#from my plague days when i Definitely Fucking Needed Those Things All The Live Long Day
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it's definitely extremely funny that after i start writing a smut For Real (not clickbait) i proceed to receive. a fucking nosebleed. like this is anime.
#it's definitely Something that it also happened like. after i seem to have lost interest in writing it#BUT ALSO THE NOSEBLEED JUST LIKE. FUCKING HAPPENED???#LIKE I WAS TRYING TO SLEEP (had been for like an HOUR) AND THEN SUDDENLY. I FEEL THIS RUSH OF LIQUID OUT MY NOSE????#and i'm like 'oh it's like when i'm ill and have a runny nose.' but i also wasn't sentient enough to think 'but i'm not sick???'#however i WAS sentient enough to think 'what if it's a nosebleed? let's taste it' AS IF I HAD A NOSEBLEED IN THE LAST DECADE#and then i was like 'hmm well it's kinda thick and metally. let's turn on the light just in case.' AND WHABAM.... BLOOD ON MY HANDS#okay well that's a lie i also smeared some on my fingers n squinted at it in the dark n was like 'that's awful dark. it might be blood'#and THEN i turned on the light and saw all the blood. my sheets have tinie bloodstain on them now. and also my stuffed unicorn :c#and then it just like. wouldn't stop. but it has stopped now! huzzah#i almost went to the bathroom to get a wad of toilet paper but then i remember i still keep a box of tissues by my bedside#from my plague days when i Definitely Fucking Needed Those Things All The Live Long Day#(oh right i got vaccinated yesterday <33 well i guess two days ago now. we love inoculation!!! i'm doing my part :D)#anyway i'm now chillin in bed with the lights on and my head tilted back bc i'm worried#that if i just try to go back to sleep then my nose will just start gushing blood again#anyway i also went and got a glass of water. that's supposed to help right? right#anyway (2) we'll see what happens to that smut. i Need to be better than my archnemesis at this#tho considering she writes like Peak any two guys shit these days i imagine it would not be that hard!#花話
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hi! can i request steve with, “It’s pouring rain why are you here?” + “I love you.” “Tell me that when you’re sober.” from the prompt list? (maybe reader randomly shows up to steves drunk?) <3.
Hey anon! I'm so sorry I'm such an awful human being and this took so long, but here it is! It's over 3k so hopefully worth the wait ahssnndks
::readmore::
“What d’you mean you don’t know where she is?” Steve demanded, incredulous.
It had been no more than twenty minutes since you’d called him, words slurred down the phone and practically incoherent over the sound of music blaring from a stereo in the background. He managed to determine that you were at yet another of Chelsea Carlton’s parties, which shouldn’t have been hard to guess since all you seemed to do these days was hang around with people you never used to be able to stand, and get drunk in the process.
He wasn’t sure if you’d been asking him to come get you, the call cutting off before he could really make sense of why you were calling. But if there was even the smallest chance that you needed him there, he couldn’t risk not showing up.
It had been almost a month since you’d broken up, and it definitely hadn’t been a mutual thing. Steve had walked around in a perpetual daze for at least 48 hours, trying to make sense of everything you’d said.
“I love you so much, more than anything. But it’s not enough if you don’t feel the same.”
“You know everything there is to know about me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t tell you, but you’re holding something back from me, and I need to know what it is.”
“I can’t do this anymore if you’re not gonna be honest with me.”
“If you really loved me, you would tell me. If there’s someone else, please just put me out of my misery. Please.”
“I'm done. We're over, okay? I can’t do it anymore.”
Those words lived inside his head on a constant, tortuous loop. Three, four, five times a day since, he’s considered telling you the truth.
About the Upside Down; about what really happened to Will Byers; how Barb and Chrissy really died; how he got those scars he could never explain to you; why he slept with the hallway light on and woke up in the night, sweating and panting and scrambling for his baseball bat he kept under the bed.
But he couldn’t be that selfish.
He couldn’t turn your whole world upside down, drag you into the danger that came with knowing about all that stuff, the fear that would plague you once you knew the truth.
He’d have done anything to keep you.
Anything, except the one thing you needed him too.
He wouldn’t ruin your life.
So he didn’t deny it when you said he was keeping something from you. He didn’t object when you implied he didn’t love you enough, and fuck, he didn’t correct you when you asked him straight to his face if there was someone else.
He just stood and watched you fall apart, let you sob and hit at this chest with frustration when he couldn’t even do you the courtesy of answering out loud. He hoped the look in his eyes would be enough; a silent, unspoken apology for everything he was putting you through. But you still left his house that night in tears, car tearing off down his driveway only to pull in a couple hundred yards down the street, head falling back against the headrest - eyes closed and streaming with tears as your hands beat at the steering wheel.
Steve smashed up his house that night - his fist through the bathroom mirror, the desk by his window flipped over and contents scattered across the floor, beside lamp smashed with a swing of his bat, until he was sitting amongst broken glass and splintered wood wondering how the hell he had fucked this all up so badly.
***
He’d been a little surprised that first weekend when he heard you were at a party. Sure, you’d always been up for a good time with your friends - but Chelsea Carlton and her minions? Those people weren’t your friends.
Curiosity had gotten the better of him that night and he’d shown up at Chelsea’s house, loitering in the doorway trying to catch a glimpse of you.
And he did. And you looked beautiful. And he felt his chest crack open at the sight of you.
Then he watched on as half the basketball team circled you like sharks, all bright smiles and dark eyes that raked over you and Steve felt his keys dig into the palm of his hand as his grip around them tightened.
You may have been drinking, but you still had your wits about you and he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t swell a little with pride as he watched you shut them all down, a sweet but stern smile on your face as each of them cut their losses and moved along.
By the next week, word had reached him that you were going on a date, and he was almost sick then and there over the counter at Family Video. Robin being Robin made an excuse for him to dip, and he made his way to the bathroom, hands on his knees and back against the door as he caught his breath.
The following Sunday, he was at work again when he overheard that the date hadn’t gone well at all. Two girls, who didn’t even know you, were giggling over the fact they saw you storming out of Drew Kellerman’s truck at the drive-in, door slammed behind you and tears in your eyes.
His first instinct had been to reach for the phone, to call you and make sure you were okay. To ask if that asshole had hurt you or touched you or so much as looked at you in a way you didn’t like. But Robin had caught his wrist, told him she’d already checked and you were fine - just embarrassed by your own public outburst but totally okay. His shoulders sagged in relief, but he still set the receiver back down with a bang, cursing under his breath as he headed outside for some air.
What Robin didn't tell him was that you also told her the only thing wrong with her date with Drew Kellerman was that he wasn't Steve.
The next weekend, by some miracle, both Steve and Robin had the Saturday off and Nancy and Jonathon were both back visiting from college.
They were heading out for a day on the lake when Steve realized they needed to stop for gas. He was so preoccupied trying to fish his wallet out of the glove box that he didn’t realize the car in front was yours.
You had just set the pump back into place and turned around to head inside to pay when you spotted him, only a few feet away. Your chest felt tight, like suddenly there was no air and all you could smell was gas and all you could see was Steve and you were sure you were on the verge of passing out. He cleared his throat then, shifting awkwardly on his feet and you darted around him, legs moving on their own accord and taking you inside.
The cashier was serving painfully slowly, so you were still in line to pay by the time Steve joined the queue behind you. He kept a safe distance, but it was still too close. He could smell the faint strawberry scent of your shampoo that used to cling to his pillows and the coconut body lotion he used to help you smooth over your shoulders. Your breath hitched, and you swore you could feel the heat radiating from his chest onto your back. Your knees felt shaky, like any second now they’d just give out. You thought about what would happen then - how you had no doubt Steve would catch you, strong arms wrapped around your waist, mouth against your ear asking if you were okay, and suddenly you wanted to run out of the gas station and risk the repercussions of skipping out without paying.
That was the last time he’d seen or heard about you, until the phone call.
***
“What d’you mean you don’t know where she is?” Steve demanded, incredulous.
His eyes scanned the crowd of bodies surrounding them in the kitchen of Chelsea’s mansion, the air cloudy with cigarette smoke making it hard to see and the music thumping from the stereo system one room over making it even harder to hear and he couldn't think straight.
“Like I said, one second she was here, the next? Poof!” Robin explained, a typically exaggerated hand gesture accompanying the ‘poof’.
“And you didn’t think to call me?!” Steve worried, one hand running anxiously through his hair, the front pieces falling into his eyes.
“I didn’t exactly know you two were on speaking terms now!” Robin yelled back, defensive and kind of offended at being so out of the loop.
“We’re-” Steve started, exasperated at not being able to finish the sentence because quite frankly, he didn’t know what you were to each other now.
“We’re not.” He finally settled on. “But she called me. And if she called me, of all people, then something must be wrong.”
Robin sighed, a sympathetic but frustrated expression on her face. “Look, Steve, I get it. You’re in love with the girl, and you’re miserable without her, and she’s miserable without you - but you're both my friends, so until you get your heads out of your asses, do me a favor and leave me out of it?”
Steve knew it was unfair to put Robin in the middle like this, so he didn’t argue when she turned her attention back to an unusually tense game of flip cup that had drawn in quite the crowd, mumbling something about how you probably just caught a ride home with someone and she’d call you in the morning.
***
By the time Steve had searched every room, closet and outbuilding on the Carlton property and confirmed you were nowhere to be found, the weather had taken a turn. The already dark sky was thunderous, raining falling harsh against the sidewalk as he made his way back to his car. He hadn’t been driving more than five minutes when the first flash of lightning forked across the sky, cursing under his breath at the thought of you wandering around on your own drunk on a night like this.
He went to your house first and parked two houses up, like always, to avoid waking your dad. The single-story layout made it easy for him to look in through your window, your bed still made and room in darkness.
“Shit,” He muttered, wiping rain from his face and heading back to the car.
He spent the next hour driving around the streets of Hawkins, stopping off at any place he thought you might be until he decided to go home and try to call you again.
As his car rolled up the driveway, the headlights illuminated his front porch, and all the air left his lungs when he saw you sitting on the bottom step.
The rain was still falling, hard and fast, but you were already soaked and so was Steve. He yanked the keys from the ignition and climbed out the car, leaning his forearms on the top of the door and dropping his head down on to them.
He stood like that for a second, letting the relief settle in that you were okay - that all the worst-case scenarios of you being hurt or in trouble that had been running through his head for the last hour and a half hadn’t amounted to anything.
You stood up before he moved, taking a few tentative steps towards him, the car door he was still leaning on separating you both.
When he finally lifted his head to look at you, he could tell you'd been drinking, and he was instantly angry that you’d walked all the way across town so out of it and in this weather. Your dress was clinging to you, the once floaty skirt of it stuck to your mid-thighs, tendrils of hair plastered to your face and droplets of rain dripped from your lashes. He could tell you’d been crying, eyes rimmed red and make-up smeared around them from where you had rubbed at it.
You pulled at the collar of the jacket you were wearing, it having slipped off your shoulder with the weight of the rain, and when you pulled it tight across your front, Steve realized it was one of his that he thought he’d lost a few months back.
It swallowed your frame, but the look of comfort that swept over your face as you clung to it made his chest hurt and all he could think about was how you were still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
“‘You alright?” He asked, pushing off of the door and stepping around it to close it.
You nodded, eyes fixed on his and fingers tugging anxiously at the sleeves of the jacket.
“It’s pouring rain." He stated, as if it wasn't obvious. "What're you doing here?”
You swallow hard, taking another step forward.
“I found it in Chelsea’s guest room closet.” You finally speak up, gesturing to the jacket as if he didn’t know what you were talking about. “You must have left it behind the last time we were there-”
Your voice caught in your throat when you realized the other reason it could be there.
“I mean, unless…” You trail off, head swimming with the idea of Steve with Chelsea, or Steve with any girl that wasn’t you, and suddenly you feel that familiar sensation of being about to pass out wash over you again.
You begin to pull it off, and Steve knows you well enough to know exactly where your head is at, so he reaches forward and takes a gentle but firm hold of your wrists, stopping your hands in their tracks.
“Look at me,” He says, and it's halfway between a command and a plea.
Your eyes lift slowly from where they’d fixed themselves on his hands around yours until you're staring up at him.
“I know I’ve made it hard for you to trust me,” His voice is barely above a whisper, and if you weren’t so focused on clinging to his every word after not hearing his voice for so long, you’d probably struggle to make it out over the sound of the rain.
“But I need you to believe me when I tell you there’s no one else. Never has been.” He says with a shake of his head as if the very idea was ridiculous, because to him it was. “And I never should have let you think for even one second that it was ever a possibility.”
You release a painful, jagged breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding, and suddenly his grip on you is the only thing keeping you upright.
His eyes feel like they're burning into yours and you want desperately to look away because it's too intense with his fingers still pressing into your skin, but you know instantly he’s telling you the truth.
You swallow and nod, and you're almost relieved when he finally drops your hands back down by your sides and you can think half-clearly again.
“You never answered the question,” Steve presses, filling the silence that’s swallowed you both whole.
“What question?” You ask, head still cloudy from the alcohol and just being near him again, although you’re mostly sober now from the long walk you took in the rain.
“What’re you doing here? At my house. Why’d you call me at all?”
He seems genuinely confused, as if there’s no possible reason why you’d still give him the time of day, and you know it’s because he doesn’t feel like he deserves it.
And then you take him by surprise, and you laugh.
It’s short at first, one huff of air from your chest that shakes your shoulders, and then another until your hands are running through your hair before falling down at your sides with a shrug.
“I love you.”
You say it as if it’s so obvious, so simple. And it is.
“Don’t say that.”
“I love you.” You repeat, walking towards him. “I was at Chelsea’s, and I was sad. Even sadder than usual, and so I drank more than usual. But that didn’t help. It just made me miss you more. And all these people were talking to me and crowding me and I couldn’t breathe because none of them were you, and that’s all I wanted. You're all I ever want. When I’m sad, or happy, or lonely, or scared… and I just had to get away from them all, y’know? So I went upstairs to the guest room, and I found your jacket and it smelled just like you and when I put it on it was like I forgot every bad thing that’s ever happened. All the reasons we don’t work just didn’t matter anymore and I needed to hear your voice. So I broke. And I did the one thing I swore I wouldn’t do and I called you. But it was so loud and I couldn’t hear you, and I needed to hear you, Steve. So bad. And I didn’t know if you were coming, so I came here-”
“Can you do me a favour?” He asked, cutting you off mid-ramble and you just nod, taken aback.
“Can you tell me all this when you’re sober tomorrow?”
“Steve, I walked 30 minutes in the rain. I’m sober.”
���Good.”
And just like that he’s on you, all around you, and you feel the horrible, suffocating weight that’s been holding you down for the last month just disappear.
His hands are cupping your face, thumbs grazing your jaw, fingers tangled in the wet knots of your hair and his mouth is warm and familiar against yours. You’re clinging to his wet t-shirt, pulling at it in an attempt to get him closer to you, but his chest is already flat against yours. He drops one hand from your face to tug at your waist and you gasp into his mouth, his tongue slipping in and pulling a moan from you that he can hear even over the rain that’s still falling around you both.
His hand slams down on the roof of the car as your back collides with driver’s side door, arms tangling around his neck and fingers pulling at his hair.
When you’re forced to tilt your face to side, away from his lips to catch your breath, he plants a trail of open-mouthed kisses the length of your throat until he’s met with the wet material of his jacket still hanging off of your shoulders.
“I can drive you home,” He mutters against the warm skin of your neck, face buried in the crook.
“Or?” You ask, breathless as you use both hands to pull his face up to meet yours.
“Or you can stay here.” He offers, and your face lights up, bottom lip pulled between your teeth to try and contain the smile at the thought of spending the night in his bed again.
“With me. If you want. We don’t have to do anything.” He clarifies, hand pushing wet strands of hair out of your face before you lean up and kiss him again.
“I wanna stay. With you.” Your arms loosen from around his neck, hands sliding down his chest until you reach his wrists and pull him towards his front porch.
He lets you lead the way, only dropping your hand to fish his keys out of his back pocket and he laughs so contentedly when your arms wrap around him from behind, your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades as he fumbles with the wet keys in the lock.
You both stumble into the door as it opens, immediately pulling your wet clothing off and letting it drop to the floor. You're back on him instantly, pulling and kissing him towards the stairs to his room and it takes all his strength to take hold of your shoulders and push back lightly.
“Baby, baby, wait,” He breathes, chest heaving as he stares down at you. “There’s a reason this - we didn’t work. There’s so many things I want to tell you, but I can’t. And I don’t wanna go backwards and do anything that’s gonna hurt you or confuse you or-”
“Steve, please,” You cut him off with a shake of your head. “I know all of that but- Can we talk about it tomorrow? I just, I need to be with you. Please?”
“You’re sure?”
You nod, hands bringing his lips back down to yours again, and you feel him give in against your mouth before he pulls away from you, taking your hand guiding you in front of him and up the stairs.
PART II
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington angst#steve harrington fic#steve harrington#stranger things
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An Open (and Way Funnier) Letter to Chris Evans
This is SATIRE. I will say it again: this is a parody. It is meant to be humorous because I needed a laugh while staring at the bonfire of my social yesterday.
Dear Mr. Evans,
It’s been a week…or whatever. Honestly, I’m so exhausted by hearing about you experiencing average human life that I don’t know what day it is anymore. How dare you. I have very limited brain power and bad knees, so the number of times I’ve had to get up and walk away from my computer or phone is criminal. I’m holding you personally responsible because that’s obviously an accurate assessment of fault in this moment.
I have one, very personal, highly inappropriate thing that I deserve to know about you since you exist for our entertainment.
This question has plagued me for the many years I’ve been a fan desperately trying to avoid knowing fuck-all about your real life because I thought it wasn’t my business. I was clearly wrong, and for that I apologize. I’ll be sure to dial up my crazy in the future.
Sir.
Mr. Evans.
Chris, if I may be so bold.
Did you have a decent and professional waxologist for your work on Captain America: The First Avenger?
I have lain awake at night for a decade worried that someone 40-Year-Old Virgined you, and no one deserves that. This is something I cannot go back to my gremlin hole without knowing, so my life is in your hands now. Don’t fail me.
ANOTHER THING.
Quit saying you aren’t a cat guy, you lying sack of shit!
You probably stare out into nature and watch the fucking birds. You probably get random bursts of energy that annoy the crap out of other people in the room. Tap dancing is the equivalent of making biscuits on someone’s eardrums and then just jumping away.
You know that Scott is the human equivalent of a cat—right down to the contemplation of murder all the time and purposefully scaring the living daylights out of you at every opportunity—and you love that guy.
You’re a dog and cat guy, bro. Check yourself.
ONE OTHER THING (likely followed by nine other other things that definitely have to do with you).
How the every-loving fuck have you found time to date? Best I can do is work up the energy to text my friend “kill me” once a week, and you went out there and like tried to make someone like you?!?
Now I’m even more exhausted.
Look, I know you sold your soul long ago to still be hot and have energy past the age of forty, dickhead. We get it. You survive off the ignorance we shed on your ‘educational’ and ‘easy to use,’ ‘non-partisan’ website that just may make America less shitty again, but I will repeat: how dare you.
I don’t like being reminded I’m lazy, I don’t like when people tell me something isn’t my business—except don’t ask what my business is because fuck you,—and since I don’t like those things, I shouldn’t ever, ever have to deal with them.
You need to respond to this entirely random and useless commentary about your life from a person you don’t know and will never meet.
And just so you know, I will be waiting for that response because I have nothing better to do with my time or life.
Sincerely,
IDK Some Sad, Dumb Bitch
P.S. I’m beginning to think that Canadian attack with a mustache photo was well-deserved, but I’m still so traumatized that that thing grew on your face, I will not be mentioning it. Only in the postscript. Because no one reads the postscript and every opinion I have is 100% valid and accurate.
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idk if you meant for people to send them or ask ^^;;
any gene headcannons?
either or! i love building on shit hcs send me or ppl asking me for hcs-
gene omg i haven't gotten him ok gimme gimme a little bit
gene loves dante. like, a lot. he protected dante as a child for a long time and a lot of his motivations before becoming a shadow knight usually originate from wanted to protect dante or to preserve as much of his goodness as possible. someone has to be the good person in the family and he's glad it's gene
from the little drabble i posted the day before, he does get dante's calls but he never answers. he has once out of maybe some sort of relapse in his judgement which is why dante knows gene is out there.
honestly, compared to his pdh counterpart, i sincerely think gene is much more serious? he’s extremely serious about his job as someone directly under azazel (shad). of course he is very much capable of making snide funny guy remarks, especially when he’s in a shithead mood.
i have no idea if u read my whole background thing on gene and dante but here it is. ANYWAY yeah, as i mentioned in the last bullet point he works directly under azazel himself. i’d have to talk about why this is so special, specifically in my rewrite but there’s too much context so maybe some other day. BUT this brings me to my next stuff
gene is definitely a power hungry fucker. in the past when he was human he always wanted power, he always wanted to be on top of the food chain, but he’d always get thrown down. as someone who was never given the taste of true power, behind than his memory abilities, he wanted to rise the ranks of the shadow knights. i think azazel also saw something in him and sorta had a bit of a favoritism? probably because he saw himself in gene and wanted to raise him a bit. (I HAVE CONTEXT FOR THIS I PROMISE U!!! i just haven’t,,, written about it yet)
gene is incapable of killing dante. i think this is sorta supported by what happens in the actual show too? when he first came back to dante after becoming an SK, he believed he was ready to do so, to accomplish the first step to being a full fledged shadow knight. he was so upset, so pissed and betrayed by what dante had “done” but couldn’t bring himself to actually kill him. that’s his little brother yknow? the little dumbass who would never stop bothering him!! but he was still so.. he was filled with so much rage that he decided to do the next best thing and erase the memories of the village except dantes. and GOD i wish i could go indepth with how that’d coincide with the quote: “Someone needs to remember” but this post is already long as fuck
some smaller hcs include
hella nightmares, feel like the SK’s are plagues w/ those 100%
he didn’t know how to read when he was turned, sasha was the one who taught him
he actually cannot stand the heat and would take living in the tundra over the nether. im 100% his room in the nether is imbued w/ some sort of cooling magic. he might be used to the heat but doesn’t mean he likes it
so good @ cooking. whenever he and the SK’s have some sort of feast, they all throw him into the kitchen
#okay i squeezed the last drops of gene creativity that i could muster#I HOPE THIS IS GOOD#aphmau#minecraft diaries#mcd gene#mcd dante#shadow knights#aphblr
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Could you Not?
Pairing: Techno x Reader
Request: yooo remember a while ago when we were talking abt Techno hiding you from the yandere boys?? that would be hella neat to see ngl —
Word count: 1.9k
Warning: yandere, stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, panic attack at end
A/n: yan!minors are mentioned, that’s why there’s a yandere warning.
The day was predestined to be great; a day full of sunshine and peace. So many potatoes would be tilled, the dog army would grow exponentially and other calming hobbies.
Now let’s be honest, that isn’t the reality of things at all. Nothing is ever nice and simple. Life always needs to throw a curveball at people; keeping them on their feet, on edge for their entire existence. Techno was no exception from this rule. His life had been plagued by tragedy and hardships. It made him calloused and desensitized towards the world and whatever challenges it had to throw at him. Though nothing could have really prepared him for what came next. Well he actually did, in a way. Similar in reasoning yet very different in the reaction and how the problem was presented to him.
Puffy stood at his door, struggling to hold someone the size of her. They were thrashing around, screeching to be released from their confines. She looked exhausted and beyond worried. There were few words to describe her state. Sadness painted her face like clouds painted the sky; it was evident with every feature of her face, every movement of her brow and reddening eyes. Pants escaped her lips and the struggling wasn’t helping her catch the escaping breaths.
The person Puffy was holding wasn’t any better. They looked malnourished, dirty, panicked, stressed. Those were just the obvious and quick observations. There were probably so many other hidden issues with this person. Honestly, Techno didn’t want to deal with them or Puffy. He was absolutely done dealing with people.
He’d have to get over it though, as Puffy asked him to care for this mystery person. She pleaded so much, saying that if they couldn’t stay with him, they’d be in terrible danger. Techno was her only option in protecting this person. There were some horrible people looking for the person in her arms and she couldn’t protect them on her own. Honestly he was only half listening. He really didn’t want to hear about another person’s sob story and how they so desperately needed his help. How they just couldn’t make it without his help. Occasionally Techno nodded or gave a “mhm” to indicate he was listening. Because that’s the polite thing to do, even if you aren’t listening. It shows you are listening and seems polite. Though he should’ve paid a bit more attention because the next thing he knew a fucking child was getting shoved into his arms.
They were so tiny that they could qualify as a child. So frail, too skinny, hair matted and looked too pale for their natural complexion. Horrified couldn’t even describe how he felt; he did not want to be holding this person, they looked so fragile and could be hurt so easily. Plus they were screaming and crying, still fighting to get out your captor’s grip, which was currently him. Distressed and crying people weren’t the most pleasant to be around especially when you’re a seven foot tall, socially awkward piglin hybrid.
Techno tried to return them to Puffy’s possession. She refused, pushing them further into his hold. She kept insisting that he let them stay with him, at least for a little bit. There was little time to prepare a place for them to stay and they needed the constant protection and some care. Techno kept arguing with Puffy, saying that he really didn’t want, need or have the time to care for them.
It wasn’t long when Puffy finally ended the argument with one phrase; “you still owe me an IOU.”
_______________________________________________
“So is this it,” Techno reluctantly asked, gently bouncing the slumbering stranger. It was and wasn’t surprising how worn out they ended up after the argument. Half-way through the arguing and accommodations, they finally calmed and soon fell asleep. Though they were violently shivering; this conversation couldn’t keep going like this. They both looked at them and looked back at each other.
“Yes. Please,” Puffy whispered, gently putting her hand onto their arm. “Please take care of them for now. You don’t have to care for them long. I just-i just need some time to set them up a place and some help. There were few options to go with and you were the best one.”
Silence settled over them once again. Techno sighed, building his resolve to care for another kid. “Fine, I’ll do it.”
Puffy awarded Techno with one of the most relieved smiles he had ever encountered. She was visibly relaxed, not holding herself up like a puppet who’s tense strings were being tugged. “Now get going Puffy,” Techno ushered. “I can take it from here.”
With that, Puffy started her trek back home, through the unforgiving tundra. As Techno watched her walk away, he wondered how she managed it. How she could carry someone the size of herself for god-knows how long.
He couldn’t ponder long. The person in his arms was still out in the harsh cold and definitely not dressed or prepared for weather like this. A very vulnerable position. With that, he opened the door with his foot and brought the two of you inside.
There weren’t many places to lay someone down. The floor was an option, but it was probably super cold. Techno wasn’t too sure, but he also didn’t want to risk it at the moment. Scanning around reveals a small issue; Techno’s reading chair is the only place to sit that isn’t the damn floor. Crackling fire brought his attention to the welcoming presence of the hearth. So either the floor with the fireplace or the chair which was a decent distance from the fireplace. Was it really a question at that point?
Walking over to the fireplace, Techno tried to disturb the person as little as possible. He started to slowly place them onto the ground. They wouldn’t really notice if they were as exhausted as they looked. When they touched the ground, they stirred and groaned at the change in temperature. Swiftly Techno place them on the floor and held his hands up; a way of saying “okay i’m not touching it so it shouldn’t break now- don’t break”. After a few moments of stillness, Techno deemed himself to be in the “all clear”. With that, he walked off to a different part of the house. He had to start setting up a room for his new guest. And get them food and proper clothing-
A ruckus from the living quarters disturbed him. Oh god what was going on now? Without much thought, he ran to the noise. When he arrived, he frantically looked around. He was looking for anything, but more specifically a danger. But it was much the opposite.
There, at his front door, trying to get out like their life depended on it, was that stranger. Well, it wasn’t a stranger. He couldn’t keep forgetting that. It was ______. Though it was hard to do that; they looked so different. Panic seemed to just possess them; their eyes were wide and bloodshot and their face was even paler than he remembered them in their pale state. Which was an odd statement but it was oddly true. He hadn’t thought that you could get any paler, yet here you are proving him wrong.
You two were in a stare off- trying to figure out what to do. It would be somewhat hilarious if the situation wasn’t so serious; a person trying desperately to get out of someone’s house in some of the most comical positions while a seven foot piglin just awkwardly stared from the other side of the room. The semi-trance was broken by you. Tears started to fall down your face, body started to violently shake, and then you started to try and destroy the door with your body.
Techno was holding you in a heartbeat. Once again, you were dangling and struggling to get out of his grasp. Last time it wasn’t his grasp you were trying to escape, but it was all the same in the end. Your crying soon reverted back to sobbing and screams. Flinching, Techno contemplated just dropping you. Yet he couldn’t; you were trying to escape and that wasn’t a good idea.
Carrying you around the house was a challenge; you were swinging what little weight you could and it was working. He barely got to the other end of the room before he got fed up with your little tantrum. Without a second thought, he just dropped you like a bag of potatoes. The moment you hit the ground, you scrambled to get as far away as possible. That leads you to a corner. You kept an eye of him yet curled up so much. He couldn’t tell if it was because you were cold or scared.
“Please let me go back.”
That catches Techno off guard. It was obviously you voice; he wasn’t talking and you were the only other thing that could talk here. Yet it didn’t sound like you. Your voice was now so gravely, scratchy and heavy. Like you hadn’t properly talked in a while. Though your crying definitely wasn’t helping. Even taking that into consideration, you sound way worse than someone who is just crying and occasionally screaming.
“Excuse me,” he mumbles, staring at you. Waiting for you to answer or proof that he was actually imagining stuff. It could’ve easily been a voice though-
“I said please let me go back,” you sniffled, turning to look at him more. Your eyes held such sadness, besides the tears. The yearning in them hurt. It was obvious you were missing something.
“Go back where,” Techno prodded. He tried his best to make it gentle so you wouldn’t close up again. So he slowly sat on the ground with you, scooting towards you as a pace you could easily stop.
“Back to my friends, obviously,” you stated, keeping a steady and guarded eye on Techno. “I want to go back home. Back to Tommy and Tubbo and Ranboo an-and Purpled.” Suddenly you started to cry much harder. So hard it was practically impossible to speak. Only hiccups and gasps left your lips.
“Let me go, I won’t bother you again.” You kept repeating that phrase. Even rephrasing it, but it was muffled. Well not muffled, but extremely hard to hear through your crying. Techno let you keep saying that in hopes you tire of it, yet it seemed to have the opposite effect. You only started to say it more clearly, louder, and more assertively. It was obvious you were bound and determined to go back to wherever the hell you were before.
“Hey kid,” Techno does his best to stop your babbling. The pleads had just digressed to nonsense, so it was more accurate to call that mess babbling. “I can’t do that.”
His answer wasn’t well received. It only made you sadder and madder; you even deployed the puppy dog eyes. You really wanted this.
“It’s not safe with them,” he reiterated. “You look sickly too. Did you not care for yourself with them?”
Silence consumed you; maybe now you were finally thinking more clearly.
A meek “no” left your lips. Realization seemed to hit you, at least somewhat. It was a step forward, and Techno was taking it wholeheartedly. Anything was progress and he just wanted this over. Some of the voices whispered that they wanted you to get better, but he ignored them.
“Then it’s settled. You’re staying here.”
#tw: yandere#tw: stockholm syndrome#c: techno#techno x reader#technoblade x reader#dsmp!techno#mcyt x reader#mcyt shipping#dsmp shipping#dodo writing#tw: kidnapping#c: puffy#tw: panic attack#dsmp x reader
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Torn Apart (2 Final)
Pairing: Surprise! x Reader
Warning: Smut, Sadness, Angst Maybe? Mean People
Word Count: 5.4k
It had been weeks.
Weeks of sobbing into your pillow, weeks of feeling like things were going to get better, until you found the most insignificant thing that belonged to Chanyeol and you broke down all over again. You missed him. You missed his touch, his warmth, his smile, the way he made you laugh when you were sad. You missed it all. You were broken, and it was all Chanyeol's fault.
Until you scrolled through Instagram, and saw pictures of him with Maya, that bitch. You had never hated anyone in your life until you had met her. You couldn't even begin to fathom what even slightly redeeming qualities Chanyeol saw in her, but apparently there was something to that wench.
You were curled on your couch in the fetal position as you cried at the ending of Strong Girl Bong Soon. You wished you had a love like that. The way An Minhyuk loved Bong Soon was the relationship you wanted, the one you would strive for. He loved her so much and you just wanted to be loved by someone like that.
You groan loudly as your doorbell rings, and then whoever pounds on your door. You didn't want visitors, you didn't care who it was, you wanted to hermit.
"What?" You yelled from the other side of the door.
"Y/N, let me in." You hear from the other side. You recognized the voice immediately.
"Baekhyun, I look like a troll. Kindly leave." You sigh.
"Y/N, if your trolly ass doesn't let me in, I will break down your door." He threatens, which makes you laugh for the first time in days. You both knew he would never be able to do that, and he would likely end up hurting himself.
"Baek, you would break your leg." You say, pulling the door open. On the other side was a sympathetic Baekhyun, who had tissues, ice cream, chocolate and a bag full of movies. You smile at his kindness. "You know I have Netflix right?"
"Shut the fuck up and move, this shit is cold." He barks, moving past you and into your kitchen. "Look, I have all the necessities. We will get you through this. Because I for one, cannot stand the sight of Mayeol and I want to gouge my eyes out, and I need someone to do it with."
"I don't understand how that has anything to do with me." You say, grabbing two spoons.
"Sehun is gone, he's so in love with those two, hes bordering being a psychopath, Jongdae and his wife are just tolerating, Suho, Kai and Kyungsoo are avoiding them like the plague and Minseok and Lay have been MIA, so you're my last hope, Y/N."
"I really don't want to talk about him, Baek." You admit, the hole in your heart somehow feels larger than before.
"That's fine, I'll stop, let's start a movie." He suggests, grabbing a random one out of his bag.
And for the next few hours, that's all you guys did. You watched movies, making comments, laughing and you genuinely had a good time with him. It had been so long since you actually felt happy and you were grateful to Baekhyun for bringing at least a little joy back into your life.
Until he left, and you were alone again. All the feelings came rushing back, except they hurt a little less this time. You didn't miss him quite as much.
**
The next day, at the same time, your doorbell rang again. You open the door, your eyes puffy and bloodshot and you see Baekhyun standing there again, a new flavor of ice cream in hand, a new kind of chocolate, and a new bag of movies. This time he said nothing to you, instead pushed his way past you and through the door, setting everything down on your living room table as he popped in the movie. You smiled to yourself before turning around to join him, it felt nice to be cared about, and the fact that he was going out of his way to do this for you, and make you feel better. You truly appreciated Baekhyun.
As he sat there and watched the movie, you watched him. The way his eyes lit up at a part of the movie he enjoyed, the face he made when he took a bite of his ice cream, the wrinkle he had in his nose when there was a cheesy scene. You never truly noticed how handsome Baekhyun was until now. His distinct jawline, his large hands, his toned body, you briefly.. very briefly began to wonder how large his..
"No Y/N, no. Do not go there with your existing bestfriend."
You quickly shake off the thought, moving your eyes to the TV screen, trying to focus.
"How are you feeling today?" Baekhyun asks, sliding his phone back into his pants pocket.
"A bit better, I guess." You answer. Before Baekhyun could say anything there was another knock at the door. "That's good." He smiles, standing up. "There are some people who wanna see you." He says, opening the door.
Minseok, Suho and Kyungsoo file through the door, looking at you with pity as they all sit, surrounding you.
"Hiiiii." Suho pouts, protruding his bottom lip. "How are we feeling today?"
"Um, hi." You laugh. "I'm fine."
"Oh good, so we can go." Kyungsoo pipes up, standing up and walking towards the door.
"Sit." Minseok sighs, pointing back at the seat. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, shuffling back to his spot and flopping down.
"She's fine, Chanyeol is fine, so why are we here? Everyone is fine." He groans.
"Have you seen him? Is he fine?" You hesitantly ask. You weren't even sure if you wanted to know.
"Oh he's more than fine." Kyungsoo groans. "He and Maya are all over each other all the time. It's honestly nauseating. Like I want to be able to eat my sandwich without hearing your girlfriend moan when you kiss her." He gags.
You bite your bottom lip as you slowly nod your head, tears welling in your eyes. These were most definitely details you did not need to hear about your ex and the girl he cheated on you with. All the men whip their heads to look at you, who now had your head hanging low as your shoulders shaked. They all look back at Kyungsoo, with only one speaking up.
"That's it." Baekhyun growls. "Kyungsoo, get out." He spits, pointing to the door.
"What did I do?" Kyungsoo asks, innocently. Baekhyun rolls his eyes, looking at you, softly whimpering into the sleeves of your sweater.
"Out. Now." Baekhyun says, giving him the middle finger before flinching as Kyungsoo stands up, whispering "Don't hurt me."
"Don't listen to him." Minseok sighs. "Kyungsoo has zero social cues, he also could not read a room if his life depended on it."
As Kyungsoo opened the door to leave, in rushed Lay, who looked at the man leaving and just nodded his head, realizing he had probably said something rude and was asked to leave. It wasn't the first time and would not be the last either.
"Y/N." Lay breathes. "How do you feel about tall, muscular men who sing?" He asks.
"I do enjoy them. Why?" You ask.
"I have a friend from the hospital.. I think you two would get along really well. He's in his third year of surgery residency and is looking to date. I may have shown him your picture and he instantly said yes." He tells you.
You look around the room, Suho and Minseok are nodding enthusiastically, while Baekhyun sits with his arms crossed against his chest, and a pouty look on his face.
"What do you think?" You ask Baekhyun. He looks up at you, his face softening immediately.
"I uhh, it's up to you. Yanno, if you're into muscular, tall men.." he mumbles.
"You know what? Sure, yes, I will. Chanyeol and Maya are out there living their best lives while I'm sitting here sulking, mourning a love that clearly didn't mean as much to him. So yes I will go out with him." You announce, perking up already. "When?"
"Tonight." Lay says. "More specifically, an hour."
"I need to get ready." You smile, jumping from your seat to rush to your room. You slowly peak your head around the corner, softly smiling at your friends. "Thank you, you guys. You've all really helped me these last weeks. I greatly appreciate you all." You finish, heading back into your room to quickly throw yourself together.
By the time you were done, you had 15 minutes to spare, and you were damn proud of what you accomplished in the last 45 minutes. You showered and shaved to become a hairless human from the eyelashes down, you managed to get the knots out of your hair and it looked in decent shape, as well as hide the semi-permanent redness of your eyes with a lot of makeup. You almost didn't recognize yourself in the mirror when you looked. You didn't see the heartbroken girl anymore, you saw someone confident, hot and worthy of a great love.
Stepping out into the living room you blush at all the 'oohs and ahhs' from your friends.
Except for Baekhyun.
When you looked at him, his eyes shined and for some reason it made your heartbeat a little faster. You watched his eyes trail up and down your body, seemingly taking in every curve, every inch of you. When he notices you staring, he clears his throat and looks away. "You look prettyish." He mumbles as he walks away, there's a knock at the door. Baekhyun is the one to answer and looks up at the tall man.
"You must be.." he begins, moving out of the way, letting the man walk in.
"Hi." He smiles at you. "I'm Matthew." He says, holding out his hand.
"Hi Matthew." You grin. "Y/N." You finish, introducing yourself.
"It's really nice to meet you. You look phenomenal." He says, holding your hand up to spin you around. You can't help but let out a loud laugh as a blush spreads across your cheeks.
"Thank you." You whisper. "Shall we?"
He waves to Lay and everyone else before taking your arm in his and leading you out the door. You left three excited men behind you and one who felt annoyed but didn't quite know why.
**
You hadn't laughed so hard until tears rolled down your cheeks and you held your stomach for a very long time. You honestly were surprised at how much you and Matthew had in common. You both enjoyed the same type of music, food, and pastimes. You had yet to meet someone who loved the same authors as you, who enjoyed doing your favorite activities and who genuinely seemed like a great person but here he was, sitting right in front of you at this nice restaurant.
"I have to admit something." Matthew begins. Your stomach drops as you feel like he's going to tell you he's married or has a girlfriend, something that's going to make you lose trust in men, again.
"Go on." You say, forcing a smile before taking a sip of your drink.
"I really like you." He grins. "It's insane, I have never met someone I had so much in common with until tonight."
"I was just thinking the same thing." You laugh, feeling relieved at his confession. You liked Matthew, he seemed as though he would be good for you and treat you right, although you thought that Chanyeol would do the same and look how that turned out.
Beep
Beep
Beep
Matthew's pager beeps incessantly. He takes it from the waistband of his pants, checking the page and stands up abruptly. "I'm so sorry." He sighs. "I have to go, there was an accident and I'm needed in the OR." He explains.
"Go." You say, waving your hands to emphasize.
"I had a wonderful time Y/N, and I hope I get to see you again." He grins. He places down a few hundred bills on the table before kissing your hand, and with a wink he was off and your heart was pumping fast as red spreads across your cheeks.
Oh boy.
Your blush is still present as you walk through the door of your apartment. You see Baekhyun sitting on your couch with his arms crossed as he watches a show, not even acknowledging your presence.
"Why are you still here?" You ask, tossing your purse on the chair.
"I wanna hear all about Matthew." He mimics, rolling his eyes. "How was your date?"
"It was really nice. We have a lot in common, which is strange. He seems really nice and we get along amazingly. He was paged into surgery so it ended early." You tell him. "So cool."
"Oh wow, surgery huh?" Baekhyun says, nodding his head. "Did I tell you I'm auditioning for a band?" He smiles.
"Are you really?" You ask, a little shocked.
"Maybe." He says, clearing his throat, turning back to the show.
You sit beside him, you dress riding up just a little to expose your thigh. You're focused on the show, barely realizing that Baekhyun has now rested his hand on your bare thigh, his thumb lightly rubbing the same spot.
Why did you feel butterflies? Why was your pussy throbbing? It's probably just friendly, there's no way Baekhyun has feelings for you.
Right?
As the show played on, your eyes became increasingly droopy, feeling the exhaustion and excitement of today finally catching up with you. Your eyes slowly close as you lean your head back onto the couch.
You weren't sure when it happened, but you woke up, what you're assuming is a few hours later with your head on Baekhyun's lap while he gently rubbed your head, running his fingers through your hair. Your body shivered at the gentle sensation and you closed your eyes once again, feeling safe and happy as you dozed off.
**
When you woke up the next morning, you were laying on the couch, alone with a blanket draped over you. Your eyes searched your apartment and there was no sign of Baekhyun. You had no idea when he had left but a part of you felt a little hurt that he left without saying goodbye to you. You rolled yourself off the couch and shuffled into your room, changing your clothes to something more comfortable.
When you were done you made your way to the kitchen to find food when your front door opened. In walked Baekhyun with a large bag from your favorite food place.
"You didn't." You grin. "It's so far away."
"I did, and it was worth it to see the look on your face." He laughs, setting the bag down on the table.
The two of you sit down, and have breakfast together and chat. You hadn't realized that Baekhyun actually had a lot in common with you as well. You didn't know why the two of you had never talked about these things but you felt like it was a crazy coincidence that two men match with you so well. Although you knew Baekhyun's feelings were strictly platonic, there was no way that he felt anything romantically for you.
"I gotta go to work, but we'll hang out later, if you're up for it?" He asks, throwing his garbage away.
"Of course." You smile. You look in his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes and you just want to melt. You liked Baekhyun, alot. Maybe it was just from how good he's been treating you lately, or maybe the feelings were real, you would never know because you were going to focus on changing your feelings for Baekhyun to feelings for Matthew, someone you knew you actually had a chance with.
**
Later that day you were doing some work on your computer for the company you work for, luckily you're able to do your work from home, giving you plenty of time to be free during the day for activities. You're brought out of your zone by a text from Matthew, asking you if you wanted to grab a late lunch around 2pm, and immediately your mood changed, and you happily replied that you would love to.
At 1:50pm, you sat at the restaurant, a drink in front of you while you waited for Matthew. Seeing him walk through the door, your heart did a mini dance as he smiled at you, heading towards the table you had already gotten.
"Hey there beautiful." He grins, sitting across from you.
"Hi." You giggle. "How has your day been?"
"Busy and stressful, but that's all been forgotten now that I have you in front of me." He says. You smile widely, burying your head in your hands. He was so sweet, and you didn't know how to react to it. After the two of you order, you're in the middle of a conversation about a movie you had each recently watched, when out of the corner of your eye, you notice someone familiar. You look over and at a table that was too close for your liking sat Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Maya. Your attitude, demeanour and mood completely changed when you noticed them. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes as you looked away. You look at Matthew who instantly looks concerned.
"What's wrong? Did I say something?" He asks, leaning in closely to whisper to you.
"T-that's my ex.. and the girl he chose over me, and his best friend who I'm still friends with." You whisper, nodding your head towards them.
Matthew discreetly looks over and notices the blonde man looking in your direction, pain in his eyes from the moment he saw you.
"Look at me." Matthew whispers. You look up at him, trying to control the tears. "That boy is an idiot for giving you up. You are one in a million. You're smart, funny, beautiful, caring and an all around amazing person to be around. Don't give them anymore of your tears, princess. They don't deserve them, and you don't deserve to cry over them." He smiles.
You sit up, taking a deep breath, smiling at the man across from you, staring at his beautiful smile. You glance over to the table and see Chanyeol staring at you, sadness in his eyes while Maya glares at you and Baekhyun, he stares at you with what seems like a look of anger. He glares in your direction, his face like stone and you had no idea what you did to make him so mad at you.
"Would you like to go somewhere else?" Matthew asks.
You nod your head, knowing you didn't want to be in the same restaurant as Mayeol, it was bad enough to have to be in the same city as them. Matthew grabs the check, escorting you out, his hand hovering over your backside as you walk out, the feeling of eyes watching you burning into your back as you exit the restaurant. You and Matthew stand outside your door, and he smiles at you. "I'm sorry about the date." He sighs.
"It wasn't your fault. If anything I should be sorry." You say.
"You did nothing wrong." He tells you. "I have to get back to the hospital now, but I'll call you." He says, leaning down he presses his lips to yours quickly before pulling away and saying goodbye.
You walk into your apartment, feeling a little confused. That didn't go how you imagined it at all. As you're trying to get out of your sundress, there's a knock at the door before someone walks in. You turn around and see Baekhyun standing there, watching you.
"You looked pretty comfortable and intimate with what's his name." He blurts out, walking towards you. He stands closely behind you, you can feel his breath on your neck as he pulls down the zipper of your dress.
"Yeah well you looked pretty comfortable with fucking Maya and Chanyeol." You retort, trying to storm away from him. Your dress slips off your body, landing on the floor. Baekhyun follows you, reaching out to grab your wrist. He spins you around to face him. He pulls your body closer to his.
"What do you want?" He asks. You don't answer, your lips parted as you try to form a sentence. Baekhyun's eyes drop down to your lips. He licks his lips and sighs. You can feel his breath, so close to you, almost kissing you. "What do you want from me, Y/N?" He asks.
Your heart is practically beating out of your chest. You look into his eyes, one word on the tip of your tongue.
You. Just say it. You want him. Tell him.
But you say nothing.
Baekhyun sighs. "That's what I thought." He says, moving away from you and picking up your dress from the floor. He hands it to you, leaning in to press his lips against your temple. "Call me when you know what you want." He says, walking away from you and out the door.
What did that mean? Did he want you like you wanted him? Why couldn't you have just told him right then and there?
You were scared. You were scared of rejection, you were scared he didn't mean it, maybe his feelings towards you weren't real. But then again, you would never know unless you talked to him.
Later that night you laid in your bed, thinking about Baekhyun. You couldn't sleep, so you grabbed your purse and your keys, drive aimlessly around town. A little while later, you glance at the clock that reads 2am, you park your car and you pull out your phone and call him. You felt like you were going to vomit as the phone rang.
"Hello?" A groggy voice answered.
"You." You whisper through the speaker. "I want you."
"Y/N." He breathes.
"Open the door, Baekhyun." You whisper.
You can hear him get out of bed and stomp towards the front door. He pulls it open and there you are, your phone pressed against your ear, wearing a nightshirt and shorts.
"I want you." You say again, pulling the phone away from your ear.
Baekhyun pulls you inside, slamming the door behind you before pinning you against the front door.
"Fuck it." He groans, crashing his lips against yours, pulling your body in closer to his. His hands roaming your body as he slides his tongue into your mouth. His hands move under your shirt and up your torso, cupping a bare breast. He groans into the kiss as he pinches your hard nipple, rolling it between his fingers. He presses his crotch into your leg, allowing you to feel his hard cock pushing against his boxers.
You reach your hand down, sliding it into his waistband, grabbing his cock and slowly pumping, making his knees buckle.
"Fuck." He murmurs, breaking the kiss. He leans his head into your neck, placing small kisses as you stroke his cock.
Suddenly he stands up straight, pulling your hand from inside his boxers. He grabs your hand and leads you to his bedroom.
"Take off your clothes." He growls.
You maintain eye contact as you slip your shirt off your body, dropping it to the floor and the shimmy off your shorts, letting them pool around your ankles. You stand there naked in front of Baekhyun who takes in every curve and crevasse of your body.
"Get on the bed." He whispers. You move to the bed, slowly climbing on and laying on your back.
"So fucking beautiful." He moans, crawling on top of you. "I just wanna be inside you." He whispers. You nod your head, giving him all the consent he needs.
Baekhyun spits on his hand, pumping his cock. He lifts your legs over his shoulder before lining him up with your entrance. He pushes himself into you, stretching your pussy out, making you cry out loudly.
It had been so long for you, you forgot what it felt like to be fucked. Your hands grip the bed sheets as Baekhyun slides his cock in and out of you slowly.
"How do you want it, baby?" He asks, moving slowly still.
"Faster." You moan. "Fuck me Baekhyun."
His eyes become dark after hearing your words. His hands wrap around your ankles as he starts thrusting harder into you, the sound of skin slapping fills the room.
"Oh god." You cry out, your hands cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples as he pumps his cock into you.
Baekhyun releases one of your legs, placing his thumb between your lips to rub your clit. He rubs in circles, making you clench around him.
"Just like that." You cry out as you buck your hips. You knew you were going to cum soon, you hadn't had an orgasm since Chanyeol left.
"Fuck." Baekhyun groans.
"I'm gonna cum." You scream as he fucks you harder, and continues to rub you.
Your orgasm hits you, making you scream out in pleasure, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you tighten around Baekhyun once again.
He groans loudly, suddenly cumming, shooting his load inside of you, breathing heavily as he works through his orgasm.
"Holy fuck." He sighs, pulling out of you. He lays next to you, and you snuggle into him, not caring about the mess, just being completely and utterly happy in the moment.
**
"So.." Baekhyun starts off the next morning, as you lay in his bed, tangled in his sheets. You have one leg and one arm sprawled across him as you snuggle in closer to him. "What about Matthew?" He asks.
"I called him yesterday after you left, and I told him I didn't think things were going to work out, but I would like to remain friends." You explain.
"And he was fine with that?" He asks.
"He asked if there was someone else." You sigh. "I told him I wasn't sure, but I hoped and he wished me luck."
"I didn't like you seeing him." Baekhyun admits. "It hurt but I felt like I couldn't do anything." He says.
"Why?" You ask.
"Because.. Chanyeol is my best friend and you were his." He tells you.
"Chanyeol made his decision, and he chose Maya. I'm free to date whoever I want, and I want you." You whisper.
"Oh baby girl." Baekhyun growls. "You have no idea what you do to me." He whispers, rolling over on top of you, pressing his lips to yours. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him in closer to you, never having felt so wanted or loved.
**
It has been a few months of you and Baekhyun dating, and you've kept it under wraps for the most part, wanting to stay in your little bubble of happiness. But now your friends were getting suspicious and you felt like it was time to tell them. And what other perfect time to tell them then at a dinner party that everyone is attending.
That night you and Baekhyun had brought a spinach and artichoke dip that you made together and it was the best thing ever. You told Jongdae and his wife the news first, and they were both extremely happy for the both of you.
Next, Minseok, Suho, Kyungsoo, Kai and Lay were told and they were all happy for you two, except Lay who was disappointed that things didn't work with Matthew, but he was happy that you were happy.
You all sat around the dinner table when Chanyeol, Sehun and Maya walked in. Things instantly got tense and quiet the minute they entered the room. They hadn't noticed you yet and you could feel the knots forming in your stomach.
"Hey guys." Chanyeol smiled, looking around the room and then his eyes landed on you and his smile dropped.
"Hi friends." Maya chirps up, not realizing you were there until Sehun pointed it out, quite loudly and rudely.
"Why is she here?" He asks, nodding his head towards you.
"Because she's our friend." Jongdae pipes up, glare at Sehun.
"It's just weird." Maya comments, sitting down at the table. You ball your hands into fists under the table. Baekhyun reaches under the table, grabbing your hand to calm you down, showing you he's there and has your back.
"It's not weird, actually." Baekhyun pipes up. "What's weird is coming to a gathering when you know no one here likes you. That's weird." He says, looking at Maya.
"Baek." Chanyeol sighs. "She's my girlfriend." He says, as if that's a good enough reason.
"Okay." Baekhyun says. "And she's mine." He says, nodding towards you. "So tell your girl to show some respect."
"You're what?" Chanyeol asks, staring at you and Baekhyun, not even acknowledging the fact that Maya is sitting there with her mouth open and offended. "You're dating my ex-girlfriend?"
"I am." Baekhyun says, not caring about Chanyeol's reaction anymore.
"You.. you can't do that." He says.
"And why not?" Baekhyun wonders. "You left her. You chose that over this amazing woman. You have no right to be angry here. You broke her, tore her apart and I'm putting the pieces back together."
"I don't want her here." Maya pouts.
"And no one wants you here." You chime in. You were tired of her and she had only been here for a few minutes.
"Chanyeol." She whines, nudging him but he's still not paying attention to her, only looking at you and Baekhyun.
"So.. what did you guys bring?" Lay asks, nodding towards their dish.
"Buffalo chicken dip." Maya says, with a smile.
You burst out laughing, rolling your eyes. "You mean you're still making the recipe that Chanyeol and I made together?" You ask with a smile on your face.
Maya's smile instantly drops, looking at you with disgust. "Chanyeol." She yells.
"What?" He snaps, turning to look at her.
"Do something." She whines.
"You don't have to do anything, man. We're gonna go. Thanks for having us, Jongdae. It's been interesting." Baekhyun says. He looks at you and holds out his hand. "Ready?" He asks you. You smile at him, taking his hand and walking out, hand in hand with the man who made you the happiest you've been.
**
A few days later you're in your apartment, singing and dancing as you clean up the place. You no longer missed Chanyeol, his name no longer brought pain to your heart, seeing things that reminded you of him no longer made you cry. You had Baekhyun now, and he treated you like a queen.
You're walking past your front door when you hear a faint knock. You open it slightly and see an exhausted looking Chanyeol standing on the other side.
"Can we talk?" He asks.
You didn't want to hear what he had to say, but you decided to be nice and let him in.
"What?" You ask, sitting on your couch as he stands in front of you.
"I fucked up." He blurts out. "I should have never chosen Maya over you. I didn't realize what I was doing at the time, Y/N, please forgive me. I miss you. I miss us. We were great together." He breathes.
You're shocked. You had spent weeks crying over him, wishing for him to come to you and say these words to you but now it was too late.
"You're a little too late now." You say to him.
"I know you're with Baekhyun, but I had you first." He says.
You scoff at him. "How dare you? How could you come here months after you left me for Maya and beg for me back when I'm finally happy again? It took a long time for me to be okay. Baekhyun has been there for me, he was the one who helped put me back together. You chose Maya. You made your bed." You yell. "Get out Chanyeol."
"Y/N please." He begs.
"No, you need to leave. I don't want you. I don't love you anymore." You tell him.
Chanyeol walks out the door, looking back at you with tears in his eyes. You felt no remorse for him. You had felt the way he was feeling, it was his own fault and you refused to be torn apart by him again. Chanyeol was now your past, and Baekhyun was your future and you couldn't be happier about it.
#exowritersnet#kpopscape#noonasinnetwork#exo#park chanyeol#byun baekhyun#kai#kyungsoo#bm#matthew kard#lay#suho#sehun#exo scenarios#exo fanfiction#exo smut#kpop fanfic#kpop scenarios#kpop writing#kpop icons#kpop imagines#kpop smut
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Office Yandere HCs
Pairings: Assistant!Izuku Midoriya, Investor!Shoto Todoroki, Chauffeur!Hitoshi Shinso x Boss!Fem!reader
Summary: Ever wonder what it would be like to be the boss of some office yanderes and basically have a harem? Well, look no further, cause here it is!
Warnings: smut !!18+ ONLY!! (spunking in food + masturbation + dirty thoughts + oral), yandere themes (noncon)
A/N: Bc my brain kept me up at night with this concept and has made it’s final decision on turning a one shot I was in the middle of writing into a series, I decided to write some messy hcs to take a lil breather from long works (evn tho this is kinda long already). Also, if you think this is the last you’ll hear about office yanderes, no no no, I have some other thoughts for other characters
Assistant!Midoriya Izuku
He is over the moon to hold a position that’s the closest to you
Out of your entire yandere office harem, he gets to spend the most time with you
He also definitely has an advantage since he practically schedules your entire day
For example, Shoto constantly tries to schedule one-on-one meetings with you in the guise of it being a matter of business, but Izuku cock blocks him by filling your day with a bunch of other events in order to make the meetings as short as possible, and sometimes, even cuts them out completely
He doesn’t like doing it often tho since he knows you can get too stressed with too much going on so he reluctantly has to give away some time for you to meet with the other yanderes (he’s still kind of a sweet and considerate bby as a yandere)
Will not give you personal space
Stands close to you during meetings, constantly visits your office to work (even tho his personal office is right next to yours), etc etc
Even if you don’t ask him to, he will fetch your meals and give you snacks throughout the day because he wants to take care of you and show how sweet he is (also because he wants you to imagine how good of a boyfriend he’d be if you just gave him a chance)
Now let’s get to the part that just popped up into my mind and inspired this entire post: if he can hide his cum somewhere in your food, he will do it
That coffee he gave you that tasted a little salty? Izuku spunked inside it.
The sandwich he bought that seemed to have more mayo than usual? He spunked in that, too
Whatever you think doesn’t taste right, it’s definitely because of Izuku
// // // // //
Izuku is thankful for his job because of two specific things: he gets to interact with you for most of the day and his office has a built in personal bathroom.
If he were to be forced to use the regular employee restroom, his lewd acts would have been exposed immediately by anyone who happened to walk in; he was never the best at holding his moans and grunts while jacking himself off after all.
In the privacy of his own bathroom, he could be as loud as he wants with both his breathy, pleasure-ridden voice and the slick sounds of him stroking his lube-covered cock. In fact, he’s even trying to be as loud as possible.
Since your office is right next to his, there’s a small chance that you may be able to hear him through the walls. He can visualize you entering his office, concern decorating your features, wondering what he could possibly be doing to make such noises. If you were to open his bathroom door, you’d be met by the sight of Izuku sitting on the lid of the toilet, his hand vigorously pumping up and down his shaft.
And he wouldn’t stop.
He’d just keep going, all the while staring at you right in the eye. He wonders what you’d do then. Would you just stay frozen at your spot, being unable to take your eyes off of him? Or maybe you’d get on your knees, completely turned on and ready to have a taste of his cum? What if you were actually more dominant than he thought and you’d just dig your heels into his dick, punishing him for slacking off his job by not letting him find release?
Fuck, any of those scenarios would be fine by him.
Unfortunately, as he gets close to reaching his peak, you don’t come into his office at all. That’s alright, though.
He’ll just settle with spunking into your coffee, for now.
Investor!Shoto Todoroki
Needs your attention
Like I said earlier, Shoto will keep trying to schedule meetings with you in the guise of it being a matter of business
really, he just wants to spend time with you
During the meetings, he will also try to convince you to fire Izuku so that he can get rid of who he deems as someone deliberately keeping the two of you apart (which, for once, is a pretty spot on theory from Shoto)
Will try to spoil you with gifts and make excuses or pass it off as a casual thing so you don’t reject it or deem it as inappropriate for a workplace relationship
The beautiful bouquet of flowers? He was buying flowers for his mother on the way over and the flower shop had a 2 for 1 deal so why not?
These gourmet chocolates? A fellow business partner of his gave him a box as thanks for his investment. Unfortunately, he’s allergic to one of the ingredients, but it would just be a waste to throw them out, no?
This exquisite diamond necklace? weLL-
You get the point (also, these gifts are definitely inspired by romance movies he saw his sister watching while growing up cuz oof he did not know any means of romance until he met you)
He aims to schedule his meetings with you around lunch time so that he has an excuse to treat you for lunch
He loves providing for you AKA he loves providing for you and showing off how he has the means to take care of you (much like Izuku)
If you were to become his wife, you wouldn’t have to work another day in your life
You can just stay at home and relax
Maybe you can even cook him breakfast and pack lunch for him before he works
That’s basically his dream
He wants you to stay home, waiting for your sweet husband to come back from work
Basically, he’ll take care of your every need, and he means EVERY need
// // // // //
It’s one of those nights again.
Shoto can’t sleep because he’s plagued by thoughts of you. Today, you weren’t able to meet him for lunch because you already had a flood of other appointments to attend (he was willing to bet his entire fortune that it’s because of your stupid assistant’s scheduling that you weren’t able to make it).
So, needless to say, he was pent up. He can only hop that you fall in love with him sooner. Did his charms just not work on you? Do you not like the cool stoic type? Maybe he just wasn’t giving you the right gifts. Were they not expensive enough to impress you? Not expensive enough to show he could provide for you?
He knows he can take care of you so well. You would never have to work another day in your life. You can just stay home, surrounded by luxurious gifts and servants who’ll be at your beck and call while you wait for his return.
And once he actually did come home after a long day of work? You’d be bathed in affection. Kisses, hugs, cuddles... and more.
You’d want him just as much as he wants you, right?
His poor wife, lonely and deprived of the one person she loves for such long hours. He’s got to show that he’s sorry for neglecting you.
Pushing you down onto the bed, he’d run his hands all over your body, massaging your shoulders, pinching your hardening nipples, brushing over your sensitive thighs... And since he’s also quite needy, he’d be grinding down his still-clothed cock on your pussy, showing off that he’s missed you, too.
Shoto doesn’t even think he’d have the patience to take off your clothes. He’d just keep dry humping you, desperate for his own release. The thin cloth preventing the both of you from making actual skin-on-skin contact would make such great friction. He can practically feel it now.
... And yup, the feeling was definitely not just from his imagination. Without even needing to glance down, Shoto already knows that his thoughts of you has caused him to pop a boner.
Hopefully, a quick jerk off session can tire him out enough to fall asleep, but with how much his hard cock throbbed, he doubted it.
Chauffeur!Hitoshi Shinso
2nd most envied out of your office harem for his job (he’s right next to Izuku)
Why? Well 1 - he gets one on one time with you daily and 2 - that one on one time is him and you in an enclosed space
Sure, he may not get as much time with you as the others, but he sure makes the best use of it
He’ll be chatting you up, getting to know you personally in order to make the atmosphere less awkward between the two of you (tbh, because he gives off standoffish and cold vibes, y’all are gonna be kinda tense when he’s just gotten his job as a chauffeur)
and he does it so discreetly
He’ll start the conversation of lightly, talking about the weather, how busy you’re going to be that day...
and then somehow it just transitions onto friendlier and more personal topics such as your favorite places to eat, what hobbies you’ve been trying out lately, etc
And he uses that info to his advantage
If he senses that you’re feeling stressed or down, he will drive you over to your favorite places and remind you that you should relax
But not only does he get brownie points for that, but would you really be so mean as to make him wait for you while you eat a meal or walk around the mall when he’s the one who’s trying so hard to cheer you up?
Of course not, you’re going to invite him and thank him for considering how you’re feeling
And if not, well, that’s okay, too, he understands (so long as he gets his brownie points)
As the boss of your own company, you’d often be asked out to meetings or social gatherings that involve drinking
Shinso’s always there whenever you get shit faced, and happily so
You’re drunk and you’re not gonna remember it the next morning, anyway... so why would he waste such a golden opportunity?
// // // // //
Shit, you feel great on his body.
Currently, Shinso is living out one of the best moments of his life. He’d come to pick you up from a drinking session with some investors and was ecstatic to find you drunk out of your mind. Hell, you could barely even slur out your orders for him to drive you home. Now, you’re pressed up against him as he holds you up and guides you to the car.
Testing out the waters, he cheekily squeezes the flesh of your ass. If you were conscious enough to reprimand him for it, then he could easily just apologize and pass it off as an accident since you were stumbling around so much.
And if you didn’t mention anything... well then, that was the single indicator he needed to know that you wouldn’t remember anything once you woke up in the morning.
To his delight, you barely reacted to his touch and even let out a high-pitched giggle at his actions. As quickly as he possibly could, he opens up the back of the limousine and pushes you inside. You plop down onto the seat with a huff, completely inebriated.
You don’t even register when Shinso crawls in and nudges himself in between your legs.
When the door slams shut, you flinch a little, prompting Shinso to massage your thighs in an attempt to soothe you. He gazes at you lovingly as you look down at him with your dilated pupils. Fuck, you look way too innocent and adorable for what he’s about to do.
Quick with his hands, he pulls down your waistband and completely exposes your sex. Before diving into his meal, he places light kisses that trail from your calf all the way up to your thighs. He wishes he could leave marks on your skin, but he wouldn’t want you to panic the next morning when you see clusters of purple and blue spread out all over your legs.
He eats you out like a man starved, slobbering all over your pussy. All the while, you’re making such cute noises for him. When you gush all over his face, he’s happily lapping it all up, trying not to waste a single drop.
Once you’ve come down, he dresses you back up as if nothing happened, which, in your mind tomorrow, nothing did.
Shinso hesitates when he’s about to slide the panties back onto you. Maybe he could get away with just a little souvenir?
#yandere bnha#yandere mha#bnha smut#mha smut#bnha imagines#headcanons#izuku midoriya x reader#midoriya izuku x reader#shoto todoroki x reader#todoroki shoto x reader#hitoshi shinso x reader#shinso hitoshi x reader#i swear if tags don't work again#tw noncon
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sleeping beauty
— You struggle to find a time to have sex with your beloved Aizawa. Unfortunately or fortunately, the only time you can fuck him is when he’s deep asleep.
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pairing: aizawa shouta x yandere fem!reader
warnings: 18+, smut, pwp, yandere!reader, non-con somnophilia, hairy aizawa rights, recording
word count: 4,201
a/n: mark ur calendar, im getting my nipples pierced nov 8. you bet ur ass imma write a bunch of nipple pierced readers from there on out. pray that my family never finds out about my nipples tho LMAO if they do,,, it;ll be ripped out of my boobies without a seconds hesitation
kinktober day 19 main kink: somnophilia | kinktober masterlist
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Aizawa was always busy.
Over the past ten years of knowing him, the two of you had been close. You were a good friend to him, someone he wouldn’t absolutely avoid at all costs when you walked through the hallways of UA, someone he wouldn’t mind rambling to him about their long day. Of course, you knew that you weren’t his closest friend, and to a certain degree, that upset you.
You had met Aizawa when you had first been a high school student; at the time, you were merely fifteen years old. He was twenty, only five years older than you, but he took your breath away from the first team-up. He had been tall, dark, and brooding, and your little coming out of an emo phase heart stood no chance. But, due to the age discrepancy, he was never anything more than a team member. Still, you held on.
You graduated from high school, made your impact as a sidekick, graduated to a Pro Hero, and offered a job at UA by the time you were twenty! So, for the past five years, you and Aizawa had been actual co-workers, and better yet, friends.
Aizawa indeed was one of a kind.
He still held the key to your emo school girl fantasy daydream, but you also discovered new sides and angles of him. You learned he was incredibly kind, thoughtful, and looked out for everyone, even if his gruff and sometimes rude mannerisms spoke otherwise. Although he tried to avoid any type of nonsensical drama like the plague, he was always caught up in it, which often amused you.
There was so much about Aizawa that you loved, so much that you adored and looked up to that it was no surprise that you figured your feelings of respect and admiration became love.
True, deep love.
As a third-year teacher at UA, you found that your interactions with Aizawa were quite limited. Not only because he was always being placed with a first-year class and said class moving on without him — something that only happened because he kept expelling the damn students — but because he was incredibly close with the first-year teachers.
You loved Present Mic and Midnight and All Might, don’t get it wrong! Your admiration, love, and respect for them were unprecedented, but you hated how much of Aizawa’s time they took.
“Sorry, Mic needs help with lesson plans for my class,” Aizawa apologized for postponing your lunch date, not a date.
“Sorry, Midnight needs help separating the problem children. Apparently, they’re growing an immunity to her quirk,” Aizawa grumbled, shoving his phone into his pocket before leaving your office where you both had been talking and drinking tea.
“Sorry, All Might—”
“It the class, your problem children, I get it,” you force a smile onto your face, trying not to show just how irritated and disappointed you were on how these days were going. Aizawa pauses for a second, his tired, dried out eyes trying to read and uncover the depths of emotions swimming in your eyes before he sighs and runs off.
But it went without saying that the people you hated most were Class 1-A.
The damn stupid, fucking, ungrateful class had already caused your beloved Aizawa to be hospitalized. The scar under his eye, a numbing reminder that you had nearly lost him, almost had to cry at his coffin with your feelings never once being uttered. They, without a doubt, took up his time the most.
He saw potential in all of them, none of them being failed or expelled by him thus far.
He spent countless hours up in the dead of night tracking each and every one of his student’s potential. Slaving away at his tablets to make sure that they all were feeling safe, heroic, and above all, they were headed to their individual greatness. So, although it would be two more years before you would have the opportunity to teach this class, you already had a vendetta against Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki. Those little shits always taking up your precious Aizawa’s time! He had never been this tired prior to them showing up!
But you never tried to think about it when you were with him.
You tried to openly accept your Aizawa’s new, incredibly busy schedule, and the moment the dorms appeared within UA, you found yourself more at ease.
To be frank, since you acknowledged your love for Aizawa at the mere age of twenty, and now at twenty-five, you had never taken on a lover or a one night stand. For years you had not allowed a person to grace you in bed or in their arms. It felt like you were betraying your love, and you would rather die than let that happen.
But the thing is, you are human, entirely susceptible to waves of uncontrolled horniness and lust.
In the beginning, sex toys worked.
You would press a vibrator to your clit, your toes digging into the mattress as your other hand shoved a silicone dildo into your aching, needy cunt. At first, it worked! You would cum with the thoughts of Aizawa being the dildo buried deep within you.
But eventually, you would find yourself at the peak of that orgasm, you knew the orgasm was right beyond the bend, just a step more, but you couldn’t get there. For weeks you realized that the vibrator, the dildo, and your fantasy thoughts weren’t enough. So, in your frustration, you began to search up audio plays of his narration at UA Sports Festival. Listening to his voice, ignoring Mics’ voice, to help coax you over that bend.
For a while, you were back to normal. Your highs and juices splattering all over your bed, a symbol of your lust and love for Aizawa as you gasped his name, wishing that the audio was real. But eventually, even the audios weren’t enough.
You craved Aizawa’s warmth, the feeling of his rough stubble against your sensitive skin, the throbbing of his cock buried deep within your womb, undoubtedly kissing your cervix. You wanted him; you needed your beloved.
As if by the grace of God, the moment you could no longer bring yourself to cum through that alone, the dorm system was put into place. And you, a teacher, were required to live on campus too. You tried not to think of Aizawa being a dorm away, tried not to feel the warmth fluttering under your skin when the two of you bid goodnight for the day.
You definitely tried to stay out of his room in the middle of the night.
God, you wish you could say that you stayed out of his room, but that would be a lie.
A big fat fucking lie.
It had started out innocently enough, you will claim.
You would see the exhausted man wave goodnight, grumbling that he needed to sleep now or else he would not wake up on time for homeroom tomorrow morning. You waved goodnight to him, trying to stay engrossed in a conversation you were having with Hound Dog. But an hour after Aizawa had gone to bed, you found yourself rushing away from the common room, explaining you had something to grade as you bid everyone goodnight.
Without a doubt, you ended up in Aizawa’s room that night.
In the darkness of the night, you watched the moonlight barely breach the thickness of his curtains to fall onto his face. You felt so warm as you stared at his slumbered face, your cheeks flushed as you watched his parted, chapped lips. You felt so light watching his chest rise and fall in a hypnotizing rhythm, reminding you that he is real, so very, very real. A part of you aching, knowing that he was entirely real and yet not yours. But still, you admired the way he looked so young, so intense, so ethereal as he dreamed.
You loved him.
Eventually, when you decided to leave, you pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling at the way his lips were exactly as you had imagined:
Supple, warm, and tasting of his mint toothpaste.
But the nightly visits didn’t stop there.
Most nights, you found yourself in his room, laying by his side, merely watching as he slept. No orgasm in the world felt quite as fulfilling as the quiet that came with just watching the over-exhausted Aizawa sleep.
But this is not a story of simple love, no, not at all.
Eventually, you began to grow bold. Your fingers sinking into your wet cunt, playing with your sensitive clit as you watched him sleep. You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning as a rasped breath expelled from his mouth. You nuzzled into the warmth of his body heat through at you and only prayed he would one day acknowledge and return your affections.
To be quite honest, you’re not sure when you began to suck him off too.
Maybe it was the first time his cock grew long and hard in the middle of the night, his mind undoubtedly having a wet dream. So, as his beloved, you only thought it was appropriate to give his body what he wanted. With the skills and intentions that could only arise from being a gifted Pro Hero, you pulled the blankets from his body and pushed his cock through the slit in his boxers, and took him all in your mouth.
His cock was absolutely mouthwatering too.
So big, so thick, so incredibly veiny that you nearly lost all control the first time you saw it in all its glory. He was better than any dildo you owned, his scent alone driving you crazy. And so, as you should, you began to fuck him, completely addicted to his aroma, taste, and touch.
After the first night, you continued to blow him. Continued to suck him off as Aizawa let out sleepy moans, grunts that were strained, his body shifting unknowingly as you continued to go up and down his length, continuing to relieve him of his stress.
But you were human.
A human with needs and desires, and eventually, his cum coating your throat and filling your stomach wasn’t enough anymore. Which is where we find ourselves now, unashamedly fucking Aizawa each and every night, your cunt swallowing him whole, without a single shred of doubt of what was wrong with this.
There wasn’t anything wrong with this, and you knew that even if he was asleep the entire time you fucked him, it was for the better.
“Wow, Eraser!” Mic yelled from your side as you sat on the couch next to your beloved best friend. “You look like you’re glowing!”
Looking up from your phone, attempting to portray yourself as curious and unknowing, you found your gaze falling onto Aizawa, who had returned from an early evening training session with his class. As a matter of fact, Aizawa’s face was glowing; he looked incredibly much more relaxed, much more than he has been since the beginning of this semester.
“What do you mean?” Aizawa asked, evidently unimpressed as a lone eyebrow raised.
You watched on quietly, lips pressing to your cup as you took a drink of your tea as he sank onto a seat in front of you.
“Wait, don’t tell me, listeners!” Mic gasped dramatically, his hands pressing to his cheeks as he stood up. His expression of shock and disbelief curling and becoming one of knowing and understanding. “Does our grouchy, one and only, Aizawa Shouta, a.k.a. Eraserhead, have a special someone?!”
“Mic—” Aizawa snapped, his eyebrows furrowing.
“There definitely has been an after-sex glow that Eraser has had for the past few weeks. He did say that he’s been feeling more… ahem, relaxed,” Midnight gasped, seemingly appearing from nowhere, incredibly interested in the rumor of Aizawa having sex.
“Just because I’ve been feeling less tense doesn’t mean that I’m having sex.”
You giggled into your cup as the three of them began arguing, Mic and Midnights naturally loud noise quickly drowning out Aizawa’s fruitless attempts to shut down any sexscapades they were coming up with.
“Y/h/n, what do you think?!” Mic yelled, his hand pointed at you as if holding a microphone as Aizawa had him pressed and tangled within his capturing weapon. “Is Shouta-chan having sex?!”
Yes, your mind begs to say, but your mouth curls into a teasing smile, eyes locking onto Aizawa’s annoyed golden ones.
“I don’t think there’s anyone on this earth that Aizawa currently wants to fuck six feet into the mattress when he’s so busy,” you chide, your smile never entirely disappearing. At the same time, you take a long slow drink from your cup while everyone else (Mic only, really) continued to scream.
But you stayed there for the rest of the evening, working in silence with the rest of the group as next week’s lessons were laid out. Through a persistent, entirely stubborn will, Mic managed to get Aizawa to admit that he hasn’t had sex since the time he lost his virginity, to which Mic admitted to having had sex via orgies only. Midnight proudly announcing that she had a side piece at her disposal.
So as you checked through your lesson plans for the ethics book your students would be reading next week, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see their expectant gazes on you.
“I had sex last night,” you admit, unable to lie under their amused gazes.
“WITH WHO?! ARE YOU SNEAKING SOMEONE ON CAMPUS?!”
For the rest of the night, you smiled brightly, laughing with the rest of them all as talks and stories revolving around sex filled the air. It lasted until past midnight, and with a heavy sigh, Aizawa excused himself first. You waved goodnight, and soon Midnight left, followed by Mic.
You stayed on the couch, your own attention focused heavily on the time and not what you were supposed to be doing. It didn’t take much before the time faded from 00:00 to 01:45, and with a brush of your skirt, you headed precisely where you wanted and needed to be.
The walk to his second-floor room filled you with lust. Your body, like some Pavlovian dog, trained and knowing that you were about to fuck the love of your life while he slept. He was so beautiful while he slept, a true sleeping beauty. You especially thought he was stunning when he bit his lower lip, stifling a moan despite his heavy slumber.
Without so much as a second thought, you apparated into his room, your feet cushioned by the soft carpet of his room. And with a smile that was dripping with your love, you stared at Aizawa’s sleeping form. He was already deep in sleep, his body positioned on his back as if he knew what you were doing, accepting the inevitable actions you would take tonight as you did every night. He just looked so calm, so beautiful, so youthful when asleep. The scar under his eye almost invisible
But unlike most nights where he slept in a soft cotton long-sleeved shirt and sweats, you froze at the sight of the tight black t-shirt on his sleeping form, the shorts that were riding just the slightest bit too low on his sturdy, muscled hips. Your bit your fist, a bubbling heat of lust, and a whine tickling the back of your throat as you take in his sleeping form.
He was doing this on purpose.
Teasing you with this outfit on his sleeping body.
You huffed, inexplicably turned on as the small puffs of air past his lips seemed to thunder around the room.
You were wet already, so very wet.
“You’re so mean, Shouta-kun,” you whimper softly, your voice silent and unheard by his sleeping form. You walk closer to the bed, lips pulled into a pout as you sit on the soft mattress. “Dressing up like that, I know you did that to tease me!”
Aizawa doesn’t respond because, of course, he’s asleep. But you smile regardless, imagining a million and three things he would say in response, each leading to what you wanted to do so desperately.
“I hope you know you were lying when you said you haven’t had sex since you were twenty,” you sigh, your fingers expertly removing his shorts and boxers from around his waist, using your quirk to make them reappear to the side of him. “We have sex practically every night; you’re so horny, my angel.”
You watch with a curling smile as his cock immediately begins to stiffen against your warm breaths, his face scrunching in his slight discomfort as his cock grows and grows. His cock is undeniably one of your favorite parts of his body. It’s pale in color, paler than the rest of his body, but as it extended to the swollen thickness of his head, it grew darker, the flushed brown pinkness of his head making you salivate at the memory of the first time you ever saw it. His cock, unlike the rest of his scarred body, was unharmed, unmarred by the horrors of the job the two of you held. The thick, beautiful smoothness of his skin, making your eyes flutter in unadulterated lust, his cock a symbol of your pure, unmarked love for him. You hum, hand grasping his length and lazily stroking him as your head tilts, reading his sleeping features for any sign of him enjoying this as much as you do.
“Aww, Shouta-kun, I wish you knew I fuck you. I bet you would turn bright red, knowing that I ride you every night. Maybe you’d use that weapon of yours to teach me a lesson or two,” you mumble, your hand gripping his cock harder as you stroke him.
A small glistening drop appears at the slit of his dick, and you shiver in excitement; he was already leaking pre-cum.
“Look at you, already ready to have my cunt wrapped around that big cock of yours,” you mewl, absolutely ready to mount him, prepared to have his sleeping form cum deep within you. You stand up, removing your shorts and panties, and climbing onto the bed.
With the balance of a pro, you get yourself hovering over him, your already wet cunt shivering with the expectance of having him deep within you. Your hand on his cock never once stopping as you tease yourself against his swollen head, your voice a pathetic whimper as your slick mixes with his clear pre-cum.
“S-See how embarrassing you are!” you huff, rutting his length between his folds, lubing him up for the initial entrance because, by god, it still hurt. “Making my pussy so wet! I’m practically dripping all over you!”
There’s only a soft breath from his lips, but you grin as if he was speaking to you.
“You want me too, huh?” you giggle, and without further adieu, you sink against him.
His cock entering your tight cunt was still as mind-numbing as the first time. His cock easily buries into the small, thin wall of your cervix, and you tremble as his length stretches and pulls at your throbbing core. You can feel every curve in his cock, every vein, every gentle throb.
“Glad t-to know you find me… nnghh… find me i-irresistible,” you pant, face flushed with your desire to adjust quickly around him.
The conversation from tonight had made you entirely weak in the knees and hot at your core, knowing that you were the only one to really have claimed Aizawa, the only one who would ever know how his sleeping body craved you as much as you desired him.
You give a tentative swirl of your hips, your eyes trained on Aizawa’s relaxed ones, testing to see how tired and sleepy he was. There was no reaction, no movement outside of the typical grunt at the back of his throat. It was a noise he always made when you first moved with him, a noise that quickly seared in the back of your memory forever.
Shifting your weight to be more comfortable on your knees, your hot hands fall onto his tight chest, and with a sigh of pure relief, you begin to fuck him.
Your straddling aided the deep penetration, allowing for the gentle kiss of the tip of his leaking cock to your thin cervix wall. You clenched tightly around him, unable to keep yourself from doing so as you rode him, the feeling of his throbbing member within you absolutely breathing taking as you placed your claim on him again, again, and again.
Aizawa was fully sheathed within you, and your fingers twisted and pulled at the tight fabric of his shirt, raising it up so that you could admire his taut, tense abdomen, mewling at the way he’s happy trail was thick and bushy. You wondered how he would react to your fingers threading through his body hair, if he would love it; if he would hate it.
“I want you to know how much I love you, how much I would give everything to you!” you whimper, your head fighting the instinct to throw itself back as you begin to drop onto his still cock faster and faster. “I wish you knew that you fuck me so good, Shouta-kun; I need you to know that! But you won’t even look at me! You won’t spare me a single second of your busy day, so that’s why I have to fuck you at night!”
Tears of both pleasure and hurt well into your eyes; you sniffle as you fuck him faster, dropping onto his awaiting cock with more significant, more aggressive slaps. The sounds echo throughout the room, the musky, sweet smell of your sexes is the only thing keeping you sane — that and the grunting noises that Aizawa keeps emitting, it makes your toes curl and belly flutter in a funny way.
“I bet you’ll fuck me so good once I get you to love me! You’ll never stop fucking me, you’ll never want to leave me because only I know how to fuck you correctly!” you snap, anger and lust licking through your tone, making your eyebrows furrow and your walls to clench even tighter around him. The building tension in your stomach is like a fire, and you can feel your high coming. “But you fuck me so good, baby, so good and you’re not even awake!”
And for the first time, you watch in electrifying pleasure as a low, husky, raspy moan leaves his throat as you fucked him. The sound alone was something downright pornographic to you, and the whine that spills from your mouth is nearly inaudible with the pitch it vibrates at. So without so much as a second thought, a bubbling smile spreads on your face, and you continue on, energy and excitement doubled in your joy.
Your hips roll, rise, and fall against his with growing force and speed. The small creaks of the mattress completely ignored by you as the throbbing and twitching of his cock buried deep within you keeps you pushing for more. The heat and pressure in your belly grow exponentially, festering and burning until you can feel yourself at the tipping point until you can’t do anything but focus on Aizawa and only Aizawa, or else you would scream his name in your euphoria.
The veins on his cock and the overall girth of his length send your mind spinning, not at all helping your predicament, and in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from crying so loudly you would wake up even the dead, you lean forward. Your sweaty body leaning down to his parted chapped lips as you kiss him to keep yourself silent as your orgasm crashes through you in a blissful wave. Your body spasms almost uncontrollably, the nerves and firing axons through your body uncontrollable as you lay there, allowing for Aizawa to cum before you leave. You shudder at the feeling of his cum emptying out within you, his cock immediately softening as you lay there on top of him. His heart racing with his orgasm, and you sigh contentedly.
“God, I love you so much, Aizawa Shouta; I’ll make you mine one day,” you swear, your nose nuzzling his stubbled cheek.
You lay there for some time, enjoying the way he feels in you, content with the pooling cum from your still spasming cunt. But eventually, you pull away. You pull on your panties and shorts quickly, not wanting a single drop more of his cum to seep out of you. Unable to help yourself, you lick the leftover cum on his cock clean with your tongue before wiping him down with a towel to prevent the smell from clinging.
Your eyes study Aizawa’s face just before you leave, and your smile.
He really does look less tired after orgasming.
But the entire time you were there — the whole night you fucked him and spoke to him — you missed the red blinking light of the camera recording in the corner of the room.
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okay okay centerfold au (like....the song by the j geils band) where billy mas moved out and away from hawkins (he hasnt quite made it to california yet, hes not ready) and hes starting to let himself be gay and think gay thoughts and ya know indulge himself every so often
which obviously means he picks up a magazine from the back corner of the corner store he frequents
he does for something a little tamer, maybe throws in a few playboys just because hes nervous (which doesnt even matter because the cashier doesnt even spare the covers a glance once scanned)
gets home and eagerly flips through it, feeling excited that he can have gay porn out in the open in his living room without fearing for his life
hes mostly just idly looking through it, folding down a few corners of pages he'll revisit when hes in the mood, just kinda reveling in the freedom of it
until
he flips to the centerfold, the showcase, the main event and it's–
"steve?"
billy fucking drops the entire magazine, it lays open, teasing billy with those big brown eyes and tantalizing moles
its a good shot honestly, pretty tasteful, definitely not modest, but billy can appreciate the artful quality
of course not in this moment, in this moment billy is panicking?
who the hell told steve harrington he was allowed to do that?
billy finds himself staring at the photo; steve as the centerpiece, draped across several laps, being groped by way too many hands for billy's liking, steve's got a half hard cock in one hand, the other possessively wrapped around the thigh of a man standing next to him, everyone's sweaty and there's splatters of something all over everyone, and there's hard and soft dicks and muscular legs and soft bellies and flexing muscles but only one face
steve stares at the camera–at billy–with an enticing stare that seems to ask "what are you waiting for?" and the barest hint of a tongue pokes out–
billy cant look away but wants to tear his gaze away to anything else, he wants to memorize the page, he wants to burn it, he wants to frame it, he wishes it never existed, he wants to be in that room
billy thought he was over this silly crush on straight boy steve but heres he is, gripping another man's cock, letting another man's cock rest on his leg, letting other men hold him and touch him
it might be fine if billy hadn't seen steve in years, hadn't seen steve since he left that fucking hellhole behind but no, no!
steve harrington, the man who happened to be the centerfold of the one single gay magazine billy happened to pick up, was his upstairs neighbor
///
billy stares at the ground as he stops to get his mail, hoping, praying, that he'll be lucky and not run into anyone on his way home
prayers not answered
"hey billy, i haven't seen you in a while, you doin' okay?" steve asks cheerfully as he wiggles his own mailbox open.
"yup, doing just fine, thanks for asking" billy slams his box shut and hurries to the elevator without running and jabs the close door button a hundred million times
"woah hang on, hold the door!" steve calls after him, juggling his mail and his groceries that billy somehow didn't notice
steve makes it
fuck
steve's blabbering on about.... something, billy can't hear a word he's saying, he focusing on thinking about anything other than–
sweaty
magazine
dick
nude
moles
dick
dick
dick
billy is begging for any thought, anything, to cross his mind, anything but that stupid centerfold
"hey are you sure you're okay?" steve asks in a far too nice voice
"i told you i'm fine, please just leave me alone?" billy grits out
"i thought we were past all that" steve says in a sad voice
billy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose
"we are, i'm just having an off day, got this killer headache ya know?" he lies through his teeth
"oh okay, gotcha, i'll be quiet" steve mimes zipping up his mouth
why is that worse why is that hot?
it's billy's floor and he can't get into his apartment fast enough
pulls out his dick and jerks it a few times before cumming right there in his kitchen floor
///
things don't get better
at all
billy avoids steve like the plague, which it wasn't like hung out on the regular, but theyd chit chat in the elevator or say hi when passing each other
so it was just awkward when billy would see steve in the hallway and immediately turn the other way
so it's not that surprising to wake up on a saturday morning to angry pounding on his door
"i'm coming, i'm coming, hold your fucking horses" billy grumbles as he pulls on a shirt and walks to the door
yanks it open to find a grumpy steve with his hands on his hips
"what gives hargrove? you said we were fine yet avoid me any time we so much as make eye contact? did i do something?"
billy has not had enough sleep to handle this conversation
"no you didn't do anything, it's kinda hard to explain just–" billy opens up his door to invite steve in
steve shoulders past billy and plops onto the couch
"coffee?" billy asks as he rubs his eyes
"im good" steve bites out
great
billy rolls his eyes and gets busy making himself a pot, trying to figure out how to say this, what to even say that would make this remotely okay
"oh my god" steve gasps
"what?" billy groans
he turns around and sees steve holding the magazine, clutching it really, something close to horror drawn all over his face
billy left it out on the coffee table as some sort of sick twisted 'fuck you' to neil
"shit shit SHIT i can explain–"
"no no i get it, um... i think i'm going to go, just... yeah i'm sorry i'll just–"
and with that steve was gone
///
this is worse, so so so very much worse
they either need to talk about it or billy needs to fucking find a new apartment
billy comes home after a long day at work to find steve knocking at his door
"hey–"
"jesus christ you scared me!" steve jumps into the wall
"sorry i kinda... snuck up on you, what are you doing at my door?" billy adjusts his backpack
"i, um... i wanted to explain? or talk? i get why you were avoiding me, i honestly forgot that came out this month" steve is twelve shades of the prettiest blush billy has ever seen
"hang on, let's go inside, i don't really wanna talk about this in the hallway"
steve's shoulders relax and he pressed himself into the wall to let billy open his door
steve sits awkwardly on the couch as billy hang up his bag and jacket and starts taking off his boots
"i... don't really know where to start" steve chews on his bottom lip and fidgits with his fingers
"i'm gay" billy blurts out
"what?" steve laughs
"i mean, i have a gay porn magazine, you're all nervous, i figured i'd break the ice?" billy shrugs
steve laughs and looks ten times lighter
"those pictures are older, i did them to help pay some bills while i was inbetween jobs, it was for a smaller thing, a blog or something, i dunno, it payed good so i said yes, i was desperate"
steve tuns his hands through his hair and breathes
"the guy who took the pictures asked if i'd be okay with him selling them to a bigger magazine, he said i'd get half the profits so i said yes"
steve shrugs and looks out the window
"so you just... did it for the money?" billy asks
"yes and no, i'm gay–well not gay, i'm bi but i'm... into dudes and all that, but mostly just to pay the bills"
steve finally meets billy's gaze with an almost scared look but more of a 'what are you gunna do about it' look
a lot like the one in the magazine
"that's cool, pretty brave too" billy says casually and leans back into his chair
"yeah... i'm kinda scared my job is going to find out that my dick is all over a magazine" steve laughs nervously
"you'll be fine, if it helps, you'd make a killing as a porno model"
billy grins wickedly in steve's direction
steve tries to smile back but it turns into a grimace
"i don't think it's weird, by the way... and while i don't think my crush on you from high school has quite gone away, i'm not going to like, make a move ot try to do anything" billy nudges steve's toe with his own
"okay" steve smiles for real this time
"okay" billy smiles back
"you really had a crush on me in high school?" steve smirks
"oh god, yeah, it was so bad, i didn't know what to do so i was just... an ass!" billy laughs
steve laughs along too and it's just comfortable, more comfortable than they've been ever
"do you wanna go get dinner?" steve smiles lopsidedly
"what!"
"like a date, do you want to go on a date with me?"
"it won't be weird?" billy asks earnestly
"not unless you make it weird"
billy grins and stands
"then let's go on a date!" he hold out his hand an hauls steve up
///
they're walking in comfortable silence, bumping into each other's shoulders, trying to make the other drop their left over box
they get to billy's door and kean against it, very much in each other's space
"you wanna know a secret?" steve asks with a mischievous glint in his eye
"sure"
"i had a crush on you in high school too" steve smiles and rests his forehead against billy's
"oh yeah!" billy leans into steve's touch, their noses bumping
"hell yeah" steve closes the distance and presses a soft kiss into billy's lips
#!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!????!!!!#harringrove#fic#my writings#lemons#yes but no but also yes#dont know where this came from GOOD NIGHT
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Lie to Me
Prompts: Post Pof: Janus is not doing ok, everday he can taste Roman's lies, he can feel Roman's pain. He can feel the ego crumbling. Guilt plagues him as hes done the opposite of protecting the ego. Hey uh... could you write a fic when you have the time? - meltheromanstan
Roman is having issues trying to keep up his facade (and maybe struggling with his work cause ADHD makes everything difficult on top of everything because I love the idea of the twins having ADHD) and he is one bump in the road away from a full on meltdown. And Janus realizes a lie in a conversation that’s concerning and at some point in Roman begrudgingly gives a self deprecating reason and Janus is like heck no and Roman’s like why not and Janus is like because i care? And then Roman breaks down because no one has told him anything like that in a long time. Sorry that’s so long. You can write this whenever, or never if you don’t wanna. Anygay, bye and thank you! - anon
Thank you for the requests! oh this poor man. roman i'm so sorry you didn't do anything to deserve this and here I am hurting you. I'm so sorry bb you need to be wrapped up with a hot chocolate and sat far away from everything.
Read on Ao3
Warnings: self-hatred, self-doubt, poor roman’s got so much internalized hatred this poor man, some things that can be interpreted as self-harm but nothing explicit
Pairings: main focus on roceit but it can be platonic or romantic you decide, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR
Word Count: 10,554
Janus hears every single lie in the Mindscape. It doesn't matter whether or not the liar believes it to be true or knows it's a falsehood; if it isn't true, he hears it.
Roman lies. A lot.
Or: 5 times Janus had to hide that he was taking care of Roman, and 1 time he didn't.
1.
They never gave Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he can be.
The wedding is an absolute dumpster fire. The aftermath is a nuclear explosion. Roman sinks out in silence, long before the video is over. Virgil never shows up, neither does Remus. Logan is cut off before he can realize it.
Well, that’s not true.
Janus cuts Logan off before he can realize it.
Because he didn’t care about them, no. Patton has the most influence over Thomas. Patton is the one who influences the other Sides more than they realize most of the time. And Patton is the one who needed to listen.
So it didn’t matter that the others weren’t there when Janus had to talk to Patton and Thomas, because it worked. Thomas listened, Patton finally understood, and things could start getting better.
…or so he thought.
In fairness, the others came around…fairly quickly. He approached Logan with a book on philosophy and an apology on his lips, only to be swept up into a conversation that had drawn both Patton and Virgil into the living room by the end of the day. It felt…well, right isn’t the correct word, but…warm, perhaps. Yes, let’s go with warm.
Of course, Remus belly-flopping onto the couch—and the rest of them—near the end was certainly an additional factor.
But Roman…
Janus didn’t expect Roman to forgive him. Certainly not quickly. He certainly expected Roman to forgive the others for whatever little parts they played in harming the prince’s precious ego. And he absolutely expected the prince to admit that he was wrong, that it was indeed his fault that everything had gone so spectacularly wrong.
The first time Roman walks into the kitchen after the wedding, Janus flinches.
Virgil notices and all but jumps in front of him, snarling a ‘what do you want?’ in Roman’s direction. Patton had turned around and his smile had frozen, staring at Roman.
“Hello, Roman,” Logan says cooly, “may we help you?”
“Yeesh, aren’t you lot jumpy this morning?” Roman shakes his head and sighs dramatically. “I am not here to grace you all with my glorious presence, simply to grab a little food and depart on a quest!”
“Thank god,” Virgil mutters, too low for Roman to hear.
He pushes Janus behind him as Roman waltzes into the kitchen to take something out of the cupboard.
“…when will you be back,” Patton asks warily, “and where are you going?”
“Into the Imagination, my dear Padre!” Roman spreads his arms wide. “To see where the spirit of adventure takes me!”
“That answers only one of the questions.” Logan closes his notebook sharply.
“Time is a social construct,” Roman says airily, “but I suppose I shall try to return for dinner?”
“Don’t force yourself,” Virgil snarks, crossing his arms, “looks hard enough already.”
Roman just laughs and leaves.
“Goodness,” Patton mumbles, leaning on the counter, “I didn’t expect him to be so—so—“
“Roman?” Virgil rolls his eyes. “Princey’s got a head bigger than a fucking balloon—“
“Language.”
“—and he’s not gonna come down to earth for anything.”
“Roman is—or can be—remarkably immature when it comes to admitting his mistakes,” Logan adds, “it’s not to be completely unexpected that he is still in denial.”
Patton sighs. “I know, I just…expected better.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Virgil huffs, “what about you, Janus? Are you hurt?”
“I also noticed you flinch,” Logan says, standing, “are you alright? Did Roman…”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he, kiddo?”
No. No, Janus is absolutely fine right now.
The instant Roman had appeared in the doorway, the lies slammed into Janus.
They hate you, they never want to see you again.
Everything is your fault.
Virgil is right to try and shield Janus from you, you were so fucking cruel to him.
They don’t deserve to be burdened with you.
Leave. Leave so they never have to put up with you. You know they don’t want you.
They’ve never wanted you.
And yet, as clearly as he heard those lies, he heard Roman, the blustery, pompous Prince, loud as ever, spoiled as ever. He saw Roman, the swaggering adventurer, the cocky Creativity who was always right, always the center of attention.
The actor.
Janus had definitely given him enough credit for that.
“Janus?”
Right, they’re still waiting for an answer.
“I’m fine,” he says, a beat too late, “just caught off guard, that’s all.”
Virgil eyes him suspiciously. “You’re lying.”
“Well of course I am,” Janus sighs, rolling his eyes, “it’s not like Deceit is one of my primary functions, after all.”
“Kiddo,” Patton says, “you know you can tell us if Roman—if someone hurts you, right?”
Something pinches just under his chin. “I know.”
“…so?”
He shakes his head. “Roman hasn’t hurt me, nor has he threatened to.”
Virgil bumps his shoulder. “Just…keep us in the loop, okay?”
“Because it’s very likely that Roman will hurt me.”
The others chuckle or brush it off. Of course, they did. When they aren’t paying attention, Janus lets his gaze trail up the stairs, following the line where the prince vanished. The others have never paid much attention to when Roman returns from his ‘quests.’
Janus does.
Even if Janus weren’t consciously coming to the prince’s aid, he’s certain he’d be summoned regardless.
He waits, quiet in the shadows, for the telltale squeak of the lower hinge on the red wardrobe door in Roman’s room. He’s learned to keep still, keep quiet, not yet fully materialized, watching as Roman stumbles back through the door, one of his arms sagging in relief as the other holds him up. The door creaks shut and a shuddering breath leaves the prince’s chest.
His head bows.
Before the charade completely falls away, Roman pushes himself up and starts getting ready to sleep. His sash, normally laid so carefully over the back of his chair, is given barely a second thought as he throws his costume onto the floor. Janus winces at the slam of the bathroom door and again at the way Roman all but collapses into the bed with a miserable expression on his face. He doesn’t need to pry away the pillow to know that Roman is desperate.
Stupid, stupid, worthless prince.
Not even a fucking prince, not even the fucking squire.
Useless, can’t even do your fucking job.
Can’t even stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself even though you know damn well you don’t deserve it.
You don’t deserve anything.
Janus grits his teeth and waits. Waits for Roman’s lies to grow less vitriolic, more sluggish, waits for Roman’s breathing to even out, sagging against the pillow, before he moves.
His footsteps are silent as he crosses the room, keeping a wary eye on the door, lest someone else knock and wake up the now sleeping prince. He swallows, leaning down, his lips barely brushing the curve of Roman’s ear.
He doesn’t touch, doesn’t want to risk waking him now.
“You’re not stupid, Roman,” he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard, even by himself. “You’re not worthless, you’ve never been worthless.”
Roman shifts in his sleep. Janus freezes. He stills and he breathes out. Bends just a little closer.
“And you deserve to know that.”
Even if he can only even whisper it when Roman is too deep in sleep to hear him.
2.
The lies don’t stop. They just get worse.
Fortunately, Janus’s powers aren’t limited by the physical space, not when the lies are particularly pervasive. For example, every time Logan insists that he doesn’t have feelings, or Virgil insists he doesn’t care about the others, or Patton says—particularly passionately—that everything’s fine, Janus hears it. These ones typically merit a scoff and a roll of the eyes, or a quip if he’s actually in the same room. These ones he’s used to.
Here’s the thing about the lies that Janus can hear; it doesn’t matter whether or not they’re lies that someone knows is a lie or whether it’s something they believe. If it isn’t true, Janus will hear it.
Case in point: Roman’s lies, and the lies that took Janus far too long to figure out were lies.
When he decides to tune into Roman’s mind, he’s normally greeted with statements lauding about how amazing the prince is, how he’s the best Side, how much he loves himself. Even when he’s not paying particular attention to Roman, he can hear those sentiments loud and clear.
The issue with that? He can hear them loud and clear.
Now, is it likely that these are things that Roman believes that aren’t true? The possibility exists.
Is it more likely, given recent…developments, that these are things that Roman has known aren’t true, and is intentionally thinking them in order to keep playing a role?
No, of course not, why would you ever think that?
They won’t go away. He can barely look at Roman now, can’t stop seeing, hearing all the lies he tells himself every day. The others are starting to worry, growing colder towards Roman, concerned about how much Janus tries to put distance between them. Virgil keeps shoving himself in between the two of them, Logan keeps pulling Janus into long conversations that Roman wouldn’t dare insert himself into, Patton makes sure the two of them are never alone.
Well, almost never alone.
The lies are the worst at night. When Roman is in his room, curled up under the covers, his head buried in his hands, they roam freely, coloring the red curtains with shadows, smearing themselves over his paintings, his drawings, his writing, his keyboard.
They’re right to be scared of you, right to hate you.
You don’t deserve their forgiveness, especially when you haven’t even apologized for the amount of things you’ve done wrong.
And you’re selfish enough to want a fucking apology from them?
Janus, waiting in the corner for Roman to fall asleep, winces, the strength and magnitude of the lie filling his mouth with bitterness.
Does he deserve an apology from Roman? Yes, perhaps, that would be nice. Laughing at his name in a moment of vulnerability was…perhaps not ideal.
But the idea that Roman doesn’t deserve an apology? From any of them?
Roman, the only one who consistently defers and gives and tries and hopes for them, the one who works nonstop to make sure they have something, anything to do, for Thomas, for each other, the only one who’s called out to apologize to them, who apologizes to them when he realizes he’s done something wrong?
Roman deserves an apology. If only to make up for the amount of times he’s been blamed for something that someone else started.
A noise.
Janus blinks, coming back to the present as Roman stirs. For a moment, he worries that the prince has woken up, that he’s discovered someone else in his room, only for a trail of sluggish lies to funnel into his mind.
Janus hates you more than anyone else and he’s right to.
You hurt Janus on purpose.
You never stop hurting Janus.
You will always be someone he can use, a puppet, until you are nothing more than an obstacle.
Before he can stop himself, he’s striding across the room to murmur in Roman’s ear again, chest aching with the weight of the lies.
“The others,” he murmurs, flooding the words with as much sincerity as he can, “they don’t know what I can hear, what they have never noticed, and that is what hurts me, my prince, that you are so quiet and so brave that you can convince the world that you’re not suffering.”
Roman clutches his pillow a little tighter.
“I don’t hate you, my prince, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me like that, and I know—“ he takes a deep breath— “I know that the hurt you caused me is nothing compared to what I have done to you.”
He closes his eyes and feels the guilt well up in his chest. He knows he can’t say the full apology that Roman needs—that he deserves right now. He can’t even begin to imagine all the little things he hasn’t even realized he’s done to Roman, how many things he’s done that he’s forgotten that were just another Tuesday to him, but rewrote entire chapters of Roman’s life.
He can’t begin to imagine how much of this could’ve been stopped if only he’d realized just how hurt Roman has always been.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry that I never realized how far I let this get.”
3.
Roman is touch-starved, he realized, horrified one day when he walks into the living room to see Logan and Patton sitting on the couch, Virgil sprawled across their laps, and Roman in the corner, far away from everyone else, hiding such a look of heartbreak that Janus almost stops in the doorway as Remus brushes past him.
“Hey!” Virgil splutters when Remus lies down on top of him.
“Remus!” Patton pushes lightly at him. “You’re going to squish Virgil!”
“He’s durable, he’s used to it.”
Logan raises his eyebrows, looking to Janus for confirmation. Janus sighs.
“I can remember every single time I’ve walked into our living room to see the two of them on the couch,” he says dryly, “and I’m certain that all of them have started with Remus asking Virgil’s permission to lie on top of him for hours.”
“See?” Remus wraps his arms around Virgil. “He’s fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, Pat and L’s knees won’t be though.”
“Ooh! Did you know that some people have a third bone in their knee?”
“I would be more than happy to follow this train of conversation,” Logan mutters, “if you were to get off my lap.”
“Fine.”
Janus shakes his head again as Remus clambers off, landing cross-legged next to Logan on the couch and immediately info-dumping. Virgil sighs and scoots, laying his head in Patton’s lap and going back to his phone. Patton runs his hand through Virgil’s hair and wiggles his free hand at Janus.
“Come on, there’s plenty of room.”
Remus snorts, interrupting his tirade long enough to say: “Jan-Jan’s not a cuddler,” before going back to talking about…something to do with knees. Patton frowns.
“What?”
“’S true.” Virgil peers up at him. “He’ll hug you if you ask for it but he’s not big on cuddling.”
“O-oh.”
“He should still come sit with us, though,” Virgil says quickly, shooting Janus a very subtle look, “so get over here, J.”
Janus sits, pulling out his book and opening it. After a few seconds, Patton looks away, and Virgil tunes out again.
Good.
The lies were getting a little too hard to stand.
Here, behind his book, he can shift his attention to Roman, scribbling in his notebook and looking every bit the creative genius at work, dead to the world, couldn’t give less interest as to what’s going on around him.
As he said, Roman is a fantastic actor.
This time, it’s not even that the words are the thing hurting him now. No, these lies are the type he’s more used to, someone frantically muttering the same thing to themselves over and over and over, trying to convince themselves it’s true. The problem is what’s being carried with the lies, and how deep this need must run in order for it to make it to Janus.
I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.
Roman’s hand is trembling a little on his pen as his brow furrows, eyes skating back and forth over the page. The ache starts just under his chin, right where it meets his throat, and surges, rushing through his arms to the very tips of his fingers. All of them, even the hidden ones. His gloves twitch on the pages of the book.
He’s so cold.
I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.
The words start to blur together. It hurts. His arms ache. He risks looking more openly at Roman only for him to notice, looking back and quirking an eyebrow.
“Something wrong, Deceit?”
“He has a name,” Virgil growls.
“Janus,” Roman amends, shooting Virgil a glance, “is there something wrong?”
“Why’re you over there?”
He meant to ask why Roman wasn’t sitting with the other Sides. He meant to ask whether Roman chose to sit by himself and starve himself of physical contact or if the others had cut him off. He meant to ask if Roman wanted to come to sit with the rest of them.
Instead, Roman smiles.
“You’re right. It’s getting quite late. I must be off!”
Before Janus can say anything, Roman assumes his dramatic pose and sinks out, cheerily declaring his farewells.
Next to him, Patton lets out a shaky breath.
“Goodness.”
Logan adjusts his glasses. “Quite.”
“Thanks, Janus,” Virgil mutters, making himself more comfortable, “I thought he’d never leave.”
No.
No, no, no, this is all wrong.
“Why did you want him to leave?”
Virgil shrugs. “It’s harder when he’s here.”
“Harder how?”
“We do not know how to act around Roman,” Logan admits, fixing his tie, “he’s not—well, he seems content to behave as if nothing is wrong, and…”
“It’s not,” Patton says softly. He fiddles with his hands. “We can’t go back to the way it was before, and Roman…Roman doesn’t seem to know how to move on.”
Virgil snorts. “Not that he seems to care enough to try.”
Well, if the lies still plaguing Roman’s thoughts are any indication…
Why would they want to touch you? You ruin everything you touch, haven’t you ruined enough already? Haven’t you ruined them enough already?
They’re done trying with you. They hate you. It’s a wonder they only realize it now.
Broken, useless, toxic prince. Finally left out in the cold where you deserve to be.
Roman curls up under his thin sheet, the heavy blankets put away for the colder seasons too far away and too close to Patton’s room for him to get them safely. Janus watches as he twitches miserably, curling up tighter, turning over, hugging his pillow to his chest, trying, trying to feel warm. Every now and then there’s a quiet noise, quickly stifled. His arms start to ache again, not just from the cold, but from how much Roman seems to believe that no one wants to touch him.
He makes up his mind.
He sinks out to his room, quickly grabbing one of his weighted blankets from his own storage. Returning to Roman’s room, he waits with bated breath until Roman’s chest rises and falls at a steady rate before carefully creeping forward and spreading the blanket over the prince.
“Don’t make yourself cold,” he murmurs, tucking it into place, “stay warm for me, my prince, stay warm, it’s alright.”
Roman shifts, turning his head so it accidentally brushes Janus’s hand.
Janus freezes.
Roman hums slightly and falls back asleep. Shaking, Janus moves his fingers, letting them card through Roman’s hair. The prince mumbles and doesn’t wake.
He does it again, firmer this time. Roman all but melts under this, just this, just a proper blanket over him and someone running their fingers through his hair.
“Oh, Roman,” Janus murmurs, unable to resist cupping Roman’s face in his hand, “you’re don’t ruin everything you touch, far from it.”
He cups the back of Roman’s head, guiding it to a more comfortable angle.
“On the contrary,” he whispers, “you make us better.”
And maybe…maybe he can try and provide a little of what Roman needs. Even if they have to be stolen moments, felt only on the very edges of sleep, when Roman is conscious enough to remember them but not lucid enough to lie and say he doesn’t deserve it.
4.
The time when Roman barely managed to stumble through the door in his room before passing out is the only time Janus seriously considers calling the others to help.
But no, he reminds himself as he rushes to the prince’s side, they would want to wake him up, to scold him, to figure out exactly what he thought he was doing, whether or not he’s considered whether this is hurting Thomas.
Janus bites back a growl as he starts examining the prince.
Perhaps if they were so concerned about whether or not hurting Roman hurts Thomas, they’d be more considerate about what they say to him.
He pushes that away for now, more focused on getting Roman’s tight collar away from his neck and checking the state of his bruises. From what he can see from the dirt on the costume, he’s fallen, from quite a significant height, and who knows what else might be hiding under here?
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he looks around for something to help, “but I may have to peel you out of these.”
Sure enough, he can get most of the costume top off fairly easily—and gains a newfound respect for how difficult it must be to put the thing on by himself, there are so many buttons—but the undershirt proves more difficult, especially as it seems to be stuck in places that it should not be stuck in.
…oh.
Oh, no.
Janus bites back a curse and moves quickly. One arm reaches for the first aid kit he knows is in the bathroom, one arm grabs a pillow and stuffs it under Roman’s head, two gently move his arms up and over his head, and two carefully, carefully take the edge of the undershirt and beginning to take it off.
He presses a gauze pad to the wound over Roman’s hip.
He holds an ice pack to the swollen lump on his rib cage.
He checks over the wound on his chest.
He tilts Roman’s head from side to side to see how far up the bruises go.
The pants have to come next and Janus grits his teeth, running his hand over Roman’s forehead as an apology before he shucks the article of clothing.
More bruises. So many bruises. Thankfully no more bleeding wounds.
He lets out a breath and sits back on his haunches, staring down at the injured prince.
The best thing about it, he decides, is that there’s no way for Roman to know that he would’ve been safe passing out and not taking care of any of these.
The wound on his hip has all but stopped bleeding as Janus tends to it carefully, wiping away the blood and soothing the angry skin with a balm, covering the whole thing with a bandage. The mark on his chest isn’t as bad as it looks, bits of dead skin that Janus clears away and brushes off Roman’s torso. The antiseptic makes him hiss a little and he rubs soothing circles into his tummy until he resettles, murmuring that he’s doing so well, he’s almost done, they’ll get him into bed and he can rest.
None of the bruises on his legs are bad enough to merit bruise cream, let alone keeping the poor thing from his bed for a moment longer. Instead, Janus quickly covers the one on his ribs and lifts the prince into his arms.
Roman jolts.
“Shh, shh,” Janus murmurs, stroking a free hand through his hair, “shh, shh, shh…”
Roman shushes, just in time for Janus to lie him down and tuck him in, one hand still in his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed. A furrow grows between his brows.
Should’ve gotten hurt worse.
Janus freezes.
Should’ve let them hit you more.
Got off too easy.
It should hurt more. You deserve it. Maybe if you pay enough it’ll get better.
“No, sweetie,” Janus whispers, reaching out before he can stop himself and cradling Roman’s sleeping head in his hands, “no, no, no, don’t ever believe that we want to see you hurt.”
Shouldn’t have come back.
Shouldn’t be a burden.
At least none of the others know about it, they would only complain and ignore you. Useless, worthless prince.
“You’re not worthless, sweetie,” Janus promises, still cradling the poor thing’s head, running his fingers through his hair to keep him lulled and asleep, “shh, now, everything’s alright, hush now…”
As the lies drift off into nothingness, Roman along with them, Janus’s face falls.
Roman is the protector. The prince that will always put himself between them and whatever dared to try and hurt them. He’s not meant to fight a war on two fronts.
Who protects the protector?
“I will, sweetie,” Janus whispers, so, so quietly as he tidies up Roman’s room and gives the sleeping prince one last pat, “I’ll look after you.”
5.
Roman, perhaps more than any of the others, is essential to Thomas’s mental help.
Roman is Thomas’s hopes and dreams, the things he wants above all else, the things he strives for, the things he desires. He reaches and reaches and reaches for Thomas, holds every single one of his wants close to his chest, and keeps them safe until they can bubble up into reality.
Roman is romance, the reason Patton gets all fluttery and bubbly inside. He’s the suave, fabulous, gay disaster that encourages Thomas to be happy, to reach for who he wants, for who he desires.
Roman is creativity, the livelihood that Thomas has chosen. He works nonstop, tirelessly producing idea after idea for Thomas to film, to write, to create, so Thomas can live and be proud of what he’s doing.
Roman is the Ego.
What is the Ego, you may ask? Well, although Freud is largely considered bullshit by modern psychologists—or at the very least, upsetting due to the fact that his research was largely corrupted by the rich men funding it—there are certain aspects of his work that remain in the public mind.
Simply put, the Ego is the conscious mind. It is the sum of your thoughts, beliefs, and habits as they interact with your physical body. The tether that stretches into your awareness and consciousness and into your physical form. It is a combination of body-thoughts-feelings and the consciousness taken to activate it.
The Ego gives you a sense of self-worth. It is a mask, one you put on and play as a role.
Everyone and anyone, it seems, has been warned about the dangers of an out-of-control Ego. Overconfident, hubristic, arrogant, with no regard for others. A vapid complainer, sustained by the power of approval hoarded selfishly. You are encouraged, if not instructed outright, to learn how to live without paying any attention to your Ego.
Here’s what they don’t tell you.
The Ego is what you think of yourself. It gives you self-worth because that’s its job. To make you feel secure in who you are. It is sustained by approval because it lives in fear. It itself puts on a mask of strength, of imperviousness, that it is indestructible, because it is soft, malleable, and so very afraid.
It is true that the Ego is nourished by positive comments, because it isn’t a crime to feel good, or to feel proud, or to want to be validated. It is true that the Ego sometimes reaches too high, only to fall, because that is its nature, to want, and to hope.
They don’t tell you that when you turn your hatred inwards, your Ego doesn’t just bruise, it crumbles.
So when Logan constantly tells Roman that they can’t do something, or it isn’t a worthy use of their time, despite his best intentions, he’s not doing much other than snatching Roman’s dreams away. Roman learns not to ignore Logan, yes, but at the expense of constantly being told that it is his fault when Thomas feels crushed, never mind that Roman is crushed, too.
So when Virgil insults and belittles his worth, tells him he’s stupid and unimportant, despite the fact that Roman will snipe back at him, all he does is reinforce the idea that Roman is the only one at fault, that Virgil is allowed to sit and insult him to his heart’s content while Roman has to apologize for standing up for himself. Roman learns to stand quietly while Virgil tells Thomas he’s a disappointment until the time comes where he believes it’s true.
So when Patton decides that Roman is bad, after how much Roman has sacrificed for Patton, to do what would make Patton happy, Thomas happy, when all he needs is just someone on his side, something, anything, Roman has to stand there, alone, hurt, angry, upset, and be told that he’s wrong. Roman learns that he’s only here to give, not to receive, that no one will hold him when he falls apart.
So when Remus starts to show up, more and more, less and less restrained, no one puts it together that Roman literally does not have the strength to hold him back. Roman learns that the others don’t realize how little confidence he already has, only that their approval of him is directly proportional to how much they hate his brother.
So when Janus decides that Thomas needs to take better care of himself and that the only one he needs to focus on is Patton, Roman is the perfect tool, the perfect puppet, to be used and tossed aside when he no longer needs him, because it’s so easy to twist and turn the little prince so he dances in just the right way, never mind how much it hurts. Roman learns that no one ever cared about him, not really, and perhaps they never will.
As you might be able to imagine, destroying the thing that gives one self-worth is absolutely the best way to go about things.
Can any of you guess where the blame gets pushed when Thomas’s mental health suddenly plummets?
It’s definitely where it should be.
The thing that scares Janus the most about how that meeting goes is how resigned Roman is.
His hands are folded neatly behind his back. His face is politely blank. His mind is quiet.
When there’s a break in the conversation—if you could even call it that—he opens his mouth.
“What would you like me to do?”
“Have you not been listening?” Logan adjusts his glasses. “To…anything we have said?”
“Of fucking course he hasn’t,” Virgil grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Kiddo,” Patton admonishes, crossing his arms, “Thomas hasn’t had any ideas or dreams lately and it’s stressing him out.”
“Which means you need to get out of the pity party and back to reality with the rest of us,” Virgil adds.
“Which means,” Logan sighs, crossing his arms too, “you are going to have to start talking to us again.”
Roman looks between them. “Are we not…talking now?”
“He means actually interacting with us, Princey.”
“Have I…not been doing that?”
“It means accepting that things have changed,” Logan snaps, “and working through it.”
Roman tilts his head. “How would you like me to do that?”
“Well—“ Logan adjusts his glasses— “let’s start with an apology.”
Something flickers across Roman’s face. Janus looks back and forth between Thomas and Remus. Thomas just looks a little confused as to what’s going on—which, when doesn’t he?—and Remus is staring right at Roman. There’s a strange expression on his face.
“What would you like me to apologize for?”
Janus winces when Virgil scoffs, turning away, and Logan’s mouth hardens into a thin line.
“Why don’t you try starting,” Patton says, “and we’ll see.”
“No, you know what? No.” Virgil points a finger at Roman. “I’m done holding your hand through all of this. Waiting for you to realize that you fucked up.”
“Virgil—“
“No, Pat!” Virgil gestures between the three of them. “You know how hard it’s been on us, waiting for something to change, and now he wants us to just…what, walk him through what he did wrong?”
Patton spares a glance at Roman before looking away.
Roman’s face twitches. He looks down.
“Perhaps Virgil is right,” Logan says, “when Roman can try taking the first step, then maybe this conversation will be more productive. Until then, I see no reason to waste time.”
“Great. Bye, Thomas.”
“Wait, you guys are just leaving?”
“I see no reason to simply stand here and be unproductive,” Logan shrugs, “perhaps if something changes, you can summon us back.”
“Doubt it,” Virgil mutters, grabbing Logan’s shoulder and sinking them out. Patton spares one last look at Roman before he leaves too.
Thomas shuffles a little. Remus keeps staring at Roman.
After a moment, Roman moves.
“…you want me to apologize?”
Janus definitely imagines the chill that goes through the room.
Roman raises his head. He does not look at where Patton stood, he does not look at where Virgil stood, he does not look at where Logan stood.
He looks directly at Thomas.
“I’m sorry, Thomas.”
Thomas splutters. “Roman—“
“I’m sorry that I sent you to the wedding,” Roman says softly, Thomas’s words dying in his throat, “I’m sorry that I made a decision that I thought you wanted. I’m sorry that I tried to put your friends above your own wants, because I thought that was right. I’m sorry that I thought I was doing what was right.”
Thomas’s eyes go wide.
“I’m sorry that you never had faith that you would win the callback,” Roman continues, never once looking away from Thomas, “I’m sorry that your dreams are always too far away, that you must always feel the need to crush them in favor of what is more practical. I’m sorry that you constantly feel like you’re set up to be one big disappointment.”
Janus’s arms drop in shock.
“I’m sorry that I can’t do what you want,” and by this point, Thomas looks on the verge of tears, “even though that’s supposed to be my job. I’m sorry that nothing I do is ever good enough on its own, that you feel so afraid, so scared of doing the things you want. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel even the tiniest bit of my fear.”
Thomas stifles a noise.
“I’m sorry that I don’t know things.” Roman chuckles sadly. “I’m sorry that it takes me so much time to figure out what to do. I’m sorry that it always feels like everyone’s one step ahead of me, that you have to wait for me to catch up, even though I never, ever do. I’m sorry for not sticking to the plan.”
Something heavy presses against Janus’s throat.
“And I’m sorry that I’m hurt. I’m sorry that it’s been a little too much for me to handle. I’m sorry that my pain is an inconvenience to you.”
“R-Roman—“
Roman just smiles sadly when Thomas can’t finish the sentence. He spreads his arms, giving a little gesture to himself.
“I’m sorry that this is your Ego.”
Janus sees the moment the horrified realization dawns on Thomas’s face.
“I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Remus snarls and it’s only years of practice that makes Janus’s reflexes fast enough to catch hold of him before he sinks out. “Let me go!”
“You can’t hurt them,” Janus grunts, “you know you can’t.”
“Fucking watch me!”
“No, no, Remus,” Thomas splutters, “don’t—don’t do that.”
“Why the fuck not?” Remus snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he struggles against Janus’s hold. “You heard what Roman just said, they—they—“
“We did it too, Remus,” Janus says softly, glancing at Roman, “we’re not blameless either.”
Remus keeps struggling. “Let—me—“
“Remus.”
Roman’s soft voice still the duke entirely, his head whipping around. Roman just stares at him, resignation and acceptance written plainly on his features.
“It’s not fair, Ro,” he mumbles.
“Life isn’t fair.”
“I—I can summon them back, we can get them back, they can listen to you—“
“But they won’t,” Roman cuts off in the same soft fury, “they won’t listen to me.”
“Roman, they love you!”
Janus winces. Roman just turns to look at him. He can’t meet his eyes.
“Maybe,” Roman says eventually, “maybe not. Either way…”
He spreads his hands.
“Here we are.”
“Let me go, Jan.”
“If I do, will you stay?”
“Fine.”
Janus lets him go, only for Remus to lunge and wrap his brother in a tight hug. Roman stands there, immobile, until Remus lets out a howl. Roman just murmurs another soft ‘I’m sorry,' and sinks out.
Remus collapses to the floor, his Morningstar cupped in his hands.
“What—what just happened?”
“The twins share things,” Janus murmurs quietly, his eyes still on Remus, “including emotions when they are particularly strong.”
“So—“ Thomas shakes his head— “so Remus is feeling what Roman’s feeling?”
“No,” Remus snarls, still gripping the weapon tightly, “I’m feeling what Roman isn’t feeling.”
He stands up, eyes blazing.
“I am what Roman isn’t. To you. What Roman isn’t, I am. Which means—“ his knuckles turn white— “the fact that I’m feeling so strongly right now means that Roman isn’t.”
Thomas goes pale. “What?”
“Roman is numb,” Janus says quietly, “he’s closed himself off from…everything. To protect himself.”
“It means my brother, the good Creativity, passion, desire, romance, hopes and dreams, whatever you want to call him,” Remus growls, “is now numb, touch-starved, and too afraid of rejection to reach out for anything.”
“What do I do,” Thomas asks frantically, “how do we fix this?”
“You can let me kill the others.”
“No, Remus.”
“Talk to them,” Janus suggests instead, “I’m not sure they realize what Roman being the Ego means.”
Thomas nods. “Okay, we can do that. Should we do that…now?”
Janus opens his mouth to respond only for something very familiar to trickle into his mind, along with an all-too-familiar tug.
Stupid, useless, worthless, toxic, dumb, unimportant, bad, can’t do anything right, selfish, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong—
“Not now,” he manages, “get some rest. You need it.”
Thomas nods tiredly. Remus just gives him a look that says ‘you’d better not fuck this up’ and leaves, probably to go work out some of his aggression on creatures in the Imagination.
Janus sinks straight into Roman’s room and his heart breaks.
Roman is on the floor, pieces of his prince costume thrown haphazardly around him, sobbing hysterically. It’s so loud that for a moment, Janus worries that someone else will come, trying to figure out what’s wrong, before he’s hit with another wave of lies.
Broken broken broken broken broken broken broken broken wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless—
He aches.
Because he knows he can’t do anything while Roman’s awake. He’d never let him close, never let him see this. A sick feeling crawls into Janus’s stomach at the thought of invading Roman’s privacy like this but it wars with the knowledge that he’d be summoned anyway, and that Roman is falling apart.
So he has to wait.
Watching as Roman falls apart, believing himself unloved, unwanted, and unseen.
Slowly, far too slowly, the harsh sobs morph into softer cries, then sniffles, then Roman stills, slumping on the carpet as his breathing evens out. Tears of his own threaten the corners of Janus’s eyes.
The poor thing cried himself to sleep.
But as he moves closer, reaching out a hand to stroke back his hair, he lets out a coo before he can stop himself when he sees more tears.
The poor thing cried himself to sleep and kept crying.
“Oh, sweetie,” Janus whispers, moving to cradle him as gently as he can without waking him, “sweetie you come here, shh, shh, honey, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”
He lifts the poor prince into his arms, moving swiftly to the bed and laying him down, tucking him in protectively and running his fingers through his hair.
“It’s okay, sweetie, you’re safe now, it’s okay, you’re safe…” He settles Roman’s head on the pillow. “Shh, shh, shh, that’s it, shh…”
Sleep-clumsy fingers curl around his arms. Oh. Oh, dear. Well…
“Oh, sweetie, are you—do you want me to stay?” Janus tries to pull away a bit only for Roman to grumble and hang on. “Oh—okay, sweetie, I’ll stay, just—just a moment.”
He snaps the fingers on a free hand and changes into something softer, something he can sleep in, something Roman can hold and cuddle. He slides into bed next to him, only to be immediately cuddled by a sleeping, still crying Roman.
“Shh, sweetie,” he whispers, nuzzling Roman’s head, “I’m right here, I’m not leaving, I won’t leave you.”
Roman mumbles something and snuggles into Janus’s chest. He makes another comforting noise at the evidence of more tears.
“It’s gonna be okay, sweetie, I promise, I’ll look after you, I’ll take care of you.”
And when Roman lets out a little cry, still asleep, he breaks, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Roman melts.
“Oh, sweetie…”
Janus spoils him with kisses, across his forehead, down his tear-stained cheeks, running his hands through his hair, down his arms, over his back, soothing a particularly painful hitch with a hand on his tummy, rubbing gently until he lapses back into a peaceful sleep. He buries his face in Roman’s hair and holds him tight.
He swallows heavily, guilt and concern warring in his throat.
“I don’t want you to think,” he begins carefully, “that I’m only apologizing because I feel guilty over seeing you hurt and that it’s my fault.”
He tightens his grip on the sleeping prince.
“I am sorry, Roman,” he whispers with his lips against Roman’s forehead as if to speak the truth into the prince’s dreams, “for all the hurt I have caused you. For using and manipulating you, for dismissing you and letting you think you were useless, and for letting the others make you believe you were so unlovable.”
He shudders, his breath coming out shaky.
“But mostly…” he swallows, “mostly I’m sorry that I won’t be brave enough to say that to you when you’re awake.”
+1.
Janus blinks. There’s sunlight coming in through the curtains.
His room definitely has curtains.
Oh. Right. He’s in Roman’s room.
Shit, he’s still in Roman’s room.
He’s fallen asleep, he realizes, in Roman’s bed, with Roman cuddled protectively to his chest, after the poor thing had sobbed himself to sleep in the aftermath of that awful, awful meeting.
Unconsciously, he goes to tighten his grip on the sleeping prince before realizing that he should be doing the opposite.
He should leave. Now. Before Roman wakes up and sees him.
He definitely wants to be around for that conversation.
So, despite the ache in his stomach at the thought of leaving Roman alone right now, he grits his teeth and starts trying to disentangle himself from Roman, despite Roman’s best efforts to cling onto him. If he weren’t so afraid of the consequences of getting caught, he’d find it adorable.
Okay, maybe he still finds it adorable.
But Roman’s so soft when he sleeps, so lovely, so unabashed at chasing what he wants. He clings to Janus’s shirt with clumsy fingers, burbles soft noises of protest when Janus’s warmth leaves his side.
“Come on, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, gently prying Roman’s fingers off, “let me go, you don’t want me to be here when you wake up.”
“Mmno.”
“You say that now…” He still won’t let go. “Come on, sweetie, let me go…”
He leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, hoping Roman will melt and he can escape.
“That’s it, just go back to sleep, sweetie,” he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic, carding his fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead, “sleep, sleep, sleep…”
“Stay,” comes the sleepy little mumble, its voice still lost in the dream, “take care ‘f me.”
The earnest plea brings a sad little smile to Janus’s face.
“If you knew who I was,” he whispers, “you wouldn’t ask that.”
Roman opens his eyes and stares right at him.
Janus freezes, his hands still caught in Roman’s hair, Roman’s hands still gripping his shirt.
“Stay,” Roman repeats, his tongue thick with sleep but awake, “don’t run away this time.”
This time?
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Janus swallows. “How long—“
“You said you didn’t hate me,” Roman mumbles, still tugging on Janus’s shirt to get him back, “and that it hurt more that the others didn’t realize.”
“You were supposed to be asleep.”
“You were supposed to hate me.” Roman tugs harder. “Come back.”
Janus gets slowly back into position, letting Roman cling to him like a child with a teddy bear. Without permission, his own arms wrap around the sleepy prince, and Roman all but purrs.
“We c’n talk later,” the prince mumbles, already drifting back to sleep, “but stay. Want you to stay.”
And…well, if it’s the first time Roman’s asked for something he wants in god knows how long, what else is Janus supposed to do but obey?
“Alright, sweetie, I’m right here,” he murmurs, curling his arms tightly around the poor prince, “do you want to try and go back to sleep?”
“Mm.”
But his eyes don’t drift closed. Instead, they stay glassily alert, one hand fisted loosely in the slack of Janus’s shirt.
“Sweetie,” Janus calls after a little, “do you want to change into something easier to sleep in?”
He lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.
“Can I help?”
Another shrug. Janus tucks a loose piece of hair behind Roman’s ear, snapping his fingers to put the costume on the mannequin in the closet and replace it with a soft red shirt and boxers. He presses another kiss to Roman’s forehead and ruffles his hair.
“Why don’t you hate me?”
Janus frowns, pulling Roman closer. “How could I hate you?”
He holds a finger gently up to the prince’s lips before the lies can fill Roman’s head again.
“Let me rephrase: I don’t hate you, Roman, I promise.”
Roman’s disbelief is palpable. “But why?”
...maybe he is going to have to do this.
“I can hear lies,” he murmurs, “whenever someone says them or thinks them. If they’re not true, I’ll hear it. No, no—stay here, sweetie, shh, I’m not angry, I’m not disappointed. I can hear them when you tell yourself that you’re worthless, or toxic, or that we all hate you.”
He lifts Roman’s chin gently.
“They’re lies, sweetie, that’s why I can hear them. You’re not worthless, you’re not toxic.”
Roman whimpers.
“You’re not broken,” he continues softly, holding him still, “you’re not hard to love, we don’t hate you.”
He cups Roman’s face and pulls him in to rest their foreheads together.
“And I care about you, sweetie, so, so much.”
Roman’s breath shudders warmly on his cheeks.
“Shh, shh, oh, come here, sweetie—there you go, you can cry, honey, I’ve got you, I’m right here, shh, shh...”
The weight of the prince’s tears drying on his collar makes it hard to swallow. He tugs the blankets closer around them and lets Roman cling onto him as he cries.
“I know you don’t believe me,” he whispers as familiar lies start to drift across, “but it’s true, sweetie. It’s true, it’s true, I promise. I’m here to take care of you.”
“I’m—I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor—sorry—“
“Shh-shh-shh, don’t apologize to me, sweetie, you don’t have to apologize, I’m right here, I’m not angry, nothing’s so bad.”
“I’m sorry.”
Janus hushes him gently with a kiss to his cheek. “I know you are...even though you don’t have to be, not like this.”
His chest aches when Roman won’t stop burbling apologies.
“Roman.” He takes the prince’s face firmly in his hands. “Roman, look at me.”
Roman’s glassy eyes fixate on Janus’s face.
“I forgive you, my prince,” he says, “I forgive you.”
Roman’s mouth stills.
“If that is what you need to hear,” he continues, softening his grip, “I forgive you, my prince.”
“You...you do?”
“I don’t want you to think that you need my forgiveness for me to love you,” Janus murmurs, “but yes, sweetie. I forgive you.”
Roman collapses.
Janus catches him. Of course, he catches him. He curls around his prince and murmurs sweet nothings, reassurances, anything he needs right now.
It’s messy, it’s frantic, it’s desperate, it’s human.
He can care for Roman while Roman lets himself be human. So he holds the poor thing while he cries himself out.
He doesn’t cry himself to sleep again, thankfully, just enough to slump against Janus’s chest and huff.
“Sorry.”
“No need to apologize, that was long overdue.” He runs his knuckles up Roman’s back. “Can we get you something to drink?”
Roman stiffens. “Does that mean going downstairs?”
“No, sweetie. Come on...”
He gets Roman seated on the edge of the bed with a glass of water in his hands. Roman drinks, blinking as Janus passes him a warm cloth, then a cool cloth, to clean his face.
“What do they want me to do,” he asks after he’s finished the glass and the cloths are hanging over the laundry basket, “now?”
Janus winces. Is he surprised? No.
“Shh, sweetie, I’m not angry,” he soothes when Roman tenses, “I’m concerned. You’re still—you still need to take care of yourself first before you worry about everyone else.”
But everyone else is worthy of the worrying, not me.
Janus hisses gently. Roman just sighs.
“It’s what you’ve told me,” he mumbles, “I don’t—I can’t just stop it.”
“I’m not expecting you to be able to just stop it, sweetie, it’s going to take time, but part of it is going to be recognizing what’s not true.”
“I know.”
Janus opens his mouth to say something else when Roman gasps, his hand flying to his chest.
“Sweetie? Sweetie, what is it?”
“I’m—I’m being summoned.” Roman clutches his shirt, staring up at Janus. “Thomas—Thomas—“
“I’ll go.” Janus gives Roman’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just wait here for me, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”
He can still feel the warmth of Roman’s shoulder tingling under his palm as he appears in the living room.
“I’m sure you have a wonderful reason for trying to summon Roman,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow at a Thomas.
Thomas looks up from his computer. “We were still filming.”
Janus stiffens. “You’re not thinking of trying to continue—“
“What? No, no, I’m saying that while Roman was talking the camera was still rolling.” Thomas points to the screen. “Which means we have it. All of it.”
Ah, now he sees where Thomas is going.
“You want them to watch.”
“They should, shouldn’t they?”
Yes, a bitter part of Janus growls, they should see how badly they’ve made Thomas’s Ego crumble.
“What do you think?”
Thomas rolls his shoulders back. “I think up until Roman said...all of that, I didn’t think the others were wrong either.”
He glances up at Janus.
“Did you?”
Janus huffs. “I don’t think we ever give Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he is.”
With that, the whole sorry tale spills out of him. He doesn’t reveal the exact nature of the lies, just the broad swaths of them and how many there are. To Thomas’s credit, he deals with it better than Janus expected. That is, he doesn’t burst into tears.
Thomas takes a deep breath.
“...yeah, we’re watching this now.”
“Right now?”
“Answer me this,” Thomas says, looking up at him again, “where is Roman? Right now?”
“...on his bed.” At Thomas’s pointed stare, he relents. “He’s not alright, Thomas, he hasn’t been for a very long time.”
“Then yeah. Right now.”
“Then I’m going to ask Roman if he wants to be here.”
Thomas nods. “Can you—can you tell him I’m sorry?”
“You can do that yourself when he’s ready to hear it.”
Understandably, Roman does not want to be there. Janus wraps him tightly in the softest blankets he has, tucked up with a pillow and a glass of water nearby if he wants it, along with the reassurance that if Roman wants him back here, at any point, to call. He’ll listen.
“Thank you.”
Janus leaves him with one last squeeze, appearing in the living room with the others. Thomas is back to setting up the computer so they can all see the screen.
“Thomas?” Logan adjusts his tie. “I was unaware we had something scheduled for today.”
“We didn’t. Spur of the moment.”
Remus shoots Janus a look. Janus nods. Remus shifts a little closer to him and his hand grips his Morningstar.
“Is this about the video from yesterday?” Virgil looks around warily. “Or is it something else?”
“It is about yesterday.”
“Shouldn’t we...wait for Roman?” Patton rubs the back of his neck. “He kinda—well, if we’re talking about yesterday—“
“Roman’s not coming.” Thomas keeps fiddling with the computer.
Logan raises an eyebrow. “Are we deciding how to film the video without Roman?”
“No.” Thomas glances at Janus. Janus nods. Thomas looks back at the others. “Roman’s not coming because he doesn’t want to.”
“What the fuck?”
“Language, kiddo,” Patton mumbles halfheartedly.
“Wait, so—“ Virgil doesn’t look so much as chided— “you’re just gonna let Princey throw his temper tantrum and not come work?”
“How much attention were you guys paying to what happened after you sunk out yesterday?”
“…not much, why?”
In response, Thomas just pushes ‘play.’
Their voices fill the room, telling Roman what he’s done wrong, why he’s holding all of them back, why he’s the source of all their problems. Lies, lies, and more lies. They get to the part where the other three sink out and Remus tightens his grip on the handle.
“…you want me to apologize?”
Virgil opens his mouth, presumably to make some quip, only to cut himself off with a strangled noise once Roman’s apologies begin.
Janus watches with a sick sense of satisfaction as Patton’s hands fly to his mouth, eyes wide at the hopeless tone coming out of the computer. Next to him, Virgil goes rigid, borderline catatonic. He looks as if one little push would send him toppling over.
He can’t see Logan’s face until Thomas stops the playback. It’s only when Logan takes his glasses off to clean them that he can see the tears on his cheeks.
Thomas looks up at Janus.
“Can you still hear them?”
“The lies?” Thomas nods. “Yes.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Roman is the Ego,” Logan whispers, mostly to himself, “Roman is the Ego. Of course…of course, I understand—I understand now.”
“What does that mean?”
Logan takes a deep breath and looks up at Patton. “It means that Roman is Thomas’s sense of self-worth, more or less, and that he—he takes the brunt of Thomas’s reactions to…any sort of feedback, more than any of us. Good or bad.”
Virgil stifles a curse. “And we’ve taught him to hate himself.”
“Quite.”
“We—“ Patton takes a breath— “we need to apologize.”
“We all do.” Thomas closes the computer and sets it aside. “I don’t…I don’t know how we do that, though.”
“Breaking patterns of thinking is hard,” Logan says, “and…especially hard when you have been taught not to ask for help.”
“But there has to be something!”
“Touch-starved,” Virgil breaks in, staring at a spot on the carpet, “Roman’s touch-starved.”
Janus raises an eyebrow.
“…when I was still having trouble,” Virgil says after a moment of them all looking at him, “Roman—Roman would just come and ask me if I wanted to—to—“
He hunches his shoulders.
“Sometimes it’d be a hug. Sometimes he’d sit next to me and—and lean on me. Sometimes he’d just—you know, with the forehead thing—“
“Bonk.”
They all turn to Logan, who has…a surprising flush to his cheeks.
“Roman said that he—he wanted to be able to express affection for me and not disturb my work,” he manages, “so we…came up with a solution.”
Patton blinks. “Is that why Roman will just walk up to you and bonk his forehead against yours?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
“That’s adorable,” Thomas says quietly, “that’s—wait, hang on, that’s really adorable.”
“It was Roman’s idea.” Logan swallows. “Most of his ideas are good.”
“Yeah,” Thomas says, “maybe we should try telling him that next time.”
Janus looks around. The others look to be in various states of remorse and determination. With the exception of Remus, who still looks like he wants to bash a few of their skulls in.
“…can we go hug Roman now?”
“I wanna do that.”
“If he’s—“ Logan glances between Thomas and Janus— “do you know if he would be amenable to that? If he—would like that?”
“We can ask,” Janus says quietly, “but I don’t know.”
“And if he says no,” Remus growls, “you get out.”
“We understand, Remus,” Logan promises. He looks at Thomas. “Thank you, Thomas.”
Thomas shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Not yet. We all have stuff to fix.”
Janus adjusts his cape. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”
They don’t sink right to Roman’s room. Instead, Janus knocks quietly on the door and waits for the soft ‘yes?’ from the other side to open it.
“Roman,” he calls softly, “hey, sweetie, why’re you over there?”
Because Roman, the poor thing, is at his desk, trying to work.
“I—um—“
“I’m not angry, sweetie,” he murmurs, arms going around the prince to pull him up out of the desk chair, “just concerned.”
“I figured that if I got to work they’d be less mad that I wasn’t there,” Roman mumbles, even as he lets Janus pull him back to the bed, “so I…”
“Oh, sweetie, no one’s angry at you.”
Roman looks up at him with such a heartbreaking look of disbelief that he lets out a soft noise, cupping his face.
“Would you believe me if I said they want to apologize and make it up to you?”
“No.”
He squints. “Have you believed anything I’ve told you since you woke up?”
“No.”
The lack of hesitation makes his eyes widen. Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against Roman’s as he pulls off his gloves, reaching up to cup the prince’s head.
“I meant every word,” he murmurs, doing his best to wipe away the bits of salt in the corners of his eyes, “every single word.”
He pauses, then leans closer.
“They’re sorry, Roman,” he whispers, “they’re so sorry and they want to know how to make it better.”
They don’t want you. They hate you. They’ve never cared about you. They don’t even want to touch you.
Janus hisses softly as he pulls Roman in for a hug. The poor thing still reacts like it’s the first time someone’s touched him in years.
“They want to see you, sweetie,” he whispers, “and I believe their exact words were ‘can we go hug Roman now?’”
“W-what?”
In response, Janus pulls away a little and nods to the door. Roman’s eyes widen.
“Can we let them in, sweetie?”
“They’re here?”
“Right outside.”
“They want—they want to—“
Roman’s desperate gaze flies to the door. He raises a shaking hand and lets it open.
Patton’s through the door before it’s even all the way open. Roman lets out a wounded noise as Patton barrels into them, his arms wrapped around Roman before Janus can blink.
“Pat—Patton—Pa—wha—?”
“I’m sorry, Roman, I’m so sorry, kiddo—“
Virgil follows not too long after, pulling Roman’s legs into his lap and reaching out to take Roman’s outstretched hand.
“Hey, Princey,” he says, the growl from not five minutes ago softened to a low rumble, “missed you.”
“Mis—miss—missed me?”
“Yeah, Roman, missed you. Didn’t feel the same without you there.”
Then Logan. As Patton and Virgil move to get Roman into a more comfortable position, Logan sits behind him so that when Roman leans back, his head rests against Logan’s shoulder. Logan reaches up to tangle his fingers in Roman’s hair, smiling softly at the low noise from Roman’s throat.
“Bonk?”
Roman nods, still blinking in confusion but lets Logan press his forehead gently to his.
“Thank you, little star,” he murmurs, smiling at the way Roman’s mouth falls open, “I didn’t forget, Roman, even if I haven’t been the best at showing it.”
“We don’t hate you, Princey,” Virgil says, squeezing his hand, “and we—well, we owe you one hell of an apology.”
“But we don’t have to talk about that now.” Patton adjusts his grip around Roman’s waist. “Not if you don’t want to.”
Remus picks this moment to not walk through the door and climb onto the bed but to sink down through the ceiling and land on top of them.
“Re!”
“Hey, Ro-Bro.”
“Re, get off, you—it’s too much.”
Remus rolls to the side, right into Janus’s lap, effectively making sure that none of them are leaving, not that they particularly wanted to.
Janus watches as Roman slowly asks if they can stay like this for a while, smiling when the answer is a resounding ‘yes,’ the cuddle pile closing in around their prince. Roman’s head rests against the crook of Logan’s neck, one of his hands wrapped in Janus’s, the other in Virgil’s. His legs lie in Virgil’s lap, Patton cuddling him protectively as Logan strokes his head. Remus and Janus keep watch, sentries over the resting prince.
For the first time, in a long time, as Roman drifts off to sleep, the only lie in his head is this won’t last forever.
They’ve got time to prove him wrong.
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disappointment - peter maximoff
i’ve yet again lost my ability to write :D anyway here you go lovelies <3 idek know what this is tbh i just had to post something (it’s not good im sorry I seriously hate this omg anyway im going)
word count: 2k
warnings: senseless angst, WandaVision spoilers, swearing
comments are appreciated <3
masterlist
“Are you nervous about the mission tomorrow? ‘Cus I am.” Peter’s voice sounded beside your ear. His head was tucked between your neck and shoulder while his chest was pressed flush against your back, his arms wound tightly around your middle.
With a tired yawn, you rubbed your boyfriend’s forearm soothingly. It was late and you were half asleep but you’d been dating Peter long enough to know that he could never sleep if there was something on his mind. “You’re not even going on the mission tomorrow, baby. Why’re you nervous?” You lazily played with his fingers, stopping them from anxiously drumming against your stomach, as you slurred your words sleepily.
Peter let out a heavy sigh and hid his face against your neck, pecking the skin softly with his lips as he did, “I’m not going, but you are. M’worried about you…”
His confession caused your eyes to flutter open.
Peter Maximoff had the biggest heart of anyone you’ve ever met. He loved hard but he worried harder. So when you heard the slight shake in his raspy voice, you twisted in his grip to face him.
His lips were turned downwards, as were his eyes as he avoided your gaze.
“Pete…” You whispered, moving your arms to wrap around his neck. “I’m gonna be okay. Raven and Charles will be with me the whole time, we’ll be in and out. I promise.” You pressed your lips against his quickly before pulling away to look at him, his brown eyes finally meeting yours, his hands holding you tightly against him still.
“I just don’t get why Charles won’t let me come.” He complained with a childish pout.
You let out a quiet laugh before tugging Peter’s head down slightly so his forehead could rest against yours, “We really need this mutant on our side, Pete. Charles insisted that only X-Men with the “powers of persuasion” are going.” You explained, making air quotes despite the fact he couldn’t see them.
With another light kiss you continued, “And hey, what’s the worst that can happen?”
Peter scoffed at that, scrunching his nose up in distaste, “He could blast the only woman I’ve ever loved into a different dimension.” He grumbled, rubbing his nose against yours.
His worry wasn’t exactly misplaced. There’d been a group of mutants on a warpath lately, one of the group slightly friendlier than the others, albeit, still highly malicious. The man in question had the ability to open portals to other realities, and he’d been using said ability to get rid of anyone who stood in his way.
Charles thought he’d be an asset, Raven thought he should be taken out of the picture and you thought the man was more than just a lackey, like he let on.
So Peter, as much as he liked to overthink, was definitely onto something. There was a huge possibility that, if anyone was going to get blasted into another reality on tomorrow’s mission, it was probably going to be you.
Your mutation was mind control, you could make anyone do anything just by saying the words. Charles’ tactic was to try persuade the mutant and if that failed, yourself and Raven would be brought in to manipulate his decision.
“That won’t happen.” You tried to reassure him, letting your hands run through his hair but Peter remained on edge.
“But what if-“ He started but you cut him off with a gentle tug on his silver hair.
“No buts. I’m gonna go on this mission, it’s gonna be a pain in the ass but it’s gonna be fine. I’m going to come home with not even a scratch on me. Then I’ll find you and you’ll kiss me and welcome me home like you always do.” You rattled off the usual post-mission routine with a fond smile across your lips.
Peter let out a defeated sigh, a smile of his own beginning to form as you placed lazy kisses against his jaw.
“Fine. I believe you. But if you don’t come back I’m gonna be seriously pissed.” He jostled your body, chuckling happily when you let out an airy giggle against his neck. “Don’t go getting any ideas, sweetheart. Even going to a different reality won’t get rid of me.”
You continued placing short kisses against his neck and jaw until you worked your way back up to his pink lips, you ghosted over them with your own, only barely pressing them down and pulling a whine from Peter when you pulled away to look at him with a teasing grin.
“So say your lovely girlfriend does get sent to an alternate reality… would you follow?” Within a second of your question, Peter had flipped your positions so that your back was against the mattress and the man in question was hovering on top of you with a cheeky grin.
“Sweet cheeks, I’d follow you anywhere.” He told you and you giggled at the stupid pet name before pulling him down to kiss you.
Your eyes fluttering shut as you murmured against his lips, “I love you, idiot.”
Softly, Peter tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I love you too.
*
It was safe to say that the mission was a complete failure. As you’d thought, the mutant Charles wanted to befriend turned out to have plans of his own, one of those plans being to throw you head first into a different dimension, apparently.
As much as it pained you to admit; Peter was right.
Fuck, he was probably going out of his mind with worry. You kicked yourself internally, not believing that you’d actually been careless enough to get caught out by the burly mutant. Not that it was entirely your fault, now that you thought about it actually, it was pretty much entirely Charles’ fault for doing his usual; not listening to you. You warned him it wouldn’t work, yet he sent you in anyway. If he didn’t find a way to get you home soon you’d… well, you weren’t really sure what you’d do. Probably find Peter and tell him you love him then go kick Charles’ ass.
Dreams of giving your professor the biggest telling off of his life came to a crashing halt when you took in your new surroundings. It seemed you’d been regurgated out in the middle of some run down town, if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought you were still in your own reality, but unfortunately, you did know better.
There was something wrong, or if not already, something was about to go very wrong in the little town. You could feel it. Someone very powerful was about to lose control of themselves. You couldn’t exactly tell the future but you had something of a disaster radar that told you when shit was about to hit the fan.
With nothing else to do, you decided to follow the feeling as it led you to a red car.
Noticing a woman in the driver’s seat, you approached cautiously. When she noticed you walking towards her she rolled down the passenger side window, looking at you with a questioning gaze.
“Sorry to intrude,” You told her genuinely, “It’s just I thought that maybe someone needed help.” You bet around the bush slightly, you knew it was the redhead in front of you that needed help but it wasn’t in your nature to use your powers to demand someone to spill their souls to you.
When her eyes lit up red, you didn’t startle. The feeling of someone poking around your thoughts wasn’t a new sensation to you, Charles seldom knew when to mind his own business, so the fact that the woman before you was reading your mind hardly phased you.
“I’ve got abilities too.” You told her with a small smile before going on, her eyes back to normal and her form more relaxed.
She nodded in understanding, “You’re very far from home, no?” Her tone was sympathetic and you let out a humourless laugh.
“That might be an understatement. Pretty morbid thinking I’ll probably never find my way home.” It was only when you spoke the words that it really hit you that the chances of returning home were slim to none. You’d probably never see the love of your life again, you’d probably have to wave goodbye to any possibility of having a future with your speedster.
Catching onto your miserable train of thought, Wanda leaned over and opened the passenger door for you, motioning for you to get in. Gratefully, you took the stranger up on her offer.
“I’ve lost everything too.” She confessed and you weren’t sure why but you felt the need to comfort her, once again following your instincts, you squeezed her hand and to your surprise, she reciprocated the action.
“My name is Wanda, by the way.” She introduced herself and you responded with a kind smile.
“I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”
With a deep breath, Wanda squeezed your hand one last time, then turned to face you. “I have to do something. Will you wait here until I come back? I believe we could be of some help to each other.”
“Of course. Take your time, I’ll wait for as long as you need.” You promised her. Watching as she took another shaky breath and got out of the car and made her way towards the foundation of a house.
After about a minute, Wanda fell to her knees. And then you saw nothing but scarlet.
*
Life in WestView was good. Sure, there were some holes in your memory, but other than that, things were good.
You had a nice house, right next to Wanda’s, your hair seemed to style itself most of the time and the nightmares that plagued you were hardly ever your own. Things were fine.
Being blissfully ignorant was good enough for you for a number of days, until a familiar face caused all of your hopes of living happily unaware to crumble to the ground.
You’d been over at Wanda and Visions house for dinner when he’d knocked on the door. Standing on Wanda’s front porch was the one and only, Peter Maximoff. Your Peter. The person you loved the most and your ticket home.
The second his brown eyes locked on yours you’d been so sure. You would’ve bet your life that the person playing Wanda’s twin was Peter.
Perhaps your fatal flaw was wishful thinking as the hope of your love coming to rescue you, however romantic, was naive.
It hit you like a freight train, that realisation. You were truly and completely alone, for when WestView fell it took all of your hope with it.
He wasn’t Peter and he never had been. Sure, he had his face, his body, his personality and even his superspeed… but he wasn’t him.
When you’d uncovered his true identity with Monica, a part of you shattered on the spot. A familiar, decolate feeling washed over you in the moment and you weren’t sure if you’d even bother to carry on.
It was the kind of gut wrenching feeling of being so disappointed to the point where it physically hurt. It was the pain of truly accepting that he hadn’t actually followed you into another reality, that maybe your love wasn’t strong enough to warrent a visit to another reality and it was the pain of knowing that his life would go on without you.
The X-Men would encourage him to move on and, you had a fair idea of how it would go, he’d fight them relentlessly but eventually he’d cave, he’d let Jean set him up on a date and then he’d go from there, however reluctantly.
And you? You’d simply be a name lost in time. The one they think about, from time to time. You’d be spared nothing more than, “I wonder how she’s doing’ or ‘whatever happened to that girl? Remember the one?”, but life would go on without you.
That sting, you knew, would never leave you. As hope was dangerous and unreliable and painful you made yourself a promise, you wouldn’t hold out for a knight in shining armour to come rescue you. All you could do now was find a way to live. By yourself.
PART 2
#peter maximoff x reader#peter maximoff#peter maximoff imagine#x men x reader#x-men#wandavision spoilers#wandavision x reader#WandaVision#pietro maximoff x reader#pietro maximoff#marvel
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tony finds out that peter wants to propose. marriage = very scary thing for tony. tony panics. peter mishears and thinks the issue is that tony doesn’t want to marry HIM. [misunderstandings + breaking up then making up + angst w/ a happy ending].
thanks sooo much for this prompt, anon!!!! i changed it a little so they didn’t break up but they do have a big fight and make up. It’s also a little shorter than i wanted since i can’t really type still due to my wrist injury but i didn’t want to make you wait any longer. i really hope you enjoy this!
read it on ao3!
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But Your Fears Get in the Way
Peter was going to propose.
Holy shit, Peter was going to propose.
It wasn’t like Tony had meant to overhear, okay? It wasn’t his fault Peter had assumed Tony was in the lab, not in the living room when he got back from patrol.
“Yeah, Ned, I got the ring. No, I don’t know when yet. I’ll let you know. I just-I want it to be perfect, you know?”
Tony had reacted wonderfully, if you must know. He most certainly did not pretend to be asleep on the couch so Peter wouldn’t know he’d overheard, and he definitely did not avoid his boyfriend as much as possible in the following days. It was a shitty move, and Tony knew it, but he didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t marriage material. What he and Peter had - it worked. If they changed it, if they got engaged, Tony would ruin it. He knew that, and he needed Peter to know that before he lost the best relationship he’d ever had because of his own inability to stop fucking up.
It was just a question of how to bring it up to Peter without breaking his heart and ruining everything anyway. Which was why he’d asked Rhodey to come over and help him out. Tony wasn’t the greatest with words and knew he needed to practice with someone before going out and essentially tell his boyfriend ‘Hey, I overheard you the other day. Sweet gesture, but I’m not marriage material.’
“Tony.”
Tony looked up from the Iron Man gauntlet he was in the middle of repairing to find his best friend standing in the middle of the lab, looking very irritated.
“Hey honey bear,” Tony snarked, sitting back in his chair and setting his tools down.
“You do realize you asked me to come over here, right?”
“Course I do.”
“Well, then maybe next time you could put down your toys the first time I call your name instead of the fifth.” Rhodey gave Tony a little smirk and crossed the room, sitting down in a chair across from Tony. The genius ran a hand over his face, looking genuinely apologetic - a rare occurrence for him.
“Sorry, Rhodey. I just-this has got me really shaken up,” he admitted. Rhodey tried not to let his shock show, knowing Tony would shut down and shut him out if he looked like he might be mocking him or not taking him seriously.
“You said Peter wants to propose?” He asked, Tony nodding to confirm the information he��d shared over the phone. Rhodey whistled lowly and blew out a breath, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s big stuff, man.”
“I know it’s big stuff!” Tony almost yelled, reining it back in at the unimpressed look the other man shot in his direction. “I just-I can’t let him. I can’t let him propose. But if I stop him beforehand, I’ll break his fucking heart and he’ll know I overheard him the other night. If I say no, that’d be even worse. If I say yes, I’m just prolonging the inevitable break-up.”
“Why would it be an inevitable break-up? Peter loves you. You’ve been together for four years, Tony. That’s plenty of time for someone to decide their relationship is or isn’t going to work and then act accordingly. Clearly he loves you a whole lot if he’s bought the ring and everything like you said.” Rhodey tried to keep any judgment out of his tone, wanting to understand and not aggravate his friend.
“Because that’s what I do!” Tony exclaimed, standing up so fast his chair rolled backwards across the lab floor. “I ruin relationships. It’s honestly a fucking miracle this has lasted this long, you saw how Pepper and I were before.” Rhodey didn’t disagree - Tony and Pepper had been a hot mess. “I ruin relationships, but I haven’t yet with Peter! So everything needs to just-just stay the same so that I can continue to not fuck it up. For once in my life.”
There was silence after that, Tony’s chest heaving as he breathed in heavily and tried to calm himself down. Rhodey stood from his chair as well, crossing the room to his best friend and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Tony almost seemed on the verge of tears, something he’d only seen a handful of times before.
“I don’t think you could ruin what you and Peter have,” Rhodey said, holding up a hand when Tony immediately opened his mouth to argue. “But if you’re that worried about it, tell him.”
“Tell him what?” Tony asked, and Rhodey took a second to think about how to phrase his next words. He thought Tony’s fears about ruining his and Peter’s relationships were uncalled for, but they didn’t come from nowhere. There was real fear there that needed to be addressed. Both men were so deeply engrossed in their own thoughts and their conversation that neither noticed the lab door easing open slightly and a head full of fluffy brown curls peeking in.
“Tell him you can’t,” Rhodey eventually suggested. “Just-tell him everything you told me. Talk it out with him. Tell him you’re not ready for marriage yet but that you still love him.”
“I’m not ever going to be ready.”
“Then tell him that, Tony. Tell him you can’t marry him. But tell him, not me.”
The two men jumped at the sound of the lab door slamming shut and swift footsteps running down the hall.
“Who was that?” Tony asked, thoroughly confused.
“It seems Mr. Parker is leaving the building in quite a hurry,” JARVIS spoke up. Tony’s entire chest filled with dread and the room was suddenly entirely too cold. Peter had heard. How much had he heard? Didn’t matter, he heard enough to just leave. He’d done it again, he’d ruined the one good thing he had left--
“I’ve ruined this already,” Tony wheezed, finding it difficult to breathe. Rhodey’s hands landed on his arms, his best friend coaching him through taking some deep breaths.
“You didn’t. We both made a pretty huge mistake, but we can fix it. Let’s go talk to him, we can explain.” Tony shook his head, placing his hand on Rhodey’s and removing it.
“No, I need to fix this. Thanks though.” He gave Rhodey a weak smile before rushing out the door, following JARVIS’ directions up to the penthouse.
-
“Peter!” He called out as the elevator doors opened. He heard shuffling in their bedroom and ran over to the doorway.
Peter was packing a bag. That feeling of dread in Tony's chest intensified as he took in the scene.
“What?” The younger man asked coldly, shoving clothing into his suitcase in a hurried manner that was so unlike him. Usually he treated his things with more care, folding each item carefully before placing it gently in Ben’s old suitcase.
“Just-stop packing, okay?” Tony walked over to where the suitcase rested on the bed and gently tried to block Peter from placing another shirt inside. Thanks to Peter’s ridiculously good reflexes, he was unsuccessful.
“Why? So I can keep listening to the bullshit you and Rhodey were spewing downstairs?” Peter asked, and Tony sighed as he continued to pack. Eventually, the billionaire just started taking the clothes back out of the suitcase, something Peter squawked at. For a few moments, there was just a flurry of movement as Tony took clothing out and Peter rushed to put it back in.
“Knock it off!” Peter cried out after a few moments, catching Tony’s wrists in his hands and holding them tightly.
“Then hear me out,” Tony said, trying to stay calm for them both. On the inside, though, he was terrified. And maybe a little turned on by Peter manhandling him like that--
Focus, Tony.
“Fine,” Peter practically growled as he released Tony’s wrists and took a step back from his suitcase. “Talk, then.”
“First of all, what you heard was taken wildly out of context,” Tony started, and Peter immediately scoffed and rolled his eyes. The younger man crossed his arms over his chest defensively, taking a few steps back from his boyfriend and fixing him with an incredulous look.
“Oh, so you weren’t talking about how much you don’t want to marry me? How you can’t?” He spat out, the words seemingly spearing directly through Tony’s heart.
“Peter-”
“Don’t Peter me. If you didn’t want to marry me, you could have just fucking said so!” Peter said, clearly distressed but trying to hold back tears. “No, but instead-instead, you strung me along for four goddamn years only to tell your friend that you can’t marry me instead of telling me! Do you not see how fucked up that is, Tony?! The second you overheard me you should have come to me instead of avoiding me like the plague! I thought I’d done something wrong, but I guess the only thing that I did wrong was loving you too much.”
“I-”
“No, I’m not finished,” Peter said, pointing at him. Something in his gaze, in the way he held himself in such a defensive way that he’d never been around Tony before, made the genius shut up. “Four years is plenty of time to tell me you don’t want to marry me. Plenty of time for you to let me go so we can both move on. Why didn’t you? What did you think was going to happen? That we were just going to stay boyfriends forever? Newsflash, Tony, in adult relationships there’s this thing called commitment.”
“I have been wholly committed to this relationship for four years, Parker,” Tony growled, more than a little bit of anger peeking through the fear at those words.
“Congratu-fucking-lations! You’re not acting like an adult though, are you? Committing to a relationship means commitment for the future, too! Not just right now.” Peter yelled - he was yelling now - and something inside Tony broke.
“I never said I didn’t want to marry you!” He yelled, and both of them fell into a shocked silence. Tony never raised his voice - not at Peter, anyway. Sure, they’d fought before, but Tony was usually calmer and when he did get angry he never yelled like that. They both took a few breaths before Tony ran his hands over his face and continued.
“I never said the problem was you,” he rephrased, voice softer now as he glanced down at the floor. “I’m the problem, Peter.”
“You’re the-”
“No, stop. Just let me talk.” Tony’s voice was exhausted, defeated even. He knew this was coming, despite Rhodey telling him otherwise. Despite hoping his days of setting relationships on fire and then watching them burn were over.
“Okay,” Peter agreed in an equally quiet tone. He felt slightly bad for screaming at Tony like that, but given what he’d overheard it had felt justified at the time. Now, after seeing his boyfriend look so utterly broken like this? He wasn’t so sure.
“This,” Tony gestured between them. “This is what I do. I cause problems. My relationships start out great and then inevitably I fuck it up somehow. A suit comes to protect me from a nightmare. I forget an anniversary because I’m too busy tinkering in the lab.” He finally met Peter’s eyes. “I take my fears of losing you to my best friend instead of to you, like I should have.” Something in Peter’s eyes softened slightly at that last admission, and Tony swallowed before continuing.
“Four years with you isn’t enough, Peter. Our whole lives won’t be enough. Of course I want to marry you. But I can’t. I can’t marry you because then when I fuck up and lose you then we’re both going to be in for a world of hurt. It’ll be easier if we just stay like this.” Peter took in a breath like he wanted to say something but Tony kept talking. “I’m not saying dating is going to make it so I never screw this up, but it’ll at least let me enjoy this a little longer. Enjoy you a little longer.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then another.
After a few moments, Peter walked up to Tony and gently took his hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over calloused knuckles.
“You’re an idiot,” he whispered fondly, and Tony tried to jerk his hands out of Peter’s grip. His boyfriend was too fast, though, holding on steadily and continuing those soft touches.
“That’s not news,” Tony tried to joke, but his voice was weak.
“You’re not going to lose me,” Peter murmured.
“I just did! Almost. You were packing!”
“Because I thought my boyfriend didn’t want to marry me. I thought-” Peter broke off, taking in a shaky breath as tears came to his eyes. “I thought you wanted marriage, but not with me. Why would I stay and make us both go through a relationship where neither one of us is ever going to get what we really want?”
Tony could almost kiss his stupid, selfless boyfriend. Of course Peter fucking Parker would put his own heart into the line of fire to make sure Tony got what he really wanted.
“Now that I know that that’s not what you meant, I’m here to stay. Of course I’m here to stay. I love you, Tony.” Peter reached up and pressed a soft kiss to Tony’s cheek, squeezing his hands lightly.
“So you understand why I can’t?” Tony asked, and Peter rolled his eyes. The action was more fond now than it was angry.
“No, I don’t. But we’re going to work on it. As long as what we both want most is each other, then we can work it out. I’m not going to let your fears get in the way of us.” Peter smiled sweetly up at Tony, who felt slightly dizzy. Peter wasn’t leaving him. They were going to be okay.
“I’ll work on it,” he promised, voice barely more than a whisper.
“We will,” Peter amended. Tony simply nodded before leaning down, capturing Peter’s lips in a fierce kiss. He finally pulled his hands free of that soft grip and wrapped them around the smaller man, tugging him into his chest and holding him close.
As they slowly broke apart, Tony barely held back a whine and tried to chase after Peter’s lips. His boyfriend just laughed, placing a gentle finger on Tony’s lips.
“Wanna help me get my clothes off the bed?” He asked, and the older man groaned at the thought of cleaning up.
“Do we have to?” He asked.
“Well, we can’t exactly have fantastic make-up sex if the bed is covered in all my clean clothes,” Peter pointed out, smirking as he mouthed along Tony’s neck before pulling away.
Tony, ever the genius, simply ripped the comforter off the bed and tossed it aside, revealing sheets with no clean clothing in the way.
“Fixed,” he crowed, picking Peter up and placing him on the bed. The laughter that rang out in their bedroom as he climbed on top of his boyfriend was something Tony knew he would cherish.
They had things to work through, that was for sure. But it was like Peter said. As long as they both wanted each other, Tony had a feeling they would figure it all out.
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Oooo it’s my birthday today and I neeeeeed my sweet boys, is it too greedy if I ask for you to write something absolutely adores like you always do. I can wait there’s no rush. It would really make my day a whole lot better
~Notes: HI HI BABY!!! I’m so so fucking sorry this is like two days late 😭😭😭 I am a piece of shit and I had an idea and then I scrapped it and then I came up with this crack shit! But I included singling like you wanted!! And ILU endlessly!!! I hope your birthday was at least filled with sunlight and friends and all the adoration you deserve🎉🎉🎂🥳🎈🎈🎈🎊🎊🥳🎁. And I hope this isn’t a shitty gift!😭😭
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Send Me A Prompt<3 | A Reblog is like a hug!!!!
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The 4 Times People Suspected About Remus and Sirius, and The One Time They Called It By Name
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~I~
Peter notices it first.
He doesn’t know quite what it is, or what it means— Peter doesn’t understand what it entails when he’s watching the way Sirius gently thumbs at a high patch on Remus’s cheek while he’s sleeping on the hospital bed after the first full moon of fourth year, a fraught look in his stormy eyes. Or how Remus’s gaze always search Sirius out first after he’s made a wry comment in the expense of the Slytherins, going alight with the other boy’s laughter. Peter doesn’t comprehend the way it sometimes seems like he’s caught in some sort of static— a negative space that makes him feel out of bounds— when he’s alone with only the pair of them. When they’re all huddled around the common area or their dormitory while James is probably skulking in search of Lily Evans or cajoling the other chasers to have another lap around the court. With Remus lounging on his fourposter, or the sofa, reading one of the infinite books he’s got tucked away in his trunk, and Sirius is quietly sat by his feet, toying with a non-magical contraption he’s found in Muggle London after sneaking out from his ancestral home while his folks were having a row. And Peter is ordinarily just fiddling with a scroll he has to finish for one of the tougher courses from a bit away, intermittently glancing at them side long, just waiting for an excuse to leave the suffocating ambiance that feels like it’s been fitted for just the pair of them and not another soul.
But the most peculiar part about all of this is that Peter is accustomed to feeling like the spare, the cast off who’s clinging to the glimmering forms that are James and Sirius, and their ravenous appetite for any and all attention that’s given over because that’s the sort of boys they are— affluent and prominent and radiating with a sort of spark that’s all there own— the sort of boys that others find doubtless that they are something miraculous. But when Peter’s around just the pair of them, in the corner of the galaxy that the marauders have carved for them to rule like kings— It never feels quite so stilted, so weighty. Sirius and James have a gift of making everyone in the room feel like they’re in on the joke, that they could be showered with that same granger just as long as they play in the tableau. Remus and Sirius together feels the contrary of that, like there’s something pregnant lying between them, waiting to pounce. Like there’s an understanding that no one else gets to glimpse at, and no one else should try. An understanding that’s personal and private and crackling with an energy that is far beyond anything between mere friends, beyond anything Peter could fathom with all his fifteen years.
Idly, over supper after an entire two hours being stuck between that strange tension simmering beneath the surface of Remus and Sirius, Peter wonders for the umpteenth time on whether he should ask James about this development in their small brotherhood, should ask him if he’s detected the difference there. And if he has, Peter will listen to James’s plan to ensure this doesn’t ruin anything. How whatever is brewing under the surface won’t absolutely ruin them.
But then, from the corner of his eye, Peter sees Sirius— none to gently— piling Remus’s plate with an abundance of the potatoes that Moony likes best, dipping down to whisper something in his ear— something surely lecherous— before tousling his curls in that brash, bombastic way of his that he does with Peter and James too, even if he ends it by gingerly cupping the nape of Remus’s neck with a surreptitious squeeze that ends just as quickly as it began, falling back into conversation with James and Marlene about the Wasps’s chances against the Harpies this Friday night as if it was just an innate action, even if it’s one Peter’s only ever witnessed him doing to Remus.
And even though there’s another full in two days, and even though Remus looks like a walking inferi— pale faced and exhausted posture and circles the color of midnight smudged beneath his eyes— Peter watches the ends of his lips quirk up into the best approximation of a smile Peter’s ever seen on him so close to the wolf breaking through the surface of his body that’s all skin and bones, and he isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light or not, but Remus actually looks like he might be glowing over the strange attention that Sirius’s only ever paid to him.
So no… No, Peter doesn’t think he’ll ask James quite yet, reckons that if anything can help his moon plagued friend, that it must be something good, something that shouldn’t be tempered with.
They can figure out how the strange string pulling Remus and Sirius together will alter their brotherhood later on, there’s still time. There’ still a possibility that it won’t devastate everything.
~II~
Lily’s suspected for a while.
The thing is that she’s known about Remus since the end of third year, when he rebuffed the advances of an eager Heleen Abed, and Lily found him on the ledge of the largest window in the vacant common room— the same one that they regularly commandeer with Mary McDonald to discuss the finer points of Muggle politics and current events, separate from the melting pot of their Gryffindor class that’s composed of either pure bloods or those with their closest Muggle relative being a long dead grandparent. And it was definitely a dangerous, knife’s edge she was playing at, but Lily had sat besides the boy who she’s cultivated a real and true friendship with— one beyond pleasant platitudes and fodder about their course work— and she told him about her cousin Joey with green spiked hair and a mischievous smile adorned with a sparkling stud and how she and Petunia had caught him holding hands with one of his friends from sixth-form in the garden of her Aunt’s cottage, and how even the sneer on her older sisters lips hadn’t deterred Lily from thinking anything but mild indifference about the situation. Only wanting her cousin to always live in that easy effervescence she’s always known when it came to him.
And nothing else was exchanged between them, but Remus had grinned in that barely perceptible way of his, and Lily had nudged his shoulder with her own and then fished out her final handful of chocolate frogs for them to share while they revise their notes for the transfiguration exam coming up.
Two summers have past since then—they’re in the midst of their final term of fifth year now— and she thinks that they’ve become even closer, that the frequent late nights in the library for their impending OWLs and their countless prefect rounds has helped forge a real and true bond— especially that whole snag earlier in the year when they had realized they were both snogging Leon Bennett on alternating nights behind greenhouse three. But all of that withstanding, Lily knows that there are still secrets Remus keeps tight to his chest, ones that Lily’s analytical mind— the mind of a potions expert and future healer— has suspected to do with the thin, silvery scars running down his strong hands that are all tapered fingers and slender wrists, and another across his right bicep that she saw when he had changed his robes for a jumper in front of her, and the one cutting down from the bottom of his ear and nearly across the entire length of his neck, ending at the corner of his sharp collarbone. But Lily suspects he’ll tell her about that soon enough, what she isn’t so confident about is him admitting that particularly dazed look he gets when around Black, of all people. The way he stammers his words occasionally and the way he worries on his bottom lip while averting his glance when Sirius is chatting up a very pleased looking girl, and the way he flushes when Lily is ribbing about him in particular. And Lily knows that the foursome of Gryffindor boys had a falling out of sorts before winter hols, that there’s a hairline fracture between them and Remus now— one that she’s sure no one else can pick up on after the way they had seemingly come back together in late January, right before her birthday funnily enough. But Lily’s always been the analytical sort— the sort to absorb the barebones of a situation so she could conjure a hypothesis that she could prove after careful study.
So Lily knows that it’s something deeper, and she can see how Remus is reticent around them in ways she’s actually worried won’t be shaken off anytime soon— which is all levels of bazaar considering she’s been telling Remus for years that he needs to shrug off his rowdy mates like a snake shedding an old coat. But before, when she’d barb as much he’d only stick out his tongue and tell her what happens to busybodies, and how she doesn’t really know them at all. But now days, he just looks particularly hurt, and more than a bit put out, and Lily catches him flickering over to wherever Sirius was holding court, longing in a way she couldn’t possibly articulate out loud.
Honestly Lily thinks it’s really quite gracious of her to have dropped the subject completely, rather, she takes up the mantel of his friend that can distract him from all those sorts of woes, biting her tongue over his lingering feelings for Sirius that are more than likely far beyond a passing fancy. And she thinks that maybe that’s a good call, maybe it’s good for Remus to beat down those sorts of emotions that he’s harboring for the wanker. She knows Remus, and she knows he wouldn’t hold a grudge— even such a quiet one— for no reason at all. Besides, she doesn’t really think it’s her place to tell him how when he’s glancing away, Sirius is holding vigil to him with that same sort of fervor. That Sirius is the one who collects the notes for all his classes on those conspicuous absences of his when Remus is feeling poorly in the infirmary. That Sirius occasionally looks so very gutted when Remus is wilting away from them, when he seeks Lily’s company instead.
She has a heavy suspicion that Remus might already know all of those things— that maybe they’ve already discussed it at length, that maybe the falling out in December has caused a full stop of anything that could’ve potentially blossomed between them. And she just wishes she knew the entire story so she could decide on whether she should be jinxing Black’s face to a putrid orange color, or pushing Remus to actually give him a chance.
Lily just wishes she could read Black as easily as she can Remus, maybe that would help in this experiment she’s testing, because for now she’s just confused as all hell over what exactly Black feels towards him. Well that is until it’s a fortnight before Remus’s birthday, and she’s being bodily dragged into a closet on her way to charms.
“Oi— What the bloody—“
“Language, Evans,” the annoyingly familiar baritone of Sirius Black tsks, lighting up the cupboard with his wand and smirking in that jagged way she’s heard countless girls tittering over, and the one that makes her want to pop him one right against his ridiculously smug face.
“Black,” she says, caustic as all get out with her fists clenched against her sides and her brows making a really resilient effort to meet in the middle. “You’ve got thirty seconds before I hex your bollocks off.”
“Pff, and Jamie thinks you’re some sort of saint.”
“Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six.”
Sirius pulls a face at her, but must understand the credence in the words, because it’s not another moment more before he pulls out a bedraggled looking slip of paper from his robe’s pocket, and thrusts it at her face. So with an indignant huff, Lily opens it up and begins scanning the words— becoming all the more confused when she sees measurements and things like coco powder and melted butter, instead of whatever the hell else she was preparing herself to read.
“I’m being pranked, aren’t I? You’re trying to distract me so you and Potter can do something horrid to the Slytherin’s common room.”
“We’ve actually already done that today,” Sirius jeers, raising up his hands in concession with a cluck of the tongue at her scowling face. “’s from Moony’s mum, all right. I asked her to send me the recipe of this chocolate cake she use to make him for his birthdays before Hogwarts— I just thought… It might be nice is all, and you can sod right off if you look at me like that, Evans, with the soft eyes and all that rot. Are you going to help me or not?”
Lily resolutely ignores the pang to her heart, because God, this really is such a sweet gesture. “And what? you thought I could help you because I’m a bird?” She asks in the most scolding inflection she could muster in the face of this incredibly soppy gift he wants to give Remus.
“None of that, blimey, Evans.” Sirius snarls, obviously diffident, and combined with the faint flush to his cheeks, Lily suddenly realizes why he’s considered one of the best looking blokes in the entirety of their school. “There’s a whole load of Muggle mumbo jumbo, so it was between asking you, or McDonald, and I adore Mary and all, but she has got such a mouth on her.”
“You should know,” Lily counters with a leer. “She couldn’t stop going on about your date back in October.”
Sirius’s brows hike, and he actually smiles at her— one that’s vacant from all his bravado from his upbringing in his pretentious, pure blood home, and one that isn’t trying to show off. And Lily can’t help but favoringly liken him to an excited pug. “Oh you’re wicked, Evans!” He shrills delightedly. “Oh this is great, you’re just as depraved as Remus, are all prefects like this?”
Lily snorts, shaking her head at him, indulgent. “Never mind that, Black. Most of this stuff can be found in the kitchens below, I’m sure the house elves won’t mind us borrowing anything.”
“And the ingredients that won’t be down their?” He asks worriedly.
“Well, good on you planning this so far ahead of time, we’ll just have to experiment.”
Sirius groans in retort, muttering things about Muggle potions and James thinking he’s getting off with his future wife and other ridiculous things that Lily doesn’t bother to stay and listen to. Though, when Remus’s birthday does roll around, and she sees his countenance go a thousand shades brighter as he bites into the pudding, and Sirius’s grin stretch just that much more across his face in response— their eyes meeting across the room and past the crowds— Well Lily suspects Sirius never really minded any of the things he was whinging on about, not at all, not as long as the result was a beaming Remus.
~III~
Regulus hears about it in the halls.
He’s not much for gossip or that sort of dribble, doesn’t have much patience for anyone outside his house if he’s being at all frank— and even then, it’s not as if he doesn’t frequently find himself escaping to his fourposter for a moment’s quiet. It seems that everyone in this bloody castle are just dimwitted, daft idiots, and Regulus’s never been the sort to offer allowances for that kind of behavior. He’s been raised in the home of a family as close to royalty as Wizards permit, a prince among men. And he was told that he should have patience for the dull folks beneath him, just as long as they have the correct ideals, but sometimes he can’t help but wish they would all just let him be, sometimes feels like he’s being carted around Hogwarts as the perfect pure blood, like he was nine years old again and being shown off in the parlor of his home when guests came to call, watching from the sidelines while his mother rave about how splendid of an heir Sirius is turning out to be. How his tutor calls him a genius for any age, and how darling he looks in Slytherin green, and how he’s already mastered three romance languages to help in his spell work.
And Regulus can’t help but scoff at those contemplations now, thinking of the past summer when his dramatic and brash brother had made a whole production of leaving behind the values that gave him everything he has. How he escaped to that Potter git’s home the way he’s been doing for nearly every holiday since his second year, how he offered Regulus to come along as if he’s a trader just like him. What a risible excuse for an heir.
But Regulus won’t commit such follies, he’ll make his parents proud— even if his father is nearly never paying much mind and his mother goes from raving to sickly in a blink of an eye. It doesn’t matter, because he’ll carry on the Black legacy, something that his oh so perfect brother never could’ve done. Regulus is only a fifth year, will be turning sixteen in only two months after Sirius’s coming of age, and sure, this might mean he’s still young enough that the Death Eaters don’t find him adequate to fight on the line of fire, but he’ll do it eventually, feels the weight of the letter from Bellatrix praising him for as much resting heavy in his pocket. And if Regulus finds them all a bit too vicious or a bit too excitable and completely lacking a deft hand to make the changes they’re searching for, he shrugs it off. He knows what he must do, and as he stares at his brother from across the valley cusping the lake, he’s only that much more steadfast in the conviction of the fact.
Sirius is sitting and laughing with a group of his Gryffindor mates, the mudbloods, and blood traders that had warped him from the brother he knew to the stranger he is now. And there’s a dark skinned Ravenclaw bird— Meadowes if he remembers correctly from his prefect meetings— and she’s telling some sort of long winded tail with hand gestures and loud cackling coming from the group as she goes on. And Sirius is tossing around a quaffle with Potter— the glint of a handsome, silver watch on his wrist catching in the dying sunlight. And Regulus wonders who had gifted him such a personal passage to adulthood, but is soon distracted by spotting the way Sirius nearly gets smacked in the face with the ball because he was too busy gawking over at Lupin in such a stripped down, cautious way that it makes Regulus squirm.
He doesn’t know much about the elder Prefect, only that his name had come up nearly as much as Potters during that first year when Sirius would send him correspondence on a frequent basis because he knew how lonely Regulus would get while stuck in Grimmauld all by himself. And then when he began attending Hogwarts, Regulus never could get a good reading on him. He knew Potter because of how his family is infamous for their liberal views and nouveau riche attitudes, and Pettigrews family owns a hokey herb shop in Diagon. All he’s found out about the Lupins is that his father is the son of half-bloods and his mother is a Muggle, and that this mudblood is a reserved, carefully aloof bugger, and that somehow he’s seemingly captured all of Sirius’s attentions that he’s not giving Potter or the clinger ons who follow him around like mindless fools. Beyond that, Lupin and Regulus have only traded a hand full of words whenever their roles of prefects would force them to intermingle, and it’s always been punctuated by Lupin giving Regulus a witheringly cold look anytime they were in close proximity, which is admittedly impressive considering that half the time the sickly bastard looks like he’s about ready to keel over.
So no, Regulus doesn’t know much about him, but he’s heard the rumors. He knows that it’s basically an open secret between the Gryffindor class and selected friends. The fact that his brother is probably shagging the mudblood, convincing Regulus that Sirius really has never given a toss about the decorum and standards befalling them as the only two Black males of their generation. And he hates his brother so scathingly right then, hates his little munblood lover probably even more.
And when he watches Lupin straying his gaze from the novel he was reading while that red haired Muggle born was resting her head in his lap, and Regulus saw the way both of their expressions went a peculiar sort of tender— well that’s the last straw, so he stands up in a huff— so unlike himself— and he cuts the story Mulciber was crowing on about, and he tells them he needs to complete a scroll for Slughorn.
And while he prowls away from the sight of his brother continuing to ruin everything, Regulus plunges a hand into his pocket, and crunches Bellatrix’s letter in his grasp, promises himself to write her back soon, and ignores the ache in his chest that’s only been growing larger since Sirius had left permanently.
~IV~
James’s always known.
Perhaps that’s an over reach, but it’s true enough. He’s known for years, on some level, that the thing between Sirius and Remus is something completely foreign to him. Something completely separate from how Sirius licks his face when James is over sleeping and he wants to be a general nuisance. Separate from how he and Remus have begun discussing anything and everything in the wee hours of the morning, with a spot of tea between them and a blanket on their legs, because Remus can’t sleep from the moon and James has never been able to sleep through the whole night without feeling guilty over it. He thinks it stemmed from when he was younger, when his parents were feeling sickly, and before they were gifted a house elf by a family friend who recognized that the elderly Potters needed just a bit more assistance.
James never knew whether it was obvious to him because he’s always considered Sirius as his bastard brother since Christmas of first year, and that he’s always trying to make sure that Remus is all right after finding out just how impressively the bloke can keep secrets once Sirius figured out his furry little problem. So he’s not sure what others know, or even what Remus and Sirius know of what’s happening between them, honestly, there have been so many almosts that James has picked up on over the years. And he still shutters thinking about the near total break that happened with the prank, still isn’t quite sure what had past between them to get Sirius and Remus speaking with each other once more, but he does know that Remus staying with James, Sirius, and Peter the past summer after Sirius escaping the twisted place he was suppose to call a home, is what helped indefinitely. And now, a year separate from the prank, things finally feel normal between them.
Well— Erm, not normal per se. Those idiots are still blustering and bumbling and bashfully avoiding one another when anything close to romantic comes up in a discussion or when their hands touch over the Great Hall table or whenever James makes a pointed remark when he catches one of them staring a bit too slack jawed at the other in the midst of something totally bloody innocuous in the eyes of a normal person— EG: Sirius gathering his hair— that’s nearly to the bottom of his neck now a days— into a small knot on the back of his head, or Remus sucking idly on a sugar quill while he’s revising. And sure, James has to deal with the kicks at his ankles, or a spare jinx if one of them is especially pissy, but Lily’s come to join him in the ribbing, so it kind of makes everything all right. Especially when she levels her beautiful, forrest green eyes with his own brown ones, and she actually looks sort of endeared.
Yeah— that’s a fucking amazing feeling all right, and it’s probably the memory of that happening only a few hours ago that has got James all jittery now, far past midnight. So with a tired sigh, he slides open the drapes of his fourposter, is ready to go downstairs for a kitchen raid if Remus isn’t awake— Though once he sets his glasses on, and blinks a few times over to get acclimated with the dark, he’s only a bit stunned to find the shapes of Remus and Sirius crowded on the former’s bed— and they’re really not much more than suggestions beneath the shadows, but it’s enough for James to see Sirius’s head bent low, resting it against the crook of Moony’s neck and shoulder, while the shorter boy has got his arms wrapped around Sirius’s torso. And it’s nothing obscene, not really— it’s not like they’re nude or anything— but Sirius is shirtless, and Remus does have this blissed out expression painted over his features, that James would bet good money is the same one Sirius has got on if most of his face wasn’t covered by his hair.
And in another breath, Remus’s honey colored eyes flap open, widening exponentially when he catches sight of James, and wiggling around as if he wants to move away from Sirius completely, which is of course stunted when Sirius makes a low noise under his breath, and presses closer so that his mouth is quite literally right against Remus’s neck, and his arms tug him closer.
And James is definitely convinced that he’s the best mate any bloke could ask for when instead of chuckling at the obvious show of territorialism, he just shakes his head indulgently at them, mouthing an “About time plonker,” to Remus, who replies in kind with a hefty, two fingered salute.
This time James has to bite down to prevent his chuckle from spilling out.
“And here I was, about to offer you a snack from our dear house elves.” He whispers, hopefully quiet enough so that only Remus could hear.
“Oh, just bugger off,” Remus retorts, smiling with such mirth that James can’t even feign to be affronted over it, only follows the playful command and tries figuring out just how to give the ‘If you hurt him I’ll hurt you’ talk to the pair of them without it coming across insincerely.
~+I~
Millie was bored until she saw them.
The only reason why Millie got this boring job in this beyond posh restaurant is because her folks reckon that she needs to learn some form of responsibility before university, and she hates it. The pay is absolute shite, and most of her coworkers are all levels of boring, and the patrons are not nearly entertaining enough to try and make up some secret back story of tumultuous affairs or secret agents from the MI6, or a royal from some country on the continent meeting their star-crossed lover.
It’s all just painfully ordinary, and she’s cursing her parents while she chomps on her gum, reading some stupid note by an ugly old fart who left her his number on the receipt.
Scoffing while she bins it, Millie glances over to the newly occupied table in her section, heart immediately leaping once she gets a good look at the pair of blokes sitting down.
The sandy haired one is definitely cute in that reserved way her best friend Claire would definitely be mad over— the guy who could read you poetry in French or Italian and then gently kisses the back of your hand. And that’s all and well, but Millie’s every attention is laser focussed on his mate, the one that looks like he can be bloody James Bond with those smoldering eyes and that ink black hair, and God, those cheekbones! Definitely one of those beautiful, Public school boys who’s born and bread by the patrician. And while she takes their orders, she tosses him her most flattering of grins and slips in her giggle that an ex boyfriend compared to silver bells, and is sure to flip her long, chestnut hair enough times so he’d notice, even if she’s pretty sure he’s either pissed or probably more than a bit stoned. (Truly, where the bloody hell would he come up with pumpkin juice? How horrid must that taste).
Millie may or may not spend an unreasonable amount of time spying at them from where the cooks drop off the completed plates to be sent away. He’s just so bloody good looking, and she can’t believe this awful job has finally brought her such an amazing distraction, and the arse doesn’t even pay her much mind, leaving the ordering and the conversing to his fair haired friend.
Maybe he’s sensitive, she thinks to herself. Maybe he’s just a shy soul. And yes, that must be it! The poor, beautiful sod. She’s sure to make her intentions clear next time she thinks it’s appropriate to top off their waters, because she’s so very gracious like that.
“Enjoying yourselves?” Millie asks in her most light hearted of cadences, filling up the shorter one’s glass but smiling fully and exclusively to the boy who looks like he should be starring in some sort of Brook’s Brothers advert.
“Ta,” the sandy haired boy says, sounding a bit amused at her dilemma, but it’s kind enough so Millie doesn’t feel brassed off over it. “Do you mind pointing me to the loo?”
“Oh of course!” She crows, suddenly ecstatic as she directs him, finally getting a chance to be alone with the model. Though when she turns her attention to him once the other one leaves to take a leak, she’s kind of confused how he’s staring after him with a glance she vividly remembers on the face of her ex whenever she’d peer back around to ensure he was watching her go— Though, if Millie’s being honest, the model somehow looks simultaneously eager to watch the back of him, but also already disheartened not to have him around in ways she doubts anyone she’s ever gone out with has ever exhibited. “He’s a nice chap,” she states, instead of marinating on the strangeness of this development.
The practical model starts, seems to have forgotten about her presence all together, but then he glances over towards her with those impossibly flattering, pale gray eyes, and he nods disinterestedly. And yeah, yikes. That is a total hit to Millie’s ego.
“Ahem,” she clears her throat, begins twisting her free hand into the material of her apron. “’S nice you guys came for dinner, you don’t see much friends considering how bloody expensive it is here, hah.”
Millie feels herself going absolutely scarlet at the impassive way he drags his gaze up and down her form before taking a swig of his Bellini. “He’s not my friend.”
“Oh,” Millie practically squeaks out, suddenly wonders if maybe he’s a tutor from his class or something? Maybe the model is just taking the cute one out to dinner as a thanks for helping him pass his A-levels? Maybe this is considered cheap in the circles that the model keeps.
“’S our one year anniversary actually,” he tells her, still in that methodical, blasé way of his. And oh. Oh wow! Suddenly everything is snapping into clarity.
The way the two boys had brushed the back of their hands before being seated, how model had trusted the other boy to order for him, how model never looked away from the cute one’s mouth or collarbones or hands as they spoke. How whenever she came around to ask if they needed anything else, it felt like she was intruding on more than just a couple of mates catching up.
Oh Jesus, she feels like such an idiot, and Millie tells the model just as much.
“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot! I didn’t even put it together.”
Remarkably, the model’s rigid posture goes a bit loose at her apology, and the corner of his thin lips quirk up into a grin. “’S fine, he didn’t want to make a fuss out of it, but yeah— Just feels good telling someone.”
Millie nods eagerly, she can’t understand exactly what he means, obviously not, but she can definitely try to, and if it feels good for him to tell a random bird about something so important, then she’s more than happy to help. “Well the point stands, yeah? He seems like a good sort, you’re lucky to have found each other.”
The model’s grin goes elastic at that, and he looks actually approachable for the first time tonight. “I’m the luckiest bloke in the world that I get to be with him.”
Millie flushes at the intensity embedded into his statement, but thankfully doesn’t have to answer when she hears the sandy haired boy walking closer now, smiling so brightly that there’s a dimple popping up on the apple of his cheek that Millie’s only just noticed— The mirth is a good color on him, she reckons. Makes him look as gorgeous as those boys on the telly dramas her Mum is always gushing about, even his eyes turn more golden than light brown. “You pestering our waitress Padfoot?”
“You know I keep my devilish tongue for you and you alone Moonbeam,” the model—Padfoot cannot be his actual name for heaven’s sake— retorts.
“Lucky me,” the sandy haired boy says wryly as he takes a seat, and while Millie walks away— intending to get them a pudding that’s on the house to celebrate the milestone of their relationship— she peers back around only once and it’s enough to see the tips of their fingers kissing across the table, and their smiles looking like a secret language not meant for anyone else to read.
.-
My Full Wolfstar FIC Masterlist💜
#WOLFSTAR#REMUS LUPIN#SIRIUS BLACK#WOLFSTAR FLUFF#REMUSXSIRIUS#SIRIUSXREMUS#HARRY POTTER SERIES#MARAUDERS#Spilt Ink#I'm sorry if you hate this sugarplum#Like legit#idk what I am on#JFC#I suck#flksadjgaklsgjoewiajfsg
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i want to write you a song
pairing: modern!bucky x singer!reader
warnings: nothing i don’t think just fluff eeeek (maybe mention of parents that have passed away) (ignore lack of capitals i wrote this on my phone)
blurb: where bucky has trouble dealing with his past and constantly feels he’s not good enough for reader. so her being a musician/singer she writes him a song.
a/n: i thought of this a little while ago but i decided to write it while i was bored on the plane. hope you enjoy :)
MY MASTERLIST
it had been a year for bucky. a year since losing steve and a year since the final battle.
after everything bucky was still plagued with nightmares. shuri had removed all the awful things hydra had put in his brain, but he still constantly felt shame and guilt for his past.
so when he met you 6 months after thanos, and coming back after the snap it had been hard for him to accept your love. and to realise that even through the nightmares and mental torture you still loved him.
unlike bucky you weren’t one of the lost. you had to live in a world for 5 years without many of the people you cared about.
you had always had a passion for music but in a time where the world was broken you turned to music even more. and even though it was a sad and hard time you had 3.5 billion less people that could want to be a musician and so people started to actually hear your music. most people turning to it for comfort.
you had always felt pain, even before the snap; having lost your family years beforehand. and so when anyone you had considered close left there was nothing left for you besides music.
when people actually listened, it made you feel like finally you had a purpose in the world.
in those 5 years you became a house hold name. so many people listening to your music which sang the words impossible to speak when most felt numb.
5 awful years went by, and finally the rest of the world came back after the final battle. you became even more of a well known name then as familys and friends shared your music with those they had lost to tell them what exactly had gotten them through. your music.
you felt honoured. and yet there was still a hole within you. a hole that had been there even before everything.
it was one day 6 months after everyone had returned when you had left your apartment in new york to get a coffee at your favourite local cafe. you had your usual cap and sunglasses on, in an attempt to disguise yourself.
without paying attention you swung the cafe door open hitting another customer with two coffees in hand, sending his drinks flying. like you he had a cap and sunglasses on.
“oh fuck, i’m so sorry” you rambled pulling your sunglasses off in hope he could see your sincerity. by now he’d removed his sunglasses himself but he was looking nervously at the ground.
“no it’s okay i shouldn’t have these on insid-“ his voice cut off as he looked up at you. “you’re (y/n).”
you sent him an apologetic look, but it quickly turned to a smirk. “that i am. and your bucky barnes. but no it’s my fault, i wasn’t paying attention.”
his gaze suddenly seemed more nervous again. “your one of the few people that hasn’t referred to me as the winter soldier” he spoke letting out a small smile.
you smiled back at his response. “why would i? anyway please let me buy you some new coffees” by now the staff had started cleaning up the mess sending you both glares.
“no you don’t have to i can get some new ones.” he responded shrugging.
“no no, it’s the least i can do bucky.” you responded giving him a big grin.
“fine” he finally sighed. “if you you insist,” his poker face turning to a smile.
you both walked over to the counter walking around the now clean but wet floor. you ordered yours and his drinks giving the cafe a $50 tip as an apology for messing up their morning.
while you were both waiting for your drinks you continued your conversation. “so how does the bucky barnes know who i am?” you asked wiggling your eyebrows as you emphasised his name.
his face blushed as he laughed at your expressions. “well my best friend steve listened to your music a lot when half the world was gone. myself included. and so he showed me it once i came back. thought i might enjoy the sadness of the music.”
you jaw dropped as you gasped. “you mean to tell me the captain america knew who i was?! that’s way more cool than you knowing who i am”
it was buckys turn to gasp. he placed his hand over his heart in a dramatic manner, “i’m hurt doll, truly hurt.”
your heart fluttered at the pet name he had just given you but instead of showing it you just stuck out your tongue in cheeky manner.
more chatting went on between the two of you until finally you got your order. unfortunately the perks of going to a very busy cafe.
you exited the warm cafe and were met with the cool winter air of new york. pulling you jacket in closer to yourself. your sunglasses already back on.
“now i don’t really know how to do this anymore. the last time i flirted was in the 1940s but i was wondering if i could get your number?” bucky asked cautiously. you could tell he was nervous.
your heart fluttered again. he wanted your number? you fumbled with your words. “y-yeah of course!”
his face fell slightly noticing your nervousness. “if you don’t want to give it to me don’t feel like you have to” he replied.
“no no it’s not that bucky. i just would never have thought someone as attractive as yourself would want my number.” your eyes fell the ground in embarrassment.
it was buckys turn to be surprised. “if anything it’s the other way around doll” he replied as he handed you his flip phone.
after you had given him your number you had continued to walk with him to the avengers compound. (for once not having anything on this morning). you had resisted the urge the entire time to make fun of his flip phone.
it didn’t take long for you to become attached to bucky as the months went on. much like he did with you.
you had begun dating a month in and would see each other as often as both your schedules would let you.
you had tried to keep the relationship hidden for a while. but it didn’t take long for the public to notice that ‘the winter soldier’ was dating the worlds beloved ‘(y/n) (y/l/n)’.
of course rumours spread and though both of you had anxieties that neither of you were good enough for the other. it was bucky who it affected more. constantly acting as if you would just disappear one day and he’d be left an empty shell of a person like he once was.
after around six months you had become so comfortable with one another. and so his insecurities were something you could never understand, having never endured what he had. to you he was the strongest person. to him you were the strongest person he knew.
it was your 5 month anniversary of dating coming up and though it was drastically important it meant a lot to you so you wanted to do something special. something to ease his insecurities so you did what you did best. make music.
you were in your apartment the only light around you being the glow of candles. just having finished dinner as you snuggled up to him on your couch.
you looked up to the beautiful man you felt honoured to call your own.
“i have a gift for you.” you spoke softly.
“oh yeah?” he smiled giving you a kiss on the nose causing you to blush.
“yep” you replied, “but i’m gonna have to go get it.” you jumped up out of his arms and he pouted as you ran off.
seconds later you returned with your guitar sitting back down next to him. he raised an eyebrow at this.
you gave him a kiss on the cheek and then leaned back again, “i wrote you a song to tell you just what i see from my eyes when i look at you.”
this caused bucky to blush but he stayed silent, encouraging you to begin.
and so you began to pick a simple and soft melody.
i want to write you song
one as beautiful as you are sweet
with just a hint of pain
for the feeling that i get when you are gone
i want to write you song
i wanna lend you my coat
one that’s as soft as your cheek
so when the world gets cold
you will having a hiding place you can go
i wanna lend you my coat
oh, everything i need i get from you
oh, and giving back is all i wanna do
i wanna build you boat
one that’s a strong as you are free
so every time you think
that your heart is gonna sink
you know it won’t
i wanna build you a boat
oh, everything i need i get from you
oh, and giving back is all i wanna do
you began to play a little interlude and bucky took that as his time to speak finally grinning, “i like the part about boats.”
you rolled your eyes. “shut up bucky i’m not finished” causing you to giggle as you began to sing again.
oh, everything i need i get from you
oh, and giving back is all i wanna do
i wanna write you a song
one to make your heart remember me
so anytime i’m gone
you can listen to my voice and sing along
i wanna write you a song
i wanna write you a song
as you finished the end of the song you suddenly felt very vulnerable. but once you looked at bucky all you saw in his eyes was admiration.
“bucky everything i sang then i meant, you truly are the strongest person i know. and i love you more than anything.”
he carefully took the guitar from your hands and placed it gently on the ground. grabbing your waist he pulled you close resting his forehead against yours.
“doll, if anyone is to say the words you just sang it should be me. i have lived in darkness for so long. and anytime i have felt the smallest amount of happiness it’s been taken from me.”
a tear fell down your face. you hadn’t known him that long but you knew he was your soulmate.
“i love you.” you whispered looking at his beautiful blue eyes.
“i definitely love you more,” he responded pulling you into a soft but passionate kiss.
#marvel#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#mcu#sebastian stan#buck#bucky barns x reader#black widow#bucky#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x you#bucky barns x y/n#mcu cast#sebastian stan x reader#the winter solider imagine#the falcon and the winter soldier#the winter soldier
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False Love-
Rating: ❌ 18+, Explicit ❌
Pairing- Timeskip! Yandere Oikawa Tooru x fem reader
Word count- 1.8 K
Warnings- Aphrodisiacs, fingering, dub-con, vaginal sex, Oikawa is delusional and sad.
A/n: This is my fic for the Valentine's day Collab that @ultimate-astridwriting hosted. I hope I was able to live up to their expectations (ᗒᗩᗕ).
Roaming around the busy streets of Palermo, ginormous heart shaped props occupying the narrow lane paints Oikawa's vision in scarlet. Love is in the air, as they say, was quite literally true for the beautiful city of Argentina.
In the midst of giggling couples and warm twinkling lights, the annoyed click of his tongue gets drowned out; Unnoticed ;making him recognise his own solitude.
Normally he'd have hoards of girls vying for his attention, trying to take him to their place but maybe it was because of his age, or the mountain of experience with the momentary flings that made him want to search for something deeper.
He used to be fine with superficiality of his relationships, the repeated cycle of getting himself off of any faceless women who came onto him then forgetting her existence the next day was fulfilling in itself. Afterall, his career has always taken priority.
Though the last remaining brain cells of his body tries to rationalise the situation he is getting himself in, Oikawa had already decided what kind of connection he wanted and and was just going to let himself have that. Selfishness is not something he ever disliked anyway.
He felt no need to hide his disdain, Oikawa wasn't one to be subtle about his pettiness either, that's why the contrasting emotions of his own, clashing with the jubilant ones of his surrounding annoyed him to no end.
The chocolates wrapped up neatly in his hand felt heavy, causing his fingers to tremble slightly. It wasn't the weight of the box but what he intended to do with the said item that made his insides twist with excitement.
Yes. It was excitement. Happiness and pure bliss that he felt when he rang the doorbell of your modest appartment in the costal side of the city. Despite having the sea right next to your place, the cold February air still made you shiver as you opened the door to see Oikawa standing at your doorsteps, all smiles with a dash of extra in his typical 'hand on the hip' pose.
Surprised wouldn't even being to describe your current state of shock. You spend the next few seconds just starting at his ever confident form before his voice brings you back to your senses.
" Yooohooo~ babe, I'm sure I don't look 'that' good. I just finished with practice so my hair's probably a mess right now", he continued on with his cheery tone,
" Come on, It's not like you have anyone else to spend Valentine's with, so why not just let me in already and look", dangling the expensive looking bag in front of your eyes, his expression took on a slightly sinister turn in their features, the kind that went away as soon as they appeared not leaving any trace of its original condescending vibes.
" I made these chocolates for you", emphasizing on the made part he stares right into your eyes, as if waiting for his well earned praise. Heaving a sigh of defeat you release the door know you didn't knew you had in a death grip, opening the door completely in a gesture to usher him inside.
Oikawa quickly makes himself at home, plopping down on your couch with his long legs stretched.
This was the first time you had seen him after the rejection of the high in demand position of his girlfriend. The face he made when you turned him down was of utter disbelief so much so that you almost reconsidered your decision. But you weren't that wishy washy in your opinions and his was a type you made sure to ignore.
You were aware of his salty personality and the habit of holding grudges, so you thought after that fateful day he'd ignore you like the plague, but for all his arrogance Oikawa's face was the epitome of gleeful.
" Soooo", starting off with an awkward note you casually try to sit on the furthest arm chair from the couch Oikawa was currently occupying and tried to ask what exactly was he expecting out of his current visit but he quickly cut you off by his own booming voice.
" Before all that, why don't you try these?", Pointing to the chocolates he starts unwrapping them, as he pulls the decorative ribbon, two rows of brown, heart shaped delicacies appeared.
"Don't be shy, I made these for you afterall", he remarked, pushing the box on your side of the table.
You didn't think much of it, afterall, 'making' chocolates just means buying store bought ones and just melting them into different shapes right?
Popping one small cube in your mouth you let it dissolve, your taste buds filling up with the sweetness of the treat. Just as it finished you heard Oikawa speak again.
"You probably know why I'm here, but I'll tell you again", readjusting his posture, he sits straight, both the look in his eyes and tone taking a more serious turn.
" I thought about why turned me down that day and I finally realised......You were just scared weren't you?", rather than upset he sounded relieved as he continued with self assuredness ,
" Of commitment? Or because of my job? Either way I can already assure you that I was already prepared to put you above everything else if the situation calls for it".
You were just sitting, listening to his outrageous conclusions when you felt your heartbeat increase. The sweaty palms of your hand to the moistness in your core, your entire body started reacting in ways you'd never experience before.
"You thought that I'd keep our relationship on the back burner and only focus on my career? You were just lonely weren't you?", With every passing second his delusional words seemed to work with more and more intensity that didn't helped your hyperventilating state at all.
"And you rejected me because you didn't wanted to have an absent boyfriend right? So in reality-", by the time he finished he was already in front of you, the fire in the depths of your core made your mind hazy and eyes unfocused. You wanted to ask what was happening or what he put in those chocolates but forming any coherent words was a feat on its own in your current condition.
He smoothly takes one of your burning hand in his cool ones, the contact making you instantly lean onto him for more. You're sitting in a daze when he pulls you up from the arm chair and places you on his lap back on the longer couch.
In your already aroused state, the soft strokes of Oikawa's fingers on your scalp made you succumb further into the need for release as you sit on his lap with your head resting against his shoulder. The room was now quite safe for his soothing voice that came from right about your head.
"You love me right?", the words that come out of his mouth in the heated moment betrayed all his attempts at feigned composure. He may have spiked the chocolates with some sort of aphrodisiacs but the way your heart hurted after hearing this made it seem more like a love potion.
With his barely audible voice they sounded almost like a plea, another desperate measure to get what he wanted.
Before you could even notice, your vision tilts and you find yourself pinned to the couch, with Oikawa hovering right above you. His hands on your sweatpants, lowering them all the way to your ankles. And the weirdest thing?
You didn't wanted him to stop.
Not when he spread you out completely in front of him. Not when he was shamelessly staring at your naked pussy with a maniacal glint in his eyes and definitely not when he shoved two of his thick digits up your leaking pussy that covered his entire palm in your slick at the slightest of contact.
Your soft walls clenching around his fingers was all he needed before he stared unzipping his own pants. He gazed at your panting body while he pulled his cock out, flipping you on your stomach with your ass up and face shoved down.
You barely cared about anything but getting fucked good at this point when you heard some rumbling behind you, as soon as Oikawa was done putting on a condom he lined himself up against your entrance.
Not wasting any more time he slips past your folds until he is buried to the hilt. The feeling of being stretched out and filled to the brim coaxed out a few lewd moans from your mouth.
Your slick was enough to make Oikawa pick up a hard and fast pace, your entire body shook with every thrust of his. He kept his hands on your waist, pushing himself as deep as he can before pulling out until only the tip remains. Your own orgasm started building up with his every action.
His member throbbed against your insides and the moans that slipped past his gritted teeth indicated he already came but his cock showed no signs of softening as he kept going with his brutal pace.
You bury your head sideways, tongue lolling out and covering the fabric beneath it in your drool as Oikawa lodges his cock further into your pussy from behind. He moves in and out of you with ease, the slick from both your pussy and his previous release was more than enough to keep his memeber going.
Gripping your ass cheek in one hand, he trails his other one in between your thighs. Quickly his digits grazes your clit, the pressure they added along with the heavy thrusts pulled you closer to the edge. The anticipation of your impending release was all your lust laden head could think about the feeling of ecstasy that you desperately needed.
The intensity of your orgasm made your eyes roll back, and if it wasn't him holding you firmly in place, you probably would've fell down the couch. With your entire body shaking your panted heavily from your mouth to calm yourself.
Oikawa doesn't make any attempt to pull out or move and even after your breathing becomes even his member is still lodged deep inside you. He gently starts gyrating his hips against your pussy again and it becomes obvious that you weren't the only one under the effects of aphrodisiacs.
As cum trickles down your inner thighs, all you could decipher was the overwhelming bolts of pleasure Oikawa's cock provided and the sounds of your skin smacking against eachother's.
With his hands on both of your sides, he lowers himself down until your back was flush against his toned chest, his raspy voice rumbled through your ear as he spoke in a dark possessive tone,
"Don't forget..... we are in love"
#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyu#haikyu x reader#Oikawa#oikawa toru x reader#Oikawa Tooru#haikyuu oikawa#Haikyuu Smut#smut#Oikawa Tooru x reader#Oikawa smut#my writing#valentine's day collaboration#tw: yandere#tw: dub con
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paint wars part 2
OKAY HERE IT IS! PART TWO TO PAINT WARS
if u haven’t read part one, i’ll link it right here
word count: 3k (yikes it’s a long one)
_______________________________
paint wars part 2
Things had been rough lately.
Real fucking rough.
You missed Corpse so much. You hadn’t spoken to each other since that fight at his apartment and that was fifty-four days ago now, almost two thirds of a season you’d been without him.
“I miss you.” You spoke aloud into the emptiness of your apartment, noting that the time on your phone now said 12:01am. It was officially now day fifty-five without speaking to him.
You swiped away all your notifications on your lock screen, ignoring everything and everyone that was trying to reach you right now so you could look at the person who was ignoring you. You wanted to look at the photo that was still your wallpaper. That first photo you’d ever taken together.
You went to change it on day thirty-eight of not speaking. On night thirty-seven of not speaking you’d gone out with your friends, they’d finally convinced you after a whole month of trying and you got absolutely wasted. So of course you’d called Corpse. But he didn’t answer, not any of the fifteen times you’d called. So that next morning, when you woke up hungover and saw that same lock screen photo and not one response from him, you told yourself you were going to change it. You tried to tell yourself you were angry, but it was just a coping mechanism to ignore the hurt that had been tunnelling through your heart since being without him. You spent an hour scouring tumblr and twitter for some aesthetically pleasing lock screen, but you didn’t save a single one. Nothing could compare to that photo of you and Corpse.
You then started to wonder if he’d listened to any of the voicemails you’d left the night before. You couldn’t remember them exactly, but you knew you definitely left four of them and how badly you wanted to know if the curiosity became too much to bear and he’d listened to them.
And he had.
On night thirty-seven, while you were out drinking, Corpse was in a deep sleep. He hadn’t been sleeping a whole lot lately, so finally, he’d crashed hard that night and slept through the calls you’d made to him. But even though he wasn’t aware of the calls in his sleeping state, you were still present in his dreamland. Every adventure his brain took him on was with you, maybe it was something that kept him asleep, the fact that you were right there in this fantasy. You were talking to him again, he could see your smile, hear your laugh, reach out and grab your hand, he could kiss you again. It was happiness. But then he woke up and he went to reach out for you in his bed, still caught up in the false wonder his dreams had provided him, only to find it was just him and reality slapped him fully awake. You weren’t there with him. You hadn’t been for a number of weeks. He missed you.
On day thirty-eight, when he spotted the missed calls from you on his phone, he cursed himself for being asleep and missing it. But would he had answered had he been awake? He wasn’t sure. So instead, he heard you speak to him for the first time in so long, even if it was through a voicemail you had left in the space of him not answering your calls.
“Oh, fuck- oh my god.”
That was it. That was the first voicemail, there was a lot of background noise but he had heard you so clearly. In your drunken state, you didn’t know what to say, so that’s what you had left with him, until you called back and left another.
"Hi.” You started it simple. He had the phone clutched so tightly in his hand, the device pressed so firmly against his ear, he didn’t want to miss a word. “I- I don’know what to say.” He noticed the slight slur to your words then, you were drunk when you had called. “I’m’a just go.”
You hung up again, but alas, there was another.
“Can I just ask... are you ignoring me?” Your voice was so meek, his chest hurt at the sound of it. He almost went to say no, but this was a one sided conversation, he’d missed the opportunity. “I miss you.” You hung up again, and he had to stop himself from replaying it over and over again to hear you say that you missed him.
But there was one last voice mail.
“I should stop calling, huh?” You sighed and he could picture you with a sad pout, your eyes all droopy with a mix emotion and alcohol. “But, I just want’a talk to you.” You confessed, then he heard another voice call your name in the background before they spoke to you and he listened. “(Y/N)! Here you are, what are you doing? That guys wondering where you are, he’s fucking hot-”
Corpse hung up then, he didn’t want to hear anymore. Jealousy was surging through him as the unwanted images of you with someone else plagued his mind and he threw his phone across his room. Wishing he hadn’t of started listening to those fucking voicemails.
What he didn’t know, though, is how the rest of that last voicemail went.
“I really don’t care.” You’d told your friend at the mention of the guy. Yeah, he was attractive and he was buying you drinks, but you wanted no one except Corpse. “Give me a sec.” You’d told your friend before walking away again, bringing your phone back to your ear to talk to the only person you wanted to talk to right now, even if he wasn’t on the other end of that call. “I hope you didn’t hear that, but if you did, don’t worry it. I’m g’na go home now.” You sighed and looked up at the night sky, there was no shooting star, or really any stars at all because of the light pollution from where you currently were, but you were still wishing that by some magic happenstance, Corpse would pick up his phone and speak to you again. “I wish I was going to yours.”
On day thirty-nine you cried so hard. You thought you had made it past this violently sobbing stage, this was exact state you’d cried yourself to sleep to each night for the first few weeks. Your heart was in so much pain, it was torn apart and you swore only one person had the power to stitch it back together, but he wasn’t there. You hadn’t heard a single thing from him. Were you two still together? Had you broken up? You weren’t even sure. But on day thirty-nine you cried that hard again because Corpse hadn’t responded at all to your calls or voicemails, so you convinced yourself he truly wanted nothing to do with you.
You’d been avoiding searching his name on social media, knowing it would send you into a spiral and you’d overthink every little thing but on day forty-two you’d noticed on twitter that he was playing games live. He wasn’t live himself, but you watched someone’s stream just to hear him again. You cried again doing this, because he was being exceptionally quiet, he wasn’t his normal self, he barely laughed once.
You wished you hadn’t clicked on it. The guilt you felt was already immense, but hearing him so not like himself made you feel even worse for causing all of this. You stopped watching, you couldn’t bear it. You knew you were to blame for all of this, you pushed him too far, you couldn’t believe how stupidly you had acted, you knew better and you did it anyway. The self attacking thoughts kept swirling your mind until you gave yourself a headache.
On day fifty-six of still not talking to each other, you ventured out to the beach with just your best friend. She’d been there for you a lot lately, she also felt bad about that night, but you tried to assured her it was your own fault. She didn’t know Corpse like you did, she didn’t know him at all, that’s why you felt to blame for not stopping the idea before it was too late.
“You should put sunscreen on.” Your best friend told you. You were laying on your towel in the direct sun, enjoying the warmth blasting into your skin, you hadn’t been to the beach in such a long time.
“Yeah.” You answered her, but you knew you weren’t going to. Another time, you would have, you knew the familiar sting of sunburn well and you normally put it on to look after your skin, but you hadn’t really been taking care of yourself too well lately, you just didn’t care enough.
On night fifty-six, you stood in front of your bathroom mirror looking over your body. You’d spent a lot longer at the beach than you realised and now you were burnt so badly and as red as a tomato. “Fuck.” You said out loud, turning and looking over your shoulder to inspect your back, it was just as red. You should’ve worn sunscreen. You left your bathroom to go find your aloe vera plant, only to find that it was dead. “Fuck!” You repeated, the one hope you had to help heal your skin even slightly quickly vanishing. “Oh, fuck. What am I going to do?”
That’s how you found yourself heading towards a 24 hour store to purchase whatever aloe vera cream or gel you could find, you knew it wouldn’t be as good as the plant itself, but you needed something. It was late and you were anxious as you neared the shop, you knew about this place from Corpse, he would often go there at odd hours to get whatever he needed. It was close to his place and you hadn’t driven around this area since that disaster of a night.
You squinted your eyes as you walked in and the harsh fluorescent lights pierced into your eyes after walking in from the night time. You were walking quickly and you told yourself it was because you were embarrassed about your skin being so burnt and you didn’t want anyone to see you like this, but it was really because you were so anxious over the thought of who you could potentially run into in this shop. Your swift steps brought you to the skin care isle and you let your eyes scan the shelves for the aloe vera you so desperately sought out.
“(Y/N)?”
You froze completely and you swore you even felt your heart stop beating. Hearing his voice speak your name again felt like lighting had struck right through you. This couldn’t be real, this had to be your imagination playing some sort of sick joke on you. Slowly, you turned towards the direction his voice had come from and sure enough, there he was. Dressed in all black, a beanie on his head and a mask over the bottom half of his face, your eyes locked with his. There was a pull in your chest, your heart had heard him, too and it wanted so badly to be with him, to be healed by him. You had thought up this scenario a million times over these past fifty-six days, of what would happen had you and him had a run in like this and in every single one you had so much to say, but right now, you were speechless.
Before you had a chance to even try to say anything if you managed to stop being stuck in silence, Corpse spoke again.
“Fucking hell,” He neared you and you sucked in a quick breath at his sudden movement. “Look how burnt you are.” You were wearing tights and an oversized hoodie, so your entire body was covered, but your face was just as burnt and clearly he had noticed.
This was another aspect that didn’t fit into your scenarios you’d thought up about this moment. You’d imagined you would’ve look amazing. But instead of looking like some beautiful mermaid, you were the same colour as Ariel’s hair from The Little Mermaid. “I know, don’t look at me.” You huffed and dropped your head down, letting your beach waved hair fall around your face.
“You didn’t wear sunscreen?”
“Obviously not.”
“That was silly.”
“I know.”
“Are you sore?”
“Yeah.” It felt so natural to have this back and forth with him. It was brief, but it was enough for your heart to kick back into gear and speed up.
He stayed silent for a prolonged moment so you looked back to his face and his eyes were on your face but it was his turn to glance away then and you took the opportunity to really soak in his side profile. You’d even missed just being able to look at him.
“Why are you here?” He asked you.
“I need aloe vera and I knew this place would be open.”
“You’re not using your plant?” Butterflies fluttered inside of you that he remembered a simple mundane fact that you preferred the healing touch of the actual plant for sunburn as opposed to what was bought at a store in a bottle.
“It died.”
Corpse suddenly looked back to you and much to your surprise, he laughed.
“Why are you laughing?!”
“How do you kill a succulent?”
“You know I’m not good at gardening and shit like that.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d be able to kill a succulent.” He laughed harder and you started to smile, he was teasing you but it felt so right. And hearing his laughter filled you with a warmth you’d been missing.
“Shut up.” You told him, but you were beginning to laugh too. “It’s hard to keep plants alive.”
“(Y/N), succulents are pretty much impossible to kill.”
“Okay, I get it, I didn’t purposely murder my aloe vera plant.”
“Oh, baby.” The pet name slipped so easily from his lips but it caught you both off guard, so the both of you stopped laughing and your postures stiffened.
Briefly, your eyes met but each of you darted your vision elsewhere. However, neither of you made no effort to move away from one another.
“Sorry.” Corpse said softly.
“It’s okay.” And it was, so okay. You wanted to tell him that hearing him call you baby was all you’d been wanting to hear again over these almost fifty-seven days without him. “I should really get this aloe vera gel on me, though.” You really didn’t want to leave him, but you couldn’t stand in this store forever.
“Are you sunburnt all over?” He asked.
“Yeah.” You sighed
And just as instinctively as the pet name had slipped out, his hands started to move towards the sleeve of your jumper. But he stopped himself when you flinched slightly and he quickly realised what he was doing. “Sorry, can I see?”
“I mean, you can, but I don’t want you to do it because it does really fucking hurt. That’s why I jumped, not because I don’t want you to touch me.” You answered him quickly. “I do want you to touch me- wait, I mean, no.” If your face wasn’t already red from the sunburn, it would have become red then from the blush you could feel forming. And if your skin wasn’t in pain you would have facepalmed yourself. “Sorry.” You apologised then.
“It’s okay.”
Shaking your head, you began to gently slide the sleeve of your big hoodie up.
“Fuck, (Y/N).” Corpse cursed, concern filling him as your skin was practically glowing from the burn it had copped. “You can’t do that to yourself.”
“I know.”
“How long were you at the beach?”
“All day pretty much.”
“You’re that burnt all over?”
“Yeah, I mean, some spots are worse. I think my back and shoulders are probably the worst. They hurt the most.”
He moved to step around you then, disappearing out of your sight as he was now standing behind you. “Can I?”
“Yeah, just be careful.”
And he made sure to keep his movements cautious, he decided on looking from the top, his hands grabbing the neck on the back of your hoodie to pull it back ever so gently so he could inspect. His eyes widened in a combination horror, worry and sympathy. He’d seen you get sunburnt before, but never to this extent. “Oh my fucking god.” The contrast between where the strap of your togs sat over your shoulder, blocking a sliver of your skin from the sun to keep it its natural colour versus the red that was brought from the burn was insane. “It looks like someone has painted you.”
“I mean, I guess the sun did. Just in a really painful way.”
“You’re not planning on going to the beach anytime soon, right?” Corpse carefully released your hoodie then and stepped in front of you once more. Distress was so present on his face, despite most of it being covered. He was so worried about you in this moment.
“Definitely not. The only thing I’m planning on is not going outside in any sunlight until my skin is healed.”
“Living like me.”
“Guess so.”
“My aloe vera plant is alive.” He stated.
“Wow, you’re really just going to flex that right now? Trying to kick me while I’m down.” You joked back, assuming he was teasing you.
“No, I mean...” He trailed off, his eyes struggling to stay on yours as he continued. “You could come over and use it, I know you like the real stuff better and I could help do your back, or wherever you can’t reach.” He was nervous, but he really didn’t have to be.
You could feel it happening, your heart beginning to heal.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Do you want to?”
“Yeah.”
#corpse#corpse husband#corpse x reader#corpse husband fanfiction#corpse husband imagine#corpse husband x reader#writing#mine
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