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renaerys · 3 years

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Okay I've got one: Prompt 15 with Reds. 🤣🤣🤣

15. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying, I just keep thinking about how good that mouth feels.”

Somehow they can make even breathing a competition.

Send me a prompt and some characters! Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we're getting creative here.

List of prompts

xxx

“So, we’ve called the paramedics and they’re on their way, but until they arrive it’s up to us. Remember the acronym, kids: C-A-B. What’s the first thing you do?”

Aiyeesha Simpson, a gunner in the making destined for academic greatness and social ruin, raised her eager hand. “Find a flat surface to lay him down!”

“Correct.” Blossom took Brick by the shoulders and shoved him down to the floor. A gaggle of Girl Scouts gathered around him as he wheezed for air.

“Ow,” he said.

Blossom patted his chest. “Please choke more quietly.”

I will end you, he thought so loudly he hoped she could hear him through the murder in his eyes. There was community service, and then there was cruel and unusual punishment. When his required hours were up and his record expunged, he was going to write a very negative Yelp review of the local Townsville Girls Scouts of America chapter and tank this year’s cookie sales. Supremely annoying, outrageously petty, and totally legal. That would teach Blossom for sure.

“Place your hands here between the nipples.”

Some of the Cadette Girl Scouts giggled. To be fair, Blossom of all people saying the word nipples in reference to her former mortal enemy as she trained a room full of twelve-year-old girls in CPR using him as the dummy was a perfect storm of absurd and kinky that he did not see coming. And now he was giggling himself, because he was a teenaged boy who thought the word nipples was funny regardless of the very clear contextual cues, and that pubescent shame was on him, one hundred percent.

Blossom, an ancient and inconveniently attractive evil resurrected in a lab for the sole purpose of making his life miserable, did not appreciate his amusement. “Push hard at a rate of 100 to 120 compressions per minute. Remember to put your bodyweight behind it, like this.”

Brick flexed, and Blossom pushed against his heart like she was trying to crush it in her hands. Once, twice, three times she administered compressions, and Brick’s eyes glowed red with impotent rage.

“Assist Blossom with her CPR lessons to her satisfaction, and we can forget this ever happened,” Mayor Bellum had promised Brick when he lost his temper and blew up an (empty) ambulance. Butch didn’t need his Super stomach pumped no matter how much he drank, so the ambulance and the four-figure bill that came with it were completely unnecessary. This defense did not convince the mayor, however.

The promise of the bill forgiven and his record cleared—and the deterrence of Aiyeesha Simpson filming the whole thing to upload to YouTube later—gave Brick the strength not to eye beam Blossom in front of the children.

“Okay, who wants to try chest compressions on the dummy?” Blossom offered to the girls.

You evil bitch, thought the aforementioned dummy.

After the third little girl properly placed her sticky, little girl hands between his nipples, Brick had had enough. “Hey, I’m still dying over here. Can we move on already? Jesus Christ.”

“Of course.” Blossom smiled, and she had never looked more terrifying.

Brick hoped Butch was suffering. He hoped he was hung over so bad he couldn’t piss standing up. He hoped Butch tried going online only to find that Brick had disconnected the Internet and cut him off from all his online games and porn because fuck Butch and his weak-ass stomach.

“Who knows what the next step is? Maybe someone other than Aiyeesha this time?”

None of the other girls seemed willing to stick their hands up. The carpet under Brick had scorched where his power leaked out in his building resentment for this entire situation. The smell of burned polyester just made him feel even more powerless to stop this.

“No? Okay, well, remember the acronym. A is for airway. You want to be careful about a possible neck injury, so gently lift the chin…”

Blossom’s hands were not sticky like the Girl Scouts’ hands, but they were cold where they touched his skin and forced his head back.

“Are the paramedics here yet?”

Brick got a tight fist in his short hair for that one, and he considered it a small victory. “No. Something about a shortage of ambulances, apparently.”

Biiiiiiiitch.

God, he was going to destroy her so bad.

“Once you’ve cleared the airway and confirmed there are no obstructions—”

“Then you kiss!”

Some girls picked up the giggling again. Blossom, ever the professional, cleared her throat. “Mouth to mouth is a life-saving procedure and not something I’d recommend doing to someone you plan to kiss.”

Wow, great advice.

Some girls still giggled and whispered to each other. Brick had a sinking feeling that this was only going to end with his embarrassment: everyone knew that the cold judgment of pre-pubescent girls was the absolute worst type of judgment a person could suffer.

“Are you gonna show us?”

“Well, I don’t think I need to show you all how to breathe—”

“It’s in the manual! You have to demonstrate every step.” Aiyeesha waved the CPR manual, and Brick realized his misjudgment. She was no vapid goody two-shoes in the making, but a future Honors Student with a secret, a Work Hard Party Harder, an Ivy League Early Decision candidate with all of senior spring semester to slack off because no one was ever going to touch her 4.3 GPA.

Aiyeesha beamed a winning smile at Brick, and it was as chilling as Blossom’s.

Jesus Christ, there are two of them.

True to form, Blossom had never been able to defy a good instructions manual. “I suppose if it says so in the manual…”

Locking lips with Blossom was not a big deal. He’d done it before when they were kids, and he could appreciate the irony of a gesture meant to save his life this time rather than end it. She didn’t even try to mess with him by using her ice breath, just went through the motions as described in the instructions. The girls were disappointed with the lack of hormonal fanfare of it all, which was probably for the best. Leave it to Blossom to make mouth to mouth the sexless, medical act it was literally intended to be. He was almost upset, because it felt like she’d won something here, which could only mean he’d lost.

Disappointed but more educated than they’d been when they’d arrived two hours ago, the Girl Scouts dispersed after the lesson, leaving Blossom and Brick to put away the equipment they’d used.

She held a dummy torso, and she was looking at him with that pinched, constipated look she got when she was about to say something especially snobby. Instead, she surprised him. “Brick, thanks for being mature about it. I can honestly say you surprised me.”

He stared at her.

“I’ll talk to Mayor Bellum. I’m sure you’ve done enough to meet your hours quota.”

He had not fulfilled even half of his required community service hours and they both knew it.

“So yeah, thanks. I can finish up here if you want to leave.”

Was she trying to get rid of him? Why?

“Brick? Why are you looking at me like that?”

When Blossom was winning, he was losing. That was simply the way of the world. So, if she was losing, it could only mean he was winning.

“Are you listening to me?”

Brick smiled in what he hoped was a cool, sexy way if he imagined looking at anyone but Blossom. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying. I just keep thinking about how good that mouth feels.”

Blossom stared. “I’m sorry?”

He would make her sorry.

“Yeah, you’re a great teacher. I could really feel your passion for demonstrating the lesson correctly. With your mouth.”

Her staring intensified. “Did you.”

“Oh, yeah.” He leaned his hip against the table like he’d seen in the movies. It worked for Daniel Craig in Casino Royale, and that guy had convinced Eva Green. Iconic. “I could really feel you trying to save me.”

Where was Aiyeesha with her phone to film this? There was so little he could do to rattle Blossom as they got older, and while the challenge delighted him, it was also exhausting being constantly a step behind her. Was this truly her demise? Had he won the Teenage Experience? Was this poetic justice for how she’d once killed him with a mere kiss, only to suffer the same fate in turn? He could have cackled. This was better than trolling the Girl Scouts of America reviews, although he might still do that because it was a genius idea and he had always indulged his own genius ideas when they came to him.

So infatuated was he with his own self-fellating digression that he was slow to react to Blossom sidling up to him. Her hand was still cold on his chin, and it sent a shiver down his spine. “Shall I save you again?”

Brick’s dignity drained with his blood, which was an unfortunate side-effect of being a teenaged boy that he would just have to suffer. But winning was about recognizing one’s weaknesses and working around them. He leaned into her personal space. “Please.”

He wasn’t sure who kissed who first, but it was happening and all he could think was I am better at this than you and I hate you and also Do that again. He tried holding her waist, and she fought back with her fingers in his hair. Not one to be deterred, Brick tried some tongue but pulled back when he tasted thirty degrees below zero. He immediately went back in because he could feel her superiority, her Got you, you horny idiot, but the joke was on her because he liked her cold, always had when it was hot as balls out and he’d make up any excuse to pick a fight with her just for the chance to cool off.

The Girl Scout troop leader walked in on them competitively making out in the classroom like it was an Olympic sport and put an end to things, leaving them at a frustrating draw for now. They said barely a word to each other when Brick glared at the troop leader so bad she flustered and didn’t even question them before running out of there with some excuse about getting the wrong room.

Later that evening, Brick caved and changed the Internet password back just so Butch would quit whining at him. He Googled kissing techniques and spent the next hour and a half watching YouTube videos and reading GQ articles about How to Please Her Like a Champion, because he was a champion and a winner and he was not going to lose to Blossom in this. Not a chance.

This had to be what they meant when they said kill with kindness.

“I’m going to end you,” he muttered to himself as he read about the top ten highest voted movie kissing scenes, which he would then stream and commit to memory in order to be fully armed and armored for the next time he encountered Blossom alone in a classroom. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe during their shared free period.

Truly, he had the most genius ideas.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

#powerpuff girls #blossick #ppg reds #ppg brick #ppg blossom #powerpuff girls fanfic #september fic prompts #great pick Carrie!#this one was fun

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hatsukeii · 4 years

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One where y/n has been obviously in love with Tsuki since they were kids and not afraid to show it, but he’s always been lowkey mean to her and thinks she’s annoying and then finally years later she decides he’s not a nice guy and let’s him know she’s fine with all that crap and then he realizes he’s falling for her and does something really sweet for her and they fall in love? 😭😭🥺👉🏻👈🏻 ty in advance. Sorry if this is too long or specific, if it is, feel free to ignore

I genuinely hope you didn’t think I would actually ignore this<33

IM SORRY IM A MASTER PROCRASTINATOR ILY ALL AND YOU ALL DESERVE AN APOLOGY FROM ME

Dear diary//Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Cursing

Genre: Angst??? I guess???

Summary: He’s an ass, but you still love him to bits, and it’s killing you.

July 16, 2008

Dear Diary,

I got to play with Tsukki again! He had his dino with him, it was super cute! He told me his front teeth came off last night, and there’s a big hole in his teeth, but it’s okay, because he said it will grow back. I tried to hold his hand while going down the twin slides but he said it was sweaty, so next time I’ll wear gloves!

You flip through the hot pink diary, cringing at your young infatuation. Your diary entries were cringey as fuck, but they always rekindle something within you whenever you read them. You can’t even remember when you stopped writing in the book. Was it when you turned 10? Maybe 12? You don’t have a single clue.

April 30, 2011

Dear Diary,

Tsukki refused to marry me in the playground at break:(( I’ve known him for so long though, aren’t we supposed to get married? I just wanna hold his hand and hug him and give him a biiiiig kiss<33

Chuckling at the memory, you recalled the event from that entry clearly. You were seven years old only, still an immature kid. You still thought that getting married in a middle school playground was a huge milestone in life, almost as crucial as a legal marriage.

May 29, 2016

Dear Diary,

Love how Tsukki didn’t even remember my birthday:,) Must be nice getting made fun of. Half the students in my class felt my second hand embarrassment from when he completely forgot about it. God, why am I even in love with this asshole? I’m gonna have to go to school tomorrow and deal with all my classmates making fun of me for being hopeless. Brb, currently digging a hole for myself:)

Frowning at the memory, you think back to when you were twelve. He was an asshole then, still is an asshole to this day. And yet not an ounce of your unconditional love and support for him has faded. Grabbing a tissue, you wipe the remaining tears from your eyes, ignoring the dried tear stains on your cheek. Your hand slams onto the bedside table, lazily feeling for your phone. Tilting it towards your face, you sigh at the empty lock screen, accepting defeat. Flicking through the rest of the book, you are welcomed by pages and pages of white. “So that’s when I gave up on this diary...” you mutter to yourself as you lift yourself up from your bed. Heading towards your desk, you absentmindedly grab yourself a pen, notebook in hand. Slamming the diary down, you open it up to the next entry page after your last one, gently placing the tip of your pen on the first line. You grab your hair out of frustration, the ink bleeding into the thin paper. “What to do, what to do...?” You mumble, starting to form sentences in your notebook.

July 17, 2020

Dear Diary,

It’s been a while hasn’t it? Holy shit, all my entries were about Tsukki weren’t they? Jesus, of course they were. At least I was able to get it off my chest this afternoon. Telling him that I’ve been in love with him for years, that was fucking terrifying. Telling him that although I know he’s an ass, an animatronic dick complete with ballsack, that won’t stop me from falling harder, it was gut wrenching, but also relieving to a certain degree. I’m still waiting for some form of response, although I’m not sure I’m gonna get one anytime soon. I can’t decide whether telling him was the dumbest or bravest decision I’ve made. Maybe it was both. Just wait until I look back on this entry like a decade later and still cry about it lmao. Tbh he’s a genuinely nice person at heart. I know that all too well. He may be an ass most the time, and he may think I’m annoying, but despite how hard he tries to push me away, I’ll never abandon him. Jesus Christ, I sound like a yandere here, but it’s not that. It’s that I care for him a lot. Maybe even a bit too much. It’s ridiculous how absolute and utter shit a crush can make you feel.

Throwing the pen down, you flop back onto your bed, huffing into the thick blankets. You stay silent, not sure of what to think of the situation. “I’ll just deal with it all tomorrow, I’m tired of this shit.”

On the other side of the incident, Tsukishima is currently going through a mental crisis.

The blond sits at his desk, eyes unwavering, but focusing on nothing. It feels as if he hasn’t blinked in what seemed to be hours. Just hours of staring at his wall that led to nothing. Your confession plays in his head nonstop, like a broken record that refused to run out of battery.

“The thing is I like you. I’m pretty sure I always have. And I know that you’re such an asshole and all that, you won’t treat me as well as people would expect, but it’s fine. I’m fine with all that. All the dumb, stupid, careless insults you’ll throw at me, the side eyes and sneers, telling me to shut up and go away, I’m fine with it. I know you’re a good person, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Well shit what the fuck do you want me to say?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

Maybe he should have let you down slowly.

But as he stares at his wall, the photos of the two of you framed and balanced on his floating shelves, he starts to reconsider his feelings.

The way your expression faltered then as you hastily took your bag and rushed away without a single word, the way you avoided him in the halls, the way you stopped talking to him throughout the day, it drove him crazy. He couldn’t handle the realisation that he hurt you so incredibly badly, so now all he can do is stare at his empty, blank wall. Did he know why he felt that way? No. He didn’t and still doesn’t. He’s Tsukishima fucking Kei, the emotionless, provoking, unlikeable king, yet a mere girl is somehow able to mess with his mind so badly, that all he can do is wallow in regret and confusion? What is this weird feeling? His throat itches, his heart is beating like crazy, sweat starting to gather around his temples. He clamps his two hands together, slamming his forehead onto them and squeezing his eyes shut.

How could I have been so dense?

How was he unable to see that you were absolutely in love with him? Even with the bento boxes, birthday gifts, constant compliments, he still only ever thought you liked him as a friend. However he never did. He likes you more than that. Way more. Yes, he thought, and still thinks you can be annoying at times, especially when you nag at him about not eating enough or being rude, but it was undeniable that there was something else he felt. But his stupid ass shitty ego would never let him admit it. And now that you finally confessed, he freaked out and fucked up. Even then, he didn’t think it would affect him to this extent.

“It was a stupid middle school crush, I’m over you (Y/N).”

He says that over and over again, desperate to cloud out the disagreeing thoughts in his head that scream otherwise.

“It was a stupid middle school crush, I’m over you.”

The guilt didn’t go away.

In fact, now that he’s said all that, he feels even worse. Oh how much he wants to find you right this second, wrap you in his arms, tell you how incredibly sorry he is, but he can’t. He doesn’t deserve to do that. His heart is begging for him to just get out of the house and run to yours as fast as he could, but his body won’t move. He wants to cry. Scream. Shout. Throw something. Shatter something. But most of all, he wants to get another chance.

Picking up his phone, he hesitates, before typing in your contact, the cleared out, empty chatroom showing up on his screen. Going as fast as his fingers could, he typed out the one sentence he’s been dying to let out.

“It was a middle school crush, but I’m still into you. I always have been.”

Is it just me, or is this bad-

Idk man it seems like all my fics are pretty much the same and I hate it😌

Tags:

@sunshines-and-tatertots @izzyphantomgamer @justachillgirl @trashcanweeb @just-another-bored-writer @poppirocks @majorfangirl37 @kaylacinderella @random-fandomlover @tiger1719 @tiredgr3mlin @itmekisuu @skyeackermans @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @shoutsukii @agentvicinity @sakusasgarbage @kuroo-thought-of-a-better-un @sneezefiction @bokutokoutarou @thirstyvolleyballhoe @iwaixiumi @iwaigroomi @inlwlevi

Feel free to comment or pm to be added to taglist!

I’m back to writing lmao I’m bored in two week quarantine rn

Edit: cue me realising I was half asleep and missed something in the request don’t be surprised if I repost this💀💀💀💀

Btw the hq manga just ended time to cry

💕💕💕💕

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horansqueen · 4 years

Text

You & Me : chapter 35

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

Sequel to AM CONVERSATIONS

CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2 || CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4 || CHAPTER 5 || CHAPTER 6 || CHAPTER 7 || CHAPTER 8 || CHAPTER 9 || CHAPTER 10 || CHAPTER 11 || CHAPTER 12 || CHAPTER 13 || CHAPTER 14 || CHAPTER 15 || CHAPTER 16 || CHAPTER 17 || CHAPTER 18 || CHAPTER 19 || CHAPTER 20 || CHAPTER 21 || CHAPTER 22 || CHAPTER 23 || CHAPTER 24 || CHAPTER 25 || CHAPTER 26 || CHAPTER 27 || CHAPTER 28 || CHAPTER 29 || CHAPTER 30 || CHAPTER 31 || CHAPTER 32 || CHAPTER 33 || CHAPTER 34

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his -4.1k -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

- notes: just... i hope you like it! 😊

if you want to be on the list of blogs i notify when this is updated, just message me :)

requests! : here it is! just want you both to know i added this chapter (and next one too) just so i could add your ideas! thank you so much!

TAKE A LOOK AT THE CHARACTERS HERE

Chapter 35 : His chapter

NIALL

March 31st, 2018

I thought I'd be hung over the next morning but although I had a small headache, it was not that bad. I turned around in bed and wrapped my arm around Liv, pulling her closer to me before she let out a short whimper. I knew my mom had prepared the guest room for her just in case we wouldn't be comfortable to sleep in the same bed since the break up but I didn't even have to ask Liv and we both ended up in the same room.

"'Morning my love." I mumbled in a whisper as she whimpered again. "Remember what you promised me? We had a deal."

I let my hand slip under my shirt that she was wearing and reached for her breasts. I let my palm and fingers rub on them, feeling her nipples get hard at my touch, and this time, she moaned low.

"Mm Niall, it's too early."

"You say that but your body says otherwise." I whispered near her ear, making her chuckle slowly and low.

"My nipples get hard when it's cold outside too." she pointed out tiredly. "That means nothing."

I laughed and pressed my body against hers, my hard cock pushing against her ass. "Well, I'm horny, and that's the proof."

"You're always hard when you wake up, so that doesn't mean anything either."

I laughed some more and slipped my hand in her panties as I rubbed myself slowly on her ass. She moaned again but spread her legs a bit, making my smile grow. She leaned her leg on mine to give me a better access and I watched her body twitch lightly every time I flicked my finger on her clit. It pressed against my cock every time too, making my eyes flutter as I brushed my lips on her neck.

"I know you're tired, I'll just do all the work, if you want."

She squirmed in bed and I took my hand out of her panties, looking at her. She ended on her back, her eyes half open and her lips curled in a fond but amused smile. She licked her lips before pressed them together and slid her head slightly to tilt it, messing up her hair even more. She looked beautiful and I tried not to blink to engrave that image in my head forever. I held my breath and my lips parted.

"Please don't move." I whispered, making her frown a bit. "Please, for me."

"Okay."

I could hear so much vulnerability in her voice and it made something stir in my stomach but I just reached on the other side of the bed to find my phone in my pants and turned my camera on. When I put it in front of her, I suddenly saw fear in her eyes and her lips parted.

"Please, Olivia. Just one picture." I begged in a whisper. "I don't think you understand how beautiful you look."

Her eyes fluttered and she pressed her lips together, staying totally motionless.

"Okay."

I took a picture and my eyes moved from it to her and then back to the picture before my lips curled. I brought my hand to her stomach and moved it up to her breasts, making her chuckle. Without thinking, I snapped an other picture, and an other, and I ended up laying next to her to take a few selfies of both of us. In the last one I just pressed my lips against hers as she chuckled against my mouth and the way she laughed made something stir in my stomach. We were in Ireland, together in a bed at my mom's, and my life had never been so perfect. I put my phone next to us on the bed before moving on top of her, trying to keep my lips attached to hers.

"You can't make a sound." I whispered, bringing my mouth on her neck before leaving a few kisses. "And you can't touch me. If you don't follow these rules, there will be consequences."

"Mm yea? I sort of want to see."

"You literally just broke a rule." I said in a low tone before biting the skin of her neck. "That was your last warning."

She squirmed slightly and I slipped my hand in her panties again, turning my body slightly and feeling my cock press on her thigh. She moaned a bit as I slipped two fingers deep inside her. I was excited and I felt impatient, and when I felt her pussy throb around my fingers, I groaned and took my hand away to pull down my pants as fast as I could.

"Mm." she moaned out when I ground my hips against her.

"I'm really gonna have to do something about this."

I pushed my cock inside her slowly enough to make her feel every single inch and she squirmed a bit, reaching for one of my upper arms with her hand. I shook my head and grabbed her hand quickly, moving it over her head as my lips curled on the left.

"No touching." I repeated. "I really want to use you."

With one last hip movement, I pushed myself balls deep inside her and let out a low 'Jesus Christ' despite myself. She wiggled a bit as I held her wrist again and trapped me between her thighs.

"You have no fucking idea how good you feel." I whispered, pushing myself more against her. "Your pretty little cunt makes me cum so hard."

Her eyes fluttered again but I noticed how hard she tried to keep them open to keep looking at me. I started fucking her hard into the mattress, not really able to stop myself, but when she started moaning, I let go of her wrist to press my hand on her mouth. She grabbed the sheets of the bed with both hands hard and I smiled as I looked at her, still thrusting in and out of her fast and deep. It took me a few minutes to slow down, my lips curling more. I kept going balls deep inside her but my movements were slow and I heard her whimper..

"You think you can keep quiet now?"

She stared at me and i could see the uncertainty on her face but slowly, I moved my hand away from her mouth, sliding it to her neck and wrapping my fingers around her throat slowly. She bit her bottom lip so hard that her skin turned white and I started going fasted in and out of her. The more my fingers pressed against her throat, the more my smile grew and the more her eyes fluttered.

"You're gonna make me cum." I whispered just as an orgasm hit me, making my movements unsteady. She moved in motion against me to help me ride my orgasm and I panted as I got down from my high. "Fuck, I love you."

She squirmed to feel me deeper but I just chuckled and smirked at her again.

"Put that damn pillow over your face, I don't want my mom to hear." I told her, raising my eyebrows. She sent me a frown and I chuckled again. "Just do it."

Reluctantly, she grabbed a pillow and I waited until it was on her face to move down and bring my mouth to her clit. I didn't waste any time and I knew she was close. I just wrapped my lips on her clit and sucked on it. Immediately, her back arched and I heard a muffled moan. I could taste myself a bit on her pussy and the mix of us made ma a bit dizzy. Her hands grabbed the sheets harder and It only took a minute or two before she started shaking. I felt her cum on my bottom lip and chin and somehow, it turned me on again.

She became limp on the bed again and I smiled, moving up to her and chuckling when I saw she still had the pillow on her face. I grabbed it and put it near my head before leaning against it, just looking at her, eyes half closed but both of us with a big smile.

"Mm, I love you too, Niall." she let out, her eyes closing as she tried hard not to fall asleep.

"You know what? You sleep some more, I'll take a shower, make some coffee and prepare our luggage."

She smiled and nodded, muttering a low "Thank you" before she allowed herself to close her eyes. I watched her for a few minutes as she fell asleep, lips parted and eyelids quickly fluttering again, and I couldn't help but swallow my emotions hard. She said we would be together when we were watching the stars and I believed her. I was not sure when I became this needy and a bit crazy man but I didn't care one bit. I told her I'd wait but I couldn't help but be impatient to be with her, but mostly scared that I was waiting for no reason. Now that she told me it would happen, I didn't feel stressed anymore, just extremely eager.

I got up slowly, making sure I wouldn't wake her up, and searched in my bag for my notebook and I scribbled a few words to add to the song before realizing that I was very close to be done with the lyrics. I smiled when I started writing the bridge and re-read it a few times, satisfied.

"I want you There's no line I'll love you Or die trying I want you There's no line I'll love you Or die trying"

I heard her snore and chuckled, shaking my head before putting my notebook back into my bag and grabbing clean clothes. I took a quick shower and dressed up before rushing downstairs to the kitchen. My mom was there and I walked up to her, kissing her cheek gently before grabbing the coffee pot.

"Slept well?"

I glanced at her and shrugged a shoulder, tilting my head a bit. "Yea. I mean, I didn't sleep a lot, but it was a nice sleep." I explained with a nod. "It's not the best bed of the house, I'm sure, but it does the trick."

She laughed and I turned around, leaning against the counter as I waited for the coffee. We remained silent for a while but when my mom talked again, it made my heart jump in my chest.

"You're not gonna hurt her this time, pet, right?"

I held my breath and my lips parted. It took me a few seconds to react but I finally cleared my throat and frowned a bit, moving around to grab mugs and put them on the counter.

"We're not together, ma." I shrugged, trying to look casual. "Back to being best friends, like we used to be."

"I understand why you refuse to answer some questions in interviews. You're a terrible liar."

I tensed, glad that my back was facing her and that she couldn't see my reaction. I just stared at the hot and brown liquid filling the pot before closing my eyes and sighing. I turned around slowly and noticed my mom's satisfied smile. I shut my eyes tight again for a few second and groaned low before looking back at her. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was a horrible liar but at the same time, I hated lying.

"I still love her and she still loves me. She just has a hard time trusting me again and I can't blame her." I shrugged and looked down. "I guess I'm just trying to earn her trust again."

"You're lucky she gave you her heart back." my mom pointed out, searching in the fridge before taking the creamer out and handing it to me. I smiled sadly, staring down, and sighed.

"Very lucky." I pointed out before looking up at her. "I promise I won't mess this second chance."

Slowly, my mom sent me a fond smile and I felt better. "I know you won't."

---

April 3rd, 2018

I had filmed a few commercials and stuff like that and also had a small part in a tv show but this was very different. There were more people around, more actors and just a bit more action in general. Still, I was not unfamiliar with all of this so I didn't feel too out of place.

Olivia had warned me that she had a slightly saucy scene with Dylan today and that maybe I should have chosen an other filming day but if I wanted to be honest, it made me want to be there even more. I walked around, my hands in my pockets, waiting for her to be ready, and when she walked out of her dressing room, my lips curled, making her smile too.

She looked pretty, as she always did, and it made me realize that her character was probably based on her. I heard somewhere that your first book is a bit autobiographical, and I could only guess it was similar if it was a script. She walked to me and raised her eyebrows before brushing her palms on her pants a few times.

"Nervous?" I asked with a big smile, raising my eyebrows.

"Yea, it's the first time I play that kind of scene and I have no idea what I'm doing." she admitted, chuckling nervously.

"You're good at that, don't worry.” I tried to reassure her.

"I may be good at doing it, but playing it is a different story."

I chuckled and grabbed her close but she remained a bit far, raising her nose in a grimace "Watch the make-up."

It made me laugh again and I followed her but stayed a bit farther as the director explained to her and Dylan where to be and how to play. I couldn't stop my eyes from moving from her to him and he probably noticed because he started glancing at me, too.

They started the scene and it surprised me how easy she got into her character and how nothing else seemed to matter. It took me a few seconds to focus on the script but when I did, my lips parted in surprise.

"When you engraved our names on that tree..." Olivia shook her head and shrugged a shoulder as her eyes watered. I felt something stir inside me and took a few steps closer. "I fell even more in love with you. Then you kissed me and my entire life changed. This is not a mistake. Tell me it's not a mistake."

I was not wrong when I thought her writing could be influenced by her and her life because a flashback invaded my mind and I swallowed hard.

"Are you sure, Niall?" Liv asked with her frown.

I chuckled and rolled my eyes. She was way more daring normally and I moved my upper body her way before grabbing her wrist and pulling her closer.

"Yes!" I let out firmly. "So I'm gonna carve your name, and you carve mine." She looked unsure and I smiled more. "Come on. There's literally five letters. You can do it."

I ended her a knife and as I tried to write the first letter of her name, I realized how tough it was to carve the letter 'O'. I cursed under my breath and heard her chuckle beneath me. I glanced down and noticed she was done with the first two letters of my name. I tried to go faster and when we took a few steps back to look at our work, I saw her smile from the corner of my eyes.

"Adding a 'plus' sign would make it look like we're a couple." she pointed out. "But leaving it like that seems a bit drab, don't ya think?"

I frowned, staring at our names on the tree before moving closer to carve right under her name and over mine, letting out a few curse words again. It was not easy to draw curves. When I moved back again, I heard her chuckle.

"Perfect." she replied, staring at the 'infinity' symbol I had drawn. "Friends forever. Cheesy but true."

We remained silent for a few minutes and without thinking, my hand searched for hers and as soon as I found her fingers, I squeezed them hard.

I knew I was only 13 when we did that but I remembered it clearly and somehow, I was mad at myself for not visiting that spot when we were visiting our town a few days earlier. Why did that memory only come back now? I felt myself tear up and blinked a few times, trying to focus on the scene they were filming again.

I felt something twist in my chest when I noticed she was laying down on the floor and he was laying on his side, next to her. His hand moved on her stomach and I held my breath as I remembered that the first time we had sex was also on the floor. I didn't know if she had thought about it before writing it or if it was just a coincidence but I started wondering if Dylan's character could be based on me, even just slightly.

His hand reached for her breasts and I swallowed hard when he started kissing her gently. I knew it was just acting but it still was not a pleasant sight and I shut my eyes tight until I heard the loud 'CUT'.

I looked at Olivia and Dylan talk for a few seconds before she walked back to me, tilting her head and sending me a smile.

"Are you okay?"

I quickly nodded and licked my lips. I decided not to talk about how jealous I was, and I also didn't want to mention the part about carving the names on the tree, or making love on the floor. I didn't know how to bring it up anyway so I decided to keep quiet.

"Told you, you're good at that!" I chuckled, making her roll her eyes as she pushed on my shoulder gently.

"Idiot." she simply said in french with a strong accent, making me smile more. "I need to get changed for the next scene, I'll be back quickly."

I watched her as she left and she turned around to look at me and send me a smile. I stared at where she disappeared for a few seconds until I felt a presence next to me and turned around. I didn't really want to have a discussion with Dylan but If I wanted to be honest, I knew there was a chance that we'd have to interact.

"Hey man, how are you?"

I cleared my throat and pushed both my hands in my pockets. "Good, and you?"

"Good." he paused. "Look, I know we're not friends and we'll never be but, I need to ask you something."

I frowned and turned to him. He had all my attention and at the same time, it made me very nervous. He sighed and moved his hand in his hair before he groaned, probably knowing he messed it up and was about to give someone a bit more job before he can go back on set.

"Look, I just want to know if Livi's seeing someone right now." he asked, surprising me so much that my lips parted and my eyebrows raised up. "I thought she left me to date you but you two don't appear to be together and, I don't know, I'm thinking maybe..." he shook his head and looked away before chuckling sadly. "This is ridiculous, look at me, being all over a girl who literally called off our wedding."

I didn't know what to answer and I was not sure I wanted to hear his rambling but somehow, I remained quiet for a while before he shook his head again.

"I don't even know why I'm asking." he added, looking at me. "I just want to know."

I had to lie again and I hated it, but Olivia said she was not ready to be official, so technically, it was not a complete lie, but it was still not the truth.

"She's not dating anyone." I let out, feeling my heart sink in my chest. "But I think you should move on, mate."

He looked away and sighed again. "I know. Thanks."

He turned around and left, leaving me standing all alone and in complete shock. I didn't know how much longer I waited but when Olivia appeared again, I forced a smile on my face as she walked up to me.

"Not too bored?" she asked, grimacing a bit before pouting. "It's a bit boring, I know. You can go back home if you want, I'll call you when I'm done."

Not only did I want to stay but I also was not too keen with Dylan driving her back home, especially not after the short discussion we just had had. I rolled my eyes with a smile.

"It's not boring." I said with a chuckle. "I'm staying, don't worry about me!"

The way she looked at me made me smile even more and she licked her lips before rubbing them together a few times. It made me want to kiss her so bad it was almost unbearable.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked low.

"Kissing you." I whispered. "You?"

"I'm thinking about that nice counter in my dressing room and how bad I want you to fuck me while I sit on it."

I let out a nervous laugh and glanced behind me. "How long do you have?"

She sighed and grimaced again but it was so adorable and endearing that I almost didn't hear her answer. "30 seconds, maybe? I barely have time to pee sometimes. But hey, can I sleep at your place tonight?"

I rolled my eyes again with a smile. "Why do you ask? I expect you to sleep at my place every single day."

She laughed and took a step closer, placing her hand on my chest. "I can't wait to be alone with you."

They stopped filming around midnight and I knew she was tired. I drove in silence as she leaned her head on the seat, her eyes half closed already. I knew she'd be exhausted and I didn't really expect her to want sex after a day like this, even if she had mentioned it. I kept glancing at her and when I finally parked in front of my house, I turned to look at her. Her eyes opened after a few seconds and her lips curled slowly to send me a small smile.

"I wrote so many songs about you." I just let out without thinking.

She blinked a few times and tilted her head a bit. "I know."

"No I mean, new songs." I explained better. "When we were not together, I missed you so fucking much, I hallucinated you everywhere. After a while, I realized that you were just always with me. Not physically, of course, but in my heart, as cheesy as it seems. And that day you came home with Dylan, I wrote a song for you."

Her eyebrows raised and her lips parted a bit. "Oh. The day I leaned against your door and literally got caught eavesdropping!" she let out as I laughed and nodded. "I remember a few words, uhm, 'it's hard to breathe when you're in the air'... That day, I thought it was for Heidi."

"Heidi doesn't have a song. Not one. That song is yours, like many others."

She smiled and reached out for my hand. "You can sing it for me? I want to hear all of them."

"Okay, I can do that tomorrow."

I wanted to sing that one for her but I wanted to wait for some of the others, simply because I didn't want to rush her, or guilt trip her. I didn't want to make her feel bad for things out of her control either. We were in a good spot at the moment and I wanted it to last. I didn't know when we'd be officially together again but there was no way I was going to ruin it. I had promised my mom, I had promised myself, and most of all, I had promised Olivia.

"You'll be all over my second album, too. In every note, in every word, in every damn feeling. Just like the first."

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan story #niall horan writing #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fan fiction #my fanfics #yam

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

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I want to tell you... (Part 9.)

Description: Nathan Drake is not the exact definition of an unhappy man. His job is steady, his friends still see him from time to time, he plays football, but his marriage is his main problem. Many things will change when a special person comes to his life.

Part Summary: Nathan and Sully had talked you down to join them for a family dinner, at which a set of unfortunate misunderstandings was started

A/N: This shit was hillarous to write, I tell you that.

Word counter: 2.9K

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @peakymarvels, @nemodoren, @flavorishy

Series master list: H E R E

Nathan’s car sing-along playlist: H E R E

GIF SOURCE

"Oh no, no, no, crap, what the hell did you manage to do with it?" - Nathan yelled with a horrified expression, running to you with a tea towel swing over his shoulder. He looked at the cut in your finger, inspecting it in its entirety as if you should die any minute because of fatal blood loss. You were kind of snickering at his reaction because Nathan was really cute when he was worried about you.

The man ran away for one minute. One minute to look at some gig Sully was thinking of accepting. And when he got back, you were suddenly bleeding. Jesus fucking Christ, you were kinda hard to wrap the head around. But you were still fun, so Nathan was only half-terrified.

"Shove it into your mouth and suck the blood out, come on." - Nathan instructed you with a serious face. A giggle sounded through the room, which made Nate turn at you from searching for a sticking-plaster for your severely wounded finger. Some mumbo-jumbo left your mouth when you sucked on the blood, watching the man in front of you. - "Come again?" - Nate asked you to repeat yourself while cut off a small portion of the plaster so you wouldn't have it on your whole finger.

"I asked if this is how you acted around in the kitchen when someone hurts themselves. I mean, look at you, you're a drama queen. You will wrap me in a bubble foil to prevent me from getting hurt again." - You stated, having a bit of evil, mean expression in your face. But the smile told Nate that you're just testing him and his patience. Performing you a pitiful 'ha-ha', the man came closer and made the small cut is covered. - "Is this even hygienic, Nate? Will my finger just rot and fall off now? You can start calling me fingerless Y/N by now." - With that, Nate chuckled at the sight of you pretending to be a pirate, making a hook out of your finger. When those theatrics were over, you turned back to cutting the peppers for his masterpiece.

"Human saliva has some healing properties, for your information. But if you'd like me to drench that cut in alcohol disinfection, shove it underwater or different stuff, just tell me." - Nate looked at you knowingly, swinging around with his knife, explaining to you why is licking the cut something he learned that helps a long time ago. When he and his brother were younger, they didn't have enough money to buy proper first-aid kids, which made a lot of things harder. But saliva could do magic in some instances.

"Nah, I think I'm fine, Drake. My finger got the best treatment it could get, so I'm fine." - You chuckled back and heard the front door of Sully's apartment close. Sully himself was sitting in his workroom, going through another possible gig offers - so this must've been his girlfriend Nate and he told you about. And your eyebrows arched when you saw a very young woman dressed up in formal clothes letting her hair out of the bun she had it in as she kicked off her high-heels. You've expected someone... Older. A lot older. This girl didn't have a single wrinkle on her skin - she was gorgeous in every sense of the word. And she was also very eye-catching.

But she stopped at the same as you did, looking at you with her eyes widened. Slowly, she licked her lips, leaning her elbow to the wall next to her while eyeing you up and down. - "Okay, miss, who are you, and what are you doing in my flat?" - The woman asked, making sure you feel cornered by her. And dear lord, she was great in intimidating the living shit out of you.

"I'm... On... A visit?" - You peeped and at that moment, Drake saved your ass by peeking from behind you, sending Florence a casual smile. The anger suddenly disappeared into the thin air. The woman walked to you excitedly, offering you a palm to shake.

"Name's Florence Carter. Nice to meet you." - She told you with pure joy, which dropped a bit when you told her your name. Oh. Sully told you that his and his girlfriend's situation is pretty fresh, so she must've concluded that you're Elena, since she hadn't the chance to meet her yet. But her bright smile was on again in no time at all, as she greeted Nate by a bear hug, leaving to greet Sully as well.

You've heard her talking about some sort of Drake exposition in some institute, which sparked another conversation between you and Nate.

"Listen. Drake... That kinda does ring a bell inside my head." - You turned at him, watching the man preparing homemade tortillas. He turned back to you as well, arching his eyebrows in surprise.

"You're into history?" - He asked before working with the dish-to-be once again. You didn't know the slightest shit about history. Honestly, you could barely remember your homeland's history and that, for you, was the absolute maximum. But you made an agreeing hum nonetheless. - "Go on, who was Francis Drake? You have me shook now."

Fuck. Fuck. Nathan's voice was hinting that he was aware of you knowing an absolute shit about some Francis Drake. Who was he? Well, your time to shine was there, and you didn't want to leave Nate hanging. - "Francis Drake, you asking me, huh?" - "Yea, I am." - "Well, there was this certain craze about marine biology, as you surely know. It was some time after Columbus had discovered the continent and he noticed some big sea animal in the water and he was in awe, to quote him 'I will be exploring the sea life from now on'. Yea, don't look at me like that, Jesus, Nate, everyone knows this shit. And Francis Drake was a man who was watching the dolphins for some time now and he agreed to help Columbus with his research." - You told Nathan, having the man laughing in the half of your on-the-spot-made story. Your confidence was what made him almost weeping tears away from his cheeks. - "Come on, I was at least in the ballpark." - You snickered at the sound of his laughter, which made you secretly smile too.

"You were in a ballpark... Of a completely different era, explorers and scientists. He liked the sea, that's something you guessed correctly, and for all I know, sir Francis Drake could be a marine biologist, but... I don't know if he'd find time to watch sea animals and fish during his thrilling privateer and many believed pirate career." - Nate smiled at you while leaning over your shoulder for a bottle of olive oil. Well, damn you, Nate was clearly very educated in the subject and you just made a total dud out of yourself. But the damage was already done, and you just had to accept the utter defeat.

"And... Is it some coincidence that you have the same surname, or..?" - You asked and added the pepper to the burrito filling. You were already hungry as hell and the meat blend Nate had finished about half an hour ago was smelling so delicious that you thought about eating all of it by yourself before the burritos will be even finished.

"Not entirely. It's..." - Suddenly, the joy had run out of Nate within seconds. He looked in front of himself, dropping the wooden spoon out of his fingers, having a lost gaze and expression on his face. The man licked his lips and tried to ignore the tightening feeling inside his chest. - "It is a long story. I'll maybe tell you one day, huh? Just not right now, okay?" - He tried to talk through the empty silence you had going on.

You felt bad suddenly. You had just bumped into some sensitive topic. And you didn't want to hurt the man who was just starting to be your friend. - "Can I tell you a pirate joke? To make you feel better?" - You asked, standing next to him as he was working on the first burritos.

"Now we're talking. You have my full attention." - Nate turned his head at you as you watched the tortillas frying. You smiled with a slick grin, straightening up to deliver the joke perfectly. - "Why is pirating so addictive?" - You asked and took the first tortilla from him, filling it up skillfully. You couldn't cook for shit, but this wasn't so hard, and you wanted to help him at least somehow. - "No idea." - Nate giggled, already knowing it's going to be one of the worst jokes anyone had ever tell him. And that was almost unreachable primacy because his brother had singlehandedly told him the worst jokes he ever heard.

"Well, they say once ye lose yer first hand, ye get hooked!" - You said with a nasty grin, pretending that your wounded finger is a hook again. The man rolled his eyes, but he laughed nonetheless, saying something along the lines 'this is so bad, Jesus'. Soon enough, you prepared enough burritos for all of you to eat. The rest of the fresh vegetables, of which you took care as well, was for Nate to cook from at his home. Florence had changed into more comfortable clothes and Sully looked strangely contained. You had an idea of what was going on, but Sully most probably had just some good nap to your letdown.

The woman was energetically jolting around the table with a big smile, serving everyone the wine she caught for the occasion, humming one of the summer bops that was playing inside her head. When she sat down next to Sully, the older man chuckled and looked at Nathan. - "She wants to tell you somethin', boyo." - Sully smugged and motioned his hand for her to continue in the news she had to say. Nathan arched his eyebrows, excited about the unknown information Florence had for him.

"The local national museum will have... A wirble, please." - Her elbow nudged Sully's side. The man rolled his eyes because he was just shoving a burrito down his throat, but did as she asked for, drumming his fingers on the desk of the table. - "A permanent sir Francis Drake exhibition thanks to you, Sully and Sam providing me with so many Drake exhibits. We're now talking about the next pirates we would like to include in the exhibition. I will be forever grateful for that, because, now we're in business, baby and I am the project's main curator." - Florence said joyfully, having Sully proudly smoothing the upper part of her thigh while he still shoved the rest of his food down.

Nathan breathed out in shock and leaned his back into the chair, looking into the table with fascination. But that certainly wasn't enough. Florence had more to say. - "And because I am a big animal in the museum, I proposed the idea of us including some most famous legends, myth, and theories surrounding the pirated... I have pulled some strings and your mom's work will be included. If you'd agree, that is." - Florence said quickly so Nathan would know she isn't taking it as a sure thing. Which put tears into the man's eyes.

You couldn't know about Nate's past and his mom, so you were kind of an intruder in the situation. But the revelation and joy radiating out of your friend was handing in the air and it was so clear, that it made you feel good as well. The whole dinner, understandingly, was rotating around the topic of Nate's mother and the whole exhibition.

At the end of the evening, you had to say that Sully and Florence were a true power couple. Sully was a famous Irish pub owner, of which most of the people in the town knew and you had it on your wish-list as well by the time, and Florence seemed to be pulling the strings in the national museum despite her young age. And to be honest, you were kind of having respect for both of them, which was surely applying to Nathan as well, because he was their best friend. Were these guys in a fucking gang or something? The more they talked about their day-to-day life, the more convinced you were about it.

Holy fuck. You just had to have fucking bad luck with people, hadn't you?

And naturally, Nathan noticed your bad mental state as he drove you home around ten p.m. You were awkwardly silent throughout the whole ride that it made him worried. And being the upfront man he was, he just asked you what's wrong. Ever since you told him your theory about Sully and Florence, possibly even him, being leaders of some gang, Nathan couldn't stop laughing about your assumption.

"What's so funny about that? Huh? I'm fucking scared for my life and you're just laughing at me, man." - You exclaimed when you stopped at a red light to wait before continue on your small journey to your home. Nathan gave you such a sweet smile that it made you feel like a total idiot for a moment - but then, you gathered your confidence back, reminding yourself about these two.

"We're not some... Gang. I assure you of that, okay? It's way wilder than some boring gang." - Nate rolled his eyes playfully and stepped on the gas pedal again, moving the car forward. This statement, no matter if it was a joke or not, made your eyes widen. Was Nathan about to abduct you? Just drive off with you into the night? Was Elena even real in the first place? Jesus fucking Christ, you were on the verge of crying at the moment. - "Please, no, no, no." - The man panicked suddenly at seeing you so distressed at some another dumb joke he made. - "We're not bad people, I swear on my life, okay? I am just a normal guy who works as a cook. That's who I am. I have no dark secrets or past." - He was making it worse and worse with each passing second he was talking.

"What if... Crap, listen to me. I'll tell you what we're doing as a side job. And it's nothing bad-people related, but... It sure as hell breaks a lot of laws and you have to stay silent about everything I would possibly tell you." - Nathan burst out in his full-on panic mode. The man wanted to bitch-slap himself so badly. With every word he told you, he just made the whole deal seem more and more serious. - "I am an archeologist. I do search for... Stuff you hear legends about. But I would have to explain to you deeper for you to stop thinking I am some sort of a sociopath. Would you... Listen to it? Please?" - Nathan breathed out, having an uncomfortable expression himself. Quickly, you glanced over to him. And it left you surprised.

His breath was shallow as he fell deeper and deeper into one of his anxiety-panic attacks. He had tears in his eyes while his palms crushed the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white almost instantly. Nathan was just trying to be the goofy guy around the girl he liked and all it had accomplished was that now she thought that he was a criminal of sorts. And he couldn't take any of it back.

"Okay." - You whispered after a moment. It was probably just your brain jumping to conclusions too fast as it always did. Maybe Sully was really just a pub owner who was just a good businessman. Maybe his young girlfriend Florence was an extremely talented historian. And most likely, Nate was just a guy who loved to cook for other people. The man slowly faced you again, trembling almost unnoticeable. - "Okay. You can tell me about this side job you have. But if it just comes across as human trafficking or..." - "No! No. I would never... Never. No." - The man disagreed immediately, letting you know that this reaction was as authentical as it could be.

"Would you like to come to my place to tell me about it?" - You whispered, slowly gaining the initial trust you had for your new-found friend in the strange city you were an outsider in.

"I have a lot of things to prove my storied at my place and I would have to pack them up and move them to my car. Would you mind..?" - Nate asked nervously. It was weird as fuck to ask you to hang out at his place after the full-blown conspiracy theory about him being a criminal who probably kills people, but really - all of the artifacts, books, maps, and other shit Nate hoarded throughout the years were too fragile to just take to your place.

You were silent for a moment as you tried to contain the nerves inside you, but you nodded in the end. You trusted Nathan. And he felt redeemed at the exact same moment.

#nathan drake #nathan drake x reader #nathan drake uncharted #he is such a goofy baby #but he's to oblivious and dumb sometimes #victor sullivan #victor sullivan x oc #uncharted #naughty dog uncharted #we stan nathan's clumsy ass in this house #HE'S SUCH A BABY #i swear

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caranfindel · 4 years

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Fic: But my dreams, they aren’t as empty as my conscience seems to be

This takes place immediately after 10.18, "Book of the Damned," where the Styne family attacks the Winchesters and Charlie, and Sam stashes the Book of the Damned instead of burning it. Let's pretend that Sam was more seriously injured in the fight with the Stynes than anyone realized.

Note: The theme of the OhSam 2018 birthday meme was Hurt vs. Comfort, in which we were invited to respond to a prompt and write either about the hurt, or the comfort. An anonymous poster made this request: "Gen. Dean hugs Sam hard to hold him in place while someone cauterizes the wound in Sam's back." I started to write it, realized I'd gone with stitches instead of cauterizing, got frustrated, and gave up. But now I'm back. (Oh, and since we were supposed to choose between angst or schmoop, guess which one I chose. Go on, guess.) And yes, the title is from "Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who, which was featured in 10.18.

"You okay?" Dean asks, after the bodies are taken care of.

"I'm fine," Sam replies. It's a lie. His back is on fire. Every movement pulls at the wounds on his shoulder blade and at the middle of his back, both infuriatingly out of reach. He'd slap some kind of bandage on them if he could, anything to soak up the blood gluing his t-shirt to his skin, but they've got to get some miles between themselves and this cabin before the rest of the Stynes show up.

Charlie gives him a stern once-over. "You look like crap. You should take a nap in the back. I'll ride shotgun." She's got her hands on her hips, taking no shit, as if she expects Sam to argue. He's not going to. He would like nothing more than to hide in the back of the Impala, avoiding Dean's eyes and his questions and his Mark and his intuition that Sam has done something wrong.

"You okay?" he asks Dean. "You don't mind driving the whole way?"

"I'm peachy," Dean says. He's lying too, but Sam's not going to call him on it. They both knew it was a courtesy ask anyway. "Get your beauty sleep, Princess."

Sam crawls carefully into the back seat and settles on his side. He leans forward slightly to prevent his torn-open back from touching the seat and tries to shove down the pain, tries to ignore the guilt and fear clawing at his gut every time he thinks about the Book of the Damned lurking in the bottom of his duffel.

Eventually the world fades away. At one point in the drive, he's pretty sure Charlie is leaning over from the front seat, under the glaring light of a drive-through, asking if he wants anything. At another point, he's equally sure that Dean is sitting next to him, slowly pushing a nail into his forehead. When he turns away, Jacob Styne is on his other side, grinning at him with vampire fangs and whispering with his soft Louisiana accent. I know what you did, boy, and you're gonna regret it.

Sam shivers in the back seat. Jacob Styne breathes on the window, frosting it over, and draws a smiley face in the frost. Lucifer did that too, but this isn't Lucifer. He's just a ghost. That must be why it's so cold in the Impala.

That's right, boy, Styne says. Nothin' but a ghost. And here you are without a weapon. How are you gonna fight a ghost?

Sam turns back to Dean, who shrugs and pushes another nail into his head. Then he takes a longer one, more of a railroad spike, and shoves it into Sam's chest. Sam cries out in pain as the spike erupts from his back with a gush of blood and broken ribs. He shivers harder and wraps his jacket more tightly around himself. Dean and Jacob Styne are gone, but Sam can still feel the pain of the metal spike protruding from his back, pinning him to the car.

Everything fades away again.

Then there's a lurch and a bump and a bright light that yank Sam back into the world. Dean's voice is roughened from fatigue and disappointment. "Dammit, Sam, don't make me drag you out of the car. I'm not carrying your ass to bed." Sam flinches and clenches his eyes shut and tries to figure out where he is and why everything hurts so goddamn much and why the light is so fucking bright and why Dean is mad at him and Jesus God, why does he hurt so much? He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Dean becomes Charlie, the good Charlie, kind and warm, tapping gently on his shoulder. "Sam? You okay? C'mon, big guy, let me help you out." Her hand slides down to his shoulder blade and he hisses in pain as she draws it back. "Dean!" she calls, horrified. Sam doesn't know what he did to frighten her. He's done a lot of frightening things.

When he manages to pry his eyes open, he sees Charlie displaying her bloody palm to Dean. She must have stabbed it on the spike poking out of Sam's back. He tries to apologize, but he can't tell if he's making any noise.

Dean stares at her hand, puzzled. "What'd you do?"

"It's not my blood, it's Sam's. He's hurt."

Then more hands are on him. Not Charlie's warm gentle little hands, but big rough hands that poke and prod and turn him over and hit that spot on his back where the spike comes out, Christ, and everything turns black.

….

When he can see again, he's halfway down the bunker stairs, good arm slung over Dean's shoulder. He can't see any more nails in Dean's hand, but you never know. Dean can be tricky. "No more nails," Sam begs. "Please, no more nails."

"Sure," Dean says, but it doesn't sound sincere. He half-carries Sam down the rest of the steps and into the kitchen, where he eases him down to straddle a straight-back chair, facing backward. Sam flops over the back of the chair but Dean grips his chin and lifts his head, putting a hand to his forehead.

"Dammit, Sam. You're burning up. What the hell happened to you?"

"Not burning. I'm cold."

"Yeah, okay. Listen. We're gonna get your jacket off. There's a lot of blood soaked through it. This might hurt." There are more hands, pulling on everything, and more muttering about how hot he is. But that's a lie. He's fucking freezing. His teeth are chattering and everything's muffled and blurry, and he doesn't know why. Maybe Jacob Styne did it. "Was it the ghost?" he asks. "Did he do this to me?"

"No ghosts here, Sam." Dean's voice sounds far away.

"He must still be in the car. You gotta get him out, Dean. Don't let him stay in the car."

The pulling stops, and Dean's face emerges from the blur right in front of him. "Sam," he says. "Listen to me. You've got a fever and you've lost some blood and I don't know what you're seeing, but it's not there, okay? There's no ghost in the car. You're fine." He's fine. Dean wouldn't lie to him.

He lies to you all the time, Jacob Styne whispers into his ear. And why wouldn't he? You lie to him. You're lying to him right now.

Styne is interrupted by muted cursing from Dean. "I'm gonna need you to cut his shirt off." There's a scraping noise that reverberates against Sam’s aching skull, and then Dean is in another chair, facing him. "Sam, you hearing me?" He clamps his hands on Sam's upper arms. "Charlie's going to cut off your shirt now. It's all stuck to you with dried blood. It's probably gonna hurt some. Just hold still, okay?"

Sam tries, he does, he tries not to flinch when he feels the cold steel of the knife against his back, but as Charlie works the blade further, it feels like the skin is being peeled off. Styne peers over his shoulder for a closer look. Wonder what she wants all that skin for? Maybe they're making another Book of the Damned.

Dean keeps one hand on Sam's arm and puts the other on the back of his head, pushing him down against the chair back. And maybe if they need his skin for another book, he should just give it to them. Yes, he'll do that. He'll give up his skin if it will save Dean, if a book grotesquely carved from his own body will somehow save Dean from the Mark of Cain.

Charlie's knife skitters over the spot where Jake Talley cut the first piece out of Sam's soul. He grasps the chair, white-knuckled, as the knife tears further up his back. "Shit," Charlie mutters, "this is bad. We should get him to a hospital."

Dean stands to look over Sam's shoulder, his hands still clamped too tightly onto Sam's arms. "Too close to home," he says. "If any more Stynes are looking for us, they might be watching hospitals. I don't want to lead them here. Anyway, Cas should be here by tomorrow at the latest. He'll fix him up right. You stitch him up enough to hold him together for now, and he'll be fine."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You can do this. You just stitched up your own gunshot wound, for fuck's sake. This has got to be easier than that." Dean settles back into his chair, hands gripping Sam's biceps.

Charlie's voice is shaky. "Dean, this is pretty big. I don't know if I can do it. You've got a lot more experience than I do. Why don't I hold him and you—"

"Goddammit!" Dean snaps. His grip tightens as Sam flinches again. Then he sighs deeply and his voice gets softer. "I'm sorry, Charlie. With the way he's acting right now, I don't think you can hold him still. And even if you could, I don't… fuck… I don't trust myself. I can't get my head straight. I'm afraid I'm gonna hurt him."

"Dean, you're not—"

"No, listen, I can't. It's the Mark. It still feels like it did when I was around the Book of the Damned, you know? Like the Mark is still reacting to it. It's not a good idea for me to be aiming pointy things at my brother right now. I need you to be the one to do this."

The book, God, the book is still here, because Sam lied, because Sam stole it and lied to Dean, and it's not even in the Kryptonite box any more, it's just in the bottom of Sam's duffel with nothing but layers of cotton between its skin-and-blood pages and the Mark. And it's why Dean is going to hurt him.

Sam tips forward, leaning his forehead on Dean's shoulder. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry I did this to you. I'm sorry.

He must have said it out loud, because Dean sighs again. "Stop it, Sam. It's not your fault, okay?" Sam's arm is freed, and then a bottle of whiskey is waved under his nose. The sharp whiff of alcohol makes his stomach churn and he turns his head away, gagging. "Your choice," mutters Dean, taking a long drink before offering the bottle to Charlie. "Pour some of this on him."

"You know, you've got a bottle of actual rubbing alcohol in your first aid kit," she points out. "I think I'll use that."

"Nope. That bottle's actually holy water. But you should probably use some of that too. Who the fuck knows what the Stynes were up to. If there's some kinda mojo in his wound, it would explain why he's running a goddamn nuclear fever." Dean grips him tighter again. "Hold still, man. It's gonna sting."

The holy water stings, but not as much as the whiskey does. Charlie apologizes as she sloshes it down his back. The burning just makes him colder. He shivers harder, the wooden chair rattling against the tile floor. "I'm going to start here on your shoulder, Sam," Charlie says. "Just hang in there, okay? It'll be over soon." Sam jerks at the first stab and Dean grips him harder, hands on his upper arms, holding him like a vise. He can easily picture the needle, a long strip of bone, curved like Lucifer's smirk, exactly like the needles he would carve from Sam's rib when he wanted to sew his eyes shut, bone needle pulling gut-thread through Sam's flesh.

You know what they're doing, Jacob Styne murmurs. They're making you an angel again. They're sewing a wing onto you, right now.

Oh, fuck, no, Dean wouldn't do that to him, wouldn't do it again (but he would; he would and he did and he is), and Sam jerks out of his hands, flails behind him with his good arm, trying to push Charlie away. "No, don't," he begs. "Please, Dean."

Hands grab at him and Dean's arms encircle him. "Sam," he says, his voice tight, "I don't know what's going on with you, I don't know what you think is happening, but we're not gonna hurt you." He's forced back down into the chair and Dean wraps completely around him, not a hug but a binding. His ear is smashed against Dean's chest, his arms are pinned to his sides, and his ribcage is crushed against the chair back. Charlie stabs at him, again and again, and he waits to feel the weight of the prosthetic wing hanging from his shoulder.

"Please, don't," he moans into Dean's shirt. "I don't want to be an angel. Please."

Dean's voice rumbles through him. "Jesus, Sam, there is no fucking angel!" His grip tightens furiously and Sam cries out in pain. "Charlie's just stitching you up where the Stynes sliced you open," he says, softer. "That's all. I swear to God. You've got a fever and you're confused or hallucinating or something. I promise, you're gonna be fine." But Sam can see the Mark burning hot on Dean's forearm, glowing through the fabric of his shirt. The Mark is in control, and the Mark is so, so angry at him. It knows he kept the Book of the Damned. It knows.

"I'm sorry," Sam says. To the Mark, to Dean, to anyone who will listen. "I'm sorry. I'll burn it. I'm sorry." He's got to get to the book; he's got to burn it. He tries to twist out of Dean's grasp again, but his brother grips him tighter. Sam's ribs are crushed against the back of the chair and he can't breathe and Dean pulls him in harder, tighter, and then his hand pushes against the point of agony on Sam's back and everything goes black again.

~~~

When Sam wakes, he's on his stomach, lying on something soft. Opening his eyes, he sees he's in his own room, on his bed. Then he feels the familiar echo of angelic grace and his heart clenches with terror. Oh God, Dean what have you done? But after a second, he hears a gravelly voice.

"Sam? Are you still in pain?"

Cas's trenchcoat comes into view; he's standing next to the bed. It was just Cas. No other angels. It's fine. He's fine. "You should be able to turn over now," Cas says. "I've healed your wounds." Sam tentatively rolls onto his back. The excruciating pain has left nothing but a faint afterimage. "The Stynes must have used a poisoned weapon, or some type of magic. You were feverish. And quite delusional, according to Dean."

"Quite delusional? Is that what he said?"

"Actually, I believe the exact term he used was batshit crazy. But I knew what he meant. Are you better now?"

Sam pulls himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and goes for a carefully tentative stretch. A pile of bloody dressings lies discarded at his feet. He shivers, but that's because he's shirtless. Not because of ghosts. (There are no ghosts in the bunker, he reminds himself. That was the batshit crazy talking.)

"Yeah, I think I'm okay now. Thank you, Cas. How long was I out?"

"A few hours. I regret that I wasn't here sooner. The stitches, the fever, the… the crazy. I could have spared you all of that if I'd been here."

(The certainty that his brother was doing the worst possible thing to him, against his wishes, again.)

Sam looks at the angel in front of him and suddenly wants to weep for Jimmy Novak. But this is Cas. Cas is a friend. "No, it’s okay," he says, reassuringly. "It's not your fault."

Cas nods unenthusiastically. "Dean told me you weren't able to use the Book of the Damned to remove the Mark."

"No. But that's okay. We'll figure something else out." With a mixture of guilt and hope, Sam thinks of the book nestled in the bottom of his duffle. (But what if — oh God — what if he didn't actually keep the book? What if that was part of the crazy too?) He swallows down his fear and looks up at Cas. "How is he?"

"Dean is in the library. Getting, quote, shitfaced with your friend Charlie."

"Ah, so you've met Charlie."

"Yes. She is… very excitable. She'll be glad to know you're awake. She was concerned about you."

"Would you mind letting them know I'm okay?" Sam forces himself to smile. "I'm coming out; I just need a minute."

"Take as long as you need," Cas says, backing politely out of the room.

Sam waits until he can no longer hear the angel's footsteps before scanning the room for his duffel. It's there, thank God, in front of his closet door. It only takes a few seconds to confirm the book is still tucked under his dirty clothes. Charlie or Cas must have brought the bag to his room. Dean would have known, as soon as he picked it up, would have felt the malevolent presence of the Book of the Damned hiding inside. He sighs in relief and makes a new hiding place for it in his closet. Then he pulls out a clean shirt and stands clutching it in trembling hands, because he can't put it on yet. Because he has to check.

(It's stupid. He doesn't have to check. That's the craziest part. He knows you don't become an angel by having wings sewn onto your body. He knows this better than anyone. That was part of the crazy. And Sam Winchester, of all people, should recognize crazy by now. Should know that his brother wouldn't force him into housing an angel.)

(Again.)

(Just do it, goddammit.)

He takes a deep breath and crosses the small room to look in the mirror, twisting and straining to see his entire back. There's nothing there, of course. Just smooth, unmarked, grace-healed skin. No flayed patch. No wings grotesquely stitched onto his shoulders.

(He knows that if Dean really had secretly stuck an angel in him, he wouldn't be able to see it at all.)

Sam pulls on the clean shirt and his I'm fine face and quietly closes the door of his room behind him, leaving the crazy behind. He's got work to do.

#my fic #hurt!sam #10.18 #spn

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cherryrogers · 4 years

Text

Falling For You.

— Chapter 11

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

(Modern High School AU)

Warnings: Swearing, some angst, finally some real Fluff between these two!!

Synopsis: Unlike most teenagers, you had your life completely mapped out. You’d graduate high school, go off to the university of your dreams, and live the life that your parents always wanted you to. That was always the plan.

Falling for Bucky Barnes, however, was never part of that plan.

Being ‘just friends’ isn’t enough. Becoming anything more is too much. But suppressed feelings can’t stay ignored forever, and you were about to learn that a lot sooner than you thought.

A/N: ok so i haven’t been writing as much recently so this has took me so frickin long to finish and i’m sorry!! i think this fic is gonna finish at around 15 chapters?? i’m not so sure yet but there’s still some story to happen after they finally mf kissed so we’ll be exploring that as we go! anyways, please enjoy :)

Series Masterlist

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

The boy was sat on the wooden chair next to you, chin resting in his palm against the table in your dining room. An array of papers spread in front of him, dozens of questions and chemical equations scattered across the sheets, yet his dazed blue eyes were looking at anything but them.

School soon came back around after Val’s party on New Year’s Eve, which was unfortunate for you and Bucky, who had been joint at the hip since that night. Yes, you’d agreed to take things slow, but you’d finally gotten to a point where you didn’t feel the need to pull away from each other, where you could spend all of the time that you wanted together because your feelings were now out in the open, and you didn’t want to end the blissful honeymoon phase any time soon.

The two of you had yet to tell your friends about everything that’d happened; you’d barely even picked up your phone since spending so much time with Bucky. It was comforting in a way, nobody but you and him knowing about it, not feeling any pressure to answer the million questions you knew that Wanda would have, and Bucky not having to deal with all the teasing he’d get from his group of friends. They’d probably figure it out in time, considering you weren’t exactly hiding it at school. Until then, however, you were going to savour the last bit of peace you and Bucky had before the questions rolled in.

The new year had began, the cool January weather making it difficult to leave your home in the morning to get to school, and the dreaded last few weeks before the application deadline for universities had came around too. That was a topic you kept pushing out of your head, though you knew you’d have to face it soon. At the moment, you were focusing on helping Bucky with chemistry, after the teacher had informed him of his low performance in the subject over the first half of the year. Though the boy frankly couldn’t care less, the teacher had told him that if he didn’t pass the next test in class, he’d have compulsory tutoring after school for three days a week, which he definitely did not want to endure. So, who better to ask for help in passing the class than you?

“It’s too hard.” Bucky groaned, slumping in his seat. “This is pointless; I’m never gonna understand this shit.”

You rolled your eyes at his pessimism, nudging him with your foot under the table. “You’re not even looking at the sheet, or listening to me, for that matter. C’mon, Buck, I’m trying here. Can you at least try the first question?”

The boy felt a little bad, you were trying, and he was letting himself daydream like an idiot.

It didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with it, though.

“You know,” He started, the smirk pulling at his lips indicating for you to prepare for whatever sarcastic comment was about to leave his mouth. “I think I’d feel a lot more motivated if we made out a little first. Might get my brain workin’ some more.”

The boy had the nerve to lean in, expecting you to follow along with his attempt to try and distract you from tutoring him. Poor kid, he was going to have to try a bit harder than that.

You let his lips get within a couple of inches of yours before you placed your hand flat on his chest, his disappointed pout making your chuckle against his lips. “You’re not smooth, James. Sit your ass back down.”

Plonking back in his seat, Bucky let out a dramatic sigh. “Tease.” He mumbled under his breath, reluctantly picking back up his pen.

“Idiot.” You mimicked his tone.

Not that you’d admit it aloud, but making out with Bucky was something you were definitely missing out on while denying your feelings for him. You’d never kissed someone so passionately before, and it wasn’t long after your first kiss before the two of you had to fully restrain yourselves from taking the making out any further, not wanting to rush into things just yet.

He was a good kisser, you had to hand it to him. Obviously he’d had more experience than you in the past, which made you a little self conscious initially, but Bucky somehow managed to make you feel anything but insecure when he kissed you.

“How am I meant to know what the structure of a diamond is?” His voice brought you from your thoughts.

“You use the textbook that’s an inch away from your hand on the table, that’s how.”

“Sweets, can’t you just tell me the answer?”

“That literally defeats the whole point of me trying to tutor you.”

“Like I said! It’s all pointless.”

“Bucky Barnes, you’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever known.” You stated, narrowing your eyes as the boy laughed.

He took your hands in his, pulling you closer to him. “I think what you meant to say was ‘Bucky Barnes, you’re the hottest person I’ve ever known... and I really wanna make out with you right now’.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “You don’t give up easily, do you, Buck?”

“Never gave up on you, did I?”

God, he was so annoyingly perfect. With his stupid sarcastic comments and his stubbornness that drove you up the wall, with his fluffy hair and his ‘carved by Lord himself’ bone structure, with his soft lips that you really wanted to kiss. Fuck.

Maybe he gave up way too easily on the chemistry work, but that was beside the point. He never gave up on the things he cared about, and you were lucky enough to be one of them.

“Fucking hell,” You murmured, making Bucky smirk. “Just... just kiss me, Bucky.”

The boy didn’t have to think twice before putting his lips on yours, the euphoric sensation from being so close to him one that you’d never get tired of.

It was safe to say that those chemistry questions weren’t completed that day, but it didn’t matter in that moment. You were savouring every second that you spent with Bucky; you both owed the time to yourselves and each other after hiding your feelings for over a year.

Things with Bucky really seemed to be looking up, and you couldn’t imagine that anything could get in the way of the two of you, not after everything you’d been through to get to where you were now.

Unfortunately, things weren’t going to be such smooth-sailing for much longer.

* * *

The revving outside of your front door caused you to audibly groan. That damn fucking bike.

You didn’t even have to open the door to know that Bucky was sitting outside on his motorcycle, waiting for you to come outside and plant a kiss on his lips, not having a single care in the world.

Apparently, he didn’t seem to care that you hated the bike. Hated.

The last time you’d ridden on the back of his bike was when you visited him at the auto-shop after your mild dispute, and he drove you home where he ended up having dinner and watching Grease with you.

Oh, how times had changed.

Bucky would never put you in a dangerous situation, you knew that, but riding on the back of his bike was basically asking to leave God’s earth early in your eyes.

With a sigh, you tugged on a pair of ankle boots and hiked your bag on your shoulders, before making your way out of the front door.

Bucky had hopped off the bike as you walked towards him, the evident reluctance in your expression causing him to scoff. The idiot knew you hated the bike, but that didn’t stop him from trying to help you get over your irrational fear. Well, he thought it was irrational, you thought it was perfectly normal.

“You’re hurting her feelings, you know.” The boy stroked the seat of the bike, a mocking frown on his lips. “Lookin’ at her like that every time I pull up on her.”

So the bike was a her now. “If you’re so concerned about her feelings, then why don’t you date her instead?”

Bucky smirked, stepping towards you. “Do I sense some jealously, sweets?”

“No.” You answered firmly. “I’m sensing something, though. I think it’s... someone being an asshole.”

“Jesus Christ.” He let out a breathy laugh, slinging an arm over your shoulder and directing you over to the bike. He grabbed his helmet off the handles and passed it to you. “As long as you’re wearing this, you’ll be fine.”

You raised your brow, eyeing the bike for a second helmet, which didn’t seem to be around. “Okay, well where’s your helmet?”

Before he could even finish the sheepish shrug he was giving you, your hands began gripping your helmet in frustration. This guy still hadn’t bought another stupid helmet for when he made you ride his bike with him. “James Buchanan, if we crash and you die-”

“Sweets.” He warned, a stupid smile on his lips. What did he find funny about this? You’re were shitting yourself thinking about getting on his bike and he was smiling. Reassuringly, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Stop freaking yourself out and get on the bike, please.”

“Promise you’ll get a helmet for next time?” You uttered, beginning to slide the helmet on your head. He was lucky that he was undeniably cute, otherwise he’d be having a lonesome ride to school that morning.

“Cross my heart.” Bucky grinned in satisfaction, fastening the strap under your chin and then holding your hand to help you swing your leg over the bike.

Once Bucky had sat in front of you and started up the engine again, you circled your arms tightly around his waist and pressed your cheek against the cool leather of his jacket.

Again, Bucky Barnes was the most frustrating person you’d ever known, but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

* * *

“Miss (Y/L/N), can I speak with you for a moment?”

A pit began to build in your stomach as you approached your teacher’s desk, eventually being the only student left in the room after everyone had left to head home.

Mr Pym looked up from his computer as you stood awkwardly a few feet away from him, knowing what he wanted to talk to you about.

College.

The word alone caused goosebumps to rise on your arms and your smile to drop. Not because you didn’t want to go to college, of course you did, that’s why you’d worked so hard in high school. However, which college you were going to was a whole other story.

Your application was ready to be sent off, but you hadn’t had the courage to actually send it anywhere before the new year.

“The deadline for submitting college applications is in three days, and it’s come to my attention that you haven’t submitted yours yet.” The chemistry teacher stated, a furrow in his brows. “You are planning on applying, aren’t you? You have a lot of potential, (Y/N), I wouldn’t want to see it go to waste.”

“Yes, of course I am.” You nodded nervously. “I’m just not sure where to apply, that’s all.”

You weren’t sure how your parents would react if you didn’t apply to Harvard, that was the issue.

Sure, you could submit an application to Harvard to make them happy, because you didn’t have to go if you didn’t want to. But if they found out you sent out applications to places other than their previous Harvard University? Well, that just wouldn’t go down smoothly.

Your father wasn’t even the issue here - he didn’t mind which college you went to. Your mother on the other hand... you’d already heard her opinion on the situation enough times.

Mr Pym continued speaking, suggesting a few places he thought would fit you for your subject choice, and while you appreciated his concern, your mind couldn’t help but drift off to your mother. You had to talk to her, at least once more about college. It had to be made firm to her that you weren’t applying to Harvard, and that you wouldn’t be working for their company after you graduated. She couldn’t have that control over you anymore, and you had to at least try and make her understand that. She was still your mom, you still cared about her, even if she didn’t exactly reciprocate the feeling.

You just wanted her to be proud of you, but at this rate, it didn’t seem like that was ever going to happen.

The teacher eventually let you go, and with a weak smile, you thanked him and proceeded to leave the room, and then proceeded to almost crap yourself as you walked directly into Bucky standing outside of the classroom.

A low chuckle left his lips as you placed a hand over your chest; he definitely enjoyed scaring the shit out of you like that.

“You’re an ass.” You murmured, but still leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“I was just waitin’ for you.” He rolled his eyes, but the amused expression faded from his face as the smile you gave him didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Is everything okay? What’d Mr Pym want?”

“He was asking about my plans for college.” Your gaze dropped to the ground. “I haven’t submitted an application anywhere yet.”

“You’ve still got time though, right? Are you still thinking about going to Colombia?”

You had mentioned to Bucky about applying to Colombia. It was an Ivy League school in Manhattan, only a short distance away from your home in Brooklyn. Really, there was no reason for you not to apply to go there. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Bucky was hoping you’d apply to Colombia too, because if you moving to a new state for college could possible put a strain on your relationship, then that was the last thing he wanted.

“Yeah, it’s the only place I can really see myself at. I, uh... I think I need to call my mom today though. Tell her once and for all that I’m not going to Harvard.”

Unease flashed in the boy’s eyes. He’d only ever had one experience of your mother’s wrath, but it was something that even he was afraid to witness again. “D’you want me to be there with you? Just for moral support?”

You shook your head, heart warming at his concern as you eventually approached the school gates. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine, Buck. You should get home, and for the love of God, please do some studying.”

The grin creeping back onto Bucky’s lips eased your anxiety slightly. “I’m not going to college, I don’t need to worry about studying.”

“Bucky,” You sighed, shrugging his arm off your shoulder with an eye roll. “That’s a terrible mindset to have.”

Bucky had never planned on continuing his education, the thought of doing so alone made his brain ache. It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart, because you knew that he was, he frankly just didn’t care. Working full-time at the auto-shop, living in a small place in Brooklyn, and being around the people he loved was all that he wanted for the future.

And now that he had you, his future was looking pretty promising.

“Just let me know how it goes with your mom, alright? Then I might consider whipping up some flash cards.”

“But I literally bought you your own set of highlighters to try and motivate you! And coloured pens, and-”

“Alright, alright.” Bucky let out a laugh. He’d found it cute when he entered your dining room one day to see three new packets of pens sprawled out across the table, an excited smile on your lips as you watched him use them for the first time when making notes on organic chemistry. He had to admit, the colours did make studying more bearable. “I’ll make the prettiest flash cards you’ll have ever seen, I promise.”

“They won’t be as pretty as mine, but I’ll appreciate the effort.” You smirked as the boy scoffed before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead, a gesture you’d gotten so used to from him over the past couple of weeks that you weren’t sure how you went for over a year without it.

With a reluctant goodbye, you watched Bucky head towards the parking lot over to his bike, and you hesitantly picked your phone out of your pocket. There was no point in wasting time worrying about the inevitable; if you were going to call your mother, you had to do it as soon as possible.

Your thumb hovered over the ‘call’ button next to your mother’s contact, and with a deep exhale, you hit it and pressed the phone to your ear, beginning what might’ve been the worst walk home of your life.

“(Y/N)?” Your mom’s voice sounded through the speak monotonously.

“Mom.” You swallowed. “Look, I know we haven’t spoken since the last time we saw each other-”

“Since you accused me of not caring for my own daughter.” She interrupted bitterly. You had to admit, you were harsh during your argument back before Christmas, but could she really blame you for feeling that way? “I’m surprised you even called again, I thought you wanted nothing to do with us.”

“Well, I thought the same of you. Were you planning on calling me?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” The woman stated. However, she didn’t exactly sound like she wanted to make amends, so you weren’t quite sure what she actually wanted to talk about. “You wouldn’t talk about it then, but we are discussing it now whether you want to or not. College, (Y/N).”

“That’s... what I was calling to talk about.” Well, here goes nothing... “I want to go to Colombia, Mom, and I know you’re not going to like that but... you don’t have to. You don’t have to pay my tuition, I’ll get a loan and I can keep living at home and you don’t have to have anything to do with me if you don’t want to. I’m not calling to ask for your permission to not go to Harvard; I’m just asking for you to be happy for me, or to at least accept that this is my decision to make.”

There was a few moments of silence, before you heard a deep sigh through the speaker. “We’re selling the house, (Y/N).”

“...what?”

“The plan has always been for you to go to Harvard, and when you did, your father and I were going to sell the house in Brooklyn and move across the country to expand the company’s clientele.”

You stopped in your tracks, clutching your phone so tightly in frustration that your knuckles ached. “Y-you can’t just sell our home, Mom.”

“We already have a buyer, they’re ready to take the house as soon as possible. There’s no point in keeping it if it won’t be if use-”

“But it will be, I can still live there if I go to Colombia-”

“You’re not going to Colombia.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Every time you talked to your mother about college, you swore you lost a thousand brain cells. Well, if she was selling the house, then that was fine. You could live on campus, and then your parents wouldn’t have to worry about you at all, which is clearly what they wanted.

“If I want to apply there, then you can’t stop me.” You bit down on your cheek, awaiting her response.

“And then what are your plans? To graduate with a business degree? To work for the company?”

“That’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want?”

You bit down even harder, your voice coming out in a timid manner. “...I don’t know.”

“Exactly.” You could tell by your mother’s voice that she was speaking through gritted teeth. “(Y/N), I know what’s best for you. I wouldn’t be so adamant on you going to Harvard and working for us if I didn’t think it was the best plan for you. You have a secure place working at one of the most lucrative companies in the country, do you know how many people would kill to be in your position?

Listen, if you choose to go to Colombia, then we’re... we are done with you, because we have not worked this hard to give you the promise of a successful life for you to selfishly cut us off and do your own thing. You’re right, this is your decision to make, and you’re choosing between making your parents proud of you, or being a disappointment.”

Before you could even begin to come up with a response, the line went dead.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt your eyes gloss over, blurring your vision of passing by cars and pedestrians walking towards and away from you.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket, wrapping your hands around the straps of your bag tightly as you continued your walk home, your pace considerably faster than before. Head lowered, eyes blinking away some of the tears and prompting the release of others down your cheeks, hands never moving from your bag straps to wipe them away as you continued pace quickly to the home you wouldn’t have for much longer.

Yes, your parents were selfish. From a young age, you’d known that your education and future contribution to their company was their priority over anything else concerning you. But you thought when it came down to it, when the time came that you had the power to choose the future that you wanted, that perhaps they’d support you, their daughter. Instead, they were selling your childhood home for money to put towards a new house in God knows where, forcing you to have to find a new place to live, ideally the student accomadation of the university you desperately didn’t want to go to.

It hurt - you couldn’t lie to yourself and say that it didn’t. You thought the constant suppression of your emotions had made you numb to the feeling, but hearing your own mother call you a disappointment for only wanting to choose a path that made you happy... it really fucking stung.

As soon as the front door clicked shut, you let out a heavy sob, throwing your school bag to the ground next to the bottom of the staircase.

You hated that it hurt so much. All your life, you just wanted your parents to be proud of you. To get good grades, go to the university of your dreams, and allow them to feel accomplished knowing that their daughter was successful in the life that she wanted.

Before Bucky, before Wanda, before high school completely, you only really had your parents. Making friends in middle school was hard when you were a certified nerd in the eyes of your peers. While those of your age put you down for being smart, your parents praised you for it, and that was more important to you than the occasional crap you got from your classmates.

If going to Harvard meant you could feel that again, the praise, if it meant your could see the pride in your mom and dad’s eyes at your graduation ceremony, if it meant that you had your family back, would it really be so terrible to go there?

But Brooklyn was your home. Bucky was your home. After everything you’d been through to finally be able to feel freely for each other, you couldn’t just jet off to Massachusetts and risk it all.

Another choked out sob slipped from your lips as you climbed the stars, and hot tears dampened the fresh sheets as you fell on top of your bed with a strained sigh.

Everything was supposed to be better after you opened up to Bucky, everything was supposed to start working.

It seemed that luck just wasn’t on your side when you needed it most.

* * *

Taglist:

@americas-ass-assins @stevieboyharrington @itz-kira @broco8 @bxrnsfeyson @lovvliies @peterparkerbabyyy

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky #high school au #bucky barnes reader insert

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ifridiot · 5 years

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1 3 12 19 for fanfic asks

1. favorite fic you wrote this year

oh god this is difficult. Hmm. I have a few, because... I have written over a hundred short stories this year, and I honestly can’t pic just one. Sticking with what I posted on AO3, I am quite pleased with the entirety of the Let Them Eat Flesh series, especially The Widening Gyre and Wretched and Joyful. Delicate was such a monumental effort for me, and I think i could have done better at capturing the emotions it was meant to evoke, but it’s still quite solid and I’m pleased with it. Things Change, My Dear is quite good, if only because of the discussions we’ve had about the AU and the work you’ve done from the foundations I knocked together. I am maliciously fond of Never, if only because of the disgust I’ve received in response to the idea of Frank Castle having, of all things, a gun kink. Of course, Memento Mori, Puncture Repair, and Come Home really laid the ground work for how I wanted to present my takes on these characters.

For fandoms that are not The Punisher, I’m particularly pleased with Protector, because I quite enjoy Nate and Wade calling each other out on their bullshit. Science is Cool was just a lot of fun to write and I absolutely adore seeing people’s reactions to it -- a lot like Memento Mori, honestly. Owned and Jarmed in the Target Jathroom were both supremely enjoyable to write. I loved doing the stupid ass puns in Jarmed, and Owned is of course about War, so what’s not to love? A Green Eyed Demon is... well, it’s just a lot of things I like, okay. Jealousy, pining, Nate knowing Wade way too well... it’s fun and sexy. And of course, the first published fic of the year deserves a mention, because I got to write an old, old love of mine, so Drunken Lament, there you are.

GONNA HAVE TO DO THE REST UNDER A CUT, YOU BASTARD.

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

Jesus christ. Okay. I’m going to try to be reasonable here. One or two lines from only the Best Fics. Oh who the fuck am I kidding...

“You smell,” Kakuzu says by way of greeting, “like expensive sake. And self-pity.”

(from Drunken Lament)

"Fuckin' cunt," he snarls, "you stupid fucking," blood dripping down his face, all over the carpet, all over Wade, and Wade musters half the strength in his body and throws Nate off over his head. His body makes a satisfying thud on the dingy carpet, and Wade launches at him, pins him again, always on the stomach, and this time he bites Nate's neck, leaves uneven pinpoint marks where his teeth have been, not drawing blood though he could, he could so very easily. Nate groans.

(from Glittering)

It becomes easier to avoid him. Only go over when he needs something, and even then, scurry away at the first sexy sign emanating from the apartment, stop going on missions together unless Nate comes asking him to help out. A man can only jack it so many times behind a dumpster before he starts having unhealthy associations with the smell of hot trash. He can think about getting fucked six ways to Sunday by everyone’s favorite scowling soldier in his own room, thankyouverymuch, and it’s nicer to jerk off where there are clean tissues on hand.

(from A Green Eyed Demon)

“Would it be easier to come if I were fucking you like you don’t matter?”

(from A Green Eyed Demon, also fuck that is a Horny Line)

“The jurtains,” he whispers, and Nate gives him a look, which just seems to make him even more pleased with the find. “We need them. Those are what we want. Good eye, honeypie.”

“What the fuck,” Nate says slowly, not sure he wants to know, “are jurtains?”

“Curtains but denim,” Wade replies with utter earnest sincerity. “It’s – don’t give me that face – it’s basic English.”

(from Jarmed in the Target Jathroom)

Okay so I would basically be copying the whole back half of Jarmed, but... Pretty much all the dialog while Nate’s jerking Wade off is just Good. All the denim puns.

Once, when he’d been another man, a weaker man, he’d loved Wade.

In his own way, he still did; loved him and wanted him safe and kept and all his own. But it was easy to hate him, too; his arrogance and selfishness and constant cries for attention.

But Wade belonged to him now. And in a way, owning him was better than loving him alone had ever been.

(from Owned. I really love how crisply this highlights the difference between War and Nathan.)

When he finally thrusts into the tight, pliant heat of Wade’s body, he focuses on his TK, stripping the scarred flesh from muscle from bone down Wade’s back. Wade moans, smothering the wet tearing sound of the mutilation, his tone dripping with lust and excitement, audibly delighted over the flesh flaying from his body. As it comes free, the blood and tissue is held by telekinetic force all around them, extending out from Wade in a gory fan.

(from Owned. This is just disgusting and I live for it)

“Fuck you,” Wade says pleasantly, and then groans beautifully at the sensation of the raw muscle and nerve of his back being torn open again. “This? This is all for me. If you were really punishing me, I wouldn’t get dick, pun very much intended; you’d leave me all alone for a few more fuckless days, and if you ever thought for a goddamn second about me anymore, maybe you’d figure out why I keep trying to run away so often.”

(from Owned)

It’s all Wade’s fault, he thinks furiously as he digs his fingers in hard enough to feel something crunch, blood welling under his fingers, clutching hard to the skin under his fingers and squeezing until the frustration leaks out between his knuckles. It’s Wade’s fault. Because Wade’s skin feels like it’s burning, always, imprinting on War’s back and hips and thighs as he futilely tries to cling. Because Wade doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean, doesn’t try to placate him, doesn’t make him feel like any more of a man even when he’s bucking under him and making strangled, incoherent noises like he’s drowning, they’re both drowning, and he can’t get enough air or enough of War. Because when it’s done, and his heart is still stuffed up somewhere in his throat, War knows Wade will beg him to stay for cuddles he hasn’t got time to indulge in, like they’re just two of a kind, two normal people living normal lives together.

(From Owned. Love that War still has so much complex emotion)

Bearded Nate isn’t just taller, his version of the TO is cleaner, somehow, sinking in a smooth line under his flesh, swallowing his arm and dancing down his side, his hip, his leg. Short!Nate is more organic looking, very nice with the scars and the proud flesh and the jagged lines of metal bursting from under his skin. He’s got a thick vein of TO running up his dick, and Wade’s mouth waters at the sight, his brain going hazy at the thought of getting that inside him. As soon as possible, yes please.

(from Science is Cool)

Laughter bubbles up out of him like the kind of vomit you get after drinking too much soda too quickly, frothy and jagged.

(from Science is Cool. Such a Wade line

“Is curiosity really going to kill the Cable?” He asks, closing his eyes again. He’s very tired uddenly. He liked not remembering. He wants to get back to that. “Bodyslide outta here. Your Wade is in another castle. This is not the Wade you’re looking for. Good fuck though, thanks for that.”

“Wade.”

“War is coming. That’s what you go by here. So get the fuck out. Please.”

(from Science is Cool. I know this is a spoiler for the whole fic, but god i love this line)

The more they start to work together, once things get rolling, the harder it is to find his disgust for this man, this man who ruined lives trying to do the right thing. The sickest part, to Frank at least, is that one day he’s thinking about that, about how David ruined so much just trying to do the right thing, and realizes he’s proud of David. David did what a lot of people would have refused to do, David took initiative, David tried his damnedest to do right. And it had destroyed everything, there had been no justice, no grand revelation of corruption.

(from Come Home)

He watches Frank like he knows the kind of pain he’s in and wants to spare him and when he realizes that, he responds the same way he always had when he’d caught Maria with that look on her face. He forces himself to act more put together, forces himself to get over the bullshit. Because Maria hadn’t deserved the concern he’d tormented her with, and maybe David didn’t either.

(from Come Home)

They’re drinking one night when David leans over and kisses him. Frank makes a point to never have more than a couple fingers of anything harder than beer, but David gets white girl wasted when he’s upset.

(from Come Home. The phrase ‘white girl wasted’ makes this)

It’s some time later that Sarah kisses him. Between the two of them, the Liebermans are going to give him some kind of fucking complex.

(from Come Home. GOD, POOR FRANK LMAO)

I can’t take it if you go, David is saying, though he’s beyond words. I will die, if you die.

He wants to tell him how wrong he is. He knows from experience. It might feel like you’re dead for a while, and you might wish you were dead for even longer, but the loss wouldn’t kill you. That was the cruelest part of it.

(from, you guessed it, Come Home. Im sorry)

Frank watches David disappear into his house and drives away before anyone else can come out and try convincing him to stay. It’s a bittersweet parting – David deserves to go home to his family. Frank’s not sure what he deserves, but he’s starting to think maybe this unending loneliness isn’t it.

(from Come Home. The good news is, that’s the end of the fic.)

(the bad news is, now it’s time for Puncture Repair)

Sarah missed Pete, maybe. Missed someone who’d snuck in, like a thief, to get close to her, to have something to hold over her husband. Who had offered comfort in a hard time. Somehow she’s missing the part where Frank could have gotten her husband killed for real. She’s missing the part where Frank’s blood brother had abducted and could have murdered her and her son. She’s missing the part where Pete was an act (until he wasn’t) and hadn’t ever been meant to mean anything to her.

If he’s honest with himself – and he’s trying to be that, more often now – he’s terrified of seeing her again, of seeing her realize how bad an idea it is for him to be around them. Because Sarah is smart, Sarah is brave and determined and wants to keep her family safe. She’s not like David, too close to see the danger.

(from Puncture Repair. Love Frank being terrified of Sarah hating him, acknowledging that she has cause to.)

And maybe that’s the right thing to do. Maybe hurting David now will help the dumbass get over this. Because Frank loves him, and he knows what his love does to people. He sees it every time he tries to sleep. He can’t stand the idea of seeing it happen again, here, in waking.

But when has he ever done the right thing where David is concerned? David had given so much to Frank; his trust, his affection, his fucking blood, pumping through Frank’s veins. Frank takes and takes because he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s greedy for what David offers, for the chance to spend some time being alive after so long of being dead.

(from Puncture Repair)

When David’s hand comes to rest, gently, on his arm, his whole body tenses up, reflex curling his fists as he snaps his head toward David, face an angry mask, warning. David doesn’t even flinch. He looks concerned, though. Not afraid – David’s not afraid of Frank because while David might be a certifiable genius, he’s still an idiot. Frank could kill him in fifteen ways without breaking a sweat, and David knows that.

His hand strokes over Frank’s arm, and Frank holds his breath. Lets it out. Breathes again.

He’s working on a lot of things. Sometimes, it even seems like he’s getting better.

(from Puncture Repair)

“It’s called a spare room, Frank,” David says, patiently and patronizing at the same time, forcing the air in the room to lighten with his stab at humor. Frank’s lip twitches. “Some even call it a ‘guest room’. Guests are people you invite into your house to –”

“I know what guests are, asshole.”

“Well, I just wonder, you know, since you act like you were raised outdoors.”

(from Puncture Repair)

He needs to leave. He should leave. He stands and glares at David instead, feet planted, hands curled. It’s like being back in the power station basement, when he had no where else to be. Part of him knows he can go at anytime, the rest of him is stripping gears in a war over whether he needs to destroy this thing happening between him and David before it gets David hurt.

(from Puncture Repair)

“You ever get tired of punishing yourself, Frank?”

David’s voice is so gentle and so tired, laced with a bitterness that is so familiar. Frank is used to people giving up on arguing with him. He knows what it sounds like.

“No,” He says sharply, because it’s easier to deny than acknowledge that there’s even a chance that David’s got him figured out.

“Now who’s lying?”

(from Puncture Repair)

“You gonna hit me, Frank?” David asks. Frank just pushes him harder against the wall, face twisted in a snarl. David smiles very gently, as if, up close, he’s seeing something too. Frank really does flinch when fingers stroke over his cheek, David reaching up to gently frame his face in his hands. “See, I don’t think you are.”

“You don’t know me, David, you think you do, but you don’t know –”

David drags him in, and Frank lets himself be dragged. The kiss is hot and inevitable and somehow furious. David hums, the sound surprised but accepting when Frank bites at his mouth. His death grip on David’s shirt relaxes, until his hands are just resting over David’s chest, holding him to the wall as David steals his breath. His eyes are blue, so blue; Frank could never look in those eyes and imagine he was with anyone else. No one had eyes like that.

(from Puncture Repair. Damn, David)

David deserves better. Frank still doesn’t know what he deserves.

(from Puncture Repair. Frank, stop being a jackass please)

“You never shut up. You tellin’ me this is all I gotta do to make you quiet?”

A little whine, indignant, helpless, and Frank chuckles. “You still think about me suckin’ you off, David?” He asks quietly, moving his hand to pull, carefully, at the button of the fly. The zipper, when he jerks it down, sounds loud in the quiet room. “What was it again? Rough, behind a dumpster? Real romantic imagery, there.”

David’s dick is hot and hard in his hand when he shoves his way past the waistband of his underwear, gripping him firmly. Fingers clutch back to his shoulder, David’s hips twitching into his touch. He leans in, so he’s talking against David’s hair, feeling the softness of those curls as he mutters in David’s ear. “What’s it gonna be, huh? There’s no dumpster, but I know you got a vivid imagination.”

(from Puncture Repair. :Eyes Emoji: amirite?)

“Lemme do this for you, Frank,” David says softly, and he’s begging, quiet and restrained but it’s still begging, pleading to be allowed to touch him. “You’re always giving for me. You never take. It’s not right. Lemme do this.”

(from Puncture Repair. Love this throwback/contradiction to Frank’s obsessive thoughts over how he’s always taking from David.)

David stands at the top of the steps, looking out at the street like he’s waiting for something he knows isn’t coming. He’s slouched more than usual, one arm wrapped around himself, half a hug, and the other held at his side, something glinting in his hand. Frank wonders if he’s drunk, and watches him turn back towards the door and decides both yes, he is, and also that he’s not too drunk. And the ridiculous urge to get out of the van passes when David turns away and opens the door, tossing back the end of whatever’s in his glass as he crosses the threshold. Frank turns the engine back on and pulls away before it can come back.

(from Memento Mori)

If asked why, Frank would never in a million years be able to answer. It’s like asking a half drowned man, why breathe when he’s offered fresh air – because it’s a need. Because he had to. He had to step in closer, bringing his hands up to brush away those tears. And when David surges against him, kissing him? He had to wrap his arms around that shivering frame, had to kiss back.

(from Memento Mori)

Frank remembers Maria touching him much the same way when he’d first come home, and god, that hurts. Hurts his heart, but maybe not as bad as it should, and he doesn’t know if that means he’s healing or not. He doesn’t even know anymore if healing is a good thing – without the pain, he’s not sure he knows how to define himself anymore.

(from Memento Mori)

What they end up doing on the floor, which is hard and cold and not exactly the ideal place, is sloppy and needy and rough. It’s months of pent up frustration, it’s finally allowing something that both had wanted and neither had dared address. Its fast and dirty and satisfying, David’s breath on Frank’s neck rabbit-quick and sharp as they grind together, shirtless, their pants hitched low. Frank thinks he’s got the feel of the hardwood against his back memorized, the way it digs and drags with every thrust and roll of David’s hips.

(from Memento Mori)

He’s thinking about wants and how they creep up on you. He’s thinking about needs, what each person in the world needs to survive, and if affection – not love, not desire, but honest affection – is one of those needs. He’s thinking about his children, dead and buried, and sleeping upstairs.

(from Memento Mori)

By some miracle the kids actually obey, letting Frank loose and running off to go chatter at David a million questions – When had Frank gotten there, where had he come from, was he staying, how long was he staying –before the tears rise in Frank’s eyes. He’s shoving them away with the heels of his hands, trying to play it off as rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, but when Sarah envelops him in a hug of her own, he knows she knows. She holds his face against her shoulder, curled over him as he sits, and combs her fingers through his hair.

(from Memento Mori)

That’s how he ends up with a fully furnished house – not just a couch and a bed to sleep on, but a table to eat at, an easy chair David likes to lay across the arms of rather than recline in normally, a coffee table he puts his feet on and Sarah, when she catches him, slaps him on the shin to make him stop, despite it being his.

(from Memento Mori. I know this is a dumb bit, but like... domesticity...)

That’s all the justification Frank needs to bring her home, and then – well would you look at that. The house, it’s… well. With Molly to come back to and a bed to sleep in, a kitchen he feels obligated to keep stocked with food because why else should he be paying for the electricity to power the fridge, a living room he entertains David’s family in sometimes – all the sudden, it’s not just a house. It’s home.

He has a home.

He blames David for that. Blaming is easier than thanking.

(from Memento Mori)

Home is three blocks away, with his dog and his own bed, but sometimes home is here, too.

(from Memento Mori)

When he’s home, though, he’s known. He is Frank, just Frank, and he is loved. He loves in return, and god – god but it’s good. It’s about the living, it’s about the living.

(from Memento Mori)

He doesn’t say he loves them, but he shows it in everything he does. He’s working up to it, working up to externalizing the things he feels so deeply. This is his family, and he won’t let anything happen to them this time. He has a second chance and he will do it right this time.

(from Memento Mori, also WHY DID I DO THIS)

Something crashes in the kitchen and the laughter cuts off as everyone turns to look at Sarah. Frank meets her eyes as her skin darkens and breaks. He’s on his feet and she’s crumbling, blowing apart in the barest breeze. Leo screams, and Frank’s head snaps back to the table, away from the horror of Sarah turning to dust, to look at his little girl and see – “no, no, no” – her skin going dull, her outstretched hand crumbling to ash as she reaches for – “no, no, no” – David, who sits in stunned shock, looking at his own crumbling hands and then up at Frank, those piercing eyes pleading in a way they never had before, and he breathes the softest curse, almost a laugh, before his face is gone and Frank looks across the table and there’s Zach – “no, no, no, wait, no” with his hands pressed flat to the table, all eyes as he watches, helpless, alone in the way the solemn child often seems to be, and slowly falls apart.

(from Memento Mori)

When he opens his eyes, he’s alone. Some trick of the breeze stirs the ashy dust in the air, drawing it toward him so his dark clothes are filmed with a fine coating of it, so he’s breathing – he gags and covers his mouth and nose, struggling.

The dust – the dust which is his family – is so thick now, floating aimless in the air, directionless as the breeze from the open door settles again. There are piles around the table and on the kitchen floor, piles of dust that he can identify by location but by no other factor as his – “oh god.”

(from Memento Mori)

When he feels a cold, wet something press against his ankle he jumps, startled, whipping around to find the threat, something – but it’s only Molly. Molly, looking scared, shivering, but whole. Molly is still here and he clings to that as he goes through the process of finding her leash, putting it on her. They need to leave the house. He can’t be here, he can’t keep – the dust is in the air, the dust is them and he can’t hold his breath so he’s breathing –

(from Memento Mori)

Memento mori, he hears David explain to him, deep in his head, in his memory. You will die.

Except it’s never him that dies.

For the living, it was for the living, the living.

Someone has done something monumentally stupid, and whether it was intentional or not, they’ve hurt his family. They’ve taken from him.

For the living, memento mori

He pulls out his phone, the very same one David left for him so long ago now, and he calls Curt. There is no answer, and his fingers leave dusty prints where the brush the numbers. He chokes out something approximate to ‘Call me ASAP please’, but he doesn’t think Curtis is in a way to make phone calls.

(from Memento Mori)

Well, Frank knows monsters, and he knows they can die.

Memento mori.

He knows he can put them down.

You will die.

He can only hope.

(from Memento Mori)

“Here in public?” David intones, thoughtful and pleasant, miles away from his old habitual nervousness. “Think about all the attention we’d get. You wanna get Pete in the papers? Maybe someone with a camera phone and a steady hand get you up on YouTube; Brave Man Fights Off Would-Be Gunman. The text doesn’t point out your pretty necklace, but everyone sees it. Everyone knows, and when the smart ones watch, they recognize the way you move. Is that how you wanna get back in the public eye, Frank,” David murmurs, smug and calm, gun pressed steadily against his spine, “everybody wondering who’s bitch you are?”

(From Never)

He thinks about the bullet tearing through, shattering everything in its path. This close, it’d be a horrific mess. Almost certain death.

His cock is hard against the sheets, and what that says about him, he doesn’t want to examine much.

(from Never. I fuckin love how fucked up Frank is)

David hasn’t known any touch but his own in almost a year. The little bit of contact he’d gotten from Frank up to now had been accompanied by pain. No wonder he’s trembling. No wonder his hands are white-knuckled fists on his knees.

(from Things Change, My Dear)

When David touches his wing, just the trace of fingers over the upper curve, he flinches away. It’s almost the same, sharp denial he’d shown Karen, and he feels his breath catch in his chest. The was a new war inside him; what he thought he deserved versus what he knew he needed. But ultimately, it was a glance over his shoulder, the sight of David’s face, so sad and so alone and so willing to just accept that Frank wouldn’t allow this after all, that makes him steady himself on his feet and lower his wings, slow and deliberate.

(from Things Change, My Dear)

A kiss is communication. It can say different things. This kiss is soft and questioning, not quite chaste. It says I’m hungry, it says I can wait. It is a promise, and a dare, and an assurance. David never takes more than is offered; David can be a selfish little shit, but he respects boundaries.

So Frank pushes his wings open, a sudden show of force that knocks David back, so his own wings flutter, just barely keeping himself on his feet. Frank turns on David, rounds on him with his wings raised, posturing without meaning to. Later, David will describe to him the way he looks in that moment, his face set, his wings aloft, stepping toward David ‘like the wrath of God’, and he’ll say that, his tone torn between amusement and awe, and Frank will have no choice but to punch his shoulder call him, affectionately, a jackass.

(from Things Change, My Dear)

Frank thinks about pulling away, and all the ways a man can do that. He thinks about loneliness so vast and dark that you were blinded by it. He thinks about the softness of a man and all the ways he could be hurt, all the ways it does and doesn’t show. Eyes so blue they can’t be real, glistening with tears, shining with fury, bright on him with delight.

At some point, he falls asleep too, and that’s better.

(from Things Change, My Dear)

You know what, i’m done, thats all i have in me. next question blease

12. favorite character to write about this year

Frank Castle, David Lieberman, or Wade Wilson. Had fun with all of ‘em.

19. any new fics to start next year

hmm, i don’t really think that far ahead. I plan to finish the last two Important, Main Plot stories for Let Them Eat Flesh before New Years. I have an idea rolling around for more Cablepool/Liebercaste crack and yes you read that correctly, so maybe that.

#meme me baby #fanfic meme #saulsgoodman

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boopboopbichie · 6 years

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Hi, first of all, I looooove your writing!!! Your last work, I don’t think I love you anymore, literally killed me, like I’m physically dead. I was wondering if you could do some reddie angst, where like they’re having an argument and Eddie maybe raises his voice or moves his hands around and Richie flinches or something because it reminds him of his abusive parents?

Jesus, that is so sweet. Messages like that does nothing good for my ego wow. I love you ahhh So here you go, a little bit of reddie angst for a lovely anon. It isn’t very long but I’m happy with how it turned out, so I hope you like it as well.

Eddie sighsas he walks into the kitchen. Dirty plates are spread all over the counter andEddie cringes, thinking about the bacteria multiplying on there. He pinches thebridge of his nose, counting to ten in his head. It doesn’t work. He is trying really hard not to freak out, to control his temper, but Richie ismaking it hard for him. When counting doesn’t work he takes a deep breath and then marches into the bedroomwhere Richie is spread across the bed, playing PlayStation. It smells bad inthere and Eddie knows for a fact that Richie has been in there all day. When hesees Eddie his face lights up and despite Eddie’s anger he still feels thelight tingle in his stomach from knowing that even after five years, Richie’sface still lights up like that when he sees him. The tingle is overshadowed by the anger burning in his stomach though and hecrosses his arms in front of his chest and Richie’s face falls again. “Hey baby. What’s up?”, he asks and sits up in the bed. Eddie knows he is tryingto play it cool. To act like he doesn’t know that Eddie is about to start afight. “Have you seen the kitchen Richie?”, he asks, his voice already a growl. He’shad a shitty day at the café he works at, shitty costumer after shitty costumerand all he wanted to do was to come home from work to a clean apartment andcuddle with his boyfriend, but as always, Richie had done absolutely nothing onhis day off, leaving Eddie to do it himself. “I.. Yeah, that. I thought it could wait till tomorrow”, Richie answers andshrugs making Eddie even more mad. “Richie! Do you know how many deceases could be spreading out there right now?Jesus Christ”, he sighs and rubs his temples, trying to calm himself. Richiegets off of the bed and walks over to him with an annoyed look. “Eddie calm down, we won’t die from not doing the dishes one day”, he says witha scoff and Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. “Calm down? I’ve been at work since you even got out of bed this morning, I’vehad the shittiest day ever and all I expect you to do is to make sure our homeisn’t disgusting so that I can come home, and we can eat dinner and watch amovie or something”. Eddie doesn’t even know why he is explaining this. Itshould be a matter of course that Richie would at least do the dishes on awhole day off. Obviously not. Richie just laughs in that you’re-being-ridiculous way and runs a hand throughhis hair defeated. “Why is it such a big deal? We can do it now? The day isn’t over Eddie”, he triesbut Eddie just shakes his head. “Why it’s such a big deal? Well I’ll tell you Richie. It’s a big deal becauseit’s 5:30 right? Doing the dishes would take at least 30 minutes, seeing as wedon’t own a dishwasher. Boom, it’s 6. Then dinner. Did you go grocery shopping?”,he asks, and Richie shakes his head, making Eddie nod. “Didn’t think so. So,either we’ll have to go buy something, which will take us about 20 minutes and I’mnot in the mood to go groceryshopping right now. Or we’ll make do with whatever we have, which will take usjust as long because half of the things in the fridge are expired and useless.When we finally do figure out what to make it’ll be around 6:30-6:45. Before weget to eat it’s 7:30. Then dishes afterwards. That means that not before 8:30will I be able to plant my ass in the couch to relax for the day. That does notwork for me Richie”. Eddie realizes that he sounds insane, but he knows that he’sright. Richie looks taken aback and he scratches his neck before speaking. “We could just order something?”, he suggests and Eddie sighs loudly. “With what money Richie? You do realize that we’re both paid minimum wage,right? That we’re literally almost drowning. We can’t afford to eat out”. Eddieis fuming. He doesn’t expect much from Richie, he really doesn’t, but hell doeshe expect him to take responsibility for this relationship and their home. Thisisn’t going to work if Eddie is the only one trying. Richie stares at him for a while and Eddie can’t control it anymore. He feelsthe tears prickle in the corners of his eyes and he wants to scream in frustration.He looks up at Richie and shakes his head disappointed. Then he walks out ofthe bedroom and into the kitchen to do the dishes. Even the thought of thebacteria makes him feel sick and he needs to do this. Richie knows this. Richieshould know this. Eddie has alwaysfelt this way, why can’t Richie just get over his disgusting habits and respectthat?

Eddie sniffles, trying to hard to keep the tears from coming and when he hears Richieenter the kitchen he straightens his back. He is not about to look like he iscrying. He focuses on the plate in his hand and how the stains won’t come off,how the food is sogging up in the water and he gags slightly. Richie’s voicethen sounds from behind him. “Eds I…”. He doesn’t get to finish before Eddie snaps, turning around so quicklyhe actually feels dizzy for a second. “Fucking hell Richie, I expect so little from you! So little! All I want is ahome where I don’t feel like bacteria are crawling all over me! I just want thedamn kitchen to be clean Richie, is that too much to ask?! Jesus Fucking Christ,I’m going insane, why are you so goddamn useless all the time?!”, Eddie yellsand then drops the wet plate from his hand on the floor, the porcelain shatteringeverywhere. He groans loudly, almost a scream and swallows the sob stuck in histhroat. Then he sees Richie. Like really sees him. His stomach drops, and he wants to take back every single word he’s said sincehe came home. Richie has tears streaming down his face and he looks broken. Eddie knows why,he doesn’t even have to ask. He takes a step towards Richie and Richie flinches making every single fiber in Eddie’s body ache with so much pain. He hates Richie’s parents for doing this to Richie. He hates seeing Richie like this and he hates being the reason for it even more. “Rich, I’m…”. Richie interrupts him. “Leave me alone Eddie”. His voice breaks and he turns around and walks out ofthe kitchen. Eddie follows after him quickly, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Richie wait, I’m sorry!”, he yells and walks into the bedroom. Richie is throwingdifferent clothes into a bag. Eddie frowns and grabs Richie’s arm softly. “Babe…”, he tries but Richie just pulls his arm away from Eddie and zips thebag closed. Eddie knows that he has to stop him. If he leaves Eddie probablywon’t see him for days and he doesn’t think he’ll survive that. He grabs hisarm again, this time harder. “Richie! Look at me!”. This time Richie does, and Eddie somehow wishes he wouldn’tlook at him. Eddie has never seen this facial expression before and he prays togod that he won’t have to ever again. Richie’s eyes are filled with tears andhis lip is quivering, making him look so much younger, like a small boy. He imagines a small Richie looking like this at his father, making Eddie’s stomach turn with hate and hurt. He wants to kill those people. He wants to see them dead. For a second he is terrified of his own mind.Eddie’sbreath hitches in his throat and he feels his own eyes fill with tears as well.He slowly moves his hand to Richie’s cheek and wipes away some tears softly. “Babe. I’m so so sorry. I hope you know I didn’t mean that. I was… the dirt and…The shitty costumer who called me a fag and… That doesn’t excuse anything, whatI said wasn’t ok, I know that, please Richie I am so sorry”, he tries again, and this time Richie lets out a loudsob, making Eddie pull him into his arms. Richie buries his face in Eddie’sshoulder, sobbing loudly. Eddie feels his heart break, knowing that he is thecause of this. He made Richie cry this way. He feels a tear slide down hischeek and he quickly wipes it away.

Richie then lifts his head and looks atEddie, eyes still blurred from the tears. “Please don’t ever yell at me like that again. Please”, he cries, and Eddiedoesn’t know what to say so he just nods, running his fingers through Richie’shair soothingly. Richie looks into his eyes and Eddie wants to take away all of the painbehind them. He wants to take away all the hurt Richie has ever gone through. “Promiseme”, Richie then continues and Eddie nods again. “I… I promise Richie, I am so sorry, I love you so much, I don’t know how I’d eversurvive without you in my life. Not seeing that smile of yours everyday wouldkill me, jesus”.

And hemeans it. Eddie means every word and he has a feeling that Richie knows.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie angst

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ladyofpurple · 6 years

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GIRL ITS BEEN MONTHS SINCE YOU UPDATED TPOY!! please tell me you haven’t given up on it )-:

I KNOW IM REALLY SORRY OMG

This took a bit longer to answer than it should have because I was trying to figure out how to reply, I guess?? The short answer is basically that writing bits of fic during my exams when I didn’t actually have the time to was super productive, mainly because I Didn’t Want To Do The Thing but my entire future hinged on Doing The Thing and anxiety-driven avoidance is excellent creative fuel, apparently. The problem is, of course, that once I finished and started getting my results back and actually had time to breathe again my brain kinda fizzled out and I never wanted to look at a Word document ever again in my life. Writing is really hard right now, for some reason. And not just TPoy — everything I try to write either gives me a headache, makes every idea I’ve ever had go flying out the window like magic, or looks like absolute garbage to me. (I’ve been trying, though, I promise!!!) There is more TPoY, though!! I swear to God!! It’s just coming along a little slower than anticipated.

The long answer is... a little more complicated and probably more than you’re interested in, and the main reason is the short one anyway. But I’ll put a long answer under a cut just in case (aka the entire history of TPoY lol), since I’ve lowkey wanted to post about it for a while now but didn’t quite know how to? May get a little very personal, I suppose.

Basically, TPoY is and always has been a garbage fic. I don’t say that to disparage my own writing or attempt to elicit praise from anyone: I have always considered it a glorious dumpster fire of experimentation, a ridiculous Frankenstein’s monster of all my favorite ML tropes as a practice run, since it had been so long since attempting to write anything at all. I’m thrilled that people like it, of course! Whenever people send me asks about it my answers always involve a lot of exclamation points and variations on “I AM CURRENTLY SOBBING ON THE FLOOR IN GRATITUDE” because I honestly have no idea how to express how genuinely teary-eyed I get when someone tells me how much they like it, or post a comment. That being said, it was always intended for my own amusement and/or therapy, and that it’s gotten so many bookmarks and kudos and comments is incredibly surreal, even after a whole year.

When I started writing it, I was working through a lot of stuff. My first boyfriend had broken up with me, and as we lived together in his hometown I was stuck there on my own for another year before I could move back home. 2016 was filled with a lot of horrifying shit that kept happening one after the other and I eventually almost had to drop out of school because I couldn’t handle it all. The relationship was pretty toxic but all I knew at the time was that I was scared and alone and heartbroken.

When I started writing, it was after 8 months of the worst bout of depression I’ve ever experienced, and I still wasn’t well, but I functioned passably enough to start hyperfocusing on things. I had an idea about a fic I suddenly wanted to write, and it would have a happy ending and all, but I could work through my feelings in a way I hadn’t tried to since before my ex and I got together. I pulled a lot of the start of the fic (the rejection, the miscommunication, the avoidance) from my recent breakup, yes, but also from my first rejection, aka the only other boy I’d liked enough to confess my feelings to. We were 17, and he admitted that he knew, and then suddenly we weren’t friends anymore. A year and a half later, I got together with my ex, and suddenly after three years of dedicating my life to “us” on his whims he was ghosting me without explanation.

I see a lot of myself in Marinette at that age. The awkwardness, the enthusiasm, the incredibly obvious lovesick obsession with a cute boy who’s nice to you. I wondered if maybe she would react the same, if put into similar circumstances as I had been. Focus on the self-doubt that would follow, based on insecurities she’s already shown in the show — coupled with your standard teenage hormone-fest —and you’d have a fabulous starter for angstfic and a free therapy session all in one.

The problem with that is nobody knows this backstory but me. People focusing on Marinette’s insecurities is nothing new. Other people are annoyed it’s such a popular trope. And the fact that I’ve chosen to focus on certain aspects of the main characters’ identities for the purposes of a story I started on a whim has been making me insecure for a long time because people in the fandom are tired of those characterizations. I’ve never gotten hate comments —I don’t even remember ever getting constructive criticism on TPoY. But I’m well aware that the plot is far from original and definitely lacking in certain places, and as the comments roll in and the hits go up my anxiety mounts because oh my God I’m that guy in the fandom.

I always intended on focusing on different aspects of their characterizations in different fics to suit the plot, y’know? Not ignoring parts of their personalities, but just... emphasizing other parts. But TPoY is the one most people have read. I have a couple one-shots where I tried to do something like that, with different aspects of their characters, but short one-shots can’t really compare to a 100,000+ word WIP, even if they even slightly compared in popularity (they don’t). So my only notable contribution to the fandom is TPoY. And that makes me anxious.

Then there’s the Frankenstein-like obsession with adding every trope I’ve ever wanted to write in a fic like this. I’ve mentioned before that the original plan for this was, like, 10-15 chapters at most. But every chapter I write I’m like, “But what if I did this???” Like I said, I never intended it to be even remotely popular. The only other fandoms I’ve written for are microscopic in comparison. I had no frame of reference for a pairing this big — all my previous experience was from Fanfiction.net, for Christ’s sake. I assumed I wouldn’t finish it, and even getting to chapter 6 was a surprise. But that hyperfocus somehow held on for dear life and I was banging out chapters like nobody’s business. And people were responding to it. And I think that kind of went to my head a little? Not like in an “I deserve all this attention” kind of way, but more like a “People like?? This thing I’m doing??? I cannot squander this opportunity, I must give them m o r e” kind of way. It was the best I’d felt since the breakup and I didn’t really think I deserved it, so I kind of wanted to... prove I did, I guess, by writing everything I’d ever wanted in a lovesquare fic in hopes that people would keep liking it and me and I’d keep feeling nice. (I mean, I’d planned to add in a ridiculous amount of tropes anyway, I just ended up adding a lot more than I’d planned.)

On the one hand, people go nuts for that shit. On the other, it’s getting harder and harder to justify cramming all this shit into the same fic. This compulsion keeps fucking me over by giving me spur-of-the-moment ideas for sub-plots I never wanted and certainly didn’t properly think through before posting the foreshadowing or setup for — yet at the same time they’re usually thought of and integrated several chapters in advance so I can’t just... leave them out? And part of me kind of doesn’t want to?? And I’m trying with every fiber in my being not to rewrite just the first 3 chapters, let alone the entire fic. A side-effect of my FF.net history at 13 was Never Edit Anything. Yeah, I’ll do some spell-check. Maybe some rewording here and there. Sometimes I’ll post a chapter and come back sporadically over the next few days to change out some punctuation or whatever. But if I don’t like a section after writing for a while? Throw the Whole Ass Chapter out. After it’s posted? This Is Your Life Now.

let’s not talk about how everything after chapter 27 was supposed to go very differently

Never mind that, after writing a hundred thousand goddamn words in a year, one’s writing skill tends to evolve and increase over time. Not just in regards to vocabulary, but with consistency and pacing and structure. This means, of course, that I can’t ever reread my own writing without the Evil Writing Goblin in my brain telling me to start the whole thing over from scratch. It’s fine.

I suppose I could get a beta, but I’m very bad at taking critique and as I’m even worse at talking to people than I am at posting on time I don’t think that would work out very well.

The point of this goddamn novel is that TPoY means a lot to me, probably a lot more than people realize. It’s kinda dumb and very cheesy and absurdly long, but it was the first real thing I did for myself after my whole life fell apart. I will finish it!!

But it’s hard to write it right now. I’m trying— I’m writing four chapters at the same time right now (a bit less than 10,000 words combined at current count). I don’t want to try to rewrite the whole fic or keep “mischaracterizing” the characters or lose the suspense I’ve tried to build (or, God forbid, try to keep interest so hard it hurts the rest of the fic) and risk alienating readers. I can’t stress enough how much these supportive comments mean to me, even on something as silly as a fanfic. But I also don’t want to force myself to write it or write something just because other people might or might not like it and risk alienating me. So I’m stuck at a kind of anxiety-induced impasse with myself that’s just made worse by the fact that I’m having trouble writing anything at all at the moment.

Jesus Christ this was longer than I meant it to be. Please don’t take this as a pity-party or anything. I don’t want sympathy or, I don’t know, reassurance or anything, I just wanted everything to be Out There because it really is the most in-depth response I could give and y’all deserve an honest answer. Some of you guys have been reading since the beginning and I can’t express how much that means to me. I feel really bad when I haven’t updated in a long time, because I know my fic makes some people really happy!

And PLEASE don’t take this as a “STOP ASKING ME ABOUT TPOY GODDAMMIT” because this is the opposite of that. I FUCKING LOVE IT WHEN PEOPLE ASK ME ABOUT TPOY. I L I V E FOR IT. But it sucks when the only answer I have is “I don’t know when it’ll be up, sorry :( ”

I mean, that’ll probably still be the answer I give, unless I by some miraculous (heh) stroke of luck) start hyperfocusing on writing again.

But at least y’all kinda know why now.

#did someone call for Too Much Information??#BUT THANK YOU FOR YOUR MESSAGE I LOVE AND APPRECIATE YOU #I HOPE THAT ANSWERS YOUR QUESTION #[SEVERAL HEART EMOJIS]#tpoy fic #anon good nurse #Lady answers stuff

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tessatechaitea · 5 years

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Second Coming #3

If that bug-eyed guy on the cover is named "Preying Mantis" (with an E!), I will be suing.

I realize I didn't review the first two issues of this series but that's because I'd mostly stopped reviewing new comics. Once I began reading mostly new comics that I wanted to read because I liked them, I found I wanted to simply immerse myself in the story and enjoy it without interrupting that enjoyment every half page to spout some invective or spew my opinion about something just tangentially related to what I just read. But recently, I realized that writing commentaries (or reviews (or whatever the fuck it is I'm doing that really just amounts to distracting myself from the notion of mortality)) was more fun if I didn't have to write one hundred and twenty Teen Titans review in a row. So now I'm mixing things up! Let's see if I can find anything critical to say about Mark Russell! I wouldn't place any bets on me losing my shit. You should put all of your money on me fawning on Russell like he's the first girl to ever let me touch their private business through their cotton underwear.

I know Mark Russell isn't the first writer to discuss this because I was.

This morning, I realized I have a big crusty gash in the top of my head because I banged it on the bathroom cabinet while stumbling around in pain, dizzy and nauseated, from passing a kidney stone. So much kidney pain my nerves couldn't appraise me of the gaping head wound. And even though I instantly began to feel better after stumbling out of the bathroom and collapsing into bed, I now must live in fear of that kidney stone pain coming back. At least for as long as the human mind can grapple with that kind of sheer terror before moving on to something else. I guess reading a comic book and trusting that my insides aren't going to suddenly explode is moving on! Jesus continues to ride around on Sunstar's back being a literal angel on his shoulder. Sunstar is all, "I'm going to kick ass for justice!" And Jesus is all, "But is that justice? Really? I mean, really? Justice?" Then Sunstar is all, "What do you mean?" And Jesus is all, "Well, I'm glad you asked! Have I got a parable for you!" And just like every single apostle, Sunstar listens to the parable and then says, "What? Explain better." Then Jesus sighs, drops the parable, and says directly whatever he was trying to say poetically. I mean, Mark Russell does a better job with the dialogue! But if you want Russell's spectacular dialogue and the soft, budding pudenda under fuzzy cotton, you're just going to have to buy this comic book yourself. Take my word for it: it's worth it! But don't think you should stop reading my review now that you got my take on it. There are still some great jokes coming up and probably a moment where I offend all gun owners! Even the ones I'm friends with! One of the great things in the many great things about this comic book is how Mark Russell isn't specifically calling Superman to task for being a blunt instrument against crime. He's throwing shade at all the writers of Superman who haven't had the nerve or wit or understanding of the character to make him the peaceful motherfucker he always should have been. Yeah, sure, occasionally he's going to need to punch a giant alien robot into smithereens so the fans can be all, "Wow! Cool!" But every time he punches Lex Luthor (not in Battle Suit), it's because the writers don't fucking get it. Why would Superman ever have to punch a human?! First of all, whenever he punches any sentient being he's ever just encountered, he has to use the most minimal amount of force he can just to be sure he doesn't knock the creature's head clean off. Which means the fight just drags on forever as he punches a little harder each time until he calibrates just how hard he can punch his opponent without actually making his opponent's head explode. That seems like a huge pain in the ass. Instead, can't he just grab the opponent and fly them to the arctic? He can do that pretty fast. And if the opponent just happens to be too strong to do that? Well, that's the time to start punching super hard! If it's a human opponent, that person is now trapped in the arctic on an ice floe where Superman can just hover over them and scold them while wagging his finger in their face. I just realized Jesus is Mark Russell's Mary Sue in this comic book. Sunstar and his version of Lois head out to look for Grandma Sunstar. She's escaped her retirement community and headed to Littleton. Instead of pretending like things don't really change much like DC would have readers believe, Mark Russell takes the time to comment on urban sprawl by having Littleton subsumed by Urban City. He doesn't even hit anybody over the head with a major rant! He's just all, "Look at this shit! This is why Portland has laws against it! I mean, the laws came too late for a lot of the area. Have you seen how much Portland has sprawled? But at least it's not like the San Francisco Bay Area where you can go from San Francisco to San Jose without ever leaving El Camino's stripmallesque environment while simultaneously driving through like twelve other cities!" Um, once again, that wasn't Russell's actual dialogue! Do I have to keep explaining this? Sometimes I feel like I have to keep explaining myself. Have you seen the idiots who comment on blogs and Twitter reply threads?! No offense, King Beauregard! I always enjoy your comments! Although stating it like that after what I just wrote makes it seem like maybe I'm being sarcastic. But I'm not! I always come off as sarcastic which is why I simply gave up on earnestness and, thus, am always sarcastic. Except that part where I said I enjoy your comments! Sometimes my sincerity comes screaming out of my skull to shout at the world: "I'm a fucking human being! I can feel! I fear! I love! I cherish my time with friends!" But then I bash myself in the head using a bathroom cabinet until the little fucker hides back inside and regrets showing his stupid earnest face. Fucking sincerity. Suck my dick! While Sunstar visits home, Jesus wanders around looking for evidence that people remember him and his message.

That's an outstanding sign!

The new karaoke place has a bunch of Jesus Christ Superstar songs so I will be doing "Heaven on Their Minds" soon. Jesus doesn't get much page time because Mark Russell ditches him to get back to the Sunstar story where he can insult me right to my face.

Does being vulnerable to physical harm count? Because then I'm lovable too! I have the head wound to prove it!

Sunstar gets all nostalgic which is why Fake Lois needs to hold his hand. Because he's being cute and vulnerable and stupid. They roll by Sunstar's old house to see it has become a dildo shop where they sell totally vulnerable, sincere, earnest dildos. Jesus runs into Satan who explains God is going to destroy mankind if anything happens to Jesus on his return visit. Satan then ditches Jesus when some anti-gay Christian protesters approach him. They try to tell him about the word of Paul and Jesus is all, "Don't know the guy." It's pretty good Biblical comedy! Plus Jesus gets his ass stomped and the police pick him up for vagrancy. Exactly what we all know would happen if Jesus came back. Maybe that sentence is in the wrong tense. Let me try again. Exactly what happened when Jesus came back. Because obviously were already in the end times. Second Coming #3 Rating: A+. When this comic book was announced as a Vertigo title, there was a ton of religious pushback. I don't know the whole story because that would require research and how much life do you think I have left? I almost just died falling over because my kidney betrayed me! But the pushback was of the type where religious people here that some secular person is writing a story about Jesus and so it must be fucking blasphemous. And of course it isn't at all. It's treating Jesus more sacredly than most religious idiots treat him. And don't think you secular people are any better! The amount of times I've seen people bitch and moan and attack DC or Marvel simply based on a poorly worded solicit in Previews makes me think all y'all are no better. How about we all stop relying on that one charismatic Tumblr follower whose word is somehow gospel and maybe put in the work to read and experience the actual thing people are so worked up about before totally condemning it? I mean, I'm all for condemning shit! It's a lot of fun! But maybe do the research first! And yes I know how that sounds after claiming I don't do research! Suck it sideways!

#Second Coming #Ahoy Comics #Mark Russell #Richard Pace #Leonard Kirk

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

Text

Death Of A Hero (The Less I Know The Better, Part 2.) (Peter Parker's iPod, Part 14.)

Series description: Blip was hard. Dating MJ was a pleasure in Parker’s life, so it was even harder when she told him that things aren’t working as she anticipated - one month before college. Although they remained friends. But Peter isn’t too sure if he can handle liking yet another girl.

Part Summary: There was a night you've seen through all the Spider-Man's magic. But it wasn't what you've expected. Who would expected to be lied to in the end?

A/N: I knew that this is coming... That's why I've been hesitant with writing this chapter for such a long time. I'm so sorry. 💔 Fun fact: I used the same song as inspiration when I was working on my OG Avengers series in my language when I was going back to Tony Stark’s funeral.

Word count: 2.4K

Tagging: @fanboyswhereare-you, @lukesbabylon, @eridanuswave, @underoosjae

Master list: H E R E

GIF SOURCE

You can’t look away from a train wreck, that’s how the saying goes, right? Something like that it was. And you had a feeling that your life is one big train wreck or that something like destiny is playing one big sick game on you because such a twist was unexpected.

Peter Parker, the boy who wore only old clothes, t-shirts with nerdy puns, that someone who was into putting together Lego sets, comic book reader... He was supposed to be Spider-Man. The mysterious cool guy who was swinging through New York on his webs, he was fighting off the forces of evil and he was keeping you safe. Your Peter was supposed to be that guy. For a second, you thought that maybe you were falling in love with both of them. Sometimes, the affection for Peter was stronger and when you were Spider-Man, you couldn't think about anyone else. And when these two worlds collided, you couldn't understand what in the world is even happening.

Until confusion turned to anger that was eating you alive every time you saw his dumb face. You and Peter weren't talking for more than two weeks until the finals ended since you wanted to concentrate on your finals. The boy didn't know that you finally figured him out, so he was worried that has done something as Peter that you couldn't simply look away from. In the nights when he wanted to ask about it as the other guy, your window was locked from the inside and when you heard him landing on the rusty escape staircase, you pretended that you're dead asleep.

You allowed him one last visit before you were about to drive to your home in the countryside. Since you and Peter hadn't spoken about two weeks at that time, he had no idea about your plans for the holiday. He was simply happy that you both finished the first year of college and since he was that kind of a boyfriend who never missed an occasion for a flower and dinner, he brought it to you. Italian lasagna and some roses hanging from the outside as he held it for you, himself having a smile on his lips.

Tame Impala was playing through the room and you were just finishing some work on your laptop. - "Come in." - A cold mumble could be heard as you continued with writing. Normally, you'd stand up with a smile and took the things out of his palms, giving him a warm kiss afterward. Yet that day, something was in the air. Something had changed and Peter felt it. And as he watched you working with a murderous look in your face, he knew that this is going to be bad.

"Hey, stop working, and let's celebrate. You seem to be tired." - He whispered and tried to smooth your palm. But as you felt his fingers lingering on the fabric of your shirt, you jolted and looked at him with a face full of disgust. Yeah, something was off. - "Okay then, I won't be touching you. Just... Eat something, I guess." - Peter walked to the desk and opened up the lasagna for you. Somehow, he felt your stare on his back and it was extremely uncomfortable. He tried to smile at you while he put it next to your thigh only to meet with another murderous stare.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me why have you done all of this." - You asked calmly. At that, Peter's heart stopped. MJ knew that he's in your room and she promised you that she’ll take Betty out for dinner so you would have the whole flat for yourself to scream at each other.

"I-I think that I don't know what you're talking about." - Peter got out wish noticeable stuttering, having you chuckling and shaking your head. You had about enough with Peter. When you looked at the boy, you couldn't see someone who knew how to make your laugh. It wasn’t the boy who always told you that you're looking cute. It wasn’t even your friend who you kissed on the trip.

All you could see was a liar. His moves screamed the word, his lips were telling the lies and his whole personality? A hollow fake built for your liking. With one move, you closed the laptop and put it away, licking your lips slowly. Without sparing him a look, you walked to the iPod, having Tame Impala screaming on a loop.

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, Peter." - You told him, just standing there and looking him in the eyes with your palms over your chest. - "It took me a long time, yeah, but it made you feel good, am I right? You were all about lying to me that when you successfully catfished me, you were excited. Now you know that this works and you can fuck with any girl you'll choose as your future victim."

At that moment, you took the mask off, tearing it off his head so you could look him in the eyes. You loved that human being just weeks back and at that moment, the only thing you wanted was to throw up. What has he done was disgusting, immature, and... Suddenly you got the feeling that you might not be the only one who Peter tried to seduce this way.

"And for Christ's sake, turn on your normal voice, I'm sick of you fucking with me." - A disgusted mumble came out again as you rolled your eyes and threw the mask to his feet, walking away. Of course, you wanted to see him suffer that evening. It wasnt nice of you, it wasnt, but that was the way it was. You weren't giving Peter a single shit for free. You put tight shorts on so your ass would look just splendid and the top itself wasn’t covering you either, showing him that bra you had on... When that one night happened.

"I-I swear I can explain, Y/N. Just don't be mad, p-please. I beg you." - The boy ran after you when you poured yourself a glass of cold water, doing exactly what you wanted.

"I want to hear why did you do all of this shit and why did you choose me as your practice target, Peter. That's all the explanation I want and what you owe me." - You walked to stand in front of him, having your dinner table between you and him.

"Look at you." - Was all the boy answered as his fingers played with the spandex mask. His cheeks reddened while his eyes got teary. Jesus, Peter was never scared as he was at that moment, at that kitchen, with you looking at him. You did as he told you, giving him raised eyebrows. - "How... How would someone like so lucky that they would get to date a girl like you? And trust me, I was never good with girls, whether you look back at Liz or when you ask MJ..." - Now he was mumbling, looking into the ground in front of his feet.

"And ever since February, I started to notice that I, really, really liked you. And I... I was... I was just so scared that you would never date me for me, I wanted to meet you like the other guy and tell when the time’s right." - Peter tried to explain the best he could, having you silent for a long while. That was when you started to laugh cold-heartedly.

"And when would the right time come? A month from now, half a year, a year? Did you enjoy seeing me waiting for you almost every night, not having any other guy on my mind? I could have a boyfriend by now, Peter, there was a lot of boys asking me out in the last few months, did you know that? But instead of that, I wanted to be with you and... Not with Spider-Man. I felt this subtle click between me and you... Months ago. And when we have done some stuff together, I was wowed. I thought to myself that you're the guy. And when I kissed you on the farm, I felt it too. And not for your ass dressed in spandex. I felt it for you, Peter." - You pointed at him, not finishing just yet. - "Of course, you can say I was into Spider-Man since I didn't see through the whole mascarade, yet for me, it wasnt about the hero or the suit. It was about the boy under it. I saw only the boy whose father figure got shot. About the boy who liked my sushi. For fuck's sake, I fell for the boy who danced with me on the rooftop, who was funny, charming, and smart." - You breathed out with disappointment, taking another sip of the water.

"And I don't know if you realize that, but I'm talking about you and your personality. The whole time, you've been giving the best out of yourself just for me to realize... It was a game. It wasn’t real." - You looked him in the eyes, seeing first tear slipping out of his eye. You’ve been crying too. You weren't the hero who would get hurt and wouldn't cry. MJ was with you the whole time, hugging you, smoothing your hair, and kissing the top of your head to have you feeling safe for a while. At that time, you were just hurt. At that moment, you were mad at the boy, feeling nothing but the hatred that needed to go out of your head and mouth. Otherwise, you'd go crazy.

"It was everything for me, Y/N. You were the only thing I could think about in the last two months. I was leaving the iPod on purpose for you to listen to it, because every time you found a new song, you were so happy. I was doing all of this just to see you happy." - Peter begged quietly, coming closer to you. When the boy was about to touch you again, you bolted to get out of his range again.

"Don't cry, Peter. If you'd told me, this conversation didn't have to happen at all. You're a man, so pull yourself together. I don't mean to go harsh on you, not at all, but you hurt me like a living fuck." - You said simply, walking back to your room, listening to the song once again. That was when he noticed how empty the room was. There were only two big suitcases in the middle of the room.

"Are you moving out? Be-because of what I've done?" - Peter got out of himself with stuttering. He was unable to stop the tears falling out of his eyes when he followed you through the flat.

"No. I'll back here in fall, but I need to get away from this place. And I would appreciate it if you'd leave now. Take the food, the flowers, and go home. Don't text me, don't call me, don't send me memes and kick me all of the text messages groups I'm in with you."

At that moment, Peter slowly felt his body melting into the wooden floor of your room. The world was spinning too fast for his liking, the colors were fading away as he watched you packing the food back without even touching it. You told him that you don't want to be in contact with him anymore. Slowly, his brain started to realize how much he fucked up, no matter how innocent his intentions originally were. Less I Know The Better Suddenly got a completely new meaning for him. At that moment, he was sure he won't stop crying that evening. Gently, he put the mask, packing his food into a plastic bag. - "And you should try your luck with that girl from physics. You seem to be getting along." - Was the last thing you told him, which was surely the metaphorical dagger in his back.

For a reason, you felt that it’s right and wrong at the same time. Seeing him leaving while he was broken was not making you happy at all, but... He got what he deserved. You couldn't just say whatever and close your eyes about being lied to for the last past three months. You still had feelings for him, obviously, but you hoped that these will go away soon enough.

"I just want you to know... Even if it ended how it ended... I think I love you." - Peter said before he jumped out, disappearing into the night, leaving you with a sigh on your lips and tears in your eyes. Why did he tell you such a thing? What the fuck were you supposed to do with it?

Because you did love him too, yet you weren't sure about forgiving... Not just yet.

As soon as Peter arrived home from a quick patrol, he barricaded in his room. This time, he locked himself in and sat on his bed, leaving the spandex on. May tried to get in, but after Peter asking her to leave, she left him alone. Not even ten minutes from that, Ned was calling Peter.

"Hey, buddy, it's going to be alright." - Ned said as soon as he heard the first sob. Peter... Was such an amazing guy. He was smart, brave, but still sensitive. Ned liked his best friend for that - but just as he was smart, he was utterly dumb in some things. Peter didn't tell him a word.

"But... We told you that this is how it's going to end. She already got out of all the text groups we had, she doesn't follow you on Instagram... MJ told me you were there today and that she knew it." - Ned whispered. He was, naturally, sad as well. You were both his best friends. And it just didn't feel good, seeing his friends parting their ways.

"This is not what I need now, Ned." - Peter got out as he laid down with sobs.

#peter parker #Peter parker x reader #college peter Parker #Spider-Man x reader #Spider-Man mcu #Spider-Man #marvel #ned leeds #betty brant #michelle jones #michelle mj jones

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horansqueen · 6 years

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Can you do one where him and his girl are out and he gets really drunk and he starts getting touchy and whispering dirty things in her ear and then they go home and things get heated

i changed this idea sort of? just to make it fit with the picture and the idea i had with it. and i sorta lost track as i was writing. im sorry! hope its still ok with you :)

1.7k. SMUT. wrote this very quickly. hope you enjoy :)

The sun was not even gone yet and he was already a bit tipsy but the truth was, i liked it. He laughed louder, had barely any inhibitions left, and his hand was dangerously moving up my thigh under the table. I had pretended not to notice but slowly, i had moved my chair closer to his in anticipation. His hand was dangerously close to my inner thighs and I could already feel myself throb. He acted as if nothing was happening and it turned me on even more, until I just grabbed his hand and brought it up. It pressed against my pussy and I held my breath, cursing myself mentally for choosing jeans to wear tonight. His body seemed to stiffen and his laughter faltered but no one seemed to notice, except me.

“So, y/n, are you happy your boyfriend’s tour is over?”

I turned my head to smile and just shrugged as i moved Niall’s hand gently between my legs, trying to keep a straight face. The truth was, I was turned on and from the way Niall cleared his throat, I knew he was slightly destabilized by my behavior.

“Well, I’m not gonna lie, I did miss him.” I admitted, grounding my hips subtly against his fingers. “But I think mostly, he needs some rest.”

I finally turned back to him and tilted my head, sending him a smirk that only he understood. Without moving his hand away, he moved on his seat and licked his lips, a bit annoyed that the attention was focused on him, which was a first, i believe.

“Yea, I’m tired.”

It didn’t take long for everyone to change the subject and start a new conversation and I kept my eyes glued on my boyfriend as he moved closer to me.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, darling?”

His voice was low and deeper than usual, making me smile more.

“Mm?” I raised my eyebrows innocently. “You started.”

His eyes got smaller as he looked at me and finally, he grabbed his beer and took a sip, sending me a frown that made my heart skip a beat. Not only was he fucking hot, but the way he was staring at me made me hornier than his fingers between my legs. He just had this way to own me that I couldn’t explain.

“I started uh?”

Slowly, I nodded, looking straight in his eyes and this time, he took his hand away from me, making me bite my bottom lip. I already missed his touch. It felt like he hadn’t touched me in so long, and seeing each other from time to time while he was on the road was not ideal. He moved closer, so close i could feel his breathing against my skin.

“Am i gonna have to spank you, princess?”

My heart skipped a beat but my eyes never left his. I licked my lips slowly, feeling my heart beats harder in my chest, before sucking my bottom lip in.

“Maybe.”

My voice was low but somehow daring and i watched as his eyes got slightly smaller. I knew he was thinking of all the things he wanted to do to me and I bet what I was thinking didn’t even come close.

“We’re leaving, i’m tired.”

He had spoken loud enough for everyone to hear but he was looking at me and I knew I better not argue with him. I didn’t want to anyway. I just wanted to end up alone with him at home. The ride was silent and quick, but I couldn’t help but stare at him the whole time, hoping for at least one glance, but he didn’t. He kept his eyes on the road the whole time and even when he parked and got out of the car, he didn’t acknowledge my presence. I was scared I got him really mad but I sinply followed him inside, closing the door behind myself and letting my purse fall on the carpet. When I looked up, he was staring at me, his hands in his pockets, and I held my breath. He looked amazing, and I could feel my inner thighs start throbbing.

“Get naked.”

“wh-what?” I was stuttering but I loved the seriousness in his voice.

“You heard me. Take your clothes off.” he still repeated. “Now.”

I swallowed but took my shoes off quickly, pushing them away, before moving my shirt over my head and working on my pants. His eyes didn’t leave me and I felt vulnerable, but also extremely excited. I took my bra off first and ended with my panties, stepping away from the puddle my clothes were now making on the floor.

“Come here.”

I took a few steps closer, feeling my heart beating all over my body but remained silent. His hands reached for my shoulders and he slid them down my arms, then back up and down my chest. I shivered sightly when his palms brushed again my breasts and his hands ended up on my hips.

“You made me hard earlier, you know that?”

I shook my head slowly from left to right but i enjoyed the fact that I made him horny at the bar, with a bunch of his friends around. I didn’t know why, but knowing he wanted me as bad as I wanted him made me feel good. He grabbed my hand and brought me to the kitchen, turning me around. I felt my lower stomach hot gently against the side of the table and quickly, he pushed me down. I didn’t fight and felt my breasts press against the wood of the table.

I stayed motionless as his hands ran on my back this time, down to my ass. He squeezed both cheeks at the same time and i turned my head on the side, leaning one of my cheeks on the table. I let out a short moan and closed my eyes at the feeling of his hands gripping my ass when he suddenly slapped one of my cheeks, making me jump slightly. It stung and a short scream came out of my lips as the pain spread.

“Told you I’d have to do this.”

His voice was hoarse and I could swear that only made me wet. He spanked me again but this time, I was expecting it, and I bit my bottom lip harder to stop myself from letting out any sound. He kept going a few times, sometimes rubbing my sore cheeks only to spank me harder the next time. I could feel my nails scratch the wood of the table but kept my eyes closed, and when he stopped, he pushed himself against me, making me feel how hard he was through his pants.

“Fuck…” he let out with a grunt before gripping my waist. “Don’t move, petal.”

I knew he was still completely dressed and it made this whole thing even more thrilling. I felt his rub himself against me, his dick getting harder through his pants, but it’s only when I heard the sound of his zipper that I sighed low of relief. I hadn’t realized how bad I wanted it, how much I needed him. It took him only a few seconds to move his pants down and his hand reached between my legs, making me curse in a breath.

“Seems like being spanked makes you as horny as spanking you makes me.”

I felt his fingers brush against my clit and I felt my knees got weak for half a second. I felt him push his cock against me and slowly sliding inside me. When he was completely inside, I let out a whimper as he grabbed my waist and slowly, he moved out of me almost completely only to push himself back again but this time harder.

“I’ve been thinking about this for at least an hour.” he admitted, waiting a few more seconds. “Don’t move, let me use you.”

I could feel him breathe deeply as his fingers sank in the skin on my hips until he finally started thrusting in and out of me. I felt myself hit the table as he started going harder and I gripped both sides of it to hold myself.

“Oh my god.” I whispered, followed by a louder moan. “Niall, you’re gonna make me cum…”

I felt one of his hands leave my waist and he moved closer, his chest pressing a bit against my back and making me realize he had taken his shirt off too. His hand reached between my legs and he started rubbing my clit in rhythm with his thrusts, making me squirm against the table as I gripped it harder.

“You can cum, pet.” he whispered close to my ear, making me shiver. “Cum all over my cock.”

Every time he gave me an order, I just wanted to obey, and i suddenly felt an orgasm cross my body. He didn’t stop touching me or fucking me as I shook harder, making him groan a bit louder.

“Jesus Christ.”

The words were only whispered but I knew he was cumming too as his thrusts became harder but sloppier and when we both stopped shaking, he leaned his forehead against my back, panting. My eyes fluttered open and I sighed low, feeling him slowly move out of me. I didn’t know if it was my orgasm or his, or a bit of both, but it slid slowly down my legs and I did nothing to stop it. I stayed motionless until me moved back and I turned around to look at him. His messy hair made me smile more and I tilted my head to admire him.

“Don’t ever do that again in public, princess.”

I let out a short laugh and took a step closer, wrapping my arms around him and pressing my lips hard against his.

“I can’t promise that.”

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan blurb #niall horan oneshot #niall horan writing #my fanfics #blurb #blurbs #Anonymous

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