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illdesigns · 4 years

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Kloktober Day 9

crossover or fave au

my favorite au featuring the most coveted ship - magnus/therapy

rated m, warnings for brief talks of canon typical violence, self harm

The office had a smell. That was the worst part. Not the pastel walls or the various ceramic kittens and cherubs or the pale yellow sofa that sagged as Magnus sat in it. It had an absolute perfume smell to it, like he had his face buried in a field of flowers at all times.

Well, it wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was a special kind of torture that most people were not privy to - the sound of mechanical fingers clicking a pen.

“You gotta talk for this to do anything, you know,” Magnus’ eye tracked the man behind the desk as he wheeled back and forth in his office chair. “C’mon, big guy. I know you got a lot going on in that head of yours. What’re you thinking about?”

“Leaving,” Magnus replied briskly. “So I can have a beer and pretend this didn’t happen.”

“You use alcohol like that a lot?” Twinkletits asked curiously, pausing his rolling but not the pen clicking. “To cope with things? You a heavy drinker?”

“No,” he snapped. (Translation: Yes.)

“When you drink, how many drinks do you have? Just one or two, five or more?” he wasn’t subtle in what he was asking. Which is why Magnus hated therapists. He had tried it, once or twice, even before everything in his life really went to shit. When he was just depressed about being in his early twenties because being in your early twenties fucking sucks. And there had been one afterwards but, well, she just didn’t work out either. Dropped him after the whole stabbing story. “Talk with me, Magnus. You’ve got a friend worried about you, you know.”

“I don’t have friends,” it was out of his mouth faster than he intended and he winced. Whatever. If that got back to Toki somehow, Magnus could sue right? Patient confidentiality, HIPAA or whatever? Twinkletits wrote something on the pad in his hand. “What are you writing?”

“Don’t worry about me. My job is to take notes about this stuff for future reference, you just talk. Why don’t you think you have friends? Toki cares about you a lot. He set this up for you, asked you to come down and see me. That’s a friend, right?” Twinkletits offered.

“Yeah,” Magnus spoke with a hint of guilt, looking at his hands. (Translation: Yeah, actually.)

He felt the urge to sneeze, covering his face with the crook of his elbow, rubbing his nose and sniffling. That fucking smell was still covering every surface of his nostrils and it was starting to give him a headache.

“What’s that smell?” he asked.

“Bless you. Lavender. Keeps people calm,” Twinkletits beamed at him. It was funny, because he felt the urge to bash his head into a wall the more he had to inhale it. Not very calming. “And speaking of calm…Toki told me some interesting stuff about you.”

No. No, no, no. Magnus looked up at him again and his eyebrows knit together in suspicion.

“Like?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“So, do you wanna tell me about what happened back in…” he checked his notes. “1999? Ol’ Nate mentioned it too. Feels like it’s important to bring up.”

“Oh, he tell you he did this?” Magnus gestured to his dead eye.

“He told me he did that after you, uh, you stabbed him. But yes, he did,” Twinkletits wrote another little note. Magnus could only imagine what the little dossier Dethklok has on him now will look like. But it’s easier to imagine Offdensen smirking as he reads it, easier to imagine a list of reasons why Toki shouldn’t hang around him laid out in front of him, easier to imagine all of his plans unraveling because he went along with this.

“He, uh…” Magnus paused. Even if he was going to lie about what happened (not that he would be believed by a guy on their payroll anyway) he wasn’t sure...what had happened. It was always a blur when he tried to remember the details - his thought process, why it happened. It was like he blinked and opened his eyes to Nathan beating the shit out of him. “Not much to say if he told you.”

“What about from your point of view?” he prodded, steepling his skinny robot fingers. Why did their therapist have robot arms, anyway? Magnus found that more interesting.

“I dunno, man. It just happened!” he was defensive already, arms crossed over his chest, leg crossed. Shut off. “Things just happen, you know? Like before then I’d have problems with getting mad really easy. People would like, call me stupid and I’d blow up on them or something bad would happen and I’d get depressed and cry it out then take it out on people. And they started to hate me for it, and I started getting worse than that. I see you writing, dude, what are you writing?”

“Just writing what you’re saying. Helps me keep track, okay? Nothing bad,” Twinkletits waved him on. “Go on.”

“I...well, I dunno. It just got worse. I was mad all the time. Thought about hurting myself a lot. Then I started doing that. Thought about hurting other people a lot after that, and then…” he shrugged his shoulders. “Then I did. And got kicked out and live in a little one room apartment while my old friends have this giant sprawling mansion and shit now, who cares.”

“Do you think about that still?” he picked his head up curiously. “Do you think about hurting yourself or others?”

Magnus paused for a moment and thought. Who didn’t think about hurting themselves? You know, just get so frustrated and filled with nervous energy you had to hit yourself in the head a few times? And there was the time before last that he had hung out with Toki, where Toki had sat and talked and talked and talked for too long and Magnus had imagined grabbing his hair and slamming his face into the table to shut him up.

His mind flashed to a basement in an abandoned building. Silver chains and a silver face, both hungrily waiting for their captive.

“No,” he said softly. “I’ve gotten better with that.”

Twinkletits smiled. Checked his clock.

“You know, I gotta wind this down today but...thank you for opening up! Doesn’t it feel nice?” he stood as Magnus did, breaking the distance quickly. He held out a hand to shake and Magnus found himself taking it. His grip was stronger than he expected but metal couldn’t be limp wristed, could it? “I appreciate you opening up at all. We can continue this next time you stop by to hang out, okay? Toki can fill me in so I can make space for you. Oh, before you go-o-o-o-”

He turned to grab something from his desk. A sticker sheet. Magnus frowned as he watched those mechanical fingers peel one off.

“I’m not in Kindergarten. I don’t need a gold star,” Magnus grunted as he felt Twinkletits’ hand on the lapel of his jacket.

“Oh, this isn’t a gold star, buddy! It’s something better,” he beamed up at him. “It’s a banana sticker. For a job well done! You obviously don’t open up easily and I’m sure all that’s a sore subject, so even the little bit we talked about was probably a big step for you!”

Magnus looked down. Well, it sure was a banana sticker. Okay. Seemed a little too gay for his taste but whatever. He was just going to peel it off and toss it the second he could anyway. Twinkletits gave him a wave when he departed and Magnus was stopped outside of the therapist’s office by all but running into Toki dead on.

“Hows it go?” he asked excitedly, then his eyes found it. “Ohhh, you gots a stickers already?! That’s goods, it took me forevers to get ones! Man I gots to do somethings specials as we hangs out today!”

“What?” Magnus raised his eyebrows in confusion as he spoke, looking down at it. It was just a goddamn sticker.

“It’s a big deals! Means you dids a good jobs. I’m prouds of you, pals!” Toki said, face lighting up and eyes crinkling as he looked at Magnus.

Proud. For a sticker? But, Magnus tried to really think of when the last time someone told him they were proud of him. Whatever. He’d take it. He let out a little grunt as Toki wrapped his arms around him in a crushing hug and that gave him more pause. His arms hung by his side limply, his chest and throat suddenly hurt and Magnus wracked his brains for the last time that someone had given him a hug, either. More than ten years ago probably, five figures huddled in front of a camera to commemorate some successful show or something.

So Magnus kept the sticker. So what? It wasn’t anyone’s business if he did or not. Or if he kept the others that he accumulated over the next few months. Or if he found it easier to keep his hair up in a bun at this point. He’d been growing it for years, he could keep it up now and then. Or if he did a few other things, like wear a shirt now and then, change up his style a little bit. And there was a tiny part of him that found it funny as fuck when Dethklok stared at him with a mix of confusion and horror as Toki drug him into the living room of Mordhaus, proudly talking about his brand new friend.

#metalocalypse #kloktober #mine #magnus hammersmith #yes i skipped a few days my work is horrible my b <3

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letstalksymphogear · 5 years

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Symphogear, Ep. 6 (Cont.)

Hibiki, having seen a horror upon horrors, immediately asks Tsubasa if she’s okay. Tsubasa points out she’s a hospital patient, why would you ask this question, you insensitive prick. Hibiki points to the following scene:

Now, you may be asking yourself. “How does a formerly comatose person who is now bedridden on an IV drip manage to do this much damage?” Simply put, Tsubasa has a very chaotic aura. She doesn’t even have to take stuff out of her room; the places she goes to just naturally wind up like this. It’s a metaphor for how much of an absolute mess this person is simply by existing.

“l-look i just- its hard to organize things and- im more of a visual person and-”

“BITCH YOU LIVE LIKE THIS?”

Hibiki unwittingly gets her revenge on Tsubasa. She doesn’t realize it, but her lecturing Tsubasa on what an absolute mess every facet of her life is could possibly be heralded as her lowest point in the entire series.

No, wait. Thinking about it now, this is her second lowest. We won’t see her lowest until GX comes along.

“hibiki, every single bone in my body is broken, you dont have to break my pride too”

Hibiki, being an absolute darling, actually picks up Tsubasa’s mess. This is more than she can say about her own messes.

“haha, miku usually does this for me! wait- wait a minute.”

“i dont get it. i tried to kill you. i tormented and ignored you. i refused to help you for months. i failed to train you on any facet of combat as your senior. i nearly let you get kidnapped and, failing that, nearly killed myself while making you watch, which ALSO didnt help you not get kidnapped aside from scaring the shit out of that weird lady. why are you... helping me?”

“because either we’re going to be very good friends or im going to toss you out the window personally!”

“oh god, that aggression screams kanade. i cant not like her.”

Absolutely annihilated. Just kick her while she’s down in her Taco Bell spiral of humiliation and self-discovery, Hibiki.

“it’s okay, tsubasa! you may be a terminal dumbass, but im sure if we all work together, we can share our braincells and become collectively smarter, for each other!”

“interesting theory. how many ya got?”

“ZERO!”

They trade the kind of banter two people with 0 brain cells would have and then Tsubasa points out Hibiki is doing a great job in her place.

“hey hey HEY HOLD THE PHONE IVE LEARNED MY LESSON IM NOT TRYING TO REPLACE YOU OKAY IM NOT YOU, IM JUST HIBIKI, DOING HER JOB, ALRIGHT”

Meanwhile, in the library, Miku is looking at books, as she does what she says she’s gonna do, unlike a certain other person cavorting with cute idols.

“The Gay Way: How to Get Your Same Sex Relationship Back On Track, by Dr. Lesbe Honest. wow, this one is right up my alley.”

Okay, I’m gonna be honest with you. I literally forgot they show you the title in this. Imagine my face when I made up that title on the spot only to be hit with this little number. Holy shit, Symphogear. There’s this thing called subtlety. I’m begging you. We get it.

OH, AND IT GETS BETTER, BECAUSE

THE AUTHOR OF THE BOOK IS THE WRITER OF THE SHOW

IT’S LITERALLY GOT HIS NAME ON IT

THIS IS THE EQUIVALENT OF WRITING A STORY AND THEN INSERTING A BOOK CALLED “LEARN THE PLOT” WRITTEN BY YOU, IN UNIVERSE

KANEKO STOP THIS BALONEY, PLEASE

AND LIKE FUCKING CLOCKWORK SHE JUST- SHE TURNS HER HEAD AWAY FROM THE BOOK TITLED “THIS IS THE PLOT MOTIF” BY “AUTHOR” AND THEN FUCKING

SHE CONVENIENTLY LOOKS OVER TO THE DISTANCE

AND SHE SEES HIBIKI WITH THE HOT IDOL MIKU WAS INTO, THAT THEY WERE BOTH A FAN ON, AND SHE’S JUST CHILLING THERE AND MIKU WAS TOLD HIBIKI’S ON SERIOUS BUSINESS

AND THE HOSPITAL QUARTERS ARE SOMEHOW CONVENIENTLY CONNECTED TO THE FUCKING LIBRARY ON FULL DISPLAY BECAUSE GOD KNOWS EVERYONE IN A LIBRARY HAS TO WATCH SICK PEOPLE DIE IN REAL TIME

AND NOW MIKU IS THINKING “OH MY FUCKING GOD IM BEING CHEATED ON” AND HER FEELINGS ARE HURT FOR THIS TOTALLY CONTRIVED FUCKING COINCIDENCE

AND SHE’S ALL “BOO HOO HOO I’VE BEEN NTR’D! THIS WAS A CUCKING PLOT THIS WHOLE TIME! WOE IS ME!” FUCK YOU. THIS IS THE WORST. THIS IS ABSOLUTE GARBAGE WHY WOULD YOU- WHY DO YOU EVEN NEED TO SET THIS UP? THERE’S SO MANY BETTER WAYS TO DO THIS!

AND SHE’S JUST STARING BACK AT THE BOOK WRITTEN BY THE SAME ASSHOLE WHO WROTE THIS ENTIRE DAMN SCENARIO IN THE FIRST PLACE, AN EVIL GOD MOCKING HIS SUBJECTS IN THE FACE OF SCRUTINY FOR DRAMA WITH THE MOST CLICHE LOVE NOTES IN A GODDAMNED SOAP OPERA

AND HIBIKI IS NONE

THE

FUCKING

WISER

SYMPHOGEAR SURE IS GREAT, HUH? I SURE DO LOVE SYMPHOGEAR WITH ALLLLLL MY HEART. WHAT A WELL WRITTEN MASTERPIECE! FUCKING BELONGS IN THE FUCKING MOMA!!!!!

Okay. Okay. Let’s get that out of our system. The worst is over. This is the, uh, crescendo of the bad side plot as it inevitably sets itself on the road to resolution. I’m not going to have an aneurysm. My brain is not going to split itself in half. We’re good. I swear, we’re good.

Tsubasa, meanwhile, wants to understand why Hibiki fights, wrestling with the Da Vinci code that is her own emotions. She points out the fight against the Noise isn’t a game, and it ain’t no comic book bullshit either. It’s real, it’s out there, and it’s not pretty yet easily marketable as cute mascots. And what does our protagonist say? No making it up, she literally says:

“i dunno”

Not a damn brain cell in her body, but props for keeping it real. I’d likely say the same thing.

This is the face of someone currently sucking air through their teeth at the raw frustration that someone would be dumb enough to risk their life for the sake of only helping others.

“listen. im gonna keep it real here. i suck at literally everything. math. social studies. writing. helping people is all i have, because its not a competition. you just... you do it. you dont get better at helping people, you just help. like, thats it. i dunno what else to tell you.”

Then Hibiki points out that she feels it all started with Kanade saving her, and the speech implies its a ‘pay it forward’ sort of affair. She was saved, and so she should save others. Unfortunately, it comes off more as a guilt complex. “I lived, and I feel bad about that, so I gotta save everyone else” kind of stuff.

“its my coping mechanism for my countless traumas!”

“i get it now. you’re just as much of a mess as i am. you just dont show it as much. that kinda thinking’s gonna get you killed.”

Tsubasa then correctly points out that it is a kind of survivor’s guilt, where she wants to be released from the pain of old wounds, completely unaware of the irony of her statement.

“yeah. i get ya. we’re both wrecks. but... we can be wrecks working together.”

This would be the part where she says I’M SORRY but apparently we just don’t fucking do apologies in Symphogear, huh? Too good for ‘em, eh?! God.

Then they go outside and talk more about stuff and Durandal. The summation:

“do you have the capacity to live a life forever kicking ass?”

“yeah”

Hibiki, coming to terms with how she wants to deal with shit, manages to sharpen (haw) her resolve as to who she is and how she uses her abilities.

Meanwhile...

youtube

“i cant believe hibiki is having an affair with an attractive idol popstar. especially my favorite one from their old band. not only is she cheating on me, but she’s cheating on me from one of the five people on my lists id immediately get with if i had the chance. it feels like a double betrayal. a real life one, and a fantasy one... why do i find this weirdly hot...?”

“HEY NEWCOMER WELCOME TO THE CUCK AND BUCK WHERE WE SELL FRESHLY FRIED CUCKS FOR ONE BUCK, REAL EASY, REAL CHEAP, GOOD OL’ FASHIONED JAPANESE SOULFOOD”

“ive come to take my throne. i’ll take the ‘one flew over the cuckoo’s nest” and have the three eggs over easy with the ‘easy sleazy pancakes’”

“make it an extra lonely helping. this is gonna be a long afternoon.”

“ahhh. a freshly cucked newcomer coming to the cuck and buck to duck amongst their bad luck run amok, huh?”

“listen dont sass me about my busy girlfriend with your dr. seuss antics just gimmie the food and lets get this over with”

“no problem! sorry, they just come easy. it’s hard to buck at the cuck and buck when rhymes you huck make you wanna fu-”

“FOOD. NOW.”

Miku then ponders about how her feelings may have spiraled from a process of over thinking, or possibly hunger. Maybe both. Maybe Hibiki isn’t cheating on her. Maybe the reasons are more complicated than she knows. She briefly contemplates communication; a futile gesture when it is Hibiki safeguarding a secret she is forced to keep for incredibly stupid reasons.

“thanks for the food, miss. it really helped sort my feelings out.”

“no probs, kid. here at the cuck and buck, the only thing we cuck here is... our hearts.”

Meanwhile, Hibiki is still hanging with Tsubasa. Hey, if you’re gonna hang out with a critically acclaimed popstar, might as well squeeze every minute out of it, right?

“so... taco bell, huh? im surprised you actually like taco bell now. maybe you just like fast food styled psuedo-mexican restraunts? have you tried chipotle?”

“i... maybe you’re right, actually. i’ve grown to love taco bell, but... maybe i should expand my horizons. kanade did say... singing makes you hungry. maybe thats what she meant. i should take to new life experiences...”

“yeah! i can take you to all the good fast food places i know!”

“dont you have a girlfriend?”

“she can join us! she’s a big fan of you after all!”

“hey- hey wait! m- more friends? more... more friends... more friends.....”

“more friends...”

Meanwhile, a crisis develops.

Chris, having heard the f-word (friendship), is heading immediately to do the exact opposite of this.

She’s taken some pointers from Tsubasa, t-posing to assert dominance.

“how the fuck is she even flying”

“i cant wait to tell hibiki how much i love and appreciate her despite the weird NTR aura surrounding this whole situation”

“yeah, that’s right! i’m meeting the Gremlin in the park for an asskicking, don’t worry!”

“oh, speak of the devil! hibiki! i love and appreciate you despite the weird ntr auras!”

“miku- wait. oh no. i saw this happen in sam reimi’s spiderman 3. im fucked.”

“YOU GUESSED CORRECTLY, PIDGEON BANGS”

I know I’ve joked about homewrecking, but this is ridiculous.

Chris realizes there’s someone else around she may have potentially hurt. This is surprising, given murder is not something she has shyed away from, but she’s slowly climbing that ladder of morality, so cut her some slack for taking it one rung at a time.

“im losing my girl. losing my grip. now im about to lose my life. this NTR business truly is the worst.”

Chris has accidentally employed the Dio Brando style of disposing of people, which consists of throwing a vehicle and smashing them until dead.

“you’ve taken one step too close to my heartstrings, Gremlin, and for that you’re about to understand the full definition of an ass kicking.”

Hibiki fucking punches the car. Everything is forgiven in this episode for now.

“i... hibiki... are you... a street fighter character? holy shit. oh my god. hibiki oh my god you’re a street fighter character. thats been the true problem here. you’re a street fighter character now. oh my god. cheating? how could i have thought cheating was involved? you were literally just becoming a straight up superhero! oh my god. the abs! the washboard abs! the signs were all around me! the only thing you went to do behind my back was kick ass!”

“i’m sorry. i need to go kick ass now.”

The good news is all that tension just got evaporated. Miku sorta gets the truth now: her girlfriend hasn’t been cheating on her, she’s just been trying to save the local tri-county area from the grips of inter-dimensional alien eldritch entities controlled by a Gremlin and her Mistress. It’s a lot to take in, though.

These two are about to fight head to head. Last time, Hibiki was but the pupil. Now, she is the Master.

“can’t touch me, goldie locks. lemme do you a favor and CRACK THAT WHIP!”

“oh my god hibiki’s gonna fight that weird looking person”

“naruto running deeper into the woods isn’t gonna stop me from beating your ass senseless, fists for brains”

“thats because i wanna talk, asshole”

“wait. wait, what? you... you want to talk? to me?”

Hibiki proceeds to aggressively describe herself to her. Name, identity, blood type, age, the works. This is because she’s trying to befriend her, because Hibiki feels fighting people is bad, and that talking is more useful than fighting. This is a recipe for suicide, normally, but in this instance...

“what in the goddamn hell... i... um... nice.. to meet you...?”

Hibiki deploys a counter-T-Pose to show kinship, feeling that they don’t have to fight like this since they’re not Noise.

“talk may be cheap but it’ll make kicking your ass all the more easier, nerd”

Chris learns this, in fact, does not make the ass kicking all the more easier. Hibiki’s fresh new moves manage to dodge whip after whip of Chris’s attacks, and it’s really starting to annoy her a lot.

“pain in the ass. so you learned how to fight, huh? fine. you’ll tire out eventually.”

“let’s just talk, seriously! or maybe we can bond over board games-”

“i FUCKING hate board games. the fuck are you, a grandma? just fight already! people cant understand each other anyway!”

“JUST DIE ALREADY!”

“i was told to kidnap you. but im exerting a loophole today; no one told me to do it alive”

“the only kidnapping going down is me, sleeping in on a thursday afternoon forgetting class exists, you neon porcupine. so come at me. can’t kick me ass if you dont come any closer, right?”

“WITH PLEASURE!”

“ive watched the entirety of dragonball z, i know exactly how this fight’s gonna go down”

“finally. looks like i got y- hey, wait, what?”

“ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY JANKING MY LEG? THIS BITCH IS LITERALLY GOKU? PULLING KAMEHAMEHAS AND SHIT? WHY? god. its me. yukine chris. why do you hate me. why do you drag me through all this shit only to be hit in the head with some real anime baloney. why. please. have some mercy.”

“i dont know what a goku is but sure, yeah, why not”

“im going to kill her. oh my god. she doesnt even know who goku is.”

“get that tentacle shit away from me. im not fucking around anymore. we’re going to have a heart to heart whether you like it or not!”

“oh shit she found my weakness. really close melee combat.”

“MADE A FRIENDSHIP GIFT FOR YA. IT’S A FRESHLY MADE KNUCKLE SANDWICH, STRAIGHT FROM THE DELI”

“OH GOD, PLEASE, NOT MY FACE”

“REQUEST ACCEPTED, PAL”

Hibiki punched her so hard that she physically destroyed the entire armor Chris was wearing in a single blow.

“she... she doesnt punch ME like that... i mean, probably because she loves me, but..”

“did... did she just kill that person...? hibiki...? you, uh... you alright...?”

#symphogear #recap #comedy #anime #a lot of cuck was said here

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anthracenes · 4 years

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Rivers | Chapter 2

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Self-Harm, Abuse of Authority, Anxiety, Childhood Trauma, Abduction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Victim Blaming, Dissociation, Forced Orgasm, Creampie, Kidnapping, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Humiliation, Crying, Angst, Dark, Psychological Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Grooming, Fucked Up, Slut Shaming

[read on AO3 here]

He’s floating.

A detached, dreamy sensation that leaves him unsure if he’s even alive in that moment.

His ears are buzzing, obscuring the sounds that would otherwise reach them. His eyes are wide open, but he can’t understand just what he’s seeing. All the while, he can vaguely make out touches on him—pressing against his body, sliding against his skin.

His lips part to say something, but he doesn’t recognize any of the words that tumble out of him.

Everything feels... so far away, for some reason. It’s almost as if his brain is not quite attached to the rest of him: aware of all of these sensory inputs, but nothing to process any of it with. He feels himself lost—deep in a haze so thick it suffocates him. Through this fog he could feel himself peering down at a body that is simultaneously his and not his. Lying inside a body that is simultaneously his and not his. His head spins between these two perspectives, over and over, and it isn’t long before the rest of the room is spinning along with him.

I must be dreaming, he figures. It must be a dream. What else could it be otherwise, unless of course he’s—

He never even finishes that train of thought before it is pulled out from under him. Richard is suddenly made aware of a warm, wet heat enveloping in between his legs—a sensation so foreign, it's enough to snap him out of whatever reverie he found himself in. It pulls him up, up, and out of the thick mental haze and, in a moment, he’s back to himself in a flash.

... Something is not right. He’s panting, reeling as the rest of the feeling in his body comes in much too hot, much too quickly for comfort. His head pounds, as swift and erratic as the heart hammering away in his ribcage. His stomach is in knots.

Springing his eyes open, Richard ignores the burn of the lights as he turns his head downwards, towards the source of the sensation.

“There you are,” Rivers smiles, wolfish. Predatory. “Nice of you to finally join us, Dick.”

Below him, he sees Rivers sitting comfortably on his knees. The mattress is dipped beneath the weight of both their bodies as the older man is nestled right in between Richard’s trembling thighs. A fine thread of saliva hangs from his former teacher's lips down to Richard’s own cock, which Rivers thumbs with one hand.

“You gave me quite the scare there, Dick—with your eyes wide open like that and nobody home! For a minute, I was worried I'd have dragged a corpse right into my bed. Wouldn’t want our precious reunion to be spoiled by somethin’ like that now, do we?”

Scrambling to get away, Richard yelps when he finds that—to his horror—he’s in fact unable to. His wrists and ankles refuse to budge an inch from where they remain, fastened tightly to each of the bedposts surrounding him. It hits him right then and there just what position he’s in: tied up and spread eagled on Rivers' bed.

Naked.

He suppresses the urge to vomit when he feels a hand on his bare thigh, slithering down towards his ankle.

"Oh, you do have to forgive me for this, though," his former teacher says, voice dripping with mock pity. Rivers traces the flesh underneath the thick rope, gently rubbing it with the flat of his fingers as if to soothe the chafed skin beneath it.

"Didn't want to have to be so rough like this. Not on our first day back together, anyway," he chuckles, licking his lips. "Pity. But I really have no other choice, Dick. Wouldn't want you runnin' away on me again, after all. Not before we get to the fun part."

"Please, sir..." Richard whispers. He feels small, so ridiculously small, spread out before Rivers and reduced to begging like this. Like he's 13 again, on the same bed, except this time there's absolutely no sane part of him that wants this. He takes a shuddering breath, lips quivering as he's on the verge of crying. "Please, please just let me go..."

"Let you go? After all this time?" Rivers tuts, shaking his head. He's grinning from ear to ear, clearly amused, as his steel grey eyes meet Richard's soft brown ones. "Now why would I do that?"

"It's been far too long since we've played together, Dick. I’ve missed you.”

The former teacher takes Richard’s balls in one hand and his cock in the other. He fondles them as he strokes his former student off—slow and gentle.

“And by the looks of things, seems as though you miss your old man, too," he smirks, eyeing the half-hard cock he already has in his hand. "Is that why you've come back, after all these years?”

"No!" Richard practically shouts, trembling. He can’t help but writhe on the bed from Rivers touch, disgust washing over him as he feels the faintest flickers of arousal building within him. "No, stop… I... I don't want this... please.."

"You don't, do you?" Without any warning, he takes the cock in his hand and wraps his lips around it, earning a choked gasp from the young man. He wastes no time, swirling his tongue all around the head, the shaft—doing clever things with his mouth that has Richard all but squirming. He swallows the rest of it in one swift motion, down to the hilt, and sucks him down until he could feel his former student twitching in the back of his throat.

With a loud smack of his lips, Rivers pulls Richard out of his mouth, just as quickly as he's sucked him down. He licks the saliva slathered all over Richard's member.

“Mm... Fuck," Rivers moans, lapping up the precum that beads at the tip. "You always were a naughty little liar, Dick—but I can always count on this part of you to be honest, can't I?”

Richard shakes his head, blinking away tears. He could barely process everything that was happening to him, let alone why his traitorous body was responding in such a way. He knows he doesn't want any part of this. He doesn't.

He doesn't.

And yet despite everything tells himself, here he is: clearly reacting as if he did. Inconceivably, undeniably erect, just from being molested by his middle school teacher.

“Do you remember all those times we’ve played ‘Doctor’ together? How you used to fake tummy aches for me, just to get a dose of my special medicine after school?” Rivers chuckles. He unzips his pants, pulling out his own cock out while remaining almost entirely clothed otherwise.

“You really were just a little slut even back then, weren’t you?”

Richard shuts his eyes. “I was only a child…! You took advantage of me!”

He's shaking. Anger, fear, shame, guilt—visceral waves of emotion, boiled and bubbled all into one. He says this, but deep down Richard knows the blame is only his, for falling for it in the first place. For giving in. He carries that blame everyday, hates himself everyday for it.

The scars on his outer thighs are a testament to that.

"... I didn't... know... I didn't know any better..."

Why must he have been so stupid? So reckless? If only he had said something sooner, back then. If only he had better sense to run away.

If only... If only...

“Oh? You didn’t know any better, did you?" Sneering, Rivers takes Richard’s erect member in hand. He strokes it, running his fingers all over it—taunting him, with the shameful evidence of his body's own depravity. "How'd you go about explainin' this, then?”

Richard recoils, turning his head away.

“Admit it. Your body can’t lie, Dick. It loves me. Loves havin’ your teacher take care of you like this. And as a teacher, who am I to deny what my star student wants of me?”

From within his pocket, Rivers pulls out a small packet. He tears it open, dribbling lubricant all over his hand, his fingers—getting every inch, every corner of it wet before palming at his own cock.

“We have a lot of catchin’ up to do. Ten years of it. And since you obviously pretended to be sick just now, why don’t we start 'ere? I’d love to be pumpin’ your tummy full of my special medicine again. For ol’ times sake.”

Richard’s eyes widen at that. He takes to his frenzied thrashing again, straining against the ropes as searing panic floods his veins.

“Please, please, stop...! I don’t want this! I don't want to—!”

He screams as Rivers penetrates him anyways, forcing his hole to stretch around him as he brutally shoves his way inside. The lube barely helps—he’s never dared to be intimate with anyone ever since, and as a result Rivers feels much, much too big to take like this. Even now, the man is only halfway in and already Richard is stuffed to the brim. He feels it much like being torn open and split in two, right down the middle.

“Fuck… You feel so fuckin’ good around me, Dick…”

Richard’s body jolts with every thrust. His head lolls back and forth, sliding to and fro on the pillow, occasionally hitting against the headboard. Hollow gasps are forced from his lips with every inch forced deeper inside, as if the air there is being physically punched out of him to make room.

”... So fuckin’ tight...”

He’s dizzy from it all. Lightheaded. The world around him starts fading around the edges, swimming in and out of focus. Every breath feels more and more sharp and labored, and he distantly wonders whether he might pass out from the lack of air altogether.

Eventually Rivers bottoms out. He grips his hips tight as he holds himself in place, balls deep inside of Richard. With his palm, he traces the visible outline of his cock jutting out from within the young man’s body.

“There. Finally, all in. You’ve done so well, Dick—takin' all of me in so well. You really are my star student after all,” Rivers murmurs. He gives a punctuated thrust, forcing yet another breathy gasp from the young man. “You’re suckin' me in so much 'ere, too. Must’ve really missed havin' me inside of you, huh?”

Richard shudders, too weak to protest. Despite the pain Richard still finds himself just as aroused as before, his cock not even flagging once throughout. He's so ashamed—ashamed of how he had blindly landed himself in the clutches of this monster yet again. Ashamed of how he’s reacting no differently to Rivers even now, as an adult. No matter how badly he may want to, Richard himself can't deny the way his body is responding to the positive attention—the almost-comical way his nerves light up at the slightest praise from his former teacher.

Just as disgustingly eager for it as he had been, years ago.

“Mm, but what kind of teacher would I be if I'd neglect my own student?” The older man flashes him a toothy smile. “It’s not enough to just give you your special medicine, clearly. If we really want to have you all better...”

Rivers starts fucking him again. This time, however, he’s much slower in his pace. Careful, almost gentle even, as if aiming for something in particular. He's working himself into Richard—taking his time to explore different angles, feel out his insides, until eventually—

Oh.

Ohh—!

Pleasure suddenly shoots through his spine. It has his trembling body arched back as far as the restraints would allow him. The sensation melts away at his frayed nerves, shorts out his brain with the sheer heat and pleasure of it all. From the corners of his vision, Richard swears he could see literal sparks of white.

Gasping shallowly, he slowly looks up at Rivers. He knows what’s happening to him—knows from experience what his former teacher plans to do to him—and he prays to the God he no longer believes in that it’s somehow just not going to happen this time. That he's somehow going to be spared from it this time.

That his rapist doesn’t strip him of this last remaining thing he has.

"There we are,” Rivers sneers above him. The older man drags his tongue across Richard’s neck, licking a wet stripe up towards the shell of his ear. “That felt good, didn’t it?"

Rivers merely chuckles when Richard shakes his head.

"Don’t lie, Dick. I know it does. You think I can’t see you, squirmin’ around my cock like it’s the best thing you’ve felt in the entire world?”

Rivers hits the same spot in him, again and again, as if to force his point. Richard is half-moaning, half sobbing as he's thrusting in and out of him at a relentless pace, much too overwhelmed to stop the filthy noises from slipping through his lips.

“God, look at you," his former teacher murmurs. "You may have grown up to be an even worse liar all these years, but some things sure never change, huh?”

He can’t think. He can’t think. Any thoughts that might try and bubble up to the surface are almost immediately lost before they even get there—knocked out of him with each thrust, like the air from his lungs. It's hard to hear anything past the sound of his blood rushing loudly through his veins, and the slick, filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room does little to help. All the while his brain struggles to catch up, his body is on fire. The flames of arousal flickering in the pit of his stomach is stoked further and further, spiraling out of control until Richard is simply feverish with it.

“There, that’s it... What a good little slut for me. You must really want your teacher to pump you full of my special medicine again, don't you? Breed your tight cunt so well, make you feel so good...”

Richard is helpless against the onslaught to his senses. He feels himself on the knife’s edge, muscles drawn tight as the cock shoving inside of him threatens to make him spill. Below, he could feel himself dripping all over his stomach, his thighs, with each sinful drag to his prostate. Richard shamefully tries to close his legs, but only succeeds in drawing more attention to them.

“Oh? You’re gonna come for me soon, aren’t you?" He smiles when Richard shakes his head again. "Dishonest as ever, I see. Here—don't you worry. Just let ol’ Mr. Rivers help you out with that...”

A hand reaches down between his legs. Fingers smear his own fluids across his member—slowly coating the head of his cock with it, gently thumbing it right into his slit—all while the assault on his prostate only continues. The sensations of pain and pleasure coupled together this way is crushing, and before long, it sends him over the edge completely.

"That's it... there we go..."

With a shout, Richard's orgasm is ripped unbidden from his body. He's coming harder than he's had in a long time: spilling ropes and ropes of white across both their bodies as his former teacher continues to fuck into his oversensitized body.

He slumps, defeated, while Rivers finishes inside of him not long after. The older man is placing a kiss on his belly, his thighs—clearly enjoying every bit of the satisfaction he derives from taking Richard apart completely like this.

"Now, now... there's no need to cry anymore," he murmurs. A thumb wipes the tears that silently flowed down his cheeks. "After all, we can finally play with each other again."

Rivers smirks as he kisses the broken young man on his bed.

"Welcome home, Dick."

#Anthracene AO3 fic #original fic

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veganmikehanlon · 5 years

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10 and 25 for hanbrough if you please! otherwise any pairing will do ♥

you know that thing where u can’t even search ur own blog for something you /literally/ tagged? this was something like…idk something but it reminded me of something i already wrote so i Really have no reason for not posting it sooner other than procrastination being my middle name so anyways, this:

Mike doesn’t mean to start writing a sex scene while sitting in a Starbucks, but he’d tried writing at home, well it’s just his parents house now, and his mom kept walking in trying to talk to him. So he left the old farmhouse and drove into his newly modernized hometown of good ol’ Derry, Maine.

It’d started with a piece of his story inspiring a memory from his own sex life. Something he’d done forever ago with an ex. Secretly, in a tent. Surrounded by friends. Not their most shining moment but it was hot and applicable to his current story.

He’s in the middle of writing about tongues sliding together when his eyes are drawn to the sound of the shop door opening. He almost chokes when he sees who it is walking in. Well, daydream about sex with your ex and he shall appear. Mike ducks behind his things to hide because he’s panicking.

Mike watches Bill walk to the counter, he observes the broad lines of his shoulders move under familiar flannel; and how the end of his short blond french braid, mostly held together by multi-colored bobby-pins, brushes the collar in a physical reminder of how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other.

He walks through the room with the same gentle confidence that he always had, and it still draws the same admiring gazes from those around him. Mike’s eyes flicker between Bill and his computer screen, the incriminating words screaming at him, and then he catches sight of Bills’ smile and the perfect adjective pops into his head.

Just like that he’s writing again, more caught up in his story than he’s been in the last 30 minutes. Words stream from his fingertips and a scene unfolds, bits and pieces of Mike’s past slipping through, and just as he’s writing a description of how exciting it is to make someone moan as loud as you can make them laugh, he’s interrupted.

“Hi,” a soft voice calls, startling Mike from his head making him jump and hit his knees against the table, a move that almost sends his coffee toppling, but two pairs of hands shoot out to catch the wobbling cup. Bills’ hand settles warmly over Mike’s before he draws it back with an awkward chuckle.

A shiver runs through Mike as Bill’s fingers brush over his knuckles, and he looks up at the man before him with wide eyes. “Hi,” he squeaks, this entire situation sending him careening out of his comfort zone. Bill clears his throat before speaking (an old habit) “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a wince.

Mike chuckles nervously, his voice coming out a bit high and strained, “it’s okay I was just, um, writing.” This might be the most uncomfortable he’s ever been in his life. But Bill looks excited and he falls into the chair opposite Mike, setting his coffee and a notebook down on the open space.

“You’re writing?” He asks, a smile spreading across his face, and Mike has to smile back because oh yeah, they’d once shared everything with each other and Bill knows all about Mikes’ commitment-phobia to writing.

Mike quickly switches programs, an attempt at putting the niggling guilt in his chest away. “Yeah, just this story for this thing,” he answers vaguely, and they pause for an awkward second before Bill starts to ramble. “I’ve been working on drawing (a sentence that makes Mike proud too), I’m in a portrait class right now at school, and I came here to people watch and I saw you, and I was wondering if you’d mind if I practiced drawing you?”

Mike gasps softly in surprise at the request, “uh, what? You want to draw me?” The words fall from his mouth without his input, any functional part of his brain currently caught in a dumpster fire, set by this stupid story that is making an already uncomfortable situation of running into an ex just that much worse!

And then Bill is talking again, “well my art style has changed and I thought it’d be cool to get a comparison, you know, a then and now? It’s cool if you don’t want me to, no biggie, just thought I’d ask, but actually? Never mind,” he starts gathering his things into his arms, “sorry for bothering you, it was nice seeing you, bye!”

He starts to get up but stops when Mike bursts out laughing, his cheeks reddening, and he stays frozen uncomfortably. And Mike doesn’t mean to, but seeing Bill so obviously out of his comfort zone has him cracking up, the situation making him feel hysterical, and he can’t quite stop the laughter bubbling out.

Mike manages enough words to get Bill to settle back down. “Hey man it’s cool, it’s good seeing you too, you know me, I love to help.” Bill settles back into the seat and flips his sketchbook open with an eye roll. Mike can’t help but tease him, he starts shifting through different dramatic poses, making Bill laugh loudly. A hand behind his head, his bicep bulging, Thinking Man pose, his smile barely suppressed-

And Mike ends his display by lewdly flicking his tongue between his fingers. “Jesus Mike!” Bill sputters out between laughs and Mike raises his hands in an innocent gesture, his own laughs ringing out through the space between them. “Sorry, I’m done!” He surrenders with an amused snort.

Bill sticks his tongue out childishly at him and flips the pages of his notebook to a blank page, “just go back to what you were doing weirdo,” he says softly and Mike lets out another laugh before following his directions. Well, not exactly since he’d literally been writing about his and Bill’s sex life. Oops.

He fucks around on his computer for a bit, opening and closing a few homework assignments (yeah right like he’d be able to concentrate right now), editing bits and pieces in other stories, he even plays a couple rounds of solitaire. But his attention is scattered after three lattes (that’s 2…4…6 espresso shots) and the adrenaline rushing through him from Bill sitting across from him drawing him which requires Bill to look at him with his blue as fuck eyes-

“Hey you wanna go somewhere?” The question bursts from Mike and he cringes at the abruptness. “Wait, you’re drawing, never mind,” Mike amends with a shake of his head. But Bill just flips his book closed with a simple “yep,” and starts chugging the last bit of his coffee.

Mike packs up quickly and, swinging his backpack over his shoulders, follows Bill out of the shop.

“Holy shit, is that Silver?” Mike exclaims incredulously when they walk outside. Bill laughs and leads the way to the old bike where it’s locked up by the building. “Yeah, Georgie didn’t wanna give up the car, so I’m stuck with her.” Bill explains. Mike runs a hand over the handlebars with a small smile, “seems smaller than she used to,” he comments, nostalgia rushing through him. Bill hums in agreement, “easier to handle too,” he comments steadily belaying the nervous shake in his next words, “and still big e-e-enough to ruh-ride double.”

Mike grins excitedly, “why Mr. Denbrough, are you going to show me a good time around town?” Bill’s face lights up with a wide grin and giggling, he unlocks his bike quickly, “it’d be my puh-pleasure, Mr. Hanlon.” They drop their things in Mike’s truck before racing recklessly out of the parking lot, Bill pedaling frantically and Mike hanging on tight to his waist, praying he doesn’t go flying off the back of the bike.

It’s weird spending all day with an ex, but they’d been best friends for just as long as they dated, and it’s as easy as it’s always been. They ride through the streets of Derry just like when they were kids, taking turns too fast and speeding over bumps. Mike’s teeth click together but it barely registers over the barrage of other sensations. The softness of Bill’s waist under his hands, the warmth between his back and Mike’s chest, the soft blond hairs flying into his face where they come loose from the braid and bobby pins.

It’s a lot of old and new sensations that has Mike’s head spinning.

They ride until Bill complains of shin splints, his face red and a little sweaty. Mike totally doesn’t think of licking the sweat from his brow because that would be weird. They ride back to Starbucks and load Silver into Mike’s truck. They sit in the cab, unsure where to go from here. They decide to live out the nostalgia further, and head to the barrens.

“Can you help me get all these out?” Bill asks gesturing to the many bobby-pins in his hair. Mike pats the spot on the truck bed next to him and Bill sighs a “thank you” as he sits with his back turned to him. Mike begins to gently pull the clips from his hair, doing his best not to pull knowing full well Bill is tender-headed.

He brushes the hair out with his fingers as it’s freed in sections until all the pins are out and Bill’s hair is a wild mane framing his face. Bill had shifted to face him when Mike got to the sections held back in the front, and Mike watches his face carefully. His eyes are closed and his face is relaxed in contentment. He’s always liked having his hair played with, no doubt part of the inspiration to grow it out.

Mike finds himself fiddling with the ends of his hair, carefully brushing it back from his face. He’s too distracted watching the soft strands fall through his fingers to notice Bills’ eyes have opened to watch him.

They used to lay in bed together, Bill on Mike’s chest, while Mike would drag a hand through Bill’s hair while they cooled down. Sometimes they would talk and other times they would lay in silence, just letting themselves feel the moment.

Lost in his thoughts Mike doesn’t notice Bill moving his face slowly closer, or how his hand has ceased it’s ministrations running through soft blond hair to rest gently on his cheek, he doesn’t realize he’s guiding Bill’s lips to his own until they’re barely a breath apart. And then soft lips land on his and awareness comes crashing over him.

They both freeze for a second, they’re mouths held stiff against the other, and then Mike opens his mouth slightly to pull Bills’ bottom lip in between his. And with that Bill is pushing forward and Mike unfolds his legs so he can slot in-between his knees. They kiss desperately, mouths moving together hot and slick. Mike moans softly at the feeling.

And then he’s pushing away because holy shit, “did you-“ he pants and Bill moves to kiss his neck at the interruption, unwilling to stop whatever this is. Mike is totally okay with that but, “you didn’t eat meat today did you?”

Bill stops his traveling lips, body going stiff in the not fun way. It may have been something they used to argue about when they were dating, Mike thought it was gross to kiss Bill after he’d eaten meat, and Bill didn’t get what the big deal was. Mike thinks maybe he ruined the moment but then Bill is grinding his hips down into him and he drag his lips up Mike’s neck to his ear, making him keen at the sensations, his own hips stuttering to meet the boy’s above him.

“Not yet,” Bill whispers grinding down into the v of Mike’s hips harshly, drawing a groan from the man that quickly turns into laughter. Throwing his head back Mike giggles loud and uncontrollably. “Seriously?” He laughs breathlessly, Bill sucking a mark on his neck. He pulls back to look into Mike’s eyes. “Seriously. Your nagging finally got through my thick skull.” Bill says with an eye roll followed by a wink.

“Wow, fuck, that was such a fucking turn on.” Mike says drawing Bill closer with a hand on the back of his neck and kisses him passionately.

#veganmo #writing prompt #hanbrough #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #it fic #bill x mike

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bettercallsabs · 5 years

Text

The Groom To Be 2

A/N: 12/23. 2:32am. Due to starting a new job and all that jazz I’ve had very little time to write, but as my schedule solidifies, I will be posting regularly, so bear with me yet again. Anywho, I am so happy to be finally posting part 2. I hope you all enjoy! And thank you to each and everyone one of you that takes the time to read my works. I appreciate you more than you know! Taglist is open, so never miss a post.

Series Masterlist//Thee Masterlist

Engaged!Steve Rogers x WeddingPlanner!Reader plus sized reader-

Warnings: Adult language, Self-esteem issues.

Word Count: 3k+

STEVE ROGERS POV

Wedding planning was exhausting. Steve could believe people actually enjoyed this. He’s much rather have been kicking back with Bucky, and ice cold beer watching sports. But instead, here he was stuck planning large wedding, he didn’t even want whilst his fiancée was has way across the world. Steve always imagined a small, simplistic wedding, close family and friends, something rustic and homey. But Larissa wanted big, Big, BIG!

Steve flopped into the overstuffed leather sofa of his Brooklyn loft. After a long day of venue touring, his brain was fried.

“Beers are here!” Sam’s voice echoed off the exposed brick of the loft. His hands were full with four cases of beer. Bucky trailed behind him, carrying two large boxes of pizza.

“You look awful man.” Sam tossed Steve a bottle, laughing as he took a seat in the match oversized chair.

“I feel awful. I never thought I’d wish for something to go wrong, just so I could get out of wedding planning.”

“That bad?” Bucky chimed in carrying over a box of pizza with a roll of paper towels.

“Yes! All we talk about is colors, and table settings. Flower arrangements this, wedding photos that. It’s beyond annoying. If Y/N was such a nice young woman, I’d have run off by now.”

“Nice you say?” Sam’s looked at Steve with quizzical eyes, one brow arching higher than the other.

“Yes Sam, she’s very sweet. You’d like her.”

“Oh I would now?”

“Yes, Bucky too. She really is delightful. We went to lunch today, and she’s actually quite comical.”

Bucky and Sam exchanged a look of deviation spreading across their faces in the form of wicked grins.

“Steve, buddy ole pal. Do you have the hots for your wedding planner?”

Steve’s face grew 10 different shades of red, as he swatted at his friends.

“No! Of course not. I just... you two suck. You know that?”

Both of his friends burst out into thunderous laughter. Bucky patted Steve’s shoulder, giving it a stern squeeze, Steve, shrugging him off.

“Anyways, I love Larissa. I mean, I could probably set one of you up with her, although, she doesn’t seem like the dating type.” At least, Steve hoped she wasn’t the dating type. . .

Steve felt a slight tightening in his chest as he spoke. He moved awkwardly in the lazy boy, taking a long swig of his beer, as his friends joked around.

“Hey Cap, why so quiet bud?”

Sam looked at Steve with mischievous eyes- he was always up to no good. Steve rolled his eyes, refusing to feed into to Sam’s agenda, taking another long swig from the bottle. He suddenly wasn’t in the mood for beer and pizza. He needed to let off some steam.

“I think I’m just going to go for a run. Yeah, a run sounds good.”

Steve lurched himself from his seat, hustling to his room to change into better fitting clothing. Something he could move freely in without feeling like he was being suffocated. Steve ripped off his button down shirt, tearing it as he forgot his own strength for a moment.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Steve thought to himself as he paused, his naked flesh exposed as he slumped over the sink, his hands clutching to the edge of the counter. These feelings were irrational, and Steve was anything but irrational… well, most of the time. Slipping into a pair of sweats and a form fitting blue tee that hugged his chest, exposing the definition of his toned pecks and perfectly built biceps and triceps, slipping a snuggly fit grey sweatshirt over top.

After his tennis shoes were tied, Steve made his way for the door, his two best friends trailing close behind.

“Steve, where are going?” Bucky stopped him, resting a bionic arm on his shoulder.

“I just need to clear my head. I’ll be back later, make yourselves at home, you always do anyway.”

Steve took off without another word. The cool air licked at his face as he took off running into the evening dusk. Thoughts of Y/N consumed his mind. That smile was infectious and sweet. She was shy, but outgoing, one of those women who didn’t know how beautiful they actually were. She was everything Larissa wasn’t. Sure, Larissa was kind, genuine and strikingly beautiful- some say she’s every man’s dream- but there was something Y/N had that Larissa didn’t. Steve wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he knew it was something significant.

He was drawn to Y/N, but he knew he shouldn’t be. He was getting married, and she is the wedding planner. . .

Steve pushed harder, his legs pumping faster as he quickened his pace from a brisk jog, into an all out sprint. Until his thoughts were of nothing but remembering how to breathe. He didn’t want to think about her anymore… he couldn’t.

———

The following weeks were painstakingly slow. Steve just wished Larissa would come back already. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this, keep up the facade. He had feelings for Y/N, that much he knew, but why was she so intoxicating? Just being in the same room as her made his head spin, and over the last couple of weeks things had only gotten worse. Steve found himself in a constant cycle of thought, always thinking of Y/N. He rarely thought of Larissa anymore, and it made him feel immense guilt and he didn’t think he could take much more of it.

Steve sat across from Y/N, his arm draped over the plush loveseat as he listened to her speak in what seemed like foreign tongues.

“So, Larissa sent me a message, and she would like you and your super boy posy - her words by the way- to pick out tuxedos. She specifically requested cumberbunds, but will settle for a low cut vest style. No bare. Shirts should have French cuffs and French front shirt. Pants should-“

Steve threw his hands up in defeat. “Listen Y/N, I know you mean well, and you’re just doing your job, but for the love of goodness, I have no idea what you are talking about. I’m honestly not even sure if you’re speaking English to me right now. I know Larissa is nitpickie, but. . . Wow.”

Y/N looked at Steve with her calming eyes, that laugh that he adored so much slipping from her lips as she burst into laughter.

“ I should have known fashion isn’t your forte.” Her smile widened as she continued to laugh. Y/N moved from her seat, grabbing the iPad that sat on the edge of her desk, before tasking s test next to Steve on the love seat, her leg brushing against Steve’s knee.

Steve felt his heart leap in his chest. He felt nervous, clearing his throat as he awkwardly repositioned himself. He rubbed his sweating hands down his pants as he cleared his throat- trying to rid himself of the unreasonable nervousness.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was so close.” Her voice was laced with panic and embarrassment as she scooted away, creating a large gap between herself and Steve.

Steve could see in her mesmerizing eyes, that she was suddenly self-conscious, and her whole demeanor seemed to change.

“It’s not big deal, it happens. Don’t worry about it. “ Steve reached out, resting his hand on her forearm, trying his best to reassure Y/N, but thee damage was already done and Steve felt a wave of remorse. Her never should have moved. He liked the way her leg felt against his. He liked feeling close to her.

“I um, wold you excuse me a moment?” Before he even had a chance to reply, she was off the couch and rushing out of the office.

God dammit.

Steve grabbed his phone that was tucked away in his pocket, sending a text to a group chat of his closest friends.

Steve: I think I just made my wedding planner cry.

Sam: Cap… What did you do?

Bucky: You….. Made a woman cry? How’d you manage that one?

Nat: Steve….

Steve: I didn’t do anything really… she just sat down a little close than I think she meant too… she was laughing after all…

Bucky: what does that even mean?

Sam: So like, did she touch you or…

Steve: kind of yeah. But it was unintentional. And I panicked. I have no idea why I panicked.

Nat: You hurt her feelings Steve…

Bucky: Wait, I thought you liked her though? I’m confused now…

Steve: I do like her, I don’t know what came over me.

Sam: Man, I knew you had the hits for her. You sly dog, you.

Steve. NO SAM! NOT LIKE THAT!

Nat: why are you yelling Steve?

Steve: You all are no help.

Bucky: That’s what were here for, no help. We fight with force, not feelings. What did you expect?

Steve: Obviously I wasn’t thinking when I sent the text. You all are useless. TTYL.

Steve tucked his phone back into his pocket, resting his elbows on top of his knees-his head hung as he massaged at his temple. What was it about this woman that drove him to the point of such irrational behavior?

Reader POV

When your leg brushed against his, you prayed he wouldn’t notice. You hoped that you could play it off as if it didn’t happen, but Steve’s reaction sent the hopes and dreams blowing into the wind. HE seemed top flinch at your touch, moving as quickly as he could to create a distance between the two of you. The expression on his face, looked to be a face of horror and discontent.

No…

You couldn’t think straight, as your emotions took over you. Before you even knew what you were thinking, you were on your feet, darting for the bathroom…

Your heart leapt in your chest as you hovered over the sink- your hands clutching the sink so hard, they ached. You felt your stomach beginning to churn, you felt as though you might just hurl. How could you have been so stupid? God. They way he moved away from you… Your heart dropped into your stomach, tears welling in your eyes. Of course he’d never go for someone like you, he was completely out of your league. He is Steve Rogers, Captain America- and he was marry Larissa fucking Levingston for fuck sakes. You were his wedding planner, period.

“Get out of fantasy land Y/N, and do your job.” You scowled at yourself in the mirror, wiping the running mascara from your under eye and cheek. Taking in a deep breath, you recomposed yourself, You were a professional and you needed to be professional. With another deep breath, you sucked back in the emotions you had let run loose.

Not today Y/N, not today.

You displayed your best fake smile- quite genuine looking- as you entered back into your office.

“Sorry about that. I think I might be catching a bug. Now where were we?” You snatched up the iPad you had tossed onto the coffee table when you fled to the bathroom. You tested yourself back on the loveseat, but made sure there was a persons length between the two of you. You would not make the same mistake twice.

“Are you sure you’re okay? If you’re not feeling well, I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Of course. You were sure he wanted nothing more but then to get away from you, but you had a job to do. You had to make sure Larissa’s requests were met. And the tuxedos were high on her list. You had to get them perfect, and everyone knows, that customer tuxedos take time, so this needed to get done today, now, no matter how much your self esteem was suffering, you had to do this.

“No, no I’m fine. This is important. Larissa wants custom Tux’s and those take time, so were going to have to pick out some styles today, and get fittings scheduled for you and your party. So let’s get started.” You wanted do get this over with as soon as possible. Your cuddle duds, crappy Lifetime movies, and Chineseese food, were calling your name.

“Alright. Walk me through it then.

After a long day at work, and an outburst of untamed emotions, you were happy to be home. You set the bags of groceries onto the kitchen counter, sighing in relief as you freed your poor aching feet from the new heels you had decided to wear that day-rookie mistake, you should have definitely worn them in first. You grabbed a Large wine glass form the cupboard, realising the cork from the bottle of wine as you proud yourself a generous glass. Taking a sip, you felt the glorious red liquid warming your body. Oh how you loved wine.

Glass on hand, you climbed the short flight of stairs to your bedroom. You couldn’t get out of your work clothes quick enough. You didn’t even bother picking up your clothes from the floor- you knew you would regret it later, but at the moment, after the day you had experienced, you couldn’t care less- you made your way into the bathroom, clearing the days worn makeup from your face.

Fresh faced and in your favorite pair of cuddle duds, you strutted down into the kitchen to prepare yourself some supper. Freshly chopped chicken sautéed on the stove, as you sliced some spring onion and ginger, adding them into the sizzling chicken, the mouthwatering scent wafting up in the steady streams of steam. You flipped on the TV, turning the channel straight to lifetime. Crappy acting, predictable plot, and of course a criminal act, was all the joy of watching Lifetime movies. Even though they surely weren’t winning any film awards anytime soon, they somehow managed to keep your attention.

Just as you were spooning out your Teriyaki chicken into a serving bowl, your buzzer rang. You weren’t expecting any company… Walking to the door, you held the intercom button.

“Who is it?”

“Hey Y/N, its Steve, Steve Rogers. Can we talk?”

What the hell was Steve Rogers doing at your home? How the hell did he even know where you lived? And what could he possibly want to talk about at 9:32pm. You stood there for one too many seconds, his voice speaking through the intercom.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

“Uh yeah, I’ll buzz you up.”

Hesitantly, you hit the buzzer, unlocking in the door, and letting Steve Rogers into your building. And it hit you. You were in your jimjams, no makeup, hair a mess… Jesus fucking christ. A flood of panic rushed over you as you bobbed up and down like a lunatic.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The knock at the door nearly sent you over the edge. You couldn’t possibly let him see you like this… but what choice I you have?

-another knock at the door.-

Fuck.

Hesitantly , you made your way for the door, unlocking the deadbolt, slowly opening the door so only half of your face was visible. Steve stood in the hall, a fading smile gracing his face- he looked nervous, his sparkling blue eyes avoided yours as he looked at the ground, before meeting your gaze.

“I… Could I possibly come in? I’m truly sorry for the intrusion, I just wanted to talk with you.”

Nodding, you opened the door wide enough for him to step through -You were going to regret this later… Hell, you regretted it now.- You closed the door behind him, holding your arms snuggly against your body. Your embarrassment level at an all time high.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here.”

“Oh thanks. I just whipped up some quick supper, I was actually just about to eat-“

“Im so sorry. Gosh, this was so rude of me to show up unannounced. I should leave.”

A part of you wished he would leave, but…

“It’s alright Steve. No harm done. Actually, I made well more than I can eat alone… Would you like to join me?”

Steve’s eyes seems to light up as you asked him to stay. It made your heart sputter.

“I couldn’t impose-“

“No, I insist, poles stay. DO you like teriyaki chicken?”

He nodded, a glint of a smile creeping in the corner of his mouth. “I cant remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.”

You directed him to the quant square table that sat in your eat in kitchen, gesturing for him to have a seat. You finished spooning the chicken into the bowl, setting it onto the table with a side of rice, grabbing dinnerware from the cabinet.

“Would you like anything drink? I’m afraid I don’t have much of a selection. Lets see here..” You peered into your fridge, nothing but beer and water. “I have some wine, or theres a bottle of Guinness , if you’d prefer that or water.”

“I’ll take that Guinness if you don’t mind.”

You grabbed the bottle from the fridge, using the bottle opener magnet that hung on the fridge to crack it open. You took your seat across the table from Steve, feeling more aware of the situation you were in then you would have liked.

“Please, help yourself.” Your voice began to crack as you pushed the food closer to his general direction. Steve hesitated a moment, before sipping a heaping pile of rice and chicken onto his plate. Good thing you had made enough to feed a family of five, because the man could eat.

“Oh my, this is amazing! You made this?”

Steve smiled that oh so charming grin that made you melt, as he took another bite.You nodded, smiling back at him as you dished yourself a plate.

“So, what brings you by?” You asked between bites. You desperately wanted to know what brought this hunk of a man to your home. Was it about the tuxedos? His friends probably weren’t on board with it, and he was probably here to find away out of them…

“I wanted to apologizes. About early today.”

You nearly choked on your chicken. He came all the way out here to apologize? But for what exactly?

“Apologize? For what?

“My behavior earlier, you know. . . “ You could feel the heat rising to your face, a wave of nausea sweeping over you as he spoke. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or embarrassed. I, I don’t know what came over me. I don’t know what it is, but, you…” Steve shook his head, his thumb and index finger rubbing at his eyes, before staring at you with those intoxicating blue eyes.

“I don’t understand.” The words spilled form your mouth, barely audible.

Steve was no longer sitting but standing in to the side of you. You looked up at him, completely puzzled by the predicament you seemed to be in.

“I have to go. I’m sorry.”

Steve hustled for the door, swinging it behind him as he left, with a slight bang. You were speechless, utterly confused. And you were 100% unsure on how to process what had just issued.

“What the actual…”

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