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anyarose011 · 2 days ago

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Such an Old Fashioned Word {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: The rest of your winter break is spent at Barton, though not completely uneventful. Last minute secrets are shared to ring out the new year, and all seems well for the next semester. Yet, even on the first day, that's not all true.

Part 10 of 10 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Swearing, unserious injury, mention of past child abuse, and the return of Teddy Kountze.

Welp, we've reached the end (of the movie) you guys. Don't worry, I'm making a small epilogue, but just wanted to give this first. Before it's officially over though, I just wanted to thank all of you SO much for all of your support. I am truly forever grateful for all of you guys' enthusiasm. Also, everybody say "Thank you, Anya" for putting the original Queen audio of "Under Pressure" when I was this 🤏close to making it the Aftersun version 🥰🥰

Word Count: 7.5k

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The car ride back to Barton was mostly silent. Not a nasty, bitter, awkward silence; no, this was a mix of exhaustion, but also content. Even though it was just an hour and a half drive from Boston, your father and Mary still thought it was best to leave a little bit after dawn; that, and the hotel was kicking you out around that time.

You had no shame either as you laid sideways in the backseat, feet draped over Angus’ lap. He kept his hands glued to his side, but he didn’t look uncomfortable either. You know that there was a hint of it though; it’d be bad if there wasn’t as your father and his teacher drove the car.

It was December 28th when you had returned from your little ‘field trip’. Two more weeks until the spring semester started back at the school…there wasn’t much else to do. So, the five of you, now with Danny deciding to join more days than less, decided to make the most of it.

There were a few, eventful days; you and Angus decided to cook for everyone instead of having Mary do it one night.

(“Alright, a tablespoon of salt.” You poured it into the pot.

He was silent for an odd amount of time, before saying your name. “That was a cup.”)

Perhaps it wasn’t a smart idea to stay up until four in the morning, reading. You didn’t risk sneaking into Angus’ room at night after Boston, considering the conversation you both had to have with your father.

(It wasn’t the first day back in Barton, but the next. It was after lunch that you and Angus were simply sitting on opposite sides of the couch in the large study, reading separately. The door opened, and you both looked up to see your father, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen on a normal day.

“Are you alright, papa?” You sat up, asking him with a hint more affection.

He nodded. “Yes, I just wanted to speak to you both about something.”

You already knew what it was, yet you still hoped it wasn’t it. You and Angus leaned forward in anticipation

Your father took a deep breath. “I noticed that you both have become close over the winter break, especially after Boston…I feel as if I have t know if the two of you are-.”

“-Yes.” Angus nodded. “We’re…together.”

“Ah,” he nodded, exhaling.

“Is that alright?”

“Yes, it’s just,” your father huffed a laugh. “frankly, I didn’t think I’d have this conversation for quite some time.”

“Why,” you jested. “you thought I wasn’t desirable to boys my age?”

“No, you just knew your worth, and we both assumed no boy was capable of amounting to it.” He turned to Angus. “I don’t believe in miracles very often, but perhaps I will just this once. We would not be having this conversation a week ago. Yet, in this short amount of time, you have shown me that you are a respectful and selfless young man. If any one of my students had the privilege of courting my daughter, I’m glad it’s you.”

Angus smiled at the sentiment, no matter how strangely it was worded. “Thank you, Mr. Hunham.”

He nodded. “Now, I will say that there’s a matter of how physically affectionate you two are together-.”

“-Papa,” you stopped him. “out of the three of us in the room, you’re the last one to be scared of me getting pregnant.”

Angus and your father didn’t make a sound; they didn’t need to, their eyes said it all. Still, you said it without a hint of discomfort. Even if you felt it, you didn’t show it; it was a true statement. It was almost as if you would be dealing with the brunt of pregnancy, and Angus would face the other part of it.

“Well…” Your father cleared his throat. “I wasn’t going to say it outright, only allude. Still…just be respectful; in public and not.”

“Okay.” You audibly responded, while Angus kept his head down to hide the pinkness of his skin, nodding.

“Alright.” Your father sighed, then moved swiftly to exit the room. “It was lovely having this talk; one I will go and pretend we never had unless one of us brings it up.”

“Love you, dad.” You said once he left. When the door was shut, you glanced back at Angus. “You good?”

He pursed his lips. “Ask me in an hour.”)

The most notable thing to happen after that talk was New Years. You, Mary, and Angus, had prepared a feast for supper; Angus finally joined to cook simply because he didn’t trust you the last time you held a cooking utensil. Danny joined that night as well as all of you were in the teacher’s lounge, watching Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians, waiting for the ball to drop.

(“Man, I sure do wish we had some noisemakers.” Mary commented, sitting in between you and Angus.

“I’ve got one.” Angus pulled one out from his back pocket without missing a beat.

Danny huffed from beside you. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “found it.”

You and he went on another “adventure” through the tunnels, broke into the dormitories, and snooped around.

Your father shook his head, taking it. “Well, you’re not deploying that in here.”

“You know, you weren’t so uptight in Boston.” You teased, then turned to Danny. “As the head janitor-.”

“-I’m the only janitor.” He elbowed you.

“Where do you stand on indoor fireworks?”

“About as far away as I can.”

Mary nodded. “Very wise.”

The countdown on the TV began, and all of you stood up. To everyone’s concern though, you and Angus dashed behind the couch.

“What’re you doing?” Your father laughed.

You took the bowl of grapes off the table. “Tradition.”

It was something you yourself started when you were seven after befriending a girl from Puerto Rico in the second grade. You told your parents about it, and your mother took part happily; although, she had you eat half the grapes, and she’d eat the other half so you wouldn’t choke.

You brought it up to Angus one night, and he wanted to do it too. You didn’t even have to suggest it.

As both you and Angus crouched under the table, the three adults counted down in excitement, and you joined them.

“Happy New Year!” You all screamed, and after giving Angus a peck on the cheek, you started devouring the grapes. He soon followed.

It was clumsy, and as you both fought over a grape or two, you had to force yourself not to laugh as you simultaneously ate. Angus would sit up and hit his head on the table, and all you could do was smother your laughter and run your fingers over the spot in an effort to soothe him. You swallowed your last grape just as the clock hit 12:01.

“Shit!” Angus snickered, seeing that there were two more in the bowl.

“Damn.” You shook your head. “You’re gonna have two months of bad luck.”

“Is it January and February, or November and December?”

“I don’t think you get to choose.”

“Children.”

You and Angus perked your heads up at your father’s calling. He held the noisemaker high in his hand. “Would you like to light this sucker off in the kitchen, or outside?”

Angus grinned from ear to ear. “Considering it’s like minus ten outside…”

“The kitchen it is.” Mr. Hunham huffed.

“What?” Both Danny and Mary gasped.

You giggled, crawling out from under the table and helping Angus stand as well. Your father and boyfriend rushed to the kitchen like excited children, Angus holding the firecracker, and your father striking a match. You, Danny, and Mary simply stood outside of the kitchen in a mix of terror and amusement.

Once the noisemaker was bursting with light, Angus threw it down the end of the kitchen where there was nothing else in sight. You didn’t see the explosion but heard it for a second before then a slight ringing entering your ears.

There were three things you heard once your hearing returned: Uncontrollable laughter from everyone around you, Mary playfully scolding everyone, and the echoes of Auld Lang Syne from the TV.

You always thought nostalgia was only something you’d feel as an adult, remembering what it was like to be a child. You never thought you’d feel it all at once as it was happening to you.

It was a joyful day for the most part, but that moment had struck a strange feeling within you.

You told Angus about it that night before you went to bed, and he was honest with you; he hadn’t shared the same feeling, but could understand it.

He kissed you goodnight, and that was that.

You felt a little better.)

The only other interesting thing you did was invite Elise over to Barton on her last day before she’d go home for school.

(You, Elise, and Angus finished building a family of snowmen when you decided to scale up the hill of the chapel with your sleds. After going down a few times, Elise turned to you once you were all back up at the top.

“I dare you to stand while sledding down.” She smirked.

“Done.” Was all you said, setting your sled down.

Angus could only say your name before you took the dare. In short, you ended up falling halfway down, and rolled the rest of the way, twisting your ankle and gaining a fresh set of bruises.

It was actually quite funny the differing reactions in the two as they stood on either side of you, your arms draped around their shoulders.

“I give that an eight out of ten.” Elise teased.

“Why?” you grunted as you hobbled on your feet.

“You didn’t eat enough shit.”

“She’s eaten too much!” Angus stressed.

You cackled. “I did fall in some yellow snow. It was lemony.”

In all honesty, the earful your father gave you for being hurt was less than what Angus gave you for the joke you made).

Everyone except Mary hovered over you after that. Even though all you needed was to wear a brace and wrap your foot for a week, they acted as if you had that foot in the grave. Especially Angus, which actually surprised you.

Still, three days before the end of winter break, and one day before students could show up back on campus, you hobbled out of your bed.

It was half an hour before sunrise, and you had made it a last-minute goal to watch it with him. When winter break was over, you’d return back to the faculty housing; back to your own room which you appreciated, but you’d see Angus far less.

So, just like old times, you tiptoed into his room to wake him up.

Yet…he was awake; for the very first time, he was awake. You saw as how the light of the moon bled into the room, and you watched as he sat up, his knees to his chest, and rubbing his nose.

��Angus?” You whispered. He snapped his gaze over to you but didn’t flinch upon hearing your voice. As you got closer, you saw the unmistakable sight of tears upon his face. “Why are you crying?”

He swallowed thickly. “I-I had a dream about my dad.”

Your face fell, and you sat beside him on the bed. “Bad?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It was good.”

Where Angus was confused at your feeling of bitter nostalgia on New Years, you were completely bewildered at that moment. Still, you did your best not to show it.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

He inhaled, trembling. “I just…it was weird, but it wasn’t? I was at home, I don’t know if I was ten, or seventeen, but I woke up and felt normal. I was in my childhood house, I went downstairs and saw he was reading the paper and-and my mom was making bread. I thought I woke up and the rest of my life had been a dream. I didn’t know what was real.”

Your heart crumbled at his recounting; not just from how he’d weep over something he described as good, but from it hitting too close to home.

“I had dreams like that.” You confessed in a whisper.

He dropped his gaze from yours, only to then lay fully down on the bed. You followed, draping an arm over him.

“He said sorry.” Angus said, not looking at you.

“For what?”

He didn’t respond right away. “He pushed me off the porch after when I was thirteen…I kind of deserved it, I was being a little shit. I’d gotten into a fight at school with this asshole kid who stole my backpack, and my dad was trying to talk to me about it. I yelled at him when trying to leave the house, and…yeah, he pushed me. He felt bad right away and patched me up; I just got a bruise and a scratch, it wasn’t bad. Mom found out and…we’d already known about his condition, but she called Pinehills as soon as she got home, and he was taken away that night.”

You wanted to say a lot. Say how it wasn’t his fault, how there was no excuse to push him when he was so much younger…but you couldn’t, you know it wouldn’t help. Instead, you brought your hand up to his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheek and forcing him to look at you.

“Do you want kids?”

He furrowed his brow. “I-I…what?”

So, you said it again. “Do you want kids when you grow up?”

“I…” he wiped his face. “I don’t even know what I want in the next year.”

“Would you ever push them?” He sighed your name, but you didn’t stop. “Even if they were being an asshole?”

He shook his head. “I know what you’re doing.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m serious-.”

“-So am I.”

Angus took a deep breath, leaning into your touch. “No. No I wouldn’t.”

You pulled him into you, and immediately his arms wrapped around your waist. He didn’t make a sound, but his body shook with repressed sobs. All you could do was run your fingers through his hair.

When all was said and done, he was the first to pull away from you, only to kiss you with a gentleness you hadn’t felt before from a man.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

Smiling, you shook your head. “There’s nothing to thank me for. Now, get up.”

He hummed, sitting up once you stood. “Why?”

You took his hand. “I wanna see the sunrise.”

“It’s too cold out-.”

“-I don’t care.”

“Your leg’s bad.”

“So, carry me.”

He snickered, getting out of bed and slipping his shoes and jacket on. He turned away from you, crouching down.

“Come on.”

You shook your head. “It’s actually not that bad, I was just kidding-.”

“-I’m not.”

So, you let him. Well, you both waited until you were outside to get on his back, then saying it was so you wouldn’t get your feet cold. He carried you through the snow for a few minutes until he stumbled, realizing he wasn’t as strong as his ego.

But you both sat at the top of the hill of the chapel, seldomly speaking and just waiting for the sun to rise up from the east. You’d never experienced a twilight so beautiful than in early January of 1971 at Barton. The shade of purple in the sky reflecting off the snow seemed to be more memorable than the sunrise itself.

Still, as the sun peeked up through the trees, and a new day was born, your cheeks started to hurt from smiling so much.

That was the last day of your own personal winter break.

Even though the semester didn’t technically start until two days after that, you and your father had still gone back to the faculty housing, as some teachers had also returned early to prepare for the remainder of the year.

You didn’t notice how lonely you’d been until you step foot back into your room, which you had deemed your sanctuary. While it still served as such, you found yourself missing Angus.

Despite the fact he was just a short walk away, you wanted to take some time apart. You…adored him (it was too early to call it love), but you still needed some space. It was fitting that your father invited you to come in on the first day back.

“Brush up on the Peloponnesian War.” He said at dinner the night of January 10th. “I wanna give the pubescent boys a warmup before their exam retake.”

Not even the Cheshire Cat could form a grin wider than yours.

He didn’t teach Angus’ class until eleven, so you thankfully had time to sleep in and review. It felt strange to enter the school as boys your age and younger rushed past you, either getting to class or fooling around with one another.

The stares were strange too. Although, where you once would shrink into yourself as you walked, every step now had a surge of confidence while they gawked at a girl their age walking the same halls they did.

When turning a corner, you quite literally almost ran into a boy.

“Oh shit, sorry-.” He looked up, and you recognized his voice, but his face and most notably his hair took you by surprise. He smiled upon seeing you. “Miss Hunham.”

You blinked before chuckling. “Jason. You cut your hair.”

“Yeah.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Figured it was time; it was getting in my face.”

“Not your dad?”

He didn’t say anything, only smiled before chuckling and giving himself away. “So uh, how was getting stuck over here for Christmas?”

You shrugged. “Not bad, actually. How was skiing?”

“Oh, you know, fun and stuff. I do it every year, so it was nice, but I don’t think I actually would’ve complained a lot if I stayed here.”

Thinning your lips, you still smiled politely. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, would’ve been different.”

It quickly was awkward, but not in the worst way. So, you decided to end it. “Happy New Years, Jason.”

He wished you the same sentiment, and you both were on your way. The second you entered your father’s classroom, all fell silent. Ten boys in that room all stared at you as if you’d grown a second head, and only one of them smiled before glancing back down at his notebook.

“Ah shit.” One of the boys awestricken said perhaps without meaning to.

Still, you walked to your father’s desk, sitting down. “Sorry.”

“We seriously have to deal with you? On the first day?”

You looked over at the aggravating voice you didn’t miss, and promptly nearly fell out of your seat. “Jesus Christ, why do you look like that?!”

A few chuckles were heard as you stared at Teddy Kountze, whose entire face, save for his eyes, was redder than the 1968 presidential election.

He glared at you before smirking. “I was gonna ask you the same thing, Hunham. How was being stuck here with Tully and your shitty dad?”

“It was lovely, thank you.” You decided to do a more “lady like” approach to throw him off.

“Really?” He asked. “You take any pictures?”

You glanced at Angus, whose once lighthearted eyes soon turned dark at the comment. Still, you smiled at him and pondered the question. You actually didn’t take any pictures with him, or anything of that winter break.

“No, actually.” You said. “I should have though.”

Teddy huffed. “Didn’t know you were that much of a slut-.”

“-That’s rich coming from the same species of human that fucked animals and blessed us with STDs.”

The room howled in laughter, even though it was technically a jab at the entirety of the male gender. Still, no one cackled louder than Angus Tully diagonally from you. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself; you’d written that comeback down a few years back, happy that you could finally use it.

All Teddy could do was glare daggers into your skin because soon your father entered the room with. “Welcome back, you snarling Visigoths. I trust you all enjoyed a refreshing holiday.” He walked to the front of the room, eyes falling on you. “Ah, you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

“Quite so.” You smirked.

He then looked at Teddy, flinching. “Oh, hello, Mr. Kountze. Or should I say Icarus? Fly a little too close to the sun, did we?”

The boy furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

“Yeah, all right. Along with your skiing and swimming, I hope you found time to enlighten yourselves about the Peloponnesian War and its implications for today. Just to check, I brought my lovely daughter you all know to test your knowledge before we retake the final from last semester. Omnia ex scrineis vestris praeter stilum.”

All of the boys in the room except for Angus groaned heavily. You stood up and walked to the front of the room with a pep in your step and so begun the third round of your trivia competition.

You were kinder this time; you didn’t immediately ring in your answer as soon as your father finished the question. Except for Teddy; in fact, it was in the middle of a question you decided to answer it.

Of course, the final question was between you and Angus.

“What did Sparta do after the Sicilian Expedition which ultimately helped it win the war?”

Neither of you spoke. Of course, Angus was wondering if you were going easy on him, and you were wondering the exact same thing.

The silence in the room only caused your mind to run into overdrive, going over every page you read in preparation just for this silly little game. Then, it hit you.

You smacked the desk and opened your mouth, but only a strangled syllable escaped before a woman’s voice entered your ears.

“Angus Tully?”

Lydia Crane poked her head into the classroom, and all eyes fell onto her. Angus, in somewhat of a shock, asked. “Yes?”

“Dr. Woodrup would like to see you.”

A chill entered the room, not from the cracked window in the corner of it, but from seven words alone. Angus, after taking them in, glanced at your father.

Keeping his cool, but also tension growing, he nodded. “You can retake it on an off period.”

The last thing Angus did was look at you. He didn’t even need to speak to tell you he was worried beyond compare. Yet…you didn’t know why.

He followed Miss Crane out, and the second he left, Teddy snickered. “One day back, and the basket case is already in trouble.”

“You shut your mouth, Theodore!” You spat.

“Hey!” Your father put his hand on your shoulder. “None of that here, this is a classroom, not the Colosseum. And as for you, Mr. Kountze, we’ll not talk like that any further.”

He shrugged, sheepishly. “Of course, Mr. Hunham.”

Your father said your name gently. “You’re excused. Thank you for attending today.”

Nodding, you marched out of the room and immediately rushed down the hall. You entered the bustling kitchen, half of the cooks cleaning up from breakfast, the other half preparing for lunch that was next period. It wasn’t hard to find Mary, who was the ringleader of the entire operation.

She sighed upon seeing you. “Miss Jane Bennett, I don’t have time for-.”

“-It’s Angus.”

There was a franticness building within your eyes, and it was only then she knew you were serious. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, he just got called to Woodrup’s office and that’s it.” You huffed. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but it feels wrong.”

“Okay.” She soothed, taking your hand, then turned to a woman beside her. “Clara, hold down the fort.”

Clara nodded, and both you and Mary left the kitchen. Despite being stuck in the school for weeks, it felt like a labyrinth to you once everyone came back. It was Mary who had to lead you through the halls until you were finally at the office. Just as you an Mary were approaching it, you watched as both Miss Crane and Angus left.

Their gaze met yours and Mary’s, and time seemed to stand still. It was Miss Crane who broke it. She squeezed Angus’ shoulder comfortingly.

“Go sit down.”

He carried himself over to the bench by the window as if he was a dead man walking, and he sat down as if the weight of the world was upon his shoulders. Before you could say anything, Miss Crane walked past you.

You sat beside Angus, looking at him but he wouldn’t meet your gaze. “What happened?”

“My mother and Stanley are here.”

No build up, no fear before the reveal, he said it like it was.

Yet, while there was no emotion behind his words, his face was the spitting image of one you saw in a history textbook. One that showed a soldier suffering from shell shock.

“I think I’m gonna get kicked out.” He said. “That means military school.”

You wanted to hug him, you wanted to take his hand and run away and move to Boston, New York, Chicago, hell, a little house in Nebraska of all places…but you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t even open your mouth to say something.

So, you just took his hand and placed your head on his shoulder. Mary stood in front of you both, leaning against the wall, and combing her fingers through Angus’ curls.

It felt strange seeing your father walk up to the principal’s door and not saying anything. He glanced at the three of you in confusion before entering the room.

You wanted to ask why, oh why, they were here? What made them of all days return for something so horrible and not to be warm to their son? Still, it didn’t feel right to barge him with questions, so, again, the three of you were there in silence together.

A few minutes passed, and the door opened. Out came your father with a look so solemn you felt like you could cry. He looked between the three of you awaiting his answer for whatever went on in that room.

“It’s this one.” He pointed to his right eye. “This is the one you should look at.”

You all looked at one another in puzzlement, yet even in that, there was a hint of humor in your slight grins.

The door opened, and Dr. Woodrup looked at Angus. “Angus, step inside, please.”

He followed, waiting until the last possible second to let go of your hand. When the door shut, your father looked at you, saying your name softly.

“Would you come with me, please?”

You know he wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t serious. The pain in your had left for just a moment, but then it found its way back when you heard those words. Still, you stood up and followed him.

Your father led you into a hallway that led to nowhere, crossing his arms.

“This…I will not lie and say that this is an easy thing to hear.” He began. “Angus had stolen a snow globe from Miss Crane’s house and gave it to his father at the sanitorium when we visited. It caused his father to have an episode, and he told the orderlies, who then told Angus’ mother. They came here with the conviction that Angus had manipulated us, and that sending him to military school would ‘straighten him’ out so to say…I told them it was solely my idea. I told them I encouraged him to visit his father…and for that, I am being asked to resign.”

“What?” Was all you could choke out.

He took a deep breath, placing his hands on your shoulders. “We’re leaving tomorrow. I’m really sorry, sweetheart.”

“No.” You shook your head. “No, they can’t do that. He-he, you fucking taught the asshole who’s headmaster!”

“I did, but you know that’s not how this works.”

“On-on the first day, are you serious?!” You laughed.

He said your name gently. “I know this upsets you, believe me, I am too-.”

“No, just,” you sighed, pulling away before walking down the hall. “I’m gonna go home.”

Your father shook his head. “You should start packing. We can figure out where we can-.”

“-I’ll see you after school.” Was all you said.

It didn’t feel real. Your father had just told you in less than a minute that you were leaving. Leaving a place you had essentially grown up in but not at the same time. Leaving a friend, a boyfriend, your very first one, leaving Mary…

Oh god…Mary.

You pushed yourself out of the school and rushed back to the faculty housing, doing your best to avoid anyone before you finally entered your room.

You didn’t cry…you felt the pain and sorrow fester within you, yet you didn’t cry. You wanted to break things, wanted to toss your entire desk out the window, but you didn’t.

There was nothing you could do, and that made it worse.

Your father ordered pizza for both of you that night, explaining more about the situation you were in. He had already packed most of his room up, but you hadn’t even started. He said that you’d drop all of your heavy belongings off at an old coworker’s house in Syracuse and then leave.

“I was thinking Carthage sounds nice.” He chimed in. “Then after that, perhaps Egypt? Or Rome even, I remember you said you always wanted to…”

You only nodded along, and you felt like you were out of your body as he helped you pack up a majority of your bedroom in just a few hours. It felt strange; you knew you were going to leave that year, with your unofficial graduation…yet there you were, leaving in the first month unexpectedly.

With a kiss upon your head, your father wished you goodnight, but you only tossed and turned in your bed.

You were nowhere close to drifting off when you heard something at our window. Sitting up, you pulled the curtains back, revealing Angus Tully standing outside below. You opened the window.

“What are you doing?!” You whisper-yelled.

“Come down here!” He responded.

“It’s freezing, you come up here!”

“How do you expect me to do that?”

“You climb a rope in gym, climb the gutter.”

His eyes drew over to it, and with a heavy sigh, he latched his arms around it. He clumsily climbed his way up, using the house as a crutch. Thankfully, it wasn’t that far of a climb, and you pulled him into your room.

He landed on your bed harshly, nearly letting out a yelp if you didn’t cover his mouth in time.

“I beat you.” Was the first thing you said.

Angus took your hand, furrowing his eyes. “What?”

“The stupid trivia.” You swallowed thickly. “The Spartans started their own fleet and allied with Persia after the Sicilian Expedition. I was going to say that, and I was right. If you let me win, I’ll throw you out the window, I swear to God.”

He sat up, his gaze softening the longer he looked at you. Then, with a tenderness that pained you, he pulled you into an embrace.

That was when you finally cried. You clutched the fabric of his shirt until your knuckles turned white, attempting to muffle your sobs. Angus only held you tighter, kissing this base of your neck and running his hand up and down your back.

“Why’d you take it?” You asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Why’d you give it to him?”

“I…I wanted him to have something.” He pulled away only to see your face. “I’m sorry. I know it means nothing, but I really am. I didn’t…I wasn’t thinking.”

You shook your head. “I think we’re gonna leave the country.”

“What?” His voice was strangled.

“Why not? He’s old and hasn’t gone in forever, and I’ve never been outside of America.”

Angus dropped his head, as if it was only then did the gravity of the situation weigh heavy on him. When he finally looked at you again, he took your face into his hands.

“I’m gonna come clean.” He said. “I’ll tell Dr. Woodrup the truth, and that-.”

“-You’re a fucking idiot.”

You never spoke to him like that. Whenever you were angry at him, you were snarky, you were a know it all, but only then, did you say something horrible like you meant it.

Of course, he was absolutely taken aback, but he already knew you had more to say once you pulled back.

“If you get sent to Fork Union, I’m never speaking to you again.” You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter if you write me a letter or a thousand, I will make myself forget everything that happened this Christmas. You’re too smart, no, too fucking brilliant to do some stupid shit and get yourself thrown into Vietnam. Don’t waste it.’

He nodded as soon as you were finished. “I won’t. I…I’m gonna miss you.”

Exhaustion pulled on you as soon as he said that, and you sighed. “I don’t wanna go.”

Angus kissed your cheek, his eyes then traveling around your almost barren room. On your desk sat a familiar book. He picked it up, flipping through the pages. “I’ve never actually read this before.”

“Really? It’s so short.”

“Did you ever find the one your dad gave you?”

“Yeah, I packed that one up.”

He smiled. “How about I read it to you? It’s one of your favorites, right?”

You snorted. “You have school in the morning.”

“I don’t care.”

That’s how you both came to lie down on your bed, and he read The Little Prince aloud to you. It was a memory you wouldn’t forget, even if he landed himself in military school.

You fell asleep nearing the end of the book, and Angus Tully did not wake you to say goodbye.

You thought you’d woken up from a horrible dream, only to then see that your room was still packed, and The Little Prince was neatly set on your desk with a note from Angus.

I put the number and address of the school at the bottom in case you forgot. Thank you for being the best part of my year.

-Angus

You held the note to your chest, falling back down onto your bed. Whether that was God, Allah, Zues, Aphrodite, or perhaps even the spirit of Jane Austen, you were going to beat the shit out of the author to your story once you were dead.

After a moment to yourself, you got dressed and packed up the last of your things, deciding to put the book in your backpack. You didn’t know what time it was, but you were starving, so you’d gone down into the faculty kitchen, flat out ignoring whatever stares or feigned condolences that were given to you from others.

What surprised you was Mary Lamb sitting at the main table.

“And I thought I helped raise you better to come and say goodbye to me.” She scolded you, but with a hint of playfulness.

You sat down beside her. “I didn’t want to cry again.”

“Cry until your eyes fall out.” She said. “It hurts less than holding it all in.”

“I don’t…” You sighed. “I can’t say goodbye. I think I’ll die the second I step out of this house.”

“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic.”

“I’m not!” You whined dramatically.

She snickered, taking your hand. “You listen to me now; you’re not going to die. You’re going to grow older and do whatever you want. You’re gonna travel the world, and you’re…what do you want to be when you grow up?”

You didn’t have an answer. “I don’t actually know…I’ve always like writing-.”

“-Okay, then you’re gonna be a famous writer, and you’re gonna be taught in classrooms a hundred years from now where the snot nosed brats will be bored. Or you’re just gonna figure it out because you don’t need to know right now. How does that sound?”

Smiling shyly, you squeezed her hand. “It sounds good.”

“Good. Now come on, you have to make me jealous you’re gonna travel the world.”

You shook your head, giggling. “And what are you gonna do?”

“Me?” She scoffed. “I’m staying here until God calls me home. That, and making money to send my nephew to college.”

“Peggy knows it’s a boy?”

“I think it’s gonna be.”

You hummed. “I’m gonna make a lot of money so we can live on the beach for however long you want.”

“And I’m holding you to that.”

She went up to speak with your father, and you began loading your things into the U-Haul trailer connected to your father’s car. As you were picking up your last box, two familiar boys approached you.

“Ah,” you smiled upon seeing Alex and Ye-Joon. “I was wondering if you two survived.”

Ye-Joon gave you a look. “Survived what?”

“Skiing. Sounds quite dangerous.” You set your box into the trailer.

Alex shook his head. “No, it was great! I’m sorry you and Angus couldn’t come.”

“Don’t be. We actually…” you paused, feeling sudden emotion creep up on you. “we became really good friends. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“So,” Ye-Joon asked. “why are you and your dad leaving?”

“Did he get fired?” Alex followed.

You shook your head. “They caught him eating cat shit and saw me dancing naked on the football field while performing a pagan ritual.”

They stared at you with a horror you had never seen in boys.

“No, I’m just messing with you.” You laughed. “They had to make cuts for money reasons and my dad was the first to go. You tell people that if they say something, you hear?”

They nodded, muttering ‘yes’ and ‘of course’. With a final wave and wishing of ‘goodbye!’ they ran back to school. Your father soon came out, hauling out a few more boxes.

“Don’t tell me you scared them before we leave?”

You took one from him. “I made them think I was a witch for a few seconds.”

The two of you laughed, and when you looked up, you then saw one Angus Tully walking towards you. He smiled.

“Hi…”

Your father returned the gesture. “Hello.”

“Look…I don’t know what you said to my mom and Stanley, Woodrup. All I know is that I’m not getting kicked out, and you got fired.”

“I just told the truth; mostly.”

He smiled. “Barton man.”

“Barton man.” The bell rang as soon as the sentiment was spoken, and your father opened the door to the trailer, mumbling. “Fifth period.”

Angus didn’t take his eyes off of you even as you tried to avoid them. You caught a glimpse of red beginning to outline them, as if he was holding back tears. Then, rubbing his face, he said.

“You know, it’s only PE. Maybe I could skip it, and we could head over to the Winning Ticket, grab a burger and a beer?”

“Are you shitting me?” You chuckled.

Your father playfully shoved you. “Language. A Miller High Life, no doubt? You never give up, do you?”

“They already fired you, so I figured it was worth a shot.” He shrugged sheepishly then looked at you. “We never got to play pinball.”

“I would’ve beat you, and you know it.”

“Just because you won trivia doesn’t mean you’ll win everything.”

Your father touched your shoulder to get your attention. “I left something in the house, I’ll be back in a second.”

You had an inkling right away he lied to give you privacy, but he wouldn’t confirm it for another month. Still, you nodded, and he went back into the house, leaving you and Angus alone. He tucked his hands into his pockets, looking down at his shoes.

“I think if I hug you, I’ll start crying.”

“And you can’t look like a sissy in front of the other boys.” You attempted to tease. “No, I get it.”

He still latched his arms around you anyway, and you held him to you like the universe was trying to rip him away. It was unspoken when you would ever see each other again, but it was also unspoken that you would see each other again period.

You were the first to pull away, and you forced a smile. “No tears.”

Angus nodded. “No tears.”

An idea came to mind, and you walked over to the car, opening the passenger door and unzipping the top pocket of your backpack. Searching, you finally pulled out A Little Prince and a pen.

“No,” he shook his head. “I gave it to you-.”

You opened the book to the first page. “I have decided as of this morning that I’m going to be a writer; and when I’m famous, you’ll have my signature before I was, so that if you ever need money, you have something.”

After signing the inside of the book, you handed it back to him. You hadn’t expected him to genuinely smile the whole time, yet there you were. He took it from you. “I’d never sell it, you know.”

“Yeah right.” You pulled him into a kiss. You made sure to not have it last too long, or you don’t think you would’ve stopped. You said when you pulled away. “I’ll write to you first, and I’ll try and call if I can.”

He nodded. “Send me pictures.”

“You too.”

“I’m gonna be stuck here even after I graduate.” He snickered.

“I don’t care.” You shook your head. “I should’ve taken pictures during Christmas, but I didn’t. I don’t wanna forget anything while I’m gone.”

He nodded, the realization hitting him harder now. “Okay.”

You turned when your father came out of the faculty house, carrying nothing. Angus gave a sheepish smile.

“Is that still a no for lunch?”

Your father grinned. “Your logic is flawless, but I’m afraid we’ll have to decline.”

The three of you didn’t say a word, as if by saying nothing at all, you would never have to say goodbye. It was a silence you would have wanted to stay in forever even if it meant staying out in the bitter cold air.

“You keep your head up, alright?” Your father said. “You can do this.”

Angus nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, I was gonna tell you the same thing.”

They shook hands despite how much you knew they wanted to hug. When all was said and done, Angus nodded towards you and abruptly started running back to the school.

“See ya!”

You should’ve yelled something back, but you couldn’t find the words. Yet, you smiled. It broke your heart to say goodbye, but it was filled at the same time as the memories of the winter break came back to you.

Taking your father’s hand, he rubbed his teared-up eyes with the other and you both walked to the car. It was all official; you were leaving the last place that held the remnants of your childhood behind.

You were leaving your mother and Curtis’ grave, you were leaving the summer and winter days with Elise, you were leaving the school you could have attended and thrived in if you were born a son, you were leaving a woman who had come to be your new mother…you were leaving Angus Tully.

And yet…you were also leaving behind Daniel and his new family. You were leaving behind the pain and sorrow you had carried within you ever since you were a child. It would still linger, and it had always been known to you that you were still you no matter where you were; abroad or not. Hell, the only thing that mattered was if you cried in a more beautiful part of the world or not.

So, perhaps it was all welcomed.

“What city do you want to graduate in?”

You chuckled at your father’s question. “That’s not until May.”

“No harm at all in deciding now.”

Humming, it didn’t take long for your answer. “Athens. Mom always wanted to go there.”

“So, Athens it shall be. Could you hand me the rucksack at your feet?”

You did so without question. Your father soon stopped before the main road, and unzipped one of the pockets. He reached in and took out the fanciest bottle of brandy you had ever seen.

“Holy shit!” You laughed. “Is that-?”

“-Dr. Woodrup’s? Yes.” He unscrewed it, taking a sip, then rolling down his window and spitting it out.

You giggled as he handed it to you, and you set it back in the bag. He turned left, starting the five-hour journey to Syracuse.

“How does Copenhagen sound for our first destination?” He asked.

Smiling at him first, you looked back to the road. “Copenhagen sounds great.”

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #the holdovers #paul hunham #mary lamb #Youtube

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vanmccannsfridge · 3 days ago

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“fans deserve to know” we don’t deserve to know what’s going on in someone’s personal life and to speculate about it. even if any of that post is true, it’s fucked up they’ve posted it on a public platform where van could potentially see, those comments would make him worse.

at them shows last year he was the happiest i’ve ever seen him, he constantly interacted with the crowd, constantly showing how much he loved & cared for us and put on some of his best performances. it was so genuine, he literally started crying on stage at leeds when we all were singing cocoon back to him, and at reading festival he was trying not to during outside and was saying “i love yous” while having to step away from the mic like… it was so raw, something we’ve never seen from him before. them moments showed how much he’d missed this.

the whole label thing too, if he was genuinely harassing them they would’ve dropped catfish in a heartbeat. island have so many big artists so catfish won’t mean shit to them, why keep a band which is treating you that bad ?? just doesn’t make sense. i first heard that rumour on twitter when the jail thing came out the source was some random dms between two fans. thats the only time its ever been mentioned too.

none of us know exactly what happens behind the scenes, at the end of the day it’s all rumors from burner & anonymous accounts. “insider” knowledge i’d take as a pinch of salt i’ve been in this fandom for years and have came across so many people with said “insider” knowledge… and 99% of the time it wasn’t true at all. this is why i don’t think they should’ve approved that post at all, like i said it’s just going to be more damaging for van. then saying they want him to get better but then posting all his struggles online where we know he’ll see is so fucked up.

if van is struggling i hope he gets the help he deserves & needs, i can’t imagine what he must be going through seeing something he worked his whole life for fall apart.

that’s all i’m saying on this situation for now.

#catfish and the bottlemen

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ilium-ilia · 1 day ago

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In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Six: no good deed ever goes unpunished

tw: violence, non-con

Small chunks of salt stick to the tips of Simon’s fingers, dusting them like fresh snow. You were right—a simple order of chips really isn’t enough to keep him going throughout the night.

If anything, the saltiness makes him hungrier. It pummels his stomach until it’s grumbling at an annoying frequency, and it doesn’t do much to help the dryness in his mouth either. He would have tried to order something if it wasn’t damn near impossible to get anyone to deliver to the club, and god forbid John Price actually install a proper kitchen. But there would be no use for any sort of kitchen in a place like that, as it’s not good food that makes people swarm to Terminus like brainwashed zombies. It’s the booze. The music. A quickie in the stall.

Shady activities in an alleyway.

Simon huffs as he tosses the empty chip container in the small bin that sits in the corner of the surveillance room. Monitors upon monitors line the wall on the far side of the room, illuminating the concrete floor with a grey glow as faint music pulses through the air. He hates this room. Small, stuffy, and overheating with the computers and servers; he’d rather be out in the bitter November winter right about now. He’s out of luck tonight, because after nearly two weeks, Johnny’s research has finally bore fruit.

About time, too. All Simon has been able to think about for the last few days has been you. Sometimes when he closes his eyes, he can still see the outline of your body. It’s ingrained in his mind. He still sees your limp, exhausted form as you rested in the conversation pit—too overwhelmed to keep conscious. It follows him like a bad dream. He doesn’t know why you haunt him so terribly. Perhaps he has Aelin to blame; she knows how he never likes leaving a job half done.

Or maybe it’s because you’re so… peculiar. For a woman he can only describe as being a skittish cat, you’ve suddenly melted into some other version of yourself. Your dislike of his proximity to you is obvious. Short words, gauche exchanges; yet you have this impulsive need to constantly get even with him, like you’re trying to sweep up the breadcrumbs that lead to your door lest he get hungry and follow you home.

However, when he visited you a few days ago to check on your hands—as promised—you seemed to be a whole new person. Well, not entirely. If you were the world’s most skittish cat before, you have now become the feral stray that would maybe eat out of the palm of his hand if he doesn’t look at you while you do it. He asked you questions and you responded with something more than simple words or an uneasy, anxiety induced joke.

I’m… glad that you’re not doing this just for me.

He still wonders what you meant by that.

“Hey, you paying attention?” Johnny whines.

Simon blinks the glaze out of his eyes—one which carries a now greenish-yellow hue around his cheekbone—and pushes the thought of you out of his mind as his attention fully settles on the monitors in front of him. A chair squeaks as Johnny settles back against the worn, faux leather. He’s already got everything loaded up for whatever presentation he’s about to give.

“Waitin’ on you, Johnny,” he playfully retorts.

“Right,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “So, I’ve been trying to do some research on your dance partner here, and he’s a slippery fucker. Whoever he is, he’s good at covering his tracks up. At least through the methods I use to find people. Nothing on the media or anything like that. Might as well not exist at all in the tech world.”

A hum rumbles in Simon’s throat as he crosses his arms. “You drag me in here just to tell me you found nothing?”

Johnny’s neck cranes to the side where he then looks up at him with a wide smirk. “Come on, Riley. When have I ever wasted your time?”

Both men turn their attention back to the monitor as Johnny begins to rewind through the footage from a few days ago—the day Simon found you in the alley. Everything happens fast as he speeds through the film. Bodies dart across view like ants, and there’s a comedic speed up cars driving along the road as they slice across the monitor like knives. Static streaks across the screen as the footage warps before it suddenly pauses again.

“Since I wasn’t able to find anything on this guy, I decided to sleuth through the footage again, and I found something a little odd about this bloke here,” Johnny explains as he points to a male figure. Whoever it is, they’re faced away from the camera with their hands shoved deep into their pockets to stave off the cold. “He enters the alley before your pal does…”

The video plays at normal speed, and the faceless man vanishes behind the brick corner of the building a few meters down, just as Johnny described. He fast forwards, and everything plays at triple speed. Simon’s seen it all before. The man who accosted you enters the alleyway, and then you unfortunately come across him a bit later, but then something happens that he hadn’t bothered to pay attention to before.

The man Johnny pointed out leaves the alley, this time facing the camera. He’s fiddling with something in his hands, and upon closer inspection, Simon’s able to tell it’s a small wad of cash. It’s quickly stowed away in his pocket, and that’s where Johnny pauses the video.

“He leaves as soon as Chip arrives, shoving a couple quid into his pocket like he struck a deal,” Johnny concludes.

Tense fingers grip the back of the office chair as Simon leans over Johnny’s shoulder, squinting at the face on the screen. He scrutinizes every detail possible through the fuzzy footage, and his jaw flexes as he huffs.

Square jaw, visible stubble, and eyes just as shifty as his character.

“He looks familiar,” Simon mutters.

“He oughta. Fucker works here.”

A rancid taste floods the back of Simon’s throat at that revelation, and his fingers tense so greatly that the imitation leather of the chair threatens to crack beneath his grip. Fury rises in the dark irises of his eyes as he leans back and grumbles. It seems like such a simple detail to miss. Something that he should have caught the other night, even in his sleep deprived state. If he had, he would have been several leaps closer to the real issue ages ago.

“Who is he?” Simon demands.

“Marcel Wylder,” Johnny answers as he twists in his chair to face him. “Works part time as one of the bartenders in the VIP lounge. Only really works on the weekends, and according to the floor manager, he’s a good kid. Twenty three years old. Always shows up on time, things of that sort.”

“Good kids don’t meddle with men who like to scare women in alleyways,” Simon retorts.

Johnny shrugs. “Guess we all have our dark sides… some are darker than others.”

It takes a few more moments for Simon to finally get himself to look away from the screen, and his eyes land on Johnny with a malice not meant for him. He’s not quite sure why this revelation angers him so. The sting of failure pricks at his skin too violently for him to ignore it.

“He here tonight?” he asks.

“Yeah, he’s working on the second floor right now. Or, at least that’s where he was last, according to the cameras,” Johnny answers. He pauses to lick his lips and tilt his head. “You’re brewing something in that head of yours. I can tell. None of it looks too cheerful.”

Swarthy eyes glare back at the monitor as Simon commits this new face and name to memory. Marcel Wylder. Twenty three. Square jaw. Stubble. Thin eyes.

“Thanks for the intel, Johnny,” is all Simon says as he turns on his heels and walks towards the exit.

A high pitched squeak echoes off the dull white walls of the room as Johnny excitedly watches him leave. All he can make out are a straight set of shoulders, clenched fists, and an aura that demands blood.

“Go easy on the kid!” Johnny calls after him—his voice is too saccharine to truly mean it.

There are very rarely any times when Simon Riley feels like a savior, but he can’t deny the fact that he feels like Moses when he’s walking through Terminus. Eyes snap to him, wary of the large brute attempting to slice through the club like a dull axe. All it takes is a single glance or a firm hand on someone’s shoulder and the mass of pulsing bodies splits open for him like the Red Sea.

This trend continues as he jogs up the wrought iron spiral staircase that leads up to the second floor, and his path to Marcel is highlighted by the mob of patrons crowding the bar. He looks nicer tonight than he did the previous night, and his square jaw almost appears defined now that he’s shaved that fuzz off of his face. Pristine dress clothes mark him as a perfect employee as he quickly fills orders and stuffs tips in his pocket all with a thankful smile. Doesn’t look like he’s doing half bad for himself, considering there’s a near topless woman serving booze next to him.

“Marcel!”

Simon’s voice booms louder than the bass of the music and is so sharp all other sounds nearly seem to cease for a moment. That pathetic sod glances up from his work like a schoolboy being scolded, and his face grows pallid. All it takes is a simple gesture of his fore and middle fingers to get the man to slip from behind the bar and join him in the crowd.

He leads Marcel out behind the building like a lamb to slaughter. Just like a good offering, he’s quiet. Hardly asks anything besides is everything alright? to which Simon doesn’t respond. Biting wind attempts to tear through the formidable fabric of Simon’s clothes, but it seems to really do a number on the kid. Hardly even ten seconds out the door and the poor boy is wrapping his arms around himself and trying hard not to shiver, lest he look pathetic in front of the head of security.

A flickering halogen light is the only source of illumination in the shady alley, and even in the bleakness of winter the garbage spoils and festers with a stomach-churning odor. Marcel stands cornered with his back to the wall, and he watches with trepidation as Simon’s hand dives into his pocket. Relief doesn’t fill his face until his eyes catch sight of a pack of cigarettes.

The cancer-stick sits at home between Simon’s lips as he lights it and puffs out a steady stream of smoke until it’s well lit. A gentle breeze whisks it away into the air where it quickly dissipates among the smog smothered stars. Once he’s satisfied, he holds the pack out toward Marcel.

“You smoke?” he asks.

“Yes sir,” Marcel answers.

Simon shakes the pack, prompting him to take one, and a smile pulls at the boy’s lips. “Cheers.”

As Marcel’s trembling hands work on igniting the lighter, Simon takes a better look at him. There’s hardly a single scar on him, and his hands are much too soft to truly be a part of any violent syndicate. Still, anyone can be a mole, even if they’re a smooth faced kid.

“What do you do outside of work?” Simon asks. It’s kind enough. Simple, polite conversation—but there’s nothing civil about the look in his eyes as he chews on the filter of his cigarette.

“School, mostly,” Marcel replies.

Simon hums. “Uni?”

“Greenwich.”

“Smart.”

Another exhale of smoke dances between Simon’s lips as he huffs, dark eyes still trained on Marcel. He’s damn near shivering out of his skin as the black fabric of his uniform is designed to whisk away sweat and keep you cool in warm, humid temperatures. No matter; the boy can warm up soon enough. Simon intends for this interaction to be quick.

“Since you’re a smart kid, you’ll do well to be truthful with me then, yeah?” Simon prompts as he flicks a bit of ash onto the ground. “That bloke you met up with the other night? Who is he?”

Trembling muscles suddenly freeze, and the cigarette seems stuck against Marcel's lips. There’s no exhale of smoke. The embers don’t brighten at the tip to show he’s inhaling. There’s nothing.

“Bloke?” he repeats.

“The fucker you met up with in the alley a week or two ago,” Simon snaps, already impatient.

Marcel jumps and the cigarette falls free from between his lips and fingers. It sputters and whines on the ground, where the boy quickly puts it out of its misery by stomping on the embers until they’re no longer glowing.

“Right, erm, Andrei I think it was.”

“Andrei who?”

“I dunno. I just know him as Andrei. Honest,” Marcel insists.

“What did he want?” Simon presses.

“Well, he had this picture of someone. Some bitch he didn’t want hanging around here I suppose. Was asking me questions about her and stuff,” Marcel replies earnestly.

A bright pink dusts the tips of Simon’s ears. The muscles in his jaw begin to flex. “What did she look like?”

“She was dressed mostly in black, kind of similar to our serving uniforms. It looked like it was taken through the window of some restaurant. I don’t know which one it was. I swear!”

Sapori.

Teeth nearly cut through the filter of his cigarette as Simon’s jaw clenches. He rips the thing out of his mouth and tosses it on the ground, not even bothering to stomp it out. This man—this Andrei—is getting too close to you for comfort. He thinks back to the way you reacted in the alley; how petrified you were. A terrible thought plagues his mind as he wonders what has been done to you to get you to fear someone so terribly.

Simon doesn’t like where his mind is wandering.

“What questions did he ask about her?” Simon continues.

“Dunno, just regular stuff? I suppose? He asked when she was here and who she was with. Things like that,” Marcel replies.

Simon raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I told him the truth. About how she was here on Halloween. I mean, I didn’t see much of her so there wasn’t a lot I could tell him. Honest. I think he was mostly looking for confirmation that she was here at all. He didn’t ask for anything else after that, and he sent me on my way.”

Acid eats away at Simon’s stomach. The chips he devoured before this seem to have a hard time settling with the heavy ire disrupting his mood. Dense feet scrape against the ground as he takes a few steps closer to Marcel, who puts his hands up in defense as if that’s going to do anything against the rating storm barreling straight for him.

“That’s it, that’s everything, honest! I swear!” he pleads.

“I know. I believe you,” Simon says through gritted teeth.

Worn knuckles crash into the tense flesh just underneath Marcel’s sternum, stealing the very breath from his lungs. He sputters miserably as his back crashes against the brick wall behind him, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t breathe. A deep purple hue stains his face as his body begins to jolt and spasm uncontrollably. It’s impossible to keep himself upright with the wind knocked out of him—diaphragm screaming in protest—he slowly slides onto the ground with his hands over his stomach like he’s trying to stop blood flowing through a wound.

“You’re a smart boy, so listen close,” Simon says as he crouches to Marcel’s new height. He rubs at his sore fist, but his eyes don’t stray even an inch from his target. “Be careful who you call a bitch ‘round here, because if I ever hear you refer to a woman like that again, I’ll knock your goddamn teeth out like the sorry sod you are, ya hear?”

Still sputtering and heaving, Marcel nods.

“Good. Now, that woman Andrei showed you? Forget her. She doesn’t exist to you. If he comes ‘round here askin’ about her, you tell him you haven’t seen her, because you won’t. You’ve got nothin’ for him, yeah? Nod.” Simon’s tone is too severe to deny—Marcel complies easily. “If anyone ever starts askin’ about any of our patrons or workers, you bring that shit right to me. Don’t you ever go ‘round behind my fuckin’ back again. You think there’s anything that happens here that I don’t know about? Huh?”

After an eternity of struggle, Marcel is finally able to get a good gasp in, and a few subsequent breaths after that. That bright purple begins to fade from the paleness of his face, and he quivers and shakes his head.

“N-No sir,” he stutters. “Sor-ry…”

“Good. Don’t you ever fuckin’ forget that.”

Simon pushes himself up to his feet and looks down at Marcel as he writhes and chokes on his achy diaphragm. He haphazardly digs around his pocket for his pack of smokes before he retrieves a single cigarette and tosses it toward the pathetic lump of a man at his feet. It bounces on the slimy ground before rolling to a stop with specks of dirt sticking to the filter—Simon’s half-hearted attempt at an apology.

“Take a breather. Have yourself another smoke, then get back to work,” he orders. He turns to leave, but only gets a few steps away before he pauses. A stiff finger points at Marcel. “Keep in mind, that's not even half of what I’ve got, yeah?”

Marcel’s pathetic response is drowned out by the uproar of music that fills Simon’s ears as he returns back inside of the club. A thick wall of heat melts the frost off of his skin as his brooding figure cuts through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. His blood continues to boil with clenched fists and heavy breaths. It’s all consuming. Swallowing him whole. Simon doesn’t like being angry. He feels too much like his father, and sometimes he fears that he looks like him, too.

Violent, angry, sinister—his intimidating build and threatening demeanor have always been something he’s tried to rage against. A stereotype he’s been attempting to break. Yet now that he’s gotten one step closer to uncovering the monsters hiding in your shadows, he’s grateful for it. For once, it’s a tool he can use to his advantage. Something he can use to help you.

Except, while Simon is busy taking baby steps through this web of lies, you’re already in the maw of the beast.

Frayed string tangles around your fingers as trembling hands attempt to keep themselves busy with a solo game of cat’s cradle. It’s already the 25th again, and just like every other month, you’re in perfect position. Sitting properly on a bench with a wad of cash tucked neatly into the envelope that sits inconspicuously on your lap. This is a dance you know well. A dance you don’t think you’ll ever be free from.

Washers and dryers hum around you and clash terribly with the ringing of your ears and the violent pounding of your heart. Trepidation plagues you worse than it usually does on your due date. Every other month is predictable. Something you have memorised. But this month? You don’t know how Marco is going to react about what Simon did to Andrei.

You keep going through possibilities in your mind. Things you need to say to keep him off of Simon’s trail. Ways to apologize to keep him from getting upset. You’ve gone through every option your mind can come up with, yet it doesn’t feel like enough. There’s something you’re still missing.

But you’ve run out of time.

Frosty air slices through the warmth of the laundromat and you try your best not to shiver. Not that it does you any good—you’re already shaking. Marco’s cologne drifts along the air, mixing in dissonance with the fragrance of soap and fabric softener. Green eyes scan the small room as he takes note of the single mom folding clothes in the back of the building as her young son watches videos on her phone. It should be comforting to know that you’re not alone—but you’ve learned that you’re never safe. Horror does not wait for eyes to turn away before sinking teeth into flesh.

Your attention stays firmly on your hands as Marco waltzes up and makes himself at home next to you on the bench. The scent of him scorches your nose as his arm wraps around your shoulders. You try not to jump as he involuntarily pulls you closer to him, and you find your fingers clamping down hard on the string in your hands.

“Long time, no see,” he greets.

He’s more cordial than he usually is, and that terrifies you. His thumb rubs at your arm through the fabric of your jumper and you feel your heart leap into your throat. He knows. He knows, and you’re about to pay for it.

“Did you hear about our good friend, Andrei? Got scuffed up pretty bad the other week,” Marco prompts.

You swallow your heart down your throat and back into your chest. “Is he alright?”

“Define alright,” he hums. Long legs spread apart and bump into your thigh, crowding you further like he’s trying to lock you in a cage of your own flesh. “Busted lip, broken nose. His face is so goddamn swollen he sounds like he’s got a cold.”

Images of Andrei’s wounded face sear your mind. Bright red blood trickling down his lips, an appalled expression on his face as if he had never met anyone capable of putting him in his place before. You should have known then that you wouldn’t walk away unscathed from something like that. Simon’s protection can only reach so far.

“What were you even doing there, anyway? At Terminus?” Marco then asks.

“I was delivering food,” you answer truthfully.

“Oh, you’re a delivery driver now? I thought you were a waitress,” he digs.

“Hostess…” you correct.

“Who were you delivering to?”

“My friend… her husband owns the club and she was hungry… so… I, well…” you stumble over your lie.

Firm fingers dig into your arm as Marco pulls you closer. You try to keep your bottom lip from trembling. “Ah, right. John fucking Price.”

Shocked, you finally bring yourself to look at him. There’s faint amusement on his face as he stares at the washers in front of him. A mixture of soapy water and colorful clothes dance around in the machine as it gently spins and agitates the fabric.

“You know him?” you venture to ask.

A smirk pulls on his lips as he turns his attention to you, and your blood screams at how close his face is to yours. “Don’t worry about that, babe.”

His eyes capture yours in a way that makes it impossible to look away—like you’re an unfortunate deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car. He wanders down. Down, down, down until he catches sight of the unmarked envelope on your thighs. He grabs it and isn’t at all courteous about where his fingers brush in the process.

“How did that guy even know you were in that alley? That prick who fought with Andrei?” Marco ponders.

As he waits for your response, he hits the envelope against the top of your thighs as if he’s bored. Tap, tap, tap. Each time it touches you, you feel your stomach twist.

“I, uhm, asked the same thing. Said he heard us like… talking and… he thought I needed help. Guess he was the bouncer outside of the VIP entrance. M-My friend said he’s the head of security,” you reply, weaving truth and lies seamlessly together.

“Yeah, I know who the bastard is,” Marco mutters in reply.

Something lugubrious tingles up your spine as you have the slight urge to press him for an explanation. You bite that urge away as he folds up the envelope and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans, not even bothering to count the cash. Your gaze finally breaks away from him as you glance back down at your hands. They’re almost fully healed—nothng but faint scars and scabs now. You untangle the string from your fingers as you begin to wind it up, hopeful that he’ll leave soon after this interrogation.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure it was all one big misunderstanding. No use in getting worked up over it, babe,” he sighs. A pause follows his words, one that’s interrupted by the quiet giggling of the child still playing on his mother’s phone as she folds clothes somewhere to your right. “Still, some damage was done. Andrei’s been an annoying fuck ever since the altercation. As much as I would love to let you get off easy, it doesn’t really look too good if I’m letting some sweet, pretty thing walk all over me, now does it?”

Your eyes flutter shut as he speaks, and you attempt to mentally prepare yourself for whatever blow he’s about to deal. Of course it was naive to think you’d get out of this easily. Really, you were prepared to be hurt in some type of way from the moment you stepped foot in the laundromat. All you wanted to do was throw Marco off of Simon’s trail—to not drag someone innocent into this mess—and though it feels like you’ve succeeded for now, you’re not quite sure you even accomplished that much.

“It doesn’t,” you pitifully agree.

Marco smirks. “Because of that, your monthly payments will be increased by five hundred starting next month. That ought to be enough.”

The very blood coursing through your veins turns to ice, and tears blur your vision as you try to make sense of his words. Five hundred. A brutal panic wreaks havoc in your chest. You want to sob, and scream, and thrash with frustration but his hand is still on your arm, keeping you chained to him. Gluttonous fingers stain your skin and his leg is still pressed against yours, and you can feel the disgusting warmth of his body and you can’t—you can’t. You want to rage, but you’re cornered and trapped, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“B-But that’s… that’s fifteen hundred a month, I… I’ve hardly- I can’t make that.”

You’re crying now, and you hate it. You hate how weak and pathetic you are. You hate how you have no other choice but to be this way—malluable like molten metal and just as brittle. White hot tears cook your cheeks as they travel down your face, and you’re trying your best not to hiccup. Suddenly, you’re a kid all over again. Fawning, trying not to flinch as his hand reaches for your jaw to turn your face to him. His breath smells minty as it fans across the wet streaks on your face—he’s so close you can almost taste the menthol. There’s a small frown on his lips, something that almost looks sincere.

Almost. His eyes are too hungry for it to be real.

“Look at you,” he shushes. One hand moves up to cup your cheek while the other stays steady and firm around your shoulders. His thumb caresses your face, catching the briny tears and pushing them to the side. “Getting all upset over this? If it means that much to you, we can always negotiate lower, babe.”

It takes an eternity for his lips to meet yours, and once they do, everything freezes. The only thing you can comprehend is the ringing in your ears and the warm shame on your skin. It’s degrading. Humiliating. A terrible reminder that you’ve never really belonged to yourself—that you’ve never belonged to anyone or anything but him.

Things get worse when his tongue pushes past your lips. Everything becomes overwhelming—the washers and dryers, the video on that damn phone, Marco’s slight moan against your skin. You make a pitiful attempt to fight back by pressing your hands on his chest, but you’re met with harsh resistance and rigid muscle. He pulls you closer, holding you tight like a coiling snake.

Something in you demands blood. You feel obligated to bite down, to sink your teeth into his tongue until the mint in your mouth is replaced with iron and copper. When you were a kid, your dad had taught you how to throw a punch. You wonder what he would think if he saw you like this. Sniveling and too afraid to fight back.

Once he’s had his fill of your fear, Marco pulls away, but you still can’t breathe. He continues to wipe more tears from your face as if he can’t comprehend why they’re flowing in the first place.

“For that, we’ll drop it down to only two fifty,” he whispers. He places another kiss against your lips—something chaste and quick. “Unless… you wanna take me up on that deal?”

“N-No,” you stutter, then sniff. “I’ll get you the money.”

Humming, Marco finally releases you as he stands to his feet. He looks down at you with a self-satisfied smirk as he gently kicks the side of your foot. “See you next month, babe.”

Marco leaves just how he arrived—with a gust of bitter, algid wind. He’s taken something from you that you won’t get back, and it’s left you feeling empty on that bench. So void, so barren of anything that you can’t even bring yourself to move. All you can do is sit there and curse yourself for being just as worthless now as you were the day when you first got yourself stuck in this mess.

Shuffling sounds on your right, and you nearly jump out of your skin as you look up at the source. It’s that lady and her son. You’d nearly forgotten about them. A small basket of neatly folded clothes sits on her hip as she holds the boy’s hand to lead him out of the laundromat. Her face twists with disgust, like she can smell every single sin that’s ever been forced upon you. As if you are at fault for the grotesque display of affection you were made to endure.

As if the gaping hole in your chest is your fault.

As she exits, you try not to think about why she didn’t help you. If anything, you’re grateful for it. No more favors. No random acts of kindness. It never turns out well. No good deed ever goes unpunished.

Instead, you rise to your feet a few minutes later once you’re able to stitch yourself back together. Wiping your face clean, you brave the cold streets of London as you take the transit back home. You swear to yourself that the moment you step foot in your apartment, you’ll rinse your mouth clean until even the thought of Marco is gone. Then, you’ll call Sapori to see if you can pick up an extra shift.

This is how your life was always going to go—you’ve known this whole time. Pathetically slow, time wasted away at work trying to scrounge up enough cash to keep yourself alive. To pay for the right to continue to draw breath. You think of Marco’s scheming words—his terrible offer that he keeps attempting to shove down your throat—and you try not to squirm in your seat on the bus.

Maybe one day you won’t have any choice but to endure his whims, but for now you’re content on working until your hands bleed.

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sweetprfct · 3 days ago

Text

Please Please Please

Aaron Taylor-Johnson x Fem!Reader

Summary: An unexpected coffee accident turned your life upside down into a world full of glamour and flashing cameras everywhere you turned. You thought with Aaron by your side, it was going to be easy to navigate, but it turns out life in front of the flashing cameras isn't so effortless after all.

Author's Note: I've been looking at my notes and it seems like this plot needed more chapters, so I added some more. Here's chapter 2. Comments and likes are always welcome :) Let me know if you'd like to get tagged!

Wordcount: 4K

Disclaimer: 18+

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six - chapter seven - chapter eight - chapter nine - chapter ten - chapter eleven - chapter twelve - epilogue

You watched the temperature of the reaction you were making reach at 25 degree celsius before sitting back on your desk chair. You sighed and recorded your steps on your report. Sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if you would have been happier if you had decided to do academia instead of working in an industry. Though, the thought of having to find financial support for your research seemed like a stressful thing to do also.

Besides some of the toxic coworkers that you have, you didn’t hate your job.

But there was always that what if.

Your eyes glanced at your phone that was sitting on your desk and saw Sara’s name appeared on the screen.

Sara: So, do you think my boss will notice if I decide to leave early for today? 👹

You chuckled softly at your phone and started typing a response.

You: LMAO! Probably since they can’t seem to work well without you there.

Sara: I’m so bored 😩 I finished most of my work. Just waiting on some approvals but everyone is busy with meetings.

You: Come save me too. I’m currently doing a reaction, and they need this rush apparently 🥲

Sara: Ew. 🥴 Oh, btw, Luca texted me asking if we’re down for dinner tonight.

You looked up from your phone and couldn’t find Luca anywhere. Luca was one of your best friends from CalTech and now, he worked with you and Asher too. Ivy, who was also part of your friend group, worked with Sara in NASA. It was weird how life still threw all of you together. Either way, you were just glad that they were still in your life.

Even though you were debating about Asher’s presence lately.

You: Yes, he asked me this morning. I’m down if you are.

Sara: Yeah, sounds good. No promises I won’t say shit to Asher though

You: LMAO I wanna see that! 🤭

Sara: I haven’t seen Ivy all day. Not sure if she’s part of the meetings. She’s the only one who actually entertains me here.

You: Told you to get out of Pasadena 😂

Sara: Yeah, okay. I’ll get right on that! 👍

You glanced up from your phone when you heard the lab doors opened and saw Luca pushing a cart full of succinates. His thick salt and pepper curly hair that ends just right past the nape of his neck was covering his forehead and the top of his goggles. He paused in front of your desk and sighed, pushing a strand of hair away from his face.

“Never. Again.” He said, out of breath.

“What happened?” You got up from your chair, walked around your desk and studied the succinates that were sitting on the cart.

“These bitches were so far up the rack.” Luca explained. “I’m tall but not that tall. I swear to god, Max is getting on my nerves. He could have grabbed these himself.”

He was right. Luca was tall.

He was a lanky, tall guy but those racks they stored the chemicals in were very high up. Sometimes some of those chemicals were in heavy gallons of plastic jars. You wondered if that was even safe for the team. Max had been too lazy to get it himself even though he was a lot stronger than any of you in the team.

You shook your head and said, “You know how he is. Do you need help? I can help. I’m done starting my reaction. I don’t have to take care of it after four hours.”

“No, I’m good.” Luca set a hand on his hip, still trying to catch his breath. “I just need to weigh these.”

“Okay, let me know if you do.” You said. “Oh, and I talked to Sara. We’re down for dinner tonight.”

“Ugh, good!” Luca set his hand on his stomach. “Just thinking about it makes me hungry already. I already told Asher about it too.”

You walked back around your desk and saw your screen light up again with a new text message.

“Mhm. I’m sure he was quick to say yes.” You murmured, your eyes focusing on the message.

“With you coming along? Of course.” Luca teased as he pushed the cart next to his desk.

Your attention wasn’t with him anymore though as you saw Hannah’s name on your notifications. You were afraid to open the message. Last month, she had dragged you to that after party where you embarrassed yourself in front of Jen, and you knew Hannah only texted you when she needed something.

It wasn’t as if you disliked her. Hannah just went into her own path after high school. You and Hannah were neighbors back in San Francisco since you were kids, but she had her own dreams.

Bigger dreams than yours.

Ever since you were children, she always wanted to be on TV. Now, she had booked multiple acting roles and had connections with Hollywood. She tends to drag you around after parties and movie premieres. You didn’t seem to mind it often, but you felt like you didn’t fit in with her crowd. It went the same with her. She didn’t fit in with your new group of friends.

Luca and Ivy didn’t like her much. They said she was “too stuck up” even though sometimes, Luca wanted to get invited to these events. Sara didn’t mind much, but you knew Hannah could get on her nerves too. Besides you, Asher was the only one who got along well with her. It was because Asher wanted to be part of her glamorous world even if he tried to put a facade on it.

Hannah: Hey! You got plans for tomorrow night?

You: Not sure. Why?

Hannah: There’s this after party for this movie I was on. Please please please come with me!

You: Um… Idk.

Hannah: Please? 🙏 I really need someone there, and I know you support me a lot.

You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. You have the urge to bite your nails at the moment, but you stopped yourself from having your nails between your teeth. Not only have you been handling chemicals, but you have told yourself to stop this bad habit. Instead, your leg shook anxiously underneath your desk.

You: I don’t know, Hannah.

Hannah: I swear, I won’t leave your side. Please?

Fuck.

You knew if you didn’t say yes, she was going to keep bothering you. You wondered why you were the one she wanted to come to this event. Last time you checked, she had a boyfriend now.

An actor too.

You: Fine.

Hannah: Ah! Thank you! You’re a lifesaver! ❤️

Great.

Now, you have to go shopping for a new dress.

When you found yourself in your car at the end of your work day, you contemplated whether to go park on the street near the restaurant and wait for an hour for your friends to get there, or you could go do a pit stop at The Insomniacs.

As always, the latter won.

A few minutes later, you found yourself waiting in line to buy your favorite blended coffee. Sometimes you wonder if this was just your body craving it at this point, or if you actually needed the caffeine because it seemed like you could sleep perfectly fine with it.

Scrolling through Instagram, you took a step forward in the line. The shop was a little busy today, but you had time to kill, so you didn’t mind waiting.

“Is this going to be our meeting place?” The British accent was so thick through the man’s familiar voice, your phone almost slipped out from your hands.

You looked up from your phone, your eyes following where the voice came from. You thought he was standing in front of you, and you just didn’t notice it when you had joined the line, but he was nowhere to be found.

You froze for a moment, your eyes studying the shop before landing on him. He was standing at the end of the counter, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. He was wearing that smolder look on his face, his mouth tugged into a small smile. You swallowed your emotions that were surfacing as you slipped your phone on your back pocket.

He wasn’t wearing his costume this time. He was in his casual clothes. Black shirt, black trousers, and gray coat. His long curly hair was messy. It was still pushed back, but it looked mussed.

You wondered if what he was wearing was actually his casual clothes or another movie costume. You wondered what kind of role he was playing in the movie, and why was he in this coffee shop for two days in a row now?

“Are you stalking me?” You asked but immediately regretted the words that slipped out of your lips.

That came out a little rude too.

See, this is why Hannah shouldn’t be dragging you to an after party tomorrow night. You act so stupid in front of celebrities.

Aaron chuckled at your comment, tilting his head at you like he was challenged by what you just said.

“How do I know you’re not stalking me, darling?” His voice was calm and gentle.

But that nickname.

It sent shivers down your spine.

You looked around the shop and wondered how everyone was acting so normal that a celebrity was in here. They were probably used to seeing famous people in this shop. It was across Warner Brothers Studios after all.

Your turn in line came, and you ordered your usual. Even if Aaron was standing at the end of the counter, you could feel his eyes burning your side.

Walking towards him after paying for your drink, you said, “Because I’ve come to this place several times the last couple years and I don’t remember you being here much.”

Immediately, you saw a proud grin tugged on his lips as he said, “Touché, love.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at him. Your eyes studied the current situation of his look. He looked like he just finished a long day of filming. There were dark circles under his eyes, but it still made him look so attractive.

“Is mocha blended coffee your usual?” Aaron asked, interrupting your thoughts.

He must have noticed you were checking him out because he was smirking at you. Your cheeks turned into a shade of pink as you quickly looked away and focused your attention towards the counter.

“Look who’s the stalker.” You teased him. “Are you listening to my order?”

He laughed softly, which sent shivers down your spine again.

“This place isn’t that big, love. I can hear that man’s order right now.” He nodded his head towards the man that was ordering his drink at the register.

That new nickname.

Where’s a hole on the floor for you to fall in when you need one?

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip and glanced up at him. He was so tall, and he took up a lot of space. You have to literally crane your neck just to look at his face.

“Since you love to eavesdrop so much, then yes it is.” You answered. “Is cappuccino your usual order too?”

Aaron’s lips tugged into a big grin as he lowered his lips close to your ear and whispered, “And you accused me of eavesdropping?”

You could hear your heart drumming in your ears as you bit your lower lip harder. You could almost taste metal in your mouth.

Where the fuck was that comet, Sara? Because it might as well just disintegrate this Earth right now.

Or maybe it could just hit you. Just you.

You could feel his warm breath and warm presence on your side, making your legs feel like jelly. He was so close to you, and it felt like an eternity before he straightened his body back and smirked at you. Again.

Before you could retort something back to him, you heard the barista both call your names and set both of your coffees on the counter.

Thank fucking god.

“Well, it’s nice to see you again, stalker.” You said before grabbing your cup and walking out of the doors immediately.

Were you in some kind of a movie or something? There were so many questions lingering in your mind as you sipped your coffee, letting the cold liquid cool your body down. You kept questioning why he kept making conversations with you and from all people, he kept trying to get your attention and teasing you?

You shook your head to clear out all these delusions that were lingering in your mind.

You were being stupid.

You drove towards West Hollywood, driving around to find yourself a parking spot. In this city, you could barely find one, especially on the side streets. Opting out for the street parking, you decided to park in the public parking garage and walked your way towards the restaurant where Sara and Ivy were waiting outside.

“Hey.” You smiled, pulling Ivy into a hug. “How are you, Ivy?”

“Good. How are you?”

Ivy’s brown curls were up in a ponytail, her brown eyes glinting brightly at you. She looked tanner from the summer days that she spent at the beach all the time. Freckles were dusted on top of her nose and cheeks, and she looked a lot happier and more relaxed than the last time you saw her. You barely saw Ivy because she was always busy taking care of her family. Sara was the only one who saw her often because they worked together.

“I’m good. How’s your parents?” You asked, knowing she has been struggling with them lately.

Ivy shrugged, “They’re good. They’re moving to Boston, so I’ve been helping them pack up the house.”

Now, it makes more sense why she seemed more relaxed.

“Oh, nice. I’m guessing you found a place of your own then?”

Ivy nodded excitedly, her ponytail swaying behind her. “Yeah, I found one in Glendale, so I’ll be closer to you guys.”

“Thank god! I get to see you more!”

“Hey guys!” Luca greeted, running a hand through his curls.

Next to him was Asher who also greeted all of you. He was a bit quieter than usual, and you wondered if it was because he felt guilty for his behavior from yesterday. You gave him a small wave and followed your friends inside the restaurant. Settling in your seat as soon as the hostess led you to your table, you focused your attention on the menu in front of you.

Sara and Ivy were murmuring to each other about the menu, while Luca and Asher were arguing about the meat choices that were better for Luca’s taco. You settled for three tacos and a margarita as soon as the server came and took your orders.

“Oh!” Sara called everyone’s attention once the server walked away. She nudged you with her elbow and said, “Ask her who she bumped into yesterday.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Not Sara too!

“Oh my god.” You mumbled under your breath, shaking your head.

The server came by with your drinks and you immediately took a sip of your margarita, letting the alcohol burn your throat.

“I swear to god if you bumped into Paul Mescal, I’m going to lose my shit.” Luca commented, taking a sip of his cocktail.

You laughed with Sara and Ivy. Luca’s celebrity crush was Paul Mescal, and he has been waiting to bump into him one of these days. You would support it, but you doubt he lived in LA since he was Irish, and he probably preferred to live in Europe. That didn’t stop Luca from hoping though.

“No, Luca.” You chuckled. “It was ATJ.”

Luca and Ivy choked on their drinks, both of them gasped loudly and looked at you with wide eyes. Asher was rolling his eyes in the corner, while Sara was giggling softly next to you.

“Shut the fuck up!” Luca exclaimed. “That’s even worse!”

“Aaron fucking Taylor-Johnson?!” Ivy whisper-yelled, her eyes looking like they were about to fall out of her sockets.

“Fuck Paul Mescal.” Luca shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll take ATJ.”

“Yeah, well, I saw him again today.” You mumbled through the edge of your glass before sipping your drink again.

You watched as your friends, including Sara this time, dropped their jaws to the floor and widened their eyes even more. Asher on the corner was shaking his head as if he hated this subject that you all were talking about.

That was such a lie.

You knew Asher would literally throw a party if he ever got accepted into that world.

“Wait, what?!” Sara exclaimed.

“Woah, woah. Wait!” Ivy held up her hands to pause the conversation. “Are you sure this second meeting is a coincidence?”

A line appeared between your brows as you stared at your friend like her theory was the most absurd thing on Earth. You understood that they were all in shock, but that idea in her head for a moment was not… reality.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ivy. I’m literally no one.” You argued. “Besides, the coffee shop is across from Warner Brothers. He’s probably filming a movie or something.”

Luca held up his hands this time, swaying it in front of him to shut everyone up. “Wait! What happened yesterday?”

Sara laughed at the memory as you side-eyed her. She was the one who opened up this conversation. Now, look at the position you were put into..

You explained to your friends the whole incident, and Luca’s mouth was hanging open the whole time. It wasn’t long until Ivy joined him the moment she heard the words “I wiped his clothes with a bunch of napkins” left your mouth.

“Ugh!” Luca stomped his foot under the table. “You’re so lucky! You got to touch him!”

Asher threw his head back and groaned softly. The table immediately went silent, and you all turned your heads towards him.

“Are we just going to talk about celebrities all night?” Asher complained.

You hated the subject of this conversation, but your patience with Asher was hanging by a thread. Luca leaned back against his chair, crossing his legs underneath the table and crossing his arms on his chest. He lifted his brow at Asher, and an annoyed look was plastered on his face.

“Okay, Mr. KillJoy, what’s going on with your life?” Luca asked sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes as soon as Asher started complaining about the extra production that Keith was planning for the team. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t believe he still wasn’t over this, but it was Asher. He was never going to be over this, especially the way Keith had embarrassed him in front of you in that meeting.

“I mean come on! More production and less people?” Asher whined.

“Actually, Keith’s hiring more people, so I don’t know why you’re complaining about this.” You argued. “Did you not hear that sentence coming out of his mouth from that meeting?”

Asher didn’t say anything as Sara leaned forward, her elbows resting at the edge of the table. Fire sparked behind her eyes as she looked at Asher. You didn’t even need to be a mind reader for what Sara was about to say in the next ten seconds. She already warned you this morning.

You weren’t going to lie. You sort of wanted to hear this.

“Oh, and didn’t you lose your shit?” Sara asked, her voice sharp.

There it was.

You turned to Sara, nudging her gently on her side. You gave her a look to make sure she wasn’t going to push it too much on Asher. However, you didn’t have to worry about Sara because you saw Ivy and Luca exchanging looks and immediately, Luca leaned forward against the table also with a curious expression.

“What did you do now, Asher?” Luca asked.

Asher’s eyes darted between his friends. You could tell that he was even more embarrassed because now, he has to explain to his friends the behavior that he projected onto you yesterday. You rolled your teeth over your lower lip and leaned back against your chair, playing with the glass in your hand. There was no saving him from this. As much as he was your friend, you were also irritated with the way he reacted yesterday.

No, you weren’t just irritated.

You were furious about his accusation.

“In my defense…” Asher muttered, and you could hear Sara’s low scowl next to you. “I… I admitted I was wrong, okay? And I apologized for it.”

“What the fuck did you do?” Ivy asked, ignoring his stupid introduction.

Asher stuttered for a moment. His panicked eyes were shifting back and forth towards everyone. He let out a long breath and slumped down on his chair.

“I accused her of having a crush on Keith.” He murmured under his breath.

Even just hearing those words, it made you want to throw up the tacos you just ate. Luca’s eyes immediately sparked with anger, while Ivy shook her head in disappointment.

“Seriously, Asher. You need a fucking therapist.” Luca barked. “Seriously? Keith? That man is older, married, and has kids! Why the fuck would you accuse her of that? Or is it because he always gives you a cold shoulder?”

“Or because a man was being nice to her.” Ivy mumbled through the edge of her glass before sipping her drink.

Ivy was right.

Asher always acted out whenever a random man was being nice to you. It could be a stranger smiling at you, and he would immediately roll his eyes. He would make up some excuse that he only acted that way because he was being protective towards you, but everyone in this table knew the real reason why.

“I said I was sorry!” Asher said. “It was a mistake, and I wasn’t thinking right.”

Your friends continued to call out Asher’s behavior, but you were done with this conversation. You didn’t even want to think about it. You felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket, and you slipped it out to check who was texting you.

Hannah: Got you a dress for tomorrow night! No need to worry!

You sighed and slipped your phone back in your pocket, drinking the rest of your margarita. Luca’s eyes shifted towards you when he saw your distressed expression.

“Who was that? ATJ bothering you?” He teased, making Ivy chuckle.

“No,” You rolled your eyes. “Hannah invited me to this after party, and she was letting me know that she has an extra dress for me to wear.”

“Ugh,” Luca said dramatically, tucking a hair behind his ear. “I swear, Hannah needs to invite me to one of these parties.”

You laughed softly, “I thought you didn’t like Hannah? You said she was too stuck up.”

“She can be.” Luca said, rolling his eyes. “But I have needs.”

“Like Paul Mescal?” Ivy teased him.

Luca ripped a piece of his tortilla and threw it at her, making you and Sara laugh. Ivy stuck her tongue out to him as Luca rolled his eyes again. Out of all of you, Luca was the most dramatic and sometimes, he was more girlier than the girls. Though, you always tell others to never underestimate Luca because he could put you in your place in an instant, and he never liked anyone who was whiny and toxic.

You were surprised Luca hasn’t ripped a hair out of Asher’s perfect golden hair.

Maybe he was close to doing it. You knew you were.

As Sara asked for the paycheck, the five of you split the bill and left the restaurant after paying. You and Sara said your goodbyes to your friends and told each other that you would see each other at home.

Driving back to your apartment building that night, your mind resurfaced the events of the coffee shop again. Ivy’s voice echoing in your mind.

Are you sure this second meeting is a coincidence?

You quickly dismissed it because the more you think about it, the more comical it sounded.

You were just tired. It had been a long day.

That was all.

__________________________________________________________

Taglist:

@acourtofpenandpaper, @metal-redcherries, @n0rdicmaiden, @galadoesart, @dare-writes

#aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson x fem!reader #aaron taylor johnson fics #aaron taylor johnson fanfics #aaron taylor johnson fic #please please please #sweetprfct #chapter two

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saltminerising · 3 days ago

Note

1. Water wasn't the only flight to impromptu push against Plague; Earth did it the week before. This means that Plague had a conquest against one of the hardest flights to win against, got dominance fatigue, and then conquested against a small flight again. Plague announced months in advance. This does not mean they get free dominance. However, there's a reason we don't see battles between the smallest flights and the largest flights often. There's nearly always a clear winner.

2. If any flight pushed against any other flight unannounced, assuming it wasn't double dom, there would be comparable salt levels. Especially if that flight *did* announce a push, but decided to change from profit (probably actively sending levels to plague, since they paid the most before the battle) to conquest last minute. I don't know why this salt has carried over a year later.

3. I've read through every single mention of the phrase "double dom" posted in the last 14 months. I also read through the dom watch thread ("Let's exalt alongside Plague"). People were acting normal for the most part. Saw one salty post from an earth user, a couple from Plague, and a couple from Water.

4. I'm assuming this ridiculous amount of salt happened off-site. To this I say: you are on a salt blog. Welcome! Please feel free to perpetuate the salt, but if you do so, I am going to call a salt-liker a salt-liker. So what are you complaining about? More salt for the salt man (that's you!).

To be honest I don't really gaf about the exact details of this specific push - what I do gaf about is how weird the comments have been on this blog and in the replies. It's just strange to try and, idk, provoke a response from people by saying "omg I can't wait for all of Plague (the big flight with lots of people) to throw a *hissy fit* (have a few loud sore losers) when they DON'T GET DOM FOR FREE! (lose to an impromptu board flip 5min before rollover with Dom fatigue and spent funds)" when Earth gets Dom for free every other nonfest week and the vast majority of conquests go unchallenged.

You're not mad about them "getting Dom for free." You're mad that they're annoying about it - so to combat that, you start being annoying, too. And then at the end of the day, we're all annoying, and so am I. What was I on about?

#flight club #long post

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 9 hours ago

Text

Forbidden Fruit (Winchester men x female reader) - Chapter 1

You're over at the Winchester house, meeting Dean and John for the first time. When you and Sam disappear to his room after dinner, Dean and John think about what it would be like to be with the girl the youngest Winchester brought home. And maybe, just maybe, you're thinking of them too...

Read it on AO3

Rated E

Part 2 coming to AO3 this Sunday!

Chapter 1 - Sam

"So is that one of the options?" you ask, head tilted up so your neck is exposed, Sam nibbling at the soft skin there, both of you pretending you’re still talking about college.

"Mmh hmm," he mumbles, unwilling to part enough from you to give a real answer. He can still taste the salt of the cracker you shoved into his mouth a minute ago, giggling at the crumbs falling on his t-shirt, which led to his revenge attack on your neck.

"But do you like it better than Stanford?" you ask and Sam can hear the grin in your voice, how you like to pretend that this is still just a normal conversation, even though Sam is pressing you back against the kitchen counter, lips on you, hands running along your sides. You always like to pretend nothing is going on right up until something happens.

Sam detaches from your neck and looks at your face. You’re looking up at him with big eyes, like you’re expecting an answer. You’ve had this talk a million times, so he runs his hands down your body until they land on your hips, pulls them towards himself a little. Looks down at the spot where your shirt is riding up just a little bit over the waistband of your skirt.

"It’s not in California," he says, not really answering your question but imagining that little bit of skin and how nice it would look in the sun, not in the drab, dark weather of Bumfuck, Nowhere. How you would smell like sun milk and grass, on top of the sweet smell of apple you already carry.

"My mother says everyone in California does coke and worships perversion," you say and Sam looks up at your face, grinning. "Plus I have a year of community college left." Sam shrugs.

"They have community colleges in California," he says. You turn a little bit more serious. He hasn’t outright asked you yet, hell, he doesn’t even know where he will end up going. But the thought of you coming with him has been on his mind for weeks. Maybe you could get your own place together. He’s not sure how that would work, but he still likes to think about it. No sneaking around when no one’s home. No half-clothed sex to avoid getting caught, instead you could lounge in bed and do it over and over, not needing to worry about anyone interrupting or hearing you.

As if he manifested it, Sam hears the front door open. He frowns, and leans to the side, looking out of the doorway that separates the kitchen from the dining and living area, but he can’t see the front door from here. They’ve been here for nearly half a year, yet Sam can’t get used to the house. Maybe his brain just refuses to remember any place since it thinks it’s never worth it.

Dean stalks into the kitchen, stops dead in his tracks. He takes in the scene before him, bright eyes going over Sam then over you, back to Sam and then back to you, lingering there. Dean’s mouth is open like he was about to say something, probably honey, I’m home, or something stupid like that. Instead he blinks, raises his chin a little, a cocky smile spreading over his lips. It’s the look Sam has seen his older brother give a thousand girls. He calls it the silent how you doing?

"Didn’t know we had company," Dean says, not taking his eyes off you. Sam instinctually takes half a step forward, almost as if to bring himself between you and his brother.

"I thought you were going out," he says, carefully watching Dean. You’ve never been here before, nor do Dean or their dad really know about you. But Dean seems to be mostly occupied with checking you out, which isn’t great, but at least he’s not making a scene. Besides, they haven’t yet invented a woman under forty Dean won’t at least check out, Sam’s pretty sure. And it’s not like Dean would ever do something. Well, except that one time with Rachel Nave, Sam’s prom date. On Sam’s prom night. He shakes himself out of his thoughts, swallows.

"I was gonna," Dean says, "but the chick I was meeting is on the rag. So I thought I’d come home for dinner." Sam doesn’t miss the once-over Dean gives you at the word dinner . Then his older brother shrugs.

"Women’s problems, am I right?" he says, now looking at your face, and Sam half turns to look at you as well. You raise your eyebrows, stare Dean down.

"Right," you say, and then there’s a moment of weird silence.

"So I guess the most important question," Dean breaks it, tone suggestive, "is this: thigh or breast?" Sam frowns, not believing Dean would be that crude.

"Dean!" Sam says, hating that he sounds like the square kid in front of you, the one who doesn’t like joking about sex. But then Dean raises his hand, and Sam feels immediately guilty when he sees the greasy brown bag in Dean’s hand, the one with the logo from the chicken shop down the street they like. Dean skipped his date and brought home dinner for Sam. To his relief, he hears you chuckle.

"Wing, if you have it," you answer, then tear your eyes away from Dean and smile at Sam.

Sam officially introduces the two of you while you grab plates and cutlery. Dean offers you a beer, and you look at Sam. Sam says he’ll take one too, and while the three of you set the table, Dean makes it a whole thing how Sam’s not legally old enough to drink, how he has to wait another two years, and then jokingly asks to see your ID. When you confirm that you are 21 just as Dean sets down the hot sauce in the middle of the table, he raises his eyebrows, throws an impressed look at Sam, who can’t help but feel just a little proud. Yeah, Sam Winchester has a hot, older girlfriend. Let Dean make fun of that .

It might have been a good night. Sam’s actually happy you and Dean are finally meeting. He didn’t mean for it to happen this way, but you get along. You meet Dean on his jokes, turn them around on him. You’re clever like that, and you make Dean laugh a few times. It could be a good night.

But just as the three of you sit down, Dean handing out meat like some kind of chicken Santa, the front door opens again.

John walks in with the face that lets his sons know he hasn’t had a good day. His brow is furrowed, he’s looking at the ground and a deep sigh leaves him when he throws his keys at the small table next to the door, the one that already stood there when they moved it. He shaved a few days ago, but already his jaw is covered in dark, thick stubble. He has just a touch of grey on his chin, a fact that deeply disturbed Sam when he first noticed it. His father seems stuck in time, like a bug in amber. He shouldn’t be aging.

Sam sees the way Dean freezes when John comes in, and he knows he does the same. What’s worse is that he can tell that you notice, too. You look at him, then quickly at Dean, then back at Sam again. You’re so attentive, that’s the problem. Well, it’s not a problem, it’s great, except when Sam is trying to hide from you that this entire household stands and falls with John’s moods.

Funnily enough, John stops dead in his tracks too, just like his oldest. He’s not used to anyone else ever being there. Dean doesn’t bring his conquests home, and Sam, well, Sam doesn’t bring anyone home. He’s not keen on people knowing what his life is like, but you’re the exception. He can’t tell you about what he and his family actually do, but he wants to show you as much of himself as possible. Plus, there was nowhere else for the two of you to go, it’s too cold to be outside, and Sam really, really wants you tonight.

"Dean brought food," Sam says, feeling like an idiot for pointing out something so obvious. Then he swallows, turns to you. Says: "this is…" and introduces you. He turns back towards John. "My girlfriend."

John nods, slowly. You straighten in your seat, smile your brilliant smile at him.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester," you say and it feels like your words flood the room with normalcy. John stands there for another second, then he takes his jacket off, and to Sam’s surprise, he walks up to the table, puts it over the back of the chair at its head, and sits down.

"Yeah, I could eat," John says, reaching for the brown bag. Sam and Dean throw each other a quick look, neither wanting to disturb this moment. This is the first family meal, where all three of them are sitting down, in…

Actually, Sam has no idea. Maybe ever. Dean clears his throat and then everyone turns back to their plates, acting like this is totally normal. Sam can feel you looking at him from the side, but he elects not to meet your gaze. Not right then.

"So," John speaks up, and his tone is almost casual, "how did you two meet? Dean, get me a beer, will ya?" Dean stands immediately, does what he was asked to do, while you finish chewing.

"I work at a bookstore downtown that Sam goes to," you explain. "We got to talking and then we talked some more and then the store closed, so we decided to get coffee and keep talking." You chuckle a little while Dean makes a snorting noise that everyone ignores as he comes back to the table, and Sam finally turns to you, smiles. He wants to kiss you right then. How easily you are making this whole room seem lighter, fresher.

"Oh yeah, what was he buying?" asks Dean, who is placing an opened beer in front of his father, then sitting again. "Another book about dragons and magic?" Sam drops his hands on the table, gives Dean an unbelieving stare.

"What?" Dean says in response, raising his own beer. "You’re a friggin’ nerd."

"Actually we got to talking over some brochures from local colleges," you say, and Sam’s blood freezes. His father and brother don’t know about his applications, the ones you’ve been helping him with. You must catch yourself, because you quickly add: "I’m at the community college in town, but I’ve been thinking about switching."

Sam shoots quick looks at the other two men at the table. They don’t seem to have noticed. Dean is concentrated on his food and John is chewing slowly, looking at you intently.

"What do you study?" he asks, voice neutral.

"Linguistics," you reply, then smile bashfully. "I find language intriguing." You seem a little embarrassed almost and Sam drops his hand under the table, squeezes your leg. You look at him, keep smiling. Then you suddenly raise your hand and wipe something off his lip, chuckling a little, before you lean in and give him a quick kiss.

It’s like someone sucked all the air from the room. Dean looks up and John somehow becomes even more quiet, stops chewing. Sam has the overwhelming need to clear his throat. You look around, clearly realizing that casual intimacy is not something that is often seen at this table.

Sam doesn’t know how to change the topic, his brain going completely blank, so instead, he reaches for the hot sauce. The bottle’s still open, the cap lying somewhere else on the table where Dean left it, and he misjudges the distance. The bottle doesn’t just fall over, it goes spinning, shooting its contents everywhere including, to Sam’s utter shock, your shirt.

"Goddamn it, Sam," John says while Dean scoots back in his chair, trying to get out of the way. Sam feels red hot shame run through him.

"Shit, I’m sorry," he says, but you’re standing up, grabbing your napkin, which is just a piece of paper towel, lean over the table, wipe at the spill.

"It’s okay," you say and Sam freezes. "Nothing happened."

You wipe at the sauce, the three men only watching you, the moment somehow mesmerizing to all three of them. When you’re done, you drop the paper towel on your plate, turn to Sam with a smile.

"Do you have a shirt I could borrow?" you ask, motioning to the stain on yours. Acting like it’s just a stain and not the end of the world.

Sam gets you a shirt, and you go to the bathroom, but not without kissing him again briefly in the hallway where his father and brother can’t see. Sam walks back to the table, sits down, nobody saying anything. He stares at the food, suddenly not hungry anymore. He wants to follow you to the bathroom, walk in just as you’re pulling off your shirt, crowd you against the sink and fuck you until you can’t take anymore of him, until all you can say is his name. He feels a familiar tug in his crotch. He wants you, badly.

No one speaks until you come back, which in itself isn’t unusual. The Winchester house is always filled with awkward silences. You return, wearing Sam’s shirt that falls over your hands and Sam feels a hot buzz in his spine. It looks good on you. You sit down, and his hand shoots to your leg. You smile at him again, but it’s a different smile. The one that shows him you know what he wants and want it too.

"I think we’re done," Sam says, reaching for your hand as he stands. "We were actually gonna watch a movie, so…" He lets the sentence taperout. His father isn’t really paying attention, is slowly sipping his beer, but Dean’s looking at you again. Finally, John nods.

"I’ve got some things to take care of," he says, not giving any details, which probably means it’s hunting stuff. "So I’ll be out again later."

Sam nods, then tugs on your hand and finally you stand.

"It was a real pleasure," you say, and John only shoots you a quick look before Sam is leading you out of the room. Despite being a three-bedroom, all the rooms are on one floor. He basically drags you into his bedroom, which is small, only a single bed, a narrow dresser and a desk fitting into it, throws the door shut behind you.

He turns around and then he is on you. You tilt your head up and Sam kisses you, wraps his arms around you. It makes you giggle and he leads you, makes you walk backwards.

"Sorry my family is so fucking awkward," he says, just as your ass bumps against the desk. You let your hands wander up his arms, run your fingers over the tensed muscles in his neck.

"They’re not so bad," you reply, suggestively raising your eyebrows at him. "I can see that good looks run in the family" Sam makes a face.

"Ew," he says and you giggle, but then you let your hands drop to the front of his jeans.

"Don’t worry," you say, "you’re the handsomest of them all." Sam moves his hands too, and lays them over yours, runs his fingers over your soft skin while he looks at your face.

"We shouldn’t, right?" you ask after a moment, tone very clearly implying that you do think you should . Sam raises his chin a little.

"Depends," he says, and he can feel that spread of warmth in his body that even the slightest suggestiveness from you ignites in him. "Can you be quick and quiet?"

The smile that spreads on your face is sinful. Sam can be shy, but he isn’t when it comes to this. Not with you, anyway. He’s become downright cocky.

"I can be quick," you say, tongue darting out to wet your lips at the obvious meaning.

Sam leans in, kisses you, hard. He loves the teasing, but he feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to touch you right now. While he does, you start moving on the button of his jeans, but Sam slaps your hands away. It makes you gasp, and your mouth drops open, and Sam uses the moment to press his tongue against yours. He grabs your wrists, moves them so that your hands are resting on the desk behind you, a high little moan already escaping you at the way he handles you. He lets his palms run over your arms to your hips, then lower.

He breaks the kiss when his hands start traveling up the soft skin of your inner thighs. He looks at your face, listens to your chopped breathing. You’re looking into his eyes, keeping his gaze. Sam loves seeing how long you can last until your eyes drop closed in pleasure. He never thought he would enjoy being dominant in bed, but you have tickled it out of him. His fingers meet the seat of your panties and he grins broadly.

"That wet just from dinner?" he asks as he presses his fingertips against you, and a cracked laugh leaves you while your eyelids flutter.

"Just kept imagining slipping under the table and blowing you," you respond and Sam raises his chin.

"Really?" he says, slowly moving his fingertips back and forth, making you whimper a little. You really are wet. It makes his cock strain against the material of his underwear.

"Mmh hmm," you respond, your breathing becoming a little heavier. "You just looked so cute sitting there." Sam raises one eyebrow, then steps closer, crowding you and without warning increases the pressure, begins rubbing you hard through your damp underwear. Your body twitches at the sudden stimulation, but with Sam so close, there’s no way to escape it. And Sam knows you wouldn’t want to anyway.

"Cute, huh?" he says, voice challenging, face close to yours but you have a hard time looking at him, your eyelids threatening to close as you make that whimpering noise again. "How about I show you cute?"

He keeps rubbing you, fast and hard, his jaw clenched in exertion as he watches his touch make you nearly go cross-eyed. He sees you climb that hill, breath stuttering and he can’t help himself but grin when he sees how close you’re getting. He stops at the last second. Your eyes fly open in question, but Sam answers it before you can ask.

"Get on the bed," he says, then moves his hand, reaches for the desk drawer while you stumble past him, do what he told you. His fingers fly over the clutter in the drawer before grabbing the golden foil. When he turns to you, you’re already standing in front of his bed, kicking off your second shoe. While Sam watches, you reach under your skirt and drag down your panties, let them fall to the floor. You keep his gaze as you step out of them, then slowly drag your skirt up so it sits around your waist, revealing yourself to him. It’s all the encouragement he needs.

He crosses the small distance to you, already opening his jeans while you sit on the bed. Sam comes close and you lay your hands high on his legs, rub them up and down while Sam fishes out his cock. You bite your lip at the sight, look up at him like you’re looking for permission. Sam’s already opening the condom, but he shakes his head.

"We need to be quick," he says as he wraps his hand around his cock, strokes it a few times, and with a small pout you drop back on the bed, rest on your elbows while Sam takes out the condom and begins putting it on. The truth is, he wants to feel you. Feel how tight and warm his touch has made you.

Sam wrestles down his jeans and underwear, then pulls his shirt over his head, lets them drop to the floor but then he’s kneeling on the bed. He strokes himself again, but he’s always hard as steel for you. He makes his way between your spread legs, and without much ado, presses the head of his dick against your entrance. You just have time to arch your back and then Sam pushes into you.

A high cry leaves you and Sam immediately drops forward, clasps one hand over your mouth. At the same time, he starts snapping his hips, no time to wait. You groan against his palm, squeeze your eyes shut and Sam can feel you desperately clenching around him.

Sam leans his forehead against the back of his hand, presses his nose against your chin while he needily drives into you. He’s had sex with other girls before, but it’s never been like this. He’s never felt this level of chemistry, this connection, this insane want . He’s pretty sure he’s in love with you, and he really wants to tell you, but he’s right now probably isn’t the best time.

He raises his head, looks at your face, the corners of his mouth twitching through his heavy panting. Your eyes are closed and your brow furrowed, like you’re in deep concentration. While Sam’s thrusts are rocking you back and forth, small little noises escape through his hand. He’s doing this to you, he has to remind himself. He’s making you feel this good.

He lets go of your mouth and pushes himself up. Without slipping out of you, he pushes one of your legs up, uses it to pivot your lower body and turn it. You’re already jello, so while you try to help with the turning, Sam does most of it. Which is fine for him. Getting to put you into position makes him nearly come right then and there.

He plunges back into you, the sudden impact making you drop flat onto the mattress. You press your face into Sam’s pillow, trying to quiet yourself but some sounds still escape you. Sam presses his face to the back of your neck, trying to still his own noises. Your hand goes over his where it’s resting on the mattress, and you lace your finger through his. It’s such a tender gesture amongst the rough fucking that Sam nearly says it right there – I love you. Come move away with me. Anything, anywhere, just as long as you’re with me.

He pushes his other hand under you. It’s a tight fit, but his fingertips manage to find your clit. He doesn’t have much room to move with how close you are to the mattress, will probably have the hand cramp of the century in a minute, but he doesn’t care. You squeal when he presses against you, squeeze him inside of you. Sam hisses, then lowers his mouth to your ear.

"I want you to come in this bed," he says, notices you raising your head a little to make sure you can hear him. "I want it to smell like you." With that, Sam rubs you faster, and only a moment later, you come.

You buck up and backwards, body shaking and when you rip your mouth open, Sam has a second, through the haze of his own oncoming orgasm, where he’s worried you’re gonna scream. Instead, you turn your head and bite into the skin on the wrist of his arm close to you. Sam grunts, but the pain is sudden and perfect and then his movement becomes uncoordinated, sloppy, and he pulls his shoulders up as he comes.

His face goes to the back of your neck again as he grinds into you a few more times before his body goes slack. It’s suddenly silent in the room, except for both of you breathing hard, which makes Sam realize that you probably weren’t being as quiet as you thought you were.

He pulls out of you, exhaustion already pulling his body down towards the bed again. He slumps down next to you, and in the next second, your arms go around him. You kiss him, his face, his lips, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach, gently and thoroughly, before you end with your face close to his. Sam looks into your eyes, your beautiful eyes. He should say it.

He swallows instead. Leans forward and kisses your nose, which makes you giggle. Then he turns slightly, tugs the condom off. He makes a knot in it, drops it into the trash can next to the desk. He can reach it with his arm extended, probably the only advantage of the room being so small. Then he turns back to you.

He brings his hand up, cups your cheek and you smile while you look at his lips.

Tomorrow, he thinks, tiredness pulling at him. You raise your hips, tugging your skirt off you, and Sam sort of helps, but mostly his hand just ends up on your soft stomach, the fabric of his shirt you’re wearing falling over his hand when you’re done wrestling the skirt off.

Tomorrow he’ll tell you.

#supernatural #spn #fanfiction #fanfic #spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #john winchester x you #john winchester x reader

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