#I’m not ace but c’mon guys haven’t we moved past this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hardskz · 4 years

Text

a penny for your thoughts.

pairing — han jisung x female! reader

genre — trope inversion of the soulmate au, college au, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff-ish, smut; oral, possessiveness kink, praise kink, safe word, size kink, first time

synopsis — life isn’t easy when you belong to the 1% of the world population that has a soulmate, know who your soulmate is and happen to be utterly in love with said soulmate’s best friend. alternatively, jisung can hear all of your unfiltered thoughts and has heard enough of your horny fantasies to the point where he wants to throw up, so he takes matters in his own hands.

note — i think i’m gonna cry this work is my 11k word BABY i’ve never been THIS invested over a fic. this is purely self-indulgent and an emotional rollercoaster ride if you ask me. this fic is all over the place it’s chaotic and i apologize in advance for many italics you are welcome i hope you CRY and SUFFER with me because completing this bitch was a midlife crisis in itself. that being said, i appreciate any form of constructive criticism so pls go ahead and rip my baby apart sdkjl

“You’re staring again,” Hyunjin notes. Seungmin and Jeongin stifle a burst of laughter while Felix, whose head is resting on Hyunjin’s lap, sends you a look that resembles Candace from Phineas and Ferb whenever she finds her brothers creating some whacky futuristic shit, laughs like a madman and then resumes to call her mother with an ear-splitting MOOOM! because she’s so certain that her brothers are busted this time.

“Am not,” you huff as you tear your eyes away from the guy just sitting a little bit farther away from you, basking in the warm glow of the sun. Today he’s sitting in the perfect angle, giving you the best view on his side profile. His signature cap is perched right on top of his head but even then, you can see how his eyes brighten up and how the corners of his lips tug upwards as he laughs at his friend’s joke.

“You’re a worse case than the Mary Sue protagonist of every romance anime ever.” Seungmin snorts before he playfully nudges your side with his shoe. “Just say you want Seo Changbin to bang you and go.”

“Hey! We have a child present!” Hyunjin chastises, to which Jeongin rolls his eyes.

“I’m not a child. We’re all in fucking college.”

“Fine, not a child then. The baby has been corrupted! Don’t swear, it sounds so wrong coming from you!”

“Shut up. It’s called freedom of speech!”

“It’s ‘shut up Hyung’ to you!”

Felix groans in distress and is probably rethinking his life choices. Seriously, what does Felix, resident hopeless romantic, see in Hyunjin? Sure, he’s good-looking and a great friend when he’s not bitching around or hovering over the nearest trash can after taking too many shots. But a romantic? Please, Hyunjin can’t even eat without making a mess out of his shirt.

“I don’t want him to bang me,” you mutter and receive a collective ‘yeah sure’ look. “Fine, I don’t want him to bang me only. He’s nice,” you retort before your eyes flit back to him for a millisecond. By now, Changbin has put his hands on the grass and is leaning back, enjoying the sunlight while listening halfheartedly to the other guy blabbering.

“And hot. We get it. Now get dicked,” Seungmin deadpans, earning flabbergasted looks from everyone and a smack from Hyunjin.

“Show a little more empathy, you dickwad. She’s whipped.”

“Anyway—“ Felix sits up, earning a pout from Hyunjin but he blatantly ignores it, and directs the conversation back to the previous topic before the other two bump heads, “(y/n), you have his number. You’re not strangers, so why don’t you just make a move?”

You glance at him with horror in your eyes. “What do you expect me to do? Ring him up and ask him to hang out with me because I find him cute?”

“Uh, duh? Last time I checked, that’s how you ask someone out.”

“Absolutely not.”

“New idea.” Seungmin butts in. “Why don’t you ask Han Jisung—“

“No.”

“Agreed.” Hyunjin shoots you a nod of approval before Seungmin can start yet another interrogation about your bitter hatred towards Jisung. Jisung, who happens to be said friend of Changbin that is laughing beside him right now. “He must think he’s so much better than us because he’s hanging out with the senior geniuses of the music production major. Then again, Seo Changbin and Bang Chan are on a different level than us commoners.”

“Speaking of Chan,” you quickly say to steer the conversation away from the personification of everything you hate. “Where is he? It’s so weird seeing the trio incomplete.”

This time, Jeongin chimes in. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Chan and that one language major — you know, the one who collapsed a while back?” When all he’s met with are clueless faces, Jeongin sighs. “Seriously, you guys should keep up with campus news. I swear, everyone and their mothers already know by now. But anyway, they’re soulmates. It’s also the reason why Chan has been pulled out of the boxing team until the end of the semester and had to cancel their training camp as soon as she broke down.”

Felix does a double-take. “But Chan’s the ace of the boxing club!”

“It is what it is.” Jeongin stretches his legs out, shrugging. “What else is to expect when you have the proximity link and need to be around your soulmate within a certain distance unless you want death?”

“Poor guy. Must be a smack in the face for him, now that he’s got a soulmate and happens to have the worst link one could have.” Seungmin says.

“The tattoos are worse though.” Hyunjin fires back. “I mean, you’re literally born with a tattoo of your soulmate’s name and then grow up knowing that you have one? And even if you never meet them, you won’t have better chances with others if you want some romance. Who in their right mind wants to have a lover who’s got someone else’s name tattooed on them since birth?”

“No one.” You chuckle. “Absolutely no one.”

In another lifetime, another universe, you and Jisung would probably be on better terms. He’s sunshine on legs and looks decent from an objective point of view.

In another lifetime, another universe, you’d like to believe you’re childhood friends and have been neighbors ever since your first shit in your diapers. Perhaps you would be clowned from being inseparable once in a while, but you’d go with it and then shrug it off as if it was nothing.

In another lifetime, another universe, you’d like to believe that being soulmates doesn’t equal the downfall of two people. Sure, the fact that people are bound to each other and the danger of growing too dependent on that person remains, but it probably won’t be so frowned upon. Probably. Hopefully.

However, as much as you want to twist it, another lifetime is not this lifetime, the reality.

In reality, you and Jisung are only neighbors because the universe has some kind of inexplicable hatred towards you. Seriously, you must’ve done something wrong in your previous life to be punished in this one. And because the universe has sadistic tendencies and loves to make you suffer, the laws of the universe are just as equally fucked up.

The concept of soulmates is a lot of things, but most of all, it’s a mystery. There are endless possibilities for soulmate links, not all of them discovered. And unlike popular belief, soulmates do not have to necessarily share the same link. So voilà, even more fuckery from the universe.

There’s only one reason that justifies your wholehearted, unfiltered hatred towards Han Jisung. Well, only one reason that seems justified in this lifetime.

The tattoo is simple; just fine black characters under your collarbone that are nicely hidden under high-cut shirts.

But the fact that it’s his name tattooed on you since birth remains.

“Let me crash here for the night.”

“No.”

“Let me crash here for the night, please.”

“My answer is still no.”

The exasperation is plastered on Jisung’s face as he tries to keep his temper in check. Truth be told, it’s damn satisfying seeing him wanting to rip your head off but refraining to do so. Perhaps you’re enjoying this more than you expected at one o’clock in the morning. For the past five minutes, Jisung has been asking you to let him stay over for the night. You’d save him out of his misery and help a neighbor out who locked himself out of his apartment at this hour — well, if he wasn’t Han Jisung.

By now, he’s growing more impatient with every further rejection. “Oh come on, all my friends live on the other side of town and you can’t expect me to ask the old grandma next door! At this rate, I’m gonna freeze to death overnight!”

“Then go break a window or something,” you deadpan, ignoring the dramatic hand gestures he’s making to accentuate his words.

“The fuck? I’m not going to break into my own place.”

Not wanting to draw out the pointless conversation any longer, you’re about to slam the door shut when he blocks your action with his foot. “C’mon, just this one night. Please.”

He’s not budging anytime soon. His bullheadedness reminds you of Seungmin, who always tries to get Hyunjin wasted whenever you attend those Greek frat parties. Seungmin, who always succeeds in getting Hyunjin wasted, followed by Hyunjin hugging a bucket for the next few hours as he tries to get over the hangover. With a defeated sigh, you gesture Jisung to come inside and don’t wait for him until he’s taken his shoes off at the entryway.

“Look, I know you don’t like me—“

“Well, ‘don’t like’ is putting it very lightly—” you scoff once he’s caught up to you in the living room. It’s not exactly spacious; the couch takes up most of the room and college assignments are spread all over the minuscule coffee table.

“You could at least treat me like a decent human being.”

That statement is enough to get your ears flaming. You whip your head in his direction, voice getting louder. “How can I when your existence is making my life worse than it already is! And I mean it literally! Just seeing your name whenever I look at myself through the mirror sickens me!”

“Stop acting like you’re the only victim here.” Jisung snaps back in the same manner. If there was a little bit of etiquette in the first place, it has all vanished now. “I’m not having it easier when all I hear from you is the dozen ways you want Changbin to fuck you dumb!”

You freeze.

“Cat got your tongue? It’s already bad enough that you have those kinds of thoughts about my best friend every single day.”

“But I thought— y-you had the proximity link?!” This has to be a joke. A very bad one at that. His proximity link is the very sole reason why you lived next to him. His soulmate link is the only reason why you’ve been stuck together like glue since you could walk.

Jisung taps his foot impatiently, running his hand through his hair. “That’s what I thought too until I started hearing things that nobody said around me. First, it was just a few thoughts every other day, but now you’re like an annoying radio that I can’t switch off.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? I would’ve—“

“Stopped fantasizing about Changbin’s dick? And then you would’ve jumped to the next person. I don’t care if you like him or not, it’s none of my business. Changbin’s hot, anyone with eyes can tell. Besides, it’s not like you have a chance anyway…”

You feel your blood boiling at his underlying message and cross your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jisung doesn’t bat an eyelash and says in a mocking tone as if stating the obvious. “No doubt that Changbin will make you feel good. But could you return the favor?”

That’s a low blow. Even for Jisung, that’s a low blow.

“I get that you’ve got a dirty mind. But those are just fantasies. Could you really execute them just the way you had in your head? You don’t even have experience in the first place.”

“If I sucked you off right now, you wouldn’t even be able to speak properly!” God knows what went over you when you countered. At this point, rage has taken over your brain and you don’t even realize what you just said right away. Not that it matters anyway; all you see is red.

Jisung just raises a brow, clearly unimpressed by your outburst. “Prove it,” he challenges casually and then flops himself onto the couch, legs spread wide. It’s an open invitation. “Go ahead, make me see reason with your oh so mind-blowing skills.”

The only thing you’re able to do physically is gape at him. He is joking, right? As if he actually means it—

“I knew it. Shameless in your head but too flustered to say it out loud, let alone following up with your bold statements.”

That seals the deal. You’re fuelled by anger and the desire to prove him wrong as you drop on your knees and are on eye level with his crotch. However, your spirit dissolves the longer you silently stare and realize that you have no fucking clue on what to do. Jisung is painfully aware of that too.

“I’m more terrified than turned on seeing your angry face.” He lets out an exasperated sigh before he pulls you up and directs you to sit on his lap. “Obviously it’s not working when neither of us is in the mood. You gotta get in the mood first,” he mutters, hands settling on your hips.

The look in his eyes is more composed now, but you can tell he’s being observant. As if you have clues written all over your face, he keeps you under his stern gaze. Then his eyes droop lower to your lips and he slowly leans forward.

Not even a second later, you firmly plant your hands on his shoulder and push him back. “No lips.”

If Jisung is judgemental about your sudden stunt, he doesn’t comment on it. “Anything else, your royal majesty?”

You’re too tired to react to his mockery and roll your eyes. “No marks.”

“I can work with that,” he mumbles more to himself rather to you. Then he leans forward again and buries his face in the crook of your neck. Surprised by his actions and new to the unfamiliar sensation, you tense up. Jisung seems to take notice of that too.

“Relax,” he orders, rubbing circles on your hips to help you loosen up.

Well, that’s easier said than done. It’s already bad enough that you’re gradually exposing yourself as the complete amateur you are, and out of all people who could’ve been the first to do any form of sexual advances on you, it just had to be Jisung. Perhaps you shouldn’t have rejected that one kid in high school who was the only one who ever had a crush on you. Even if that kid wasn’t your type and not a serious commitment anyway, maybe you would’ve at least some sort of experience with dick.

“A-ah—“ your breath hitches when he nips on the patch below your earlobe. He smiles against your skin as if he just made some scientific discovery and swipes his tongue on the same spot, eager to make you squirm. Not wanting to slip up anymore, you clamp your mouth shut with a hand.

“Let me hear you, baby. Just relax, I got you.” When the fuck did his voice start to sound lower and raspier? Where did ‘baby’ come from? All rationality and resistance leave your body when he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him.

The cologne of musk lingers strong on him, almost intoxicating even, and you can’t form a cohesive thought anymore. The only things you are painfully aware of are an arm forcing your chest flush against his and his hot breath all over your neck.

You’re so far gone that you fail to notice that you’ve started grinding on his lap. Jisung moans softly into your neck as he encourages you to move with his hands.

“On your knees, baby,” he whispers after a while. A rush of disappointment runs through your veins once he detaches his lips from you and slides you off his lap, but all of that is forgotten once you see the prominent bulge in his pants.

Right. There’s a reason why you ended up in this predicament in the first place.

Jisung urges you to touch him with a simple nudge. “C’mon, baby. Take it off.”

You don’t waste time discarding his sweatpants. Just when you’re about to tug his underwear off, you notice the wet patch on the fabric. A surge of mischief washes over you as you boldly cupped his hard-on over his boxers, causing an obscenely loud moan from him.

He flinches, definitely not expecting that brashness from you, and throws his head back. “S-stop teasing me already and take that goddamn thing off or God help me what I’m going to do if you push my buttons.”

That. That was a threat. That dealt much more damage to you than you like to admit.

As much as you want to watch him break and see if he’d make his threats come true, you decide against your feelings and hook your fingers under the waistband and tug the fabric down in one swift motion. A groan leaves Jisung as his cock, fully hard and leaking precum, is exposed to the cold air. He’s certainly above average; on the longer side probably, and you’re conflicted on whether to think fuck, I want him in my mouth right now or fuck, how on earth is that supposed to fit into my mouth?!

You don’t get far with your inner conflict when a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and slowly urges you closer. The next thing you know, something is tapping your lips and before you fully register it, the tip of Jisung’s cock lies heavy on your tongue.

You carefully look up and meet Jisung’s hooded eyes. His shirt has ridden up a bit and flashes just a little bit of his toned stomach. That’s just enough of an indicator to see that Jisung is holding himself back, in case his irregular breathing hasn’t been a dead giveaway.

Jisung opens his mouth, about to say something, when you give an experimental suck on his dick. “Do something— f-fuck, a little more, baby.”

That’s enough to build your confidence up. You slowly take in more of his dick, sucking carefully and making sure to cover your teeth. The rest that doesn’t fit in your mouth is barely covered with your hands, and you messily try to coordinate your hands, switching between rubbing the base of his dick to cupping his balls.

“Mmh, use more pressure,” Jisung whispers, not trusting the stability of his voice when you fondle with his balls. A groan leaves him when you suck harder on his cock and switch back to swirling your tongue around. For a total beginner, you are holding yourself up better than he expected. Fuck.

“Focus on the tip fir— hhh- aa-ah...” His brain blacks out for a moment when you swirl your tongue around his tip and dare an experimental hum, the vibrations going straight down to his dick. The grip on your hair loosens, but it’s still firm enough to experience a sharp tug. “You’re doing good baby. So good.”

The combination of his sounds, the decent taste of precum on your tongue and the way his adam’s apple bops is enough to send you into sensory overload. You notice the way Jisung tenses his thighs, as to keep them still. You’re about to pull out completely to prevent your drool from getting on your face. However, before you get the chance to complain, he forces his length back on you that it grazes the back of your throat, nearly making you choke.

“Fuck, I— I’m gonna— s-soon—“ he hisses and you take it as a sign to speed up. At this point, your jaw hurts and a mixture of drool and precum drips down your chin. It’s borderline disgusting if you think about it, but the delectable sounds leaving Jisung compensates for it.

He sharply tugs on your hair, ordering you to pull off, but you slap his hand away. “I’m going to spill in your mouth if you don’t pull off right now—“ Jisung chokes on his words when you interrupt him with a hum as if to say so what? It doesn’t help that you’re looking up at him with teary eyes and a lot of conviction, even though you’re visibly struggling to keep half of his dick in your mouth.

When he cums, it’s accompanied but drawn out moans, and you forcing yourself to swallow the horrible texture. It’s not horrible per se, but you’d gladly refuse to swallow a second time if you were given the choice.

Jisung looks down at you with flushed cheeks and is about to wipe off the drool or cum or whatever liquid is staining your bottom lip, but you quickly block his hand. “I’ll clean up by myself.”

For a minuscule second, he looks defeated; he looks borderline disappointed, but before you can pinpoint his feelings for sure, his expression changes. “But what about you?” he asks, eyes raking down your body and stopping at the waistband of your pants.

“I’ll deal with it on my own.” You shrug, avoiding his eyes. All of sudden, you find it hard to breathe in the room as the realization settles into your brain. You just sucked off Jisung. Jisung, out of all fucking people.

“You sure?” Your eyes flit to him who looks like he’s been observing you the entire time. His breathing has calmed down, his lips look a little bit plumper than before and his hair sticks out in all different directions. Looking at his current state makes you feel sick, and your undying hatred for him starts growing again. It’s your fault that he looks so fucked out and—

Why the fuck did you even do that?

“Yes. Now stop asking before I change my mind and kick you out.”

Before he can have the last word, you turn on your heels and rush into your bedroom, ignoring the fact that your underwear is practically drenched.

You wake up to the smell of pancakes emerging from the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making breakfast?” Jisung throws you a questioning look and then plates the last batch of pancakes from the pan. “It’s the least I can do after you were friendly enough to let me crash on the couch.”

Your eyes wander to the countertop to the two plates stacked with pancakes. Jisung finishes up the second plate and hands it out to you.

You stare dumbly at the plate. It’s too early for your brain to mouth filter to work, so the first thing you spit out is, “How do I know you didn’t poison it?”

“Are you fucking serious—“ Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, mutters something inaudible under his breath before he puts on the fakest smile he can muster. “I can take a bite if you really insist.”

“Give me that plate.” You point to the other plate on the counter. Presentation-wise, it looks the same as the one Jisung is offering you, minus the visible steam.

“There. Wanna switch again or can I finally eat?” he scoffs when you walk past him to get cutlery and sit at the dining table; it’s essentially a round wooden table where one of the legs is about to break. Two plates and a pitcher at most take up the entire surface. You really should consider buying a new table, but you have better things to spend on rather than that.

From your peripheral vision, you see Jisung rolling his eyes. Perhaps you were making an entire unnecessary circus, critically cutting through the pancake and inspecting each and every side before stuffing it in your mouth. But again, in your defense, it’s too early in the morning to show basic etiquette towards him out of all people.

You have to admit that visually, the pancakes look good. What you didn’t expect were the pancakes to taste just how they look. It looks like you couldn’t contain your surprise in you, judging by the amused smirk that finds its way onto Jisung’s face as he claims the chair across from you.

“As if you could actually cook,” you splutter because there’s no fucking way you are giving him that satisfaction of the day.

However, it seems to bemuse him even more. “You literally eat this every day and know the recipe by heart. With the excessive number of times you recite the ingredients a day, obviously, something got stuck in my brain,” he explains while cutting through his own portion.

The rest of breakfast is spent in silence. You both finish at the same time and while you’re washing the dishes, he’s stayed put in the chair, mindlessly checking something on his phone.

“You didn’t have to cook, you know. You could’ve just left.” you start. It’s already awkward enough that he’s still here. Bloody hell, you should’ve just waited with the plates and ushered him out of your place instead of just getting away as fast as possible from the table. Now that you think about it, this was probably the only time you two were somewhat amicable at such proximity. (Even if you didn’t talk at all. Still, it’s progress.)

He drops his phone on the table with a soft ‘bang’. “It’s the least I could do. Besides, I was starving too.”

“In other words, you’re taking advantage of my fridge?”

“Exactly.”

Just as you’re drying your hands, he’s about to leave. “I’ll get going, lecture’s starting in a few. And, uh, thanks for letting me stay here.”

You just shoot him a weird look. “You already thanked me once. How often do you wanna repeat yourself?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Fine, next time I’ll just leave without a word then.”

It’s when he’s finally out of the door that his last words sink in.

“Yo, I have pics of sweaty Changbin in a jersey. How much do you wanna pay for those gems?”

You nearly choke on air. “What the fuck?” Really, that’s the only appropriate reaction.

“Hyunjin, this needs more context.” Felix looks like he’s seriously second-guessing his taste in men before shaking it off with a sigh and elaborates. “He’s been trying to find out some scoop about Chan for the campus blog and caught him in his angry boxer mode and Changbin was also there assisting him. Hey, did you know that Chan doesn’t tape his hands before punching the bag? Fuck, that’s so intimidating but so hot at the same time—“

“Yah! I’m your boyfriend! How can you say that in front of me?!”

Changbin. Changbin in a jersey. Changbin in a jersey and drenched in sweat. And Hyunjin seriously has HQ pictures of that Changbin.

It really, absolutely shouldn’t have been the first thing that crossed your mind, but the idea of that Changbin — bonus if he still has anger pent up in him — barging into your place and instantly throwing you on the bed—

“I’m not a perverted creep who’s gonna buy pictures of him that he doesn’t even know exist. Besides, isn’t that a violation of his rights? He never consented to those pics. This is college, you’re only working for the campus blog, not fucking Dispatch.” you deadpan.

“So you don’t even want to take a sneak peek at a picture?”

“No.”

You barely stepped a foot into your apartment when Jisung storms out of his own place and stops in front of you. “You fucking liar.”

“Excuse me? What the— hmph!”

The next thing you know, Jisung forces his way into your hallway, slams the door shut and crowds you against it. His face is invading your personal space, eyes enraged and jaw locked. Even though his anger is far from justified as you haven’t glanced at him ever since he stayed over, a tiny part of you believes that you pissed him off for good. It's not the first time you witness him angry. However, it's the first time you witness him look as if someone murdered his family and was trying to get revenge.

“I thought you took care of it yourself!”

“Took care of what?”

“Did you already forget that I can read your mind?!”

You scrunch your nose, trying to connect the dots in his words. It doesn't take long for you to realize that there’s no point in trying. A frustrated groan leaves you. “Why are you getting so riled up? I just breathed and you stormed into my place!”

“‘Bullshit. You weren’t just breathing,” he snaps, and you flinch when his hand lands a few inches beside your face with a loud pang. “You were thinking of Changbin again! And I mean that in the thousand sex positions and locations you want him to bang you kind of thinking! And also—“

“Also what?”

“I know you’ve been pent up for days. Seriously, why don’t you just get off like every other sane human being?”

His brutal delivery leaves you flabbergasted. How the fuck does he know that? No. No. No. He doesn’t know. He can’t. Just because he can read your mind doesn’t mean that you didn’t pleasure yourself after giving him that blowjob. Jisung’s probably bluffing — he has to be bluffing.

“W-why should I answer you?” you stutter. Suddenly the walls look much more interesting. When was the last time you painted the walls? Maybe it’s time to switch things up—

“Are you really about to get all cocky with me? Give me a break.” Jisung chews on his bottom lip after little deliberation. “You wanna know why? Because one of my best friends is going through a hard time that can utterly destroy his entire future thanks to the fucking universe! If that isn’t stressful as it is, I also see and hear all kinds of things you want Changbin to do to you. And your fantasies are also affecting me.”

You stare at him as if he sprouted eight new legs. “So you’ve also been…?”

“Sexually frustrated? Fuck yes. And it’s all your fault. So take responsibility and do something against it before I do.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“So what if I am?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine once you meet his stone-cold gaze. Frustration is displayed all over his features, from his labored breaths to the raised brow. He’s not playing mind games this time, he’s actually frustrated.

There are a billion red flags, a billion blinking signs saying NO DON’T YOU EVEN THINK OF DOING THIS! DON’T BE A FUCKING IDIOT in your mind. There are so many countless reasons why you should listen to your head, but the way Jisung is lusting after you is terrifyingly attractive.

You don’t trust your voice to respond verbally. Instead, you look down at your trembling hand and tug at the hem of his shirt. It’s just then when you also realize that your thighs are clenched. Fuck.

Jisung takes the hint. In the blink of an eye, he’s yanking you to your room, kicks the door shut with a loud ‘thud’, and manhandles you on the bed. You’re too stunned to react, and gulp when he hovers over you and strips off his jacket, leaving him in a white shirt that doesn’t hide his toned arms.

“Use the color system, alright? Green when everything is alright, yellow when you want me to slow down, and red when you want me to stop for good?” he asks.

“I know what the color system is,” you mutter, tearing your eyes away from him.

“That’s not an answer to my question.” he presses.

“Fine, color system it is. There! Happy? Now get on with it—“

Jisung pins your wrists above your head vigorously. “You don’t call the shots here. I do.”

Your stomach swoops. You really should’ve listened to your brain. This Jisung isn’t comparable with the Jisung you sucked off a few days ago. That Jisung was cocky — he’s always cocky, what are you even saying — but he still gave you room to breathe. This Jisung is downright scary.

“Good thing for you, I know exactly what you want me to do—” he starts sinisterly as his thigh settles firmly between your legs, pressing up against your clothed core. You suddenly regret wearing a skirt. “—and trust me baby, even if I couldn’t read your mind, I would do all those things because that’s what I plan on doing to you regardless.”

The look he gives you should be illegal. He shouldn’t be in the position to look down at you, as if he’s the king and has free reign over the consequences you are about to bear. Your head suddenly feels dizzy, and it’s way too hot in the room. It’s as if your bedroom has morphed into some vacuum as you’re desperately trying to breathe. Your system ceases to function once he presses his thigh even harder on your cunt, and all you manage to make is a pathetic whimper.

A menacing grin makes its way to his face. He’s clearly thriving on this ego-boost and continues to grind his thigh on you until your hips start to sway along. It seems like you found your voice again once he leans down and nibbles on your neck. Your moans are barely audible at first, but they slowly turn into drawn out mewls and labored breaths.

Your eyes snap open when he suddenly retreats his thigh and holds your hip in a vice grip, stopping you from moving. “W-what the fuck? Why did you stop?”

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Huh?” You squint at him. “But you can read my mind!”

“I want you to say it out loud.”

There’s no way in the universe that you’ll do that. You’ll gladly wipe off that shit-eating grin out of his face whether he likes it or not, but with his hold on your wrists, that is deemed impossible.

You should say something out loud though. Yellow. That would save you from the humiliation. You could regain at least an ounce of control, not feel so pathetic anymore. It’s a simple word, just two syllables, six letters. The tables can be turned to your advantage. It’s easy.

You don’t.

“You’re embarrassed, aren’t you? You can’t say all those filthy thoughts in your head out loud because you’re ashamed, huh? Not when you love feeling so powerless, subject to anything I do to you. Face it baby, just admit that you’re a needy little bitch who wants to get off on my fingers so bad, and I’ll give you what you want,” Jisung growls in between hot, wet kisses he leaves on your neck.

“I—“ you whimper after some difficulties, “I’m your needy little bitch w-who wants to get off on your fingers.”

Jisung’s head pipes up, his face just hovering a couple of inches away from yours. With that little distance between you, you know it’s not a trick of the light and that his eyes are blown up with hunger, hunger, and more hunger. "Not just any bitch, but mine? Do you like it when I call you mine?"

You nod. From there on, it’s a chain reaction.

He wastes no time slipping his fingers past your panties, mindlessly trailing along your folds. You throw your head back in pleasure, bucking your hips into his touch. A cry leaves you the moment he slips a finger inside you, his thumb simultaneously flicking your clit. It’s sensory overload, rendering your rationality to a standstill.

Your utter downfall is marked once Jisung adds a second finger, never slowing down. He groans at the way you clench around him like a maniac, and the sounds he makes send jolts all over your body. You’re writhing under his grasp at this point, overstimulated by everything yet at the same time, you feel your arousal slowly fading.

“Does my baby feel good? Are you close?” Jisung asks, nipping on your earlobe.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?”

The pit in your stomach grows. You’ve never experienced claustrophobia, but right now, it’s like everything’s suffocating you. “A-as in I don’t fucking know!” you exclaim shakily.

Jisung stops his movements. The weight on your wrists is lifted, and he looks at you, face unreadable. “(y/n), color. What’s your color?”

“Green. It’s just...” your trail off, avoiding his eyes.

“Just...?”

“I’ve never come before,” you confess in defeat. You really can’t believe that Jisung out of all people is the one to make the call of judgment. “I mean it! I’ve tried getting myself off but I never managed to... so cut me some fucking slack because I’m trying my best here and am still new to everything!”

Jisung stays silent. He stares at you in… confusion? disbelief? You really have no clue how to read his expression. Something negative for sure, though. He’s Satan’s spawn, for fuck’s sake. He’s probably thinking twice about going down on you, thinking about the gravity of a mistake he’s dealing with this time. He just has no clue how to articulate his irritation—

“You’re so cute, fucking hell,” he whispers.

You do a double-take. What? What did he say?

A small chuckle escapes his lips. As if he doesn’t mind. Wait. He doesn’t mind. “I’ll take good care of you. Trust me on this,” he says.

“That’s a little late coming from you, your fingers are literally up my vagi— h-ha-aah—“

“Just shut up and let me do the work.” Jisung rolls his eyes as he works you up again, fingers moving at a slower pace this time. Within minutes, he’s reduced you into a panting, stuttering mess. “You look so tiny and helpless underneath me. How adorable,” he coos, to which you just whine.

“Yeah? You like it when I call you tiny? Like it when your tight cunt already feels stuffed with just two fingers? Maybe we should stretch it to a third one, think you can handle that?” he presses on. That’s when he rams his fingers into a particular spot, making you arch your back. A knowing smile makes its way onto his lips. “Found it.”

“N-no, fuck— t-too much—” you babble, but he continues to abuse your sweet spot without remorse.

An unfamiliar pressure builds up in your abdomen, threatening to burst. Your whines grow louder, breaths shallower. You squeeze your eyes shut as you thrust your hips into his hand, desperate for more friction. “Jisung, I think I’m gonna—”

“Oh no, not like this,” he growls. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to look at me when you cum. So you’ll remember that it was me who made you cum for the first time. It’s me who’s making you feel good.”

That is easier said than done. You manage to open your eyes, though with a lot of difficulties. Scratch that, your eyes are barely open. Jisung is a blurry image, and you’re unable to register everything he says, the sound of his fingers squelching in your heat blaring in your ears.

You deem it fucking impossible to keep your eyes open when your orgasm hits you hard, body spasming from the sensation. But you keep on trying, keep forcing to set your eyes on him.

It’s all worth it though when the reward you get is a proud smile on his face, as well as streams of praises coming from his mouth.

It’s a continuous pattern that goes as follows:

1. You spend your days glued to your friends.

2. At least one of them (usually, it’s Seungmin) preaches how you should get your shit together and ask Changbin out.

3. Somehow, Changbin manages to leave a strong presence in your fantasies and you end up daydreaming about a scenario that stars him, you and a bed (if you’re feeling more daring, any other kind of surface or object he could pound you into.)

4. Jisung notices and forces the horniness out of your system.

5. You tell yourself that it’s the last time Jisung has such control over you.

And then the cycle repeats.

But here’s the thing: you find yourself doing no. 5 you with less conviction the more it happens. No. 5 is a formality at this point. You don’t know when you went the wrong path, but are you really in a position to complain? Jisung is good with you, he’s good with his fingers, even better with his mouth.

But then there’s this side of Jisung after he’s ruined you. He knows what you want to eat after you’re all cleaned up, knows what show you want to watch, knows if you want to just drop dead in bed or need someone to force you to finish your uni assignments. In short: Jisung is good. If you ever said that out loud and someone caught wind of it, they might assume that you liked him.

But Changbin. You like Changbin. You like Changbin you like Changbin you like Changbin—

You like Changbin, right?

“You’ve been looking at me as if I had the word CLOWN written over my forehead. Do I have something on my face or what?” you cross your arms and are met with your friends quickly averting their eyes from you.

Felix is the first one to break the silence. “Is that a new dress?”

“Not really. I recently found it when I cleared out my closet and decided to give it one more try. Why—“ you pause, and your expression turns grim once it dawns on you. “I look ridiculous in this, don’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“No!”

“You look like a clown.”

“Seungmin-Hyung, did you really just???”

If your crippling self-esteem hadn’t reached its all-time low before, then it definitely did now. “Geez, thanks,” you deadpan.

Jeongin is panicking, trying to provide some damage control as Felix snaps at Hyunjin and Seungmin. “Nobody cares about your two cents!”

“Well, but she asked for our opinion!”

“Nobody cares about your honest two cents!”

“Let’s just have lunch at the burger place and talk about this later, Hyung!”

You’re still dazed, chuckling dryly like those cartoon characters usually do when their soul leaves their body after someone dragged them. The entire situation is downright sad to witness. Is this a sign that your period is coming soon? That’s it! That probably explains why you’re acting so uncharacteristically sensitive today—

“The dress suits you, (y/n). You should wear it more often,” Changbin says.

“Hah?” you flinch and you’re sure your soul actually left your body when you turn to face Changbin smiling genuinely at you. Out of your periphery, you see Jisung and Chan behind him, but that’s not the point.

What? The? Fuck? Did he really just? Did Changbin just… compliment you?

You don’t realize how long you’ve dumbly stared at him until Jeongin nudges you. “Uhhhh, thanks!” you squeak out, cringing at how your voice just went up by an octave. You can feel Jeongin facepalming internally at your response, but you don’t blame him; you’d most likely do the same.

Changbin just smiles before he turns away to get to his next class, tugging Jisung and Chan with him.

Nevermind. Wearing this dress was the best decision you’ve made in your entire college career. The way you suddenly beam almost gives Felix whiplash — it’s obvious in the way he stares at you as if he ended up watching a comedy instead of the melodrama he was expecting. Hyunjin seems just as flabberghasted, Jeongin is still cringing from the secondhand embarrassment, and Seungmin just grins.

“Ah, so lover boy is the reason, I see.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Oh my god, just shut up, Seungmin.”

Jisung is eating you out with such fervor that has you sobbing and thrashing around. He’s merciless in every literal sense, keeping your hips planted on the couch with his hands to the point where veins are bulging out, and lapping up your juices with his tongue, continuing even though you already came. He only pulls away, lips glistening in your release, once you tug on his hair despite his orders to not do that.

“Already spent now? But baby, we just started.” he pouts. “Or is it because it’s me? Would you defy if Changbin was the one eating you out?”

You stare at him with blown out eyes. Why the fuck is he bringing up Changbin now? The words hang heavy in your throat and are threatening to burst, but the death stare he delivers stops you from doing so.

Something’s not right.

“Don’t tell me... you’re wet again because I just mentioned Changbin. Changbin this, Changbin that, huh? It’s always only Changbin, Changbin, Changbin. And I thought I was doing you good all along,” he rages, making you flinch. He can be terrifying when he wants to be, but this time, he seems completely out of it. “You know what? I’m fucking done with holding back. You’re mine, got it?”

With that, he dives back into your cunt, sucking harshly on your clit as he slides a finger in you. You try to pry him off, but his weight is restraining you to the sofa.

“Jisung, it hurts— ouch—“ Panic starts to rise in you when he finally detaches himself from your nub, but instead, moves down to your thighs and starts sucking on the skin with a force much harder than you’re used from him. “What are you doing? S-stop—!”

“You’re mine, you’re supposed to be mine. I am literally written on your skin. So why can’t you just wish to be with me? Do I have to mark you up so that you’ll finally get it?”

It hurts. It hurts. Once you feel teeth on your skin, you burst into tears. “Red, Jisung, red!”

As if it was the spell to break the cast, Jisung finally snaps out of it. His features break once his eyes meet yours. Regret sticks onto him like a second skin, and he slightly moves his hand in an attempt to reach out to you. Your muscles react faster though, and you instinctively pull your legs towards yourself and shy away from him. The way his face drops by another layer of remorse tugs at your heartstrings, but the impending fear overpowers everything else you’re feeling.

“What’s going on? What went over you?” you ask.

Jisung’s breath is shaky. He feverishly opens his mouth several times, but no sound is coming out. He’s struggling to find the right words, maybe trying to find a somewhat reasonable justification for his behavior. In the end, he lets out a defeated sigh. “I can’t do this anymore without having feelings—” his voice is weak and vulnerable and you’ve never witnessed him break down like this before, “—I like you. I like you the way you like Changbin. I just...”

Silence.

“Leave,” you whisper, but in this silence, your voice rings out loud and clear. This is… too much weight for your heart to carry.

Jisung complies. He grabs his belongings from the floor, slips on his shirt, and leaves with his head hung low. His footsteps grow more and more distant, but then he stops.

“Are you really in love with Changbin?” His voice cracks.

You don’t muster up the courage to face him. “Just read my mind.”

It’s silent again. Too overwhelming. You’re waiting for yet another outburst of him, waiting for his “I want you to say it out loud”, because that’s how the conversation always goes.

The last thing you hear is the front door falling in its lock with a soft click.

You like Changbin. You like Changbin you like Changbin you like Changbin you like—

You like him, right?

Things have changed.

You and Jisung haven’t crossed paths ever since, not even passed each other by in the hallways. It’s weird since you’ve grown used to seeing him every day outside of your apartment complex. You’ve never really acknowledged each other’s presence with a wave or something in the sorts; it was just a second where your eyes met, and then your days went on.

That being said, you run into Changbin quite frequently. If you ever exchanged words, it’s nothing more than friendly small talk and the one or other compliment about his music. Talking to Changbin is nice; he makes you smile.

You know a little bit more about Changbin now, like his favorite ice cream flavor or the fact that he has a pokemon plushie named Gyu. It’s cute, and you chuckle when you think about how you’d pay good money for that information a few weeks ago.

Changbin is nice, and there’s nothing more to the story.

The chaotic quartett you call your friends however, doesn’t seem to buy it. They are loud and nosey and have eyes, so it was set in stone that they’d tease you about it sooner or later. It’s all fun and games, and you played along with it at first, because that’s how you guys are. But as time went on, when the banter became so repetitive and blown out of proportion to the point where they have made clowning you about your small interactions with Changbin the pinnacle of their entertainment, you’ve begun to be fed up by it.

“Will you finally stop bringing him up in an indecent manner every single lunch break? Or even better, stop bringing him up altogether?” You snap, which shocks everyone at the table because you never snap.

Nobody has time to react as you quickly stomp away to grab some fresh air. You mutter out every curse under the sun, not intending to let your anger take over you this much. You’ve only made it past the door when Felix catches up to you, placing a hand over your shoulder.

“(y/n), what’s the matter? Clearly, something’s bothering you. And I know it’s not because of just Seungmin.” Concern is woven in his smooth voice.

You have to admit, it was a smart and calculated move from your friends to send Felix your way. He’s always been the compassionate one out of your little friend group. Like a pillar, he’s the one who keeps you all grounded (and he’s the one to drive your asses back home after the wild Alpha Beta Gamma frat parties).

“I don’t like Changbin that way, I realized. So it’d be very much appreciated if you asses didn’t allude to that every time,” you huff.

Felix sends you an understanding smile. “We can work that out. You know that Hyunjin and Seungmin in particular can be insensitive and sometimes don’t realize they’ve taken things too far..”

“Fine, but that’s not the main thing that’s eating me up alive, Felix.” you sigh. The words seem to flow out of your mouth like a waterfall. “I’ve realized I’ve never really liked Changbin. Okay, fine, he was just a crush I had but I don’t like him.”

He nods slowly, his brain processing your ramble. “So you like someone else.”

“Yes. And I don’t know how to fix it because we got into a huge fight.”

“Talk to them. That’s the only thing left to do.” His response is immediate, and he says it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Every relationship has its ups and downs, and if you want to be committed, you have to fight for it. If you were made for one another, you’ll make it.”

The last part makes you laugh internally. If only he knew.

“Let me guess, you expect me to barge into his place to sort things out,” you say.

Felix gives you the look of judgment. “I mean, you could also show some human decency and text him in advance so he’s also prepared. But that works fine too.”

Come to think of it, you’ve never been to Jisung’s apartment. That’s about to change when you knock on his door sometime in the evening, shortly after sunset.

Jisung’s face immediately drops once he opens the door. “What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, drenched in regret.

It’s not that his appearance has reached rock bottom. He still takes good care of himself; however, you pick up the dark circles under his eyes and his complexion seems a little paler. Not sickeningly pale, but in a sense that he hasn’t seen the light of day for a few consecutive days.

You shift your weight on one leg and fiddle with your fingers. “Can we talk?”

Jisung gulps. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbles after a moment of hesitation before inviting you in.

“I’ve thought a long time about this. Everything, really,” you start awkwardly as soon as you’re both standing stiffly in his living room. “I, um…”

You cringe inwardly as your voice trails off. Truth be told, you’ve rehearsed what you wanted to say many times a few hours ago. Even wrote down the entire speech. Then threw the draft away, only to compose a new one. And then again and again and again. After what felt like an eternity, you had polished your final speech and memorized it from top to bottom, even making sure that your flow sounded natural. But now that this is the real deal, your mind goes blank. Of course, of fucking course, your illiterate brain had to give up on you in the situation that mattered the most.

Jisung purses his lips. “Do you want something to drink first? No need to rush—”

“I don’t like Changbin!” you blurt out. Jisung stares at you in confusion. “I mean, I used to like Changbin — I still do, he’s a nice guy! Don’t get me wrong — but that’s all he is. He’s… nice. I like him, as a friendly guy. I had a crush on him, but now it’s just, uh, like. Platonic! Yeah, platonic.”

Despite him nodding slowly, you know that he is still lost. You would be too if you were on the receiving end of this painfully clumsy delivery.

You give yourself a mental slap as you take a deep breath. It can’t get any worse than this. Definitely impossible. You’ve already proven to him how bad your public speaking skills are. Might as well get over it with the bluntest words. “I miss you. And not because of the sexual things we did, but everything else. I miss you coming over, miss the movie night, and all that. I miss you, Jisung.”

He stares at you silently. Your eyes search his face for any sign of emotion, and for one too many times, Jisung is impossible to read. Okay, perhaps you did manage to tell him what you wanted to tell him even worse than whatever the fuck your initial attempt was.

But then his blank armor cracks. Little by little, his eyes soften, disbelief and remorse on display for you to see. Jisung is looking at you as if his world has fallen apart even more. He’s looking at you as if he’s clinging to the last threads of reason, trying to make sense of the situation. He’s looking at you with eyes that could hold stars behind them, stars that were supposed to burn out yet shine brighter than the universe.

“How can you say that? I hurt you. I made you cry! I was being a selfish asshole who put out his anger on you!” he exclaims, voice breaking towards the end. Pain clouds his red eyes, and he’s fighting to keep the tears at bay.

You slowly prod closer to him, testing the waters. He doesn’t react once, not even when you stand directly in front of him. Not even when you gently place your hands on a shoulder each. Not until you say, “It’s alright. I’m alright. No hard feelings.”

That’s his breaking point. Tears stream down his face, while quiet hiccups jump out of his throat. “How can you be so nice to me?” His sobs are muffled as he eases into your touch, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around your waist, clinging onto you as if you’re his lifeline.

The answer is simple, you say to yourself, as you thread a hand in his hair. “We’re soulmates.”

The weight of the words hangs in the air, shattering the previous tension and all the worries in your heart. It’s liberating, finally being able to say it out loud without feeling like an abnormality for saying those words with happiness. You’re soulmates. You’re soulmates, and that’s okay.

Jisung’s sobs resound throughout the room, and so do his countless, tiny yeah, we are’s. You need a moment before you register the wetness on your face. It feels like an eternity standing in his warm embrace, even after there are no more tears left to cry.

“Can I kiss you?” Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but Jisung catches it. two fingers gently lift your chin so that you’re facing him. You almost melt when your eyes meet, his gaze filled with adoration that makes you want to burst at the seams.

“Yeah. I’d love that.” Jisung smiles.

It costs you your willpower to tear your eyes away from him before they flutter down to his lips. Despite his bottom lip being a little cracked, they look inviting and you wonder what they taste like. You expect him to nudge you, expect him to tell you to hurry up and do something because you’re pretty sure you’re staring at his lips for far too long.

He doesn’t. The grip on your chin is loose as if to tell you to take your time and go at your own pace. But the longer you wait, the more reluctance builds up. It’s a lot of power he’s given you; hell, it’s the first time he hands the reigns to you.

“Can you… uhm… I’ve never done this before, so yeah…” you look at him with a crooked smile.

The breathless chuckle that leaves him sounds like music to your ears. Jisung moves his hand to the back of your neck before closing the distance between you.

The kiss is short and sweet, but that alone suffices to make the butterflies in your stomach burst. The faint taste of coke lingers on him, and before you know it, you’re kissing again. Jisung’s lips are like an addiction, reeling you back in for another one. Somewhere along the way, the kisses change. Innocent presses of lips are long forgotten, replaced by teeth playfully tugging on your bottom lip, and Jisung kissing you deeper to the point where he steals all oxygen out of your lungs.

Your hands slide down his chest, tugging on his shirt. Startled by your bold actions, he pulls away, but you catch him back into another liplock that leaves the two of you breathless. All you can think of clearly is Jisung Jisung Jisung—

This time he forces himself away from you. Gasping for air, he places his forehead on yours. “If we go farther than this, then I don’t know if I can control myself.” His warning is barely above a whisper.

“Then don’t,” you whisper back.

That’s all the reassurance he needs before leading you to his bedroom, all the whilst latching onto your lips once more. He doesn’t let go of you until your back hits the soft mattress and he’s on top of you. Warm, slightly calloused hands trail from your cheeks to the hem of your shirt.

“Color?”

“Green,” you respond, smiling up at him. The sun has long vanished at the horizon, replaced by the dim moon and stars. Despite only a little light surging past the blinds into the room, you can see Jisung’s features crystal clear. The endearing smile is cast into the back of your mind, so is the delicacy in his touch, fingertips lightly grazing your skin as he sheds all your clothes off until you’re left in your underwear. After hearing your complaints, he discards his own clothes with an amused glint in his eyes.

Jisung takes his time pounding every single detail of your features into his memory. His hands roam all over your body, inciting goosebumps. You lean into his touch with a sigh and flit your gaze to him once he stops on a particular spot.

The look on his face is unreadable, but the hesitation in his voice speaks for itself. “Does this bug you?” he asks, uncertainty laced in it as he runs his finger over each character of his name that’s inked under your collarbone. You shake your head with a hum that turns into a soft moan once he leaves kisses on the spots his finger burned before, one for each letter. Eventually, his actions spiral out to sucking lovebites and rutting his bulge against your heat, enticing louder whines out of you. Your vision morphs into blurriness as you move your hips in sync with his, locking your arms around his neck to pull him even closer to you.

“(y/n), baby…” Jisung heaves for air, “Is it okay if I…?.”

“Please,” you mewl, “want you inside me.” Your desperation must’ve shone through your tone, as Jisung presses a loving kiss on your forehead before he reaches over to the nightstand for a condom, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

In books and movies, this is the part where the virgin would reach peak nervousness. Too many fears would be inhabiting their mind; the fear of pain, fear of not fulfilling their partner’s needs, fear of the entire situation, essentially. Whatever they depict in those books and movies, it doesn’t match up with the warmth and want pumping in your veins. Even after Jisung slipped your and his underwear off and slid the condom on his leaking cock, there’s no sign of fear bubbling in you. It’s rather the opposite; you nudge him to finally slide into you.

“So impatient,” he tuts playfully, and because he can’t help being a bit sadistic, he teases your dripping entrance with the tip of his cock. Tears begin to form in your eyes from the frustration of clenching around nothing. You feel like crying for good once he slowly pushes into you. The stretch feels unfamiliar and completely different than what you’re used to from his fingers, but it’s not unpleasant as you throw your head back. While you’re adjusting to his girth, Jisung observes your every expression, faltering whenever you scrunch your eyes shut.

“You still there?” he asks in hushed tones, caressing your cheek.

In awe about his concern, you nod. “I’m fine. It’s just… new. I’ve never done this, but I guess you already figured that out.” It takes you a moment to catch your breath, and then you give him the green light to continue.

The way Jisung has your hands firmly against the bed lacks the usual roughness; he isn’t gripping your wrists as if he’s about to cut off your blood circulation. This time, he has intertwined his fingers with yours as if he doesn’t ever want to let go of you. A firework of colors and stars is all you see as he thrusts into slow and deep and with all the passion he has to offer. His lips don’t leave space for a breather either; he kisses you with so much fervor that it swallows your heart up whole. At that instant, you realize that he’s claimed your heart and isn’t going to give that up any time soon. You don’t mind, because you know that you’ve committed the same crime.

It’s not long after until you feel the orgasm building up. Jisung brings one hand down to flick your clit, and just like that, you unravel beneath him. His own release follows suit, a muffled groan coming from his lips as he spills into the condom.

It’s quiet for a moment, no words spoken between you except for harsh breathing. Eventually, Jisung slides his softening dick out of you and disappears for a moment to clean up, returning with a damp towel for you to freshen up a little, as well as a glass of water.

“I think I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” you say after you gulped down the drink in one go, voice devoid of emotion. A laugh leaves Jisung. The way you deliver it is so casual as if he didn’t just have his dick in you minutes before. “Also, isn’t this the part where we should cuddle?”

“So bossy, your royal majesty.” He even takes a bow before he climbs back on the bed, pulling the covers over your bodies, and scooting up to you. He says something else, but you don’t register what exactly. All you care about is being wrapped in his warm embrace. The stench of sweat isn’t prominent on him anymore. Instead, it’s a huge cloud of Axe overpowering your senses. You would complain, but you’re too blissed out to bother.

Jisung must’ve noticed at a certain point that you’ve wandered to daydream paradise. “You’ve been quiet for a while. A penny for your thoughts.”

“But you can read my mind.”

“I want you to say it out loud.” His answer comes like a shot while his hand is brushing through your hair. “That, and your thoughts are too jumbled and my head is going to malfunction if I try to decode everything running in your head right now.”

The corners of your lips quirk upwards. “I’m just thinking about how we did everything in the wrong order. It’s just now that we kissed, before that I only sucked you off or something. We’re so fucked up.”

“If you word it that way, we definitely didn’t follow the book.” Jisung laughs in agreement. The vibrations from his chest causes you to bubble up in warmth.

“I don’t mind, though. That’s not the point. I’m happy.” You don’t have to look up to know that his eyes lit up. “Jisung, I’m happy that you’re mine.”

The hold around your waist tightens, and you feel a soft kiss being pressed on top of your head. “And I’m happy that you’re mine.”

In another lifetime, another universe, you probably wouldn’t have to go through these struggles. Society would normalize having someone that completes you. You wouldn’t go through countless stages of denial, countless stages of frustration, and countless stages of doubt.

In another lifetime, another universe, you potentially could’ve been on even worse terms. Just like in those cyberpunk movies, maybe you two would be enemies, one fighting alongside the government, the other assisting the villain who tries to overthrow the system. Star-crossed lovers, that’s what you two would be dubbed as.

In another lifetime, another univer—

No need to fantasize about what could be. The only lifetime that matters is this lifetime, this universe, your reality. In reality, people like you live in hiding. In reality, society is doubtful towards people with soulmates. In reality, people like you are destined for a tragedy. It’s taken you a long time to wrap it around your head.

That’s alright though. You’re alright. You’ll always be alright. The universe might have not played in your favor in this lifetime, but you still found each other. Perhaps, the universe will be more forgiving towards you in your next lifetime. Or the one after. Who knows? Whatever happens, at least you know you have one person you’re bound to meet wherever you are, whenever you are. One person who won’t ever let go of you. One person you won’t ever let go of.

“Yeah, I’m yours.”

#i'm never writing a oneshot again this is too stressful for my heart #stray kids smut #skz smut #han jisung smut #jisung smut #stray kids dark hours #dom!jisung #sub!reader #jijiri.txt #smut.mine #i winged the ending so pls go easy on me dlskjflkjsa

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twstarchives · 4 years

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Scary Dress event card

School Uniform - R

Unlock Card “An honors student needs to be able to balance both their studies and their club activities.”

Groovy “It’s nice to have friends where you both can lift each other up.”

Home Setting “I’m going to be an honors student.”

Home Transitions “Even now, there are times when I still can’t believe I’m a student at the prestigious Night Raven College.”

“It’s not that I hate the uniforms. It’s just that, uh... in the past, I used to rip my clothes a lot, so wearing them the way they’re supposed to be worn feels uncomfortable.”

“What class do you have next? I’m not that good at doing work... but I try my best because of that.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Are you ready? We’ll be in trouble if the teachers notice we’re late.”

Home Taps “If you haven’t gotten any food yet, want to go together? I recommend getting the cafeteria’s fluffy omelettes.”

“My dream...? Someday I want to become a powerful mage. That’s why I’ve got to study my hardest now.”

“It might seem daunting being in a place you’re not familiar with, but as long as you set your mind to it, things should turn out okay. It’s an experience.”

“Ace ran off somewhere skipping out on his class duties, huh? ...He really is a handful.”

“Stop it, I don’t like being prodded at so much. ...Hey, are you sure you heard me?”

PE Uniform - R

Unlock Card “I feel really sure about my strength. If you don’t believe me, wanna test it out?”

Groovy “You can’t be a mage unless you’ve got muscles! ...That’s what Coach Vargas told us.”

Home Setting “I gotta show off the best sides of me.”

Home Transitions “Moving around feels so nice. I also like that you don’t have to think too hard about it.”

“I heard that Jack hates hanging out with people. He never talks during club meetings either, but... weirdly, we hit it off.”

“Flying is actually pretty hard. I thought it’d be something more like riding a Magical Wheel.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Oh, you wanna go for a run together? Alright. I’ll wait here; you can go get changed.”

Home Taps “You’re bored? Then let’s go on a Magical Wheel ride somewhere... er, I forgot we’d need permission to go off-campus.”

“I was in charge of setting up our landline back home. I hope my mom hasn’t been having trouble with it...”

“Coach Vargas is the supervisor of the Track & Field club. Usually he’s a very passionate, respectable teacher, but when he gets started talking about muscles, he’s kind of...”

“Mud stains usually won’t come off on their own, so you need to hand-wash them before putting them in the washing machine. ...Everyone knows this kind of stuff, right?”

“...Hey! You don’t have to keep poking me; if there’s somewhere you wanna go, I’ll come with you.”

Lab Coat - SR

Unlock Card “There’s a lot of things I don’t know yet. I’m going to learn everything I can little by little.”

Groovy “I’ve made more progress since yesterday! ...I think.”

Home Setting “Alright. I’m gonna put in all I’ve got!”

Home Transitions “The stench of this potion I messed up won’t come off me... I smell like I just stepped out of a medicine box.”

“Diamond saw the grade I got on my test earlier. He wouldn’t stop laughing at it...”

“How is Grim able to hold that thin test tube with his paws? It’s a mystery.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Oh, glad you’re here. I was just thinking I’d like to take a break for a while. Want to walk with me to the Botanical Garden?”

Home Transition (Groovy) “I’m not good at studying. I wouldn’t want to do it if I had the option, but... I can’t run away. I’ve made up my mind.”

Home Taps “It’s nice there’s always something new to learn in our classes. ‘Cause when I was in middle school, I, uh... was absent a lot... ‘cause of this and that...”

“I promise I’m not that awkward, but when people are saying so many things at once, I start freaking out.”

“The best thing I can cook are fried eggs. They can be really complex if you’re picky about them. I like mine over-easy.”

“If you’re stuck on a problem, you should ask Professor Crewel for help. He’ll explain it to you for hours until you completely understand it.”

“Huh?! Did I say something wrong!? ...Oh, it’s nothing? Don’t scare me like that.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Listen to this! I got some nice feedback on my test just now! It’s thanks to you studying with me earlier.”

Ceremony Robes - SR

Unlock Card “I can’t afford to look away. ‘Cause I’m going to become a powerful mage!”

Groovy “This is the pride of a student of Night Raven College.”

Home Setting “You want to hang out with me? You’ve got a good eye.”

Home Transitions “This academy is way too big! It’d be so much easier if we could move between classrooms through a mirror like how we get to our dorms.”

“Where are you going? Seriously... A teacher will yell at you again if you just wander off for no reason.”

“I’m going to study lots of things, and memorize lots of spells, and then someday I’ll... Ah, it’s exciting, isn’t it?”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Every time I wear these ceremony robes, I think about the entrance ceremony, and how nervou——er, ahem!”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Hey, could we take a picture together? I think it’d put my mom at ease too if she saw I made a friend.”

Home Taps “Night Raven College is a prestigious school anyone would kill to get into. The fact that I’m here is a huge honor.”

“Clover knows so much about everything, and he’s so dependable... I want to be like that someday too.”

“The ceremony robes represent this school. It makes sense that they added this classy embroidering so that other schools can’t make light of us.”

“People say that the amount of magic power you can have is determined at birth. But you wouldn’t have any at all without working hard for it in the first place.”

“Hey, don’t get a single speck on these clothes, alright? My ceremony robes are important to me.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “When I see you, someone who can’t even use magic, trying your best at this academy... it makes me not want to lose either.”

Dorm Uniform - SSR

Unlock Card “I’ll become a committed man, just like a card soldier. That’s what I made up my mind to do.”

“Common sense doesn’t work at our dorm. You need to be prepared.”

Groovy “I would never abandon my friends. You can count on me!”

Home Setting “How are you? Have you gotten a little more adjusted here?”

Home Transitions “Does this outfit look good on me? I’ve never worn something like this before, so I feel a little awkward.”

“Just between you and me... I still feel kinda uncomfortable with the dorm’s tea parties. I’m not used to fancy things like that.”

“Trust me with playing croquet! So you just swing as hard as you can, right?”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Be careful not to break any of the Queen of Hearts’ rules. Especially not when you’re on Heartslabyul.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Isn’t it lonely being at the Ramshackle Dorm by yourself? ...Huh? Oh, my bad. By yourself with one animal.”

Home Taps “Heartslabyul’s rules are strict, but a lot of them really do benefit you. ...Probably.”

“I swear my loyalty to this dorm, just like a card soldier. ...That’s what this button is supposed to mean. It’d be bad if I lost it, huh?”

“That force Dorm Leader Rosehearts has when he gets angry...! He’s a dorm leader alright—he’s not like anyone else.”

“Ace always cheats me when we play card games together, so they’re not fun. If I could just see through his trick...”

“Oh, actually, I’m in the mood to just go off and something too. Let’s go conquer the rose maze!”

Home Tap (Groovy) “If you were in Heartslabyul, it’d be a lot more... Nevermind. The Ramshackle Dorm really does suit you well, though. Haha...”

Duo Magic Deuce: “Ace! We’re gonna teach these guys a lesson!” Ace: “There it is—Deuce’s tough guy talk!”

Tutorial “Now, it’s starting.”

Lv Up “Alright, I think I did well.”

“Yeah, I feel like I got something.”

“I don’t wanna lose to anyone.”

Max Lv Up “I’ve never had anyone join me for intensive training as persistently as you have. I feel like I’ve been steadily making progress ever since I met you.”

Episode Lv Up “Heh... You and I are BFFs. ...Huh? ‘What does BFF mean’? You don’t know? Um... b... best friends, like... really close friends... Nevermind!”

Magic Lv Up “Heh... Maybe a day will come soon where I can start summoning something other than cauldrons.”

Limit Break “It’ll reflect badly on my role as a honor student if I don’t live up to your expectations.”

Groovy “My power is surging through my whole body. This is what it feels like to advance, huh?”

Lesson Select “You’re going to class, right? Let me know if you need anything. I don’t know if I’d be able to help you with your work, though...”

“C’mon, if you take your time choosing, you’ll be late to class. Let’s hurry to the classroom.”

“You just have to jump in and give it your all for whichever class you take. Make sure you’re ready for them.”

Lesson Start “Alright, let’s get started!”

Lesson End “It’s finally over. There’s a lot we have to remember.”

Battle Start “I’ll take you on all at once!”

Battle End “You see? This is the difference between our resolves.”

Other

Profile Quote “Today we’re having an Unbirthday Party. It’ll be off with our heads if we’re late.”

January 2020 Trailer “Hurry up and get over here. If you’re late to the tea party, you’ll lose your head.”

Countdown Poster “I’ll become a committed man, just like a card soldier. That’s what I made up my mind to do.”

Login Bonus “It’s important to just put in a little effort everyday. You know what they say—from little acorns mighty oaks grow.”

Player Birthday Wish “Oi, I heard it’s your birthday today. Don’t be a stranger; you should just tell me. I want to give my friends a huge celebration for their birthdays. Come on, I’ll get you something from the cafeteria.”

Valentine’s Day Gift Letter (2021)

These letters were originally in English. I didn’t translate or edit them in any way. They came with official merch from Aniplex, and are not present in-game.

Friend, Thank you for the present. You surprised me a bit with that since we don’t often get chances to give our classmates gifts. I’m so happy! Today is going to be a great day. I’ll thank you again when I see you in class later!

#twisted wonderland #deuce spade #voice lines

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loganscalesaurawrites · 4 years

Text

9/1 Prompt for @tsshipmonth2020 ‘s Soulmate September stuff. I haven’t written a lot of Sanders Sides though [... Or fanfics in general that were more than oneshots/fallen projects. so expect roughness.

[I’ll be doing a mix of platonic soulmates and romantic soulmates as this goes on [If I write more], because I’m a big fan of the sides as a big poly web with Roman and Remus being the only two not actively dating because remro/m = no.]

This one’s the full web with remus and roman as platonic soulmates! Because start with your favorite thing.

[Remus is also probably a bit ooc, but I like the headcanon that he plays up his “Depravity” as a side, and in human!Au he’s just someone with a morbid fascination with death or biology that leaves most people unnerved/is prone to blurting out what he’s thinking without really caring about other people’s comfort until he’s told off.

Soulmate Marks had been appearing for centuries at this point with very limited knowledge on how or why exactly they did, a short list of names appearing in either a dark crimson for your lovers, or a glittering emerald for those who you bond with as friends or even a found family in most cases- both darkening with an outline the moment you came in contact with your soulmates. These started forming generally early on in life as your soulmates were born and names chosen, or you were born with them if you were the youngest of your soulmates.- Though rarely were they ever more than a year or two apart, and with astonishing frequently, you started meeting your romantic soulmates a few days after your eighteenth birthday.

It was a rarity for someone to have more than one [maybe two] of both, but when they were born, the Alvarez twins had a stretch of four crimson names, and the moment their names were chosen emerald swirled on each other’s wrists.

But that was almost two decades ago, now it was eighteen years later, nearing the end of the school year a few days after the twins’ birthday and Roman, once again, was trying to figure out his soulmates.

Patton Kravitz: His last name had changed quite a lot early on, which his parents said probably meant he was bouncing around in adoption centers until he settled in a few years prior. The original name was long forgotten in his memory, but he was sure it was’t a masculine name to start- but that was fine with them both, whatever pronouns- [Roman had a hard time switching to they in his head, but was working on it![- their soulmate had they knew to respect.

Logan Sanders: A simple, regular name. [Remus even jolted up about three times in the past week hearing either of the two seperate, but had to be reminded their birthday hadn’t come up yet, it was unlikely.], unlike the

Virgil: No last name, at least not one in english, Roman no matter how hard he tried to learn japanese for the sake of this soulmate was just unable to figure out how to read the kanji [Though Remus could, and it infuriated him to no end when he never said how to read it].

Janus : No last name again, though he had disappeared for a week, before coming back in the same exact place [Remus was the most panicked about this, his more... grim worries flashing through his head before Roman calmed him down, talking about how Patton’s name flickered a few times while his name was in flux, so maybe Janus was similar to patton, just took longer.

Roman quietly stared at the names on his wrist, again pencil tapping rapidly on his desk, a few rapid bounces of his leg came before the teacher called on him, jolting him out of his reviere and rushing to catch back up on which question they were on.

His brother behind him softly snorted, tapping a rapid series of things and Roman quickly flicked forward and read the line out with a narrowed from his teacher, but the bell rung right after and he quickly rushed to get his things and dart before he could get told off for daydreaming again.

Right behind him Remus playfully chided his brother with a low tsk. “C’mon, Ro, I thought we said you only get one longing lovestruck look at your names a day, that’s the third time I caught you thinking about them and how much you-”

Roman gently elbowed the other as he snickered, “Oh please, you’re the one who daydreams about the bedroom, I’m pure and chaste and romantic.”

“Say that to your picture of Aladdin-”

“He is a god among mortals and you will shut your face before I do-”

Remus’s cackle was heard through the hallway, the two seniors bickering on their way to the car as Roman slid into the passenger’s side, flapping his hands about in excitement as Remus let him jabber on, driving their way to a nearby coffee shop during their lunchbreak. He quickly passed by their usual one, Remus deciding to try different places nearby to hopefully get his brother to shut up about them for one second.

“What absurd thing’re you going to ask them to put on your cup this time?” Roman slid out staring Remus down, ticking his latest creations. “Last name sucker, first name Dick? Boo T Chaser?”

Remus shrugged, grinning wider than Roman had seen, “Just Remus!”

There was a second, Roman waiting for the beat to drop before he blinked, frowning. “... Remus?”

“Yeah, I mean you’re obsessed with our soulmates, might as well make it easier, besides seeing the two of us together and our last names on the cups should abso fucking lutely make these people notice. You think one of our soulmates’d be willing to bang me right after we meet or should I buy them dinner fi-”

Roman threw his hands up in the air, slamming them down to his sides with a snort that betrayed his annoyance. “Your pansexual ass needs to chill.”

“And your Ace ass is the only person I can talk to about this who won’t squirm in discomfort and would dropkick me. Thank god you’re not repulsed otherwise I have no idea how we’re soulmates if you can’t reign me in, princey.” Remus stuck his tongue out, ducking a grabbing hand at the childish nickname before walking in.

The shop itself wasn’t all too unique, a simple cafe with a chalkboard menu above the counter, currently being updated by a guy in a patchwork purple hoodie doodling all sorts of plants along the frame of the board. One of the baristas- dressed complete in suspenders and the hipster aesthetic from the looks of it [who else’d wear a necktie to a casual cafe]- pratling to a customer with a cardigan around his shoulders. Remus met the light chill of the AC with a happy sigh, quickly rushing to stand behind a guy with multicolored skin [Vitiligo- Roman remembered reading about it once] and he jolted when Remus had already moved to the register.

shit.

“Hi I want your darkest roast you’ve got, black, and sunshine here’s gonna need more cream and sugar than coffee. If it’s not whiter than a sheet of paper he won’t drink it.”

“Asshole.” Roman elbowed Remus, turning to the barista. “I’d like just a latte, if you don’t mind. And I’ll pay extra for it too, but if anyone working can do that fancy latte art stuff I’d appreciate it?”

“Very well.” The barista’s tone was an odd mix of clipped formality, and warm gentleness that immediately made Roman melt, and the Barista pulled out two cups real quick, grabbing papers. “Names? And please-” he glared at Remus. “This time, do not make me call out “Luke Kinfor Cawk”

Roman ignored the soft snort from the arist above them, hearing him grumble “Is that any way to treat a customer?”

He glanced up, glaring at the smirking artist- Remus gawking at his light makeup for a second and mumbling something about needing tips from the stylish asian indivudal- “I’ve been working here for a week, I’ll do better about it.”

“God I’m joking Lo, take a hint. Though you’re leagues above where you were when we met. Sorry about that.” The hoodie wearer hopped down, dusting his shirt and picking up a pen himself. “Welcome to the Roast, since he forgot to welcome you. I can do latte art, so any requests?”

“Yeah, can I kiss you-” Roman’s hand slapped over Remus’s mouth- surprised at the safe for work flirt and he stumbled out.

“My apologies, my brother here’s... Eccentric, I apologize if he’s ever gone too far.”

The barista shrugged- and Roman noticed neither of the employees had a nametag on. Odd. “The first time yes, but I just hold it against him since we’ve had a pretty decent rapport.”

“How you can stomach all that biology I don’t know. You two start prattling off those facts in the corner like it’s a science course.” The other two customers nearby snorted, trying to hide their eavesdropping as they themselves chatted, and the artist quickly pulled the labels off. “Names?”

“Roman and Remus Alvarez-”

All at once, four different things fell over. The pencil in the artist’s hand, the mug the barista was cleaning, the coffee that the cardigan clad guy was sipping from... and the 4th individual in his entirety, who somehow litterally fell over at the name spontaneously as though it shocked him.

The twins stared at one another for about half a second, seeing things processing on the other four, before Roman grinned, hands moving up and showing the lines of red names on his wrist.

“Virgil, Logan, Patton and Janus I presume?” Artist, Barista, Cardigan, and the one currently still on the floor in shock nodded in that order, and Remus cackled like mad.

“Ok now that it’s a LOT more kosher, Specs or Chalkboy, can I kiss you now” Remus helped Janus up from the floor, dusting his shirt off while pouting at the workers and Patton giggled.

“I get the feeling we’re gonna be skipping the rest of school today, Remus.” [Don’t do that kiddo!][Please do] “There’s a lot of stuff to talk about.”

#sanders sides #soulmate september #soulmate AU

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rogerina-deacon · 5 years

Note

Could you write hcs of how the boys from Queen would react to your scars? I'm feeling real bad rn and idk.. you don't have to, obviously, but if you do, thanks!

A/N: So I’m not completely sure what type of scars you mean, but given some context clues I’m going to guess self harm scars? If not, let me know and I’ll rewrite this (don’t pay attention to requests being closed for this, if this isn’t what you wanted I’d be more than happy to redo it for you). Also, if anyone reading this is struggling with depression, self-harm, or any unpleasant thoughts along those lines, please seek some form of help and treatment. If you need someone to talk to and relate to, I’m here. I’m not a proper therapist, but I’ve been in therapy for years and am a good listener. But of course, if you can, seek help from a therapist. They can do a much better job than I can.

WARNING: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM

Brian (Three years clean)

When Brian found out you used to harm yourself, it felt like his heart sank into his stomach

His eyes softened and welled as he took your hands in his, moving them to show your inner forearms

“Love, I can’t see them” he noted, squinting to see anything

“It’s been years and they were never that deep, but you can faintly see them if I point them out” You said, and he released your hands as you brought your right index finger to your left wrist and pointed to one

“This was my first, oldest yet most noticeable” You said, pointing out a pale line two inches down from the bottom of your hand

“Holy shit, I can see it… Y/N, love, why did you do this?” He asked, almost pleading as he brushed his calloused thumb over the faded scar, a lone tear escaping his eyes

“Brian, don’t worry about that, it’s all behind me, and I don’t really want to rehash that. I just… figured you should know this part of it, I guess”

“So you don’t want to do this?” He asked, wondering if he needed to be worried about you more than he already was

“No, oh God no! Brian, I’m pretty much over what happened to me. I’ve got coping mechanisms now that work, and my meds control the depression when I do have it. Trust me, babe, I’m fine.” You assured him, making sure he knew that you were doing much better than you were when you created those scars

“Okay, love. But you can talk to me about anything, okay? I am always here for you. Always.” He said, now holding your hands again and lightly shaking them for emphasis

“I know, Bri. Thank you.” You said, nodding your head as it hung, your forehead resting against his

“Any time. I love you.” He said, moving his head to an angle where his lips could reach yours to connect them in a sweet kiss

“I love you too” You replied once he pulled away, and he led you to the couch where you two spent the rest of the day cuddled up together

John (Six months clean, thoughts of relapsing)

When you and John met, it was autumn, so you had an excuse to constantly wear a hoodie

He figured you just got cold easily and never pushed it, and that whenever he tried to take things further and you wouldn’t take it off, he thought you just weren’t ready

And he never brought it up, wanting you to not feel pressured

But months passed, and it was the warmest day yet and there was no way you could survive the day in long sleeves, especially when he had planned a picnic in the park to celebrate the weather

So you figured it was best to tell him that day, and so you invited him inside your flat when he picked you up so you weren’t springing it on him in public

Especially since you were having some thoughts you haven’t had in a while and were planning on asking him for help, and you didn’t exactly want to cry in the park

You were wearing your hoodie, of course, and John was a bit confused, especially since your AC hadn’t been put in yet

“Dear, why are you wearing your hoodie inside?” He said, slightly chuckling as you led him to the couch

“Um, well I don’t normally, but I, uh, I need to tell you something.” You said, and he was concerned right away

“What is it? Have I done something wrong?” He asked, worried he had fucked things up with you

“No, no, John you haven’t done anything wrong. But, um, I did a while ago…” You trailed off, and he seemed confused about this but watched as you peeled off the cotton hoodie, slowly revealing the scars littering your arms

His eyes widened as he stared in disbelief, almost studying them as he looked at the reddened skin, some smooth, others the slightest bit scabbed over as they healed all these months later

“Wait, did you- did you do this to yourself?” He asked, his hand reaching out tentatively, wondering if he could touch them

Nodding, you gave him the okay to brush his fingers along your skin before responding

“Yeah, I um, I was in a really dark place, and this was my way to cope. I haven’t done it in half a year but…”

“But? But what, Y/N?” He asked, noticing the way your eyes seemed distant as you pondered what to say next

“But, um, I’ve been having some thoughts, and I’m kind of scared, John. I feel like I might relapse and I’m scared that I will, that I’ll fuck up six months of progress, that I’ll-” You rambled, but he cut you off, pulling you close into a tight hug, a few tears falling from your eyes and onto John’s t-shirt as he rubbed your back and soothed you

“You won’t. Not with me here to help you. Not with my love and support, not with the love and support of the guys. But if you do, that’s okay. Recovery isn’t perfect. But I will always be here, love, okay?” He said, and you nodded, sniffling a bit as he wiped away the tears from your cheeks

“Now, are you ready for that picnic?” He asked, and you chuckled as you got up with him and made your way to his car, without your hoodie.

Roger (Eight years clean)

“C’mon, love, we’re gonna be late!” He called to you in the bathroom from the bedroom

You were currently sat on the toilet just staring at your arm, squinting as you looked at the just barely present scars

“Love, what’re you doing-” he started, entering the bathroom

“What’s so special about that arm that you have to stare at it while you use the toilet?” He teased, walking closer before crouching next to you

“Oh, nothing, just let me wash my hands and we can go.” You said, rushing to stand up and pull up your underwear

“What’s going on? Why are you acting so strange?’ He asked, moving to stand behind you at the sink, his hands trailing down your arms from your shoulders, trying to gently move your forearms so he could see what was so interesting

“I don’t see anything, love. Have you finally gone mad?” He joked, smiling at you in the mirror

“Rog, don’t joke about that.” You warned, and his face turned into that of a confused puppy

“What’s going on with you?” He asked, and that was the straw that broke the camels back for you

“What’s going on is that I’m not a fan of when people use ableist slurs in their jokes, okay.”

“Ableist… what? Love all I’m saying is I don’t get why you were staring at your arm, no need to-”

“Rog, I have depression. You know this. ‘Mad’ is a term used against people with mental illness. I don’t like when it’s treated lightly.” You explained, though you were still all over the place to him.

“I don’t get how this explains your arm-”

“I used to cut myself, Roger.” You said, face blank and tone cold, your words shocking your fiancee into a state of shock

“Y-you, you what? Why did I never know this?” He asked, stepping towards you

“Because it’s a part of my past I’m not proud of. I did it, but I don’t like that I did it. I’ve been trying to suppress it, but I could still see the scars on my arm so I guess I just froze.” You explained, plopping down onto the bed with a huff

Roger just did the same, laying next to you at the edge with his legs hanging off the edge

“You know I love you, right?” He said, and you just dryly chuckled, taking his hand

“I do, Rog.”

“And you know I’d never intentionally say something to upset you, right?”

“I know, Rog.” You said, squeezing his hand in emphasis

“Wanna spend the night at home?” He suggested, his thumb reassuringly brushing your hand

“What about Freddie’s party? You know he’ll throw a fit next time he sees you if you don’t show tonight.”

“Well screw him, I want to spend the night alone with my girl and he’s just gonna have to deal with him. Besides, it’s been awhile since he’s been mad at me for something besides my drumming, so I guess I’m due for it.” He said, the two of you laughing as he pulled you into his side, your leg throwing itself over his waist to get as close as possible

But he soon adjusted to to lay at the top of the bed and dragged you with him, the two of you not caring to change out of your party clothes and opting to just cuddle and fall asleep like that.

Freddie (platonic) (Struggling to get clean)

Keeping secrets from best friends is always hard, but it’s even harder when your best friend is so good at reading people you’d think he’s a mind reader

He could tell your mood as soon as he saw you, so of course you couldn’t hide your depression

But luckily no matter what you wore he couldn’t see the scars on your upper thighs, all your jeans, dresses and skirts covering them

Until one day he wanted to catch his friends in candid moments with his new camera, and decided he wanted to give you a Marilyn Monroe moment, turning a fan on that made your skirt fly unexpectedly, giving Freddie the perfect view of fresh cuts from the night before

“Darling, where did you get those?” He asked, putting the camera down

“Oh, um, you know how my cats get-”

“Cats aren’t that persistent, dear, nor are their claws that wide. Now, care to tell me the truth?” He asked, sounding like a disappointed mother who just smelled booze on her child’s breath.

“I, um, well-” You started, not sure how to tell him

“I know you did this to yourself, though to be honest I din’t know why.” He said, alleviating some pressure from you

“I guess I just feel like I deserve it…” you said, looking down

“No one deserves that, and you know it. Only the most horrendous people do, like rapists and murderers, and you are neither, my dear.”

“I know, I just-”

“No need to explain, I understand that your depression gets the best of you. But now that I know how shitty it makes you treat yourself I’m gonna keep an eye on you. Every day, you’ll show me your thighs, and I’ll-”

“Fred, that’s not necessary-”

“Y/N, you are cutting yourself, it’s necessary. Why don’t you come live with me? That way I can-”

“I don’t need that, Freddie! I don’t need you hounding me and guilting me into stopping! What I do need, though, is your help and support in getting clean. Can you do that?” You asked, taking his hand

“Of course I can, darling. I just worry, you know. I don’t want to get a call from some hospital and think I didn’t do everything I could.” He said, tears ready to fall from his eyes

“You won’t, Freddie.” You assured, tears ready to fall from your eyes as well

“Now, I think I have another idea for a candid photo of you. Just, stay there.”

“Freddie, don’t-” You said, but it but then he already had the camera up to his face and was adjusting the exposure before taking the picture

The shot he had gotten was of you, sitting on the couch, hand up blocking your face, skirt of your dress pulled up, revealing you scars

“I think I might have an eye for edgy photography, love” He announced before going back to the couch to sit with you, where you just sat and talked for the rest of the day.

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#tw: self harm #tw: depression #brian may headcanon #brian may x reader #john deacon x reader #john deacon headcanon #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor headcanon #freddie mercury x reader #freddie mercury headcanon

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ohblackdiamond · 5 years

Text

the end of the world tour (kiss/endgame crossover, r) (part 1/4)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

“Peter, c’mon, you’re saying we should just waltz right in to their place and tell them what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’re KISS. We haven’t done anything heroic in forty years, but—’”

“I wouldn’t say we haven’t done anything heroic in forty years. We all got married.”

Or, four washed-up former rockstar superheroes don the spandex of old in a last-ditch effort to save an already half-gone world. They just need a little support from a billionaire who's not too keen on KISS interrupting his private life. Somewhat Endgame compliant.

Notes: Most of this probably goes without saying given the general content of this tumblr, but in case anyone MCU wanders in-- KISS has been a part of Marvel Comics since 1977, and, in fact, starred in Marvel’s first full-color, magazine-sized comic book from that same year (in an infamous publicity stunt, the band members added their own blood to the ink of the first issue). Their characterization, history, and powers vary from run to run, and to be honest, it was easier just to pull from KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park and a bit of Scooby-Doo Meets KISS for powers, and actual band history for most of the rest. (Pulling from comic history, well, would have entailed messily trying to make canon ’70’s teamups with Spider-man and the Avengers work out with MCU—impractical at best!) Mistakes are mine.

Intimations of your typical usual suspect pairings, but nothing explicit.’

Looking back, the signs had been there all along. The KISS memorabilia starting to spread out like a fungus to all parts of the mansion they’d moved into five years prior. The cold cream that had found its way back to the bathroom counters.

The abrupt shift in mood of half the household.

The gloomier half. Except that wasn’t much of a specification. Ace tried to be upbeat, but he spent the bulk of his time alone, tinkering with the fifty-year-old remnants of his spaceship, though each assurance that he was going back to Jendell (“you guys’ll come with me, it’ll be great, we’ll just stay there forever”) seemed hollower with every passing year. Gene had put on an incredibly gutsy show in public for the first several months after the decimation, donating millions to clean up efforts around the greater New York area, only to falter in private. Paul had only started recovering enough to shave regularly over the past six or seven months.

Peter wasn’t in great shape himself. He knew it, too. But he was surviving. They were all doing that much. They had a daily routine down, one they stuck to as strictly as cloistered monks. Cooking duties divvied up; chores divvied up. Shopping divvied up. They could’ve hired help easily. The battered remnants of the KISS juggernaut were still enough for generations to live off of, like a bastard version of the Vanderbilts. But doing the chores themselves gave everything a sense of purpose. Meaning.

They weren’t doing poorly for four widowers. Coping a whole lot better than most guys their age who’d lost everyone but each other.

Deep down, Peter knew they couldn’t have made it any other way. They would’ve all been driven out of their minds with grief. Just cracked up. Especially those first few months after moving in together. In a sick kind of desperation, they’d spent that time sleeping in the basement together, the four of them, on a pair of pull-out couches. The prospect of waking up alone was just that awful. The craving for normalcy just that deep. Waking up to Ace’s morning wood (Christ, the guy was sixty-eight; his ability to maintain a hard-on had to just be alien biology at this point) had become a strange, nostalgic kind of comfort.

They were still sharing rooms sometimes. It felt really juvenile, at least to Peter, crawling into one of the other guys’ rooms at night, like a kid with a nightmare, but it helped. Touch helped. Living together brought them some focus beyond themselves. Forced them to look out for each other. Keep each other from doing something stupid. Funny how without any contract or tour bullshit to worry about, they could stand each other again.

Sometimes a little more than that. Sometimes a lot.

But Peter really didn’t connect the dots for awhile. One morning, he stumbled downstairs to see Paul making pancakes from scratch. He hadn’t made any pretenses of being a chef in years, but there he was, even tossing chocolate chips and strawberries into the batter.

“I decided every day was a good day,” he said, shrugging, when Peter asked him about it.

“He got laid,” Ace had called out from the living room. Peter, staring from an abashed Paul to an oddly-silent Gene, hadn’t asked for any elaboration, figuring he had a fair idea. Well, whatever. If they wanted to go back to fooling around with each other at this late a date, at least there was plenty of Viagra and K-Y to be had.

A few days later, Gene bought about three gallons of ice cream, an exorbitant amount of toppings, and a stash of his Moneybags signature root beer and they all spent the afternoon making and devouring sundaes and floats. Nobody bitched about lactose intolerance. Then they’d sat around and watched Godzilla movies on DVD and played each other on the old KISS pinball machine. It was like old times—really old times.

Peter had just figured things were finally starting to settle into a new normal. A devastating normal, sure, but they were all learning to cope.

He had no idea the coping methods they’d picked involved a lot more than self-help platitudes and dairy products, and a lot less Viagra.

Not until about a month later, on his assigned day to do the shopping—though they were all more flexible on who did the shopping than any other aspect of their chore board. Paul still hated to go anywhere by himself, invariably dragging someone else with him. Usually Gene, sometimes Ace. On his own days, Peter usually tried to invite Ace along, just to get him out of the backyard, even though Ace’s penchant for Arizona Green Tea still far outstripped the supply at the closest grocery store, and Peter would still have to make a dozen weird maneuvers around the place just so they’d avoid the liquor.

This time, though, Peter went alone. Stuffed the old Porsche full of a mix of canned and dried goods, mostly. Still the easiest, cheapest stuff to find, with or without the world half-gone. Almost bizarre to see things start to get in demand again. The first few days—the first few months, after, the grocery store had been hell to go to. Just the smell of all that food rotting for want of people to buy it. The look of it, mold everywhere, flies buzzing, maggots crawling—and not as many as all that.

A fifty-fifty split in all forms of life. Existence was just a coin toss.

He’d pulled into the driveway and gotten out, lugging a couple grocery bags out with him as he headed toward the door, pushing the doorbell with his elbow. No answer.

Another push. Nothing.

Ace was probably out back somewhere. Paul and Gene were probably upstairs, too close to deaf to have heard him away from the main floor. Goddammit. Peter sighed and set down one of the grocery bags, digging through his pockets for the house key, pulling it out and unlocking the door, only to be greeted by an odd, clinking sound and a low groan as he stepped inside.

“Gene?”

Peter dropped the grocery bags and hurried towards the noise, mouth pursed. No panicking. He couldn’t afford to panic. Still, it could be anything. Gene never had taken care of himself that well—sure, he’d never done drugs, but he had the diet of an emancipated six-year-old—prime candidate for a heart attack, for sure—

“…. What’re you…”

“Peter?”

Gene was lying on his back on the kitchen tile, mostly-obscured by the girl straddling him. She was leaning forward, blonde hair like streamers over his face as she kissed him, his hands clasping her wrists, holding them above his head, against the floor. Her white dress was bunched up enough it was obvious there was nothing beneath.

It was a scene Peter had first witnessed out of Gene around 1974, and it hadn’t gotten any more appealing in forty-five years. Just a lot more curious. No, fucking bewildering. Normally, Gene was—had been—infamous for stripping off as few clothes as possible in his rush to get to the main event. It was like the man thought a groupie couldn’t wait for him to get his jeans more than five inches past his hips. But this time was beyond bizarre. Gene wasn’t in his usual jeans and cowboy boots and button-down. He was in costume.

More specifically, he was in every ignoble inch of his Destroyer costume, except for the codpiece. His black leotard was hiked down to the tops of his scaly, silver monster boots, chest armor stretched over his torso, black leather gauntlets on. The last time Peter had seen any of that particular outfit, Clinton was still president.

The blonde gave him a brief look, then Gene, who whispered something Peter couldn’t quite hear. Then she started rolling her hips against his again, Gene dropping his hold on her wrists to cup his hands around her face, her hair sweeping over them both, preventing Peter from getting a great look at either of them. Peter just stared, unsure of whether his eyes could afford a closer vantage point.

“Really, Gene?”

“I’m—ngh, doing my duty as an American citizen here.”

“Your duty?”

“FER. Federal Emergency Repopulation.” Gene paused, glancing at the blonde. “If he’s bothering you, we can take it upstairs—"

“Jesus Christ, Gene, you’re seventy years old! And why the fuck are you in the costume?”

“Well, that aspect wasn’t really up to me.”

“Gene, sit the fuck up and look at me.”

“Peter—”

Gene raised up a few inches as every bit of color drained out from Peter’s face.

He looked better than he had in forty years. No, that wasn’t right. He looked like he had forty years ago. The Demon makeup couldn’t obscure it. The lines around his eyes and forehead were gone. The fullness that age and weight had left in his face and neck and chest had vanished utterly. He looked healthy. He looked young, terrifyingly young.

“Gene, what the hell did you do?”

“I—"

Before Peter could manage a single syllable, a loud, shrill cry from upstairs interrupted everything.

“Paul?”

“Oh, shit. Let’s not continue this upstairs.” Gene’s attention was back on the blonde, who rolled her hips up against his invitingly. “Better check on Paul, Pe—ohh, fuck, yeah…”

Peter darted upstairs, yanking open the door to Paul’s room to find almost the exact same scenario. One he hadn’t seen in decades. Paul, halfway in costume, rhinestone-covered black jumpsuit hanging somewhere around his hips, with a girl up against the wall, her bare legs wrapped around his waist. Three hip replacements, two knee replacements, and at least one rotator cuff replacement and yet Paul didn’t seem to be having any issues holding her there. Or plowing her.

Probably because he, too, looked to be about forty years younger.

---

Half an hour later, both girls were gone and Paul and Gene were back to a semblance of normal. The makeup had, weirdly, lingered when they’d reverted back—Peter couldn’t remember that ever happening when they were actively in the superhero business—though neither of them seemed particularly surprised by that, just a bit disappointed. Paul had darted over to the bathroom to get some cold cream and washcloths, like that would head Peter off at the pass, before returning to sit down at the table with Gene and Peter.

Peter was still fuming.

“Look, Peter, I can explain—” Gene started.

“You don’t need to. It’s obvious. You used the talismans.”

“Well, yeah.” Paul looked about as apologetic as a kid who hadn’t been caught until after eating the entire bag of Oreos.

“I didn’t know they could do that.”

“We didn’t, either.”

“Bullshit, that’s the only reason you were fucking—”

“No, really! We got them out for old time’s sake a couple months ago.”

“It makes sense, I mean, mystical artifacts from Victor Von Doom’s mom, supposed to reveal the true self of the holder…” Paul trailed.

“True self, my ass. Your true self is a bottle of Aquanet.”

Gene was starting to smirk. Paul elbowed him in the ribs.

“So you decided you were gonna use the talismans of Khyscz to make yourselves younger so you could fuck random girls. Christ. I knew you didn’t have any dignity, but—” Peter paused, unsure of how to even state the rest of his tirade. For once.

It was just too damn bizarre. They’d left that shit behind years ago. Decades ago. Their last real superhero stints had been in cancer wards, letting kids with lymphoma and leukemia jam with them from their beds and wheelchairs. Their first had been—well, they’d caught some burglars in the Bronx and Queens a couple of times, between band practice, before they were even signed to a record company. Once they’d started touring, they’d tried to keep the double lives up, and for awhile, it had worked to their advantage. People didn’t know whether seeing KISS on the street meant a concert was coming to town or a gang was about to get busted. And the merchandising…. Christ, what a frenzy. The public had eaten it up. Lunchboxes and the pinball machine had only been the beginning.

The biggest criminal they’d ever stopped was some amusement park tyrant, Abner Devereaux. Naturally, they’d turned it into a movie a year later. Hadn’t even been allowed to put most of their powers on display for fear of wrecking the sets and camera equipment. Paul couldn’t fire off any laser beams; Ace’s teleporting barely got a mention. Peter was lucky they didn’t try to trim his claws down. Even Gene’s fire-breathing had to be faked for the camera. He’d had to swill kerosene in his mouth and just spit at the torch like he was from the circus.

Really humiliating, looking back, but they hadn’t quite realized it. The movie had seemed like a natural next step. They were giving the fans what they wanted. A superhero group that could do anything, be anything. Role models. Rockstars. Sex symbols. Entrepreneurs. The four most recognizable faces in the world, faces of a corporation worth a hundred million. Not bad for 1978. Not Stark Industries levels, but not bad.

But the movie had started the blowback. No one under twelve even watched the damn thing. The press was coming out with hit pieces on the daily. Headlines like “Shilling Superheroes” and “Crimefighting Doesn’t Pay—But Capitalism Does” started dotting the supermarket stands. When they retreated back into making records, the bottom had already dropped out. KISS didn’t come off as superheroes or even musicians anymore, just a bunch of guys out for a quick buck. No amount of charity work—and certainly not a long stretch of tail-between-their-legs touring in Australia and Europe, where their superhero antics weren’t as big a part of their mystique—could’ve brought them back from that.

Peter had left KISS before things completely crashed. Been fired, more accurately. What that’d mean for the dwindling state of their superhero gig should’ve been obvious, but looking back, Peter couldn’t remember thinking about it or anyone even mentioning it when he’d left. Ace hadn’t talked about it when he quit the band a couple years later, either. KISS still performed with the outfits and makeup for awhile after. But the crimefighting was over. Any superhuman powers were done with. Gene ended up having to spit kerosene to breathe fire onstage for the rest of his career. The talismans just wouldn’t work without the four of them as some kind of unit.

Apparently, their current living arrangement counted as some kind of unit. Good enough for the talismans. And apparently, the talismans didn’t even care whether Paul and Gene were using them for the right reasons. Peter shoved his hands through his hair before slamming his palm against the table. True to form, Paul and Gene didn’t even blink. Gene, in fact, took it as an opportunity to continue.

“We thought it’d be a better sell to FER if we could offer them something a little more exciting than—”

“Than a bunch of old assholes.”

“More or less, yeah.” Paul rubbed at the star on his eye with a dollop of cold cream, carefully. “It’s not any kind of PR stunt. Just makes for better lays and healthier sperm.”

“We’ve had 53 successful pregnancies just over the last two months,” Gene offered. His phone buzzed, and he picked it up. “Make that 54.”

“54? Was that mine or yours?”

“Mine. That was, uh…” Gene scrolled up on his phone. “Tori Friedmann. Remember, the one with the tattoos right around her hips?”

“Gene, I didn’t see her anywhere near naked.”

“She had her hair dyed green. It was in ringlets.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah…” Paul trailed, before turning his attention back to Peter. “We’re really helping things out.”

“Helping things out?” Gene snorted. “Don’t be modest. We’ve got the best track record for pregnancies in the entire state of Connecticut. Eighty percent success rate after four sessions or less. Amazing.”

“Who’s supposed to be raising—” Peter started, but he was cut off almost immediately by a laugh.

“Seriously? The government’s paying the girls out the nose. Prenatal up through college. All we had to do was participate.” Gene shifted, pushed his washcloth into the jar of cold cream, and started wiping off his face. “Of course, FER pays the guys doing it, too, but it’s not our main motivation.”

“Why the hell aren’t you jacking it into a cup? What’s so wrong about artificial insemination? Is FER Catholic?”

“This world’s starved for the human touch. Sex drives are lower than the Dow right now.” Gene cleared his throat, tilted his head as if he were about to start on an interview-worthy set of sound bites. “Now, what we’re offering is only what KISS has always offered, an escape, a fantasy. But we sell it better than any fucking band before or since. We lift those girls up.”

“Yeah, I saw Paul lifting that girl up—” Peter started. Paul looked only a tinge embarrassed. “You could’ve been her grandfather, for Christ’s sake.”

“Hey, they know exactly who they’re getting with,” said Gene. “We aren’t pretending we’re a tribute band. And we cheer them up, Peter. Some of them haven’t slept with anyone in five years. Some of them haven’t touched anyone in five years. They forgot how to even be alive. We’re reminding them.”

“You’re selling your sperm, Gene, don’t act like it’s some grand gesture.” Peter paused. “Is Ace in on this, too?”

“I think Ace got in about four lays, but then he felt bad about it…”

“Because he’s got a conscience?”

“No, because he’s an alien. I mean, the girls kind of got off on it, I think, but…” Paul shrugged, finding a clean corner of his washcloth, patting away the traces of cold cream. “He thought Earth ought to be repopulated by regular humans.”

“He didn’t care about that when we were touring.” God knew how many girls Ace had knocked up with half-Jendellian spawn back in the seventies. His kid with Jeanette, Monique, hadn’t ever exhibited anything weird that Peter had seen, but then again, Ace was pretty good at keeping his own alien oddities under wraps. At least in public. Online tabloids and shit still said he was a normal guy from the Bronx that had just watched too much Star Trek in high school. If he hadn’t toured off and on with the guy for years, and if the remnants of his spaceship weren’t currently in their backyard, Peter might’ve believed it, too.

“Yeah, but when we were touring, the world wasn’t in an apocalypse.” Another corner of the washcloth and Paul was wiping off his eyeliner. “I dunno. I told him if they didn’t care, he shouldn’t, either. It’s not like his dick is any different.”

“He’ll change his mind. Probably.” Gene set down the washcloth, face reddish but bare. He looked so appallingly confident that Peter almost wanted to punch him. No, he did want to punch him. Clearly, the repopulation gig had been Gene’s idea. Paul was far too depressed these days to be such an opportunist on his own, and Ace… Ace, clearly, just had gone along with it. Neither of them had ever been half as desperate for a lay as Gene, either. Peter settled for pushing back his chair and leaning over the table, yanking Gene by both arms.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Pete—”

“Don’t you even remember what we were supposed to use the talismans for?”

“Sure. Saving the world.” Gene tugged his arms out of Peter’s grasp. Utterly unmoved. He didn’t even have to stand up in order to wrench him away. It just made Peter all the more incensed. The blitheness of it. Shit, Gene used to care. Paul used to care.

“Fucking girls for some government program isn’t saving the world!”

“Then what the hell do you suggest? We’re a little fucking limited with half the population gone.”

“Fixing this mess!”

“How?” Paul started to laugh. “If the Avengers aren’t touching it, what makes you think we should?”

“When did that stop us before, huh? We were there before they even existed!”

“Most of them,” Gene put in dryly. “Captain America’s old enough that he could’ve even fathered you, Pete.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Peter rattled off. “Fuck both of you. You’ve finally got a real opportunity here and you’re too damn sorry to take it.”

“A real opportunity? You’re telling us about opportunities?” Paul snorted. “I should’ve known all you’d do was bitch and whine as soon as you found out. Mr. Misery never did fucking retire. Can’t let anybody else be even a little happy—”

“You’re not happy, asshole!”

The sound of the backdoor swinging open swallowed up any other comments. Ace, standing there in a ratty screenprinted Betty Boop t-shirt and jeans, looking sweaty and vaguely perturbed.

“Y’know, contrary to popular belief, I’m still not deaf.”

Peter spun around to face him.

“Ace! You knew what these bastards were doing this whole time and you didn’t tell me!”

Ace raised his palm in what might’ve been surrender, then shut the door behind him. He didn’t cross over to the dining room where the others were seated, surprisingly—just headed straight for the kitchen.

“Sit down, Pete. ’M gonna get us some water.”

Peter sat down. He wasn’t mollified, not in the slightest, but he stayed quiet until Ace returned, four water bottles in hand. Gene and Paul didn’t say anything, either. The only real sound was Paul screwing the lid back on the jar of cold cream.

Ace pushed a water bottle towards each of them before sitting down next to Peter. Peter eyed him warily. It felt like a band meeting, the tension thick as concrete, only for once, they weren’t arguing over solos or setlists. And Bill Aucoin, of course, wasn’t there to make sure they shook hands and shared a joint by the end. Not quite the kind of nostalgia Peter craved.

“Okay, so,” Ace started, conversationally, “I get why you’re pissed off, man.”

“You should’ve told me—”

“I tried! I told you Paul got laid! But you didn’t wanna hear anymore.”

“That’s because I thought he was back to fucking around with Gene!”

“I did not—" Paul’s face was going from pallid to pink to red at an alarming rate. Beside him, Gene was rubbing his forehead with a wince. “Look, let’s just address the issue at hand.”

“You’re right,” Peter snapped back. “Ace, listen. What they’re doing’s fucked-up.”

“Peter, we’re all still in kind of a bad place right now, I dunno if it’s the time to—”

“It’s not the time to be trying to repopulate like—like tigers in the zoo.” Peter exhaled. “Not when we could be doing a lot more. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you assholes.”

Ace unscrewed Peter’s water bottle before opening his own. He took a long swallow, then let out a sigh.

“Just wait. I’ll be getting us to Jendell in another three months, easy. Then we won’t have to worry about any of this shit.”

“That’s been your answer the last five years, Ace! You can’t fix your ship! We all know we’re not getting off this planet!”

“I mean it this time! I really got it cracked. Three months or less.” Ace took another swallow of water. “It’ll be great. My ma—aw, man, you’ll love her. She’s great. I tried sending her our records once we got big, I still had this little portable, y’know, for shipping off small stuff, don’t know if she ever got it…”

“Still having family must be great, Ace.”

Ace flinched visibly.

“I haven’t seen her in fifty years, man, I don’t know for sure. We’re all in the same boat there.”

“We’re fucking not, Ace. You just proved it.” Peter swallowed thickly. It was a lower blow than he’d meant to take. But he couldn’t help it. Fifty-fifty shot, and they’d all managed to lose. All that grief the sickest, saddest equalizer. Gigi had beaten cancer. Monique had been clean for a couple years now. Gene’s kids had careers… Paul’s youngest three weren’t out of elementary school. All of them a million times more deserving of being alive than they were. Peter’s gut roiled, and he grabbed his water bottle, forcing several gulps down just to quell the lump in his throat. He still had to take a few more breaths before he was half-positive his voice wouldn’t quaver too much, and by then, Paul had already begun talking again.

“Okay, okay. Let’s say we wanted to do something. Where would we even start? What would we even be fighting against?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly. Now—”

“I know where we’d start.”

Pete’s gaze shot over to Gene. He couldn’t keep the bare, hopeful note out of his voice.

“Where?”

“Avengers headquarters. That or Stark’s place.” At Paul’s indignant glance, Gene shrugged. “What, it’s obvious. And it’s only a hypothetical. For all we know, they could be working on the solution right now.”

“They’re not doing a damn thing,” Paul insisted.

“How do we know that, though?” Ace said it slowly. “I mean, really. They haven’t given everything up. The Hulk’s still around… you get reports of some of the other guys sometimes, taking down drug cartels, that sort of thing…”

“So it’s worth a shot!”

“Peter, c’mon, you’re saying we should just waltz right in to their place and tell them what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’re KISS. We haven’t done anything heroic in forty years, but—’”

“I wouldn’t say we haven’t done anything heroic in forty years. We all got married.”

“You know what I mean, Gene.” Paul paused. “You really think they’re gonna buy that? You really think they won’t laugh in our faces?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Paul let out a long sigh and gave Gene a look of utter betrayal Peter hadn’t fully witnessed since the disastrous Reunion Tour about twenty years back. The I-kept-this-band-alive look. The why-don’t-you-ever-listen-to-me look. The I-told-you-KISS-condoms-were-a-bad-idea look. Gene just shook his head in return.

“It’s worth a shot. The worst they could say is no.” Gene took a swig of water. “And if they do, so what? My ego can take it. We can go back to helping with repopulation efforts here in New Haven.” He paused. “Actually, we could probably introduce the Avengers to the program, I’m sure the country could use some super-sperm to—”

“God, no.”

Ace started laughing. Really laughing, that awful, unsettling, but infectious cackle that used to embarrass the rest of them during interviews. Peter caught sight of Gene’s lips twitching and then he lost it himself. Totally helpless. Paul had his hand over his mouth, but Peter was pretty sure he was laughing behind it.

It had been so long since they’d found anything funny. So long since they’d had any kind of idea in mind beyond surviving from day to day. Sure, Paul wasn’t sold on it, and Peter wasn’t sure if Ace was, either, not exactly, but—they were getting there. There was energy there, buzzing through his veins, making him feel fidgety and anxious and alive, really alive, for the first time in five years. He knew it was the same for the others. All the four-who-are-one superhero mysticism they’d tried to blow off as bullshit as tempers had flared in the studio and onstage and in their hotel rooms—shit, there was something to it. There had to have been or they wouldn’t still be together now.

“All right, fine, we won’t advertise it,” Gene finally said, once the laughter had died down. “If they went on the market, we’d probably be out of luck. But if we head to Manhattan… that’ll take us, what, couple hours if we drive, depending on how many highways they’ve finally cleaned up…”

“I’m not driving,” Peter said flatly.

“We could teleport,” Ace offered. “If you got better coordinates than just Manhattan, anyway.”

“Right, yeah, we could—” Gene considered. “Actually, I think we might be better off heading to Stark’s directly.”

“Why?”

“Because he holds the purse strings. And because he’s the one person out of all of them I’ve actually spoken to.” Gene was nodding to himself. “I don’t think he lives in the city anymore, but I’m sure we can—"

“I didn’t agree to any of this.”

“Paul, c’mon. It’s not hurting anything.”

“It’s been forty years. We’re gonna be laughed out of town.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been laughed out of town since we started. ’S fine.” Ace looked over at Paul, mouth uncharacteristically pursed, on the verge of dissolving into giggles again. Peter could tell by the way Ace had his hand cupped around his thigh, underneath the table. He couldn’t remember the last time Ace had done that to him. Peter reached out to put his hand on top of Ace’s, absently tapping against the rings. Ace crooked a slow smile, and half-spoke, half-warbled, “Y’know, we’ve got nothing to lose…”

“That song was about anal, not stomping up to the Avengers headquarters asking for a job application.”

“Same difference. Well, one’s a little sexier.”

“This isn’t a joke, Ace. It’s just stupid.” Paul exhaled, staring at each of them in turn before shaking his head. “God, why the hell am I even still entertaining this shit?”

He started to get up, only for Gene to grab his arm before he’d done much more than push his chair back. Paul sat back down, glare fixed on his face.

“Paul, c’mon. We can’t do this without you.” Gene hadn’t let go of his arm yet, but Paul wasn’t relaxing into the touch. “What’s the real issue here? Are you that afraid of being turned down?”

“Let go of me,” Paul rattled off impatiently, brushing at Gene’s arm. “And no, I’m not. I—fuck, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?”

“What if you’re wrong? What if they aren’t trying? What if busting up drug cartels is all the Avengers are good for these days, too?” Paul tried to laugh but couldn’t seem to manage it, coughing, then draining the rest of his bottled water. “Nothing to lose—like hell we have nothing to lose. If we go over there, and we find out this world really is all we have left, no… no do-overs, no—saving anybody, no bringing anyone back… then that’s it. We’re done. We’ve got nothing anymore. Not even hope.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Peter watched as Gene reached over again, clasping Paul’s wrist before, almost hesitantly, taking his hand. Paul winced, but didn’t pull back. “We’ve got something left. We’re KISS. We’re family.”

“Gene—”

“And that’s not going to change, all right? Don’t get me wrong. It’ll hurt like hell if they say there’s nothing that can be done.” Gene paused. “But that doesn’t make it true. Look, whatever life ever had in store, we’ve kept going. We’ll keep going regardless.”

Paul didn’t say anything for awhile. Long enough that Ace had stopped just resting his hand on Peter’s thigh and started actively trying to pick the lint off his slacks instead. Peter batted his hand away, then, before Paul finally spoke back up.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’m in, I’ll do it.” Gene was still holding Paul’s hand. Neither had let go yet. “But don’t get too excited. And don’t think we’re just gonna pop over there tomorrow.” Paul finally tugged his hand away, but not until after a brief squeeze.

“We’re not? Oh, c’mon, Paulie, if I get some coordinates, I know I can teleport us there!”

“Because,” Paul said, grinning almost wolfishly, “we’re gonna train first.”

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #peter criss #paul stanley #gene simmons #ace frehley

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xokiedokie · 5 years

Text

I’ll be with you every step of the way

Platonic Iron-dad and Spider-son

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Description: Tony calls the Avengers together in an attempt to form friendships between past enemies. Peter is particularly nervous about meeting some of the team for the first time. Tony helps him out.

Warnings: This is a tickle fic. If you don’t like it, don’t read it.

Author’s Note: Hey! As you may have noticed, this is my first fanfiction. I don’t consider myself the best writer, but I hope it’s enough to satisfy everyone. I’ve been wanting to post something for quite a while, yet I never worked up the nerves to do it until now. I welcome any criticism that comes to mind, as I’m always looking to improve my writing! I hope you enjoy this piece of crap I spewed out, thank you! <3

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Golden rays of sunlight interlaced across leather chairs, painting a picture of aurum and auburn against its expanse. The gentle hum of the car’s engine reverberated throughout the area, joining the rhythmic whir of the air conditioning. Happy sat behind the wheel, his gaze on the rear view mirror, lost in space. But oh, even as the ambience of melancholy laced through his veins, Peter really, absolutely, positively did not want to be there.

Thor. The great, all powerful, ever-praised Avenger, with his gleaming, coarse platinum hair, his piercing blue eyes laced with silver, staring, calculating. He was fierce. He was everything Peter dreamed to be. And no, in no reality could he handle the possibility of meeting him.

Yet there he sat, driving through the haze of his dreams. Colors blurred at the seams as he progressed, a sick feeling twisting in his gut. Oh, God.

It was an “Avenger Meet Up” that Tony insisted everyone attended. “It’s important for everyone to know who they’re working with,” he’d said to Peter, tapping a pen against his temple as he gazed aimlessly at a page of scribbles, “Remember when you used to stand in a circle and introduce yourselves in first grade? Same thing. Textbook stuff, Pete.”

Now, Peter was of course ecstatic. Meeting the entirety of the Avengers? He could hardly contain his excitement. However, though it was all nerve racking, nothing caused his blood to curtle quite as much as the great and powerful Thor himself.

Attempting to steady his shaking hands, Peter balanced himself against his knees, tilting forwards. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet Thor. No, not at all. It was his fear of making a bad impression. What worse than to embarrass himself in front of him? The thought caused his gut to wrench in pain. Peter exhaled, ignoring the look of curiosity his mentor wore beside him.

After a few more moments of silence, Tony sighed with finality. “Alright,” he removed his sunglasses, slapping his free hand on Peter’s shoulder. “What’s up, Pete? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because that’s bullshit.”

“Oh,” Peter stammered, waving his trembling hands in the air. The last thing he wanted was for Tony to know how nervous he was. He was Spiderman! Crime-fighting, butt-kicking, web-slinging Avenger. This was nothing in comparison to some of the things he had to deal with. Noticing the sudden burning sensation behind his eyes, he straightened his composure. “Uh, no, um, it really is nothing, Mr. Stark.”

Tony tsked. “Peter.”

“I just, it’s just— is it hot in here? It feels hot. I think we should turn down the AC—“

“Kid, c’mon.”

Peter groaned in defeat, shaking his head. Cars honked in the background, the sound echoing throughout the morning air. The smell of candy filled his senses as they passed some roadside shops, the scent sweet and syrupy. He wished he could fade away into the essence of it, to hide from this confrontation, to be anywhere, anywhere but here. “I- I don’t know, Mr. Stark.” He mumbled at last, shrugging with somewhat of a sheepish expression. “Just nerves, I guess.”

Iron-man’s features softened. He leaned back against his chair with a creak. “You know, Pete,” He said, glancing at the people outside as they passed in a blur. “A lot of the Avengers admire your guts.”

Peter perked up at that, turning his gaze towards Tony. “Really?”

“Really.”

“They said that?”

“Quite a few of them, actually.”

Peter smiled, one of happiness growing. It came from deep inside to light his eyes, spreading across every part of him. However, his smile faded just as quickly as it appeared, disappearing into nothing more than a simple twitch of the mouth. “What about, uh, Thor?” He asked, voice light and airy.

“Thor?” Tony repeated. He shook his head, staring at the roof of the car as he thought it over carefully. “No, I haven’t heard him say anything. But that doesn’t mean--”

“Ugh,” Peter whined. He buried his face between the crevices of his fingers. “I knew it! He hates me.”

“What?” Tony shook his head in bewilderment. “No. Come on, Pete. Thor has just as much of a reason to respect you as everyone else does.”

Peter sighed. Stretching, he raised his arms above his head, shirt riding up as he did so. A thin line of milky white appeared just above his pant line, revealing the softness of his skin. “I don’t know.” He muttered, gazing out the window. “What if he thinks I’m weird?”

“He won’t, kid. I promise.” He reached out, delivering a quick poke to the boy’s belly. “Now, pull down your shirt.”

Peter yelped, doubling over in one swift movement and successfully trapping Iron-man’s hand. Tony stared, taken aback by the sudden action. His eyes trailed from his hands to the kid’s flustered face, with a cherry hue against his cheeks, his lips contorted into a smile. Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Did I hurt you?”

If possible, Peter’s went ten shades darker. He bit his lip, squirming in his position, having yet to free Tony’s hand. “Um,” He stuttered out between quick intakes of breath, “No?”

“You sure? Because if you’re injured—” Much to Peter’s dismay, Tony began kneading into his stomach, searching for a nonexistent wound. He squeaked and squirmed, successfully trapping Tony’s hand even more. “Mr. Stahark!” He gasped, a few stray giggles escaping his lips. “Quihit it!”

Tony stopped, rendered even more confused than before. He studied his hand, before a wave of realization washed over his face, and his lips twitched into a smirk. Oh, that dreaded smirk. Just a subtle tug at the corner of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes and a tilt of his head, and Peter was at a loss for breath.

“Oh. You’re just ticklish.” He wriggled his fingers a bit at that, purposely this time, and Peter swore he nearly died. He scrunched his eyes closed, strained giggles flowing from his mouth as Tony just watched in amusement. “Is that it?”

“Nohoho! Cuhut ihit ouhohout!”

Peter had always been unbearably ticklish. It was a weakness he prayed nobody would figure out. Of course, everybody did in the end, as it wasn’t very easy to hide. Now, Tony Stark? It was one thing for him to know he was ticklish. It was a whole other thing for him to exploit it. Peter had never felt so utterly embarrassed in his life.

Happy sighed in the front as Peter’s childlike laughter filled the area. He pressed a button, causing a thin separator to rise from seemingly nowhere, blocking their view of him. However, nothing could hide the faint smile on his lips as the wall closed in between them.

Tony slowed his fingers until they lay completely still at Peter’s belly, buried in his skin. “Okay,” he teased, “Well, you have to let me go first.”

Peter whined as Tony’s fingers sat unmoving against the ticklish nerves in his stomach. His lip lay tucked beneath his teeth as he contemplated a safe escape. If he sat up, he’d leave himself vulnerable and susceptible to an attack, but he certainly couldn’t stay there.

“Can’t you just, uh, pull your hand out?” Peter asked sheepishly, a blush at his ears.

“Well,” Tony mumbled. He moved his hand a bit, fingers brushing against Spider Man's stomach and causing the boy to let out a rather high pitched yelp.

“Okahay, stahap!” Peter cackled. “Unngh.” He rolled to the side as much as the seat belt would allow, squirming until Tony’s hand slid free.

Tony sniggered at the mess of a boy before him, flustered, childlike bubbliness bursting at the seams. He really was just a kid, despite his Spider-Man display. His hair lay sprawled against his forehead, his eyes barely visible beneath his lashes as he squeezed them shut. He was, overall, just a teen trying to find his way. Tony smiled.

“Ya know, you really wouldn’t want the bad guys to figure this out.” He chuckled, squeezing the boy’s side.

“Ahah!” Cackled Peter, prying at his mentor’s fingers. Somehow, the feeling rendered his spidey-strength useless. His mind felt too foggy and giddy to decipher the situation at hand, leaving him as nothing more than a flustered pile of giggles. “Dohohont!”

“Why not?” Tony asked, curious fingers now prodding at Peter’s ribs, searching for the weakest one. His bottom rib appeared to be particularly sensitive. “Don’t tell me Spider-Man is giving up already!”

“Shuhut uhuhuHAHA!” Peter threw his head back when Tony’s fingers found his belly once more, poking and spidering against his shirt-clad skin. Unbearable little shockwaves shot throughout his body as his tummy suffered ruthless attacks from Tony. He writhed and kicked, helpless giggles escaping him, leaving his lips in bubbly little spurts.

“We’ll need to modify your suit to protect you against future tickle attacks. I’m thinking thicker material around your midsection?”

“MR. STAHAHARK!”

“Tell you what,” Tony said, his fingers inching towards a small patch of skin, now exposed due to his shirt riding up. Peter shivered. “You stop laughing, and I’ll stop tickling you.”

“Thahahat’s not faihahriHAHAHA! NNHhah!” Peter let out a rather unmanly squeal as Tony’s hand slipped under his shirt, fiendish fingers now skittering across his skin. He scrunched up his face, batting at Tony’s hand, before giving up and sinking back against the chair. “AHAHaaahh!”

“You’re not off to a great start.” Tony laughed. He scribbled against his tummy, reducing the kid into a giggly heap of ticklish goo.

“P-pleHEHEase—“ Peter’s laughter faded into little hiccups as Tony found his lower belly, focusing his attention there. Peter drummed his heels into the car seat, back arched, hands retreating to cover his blushing face.

Any previous anxiety had been completely forgotten at this point, tucked away into the back of Peter’s mind as if it had never existed in the first place. Tony smiled at the mess of a boy now before him, happy to see him laugh. He didn’t laugh enough anymore, not after the whole dying-and-coming-back-again ordeal. He hated to watch the once vibrant boy change into what he had— lifeless, depressed, colorless. It was almost as if his laughter brought back the flurry of colors that made Peter Parker who he was, who he was supposed to be.

“Where else are you ticklish?” Tony asked, amused.

“NOHOWHEREHHERE!”

“Nowhere? Are you sure?” He trailed his fingers upwards, grabbing hold of Peter’s arms and holding them above his head. “What about... here?” He drilled his thumb into one of his underarms. He had to tighten his grip on Peter’s wrists as he yanked at his hands in dismay.

“AhAHa NOHOHah!”

“Aha! You little liar. Well, that’s not good, is it?” He scratched his fingers against the sensitive skin, clawing and prodding and doing everything else possible to torture the poor boy. His fingers were surprisingly skilled, knowing exactly what buttons to push to drive him up the wall.

He explored every little ticklish spot he could find, from his neck, Peter spluttering and giggling as Tony fluttered his fingers against it, all the way down to his hips, where he absolutely lost it, cackling and bucking and shaking his head as tears of mirth painted an iridescent picture along his cheeks.

It was when Peter’s laughter came out in ragged, exhausted breaths that Tony finally ceased, helping pull the kid’s shirt back down. He panted, chest rising and falling almost as fast as his heart raced. Slumped back against his seat, his eyes heavy, lips parted ever so slightly as his breath wavered in the silence.

“That,” he gasped, eyes wide and dazed, “Was awful.”

Tony laughed, patting the kid’s shoulder. “You feel better though, right?”

“Yeah.” Peter hiccuped, holding his stomach. He really did feel better, more free and upbeat. Though he was still nervous, he was far less so than before. He smiled a genuine smile, turning to Tony. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.” He paused to catch his breath. “But please don’t ever do that again.”

“No promises.”

The thin veil separating them from Happy retracted into itself. Happy’s face appeared in the mirror, smug. “We’re here.”

A large coffee shop came into view, very few cars parked around it. Tony had rented it out for the time being, not to anyone’s surprise. Tony could do anything, almost.

It was a bit of a strange meeting place, Peter thought. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t just meet at the Avenger’s facility. “A nice change,” Tony had said, “Besides, coffee shops are popular. What’s that one called? StripBucks, was it?”

He had received a face palm from Peter.

“You ready?”

Peter swallowed dryly as he examined the area. Faint silhouettes danced across the window, their shadows dull and plain, too many to count. The Avengers, Peter realized, stood casually in that coffee shop. He gulped.

“Yeah. I’m feeling better.”

Tony grinned, slipping on his sunglasses. “You’ll do great, Pete. I know it.”

Peter laughed as Tony ruffled his hair, causing it to stick out in jagged spurts. “Thank you.”

The door opened in a blur. He didn’t know when he left the car, but soon they were trudging towards the shop, Happy right behind them. The world seemed foggy in that moment, just a series of colors and shapes. All that mattered was the smile plastered on Peter’s face, Tony’s hand against his shoulder, and the words that seemed to echo throughout his mind as Tony nudged his arm.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

#marvel #tony stark #peter parker #iron dad #spider son #avengers #tickle #tickle fic #ticklish!peter #what else should i tag #tickling #mcu #fluff #fanfic #mine #lmaooo #k bye i'm done #ticklish!spiderman #ticklish!peterparker

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queen-writing-sideblog · 5 years

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1/3 Oh,your writing is so nice! I have an idea,but if it's too weird or too complicated and top Long, you dont have to answer. Freddie was always insecure about his look. Even now, when he has 3 pretty boyfriends, he still feels the same way. The problem is, they may be too beautiful. He's not jealous of their beauty but just thinks he doesnt deserve them. Sometimes to boost his ego, he likes to flirt with other men. The boys were ok with this, as far as it was just innocent flirting. 1/3

They thought it was just for fun, didn't know the true reasons behind it. Sometimes even they were making a bet with Roger who collects more phone numbers. But one night, when boys went clubbing, it almost ended tragically for him. He picked a wrong man, who didn't know what the word"no" means. Fortunately, the other boys saw that something is wrong before it was to late.After, the boys definitely forbade Freddie to flirt with others anymore,especially when they got to know the real reason. 2/3

When all have calmed down, the boys decided to show Freddie how much they love him, how beautiful he is and who he belongs to by focusing only on him in the bedroom and worshiping him all night. 3/3

I’m very glad you like my writing! And I do rather like your idea, darling, no worries!

It was a normal thing for Freddie to be flirty with other men. He was now and he always had been, that hadn’t changed when he’d got his three lovely boyfriends. It made him feel beautiful and special and wanted. And as much as he hated to admit it, that was something he needed to feel.

He loved all of his boyfriends, he loved them all most fiercely. But he couldn’t help but think sometimes that he didn’t deserve people as beautiful as they were, feel as if he wasn’t enough for them. So he turned to the attention of other men, which helped to get him out of that rut.

They never minded either. He would have stopped doing it if they had, but they didn’t. Because it was only harmless flirting, nothing more, and they trusted him enough to never take it past that. He was very grateful for that, because though he had three wonderful boyfriends already, he’d always felt to an extent that he didn’t deserve to have three men to himself that were as lovely as them.

There was Roger and his beautiful, baby blue eyes, his soft, silky golden locks, his bright smile, the lovely dimples that went along with that smile, his toned drummer muscles, how he seemed to make just about anything look good, his confidence which only served to make him more beautiful, how nice he looked in his glasses, even if he hated them.

There was Brian with his beautiful curls, his sharp, angular features, his stunning, bright green eyes, his long, shapely legs, his big, bright smile and the pearly teeth that paired with that smile, how happy he looked when he was playing The Special, the way he looked with that little bit of stubble when he hadn’t shaved for a few days.

There was John and his brown waves of hair, his stormy grey-green eyes, his wonderful gap-toothed smile, the way he was generally wearing jumpers or something of the sort, never much paying attention to what he wore, his soft, sleepy smile in the mornings that never failed to make his heart swell.

And then there was him, with his teeth that stuck out, his bushy eyebrows, his far-too-hairy body, the way his hair was normally riddled with tangles and snags if he didn’t spend time brushing it properly in the morning, how he was far too lanky at the moment to be attractive. He really didn’t deserve Roger or Brian or John, let alone all three of them.

So, he turned to gathering the attention from other men instead. Which was precisely what they were doing now. They had all gone out to a pub, to celebrate Roger acing an exam he’d been worried about in a class he wasn’t great in. The other three were back at their table in the corner while Freddie had gone to get another drink.

There was a rather nice looking bloke sitting to his left. He ignored the fact that he held a certain familiarity. Sharp blue eyes, waves of brown hair, a tall stature. A mix of all three of his boyfriends, but not even close to the real thing at the same time.

He looked lonely enough. Maybe he could get a free drink out of him.

All it took was a few sweet words, a few touches to the arm, laughing at his stupid jokes. He bought him a drink, then two. After a little bit of time had passed, though, he decided that enough time had passed and he made to get up to go back to the table.

The guy, Andrew, didn’t seem to like that. He grabbed him by the wrist and tried to pull him closer. “Where do you think you’re going, pretty boy?”

Normally, the name would make him pleased, but now it left an unpleasant taste in the back of his throat. “It’s been nice talking to you and all, but-”

“I bought you drinks. Drinks aren’t cheap here. You’re going to be paying me back for them.”

“I can go get my wallet if you just let me-”

“Oh, no, no, no, that’s not the kind of payment.”

That sent ice shooting down his spine. Get out. Get away from him. Go. Run. Back to Bri and Rog and Deaky. Go.

He tried to pull his wrist away again, which only made him pull him closer. “You’re not going anywhere.” He’d looped an arm around his waist by then and was trying to stand up, to walk away, out of the building, and he began to panic.

Thankfully, from behind him, he heard a very familiar voice, unusually cold. “Is something going on here?” It was John. sweet, protective, but ultimately unthreatening John.

Andrew snorted. “Out of the way, mate, unless you want me to make you.”

“I’d suggest you not lay a finger on either of them.” And there was Roger too, suddenly standing next to John, arms folded over his chest, his normally soft blue eyes iced over.

Andrew seemed to be a bit more hesitant now.

“Let go of him. Now.” And there was Brian, dear, sweet Brian, towering over all of them.

Andrew seemed to come to his senses. He let go of Freddie, who moved to stand behind John, grabbing onto one of his hands. Andrew put some money down on the bar counter to pay, grabbed his coat, and left.

Then he was being pulled out the door and into a cab. It felt like only seconds before they were home, safe in their flat, sat down at the kitchen table after tea had been made for all four of them.

“Are you alright, love?” Roger reached across the table to take.

“I’m fine, I just… i’m fine.”

They were all quiet for a minute, John holding one hand, Roger holding the other, and Brian hooking their ankles together beneath the table as a substitute.

“I don’t think you should do that anymore.” John was the first to speak up.

“Do what, darling?”

“Flirt with other men anymore.”

He pursed his lips in a thin line.

“Love, it was one man.”

“And there are others. I think I agree with John here.” His gaze snapped to Roger.

“I agree with Deaks and Rog here, Fred. It’s just not a good idea.”

“But darling-”

“No, Fred. Really, we just want to keep you safe.” John squeezed his hand.

“But, I.. I can’t..” There must’ve been something in his eyes that had given something away, and John had always been one to notice the tiny details.

“Why’s this bugging you so much? To not.. Be able to talk to other men?” His tone was much gentler, treading lightly with his words.

“What? It’s not bothering me..”

“Freddie.” His tone was firmer now.

“It’s just.. I…” He stared down into his lap and opened and closed his mouth a few times before blurting out the answer. “I don’t feel like I deserve you.” There was silence around the table, so he continued on talking. “You’re.. You’re just all so perfect, and I’m not and… when I talk to them, and I have their attention, it makes.. Makes me feel better I guess.”

“Freddie Mercury, you look at me.” Roger gently hooked a finger under his chin and made him look up. “You are amazing and perfect and beautiful in every way, you’re not less than any one of us. And I’m so sorry we’ve let you go on thinking that, that we haven’t been able to make you feel you’re as amazing as you really are. And I think it’s high time we showed you just how amazing and loved you really are.” There was a look traded between the other three that had all of them getting to their feet, John hauling Freddie up with him.

“C’mon, now, love. Let’s go to the bedroom, hm?”

To the bedroom? Oh. OH. Oh.

That was how he found himself lying on his back with Brian peppering kisses across his neck and chest, John giving him a spectacular blowjob, and Roger sat behind him while he laid his head in his lap, stroking his hair and listing off all of the amazing things about him.

He had never felt so loved before, and there was a ball of emotion in his chest that made itself know in the way his eyes began to water.

Leave it to him to get weepy eyed in the middle of sex. Instead of commenting on it, Roger just gave him a soft smile and used one of his hands to wipe the tears away for him. “You’re so lovely, Fred. Fuck, we’re so lucky to have you, you know. We’d fall apart if we didn’t have you. You hold us together.” He leaned down to kiss his forehead.

“When Bri and Deaky get into fights at the studio and I just about rip out my hair, you know what to do to stop them and then come and give me a kiss and a cuddle. When Bri is having one of his dark days, you’re the first to do anything. When John’s having a bad day with his anxiety’s getting the best of him, you know just how to get him back to his good place. You’re so good for us.” He pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks.

“And you’re so pretty too. You’ve got the most amazing hair, so smooth and shiny and lovely. And your eyes, they’re dark and they shine when you’re happy and I can’t help getting lost in them if I look for too long. And your smile. It’s one of the most beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen in my entire life, so unique and unapologetically Freddie.” He leaned down to kiss the shell of his ear.

“And right now, you look so beautiful. With your cheeks flushed, and your eyes shining from how good Deaky here is making you feel. How your hips are bucking up off of the bed, and the way you’re holding onto the sheets, god, you’re so lovely, Freddie, I don’t know how you don’t see that.” And then he was leaning down to kiss him, hungrily licking into his mouth. The angle was a bit awkward, and it was slightly unusual, but god was it good, and it had him tipping over the edge within minutes.

Much later, after they’d had a shower, in pairs, the shower wasn’t big enough for that business, for all four of them, three at most, four was a stretch, and they were all cuddled up together in bed, Freddie felt something click. He felt loved and he felt handsome and he felt like he belonged. And he never wanted to give up that feeling.

I hope you enjoy! The most difficult part was just at the beginning when I had to shine a negative light on poor Freddie, it hurt me to do it, but all for the writing, I suppose. Well, nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed, lovey!

#queen #roger meddows taylor #roger taylor #john deacon #john deacy #john deaky #queen fanfiction #roger queen #poly queen #brian may #freddie mercury

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warnettework · 5 years

Text

Shadow Me chapter 1; from Tahereh’s instagram (x)

I’m already awake when my alarm goes off, but I haven’t opened my eyes yet. I’m too tired. My muscles are tight, still painfully sore from an intense training session two days ago, and my body feels heavy. Dead.

My brain hurts.

The Alarm is shrill and persistent. I ignore it. I stretch out the muscles in my neck and groan, quietly. The clock won’t stop screeching. Someone pounds, hard, against the wall near my head, and I hear Adam’s muffled voice shouting at me to shut off the alarm.

“Every morning,” he shouts. “You do this every morning. I swear to god, Kenji, one of these days I’m going to come in there and destroy that thing.”

“Alright,” I mumble, mostly to my self. “Alright. Calm down.”

“Turn it off.”

I take a deep, ragged breath. Slap blindly at the clock a couple times until it stops blaring. We finally got our own rooms on base, but I still can’t seem to find peace. Or privacy. These walls are paper thing, and Adam hasn’t changed a bit. Still moody. No sense of humor. Generally irritated. Sometimes I can’t remember why we’re friends.

With some effort, I drag myself up, into a sitting position. I rub at my eyes, making a mental list of all the things I have to do today and then, in a sudden, horrible rush---

I remember what happened yesterday.

Jesus.

So much drama in one day I can hardly keep it all straight. Apparently Juliette has a long-lost sister. Apparently Warner tortured Juliette’s sister. Warner and Juliette broke up. Juliette ran off screaming. Warner had a panic attack. Warner’s ex-girlfriend showed up. his ex-girlfriend slapped hm. Juliette got drunk. No, wait---J got drunk and she shaved her head. And then I saw Juliette in her underwear---an image I’m still trying to erase from my mind---and then, as if all that wasn’t enough to deal with, after dinner last night, I did something very, very stupid.

I drop my head in my hands and hate myself, remembering. A fresh wave of embarrassment hit me, hard, and I take another deep breath. Force myself to look up. To clear my thoughts.

Not everything is horrible.

I have my own room now--a small room--but my own room with a window and a view of industrial AC units. I have a desk. A bed. A basic closet I still have to share a bathroom with some of the other guys, but I can’t complain. A private room is a luxury I haven’t had in a while. It’s nice to have space at the end of the night to be alone with my thoughts. Somewhere to hang the happy face I force myself to wear even when I’m having a shitty day.

I’m grateful.

I’m exhausted, overworked, and stressed out, but I’m grateful. I force myself to say it, out loud. I’m grateful. I take a few moments to feel it. Recognize it. I force myself to smile, to unclench the tightness in my face that would otherwise default too easily to anger. I whisper a quick thank-you to the unknown, to the air, to the lonely ghosts eavesdropping on my private conversations with no one. I have a roof over my head and clothes on my back and food waiting for me every morning. I have friends. A makeshift family. I’m lonely, but I’m not alone. My body works, my brain works, I’m alive. It’s a good life. I have to make a conscious effort to remember that. To choose to be happy every day. If I didn’t, I think my own pain would’ve killed me a long time ago.

I’m grateful.

Someone knocks at my door---two sharp raps---and I jump to my feet, startled. The knock is unusually formal; most of us don’t even bother with the courtesy. I yank on a pair of sweatpants and, tentatively, open the door.

Warner.

My eyes widen as I look him up and down. I don’t think he’s ever shown up at my door before, and I can’t decide what’s weirder: the fact that he’s here or the fact that he looks so normal. Well, normal for Warner. He looks exactly like he always does. Shiny. Polished. Eerily calm and pulled together for someone whose girlfriend dumped on the day before. You’d never know he was the same dude who, in the aftermath, I found lying on the floor having a panic attack.

“Uh, hey.”I clear the sleep from my throat. “What’s going on?”

“Did you just wake up?” he says, looking at me like I’m an insect.

“It’s six in the morning. Everyone in this wing wakes up at six in the morning. You don’t have to look so disappointed.”

Warner peers past me, into my room and for a moment, says nothing. Then, quietly: “Kishimoto, if I considered other people’s mediocre standards a sufficient metric by which to measure my own accomplishments, I’d never have amounted to anything.” He looks up, meets my eyes. “You should demand more of yourself. You’re entirely capable.”

“Are you---?”I blink, stunned. “I’m sorry, was that your idea of a compliment.?”

He stares at me, his face impassive. “Get dressed.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You taking me out to breakfast?”

“We have three more unexpected guests. They just arrived.”

“Oh.” I take an unconscious step back. “Oh shit.”

“Yes.”

“More kids of the supreme commanders?”

Warner nods.

“Are they dangerous?” I ask.

Warner almost smiles, but he looks unhappy. “Would they be here if they weren’t?”

“Right.” I sigh. “Good point.”

“Meet me downstairs in five minutes, and I’ll fill you in.”

“Five minutes?” My eyes widen. “Uh-uh, no way. I need to take a shower. I haven’t even eaten breakfast---”

“If you’d been up at three, you would’ve had time for all that and more.”

“Three in the morning?” I gape at him. “Are you out of your mind?”

And when he says, without a hint of irony---

“No more than usual”

---it’s crystal clear to me that this dude is not okay.

I sigh, hard, and turn away, hating myself for always noticing this kind of thing, and hating myself even more fo my constant need to follow up. I can’t help it. Castle said it to me once when I was a kid: he told me I was unusually compassionate. I never thought about it like that---with words, with an explanation---until he’d said it to me. I always hated it about myself, that I couldn’t be tougher. Hated that I cried so hard when I saw a dead bird for the first time. Or that I used to bring home all the stray animals I found, until Castle finally told me I had to stop, that we didn’t have the resources to keep them all. I was twelve. He made me let them go, and I cried for a week. I hated that I cried. Hated that I couldn’t help it. Everyone thinks I’m not supposed to give a shit---that I shouldn’t---but I do. I always do.

And I give a shit about this asshole, too.

So I take a tight breath and say, “Hey man---Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” His response is fast. Cold.

I could let it go.

He’s giving me an out. I should take it. I should take it and pretend I don’t notice the strain in his jaw or the raw, red look around his eyes. I’ve got my own problems, my own burdens, my own pain and frustration, and besides, no one ever asks me about my day. No one ever follows up with me, no one ever bothers to peer beneath the surface of my smile. So why should I care?

I shouldn’t.

Leave it alone, I tell myself.

I open my mouth to change the subject. I open my mouth to move on, and, instead, I hear myself say---

“C’mon, bro. We both know that’s bullshit.”

Warner looks away. A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“You had a heard day yesterday,” I say. “It’s alright to have a rough morning, too.”

After a long pause, he says, “I’ve been up for a while.”

I blow out a breath. It’s nothing I wasn’t expecting. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I get it.”

He looks up. Meets my eyes. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“I don’t think you do, actually. In fact, I hope you don’t. I wouldn’t want you to know how I feel right now. I wouldn’t wish that for you.”

That hits me harder than I expect. For a moment I don’t know what to say.

I decide to stare at the floor.

“Have you seen her yet?” I ask.

And then, so quietly I almost miss it---

“No.”

Shit. This kid is breaking my heart.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” he says, his eyes flashing as they meet mine.

“What? I don’t---I’m not---”

“Get dressed,” Warner says sharply. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

I blink, startled. “Right,” I say. “Cool. Okay.

And then he’s gone.

#shatter me #kenji kishimoto #aaron warner #shadow me #restore me #defy me #tahereh mafi #long post #just in case the read more doesn't work

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primal-screamer-blog1 · 5 years

Photo

Ruby loved being under the red lights. She was Mexican and Japanese, a tiny, bronzed, energetic spitfire with wide hips and impossibly long legs. Legs that drove men from all over California to see in the flesh. And after hours on the 405 for a long L.A. weekend, flesh was exactly what they wanted. They’d line up and lay down hundreds for her to crawl into their laps, wrap her long athletic legs around their necks and writhe on top of them. And Ruby wasn’t the only one drawing a crowd; Seventh Veil was home to some of the most sought after women in Los Angeles. Between Ruby, Roxanne, Alexis, Lola, Kenzie and Jade, the headlining girls of Seventh Veil were just as well known, if not moreso, than the boys in the bands that they all dated. In their big cars, with their big hair, they commanded the strip, bringing in money, men and any excess they could ever want. Naturally there was a cover charge. “C’mon, what about $10? I got a 10.” Nikki pleaded with the bouncer, a tall, muscular man named Rob who wore all black and had a tattoo of a shark on his neck. “How you gonna afford to tip these girls if you can’t even get in the door, kid?” If it were anyone else, Rob would’ve had Nikki out on his ass for talking him down to half price. But Nikki had been coming around for as long as Ruby had been working there; all the boys in Motley Crue had. The rock n’ roll of the strip had quickly become the lifeblood of the clubs. He knew Nikki was trouble, but not the kind of trouble he would ever have to worry about. “I’m gonna tip, I’m just not gonna be here for too long is all. One dance and I’m out, I swear.” “Nikki! Please. Spare me the sob story. You could have any of these girls all over you for free anytime you want. Why are you trying to pay for a lap dance?” Nikki sighed and tried to look inside over Rob’s shoulder. He couldn’t see past the obnoxious fake smoke that fogged up the entryway. “I just gotta talk to Ruby.” “Yeah?” Rob laughed. “You and ‘bout every other red blooded male in California. She making you pay for it all of a sudden?”“I don’t pay for shit, man. Look, this is the only place I can talk to her without her trying to fucking kill me. I got a show tonight anyway, I swear I'm in and I’m out.” Nikki held two fingers up. Rob shrugged and lifted the red velvet rope separating the two of them. “You got an hour.” “You fucking rock, man.” Through the plaster Arabian palace archway and neon signage, Nikki made for the bar. If this conversation were going to go the way he wanted it to, he’d need their tallest, cheapest shot. Leaned against the bar top, Roxanne was on her break, sipping a diet coke and flipping through a copy of Cosmopolitan. “Nikki?” Her melodic voice called over to him. She smiled and waved him over with a manicured hand. Roxanne was a tall, slim strawberry blonde with big blue eyes and big tits. She wore white cowboy boots and a red one piece with blue and white fringe, a costume she’d come up with for her “American Woman” number that Tommy really loved. He also loved her freckles. Nikki wrapped her in a short hug and let his hand rest on her hip. “Hey Roxanne.” “You haven’t been here in a while , Nikki! Where’ve you been? Making Tommy wander out all on his own!” She had a sweet, southern accent that always made him smile. “I’m sure Tommy’s doing just fine without me.” “We make sure he has fun out here.” She giggled and sucked down nearly half her diet coke, letting out a tiny burp. It made sense that her and Tommy got on as well as they did. “Does Ruby know you’re here?” “Not yet. Was hoping to chill out a little bit before talking to her.” “You comin’ to apologize?” “Apologize for what?” He gave her a shy grin. “Oh c’mon, Nikki. You’re on the shit list and you know it. She told us all about what you did.” “She did?” He winced.“Been talkin about it since she got here.” She went behind the bar and poured him a tall glass of Jack and Coke. “On the house. You’re gonna need it.” “Is she that mad?” He took the mixing straw and tossed it in the trash, taking a big swing instead. “Boot in the head didn’t let you know?” “Okay. Point taken. I’m an asshole.” “Just say you’re sorry, Nikki. It’s not a big word. She’ll forgive you.” “Where’s she at?” “On stage, dummy.” Roxanne giggled and pointed behind him. Ruby was crawling down the catwalk towards the tip bar where a cute blonde boy held two twenties in the air. The room was full, men talking and laughing, pinching Alexis or Lola on their asses as they worked the room while Ruby danced. She wore a studded red leather harness on top of a black g-string pulled high up above her ass and a black satin bra. Her strappy black stilettos brought her tiny 5’3 frame to 5’7 and her long black ponytail, teased up high made her look even taller. Up in lights, she unfolded herself into a split to “Slave” by the Rolling Stones. She tucked the boys money into her g-string and fell back into him, laughing and wriggling in his lap. Next to him, his drunk friend howled and threw a handful of ten dollar bills on her chest. She pulled herself up on stage and spun around on the pole before pulling her bra down to reveal a set of black sequined pasties. She fell down into another split, tossing her bra at the high tippers. Nikki stood back and watched her. He’d seen her dance plenty of times before; they met outside three years ago trying to buy drugs from each other. Nikki always loved seeing a hot woman dance, but something about watching Ruby specifically was fun for him. She danced the same way she played music. When she took the stage, she showed something vulnerable and something wild that he’d never seen in a woman. Raised to adhere to strict social conservatism, Ruby was brought up in the elite high society of Manhattan. It was a complete accident that, while attending an all girls boarding school, she was introduced to Black Sabbath and AC/DC records. Every Tuesday after her SAT prep, Ruby’s mom paid a 19 year old college student to teach Ruby classical piano. In reality, she was learning to play ‘Crocodile Rock’ and memorizing the names of singers in metal bands. In no time, she was sneaking out to meet punk boys at hip, underground parties in Brooklyn where she saw bands like the Stooges and the Ramones. It was when the Germs toured through the city that a young Lorna Doom handed off a copy of California punk zine Flipside to Ruby. After that, she became obsessed with maps of Los Angeles and would harass the local record store to bring in X tapes every time she went in. When she turned 17, a boy she was dating put on a copy of a barely formed Black Flag’s single Nervous Breakdown. “Holy shit.” They were angry, they were weird and they were unlike anything she’d heard before. She packed her bags and sold her bike to buy a Greyhound ticket across the country. Seventh Veil was the first place that would take in a skinny 18 year old with no home, no references and no clue. After being at an all girls school for so long, she took to the locker room camaraderie immediately. She went from timid and awkward to bold and brash, someone unafraid who knew how to make space and make noise. Spinning around the pole or swinging a microphone, whenever Ruby was on the stage, she gave her all to stake her claim in what she’d built for herself. When she danced, Nikki could see all that liberation in the smile on her face. So it was a little disappointing to see that smile falter as she caught sight of him. She staggered a bit as they locked eyes and awkwardly moved to the other side of the stage, regaining composure away from his glance. When she came back around, Nikki had grabbed a seat up front next to the blonde and his friend. Ruby flipped her ponytail to hide her eye roll and crawled over to him. “What do you want?” She said just loud enough for him to hear, sliding down onto her elbows and pushing her ass in the air for the rest of the audience. “I wanna talk to you.” “No way. Go home, Nikki.” “How about a private dance then?” “Fuck you!” She pulled herself up onto her knees and tugged the straps of her leather harness down. Nikki placed a hundred dollar bill on stage. “Come talk to me.” Nikki didn’t seem to understand what he was asking. She stood up and threw one long leg over his shoulder and dragged his seat in closer. She slid down into his lap so that she straddled him, one thigh pressed up against his arm in a flexible fold. Her nipples, covered up with pasties, pressed against his chest. The guys next to them whooped and tossed stacks of dollar bills into Nikki’s lap as she wrapped her other leg around his waist. He was instantly hard. She tangled her fingers into his knotted black hair and purred into his ear. “Are you really trying make a scene, Sixx?” She pulled back and looked up into his eyes. His expression had a slight glaze, his mouth dropped open. His hands rested nervously on her hips. The answer, she could see from his hesitation, was no. Nikki was known for his impulse - it’s what they bonded over. They spent their nights buried in drugs and living out their highs with fireworks, bar fights and loud music, bringing them to early mornings of come downs, shivers and heightened emotions. Cocaine addled conversations birthed ideas for Motley Crue and eventually led to Ruby forming her own band, The Plastix. They talked books and broken homes, b movies and beat poets, deep dark fears and depraved, debased perversions. But whenever they would come too close, whenever things got too heavy, Nikki would pull away. He would tug up his sleeves and show his scars, recount memories to the point of tears, but if she ever moved to soothe him, he flinched. Nikki was always unknowingly crying out for help, but his problem was he never knew what to do once he got it. It was why she stopped giving him so many chances; she knew he would never take them. She felt bad for him. “Fine. Let’s talk.” She pressed her forehead to his and pulled away. She finished her number with a final upside down spin down the pole and motioned for Jade - a vampy brunette - to take her spot on stage. Ruby stepped behind the zebra print curtain backstage and emerged a few minutes later in a black sweatshirt and leg warmers with a drink in each hand. She led Nikki to the VIP lounge - a purple velvet couch and a clear lucite table tucked in a corner behind a velvet rope. Under the black light, she sipped on her vodka cranberry and pushed a refreshed Jack and Coke into his hand. “Got ya a bunch of cherries.” She commented, snatching one out of his drink and sucking the whiskey off it. “Thanks. I never wanna ask for them.” He pulled his black fringe over his eyes before doing the same. “You’ll empty half a bottle of hairspray onto yourself but you won’t ask for cherries?” “I don’t care if people wanna call me a chick. I just don’t want them thinking I’m a kid.” Ruby pulled his hundred dollar bill from her bra and slid it across the table. “Where’d you get the money?” Nikki made a face and quickly shoved it into the pocket of his leather jacket. “Tommy let me pawn his stereo.” He mumbled. “Nikki!” “I know.” “C’mon, you can’t do that! You don’t gotta….throw money at me anyway. I would’ve just talked to you afterwards.” “Without trying to punch me in the head?” “Okay. I get your approach.” She shrugged and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But all I’ve wanted lately is to just talk to you. I really wish you would’ve just tried that. I don’t want your money.” He crunched up the bill in his fist. “I thought maybe I could just buy back what I stole from you.” He sighed. She wanted to yell at him more; tell him that she didn’t care about the drugs. She cared that he lied to her and used her. She’d seen him do it to enough people to feel stupid that she let it happen to her. She wanted to tell him how he made her rush to work even more hectic than L.A. traffic normally made it. She wanted to tell him about dancing with aching joints and having to wear a smile when you can’t feel the muscles in your face. She wanted to tell him that just because he wanted her attention, that didn’t mean he could fuck her over. But she didn’t. He already knew all of that. He was trying. “Why have you been so shitty to me lately?” He went quiet. There was hardly a time she caught him off guard that he couldn’t immediately divert his attention to scribbling in his notebook. He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped himself before chugging his drink. He was the one who wanted to talk, after all. “It’s weird for me that you’re dating Vince.” Ruby lifted an eyebrow at him before letting out a confused laugh.“What?” She snickered. “I’m not dating Vince.” “What are you talking about? Yes you are.” He knitted his brows together. She stopped laughing when she saw that he wasn’t. “I’m fucking Vince. First of all,” She leaned in closer to him and lowered her voice, taking on a more serious tone. “I don’t wanna date anyone. I deal with enough men here. I don’t-” She held up a hand and cut herself off before getting carried away. “Second of all, what does it matter? You fuck my friends all the time!” “Yeah! But-” “You were just fucking Jade in your freaky sex closet two weeks ago! She said it smelled like gouda cheese. I thought that was part of why we were friends, we hook each other up!” “I know. I know .” He fell back in his seat. “It’s just uncomfortable to me. I mean, it’s Vince . He’s so skeezy.” “You think I don’t know that? Look I told you, I’m not trying to marry the guy. We’re just having fun together. Nikki, why are you so concerned?” “I dunno, you’re not stupid, Ruby, why do you think?” For a moment, they just looked at each other and waited for the other to say something. When she didn’t, he sipped his drink and looked away. It wasn’t the first time since she’d known him that he looked so sad she wanted to kiss him. If only let him know that his feelings weren’t completely displaced. Instead, she leaned back with him and watched the spinning disco ball above them sparkle. Another thought in a long line of the same, she thought about a future with him and what that might be like. “You know you and me aren’t ready for this, right?” “Yeah.” He popped another wet cherry in his mouth. Something in his expression lifted when he looked back at her. He leaned into her shoulder, his teased up hair brushing into her face. “What do you mean?” “You know what I mean.” “I do.” He smiled at her. He pulled a knotted cherry stem out of his mouth and placed it in her hand. “I just wanna hear you say it.” “Please don’t make me.” She groaned to keep herself from laughing, not wanting to encourage him. She stuck his cherry stem in her mouth and swallowed it. He grinned at her. “I’m gonna make you.” She sighed and her smile dropped. She pushed the melting ice in her drink around with her straw. “Things are changing so quickly.” She let out a sarcastic laugh before nudging him off of her. “You don’t want a girlfriend anymore than I want a boyfriend, Nikki. Think about it. You wanna be a rockstar. You’re gonna go on tour and meet girls and make money. You’re not gonna have time to be with someone and you’re not gonna wanna be.” “That’s bullshit, though. You’re gonna do all the same stuff.” “Yeah, maybe. I want to. And I wanna do it without having to worry about when I’m gonna see you next or who you’re hanging out with or if you care who I’m hanging out with….I just don’t want it. I don’t want to do that to you.” “Well then, I don’t get why you’re doing it with someone else.” “I’m not. I don’t care about him the way I care about you. If we ever got close like that, I’d need it to be serious with you. And I’m not ready for that. You’re not ready for that.” He wanted to argue. Not because he had anything much left to say, but because he was still frustrated. He yanked his last cherry off its stem and sucked on it before swallowing it down. He wasn’t sure if he regretted coming here or if what she said made him feel any better. She wasn’t wrong and in a way, she told him exactly what he wanted to hear. That night, Nikki went back to the Whiskey-a-Go Go to play a show with his band. They went on 45 minutes later than they were supposed to, something Mick was sure to thoroughly blame him for. “Where the fuck have you been?” “Don’t worry about it, old man.” “Oh, I’m real fucking worried.” The crowd didn’t care. They came out for Motley Crue and stayed out with them long into the night, far past their last song. Particularly, a buxom redhead who reminded Nikki of his first girlfriend had stuck around the club long enough to come back with them for their nightly afterparty. She stayed tangled up in him all night. And when he went to bed with her, pounding her into the mattress, he heard Ruby moaning louder than she ever had in the room across the hall. Working his conquest harder than he normally cared to, he waited until he was sure he heard Ruby cum before unloading himself down the new girls back. He left her sticky and sweaty in the sheets to smoke a cigarette in the cool night air. Ruby was already out there. He thought she might be. His pressed his bare back to the brick wall next to her and pulled his pack out of his low slung leather pants. She was wearing one of Vince’s vintage car t shirts and a pair of black denim shorts she arrived in, her feet shoved into Tommy’s oversized sneakers. “You staying over tonight?” He asked her. She shook her head and handed him a lighter. “Nah. I’m almost on my way out. Just gotta find my shoes.” She watched him light up and made sure to grab it back before he could stick it in his own pocket. He pushed his hair out of his face and quietly exhaled, both of them choosing to listen to the Alice Cooper playing from a car down the street rather than speak. She watched the smoke dissipate in the air, the sounds of laughter carrying over from the strip just a block away. They both smelled of boozey sweet summer air. It was peaceful. For the second time tonight, Nikki felt like being honest. “You know, I can hear you and Vince. In my room. Mostly you.” He told her. Before she could say anything, he stumbled over an explanation. “It’s not a big deal. I just thought you’d wanna know, it makes it kind of difficult for me to uh...not think of you. In that way.” He stammered and immediately felt stupid. “Yeah?” She raised an eyebrow at him. She put out her cigarette on the concrete and exhaled her last hit. “Same.” She gave him a sly grin and slipped back inside. “Goodnight, Nikki.” Nikki went to bed happy that night. She was thinking of him too. ***fan fiction writers are creators too! we work really hard and put a lot of time into our stories. if you enjoy someone’s content, please consider leaving them a comment. it’s really helpful! thank you. Taglist: @triplehaitches

#motley crue #the dirt #nikki sixx #douglas booth #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #motley crue fan fiction #motley crue fan fic #motley crue fanfic #vince neil #tommy lee #mick mars

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levi-ish · 6 years

Text

Blood In The Cut | 6

Request: Can you do a peter parker x reader that they were friends in high school but they got apart somehow and when they’re in college they meet again?

Pairing: Peter Parker X College!Reader

Disclaimer: Angst (I mean, where’s the fluff?), violence and some more panic attacks.

A/N: Again, no spoilers bro. If you want to be part of my taglist, you can always ASK and I’ll add your name to it! Thanks!!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

Masterlist

It took time for you to process everything that happened in the last three minutes. You stood there, on the middle of the grass that tickled slightly your leg through the hem of your jeans, looking at the old library and watching as Spider-Man fought some flying guys that shot lasers guns at him. Your chest was tighter than before and your hands started to tremble again. Not now, please.

“(Y/N)!” Screamed Clara as she grabbed your arm from behind. “What the fuck are you still doing here?!”

You looked at her, your breath quickening and your fingertips uncontrollable as your mouth stood half open, hesitating to say anything at all.

“C’mon, let’s go back to the apartment” she said, pulling you with her as the girl walked fast to the campus direction. Your eyes never left the frame of Spider-Man swinging in the air and shooting webs at his enemies.

But while your eyes were there, your mind was too busy replaying the scene of the hero standing in front of you, emotionless — you were pretty sure of that — and the hurtful silence that spoke more than words ever could.

You kept your knees closer to your chest in an attempt of feeling safe. It was a feeling that you never got to experience so much through your whole life — not from the outside neither from your inside — and Clara walked through the door, holding a hot mug of chamomile tea between her hands. She blew the vapor that danced above the surface and smiled at you, sitting on the corner of the bed and watching you with careful eyes.

“Are you feeling any better?” She asked and put her hand on the top of your feet, warming them with the heat of her skin.

You nodded and gave her a small, reassuring smile, sipping on the tea. After you told your friend what happened, she decided that you needed special care for the rest of the day, helping you however she could. The girl’s eyes wandered around the room while you kept drinking slowly and tasting the pinch of cinnamon that she always put on hot beverages, something that she said that her family claimed to be a rule in their house.

“So... The Parker guy is single now” she said, trying to take your mind off the recent events, aware that you could get even more nervous.

The tea burned your throat as she spoke the name ‘Parker’ making a quick cough leave your mouth as you lifted your eyes, looking at her and licking the cinnamon of your lips.

“Yeah, I heard.” You tried not to sound too shaken about the news, but Clara was a little shit and knew whenever you lied. “Not that it changes anything in my life.”

“Don’t you think that you should leave that stuff in the past?” She said and furrowed her brows together, looking at the picture that hung on the wall. “I mean, that was so long ago and—”

“—It was for the best, Clara.” You said and sipped again, almost finishing the tea and already feeling the calmness running through your veins. “He was immature and I changed and—”

“What makes you think that he didn’t change too?” She asked, her sly tongue caught you off guard immediately, making you almost choke on the tea once more.

You always knew what to say, and everyone around you knew that. Never to mess with (Y/N), she’ll destroy you with her words. But that moment, you found yourself speechless and hear me out, it was worse than the burned tongue you got.

“I-I don’t... I never thought that way.” You said almost in a whisper, ashamed of yourself, biting your lower lip.

“I think you should give him another chance. It was three years ago, time to move on” she pressed her lips together, tapping your right foot slightly and taking the empty mug from your hands before leaving the room.

You knew that Clara was right, and that was what made you angrier than not knowing. You just couldn’t forget the expression stamped on his face when you told him that you liked him — in a ‘more then friends’ way — and how he just shook his hand and said that he couldn’t do that to you, leaving the empty hallways of Midtown and simultaneously leaving your life.

You had it coming, and you avoided that moment at all costs; but when you stopped seeing Peter as a friend and as something more than that, you knew that it was closer than you wanted it to be. You should’ve been alert for the signs, him leaving study sessions earlier, him not letting you know how he got those bruises on his whole body, him not being there at all.

And you needed to know; you needed to know if he would be there.

Even though it was an old wound, still felt as fresh whenever you heard his name or saw his photos, and bled whenever you saw him, since you weren’t still prepared for that moment. You missed Peter being your life, not the idea of him — the idea of him holding you close and kissing you with warm lips — but who he was, to you and to the world. You missed the movies marathons with Ned and gym classes being silly and late nights deep talks that always led to you two sleeping next to each other.

It would always feel like there was blood in the cut, infinite, flowing through your skin and staining your soul.

You missed your ex-best friend. And you always would.

You sighed slowly, still tasting the cinnamon on the tip of your tongue and looked around the room, your eyes finding those same old pictures that you always stared at whenever you felt your body getting shakier, and then you stopped your gaze at your mother’s face, watching how serene she looked there, smiling by the late and her arm hanging loosely around your shoulder — you almost could feel her touch again for a moment.

Little tears started to form on the corner of your eyes, and you wiped them quickly with the sleeves of your knitted sweater. Your mother would always say nice things about Peter, and no matter how you would deny that there was a sparkle of something more in your friendship, she knew — how could she not? She was the one sitting on the sofa and watching you two with glowing eyes and hearts melting together as you laughed about the silliest stuff.

And she was the one to watch you fading from yourself, the smiles you got when you got home after a long walk with Peter by your side weren’t there anymore. She was the one to hold you after long nights with no sleep and hearing you cry because you two were apart. She had to watch you suffer for so long, even on her last moments, when you were asleep by her side, muttering things in your sleep, the name of the boy never leaving your mouth.

But you would never know more than that night when she held your hand and looked deep into your eyes, her bald head shining from the lamp light that comforted you two on the darkest days and the veins under her eyes so visible that made the exhaustion even more noticeable, and she would tell you to make amends with Peter, because she knew. She knew how good you two were to each other. And mostly, she knew that when she was to leave, you would need more support than ever.

The tears were running down your cheeks and you didn’t notice, too focused on your own thoughts to feel the burning feeling and the lump forming inside your throat, the tea almost coming back through the tubes. You looked down at those well-packed boxes accumulating dust and the words written with a black marker turning to the wall, so you couldn’t see the written ‘mom’s stuff’.

You rolled your head side to side, trying to massage your hurting shoulders that were a consequence of the position you slept the night before, while looking at the board in front of you. A small paper with exams scores hung there, showing you what you wanted to see, and how your name was on top, signaling that you aced it. Your professor left the room and gave you a rushed compliment, leaving the room and you decided to leave right after, walking through the hallways.

One of your classmates was by the library door and you stopped by to greet her, starting small talk when you heard your name being called not too far from where you were standing. You turned around and saw Jax approaching you two, and the girl you were talking with gave you a small smile, leaving to give you two privacy.

“Oh, hi” you said with a small but shy smile. You were still too ashamed of yourself to engage in conversation with the boy.

“Hey” he said, smiling from the corner of his mouth and rubbing his arm. “I haven’t seen you since the party.”

“Yeah... I’ve been busy” adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you looked down a bit, trying to avoid his gaze.

The blonde’s presence gave you chills — not the good ones — and you were thinking about ways to get out of there without offending him.

“Well, it was fun” he admitted, licking his lips and crossing his arms over his jean jacket. “We could do that again sometime.”

You froze and felt your legs go numb, your mind rushing everywhere but where it was supposed to be. You tried to slow your breathing but it was no use.

“I-I don’t think so.” With a small smile, you tried to leave, but his big hand grabbed your wrist, making you stay.

“W-Why?” He asked with his face dropping the smirk, now confusion flooding through his eyes.

You sighed and freed your wrist from his grip, caressing the area and looking at your shoes. Memories from you rubbing your skin with such force came to your mind and you felt sick. “I just don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

Turning around, you walked a few steps until you were stopped once more, his fingers lacing around the same wrist and you turned again, brows furrowed and a sad expression adorning your face.

“Jax...”

“No!” His voice got a tone higher, making your eyes widen from the surprise. “You—You don’t get to do that to me!”

Now you felt rage rushing through your veins, making every bit of your body tremble from the nervous feeling that completely dominated you. However, you managed to keep your calm.

“You need to understand, Jax. I don’t want that anymore.” You said calmly, trying to free your wrist from his hand, but it didn’t succeed. “Now, please, let me go.”

The boy closed his expression and bit his lower lip, a new pain forming on the area of your wrist and you looked down, seeing his fingernails digging on your skin and burning with red crescents he was going to leave there.

“Jax!” You said. “You are hurting me!”.

The blonde raised your wrist and his face leaned down, his eyes leveled to yours and making everything seem scarier now. You gulped down, even though it was hard since your throat seemed tighter than ever.

“Shut the fuck up!” He screamed, catching a few students that passed by attentions. Your eyes widened in fear and you tried to step back, but your body was frozen by the time. “Who do you think you are? You really think that anyone’s gonna love more than I do?”

You bit your lower lip and tried to free your wrist once more, not giving up.

“Who’s gonna love a fucking cunt like you?” He asked and threw your wrist to the side, making you fall to the floor and the crowd forming around you guys gasped, no one doing anything. “You are such a bi—”

While you held your hurting wrist with your other hand, you heard a thump on the floor and saw Jax laying on his back, groaning from pain. You looked up, confused, and saw something that you never imagined you would see — Peter was standing in front of where the blonde was, shaking his hand in the air and his knuckles red from the punch.

Then, his brown eyes fell to you, rushing to your direction and crouching down to help you get up, his hands resting on your shoulders and a worried look plastered all over his face, eyes too distracted from injuries you might have had gotten from the other boy.

“Are you okay?” He asked and you nodded, too speechless to even react.

For a moment, you watched Peter’s hand going up to your face, his fingers barely brushing against the skin of your cheeks and his wooden orbs slowly dropping to your lips, making shivers run down your spine and a warm feeling flood inside your body. You almost closed your eyes, waiting for his touch to feel real when you heard something next to you, you both turning your heads, but it was too late;

Jax’s fist was already in contact with your face.

The last thing you could hear was the blonde completely scared, claiming that he aimed for the other and Peter screaming ‘son of a b-” and then, your body gave out, your eyes shutting completely and darkness reaching your vision.

“He’s suspended?!” Clara yelled-whispered. “Why? He was defending her! The other fucker should’ve been expelled!”

You groaned and slid your hands on the bed, feeling the soft covers under your fingertips and a burning pain on your right cheek and over your shoulders. Opening your eyes slowly, you saw your roommate walking side to side, her phone glued to her ear and a angry look on her face.

“Okay, keep me posted. Love you!” She said as she hung up, her eyes falling on you and a relieved sigh leaving her mouth as she got closer to you. “Oh, gosh, (Y/N), how are you feeling?”

You looked around, a bit confused of what happened and tried to sit on your bed, the pain a bit too harsh on you and your mouth twisting from the effort.

“I’m... fine?” You licked your lips, letting out a small groan when your back found the soft cushions. “Ouch, my back hurts.”

“Yeah, you took quite a fall back there” she said and giggled a bit, the worried look never leaving her face.

“Fall?” You asked, confused about what was going on.

“You don’t remember?” She furrowed her brows. “Jax pushed you and punched your face.”

Oh gosh, you thought to yourself, trying to convince yourself otherwise, but then the memories from the fight came into your mind, happening right in front of your eyes as your back screamed in pain once more, so you adjusted your position.

“Oh” was all you could say.

Clara sat by your side, her legs crossed as she looked at you and pulled back her hazel locks into a ponytail, a smirk forming on her lips. “Then Peter beat the shit out of Jax.”

Now you were even more surprised as the chills dominated your whole body, a sensation of odd warmth wrapped around you and your pain seemed to fade away for a moment.

“P-Peter?” You remembered him being there and helping you, but you couldn’t remember the part where he would do such a thing. “Is he okay?”

“He got suspended after that, so he brought you here.” She explained and your eyes widened even more, if it was possible.

You were speechless for the third time only that week, what it was pretty strange for you, so Clara stood from where she was standing and walked over you, kissing your forehead slightly and caressing your hair for a moment.

“I’ll leave you to process everything.” She said and walked over the door. “Harry is waiting for me outside, call me if you need anything!”

And she left you there, trying to replay the scene in your mind, to remember even the small bits, and each time you did, more warmth rushed inside your veins, making you feel more comfortable than ever — a feeling you almost forgot about.

You caught a glimpse on the mirror that hung by your bedside and saw the purple bruise under your cheekbone and a cut on your lower lip, making you touch the place just to feel if it was hurting. For your own surprise, it wasn’t hurting that much, but still.

But after a consistent minutes of thinking, you heard a small knock on your window, making you more curious about what it was. Could it be? No, he’s still mad... Right?

You walked to the window and stopped there, another surprise to you that day — what a day, folks — joy rushing now inside your veins, and there was the hero, standing there balancing himself with a bag of pastries that smelled pretty good and a small bouquet of almost dead flowers and a small note on his other hand, a messy handwriting that scribbled ‘I’m sorry’.

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