#shy ford who sweats at the thought of even holding hands

[stupidlittlespirit]

I love Ford being stern and commanding but god…. Gentle, soft!Ford. Lets his guard down, no matter how briefly!Ford. Ford who lets himself laugh. Ford who jokes and smiles and is silly. Ford who loves as deeply as he has always craved to, deep down.

[10millionyearsdungeon]

Praesidium

A/N: Back to our regularly scheduled bullshit...We went into this with zero plan, zero ambition, and came out the other end with something resembling a drabble featuring Hitoshi Shinsou as a hot-shit, Kennedy-esque politician trying to escape from the “family business.” I’d like to thank @dymphnasprose​ for the inspiration, the banner, and for putting up with my crazed plot bunny hunting sessions in her DMs. Proudly part of The Smut Pile Mafia Collab-- huge thanks to @pleasantanathema​ and @present-mel​ for organizing it and keeping us degenerates on time for once. You’re the real heroes.

TW: Wax play, orgasm denial, tobacco use, death threats, graphic violence

=====================================================

You were always used to protection. Your family's name and wealth brought its own Kevlar shield; whether it was the broad shouldered bodyguards flanking you and your entourage during every frivolous shopping excursion or impromptu escape to one of the many vacation homes that dotted the globe, or the mere mention of your father and the weight of his near omnipresence in the highest echelons of high society, protection was almost always guaranteed. You could hear it in the hushed voices of the real estate giants and their trophy wives when you made your grand entrance to every socialite gathering. 

"There she is, Yanai's precious pearl…" 

Dripping in envy and awe, it was no surprise to you when you caught his eye. Heir and only daughter of the wealthiest family in the country, you knew your worth among the elite and so did he. You only knew of Shinsou Hitoshi by virtue of his reputation as a newcomer to the world of national-level politics, but his charm and charisma were undersold by every inch devoted to him in the papers. By all accounts, he left you dazzled by his lazy, almost sleepy smile and the low rumble of his succinct one-liners. 

He played the part of the laid-back Playboy to the hilt, and by the night of your first fundraiser gala Shinsou had you practically eating from the palm of his hand like a hungry stray. By your second date, you could practically taste the Harry Winston hiding in his Tom Ford smoking jacket by the time dessert arrived. Back then you never questioned how he managed to afford the heirloom, four carat diamond he slid onto your finger, nor did it occur to you how he managed to slither his way into the House of Councilors. Blinded by the magnetic sway he held over you and your well-paid collection of sycophants, the how and why seemed largely irrelevant so long as he kept you on his arm. In your waking moments, you could almost catch pieces of a broken conversation from your insomniac lover. 

"Find someone else...I'm done being your enforcer. I have an image to maintain now…"

Many a night he'd stumble in reeking of sweat and sulfur, dark liquor still burning on his lips when he pressed a kiss to your warm cheek as you slept in your shared bed. Morning invariably gave way to bruised knuckles and heavy dark circles as Shinsou hid his fading scars under his slate gray Armani suit. Prior to your wedding night, you thought you caught the rip of his silk and gravel voice grunting from a crooked alley. Following those familiar thunderclap grunts was the crunch of something hard and then a pulpy squilch that made your stomach twist in on itself. The begging that followed was unintelligible from your way to the nightclub, but his voice, your Shinsou's voice snarling a loaded promise of breathing tubes and chronic pain if the offending party didn't pay their due stayed with you until your bodyguard ushered you into the safety of your car. 

"Daddy, I can't do this," you cried. Your father dabbed at your eyes and shook his head at your tantrum. He wouldn't be so blasé about the arrangement or your uproar if he was the one who heard your groom's fist shattering bones just the night before. A vision in white brocade, the four carats on your left hand felt like ten tons weighing you down the aisle as your father all but dragged you to meet your husband at the end. As the crowd rose to receive your grand entrance, you couldn't help but stifle a quiet sob at the sight of Shinsou's surrogate fathers standing in the front pew. Yamada couldn't contain his excitement for his boy, but Aizawa glared on coldly when you met his gaze. Your father kissed your cheek and gave your hands a squeeze before abandoning you before your audience. Shinsou held out his hand, and you choked back another hiccuping sob-- how could you hold those hands the same way when they were capable of such senseless violence? Knuckles cracked and discolored with aging bruises, he groped for your hands and pulled you the extra two steps onto the altar, flashing you that same lackadaisical grin. It was a blur, a bad dream you couldn't wake from. Beyond the sporadic flashbulbs blinking in the crowd, you couldn't pull away from him. 

"I do…" Your voice didn't sound like your own, even as you felt it leave your throat. Shinsou pulled closer and rasped against your lips. 

"This is only the beginning, kitten." 

Kitten...

You couldn't deny how his pet name made you shiver. The single word held a scintillating promise of the night to come, yet all you could focus on were those hands and the crunch of anonymous bones under his blows. Would he ever turn those hands on you? As he gently slid his platinum wedding band over your ring finger, the mate to the ostentatious engagement ring occupying the spot, you melted under the tenderness of his touch. Your Hitoshi couldn't be capable of such violence. Your Hitoshi was a man of change, of reform who wanted to help bring his countrymen into a golden age. Your fingers numbly slid your ring onto your husband's hand and with the action sealed your own fate. The world swam out of view when he overtook you with a blistering kiss, hungry and needy against your lips. He didn't taste like smoke and scotch this time, a flavor you had grown to appreciate the longer you entangled yourself with him. He lingered for what felt like an eternity, the roar of applause and shared joy for the union a soundtrack erasing any fears you might have had prior. 

Your bridesmaids swooned over the intensity of Shinsou’s gaze throughout your opulent reception-- your father sparing no expense when giving away his precious pearl. Shinsou’s family kept to themselves mostly, with Aizawa only stepping from their shadowy corner to address your father over travel arrangements. Hitoshi’s eyes narrowed and that same cocksure grin blossomed over his features as you inched closer, hip pulled closer by that massive hand. “Hey,” you breathed with a soft smile. He returned it in kind and squeezed your hip through the eggshell Vera Wang gown and leaned in to whisper in your ear. Hair slicked back, all that tickled you was the heat from his breath as it fanned against your skin. “I can’t wait to get you out of that, kitten. Gorgeous as you are with it on, the thought of you in nothing but your jewelry has my mouth practically watering.” Predatory gaze amplified by that sex and gravel voice had you melting. He took you by the hand and bade you follow him across the floor of the resort ballroom. Cautiously, you glanced around the room, anxious that someone from the party would notice your sudden escape. Before you had a chance to object, Hitoshi held a finger to his lips and pulled you through the crowd and out of the room. “You really think I can wait any longer when you’re looking like that?” The wait staff cast cursory glances at you and your husband as he continued to guide you away from the noise and bodies keeping him from tearing your gown off and claiming you. “Hitoshi…” you whimpered, pinned with your back to the door of your honeymoon suite. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder and nearly purred at the gasp that left your lips. Fumbling for the key, Shinsou held you from falling into the open door and nudged you over the threshold with an eagerness you couldn’t place. Words were swallowed by hungry mouths and replaced with an exchange of passion tempered only by the quiet frustration of fingering over buttons and parting fabric to unwrap the prize of feeling your skin under his fingertips. Once released from your prison of beaded white silk and delicate lace, Hitoshi pulled away, raking his ultraviolet eyes over your nearly bare frame to further appreciate his prize. 

“Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more perfect.” Instead of shying away from his words, you moved with a certainty that was far from your own. Automatically reaching for his tie, you pulled him down to resume your heated devouring, earning a chuckle and a light spank on your lace-covered cheek in reply. “Impatient, kitten?”

Your fingers worked the buttons of his shirt nimbly, practically digging your nails into his chest just to feel him hiss into your mouth. Tongues waged a war to stalemate status as your husband gave your buttocks a squeeze before hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. Your sex practically drooled against his toned abs through your useless lace panties. The trail of your gyrating on the ridges of washboard muscle pulled wanton moans from your kiss-bruised lips.

“Feels like you are. Drenched for me already. Who knew my heiress was such a needy slut.” You whined under the degradation he heaped on you as he placed you on the pillow-top bed and guided your hands above your head. Shinsou pulled his tie over his head and wrapped it lovingly around your wrists, brushing his lips and teeth along the gently blushing skin along your blue-blood veins as he finished securing you to the headboard. He moved slowly, teasing every inch of exposed skin with languid grace. A panther in human skin, Shinsou sunk his teeth and sucked purple bruises along your ribs and thighs, parting your squirming legs casually. You felt the weight of his wedding band on your inner thigh and wriggled away from the cold of it. Hitoshi tsked from below, grin tugging on his lips as he pulled your panties down with his teeth. Tenderly, he rubbed a sole finger along your drenched folds. You bucked into the sensation and writhed for more, only to have your husband pull away and drag the slick-stained digit along his tongue. 

“Looks like I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, kitten.” He blew on your clit, earning a choked moan. “You’re on my time now.” He withdrew, leaving you to whine for him to return, only to be answered by the closing of the bathroom door. You stared at the gold leaf ceiling, seconds dragging on like hours until he finally returned holding a candle, lit cigarette caught between his teeth. Hitoshi took a drag and guarded the flame from his dark red candle as he took a seat beside your whimpering form. He set the candle on the headboard and gently held your face in his hand, blowing smoke into your mouth. The intimate gesture, sharing the air in his lungs made you swoon. Distracted, you barely registered him removing your bra or how he grazed your pert nipples with scarred thumbs. You opened and melted into his attention, desperate for more. You caught his gaze, eyes glazed over with unadulterated adoration, and let out a strangled wail when the first drops of scarlet wax dripped over your shivering breasts. 

The shock of sudden warmth encasing your tender flesh in candy apple red kept you reeling into the next pour. Your Hitoshi leered above you, rapt in your reactions as he brought his free hand to rest on your bare mons. His long fingers grazing along your sopping clit and the continued dripping of hot wax on your skin had you writhing in place. His dark, rumbling chuckle made your blood sizzle under your skin as he admired his work. 

"I think she likes it," he purred, now moving with intent. Arching into the duvet, you pouted sweetly at your husband, legs gently rubbing together as if it would further entice him to continue. "Who knew my kitten was such a kinky slut?" 

"'Toshi, touch me more!" 

His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline, and he pulled his hand away from your glistening sex. Frustrated whimpers echoing through the suite, you were cut short by another trail of red wax burning down to your navel. He took another slow drag from his slow-dying cigarette and smirked. If it weren't for his hardening cock poking your hip through his tuxedo pants you would have never known how hopelessly he needed every moan and whine he pulled from your tight body. Past games, he would have blinded you, muffled his voice behind black silk and noise cancelling headphones, but tonight was different. 

"Know your place, kitten. You're in no position to make demands."

You bit your lip and stifled another whine as the wax cooled in the mold of your belly button. Shinsou kept the candle hovering just over your bound body, constantly watching you with the same, slow-simmering lust burning in his deep violet eyes. He stopped short over your dripping pussy and licked the nicotine from his lips. You could see the plan unfold in his head before he had a chance to put it in action. Anticipation had every hair tingling as you waited for his next move. Before he could act, there was a stern rap at the door. With all the petulance and frustration of a child forced to share his favorite toy, Shinsou rose from the bed and trudged to the door. 

"Little busy in here."

"Business waits for no one." The intruder's voice was black ice on a fall morning, cold and sharp as Hitoshi shrank back from the door. His shoulders tensed as he scratched the back of his neck, an anxious tic he couldn't shake from childhood. "You can play with your toy when we're done."

"I told you I've gone straight. No more back alley deals, no more blood on my hands. I'm done."

Your blood ran cold and it crept into your belly to make a new home gnawing through the viscera. Unable to make out much more than the broad back of your husband at the door, you strained to listen to the conversation before the cocking of a gun took your breath away. 

"You're done when I say you're done. Never forget who bought you those votes, how you skated into your parliament chair, high councilor." The voice's tone was harsh, mockingly so with an edge of condescension that earned a defeated growl from your Shinsou. The owner of the voice stepped closer, peering over your husband's shoulder with a frigid smirk that nearly made your heart stop. Aizawa raked his dark, abyssal eyes over your exposed body, resting hungrily on your sex drooling into the plum duvet, and turned back to his surrogate son. "Be a shame if something happened to her. All those billions siphoned away…" From your spot on the bed you could feel the noose tightening around both your necks the longer Boss Aizawa spoke. 

"...all to attend a funeral as the dutiful, lovesick widower with his wife's blood on his hands." 

"Enough! That's enough...you win."

Shinsou buttoned his shirt quickly and cast a longing glance over his shoulder at your quiet sobbing. He never wanted you to know the underworld he clawed out of to finally live in the light. It wasn't enough to want change and leave the bloody past where it belonged. Some ghosts had a way of coming back to their old haunts. Tuxedo jacket slung over his shoulder, Shinsou slicked his hair back and turned his back on you, leaving you bound to the headboard with wax, his own Jackson Pollock masterpiece drying on your skin. You could feel your heart breaking with the gentle closing of the door, and the barely audible, "I'm sorry," whispered ruefully by your retreating husband. Protection was something you used to take for granted, but as you found that night and many after, it was something few in your precarious position could do without. 

[s1ut4harrypotter]

savior complex

George Weasley x Fem!reader

this is based on savior complex by phoebe bridgers, my favorite song. it’s not my best work or anything but i sorta liked writing it. I haven’t been able to figure out endings on any of my wip’s so i might put a bunch of stuff out this week but idk. yet another without a happy ending because as usual i’m a piece of shit.

Warnings: sad, angst, mentions of canon character death, not proofread. If there’s anything wrong with it let me know lolz

word count: 2.5k

lyrics in italics/bold

tags: @amourtentiaa

Emotional affair, overly sincere

It’s been almost a year and a half since Fred died. George seems to be getting better, but also more distant. He is happy and joking around again, but he has been going to see Angelina more often. You and George had been dating since your 6th year at Hogwarts, you were going to be together forever. But now, as the days go by, he is getting farther and farther away from you. 

Smoking in the car, windows up. Crocodile tears

You were there for George, through everything. You didn’t shy away from any of it, the nightmares, the rage, the sadness, you were there. You helped him, he had started smoking, you’d find him in his dad's old Ford Anglia, smoking a cigarette, sobbing. you got in, rolled up the windows, took the cigarette, and took him on a drive.

Run the tap til its clear

 We pulled up to a small cliff we used to hang out at during the summer and held him while he cried. We had talked for the whole night, we only left when the sun started to come up. 

Drift off on the floor

You tried to keep him involved with the rest of the world, so you started having monthly movie nights with the rest of his siblings. One night a month, everyone would go to one person’s flat and watch a movie or two. One month, it was your turn to have everyone at your flat, the two of you lived alone in the flat now, since Fred was gone. George hadn’t been sleeping well and ended up falling asleep halfway through the movie. Once everyone was gone, you cleaned up and decided not to wake him. 

I drag you to the shore

Just as you were about to walk into your bedroom, you heard him. George had been having nightmares since Fred died. Some nights you’d make him a potion for dreamless sleep, but tonight the two of you forgot. You sighed and walked back to the living room,

You’re gonna drown in your sleep, for sure

“Georgie” you whispered. “Georgie it’s me, y/n you gotta wake up darling.” he was sweating buckets and breathing heavily. You gently coaxed him awake and walked him back to your bedroom, he started to cry. “I’m so sorry darling” you cooed, as you stroked his hair, trying to get him to fall back asleep.

Wake up and start a big fire, in our one room apartment

He wouldn’t stop crying now, he was hiccuping and mumbling incoherent things into your chest. You were so tired, you were the only one with a job at this point, not that minded, you had just had a long day and needed to go to sleep. 

But i’m too tired, to have a pissing contest.

“George, darling, you need to breathe, take deep breaths, you’re going to throw up if you don’t calm down Georgie.” he had a bad habit of crying until he threw up, then passing out and falling asleep. 

“He’s gone. It’s my fault. I should’ve been there. It should’ve been me.” He hiccupped out, crying harder now. You were on the verge of tears too, you hated how sad he was. 

“No George. You can’t think like that, it wasn’t your fault. Fred wouldn’t want you to feel this way.” you spoke softly into his ear. 

“Don’t tell me what he would’ve wanted y/n” he suddenly got serious. “You didn’t know him like I did.”

“Of course I didn’t know him like you did George, but I like to think that I knew him pretty well, and I don’t think he was the kind of person to want you wallowing in your bed, wishing it had been you instead of him.”

“God y/n can you just go? Please? I want to be alone tonight.” he said, you scoffed. He couldn’t be serious, but you were tired and you didn’t want to upset him more. You slept on the couch that night.

All the bad dreams that you hide.

You were grieving too, you had met Fred first at Hogwarts, then he introduced you to George. You felt like you had been really good friends with Fred, so it really hurt when George said things like that, but you knew he didn’t really mean it. Sometimes he just said things like that when he was upset, you understood, he was hurting. Sometimes he wouldn’t tell you about his dreams, he would just change the subject whenever you asked, you had dreams about Fred’s death sometimes too. You were with him and Percy when it happened, you’d constantly beat yourself up for it, all the things you could have done differently to save George from this pain, but what’s done is done. 

Show me yours and i’ll show you mine

You wished that George would tell you what was going on with him. He had been going through different stages over the past year, at first he didn’t talk at all. You’d walk by his room at night and he’d be mumbling things to himself, never anything you could make out. Then he started telling you how he was feeling, anything and everything that he felt, he’d tell you. You liked it then, even if he was sad and there wasn’t much you could do about it, at least you could be sad together. Now he didn’t tell you anything, he just brushed you off.

Call me when you land, i’ll drive around again.

You loved him so much, there wasn’t much he could do that you wouldn’t take. You were willing to wait for him to get better. You knew he was hurting, you knew it would take time for him to get back to the ‘old George’, if there was even any of him left. You’d never say it out loud, but you knew everyone else was thinking it. When Fred died, he took a big piece of George with him. It brought you so much heartache that he was in pain. You wished you could just bring Fred back, then maybe you could get your George back. But you were willing to wait.

One hand on the wheel, one in your mouth. Turn me on, and turn me down.

You and him hadn’t been intimate in months, you knew George was hurt, and he would only ever think about it on his good days, which were now few and far between. But it was ok, you were willing to wait for him. You loved him. 

Baby you’re a vampire, you want blood and I promised. I’m a bad liar.

Lately you felt as though you never saw the happy side of George. He’d go out during the day, to meet friends from school he said. He’d never say who it was if you asked, but you figured it was just Lee Jordan or someone else he had been close friends with. He was physically and emotionally exhausted when he got home. It was like he used up any energy he had to be happy wherever he was during the day, then when he got home, you were left to pick up the pieces when he shattered.

With a savior complex

You were beginning to get burned out. You had finally gotten some time for yourself to meet up with some friends, and they suggested you break up with George. You simply couldn’t do that. It may be slightly exhausting to keep up with him, but you knew the old George was still in there. They kept telling you it seemed like you had a savior complex, and that George was a lost cause. Deep down, you knew you were probably the only one still holding on to the relationship, but you still loved him so much. You wouldn’t know what to do without him, even if you knew it was practically already over.

George had been getting further and further away, figuratively and literally. He was almost never home, and when he was, he was back to barely talking, occasionally giving you one or two word answers. You’d ask him how his day was and he’d reply with just “good” not even bothering to ask about your day. 

You were fed up with how things were, you wanted to know if at least he was back to his joking self around his friends. You knew it was wrong, but you followed him one day. Turns out he had just been going to the Leaky Cauldron, at first you were worried he just spent the day drinking. But, you waited a few minutes and went in, only to see him kiss Angelina Johnson on the cheek. 

Ok, maybe they were just catching up, they were good friends at school, you knew that. But the longer you watched, the more you realized you weren’t watching two friends catching up. You were watching your boyfriend, the man you had spent the last 5 years of your life with, with another girl. Deep down, you knew your relationship was over, it had been for months, you were just dragging it out because you didn’t want it to end yet. But you didn’t want it to end like this. 

You wanted to scream, cry, hit him, do something. You had thrown away the last year of your life, devoting yourself to helping George feel better. You spent long nights rubbing his back, whispering comforting things in his ears as he cried into your chest. YOU did that, not her. How could he do this to you? After everything you’ve been through together, everything you had done for him. He threw it all away. 

You were distraught. You were thinking irrationally, sending yourself into a spiral. You called in sick for work and walked back to your flat in a daze. You needed to think about this. For a few minutes, you contemplated obliviating yourself, maybe if you just forgot you saw it, went about your relationship as it was before this morning, it’d be ok. But you knew that wasn’t the right thing to do. So you did the only other thing you thought you could do, you conjured some boxes and started packing. 

You spent the day packing every last trace of your belongings, you called one of your friends and told her something happened with George. You didn’t give her any specifics because the optimistic, or stupid, side of you was holding on to hope that you were overreacting, maybe you saw wrong. Maybe, this was a big huge misunderstanding and you could unpack your stuff with George when he got home and live happily ever after. But you knew that wasn’t the case, so you told her you’d tell her when you got there. You finished packing the last of your stuff a few minutes before George got home, it was later than usual. You didn’t want to face him, you thought about leaving him a letter, telling him you saw what he did and not to contact you ever again. But you needed to hear it from him.

He walked in and saw the boxes, confused he walked into the living room and saw you sitting on the couch, just staring off into the distance. 

“Y/n darling? Are you alright.” he asked, confused.

“No Georgie, but I will be.” you whispered back, sadly.

“What’s with all the boxes? What happened?” he asked again. It was like you were a ghost, or someone else. You were there but not really, he could see you’d been crying. 

“What did I do wrong Georgie? What could I have done differently?” you asked, you could feel the tears starting again.

“Darling I don’t know what you’re talking about, did something happen at work?” he said, he was worried maybe you got fired.

You scoffed. “No George, nothing happened at work. I have been so worried about you lately, you seemed to be getting worse and worse. Coming home from god knows where, in a mess of tears. Just coming home for me to clean up, then going out again the next day.”

When he didn’t reply you continued, “I have spent the last 5 years of my life with you George. Completely devoted to you, through everything I supported you.” you laughed bitterly, “I spent all day packing today, trying desperately to figure out where I went wrong. What I did to you, what I could’ve done differently, to make you love me enough. But it wasn’t me was it?” 

“What are you talking about dear? Why were you packing.” he replied.

“God George you’re just not seeing it are you?” You looked at him, bewildered. “I saw you. You and Angelina.”

“Oh” he whispered.

“OH! THATS ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY GEORGE? OH?” You shouted, he could feel himself starting to cry now too. 

“I have spent so much of my time cleaning up after you, taking care of you, loving you. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. I should’ve known. When you started going out more, I told myself, maybe you were just out with friends, when you came home after a long day with Angelina, using up any happiness that you did have with her, who was there to pick up the pieces? ME!” you yelled. 

“I just can't do it anymore George. We’ve been over for a long time, and I need to let you go now.” you trailed off, the last part coming out in a mix between a whimper and a whisper.

“No, darling please let's talk about this!” he begged.

“What is there to talk about George? I saw you, with my own two eyes.” you replied.

“Please baby it was a mistake. I love you so much, please please don’t leave me.” he was begging you, he needed you.

“I can’t George. I’ve spent so much time caring for you, I need time to care for me. I need to get better too. I just can’t do this anymore, there won’t be anything left of me if I keep giving it all to you.”

He broke down next to you, crying. You stood up, ready to disapparate with your things, but he ran up to you and hugged you.

“Please don’t leave me y/n. I’m so sorry! It was a mistake I love you so much.”

“You need to let me go Georgie, I'm sorry. I need to go.” you whispered, calmly removing his arms from their tight hold around your waist.

You whispered a quiet, final goodbye, before disapparating from his flat and to your friends home, you both needed to move on.

[nakedmossy]

Cruel Summer - Part 1 [JJ x Reader]

[A/N: Hi again. I've missed you. It was time for something new. I found this story in a dream. Prepare for a mental trip, it's indicative of the year i've had. This is gonna go in a million different directions and I can't say i'm surprised. Ive written two chapters and i'm already like ...well, fuck it i'm posting it...I needed to get back into writing and this is what I got so enjoy. I have a playlist I used while writing, comment if you want it shared. As always, not that any of us need the reminder....but there will be adult content (whatever that means) and language and NSFW content so...keep me off your screen at the dinner table. Love y'all ...Mossy x]

You ease your car into park, your hand resting on the gear shift, the tires slowly rocking back and forth on the soft ground as the engine dies. Sunlight streams through your windshield as a cloud of dust and sand settles around the car, and you feel a trapped breath release from deep in your chest. The quiet, melodic hum of music relaxes your shoulders and through the trees you can see the water rhythmically hitting the shore.

You haven’t been here in a few weeks and you're starting to feel it; the tight and uncomfortable tensing in your muscles, the locked jaw, the flat expressions. The closer it gets to the anniversary the more you feel the need to visit. But the frequency of your visits is dictated by Her, and She keeps tabs on your whereabouts a lot these days. ‘Its not healthy to spend so much time there’ She would say to you, while pulling a Valium out of her bag to slide towards you. She has your therapist on speed dial on the landline. And she blames you for living in the past. Ironic.

You pull your keys out of the ignition, unbuckle your seatbelt, and let your muscle memory guide you out of the car and through the trees to the edge of the embankment where the sand and the sea grass take over. Flashes of Lacey running down the beach in front of you, looking back over her shoulder and laughing, are burned into your eyelids when you blink. She was everywhere here, every corner of this beach belonged to her. Her towel spread out on the sand at your feet, books with water damaged pages scattered across it, her bag tossed lazily to the side. Her board perched against the log you used to dry out your wetsuits. Her camera.

You close your eyes and listen to the wind move through the grass, her laugh echoing off the rocks. Come on! She would laugh with an outstretched arm. Come take a picture with me.

Her lips were supple and her nose was sun kissed, her hair bleached and tousled from the saltwater. She would motion for you to come over and you would go, because you always did, to fit into the frame next to her, cramming yourself in wherever you could after she found her best angle. She would hold up the camera and wrap her arm around you tightly, the smell of her tanning oil and sweat floating around you in a heady cloud, and at the last moment she would press her lips to your cheek and whisper cheese.

You blink and look at the water again, a seagull squawking as it flies over the empty beach. Reaching into your jeans pocket and feeling for the photo, you pull it out and look down, the moment she clicked the button frozen in time on the paper in your hand. Her side profile was radiant, the wind blowing her hair around her lips which were pressed to your face, you looked straight at the camera with a shy smile, a hidden smile, a quiet smile. An honest smile.

You run your thumb across the picture reflexively before sighing and putting the picture back in your pocket, it was one of the last photos you had together and it was one of the only ones you could clearly make out your own face. That always bothered you. Now you’ll never forget how happy we were today. I love you. She shook the polaroid until it was developed, then pressed it into your chest and winked, waiting for you to grab ahold of it, before turning on her heal and running towards the water.

Your chest burns for a moment before you straighten up and set your jaw. You feel good today, closer to her than usual. Today might be the day. You follow the path through the dunes towards the water and concentrate on the tide, watching the foam and the water snake along the shoreline. It’s windy, but not as windy as it usually is this time of day. The sky, clear and clean of any clouds, is the colour of blue that reminds you what happiness is. Or was, you know, before all the shit happened. When life was something you had the ability to process, sometimes even enjoy.

Now or never. Your head whips up at the sound of her voice and you see her, standing in the water. You feel the blood rush to your face, your core warming. There she is, running a hand up her stomach towards her chest and smiling at you, the kind of smile that would get good people into bad situations.

Slowly you slide your sneakers off and kick them aside, wiggling the sand between your toes. You’re not wearing a bikini but the beach is empty, so you close your eyes and listen to Lacey laughing from the water, come on scaredy cat, nobodies looking, as you peel your top off and drop it into the sand beside your shoes. You unbutton your shorts next and let them slide down your legs, stepping out of them hesitantly.

Lacey walks out of the water, so you keep your eyes closed, knowing if you open them she will be gone, and you wait for her to bite her lip and smile at you. There. Look at your body. You’re beautiful. Come on. She guides you towards the water with nothing but her own bare skin and confidence, nothing could ever touch her. You know its only a few steps until your feet are in the water, you should open your eyes and look around to make sure nobody is watching, but you don’t get to see her often anymore between the Valium and the other stuff, so you forgo it for a few more seconds. Today is the day, you have to do it. Time is running out. She’s all but told you as much.

“I miss you” You say, but your voice sounds foreign and it breaks and scatters into the wind.

Im right here. Lacey smiles at you like she always did, her crooked dimpled grin, her perfectly straight white teeth, her eyes shining. Now shut up and get in the water.

You feel the warm dry sand turn to wet firm sand beneath your feet, you know you’re close. It’s ours, all of it. The water. Just let go and let the Ocean carry you. You’re weightless. Isn’t it perfect?

Your breathing is shallow and your palms are clammy. There’s a tingling sensation in your thighs and you feel dizzy. You have to open your eyes. No, don’t. Not yet. Stay with me.

The water touches your toes and your eyes shoot open, you recoil and lose your footing, falling backwards. You crab crawl away from the water until the tide retreats and you feel your vision tunnelling as Lacey fades into the sunbeam above the water.

You scramble back to your clothes and pull your shorts above your sand stained underwear, your shirt smoothing your hair down as it settles back over your shoulders. You take a few deep breaths until your heart rate slows down. A tear springs up and sits in your eye for a few moments before falling and drying on your cheek. The beach is the best place to cry. The ocean is loud so nobody hears you, and the sun is hot so the tears dry fast.

You don’t want to turn around and look back at the water, you know she won’t be there. You’re alone, properly alone, just like she said you would be, psychic bitch. If she hadn’t been so charismatic and beautiful and conveniently wealthy, people would have outcasted her for being a freak a long time ago. What with all the tealeaves and palm readings and ‘gut feelings’. But they never did, her family had more money than the Kennedys and she looked like she walked runways for fun on the weekends, so she was untouchable. Your stomach starts to turn as you think about it so you blink the ground in front of you back into focus and start walking.

You have a few minutes of freedom left before She starts calling and asking where you are, so you walk slow to savour it. Who knows when you would be allowed out long enough again to go back.

You emerge from the tree cover into the parking area, pondering how many different routes you can take to get home to elongate the drive, when you hear a car door close. You look up, pulled from your thoughts, and squint to see through the bright sun.

“‘Scuse me!” A voice says, deep and friendly. A silhouette is moving towards you, so you bring your hand up to block the sun from your eyes. “Hey, sorry, do you live around here?”

You blink a few times as the silhouette gets closer and make out the figure of a tall man with wispy hair and baggy shorts.

“Sorry?” You reply, still trying to get a clear image.

“Im just trying to find the Marina but I have taken at least 5 of these side roads and all I keep finding is empty damn parking lots.” The man stops a few feet from you, close enough that you can make out a tan face with a toothy grin, and blonde hair. “First one with a pretty girl though, so I must be going the right way.” He smiles at you confidently, shielding his own eyes from the sun, but still squinting.

You look back over your shoulder to the beach, confirming Lacey is gone. You turn and look at the man who is watching you intently, hopefully, and smile quietly.

“Yeah, it’s uh…its just back on the main road, go 3 clicks south and take a right at the fork. You’ll see a fancy sign for a beach club, it’s just past that.” You look past him to the old Ford truck with rusted wheel wells and smile to yourself. “Assuming you’re not going to the beach club.”

The man laughs and smiles, looking over your shoulder at the beach before his eyes settle back on you. “Nope. Never been to one of those…legally.” He winks and backs up a few steps, then nods and says “Thanks” before turning and walking back towards his truck. He slows as he reaches it and stops, then turns back and pivots before jogging back to you.

You wait and watch, curious. He stops a few steps away and stretches out his hand.

“Sorry. That was rude of me. Im JJ.”

[princess-of-riviaa]

Meet Me, Love Me chapter 2: daddys_pr1ncess

Chapter 1: The Lieutenant

Pairing: Walter Marshall x OFC (Erin)

Series Summary: After meeting a woman on the dating site Meet Me, Love Me, Walter finds himself falling into a messy web of lies, deceit, and heartbreak.

Chapter Summary: Erin does her best to stay professional around Lieutenant Marshall, which doesn’t last for very long.

Warning(s): masturbating, spanking, slight angst

Word Count: 2,488

“Valdez, you’re with Lieutenant Marshall today,” Officer Romero says before continuing down her list of every intern’s daily task.

Erin’s eyes pop. Today is her first day of field training. She’ll get to be front and center to all the action, which is the entire reason she signed up to be an intern in the first place. She’s been looking forward to this day for weeks. But why are they sending her out with a lieutenant instead of a cop with a lower position and less important things to do? And why, of all people, did it have to Walter she’s paired up with?

“You’re the guy I’ve been sexting for the last month,” she’d said that day in the restaurant as she realized that Lieutenant Walter Marshall was the.lieutenant, AKA the man she’d been calling daddy for the last three weeks. She’d never wished to be swallowed up by the earth more than she had in that moment. “Wait--you’re the guy who’s been sexting me!”

Holy shit.

She spent her mornings taking this guy’s coffee order and her nights making videos for him to jerk off to. How the hell was she supposed to show her face at work now that she knew what his dick looked like, had practically memorized every detail of it after all the pictures he’d sent her of his hard-on?

“What the hell do we do now?” she had asked, not necessarily to him, but to anyone who was listening and had the slightest bit of an answer.

“The only thing we can do.” There’s a reluctance in Lieutenant Marshall’s--Walter’s voice that she’d never heard before.

For some stupid reason, she let herself hope. Hope that he would say something along the lines of I know this is probably breaking twenty HR rules but let’s keep talking anyways, now do you wanna go to my place and fuck? Call her a hopeless romantic, or a stupid idiot. She’s not sure there’s much difference. But her chest had tightened and her heart had fluttered in those few seconds between his sentences.

And then he said: “We can’t do this anymore. We have to stop talking right now. Neither one of us knew who the other was when we started this… this… whatever this was. But it’s over. It has to be.”

Of course, she understood why he did it. Not only was it wrong to keep doing it while they worked together, but he was about ten positions above her, and that made it even worse. He had to save his job and his reputation.

She understood the logic behind it. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Now, a week later, she’s being assigned to him for the day. The wound is still fresh. She still finds herself reaching for her phone to text him, only to stop herself when she opens the app and sees his username. She still reads their texts as she's lying in bed at night, feeling like a clingy idiot. They no longer riled her up now, they only make her start to cry. It’s stupid, she knows that. It wasn’t a real relationship. But she misses having him there, misses talking to someone at all hours of the day. So how the hell is she supposed to act professional around him today?

Once Officer Romero has given her instructions, Erin walks up to her and says, “Sorry, but I thought--”

The older lady holds up a hand, silencing Erin. “First, don’t ever start a sentence with ‘sorry, but..’. If you’re going to say something, you gotta mean it. I expect that kind of confidence in you before you pass your training.”

Erin nods. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. I mean… uh, I was just…”

Someone calls Officer Romero’s name and she excuses herself. Just as she starts to walk down the hall she passes Walter on his way in. She tells him that Erin is going to be under him today and--god, what is wrong with her for finding something dirty in that?--Walter stops in his tracks. He looks around the room until he spots Erin. She tries to give an apologetic smile but it feels more like a grimace.

This is going to be a long day.

An hour later, Walter has settled in, scanned through paperwork, had his three cups of black coffee, and Erin decides it’s time to head down to his unmarked Ford Explorer and wait for him. She’s in an actual police uniform today--normally she’s in sweats and a police t-shirt--and though it’s something that would make her giddy with excitement, the thought of spending her first day out in the field with Walter is killing her buzz.

Walter doesn’t say anything as he makes his way to his car and hits the unlock button on his keys. Erin slides into the passenger seat. Walter turns on the car and adjusts the AC and the police radio without even acknowledging her presence.

“So, I want you to know that I didn’t do anything,” Erin explains. “I didn’t say anything to anyone, Officer Romero just randomly assigned me to you--”

He silences her with a look.

She hesitates before adding, “I just… don’t want you to think that I’m not respecting your wishes. I’m not trying to make your job harder for you.”

His expression slightly softens. Slightly. 

Erin doesn’t let her mouth get away from her this time. The car is tense and silent as Walter switches into drive and heads off down the highway. Erin doesn’t know where they’re going but he looks like a man on a mission so she doesn’t question it.

They spend the first two hours in silence. No calls come in. They just sit on a part of the highway directly between the two biggest cities in the area and wait for a call on the radio that never comes. Neither one of them speaks. Walter finally speeds off down the highway around eleven. Erin thinks he’s been notified of a crime that she isn’t aware of, and is slightly disappointed when they pull into a McDonald’s drive-thru.

“What are we doing here?” she asks.

He ignores her as he pulls up to the window and orders half the menu. He doesn’t even ask if she wants anything before finishing the order.

“Walter?” she asks, then quickly corrects herself. “Er, Lieutenant Marshall?”

He still ignores her. Once he’s paid and gotten the three bags of food, he drives back to their waiting point along the highway. Erin can only stay quiet for a few more minutes.

“I’m putting in a complaint when we get back to the station,” she tells him.

He finally looks at her, giving her a look that says, why the hell are you going to do that?

She just stares at him with a look of her own. If you want me to explain myself, you’ll have to talk.

“Why are you putting in a complaint?” he sighs.

“You’re being completely unprofessional.” Normally she’d be too shy to speak to an officer like this, but she’s had enough of the stupid chip on his shoulder. Plus, he’s seen her naked, so there’s nothing left to be shy about with him.

“I’m not doing anything,” Walter protests.

“Exactly!” Erin agrees. “The point of taking me with you is to teach me stuff. We’ve already wasted half our shift and you’ve taught me nothing, except that you eat enough for a family of four!”

“I only eat once a day,” Walter argues, like that changes anything.

Erin rolls her eyes. “That’s not the point.”

“And what is your point? Do you actually have one or do you just feel like yelling?”

“My point is that you’re discriminating against me,” she says. “You’re letting the whole ‘Meet Me, Love Me’ thing get in your head and you’re using it as a wall between us. You can ignore me for the rest of your life. Fine. But not today. You don’t get to not teach me just because you regret our relationship. So act professional and teach me, Walter!”

He doesn’t say anything. Erin opens her mouth to yell at him some more, when she recognizes the strange new look on his face. His eyes are glazed over and his mouth slightly parted as he stares at Erin’s mouth like he’s under a spell. Erin’s face burns as she realizes what he’s no doubt thinking about: she likes to be a brat sometimes just to get a reaction out of him. He punishes her accordingly every time, but it’s the hottest thing to both of them. Walter loves laying down the law--his law--and Erin loves being punished. Intense heat wets her panties and she squeezes her legs together. He notices. His gaze jumps to her legs immediately and he fucking licks his lips. Is he trying to kill her?

“Walter--” she says, her voice shaking, but Walter’s phone goes off before she can say anything else.

He answers the call and, just like that, the moment is over.

“I’m needed back at the station,” he explains as he hangs up the phone. That’s all he says for the rest of the drive.

…

That night, after enjoying a couple glasses of wine, Erin locks herself in her room, away from her roommates, and decides to watch Pornhub on her laptop. She hasn’t needed to do this in a while; usually sexting with Walter is enough to make her satisfied. So having to look up adult videos is just another bitter reminder that whatever they had--a fling? A relationship?--is done. She may or may not have pulled up her Meet Me, Love Me messages with Walter beforehand, reading through their own conversations as a strange form of roleplay.

What she does do, however, is hit the record button on her phone without realizing. Once she shuts her phone off for the night, it automatically stops recording. And somehow, either through her tipsiness or her fatigue, she hits send. The video of her masturbating--and moaning Walter’s name as she cums--goes straight to the lieutenant himself.

…

The next morning, Walter drags her into a windowless janitor’s closet, his nails digging into her arm. He’s never been rough with her before--occasionally he’ll use harsh words when she’s been acting like a brat, but they’ve never been in physical contact for this to happen, and she has a strange and possibly psychotic gratefulness that his touch will leave bruises on her arm, a reminder that he’s not just some figment of her imagination.

“What kind of game are you playing?” he growls in a whisper-shout, cautious of the people on the other side of the door.

She has no idea what he’s talking about. She says as much.

“Don’t play dumb with me, you dirty little brat,” he spits.

Erin’s going straight to hell for the way those words--and his angry growl--sends heat straight to her core.

Walter continues, “That cute little speech you gave yesterday about wanting to stay professional… you don’t get to say shit like that and then send me videos like the one from last night.”

“What video are you…?” And then it hits her. She has no memory of sending him anything, no memory of even making a video. “Walter, I didn’t mean--”

He takes a step towards her, his shoes now flush with hers. Their chests brush against each other with every inhale. Erin has to crane her neck all the way back to look him in the eye. Dominance radiates off of him, as strong as his cologne, and fuck does it make her wet. She tries to keep her breathing steady, to not make it obvious that her heart is racing, but it gets harder the longer he looks at her with that anger in his eyes. It’s as terrifying as it is arousing.

Walter puts his hands on either side of her head, trapping her. His face is so close to hers that she can feel his breath against her cheeks. “You moaned my goddamn name when you came. You said my name--and you’re really trying to stand here and convince me that you hadn’t meant that video for me?”

“Walter--” Erin begins, her voice shaking, but she can’t get anything more than his name out before his hands are on her hips and he’s spinning her to face the wall. He presses his body against hers. His warmth envelopes her but it makes her shiver. She wants him. God, does she want him. She’d willingly let him fuck her right here and now, damn whoever might walk in on them.

“My name,” he growls in her ear, “is Lieutenant, got it?”

“Yes,” she whimpers. It’s taking every ounce of self-control to not beg him to fuck her. She can feel his erection against her ass; this is just as exciting to him. She wants that cock inside of her, moving between her walls and teasing her pussy, splitting her open as he enters her, fucking her so hard that she can’t walk after.

“Yes, what?” he spits.

“Yes, Lieutenant.” Her arousal is already soaking her panties. She wonders if he can smell it, the way she can smell his arousal.

“Good girl.” He’s really trying to kill her, isn’t he? He knows exactly what that praise does to her, how it makes her weak in the knees. “Now be good and don’t scream.”

Erin pauses, but before she can ask what he’s doing he yanks her pants down. She gasps, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as the cool air hits her asscheeks. And then she gasps again--for an entirely different reason--when Walter begins to knead her cheeks in his hands.

Her Latina heritage blessed her with curves, which includes a big butt. She used to be embarrassed of it her entire life. And then she started dating guys and realized they like touching her big butt as much as she likes it being touched. But Walter’s hands are big enough to make her feel small, even as he touches the biggest part on her body, and that does something to her that she’s never experienced. Something she can’t explain but she knows she likes.

And then he spanks her. His hands come down roughly on both of her cheeks and she gasps, more at the sound than the pain. But when the sting finally registers, it’s not completely unbearable. In fact, there’s something about the way her skin burns that makes it… addicting. She wants him to spank her again.

And he does.

Three more times, on each cheek. He doesn’t bother to be gentle with her. The masochist in her loves it.

And later, as she feels the ghost of his hands with every passing second, she smiles to herself. That video had been sent on accident, but she’d do it over again in a heartbeat.

***

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[prettyboy-parker]

i’ll be waiting for you in san junipero (but only if you want me to)

if you haven’t seen the black mirror episode, read on AO3 for a short introduction. if you have, continue!

words: 6.5k

warnings: nff, drinking, smoking, terminal illness, past stony, character death (not detailed), and semi-public sex

spotify playlist

1987

Pink and purple light floods over the hot mass of bodies in the center of the club, shouts of laughter filling the stuffy air. Bananarama’s one-hit-wonder “Venus” blares from the speakers, the bass giving the club its own heartbeat. The flashing Tucker’s sign makes Peter flinch as he slips inside. Someone blows cigarette smoke into the open, which makes him cough and wave the smoke away.

“S’cuse me,” He squeaks, pushing past a preppy-dressed man talking lowly to a bubble gum popping woman. They both look up at him in annoyance before turning back to their conversation. Peter grimaces and wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans. He weaves his way around the people mulling about and slips over to the bar.

The bartender doesn’t see him at first, too busy fixing a drink for another patron. But the blonde eventually notices him, and Peter gives him a shy smile.

“What can I get for you?” The man asks, his smile tight. There’s a tired lilt to his voice, and Peter nearly feels bad for him. 

“Um, just a Coke, please,” He squeaks, nervously resting his hands on the bar counter. He yanks them away right after, settling on hanging them by his sides.

“Just a Coke? Not like, a rum and Coke?” The bartender asks; his face twisted sourly.

“Just a Coke,” Peter repeats with a nod. The man grimaces and pulls out a chilled glass of Coca Cola.

“Thanks,” Peter says, but the bartender is already out of earshot.

“Fuck off, dude! I sucked you off last week!”

Peter’s heart jumps and he spins around, pressing his back against the wood of the bar.

A man is heading towards him, and he’s moving very quickly.

He has a disgruntled look on his face, and his big brown eyes are narrowed in annoyance. Peter feels the moisture leaves his mouth when he sees the man’s sharp collarbones peeking out from the collar of his printed shirt. The man stops short next to Peter and slings his arm around the shorter’s shoulders.

“Pretend like you know me,” The man murmurs into Peter’s ear, sending shivers down the boy’s spine.

“Tony! What are we, kindergarteners? Talk to me!”

Another man, a little younger (yet taller) than Tony, emerges from the crowd of people.

“Leave me alone, Stephen. I don’t do seconds.” Tony grumbles, rolling his eyes. His arm is heavy on Peter’s shoulders, and the brunette is woozy at the feeling of Tony’s side pressed against his.

“You don’t do seconds?” Stephen scoffs, stopping in front of the two. “I think Maya would beg to differ.”

Peter can feel Tony tense up against him.

“Go away, Stephen. I’m trying to have a conversation,” The man spits, tucking his free hand in the back pocket of his jeans. Stephen looks at Peter warily.

“Oh, really? Or are you just looking for another fuck?”

Peter can feel heat creep onto his cheeks.  Tony throws his head back and laughs.

“Fuck off. He’s an old friend from college,” Tony tells Stephen, giving Peter a pat on the bicep. Stephen looks like he doesn’t believe a word that came out of Tony’s mouth, but he still walks away with a huff.

“Jesus, a guy can never get a break around here,” Tony mutters angrily, slipping his arm off of Peter’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry he was being an ass,” Peter says softly, anxiously rocking on his heels. Tony shrugs.

“I can’t blame him. Who wouldn’t want piece of this?” Tony jokes, a goofy smile on his face as he gestures to himself. Peter chuckles and shakes his head.

“Anyways, I’m Tony,” The other man says, sticking out his hand. Peter takes it and gives it a loose shake. “And you are?”

“Peter,” The brunette replies before dropping Tony’s hand.

“ Peter ,” He repeats, and Peter melts at the sound of his name coming from those plump lips. Tony’s eyes flick down to his glass.

“Rum and Coke?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Just a Coke,” Peter says bashfully. Tony gives him a funny look, but still smiles.

“You’re cute,” He purrs, voice quiet under the music of the club. Peter’s stomach churns and he lets out a breathy laugh. The smaller man puts his drink on the counter. “Let’s dance. You wanna dance?”

“Oh, I don’t-“

Tony grabs his hand before he can finish and pulls him into the throng of dancing people. Peter yelps in surprise, but allows the man to whisk him away. Tony’s hand is warm and a little bit sweaty, yet Peter doesn’t mind.

“I love this song!” Tony shouts when “She Blinded Me With Science” by Thomas Dolby plays from the speakers. The crowd cheers and Tony grabs Peter’s other hand.

It's poetry in motion

She turned her tender eyes to me

As deep as any ocean

As sweet as any harmony

Tony sways his hips back and forth in time with the music. Peter laughs softly, standing stiffly.

“Come on, loosen up!” Tony tells him, grinning wildly. Peter tries to sway his body like Tony, but he just feels stupid. The other man doesn’t seem to notice, because he moves closer to Peter.

Mm, but she blinded me with science

She blinded me with science

And failed me in biology, yeh yeh

“There you go! Don’t ever say you can’t dance,” Tony yells over the music, running his tongue over his bottom lip. A giggle bubbles from Peter’s throat.

Now uh, huh huh

When I'm dancing close to her

Blinding me with science, science

Science

“I think we should go get some air,” Peter calls out, swinging him and Tony’s hands side to side. “It’s really hot!”

Tony finds that funny and laughs. As the song comes to an end, the two weave their way back through the crowd. Tony steers him past the arcade machines and to the peeling back door.

“Fuck, it’s like an oven in there,” Tony groans once they get outside, the door shutting behind him with a heavy thud. Peter watches him slip a cigarette and a lighter out of his back pocket.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect it to be so hot in there,” Peter says, leaning against the brick wall of the club. Tony places the end of the cigarette in his mouth.

“Expect?” Tony asks, giving him a funny look. “Is this your first time here?”

Peter avoids Tony’s gaze and looks at his Vans.

“Yup,” He murmurs, awkwardly fiddling with his belt. Tony reaches out and encases Peter’s wrist with his fingers. The brunette holds his breath as Tony runs his thumb over his wrist.

“How about we head to mine?”

Peter’s heart stops in his chest.

And then, he yanks his hand away.

“No!” He exclaims, but immediately regrets it when he sees the look on Tony’s face. “I mean, I would, but-“

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” Tony says coolly. He flicks the lighter and brings the flame to his lips. “It’s almost midnight, anyways.”

***

One Week Later- 1987

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Bright smile. Honey-smooth voice.

Peter scans the crowd for Tony, eyes flicking over the sweaty bodies. He doesn’t see him right away, and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Tony has been on Peter’s mind all week since their first meeting. Over much thinking (and internal bickering), he’s decided to find Tony again.

He hasn’t fucked anyone since his 20’s, okay?

San Junipero is advertised as a getaway, a place where you can do whatever you want-without repercussion. He would have waited to get to know Tony more before even kissing him, but Peter quickly learned that’s not how they roll here.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he shuffles around the edge of the dance floor. Half of him wants to run and find somewhere on the beach to sit and mull, but the other half yearns to find Tony.

And there he is.

Peter stops in his tracks, right next to the cluster of arcade games. He spots Tony nestled on one of the pink vinyl seats, looking bored as a girl with big hair talks to him. He looks good, his hair slicked back and a cherry red letterman jacket wrapped around his broad frame.

Tony looks up.

Peter’s breath catches in his throat when their eyes meet. Tony’s doe eyes go wide, and Peter gives him a shy wave. The older man says something to the girl next to him before getting up and weaving his way around the crowd.

There’s a small smirk on Tony’s face when he approaches Peter.

“I’ve changed my mind,” The smaller man says. “I-I want you.”

Tony grins like the cat that got the cream.

“I knew it,” He murmurs, stepping closer to Peter. He reaches out and gently brushes Peter’s bicep with his hand. “Everyone gets the first day jitters.”

Peter laughs, but his heart pounds against his rib cage. Are there the second day jitters, too? Tony shuffles a little closer and wraps one arm around his waist.

“I’ve got a little place next to the ocean. You ready to go?”

Poor old Johnny Ray

Sounded sad upon the radio

But he moved a million hearts in mono

Our mothers cried, sang along, who'd blame them

Peter smiles as the wind tousles his curls, glancing over to Tony. The older man winks and revs the engine of his Mustang. ( “1983 Ford Mustang Convertible, baby. The best out there,” Tony had said, but Peter was too lost in his eyes.)

“Almost there, sugar!” Tony shouts over the wind, taking a particularly sharp left. Peter shrieks as they lean to the side.

You're grown (so grown up)

So grown (so grown up)

Now I must say more than ever

(Come on, Eileen)

Too ra loo ra too ra loo rye aye

And we can sing just like our fathers

“Holy shit, be careful!” Peter yells, but there’s no fear in his voice. Tony laughs, loud and bright and warm . He reaches to the side and tucks his hand over Peter’s thigh.

Come on, Eileen, oh I swear (what he means)

At this moment, you mean everything

You in that dress, my thoughts I confess

Verge on dirty

Ah, come on, Eileen

Tony eventually slows his speed when they reach the beach, passing the clumps of twirling sea grass and sand dunes.

His house is very cute.

It reminds him of the old beach house they would rent on the shores of Long Island, a desperate attempt at a picture perfect vacation while his mother was dying. The house is a watered down blue color, weathered from the sun and the sand. There’s no decorations, no plastic flamingoes, no welcome mat. But it’s cute.

“Home sweet home,”  Tony sings once he shuts off the car. Peter laughs softly before unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Oh, you might want to take your shoes off now. The sand can be a bitch.”

“True,” Peter replies, undoing the laces of his sneakers with shaky hands. Tony does the same, then swings open the car door. Peter tucks his socks into his shoes and climbs out the car. The sand feels nice between his toes; soft and smooth.

Peter follows Tony into his house, glancing over his shoulder when they clamber up the porch steps. The city glows behind them, tiny lights dotting the landscape.

“Slow poke!” Tony laughs, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. He wraps his hands around the younger’s waist and pulls him inside. Tony kicks the door closed and Peter drops his shoes on the ground. With a flash of bravery, he rests his hands on Tony’s chest. The older man lets out a breath, and their lips are so close that the air hits Peter’s.

“I wanna kiss you,” Peter blurts, leaning closer into Tony’s touch. The corner of the man‘s mouth twitches.

“Then kiss me.”

Peter presses his lips to Tony’s. He does it a little too forcefully, too enthusiastically, because Tony stumbles backwards. He regains his footing though, and kisses back happily. Peter squeaks when Tony squeezes his ass.

“ Tony ,” Peter breathes as Tony moves his wet lips down his cheek and to his jaw.

“I’ve been thinking about getting my hands on you,” Tony grumbles against his warm skin. The feeling of his teeth makes Peter shudder. “When I saw you at the bar, I needed to get you in my bed.”

Peter lets out a shaky moan at Tony’s words, hips stuttering when he sucks a bruise onto his neck. Peter can feel the hard outline of Tony’s dick against his thigh.

“S-Speaking of that bed,” The smaller man stutters, tangling his fingers in Tony’s hair.

“Right over there,” He replies, gently grabbing Peter’s hands and removing them from his hair. The brunette giggles as Tony guides him to the bed, the bed that’s, for some reason, pushed against the living room windows. When Tony sees the look on his face, he smirks.

“I like everything in one room, baby. Except the toilet.” He explains while he gets Peter onto the bed. Peter laughs and kisses Tony again, letting the older man push him so he’s lying down. The pressure of his crotch against Peter’s makes the younger man moan against Tony’s lips. He tries to grind upwards, searching for relief against his aching cock.

“Get this fuckin-this shirt off,” Tony growls, yanking at the hem of Peter’s shirt and pulling it over his head. Tony sits upwards, shucks off his jacket, and takes off his own shirt, throwing it onto the ground. Peter’s mouth goes dry as he eyes the trail of dark hair that leads to Tony’s... yeah . Peter reaches out and touches his navel.

“Ngh, fuck,” Tony groans, hurriedly unbuckling his belt and pulling it from the loops. Peter’s chest heaves as he undoes his belt. Tony rolls to the side, unfortunately off of Peter, and starts to take off his shoes. Peter shimmies out of his jeans awkwardly, whimpering when his hand brushes over his rock hard cock. 

“Pete,” Tony breathes after he takes off his jeans.

Peter pulls Tony into a kiss by his neck. The older man groans and cups both of Peter’s cheeks. The brunette reaches down and gently squeezes Tony’s dick through his cotton boxers.

“Shit!” He hisses, and in a sudden move he pulls Peter’s boxers down his pale thighs. Peter sighs when his cock is finally freed, bobbing in the cool air. It’s still the same smaller-than-average size as real life, unfortunately. But Tony’s cock is big, thick and veined and leaking precum.

“Look at you,” Tony coos, wrapping his tan fingers around Peter’s length. He lets out a high pitched whine at the friction and slick sound. “All this for me?”

“ Y-yes ,” Peter pants, tangling his fingers in the sheets. Tony shuffles closer so his own cock is lined up against Peter’s. The sight is absolutely filthy.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m really close,” Tony groans, beginning to stroke both himself and Peter at the same time. Peter’s hips jerk upwards, making his cock rub against Tony’s

“ Tony ,”  Peter cries, falling forward and mouthing at the older man’s neck. For the next couple of moments, the sounds of grunts and moans fill the room. The up and down motion of Tony’s hand makes Peter’s gut curl, and before he knows it-

“Fuck!” Peter shouts as his balls tighten and he spills his release over Tony’s hand. Tony breathing picks up as he nears his climax, using Peter’s cum to slick his own cock. With a loud moan, Tony reaches his orgasm.

“Baby,” Tony mumbles once he catches his breath. Peter lets out a breathy laugh as Tony flops down on the bed. The younger man does the same, lying so close that their noses almost touch. Tony smiles, and the way his gorgeous eyes crinkle make Peter feel all warm and fuzzy.

“That was- s’really good,” He slurs, reaching out and barely grazing Tony’s cheek with his fingertips. His skin is warm, flushed a sweet pink.

“Damn right it was,” Tony laughs, wrapping his clean arm around Peter’s waist. “Do y’know what time it is? I cant remember when we left the bar.”

“It’s almost-“

Peter jolts upwards, the gentle beep of the monitor filling his ears.

“Midnight.”

*** Another Week Later- 1990

Strike a pose

Strike a pose

(Vogue, vogue, vogue)

(Vogue, vogue, vogue)

Peter awkwardly tucks his hands into the pockets of his overalls, breathing heavy from his trek around the club. He’s looked everywhere and he just can’t find Tony. He knows he’s being clingy and weird, but Tony has been constantly on his mind.

Look around, everywhere you turn is heartache

It's everywhere that you go (look around)

You try everything you can to escape

The pain of life that you know (life that you know)

Peter spots the man from a few weeks ago standing by the bar. What was him name again? Stefan? Steven?

Stephen!

Peter, although a little too enthusiastically, rushes down the small set of steps to the tall man. He doesn’t look up right away, of course, but he does when Peter calls out his name.

“Do I know you?” Stephen grunts, narrowing his ice blue eyes. Peter smiles warily.

“Have you seen Tony?” He asks, chewing on his bottom lip.

“No,” Stephen replies, a sour look on his face. He takes a sip of his beer. “You too, huh?”

Peter feels his stomach lurch.

“I-I don’t know. I guess I’ll go now,” He mutters. Stephen raises his hand.

“Try looking somewhere else. ‘02. Mid 70’s. Good luck.”

Come on, vogue

Let your body move to the music (move to the music)

Hey, hey, hey

Come on, vogue

Let your body go with the flow (go with the flow)

You know you can do it

***

One Week Later- 1978

“Holy smokes, you are so good at this!”

Peter smiles and jiggles the joystick of the Space Invaders machine. The girl, Betty, is leaning over his shoulder, watching the screen intently. He’s nearly at 2000 points, but with one rogue alien his last life is taken. He throws his head back and groans. Betty shrieks and grabs Peter’s shoulders.

“Come on Pete, let’s go dance! ABBA is my absolute favorite,” She giggles, spinning Peter around. The brunette opens his mouth to respond, but he spots who’s standing at the Asteroids machine.

“Um, I actually-I’m sorry Betty. There’s someone I need to talk to. I’ll see you around?” Peter stutters, and the blonde’s face falls flat.

“Okay. Maybe 2005?”

Peter smiles and Betty rushes off.

“Tony. I know you know I’m here,” Peter says once it’s just him and Tony in the arcade corner. The game makes a sad beep as he slams on the machine. Peter flinches. “Talk to me. Why are you avoiding me?”

Tony turns around, arms crossed.

“Calm down.” He grunts, avoiding Peter’s gaze.

“Tony! Why?” Peter pleads, taking a step closer to the other man. Tony awkwardly shifts on his feet.

“I need change,” He explains; his face stony.

“Change my ass!” Peter nearly shouts. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, but it’s hard not to. “You’re hiding from me.”

“I don’t owe you shit , Peter.” Tony growls, finally snapping. Peter flinches in surprise. His tone makes the younger’s throat tighten.

“Now leave me alone,” Tony grumbles, running off into the crowd. Peter’s stomach drops to his toes, but he rushes after Tony. He keeps the man’s dark hair in view as he pushes past patron after patron, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he reaches the front door.

“Tony!” Peter cries once both of them are outside. He runs forward and grabs Tony’s thin wrist.

“Peter, stop it,” Tony says softly, resting his hand on Peter’s bicep. “I’m not here to fall in love.”

“Then what are you here for?” Peter asks, placing his free hand on Tony’s chest. “Why are you trying to fuckin’ fight this?”

“Because I’m not staying here,” Tony explains. “Once I’m gone, I’m gone. Screw this place. I like you, Peter. I really do. But this place-“ He looks around at the buildings on the street. “It’s not fair. Morgan-my daughter, my babygirl-she didn’t get this. It was cancer. She was 30. And my husband didn’t want this either. He was the light of my life, you know. A big blonde oaf. It wasn’t fair to take something Morgan didn’t have. So why should I?”

Peter’s breath catches in his throat.

“Oh Tony,” He mutters, and without thinking, he presses his lips to the other’s. Tony kisses back immediately, slipping his hand onto Peter’s cheek. The smaller man leans into Tony’s touch. Suddenly, a soft beep emerges from between them.

“Fuck,” Tony utters once they pull apart, lips slick and shiny with spit. “There’s 3 minutes until midnight.”

Peter doesn’t respond.

“Okay, um, next week. Meet me at the Quagmire,” Tony says hurriedly. Peter looks at him, confused. “It’s a club. Well, sort of. Just ask around and you’ll find it. How about 1987?”

“Yeah,” Peter whispers, “See you then.”

***

Next Week- 1987

In the middle of nowhere sits the broken down building of the Quagmire. The rows of motorcycles and smoke billowing out of the club tell him all he needs to know about the place. He quickly changes his outfit (one of the technological perks of San Junipero) to a more fitting look: a loose red t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and good old-fashioned Doc Martens. He feels awkward; he’s dressed like the guys he used to jack off to.

His boots crunch on the gravel as he walks up to the front doors, which are swung wide open. He can hear the faint thump of the music from above, as the only thing on the first floor is a staircase and a man slumped in the corner. Peter grimaces, and without touching the handrail, he walks up the stairs. The music gets louder and the smell of weed gets more potent. There’s a few people mulling around in the hallway leading to the main room. A guy with black-rimmed eyes blows smoke up into the air and a girl with a fucking snake around her shoulders winks at him. He gives her a weak smile and steps into the crowd.

There’s cages hanging from the ceiling with pierced girls in them and everyone’s in leather. It feels like the place Harry would always try to get him to go to back when they were in college.

He never went.

Instead of dancing, the people around him are grinding and kissing each other. It’s awkward and Peter’s too caught up in the mess of people to focus on where’s he going; he runs into a very hard body.

“Woah there, sugar,” The man purrs as Peter stumbles backward. He opens his mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. The man is gorgeous, with a perfect smile, sharp jaw, scruffy beard, and loose strands of long brown hair that frame his pretty face.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter stammers, feeling trapped in the low light of the club. The man laughs and claps him on the shoulder.

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” He grumbles, taking a swig of his beer.

“Pete!”

Peter jumps and whips his head around, catching an eyeful of a grinning Tony. His steps are wobbly as  he walks over to Peter, slinging his arm around the younger’s shoulders. Peter can smell alcohol on Tony’s breath, hinting that he’s turned his pain meter down, leaving him vulnerable to the effects of liquor.

“Is this your new boy toy, Stark?” The man opposite them drawls. His comment makes Peter flush.

“Shut the hell up, Barnes,” Tony laughs, pulling Peter closer to his side. “I take it you met my friend ?”

Peter won’t lie, the word stings. But no one seems to notice, because Barnes just scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“I did not, mind you,” He says before turning to Peter. “I’m Bucky. What’s your name, doll?”

Peter preens at the pet name.

“Peter,” He replies, his hand gently brushing against Tony’s jeans. He feels good like this, he feels like they look good together . “It’s my first time here-fifth time in San Junipero.”

Bucky nods with a soft ‘ah.’

“I see you’ve already gotten caught up with Anthony. Can’t blame you, honestly. He’s a real catch,” He drawls, tucking his free hand into his back pocket. “Well, I’ll leave you alone. My husband’s lookin’ for me.”

Bucky disappears into he crowd.

“Finally, some alone time,” Tony groans, nudging Peter’s chestnut curls with his nose.

“Alone? You think this is alone?” Peter scoffs, pressing his cheek to Tony’s leather jacket. “We’re packed between people right now.”

Tony laughs loud enough that Peter can hear him clearly over the pounding rock music.

“Let’s dance, baby!” He shouts, ignoring the question. Peter giggles and lets Tony shove people out of the way to get on the dance floor. He wraps his arms around Peter’s torso and tucks his face in the crook of the younger’s neck. Peter’s breath hitches as Tony nips at the skin of his neck.

“You’re a good dancer,” He slurs, jerking his hips against Peter’s ass. The brunette’s face is on fire as Tony sways him back and forth to the beat of the music. Peter can feel himself start to chub up in his jeans, much to his embarrassment.

“ Tony ,” He groans, but he doesn’t think he can be heard over the music. Tony continues to rock his crotch against his backside, muttering sweet nothings into his ear. Peter can feel how hard the older man is, and his blood boils at the fact that he did this to him. They stay there for a while, swaying and grinding on each other. The rest of the room becomes a blur as they stand there, intertwined.

“Come to the bathroom with me,” Tony mutters in Peter’s ear; his fingers grazing over the heated skin of the younger’s stomach. “I want your mouth on me.”

A pathetic whine escapes Peter’s lips, and he nods. Tony swerves him around the metalhead party-goers and into a poorly-lit hallway. A couple is making out against the peeling wall,  and Peter keeps his eyes down as Tony leads him into the men’s bathroom.

“Holy shit, I’m so fuckin’ hard,” Tony grunts, fumbling with the handle of one of the stalls. The door swings open with a clang, and Tony ushers him into the stall. Without being prompted, Peter falls to his knees and squeezes Tony’s bulge through his jeans. The older man’s eyes flutter shut and he sighs softly. With nimble fingers, Peter undoes the metal of his belt and tucks his cock out of his jeans. It’s rock hard already, flushed red and leaking. Tentatively, Peter flicks his tongue over the head of his cock. Tony groans, tangling his fingers through Peter’s curls. The younger boy slips his lips around the head, using his tongue to massage under it. A litany of curses falls from Tony’s lips as Peter takes more of his member into his mouth. The stretch makes Peter’s dick jump in his jeans. A spurt of precum leaks onto his tongue, the salty taste making his stomach churn. Peter reaches up and cups Tony’s heavy balls in the palm of his hand. He shouts and yanks Peter’s hair, giving the boy more encouragement to keep sucking. He can’t go too deep, he hasn’t done this much before, but he makes up his lack of experience with enthusiasm. As he lavishes Tony’s cock, the sound of the bathroom door opening makes him freeze.

Tony bites his fist as he cums in Peter’s mouth.

Peter swallows all his release as quietly as he can, tucking the man’s cock back into his boxers and pulling up his jeans. Tony’s chest heaves as he comes down from the high of his climax. Peter’s still unbelievably hard, and he stands up on shaky legs. Tony pulls the boy into his arms and slips his thigh between his legs. Peter moans into Tony’s shirt at the pressure against his crotch.

“Hump my thigh,” Tony growls into Peter’s ear as the other patron flushes the toilet. Peter whines and curls the older man’s shirt in his hands. He does as he’s told, desperately grinding down onto Tony. With his soft words of encouragement, Peter cums in his pants.

“ Tony ,” The brunette cries once the other man leaves the restroom, resting his head against Tony’s chest.

He strokes Peter’s curls and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m so fuckin’ stupid,” Tony grumbles. “You’re gorgeous. And right here in front of me.”

Peter looks up at Tony, confused.

“You’re babbling, handsome,” He mutters, reaching upwards and tracing Tony’s lips with his finger.

“Let me see you,” Tony grumbles, resting his hands on Peter’s hips. “Let me see you in person.”

Peter’s heart skips a beat.

“You could live across the country,” He says softly, running his thumb over the bit of stubble that graces Tony’s cheek.

“But I don’t. You’re Peter Parker and you live in Arcata. I’m in San Fransisco. It’s only a four hour drive.”

“That should be creepy but it’s kind of hot,” Peter mumbles, grazing his lips against Tony’s. “But why?”

“Just let me see you,” Tony pleads, resting his forehead against Peter’s. “Everything-it’s tearing me up inside.”

Peter smiles and bumps his nose against Tony’s.

***

Next Monday -Present Day- 2045

Peter’s room is submerged in darkness, like usual. His legs still ache, but the sharp pain in his ribs has shown up again. He should tell Miss Williams once she comes for his three o’clock checkup. But he’ll have to wait throughout visitation hours, because he needs all the rest he can get. Recently, he’s been way more tired and worn down than usual.

“Peter? Are you awake?”

The man sits up in his bed slowly, rubbing his eyes with his palms. The door to his room is cracked open, and Miss Williams has her head poked inside.

“Yeah,” Peter croaks. “M’awake.”

The lights to his room turn on and Miss Williams opens the door all the way.

“You have a visitor.”

Miss Williams enters his room, a pretty red-head following her and helping a frail old man into the room.

“ Tony? ” Peter whispers as Miss Williams closes the door. Tony smiles, the wrinkles on his face deepening. Peter’s mouth stays parted in awe as the redhead helps Tony over to the chair next to his bed.

“Hi, pumpkin,” The old man says softly, taking Peter’s left hand in his own. His hands are warm and soft and thin, with callouses on every fingertip. “You’re so beautiful.”

Peter looks down at their intertwined hands bashfully. Tony raises Peter’s hand to his lips, and presses a kiss to his pale skin.

“I can stomach your face,” Peter quips; Tony rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Just kidding. You’re a stud.”

They both erupt in a fit of giggles. Peter’s sides hurt, in a good way, for the first time in months.

“Hospice?” Tony asks once they catch their breath, his tone serious. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Miss Williams and the redhead’s conversation awkwardly falls flat. Peter traces one of the small scars on Tony’s left hand with the tip of his finger.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Peter mumbles, continuing to avoid Tony’s heavy gaze. “It’s not like we’re going to be seeing each other for much longer.”

Tony flinches at the blow his words deliver. Ever so slightly, he squeezes Peter’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Tony utters, his voice so quiet it’s barely audible. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Apologizing isn’t going to do much,” Peter chimes, a single tear threatening to slip from his eye. “Not unless you stay.”

“Oh you, there’s no use in crying,” Miss Williams cuts in, grabbing a box of tissues from the small cluster of cabinets in the corner of the room. Peter takes them, taking one tissue out and batting his eyes. “I think you two need to seriously talk. Miss Potts and I will leave you alone.”

Peter gives the two nurses a weak smile as they leave his room.

“I went through all the letters he’s ever written me. Steve-my husband- he really hated the technology,” Tony explains. “I just feel so terrible. I love you Peter, I do, but it’s a disservice to him.”

Peter sucks in a deep breath.

“You love me?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“I’d be crazy if I didn’t,” Tony laughs, stroking the knobby bone of Peter’s wrist. “I’d be so fucking bonkers.”

Peter rolls his big doe eyes, the tips of his eyelashes tickling his eyelids.

“I think you’re already crazy. I think that’s what makes you so charming.”

Tony shakes his head as Peter gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“I think that’s why I’m so in love with you.

***

That Saturday-1992

The glass back door of Tony’s house slides open with a soft ‘woosh’. The wind blowing from the ocean makes goosebumps appear on Peter’s arms, and he pulls his flannel closer to his body. In the distance, the flames of the campfire lick up at the night sky.

Oh, and Tony’s waving his arms like an idiot.

“Peter!” He shouts as loud as he can. “Over here!”

Peter laughs and shakes his head before taking off over the sand, letting the wind rush past him. It’s oddly exhilarating, but he comes to a stop once he reaches Tony and his little camp area.

“My baby,” Tony purrs, wrapping his arms around Peter’s torso and spinning him around. Peter shrieks happily and grips onto Tony’s neck for support. The older man puts him down and immediately presses his lips to Peter’s. Like the roaring fire, Tony’s touch warms him to the core.

“What’s all this?” Peter asks quietly, eyeing the plaid blanket lain on the sand, the wicker basket that holds a bottle of wine, and the bouquet of roses.

“Since we’ve never had a proper date,” Tony explains, brushing a stray curl out of Peter’s eyes. “I thought I’d treat you tonight.”

Tony pulls Peter to the blanket, and the brunette sits down happily. He pushes his bare toes into the sand as Tony sits down next to him. He hands Peter a wine glass and takes one for himself, pouring the red liquid in both.

“And before you ask,” Tony says as he raises his glass to his lips. “My pain meter’s all the way up.”

Peter scoffs and takes a sip of his wine. He’s never been a huge fan of wine, but this-it’s good. His eyes wander to Tony’s face, and he takes a second studying the curves of the man. The point of his nose, the line of his jaw, the pout of his lips.

“Tony?” Peter asks, breaking the silence. The man responds with a soft ‘hm?’

“I died last night.”

Tony doesn’t respond; he just looks up at the stars. Then he turns his head to Peter, and smiles.

“I’m just glad you’re not in pain anymore.”

The tension, that Peter didn’t even realize was there, leaves his body. He rests his head on the older man’s shoulder, his cheek pressed to the softness of Tony’s sweatshirt.

“I’ve been looking for a nice place to live,” Peter rambles, his glass of wine forgotten. “They really have everything here.”

Peter slips two fingers in one of the rips on Tony’s jeans.

“Stay here,” Tony says softly. “This is practically your home now.”

The crashing of the waves echoes in his ears.

“It’s not home without you. It’ll never be home without you here with me.”

Under the moonlight, Tony smiles sadly.

***

Three Months Later-1987

It’s Wednesday when he finds him.

Peter’s browsing the shelves of Paige’s Bookstore, sipping on the rest of his leftover iced tea from lunch. The small shop has been one of Peter’s favorite places since he’s passed over. It’s in a quieter, smaller part of town, and it overlooks the sea perfectly.

Peter’s fingers stop on the spine of a copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey when the bell to the front door chimes softly. The brunette doesn’t pay any attention, and keeps browsing, until he hears the voice of the new customer.

“Good afternoon! Do you sell books here?”

Peter’s heart drops to his toes. He peers around one of the shelves to peek at the front door and-

It’s Tony.

“Tony!” Peter exclaims, failing to contain his excitement. Tony’s egotistical facade drops, and he stands there in awe. Peter, as carefully he can, rushes across the small room, and leaps into Tony’s arms. It feels so good to be back in his arms, encased by warmth and love. Tony presses kiss after kiss onto Peter’s cheeks.

Edith, the owner of the shop, coos at the two of them.

Peter may have spilt his guts to the woman the first time he met her.

“You came,” The younger cries, bubbling with glee. “You actually took the tech.”

Tony laughs and cups both of Peter’s cheeks in his hands.

“I would’ve been a fool if I didn’t,” He mutters, kissing Peter once more.

“Okay lovebirds, if you’re not going to buy anything, get out of my shop.”

Edith has never been the nicest lady.

Peter giggles, though, and bids the woman goodbye as Tony pulls him out of the shop and into the sun. He takes his sunglasses out of his pocket and slips them onto the bridge of his nose.

“I love you,” Peter sings, leaning forward to kiss Tony, but landing on his cheek. “I love you, Tony Stark.”

Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?

Ooh, heaven is a place on earth

They say in heaven, love comes first

We'll make heaven a place on earth

Ooh, heaven is a place on earth

Wind in his hair, salt on his lips, and a smile on his face . Tony presses down on the gas, shouting as they fly down one of the backroads of the city. Peter throws his head back and laughs; his sunglasses almost escaping his grasp.

When the night falls down

I wait for you and you come around

And the world's alive with the sound

Of kids on the street outside

“I love you, Peter Parker!” Tony shouts over the wind, honking the horn twice.

When you walk into the room

You pull me close and we start to move

And we're spinning with the stars above

And you lift me up in a wave of love

Tony slows when he reaches a dead end, leaving them atop a small hill. He shuts the car off and sighs, reaching over to squeeze Peter’s thigh.

Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?

Ooh, heaven is a place on earth

They say in heaven love comes first

We'll make heaven a place on earth

Ooh, heaven is a place on earth

Leaving over the dashboard, Tony hungrily kisses Peter on the lips. As the sit there making out, under the sun, with the breeze from the ocean, Peter can only think:

They’re going to be just fine.

The End.

[zodi-aries]

I'm annoyed with stupid people + my coworkers so how's bout a drabble of Shy!Stan being overwhelmed at work :D

Ford had been setting up for Stan and him to go out that evening when his twin got home from work.

Since moving to Oregan, Ford had made it a point for Stan and himself to go out at least once a week for dinner together. It was disguised as just two brothers enjoying each other's company, but the constant grin on Ford's face and the red decorating Stan's cheeks told each other that they both knew it was a date, just for them to know.

Stan, most times, was perfectly content to go to Greasy's since it was cheap and he didn't want Ford 'wasting his grant money on something like that.'

Ford didn't ever really care, after all he worked hard for that grant and while most of it, he spent towards his research, he was allowed to ...spoil himself so to speak and if he just so happen to spoil his sweetheart to, well, who was gonna tell him otherwise. And tonight was gonna be one of those nights. He had plans to take Stanley out some place nice called the Club. Weird but the inside was spacious and intimate, and oddly enough, Ford was invited by the manager. Saying how people were curious about the scientist in the cabin in the woods.

Ford had just started setting out his clothes when he heard the front door. 'Ah perfect Stan's home!' Ford thought as he headed down stairs to greet his brother. "Stanl--" His brother was standing in front of the door with his back to Ford, but Stan's shoulders were shaking, and Ford could hear sniffling. 

"Stan.... What's wrong?"

Stan just turned to look at Ford, looking like a kicked little puppy. Cheeks streaked with tear tracks. "Stanny..... What's the matter?" Ford asked again quietly, opening his arms. That's when the dam broke. Stan sobbed and ran into Ford's arms, crying harder as he hid his face into his brother's chest.

Ford settled them both on the couch and let Stan cry until he was ready to talk.

"So what's happened?"

Stanley sniffled before telling Ford how crappy the day had been. First he walked in to the store being a complete mess, his cowokers hadn't even bothered to clean up and restock anything. Customers kept coming in one after the other and almost all of them were rude and yelling when something didn't fit their orders, despite it not being Stan's fault. Then some kept coming back saying how they suddnely didn't want this item or that. On top of that, Stan's coworker left in the middle of the shift and just didn't bother coming back leaving Stan all alone to deal with customers, clean up, stocking, and checking in the supply truck with no help.

Now most times, Stan would take this with a pinch of salt, while still feel a little shaken. He had told himself he wanted to be less sensitive. After all, he and Ford weren't kids anymore, he couldn't let this stuff effect him now!

But that all went out the window when he got screamed at by a drunk, belligerent Manly Dan when Stan had gently told him, he wasn't gonna serve him any more alcoholic drinks that evening. It wouldn't be responsible of Stan to do that when Dan was already under the influence. Dan had yelled, screamed at the top of his lungs and said he'd be speaking with the owners tomorrow and Stan wouldn't have a job anymore.

Of course after Dan had left, the younger and flustered twin called the store owners and told them exactly what happened, and the store owners, being a sweet older couple said for Stan not to worry and to go ahead and lock the doors and head home, one of them will take over the rest of the shift. Stan actually agreed to stay just long enough for one of them to get there and then headed home.

Ford held Stan as he let the day's stress spill out of his brother, putting the rolling anger he was feeling at his brother's coworkers and Daniel for the stress and anxiety they had all made his sweet brother feel. Ford was especially angry with Manly Dan. The man was normally polite and nice to Stan, sometimes too nice. But for him to just turn and treat Stan the way he did, Ford would be sure to have some words with the lumberjack, and be taking his house maintaince business elsehwere. But he'll deal with all that after he's put his Stanny to rights again.

"I'm sorry your day sucked Stan. How 'bout we stay home tonight? Watch some of your favorite movies and just veg out on the couch?" Ford suggested with a sweet smile. Stan sniffled and shook his head. "N-no you were looking forward to going to the Club all week and y-you've been cooped up i-n the basement all week too..." Stan said in between hiccups. Ford waved his hand, dismissing Stan's worries.

"Stan, I look forward to spending an evening with YOU and just you all week." Ford took hold of Stan's soft face between his palms, wiping off the tears. "I don't care if we go out or stay in, as long as I get to have that time with you. That's all I care about. Ok?" The elder placed a gentle kiss to Stan's lips, his brother whined, most likely because he didn't like when Ford would kiss him when he felt gross. Ford naturally told his Stanny constantly, he gave no shit what state Stan was in. If he felt like smoochin' his sweetheart, dammit he was gonna!

Stan nodded at Ford after he settled down again.

"Good. Go get cleaned up and into some comfy pjs and I'll make a call to the restaurant." Ford suggested, watching as Stan went up the stairs.

Once he heard the shower turn on, Ford bolted to the phone and angrily dialed Manly Dan's number. He got the answering machine, because of course he did. The drunk gorilla was probably passed out in the street. Taking the golden opportunity presented for him, Ford left a LOUD and colorful message on Manly Dan's machine, and hung up as loud as possible without breaking his phone. After taking a deep breath, Ford then called up the store owners and in a MUCH calmer tone explained that he no longer liked the idea of his brother working at the Dusk til Dawn if Stan was gonna come home over-stressed and crying. The owners understood and asked that Ford please just give them a week to whip their other empolyees into shape, let Stan have the week off, and when he came back, Stan would have a much better place to work. Ford thanked the owners and would very happily tell Stan that he would be getting a paid week's vacation and then finally called up the restaurant to explain that he had gotten sick and his brother was busy at work, but would definitely come by next week.

Ford had finished setting up the tv and the living room when Stan had come downstairs, fresh and clean, and wearing his softest pajamas, a set Ford had bought him for their birthday last year. (Just imagine what you think would be cute and soft on Stan as pjays ) Ford smiled, not bothering to resist the urge to just snuggle his twin and littering Stan's face with kisses, made better when Stan tried so hard to kiss back.  "Come sit and I'll dry your hair." Ford led Stan to the love seat and settled his twin in his lap and towel dried his hair as they watched the old western Stan adored.

And the evening was spent just sitting and watching each other's favorite movies and eating each other's favorite snacks, eventually ending with Stan snoozing against Ford, leading the older twin to carefully carry Stan up the stairs and into bed.

The next morning Stan was confused as to why he suddenly had a week off work, flowers on the porch and Ford looking smug as all hell, not saying a single word as he sipped his coffee.

Some of these are personal experience thats just built up and though I don't habdle my shit by crying I handle it by sweating like a sailor and punching shit. But i feel better now and I hope you all enjoy the product from my moment of anger.

YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

[gnostix1]

in our time

by ernest hemingway

  chapter 1

Everybody was drunk. The whole battery was drunk going along the road in the dark. We were going to the Champagne. The lieutenant kept riding his horse out into the fields and saying to him, “I’m drunk, I tell you, mon vieux. Oh, I am so soused.” We went along the road all night in the dark and the adjutant kept riding up alongside my kitchen and saying, “You must put it out. It is dangerous. It will be observed.” We were fifty kilometers from the front but the adjutant worried about the fire in my kitchen. It was funny going along that road. That was when I was a kitchen corporal.

  chapter 2

The first matador got the horn through his sword hand and the crowd hooted him out. The second matador slipped and the bull caught him through the belly and he hung on to the horn with one hand and held the other tight against the place, and the bull rammed him wham against the wall and the horn came out, and he lay in the sand, and then got up like crazy drunk and tried to slug the men carrying him away and yelled for his sword but he fainted. The kid came out and had to kill five bulls because you can’t have more than three matadors, and the last bull he was so tired he couldn’t get the sword in. He couldn’t hardly lift his arm. He tried five times and the crowd was quiet because it was a good bull and it looked like him or the bull and then he finally made it. He sat down in the sand and puked and they held a cape over him while the crowd hollered and threw things down into the bull ring.

  chapter 3

Minarets stuck up in the rain out of Adrianople across the mud flats. The carts were jammed for thirty miles along the Karagatch road. Water buffalo and cattle were hauling carts through the mud. No end and no beginning. Just carts loaded with everything they owned. The old men and women, soaked through, walked along keeping the cattle moving. The Maritza was running yellow almost up to the bridge. Carts were jammed solid on the bridge with camels bobbing along through them. Greek cavalry herded along the procession. Women and kids were in the carts crouched with mattresses, mirrors, sewing machines, bundles. There was a woman having a kid with a young girl holding a blanket over her and crying. Scared sick looking at it. It rained all through the evacuation.

  chapter 4

We were in a garden at Mons. Young Buckley came in with his patrol from across the river. The first German I saw climbed up over the garden wall. We waited till he got one leg over and then potted him. He had so much equipment on and looked awfully surprised and fell down into the garden. Then three more came over further down the wall. We shot them. They all came just like that.

  chapter 5

It was a frightfully hot day. We’d jammed an absolutely perfect barricade across the bridge. It was simply priceless. A big old wrought iron grating from the front of a house. Too heavy to lift and you could shoot through it and they would have to climb over it. It was absolutely topping. They tried to get over it, and we potted them from forty yards. They rushed it, and officers came out alone and worked on it. It was an absolutely perfect obstacle. Their officers were very fine. We were frightfully put out when we heard the flank had gone, and we had to fall back.

  chapter 6

They shot the six cabinet ministers at half-past six in the morning against the wall of a hospital. There were pools of water in the courtyard. There were wet dead leaves on the paving of the courtyard. It rained hard. All the shutters of the hospital were nailed shut. One of the ministers was sick with typhoid. Two soldiers carried him downstairs and out into the rain. They tried to hold him up against the wall but he sat down in a puddle of water. The other five stood very quietly against the wall. Finally the officer told the soldiers it was no good trying to make him stand up. When they fired the first volley he was sitting down in the water with his head on his knees.

  chapter 7

Nick sat against the wall of the church where they had dragged him to be clear of machine gun fire in the street. Both legs stuck out awkwardly. He had been hit in the spine. His face was sweaty and dirty. The sun shone on his face. The day was very hot. Rinaldi, big backed, his equipment sprawling, lay face downward against the wall. Nick looked straight ahead brilliantly. The pink wall of the house opposite had fallen out from the roof, and an iron bedstead hung twisted toward the street. Two Austrian dead lay in the rubble in the shade of the house. Up the street were other dead. Things were getting forward in the town. It was going well. Stretcher bearers would be along any time now. Nick turned his head carefully and looked down at Rinaldi. “Senta Rinaldi. Senta. You and me we’ve made a separate peace.” Rinaldi lay still in the sun breathing with difficulty. “Not patriots.” Nick turned his head carefully away smiling sweatily. Rinaldi was a disappointing audience.

  chapter 8

While the bombardment was knocking the trench to pieces at Fossalta, he lay very flat and sweated and prayed oh jesus christ get me out of here. Dear jesus please get me out. Christ please please please christ. If you’ll only keep me from getting killed I’ll do anything you say. I believe in you and I’ll tell everyone in the world that you are the only thing that matters. Please please dear jesus. The shelling moved further up the line. We went to work on the trench and in the morning the sun came up and the day was hot and muggy and cheerful and quiet. The next night back at Mestre he did not tell the girl he went upstairs with at the Villa Rossa about Jesus. And he never told anybody.

  chapter 9

At two o’clock in the morning two Hungarians got into a cigar store at Fifteenth Street and Grand Avenue. Drevitts and Boyle drove up from the Fifteenth Street police station in a Ford. The Hungarians were backing their wagon out of an alley. Boyle shot one off the seat of the wagon and one out of the wagon box. Drevetts got frightened when he found they were both dead. Hell Jimmy, he said, you oughtn’t to have done it. There’s liable to be a hell of a lot of trouble.

—They’re crooks ain’t they? said Boyle. They’re wops ain’t they? Who the hell is going to make any trouble?

—That’s all right maybe this time, said Drevitts, but how did you know they were wops when you bumped them?

Wops, said Boyle, I can tell wops a mile off.

  chapter 10

One hot evening in Milan they carried him up onto the roof and he could look out over the top of the town. There were chimney swifts in the sky. After a while it got dark and the searchlights came out. The others went down and took the bottles with them. He and Ag could hear them below on the balcony. Ag sat on the bed. She was cool and fresh in the hot night.

Ag stayed on night duty for three months. They were glad to let her. When they operated on him she prepared him for the operating table, and they had a joke about friend or enema. He went under the anæsthetic holding tight on to himself so that he would not blab about anything during the silly, talky time. After he got on crutches he used to take the temperature so Ag would not have to get up from the bed. There were only a few patients, and they all knew about it. They all liked Ag. As he walked back along the halls he thought of Ag in his bed.

Before he went back to the front they went into the Duomo and prayed. It was dim and quiet, and there were other people praying. They wanted to get married, but there was not enough time for the banns, and neither of them had birth certificates. They felt as though they were married, but they wanted everyone to knew about it, and to make it so they could not lose it.

Ag wrote him many letters that he never got until after the armistice. Fifteen came in a bunch and he sorted them by the dates and read them all straight through. They were about the hospital, and how much she loved him and how it was impossible to get along without him and how terrible it was missing him at night.

After the armistice they agreed he should go home to get a job so they might be married. Ag would not come home until he had a good job and could come to New York to meet her. It was understood he would not drink, and he did not want to see his friends or anyone in the States. Only to get a job and be married. On the train from Padova to Milan they quarrelled about her not being willing to come home at once. When they had to say good-bye in the station at Padova they kissed good-bye, but were not finished with the quarrel. He felt sick about saying good-bye like that.

He went to America on a boat from Genoa. Ag went back to Torre di Mosta to open a hospital. It was lonely and rainy there, and there was a battalion of arditi quartered in the town. Living in the muddy, rainy town in the winter the major of the battalion made love to Ag, and she had never known Italians before, and finally wrote a letter to the States that theirs had been only a boy and girl affair. She was sorry, and she knew he would probably not be able to understand, but might some day forgive her, and be grateful to her, and she expected, absolutely unexpectedly, to be married in the spring. She loved him as always, but she realized now it was only a boy and girl love. She hoped he would have a great career, and believed in him absolutely. She knew it was for the best.

The Major did not marry her in the spring, or any other time. Ag never got an answer to her letter to Chicago about it. A short time after he contracted gonorrhea from a sales girl from The Fair riding in a taxicab through Lincoln Park.

  chapter 11

In 1919 he was travelling on the railroads in Italy carrying a square of oilcloth from the headquarters of the party written in indelible pencil and saying here was a comrade who had suffered very much under the whites in Budapest and requesting comrades to aid him in any way. He used this instead of a ticket. He was very shy and quite young and the train men passed him on from one crew to another. He had no money, and they fed him behind the counter in railway eating houses.

He was delighted with Italy. It was a beautiful country he said. The people were all kind. He had been in many towns, walked much and seen many pictures. Giotto, Masaccio, and Piero della Francesca he bought reproductions of and carried them wrapped in a copy of Avanti. Mantegna he did not like.

He reported at Bologna, and I took him with me up into the Romagna where it was necessary I go to see a man. We had a good trip together. It was early September and the country was pleasant. He was a Magyar, a very nice boy and very shy. Horthy’s men had done some bad things to him. He talked about it a little. In spite of Italy, he believed altogether in the world revolution.

—But how is the movement going in Italy? he asked.

—Very badly, I said.

—But it will go better, he said. You have everything here. It is the one country that everyone is sure of. It will be the starting point of everything.

At Bologna he said good-bye to us to go on the train to Milano and then to Aosta to walk over the pass into Switzerland. I spoke to him about the Mantegnas in Milano. No, he said, very shyly, he did not like Mantegna. I wrote out for him where to eat in Milano and the addresses of comrades. He thanked me very much, but his mind was already looking forward to walking over the pass. He was very eager to walk over the pass while the weather held good. The last I heard of him the Swiss had him in jail near Sion.

  chapter 12

They whack whacked the white horse on the legs and he knee-ed himself up. The picador twisted the stirrups straight and pulled and hauled up into the saddle. The horse’s entrails hung down in a blue bunch and swung backward and forward as he began to canter, the monos whacking him on the back of his legs with the rods. He cantered jerkily along the barrera. He stopped stiff and one of the monos held his bridle and walked him forward. The picador kicked in his spurs, leaned forward and shook his lance at the bull. Blood pumped regularly from between the horse’s front legs. He was nervously wobbly. The bull could not make up his mind to charge.

  chapter 13

The crowd shouted all the time and threw pieces of bread down into the ring, then cushions and leather wine bottles, keeping up whistling and yelling. Finally the bull was too tired from so much bad sticking and folded his knees and lay down and one of the cuadrilla leaned out over his neck and killed him with the puntillo. The crowd came over the barrera and around the torero and two men grabbed him and held him and some one cut off his pigtail and was waving it and a kid grabbed it and ran away with it. Afterwards I saw him at the café. He was very short with a brown face and quite drunk and he said after all it has happened before like that. I am not really a good bull fighter.

  chapter 14

If it happened right down close in front of you, you could see Villalta snarl at the bull and curse him, and when the bull charged he swung back firmly like an oak when the wind hits it, his legs tight together, the muleta trailing and the sword following the curve behind. Then he cursed the bull, flopped the muleta at him, and swung back from the charge his feet firm, the muleta curving and each swing the crowd roaring.

When he started to kill it was all in the same rush. The bull looking at him straight in front, hating. He drew out the sword from the folds of the muleta and sighted with the same movement and called to the bull, Toro! Toro! and the bull charged and Villalta charged and just for a moment they became one. Villalta became one with the bull and then it was over. Villalta standing straight and the red kilt of the sword sticking out dully between the bull’s shoulders. Villalta, his hand up at the crowd and the bull roaring blood, looking straight at Villalta and his legs caving.

  chapter 15

I heard the drums coming down the street and then the fifes and the pipes and then they came around the corner, all dancing. The street full of them. Maera saw him and then I saw him. When they stopped the music for the crouch he hunched down in the street with them all and when they started it again he jumped up and went dancing down the street with them. He was drunk all right.

You go down after him, said Maera, he hates me.

So I went down and caught up with them and grabbed him while he was crouched down waiting for the music to break loose and said, Come on Luis. For Christ sake you’ve got bulls this afternoon. He didn’t listen to me, he was listening so hard for the music to start.

I said, Don’t be a damn fool Luis. Come on back to the hotel.

Then the music started up again and he jumped up and twisted away from me and started dancing. I grabbed his arm and he pulled loose and said, Oh leave me alone. You’re not my father.

I went back to the hotel and Maera was on the balcony looking out to see if I’d be bringing him back. He went inside when he saw me and came downstairs disgusted.

Well, I said, after all he’s just an ignorant Mexican savage.

Yes, Maera said, and who will kill his bulls after he gets a cogida?

We, I suppose, I said.

Yes, we, said Maera. We kills the savages’ bulls, and the drunkards’ bulls, and the riau-riau dancers’ bulls. Yes. We kill them. We kill them all right. Yes. Yes. Yes.

  chapter 16

Maera lay still, his head on his arms, his face in the sand. He felt warm and sticky from the bleeding. Each time he felt the horn coming. Sometimes the bull only bumped him with his head. Once the horn went all the way through him and he felt it go into the sand. Someone had the bull by the tail. They were swearing at him and flopping the cape in his face. Then the bull was gone. Some men picked Maera up and started to run with him toward the barriers through the gate out the passage way around under the grand stand to the infirmary. They laid Maera down on a cot and one of the men went out for the doctor. The others stood around. The doctor came running from the corral where he had been sewing up picador horses. He had to stop and wash his hands. There was a great shouting going on in the grandstand overhead. Maera wanted to say something and found he could not talk. Maera felt everything getting larger and larger and then smaller and smaller. Then it got larger and larger and larger and then smaller and smaller. Then everything commenced to run faster and faster as when they speed up a cinematograph film. Then he was dead.

  chapter 17

They hanged Sam Cardinella at six o’clock in the morning in the corridor of the county jail. The corridor was high and narrow with tiers of cells on either side. All the cells were occupied. The men had been brought in for the hanging. Five men sentenced to be hanged were in the five top cells. Three of the men to be hanged were negroes. They were very frightened. One of the white men sat on his cot with his head in his hands. The other lay flat on his cot with a blanket wrapped around his head.

They came out onto the gallows through a door in the wall. There were six or seven of them including two priests. They were carrying Sam Cardinella. He had been like that since about four o’clock in the morning.

While they were strapping his legs together two guards held him up and the two priests were whispering to him. “Be a man, my son,” said one priest. When they came toward him with the cap to go over his head Sam Cardinella lost control of his sphincter muscle. The guards who had been holding him up dropped him. They were both disgusted. “How about a chair, Will?” asked one of the guards, “Better get one,” said a man in a derby hat.

When they all stepped back on the scaffolding back of the drop, which was very heavy, built of oak and steel and swung on ball bearings, Sam Cardinella was left sitting there strapped tight, the younger of the two priests kneeling beside the chair. The priest skipped back onto the scaffolding just before the drop fell.

  chapter 18

The king was working in the garden. He seemed very glad to see me. We walked through the garden. This is the queen, he said. She was clipping a rose bush. Oh how do you do, she said. We sat down at a table under a big tree and the king ordered whiskey and soda. We have good whiskey anyway, he said. The revolutionary committee, he told me, would not allow him to go outside the palace grounds. Plastiras is a very good man I believe, he said, but frightfully difficult. I think he did right though shooting those chaps. If Kerensky had shot a few men things might have been altogether different. Of course the great thing in this sort of an affair is not to be shot oneself!

It was very jolly. We talked for a long time. Like all Greeks he wanted to go to America.  

[canaliculi]

Knock on my Door

Gravity Falls

Bill/Ford

M: graphic injuries, hurt/comfort, fluffy weirdness

It's a story old as Time Baby: Boy meets Triangle, Triangle betrays Boy, Boy gets horribly mauled in a faraway dimension and Triangle takes it upon itself to help out.

Where had he heard it before? Wounded animals will hide themselves away. He’d read it somewhere, right? And someone – probably Stan – had said: to die? Ford felt pathetically like one in this moment. A wounded animal. A dying animal, but that was just a dose of melodramatics on his part. Sure, his shoulder felt like it was going to fall off, taking his arm with it. Sure, he could feel loose flaps of skin slapping up and down with every step. Sure, well, he actually wasn’t sure, if the line of soaked clothing down his left flank was sopped with blood or saliva or sweat, all he knew was the cool, sucking tug of it as it clung to his arm and chest and ribs, the uncomfortable itch of it at his hips.

Sure, he was dizzy and his mouth felt dry. And at times his eyes would flicker, his vision splintering into doubles. But he wasn’t dying. Ford couldn’t die out here. Not when doing so would leave so much else undone. His mistake was still out there, a handful of code and a button smash away from lurching back into motion. And Bill was still out there, crouched like a stinging insect, a caverning, tumorous growth on the multiverse that he planned to excise.

And he still had to tell Stanley- No.

And he still had to tell Fiddleford- No!

Breathe, he told himself, and he would have said it aloud had he the breath to gasp it with. His lungs were burning. The adrenaline that had fueled him thus far had to be winding down – heat was beginning to radiate from his wound, from the muddily defined and sheared oval where the creature had clamped down on him with its jaws. God, Ford had heard the sound of its teeth scraping along his bones. The groan of his joint as it dug in deeper, deeper, clenched him between its teeth. The fetid, rotten-meat stink of its mouth as it panted and growled in his face, the speckles of viscous, foamy spittle that had sprayed across his hair and cheek while dense globs of it trailed down its teeth, into his arm, dripped down over his body in long stretchy strings. The soft sound that was like a damp paper bag being ripped apart, as he was shaken violently in its grip, and Ford had known it as the sound of his skin and muscle tearing.

Nausea flared up bright and sudden, a hot, acidic surge that burned in the back of his throat, and Ford had to stop to heave. It splattered wet and thick on the ground, between the spread fingers that had risen automatically to his mouth. He stumbled away, limbs shaking. Something chimed in the back of his mind, a little warning bell that tolled, but he couldn’t bear to examine the emesis any further. If the bright arterial red that he dreaded was present, what was there to do? Best not to open that door at all.

The rest of his travel passed as a blur. His gait turned to shambling, meandering steps, his body visibly swaying whenever he caught a chance to pause and rest. The rumbling of the dark sky grew louder, clouds swollen and bloated with the threat of rain. Ford was passing through a wood of white trees, their limbs a delicate tangle that he crashed through, to the cave he had taken shelter in, and the irony – or perhaps merely the mimicry – of his situation was not lost on him. When the first heavy drop of rain landed on his forehead, the only reaction that came was relief as the droplet cut through the heat of his skin.

His right hand was shaking and smeared liberally with bile, and blood from holding his injured shoulder in place. Without the support of his other hand, Ford felt his left arm sag. It had only been a few years since he was thrown out of his home dimension, but experience had taught him already the importance of carrying his own medical supplies. He fumbled with the lock but managed to get his supply kit open, grimacing at its contents. They had been running low for some time, Ford knew that, but every city had been plastered with pictures of his face, thrumming with creatures that turned to track his movements within a crowd, eyes that watched him far too closely and searched him for weapons or obvious injury.

He had put it off. Until he found a safer dimension, he’d said. Until he’d be able to scrape together more funds. And really, while he might have been prone to injuries at the beginning of his journey, who was to say that he would need any of these supplies in the near future? Ford was a fast study, decisive and quick on his feet – what, truly, were the chances?

Apparently, he managed to think ruefully, through the sluggish daze of his thoughts, the chances were quite good.

Ford had to waste the last of his potable water rinsing the grim off his hands. Then he sat by the lip of the cave, left arm propped up on a protruding rock formation, and began to cut away at the shredded remains of his shirt and jacket. Each frayed thread of his coat took multiple snips of his scissors to get through, so that sweat soon dripped down his forehead, the muscles of his right arm burning from the awkward angle he was forced to work from. Ford concentrated on the frustration, jaw clenched tight. Not on the inflamed, almost pulp-like mass of ravaged skin he was slowly beginning to see more and more of.

Just one step at a time. His head was swimming. Get the fabric out of the way, get a clear view of the wound. His pulse was pounding again, and he imagined he could feel a viscous gush of blood oozing out of his shoulder and arm at every beat. Ford cut along from his collar to the bony protrusion of his acromion process and then cut down, until he could rip the entire sleeve free of his left arm. He leaned his head back, turned his face to press his cheek against the cool, scratchy surface of the rock wall behind him.

Maybe he should take a break – a quick one. His eyes were burning. His head was throbbing. What harm would a minute or two bring? And he was so tired. When was the last time he’d gotten a decent night’s rest? A year, at the very least. If he was being honest, it was even more than that. Not since before the portal. Those early days with Bill, where he was more than eager to sleep, where each day was an opportunity, a new adventure; not fueled by necessity or obsession, but pure scientific wonderment.

In fact, he could remember a particular summer’s afternoon that he had spent on the small, supposedly monster-ridden Scuttlebutt Island. Ford had fallen asleep sprawled on one of the gritty, sandy beaches, the sun blinding even through his eyelids, heating every inch of his body, remaining just shy of unbearable. Bill had shown up like a sunburst, and when Ford had risen to greet him a hand had shoved through the shifting sands and pulled him back down.

He had felt more than saw Bill settle into the sand at his side. One of his muse’s small hands had drifted across the bulge of a rib, and then he began to talk. Bill talked about another dimension – not Ford’s and not his; a dimension that he said didn’t exist anymore. It’d contained a planet that was nothing but a thin, snakelike island, looping and doubling back on itself as it meandered around its equator. Beaches that stretched for miles and miles and miles, dotted with hidden coves and basins its denizen would sneak away to. Ocean waters that were a rich, velvet purple, and far below the surface, rocks that glowed pink and orange and verdant in the sun-starved depths of the sea.

It had been so easy to picture it, lying there on the beach. Bill’s voice steady, his hand sweeping back and forth over his skin, a grounding and electrifying anchor. An afternoon spent drowsing next to his muse, imagining far away and bizarre lands, and the creatures that inhabited them. Ford could remember one in particular, an eel large enough to swallow cruise liners whole. Bill had said you could see through its translucent body to the vibrantly colored spines within, and its organs that changed hues according to its digestion cycle. Really! They’re only dangerous when they’re yellow, but they’re yellow most of the time!

Should Ford have taken that as a warning? There were so many things Bill had said and done that, with revelation and retrospect, had taken on sinister and even cautionary tones. Like Bill had been dropping hints along the way, just to rub them in Ford’s face one day. It could almost be considered plausible deniability, but Ford severely doubted that Bill cared enough to claim any form of deniability. Ford could (had) accuse him of deceit and treachery, and all Bill would do is laugh and tell him what a sucker he had been.

There’s a sucker born every minute. A favorite saying among his family members, and Ford guessed that the minute he and Stan were born, he was the dupe.

It was close to this time that Ford realized his arm was no longer hurting. There was no universe in which that was a good sign. His eyes flew open, to the further realization that he was no longer in his body, instead floating in the muggy air of the cavern, and his first thought was to wonder if he had died. And his second thought was that something even worse had happened, as he watched his body jerking to life without him.

“Bill!” Hollow ringing and strangely empty, as it had always sounded when Bill shoved him out of his body.

“In the flesh, Fordsy! Your flesh if we’re talking specifics!” And Bill, peppy as always, though coming through Ford’s vocal cords the words had a coarse edge to them. “Took you long enough to notice!”

“Get out! Get out of my body, Bill!” He knew it wouldn’t do any good, but Ford lunged towards himself anyway, unsurprised when he flew through his body and the wall behind him. It still annoyed him.

“Nah, I don’t think I will,” Bill answered, and Ford got back just in time to watch him stagger to his feet. Bill had to steady himself against the stone formation for a moment, hunched over and breathing raggedly. Ford felt something like cold dread hammering in his chest as he watched himself, the way his chest seemed to quiver and shake on every inhale, his face not warped with the casual grin Bill usually forced, but twisted with exertion.

“What are you doing here?”

“You’re the genius here IQ, I’m sure you can figure it out.” Bill lurched upwards again, and curled the fingers of his right hand into one of the deep puncture wounds along his bicep. He reached out and began smearing his blood across the bumpy cavern wall, dipping back in frequently to rewet his fingers.

“Everything is under control,” Ford said. He threw his hands up in the air and rolled his eyes when he saw Bill was painting a crude triangle on the wall in his blood. “What are you doing?”

“Everything is under control,” Bill repeated nasally. “I’m Dr. Stanford Pines, I have 12 PhDs but not one of them is in self-preservation, I go to sleep when I’m bleeding out all over the wall and floor of a creepy cave seventeen dimensions to the left of my own.”

“I was not sleeping-”

At that, Bill turned around, and the unimpressed stare he leveled towards Ford was only slightly diminished by the way Bill wobbled about on his shaky legs. It shouldn’t be possible, but Ford felt heat creeping up his neck, as though his face was flushing.

“I was just resting for a moment,” Ford said. His gaze skipped off Bill to the rock he had been leaned against, the long smear of wet blood he had left behind. How long had he been out before Bill took over?

“Glad to see you’ve taken the whole time-is-relative-and-meaning-has-no-meaning-thing to heart!” Over Bill’s shoulders, Ford noticed that the red triangle on the wall was glowing, and a bulbous eye opened up in its center. Its slit pupil widened and then constricted, focusing, and Bill twisted his body around before it, like he was posing in front of a strange and grotesque mirror.

Ford couldn’t help but to hover closer, wringing his hands without thought as he crept closer to his ruined shoulder. It was still difficult to see but what was visible didn’t look good. If he were still corporeal, he might have felt dizzy. None of the form of his joint had been left intact; in fact, his entire shoulder reminded Ford of the end of a chewed dog toy, mushed and uneven and raggedly torn.

“I-I-I need to...”

“Relax, IQ!” Bill snapped. He stepped outside to where the rain had picked up. Ford hadn’t even noticed when it had turned from a drizzle to a downpour, and part of him wanted to again try and stop Bill – who knew what was in the rain water on this planet, he hadn’t had the chance to examine it yet – but he watched his former muse who with teeth grit and eyes clenched shut was scrubbing his wounds clean, and he remained quiet.

His left arm hung abnormally low, like it was dangling from stretched out muscles and ligaments, the bone no doubt forced from its socket. Bill slunk back inside and flopped down. He shucked the remains of Ford’s jacket, dropping it without fanfare to the hard, dirt strewn floor. His shirt followed, but this Bill kept in his lap, and began ripping into long, thin strips. Ford’s left hand had to be purposefully arranged, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of his fingers’ fitful twitching, barely able to close into a fist.

Even so, there was a bizarre comfort in the rhythmic shredding, its sound low and steady, evenly paced. Soon Bill had an overflowing handful of shoddy ribbons, which he heaped in a pile on the shelf-like rock beside him. Then Ford watched his body lean over, rummaging through his meagre medical supplies. Ford felt a little lost, like he was a child once more, hiding behind the door to his room and listening to his parents arguing, waiting for Stanley to come back in and tell him everything was going to be fine.

Something warm and soft wrapped around his legs, and Ford yelped, certain he was going to have a heart attack, or a seizure, or whatever happened to consciousnesses that had been stripped from their bodies. He wasn’t even sure how something had grabbed onto him but he struggled against its insistent grip all the same, rapidly losing his calm as the thing slung itself upwards, winding around him in quick coils.

“B-Bill! Help-” The rest of his sentence was muffled as the thing looped a slim protrusion across his mouth.

“Help! As in, exactly what I’m doing?” Ford continued to panic, convinced that Bill was distracted, that his muse - former! - hadn’t noticed some other dimensional being slip inside with them. Until Ford happened to glance at the wall and found the triangular mark still glowing, staring at him in a way that he could almost imagine was… disapproving. Bill and the sigil on the wall rolled their eyes in unison. “I’m trying to get you to calm down. That’s what you wanted, right? Some of that, what is it, human empathy?”

The tendril wrapped around his body constricted him tightly and then relaxed, until it dangled from his arms and legs in lazy rings, running up his chest in a spiraling pattern. It dropped away from his mouth, and its tip brushed up and down his cheek, almost like an apology. Against his better judgment and all reason pointing him otherwise, Ford found himself leaning into its strange embrace. It rewarded him by squeezing, supporting his incorporeal form, and Ford felt it rippling against his body, undulating in slow waves.

Bill didn’t seem like he was paying either of them any mind, busy dumping a dark brown solution over his shorn piles of cloth, soaking the thin fabric, but the eye on the wall remained locked on Ford. It was nostalgic, painfully so. Ford clenched his jaw shut tight and said nothing. A few moments passed in silence aside from the dull pitter-pattering of rain on the canopy of trees just outside, an imaginary heartbeat Ford couldn’t actually feel at the moment slowing. Ford let his eyes drift closed.

Absurd, this was all absurd. He and Bill were enemies. Ford was the one who would put an end to all of Bill’s mischief and monstrosity, someday soon. Their friendship, if there was still anyone left who would call it such, had been based on lies and convenience, and carelessly discarded at its first disposable instant. And Ford had been the only one to lose anything – to lose everything, and here he was still, lost and alone in an unkind dimension, hunted and stalked by half the multiverse.

And the cause of it all was in his body, had a projection swaddled around him in some simulacrum of kindness. It would make him feel nauseous if he were still in his skin. Ford opened his eyes again. Bill was packing the medicinally soaked strips into his deeper wounds, humming a discordant tune. When he noticed Ford watching he stopped long enough to say:

“Fluff, not stuff!”

And then resumed his actions. A movement on the wall caught Ford’s attention. He looked towards it in time to see the triangle’s eye wink at him and turn into a mouth, which promptly stuck its tongue out at him.

“Absurd,” Ford said, but saying it aloud didn't make any more sense of his current situation. He was pinned somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

“Absurdity, like its ugly cousin Beauty, is all in the eye of the beholder, Fordsy! Which, speaking of, have you run into one yet?”

“A Beholder?”

“You bet! They’re not quite like the ones in that dumb game of yours – they have even more eyes if you can believe it – but it’s a bit of a unique coincidence all the same!”

“Serendipitous,” Ford replied.

“Absurd!”

Ford couldn’t help the smile that wormed its way to his face this time. He and the sigil on the wall both watched in silence as Bill began to spool gauze around his arm and shoulder. It was, Ford had to admit, at least a little impressive. And surprising. Bill had never shown much interest in preserving human life, as opposed to his blatant interest in endangering it. Not to mention he was working with one arm, in a body suffering from a severe blood volume deficit and untold traumatic damage.

“Well!” Bill said abruptly. “I’m out of stuff to do!” He leapt to his feet, and had to place a stabilizing hand on the wall behind him. “If you stay out here, you’re gonna die!” Ford had been on the verge of thanking him. “Lucky you, I happen to know of a few less than totally scrupulous surgeons that would be willing to work on you on the down low!”

“Bill,” Ford began, trying to disentangle himself from the clingy tentacle, “there are a number of reasons that avenue is not open to me. The most immediate of which being the bounty you’ve placed on my head, which I’m sure ‘less than totally scrupulous’ doctors would be more than happy to collect.” The tentacle remained firmly wrapped around him, regardless of his squirming.

“Ah, don’t worry about that stuff Sixer! It’s above your paygrade! Get yourself there, and it’ll all work itself out!”

The tendril dissipated in thin streams of billowing smoke, and with it gone so entirely Ford found himself wanting it back.

“What, I’m supposed to just-” trust you?

“Just walk right in! It’ll be fine, scout’s honor!” Bill held up his hand in an old eagle scouts salute that Ford barely remembered Stan giving all the time. “Fine, pinky promise?” He extended his hand out towards Ford’s form, and Ford rolled his eyes and stretched his own to grasp it. As soon as he did, he found himself thrust back into his body, feeling as though he’d been dropped off a cliff side to do so.

He had been left utterly alone, with his arm and shoulder throwing off deep and constant spikes of agony. Bill had been thoughtful enough to fashion him some sort of sling for his injured arm to lie in, but there was nothing here he could do for the pain. The triangle was still on the wall, murky and dull now that he was once more planted firmly in the physical dimension. Beneath it was a barebones map – just the cave he was in, a few major landmarks, and a dotted line which Ford assumed he was meant to follow.

When had Bill even had time to draw this sketchy, nigh-illegible scribble? It must have been sometime while Ford was resting, and somehow its mere presence irritated him. Bill had drawn it up before Ford had agreed to anything, just assuming that he was going to do what he was told - a trait Bill shared with Stanley. It made Ford want to dig his heels in and live in this cave until he died, but there was an unfortunately very real concern that said death would come rather quickly.

Ford committed the crude map to memory and spent a few hobbled minutes gathering what supplies he could reasonably carry in his state. What was left of the medical supplies – some Band-Aids with you’re an all star! printed on them, some tape, about half a roll of gauze – was left where it lie, and Ford spared about half a thought to hope it might benefit some other traveler one day. All that left him was a few pieces of soy bread, an empty canteen, and a busted Walkman that had somehow become attuned to Interdimensional Talk Radio (which was surprisingly similar to the talk radio he remembered from Earth, except it managed to be even more inflammatory).

Ford put on the mangled remains of his jacket and headed out.

A few short weeks later he was slipping out the back of what could only – generously – be called an organ harvesting farm. And yet somehow, true to Bill’s word, they had cared for him, even rehabilitated him until function had been restored to his left arm. The only proof left behind was a tangled mess of puckered scar tissue, and the assurance that he would always know when it was going to rain from here on out.

On his way out, Ford had spotted a stack of wanted posters at a ‘nurse’ station, and had snagged one for himself. Now he stared down at the crumpled flyer in his hands, unsure what the fluttering feeling in his stomach was meant to be telling him.

WANTED: ALIVE

Stanford Pines, of dimension YOU KNOW THE ONE!

LIMITED TIME OFFER! REWARD DOUBLED FOR RETURN WITH ALL FOUR FUNCTIONING HUMAN LIMBS INTACT!

ACT FAST! RULES AND RESTRICTIONS APPLY! SEE BILL CIPHER FOR DETAILS! Conveniently located in your DREAMS, NIGHTMARES, and in CERTAIN DIMENSIONS, that CRAWLSPACE IN THE ATTIC YOU’VE BEEN AFRAID TO GO IN!

[shootingstarcipher-blog]

With its pastel hues, chequered stone floor and charming ambiance, this place truly was the prettiest and most enchanting building Dipper had ever set foot in. And yet, in spite of all that he loved about it, his initial reasons for going there at the same time every other afternoon had long been forgotten. The attractiveness of the building no longer enthralled him, but the attractiveness of another customer who always seemed to turn up at exactly the same time as he did was a different matter altogether…

It hadn’t been about having a quiet place to work and have something cold and sweet to keep him cool in the summer’s heat for weeks. He could no longer concentrate on his work and so the hour he spent in the ice-cream parlour every other day always ended up being wasted.

In one respect, however, he felt he’d gained something from his never-ending series of stolen glances and shy smiles. In the past, he had often felt out of place, only once before experiencing what a supposed “crush” felt like. He hadn’t seen Wendy for a very long time – too long – but he had moved passed his feelings a while ago with and had eventually come to accept that she simply didn’t feel the same way about him. It had been so long since the mere sight of someone had been enough to instantly make his heart race and his palms sweat that he had barely been able to recognise the feelings when they started to take over him again.

With thoughts of the red-head he had once considered to be the love of his life banished from his mind, Dipper once again locked his wary, cautious gaze onto the back of the blond’s head, blissfully unaware of the satisfied smirk playing on the boy’s lips. Something that Dipper found particularly intriguing about the blond was the eye patch that was always strapped around his head, obstructing view of the right side of his face, and the black top hat he was never seen without. It was such a strange item for someone to have been seen wearing in this day and age (and to an ice-cream parlour, too) that the first time Dipper saw him, he was certain he must have been dressed in costume and on his way to or back from some sort of event.

They had never talked and, even though they had seen each other every other day for over a month, they had never even learned each other’s names. And it seemed that on this particular day, the mysterious blond was intent on changing that.

The sight of a blurred figure manifesting in the seat opposite him had Dipper blinking in shock, his head whirling round to get a better look at the intruder automatically, and then his heart started to beat harder and faster than before, slamming so hard against his ribs that he felt his bones might shatter and his heart might burst.

“Your ice-cream’s melting,” the blond, one-eyed figure pointed out, gesturing to the melted mess of vanilla and strawberry ice-cream oozing over the sides of the glass in the centre of the table. Dipper didn’t even glance down at it. The ice-cream wasn’t the point. The blond was.

“I thought it was time we finally spoke,” he went on, his smile widening with every word. To anyone else, the dagger-like teeth revealed by his pulled-back top lip would have made him look like a monster. To Dipper, he was nothing short of enchanting. “You’ve been staring at me an awful lot…” At that, the brunet’s face flushed a deep red and he tore his gaze away, suddenly finding the marble pattern on the table-top a lot more interesting than he ever had before. “Don’t worry,” laughed the blond, flashing another dazzling smile in his direction. “I like it. And anyway, I’ve been watching you too.”

The temptation to hide his blushing face behind his hands was too strong to ignore but before Dipper had the chance to act on that compulsion, a hand suddenly reached out across the table and gently took hold of his chin, tilting his head backwards and forcing him to look right into the blond’s golden left eye. It was such a peculiar colour… He’d never noticed it before. And it was glowing.

“Why don’t we get out of here… and maybe go somewhere a little more private?” His yellowed eye darted from side to side as he spoke, scanning the surrounding area; gaggles of teenagers were streaming into the ice-cream parlour now, many of whom were choosing the seats closest to the two of them.

Dipper glanced down at his melted mess of what had once been ice-cream for no more than a second and nodded instantly. He couldn’t eat anyway – not with the flock of butterflies beating their wings frantically inside his stomach, leaving him lightheaded, giddy and feeling slightly nauseated. The blond’s face broke into a grin and he withdrew his hand for just a moment, taking hold of Dipper’s immediately afterwards and pulling him to his feet. They walked out the door under the inquisitive gazes of almost every other customer in the parlour.

“I’m Bill, by the way – Bill Cipher,” the one-eyed boy introduced himself as they strode out into the street, inciting a sudden spark of strange familiarity in the brunet’s mind. They’d met before. That name… He knew that name. Cipher. And that glowing yellow eye – that was familiar too. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

It was darker outside than he’d realised. Bill slung his arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer. Dipper shuddered at his touch, wary now that he was sure they’d known each other in the past – or in another life, perhaps – but he didn’t have the heart to pull away. Bill was warm and comforting, and he could stay that way so long as Dipper promised not to question his identity any further. He told himself to relax and simply enjoy the moment, but as they turned a corner the blond said something that he just wasn’t able to ignore.

“Come on, Pine Tree. You must remember me now.”

And he did. He remembered all of it. Pine Tree. Bill Cipher. Gravity Falls and all the secrets held within it.

His back was slammed into a brick wall in an instant. There was no-one around but Bill, a hand was already pressed against his mouth ready to muffle any screams he dared elicit and the blond’s chest was pushed against his own, the short distance that had once stood between them disappearing. Dipper’s breathing quickly became stifled and he struggled to control it, his focus solely becoming trained on finding the fastest and easiest possible route to safety.

He had to get home. He had to get back to Mabel. Was Mabel okay? And would she still be okay if he managed to escape from Bill? He didn’t want to risk it; he couldn’t. But what about the rest of his family? What about Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan? And more importantly, why was his neck so warm and-

He hissed in pain as a sharp, agonising sensation rippled through his body. And then it vanished, swept away by the feeling of a hot, moist tongue lapping at the blood the demon’s piercing bite had released. “Why did you…” he gasped, silenced by the blond’s menacing glance.

“Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this too, Pine Tree. After watching you all this time I like to think I know what you like.” As much as Dipper hated to admit it, Bill was right – he really was enjoying it. Well, he was enjoying the sensation, but the knowledge that it was the monster who had made his summer as a twelve year old boy a living nightmare made it difficult for him to relax. The way Bill’s tongue was gliding up and down the side of his neck, however, was more than enough to take his mind off it.

But by the time the demon’s hand found itself sneaking its way up the brunet’s shirt, Dipper had realised that in spite of the lack of people around them, they were still in a public place and besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted this scenario to go much further even if they were somewhere less open.

Bill must have been reading his mind at that moment because he suddenly stopped and pulled away with a knowing smirk. “Back to yours then?” and he wiped away the speck of vanilla ice-cream from the corner of Dipper’s mouth with the tip of his thumb.

At least they’d finally learned each other’s names.

Again.

[thetiredcollegestudentwrites]

Wedding Night (Ludus/Farmer)

I haven’t written a love scene for a while so excuse any awkwardness you may encounter whether it is in grammar, or storytelling. 

Based on  responses I’ve gotten for my Bachelor Smutttttt post, Ludus was the most popular candidate for this!

The following is based on a true story...

“I love you Rose.” Ludus said, leaning forward and pressing his lips against hers. With half lidded eyes he enjoyed the way her cheeks flushed as she closed her eyes completely and leaned into him at the contact.

He placed on hand on her cheek and the other on her waist, feeling for the edge of the traditional dress she was wearing. She looked so beautiful in it that it would be a shame if they sullied it so quickly. It took a few tries but he discretely undid the ties that kept her dress up.

Pulling her body flush against him, he grounded his hips against hers, letting her feel what she did to him.

“I want you wife.” He whispered huskily against her ear, causing goosebumps to run across her skin.

Rose could feel butterflies in her stomach at his words. They had come close to this point a few times before but had always stopped shy of actual sex. Now that they were married and in her, their locked house, they didn’t need to stop.

“I-I do too.” She replied, feeling her cheeks heat up as the words left her lips.

Ludus chuckled, “You surprise me everyday with how forward you can be.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against her bare shoulders, sucking at the skin to leave his mark there. He wanted her body to show that she was his. He had seen Wayne stand a bit to close to her when they were taking pictures at the reception and he had wanted to kiss her there, right in front of that touchy mailman to show him and everyone else there that she was him.

Rose enjoyed the new sensations immensely, using one of her hands to release her husbands hair from the ponytail that kept it neatly pulled back. She didn’t fall in love with Ludus for his neat hair. She liked the wild, masculine side of him. She liked his muscles flexing as he fixed things around town, she liked the way sweat dripped down his face and arms as he helped her build everything around her farm. Her other hand drifted down to cup his ass, another thing she loved staring at when he made her things for her farm.

Growling against her skin at the feeling of her hand on his ass, he leaned up and captured her lips once again. Both his arms wrapped around her waist and he picked her up and walked over to the bed. He gently lowered her down onto it before slipping the dress off of her.

He took off his chest piece and covered her body with his own. He let his eyes take in the sight of her dusky nipples and her lacy underwear. Since the dress she was wearing had no straps, Nana made her forgo a bra. He had overheard their conversation, given that he was just in the other room and there were no doors separating them. It was torture knowing she was bare under that dress but he finally got to reap the benefits of it now.

“Stop staring.” Rose said, glaring lightly at her husband, who smiled down at her.

“No.” he simply said before leaning down and taking one semi-erect nipple into his mouth. She smelled of the vanilla oil Nana had made her bath in before the ceremony. She tasted like it too. He felt like a man starving as he sucked at her, enjoying the way she unconsciously pushed herself closer to him. He used his other hand to tease the remaining breast while he pressed his knee against her rapidly dampening core.

“Lu-Ludus.” She moaned.

He let go of her nipple and kissed her once again, their tongues dancing against one another, as their hands explored each others body. One of his hands slid down her stomach and under her wet panties. Her hands traced the outlines of his well muscled chest, her thumb flickering over his nipples. She smiled against his lips as he visibly shuddered at the contact.

When he pulled his lips away to breath she went in and returned the favor by sucking on one of his nipples. Surprised to find a weak point on his body so fast.

The hand in her underwear tensed and pressed against her clit leaving her panting against him.

Ludus had been with a few women before but none of them had him this hard this fast. Using his free hand he tore off his silk pants and underwear revealing his now swollen length.

Rose caught sight of the erection, having felt it before through Ludus’s pants but never actually seeing it before. Her father had raised her in a very sheltered environment and despite her age she had never been with a man before.

She reached for it but he gently pushed her hand away, “Not tonight my love.” He breathed against her lips, “Maybe later, but I need you now.”

She swallowed and nodded, feeling a bit uncertain at the intensity in his gaze. He noticed and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips. “It’ll be okay.” He said, “Trust me.”

He pulled down her panties and stared openly at her dark curls and and pink of her pussy. He could feel her tense under his gaze but that was expected, she was literally a blushing virgin.

He wouldn’t tease her for long, at least not tonight. He pressed his fingers against her, teasing her clit and testing how wet she was. He was a bit embarrassed to admit but he had gone to Ford for advice on how to make sex not as painful for a virgin. The doctor had replied in a surprisingly technical manner and that had put Ludus at ease. He was going to put that to the test tonight.

Underneath him Rose had her arms wrapped around his neck, her eyes closed and her face distorted in pleasure. He continued to put pressure on her clit and he pushed one finger into her. The intrusion was not big, but Rose definitely felt it inside of her. He slid another finger inside of her, feeling how tight she was around him and knew he had to at least get one other finger in her before he would feel comfortable sliding his dick into her.

She was now writhing underneath him as he thrusted his fingers in and out of her. Her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders and he knew that she was ready at this point. He flipped their positions so she was straddling him. Her ass pressed against his length and that contact was enough to make him hiss in pleasure.

“Ludus?” Rose, while never having had sex before, had read about the act in romance books and stuff. Normally during their first time’s the guy usually was on top.

“It’ll feel better the first time like this.” He breathed out, “I won’t know when to stop if I did it myself. You can control it this way.” She looked so adorably lost that he had to bite back a laugh. “I’ll help you.” He pressed his hands against her waist and pulled her a bit forward. “I need you to move up a bit.” He guided her hips up, and brought one of his hands down to position himself against her opening. “Move your hips down, you can stop whenever you want to.” The last few words came out in a hiss as she began to lower her hips, taking him into her warm, tight channel. “Gods.”

Rose bit down on her lip as she pushed down, feeling more and more of Ludus’s length fill her. Every time it began to hurt she would stop, and let herself get used to the sensation before pushing down even more. All the while she could feel how tense Ludus was underneath her. She could feel the rapid beating of his heart and could feel that he was holding himself back, and it moved her like nothing else in the world. The love she had for this man seemed to swell up inside of her, ready to burst.

It manifested itself in the form of tears, and when he felt the warm droplets on his stomach he opened his eyes to find the love of his life crying.

“Rose!” He pushed himself up so he was no longer laying on the bed, but rather chest to chest with her. “What’s wrong my love, does it hurt?”

“No.” She shook her head, leaning forward to share her salty kisses with him. “I just, I just realized how much I love you.”

Taken aback by her confession he didn’t respond to her kisses for a bit. His eyes softened and he pulled away from her lips. “You’re so silly sometimes.” Though they could both tell he was immensely pleased by her words.

“I love you.” She repeated before lowering herself completely onto his lap, taking all of him inside her, reveling in the feeling of being completely full.

“I love you.” He repeated, pressing his lips against hers as he guided her hips to go slowly bounce against his lap.

Words became blurred as the night pressed on and the two consummated their marriage. Ludus was insatiable, waking her up several times during the night for another around and Rose had a feeling that she was going to be extremely sore the next day.

She was right, the next day she got out of bed late and had a late start on checking up on her animals, never mind watering the plants. She was a bit resentful of Ludus who seemed more energetic than ever, fixing up fencing all over her farm since he had the day off today.

After their morning chores, Rose dragged herself back to the house and took a bath. She found lunch waiting for her when she emerged from the bathroom and almost cried at the sight of her favorite foods laid out before her. She kissed Ludus before settling down across from him and eating.

Afternoon chores consisted of clearing space for the new barn she was planning on having built in the new plot of land her uncle Frank had cleared for her at the beginning of Spring.

Ludus had brought her a snack there as the sun was beginning to set, and they ended up making love behind a grove of trees she was trying to clear.

The next day they woke up to someone knocking on their door. Rose awoke first, finding herself wrapped up firmly in Ludus’s arms.

“Rose, yoo hoo darling are you here?” That sounded like her mother, Rose thought. Was this a dream?

Rose struggled to get out of Ludus’s hold but damn him for being so strong. Instead he began to shift in his sleep, slowly waking up as well.

“Honey I’m going to open the door with your key alright!”

Green eyes widened and Rose pushed Ludus away in a panic.

“Wha-” He still had sleepy eyes and Rose panicked even more.

“My mom’s here!” She hissed, jumping out of bed before realizing she was nude. She ran towards the bathroom and grabbed her bathrobe, putting it on and tying it closed.

Ludus had followed her, yawning and unashamed at his nude body. A sight she would normally welcome if not for her birth giver about to barge into her house. She shoved Ludus into the bathroom and closed the door as her front door opened and her mother walked in.

“Mother!” Rose said loud enough for Ludus to hear. “What are you doing here so suddenly?”

“Oh I had heard from your sister how much fun she had when she was here.” Her mother smiled, “I’m sure your father and sister are responsible enough to last a week without me, so I’ll be staying with you for a bit okay honey.”

“B-But I don’t have a free bed.” Rose began.

“Do not fret dear, I had Frank lend me a bed for my stay.” Her mother looked her up and down. “Oh did I catch you about to bathe?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Then don’t let me hold you back dear.” Her mother grinned, “I’ll get breakfast started in the meantime then!”

Rose swallowed, watching her mother walk towards the kitchen as if nothing was wrong, while she wanted to scream. Did her mother forget that she had just gotten married literally two days ago!

She walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Finding a fully awake Ludus waiting for her, a frown gracing his lips.

“We’re going to build a bigger house with a guest room tomorrow.” He growled at her, as he pulled her towards him and pressing a passionate kiss against her lips. “I won’t survive a week.” 

Rose rolled her eyes, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“I’ve waiting a whole year for this Rose, two days isn’t enough.”

She blushed.

So a bit rushed, a bit scattered everywhere, but I think considering how long it’s been since I’ve written something like this I did a good job. I generally like to write scenes that lead up to sex since I personally find them more enjoyable to read than the actual sex. I mean if you’re reading this you’ve probably read enough sex scenes that you can just imagine what happens next.

I based MC’s personality based on the things Ludus says to you once you start going steady with him. it seems that the MC isn’t very forward and gets shy and embarrassed easily, and then around the red and pink flower he starts saying things like “I’m surprised at how you’ve changed, you don;t mind hugging me and holding me in public” or something like that.

I say it was based on a true story because literally Ludus and I got married in the game, and the next day was some sort of festival and then the next day my mom showed up to stay with me. Like mom, you were at the wedding, your child is in the honeymoon phase with her very fit and sexy husband, please don’t come at least a month if you want any hope of grandchildren!

Let me know what you think!