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thatqueercookie · 1 year

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Got tagged by @luckshiptoshore (I've got the same first two as you)

8 shows to get to know me!

1. What We Do In The Shadows. This show really does have it all. A queer vampire polycule. A couple that's been together for 300 years and is still in love. The absolute BEST will-they-won't-they on television bar none. Guillermo's character arc is the best growth I've seen in a character in some time. It's hella sexy at all times. Everyone is so perfectly flawed and complicated. This show has inspired me to write more fanfiction than any show ever has! Also it's HILARIOUS, and tragic.

2. Our Flag Means Death. This is the sweetest purest love story and reminds me that no matter what you hate about yourself, or what others hate about you, there is someone out there who will love you for all those things! The representation is off the charts in this show and my love for every single babygirl member of the crew is immense. The only downside in the fandom is the discourse about Izzy. Like seriously, just let him be a part of the narrative. He's fun to hate and he's fun to play with in crack fic/art.

3. Doctor Who. This show will always and forever pretty much be my religion. The messages of love and intelligence over brute force and cynicism are so great. And the message that every single soul in the universe MATTERS and is important and unique and beautiful. And these messages are delivered through a gender fluid intergalactic nerdy tour guide with an infectious sense of WONDER for everything who takes you through time and space battling fascism and capitalism in a mess of camp effects and plot holes. I have seen all the classic and new series and I'm working my way through the Big Finish audios and EDA books.

4. The X-Files. Probably one of the best shows the small screen has ever seen. It's scary, it's suspenseful, it's funny, it's romantic, it's smart. It has simultaneously the longest non-sexual, emotionally intimate marriage AND the ultimate sexual slowburn. I could (and have) watch every episode a million times and enjoy them just as much every time.

5. Star Trek. I love every iteration of Star Trek, but The Original Series is my absolute favorite. It just gives me so much hope for the future. That someday, after all the human race's growing pains, after all the war and the racism, sexism, and homo/transphobia, after the greed and the poverty and pollution, we'll LEARN. We can be better. We'll explore and we won't explore to conquer or assimilate; we'll explore to learn about life and it's complexities and become even better versions of ourselves. And the friendship and sense of family on the Enterprise is just so beautiful. Also Kirk/Spock are the best definition of soulmates I've ever seen. The alien cultures within the world of Star Trek are just so well built and thought out (much better than in Star Wars). As an anthropology major, this FACINATES me.

6. Good Omens. The longest truest love story you have ever seen and one of the only (alleged) representations of romantic asexuality I have ever seen. Aziraphale and Crowley, an angel that doesn't fit in in heaven and a demon that doesn't fit in in hell but they fit with EACH OTHER and they love earth so dearly. It's humanism vs. religion and we win.

7. BBC Ghosts. I'm a sucker for the found family trope and this show does it so well. They're FORCED to become found family because there is literally no way for them to leave. All the ghosts are such nuanced (and autistic) characters and Mike is the best husband. He's so supportive of his wife and her crazy ghosts. BTW the U.S. version can go suck eggs in hell.

8. Willow. A return to the fun fantasy genre and the power of love and friendship that doesn't take itself too seriously. It's also a sapphic's dream! A demi-masc princess and her lady knight in a love story that kiss in the very fist episode? YES PLEASE! And Elora may be the chosen one but she sure does suck at it at first, and I LOVE that about her! The chosen one shouldn't be a perfect magic user, they should need to learn like anyone else. And THRAXUS BOORMAN!!!! Witty, slutty, leggy, longhaired, bisexual scoundrel who deserves to be in every single fucking scene! BUT RIGHT NOW IT'S ON THE KNIFES EDGE OF CANCELLATION SO GO SUPPORT IT ON DISNEY+ RIGHT NOW!

tagging: @someguywife , @indashadows , @glitter-mouse , @blakbonnet @bootlegsun , @nandorisms

#tag memes

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impulsive-astrophile · 3 years

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Heaven and Hell Were Words to Me

MSR | Gen | ~1.8k words

Post-“Monday”, Mulder and Scully try to heal from trauma they can’t really remember.

Tagging @today-in-fic.

Read it on ao3, or below the cut!

It starts on Tuesday.

Scully comes into the office to find Mulder already there - as had been usual until after Dreamland - looking as tired as she feels.

Despite having gotten 8 hours of sleep, Scully had woken that morning feeling exhausted. Fragments of nightmares she can’t quite remember left her stomach churning enough that she didn’t even have breakfast.

Seeing Mulder instantly calms her a little. Touching him is even better. Her hands stop shaking for the first time in hours when she finds a reason to cross the room and touch his shoulder to ask where a file is. But whenever he’s out of sight, a pit drops back into her stomach like a stone, her limbs becoming heavy with dread.

He’s gone for 5 minutes that afternoon to use that bathroom, and her hands start to shake again.

He’s gone for 30 minutes the next day to pick up lunch, and she can barely type, noting reluctantly that her resting heart rate climbs to almost double her regular resting rate and into tachycardia - hovering around 130.

It’s ridiculous, she tells herself. They’re both fully functional, independent adults who can operate without the other.

But Mulder seems reluctant to be away from her, as well; on Thursday, he proposes she go with him to get lunch (which he never does because she hates it - she gets line-rage, and he doesn’t mind picking it up for them), and she jumps at the opportunity. His hand is rooted to the small of her back the entire way there, and hers to his arm the whole way back.

When they get back, they definitely don’t clear off half of his desk and bring her chair over so they can eat right next to each other; no, they sit on opposite sides of the room at their respective desks like normal people.

But if, say, they both just so happen to regularly need to use the bathroom at the same time, coincidentally meaning they end up spending less time apart, then that’s definitely just a coincidence.

‘Intimacy through codependency’, Dana Scully’s ass.

So, when Scully asks Mulder to come with her after work on Friday, it’s for completely practical reasons.

“Mulder? Are you okay? Your neck is red because you’ve been rubbing it so much.” Scully’s voice startles Mulder out of continuing that same motion.

“What? Yeah.” He smiles sheepishly, resting the offending hand on the desk. “I guess I’m just getting old, Scully. Sleeping on the couch this week has really done a number on my neck.”

Scully nods sympathetically. “Why haven’t you bought a new mattress yet?”

“They’re still redoing some of the floor in my room,” Mulder says.

Scully frowns. “You told me they finished that on Wednesday.”

“...I just haven’t had the time?” He tries, caught. Doesn’t say, it’s not worth buying one if you’re not in it.

She lets him off the hook. “Okay. We’ll go shopping after work today.” You deserve comfort, and I’m going to see that you have it. Then, with a gleam in her eye, “after all, an old man should take better care of his body.”

Mulder shakes his head, solemn. “You’ll know how it feels when you’re my age, Scully.”

Scully scoffs, Mulder smirking to himself before feigning a return to his paperwork. She waits until it seems that he’s actually focused on it, then pulls a paper clip out of a container in front of her and takes aim.

When it hits him square in the forehead, the look on his face is worth the war it starts.

“24/7 MATTRESSES!” offered the kind of vibe you’d expect from stopping at a non-descript fast food joint in the middle of nowhere at 3 AM; lighting just a little too bright, music that seemed familiar yet was impossible to place, and a single employee who seemed to appear out of nowhere from otherwise deserted floorspace.

Still, they offered incredible deals on queen-size mattresses, even offering complimentary pillows and same-day delivery and installation within a mile. And, luckily, Mulder’s apartment was only a few blocks away. So, hairs on the backs of both their necks up the whole time, Scully helped Mulder choose a nice memory foam mattress, then watched his back as he paid, and was at his side as they fast-walked to the exit.

If they’d turned back, they would’ve seen that the employee vanished as soon as the door shut behind them.

By the time they get to Mulder’s apartment just 10 minutes later, they find the mattress neatly set in his bedframe, pillows on top, even though his front door had been locked.

“...remind me to file that place under ‘liminal spaces’, Scully,” Mulder says with an uneasy laugh.

Scully nods absently. Mulder can see the gears working in her head. Eventually, she settles on, “sheets?”

Mulder fetches them from the linen cupboard, and they get to work. Together, they wrestle the fitted sheet onto the bed. Mulder tries to help with tucking the flat sheet, but Scully gets frustrated with his sloppy corners and shoos him away to find pillowcases.

He chuckles when he returns to find the sheet tucked with military corners - he loves how much of a perfectionist she is - but shuts up when he gets a pillow to the face. Tossing Scully the other pillowcase, he makes quick work of his own, then places it on the bed and collapses.

He buries his face into the mattress with an exaggerated moan. “Oh, Scully, this thing is amazing,” he says, muffled by the foam.

Scully drops her pillow next to him with a chuckle, resting a hand on his back lightly. “Should I leave you two alone?”

Mulder heaves a deep sigh, rolling over onto his back and resting his head on a pillow. “She could never feel the same way about me,” he says, tone wistful. “No,” he puts a hand over his heart, looking downtrodden, “I’m afraid it could never be requited.”

“A shame,” Scully agrees, stifling a smile.

Mulder cranes his head up, mouth open to make a joke, but all that comes out is a pained groan. He grabs his neck as his head falls back against the pillow.

“Oh, I forgot about your neck.” Scully’s brow creases as she leans down a bit. “You okay, Mulder?”

Mulder nods, eyes shut tight.

“Well, that’s convincing.”

A few seconds later Mulder peers up at her, smiling but obviously not feeling as good as he wants her to think. Scully makes a decision.

“Mulder, let me give you a massage,” she says. When he opens his mouth to object, she continues, “my mom always used to get terrible pains in her neck from sleeping on the couch on nights where we waited for Dad to come home. I was the only one in the house she trusted to get the knots out.”

Mulder rubs his neck, considering, then nods gingerly. “Thank you,” he says gratefully.

“Any time,” Scully responds, slipping off her shoes. “If you were feeling better, I’d ask you to move. But since you’re not, I’ll come to you.”

She climbs onto the bed, kneeling behind his head.

“I’m going to support your neck with one hand, slip the pillow out from under you with the other, then rest your head flat on the mattress, okay?” She explains.

Mulder hums in agreement, wincing only minimally as she moves him around. Then, she rests her hands on either side of his neck, fingertips touching his clavicles, and begins gently applying sweeping pressure from his neck down to his shoulders.

“I’d normally use massage lotion,” Scully says, teasing, “but I doubt you keep any around the house.”

“Mm-mm,” comes Mulder’s quiet confirmation, mouth quirking with half a smile.

When she’s finished, she notices that Mulder is completely limp in her hands, apparently asleep. She smiles softly, reaching to comb the hair away from his forehead. Letting her fingers brush through his hair, she takes stock of herself.

For the first time this week, she feels steady. And it doesn’t escape her notice that it’s while she’s holding Mulder, either.

She knows she should go now that he’s asleep. But those nightmares... even just the flashes she does remember after a week of having them - cradling him in her arms, desperately trying to keep his life from leaking out from between her fingers, pleading for him - have her reluctant to leave him. To sleep, even for just one night, with him in her arms, where she could know he was safe--

Mulder fidgets in her hands, and she looks down to find him blinking up at her. “Whatever it is, you’re thinking too hard,” he teases sleepily.

“Sorry,” she says, “I was trying not to wake you.”

Scully extricates her hand from his hair delicately, moving to get up, but he grasps her wrist. “Wait. Please stay.” His voice is soft. “That was the first time all week I haven’t had any nightmares.”

Scully frowns. “Nightmares, Mulder? I’m sorry. Old ones or new ones?”

They’re both intimately familiar with each other’s nightmares, and with how to soothe one another after them. Sometimes, part of the soothing process was to talk about them - especially if they were new.

“New, I think. I remember being in pain and hearing you sound worried and scared, but being unable to help when I tried... and then nothing.”

Scully frowns once more, starting to stroke his hair again. “How can I help?”

“Stay?” He requests softly.

“Of course,” Scully says. They’d both held each other after nightmares before.

Scully scoots down the bed, settling herself on a pillow and pulling Mulder to her. Absently, she thinks that she’s glad that they’d stopped by her place before the mattress store so she could change into casual clothes.

Mulder wraps his arms around her back, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck.

They breathe each other in for a while before he speaks again. “You’ve been having nightmares too,” he deduces, sounding like he’s come to a realization, “and that’s why you’ve been tired and just as clingy as me this week.”

Scully sucks in a breath, nodding.

“Old ones or new ones?”

“New,” she confesses. “But this is supposed to be me comforting you, not the other way around.”

“We can do mutual comforting,” Mulder assures her. “How can I help?”

She holds him tighter, feeling the rise and fall of his torso between her arms and the soft huff of his breath across her neck. It’s enough to know he’s safe, alive, and well. She squeezes him briefly. “This is enough.”

#first thing I've written in 2 months #feels good #I hope y'all enjoy!#msr #The X-Files #fic #hurt/comfort #nightmares #cuddling #monday

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nothing-but-dreamy · 3 years

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MESSAGES

Pairing: FFXV!NYX ULRIC x MALE!READER

Words: 1.856

Warnings: fluff

A/N: @slowkib So, here it is... I really hope you like it! Feedback is welcomed because I might be a bit clumsy in writing for male, I just started with it but I tried my best :)

Synopsis: Yn tries to be a good boyfriend to Nyx and searches for a way to show his affection towards the usually gruff hero.

There were more things between heaven and hell than Nyx could imagine such as gods and their stories - and he knew that. Demons were one thing - he had seen them with his own eyes. That he would ever leave Galahd to be part of the Kingsglaive was another thing - but he had done it.

And then, there was the thing, that obviously some unknown entity thought of him as worthy enough to find love - but Nyx did it.

Nyx found love in the rows of the Kingsglaive. He spent most of the time there, so it wasn’t really surprising. Nyx was just surprised that he was lucky enough to find it in Yn - one of his comrades. Well, Nyx saw himself as lucky because he felt attracted to Yn since the first second he had met this tough and strong but at the same time nice, handsome guy with a big heart.

Everything had started insecure because Nyx had no idea how he should start things with Yn at all. Kinda rusty in everything romantically, the hero had asked Yn out for a drink after a mission on the battlefield in hope Yn would understand that Nyx searched for a way to get close to him.

Yn agreed immediately in hope it was more than just a buddy thing. The silver-greyish haired man was an eyecatcher but Yn had been too shy to make a try on his own. He had sensed a few things and noticed some flirty attempts from Nyx but after all, he wasn’t really sure.

But on that evening, as they sat together and were talking about everything, the connection between them clicked and neither Yn nor Nyx wanted to cut the night anytime soon. So, they were still talking as Libertus and the others had left to go home. Only as Yamachang wanted to close his food stall for the day, they had to leave.

Then, things became a bit awkward because everything Nyx could think of was how Yn's lips would taste. Nyx was hypnotized by the way Yn was talking, how his lips were moving, how the teeth were digging into the soft skin and how the tongue moistened the upper lip now and then.

As they had reached Yn's place, Yn had already noticed that Nyx was barely listening to him anymore. In the beginning, Nyx had asked questions to keep the conversation going but that had died down a while ago. Now, Yn felt disappointed. Somehow, he thought there would be more than just a friendship. But maybe, he just had imagined things and it was time to face the reality, "Well, thanks for this nice eve-", Yn wasn't able to speak further as he felt Nyx' lips crushing on his own. It took Yn so much by surprise that he clawed his hands into Nyx’ shirt to keep his balance.

Driven by panic, Nyx had just acted as he heard how Yn wanted to say goodnight. The whole time, he had searched for a good opportunity for a kiss but there was none. And then, as he saw Yn's disappointed expression and how he wanted to cut the evening, Nyx had just reacted. He stepped forward, cupped Yn's face and was kissing the soldier with as many emotions he could find to show him what he couldn't put into words.

***

After this first, clunky evening many weeks had passed and Yn and Nyx had a full grown relationship. Because relationships between Glaives weren't liked to be seen, they kept it low just to be safe.

Then, after a while as Yn noticed that Nyx wasn’t looking out for himself in the best way possible and because Yn loved to cook, he made meals for Nyx and brought them to the Kingsglaive headquarters to place them in the fridge so Nyx could eat them when he was hungry.

First, no one really paid attention to it but quickly, Pelna and the others noticed that on an almost daily basis these lunch boxes showed up mysteriously.

One day, Crowe leant next to Nyx as he just opened the box Yn had prepared. Once again, the food was great. It was delicious and looked perfect. The smell caught Crowe's attention, "You know, Nyx, I'm mad. Obviously, you have found someone who cares for you enough to do all these things and you don't even say a word. Who is this perfect person?"

Nyx chuckled nervously, "What if I have done that for myself?"

Crowe laughed, "You? No way! The only thing you do for yourself is coffee. Noir. Because it’s too much effort for you to put milk into it. No, this", and she pointed at the lunch box, "Is affection disguised as food from someone who really likes you."

Carefully with a side glance, Nyx looked at the man who cared so much for him already and shot him a shy smile no one else saw to thank him.

After that, triggered by Nyx’ reaction, the notes showed up. As Nyx found a note in the lunch box for the first time, it just said: Have a wonderful day!

With the note in his fingers, Nyx looked up at Yn who stood on the other side of the room, talking about something with Pelna. Nyx stared at the message a few moments longer because even if it was just a simple note, this little piece of paper made him ... happy. It let his heartbeat quicken. It might be just a small thing but it was enough to bring Nyx through the day with a better mood.

With every new lunch box, Nyx was eager to find out what kind of message was waiting for him. One day Yn reminded him to drink enough water because he knew Nyx' day was filled with much training.

On another day, after some things during a mission went wrong and he blamed himself for it, Nyx found a note with the words: 'you're perfect the way you are'. This note was almost enough to make Nyx cry but instead, he just coughed slightly and tried to keep his composure in front of everyone.

Sometimes, the notes were filled with beautifully random things like 'you're wonderful' … 'take a break' ... 'you're strong' or 'keep fighting'. And sometimes, the notes were more intimate that Nyx felt how his cheeks turned pink when he read things like 'looking forward to kissing you again' or 'the last night was amazing'.

Because the notes were so sweet and caring, Nyx never mentioned them in front of Yn to keep the magic alive. Without talking about it, Yn continued to put a note into each lunch box because he loved to see Nyx' wonderfully sparkling eyes the next day when the Glaive read the notes. The lovely smile on the hero's perfect lips was the best reward Yn could ask for. Somehow, Yn had been able to get through the thick wall of composure and gruffness and was blessed enough to see Nyx’ soft, warm and lovely side barely another person would ever get to see. Like a precious treasure he had found, Yn swore to protect this side of Nyx that no one would break it or would try to take it away.

One evening, Yn was about to prepare the next lunch box as the note he had just prepared fell to the ground sliding towards the door where Nyx stopped the escaping piece of paper with his foot. Nyx took it and read 'I think of you' which brought a smile to his lips.

Slowly, the note still in his hand, Nyx walked over to Yn, "These notes, they're so wonderful. But why... Why have you started them?", he asked, giving Yn the note back.

Yn looked at the ground and shrugged with his shoulders, "I... I can't tell you these things when the others are around so, I searched for another way to show you my affection. I'm just trying to give you what you deserve. But I- I can stop with it if you want.", he hurried to say.

Nyx raised his brows with surprise. Not for one moment, he would want this to ever stop, "Yn, I... No. Don't stop that. I... Wait a moment!", Nyx asked and left the kitchen.

Insecurely, Yn waited for Nyx to come back. As the man showed up again, his hands were full with little notes in different colors. Speechless with surprise, Yn watched how Nyx skimmed through all the notes with a boyish smirk on his lips as he read them again. Yn looked at the bunch of papers, "Y-you still have them? All of ... them?"

Nyx looked at his boyfriend and grinned proudly, "Of course! They're from you. These are you. I mean, some of them just made my day better. All of them made me smile and others were the reason why I stayed sane at all because I knew you thought about me."

With a shaking hand, Yn took one of the notes which was already a bit crumpled from carrying it around in the Glaive uniform jacket. In one corner, Yn saw something that wasn't from him. As he looked closer and recognized what it was, Yn looked questioningly at Nyx, "Are these ... numbers?", he asked and pointed at a bunch of random digits in neat handwriting.

Nyx smiled shyly as he felt caught because he hadn't thought about the digits, "Yeah, the digits are the dates of the day I got the notes from you."

"Why? Why do you write the dates on the notes?", Yn asked confused.

"It's easier for me to remember since when I love you. See? It started with the first on-", Nyx got stopped as Yn just kissed him. Immediately, Nyx pulled Yn closer, deepening the kiss by enclosing the man’s face, to taste more of these addictive lips. Nyx knew he would never get used to the effect Yn had on him because even one kiss was enough to make him swoon.

Yn broke the kiss and looked into Nyx' eyes, searching for any kind of joke or punchline but there was none, "Y-y-you said you love me.", he whispered shakily.

For some time, Nyx had searched for a way to tell Yn his feelings but he had found no good idea so, to drop it like this was perfectly fitting to Nyx' clumsy way to deal with love-things. He smiled as he saw Yn's love-filled glance, "Yes, I did. I do love you since - wait! Where's the note? Here! Since 09.05..", Nyx said and pointed at the digits, "You know, you're more than I have ever asked for, Yn. But obviously, I have done a few things right that I deserve such a great guy in my life.", he admitted, stroking over Yn's lips with his thumb before Nyx leant in for another caring, loving kiss. It was just the first of many others this evening because now, Nyx wanted to celebrate that he had found something between heaven and hell that was just reserved for him … Yn and his love.

#nyx ulric x reader #ff15 nyx ulric #nyx ulric #final fantasy nyx ulric #kingsglaive nyx #kingsglaive #final fantasy kingsglaive #male reader #nyx ulric x male reader #fluff

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thefloorisbalaclava · 4 years

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pragma - part six

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Female Reader

Warnings: smut, light angst, drug mention

A/N: I really hope you all like this chapter. There’s smut but also lots of feelings.

Summary: You and Frankie give into what you have been resisting for so long. And he finally says what he’s been wanting to say.

pragma (enduring love) - a love built on commitment, understanding and long-term best interests. It is a love that has aged, matured and about making compromises to help the relationship work over time, also showing patience and tolerance.

pragma masterlist

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t remember the last time you and Frankie were intimate. Hell, you thought about it all the damn time. What a lot of people didn’t know was that he was your first and your only until you got married. There would always be that bond. You wondered if he still thought about that first time too.

He had been so gentle with you although he was extremely eager. You hid your body from him at first and when he moved your hands, you covered your face. Then he told you to never hide from him—he would always think you were beautiful. And then he touched you and when he finally decided that you were ready for him, he held your hand just like he was right now. He held on and told you to squeeze whenever you thought you couldn’t take anymore. You squeezed a few times but each time you told him not to stop.

People always say that sky’s the limit but he took you above and beyond that night and the look in his eyes tonight told you he was planning to again.

He squeezed your hand and brought you back to the here and now. You looked into his eyes and he kissed your inner thigh gently before dipping his head between your legs. His eyes stayed glued to yours and the intensity alone was enough to make you cry but instead you threw your head back and called out to him.

Frankie.

Francisco.

God.

You used your free hand to run your fingers through his hair as he tasted you, consumed you. He wrapped his free arm around one of your thighs to keep you open for him. And even while doing something so naughty you could feel his thumb caressing your hand. He refused to let go.

“I want to hear you,” he murmured against your thigh. You almost had to look away from the way his lips glistened because of you.

“Frankie. Please, I…oh fuck!” His mouth was on you again and those stars? Yeah, you were seeing them. You could feel him smile then chuckle against you. He knew exactly what he was doing. God, did he ever. He pulled away and put two fingers in his mouth to get them wet then took them out. You made a mental note to mark that down as the sexiest thing you had ever seen.

“Remember…I always make sure you’re ready for me,” he said and you nodded as his fingers rubbed up and down your slit before stopping at your entrance. You held his hand tightly as he slid his fingers into you achingly slow. “You okay?” he asked kissing your thigh.

“Yeah…yes…don’t stop.” You moaned quietly as he pushed his fingers deeper. He laid his head against your thigh as he watched his fingers disappear inside you inch by inch.

“I’m gonna let go now,” he told you, “But keep looking.” You nodded and he let go of your hand. While one hand was busy, he placed the other on your stomach to keep you from squirming away. You ran your fingers through his hair again and he closed his eyes before tasting you, his tongue teasing you at the same pace as his fingers. You would say he had a wicked tongue but this wasn’t wicked at all—it was lovely, perfect, and pure pleasure. And he was enjoying himself too.

He had a hard time keeping his eyes open as he tasted you and the fact that you were pulling on his hair a little didn’t help. Then he opened them and looked directly at you as his tongue flicked over that bundle of nerves. Your hips arched off the bed so he moved the hand he had on your stomach and held your thigh to keep himself between your legs.

“Frankie…Frankie…” His name was all you could say—a sweet prayer to bring you salvation. Your body trembled, a tear ran down the side of your face, and your grip on his hair had tightened. His fingers pumped into you faster now and he once again matched the pace with his tongue against you. He crooked his fingers a certain way that hit the sweet spot inside of you while wrapping his lips around the sweet spot outside and…fuck seeing stars, you went straight past them and into heaven and Frankie was the saint welcoming you to the pearly gates.

“Oh God, yes!” you cried as you hit your peak, pushing yourself against his lips and tongue and holding him in place by his hair. He groaned loudly and you thought he was protesting but his eyes were closed. He loved that you were keeping him in place. You didn’t let go until he laid his head against your thigh, eyes closed and licking his lips. He took his fingers from you and you gasped.

“How was-"

“Come here, Frankie.” You reached for him and he took your hand, moving up quickly to kiss you.

“I need you,” he breathed. “Please…”

“Yes.” You kissed him again. “Yes.” He was holding your hand again as you kissed his cheeks then his nose then his forehead.

“Yes,” he whispered as he gently pushed himself inside you. He buried his face in your neck and groaned loudly. You ran your hands up and down his back until finally bringing them to his hair.

“Look at me, Francisco.”

And he did. He looked right into your eyes as he began thrusting into you slowly. He took you with a gentleness that you hadn’t experienced in years. And every time he murmured your name, you smiled. You knew he was holding back, afraid that he might do something wrong, but all it took was a nod from you and he thrusting into you earnestly. When he saw the tears falling from your eyes, he slowed down.

“Don’t stop,” you cried. You wanted this. You needed this. He gave you a soft kiss before sitting up and holding onto your waist as he pumped in and out of you. Your back arched off the bed and he held you like that, loving the way you reacted to the new angle.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he groaned. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Lie down.”

“Mm…what?” He slowed down again.

You sat up and pushed him onto his back. His head was nearly hanging off the bed so he had to slide up a bit. You climbed on top of him and he gasped as you grabbed him and slid onto him. Looking down at him from this angle was a sight to behold—his hair was a mess, his face was flushed, and his plump lips hung open as he panted.

“Oh Frankie,” you moaned, putting his hands on your hips as you rode him. He was looking into your eyes at first but soon he was looking at your body, admiring you. You guess he was enjoying looking at you from this angle just as much as you enjoyed looking at him. You only wished that you could hear what he was thinking.

If you could, you would hear him calling you ‘fucking beautiful’ repeatedly. You would hear him telling you how you looked like you were floating, flying even, and you were taking him right along with you.

You leaned back, placing your hands on his knees for balance, and moved your hips in circles. He couldn’t get enough—the sounds he made told you as much. You closed your eyes and, yes, it did feel like you were flying. You almost felt like throwing your arms out to the side but you kept them on his legs.

You opened your eyes but now his were closed. “Frankie.” He looked at you and you leaned forward again, putting your hands on his chest. “Make me fly,” you whimpered. “Make me fly, mi piloto.”

“Siempre…” He sat up so quickly that you gasped. He wrapped one arm around you and used the other to hold himself up as he thrust up into you. “Siempre,” he repeated breathlessly, “Por siempre y para siempre.”

“Hold me. Please,” you begged as you matched his thrusts. He wrapped both arms around you and you held him. He looked up at you in awe his pupils blown wide with desire. Your bodies fit so perfectly together. You never wanted to let go. With your foreheads pressed together and you both whispering sweet nothings to each other, you began to cry again.

“I got you,” Frankie said. “I’m right here.” He slowly moved one hand between your bodies and between your legs to touch you. His thrusts became a little sharper and he grunted with each one. “I’m gonna…I can’t…” Then he whimpered.

“It’s okay, Frankie.” You kissed him softly. “Together…” He made sure he worked you up to your peak again so he wouldn’t finish without you. With a few more rough thrusts, he cried out and hid his face against your breasts. You weren’t far behind, scraping your nails down his back as you came around him. He hissed from the slight overstimulation, his hips still thrusting slowly beneath you.

“Dios mío,” he groaned, holding onto you as if you would float away if he let go. He kissed your breasts lazily before laying his head on your chest and closing his eyes. “I wanna stay inside you forever.”

You giggled and kissed the top of his head. “We should get cleaned up.”

“Whyyyy?” he whined.

“We’re all sweaty and sticky.”

“Yeah but for a very good reason.” He looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes. How he managed to look so innocent while he was inside you, you would never know.

“You’re so cute, Francisco Morales.” You kissed his nose then struggled to unwrap his arms from around your body. “We can cuddle all you want after we take a shower.” He finally lets you go and you carefully slide off him. You whimpered and he grunted before collapsing onto his back but not before hitting your ass lightly as you crawled off the bed.

“Damn…I’m gettin' old,” he said turning his head to watch you walk to the bathroom.

“You sure are,” you yelled from the bathroom as you stood from the toilet. You weren’t expecting him to walk in when he did but, surprisingly, you were okay with it. He stood in the doorway and crossed his arms.

“You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“Turn on the shower, grandpa.” You giggled at how offended he looked.

“Not that old.” He went to start the shower and you walked over, checking him out.

“Nope. Not that old at all.” You bit your lip just as he stood up straight and looked at you.

“Are…are you checking me out?”

“And what if I am?” You shrugged and stepped into the shower. Frankie followed immediately wrapping his arms around you.

“What’s your favorite thing about me then?” he asked, smiling innocent.

“That right there. That smile.” Your hands slid down to his stomach. “And this.” Then around to his bottom. “And this.” You squeezed and he jumped.

“Hey now.”

Between talking and making out, you two spent way too long in the shower, but you couldn’t remember the last time you smiled so much. Hell, you couldn’t think of a time when Frankie smiled and laughed this way. It felt good. It felt natural.

Now you were getting dressed as Frankie sat and watched. “Are you gonna sit around in a towel all day?” you asked, pulling on a pair of jeans.

“My clothes are dirty.” He thought for a moment. “I keep clothes in my truck for when I sleep in there though.”

“Gimme your keys, I’ll run out and get ‘em.” You held your hand out.

“I took a shower downstairs last night so my clothes are down there.” He stood and walked out the bedroom to head downstairs with you to the other bathroom. He picked up his jeans and reached into the pocket. “Here.”

With the keys in your hand, you walked out to the truck and began looking for his clothes. They were a few things folded neatly on the backseat. “Aha.” You grabbed the faded red shirt and light khaki jeans then reached for a pair of boxer briefs. “Gotcha.” You put the clothes down so you could step down carefully. When you turned around, Frankie stood at the front door waiting for you.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” You walked past him into the house and he closed the door.

“I hope these are okay. I really love these jeans on you.” You took them from the pile to hold them up when you heard something hit the floor. Frankie didn’t seem to hear it because he kept talking as you bent to pick up whatever fell.

“So, you picked them for you, not so much for me,” he teased. He was still smiling even as you stood looking down at the baggie in your hand. You weren’t an expert or anything, but you knew enough. You knew that a powder-like substance in a baggie was bad news.

“What?” he asked as he moved closer to you, finally noticing what you were holding. “I…”

“I’m not angry,” you told him. You closed your hand and held the baggie tightly. “I’m just gonna ask you this: do you want it or do you want me to get rid of it?”

“Give it to me,” he said and your shoulders slunk as tears filled your eyes. You opened your hand slowly and he took the baggie from you before storming off to the bathroom.

“Frankie…don’t…” You followed him ready to beg and plead but what he did surprised you.

“I can get rid of it myself,” he said as he dumped the contents into the toilet and flushed. “See? I can…I…” He closed the lid and sat down heavily. He put his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You rushed to him and he wrapped his arms around you, hiding his face in your shirt. His tears soaked right through but you didn’t care, you let him cry. He nuzzled your stomach and you looked down at him. When he met your eye, you saw a lost boy, you saw how afraid he was. His pleaded with you without words. His cry for help was a silent one.

“Are you gonna leave?” he finally asked. Even if you said yes, you wouldn’t be able to move. He had his arms around you so tightly you were surprised you could breathe.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You moved his arms so you could kneel in front of him. “I’m staying.”

“I don’t deserve you but…I love you,” he cried. “I really fucking love you.” He laughed even as a tear fell from his eye. He sniffled as you cupped his face and kissed his lips.

“I love you, Francisco Morales. I never stopped.” You kissed him and it seemed to make him cry more. “It’s okay.”

“I’m such a big baby.” He wiped his eyes and smiled at you.

You stood and held your hand out to him. “Come on. You gotta put some clothes on no matter how great I think you look without them.”

He took your hand and stood up before cutting in front of you and dropping the towel that was around his waist. “I mean…if you really want me to put clothes on…”

You looked him up and down but shook your head and tried to walk past him. “I’m hungry,” you complained.

“We can get take out.” He blocked you with his body.

“What if…Santiago is wondering where you are? What if he’s worried?”

“Let him worry.” He smiled as he picked you up and sat you beside the sink.

“I just got dressed,” you whined before he kissed you.

“Clothes are overrated.” He pulled your shirt over your head.

“There’s just no stopping you, huh?”

“Listen…the woman of my dreams just told me she loves me even after what she found. Even after I cried in front of her. So I’m sorry if I’m feeling a little frisky after that.” His hands caressed your back.

“Frisky?” you laughed. “Frankie the frisky flyboy. Rolls off the tongue.”

“Yeah, well, I know a few other things that-" You put a finger to his lips.

“Show me then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You were wrapped up in the sheets with Frankie in a post-carnal bliss that you hadn’t felt in, well, forever. He held you close, kissing the back of your neck and caressing your stomach. The silence stretched on but it was a comfortable silence.

“It was old,” Frankie said suddenly.

“What?”

“What you found…I forgot about it…” He stopped rubbing your stomach and took your hand.

“You don’t have to explain.”

“But I do. Look at me.” You rolled onto your back and he kissed you before continuing. “The last time I used…remember when I was gone for a few weeks after I kissed you?” You nodded. “That was the last time.”

“Okay.” You brought his hand to your mouth and kissed it. “I’m not gonna ask you to give it up for me.”

“Are you serious?”

“I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“You can ask me for anything. I would give up everything I for you.” He touched your cheek gently.

“But…it must be so hard. I don’t want you to suffer. I don’t want you to be in pain. I can’t stand the thought,” you cried. “I’ve hurt you enough.”

“If you’re with me there won’t be any pain. As long as I get to hold your hand, I’ll be okay.” He laid down and closed his eyes and you rolled onto your side again, still holding his hand. You held onto it even as you fell asleep.

And you hoped to still be holding it when you woke up.

[seven]

Tags: @cable-kenobi @saltywintersoldat @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @pedrosdoll @psychobillybunny @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @keeper0fthestars @mrsparknuts @thinemineours @huliabitch @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @lavenderl3mons @mrscrain-x7 @fioccodineveautunnale @gooddaykate

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #francisco 'catfish' morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #headcanon

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pallasperilous · 4 years

Text

So It Goes

So, forgive me this indulgence as somebody who does not ordinarily write meta; a friend asked me why I thought that the manner of Dean’s death in 15x20 is an incredibly lovely and mature writing choice. I think it is so, for reasons that also happen to explain why so many fans of the show fucking loathe it.

There is some Vonnegut at the end. Hang in for that.

PART ONE:

Chuck's story direction has always made sure that the boys, if they died, did so in a mega intense or glorious fashion (minus the *Mystery Spot* meddling by Gabriel, and those weren't meant to be permadeaths). Those deaths were awesome heroic television deaths that FED the story rather than ending it. Every time, the surviving brother would do some extremely stupid and destabilizing shit to bring the other back, often feeding an entire new cycle of death and retrieval.

If he *didn't* (cf: Sam in the Cage, Dean in Purgatory), it caused a massive rift between them, which then fed *further* wild-ass decisions. The dudes were in the dictionary under 'codependency'. People knew that killing or capturing one of them meant the other wasn't far behind.

Chuck's endgame for Sam and Dean was literally to *die fighting God.* How much more heroically wanky can you get?

But they beat him. They’re free. Jack takes over, and makes it clear that he isn’t going to be a God who meddles or directs; he’s not going to be their in-house writer. He’s just going to set things back where they belong, reform the systems that Chuck established out of ego or cruelty, and then integrate himself with the universe so that anything that happens to it…happens to him, too. He’s won’t be a character anymore. He’s a setting.

PART TWO:

So, minus Chuck, with Jack’s goodbye and Castiel’s sacrifice…the boys get to experience plain old…real life. Tuesday! Drinking beer, kicking the laundry machine, filling out shitty job applications, enjoying the little consolations of food and pets and free time. (I think that messy room and dog-bonding and staring into the internet bespeaks a Dean who is really doing his goddamn best to not implode with grief as he has in the past, but to try to thrive in the face of deep grieving).

When Sam expresses grief over losing Cas, Dean's response is basically: yeah, it sucks. But our job, that our loved ones sacrificed for us to have a shot at… is to stop trying to reverse all of our losses, and to learn to live with them, like normal people have to. That’s the price of the gift they’ve been given — accepting whatever real life deals them.

They can literally do anything they want; circumstances won’t herd them into Season 16. What’s the first thing Dean really does, after this little break?

He hears “missing kids, dead parents” and he dives right back in. He opens his Dad’s goddamn notebook for the info. He’s immediately choosing to go right back to where they started, for the sake of helping other people. He books them to fight some of the very first basic bitch monsters he and Sam dealt with. That is unforced 100% Dean’s choice.

(Sam has demonstrated an ability to not take on the responsibility of eliminating all monster-based misfortunes in the world and pursue a life beyond just hunting, so long as Dean has been off the map…but Dean’s one attempt to take a job and settle down with Lisa ended up being so obviously hollow that Castiel felt SO BAD he took time off from RUNNING HEAVEN to rescue Sam FOR DEAN.)

PART THREE:

Remember Chuck's little fit earlier where Dean wound up getting his teeth drilled etc? That bad luck was being magnified by Chuck being pissed at them, but the brothers truly did find themselves facing ordinary people shit they had never really had to deal with. It drove the point home -- Sam and Dean had been exempt, this whole time, from the petty little ways that failure and misfortune work in the normal world. That extended to their hunting, too — they found out that there were people they could fail to save, despite their best effort. People who, according to the rules they’d been operating under, should have been savable.

So we see this hunt — which is really rough and tumble. They’re still doing amazingly considering how outnumbered they are, but this was some of the most intentionally graceless fight choreography I remember seeing on the show. They seriously almost lose the fight, and Sam kills that last vamp pestering Dean with the kind of “whew!” last minute heroics we’ve come to expect from the show.

And Dean realizes: something has gone wrong. Something that no pulp TV action genre writer would ever, ever draft for a hero’s death. There was some scary rebar sticking out and Dean got shoved into it in the scuffle and it hath Fucked Him Up. It’s the kind of shit that happens on construction sites. It’s an accident. It’s a random misfortune. It has nothing to do with his heroism or skill or the cleverness or powerfulness of his opponents. It just happens.

Under show rules, here is what would happen next: Castiel would heal him. Jack would heal him. Sam would call an ambulance and Dean would be DOA and Sam would whip out his cellphone and call Rowena or a crossroads demon or Sister Jo or research a spell and we’d be off and rolling for Season 16.

But Dean says: Don’t do that.

Because that is what Chuck would write.

Dean realizes — this is exactly the world they have fought to exist in. A world that is randomly wonderful, randomly shitty. This happened because he chose to be here. Nobody made them pursue this hunt. Is he surprised that it happened so soon, that he ended up having so little time to give unscripted life a shot? Yes, to the point that he clearly thinks it’s honestly kinda funny. Cuz who’d write it like that? Nobody! He likes the part that he gets to die on a hunt, standing up, in his boots — that’s what he’s always seen for himself. Not in a bad way, not in a “killing machine” or a “daddy’s little soldier” way, but because it means he kept fighting for other people up to the last second. He’s upset that Sam is so upset — he’s more worried about calming Sam and reassuring him than he is about how cool his death is gonna look on IMDB, or how they can cheat circumstance to buy him more time.

Instead of buying more time, at the expense of living like real people instead of TV characters…he decides to make the most of this one moment. He tells Sam how much he loves him. He tells Sam that Sam will be okay; he’s going to go live a whole life on whatever terms he and the universe can work out together, and the fact that Dean isn’t there is gonna be a painful but acceptable part of those terms. Dean says: don’t go running off trying to change this. Just spend this last little bit of time with me, while the universe does its thing. That’s what they do.

TL;DR — this death is fucking awesome because Chuck would absolutely fucking hate it. He wanted Sam and Dean to go down in a ball of fire together, fighting their coolest foe ever, CHUCK!

Instead: Dean dies like a normal person, from an accident bred under circumstances that he chose for himself. Chuck loses half his prize, not to some other big bad, but to a damn piece of construction material on a mundane job. And Dean gets to die in a way that unshackles Sam’s fate from his own. Like Castiel did for him, he gets to say: I love you. This is enough for me. Go live your life.

He finally gets to drop his kid back off at Stanford.

Chuck would be so pissed.

And we, the viewers of Supernatural...well, hell, we’re ultimately fans of Chuck’s writing, aren’t we? So of course something so unprecedented, so un-heroic or badass, so mundane and intimate and random...of course it shocks. Because that’s not the show we’ve been watching!! But isn’t that the point? The author is dead. We can put aside his tastes, and we can look at Dean’s death, and say the words of Dean’s actual favorite author, Kurt Vonnegut -- So it goes.

#spn meta #spn finale spoilers #spn criticism #I liked what was in the finale and grieved what was not #death of the author hell yeah #dean winchester

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dontasktheradiodemon · 3 years

Text

Move In?

Oh, let's just summarize this one with a quote:

Sir Pentious:

"I know we said we would slow things down, and I agree we should, but you spend almost every night here, and you have no other place to call home....So, I was thinking, why not call _here_ home? Here, with me." He glanced quickly at Alastor from the corner of his eye before staring even more adamantly off to the side.

Alastor:

Alastor’s eyes widened in shock. His heart stopped. And a little voice in the back of his head whispered, *run.*

Alastor

Guess who repaired an organ and was incredibly smug about it.

A professional could probably have done it faster—and with less duct tape—and Alastor was lucky the damage hadn't been worse. He'd needed Telly to show him the basics—and go to him for repairs whenever he found a pipe too damaged—and he'd spent half his free time for the past few weeks either sneaking into other organs to see how they were put together or burying his nose in organ repair manuals—but he'd gotten it done.

A few last details needed fixing, sure—but more importantly, they'd reached the moment Alastor had been anticipating for weeks: it was ready for Telly to take it for a test run.

He *hadn't* anticipated what watching Telly play would do to his heart.

Sir Pentious

And oh did Telly play. His fingers flew over the manuals, pulling stops, pressing keys, his tail taking care of the the pedals-- luckily, there were only three, he'd gotten it down to that few.

He lost himself to the music, the sheer joy of being able to play again overcame him, and he didn't stop, not for a good while. But when the final note rang and held, his smile was wide enough to split his face. He stood, spinning to give a deep bow to his audience of one-- though he _could_ hear the Eggs clamoring outside the locked bridge doors in joy.

"What a wonderful job you did, my hart! It's sounding flawless, perfect! Oh, I am so very, very happy!!" He slithered over and took Alastor's hands, kissing the back of each.

Alastor

So often the past few months, he’d found himself thinking, *god, the last time I did this was fifty-four years ago.* But it had never pierced quite as deeply as this time, like an arrow lodged in his lungs. Standing just behind Sir Pentious as he played, bent over his shoulder, watching his fingers glide gracefully over the keyboard, listening to the pipe organ thunder around them... He’d been here before. It had been beautiful then. It was beautiful now. It made him ache.

When Telly bowed, Alastor’s invisible audience applauded him, a thousand hands clapping, and he smiled so wide it hurt. “What a show! Absolutely stupendous! Goodness me, I think I felt half of Hell trembling under that barrage. You’d drown out all the trumpets of Heaven, my darling—and sound twice as divine doing it!”

Sir Pentious

If his smile could widen any further, it would at the praise Alastor lavished on him. He leaned down to kiss him, briefly, before pulling back and bringing him closer to the organ.

"Now I can show you a favorite feature of mine!" He said, smile turning oh so devious. "WATCH AND BEHOLD, BECAUSE, MY HART, THIS ORGAN....CAN PLAY ITSELF!"

With a cackle, he flipped a switch on the side and the keys began to press on their own, playing a familiar melody-- the Phantom of the Opera.

"I added that in the early 1990s when the musical was getting very big!" He set his hands on his hips and grinned-- look at him, so smug.

Alastor

Alastor laughed in amazement. “Phantom doesn’t even sound this good in the theater!” He leaned against Telly. “Truth to tell, I figured out during repairs that this thing knew how to play itself—had to check out what some of the thingamabobs and thingamajigs were doing—but it really is something to see in action!” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the music, and it still felt like an intimate whisper.

Sir Pentious

"Still impressive, yes!!" He laughed, turning to place his hand on Alastor's waist, his other taking Alastor's hand, in a classic dancing stance.

"Shall we, darling?" He prompted, smirking.

Alastor

His heart skipped a beat painfully. Listening to Sir Pentious play the organ on his ship, and then sweeping him into a dance? *God, the last time I did this was...*

“Of course!” He squeezed Telly’s hand and slid in close, shadows sliding in with him; the lighting went dark and strange as Alastor shifted the world, just a little bit, to let Telly dance.

And as they started dancing, he sang along to the organ, at the top of his lungs, in no way Broadway-worthy: “*In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came! That voice which calls to me and speaks my name—!*”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed as they started to dance, twirling around the bridge, his tail sliding effortlessly across the ground. Once the song got to the Phantom's part, Telly began to sing again-- not the best, but certainly far from the worse, he could at least hit most of the notes.

"_Sing once again with me! Our strange duet! My power over you, grows stronger yet!_"

Alastor

Wasn’t that the truth? *Sing once again with me...*

He made it into the duet as far as “*Your spirit and my voice, in one—*” before he abruptly stopped singing, half laughing as he blurted out, “Oh no! I took the part with the high notes! I have to sing the ending, what have I done!”

Sir Pentious

"_My spirit and your voice, in one--_" Telly stopped short too, laughing with Alastor. "Yes, you've done it to yourself! How tragic!"

He snickered, before trying to pick up again. "_And in this labyrinth, where night is blind!_"

Alastor

“*The Phaaantom of the Op*—pfff, please Phantom, have mercy! I’m no Angel of Music, they wouldn’t let me in the pearly gates!”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed, keeping their dance going at least. "Oh, come now, maybe not an Angel of Music, but certainly a Demon of Music! So sing for me, my Demon of Music! Sing!!"

Alastor

“*He’s theee-he-here—*” he was almost laughing too hard to sing, “*—the Phaaantom of the O-operaaa...*” DEEP breath!

Sir Pentious

"Sing for me!" Telly commanded spinning out to be able to twirl Alastor-- not making the singing any easier, not at ALL.

Alastor

He stumbled in the twirl, steadied himself, and then did his best to hit Christine’s high note.

It came out as an unholy screech of pure distorted static. He only lasted a couple of notes before his “voice” broke and he collapsed against Sir Pentious’s shoulder in helpless cackles that sounded as much like feedback as like laughter. He made a second attempt so brief it sounded more like a lone beep before laughing even harder.

Sir Pentious

And that broke Telly as well. He tried his best to hold Alastor up, but his own laughing soon brought them both down. He wheezed for breath, holding Alastor close.

Alastor

He clung to Sir Pentious, fingers digging into his jacket, laughing so hard his stomach hurt and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

And suddenly he felt something in his chest crack, and his throat abruptly closed. He kept clinging, his shoulders trembling, face hidden.

Sir Pentious

Telly was wheezing so hard he didn't even notice the change. He slowly began to wind down, one of his hands idly rubbing Alastor's back.

"That was hilarious, dear, I've never heard a screech quite like that!" Another few chuckles.

Alastor

“Well—sound like that—blast most microphones, you know.” His voice was tense and tight. Sound normal, please sound normal.

Sir Pentious

That was not a normal post-laughing-fit voice. And that got Telly concerned.

"Alastor? Are you all right?" He asked, his hand now more purposefully rubbing Alastor's back, trying to sooth him. "Is something wrong?"

Alastor

“Fine! Fine, I’m fine.” He nodded against Telly’s shoulder. “Just, must have—hard on my throat. That’s all.”

Sir Pentious

"Oh, darling." He wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. "Do you want me to make you some tea to soothe it? Or I could send the Eggs to get some lozenges?"

Alastor

“No no, it’s okay. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

Sir Pentious

"Oh, alright." He frowned as he rubbed Alastor's back, pressing his cheek against the side of his head.

After about a minute, he asked, "Are you sure?"

Alastor

He held on a little tighter. It took several seconds for him to reply. “I missed doing this with you.”

He knew he was talking to the wrong Sir Pentious. But he had to say it anyway.

Sir Pentious

Oh. _Oh._ Telly understood then, what was happening. His tail pulled up, coiling around Alastor's legs, and his arms just held him tighter, pressing his cheek harder to the side of his head. He didn't know what to say to that, but he could at least hold Alastor through it.

Alastor

“Sorry.” His voice was almost a whisper. Just give him a moment, he’d be fine.

Sir Pentious

"It's fine. Take your time, I'm here." He whispered back, nuzzling against him.

Alastor

It was another minute or two; but then, finally, he took a deep breath and said in something close to his normal voice, “Oh, how embarrassing! Excuse me.” He pulled back, faking a normal smile. “So sorry! It’s just... Something in the atmosphere, I suppose.”

Sir Pentious

Telly cupped his face, stroking his thumb along his cheek. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"_Alastor._ It's all right, truly, it is. You don't need to apologize." And another kiss, this time to the other cheek.

Alastor

That made it frustratingly hard to keep faking a normal smile! He could feel it wavering at the corners. He just nodded in agreement, sure, if Telly says so.

Sir Pentious

Telly started stroking his cheek with his thumb. Hm, what to do to cheer up your Radio Demon when he was feeling down? Oh, mayhaps a song. Telly pressed their foreheads together and smiled, as he began to sing, softly.

“_Grey skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face._”

Alastor

A lump formed in his throat. Oh no. His heart was full of love and his eyes were full of tears. Time to hide his face again, there he goes.

Sir Pentious

It took some careful maneuvering, but Telly got himself _and_ Alastor back up and standing, all so he could sway gently with him. He continued to sing, his tailtip tapping against Alastor's leg.

"_Brush off the clouds and cheer up, put on a happy face. Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy, it’s not your style, you’ll look so good that you’ll be glad, you decided to smile!_”

Alastor

That’s it, Telly’s figured out all his weaknesses. Alastor hummed and sway along. More static than usual still laced his humming.

Sir Pentious

"_Pick out a pleasant outlook, stick out that noble chin!_” He pulled back, revealing Alastor's face, and tapped a finger under his chin. “_Wipe off that ‘full of doubt’ look, slap on a happy grin! And spread sunshine all over the place, just put on a happy face!_”

He took Alastor's hands, doing a little side to side shimmy, before attempting to twirl him.

Alastor

He almost tried to hide again—but then the chin tap, and he choked out a laugh instead. He was sure his eyes were still a little watery as Telly twirled him, but when he came back in he pressed his forehead to Telly’s, once more properly grinning.

“This is what it was like when—he and I first kissed. He’d just played his organ for me for the first time, and then somehow we ended up dancing and making fools of ourselves and laughing, and...” He sighed. He doubted Telly wanted to hear about Alastor’s ex—his oh-so-successful ex who’d conquered half the States—but Alastor owed Telly at least that much information. Especially if he was going to be pathetic and burst into tears over it.

Sir Pentious

Telly held him close, forehead pressed against his. “Yes, I assumed something along those lines. I….have to admit that it feels _strange_, slithering in the same tracks without knowing it. I….hrm. I’m not sure how I feel about it, to be frank. I don’t…..want to be just a replacement, you know.”

His own happy face was falling. “I’m sorry, you’re trying to tell me important things and here I am making it about me, I shouldn’t–- please, continue.”

Alastor

“It’s fine. You’ve got a right to have those worries. I don’t want you to be just a replacement, either. And I never want you to *feel* like a replacement. Never.” He held Telly’s cheeks. “It’d be a bald-faced lie if I said I *didn’t* end up here because—because I want the things in you that I know are the same as the things I wanted in him. Is that *replacement,* or is it knowing that I’ve got an extremely specific type? I’m still working out the nuances myself. I—“ huff, “—I wasn’t exactly planning on this.”

Sir Pentious

Whatever else, it did feel good and reassuring to hear that, out loud. His arms wrapped around Alastor and squeezed him briefly.

“I feel like it’s more the second. It’s not like you sought me out _specifically_ to date me to replace him. No one plans these sort of things, certainly. I mean, _I_ never thought I’d be with a Radio Demon in this way, or even _friends_, honestly. Not after what happened between me and Leclerq.”

Alastor

“And I did tell you—if a more successful snake slithered up and asked me to join his enterprise, I’d want to stay here. That’s still true.” He smiled crookedly. “I’ve always wondered about that bit, though—how am *I* the only Radio Demon with any taste at all? It seems impossible.”

Sir Pentious

"You did, and you cannot know how much that relieved me to hear." He smiled and cupped his cheek again, leaning in to give him a kiss. "As for the other bit, well, I don’t know. Perhaps you’re the outlier!”

Alastor

Kiss! “Aren’t I the lucky one, then!”

Sir Pentious

"You are! Just to think, so many snakes and radios are missing out on this." He laughed and returned the kiss. Now that cheering up was done, he coiled and sat, pulling Alastor into his 'lap'.

"You know, I've been thinking about something for a bit now...."

Alastor

“How tragic for them,” Alastor said, sighing lightly; but he couldn’t help but think about just how much his alternates would disagree. Well, lucky them, being unattached. At least he could make the most of his attachment.

He settled onto Telly’s coils, giving him his full attention. “What’s that?”

Sir Pentious

"I've been thinking about, well-- you've got your toiletries here, you've got a robe, you've been stealing my shirts to use as underwear, don't think I haven't noticed, and--" He paused and looked away, giving a little shrug.

Alastor

Alastor’s eyes widened in shock. His heart stopped. And a little voice in the back of his head whispered, *run.*

He’d been thinking about this for a while, too. Hell, he’d been thinking about a lot of things—what he wanted their wedding to be like (obnoxiously ostentatious and broadcast on every station in Hell), what he’d do if Telly offered to hire him as a full-time henchman (give the hotel his two weeks’ notice and duel Vaggie for full custody of the blog). But his thoughts had been *fantasies.* Had he expected them to happen? This soon?

This was so fast. They’d known each other less than four months, been together less than two. And God, yes, Alastor felt like he’d do anything for Telly, but how much of that was real? (How much was Telly really a replacement after all?)

He’d known Telly for days before feeling like this. He’d known his own Sir Pentious for fifteen years.

It felt wrong. It was so fast.

*Run.*

No, not yet. He swallowed hard. “I... really?”

Sir Pentious

Well, he didn't immediately leap off of Telly's coils and disappear into a portal, so that was at least a good-ish sign. His tongue flicked and stayed out a moment too long before retracting, a sure sign of a stressed snake.

"Yes, really. I just....I want you here, with me, but I also just want you to have a place to call yours. Somewhere for you to go to at the end of the day, that you're happy to go to." Another long flick.

"I understand if you need time to think about it-- I've had time to think, too, and you deserve that-- and even if you don't want to accept, you're always welcome here. And if you want to accept sometime in the future, the invitation is there...." He was still not looking at him, and his tongue now stayed out. Stressed snake is stressed.

Alastor

Telly looked so nervous. Alastor had to look away.

It made perfectly good sense. He couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t have any official place—beds in places no one would find or places he was charitably permitted to shack up from time to time, his possessions stored in hidden rooms or concealed in a separate plane of existence entirely. He slept here, showered here, cooked here, ate here, made love here. He was practically living here already.

He mentally recoiled at the realization.

*Run.*

“That’s...” He laughed wheezily. “I... haven’t lived with anyone since I died. Few years with Rosie, I suppose, but... I was just a guest, not...” He was so tired of being a guest. He was so tired of being the visitor, the one who had to say *hello* and stand and wait in the lobby while everyone else walked around like they owned the place because they *did.* He was so tired of being in places where everything he saw was *someone else’s things.* Even in the spaces he’d claimed for himself, he could see his own trinkets sitting discordantly atop tables and cabinets that didn’t belong to him.

But he was less tired of being a guest than he was afraid of being a prisoner.

*Run.* “I have to think about it.”

Sir Pentious

"Of course, of course, yes. Think about it, that would be good-- t-that's what I said, after all! Hah....." He fidgeted there, the arms still wrapped around Alastor feeling odd now-- not unwelcome but just _odd_. He resisted the urge to pull them back completely, he didn't want to make it seem like it was a _bad_ thing, what Alastor had said.

But he had to ask. "Did you want me to....leave you alone? To think? Or....did you want to go somewhere to think? It's okay if you do, you know. I....hn, you don't have to stay if you need some space. I'd rather you take space when you need it."

Alastor

Telly knew him *too* well. “Space would be nice,” he said, with a voice a little too reminiscent of somebody carsick on a long drive declaring that pulling over at the next exit would be just a swell idea. He got to his feet, pulling out of Telly’s arms.

And immediately missed Telly’s touch. Oh, Alastor had it bad, didn’t he? (As if he didn’t already know that.) He reached down to grab Telly’s hands again.“I’m—not sure what to say.” Another nervous laugh. “I mean I’m *really* not sure—but—thank you. Whether or not I... Thank you.” But he couldn’t stand this much longer.

Sir Pentious

Telly squeezed Alastor's hands when they took his own, and finally looked at him-- and oh, he _look_ so nervous. And Telly's heart clenched. He wanted to pull him back down, kiss him silly, and then tell him to just forget everything. But he couldn't. This was important.

Instead, he simply pulled Alastor's hands closer, kissed the back of one, and then let go. He had to trust that he would come back-- he _did_ trust that, even if the small voice in the back of his head that sounded like George told him otherwise.

"I'll be here, when you're finished." He gave him a smile, though it wasn't a happy one. "You always know where to find me, my hart."

Alastor

Alastor was already smiling, of course. His wasn’t happy either. “And you always know how to call me, *mon roi.*”

He left without destroying everything, without burning all his bridges, without lying about what he felt. He left still shakily smiling. He was proud of himself for that.

(A small cruel scared part of him wished he’d destroyed everything. Then, at least, he wouldn’t still have to make a decision.)

#usedhearts #chat log #((get an rp partner who reads your fics and goes 'i will use this info to construct a scenario designed to cause maximum emotional damage'))

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hiddenwritingsintheworld · 4 years

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Where You’re Bound Pt. 12 (Final Chapter)

Dear sweet Followers, I never in all these years thought I’d be posting this. This is it. The end....THE. END. I cannot believe we’ve followed the Reader and Sam through this huge, horrible, long, sad, tear filled, sweet road. I can’t wait for you all to read this ending!! It was so bitter sweet. I loved this series and I loved writing it! That being said, I do have some new ones coming out!! YAY!!! and finishing some old ones!! Yay!! So be on the look out!! :) I love you guys! Thank you for making this story come to life!!! You never know, there maybe something in store for this series in the future! ;) P.S I may or may not be willing to add an epilogue to this series-only if its wanted!

Donations

Where You Belong (Series 1)

Where You’ve Been (Series 2)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Chapter 12-The Final Chapter!

Saying yes was the best choice you’d ever made in your life. Sam wanted you to have a grand wedding, and while the idea was appealing, you wanted to keep things small and intimate. Sam had decided that a new house would bring a new happiness to your future together. As you moved boxes in, Sam wrapped his arms around your waist, “I can’t believe this is real, you being back in my arms, about to become my wife. I feel like my life is complete.” He grinned kissing your cheek as you giggled.

“The wedding is still four months away handsome.” You said smiling at him as you turned around in his arms, allowing him to take the boxes from your hands and set them down before pulling you in close. “I know, but you have your dress, I have my suit, why wait? We can do it right here in the backyard, what do you say?” Sam smiled.

You looked at him with a surprised look, “Wait are you being serious?” you asked him, which made you smile. Sam couldn’t wait to make you his wife and you couldn’t wait to make him your husband. “Yes, I’m dead serious,” Sam said with a bright smile. You grinned and kissed him deeply. “Alright, let’s move up the wedding!” you kissed him again as he picked you up, carrying you upstairs as you giggled.

~6 weeks later~

You paced your bedroom, your nerves getting the better of you, you’ve tried for two days to tell him and you still weren’t able to find the right words. You stopped in front of the mirror and stared at yourself, your ivory gown fit perfectly, hugging your torso just so. The sleeves were fitted perfectly, and the skirt was large and rounded, all satin, all beautiful. You loved staring at it. It was a simple gown and what made it more and more beautiful was the fact you were marrying Sam in it. The door opened and Sam stepped in. He froze when he laid eyes on you.

“My god Y/N, you’re absolutely amazing, and stunning and beautiful…oh my god,” Sam walked over to you smiling brightly. Your worry showing clear on your features. “Sam I have to talk to you about something, and it’s serious so I need to tell you but you have to understand I haven’t know but for like two days and I wanted to say something but-” Sam chuckled putting his finger against your lips.

“Baby, you’re rambling. What’s going on?” Sam asked sitting you down on the bed. He held both of your hands in his as you took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Sam I found out I’m-” the bedroom door opened and Dean stepped inside. “Dude, what the hell! You can’t see the bride before the wedding! It’s bad luck! Get your ass out!” he grabbed Sam’s arm and began leading him out. “I think we’ve gotten past our bad luck,” Sam grinned at you before pulling away from Dean. He walked over to you and slid his hands up along your jaw, cradling your face and kissed you deeply.

Kissing him back felt like heaven with a double chocolate chip cookie and a glass of chocolate milk. He was your everything. “Alright alright Save it for the ceremony,” Johns voice broke the kiss, causing Sam to pass you a wink and a smirk. You got butterflies in your stomach as you grinned at him. “I love you,” he whispered softly. “I love you more,” you whispered back.

“Alright break it up love birds,” Dean walked over and dragged Sam out of the room before you had a chance to stop them.

John smiled at you, “Y/N you look incredible,” Sam’s father grinned at you. You smiled thanking him softly, you’d pushed all thoughts of what you needed to tell Sam to the back of your mind, knowing that you’d just have to talk to him about everything after the ceremony. Which, you didn’t mind, you just had finally built up the courage to say something.

Sam stood nervously at the small wooden alter he, his father and his brother had all built together. Cas sat with a very pregnant Ellen who beamed at Cas with happiness. Sam smiled at them, maybe that would be you and him one day. Truth be told, you and Sam hadn’t talked much about a future, you just knew you wanted to be with him forever and he wanted to be with you. But you hadn’t talked about having kids. How would you feel about that? Your childhood wasn’t so amazing, maybe you didn’t want kids. Sam would be okay with that; as long as he had you, he had the world, and he knew everything would be fine.

You walked with John down the make shift isle that everyone had chipped in and put together. The moment your eyes landed on Sam a large grin covered your features. You didn’t pay attention to the twinkling lights that hung above your heads between the trees, or the pink and white flowers that surrounded you guys. It all looked incredible, but what really caught your eye was Sam, who stood there grinning, wearing a black tux and his hair was just slightly tussled from running his fingers through it.

He looked incredibly handsome; you couldn’t get down the isle fast enough. Sam loved you more than anything in the world. You were the best woman he’d ever had and he’d made a huge mistake letting you go once, he wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

You let go of Johns arm and gently kissed his cheek thanking him. The moment you stood in front of Sam it felt like the world had faded around the two of you. To anyone watching, it was like two halves of a soul were becoming one in that moment. No two better people had been made for each other.

Through everything though, neither of you guys had stopped loving one another. You both knew that you’d found the one when you first met. Now, you were being pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Winchester and you couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him deeply. Sam smiled into the kiss wrapping his arms around your waist lifting you off the ground some.

As you and Sam made your way to the house for your reception, you stopped him. “Sam, now that we’re alone for a minute there’s something I really have to tell you…” you stopped yourself and looked up at him. He grinned at you, you were now his wife, and no matter what you said next he’d be able to handle it.

“What’s on your mind Mrs. Winchester?” he beamed with pride as he looked down at you, calling you by your new official title. You smiled up at him and took his hands in yours, “Sam, I’m pregnant.” You said softly.

Sam’s smile turned into a grin, “Are you serious??” he asked you, you grinned and nodded your head as he scooped you up in his arms and kissed you deeply. “you have no idea how happy you’ve made me Y/N! I’ve never been this happy before,” he laughed kissing you again.

You grinned kissing him back, “So you’re okay with this then? Even though we don’t well, we haven’t talked about having a baby?” you asked as Sam set you down. “As long as I have you Y/N by my side, my life is perfect, and adding kids to that equation just makes it even better Y/N. because no matter what, you are most important. Forever and always.” Sam said kissing you deeply.

Your childhood and even teenage life may have been hell and torture but the moment Sam entered your life, all that changed. Sam and you had finally found your happily ever after and nothing would keep you from spending the rest of your forever together.

@adriellej @sgarrett49 @smoothdogsgirl @mrssamfuckingwinchester @hobby27 @traceyaudette @mogaruke @thewalkingdistancefrom @booger206 @ellen-reincarnated1967 @heimganger @moonlitskinwalker @teamfreewill-imagine @stoneygirl @monkeymcpoopoo @sandlee44 @asgardianvamp21 @frozenhuntress67 @babypink224221 @just-another-busy-fangirl @flamencodiva @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @jaylarkson @auriel187 @animenerdz1819 @jessica-marsh09 @woodworthti666

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dreamingsnowflake2013 · 4 years

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The way Tharn and Type communicate, respect and understand each other is everything. Tharn knows how difficult it’s for Type to admit to strangers that he’s dating a man, he understands his hesitation and is willing to wait for him until he is ready no matter how long it takes, because this is still all so new for him while Tharn, on the other hand, has been out for a long time. However, Type sees how important it’s for Tharn that his best friend knows about them, and he even told Techno, so it’s only fair. Moreover, Type really wants to give Tharn everything just like Tharn has given his everything to him. It’s clear that part of him is afraid and apprehensive but he decides to be brave for Tharn. Speaking of communication, it’s not only about what they say but also how they communicate with their touches. Their body language, the little gestures and intimate, unwitting touches speak volumes and add another layer and even more nuance to how Tharn and Type convey and express their feelings and emotions to each other.

Tharn never stops looking at Type, never stops holding his ahnd, showing his love and support in every way he can, and as always, Type notices it all, just like he notices the different ways Tharn smiles. Tharn is soothing him, comforting him and giving him his strength. It seems that Tharn isn’t even completely aware of every gesture, for instance, the way he caresses Type’s knee before he stands up - it’s an instict to protect and comfort Type and touch him one more time. Those few little touches are worth more than a thousand words. With them, Tharn is assuring and comforting Type, telling him: You are safe. You’re not alone. We’re in this together. I’m not leaving you. Don’t be afraid.

That almost-kiss is such a deeply intimate and poignant moment between Tharn and Type. Here they are, lost in each other in their little piece of heaven where no one else but them exists. At this point, they’ve overcome so many obstacles and it seems as if nothing can hurt them and then comes the knock on the door and the world intervenes, as it always does. It’s so fitting and symbolic how it prevents their kiss, as if it were a premonition. It makes you realize that Type unwillingness to make their relationship public (and Tharn keeping his promise never tell anyone) has actually been a blessing in disguise since it gave them the time to get to know each other and allowed them fall in love in peace, without anyone’s interference. The obstacles and their own insecurities which they overcame have strengthened their relationship to a point where it can withstand anything. If Lhong would have interfered sooner, Type would have been unprepared to face him. However, now, the trust and love between them can’t be broken, they are inseparable and their love and trust unwavering. They are two halves of one whole and and nothing illustrates that more perfectly than the fact how each time they reveal their relationship to someone, THEY ARE ALWAYS TOGETHER, ALWAYS STANDING SIDE BY SIDE coming hell or high water, be it P’Jeed, Lhong, Techno, San or even Seo and Klui.

And I love how while Type is free to tell about them whenever and to whomever he wants, Tharn always asks for Type’s permission. Some might argue that it’s not equality but I think that it actually is is what equality truly means because a relationship involves two different people with different needs and personal histories; and while Tharn’s been out for awhile , for Type it’s still so new. It took Tharn four years to come out to his family and compared to that Type has had very little time to deal with it, plus there is the matter of his traumatic childhood experience, so Type is at a disadvantage here, thus he deserves special consideration (and additional time) which Tharn is more than willing to give.

Earlier I mentioned how Type genuinely wants to give Tharn everything there is, so some might wonder why he still hasn’t told him that he loves him and why it’s so difficult for him to say those simple words. There are most likely several reasons. However, even that cheeky “I may too” is such a huge concession and deal coming from Type. Also, there is still an insecurity lingering in his heart which he unwittingly admitted himself when he admonished Tharn for telling him those very words too often because they might lose their meaning. It’s as if a part of him were afraid that if he truly gives Tharn everything, he would no longer have anything to give and Tharn would tired of him and leave him. Furthermore, just like with pleas, apologies and emotional honesty, he needs time to say the actual words “I love you” and Type whose actions always speak louder than words uses different ways to express and prove his love for Tharn to make up for failing to tell Tharn “I love you”. Finally, and maybe the most crucial reason of them all - perhaps Type feels that those three words are not enough and can’t possibly encompass everything he feels for Tharn and those emotions completely overhelm him, it’s as if he’s drowning in his love for Tharn. Tharn is his first love so how is Type supposed to know how to deal with it when even Tharn himself, who is experienced with relationships, admits that the love he feels for Type is so powerful that he can’t imagine ever loving anyone else but him. It’s a love that ruins them both for anyone else, it’s a love so strong that it makes even Tharn come apart.

#tharntype #tharntype the series #mewgulf #mew suppasit #analysis #ttepisode9

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urimaginespimp · 3 years

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Michael Gray: Better Man pt 14

Olivia was still half asleep when she felt that something heavy was draped across her torso. And when she finally fluttered her eyes open, the first thing she saw was a wallpaper that definitely is in her apartment, but definitely wasn't the one in her room.

The body beside her slightly moved, and that's when the events the night prior finally came back to her.

Turning to face Michael, he appeared to be still sound asleep. She took the opportunity to just look at him. It bothered her that him sleeping shirtless still had the same effect on her.

Seeing him like this brought her back to mornings when they chose to stay in for a little bit longer in bed; Either being intimate, just holding each other, or just being playful - only to be disrupted by Tommy's booming voice entering the house, threatening them both that they'd better be decent when he comes in, and that they're already an hour late.

Because no matter how he tried to act unbothered from seeing John and Esme before, he once let it slip to her in between drinks that it scarred him.

Keeping herself from laughing at the memory, she decided to look at Michael's sleeping face. She had always told him before that whenever he was asleep, he still looks like the same innocent kid when he first came to Birmingham. But looking at him now, she doesn't think that the same could be said.

He's gotten a lot more handsome, there's no room for argument on that, but he also has this air around him. Kind of the same one you'd get around Thomas.

But thank the heavens that Michael still knows how to smile.

"There's no old man behind me you're staring at again, right?" Michael asked in a deep voice, smirking at her with his eyes still shut.

"No, but its bold of you to assume that I was staring at you when you haven't even opened your eyes yet." She reasoned, trying to sound smooth.

Finally opening his eyes, his blue orbs in a still slightly dimmed room were now looking back at her.

"Hi." He smiled at her, arm still on her waist.

"Hi." She replied shyly. "How was your sleep?"

"The best one I had in years." he answered, tightening his arm around her waist to pull her closer. "You?"

"Eh... I've had better." She teased.

"Of course, you have..." he yawned. "Still was with me though." He smirked at her.

"Michael it's like 7 in the morning. You shouldn't be this arrogant." She said, making him laugh.

Shaking his head, he raised his arm from her waist and touched the ends of her hair.

Looking at his knuckles, she took notice of how some parts of them had little light scars, possibly from old cuts.

"Have you been fighting a lot back home?" She asked him.

"Bigger business means more danger." He answered, still touching with her hair. "Your hair is still the same length from two years ago." He observed.

"I did cut it above my shoulders when I got here." What she said got his full attention.

"What are the chances I'd see it in the near future?"

"When I'll feel like it... Which won't be that long from now." She smiled.

She has been thinking of getting it shorter again. She just couldn't be bothered to style long locks every day.

Loud knocks were made on Michael's door.

"Oi you two! Having a guest in the apartment is not the time to be locked all day in the bedroom." Ada exclaimed from outside.

Olivia sprang on her feet and rushed to open the door.

Expecting to be met with a scowling Ada, she was actually faced with a smug knowing look.

"Good morning, Olivia." her eyes were full of mischief. If there was something she and Ada really bonded over when they were younger, it was eavesdropping in family meetings by pressing their ears against the wall when they weren't allowed in. Now with how her friend was looking at her, there might be a possibility that she heard last night's conversation.

"Good morning." She greeted back, almost embarrassed at the possibility that she did hear them, and excused herself to the kitchen before her friend could see how red she'd gotten.

"Great morning, Michael?" she heard her ask him with a teasing tone. -------- The three of them were sitting together and enjoying breakfast when Michael asked her something.

"What tie should I get for the charity gala, luv?"

"A gala?" Ada asked, intrigued.

"We, I mean Livy has been invited by a client to their charity gala which will be two weeks from now, and I'm her plus one." Michael informed his cousin.

"Oh, I almost forgot about that. I got a letter saying it's pushed back for another two weeks. Any would do, Michael. I'll just wear an old dress anyway." She answered.

"Like hell you are?!" Ada exclaimed.

"Ada I'm not comfortable going dress shopping alone. You know that."

"Well I'm still here, aren't I?" She beamed. "You're still stuck with me 'til tomorrow."

"You don't have any agenda at work today." Michael reminded her. "But I can go down there by myself just in case someone comes looking for you."

"Are you sure you're okay with that?" She asked him.

"Better for you to miss than get sick of me." Michael answered, winking at her.

Ada scoffed but was trying not to smile at them. --------

"I like it, but the only problem is it's red." Ada said, touching her chin while looking at the nth dress she was fitting.

"I thought red is my color?" Olivia was confused. They've been going dress after dress in New York for over two hours now.

"Undoubtedly, yes. But it's also Michael's favorite color." She answered.

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Well, every dress you wore on formal events back home were shades of red. Don't you want to give yourself a nice change for once, and be unexpected to your date?" Ada reasoned out.

She had a great point. Back in Birmingham, it was red, after red, after red, in any party they went to. Michael loved it on her, she felt sultry in it too. A change out of her usual 'business' fashion. But she had to admit, her choosing red over and over again, had a lot more to do with getting Michael's praises.

"I've always wanted to wear a black dress in a party." She beamed at Ada.

"Say no more." Her friend smiled at her proudly. -------- Ada and her just got out of a cafe after having lunch.

With her dress all covered and securely placed on her right arm, and new shoes in a box on the other, the wind blew from her back, causing some of her hair to go forward, some of it to even landed on face which annoyed her. "Ada?" She turned to her friend whose hands were also full with new clothes she bought. "Would you mind accompanying me while I get my hair cut?"

--------

His mind recalls the note Finn gave him that morning.

As much as he wanted to be angry at Tommy for sending him away, he couldn't. Not when it was under his mercy that he even got to be here. He was hellbent on not telling him where she was the day prior, but what made him change his mind? He knew his mother talked to him, but when has Tommy ever listened to her?

Michael was in Olivia's office the entire day, just sitting and playing with a mini hourglass he found on her desk. They've been gone for hours.

He doesn't know how many times he has flipped it over, and was starting to regret even teasing about making her miss him earlier, as it seems that the tables have turned. Trying not to sound like a simpleton, he decided to just make his eyes roam around the place.

Olivia's office wasn't as big as the one they had in Birmingham, nor was it really small. But the furniture, the color pallet screamed her. If he would just have came in without even knowing that this was her office, one look around would definitely remind him of her.

Who knew getting exiled would actually bring him to this - making up with the only woman he's come to love besides his mums, and actually getting in-touch again with the reality that he wasn't a god. Yes, his family was powerful, but they were no near being godlike.

The address that was written on the note wasn't what bothered him, it was the one written below it. Tommy told him himself years ago that she was actually doing well on her own, and not to come and ruin her life again. So why did his note below the address tell him to do the opposite?

The hourglass had just finished again. Flipping it once more, he stood up from her chair and transferred on the couch to lie down for a bit. After some time, he drifted off for a nap.

Michael. A voice called him. Michael wake up.

Slowly opening his eyes, a smiling Olivia sitting beside his lying body was the first thing he saw. Then he noticed something new.

"Your hair..." He sat up. It was now resting just above her shoulders. "You look breathtaking, luv." Moving closer to her face, she thought he was going to kiss her, when he reached out to touch the ends of her hair.

Trying not to shake off the disappointment, she told him. "Ada's back home. We actually thought you'd be back there when we got home, so I went down here by myself." She smiled at him.

"I didn't realize that I fell asleep."

"Well dinner's waiting back home." She stood up and offered her hand for him to take.

He took it and stood up as well, taking his coat on his arm, and they locked up the place to walk home together.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #polly gray #polly grey #michael gray #MichaelGray #Michael Gray imagine #michael gray x reader #michael grey #thomas shelby #Arthur Shelby #John Shelby #Ada Shelby #finn shelby #finn cole #finn cole imagine

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hermionegranger56 · 4 years

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ok lads its time for my breakdown of folklore, something absolutely no one is asking for but here we are!! this album. thIs ALBUMMMM. dear GOD. the intersection of my two favorite things, taylor swift and indie folk???? i feel like i’m dreaming. when she announced the surprise drop i literally burst into tears and evidently for good reason lol.

anywho here’s the thing. Red has been my all time favorite album for 8 years now. it holds such an important place in my life and i never thought anything she did could come close (though Lover almost did). but this. THIS IS BETTER THAN RED

the lyrical genius is unmatched here. taylor isn’t just writing songs here, this is POETRY. every song is nuanced, intricate, devastatingly beautiful, with words that’ll haunt me for a long time. and the fact that it’s stories, literal folklore, no longer just about her own life is incredibly creative and is executed so well for someone who has interwoven her life into her entire body of music thus far. folklore blends facts with fiction so seamlessly and is a true exhibition of taylor’s power as a songwriter.

and the vibessss!! from haunting heartbreak songs, to ethereal lost-in-the-woods vibes, to a comforting return to her old self, this album has everything. taylor is without a doubt one of the most versatile artists of our generation, having success and skill in multiple genres and folklore only solidifies this fact.

ALL RIGHT KIDS LETS JUMP IN

the 1: hell yeah explicit tswift give it to me lol you ARE on some new shit!! ok when i first listened to this i hadn’t read her statement about the other perspectives and i was about to RIOT about her and joe breaking up (like they could ever lol). this is such a catchy beat, such a casual?? look at such a painful feeling? a really good start to this album. the part where she goes another day waking up aLONE killlllllls me wow

fave lines: “in my defense i have none/for never leaving well enough alone”

cardigan: (don’t get me started on the mv it’s gorgeous) YES THE TEENAGE LOVE TRIANGLE suchhh a good concept!! the melody of this song is unreal, the chorus makes me want to scream it’s so beautiful, the i-i-i is SOMETHING ELSE. it’s crazy how just the melody makes betty’s pain so palpable, but so enchanting at the same time. it’s bittersweet and cinematic and i’m in love. PETER LOSING WENDY GOD. easily top 5 song here

fave lines: “when you are young they assume you know nothing”, “cause i knew you/ heartbeat on the high line/ once in 20 lifetimes i” “you drew stars around my scars/but now i’m bleeding”

the last great american dynasty: watch hill!!! her watch hill house!! i live near there!! oh i think this song is so clever and i love how it ties into mad woman as well as harkens back to starlight. i LOVE the way she ties her self in, “and then it was bought by me” like ughhh her mind? and its catchy AF

fave lines: “i had a marvelous time ruining everything”

exile: YOU KNOW HOW TO DO AN INDIE ALBUM??? BRING BON IVER INTO THIS SHIT!! wowww this song is haunting and is definitely the “i’m you but stronger” version of The Last Time. the overlap of both of them singing and their parallel lines are flawless. i could play this on repeat for hours and contemplate my whole existence

fave lines: “you never gave a warning sign/i gave so many signs”

my tears ricochet: ok somehow a track 5 with tears in the title is not the saddest song here but DAMN is it good. I love the visual of someone watching over their funeral and reacting. the music is stunningggg here. ALSO i am pretty convinced this is about the whole scott/scooter drama, like the lyrics fit so well? and she said it was the first song she wrote so the timeline kinda fits?? geniusss

fave lines: “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace”, “and if i’m dead to you/why are you at the wake?”

mirrorball: ohhhh this one is so pretty!! it just makes me want to dance around the kitchen with the person i love??? its comforting, ethereal, happyyy ugh i love it. I also think it could be about her relationship with her fans? like her music shows us different sides of ourselves idk? or just absorbing into a relationship?

fave lines: “on my tallest tiptoes/shining just for you”

seven: i’m gonna call this now: this is going to be the most underrated song on this album. it is STUNNING. POETIC. HEARTBREAKING. the music is so hauntingly nostalgic. and the lyrics, holy absolute shit. they’re a delicate testament to childhood, memory, and innocent love. it’s gut wrenching and i love it so so much

fave lines: “i’ve been meaning to tell you/i think your house is haunted/your dad is always mad/and that must be why”, “and just like folk song/our love will be passed on”, “before i learned civility/ i used to scream ferociously” ALL OF IT

august: and now we get the girl james cheated with’s perspective, which i think is great. its sunny, wistful and sad underneath all that beautiful production. when she slides from the chorus to the “back when we we’re changing for the better” and hits that “mineeee to lose” GOD, it just fills your chest. i feel like even if you never have, this makes anyone feel like they know exactly what a summer fling feels like. one of my faves

fave lines: “august slipped away/like a bottle of wine”, “cancel my plans just in case you call/ and say meet me behind the mall”

this is me trying: the slow pacing of this melody serves to show these EXQUISITE lyrics here. this is so intimate and personal and i feel like everyone can relate to this feeling of just trying to hold on and put on a brave face?

fave lines: “they told me all of my cages were mental/ so i got wasted like all my potential”

illicit affairs: ok all you need to know about this one is a) I’m obsessed b) this is the closest she has come to creating a bridge that makes me feel like the All Too Well bridge has, like scream sobbing in the car type vibe??? its unreal. and this song makes me feel that shitty feeling of: “this was supposed to be casual but oops its very much not” hmmm maybe that’s where the scream sobbing comes from hahah

fave lines: “don’t call me kid/don’t call me baby/look at this godforsaken mess that you made me/you showed me colors you know i can’t see with anyone else”

invisible string: this. THIS is probably her most stunning love song. like. i thought it was Lover. i was wrong. this one is confidently from Taylor’s perspective, about Joe and dear lord i want a love like theirs. and shit does this song put the folk in folklore, the music is so simple and gorgeous and harkens back to her country roots without losing this new sound she has. and the first few notes remind me of Mystery of Love by Sufjan Stevens so instantly im sold. this and betty are tied for my number 1, it’s just too beautiful

fave lines: “time curious time/give me no compasses/give me no signs” “isn’t it just so pretty to think/all along there was some invisible string/tying you to me”, “cold was steel of the axe that i had to grind/for the boys who broke my heart/now i buy their babies presents”, “hell was the journey/but it brought me heaven”

mad woman: FUCK YOU FOREVERRRRRR!!! yes taylor said fuckkkk ugh i LOVE this vibe, the revenge of the mad woman that the town cast out is so eerie and powerful, i’m obsessed. it ties back into the maddest woman of TLGAD and it feels like a spiritual sequel to The Man, the same feminist thread weaving through it. the lyrics are razor sharp and biting, i love it

fave lines: “and you poke that bear/till the claws come out/ and you find something/ to wrap your noose around”, “it’s obvious wanting me dead has really brought you two together”

epiphany: so uhhh THIS is the saddest song on folklore. fight me. the seamless comparison between wartime and the pandemic and waiting for some epiphany that could make sense of all the horrors surrounding the both. idk man, as someone who’s been a covid nurse since March, i just….this one HURTS. similar to Soon You’ll Get Better tbh

fave lines: “hold your hand through plastic now/doc i think she’s crashing out/and somethings you just can’t speak about”

betty: OH I LOVE IT WITH MY WHOLE HEART! this is such a TRIUMPHANT return to old taylor, it is so joyful but sad at the same time?? the harmonica?? the last part of the love triangle?? it sounds like Taylor Swift and Fearless all grown up and it makes me ache for back then, but love where we are right now. tbh the first time i heard this i sobbed through the whole thing just out of pure nostalgia. she’s back but at the same time she never left. this feels like a love song to original fans and it. is. incredible. my favoriteeee goddd

fave lines: THE WHOLE CHORUS BABYYYYY

peace: it’s gorgeous, especially the guitarrr ugh. this feels like delicate’s quiet older sister. i think it’s definitely about joe and how taylor, despite loving him, still has these insecurities and fears about what a relationship with someone in her position could be like? like there will be struggles, but he’s her family and she “would die for you in secret”. stunning

fave lines: “i’m a fire and i’ll keep your brittle heart warm”, “the devils in the detail/but you’ve got a friend in me”, “give you my wild/give you a child”

hoax: i’m surprised she ended it on a sad one (but we still have the lakes!!) but this song is hauntingly beautiful WOW. every line of this absolutely floors me. i think this one will also be largely underrated, but it is pure poetry and deserves so so much hype

fave lines: “stood on the cliffside/screaming give me a reason/your faithless love’s the only hoax i believe in”, “it still hurts underneath my scars/from when they pulled me apart/but what you did was just as dark” “my kingdom come undone/ my broken drum/ you have beaten my heart”

ANYWHO TAYLOR HAS PRODUCED HER BEST WORK TO DATE AND IM READY FOR SAD GIRL AUTUMN

#taylor swift #folklore #tswift #folklore the album #taylor swift folklore #ts8 folklore #folklore era #betty #august #cardigan #exile

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g--r-e--e-n · 4 years

Text

On a Peaceful Night.

It was quiet.

Some might describe it as overly quiet, overwhelming silence raising upon both of you like a dusty blanket.

For you, however, it was a pleasant situation: Relaxing, perhaps even intimate.

It's not easy to get some peace and quiet here in the House of Lamentation. In all fairness, not even in the Devildom as a whole, with all those demons and their evil deeds.

But right were you were, the closest thing to a disturbance would be the distant noise of little raindrops throwing themselves at the window, looking for the warmth withing the bedroom. It was peaceful, and it was simply amazing.

You ran your fingers slowly and lazily along Lucifer's hair, feeling his warmth climbing up your arm. His heavy and tranquil breathing serenaded you, tempting you to accompany him in his sleep.

A soft yawn escaped from your lips, your lids feeling heavier by every minute passing. You tried your best to hold onto the world of the living, not wanting to lose the rare view in front of you:

The first-born, so almighty and proud, always drowning in paperwork, rarely allowed himself to seem weak. To seem as human as a demon can get.

He had tried to murder you, and at some point you had thought that he might actually achieve it. But soon you had managed to see his true nature underneath all those threats and smug smiles, alcohol always helping a bit to unveil the dork hidden behind the suit, hugging everything within a five feet radius and smiling like a child on Christmas.

You had seen how he cared ever so much about his brothers. How, despite his sharp tongue and questionable actions, he loved to brag about his cute little Mammon. How he worked himself to exhaustion so that they could keep on having a normal life. So that his beloved sister had a second chance.

Perhaps it was because he was so used to taking care of them that he forgot how to take care about himself.

But now you were there to spoil him a little bit.

Sure, you were nothing more than an exchange student. Another burden to his elongated list.

However, at times like this you dared to dream of being special. He was laying there, guard down. Almost fragile, purring softly under the soft caressing, lips barely apart, soft, inviting.

You came to let him now diner was ready, but you found this peaceful scenario and before you realized it you were completely hooked on it.

You had to shallow and look somewhere else. A part of you wanted to run back to your room to sleep once and for all. Another seemed glued to the black haired beauty and his warm breath.

I mean, chances are you'd disrupt his sleep by moving around, alright?

Yes, that's it. Not that you are deeply in love with Lucifer himself, fallen angel, biblical myth brought to life.

God, would you ever be able to enter a church again?

You soon realized the demon's eyebrows slightly coming together, his nose slowly wrinkling as he mumbled something you couldn't quite understand.

It was clear that he was having a bad dream, and you suddenly panicked. What should you do? Wake him up, knowing how we would go weeks without sleeping? Knowing how much he needed it? Or let him go through the pain, the guilt, the fear?

You sighted, slowly surrounding his figure with your own arms, pressing him ever so slightly to your chest, hoping to comfort him with your warmth.

It must've worked, as he slightly moved himself to fit more comfortably withing your embrace, you slowly and carefully shifting to find a position your back wouldn't regret tomorrow, a hard task for someone trying to cuddle over a desk filled with paperwork.

When you finally found yourself comfortable, you couldn't help but slightly blush at how close his face was, how his hair, colored like the void itself, tickled you ever so softly.

A smile crept up your lips and you were ready to sleep, trying your best to ignore what may just happen tomorrow morning, when he wakes up. Or what may happen when Mammon doesn't find you in the room that at this point you two might as well share. Or when Levi realizes you're not there to binge his new series. God, Asmo would probably know the moment you skip your beauty routine. Belphie and Satan might as well disown you. And poor Beel probably is concerned knowing you skipped dinner.

At which point did you adopt so many children? You lowly chuckle. It might be tiring but, in all fairness, it feels warm. You're now a part of this big, perhaps disfuncional family

"You know, at least I'm glad to see you are having a good time with this situation."

His voice, raspy showing how he just woke up, with that soft, almost alluring and dangerous tone to it, shocked you enough to let him go immediately, mumbling some senseless apologies you yourself couldn't understand.

At least his soft smile and gentle gaze didn't seem too threatening, and he barely moved to sit once again before his desk. Magnificent like an ivory statue.

As elegant as ever, he cleaned his throat, breaking the illusion and returning you to the real world, standing still now, barely away from the desk. You could guess the soft reddening of his pale cheeks, despite his best intent of seeming calm.

"You should go to your bedroom, it's already way past the curfew." He said softly, a hint of care barely sticking it's head from his harsh tone. Something seemed off with his words, as if he himself didn't quite believe it. As if that was something he didn't mean to say, but he couldn't help himself.

But what could he do? Beg for you to stay, throwing his pride aside?

It would be different if it were to do something, anything really. Lucifer loved his excuses, loved to hide himself behind hid grin. He's prideful, enough to be rather open around some of his feelings. But asking you bluntly to sleep like a child holding onto you?

It wasn't something passionate that could make him look like Romeo. It wasn't something interesting to look like some sort of book character. And therefore, his sleep deprived brain doesn't seem to be able to handle it.

As much as he wants you to stay, the words keep being stuck on his throat, his eyes silently pleading for your mercy, while you didn't seem to quite understand his hesitation and, barely throwing more apologies into the air, you were already about to rushingly disappear into the doorframe.

Both of you silently damned yourselves, feeling like fools dancing around your true intentions. One step and you were gone. One step and this night could disappear, as if it had never happened. Luckily, one of you seemed to be slowly getting himself together.

His hand, long and slender, soon reached you, his calm and cool smile making your heart flutter ever so slightly, your blushed cheeks giving him back some of his lost confidence.

"Or perhaps you were looking forward to staying here?"

You could see the plead hidden behind his question, voiced like some sort of soften order, some sweet mock at your heart rate. A second or two passed by, the cold breeze humming against the window, the storm outside worsening, making your body crave any sort of warmth, including the slight one covering Lucifer.

His hair was slightly messy from his little nap, framing his handsome face like the most refined of artworks, his vermillion eyes shining through the air like two rubies fixed on you, and only you.

Were you still sleeping? Was this all a dream? It must have been, for such beauty and peace outshined the moon itself.

Without muttering a single word, you turned around and hurried a tight hug that only seemed to pleasently surprise him for some seconds before he gladly returned your attention, a soft chuckle brushing against your neck.

You had found heaven on hell. Happiness within the most bizarre of situations.

His hands slowly caressed your lower back, before parting ever so slightly, your body still lingering in his tender embrace, a fugitive whine calling him back, feeling as if you were lacking a part of yourself, a warmth you were always meant to have.

"Let's take this to bed, shall we? It has been a long day, we could use some rest." He whispered in the softest of tones, indulging you with it's lovesick aftertaste.

You almost absent mindedly nod, allowing his arm to stay there as you both walked to bed, feeling like royalty next to this upright demon.

Soon enough you were lying next to him, head buried in his chest, comforting each other, his warn breath unveiling his silent trust. Nothing else to be done, for tonight was a night of comfort, a calm night to forget any mischief, to silently scream your trust at each other without making anything that could make the situation awkard in the slightest, much to Asmo's dismay, who may or not have been heavily involved in this seemingly accidental occurrence.

Sleep had soon claimed you, and you were about to fully give in to the dark and sweet relief when you felt a soft kiss against the top of your head that sent your heart flying to a different world, fingers sleepily running through your hair as in revenge for your past actions, a "thank you" that Lucifer did not need to mutter.

#obey me #obey me!#om! swd #swd Lucifer #swd lucifer x reader #swd lucifer x mc #lucifer x mc #lucifer #lucifer x reader #obey me fanfic #obey me fluff

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

Keening of the Glass King

The scanner at checkout beeped with slow and revolving repetition. The cashier listlessly pushed the groceries over the scanner, one by one, her eyes glazed over with boredom and her gaze trained on the digital oblivion displayed on the small screen attached to the system. The smell of disinfectant, plastic, and a blend of artificially sweet smells hung in the air.

Harper experienced a state of mind of complete emptiness. Just absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells of her environment without as much as a passing thought. Such an unfamiliar sensation to her. Lost in the moment.

And then the moment was gone. Harper’s feet hurt. It had been a long day. Hell, it had been a long week. As she—in her mind—went through all the things she still had to do once she got home, she started to get impatient while waiting in line. Only one more customer in front of her having her shopping cart’s contents processed.

When the guy checking out fumbled around to pay for his groceries, Harper spotted something odd. Rather than spitting out a number that the cashier read out loud with the enthusiasm of a broken woman whose soul had been crushed under the weight of corporate oppression, the small screen displayed text.

LOOK UP

Harper blinked, making sure that her mind was not just playing tricks on her. But it didn’t seem to be. The screen still did not display the total amount of money tallied up from the guy’s purchases. Instead, the words on screen flashed a few times, as if trying to grab Harper’s attention.

Instead of doing as told, she looked around to see if anybody else was seeing this.

The five people in line behind her did not. They were all lost in their own little worlds: one of them endlessly doom-scrolling down the display on their phone, another scratching his head while staring at the cold hard floor, another playing with her baby sat on the shopping cart, and so forth.

Harper’s sights returned to the display and it flashed one more time.

LOOK UP

So she did.

An advertising sign hung low over the checkout line.

DRINK BOOZE. SPIN TWELVE TIMES. SHOUT ROO-AGH PAIR-AGH TO THE HIGH HEAVENS.

It looked exactly like an advertising sign should, complete with the attractively garish color palette and carefully measured proportions. But the words did not fit at all.

Harper did a double take and the sign looked nothing like it did a mere second ago.

SAVE. EARN. SHOP. COLLECT POINTS AND WIN FREE GROCERIES.

She blinked again and it continued to look normal.

The beeping from the register stopped and the tired-looking cashier stared at her. She mustered a feeble smile and nodded at Harper, expecting her to scoot forward and get through checkout. Because she was holding up the line.

While waiting, accompanied by the rhythmic beeping of the machine, Harper looked around for other oddities. Anything that stood out. The man fixated on his phone, waiting behind her in line, looked up at her while she scanned the environment but then averted his gaze, seemingly startled and nervous—returning his undivided attention to the device in his hand. Everybody else remained oblivious to her and the strange signs she started spotting everywhere.

A magazine on the rack had a strange logo.

THE GLASS KING NEARS

Blinking cleared it up for her and revealed a fairly typical magazine brand logo and boring headline. As it should.

From the corners of her eyes, focused on a bouquet of flowers wilted on a stand nearby, Harper believed to see the little monitor flash with words that did not belong.

PAY ATTENTION

The storefront logo and its current slogan emblazoned on the wide front window did not read as it should. It instead said something bizarre.

DO AS YOUR KING COMMANDS

And in smaller lettering beneath that line: REAP THE REWARDS AND REJOICE IN YOUR SILENT HEAVEN

Harper shook her head. Every time she focused on one of these strange messages or blinked or shifted her weight and tilted her head, she saw what they should look like. The inconspicuous, bland-by-design normalcy of corporate consumerism.

Was she going insane?

She had been pushing eleven hours a day at work and six day work weeks for the past two months, and it must have been getting to her. Harper convinced herself of that. Or at least, she tried.

The cashier read the tally of her shopping cart’s contents off the screen and waited for her to pay. Harper did and left the store quickly.

Ferrying things across the parking lot with the wheels rattling over asphalt, loading her groceries into the back of her car, and slamming the trunk—it all passed by her in a blur. Felt like forever, flowed like molten butter, just ended with barely any time having gone by.

A man in a denim jacket over a beige hoodie approached her, pushing a cart along.

“Should I return that for ya?”

He pointed at the empty steel cage of her shopping cart. She looked him over and the empty cart he had been pushing along himself. Looked like he was just bringing his own cart back to the lineup where the others were gathered, and offering to take hers along for her.

It took her longer than it should to register the simple kindness he offered. Harper flashed him a smile and nodded and he mirrored the quiet expressions. While shoving their empty carts together, he side-eyed her and spoke in a monotone, “The Glass King’s soldiers can win the battle but not the war. Power through faith is what his subjects are for. Through servitude to him we flourish. His divine favor us does nourish. Roo-agh pair-agh.”

The carts rattled and clattered with agonizing volume as he began pushing them away from her, moving along.

Harper blinked and had to know. Had to know she wasn’t going crazy. “What did you just say?”

The stranger paused and craned his neck. Tilted his head. Arched a brow and stared at her with confusion written all over his face, slack-jawed.

“What?”

They stared at each other for another brief lapse in time.

“I asked if you want me to return your cart for ya?” he asked in response. Like he had never uttered the other strange things.

She flashed another smile at him, though in retrospect it never reached her eyes. And how could it have ever been an honest expression of gratitude? Yep, going bonkers alright, Harper thought to herself.

He pursed his lips, broke eye contact, and carried on; walking away from her with the two carts in front of him. They rattled and clattered and bounced when he shoved them over a pot hole.

She got in the car and left before he could return to where she had parked. Drove home. Everything just flew by, time flew by. She focused on the lines in the middle of the road, on the steel giants that were the other cars in traffic, and their hypnotic motions. On the street lights, and less the signs. It worked, because she was intimately familiar with this route. This life. She had done these things thousands of times before—the usual rote motions and actions that constituted her everyday life.

Really, though, she tried to avoid looking at any street signs. Any billboards. Any license plates. Really, she tried to avert her eyes from locking onto any single damned thing that featured text, letters, numbers, or anything that even remotely resembled written language in any shape or form.

It was time to get things over with for the day, kick back, drink something, and sleep.

After unpacking at home and going about her chores to tidy up her lonesome apartment, she sat down in front of the television set. She sighed, feeling relief—she had banished today’s strangeness. No more signs anywhere. Food packaging looked like it should, so did the magazine covers, the local newspaper—even device labels.

Overworked and tired as she was, it kind of made sense for her to be hallucinating. She had heard and read of weirder things happening to people who struggled with a poor work-life balance and chronic exhaustion.

Harper had plenty of work-related crap to put behind her, anyway. Whenever thoughts of that work bubbled up from the pool in the back of her mind, she dispelled them by thinking mean things about her supervisor and then of the co-worker she hated who always contradicted her but agreed wholeheartedly when she heard a man say the exact same thing Harper had said.

“Fucking middle management, man,” she muttered at the TV.

IT IS TIME, read a string of letters on screen, superimposed over the advertisement of some lame small-time lawyer firm.

PERFORM YOUR SERVICE

The words on display made no sense in context of the rest of the things and people being shown.

Cryptic, ominous messages.

She blinked, expecting the strange signs and orders to vanish. But they refused to.

YOUR KING NEEDS YOU!

Harper switched channels to some edgy-looking TV series. Hectic cuts, dramatic music, low contrast and muted colors. The character actor turned to the camera and looked her straight in the eyes, piercing the veil of the screen as if he was gazing through the dimensions from his fictitious world into the real one.

“If you don’t do your part—if we don’t all do our part, perform our service to the Glass King—the world will end. We can’t let that happen,” the man in the show said in his cartoonishly gravelly voice.

Harper swallowed an empty lump stuck in her throat, a wad of nothing that felt like it had assumed the size of a fist. Her insides churned and she started feeling dizzy.

Whatever this guy on the TV show had just said, it might have fit into whatever silly narrative he served, but it also fit right in with her hallucinations.

Or were they not hallucinations at all?

And what had that sign said?

“Drink booze. Spin twelve times, then shout ‘roo-agh pair-agh’ towards the sky,” said the actor. The cheesy soundtrack died down, leaving his words to die in an awkward silence that felt out of character for this particular show. He continued to stare Harper in the eyes, as if expecting her to do something. Like the show had just ground to a halt, awaiting her cue.

Waiting for her to do what she had to. What was expected of her.

Harper got up and the room spun around her. She had already taken some meds to help remove some edge and fall asleep more easily.

Should she mix alcohol with those drugs?

Whatever, she figured. She was already dressed in pajamas. Ready for bed. Would it kill her to try?

Maybe if she gave in to this string of odd hallucinations, they would stop. Under normal circumstances, that train of thought would have made no sense to her, but she chalked it up to the bizarre dream logic she was experiencing.

Only thing being, none of this was a dream, nor would it be particularly fun to unpack in upcoming therapy sessions. She already considered never talking about it if this never happened again.

Harper grabbed a half-filled bottle of wine from the fridge and returned to her living room. The show on TV continued as it should, depicting the usual melodramatic schlock that she would normally expect it to be doing.

She uncorked the bottle with a loud plop, chugged some of the wine, put it down on the coffee table with a loud clank, and took a deep breath. She was already feeling dizzy, so spinning around might have posed a problem.

But she did it anyway.

Twelve revolutions. One by one. Starting slow, picking up on speed to more quickly get it over with. The world spun ever faster, teetered and swayed in ways that made it difficult to maintain her balance. Her heart raced as, for a moment, it seemed like she might crash through the glass of the coffee table and cut herself badly, or stumble somewhere and break a bone in a bad fall, or worse.

“Roo-agh! Pair-agh!” Harper yelled at the ceiling.

Once she finished those twelve revolutions, she fell onto the couch, twisting her left hand and gritting her teeth right after a sharp intake of air to mask the sudden sting of pain. She fell sideways, slumping into the soft fuzzy cushions, and the world continued to spin, leaving her with a sick feeling in her stomach, spreading out in every direction and into every last extremity.

Someone or something thumped. Thud, thud.

“Shut the fuck up down there,” said someone above, muffled through the floor. Angry neighbor. Typical for that asshole. Complained about the smallest things, but always blasting loud music every Saturday morning.

Harper closed her eyes, still feeling the world spinning around her. Her stomach felt like it had unhinged itself from her insides and decided to whirl around in the opposite direction. She swallowed many times, painfully and deliberately, fighting the urge to vomit.

When the spell of nausea ended, she opened her eyes. The show on TV had gone silent, though the screen still flashed with shifting images. It looked like a completely different series now. The colors were vibrant and bright, the lens through which things had been shot distorted the environments along the edges of the screen, and the set looked surreal in its dimensions.

On screen, a woman in a fancy dress walked through a strange, long hallway, steadily and slowly approaching a simply-clothed man who sat on a stool next to a large set of double doors. The angles relayed a sense of paranoia, and the lingering shots on the actors’ faces made Harper feel uncomfortable.

The bald man sitting on the stool, his hands folded on his lap—his expression eerily calm—spoke into the camera. Past the woman approaching the double doors. He spoke not to that woman, but to Harper.

“The Glass King thanks you for your service. Should you fall in this war, know that your sacrifice will not be in vain. This world will continue to exist. You will continue to live your life as you have,” said the man. His voice rolled out like silk; soft and soothing.

The corners of his lips twitched until they shaped into a timid smile.

The woman stepped past him and grabbed hold of the brass doorknob on one of those doors. The moment she gripped it and twisted, she did not open the door.

She screamed.

A blood-curdling, bone-chilling scream. So loud that the neighbor upstairs continued complaining. Thump. Thump, thump.

“—said, shut the fuck up!”

The scream never stopped. Harper held her hands over her ears and cringed, clamping her eyes shut. She did not dare to see what happened next, so horrifying was that scream. She could hear the shriek piercing her ear drums even though she covered them up as good as she could. It pierced her mind, sliced into her soul, cut deep into her consciousness, feeding fuel into the flames of future nightmares.

“You will have your answers,” whispered the bald man on the stool. But it was not from the television set. He was in Harper’s dream that followed. As if she had gone there. Into that strange hallway.

Her uneasy rest left her feeling more tired than before she had fallen asleep. She awoke on the couch and something tasted funny. She blinked and realized where she was, struggled to remember what exactly she had dreamt beyond seeing the man from the weird TV show in her dream say that one thing, and swallowed again. Tasting blood.

Something had crusted over on her lip and face and checking in the mirror revealed that to be a thin line of blood. It had trickled down from her left nostril and across her lip and cheek as she had slept on the couch, all crumpled up.

Harper almost panicked when she realized that she needed to hustle to make it to work on time. She went through the motions in a haze, rushing through every step. Coffee would have to wait, brushing teeth, make-up, slinging on some clothes and straightening them out on the way to her car, slamming the door shut, going just enough above the speed limit to win some time and not draw unwanted attention, and so forth.

After clocking in at work, she sipped her coffee and enjoyed a short breather.

It was going to be another long day. She chalked the previous evening’s strangeness up to a weird fever dream.

Or something.

She held the back of her hand against her forehead to see if she was running any fever and dismissed the thought. The less she thought about getting sick, and the more she believed she was not sick—that stopped her from actually getting sick, right?

Her co-worker—the one she hated—got a coffee from the machine and turned to her.

Nodded in greeting to meet the bare minimum of social conventions maintained between them. She sipped from her cup of coffee as well. Looked Harper in the eye.

Vacant stare. Something odd about it.

“You saw the signs, too, didn’t you?” she asked Harper. Hushed tone, then she murmured more into her mug, “The Glass King nears.”

“What?” Harper asked. Paralyzed.

With fear.

The blood drained from her face and her mind reeled with the possibility that everything she had dreamt was, in fact, real.

Nicole gulped her mouthful of coffee down and her gaze hardened into a striking stare.

“You heard me, bitch,” she snapped at her. “James experienced it too.”

The clock on the wall behind Harper ticked away, filling the air of silence growing between them.

“What—” Harper’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried asking again. “What does any of it even mean?”

Nicole cradled the cup in her hand.

“No idea, but I think there are even more who saw the signs. Just nobody really talkin’ about it. Like they’re all afraid of something.”

Harper cleared her throat again. It felt like phlegm was building up in there, clogging everything up with a tedious stickiness.

“What about rewards? You get anything?” she asked Nicole.

Her co-worker smirked but the mien quickly vanished.

“Learned something about you. Something you probably would rather keep secret,” Nicole finally replied.

Harper licked her lips. Not only had the blood drained from her face, she now felt hot and cold at the same time. Like she was flush with sickness, like a sheen of sweat was on the verge of breaking out of her pores. Was she really sure she hadn’t gotten a fever or something?

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody,” Nicole said. She winked at Harper.

Walked away, leaving Harper awash in her confusion and growing sense of dread.

By the time Harper took her seat at her desk, her body was trembling all over. She got to work, tried to distract herself, but her thoughts kept circling back to the odd events. It started cutting into her work.

So she started researching online.

Her body turned ice cold, the cushion of her chair beneath her becoming more uncomfortable than usual. With sweaty palms, she clicked her way through discussion threads, past posted transcripts of live chats, and wound up browsing through terrible-looking websites that looked like conspiracy theory wank assembled by unhinged lunatics. But everything reflected her experiences. Almost to the letter of some of the signs she had seen. And other people were digging through the web, just like her. Looking for an answer. Struggling to understand.

She continued to click, incapable of stopping. Filled with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, yearning to comprehend what was going on.

The world spun around her again. The dizziness had returned.

What filled her with dread was the final realization.

Many people were being mobilized. Some got more specific instructions, being sent somewhere in Nevada. Investigating strange weather patterns that appeared to orbit around Las Vegas.

What she had experienced was not unique. Not limited to her and two of her coworkers. They were not the only ones in the city. They were not the only city. They were not even the only country with people to experience this.

To see those signs. To follow the instructions.

To know, as it was repeated over and over again: the Glass King nears.

—Submitted by Wratts

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somethingjustsouthofbrilliance · 4 years

Text

Too Weak to Fly (chapter 5)

Back to chapter 1

Well... that took forever, sorry about that. I hit a really bad writer’s block and it took a while to get past it. (this chapter might feel a bit rusty because of that, but, hopefully, still palatable)

@cosmic-malarky Thank you again for prodding me! 💖

@swanheart69 @boysinperil @agentlokii

___________

Chapter 5

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” William Congreve it was who’d coined the phrase back in 1697, the adage that had since been paraphrased and entrenched firmly in the public conscience.

Mr. Congreve had never met Aziraphale.

***

Two days.

Two days he sits on that cursed bloodstained mattress, cradling the pale, lifeless vessel that used to contain his best friend, his sole companion for the millennia he spent here on this Earth, his love, his life.

Two days he grieves, keening in anguish and despair until his voice gives out and his throat burns, shredded raw from his screams. And he welcomes that physical pain, insignificant though it is. Clings to it with the fervor of one caught in a tempest of pain emotional that rages within him, clawing at his very essence, leaving wide, bleeding furrows in its wake, reminding him again and again of what he’d lost and how utterly powerless he was to stop that loss from happening. Anathema, bless her soul, tried to console him, pointing out that Crowley isn’t truly dead. He knows that. He knows that, of course, but it doesn’t really matter. Hell had Crowley back in its clutches now, weakened and defenseless without his powers. And, best case scenario, they were going to torture him, horribly, sadistically, until they brought about his complete destruction. Worst case – that torment would last forever, no intermissions, no reprieve of death. Either way they were never going to let him out again. Aziraphale was never again going to see him.

Two days he pleads and bargains and begs of the God that wouldn’t listen to turn back the clock, to give him time, to give them time. Because they had so little time to be truly together, just the two of them, on their own side, free of the restraints of Heaven and Hell that had kept them apart all those years. Because he was just beginning to learn how to let go of the millennia of indoctrination and fear; how to relax into the reality of their new relationship, how to convey to his beloved demon the true depth of the feelings he has repressed for so long… and how to atone to him for all the years of cruel rejections and faint-hearted lies. Because they deserved so much more than these ten short years, and it just wasn’t fair!

And then he gets angry.

It is the kind of anger he’s never felt before. A terrible, blinding fury to match the equally terrible pain that’s ripping him from the inside. It’s powerful, it’s dangerous, and it’s begging to be let out.

It doesn’t matter that it’s already too late and Crowley’s gone. Doesn’t matter that there’s no point in swinging one’s fists (“or brandishing your sword, Angel”, as Crowley himself liked to say) after the fighting’s done. It doesn’t matter, because all he can think about is that little white-walled cottage in South Downs and an enormous pair of black iridescent wings intertwining intimately with his own and the most beautiful golden eyes gleaming warmly at him in the desire-seeped darkness of their bedroom….

That was supposed to be his future, their future. Hell had no right to take it from them. And now? Now they were going to pay for it.

The punishment lifts, as it was supposed to, two days later, when the first hint of the sunrise brushes the night-blackened skies. And he feels like crying as the dizzying, heady rush of power comes flooding back into his essence, because it’s two days too late. He soaks it in nevertheless, welcoming it like an old and dearly missed friend, as it sweeps through him, reclaiming lost ground. He feels almost complete now, the missing part of him slotting perfectly back into its rightful place, filling in the gaping void left by its absence…. Almost.

Almost. Because there’s a Crowley-shaped hole at the very heart of his being, ripped out with a brutal, damaging force that left behind torn, bleeding edges. And it burns. It burns despite the soothing presence of his powers. Burns with all the ferocity of Hellfire.

He clings to that pain. Harnesses it. Lets it further fuel the towering blaze of fury that rages within him, roaring for vengeance. And that dark wrath, that terrifying need for retribution that no proper, God-abiding angel would ever even tolerate in their presence – for the first time in his long, long life Aziraphale is neither scared nor repulsed by it. He welcomes it with open arms.

He hugs Crowley’s body closer, gentle, deliberately, achingly gentle despite the violent storm within him. Presses one final, reverent kiss to the ice-cold brow. Lets himself linger another moment, face buried in the matted flame-red locks, breathing in the fading remnants of his demon’s scent. He should have been faster that day, should have listened to Crowley. Should have protected his demon as Crowley had always protected him. Some Guardian he was…. But then he’d always gone too slow, hadn’t he. Well, no more.

“Forgive me, my love,” he murmurs, voice wrecked with the grit of guilt and tears. “I won’t tarry here much longer.”

And he won’t. There’s nothing for him here. Not anymore. His other half, his only true companion on this Earth was gone, and Aziraphale isn’t planning on spending the rest of eternity here alone. No, his continued existence without Crowley seems to him like a punishment on par with Falling, as blasphemous as that comparison may be. A memory of him finding Crowley in that bar 10 years ago after his unfortunate discorporation at the hands of Mr. Shadwell floats unbidden across his mind: a row of empty wine bottles, the uncharacteristically disheveled, hunched over figure, the broken, devastated look in the dull red-rimmed eyes – the look of a man with nothing left to lose.

He understands it now, he thinks. Because he, too, lost everything that mattered. And now he is going to lose himself, too. But he will take that loss willingly. Along with as many of Hell’s denizens as he can.

He places the body onto the mattress with the same doting, breathless care; runs his fingers down the beloved face, pausing when he reaches his lips, letting his fingertips rest there a moment, trembling lightly against the chapped, ashen skin.

“Goodbye, dear.”

He stands then. Takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he unfurls his wings, feeling his power crackle in the air around him like lightning in the gathering storm.

He spares a quick thought to Anathema and the others, all still asleep in the wee hours of the morning. He won’t be seeing them again, he realizes with a small twinge of regret, and he sends one final blessing their way – a parting gift on his and Crowley’s behalf for everything they’ve done. Their lives will run smooth, their course untroubled.

He extends his right hand, and a familiar sword flames into existence, the handle fitting perfectly into his waiting palm. He wraps his fingers around it, his expression darkening into grim determination, and winks out, leaving a single white feather to float slowly down to the floor.

***

He kills the first demon the moment he steps off the escalator. It was some squatty foul-looking thing with a lumpy face and sharp blackened teeth, and it made the mistake of being nearby when Aziraphale in his Avenging Angel mode descended into Hell. He is now a smoldering puddle of goo on spit and filth covered floor.

Aziraphale steps calmly over the demonic remains, spreads his wings out until they almost touch the grimy walls, his Grace flaring out in a wide, blinding circle around him, and walks on, the Flaming Sword held at the ready.

“What in Heaven izzz going on here?” an angry shout buzzes loud over the cacophony of shrieks and the sizzle of destruction that mark his forward progress, and Aziraphale turns toward it like a hound that’s zeroed in on its game.

“Lord Beelzebub,” Aziraphale acknowledges, blue eyes flashing with cold, blazing fury as he thinks back to the messily scrawled signature at the bottom of Crowley’s mildew-mottled missive. “How perfectly fortuitous! I’ve been looking for you.”

He stalks toward them, noting with grim satisfaction the way the Prince of Hell recoils from his advance, scrambling awkwardly to get out of the way until a wall blocks their path. They freeze there, squinting against the blinding light of Aziraphale’s Grace, and the angel can’t resist leaning in closer, lifting the Flaming Sword to press its edge against their scrawny pale neck with deadly, unequivocal intent.

“Whatzzz wrong wizzzz you?” Beelzebub screeches, panic flashing clear in the washed out blue of the demon’s eyes. “Are you mad?”

“I assure you, Lord Beelzebub, I am in perfect control of my faculties.” The sword presses harder, a thin trickle of inky black ichor staining the blade where it bites slightly into the demon’s skin. “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

A snarl twists the normally impassive features, fear tainting the angrily spat out threat, “You will zzzuffer for thizzz, you fool! You won’t leave here alive!”

Aziraphale’s answering smile is a cold, empty thing that has the Prince of Hell shrinking further into the wall, unsettled. “I don’t intend to,” he responds simply, as the pale eyes before him widen in distress. “The one being I cared for in this world is gone, and I mean to follow him. But I would be loath to leave this world…” He leans in further, the stench of smoking skin tickling his nose as the demon before him hisses in genuine alarm, struggling to maintain their crumbling composure in the face of certain destruction. Adds in a low, dangerously calm whisper, “without first smiting those who took him from me.”

“We didn’t take him!” Beelzebub screeches, all pretense of composure gone as Aziraphale swings the sword for the killing blow.

“What?” The sword stops a mere inch away from the demon’s neck, the flames roaring in cheated hunger.

“We were never suppozzzzed to,” the demon hurries on, voice strained with the urgency of panic. “It wazzzz Gabriel’zzzzz idea – to punish you two zzzze same way you tried to trick uzzzz.”

Aziraphale blinks, his mind stuttering numbly on the Prince’s words as a new kind of horror blooms in his chest. “You mean, I would have been dragged down here, and Crowley…”

“To Heaven, yezzz!” Beelzebub buzzes impatiently, trying to twist away from the flames that lick at their skin.

Aziraphale’s hands tremble ever so lightly and he clenches them tighter around the handle of his sword. “I don’t believe you.”

“I can prove it!” An expression of contented sadistic glee flashes briefly in the faded blues. “Zzzey sent uzzz tapezzzz.”

________________________________

A/N: Ruh-roh

#there we go #story finally moving forward #crowley #aziraphale #good omens #go #go fanfic #sjsob good omens fics

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serpienten · 5 years

Text

embrasse-moi, mon chéri (i/vii)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A series of drabbles about kisses, a tumultuous relationship and two lovesick and battered superheroes with a traumatic past and a, hopefully, bright future.

This Chapter: First kisses are always exciting. With Bucky, though, it feels like flying.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: What can I say, this got a little out of hand. I haven’t written something worth publishing in a while so I’m actually really proud of how this turned out. I’d be insanely grateful if you could leave some feedback in form of a heart, reblog, comment or ask! I always love hearing other people’s thoughts on my writing.

SERIES MASTERLIST

She thinks she might be in love.

She’s never been in love before. It’s terrifyingly unfamiliar, what she’s feeling. Her heart flutters in her chest with every brush of his fingers against hers and the second the gentle touch is gone, it leaves a tingling behind that threatens to set her nerves afire. Every glance he shoots her way spreads a warmth throughout her, a blissful warmth that reaches every last part of her body from her earlobes to the tips of her toes. The feeling’s heady, dizzying, makes her lightheaded and doesn’t for one second fail to scare the crap out of her.

She’s never scared.

But it’s only their first real, actual date and she’s giddy like a foolish teenager who’s been asked out for the very first time. And foolishness or naiveté are completely unlike her.

She’s a top notch spy, only rivaled by Nat, purely suave, smooth, soft speech, and lethal red smiles. Deadly and seductive, she’s a mystery wrapped in tight, form fitting fabric, sharp wit, and charm. Heads turn whenever she saunters past, catching the eye of both women and men, gazes dropping to her tantalizingly swaying hips. She’d be lying if she says it doesn’t make her heart flutter with pride, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being wanted, desired. By whom never really matters. What matters is making her targets fall for her hook, line, sinker, get handed hearts and secrets.

After tonight, though, she couldn’t care less about the prying eyes of strangers. The only eyes she wants to be looked at by are slate blue, twinkling jewels and absolutely intoxicating. The only person she wants to be looked at by is him. James. Bucky.

He’s shy at times, bashful, and seeing his cheeks redden or seeing him lower his head and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear makes her want to wrap him up in a blanket and give him tea. But when he isn’t, when he’s confident, cock-sure, cracking jokes and flirtatious as all hell, she longs to tear the blanket off of him and do other things. When he’s like that, and when she’s there, he likes to reach out and touch her. It’s usually an arm around her shoulder when they’re talking to Sam or Steve or Nat, or when she’s at the compound for movie nights, Bucky sits next to her, legs comfortably spread out, knee resting against her leg, and after a while, his head dropping to her shoulder. Sometimes, he even takes her hand in his, puts his large palm over hers and brushes his thumb over her knuckles.

And he’s always gentle.

There’s no moment in time when she doesn’t like Bucky, but she likes him the best when he’s happy. When he’s carefree. When Bucky’s free of all the demons that haunt him when he’s most vulnerable.

She loses a piece of herself everytime he holds her hand, looks at her like she’s the most precious thing on earth, treats her gently and respectfully and so goddamn softly she could cry right on the spot. Softness is something she’s hardly accustomed to, and even though she usually likes to be handled a little rougher, she basks in his gentle affections.

She’s a master at bringing people to their knees, but she’s putty in his hands, melted ice dripping down his fingers and all she can hope for is that he feels the same about her.

And it’s only their first goddamn date.

Just barely, she tightens her hold on his hand as they walk down the street, the orange glow of the streetlights illuminating their path. They’re shoulder to shoulder, fingers intertwined, talking quietly.

“-and then he put them into the fridge. Can you believe that?”

“You know, there are reasons why I don’t live in the compound, and this just made the list.”

A laugh bursts out of Bucky’s mouth and in an instant, she can’t help but grin up at him. He shakes his head, a fond smile still curling the corners of his lips upward after his laughter quietens down.

“Yeah, yeah. I get how Sam’s underwear in the fridge would cause a real loss of appetite in the morning. To be fair though, he’s never been that drunk.” Bucky starts to draw circles on the back of her hand while he speaks. “He swears it was a one-time thing and so far, he’s been true to his word.”

A short laugh bubbles up her throat. Goosebumps arise on her skin from the gentle stroke of his thumb and, barely able to surpress a shiver, she can’t resist trailing the fingers of her other hand up his suit jacket clad arm - fancier than usual, it’s a date after all - and lets it settle in the crook of his arm. She can be a little closer to him that way, feels his supersoldier warmth seep through the fabric of her jacket.

She’s never even realized how cold she’s been before feeling him.

Bucky chances a long glance down at her. For a moment she thinks he might say something else, he even breathes in and opens his mouth a little as though he’s about to speak, but he ultimately decides against it. She wishes she could see what’s going on inside that beautiful head of his. He’s always hard to read though, even for her.

Silence settles between them as they stroll ahead. It’s in no way uncomfortable, instead it envelopes them like a blanket, encapsulates them in their own little cozy, intimate bubble that feels more like home to her than anything ever has.

Her cheek nearly brushes his shoulder as she lowers her head, looking down at their intertwined fingers, heart still aflutter. The unfamiliar rhythm, the rapid thrumming in her chest had started the moment she’d set eyes on him for the first time and has only gotten stronger over time the closer her and Bucky got, the more he opened up to her and the more she trusted herself to come forward to him. And tonight the beating threatened to punch the breath out of her lungs.

She could’ve walked with him like this forever. Together, close, snuggled up against Bucky, not only warm on the outside but with a spark inside her that chases away every single bit of icy chill that has settled inside her over the years.

So, she’s understandably devastated when they arrive at her apartment building. Her arm drops from his but she doesn’t let go his hand, outright refuses to lose more contact then necessary. Bucky steps in front of her, chest to chest, a soft, tender smile pulling at his smooth, pink lips. She wonders what it would feel like to taste them, nip at them. Perhaps a little bit like heaven. Her teeth capture her bottom lip and bite down.

“Well,” she breathes, hair flying over her shoulder in a fluid motion as she throws a short glance behind her, “this is me.”

Bucky nods, something else joining his fond expression, flitting across his features and darkening his stunning blue orbs a bit. Something sadder.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, volume of his voice matching hers.

“I had a great time tonight,” she admits. “Actually, I had an awesome time tonight. The best time in a really, really long time. Thank you.”

Bucky’s cheeks gain a rosy tinge and the grin that adorns his face is endearing, absolutely adorable. “Don’t thank me, doll. For you, I...” The grin softens a little and he shakes his head. “Anything for you.”

It’s her turn to blush, heart in her throat. “You really are precious, aren’t you?” She wants him to stay, imagines what it would feel like to fall asleep in his arms and wake up in the same place. Safe and loved. Appreciated and respected. She’s never in her life felt as high above in the clouds as tonight and she’s finally come to the conclusion that it’s all him. It’s all Bucky who’s making her heart, her head, her everything soar.

She doesn’t want to say goodbye yet.

The tip of Bucky’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and the movement draws her in.

Every passing second makes her realize that their time together is coming to an end for the day and, my god, she hates it.

She does not want to say goodbye yet.

Hopeful, she looks up at him, yearning for him to give her something to hold on to when he leaves to go back to the compound. Dissapointment washes over her when all he does is draw his lower lips between his teeth and clear his throat. He’s all up in his head again and she knows it.

Giving a small nod, she runs her hand up his chest and grabs onto his shoulder as she leans up and presses her lips to his cheek, neatly trimmed stubble scratching and tickling her mouth. Bucky draws in a shuddering breath when he feels her touch, grabbing her hand that’s still in his harder.

He smells otherwordly and she has to actually force herself to take a step back and not stand her forever, snug against the hard muscles of his upper body.

“Goodnight,” she susurrates. She turns, hand beginning to slip from his grip.

Time seems to catch up with Bucky too now, because he suddenly grips her hand tighter, more desperate and suddenly, she’s scarcely got time to be surprised, he pulls her back, arm looping around her waist. She can’t help but think how right he feels against her, fitting snugly, her missing puzzle piece. Nimble fingers grab the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling at him, pulling him down to rest her forehead against his.

“I don’t want this to be over yet,” she quickly says, faces only inches apart, breathing each other in. Bucky’s scent clouds her mind, the heady cologne, earthy, sandalwood, leather and smoke wrapping around her.

He shakes his head, hastily. “I’ll be damned if I let you go up there without givin’ you a proper send-off, darlin’. I ain’t gonna half ass this.” His voice is thick with emotion, conviction most of all and the Brooklyn drawl makes one of its rare appearances.

“Oh, darlin’,” she chuckles, rejoices when Bucky huffs out a tiny laugh, “I’m dying to see what that send-off looks like.”

Bucky gives her a nod, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he tilts his head forward, bumping his nose softly against hers. “Good,” he rasps. Their mouths are close enough to be touching each other, close enough to taste and feel nothing but the two of them.

The tension, crackling electricity is getting stronger, harder to bear. She combats the urge to lean forward and press her lips against his, wanting to let Bucky make the first move. She’ll let him tread at his own pace, no matter how hard it is pulling on her nerves. She can’t resist whispering against his irresistable mouth, though. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Bucky bites his lower lip harshly. “Goddamit, doll, you’re....” He trails off again with a shake of his head and finally, finally leans forward.

It’s the softest pressure against her mouth, sweetest of brushes and the most alluring of tastes and it lights her insides on fire. She’s burning, harboring a raging fire inside, searing hot and for a second she’s afraid that it’s singing him because she feels him suck in a sharp breath. The kiss is delicate and she curves into him, closer, until they’re on the brink of coalescing. He feels divine. She’s become weaker in the knees, certain that if he wasn’t holding her, she’d for sure be falling right now. Well, she’s falling anyway, but he’s somehow always there to catch her.

It’s over far too soon. She swallows down a whine that threatens to escape her throat but what she can’t help is following his lips as he pulls back a little to take a deep breath.

Bucky chuckles, tightening his hold on her and giving her lips a short peck. “Gotta let an old man breathe, doll.”

Fuck breathing, she wants to say. Fuck air, if I can feel those hands holding me and those lips kissing me I’ll gladly die right on the spot.

Instead, she cups his face between her hands, thumb tracing the outline of his lower lip. “I know you got a mission in the morning, but do you wanna come upstairs?” She captures his lips in another deep, sweet kiss. “I’ve got cookies,” she mumbles against his mouth.

He snickers into the kiss. “I’m usually not persuaded so easily but cookies? If they’re chocolate chip I might just faint.”

Smirking, she takes a small step back and waves towards the entrance to the apartment building. “You’re gonna have to come and see, aren’t you?”

Her heart feels lighter than air in her chest when he beams at her, slips his fingers through hers and pulls her inside.

Yeah. She’s definitely in trouble.

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ofstarsandvibranium · 5 years

Text

Some Alpha: Part 4

Fandom: Marvel (ABO AU)

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky is an Alpha, but can never seem to find someone who wants him to be their Alpha. Until he finds you, a Beta, who’s as firey as an Alpha, yet also tender-hearted like an Omega.

A/N: Yes, THE Lance Tucker.

Bucky didn’t like that you were on your suppressants again. He loved the intoxicating scent of cinnamon and vanilla coming off you. But he also knew that you needed it for your safety, which is top priority above all else. Fuck whatever he wants. He just wants you safe. But occasionally, he’ll get a real whiff of you and it’ll just render him speechless and frozen.

“Bucky? Helloooo?” you’re waving your hand in front of his face.

“H-Huh? Sorry, Y/N,” he ducks his head, wanting to cover his reddening cheeks, “I spaced out for a moment.”

You giggled, God, that giggle again, and continued to put the pool equipment away, “It’s alright. I guess I do ramble on a lot and tend to lose people.” you gave yourself a shrug.

Bucky immediately shook his head, “No, no! That’s not it. I-I love it when you ramble. I just-your scent.”

You froze, eyes widened, “How bad is it? Is it strong? Oh fuck, do I need to get strong suppr-”

“Doll, no. Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just caught whiff is all. Caught me off guard.” he feels a tension in his chest to see you so panicked and riled up. But when he sees you physically relax, the tension in his chest fades.

“Okay. Got me real worried there, Buck.”

“I’m sorry,” he anxiously rubs the back of his neck.

“Apology accepted, Buck. Don’t beat yourself about it.” you both continued to put all of the equipment away in the closet. After it was locked up, you both grabbed your things and walked together towards the locker rooms.

For the past two weeks, Bucky has been plucking up the courage to ask you out. Sure, you two have gone out for coffee and lunches and such, but he wanted to have a real official date with you, that is, if you’d allow it. Honestly, he wanted to ask you out the moment he met you, but that didn’t seem right. He wanted to get to know you and you him. He wanted to form a friendship first before heading into anything romantic, despite what his Alpha brain has been telling him.

But lately, it’s been getting harder and harder drowning that voice out. His Alpha telling him to just take you, claim you, mark you as his. He’s probably gonna be going into another heat soon and Bucky’s dreading it. He doesn’t wanna go to some bedwarmer like he has in the past. He wants you, but it’s still too soon to ask that of you. Maybe he should go on heat suppressants for a whi-

“You’re spacing out on me again, Buck,” you say with a slightly disappointed look.

Bucky wants to punch himself in the face, “Sorry. It’s not your scent this time, I promise. I just...got a lot on my mind right now.”

“Anything I can help with?” you asked so softly and kindly.

Yes. Everything. Bend over right now so I can knot you and make you mine, “Not really,” he says with a shake of his head, “I’ll figure something out though. Don’t worry.”

“Alright. Meet in the lobby after?”

“Always,” he said with a nod and retreated to the locker room where he needed to cool off and gather his thoughts.

Bucky was waiting at the counter for you. He finished his shower and got dressed five minutes ago. He’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. The obnoxious smacking of the bubblegum in Hope’s mouth was starting to get to him.

He looked over the counter to the small, blonde Alpha, “Do you not know how to chew with your mouth closed?”

Hope rolled her eyes and proceeded to chew her gum louder than before, “Whatcha gonna do about it? Get me fired like Tucker?”

Bucky smirked, “He got fired? When?”

Hope rolled her eyes again, “Yeah. It’s whatever though. And not that it’s any of your business, just today. Lemme tell ya, he was not happy. You better be careful, tubs. Tucker hates it when things don’t go his way.”

“Hey,” you said walking up to Bucky, startling him. You couldn’t help but laugh out an apology, “Sorry.”

Bucky’s heart eased at the sight and sound of you, “It’s alright. You hear Lance got fired?”

You groaned with delight, “The Heavens answered by prayers. Thank you! We should celebrate!”

Hope snorted, “That’s kinda fucked up.”

You scoffed, “C’mon, Hope, you knew how much of a dick Lance was. Doesn’t matter if he gives good dick downs. His attitude is vile and he deserved getting fired for putting me in danger.”

“True.”

Bucky looked at you with furrowed brows, “Wait. How the hell do you know he gi-he’s good in bed?”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead, “He helped me through heat once and then after that, homeboy kept crawling back trying to get another round. But I said never again. I’m not gonna be like the other omegas and few betas he’s been with. No way am I involving myself with Lance Tucker.”

You notice a change in Bucky’s scent. It’s pungent and bitter. A scent which usually means he’s angry, “Bucky?” your voice laced with worry, “What’s wrong?”

His eyes are hard and his nostrils are flaring, “I just really hate that guy.” His head is pounding. His heart his racing. His inner Alpha is seething and foaming at the mouth. How dare LANCE be so intimate with you.

“Buck-”

“I gotta go,” Bucky grumbled harshly, pushing past you and marching out of the gym, leaving you confused and slightly hurt.

_________________

Bucky was pacing in his apartment completely livid. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the image of you and Lance fucking out of his mind. He hated it. He hated that an asshole like Lance managed to be intimate with you, someone so wild yet kind-hearted. He also hated that now his insecurities were getting the best of him. There’s no way he could level up to an Alpha like Lance. Sure, Lance was a dick, but he had this confidence and aura that drew people towards him. Not to mention how supposedly good he is in bed and how fit he is. He could never measure up to Lance with how he looked.

Disheartened, Bucky pulled up his stomach, staring down at his “tubby” stomach. If he was ever gonna have a chance with you, he definitely had to change the way he looked. No more slow and steady wins the race. He’s gonna start doing proper workouts now, which meant no more of your water aerobics classes. He was going to be the Alpha you’d want and deserve.

Some Alpha Taglist (CLOSED): @cametobuyplums@strugglingsemicolon @geeksareunique @mydemonexorcist @slender–spirit@mrsdeanwinchester19 @suhhhhhhh-dude @buckysthing @learisa@deanmonunicorn @uguid @dianaxx99 @iamwarrenspeace @feelmyroarrrr@xxsirensong @petersunderoos96 @stuck-y-together @stressedandbandobessed7771 @translucuiid @titty-teetee@mamaraptor @randomfandompenguin @ayatimascd @hiken-no-stark@bubblegum-love18 @madisonpillstrom @hailqueenconquer @nerdy-bookworm-1998@brastrangled @isthiswhattheycallwriting @ravennightingaleandavatempus@undiscovered-misunderstood @thottywithoutthebody @blueberrybuchanan@buckysthighs134 @crystalwolfblog @tastefulknife @bluescorpio1999 @chuuulip

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #chubby!bucky #abo au

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