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harrysddtittys · 3 years

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Could you maybe write something where Harry is a single father to maybe a girl. And just write how he’d deal with her terrible twos. Like from morning to night or something like that? 🥺

wow i finally got a requestttt!!! here you go! I know nothing about young children, so i don’t even know if this is an accurate description of a 2 y/o lol. but i hope you like it <33

Warnings: fluffff, dadrry, most likely some typos :)

Masterlist ❣︎ Requests

Piece of work

“Oh my God, Lani.” Harry groaned, groggily, as he was pulled out of his sleep by his daughter sitting on his back and yelling “Daddy, wake up!” in an playful voice. As much as he tries to pretend to not to like being woken up so obnoxiously every morning, they both know he loves for the first thing he hears every day to be his little girl yelling in his ear.

He lays there for a couple more minutes, wanting to sleep for a little bit longer, but gives up when he realizes she’s not going to be quiet until he gets up. “Okay, okay. I’m awake. Calm down.”

When he says that, she immediately gets off his back so that he can sit up, sitting next to him. He looks over at her. She’s wearing a random shirt of her’s that she doesn’t really wear other than to sleep, and her pull-up that she wears to prevent wetting the bed at night, and she has a head full of curly, unruly hair. He just smiles, so in awe of the fact he helped create something so beautiful.

Fatherhood was by far the best thing that ever happened to Harry. The second he looked his little girl, Alani in the eyes, he instantly felt the connection. He loves her with his entire being. But she can definitely be a lot to handle

She turned two not even three months ago. Harry Honestly thought the “terrible two’s” stage was a myth. Boy, was he wrong. The tantrums hit like lightning. Not only is she in her terrible two’s, but she’s naturally very stubborn, and sassy. She definitely got that from him. He swears she’s a 13 year old in a 2 year olds body.

“G’morning, bug.” He says, sitting up slowly because of the stiff joints from not moving much all night. “Good morning, daddy!” She squeals excitedly. Once he’s fully sat up, Alani jumps on him, throwing her tiny arms around him, causing Harry to chuckle. She gets so excited when he wakes up for the day.

He wraps his arms around her and squeeze her lightly, but grunting as if he’s squeezing her as tight as he can, making her giggle. “Did you sleep good?” He questions, quietly. “Yeah.” She mumbles, feeling so content where she is, like in her dad’s arms is the best place in the world. “V’got some things to do today. Y’wanna go run some errands with daddy?” This causes her to pull away from him with with wide eyes, nodding eagerly. The biggest smile spreads across Harry’s features. “Yeah?” Which she responds to by nodding again.

“Then we gotta get ready, bub. Y’hungry?” He asks to which she responds with a simple “Yes.” “Alright let’s go eat.” When he says that, Alani gets down off the bed, before sprinting out of his room, and toward the kitchen full speed. “Stop running!” He slightly scolds, hearing her tiny feet padding down the hallway at a much slower speed than before.

He always gets so nervous when she’s running around, but especially when she’s running in the house. She’s so wild and crazy, yet so clumsy. Constantly falling, and running into things. She rarely actually gets hurt. Most of the time she moves on from it like nothing happened. But it scares the absolute shit out of Harry every time.

When he enters the kitchen, he sees Alani standing next to the counter. As soon as he’s in her line of vision she starts pointing to the box of cinnamon toast crunch. “Daddy, this?” with pleading eyes. Harry just laughs. He doesn’t let her eat those than often for breakfast, because of how sweet they are, choosing to fix something on the healthier side for them to eat instead. But today he figured it wouldn’t hurt to let her have a little bowl of it before the day starts.

He goes over to the little girl who is still aggressively pointing at the box of cereal, ending down to pick her up. “Alright, alright. Hold you’re horses, will you?” He coos softly. He gently sits her down on at the kitchen table before returning back over to the counter. He opens the cabinet, pulling out a small bowl. When he’s finished making her cereal, he grabs her one of her baby spoons before serving it to her. “Thank you!” she says loudly. “You’re welcome, princess.” he chuckles.

Harry doesn’t like cinnamon toast crunch, it’s way to sweet for him. He decides he’ll just pop a bagel in the toaster and call it a day.

* * *

Once they’ve finished breakfast, they got completely ready for the day, and we’re soon ready to head out. Harry turns around to look at his daughter. She’s dressed in a denim dress, with a white t-shirt underneath, and white tennis shoes. Her hair’s brushed up into two sleek pigtails, which he’d become a pro at over the past couple years. Harry decided on a white t-shirt with a gray pair of pants. “Y’ready t’go, love?” he asked, feeling around his pockets to make sure he had everything. “Mhm!”

once they’re out to the car, Harry straps Alani into her car seat in the back, peppering kisses all over her tiny face once she’s all buckled in. “Daddy!” She squeals. Giggling, he closes the door, and goes around to the drivers side, getting in and powering the car on. “Alright, let’s roll.” he sighs, turning around to back out of the driveway.

They needed to stop at the grocery store, just to stock up on some things they needed around the house. So that’s where they were headed to now.

“Daddy, look! Red!” Alani exclaimed, pointing at the red car that was next to them. “Yes, that is red, baby, good job!” Harry beams. “Y’so smart.”

They continue driving toward their local grocery. Harry looks into his rear view mirror to check in Alani, and catches her staring at him. She’s always staring at him. It seems to be her favorite thing to do. He pulls the silliest face he could think of, causing her to burst into laughter. Harry laughs right along with her. Her laugh is so contagious. “Do it again!” She giggles. Harry happily obliges, pulling the goofy face once more, causing her angelic little laugh to engulf his ears.

After a little while of driving, they finally reached their destination, pulling into the grocery store parking lot. Alani watches her dad get out of the car, patiently waiting for him to make his way around to her side to get her out of the car. Soon enough, he does, taking her out of her cars seat and carrying her on his hip as the go into the store.

* * *

“Daddy, Daddy! Can I have that?” Alani asks loudly, pointing to something. “Shhh, you have to use your inside voice, darling.” Harry reminds her gently. He looks over to where she was pointing and not to his surprise, he sees a doll on the shelf. He’s grown to hate telling her no, but they didn’t come for toys, and she has more than enough at home already. “No, my love. Not today.” Her face immediately dropped. “But… but please?” She whines, her lip quivering. Harry hates that she’s disappointed but he knows he can’t give in. “No, baby. You don’t have to cry. Just not today, okay?” he says gently.

That doesn’t help, considering her whimpers are quickly turning into loud wails, and he knows the meltdown is coming. “Lani, it’s okay. You have plenty of toys at home to play with.” he try’s to reason but it doesn’t stop the tears that are slowly rolling down her face, and the loud, attention drawing cries. People were starting to look, and Harry was starting to get frustrated, but she was only 2. He knew she was still learning how to deal with her emotions. But when your kid is having a complete meltdown, and screaming in the middle of a store over a doll, that’s definitely a bit annoying.

Harry leans down to be face to face with her in her, who’s seated in the cart. “Alani, I know you’re upset, but you’re not going to scream.” He says softly, but slightly sternly. She looks at her dad, still crying but visibly calming down. Harry waits for her whines to die down completely before asking her “Are we okay now? Can we keep shopping?” to which she responds to with a nod.

After picking up just a few more essentials, they’re in line, waiting to check out. Harry looks down at Alani, realizing she’s been pretty silent ever since she stopped crying. He sees her with the all too familiar scowl on her face, with a pout of her lips. “Why are you looking so evil, bub?” Harry asked, with a gentle shake of his head. She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t need to because he already knows she’s mad at him for refusing to buy her a doll.

He just rolls his eyes and try’s not to laugh. She really is something else. But he knows that she’s genuinely mad at him and him not taking her seriously will set her off again.

Eventually, they make their way up to the front of the line to check out, and soon enough their heading back out to the car. Harry looks at her, as he’s loading all the groceries into the trunk of his car to see that she still has the same mean look on her face. “Y’gonna stay mad at daddy all day, huh?” He teases her solely for his own enjoyment, knowing she’s much to busy trying to have an attitude to laugh at anything he says. She nods silently, still refusing to speak to him. Harry can’t help but laugh at that, knowing that wasn’t true in the slightest. “Y’have to learn t’take ‘no’ for an answer, baby love.” He sighs.

When they’re in the car in the way home, Harry looks at her in the mirror, pulling some silly faces like he was doing earlier. She sees him, and while she was still trying to hold her angry face, he can see the smile tugging at her lips. He doesn’t stop until her scowl is completely replaced by a smile, her beautiful laugh ringing through his ears, making his heart flutter with joy.

“Ahhh, I thought you were mad!” Harry laughs, causing her to laugh along with him, knowing she failed her attempt at holding a grudge on him. “Are we gonna be friends again?” Harry asks jokingly. “Yeah, we’re friends again!” Alani states matter of factly, causing Harry to chuckle.

This child really was a little piece of work, but he loves her nonetheless.

“Good.”

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autistic-lanzhan · 4 years

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Some headcanons about Autistic Lan Wangji that I've been meaning to write for a while but I finally am after seeing @chi-zi 's exquisite Wen Ning headcanons

• constantly masking. Is unable to show obvious autism traits in public if he can possibly help it. Like it looks like he never has meltdowns but it's just that he literally can't if anyone else is around; he just has to go very still until he can Exit the Situation and then as soon as he gets back in private he Melts Down Big Time. Nobody but Xichen and eventually Wei Ying must know about this.

• Very hypersensitive sensory-wise, which is why, for example, he only eats bland food, even by Lan standards.

• for the love of god don't touch him without permission. Lan Wangji is not responsible for any damage that may occur to persons who touch him without permission. He's gotten very good at just straight-up dodging people trying to touch his arm or shoulder in the middle of a conversation

• thrives on routine, which why a Certain Person constantly disrupting his routine and doing things he doesn't have a prescribed response for ticks him off so much

• talking is hard and trying to put words in some kind of order on the fly is harder so he relies heavily on social scripting, which earns him his reputation as a Polite and Formal Person. Also one-word responses and "mn"s

• also if I'm remembering the novel correctly, he tends to respond affirmatively to questions by repeating the question back as a statement, which idk may be a Chinese syntax thing but it's also an echolalia thing for some people

• gets overwhelmed easily by multiple people talking at once, thus his liberal use of the silence spell

• understands sarcasm in theory but that doesn't mean he has to approve of its use

• How To Do A Eye Contact???? Uhh just look at their lips. Oh no the loud unpredictable kid has pretty lips

Hold on to your hats folks because I'm about to talk a whole bunch about stimming

• loves to stim with water. Adores the cold spring. As a child he was constantly sticking his hand in creeks and fountains and shit and then wiping his wet hand on Lan Xichen. The feeling and sound of running water is one of his go-to calming/grounding stims

• see also: the feeling of rain falling on his face (;_; I'm sorry I didn't mean to make this sad)

• *puts bunny in lap as pressure stim*

• *puts husband in lap as ultimate pressure stim*

• likes rubbing his thumb over Bichen's hilt/the little patterns on its sheath, bonus points for being subtle and socially acceptable

• slight levels of sensory overload and/or emotional levels of distress = clenching his hands, either around Bichen or just in a fist

• a bit more distress = subtle, rapid handflaps, hidden inside his sleeves. If he isn't wearing sleeves that hide his hands this is going to be a Problem (see first bullet point) so he makes a point to wear outfits with long sleeves as often as possible

• very distressed = rocking and flapping his hands near his face. Obviously he wouldn't be caught dead doing this in front of other people tho so he's gotten very efficient at removing himself from situations so he can go calm down

• on the flip side, may I present for your consideration: happy rocking Lan Wangji

• assorted all-purpose sensory regulation stims: pacing, petting rabbits, humming, shifting his weight from foot to foot, touching his face/lips with Soft Fabrics, just touching nice textures in general, smushing self against the wall as a pressure stim, tapping his fingers on his face

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #Oh no these are all just MY autism traits oops #mine

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ragingbookdragon · 5 years

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Forging Paths PT. 6

Batsis Story!

A/N: Okay, right next to the ending, this was my favorite part to write. Catharsis is what this is y’all. And even if I’m cringing, I’m proud of this. -Thorne <3

In the twenty-seven years that (Y/N) had been alive; she had only seen her father's wrath a handful of times. The first, when she was ten and blindly put herself in harm's way to protect him.

The second, when she was nineteen and Jason was fourteen, and they took a joyride all the way to Panama City in Bruce's brand-new Maserati GranTurismo.

The third, when she was twenty-one, and a screaming match occurred between them over who was to blame for the death of a brother and a son.

The fourth and final, was when she was twenty-three, and she stared down her father's cold fury as she left Gotham City for good. Yes, (Y/N) had seen her father's anger, and she no doubt expected to see it once more when he returned to the cave. Upon arrival, she immediately took in the sight of injured Tim sitting on an examination table, with the other's gathered around. Hurrying over, she saw Alfred stitching up a bullet wound in his right shoulder. "What happened Tim?" He kept his eyes downwards, looking at the mug he'd been holding, a grimace on his face. Jason leaned over and spoke to her.

"We got to the bank after dropping Penguin off at GCPD, and Timbers was in the manager's office, putting antibiotic in his wound. Two-Face got him when he wasn't paying attention. I told Dick to take him back to the cave and I'd go after Two-Face." She glanced over at Dick who'd been assisting Alfred.

"And where is Two-Face now?" Jason finally looked at her.

"Sitting next to Penguin at GCP- Holy shit what happened to you!?" At Jason's outburst, all eyes moved to (Y/N) who leaned over to look in the mirror hanging in the medical room. Dried blood was smeared across the majority of her neck and face. Alfred, who'd been focusing on Tim, began expressing concern.

"Ms. (Y/N), why are you covered in blood?! Master Dick go get a rag and some antiseptic and start helping her." Dick went to go wet a rag, and (Y/N) waved them off.

"Don't worry about me, it's not my blood." At this, everyone stopped and stared at her. Jason's face morphing into a look of concern.

"(Y/N), what did you do?" She took the rag from Dick and began wiping the blood from her face.

"I survived. That's what I did." Jason's face dropped.

"Did you do what I think you did?" She looked at him and gave a small smile.

"Don't worry about me little brother. I can handle him." The four men in front of her all shared a look, before Tim spoke up.

"Yeah, I'm all glad we're concerned about (Y/N), but I'm still in pain. Can somebody do something about that?" Jason reached over in flicked him in the forehead.

"I can step on your foot and you'll forget about your shoulder." Tim reared up and eyed him irritated.

"Jason that makes no sense." Jason rolled his eyes and threw the towel he'd been holding at Tim's head, before grabbing (Y/N)'s arm and pulling her off to the side.

"What happened out there?" (Y/N) looked down, reluctant to explain anything, until Jason placed a hand on her shoulder. "(Y/N). What happened?" His pleading tone cut through her and she sighed.

"There were three warehouses at the complex. Damian took the first, I took the second, and Bruce took the third. When I got in, I took down the guards, but their leader got the better of me and I started getting the shit choked out of me. I did the only thing I could do. I defended myself. Next thing I know, I'm on a roof getting told I had to come back here and that I wasn't a part of the mission anymore." What started off as an explanation, ended in an angered rant. (Y/N) closed her eyes and dipped her head back, inhaling slowly, then exhaling, trying to calm the simmered fury. Jason placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I believe that whatever decision you made, you made it knowing it was the best you could've." She opened her eyes and stared at him; he smiled back at her. "I'm always on your side big sis." He opened his arms, and she leaned in, wrapping hers around his waist.

"What would I do without you kid brother?" He thought for a moment.

"Crash and Burn." She snorted and pulled away, whacking him in the ribs.

"Supernatural reference? Really Jason?" He shrugged.

"What? It's a great show." She turned and went to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water.

"Yeah, cause you think you're like Dean." He placed his hands on his hips and responded.

"I'm not like Dean, Dean's like me. I'm better than Dean." She rolled her eyes and sat down at the table, propping her feet up.

"Just keep telling yourself that wayward son." His eyes crinkled at the name and he went to sit beside her, when the Batmobile pulled into the cave. He glanced at her and watched her sit up, a hard look in her eye. Damian got out first and went to change out of his uniform, eyeing (Y/N) as he walked by. Jason moved to her side and listened as she began to take steady breaths. She looked up at him, eyes clear, and he grinned down at her and quipped,

"Out of the frying pan." She snorted and stood up, smirking at him.

"And into the fire." Moving to the center of the room, she stood waiting for him to arrive.

He walked slowly to meet her and she could see the anger in his eyes as he removed his cowl. He stopped a few yards away from her and stood up straight. Jason might be tall, but Bruce was taller. He stared down at her, jaw set firmly. From a distance, one would've thought they were just staring at the other, but in reality, this was a silent battle of who was going to give first. He did; he always did. "Mind explaining why you decided to deliberately disobey my orders tonight?" The way he spoke to her, that condescending, holier-than-thou attitude, made her blood boil, but she wasn't ready to give in yet, instead choosing a tone of almost humorous apathy.

"No, not really." Wrong answer. She thought, as he took a menacing step towards her, face hardening.

"Excuse me? What did you just say to me?" She took a step forward too and crossed her arms.

"I don't particularly believe I owe you an explanation for what happened tonight, and frankly, I don't even think you deserve one." She watched the fire rage in his eyes, and felt a deep satisfaction at being the person who was pouring gasoline into it.

"It doesn't matter what you believe or what you think, the fact of the matter is, you murdered someone tonight." She rolled her eyes but stood her ground.

"No, I defended myself tonight." He reared back, almost disgusted.

"By killing someone!? That's not defense (Y/N)!" She would've flinched at him, but she had long ago grown out of being afraid of him.

"When someone has his hands wrapped around my throat, you better fucking believe that's a damn sure way to defend yourself!" By now, everyone had all but gathered around the two of the screaming family members, watching a long-anticipated eruption occur. "I made a choice tonight to kill someone who was hell-bent on killing me! I don't believe I'm in the fault here! But just because I'm your fucking kid and I killed someone, it's just eating you up inside isn't it?! But it's not even that! It's because I am the only person you can't indoctrinate with your twisted sense of moral justice and it drives you up the fucking wall!" He was seething now, his words twisting a knife deeper into her.

"Yes! Because that's not how I raised you!" (Y/N) watched red color everything thing she saw.

"News Flash Dad, you didn't raise me! I raised myself! I pulled myself out of the goddamned gutter and rose to where I stand right now! I did that! Not you!" She was almost hysterical at this point, fury burning brighter than the sun.

"You're saying that I didn't raise you?! That I didn't take care of you?! Me?! Your father?!" (Y/N) didn't know what happened, but something inside her snapped, and the next thing she knew she was launching herself at him, punches and kicks flying.

"My father?! You've never been a fucking father to me! You've always acted like a strict teacher, but never a father! You're a damn disgrace to good men who call themselves fathers! How dare you claim that you cared about me?!" The pain in her hands and feet let her know she landed some blows, until a well-placed kick to her torso sent her flying back, rolling a few feet on the ground. She rose and began to run at him again when Jason wrapped his arms around her middle, locking her arms to her chest. (Y/N) resisted, but the sound of Jason shushing her silently broke the dam inside and hot, angry tears rolled down her cheeks. The strength left her body and she let Jason lower her down until they were sitting on the floor, her sitting curled up between his legs. She stared beyond the tears at Bruce, voice thick with despondence and pain. "You never cared about me. You've never cared about any of us. You never have, and you never will. We're just pawns to you in this stupid war on crime." She was sobbing now, barely able to get the words out. "I have always tried to be good enough for you. To be a good daughter. But it is never enough. Nothing ever pleases you." She sucked in a deep breath, and calmed herself enough to speak, and looked at him, voice dripping with loathing. "I hate you." Bruce's eyes went wide as he stared at her. "I hate you so much. I hate your name, I hate your house, I hate everything you stand for, and sure as hell I hate the fact that I am related to you. You are a poor excuse for a man and a father." Everyone's faces morphed into shock at the contemptible confession. (Y/N) let the rest of her pent-up emotions flow free and she rested her head back on Jason's shoulder and allowed her broken sobs to echo in the cave.

When (Y/N) came to, she was laying in an unfamiliar bed. Sitting up quickly, she glanced around the room, until her eyes rested on a snoring Jason. She didn't remember what happened after her meltdown, all she remembered was someone carrying her. Jason must've brought me to his apartment in the narrows. She looked over and saw her gear resting on the dresser. Careful, not to wake him up, she got out of bed and started slipping it on. Once she was dressed, she pulled the sheet off the bed and draped it over his sleeping form, taking note of the half empty bottle of vodka next to him. She huffed a laugh. Guess little brother needed a break from his feelings too. She thought. Rummaging around, she found a piece of paper and a pen, jotting down a few lines on the paper before folding it and placing it where he'd see it when he woke up. Walking into the kitchen she pulled a glass from his cabinets and filled it with water, picking up the bottle of aspirin on the way back. Placing them beside the note she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple, freezing when he moved, but only to groan and roll onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. See you around sometime kid-brother. She thought as she smiled at him. Standing up, she took in one last view of the apartment before heading to the window. Cracking it open, she leaned out and shut it behind her. (Y/N) climbed up to the roof and sat on the ledge, looking out at the city as it began to wake up. Golden rays appeared over the outlines of buildings as the sun rose. She felt empty, but it was a good kind of empty. Like everything she'd been holding onto was finally gone. She may have burned a bridge to the ground, but she felt relieved by it. And as she watched the sunrise, she looked down at the city and for the first time since she was sixteen, she thought,

You know, in this light? Gotham doesn't look so bad after all.

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uwua3 · 4 years

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hi! i really like your work, your sakuya oneshot made me emotional ;w; may i request headcanons for sakuya with an s/o who likes to make things for him? stuff like... knitting sweaters, making friendship bracelets, etc? i think he deserves to get spoiled !

aaaAAAAAAA thank you so much!!! i hope you’re feeling calm n collected now~ hopefully, it didn’t overwhelm you too much! but THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS !!!!! sakuma sakuya is my favorite boy ever so writing for him makes me soft 🥺 best boy deserves to get spoiled ugh your galaxy brain i love it!!! ♡

summary: sakuya had everything planned and figured out, but everything still went wrong...

author’s note: today is the LOVE TRAIN!!! choo choo!! i love ~ love ~ so this was super fun even if it’s outside of my comfort zone for so much fluff! this definitely got off the rails at the beginning, but i swear your prompt is fulfilled half way through! i just love LOVE!!! i love sakuya!!!!! i love ♡ LOVE ♡ that’s it

word count: 2,716

music: some – soyou & junggigo, say so – doja cat (to me, sakuya is the embodiment of the jpn 80s city pop vibe)

spoiled!

🌸🌷 sakuma sakuya

sakuya started from nothing and worked hard for everything that was his, never giving up and always persevered against all odds

so it wasn’t a big surprise when the moment sakuya realized you were the person he thought of when reciting his romantic lines, he made it clear he liked you

(luckily, masumi had quick reflexes and caught the script before it fell into the river. sakuya was too busy having the most lovestruck, dreamy smile as he started off into the horizon, saying, “i like them. i really like them.”)

(“about time, you big sap.” masumi handed the packet back, but he looked just as content to see his best friend come to the realization. if only director felt the same way... sigh)

sakuya started being more direct in the most sakuya way possible, initiating planned dates that he just called “hang–outs”

(yeah, they were all definitely dates)

it wasn’t until sakuya asked you to come over at a very specific time to the dorms that you felt like something was going

you wouldn’t find out why until it was operation: ask you out, you got this sakuya! (abbreviated to go sakuya!!! on the labelled binder he had)

he finally asked you out when his heart told him the timing was perfect! sakuya had every tiny detail planned and laid out, presenting it at the very urgent scheduled meeting to his spring troupe members

sakuya was a true leader, he had prevented anything from going wrong and took extreme measures to make sure tonight was perfect

so when you confirmed you would come over soon, sakuya felt his nerves kick in as he launched himself into the living room, ordering everyone to get out (but very politely)

“hi, um. guys? could you leave? for the night?” sakuya shyly requested (he was so impatient though, he wanted to tell you he liked you already! it had to be the best for you!)

confused, everyone halted their afternoon activities as tsuzuru’s big brother instincts made him take over and explain the dilemma at hand, although, not well

(everyone got even more confused, what the hell was tsuzuru talking about? something about the perfect violin music? the 90s disney movie ambience? taking every comforter in the residence for a fort?)

itaru sighed, stepping up to the plate. he wasn’t taking time out of his video game time for nothing

“in other words, sakuya needs to ask someone out before he explodes from his lovey–dovey feelings. he needs the room for his date.”

(citron burst into tears, dramatically sinking to the floor as sakuya hurried over with hugs, genuinely worried for his friend. “sakuya~ you are growing up so fast! you are such a good boy!!!”)

even though he didn’t want to ask for help, the whole company automatically ignored him and went to go assist him in decorating

with a couple of funny comments here and there about why he was going out more and his literal heart eyes

(“oh look at sakusaku in love~” azuma pulled on sakuya’s cheek, everyone gushing over sakuya’s blush and his bright eyes as he thought about you. he was so passionate about you, just like acting!)

but the jokes were reserved for another time because their leader needed their help. it was time to repay back the favors sakuya always did for them, he did deserve a night of just romance!

he deserved the world for being such a good person

the main lights were turned off. twinkling fairy lights were pinned up to the top of the walls. red tablecloth was put over the main table. food was placed on a silver platter sakyo only reserved for very special occassions. proper plating was set up with every type of utensil possible (even a salad fork, there was no salad). the projector was set up behind the sofa. a comfy, elaborate pillow and blanket fort took over the whole sitting area. rose petals decorated the entryway and aromatic candles filled the room with love. tonight was going to be perfect

spring troupe raided the costumes department to quickly make waiter–styled outfits for the night (banri wasn’t allowed to help the moment he held something animal print up). sakuya let taichi clip on his bowtie and yuki check the measurements of his new formal wear. running by, homare dropped a fresh rose into a vase in the middle of the dining table before going into a verse about young love. omi finished up the delicious spaghetti, due to muku giggling about lady & the tramp and sharing a noodle. everyone put in the effort to get the volunteers ready for the biggest act of sakuya’s life

“everyone, three cheers for sakuya and his potential partner tonight!” tsuzuru led the group chant as sakuya stared at himself in the mirror, grinning as he willed himself to take a deep breath. he had this in the bag, tonight was going to be perfect

as sakuya stood in the corridor after the preparations, it felt like he was backstage before a major performance. the butterflies in his stomach were going crazy, he was so excited to see you

food? check! music? check! decorations? check! perfect outfit? check! everyone ready for their cues? check! flowers? che—wait...

before sakuya could have a minor, tiny meltdown over forgetting a very essential part of his plan, tsumugi ran back inside covered in dirt as he gracefully passed a sweet boquet with a light pink ribbon tied around the stems. it was so thoughtful, sakuya almost teared up right then and there

“this one means confessing a crush,” tsumugi said, pointing to the abundance of daisies before taking his leave, whispering good luck on the way out. tasuku waved, sporting a thumbs up

juza held hisoka up with a serious, but supportive nod. tenma winked, enough said

sakuya smiled, he had such good friends!

the common room in the dorms was evacuated as the other spring troupe members were hiding in the kitchen, acting as servers to the very exclusive mankai restaraunt. the clock struck 8pm as kamekichi flew by, closing the curtains in the process just like they discussed

sakuya heard a knock on the front door. that was his cue; sakuya moved to stand by the classy table as he heard itaru’s business voice greet you professionaly. he almost giggled at the confusion in your voice before itaru led you to the kitchen, a shocked look on your face as sakuya pulled your chair out

“you look beautiful.” sakuya honestly admitted, feeling his cheeks flush when you looked away with a smile. sakuya pushed your chair in as he went back to the other side, gently taking your hand as he tapped on the table three times. at the sign, he heard masumi start playing his classical violin in the background

phase 1: get you to sit down (check!)

“thank you, i don’t know what to say!” you stammered, looking around at the transformed scenery as tsuzuru walked in, bowing at you two before placing two menus down. there was really only one thing on the menu, but it was in some fancy cursive font so it was acceptable

“would you like to get started? or should i give you a few minutes?” tsuzuru questioned, having his notepad at ready with a black pen as he followed the script without problems. sakuya watched as you stared at the menu, unaware of what to do next

improv time! sakuya immediately ordered two servings of spaghetti, knowing it was the only thing he had planned with two cups of water (tsuzuru almost broke character when he almost reached a hand out to ruffle sakuya’s hair, pretending to stretch instead)

“certainly, sir. enjoy your time at mankai!” tsuzuru took his leave, going to wait his specific allocated time of 5 minutes before coming back. you looked at sakuya, his face starng back into yours with a fond smile

“thank you for coming—” sakuya started but was cut off by a very loud scream. a very citron–sounding scream. following the shriek, the sound effect of glass smashing on the floor and the wet slap of noodles was very clear. the violin cut off with an awful note, making you wince as you pulled your hand back

phase 2: eat spaghetti (oh, crap)

silence. then—

“OH MY GOD, CITRON!” tsuzuru yelled, shuffling open the script sakuya handed out. citron began apologizing profusely, not realizing you and sakuya were sitting in disbelief and uncertain about what was going to happen next

“ah, this was not GJ... press f in the chat.” itaru commented monotonously, offering a very sarcastic clap. “shut up!” masumi tried to salvage the situation, but the damage was already done

it wasn’t until you heard a muffled sigh that the boys stopped fighting. sakuya tried hiding his face as he sunk lower in his seat, holding his head in his hands

“i’m... i’m so sorry!” sakuya apologized, trying to form a coherent sentence without his voice cracking from embarrassment. the spring boys felt awful, quickly trying to clean up the mess and turn this date around the right way

but you smiled, standing up to put your hand on his shoulder as he tensed. were you going to leave? this had to be the worst date ever! you were too nice, you were trying to spare his feelings—how embarrassing!

“saku, it’s okay.” you comforted, bending down to look him in the eye. sakuya nodded, wiping his nose as he blinked away his frustrated tears. i must look so immature, sakuya pouted, trying to appear as calm as possible. but inside, he was screaming. how could have this happened so early on? he did everything!

“no, i wanted tonight to be perfect because i wanted to ask—” sakuya felt your hand guide his face to look at yours, your fingers gently holding onto his chin. you smiled

“will you be my boyfriend, saku?” you asked, seeing his face go blank before shooting out of his seat, almost knocking you down as he started jumping up and down

“yes, oh my god, of course!” sakuya composed himself, rubbing the back of his neck as he settled down from your laughter. sakuya instead picked you up, spinning around as he couldn’t help but laugh along with you

“oh my god, do you really like me?!” sakuya couldn’t believe his ears, you liked him even after this whole disaster of a date!

(this would be the start of the best dates ever as long as sakuya was there)

“no one has put so much effort into something for me like this before, you’re one of a kind.” you truthfully said, putting your hands on his face as he lowered you to the ground after losing the adrenaline rush

before you could connect your lips to his, you smelt a floral scent in your face and leaned back to see him panicking with a boquet of daisies

(you would soon learn sakuya was planning something very, very special for the first kiss. it didn’t go wrong, that time)

“uh... this is for you! please accept them!!!” sakuya thrusted the boquet into your hands and the rest of the night was yours to share

(sakuya kicked the spring members out, pushing them out of the door and promising to give them a huge rant later on. it wasn’t much, though, just a “i’m not angry, i’m just disappointed” speech that had no merit since he couldn’t stop smiling)

after that, you accepted sakuya and all of life’s mishaps, disasters, and unfortunate events that seemed to follow him despite his best efforts to do everything right

even though he loved just as much to spoil you rotten by spending quality time together, you always looked forward to getting the upper hand and surprising him thoughtful gifts!

sakuya hated it when you spent money on him, always taking the gift but trailing after you like a lost puppy trying to pay you back

(the kid even tried sneaking in cash when you weren’t looking. sakuya’s acting skills were useful when he pretended like he had no idea where a random $20 came from!)

(he later got excited seeing the same lucky bill on the sidewalk during a park walk, not noticing it was the same exact one he tried giving to you)

once you realized pricey, store–bought presents weren’t the way to go and only made sakuya feel guilty, you resorted to hand–made items that had your name all over it

you loved sewing! you even stole sakuya’s worn white hoodie with “SPRING” on it, embroidering lovely cherry blossoms around the words and at the end of the sleeves

you hid your initials + S.S. on the inside of the spot right over his heart (sakuya wouldn’t find it until one day, he was about to flip it inside out for laundry and was found cradling the fabric with happy tears sitting at the base of the washer)

(he wouldn’t move and masumi had to send you a picture of what a wreck your boyfriend was — “come get him already, he doesn’t have clean clothes”)

when you gave it back to him after he accepted it was gone forever, sakuya nearly passed out from how overwhelmed he was with your kindness! he wears it even more now, running his fingers over the texture of the flowers and feeling your love in every stitch every time he thought of you

(he started doing it subconciously, it became a comforting habit for him to do now)

acting like his professional stylist, you even knitted this super cute puff–ball beanie that was pink, silver, and white

the word “BLOSSOM” across the top became your new pet name the moment he received it (your contact was now blossom *insert every pink heart emoji ever*)

(unrelated but yes you two cosplayed as blossom and brick from the powerpuff girls for halloween)

your largest gift ever was a quilt blanket of patches you sewed of memories you shared!

(even the spaghetti disaster you now laughed about later on! sakuya realized wearing all white eating tomato sauce was a very bad idea)

countless movie nights, walks in the park, picnics by his favorite river, playing cute 3ds games together, decorating for school–wide events, and visiting the aquarium for the adorable clownfish were all apart of a blanket he would definitely save first in a hypothetical fire

yet, sakuya’s favorite gift ever was always on his person: a beaded promise bracelet you made

(you even got one back, although he definitely needed your help so it wasn’t much of a surprise)

it was during a community service event where sakuya signed up to take care of the little kids running around at the library center. it was art day, so he was happily painting a blank sculpture in the colorful room surrounded by a bunch of children who were concetrated on painting the best pokémon ever

you loved sakuya’s big heart and how he always dedicated time to helping others, so you made an effort to join him in his altrustic hobbies

(couples who care for the community stay together, obviously)

it had been a week after you noticed how sakuya’s famous pink watch was off his wrist. he downplayed it, just saying it wasn’t his favorite anymore even though he wore it for years

(but citron blabbed and confessed it was broken and he had never seen sakuya so upset except on spaghetti night)

(citron shuddered. no one speaks of spaghetti night around sakuya)

so when you slipped the pink beaded bracelet with his name and a small heart around the pikachu’s ears as a crown, sakuya looked up to see what would be his favorite piece of jewelery of all time

sakuya’s work ethic never went away and he worked twice as hard to have you happy to be with him, but it was nice to take a break and be spoiled every once in a while

(more like, spoiled every day as you always had something new to give. they would all become his lucky charms and it seemed like his accident–prone fortune went away)

sakuya was glad you worked just as hard to be with him; he loves you very, very much!

#sakuma sakuya #sakuya sakuma #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #sakuya x reader #a3! sakuya #a3 sakuya

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claudiasjeancregg · 4 years

Note

46. “Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.” - CJ/Toby or CJ&Toby

46. “Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.”

C.J. Cregg/Toby Ziegler (1.4k words)

“Hey, have you seen the...? Oh.”

Toby stopped in the middle of his question, wishing more than anything he had remembered to knock.

“Toby! What?”

CJ frantically swiped at her eyes, flipping through the open briefing book like he couldn’t tell what she was doing before. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then backed away slowly. He turned around in the doorway, trying not to leave as conspicuously as he had come. He failed.

“No- damn it, Toby, come back,” he heard from behind him.

“Toby!” she repeated.

Slowly, he turned back towards her, hands up in the universal “please don't kill me” gesture. Not that he was scared of her, or anything. He wasn't.

“Don't do the thing you always do with the, you know, I’m a big macho man and I run away when a woman cries.”

Okay, that was a lie. He was definitely scared of her. How the hell could she read his mind like that?

Toby tried to think of a response, though- annoyingly- she was kind of right.

“I wasn’t running away. I was just-”

“Yeah, okay,” she said, cutting him off.

CJ sank down in her chair with a deep breath, waving her hand in the air as to give him permission.

“Okay. Ask me.”

He played dumb, though it was obvious what she was asking.

“What?”

“Ask me what I was crying about. It's obviously scaring you.”

He searched her face for clues of how she was feeling. No wonder she was press secretary, he thought. He had known her for more than 20 years, and even he couldn’t read her most of the time.

CJ drummed her fingers on the desk.

“Hurry it up. I have work to do.”

“I- are you okay?”

That caught her off guard. Her hand went to her neck, rubbing her bare throat for a moment before she registered what she was doing. Toby had already seen the movement, though- and he was even more worried about her now. The gesture was a tell-tale sign of stress, not that stress was unusual in their line of work. it had started before Rosslyn, when she used to wear a necklace every day. It had been her only constant piece of jewelry- one of the only things she had of her mom’s. He hadn’t even noticed that she had stopped wearing it.

“CJ, have you been sleeping?”

Toby stepped closer, gently wiping a thumb over her cheek. He didn't even realize he was doing it until she took a sharp breath and stepped back.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

She didn't respond, picking up one of the many memos on her desk and rifling through it.

“CJ? Is it- were you on the phone?”

Was it your dad? She heard the unspoken question as clearly as the one said aloud, and ignored both. Toby furrowed his eyebrows in concern as he watched her. How had he missed this? She had been acting weird ever since the Hoynes book announcement, but he hadn’t done anything. He should have done something.

“You don’t have to do this, Toby,” she said dismissively. “You have work to do.” He sighed. She was making this hard on purpose, and they both knew it. He placed a hand on the briefing memo she was holding, lowering it so she would meet his eyes.

“Jeanie-“

Her eyes grew wide at his nickname, though she pretended not to notice it.

“Talk to me,” he said softly. “Please.”

CJ shook her head, talking fast in the way she did when she was trying to distract herself.

“It’s nothing. Really. How’s the Fullman speech going? You really need to make clear that the President is focused on the environment, but don’t guarantee any-“

“CJ.”

She stopped talking. The feigned nonchalance of earlier had vanished completely, leaving the two of them with nothing separating them from each other but a wall of silence. Silence and secrets. That’s what they had become. God, he missed the days where it was the two of them against the world, when she wouldn’t have hesitated to confide in him.

“How’s, uh- what’s his name?”

CJ’s mouth became a straight line. He felt like he had asked her something inappropriate, like he had crossed a line he didn’t know existed.

“Ben.”

“Yeah.”

“No, I’m saying-“ She sighed. “His name’s Ben. You know that.”

“Yeah,” he swallowed. She was right. He did know that. Toby shifted awkwardly on his feet. They didn’t do those things- the “how’s your boyfriend” girl talk type thing. And it wasn’t even a jealousy thing. (Well, not entirely.) It was just a fact. The sky was blue, water was wet, and Toby Ziegler would always think that Claudia Jean Cregg deserved a guy a million times better than anyone she had dated. But, you know. He couldn’t say that.

“How’s Ben? You, uh- you two fixed it?”

CJ nodded, and he noticed- not for the first time- how tired she looked.

“He’s great,” she said bitterly. The sharp note in her voice was a surprise to both of them.

She sighed.“No, that’s not what i meant. He’s great. Really.”

Toby nodded slowly.

“What?” She threw her hands up, exasperated.

“Nothing.”

She glanced at him, but decided not to push. He didn't extend the same courtesy to her.

“Now, are you going to tell me what you were crying about, or is the President going to have to ask someone else to write the speech for tomorrow?”

“Well, I bet David Rosen’s up for it-“

“CJ!”

She bit back a smile. It fell off her face as she remembered what he had asked her. Suddenly, it felt like the sun had come out, before retreating back into the sky. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her smile.

CJ took a deep breath, turning away from him. “It was my brother.”

Oh.

“How is he?”

Toby took her hand, gently guiding her to the couch. He knew she would stay standing all day once she got started, which would kill her back.

“My brother? He’s fine.” She paused.

With anyone else, she would have kept avoiding the subject, but maybe she didn't have to. It's Toby, she reminded herself. You don't have to pretend.

“But my dad’s not. Well, he’s fine, but his memory isn’t. My brothers don't live anywhere near him, and Paul wants me to go back to Dayton, but my dad doesn’t even-”

Her voice broke, and Toby’s heart broke with it. He moved to the edge of the couch, wrapping his arm around her so she knew she could lean into him if she needed to. He wanted to say something soothing, but he figured anything he said would sound too trite. He could craft a million speeches, or write a million different words, but neither of those things would help heal the pain CJ was facing. He held her instead, brushing his fingers through her hair in a way that would have felt grossly uncomfortable with anyone else. With her, it just felt natural.

After a moment, she untangled herself from his arms, wiping her face quickly. She looked towards the door quickly, and Toby could feel her relief when she realized it was closed.

“Sorry,” she said quietly.

He wanted to tell her not to apologize- that, honestly, it had been the most peaceful moment of his day. But he knew CJ, and he knew how much it scared her to let her guard down at work.

“It’s okay.”

He gave her a small smile.

“It’s not like I’ve never seen you cry before.”

She groaned, using the shift in subject as an opportunity to elbow him in the side.

“It was the 15th anniversary of my mom’s death, Toby! You’re really going to bring that up-”

“I’m just saying! Don't make fun of my reaction when you cry, because who made sure you didn't pass out on the floor from- I don't know, alcohol poisoning- that night?”

“Andy,” she smirked.

Well, that was true. Andy had always been better with CJ’s rare meltdowns- it was less of a girl thing, though, and more of a “not being as emotionally incompetent as Toby” thing.

“How is she? How are the kids?”

He pretended not to notice the change of subject. At least she had talked to him this time. Honestly, it was more than he deserved.

“They’re great,” he said, biting back a smile at the thought of his kids.

“Andy sent me this picture of Molly-”

CJ grinned- “Show me!”

He showed her all of the recent pictures he had on his phone, promising to have her over the next time he had the twins. Toby couldn’t do much to help her with her dad, or with her job- but he could give her this. And if that helped at all, he would do it. He would do anything he could.

this was so fun to write- i couldn’t figure out a plot for the longest time, i’m sorry it took so long!! but i loved getting a chance to write something like this. it’s set in season 5, after 5.15 but before 5.16, i think. i hope you liked it!! I’M SO EXCITED FOR THE REUNION i wanted to get this done before it lol. send me more prompts anytime<33

#aleena answers #writing tag #my fic #cj x toby #tww #the west wing #tww fic #prompts

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chimmyboii · 4 years

Text

Nice Guy - Part 3

Paring: Chanyeol x reader (Previous Baekhyun x reader)

Summary: After finding out her boyfriend, Baekhyun had cheated on her at a party, Y/N goes into meltdown. Chanyeol, Baekhyun’s best friend, decides he can’t stand watching the girl completely fall apart because of his best friend and decides to befriend her.

AN: Here is part 3!!!! Sorry it took so long! I think there will be another 2 parts after this - not sure just yet! Anywayyy hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you all think! :)))!

Warnings: female masturbation!

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

My head was aching, I clutched it as I sat up. I gasp as I look around the room, forgetting that I was in Chanyeol’s bedroom. Surprisingly it was plain and neat; the walls were a cream colour and held some posters of bands and football teams. Looking at his computer desk that sat underneath the window, I smile softly as I eye the guitar next to it. I stand hesitantly, my muscles feel stiff, I take a second before I walk to the table and spot a little black notebook. Opening it, the smile wipes from my face, on each page there were lyrics scribbled down in messy handwriting. The lyrics describe an unrequited love, the betrayal of a friend, the heartache that continues to haunt him. This was Chanyeol’s story, my heart hurts as I remember his confession. How could Baekhyun do that to him? I turn the page and read more of his lyrics, they were less heartbreaking than the first but still haunting. A gasp sound from behind me.

“You weren’t supposed to see that!” Chanyeol yelps behind me, I snap the book shut and face him.

“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have been snooping,” I look at him and wince as I spot the bruise forming on his eye. “How’s your face?” Chanyeol shrugs before walking over and taking the black notebook from my hands and places it in the drawer.

“It’s fine,” I nod, we fall silent and I look at my feet. Chanyeol takes a seat on the bed and I follow, choosing to sit at his desk. His confession from last night keeps circling my head, the thought of him liking me both scares me and excites me. I open my mouth to speak but Chanyeol cuts me off.

“Lisa texted your parents saying you were staying with her,” I nod, looking at my hands. I didn’t know how to approach this; how do I ask him about his feelings for me, if he has any feelings that is. I mean this was three years ago, people’s feelings change so quickly, he might not like me like that anymore. “I-” I start, feeling a little chocked up. Chanyeol looks at me, his wide eyes focus on me and my heart flutters under his gaze. “I want to know more,” I confess and Chanyeol frowns.

“Know what?”

“I want to know about your feelings for me, not that you like me now or anything,” I chuckle nervously, tugging at my fingers. “Just when did it all begin, I guess,” Chanyeol sighed and ran a hand through his messy dark hair.

“We might be here a while,” Chanyeol states and I nod almost excitedly, “You have to promise this won’t change us though?”

“Yeah, I promise,” Chanyeol eyes me for a moment before he looks out the window.

“I guess it started in 3rd year of high school, a year before you and Baekhyun got together,” Chanyeol shifts on the bed, moving until he sat against the headboard. “We had the same French class; I don’t know if you remember-”

“I remember,” I interrupted smiling softly, “you used to sit in front of me, blocking my view of the board!” I tease and Chanyeol laughs.

“Yeah well, I used to get so excited for that class. I fucking hated French but you made it bearable,” I flush at the confession, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I used to daydream that you would ask me out, that you had this massive crush me like I did with you. But of course, you didn’t,” Chanyeol chuckled, almost sadly. “I ended up confiding in Baekhyun, who came up with this plan of writing you notes, of becoming your secret admirer. Baekhyun shared mostly all of his classes with you so he agreed he would pass them over. And well you know the rest,”

I shake my head, feeling sick suddenly. “Why would he do that? Did he tell you?” Chanyeol just shrugs. “Why the fuck would you stay friends with him?”

“It’s just life, Y/N. I’m not going to cut out my best friend for some girl,” I flinch, shaking my head before quickly standing. “Shit, Y/N I didn’t mean it like that!” I nod choosing to ignore him and grab my shoes. Chanyeol grabs my arms stopping my movement, “Please Y/N, I didn’t mean the way it sounded. Y-You mean a lot to me,” I turn my head to look at him, his wide brown eyes are pleading me to believe and I do but I’m scared. This is too quick; my heart isn’t ready to be given to someone else.

“I need time to think, Baekhyun and I have only just broken up five days ago,” Chanyeol just nods, his large hands leaving my wrist.

“I’ll take you home,”

The car ride was silent and awkward. Part of me wanted to apologise to him but I already knew Chanyeol’s answer. He’s nice and understanding – something I need right now. But I’m scared that this feeling, that the fluttering in my stomach will disappear quickly as it came. It’s easy to picture myself with him, to visualise myself in his arms but physically being intimate with him is terrifying. Sharing that part of me that only one other has seen, is frightening and I’m not sure when I’ll be ready.

He drops me off and says bye with a small smile. I return his smile before heading into my house. Mum doesn’t ask me any questions, thankfully, she just asked if I enjoyed my night which I lied and said yes. As soon as I entered my bedroom, I phoned Lisa.

“Hey?”

“Okay, I’m freaking out right now!” I start over the phone; I hear Lisa rustle around before asking what’s wrong. “I was with Chanyeol, as you know, last night and he confessed that he liked me,”

“What?! Really?” Lisa squealed.

“Yeah, apparently he liked me 3 years ago!” Lisa gasps so I continue, “But that’s not what’s freaking me out.”

Lisa hums, “Okay then what is – because I’d be freaking out about him liking me, just saying!”

“Well I am freaking out about that but Baekhyun knew Chanyeol liked me. In fact, according to Chanyeol, Baekhyun was planning on basically setting us up.” Lisa is silent for a moment.

“What the fuck?” Lisa drawls, and I nod. “Why did he ask you out if he knew his best friend liked you? Isn’t there some sort of bro code against things like that?”

“See that’s the thing, I don’t know. Baekhyun never mentioned anything about Chanyeol liking me. Do you remember those notes I got in class?”

“Yeah the little pink ones that said you looked cute,”

“Well turns out those were from Chanyeol, not Baekhyun,” I sigh, leaning back against my pillow.

“Oh, my fucking God! What an asshole!” I moan in agreement. “Why would Chanyeol stay friends with him, if he did that to me, I’d be raging.”

“I did ask him that and he said he wasn’t risking his friendship with Baekhyun over some girl,” I scoff and roll my eyes.

“Well looking at it from Chanyeol’s point of view; he cares about the both of you right? So, he made a decision to stay out of the way, which I admire him for by the way, I know I couldn’t stand watching my best friend be with a guy I liked.”

“No, you’re right, doesn’t make me feel less guilty though. Especially now that I’m single and part of me wants to…” I trail off, still processing what I want from him.

“Fuck him?”

“Lisa!” I shriek before bursting out laughing. “I was going to say date him, oh my God!”

“Well I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to fuck him, have you seen those arms?!” I giggle. “I bet he’s so fucking strong!”

“Yeah he is,” I mumble, thinking about how he lifted me into his arms like I weighed nothing.

“Wait, what?” Letting out another giggle, I inform Lisa about the rest of the night. How he carried me to his room and made sure I was okay before cuddling me throughout the night. “Y/N, what the fuck! If you don’t want him can I have him?”

“Umm…no,” I let out a laugh as she curses. Our laughing ceases, the pain in my chest begins again.

“I’m not ready though,” I sigh, eyes traveling to the right way that holds polaroid’s of Baekhyun and I.

“And that’s okay,” Lisa reassures me, “If Chanyeol stills feels this way about you, and it has been what nearly four years? Then I’m sure he can wait a little longer for you,”

A soft smile appears on my lips. “Hopefully,”

- The rest of weekend was spent at home, finishing homework and catching up on Netflix. It was hard keeping both Baekhyun and Chanyeol off my mind; I keep comparing the two of them. I wonder what it would have been like if Chanyeol had confessed before Baekhyun. If I would have said yes, how the relationship would be, how he would kiss me. God I would love to kiss him, I think as my finger trace my lips. If I would have lost my virginity to him, what it would be like to feel him touch me, be inside me. I gasp at the thought, remembering the feel of his hands, how rough but also gentle they felt against my back. My hand slides down into my pyjama bottoms, softly caressing my thighs, I think about the veins along his arms and his hard chest. My hand continues to slip into my panties, softly tracing my slit. Gasping, my eyes widen at the wetness that had gathered. I have never been this wet before, even with Baekhyun it took me a while to gather any slickness.

My middle finger made contact with my clit; a sharp gasp escapes me. I picture Chanyeol between my thighs, rubbing at the small bud. I imagine him holding my hips down as I rut up against my hand, I imagine him pressing kisses again my thighs before sucking harshly on my clit.

“Oh, Chanyeol,” I whimper quietly, rubbing my clit harder. I imagine one of his hands traveling up to my breast, squeezing it and tweaking my nipple. I move my left hand to my breast, twisting my nipple between my thumb and index finger. I pant harder, feeling the delicious burn in my stomach. I continue to rub hard on my clit, imagining Chanyeol’s tongue flicking it. My orgasm approaches when I picture his brown eyes looking into mine from between my thighs.

“Shit! Chanyeol!” I snap my thighs shut, shaking with the aftershocks of the orgasm. As I lay there, inhaling and exhaling, a thought suddenly shook me.

Oh, my fucking God, I just masturbated to the thought of Chanyeol! How the hell am I supposed to face him tomorrow! I groan, grabbing my pillow I smother my face with it before letting out a scream.

- I had managed to avoid Chanyeol most of the morning; I spotted him entering the building with Jongin, I quickly grabbed Lisa before he can spot us and drag her to the library to hide. She didn’t really question it, assuming that I wasn’t sure of my feelings, which I still aren’t and needed time to process before seeing him. The second time, he spots me in the corridor heading to my next class, he is walking with Kyungsoo. Chanyeol face practically beams when he spots me, waving enthusiastically. My eyes study his hand and the thought of last night’s self-care session comes to mind, making my cheeks burn. I put my head down and quickly speed walk to class, completely ignoring him.

I manage to avoid any confrontation from him and about my internal embarrassment all morning until Lisa drags me to the girl’s bathroom. Lisa glares at the girl fixing her make-up and tuts as she takes forever to leave. Finally, the girl exits, and Lisa quickly swirls around to face me with both hands on her hips.

“Okay, what the hell is going on with you and Chanyeol?” My eyes widen.

“Nothing!” I exclaim and Lisa smirks.

“Uh huh, right!” She sarcastically drawls. “Well if nothing is going on then why the hell are you avoiding him and why is Chanyeol walking around like someone’s murdered his dog?”

“I-I…” I stutter, I can feel my cheeks getting hot as I remember my really crude and disgusting thoughts. Lisa continues to stare at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Imasturbatedtohimlastnight!” I shouted and Lisa frowns.

“Say what?” I groan, turning to lean on the sink.

“I masturbated to the thought of Chanyeol last night,” Lisa bit her lip before she burst out laughing. “Lisa, it’s not funny! I can’t look him in the eyes!” I whine which only makes her laugh harder.

“Jesus, is that all?” She asks and I glare at her.

“Yes, that’s all. This is serious Lisa, I feel disgusting!” She snots before coming over and starts massaging my back.

“I can guarantee you Y/N, he has definitely jacked off to you!” I groan and lean my head against the mirror.

“That does not make me feel better, Lisa,” She sniggers while I scowl at her.

“It’s normal Y/N! Well it shows that your attracted to him so maybe it’s a good thing!” I shake my head.

“It’s still too fast, I’m not over Baekhyun.”

Lisa eyes me before blurting out; “are you sure because you seem to have got a little excited over his best friend, from what I’ve heard.” I groan and she just smirks. Lisa begins tugging me out the bathroom. “Come on you’ll be fine!”

We head to the canteen and I spot Chanyeol walking back to his usual table with the boys, I walk to him, the palm of my hands begin to feel sweaty.

“Hi, Chanyeol,” I greet him. Chanyeol glowers at me before grabbing his bag that lay on his seat and storming off. My heart sinks as I watch his tall figure fade in the crowd of students. The rest of the boys sit silently, not acknowledging me. I turn to leave.

“He’ll be in the PE department,” I turn around to see Baekhyun shove more yoghurt in his mouth before using the spoon to point in the direction Chanyeol left. I nod at him before particularly sprinting to the PE department.

Baekhyun was right, I found Chanyeol in the last hall. I walk in and notice that he was on his own, kicking a football harshly into a goal. I whoop, making Chanyeol jump slightly and spin around to face me, a frown appearing on his face.

“He shoots, he scores!” I cheer awkwardly and Chanyeol’s lips twitch. I note the cut has scabbed over and was healing. I take a tensive step towards him.

“What do you want, Y/N?” Chanyeol turns and goes to collect the ball in the goal, I slowly follow behind.

“I know your mad at me,” I start and jump when Chanyeol turns back around and glares at me.

“Of course, I’m mad. You promised nothing would change between us after I told you!” My eyes widen.

“No, Chanyeol! Nothing has changed, well in a way they have but–”

“You avoided me this morning, Y/N! I felt like an idiot.” I roughly shake my head at him and reach out for his hand. He lets me hold it and I gulp feeling the warmth and the roughness of the tips of his fingers.

“Yes, I avoided you this morning, but it wasn’t because of you–”

“Let me guess it wasn’t me, it was you?” Chanyeol scoffs, looking away from me. I grip his hand tighter and Chanyeol peeks at me before looking straight ahead again.

“Yes, it was.” My heart is pounding in my ears. “I- I think I like you,” I confess. Chanyeol’s head snaps to me, eyes widening and mouth falling open. “I mean I must do to have those thoughts about you, I especially have never cum that hard before either,” I mumble the last part, looking at the wooden floor beneath us.

“Wait what?” I snap my head up and see Chanyeol grinning. My face flushes as I realise what I said. Quickly, I let go of his hand and jump back smacking both of my hands over my mouth. He heard me. Chanyeol throws his head back and barks out a laugh. I turn away about to run in embarrassment but Chanyeol wraps his arms around my waist holding me in place. I try to wiggle my way out his grip, but he holds tighter and leans down leaning his chin on my shoulder.

“I’m flattered you think of me like that, Y/N.” he whispers, his cool breath tickles my ear and sends shivers down my back. “And grateful because I think of you like that too,” I turn crimson before letting out a giggle.

“We just admitted that we thought of each other while masturbating,” I laugh and turn around in his arms. I look at him, his eyes are sparkling – the black eye has turned yellow now. A wide grin is on his lips, making me smile also. I lean my head against his chest, hugging him closer to me.

“I still think it’s too soon,” I whisper and Chanyeol hums, “but I do want you, I’m just scared.” Chanyeol places a kiss on my forehead and I bite my cheek to stop the squeal leaving me.

“We’ll take it slow; I’ll go at whatever pace you want,” I nod and smile at him gratefully. The bell rang for the next class, I slide my hand in his entwining our hands before we left the hall.

Chanyeol kept true to his word of taking it slow. He didn’t hold my hand unless I initiated it, he would eat lunch with the boys before coming to visit me and Lisa in the library. He didn’t pressure me into doing anything with. Although, at times it was a bit frustrating as I couldn’t help myself but want to be closer to him, to touch him. But as usual I was too shy to indicate I wanted more.

I was in the library once again, however, this time I was alone. Lisa had been called to meet the head of the physics department over her lack of attendance. I was finishing my maths homework when Chanyeol came skipping over to my table. Quickly, he bent down and placed a kiss to my cheek and I jumped a little, not quite expecting it.

“Hi,” I greeted wearily, “what’s got you all happy?” Chanyeol chuckles and takes the seat in front of me.

“Oh, you know, just happy to see you! You look pretty today by the way,” I let out a chuckle, continuing to finish the last question.

“Right what is it?” I ask, knowing full well he wanted something. Having been spending a lot of time with him over the past weeks or so, I have learned some of his traits.

“Okay well the guys and I are going to the beach tomorrow and I would love it if you came too,” Chanyeol widened his eyes, making him look like a puppy. He even went to the lengths of pouting his lips at me.

“I don’t know, do the guys mind?”

“Nah they won’t care,” I hesitated for a moment but the thought of seeing Chanyeol shirtless was tempting.

“Mmm…maybe,” I tease and Chanyeol begins to grin. “Are you going to be shirtless?”

Chanyeol sniggers, “I might be. I swear woman you’re only want me because of my body!” I laugh and shake my head.

“I promise I’m not! Your body is just a bonus!” I giggle, “But yeah, I’ll come,” Chanyeol cheers before grabbing my hands and place several kisses to them.

“Great, I’ll come pick you up!” I nod smiling widely. With that, Chanyeol prances off to his next class, leaving me feeling flustered and excited.

As Chanyeol said, he came and picked me up. I wasn’t sure if I were to count this as our first date or not, he technically didn’t ask for a date. Ugh! It’s so confusing. I decided to wear a sundress with my bathing suit underneath, keeping it casual as I wasn’t sure if we were going swimming or not.

When we arrived at the beach, Chanyeol was quick to spot the rest of the boys, I had hoped there would be other girls but there were none, just me. I gulp slightly, feeling slightly anxious as I spot Baekhyun chilling in the sand with ray bans on his face. Chanyeol wraps his arm around my waist, keeping me by his side as we walk towards the group. Chanyeol greets the members, pulling them into bro hugs. Yixing is quick to greet me, pulling me into a short hug, Minseok following after. The rest just nodded at me. Chanyeol lays down a white beach towel and plops down, tugging me with him. Jongin hands Chanyeol a beer which he rejects, claiming he needs to stay sober to take me home. I see Jongin roll his eyes before handing the beer to Baekhyun who just continued to gaze at the sky – refusing to look in my direction.

Sehun arrived at the beach party twenty minutes later, causing the tense atmosphere to evaporate. The members began teasing the youngest on his tardiness which brought a smile to my face. Yixing handed me a can of Coke which I thanked him for, Chanyeol takes the same. The rest of the day was full of laughter, most of the boys went swimming whilst Chanyeol and I lay on the towel just chatting with each other. The other members tended not to both Chanyeol and I, a part of me felt disheartened at this. I wanted them to be comfortable with me here, that they could continue to joke with Chanyeol but to me it seemed the avoided Chanyeol and I had a feeling this was because of me.

The sun was setting, I lay back on the towel staring at the sky. Chanyeol leans on his right arm, head on his hand, looking at me. His left-hand plays with the string of my sundress, twirling it around his finger before he reaches up and smooths away my hair from my face. I look at him, he has a soft smile on his lips, and I turn to him slightly; watching him watching me.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispers, the breath catches in my throat. I feel like it’s a dream. I’m scared to close my eyes in case he disappears from me. I was about to reply to him when I’m interrupted.

“Yeolieee!” a voice singsong, Chanyeol looks over me and frowns. I turn and spot Baekhyun swigging another drink from the ice bucket. He quickly opens the bottle and takes a large gulp of it. “You were quick at making your move, weren’t you?” Chanyeol sits up and I follow, I can feel the atmosphere begin to darken like the sky. Baekhyun was drunk, I wasn’t paying attention to how much he was having to drink, he seemed angry. “And you, Y/N, didn’t you claim you loved me?”

“Shut up, Baekhyun,” I growled to which he laughed. Baekhyun shakes his head before turning back to Chanyeol, he scowls at him.

“You couldn’t even wait a day, could you? You had to go running after her as soon as she dumped me. You’re just a fucking lovesick puppy! You call yourself my friend, you didn’t even bother asking how I was!” Suddenly, I was on my feet storming to him. Chanyeol calls after me.

“You’ve got some nerve, Byun Baekhyun!” I shout and Baekhyun smirks at me. “If your claiming Chanyeol isn’t a good friend than maybe you should look at yourself as well! You knew Chanyeol liked me but still you asked me out, what kind of friend does that?”

Baekhyun scoffs, “Well I couldn’t help if you fell for me! You were the one who mistaken those notes to be from me, not Chanyeol,”

“But you didn’t make me any the wiser, did you?” Baekhyun fell silent. The rest of the boys gathered around after hearing us shouting. “Why did you do it, Baekhyun? How could you do that to your own friend?”

Looking closely, I could see Baekhyun’s lips tremble and I could feel my heart shatter at the sight.

“Because I liked you a-and I saw you liked me too, so I decided to take my chance,” Baekhyun looked behind me at Chanyeol who remained silent during this confession. “I’m sorry man, I-I just wanted…” Baekhyun trailed off, eyes falling to the sand.

Chanyeol sighed, “It’s alright, Baekhyun, I get it.” At this I scoff. I glare at Baekhyun, ignoring Chanyeol’s gently calling my name.

“No, it’s not alright, you don’t get to act the jealous boyfriend Baekhyun, have you forgot what you did to me?” Baekhyun rolls his eyes and takes another sip of the beer.

“Right what did I do again? Let’s remind everyone since it’s your favourite story tell!” I growl, ready to slap the shit out of him when Chanyeol places a hand on shoulder. Baekhyun continues to glare; “I was scared Y/N alright! I was scared because you were in love with me and I didn’t feel the same way!” I freeze, eyeing the tears that now slip down Baekhyun’s cheeks. Kyungsoo and Yixing walk to Baekhyun, attempting to take away to calm down. Baekhyun slaps them away, “No, no, she needs to know. They both do.”

Baekhyun wipes his face and sniffs, “I really liked you, I swear I did Y/N. But like you said, I saw how much Chanyeol likes you and it fucked with my head. I tried so hard to be the perfect boyfriend for you, but I knew I couldn’t be. Because he was. Chanyeol should be the one, he’s the nice guy, the good guy.” I can feel my eyes well up as I watch Baekhyun break down.

“I knew if I broke up with you, you wouldn’t let me go. You’re stubborn, Y/N and I knew you would continue to chase after me, so I knew the only way was to get you to break up with me. And to do that I had to break your heart.” I let out a sob, Chanyeol’s hand rubbed up and down my arm in attempts to sooth me. It didn’t work. I walk out of Chanyeol’s grip, taking steps towards Baekhyun, ignoring the rest of the members eyes.

“What the fuck, Baekhyun?!” I wail, Baekhyun pulls me to him and at first, I fight him off but then give up, letting him hug me.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I couldn’t love you,” I cry into his shoulder, gripping his t-shirt in my hands. Baekhyun leans down and whispers into my ear; “He’ll love you better than I ever could.” With that he pushes me back and grips my cheeks with both hands before placing a gentle kiss to my lips. Baekhyun pulls back and smiles a watery smile before turning and walking away. Kyungsoo follows after Baekhyun. I turn around with tears still falling from my eyes and notice Chanyeol is no longer there. My breath quickens and I quickly wipe away the tears so I can see.

“Chanyeol?” I call out, voice shaky as I continue to search the beach for him.

“He went that way,” Yixing points straight ahead, I quickly thank him before running off. I spot Chanyeol walking far ahead of me with his head hang low. I sprinted faster until I wasn’t far behind him.

“Chanyeol! Wait!” I shout causing him to stop. He turns to me in what I can tell is bewilderment. As I stand in front him, I notice the dried tears on his cheeks and his red eyes.

“Y/N? what are you doing here?” I let out a soft chuckle, I reach forward and grab his hands. He grimaces slightly, pulling them away and taking a step back. “You should go after him,” I shake my head at him, this time I take a step forward, looking up at him.

“No, I want you Park Chanyeol.” I firmly say, my hand reaches up to his neck and I gently tug him down to me. I push up on my toes and connect my lips with his. I can taste the Coke he was drinking earlier, and I can feel the rough patch of where the cut was. I press my lips harder against his, Chanyeol was hesitate at first, his lips froze undermine. Softly, I moan, pushing my hand through his dark hair. At the sound, Chanyeol unfreezes, his hand grips my hip and pulls me closer. He tilts his head and runs his tongue along my bottom lip; I open, allowing our tongues to meet. His tongue is gentle but also demanding and I love it. I feel like my whole insides are exploding like fireworks. I suck his bottom lip between mine, pulling a moan from Chanyeol, I peck him one last time before pulling back. Opening my eyes, I watch Chanyeol chase after my lips, pouting when I giggle. He opens his eyes and grins down at me, his hands run down back until they’re underneath my bum. Quickly, he picks me up causing me to squeal and carries me to the water, I wrap my arms around his neck tightly.

The water is at our waist, Chanyeol doesn’t take us any deeper. It’s cold but it doesn’t stop us laughing and splashing each other. Chanyeol suddenly smirks at me, almost devilishly.

“What?” I giggle, taking a step back ready for his attack. Except he surprises me by gripping his wet t-shirt at the bottom and begins tugging it up and over his head. My throat dries at the sight of him bare, his smirks turn into a full-blown grin. My eyes refuse to look away from his defined abs, I watch as droplets of water slide down his abdomen back into the sea. I look back to his face, amusement written all over it. “What are you doing?” I whisper and Chanyeol lets out a chuckle.

“I believe you wanted to see me shirtless, Miss L/N,” I gulp, eyes trailing back down, eyeing his brown nipples that have hardened under the cold temperature. I pull my hands to my chest, trying to avoid touching him. Chanyeol notices this and smiles softly.

“You can touch me if you want,” he murmurs, “I’m yours,” Reaching over he takes my hand in his and places it on his chest, dragging it down slowly. His chest is hard, but it hardens further under my touch as Chanyeol grows tense, I allow him to drag my hand further down his abs. But I slowly pull away, my breath is heavy, and I feel almost shaky on my feet.

Looking into his eyes once more I whisper, “Kiss me,” Chanyeol quickly complies and swoops down and captures my lips. We stay like that, in the water, making out with each other. And for once I don’t feel afraid, but I know there’s more to come. This was just the beginning of Chanyeol and I.

#exo #exo kai #exo kyungsoo #exo scenarios #exo smut #exo suho #exo sehun #exo baekhyun #exo lay #EXO xiumin #exo jongdae #exo x y/n #Park Chanyeol #exo chanyeol #chanyeol fic #chanyeol x y/n #kpop smut #kpop fic #kpop scenarios

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prettyboy-parker · 5 years

Note

Peter gets grumpy and fussy when he hasn’t had tony’s cock in his mouth or ass in a while - I've put it in your inbox now, will you write something about this, pwease? I would love you till the end of time 🥺😂

thank you for pushing me to write this, bc i really wanted to! this is set in the untitled mafia au ☺️

warnings: feminine peter and throat fucking 😳

***

Peter is going to scream.

He is absolutely going to throw a hissy fit and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

“Pete, are you okay?” Loki asks softly, looking up from the pair of lacy, forest green panties in his hands. Peter takes a deep breath and fans his eyes quickly.

“Yeah Lo, I’m fine,” He breathes, gently patting the corners of his eyes with the collar of his frilly pink chiffon top. He spent way too much time on his makeup this morning, and he doesn’t want to mess his hard work up because of some petty tears. Tony had texted him saying that he wouldn’t be home tonight.

This is the third time this week.

“Peter,” Loki says, more sternly this time. “You’re about to cry. Something’s wrong.”

Peter bites the inside of his lip, trying to keep his tears at bay. Thank god they’re in the farthest corner of the store where the PINK employees can’t see his meltdown.

“Tony just said he’s not going to be home tonight. Again,” Peter grumbles, tapping a quick ‘k love you’ to the aforementioned mob boss. “I haven’t gotten dicked down since last week.”

At this, Loki widens his eyes.

“You’re kidding,” He gasps, twirling a thick lock of black hair around his finger. “Doesn’t he fuck you at least once a day?”

“Well, he used to,” Peter complains, honey eyes flicking around the store before speaking again. “He’s just been so wrapped up in this shit with Hydra. He comes to bed when I’m asleep and leaves before I wake up. I’m sick of it.”

Loki makes a sympathetic noise as he adjusts the strap of his Hermès purse.

“Bucky hasn’t lent a helping hand yet?”

Peter shoots Loki a disgruntled look. The other man raises his hands in mock defense. Peter crosses his arms and pouts.

“Hey, I have an idea.” Loki says. Peter can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Do you, now? Spill.”

***

Tony slams the front door open so hard the sound of it echoes through the entire mansion.

His crew are dead silent as they walk inside, shuffling after the mob boss. He can feel the tension in his jaw, his joints, his everything. The foyer is silent, except for the faint crackle of the fireplace from the main living room.

“You’re all dismissed,” Tony grunts, shucking off his dress shoes and leaving them by the door for the maids to get. Bucky and Natasha scurry off as Tony heads into the living room. He’s expecting Peter to be curled up on the couch, but it’s just Loki.

“Good evening, Mister Stark,” He greets, looking up from his worn copy of Poetic Edda.

“Hello, dear,” Tony responds, impatiently gripping the back of the couch.

“Peter is upstairs. He’s been waiting for you.”

A sharp pain of guilt pricks his heart as his cock twitches in his dress slacks. (So what? He knows his baby.) He nods and bids his goodbyes to Loki before climbing the grand steps of the mansion. For some goddamn reason, his heart pounds in his chest. Down the hallway, he can see their bedroom door slightly ajar. He walks closer and hears the muffled sounds of very quiet jazz music. He gently pushes open the door with his foot, the sight that greets him taking his breath away.

Peter is outstretched on their shared California king, looking like an absolute snack. He’s donned an intricate, black bustier, ribbons crossed over his middle and tiny bows placed at his shoulders. The panties he’s wearing are incredibly sheer, showing his stiff cock. The top is connected to black thigh-highs that cover his long legs. He smiles, brushing a chestnut curl that looks incredibly soft out of his face.

“Oh, dolcezza,” Tony breathes, truly awestruck from the angel in front of him. A sweet blush emerges over Peter’s plump, freckled cheeks. Somehow, he shuts the door and his feet carry him to the edge of the bed. He reaches out but hesitates, almost unsure where to touch. He settles for gently gripping the younger’s ankle and rubbing his thumb across the material covered skin.

“Hi daddy,” Peter purrs, hiding part of his beautiful face behind his crossed arms. He looks so cute, so perfect, so innocent. (Minus the revealing lingerie, that is.)

“You’re gorgeous, Peter.” Tony croaks, running his hand up Peter’s covered leg before reaching the sliver of skin above the thigh-highs, opting to stroke the softness there. “I must be the luckiest man in the world.”

Peter’s honey eyes flutter shut at the praise, the tips of his long lashes kissing the skin under his eyes. Tony takes his time drinking in the beauty of the boy beneath him.

“I’ve had the worse week. I get cranky when I don’t have your cock in me.”

Ah, there’s his Peter.

Tony laughs lowly, squeezing the boy’s bubble butt. Peter’s eyes open and he kicks his legs before clambering up onto his knees. He uses his delicate, manicured hands to knead at the front of Tony’s crotch.

“Missed it,” Peter hums softly, mostly to himself. Tony groans at the slight contact against his growing cock. He reaches up and cups Peter’s cheek in his scarred hand. When Tony presses his thumb against Peter’s lipgloss slathered lips, he obediently takes the digit into his mouth.

“You’re a sight, cucciolo.” Tony murmurs, titling his head to the side as he watches Peter suck on his finger. He slips his thumb out of the boy’s mouth before leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Daddy,” Peter whines, kneading Tony’s thick cock through his expensive slacks. “I want you to fuck my throat.”

Tony groans and his eyes flutter shut, Peter’s dirty words swimming in his ears. He curses as he feels Peter mouthing at his clothed cock, making a mess of the fabric.

“Yeah, baby?” Tony grunts, opening his eyes. He takes Peter’s face in his hand, squeezing his cheeks and tilting the boy’s head upwards. “You want daddy to be rough tonight?”

Peter whines and nods, eyes glazed with pleasure.

“I know how stressed you get. Take all that out on me. I don’t like when daddy’s upset,” He breathes, slightly grinding his leaking cock against the sheets of the bed. Tony lets go of Peter and hurriedly pushes down his slacks and boxers. His thick cock bobs in the air, the tip flushed dark red and leaking. Peter swallows thickly and gives the head a few kitten licks. Tony groans and grips Peter’s soft curls gently. The younger takes more of his dick into his mouth, sucking on the head while using his tongue to massage the sensitive part just underneath it.

“I know you can do better than that, sweetheart,” Tony mutters, pushing down the boy’s head so he takes the rest of his aching length into his mouth. The mob boss moans at the feeling of Peter’s wet lips sliding down his cock. He’s a vision, too, mouth stuffed full. Peter starts to bob his head up and down, spit dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

“Hands behind your back,” Tony orders, and Peter obeys like the good little slut he is. Tony starts to slowly move his cock in and out of the brunette’s mouth, hissing at the overwhelming pleasure. Tears spring at the corners of Peter’s eyes.

“Fuck, such a hot mouth,” Tony groans, hips snapping as he slides his cock through the boy’s plump lips. Peter whines around the large length in his mouth. “S’like you were made for me.”

Tears spill down Peter’s flushed cheeks. The sight makes Tony’s orgasm approach quickly.

“I’m gonna cum on your face, okay, bambino?” The older man asks, breathless. Peter tries to say ‘okay’, but it just comes out as a muffled ‘ngh’.

Tony pulls his cock from Peter’s mouth, taking the wet, hot length in his hand and stroking it quickly. Peter sticks his tongue out slightly and closes his eyes, which pushes Tony over the edge.

“Ah, ah, fuck-“ Tony cries, cock spurting thick ropes of cum onto Peter’s face. Only a little makes it onto his tongue, the rest spattering onto his cheeks and chin. Peter swallows the bit that’s on his tongue.

“Thank you, daddy,” He breathes, lapping at Tony’s now flaccid cock. The older man grunts softly before pushing Peter down onto the bed. The boy lets out a surprised squeak, but lies down anyways.

“Alright baby, it’s time for daddy to make you feel good.”

#starker #ask #anon #request #nff #untitled mafia au

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ranger-kellyn · 4 years

Text

here, have an excerpt from some vaguely modern royalty phaesporia au where diantha is a princess and cynthia is her bodyguard i’ll probably never actually write~

The air in the gardens was cool and wet. A thin fog had begun to form around the edges of the stream that wound its way through the estate, a small shimmer now and then from fireflies that had strayed in from the fields.

Despite the tangible atmosphere around her, all Diantha could feel was Cynthia’s eyes on her back, and the pain in her feet from a night filled with dancing and socializing with people she had no desire to dance with.

“Princess.”

In the middle of the courtyard, they came to a stop at the circular terrace, her heels no longer clicking against the bluestone. Around them, the rhododendron bushes swayed under the dim lampposts and moonlight, their bright pink flowers finally in full bloom.

“What?” she asked, the bitterness of her tone like bile in the back of her throat. She wasn’t ready to face her just yet.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are we just going to end the night like this? Me escorting you home fuming, and leaving without knowing what I did wrong?” Cynthia asked, her voice far enough back to tell Diantha there was a good bit of distance between them.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping, causing an audible jungle from her necklace. “It wasn’t you, Cynthia.”

“Then what? Was it someone else? You know I can and will get between you and someone who is giving you a bad time,” she said, her footsteps moving across the terrace.

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, Cynthia.” She had already resided herself that nothing could be done about the situation, and that it was stupid and childish to dwell on it any further.

“Was it that damn Cordovan Chancellor? I will literally go back to that stupid party and kick his ass if–“

She turned, her heels screeching against the bluestone. “Because causing an international scene and having you, at the bare minimum, taken away from me, would absolutely make me feel better!”

Cynthia said nothing in response to the outburst, only allowing her to continue.

“It wasn’t him upsetting me, and it wasn’t you! Except it was–is? I just– I didn’t want to be there in the first place. I’ve always hates these sort of events. I hate having to stroke egos and be dainty and sweet– the prim and proper princess my parents expect me to be. I hate having to dance with men who only know how to step on my feet and put their hands where they’re not supposed to.” At that point, even she wasn’t entirely sure of where she was going with any of it. Really, the only thing she was trying to do was avoid the point entirely. The real reason she had been upset all evening.

A sharp pain shot up her leg, and in a split-second decision, she stood on one foot, intent on ripping the heel off. “And I hate these fucking shoes!” She yelled, falling on her rear with a hard thump against the bluestone.

Ripping the shoes ankle strap from its clasp, she pulled the shoe off, throwing it far into the gardens.

Cynthia was on her knees in front of her by the time she started reaching for the other shoe.

“Diantha,” she said softly, slowing her of undoing the ankle clasp.

Whether it was the use of her name rather than title, or resigning herself to getting it over with, she said, “Worst of all: the only reason I’m throwing an absolute fit here in the gardens like some child is because I’m mad I didn’t get to dance with you.” She tossed the shoe off to the side, watching it land against the base of the rhododendron.

They said nothing for some time, the only thing breaking the silence between them being the gentle stream, and a distant group of Murkrow, cackling away into the night.

Pulling her knees up to her person, she tried to tuck her dress in a way that would still be decent, but quickly decided she didn’t care, too emotionally drained to worry over it.

“I wanted to dance with you, too.”

It was the quiet admission that finally got Diantha to look up again. “I hate these rules and expectations. I just…” she shook her head, reaching up to pull her braid around, fingers making quick work of undoing it. “I just want to be free to dance with whoever I want to, and not worry what my parents or the media are going to say. Not worry about causing some sort of scandal over nothing.”

It wasn’t as though she was having an extramarital affair like her two older cousins had. It wasn’t as though she was trying to disrupt the marriage of another like her uncle had. It wasn’t as though she was trying to influence bad policy like her own father would.

Instead, she simply dared to be the stubborn princess who fell for her bodyguard. Fell for her in a way that went beyond the physical interest they had expressed. The sex was great, but the thought of simply getting to hold her hand in public, never have to dance with anyone other than her at a dumb party, or to never have to deal with a potential suitor ever again, was far better.

Cynthia moved to stand, silently extending a hand out to her.

She took it, fully expecting to be led to her room where they would part for the night, and not speak about it ever again. She would cry it out to Gardevoir, packing away all of those feelings until her next inevitable meltdown.

Instead of letting go to lead her away, Cynthia put her free hand on her waist, pulling her close. “Dance with me?”

Tension fell slowly from her body, a soft laugh escaping her. “Here?”

“Here in the back gardens, fireflies as our witness,” she said, a softness in her tone Diantha wasn’t entirely familiar with at that point.

“We don’t exactly have any music,” she said, more amused than anything.

Keeping one hand on her waist, Cynthia retrieved her phone from her pocket, flicking through it for a few seconds before a soft instrumental melody began to play.

“Can’t say I know what’s going to be on this playlist,” she said, turning the volume up before putting it in her back pocket. “But it said instrumental, so…” She shrugged.

“You’re terribly sweet when you want to be, my dear.”

Then nothing. Cynthia froze, and there was no dancing; no movement. Only her looking off to the side, absolutely embarrassed.

Even under the dim lighting, Diantha noticed a tinge of color across her face. “You don’t know how to dance, do you?” she asked, her grin in her voice.

Cynthia shook her head. “I knew that when I offered, and yet– I think I know the steps of a basic waltz, but can’t say I’ve ever had any dance lessons.”

Adjusting their hands, Diantha took the lead. “Then tonight can be your first lesson.”

And so they danced, clumsily; too much looking down at feet and laughing at missteps. Just when Cynthia was sure she had it, she would mess up which foot was next, but it never failed to get a laugh from Diantha.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, the music changed from instrumental, to an advertisement, and for a second, Diantha had never laughed more genuinely in her presence than that moment.

“Cynthia Jenness! You’re paid the royal guard wage, and you won’t even pay for premium on some music app?”

She brought them to a halt. “That’s an ten dollars,” she defended.

Diantha’s stance didn’t change. “Again, royal guard wage. I know how much you’re paid to guard me.”

She shrugged, pulling her close again. “That company will probably –I don’t know– go punch puppies if I give them ten extra dollars. Do you want me to be responsible for even one puppy punch?”

The absurdity of it all kept her laughing. Letting go of her hands, she wrapped her arms around Cynthia, resting her head on her collar. “And you call me dramatic.”

“Anything to see you smile again.”

Another soft admission that Diantha wasn’t entirely sure what to do with. Of course, she knew Cynthia had the ability to be gentle and soft, but more often than not, she was cool, calm, and assertive. A force of nature to be reckoned with. Ever since she was appointed as her bodyguard, Diantha never once feared for her own safety, and in bed, well. Still a force of nature that Diantha loved every second of.

Pulling away, Diantha looked up at her. The moon was now high in the sky, Cynthia’s grey eyes silver under glow. The music had resumed as soft, low melody.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked.

Cynthia laughed low. “You don’t ever have to ask,” she said, leaning in.

“I still like to…”

#phaesporiashipping #my fics #no proofreading we die like men #ALSO DONT @ ME w/ fireflies don't live where rhododendron grow #it's my dumb fAnTaSy world of Wisteria #which i should probably make an actual map of by now

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matildainmotion · 4 years

Text

Extreme Times, Transitions and Your Extreme Powers for 2021

This time last year I wrote a piece entitled ‘An Encouraging Blog about Despair’ – this was in early January, before the pandemic. My son loves that moment in a story when someone says, “Well, at least things can’t get any worse,” and then, right on cue, a whole lot of worse-ness happens. This year I am not going to attempt to be encouraging – I think we need something else, to match the gravity and uncertainty of the times, that recognises all the worse-ness that has happened. But what? Right now I am not sure. Let me see if I can write my way to find it.

The thing that has saved my sanity through the year has been the working on and writing of a novel. It has kept me sane but also driven me mad, but at least it has been my madness, of my own making as opposed to the world’s. It has been astonishingly difficult. Often, I have felt more articulate about the toughness of the process, than about the story I am trying to tell. The images I have used to describe it have included marathon running, mountaineering, white-water rafting and tightrope walking. I am struck by the extremity of these metaphors. I have done none of these things in real life, and yet I have had a visceral sense of their accuracy. Most of my writing has taken place where I am now, crouched on the children’s bedroom floor. I do not look like I am engaged in anything wild or dangerous, but I like the idea that both my making and my mothering – activities that are often seen as domestic, docile – are in fact extreme sports.

Photo credit: Viola Depcik, as part of the online exhibition: Portraits in Motherhood and Making during lockdown.

For now, I have come off the mountain of the book. Come January I will set about editing it – an attempt to turn the manuscript into something someone might actually want to read. This morning, I am in a moment of transition. What to write in the dark bedroom, before the children wake? Christmas wish lists and new year’s resolutions are the traditional seasonal texts, but I notice I have two counter impulses to these – two very different lists I want to write.

The first is not a wish list, but a list of the unwished-for. A backwards-looking list of some of the worse-ness of the year, not as a plea for sympathy, empathy, not out of a need to confess, or because I am looking for advice, but because it feels important to name it. In these last months, on those precious trips out of the house, I have had many two-metres-apart exchanges of the “How are you doing?” kind. “Okay. We’re surviving,” I reply, and then come away, with my groceries in hand, my mask hanging round my neck, feeling desolate, surprised that I should feel it so deeply, when I was not expecting any more from the exchange. I think it is because I want to lay bare the utter ugliness of the year, like when you pull the fridge out and expose the amazing accumulation of dirt underneath. I know that we have been lucky, so when I list some of our un-wished for times, I do it in full recognition that others have had it worse, much worse.

Here is a selection of my unwished-for list:

Easter – everyone in the house either shouting or crying or both. Still ill. My husband and son red in the face. My mother and daughter, white.

Then the times – more than one -when my son, who is on the autistic spectrum, needed a play fight, to channel the aggression he displays when he feels threatened (and a threat may be as slight as a joke he did not understand, a small change of plan). I offer to fight him, and as I face him, hold his wrists, the energy in his body, but also in mine, is far from playful.

A recent one - a double meltdown – my daughter screaming whilst we are Xmas shopping because she and I cannot remember something I said three days ago about her and a bauble she was hanging on the tree. Meanwhile it is raining. She is refusing to wear a coat. She runs away from me, up the pavement, beside a busy road, whilst my son, who cannot bear loud noise, lays down on the concrete and puts his hands over his ears. I am caught between the two of them – one on the run, the other on the ground. Masked people watching me, the rain coming down, the dark coming on.

Three in the morning and no one is screaming or sobbing but me – the children are sleeping peacefully, and I am not.

There is an edge to this – it is allowed to be hard, but it feels dangerous to expose the difficult details. It has not all been like this, but I do not want to sweep these times aside and hurry on. So I set them down, one by one, on the page. Then I can begin list number two.

This is a list not of changes I resolve to make in the new year, but ones that came on their own, and are ongoing, unresolved. A list of the transitions already underway. Because these arrive unbidden, this is a list of the moments when I understood that change is happening:

When I find I cannot read the instructions on the side of the ‘stuffing mix’ and I realise I need reading glasses.

When my period is two weeks late one month, and two weeks early the next. The skin on my eyelids grows dry. I read this too can be a symptom of the perimenopause.

When my daughter is at last weening (shhhh, don’t tell her, or she will object) and her favourite game is to play at being a ‘dumb baby’ who cannot remember where its mummy’s boobies are. She runs about the room, looking behind bookshelves and under covers, until eventually the baby realises that the boobies and the milk are on its mother’s chest. She does not want the milk now, she wants to play at being the silly baby, because she is turning into such a competent ‘medium big girl’ (her current definition of her size).

When my mother (granny) no longer wants to cook meals for us, but would rather that I cook for her.

When my son starts to grow a greater awareness of his separateness to me and I find him in tears one night because earlier in the day he heard The Beatles song “She’s Leaving Home” and grew afraid that this might happen to him – that he would leave one day, leaving only a note behind.

When my husband and I realise we are going to need to move again, find somewhere we both want to be, to settle, where we can grow older.

When the children wait for snow, go out keen to find the ice on top of puddles to crack and splinter, but the winter stays mild, wet.

And then there is the ‘transition period’ the whole of the UK is supposed to be undergoing, moving out of the EU, whether we like it or not. Lorries, stationary, but in long lines of transit, waiting to cross the border. And then there are the transitions- endless- from one tier to another to try to control the virus.

I think of others’ transitions too, of friends, and friends of friends: people waiting for a baby to be born; waiting for a loved one to recover, or die; transitions of age, gender, status.

What to do in response to these unchosen changes? I almost admire my daughter’s wish to fight them. Her maxim is not ‘to keep calm and carry on,’ but rather to keep screaming, whilst being carried. I am impressed by the volume of rage in her four-year-old frame as she attempts to stop things:

“You have to stop the car now,” she cries from the back seat, when we are in the middle of the road, “Right now. You have to do it. You have to, you have to, you have to…Mummy stop! Now! You have to stop!” It is a work-out of the will that can go on for hours and which leaves us both exhausted. It is extreme, and it makes me think back to the extreme metaphors for which I found myself reaching in trying to describe my writing process with the novel.

I counsel her in acceptance, but I recognise my own desire to scream against the times, to stop the world. Perhaps I need to flip things round - to harness the power of the scream, even as I accept the ways things are. Often I think of acceptance as passive, equanimity as cool and quiet. But I am not sure balance, as figured in this way, is the right metaphor for our times. The feat of balancing required now is that done by the tightrope walker, cliff face climber, white-water rafter – an athletic equanimity, a muscular form of acceptance that takes all our might, all our will.

Maybe it is time to reclaim the male image of the superhero. I like the way in the film of The Incredibles, the superheroic is recognised as a form of divergence from the norm, a daring difference, how the super ability can become a disability if the surrounding culture judges it as such. The image helps me to see my differences as potential superpowers.

A third and final list then comes to mind, a forwards-looking one, that might support me through the transitions of this time, and on into 2021 – a list of my extreme powers. If it comes to needing to grow food, hunt, light fires – wilderness survival skills – I will be useless, but I can do the following:

I can survive on little sleep.

I can hold onto the thread of a creative project or conversation through multiple interupptions and across many days.

I can imagine disaster, very fast, in almost any situation.

I can mother two intense children, both often awake till midnight.

I can name the elephant in any room.

I can write a novel in the hour per day when my children are watching TV (this is a slight exaggeration - when school was happening I had a little more time, but on a list like this you are allowed to exaggerate).

That’s it for now. I do not think we need to know or understand how our superpowers, our athletic abilities, can be put to good use. I do not think it is our job to calculate this, but rather only to keep in training. Ready. Skills honed. And also to notice, name and honour one another’s skills. I think I should write a list of my children’s superpowers too. As I write this, the children have woken and my husband is now showing my daughter the trailer for the latest Wonder Woman movie. My daughter likes her outfits, especially the golden bracelets. A glittering dress sense will be on my daughter’s list of wondrous powers.

The other day my husband shared with me a quote, from a Hopi leader in the year 2000, which seems relevant to my three lists as 2021 begins:

“There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore…..The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above water. And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate.”

Writing a novel has felt like white water rafting, but actually being alive right now feels like that too. This year I offer, not encouragement amidst despair, but something more extreme - a call to arms, to your arms, my arms, arms that can carry children, stir soups, make stories - superhero arms strong enough, not to grip, but to let go of the shore. Mid river as we are, I want to celebrate each other’s extreme, extraordinary abilities. So, tell me your lists: the list of things you did not wish for, the list of changes underway, unresolved, and then the list of the superpowers you are hiding, honing, as we are swept along. What powers, however ordinary, bizarre, or seemingly superfluous, do you have to offer?

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jessiebanethedragon · 4 years

Text

Sweet Coffee

WARNING: Content is about suicide and loss of loved ones, also swearing.

Isn't it lovely? Being here alone, in the dark? Doesn't the fresh air make you feel alive? I used to come here with you, in the middle of the winter when the owners had left to retreat to somewhere warmer. If you knew where to turn, you could find the property and the side of the hill that it sits on. If you knew where to look you could find a place that looks over the whole city.

It smells like our life together, and for a brief moment it seems so real I could look over to the driver's seat and see you. But then the wind picks up and the smell of soft sweaters, lavender and fresh herbs is taken from me. It tastes like iced coffees, the only thing worth ordering from the drive through we always hit before coming here. And the freedom it brings is so real I can reach out and touch it.

Sitting in a small car and staring into the depths of a city that didn't care about us was so satisfying. Like we could see all the lives that were milling about unknowing we watched over the tops of their heads in our secret special place. It's not the same without you.

“I don’t want to say goodbye. I want to say thank you.” Was what the letter said. “I want you all to know that without everyone in my life I would’ve been dead long before this moment.” it was as eloquently written as you were spoken. All the right words in the right places to tell us what we had to hear. And I can't help but think how bad a job I would have done if it had been me writing it. Like an automated response generator, repeating the same things I'd been told over and over.

“Call the helpline. Dial 911 if it is a life threatening emergency. Ask a trusted person to hide away your pills so you’re not tempted by them.” All the words people told us in order to make use of someone else's problem. “Don't call me. Call the authorities.” Don’t ask the doctors to find medications that help, just hide the ones that should be working so you don’t overdose before they can adjust you to the correct dosage. Yes, I do know that my final message would've been much more angry than yours.

I can't remember the exact words, I ripped the thing to shreds the second I was out of sight when we got back from the hospital. No one could know I had planned my own downfall just days before your own. The guilt I feel for being so self absorbed in my own demise that I didn't notice the signs is immense, even though you specifically said not to feel at fault. Our last night together is burned into my memory. But after all, everyone around us was taught to recognize destructive behavior, our families were trained to know when we went over the edge. You and I were never given that luxury.

“Coffee.” was all the text said at 7:34 that night. I know because I checked the time stamp, as if I could recreate every element of the last time I saw you. It wasn't a question, it never had to be. When did either of us say no to a drive around the city at night with an iced coffee and what felt like not a care in the world? If I had known what that night meant for you, maybe I would have said no. Maybe I would have taken away your ability to say goodbye to me because I wasn't extended the same courtesy.

“If you had to do it all again, would you?” you asked when we had settled into our spot. We didn't talk while driving, looking out the window was too much fun for conversation. But after we had parked on the edge of the hill on February the tenth, at what I guess was about ten to eight in the evening, the conversation started to pour out of us. Words spurting out, as emotional and as spirodic as a bullet wound.

“Probably not.” I admitted, sipping the iced coffee that was just sweet enough for such a cold night.

“I would.” you said staring at the train that was passing in the distance. “I would change everything. I’d work with every intention on changing who I've turned out to be.”Then it went quiet.

“I think i'm hardwired this way.” I whispered. “I think even if I did it all over. I’d still end up where I am.” Brown eyes met mine before turning back to the scenery. “I think whatever created me, the universe, god, whatever it was,” I paused, releasing the implication of what was saying, a breath, a beat went by before I continued. Knowing that whatever I said, you’d still be there after. “I think whatever designed my DNA chiseled in that I wasn't meant to be happy. If my life is ended ‘prematurely’.” I added bouncing finger air quotes. “It's only that way because that's what fate wanted.”

“Fuck fate then.” You replied. And we both shared a chuckle as I leaned my head on the rest behind me, closing my eyes with a smile.

“Yeah, fuck fate.”

It takes one beer to get me buzzed, it’s enough to feel calm but not enough to make me loopy, so I can keep my indulgences to myself. I like to think you’d approve, me having a beer before your funeral. It’s rebellious, and it tastes bitter with that little fizz. Just like you.

As a person who only ever wears black, I can say that the colour didn't seem comforting today. My mother squeezes my shoulder, pushing me forward into the church. It angers me, you weren't religious, you were baptized as a courtesy to your grandparents. You would not want to be buried here. If I had my way I'd take your ashes and spread them across the world. Leaving a part of you in the depths of each corner of the planet. A representation of how ingrained you were into my world. But that's selfish. And I was raised not to be selfish.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” People say as I pass them, pulling me into their arms, touching my hair, arms, face and anywhere else they think is appropriate. When in fact every touch makes me want to scream and every time someone says “I can't imagine what you’re going through.” I can't help but agree.

Everyone else fades away when I see your mother. The likeness so obvious now, it's like a punch to the gut. The times we spent together flash before my eyes, driving with the music too loud, her making us the special breakfast that's only allowed on sleepover days. And I can tell she feels the same because when our eyes meet she stops talking. I know I am the last living embodiment of her daughter, and the similarities between us are clearer now than ever.

I throw myself into her arms because she's the only one who makes me feel whole again.

“It should've been me.” I whisper to her, my head and mind buried into her shoulder, hiding my emotions. “It should've been me, I deserved it, I should have been me.” I repeat it over and over again, my mantra breathed aloud as if it's the last thing i'll ever say.

“Oh honey” she cries, brushing my hair soothingly. “It shouldn't have been either of you.”

“I-I-I” I sob out, forgetting how many people can see me meltdown “Feel, I feel, so, so, g-g-ultiy.” I feel someone's arm around me, I can tell from the smell it is my dad, he always wears the same cologne. He's gently leading me outside into the fresh air. The wind is making me chilly, enhancing the feeling of emptiness inside me.

“I found your note.” he whispers, somehow we find a bench, one that overlooks the entire cemetery. I look at him, and his eyes give away how I look. Red eyes, mascara in streams down my face, covered by foundation. I look like a doll, ceramic perfection, save for the giveaway of black streaks and puffy eyes.

“I ripped it up.” I stutter out. As if that is an excuse, what I really want to say is ‘don't be mad dad, I threw it away, so that means I’m fine now, right?’

“I know, I found the pieces. I just” he pauses, he’s always so concrete with his words. Now is no different. “I wanted to say how proud I am of you, for having the strength to do that, for sticking around.”

“I can't promise anything.” I say, my family knows all too well how often my strength fails.

“You don't need to.” He murmurs with soft eyes. “I can't explain how much I love you, and I can't explain what it's like seeing you in pain. I can see you burning up like a supernova before it collapses. And everytime you choose to stay you amaze me, and you just lost the person who was most important to you. People who have been through less have taken things much worse than you are.” He takes a breath, “I knew this guy at school, we were like 23 at the time. Partying, skipping classes, the usual. His dad passed away during the second semester. Heart attack.” I notice the tears in his eyes, welling up steadily as the memory becomes more and more clear.

“That's so sad” I say to fill the silence.

“Gets worse. My buddy, he took his own life after the event. Just couldn't cope, never got his degree, never graduated. His girlfriend was a mess for so long, his mum even more so.” he wipes away the wetness with a sniff.

“Dad, I'm so sorry.'' I say with my whole heart.

“What I mean is, you always stay because you ignore your pain for fear of hurting others. And that makes me so damn proud of you.” I lean into him for a hug, and I wonder why he's kept that story hidden for so long. I don't question it, we all have our secrets after all. But this moment, right here on an old bench with my dad. This, I will treasure.

The rest of the funeral was largely uneventful. Everyone had stories to share. Many tissues were used and even more hugs ensued. My best friend's life is recounted in the space of a few hours. Every memorable detail shared to the fullest extent, and then she is laid to rest in the ground, surrounded by people she didn't know. The only thing that isn't present is her letter. It’s mentioned, but not read. There are words and phrases that I recognize. “Don’t lose yourself to my loss” or “ I give myself to the earth, the wind and the heavens, because there is no pain in the deepest of forests and the warmest of oceans.” But at the end of the letter, the gut-wrenching final goodbye is left out. Not that it matters, no one needed to hear those words, except maybe me. On the car ride home I close my eyes and picture the papers in my head. Page after page of apologies, memories, and everything in between.

“To my best friend, sister and lifeline,” I could hear your voice as my eyes drifted across the paper. “You will feel the most guilty, I know this. But I need you to push those feelings away, there is not anything you should have or could have done. I know it is going to be hard, maybe impossible even. And I write this for you because I know as I jot down my farewell, you’re in your bed, underneath a pile of blankets whispering over and over, ‘Death is permanent, this feeling isn't.’ I know this may be a mistake, and I know you’re depressed, anxious and obsessive. But you need to stop apologizing to everyone for being that way. I mean, it's hardwired into you right? Or at least I know that's what you think. But even those who are made to be a certain way, it doesn't stop them from living the best they can. Don’t follow me, don't give up your life for one person. If you don't want to stick around for them, stick around for me. Because you’re going to have to live for two from now on. I know it’s shitty to put that burden on you, but I know you need it. Living wasn't your plan, living for two people was even supposed to happen. But fuck fate right?”

#short story #fiction story #mental ill health #mental health story #depression story #anxiety #friendship #creative writing #stories #sad story #sad stories #shortstories #writer #fiction #books #reading #mental health

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yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years

Note

could you write about maggie being diagnosed with her add pleaseee

absolutely! Y’all ready for ride on a roller coaster that’s in a tornado that’s also always doing loops because that is what this fic feels like :) until you hit a brick wall and then go flying into ANOTHER brick wall but this one has thumbtacks glued all over it :) but then you’re on fire but it’s okay because there’s a sweet dolphin swimmin around and like hahaha that’s funny :) why my body numb though???? :)

Because that’s what undiagnosed ADD feels like :)

Also the ending had me WEAK

TW: Meltdowns, destructive stimming

———————

BITE.

It all started with an itch under Maggie’s skin.

No—not an itch. A buzz. Like touching a bare bulb with wet hands. Maggie’s done that once; Bessie griped at her but she still did it anyway, mainly because she didn’t hear. Her hands wrapped the bulb and she immediately yelped as the current rippled through her, twitching and biting and—

It’s like that.

There’s a buzz under her skin. A current.

It makes her heart beat too fast sometimes. It makes her leg shake and her fingers twist and her voice leave her throat too loud. It makes her words knot and tangle, it makes her cling, it makes her—

It makes Maggie too much.

She tries, she does, she tries, she tries. She tries so hard to modulate, to concentrate, to listen, to stop, stop, stopstopstop.

But there’s something electric under her skin and it hurts sometimes to sit and listen and focus.

It just hurts.

It makes something in her stomach twist and knot and ache. It makes her head squeeze. It makes her breath leave her lungs too quick.

She tries.

But sometimes things are too fast or too slow or too loud or too quiet. Sometimes things are too—

Sometimes there are details.

She gets too lost in details, she knows she does, or sometimes she skips over them completely, or—

Her head is like a camera, she thinks, except that the camera only zooms in way too close or zooms out way too far and she can’t—

She can’t get to that middle setting.

She doesn’t hate it the way she thinks she probably should. The way she’s sure other people do. She just—

This is how she is.

And she doesn’t hate it even if sometimes she gets frustrated. She gets frustrated a lot, really. She gets frustrated when her body is exhausted and the buzz to movemovemove hasn't gone away, or when she looks up and realizes she’s lost half an hour messing with a plastic cup she doesn’t even remember grabbing, or when her mouth is too slow for her head, or—

Or when she looks at Bessie or Maria or Joan or someone else and sees the subtle way their lips press together because- because it’s the third time, fifth time, tenth time they’ve said something, explained something, and they’re patient at first, but sometimes—

Sometimes the words don’t filter right. Sometimes the words twist or tangle or hook the wrong way or sound strange and- Maggie loses the thread.

She tries so hard.

But it’s not this buzz she hates.

She hates herself.

She hates her brain and body for creating this current that sears beneath her skin. It’s ruining her, she knows it. It’s made her broken and she doesn’t know how to deal with it.

But-

Bessie, believe it or not, is the most patient. Bessie repeats over and over, makes Maggie look at her eyes or her mouth, asks Maggie to repeat, to show her that she remembers.

It’s strange. Bessie is usually the one to lash out the most, although she had her reasons and they were very good ones.

A lioness waiting to pounce. That’s what Bessie reminded Maggie of.

Regardless, Bessie is smart in a way Maggie wishes she could be.

(She tries not to think about that. She tries not to think about people being better at things than she is. She knows how those thoughts catch like hooks in her fish-mouth brain and tug and tug and tug and tug until she breaks the surface, struggling to breathe.)

Maria and Joan are usually good. They love Maggie enough to not snap at her when she loudly goes “Huh?” for the fifth time in a row. They play along with her when the buzz makes her skin too tight. Maria lets her mess with her hair for hours and Joan simplified things that might have been too much to take in.

They’re good with that. Maggie loves them so much.

(She loves them enough to let them be, to pull herself away, to shut herself away in herself as best she can when she finds— when she realizes she’s not—

When she sees the clench of Joan’s jaw and the twitch of Maria’s nose and the way they glance at each other, and it’s never mean, it’s never intentional, it’s just...

Maggie knows herself enough to know when she’s too much, and she loves them enough to spare them the discomfort of having to actually tell her she’s too much, to figure out how to explain that she’s overstepped, to put into words that they have limits.

People have limits. Maggie tries not to push them. She does.)

The queens are the least patient. The queens try, they always try. Maggie likes that they try. But the queens get a pinch between their eyebrows after the third time they repeat an explanation, like they’re starting to wonder if Maggie is just being a little shit. The queens are quick to get annoyed, or to fake annoyance, and sometimes Maggie can’t tell the difference. Sometimes it feels like there is no difference.

But none of them knew what was wrong with her. Not really. They just assumed this was how she always acted or that reincarnation messed something up in her.

And it did. Because this buzz was unfamiliar. It wasn’t always there. Like a parasite that slipped into her skin when she wasn’t looking. It latched onto her body.

Still, she dealt with it.

Until the other symptoms came up, that is.

Paranoia, anxiety, depressive thoughts- they all filled Maggie’s head like a thick black haze. She didn’t know where they were coming from or how to stop them. She couldn’t. It was impossible. Impossible to ignore them, impossible to block them out, impossible to disagree with the things it made her think about.

And she couldn’t take it, couldn’t take it, couldn’t take it-

Everything became too much. Maggie was too overwhelmed. She felt like she was drowning, suffocating, burning.

She felt like she was dying.

Bessie had had enough of all of this when she found Maggie collapsed in the dressing room, keening in pain. She kept saying over and over again that the lights were too bright, distant noises were too loud, her clothes were too tight. She had somehow managed to claw open her costume around the sleeves and stomach before she was in her current position. Curled up and biting herself.

Before Bessie came rushing in, noises from outside in the theater were all encompassing, rattling Maggie’s skull, eardrums threatening to burst. She squeezes her eyes closed, covers her ears, rocks frantically with her head bent to her knees in an effort to block it all out. But no matter what she does, she can't, and that's it.

Tears spring to her eyes, and she lets out a loud, pained keening noise as she cracks her head back hard against the wall behind her, digs it in firmly when she sinks to the floor. She claws at her costume like fire ants were crawling all over her, desperately trying to get it off but it won’t, it won’t, it won’t. The material tears, eventually, but it doesn’t help.

Fuck.

Her head shakes hard, side to side, side to side, repeat. She swears she can feel her brain trying to detach and fly out her nose. Her hands snap to her scalp, pulling harshly on her hair and god fucking dammit, it's still not enough. Her fingers leave her hair with one last tug, loose strands of dirty blonde stuck between them, and ball into tight fists to strike down on the sides of her head. She pushes her feet firmly into the floor, thrashes and squirms in the corner.

Nothing is enough nothing is enough why is this happening nothing is enough

She slams her feet down harder, digs the heels into the floor until her thighs ache. Then, she lifts one arm and clamps down hard and firm on her wrist with her teeth. Her other hand finds her hair again, this time not tugging but holding it in a death grip and staying there.

She stays like this, rocking and writhing and biting at her wrist with tears rolling down her cheeks, for what feels like forever. All she knows is she can still feel it- the lingering, bone-deep pain of the noises, eyes sore like she's looked at the sun too long.

That’s when Bessie rushed in. One of the stagehands had heard the commotion and alerted the nearest lady in waiting, which had been the bassist.

The sight terrified Bessie, to say the least. Watching her young protégé spasm and sob and bite herself like a rabid dog made her blood run cold with fear. She snapped into action almost instantly, practically gaining wings due to her panic.

Maggie didn’t register Bessie as Bessie. She didn’t even register her as a human being, just a presence she felt nearby. The touch she began to feel on her body, however, made her whimper in fright. First on her stomach, grazing lightly over scratches she knew she had carved in the flesh, then her head, where strands of hair had been pulled out, next her shoulder, over more angry red claw marks, and finally her wrist, with blood dripping down porcelain skin. The hand was gentle with each prod, which was the only reason why Maggie didn’t scream. She even relaxed into it a few times, almost cooing through her painful sobs.

But then fingers wrapped around her wrist and she bit down on them.

Bessie hissed on pain, flinching backwards a little. She definitely hadn’t been expecting that.

“Maggie,” She said softly, despite the pain. “Maggie, let go, honey. Let go. It’s just me.” She felt like she was speaking to a dog rather than a human being.

Maggie showed no sign of hearing her. Her eyes were glassy, blank, and glazed over, which terrified Bessie even more. The young musician looked more dead than alive at this point.

“Maggie,” Bessie tried again. “Maggie, darling, it’s me. It’s Bessie. I need you to let go.”

Maggie’s eyes flickered up a little for a moment before darting back down. Her entire body shudders and she bites down harder for some kind of grounding. Bessie has to grit her own teeth to keep from screaming as it felt like her fingers were about to detach from her hand.

“Maggie-“

She winced at the increasing pressure. The skin breaks open and blood fills Maggie’s mouth.

That’s what snapped her out of her trance.

The girl lurched backwards with enough forced to make the wall rattle when her spine connected with it. Bessie rips her hand back, shaking it in the air to try and ebb some of the pain. There were marks left on her fingers, scarlet at the center and purple all around them. She hissed, shaking her hand again.

Meanwhile, Maggie looked to be completely out of it. Her head was lolling back and forth across the wall, Bessie’s blood still wet on her lips. Her tongue instinctively flicked out and her entire face contorted into a grimace. She blinks once, twice, then sees the bruising already forming on Bessie’s hand.

Maggie was guilty, to say the least. She would not stop apologizing for two days and couldn’t even look Bessie in the eye out of shame for what she had done. Bessie, however, constantly told her it wasn’t her fault and she wasn’t mad. But it didn’t make it better. Maggie still felt horrible for hurting one of her bandmates.

It was just. Terrifying. Becoming a passenger in her own body.

After that, they all went to the doctor with Maggie- Bessie and Joan and Maria. She felt safer when they were there, even though she thought she was just burdening them. And she was, she knew she was. The buzz was making her think these things.

The buzz was attention-deficit disorder. ADD.

It didn’t end there, because of course it didn’t.

She had a combination of ADD. Limbic, Temporal Lobe, Overfocused, and Anxious. Four out of seven. Of-fucking-course.

Maggie felt...wrong after the diagnosis. She didn’t feel like a human anymore. She just felt...broken.

Maggie was broken.

So were her medications, because she was having another meltdown. This time in front of all of the queens, who gawked at her like she was a demon loosed from hell. Aragon and Jane tried to help her, which she appreciated, but she refused to stop biting herself. She just wanted to be left alone in this blasted dressing room (was it not hers?), wanted to bite and burn herself out in peace. Yes, it was bad and it was dangerous, she knew it was, but she needed it. She wanted it.

Why did she want it?

“Move.”

A voice cut through the roaring and screeching and howling in Maggie’s ears. She saw Maria drop down in front her, while Joan shoos away Jane and Aragon. She’s bringing in her keyboard for some reason.

Maria gazed over Maggie’s trembling body as she grinds her teeth down on her wrist for a moment before nodding to Joan. The keyboardist started to play gentle chords. Maggie’s eyes flicked up to her for a moment but then almost instantly went back to Maria.

“You know I love you boy

In every single way.

Though I love you, boy

I’ll miss you every day.”

Maria was singing. Singing Parr’s song, I Don’t Need Your Love, in a voice that could only be described as angelic and, dare I say, better than the sixth queen’s by a landslide. Those first few lines nearly made Maggie release her wrist from pure shock of her jaw almost dropping open.

“Oh I love you, boy

I wish I could stay with you

And keep the life I’ve made with you.”

Maria nodded at Maggie, smiling warmly. Maggie doesn’t react for a moment, so Joan extends the notes, but then she pried her teeth loose.

“And...even though this feels so right...”

Her voice is hoarse and weak from crying, but it still has a beautiful hum to it, like the howl of a wolf. Maria’s smile brightens and she joined in again so they were singing together.

“I’m holding back the tears tonight.”

Maria coaxes Maggie out of her fetal position and takes both of her hands in her own. She continues to gently serenade the young musician, slowly but surely calming her down with each word she spoke and each note Joan played. All the while, the queens watched on in pure shock.

“It’s true, I’ll never be over you.

‘Cause I have built a future in my mind with you.

And now the hope is gone.

There’s nothing left for me to do.

You know it isn’t true

But I must say to you...”

Maria glances at Joan, who joins in with a voice just as powerful.

“That I don’t need your love, no, no.

I don’t need your love, no, no.

It’ll never be better than it was, no, no.

But I don’t need your love, no, no.”

Maria gently wipes away a tear rolling down Maggie’s cheek with her thumb. She leaned forward and kissed the top of the girl’s head.

“Better?” She asked softly.

Maggie nodded, her lips quivering.

“Thank you.” She whispered. She glanced to Joan and repeated herself, “Thank you.”

Joan stepped away from her keyboard to kneel beside Maggie and Maria. She sets a hand on the guitarist’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

“We’re always here for you, kid. No matter what.”

Maggie collapsed into both of them, and they held her tightly, rocking and soothing her. Bessie joined soon enough, as she had been alerted way too late (which she was absolutely pissed off about).

“Is she okay?” Bessie asked, rushing over.

“Just fine,” Joan smiled down at the girl cuddled between her and Maria.

“They sang.” Maggie croaked. Maria passes her a water bottle she had brought in, which she takes gratefully.

“Damnit,” Bessie hissed, “I can’t believe I missed that.”

She would be there other times, though, because Maggie’s episodes wouldn’t stop, even when she got her Adderall dosage bumped from twenty-five milligrams to forty milligrams. It was just a natural thing, but the other ladies in waiting were there for her.

However, she always assumed it was the music that calmed her down. She now realized it was the loving presence of three caring musicians she was thrilled to call her family.

She loved them.

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nancywheelxr · 5 years

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horror/slasher movie AU, where Charlie is the final girl

I love this prompt so much, you don’t understand. I love horror movies and just-- this is so fun to write! Also, hope you get well soon!

It had all started as fun.

Ava had granted them a vacation even as she had been busy herself after the whole mess with Neron and then fixing the timeline, and everyone had collectively agreed they needed a change in scenery. Let’s go camping, Ray had said, and Sara had just loved the bloody idea, but Nate was putting his foot down about seeing the past, watching history playing out, so Mick had grunted and Zari had plotted a course to Washington, mid-80s.

A cabin in the woods had sounded perfect, then, and when Charlie had seen it, rising up alone in the middle of the trees, she had thought idyllic.

Everyone had settled in and the day had bled into nightfall, and Charlie watched Ray start a fire and laughed at his face when they all told ghost stories. Aren’t you a scaredy-cat, she had teased, cackled at the way his eyes widened and the fire flickered, and somewhere in the woods, an owl had hooted. Ray had looked so scared, then. Charlie thinks he must have left right after, storming up to the cabin. Nora had stood up, ready to follow him, but Constantine had flickered his cigarette at her, let him cool down first, love, and she had sat back down.

They hadn’t seen Ray since.

At first, they had thought he had returned to the ship, done with the whole thing, but now in hindsight, of course, he hadn’t. Ray is a boy scout. He wouldn’t leave like that, but then again, he should have known better than go off alone.

According to the map Gideon had provided them, there was a waterfall nearby, real pretty, it would have been a shame not to check it out while they were there, even if Ray had bailed. Sara took Nate and Nora, then, wanting to take their minds off Ray. They left right after breakfast but when the sun was setting, only Sara and Nate returned.

Nora had left early, they said, to try and contact Ray.

It was dead smart of the killer, Charlie thinks, to take Nora next. Because no one thought much of it. She must have joined him at the Waverider, they’re attached at the hip, nothing strange there.

But Mick– Mick had suspected, what was it that he called? Foul play. He said there was foul play. Ray and Nora’s room was just like they left. Why hadn’t they taken their stuff with them if they were returning to the ship? Maybe that’s why Mick disappeared next.

While everyone went right on with their business, while Charlie went to take a bloody nap, Mick hiked to the nearest town, said he was going to ask around if the locals had seen anything.

It’s been almost two days now.

They had all dismissed that, too. Just Mick being Mick, probably had gotten caught up in some bar and passed out on his drink. But Charlie had seen it, had felt it, too. The unnerving sensation that something wasn’t right, it had begun to creep around the edges. Everyone was on edge. Jumpy. Snapping at each other. Because that’s three people now– gone, just like that. But there were explanations, perfectly good explanations, except they couldn’t be sure because the signal wasn’t making it to the ship, too many trees around.

That night, Charlie had knocked on Zari’s door, she had been buzzing with something, hackles raised.

“What are you doing here?” Zari had asked, and she had just gotten out of the shower, hair still wet and pajamas on. Charlie had been thoroughly distracted. “I thought you were bunking with Mick.”

“Yeah, too creepy there now, without him and all,” she had shrugged, trying so hard to pretend none of that was a big deal. Now, Charlie thinks she should have found strange Mona wasn’t there, in the room. She had been the one rooming with Zari, after all. But she didn’t, because Zari had let her in and Charlie had lost track of anything that wasn’t Zari, then. “How are you holding up anyway, city girl?”

Zari had laughed, all pretty in the moonlight, and hit Charlie with her towel. “Hey, I’ll have you know, I used to spend the summers up on my aunt’s farm.”

“Oh, is that so? Should I be coming for you, then, for advice? Are you a real farm girl now?” She had grinned, crowding her against the window. “Maybe I should stay here tonight, then. Get you to teach me how to start fires and all that girl scout rubbish.”

“Are you proposing a sleepover?” Zari had raised her eyebrow, hopped on the window seat, and Charlie had fit so well between her legs. “Why are you really here, Charlie?”

“Just thought to myself– we’re on vacation, and I was feeling dead lonely on my room, who better to make me company? Been thinking about you all day anyway,” that wasn’t anything at all like what Charlie had wanted to talk about, but she had leaned closer and watched Zari lick her lips, make her decision, and then they had been kissing.

Nothing else had mattered and they hadn’t noticed Mona hadn’t returned until it was well in the morning.

That had been the moment they realized there was no denying it– something or someone was picking them one by one.

It had changed everything.

The sun had turned pale and the trees had turned ominous, reaching up to the sky with gnarled branches and a canopy so dense, they covered everything in shadows– if they squinted, they could possibly make out only about five feet into the woods. The house had been silent, eerily empty, and every creak and noise had echoed like a death sentence in the halls. Every closed door could be hiding a monster behind, every window was an invitation to be dragged away, and sometimes it felt like the walls themselves could be swallowing them.

Charlie had taken Zari’s hand, watched Constantine make a big show of investigating it all, contacting the dead, checking for the supernatural, and venture into the house while they all huddled in the basement.

It had been silent then, too, and they never heard him scream.

Whatever it was– it had been in the house with them.

Nate had cried, yelled about knowing Ray wouldn’t have gone off like that, how they should have known since the beginning something was wrong, and Sara had tried to calm him down, shush him before the killer heard where they were, but he wouldn’t listen, fuck, he just wouldn’t listen, and Sara had kept trying to placate him, but Nate had kept losing his shit, and maybe that’s why they didn’t notice how close to the door he had been. Nate had been in the middle of his meltdown when a gloved hand had punched through the glass and closed around his neck like a claw, dragging him out, door and all, kicking and screaming.

By the time they reached the doorstep, there were wood splinters everywhere and no sign of Nate and his kidnapper, just the broken door lying halfway to the forest.

It had been only Sara, Zari, and her.

The house had never felt larger.

With no way to contact the ship or anyone, for that matter, there hadn’t been much choice but risk booking it to the nearest town, like Mick, and they were losing daylight, so nothing was packed and the house was left behind like a ghost town as they went into the woods.

And how bloody predictable of them. It had taken about half an hour of paranoid silence for something to go wrong. Sara had been the first to scream, piercing the quiet with a pained cry as a bear trap closed around her ankle. Zari had tried to help, running towards her, but another trap had swallowed her foot, sending her down. And Charlie had been paralyzed, then. Frozen, not knowing who to help first, but Zari was crying, whimpering in pain, and her ankle had been a bloody mess, so as much as Charlie wanted to help Sara, they all knew Charlie would always pick Zari.

Christ, Charlie hopes Sara understood it.

They never heard when Sara disappeared, but one moment Charlie had been trying to pry the thing open and the next Sara was gone, trap open wide behind and dripping blood from the fangs.

Zari hadn’t screamed.

She had taken Charlie’s face on her hands, leaving bloody fingerprints on her cheek, and she had kissed her. It’s the look on her eyes, though, that had stayed with Charlie.

That had been the moment Zari realized what was going to happen next.

Somehow, she convinced Charlie to look around for any signs of Sara, scream her name just in case. When she got back, Zari had been gone, too.

And now– here Charlie is. The last one standing.

She’s got no weapon and no idea where she’s going, the underbrush is scratching at her feet and the forest is silent, too silent. There’s no creaking of branches, no sounds of animals, no hooting of an owl. Just silence, and Charlie.

Her heart is either lodged somewhere in her throat or with Zari, wherever she is, because Charlie refuses to believe they’re not still alive. She was never one for hope but-- anything else is just unacceptable.

But it doesn’t matter. Charlie is a survivor, she made it out of Hell, and she’ll break the neck of the bastard who’s got her friends, if it’s the last thing she does. She made it out of Hell and Charlie won’t mind walking right back in if it means saving her friends, saving Zari.

#charlie lot #zari tomaz #zarlie #avalance #sara lance #nate heywood #ray palmer #mick rory #lot charlie #john constantine #legends of tomorrow #lot #look an ask #legends tag #zarlie tag

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