#im glad he does the weekly short lives for us. i just hope that he knows its not something he has to do? like i dont want it to be a chore?

[nopethatsnotembarrassing]

I have finally been not that late (I'm usually like 30 min, i think i was only like 10 at the max today) to a channies room!! But this time I was drawing while listening so I wasn't able to clip anything but I might go back and clip some stuff that made me laugh cause thats originally why I clipped stuff, to just remind me of the things that make me happy.

So when my headphones are charged later I might go back and clip parts, who knows.

But it was calming

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬3

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, violence and abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of death'; violence, attempted rape.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader’s husband brings home an unexpected houseguest.

Note: So this is for black Friday and then I’ll be working all today and tomorrow and schedule’s are super late so I dunno when Im working after that. Hope you guys enjoy and don’t hesitate to drop by my asks.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Arvin let you pick the record. You found it among the box of your daddy’s music. It was one of your favourites and you were glad he wasn’t bothered by Patsy Cline’s droll tones. He seemed to enjoy it as he sat and read a magazine and you searched for a button from your large tin to match that missing from Roy’s jacket.

“You ever listen to Elvis?” He looked up from behind the pages.

“I… I heard him on the radio but you know we haven’t got new records since Daddy died,” you said as you continued your hunt. “And Roy don’t like all that new music. He says it’s no good.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to like much, does he?” Arvin sniffed, “I always knew he was a grouch but I just thought it was the job.”

“He’s not… He’s just stressed. He works so much.” You looked down and settled on a button that was close enough. 

“You do too,” Arvin hid behind the magazine again. “You should be the one goin’ out and doin’ what you like on a Saturday. Hell, if he ain’t gonna spend his time with you, you should do something of your own.”

“I like sewing,” you shrugged as you threaded the button, “You know, it’s not so bad. I get time to myself. A lot of people can’t say that.”

“Sounds pretty lonely to me,” he flicked the page.

You were silent. You didn’t know how to respond. He was skirting around what he really wanted to say, what you didn’t want him to talk about. The tension in the air thickened as you feared he would admit that he knew or you might confess that your husband wasn’t much of one. Hell, you’d yet to accept that yourself.

Your fears were assuaged by the sudden clatter on the porch and the hinges of the door as it was swung open. You sat up and set aside Roy’s jacket. You stood as he staggered inside. He always did like to drink when he fished, or did much of anything else. You frowned as he tracked mud in on his tall rubber boots.

“Roy, you’re making a mess,” you said as you went to the doorway and watched him stumble around the entryway.

“Keep ya busy,” he slapped a hand on the wall and wiggled his leg free of a boot. “There’s a whole pail of fish out front too.”

“Mmm,” you hummed as his cheeks glowed. You doubted he’d be awake that long. “Well, I’ll just fry those up while you sit down.”

“Agh,” he tripped over his other boot as he slipped it off and Arvin brushed by you to catch him.

“Hey, Roy,” he took his arm, “How was the fishing? Why don’t you sit down? We’ll have a beer.”

“I almost forgot about you, boy,” he shook free of Arvin and ambled closer to you, “Maybe you can hide away after dinner for a while?”

He dragged his hand up your thigh and slapped your ass as he passed you. Arvin turned as Roy clumsily traipsed into the living room and fell onto the couch. He looked at you but you couldn’t stand to meet his.

“Sure,” Arvin uttered, “I’ll just go get those fish first.”

He disappeared through the front door and you crossed your arms as you turned to watch your husband. His head lolled as he chuckled.

“You think he ever fucked a girl?” He asked, “Boy tiptoes around like a virgin.”

“That’s crass, Roy,” you reproached.

“Don’t act so innocent,” he snapped, “If you didn’t, maybe I’d… well.”

His words trailed off and he closed his eyes. He yawned and sighed loudly. You grimaced and listened to the door as it hit the frame again. Arvin continued onto the kitchen as Roy began to snore. It must have been a record how quickly he’d passed out this time.

You went through to the kitchen as Arvin drained the water from the pail of fish. You went to the drawer and got a knife. You rest it on its end as you gripped it and looked out the window.

“He’s already out for the night,” you said, “You hungry?”

“I said I’d make the fish, I meant it.”

“Nah, I’ll flay them and put ‘em in the fridge,” you swallowed, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That you’re stuck here with us. Sorry he’s always drunk.” You looked down at the blade. You didn’t say what you really wanted to. Sorry you were stupid enough to choose Roy.

“That isn’t your fault and you know, I don’t mind it so much.” He neared, “We’re friends now, aren’t we? That’s worth it.”

You nodded but couldn’t smile. He always tried to make things seem nicer than they were. He was much better at it than you were.

“You comin’ to church tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he answered like it was obvious.

You turned away and laid out the fish across the cutting board. He stayed behind you, the record silenced and began to skip.

“I think I got somethin’ nice I can find.” He left you and the crackle of the Victrola died.

You slice the fish, careful not to cut your fingers as you deboned it and tossed away the heads and tails. You heard Arvin speak in a low voice and a grumble. Then heavy footsteps interspersed with lighter ones. The stairs groaned and you kept on, wrapping the filets in paper and tucking it away.

You cleaned up and washed the smell off your hands. The living room was empty so you climbed the stairs and found Roy face down on your bed. You turned to the open attic and Arvin descended the ladder.

“You got him to bed?” You tilted your head.

“Wasn’t so hard. Poked him a few times.” He grinned. “So what time do I needa be ready for church?”

“We leave about twenty minutes before service. It’s at eight.” You answered, “Oh, you know what--” You raised your index finger, “One sec.”

You spun and scurried into your father’s room. It was just as it had been before he died except now there were boxes stacked along one wall. You pushed open the closet and fluttered through the clothes hanging within. You pulled out the old grey suit and white shirt that had yet to yellow. You grabbed a tie from the drawer as you passed the dresser.

You smelled them as you went back to the door as Arvin peeked in.

“For church,” you held them out, “My daddy was a bit taller but he got skinny near the end. I can pin up the pants for you and you’ll look just fine.”

“Oh,” he face paled, “You-- I can’t--”

“Roy’ll never fit into these so please,” you pushed them against his chest. “And I don’t think he’ll be up in time for church so I need you to drive.”

He smiled and took the clothes. He hugged them as if they were precious. “Thank you. I’m gonna sound like you for a moment but you really didn’t have to.”

“You think I’m gonna forget that you promised to make the fish? It’ll be a nice Sunday night dinner.” You inhaled deeply, “I think that for tonight, I’m gonna lay down though.”

“Alright,” he let you past, “You have a good night.”

“You too,” you neared your bedroom door as Roy’s snores grew louder, “Might have to stuff my ears with cotton.”

🚬

As you expected, Roy was too hungover to get up for church. You didn’t really go for the sermons but your daddy made it a habit when you were young to make sure you got to see the other kids in town. Sunday school had socialised you in the circles of the small town but they had proven less than welcoming. And since you’d grown out of your education, you went to trade recipes with some of the other wives.

Arvin was awake before you. As you pulled a cardigan over your blue dress you stopped at the bottom of the stairs and he appeared from the front room.

“Oh, Arvin,” you smiled, “That suit looks real nice on you. And the pants…”

“I sewed them myself last night,” he lifted his foot, “Remembered a few stitches.” He straightened the jacket, “You look real good too.”

“Well, aren’t we a pair?” You chimed. “Gonna have to be since Roy hasn’t moved since you dragged him to bed.”

“After you,” he waved to the door, “Think we should get goin’. My daddy woulda whipped me being late for the lord’s prayer.

You led him out the door and climbed into the truck opposite him. He turned the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. You felt calm as you smelled the early morning dew and you looked out the window as he shifted into gear. The lush green grass passed you by and trees swayed as he steered along the old country road.

As always, the church was crowded. You and Arvin squeezed in at the back. He was quiet and sombre as you entered. As you sat, you looked over at him. His jaw squared as the preacher came out and began his weekly scourge. A fire burned behind Arvin’s brown irises and he scowled for a moment before his face went placid.

You looked forward and folded your hands as you listened to Father Milton. You never cared much for his talk of hellfire and brimstone, to be fair, your daddy didn’t either, but in a small town, everyone knew when one was away from service. Roy never cared what anyone thought but you had to deal with Noreen and the other ladies at the grocer or around town about their own tasks.

When mass finished, you stood but Arvin hesitated. He stared up at the altar before he finally rose. He nodded to you and followed you and the other worshippers out into the sun.

You heard your name as you headed for the truck. You stopped and Arvin did too. You turned as Noreen, a woman older than yourself who fashioned herself to be the model for all society ladies, approached you. She wore a wide-brimmed hat over her blonde hair and took short steps in her heels.

“You promised me that carrot cake recipe. The one with the raisins.” She said. “Now I’ve been hounding you for three weeks.”

“Oh, uh,” you unclasped your pocketbook and fished out the card you’d made sure to stow after last Sunday. “Right here. I’m sorry, Noreen, but I gotta get back.”

“Where is Roy? Was he off drinkin’ again? You know, the lord did warn us all against excess.”

“Well, perhaps we can get him to come next week and you can warn him,” Arvin intoned and Noreen looked over in shock.

“Excuse me. And who is this… man you have as your escort?”

“Roy is letting the attic out to him. They work together. This is Arvin.”

“Arvin Russell,” he introduced firmly. 

“That’s an unusual name,” Noreen remarked, “You’re not from here?”

“No, but from a place like this.” He countered, “I’m gonna go get the truck goin’.”

He turned without courtesy and marched away. You looked back to Noreen as she curled her lip.

“Oh, he is a rough one, isn’t he? You have that scoundrel livin’ with you?”

“He’s a good man. Helps around the house. It’s a big place and Missy Grable has a tenant of her own.”

“Missy Grable has a farmhand to tend the fields,” Noreen lifted her chin.

You weren’t certain what to say. Noreen always found issue with whatever you said and you hated to give her further reason to.

“Well, here’s the recipe. I really ought to go.” You said.

“I understand, honey,” She smirked, “Your husband needs his caretaker… oh sorry, wife.”

You flinched but said nothing else. Your shoulders dropped as you turned away and dragged your heels through the dirt. You opened the truck and climbed in without a word. You clutched your pocketbook and stared ahead as Arvin back out of the lot.

“Pardon my saying so and I don’t use this word often, but she was a bitch,” Arvin said. “Remind me why I ain’t go to church.”

You looked down and nervously unclasped and unclasped your purse. “You didn’t have to come.”

“No, it’s your house and I wanna be a good guest,” he said, “It’s nothing to do with you.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “My daddy hated goin’ too but he didn’t want me to be ostracised, you know? He told me, near the end, that he stopped believin’ durin’ the war. He said no god would let the things happen that he saw.” You leaned against the door and watched the buildings pass. “Seein’ how these Christians act, I can’t blame him.”

Arvin was quiet as you left the main street and the house began to thin out until the country sprawled out around you.

“My sister…” he said so low you barely heard him. He cleared his throat and spoke louder. “My cousin, she was tricked by a preacher man. She was young and too willing to love. And he was just a liar. He knocked her up then refused her.” His voice was brittle and you glanced over as his hand tightened on the steering wheel. “She hung herself but it was that snake-tongued charlatan who killed her.” He shook his head. “No god would take her like that. No god would let a man sworn to him trick the innocent.” He rubbed his forehead as his eyes bore into the distance, “I’m sorry. Just been a while since I sat in a pew.”

“No, I’m… sorry. Sorry about your cousin.” You said, “I didn’t-- You can stay home next week.”

He pondered it and a little smile curled his lips. “Don’t think I will. Think I’d like to see that Noreen again. Maybe say a prayer for her soul, wherever it may be.”

🚬

Roy was still in bed when you got home. You tried to rouse him and he swatted you away. You brought him a sandwich and some water and left it beside him. You went back down to clean up as Arvin sat in the front room, As you wiped your hands, the record player buzzed and a tune rose on noontime air.

You went to the living room as Arvin stood straight and you listened to the smooth tones of Sinatra. He turned to you as you entered. 

“I like this one,” you said. 

“Me too,” He had shed the jacket and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, his tie disposed of. He turned his palm up as he stepped away from the player. “You dance?”

You giggled and shook your head. “No, not much of a dancer. Roy wouldn’t even at the wedding.”

“Come on. It’s a good song.” He got closer and began to sing out of tune, “I get no kick from champagne. Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all…”

You shied away and he caught your hand. You let him draw you closer and smiled as your cheeks warmed up.

“Just follow my lead,” he urged as he moved his feet, “Don’t look down, just one, two, one, two…” 

You moved your feet around his as he swayed you and turned you on the spot. His hand settled on your lower back and you grasped his shoulders. You were jittery as you moved with him in time to the music.

“Arvin…” You breathed. 

“Every pretty girl should dance,” he said, “I’d say you’re a hell of a dancer for a beginner.”

“Thanks,” you trilled and settled into his embrace.

“I mean it. You deserve more.” He leaned closer and you felt his hot breath on you. “You deserve the world.”

You smiled as he gazed across at you. Your heart leapt as there was a sudden clamour by the stairs and you pushed away from Arvin as Roy stomped into the doorframe. His hand fell away from your back and you tiptoed over to your husband.

“Roy, you’re awake? How ya feelin’?”

“All this goddamn noise you makin’ down here,” he grumbled, “Shut off that dang thing. There’s a game on.”

You flitted away and turned off the Victrola. You looked at Arvin as he watched Roy. He looked irritated and repulsed by the man.

“I gotta do some chores,” you muttered. “You boys enjoy the game.”

“I think I’m just gonna go upstairs,” Arvin tucked his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be down to cook that fish in a bit.”

You watched the younger man leave and Roy turned the dial on the radio. Your husband flopped onto the couch as the commentator’s voice filled the room.

“How about a beer?” He demanded, not asked.

🚬

The day turned to night. Dinner was quiet and tense. Roy didn’t drink as much as the day before but the alcohol made little difference. Arvin was pensive and seemed to lose himself in thought. You were nervous as you thought of the dance and your temperamental husband.

You hadn’t done anything wrong. It was just a dance. How come Roy could spend his days drunk and dozing and you couldn’t do anything you liked?

You cleaned up after supper. Arvin retreated to his room once more as Roy sat in the living room with another bottle and you tidied up. You cleared the last of the mess and looked out into the front room. Roy belched and sneered as he saw you.

“Wife,” he beckoned you forward with two fingers, “What did you do today?”

“Went to church. Cleaned.” You edged closer. “That’s all. I was real worried about you, Roy.”

“Were you?” He snorted and stood as he dropped his bottle on the table. “You didn’t seem too bothered when I came down.”

“What do you mean?” You stopped a foot away from him.

“You and that kid. You get on real well, don’t ya?” He snickered. “You down here dancing.”

“Just a dance, Roy,” you said meekly, “I didn’t wanna be rude.”

“You just wanna be a whore,” he snarled, “Huh? What you doin’ with that boy? I’m your husband.”

“I know, I know that, Roy. I never-- I didn’t do nothing.” You pleaded as he stepped closer. “I was just waitin’ for you to wake up.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he hissed as he grabbed the back of your head and thrust you close to him. “You been doin’ everything but what a wife is meant for.”

He tore open the front of your dress and you cried out. “I’m gonna fuck you and let that boy hear who you belong to.”

“Stop, please.”

“Stop!? This is what you promised me, dear wife.”

You struggled with him as the smell of alcohol on his breath made you cringe. He spun you and shoved you so hard you stumbled back against the couch. You got up as he ambled after you and were knocked back by his fist. You cradled your cheek as you fell onto the cushions.

He pushed you up against the back of the couch and tried to wrench your legs apart. You squeezed your knees together and slapped at him blindly as fear bubbled in your veins. He forced your legs open and knelt on the couch between them. He grabbed your throat as you tried to wriggle away and he struck you again. He never hit your face; he didn’t like people to see what he did to you.

“I’ll show you,” he muttered, “I’ll show you, you little whore.”

He reached for his fly but his face mirrored your shock as he suddenly stilled and for a moment, he froze in time before he fell back onto the floor. Arvin stepped aside to avoid the crash and turned to hit him across the face. Roy’s brow split and began to stream with blood.

Arvin struck him a third time and pointed the gun at his head as he laid prone on the floor. Roy touched the back of his skull as he stared up barrel. The whack from the butt of the gun would likely leave a worse lump than his punches.

“Get up and go.” Arvin growled. “Or I’m gonna smear this carpet with your brains.”

“Are you crazy? This is my house!” Roy barked and pushed himself up. The pistol clicked and Arvin pressed it to his head. 

“It’s her daddy’s house.”

“She’s my wife, boy.”

“You don’t act like no husband,” Arvin said gruffly, “You think I’m scared? Think I haven’t shot a man before?”

“Sure you have, boy.”

“It’s different. You go out and you hunt your bucks and they don’t know what’s comin’, they don’t even know when they shot. But a man, oh he knows to the end. He begs, even if he can’t speak, he does. It’s in his eyes, in the way he gurgles as the life drains from his lips.” Arvin kicked Roy, “And once I pull this trigger, you’ll be begging too but it’ll be too late and there ain’t no words you can say to stop the blood. So you shut up and you go before you can’t.”

You were paralysed on the couch. Your head throbbed as you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. You trembled as Roy stood slowly and winced as Arvin followed his movement with the muzzle of the gun. Arvin followed your husband to the door and you heard the sharp whine of the other before it clattered shut. 

Crickets chirped as dirt stirred beneath feet and you heard the old truck shudder to life. The door snapped shut and locked loudly. Arvin appeared and lowered the gun. You stared at it as he came close. He set it on the table and sat beside you as he touched your face and you winced.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he pulled you against him, “I’m sorry he hurt you. I shoulda-- shoulda been faster.”

“Arv…” Your voice turned to a wisp and you let him hold you.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I got you now.”

[b0rista]

Oh my god, oh my GOD you gave me the most ridiculous brainrot with those hcs of the Titan trio in a gloomy city, I literally haven’t stopped thinking about it all day. If you’re still open for requests, could you maybe write something similar, but with the reader having a crush on bertholdt, or being his s/o in that au? Thank you so much if you do, I hope you have a lovely day! 🥰

— ❝︎ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍! 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐔 𝐏𝐓. 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ; 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐓. ·˚ ༘

♡︎ : PLEASE I'M SO GLAD THAT YOU LIKED ITDK I LOWKEY FELL OFF AT THE END BUT TYTY 🥺 and tbh i was THIS CLOSE 🤏 to turning it into a bert x reader post so you like read my mind PLSKD. and i hope you have a lovely day, too!! 🥺

reader x bertholdt version of this! i suggest reading those headcanons first because i absolutely refuSe to attempt to explain the atmosphere again because i'm illiterate gegsgdgh

if you'd like a music recommendation for when you're reading this, literally just play the band cigarettes after sex and you'll get the vibe i'm tryna put off 😭

also this is long and dragged out and im SORRYYFHF

because there isn't a whole lot to change (other than bertholt's feelings for annie; he's older, so in this version, he's over it entirely), everything will be the same as it was in the first part. the four of you, all living in extremely gloomy territory. you're only close with eachother, and it's the sour scent of cigarette smoke and green tea keeping the lot of you sane. that, and the rain. the sweet, senseless rain.

as before, bertholdt's in his twenties, and currently working as a philosophy professor's assistant. his workplace is at a local community college, where you and the other two occasionally visit.

the same goes for the others, as well— while annie's a policy analyst, reiner's taken up certified training. again, not much is different from the first version, if anything at all. what you do for a living is entirely up to you. as for lodging, you're still sharing an apartment with annie, and the boys still visit far too often than remotely necessary. for such a big city, the four of you don't really get out much. really, if you ever do, it's with eachother. you're a very, very tight-knit posse.

back during your college campus days, you're liking toward bertholdt was merely platonic. after all, not only were the bunch of you focused on your academia, but he was always the quieter sort. back then, you were more close to reiner, and even annie, who's worse. still, that didn't mean the two of you didn't interact quite a bit. whenever you were struggling with your studies, he was always offering to help. if we're being entirely honest, there were quite a few exams that you'd have likely failed if it weren't for his assistance.

now, the two of you have grown far more comfortable with one another. of course, college was years ago. as time went on, you'd managed to get closer to him, and vice versa. all four of you are close, despite you having turned their trio into a quartet only a mere matter of years ago. somehow, it felt as they were waiting for you to join them.

if you read the part before this one, you read the instance of which you were hassled on the subway, ultimately leading to an actual buddy system in your favor. well, your friends claim that it's in your favor, anyway. really, it feels like babysitting. they don't like whenever you board the underground train by yourself, and you've been caught trying once or twice. the first time, it was by reiner, who nearly bit your head off. the second time, it was by bert, who was mildly displeased.

instead of scolding you, though, he only boarded the same train as you, offering to see you home. unlike reiner, bertholdt isn't aggressive, especially towards you. if anything, he's protective. he doesn't like it whenever the lingering eyes of a stranger land on you, and he sure as hell isn't fond of the thought of another man taking you home. if you're the more flamboyant sort, and you're unafraid of a fling or two, he'll be quietly bitter. of course, he'll never tell you what to do with your life. he'll tell you to be careful with who you trust, and to stay safe. he's only one call away.

back to your feelings, though. currently, your quiet crush on bertholdt is rising with every given day. it's a struggle, bearing feelings for a man so closed off. nevertheless, it's uncontrollable. fortunately, your pining towards him is more subtle than it is obvious, so he's yet to actually realize. that, and he's fucking oblivious. annie and reiner, however? they're as observing as they come. they know about it, and while they don't tease you, they do root for you. reiner more than annie, because annie's horrible at that sort of thing. still, 10/10 friends.

as of right now, you have three pieces of bertholdt's clothing in your closet. a sweater, a scarf, and a t-shirt. he hasn't asked for any of them back, so they're practically yours. they were all loaned to you on seperate occasions. and although he'll never tell you, there's an actual reason for why he hasn't asked for them back— one time, while you were wearing his sweatshirt, he caught a brief glimpse of you from afar: you were bringing the collar to your nose, inhaling the bittersweet scent of his cologne, his scent. you looked so pleased, and it fucking melted him. he can't bring himself to take anything back that he gives to you.

cuddling. all of you cuddle, though it's a bit subtle. whenever the four of you gather at you and annie's apartment after a rough week, you all have this moment where for hours, you simply sit in silence, watching the rain pour atop the cityscape from the other side of the balcony. the television is lowly drumming in the background, and glasses of tea mixed with pure whiskey sit ontop of the coffee table behind you. you do this as a group, and it's weirdly cinematic. when annie's head isn't rested against your shoulder, you like to press the bottom of your chin onto the top of bertholdt's head. from behind him, your arms lazily wrap around his shoulders, and he sinks into you. this is such a weekly occurrence, neither of you even think much of it. after all, reiner and annie are falling asleep ontop of one another beside you. when they do, you and bertholdt often have a quiet conversation. it's sweet, and exactly what the two of you need.

one time, he took you to an ice sculpture festival. it was the midst of winter, and there was one showcasing in the city. of course, the other two were invited. however, they both claimed to be "busy," when really, they went out to see a movie so the two of you could actually do something together. that being said, you went as a pair.

it was actually fun, to your surprise. not because of the sculptures themselves, but because of how much bertholdt actually liked them. for being so closed off, he showed quite a bit of interest in them. y'all know he's artsy. you couldn't help yourself— as he was silently gawking over a ten foot sculpture of a roaring tiger, you called him cute.

of course, knowing him, he immediately started to flush. due to the weather, he easily pinned the redness of his cheeks to the cold. you, of course, were smarter than that.

speaking of the cold, you were freezing. while you made sure to bundle up, you didn't think to bring a scarf. the blisteringly cold wind tickled at your exposed neck, earning itself a shiver from you. you may not have thought much of it, but he certainly did.

from directly behind you, you felt a hand move to hold your hair out of the way as a large, burgundy fabric coiled itself around your neck, immediately encasing you in its warmth. glancing both behind and above you, you saw bertholdt, snugly tying his own scarf around you. from the looks of it, he thought nothing of it. you were cold, and he wanted to fix that. still, the brief collision of his palm against your bare skin was enough to make you melt.

cigarette sharing. this is just,, a thing. the entire group does it, you and bertholdt especially. there have been plenty of instances where you've snatched a dart from in between his lips, bringing it to your own. vice versa, as well— he's a bit more gentle with it, though. when he reaches for your lips, he's careful, and his knuckles ever so slightly graze against your face as he tugs the cigarette from out of your mouth. to this day, you debate surprising him with a quick kiss to his hand.

speaking of kisses, several have been placed on your forehead. despite not being an item, after a particular rough moment, bertholdt's incredibly tender whilst comforting you. by your shoulders, you'll be pulled into an embrace, where he'll bury his nose within your hair while quietly reassuring you. using your chin to raise your face, he'll place a soft, sweet kiss on the center of your forehead. it's short, but effective.

this man is your personal umbrella. if it's pouring rain—which it usually is— and you're without coverage, he is your coverage. he'll either pull off his jacket and use it to cover your head from the rain, or you'll be sheepishly pulled into his chest, where he sacrifices his back to keep you dry.

if the two of you ever exchanged your feelings toward one another, it would be through a dramatic, rainy confession.

you likely went first, blurting out what you felt through a flash of frustrated impulse; it was pouring down rain, and somehow, the two of you had gotten into a conflict in the parking lot of bertholdt's apartment complex. now, you were shouting at him, "perhaps it's because i love you, you goddamn imbecile!"

and he just,, stared. you stared in horror, he stared in utter shock. now, the two of you were drenched, and you were absolutely mortified.

after a couple of moments, you would falter. digging into the left pocket of your coat, you would pull out your pack of marlboros— despite the rain, you moved to get a smoke. "fuck this," you said, "i need a cigarette."

however, right as you flipped the top of the pack open, it would be abruptly smacked out of your grasp, rendering you speechless. and before you could even regain those words of yours back, they were quickly halted by the lips of another, shutting you up for good.

with multiple year's worth of pent up emotions, you and bertholdt kiss beneath the weeping sky.

[loneleesoul]

Starker: Party Games Pt. 2

dang, this is turning into a lil story, im loving this and I hope you love it too.

💙💙💙

"Isn't that breaking the rules of the game?" Peter decides to be brave in his last living moments.

"I won't tell anyone." Tony whispers, walking closer to Peter.

He gives in, fear taking over. "Who are you the most afraid of here?" He sighs, not looking at Tony.

To Peter's surprise, Tony laughs. "Seriously? That's so pathetic Parker." He laughs as Peter sends a text to Aunt May to get him.

Ned would forgive him, if he survived this conversation.

"Of course, Ned is so not like that.. I got angry over nothing." Tony shrugs and Peter stares. "You aren't mad now? Aren't you always mad at pathetic poor pitiful Peter Parker?" Now Peter's mad. "You wonder why I said no to getting trapped in a room with you? For one I'm terrified of you and two, that's like accepting you beating me up..letting you beat me up by voluntarily being alone with you. But whatever, you beat me up weekly anyways."

Tony looks a bit shocked and Peter brushes past him to go get Ned. He's fuming, smoke from the ears mad.

He finds Ned talking to the girl he accidentally offended earlier and just drags him away. "We are leaving right now."

And Ned knows well enough to not anger a mad Peter, it mainly ends in frustrated tears actually.

They walk past Tony and walk to May's car. "What happened?" Is May's first words and Ned shakes his head in a warning. "Can we just go home please."

__________

Everyone seemed shocked to see Peter show up at school the next day. Except for Tony, which Peter hadn't seen and was trying to avoid. Some people even asked how he had survived Tony's wrath.

If anything, some could say that Tony was glad to come out of an angry conversation with Peter unscathed. Peter, of course, has never hit anyone or wanted to hit anyone.

Peter nearly makes it through history without Tony, when he shows up seven minutes before the bell rings.

He audibly curses when Tony walks through the door, earning himself a detention. He's glad Tony didn't hear the words "motherfucking shit nugget!!" aimed at him.

"Late Stark, detention." The teacher barks at Tony, who ignores her.

Now's a really good time to use the phrase motherfucking shit nugget.

Tony doesn't say a word or even look at him all class, which shocks Peter.

Ned even notices, and shrugs at Peter across the classroom.

Tony doesn't seem fuming angry like last night, or pissed off like when he speaks to Peter. It's like, the moment he saw him at the party last night he had changed.

Now, Peter's starting to guess what Tony really wanted to do in that room.

Beating Peter up seemed to have made the most sense, but it was a room for that.

There's no way.

There's absolutely no way.

That Tony Stark... could like Peter Parker.

__________

The moment the bell rings Peter follows Ned out, hoping he'd be some form of protection.

Wait, if Tony wasn't mad at him did Peter really need protection?

"Come on Peter, don't be late to detention.. you are already in enough trouble." Ned tries to push him away but Peter's glued to him. "No way dude, I'm waiting until Stark is already in there so he won't sit by me."

Ned rolls his eyes "He's always late though, wanna come over for dinner? My mom's making something she found off of pinterest." He gleams with pride for his mother and Peter laughs.

"Do you mean you found it and showed it to her? I've seen your pinterest Ned, nothing but Beyonce and baking videos." They stand outside the detention room.

"Very funny Peter, now go.. I don't want to be associated with a rule breaking hooligan." He pushes him through the door and walks away.

And just as Peter had hoped, Stark was already in the room. Staring of course as Peter sits far from him.

He takes a seat next to Michelle, who nods at him. "What are you in for?"

"Saying a curse word." He winces, realising how stupid it actually was. She raises her brows at him."I say fuck on the daily and never get reprimanded, what could you have possibly said to get put in here?"

"Motherfucking shit nugget." He whispers, mindful of the few people near them.

Michelle gasps in fake shock. "What a bad curse word, wanna play War?" She pulls out a deck of cards.

"Sure, I'm not that good so it'll be a short game." He admits with a shrug and Michelle looks around the room. "Hey he's pretty cool.. Stark, get over here."

Peter grabs her arm and hisses a menacing "You are the motherfucking shit nugget now."

She smiles as Tony walks over "Yeah MJ?" He pulls a chair up to her desk as she holds up the cards. "War."

"Sure, I'll kick your ass." It's as if Peter isn't here.

That's why he stays silent for the first few minutes. Unsure of what was going on in Tony's mind, he hadn't gotten a beating this week yet. He could slam his head down on the desk, shattering his nose and the teacher wouldn't even notice.

"Peter, go." Tony mutters, waiting for him to put his card down.

So he does realize Peter is here. He places down a card and a few seconds later, ends up losing even more cards to Michelle.

Peter stares anxiously at the few unturned cards in his hand, he was going to lose. "Scared Parker?" Michelle taunts and Peter scoffs. "Sometimes you gotta sacrifice your soldiers to end up winning the battle."

Tony snorts, amused but staying silent. Woah, that's a first. He usually laughs at his pain or struggles.

Peter still loses, all his cards now with Michelle, who wins overall. "Bitch, who kicked your ass? I kicked your ass! Biiiitch, who kicked your ass? I kicked your ass!" She cheers and Tony rolls his eyes. "I totally had that game, and you were totally looking at your cards the whole time." He groans defensively and Michelle tosses the cards all over her desk.

"Loser, 52 card pickup." She points at the splattered pile half on the floor half on the desk. Peter sighs, bending down to get all of the cards from the dirty floor.

"You need to up your game Parker, next time you call someone a motherfucking shit nugget you better have practiced before." She says as he puts all of the cards back in the box.

"Hey, it's technically a game of luck, what cards you get."

Ok something is seriously wrong. Peter stares in wonder, was that Tony defending him. "Is that why you lost? You got bad cards?" Michelle puts the box in her bag and slings it over her shoulder.

"Let's go to dinner, loser over here can pay.. right?" Her eyebrows are raised in a threating sort of way.

"I can't, Michelle I'll buy you dinner some other time. I'm already going over to Ned's." He's mindful of Tony's stare.

Has he always been staring at him and Peter just never noticed?

"This is why nobody likes you, I'll hold you up on that offer.. Toe-knee you are welcome to have him pay for you too." She gives a lame finger-guns snap before walking out.

It's already too uncomfortable for Peter to bear and he stands, chair squeaking awkwardly.

"Peter..." Tony's quiet and Peter pretends to not hear him and he grabs his bag. It's almost been 30 minutes and Peter sees no harm in leaving early.

Aunt May's texted him saying she's outside, and sweet freedom.

Until a hand grabs his wrist, pulling hard.

He stumbles back, legs buckling and he falls into Tony's chest. His muscular arms hold Peter tight, as Peter struggles.

This is it, Tony was holding in all of his rage for now. He was a goner.

"Peter." Tony mumbles, and it's almost like they're hugging.

"Tony please let me go... I'm so sorry for yelling at you just please don't hit me again." He begs, remembering he still had some bruises from last week.

Tony lets him go and Peter turns to face him quickly. "I'm sorry." He's so damn quiet.

"Look.. it's fine, my ride is here and I really need to go." He says, walking backwards slowly. He waits for a reply but is met with staring silence.

He turns and quickly walks out the doors.

__________

Damn it Stark, fucking pussy.

He watches Parker run out the doors and groans.

So weak, just tell the little shit already.

Last night, Peter had opened Tony's eyes. Shocked him to the very core.

He realized that he was seriously hurting him, which should've been obvious.

Besides yes, beating him up, emotionally hurting him. How could Tony not have seen it before? How shy he was, anxiety, never ate, didn't defend himself because he thought everything said of him was true.

I'm such an asshole.

Stuck in the cliché of bullying the person you like.

Peter would never ever want to be with him, it's like he said. "I'm terrified of you..."

It was like Tony had been shot, and he deserved all of the pain.

This boy would never say yes to Tony, ever... He'd think of it as a joke or ask if cameras were around.

He wishes he had his number, or any way to contact him. Spamming him would eventually work.

Maybe treating him like shit wasn't the best approach.

He needs to change.