stan, this was mine and Ford’s colleague, Fiddleford.”

Stan’s eager grin falls from his face. “Oh,” he clears his throat. “Well I got a tour to give.” He excuses himself.

Fids gives her another look. “I’ll explain everything.”

A few nights later she arrives at Fiddleford’s house. He’s made a simple pasta dinner and they enjoy some small talk as they talk about their time in Gravity Falls. When they’re done they go and sit on his couch.

“I see Ford finally popped the big question.” Fids smiles as he looks at the ring on her finger.

She fidgets at it with her thumb. “He did, and we were on a spaceship no less.”

“No kiddin’?” He ignores the spaceship part as much as he can. “So what’s been going on in that cabin in the woods?” He finally asks.

She lets out a heavy sigh. “So it all started around the time you left.” She begins, and explains everything that happened, Ford falling into the portal, Stan taking care of you and the cabin.

“I’m so sorry,” Fids lays his hand on her knee. “I knew no good would come of that portal,” he said almost under his breath.

“If only we had listened to you sooner. Maybe all of this could have been avoided.” She sighs and leans her head against his shoulder, his hand not on her knee wraps around her shoulder and rubs circles with his thumb.

She can’t help but feel so welcome to the touch. It had been so long since a man had touched her. She stopped her thoughts there. Fids is just being kind, don't be a pervert, she scolded herself in her mind.

Her thoughts quickly changed, however, when he softly said her name. She tilted her head to look up at him, and his hand from her knee moved to hold her chin. He looked in her eyes for any sign she wanted to pull away, but she didn’t. Instead she leaned up to hesitantly kiss him.

He kissed her back, more sure of himself than she was. After some kissing he slowly layed her back on the couch.

“Is this too much? If ya’ want I’ll stop just say the word.” He checks.

“Fids, it’s been so long since I’ve been touched. Please.” She almost whimpers, and he complies.

They’re time together is quick and imperfect, but leaves her feeling satisfied. Almost as soon as they are done she moves to put her clothes on.

“Leaving already?” He smirks.

“Fids, I…” She's unsure how to explain what that was. A moment of need and lust with no feelings?

“I’m just teasing, darling. Don’t have to mean nothing if ya’ don’t want it to.” He stands to dress as well, then walks her to the door. “Doors open anytime ya’ need me.”

She nods in understanding before scurrying off to Stan’s car she had borrowed. When she returns home her hair is out of place, shirt not tucked in correctly, and of course Stan is up late enough to comment.

“How was your date?” He jokes before he actually looks at her. He gives her a quick once over before grinning ear to ear. “You got laid? Nice!” He raises his hand for a high five but she just scowls at him.

She and Fiddleford see each other a few more times before calling it off. She can tell too much of his heart is in it and she doesn’t want to lead him on. He understands and they go their separate ways. It’s not long before she hears a rumor he’s got a steady girlfriend, and not long after that that he’s married with a kid.

The next time she sees him he’s not himself. He’s panicked and his country accent is more prominent than normal. He explains how he’s been using his memory eraser on himself, how all the things in Gravity Falls is too much for him. She tried to get him to promise to stop but he refuses. They argue and he raises his voice. She leaves, not to see Fiddleford for almost thirty year. ----------- She absolutely opposed the idea. “So let me get this straight,” she’s pinching the bridge of her nose, a habit she definitely picked up from Ford. “You want to fake your death?” She watches as Stan nods. “And pretend to be Ford?” He nods again. She slams her hands down on the table. “For what reason on Earth would you want to do that?”

“Listen, I’ve made some mistakes in my life,” he pauses as the look she gives him pretty much says she knows. “So I may have multiple warrants out for my arrest. If I’m gonna keep running the shack. It needs to be like Ford Pines and not Staley Pines!” He insists.

She sighs knowing he’s a little right. Sitting down at the kitchen table she looks up at him. “What about your mother, Stan?”

He pauses confused. “What about her?”

She scowls at him. “What do you mean ‘what about my mother’? Stanley Pines she's going to be heart broken. Not only has she not heard from you in almost ten years, the next thing she's going to hear about you is that you’re dead?” She pauses and thinks for a moment. “Well actually…”

“Well actually what?” Stan grunts.

“The last thing she heard about you was that you had joined Ford and I for Thanksgiving last year.” She looks up in thought. “At least that’s what my letter said.”

“You’ve been writing to my mother?” Stan’s face is distraught.

“Oh course I have! Ford never stopped working long enough to call her, so I started writing to her.” She looks annoyed at Stan.

“Did you say anything about…” He moves his hands awkwardly.

“Did I tell her Ford fell into a portal to another dimension and has been missing for almost five years? Yeah, Stan, I told her that.” She mocks. “Oh course I didn’t! To your parents and brother’s knowledge, Ford is still hard at work here in Gravity Falls with his loving girlfriend!”

Stan looks at hurt like a kicked puppy and she sighs, before saying she’d be right back. When she returns she has a handful of hand written papers. “These,” she sets them on the table, “are all from your mother.”

Stan looks over at them as she spreads them out. “I, listen Stan.” She gently touches his shoulder. “I know you haven't talked since you were kicked out, but your mother still loves you. Maybe… I don’t know, write her a letter before you go through with your choice.” And with that she leaves the room.

Stan waits a moment then sits down at the table. He reaches for the letter on top and begins to read.

Dearie, Thank you so much for taking the time to write. I know how busy Ford is. I love the picture you sent of you and Ford at the waterfall, we have it hanging in the living room. When are you two getting married? I can only wait so long for grandkids!

I was surprised to hear Stanley joined you for Thanksgiving, I didn’t even know he and Ford were talking again. Makes my heart glad to hear two brothers can make up. How did he look? Was he taking care of himself? I love that boy to death but he never did a good job taking care of himself. He needs a good woman like you in his life!

Stan sets down the letter, unable to read on through the tears that are clouding his vision. He wipes some away before deciding on what to do. After finding a pen and paper he sits back down to scrawl out his own message.

Hey Ma, Long time no talk. Listen, this message will be short. I know you haven’t heard from me in awhile I just wanted to say hey. Hope you and the old man are well, Shermie too.

I’ve been having the time of my life traveling the country. I even visited sixer and met the lovely lady in his life, boy what a catch, huh? Anyways I’ve got to get going. Adventure awaits and all that.

Love you, Stanley Pines ---------- A few days later she's sitting in the cabin kitchen to read the paper, she unfolds it to read STAN PINES DEAD across the front of it and sighs. She looks up at him over the paper and he’s staring out the window.

She sets the page of the newspaper aside. “Who’s going to tell your family?”

Stan eventually sits down at the phone and dials a number. His voice isn’t his as he pretends to be his brother. “Hello, mother. Yes, we’re doing just fine thank you for asking. Listen, I, uh, I have some bad news.”

She watches as he talks to his mother. Tears form in her eyes at the sounds of Ford’s voice. She wondered how he could sound so perfectly like him. Stan said a few more things before motioning her over.

“Ma want to talk to you.” Stan says.

She wipes a tear away and takes the phone. “Mrs.Pines, I’m so sorry. Yes, I know.” Stan listens to one side of the conversation. “Yes, ma, of course he knew you loved him.” She looks at Stan with tears in her eyes. “Of course he loved you too.”

Stan turned from her to hide his tears.

At his funeral she made an excuse, saying Ford was too heartbroken to come, as Stan watched from a distance away, as his family buried an empty casket in the ground. On the drive home she lay her head in Stanley’s lap, red eyes from crying with his mother.

They were silent for hours until she spoke. “Stan?”

He grunts in response.

“Do you think….” she doesn’t finish her thought.

“Don’t say it.” Stan frowns.

“Do you think Ford is dead?” She chokes out.

Stan pulls the car over to a screeching halt. She’s startled and sits up.

“Don’t,” he whispered before raising his voice. “Don’t you ever think like that!”

Stan stops from yelling more when he looks at her. Her shoulders are hunched over and her head is down, her hands held over her chest. Stan could compare her to a lost kitten.

He groans. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you, but we can’t afford to think like that. Ford’s alive I can feel it. If anything happened to him, I’d know.”

She nods, still clearly shaken by his sudden agner. He sighs and motions her closer, she complies and he pulls her into a hug. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

“It’s okay,” she murmurs into his shoulder.

One morning a few months later the shacks received a call that Mr.Pines had passed. She’s there to comfort him, and a few years later he gets the same call about his mother, she’s still there by his side.

---------- On the thirteenth year anniversary of Ford’s disappearance, as she still called it, Stan found her sitting in front of the portal reading his journal. He sighed and sat down next to her.

“This is no way to spend a Friday night, kid.” He says.

She smiles, but it isn't sad. “It’s a fine way to spend it for me.”

“You seem awfully cheery for… today.” Stan comments.

She sighs, almost sounding content. “It’s just, the more time goes by the more sure I am we’ll get him back.”

He just stares at her. “Well I’m glad you feel that way. But for me, tonight I’m thinking about pitt cola and some dark liquor. Care to join?”

She snaps the journal shut. “Absolutely.”

A few hours later they are playing a childish game of never have I ever, clearly calling the other out. He’s sat in his armchair, she’s sat on the dinosaur skull next to him.

“Never have I ever been to jail.” She sneers as Stan drinks from his cup.

“Never have I ever kissed someone’s twin brother.” Stan sneers back. She rolls her eyes as she drinks.

“Never have I ever faked my death.” She laughs.

“Never have I ever, um, slept with my fiance's college roommate.” He watches as she narrows her eyes at him.

“That’s low Stanley,” she takes a drink. “Never have I ever lost a girlfriend to a hippie.” She bites her lip to stop her shit eating grin.

Stan frowns as he drinks. “Alright I’ve had enough of that game.”

“Why,” she jeers. “Because you know I have more dirt on you than you do me?” She turns to straddle her chair.

He grumbles some excuse and drinks more.

“Oh that’s exactly why.” She takes a drink.

“Well what do you expect, kid? I’ve lived a life of crime and you went to college and met a nice boy, who swept you off your feet to a romantic cabin in the woods.” He huffs.

“Hmm,” she thinks. “I suppose that’s true. Stan why haven’t you found a nice girl, or guy, to settle down with?” She asks sincerely.

“I’ve been too busy. Plus I got you to take care of.” He laughs as she punches his arm.

“I could take care of myself if you want to go off and get married. You’re a total catch Stan, some girl would be happy to be with you.” She smiles and finishes her drink.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” He jokes.

“I’m just being honest, any Pine’s boy is a catch. Why do you think Sermie is already married with a grown kid? Plus I got lucky and snatched up the cute twin before someone else got him.” She jokes and Stan shoves her shoulder playfully, however in her buzzed state she begins to fall back. Stan moves to catch her, both his hand landing on her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she breaths, her face right next to his. Before she knows it Stan leans in and gives her a kiss. She kisses back, after a few kisses they both pull back.

She laughs and covers her mouth. He chuckles too.

“Yeah, that was weird.” He states.

“Yeah, don’t do that again.” She bursts out laughing and he blushes. ---------- On the twentieth anniversary Stan wakes up to the sound of banging. He sits up with a start and heads down stairs to the basement. He finds her hard at work tinkering away.

“You alright, kid?” He asks.

“When are you going to stop calling me kid, Stanley? We’re a few years apart, not to mention, we’re almost senior citizens.” She smirks.

“Gross, don’t say that.” He scratches himself. “But what are you doing down here so early?”

She continues what she was working on. “I just feel like we’re so close. Closer than we’ve ever been. Don’t you feel it too?” Her eyes are bright and hopeful.

Stan doesn’t really feel the same, but with the look she’s giving him, there's no way in hell he’d say it outloud. “I trust your instinct.” He starts helping her before she yells at him to go put on clothes and change out of his slippers. ---------- It's a gloomy day outside, the wind is howling and the snow comes down in blankets. She's sat in the arm chair with a pen and paper, writing something down when Stan walks by.

“What’re you up to today, toots?” Stan asks.

She doesn't reply lost in her writing. He leans over to take a look before she pulls it against her chest.

“Are you writing a letter?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Isn’t everyone we know dead?”

She scowls. “You still have two brother who are alive, buttface.”

“You write Shermie?”

“Not often but I do. This isn’t for him though.” She pouts.

Stan pauses and thinks before he speaks, what a rarity. “It’s for Ford?”

She slowly nods. “I’ve written him a letter every year on his anniversary since he’s been gone. Today marks twenty five years. Just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Stan frowns.

She lets out a small laugh. “Stan we aren’t exactly spring chickens. I could have a heart attack tomorrow and-”

“Don’t talk like that, Ford will be back soon, you won’t need those lousy letters to tell him what’s been going on around here.” Stan states gruffly.

She smiles. “I’m sorry if me talking of my own mortality upset you Stan. I won’t mention it again.” ---------- “Shermie’s grandkids are coming up for the summer.” Stan tells her one morning over breakfast.

“Really?” She beams. “I can’t wait to meet then, Stanley that’s so exciting!” Her smile wavers for a second. “But, Gravity Falls really isn't the safest place for kids.”

“What was I supposed to tell Shermie’s kids, No they can’t come because there's gnomes and mythical creatures in the forest?” He pinches his nose. “It’ll be good to get those city slickers in the forest for a while, toughen them up.”

“How old are they?”

“12.”

#ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #waiting for you part three #beautiful-river on AO3 has them posted until part 6

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photonromance · 4 years ago

Text

BobaDin [Soothed] {Omegaverse}

This fight was not going well. They darted him toward the end, a sharp little microdart that was slamming through his bloodstream and wiping out every trace of decades of hormone suppressants

He killed them.

Bloody vibroblade clenched so tight his gloves creaked, he cut and sliced and shot his way through leering faces making threats as his scent began shifting in the dozen seconds after the dart struck

The filth they spat at him was- Din shook his head to clear it. The disgusting creatures were dead. That's what mattered. He shook his head again, the fog still thick. He was in trouble. Din fumbled the pouch at his thigh, digging for the hypo he knew lay there.

Except it wasn't. The hypo slipped from shaking fingers and clattered across the floor. Kriff. His head was swimming. The hypo blurred, doubling as Din struggled to focus.

From the shadows, a pair of boots stepped out, unfamiliar but definitely local. "Oh, you'll do more than nicely." The voice was modulated, a vocoder, and Din blinked once more before the darkness swallowed him up.

Din came to in a fog. His hands were bound behind him, bad news, but his feet were free, even if they were made of lead at the moment. There was an arm hooked under each of his, forcing his shoulders up and apart and it was painful, even if the pain felt disconnected. They were dragging him. Din’s head lolled and, kriff but he was messed up not to notice immediately, he realized his helmet was missing. There was cool air on his face, but it felt tender, like he had been in the sun. Stars, how long had he been out? Been bare? He ducked his head drunkenly, an instinct long worn in to protect himself from prying eyes.

"Little late for that, pretty boy," the same modulated voice from before spoke again, "You'll probably have a nasty sunburn from the ride back, but I dont think Fett will mind. He doesn't need you too pretty."

They were going to Fett?

They had parted on good enough terms, Din had thought? Had something changed?

He was so foggy.

Had he forgotten something? Stars. He'd been lucky enough to avoid any heat drugs up to now, so it was possible? Maybe? The drug had turned his head dizzy and his blood thick and it was a struggle to remember where he'd been before this-

Ah-

Din had heard of heat drugs. Who hadn't? He knew, in principle, that they triggered hormonal changes with small doses in the dart. The more suppressants in the victim's body, the harder the turnaround was on them. Hence Din’s long spate unconscious. He'd been suppressing for years at this point. Here came the reason his body had chosen unconsciousness.

Pain began growing in his lower abdomen, from a twinge to a firestorm. He drew his knees up, desperate to soothe the ache tearing at him. "Stop that." One of the goons holding his arm kicked at his knee, drawing a ragged sound from Din.

"Don't worry," the modulated voice spoke again, mockingly, "Fett will handle that for you."

There was muffled noise, people talking and soft music, and the sound only made Din hyper aware of his bare face. The pain in his belly spiked and Din tried again to curl up, to put pressure on what felt like an aching wound. The goon kicked him again, laughing. "Do you think he'll share?"

The other asked pinched Din’s chin to try and force his face up. "After he's done? Nah, you know how Mando are. Always fighting, but they're possessive. I heard there was a Marshall out by-"

"Shut up!" The modulated voice cut in and there was a shift of something heavy, a door? And a slice of light cut into the dark hallway.

Din flinched away from the brightness, flushing with humiliation as he was hauled forward into the light, face bare and hormones rank. He knew he was a sight.

He hoped Boba killed him quickly if this was some slight Din didn't remember.

The talking fell from a mild chatter to near dead silence in a moment. The music died even quicker. Din was thrown forward, tripping over his own boots, and landed face first into the stone floor. At least the stone was cool. Another pain was blooming fast and Din curled up against it, breath hitching as he struggled to remember all the training he'd been taught. Breathe through the pain, accept it, hold it, let it go. It was harder than he remembered.

Above him, there was a shift, boots against stone.

"We bring-" the Modulated voice began, before it was cut off by a single blaster bolt. Something thumped to the ground nearby. Din focused harder on breathing as his abdomen began to relax again. Stars, had it always been so bad?

Behind him, there was shouting, a fight? But it was over in moments. The sounds of boots dragging over stone as the two goons were hauled off. Above him, the light was blocked out suddenly.

"Did they hurt you?"

It's Boba. Din would know that voice anywhere. "Heat drug-" he slurred, trying to raise his face from the ground.

"I know, hush now."

Something tugged- his cape? And the world went dim and soft. Boba had pulled his cape up, over his head.

To cover his face.

He wasn't mad?

Then why- oh but none of that mattered. Boba was bundling Din up, slicing his arms free with a blade before hefting him with an arm around his shoulders and an arm under his knees.

"Hold on."

Din nodded, oblivious to the fact Boba couldn't see it under the cloth. They walked that way a while, Din slowly focusing as the pain faded once more. When he had a moment of clarity, he asked, panicked, "Fett, my helmet-"

"The idiot was holding it. Someone will bring it up shortly, don't worry." Boba spoke in short bursts, voice pinched and even.

It took Din several moments to realize why.

"Kriff, Boba, I'm so sorry, I- Ah!"

He was cut off in his apology by pain again blooming in his belly, faster now than before. He curled again, jostling Boba's hold.

"Hang on-" Boba shifted Din’s weight, keying open a door before hurrying in.

The door locked audibly behind them and Boba lay Din gently on something soft. A bed, obviously but- his bed. It was obvious by the heady scent of Alpha and the spiced sweet scent of blaster oil. This was Boba's bed.

"Boba, no-"

"Hush."

Stars. His voice was gentle but firm and Din wanted to roll over and show his belly. He felt pathetic.

"I’m sorry," Boba followed the words immediately, soft and apologetic, running his fingers over Din’s head, over curls covered by cloth, "I won't use the voice." He picked up Din’s arm, laying at his side, and began unbuckling his vambrace, slipping his finger under Din’s shirt to begin rubbing the feeling back into the muscle. "I have someone bringing suppressants," Boba soothed, rubbing circles in the skin of his wrist, "until then, I need you to tell me what to do, Din. Can you do that?"

Tell- Boba? What to do? It struck something wrong in Din’s chest. He whimpered, his free hand rising up to grab at Boba's bicep. "I can't-"

"You can." Boba promised, lacing his fingers with Din’s loosely, "I've seen what you can do, Din. You are Mando'ade. You are not just your nature. I know it hurts. Show me the warrior."

Din swallowed, closing his eyes despite his cloak covering. "Okay." He took a slow breath through his mouth, fighting the intensity of Boba's scent all around him. "I need the suppressants but- it won't be enough."

"Any Alpha you desire is yours."

Din shook his head. "I haven't- I'm not comfortable-"

"I can provide toys?" Boba suggested, returning to slow circles on Din’s wrist with his free hand.

"Hold me?" Din asked, regretting the tremble in the words the moment he said them, but it needed saying, "I need you to- just hold me. Until it passes. And then- then maybe- but- not like this."

Boba is quiet for a long time. But the circles continue, so Din doesn't stop breathing just yet. Boba's scent is thick with arousal, and his restraint is frankly impressive. But if this is just a reaction to a heat, then Din won't get his hopes up.

“If you promise to eat,” Boba says slowly, helmet tipping to the side as he considered, “and let me take care of you, to soothe my nature, I’ll agree.”

Din hardly needs convincing. “Kriff yes.”

Boba dips his head slightly, pressing his helmet to Din’s forehead, under the cloak. “We’ll talk about this, after. You know that, right?” He asks softly.

Din is silent for a long moment. “I think I would like that,” he admits, pushing himself up slightly into the touch before he collapses back on the bed, gasping as pain begins to claw at his belly again.

“I’ll call for those meds.”

Boba is gone for just a moment, rumbling into his comm as he undresses quickly, efficiently. “That doctor we freed? See if she has any hypos to spare.” His helmet thumps onto the table, boots kicked off. When his trousers hit the floor, Din’s cock twitches, desperate for a little confirmation of what’s to come.

“No,” Din huffs to himself, turning over to fumble his armor off in turn. If Boba does it, his body won’t let him rest after, he knows it. An Alpha touching him, undressing him- ah Kriff. Din stifled a whine, shucking his trousers and peeling his shorts off with a whimper. He was sticky. Between his cock drooling absently against the front and slick beginning to drip to his thighs with each cramp, his shorts were soaked. “I- ah- hope you aren't’ fond of these sheets,'' He joked, fighting the urge to hide in a shell of silence.

“Sheets be damned.” Boba was returning, climbing up onto the bed, down to his own underclothes. He knelt there at the edge of the bed, studying his new bedmate. “You’re sure you’ve never done this?” he asked, head cocking to the side curiously, “You’re damned beautiful.”

Din laughed, a huff of breath as he moved to lift the cloak. Pulling it back, he looked up at Boba with bare eyes for the first time. "Still think so?" He asked, a nervous smile tugging at his lips.

"Moreso." Boba opened his arms, offering everything Din needed.

Stripping out of his shirt, Din crawled across the bed, slotting himself chest to chest with Boba and nuzzling into the side of his neck with a broken little noise. The ache in his belly began, fluttering as Din squeezed Boba as tight as his arms allowed and Boba returned the pressure just as intensely. The pressure, the weight of an Alpha's scent, along with the knowledge that Boba was resisting for him, sent a rush of endorphins through Din’s blood, steadying the pain and even, thankfully, easing it.

Din could do this. They could do this.

"Together." Boba promised.

#bobadin #omegaverse #heat drugs #not sex as a heat breaker #look at me #i have reatraint #myfic #photon writes again #omega!Din #alpha!Boba

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fiddlepickdouglas · 3 years ago

Text

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 14 - Unexpected Meeting

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, who will they run into?, 3.2k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

WARNINGS: death mention, emotional trauma

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

“Man, I need a break,” Reggie was saying as he strolled with Alex down an unfamiliar street in the early evening, stretching his arms. “I mean, being in the studio all the time has been good, but on top of everything else it’s just so much!”

Unsure where they were headed, Alex walked a few paces ahead on the sidewalk, casually navigating for both of them. He squinted as he looked at Reggie.

“Reggie, you dropped, like, all of your classes once we signed on.”

“Nope!” his friend exclaimed, tilting his head in a proud manner. “I just needed two electives to graduate. It’s okay, though, man. Not everyone finishes their math requirements as a freshman.” Reggie patted Alex’s shoulder, as if it were any sort of consolation.

“No, good for you Reg,” Alex said. His parents had paid for all this private tutoring and even gotten him to take some college credits early. Of course, his only serious plan after high school had been the band so it was all wasted effort, but then all of their attempts with him amounted to that. He was learning to feel less guilty over it. It wasn’t his fault they never cared about what he wanted.

“How long do you think Luke and Bobby are gonna be workshopping their parts together?” Reggie asked.

“Long enough. Where are we going, exactly?”

“Oh, I was just kind of keeping an eye out for anywhere interesting.”

Alex blinked. “I thought we were headed somewhere specific.”

“I’ve only been to this side of L.A. like, once, so I don’t think I’d make a good tour guide,” Reggie stated.

And just like that, Alex’s mind thrust itself back into remembering Willie. He was getting better at not crumbling completely in the moment, but it still felt like his heart was temporarily dunked into a dark ocean of misery. It would remain waterlogged and heavy inside his chest for a while.

“Alex?” Reggie was saying, looking at him with concern. “You okay?”

Snapping his thoughts back to the present, Alex sighed as he looked back at Reggie.

“I’ll be fine.”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket and pressed his arms against his sides. Shoulders hunched, he continued through the crowd. Focusing on walking would hopefully help it wear off. He made every step purposeful, trying to get the weight in his heart to fall through his feet. Reggie’s hand on his shoulder made him turn.

“It’s still rough, isn’t it?” he asked gently. “If I said something - ”

“It’s not your fault,” Alex tried to assure him. “Sometimes it just comes out of nowhere. Besides, I can’t make you and everyone else walk on eggshells.”

“Maybe not, but we’re in this with you. It may have been different for us, but we all met Willie. I’d never seen you warm up to anyone that fast. Even after a few months, it’s still fresh; don’t force yourself to be better for us.”

Pausing on the sidewalk, Alex looked up at Reggie. He tried to smile as gratitude edged its way in, relieving most of the heaviness in his chest.

“I appreciate that, Reg.”

“Of course, man.”

“So,” Alex took a deep breath to let everything else wash away as they kept wandering. “You made it sound like you had a lot going on. Is everything at home okay?”

Reggie shrugged. “Eh...no change there. My mom went to stay with her sister after the last fight, so my dad’s been trying his best to take care of everything, but he’s too upset to handle it well. My little sister has just been sleeping over with friends anyway, and I can handle myself, so - ” he shrugged again, “ - you know, I do what I can.”

Alex nodded. He had nothing really to comment, and Reggie knew he was always there to support him. This wasn’t anything unusual for him, but it still wasn’t right. Neither of them spent much time at their own homes, so wandering through the city like this kept them occupied when they weren’t with the rest of the band. Looking up at the store signs around them, he saw a record store about a block ahead.

“Hey, why don’t we check that out?” he suggested.

“Yeah!” Reggie said, dropping any ounce of gloom from the previous subject and skipping along to catch up with Alex.

A small bell rang as they came through the door, and they immediately began filtering through shelves of records and CDs. Peeking toward the back of the store, Alex could see a counter that offered a menu of food and drinks, some tables, as well as the smallest stage in the world. This seemed like a neat little place.

“Oh,” Reggie started after a while. “I got us a gig playing at my cousin’s wedding.”

“A wedding?” Alex said skeptically, turning from the Pansy Division vinyl he was checking out. “When we’re trying to finish a record and go on tour?”

“It’s Conrad, okay, he’s family! And he said we could make the setlist.”

Alex shrugged, considering that was fair.

“...with his approval.”

At that addition, Alex could only sigh and shake his head.

“And then maybe, you could, I don’t know, finally ask Bobby to be your date?”

Reggie put down the Mötley Crüe album he’d been examining and looked up at him in shock. Alex realized he’d possibly been too blunt. But immediately Reggie began to cover it up, laughing and shaking his head.

“What?” he said, his denial completely transparent. “Was that a...was that supposed to be a joke or something?”

Giving him a look of pity, Alex put his hands on his hips.

“You’re really gonna try to pull the wool over the eyes of your gay friend?”

Caught, Reggie looked back at him in defeat and bowed his head.

“I’m gonna guess you noticed a while ago?”

Nodding, Alex tried to soften his demeanor.

“There’s been something up with you two for months. How come you haven’t tried to talk to him about it?”

Reggie knit his brow and began fiddling with his fingers.

“Well, I’m a little confused by it, to be honest. Cuz, I mean...I like girls, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“But I like Bobby, too.”

“Okay.”

His friend looked up at him, expecting more of a reaction. Alex leaned against the shelf and folded his arms.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with you? Because you’re talking to the king of wrong feelings.”

“Well, sometimes I feel like that, but not really. It’s something else,” Reggie said.

“Like what?”

“Well...we’ve been friends for years. It just sort of crept up on me and I don’t know what to do. What if he rejects it? He’s one of my best friends.”

Thinking for a moment, Alex looked down at his feet. He didn’t blame Reggie for being worried. He’d had a mini crush on Bobby for a couple weeks back in ninth grade and had the same dilemma. It was easier for him to get over, though, simply because it had faded quickly.

“Well, I wish I could say if it’s meant to be it’ll happen, but sometimes…”

Sometimes it dies in a fire before there’s any chance of knowing.

He shook his head to get rid of the awful thought and ignored Reggie’s look of concern.

“But if I know Bobby, I don’t think it’s going to harm anything. I think you should go for it, Reg. I truly, honestly, will back you up on that.”

A smile spread wide across Reggie’s face.

“Thanks, man!”

Without fretting over it for another second, he turned back to the shelf of CDs he’d been perusing, and Alex did the same. There was a crazy good selection, and Alex wished he could get his hands on a record player. Playing CDs on a boombox worked for some things, but there was a level of charm in playing something on a vinyl record that appealed to him even more. He made a note to get a small notebook to carry in his fanny pack, hoping to return to this store and make a wishlist of sorts to work toward.

“Do I see Alex and Reggie of Sunset Curve?” A familiar voice said from behind.

Both of them turned to find Flynn standing in the aisle, braids tied up into a high ponytail and eyebrow arched in her usual smart fashion.

“Hey Flynn!” Reggie exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. Alex went in for one afterward, happily surprised.

“Hey guys!” she said, grinning.

“What are you up to?” Alex asked.

“Gonna be performing in a bit,” she said excitedly. “Just a warm up before the main group comes on. I’ve been working on some of my own stuff; I think you guys would love it! Got time to stick around?”

“Sweet!” Reggie raised a fist for her to bump. “I’m down. Alex, wanna stay?”

“Yeah, sounds great!”

He had yet to see what Flynn was capable of. If he were to judge only on knowing she’d been in a duo with Julie, he expected it to be good.

“Also, you should try the burritos here,” Flynn told them. “They are to die for!”

The endless click-rollll-click-click-click of his board filled his ears as Willie moved through the street, feeling the wind pass over him in the way that made freedom feel like he could clutch it in his hands. He’d actually spent today not worrying about Alex. It felt good not to dwell on what little past he had access to. Of course, he still had repetitive dreams about the few memories that had come back, but the backwards one with Caleb in it hadn’t come back ever since he’d gotten to LA. Moving forward felt...nice.

He had spent the morning sketching at the beach, getting all sorts of practice in. The beautiful waves, seagulls, the different activities all around him. Somehow a group of young college kids had gotten him to join their volleyball tournament. Willie wasn’t sure if he’d ever played it before, but once he caught onto the game, he’d gotten surprisingly good. It felt nice to roll up the hem of his jeans and dig his toes into the warm sand while playing with a group of strangers. They’d nicknamed him Mowgli, whatever that meant. He liked the sound of it though.

Heading off to work after cleaning himself up, he realized he could spend all his free time that way. Peacefully sketching, meeting fun people, and enjoying his surroundings. Was that all it took to be happy? Willie chuckled at the thought of how much Caleb had stressed over rising to the top of his business game, never appearing to be satisfied with any of it. Leaving Vegas remained the best decision he’d ever made. Of course, he wasn’t always proud about his method of burning down the shed, but it had been one of those...heat of the moment things.

Willie skated up to the back entrance and shook his hair out after lifting off his helmet. Just a few short hours of making food, some chill entertainment, and he could peace out for the night. He headed inside the store and right into the small kitchen. Thankfully, the store didn’t fit too many patrons and it was never hard to keep up with orders, and Kyle had a system so he never had to leave the kitchen. This basically meant he could jam to the live music during the lulls between orders with no interruption.

Kyle entered the kitchen just as Willie was tying on his apron.

“Hey, dude, thanks for coming. We actually got two acts coming in, so it should be a full crowd. Katelyn can be the MC for the first bit, but do you mind taking over for the second half?”

A twinge of excitement came over Willie and he lit up. He’d never gotten to try being an MC before.

“Don’t mind at all!” he said.

“Alright, man!” Kyle exclaimed. “First two orders up: swamp style nachos and a bog burrito.”

“Got it.”

“We’re up for a big night with these performances,” the girl hosting hyped up the crowd. “Let’s give it up for our artist of the night: Flynn Taylor!”

Reggie cupped his hands over his mouth as he hollered along with everyone else’s applause. Alex clapped with a mouthful of nachos. Flynn stepped onto the stage behind a set of deejay turntables, smirking as she began flipping switches and turning knobs.

“Thanks for coming out here everyone,” she said into the mic. More applause and whistles echoed through the room. “We’re gonna make a lot of noise tonight, so let me hear you get pumped!”

As she began playing a beat, Alex bobbed along, immediately interested. He didn’t know a thing about mixing, so he was highly impressed with the different sounds she was using. Then Flynn picked up the mic and began rapping and the whole room cheered.

“...I’m a princess, I don’t need a prince, boy I’m priceless...I’m here to shut it down like a night shift…”

“Man,” Reggie leaned over to Alex. “She’s so good! I say we book her to open for us ASAP as possible.”

Alex merely snorted and chuckled at Reggie’s misuse of the acronym. He actually enjoyed the idea of having Flynn rapping to open for their rock shows. Gigs where all the bands sounded the same got a little flavorless sometimes.

“Also,” Reggie said as he took a huge bite into his burrito. “This is the best burrito I’ve ever had.”

“Lemme try some, you can try my nachos,” Alex said.

All Reggie could say was Mm! as he passed the burrito over.

The final beats of the first performer echoed in the kitchen where Willie had been dancing, waving various kitchen tools around. He’d thoroughly enjoyed the whole set, and wondered what sounded so familiar about the girl who was rapping. Before he could spend more time thinking about it, Kyle came in.

“Okay, you ready?” he asked.

“I just keep people busy and then announce the next group, right?” Willie guessed.

“Yeah, man, you’ve got this!”

“What’s the next group called?”

“Downslide. And they brought some merch, so it’s a good idea to mention that to the crowd as well.”

“Okay,” Willie nodded, slipping out of his apron. “Maybe I could put their t-shirt on or something, you know, sell the look?”

Kyle looked impressed. “Yeah! I’ll go see what they’ve got.”

He left the kitchen and hardly a minute later returned with a jacket.

“They said you could wear it for the night. Not gonna lie, I wish I could wear this, it’s a sweet jacket.”

Willie slipped it on, and turned around. He didn’t often wear jackets, but whatever it was made of was pretty soft.

“Guess I’m ready,” he said, giving Kyle a hand slide and fist bump before leaving the kitchen. He stepped up behind the microphone and looked out at the crowd, and further back, the empty store.

At that moment, he heard the bell of the store door ring and two guys walked outside. Through the window, a familiar leather jacket passed. Then, he saw a head of blonde hair follow, turning to look both ways to cross the street, and his heart grew to fill all the empty space in his chest. It was unmistakable. It had to be.

“Alex...” he breathed quietly into the microphone. Adrenaline immediately went out to his extremities. The crowd before him looked bewildered as they waited for him to announce the next group.

Glancing offstage, he saw Kyle give him a strange look. Willie shook his head, unclear what message he was sending but ultimately knowing he couldn’t stay at his current spot. Before he could think anything else, his legs were bounding out the door. It felt like every ounce of blood in his veins knew. The search was over.

Reggie and Alex had just reached the opposite corner. He wasn’t going to miss his chance.

“Alex!” he cried, running to meet them.

He immediately thrust his arms around a surprised Alex, gripping him tightly, burying his face into his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Alex!” he said, panting. “It’s so good to see you.”

He didn’t feel the hug didn’t reciprocate, and instead Alex grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away. The darkness of the street seemed to envelop him.

“What are you - ?” Alex started, staring back at Willie like he’d just been assaulted. Then shock wiped over his whole face. Then confusion. And then a pain came over all of it that made Willie’s concern grow.

“What - what is it?” he asked, all the excitement gone.

Alex wouldn’t look him in the eye, and he raised a hand to hold the side of his head.

“No, this isn’t real,” he whispered to himself, shrinking backward and shutting his eyes. “This can’t be real.”

Willie glanced over at Reggie, who also stared like he was seeing the impossible. He could see Alex shaking and heard a rattled breath, and felt tension grow thick in the air. Quickly, he went to take Alex’s face in his hands.

“Alex, hey, look, it’s me,” he soothed. He fought to get a look directly into his eyes. “It’s me, Willie.”

Finally, the green ocean gazed back at him, turbulent and restless. What once had been a grounding rhythm of waves had turned into a maelstrom of despair. Even worse were the tears welling up right before him. Willie watched the storm rage for a few seconds, seeking for a moment of calm.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, lowering his hands. Alex looked so wounded it frightened him.

“How are you alive?” Alex begged to know.

Blinking, Willie sat back, astounded at those words. While he agreed it was a miracle he was still alive, he couldn’t fathom why Alex would ask such a question. He chuckled merely out of discomfort.

“I’m here.” Willie glanced at Reggie, looking for an explanation. “Flesh and bone. Why? What happened?”

Alex looked at him incredulously, jaw hanging open. He looked so tightly wound and so scattered all at once.

“Caleb told me you were dead.”

Willie blanched inwardly at the mention of Caleb, but even more so at the rest of that sentence he’d been utterly unprepared to hear.

“He...he - ” he stammered for a moment. “When would you have even talked to him?”

Sharing a look with Reggie, Alex took a deep breath. Then he looked back at Willie hesitantly.

“We see him all the time. We work for him now.”

It was Willie’s turn to drop his jaw.

“We’ve been signed to his record label for a few months now,” Reggie pitched in.

Directing his gaze to the ground, Willie puzzled for a minute.

“Why would I be dead?” he asked, looking back up at Alex.

For a minute Alex simply gazed at him wordlessly.

“I don’t know,” he said. There was a pause as both of them finally looked at each other, fully aware that this was real. And then Alex threw his arms around Willie to return the hug. Willie had to raise himself up on his toes to avoid falling over, and he tightened his grip to remain steady. He felt joy spread through his whole torso and breathed a sigh of relief as hands tangled into his hair. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m so happy to see you.”

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #fanfic #jatp fanfic #willex #alive au #sunset curve #alex mercer #willie #luke patterson #reggie peters #bobby wilson #julie molina #flynn taylor #caleb covington #viva las vegas #unexpected meeting #fiddlepickdouglas

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