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absolutelyfizzing · 3 years

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angels and demons

warren worthington x reader fluff

@shuckfaced-fangirl Hi! can I request a warren worthington x female mutant reader where her powers are shadow summoning? So I guess everyone in the school kind of views her as some sort of demon? With a lot of fluff? Thank you!!

Description - Y/N is a shadow summoner and is isolated from her peers. Warren helps her see that not everyone fears her and that she is worthy of affection.

warnings - its so fluffy. fem pronouns. some angsty stuff (isolation, depression, sadness), one innuendo, devastating fluff, warren being an angel. i tried to make it POC inclusive, please let me know if it feels restricting or excluding and i will edit it.

word count - 3700, i got carried away

A/N - im so sorry this took so long, i took a break from writing while i am working on moving to college. i will still be spotty for the next few weeks but hopefully, i will post a few more things in that time and then get back on a normal schedule. also, thanks so much for this request, i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope it is something you enjoy reading!

MASTERLIST

You walked through the halls with a lowered head. You knew that you made others uncomfortable and so you chose to try to make yourself as small and unthreatening as possible. You had been 'gifted' powers with which you could manipulate and create darkness. You were a shadow summoner. That wasn't a name that many found reassuring or comforting.

There were a few who could see past it and who was close to being what you might call friends but those people were few and far between. There were overwhelmingly more people who believed that you must have been a scary and mean person, that you were some sort of demon. This couldn't have been further from the truth if one were to look past appearances. Your shadow was larger and darker than that of your peers and it trailed behind you with a mind of its own, moving and growing without you even meaning for it to happen. Your hands were constantly covered in something darker and dustier than the rest of your skin, a deep and pure black. It trailed from the tips of your fingers and faded on your forearm so it looked as though you had just dipped your arms into a chimney or that shadows were crawling up your arms.

When you first got them, you thought they were sort of cool. They made you look sort of goth and that was fun. That feeling quickly faded when you saw how others, even your family, reacted. They said it was a curse from hell. You were barely convinced otherwise.

You sat away from others at the school during free periods. During lunch you sat alone and in the sun when you could, you hoped it might make others be less scared of you as it might make you look brighter but your shadow, dark and ominous, maintained a spot near you. You wore clothes that made you look more approachable to try to maintain that you weren't scary. Your brightly colored outfit didn't ever seem to work though, no matter how hard you tried.

You looked down at the food in your hands, the sandwich only half-eaten, and you noted your hands. They were so normal looking, your nails were well kept and you thought they were a good size. That they might even be a good size for someone to hold. The only thing was the unnaturally colored dust that seemed to cover them. It was a cool black, it glistened and sparkled in the sun when your fingers moved. It never moved or transferred to anything else, always stuck securely to your skin. You were distracted by the way your fingers seemed to shine when a shadow came near yours, wings outlined in it. You looked up to see a tall blond boy above you with curly hair and bags under his eyes. He nodded to a spot on the grass near you.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

You shook your head and even scooted away from the spot to give him more space despite the fact that you were in a large field.

"Do you want me to move?" You asked gently, wondering if maybe he wanted this particular spot and you took it from him unknowingly.

"I mean, I think that would sort of take away the whole point of me trying to sit with you." He smirked and you felt blood rush to your cheeks. "I like your hands" He hummed and you looked at him in shock. When his eyes met yours you tilted your head a bit.

"They don't bother you?" You tried to speak softly.

"No, I think they're awesome. They make you look punk." He smiled and you felt the corners of your mouth tug up a bit too.

"I like your wings." You almost mumbled as you allowed your gaze to move to the large feathery wings behind him. They moved in the wind and you found yourself wanting to run your fingers through them. "They make you look like an angel." You smiled and he groaned dramatically.

"I'm trying to look grunge." He pouted and you giggled a bit. At the sound, he looked up at you and blushed a bit. "Maybe we should trade."

"If I could trade you I would. Everyone is scared of how I look." You gazed back at the grass.

"I'm not." His simple statement made butterflies erupt in your stomach and you smiled a bit. You looked back at him and made eye contact for a moment.

"What's your name?" You asked and he maintained his gaze into your eyes. It was the most contact or conversation with someone else you'd had in a long time.

"I'm Warren." He smiled a bit and stuck a hand out to you to shake. You looked at his hand in shock. Nobody ever voluntarily touched your hands. Most of them worried that whatever was on them would spread. You hesitantly brought your hand to his, purposefully giving him plenty of time to remove his hand if he felt uncomfortable. But he didn't. Instead, your hand reached his and he shook it before letting go as if it was no big deal.

"I'm Y/N." You smiled a bit more and you felt a giggle come out of you from the joy of realizing this wasn't a dream, that someone was trying to talk to you and they weren't afraid.

"Is my name that funny?" He teased.

"No, I just-" you paused to think, "it's been so long since anyone has done this with me."

"Talked to you?" He questioned, obviously expecting you to say no and explain what you meant. Instead, you just nodded and his heart clenched for a moment. "Well, you can stick with me then."

"I don't know if you want your reputation to take a hit like that."

"My reputation is 'the angry and damaged kid', I'm sure it can handle the breaking news of me talking to a nice and pretty girl." He reassured before he even realized what he was saying. You could have cried at the feeling that rose up in your chest.

After that day, you stuck to his side like glue and he took no issue with it. The more you got to know him the more you appreciated the fact that he had taken you in. With his help, over the coming months, he helped you develop a stable friend group. That group included people like Ororo and Jane who had heard rumors about you and never bothered to check and see if they were real. They apologized profusely, especially Jean as she felt like she could have easily found out that you were kinder than she thought with her abilities but just had never done so, and you gladly accepted, just happy to be within a group.

You and Warren had developed a reputation. He was overly protective and gruff while you were overly nice and empathetic. You balanced each other well and if you were honest, you were in love with him. That always felt weird to say, you'd never been in love with anyone before but every second you spent with him made you more and more sure of your feelings.

When you and Warren were together, you would daydream about what it would be like to be in a relationship with him. Being held by him and wrapped in his wings. Getting to play with his unkempt hair. Holding his hand.

Sometimes he would try to encourage you to hold his hand. He would hold it out to you when he was helping you jump down from somewhere high. He would ask you to hand him things and then make decisive contact as he took it from you. He knew that it meant a lot to you, you practically gasped and blushed every time he did it. He had never met anyone so touch starved. He wanted to give you all the affection that you craved.

Unfortunately, Warren was rather oblivious, especially towards things like feelings and emotions. He had no clue that you had any interest in him, even though he hoped you did every day. If he wasn't so attached to your friendship, he might ask you out. Instead, he tried to maintain a friendly distance so he didn't cross any lines while also being as affectionate with you as he could be. You followed a similar path.

The person caught in the middle of this was poor Jean Gray. she had watched you pine over each other since you met and had heard every thought that went through both of your heads. She knew you would never complain or ask for help about anything so she liked to keep tabs on your thoughts every once in a while to make sure you were okay. Still, she tried her best to not listen very often or when you were thinking about anything very personal, she honestly did. But she was a romantic. All she wanted was for you two idiots to get together but you were both oblivious. She decided, probably 3 months into you becoming friends, that she had to do something about it.

She was sitting on your bed while you sat across your bedroom on your small couch. She fiddled with her thumbs while she tried to ignore your constant thoughts about Warren, his hands, his wings, his smile. She was exhausted. she took a small breath while she planned how she would try to say this to you.

"Do you want to know what I heard today?" She called and you looked up at her from the book you were pretending to read.

"Do you mean heard or 'heard'?" You laughed and she rolled her eyes.

"Either." Then she tilted her head. "Both."

"Yeah, I wanna know! What's it about?" You asked while leaning forward in your seat. Jean always had the best gossip to tell because she could literally hear it.

"Warren." She stated simply and watched your reaction. You flushed and stopped breathing for a moment.

"Wha-" you stuttered, "what about him?"

"That he has a thing for you." she winked and you flushed even more.

"You're lying." You assured, a questioning look on your face.

"I'm not and I'm tired of watching you two longing after one another while the rest of the school watches." She smiled and your heart picked up.

"I thought I told you not to look in my head!" You scolded but you weren't actually all that upset. You knew that it was very hard for her to control.

"I cant help it! Both of you think so loud. And I wouldn't have to anyway, Ororo mentioned it to me the other day and she definitely cants read minds." She giggled and you smiled a bit.

"Does he actually like me?" You almost whispered in disbelief.

"Yes! He's been obsessed with you since you started talking."

"But like he would want to actually go-"

"Y/N, I swear to god. If you don't go and talk to him right now I'm going to have a fit." She laughed and you glared at her.

"Okay okay fine, I'm going," you grumbled as you stood and walked toward your door. "If you are wrong I'm gonna be so upset with you."

She just laughed again and you started to walk down the hallway. You thought he might be in his room or outside. You decided to check his room first.

You knocked on his door but you were met with silence. You tried the handle and it moved.

"Warren?" you paused, "I'm coming in," you warned and pushed the door open. When you looked inside, he wasn't there. You took a moment to gaze around his room, it wasn't the first time you had been in there but every time was a bit exciting as you got to see all of the things he had that represented him. He had a boombox and a CD collection on his dresser. Some of his clothes were thrown around his room haphazardly and some of his drawers were open. You looked at the wall next to you where he kept photos that you took. You would carry around a camera or take pictures on your phone of everyone around campus. He always asked for them and then printed them out so he could hang them up. He had even managed to get a couple of you. You smiled a bit before heading back into the hallway, closing the door behind you.

You instead moved towards the door to get out onto the lawn where you thought he would probably be. He often sat under the big oak trees or on the roof if he wanted to get away from people. When you made it outside, you looked around for him.

"Y/N!" you heard him shout. You turned to look for him and saw his silhouette flying from the roof. You paused to admire him and his wings. He always looked so angelic to you. So powerful. You thought about how your power emanated darkness. That you would never appear angelic to someone and would more likely look like a demon. You looked down at your hands for a second, a habit you had when you were thinking about your powers. They sparkled a bit in the sun but it did little to quell the distaste in your mouth.

Suddenly there was a shadow in front of you that was not part of the darkness that surrounded you.

"Y/N?" he asked gently. "Are you okay?" he tried not to startle you. Being empathetic wasn't something that came naturally to him, but he tried extra hard around you. he noticed the way you were staring at your hands. The growth of your shadow as you thought about your powers more. He moved to touch one of your hands but you flinched back a bit. He brought his hand back and looked at you with concern. "Whats wrong, angel?" He asked lightly and you looked up at the pet name. He had started calling you that soon after you became friends. You thought it was out of irony but he really was convinced that you were some sort of angel. He also loved the way that your eyes would light up when he said it. You stared at him for a moment in silence.

"Do I scare you?" You asked quietly and your voice shook. He looked surprised by your question and you were surprised too. You didn't know why you were suddenly getting emotional. Why this was now all you could think about. Why it had to come up now when you were trying to express your feelings for him. Instead of responding he reached out to your hand, holding onto it when you let him, despite flinching away slightly. He started to walk, leading you toward the same tree you had met under. Once you both reached it he sat down and looked up at you, waiting for you to sit down too. You did, maybe a bit farther away from him than you needed to be.

"Do you think you scare me?" he asked genuinely and you took a second to think, looking back down at your hands which were now pulled back into your lap.

"I scare me," you stated simply and paused.

"That's not what I asked."

"I don't know." You mumbled. "I think I freak everyone out. Including you I guess." Your voice was quieter than you meant it to be. you really hadn't thought about it in a little while. It had been on your mind plenty when you first started talking to him. You were extra conscious of not pushing him to be around you or near your shadow. You knew that he would move away if he needed to but you also had so many memories of everyone around you fearing you, running from you, telling you that you were a curse. Instead of responding he held his hand out in between the two of you, palm up. You knew that he was inviting you to take it but that he wouldn't push you to. Instead of taking it, you placed your hand near his on the ground and he left his next to yours, not trying to take it if you didn't want him to.

"You don't." He let out, sounding sure of himself and slightly pained. "You don't scare me." You looked at each other. He had tears in his eyes. He was never one to get emotional so you were surprised. "Do I scare you?" he questioned, already knowing your answer but trying to prove a point.

"Of course not." You sighed.

"You have a lot more reason to be afraid of me than I have to be afraid of you." he looked at your hand again. "I'm the one who has a rough history, I'm the one who is angry and has a reputation of being aggressive."

"But, Warren, your mutation is-"

"Mutation has nothing to do with it, Y/N." he sighed. "You have control over your abilities, I have control over mine. The only difference between us is our personalities and I have never had any reason to fear you or dislike you. You're the kindest person I know and everyone in your life who has let you think that there was something wrong with you was terrible. And that was on them."

Your hand reached for his and you laced your fingers together. He squeezed your hand and ran his thumb over the back of it.

"I love you." The words came out of your mouth faster than you could think and you sucked in a breath, almost hoping he didn't hear you. When you glanced up at him he had a gentle smile on his face. He brought the back of your hand up to his face and kissed it before placing it against his cheek.

"I love you too, Y/N" He reached out for your waist and pulled you toward his lap, giving you plenty of time to give him a sign that you were uncomfortable. Instead, you put your leg over his waist so you were straddling his thighs. You held one of his hands in between you and fiddled with his fingers, admiring how your hands contrasted with his. Somehow, him holding your hand made it seem less out of place. You almost felt pride.

You were suddenly surrounded by warmth and shadow, the sounds of the quad around you becoming muted. You looked up around you and his wings were wrapped around the two of you, closing you off into your own little world. You felt the urge to reach out to them but you had never asked. You had never seen him let anyone touch them and you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"Go ahead." your eyes snapped to his in shock.

"Warren, you never let any-"

"I want you to," he admitted and it was true. He had thought many times about asking you to run your fingers through his wings. He would never complain about it but they were a little high maintenance and also sensitive. He never let anyone touch them because most people weren't gentle or he didn't trust them. He knew though that you were the gentlest person on Earth and that he could count on you to be careful.

At his reassurance, you smiled a bit. You reached a hand out to the part of his wing next to his shoulder. You both gasped a bit when your fingers made contact. Warren was a bit surprised at how sensitive they were to your touch and it had been a long time since anyone but himself had touched them. You were entranced by how soft they were. The feathers were delicate and there were so many. You were very careful in how you moved your hand along his wing, looking at him often to see if he was uncomfortable. As you were carding your fingers through his feathers, one came out. You gasped slightly horrified that you had hurt him.

"Hey, it's okay!" he rushed out as he saw your panic. "They just sort of... shed sometimes." He almost seemed embarrassed. Feathers would come off occasionally and he would often have to brush through them himself to release all of the loose feathers, sort of like brushing your hair. He reached to pick up the feather and held it in front of you for you to take. You gladly did and you twirled it in your fingers. "Maybe sometime, if you wouldn't mind, of course, you could help me brush through them?" he asked quietly and you smiled.

"Yeah of course. They seem like they might be a lot of work." you were touched that he trusted you to do that and you thought about how hard it must be to take care of them by himself when they were so big and most of his wings were behind him.

"You should see what it's like to shower with them," he grumbled and then his eyes widened at what he had said. He hadn't meant it to be an innuendo but now he was worried he offended you. Instead, he looked into your eyes and you fell into a fit of giggles.

"I might have to take you up on that offer." Your gentle gaze made him blush. He had never felt this comfortable with anyone. This safe. He decided right then that he would do anything you ever asked of him.

After that day, you and Warren became the cutest couple at the school. You were opposites in multiple ways and your relationship was more wholesome than any of your friends could handle. You got more confident in yourself and your abilities and he allowed himself to be more vulnerable. everyone agreed that you were a match made in heaven.

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

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By My Side (Part 1)

Summary: While at home one night, the reader, an actress, is almost kidnapped and at her friend’s suggestion she hires Jensen as her bodyguard. While the pair doesn’t get along, an incident at the reader’s new home leads her and Jensen to taking a drastic measure...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 3,900ish

Warnings: language, minor injury, attempted kidnapping, drugging

A/N: There will be no taglist for this series. Please check out the masterlist for posting dates/times. Enjoy!

_________

“Get the fuck off!” you said, kneeing the man that was halfway through dragging you down your stairs. You threw a punch and a kick, swinging more than a few times before the grip on you fell away and you booked it for the front door. You sprinted outside and down the driveway, dashing across the street and banging on your neighbor’s door.

A light came on and you glanced over your shoulder, spotting the guy dressed in black and wearing a mask jog to the end of your driveway.

“Shit, shit,” you said, a strong arm grabbing you and yanking you inside before you could even turn back around. The door slammed shut after you and you took a deep breath, your neighbor standing there in his boxers, saying something to his wife in the background.

“Y/N, are you okay?” said Jared. You straightened up and nodded, his eyes going wide.

“Gen! Tell them she needs an ambulance too,” he said.

“I’m fine,” you said as he walked you to his kitchen and sat you down at the counter. Gen was in there, on the phone with the police it sounded like, as Jared went to a cupboard. He pulled out a red bag and then was walking back over with a wad of bandages, holding it up to your forehead. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you said, pressing your hand to your head, seeing the half secured zip tie stuck on your other wrist. There were sirens in the distance and you shut your eyes.

“Hey, no sleeping. You might have a concussion,” he said.

“I’m not sleeping,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” he said, the sirens getting louder before there were flashing lights in the window. Gen walked over to the front door, letting the police in. About four officers came inside, one of them immediately coming over to you.

“What’d he look like? How many?” he asked.

“Uh, all in black, with a mask. He was white I think from what I could tell. Maybe six foot, average build, strong. It was just the one as far as I know. Last I saw him he was at the end of the driveway before my neighbor let me in his house,” you said.

“You two, call it in for backup and start looking. Jones, get a full statement from these three. Start with the vic. Medics will want to look at that head,” he said. “Which house is yours?”

“Right across the street. Red front door,” you said. He left and the other cop in there pulled out a plastic bag from his back pocket.

“I need to cut that off for evidence,” he said, glancing at your wrist.

“Should we do anything?” asked Jared as the cop made a cut and bagged the plastic tie.

“I would keep pressure on that wound for the moment,” he said, writing on the bag and taking out a notepad and pen. “Alright. Let’s start from the beginning.”

“I was asleep less than ten minutes ago in my bed and I woke up to someone touching my arm and I found that tie thing on me and the guy tried grabbing my other arm but I rolled away. I got caught up in the covers while I was running away so he caught up to me in the hall outside my bedroom and I just started hitting what I could and then he tried to pull me downstairs and I hit him some more and then he let go and I ran over here.”

“How’d you sustain the head injury?” he asked.

“Well he was hitting me too when I started fighting back,” you said. “I was half-awake.”

“Okay. Sir, I’m going to need to ask you a few questions now.”

Three Hours Later

“Hey,” said Jared, setting a cup of tea down at his breakfast table. He rubbed your back and you sighed. “Rough night huh?”

“At least I don’t have a concussion,” you said, touching your butterfly bandages on your head.

“Police said your alarm wasn’t on.”

“So this is my fault?” you asked.

“No, I didn’t say that. I am saying that you and Gen have a very popular show together and if she didn’t have me around, I’d want her to have a bodyguard, maybe even full time,” he said.

“I have had this conversation with my manager multiple times. I’m not getting a bodyguard. For events and conventions, fine, I’ll have one. At work? In my life? No way,” you said.

“Y/N, you know I used to be in the army. Then I was a cop. Then I was on a SWAT team before I retired to become a stay at home dad,” he said.

“Yes. You’re an adorable scary badass. What’s your point?” you asked.

“When I worked SWAT, I worked a a few kidnapping cases. The honest truth is sometimes we don’t find you until it’s too late or we never do. It’s not like a movie. It’s not like your guys show and someone swoops in. No one shows up out of the blue to save you. You save yourself or you don’t get saved. Rarely do we get you out of that situation.”

“Again, what’s your point?”

“My point is whoever that person was, when they come back because they will come back, Y/N, and when they do, they’re not going to be that sloppy. They may drug you. They may knock you out. They could do a number of things but your chances of getting way again would be extraordinary. I love ya and I’ll always protect you. But next time, I might not be able to stop something bad from happening. You alone over there...I wouldn’t know until it’s too late.”

You were quiet, playing with the tea bag in your drink as he drank from his own mug.

“I don’t want a stranger coming into my home,” you said.

“Y/N, Gen and I want you to stay here for as long as you-”

“I meant a bodyguard, Jare. I don’t want somebody I don’t know to start coming into my life and controlling it.”

“I have a friend from my army days who does that kind of work. He’s between jobs at the moment. I’ll vouch for him,” he said.

“You’re not gonna give me a choice on this, are you,” you said.

“Gen and I are moving. A bigger place,” he said. “We think it’s a good idea if you had a change of scenery too.”

“You think she’s in danger too?”

“We don’t know but she’s five months pregnant. We don’t want to risk anything,” he said. “It’s just a thought.”

“Can...can I stay over here a few days? While I figure out what I want to do?” you asked.

“Yeah, of course, Y/N.”

Two Weeks Later

“I like the new place,” said Jared as he helped you carry in the last box.

“It’s uh, a bit big,” you said. “But the owner wanted to sell fast and I wanted out of the other one fast so it worked out.”

“Seems like a lot of space for one person,” said the man walking in through the open front door. He was in a pair of dark jeans and a blazer, a tee shirt underneath. You stepped behind Jared but he chuckled. “Really Jare? Didn’t mention I’d be stopping by?”

“Y/N, this is my friend Jensen. I told you about him. You said you were interested in meeting him,” said Jared.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” said Jensen, holding out a hand.

“Y/N please,” you said as you shook it.

“I prefer to keep things professional,” said Jensen. “It’s easier that way. So, this is the new place, hm? Which room will be mine?”

“There’s a guest suite over on the first floor you can use,” you said.

“Where’s the master?”

“Upstairs.”

“Preferably I’d like to be in a room closer to yours,” he said.

“Fine. Take the guest room upstairs,” you said. “This is just a test run remember.”

“My contract says this is a six month test run,” he said as he looked around. “I see you’re still moving in so perhaps we can go over some of our new procedures in the morning.”

“Sure,” you said.

“I’ll move in my belongings then,” he said. “I don’t have much.”

“Mhm,” you said. He nodded and headed back outside, Jared catching the look you gave him.

“What?” he asked.

“He’s gonna be a joy to live with,” you muttered.

“He’s quiet until you get to know him. I wouldn’t have recommended him if I didn’t trust him. He’s saved my life before. I know he’ll have your back,” said Jared.

“Yeah,” you said, his phone going off. “Jared, go. I know you’re already late for the baby checkup.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I only have boxes left to unpack anyways. Go on. I’ll talk to you guys later,” you said. He gave you a wave on the way out, leaving you to stare at the pile of boxes sitting on your kitchen floor. You cracked your back and started to work, catching Jensen move in a few duffel bags of his own. He left and wandered around outside eventually, allowing you to try and get the essentials all stored away.

By the time it was seven, you were exhausted but your bedroom, bathroom and kitchen were all set up. You plopped down on the couch, closing your eyes. They blinked open when you felt a presence standing over you.

“I’ve done a review of the property. I’d like to have an upgraded security system installed tomorrow,” he said.

“Whatever. Just put it on the card my manager gave you,” you said.

“I’d also like to consider hiring an additional person to monitor the system at some point. They can be remotely based,” he said.

“Like I said, whatever,” you said, closing your eyes again.

“I assume I have access to use the kitchen as I desire,” he said.

“No smoking. No drugs. No random hookups you bring here and as long as you don’t bug me and stay away from my ice cream, we’ll be fine,” you said.

“I can agree to that. As long as you follow my rules, we’ll also be fine,” he said. You laughed and sat up, walking to the kitchen to find your phone. “Do you think that’s funny?”

“I think the fact you think you’re going to be making rules in my home that I paid for is very funny,” you said. You took the phone to check on the pizza and wings you ordered for yourself, Jensen walking over and stopping in front of you. “Can I help you?”

“You are paying me a very large sum of money to keep you safe. If you don’t listen to what I say then I can’t guarantee your safety,” he said.

“Let me get something clear. I’m doing this to appease my friends and manager. Do whatever you want around here but don’t start telling me how to live my life,” you said.

“I took this job as a favor,” he said, snatching your phone out of your hand and tossing it on the countertop behind him. You scowled and he walked forward, forcing you to back up until your back hit a wall.

“Dude, backoff.”

“Pretend I’m that man that tried to take you before. What do you do? Right here and now. What’s your plan?”

“I’m serious,” you said, trying to brush past him and getting a light shove into the wall for it. You glared at him but he held his ground, pushing you again when you moved.

“I’m serious. Tell me what your plan is. Better yet, show me,” he said.

“I don’t care if you are Jared’s friend. I am this close to punching you. Move now.”

“I said show me.”

You narrowed your eyes and brought up your knee to hit him in the groin. He pushed it away before it connected though and you were off balance, Jensen grabbing you and yanking you away from the wall, putting you in a headlock and tugging your arms behind your back.

“Don’t go for the most obvious move in the world,” he said. “Now that didn’t go how you wanted it to. What’s the plan now?”

“Get off,” you growled, trying to stomp your foot down on his but he moved it back and kicked out your ankle, making you fall back against him. He picked you up and you started moving your legs, Jensen suddenly dropping you down onto the hardwood floor. You hit your knee and winced, a hand suddenly grabbing the back of your shirt. “Alright! I get the fucking point.”

“Do you?” he said, squatting down beside you. You tried pushing his hand away but it tightened and you tried throwing a punch, his grip almost too hard now and his free hand easily blocking the hit. “You have no plan. You’re too small and too weak to overpower someone. You can’t afford to have no plan. The thing is, when it’s real, you’ll be panicking and you’ll have no time at all to think of one.”

“Stop touching me unless you want me to call the cops on you,” you spat out. He moved his hand away and stood, staring back at you.

“You need to do what I tell you if you want to stay safe. I will teach you what to do if you’re in that situation for whatever reason. But the rules keep that situation from happening in the first place. Understand?” he said.

“Understand that you are fired as of now. Pack up your shit and get out of my house,” you said. You got to your feet and he raised an eyebrow. “I’m your boss and I can fire you whenever I want. Get out.”

“How on earth Jared is friends with a someone like you I will never understand,” he said. He headed upstairs and the doorbell rang. You forced a smile for the delivery guy and took your food back to the kitchen, digging in before Jensen was even tossing his first bag down the stairs. You rolled your eyes and were on your third slice by the time he was walking downstairs.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” you said. He shot you a dirty look, his head cocking as he set his bag down. “Oh now what?”

“You look really pale,” he said, walking over to you. “Your pupils are huge.”

“You know what else? You are so not as hot as you think you are,” you said, reaching for another piece of chicken before he smacked your hand. “You are this close to me calling...someone.”

Your head got dizzy for a second, Jensen grabbing your arms and setting you down on the ground.

“I feel funny,” you said, tipping over and resting against him. “Really, really funny.”

“You just got drugged,” he said, using his phone to dial a number. “No more takeout. Got it? Obviously this person knows you moved. I want to put someone at the house full time.”

“I’m gonna fall asleep now,” you said, shutting your eyes.

“No, nope, try to stay awake,” he said. You hummed and he grabbed your face. “Y/N. Try.”

“You’re really pretty for a grumpy grump,” you said.

“I thought I wasn’t hot. Just stay awake for me, Y/N,” he said.

Twenty minutes later you were in the ER with an IV in your arm and feeling a whole lot of crappy. Jensen said something to a doctor before he walked over to the stall you were in and stood by the bed.

“Hey. Police are at your house. Neighbor said they saw a silver pickup parked down the street. Seemed shady. It was gone by the time they got there,” he said.

“Course it was,” you mumbled.

“You more with it again?” he asked.

“Yeah. Feel really tired is all,” you said.

“Well I called your manager. He said he’d be here soon so I’m gonna head out,” he said.

“Huh?” you said, sitting up as he started to leave. “Wait.”

“Last I remember, you fired me. Nothing has changed,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“Wait,” you said, grabbing his wrist, the effort taking more energy than you were anticipating. He didn’t shrug you off, instead gently setting your hand back in your lap and pushing you to lay back down.

“You should rest. There’s a cop outside the room,” he said.

“Stop. Just...sit down,” you said. He sighed but sat on the edge of the bed, raising an eyebrow. “How could somebody already know where I moved? Hardly anyone knows.”

“You rent a moving truck?” he asked.

“Yeah. Movers did the furniture,” you said. He shrugged and you shut your eyes. “The movers?”

“No, probably not them. But that truck probably has GPS for mileage tracking and if this person has your credit card info, they could figure it out,” he said. “The food thing probably happened back at the restaurant you ordered from. Somebody slips in the backdoor, puts some stuff on your food and slips back out.”

“What’s your suggestion?”

“I don’t work for you anymore.”

“Let’s pretend earlier didn’t happen. Please,” you said. “I can’t...I can’t be alone right now and something feels really off about this whole thing.”

“This whole thing has felt off the second Jared told me about it. Tonight just further proved that point,” he said.

“You were in the army longer than he was, right?”

“He decided to retire, go be a cop. I stayed in. Worked on a few more specialized skills a bit longer before I left and got in this line of work,” he said.

“I’m going to assume you know what you’re doing then.”

“Yeah. I know what I’m doing. I can’t guarantee anything but I can give you some pretty damn good odds,” he said. He stared at you for a moment and looked you over. “You’re smarter than the stereotypical actress I pegged you for.”

“It had to have been someone on my team or that’s close to me in order to know that I was moving,” you said. “Or else the person never would have known to look today.”

“Someone that knows your go to takeout place too. You need to be extremely careful about who you trust right now,” he said.

“I trust Jared and Gen,” you said.

“I trust the guy with my life. I’d trust him with yours. Gen is fiesty when you piss her off but you’re her best friend. They didn’t do this.”

“Your expert opinion, what’s my next move?” you asked. He rubbed the back of his neck and made a face. “Jensen.”

“Ideally? You go off grid. I mean off grid, off grid. Middle of nowhere, no one knows where exactly. Cut yourself off and it’d give us more time to figure out who this person is and what exactly it is they want with you. If they’re as close as we think they are, they’ll find a way to sneak in again and next time, it might be my food that’s drugged. It’s a big risk to go back to the house.”

“I can’t go be alone though. What if they did find me somehow?” you asked.

“I said off grid. I didn’t say alone,” he said. “It’s an extreme approach, I’ll give you that. But it gives me more time to work on this and it’ll keep you safe.”

“Why not hire a bunch of guys to stay around me all the time?”

“Because you’re still in danger if you stay in LA and I don’t have the ability to check that many guys out. I got guys I know I can trust but they’re all over the country and the only other one here is Jared and Gen needs him. No offense but she’s got a kid with another on the way. More bodies means more priority,” he said.

“No, no. Please keep them safe too. If it’s a fan of the show, they could be in the same situation,” you said.

“I’m not going to try and tell you what to do because obviously, you weren’t a fan of me doing that before. But if you want to be able to sleep safely at night, we need to go, just you and me. Jared and Gen can know but that’s it and I mean that’s it. I can secure a safe place and everything we’ll need. But it’s going to be a drastic lifestyle change.”

“How drastic?”

“Like no internet and our electricity will run off a generator drastic.”

“If I stay here?”

“I give it a week tops before they try something again,” he said.

“We wrapped two weeks back and since Gen’s pregnant, we aren’t slated to start filming for another seven months. I’ll have to cancel some events but if I was ever going to go off grid, now’s the time to do it.”

“I will get it arranged. Do not speak a word of this to anyone,” he said.

“Jensen,” you said as he stood. “What was that back at the house? You acting all aggressive like that?”

“The last client I had, I was lenient, never taught them anything, let them push me around and dictate how I worked. They got put in a bad situation because of that. If you don’t take this seriously, then what’s the point of me being here.”

“Well wherever we go, I’m gonna need a few things. Women stuff,” you said.

“Make a list and tomorrow, pack a bag,” he said. “I want us on the road tomorrow night. I don’t care what you tell your team about why you’ll be MIA. Just tell them something so we don’t get a missing persons report on you.”

“Alright,” you said, Jensen nodding and starting to leave. “Wait. Where are you going?”

“I need to start preparing. Like I said, there’s a police officer by the door.”

You stared at him and he took a deep breath.

“How about he stays in the room with you until we’re ready to go home and get what we need, okay?” he said.

“Okay,” you said.

“Hang tight. When you’re up for it, we’ll get out of here.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

#spn #supernatural #jensen ackles #jensen ackles au #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #au #bodyguard!AU #bodyguard!jensen #bodyguard!jensen x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction

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one-piece-aus · 3 years

Text

Rainbow

X Drake x Reader | 100 Music Milestone Event

X Drake + 🔀 + Fluff + 🥚 | Requested by: @musical-apple

Ashes littered the ground, building remains scattered across the ruined city. A year has passed, and X Drake has come across a hand full of survivors left. Life began fading of it's meaning, everything he saw only grew grimmer with each passing day. Though, when all hope was on it's final edge, he found you.

You were rummaging through the rubble, a smile on your face and humming a little tune. The sight was so out of place, Drake thought this had been a hallucination or a trick someone set up. Cautious, he placed his hand on the handle of the sword that rested at his side before approaching you.

"Excuse me, miss?" Drake spoke so he wouldn't startle you.

"Hm?" You looked up to meet his blue eyes. "Oh! Another survivor!" You immediately stood up and stumbled over the junk to him. "Hi there, I'm [Y/n]! I- woah!" You tripped over something braced yourself for impact but instead, you felt strong arms around your torso. You glance up and saw Drake had caught you in his arms. You bashfully smile and stand up straight and back away. "Sorry 'bout that, it's been a while since I've seen someone new."

"It's... It's alright miss."

"Oh no need to be formal, you already know my name."

"Right..." Drake deadpanned. He didn't understand how you can be so cheerful with the current post-apocalyptic situation around you. Then again, maybe you were just happy to see another person, it was a natural thing to do after being alone for so long. "How long has it been since you last saw someone?"

"Not long ago actually."

There goes his theory.

Clearing his throat, Drake held out his hand. "My name is X Drake."

"Nice to meet you, X Drake." You smile and shake his hand. "Tell me, do you have a place to stay, or are looking for one?"

"I've been roaming around to see how many survivors there are."

"Oh! That's perfect! Come, come!" You pulled his arm and begin walking towards a wagon you had stock up with supplies. Grabbing it and trailing it behind you, lead him to the outskirts of the ruined city you two have just been in. You could see the place had more space and tidy up, a few plants growing here and there-

"Is that [Y/n]?" A child's voice whispered.

"[Y/n]'s back!" Another kid cheered, coming out of a large makeshift tent.

"Yay! [Y/n]!"

"Welcome back [Y/n]!"

A bunch of children came out, greeting you with smiles and hugs. You laughed, acknowledging each one that came to you. A few of the older ones reported what went on while you were gone and you praised them for their good work. X Drake stood there in shock, he didn't know so many children had survived.

"[Y/n], who is that funny-looking man over there?" a little girl asked, tugging on your arm and pointing at the male you brought with you.

"This is X Drake," you introduce the children to him, patting his shoulder.

"Is he going to be staying with us?" a boy with raven hair asked, sparkles in his eyes. A few other children joined in, looking up at both of you with wide smiles.

Drake hesitated on answering them, he wasn't exactly planning on settling down yet. He planned on continuing his search for more survivors, or rather a purpose in this wasteland. You noticed the uncertainty in his composer, to be fair, you had just dragged him over to your camp without telling him anything so it was understandable.

"Nothing is set in stone but why don't we show him around and make him feel welcome," you suggested to the children.

"Yeah!"

"Okay [Y/n]-chan!"

"Good idea!"

Two children grabbed a hold of his hands, pulling him along as they showed him the campsite with the rest of the kids. From where they gathered rainwater to where they held medical supplies, Drake had been impressed the place was so well organized. One question bugged his mind, where were the other adults? Surely you weren't the only one, right?

Sundown approached, a few young teens came with animals they caught, surprised by Drake's presence but welcomed him nonetheless. Preparing dinner was a team effort and they did it with a smile on their face, sharing merry laughter. Their cooperation was more efficient than the majority of the survivor groups Drake had come across, which consisted of adults.

That's one of the reasons why Drake kept moving, most of the colonies people formed collapsed on themselves from disagreement and distrust. The ones that were somewhat stable weren't exactly welcoming to newcomers, he didn't blame them after all not every stray was trustworthy in this day and age. However, these children appeared to be the exact opposite of what he experienced in the other groups. He wanted to know where the other adults were, and he would've asked you but you seemed to have your hands full assisting one of the children with something.

"Hey, mister-"

"Onion, his name is Deric." A boy with green hair interrupted his friend who wore glasses.

"No, it's not," a boy with purple hair butted in. "[Y/n] said his name was Drake."

"Oh..."

Drake cleared his throat to regain their attention to see what they needed.

"Can you help hold the stew pot?" The boy who Drake assumed to be named Onion requested. "The others are starting to get tired."

"Of course." Drake obliged, and watched as the kids served everyone as he held the object for them. Just as the last of the kids were receiving their servings, you came over.

"Oh, thank you for helping the kids." You smiled to show your gratitude, and Drake couldn't help but rub the back of his neck bashfully due to your cute expression.

"It's no problem really." The question Drake had popped up in his mind and he thought this was the best time to ask. "[Y/n], are there any adults around here other than you?"

"Uh- well... no, not really," you tell him, your demeanour dropping down slightly. "These kids-"

"[Y/n]! [Y/n]!" the children called, catching your attention. "Come sing for us!" "Yeah!"

"Alright." You glance at Drake and put a hand on his arm. "I'll tell you later."

Getting a nod from the man, you then walk over to the children who were gathered in a circle. Some had finished their bowls of stew and started getting comfy as they waited for you, each one was filled with anticipation. Wearing a smile, you knelt down and boop a little girl's nose, beginning to sing.

"I know you, you're a special one"

You shift yourself back to the rest of the child, opening yours for them to come and hug you.

"Some see crazy where I see love"

Two small kids come to you and you scoop them up, spinning them around in the air.

"You fall so low but shoot so high"

You let one sit on your shoulders while the other stays in your arms, and you nod your head to the orange sky.

"Big dreamers shoot for open sky"

Turn the child in your arms so you can see their eyes and boop their nose.

"So much life in those open eyes"

Gently you put the two children down.

"So much depth, you look for the light"

You crouch down, opening your palm to show scratches and scars on them.

"But when your wounds open, you will cry"

A small girl slowly approach your hand and touches them, curiously looking in your eyes as you tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"You'll cry out now and you'll question why"

You pick up the small girl and rocket her to sleep as you continue singing the melody.

"I can see a rainbow

In your tears as they fall on down

I can see your soul grow

Through the pain as they hit the ground

I can see a rainbow

In your tears as the sun comes out~

As the sun comes out~"

Drake watches in amazement, witnessing how your gentle nature soothes the children. Blissful smiles grew on the kids face, some swayed to your tune, others yawned and rested their head on the one beside them. Though, what captivated him had been the sound of your soft voice and the way words would flow from out of your lips. As you sung, he had almost forgotten the post-apocolyptic lifestyle he was in.

When the last note left your lips, the eldest children of the group who didn't fall asleep began to carry the sleeping kids to the tent. You smiled, proud to see them taking care of the others. Your thoughts were interrupted by Drake humming in thought, who was also watching the teens take the younger kids to the large tent.

"Ah, right, I suppose we didn't finish our conversation..."

"It's alright, your main concern for the children so I can understand," Drake stated before turning his gaze to you.

"The children... don't have anywhere to go," you inform him. "Most lost their parents or family, and you've seen the other survival groups. They don't have children... they don't want them... People think a child will slow them down in this life, but they're not looking in the long run. These kids are our future generation, our hope for humanity to continue. I... I just have to take care of them, give them a reason to keep going. I have to stay positive for them... I have to be their rainbow." You face lost that glimmer of joy, displaying one that held struggle and worry.

So that's why you had been smiling, you were putting on a brave face for the children. It makes sense, but Drake is amazed how one could stay like that for so long, it must get tiring. Hesitantly, he spoke up.

"I can't imagine how hard it can be..." Drake told you and a few seconds of silence followed before he continued. "You're stronger than most of my old co-workers."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I was a cop before this whole mess..."

"Ah... that's cool..."

"What were you back then?"

"I didn't really have anything... I was broke, in debt, about to lose my house... in a way... this new life is better."

Drake never believed someone out there would say those words, however, hearing her reasons it did make sense. He didn't think of looking at the positive this life had brought. Prehaps if he stayed his mindset could change.

"Do you think there's enough room for another person to settle here?" Drake asked rubbing the back of his neck.

"Of course, there's always room for you to stay." You smile, answering him.

An MLP song + an apocalyptic wasteland + wholesome & adorable children, if that's not a cracked combination than I don't know what is.

Anyway, thank you for reading, your request, and your follow ^-^

#one piece #one piece au #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece oneshot #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #x drake x reader #x drake #one piece x drake #post apocalyptic #post apocalypse #post apocalypse au #request #milestone event #requested

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

stop caring

yooo, so this is actually taken out of one of the sort of I guess series-esque things I’ve written, but it kinda just got shit at the end so I've given up and just wanted to post this instead. So sorry if some of the backstory isn't that clear or anything

tomhollandxfamous!reader

Summary: after your break up you bump into tom at a charity event and when shit hits the fan personally for you, someone who understands you is really what you need (angsty!!! maybe a bit of fluff too?)

TW: panic/anxiety attacks + mentions of assault

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3 months. 3 months you’d managed to avoid the boy that had given you the most joy in the previous years. 3 months without your best friend; of even when you’re with company feeling like a part of you was just absent.

And you had been thriving. Well… that’s what everyone thought. That’s what you tried to portray, because no matter how ‘famous’ or ‘successful’ people perceived you to be - ultimately you were like anyone else. Making your insta pop off after the breakup. And so to the outside world, through the very very small lense of social media life was great. Parties, friends, work.

You were a woman in demand - in all senses of the word.

But of course, as is the 21st century world, it was a lie. Instagram showed only snapshots of what can be very long 24 hours in a day. Naturally, a select few obviously knew - your best friend, Y/f/n being one of them. Yet still you were missing that one support, that one person who would drag you back to reality whenever you got too much into your own head. It actually rather annoyed you, how dependent you had got on him, in every part of your life.

And you really hadn’t expected to see him here today. You’d had your assistant check the guest list, he wasn’t on it. While getting ready, you had avoided all the products that reminded you of him; that soft nude lipstick he loved you in so much; your favourite (exfavourite) earrings. Had you known it, you would have worn these. Just because you knew it would get on his nerves a little bit. Nevertheless here you were, perhaps a little underdressed for the charity dinner in a dress you’d already worn before (because apparently that was a sin in the world of Hollywood). You couldn’t pin point from when, but it was simple yet elegant if you did say so yourself. A dark blue satin dress, that sat off your shoulders in a Bardot style; hugged your waist to accentuate your curves; then flowed outwards down to the floor with a slit up your right leg. It was simple compared to the sequin studded, diamanté jewelled dresses the rest of the women seemed to sport but it made you feel comfortable.

Besides, that’s what you needed today. This was the first time after the breakup you’d attended a public event without your best friend-turned-assistant-turned-absolute-life-saver. Y/f/n had been the greatest with you all through your life but especially recently, she deserved the break to go back home and see her family. It was a pretty decent excuse too, her cousins wedding, so you were in absolutely no place to complain.

Evidently it just HAD to be this event then, while you were flying solo, that you’d be faced with…well with his face. His fucking gorgeous, perfect and oh so sweet face.

Just seeing him, just seeing Tom fucking Holland, had the most intense burst of adrenaline course through your veins as you desperately scanned the rest of the room. Looking for an out, an excuse, someone to latch onto for the rest of the night. A distraction even.

Never one to admit it openly, but really you knew your coping mechanism of the past months had been to sleep with who you wanted. Because the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else right? You knew it was stupid too. Not because of slut shaming or anything ( we aint got no outdated views here), but simply it wasn’t you. It wasn’t a good idea for you. It didn’t fit.

Tom hadn’t seen you yet, so if you latched onto someone you’d likely be in the clear. So obviously, when your frantic glances landed upon Joe Keery, you literally sighed in relief. Joe was great, stranger things was a bit of a guilty pleasure for you - especially when you were in your trailer and bored. Just due to your line of work, you’d met a couple times, he seemed like decent crack and to you knowledge was single.

Unsurprisingly then, you almost marched over to Joe, ignoring the slightly shaky feeling in your leg as your hearing seemed to focus completely on the sound of Tom’s bright laugh.

It was your choice too. You’d chosen to end things. It was on you. Well really, both parties were equally guilty. Tom was the one who had been too tired and highly strung and exhausted to put effort into the relationship. Stupidly though, you were too in love to realise for so long, in doing so draining yourself in the process. The constant flying cross country to see him, when he couldn’t ever return the favour because he was too busy. It was chipping away at you, even if you didn’t notice. It took an intervention by your manager Davey and Y/f/n for you to see things for what they were. To see that Tom didn’t care as much as he used to.

He tried to fight for it, of course Tom did, because he also truly and deeply loved you. Nonetheless though, it was too late. And that was it. You closed that book and returned it to the library. Something your mind occasionally drifts back to and you think ‘huh that was a good read’ - yet that is the only space it occupies in your mind.

OR that’s how it should be. Not you yesterday, comparing everything your date did to Tom and deciding everything was worse. Not you today, seeing him and nearly being floored by the way the suit was tailored to his body oh so exquisitely. Not you now, hearing his bubbly laughter and having to fight your muscles from taking you back into his arms.

In short, you were highly strung and pining over a boy you’d killed your chance of happiness with.

Not to blow your own horn, you knew Joe wouldn’t be against having your company for the evening. After all, you were a young, beautiful and upcoming actor. You were ,at the very least, self aware. And so for a good few hours you almost forgot about Toms presence, spending the time before the speeches sharing a ridiculously overpriced bottle of wine (or two) with him. He was funny. He made you laugh, even if he was pushing the limits occasionally and teetering just on the right side of socially acceptable. It was risky and in that moment, with the alcohol in your system, it made him seem more and more of an attractive shag.

By the time the speeches started you were both overly giggly and had to keep shushing each other as the presenter called for quiet. Inherently, you knew exactly the location of Thomas - who he was sat around; the main he’d had at dinner; the brand of beer he’d been ordering.But that was subconscious. You were here with Joe.

Under your voices, whilst getting some disapproving looks from the older, more mature, members of your table you and Joe sat through the first boring speech whispering jokes under your breath - making each other clamp their mouth shut to avoid bursting out laughing. Though tipsy, you were very aware of Joe inching closer and closer, while his hand was casually brushing yours or your shoulder or waist more often. You knew this was low, being so blatant in front of Tom. To be quite frank though, should you care? And did he care?

The answer in your head at least, was an almost certain no to both.

One speech merged into another spent giggling away until Joe did something he didn’t mean. Heck he didn’t even know. His jesting quickly had toppled completely over into absolutely not category. Your brain felt like it was swimming as the name you’d avoided after that incident , almost ten years ago. The flashbacks came thick and fast. You an innocent young actor wanting to make a way in the industry. And him. A powerful, ridiculously important slightly overweight 50 year old with bad breath. That room in the corner of his hotel that you were completely lost in.

You were going to be sick.

Somewhere, distantly, you heard Joe saying something… asking you? Asking you if your were good? It was drowned out by a roar in your ears, you jerkily nodded your head. You knew your breathing was jilted, shaky and shallow. You knew your heart was exploding. It actually felt like a heart attack, the way it seemed to be beating as though it were going to break out of your chest. This time you really really needed an out.

So without any words, leaving a bemused Joe, your chair screeched on the floor as you stood up, garnering the attention of the whole room. The heads literally swivelled to stare at you, judgement clearly there as you frantically half ran to the back of the room, pleading if your head fro the toilet to be nearby. You needed to be away from everyone and safe.

Thankfully your escaped the room and the beady eyes, locating the bathroom where you threw a cubicle open, shakily locking it before collapsing into the wall in floods of tears, harsh sobs racking your frame as you clutched your hands to your knees and rocked slightly back and fourth. You dress being a full length ballgown was spilling out into the the nearby cubicles and under the door, but presumably you were alone in the loo - not hearing any other signs of life beyond your own sobs.

This always happened when you had your anxiety attacks. It was like clockwork. Zone out, stop hearing, loose control of breathing, heart starts pounding, make a quick escape to a toilet, cry and then…

Well back before Tom, it had been to throw up. That was the only thing you’d ever found to ground you enough to get your body backorder your own conscious control. It was like a wave of relief after, like the drowning feeling in your lungs had just evaporated away. But the Tom happened. The first time he’d seen you panic he hadn’t a clue what to do either. SO he had just sat with you, not wanting you to be alone in that state and waited. That panic though, had lasted so long that you’d almost made yourself pass out from the hyperventilating. When that had happened, Tom had gone into emergency mode. He had been scared to touch you, in case that made you worse, but when he saw your body going limp he didn’t have a choice. He’d collected you into his arms, with your head against his chest. Being this close to calling an ambulance, the relief Tom felt when your breathing got more and more regular was unparalleled.

Together, when he had you lying in his bed (recovered, if mortified and exhausted) was when you realised that you hadn’t been sick. And that was because of him. You’d grounded yourself on his heartbeat and breathing, listening to it and making yours sync up. Thats what had saved you that evening.

Now however, Tom was gone. This was the first panic attack you’d had since he’d been gone. Of course while you were together you were rarely in the same place, even so you’d phone him. But not now.

This all led to you sat clutching your knees as your mascara dripped down your cheeks as you had to fight to get enough oxygen into your body. You didn’t want to get into that vicious cycle of making yourself ill again. It really hadn’t been healthy.

Who knows how long you were sat there sobbing before you heard the door open and in response you clamped a hand to your mouth trying to stay silent. This irrational fear overcame you as you sat stock still, fearing the footsteps on the marble floor of the fancy function venue. Even the toilets were pretty posh.

“Y/n?…. It’s-it’s Tom.” Oh. My. Fucking. God. That was all that was going through your brain as you bit you lip - presumably painfully, yet you didn’t really feel pain in your current state. “Look I saw you leave and I know your on your own tonight… I-I couldn’t leave you on your own if your… well you know.” Everything was going so so fast in your brain, that it actually scared you into stopping crying, so much so you felt your hand flop back down to your side. “…I was waiting outside because I didn’t want to errr you know… but you’ve been 20 minutes so I need to know your good…..okay?”

The boy was too fucking good. And stubborn… he was too stubborn and you knew he wasn’t going to give in. It was also fairly evident that he knew you in here - there was no pretending you didn’t exist.

“Y/n? Come on you gotta let me know.”

“I’m fine. You-you go.” Only when you spoke was it evident to yourself just how not-okay you really were. Tom just chuckled and spoke again.

“How long have you known me for? That’s just not going to happen is it.” You already knew this, but something about the way he said it made you realise a sad laugh, momentarily making you feel a bit more in control. He seemed to like that response, you heard him bend down and then saw the bottom of his tux as he sat down leaning against your cubicle door.

“Is …is this your first one… since? You both know what he was talking about. Since you broke up.

“Uhmm I-“ You swallowed down a fresh rise of nausea, somewhat determined to not throw up when you ex is barely a metre from you. “Yeh I suppose.” In didn’t seem a revelation to Tom, yet he still hummed lowly in response as the room drifted back to silence.

“You… you wanna try to breath with me?… You don’t have to open the door just…”

Croaking a please in response because this feeling was really blood awful and you wanted it to end, Tom started exaggerating his breathes, as you shakily and eventually managed to start to time it with his. Without thinking, when Tom’s palm snuck half under the door you immediately grabbed and squeezed it - the contact helping to synchronise your body with his.

It should be an alien feeling after your time apart. But no it felt oh so natural and so very right.

Once you’d collected yourself and realised how bloody stupid this whole situation was you withdrew your hand back, loosing the warmth as you shook your head in disapproval of yourself. So very fucking stupid. He was silent for a bit, letting you think things through whilst still sat outside your cubicle.

“You good now?” You hummed in agreement and you felt Tom’s head fall against the door, looking up to the ceiling. “Want me to go?”

“If you want to” That was met with silence, but a very telling lack of movement that spoke a thousand words.

“You should get out of here… you wanna avoid the trigger again and I mean I know you’re exhausted.” The boy had researched panic disorder and attacks when he found out you suffered with it - he probably knew more of the psychology of it than you, whilst never having any first hand experience of it. Annoyingly he was right, as per, after attacks you always always slept for hours - it was just a draining process. “I’ll get you a car if you want?…. I’d like to make sure you get back okay if you don’t mind.” With only your cold and empty residual feeling left, his words still managed to ignite a spark of warmth in your chest.

“I’m not going to ruin your evening Tom.” You tried to refuse even if it was very very forced and very very hopeful he wouldn’t give in.

“I was having a crappy evening. Sitting in the ladies toilet talking to my ex through a toilet door has actually been the highlight.”He chuckled playfully in a self pitying way, somehow again making you giggle. And so he had you standing on slightly unsteady feet, your black heels held in one hand because no wasn’t the time to put yourself through teetering around on pin needles. The shuffling outside the door meant Tom stood up too - before you unlocked the door and opened it.

Prior to seeing Tom your eyes locked on the sight of your reflection, in the mirrors above the sinks opposite you. Perhaps the only way to describe it… it was a sight. The shock being in the juxtaposition between the elegant dress, which even having been crumpled on a bathroom floor had somehow managed to survive and still look near the off-the-hanger; but your face? Oh that was a shit show. You’d cried your makeup off almost completely, leaving your face blotchy and shining as well as the ever so telling smudged mascara under your bottom lash line.

You had to laugh or you’d just start to cry.

“Don’t worry I’ve seen you much worse.” You saw in the reflection as Tom leaned in and whispered in your ear, making your eyes roll and head shake as you looked from him back to you.

“I look like a paps dream.” Without instruction, Tom bolted into a nearby cubicle, wrapping layers of toilet roll round his hand before offering it to you as a makeshift wipe.

“This is the glamour of Hollywood don’t you know? Wiping your face with bog roll”Thankfully taking it, you offered Tom a thankful smile as he stepped back, giving you space as he leant against another cubicle pillar. Once you finished up blotting your face, Tom had already shrugged off his jacket walking toward you as he offered it out. Tilting your head to the side in a questioning manner Tom just shrugged, saying it’d help avoid the paparazzi just in case. In reality you weren’t so sure, but anyhow you still appreciated the gesture and draped it round your shoulders with a muttering of thanks.

At this point his phone pinged, the car was outside, so without any words exchanged he led you to the door, checked the hallway was clearly before guided you back to the exit. There didn’t appear to be anybody lurking around, which you were oh so thankful for as you almost threw yourself in to the safety of the blacked out car. Tom followed and you both, almost comically as if scripted, released a sigh in unison as you melted into the seats. That had you chuckling dryly as you sat in silence.

“You know we can’t move till you say where you’re staying?” Teasing you, Tom shot you that ever mischievous grin that made the blood rush through your skin. After you’d told the driver, the car pulled swiftly out the laibi.

“Did he…did he say something?” Tom’s demeanour had steeled up and you looked questioningly up at him. “Joe… you looked…close.”

“Oh”. You were taken aback. You should have seen this coming to be fair, him asking for the trigger this evening - and yet you were more shocked at his jealousy. How he looked pained to mention Joe by name. “Um no… well sort of…it was a joke. He didn’t mean it but it er…it took me back.” Tom knew your history, he knew what happened all those years ago and he nodded slowly , keeping his eyeline straight ahead.

“He’s a dick.”

“No he’s not…. He- he was sweet enough . It was all me.”

“What?”

“I pushed myself on him. I-I saw you… I was spooked.” Tom left it to drift back to silence. He had a lot of thinking to do too.

He’d obviously kept up to date with you. Call it a professional interest. That was the problem being in love with someone when you weren’t allowed to be. But it hurt like hell, especially when he heard what you were doing. Because he knew this wasn’t you. He knew you sleeping around wasn’t going to help you recover - in fact he thought (and quite correctly) it was the opposite. That long term it’d only cause you more and more pain.

“You know, you don’t have to do this?… I-I know it isn’t you. I’m not insulting or anything I’m… I’m just worried.” You knew he was being truthful . And infuriatingly he was right. Which only made it even more annoying.

“Why do you care though?” Looking out the window that was all you could think to say. That was your subconscious talking as you didn’t really want the answer. Or you desperately did but you knew it’d be hard to get over.

“Y/n” He sighed, making you look across at him “I’ve not stopped caring… I’ll never stop caring.”

Wasn’t that just a knife to the heart. You held your breath momentarily, not knowing what to think (nervermind say) in response to that. Everything in that car seemed to freeze, Tom’s eyes piercing the deepest and darkest parts of your mind as he stared at you. You both really weren’t over it. You were both hurting. You missed each other.

And you were about to dive in all over again.

But then the indicator ticked on. The car pulled to a stop. The ignition switched off by the driver. You were at your hotel. The journeys end - quite literally.

Tom felt it too. He knew if ever there was a chance, however rogue and unlikely, of you two working things out it was within this journey. And he’d failed.

“I-uh…I-this is me” Stammering through, distracted by the way Tom’s eyes shone with disappointment.

‘Yeh - yeh it is I guess.”

“Well er… thanks for, well you know… for saving me. You er-you really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to”

“Yeh well er thanks…. And er-Oh! Your jacket” You realised, already tugging the tailored suit jacket from your shoulders.

“No no it’s really okay. I have loads anyway.” See?In Hollywood you really weren’t allowed to wear the same thing twice.

“Oh-okay. Well er….I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Can I walk you to your room, just to-check no one bothers you?” Tom was trying. Desperately trying. He could feel you slipping through his fingers again, this time he wanted to put up more of a fight. You shook your head thought, a sad smile gracing your lips.

“I’d say yes but I think I know where that’d end up…. And I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Defeatedly nodding, Tom just smiled in a tight-lipped fashion, equally as sadly at you.

“I’ll errr I’ll see you around.” While gathering yourself and preparing to exit the car, your hand on the door handle. Tom responded with a ‘yeh’ but before you left you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, before whispering under your breath..

“Thankyou Tom.”

part 2 ish of sorts --> link

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #Tom Holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland x famous!reader

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years

Text

just because you’re afraid it doesn’t mean you’re broken.

Titans 3.05

once more into the cold dark void of the internet with my stream-of-consciousness take on a superhero tv show...

spoilers ahead.

1. i cannot believe that among the first things i get to hear in this episode with my own two ears is the line 'eluded our overdudes'. why must you give me such pain along with so much joy, show?

1.5. scarecrow stringing jason along on this path to red-hood-dom is not something i would’ve ever expected, but does kind of make sense.

1.55. i don’t know all the details of the original resurrection arc in the comics but i like that jason, weirdly, has a greater role to play in his own demise and rebirth? i think it makes it easier to draw a line between his past trauma, the demonstrably shitty and terrifying responsibility of being robin, the ways bruce and the titans wronged him, his responses to that, the reasons he turns to scarecrow, and his final evolution to red hood. it makes for a smoother character arc rather than a one that was interrupted for two decades before somebody went oh hey let’s resurrect that kid that the audience once voted to kill and make him an anti-hero!

1.75. what’s crane giving him? anti fear toxin? anyway, crane is a fucking creep and i’m not sure i want to see a whole lot of him on my screen.

2. oh, um, heads up: there’s a long sequence of unsteady cam + flickering lights right after the title card upto the 3:16 mark. it’s a bit headache-inducing so if you want to skip, you can go ahead and do that.

2.45. that’s... weird... why would he dream about... donna...

ok, who am i kidding. i’m going to jump right into my theory about Why Titans Makes Sense Actually because the show itself is apparently not interested in explaining itself:

a) it makes no sense for jason to be conjuring up donna--who famously did not care much for him!--in his dreams. (he wasn’t even there when she died.) or for her to be telling him don’t go or there’s still time.

b) this leads me to think that that’s actually donna, in some sort of limbo between life and death, the kind of place where jericho used to be

c) rachel has demonstrated that she has the power to link the minds of the titans across great distances--she called jason and hank/dawn for help in 2.01, she linked up everybody later in the season, projected dick’s hallucination of his father into their brains without even realising she was doing it, and in the finale, she managed to get dick into conner’s brain. she’s in themyscira now. is this how she gets donna back to life? but reaching out to her in that non-space between life and death?

d) the next obvious question is: why isn’t donna appearing in the dreams of the other titans? she probably is, but they have better reason to be dreaming about her since they were actually close to her, unlike jason.

e) but why would she warn jason in particular? does she foresee jason entering the afterlife--however briefly? does she have an idea of what jason plans to do and what he will become?

f) anyway, more trippy mindscapes and weird psychic powers, yay!

2.5. my heart clenched when bruce comforted jason post-nightmare: clearly i’ve been reading way too much batfam fic. this is a side of bruce we haven’t really been told to expect by all the characters on the show calling him a ‘psychopath’ (*cough*unreliablenarrators*cough*) and him getting jason to speak to a professional speaks volumes about the kind of self-reflection he’s done post dick’s departure, and maybe some of the regrets he has with regards to how he dealt with dick’s traumas.

i mean, just look at him when jason dismisses his concerns! BRUCE IS TRYING JASON

anyway, i have a whole lot more i want to say about this, but i’ll save it for later.

also: LESLIE THOMPKINS!!!!

3. i really like molly--and i love that she’s a friend from before jason got taken in by bruce, the implication that they meet up regularly and that she’s a grounding influence on him (tho clearly not grounding enough to not go along with his dumbass idea about confronting a child trafficker alone).

3.5. aw, jason. robin was his armour against everything in the world that would throw him down and chew him to bits, but san francisco proved that even robin wasn’t enough to protect him. it’s really interesting how ‘disillusionment with the idea of robin’ is so integral to the traumas of both dick and jason but in such different ways.

4. LESLIE!!!!!!! i even forgive her office being so goddamn blue because leslie!

4.5. it makes so much sense for titans!verse leslie to be a therapist, because this show is so inward looking anyway, and therapist sessions are a useful tool to showcase this character work in a story. besides, at least in fanfic, leslie often seems to double up as a counsellor anyway.

4.6. oh man. i’m not terribly convinced by walters’ red hood (tho i think that may be the point--argh. i’ll come back to this thought later. have to stop getting distracted!) but he plays the asshole kid that’s trying not to let any real emotion seep through really well.

“you’d like me to punch you, wouldn’t you”

5. not sure what to think of batman’s little trophy case other than the show winking unsubtly at us and going look look - catwoman! the riddler! two face! you excited yet?! it’s like the scene from the end of amazing spiderman 2 when they were trying to drum up excitement for a sinister six spinoff by having harry osborne walk by a bunch of display cases with stuff from iconic villains in them.

... but then again, bruce does like to display a lot of shit in his batcave, including his dead robin’s bloodstained costume, so.

5.5. bruce is so soft with jason it’s killing me. beyond just trying to learn from his mistakes with dick, it speaks to his own genuine desire to balance his dedication to gotham with doing the best by his sons, although he’s often not successful with that.

i love that titans is really playing the long game with bruce wayne, with each season and character-perspective sliding in fresh pieces of a bigger puzzle. titans’ bruce has always been a phantom of other peoples’ making, but now we’re getting the idea that he’s a whole lot more complicated than other people make it seem.

5.75. it really recontextualises some of his actions from previous seasons: the fact that he locked dick out of his security systems in 1.06 is likely his way of respecting dick’s independence and his desire not to be associated with batman/gotham anymore. jason knowing about bruce’s tracker while dick doesn’t is probably bruce trying to be more honest and upfront with his charges. bruce sending jason packing off to sanfran to spend time with the titans is probably not him passing on a big responsibility to dick (as i first uncharitably thought) but him trying to get jason out of the toxic influence of gotham for a while and a sign of his trust in dick as a leader and a mentor,

5.8. i mean, bruce is a prick, but he’s also human.

6. i think leslie is doing some good work with jason here, though she may have overstepped the line with her line about robin as a construct being projected by a man with BPD. her speculations about bruce’s diagnosis have no place in her session with jason, and if bruce confides in her, an egregious violation of patient-therapist confidentiality.

(about the diagnosis itself... i don’t know. i can’t really confirm or refute this without a whole lot more information, and i’m not sure if the writer of this episode means BPD in the same way an actual professional might.)

6.5. i think a huge thing that gets missed out in a lot of recent comics as well as movies/shows is that bruce didn’t create the robin persona out of whole cloth. dick did. he’s the starting point of that legacy and to call it entirely bruce’s creation is blatant erasure of that. in fact, i’m surprised that dick doesn’t feature more in the conversations they’re having about the pressures of being robin. after all, the guy had been robin--bruce’s partner--for such a long time before jason.

6.8. (and here’s the primal part of me that resonates the deepest with dick grayson--the Eldest Daughter part--that’s sort of resentful: that jason gets the therapy and softness and the learning from mistakes when it took years and years for bruce to reach out in any meaningful way to dick.)

7. oooh that was a great scene!

it’s fun to do these stream-of-consciousness live reactions, because the moment you step down from your soapbox, the episode goes right into tackling what you were just complaining about. bruce means well, he’s learning, but he goes about exactly the wrong way to help jason: taking away robin now can’t be read by jason as anything but a devastating judgment call from bruce. and iain glen really sells the moment that bruce realises this--too late--and his helplessness in trying to get jason to see that it isn’t jason’s fault that he’s trying to do this. he loves jason enough that jason is enough.

7.5. aaaah so jason brings up the elephant in the room at last. dick got everything makes sense from his perspective, where getting to put on a costume and fight crime means approval, means being something stronger and better than you are. dick got to be robin, then nightwing, and a leader of a whole team of other costume-clad heroes.

8. ... how did jason just walk into arkham????? this is ridiculous.

8.3. i mean, clearly jason’s not thinking straight, but betraying batman like this puts his possibilities of being robin again even further away.

8.5. watching that chemistry experiment montage was strangely funny. this guy is looking for an antidote to fear? well, constantly mixing up and inhaling gases concocted by a mad-scientist supervillain is something only the very fearless--reckless to the point of foolishness!--would do. what’s to say crane’s not given you a formula for a drug that will keep you tethered to his every will and whim? hmmmm?

8.7. so he sought out the joker to... test the formula???

9. wow the “loud and clear... boss” hits different after a whole episode of them referring to each other as father and son.

9.3. waitwaitwait HOLD UP. wait a DANG MINUTE. you’re telling me that scarecrow had enough resources that he could not only have folks on the outside steal jason away and dunk him in a lazarus pit (i TOLD you that this show would bring up and dismiss ra’s al ghul in a ten second aside! I TOLD YOU) but also have his own little chemistry lab in the basement, AND have enough resources for jason to build his red hood persona???????? all of this in barely twenty four hours?

well there goes my ‘jason orchestrated his death’ theory. it was nice while it lasted. *cups hands to the sky* fly away, my baby.

9.6. a part of me is gleeful at the rushed nature of such an iconic transformation though, especially when compared to all the character work that went before it. we’re so used to getting the opposite that it’s fucking delightful to have a show that’s more interested in exploring its characters’ minds rather than battle scenes or recreating transformations from the comics. that’s taken such bold and exciting steps to fully convey all the nuances of its most recognisable character, bruce wayne, from casting an older actor to play him to unflinchingly showing just how damaging the vigilante lifestyle has been to him and the people he loves. BRILLIANT

*sporfle*

10. again, heads up: a whole lot of flashing lights between 40:28 and 42:00.

10.3. i guess it’s the super-compressed timeline that’s really throwing me off. where did he have the time to get/develop the mind control thing from? or is it something that he got from the cabal of villains that he intimidated at the beginning of 3.02? very messy.

10.5. i love molly, i hope she shows up again this season.

11. aaaand that’s it! that was a solid episode as flashback episodes go, but now i can’t wait to return to the present.

#titans #titans spoilers #meta #jason todd #bruce wayne #leslie thompkins #a tragic jalebi #robin #red hood

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 3 years

Text

Begrudging Allies (Aaron Hotchner x Trans!Male!Reader)

Summary: Aaron and Y/N's marriage is suitable enough, given that Aaron secretly loves men and Y/N secretly is a man. When the one year anniversary of their amicable nuptials brings forth correspondence from their estranged families, Aaron takes the opportunity to potentially make something more out of their arrangement.

AN: This is one of my entries to the "Enemies 2 Lovers" challenge set by @imagining-in-the-margins on Tumblr!

Reader is trans male and uses he/him pronouns.

WC: 2.4k words

Content Warning: References to era appropriate homophobia/transphobia but nothing actually mentioned. Two dumb fucking gay men trying to flirt.

Photo Credit // Masterlist // AO3

Your name: submit What is this?

Aaron Hotchner and Y/N L/N were served breakfast together every day they were in the house together. They sat not at opposite ends, but the seat left adjacent to them. That way, they did not have to look at each other whilst they ate. Breakfast was the only meal with which they shared each other’s company. Why make it unbearable first thing in the morning? They read the morning paper - and any post - while eating. Only the scrape of their plates and muted chewing was to be heard before the chairs scraped across the floorboards and both men departed.

Today they both received a note from the L/N household back in their old country.

“I assume your letter reads the same as mine,” Y/N dropped his beside his plate before pushing it further away.

Hotchner raised his eye from the headline that had been mildly entertaining him, “It does.”

In cursive flicks, the usual complaints of their emigration had reached his eyes not moments prior. The closing of his family’s letter however broached a new request: a photograph of the happy couple on their first wedding anniversary, specifically a recreation. The ungrateful bunch, the only remaining wedding photographs of the wedding were in their hands.

“I don’t have the dress,” Y/N scoffed and looked aside. Even from this end of the table, Aaron could see that he was trying to mask his tears from the dawn. The wedding day was the culmination of their greatest shames.

At least Aaron had tried to make the best of it, but there was no relief for Y/N until they were in their separate chambers and free from all betrothment attire.

“Suppose we should arrange for a fitting. Though how we’re going to do that without arousing any suspicion here is beyond me.” “Perhaps we can go north, find a seamstress and a wigmaker there.”

Aaron did not patronise Y/N by pretending he understood his plight. He himself had never pictured himself with a wife; worse was that Y/N had never pictured himself to be a wife.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to remain a woman?” He had said after Y/N had confessed during their third arranged rendezvous.

With venom spitting from each syllable, Y/N’s reply was one that he remembered vividly: “I was never a woman to start with.”

They were not friends, they barely spoke, but the enemy of the enemy is a friend. This sentiment made Y/N a begrudging ally.

However it did not make the occasions they had to pretend to be a happily wedded couple any simpler. Y/N did look most becoming in white, but Aaron knew that there was no worse day for Y/N than that day in the church. Any reminder was like a stake through the heart.

“I’ll arrange for the fitting,” Aaron quietly volunteered.

Y/N was quick with a brusque reply, “I can organise my own affairs.”

“Of course, but perhaps it would lighten your load if I took on those responsibilities.” Aaron paused as Y/N pushed aside his breakfast plate, his eggs now making his stomach turn. He used his newspaper as a shield, “And as your husband, I give you permission to dress how you please.”

Y/N blinked then nodded. He did not ever say thank you. That was his problem, Y/N, too proud. Too nervous to admit that he had been graciously allowed to exist like this because of his marriage to Aaron. As if that was ever any part of their agreement, both of them had blackmail worthy material. Y/N just seemed to forget that, or at least he was not the type of individual to dangle Aaron’s secrets before him like a carrot on a stick. Why Y/N thought that Aaron was that type though, he had some idea.

“A member of the bar?” was the response Aaron got from Y/N, disgust thinly veiled, upon their first chaperoned walk through the L/N estate. It must have seemed contradictory later down the line, to be a protector of the laws that criminalised his very own existence. It was not as uncommon as Y/N believed however, and there were much worse laws to break between trials than being attracted to men.

A man of his word, Aaron prepared for a fitting in the comfort of their own home. A friend of theirs was a tailor; accommodations were no economic issue. Of course, this friend did not know either of their secrets, but other than that, he was a companion who would be greeted warmly into their home.

Y/N watched the tailor from the chaise whilst pretending to be interested in a book. His eye would raise itself to see each adjustment made to Aaron’s wedding suit, which he had surprisingly kept – folded in a box at the farthest corner of the house. Then Y/N would go back to the page and reread the top few lines. Every time, Aaron would pretend not to notice. But the jiggle of Y/N’s knee, the absence of progression through the book’s narrative, taught him that Y/N was anticipating this fitting with something more positive than last time.

“All done, thank you, Aaron!” “Y/N, your turn.”

His book snapped shut and Y/N stepped up to the podium. Aaron swapped places with him without acting out the role of an aloof reader. As expected his expression was well disguised as neutral, but Aaron’s practice in law gifted him with a pair of spectacles into the soul. Y/N’s glee of the tape measure taking in his proportions was masked so that only his eyes smiled. Once or twice, the corner of his mouth ticked up, only to iron its creases out when the tailor moved into his eyeline. When asked what colour he would consider, Y/N mulled deliciously his options before selecting a gentle blue. His fingers were cautious but as soon as they touched the royal fabric offered, they fanned out and welcomed it for his new suit.

From the moment they broke apart, his hands were restless. Ticking against his teacup or tapping against his legs were two of their new favourite hobbies. Even when the suit arrived, Y/N could not keep himself still. His beautiful face was scrunched up in the mirror as he attempted for a third time to make the right knot in his cravat. The photographer was waiting for them downstairs.

Aaron sighed and knocked one knuckle to the door, “Allow me.”

Y/N rolled his eyes, “I can do it myself.”

“I know. But this knot will look better.”

Their eyes locked in the mirror, before Y/N turned around and released his tie. His chin pointed parallel to the carpet. His neck was still so as not to drop the breath he was holding. Aaron flicked with the tip of the cravat as his hands slotted it through, his focus on the column of Y/N’s throat, because meeting his gaze now was an impossible feat. They were too close for that. He bent the stalks of his collar into place then stepped back as if to admire his handiwork. But that was not at all what he really regarded.

He cleared his throat, “There.”

As Aaron removed his hands, Y/N spun to face his reflection head on. “Adequate. You’ll have to teach me that one.”

Finally, they greeted their photographer, who had set up his camera in their garden. It was a lovely day, not to be wasted inside. At least that’s what the photographer said as he unceremoniously ushered them into place and posed them to his liking. There was no instruction for how to position their faces so Aaron kept his the same as their original wedding portrait.

His plan for relaxed facial features hit a bump in the road. As the photographer ducked beneath his sheet, Y/N snorted. His hand was quick to follow and it clapped over his mouth. The photographer emerged with concerned curiosity. A strand of his combover was standing on end.

“My apologies, there was a tickle in my throat.” He pressed his lips together and ducked his head, his feet scuffing one inch’s worth of dirt before he regained composure.

The photographer tried again. Aaron could see, in the corner of his eye, that Y/N’s corners of his mouth weighed down to prevent a break but it was unsuccessful.

“Do forgive me,” He said, his voice quivering, “I remembered a jest from last week. It isn’t even worth the laughter it brings.”

Despite his detractions, Y/N kept guffawing to himself as the photographer kept dodging about his cloth and camera. It spilled from between his pressed lips like an overflowing goblet. Aaron had not heard such delight before. He would describe it as infectious if the joy in Y/N’s notes was comparable to a plague. No, this was intoxicating, a mead he would heartily drink until he too was giddy on the stuff. Y/N, clutching Aaron’s arm to stay standing, almost stumbled as Aaron bent over with equally bashful laughter.

“It would possibly suit you better if you sat,” said the photographer through a faux smile. He then ushered over to one of the benches, the one amidst the tulips, before he wrangled with his camera after them.

Seated on the cool marble, Aaron kept a few inches between himself and Y/N. Their hands took that space but waited to hold hands. Y/N was still shaking but his smile was minute now, replaced by mild embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that funny,” He said. But there was a twitch in his voice, a breath that indicated otherwise.

“No, not at all,” whispered Aaron, his head tilted against the invisible line between them.

Y/N turned, his nose pushing their boundary and almost brushing against Aaron’s cheek when he too turned to face him.

“At long last, we agree.”

Y/N’s lips betrayed him again. A bubble of laughter popped between them, letting out the smallest of smiles. Yet it shone through with such luminosity that it almost outdid the flash of the bulb as their photograph was taken. There was delight at the absence of the melancholy pose that a long exposure wedding portrait promised. Oh, the wonders of new technology.

As was with his new suit, Y/N practically waited by the door for the photographs. His hands were beyond ravenous for them by the time they arrived. They snatched at the envelope and tore with as much care as he could muster, his voice catching in the roof of his mouth as he called for Aaron.

On the chaise together, their knees were brought in close to rest the papers upon. Their faces looked as though they were carved into the paper with charcoal, smudged by an artist’s thumb. That radiant smile among it all was the centre of the photograph. Aaron noted the distance between them was mirrored in their past selves as they sifted through their options.

Then Y/N held aloft the ones for their respective families, “Sit with me while I pen the reply.”

Aaron was not usually welcome in Y/N’s study. Yet, as he pulled up a walnut wood chair with red velvet seat beside the bureau, behind Y/N’s matching one, he felt like he was in place. With anticipation, he watched the most passive aggressive comments that had ever been put to paper. All bar one was spun from Y/N’s inspiration. Aaron had but one to add and it took some convincing for Y/N to put it in his family’s correspondence – he was writing since his writing was far neater. Even so, there were a few loops of the ‘l’s that slanted when Y/N was particularly amused by something that Aaron had commented on.

“There,” Y/N said as he closed the second of two envelopes with crimson wax. As he lifted the seal, he spoke quieter, “Just a thought, nothing more, but I almost wish I could see their faces. Only the first second though.” The seal was placed in his drawer and the letters were left in the centre of the desk while one remaining photograph was selected by Y/N, “I want to keep this. In the drawing room.”

Aaron’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead, “You do?”

Y/N nodded once with finality, his broad smile returning, “It’s the first time I was myself in a long time, the best I’ve ever looked! Besides, I am your husband and I say it will stand above the fireplace by the end of the week – once I find a suitable frame.”

He held it up, squinting to imagine what frame might work best with the décor. His chair itching to be closer, Hotch leant over and cupped his hand over Y/N’s so that he could see the photograph too. It stayed there, and perhaps it was his imagination, but Hotchner could have sworn that Y/N’s back slacked and swayed to the right an inch, almost resting against his shoulder beside Aaron’s.

Y/N’s quiet voice was back, “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You do not have to say thank you.”

“When are you going to stop telling me what to do?”

There was no accusation in it; it was asked as simply as one would ask for another napkin. But Aaron did not quite know how to answer.

“I don’t mean to come across as a drill sergeant,” He said softly.

“Aaron,” Y/N lowered their hands but kept them together beside his lap, “You don’t have to worry about me and what I’m going to do, just like I don’t have to worry about you.”

And what Aaron thought about being ignorant of an answer before, that became a lie. Aaron wanted to worry about Y/N, and he did worry. Not for himself or his identity being exposed, but because he did care for his husband. He didn’t want to worry or have Y/N be worried about control in their home. They should exist as equals, not in blackmail but in respect. Maybe one day, in love.

Aaron settled instead for: “My apologies. And I thank you too. It was the first time I was myself as well.”

Y/N blinked, then avoided his stare. It was a revelation therefore when he laced his fingers with Aaron’s for the briefest of squeeze and replied, “No thanks necessary. It was my pleasure.”

Then the bell tinkled for breakfast and the two men were up on their feet. Y/N was in the dining room first. He sat two away from the head of the table this time. With enough care to drag his chair loudly across the floor, Aaron mirrored that seating, dragging his cutlery and crockery into place. As they were served, Y/N swiped the newspaper before his husband could with a smirk hidden behind the pages. Hotchner poured his coffee and smiled into the brew. He was, for once, thoroughly glad that they had breakfast together.

----> ----> ----> ----> ---->

Tagging

Aaron Hotchner fics: @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #r: male #r: trans male #wc: 2k+#my writing

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blackmissfrizzle · 4 years

Text

Just Right (2)

Part 1

Characters: Angel Reyes x black!plussized!reader

Chapter Summary: As he gets trained Angel starts feeling feelings.

Chapter Warning: Fluff, smut

A/N: Again shoutout to @starrynite7114 for being a wonderful friend, sounding board, and muse. Thank you girlie 😘

A/N (2): Since I got a chapter left, I’m gonna post one chapter a day.

If you want to check out more of my work here’s my masterlist and if you want to be notified here’s my taglist.

Divider Cred: @firefly-graphics

Photo Cred: @blessedboo

Angel was wrong and you were right. He hated you. While he was dying from the suicides you made him do you were standing there eating a taco and drinking water.

“Ain’t that enough?” Angel looked up at you during his break. “Nah, you’re gonna keep running until I feel skinny.” You took another bite of the taco.

“You’re fucking evil.” He lifted himself up for the next round torture. “I mean you could always use the safe word.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

Angel glared at you for your suggestion. He promised himself he would never speak Adelita’s name again and that’s why he decided to use it as his safe word during training. That way he wouldn’t give up. “Fuck no!” He shivered and started running again.

That’s exactly how training went for weeks. You push Angel until he voiced his hatred for you and then you pushed him some more. But in the evenings, you were each other’s company except for the occasional appearance by his brother and dad.

During this time Angel got to appreciate you more. You were attractive, funny, smart, and kind. How in the hell did he not see that before?

He was down in his garage working on his bike when you entered. “I always wanted to know what was in here.”

Angel shifted his gaze from his bike to you. He had to hold back a groan. Dressed in an oversized T-shirt of his team and shorts, a messy bun and your glasses with a plate of cookies in your hand you looked delectable. Again, he questioned himself on how Adelita was the one to capture his attention when you were right there all along.

“Ummmmm…cars.”

“Okay, smartass.” You chuckled as you rounded the corner. There you found Angel crouched on the ground working on a motorcycle. You weren’t able to see it earlier due to one of his cars blocking it. “Oh my god,” your fingers caressed the vehicle. “I didn’t know you had a bike.”

This wasn’t something Angel was used to. None of the women he dealt with including Adelita shared an interest in it. “Yeah, she’s my pride and joy.”

Finally standing up you got to enjoy Angel’s shirtless body. Yeah, he’s worked out shirtless before and you had to keep your composure then, but this, this was different. Maybe it had to do with him working with his hands or maybe it was because of his low-slung jeans that hugged his hips. Either way you were a mess.

Taking a deep breath, you purged your mind of any dirty thoughts of Angel Reyes. “Dude, you gotta take me for a ride.”

“Yeah?” Angel smiled at you, while wiping the grease off his hands. No matter how hard he asked, Adelita never agreed to ride with him, but here comes you and you’re practically begging him.

“Hell yeah! I mean I do have a fear of wiping out so I’m gonna be clutching hella hard.” Having your own bike was too nerve-wracking for you, so you settled for riding with someone, but the fear was still there.

“Don’t worry,” Angel lifted your chin and then stole a cookie from the plate. “I wouldn’t mind your arms wrapped around me.”

Your cheeks heated up. Every now and then Angel would make these types of comments, leaving you in a ditzy state. You have to convince yourself that that’s just how he is. From his interviews you could tell Angel was naturally flirtatious and charismatic.

Clearing your throat, you decided to change the subject. “So, what are you doing up this late? Don’t you have a game to rest for?”

Angel scratched the back of his head and knelt down to start working on his bike again. “Yeah, it’s just,” Angel threw his head back and let out a deep exhale. “What if I’m not ready? What if my knee gives out?”

Your heart cried out for Angel. Setting down the plate, you crouched down next to Angel and lifted his chin. “It won’t. I cleared you, the team doctor cleared you, and Coach Losa cleared you. You gotta trust the process, you gotta trust yourself.”

Angel tucked some stray hair behind your ear. “You’re amazing you know that, right? Practically a saint. Saint Y/N.”

“Oh no no no. I’m far from a saint.”

“Oh, so you’re one of them girls?” Angel arched his eyebrows suggestively.

You swatted Angel’s hands away. “No, I am not! I’m a good girl.”

Angel’s chocolate eyes darkened as his voice got deeper. “I know you’re a good girl.”

Your thighs clenched at his words. Now all you could think about is Angel on top of you calling you a good girl while he’s giving you that pipe.

“Anyway, why are you over here so late? Don’t you have a roster of men to be hitting up and making to take you out?” Angel knew you were single or at least he hoped you were. Every weekend you were here or with your parents and unlike everyone else your nose wasn’t stuck in your phone.

“Boy, I am single as Pringle.”

“Why?” Angel just had to know. You were too perfect not to be worshipped.

“Umm,” your phone buzzed, and you pulled it out to see a text from Rio. Smiling you texted him back and put your phone away. “I guess I just haven’t found the one, as corny as it sounds.”

He shouldn’t pry. It’s none of his damn business, but it was eating up at him as soon as he saw you smiling into your phone. “Who was that?”

“Oh, just Rio.” You threw out like nothing.

Of all the names, Angel didn’t expect that one. Turning away from you, Angel continued working on his bike, giving you the cold shoulder. “It’s getting late. You should go to bed and talk to Rio.”

The switch up was dizzying. One moment Angel was warm and soft and the next he was cold and hard. You just knew that it was best to leave him to sort out his feelings alone. “Well, I leave the cookies there if you want some more. Good night,” you said softly, feeling hurt.

When Angel heard the door closed, he kicked his toolbox across the room. Leave it to him to hurt the one person whose been by his side the whole time. “Way to go, Reyes.” Angel palmed his forehead, already thinking of a way to apologize.

Angel’s first game back was nerve wracking. He was playing safe, not trusting his knee fully. If he didn’t get it together right now his team would lose and be out the playoffs. “Hermosa, you gotta talk to him.” Bishop pleaded with you.

Hopping down from the stands you sat next to Angel on the bench. Feeling you next to him, Angel slid down to get away from you, but you just followed him to the end of the bench. “You go any further and you’re gonna end up on your ass.”

“Can’t you take a hint and go away?”

“Aww, someone’s cranky.” You pinched Angel’s cheek and he slapped your hands away. “Don’t be doing that shit on national tv.” Flicking his ear, you whispered in it. “Then stop acting like a fucking baby and do what needs to be done.”

Angel storms off from the bench and goes to the water cooler hoping to shake you, but you followed him anyway. “God, you’re like a fucking fly. So damn annoying.” Coco, Angel’s teammate and best friend was drinking his water when he heard Angel. He was about to defend you, but you held up your hand letting him know you got it.

Slapping the cup of water out of Angel’s hand you got in his space. “I’m not here to fucking coddle you, Reyes. I’m here to push you. You’re not a loser and I’m damn sure not a loser. So, what are you gonna do? Prove everyone else right and let your career go down in the drain or make the biggest comeback ever?”

The whistle blew signaling it was time for Angel to get back on the field. Angel kissed your cheek and snapped his helmet back on, running backwards to the field. “You know if the physical therapy thing doesn’t work out, you should ask coach about joining the coaching staff.” Rolling your eyes you flipped him the bird and he just laughed.

Bishop came up to you and put a headset on you. “Not the pep talk I was expecting, but it got the job done.” You nudge his shoulder and watched the team get a down. “What can I say? My mama ain’t raise no bitch.”

Bishop chuckled as the two of you watch Angel get the most yards he has in the entire game, making victory that much closer. He turned around and hugged you. “And maybe Angel is right. I might need you on my coaching staff.”

“Let’s get this W first and then we can talk about my salary.” You nudged Bishop’s shoulder.

There were 30 yards and one down left. They really needed a Hail Mary.

The whistle blew and for a moment you thought that Coco was about to get sacked, but the ball left his hands before they got to him. It was over. Coco overthrew the ball, there was no way Angel could catch it. You couldn’t watch this, it was making you too anxious. But then you heard the screams and you removed your fingers from your face. Angel caught the ball! He caught the freaking ball and was almost at the endzone with no one behind.

“AND THAT’S GAME LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” The announcer informed over the intercom. “ANGEL REYES MAKES THE COMEBACK OF THE YEAR AND LEADS HIS TEAM TO THE GAME WINNING TOUCHDOWN AND TO THE PLAYOFFFS!”

Caught up in the commotion you were jumping around with the team on the sidelines, but suddenly you were lifted off the ground. “Oh my god, we did it!” Angel spun you around. “Don’t you mean you did it?” You giggled as Angel set you down on your feet. “Nah, mi dulce, we did it. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” Angel kissed you on the cheek, but then he was pulled away for a post-game interview.

Gilly came up to you and wrapped his sweaty arm around your shoulder. “Get ready?”

“For what?” You arched an eyebrow at him. “To become the hottest commodity in sports history.” Then he left to join his teammates, leaving you to contemplate the next step of your career.

After the game, Angel made you go out and celebrate with the team. He claimed you were just as important to their success, even though you insisted you had nothing to do with it.

Man, these dudes can drink. “Slow down, Angel. Its not off-season.” You took his beer and finished it for him. Angel just sat back and smiled at you. “You’re right, let’s go.”

“Let me go to the restroom real quick.” You hopped up and ran to the ladies’ room. His friends gave him knowing smirks. “Cut it out.” He pointed to them.

“Nah, its not like that. We’re proud of you ‘mano. She’s a good one.” Coco smiled as you came back up to the VIP section.

Angel couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you came up the stairs. The heels made your legs seem longer, the shorts made your ass look extra delectable, and the crop top bralette made it hard for him to keep his eyes off your cleavage. “Ready?”

“Yeah, lets go querida.” Angel took your hand and led you down the stairs to the rideshare pickup spot.

“You ordered the Uber yet?”

“Nah, I got something better.” He led you a couple of feet down to his motorcycle. “For real?” You squealed. “Yeah, I thought we go get some ice cream and then I’ll take you for a ride.”

Jumping up and down, you hugged Angel and kissed his cheek. “Oh my god, thank you! You’re the best!” Angel snapped the extra helmet on your head. “It’s the least you deserve. C’mon, hop on.”

Giddily you got on behind Angel, but you were tentative about wrapping your arms around him tightly. Already being pressed up against him was tantalizing enough. “You’re really gonna fall off if you hold onto me like that. Hold on tighter.” At his insistence, you followed his directions. “Good girl.” He said as he revved up his bike.

It was everything you wanted and more. The wind wiping through your hair, the zipping in and out of lanes, and the vibration of the bike underneath you.

Once, Angel got the ice cream, he took you to his favorite spot in the city. It was the biggest hill overlooking the city and also a well-known makeout spot for kids.

“Cloud 9, huh?” You lifted your eyebrow to him as you went to sit on the big rock out there. “Don’t think you’re gonna get lucky mister.” Angel chuckled and lifted his hands in surrender. “Never. My attentions are pure. Its all in my name.”

Kissing your teeth, you lightly shoved him. “Boy, you are far from an Angel according to the blogs.”

“What do the blogs say?” He asked lowly, taking his ice cream cup from you. “According to them you are exceptionally blessed and your tongue isn’t just used for talking.” Angel had a shit-eating grin, but you just had to wipe it off his face. “But I think its all bullshit.” You smiled at his dropped jaw and wiggled in your seat to celebrate for catching him off-guard.

Angel invaded your space and whispered against your skin. “You could always find out for yourself.” Nervously, you began laughing and mushed Angel in his face. He had to be joking.

Sensing your uneasiness, Angel changed the topic. “So, all this time together and I’ve never asked you how you got into physical therapy.”

“Oh, easy! My dad was a war vet and on his last tour he got seriously injured. Man, when I found out I buried my head in books looking for a treatment plan. His PT asked me more than once if I wanted his job. And the rest was history and now I’m working at the VA.”

“Wow, you sure you’re not the angel?” Could you get any better, he thought. Opposite of Adelita, your kindness didn’t come with stipulations. You gave with expecting nothing in return.

“Mmm, maybe,” you stretched out your body and yawned. “Sleepy, cariño?” He brushed back some of your hair. “Noooo,” you yawned out.

Angel took your ice cream cup and threw it in the trash. “Yes, you are, sleepyhead. Let’s go home.” You allowed Angel to move your body however he pleased. The tiredness was already seeping throughout your body. “Hold on tight. I’ll have us home in no time.”

Racing down the street Angel got you home quickly, though you weren’t as tired as you were earlier. The wind whipping you in the face woke you up some more.

“Thank you for tonight, Angel. Everything was perfect.” You didn’t know if it was the sleepiness, the alcohol, or just the heat of the moment, but whatever it was it led you to kiss Angel. It only lasted for a couple of seconds but as soon as you tried to back away he pulled you back in for a much longer, much more passionate kiss. “Come to bed with me,” he sorta asked, sorta ordered you once he let you up for air.

You nodded at him and he picked you up. “Angel, put me down! You’re gonna hurt yourself going up these stairs while carrying me.” Angel stopped mid-stride and tilted your chin to get a good look at you. “I don’t know what type of dudes you messed with before, but I ain’t them. I can handle of this,” he smacked your backside making you yelp. “Entiendes?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, nuzzling your face in his neck. Angel finished his trek to his room and laid you on his bed. Leaning back on you elbows, you appreciated Angel’s look for the night. He wore a simple black tee with ripped black jeans, but the pièce de resistance was his chain. There was something about it that made you hungrier for him. “Keep the chain on,” you meekly ordered him while he was taking off his clothes.

The corner of his mouth quirked up as he crawled over your body. “Yeah? You like it?” You nodded your head and bent down to kiss you while his hands slithered to your shorts to undo them. His fingers slid down your panties and right into your weeping core. “Shit, this all for me baby?”

“Yesss,” you mewled, your legs already thrashing against the bed. “How long has it been, querida? It’s a struggle to get two fingers in.”

You shook your head no, too embarrassed to tell him the truth. “Tell me.” He nipped at your chin. “Or you don’t get to cum and I wanna make you cum, pretty baby.” Angel stopped his fingers, even though he desperately wanted to continue.

“Please Angel,” you ran your fingers up and down his back. “Nah, baby. You gotta tell me first,” he kissed your pulse point. “Alright, you huffed, “three years.”

“See it wasn’t that hard.” Angel began his ministrations again. “We got three years to make up for.” The rough pad of his thumb found your clit and he began rubbing little circles.

“Angel.” You cried out and held onto his wrist. “God, you’re beautiful. You think you can handle another finger?”

It slipped out before you noticed. “Yes daddy.” Angel eyes darkened and he crashed his lips into yours, swallowing your cries. “Fuck, you’re gripping me so tight. Daddy’s gonna fuck this little pussy up.”

The delicious stretch from his fingers and the never ending assault on your clit had you on cloud nine. “Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, circling your hips. “Cum then.” Angel pressed all three fingers against your walls, triggering a white hit explosion you never felt in your entire life.

“Suck ‘em.” Angel tapped his fingers against your lips. Opening them up, you took them in your mouth catching a hint of metal due to his rings. You swore you tasted better on his fingers than on yours.

“Take off your top.” As you did what Angel said, he slid your shorts and panties off. While he took off your heels, he kissed the inside of your ankle. “I can’t wait to have this dangling in the air.” He fingered your anklet.

Pushing your knees to your chest, Angel slid down your body. He took a deep inhale of your pussy, committing your scent to memory.

The first lick was a little tentative, like he was sampling the goods first . But after a couple more swipes, he had your whole clit in his mouth making you go crazy. “Mi dulce, you just became my favorite meal.”

The combination of Angel’s tongue on your bundle of nerves and his fingers sliding in and out of you was maddening. “Oh no, not another one.” You said to no one in particular. Angel chuckled with your clit still in his mouth. “Oh yes, another one.”

Grabbing onto his raven locks, you tried to pull him up, but he hunkered down instead, Angel wrapped his hands around your hips and pinned you down, diving deeper into your folds. “Fuck Angel! I’m I’m I’m,” it felt like a dam broke as your orgasm overcame you.

Then the damn demon wouldn’t let you go. Angel continued to eat you out even though you already came and was beating down on his back.

Finally Angel came back up for some air and the sight before you was beautiful. His beard was glistening all because of you. Your essence was dripping all over his beard.

“Give me a taste, daddy.” You ordered Angel, crooking your finger. “As you wish.” Angel came up and kissed you. Your tongue swiped at the seam of his mouth. Angel complied with your silent order and opened his mouth, where you and him fought for dominance.

Keeping Angel focused, your hands traveled to his boxers, setting his dick free. “Oh my!” Just from the feel of it, you could tell Angel was hung. Guess those blogs were right. “Are you gonna fit, daddy?”

Angel laughed and reached out for a condom. Slipping on the condom, Angel tapped his dick against your clique. “Ohh, he’s gonna fit.”

Feeling confident that he gathered enough lubrication to slide in. “Fuck, mami, you’re tight.” Angel bent down to swallow your whimpers. As hard as it was for him not to cum, the pain had to be worse for you.

“I’m not hurting you, am I baby?” Angel didn’t dare to begin to move once he was fully seated. “No. I need you to give it to me, Angel.”

Angel pecked your lips and sat up on his arms with his hands on your hips. “This pussy is mines now! You ain’t going nowhere after this.”

He began brutally snapping his hips into yours while singing your praises. ‘Cum on my cock, pretty baby.’ ‘You make the cutest sounds while I’m beating this pretty pussy up.’ ‘You look so beautiful coming on my dick.’

Angel intertwined his fingers with yours and nipped at your lips. “Angel please let me cum.” He took your bottom lip and dragged it it in between his teeth. “Not until you tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Mines,” you gasped as he hit a new spot. “I knew there was a little brat in there.” Angel wrapped his free hand around your throat. His cool rings starkly contrasted the heat emitting from your body. “You like that shit, huh?” Angel commented when he felt you clench around him after he put his hand on your neck.

“Whose. Pussy. Is. This?” Angel growled, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust. “Damn it, yours Angel! It’s all yours!” You scratched down his back.

“Damn right it is,” he bit on your shoulder. “Cum on daddy’s dick, pretty girl.”

Throwing your head back, arching your back you let the orgasm wash over you. “Angel,” you screamed clutching onto him. “I’m right here, baby.” He kissed you all over face, letting you know he was right there with you.

“Shit,” Angel groaned, his strokes began to get sloppy. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth.” You just had to get a taste of him, especially since he already knew what you tasted like.

Quickly both of you got off the bed. You on your knees and Angel hovering over you. Throwing the condom off, he began stroking his veiny masterpiece he called a dick. “You’re gonna look so pretty with my cum all over your face.” Angel stroked your cheek lovingly like he wasn’t just about to paint your face with his load.

Out of nowhere, you got jealous of Angel’s hand and instead of letting him jerk himself off to completion, you wrapped your mouth around his dick. “Oh shit,” Angel moaned, throwing his head back. “Keep sucking Daddy’s dick like that.” He buried his hands in your hair as he tried his hardest not to fuck your face.

“Aww fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna, shit!” Angel exploded in your mouth, making you take every drop. But you didn’t stop after that, you kept sucking and swiping across his tip. Angel had to push your head back to get you to stop. “Think that’s funny?”

Wiping the corners of your mouth you smiled up at him. “Yeah.”

“Nasty bitch,” Angel pulled you up by the hair and kissed you, loving the taste of himself on your tongue. “So, did I live up to the blogs?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know. I need to conduct further research.” Angel pushed you back onto the bed. “That can be arranged.” He smiled as he climbed back on top of you to ensure he blew past your expectations.

Tagging: @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @starrynite7114 @sambucky8 @mygirlrenee @richonne4life @readsalot73 @chaneajoyyy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @jassydwill11 @otomefromtheheart @miss-nori85 @xsweetdellzx @cherryblossomgirl20 @ljstraightnochaser @my-rosegold-soul @angrythingstarlight @brattyfics @lovebennycolon @langiinspirations @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @spookys-girl @sesamepancakes @brownsugarcoffy @thesandbeneathmytoes @fvckthisbxtchup @theartisticqueen @vsfavs @woahitslucyylu @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @marvelmaree @ifoundmyhappythought

#black!reader #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x black!reader #angel reyes x black!plussized!reader #angel reyes #mayans mc #frizzlefic #frizzlesfic #frizzlewrites

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darlingpetao3 · 3 years

Text

Thank You For Ruining My Life: An Homage to Tom Cavanagh

“You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.”

The costume-clad woman had the courage of steel to say this to the then 53-year-old actor, Tom Cavanagh of The Flash, in front of a ballroom filled with a couple hundred people. This brave utterance was spoken during the 2016 Fan Expo Vancouver convention during a Flash question and answer period with actors Tom Cavanagh and Candice Patton. In its third season, the show was undoubtedly still hitting its stride in popularity, and the room was packed to hear these two speak.

The brave woman whose turn it was at the microphone was referring to Tom’s role as Ed Stevens on the NBC 2000 hit, Ed. I had not known of this show previously, but having now heard such a proclamation intrigued me. “You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.” That was a tempting notion, and as I continued to listen to this disarmingly charming and wittingly funny man steal the stage, Tom intrigued me even more. I’d watched him play three different versions of Harrison Wells on The Flash since the show’s premiere date, yet I hadn’t truly noticed him in a “life-ruining” way before.

Little did I know that Tom Cavanagh would not only eventually ruin my expectations for men as well, but he would change my life in other ways, too.

After the Q&A, I had this urge to buy a S.T.A.R. Labs T-shirt from one of the vendors at the convention. In my head, I thought I would purchase something so that I could have an excuse to talk to Mr. Cavanagh at his signing booth. Again, he intrigued me, and I wanted to experience more of his incredibly likeable personality. So, I dragged my friend with me to wait for what was maybe ten minutes in a queue. Shortly, I was paying the assistant for my autograph I would soon acquire. They wrote my name on a sticky note so that Tom would know how to sign a personalized message to me. And then, it was my turn.

His eyes sparkled when he turned his attention to me. I instantly had a feeling this was just the way he was naturally. Oh yeah, and I swear to God I’d never seen eyes that blue in my entire life. It genuinely stunned me.

“Hi!” he greeted me.

“Hi!” I responded, equally as thrilled. Tom admired the T-shirt I had brought and took note of my name on the piece of paper. I remember us joking together about the extremely lax security in and around S.T.A.R. Labs on the show, which prompted his message to me on the heather-grey cotton. He wrote my name, [followed by a heart!] and a very welcoming, ‘Come on by, just walk right in!’

I had official clearance from Harrison Wells himself.

I thanked him very much, leaving with my treasure folded over my arms. My friend and I walked towards the hall’s exit, and I couldn’t shake this feeling inside me. It felt strange—I couldn’t name it for the life of me. It felt like an odd fluttering with a simultaneous yet contradictory slightness of breath. My head was confused and would continue to be so for the rest of that weekend.

As I waited at my gate in the airport on that Sunday evening to head home, all I knew was that the moments at the con featuring Tom were the highlights of the weekend for me.

And that I was going to begin watching more of the other films and television shows he’d been in. What was the show the brave cosplaying woman had said ruined her expectations of men? Oh yeah, Ed.

Maybe I’ll start there…

***

Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad…

In my house, it’s never really Christmastime until Michael Bublé croons through the speakers of the wooden stereo system in the living room. It felt especially festive as it was now Christmas Eve—a month and some change since the con. It was late, possibly ten o’clock. I was lying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree with my trusty laptop, a word document open. I was writing three holiday-song short stories featuring the new muse in my life, Harrison Wells. I wanted to be able to post them the next day, so my fingers were taptaptapping away.

I had written a handful of things before 2017, most of which had been Marvel-related, under my second, ‘rebirth’ pen name online. I was a little fish among all the grand and fabulous writers on Archive of Our Own, and in many ways, I still feel like that little fish. I was only just learning and feeling out the psyche of the Wells characters. Each one is so different. In my rewatch of the previous seasons of The Flash, I’d taken diligent notes, and as I’d later learn with each following rewatch, I would know them all—what they think, how they talk and behave—like the back of my hand. It was fun to suss out these guys, and I found that I was growing to love the act of writing even more.

One month later, in January, I would post all the stories I’d written thus far on Tumblr. I’d just created an account and, who knows? Maybe I’d get a wider range of readers on here, too.

Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

Wild horses couldn’t keep me from attending Fan Expo Vancouver 2017, especially when the big news dropped. Not only would Tom Cavanagh be attending again, but so would Carlos Valdes, Danielle Panabaker, Candice Patton, and the convention-elusive star of the show himself, Grant Gustin.

Before the moderator for the Flash cast’s Q&A panel could utter the final thanks to the actors at the end of the session, I bounded from my seat and sped down to the photo op booth where the cast would be taking “Team Up” photos with fans. ‘Sped down’ has to be the most appropriate couple of words because I indeed felt like a true Speedster dressed head to toe as the small screen’s adaptation of Jesse Quick, the angsty and brilliant daughter to Harrison Wells turned superhero.

After waiting in a queue that felt like ages, I was next to stand with Team Flash. As I took a step forward, all of the actors’ and actresses’ eyes—the people I spend time with every Tuesday evening—were on me. I heard a familiar voice approve of my costume. It was Danielle.

“Tremendous.”

Grant even joked that he thought for a second Violett Beane, the actress who plays Jesse Quick, had shown up to surprise them. “I was like, what’s Violett doing here?” he said.

I stood in the back row, happily sandwiched between Tom and Carlos. I dared to let my hands rest on their backs, and I couldn’t contain my joy. Shortly after, when I received my near-instant physical photograph of the moment, I saw Tom had pointed at me. In my mind, it felt as if in his gesture, he meant, hey, look at this cool person. Haha. I couldn’t be further from it.

I would go on to further be uncool in public as I later found myself virtually shaking and almost hyperventilating in line for a one-on-one photo op with Tom. The guy dressed as Kid Flash behind me gave me a few encouragements of the “it’ll be okay” variety. As my turn finally arrived, the lovely man of the hour greeted me with a bright smile in recognition of my Reverse Flash T-shirt (I had done a quick change before this photo op because I had worn a Flash T-shirt for a photo with Grant).

“Great shirt!”

The internet comes up with many hilarious and fitting words, but none such so than the term “Cavanarms.” One of the said Cavanarms found its way around my shoulder in such a casual way. My hand rested on his back, and I have told anyone who will listen about how soft his sweater was. What was approximately a five-second interaction will stay with me forever. And to this day, I will always regret how I’m standing beside him in the picture—there’s a distinguishable gap between us. I could have been closer—should have been!—but I like to use the fact that I felt as if I’d combust into flames if I were any closer to the man.

Maybe I’d have another chance to combust later again that day because, believe it or not, this fan hadn’t had enough of seeing Mr. Cavanagh in person. And since he was appearing at the con for this day only, there was no way I was going to squander any opportunities. Besides, there was still one final thing left on my convention docket: the autograph. In my mind, going to get his autograph was an excuse to get to talk to him and simply be in his presence for longer than five seconds. Here, take my money. I’m a sucker, and I’m proud of it. I saved all year for this kind of thing, and Fan Expo has always been my ultimate nerdy Treat Yoself Day.

Plus, this year I came equipped with a question for Tom (something for which I may have prepared a little too far in advance).

“Which of your characters would win in a lawyering battle: Ed or Miles?”

Miles was Tom’s latest character from his newly released project Darrow & Darrow, a fellow lawyer as Ed Stevens (remember, the man who ruins women’s expectations of men?), whom he portrayed almost two decades prior. What I loved about Tom when I got to ask him this was that he was silent for a moment following the question. He was genuinely putting thought into my question. As he pondered, Tom continued to autograph the photo of us together taken mere hours ago.

“Ed. He would wipe the floor with that other guy. Like, Miles is great, but Ed has a rapier-sharp mind, you know?”

I wholeheartedly agreed with his answer and felt relieved inside for some reason. We thanked each other (as politely as two Canadians can) before I left him to pay attention to the next lucky soul in line. I made the mistake of casting my eyes downward at the signed photo.

Tom had signed two little hearts over the I’s in my name. He really needed to stop adding hearts to my things, or I was just going to melt to the floor. In fact, I started to make these strange noises as I tried not to completely maul everyone in front of me while exiting. My friend ushered me as fast as physically possible on our way out of the main hall. One man took one look at me and asked, “Are you okay?”

No.

“Yep!”

The second I made it out of the herd, I broke out into open space. First came the minor hyperventilating. Then came the squealing followed by laughter. Top it off with various fangirlish comments of, “He’s so beautiful!”, “His eyes are so blue!” and “I love him!” and I was probably quite the sight to see (but at a convention, that’s considered normal!). My friend smiled on as she let me express everything that I had to keep inside until I had the right time to expel my emotions. I was on cloud nine. Ten, if at all possible.

The next day would be the con’s final day, which I would attend alone. My friend needed to catch the ferry in order to prepare for her courses the day after. I did a scan of the convention hall one final time in case there was something I missed purchasing. Afterwards, I sat on the cold hard flooring of the convention centre hallway for a bit of a break. I was wiped out. With my phone in hand, I smiled at the messages from this one Tumblr blogger who had been following my posted adventures at the con. I had seen and replied to many of her comments on my stories I’d written thus far, and I enjoyed her matching enthusiasm for Tom and The Flash in general. I felt her to be a kindred spirit. I had no idea then that I was chatting with one of my future best friends, L.

***

I spotted her.

She was wearing an identical shirt to the one I had on—a light grey T-shirt with a sequinned Spider-Man mask in the corner, which around it read, We met on the Web. A giddy me couldn’t wait for the short escalator ride to end. Her back was to me and facing the baggage claim, so here was my chance to surprise her instead.

I towered over my friend, E, and donned a low, authoritative voice.

“Excuse me, Miss, can you come with me?”

She squealed a greeting to me and I returned it as we hugged for the very first time after two and a half years of online friendship. We would still have about two hours to kill until our mutual Tumblr best friend, L, touched down at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport from across the Pond.

Something I noticed was that E and I carried on talking during our wait like it was second nature, that we hung out like this all the time. Whereas when I met L in person for the first time the year previously, our first meeting was that of quiet, delighted shock, unknowing how to react to one another’s physical presence. It almost felt like a fantasy. The closest thing we’d ever gotten to this was visiting over video chats! I’m not sure what each of these different reactions in these separate meetings meant, but what I do know is that I’ve never had such strong female friendships such as these—so full of uplifting support and love for one another. They are the greatest ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

And as a searching L eventually turned the corner to meet us in the Arrivals terminal, I caught sight of her Tom & Grant bandana tied around the handle to her carry-on bag. It was an item she had received in return for helping fund the short film produced in 2018 (I’d bought the ringtone). Seeing the accessory jolted me to remember that the former of the titular short was the reason for this long-awaited get-together holiday in the Windy City in the first place. Tom Cavanagh, unbeknownst to him, had just officially united three online friends, each from a different country, to spend six full days of in-person bonding and a whole lot of fun.

***

I should have been shelving books.

I should have been doing a lot of library-related tasks, but my head was elsewhere. Anywhere other than the small-town public library where I work. Instead, I sat on the carpeted floor of the Junior/Young Adult section with my phone in hand and a dreadful article title staring back at me.

“The Flash: Carlos Valdes and Tom Cavanagh to Exit after 7 Seasons.”

My world felt like it was falling apart.

Tom was leaving? There had been rumours and wonderings spreading around the fandom regarding whether he was leaving the show. With a storyline ending with a monumental sacrifice and a time-travelling man saying his farewells, it all seemed to point to the fact. I should have known… I could have rivalled Supergirl as being the Paragon of Hope after all the optimism I doled out to my followers and friends who would come to me worried Tom would exit the show. I would always give reasons to deny such a thing could happen, claiming that I’d believe when I saw it.

Well, there it was, and I definitely saw it.

One could feel the ripple effect over the internet of the shards of broken and riled-up hearts around the world.

Tom’s exit was on his terms, having not felt challenged by his character’s plotlines, as mentioned in a recent Entertainment Weekly article. As a viewer—and I am a viewer (Mike and Tom Eat Snacks, anyone?), it has been increasingly difficult to look past the missed shots made by story editors and showrunner, so understandably, the actor would want to seek something more exciting and meatier. That said, Tom has always shone on-screen and taken what he’s been given in stride. He turns unearthed material into diamonds and indeed shines on screen. Steals it, even! Tom easily makes the episodes he’s in better, and when he’s missing, you feel the loss. The few episodes of Season 7 without him only give us a tiny hint at how the show will be without him going forward. It much resembles when you might bring out your favourite jigsaw puzzle, only to find that the one piece you need to complete it isn’t there.

***

On a personal note, as I write this, I am roughly 20 followers away from reaching a milestone of 2,000. I have written well over 200 stories for The Flash alone (whether they be short or long, one-shots or chaptered), and goodness knows how many words I’ve generated altogether over the course of these many years with inspiration from the show and my favourite character. I’ve written and co-written novel-length stories, one monumental Wellsian story of which was done alongside L and E (almost solely done through alternating text messaging in the app, Line) that reached over 108,000 words and consisted of 42 chapters. And when I’m not writing for my blog, I’m also working on trying to accomplish my dream of becoming a published author. Just as I thought before I launched my Tumblr blog, I think again now: Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

I have watched virtually everything Tom has been in that I could get my hands on, both physically and electronically. Sure, a few titles are out of my reach and probably lost to the very early 90's forever, but from what I've seen through Tom's filmography is enough to know that he can do anything. He can play the romantic leading man that will make you fall head over heels for him or a deranged killer that will have you genuinely scared of him. That is talent. Tom always brings something new to the table from each role to the next, and (when he's not playing those psycho killers) you can't help but admire his craft.

Not only is his acting stellar, but from what we as fans have gathered on the man, Tom has got to be one of the kindest men in the business. His humour and sheer ridiculousness could get anyone through a tough time (we’ve seen plenty of bloopers and behind-the-scenes videos to prove this!). He has clearly bottled and stored an endless supply of Fountain of Youth™ and each year continues to wow us with his handsomeness. Tom is charming, dedicated, and yes, arguably holds the world record for Bluest Eyes.

In my eyes, Tom Cavanagh gave me the two best friends I could have ever asked for, as well as plenty more lovely friends I’ve continued to make online. (One day, I hope to meet him again so that I can tell him in person how because of him, I’ve met such very important people in my life). Through Tom, I have truly found my passion for writing, and in doing so, segued me to dare to dream of becoming a published novelist. I wholeheartedly believe all of this would not have happened if it weren’t for those first series of events that led me to meet Tom and love and admire him immensely. He is indisputable proof that there are indeed men like him out there. Indeed, he did ruin all of my future expectations of men. He ruined my life in the absolute best way and I am eternally grateful.

I am very much looking forward to what Tom will do next. I think it’s rather needless to say that I will follow him in his career, as he has gained a devoted fan for life. He represents so much to me and so much of it I have gained since meeting him that fateful day, when I thought to myself, Maybe I should buy this T-shirt and get this guy to sign it. Wherever Tom goes in life, I’ll be here to cheer him on.

I have a pretty good feeling plenty of others will, too.

#i don't exactly want to tag this with his name #but this is a personal essay of sorts regarding tom cavanagh's effect on my life #if you decide to read I hope you enjoy it!

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sugasugawarau · 3 years

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Happy New Years to you all! I’m a bit late in writing and posting this but I wanted to take the time to properly thank everyone who follows me for sticking with me :) I know I’m not the most active when it comes to writing or even making shitposts so I hope you know it means the world to me that you enjoy my content. While just because 2020 has ended does not mean things will get automatically better, know that you have the capability of making a difference both for yourself and others. I’m proud of you for coming this far and please remember to take care of yourself when you can <3

And I’d also like to take the time to thank some individuals who have made a huge impact on my tumblr experience and have made this year better under the cut! Be warned there are many words and also sorry for any typos I wrote this at 3am :D

I’m going to start off with a few major lo$ers (joking) aka my irl friends that have tumblr

@kbh-ton, @ashr00m, @kae-and-the-lost-dragons

Okay the fact that you all follow me here is EMBARRASSING because you have to endure perceiving me from a sorta totally different perspective but surprise hi,, ily 😹 I know ⅔ of you don’t even use tumblr that often but I digress!! Thank you?? Like I’m not kidding when I say I don’t know where I would be without any of you guys. Stinky pp Paul, you’ve been here with @/sugasugawarau since the beginning-ish and have always been supportive of my absolutely stupid ideas. And my sons AKA get cucked squad, this is going to be ultra sappy but I hope you know how proud I am of the both of you (but no thanks to one of you for teaching us about nussies 😕). Thank you all for tolerating my overthinking ass as well as whenever I get high from a lack of sleep and just in general bc I’m a constant mess of a human being; you are all the best people ik stfu I don’t take criticism.

To my first ever tumblr mutual, @tendouthighs

Hi Codie!! Ik we haven’t talked a lot lately but just know that I appreciate your endless kindness and how you’re able to keep up with my smooth brain antics in dms so much. You’re so funny and I’ll treasure all the jokes and headcanons we’ve made, I hope you’re taking care and doing well heading into 2021! 💖💕

To wife Lyra @yacoka

Miss… Thank you sm for dropping by my inbox all the way back in like June/July because otherwise I don’t think I’d ever have gotten the courage to dm you LOL. It would be an understatement to say that you’re the kindest and most easygoing person I’ve met on here - I hope you know how grateful I am to have met you and read your works (and for lending me your knives and just being so?? supportive??? truly idk how you do it but ily 😣❣️)

To wife Joy @lesbians4yaku

Joy!!! I really don’t know where to start because you’re just so amazing?? And we’ve been mutuals for as long as I can remember ajdjfka I’m just,, so glad to have met you and I hope you know how much I love seeing you on the dash, whether it’s being able to marvel at the genius that is your mind whenever you make a haikyuu shitpost or reading your tags. You always make me laugh and smile and I am wishing you both of those things in 2021 bc u deserve the best, love u 🤍🤍🤍

To Arell, the sweetest soul I know @g4nyu

You have a natural talent for being able to make me both soft ™ and also laugh as freely as Tanaka and Nishinoya with your relatable quips and jokes and I adore you for it. (Also.. can we talk about how absolutely gorgeous your writing is I will nvr shut up.. also also I am here whenever u need to be enabled to rave abt any and all Haikyuu or Genshin characters <33) ily and ty for being my mutual, I feel v lucky to have u in my life 🥺

To Cal, a goddess in her own right @heyhinata

Ma’am the way ily?? You’re beautiful inside and out and I have sm fun talking to you. Being able to call you a mutual and read your works is a blessing and I’m so glad we started talking in dms ajsjfja I’ll never forget plotting smaus with you to raving abt Genshin and making fun of B*n Sh*piro, hidden muppet 😍 Wishing you the best in all that you do!

To Rae, fellow Tim Hortona enthusiast @mehreya

Hi bae I just want to start off with a big thank you. You’re such a wonderful and invigorating person to talk to and I always feel at ease talking with you, and seeing you on my dash with your interactions with others is always a light in my day. And for u I will embrace the Oikawa kinnie in me any day <33 ly and have an amazing New Years 🥰

To Ria, the absolute best and only Ria ik @kumaoi

Omg hi sexc 😍 ahdjkfka idk if you’ll see this but hey,, fun fact even if we don’t talk as much as we used to I still love u sm and I hope you’re staying healthy and happy !! Meeting you was and still is one of the best highlights of my tumblr journey and I’ll always be grateful for your existence

To Gracie, writer of all things beautiful @sneezefiction

Gracie!! I hope you’ve been doing well since the last time we talked and that you’re enjoying the New Years to the fullest <3 You were also one of my earliest mutuals and I just wanted to say thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me and for writing and sharing your works on tumblr. Sending love ! 💖

To the one and only angel, Yas @whipped-cream-writings

Yas bb we only became mutuals rather recently but I have sm love for you 🥺 Your kindness inspires me and your fics are the cutest things ever (pls,,, teach me how to write fluff ahfjfkka) Ilysm and I want to remind you that you’re so wonderful and amazing, sending you all my love for the upcoming year ahead !!

To Kay, who I will protect with my life @kayzume

Kay I don’t know how to even begin to put in words how glad I am to have met you in Lyra’s server,, you’re so sweet and you make me feel safe every time we talk. (Also THE DRAWINGS u made and shared with us,,, have I alr said ily bc ily and all that you do.) I know we haven’t chatted in a while but I’m sending you all my hugs and kithes always 💕💕💖

To mutuals I’ve interacted with some time during these months on tumblr and cherish a whole lot @taiyaaki @kageyuji @sophiawithstars @buddh-art @sa-suga @baeshijima @cherryonigiri @catharsisbabey @tris-does-stuff @tetsurolls @come-on-shitty-boys @iwas-angel @star-puff @voxamcris @azucanela @heartjime @miyafeuille @suikazura @deerixiie @hajiimes @skateme2yokohama @aliteama @yuujiya @omijime and many others but I think I hit the tagging limitajdhfka

Hi ily. You’re all such inspiring and talented individuals and while we may not interact frequently or know each other as well I wish we cld be ajfjjfa but I adore you all and I wish you an amazing New Year 🥺💖 (and if you ever want to talk, feel free to dm or smth! and I’ll try my best to be more active in popping into my mutual’s inboxes amhahshsj)

To the pillars of tumblr @sugardaddykenma @hina-wit-da-glock @nidaenk

You are all so special to me in that you are the reason I would wake up and get my butt on this hellsite and find so much fun and joy in the fandoms I enjoy - it’s not even the content you post but just,, your amazing and stellar personality and interactions with your followers and mutuals alike. Thank you for being a part of this weird space on the internet and I hope you are taking care and being kind to yourself, love u very much <33

#long post #happy new years !!#again #proud of everyone for making it here #bye i dont mean it to but that sounds so cryptic #i shld stop rambling in tags

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

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Tower Tales

3: Well, they’re not sad all the time, are they?

I posted this on AO3! Diversify ur platforms kids. Read the first two chaps Here, it’s kind of integral for ur understanding

@asilcorner sent me some ideas for this fic. Give them love! They have a great webcomic @ghostboyscomic that I love, and their art is so friggin cute. ANYWAY TO THE FIC

(also the Dot section lowkey has a song and im v nervous about so pls b gentle I’m fragile)

They’ve started drawing up plans.

For the Tower. Why not put it together better, why not make the space a home now that it has to be? Yakko refuses to let his siblings live in squalor, not when they have the ability to make it better.

Yakko is surprisingly adept at architecture, though Wakko can’t make heads nor tails of it.

“It’s just art with a little math,” Yakko shrugs off Wakko’s incredulous look with a smile, and Wakko frowns.

“I hate math,” He’s never had to do it in a classroom setting, but at this point he’s certain. He lets Yakko continue to try and figure that mess out, idly chewing on his mallet as he glances up at the tall expanse of the tower.

Yakko’s been thinking about expanding the kitchen and bathroom. Dot says she wants a space for herself, but there doesn’t seem to be room for it between everything else. Yakko tells her this kindly, though they can tell he’s not at all pleased with having to do so, and while she isn’t mad at him, she is upset at the situation.

“A proper lady is supposed to have a place to beautify herself,” She almost whines, but beneath the simple complaint is something closer to hurt, like this is another reminder that they’re trapped and they don’t have the luxury of comfortable space.

The frown lasts on her face longer than Wakko is comfortable with. She’s his baby sister, she’s not going to be upset on his watch, unless it’s funny and not from a place of real hurt. He glances up at the tall, tall ceiling.

Hmm....

Wakko grabs the lightbulb that appears above his head and tosses it into his mouth, crunching on it.

“Careful, if it isn’t funny you’ll cut your tongue on the glass,” Yakko calls over his shoulder. Wakko shrugs, and starts rifling through his gag bag. It looks like he’s got plenty of material, and while Yakko keeps writing up plans Wakko gets to work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s a couple of hours later that Dot looks up from her book and she sees an entire second floor being built-scratch that, being finished. By Wakko. Alone.

“Holy Cow!” She can’t help herself from exclaiming, and Yakko jumps out of the intense scene of concentration he was in and looks where Dot’s pointing.

His jaw hits the floor.

The first floor, now.

“Hi guys!” Wakko waves from the entrance to the second floor, nailing down the last spiraling stair to it. “I got bored so I figured we could use a second floor!”

He skips down the steps and despite his rather hard stomping on them they stand firm. The craftsmanship is impeccable; Yakko and Dot meet in the middle of the first floor and glance at each other in shock.

“What have you guys been up to?” Wakko asks, completely innocent, as if he hadn’t just made an entire second floor on his own in the span of a few hours.

“How did you do that?” Dot asks, incredulous. Wakko looks confused, for a moment, and so she gestures wildly to the second floor. He shrugs.

“Just thought we had a lot of ceiling space, so we could use another floor. I think we have enough room for a third, but I thought I should take a break,” Wakko looks up at the new ceiling proudly.

“What measurements did you use?” Yakko asks, and Wakko stares at him blankly.

“Uhhhh...I kind of just started making stuff. I’m not good with numbers,” he responds.

“But how did you even get the materials for this?” Dot rebukes, and Wakko pulls out a burlap sack.

“It’s all in my gag bag, see?” He reaches in and pulls out a long wooden board, showing it off before shoving it back into the bag. “Easy peasy. And look, Dot, now we have room for your girly stuff!”

“I protest to the fact that looking good must be described as girly, but regardless-I’m so excited!” She rushes forward and wraps Wakko in a tight hug, spinning him around. When he’s set down he stumbles a bit, dizzy.

“Glad you...like it,” he mumbles, accent a little stronger, before shaking his head and coming back to himself. “Do you guys wanna see the upstairs?”

Yakko, who has been previously speechless, jumps into action.

“Heck yeah I do! C’mon!” He lets Wakko lead them up to the second floor, and they marvel at the open space. Dot keeps pointing at places where she wants her stuff to be, and Wakko rolls his eyes, but it seems her joy brightens his day more than he though it would. She was the reason he started building this, after all. Yakko is already dreaming up new plans, thinking of how to best utilize the space they now have. The kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom can stay downstairs, but they can make the living room smaller and put extra entertainment space up here.

“But, uh, yeah, that’s all,” Wakko has the audacity to look sheepish, and Yakko won’t stand for it.

“Wakko, this is beyond words,” He kneels down to his level. “This is a great help. Now, I think I should make something for us to eat, cause building this had got to have burnt up some calories, but do you think you might want to teach me how to build something later?” He smiles, and Wakko’s eyes go wide. Teaching his big brother something for a change? It’s a dream come true.

“Would I!” He tackles Yakko in a hug, and when Yakko catches him, just for a moment, he forgets the situation they’re in, and focuses on Dot’s giggles and the excited pattering of her feet on the new wooden floor, and on Wakko’s prideful expression and smile.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yakko has never had an issue with food before. He’s learned to make it, because Wakko needs it and Yakko would never not be able to do something for his family’s needs, that’s ridiculous.

But right now he’s certainly regretting ever ingesting anything, because they’d had a sundae party to celebrate the third floor being made-a celebration type picked by Wakko, who had headed the third floor expansion-and now he can’t sleep, because he feels like he’s going to vomit.

His stomach feels like he just ate a bomb, and not for fun like Wakko sometimes does. He curls in on himself, trying not to make a fuss, but he opens his eyes and both Wakko and Dot are leaning over either side of him, mirrored looks of concern on their faces.

“Yakko, you look terrible,” Dot deadpans, but he can hear the slight tremor in her voice. She still occasionally hovers over Wakko, though has relaxed as he’s gone from eating like a normal person to his more “typical” unusually voracious appetite.

“It’s just some...,” he winces. “Some stomach pain. It’s nothing,” He smiles, even though he feels awfully sweaty and nauseous.

“I thought my problem was just stomach pain too,” Wakko rebukes, and, well, Yakko can’t really argue there.

“But we’ve been eating with you, Wakko, it can’t be that. And it couldn’t be bad ice cream, or we’d be sick too,” Dot puts a finger to her chin and thinks, but can’t come up with anything.

“Don’t humans have that thing where they can’t drink milk?” Wakko suggests, and, well, doesn’t that make too much sense.

“Thanks for the plot mover, Wakko,” Yakko groans from his place on the bed.

“I’ll go get you some water. Maybe if we flush it out with other stuff, it’ll go away quicker,” Dot hops off of the bed and off to the kitchen. Yakko’s stomach groans in displeasure, and Yakko curls up tighter.

“Guess this means no more milk, huh? Oh well,” Wakko shrugs, and Yakko half glares at him.

“I’m not banning milk from the house just cause I can’t have it,” He says, a growl in his voice. Wakko shrugs again.

“Who said you were banning it? I just don’t think we need it anymore,” He smiles, almost Cheshire. “Don’t have the craving for it anymore, right, Dot?”

“Right!”

Yakko almost jumps when he feels the bed dip down with Dot’s weight, surprised by her return, but he shifts to face her and takes the glass of water offered with a smile.

“Thanks, sis,” he takes a few sips, and while it doesn’t change much, he gives her a thumbs up anyway, so she’ll feel like she helped.

“Wakko, you need calcium in your diet,” he goes back to arguing, and Wakko leans back on his hands.

“Pretty sure toons don’t have certain diet they need.”

“Pretty sure toons don’t need to eat at all, but,” Yakko raises a brow and lets the sentence hang.

“Touche,” Wakko admits. “And hey, we’re broken body buddies!” He raises his hands up and grins, and Yakko tries for a smile, too, chuckling to himself.

“But I’m pretty sure we can get calcium in other foods. Just saying,” Wakko finishes, and Yakko gets it, but he isn’t going to deprive his siblings of pizza and ice cream just because his body can’t handle it.

But it’s an argument for another day, because Yakko’s stomach makes another very unpleasant noise, and he slowly sits up and starts crawling his way to the end of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Dot asks.

“The bathroom,” Yakko says, and his voice sounds weak even to his ears. “Don’t wait up.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour and a half later, Yakko stumbles out of the bathroom, drained, and he slumps in on himself as he shuffles back to bed, only to stop when he sees the bed itself.

In the middle, where he typically rests, is a fort of sorts. Rather, it’s a perfectly shaped resting spot for him, lined with the softest pillows and with a blanket his favorite color, all as comfy as can be.

“Take a rest, brother,” Wakko gestures to the bed nirvana, though Yakko can’t help but notice him wince when he looks at Yakko. Makes sense.

“Yeah, we set it all up nice for you! See how it feels!” Dot adds, and Yakko smiles and makes his way to the bed, worming into the spot made to perfectly fit him.

He sinks into the softness and sighs. At the very least, while his stomach is a mess, he doesn’t have to worry about any other part of him being uncomfortable.

“Thanks guys,” He mutters, spent. He’s never going to even try and eat something with milk in it ever again, if this is the result.

“No prob,” Wakko waves off his thanks.

“You take care of us all the time. Turnabout’s fair play,” Dot quips, and Yakko chuckles, sighing and closing his eyes.

He’s asleep faster than expected, but he stays awake long enough to feel Wakko and Dot cuddle up on either side of him, like usual.

Despite his intestinal discomfort, he smiles.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dot stares in the mirror.

Her new vanity is rather spectacular, and she’s been living on cloud nine since Yakko and Wakko finished it. They’d nearly gotten into an argument while making it-evidently, Yakko couldn’t understand how Wakko could see all the pieces and put them together without numbers or instructions, and Wakko couldn’t understand how Yakko couldn’t understand how the pieces fit together when looking at them as a whole.

Boys. She shakes her head and sighs, looking back at herself in the mirror.

She can see her brothers behind her. They match, of course, they’re the Warner Brothers.

The Warner Sister is alone.

She’s not unaware of why she was made. A token female character, eye candy, take your pick. She’s both. Made to fill in the tiny gap Hollywood makes for female representation while continuing the legacy that women are supposed to look and act pretty, and that’s it.

It makes her blood boil. And yet, isn’t she falling into it? She wants to be pretty, she likes being cute, but is that just because she’s supposed to?

She’s not even just cute, anyway! She can nearly go toe to toe with Yakko when it comes to word play, and Wakko barely has her beat when it comes to strength. So what if she’s cute? She was drawn that way!

So why does it still feel so weird?

Her brow furrows. It’s not like she can even prove to anyone that she’s better, anyway, because Yakko and Wakko likely wouldn’t care or know, and they’re stuck in this tower for forever.

“My name is Dot Warner,” She starts, a soft tune, “And I always get the final word.”

She misses musical numbers. She misses having fun outside of this place. She misses messing with people. Yakko and Wakko seem so similar-their names rhyme, for Pete’s sake-and she feels out of place here. But they were out of place together out there.

“I though your name was Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third,” Yakko interjects, leaning a hand on her vanity. “Surprised you forgot, sis,” It’s all gentle ribbing, but now is not the time.

“Oh, put a sock in it, Yakko,” She responds.

“Which one?” Wakko comes up on her other side, holding out two similarly disgusting socks for her to pick from. She pushes him away.

“Leave me alone!” It comes out louder and harsher than she wants it to, and as a result Wakko looks bewildered, and Yakko lifts his hand from the vanity to move it to his hip. “Go be-be gross boys somewhere else,” She tries to cover up the actual frustration with a weak excuse, but Yakko just crosses his arms and raises a brow, and Wakko walks back over, sans socks.

“What’s the matter, Sis? Something’s bothering you,” She sighs at the question.

“You guys match better than me,” She grumbles. “I’m the cute one, and that’s it? You two get to be witty and strong and creative and funny and I’m just...,” She growls out the final word. “Cute.”

She sees Yakko and Wakko share a look over her head, and rolls her eyes.

“You seriously think that’s all you are?” Yakko sounds...confused. Bewildered. Like her worry is so unfounded it’s surprising she even is worrying at all.

“You’re way cooler than that,” Wakko agrees. “You’re smarter than me.”

“And you’re better at the physical jokes than me,” Yakko adds.

“I know,” She says, almost cheeky, but her mood refuses to lighten. “But-I don’t know. Iit’s not just that-I-I guess I miss doing stuff outside. Like songs.”

There’s a beat, and when she looks up, Yakko has a smile on his face that is nothing short of sly.

“Songs, you say?” He rubs in chin in thought. “Wakko?”

“On it,” She watches as he pulls out instrument after instrument from his gag bag, until they practically have an orchestra. Wakko also pulls out a conductor’s wand.

“Shall we, m’lady?” Yakko holds out his hand, and when she takes it, he pulls her to the middle of the room. A spotlight lands on them, and the music starts.

“Her name is Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third,” He begins with a wink, “and no matter the situation or confrontation, she always gets the final word,” Yakko’s tenor is sugary sweet as he dances her around the room, and he passes her off to Wakko, who leaves the self playing instruments to their own devices.

“If you think you can beat her, just wait till ya meet her, cause you’ll realize that thought is absurd,” Wakko’s voice has a grovel from the accent, and he makes silly faces as they waltz, to make her giggle.

“Sure she’s cute,” Yakko starts.

“Quite the beaut,”

“But she’s got the strength of a brute!” They harmonize, and she pulls out her mallet. She watches as they cringe away in fake terror, and she does a fake swing before tossing the mallet away. “So watch out, because if you make yourself a target she’ll shoot!”

She watches them laugh at the end of the line, and they do fit each other, don’t they? But they’re going out of their way to do this for her, and so what does it matter? Being different and being special are the same, depending on how you phrase it, and they don’t mind her being different at all.

The music keeps going, the piano leading into verse two.

“Don’t make her mad, don’t make her sad, if you want to keep your limbs intact,” Yakko twirls her, and she imagines being at a fancy Ball or Gala, surrounded by admirers.

“She’s got all modes of attraction, and kneejerk reactions, it’s all just simple fact,” Wakko takes her for a spin himself, his movements more wild and less controlled than Yakko’s more straightforward dancing, but she loves it anyway, and is almost remiss when he passes her back to Yakko.

“She always tries her best,” Yakko dips her, low enough that her ears nearly touch the floor, and her tail presses close to her back.

“To be better from the rest,” Wakko continues.

“Because we all want to reach for the stars!” Yakko throws her up and she poses mid air before he catches her with his shoulders, letting her sit there. She can’t help but laugh at the whole thing.

“She’s Dot Warner,” Every time they go into unison, it’s perfect harmony, and she loves it. Them.

“Our giggling sister,”

“Does she know how much we’d miss her?”

The music pauses, and they look to her patiently, to join the song, and for a moment she hesitates. Because she’s never had such a ballad before. What if her voice doesn’t sound right? What if she messes it up?

But Yakko and Wakko are smiling at her, as if they know she’ll do it right, and you know what. Screw it.

“I’m Dot Warner!” She shouts, and the belting note rings as she jumps up. “I’m no one’s former!” The music swells, and she stands on Yakko’s shoulders, triumphant. “I’m sweet and I’m tough!”

“Always more than good enough!” Wakko and Yakko crow as back up.

“And I’m better than why I was drawn!” It’s like a warrior cry, like she’s daring the world to tell her different.

“She’s charming,” Yakko.

“And alarming,” Wakko.

“In every role I’m starring, no longer just the token girl!” She hops down from Yakko’s shoulder, taking center stage. This is what she is. The breaking of her own role, just as loud and proud and wild as her siblings, with a touch of cuteness that she loves. Because hey, what’s wrong with being cute?

“With wit and sass,” Yakko and Wakko start to finish.

“I’m the highest of class,” She interjects, giggling.

“She’s the best of our two worlds!” They all come together, Dot in the middle, the boys kicking out their outside legs and gesturing outwards with one arm as the music plays them out, and when the music number is over all Dot can do is drag her brothers together into a hug.

“Thank you,” because she needed this. A sense of normalcy, the constant reminder that she’s more. She knows why she was drawn, but who cares? She’s better than that.

She’s Dot Warner, Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third, and she’s got her brothers behind her.

And when she has them, nothing can stop her.

#animaniacs #animaniacs 2020 #yakko wakko and dot #yakko warner #dot warner #wakko warner #kitkat1003

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4haechie · 4 years

Text

stuck with you

➵ request: can i request fluff + au #2 + trope #1 "enemies to lovers" + prompt #4 & #19?? thank you 🥰

➵ lee donghyuck x reader | fluff, enemies to lovers au, high school au | 2,760 words | “take off your shirt.” + “can you shut up for just two seconds?”

➵ warnings: cursing and one second of suggestive stuff

➵ a/n: thank u for requesting! i really hope u like it :D i added timestamps to avoid confusion, so this turned out longer than expected oops. if u want a part 2, please let me know!

want to request? check this post out!

present time – thursday, 6:30 p.m.

you’re starting to wish time machines existed right about now. you’ll do just about anything to go back to two hours ago and avoid this mess.

you glance up at donghyuck, who’s put on his thinking cap apparently, and is trying to come up with a way to get you two the hell out of here. “do you have a hairpin? or a bobby pin?” he asks.

you shake your head, “donghyuck, that only works in movies.”

“y/n, i’m trying to come up with solutions here! or do you wanna live in this tiny janitor’s closet for the rest of your life?” he glares at you.

“if i did, i would’ve chosen someone else to share oxygen with. why would i choose you?” you glare back.

he rolls his eyes, indicating that that conversation is over. “whatever. try calling your friends again. someone must still be at school, right?”

you frown, “donghyuck, we had the student council meeting earlier, remember? that ended at six, and it’s almost six-thirty now. all the sports teams’ practice sessions must’ve ended, too. i’m telling you, it’s just us in school.” you shake a little as if trying to wake up from a crazy dream. no avail.

you’re stuck here–no, wait. someone locked you two in here. you’re going to have to trace back your steps to figure out who.

thursday, 4:00 p.m.

“the weekly student council meeting is in session. today, we’re going to discuss prom! i’ve put up a list on the bulletin board that says who’s going to do what. please take a look at it immediately.” you explained, gazing around the group of students in front of you.

you’re the president and donghyuck is the vice president. you two work together almost every day, you’re in the same classes, you have the same friends. but there’s one minor detail in your guys’ relationship: you two hate each other.

hate might be a bit too strong of a word, but it’s true. you and donghyuck, despite working together and being in the same class since third grade, have never gotten along. maybe it’s your guys’ competitiveness. maybe it’s your strong desire to one-up the other. but as long as you can recall, there hasn’t been a single time when he hasn’t made your blood boil.

anyway, you and donghyuck were in charge of planning your senior prom, and ensuring everything and everyone follows said plan.

while discussing the event, you realised you forgot to check with your school’s janitor if he’s free on the day of prom, or if he’s taking a holiday. either way was fine with you, as you were thinking of making everyone clean up after themselves. but just to be sure, you and donghyuck, unfortunately, decided to stop by the closet after the meeting had ended.

thursday, 6:05 p.m.

“i don’t think he’s here. it is after school hours, so i think he went home,” you said, peeping into the dark closet. it was pretty obvious he wasn’t there–the room couldn’t have been more than five feet by five feet. it’s a storage space, but the janitor keeps his bag here before starting work and picks it up right before leaving school.

“yeah, no shit, sherlock.” donghyuck reached around you to flip the light switch on. the lone bulb suspended from the ceiling blazed to life, setting the room alight.

then, suddenly, a figure pushed donghyuck into the confined space, which caused you to jerk inwards. it happened so fast, you barely had time to react, or identify the culprit. you heard keys jingling and fear danced around in your eyes.

donghyuck was still facing the door, while you were standing with your back against the wall. he tried his best to look out the little glass rectangle fitted in the door, but he turned around and shook his head in frustration.

“what the fuck just happened,” you said; it came out more as a statement, but anger resonated through your words.

“we, er, just got locked in here.” he deadpanned as if you couldn’t have figured.

you groaned and clenched your fists. “i’m gonna kill them. you didn’t happen to see their face, did you?”

he shook his head, “nope.”

“well, we know one thing. that person had the key–and only two people have the key to the closet. the janitor, who’s not even here, and the general office staff. but i’m sure they wouldn’t lock us in here.” you said.

donghyuck tilted his head, “okay, then, who...” he trailed off, allowing you to vocalise your theories.

“somebody must have stolen one of the two keys.” your brain’s gears started turning, trying to think of someone who would pull something like this.

“it could be the janitor’s keys. the closet was unlocked when we got here.” donghyuck reminded you.

“yeah...but he never leaves the closet unlocked. he’s very responsible, so it can’t be his set of keys. it’s probably the staff’s set,” you countered. “they barely pay any attention to non-admin matters. that person must’ve stolen their keys, unlocked the door after the janitor left, and waited for us to come here, before locking us in. jesus, i’m so angry. this is so fucking childish,” you groaned again.

donghyuck nodded in slight agreement, surprising you. he never agrees on anything you have to say, but he didn’t have much of a choice in that situation. plus, your theory made sense. “do you think this whole thing was renjun’s idea? he was the one who suggested we check with the janitor about prom night.”

your eyes widened in shock. “oh my god...wait, but it wasn’t renjun’s idea. it was mine, actually–he just reminded me to do so.” you slowly dropped down to the floor and held your head in your hands. you couldn’t believe what was going on. the entire situation seemed to just hit you.

you’re stuck in a small closet with lee donghyuck, your number one enemy.

present time – thursday, 6:40 p.m.

“none of them are picking up. donghyuck, what if they’re all in on this together? kind of like a senior prank–except we’re the ones getting pranked.” you say, panic rising in your voice. you’re standing now, leaning against the wall with your phone clutched tightly in your hand.

knowing your and donghyuck’s friends, you’re sure you’re going to be here all night. they’re quite a bunch. you and donghyuck have a common friend group, but your friends find your ongoing rivalry extremely annoying. it makes perfect sense if they locked you two in here.

donghyuck digests your words quickly. “no way. that’s insane! why the fuck would they do that?”

“well, do you have a better explanation? i’m sure you don’t, considering i’m the only one who’s been thinking of possible theories, while you’re here giving me the only suggestion you have–your stupid bobby pin idea,” you say, breathing heavily.

“can you shut up for just two seconds? always telling me what to do, disagreeing with me, arguing and fighting with me. we’re locked in here, and you think arguing like little kids is gonna get us out?” he shakes his head in disbelief. “god, and to think i had a crush on you last year.” he must not have meant to reveal that little secret, because his ears turn red instantly.

you gape at him, “what–what did you say?”

“look at you, getting a big head again–!”

“donghyuck.”

“i liked you! there, you happy?”

“i like–liked you too, idiot,” you say in a low voice.

then, he laughs–a melodious sound, emitting pure joy and rainbows and sunshine. “some type of rivals we are.”

you laugh with him now, finding the situation so pathetically sad that it was almost funny. laughable. something to reminisce from time to time.

“you...you still like me?” donghyuck asks in a small voice you’ve never heard before.

“take a guess.”

“no?”

you bite the inside of your cheek, “take another guess.”

he grins at you, leaning against one of the shelves–which was a bad move on his part. he accidentally knocks over a bottle of...detergent? who knows, but it ends up uncapped and half-empty once it lands on the floor. luckily it was plastic, so the bottle doesn’t break. unluckily, the other of the liquid splashes on you, soaking your entire shirt. your plain, white, shirt.

donghyuck freezes, “um...y/n, i’m sorry–”

you hold up a hand. the god of testing people’s patience must’ve signed you up for some competitive exam today. “save it.”

donghyuck looks around hastily, trying to find a clean rag. he produces a small yellow cloth from the back of one of the shelves and hands it to you, “here.”

you don’t even say thanks. you quickly take it from him, free your shirt from your jeans, and start wiping and drying it to the best of your ability. you manage to make the shirt as dry as possible, but it was detergent that spilt on you. it was soapy–it was not water.

you groan for the third time today and look at donghyuck, gritting your teeth. “i can’t possibly go out like this.”

he winces, feeling extremely apologetic. “take off your shirt and wear my hoodie instead. i have two layers on,” he suggests.

you give him a double-take, “what the fuck? no! why would i do that?” you exclaim.

“do you have any better ideas?”

you watch as he swiftly takes his hoodie off, revealing a loose tee clad on his body. you hate to admit how good he looks. he hands the item of clothing to you, and you tell him to turn around as you begrudgingly peel your shirt away. you take the rag once again, wiping off as much soapy liquid as you can, and pull the hoodie over your head.

it smells like him, you think. it smells like that expensive cologne he always seems to wear. you show no indication that you find his hoodie soft and comforting, and tell him you’re done. you roll the shirt, squeezing any remnants of detergent out, and stuff it in your bag.

he bites back the smile daring to form on his lips upon seeing you in his hoodie. “okay. now that that’s over, let’s try to get out of here, shall we?”

you nod. “i have our science teacher’s number. maybe i could ask her to help us? she’s always here late, marking papers and assignments.”

donghyuck snaps his fingers, “you’re right! yeah, give her a call.”

you scroll through your contacts till you find the name you’re looking for. you press the call button and set it to speaker mode so donghyuck can hear as well. she picks up after three rings, “hello?”

“hi, miss angela! it’s me, y/n. you see, um, donghyuck and i got locked in the janitor’s closet by someone, and we have no way to get out. are you still in school? if you are, is it possible for you to unlock the door from the outside?”

miss angela hums a little, as if in thought, “i just left, my dear. i could turn the car around if you’d like. i’m sure the office keeps an extra set.”

“yes! that would be great. thank you, miss angela. and we’re sorry for the inconvenience,” you nudge donghyuck with your elbow, who catches on immediately.

“yeah, we’re incredibly sorry. i’ll be sure to submit an extra report–!”

“save it, lee donghyuck. i’ll be there in five to ten minutes,” she hangs up with that.

you pocket your phone and look at donghyuck. “so.”

“so,” he repeats.

“are we going to act like we didn’t just confess to one another earlier?” you ask, biting your lip nervously.

“no, i don’t want to, um, act like we didn’t. i lied, y/n. i had a crush on you last year, yeah, but i never stopped liking you. i still like you. i don’t want to be your enemy anymore.” he nudges you.

you smile shyly, “i like you too, donghyuck.”

just then, you hear keys jingling–an all too familiar sound. you get excited, thinking you’re going to be met with the face of miss angela, but when the door bursts open, you see the smirking faces of renjun and jeno.

“about fucking time!” renjun pulls you and donghyuck outside.

“what?” donghyuck demands. “it was your idea to lock us in there? are you fucking kidding me?”

jeno grimaces, “i’m sorry, it was the only way you two would confess your feelings for each other and stop fighting for good.”

“i can think of plenty of ways–!”

“wait, y/n, are you wearing donghyuck’s hoodie? holy fuck...don’t tell me you guys did it.” renjun looks back and forth between you and donghyuck.

“what? no, of course not!” you retort.

“then why do you have his hoodie on, dear y/n?” jeno asks.

“that’s none of your damn business, lee jeno!” donghyuck looks ready to pounce on him, but you place a hand on his chest, stopping him. his gaze drops down to your hand and it softens.

“there was a little accident...but the good thing is that we’re out. hooray. now, everybody, go home. i have to call miss an–”

“y/n, thank goodness! what happened?” miss angela emerges into the scene, looking a little worried.

you briefly explain the evening’s events to her, without mentioning the confession part. she doesn’t need to know that. you tell her it was a silly prank. nothing more, nothing less.

she visibly sighs a breath of relief. “well, at least it wasn’t some stranger. jeno, renjun, i didn’t expect this from you two. but i’m glad you’re all okay.” she takes her leave, after ensuring you four are on your way home.

jeno and renjun go home via jeno’s car, and you and donghyuck, living only a couple of blocks away from school, decide to walk the journey.

“all this... just so we could stop fighting,” donghyuck laughs. you’re walking side by side, hands occasionally brushing against one another. it’s like something out of a cheesy rom-com. you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“it worked, didn’t it?” you say.

donghyuck stops on the pavement, turning his body to face you. he stretches out a hand to push a strand of hair behind your ear, making you bump his shoulder shyly. he smiles; he wouldn’t have it any other way either.

“i guess it did. but what do we do now?”

“what do you mean?” you raise an eyebrow.

“like, do i walk you home first? do i ask you on a date? god, with you, it’s just so much more...different. if it was someone else, i would’ve gone with my gut, but with you, i don’t wanna mess it up. you know?” donghyuck finally takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. you feel his warmth radiate, you feel his touch bringing you safety and comfort. something way more powerful than a hoodie.

“donghyuck, i’m new at this too. i’m just as scared as you are. and that’s okay, trust me. i’m glad it’s me and not anyone else.” you assure him.

you gather up whatever courage you have remaining, tip-toe, and brush your lips against his cheek. you stay there for a moment, just breathing him in. when you pull away, his cheeks are a dusty pink shade.

“do that again,” he tells you.

“no, i think i’m good.” you start walking again.

“y/n!” he whines.

“okay, on one condition.” he raises a brow, “ask me on a date.”

for a moment, he’s bewildered. then, he gets down on one fucking knee, not caring about anyone who might be watching, and clears his throat. “y/n, i like you so much. will you make me the happiest man alive, and go on a date with me this saturday?” he looks up at you expectantly.

you chuckle at his antics and give him a nod. “i would love to, lee donghyuck.”

he grins, all big and bright, and leaps up to envelop you in a hug. his arms go around your waist and yours circle his neck. he whispers in your hair, “i guess we owe renjun and jeno a thank you?”

“i am not going to thank them for locking us up in a closet. in fact, i’m gonna double their prom duties.” you feel his chest vibrate as he laughs at your comment.

however, you are thankful that it was lee donghyuck you got stuck with. so, forget the time machine. you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

#haechan fluff #haechan x reader #haechan imagines #haechan drabbles #donghyuck fluff #donghyuck x reader #donghyuck imagines #donghyuck drabbles #nct haechan #nct donghyuck #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #mine #req

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 3 years

Text

Rubber Ducky

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit (E) Word Count: ~6.3k Notes: I was totally inspired by RDJ’s latest insta post! Between the motorcycle, gray hair, big ole’ combat boots, and the rubber ducky - it was hard not to write about it. Add on S’s insatiable need for that silver fox goodness and here we are! Warnings: There’s some smut in here, but that’s about it. Summary:

Born to old money, Tony is in the limelight simply because he exists. After a misunderstanding caught on video, he's personified as a spoil socialite & no matter what he does, he can't escape the title. Instead of letting it get him down, Tony uses it to his advantage - if anyone were to find out what he really did with his life, his reputation would be ruined. No one needed to know that he threw clay for a living or that one of the most successful ceramic business belongs to him.

When things become to much to handle on his own, Tony reluctantly takes on a personal assistant by the name of Peter Parker.

Preconceptions are a funny thing - Peter finds out just how nefarious they can be when he gets to see the real person behind the Tony Stark public persona.

Or: the one where RDJ and a rubber ducky serve as the best muse.

Read it on AO3 here.

In hindsight, Tony should’ve known his reputation would come from a spectacular misunderstanding.

In the early years, Tony was not nearly as schooled in maintaining his composure – especially when he deemed himself correct. One misunderstanding caught on camera later and he was officially known as “Manhattan’s Spoiled Brat” to every major gossip rag and tabloid that could get their hands on information to print about him; true or otherwise.

From that point on, no matter what he actually did, Tony’s movements in the media were always framed with the perception of spoiled, outlandish, and in some circles, downright rude. It didn’t matter that before the paparazzi ambushed him outside of his apartment, he spent the morning setting up some private dog walking for the local shelter dogs. He couldn’t ever pull the trigger on actually adopting one – but he digressed. Those out for a story and a story only took their photos, heckled him, and reported half-truths and words taken out of context.

Despite the initial turmoil over it, Tony found himself with a lot more free time in the sanctity of the space he called his own. Other socialites didn’t want anything to do with him – the mere thought of being out papped drove them all mad. To avoid too much attention, Tony took his peer[s dismissal and ran with it – if a bad reputation got him the privacy that he sought, why wouldn’t he take advantage of it.

It all seemed to work out in his favor, because if his fellow socialite peers ever found themselves privy to his actual occupation, Tony knew he could count himself on the list of social outcasts that no one talked about – in fact, the few people he knew like that weren’t even spoken about in the circles he was forced to affiliate himself with. Being old money had so many advantages, but in the long term, Tony could have easily done without it.

Never one to care about the money, unless it was supposed to be caught on camera in some way shape or form, Tony enjoyed his solitude and the time he had to chase after his one true passion – pottery.

The addiction started halfway through his time at MIT. Desperate to escape the confines of his dorm and the information that didn’t interest him in the least, Tony found himself wandering the streets of Cambridge, his eyes wide and peeled for the bright shine of cameras being clicked. In his slow meanderings, Tony caught the sight of an interesting looking woman, the dreads in her hair and the big pot in her hands dragging him in. And when she felt his presence, instead of getting upset, she shot him a smile and slowed her step – the woman obviously not afraid of Tony’s attention.

He ended up walking half a mile a couple of steps behind the unnamed woman, the pot in her hands becoming more and more interesting the longer he got to look at it. The workmanship of it was obvious, the lines were neat and the dip of the pot perfectly symmetrical around the rim. Not for the first time, Tony marveled at the intense beauty of handmade work – he longed to work with his hands in the creation process. His father wanted him to put that energy into machines and technology that would further their wealth. Tony, on the other hand, he just wanted to create – no pressure, no expectation… just creation.

The building they stopped in front was all open space with big windows. Locking eyes with the woman, Tony rushed ahead of her and opened the door, holding it and his breath as she walked through the door. Upon entering, Tony noticed the multiple rows of what he knew to be pottery wheels, each one of them gleaming in the wash of sunlight that flowed in from the streets. Sucking in a breath, Tony had to stop himself from gravitating towards one.

A soft voice turned him around, his heart beating wildly – in the moments since walking in, Tony completely forgot the woman was there. “The dedication you showed in following me here is more than enough for me. Do you want to learn?” the still unnamed woman asked, her cheeks crinkling in the corner as a smile overtook his face.

It didn’t take but an extra second for the excited ‘yes’ to slip out of his mouth. He understood an opportunity when it was presented to him and didn’t want to squander it.

Without saying anything else, the woman walked by him, sat down at one of the wheels and looked expectantly at the one next to her.

From there, Tony found in himself natural talent and a burning desire to learn all he could about the craft. Despite having the means to buy his own wheel and supplies, Tony returned to Nona’s, the old woman insisting he call her nothing but. Over the course of the last two years of his undergraduate degree, Tony split his time between uninteresting studies and the maddening obsession of wet clay and the never-ending possibilities the potters wheel could bring.

The art brought him joy and when he graduated and Nona gifted him his very own wheel and her blessing of finally being ready, Tony took to it with a passion he never experienced before. No one in his circle would understand the desire to get his hands dirty or create something that could easily be bought at some auction, or fancy gallery opening. So, he kept it a secret – the thing he treasured most in the world was his and his alone.

That trend continued for many years after that. In order to keep up his expected persona, Tony put himself in the public’s eye a few times a year to cause a ruckus, whether it was with scandalous photos he manipulated himself, or a random appearance in a place he was supposedly blacklisted from. And between those times, Tony threw clay and created a whole line of masterpieces that culminated into a pretty popular business.

As his talent and the demand for his work grew, Tony let the smallest bit of pride settle deep within him. Despite not being satisfied with the way the world saw him, his most favorite piece of himself was flourishing – and on his own merit, nonetheless. Making something out of himself away from his father’s money meant so much and each step he took towards that brought him a peace he wasn’t sure would ever exist for him.

After almost 10 years of being in business, Dirty’s Pottery was finally unmanageable by himself – especially if Tony wanted to keep the anonymity of the business. No matter how much he didn’t want to bring in another person into the folds of his life, Tony knew he needed the help.

Which is why, when Peter Parker walked into his life, Tony was thrown so off guard. For most of the morning leading up to the interview, he felt a sliver of dread start to worm its way into the confines of his chest. Just seeing someone for a position like this took an amount of trust that Tony had not ever given to anyone – ever – in his entire life. The need for it was the only reason he forced himself to get his shit together and actually give the guy a chance at actually getting the job.

His entire attitude changed when he caught the glance of milk chocolate eyes that shone, well-kept facial hair, and a smile that so obviously hid a beautiful personality behind the lengths of it. In that moment, Tony wondered about so many things – where did this guy come from, how did he walk around in those pants without getting hit on with every step, and his favorite – what could he do to get this person to stick around. All of that without a single word being exchanged between them.

When Peter finally did start to speak, Tony couldn’t help but get lost in the interesting human sitting in the chair next to him. Instead of making it a formal affair, Tony poured them coffee and nestled into the remaining chair in the small office Tony kept slightly clear in his workshop. He went so far as to start the conversation with a question totally off the wall, which Peter answered with ease and kickstarted what turned out to be a couple hours’ worth of back and forth between the two of them.

It was obvious, in the way it took Peter a little while to open up to him, that his reputation proceeded him. Before Peter even walked in the door, he was looking at him a certain way – and Tony couldn’t wait to do everything in his power to prove that perception wrong. In true Tony Stark nature, Tony started by finishing their conversation out in the main room of the studio, his hands covered in red clay, the length of his hair pushed back with a bandana he’d taken to wearing over the last few months. The interested eyes that watched his hands with fascination brought a smile to his face and the job offer to the tip of his tongue.

“The job – it’s yours if you want. You’re smart, capable – the experience you came in with is amazing. I’d be pretty stupid to not snatch you up while I have the chance. But hear this now,” Tony said, his voice dipping. “If you fuck with me, I’ll ruin you. Understood?”

An awkward chuckle was his answer, Peter’s eyes flashing with some sort of feeling as he nodded his head. “Understood, Mr. Stark. This is a big opportunity for me – I wouldn’t screw that up for 5 minutes of media attention.”

And just like that, Tony was sold. He extended a clay covered hand out, a challenging quirk to his brow as he looked up, his own cognac colored eyes meeting Peter’s after a moment. “Cut the Mr. Stark shit, it’s just Tony.”

Grinning, Peter returned the handshake, his soft hand wrapping around Tony’s like it fit there, like if he let himself think about it, Tony could’ve sworn it’d been there his whole life. The contrast of wet clay and pale skin did something to him – something that, after 45 years of life, Tony couldn’t remember experiencing ever before.

----

It took a while, coaxing Peter from whatever picture he painted in his head about Tony and what he knew about him. The first few months together were tense – when they attempted their first staged photo for the public eye, Peter looked at him skeptically, as if the entire situation was crazy. Then, Tony stepped in front of the camera and pulled his mask on, his expression and demeanor changing to suit the air and attitude needed to portray the spoiled persona he’d been keeping up for years now.

The click of the camera was rapid, like the change in Tony was just as eerie for Peter as it was for the man himself. He turned and smiled and smoldered enough to make sure he had a few pictures to play with over the next few weeks, then dropped the whole act the second he could – Tony more than glad to be done with this part of his act until the next need for it came to be. Shrugging his shoulders and letting the conceded air rush from him, Tony shot Peter a smile – his assistant’s facial expression telling him much more than he needed to know.

“It is just an act, isn’t it? I’ve never seen someone put on another skin like that before,” Peter mumbled, his ears a little red from the blush that slowly spread down his cheeks with every word. His long fingers fiddled with the dial of the camera, brown eyes down casted in what Tony could only assume was apprehension or embarrassment.

“Everyone does it, Pete. Sometimes, it’s just more necessary than others. I had one little mishap and all of the sudden, I was painted as something that I’m not – something that I never will be. No matter what I did after that, things didn’t change. So, I use it to my advantage. Put a little chum in the water for the sharks every now and again and live my life the way I want it in between.” Tony shrugged then, his hands already working to take off the stupid jacket that pinched between his shoulders.

Peter was quiet for a few minutes, the two of them moving around each other in the slightly uncomfortable silence. “I’m just a kid from Queens. I couldn’t even imagine what that’s like. I probably would’ve taken the opportunity you did, too. It sucks you have to be someone different, but I get it.” A soft smile could be seen on his face, the look one of Peter’s that Tony quickly became enamored with – the shine of it hitting him in the gut, supplying him with his next bit of energy from all the goodness hidden within it.

Though it wasn’t monumental, things between them changed. While Peter used to come and go without much fanfare, Tony was surprised when he started to stick around a little longer after their work was done for today. Where the conversation could easily be described as stilted before, words started to flow between them easily – now that the damn was broken, it was like there was no stopping the conversations that could so easily exist.

And they did, flow easily. Peter graduated from Columbia with an Economics degree – a career field he quickly understood was not for him after two years in a job that he absolutely hated. The shared hatred for what they studied in college opened up the door for actual passions, ones in which Tony quickly came to find that Peter had many of. Including pottery, though he never did anything aside from buying it until coming to work for Tony.

“Your coffee cups are actually why I wanted this job,” Peter admitted out of the blue, the two of them settled on the soft couch in Tony’s living room after a long day of boxing and shipping orders. “When I first started college, I was dirt pour – living the dream, you know. I got the short end of the stick in housing and ended up having to find my own apartment. It was a shit hole, but I had a Dirty coffee mug to drink out of every day – so things couldn’t have been as glum as they really were. For some reason, I thought of that when I saw the ad – felt compelled to apply.”

Shifting a little, Tony let their shoulders brush – the physical contact between them also flourishing now that Peter didn’t think he was such a piece of shit. He leaned in, applying the slightest bit of pressure to the firm deltoid he felt through Peter’s shirt. “And now you get to drink out of them whenever you want,” Tony remarked, the joking tone of his voice pulling a smile from them both. “Never thought you’d run into me when you signed up for this gig, did you?”

“I didn’t. Honestly, when I saw it was you, I almost turned around and walked right out the door. If it wasn’t for the way you look sitting behind the potters wheel, I might’ve done exactly that.”

A chuckle fell from Tony’s lips, the tightness in his chest that’d been building up from that first day finally loosening, whatever happened in the minutes between stepping in front of the camera and that moment obviously winning him a bit of favor.

“I do look good behind the wheel, don’t I?” Tony answered, a shit eating grin on his face.

Peter reached over, swatting his thigh in joking exasperation. “Shut up.”

That exchange stayed with him after that, a subtle reminder of the distance between them narrowing. Tony didn’t even know if Peter liked anything about him other than the way he looked, or the way his mugs held coffee – but a small bit of hope sat in his chest, regardless. Things were so different now, all smiles and laughing, inside jokes between the two of them that didn’t cease to be funny, no matter how many times they stopped dead in their tracks to deal with the chuckling fits that spontaneously occurred at the thought of any of them. It had to mean something, even if it wasn’t the sort of intensity that Tony wanted.

Like most things in his life, Tony got his answer in the form of a shout, or at least, the closest a kiss could come to the form. About a year and a half into their working relationship, Peter was finally comfortable, so comfortable in fact, he allowed himself to fall asleep in the many different spaces he’d been invited into in Tony’s home and workshop. That particular day, Tony walked into his office to find Peter passed the fuck out, a cute string of drool lulling from the side of his mouth. His eyes were moving behind his eyelids, hands clenching by his sides.

For a second, Tony thought to wake him up, what he thought was distress making him want to take care of Peter in the only way he knew how. Resisting, Tony walked around his office quietly, grabbing his smock and the most recent designs before trying his best to sneak past Peter without waking the sleeping beauty up. He was about to step away from the edge of the couch when a hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.

“Pete, what – “ Tony started to exclaim, his body falling towards Peter stopping the rest of the words from coming out of his mouth. Without being able to suck in another pull of breath, Tony’s lips were covered, all of Peter pressing fully against him, lips and obviously interested cock, included. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, Tony kept himself still, the need to flatten Peter out and press into the contact so close to winning out, despite knowing it probably wasn’t his best course of action.

A gasp of breath against his lips alerted Tony to Peter’s conscious state, the man pulling back from him in the next second.

“Tony?” Peter gasped; the words still tinged with sleep. “Is this real? I was just dreaming – “ He stopped then, realization of what he just said grinding everything else to a halt. “Oh god.”

Putting a finger across Peter’s lips to stop any other words from spilling out, Tony leaned back into his space, their faces mere inches away from each other. “I dream about it, too.” Tony mumbled as he closed the distance and pressed their lips together – this kiss one they were both conscious and aware of.

The fingers slipping into his hair were the only sign that he needed. In a desperate attempt to get more skin right in that very moment, Tony climbed onto the couch, his knees pressing into the cushions bracketing Peter’s hips. His own hands moved to grasp whatever skin he could reach, Peter’s nap on the couch affording him stomach and back from a ridden-up shirt.

Plush lips were such a distraction, the thickness of Peter’s bottom lip ridding him of any thought other than right that second and skin and more kisses that felt like straight heat touching him. Peter’s fingers dug into his scalp, blunt nails cutting into the skin in the most tantalizing way possible.

An annoying need for oxygen pulled them apart, Tony panting into the skin of Peter’s neck as he continued to explore the long planes of skin there. If this dream haze was the only way he got what he’d been wanting since he first laid eyes on Peter, Tony would take it – simply because he never let himself and he really, really, really wanted this; wanted Peter.

Hands on the side of his face stopped his assault, Tony pulling away with so much reluctance – his entire being shouting against the disparity of the action. Peter brushed their noses together, his fingers caressing Tony’s face, cupping behind his ears – each digit moving restlessly.

“I want you,” Peter said plainly, the seconds of silent stares and heavily panted breaths already forgotten – the words already enough to change the way the world tipped on its axis. “I want you. Have wanted you for so long. Please, Tony – “

Whatever was going to come next, Tony cut him off – their lips sealing back together now that they were both on the same page, both ready for the next step – both wanting each other.

Not in any frame of mind to do anything other than kiss, be kissed, and pull at clothes in hopes that they came off, Tony did just that – his fingers slipped under the soft t-shirt covering Peter’s chest, the pads of them tracing the smooth skin of rippling abs, and the slightest bit of chest hair just starting to coat over trim pecs. He pushed the shirt up until it rested under Peter’s arms, his brain unwilling to allow him to pull away from their kiss to actually take it off.

Peter, like he did so well over the past few months, took the matter into his own hands. He pulled away from Tony to yank his shirt up and over his head, eager fingers doing the same to Tony’s once he got the memo and shifted so Peter was able. Soft hands found the thick patch of hair covering his upper chest and the straight path down his abdominals that trailed down into the confines of his now too-tight boxer briefs. The touch was like electricity, each inch of perusal like a shock rolling across the surface of his skin.

Moaning, Tony let his hips drop, the bulge in his pants pressingly deliciously against Peter’s erection, the slide of his jeans against his passion both tantalizing and harsh – the perfect combination. In an attempt to gain more friction and a better position, Tony climbed off of Peter’s thighs, slotting himself between muscled legs, instead. Instantly, Peter wrapped his thighs around Tony’s hips, using his strength and leverage to pull him close, closer than either ever thought they would ever get.

The next few minutes were a flurry of kisses against bare skin and hands wandering all the inches they could – Tony focusing on the softest little swell of Peter’s stomach, the roundness of it only enhancing the strength the rest of him portrayed. They fumbled and thrust, erections grinding through several layers of jean and fine clothed underwear. It was glorious and not enough all in one breath. Tony forced himself to create space between them in hopes of furthering things along, his shaky hands making quick work of Peter’s pants and then his own.

Completely naked in front of him, Tony was surprised to not feel a single shred of self-consciousness. In all of his imaginings, he thought he might curl in on himself – there weren’t many people that knew the real him; baring himself this way to Peter, Tony no longer had the pleasure of anonymity, the barrier of protective shell he tried to keep with him at all times. A grinning Peter brought him away from those thoughts, his own lips turning up in a smoldering smirk.

“Reach behind you – I think there’s something in the side table we can use for lube.”

The words came out panted, like Tony needed every shred of oxygen in his body to deliver them, yet, he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed – Peter fumbled over himself to get to the drawer, his upper body twisting to reach, despite Tony pinning his legs down into the cushions of the couch below them. A sound of triumph left them both when Peter righted himself, a small bottle of lube in his grasp.

“Any reason why you have lube in your workshop office?” Peter asked through a chuckle, his hands already moving to grip Tony’s bare skin, the lube sitting on his stomach in offering.

Ignoring the question for the moment, Tony reached up to grab the bottle, his lips busy tracing the lines of Peter’s abs until he found himself face to face with a delectable erection, the tip of it glistening with the tangible exertions of their efforts. He brought his eyes up to glance at Peter, the usual honey-hazel completely overtaken by black pupil and want – so much want.

His tongue peaked out to sop up the leaky moisture, Tony letting a moan slip from his lips before redoubling his efforts, his lips wrapping around Peter tightly. It was erotic, bobbing up and down on the most beautiful erection while maintaining such intense eye contact. The state of Peter’s eyes matched his own, the glassy nature of them making his own cock throb – the smear of precum he felt himself thrusting into a tell-tale sign of what this did to him; what Peter could so easily drag from him.

“Jerking off, of course,” Tony finally answered, his lips pulling away from Peter’s cock with a loud pop that echoed around the small office. “I practically lived here before you came to my rescue. I’m not a saint.”

To emphasize the point, Tony snapped open the cap of the lube, his eyes flashing as that sound too seemed to bounce off the walls. A weak moan left his lips when he turned the tube over to dump a good amount of lube over his fingers, the implication of what came next and the frigid cold of the lube doing something to him. Peter grinned up at him, his hips rolling up in the most obvious form of permission.

Taking Peter’s cock back into his mouth, Tony let two of his fingers slip between the crease of firm butt cheeks, the tip of one tracing a tight rim. With the thought of distraction, Tony sucked hard and pressed his finger in, breaching the muscle with a kind of ease that had him moaning around the thick cock in his mouth. The boil of heat and arousal felt like it was consuming him – he’d feel lucky if he actually got to the point of slipping inside Peter without completely embarrassing himself.

Long fingers dug into thick, salt and pepper locks, Peter’s grip tight and flexing rhythmically with the bob and pull of his mouth around the most luscious erection. Slowly, Tony opened Peter up, his fingers working in tandem with his cleverly talented mouth. Little by little, he felt the muscle around his fingers relax, Peter easily able to take three fingers after his careful ministrations.

The grip in his hair tightened, forcing Tony to look up to gauge the situation. The sight he was met with caused his cock to throb again, the tip now completely covered with pre-cum and weepy, each second passing filling out the appendage more and more, Tony feeling so fucking close to burning already.

Peter’s pupils were completely blown, the glassy nature of them from before overtaken by a sort of heat that Tony didn’t know existed. His hair was in disarray, the obvious toss of it back and forth showing in the tangled strands. Sweat covered him, the tiny drops on Peter’s forehead the only indication that he too was physically straining himself, desperately trying to hold himself off.

“Fuck me, Tony. I need it – need you,” Peter gasped out, his fingers tightening in Tony’s hair even more. “Please.”

Not one to deny himself or those he cared about, Tony pulled himself up and away, Peter’s pulsing erection slapping against his chin for the effort. A laugh left his lips as he sat up completely, nervous hands moving to grab the lube. The snick of the cap opening made them both jump, each man completely wound up and ready to go off at any moment. Dumping a generous amount of lube onto his cock, Tony reached down to spread it, smearing the last little bit of it around Peter’s entrance – the thought of the sticky-slick slide pushing him into position faster than he thought imaginable.

Nudging Peter’s thighs, Tony settled further between them, the muscles there clenching with the subtle pressure of a cock head against the relaxed rim; the feeling jolting them both. He sucked in a quick breath, his chest expanding with the long pull of air. Breathing back out, Tony pressed forward, thrusting his hips without hesitation until they were pressed soundly together, Tony’s pelvis to the warm flesh of Peter’s ass.

“Oh, fuck –“ Tony babbled, his head hanging between his shoulders as he held himself above Peter, giving them both a moment to adjust to the heat and tightness – the overall feeling of their connection blazing up between them.

Peter’s answer came in the form of a swift clench of muscle around Tony’s cock, the heat of it all burning any ounce of self-control Tony might’ve had. His hips snapped forward, the sound of skin slapping against skin pulling a groan from the depth of his chest. If this was what just being wrapped up in Peter felt like, Tony couldn’t even begin to fathom what the end result of their joining would be like.

A little bit desperate, Tony dropped down until their chests were pressed together, hands moving to urge Peter to wrap his thighs a little higher up his chest to better the angle. With that done, he nestled his face into the side of Peter’s neck and let go.

Every thrust was accompanied by the sweetest sounds, both men contributing to the groundbreaking symphony of passion and connection. The slap of skin on skin and breathy moans were the only thing that could be heard around the room, each crescendo of sound driving Tony that much closer to the edge he never wanted to reach – staying there, in that moment, it would’ve been the best thing in the world.

Yet, he found himself chasing the feeling of jumping over the peak, anyway. Peter was clamping down around him hard, the constant press of Tony’s dick against his prostate creeping him towards the edge – the man’s cock was slick between them, each thrust pulling yet another pulse of pre-cum from the tip to guide the way. Their stomachs provided the friction to Peter’s cock that Tony couldn’t, his attention completely consumed by thrusts and sweat and the heat surrounding him.

With his orgasm impending, Tony picked up his pace, the rhythmic strokes from before completely gone, replaced with an animalistic push and pull that was quickly driving him towards completion. He didn’t want to reach it until Peter did, however; the clench of muscles around his touch sensitive cock a good indicator of how close Peter was, too.

After another few hard thrusts, Peter wailed, his hand slipping into Tony’s hair to pull at the locks.

“I’m gonna cum – oh god, Tony!”

Holding on just long enough to see the look of pure ecstasy on Peter’s face, Tony thrusted once, twice, three times before letting himself go – his orgasm washing over him deliciously, the feel of it like passing out and coming to all in one shot.

Tony felt his arms give way, his body crashing heavily into Peter’s. They were covered in sweat and semen, both physically exerting their bodies to the point of exhaustion, but completely sated, nonetheless. Pressing a kiss to Peter’s neck, Tony let himself relax, not giving two shits about the sweaty stickiness between them.

“We should have been doing that for ages now,” Peter whispered, his voice deep and wrecked sounding, a sort of pleasure radiating from him as the words left his lips.

Chuckling softly, Tony wrapped Peter up, his arms squeezing him tightly to his chest, the two of them settling into the gentle comfort surrounding them in that moment.

“Well, you’re definitely not getting rid of me, now.”

----

Loosening the reins on the idea of his public image got a little easier the longer Tony spent in Peter’s arms. Without much to rely on in the personal life Tony cultivated throughout his existence, his image was really the only thing he had. Even if that image was one that wasn’t the best – at least the world knew something of him. Yet, the closer he got to Peter and the effortlessness of their relationship, the less he cared about what people thought of him – of his sassy, diva, socialite attitude that he’d been cultivating for so long.

Instead, Tony felt the need to let little pieces of himself shine through as the months past. It became clear that being his genuine self was important to Peter – the man seemed to like all the pieces of him and wanted the world to see him in all of his glory.

It’d been too long for him to completely pour his public persona completely down the drain – there were too many people that came to expect a certain sort of thing from him. And he wasn’t anywhere close to being comfortable with a public reveal of his face in conjunction with his pottery business, but – they were slowly making progress.

Several months after finally coming together as a couple, Tony and Peter were back where things started to change for them – Peter behind the camera, watching as Tony put on his mask to face the public. This time, they were camped in front of a sleek, all black motorcycle – the bike one of Tony’s most recent glutinous purchases (he happened upon it a week or two after Peter mentioned how sexy he thought it would be, Tony on the back of a bike like that). Tony let Peter pick out the outfit he was sporting, the straight black pants and stiff collared jacket one of his absolute favorites.

After several of these over their time together, Tony understood Peter’s feelings on the smolder he let free when posing for these types of photos – there was a love-hate relationship with the particular faces he made throughout the process. On one hand, Peter hated the reason for the false look – pleasing people was never something he became accustomed to, even after spending so much time with Tony. On the other hand, Tony knew that Peter found it irresistible – the fact that he could kiss it off of him now only adding to that feeling.

Peter let it go on for a while – they shot several different poses in, on, and around the bike. Directing him from behind the camera, Peter made comments here and there, most of the time allowing Tony to do what he wanted. When his limit was reached, Tony found himself slapped across the face with a rubber duck, the toy hitting him before he could even see it coming.

“I can’t take that look anymore. I want to pull you off that bike and ravage you. But I can’t – because we’re in public.”

Peter’s eye caught his, the truth of his words existing in the small space between them. Grinning, Tony let the rubber duck rest against his thigh, a smirk slipping across his lips. He heard a series of clicks before Peter was staring him down again, a mix between lust and hilarity playing across his face.

Later, when he downloaded the pictures, Tony couldn’t stop the big bust of laughter that fell from his lips, a huge smile slipping across his cheeks. He quickly opened up the one he would post and did the customary touch ups in Photoshop before sending it to himself, anticipation and excitement sitting in his chest at his most recent idea. Tony didn’t hesitate, bringing up Instagram and posting the photo without a second thought.

The thunk of a phone hitting the ground in the other room, followed by fast footsteps coming his way was the clear sign that Peter saw the picture – his boyfriend appearing in the doorway of their room a moment later with the most affectionate look on his face making Tony feel like he was about to burst open at the seams.

“All of those pictures and that’s the one you post?” Peter questioned, his long legs carrying him over until he was inches from Tony. “That rubber duck can’t be all that good for your image.”

Reaching out, Tony pulled Peter until they were chest to chest, his boyfriend’s arms wrapping around his shoulders to narrow the space down even further. “Someone told me it needed a change,” Tony mumbled, his words somewhat muffled by the press of his lips against Peter’s as he spoke. “Thought it might be a step in the right direction.”

Peter’s answer came in the form of a desperate kiss, their tongues and teeth clashing in the best of ways. “I love you, you fucking dork.”

Pressing back in for another kiss, Tony let himself revel in the feeling taking him over in that moment. After so long, it felt good to take the tiniest step out of the closet – there were many more to take, but at least he knew the effort was appreciated. He let himself stay lost in the kiss for a while, the desperate caress of soft lips and eager hands the only thing that really mattered.

#starker #rubber ducky #bobbie writes #goindownshipping

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adorpheus · 3 years

Text

on fujoshi and fetishization

Lately, more and more, both here on tumblr and on other sites, I keep seeing people spew unfiltered hatred at fujoshi - that is, women who like mlm content such as gay fanfic and fanart featuring men with other men. And I don’t mean like a specific type of fujoshi, like the ones who are genuinely being weird about it, but just like a general hatred for girls (but especially straight identifying girls) who express love for gay romance.

I hate to break this to you all, but women (including straight women!) actually are allowed to like mlm fanfiction and fanart, even enthusiastically so. A woman simply expressing her love of gay fanfic, even if it is in kind of a cringey way or a way that you personally don’t like, is NOT automatically fetishization.

I’ve been on the receiving end of fetishization for my entire life, from a very young age, as many black and brown folx have, so I consider myself pretty well acquainted with how it works. Fetishization isn’t just like, being really into drawings of boys kissing, or whatever the fuck y’all are trying to imply on this god forsaken site.

Fetishization is complicated imo, and can encompass a lot of things, such as (but not limited to):

1 - dehumanization, e.g. viewing a group of people as sexual objects who exist purely for entertainment purposes, rather than acknowledging them as actual people who deserve respect and rights

and

2 - projecting certain assumptions onto said people based on their race/sexuality/whatever is being fetishized. These assumptions are often, but not always, sexual in nature (like the idea that black people in general are more sexual than other races, etc etc etc).

I’m going to use myself as an example to illustrate my point. Please note this isn’t the best or most nuanced example, but it is the most simplistic. A white person finding me attractive and respectfully appreciating my black features as part of what makes me beautiful is not, on its own, fetishization. A white person finding me attractive solely or mostly because I’m a PoC is now in fetishization territory. Similarly, assuming I’m dominant because of my blackness (like saying “step on me mommy” and shit like that) is hella fetishistic.

That being said, theres definitely a difference between how fetishization works in real life with real people, and how it shows up in fandom.

Fetishization manifests in many different ways in fandom, but most commonly on the mlm side of things, I personally see it appear as conservative (or centrist) women who love the idea of two men together, but don’t actually like gay people, and don’t necessarily think LGBT+ people deserve rights (or “special treatment” as its sometimes dog whistled). These women view queer men as sexual objects for entertainment rather than an actual group of people who deserve to be protected from systemic oppression. I’ve noticed that they often don’t even think of the men they “ship” together as actually being gay, and may even express disgust at the idea of a character in an mlm ship being headcanon’d gay. In case its not obvious, this is pretty much exactly the same way a lot of cishet men fetishize lesbians (they see “lesbian” as a porn category, rather than like, what actual LGBT people think of when we read the word lesbian). There’s a pretty popular viral tweet thread going around where someone explains seeing this trend of conservative women who like mlm stuff, and I have also personally witnessed this phenomenon myself in more than one fandom.

The funny thing is, maybe its just me buuuut.... The place I see this particular kind of fetishization happen most is not in the anime/BL fandom, from which the term fujoshi originates - I actually see these type of women way way more in western fandom spaces like Supernatural, Harry Potter, and Hannibal. I can’t stress this enough, there’s a shocking amount of people who are like, straight up trump supporters in these fandoms. If you want to experience it, try joining a Hannigram or Destiel group on facebook and you will probably encounter one eventually especially if you happen to be living through a major historical event. Like these women probably wouldn’t even be considered “fujoshi”, because that term doesn’t really apply to them given they aren’t in the BL/anime fandom, yet they’re the ones I personally see actually doing the most harm.

Of course this isn’t the ONLY kind of fetishizing woman in the mlm/BL world, there are other ways fetishization shows up, but this is the most toxic kind that I see.

A girl just being really into BL or whatever may be “cringe” to you, or she may be expressing her love for BL in a “cringey” way, but a straight woman really enjoying BL is not, on its own, somehow inherently fetishization. Yes, sometimes teenage girls act kind of cringe about how much they like BL and that might be annoying to you, but its not necessarily ~problematic~.

That being said, IT NEEDS BE REMARKED that a lot of the “fujoshi” that you all hate so deeply, are actually closeted trans men or nonbinary people who haven’t yet come to terms with their gender identity, or are otherwise just NOT cishet. I know because I was one of these closeted people for years, and I honestly think tumblr and the cultural obsession around purity is one of the many reasons I was closeted so deeply for so long. STORYTIME LOL!!! In my early adolescence, I was a sort of proto “fujoshi”. I identified as a bi girl who was mostly attracted to men, or as most (biphobic) people called it, “practically straight”. I wrote and read “slash” fanfic and looked at as well as drew my own fanart. We didn’t use the term fujoshi back then, but that’s definitely how I could have been described. I was obsessed with yaoi, BL, whatever you want to call it, to a cringe-inducing degree. I really struggled to relate to most het romances, so when I first discovered yaoi fanfics (as we called them at the time), I fell in love and felt like I finally found the type of romance content that was made for me. I didn’t know exactly why, I just knew it hit different. LGBT+ fanart and fanfiction brought me an immense amount of joy, and I didn’t really think too hard about why.

At some point, in my early 20s, after reading lots of discourse™ here on tumblr and other places like twitter, I started to get the sinking feeling that my passion for gay fanfiction was ~problematic~. I had always felt a sense of guilt for being into mlm content, because literally anyone who found out I liked BL (especially the men I dated) shamed me for liking it all the fucking time (which btw is literally just homophobic, like can we talk about that?). In addition to THAT bullshit, now I’m seeing posts telling me that girls who like BL are cringey gross fetishists who inspire rage and should go die?

Let me tell you, I internalized the fuck out of messages like this. I desperately wanted to avoid being ~problematic~. At the time, I thought being problematic was like the worst thing you could be. I was terrified of being “cancelled”, before canceling was even really a thing. I thought to myself, “oh my god, I’m gross for liking this stuff? I should stop.” I beat myself up over this. I wanted so badly to be accepted, and to be deemed a Good Person by the internet and society at large.

I tried to shape up and become a good ally (lmfao). I stopped writing fanfic and deleted all the ones I was working on at the time. I made a concerted effort to assimilate into cishet culture, including trying to indulge myself more deeply in the few fandoms I could find that had het content I did enjoy (Buffy, True Blood, Pretty Little Liars, etc). I would occasionally look at BL/fanfic/etc in private, but then I would repress my interest in it and not look for a while. Instead I would look at women in straight relationships, and create extremely heterosexual Couple Goals pinterest boards, and try to figure out how I could become more like these women, so I, too, could be loved someday.

This cycle of repression lasted like eight years. Throughout it all, I was performing womanhood to the best of my ability and trying to become a woman that was worthy of being in a relationship. I went in and out of several “straight” relationships, wondering why they didn’t make me feel the way reading fanfic did. Most of all, I couldn’t figure out why straight intimacy didn’t work for me. I just didn’t enjoy it. I always preferred looking at or making gay fanfiction/fanart over actual intimacy with men in real life.

Eventually, I stumbled upon a trans coming out video that someone I was following posted online, my egg started to crack, and to make an extremely long story short, after like 3 years of introspection and many gender panic attacks that I still experience to this day, I realized that I’m uh... MAYBE... NOT CIS..!? :|

I truly believe if I had just been ALLOWED TO LIKE GAY STUFF WITHOUT BEING SHAMED FOR IT, I probably would have realized I was trans way way sooner. Because for me, indulging in my love of gay romance and writing gay fanfic wasn’t me being a weirdo fetishist, it was actually me exploring my own gender identity. It is what helped me come to terms with being a nonbinary trans boy.

Not everyone realizes they are trans at age 2 or whatever the fuck. Sometimes you have to go through a cringey fujoshi phase and multiple existential crises to realize how fucking gay you are AND THATS FINE.

And one more thing - can we just be real here?

A lot of anti-fujoshi sentiment is literally just misogyny. omg please realize this. Its “women aren’t allowed to enjoy things” but, like... with gay fanfics. Some of the anti-fujoshi posts I see come across my dash are clearly ppl projecting a caricature they invented in their head of a demonic fujoshi fetishist onto any woman who expresses what they consider to be a little too much enthusiasm for gay content and then using their perception of that individual as an excuse to justify their disdain for any women, especially straight women, ‘invading’ their ~oh so exclusive~ queer fandom spaces.

god get over yrselfs this is gatekeeping by another name

idk why i spent so long writing this no one is even going to read it, does anyone even still use this site

*EDIT: HOLY SHIT WHEN DOING RESEARCH FOR THIS POST I FOUND OUT THAT Y-GALLERY IS BACK OMG!!!

#rant #fujoshi #I SAID WHAT I SAID #personal #gender stuff

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captainjanegay · 3 years

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in the lane, snow is glistening | Stucky | Canon Divergent, Winter Fluff, Pre-War, but also Post Endgame | 2.3k words | Ao3

Summary:

Two times Steve and Bucky take a walk through the snowy park.

based on a one-line holiday prompt - "if you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war"

A/N: It’s funny you said you’re in the mood for some winter fluff cause this one is specifically for you. Thank you so much for the prompt, my love @its-tortle ♥ The summary it's basically what the fic is about lmao You just need to add two dumb boys in love, loads of fluff and bickering and a good helping of emotions.

Also - my seventh fill for the @stuckybingo2020 ♥

The Prospect Park looks beautiful covered in a thick layer of white fluff, sparkling in the morning sun. It only started snowing last afternoon but there's a good two inches of snow everywhere. The park is relatively empty. The hour is late enough for most people to be at work or whenever they need to be but also cold enough for most people to stay at home if they don’t need to be anywhere. Bucky has no idea why he and Steve are outside. It was probably one of Steve's stupid ideas that Bucky has agreed to because there are only a few things he is able to deny when it is Steve who does the asking.

So here they are. Strolling through the snowy, almost completely deserted park on a Wednesday morning. Both shaking slightly in their worn coats, too thin for such weather. Bucky curses himself in his mind. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. What if Steve catches another cold? Even a light one always completely wears him out, tying him to bed for days. At least he agreed to take Bucky's scarf in addition to his own. He didn't go down without a fight. It took almost half an hour of arguing before Steve finally gave up and took the scarf.

So what if Bucky is now trying not to shake too visibly. At least Steve is warm. Ish, considering the temperature, but it's still comforting.

"Steve, come on," Bucky sways to the right, nudging Steve lightly. "We should head back."

Steve nudges him back, pressing his arm into Bucky's for a bit too long. The alley is wide enough and yet they still walk with barely an inch of space between them.

"Just a minute," Steve looks up at him. "It's the first snow of the year, let's enjoy it without your nagging, shall we?"

Bucky rolls his eyes, annoyed. But he doesn't press any further. Damn Steve Rogers and his stupid ideas. And damn his stupid, beautiful blue eyes. Just one look into them and all of Bucky’s common sense flies out of the window.

“I wonder if you still will be such a punk if you get sick again,” Bucky mumbles. Still, instead of taking the left turn that’ll take them home, he goes right, to take another leap around the park.

“Probably,” Steve grins.

His smile is as bright as the sun. Bucky feels warmer already, just looking at Steve’s happy face. Steve’s eyes are sparkling and he looks content and healthy and Bucky really hopes it’ll stay this way for the rest of the winter. Or forever, preferably. And maybe Steve’s right. The times they live in aren’t the easiest and it’s important to cherish all the little joys they’re able to find.

“I don’t know why I still put up with you. You’re horrible,” Bucky says. The way he looks at Steve says something entirely different, though.

“You’re horrible, too,” Steve points out. “So we’re even.”

A fond smile still in place, Bucky only rolls his eyes and quickens his pace, just a bit to get ahead of Steve in pretend annoyance. After just a few seconds he glances over his shoulder and sees that Steve is crouching down. At first Bucky thinks he’s just tying his shoe but he’s proven wrong soon enough.

“Oh no. Don’t you dare,” Bucky says as he turns around quickly. “If you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war.”

Steve cocks one of his eyebrows up as if Bucky just challenged him. Which Bucky didn’t, he’s not stupid enough to challenge Steven Grant Rogers. But that’s probably what Steve thinks has happened.

So — of course — before Bucky can say anything else, a snowball hits him right in the chest. After a second the hurriedly-made soft missiles are criss-crossing over the park alley. Steve’s not bad but he’s no match for Bucky and his perfect aim. In the last heroic and desperate measure, Steve runs across the alley with a fierce scream and tackles Bucky. Completely surprised by this sudden course of action, Bucky tumbles to the ground and a surprised laugh is knocked out of his chest as he falls.

Steve hovers over him. He has his arms braced on both sides of Bucky’s face. His bony knees are pressing gently into Bucky’s sides.

Bucky looks up. He looks at the joyous sparkles in Steve's eyes, at the satisfied grin, the dishevelled hair and cheeks reddened by the cold and exertion. The midday sun is right behind him, making it look like there’s a bright halo surrounding him. He’s the most beautiful sight and for a moment Bucky feels like he can’t breathe. This is the sight he wants to store carefully in his memory and take to his grave when his time comes.

In a split second something around them changes. The world turns, a minute ticks by but the atmosphere changes from joyful to something heavier. Bucky’s perfectly aware of Steve’s gaze that flicks to his lips once, twice, before skipping back up to his eyes. It makes Bucky go crazy. There’s nothing that he wants more than to lean on his elbows and kiss the remnants of Steve’s cocky grin off his face. But he doesn’t. The cold ground under his body, the distant voices of the city make him regain control.

“We should—,” Bucky starts, his voice hoarse all of sudden. “There’s people— We should head back home, yeah?”

Steve lets out a small sigh but he nods shortly before scrambling to his feet. When he pulls Bucky back up, their fingers remain intertwined for a moment longer than necessary.

***

The Prospect Park looks beautiful, covered in a thick layer of white fluff, sparkling in the morning sun. It’s the middle of the winter but only recently it got cold enough for the snow to stick for longer, instead of melting the moment it hit the ground. Despite it being almost midday, there are many people hanging around the park.

It was Steve’s idea to go outside and wander aimlessly through the city. His ideas of fun are a bit different than Bucky’s. If it was up to him, they’d stay in their warm flat and do things that didn’t require getting cold. But after all this time, he still has a hard time saying no to Steve.

Bucky is not a big fan of the cold these days. Sam always laughs that he’s just a big, mean cat that will hiss and scratch everyone who looks at him the wrong way. He calls him the Winter Panther and actually asked T’Challa to adopt him at one point. Sam is ridiculous sometimes. It’s not Bucky’s fault that he doesn’t like to be around people sometimes and that he really enjoys having his hair pet — but only by Steve and Nat. And maybe Clint. Or Sam, but he’s rarely willing to do that. And Bucky does tend to pick the warmest, sunniest part in any place he’s at.

After everything, Bucky just has a pretty bad associations with cold.

Today is fine, though. He doesn’t mind wandering arm in arm with Steve. Bucky’s safely tucked up in his long, warm coat and he has two scarves wrapped around his neck. When they left home he had only one but after walking for a while he confiscated Steve’s. The idiot had it hanging loosely around his neck anyway, didn’t even bother to wrap it once. It’s a miracle that his coat is buttoned up. This man has turned into a walking furnace after the serum. Bucky is convinced Steve’s leeching his warmth to fuel it.

"You want to head home, already?" Steve asks, looking at Bucky with a soft smile.

There's a tiny hint of concern in his eyes. It's easy to miss but after all those years and everything they've been through, there's almost nothing about Steve that gets by Bucky.

"I'll be fine," Bucky grumbles. They both know it's more on principle. "We can freeze my butt off for a bit longer, no problem."

Steve only rolls his eyes at Bucky, shoving him to the side but doesn't loosen his grip on Bucky's elbow.

"Ah, you're incredibly cheerful today, my love," Steve says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"How could I not be? My partner always has such splendid ideas for our daily activities," Bucky answers, with an overly sweet smile.

"You're such a jerk," Steve laughs.

After a moment, he extracts his hand from under Bucky's elbow and crouches. Assuming that he needs to tie his shoe, Bucky doesn't stop. When he looks over his shoulder a moment later, he audibly gasps and turns around.

"Fuck off, Steve! Don’t! If you throw that snowball, you're declaring war!"

As soon as those words escape his mouth, Bucky frowns. He looks to the side, trying to decipher that weird feeling of deja vu. A memory appears in his head.

It's a memory from a life long gone, from a park much like this one, from a winter that ended ages ago.

"Bucky?" Steve asks, dropping the snowball and taking a step closer. "You're OK?"

"Yes, it's just—," Bucky hesitates and when he looks back up at Steve, he sees that the concern in his eyes is as clear as a day now. "I've just remembered something. An old memory," he clarifies and smiles fondly. "I believe it was about a snow fight I've had with some little punk in this park. I said the very same thing to him back then. It's not a very detailed memory. And who knows if it actually happened?"

The smile on Steve's face grows gradually with every word Bucky says.

"Oh, it did happen. I actually might know the punk you're talking about," Steve jokes. His hands come to rest at Bucky's waist as he continues. "I'm pretty sure it was him that persuaded you to take a walk and since you've always been lazy, you've had a lot of complaining to do before you agreed."

"Oh, of course. It's not like I tried to keep the little punk from dying of pneumonia or something," Bucky rolls his eyes but he's smiling.

Steve completely ignores his comment. "The two of you walked for a while, didn't talk much but enjoyed the day. At some point he made a snowball and you said the same thing you did a moment ago. It didn’t make an impression on him, though.”

"Because he was a little shit," Bucky smiles softly, pressing the palm of his hand to Steve's chest.

"Maybe," Steve says with a chuckle. "The snow fight took some time and even though you weren't kids anymore it was the most fun you had in awhile. And then he took you by surprise and did this."

Before Bucky properly registers Steve's words, his legs are swept from under him and he tumbles to the ground. Steve goes with him, an arm behind Bucky's back cushions his fall. If it wasn't for Steve Bucky’s habits, both the Winter Soldier and the army ones would already kick in. But Steve is and always has been a calming presence for him. His anchor. So the only thing Bucky feels right now is surprise and a bit of annoyance, probably. No sight of feeling unsafe so he is able to remain calm.

Steve's face hovers over him, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

"He easily knocked you down. You stayed like this for a bit, just staring at each other," Steve's hand comes to brush against Bucky's cheek.

The look in Steve's eyes is both tender and heated and it makes Bucky forget all about the people around them, about the cold ground underneath him.

"He couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted to kiss you, right there and then. Just for a moment he wanted not to care about the people who could see you and how dangerous that could be. It would have taken so little effort to do so," Steve's voice is down to almost a whisper.

As if to prove a point, he leans down and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to Bucky's lips. Bucky smiles into it, feeling the tell-tale prickle of tears in his eyes.

"Who knows if he managed to do that after you'd gone back home."

"I think he might have," Bucky says quietly, swiping his thumb across Steve's jaw.

Steve's face is soft and filled with pure happiness. Bucky's heart feels like it's about to burst simply from looking at him, from all the emotions he tries to store inside. Steve’s beautiful blue eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips spread in a big smile. The December sun is shining high on the sky behind Steve, surrounding his body in a bright embrace. He's beautiful. Even after all those years, Bucky still thinks Steve is the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Breathtaking. And when Bucky's time comes again, he knows that that is the memory he is going to take with him.

Since the mere sight of Steve is enough to have saved him from desolation once already.

"Come on, Buck," Steve says, getting to his feet. "Let's go home."

Feeling a bit hazy from the sudden tide of emotions, Bucky let's Steve pull him up. He leans forward, pressing another kiss to Steve's mouth. Even if no words are exchanged, they both know what the other thinks.

I’m yours and you’re mine and there’s nothing that could make me stop loving you.

After shaking the snow off of each other, they head back to the same part of Brooklyn where they used to live in the previous life they shared.

Their fingers stay entwined the entire walk home.

Title: in the line snow is glistening Creator(s): niallhoranbitches Card number: 065 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844513/ Square filled: A4 - New York Rating: Teen and Up Archive warnings: None Major tags: Canon Divergent, Winter Fluff, Pre-War, but also Post-Endgame Summary: Two times Steve and Bucky take a walk through the snowy park. based on a one-line holiday prompt - "if you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war" Word count: 2287

#stucky #stevebucky #stuckybingo2020 #stucky fic #stuckyfic #stevebucky fic #stevebucky fanfiction #winter fluff #canon divergent #i hope you'll like it #♥♥#i finished it at 3.30 a.m. last night lmao #cause i was sure i'll lose it if i stopped writing #hope i've catched all the typos dsjaj

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wickedmilo · 3 years

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THE SHARPEST LIVES | MILO & METZLI

PLACE: Jericho Hill Cemetery TIMING: 3:49 AM SUMMARY: Milo and Metzli are reminded of the fact that you can never let your guard down in White Crest WRITING PARTNER: @deathisanartmetzli CONTENT WARNINGS: Alcohol tw, head trauma tw, brief eating disorder mention

Metzli didn’t know how it happened, but they were completely and unequivocally drunk. Milo had met up with them for drinks, one turned into two, and two turned into six, and then six turned into, well, they honestly didn’t know. It was all a blur, and now the cold air was hitting their face as the two vampires giggled and stumbled about the streets. The idiots had a drink in each hand and couldn’t stop laughing at nothing.

“Milo! Milo!” Metzli slurred, pointing and using his shoulder as a crutch for their staggering legs. “What if we went into that cemetery?!” They wheezed and fell over onto the ground, laughing uncontrollably. “Can you imagine?” They joked and managed to keep their drinks from spilling. Gulping one down, they threw the cup to the side, not caring if they littered.

Milo was struggling to walk in a straight line, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t more than familiar with the sensation of tripping over his feet. He couldn’t remember leaving the club, he could barely even remember meeting Metzli for drinks, but the unnaturally cold air of White Crest was undeniably refreshing. The strange winter was lasting far longer than he anticipated, and he knew he should find it unnerving at the very least. But his worry was spent, and he would much rather focus on the way the chill felt against his skin, the way his lips burned, and his fingertips ached with the exposure. It was a reminder of the fact that he was alive. He was still here despite everything, and there was joy to be found in that. As if to prove his point, his company spoke, choking on their words as they laughed at their own suggestion. It took him a few seconds to truly register the irony, why two vampires getting drunk in a graveyard was even remotely amusing, but the moment he laid eyes on the signpost it hit him, and he failed to hold back his own laughter.

Jericho Hill. He had never been the type to care about disrespecting the dead, but now more than ever he felt as though he had a right to claim the space as his own. He was dead too, wasn’t he? Everybody buried in the ground had died in some way. Well, so had he. The only difference being he had to face the trauma of his death on a near daily basis. His step faltering as Metzli continued to grip at his shoulder, he finished what was left of his own drink before throwing his cup down to meet theirs. “Wait-” He grinned at them as they almost dragged him to the floor. “Wait, Metzli-” He caught his breath, reaching out to clumsily pull them back to their feet. “We have to do it, right?” He asked, eyes shining with inebriated excitement. “I mean, duh- we have to do it.”

“Yes, we have to do it! And we have to play this!” Metzli pulled out their phone to peruse through their songs until they found the perfect song. Since they were drunk as all get out, what should’ve taken mere seconds took two whole minutes of scrolling up and down. “I found it!” Dead! by My Chemical Romance began to play loudly from the speakers of their phone and they gulped on their last beverage, spilling most of it on themselves. Sober Metzli would care about the stains and overall smell of alcohol on their clothes, but Drunk Metzli could care less. They deserved to let loose. They deserved to forget everything and not have to deal with pesky people, or pesky emotions.

With this freedom from problems, they blundered forward, towards the funniest place they could find at this time of night. There was nothing inherently funny about this idea, only the two vampires understood. “…and if you get to heaven…!” Metzli belted out the lyrics to the song as they pulled Milo with them. Ghosts could be seen all about the cemetery, some groaning in annoyance, others ignoring them completely. “Fuck you!” They yelled, laughing and moving on quickly to balance on a tombstone. “Shit, look at me. I’m not even drunk at all!” Which was wrong, and they promptly fell backwards onto their back.

Milo waited patiently for Metzli to find the song they were looking for, his expression moving from one of polite interest to instantaneous recognition. My Chemical Romance had more than a few songs he enjoyed, but he hadn’t listened to ‘Dead’ in what felt like forever. The sound was tinny, and nowhere near as loud as he would have liked, but it didn’t make it any less enjoyable. Laughing as his friend spilled their final drink on their shirt, he couldn’t bring himself to tell them. Maybe they already knew. Instead he fished in the pocket of his hoodie for a can he had been saving, cracking it open, the scent of beer washing over him. It didn’t take them very long to reach the graveyard, following the sign posts, veering further and further from the lights of the town, and taking a long drink, he watched as Metzli hurried ahead of him, reaching the gates before he could ever hope to without falling. “Wait for me!” He called, walking a little faster despite knowing it would increase his chances of finding himself on the floor. “What?” He shot his friend a confused look as he approached the clearing, only realising they weren’t telling him to fuck off when he saw the handful of ghosts wandering the perimeter. Huh, maybe respecting the dead was going to take on a whole new, and far too literal meaning.

Catching himself as the gate swung shut behind him with more force than he was expecting, he made eye contact with a few of the cemetery’s residents before turning his attention back to Metzli. “Definitely not true.” He countered, searching the graves for a perch of his own. Settling on a large tomb towards the centre he hurried to scramble on top of it, raising his can the moment he was standing steady. “Hey, we died too, okay?” He shouted, his voice reverberating through the trees. “And it was really fucking shit, so cut us some slack. We deserve to have some fun!” A few ghosts seemed to appreciate him addressing them, melting easily into the shadows to give him some space. Others continued to glare, or stare at him with a disapproving look he usually only saw worn by his parents. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was distracted by the sound of Metzli slipping from where they were balanced. A grin still on his face, he could hear them moving, blocked from view by their chosen grave. “You okay?” He teased. “You should be more careful, y’know. What if you got hurt?”

The gate shut with a loud and metallic clonk! when Milo finally made his way into the cemetery. Metzli was impatient, and motivated by the chaotic music emanating from their back pocket. “You’re too slow! Use those vampire legs!” They beckoned, voice full of teasing and friendliness. Milo ended up being a lot of fun to be around, so much so that they knew this wouldn’t be the last time they hung out. While they could have deep conversations, Milo knew when enough was enough. He knew how to have real fun, real fun that distracts and pushes away the tidal wave of troubles that only seemed to keep accumulating.

Teasing right back, Metzli flipped the bird at Milo and said, “It’ll take a lot more than a little fall to take me out. You wanna try and see what’ll work?” They teased, throwing a clump of grass at Milo’s face. A tinge of hope that he might even try filled their chest, but it quickly faltered, knowing damn well he wouldn’t. Channeling their energy into something else, they regarded the frustrated spirits, “Listen. We’re here one night. You’ll get it back! Just let us have fun. We’re just as miserable as you; we need the break!” Most of the words were a little hard to understand due to the slurring, but they didn’t care. “And you, get down, mister! You’re gonna hurt yourself, young man!” They crawled towards the stone and just toppled over laughing.

“I’d still be clumsy,” Milo pointed out. “Just faster, which definitely means falling over. This is like some ultimate vampire reflexes versus alcohol bullshit.” Grinning easily to himself as he struggled to balance on top of the tomb despite both feet being planted firmly on the solid granite, he couldn’t help but figure the alcohol was winning out. “No, I don’t want to try-” He added, absentmindedly glancing back over to where Metzli was sprawled. He could see them busy with something, and it didn’t take him long to find out what. He sidestepped, only just managing to dodge the grass and mud that came flying towards him. Holding up his middle finger in response, he took a long drink from his can. The sooner he was done holding it, the sooner he could spark up a cigarette, and his body was calling out for nicotine. When he was finally finished, he searched the darkness again for his friend. He had a suspicion they were serious about him trying to kill them, and it was an unnerving reminder of the fact that they had given up their soul. Even though he had no desire to let that part of himself go, he couldn’t help being curious about how it felt. How much of a person did it change?

His eyes shining as he was pulled out of his thoughts by Metzli’s voice, he listened to them address the lingering ghosts. Some of them still glared disapprovingly, but no doubt it was becoming clear they wouldn’t be able to drive away two vampires with stares alone. “Isn’t misery supposed to love company?” He asked, laughing at his own joke. Maybe it was unfair to laugh about the dead being unhappy with their situation. But he was unhappy with his own situation, and he was here to have a good time. If anything, the ghosts could learn a thing or two about having fun. Nobody was forcing them to avoid the party. “No, ‘m fine!” He said, petulantly kicking a small stone towards Metzli. “You’re not the boss of me, and I like it up here.” Glancing down at the stone beneath him, he regretted not trying to read the inscription on the side of it. “I wonder who this guy is. I mean- whoever it is makes for a kick ass viewing platform.” Laughing as he shuffled to the edge, looking down to where Metzli was crawling closer and closer, he waited until the most opportune moment to tip his can and spill beer directly over them. “Shit, I’m sorry- I didn’t see you.” His tone, and expression made it incredibly clear just how untrue that statement was.

The world continued to spin and blur, like a nonstop roller coaster. Only, Metzli wouldn’t regurgitate any of the contents in their stomach, they’d simply keep up their antics with optimal visual and physical contingencies. “Yeah! Let miserable assholes keep you company!” Sobriety was nowhere in sight as their slurred words traveled through the cemetery. Laying on the ground was nice. It provided safety from faking and a cool was to their back. That safety was interrupted though, when Milo spilled beer all over them. “Hey! Asshole!” But they didn’t bother getting up. Just laying there, they flipped Milo off and rolled their eyes.

“You’re annoying. I never should’ve saved your ass. Wouldn’t have to deal with this shit!” The music in the background went from Dead! to This is How I Disappear. While Metzli could always enjoy classical music, there was always a place for punk rock in their heart. Their cold, dead heart. The heart that could never give love or care. Nor could it receive it. At least not by being worthy of it.

A shuddered breath could not be suppressed, and was made obvious by the visible air. Metzli frowned petulantly at their display of internal frustration. Now wasn’t the time for soul nonsense. Now was the time for, “Holy shit, more alcohol!” They said, pulled a flask from their shirt pocket. “Totally forgot I brought backup! Hey do you wa…” Words trailed off into oblivion as they spotted a dark figure hiding in the shadows.

Listening to how Metzli slurred their words, Milo knew he wasn’t far behind them in terms of inebriation. Lucky for him his week long binge with Alex had managed to raise his tolerance, either that or his friend had been sneaking shots when he wasn’t looking. Either was possible, if he was being entirely honest. Still looking down at them he laughed when they raised their middle finger in response to the beer, it seemed the gesture was their most reliable way of communicating with each other. “You didn’t save me.” He countered. “You threw yourself at a slayer, I would have been fine if you didn’t decide to drag me into your mess.” Hearing the track in the background change, he wasn’t surprised to realise Metzli had an entire album saved to their phone. They looked like the My Chemical Romance type. He opened his mouth to say so but was interrupted by an uneven sigh. He knew without his new senses he wouldn’t have heard it, he knew he should probably pretend he hadn’t heard it. But the sound that managed to escape his friend was so genuinely forlorn, ignoring it didn’t feel like an option. “Hey-” He started, his voice soft, and comforting. But he couldn’t finish his sentence. As quickly as Metzli’s frown had appeared, it was gone, replaced by a mischievous grin, and a flask drawn from inside their shirt pocket.

He reached out, ready to swipe it from their hands, but their gaze caught on something behind him. Assuming it was one of the ghosts, he turned to look too, but was only able to make out a vague shadow. Something ominous, lurking just beyond the line of the trees. The ghosts were gone, silent enough for him to hear a very human heartbeat if he focused. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he understood what was happening a moment too late. There was a sharp sound of something being released, followed by a rush of air. He didn’t have time to react, and the projectile shot past him, clipping his arm as he threw himself to the ground. He landed next to Metzli, eyes wide, glasses crooked where they had nearly fallen from the end of his nose. The pain in his arm wasn’t severe, but he was drunk, and he knew his pain tolerance was high because of that. Wincing, he forced himself to drop his can so that he could reach up and press a hand against the injury. The smell of beer began to fill the air as it bubbled, spilling out onto the grass beside him. Exhaling a breath, the cut wasn’t deep, and it definitely wasn’t lethal, but when he pulled his hand away his palm was black, and slick with blood. Scrambling to push his back up against the tombstone, his mind struggled to form a coherent plan. Even if Metzli wanted to take on whoever was hiding in the woods, they were in no fit state to try. “Shit-” He hissed. “Shit- what do we do?”

Metzli jumped at the dull thud Milo’s body made when he made impact onto the dirt floor next to them. “What the—” Thick, black blood pooled through his fingers as he applied pressure to his newfound wound. Mouth agape, ready to say something more, a wheezing laugh spilled forward and they crawled to the tombstone for cover. When they poked their head out above it, an arrow whizzed past their head, barely missing them. “Ha-ha! You missed!” A drunk and taunting finger pointed at the hidden hunter, and another arrow shot out, directly to their face.

Everything went black as Metzli closed their eyes and shot their hand up. By some miracle, a thing they didn’t even believe in, they had caught the arrow. More laughter ensued as they swiftly got back to the ground to show Milo. “Hey! Hey! Milo, look at this! I fucking caught it!” Pure, unfiltered shock littered their face as a smile curled onto their lips. They felt like a god, like they could do anything. And no slayer could possibly beat them, even in their inebriated state.

Milo stared at Metzli in disbelief as they began to laugh. But within seconds he was overcome by the urge himself. There were so many things to laugh at. He was a vampire, hanging out in a cemetery with another vampire. His life was beyond a joke at this point. Things had become so weird that for a second he had forgotten just how weird they really were. It was crazy to think he used to be human. For twenty two years this world had been make believe, something in tv shows, and bad YA novels. Now he was living it, apparently to a My Chemical Romance soundtrack. It crept up on him, building in his chest, then his throat, before finally escaping his mouth. A peal of laughter, genuine, and unfiltered, echoed across the empty grounds. Too distracted by his own situation to register his friend standing up, it was only as Metzli joined him again that he realised what he had missed. “You- what?” He only laughed harder at the revelation, feeling a little delirious. “You fucking liar, there’s no way-” Reaching to take the arrow out of their hands, he bent the wood, testing its strength because he could. It was pretty regular, as far as he could tell. There didn’t seem to be anything special about it. Tapping Metzli on the head with the point, he carelessly threw it to the ground. “Why us?” He asked, tears running down his cheeks as he attempted to reign himself in. “Do you think we’re cursed?”

“Sir, I am a lot of things, but I am not a liar!” Metzli said through laughter and wheezing coughs. The situation at hand was crazy, too crazy for anyone to believe if they got the chance to tell anyone about it. “Why us? Because we’re having fun and hunters hate that we have fun!” Getting up, they took the arrow with them and began to trek onward to the hunter. Before they could make it even three steps though, an arrow shot right into their shoulder. An exclamation of pain reverberated from their chest as they fell back, rolling to their feet to stand up again.

Anger pulsed through their drunken mind. Alcohol reinforced that anger, manifesting it into a loud growl from Metzli. “Is that all you got?! Fucking coward! Shooting from all the way over there!” They were being reckless, too motivated by their state of inebriation. An arrow still protruded from their shoulder, going all the way through.It took mere moments, but the situation went from humorous, to extremely dangerous without Metzli even noticing. Having a care about their well-being would’ve helped, but there was none to be found. It was as lost as their soul.

“Oof!” Taunting the hunter worked. Metzli was tackled, extremely hard onto the ground, pushing the arrow back into them. Pain would’ve been made more prominent had it not been for the shelf’s worth of alcohol in their system.

Raising his eyebrows, something about the statement struck Milo as odd. When he finally realised what it was he felt a little ridiculous. Not too ridiculous to be honest though. “Y’know… I don’t think anyone has ever called me ‘sir’ before.” He admitted, giggling at the unusual admission. Honestly, he had never earned the courtesy. Anybody who didn’t know his name and wanted to get his attention usually resorted to insults before titles. There was no need to be polite when you were throwing somebody out of a bar, or berating them for unashamedly doing drugs in the bathroom. “I like it.” Scrubbing his hand against the grass, attempting to wipe away some of his blood, he wrinkled his nose as dirt and beer got dirt caught under his fingernails. Why was nothing ever as easy as it looked in the movies? “I think a lot of people hate fun,” he pointed out, thinking of how his parents liked to try and control his substance abuse, of the way people looked down on him, or tried to tell him they were concerned because he enjoyed certain vices more than others. “But yeah, maybe hunters more than most…” Shifting as Metzli stood again, he was ready for them to tease the Hunter hiding in the woods. If they did so from where they were standing then it wouldn’t be difficult for them to drop back down to safety. But they stepped out from behind their barricade, making themself incredibly vulnerable. “Metzli- wait-” He hissed, but it was too late. He hurried to get to his knees, peering over the stone so that he could watch the chaos unfold.

Metzli’s voice rang out, loud and clear. He wasn’t sure actively encouraging the person trying to kill them was a very good idea, but before he could tell them they seemed to stumble. In the blink of an eye an arrow was protruding from their shoulder and he stared, frozen in horror. “Stop!” He shouted, though he wasn’t sure whether he was talking to Metzli, or the hunter. He only knew this was no longer funny. As quickly as the humour had come, it had dissolved, melting away to be replaced by a familiar sense of fear. Jeez, it really was never ending. “No- wait- shit-” He shouted again, inching closer as Metzli was tackled to the ground. It went against all of his instincts to follow his friend’s footsteps, to make himself vulnerable, but he didn’t know what else he could do aside from watch them suffer. A few more seconds passed, and Metzli only succeeded in getting pushed against the ground with more force, so he steeled himself, forcing his mind to sober up before running at the hunter, tackling them in the same way they had tackled Metzli. He hit them full force, throwing them off of his friend, and rolled with them, unable to keep track of who was where, and whether he was in danger. He couldn’t see any obvious weapons, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any on the hunter’s person.

The scuffle was a blur, made worse by the drunken state Metzli was in. Through it all, they laughed and wheezed. “Is that all you got? You’re the worst hunter I’ve ever—” They watched in awe as Milo fought against both his instincts and the hunter, who cried out in pain. He was obviously new, still untrained in various ways. Thus, the reason why the taunting worked. He needed to stop using long range attacks, and prove himself. This was his own undoing and Metzli pointed at him, and laughed. “Oh man, you really suck at this!”

Reaching towards the struggle, they pulled the hunter off of Milo. After a swift click! Metzli was thrown back by yet another arrow in their stomach, dropping the hunter in the process. “Goddammit!” Pain was still dulled out, but they were frustrated nonetheless. “I’m literally two inches away. The least you can do is actually make me dust. Jesus!” They said, getting up and kicking the hunter in the head. He was now knocked out cold. Problem officially solved.

“All right, you wanna get more drinks?” Still not minding the second arrow in them, they asked Milo, and continued walking in a drunken stupor.

Milo felt the weight lift from his body, and sat up as best he could, just in time to watch the hunter shoot another arrow at Metzli. This one hit them in the stomach, but they still didn’t seem bothered by the pain, or the knowledge of what was happening. He opened his mouth, taking a breath ready to speak, but he couldn’t find his words. What was there to say? Nothing was going to stop this, nothing was going to change the mind of Metzli or the person still pointing a weapon at them. Wincing as his friend continued to insult the hunter, he couldn’t help but realise if they had been more adept then both of them would probably be dead by now. Dead dead. Really they should be thanking them for not being skilled enough to take out two incredibly inebriated vampires. Flinching as a sudden crack rang out, he saw Metzli kick the hunter, and the action played again inside his head, slow motion allowing him to see just how brutal the move had been. A gasp escaping him, he crawled over to where they were sprawled on the grass, unconscious, and no longer a threat.

“What did you do?” He demanded, eyes wide as he took in the situation. Metzli standing, two arrows protruding from their torso, and the hunter now potentially concussed, vulnerable, and alone on their back. He still didn’t feel sober, but his mind was working to process information like he was. He gently pried open one of the hunter’s eyelids, checking their pupil for any sign of trauma. Then tilted his head towards them, taking note of their steady breathing, and the strong heartbeat within their chest. “More drinks?” He echoed, looking back up at Metzli. The offer was tempting. Anything to forget what had just happened, the casual horrors he now seemed destined to witness on a near daily basis. Was he ever going to get used to this? The violence of it all? “I-” Glancing back down at the unconscious form, he was confident they were about to wake up. Any longer than a few minutes could mean brain damage, but their vitals were steady, and their pupils were regular. Chances were, the shock more than anything had caused them to black out, which meant they didn’t have long to make their escape. “Fuck it.” He muttered, getting clumsily to his feet. “Let’s get out of here, I think they’re about to come to…” He admitted, moving away from the hunter towards the entrance of the cemetery. “And then we can deal with this,” he added, gesturing vaguely to the arrows embedded in his company. He still didn’t understand how Metzli could be so provocative, but he didn’t want to understand. Whatever they were dealing with was their issue. So long as he could keep them alive, he had done his part. “You’re going to need blood.”

Milo looked like a professional moving about the hunter’s body, checking on him. “You a doctor or something? Who cares about this idiot anyway? If he’s dead, he’s dead. Lucky he would be in a cemetery,” Metzli chuckled dryly, pulling the arrows out of their body with audible grunts of discomfort. Part of them wished the arrows had actually pierced their heart, but they weren’t so lucky. “He definitely wouldn’t think twice to check on us. As long as we’re dust, he’s happy. So fuck him.” The arrows clattered to the ground and they scowled at Milo for trying to baby them.

“I know what my body needs,” they barked back, following Milo to the exit with a huff. Metzli was offended, more than they should have been, but alcohol had a way of doing that. On the way out, they picked up their phone which had been playing House of Wolves. They shut it off and pocketed the phone. “I’m going home. Maybe I’ll get a snack from my friend. I’m done.”

Metzli walked past Milo in a fast walk, sulking and battered. Not looking at him, they said, “Let me know if you wanna hang out again I guess. Try not to be too sad without my presence, depresso.” Everything about their appearance was so messy and forlorn, only snapping out of it when the gate closed with a metallic clang! for the second time tonight. “Later, kid.”

“My parents are doctors.” Milo admitted, remembering a time where he used to proudly announce he was going to be a doctor one day too. Just like mommy and daddy. How embarrassing. Holding his tongue before he could insist he cared about the person lying on the floor, he wasn’t sure how true that statement was. Hunter or otherwise, they had chosen to confront two vampires. Two vampires who weren’t hurting anybody, who just wanted a short break from the world. They didn’t deserve to die, he knew that much. But Metzli was right, he wouldn’t be offered the same courtesy in return. “We can’t just- just kill people,” he countered, almost disturbed by how casual his friend sounded. He wanted to believe they didn’t mean it, but of course they did. “If we do then we’re as bad as they all think we are…” Continuing in his journey towards the boundaries of the cemetery, he only stopped as he heard the arrows hit the ground. One soft clatter, followed by another. He wanted to tell Metzli they shouldn’t have taken them out, that was First Aid 101. But they couldn’t exactly wander through town with them, so he stayed quiet.

A frown creasing his brow at the shift in tone, he wondered briefly whether other people felt this annoyed by his mood swings. “Clearly you don’t because the last time we met you were starving yourself.” He bit out, unable to help himself. “Fine, go drink your friend’s blood while you’re wasted, and hurt. Because that doesn’t sound like a terrible idea.” Running a hand through his hair, he straightened his glasses, pressing his fingertips against his injured arm. He could still feel the blood soaking through the material of his hoodie. “Are you actually leaving?” He demanded, watching as Metzli let the gate swing shut behind them. “Fine, whatever.” He called after them. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Fuck off,” Metzli growled back, annoyed by the kid’s unnecessary sass. “We are as bad as people think we are. But you know what, so are humans. He was just going to kill us.” They mocked back, throwing the words he had just used against him. The hunter was going to kill them without a second thought, so they saw no need to think about his life. He probably didn’t choose this life, but he also didn’t need to take on more than he could chew. Idiot.

“Yeah, I’m leaving. I don’t need you to give a shit.” Metzli flipped him off as they walked away, disappearing into the cold night.

Milo stared at Metzli, watching them as they left the cemetery feeling far too many emotions at once. Fear, worry, exhaustion, relief… He knew they had a point, he just wasn’t ready to accept that. He couldn’t bring himself to accept that. It scared him knowing he was changing. He had grown used to the physical changes, the ways his new life needed to revolve around blood, around nightfall, around a constant feeling of thirst. But seeing so many vampires who were numb to violence felt different. Even in his own circuits, the ones where people got beaten up for the sake of a hit, or robbed at knifepoint because they owed a dealer money, he had never grown used to it, merely avoided it to the best of his ability. The blood still running down his arm was testament to the fact that he couldn’t avoid this violence. It was going to chase him wherever he went simply because some asshole decided to drain him of his blood. Flipping Metzli off in return as they disappeared from view, the gesture no longer felt affectionate, or carefree. Suddenly alone with the sound of quiet breathing, he knew he didn’t have much time. The hunter was due to regain consciousness, and he needed to be far, far away before that happened. Putting more pressure against his arm, he took a deep breath to steady himself, running over the list of friends he knew he could turn to for help. And then he set off, putting the cemetery, and the events of the evening behind him.

#c:metzli #milo and metzli #head trauma tw #eating disorder tw #alcohol tw

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