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duckymcdoorknob · 3 years

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The Fall of Red Riot

Warning! This is a tickle fic!

Ships: KiriBaku

The breakdown: Lee!Kirishima, Ler!Bakugo and Ler!Kaminari

Warnings: tickling, swearing, fluff overload

Prompt: The 1-A boys are hanging in the classroom during lunch and they’re stumped. They could not get Kirishima to spill his biggest secret: his crush. Bakugo rolls his eyes and volunteers his methods...

“There’s gotta be some way!” Kaminari whined.

“No way! I’m never telling any of you!” Kirishima barked in response.

“Tch, we’ll get it out of you at some point, shitty hair.” Bakugo noted coolly.

“OYE DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Kirishima yelled.

The boys groaned as they all ate their lunches. It was just them and Aizawa, who naturally was asleep, all alone in the classroom.

Kirishima was in a really fuckin’ bad place; he was being pestered by his friends. They all wanted to know who his secret crush was. Luckily, due to his quirk, the boy could withstand anything.

“There isn’t anything?” Midoriya questioned, “not even one thing?”

“Punch me, kick me, swirly, wet willie, draw on me, whatever you want. I’m not talkin’.” Kirishima answered bravely.

Bakugo let out a scoff as he rolled his eyes. “You’re all idiots”

“Well I don’t see you offering any ideas, Kacchan!” Deku grew defensive.

“Literally you’re all fucking stupid.” Bakugo was getting agitated; are they all really this dense?

Deku and Bakugo glared daggers at each other before Bakugo squeezed Deku’s sides.

The smaller boy yelped and leaped at least a foot in the air.

The blonde scoffed, rolled his eyes, then finally spoke up, “there’s your method. Try it out, I’m sure it’ll work.”

Kirishima, who had not been paying attention, turned toward Bakugo, “What method? What do you mean Bakubro?”

“Well now that you’ve got him wondering, I think that you should do the honors.” Kaminari chimed.

Deku grinned menacingly while Bakugo tackled Kirishima and straddled him.

“W-woah there! What gives, Bakugo?” Kirishima grew anxious, what the hell was this guy’s deal?

“Last chance to talk, shitty hair.” The blonde was smiling evilly, a side Kirishima had never seen before.

Red Riot sucked in a breath.

“Do your worst!” Kirishima cried preparing for inevitable pain, “what man can’t take a little pain?”

“Wh-Pain?” Deku asked with furrowed brows, “no-no! You got it all wrong. Kacchan is just going to exploit your body’s sensitivity is all.”

“Ohh!” Kirishima beamed. Then the realization struck, “oh”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Way to go shitty Deku, now he knows the plan!”

Nonetheless, the Katuski clawed his hand and started to lower it down to an already giggling Kirishima’s tummy.

The red haired boy used his summer camp training: act quick in heavy pressure situations.

The hero in training hardened his skin, adding an extra layer to his abdomen, causing Bakugo to groan.

“Seriously? Your shitty quirk!” Bakugo rolled his eyes, “well I can wait here all day. And when the girls come back, you get to say which one you like in front of her.”

“HAVE YOU NO MERCY?” Kirishima roared.

The sudden loud noise awoke Aizawa. He was not a happy camper when he was woken up, especially from a good nap like this.

“You know what Bakubro! I’ll be fine holding out! I can keep my skin hard as long as I wish!” Kirishima yelled cockily.

Oh this will be good.

Aizawa stood up and stealthily stood next to Midoriya. He put a finger to his lip and winked at the greenette.

“How can you interrogate me with no method? You really didn’t think this through Bakubro.” Kirishima was getting cockier by the minute, “can’t tickle someone with no soft skin!”

Aizawa grinned.

Midoriya clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from spoiling another surprise.

As Aizawa’s hair stood up in an instant, Kirishima’s rock hard abdomen disappeared into a soft, pudgy, tummy.

“YES!” Bakugo cried

“M-MISTER AIZAWA!” Kirishima whined.

“You’re the one who woke me up. Just thought I’d keep my quirk alert Incase if any villains attack.” Aizawa responded in a monotone.

Bakugo didn’t hesitate. He immediately started scribbling his fingers along Kirishima’s sides.

The red haired boy kept his composure, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Oh? Nothing’s working huh.” Bakugo lifted his attack, “I guess we’ll just have to stop then.”

“Man you really suck at th- EEP!” Kirishima squeaked as Bakugo raised his arm above his head and poked the hollow of his arm.

It all happened so fast, Kirishima couldn’t even attempt to hold in his laughter.

“waihihihihit. Bahahahahakuhuhuhgohohoho!” Kirishima’s bubbly giggles melted Midoriya’s heart. Normally, Red Riot would be rolling all over laughing, but the uniform definitely helped minimize the feeling.

“You ready for talk yet?” Bakugo asked with a cocked grin.

“Nehehehehehever! Ihihihihihihihi cahahahan lahahahahast!” Kirishima manages through his uncontrollable giggling.

“Midoriya I might need some eye drops. This could take a while.” Aizawa muttered.

Deku chuckled and grabbed drops from Aizawa’s desk.

“You’re getting boring shitty hair. I’ll find your death spot and you’ll never stand a chance.”

“Jokes on you! You can’t even access it!” Kirishima spoke without thinking.

“Oh? Why is that? Is it blocked by me or clothes?” Bakugo cooed as he started to untuck Kirishima’s uniform shirt.

“Waihihihihit Bakubrohohohoho!” Kirishima giggled uncontrollably before any contact was made with his hyper-ticklish skin.

“What happened to being unbreakable? Where’s the great Red Riot now?” Bakugo teased as he prepares an assault, “I wonder if you share your worst spot with the shitty Deku.”

Deku yelped with wide eyes as attention turned to him. He could kill Kacchan.

“W-where’s his death spot?” Kirishima asked, followed by a gulp.

“Nowhere special. Just-“ Bakugo drilled his thumbs into Kirishima’s hips, “here.”

“BAHAHAHAHAHAKUHUHUHGOHOHOHOHO!” Kirishima cried out.

“Ohh maybe you do have the same death spot as Deku!” Bakugo teased confidently.

Kirishima’s bright belly laughter filled the room. All of the other boys gathered ‘round to see what was going down.

“Bakugo, you do know you just exposed Deku right?” Kaminari questioned with amusement.

“And I care because? I’m the only one who knows how to get him howling anyways.” Bakugo replied cockily.

A loud yelp was emitted from Deku’s side of the room after Aizawa took a squeeze at both of the boy’s hips.

“Well he’s not lying.” Aizawa said calmly.

“Come make yourself useful, Pikachu. Hold his arms up.” Bakugo commanded.

Kaminari obliged and soon Kirishima was under Bakugo’s mercy, meaning there would be none.

“Tell us Shitty Hair!” Bakugo spoke louder as he removed a hand from one of Red Riot’s hip, and added a scribbling hand to one of his underarms.

“NNGH- NEHEHEHEVEHEHEHEHER!” Kirishima cried.

The boys of class 1-A all shared the same look: fearful amusement. They now knew to never mess with Bakugo, especially after today.

Bakugo lifted his attack fully. “Alright Kirishima, you leave me no choice.”

Kirishima gulped nervously.

“Either you tell me your death spot, or I embarrass the hell out of you right now.” Bakugo said menacingly.

“Y-you. Fiend. You’ll get nothin’ outta me.” Kirishima barked in rebuttal.

“Suit yourself.” Bakugo said calmly, “Pikachu.”

Kaminari drew his attention to Bakugo. While this happened, Aizawa realized that Kirishima was too weak to use his quirk, so he retreated back to his sleeping bag.

“You might wanna sit on those arms, things are gonna get ugly.”

As Kaminari obliged, Bakugo began to pinch at the pudge right above Kirishima’s bikini line. This caused the hard-rock hero’s laughter to jump up an octave.

“Found it~” Bakugo purred in a low voice.

“BAHAHAHA! BAHAHAHAHAHAKUHUHUHUHUHUGOHOHOHOHOHO! MEHEHEHEHEHEHRCHYHEHEHEHE!” Kirishima tried to writhe from under the blonde’s evil clutches.

“Then tell us!” Bakugo demanded angrily.

“NOHOHOHOHOHO!” Kirishima whined in response.

“Then die.”

Bakugo’s evil smirk was all that Kirishima saw before his eyes squeezed shut and he was a screaming, blushing mess.

The blonde continued to squeeze the boy’s worst spot. But, he also demanded Kaminari to spider his fingers under Red Riot’s arms. And to top it all off, Bakugo started blowing fat raspberries on Kirishima’s abs.

Red Riot moved into quiet hysterics, unable to bear the tickly feeling.

“Maybe you should stop soon.” Tokoyami butted in, “He doesn’t look too good.”

“Shut up bird brain! He’s done when he confesses!” Bakugo barked back.

Kirishima was trying his best to get out of his friend’s clutches, he was even squeezing Kaminari’s butt with his free hands. But, It had no effect on the electric boy.

“BAHAHAHAKUGOHOHOHO, KAHAHAHAHAMINAHAHAHAHRIHIHIHI STAHAHAHAPPIT! Q-QUIHIHIHIHIHIT IHIHIHIHIT! I CAHAHAHAHANT TAHAHAHAHAKE IHIHIHIHT!” Kirishima squealed as tears leaked from his eyes.

“Last chance to tell us before we get you to exhaustion!” It was Kaminari’s turn to interrogate now.

“OKAY- OKAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAY IHIHIHIHILL TEHEHEHEHELL!” Kirishima cried.

The attack ceased, leaving Kirishima panting. After a few seconds of greedily gulping in air, Red Riot looked at his attackers, then his classmates. He had no dignity left, so why should he lie?

“It’s um... it’s...” shit. He needed to come up with a name quick, “it’s Mina.”

“You liar.” Kaminari said as he skittered his fingers once again.

“IHIHIHIM NOHOHOHOT LYIHIHIHIHING!” Kirishima cried.

“That’s enough Pikachu. He knows to tell us the truth.” Bakugo unstraddled Kirishima, Kaminari did the same. The blonde reached a hand out and helped Red Riot to his feet.

His classmates surrounded him in a circle, there was nowhere to run.

“Ah jeez. This is gonna be embarrassing.” Kirishima spoke softly.

“Just say it!” Kaminari commanded.

“It’s Ururaka!” Kirishima yelped.

“No! You’re still lying! I know when you lie because your quirk activates on only your hands!” Bakugo yelled.

“Mister Aizawa! The one time I needed you to erase my quirk!” Kirishima groaned bashfully.

“Just tell us dude we won’t judge you.” Kaminari said with a reassuring hand on Red Riot’s shoulder.

Kirishima looked at all of his classmates curious faces. What if they judged him? What if they didn’t want to be his friend anymore because of who he liked?

“W..well.. um...” Kirishima closed his eyes and sighed, “it’s.. its B-Bakugo.”

Bakugo’s eyes widened along with all the other boys.

“I.. I shouldn’t have said that...” Kirishima said before running out of the room.

“Kirishima! Stop!” Bakugo yelled.

The blonde went chasing after Red Riot, leaving the rest of the class dazed.

“What did I miss?” Aizawa asked with a yawn. He saw all of his confused students, “Jesus was it Mt. Lady or something?”

“N-no... Kacchan” Deku spoke quietly.

“Oh that was obvious.” Aizawa said with an amused breath of air. “Now I owe All-Might 200 Yen.”

#bnha tickle #mha tickle #mha #bnha #lee!kirishima #ler!bakugou #aizawa #Kaminari #eijirou #Kirishima #Deku #Bakugo #Midoriya #izuku midoriya #kirishima fluff #ler!kaminari

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10millionyearsdungeon · 3 years

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Praesidium

A/N: Back to our regularly scheduled bullshit...We went into this with zero plan, zero ambition, and came out the other end with something resembling a drabble featuring Hitoshi Shinsou as a hot-shit, Kennedy-esque politician trying to escape from the “family business.” I’d like to thank @dymphnasprose for the inspiration, the banner, and for putting up with my crazed plot bunny hunting sessions in her DMs. Proudly part of The Smut Pile Mafia Collab-- huge thanks to @pleasantanathema and @present-mel for organizing it and keeping us degenerates on time for once. You’re the real heroes.

TW: Wax play, orgasm denial, tobacco use, death threats, graphic violence

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You were always used to protection. Your family's name and wealth brought its own Kevlar shield; whether it was the broad shouldered bodyguards flanking you and your entourage during every frivolous shopping excursion or impromptu escape to one of the many vacation homes that dotted the globe, or the mere mention of your father and the weight of his near omnipresence in the highest echelons of high society, protection was almost always guaranteed. You could hear it in the hushed voices of the real estate giants and their trophy wives when you made your grand entrance to every socialite gathering.

"There she is, Yanai's precious pearl…"

Dripping in envy and awe, it was no surprise to you when you caught his eye. Heir and only daughter of the wealthiest family in the country, you knew your worth among the elite and so did he. You only knew of Shinsou Hitoshi by virtue of his reputation as a newcomer to the world of national-level politics, but his charm and charisma were undersold by every inch devoted to him in the papers. By all accounts, he left you dazzled by his lazy, almost sleepy smile and the low rumble of his succinct one-liners.

He played the part of the laid-back Playboy to the hilt, and by the night of your first fundraiser gala Shinsou had you practically eating from the palm of his hand like a hungry stray. By your second date, you could practically taste the Harry Winston hiding in his Tom Ford smoking jacket by the time dessert arrived. Back then you never questioned how he managed to afford the heirloom, four carat diamond he slid onto your finger, nor did it occur to you how he managed to slither his way into the House of Councilors. Blinded by the magnetic sway he held over you and your well-paid collection of sycophants, the how and why seemed largely irrelevant so long as he kept you on his arm. In your waking moments, you could almost catch pieces of a broken conversation from your insomniac lover.

"Find someone else...I'm done being your enforcer. I have an image to maintain now…"

Many a night he'd stumble in reeking of sweat and sulfur, dark liquor still burning on his lips when he pressed a kiss to your warm cheek as you slept in your shared bed. Morning invariably gave way to bruised knuckles and heavy dark circles as Shinsou hid his fading scars under his slate gray Armani suit. Prior to your wedding night, you thought you caught the rip of his silk and gravel voice grunting from a crooked alley. Following those familiar thunderclap grunts was the crunch of something hard and then a pulpy squilch that made your stomach twist in on itself. The begging that followed was unintelligible from your way to the nightclub, but his voice, your Shinsou's voice snarling a loaded promise of breathing tubes and chronic pain if the offending party didn't pay their due stayed with you until your bodyguard ushered you into the safety of your car.

"Daddy, I can't do this," you cried. Your father dabbed at your eyes and shook his head at your tantrum. He wouldn't be so blasé about the arrangement or your uproar if he was the one who heard your groom's fist shattering bones just the night before. A vision in white brocade, the four carats on your left hand felt like ten tons weighing you down the aisle as your father all but dragged you to meet your husband at the end. As the crowd rose to receive your grand entrance, you couldn't help but stifle a quiet sob at the sight of Shinsou's surrogate fathers standing in the front pew. Yamada couldn't contain his excitement for his boy, but Aizawa glared on coldly when you met his gaze. Your father kissed your cheek and gave your hands a squeeze before abandoning you before your audience. Shinsou held out his hand, and you choked back another hiccuping sob-- how could you hold those hands the same way when they were capable of such senseless violence? Knuckles cracked and discolored with aging bruises, he groped for your hands and pulled you the extra two steps onto the altar, flashing you that same lackadaisical grin. It was a blur, a bad dream you couldn't wake from. Beyond the sporadic flashbulbs blinking in the crowd, you couldn't pull away from him.

"I do…" Your voice didn't sound like your own, even as you felt it leave your throat. Shinsou pulled closer and rasped against your lips.

"This is only the beginning, kitten."

Kitten...

You couldn't deny how his pet name made you shiver. The single word held a scintillating promise of the night to come, yet all you could focus on were those hands and the crunch of anonymous bones under his blows. Would he ever turn those hands on you? As he gently slid his platinum wedding band over your ring finger, the mate to the ostentatious engagement ring occupying the spot, you melted under the tenderness of his touch. Your Hitoshi couldn't be capable of such violence. Your Hitoshi was a man of change, of reform who wanted to help bring his countrymen into a golden age. Your fingers numbly slid your ring onto your husband's hand and with the action sealed your own fate. The world swam out of view when he overtook you with a blistering kiss, hungry and needy against your lips. He didn't taste like smoke and scotch this time, a flavor you had grown to appreciate the longer you entangled yourself with him. He lingered for what felt like an eternity, the roar of applause and shared joy for the union a soundtrack erasing any fears you might have had prior.

Your bridesmaids swooned over the intensity of Shinsou’s gaze throughout your opulent reception-- your father sparing no expense when giving away his precious pearl. Shinsou’s family kept to themselves mostly, with Aizawa only stepping from their shadowy corner to address your father over travel arrangements. Hitoshi’s eyes narrowed and that same cocksure grin blossomed over his features as you inched closer, hip pulled closer by that massive hand. “Hey,” you breathed with a soft smile. He returned it in kind and squeezed your hip through the eggshell Vera Wang gown and leaned in to whisper in your ear. Hair slicked back, all that tickled you was the heat from his breath as it fanned against your skin. “I can’t wait to get you out of that, kitten. Gorgeous as you are with it on, the thought of you in nothing but your jewelry has my mouth practically watering.” Predatory gaze amplified by that sex and gravel voice had you melting. He took you by the hand and bade you follow him across the floor of the resort ballroom. Cautiously, you glanced around the room, anxious that someone from the party would notice your sudden escape. Before you had a chance to object, Hitoshi held a finger to his lips and pulled you through the crowd and out of the room. “You really think I can wait any longer when you’re looking like that?” The wait staff cast cursory glances at you and your husband as he continued to guide you away from the noise and bodies keeping him from tearing your gown off and claiming you. “Hitoshi…” you whimpered, pinned with your back to the door of your honeymoon suite. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder and nearly purred at the gasp that left your lips. Fumbling for the key, Shinsou held you from falling into the open door and nudged you over the threshold with an eagerness you couldn’t place. Words were swallowed by hungry mouths and replaced with an exchange of passion tempered only by the quiet frustration of fingering over buttons and parting fabric to unwrap the prize of feeling your skin under his fingertips. Once released from your prison of beaded white silk and delicate lace, Hitoshi pulled away, raking his ultraviolet eyes over your nearly bare frame to further appreciate his prize.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more perfect.” Instead of shying away from his words, you moved with a certainty that was far from your own. Automatically reaching for his tie, you pulled him down to resume your heated devouring, earning a chuckle and a light spank on your lace-covered cheek in reply. “Impatient, kitten?”

Your fingers worked the buttons of his shirt nimbly, practically digging your nails into his chest just to feel him hiss into your mouth. Tongues waged a war to stalemate status as your husband gave your buttocks a squeeze before hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. Your sex practically drooled against his toned abs through your useless lace panties. The trail of your gyrating on the ridges of washboard muscle pulled wanton moans from your kiss-bruised lips.

“Feels like you are. Drenched for me already. Who knew my heiress was such a needy slut.” You whined under the degradation he heaped on you as he placed you on the pillow-top bed and guided your hands above your head. Shinsou pulled his tie over his head and wrapped it lovingly around your wrists, brushing his lips and teeth along the gently blushing skin along your blue-blood veins as he finished securing you to the headboard. He moved slowly, teasing every inch of exposed skin with languid grace. A panther in human skin, Shinsou sunk his teeth and sucked purple bruises along your ribs and thighs, parting your squirming legs casually. You felt the weight of his wedding band on your inner thigh and wriggled away from the cold of it. Hitoshi tsked from below, grin tugging on his lips as he pulled your panties down with his teeth. Tenderly, he rubbed a sole finger along your drenched folds. You bucked into the sensation and writhed for more, only to have your husband pull away and drag the slick-stained digit along his tongue.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, kitten.” He blew on your clit, earning a choked moan. “You’re on my time now.” He withdrew, leaving you to whine for him to return, only to be answered by the closing of the bathroom door. You stared at the gold leaf ceiling, seconds dragging on like hours until he finally returned holding a candle, lit cigarette caught between his teeth. Hitoshi took a drag and guarded the flame from his dark red candle as he took a seat beside your whimpering form. He set the candle on the headboard and gently held your face in his hand, blowing smoke into your mouth. The intimate gesture, sharing the air in his lungs made you swoon. Distracted, you barely registered him removing your bra or how he grazed your pert nipples with scarred thumbs. You opened and melted into his attention, desperate for more. You caught his gaze, eyes glazed over with unadulterated adoration, and let out a strangled wail when the first drops of scarlet wax dripped over your shivering breasts.

The shock of sudden warmth encasing your tender flesh in candy apple red kept you reeling into the next pour. Your Hitoshi leered above you, rapt in your reactions as he brought his free hand to rest on your bare mons. His long fingers grazing along your sopping clit and the continued dripping of hot wax on your skin had you writhing in place. His dark, rumbling chuckle made your blood sizzle under your skin as he admired his work.

"I think she likes it," he purred, now moving with intent. Arching into the duvet, you pouted sweetly at your husband, legs gently rubbing together as if it would further entice him to continue. "Who knew my kitten was such a kinky slut?"

"'Toshi, touch me more!"

His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline, and he pulled his hand away from your glistening sex. Frustrated whimpers echoing through the suite, you were cut short by another trail of red wax burning down to your navel. He took another slow drag from his slow-dying cigarette and smirked. If it weren't for his hardening cock poking your hip through his tuxedo pants you would have never known how hopelessly he needed every moan and whine he pulled from your tight body. Past games, he would have blinded you, muffled his voice behind black silk and noise cancelling headphones, but tonight was different.

"Know your place, kitten. You're in no position to make demands."

You bit your lip and stifled another whine as the wax cooled in the mold of your belly button. Shinsou kept the candle hovering just over your bound body, constantly watching you with the same, slow-simmering lust burning in his deep violet eyes. He stopped short over your dripping pussy and licked the nicotine from his lips. You could see the plan unfold in his head before he had a chance to put it in action. Anticipation had every hair tingling as you waited for his next move. Before he could act, there was a stern rap at the door. With all the petulance and frustration of a child forced to share his favorite toy, Shinsou rose from the bed and trudged to the door.

"Little busy in here."

"Business waits for no one." The intruder's voice was black ice on a fall morning, cold and sharp as Hitoshi shrank back from the door. His shoulders tensed as he scratched the back of his neck, an anxious tic he couldn't shake from childhood. "You can play with your toy when we're done."

"I told you I've gone straight. No more back alley deals, no more blood on my hands. I'm done."

Your blood ran cold and it crept into your belly to make a new home gnawing through the viscera. Unable to make out much more than the broad back of your husband at the door, you strained to listen to the conversation before the cocking of a gun took your breath away.

"You're done when I say you're done. Never forget who bought you those votes, how you skated into your parliament chair, high councilor." The voice's tone was harsh, mockingly so with an edge of condescension that earned a defeated growl from your Shinsou. The owner of the voice stepped closer, peering over your husband's shoulder with a frigid smirk that nearly made your heart stop. Aizawa raked his dark, abyssal eyes over your exposed body, resting hungrily on your sex drooling into the plum duvet, and turned back to his surrogate son. "Be a shame if something happened to her. All those billions siphoned away…" From your spot on the bed you could feel the noose tightening around both your necks the longer Boss Aizawa spoke.

"...all to attend a funeral as the dutiful, lovesick widower with his wife's blood on his hands."

"Enough! That's enough...you win."

Shinsou buttoned his shirt quickly and cast a longing glance over his shoulder at your quiet sobbing. He never wanted you to know the underworld he clawed out of to finally live in the light. It wasn't enough to want change and leave the bloody past where it belonged. Some ghosts had a way of coming back to their old haunts. Tuxedo jacket slung over his shoulder, Shinsou slicked his hair back and turned his back on you, leaving you bound to the headboard with wax, his own Jackson Pollock masterpiece drying on your skin. You could feel your heart breaking with the gentle closing of the door, and the barely audible, "I'm sorry," whispered ruefully by your retreating husband. Protection was something you used to take for granted, but as you found that night and many after, it was something few in your precarious position could do without.

#the smut pile #the smut pile server #smut pile collab #mafia shinsou #shinsou x y/n #shinsou x reader #shinsou x reader smut #bnha smut #hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinsou x reader #mafia au

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ayellowcurtain · 3 years

Text

A Sobbe or Elu prompt based on the song "Best Part" by Daniel Caesar?

the fake-dating sort of thing

Robbe wakes up with the brightness around him, a warmth overheating his back. He moves away and finds the end of the bed, touching the softest sheets he’s ever felt. He stretches his legs all the way down and blinks a few times. All the comfort and serenity is forgotten the second he recognizes he’s not in his bedroom, nor Jens’. He sits on the bed and looks over his shoulder. The second he sees him, flashes start twinkling before his eyes.

Sander’s smile, saying against his lips for them to go slow while Robbe tried to push him inside the bedroom, annoyed with the loud music of the party downstairs, quick but unsure hands trying to get rid of all the clothes, Jens getting inside the room and Robbe kicking him out, Sander asking a million times if he was sure, short breaths, panting, very wet fingers, Sander’s taste, Robbe feeling way too hot in his skin. Robbe closes his eyes to stop thinking, pulling the sheets pooling in between his legs to cover his face.

He definitely shouldn’t have jumped Sander like he’s sure he did, but he can’t just put his clothes on and run like a teenager. That part was successfully completed last night. Robbe can’t believe he finally made a move.

It doesn’t feel too much of a surprise as it probably should that they actually had sex. They were faking it for a long time before that. Robbe just never thought it would actually happen. Sander was the cool guy in their group of friends and Robbe was tired of the constant interrogation about his love life - or lack of one - and without really discussing it with him first, Sander wrapped his arm around Robbe’s shoulders one day.

“We were trying to keep it to ourselves for a little while.” He said as Jens and Moyo almost fell to the ground when they understood what that small gesture meant.

Robbe was speechless, feeling like he was moving in slow motion as he stared at the guy he had the tiniest crush on telling their friends they were dating when they weren’t. But Robbe didn’t have the courage to fix it right away and then he never did.

They walked to grab a coffee after school that day and Sander was still smiling, thinking his idea was so fun and not at all problematic.

“They’ll see that we’re not actually dating, Sander! They’ll see that we’re just like first-grade dating, holding hands, never kissing or making out.”

Robbe realized the door he had opened when Sander looked at him, lifting his eyebrows.

“That’s an easy fix.”

Robbe rushes to get inside the coffee place first, keeping the door open for Sander, trying to think of a way to change the subject while waiting in line to make their orders.

“Unless you have any issues with kissing me just for fun.” He said it so easily, with no extra weight in any word and Robbe wished he could be that careless about everything in life. He honestly envied that in people. While Sander was so chill about it, Robbe couldn’t stop wondering if with fun he implied that it could never be more than that or if kissing Robbe was actually fun.

So that’s how this started: as a joke to keep the boys away from annoying Robbe every day with questions. Since he came out, they were more anxious than him for his first kiss, his first time with a boy…

Robbe can’t believe he drank more than enough to give himself the courage to do what he wanted for once. If he thinks about it, he remembers most of it now that he’s awake, it feels like it’s still happening.

He feels his skin raw and sensitive whenever he pictures Sander touching him, he knows how he tastes, remembers the struggle it was because apparently drunk Robbe is also needy with nervous hands that can’t stay still for long. He remembers Sander laughing about it, kissing him and asking one more time if Robbe was sure. He remembers nodding his head with such certainty it made him dizzy.

He stops thinking about it again because the dizziness makes him nauseous. The bottom of his feet feel weird when pressed against the carpeted floor, it tickles a little but Robbe pushes himself to stand up, feeling his legs shake for a little until able to hold his weight. It feels like all his organs are adjusting too after so much anxiety and beers shared the same space in his stomach for long hours while lying down. His heart is beating so strongly inside his chest, but Robbe moves carefully to the bathroom, needing to splash cold water on his face to see if it helps.

He puts some water in the back of his neck too, grabbing the first towel he touches to dry himself, looking in the big mirror in front of him.

Of course he’s happy, he doesn’t remember being this happy before, but he’s so scared of what today might bring. Of what Sander might say or what he might not, which would probably break Robbe’s heart just as much. Deep down, he was having fun pretending to be dating Sander and he doesn’t want whatever he did, how desperate he was, to make this awkward.

“Hi…”

Robbe jolts, dropping the towel on the sink.

“Shit, you scared me…” His mouth goes dry and he gives all his attention to grabbing the towel back, putting it in place, “Hi.”

“Everything okay?” Sander walks carefully around him and sits on the counter, already with his boxers back on, still with the bed hair and Robbe tries to quietly scan what he can see of Sander’s body, thankfully not finding any marks.

Robbe nods his head, finally gathering the courage to meet Sander’s curious and kind eyes, smiling a little when Robbe looks back at him.

“Yeah. And you?”

“I’m good. About last night…” He talks slow like he’s just trying to help Robbe start the conversation they both know Robbe wants to have.

“I’m sorry. For jumping on you like that.”

Sander smiles wider, lowering his head to try and force Robbe to keep looking in his eyes, “You’re acting like I didn’t want it too.”

“I didn’t give you many ways out.” Robbe explains, adjusting his underwear around his waist.

“You did. I just didn’t want a way out.” The silence grows heavier in between them, and Sander sighs with not much patience, “We weren’t that drunk, Robbe. I promise. You’re freaking out, thinking that I had sex with you out of pity or something when that’s not the case at all.”

Robbe nods his head, dragging his short nails through his palms, so embarrassed for his thoughts. He bites his cheek, thinks about it, but finally looks at Sander through his lashes, not sure what to do with his hands.

“Was it good?”

Sander leans against the wall behind him and Robbe notices the muscles in his stomach contracting with the new position, “Yeah, of course it was. You kept asking if I was sure.”

“Really? Sorry…”

“No, it was cute. I’m sure I annoyed you too, asking if you were sure.” Sander smiles again, blushing just a little bit but Robbe notices it and finds some comfort that this is just as awkward for both of them.

Sander jumps back up and stands close to Robbe, making him lean against the counter, thinking about pulling Sander closer for a real kiss when they’re both completely sober.

“I think now Jens believes us at least.”

Robbe closes his eyes as shut as possible, trying to completely erase the idea that Jens saw him - on Sander’s lap, shirtless, unzipping Sander’s jeans - out of his mind.

“So he really saw us, it wasn’t my imagination.”

They both look at each other and laugh a second later thinking about how weird their first encounter with Jens will be and Sander nods his head, snorting.

“Yeah, he saw us, but it was like a second. You complained and got up and tried to push him out and I sort of followed, since I had a feeling you would forget to lock the door again.”

Sander tilts his head, pressing his lips together not to laugh and Robbe sighs, wanting to hide, thinking Sander must see written on his forehead how inexperienced he is.

They stay in silence for a while and Robbe tries to think of them, comfortably sleeping together after everything, how warm and inviting and comforting Sander’s skin is. There’s a few inches between them now but he can feel Sander’s warmth still and Robbe falls a little bit more in love.

“It was perfect, Robbe. I thought you were always going to keep us at this stupid fake-dating thing. I was ecstatic that you finally pulled me aside and dragged me to the closest bedroom.”

Robbe moves back and forward a little until he manages to lean against Sander, putting his forehead against his chest, finally finding the comfort he always wanted when Sander wraps his arms around him, holding him tight, kissing the top of his head, letting Robbe stay there without moving for as much as he needs.

#wtfock #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #robbe x sander #sobbe

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nbrook29 · 3 years

Text

Okay it seems like they’re gone for the time being so 👀

Part 2&3 of Sander in NYC ‘verse ⬇️

The clock strikes midnight on his bedside table while Robbe is stretched on his bed, head propped on his hand as he’s staring at his computer screen, weariness coursing through his body. He stifles a big yawn and tries to blink the sleep away, but it doesn’t do much to erase the feeling of what seems to be yet another longest day he’s had. Wiggling his butt to find a more comfortable position, he reaches for his phone and opens instagram to kill time. After scrolling for a few minutes he gives up, the app failing to distract him from his heavy thoughts and only making him more irritated in the process.

He tosses the phone on the mattress with frustration, sighing deeply. Staring mindlessly at the ceiling doesn’t make the clock tick any faster so he allows himself to close his eyes.

Just for a little, just for a moment. Long enough so he can pretend he can feel a dip in the mattress and that there’s a certain someone lying by his side, only mere millimeters separating their bodies instead of 5,870 kilometers.

In the end, it makes him feel even worse than he has the whole day. Because there is no one next to him when his fingers venture out tentatively, grazing the sheets on the side of the bed that has been Sander’s since that November night.

The memory makes him smile a little, albeit involuntarily. But how can he not when he remembers the boy’s pouty face, petulance in his voice when he refused to sleep on the left side, stubborn like a bratty five-year-old, and Robbe would have laughed at his expression if he hadn’t been gazing at him like a fool in love the entire night. So he of course granted him HIS own preferred side, getting an abundance of kisses all over his face in gratitude and tickles that almost woke the whole house up.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Not then, and not many times later. What’s the point of choosing sides when most of the time they would sleep on each other’s chest anyway, head tucked in the crook of the other’s neck, nose squished into the underside of the jaw despite the tickling sensation of barely there stubble? Or, during other nights, curled into each other in spooning position, no space between them.

The incoming messenger call rudely disrupts his musings, preventing him from almost falling asleep, and he pushes himself up a bit and scrubs his face, fingers running quickly through his hair to make it look at least a little more presentable.

The face that greets him after he answers the call makes his eyes sting but he blames it on exhaustion.

“Hey, cutie.”

Beautiful. He looks so beautiful. Hair in disarray, cheeks rosy and he’s positively glowing, grinning at him with the same adoration and love he always has and Robbe’s heart is bursting with how much it hurts not to be able to cup his cheek right now.

They haven’t talked since last Thursday, both of them so busy with college work. The fact that there are 6 hours between them isn’t exactly helping. They have been messaging back and forth a lot, but it wasn’t the same.

Lately, Robbe has been feeling like a crucial part of him was ripped off and boarded the plane to New York along with Sander. It’s been a struggle without him here and not letting Sander notice how much he's hurting has been a struggle on its own.

“You’re okay?”

Robbe must’ve been staring without a word for longer than he thought because when he focuses properly he notices a small frown on Sander’s forehead.

He plasters a fake smile on his face. “Yeah! Sorry, just tired.”

He shrugs in hopes it will help to sell his cheeriness better, but the way Sander regards him with concern makes him doubt it.

“Robbe…”

Cutting him off quickly, he starts rambling. “So how was that school trip yesterday, huh? Still not bored of MoMA? I mean, you’ve been there like a hundred times by now,” Robbe ends on a teasing note, eyebrows wiggling for a better effect, anything to not let him notice he’s not okay.

It works, Sander’s face partially offended, partially scandalized at such outrageous suggestion, and he breathes out with relief.

“Excuse me, skater boy, some of us have enough taste to appreciate modern art for its greatness-”

“Yeah, art nerds.”

Sander’s jaw drops comically at his triumphant expression. “Oh my god, you’re such a brat!” He shakes his head in faux-disapproval, but the smile doesn’t disappear from his eyes as he easily gets into their usual banter. “Wish I was there to snog you into submission,” he adds, chuckling, unaware of the turmoil inside Robbe, who’s trying to hold on for dear life, blinking the tears away.

This time though, his smile fails to be convincing enough. Sander’s laughter dies out, his eyes searching Robbe’s for answers.

“Baby, what’s going on?”

Robbe squeezes his lips together to keep the emotions at bay and lowers his eyes so Sander couldn’t read him like an open book. He squirms on the bed, trying to give himself time so make sure his voice won’t quiver and that he can sell this thing.

“Nothing.”

“But that’s not true, I can see that.” He’s speaking so gentle, so soothingly.

It doesn’t make him raise his head, eyes still glued to the mattress as he’s twisting his fingers hoping Sander will just let it go.

Cause he doesn’t want him to know. That he’s a mess. That he’s not doing that good.

He doesn’t need to know he’s been watching his wandelingen videos on repeat. That he misses him so much he created a TikTok account to ‘stalk’ his new classmates accounts to catch a glimpse of him laughing and having fun when they’re hanging out, having picnics in Central Park despite low temperatures or drinking coffee and acting like dumbasses at Union Square.

He doesn’t need to know the reality hit Robbe hard and that he’s not the best at coping.

That he’s anxious because the texts between them aren’t as frequent as they used to be in the beginning.

That he had a serious fallout with Jens after already losing touch with Moyo and Aaron.

That he feels lonely.

And that’s missing him like a limb.

He doesn’t want him to know because Sander’s going to worry about him and that’s not why he went away to New York for five months. Correction, six months.

Yeah, that lovely update didn’t exactly make his mood lift when he found out a week ago about Sander having to extend his stay to be able to participate in the February art show his school holds.

There’s still three and a half months before he can bury his face in the crook of his neck and taste his lips. Touch is Robbe's love language so to say he misses the way Sander's hands feel on him would be an understatement of the year. And they both know by now Sander’s not coming back for Christmas despite his promise he’ll try.

“Please talk to me, please, baby.”

One shaky breath after another and Robbe feels wetness on his cheeks, mortification filing him when he realizes it’s tears, and Sander now has a clear view of the situation.

Still, he tries to deflect one more time, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve surreptitiously.

“It’s nothing, really… I’m okay, just miss you.” Another unconvincing smile.

He knows Sander is watching him like a hawk, confused and worried, he can feel it without even lifting his eyes to the screen. When he peaks just for a moment, he sees the desperate look on his face.

“I miss you too, so much, you have no idea,” he pauses, shifting closer to the screen like he wants to physically be closer to him, somehow. “But I know that’s not all, so please tell me what’s wrong so I can help you. Did something happen? Is your mom okay?”

Robbe nods because thankfully, everything has been going smoothly in that area. His mom’s been doing better than he could have hoped for, actually.

“Then what is it?” he keeps pressing, stubbornly, adamant to figure it out, but Robbe really doesn’t feel like talking about it.

“Look, it’s not a big deal, I just had a rough few days, okay? Can we talk about something else?” he pleads, but to no avail.

“No, we can’t because I don’t understand why you don’t want me to help you, Robbe.”

There’s a hint of annoyance in his voice, the confusion getting to him, and Robbe feels even worse, curling a little into himself.

“I just- I don’t wanna bother you-”

“What?” Sander sounds stunned. “Bother me- what the hell?”

“I just want you to have fun there, I’m gonna be fine.”

When Robbe glances back at the screen, he’s met with Sander’s eyes boring holes into him, quietly assessing him, and he knows it’s far from over.

But he’s just so tired. With this week, and his school work, with his emotional state and lonely nights. He’s just really tired.

On the screen, Sander sighs, scrubbing his face with his hand, his silver ring glinting in the computer light. A while passes before he finally speaks, quietly, looking back at him.

“You know, I feel like you think our skype calls are like chores for me that I keep in my calendar and can’t wait to tick off and be done with.”

Robbe opens his mouth, but no words come out, his sleep-fogged brain taking its time to sort through Sander’s word.

“Wow, you really think that?” Robbe hates himself for the hurt lacing Sander’s words. “You really think I don’t miss you? That I don’t count days until I can see you again for real, are you serious, Robbe?”

“Don’t get mad at me,” he asks in a small voice, biting his lip to keep it from wobbling.

“I’m not-”, Sander cuts off, lacing his fingers on the back of his lowered head, clearly frustrated and at loss of what to say next. “I just thought we were honest with each other, that we were communicating.”

The comment stings, even if it wasn’t meant to, and Robbe swallows the bile rising in his throat. Sander’s disappointed, he can see that, but he’s honestly not in the right state of mind right now for long talks about his feelings and insecurities.

“I should go.”

Sander's head shots right up at that. "Robbe, wait-"

"Don't worry about me." He sends him a forced smile before shutting his laptop and pushing it away from himself, breathing shakily as he hides his face in his hands.

Several notifications ping on his phone, but he ignores them all, knowing they're from Sander.

It's funny how this morning he thought he couldn't feel worse.

***

Friday 6:20 pm EST from Sander

Please pick up so we can talk

Or text me

Robbe?

I'm so worried

Friday 6:45 pm EST from Sander

I love you okay? ❤

Friday 8:03 pm EST from Sander

It's 2 am at yours so I hope you're asleep but I just need you to know that I love you and whatever it is you're going through we'll deal with it together okay?

Friday 8:07 pm EST from Sander

I think about you everyday and I miss you everyday

And it doesn't matter my trip here was supposed to be fun or whatever

I'm still your boyfriend and me being away doesn't change the fact that I want to be there for you

You should know that by now

You're not some kind of duty for me, it breaks my heart you'd think that

Your problems matter to me

I'm here, always, remember?

Please text me when you wake up ❤

Ik zie u graag Robin ❤❤❤😘

#wtfock #sander in nyc verse

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 4 years

Text

Breathe

summary: When Loki notices you spiraling into an anxiety attack, he uses a popular countdown method to help pull you out of it. warnings: mention of anxiety, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of covid-19 if you squint masterlist here

“Talk to me.”

“Hmm?”

Calloused but always so soft - except when you didn’t want them to be - fingertips brushed up your wrists to envelop your hands. A gentle but firm tug pulled your thumbnail from between your worrying teeth. It hurt, throbbed with your racing pulse, and Loki clicked his silver tongue before muttering an unintelligible spell to ease the pain. “You’re anxious.”

And why wouldn’t you be? Everything seemed to be falling apart around you. Routines that brought you security slowly but surely scattered and crushed between a constant barrage of dizzying numbers and contradictory facts delivered with stern voices and drawn-in eyebrows. Friendships strained as tensions rose and it was harder each day to find the drive to pick up your phone and connect. Numbers and tips and facts and what-if’s and definitely-will-be’s squeezed the air from your lungs just thinking about it. Wrapped around your heart in a vice that had you gasping for air in the too-small room and throat tighten around voiceless sobs.

“Come here, little one. Come here.”

His expertly sculpted features swam and blurred before your eyes, and your grabbing hands curled into the soft fabric of his forest green tunic when he pulled you sideways into the cradle of his lap. It was second nature to fold yourself into his embrace and tuck your head underneath his strong chin. The same hand that healed your raw thumb cradled the back of your head against his chest. A familiar and strangely comforting chill seeped through the damnable layer of clothing to soothe the flush of your skin.

Words were too hard to filter through your muddled mind, but anxiety attuned your ears to every sound around you. And none was sweeter than his velvet-lined voice curling around you to match the gentle caress of his hand down your spine.

“Do as I say, and I promise you’ll feel better. Can you do that for me, sweetling?”

A blink. Bottom lip released from between chattering teeth. A nod.

“Look around our sanctuary. Tell me five things that you see.”

Darting eyes glanced around your shared room. Settling on the oddest things. A blurry snapshot of you together on your first date: Loki scowling at the phone while you grinned ear to ear. A stuffed toy, cheaply made and smelling of chemicals, won at a fair with the help of some clever magic that Loki referred to as “Parlor tricks and nothing more”. An empty soda can you’d abandoned after Loki had entreated you to get some sort of liquid in you - water tasted stale and the fizzy, too-sweet caffeine had made you feel alive for that fleeting moment it coursed through your veins. A loose thread that stretched over the curve of his generous bicep that flexed to hold you closer. The small points of your feet beneath the blanket that Loki wrapped around you both in a cocoon of safety and warmth.

“Good. Now, what are four things that you can touch?”

Circling thumbs pressed into the tightly woven threads of his tunic. Smooth, pliable, but strong. Ebony waves caught between your temple and his collar-bone, silky and slippery when you attempted to trap one in your reaching fingers. Lifting your head, you pressed the pad of your pointer finger in between his furrowed brows to erase the crease of concern marring his creamy skin. Only to have it return when you dropped your traveling touch to trace his bottom lip, ever expressive and always softer than the harsh, indifferent mask he sometimes wore would have others believe.

“That’s my Love. Good girl. Tell me three things you can hear.”

The steady drum of his heart pounding his love and support to you out through his chest right underneath your ear. The whisper of his hands rasping over the blanket over your leg, stroking long motions of serenity in time with your slowed breathing. Just the faintest hitch in his breath when you shifted in his lap to press your nose into the crook of his neck and hold tight with your hands anchored to his broad shoulders.

A sigh. Faint pressure from his lips against your temple and the tickle they left behind when he asked for, “Two things you can smell, now.”

The clean musk of his skin, bergamot and cinnamon and leather and the hint of something earthy. Cedarwood? The complex scent you’d recognize anywhere after clouds billowed out from the bathroom to greet you each morning as you reclined in your luxurious sheets. And maple syrup, decadent enough to make your mouth water at the thought of the pancakes he had convinced you to help him eat in the splintery morning sunlight streaming through the window. He’d looked so earnest, so kind, kneeling next to you among the mussed blankets with a tray of coffee and breakfast treats that there hadn’t been a single protest uttered from your smiling mouth.

“That’s it. Just one more, and you’ll be with me again. One thing you can taste.”

The salt of his jawline, so sharp you’d cut yourself if you lingered too long, so you nipped the taut flesh before it could. The corner of his mouth, turned upwards with a rumbling purr that shook your chest flush against his, held a tantalizing mixture of bitter coffee and sticky sweet treats that made you want more.

Tension seeped out of his body and his deft fingers molded to your sides so he could properly gaze down at you with relief flooding his elegant face. His forehead dropped to rest against yours, and you breathed each other in like you’d been drowning for weeks. It truly felt like it. Time that stretched for an eternity in five minutes and yet had hours disappearing in the blink of a glazed eye.

And then it stood still, prisoner to his rapt attentions and fervent whispers.

“There you are. You’re safe, and I have you. And I love you. Do you have me?”

It was your turn to furrow your brows and frown up at him, your head tilted to the side as if you could shake the confusion from your thoughts. “I do, and I love you.”

The steel bands of his arms held you inescapably close, and he buried his face into your hair, guiding you to the do the same, rocking you slowly on your bed. “Good. Then just breathe with me, little dove, and I promise that everything will work out in the end. Just keep breathing.”

~~~

Little Bit o’ Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @ms-cellanies @rosierossette @thathedonistgirl @lokixme @hellethil @myraiswack @birdgirl90 @cateyes315

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @brokenthelovely @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @sabine-leo @peterman-spideyparker @wegingerangelica @bluefrenchfries604 @catsladen @snoopy3000 @silverswordthekilljoy @villainousshakespeare @kitkatd7 @nonbinarylowkey @lots-of-loki @is-it-madness

#loki #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki comfort #loki odinson #hopeless writes #breathe

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 3 years

Text

Perfection, My Only Direction

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit Notes: I couldn’t leave this verse alone after I wrote ‘The Way You Hold Me’, so here we are! I love dabbling with Peter’s perspective & enjoyed every second of this little beauty. Word Count: ~5.3k Warnings: general career unrest, sexy times Summary:

Three years into their marriage, Peter finds himself unhappy with his career. Like the good husband he is, Tony anticipates his needs and things get fluffy.

Or - the one where Peter is anxious and Tony is the best security blanket out there.

Read it here on AO3

----

“You’ve got to keep quiet, Pete.”

Biting hard on his bottom lip, Peter gripped his office chair a little tighter – Tony’s thrusts were pushing him closer to the desk with every grind of his hips. Despite the office upgrade with the promotion he recently received, Peter knew the walls were still paper thin. The delicious sounds of their coupling were unmistakable – anyone walking by or seeking him out would know exactly what was going on if he couldn’t keep a lid on it.

With that in mind, Peter reached back to grip Tony’s flexing hip with clenching fingers in hopes that the diversion of stimulus would keep the moans from falling from his lips. It didn’t matter, though – Tony knew all the spots and angles to drive him crazy and went out of his way to do exactly that in every moment like this; even when the risk of being found out was higher than most other times. Or maybe because of it.

The professional in him tried desperately to keep a firm line between business and pleasure – his reputation relied on his impeccable mind and the manners in which he treated both the people around him with and the information he presented. He wanted to keep things separate, he really did – yet, Tony posed a weakness within him – despite the resolve, Peter couldn’t ever say no (hell, he didn’t want to).

And that’s how he found himself with his suit pants around his ankles and Tony balls deep within him, his husband’s hands still partially covered in oil and grease from his morning hours spent in the shop. They were supposed to be twenty minutes into a nice lunch at one of the small restaurants on campus – every other day, Tony took a longer break to catch Peter during a time when he actually had seconds and brain bytes to give. Eight times out of ten, they sat across from each other to pick at and share whatever food they ordered. The rest of their lunch time attempts ended exactly like this – wrapped up in each other in one of the worst possible places for it.

A dead-on strike to his prostate brought Peter out of his lust-induced thoughts, the right-here, right-now of the moment crashing down upon him. The feeling of it punched an unavoidable shout of Tony’s name from deep within. “Fuck, I can’t keep quiet when you’re fucking me like this,” Peter groaned, his teeth digging into the flesh of his lip almost enough to break through.

His stomach tightened with Tony’s next thrust, his words obviously amping up Tony’s desire – his own grip on control slipped with every slick sound of flesh meeting flesh. “You can’t just say stuff like that,” Tony got out through a harshly panted breath. “You drive me insane.” He punctuated his words with hard shoves of his hips, the space between them narrowing down even more as Tony’s pace got faster, the length of his strokes shortening in exchange for maximizing flesh against flesh.

By now, there was no mistaking what was happening behind the closed door of his office. His chair clunked against the front of his desk with every thrust and when the furniture wasn’t causing the ruckus, Tony’s muttered curses and Peter’s answering groans were pretty telling. Peter didn’t have the thought power or give a shit to care much, though – not when he was barreling headfirst towards a most exquisite orgasm.

The hands on his hips dug in tightly the closer Tony got, his grease stained fingers leaving behind both grime and bruises – the combination of sight and scent one of Peter’s favorite things. Each clench and tightening of Tony’s fingers brought Peter a step closer to the edge, and when sharp teeth dug into his shoulder to stop noises that couldn’t be ignored, he finally allowed himself to let go. A heart-throbbing release smacked him over the head, the feeling of it blinding him for several long minutes.

Soft lips on his neck kept him grounded through the coming down process, Tony’s stubble and its slight tickle reminding Peter exactly where he was and who was wrapped tightly around him. Coming back to it, Peter took in the chaos of his desk, his most recent papers strewn across it, his pens scattered carelessly upon the floor from the clever sweep of Tony’s hand. He let the aftereffects of physical greatness stick around instead of letting any sort of anxiety overtake him. The shamble around him would need to be set to right, but the moment was consumed by them, by their connection – the chaos of it be damned.

After more than ten years of aggressive academic pursuit, Peter found himself at the tail end of the bell curve, his excitement for the work not nearly as prominent as it was at the beginning of his career. Though cheesy, Peter’s thoughts were consumed with all things Tony. The romance between them hadn’t dwindled as the years together went by. Instead, they seemed to grow closer as time went on – Tony cared so selflessly about him and simply enjoyed everything about his person; quirks and all.

And when he thought about Tony, Peter couldn’t deny how all-consuming his passion and knowledge were. Aside from being unfairly good at taking care of him, Tony had a way about him – his thoughts and ideas were manifested so interestingly – so much so that Peter couldn’t get enough of the puzzle he presented. Where some of his previous relationships lacked in excitement and unpredictability, things with Tony were ever changing and constantly entertaining. When he thought about the likelihood of that shifting, Peter couldn’t imagine it. Not when a single day with Tony ever felt the same. Tony kept himself on his toes, there wasn’t a single doubt that he’d continue to do so with Peter, too.

With the new position within his department, hours were getting longer and the demands upon his time didn’t seem as worth it as they did before. He worked for years to sit in the desk he now occupied, and yet – things just weren’t what he thought they might be. The exploration of information he assumed he would embark upon was riddled with administrative bull shit and irritating bureaucracy that drifted so far from his interests. The shining light at the end of the tunnel didn’t gleam as bright as he imagined it would.

Unwillingly to admit to himself how much he truly didn’t want to continue on in his position, Peter forced himself to continue giving it his all. Despite hating more than most hours of his day, he moved forward. How did one come to terms with years of work panning out in such an unsatisfying way? And after he let himself admit that he was unhappy, what happened next? He thought briefly about bringing it up with Tony but didn’t want to burden him with such indecision. The man already ran his own business that demanded so much time and effort from him – how could Peter add another set of problems to his pile?

The freedom in which he allowed himself to behave recklessly in his workplace showed him how conflicted he really was – the lack of give a damn would’ve brought an uneasy feeling to his stomach in his earlier years. Yet, caring about it seemed like more work than it was worth – his job kind of felt like that, too.

Sighing, Peter leaned into his now cleaned up desk, the papers and such put to right before Tony kissed him goodbye and left with a self-satisfied smirk. The high of being with his striking husband lasted a couple of hours, pulling him through the bulk of his meetings. He even managed to pay attention to some of the things being passed back and forth between stuffy colleagues and university behemoths. Tony’s influence always played a big part in the calm demeanor he portrayed and seemed to be doing it even more so since his shift into the new, more important role.

When the end of the day finally came, Peter rushed from his office, the movement of his feet faster than he ever remembered from times before. Exiting the building, he found that he could finally breath – the weight of his responsibilities shrugged from his shoulders and unable to pull him down any longer. Long strides got him to his car, his bag hitting the passenger seat as he settled behind the wheel. A couple of routine clicks had his phone connected to the car’s Bluetooth and Tony’s number dialed. Their new house was a bit farther from the university than the previous apartment, so Peter spent the commute with Tony in his ear more often times than not.

An all too familiar voice sounded across the line after a couple of rings, the warm timbre of it sending a shiver down Peter’s spine.

“Hey, Petey,” Tony answered, his tone soft, filled to the brim with affection.

“Hey, yourself,” Peter replied through a long exhale, another heavy mass falling off of him now that the connection was sparked again. “I’m so ready to be home. Spinelli talked for ages about a new form of midterm that immediately got voted down by the board. I wasn’t aware you could waste minutes of life like that.”

His last statement dragged a chuckle from Tony’s chest – a steady warmth wrapped around him as the sound settled across the cell connection. “The last dinner party we went to, he dissected the merits of the use of an old-fashioned inkwell pen – I’m not surprised.”

Just like that, the ease in which conversation flowed between them erased all of his tension, the tightness of his muscles and nerves seeping from him bit by bit. By the time he walked through the front door, he felt loose and relaxed, Peter more than ready for whatever the night (or Tony) would throw their way.

Despite the respite of that night, however, Peter found his interest in his job dwindling even more as the weeks passed. The bright luster of the academic world seemed to dull the further he delved into it. Getting his doctorate felt like a dream while in the trenches of a dissertation and TAing a handful of classes. At the time, he felt refreshed and eager to finally get what he worked so hard for – access to the bigger world of knowledge and understanding. The novelty of it left so many things to be desired.

And now – he found that he didn’t desire them anymore. Regardless of the fact that he spent his entire adult life navigating the world in the classrooms of first Cornell and then NYU, his soul craved something more. Until meeting Tony, Peter hadn’t looked much farther than the safety of a classroom – and boy did he want to. The few times throughout their marriage that Peter could get away, Tony swept him off to places he didn’t think to even want to travel to. They played tourist in London and drank way too much at an all-inclusive resort in the Bahamas.

He couldn’t decide what created the wanderlust, whether it was strictly Tony’s influence, but Peter felt a deep desire to experience anything and everything the world had to offer. Many years were spent acquiring knowledge and learning about so many different things. Yet, the times he felt like he was learning the most took place outside the walls of his lecture hall. Perhaps he craved a different style of learning – or maybe he just wanted to see the world and experience everything he possibly could with his best friend.

Whatever the reason, Peter felt himself drifting further away from the familiar – his eyes set more firmly on anything else, something outside of the small little world he looked to have outgrown. Some parts of him already accepted the inevitable – despite the big promotion he just received, he wouldn’t be staying in the field for much longer. The other pieces of him, though – they struggled with letting go of the years of hard work.

Stepping away from the profession wouldn’t giving up that work – rationally, he understood that. The mere idea of being anywhere else made his heart beat a little faster for so many different reasons. One of his biggest struggles came from the fact that he hadn’t told Tony anything about the thoughts rampaging through his head.

Despite that, Peter knew that Tony could feel that something was up. In the grand scheme of things, their collective time together was relatively minimal – three years didn’t a lifetime make. The one thing that was continuously nursed between them, however, was their familiarity with each other. Many couples claimed to be best friends, to know each other like the back of their own hands – yet most fell short. Peter felt like they could claim, with some intense certainty, that their grasp on that concept was tighter than most.

One thing Peter noticed the longer he lived and loved Tony was the fact that there were very few people who actually knew him. Happy, his right-hand man, knew a few more pieces than the rest of the world, but Peter – he got the backstage access to everything that Tony was, wished he could be, and most assuredly wasn’t. Though Peter functioned very similarly, he didn’t struggle with giving up small parts of himself the same way that Tony did. Which – in the grand scheme of things – made their closeness worth even more than imaginable. Tony didn’t mind the curtain being pulled back entirely where Peter was concerned.

Which is why, after several weeks of struggling silently, Peter finally decided it was about time to finally let Tony in on his worries and next steps – the support he knew he’d receive felt necessary now. And that wasn’t to say it wasn’t integral to his existence before; Tony stood beside him and rooted for him in his silently contemplative way. Just being there meant more than Peter wanted to honestly claim.

Now, though – now, he understood how much he needed Tony to not only support him but keep him standing on his feet until he found the next thing – or ran back to whatever university that would take him screaming with both distaste and the comforting feeling of unchanging security. For his sanity’s sake, Peter hoped the next step wouldn’t take him careening down the same useless path, but one never really knew.

Later that evening, Peter got home to a completely lit up house, the entire front entryway almost blinding in how bright it actually was. Squinting against the shine for just a second, Peter felt his eyebrows stay drawn up, a look of confusion slipping across his face. Peter usually beat Tony home on Friday nights, especially those that he decided to dip out of his office a little earlier than actually expected. He quickly shouldered his backpack, the thought of seeing Tony making him feel giddy for the first time since he left the house.

Stepping into the house, Peter let a soft smile slip across his lips. Not only was Tony home, his husband went to the trouble of baking his favorite cookies, if the smell of fresh snickerdoodles was to be believed. His nose practically dragged him into the kitchen, Peter’s lack of lunch making itself known now that the tantalizing scent of cinnamon and sugar sat deliciously in the air.

“It smells amazing in here,” Peter said in the way of greeting, his feet carrying him further in the kitchen as he spoke. Sidling up to Tony, Peter pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, the hand not settling on his husband’s hip stretching out to grab two of the still oven-warm cookies off of the cooling rack. “Tastes good, too.” He wiggled his eyebrows, the first of the cookies demolished in a couple of big bites.

Peter forced himself to slow down on the second one by dividing his attention between the scrumptious cinnamon-sugar on his fingers and the delectable man standing in front of him. When he found his hands empty again, Peter finally took notice of the grains of sugar he left behind on Tony’s skin as he kissed and nipped at all of the supple spots he couldn’t keep himself away from.

“Mm, hello to you, too,” Tony mumbled after a while, the moments of silently sucking up the touch and affection gone now. “I thought you could use a little pick me up. I know you had that meeting you hate today.” He felt blindly for Peter’s hand on his hip, their fingers tangling when Tony managed to grasp it with his own. “And the taste of cinnamon off your lips, well…”

Without much warning, Tony turned in Peter’s arms, his butter-greasy hands settling on the nape of a long neck. Their lips met without prompting, the stubble of Tony’s salt and pepper goatee never failing to tickle Peter with every pass and caress. His own hands wandered until they were digging ever so slightly under the hem of Tony’s black denims, the tightness affording him the smallest bit of warm skin against the pads of his fingertips.

They enjoyed the softness of their reunion until the loud blaring of the oven pulled them apart, a soft groan left Peter’s lips when Tony took a step back, the space between them becoming too much with every second. “It’s the last batch,” Tony stated like he knew and understood the dilemma happening within the confines of his mind. “Go get changed. I know we talked about going out tonight, but I think thai food and Netflix might be our best bet.”

Recognizing the gesture for what it was, Peter nodded at him gratefully, his eyes linger on the reassuring expression on Tony’s face. Tony’s eerie ability to anticipate his needs never stopped throwing him off in the best way.

Tired fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt as he walked back towards their bedroom, the garment hitting the floor the first step into their sanctuary. His shoes, socks, pants, and boxer-briefs followed, Peter baring himself completely by the time he walked into their en suite. The big glass shower had been one of the main selling points of the house – thinking about how many times they’d enjoyed the space pulling a huge grin to his face. The walls and door steamed up when he cranked on the water – despite the burning sear, Peter loved to step into a scalding hot shower.

The floating thoughts in his head drifted away under the warm water. Peter took his time soaping up with Tony’s soap, and then later with the fancy tea tree shampoo that overtook his ordinary drug store variety 2-in-1 a long time ago. The tingle on his scalp let a little more of the stress roll off of him – he appreciated the tactile burn of the oil in his pores and the depth of his stomach.

With Tony on the brain, Peter dried himself off and tucked into a plain t-shirt and the softest pair of flannel pajama bottoms, his favorite red and blue color pattern slotting in that final bit of decompression he needed to face the rest of the evening. He slipped into his favorite Ugg slippers and wandered back into the living room – which was dimly lit, the main light completely off with only a few candles scattered around to provide that ambient light. His lips tugged up at the corners, a soft and deliciously warm feeling settling over him at the gesture.

Hands on his hips distracted him from his reverie, the earthy smell of grease that Tony couldn’t quite escape flooding his nose pleasantly. “Feeling romantic?” Peter questioned. One of his hands reached behind him, Peter’s fingers digging into the thickness of Tony’s hair. He gripped the graying locks lightly, the softness there adding to the warmth in his chest.

“Always am when you’re around,” Tony mumbled into the angle created by Peter’s neck and shoulder, his nose pressing into the skin there to take a long, deep breath. Tony’s hands tightened around him for a second, the squeeze something Peter usually only experienced in the heated moments of their burning passion. Yet, he felt no twitch of arousal, just a gentle hum of appreciation for the soft touches and intimate details.

The TV was already on and resting on the Netflix wait screen, the square labelled “Petey” glowing in anticipation of being chosen and artfully navigated when they sat down to enjoy whatever bull shit Peter decided for the evening. His favorite wine was uncorked and left to breathe on the coffee table, his favorite set of glasses waiting to be used. He loved every small thought put into the set up and must’ve said so out loud if the grin on Tony’s face was anything to go by.

They were now facing each other, Peter’s hands wrapped tightly around Tony’s neck and his husband’s own settled lightly on his lower back. “You’ve been stressed, baby. Let me take care of you.” Tony used a finger to tilt his chin up, each word punctuated with barely there kisses to his lips.

Peter let a genuine smile slip across his lips, the muscles of his face already a little sore from the now apparent lack of use. It never crossed his mind that something as simple as a smile could retreat without his notice. Blinking, Peter took in Tony’s face, the expression on it affectionate and the slightest bit relieved.

“There it is. I haven’t seen that grin in months.”

Then – Tony pressed a heated kiss against his lips, the hands-on Peter’s hips gripping him tightly. A flash of heat sparked between them; the intimacy of the moment not lost on either of them. Just as Peter took a step closer, the annoying buzz of their doorbell cut him short. Groaning slightly, Tony shot him a frustrating wink as he stepped away, his hands in the air in a silent surrender. “We’ll finish that later,” Tony promised, his eyes shining brightly.

An hour later found them snuggled together on the couch, the remnants of their thai food on the coffee table in front of them. The slight flicker of the candlelight keeping the room nicely shadowed, like the world revolved only around their small little living room – like the two of them were the only ones to ever inhabit it. For the first time in what felt like months, Peter found himself completely calm, his brain and anxieties included.

“I didn’t know how much I needed this until right this second,” Peter remarked softly, the thought of disrupting the peace of the room with the loud pitch of his voice almost devastating. He ran his hand through Tony’s graying locks, his husband moving into the touch with every slight movement. “How do you always know?” It took Tony a few minutes to reply, the man stuck between leaning into Peter’s clever hands and thinking thoughtfully – the slight crease between his eyebrows the only sign of the latter. Like so many, Peter appreciated this part of Tony, the reverence and thoughtfulness that he brought to their relationship. Words meant something to him and each one played its own role in their conversations. Tony didn’t sling them around carelessly like so many others before him.

Peter let him shift when he felt the slight pressure of Tony’s arm against his side. His husband propped himself up on an elbow, the two of them more equally footed now. “I know you, Pete. I know that you love me and that hasn’t been lacking. But you get home and look so gloomy – like the realization of how shitty the world can be is finally flashing right before your eyes. Don’t get me wrong – “ Tony shifted again, his voice breaking ever so slightly as he wrapped a hand around Peter’s shoulders. “Everyone has to experience the reality of that eventually – I just hoped you’d be spared it.”

His fingers brushed against what bare skin of Peter’s arm they could reach, the rough pads still something that brought him so much comfort. “I’ve been waiting to see if you’d eventually tell me about it – like you always do with everything else. When you didn’t, I thought a little nudge couldn’t hurt.” Tony paused then, his lips pressing against Peter’s forehead. “I just want you to be happy, Pete. That’s all that matters to me.”

Like the words were the opening of a floodgate, Peter found tears streaming down his face. Tucking his forehead against Tony’s neck, Peter let them fall, each second of frustration and distaste culminating into this one, very important moment. Tony held him through it all, his thumb moving to occasionally swipe the tears from Peter’s cheeks, the touch always soft, always soothing.

“I hate my job,” Peter mumbled after a while, his voice thick with tears yet to be cried and slightly muffled from his position against Tony’s skin. “I thought the world of academics would look so much better from the desk I’m sitting behind, but it just fucking sucks, instead. I spent all of that time working towards the ultimate trap. I know it’s there, waiting for me, and I don’t want to fall into it.”

“It’s frustrating when expectations don’t meet up with reality. Why do you think I run my own business?” Tony asked, his hand slipping to cup Peter’s cheek. “Sometimes, you have to take a step back to really see what you want, Petey.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, Tony never ceasing the loving strokes of his hand across Peter’s skin. His fingers eventually lulled Peter to sleep, the heaviness of the weight he carried over the last few weeks finally dropping to the floor completely to be dealt with later.

The very next morning, Peter woke up to a hand flung possessively over his hip, Tony’s grip on him tight even in the groggy, sleep-addled mornings. Smiling to himself, Peter gave the strong forearm a squeeze before he got himself out of bed and into his usual morning routine. By the time he showered, shaved, and got into his penguin suit for the day, Tony was just rolling over to slap off his own alarm, a warm and happy look on his face. “I won’t miss the grumpiness, but I might miss the suits,” Tony said, his eyes following Peter’s movement from one side of the room to the other. “You look damn good in a tie, husband.”

Making sure the bulk of today’s tie (a black, maroon, and silver combo) pressed against Tony’s chest, Peter leaned down to give Tony a chaste kiss, the man’s lips a little sticky still from sleep. “They’re not going anywhere.” Peter shot him a wink, his hands moving to straighten the length of his jacket. “We won’t have to worry about making them dirty, either.”

Peter left the room to the sound of Tony’s laugh, the sound deep and resounding – the echo of it settling within his chest and keeping him company all the way through his traffic-riddled drive to work.

Several hours later, Peter walked out of his boss’s office, a soft smile on his face. He humbly discussed how much he appreciated the trust and confidence in him, but in the long run, didn’t see himself sitting behind that particular desk. And despite all of the worry and anxiety, Dr. Loughman came off understanding, the knowing look in his eye a lot like Tony’s the night before.

“Some people are born for different types of academic pursuits, Peter. You’ll find yours.”

With those words echoing in his ears, Peter promised to finish off the semester both in his current position and in the lecture hall before moving on to whatever venture came his way next. The thought should have scared him – hell, it did for months before. Yet, knowing how much better he felt having said the words and that, at the end of the day, Tony would still be there to stand against – Peter knew he was doing the right thing, both for himself and the life he planned to live with Tony by his side.

Unlike most days (except Friday), Peter got home before Tony. He quickly got his suit hung up and his comfy clothes on before making his way into the kitchen to start the famous Stark family sauce – Maria made sure he knew how to make it before she let him marry into the family. The memory made him smile and carried him through the couple of difficult parts of the process, almost like Maria was there, guiding him herself.

“It smells like my mother is here,” Tony said in the way of greeting a little while later. His eyes were wide, each cheek spattered with a slight pink from the cold of the day and the happiness he seemed to radiate wherever he went. Peter felt Tony press against his back before he could turn, the older man’s hands boxing him in against the kitchen counter.

“Hey, Pete. You’re looking much better today,” Tony whispered against the shell of his ear, the stubble above his lip pulling a shudder from Peter as he pressed back into the touch.

“I’m feeling better.”

Fiddling with the dials, Peter turned off the burner on the stove and turned in Tony’s arms, their lips sealing together seamlessly. “I gave my notice today. I’m going to finish out the semester and then decide what the hell comes next.”

Tony sucked in a long breath, his hands coming up to frame Peter’s cheeks. “And that’s what you want? That’s going to make you happy?”

The question brought a smile to his face – despite knowing just how much Peter meant it, Tony still felt the need to ask, to make sure. There weren’t many people in his life that Peter could say actually cared about his happiness, and none with the same capacity for it like Tony. Peter tightened his grip then, his hands squeezing Tony’s hips. “It’s what I want. Our life together is too good to stand around and be miserable in my own pursuits.”

“Good, then you’ll be open to new opportunities. I’ve been thinking about adding a research division to Stark Automotive. Want to see what I’m working on?”

Grinning, Peter started to steer Tony back towards their bedroom, the need for little space between them bigger than any sort of hunger for food or further conversation. The simple fact that Tony welcomed him into his life all of those years ago was enough. Yet, Tony had to take it one step further – though he never thought much about working with his husband, Peter found he liked the idea of joining Tony in that aspect of his life, too.

As he looked at the situation now, Peter wanted to shake himself – how could he let the anxiety eat at him the way he did when the most perfect support system stood by his side? Kissing Tony soundly as they collapsed onto the bed, Peter knew one thing for sure – as long as Tony was near, Peter could take on just about anything.

Especially the tricky clasp of Tony’s belt buckle.

#starker #goindownshipping #bobbie writes #my stuff #peter parker/tony stark #fluffy fluffiness #perfection - my only direction

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the-river-person · 3 years

Text

The Eminent Doctor Gaster

Honestly Sans felt he was handling the afternoon rather well so far. He’d gone the castle that morning to speak with the King about plans for the Trial, which was going ahead whether he wanted to do it or not. At the rate things were going, the uneasy feeling Monsters had towards the Human might turn into civil unrest if they let it fester. Then he’d gone to help Alphys, who was having a breakdown, again. She’d been doing so well too. The Solution had given her a boost of confidence and she’d even managed to make some headway on what Sans was referring to as the “Amalgamate Problem”. But not fast enough. Even before everybody could remember the resets, people had begun trying to reach her for news on their family members, who had fallen down and then somehow been miraculously cured, or so the original announcement had said. That was before everything had gone wrong and the Determination proved to be too much for their Monster bodies to handle. Now the Hotland Labs were receiving floods of letters from anxious family members who wanted word of their relatives, especially after recent events. Some were even angry at Alphys’ attempts to evade answering questions. Naturally this had only made her more reclusive than ever. Sans had tried to convince her to make an official report to Asgore about it all. It’s not like she’d intentionally caused the whole mess, and her experiment had been approved by the Crown to begin with. The only thing that could get her in trouble was not reporting it sooner, and the King would understand. But no amount of convincing had been enough to get Alphys to agree, she was so stressed out by the near endless phone calls and letters that she couldn’t even think straight. He’d left her after making her more hot chocolate and getting her to watch some anime he’d plucked off the shelf. Maybe she’d calm down enough to see reason. Paps was not the person he’d been counting on to make the day so much weirder. The clothes were one thing. It wasn’t as if he never wore other things. But the mysterious friend in Waterfall, the creepy grey kid, and the appearing door... those were starting to freak him out. What on earth had Papyrus gotten into here? Sure he trusted his brother, who seemed to know what he was doing for the most part, but he had no idea how to even begin to ask the stream of questions that was flooding through his mind. The grey door creaked open slowly, revealing rooms beyond with a much lighter stone that was almost grey until you got a closer look at it, then it was silvery with veins of black running through it. Sounds of running machinery and the clinking of glass was coming from inside, and Sans hesitated a little at the entrance, not sure he wanted to meet whoever was inside. But Papyrus strode confidently in and after a moment Sans followed him. It was a lab. Not as fancy and well equipped as the Hotland Labs, but still functional enough. A figure was working on something at one of the tables. They wore a black coat and had a face of white, and white hands. Somehow they seemed a little blurry at first, as if they weren’t entirely in sync with everything else. But then that blurriness went away and Sans gaped as the white face solidified into a skull and the hands into familiar bones, though with a hole through the center of each palm. “Ah,” said the person, looking rather surprised. “Welcome. I wasn’t really expecting visitors. Papyrus its good to see you again. And Sans... Hmmm. Yes. It is good to meet you...erm... again.” Again? Had they met before? Something tickled at the back of his mind, like a half forgotten memory. It swam up as he tried to recall it, offering him images of working at the Labs, the back of a tall skeletal figure in a black lab coat, working with Alphys on the DT Extractor. This figure was the same one that he remembered, he was pretty sure. And hadn’t Papyrus mentioned the previous Royal Scientist who nobody seemed to be able to remember? Had started to call him... “Uncle Gaster?” Clearly this was not the response the person had been expecting, for they jerked back in surprise. But still, they didn’t seem displeased about it. “Why yes. I am, or was, your Uncle Gaster. Also Doctor Gaster if you wish. I do prefer the use of an Honorific, it makes me feel important.” The joke was rather dry, but Sans couldn’t help but chuckle a little anyway. The tension in the air eased a little. “Would you care to see what I’m working on? I’d offer you refreshments of some kind, but I’m afraid I have none at the moment.” Sans and Papyrus followed him further into the cave. Clearly it had once been much smaller, but large parts of the walls had been dug into, making more room available for the tables and lab equipment. Gaster led them towards a particular table where bits of the strangely colored stone from the walls was broken into various pieces and some were being subjected to heat or chemicals. “WOWEE!” said Papyrus as he bent to look at the silvery liquid in a vial suspended over a bunsen burner. “NONE OF THIS WAS HERE WHEN I VISITED THE FIRST TIME!” Gaster smiled, “Yes indeed. I’ve begun to feel more like myself and get back into researching and experimentation.” He looked rather proud of himself, and Sans was struck with the intense feeling of familiarity. He knew this Monster. Knew how how he worked and what the tilt of his head meant, knew how he’d pretend to be finishing up work as they all left for home and then stay for several hours more to continue with some project or another. He understood Gaster as if he’d worked alongside him for years, which according to Papyrus, he probably had. “Looks like you’ve had a bit of a rocky start then,” he quipped with a gestured towards the stone fragments. It had been a moment before he’d managed to come up with a pun for it. Somehow it was getting harder and harder to pop out with them on the spot. It hadn’t been too big a deal at first, after all, he’d spent who knows how long doing the same puns over and over. He’d just assumed he was a little rusty at it. But every day it was a little harder for him to throw them out as quickly as he used to. Though of course he could still come up with jokes and puns at night so that he could use them later during the day. It was just when he was on the spot. Nervousness, that was all. Papyrus groaned and facepalmed but Gaster looked first confused, and then his face broke into a gleeful smile. “Of Quartz, but I managed to get back into things quick enough. I just had to be boulder with my ideas.” Sans doubled over laughing and Papyrus gave a shout of rage. “OH MY GOD! YOU TWO ARE JUST THE WORST! WHY ME!?” “Heh, Sorry Bro.” Sans made no attempt to look even remotely sorry. “So Doc, what is this fancy stone of yours?” Picking up one of the fragments, Gaster placed it under a microscope for them to view. “It’s actually quite fascinating. Though normal viewing of it makes it appear smooth, under close examination you can see the crystalline structure of the stone, which I’ve named K︎e︎n︎ó︎n. And of course the black veins are actually micro fractures in the stone, but instead of weakening it they actually make it much stronger than normal. This is because whenever the stone breaks it releases a blackish substance in an attempt to bind itself to the greater whole, resulting in a much stronger piece of stone than a fragment free from flaws.” Sans bent to gaze into the microscope. He could see the ridges and facets of the tiny crystals and the spiderwebbing of tiny cracks that covered the stone. There was also something else there, something he couldn’t quite pin down about the stuff, but it made him feel odd. But he shrugged the feeling away, from what he remembered, Gaster had always been experimenting with weird stuff and nobody ever got hurt... Except...somehow Gaster himself had vanished, not only from the Underground, but also from everyone’s memories. All records of him were gone or altered or unreadable. Only the things that couldn’t be erased were still around, like the Core, and the DT Extractor... Things that involved other people. Had it been some experiment that had landed the scientist here? Or something else? “My apologies, Papyrus!” exclaimed Gaster after about five minutes of happily talking about his experiments and findings. “I’d completely forgotten to ask if there was a reason for your visit! I’m more than happy to see you at any time, but I had thought that you might try to phone ahead or something.” Papyrus shifted, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “AH YES,” he said and hesitated. This caught Sans’ attention and he drew himself back from the pool of memories he was drudging up from the forgotten past. Paps wasn’t usually nervous about things unless it was serious. “I’VE ACTUALLY COME TO ASK YOUR ADVICE. YOU SEE, I HAVE THIS FRIEND. HE... HE ACTUALLY IS A VERY SMALL GOLDEN FLOWER WHO CAN TALK AND-” Both Sans and Gaster reacted in shock. Sans felt his eye sockets go dark, the white light that normally acted as pupils vanishing in his sudden fear and dread. Gaster on the other hand looked like someone had struck him and he stiffened. “A small golden flower?” the scientist asked, very calmly despite how he was acting physically. “What on earth has the Prince done now?” There was a long moment of silence as both brothers took in those words. In unison they turned on Gaster. “WHAT?!”

#gaster #doctor gaster #wing ding gaster #the great papyrus #sans the skeleton #undertale #undertale au #aeontale #flowey the flower #prince asriel

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codyfernmorelikedaddyfern · 3 years

Text

KILLER QUEEN - DUNCAN X ROYAL FEM!READER // PART EIGHT - END

Read it all here.

Description: A short visit to DC brings Duncan to getting a little revenge on his uncle Bill and the way he spoke about (Y/N). But isn’t it a little too late to erase the app?

Warning: You look beautiful

Word Count: 2322

Gif by @codyfernsource

“She comes in here with her royal attitude, she expects us to kneel and kiss her boot and you don’t see a problem with it, Annie?!” the loud voice of Bill Shepherd rang through his hotel suite. The older woman only rolled her eyes at her brother, watching him lose more and more of his temper. “I thought you said Duncan was only meant to publicly appear with her?! Not bring her home to meet Claire Fucking Underwood!” he continued, slamming his first against the table before raising it, an accusatory finger pointed towards his nephew.

Luckily, (Y/N) had not been present for this outburst and Duncan was somewhat thankful for it. He was used to Bill’s degrading vocabulary towards him but hearing the older man speak the way he did about his Brit caused something sour to pile on the back of his tongue. “I can’t believe you managed to find him someone dumber than him, Annie! I can’t believe she went!” the Shepherd patriarch stomped around, arms flaying up and down. His nephew opened his mouth to speak but was quickly shot down by the other man. “And what exactly did they discuss?! Were you even there or did you blank out and stare at the wall at the idea of what you’ll have for your next meal?!”

With a loud shout from Annette, the tension broke off instantly. “Bill, I will not tolerate this any longer. (Y/N) has been nothing but accommodating and, according to Duncan, she is now a very valuable ally” like a proud lioness, she spoke while standing in front of her cub. With a swift movement, she motioned for her son to leave, eyes still trained on Bill. Quickly glancing over her shoulder and noticing the absence of Duncan, she inched closer to her brother to whisper. “I know you know nothing about love, Bill. But I’m not sure Duncan will allow you to speak the way you just did about the girl he cares a great deal about any longer” his brows furrowed at his sister’s words, his head twitching to the side with surprise. “You are as much of a coward as you are blind to not see that this is much more than us getting the Windsor in our pocket, this is now about Duncan and her” Annette spat before storming out, meeting her son in the hallway and then stepping in the elevator with him.

“I was ready to punch him square in the face” they young man admitted through gritted teeth, fist still clenched. The reassuring touch of Annette as she rested her hand on his tensed shoulder brought Duncan's anger to a still. “Is she staying with you at your apartment?” she softly asked before earning a nod from him. A small smile pinched up his lips whilst he scratched the stubble of his cheek as they made their way down to the parking lot. “I think you should go back to her and relax before your interview later on” her face turned into a gentle smile before he could nod one more, walking towards the large SUV to carry them back to his apartment.

Still tangled in the white bedsheets, (Y/N)’s body gently warmed up to the embrace of the sun grazing her skin. The smell of polished furniture, fresh linen and waxed hardwood floor gently tickled her nose as she stirred in Duncan’s large bed. Then the sound of the front door and a few exchange of words came to her ears and she slowly sat up to look at the alarm clock. It had been years since she had slept past 7:30 and her sleeping in was definitely blamed on the jet lag. Slowly, she heard the door creak open, the sight of Duncan igniting the smile blossoming on her tired face. In the heartbeat it took for him to notice her looking back at him, awake, his somewhat frown matched her expression and that same heartbeat seemed to falter slightly. Strolling across the room to seat right at the edge of the bed, his smile only grew brighter as she silently rested her head on his lap, wrapping her tired arms around his waist.

Shoes kicked off and the covers thrown over his taller frame, the American settled next to (Y/N) below the covers, arms looped around the small of her waist. And a quick cuddling session turned into hours of simply laying there, pressed against one another in comfortable silence. A hand carding through the (Y/H/C) locks of the duchess and the quiet sound of breathing filled in the room whilst they basked in the feeling of nuzzling against their lover. Duncan cleared his throat, reluctantly breaking the comfort of the moment.

“I'm scheduled for an interview at the Shepherd Hall in a little over an hour” the brunette groaned before pressing his face deep against the crook of his girl's neck. A low whine fell from the woman's lips before she looked over at him with a frown. “Thought we were meant to spend today together?” her voice mumbled, pulling the covers up against her exposed breasts. A quiet snicker passed Duncan's throat at the sight of the expression on his girlfriend's features. “I promise, after it's over, I'll be right here, making sure that Her Majesty has her fill of DC for a few months” the man whispered, intent on fulfilling his promise.

And just like that, he was out the door, black high neck loosely tucked in a pair of his black slacks, jacket ever so slightly flowing behind him. Thought clouded his mind. He didn't have a lot of time to make it right. 11:42 was when he stepped into the office. 11:47 was when he entered his password in the computer he had spent days, weeks, months working on, clammy and shaking hands caused by the stammering of his heart hitting the keys.

If Bill was being such a prick, so would Duncan. And especially when it came to the the woman he loved. Love? Duncan thought. “I guess it is love, then” he whispered in the next heartbeat. The annoyance of getting rid of such a large amount of work was upsetting but fucking his uncle over was much more tempting than anything else right now.

11:52 was when the coding in progress popped up on his screen. “Control, shift, home” were the words he breathed, pressing the keys from his keyboard. And then Delete was pressed. No more code, no more app. No more app, meant a sweet revenge on Duncan's part. He watched the pages of data get swept away with a satisfied smirk dancing along his lips. A loud knock pulled him out of his trance, Seth opening the door. “They're here” he announced.

The Shepherd's bachelor stood from his seat, watching the last of the page erase before he could shut down the computer. “I'll be with them in a second. Tell my mother I'll be down in a couple of minutes, will you?” he looked at his colleague who's only response was an anxious looking nod.

(Y/N)'s phone buzzed with a similar notification. “Get on WVDC, the interview is beginning now and be on shortly after we record it”. But the quiet and gentle snoring convinced her other wise. It's only when she heard the loud ringing of her phone that the Duchess woke up. 6 missed calls, one from an unknown number, 5 from Annette. Her blood ran cold as she watched her screen light up once more with the name of the Shepherd's mother. Picking up the call, the shaky voice of the older woman brought tear to the (Y/H/C). “They took Duncan away, (Y/N)”

The slow clicking of her heels reverberated through the long halls. Just like her first meeting with Duncan, she was late. Mainly due to the long conversations that has just happened between herself, her father and the cause of the problem: Clair Underwood, the president of the United States of America. Hushed conversations rang to her ears as she was striding towards the door. “Let me handle this” (Y/N) gently asked Annette whilst making her way to the guard about to press the door open.

The mop of brown curls turned to look at the Princess, cheeks flushed and tears dried on the stubble of his cheeks. Duncan thought about standing up. He allso thought about running to her. He thought about burring his face in the crook of her neck in shame, perhaps to cry once more. But he just sat there. And it broke her already aching heart as the door banged closed behind her petite frame.

A sigh pushed past the man's chest. The woman looked at him, standing as tall as she could above his seated form. His blue gaze danced across her. He was afraid. Afraid of what looked like to be the anger she carried. Afraid of what she was going to do or say to him. Afraid for his own heart to break. Afraid of her. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of hurting him, however, because he spoke first.

“I'll ask my mother to book you the first flight to London. Luckily, you've not unpacked anything yet so you're pretty much ready to go” his head bobbed with a nod, eyebrows knitting together. Duncan swallowed the tightening lump in his throat, regret already flooding through his bloodstream. “We can't have Her Majesty publicly seeing a convicted felon so I guess it's time for us to break the contract. It was a pleas-”

The stinging of the loud slap she delivered to his cheek interrupted the speech pouring out of the man but luckily, it brought some clarity to his thoughts. A couple of seconds passed and (Y/N) looked at him. “Are you done talking shit now?” she simply asked. To think she was angry before clearly was an understatement on the brunette's part because the horrified expression on his girl's face spoke for itself now. A heavy sigh fell in the room. “Why are you here, (Y/N)?” were the words he whispered, his heart heavy.

Arms crossed over her trembling chest, the Duchess took in a deep breath. “I spoke to my father. And I spoke to Claire. Either you carry on your sentence, this is over before it has really begun and you serve your time in jail.” The blue of her boyfriend's gaze reached the (Y/E/C) of hers whilst she settled in the chair in front of him, legs crossing one over the other. “Or you come with me now. We go back to London as prison time, exiled from the States”

A snicker shook the man, quickly replaced by a laugh. “And why exactly are you trying to help me?” a shit eating grin on his lips, clasping his manacled hands on his laps. The petite frame of the Brit leaned closer across to him, lips parting as she spoke. “Because I'm in love with you, Duncan” were the words she whispered. And he watched them roll off of her tongue, his eyes transfixed on her mouth. “So I'm going to repeat it. Either you come with me, the charges are dropped and we work things out or you stay here and get comfortable in your cell”.

His only response was to close the distance between them, his lips chasing hers. Duncan felt (Y/N)'s mouth curling up against his. “Luckily, I didn't unpack anything either” his voice murmured before diving in for another kiss only for a small hand to press him away. “So you're really not going to say it back, you dickhead?” a smirk painted her lips.

And just like that, she woke up enveloped in the arms of the American every morning for the next three years. The alarm rang later on that morning of August, a sense of excitement building up in their stomach as they got ready for their day, meeting with her brothers and her father in Kew Garden. After spending a week together on a romantic trip in Bali, speculations rose in the tabloids. And it was dressed in an elegant deep green jumpsuit matching Duncan's impeccable suit jacket, that the Royal put the rumours to rest.

“You highness, this way please? Bring your left hand forward?” the man holding the camera asked. Duncan's hand draped on the waist of his girl. The park was empty for the occasion, the lovebirds obliging the photographer's demands as he snapped pictures upon pictures. No, the Duchess was not pregnant. At least, not yet. It's with a simple letter that everything was laid to rest, accompanied by some of the many pictures of the pretty ring she now wore.

"His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales is delighted to announce the engagement of Princess (Y/N) to Mr Duncan Shepherd.

The wedding will take place in Summer 2021. Further details about the wedding day will be announced in due course.

Her Royal Highness and Mr Shepherd became engaged in London earlier this month. Princess (Y/N) has informed Her Majesty The Queen and other close members of her family. Mr Shepherd has also sought and received the blessing of myself for their union.

The couple will live in Nottingham Cottage at Kensington Palace."

That's how, the next morning, the front page of a magazine wrote about the news. Duncan was halfway through his cup of coffee when he looked up and watched (Y/N) read the same newspaper he just had filed through. He looked at her with a cock of his head, her gaze meeting his with an amused chuckle. “What?” the Brit chuckled. “I guess I love you” the brunette responded, rolling his eyes and faking annoyance. And with another soft smile, Duncan crowned the princess with a kiss on her forehead. “No, I'm sure I do, Mrs. Shepherd” the American finished before walking past his girl.

______________________________________________________________

Killer Queen squad : @welcometothelioncage @nathidfc, @dark-mei-rose, @littledemondani, @fckinsupreme, @littlegirlsdontplaynice, @leatherduncan, @michael-langdon-appreciation, @with-dandelions-in-her-hands @nickiechao11, @miss-diamonds, @radioactivegirlsworld @idespac, @psychobitchtess, @hplotrfan, @tea-party-at-wonderland, @langdxn, @wroteclassicaly, @hecohansen31 & @blakewaterxx

#Duncan Shepherd #Duncan shepherd X reader #killer queen

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

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Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 194

194

Lance knew better than to turn to sex for emotional comfort, he told himself he did, and he still let himself get swept away by Keith’s overwhelming desire to confirm he was loved... and loved a lot.

Cuddled together, the emotional exhaustion had Keith falling asleep in his arms. The position uncomfortable for Lance, but he didn’t have it in his heart to move Keith. He loved him. He loved the soft puffs of breath that tickled his stomach. He loved the long dark strands of hair that had escaped Keith’s ponytail. He loved his warmth. He loved that this ego and Keith’s seemed to understand that they were crazy about each other, despite the clash in their scents. He’d never ever thought a vampire could love a werewolf. Not with the long going open hostility... but he loved Keith. Heck. His stubbornness over a proposal so soon into dating had faded. Keith could propose with a piece of used dental floss and fluff from under the bed and he’d still be over the moon.

Tolerating the pain in his hips, and his need for the bathroom, as long as he could, Lance had to move Keith off of him. His boyfriend trying to grab him as Lance moved his hand away and kissed his forehead

“Bathroom break”

Keith huffed unhappy about it. So terribly cute. Being a werewolf was wasted on his boyfriend. Not when he was an octopus when it came to cuddles

“I’ll be back in a moment”

Huffing, Keith let his arm drop, Lance escaping and grabbing his phone as he went.

Calling Shiro was a spare of the moment decision. He didn’t want to alarm him in the middle of the night, but he also wanted to give him the heads up on what they were doing. Sending a text first, he was done in the bathroom by the time his phone started ringing. Anxiety sent his stomach dropping. He hated how things were between him and Shiro. He’d said some cruel things, Shiro had said some cruel things. They both messed up, yet he seemed to be stuck on fear mode when talking to Keith’s brother. Sliding his thumb across the screen, Lance took a deep breath before moving his phone to his ear

“Lance?”

Oh god. He couldn’t go back now

“H-hey... Shiro. Sorry if you were sleeping”

“It’s the middle of the night”

Shiro sounded like he’d definitely been sleeping

“Sorry. Keith’s asleep and I wanted to give you the heads up. We’re going to visit his dad’s grave today. I thought I’d let you know in case he didn’t want to talk, or didn’t answer in chat”

“I thought you would have gone yesterday”

There was a kind of blame in Shiro’s voice... Lance didn’t blame him

“We were both tired, so we had a lazy day to let Keith build up to it”

“Okay. I see”

Well. This was awkward

“Yeah. We actually met a man who knew Keith’s dad and it rattled him. We didn’t tell him that he was talking to Keith, but this town wants to forget that fire and it’s hard on him”

“Of course it’s hard on him”

Shit. There was no reason for tears and yet his eyes were getting watery

“I’m sorry for calling. I just wanted to let you know what was going on. I’ll leave you to go back to sleep”

Shiro sighed deeply. There was no way he could know he’d upset Lance

“Is he okay. Is he eating?”

“Yeah. Yeah. He’s been eating, he hasn’t gotten angry or stormed off. He was a bit emotional tonight. Oh, can you bring some of his camera equipment? I think it’ll be a good distraction. We’re going to get a copy of the council records on the fire... so I want him to have something else to think about”

A stupid sniffle escaped. He wanted happiness for Keith...

“Lance...”

Nope. He had to hang up. He was going to start crying if he stayed on the phone

“I’m sorry, Shiro. I... have to go... I’m sorry”

Cutting the call as Shiro tried to reply, Lance left his phone in the bathroom. He didn’t want to go into the day in a down mood. Then again, he’d thought the same thing the previously and... well, ugh. He’d had fun with Keith, acting like they were children again. With Blue, having a sandpit at home wouldn’t work, but his mind was already planning a future family holiday to the beach where he’d bully Keith into making sandcastles with him. He’d have someone twin sit so he and Keith could have a proper day being dumb at the beach, then come home slightly sunburnt, and regretting things, but at the same time not because they’d had a lot of fun. Keith was his whole future. As Coran would say, they were soulmates. He really would gift Keith his whole being just to be lucky enough to call him his.

Crawling back into bed, Keith instantly drew him close for snuggling. Their positions now switched with Keith laying on his back and Lance laying half on top of him where he could fit. Yeah. He wanted to marry this guy... One day he’d marry the heck out of him, and Keith would marry the heck out of his right back.

Keith didn’t try to hide his anxious mood as they got ready for the day ahead. He knew Lance was anxious as the vampire had tried to clean the hotel room, grumping that there was no vacuum cleaner to do the floors with. Sullen over breakfast, Lance covered for him. Smiling and thanking the waitress that brought their breakfast, smoothing things over while Keith sat slouched and glared at the world.

All too soon they were headed to the cemetery, Keith not really remembering the drive despite being the driver. Parking in the parking lot, his whole body shook. He wanted to flee. They were so close and he hated how much he wanted to flee. This was his dad. He shouldn’t have been as nervous as he was, but all of this left just as shaken as he’d been to learn to Lance was pregnant. His dad knew about the creatures of the night, and now he was turning up at his grave as one of those creatures.

Lance didn’t push him. He undid his belt, but waited until Keith was so cranky at himself for his cowardice and made a move of his own, before climbing out the bronco. The cemetery wasn’t like the one in Garrison. There were more weeds than grass. Sand skirted the edges of the area, with a few very old trees in place. It felt lonely. Not a place people would want to visit... and he’d left his dad laying there for all those years... Somehow it’d been easier to say goodbye to Mami than it was to face his dad. Mami being gone hadn’t been real until he’d seen her grave. There was no denying the proof thrust onto him. Moving to take his hand, Lance squeezed softly to tell him he was there for him. Keith wanted to pull his hand away, not feeling he deserved support after leaving his dad alone. Hearing the police officer from the previous night describe how much his father loved him had shaken him. Reminded him dangerous it was to fall in love. How freak accidents happened every day and the ones you loved were stolen away unfairly.

Wandering through the cemetery, it smelt... unnerving. Lance’s death scent was the kind of scent he wanted to roll in. The scent of the cemetery should have been the same. There was so much death there, which was logical, but this was a cold death. A fine layer of goosebumps covered his skin as he tried not to read the names of the people they passed. His dad should have been buried somewhere nice. Somewhere like in Platt with its rolling green lawns, or in Garrison where there was no chance of his resting place being disturbed. When Lance came to a stop, Keith didn’t get why until his eyes met the gravestone. His heart doing a flip as he realised just who they’d finally found.

“Jeong” “Joe” Steven Kogane”

The word seemed glaring almost on his senses. His dad was right there and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. Under his birthday and date of death read “A hero taken back to heaven”. No “beloved father of Keith”. No mention of him at all. Erased from his father’s grave felt as if his whole existence had been erased. He was “beloved”. He’d loved Keith and Keith loved him.

“Babe”

“I’m not there”

Lance tugged him close, Keith shaking

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay”

“I’m not there...”

“As unpleasant as it is, babe, and this is going to sound hard, but with no money to pay for the grave, I’m sure his friends put in for it. Some places charge a hundred dollars for each lead letter”

Pushing Lance away, his boyfriend stumbled but saved himself. Keith was mad Lance could reduce this to money, even if he was right

“So it’s okay for me to not be in there! I’m his son! I’m his son and they don’t even care! They forgot me! And you don’t care!”

Lance shot him a wounded look, taking a few deep breaths as he rubbed his stomach. He’d scared him. He’d scared him and he knew it. Why had he pushed him? That behaviour wasn’t okay... He was such a moron

“It’s not that I don’t care... I care. I love you and I care. You dad loved and he cared. We don’t know what they were thinking, but they were hurting too. You had your dad torn away from you. They had their friend torn away from them. I think it’s nice that they gave him a proper stone when he was laid to rest. People these days are so self centred it’s not something you’d expect to see. Anyway, you haven’t even introduced yourself to your dad, babe”

Keith flicked his gaze from Lance back to his father’s grave. He was showing his dad the wrong side of him... but he felt stupid standing there. He wanted Lance to take the initiative and introduce both of them... yet... He couldn’t keep running away

“Uh... um... Hi... dad... it’s me, Keith. I don’t know what to say. He’s not here...”

Lance moved back to his side

“You don’t have to say what you want to say out loud. Jeong... Joe... I’m Lance. I’m a vampire and I have the honour of dating your son Keith. He’s a total handful, but he’s a good man. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re here. I wish I could have met you. You’re going to be a grandfather to twins. Krolia’s excited about it all. Yes, she and Keith found each other again... I know you didn’t want to leave him, but I promise to love him as long as we both live. To make him happy. And to stay by his side for the rest of our lives. You fathered an amazing man...”

See. Lance was a million times better at this than him. Keith’s heart going funny as Lance sounded like he was all but proposing in front of his father

“Babe, you don’t have to be afraid of your father. He may not be here in spirit, but he’s always a part of you. You should tell him about you. And next time we come, we’ll bring flowers and tidy his grave up properly. Fuck... I was going to bring him a photo of the twins... Shit... I swore in front of your dad”

Keith mentally rolled his eyes at Lance swearing in front of his father... twice. That was more something he would do. He guessed he could try something more... He couldn’t really disappoint his father any more than he already had by pushing Lance

“Uh... yeah... Um... Lance is my boyfriend and he’s carrying my twins... and I... I’m a werewolf. Shiro... uh, he’s like my adopted brother without the paperwork, he um, had to have me turned to save my life... um... Lance... makes me really happy. I know you’d be disappointed that I... um... pushed him. I’m disappointed in myself too... I... I’m no good at this”

“Babe, you’re doing fine. You’re doing more than fine. You’re doing good. Do you want me to give you a moment?”

Keith shook his head. He couldn’t face this alone. He felt dumb and left alone would only make him storm off angry at himself

“No. Stay... please”

“Sure. You can tell him anything you want to say, but don’t... don’t feel like you have to rush into telling him everything. Your dad would be so happy to see you. He loved you and he was proud of you. That’s the important thing. And now we know where he is, we can come back and visit. We’ll bring the twins, and I’ll tell them about him. And you’ll tell them about him. Just because they’re gone, doesn’t mean we don’t love our parents any less. I miss Mami every single day. Whenever I need advice, it’s still imprinted on me to turn to her. It’s okay to not be okay about seeing your dad again, especially when life was so mean as to take him away when you were so young. But, babe. You’re not alone. I’m here. I know how much you have to say. You’ve said it all to me. It’s okay to tell him you love him and miss him”

If only it was that simple. He felt so unbelievably stupid. His dad wasn’t there. He couldn’t tell him face to face. He didn’t even know if they’d recovered a body...

“I don’t... I’m...”

“Babe, hey. You’re not stupid”

Keith ducked his head. He hadn’t realised he’d been venting out loud

“It doesn’t feel like he’s here”

“I know. I think humans starting erecting grave markers not only to show that someone was once alive, but to give you somewhere to go to talk to that person you miss. It’s like looking at picture and asking them “What do you think I should do?”. The picture can’t reply, but you think about that person when you’re looking at it. I know you have very few memories of your father. I know and it sucks. I’m hoping we can learn more by looking at the council records. I want you to know him. He wants you to know him. The time you spent together wasn’t wasted... that’s... kind of why I questioned that cop. I want you to know whatever there’s to know about your dad... and it was clear to everyone around at the time that you and your dad were tight. That he loved you. That he’d done all he could to be happy and make you safe and loved”

Keith of old wouldn’t have been convinced. He still wasn’t sure he was convinced and Lance wasn’t simply telling him what he wanted to hear. Yet, this pregnancy had changed him. He adored the twins. He already knew he’d do absolutely everything and anything for them. He never wanted them to feel the pain he’d gone through. He didn’t want them to be scared to ask for the things they wanted or needed. He didn’t want them not knowing him... Lance would tell them all about him, should something ever happen to him. He knew that. He’d spent so long angry that his father had left him. So many years were wasted with nowhere to direct that anger into anything other than destruction. But... if his father felt as he did, then he had been loved. He’d been loved and wanted. The last thing his father would have wanted was to leave him behind. Somehow he’d managed to survive, to survive long enough to meet the best man he could hope for to spend the rest of his life with. He wasn’t the same man who’d pulled a gun on Lance. The idea of it still made him feel like a total douche canoe. His father might not have approved... but maybe... maybe he didn’t need his approval... because Lance made him happy. He made him grateful to be alive in this world.

“I really love you, babe. I’m sorry I pushed you away. That was really uncool of me. You didn’t deserve it”

Lance immediately shook his head

“No. I’m okay. You’re all messed up inside and that’s understandable”

“It might be understandable, but that doesn’t make it okay. I love you. I love being with you... I... don’t want to hurt you. I want... to be the kind of boyfriend you’re proud of”

“Babe, you always make me proud. Even on the days you can’t find it in you to like, or even love yourself, I love you. I’m proud to be your boyfriend, and I’m thankful that I’m here with you, to meet your dad. I think he truly would have been proud of you. You’re hot headed and reckless, and you’re still grieving everything, but you’re so strong. You’re a good man. And the man I want to spend every day with for the rest of my life. I want to make you happy. I want to be the one who makes you laugh and smile. I want to shout out to the whole damn world that you’re mine. I wanna have kids and grow old ... older... with you. I wanna be there for the good and the bad and be your family as long as we both shall live”

Keith blushed. Lance shouldn’t be so kind and quick with his praise, his ego was lapping it all up, and he could almost feel it swelling inside of him in the literal sense of the word.

“I’ll never get used to you praising me when I’ve done nothing”

“You don’t have to do anything. You being you is all I could ever want”

Again, what Lance was saying was sounding dangerously close to a proposal. Keith knew he was overthinking things. Lance wanted to date for a while before considering making it all official on paper. He could wait. His ego might not be happy, but their love wasn’t any less without a ring on Lance’s pretty little finger. With his boyfriend’s praise, he could stand before his dad... maybe finally feeling a little less stupid about trying to talk to a grave stone than he had before. Holding Lance’s hand, he shook his head, trying to shake off his earlier stupidity

“Dad, this is Lance. He’s a vampire and I love him. We’re a family... we might not be the perfect family, especially when you think about everything, but he’s perfect to me. He... he’s... really all sorts of amazing. Mum... uh, um... Krolia... I met her again. She’s... weird. But I guess that’s okay... I... um, didn’t have the best life before, but things are better than they’ve ever been. I used to be into photography, but... um... lately I’ve been into Lance. Um... my brother, Shiro... I think you’d like him... he and his partner Curtis are going to come meet you... mum had worked. She’s still with Blade. We didn’t really get along but that’s better now... next time we come, we’ll clean up your grave... I still... can’t believe you’re right in front of me”

Lance let out a hum as Keith mentioned cleaning his dad’s grave. Keith automatically jumping to conclusions, and that conclusion was that Lance was thinking something

“What is it?”

“Huh?”

Scrunching his brow, Lance cocked his head at him

“You hummed...”

“Oh. I was thinking we should ask the council if we’re allowed to put up a little fence and make it look nice”

Where was Lance building this fence? And what did that have to do with his father’s grave?

“You want to build a fence?”

“Not a “fence” fence. But like a little border and we could put in a couple of cacti to give it some colour. I was just thinking it would be nice to show his resting place some love”

You could take the vampire out of the... something witty and to do with handyman antics, but you couldn’t take them out of the vampire

“Babe, you don’t have to do that”

“I want to. I want to make it look nice, so everyone knows he’s loved. And when the twins come, they’ll know it’s their grandfather’s grave and that he would have loved them very much”

“Wait... this is too much”

“Sorry. Sometimes I go off in my own head, which you know. I don’t mean to sound like I’m pressuring you. I mean, it is making an assumption and stuff. I just thought it’d be nice to come back to”

“You... want to come back?”

“He’s your dad. I think I’m going to make it a thing... but only if it’s okay with you”

They’d only just found his father again. This was a bit too much for him right now

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course. Sorry, I’m being overbearing. Okay. In the future I think it’d be nice to put something here, but for now we’ll pick up some nice flowers to bring back”

“Yeah. That’d be nice... I don’t even know where to start...”

Lance wanted to track down as much about his father as he could. It still felt kind of weird that Lance cared and wanted him to know about his dad... then again, Mami had filled Lance with so much love that Lance probably couldn’t help himself

“Then we’ll figure things out together. I’m sorry, I’ve got to sit for a bit. Will you be okay with having a few moments alone?”

Keith blinked. Then realised Lance wasn’t simply blushing, he was getting sunburnt...

“Yeah. I... I feel better about talking to him”

“You take your time. I’ll be waiting in the car. Please don’t rush because of me”

“I won’t... I mean, maybe a little”

Lance bumped him with his elbow

“Don’t be mean to your dad. He’s waited all this time. Make sure you have a good talk with him. I mean, how am I supposed to tell Mami I made you fuss too much? She’d kick my arse”

“Yeah. She would. I won’t be too long... because we’re coming back... right?”

“Yeah, babe. We’ll be back so many times he’ll be sick of us. I love you”

“I love you, too”

Lance left him with a kiss on the cheek. Keith needing a few moments to steady himself, before deciding maybe he could start with the easy stuff then work up to the really painful parts of his past. His dad loved him... he loved him and he had so much to tell him.

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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jaefluenza · 4 years

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[11.11] — Part 3 (last) Part 1 | Part 2

word count: 1,1k words

“It will be a very active day across the region with multiple hazards this afternoon and tonight. Starting off, we will see a threat for strong to severe storms during the mid-afternoon to evening hours. Confidence in storm formation and timing is still only moderate given that several key ingredients need to come together just right.”

You turn off the television as you let out a deep sigh. You stare through your apartment window, looking at the outside filled with rain and wind. “I can’t believe Sunday can be such a bad day.”

After you moved to Ulsan, you immediately obtained a job as a hairdresser at a famous salon in town. You gained a lot of friends in only two weeks. You hang out with your friends every weekend but today’s the only exception. You look at the group chat full of rants because the storm has ruined the Sunday plan. You typed some funny pun to cheer them up, before walking to your kitchen to make your lunch.

You decided to make a bowl of warm chicken soup for yourself to enjoy, singing by yourself in the kitchen. “Don’t rain on my parade~” You sang. You turned on the stove before you freeze in the middle of cooking.

“Don’t mess with the sauce, babe!” Johnny screamed playfully.

“But you know how I love pesto sauce! Uh, this tastes really good!” You squeal in delight, tasting the sauce on your finger.

“Do you like it when I cook for you?” Johnny asked. “Yeah, I love your food, but I love Taeyong’s food more.” You teased the tallboy.

He makes a face, “What did you say?” You laugh as you say back, “I said, I love your food, but I love Taeyong’s food more.”

“Oh, you have chosen death, huh?” He approached you with a creepy smile.

You run away from him, squealing while putting the pesto sauce in your mouth.

A minute later, you’re locked in his huge arms, laughing out loud from tickles he gave you.

A drop of tears fall on the back of your hand scattered your blurry flashbacks. You feel like the whole room replaying the sweet memories of him. You wipe your tears harshly, determined to erase him from his mind. “Let’s not be dramatic.” You said to yourself before focusing on your cooking.

You finished your chicken soup as you turn the television once again. Living alone really bores you a lot. You used to take care of someone, and wait for someone to come home-

Your once again thoughts were interrupted by a knock in your front door. You dried your hands before putting the clean dish on the dryer. “Wait a minute!” You yell hurriedly, curious at who’s possible coming to your apartment on a stormy day.

You were about to ask if it’s a package guy when you open the door but you stopped. “J-johnny?” You look at your ex-boyfriend in front of your door, drenched wet possibly from the rain.

“Hi, Y/n. This might not be my best appearance but I tried not to wet myself, really.” He said awkwardly. You stay still because of the shock before he speaks again. “Uh, can I come in?”

You nod while blinking your eyes, “Y-yeah, of course.”

You let him sit on your leather couch as you promised him to look for an over-sized sweater or something. As a fellow human being, you wouldn’t let him keep wearing a wet outfit and freeze to death, even though he’s your ex.

Fortunately, you found his old sweater and his baggy pants you accidentally brought on your moving day. You prepared his clothes and bring them outside. “Here, I found your things I accidentally brought from your apartment. I- uh, I think it’s fair to say that I’m returning them back to you.”

He was about to say something when you cut him off, “Hurry, take a bath or you’ll catch a cold.” You avoid his eyes as you leave to the kitchen.

You stir the hot chocolate anxiously, while waiting for him to finish showering. You silently thanking your clean-freak habit, because you don’t feel anxious or embarrassed while he’s using your clean and neat bathroom. You leave the cup on the counter for him to drink later and go to your room to check your phone.

While Johnny finished showering, he takes a look in your organized drawer. You’re still the same Y/n he knows, he thought. He smiles at thought of you around him, it makes him feel happy and complete. It also amazes him that you still keep some of his things.

“Y/n?” He called. You leave your phone to answer him. “Yeah? Oh, there’s your hot chocolate on the counter. Have it before it cools down.”

“Thank you, Y/n. You’ve done so much for me.” He smiles sincerely.

“It’s nothing. Uh, you can use my dryer, by the way. Don’t bring home some wet clothes.” He nods, “Yeah, I put them already.”

“So, why are you here?” You asked.

He took a seat next to you while sighing deeply. “I came here to talk.”

You didn’t reply back, giving him a sign to continue.

“Have you think about it? About us, starting over?” He asked as he looks deeply into you.

“I.. still need the reason why you want us to start over, john. I can’t simply go back to you and repeat the same mistakes again.”

“Because I can’t live without you, Y/n. There’s no doubt in it, and I don’t even have any thought to replace you with anyone. I may die a single man if you’re not mine anymore. Please try again with me, Y/n.”

You look into his eyes to find any sincerity in them, and you think you found it.

“Me too, john. Me too..” You uttered.

“So whenever you ask me how I feel, the answer is still you, Y/n.” He shifts closer towards you. He felt his heart broke when he sees you cry in front of him.

“I have never had the thought of replacing you with anyone, too.” You confessed. “I’m still waiting for you, but I’m afraid if we’ll repeat the same thing again. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for a break up again, Johnny.”

He pulls you closer for a hug, putting his head on yours. “I’m sorry to make you feel that way, Y/n. I’m really sorry. I don’t deserve to have you, really.” You feel his tears flow through your scalp.

“Now that I’m in your arms, I can finally tell you..” You look up to him before you continue, “I’m ready to start over, john.”

He says nothing, and pull you into a sweet yet salty make up kiss instead.

jaefluenza masterlist

#nct 127 #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct angst #nct johnny #nct fluff #cznnet #nct writing #johnny angst #johnny scenarios

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iaintyourbro · 4 years

Note

Hi! So I read the "Why I think Clerith doesn't work" post. It's a behemoth of an exchange but I'm glad I went through it! So much sense, insight and lovely politeness everywhere! It's a bit off on tangent but my takeaway is that FF7 would stay the same whether Clerith was romantic or platonic, but if Cloti wasn't romantic, the plot suffers big time. Like to the point that it would lose sense. Cloud not loving Tifa the way he does doesn't flow with the tapestry. 1/

That's not to say that Clerith relationship is unimportant but I guess to me it just drives the point further that it could only be Tifa for Cloud. OG Soldier!Cloud may or may not have had romantic feelings for Aerith and if he did, it indeed won't diminish his love for Tifa in any way. But those feelings are fake; Remake Aerith herself says this, OG Cloud himself comes to realize this. Those possible romantic feelings don't hold much substance (if any at all) post-Lifestream sequence. 2/7

It would be almost impossible for Cloud to think of Aerith romantically once he regains his true self because of Tifa and Zack. This development directly negates every moment he may have previously thought of as romantic. This development overwrites Soldier!Cloud's possible romantic interpretations as nothing more than being a decent person and a good friend. All of this tells me that to take Clerith romantically as a plot point would require some extra elbow grease 3/7

that you won't naturally find in the tapestry. To do so soundly, we would need something else that the devs didn't give us. That's not to say that Clerith being romantic is twisting canon to be what it's not, but rather it doesn't matter in the big picture. The story stands on solid ground as it does if they're platonic, and because Cloud's true love already exists in Tifa and they are ultimately endgame, then there's no need for Clerith to be romantic. 4/7

This is what I mean when I say Clerith romance would need something else, some extra elbow grease; it COULD be there but it's ultimately needless. Which in turn leads me to believe that the romantic possibility between them in OG was indeed put there purely for drama's sake and shock value. Some fans ran with that possibility mindlessly but that’s a different discussion. Bottom line is I think Clerith could either be romantic or platonic and it won't affect the plot all that much, 5/7

because the feeling that Cloud is left with as regards to Aerith is crushing guilt (which he thankfully works through in ACC and we can only assume he remembers her fondly as time goes on) while the feeling Cloud has for Tifa is abiding love, which drives his actions in the plot throughout the whole Compilation. /end LOL sorry this take is way too long but I so loved the whole exchange and it really tickled my last 2 brain cells. Thank you for that!! Stay safe and well ❤ 6/7

Uh, “why clerith doesn’t work” with the long ass ask here lol I’m so sorry to do this to you. But correcting/clarifyingone of stuff I said: Cloud and Tifa being “ultimately endgame”, I meant that they are endgame by the devs’ design. Them ending up together was intentional and not just because Aerith happened to die (just as her death was also intentional and by design). 😬 7/7 (?) lol

Hello Anon! You sent me in quite a thing, so let’s get to it! First, I’m glad you got to read through all of that. I think those types of discussions are really amazing especially when people do stay polite and do actually take other opinions into consideration.

I agree with you - Clerith being romantic or not doesn’t really matter overall to the plot. I think the problem that comes up is how extremist CAs deal with the whole thing. Some are okay with Cloud dying to be with Aerith. Some are okay with trashing Tifa - who is like the most important person in the world to Cloud, you find out - to diminish her character. They twist, erase, and lie about canon and story. That’s where shit gets nasty. But no, it wouldn’t matter plot wise either way.

Also I’m putting pictures in this post because they’re pretty. (The one below cracks me up.)

The relationship of those two is important. I think Aerith’s resolution is poorly interpreted because all of her lines aren’t taken in to consideration. The line “Don’t fall in love with me.” It’s bold. It insinuates something. It makes an assumption. It’s the follow up that’s more important to me... “Even if you think you have... it’s not real.” Boom. That is where it is - if you stop listening at the “L” word, this will be lost on you. This is used to foreshadow Cloud’s persona problem AND to say - the point of Aerith being seen as a romantic interest in OG was to show even more of the illusion that Cloud was under. Do I think they needed to make it romantic - no. I really don’t see it as very romantic in OG, but a lot of people disagree with me and that’s okay. Replaying it as an adult, I saw nothing substantial between those two. Early in OG, though, there’s nothing early on between him and Tifa either. Remake, uh... clearly changed that with Tifa.

Regarding Zack and Real!Cloud’s feelings for Tifa: I cannot think that Cloud would be like “well he’s dead so...” No. True!Cloud also has been pining over Tifa for years. His entire subconscious is filled with Tifa, Tifa, Tifa. They’ve translated this underlying feeling in Remake for SOLDIER!Cloud and how he acts around and reacts to Tifa. It’s like Real!Cloud isn’t gonna let him screw up too bad...

Most of the posts you see saying that Clerith is canon or Clerith was heavy in Remake ignore a lot of other scenes. I’ve seen all three resolution scenes. Multiple times. They’re all important. A lot of extreme shippers will not watch the scene with “the other chick” in them because it’s easier to sit in denial of it. Tifa’s resolution is the most intimate. She hugs him and he hugs her back. This is a huge development thing for Cloud. It also was confirmed that real Cloud was like “my turn” when she did that...

Barret’s resolution scene even has a Cloti moment in it regarding Al and his flowers, which is one of the most unexpected and hilarious reactions I saw out of Cloud. Barret’s resolution also covers some history on Avalanche and he gets to talk about the crew. You hear names that you can go back and see on the darts leaderboard on your next playthrough.

Aerith references the Highwind scene (above). The Highwind scene is the one everybody talks about when it comes to Cloud and Tifa. That and the Lifestream (I prefer the Lifestream, but Remake may... uh... make me change my mind... cuz horny jail and all that).

The one thing they did that was, to me, a huge difference from OG was push the romance envelope. So you get scenes like the train tunnel roll, that’s dripping with sexual tension. You get the scene in Tifa’s apartment if you do all of the quests (everybody should be doing ALL of the quests for ALL Chapters), you get another Cloti scene that’s tense. They have a lot of tense, slam in your face moments that I don’t know how people ignore.

If you look at some of these moments and have no clue what this scene is or what this game is about, you’re gonna have thoughts on what’s going on here. I have thoughts and I know what happens. This is one of those “pheewwww” scenes.

None of this was in OG - they kept the romance between Cloud and Tifa pretty much so subtle you’d have to squint to see the few times it happens before the end of Disc 2. The first time Cloud really comes out and says anything, it’s this:

If you ignore Tifa and think Aerith is all there is to see, this line will come out of left field. It still somewhat feels like its out of left field considering how light Cloti is before this point, but it’s like “I don’t care what anybody else thinks of me except you.” I do remember this slamming me in the face like “where’d this come from” and that’s when the illusion starts to spiral out of control. This works perfectly on your first playthrough and then enhances your second playthrough so you can see how many weird things you can point out to foreshadow what’s going on.

Also... Cloud’s illusionary world in the first half of the game is a major plot point that can’t be ignored. Ignoring it means you stopped playing the game before you get to this point. The player starts to feel anxious like something is wrong. You start to question everything, and then you do get resolution to this later on, and I love the way they did it.

But if you want to say Tifa isn’t a love interest, you need to throw the above scene out. Why would he care so much?

Or this. You would need to ignore the Lifestream. All of it. 90% of it is about Tifa. The other parts are about Zack and Sephiroth. But Tifa’s in that section of his mind too, because she almost dies.

FFVII is not a romance game. Especially not the OG. However love or romance is what drove Cloud to try to join SOLDIER, what drove Cloud to completely go ballistic when his mom is killed, his town burned down, and then he comes across an almost lifeless Tifa.

And then... Sephiroth somehow survives this. A Buster Sword going through his skinny ass... walks out and Cloud goes after him again.

Personally, my favorite rendition of the Cloud stabbing Sephiroth scene is Crisis Core because of the music, the way he walks in the room, and then boom.

If they do a mashup of the two: Have him walk in the room, just showing his legs, (and it feels so fucking arrogant the way he does it ughhh) have dramatic music playing, BUT have Sephiroth turn just at the last second like he does in OG so he sees it’s a grunt right away, and then have Cloud say the above line, which they removed from CC for some reason.

You should watch this scene and feel feelings like I do about the way he walks in there

Okay, anyway...

If Sephiroth had walked out of the reactor, he most likely would have run in to Zangan and killed him. My guess is, he would have found a way to recover from his massive would. Zangan wouldn’t have been able to get to Tifa and them, but you could say Cloud could have taken Tifa... but would he have left Zack? So many what ifs... but the point is, he legit goes nuts when he thinks Tifa is dead.

And so Sephiroth tries this again in Remake:

And Cloud also starts to go ballistic until he sees Barret and freezes. So Sephiroth is like “alright I just need him to break not start trying to murder me yet.”

Cloud is upset when Aerith dies. He blames himself. Hell, he almost killed her himself twice in OG. Of course he feels like shit. Of course he feels guilty. He feels she went to confront Sephiroth on her own because of what he did. But he doesn’t really do much after this. They resolve to go after Sephiroth, but he’s able to get through the Jenova fight, “bury” Aerith and go back to get some sleep at one of the abandoned homes.

When he thinks Tifa dies in Nibelheim, he gets stabbed through the fucking chest and somehow, this grunt kid, picks a 6′1″ dude up by just using sheer rage and willpower and throws him into the depths of the reactor. Like holy shit, what kind of feeling do you need to do that? And Cloud ultimately probably saved a lot of people early on doing that.

Cloti was endgame from the moment OG starts. You really don’t know it, though, for a long time. You also don’t fully grasp it the first time you play the game. If you replay it, you’ll see some subtle references to this, such as Cloud getting jealous in Costa del Sol if Tifa is talking to Johnny, Tifa holding Cloud when he sees Jenova in the Shinra building, the flashback he has of her during the second bombing mission, but that’s not enough to say “it’s obvious from the beginning.”

The story’s intent was to have them be endgame. The point of Aerith was to show more of the illusion (for Cloud). Aerith overall is the most important character plot wise. However, it doesn’t matter either way if people did or didn’t see romance between the Cloud and Aerith. The story plays out the same. What you can’t deny is Tifa’s importance to Cloud overall and how the story plays out...

In closing, though, there is NOTHING saying a person can’t like Clerith. Absolutely nothing. They just can’t claim it’s endgame or canon. It never was. The illusion was supposed to be broken. You were supposed to move on from her death. That was that - whether he romantically had feelings for her or not.

But Canon doesn’t mean best. If you don’t like a canon couple, nothing wrong with a fanon couple. People write some good shit for fanon. You just can’t attack, butcher, twist, lie, and bully to push your rhetoric as canon.

Thanks for sending the ask/comments in. I think it’s a great addition to the discussion!

#cloti #cloud x tifa #tifa lockhart #cloud strife #ff7r #ffviir spoilers #ff7r spoilers #final fantasy 7 remake

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary - Chapter Three

WARNINGS: Smut

Tagging: @valkyrie-of-the-light, @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y

@valkyrie-of-the-light there is mentions of the hair in here just for you ;)

He will never tire of the way his name sounds as it escapes her lips. Whether it be the soft, content sighs, the urgent pleading, the breathless moans, or the unabashed screams at the very height of pleasure. The latter is his favourite; picturing the way her entire body tenses and her toes curl, eyes closing and head falling back as she loses all control. It’s a sign of a job well done. His ego kicked up a notch knowing that he’d been the one that had been able to elicit that kind of reaction out of her.

And then there’s her hands. Greedy. Desperate. Clutching and grabbing at his forearms, biceps and shoulders. Fingers twisting and yanking at his hair; painfully tight on some occasions. Nails that would dig into his ass and his back, leaving long red trails of broken skin in their wake.

She sighs. Long and drawn out as her back arches and her hands clutch at the sheets below. Her eyes are closed; dark hair fanned out across the pillow, heels digging into the mattress. Feeling the goosebumps that have invaded her skin; hands and mouth working together, drawing out those little whimpers that make her sound so vulnerable. Fingertips ghosting over the back of her calves and lingering behind her knees as the tip of his tongue makes a slow and agonizing ascent, starting at the side of her ankle and dragging along her smooth, pale skin. Lips suckling, teeth nipping, his hair brushing tickling her flesh.

Unlike last night when all three times had been fast and furious, he takes his time. It’s been a long, agonizing two weeks and he has a lot to make up for. Another absence, more time away from his family, his wife picking up all the slack and doing the work of two. He feels selfish; guilty that he expects so much of her while he’s away, but always grateful and appreciative when he returns home. But sometimes words aren’t enough; nor are the flowers or the little gifts. Sometimes actions are truly what is needed. And she deserves to be worshipped like the Queen that she was. From head to toe.

The tip of his nose brushes the inside of her thighs and he draws the supple flesh between his teeth, lightly biting down before soothing the red, irritated area with his tongue. Her hands reach for his hair; longer since they’d first met, unruly and unkempt, falling across his forehead and shielding his eyes. Fingers glide across the back of her knees and then travel before; applying pressure, squeezing, pinching, until he slides both hands under her ass and it rests in his palms. She’s already wet; he can see the arousal that seeps out of her, feel the heat that she emanates, and he inhales that sweet, intoxication scent. Better and more successful than any other aphrodisiac in the world. His cock immediately hardening; painful even in the confines of his baggy sweats.

“Tyler…” she says it now, a whine that tumbles from her lips. He’s never heard a more beautiful sound.

She’s tugging on his hair; attempting to pull him closer in a desperate attempt to get his mouth on her. It has always been one of his favorite things; tasting her, teasing her, getting his fingers and his tongue deep inside. Gladly spending hours with his face between her legs; eating her out until she was delirious and shrieking with pleasure. Giving her mere minutes to recuperate before going right back to it. He is an unselfish and generous lover; she’d told him that once. And he’s taken it upon himself to be the one that gives her everything that no one man before him had ever been able to achieve. Wanting to be the one that erased all those other experiences out of her memory.

She gasps when she finally feels his mouth of her; thighs falling open when his tongue licks a long, wide strip along her folds and then sneaks its way past; finding that tingling and sensitive bundle of nerves and taking it between his lips. Suckling. Gently at first, then much harder, until her hips are arching off the bed and that sopping pussy is forced into his face. He accepts it willingly; fingers biting into the flesh of her ass as he feasts on her; as if he’s been starved and neglected for months and has no idea when this chance may come again. His main focus is her clit; tongue pressing against and eliciting a loud gasp.

“Shhhh…” he whispers, breath warm against her mound. “…you’ll wake the kids.”

She opens her mouth to respond but all that comes out is a whimper, his tongue inside of her now. As deep as it can possibly go, fucking her while one of his fingertips slips between the cheeks of her ass and briefly comes in contact with the tight, puckered hole. She’d once considered that an ‘exit only’. Until she’d finally relented and let him go where no man had ever gone before. The sensation brings out shriek, and she places her arm over her face and uses the crook of her elbow to stifle the noise. A disappointed groan when his finger retreats and one hand returns to the cheek of her ass and the other moves forward; two fingers holding those swollen lips open as he continues to ravage her. Licking, sucking, nibbling, until she’s panting and breathless and crying out into her elbow. And when he knows she’s close…when he can feel the way her body tenses and those hands tighten their hold on his hair…he takes her clit into his mouth and a finger pushes its way into her ass.

The orgasm is intense, surging through her with the force of tsunami. And there’s tears rolling down her cheeks as she screams his name. The noise muffled by her own arm, her entire body arching clear off the bed.

He gives her a chance to recover; grinning as he sits back on his heels and uses the front of his shirt to clear her juices from his lips and beard. A hand softly stroking and massaging the back of her right calf as her body comes down from its high. Listening as she whimpers and struggles to pull air into her lungs, seeing the flush in her cheeks and the sweat that glistens on her naked body. And when the trembling finally subsides and her breathing has almost returned to normal, he presses his lips to her stomach and then moved upward; palms on the mattress as he trails kisses up her body; over her torso and through the valley between her breasts, across her collarbone and the along the side of her neck and jaw. Then finally reaching her lips.

“That was a good one, yeah?” the grin is broad. Proud. What better of an ego boost to know that you have that kind of effect on someone?”

“Mm hm,” she manages, and her hands push through his hair as she lifts her head to kiss him.

Soft and languid at first. Until he feels the press of her tongue against his lips and then his teeth; her arm curling around his neck and pulling him down on top of her. Not caring if her body has to bear his full weight; their tongues fighting for dominance, his hand exploring her body as her nails dig into the nape of his neck. And it’s his turn to shudder against her when he feels those fingers on his back; lazily feeling their way along all of the muscles, fingertips tracing the outline of his tattoos by sheer memory.

“Fuck…” he hisses, when those nails scrape down his hip and down the back of his sweats.

She’s a vicious little thing at times. Scratching. Biting. Hair pulling. And he always just goes along for the ride; turned on by how assertive and aggressive she can be. A woman who knows exactly what and who she wants and doesn’t allow any inhibitions to hold her back. Her hand moves to the front now; fingers wrapping around his cock, a thumb brushing over the tip and smearing the precum that has gathered there.

Her teeth latch onto his bottom lip; hard enough to puncture the skin. Her free hand grabbing a hold of the waist band of his pants and showing them down his hips and over his ass. Anxious to be closer to him. To have all of him. And he slides a hand between her legs once more; fingers teasing her clit before dipping inside.

“No babies,” she says, and he nods in understanding and kisses her before sliding off the bed, sitting on the edge in order to pull his sweats from around his ankles, then standing and crossing the room.

“Goddamnit you’re sexy,” she declares. “It really is unfair. To be that sexy. What a heavy, tragic burden you have to bear. I honestly don’t know how you do it.”

He grins, then pulls open the top drawer of the dresser and removes a condom from the box he keeps stashed away inside. It’s weird; resorting to rubbers when the only person you’re having sex with is your wife. They long ago had to stop worrying about STDs. But with the lingering chance of one day having a fifth and last child and the propensity of things fucking up regardless of what birth control she seemed to use (exactly how Declan managed to make his way into the world), it is what is.

“You want to keep laid on the regular?” she’d said when he’d had the gall to complain about having to buy condoms. “Don’t want to get the snip? Then be quiet and just buy them.”

The thought of not being able to get his rocks off and the idea of a vasectomy had been enough to spur him to action.

“You need a haircut,” she remarks, as he uses his teeth to tear at the foil package.

“You’re really bringing this up right now?”

“You look homeless. Or like a more masculine version of Justin Bieber if he took steroids and grew a beard.”

He gives a derisive snort, then leans down and kisses her before rejoining her on the bed. Settling himself between her thighs, the condom in the palm of his hands. “Please tell me you don’t think of Justin Bieber when we’re fucking. Because if you tell me you do, I may never be able to get it up again.”

“Baby, the way you look and the way you do things? I don’t have to think of anyone else. But seriously…” she shoves his hair away from his face. “Do something about this. I can’t take much more of it.”

“I’ll shave it off. All of it,” he says, and supporting his weight on his fully outstretched arms, leans down to press kisses along her shoulders and collarbone.

“Like hell you will. You shave your whole head and you’re sleeping on the couch for the rest of your natural born life.”

“I know what you want,” he grins against the side of her throat. “You want me to get it done like how it was when we first met.”

“Sexy as fuck,” she declares, and then sighs when his tongue traces the outer edge of her ear. “I think it’s only reasonable. I’ve given you four kids. The least you could do is get a haircut.”

“I do a lot.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

He bites down on the side of her neck and presses his erection against her.

“Okay, you make a very valid point,” she says, and then pulls him down into a sizzling kiss. The kind that makes your toes curl and your insides feel as if they’re on fire.

Those hands are wandering again; over his shoulders and down his arms, travelling over the straining muscles in his biceps and forearms, along the prominent veins. And then her mouth is on his throat; tongue sliding over his Adam’s apple and up onto the bottom of his chin.

“You taste good,” she informs him, and for some reason it drives him wild, and he kisses her savagely. Tongue forcing its way into her mouth before sitting back on his heels and rolling the condom down his erection. Her hands already reaching for him and her legs opening, an invitation to make what he wants. What is his.

He slips into her with one fluid, strong thrust. One hand on the mattress and the other taking hold of one of her; pinning it to the bed above her head, their fingers entwining. His eyes never leaving hers as he makes love to her; slow, languid thrusts that has her mewling in pleasure, her hips rising and falling in rhythm with his. It’s a rarity for them; their thing has always been rough sex. She’d always enjoyed it the most. When he was bossy and domineering and would pull her hair and wrap his fingers around her throat. A kink, he supposed. And he wasn’t about to deny her of it.

But tonight is different. Welcoming. All the worry and the stress of the past two weeks dissolving as they exchange long, slow kisses and their bodies move together.

“Tyler…” his name again, sounding so fucking good to his ears. And she’s looking at him with those huge eyes; pleading, begging. Her fingers tightening around his and her hips rising.

He kisses her. Trailing the tip of his tongue along the roof of her mouth. Then sits back on his heels once again and grabbing a hold her hip, pulls her towards him. The new angle allowing him even deeper and causing her to cry out. With their hands still joined, he places his free hand on her pubic bone and uses his thumb to rub at her clit. Thrusts more determined and aggressive now. Teasing and massaging that swollen bundle of nerves until she comes undone around him. And she grabs a hold of a pillow and places it over her face in order to keep the noise to a minimum.

“You are so beautiful,” he praises, as his hand slides over her stomach and up to her breasts. Squeezing, fondling, fingers pulling and twisting at the nipples.

Those simple actions bring on yet another orgasm. Not as powerful as before, but enough to increase that flutter of twitches and contractions around his cock. Gritting his teeth at the almost painful grip and pushing through those muscles attempting to keep him out. Until he feels the familiar pressure build in the small of his back and he’s coming as well; her name and profanities on his lips as he empties himself into the condom.

For several minutes he stays where he is, chin to his chest, eyes closed, lungs fighting to draw in breath. Waiting until the post orgasmic haze as lifted and his body stops trembling before he inhales deeply, eyes opening as he slowly exhales. Grinning at the sight of her lying there with the pillow still over her face.

“You okay?” he asks, and softly rubs her stomach. “You alive?”

“I think so,” she replies, and he plucks the pillow from her face and tosses it aside. “Goddamn you for being so good at these things,” she sighs, and he leans down to kiss her.

He runs a hand over her hair and presses a kiss to her sweaty brow before climbing off the bed and heading for the en-suite bathroom. Ditching the condom, taking a leak, splashing cold water on his face and the back of his neck. Turning slightly in the mirror and casting a glance over his shoulder; smirking at the bright red and violent looking scratch marks that travel horizontally and vertically.

She’s lying on her side when he returns; already back in the t-shirt that had been discarded some time ago, the covers pulled up to her chin. And he slips into the sweats once again and turns off the bedside lamps before sliding in beside her. On his side, a hand on her hip as he places a kiss on the back of her head.

“I love you,” he says. It’s one rule they’ve always stuck to. Never go to bed, leave the house, or end a phone conversation without those three words.

“I love you too,” she responds, and settles back into him, head tucked under his chin.

Both asleep in minutes.

***

He’s not sure what wakes him. Whether it was the sound of the dog snoring at the end of the bed, the settling of pipes within an old house, or the steady wind that causes the windows to rattle and tree branches to scrape against the siding. But his eyes snap open and he finds himself flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Waiting. Listening. His brain caught in that place between sleep and consciousness; struggling to fully orientate himself with his surroundings.

When his senses finally kick in, they’re good. Shockingly good. Years of training and learning to always be on alert means he no longer has to strain to hear things that normal people either ignore or actually aren’t aware of. He can hear one of the kids rolling around and muttering in their sleep. The gentle hum of the central air. His wife’s gentle and rhythmic breathing. And he’s ready to close his eyes once more and attempt to get back to sleep when he hears it: a rustling noise coming from downstairs, followed by a clatter of something being knocked off its perch.

The dog lifts his head and growls. Ears back. On alert.

“Easy boy,” Tyler says, as he carefully slides out of bed in an effort not to wake his wife. Last year they’d thought they’d had an intruder when in reality a raccoon had gotten into the house through the chimney. If it was indeed nothing, he didn’t want to freak Esme out. “Easy…” he whispers to the dog, holding his palm out: a signal to just stay. He goes to the window first, peeling back the edge of the curtains and peering outside. No vehicles other than their own in the driveway.

He opens the bottom drawer of the nightstand and reaches for the combination lock box. Quickly unlocking it and pulling out the Glock handgun, snapping a magazine in place and switching off the safety. Mac watches him with wide, curious eyes, and he once again signals for him to stay as he heads for the door. Pausing long enough to listen to the noises coming from downstairs before quietly pulling the door open.

“Tyler?” Esme’s voice from behind him. Groggy from sleep. She’s sitting up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Just stay here,” he orders. “Don’t make a sound. Stay here and don’t come downstairs until I tell you it’s okay. Got it?”

“What is it? What…?”

“Got it?” he repeats, and she nods.

“Be careful,” she whispers, just as he slips from the room.

****

His footsteps are quiet on the carpeted stairs, gun to his side, adrenaline coursing through his veins. It normally doesn’t happen anymore; the hazards of the job and the rule of ‘expect the unexpected’ long ago engrained into him. But this wasn’t the job. This was personal. This was his home. His wife. His kids. And there was nothing he wouldn’t to do protect them.

He has one foot on the bottom of the landing when he sees it: a dark figure in the hallway between the living room and the formal dinning room, making its way towards the kitchen. And he has the gun drawn and pointed now, a finger on the trailer.

“I don’t know who you are, but you picked the wrong fucking house. You have to three seconds to tell me who you are and what you want before I put a bullet in your brain.”

“No!” a familiar voice cries, and the light in the hallway is switched on. Revealing a confused and very terrified Ovi.

“What the fuck, kid?!” he lowers the weapon, sets the safety. “Like what in the ever-loving fuck?! I almost shot you.”

“I’m sorry!” he cries. “I didn’t mean to scare you! I didn’t…”

“Tyler?” Esme’s voice is at the top of the stairs, sounding equally as scared and nervous as Ovi.

“It’s fine,” he responds, and tucks the gun into the waist band of his sweats. “You almost had to call for the coroner, but it’s fine.”

He hears his footfalls on the stairs, and she flicks on the light in the front hallway, the dog protectively and dutifully at her side. And she frowns as she joins Tyler in the hallway. “Ovi? What…?”

“I almost fucking shot him. This close,” Tyler holds his thumb and forefinger less than a centimeter apart.

“What are you doing?” she addresses the teen. “It’s two thirty in the morning.”

“I lost my keys,” he explains, hands still up, as if surrendering to the police. “I couldn’t get in. So I used the spare key under the mat and thought I’d come in this way to get downstairs.”

“Do you wanna get fucking shot?” Tyler snaps. “Because that is how you get fucking shot.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I just locked myself out. That’s all.”

“What were doing out this late anyway?” Esme asks. He’s nineteen and with that age comes extra responsibility on his behalf. He didn’t have a set curfew. But he was expected to act maturely.

Tyler’s eyes narrow “You went to see that girl didn’t you.” It’s more a statement than a question.

“I went to her place. In Butte. I was going to stay the night, but her parents would be there in the morning…”

“Jesus Christ,” Tyler mutters and looks at Esme. “Now she lives with her goddamn parents.”

“Not really with them,” Ovi says. “Just in their house. In an apartment. Like mine.”

“You do realize what could have happened, right?” she inquires. “Of all the houses to sneak into you, you should know that this is the worst possible one to pick.”

“I can do more damage with my bare hands than I can with gun,” Tyler says. “Trust me.”

“I should have called. Or sent a text. To let you know that I lost my key. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“And I’m sorry I almost shot you,” Tyler says. “You almost didn’t live to see your twentieth birthday, mate.”

“I’m going back to bed,” his wife announces, rubbing his back. “You two figure this shit out because it is way too late to deal with this. Or way too early. I don’t even know anymore.”

“I’ll be up in a bit,” he presses a kiss to her cheek. “After I beat the ever-loving shit out of him.”

Ovi’s eyes widen.

“Whatever,” she yawns. “Do what you have to do. Just don’t wake the kids.”

He watches as she goes, waiting until he hears her climbing the stairs before turning back to Ovi.

“I know you’re mad…” the kid begins, hands out in a plea for calm.

“Mad? No. I’m not mad. Not even close. What I am is about three seconds away from beating you within an inch of your life. What’s wrong with you? You’d think you’d know better. Of all the houses you want to sneak into, you pick this one? What ever told you that was a good idea?”

“I didn’t think I’d wake anyone up. I didn’t mean to be so loud. But I stubbed my toe and tripped over the rug and…”

“I can be fast asleep and hear a mouse sneezing the next county over. Jesus, mate. I hope this girl is worth it. She must be really something if you’re willing to risk a bullet to the head.”

“We just stayed up talking. We didn’t…”

“I don’t care about that. I don’t care what you do when you’re with her. Fuck her, don’t fuck her, it makes no difference to me, mate. Just don’t be coming home telling me I’m going to be a grandfather or some shit like that, okay? Or don’t catch the clap. I’m not sure which is worse. At least the clap goes away. Knocking someone up lasts you a good 18 years of bullshit.”

“She really is amazing. I can’t wait for you all to meet her.”

“Yeah? Well let’s let Nik do her thing and we’ll find out just who this girl is. You’ve got be more careful. Meeting some random girl on the internet, going to her place, sneaking in here. My wife is under this roof, Ovi. My kids. I thought someone was here to hurt them. And I will end anyone and everyone that even thinks about hurting them.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that.”

Tyler sighs, pushes a hand through his hair. “I’m going back upstairs and I’m going to kiss my wife and try to calm her down. Go and get some sleep. We’ll go into town tomorrow and get a new lock for your place. Who know the hell knows where you’re keys are and I’m not taking the chance of someone finding them and knowing who they belong to.”

“I’m sorry, Tyler. I’m really sorry.”

“I heard ya. Go. Go and sleep. I’ve got shit to do tomorrow.”

“Like?”

“Shit. A whole bunch of shit. And I need to get a goddamn haircut.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake smut #extraction #chris hemsworth character #sanctuary

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years

Text

Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 5: Paradise City]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language, some sexual content (not smutty).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Taglist: @blushingwueen @queen-turtle-boiii @everybodyplaythegame @onceuponadetectivedemigod @luvborhap @sincereleygmg @stormtrprinstilettos @loveandbeloved29 @ohtheseboysilove @jennyggggrrr @vanitysfairr @bramblesforbreakfast @radiob-l-a-hblah @xox-talia-xox @killer-queen-xo @caborhapch @kimmietea @asquiresofftime @hardzzellos @sleepretreat @ramibaby @jonesyaddiction @ixchel-9275 @omgitsearly @lovepizza-cake11 @deacy-dearest @shishterfackisback @mrbenhardys @deaky-with-a-c If I forgot anyone, please yell at me :)

The blue chalk moves swiftly with shrill little squeaks over the board. You’re dressed in a floral red dress, leggings, sensible sable flats, and fuzzy woolly mammoth earrings. The kids love to see what sort of eccentric accessories you wear each day; there’s even a space on the board reserved for it. Today’s flair is: woolly mammoth earrings! (Please don’t touch unless you ask first!!)

“Okay my lovely children, let’s practice using each of this week’s spelling words in a sentence. Who can remind me what the first word on our spelling list is?”

“Oh! Oh!” Brendyn—who you mentally mix up with Brayden or Kayden at least twice a day—leans out of his chair and waves his arm hysterically. Dear god, please send a plague to wipe the unnecessary Y baby name trend off the face of the planet. “I can!”

“Go ahead, Brendyn.”

“Throw,” he announces proudly, as if he’s just won the Olympic medal for elementary-school writing.

“Awesome job! That’s right!” You transcribe it on the board: 1. Throw. “And who thinks they can come up with a sentence using the word throw?”

Eli, as he’s doodling all over his worksheet, says: “If you don’t like someone, you can throw them out of a window.”

You swallow noisily as you collect your thoughts. The other students are alternately giggling cautiously or gasping, scandalized. “Now, Eli...”

“Yes, Miss Teacher?” he prompts.

“It’s nice to raise our hands and wait to be called on when we have something to share.”

“Oops.” He raises his hand.

You sigh heavily. “Could you come up with a different sentence, please? One that is more school-appropriate? Remember we had a whole talk last week about school-appropriate topics. Right class?”

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N!” they agree in unison. That conversation hadn’t, perhaps shockingly, been inspired by Eli. A chatty, beach-blond, future surfer bro named Dexter had discovered his father, a prominent cinematographer, in a compromising position with the nanny—in the jacuzzi tub, no less—and felt the need to divulge that during Story Sharing Time. Worst parent phone call ever.

“Give it another try, Eli,” you say encouragingly.

“Taking spelling tests makes me want to throw up.”

You drop your face into your hands as the class howls in laughter. “Okay, very funny, but I still think we can come up with something more appropriate. Does anyone else have an idea?”

Maisy raises her hand timidly. Oh, hallelujah.

“Yes, Maisy!”

“Always remember to throw away your trash.”

“Wonderful!” You write the sentence on the board. “No littering. I like it. Save the sea turtles. Maisy, as a reward, you may give Creampuff one pumpkin seed.”

“Yay!” Maisy leaps out of her seat and sprints to Creampuff’s cage behind your desk. It’s your third year teaching with Creampuff, and the poor hamster is decisively in geriatric territory; she’s morbidly obese and her eyes are bluish with cataracts. But the children adore her, and Creampuff has always been wonderfully sweet and never bites. You just hope that when the time comes, she has the decency to kick the bucket over a long weekend so you can dispose of the body in secret and whip up a cheery story to tell the kids about how Creampuff went to live in an organic vegan farm or a hamster sanctuary or a retirement community in sunny Tampa Bay, Florida.

“Okay friends,” you announce. “Go ahead and practice coming up with sentences on your worksheet. Then we’ll chat in five or ten minutes and see what we’ve got. Ready, set, go!”

As students’ heads bow and pencils begin scratching against paper, you circle the room peeking over shoulders and making suggestions here and there. When you reach Eli’s desk, you crouch down so your gaze is level with his.

“Hey, Eli.”

“Hi,” he replies mistrustfully, his blue eyes narrow under dark curls.

“I just wanted to let you know that I thought your sentence ideas were very funny and very, very clever. But they just weren’t the best choices to use in class. Do you understand why?”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking a little. Of course you do, you’re the smartest kid in here.

“And I really appreciated you raising your hand to speak once you were reminded.”

“Thanks.” He’s actually bashful now, his high olive-skinned cheeks flushing.

“Are you still going to help me clap the erasers after class today?”

His eyes light up like wildfire. “Can I?”

The trap’s been sprung. Clapping erasers is like cocaine for first graders. “You betcha. If the rest of our spelling lesson goes smoothly.”

“Okay!” He immediately picks up his pencil and begins jotting down sentences. The handwriting is definitely a work in progress, but Eli’s spelling and grammar are immaculate. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you walk away; you’re feeling triumphant, of course, but there’s something else as well.

I’m proud of you, demon kid.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ben is standing on your doorstep, dressed in black, a potted calla lily in his hands. And at first he’s got that unnerving veneer, he’s serious and intimidating and smoldering; but then you find his eyes and his smile breaks open like cracked glass.

“Hi,” he says meekly.

“Hi.” You point to the calla lily. It’s a vivid green, like his eyes, like the serrated continents of the Earth from space. “Is that for me?”

“Yes, actually. It’s a gift, but it’s kind of a joke too.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s fake.” He grins. “So you can’t kill it.”

You laugh and take the pot, leaning back so the silk calla lily doesn’t tickle your nose, doesn’t rub against your makeup. “Come on in, Mr. Hardy.” Ben follows you, his hands in his jacket pockets, peering around watchfully. You find a temporary home for your new plant on the kitchen counter, right next to your latest purchase; you rest your hand, not-so-subtly, on the brand new, mint green, vintage record player. “Check this bad boy out.”

“Wow!” Ben leans down to examine it, running his fingertips over the turntable. Then his eyes flick to the box of vinyl records. “And you’ve already got listening material!”

“Lots of Queen, you’d totally approve.”

“Zeppelin?”

“Naturally.”

He flips through the records quickly: The Eagles, The Stones, Guns N’ Roses, The Beatles, The Cars, Aerosmith, Cheap Trick, Fleetwood Mac, U2, Hendrix, Elton, Nirvana. “Love it. I’m pumped. How much did all of this cost you?”

You crinkle your nose in lighthearted defiance. “It’s rude to talk about money, Mr. Hardy. Not a lot. Amazon is an amazing thing. And I’ve been collecting records for years. Yard sales, thrift shops, wherever. Some of them were my parents’ before I commandeered them.”

“I’ll ask again.” He takes out his wallet and starts counting bills, the paper shuffling in his hands. “How much for the record player? Estimate the rest.”

“Ben,” you protest, dismayed.

“Y/N,” he teases.

“You can’t buy everything for me,” you say gently.

“I’m not buying. I’m renting. I get to choose what to play whenever I’m here.” He unfolds $300 and lays it on top of the record player. “Will that cover it?”

You gape at the money. Yes, that’s about right. “Ben...I’d let you request music for free.”

“I don’t want requests. I want everything.” And then he grins, and it almost rips the floor out from under you. Oh god, I love this man.

You’ve never said those words aloud. You’ve never talked about his refrigerator magnet confession. But it’s somewhere in the space between you like a circling ghost, like a promise, like shared blood singeing under flesh.

“But,” Ben says, bringing you back into focus. “For now we should probably get going.”

“Right.” You grab your purse and jacket as Ben calls an Uber. “Where are we meeting them, anyway?”

He winks at you, his face illuminated by the glow of his cellphone screen. “Not the fucking Olive Garden.”

The Uber is a BMW with leather seats and a minibar installed in the backseat. As it cruises through downtown L.A., Ben tells you about how Joe has an apartment in the city, how Rami splits his time between his loft here and another in New York, how devout Londoner Gwilym is in town for work. You down a tiny Absolut Vodka to ease your nerves. “And when do I get to see your place, Mr. Hardy?”

He chuckles noncommittally. “We’re here,” he declares, glancing up through the BMW’s tinted windows. Outside is an upscale nightclub called The Edison. Then he turns to you. “Two things,” he says, holding up his index and middle fingers. There’s a gold ring on each. “First, don’t forget about the low profile.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult since we’re...” Air quotes. “Not dating.”

“Good. And secondly, don’t be anxious. They’re going to love you. You’re...”

“Charming?” you suggest, batting your eyelashes. “Blessed with impeccable music taste? Awesome at taming demons?”

He smiles. “I was going to say perfect.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re three shots deep and belting out Sweet Caroline with the electric-fence kid from Jurassic Park. There’s a sentence you never thought would cross your mind.

Joe’s trim left arm is draped over your shoulders, his head leaning into yours, a lager swooping precariously in his right hand as he gestures with it like a microphone. Ben is looking on, grinning as he sips his Sazerac, his eyes flickering in the dim, rusty light. When you first arrived, Ben introduced you as a friend; Joe had quickly shimmied over and started dropping lines.

“Joe,” Ben flared, like it was a warning. “I’m not trying to set you two up. That’s not what this is.”

“Whoops, my bad,” Joe had replied, and dialed down the saccharine charm. Yet you like Joe, you like him a lot, and within thirty minutes you’ve already exchanged numbers and compared astrological signs and agreed that he’s going to teach you how to play baseball next week.

“She’s got a thing for Jeff Goldblum, you know,” Ben says now.

“Stop!” you cry, blushing furiously.

“Do you?!” Joe asks and gulps half his lager. “I can make that happen. I can introduce you.”

“He’s a lot older than he was in his Jurassic Park days,” you sigh, lamenting.

“But also wayyyyy richer!” Joe pitches, waggling his eyebrows.

“She’s a schoolteacher,” Ben notes. “She could use a sugar daddy.”

“Girl, I am going to hook you up!”

Rami and Lucy return to the circular booth from the dancefloor, their fingers interlaced. Lucy is incredibly delicate, even tinier and more youthful than she appears onscreen, and always smiling; Rami speaks slowly and thoughtfully and with a captivating meticulousness, and when he fixes his pale eyes on yours you feel like you’re the only person in the room, in the city, in the world, as if whatever you have to say is the most profound thing he’s ever heard. Rami shouts something to Ben over the blaring music as Ben takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one.

“Oh my god!” you exclaim, and Joe jumps beside you, startled. “You smoke?”

Ben takes a draw, exhales smoke through full pink lips, and smirks guiltily.

“What year is this?!”

“2019,” Joe offers.

“Who the fuck smokes in 2019?!” you hurl at Ben. “Do you like breathing? Do you enjoy your internal organs? Do you want to live to spend all your BoRhap money?”

“You tell him!” Joe whoops, clapping. “Yeah baby! Tell him, Y/N!”

You ask incredulously: “They let people smoke in here?!”

“They do in the VIP section,” Joe chimes.

“He’s quite the delinquent, isn’t he?” Gwil says, appearing from the dancefloor and resting his hands on Ben’s shoulders. Gwilym is gentlemanly and eruditions, classically handsome, one of those people whose sincerity reads all over their face. His voice is different than Ben’s, lighter, sharper, less husky; he’s tall and slim and polished. In a phrase, he’s outlandishly lovely.

“I didn’t come here for an intervention, mate,” Ben responds, but his tone is pleasant and at-ease.

“Sorry for loving you, Ben!” Joe yells. “Sorry for caring about your longevity!”

“Sorry for wanting to grow old with you and retire together!” Gwil wails theatrically.

“Oh wow wow wow,” Rami says, shaking his head and smiling. Lucy is clutching a Malibu Sunset and trying to drag him back to the dancefloor, her polka dot dress swirling dreamily around her ankles.

“Wait,” Joe begins, “this is awkward, I definitely already purchased adjacent burial plots for me and Ben and the cemetery has a strict no-Welshmen policy, so...”

Laughing, you turn to Ben, and all at once the two of you are alone in this deafening and pulsing space. He takes another draw, the lit end of his cigarette glowing like embers, his eyes—green like envy, like a snake’s skin, like insatiable greed—all over you: your lips, your neck, your chest, lower. Something deep and shapeless ripples through you, déjà vu or recognition or desire or all of that and more; you want to reach out and touch his flushed flawless skin with your fingertips, you want to make sure he’s real. Gwil and Rami and Lucy are engrossed in some conversation about the best neighborhoods for apartment hunting in London, but Joe’s squinting suspiciously at you and Ben through the veil of smoke. You can’t fool him.

“Right,” Ben says suddenly, crushing the rest of his cigarette in an ashtray. “I’ve got to run. Y/N, do you want a lift home?”

This is just for show, just for the low-profile arrangement; of course you want to leave with him. You’ll follow him anywhere. “That’d be greatly appreciated.” As you climb out of the booth, Ben slips his phone from his pocket to call an Uber.

Joe waves, still thoughtful. “See you soon, Sweet Caroline!”

“Oh god, let’s never talk about that again.”

Rami gives you a sophisticated peck on each cheek, Lucy a spirited hug and a delighted little squeal; her oversized dangling earrings drag along your cheek as you pull away. Gwil takes your hands firmly in his own. “It was wonderful to meet you, love,” he says. “Come along anytime.”

“You’ve all been so kind!” you gush tipsily, and that’s the truth; they’ve been almost preposterously welcoming.

“Yeah yeah, you’ve stolen the show,” Ben says affectionately, maybe even proudly, guiding you towards the front of the club with his palm pressed lightly against the small of your back. “Cheers! We’ll do this again soon,” he calls back to the others. Joe and Gwil dramatically blow kisses after him as you push through the crowds and out into the windswept, luminescent Los Angeles night.

“What’s the hurry—?”

“Can I take you home now?” His voice is rushed and breathless; he’s doing that nervous thing he does where he glances around distractedly and bites his lips and shifts his weight from one foot to the other and runs his thumb over his chin.

“Of course,” you answer, your words hushed like clouds muting the moonshine.

A red Porsche rolls up along the sidewalk and Ben opens the door for you.

“I need you to do something for me,” you say when you’re both in the car and zooming through traffic towards the suburbs.

“Anything.”

Your gaze is devouring his high cheekbones—Eli’s, just like Eli’s—as the streetlights pass overhead, his messy hair and barely-there smile and all that lives under his fierce exterior, kindness and strength and wit and love. Love. “I need you to quit smoking.”

He laughs at you; that’s not what he expected. “Seriously?”

“I don’t want you to die young. I don’t want to lose you.” You can’t stand that thought. You’ve known him for three weeks and you’re hooked like a fucking swordfish; he’s in your bones, your blood, your lungs, he’s dragging you up from the depths and into blinding, open air.

This is too soon. This is way too soon. You don’t know this guy at all.

And yet somehow you do, somehow it feels like you always have.

Ben reaches over and weaves his fingers through yours. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He follows you inside when the Uber pulls into your driveway; he’s not speaking, he doesn’t remove his jacket or his shoes. He begins flipping through your box of records as you lean against the kitchen counter, your arms crossed.

“This is a test,” you say with a smile.

Ben makes a selection at last, drops the record onto the turntable, and places the needle. The music begins, filling your tiny one-bedroom house, reverberating off the walls that you’ve painted mint green and lilac and teal and pastel rosy pink. He still isn’t looking at me.

“Interesting choice.” The song is Save Tonight by a Swedish artist called Eagle-Eye Cherry; it’s acoustic and simple and soulful. “That’s not very classic rock of you.”

“Go on and close the curtains

'Cause all we need is candlelight

You and me, and a bottle of wine

To hold you tonight.”

“The Nineties weren’t all bad.” Ben shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the kitchen table, kicks aside his shoes, lays his phone face-down on the counter as if he’s just decided to stay. Then he comes to you.

“Well we know I'm going away

And how I wish, I wish it weren't so

So take this wine and drink with me

And let's delay our misery.”

There’s no questioning whether you’re going to let him touch you; there’s no question at all. The thought of not being with him is agonizing, cavernous, unbearable. You’ve never wanted someone like this. You’ve never wanted anything like this.

Ben cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he’s coming up for air, like you’re a high he’ll never get enough of. He tastes like cognac and whiskey and cigarettes and lust. Your back hits the refrigerator, and your magnets pop off and clatter against the tile floor; your fingers are knotting through his hair as his trace a path beneath your blouse. He asks if you’re okay—not with his voice but with his searching eyes—and you nod a desperate yes, yes, yes. Outside the stars are raging through the blackness, those same stars that lit up the sky above the dinosaurs just a few blinks of their immortal lifespans ago.

“Save tonight and fight the break of dawn,

Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone...”

“Oh shit...” Ben’s patting his pockets, flipping through his wallet. His eyes are wide and frantic. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him. “Wait, I’m sorry, you’re an actor, you probably get psychos trying to have your babies all the time, I totally understand if you don’t trust me—”

“I trust you,” he breathes, as if he’s just realizing it.

“I trust you too, Ben.”

“Don’t say it,” he whispers, almost pleads. “You don’t know me.”

“I do,” you insist, unbuttoning his shirt, lifting all that separates you away, peeling back secrets like layers of the earth.

#ben jones #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fic #borhap imagine #borhap fic #bohemian rhapsody #bywmpf #baby you were my picket fence #gwilym lee #joe mazzello

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razorblade180 · 4 years

Text

Twin Snowflakes pt6: A slow morning

Summer:.......

Shiva:*smiling* Aren’t you going to invite me in?

Summer:How is this happening?

Shiva:Come on, your are weak but not stupid. I’m sure you already have a few ideas. *skipping to the bed*

Summer:.....I’m still sleeping aren’t I?

Shiva:Bingoooo!!! *flops on bed* Gods I forgot how soft this bed was! It’s been ages since I layed here; reminds me of the real deal. Can’t wait to lay in it again.

Summer:*glares* Fat chance....

Shiva:Oh wipe that ridiculous look off your face and take a breather. No way I’m fighting you in this place. I just wanna talk.

The young woman layed back up and crossed her legs elegantly as she stared down Summer who was still in the door way. The smug smile that she wore was nothing new to her condescending attitude but it held a certain light hearted feature to it. Summer could tell that Shiva was telling the truth, so why did that only make her more anxious?

Shiva:There’s enough room in this bed for two you know?

Summer:I’m perfectly fine standing here. *tensing up*

Shiva:Whatever makes you less scared. Just when I thought you were getting more assertive. I guess it’s just desperation that made you steal those vials.

Summer:How....I was warm with that happened.

Shiva:Yeah but you’ve been thinking about it nonstop and obviously you’re cold enough for all this to happen. It’s only natural I find out; does natural even apply to us. Huh, something to ponder for later. Right now I’m way more interested in what exactly do you hope to accomplish. I tried digging deeper in that pretty head of yours but I can only get so deep, or maybe you’re winging it. *stands up*

Summer:Like I’d tell you. Just know your days are numbered.

Shiva:Funny, took the words right out my mouth. If anyone knows just how big the difference is from creating plan and executing it properly, it’s you. How many times has it been I wonder, since I left you freezing to death in your own mind? By now your friends and family have to be really tired of dealing with you.

Summer: Their problem is with you, not me!

Shiva:Now now Summer, do you really want to yell at me?

A chill ripped through her suddenly as her feet were frozen in place. The air itself started to get cooler to her discomfort. Despite her efforts, Summer started to shiver a little as Shiva walked closer. A piece of Summer really wanted to scream but refused to. The urge slowly growing though as her captors hand reached out to her. Nimble fingers on her left cheek caused the poor girl to nearly jump out her skin. Something told her that speaking wasn’t a good idea at the moment.

Shiva:That’s better, I really like this room the way it is. As I was saying, you’re nothing but a burden. The one’s you love wouldn’t be tired of me if you were strong enough to get rid of my from the start. Maybe then mommy dearest wouldn’t have a cute little scar that runs across the first one at the bottom. Man can she dodge like nobodies business. I wanted to leave a much bigger reminder of our meeting. If memory serves me well then it was diamond dust that caused the reaction and the whole apartment. History re-

Summer:*grabs wrist* That’s never happening again. You’re not catching anyone off gaurd by a long shot. We’ve learned many things in six years and you’ll feel like nothing but a bad dream in six more. My family will be just fine.

Shiva:Ah, there’s that little fire in your eyes. Always ready to come out whenever someone threatens mommy, daddy, or big brother. It’s the only time you are actually interesting. I wonder if it’ll keep you warm against me, or you’ll burn yourself by clinging to it?

..............

Shiva:Hmph, well I think I’ve had enough fun for the moment. I suppose I should let you rest while you still can; it’s only fair.

Summer:*lets go* Gee how thoughtful....

Shiva:Goodbye little one. I’m gonna enjoy this bed. *puts cover on the floor*

Summer:What are you-

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Her body jolts violently as her eyes open. The right side of her body aches and feels like it’s on something way less soft than she is used to. Slowly her senses come back and notices that she’s currently on floor next to a knocked over heater. Shiva’s surprise appearance started to make sense; just another precaution to add to the list. The dim light hit Summer’s face from the bedroom window told her it was still early. As much as she wanted to move back to her bed, all the strength she had was put into placing the heater back up right. Then she pulled the cover down to the floor with her and went back sleep.

xxx

Year round, Atlas always looked like a work out art at a museum in Nicholas eyes. Freshly fallen snow in the beginning of Winter though, that’s when Atlas becomes the center piece of it all. Crisp air tickles his nose as he walks down the quiet streets with two coffees in hand. Behind him the sound of snow crunching in his previous foot steps gets louder. He raises the coffee in his left hand for it to be promptly grabbed.

Valerie:Five sugars!?

Nick:With a small amount of cream for good measure.

Valerie:Man if there’s one thing I miss about school mornings, it’s this baby right here.

Nick:*chuckles* You do realize you could’ve gotten one of those at anytime you wanted right?

Valerie:Nah, they’re reserved for this moment every time or it feels less special. Coffee on the way to school is our thing; don’t want to abuse that.

Nick:If you say so. What happens when we eventually graduate then.

Valerie:I’ll get it once in a blue moon and remember all the good times of combat school.

Nick:Do good times and combat school even fit together like that?

Valerie:Now you sound like your sister. Speaking of which......

Nick:Doubt she’ll show up today.

Valerie:Such a shame. One of these days a teacher is gonna blow a fuse. I don’t even think the Prince of Atlas could stop them from expelling her.

Nick:They will as long as I make the school look good and please don’t call me that. “A prince is nothing compared to knight that chooses to defend him.”’ I’d rather be the knight.

Valerie:I don’t see why you can’t be both. Your parents might as well be kickass King and Queen but I digress. Can’t really blame Summer for wanting to skip the P.E. physical.

Nick:*eyes widened* Gods I’m stupid,m. Of course that’s why she’s not here. It skipped my mind the two of you have that today.

Valerie:Not surprising, you don’t wittiness the crap that goes down. One of these days I might just fight half the girls in that locker room.

Nick:That bad huh?

Valerie:It’s not like they’re even saying much either, but the way all of them stare. Silently judging and forming opinions about her scars makes me wanna drop kick all of them. *aggressively sips coffee*

He couldn’t help but smile at his oldest friend’s remark. Valerie definitely was never one to put someone in their place. She was typically open and blunt just like her mother. Frankly it was hard to tell if any of Ren’s mannerisms or genes; especially with her hair being short. He sort of missed seeing it long if he was honest with himself. She’s kept it short since the day she decided to start “exploring.” Nicholas took a long sip of his drink to avoid making a frown. Both of them would do anything for Summer; that’s his sister and Valerie is her closest friend as well, but he knows that friendship probably isn’t what compels her to help. He’d have to be naive to believe it was.

Valerie:Hmmm? What’s wrong Nicholas?

Nicholas:Nothing, just thinking about the test is all.

Valerie:Nice try, that’s not a “I’m afraid of a test look.” You’re way to smart and study hard. I bet that expression doesn’t even exist. Something else is up.

Nick:Well maybe this is the first time I’m worried about a test so you finally see the expression? *sips loudly*

Valerie:*pouts* I hope you know that you can tell me anything right? We’re best friends remember. *nudges him*

Nick:Yeah I know?(That’s the problem....)

Valerie:*smiles* So be straight with me instead of giving me the run around.

Nick:I just really want you to lo.........

Valerie:To....?

Nick:To....keep an extra good eye on Summer for the upcoming weeks. Classes are starting again, tournament preparation, the usual bullies, etc. It be a bit overwhelming for her in the beginning. Look after her if she needs any help.

Valerie:Of course! I’ll always be there for Summer!

Nick:Trust me, I know you will.

Valerie:That goes the same for y-

Nick:VAL!!!!. *grabs her arm*

He yanks her left arm to pull her in close to him The sudden movement causes her tense up as they see a car swerve onto the sidewalk at high speed before taking off moments from where she just stood. Her head is still processing the events that unfolded as her body is being held tightly against Nicholas’s shorter and slightly smaller frame. His body shaking with adrenaline. He began shouting at the car angrily.

Nick:LEARN HOW TO DRIVE IN THE SNOW DUMB ASS!!!!

Valerie:Wow, that was.....close.

Nick:*lets her go* Are you okay!? Nothing clipped you?

Valerie:......

Nick:Valerie!?

Valerie:*shakes head* Sorry, I’m alright. That was just ummmm, wow that was close. Lucky you were here. I guess it’s officially that time of the year again.

Nick:The only down side of all the ice and snow. Tsk, I gotta a deal with a whole season of this again. You sure you’re okay?

Valerie:*rotating shoulder* Yeah I’m good. Wasn’t expecting that yank but it’s better than a tire on my chest.

Nick:Oh, sorry about that. Guess I went full force.

A bluish bruise was left where he grabbed her arm. While he frowned at it, Valerie was actually a bit surprised and a bit impressed. Seeing Nicholas that serious outside of a match is a rare sight. Forever he’s cool, collected, and isn’t one to show up that much. She could count the number of times that he’s actually caught an attitude with somebody. Soon her aura kicked in and erased the bruise all together.

Valerie:Look, all better in no time at all. Also no need to apologize for saving my skin. *smirking* Been awhile since I’ve seen that level of pissed off from you.

Nick:*red* Well can you blame me!? Almost had a tragedy today.

Valerie:Oh but we still do...*points to the snow*

Both of them watch the white snow become dyed brown and melting from their spilled morning brew. Sadly they pick up the trash and continue to walk.

Valerie:Better the drinks than me but still a shame.

Nick:Sigh, Maybe I should’ve stayed in bed today too. Tomorrow let’s just ride the bus.

Valerie:*giggles* You’re the boss!

The two of them walked twice as fast to school until they ended up in front of the school. Nothing amazing about the building really. Just the regular combat/high school. Half the size of Beacon or Atlas maybe which makes since considering there’s no dorms. Just plenty of class rooms, a huge cafeteria, and a massive space in the back filled with multiple area’s designed for different sports. All in all the back had to be a least a couple of acres give or take but it’s mostly for the track and plenty of open space. They’ve arrived before most students even though they walked. Winter break must be making everyone a bit sluggish. Thes shiny white and gray hallways should have tons of people struggling to remember their locker combinations right now.

Valerie:Looks like most people are following your sister’s lead about school. Oh well, that just means science might be quiet for a change. Only one way to find out. *walking away* If I see you in between classes I’ll give you the inside scoop on the test.

Nick:I’d rather you just make sure you pass so all that studying wasn’t for nothing.

Valerie:Deal! Consider it my way of thanking you from earlier.

Nick:......

Nick:I don’t wanna be that guy but that gift doesn’t sound worth it.

Valerie:Hehehe, I guess you’re right. Give me some time to think about it. Love ya! *runs off*

Nick:.....Sigh, not the way I wish you would.

Valerie:(Hmmm for second I thought he had something in mind. Oh what to do? Maybe Summer can give me a couple ideas later; possibly even make a whole day out of it!) *grinning* Pfft wouldn’t that be nice?

Nick:*opening Locker* (Okay, Take notes in history for two, Ace a science test, lunch, free period, and then help organize the tournament. Should be a calm day.)

P.A. System:Would all members of the student council please meet in the auditorium during first period? Thank you...”

Nick:Okay, no notes I guess. I can always use free period. Still a calm day. *closes locker*

He turns around to see a middle aged black man dressed in a stylish black suit with a cyan tie and a black fedora with a ribbon around it that matches the tie. The man smiles at Nicholas who displays a neutral face that slowly turns into one of exhaustion, even though the day just started.

Nick:Hello Mr. Coal.

Flynt:Hello Nicholas, shall we talk in the courtyard or my office.

Nick:The principal’s office always has candy so I think you know my answer.

Flynt:Let’s mosy on then.

Nick:Sigh, I wish I still had my coffee.

Part 5

#rwby twin snowflakes #rwby #nicholas schnee #summer schnee #val valkyrie #flynt coal #rwby whiteknight

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