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waitimcomingtoo · 2 months

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Just to Learn That You Never Cared

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Synopsis: always leaving class together to go fight crime leads people to think you’re dating when in reality you’re barely even friends. That is, until you agree to fake a relationship to keep your secret life a secret

requested/idea by @usoppsstar

Masterlist

“Oh, hey. Your girlfriend left this in class.” One of Peter’s classmates said as he tossed Peter a hoodie.

“Oh. Thanks.” Peter said before realizing what the person had said. He turned the hoodie over in his hands and recognized it as yours. His face warmed up in a blush when he realized you had just been mistaken for his girlfriend. He shoved the hoodie into his bag and wondered if he should tell you or not.

Peter saw you later that night on a rooftop you frequented often. You were in your suit, as was he, but had your mask sitting beside you. You were munching on a bag of chips and wordlessly extended them to him when he landed on the rooftop beside you. He smiled graciously and took a few before sitting down next to you. Your knees were touching but neither of you moved away.

“You left this in physics, dingus.” Peter said and handed you your hoodie.

“Oh, thanks. We had to run out of there so fast to save that lady. I must’ve left it behind.” You smiled gratefully and pulled it over your head. Peter felt bad that his high tech suit had built in heaters and your homemade suit was probably leaving you freezing every night. He wanted to suggest sharing his warmth, but he didn’t want to overstep.

“I know. Thank God she called the police on those kids for selling lemonade without a permit. I’m really glad we left a test to go witness that heinous crime.”

“It’s not all bad. We did get to see the cops arrest her for wasting their time by making a fake police report, which is always satisfying. And the kids gave us free lemonade. But I think calling it “homemade” was bullshit. I know Minute Maid when I taste it.” You replied, making Peter chuckle.

“You’re right. Both those things were enjoyable.” Peter agreed. “But I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I feel like we have to leave class every other day.”

“I know. Why did we have to pick a college in such a Karen ridden neighborhood?” You sighed.

“Because we wanted to go to the good school with the good science program. We should’ve known the neighborhood would be full of bored housewives who call the police whenever they have a minor complaint. It was our own hubris.”

“It was.” You chuckled and said looked over at him. You exchanged soft smiles before you looked over at the city horizon. Peters eyes never left you and he cleared his throat to get your attention.

“So, uh, my aunt and I were gonna get Chinese food later. At the place that got shut down for being a front for money laundering but that was really just a front for a second Chinese food chain.”

“Oh, I love that place.”

“Yeah. It’s great.” He nodded. “Anyways, you should totally come-“

Peter was cut off by the police radio he wired to his phone going off. He rolled his eyes and checked what the alert was.

“Damn it. Robbery at the bakery on 9th.” He told you.

“Lowkey, I’d do the same. Their cream puffs made me cream.” You said as you put your mask back on.

“Haha, yeah.” Peter chuckled. “Wait, what?”

“You should get some sleep. I’ll handle the robbery. But I’ll catch you tomorrow, Parker. Get home safe.” You saluted him before falling backwards off the building.

“I love you too.” Peter sighed.

“Did you say something?” You asked and popped back up.

“No.” Peter quickly lied.

“Okay. Well, see you tomorrow.” You waved to him and disappeared again. Peter let out another sigh before swinging home.

The next day, you ran after one of your classmates once class was let out.

“Hey, Carly. I emailed you my notes from the class you missed.” You told her.

“Thank you so much. You’re a life saver.” She replied. “Oh, and could you tell your boyfriend that band practice is in the gym today?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.” You agreed. She was about to walk away when you realized what she had said.

“Wait, what am I saying?” You wondered. “Who’s my boyfriend?”

“You know. That guy with the prescription shoes.” Carly answered. You tilted your head in confusion until you realized you knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Wait, Peter?” You laughed in surprise. You expected her to laugh too and reveal she was just kidding but she looked completely serious.

“Oh, right. Peter. Why do I always think his name is Timmy?” Carly wondered.

“Because he looks like a Timmy. He gets it all the time.” You waved your hand. “And his shoes are not prescription. He just bought women’s platform shoes because he wanted to be taller and didn’t think anyone could tell.”

“We can.” Carly mumbled.

“I know.” You agreed. “But, I’m getting off topic. Timmy is not my boyfriend. I mean, Peter is not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever label you guys use, can you tell him that wind ensemble is meeting in the gym instead of the choir room? The sopranos kicked us out again to practice or do drugs or something.” Carly explained. You furrowed your eyebrows at her and tried to figure out if she was joking or not.

“The label? I’m so lost. Who told you that Peter’s my boyfriend?”

“Nobody told me.” She shrugged. “Everyone just knows that you guys are a couple.”

“Well how would they know something that isn’t true?” You asked and folded your arms.

“I mean, it’s not like you guys try to keep it a secret. Between all the whispering and staying close by each other. Plus you’re always sneaking out of class together or showing up late. And if one of you is absent, the other always is too. It’s been like that since high school. People just put two and two together I guess. Why, did you want to to be secret?”

“I didn’t want it to be anything. We’re not even dating.” You insisted and felt like you were going crazy.

“You don’t have to deny it.” Carly laughed. “I know feelings are weird and gross and stuff and you’ve never been the relationship type, but I think this guy is good for you. He brings something out in you. I don’t know. But you guys are cute. I love seeing the nice loser and assertive pretty girl troupe in real life.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” You calmed down momentarily and smiled a little. Carly walked away and your smile quickly faded when you remembered what she had said. You looked around the hallway and saw another student holding an instrument.

“Hey. Band nerd.” You called out to him.

“Me?” He asked and pointed to himself.

“Yes, you. You had to let go of your saxophone case to point to yourself. Have you seen my boyfriend today?” You asked him.

“Peter? I haven’t seen him since yesterday in-“

“That sentence better not end with “wind ensemble” or I’m gonna lose it.”

“It was wind ensemble.” He said quickly.

“I’m leaving.” You shook your head and walked away from him. You pulled out your phone and went straight to your schools “campus sweethearts” page on instagram. Sure enough, there was a picture of you and Peter sitting next to each other right at the top of the page. You had your head thrown back laughing at something he was saying and he was looking at you fondly. You let out a shocked gasp and before walking out into the courtyard to look for Peter. You spotted him on a bench and smiled.

“Yes. Thank you, small campus”. You pumped your fist and went to sit next to him.

“Oh, hi. I was just thinking about you-“

“Someone is spreading a horrible rumor about you.” You cut him off.

“Oh no.” Peter frowned. “What is it? Is it bad?”

“Horrible.” You shook your head. “Peter, they’re saying you’re in wind ensemble.”

“Oh, I am.” Peter shrugged.

“Huh?”

“I play the clarinet . See. Clarinet.” Peter said and lifted up his little black clarinet case.

“Huh?” You said louder.

“I used to play in high school, pre-bite but post 9/11. I saw a flyer for orchestra on campus so I joined.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” You practically shouted. Peter knew you weren’t happy but felt strangely honored that you were so upset over him not telling you something about her personal life.

“Because I know how you feel about band nerds.” He replied. “And you and I don’t really talk about non-work related things. I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I care.” You insisted. “My rumored boyfriend has been in wind ensemble this whole time and I didn’t even know?”

“Wait, rumored boyfriend? Who, me?” Peter asked in surprised.

“So you didn’t know about this either?”

“No. I mean, someone did refer to you as my girlfriend the other day but I thought it was just an accident. People think you and me are dating?” Peter asked and tried not to look as pleased as he felt.

“Apparently. I’ve had multiple people refer to you as my boyfriend today. And look. We’re on the campus couples Instagram page.” You said and held up your phone.

“Ew. We have one of those?” Peter grimaced and took your phone to see the picture better.

“Yeah. I honestly think the principle runs it.” You replied. Peter was quiet as he stared at the picture for a while.

“What?” You wondered.

“Nothing. This just a cute picture of us. And I think the only picture of us.” He said with a shy smile. You frowned and looked at the picture again before realizing he was right.

“Carly said people think we’re dating since we’re always sneaking off together.” You told him. Peter thought out this for a minute and then made another connection.

“Ohhhh.” He said and nodded his head.

“What?”

“This explains why the boys congratulated me on the bus back to New York after the Washington monument trip for losing my virginity at a historic landmark.”

“You lost your virginity on that trip? To who?” You whispered harshly and felt jealousy burning through your veins.

“You, apparently.” He laughed. “You and I disappeared to get the glowy alien egg bomb thing back and I guess everyone assumed we were off desecrating a national monument.”

“Oh my God. That was like 3 years ago.” You realized. “People have thought we were dating this whole time? We need to put a stop to this.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Or…” Peter trailed off and gave you a look.

“Or?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Or, we lean into it.” He suggested. “We let people think it. We encourage it, even.”

“Why would we do that?”

“People have been suspicious about where we go and what we’re doing since high school. We can only fake so many illnesses and I ran out of grandparents to lie about the death of by junior year. So if people already made up a reason, maybe we should let them think that. We don’t have to go out of our way to confirm it but we can keep the assumption going to keep them from finding out what we’re really doing.”

“So you think we should let people think we’re dating so they stop wondering about what we’re always off doing?”

“That’s exactly what I just said, yes.” Peter nodded.

“Hey. Be nicer to your fake girlfriend.” You said and smacked his arm.

“I’m sorry. I will.” Peter blushed and rubbed his arm. You felt bad for hitting him and wrapped both arms around him to rub them up and down. He smiled softly at you and you sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

“You play the clarinet?” You asked after a minute.

“Squidward made it look so cool.” Peter shrugged.

“Did he?” You asked, making Peter laugh.

“No.” He admitted.

The next day, you and Peter walked to school together with the understanding that from then on out, you were going to play the part of a happy couple. You weren’t going to go around announcing it to everyone or anything. You just needed to convince the few that didn’t already believe the rumor and confirm things for the ones who did believe it.

“You ready for this?” You asked Peter as you stepped into campus.

“I think so. Maybe we should hold hands or something. You know, since people think we’re dating.” Peter suggested and tried to make it sound like it didn’t matter to him.

“I guess so.” You shrugged and held out your hand. Peter eagerly took your hand and took note of the way it fit in his like it was made for him.

“This is weird.” You whispered to him, popping his bubble.

“Why? Are my hands sweaty?” He panicked.

“No. Just really, really hot.” You told him. “It’s just weird that nobody seems to care that we’re holding hands right now.”

“I mean, we are just two random people with almost no social presence.”

“That’s true. I guess I just thought people would care more.” You admitted as you looked around the campus. No one was phased by you and Peter, but he was too busy enjoying the moment to realize it.

“Are you disappointed?” He asked you.

“Yeah. I wore my best bra because I thought I’d be getting more attention today.” You frowned and adjusted the strap of your bra.

“It’s okay. I’ll take one for the team and stare at your boobs.” Peter assured you.

“Aw. Thank you.” You gushed and gave his hand a squeeze.

You got to your physics class and sat together at your usual lab table. Peter looked around the classroom while you carried on as usual.

“Maybe I should put my arm around you. You know, to really convince people.” Peter suggested with a shy blush on his face.

“Is that really something people do?” You genuinely wondered. “I feel like I never see couples with their arms around each other.”

“Actually, I don’t think I have either. But let’s try it anyway.” He said and wrapped an arm around you. You scooted closer to him so that you could comfortably lean into him. You quickly realized you didn’t hate it and let out a content sigh.

“Hm.” Peter made a little noise at the back of his throat.

“What?” You asked him.

“Our height difference makes this hurt my shoulder.” He leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“Then move your arm.” You whispered back.

“I can’t. I just wrapped it around you. It’ll look weird if I immediately take it off.” Peter said as he covered behind him to see who was looking.

“Or, consider this. Nobody in this entire city, and dare I say world, cares where your arm is right now.” You whispered harshly.

“Fine. I’ll remove it. But I have to give a reason.” He told you before loudly clearing his throat.

“Ah. Sorry, babe. I can’t cuddle you right now. My arm is sore from band practice.” Peter said loud enough for everyone in the classroom to hear him. You hung your head in shame and heard people murmuring about his strange comment.

“Oh God.” Peter gulped. “People are looking. They’re gonna know something is up. I have to put it back.”

He went to put his arm back around you but you stopped him before he could draw any more attention to the two of you.

“Just do this.” You whispered to him and pulled his stool closer to you and turned towards him a little. Your knees and were touching and you were now facing each other.

“That’s it? No one can even see this.” Peter said in disappointment. He thought being your fake boyfriend would bring you guys closer but you were sitting the way you always sat in class.

“It’s not about what people can see. It’s about proximity.” You explained. “We’re sitting closer together than anyone else is without being egregious about it. It’s a simple touch. If we’ve been together as long as people think we have, we don’t need to be wrapped around each other all the time. A simple touch to let the other know we’re there is all we need.”

Peter was silent as he stared at you following your explanation. He stared for so long that you felt yourself blush under the eye contact.

“What?” You asked him.

“I like the way you explain things.” Peter said simply. You quickly looked down so he wouldn’t see the effect that comment had on you and took a moment to collect yourself.

“It’s just something I thought of.” You shrugged.

“I know. But I never would have thought of that. Especially not as naturally as it did for you. You’re so quick.”

“Thank you.” You laughed shyly and found yourself unable to look away from him. Peter opened his mouth to say something to keep the momentum rolling but his phone interrupted him.

“Shoot. Sus-tivity on the b bridge.” He whispered.

“What the hell does that mean?” You asked at full volume.

“It means there’s suspicious activity on the Brooklyn bridge.” He rolled his eyes. “We have to act fast so I didn’t have time to say the whole thing.”

“But you just said the whole thing. And the abridged version. So it took twice as long.”

“Shh.” He waved his hand. “We gotta go.”

You reluctantly collected your things and took Peter’s hand to pull him out of his seat. Peter followed you out the classroom but the teacher cleared her throat when you walked by.

“And where are you two going?” She asked. You and Peter exchanged looks as the class snickered and murmured their theories about what exactly you were heading off to do.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Pepper. My girlfriend and I have to leave class unexpectedly. Please excuse us. It’s urgent.” Peter’s said politely.

“I bet it’s urgent, Parker.” A boy snickered, making serval classmates laugh.

“Gross.” You wrinkled your noses and looked at the boys in disdain.

“Fine.” The teacher sighed. “The only reason I don’t write you two up for skipping so often is because you somehow have the best grades in the class. Go on. Just get the homework done.”

“We will.” You assured her before leaving the room with Peter. Peter noticed that you didn’t drop his hand even when you were alone in the hallway.

“Hey, you know that teachers name is Dr. Zhang and not Dr. Pepper, right?” You asked him.

“Oh my God.” Peter gasped. “Is it really? I’ve emailed her so many times and said “Dear Dr. Pepper”. We have to drop out.”

You laughed and held his hand the rest of the way out of the building.

That night, Peter laid in his bed with his phone held close to his face. He had been trying to figure out what to text you to let you know he had been thinking of you.

“I had fun fighting crime with you today” He wrote out. He read it over before scrunching his nose.

“No. Too cringe. She is not gonna fall in love with someone that says “fighting crime”. I’m not Paw Patrol.” He said like it was obvious. He deleted his text and thought of another one.

“I had a good time today, we make a good team” He wrote out instead. He read it a few times until he found issue with it.

“Oh, you had a good time stopping those break dancers that were obstructing that Sbarro? That’ll catch her attention.” Peter said sarcastically and deleted the text.

“have a goodnight :)” He typed out and then shook his head.

“No. Wayyyy too horny.” He sighed and deleted it again.

“night” He wrote out and read it a few times.

“This is good. I can work with this.” He nodded. He was about to workshop it when a text from you popped up.

“pick a color” It said. Peters heart skipped a beat at the vague message and replied with the first color that popped into his head.

“blue”

“thank u” You wrote back within seconds. Peters heart stopped pounded and the disappointment that the conversation was over settled in. After all these years of fighting crime together, you two never really managed to make it past the coworkers stage. He was desperate for more but never knew how to get there.

“no homo but I had fun fighting crime with you today” You suddenly texted again. A smile tugged at Peter’s lips and he touched his as if it were your face.

“ok paw patrol” He wrote back. Back in your room, you were laughing at his text and trying to think of a witty reply.

“ur mad bc you know I’m the chase 🐶” You texted him.

“if ur the Chase then who am I?”

“plssss ur such a marshall” You wrote back.

“but that’s the third most important dog :(“ Peter replied.

“well yes but he’s cute and wears red so the little paw patrol shoe fits” You answered. A blush painted Peters cheeks over you calling him cute but he didn’t want to read too much into it.

“Im wearing red right now😳” He texted back.

“oh I bet you are” You answered, making him laugh. He kept the conversation going for about an hour before duty called once again. Peter groaned and put his suit on before swinging to the scene of the crime. He met you there and stopped the crime before stopping on a nearby rooftop to rest.

“These burglars aren’t very considerate of our sleep schedules. Who robs a Jersey Mikes after midnight? Or, like, ever?” Peter huffed as he tugged his mask off.

“I know. They’re always at inconvenient times. I was in the middle of painting my nails.”

“Can I see?” He asked in a soft voice. You pulled your gloves off and held out your hand for him to see.

“Look. Blue. But I only got half way through before Mike’s was targeted.”

“It’s okay. They still look pretty.” Peter complimented you with a soft smile.

“Thanks. You picked a good color.” You replied.

“What do you mean?” He frowned.

“I told you to pick a color. This is why.” You explained and held out your hand again. His eyes lit up at this new information and he took your hand to see your nails closer.

“You let me chose your nail color?” He smiled fondly.

“Well I didn’t know what to chose so I thought I’d ask the audience.” You shrugged and felt shy all of the sudden.

“Oh. And I’m the target audience, huh?” Peter smirked and turned towards you.

“I never said target.” You teased him and shoved him shoulder.

“I must be hearing things, then.” He shrugged as you both smiled.

“Yeah. Must be.” You said in a soft voice as you stared into his eyes. Peter gulped before making a bold move and taking your hand again under the guise of looking at your nails.

“Look at you. You even got my favorite shade.” He noted.

“You like “Eating For Blue”?” You pretended to gasp.

“Is that really the name of the color?” He laughed.

“Uh huh. It was apart of Essie’s baby fever collection. I almost chose “All In Blue Time” but that’s one tends to get little air bubbles and they give me agida. And I used to have “A Dream Come Blue” but it rolled under the sink so it belongs to the dust bunnies now.” You shrugged as you checked out your nails.

“Wow. This is all new information to me. So, are all nail polish colors named after puns and wordplay?” He asked as he stared into your eyes. He didn’t really care, but he was finally getting somewhere with you and didn’t want it to end.

“In my experience, yes. Not always color related wordplay but always something that makes you go yeah, I guess this shade of beige is what the word “ladylike” would be as a color.”

“This is blowing my mind right now.” Peter chuckled.

“You mean blue-ing your mind.” You corrected and tapped the side of your head.

“I think you inhaled too many of those fumes. Because that was not funny.” Peter said through a laugh.

“What?” You pretended to be offended. “You’re literally laughing right now. I’m so funny.”

“You are.” Peter admitted when his laughter died down. You stared into eyes for a minute before smiling.

“Is that what you rumored saw in me?” You asked him.

“Probably.” He chuckled. “I also heard a rumor that I think you’re really pretty. Like, the prettiest girl I was ever rumored to have allegedly seen.”

“Now you’re the one who’s looney from the fumes because that’s a straight up lie. I know you’ve seen prettier girls because I was standing right next to you when Anne Hathaway left that diner.” You said without making eye contact with him. Things were moving a little too fast and you needed it hit the brakes for a second.

“Oh, yeah. You’re right.” Peter forced a laugh and awkwardly looked over at the cityscape when he realized you were politely telling him to pull back.

“But I appreciate it.” You said after a beat of silence.

“Of course. Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking saying that.” He laughed nervously. “I was just getting caught up in the fake dating. We’ve been doing it for so long that it felt real.”

“We only started this morning.” You reminded him.

“Right. Well, it’s late. I’m gonna go home.” He said quickly and stood up. He had just blown that and needed to leave as quickly as possible.

“Okay. Goodnight. See you at school.” You called after him. Peter swung home with tears in his eyes and went straight to bed, missing your text about having fun fighting another crime.

The next day at school, Peter decided to start over and push last night from his mind. He played the part of your boyfriend to the best of his abilities and opened every door, pulled out every seat, and carried ever book for you all day long. Then he did it the next day, and the day after that. He kept his mouth shut about his feelings day in and day out no matter how painful it was getting. You and Peter had finally moved past the coworker stage and become real friends so he didn’t want to sabotage it all by telling you that he spent his days wishing for more.

“What are your plans tonight?” You asked him one day as you walked out of class together.

“My aunt is going out with her friends so I was probably gonna watch a movie on my couch. But on my laptop with my earbuds in. Likely in my boxers. Likely with an entire package of Twizzlers. Why?”

“Well I was gonna suggest that we hang out but you sound booked.”

“Really? You want to hang out?” Peter asked with much more enthusiasm than he intended.

“If you want. I’m not doing anything as exciting as boxers and Twizzlers.”

“I would love to. I’ll put on pants for you. I promise.”

“Sounds good.” You laughed. “Text me your address, okay?”

“Sure. Or you could walk with me now. Unless you’re tired of me and need a break before we hang out.” Peter suggested as you left campus together.

“It’s funny you say that. I was just telling my mom the other day that I never get tired of you.” You said casually.

“You..you don’t?” Peter’s face heated up as he followed you down the sidewalk.

“I don’t. I usually need a break from other people if we’ve been together awhile but it’s different with you. It doesn’t feel like I’m using my social battery if that makes sense.“

“It makes sense.” He smiled shyly as your hands bumped against each others. He was about to make a bold move and take your hand despite no one being around but you suddenly moved it to hit the crosswalk button.

Back at Peter’s apartment, he awkwardly gave you a tour and wished he had picked up his clothes before leaving the house that morning. You didn’t seem to mind the socks and boxers strewn across his room because you were too focused on all the little things he kept on his shelves. You picked up a picture frame of your freshman year high school class that had you and Peter seated right next to each other. Your friendship had only just begun so you often forgot how long you knew him for.

“So this is your room.” You smiled and put the picture back.

“Yup. This is where the magic happens.” Peter said and immediately cringed at himself.

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. This is where I practice magic. Wanna see?” He asked and picked up a deck of cards. You laughed and went over to take one.

“Is your card the ace of spades?” He asked.

“Queen of hearts.” You snorted and turned the card around.

“You’re the queen of my heart.” He whispered.

“Did you say something?” You asked as you looked at all his Legos.

“I asked what you wanted to do tonight.” He lied.

“I don’t know. We have the place to ourselves. We could do something rated R.” You said with a coy smile.

“Like what?” Peter gulped.

“Watch an R rated movie, you perv. Your aunt isn’t here to stop you.”

“You remember me telling you that I’m not allowed to watch R rated movies in the living room anymore?” Peter blushed at you remembering something he had randomly told you long ago.

“Are you referring to the time you watched Tusk at full volume while she had her friends from work over for the first time? How could I forget?”

“In my defense, I didn’t know what the movie was about. And I didn’t think her friends were gonna come into the living room and see that guy getting turned into a walrus.”

“Yeah, the title and cover art gave no indication that the movie would end that way. But that’s not a bad idea actually. Let’s watch something scary.”

“Okay.” Peter agreed and followed you out into the living room. He turned off the lights and got some snacks while you picked a movie. He hated scary movies but he was not about to tell you that. Instead, he sat on the couch beside you as a respectful distance and handed you a bag of chips. As the movie went on, you got closer and closer to each other. Peter had never really seen you scared before but you were practically in his lap just 40 minutes into the movie. You reached into the bag of chips at the same time as Peter and your fingers touched. You both froze and looked at each other as your faces heated up.

“Shit. I’m not wearing a condom.” Peter sighed, making you yank your hand out and laugh.

“You’re stupid.” You laughed and turned back to the movie just as a jump-scare happened. You screamed and jumped closer to Peter.

“This is so scary. Why did I pick this movie?” You asked as you drew your knees up and leaned into his side.

“Yeah, same.” He replied, not even listening. He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. You were cuddled into his side with your head on his shoulder and knees in his lap with a blanket drawn up to your nose. He knew you were only cuddling him because you were scared but it didn’t even matter at that point. The movie went quiet for a minute and then made a loud sound, sending you to burry your face into Peter’s neck.

“Tell me when it’s safe to come out.” You whispered into his ear. Peter gulped and wrapped an arm around you to fully protect you from the movie.

“I will.” He said in a soft voice. You peaked your head out a few minutes later but stayed nestled into Peter’s side. You realized his arm was around you and smiled a little.

“Oh, this isn’t so bad.” You shrugged as the main character got eaten alive.

“I don’t understand you.” Peter chuckled and looked down at you. You laughed as well as you looked into his eyes. He was about to say something when another sharp sound from the movie caused you to jump.

“Hold my hand.” You blurted and grabbed his hand. Peter happily accepted and clasped your hand before holding it under his chin. You stayed in that position for a long time and watched the movie. You were both so focused on the screen that you didn’t hear May opening the front door and coming in.

“Hey. I’m home.” She said, making you both scream.

“Oh, hi May.” Peter greeted while he realized it was just her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker. I’m-“

“I know.” She smirked. “I’ll just be in my room. But, Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“No going in your room with the door closed, okay? I’m home. And we have thin walls. Just keep that in mind.” She said, making Peter turn bright red.

“Got it, May.” He mumbled. She winked at you and disappeared into her bedroom.

“You told your aunt we were dating?” You whispered to Peter in confusion.

“No.” Peter answered honestly. “I guess she just assumed we were.”

“Wow. She’s just like the kids at school.” You shook your head. “I don’t get it. Why does everyone think we’re dating?”

“I mean…” Peter trailed off and looked down at your clasped hands. You hadn’t realized you were still cuddling and quickly jumped off of him. Peters heart sank and the longer he sat in the absence of your body heat, the more upset he felt.

“You just jumped off of me like I was sharp.” He said without looking at you.

“I didn’t want your aunt to see us cuddling and think-“

“And think what?” He snapped, cutting you off. You gutted your head back in surprise and let out a nervous laugh.

“Woah. What’s going on with you? She already knows about your secret life. We don’t have any reason to pretend we’re dating in front of her.”

Peter stared at you for a long time as the word “pretend” cut into him like a knife. Every time he thought you were going somewhere, he was reminded that it didn’t actually mean anything to you.

“Yeah. You’re right.” He mumbled and looked at the movie again. You kept your eyes on him and felt guilty. You had so much to say to him but you felt unable to speak.

“Peter-“

“I don’t think we should pretend to date anymore.” He blurted, cutting you off once again. Your eyebrows went up in surprise and you got a sick feeling in your tummy that you had just ruined something really important.

“What? Why not?”

“It’s stupid. No one even cares anymore.” He shrugged. “We don’t have to fake a breakup or anything but I don’t want to hold hands or play along anymore. I’m done.”

“What changed?” You asked in a soft voice. He was still looking at the movie while you were fully turned to face him.

“Nothing changed. That’s the problem.” He said and angrily got off the couch. You quickly caught his hand and he stopped. He looked down at the ground and let out a sigh. He knew it wasn’t fair to be mad at you if he hadn’t told you what was wrong. He slowly turned around and looked at you.

“Five years ago, you showed up to the same robbery at an all night CVS that I was at and I realized we knew each other from AP Spanish class because I had asked you earlier that day how to conjugate “poner” and you said “pusiste” and I laughed because I thought you were joking but you weren’t and then that night you heard me tell the burglar that he better“pusiste” the money back into the register.“ Peter began.

“Okay. Wow. That was a really long sentence.” You laughed softly. “But I remember that. I laughed and told you that you better remember that for the test.”

“You did. That’s how I knew it was you.” He smiled at the memory. “I failed that test, by the way. I still can’t conjugate “poner.” And I still think it means “boner” even though I know it’s a verb. But anyway, that night, I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited to have met you. Even though we technically already knew each other, that night put us in each others radars. I could not believe that I had met my match. You’re into science like me and sarcastic like me and you understand this side of my life because you have the same side. But despite running into each other on patrol almost nightly and seeing each other around school, I barely got you to notice me. I don’t think you even knew my name until we ended up going the same college. You called me “Timmy” all throughout high school.”

“You seriously look like one. It’s uncanny. I don’t know what it is.”

“I thought things would change when I found out we were going to the same college. The campus is so small I figured there’s no way we wouldn’t become friends. But even then, we hardly ever talked and when we did it was always about work. I didn’t even know where you lived until last semester.”

“I remember that too. The first night we really bonded was when you fell off that roof because you were trying to show me how to do a backflip.”

“Yeah, I’ve never been able to do a backflip.” He admitted. “I only said I could because you said you always wanted to learn how to do one and I assumed given my abilities I’d be able to do one if I just followed my body. But I busted my ass and you were kind enough to sneak me through your window and patch me up with some Scooby Doo bandaids.”

“It was all I had.” You shrugged.

“And you gave it to me anyway. Because you’re kind and compassionate and I’m just…I’m crazy about you.” Peter finally admitted. “I was so excited when we started hanging out more this semester but it always ended up crushing me when I remembered that we just doing it to keep people from finding out the truth. I really, really love our friendship and if I’m ruining it all by saying all this then at least I can die with it off my chest.”

“Wait, now I’m confused. Are you dying?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “It feels like I am every time you and I start to get close and then I remember this is all pretend for you.”

“So it’s not pretend for you?” You asked quietly. Peter stared into your heads for a minute and then shook his head.

“No. I was never pretending. I like you.” He told you. Your facial expression didn’t change as you stared back at him. Peter was really starting to panic until a smile tugged at your lips.

“Sit back down.” You told him.

“I’m sat.” He said and rushed it sit down. You nestled back into his side and laid your head down on his shoulder. Peter smiled and rested his head on top of yours, finally pleased with the way a conversation with you went. You both turned your attention back to the movie just in time for it to end.

“Hm.” You huffed. “That was supposed to be us symbolically finishing the movie as a real couple but it appears we’ve already arrived at the credits. Now what?”

“We could watch Tusk.” Peter suggested at the same time you said “We could make out.”

“I never actually saw Tusk but I always wanted to.” You gasped and hit his arm with excitement.

“Or we could do your thing.” Peter forced a laugh and tried not to sound as desperate as he felt.

“Let me see if I can find it.” You said as you scrolled through the streaming services on his TV.

“Or we could do your thing.”

Tag List 🏷️

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker fake dating #peter parker angst #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker x you #tom holland x y/n #peter parker x y/n

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joels6string · 5 months

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RE4R Leon Kennedy x f!reader

Leon's home from Spain and the only thing he needs is a familiar face.

18+ only MDNI

content: a little hurt/comfort, established relationship, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, creampie word count: 3k

There were fewer things in life more pleasant than the feeling of a warm mug clutched against your palm, a thick, fuzzy blanket in your lap, and a book resting on your thighs. Your fingers are flicking at the corner of the page as you took in the words written so elegant yet simple on the page, transporting you to world’s beyond. It’s raining, and the brisk autumn air begins to nip when the sun sinks below the horizon, but you’ve been nestled totally content in your home since well before the light had begun to dwindle. Dinner was forgotten after a quick shower to scrub the day off your skin, the world so colorfully illustrated in black and white sucking you in too far for you even to feel the passage of time.

Heroes and heroines, love stories and daring rescues, it isn’t your usual genre, but after enough recommendations you’d decided to give it a try, swallowing your pride to admit the praise was well earned to your friends when they asked.

Knock knock

The sound of a fist slamming brutally against your door has your heart skipping as you squeak in shock, your eyes shooting to your clock to find it was nearing 1 AM, a time well beyond acceptable visiting hours. Another two bangs, and your spine goes rigid with fear.

“Are you home?” Even through the door, the sound of that slurred voice has your terror ebbing and annoyance flowing in its place. “Can you open the door? Please?”

Though you already know who it is, you peek through the small round glass, a mess of dirty blonde hair hunched against the doorframe greeting you. Muttering under your breath, you undo the chain, wrenching the door open hard enough to have none other than Leon S. Kennedy toppling over face-first at your feet.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you spit, your tone laced with so much venom even you feel its poison.

“Just needed to see you,” he practically whines, groaning against your cheap wooden floors.

“We’re not doing this, Leon. I told you, I’m done.”

“Please, Bug.”

“Don’t call me that.”

It’s almost embarrassing watching him try to stand, the thick arms that usually sweep you off your feet with ease barely able to push himself up, his face falling into your stomach as his foot gives way beneath him seconds after getting himself onto one knee. Instinct has you catching him from falling, and he wraps himself around you like a life raft, breathing in deeply as if he’s been trapped beneath the rolling tides and just found the surface. The desperation of it plucks at your pity chord, and your fingers thread into his hair and scrape against his scalp in the way you know he likes, soothing hushes falling from your lips as you cradle him close.

Your past with Leon is tumultuous, he is a man torn in two by the duties he’d sworn to uphold and the one thing that could convince him to give it all up and walk away. You’d met by accident, crossing paths with him at an event and leaving when his eyes as blue as a summer sky had consumed you completely. He was as sweet and playful as he was dark and deadly, and he’s careful to keep that latter side as far away from you as he could. And that quest had begun keeping him away for longer stretches, his ability to lock away the pain and anguish that plagued him beginning to fail.

Spain had been his last location, he’d told you before he left he’d be overseas for an undetermined amount of time. It had been months. After weeks of checking reports and news articles to see if Officer Leon Kennedy had been killed daily, you’d given up. The thought that maybe he’d lied had passed through your mind, maybe it was his way of finally cutting whatever co-dependent cord that attached you to each other. Someone had to be brave and strong enough to do it, and you were certain that couldn’t be you. But here he is, drunk off his ass and clinging to you with every ounce of strength he has, and whatever his alcohol-induced plan is, you hate to admit it’s working.

You knew he was back, it had been all over the news, “President’s Daughter Saved by Hero!” That happened two weeks ago. Seeing him applauded had made your chest swell in pride until you recalled telling him this drawn-out sham of a relationship was over when he’d brought you the news of his latest assignment. You couldn’t take it anymore, the distance and the secrets, the months away and the lack of contact. It was practically debilitating, but it hadn’t mattered that he wasn’t your concern anymore in those months he was gone. It felt worse than waiting for an email he’d sneak in or a spotty phone call where you could barely make out the words but the sound of his voice still washed over you like a soothing balm.

It’s why you couldn’t truly be angry now.

“Let’s go,” you finally urge, your tone gentler now, “Bed.”

It takes every bit of your strength to pull him into your bed, whiskey heavy on his breath when he collapses on top of you while mustering enough decency to kick his boots off as he sighs in what must be relief. Your lights are still on, and you’re certain the door is unlocked, but there’s no moving now, he’s too heavy and warm and familiar. You can’t be mad, because then you’d have to admit that you didn’t want this, that you hadn’t thought about the way your mattress just feels more comfortable with his weight dipping it down to the perfect point. It would be a lie.

“Leon?” you whisper into his hair–it smells like a bar, stale, musty cigarettes and sweat–but he’s already out cold, too comfortable and content in your embrace now to stay awake.

He sees more horrors in a week than most do in their lifetime, and he finds safety here. It’s something you take for granted, especially in the long stretches of his absence filled with solo dinners and lonely nights, but it’s impossible to forget as he’s curled into you as much as his large frame allows, his breathing slow and easy. The familiarity of it drags you under, your eyes drifting closed as your fingers scratch soothingly up and down his spine.

******

Butter crackles and pops over the hum of your podcast coming through the small speaker beside the sink. Early morning light filters in through the paper shades still drawn in the kitchen, the tiles cool on your bare feet while you chop fruit and various toppings for the omelet you’ve been thinking about making since last night.

Leon was still in bed, getting out from beneath his heavy body without waking him could be considered your morning workout. He hadn’t moved an inch all night from where he’d fallen asleep pressed to your chest. When your rumbling stomach had become too much to bear you’d had to pull away, despite how little you found yourself wanting to.

“That smells good,” a sheepish voice calls from the doorway, your head turning to find Leon slumped against the frame scratching the back of his head, his eyes avoiding yours, “I’ll go. I’m sorry for showing up like this. Thanks…for not kicking me out onto the street.”

“You can stay. Just take a shower. I can smell you from here.”

He laughs, his face lighting up enough to wash away the harrowing look he’d been wearing, “You didn’t throw my clothes out onto the curb?”

“I didn’t, actually. I like your shirts.”

“Well, they look better on you anyway.”

Ten minutes later as you plate fruit and omelets and pull two slices of bread from the bag on the counter, you hear him approaching, and you don’t even try to suppress the happy little smile settling on your lips. Flicking the toaster on as you spin, you soak in the sight of him turning into the room that always looks smaller when he’s in it. His hair is still damp and hanging loosely in his face, the shirt that was too tight months ago now on the verge of tearing at the seams when he reaches up to comb his locks out of his eyes. He looks better, the color returning to his face and the glow to the sea glass eyes you’d swam in so many times before. Your throat seizes for a moment when he flashes you a content smirk.

“What the hell happened?” you ask, your breath hitching when his arms cage you against the counter, his lips centimeters from yours.

“I forgot how pretty you look in the morning,” he whispers, his thumb and pointer tipping your chin up softly.

He gives you no time to comment on the blatant deflection, his pouty lips pressing to yours as he cups the back of your head, groaning when you reciprocate eagerly. Immediately, your hands find the warm, solid stretch of his chest, your hand falling instinctually to the steady beat of his heart. You’d learned early on that every symphony it beat into your ear as you laid on his chest could be the last, so the gentle taps against your palm are a welcome reminder that he’s still here. The dangers he faced had yet to lay claim.

“Missed you, Bug,” he murmurs against your lips, his nose nuzzling yours.

“Missed you, too,” you finally confirm, his relieved huff of laughter hot on your skin as he sighs in relief, kissing your forehead.

“Still mad at me?”

“Not til the next time you leave.”

“Gonna let me in the house when I get back?”

“If you’re lucky.”

It’s easy to tell he’s trying to control himself, the hardened bulge pressing against your inner thigh giving him away. His lips can’t stop pressing against yours, taking advantage of every pause in the conversation to peck at your still-speaking mouth, your arms finally wrapping around his neck warmly, his head burying into the crook of your neck. You lean your head against him, cradling him in the way you know he loves, his deep, content breaths heating the thin skin of your throat.

“I’m never lucky,” he sighs, and your heart aches for him.

This time is different, and you don’t know why. He always comes back battered and bruised both mentally and physically, but this time seems to have affected him even more than all the others. You don’t ask for details, he won’t tell you anyway, but you know he can work through it here, however slowly.

“You have a key, Leon,” you remind him with a chuckle, threading your fingers into his hair, “You can get in whenever you want.”

“You have to want me here,” he mumbles, “I have my own bed to sleep alone in.”

“I want you here.”

With those words, you pull his head up to stare into his tired eyes. You do want him here, and though your last outburst certainly had given him reason to think you didn’t, you hope he believes you now in the warm, soft realm of your embrace.

“I want you here,” you repeat, “I want you here. Not there. Do you know what it’s like when you’re away?! I make myself sick, obsessing over the news and…and obituaries…”

You pull away to read the guilt falling over his features. It had come out harsher than you intended to, but the point was made.

“I love you,” you whisper and then watch as he shatters.

“Saying things like that might make me consider retirement,” he chokes out, closing the space you’d made and leaning his forehead against yours.

“Oh yeah?” you respond, a sultry lilt to your tone as your hand drifts to the waistband of his sweatpants. “And what might convince you then?”

Before he can answer, your hand grips his already stiffened length, the way his breath trembles as you tug slowly sending a surge to your core. It takes him a moment to recalibrate as you drag your hand over him, and when he does, the ease at which he hoists you onto the counter makes you yelp, your arms wrapping around his neck as he wrestles your shorts off your hips.

As soon as you’re free, you spread your legs wide, ready for his body to notch between them in a perfect fit, but instead, he sinks to the floor. Teeth graze over your inner thighs, just the thought of how close his mouth is makes your cunt clench around nothing but anticipation. Rough hands loop around your legs, pulling you closer to the edge before pressing his lips to your clit and suckling just enough to make you buck up against his face. His hair is soft when you knot your fingers through it and lean back against the cabinet behind you, his tongue probing into your fluttering hole greedily as he seeks to reacquaint with what he’d missed.

Muffled groans are vibrating against you as he weaves through your slit, lapping at your juices leaking free before petitioning for more at your swollen bundle of nerves. You can see your arousal shining on his face when he pauses to take a lungful of air through a slackened jaw, his eyes as lidded as they were last night under the effect of alcohol. It’s shameless and unhindered the way he takes his fill, not that he was ever very timid before, but this time it feels like he wants and needs more, or maybe like he’d been afraid he’d never get to do this again.

You can already tell he won’t relent until you come on his mouth, so as the coil in your belly winds ever tighter you tug him by the blonde knots in your fist where you need him, enjoying the way he whined against your slick skin appreciatively. Two fingers slip inside you as his lips lock around your nub, curving and pressing the soft patch on your inner wall that has your vision flashing white. Every nerve is standing on edge as you lose control, your toes curling and fingers tugging on his hair hard enough it has to hurt, but he doesn’t stop or protest.

“Leon!” you cry out as you finally release his head to brace yourself on the countertop’s edge, “Lee-hmmm…”

His name is the last coherent word you get out before it’s only feral moans of bliss. You’re so close it’s like a fire burning in your limbs, every muscle tensing as you try to withhold it a little longer to prolong this moment where all you cared about was him and the way he could send you into the stars. When the tip of his tongue pinpoints and stiffens to flick teasingly before he latches once again, that’s all it takes to have the elastic snaps, sending a shockwave from your core all the way to the tips of your fingers, your scream echoing off the counters and windows. He’s satisfied with himself, smiling as he stands and lets your legs fall limply from his grasp, his hands catching your boneless body from slinking down onto the floor.

“M’gonna fuck you now,” he warns, gripping his cock that’s flushed purple and notching at your entrance, your response is nothing more than blind, sloppy kisses as you clean the taste of yourself off of his lips.

Your body welcomes him eagerly, sucking him in on his first thrust to the root. He sighs, gripping your waist to keep you still during the onslaught he’s set to release after you rip his shirt up over his head. Broad shoulders and thick pecs keep your fingers busy as you rememorize every dip and curve of his body, the slapping of skin on skin drowning out the pathetic whines falling from both of you as the sticky arousal leaking from your pussy soaks the patch of blonde hair at his base and drips down his thighs to pool on the waist of his pants he’s pulled down just enough. He’s not gentle, taking everything he needs with every hard piston of his hips, your legs quivering around him as you take every thick inch of him with no resistance.

Leon wants to slow down, to savor the friction of your silky walls over his dick that’s craved anything but his own calloused hand for months, but he can’t. Not when you’re so wet it takes all his concentration to not slip right out of your gaping hole that’s pulling him in with a vicelike grip. He wants to flip you around and bend you over the counter, take you from behind where he can arch your back by tugging your hair, your ass rippling from the force of his thrusts, but you’re still kissing him so sweetly as he fucks you this hard, his throat currently being lavished by your affection instead of strangled by a monster. And it’s that reminder that sets him over the edge.

Thick, hot ropes of cum fill your cunt as his head falls to your shoulder, his thumb flicking over your clit as he steadies his breath and his cock softens. It doesn’t take long for you to find release once again, gentler this time, quieter than the wildfire of the first and you let it ember as the mix of your releases leaks free, drenching you both and dripping onto the floor.

When he lifts his head to smile at you, his cheeks are flushed rosy pink, his eyes sparkling like gemstones before he cups the back of your head and kisses you in a silent thanks.

“I, uh, think we burnt the toast,” he chuckles, kissing you again before you can utter an unnecessary apology as the smell of charred bread finally registers, “Good thing I already had breakfast.”

Masterlist

#leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #re4r leon #leon kennedy fanfic #leon x reader

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bookshelf-in-progress · 24 days

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For Love of the Princess: A Sleeping Beauty Retelling

The court was leaving. A colorful parade of nobles in richly-embroidered robes, with bright banners flying, were abandoning the palace with the king and queen.

And leaving Princess Aurora behind.

"We've no choice, dear," the queen had told her daughter in tears the evening before. "The whole palace will sleep when the curse falls. We've a duty to our people. We can't abandon the kingdom for a hundred years."

Princess Aurora, who'd been fairy-gifted with grace and compassion, had sweetly said she understood.

Margaret, who had no such gifts, thought the queen deserved to have her eyes pecked out by birds.

All of Aurora's ladies-in-waiting had talked late into the night--had been working over the problem for weeks as Aurora's sixteenth birthday drew ever closer with no chance of averting the curse. They had planned and theorized, but all decided at last that there was only one thing to do. They were, to a woman, going to stay with the princess. A hundred years would pass while they slept. They would wake to a strange world where everyone they knew was dead and gone. But not for all the gold in the kingdom would they abandon Aurora to face such a world alone.

Now they stood together at the palace gate. Anne, the eldest of them, with strands of gray in her hair, who had been lady to the queen before coming to serve the princess. Lydia, younger even than Aurora, fair and tall and full of energy. Celia, little, sweet and copper-haired, only a year older than Aurora. Margaret herself--tallest and most practical, with wisps of golden-brown curls fluttering in the wind. And exactly in the center, Princess Aurora, with her fairy-gifted beauty that outshone the sun itself. Margaret had come to view these girls as sisters, but as they watched the courtiers leave, she suddenly realized they were all the family she was going to have--that any of them were going to have--for the rest of her life.

When the last face, the last horse, the last banner, disappeared over the horizon, all five of the women stepped back inside the palace walls.

And were immediately faced with a problem.

"Which one of us is going to close the gate?" Celia asked, gazing up at the wicked-looking portcullis. None of them had ever touched the winch-and-chain that moved it. Who knew if they'd even have the strength to? Five women staying alone in a castle for a hundred years could not leave the palace gate open for any passing brigand to come through.

With a groan and a rattle, the chain moved, the portcullis lowered, and the metal bars fell to the ground with a bone-rattling thump.

All of the women screamed.

Had the curse come upon them already? Were they to be trapped here for a hundred years, never to escape? Margaret's heart raced--she hadn't realized how suffocating the palace would seem.

A man stepped out of the guardhouse. He wore the livery of the palace guard and had the first whispers of a mustache on his upper lip. He bowed to the princess and her ladies.

"My apologies, ladies," he said, in a baritone that sounded surprisingly deep for one who appeared barely old enough for that facial hair. "I did not intend to startle you."

He looked young and strong of limb. He carried himself with the dignity and grace of a much older man--had something in the eyes that made him seem wiser than his years.

Aurora gave a deep royal nod. "We thank you for your service. If we could know the name of our servant?"

He bowed crisply. "William of Avenroth, your highness."

Aurora gave her sweetest smile. "We are pleased to know you, and we beg your forgiveness for our outburst. We had thought ourselves alone in the palace."

"You are alone, your highness," William said. "Everyone left, save for me."

"You did not wish to escape the curse?"

William bowed again. "I have a duty, your highness, to protect the princess. All other considerations fade before that calling."

"Some would say such devotion goes far beyond duty," the princess said.

Serenely, he said, "Perhaps it does, your highness."

Aurora opened her mouth, then closed it. She bowed her head. "I am grateful for your loyalty, William."

She turned back toward the palace, and her beautiful face was pensive.

As Margaret and the other ladies followed Aurora back toward the palace, Aurora asked, "Ought I to send him away?"

"Send him away?" Anne yelped. "Why?"

Aurora hushed her, looking back over her shoulder. "I can not ask him to risk the curse for my sake."

"You haven't sent any of us away," Lydia pointed out.

"You all know me well," Aurora said. "He barely knows me."

How little Aurora understood her power. She was princess of the realm, fairy gifted, bright and shining. No person who saw her ever forgot her.

"He has served you from his boyhood, highness," Margaret said. "Though you do not know him, he is quite familiar with you."

Anne said, "He chose to stay, just as we did."

"It is not fair," Aurora said, "for all of you to give up your lives because of my curse."

Margaret said, "It's not fair that you were cursed. You did not choose it--but we can choose to love you. Let him make that same choice."

Aurora stopped, tears in her eyes. "Never has a princess had such true friends. I am afraid I can never be grateful enough."

She embraced each of them in turn, all of them caught between laughter and tears. Then she turned back toward the guard and invited him inside for supper.

In the Great Hall--now echoing and cavernous in its emptiness--they made a merry birthday supper, rejoicing over the coming of the princess' sixteenth year, and not letting themselves think about the doom that came with it. The king and queen, though not staying to celebrate the day, had left a celebratory meal behind them--roasts and fruit and cakes and punch.

Margaret had been afraid that the guard William would be out of place among them, but he blended in with ease. He was quiet, respectful, courteous, seeming to enjoy being in their presence, not minding being on the outside of their shared jokes. He helped to serve the meal, even brought some of Aurora's favorite treats from the palace stores, pointing out that they would not last the hundred years. Aurora was gracious, and, as the night went on, genuinely warm. She smiled at William with the smile she reserved for her friends, even drew him into private conversation once or twice.

Despite her assurances to Aurora, Margaret couldn't figure out why William stayed. Margaret had noticed him at the palace, had seen him serving with distinction. He was loyal, dutiful, diligent--but a man didn't become the only guard in the entire palace to risk a hundred-year curse out of duty.

It puzzled her, but she had to admit that she was glad for his presence. Having another person there made the world seem not so small.

The next day was a tense one. No spindles had been seen in the palace since the day the princess had been cursed, but curses had a way of making themselves come true. Margaret and all of Aurora's ladies stayed with her, trying to keep up her spirits and keep watch for any stray spinning wheels. William kept watch at the gates, hoping that he could fend off any evil that might try to approach from outside.

The sun was nearly below the horizon when Margaret and the other ladies followed Aurora into her room in the castle's highest tower. They all sat beside the window, watching the sinking sun, waiting for the moment when the day would end and the danger--so long feared--might pass by forever.

The last sliver of sun sank below the horizon, and all the ladies gave a sigh of relief.

"Could it be over?" Celia asked, with suppressed joy.

"Perhaps the king's plans worked," said Lydia.

Margaret could not shake a sense of foreboding. "The sun is gone, but there's still light in the sky."

Anne rose angrily. The shawl she'd been desperately knitting all day fell to the floor. "We've only a few minutes! What more could happen?"

The ladies began to quarrel--everyone's nerves were tight after the tension of the day.

Aurora rose--quietly, gracefully, but her movements attracted every eye. "Girls, let's not quarrel."

She reached beneath her bed to pick up the ball of yarn that had rolled away from Anne's knitting. "Oh!" she said in surprise, drawing her hand back. "I think I found your knitting needle, Anne."

She drew back the ruffle at the base of the bed. Beneath, they saw, not a knitting needle, but the shining, wicked point of a drop spindle.

Aurora fell onto the bed--lost in a deep sleep.

There were tears, gasps, shrieks--but they fell to work. Margaret could already feel sleep pressing down upon her, but she urged the girls to move quickly. They lifted Aurora fully onto the bed, arranged her limbs to lie flat, put pillows under her head, and covered her with blankets. If their beloved princess was to sleep for a hundred years, they could make sure she was comfortable while she did it.

Celia was the first to drop, falling to the floor in a deep swoon. Margaret placed a pillow beneath her head, and then did the same for Anne when she fell asleep at the foot of Aurora's bed. Lydia fell almost on top of Aurora, and Margaret moved her so she was stretched across blankets on the floor.

All this time, Margaret's eyelids drooped, her limbs became heavy, and her head split with yawns. She fought the curse as long as she could, trying to arrange a hundred years' worth of comforts in a few moments. But at last, even her will could not overcome the magic. Her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, with half her body draped across the foot of Aurora's bed.

Her last thought as she fell into a hundred years of sleep was that she'd have such a backache when she woke.

Margaret woke to a world covered in dust. She scraped it off her face, shook it off her hands, brushed it from her dress and hair. Around her, the other ladies were waking with similar ablutions.

Aurora's chairs, wardrobe, dressing table, even Anne's abandoned half-finished shawl, were all covered in dust. The windows were covered with rose bushes, so Margaret couldn't see what a century had wrought upon the world outside. On the bed, the other girls were clearing the dust off of Aurora--but Aurora remained fast asleep.

"I don't understand," Celia said, as the hours dragged by with no sign of Aurora's waking. "We're all awake."

"The hundred years has passed," Margaret said. "But the princess has to be woken by a kiss of true love."

"Where's that supposed to come from?" Anne asked. "Any suitors the princess had will be dead and gone by now."

"Maybe one came from this century," Lydia suggested. "It's possible some brave prince grew up with the stories and came to save the sleeping princess."

That seemed as good a theory as any, so after they'd tended to their ragged old dresses as best they could, Celia sat at Aurora's bedside, and Margaret went into the halls with Anne and Lydia, in the hope they could point some wandering prince in the right direction.

The rest of the palace was as dusty and decayed as Aurora's room. Tapestries were moth-eaten. A kitchen's worth of food had decayed to nothing. Suits of armor were covered in rust.

When they found no princes inside, they decided to head outdoors. With all three of them pulling together, the kitchen door came open with a shriek of rusty hinges.

The doorway was completely blocked by a wall of roses and thorns.

Margaret's throat tightened. They had nothing to break through those branches. They were alone in a palace with no food. If Aurora didn't wake soon, they'd all starve.

Looking at their stricken faces, Margaret could see the other girls were coming to the same conclusion.

Then they heard rustling in the branches. The thick wall showed gaps of sunshine. There were flashes of silver, the sound of a man's groans. At last, the branches parted before a blade, and William burst into the kitchen.

His mustache had darkened a bit over the decades, but he still looked as young and dignified as ever. Though his face and hands were bleeding with a thousand scratches, he bowed with his usual courtesy and a hint of a smile. "Good morning, ladies. I trust you slept as well as I did?"

"What's it like out there?" Margaret asked.

"Overgrown," William replied. "The entire palace is covered in roses--a precaution of the fairies, though I'm not certain whether it came from the good or the bad ones."

William cast his gaze across the room, and suddenly became solemn. "Where is the princess?"

"Still asleep," Lydia said, near tears. "It's awful! There's no one to wake her!"

The look of selfless devastation on William's face made everything clear.

"William," Margaret said. "You love the princess."

This unflappable young man blushed and looked at the ground. "It is not my place--"

"You stayed a hundred years for her! Of course you love her!"

"I could never be her true love. I am only a guard--"

"It's been a hundred years! Some other king rules the kingdom. There's no one alive who'd object. You have to kiss her awake!"

William turned white and his jaw fell. "I could never take such liberties!"

Margaret put her hands on her hips. "Look, if Aurora was drowning, you'd jump in to save her, right? Even if it meant touching her without asking permission."

"Naturally."

"This is no different. If you don't try, Aurora will die."

William thought, then bowed. "I will do what I must to serve the princess."

Margaret seized William's hand and led him toward Aurora's tower.

Celia jumped to her feet as they entered the room. Her eyes brightened as she saw the guard.

"William! Have you found the prince?"

Margaret and Lydia pushed William toward the bed. "He's right here," Margaret said.

William stood beside Aurora, looking down into her serene, flawless face. "What if she doesn't welcome such an advance?" he whispered. "How could she care for a man she barely knows?"

Anne said, "Why don't you ask her when she wakes up?"

William bent over Aurora--then stood up. "This might not work."

At once, all four of Aurora's ladies said, "Kiss her!"

Ever so gently, with impossible tenderness, William brushed his lips over Aurora's.

Aurora's eyes opened. "William?" she breathed.

William bowed his head. "Forgive me for taking such liberties, your highness--"

Aurora threw her arms around his neck. "I'm so glad it's you."

Caught in her embrace, William stood flabbergasted.

"Your highness," he said. "Under the circumstances, I do not expect you to return my affection--"

Aurora pushed him away and looked in his face. "How could I not? You stayed true to me when every other man in the world abandoned me."

"You do not know me."

"I know that you stayed. I have a whole new century to get to know everything else." Aurora sat up on the edge of the bed. "If we decide that marriage suits us, I have plenty of bridesmaids."

With laughter, all of Aurora's ladies embraced her in turn, sharing stories about their hundred years of sleep.

Margaret went last, holding Aurora tight.

Aurora said, "I can't thank you enough. All of you, so true. You gave up a whole world for me."

As Margaret looked around the room at Anne laughing over her ruined century-old knitting, at Lydia and Celia teasing William--the women she loved like sisters and a brand-new brother--Margaret felt justified in saying, "If I lost a world, I got a better one in return."

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #sleeping beauty #i came up with this one on a whim #it developed beyond what i intended and probably still isn't developed enough #the ending kind of fizzled out but i hope it's not too embarrassing

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adickaboutspoons · 8 months

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Let's talk costuming significance! Because there's some really interesting stuff going on! So Zheng Yi Sao drops the soup bitch mask when she buys the Roman puzzle box full of indigo, correctly identifying it as extremely valuable. And there's a LOT going on there - because indigo dye has a long history of being a hot comodity, even being referred to as "blue gold", but along with that, especially at the height of Spanish colonization, that was of course heavily tied up in slave labor. And I think it's curious that, in a show that has been quite careful about depictions of and references to slavery, and unequivocally condemning and punishing those who endorse or practice it (think the British officers who called Olu a slave and got a knife through the hand, or the French Party Boat where the hoity toity people were either left to the fire or jumping overboard while Abshir and the other POC make a safe escape in a treasure-loaded skiff with a bright-looking future on the horizon) that Zheng buys the Revenge Crew as an ancillary purchase along with the indigo (I want to make it clear that I am in no way suggesting that this is in any way comparable to the horrors of the institution of chattle slavery. However, it IS strange that she is is framed so sympathetically, to the point that she is presented as a viable romantic possibility for actual ray of sunshine Olu, while at the same time using the labor of the Revenge Crew without any mention of any compensation other than a bedroll on the deck and some really good soup...). BUT! ALSO! I think it's notable that every one of her subordinates are attired head-to-toe in indigo-dyed fabric. Like, that is SUCH an ostentatious display of wealth on her part. She is SO successful that she can afford to "waste" blue gold on her peons. And that is just FASCINATING.

And just another, completely unrelated costume note - How Hornighost's clothes were actually a HUGE clue as to Ed being in limbo (not purgatory, writers. Purgatory is a different thing). So here's his "favorite shirt":

I'm particularly interested in the great big ring just behind his right elbow with all the ropes hanging from it. That is sailcloth, my v. dears, the large-gauge grommets being the places where the sails could be rigged to the yardarms. And "burial at sea" wasn't just a matter of pitching a corpse overboard - first the body was sewn into a weighted shroud - usually sailcloth. Couple that with the way the dangling ropes are giving strong Marley-weighed-down-in-the-chains-of-vice-he-forged-in-his-miserly-life, and the shroud-like cape thrown around his shoulders, and you've got a brilliant costume that is shouting "THIS iS A DEAD GUY".

#ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd #our flag means death #my modest contribution to fandom

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dalivanmagritte · 11 months

Text

NCT FIC REC : JEONG JAEHYUN

back to the nct fic rec

just us. (fav, smut, fluff, royal!au)

promise of duke (fav, smut, nobless!au)

oops, baby (i love you) (fav, smut, fluff, angstish, modern royal!au)

a summer love (fav, fluff, suggestive, 60's!au, smalltowngirl!au)

seeds of pomegranate (fav, angst, smut, fluff, greek mythology!au)

just us. (smut, fluff, royal!au)

team captain (smut, fluff, college!au)

sleep well? (smut, incubus!au)

of sunrise and roses (fluff, suggestive, demigod!au, mythology!au)

on the shore of the styx (angst, mythology!au)

son of zeus (fluff, demigod!au, mythology!au)

son of lachesis (fluff, angstish, demigod!au, mythology!au)

son of dionysus (angst, demigod!au, mythology!au)

the charming (smut, housemate!au, college!au)

not so charming (fluff, hogwarts!au)

romanée-conti (smut, fluff, sugardaddy!au)

the v week spy (smut, fluff, college!au, stvalentine!au)

king of the streets (smut, fluff, angst, streetracer!au, journalist!au)

begin again (smut, angst)

die in your arms (smut, angst, spooky!au)

just friends (fluff, college!au)

i've got my eye on you (fluff, deaf!jaehyun)

rose bud (smut, fluff, angstish, college!au)

pregnant partner (fluff, smut)

je ne sais quoi (fluff, suggestive)

two worlds appart part.2 (angst, smut, royal!au)

midday reverie (smut, angst, fluff, abo!au)

twilight (smut, vampire!au)

boy toy (smut)

body party (smut, boxer!au)

milf (smut, fluff, milf!au)

no distraction (smut)

one of the girls (smut, neighbor!au)

sleep well, princess (fluff, smut, brotherbff!au)

horizon (smut, office!au, ceo!au)

chained (smut, arranged marriage!au)

Fucking up the sheets (smut)

back for more (smut)

our little secret (smut, ceo!au)

shapeshifter wolf (fluff, angst, witch!au, shapeshifter!au)

teacher's pet (smut, teacher!au)

deadly kiss (smut, office!au)

head over broomsticks (fluff, suggestive, hogwarts!au)

jaehyun's new secretary (smut, office!au, ceo!au)

stress no more (smut, ceo!au)

make a mess for me (smut)

racer (smut, angst, streetracer!au)

trick or treat (smut, halloween!au, dad!jaehyun, neighbour!reader, ceo!au)

trick or treat (smut, halloween!au, neighbour!au, voyeur!au)

a nonsense christmas (smut, camgirl!au)

christmas puppy (smut, fluff)

cockwarming (smut)

runway (angst, fluff, smutish, e2l!au, fashion!au)

stars, moons & other celestial bodies (angstish, fluff, retro!au)

you have one missed call (smut)

wrong hands (smut, bodyguard!au, mafia!au)

tits obsessed (smut)

19:30 (smut)

heart aches (smut)

honeymoon avenue (smut, angstish)

around the corner (fluff, angst, rich!au)

deadly kiss (smut, fluff, office!au, architect!au, engineer!au)

boyfriend material (fluff, fake dating!au, angstish, college!au)

7:37 (fluff, college!au)

baby making (smut, new parents!au)

hearts won at practice (fluff, smut, junior footballplayer!au)

pastas? (fluff)

that's it (smut)

popsicle (smut)

perv! jaehyun (smut)

perfume (smut, werewolf!au, witch!au)

danger x johnny (smut, abo!au)

can you handle it? x johnny, jeno, jaemin (smut)

i wanna make you scream (smut, ghostface!au)

send in the clowns x mark x haechan (smut, halloween!au)

#nct #jaehyun #smut #fluff #nct 127 #nct fic #nct fic rec #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun smut #jaehyun angst #jaehyun one shot #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagine #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun fic #jaehyun fanfic #nct 127 smut #nct smut

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yourlocaltreesimp · 9 months

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How would the yandere chain react to a violinist reader? Who's REALLY amazing at playing, I'm talking lindsey stirling amazing ( if you don't know her, she is an phenomenal violinist, highly recommend listening to her music on YouTube) reader enchanting the chain as they gracefully dance as they beautifully play, maybe fairies, blubees, and wildlife come to watch, perhaps even satori themselves come to see.

Ohhhh! I love the way you think!

TW: Some obsessiveness on the behalf of the chain, as per usual with yandere requests. I am not a violinist, I used to be a cellist. I am unfamiliar with the most of it as that was a while ago.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You hadn’t fully guessed you’d have missed playing your violin so much. At first, you thought this would be a nice break from intense practicing and balancing life with your talents… but now you weren’t so sure. Nearly seven hyrules in and you’d yet to have found one. But hope was not lost. Falling into Wild pt. 2’s world -Sage for short- was jarring at first, but no changes couldn’t be adapted to. In fact, you’d almost forgotten the new world around you when your eyes caught the lacquered wood of a violin. It didn’t take much convincing, surprisingly. One plead was all it took before ten rupee wallets were out of pockets. After the war of who would pay for it, reminiscent on any family gathering, Sage footed the bill. Much begrudgingly of the others.

Outskirt Stable was quite lovely. Quiet and calm with a beautiful mountain in the near distance, it was a perfect rest stop. And also perfect for a chance to play. You were able to convince the chain into letting you practice alone first before playing for all of them, taking quick paces toward Mount Satori. You didn’t notice the sun dip below the horizon as you kept playing onward and onward until your memory of which string was plucked or where your fingers were supposed to press against the neck inevitably ran short. But it happened less than one would expect. The notes rose and dived like a swallow, nimble and fluid. You let the music carry you as your eye fluttered shut and the ballad embraced you. You were reminded of just how much you loved doing this. When the notes slowed and tapered off, hanging in the air and they drifted away, you opened your eyes. Only to be met with many more staring back. Tiny blue bunnies gathered at your feet. Little eyes baring into you as they chittered, almost if in applause or appreciation. They glowed softly, a calming blue which much reminded you of the music you’d just played. You lifted your violin back up and they all went quiet again, still gathered at your feet. The next turn you played was slow and steady, swelling softly before fading, only to be met with another rise. Like the soft pink sakura blossoms as they fell off the twisted old tree. You disregarded the strong blue glow behind you, presuming more money bunnies sorry i had to had gathered to see the show. But the nudge between your shoulders alerted you otherwise. You allowed yourself a gasp as you finished playing, turning to greet what stood behind you. Now, seeing the small glowing rabbits, while a little alarming, we’re rather cute and wholesome. But this… it was majestic. It held three of the faces from the rabbits, pale and with inquisitive yellow eyes that seemed wiser than any god. But it had the body of a horse, strong and capable. You almost saw it fitting to bow your head to the creature, as it held so much majesty it had to have been of importance. But it instead dipped its head to you, pressing forward so you could place your hand on its mane. It cooed, much like a happy bird, eyes flickering shut. The bunnies chittered among themselves happily. But as lovely as the sight was… you knew you’d be in deep shit. You were already late.

“(y/n)?” You jumped, you’ll admit. Hyrule seemed nearly as alarmed, the rabbits scattering as he pronounced himself and the larger of them -their lord, as you bestowed him- took a few steps back.

“I’m so sorry I-“ You began your apologies, but were cut short.

“No need, c’mon, Let’s go.” He nodded in respect to the lord before gesturing for you to follow… an odd endearing glint in his eye that lacked to be there before. You turned and left, following Hyrule back to the stable.

What you weren’t aware of, however, was the group watching you play the whole time. Hidden one way or another was the whole chain, utterly spellbound by your performance. Sky itching to play with you and adapt the ballads of his time to your violin. Time reminiscing on his time with the kokiri and their love of music… how much they would adore your tunes. Wind wanted to know if you knew any sea shanties. Sage and Wild basked in the music and adored the sight of you and the Lord of Mt. Satori. Legend was jealous of the other rabbits which got to admire you so closely, which held the softness of your attention. It reminded Four of the festivals he used to visit with his grandfather, and Twilight of the ones they held in castle town the ones required he visit. But he’d go to all of them if you were there. But Hyrule? He was captivated. Afterall, faeries bless those good with much talents, revelling with only the best of musicians and artists of the mortal realm, for which you would surly qualify. They all had their reasons for loving you, but that was now tenfold. And you’d get no rest.

#firreplies #linked universe #legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #link x reader #yandere linked universe #link x you #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #x reader #yandere link x reader #yan!chainxreader #yan!chain #lu sage #yan!sage #fir’s library

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galebrainrot2024 · 3 months

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GalexYou Dinner Party Part 1/3

I didn't manage to finish the next enemies to lovers part (I got half way!). I DID manage to write the start of a Dinner Party short series based on the @thebitchycloudpainter's idea. THANK YOU :D this was a hoot to begin to write.

Summary: As you and Gale settle into your life post-elder brain, you pitch the idea of gathering everyone for a dinner party in Waterdeep. Gale begins the whirlwind of preparation, setting the stage for the party itself. Content: fluff, some angst, mutual pining, mention of chronic pain, mostly fluff tho for the Sunday scaries

Master List |

It was hardly a few months time when Gale began to lament about how long it had been since you and your companions saw one another. As the stillness of life settled around you and he, you realized how much stimulation Gale needed to feel satisfied. He was endlessly curious and in many ways, your almost cataclysmic adventure was well suited for his temperament.

Despite his aching knees and persistent gnawing where the orb once nestled and despite some days where he was unable to find the energy to rise from bed, he craved excitement. In incremental and practical doses, for the most part.

When you tossed the idea of a dinner party half-heartedly, you were startled when he took it and began to weave together an elaborate chain of thoughts. He shot up, enthusiasm coursing through his veins as he spoke louder, his hands gesturing in wilder strokes as he went on: “Oh! Yes! What a fantastic idea, I knew I loved you.” He smirked and shot a wink, before pressing his fist against his pursed lips. “Should there be invitations? Of course there should be, Gale. Don’t be silly. Lest we forget our manners - Tara would never allow it, let alone my mother.” He shot you a knowing look, brows raised. He began to pace. “Invitations always feel a little.. old fashioned and archaic.” He stopped to catch his breath and you felt heat spread across your cheeks as you beamed at him. Although the idea of a dinner party knotted your stomach, to bring Gale joy and see him so exuberant, it would be worth it. “Listen to me, drolling on,” he took one of your hands and brought it to his lips. His hot breath against your skin made you shudder. “What do you envision my love? We could very well use the sending stones. How decadent though, to send out invitations for something as simple as a dinner!” He dropped your hand after kissing it once more, the energy whirring through him. He walked towards the picture window, watching the sun dip lazily on the horizon. “Everyone loves receiving proper mail, wouldn’t you agree?” He turned back to face you and you felt butterflies twist your stomach when blush coated his cheeks. He looked bashful, his large brown eyes honeyed pools. “Why are you looking at me as if I’ve sprouted tentacles?” Gale’s eyes glinted with mischief. He loved teasing you. Once he realized though, a soft, “ah” escaped his lips. “It’s because I’m getting caught up again, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you said, stepping forward to wrap an arm around his waist and pulled him toward you. You brushed a stray hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear. You love how he leaned into your touch, igniting your skin as it sung with his. “I love it when you get carried away, please continue.”

“Are you certain this is something you want to do? I have a few faint ideas on how to reach Karlach and Wyll. Ah! And I’m sure Tara wouldn’t mind me joining her and Wither’s Wednesday Tea Time - she’s been pestering me to join her for some time. Perhaps I can seek out his assistance. OH! And the menu! What shall we have? There are so many possibilities…” as you saw Gale’s mind work, you whispered against his lips how much you loved him. You felt him tremble and sigh as you pulled away.

“You were our appointed chef! Everyone’s had your cooking you salvaged from pitiful scraps. I’m sure whatever you prepare, it will be excellent and they will be thrilled. Think about how inspired everyone will be when you have access to actual spices and produce.” You leaned forward to kiss him again and he welcomed you in. A few moments passed, your hands exploring one another, lips tenderly synched as your tongues mingled and you tasted fresh green tea. You were enveloped in each other. He groaned as blood pulsed to his groin and you felt heat spread between your hips.

“Yes, but this is different! What if they don’t like what I prepare? You remember how picky some of them were-“ he was interrupted by your charming laugh and gentle kiss. Whenever you noticed him get too wrapped up in his thoughts, you knew your lips at the very least would silence his protests if he would not or could not hear your words. You were happy to offer whatever encouragement and validation you could.

“Give yourself more credit. You’re an excellent cook, and you have wonderful friends who like and admire you - I know they will love having a real, decent meal prepared by you. I’m surprised Karlach isn’t at our door already, eager and ready to eat.” You smiled despite the pang echoing in your heart for your friend. You missed her and hoped her and Wyll were safe in the hells.

At this, Gale beamed. You remembered how he loved feeding Karlach especially - her enthusiasm for life, food included, made those who her compliments touched delighted. “You’re right. I am so glad you thought of this, you’re brilliant and I love you, so very much.” He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you passionately, the kind of kiss before someone runs off to safe the world.

In this case, it would be preparing a dinner party.

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 #bg3 gale #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale #gale x you #gale x reader #gale fluff #gale dinner #bg3 gale fanfic #bg3 gale fanfiction #gale fanfic #gale fanfiction

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ladytabletop · 1 year

Note

A list of outrageous pirates?

She swaggers as though the waves still toss beneath her, though you've never once seen her leave this tavern. Still, her name rouses whispers and they say the ivory-handled revolver she carries once belonged to a king she wooed and then left. Her barnacle-encrusted hat is rumored to be from a stint as Davy Jones's wife - surely that's not true? But the grit in her voice when you start to raise the question makes it crumble on your lips like seaweed made brittle in the sun.

They're more at home in the rigging than anywhere else, and though they look youthful, it's been decades since they've been a cabin boy or deckhand whose job it is to furl sails. They've nary a hair on their body, but their freckles speak to their time in the sun. What is it they are trying to see over the edge of the horizon? What sends them climbing toward the sky?

His belly laugh is the first thing you notice about him. It's a marvel it can escape the forest of his brown, tangled beard. He'll spin you a tale about a treasure so grand, you know you'd sail after him to the ends of the earth, only to reveal it a lie. You find it difficult to be angry with him though - something in his voice makes you want to be in his good graces. Get the first mate drunk enough and he'll tell you the captain's the son of a siren, but that's the drink talking, isn't it?

This twin is tattooed from toe to scalp. She carries a bandolier of blades, says shot might fail if it gets wet but a knife never will. You want to know the story of her tattoos? Tough shit.

That twin covers himself, all except the eyes. Is it because he's as tattooed as his sister? He's quick with a word and quicker with a whip. You think it a strange choice of weapon until you see him on an enemy ship, snagging ankles and sending sailors careening into one another. His sister is a blur around him, rolling off his back to slash a man's throat.

It's not just a parrot on the shoulder for them. It's a practical menagerie following at their heels. They're scarred and bruised, and their teeth are as sharp as the foxes and stray cats that follow them as they walk the deck with bare feet. You've heard they lived in the jungle as a child, and one snarl suggests the rumors are true.

He carries a two-hander that he claims was stolen from a Viking tomb. You'd say he only carried it for clout if not for his muscular arms and back, which he puts on display at every opportunity. The salt in his hair and on his skin falls like snow when he walks, but he seems unbothered by its roughness. Whether swimming or fighting, he poses an intimidating presence.

Her arm ends at the elbow. She's quick to knock you down if you say anything untoward about it. As a helmsman, she's unparalleled - she says she hears the stars whisper. When she makes a prediction, you listen. No superstition that falls from her lips is untrue.

For someone so frequently at sea, they certainly delight in fire. You'd swear the flames rolled across their fingertips when they sat on watch - but no, it must have been a trick of the light. They carry sulfur matches in their pockets, and the captain warns them away from the powder. At first you think their eyebrows are burned off, but they're nearly pure white against pale skin.

He's never without a song. You've heard him whistling while he cuts down enemies, humming while he hauls ropes, drumming on the wheel when it's his turn at the helm. He finds it impossible to be still; you've never heard a sound like the howling screeches he made when clapped in chains.

all d10 lists

#d10 random list

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oddsconvert · 10 months

Text

Shattered #9 - It's Cruel To be Kind

Previous / Masterlist / Next

Apologies for the wait!!! 🥺❤️

CW: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is new master/whumper, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, reference to vampire whumper/previous abuse/captivity, bloodbag whumpee, recovery whump, aftermath of nightmare, emotional breakdown/self doubt (August going through it!!!) [Pls lemme know if I missed any! 🫶]

---

The wind is swept from August’s sails. It feels as though he’s adrift in the open ocean. Lost at sea with no waves or wind to carry him to shore. A storm rages overhead, lightning splitting through the pitch-black sky, dark clouds rolling in. There’s an island on the horizon, a glimmer of hope. It calls August - it beckons him. And he tries with all his might to paddle there, waiting for the gust of gaia’s wind to propel him towards salvation.

It never comes. The ferocious ocean waves sway August further away. Totally stranded and utterly helpless.

August skulks out of Declan’s bedroom in bruised defeat. The desperate screams for mercy and freedom fade until they’re nothing but a distant echo, swallowed up by the silence of the house. This isn’t working. This isn’t fair. They’re getting nowhere. The road they are paving for the human’s recovery is nothing more than them blindly stumbling in the dark and feeling their way around, and it’s to Declan’s detriment. At his expense. Torturing the already tortured soul.

It’s cruel, August thinks. He took an oath when he devoted his life to medicine; he swore to alleviate pain and suffering, to do no harm, and uphold ethical practices. This cannot be ethical. Surely. What he’s doing feels downright criminal and inhumane. Is it worth the healing of Declan’s body only to terrorise his mind? Leaving him in perpetual anguish and dazing confusion day in and day out. Keeping him hidden and isolated far away from his loved ones.

August slides his back down the wall, head buried in his hands. He can still hear Declan’s shrill cries ringing in his ears, piercing through his heart. Honestly? He always hears them. Day and night. Since that first day Declan woke up and nearly burst his eardrums with his terrified screams. August’s conscience won’t let him forget them, it’s harrowing.

Because Declan is scared half to death of August. The screams are because of him.

Home might just be the best medicine for Declan. That is the true cure August is searching for. Declan may not be held here with ropes and chains or kept under the lull of persuasion; but he is wholly and unwillingly dependent on August for his survival. Declan has no choice now but to rely on the vampire for his entire humanity - he’s too weak to fend for himself, let alone chase his own heart's desire. He is reliant on the vampire for his nourishment, for his health, safety and protection and even his communication. His whole way of life. The only way Declan can exercise his own free will, is if August helps him to.

And well…Declan keeps asking for home. Who is August to deny him that?

“He’s going to try some sleep again,” Lucas whispers across the hallway, careful to slowly and gently pull the bedroom door to. No loud or sudden noises. They’ve learned that the hard way. “I’ve promised him we’ll leave him to it for tonight. He just needs space to breathe.”

And then what? Declan jolts awake an hour later in floods of tears and hiccuping sobs again? Do they ignore it this time? Leave him be and let him cry it out? Or send Lucas back in…he likes Lucas. August knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s so envious of that. He’d never harm a hair on Declan’s head, he’s fought tooth and nail to save him. Why must he be branded the bad guy?

August knows the answer. That doesn’t make it any easier.

“I have never seen fear like that in my life,” Lucas slumps beside August on the floor, a far-away look on his face like he’s just seen a ghost. He stares blankly, dead ahead, at the floral wallpaper across from him, and shakes his head in disbelief, “What the hell do you put a man through to make him scream in his sleep?”

Hell. Exactly that. That’s what you put him through. You turn him into a zombie, living dead. A body forced to live when its mind is melted to a puddle. You send him to tango with death and live to tell the tale. Hurt him until he can’t feel it, and even then still hurt him some more. It’s impossible to comprehend the horrors Declan suffered, or fathom why or how someone could do that to another living, breathing being. But it happened, and August can’t change that no matter how hard he tries.

“Lucas? Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

It’s a question that’s been rattling inside August’s skull for a while now. Guilt and sympathy fighting each other to the death. He only ever wanted to help Declan back on his feet, bring him completely back to himself and, help deliver him home all in one piece. August could never live with himself if Declan went home to his family, lifeless and comatose. They may as well have sent him with his casket too. And he can’t send him back as he is now; the tattered man weeping himself into another dread-fueled nightmare.

Or can he? Should he?

“Without a doubt in my mind,” Lucas asserts, certain as can be. He says it with his entire chest, and he seems almost offended by the question. He straightens himself from his slouched slump on the floor, sitting up against the wall and crossing his legs underneath him, “What makes you ask that?”

August opens his mouth, but no words come out. His jaw clicks shut before he can even dare try. If he says it, it makes it all real, doesn’t it? Every worry springs into existence, everything he’s frightened of is brought to life. August will have to face all his mistakes and misdeeds, every foolish mis-step he’s taken in Declan’s care. But he has to own up to it sooner or later. Face the music. So he can do what’s right by Declan.

“I fear… I fear we’re doing more harm than good to the boy.”

“August-”

“W-What if I’m getting this all wrong?” August falters, his voice thick with shameful, threatening tears. As Lucas shuffles closer to console him, August crumbles even more into the floor and wishes the ground would swallow him whole. “What - What if we’re hurting him, and sure maybe not hurting him like that vile monster who stole him but... in a different way?”

Declan still thinks and feels like a prisoner. He was trapped in Vince’s basement, and then he was trapped in his mind, his body and now trapped all over again. This time as August’s patient, stuck helpless in bed.

But Lucas shakes his head passionately, giving a reaffirming squeeze to August’s knee. Lucas is too good to August, too kind and forgiving. It’s more than he could ever deserve in this life or the next. But right now his words of encouragement fall on deaf ears, August needs to be told how it is. And it's plain as day that his presence is damaging Declan, not helping him. Declan is still suffering. He’s supposed to be free and thriving, and he’s still hurting.

“Were it not for you, Declan would have taken his last pained breath that first night you brought him home. Even worse, he could have died a broken shell of a man in that basement, alone and suffering. You revived him. You gave him a second life.”

It doesn’t feel like it. What kind of life is jumping at shadows and cowering behind blankets? Terrified of what’s around the corner. A thousand words trapped in his mind that he could never say.

“I bought him. Like livestock…he thinks he’s my property-”

It’s time to call it a day, and let him give up the fight and lay down his sword.

“He’s just scared, August. He’s so scared, and all alone and horribly confused. He’s been through hell and back. It’s not you.”

“It is me, Lucas,” August disagrees, “It’s what I am.”

A blood-sucking monster that stalks the night looking for its next prey to feed from and drain dry. August has spent his whole life trying to break free from that mould, to run far away from what he’s supposed to be and never look back. Somehow Declan sees right through him, right down to his core. He sees what August refuses and tries to hide from. His own blood, his very nature.

“How could he ever heal at the hands of something he fears the most?” August asks, disgusted with himself. He should rip out his fangs and run outside to bathe in the sun’s agonising rays. It sickens him that he is associated with the brute that did this to Declan. That August’s kind hunt and kill humans for food… for sport. Who could blame Declan for being scared of vampires. August is scared of vampires.

“He deserves better-”

“-Declan deserves you,” Lucas’ tone was clipped, as if his word was final and there was no possible room for discussion. But August had known him so long, he could hear the affection underneath the terse words. “You are the best thing that could have ever happened to him. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Lucas once looked at him the same way Declan looks at him now. With nothing but fear and disdain in his eyes. Backed into the corner like a scared small animal. August remembers the way he felt when they both locked eyes for the first time, terror meeting terror; it felt like he wasn’t worthy of breathing the same oxygen. That he was a monster, and should whittle the stake himself and hand it to Lucas with an apologetic bow.

Has August always mistook help for harm? He must be doomed to repeat the same cycle of pain. Maybe it’s just in his cold-blood. His vile, worthless blood. Vampires hurt humans. That's how the story goes. There’s nothing he can do to escape that fate.

“My friend,” August chokes up, grabbing Lucas’ hands to squeeze in his own, and stroking his thumb over his wrists. “I wronged you. I hurt you. Just like I’m hurting Declan now.”

A thousand apologies could never make up for what he’s done, the hurt he inflicted. Years down the line the shame and regret still plagues him, festers inside him deep down. Over and over he’s told he’s forgiven, more times than there are drops in the ocean. Again, it doesn’t change the fact it happened.

“You saved me,” Lucas gasps in awe, astounded by August’s confession. Something they’d both long agreed was water under the bridge. “ Just like you’re saving Declan. Would you have given up on me?”

“Never.”

“Then why give up on him? When he needs you more than I ever did?”

A fire lights inside of August, determination burns within him. This isn’t throwing in the towel, this is him fighting. Doing what’s right, even if it feels wrong. If it means letting go-

“I’m not giving up on him. I would never give up on him. I want to do what’s best by him.”

“I trust you, August. And I think if you just hold in there, Declan will learn to trust you too. It just needs time.”

Time does heal all wounds, as they say. And maybe Lucas is right. Maybe if they just play the waiting game, Declan could make it through to the other side, unharmed and unafraid. Yet August knows that these aren’t fresh wounds - not anymore - they’ve turned to ugly, withered scars. A permanent mark on the boy’s mind, body and soul. There’s no curing that. But could Declan learn to live with that?

“Tell yourself what you tell him. He’s not a captive. We’re going to take him home, yes?” Lucas quirks an interrogative brow, and August nods miserably in response. Declan is starting to feel like a captive against all intent and promises. “I think if we drop him off in human territory now - lame and pain-riddled, scared of everything that moves - that is what would be cruel. Us looking after him and building him back up for a little bit longer; that’s the mercy he’s begging for. Even if he doesn’t realise that right now.”

“How do I know which path to take?” August whispers with a wince, like the daunting thought threatens to implode inside his mind.

“Humans know so little of vampire persuasion, how it affects the brain and body. He could be stuck like this forever. His family will get half their son back at best. Who knows if his state will deteriorate? If he’ll ever walk or talk again. We can help him, August. You know that we can help him feel human again.”

“I don’t want to cause him any more unnecessary pain,” August laments, “He’s been through enough.”

August was never under any illusion this would be easy. He was prepared to weather the storm from the second he first laid eyes on Declan. Down in that basement; knelt and bound, small and fragile, unreachable and lifeless - drowning in Vince's power. August can help Declan, he’s got him this far already, he’s nearly out of the woods. They could do it, this could work. But at what cost?

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you,” Lucas promises, “Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Always…”

August had saved Lucas before, hadn't he? Perhaps there is still hope. Perhaps he can still save Declan.

---

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for beta-ing this chapter!!!!

Next update will drop on Monday! (7/8) 🫶 Time for a lil flashback to how August and Lucas met... 🤫

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 2 years

Text

The Way Back Home

Logan Howlett x plus size reader

After months of being apart from each other, he’s finally back in your arms

Warnings: smuuuuuuuut, protected sex, slight housewife kink, possessive Logan

WC: 1.4k

Minors DNI

Logan was coming home today. After months of being away, dealing with rogue mutants, he was finally making his way back to his secluded cabin in the Canadian wilderness. He called you this morning, letting you know that he would be there by sundown and to say you were excited was a complete understatement.

You were practically vibrating as you danced around the two room home, cleaning up the various messes you had left, constantly looking over your shoulder at the heavy door, waiting for your mountain of a man to walk through. You missed him so much, missed the way he kissed your head every time you got close enough for him to snatch up, missed how close he held you during the night, hell, you even missed the way he would grumble incoherently when he was annoyed.

You needed to feel his touch again, to hear his voice untainted by the static of the shitty phone lines. As the sun began its descent towards the horizon, you quickly threw some frozen chicken wings in the oven, not bothering to actually turn it on since it would just burn in his rush to get you into bed, and skipped to the small bedroom at the back.

The silvery blue silk clung perfectly to your generous curves in a way that you knew would drive Logan wild. Your hair was done to perfection, light makeup only enhancing your features plus a little highlighter on the fat of your breast exposed by the skimpy lingerie. Turning away from the mirror, you picked up the last piece of your outfit from the side table.

The old metal clinked together as you lovingly pulled it over your head and let the cold material sit on your exposed collarbones. Just as you double checked your appearance in the full length mirror opposite your bed, the tell-tale rumble of your partner’s truck emerged from the quiet woods. Your heart pounded in your ears as it got closer, heat pooling at the apex of your thick thighs.

You scrambled from the room as the engine finally cut out. With each heavy footstep, your breathing became more laboured, your eyes darkened with lust.

“Sweetheart?” A moan shamefully slipped from your lips at the meer sound of his voice, the deep timbre shaking you to your core. The front door swung open and revealed the almost feral man. His brown eyes were almost black as they fell upon you, his barrel chest heaving beneath the already unbuttoned flannel, his dark jeans strained to contain his heavy erection.

“Welcome home.” You cooed and reached out for the larger man. Logan immediately dropped his duffle bag and took you into his arms for the first time in forever. He tasted like cigars and dark chocolate as his lips finally met yours. Never one for patience, his large hands fell to your ass, giving a firm squeeze as he pulled you closer to him.

His hips pushed into your soft stomach, trying to relieve the borderline painful ache of his cock. Your nails dug into his back, your mind going fuzzy with desire. Just as your vision began to swim with lack of air, Logan’s lips moved to your jaw, nipping the delicate skin as he worked his way down to your throat. “Missed ya.” He growled. “Missed ya cunt.”

Your breath hitched when his fingers curled into your cheeks, kneading the soft flesh. “I missed you too.” You shuddered, tilting your head back so more of your neck was exposed to his onslaught. Logan purred in appreciation, his sharp canines scraping against your pulse point. You gasped when he bit down, a wave of pleasured pain shooting directly to your pussy.

Logan’s nostrils flared with the smell of your arousal, the beast inside him screaming to be let out, to finally ravage you properly after being denied your perfect body for so long. The cold chain around your neck was a shock to the mutant. He pulled away, prompting a whine to slip from your parted lips, and looked down at you.

“Are those my dog tags?” You smiled shyly but the way your eyes sparkled was truly devious. “Why don’t you tell me Captain?” “Say goodbye to your pussy sweetheart cause she’s not going to make it out of this.”

——————

The couch creaked dangerously underneath you, shaking violently with each upward thrust. Your hips rolled against Logan every time his thighs slapped your ass. He had stopped speaking an hour ago, only feral growls rumbled through his hairy chest as you bounced on his fat cock.

Clothes and used condoms were thrown about the room, the small coffee table he had built for you lay in pieces from where he had pushed you onto it and taken you from behind. Your body was littered with bites and bruises, the scratches from your nails on his back and chest already healed.

One hand was planted firmly on your wide hip, his fingers digging painfully into you, certainly leaving dark bruises, while the other was wrapped around his dog tags, keeping your face lowered. Your thighs trembled with the effort of riding him, but the way he looked up at you, his handsome face covered in a deep blush, his brown eyes shimmering with so much love it made you ache, but you kept going.

“L-Logan.” You moaned, slowing down to a lazy grind, your throbbing clit rubbing deliciously against the thick patch of hair at the base of his dick. With a sharp tug to the chain, your lips smashed together, his tongue diving into your mouth. Your shaking hands pulled at his dark hair.

Arching your back, you pressed your soft body tightly against him, your hips unconsciously circling on top of him. He nipped at your bottom lip and you couldn’t help but smile as he moaned into your mouth. You could feel his abs tense below you, his end drawing closer.

Logan released his dog tags in favour of gripping your plump waist, guiding your movements. The metal tags bounced against your heavy chest, swinging in front of his face. “Fuck, you look owned like this.” The knot in your stomach tightened and your hips stuttered. The mutant’s lips turned up in a stupidly handsome smirk. “You like that don’t you? You like me telling you how you’re mine, wearing my dog tags, waiting for me like a good little housewife.”

“I need- mhmf- need a ring to be a housewife.” You sassed, punctuating your statement by lifting almost entirely off his cock and then slamming back down. You whined, feeling him twitch violently inside you, the head of his cock rubbing against your g-spot. Sweat dripped down your brow as your hands moved to his pecs, getting more leverage to rock down onto him.

The knot in your stomach wound tighter and tighter as you watched your lover struggle to keep his control, not wanting to cum before you. “Ring or no, yer mine.” He growled, thumb fitting against your clit and flicking it harshly. He bucked up into you, thrusting furiously into the sensitive ball of nerves deep inside you. “My girl.” The couch wobbled dangerously on its legs. “My wife.” White spots dotted your vision. “My pussy.” Your jaw dropped open in a silent scream. “Mine.”

You exploded at the same time, collapsing onto your lover as the pleasure washed over you. Logan howled as he came inside the condom, hands keeping you pinned to him, your orgasms tapering off. The cabin was silent for a few moments before, Crash! The old sofa gave way, sending you both tumbling to the floor.

Logan tucked you into his chest and rolled, taking the brunt of the fall, while somehow, still remaining inside you. He groaned as his back met the hardwood floor, his head bouncing painfully off the ground. “Logan! Are you ok!” You fussed, cupping his jaw to search for any injuries.

The older man chuckled and pushed your hands away in favour of sitting up against the ruined furniture. “I’m fine honey. Takes a lot more than some shit couch to hurt me.” You sent him a playful glare. “Yeah but you’re becoming an old man, James.” Logan, too used to your teasing, simply rolled his eyes.

“But you love this old man so that’s on you.” “Yeah I do.” You breathed, placing a quick peck to his lips. “You hungry? I’ve got chicken wings and beer.” “You know just the way to my heart woman.” He set you back on your feet with a sharp slap to your ass. You giggled and sent him a wink, wobbling over to the kitchenette, dog tags still swinging around your neck, missing Logan’s loving gaze.

If only you knew about the ring he had bought on his way home back to you.

“Oh by the way.” You called out over your shoulder, “You owe me a new couch.”

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itsmealaiah · 4 months

Text

Still interested?

tags/ warnings: reader and andy being friends when they were younger, andy leaving reader and leaving her alone when the band gets bigger, them reuniting years later, p in v, head (m receiving), cursing, mentions of loneliness/ depression.

pairing: andy black x fem

also i got inspo from @buckyalpine so go check their stories out their amazing ❤️

MDNI ⚠️

a/n: finding myself more, trying to get better at writing, expanding my horizons ❤️

your POV:

1998

"Andy!" I called out, rushing over to his house, elated to see him after the very-seemingly long day of school I had endured, knocking rapidly on his front door, waiting for him to answer. A smile was permanently etched onto the features of my small face, impatiently getting bored as I heard footsteps reach the screen-door, signaling he was here. I nearly squealed in pure excitement. "Hi!" I giggled when he stepped out, engulfing him in a tight hug. He coughed, and I backed off. "Sorry, just so happy to see you" I was very hyper, practically bouncing up and down with joy.

"wanna go play on the playground?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. He nodded, and we ran off, laughing at stupid things he said. When we got to the park, I called "dibs!" on the swingset, and he groaned, dashing after me. "come on y/n! that's not fair!" He whined, moving to the side so he wouldn't get hit by my swinging. I stuck my tongue out teasingly, and he grabbed the chains of the swing. "Off" he demanded.

"No" I replied, still mildly swinging back and forth. He halted it to a complete stop, hands grasping the rough metal. "hey!" I complained, trying to start a rhythm once again, but he shut it down. "my turn" he pushed me off, and started to swing, leaving me on the woodchips covering the ground. I grumbled, stomping my feet as I trudged away slowly, anger coursing through my veins.

I went up and down the slides a few times, getting bored by the fifth time. I glanced over at andy, who was still laughing, enjoying the sweet swingset he had forced me off of. "rude" I whispered under my breath, going onto the monkey bars, and slipping when I tried to leap for the other. I winced as my hands now felt sore, trying to soothe the skin as my chest heaved up and down, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "y/n!" I heard someone yell, and saw andy sprinting towards me, his face deeply worried for me, as I sat helplessly on the spiky chips of the small wood. "are you okay?" he breathed as he reached me, checking me for any injuries or bruises, to which he found one, not too big.

I felt a hot tear make its way down my cheek, and he picked his head up, glancing at the watery mark, wiping it quickly. "hey hey hey, you're fine, don't cry" he pleaded, bringing my sorrowful frame up with him, still a little wobbly. He pulled my left arm over his right, and began to lead me back to his house. I felt more tears glide down my face, sniffling each time as he sent me more worried glances at each little noise that escaped my pink lips. It took a while to reach his home, me being quite heavy for him to drag me along, while I was currently tearing up.

He opened the door, setting me down on his couch, and went to get an ice pack, his mom calling around the house for him. "andy? that you?" she yelled. "yeah mom! y/n slipped on the playground so I brought her back" he responded, and I felt my cheeks get hot with embarrassment. I shrunk into the couch, feeling incredibly small as his mom made her way towards my small body, seeing my tears and how I felt about the whole situation.

Andy walked into the living room, seeing his mom next to me, whispering small words of reassurance as he handed her the pack of ice, and she placed it on my bruise. "Hey, you're going to be okay, everything's fine" they told me, and I believed them, a smile forming on my wet face.

2007

"hey, you're going to be okay, you know that right?" Andy asked, and I nodded, tears coursing down my face and neck, soaking my shirt as I couldn't stop them. He hugged me, attempting to comfort me in some way, but it didn't work, as I continued sobbing into his arms, my heart breaking at the thought of him leaving for God knows how long to go on tour, produce new records, make new albums and music. I had been quite a supporter of the band since its inception nearly a year ago, but I never knew they could go on tour so soon.

I didn't let go, knowing if I did, I would never be able to do anything ever again. Who knew how long they would be on tour? Would he ever return, to be with me? I had almost convinced myself that he would never dare to show his face in this small, desolate town ever again, afraid he wanted to get away, to never come back, that I would have to start a family without him, the man i'd loved since forever.

However, I had to let go, and when I did, my heart shattered, watching him get onto the tour bus, the final waves from him doing little to calm my aching heart, seeming like it was going to burst out. I didn't come out of my room for months on end, interests? lost. Passions? didn't matter. I knew I had fallen into depression, with not being able to cope with whatever the hell I was feeling.

I had to move on, somehow, I couldn't keep thinking about him when he had made his choice to desert his family, his closest friends, and needed to get over myself, no matter what it took.

2012

Andy's POV:

it had been years of no contact from y/n. I had no single clue how she was doing, or how she was holding up. From what I had seen the day I left to go on the road, I knew it was already taking its toll on her, the heavy streams of sobs on my shirt and neck making it abundantly clear she was broken, and was going to be broken until I came home.

I needed her, and she needed me just as much. It broke me, seeing her sad face as we drove off, leaving her on the driveway of my childhood home. I didn't know whether or not she still cared, or if she even thought about me anymore. I know I did, everyday, all day, into the depths of the night, the break of the day when the sun streamed through the curtains of my bunk, it was excruciatingly painful, not seeing my girl, the one I had loved for a lifetime.

I had cried that night too. the first night was the hardest, my body sore from the no sleep I had received that night, my head pounding from the constant ache of my sobbing. I had gotten into drinking not too long ago, and everytime something would come up about her, a memory, or a mention, I drank it away, repeating that cycle everytime it happened. I didn't care much anymore. I sang, I did what the managers of the record labels asked, be present and sober-looking enough on stage so no one could really tell what I was putting me and my body through.

Going out to a bar tonight was what I had convinced myself would be best, get her out of my mind once and for all, make her evaporate, leave no memory of her behind, but when I entered, I saw her. My beautiful girl, and my heart nearly stopped. I gasped, my head spinning when my eyes laid on her dancing frame. She didn't seem sober.. at all? That was out of character for her, I couldn't believe what I was seeing at all. She never drank, even when she was peer-pressured, sometimes by me.

Her curves were shown perfectly by the dress, swinging around just as she did on that swingset all those years ago. it barely covered shit, the back as non-existent as our contact these past months. My eyes were heavy with tears, tears I didn't know what from. I melted at the sight, she looked so happy, dancing like her life depended on it.

I began to make my way over to her, giddy with the feeling of seeing her again. I reached for her arm, gently sliding my fingers against it, hoping she'd notice. She didn't, so I tapped her shoulder a little bit harder, and she turned around. Her face went from happy and carefree to angry in a millisecond. She slapped me on the arm, pushing me back as I gasped. "Y/n?" I rasped out, trying to calm her down. "Don't you even think about it" she growled, a hand now placed on her hip as she fumed.

"It's me" I tried to hold my tears back, my heart breaking once again. "I know it's you dipshit, i'm not that drunk" she sighed. "Why are you here?" she questioned, and I noticed she was barely able to stand up straight, leaning on her leg for support. "Y/n, how many drinks did you down tonight?" I said warily, grabbing her arm so she was able to stand up better. "Not too many, like..fourteen?" she asked, tilting her head up so she could think. "Fourteen?!" I yelled, and she nodded. "Yeah fourteen sounds about right" she shrugged, and now I was angry, angry at myself, angry at her for letting herself get like this.

I pulled her out of the booming place, dragging her to my car. We had been able to book a hotel for the night, an amazing comparison to the hard bunks on the bus. "Hey! Where are you taking me?" she slurred, trying to release herself from my grip, but to avail, she failed and sighed. I placed her in the passenger seat, buckling her seatbelt and began to drive. she looked like she was going to pass out, her eyes fluttering open and closed within each second. "no, no, y/n, stay the fuck awake, okay? just a few more minutes" i breathed, beginning to speed up and push the accelerator.

When I finally got back to the place, I dragged her in under my arm, just like when we were kids. I lugged her up the elevator, her drunken body heavy as hell, ready to fall down at any given moment. I pressed the button for my room, and waited. y/n was making small whimpers, whines, and groans as she swayed back and forth, and I was getting more anxious. The doors flew open and I immediately took her out with me, stringing her along to my suite. I slid the card, and opened the door, placing her on the bed, grabbing pain relievers and water.

I forced her to take them, and seeing she was beginning to sober up, which made me sigh in relief. "Hey princess, you doing okay?" i sat down next to her, rubbing her back as i pulled her into my embrace, wrapping my arms around her. I heard her sigh, and I tried to get a better angle of her, to try and see her. she looked like she was crying, and my heart shattered once again that night. "I missed you so much" she sobbed, burying herself into my chest.

"I felt like I couldn't live without you andy, it was hell for me" she whined, and i ran my fingers through her knotted hair, and she leaned into my touch, sighing while the tears ran down her face, ruining her makeup. "I missed you too princess" i caressed her face, rolling her over so she could see me. "really?" she sniffled, wiping her eyes. "yup, all day, sometimes i couldn't even get out of bed because all i thought about was you"

"and now you're here, with me, and i couldn't be any fucking happier, i'm never letting you and me slip apart ever again" I assured her, kissing her lips gently as she gasped into my mouth. I backed away, my head mere inches from her soft lips as I awaited for a response a nod some-

"do that again, please" she begged, she fucking begged, and I smiled, kissing her lips softly, tracing the edges with the tip of my tongue, hands on either side of her beautiful face. It seemed like a miracle to have her back in my arms, holding her, kissing her. She moaned into the kiss, cinching her arms around my neck, pulling me closer. I ran my hands up and down her body, rubbing the sides, anything I could get my greedy hands on. She whined, lifting her hips up subconsciously, and I chuckled darkly. "need me that bad, huh?" I teased, and she nodded frantically. "gonna let me undress you?" i questioned, hands sliding to her dress, grazing over the thin, barely existent straps holding it up.

She let out a small 'mhm' and i seized it, baring her body to me as I sucked in a breath, seeing how her nipples poked through the fabric of her bra, desperately seeking friction as I pulled the lace down, and I latched my tongue onto one, sucking the bud fiercely and harshly as she writhed beneath me, kneading the other roughly, as she moaned and whimpered, beginning to yell my name. "patience baby, you're doing s'good, don't wanna have to stop" she only let out a small noise in response, seemingly begging for more.

I stopped my actions, and she grumbled. "be a good girl and don't test me, got it?" I smacked her side and flipped us over so I was lying down on the pillows, still fully clothed. "take em off baby, ev'rything" I demanded, and she obliged, unzipping my low rise jeans, and relieving me of my boxers, the tent painful as fuck before she took them off, throwing them across the room.

"what should I do now?" she asked, her eyes weary and innocent. Had she not fucked anyone all those years I was gone? "suck" I commanded, placing her head onto my dick, her lips wrapping around it as she quickly deepthroated me, swallowing me whole as moan after moan escaped my throat. "ngh, doin' so well baby, keep going" i urged her on, my hips bucking up in her face as she bobbed her head up and down, her tongue sometimes slipping against the underside of my cock, to which I cried out each time, her tongue now abusing the swollen tip that leaked pre-cum, all while looking up at me, trying to get the knowledge she was doing it right, she was making me feel good.

"oh god baby" i groaned as my orgasm approached quickly, the tightening sensation becoming more unbearable by the second, each lick, each suck of her dirty little mouth driving me insane, fueling me enough to release my cum down her throat, some spraying on her face as she looked to me again for instruction. "swallow" i stuttered, trying to hold myself steady, my thighs shaking and my head a little woozy.

She fell limp against the bed, and I took the chance to get on top of her again, flipping us over once more, and didn't even give her time to get used to me, I just thrust in, and she whimpered, her face etching in pain. "ow" she complained, and I realized from earlier she wasn't quite used to sex, particularly any type of sexual act. I sighed, pulling out so she could get used to the feeling, that it wouldn't hurt so much the second or even third time, hopefully all with me.

I slowly slid in, holding her hand the entire time, making sure she was okay, that she was holding up well, and when she gave me the okay to began, I still held her hand, my other pushing her legs up to her chest so I could thrust harder, deeper, to make her feel what I felt only seconds earlier.

"I'm going to fucking ruin you" I growl, and she shivers, scared. "You gonna let me ruin this good little pussy? gonna let me cum in it?" I tease once again, and she nods, a shriek escaping her lips. "yes! oh god yes!" she screams. "andy! so good-mmph!" I nearly collapse at the sound of my name leaving her pretty, parted lips as she wails from the pleasure, making me thrust harder and harder, and I dig my rough fingers into the sides of her hips, not caring if they'll leave marks.

she gropes my hair, trying to hold onto any and everything she can so she doesn't fall flat against the bed, and I let out a small groan, hips snapping up against hers in a fiery manner. She lets out multiple sounds of praise, begging for more, for me, but I feel another orgasm coming, and the tightening sensation also coming back as I repeatedly hit her cervix, bruising it, and I know she's close too. I moan loudly as I release myself in her warmth, her cum spreading across my lower abdomen as she releases, falling limp on the bedsheets, eyes shutting and opening back up within spurts.

"did s'good baby for your first time, promise there'll be more" I reassured, kissing her forehead, tucking her into the covers with me as we both fell asleep, wrapped tightly in each other's embraces.

#andy biersack imagine #andy biersack fanfiction #andy black #andy biersack #black veil brides #itsmealaiah #andy sixx #american satan #johnny faust #paradise city

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vecnuthy · 11 months

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sparked

@steddiemicrofic pool prompt | 442 words rated: T (for language) | cw: some swearing

The sun dips lower on the horizon, seems to sag with the weight of the early summer humidity and be lulled to sleep by the buzzing songs of the cicadas and the breeze jostling the trees.

The party is poolside, taking stock of their inventory and discussing a launch schedule for the fireworks. They're so eager for the sun to go down and set the stash on fire, watch them shoot into the air and burst into flaming tendrils of color.

It's not like Starcourt. This is unbidden and unburdened, the blazing and exploding purely for pleasure and wonder. And a little bit of adrenaline. But mostly for wonder.

Once it's dark, the older crew insists on lighting the bigger fireworks with their younger shadows close by as they retreat through the darkness to a safe distance, throw their heads back, and shriek in amazement at the chrysanthemumed displays. Eddie lets Will set of a pack of chain reaction ones, then they tear back toward their friends for the show that would last a few minutes. Will settles in among the younger kids while Eddie settles next to Steve, lounged back on his elbows, face pointed toward the clean slate sky that practically begs to be decorated.

"Guess what I have?" Steve prompts, still focused on the fireworks above them.

Eddie's hum for him to proceed makes it out but gets cut off when he looks over and sees Steve's face washed in a tie dye of light — life finally playing out what he feels every time he sees Steve. It takes his breath away.

But he gasps when Steve produces a box of sparklers and immediately tears into it. Steve chuckles, unsurprised, and already has his lighter lit and ready when Eddie brandishes a stick excitedly. It bursts to life, casting crackling light across their faces, igniting luminous blooms in their eyes, but Steve can't focus on the sparkler. Can't help but display the extent of his fondness for the other as Eddie's eyes blow wide in awe, following the fizzing ball of white light that sinks further down the stick. Gorgeous, he thinks.

Eddie's eyes snap up to his, making a spike of excitement shoot up Steve's spine and warmth settle in his gut. "Gorgeous?" Eddie starts to ask, but he cuts himself off and starts blinking rapidly, exaggeratedly, his face screwed up in annoyance. "Shit, I can't see shit now."

"You were staring pretty hard, there," Steve chuckles and sinks the almost spent sparkler down into the pool's water.

"Can you blame me?"

"Not at all," Steve says with enough warmth to rival the summer night.

"So 'gorgeous,' huh?"

#it's firework season stateside so #steddiemicroficjuly #steddie microfic #them accidentally saying what they're thinking is one of my favorite things #steddie

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odetojupiter · 12 days

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riko was born and raised in the nest. obviously we’re aware he was abused by tetsuji and i’m not here to say that makes his actions justifiable or redeemable but. he never experienced time as it should be; to him, days are 16 hours and that’s a fact. he can’t dispute it because he’s living it and he’s never lived outside of it. it doesn’t matter when the sun rises or sets, it doesn’t matter that half of his ‘days’ are during the night, because how can he argue about when the day truly starts when his day is going to start that way anyway. it doesn’t matter that he’s aware everyone else operates on 24hour days, revolving their lives and their time around the sun. because his life doesn’t revolve around the sun - it revolves around the nest. and the nest is soaked in darkness anyway so what’s a little less light?

kevin left the nest when he was 19. we don’t know for sure when he moved to the nest, but he was 12 at neil’s try out, and will have moved maybe a few years before that at least. if he was younger than 10 he’d have spent more time with riko in the nest than he did with his mother in ireland. and kid’s memories aren’t the best. he may have pushed it down as a coping mechanism, may not remember a single thing about it except his mother’s face. because remembering the before makes the after harder to bear. but then he does leave, he does get out. but he’s been revolving around darkness for so long that he doesn’t know how to adjust to the sun. he drinks, he puts bodies in between himself and that darkness because he knows if the darkness calls he’ll go back. he barely acclimates, going to night practices because he can’t wrap his head around sleeping through the night. when he does sleep, he can’t wake. when he’s awake, he can’t breathe, unless he’s on the exy court, proving to himself more than anything that he’s not worthless. he’s not. but the darkness never calls. and that tells him enough.

it doesn’t come calling until he tells the world he’s back, and then the darkness says no, stay hidden or come back so we can chain you to the shadows. get out of the spotlight, i thought i got rid of you. and god, he sees those shadows everywhere. the sun is the worst for it, making blackholes in the spaces where its light was blocked from the earth. but he can’t make himself hate the darkness, because if he hates the darkness he has to acknowledge that the darkness hurt him. and he doesn’t want to do that, because more than half of his life was spent there. that obviously doesn’t matter though, because everyone makes fun of him for being scared of the dark, so he’ll just drink instead, make sure that he can’t see the darkness coming. because he knows that one day it will, could see that storm simmering on the horizon from the moment he picked up the racket again. he still did it though, thought let the rain come, it can’t wash me away just yet. it’s not my time. you haven’t seen me shine.

#honestly this one ran away from me a little #was meant to be just talking about riko #but at this point some one will have to surgically remove kevin day from my brain if they want me to think about anything else #aftg #neil josten #kevin day #riko moriyama #the ravens #hopefully my convoluted metaphor makes sense

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eclairfair98 · 5 months

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“I lost my father to a war, Tom,” he whispers, heat pressing down on his shoulders, burning the inside of his ribs, slamming into the pit of his roiling stomach. “I know flying’s dangerous. Better than most people, I’d think.”

And he sees it then. The purple sun rising across the horizon. Its faint light glancing across the slope of Dad’s brow, catching in his close-cropped hair, bouncing off his wide grin. Sees Dad’s face every time he got a perfect score on a test. Won a prize at the science fair. Outran every single one of his classmates.

Sees the warmth of pride, of happiness that lit up his eyes. Made them shine. Made Pete think that he could shine, too.

“Why do you want to be a naval aviator?”

Despite himself, he reaches out a tentative hand and touches Tom’s cool cheek. Brushes his fingertips down the slope of his strong jaw, wishing he could banish the stress from his expression.

Tom’s hands still, then crumple into tight fists as his eyes harden into pools of ice.

“I want to serve my country. Be a part of something bigger than myself. Honor my family—” Tom says, and that’s it, isn’t it? It’s that simple.

“Then why is it that I can’t do the same for my country? For my family?” he interrupts, knowing that Tom has to see reason now. That it’s all so very simple when you put your mind to it. “Don’t you see, Tom? If my father was here today. If he was alive… he would’ve been so proud of me.”

Pete hastily wipes the wetness rolling down his cheeks. Tastes the saltwater on his lips.

If he was here today. If Dad was alive. I wouldn’t even be here.

There’s stars dancing in front of his eyes, and he can make out each individual pin-prick of light. A dazzling, blistering white. Like Magnesium burning in the air with a brilliant, luminous flame.

Tom’s silent for several seconds, his eyes dark, almost black in the dim light of their bedroom. “I think if your father was here today, he wouldn’t want his only child to fly in active combat. To risk getting shot down, or captured, or killed.”

The rings on his left hand feel a lot heavier than they did an hour ago, like they weigh a thousand tons each. Like they’re rusted metal chains shackling him to the cold, lifeless ground.

“You keep talking as though we’re actually at war,” Pete says. You’ve no idea what Dad would’ve wanted for me, Pete thinks. You didn’t know him. You don’t even know me. Not really. “The Cold War’s practically over.”

“I guess we should write Brezhnev, then. Wonder how long it’ll take them to tear down the Iron Curtain now that you’ve declared the War’s over.” Tom deadpans, his voice flatter than Pete’s ever heard it. Unwavering gaze flickering down to his belly before settling on his tear-stained face. “You know this isn’t just about the Cold War, Pete. As long as we’ve had history, there has been combat. We aren’t going to enter an era of world peace just because our military has started commissioning omegas.”

“You’re being a hypocrite. You do realize that, don’t you?” Nausea burns the pit of his stomach. Punishing and hot. His chest aches like someone’s taken a sledgehammer to it, ragged breaths rapidly burning his insides. “You stand there and talk about the dangers and unpredictability of war when you’re fully prepared to serve in one, if and when duty calls. I’m supposed to live with the knowledge of not knowing when you might be sent off to combat. Deal with it as a part and parcel of my life. But God forbid, I ask you to do the same for me—”

“I shouldn't have to be the one to tell you that alphas and omegas would be taking on a very different set of risks going into active combat duty,” Tom bites out. His expression’s a mask but Pete can see the carefully-restrained fear in his eyes. An emotion so out of place on Tom’s face, it almost stuns him speechless. “Say you get shot down over enemy lines one day. Say you don’t go out in a blaze of glory as you might imagine… What then, Pete? Do you know what the prisoners of war lived through at Hanoi? Do you have any idea how bad it got for them? Imagine how much worse it could get for an omega…”

“What are you saying?”

Pain sparks through the base of his skull, making him drop his head down and press his clammy fingers to his brow. It feels as though he’s slowly being ground into dust. These days, it always feels that way.

How much worse could it get?

“Please, don’t make me spell it out for you,” Tom whispers, somehow instinctively knowing that Pete doesn’t understand. That he hasn’t thought about getting shot down. About getting captured. Getting killed.

“Everyone’s gotta die someday, right?” His throat hurts from the effort it takes not to cry. He closes his eyes. Thinks about his life. The seemingly endless hours spent at home alone. Doing laundry. Washing dishes. Dusting shelves. Throwing up until he’s sobbing from the relentless pain in his head. Thinks about the second line on his test. Bright pink and impossible to ignore.

About how maybe, there are worse things than death. Than being eighteen and feeling like your life’s over already. Than not being where you want to be.

Even if it doesn’t feel that way.

“I could die five months from now. Or in five years. Or fifty. That’s not upto me, Tom. Some things are just… out of our control. But what I can do is make my life matter. Make it worth something. I want to learn. I want to grow…”

I want all of the same things you do.

“And I want all of those things for you. I want you to study. I don’t care about how much it costs us, as long as you get to learn. I want to do things your way. When we got married, I promised myself we’d do everything your way—” Tom pauses for a moment. Weighs what he’s about to say next. Seems like he doesn’t want to say it but soldiers on anyway, jaw set in a tense line. “But you need to stop chasing ghosts, Pete.”

Something cold and heavy swoops up from Pete’s belly. Settles on his chest. Presses hard against his ribs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The heavy feeling worsens. Squeezes his lungs. Sharp and unkind. Almost like he’s cracked a rib.

“I think you do.” Tom’s mouth twitches, and he looks away. Runs a hand across his tired face, looking much older than his twenty-one years. His Annapolis ring glints a caustic blue in the dim light. A potent reminder of all the things in the world that just aren’t meant for Pete. “You don’t need to join the Navy to make your life matter. You don’t need to seek validation in what you think your father would’ve wanted for you—”

“Fuck you.” His stomach wrenches and he presses his hands over his abdomen, struggling not to vomit. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s angry. To recognize the raw, painful thing lurking under his sternum. To give it a name. Tom takes a step towards him, concern flickering across his face, bleeding into his ice-cold eyes. And Pete leans away. Lets the tepid air rush in between them. “Fuck you, Tom.”

Because that’s his father. That’s his life. His dreams Tom’s talking about so callously. Dismissing like Pete’s just a lost little child who doesn’t know right from wrong. Doesn’t know what he wants. Who doesn’t know himself.

“Yeah, fuck me.” Tom sucks in a breath. His next exhale a little bit sharper. A lot less steady. He stares down at Pete’s bloodless fingers still clutching the flat of his belly, before looking up and meeting his eyes. Wistful and angry and resigned. “But that’s how we got ourselves into this situation. Didn’t we, Pete?”

#the unbearable lightness of being #wip wednesday #icemav #topgun #omegaverse #tw: unplanned pregnancy / misogyny (in the context of omegaverse) / talk of death / mentions of war and war crimes #on another note #happy new year guys 🙈🌻#hope you’ve been doing well!#one of my New Year’s resolutions is to get around to answering asks and replying to comments and DMs #so I’m going to try and get around to doing that in the next few days

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