#i feel like i could queue the world raw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

formulavilla7 · 2 years

Text

Max Verstappen x Horner daughter reader Chapter 6

Here’s chapter 6 of my Max story. I’ve been really excited to write this chapter for a while and so I finished it quite quickly after writing the Hungary/Spa one so I hope you enjoy it. Sorry if it’s a little short but I really liked the idea of making Zandvoort it’s own standalone chapter for a few different reasons. Thanks to @kiimmie33 for her help in a few aspects of this chapter in terms of Dutch culture and customs with the frikandel speciaal and some of the Dutch phrases. Hope to have more regular updates from now on.

Zandvoort. Max’s home Grand Prix. It was the first time he’d ever driven there and thus it was his first proper home race. In previous years, Spa was the closest he’d gotten to a home Grand Prix in terms of Belgium’s proximity to the Netherlands and the fact that he was half-Belgian due to his mother. He’d also been born there but had always felt more Dutch than Belgian and so he chose to race under the Dutch flag. For this reason, he was excited to represent his country on the home stage and he allowed himself to hope for a win. He knew the atmosphere would be electric if he managed it.

He did a track walk with his team, which he never usually did, to inspect it and admired the steep banking that was similar to the old Monza circuit. They’d been supposed to return there the previous year but the pandemic had prevented that so this was his first proper look.

He found himself getting slightly distracted on his track walk though and had to keep forcing himself to focus as Y/N had decided to join them. She was ahead of him, talking to her dad and every so often he heard her laugh. He shook his head and listened to his team again, discussing the track and the possible strategies that they could try.

Max had had a varied experience in practice. In FP1, Hamilton had finished first and Max had finished behind him in second. FP2 was a lot different as Charles Leclerc finished first and Max ended the session 5th. He did finish first in the third practice session and also had a successful qualifying, qualifying on pole for his home race.

The Orange Army were cheering every time he went passed and they went wild when he qualified first. His fans were incredibly passionate and they followed him all around the world in large numbers. He really appreciated them and it was a great feeling seeing a crowd all in that same orange hue.

Following qualifying, Max found Y/N. “Hey” he said

She turned towards him “Oh hi Max. Well done on getting pole”

“Thanks” he paused, having an idea “Y/N, have you eaten?”

“No I haven’t actually, why?”

“Come with me”

She followed him as they left the track and entered the town of Zandvoort. She was getting more confused as they went and opened her mouth to ask where they were going. At that moment they arrived at a snack bar and Max directed them both inside.

It was relatively quiet, with only a few tables full with people eating and chatting. Y/N looked at Max as they stood in the queue for the counter. He turned to her “I have a recommendation for you. You should order the frikandel speciaal, it’s so good. I bet you’ve never had one before but it’s a Dutch classic. I always miss them when I’m not in the Netherlands.”

She nodded “What is it?”

“It’s like a long piece of meat that is then cut open and filled with raw onions, mayonnaise and curry ketchup. They’re so tasty. Look” he pointed to another customer passing by, who was holding a long, thin tray filled with an item matching Max’s description. It looked delicious

“I’ll definitely get one of those” she decided. He nodded in approval

“Good choice. I’m having one as well but you can’t tell anyone. I don’t think that’s really part of my diet” he laughed and pretended to shush her.

They made their order and sat down to eat it. Y/N stuck her fork into the warm meat and took a bite, chewing slowly to savour the taste. It was as delicious as Max had described. The flavours worked so well together and they sung in her mouth.

Max raised an eyebrow “Do you like it?”

She nodded enthusiastically and swallowed her bite “This is amazing! Why have I never had one before?”

She picked up another forkful, making sure that she got plenty of onions and the sauces

He smiled, proud that she liked something from his country and took a bite of his own. “I don’t know. Will you be having one if you come to the Netherlands again?”

“Definitely”

“Y/N, you have…” he gestured to her lip

“Oh” she giggled, wiping the sauce from her face

They ate in comfortable silence after that, Y/N falling more and more in love with the taste of the dish.

“Where has the Netherlands been hiding this dish?” She asked after they’d finished, still amazed by the taste

He shook his head, amused “We’ve been eating these for a long time. The rest of the world needs to catch up.”

They spent the afternoon following qualifying apart as Max had some work to do in preparing for the race tomorrow. Y/N watched a film in her hotel room, indulging in some stroopwafels that she was softening using the steam from her warm cup of tea. It made the caramel so gooey and delicious.

Race day arrived quickly. Max got away really well at the start but so had Lewis but Max managed to cover him off and keep the lead. When Lewis pitted, Max was quick to react, pitting after him to stop the chance of an undercut. He was able to get incredibly close to Valtteri Bottas, who’d taken the lead following the pits for himself and Lewis. Bottas had held him up quite a lot and he knew Lewis was gaining but he eventually got past the Finn with DRS. He knew his fans would be loving that but their cheers faded into the background as he concentrated on trying to win the race.

Bottas let Hamilton through and then the Finn was held up by Sebastian Vettel spinning, which aided Max as it left Lewis without support for a short time.

It was lap 63 and the gap was at 3.8 seconds, Max had just been told that Lewis was struggling with his tyres and he knew that he had the advantage

By lap 70 Lewis had the fastest lap which his teammate Bottas then took from him. Mercedes pitted Lewis to fight for the fastest lap again, desperate to have that extra point to gain on Max. Despite all this, Max won the race and as he approached the chequered flag he could see the orange flares and hear the fans cheering and applauding for him. It felt amazing. He’d done it. He’d won his home Grand Prix. Tiesto waved the black and white flag and Max basked in the feeling of the victory. Hamilton got the fastest lap on the last lap of the race which wasn’t ideal but it didn’t dampen Max’s spirits too much.

He stood on top of his car, raising his arms in the air in celebration before draping himself in the Dutch flag, lifting it high. The roar of the crowd was incredible.

He stood on top of the podium, still wrapped in the flag of his home country and the sound of the Dutch national anthem filling the air. He felt on top of the world. The warm summer weather was a bonus to the victory.

He celebrated with the team and Y/N congratulated him with a gentle hug. “I’m so proud of you” she whispered before pulling away. He grinned, his face hidden before pulling away.

Later that evening, Max arrived outside of Y/N’s hotel room and knocked.

She opened the door looking curious to see him there

“Hey, would you like to walk on the beach with me?”

“Sure, let me just put my shoes on”

She quickly pulled a pair of shoes on and they both went to the beach. The air had cooled slightly since the race and Y/N shivered.

Max undid his Red Bull coat, pulling it off and putting it around her before she had the chance to protest.

“Thanks” she said, snuggling into it as his body heat still remained in it. She relished in the scent of his cologne, which wafted from the fabric into her nose. It was a very pleasant smell and one that she took comfort in as she always associated it with him.

They continued their walk along the beach, padding through the sand and admiring the sea, breathing in the salty sea air and hearing the waves crashing.

He looked at her and couldn’t hide the smile creeping onto his lips. She looked adorable in his coat, the sleeves hanging from her arms and covering her hands and the body swallowing her figure.

“What?” She asked

“Nothing” he said shaking his head, still smiling.

“No come on” she demanded

“You just look really sweet in my coat”

“Oh” she blushed and leaned up to kiss him

They intertwined hands and Max got a soft look in his eyes “Ik hou van je” he said quietly

She gave him a puppy-dog look “Will you tell me what that means?”

He hesitated and she pouted, pleading with her eyes. He crumbled

“It…” he paused, losing courage “It means… It means I love you”

She blinked in surprise before she beamed. “Really?”

He nodded, flushing slightly

“Ik hou van jou” she repeated in wonder “How do you say ‘I love you too’?”

He took in a sharp breath, his voice trembling slightly as he replied “Ik hou ook van jou”

“Ik hou ook van jou” she copied him before repeating it again with more confidence and more feeling behind it “Ik hou ook van jou” and her eyes told him it was the truth.

She looked so sweet and so sincere whilst saying it, trying to pronounce exactly as he had. He had to kiss her.

They continued their walk along the beach, hand in hand, gazing at the other with loving eyes when they thought they wouldn’t notice. They sat on the beach for a while, taking in the peaceful scene before they both got too cold and decided to go back to the hotel and warm up.

They walked back together most of the way before Max when in a different direction to his hotel room, leaving Y/N a kiss on her cheek which she hid a smile at. She walked back to her room almost in a daze so much so that she didn’t notice the figure in front of her until it was too late and she’d walked into her.

“Sorry” she apologised quickly before she took in the red hair and the woman’s face. Her eyes widened in realisation. Geri.

She’d always gotten on well with her stepmother. She’d always been kind to her and they were quite close, sometimes having girls’ days together without her dad and she often babysitted her half-siblings when Geri and her dad wanted a night to themselves.

It seemed the older woman had also had a realisation though as she gasped slightly, scanning Y/N’s body with her eyes. They seemed to linger on her torso for a while and she appeared in shock. That was when Y/N remembered. She was still wearing Max’s coat. She’d forgotten to take it off as it was still chilly as they’d gone back to the hotel. She cursed in her head.

The coat clearly didn’t belong to her. Its size, the smell of it and also small details stood out. It had a small 33 embroidered in red thread. Max’s number. It even had a tiny Dutch flag on it and she wouldn’t be surprised if his name was somewhere. It was obviously Max’s coat and Geri had clearly recognised that.

The woman opened and closed her mouth like a fish.

“Hi Geri” Y/N said nervously, trying to break the awkward silence

“Y/N, hi!” She continued to stare “Is that Max’s coat.”

Wow, Y/N thought, straight to the point

“Er… Erm…” Y/N struggled to think. Now who was the one looking like a fish. She took a deep breath “Yes.”

“Right” Geri said, looking surprised even though she knew it was “Are you… Are you dating him then?”

Y/N paled, cursing the former Spice Girl for uncovering her secret. How could she possibly deny it?

“Yes, we’re dating” she felt like a huge weight had been removed from her chest though she still felt anxious as to what Geri would say

Geri’s face lit up “Ah I’m so happy for you. This is so exciting.” She pulled a stunned Y/N in for a hug

“You need to tell me all about it! We’ll go for a coffee when we get back to the UK and you can fill me in!”

“Erm… ok” Y/N said hesitantly, surprised that Geri was so supportive

The older woman enthused about them being together, telling her that she’d had suspicions and that they were so sweet together. “Oh and don’t worry” she said “I won’t tell your dad. You should tell him yourself when you’re ready.” She winked

The two of them continued their walk to the hotel rooms they had booked and Y/N bid Geri good night, finally getting into her room and removing Max’s coat. She hung it up and made a mental note to return it to him before anyone else could see it, especially her dad

She picked up her phone just before she went to bed and sent Max a text. ‘Geri knows’ it said simply

Naturally this caused Max to panic slightly, having not expected this. ‘How?’ He replied, leading Y/N to explain the story and tell him how happy Geri seemed

‘At least she’s happy’

‘We need to tell dad soon though Max. I trust Geri but she might accidentally tell him if we leave it too long and he’ll be so angry. He might be better if we tell him’

Max agreed and they decided that they’d plan to tell him soon and hopefully at a time when he was in a good mood

‘Ik hou van jou Y/N. Night” he sent

“Ik hou ook van jou Max. Night”

Content in their feelings for the other despite the shock to the system with Geri knowing, they fell asleep. They knew a challenge would be on the horizon when Christian would become aware but it had to be done. He couldn’t be in the dark forever. They would face it together.

#f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #red bull racing #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1

100 notes · View notes

nincompoopydoo · 3 years

Text

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— US AGAINST THE WORLD ; PART 4 / ?

( credits to @animusrox for this gif )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2247 hot diggy dog

SUMMARY: You have a heart-to-heart conversation with one of your students before the play and you're hit with the realization that your love for Bruce may be more than meets the eye. hence, you’re starting to wonder if it was a mistake you can never fix.

A/N: This one’s long and kinda depressing. I’m in an angsty mood now whoops. Nevertheless, thank you for reading this series, the bagels will make its appearance and enjoy this one folks.

WARNINGS: Anxiety, depressing thoughts.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

The night of the show arrived quicker than you anticipated. The flurry of theatre kids rushing about backstage is quite the sight, feeling the incredible sense of pride of a mother for her children. Yet in prayer, you ask Mrs. Wilson for the gift of strength and ability to manage a bunch of highly-strung teenagers. It’s only Shakespeare after all but you knew that wasn’t the genuine nature behind their stage jitters. With all tickets sold out within a week, it has easily become the biggest event of the year aside from homecoming. It may be a little pretentious for a high school production of an over-performed Shakspeare play to emerge as the highlight of the year, but you know it will help with some of the students’ portfolios for acting school.

The clock ticks—thirty minutes before showtime and panic starts to creep.

Your fingertips dance along the selvage of the extensive drapery of the stage as lighting queues are being run through for the last time. The urge of curiosity lets you crack open the curtain as you peeked at the rest of the theatre. The bustling crowd made up of mostly teenagers with seats rapidly being filled, it’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. Amongst the settling audience, you spot Bruce, seated between Mr. Walken, the principal, and Mr. Huckleberry, the vice-principal, likely being shamelessly asked for donations. He looks engaged, but his posture and the gaze of his eyes tell a very different story—Bruce is barely listening to a word they’re saying.

He then turns in the direction of your hiding spot and despite the distance, he catches your eye, immediately recognizing it’s you spying from behind the curtains. You watch the curve of his lips turn up into more of a smirk, swiftly sending a wink your way. You instantly disappear behind the curtains, cheeks burning.

You sometimes find it hard to believe you’re sleeping with the man with no strings attached because you’re incredibly attracted to him.

Someday, you’ll burst out into an exaggerated love confession, and you know it’s going to be ugly. It’s a reality check and right now, it’s the last thing you want. Running away from your problems is more of a habit than a choice as you would rather live in the world your mind has created, where miracles are made and defects cease to exist. Anyone would trade the cruelties of reality for a perfect one yet getting too caught up in a daydream will eventually evolve into toxicity. Bruce orbits the very core of your problems and daydreams. You want to run away from him and allow yourself to be engulfed by his presence at the same time.

You just need...to breathe. Hence, the second dressing room has a weird stench to it. It’s a mess but it’s empty. Yet, it seems you aren’t the only one in need of space, away from everyone else. Shaniqua is seated at the far corner of the room on a crooked metal chair, dressed in a somewhat modernized version of an Elizabethan era dress. Very elaborate and theatrical. Despite her introverted character, she was constantly bright-eyed and keen during your classes. She had a drive like no other. Hell, she miraculously memorized all her lines in two days.

You’ve never seen a furrow of the girl’s brows, until now, and it worries you. Even her glitter-covered eyes could not conceal the dismay they portray with prominence. Gingerly, you made your way to her as she stared at her fidgeting hands. It was only when you settled on the opposite dusty old chair when she finally noticed your presence.

“Stage fright, huh?” you casually asked, resting your arm on the dressing table. She mirrors your posture, heaving a deep sigh, and shakes her head. “No, it’s just,” A pause, her gaze finds yours. You nod, flashing her a smile. It’s a simple gesture that you’re here to listen. “It’s about Oscar...” You catch a hint of a smile as she trailed off and in an instant, your brow raises with curiosity. Oh? Another beat of silence, her eyes dart around the room. You sit quietly with patience because you knew she had more to say.

“It’s just that doing this play has got me thinking a lot about my feelings. I mean, if Romeo and Juliet could be lovers, despite their feuding families, then it must be easy enough for me to admit that I like Oscar.”

“You have a point.” You chuckle, eyes crinkling with amusement. Sometimes she thinks too much for her own good. She reminds you of Bruce. Shaniqua flashes you a faint smile, lips pressed with doubt. “But why am I finding it so hard to just tell him that?”

You stayed silent for a moment or two, mind deep in thought. The chair creaks as you shift in your seat. “Well, could it be that you aren’t sure if he likes you back?”

A hum in response, shrugging coyly as she mumbled a ‘maybe’. Although it was clear as day to you that Oscar liked her back, you wondered if her doubts emerged due to their differences in character. The familiarity of the situation is beginning to feel a lot like deja vu.

“How do you know that someone is the one?” Her sudden question catches you off guard because, in all honesty, you aren’t confident if you knew the answer. A straightforward question, commonly seen in the pages of teenage magazines, written for innocent eyes. You knew its true nature and it terrifies you. The image of Bruce charges through your thoughts like rushing water, memories of times when the two of you were younger clouding your mind. You forcefully push back your university days, buried back deep into your conscience.

“I don’t exactly know the answer to that but in my opinion, it’s—it’s the feeling of completeness when you love them and know they love you. They may be different from you, but it doesn’t make you love them any less. There’s no conflict or strife; it’s just the two of you against the world.”

Those words were raw and genuine, carefully crafted directly from the heart. You weren’t surprised by your words because you’ve thought about it a lot, especially on nights you slept on Bruce’s bed. Maybe, you do love him, and that's a huge ass problem. It’s amazing how unexpected situations tend to encourage apprehension on large issues you never knew existed in the first place. Perhaps it was your astonishing lack of discernment when it came to matters that could potentially alter your life.

Tonight, a sixteen-year-old girl did just that.

Amid your growing anxiety, you manage to catch sight of the wall clock, hung on the other side of the room. It’s now eight minutes until showtime. Your eyes are now wide as you sprung up from your seat in the sudden realization that everyone should be at their respective positions two minutes ago. “Oh God, we’re running late. Shaniqua, word of advice—don’t end up regretting something you didn’t do,” You shoot her a pointed look, index finger stretching towards her. “Now, you really need to go, or we’ll have to delay and you know Mr. Walken hates waiting.”

It’s a quarter to nine, and the theatre is empty. Outside, the foyer and the hallways are buzzing with the remaining audience, lingering and sharing inane conversations as others wait for a car to take them home. You had only just finished rearranging the costumes in the wardrobe of the dressing room. You tried to sweep the scatter of glitter all over the floor but it deemed a task as impossible; you’ll deal with it next week.

You’re sitting in the seat at the front row, nearest to the aisle with a large box filled with props on your lap. Alone in transcendental silence, feeling as empty as the theatre itself. It was partly the conversation you had with Shaniqua that hit you with the reminder of all the mistakes you made that have led you to this unchanging world of a blur that takes the blame for the wretched feeling in your chest. Yet, as the show progressed, hearing the words of affection from two lovers had sent your mind reeling. You were desperate to head home, crawl into bed and potentially cry yourself to sleep but the growing anxiety forbids it, you don’t even think you could drive home.

So, you stillness of the theatre reminds you of Edward Hopper’s painting, Solitary Figure in a Theater. With eyes shut, you pretend you are the figure in the painting, sheathed in black, sitting alone in the cavernous dark.

You hear the door of the theatre squeak, swinging open followed by the shuffling of feet. You don’t look at first, too tired anyway. You’d assume someone had either forgotten something or it was the janitor that you’re sure is going to be upset over the glitter massacre in the dressing room. It looked like a crime scene, except it was the murder of a literal unicorn. You made a mental note to send an apology sandwich of some sorts next week.

It was the familiarity in the whiff of cologne that made you snap your eyes wide open, looking over your shoulder to meet with the sight of Bruce, ambling down the aisle towards you. He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “What are you still doing here?” He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “I could ask you the same question.” He settles in the seat next to you, elbow brushing against yours. Your head tilts, gesturing to the box. Bruce merely hums and nods thoughtfully.

“So, how was the play? Does it get a Wayne seal of approval?” There’s a hint of teasing in the curve of your lips as his eyes drift to the stage. “I liked it. The kids have talent.” Your eyes glint with amusement, your smile growing wider. “I never knew you were a fan of romance.” His laugh comes out more like a huff of air, crinkled eyes meeting yours, and nudges you lightly. “Well, now you know.”

He recognizes the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes and the way you’re fussing with the edges of the box on your lap. Something is bothering you and he knows it. He nudges you once more. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You blink once. Then twice, face wincing instinctively. You keep forgetting how well Bruce can read people, especially you. You exhale slowly as he watches you struggle to pick the right words.

“It’s really nothing. It’s just-” you say after a long minute, cutting yourself short. Then, you turn to Bruce. “I’m growing older, and I’ve spent my entire life in a fog with so much fear for reality, I’m afraid it’s too late to fix all my mistakes and regrets.” Your voice dwindles with every word that escaped your lips. You were young, naïve with the notion that time was extensive to make decisions without thinking it through. To know that you could never take back the things you did. Saturn’s rising, it’s a wake-up call now that you’re older and the fear that you would never change creeps onto you with every passing birthday.

Bruce defines the epitome of the sinking feeling in your chest whenever you lay in bed at night and let your mind reel about your existence. Yet, it isn’t as simple as you want it to be. The boy you met at university has grown into a far more complex and entangled mess of the grief of his parents, the responsibility he held over this city and the drive to just...keep moving on. For the longest time, it was him against the world, and a part of you wants to believe that it doesn’t have to be that way. That maybe, you could be enough for him.

He glanced away from you, trying to hide the despondency in his eyes. He holds back a sigh as he speaks, “Do you regret us doing this?” As vague as his question is, you know what he exactly means. He remembers the time the two of you used to exchange senseless conversations and laughter so vividly that it scares him. Juvenile friends, lacking the knowledge to know what love really was. Hence, the agreement—it was just two friends, messing around. Nothing could go wrong. Now, the hole has been dug in too deep, with no way of getting out.

“I don’t,” you reply and with just two simple words, his chest feels like fire. It was the way you had said it, with so much confidence and assurance, despite the intricacy of this relationship. For the first time in a long time, you were extremely sure about an answer. You could never regret Bruce. Never.

It’s almost hesitant in the way his hand finds yours, but it represents his care for you, even if you may not know it. The warmth of his hand feels like fire. Hell, your chest feels like it’s on fire, heart burning for the man beside you. “I’ll drive you home,” he whispers with a squeeze of your hand. You flash him a grateful smile as the two of you drift into a comfortable silence. Silence so eloquent that you don’t feel so empty anymore. No longer a solitary figure trapped in a painting but now two, hand in hand, against the world.

TAGLIST

@raineeace

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batman #batman x reader #justice league #batman imagine #bruce wayne imagine #pining bagels repeat

81 notes · View notes

batarella · 4 years

Text

All Grown Up (Jason Todd x Reader)

Do I need a cleansing? Probably.

-Requested-

user88777777: “I'm not sure if you're doing requests? And of not that's ok but I have an idea?! Can you write a smut where Jason and reader are having sex in wayne manor and alfred walks in on them and Jason goes downstairs in the morning and Alfred's like "you're all grown up"

WORDS: 2213 WARNINGS: SEMI PUBLIC SEX IN THE FOREST. ORAL SEX. 69 WITH THE BEST DICK IN THE WORLD.

Masterlist

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You were so fucking horny.

He knew you had your hands right on top of his clothed abs on purpose. You couldn’t stop running your fingers down the hard crevices. Jason pulled on the throttle and drove faster out of the island, where there were trees littering an acre of empty lot and the road went straight into Wayne Manor. He was horny, too. You could see the sweat coming out of his neck. Burying your nose into his nape, your hand went further down.

“Playtime after we get off this bike, Y/N,” he said through his helmet. He was grinning ear to ear.

You inhaled into his neck. He turned further into the island, and the only light that showed the way was the motorcycle’s headlight. A movie date at the manor’s theater. That’s what he promised you. “What do you wanna watch, babe?”

“Your dick sliding in and out of my pussy,” you breathed, grazing your lips onto his skin. “Fuck.” He was hard. You could feel it.

“Never mind that movie, then.”

“Let’s do it at the cave. Bruce is out for patrol. No one will be there.”

“There are cameras at every corner. Unless you're into that stuff.” He winked. Jason sped even faster past the trees.

“How ‘bout the library? You can read a few of your classics while I suck you off-“

“Mother fucker, you're killing me.”

“I love you,” you grinned.

He slowed down his bike, just when you thought he wanted to get to the manor even faster. “Jay?”

The bike came to a complete stop. He parked it, took off his helmet, and took off yours. He pulled you up and kept kissing you hard while his hand squeezed your ass. Jason took your hands and walked you into the trees, farther from the road so no one could see them. “I’m so fucking hard. Let’s make this quick.”

He pushed your back against a tree trunk and pushed his much larger self against your body. Jason bit your lip, and your hands were all over him. Snaking under his shirt, your fingers tracing his pecs, his abs, then you held the large bulge on his pants. Jason pulled your shirt up your bra, then pulled them slightly down to expose your breasts to the cold, nipping air. Your heavy breaths were cut short when Jason trailed his hand up your cleavage, up to your neck, squeezing at just the amount of pressure that you loved.

His lips were so rough, teeth drawing blood from your lips, numbing them so wonderfully you moaned at the sensation. Jason forcefully flipped you over, pushing your front against the tree while you heard him unbuckle his pants off.

“Fuck,” you gasped, then he pulled down your pants just under your ass. A sharp sting on your ass cheek soon followed. Your hands gripped tightly onto the tree, your nails digging into the bark when Jason sucked on your neck, his tongue drawing circles with his one hand still squeezing your neck and the other holding your breast.

Jason pushed into you, raw and hard. He couldn’t wait any longer. You pushed your ass out, arching your back as much as you could when your head was being held back by his strong arm so he could kiss you, biting into your lip again when he thrusted again.

“Yes.” You squeezed your eyes shut when the feel of his lips, his hands and his massive cock stretching out your pussy so wide all sent your mind dancing on the light clouds. You loved this man so much, and it just so happened that his dick was the absolute best as making you come. Jason squeezed your neck harder, and he moaned your name into your ear. The way he whispers against it, his breath tickling your ear and his teeth biting into it sent your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You pushed your ass out even further and spread your legs. Jason’s hand was strong pulling and pushing your whole body, bruising your hips in the best way possible. He snapped his hips into your ass. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, just like that!” you kept crying, mewling and holding onto the bark when the burn inside your walls swelled up, and you felt that familiar coil in your stomach. Jason sensed it and fucked you even harder. You couldn’t stay here long. But the thrill of getting caught. Fuck. You could get off from it alone. Jason slapped your ass again, and that one spot that drove you mad, he purposefully stimulated with the tip of his cock.

You were twitching, and every drag of his cock sent pulsating tremors down the ends of your whole body. Jason covered your mouth just as you came undone, biting into his hand and the other gripping his own to hold yourself up as you shook, your knees trembling. He kept going, faster, then you felt the familiar warmth of his cum spewing inside you. He breathed heavily into your ear, leaning his head against yours, and you both came down your high with a softer kiss on the lips. Jason’s grip on you loosened, slowly turning you around so he could kiss you better. He held your waist, grinning between his sweet kisses.

You heard a large car speed by, narrowly missing Jason’s bike.

“That’s our queue,” he said. “The big guy’s out for the night. I’m not done with you yet, baby.”

His thumb soothed your lips, and you looked right into his eyes as you sucked on it like you would his cock. “Fuck,” he breathed, watching you and sinking his thumb deeper into your mouth. Already, he was getting hard again.

You both put your clothes back together. A bit of cum seeped out your pussy and stained your underwear. You didn’t care. You both went back onto the bike and drove towards the manor, which was merely another five minutes away.

Jason held your hand and walked you both to the front door, ringing the doorbell.

“Master Jason,” Alfred greeted him. “Miss Y/N.”

“Hi Alfred.” He stepped inside.

“You're spending the night, I believe?”

“Hope Bruce wouldn’t mind.”

“As always, sir.”

His hand on you was squeezing tight. Jason was too quick to pull you into the library, only turning on the lamp by a desk.

You marveled at his large corner of books. The Great Gatsby. Moby Dick. Little Women. Hamlet. Books of the like, arranged in perfect alphabetical order. The man was a nerd and you loved him even more for it. Jason circled his arms around your waist and settled his head on your shoulder.

“We can skip the reading,” he whispered, and his hand on your waist squeezed harder. You hummed, turning around to kiss him. You made out for a little while, your hand over his bulge once again to feel him grow harder and harder. His hand went under your pants to grab your ass, but you pushed his hand away and knelt down in front of him.

He forgot to pull up his fly from a while ago. You giggled, then pulled his pants down to his knees and slowly licked up his hardening length.

“Jason…” you moaned, and his hand gripped your hair to pull your head. Slowly, delicately, you pumped him with your hand, then slowly dragged your wet lips grazing over his sensitive tip. He almost jizzed just at that, then you kitten licked the bottom of the tip and tasted a bit of pre cum seep out. You could taste yourself still on his length. And you knew how you tasted from all the times he’s asked you to suck his fingers after he’s fucked you with them, or from your own fingers when he was far away, watching you from his phone.

You winked at him when you took half of him in, his hand pulling your head back and forth. You widened your mouth and let him fuck it at his pace. Then you pulled your pants off, spreading your legs as your fingers played with yourself. Jason pulled you hard, bottoming out. You could feel his length stretching your throat, chocking and gagging you with tears down your face, and your fingers harshly circling your clit. Your face glowed red, and he pulled entirely out just to push into your mouth again.

Jason didn’t come yet, but he took your chin and kissed you, hard. Then he set himself on the floor before you and pulled you on top of him as he laid down. Your legs were on his sides, and you grinding against his cock while his hand still gripped your hair.

“Sit on my face,” he growled. And you could feel your wetness stream down your thighs. You inched to his head, then turned to face the other way so you could watch his cock. You lowered yourself, then felt his hot breath against your cunt.

You felt him spit at your hole, and you moaned. Your clit was grazing against his bottom lip, then he circled it with his tongue. Jason held your hips and you took your shirt off to squeeze your own breasts. Fuck, his tongue just entered inside you. It was hot, burning, and it was soft. Fucking hell, this man. And his finger, stimulating the outside of your asshole, you could no longer hold back your moans.

His cock was leaking, so you bent over and took him in your mouth, the cock curving down to your neck. You sucked him off to suppress your own moans. And it worked, if not for the vibrating hums up your pussy and his dick. You sat there quietly, feeling the ecstasy from the outside of your cunt and choking into his cock. Without his strong hands, you couldn’t take the whole of him in. So you pumped the bottom of his length while you sucked on him hard.

Jason’s lips were encircling your clit, and his tongue violated it to the point where the shivers down your limbs almost made you fall off of him. “Oh!” you screamed, then moaned with him in your mouth. You took as much of him as you could, just how he liked it, then he came apart.

His cum spilled over your mouth, breast, and hair. You’ll have to wash this off tonight. But his moans, you could feel him shaking, furiously lapping at your cunt the more he came. You dove back in and swallowed around him, just as you felt his thumb dip into your pussy and you squirted all over his mouth. You stopped sucking him, gasping as you sat back and felt his hands go up to hold your waist. You held your head back, riding your high and moving your hips. Your whole body came apart. You were writhing, holding back most of your screams. And the mind-blowing orgasms had you weak and almost limbless.

Jason kissed your pussy, then you swung your leg over just to straddle him again, facing him this time as he sat up, then kissed him with the sweet, slow kisses you always had after fucking. His touch on you was gentle now, brushing your hair back and his hands holding your hips.

“Master Jason-”

You covered yourself and grabbed your shirt from the floor, pulling it on hurriedly while Jason zipped his pants up and stood. “Hey-y, Alfred-“

“Master Bruce will be home early tonight.” The old man faced away from the sight but continued talking. “Here’s a towel. Do clean up after yourself.”

Fucking hell. You buried your face into your hands. The moment you heard the door close you nudged his arm and stood. “I thought you fucking locked the door.”

“Sorry,” he laughed. He continued to laugh until you playfully pushed him. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead.

“Let’s take this to my room.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He woke up to your sleeping form, bare back turned the other way. Jason went up to you, kissing your shoulder. You were still asleep, and it was almost noon. The amount of sex you had last night sent you dead asleep and his thighs burning. Never mind how he works out like a beast every single day. Fucking you always got him sore.

Jason got up and pulled his pants off from the floor. He’ll bring you breakfast from downstairs, ready for you just as you’d wake up. He knew you loved that. Slowly making his way down the large staircase, he ruffled his hair and went to the kitchen.

Alfred was there wearing an apron. “Mornin’ Alfred.”

“Good morning, Master Jason.”

“That for me?”

“This is for Master Damian. Your and Miss Y/N’s meal is on the table there.”

“Thanks.” He got a tray and placed your food, balancing them out. Just as he was about to walk away with it, he turned back to the butler.

“And uh, sorry ‘bout last night.”

“Oh, not to worry, Master Jason. I’ve witness far worse from Master Dick. On multiple occasions.”

He stopped turned his ladle from the pot, then looked at Jason.

“You’ve grown up, dear boy.”

Jason smiled at him. “Thanks, Alfred.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ya’ll need Jesus

Taglist: everyartistwas-firstanamateur @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive @lucy-roo roseangel013bf

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd smut #jason todd fluff #arkham knight x reader #red hood x reader #red hood smut #red hood fluff #DC comics #dc fanfiction #batarella #batarella smut #batarella smut one shots

1K notes · View notes

holistic-fandoms · 3 years

Text

the Dream SMP as stupid shit me and my friends say

Dream, sending a video of a "cum demon" aka a clip of someone making a massive Coke & mint pilar: Us when we meet up

Sapnap: Are we the cum demon or the ones summoning the cum demon?

George: Uh, I assumed we’d want to sumon the cum demon, but if the cum demon is already here, then would you like to come forward about it?

Wilbur: No we all collectively make up the cum demon. We fuse together to make the cum demon.

Fundy: I hate this conversation and I need you guys to know that

Dream: Why don't you want to fuse to become the cum demon?

Fundy: I don't want to make the cum demon!

Dream: WHY NOT

Fundy: I FEEL PEER PRESSURED

Wilbur: It's not peer pressure, what you feel is the calling from within to become the cum demon

Sapnap: Wait. if we make up the cum demon, then how does it look?

Dream: It looks like a white blob of cum but with a strange, jello like texture. It has all of our eyes at the front and all of our mouths together which make a horrifying smile

Dream: I regret starting this

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

Techno: Everytime I get bullied for eating cucumbers like apples I will eat another cucumber like an apple

Tubbo: I've never had a cucumber :(

Tommy: The only invalid thing about that is that cucumbers are a boring fucking vegetable and they are like 90% water and they have no flavor and suck

Dream: Fuck you, cucumbers are tasty. I bet you like green beans, talk about a terrible vegetable

Tubbo: Cucumbers are baby cacti :)

Tommy: Jokes on you, I don't like any vegetables.

Wilbur: He's lying, he likes lots of vegetables

Sapnap: I don't like any green vegetables. Not by choice, that's just the way I am. Spinach kinda slaps though.

Bad: Spinach is tasty! Spinach ravioli.

Quackity: I eat that spinach shit like uh. Fuck. I just eat raw spinach ok?

Tubbo: Popeye?

Tommy: Popeye ate canned spinach, research your fucking Popeye lore.

Tubbo: Raw popeye

Dream: That's what I'm trying to do, my friend. that's what I'm trying to do.

George: And that's my queue to leave!

Tommy: I only spell queue like q because the 4 extra letters are stupid.

Sapnap: Are we brushing over the fact that Dream is trying to raw popeye?

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

Warning! This segment contains slurs, all of which me and my friends can reclaim. If it makes you uncomforable, please just scroll past it, and I will be replacing the slurs we said with [x slur]

Eret: Creepypasta- I went to Chuck E Cheese for my son's birthday and the rat called me a [f slur]

Niki: That's just my lore

George: Niki deep lore?

Fundy: But that's just a theory, a Game Theory

Niki: Creepypasta- I met MatPat and tried to give him a hug and all he said is “my game theory is that you’re a [d slur]”

Dream: creepypasta- MatPat was dressed as Charles Entertainment Cheese and he called me a [k slur]

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

Fundy: I publicly gave a username and password so a bunch of people could join an account and immediately they posted someone's nudes and then blocked me out of my own account

Tommy: okay but why the fuck would you do that

Fundy: It seemed like a good idea at the time!

Tommy: when will you learn. WHEN WILL YOU LEARN. T H A T Y O U R A C T I O N S H A V E C O N S E Q U E N C E S.

Fundy: stop yelling at me I'm baby!

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

Dream: There's 2 things in life I like more than anything: Respecting women and kissing men. And there's no women here.

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

Tubbo, upon seeing a butterfly: Bird!

Wilbur: this is the exact opposite of the "is this a pidgeon" meme

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

Schlatt at 4am: There's 5 hot horny men in my area, but only one can become America's Next Top Model

Tommy: what the fuck are you talking about

Fundy: no. let him finish.

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

Dream: Hey so if one drop of holy water makes the entire body of water holy, I could add a drop of holy water to the ocean and because of the water cycle it would eventually get all over the world, and then demons wouldn't be able to do shit because if it rained or someone spilled water on them they'd die. I've essentially foiled Judgement Day, so you can thank me later.

George: What... are you talking about.

Dream: I have no idea I'm not Christian

(sorry if this is kinda ooc or if I forgot anyone my brain is the size of an avocdo pit and just as smooth)

#dteam #dreamwastaken #dream team #tubbo #tommyinnit #fundy #wilbur smp #wilbursoot #sapnap #dream smp #dsmp #technoblade #badboyhalo #quackity #eret dsmp

101 notes · View notes

olivieblake · 3 years

Note

okay hi I just finished masters of death and I've come here to rant about what a good book that was. in all honesty I never would've read it if you hadn't said that it was similar to HTWFAIP (which I love with my whole whole heart, possibly more than my fiance but shh don't tell anyone, it's possible he knows though) and buying that book on amazon was the Greatest Decision of My Invariably Mundane Life. humiliatingly, what actually made me buy it was the fact that you named a character fox d'mora, and I adored the name (also a stepping stone leading towards said Greatest Decision of My Invariably Mundane Life).

that book surprised me in the best possible way. when I started the book (admittedly) I expected fox and viola to get together in the end, tom parker the IV to find peace, and everything else to just.....fall in place in that cliched endings young adult novels always seem to succeed in (no shade, I've enjoyed quite a few of these cliched endings myself). but.....fox and brandt? they have my whole heart. the betrayals that aren't quite betrayals, the raw sexual tension, the hunger, the obstacles, the LOVE.

the only thing that could POSSIBLY surpass my love for fox and brandt (what's their ship name? brox? frandt? idk you decide) is my love for viola and tom parker the IV. such an unexpected couple, and I did not see that coming, at all, until tom said he wants vi to go with them to the tables (could be my general cluelessness at play, though). their ending made me shed tears of joy, because they both deserved it so so so much.

ahh, mayra kaleka and calix sanna (third in queue for holding my heart). have I told you I love their names? because I love their names. you are this naming GODDESS. and their love for each other, mayra thinking she's unworthy...... *teary heart eyes*

raphael and gabriel might be my favourite archangels of all time, even though they're possibly looking at my ledger and then at me and shaking their heads in an unholy mix of despair and disapproval at this moment.

the whole plot, though........mindblowing. MIND.BLOWING. I don't want to include much here because spoilers, but you are this fantastic plot architect and fantasy YA authors should weep at your genius and creativity. no offence to them, of course, but I just feel like every fantasy YA novel follows the same general plotline these days, even though the worlds might be different. girl finds out she's more special than she thought she was, then she finds out she's expected to save the world, falls in love with either her best friend who's stuck by her side all the while, or this really hot sarcastic "bad boy" who listens to no one except her, or is stuck in a love triangle between two boys who are equally hot and best friends (or brothers, or both), then she goes and saves the world, happily ever after. ANYWAY

I have gone wildly off track from what I came here to do and I apologise for that. but anyway, I love you and your work. also I know you're having a baby right now (or preparing to have one) and I hope you, mr. blake, and the baby are all doing good and you're not in tears because of the lack of sleep and raging hormones yet (and even if you are, I have full faith that you can get through this).

oh gosh this is so exciting, my first book baby!!! not everybody loves this one (or gets it) (admittedly it's weird) but I loved your rant so much. I'm overjoyed to hear you liked the book this much! I don't think it's necessarily fair to compare it to ya fantasy because it's more about...... what it means to be human? to exist? than about first love or self-discovery or any of the usual markers of ya, like quick pacing (definitely not applicable for a book with multiple unrelated interludes) and moral stakes. but in general yes it is a weird book because my wonderful audience has always made me feel free to write weird books, and for that I am so very grateful to you

and also, I believe the ship name as determined by other people was foxling, which reminds me that I STILL HAVE ALL THE FEELS FOR THEM ugh don't get me started

also, I think raphael and gabriel are the forerunners to hortense and thibaut. I'm not 100% on the sequence but they are certainly a pair of twosomes who should NOT meet

anyway I don't even know what to say (I'm running on very little sleep as you cleverly guessed) but please know this brought me so much happiness and I adore you very much!!

#masters of death #how to win friends and influence people

23 notes · View notes

rae-is-typing · 4 years

Note

So glad to see your feeling better. Could I request 12 and 31 where it's movie night in the Evans household just some classic fluff? 💜

Every Night is Movie Night

12: “C’mon! It’s movie night. You can’t skip movie night!”

31: “ Stop eating the raw cookie dough.”

Description: In the Evans household, every night is movie night. Literally.

Warnings: Being picked up against one’s will, mentions of the pandemic and underlying health conditions

Word Count: ~780

Two months ago, during the beginning of what you like to call “The End of the World as We Know it,” you were in Boston shooting a movie with your co-star and longtime family friend, Chris Evans. Your guardian had gotten stuck in your home, and by the time shooting was called off, you couldn’t go home because of your guardian’s underlying illness. You went to Chris crying because you didn’t know what to do. He offered to take you home with him. When you declined, he called his mom, your Aunt Lisa. You, Aunt Lisa, Chris, and your guardian worked out a plan: you would stay with Lisa, Chris, and Scott until life could return to normal.

Even though each of them stated multiple times that they don’t mind and that they love having you around, you still felt bad. No matter how many times Aunt Lisa said “I miss having older kids in the house, darling. You don’t need to feel bad at all,” or Chris said “Don’t worry about it, kid.” or Scott said “I love not being the youngest child anymore,” it still bothered you.

But within the first couple weeks, you began to feel better. A routine was established for you: wake up, breakfast, lessons, training with Chris, lunch, playtime with Dodger, dinner, movie time.

Yes, movie night happened every night.

Every.

Single.

Night.

Now, it wasn’t that you hated movie night; it was quite the opposite actually. You loved curling up under the biggest comforter you could drag out from the basement and cementing yourself under it for the duration of a few movies. You loved the cookies Aunt Lisa would bake for the monthly movie nights you had when you were a little girl, you loved the candy and sweets, the popcorn, the soda, and you especially loved falling asleep on the couch halfway through the last movie.

But every night was overkill for you.

You had managed to avoid the movie nights for three days in a row, but Chris and Scott were determined to get you to spend the night pigging out and watching Star Wars with them. You were holed up in Shanna’s old room, hiding under the blanket and scrolling through instagram when they knocked on the door.

“C’mon, kiddo! It’s movie time.” Scott said, opening the door.

“Oh, no thank you.” You responded, still scrolling on your phone.

“Mom made those cookies you love. We’ll eat them all if you don’t come out.” Chris warned, sitting on the end of your bed, shoving your leg. “We know how much you adore those cookies.”

You scrunched up your face. Those cookies did sound tempting, but so did staying in bed. “Enjoy them for me, will you?”

Scott and Chris share a pointed look.

“Y/N, movie night means we spend time together.” “We already spent time together.”

“As a family.”

“We already spent time together as a family today. I’ll join tomorrow, promise.” “You said that yesterday,” “And I mean it today.”

“Mom said you have to.”

You stopped responding, pulling the blanket around you tighter.

“Y/NNNNNN...” Scott draws out your name. “C’mon! It’s movie night. You can’t skip movie night!”

When you don’t respond, Chris takes action.

“All right sour puss, let’s go.” Without much warning, Chris gathered you and your blanket in his arms, lifting you out of bed without so much as a grant. You yelp as he throws you over his shoulder. The phone slips from your hand and clatters to the floor. “Hey-”

“I got your phone, N/N. Don’t worry.” Scott winked at you.

“No, put me-”

“I’ll put you down on the couch!”

“Boys!” Aunt Lisa yells. “What are you doing to your cousin?”

“They’re kidnapping me, Aunt Lisa, help!” You shout as they take you to the living room.

She let out a hefty sigh. “I told you to convince her, not drag her out kicking and screaming…”

You pout as Chris sets you on the couch. He grinned at you, hair messy and face scruffy. Rolling your eyes, you stand up.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Scott teased, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Snacks. They’re in the kitchen.” “I’ll get them for you. What do you want?”

“The cookie dough.”

It was Scott’s turn to grin. His trip to the kitchen was swift. He returned moments later with the mixing bowl and three spoons. He plops between you and Chris. Chris queues up the first movie and then reaches for his spoon. Just as you were all about to eat the dough, Aunt Lisa’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Stop eating the raw cookie dough!”

#chris evans x teen!reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans x reader #scott evans x reader #scott evans #teen!reader #movie night #quarantine #every night is movie night #drabble #mcu cast x reader #avengers cast x teen!reader #avengers cast imagines #avengers imagine #mcu imagine

436 notes · View notes

rotworld · 4 years

Text

12: Musician

all of the prominent soloists sell their souls these days. you staunchly refuse, for personal reasons.

->suggestive but not explicit. contains gore, hand/finger trauma, and masochism.

There is a demon in the dressing room, and no one seems to know who let him in. No matter; to ask would have as much purpose as toweling off a fish.

What is known is that he isn’t supposed to be there. Prospective patrons are to wait in their designated queue in the concert hall, where they will have ample opportunity to make their offers before and after the performance. But this one has skipped the line entirely, disemboweling the first attendant who tries to stop him.

You don’t look but you hear the rush of blood and the wet plop of intestines unwinding across the floor. Years of practice has enabled you to quash the dread and sickness in the pit of your stomach, your face a perfect mask of indifference. Discomfort is like blood in the water to these creatures.

“Pardon me for the intrusion,” the demon says. His voice is alluring, as sweet as honey and as rich as wine. You fight the unconscious pull drawing you towards him, focused instead on unlatching your violin case. “I simply couldn’t help myself. I didn’t want to miss my chance. You rarely linger on the stage.”

He’s someone of importance, you fear, eloquently spoken and expert at the human form. He is, overwhelmingly, the color of blood. The deep crimson of his tailcoat is rivaled only by his eyes, a shade of red so dizzying that it can only have come from the Infernal Realm. His horns are magnificent twisting corkscrews adorned with lacquered ends, rubies encrusted in bands of gold. His hair is fire and sunset, the hues dancing. You remain seated, observing him only through the mirror, and just long enough to remember his face. “I don’t have much time to idle,” you tell him.

“I understand,” he says, sinking gracefully into the empty seat beside you. “I believe, in an interview, you said you practice six hours a day. Such discipline is undoubtedly the root of your success, and yet…” He does not continue. He doesn’t have to. You feel his heated stare on your hands, watching intently as you unwrap lightly-stained bandages from your fingers. Beneath is a mess of sores and split scabs, blood caked under your nails and frozen mid-trickle to your palm.

“There’s nothing you can offer me that someone else hasn’t already,” you tell him. It stings to pick up your rosin, but the pain is nothing to you. You hardly wince anymore. You slide the block along your bow in long, deliberate strokes, his eyes never leaving you. “No more sores, no more aches. As if I’d feel right without them. The pain tells me how well I played. Or divine skill, like it means anything when every soloist in the world sounds like that. Or my favorite, never practice again!” You roll your eyes. “What kind of artist thinks to themselves, ‘Oh, if only I could paint less’?”

This is dangerous, speaking so brazenly. But the demon was the first to be so brazen, waltzing right in as though he had some claim to you. “Heard it all, have you? I’m not surprised. Ah, but where are my manners?” He produces a business card from his pocket and sets it down in front of you. It’s printed on cardstock in yet another demonic shade of red, this one searing and violent. Your vision starts to blur and you have to flip it over, but you glimpse the curling symbol indicating that a Great Duke sits beside you. “My name is Zepar,” he says, bowing his head. “A pleasure to meet you.”

You don’t give him your name. He knows it already or he wouldn’t be here. Silently, you continue to slide the rosin along your bow. It, too, is a raw and bloody color, a gift forced upon you by another hopeful patron only a week ago. The dust shines like stars and stings on your fingertips. Your dismissal, unfortunately, does not dissuade the demon. He’s closer than he was before. His reflection shares your mirror, one clawed hand caressing your face.

“I understand competition is more and more cutthroat these days,” he says. “Most orchestras won’t work with a soloist that hasn’t taken a patron. It’s fortunate for you to find one so welcoming, but I wonder if worry ever creeps into your heart? That hospitality could dry up any day.”

“Then I’ll move on,” you say. “Like I always have.” The rosin grates on your fingers, shredding your skin another layer. Blood dribbles down your wrist and splatters across the stained wood of your violin.

“Your stubbornness is charming,” Zepar says. He’s closer still, his fingers dancing along your thigh. Your breath hitches as they trail higher, tracing arcane shapes into your leg. “But you long to give in, don’t you? The chase is thrilling, but there is no greater pleasure than to be caught at last. You’ve run long enough. I am here, my arms open to you. Did you know that I am a demon of desire?” His tongue is scorching against your ear, sliding in a wet caress along the shell. His touch is filthy. You barely stifle a moan when he drags one finger over your core, feeling as though there are no clothes separating you.

“We don’t have a contract,” you stammer.

“We don’t have to,” he murmurs. When did he get behind you? When did you stand from your chair? He has you bent over the mirrored table, blanketing your back, one hand between your legs and the other sliding across your chest. “Look at yourself,” he groans. “So debauched, and all I’ve done is touch you. I could take you right here. Slide your clothes out of the way just so, and,” he chuckles, fingers catching the waistband of your underwear, “oh, it would be lovely. You only have to ask. Won’t you? We can discuss the contract after that. It’s only fair that I give you a taste of what I have to offer.”

He’s so, so close to capturing you. He has you in his grasp, pinned right where he wants you, a demon of carnal delights with his palm against your bare skin. You almost lose yourself. But your left hand clutches the slender neck of your violin and that single lifeline is all that’s needed to ground you, to bring you back to where you belong. You don’t remember picking it up, but you don’t need to.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” you tell the Great Duke. He’s never been refused before. You know by the unmasked dismay on his face. “And get your hands off of me. I still need to warm up.”

You’ve nearly shattered his composure. In the mirror, you see Zepar’s face twist into a beast’s hateful snarl, his maddening true face visible for only a moment. “I have more to offer than companionship,” he insists. “Contentment. Solace. The peace of mind you’ve always wanted. Stillness and quiet when your mind would be racing, frantic—”

“Get off of me,” you snap. He moves suddenly, as though you’ve slapped him. You turn to face him, unafraid. “This is all I want. Do you understand? Just this. You don’t have anything I want.” You slide your bow across the strings, the grooves etched in your skin finding their familiar resting place. The pain is immediate and exquisite, like nails pressing into the soft pad of each fingertip.

You start into the sweet opening notes of Violin Concerto in D major, swaying, the sores on your fingers splitting open. Blood wets the strings and the sound is heavenly, driving you to higher peaks, your grip on the instrument even tighter, more punishing. You don’t feel Zepar’s gaze. You don’t feel his presence, are not tempted by his brilliant smile or the impossible shades of his eyes. Your fingers dance across the strings in a frenzied waltz of self-sacrifice, flayed bits of skin falling at your feet, and there is no sweeter pleasure, no sensation more pure. You hunger for nothing else.

Zepar bows low in shame and apology. “I’m—I had no idea—you should have said you were spoken for,” he stammers, frightened, but you don’t hear him, have no idea he’s even there anymore. The warmth blossoming at your fingertips makes the dull brown strings a brilliant red once more, a red more haunting than anything Zepar could hope to achieve. He flees while you’re still in the throes of it, your eyes shut and your body trembling, arching with the crescendo as though possessed, and he shouts something about how what you hold in your hands is no violin, but you pay it no mind.

The voice of the strings is the sweetest of sounds. The bite of the strings is like a kiss to each wounded finger, a promise that you will never be empty.

#rotpeach writes #goretober #original

37 notes · View notes

lampmeeting · 3 years

Text

got roundaboutly tagged by @agaricales :D thank youuuu! hope you don’t mind that i stole your little idea to draw myself and my shitty hair hahah :3 i almost never draw myself so this was a nice reason

Questions to get to know you a little better:

1. What do you prefer to be called name wise? Kelly’s my actual name, but I also go by Murphy and I have zero preference which you use (also shortened versions of either like Kel or Murph are also lovely) :D and it makes me giggle when people call me Lamp hehe

2. When is your birthday? Nov. 5th!

3. Where do you live? Austin, Texas

4. Three things I am doing right now? Fixing to watch Hannibal, drinking root beer, being kept company by my tiny kitty Lib

5. Four fandoms that have piqued my interest: Well, Metalocalypse of course. Hannibal is a new one I’m dipping my toe into. Don’t think I’ll do any art or fic, but I’ve been loving what I’ve seen and read so far. Detroit: Become Human was a huge one for me and I still love checking in on the fandom from time to time and getting nostalgic. Also tonight’s news activated my Mass Effect lust. Give to me all the hot aliens.

6. How has the pandemic been treating you? Uhhhhhhh yeah not great. 8)

7. Song(s) I can’t stop listening to: “Rule of Nines” by Spiritbox, her VOICE!!!!

8. Recommend a movie: Darren Aronofsky‘s The Fountain, this movie just Speaks to me like nothing else ever really has. I remember leaving the theatre feeling like I had been irreparably changed, and one of the friends I was with was like “well that was fucking stupid” and I was like hmmm :) really now :) and then like the next month we weren’t friends anymore kjgkdfgf funny how that happened

9. How old are you? 35... stick a fork in me, I’m done ;0;

10. School, university, occupation? Um none of the above? lmao covid took my job, know anyone who’s hiring at-home receptionists? dkfgdk I keep thinking I could go back to retail but we’re not in dire enough straits for that yet.

11. Do you prefer heat or cold? Cold usually but it depends. I like feeling warm but I HATE feeling hot and it’s a fine line.

12. Name one fact others may not know about you? Actually I think probably quite a few people know this, but I suck really bad at coming up with random facts about myself - I’m a wrestling nerd. Fucking love wrestling. I’ve been to dozens of shows, Raw, Smackdown, NXT, Ring of Honor a handful of times, and a few local shows because my brother’s old high school friend is a local indie wrestler. My favorite guy in the business right now is Hangman Adam Page (and yes, it’s partially because he’s fucking gorgeous)

13. Are you shy? Depends. There’s a lot of things I’m totally fine with doing and it can fool people into thinking I’m almost extroverted, but then like phone calls and knocks on the door literally break me out in a sweat and make my hands shake, and if I hang out with people I need like a week to recover, so... lmao

14. Preferred pronouns: she/her

15. Biggest pet peeves: this is an IRL thing, but I have some audio processing shit going on, and then on top of that I fucked up my hearing in my right ear a bit at a Devin Townsend show a few years back (worth it? yes) and sometimes people’s voices can sound muddled if there’s other noises happening too. So it MAKES ME REAL MAD when people who KNOW THIS ABOUT ME will just go “no never mind it’s not important” when I ask them to repeat themselves.

16. What is your favorite "dere" type? Had to look some up and oh noooooo it’s a toss-up :O

The Hinedere (ひねデレ) type refers to characters who have cynical world views, are cold-hearted, and highly arrogant. However, deep down they have a soft side that may reveal itself after their love interest breaks through. (SOUND FAMILIAR LMAO)

The Byoukidere (病気デレ) type refers to a character who is kind and gentle at heart but has a serious illness. They might be confined to a hospital bed, or just simply weak and frail. (OH NO.... ;0;)

17. Rate your life 1-10? maybe a 6? 6.5?

18. What is your main blog? @gatsbygal it runs on a queue right now when i remember to fill it (I’m here too often to remember it hahah, but yeah if you wanna go look thru all my old bad art go right ahead)

19. List all your side blogs and what they’re for: ABSOLUTELY NOT LMAO i will admit to having a victor zsasz-related sideblog, a blog about a long-time fic i was writing where i’d answer reader’s questions and stuff, but uhhhhhh i have a few others that get to stay secret

20. Is there anything people should know before becoming friends with you? I’ve had people tell me I seemed intimidating at first and this has to be a problem with how I present myself online because people I know IRL consider me somewhere between a cupcake and an overcooked noodle :O maybe I say too many fuckworks and use too many exclamation marks or something haahha but I swear I’m not even remotely cool

#me #this was fun and now i have procrastinated enough #time to watch more hannibal hehe #BTW YOU'RE ALL TAGGED IF YOU WANNA DO THIS

20 notes · View notes

whitewolfandthefox · 4 years

Text

The Call of the Wild Part 3

A/N. Third part! Sorry its a bit late today, I forgot to queue this up before I left for work. This chapter is a little bit of a filler with lots of fluff, needed to get some plot points out. Enjoy the chapter!

Again, thank you to @riviawitch3r, my lovely beta who is always willing to listen to me rant and cry about this.

Send me an ask or comment if you would like to be added to my taglist! I have one for this series and one for all of my witcher fics, let me know which one you are interested in. Please make sure you are letting me know explicitly you are interested!

Series Masterlist

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: none

Summary: You learn more about your hidden heritage, about the power that you now wield.

Chapter 3: Little Fox

You woke the next morning, feeling calm and secure. There was a heavy weight pressing down on your stomach, holding you in place, keeping you warm. As you wriggled around, there was a low groan from underneath you. Freezing in place, you became aware of the large, warm mass underneath you. Suddenly, the whole world tipped as you felt two large hands grab your middle, depositing you to the side as you squealed in surprise. “Good morning, little one,” came the low voice from next to you. Realizing that you had woken up on top of Geralt’s chest, you whined and flopped to the side, avoiding looking at the man in bed next to you.

Groaning, Geralt sat up and pulled the covers off of himself before putting his feet on the floor and standing. As he turned back around, you stared at the vast expanse of muscle presented to you, feeling a little warm now that you were not seeing the man dying on your floor. The healer in you examined the scars on his side, distantly noting the level of detail you were able to see in this form, while the woman in you admired the fine specimen in front of you. You shook yourself, tuning into the last part of Geralt’s question.

“Do you need help getting down?” Offended, you snapped at the offending hand he had reached out towards you and barked at him. Moving closer to the edge of the bed, you peeked over the side to see how far down the floor was. It’s not too far, I can probably do it. Half sitting, you tried bunching your muscles, hesitating, before leaping off the mattress. You stumbled a little upon landing, before spinning around and sitting, grinning up at Geralt with your success.

“An independent little one, you are learning quickly.” He glanced around the room and moved towards where the blanket he had around his shoulders had fallen in the middle of the night. Wrapping it around his shoulders, he looked back at you before asking, “I don’t suppose you have any food? It is always best to learn how to shift after you have eaten, it will take a lot of energy the first little while you are practicing.”

Barking at him, you darted over to the door before pawing at the base. Geralt lumbered up behind you before turning the handle and letting you out of the room. Trotting down the hallway, you led Geralt towards your kitchen. Turning to look at him, you yipped, before moving to a cupboard and pawing at it. Geralt stared at you, before following your lead and opening the door to find various pots and pans. “You are adapting to this surprisingly well, little fox.”

Shaking yourself, you pulled your ears back against your head and whined softly. He smiled softly, before adding “Maybe not as well as I thought.”

Crossing the small room, he pulled open the cooling box and changed the subject. “What would you like for breakfast? Do you have any raw meat? Foxes tend to eat small animals.”

You hissed at this, pulling your lips back against your teeth and trying to look as displeased as possible. You were not sure how successful you were, but as Geralt hummed and looked back into the box, you decided you must have relayed your distaste at the concept of raw meat.

“Eggs?” he asked, before pulling out the basket you had collected from the market earlier that week. Selecting several large eggs, he brought them back to the cupboard, pulling out a pan and cracking the eggs into it. Placing it on the stove, he bent down to start a flame in the firebox. That done, he began to whisk the eggs, adding some spices and herbs from the various pouches that were scattered across your cupboards.

Feeling awkward sitting so low on the floor, you looked around for a higher vantage point to watch from while Geralt made breakfast. Spotting one of your kitchen chairs pushed out a little ways from your table, you decided that was the best place to supervise from. Trotting over, you debated how to get up on the seat. Checking over your shoulder to make sure that Geralt was distracted by the eggs, you took a running start and leapt onto the chair.

Only to not quite make it, your back legs hanging off as you tried to pull yourself up onto the chair before slipping and falling, rolling once before coming to lie in a heap on your floor. Picking yourself up and shaking yourself, you heard a choked sound coming from behind you. Glancing over at Geralt, you could see him staring determinedly at the pan in front of him, face set in stone. You squinted at him, tilting your head as you saw the slight shaking of his shoulders. Embarrassed, you ducked your head to rub your muzzle against one of your front legs, hiding your face.

Slinking back over, you put your front paws back onto the seat of the chair, discreetly trying to lever yourself up. You felt a presence behind you before feeling yourself lifted through the air and onto the cushion. You didn’t panic, having recognized the signature and the hands of the man holding you. Situating yourself so that you could survey the room, you trilled lightly in thanks.

Looking through the cupboards, Geralt managed to find where you kept your dishes, pulling out a glass, two plates, as well as a small bowl. Filling the glass and bowl with water, he set it on the table in front of you. You put your paws up on the table, leaning over to lap at the liquid in the bowl. Raising your head, you looked at Geralt who had paused to stare at you. Tilting your head, you stared back at him, puzzled at the expression on his face. You barked at him, startling the man who shook his head before turning back to the stove to start serving the eggs.

Carrying the two plates over to the table, he set one in front of you, setting the second plate on the other side of the table before sitting in the chair opposite you. You regarded the plate, before lowering your head and consuming the eggs. Finished, you jumped down off the chair and began to roam around the kitchen, taking in your expanded senses. You could hear the birds chirping in the forest, the smell of the trees, could see the intricate detail in the grain of the wood on your cupboards. Not only could you smell the scents of all of the different herbs you stored in your kitchen but you could tell each of the scents apart and identify the herb it belonged to.

After completing your circuit around the room, you became aware of a gaze on your back. Turning around, you looked at Geralt who had been watching you explore the kitchen. Ducking your head, you snuck back over to sit next to his feet. Reaching down, Geralt grabbed you under the stomach, lifting you and settling you onto his lap. You squirmed briefly to get comfortable, before finally quieting and humming in appreciation when he started stroking your fur.

“Now that you have eaten, let’s begin your first lesson. You, Y/N, are a shapeshifter.” You grumbled and settled further into his lap, not disagreeing after all that had happened, not but overly happy with what Geralt was trying to explain to you. “From what I have seen of you, I believe you to be a witch with healing powers. My wounds have completely healed, with only scars left. Shapeshifters all have magic, though not all those who have magic are shapeshifters. We are a rare kind, having the ability to shift between our animal and our human form. I am a white wolf, as you saw earlier. You can have many different species as your animal form, you are a rare subset of fox species. I actually have not come across one of your kind before.”

Anxious, you stood and tried to balance on Geralt’s thighs before leaping clumsily off of his legs and onto the floor. Geralt fell silent, watching you pace. Sighing, he stood and headed for the door. Glancing over his shoulder at you, he said “Come, let’s go outside. You are too anxious, cooped up inside. You need to be calm before we can try shifting.”

Following the large man, the two of you left the house and headed into the forest. You shot off ahead of him, darting through the underbrush, experiencing the smells and sights as if for the first time. Everything smelled so strong, you could see so much more than you ever had before. You marvelled at your new views, before circling back around to find Geralt smiling to himself.

As your pair reached a clearing in the forest, Geralt headed to the middle and sat down cross legged. Patting the grass next to him, he signalled for you to come join him. Trotting over, you sat down next to him and peered up at his face. “Ok,” he sighed. “When shifting, you have to draw your power from within. Imagine that there is a well of magic within you, you have to find it, deep down. Once you do, the shift will come naturally.”

He looked down at you as you stared up at him with blank eyes. Geralt grimaced and scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s hard to explain, you really just have to search for your magic source and the rest will follow. Let’s start with meditating, and see where that gets us.”

You scrunched your nose up, huffing at the man before closing your eyes and silencing your mind. You worked on calming yourself, listening to the sounds of the birds, smelling the plants, feeling the wind blowing through your fur. Remembering Geralt’s words, you turned your attention inward, searching for something, although you didn’t know what. After a brief time, you became aware of a pull on your mind. Following it, you came to a ball inside you, brimming with power. Unsure of what it was, you backed off slightly, allowing yourself to feel the presence of the man beside you. Focusing on him, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. Reassured by the connection you had, you refocused on the power within you. Instinctively, you reached out and touched the edge, before drawing back at the overwhelming pull. Something deep within you sang at the touch. You paused and listened to the song, which spoke to you of magic and kinship, before gathering your courage and diving into the well that was within you. As you did, you felt a wave of power and warmth surge through you, feeling your world shift.

The next thing you knew, you were sitting on the grass. The world seemed dimmer, but still bright. Glancing next to you, you could see that Geralt was sitting with his eyes closed. Without opening them, he took the blanket off of his shoulders and draped it onto your lap. It was only as he did this that you realized you were naked. With a squeak, you grabbed at the blanket and wrapped it around yourself, your cheeks flaming with heat. “Are you covered?” the man asked, still keeping his eyes closed.

You nodded, before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yes,” you rasped out, unused to the feeling of speaking. Having spent the last while as a fox, the feeling of a human mouth was odd, you were unused to forming words and speaking aloud.

“Good,” he got to his feet. “Let’s head back to your house and I will explain more.”

You struggled to your feet, before feeling your body go limp, your legs giving out underneath you. Geralt lunged in your direction, grabbing you and helping you slide back down to a sitting position, arranging you between in his lap, your legs over one of his, sitting sideways in his lap, his arms wrapped around you to help support your body. Again, you felt your cheeks flame, embarrassed at the closeness between you. Geralt seemed unbothered by the position you were in, frowning down at you with a concerned look on his face. “I always forget you are like baby deer after your first shift. Your first few changes are the worst, as you practice you will not feel the effects as much.” He glanced down at the blanket wrapped around you, “you will also learn to keep your clothes through your shift as well.”

Embarrassed, you attempted to lift yourself out of his lap. As you struggled, you felt Geralt’s grip on you tighten, holding you in place. “You are fine, little fox, this does not bother me. Your first shift is always the hardest, and the fact that you are mostly upright is impressive in itself.” He tugged you closer so that you were tucked under his chin, leaning against his chest. “Rest and regain your energy, and then we will head back to the house.”

Sighing, you let yourself relax against him, leaning your head against his chest, feeling comforted by his arms wrapped around you. You wondered at the feeling of security that you felt from being around him. Though you had just met Geralt, you felt calmest in his presence. There was another feeling there, something you didn’t want to examine. You knew about witchers, knew the stories that claimed they couldn’t feel. After the hectic night that the two of you had had, you couldn’t believe that to be true. Even as you came to this revelation, you refused to acknowledge the warm feeling that sat behind your ribcage.

Letting your eyes fall shut, you nestled further into Geralt’s arms. A wave of exhaustion washed over you, and though you fought against it, you went limp, allowing your tiredness to pull you down into sleep’s dark embrace.

**~*~*~*~**

Feeling you go limp in his arms, Geralt tensed, glancing down in concern, only to see a peaceful expression on your face. Realizing you had fallen asleep in his arms caused a warm feeling to rush through him. He reached up to brush a piece of hair away from your face. “My little fox,” he murmured, “what am I to do with you?”

Geralt was unsure of his feelings towards you. He supposed he felt grateful to you for having saved his life, but it was so much more than that. It felt right having you in his arms, at his side. He had always felt a connection with anyone who had the ability to shape shift, but it was different with you. When he had grabbed you as you collapsed, he had touched your skin for the first time. At that moment, he had felt such a sense of familiarity and rightness that he had almost missed grabbing you. He felt incredibly protective of you, reluctant to let you leave his company. Even though he had only known you for a short time, he would go to extremes to make sure that you were safe.

Unwilling to address them, he pushed those thoughts away for the time being. He gathered you to him, draping your arms around his neck to help secure you to his chest, ensuring that the blanket was still covering you, before standing and making his way back to the house. As he stood, you shifted in his arm and he froze, not wanting to wake you. When you only held on tighter, he started walking again, treading softly so as not to disturb you.

Reaching your gate, he gently nudged it open with his hip before carrying you inside, heading towards the back of the house where your bedroom was. Carefully setting you down, he arranged the blankets around you. Gently, he brushed the hair out of your face and ran a hand down your cheek. You sighed, a small smile coming to your face as you burrowed further into the blankets. Abruptly, Geralt turned and left the room, ignoring the burning feeling in his chest. He headed back to the front of the house, softly closing the door and making his way back into the forest.

Call of the Wild taglist: @raspberrydreamclouds @queenxxxsupreme @achievementhunting-archangel @alwayshave-faith @afterthenightprevails @a-door-into-my-mind @mylastactionisthati @ilovetaquitosmmmm @bloo-moon-freak @theblurplegirl @bastardfruitsandbasil @mathle0matle @agniavateira @thedevotedwitness @fandoms-and-sunshine @msjjekyll

Permanent taglist: @riviawitch3r @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @ayamenimthiriel @uncoolcloudyhead @secretsthathauntus @vintage-mind-young-body @creamysacrilege @hina-chans-stuff @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot

#call of the wild #geralt #geralt fic #geralt of rivia #geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt x yn #geralt x y/n #the witcher #netflix the witcher #reader insert #geralt of rivia x reader #nao writes

208 notes · View notes

nevermindserenphoria7 · 3 years

Text

💜💃 MY BTS PMTD STORY 💃💜

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Permission To Dance is seriously the best song and MV that the boys have ever released thus far, well for me personally anyway!

It will always have a very special place in my heart 🤩💖

As I'm pretty sure we all know, There's unfortunately been a lot of negativity and horrible comments and stuff about this song and MV though and that honestly just really breaks my heart......

I mean it's okay to dislike a song of course like we all have our own styles and tastes, but I don't think all the horrible comments and negativity (I mean in general like not specifically from this group or anything) is really necessary at all!

Please just remember and be aware that even though you might not like the song/mv, to someone else it could mean the whole entire world and more.......

I've decided to share my interpretation of the song/MV and why this song is just so special and meaningful to me and to many others, like I guess you could say that this is my PMTD story 😅🙈

But I've decided to share my story so that people/army can get a different perspective of the song/MV and hopefully see why to some of us, this song/MV just means absolutely everything and more and that it's not actually just some 'brightly coloured bubblegum English pop song that was just made for the charts' as a lot of people unfortunately seem to think......

So first of all, as someone who has disabilities the signing part honestly meant soooo so much to me and I honestly almost cried like I got so emotional (well the whole thing made me get extremely emotional but still!) 🥺💜

I mean i'm not deaf/hearing impaired or anything, but I am Autistic and when i'm having a meltdown/shut down due to being way too overloaded/overwhelmed/overstimulated etc, speaking suddenly just turns into a completely impossible task for me, so signing always becomes my main form of communication for a while until my brain starts processing as normal (well normal for me anyway) again, so the boys using sign language personally means the absolute world to me and I honestly couldn't be any happier!

In fact even with the chorus 'We don't need permission to dance', like with my Disabilities (Autism, Dyspraxia, ADHD etc) I find it really hard to stay still like sitting or standing still for too long actually physically hurts/aches due to issues with low core stability and proprioception, so most of the time (sometimes without me even realising it) when i'm bored or waiting in a queue/line etc I always just randomly start dancing, simply just because I always have to move. I probably look really crazy and strangers always give me weird looks and I used to feel kind of embarrassed about it......

But at the same time the random dancing actually makes me feel really happy and it makes the people who know me happy too like it always makes them smile and laugh which I love because I've always loved making people happy! I do it so much/often that it's honestly just become a huge part of my personality and who I am and it's a huge sign that i'm just being my raw, authentic, real and true self. For me the lyrics 'We don't need permission to dance' feels like they're telling me that I don't need to worry about what people think anymore because I don't need permission to be myself.

Everyone throwing their mask towards the end for me symbolizes me finally throwing away the mask that I've worn for pretty much the whole 23 years of my life to hide my true/real self as I tried soooo so hard to fit in with everyone else and be 'normal' because I was just too damn afraid of the judgement and the relentless hate and discrimination towards those who are even just a little bit 'different' which I unfortunately had to experience for my whole entire life anyway and sadly still do experience on the daily.

But I don't need to worry and I don't need to hide anymore. I don't need permission to dance, I don't need permission to be myself and even when I fall, it's okay because I know just how to land. I am and will always be nothing more than simply and very unapologetically just me and I am beautiful and perfect just the way that I am, disabilities and all and nothing will EVER be able to drag me down 😊💖

This is by far my most favourite song and video from the boys!

It's just so so meaningful, important, diverse and inclusive (the fact that's it's all in English as well just enhances/highlights that even more) and for the very first time in my whole entire life I actually feel like I truly belong somewhere and that I am loved and accepted for exactly who I am. I feel so much comfort from these 7 beautiful angels and thanks to them, I truly believe that I can finally start to love myself again and find the happiness that I've been longing for years. This journey seemed so impossible to me not too long ago, but not anymore as I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel that these boys have guided me through and I seriously couldn't be anymore thankful towards them!

I love them with literally every single fibre of my being and I honestly didn't know it was even possible to love these boys anymore than I already did but here we are 😂🙈

Thankyou soooo so much for everything my absolutely wonderful and beautiful Bangtan boys and Army family and a very Happy Army Day and Disability Awareness Month!

Borahaeeee 🌞🎉🥳🎈💜💖

6 notes · View notes

izzy-b-hands · 4 years

Text

Kloktober, Oct. 16th: Dethstaff or Klokateers

Klokateers/Dethstaff for this one, really. Since it doesn’t matter what you call them, if they’re in Dethklok’s employ, they risk death daily.

Synopsis: It’s Annual Klokateer Remembrance Day, and Charles is Feeling It a.k.a. having emotions and it is A Lot for him. But then, it’s a lot for the Klokateers too.

TW for death and mourning.

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“This is always a hard day,” Charles said, and sighed deeply.

He meant it. He wasn’t an overtly emotional person, but he had to interview, hire, learn about and interact with every Klokateer. Whether he wanted to or not, he knew many of them incredibly well, which made it all the more difficult to bury them.

This day, Annual Klokateer Remembrance Day, was the hardest day though, even beyond the individual funerals.

“Thank you all for being here,” Charles continued. “We do offer this day off, for all who wish to commemorate it privately. But you all are here today, and that shows great strength and bravery. I appreciate your care for each other, that is evident here.”

The crowd of unmasked, in street clothes Klokateers was something else to face. It was odd, to be able to see all their features, to make out one from the other more easily than when they were in uniform.

A reminder that while they were dedicated to the literal death employees, they were still people. Still human.

“We have candles available for all who would like them, and the period of non-denominational prayer and remembrance will begin in five minutes,” Charles said, watching as they filtered up front in a careful queue to take candles from the boxes near the stage. “After, the boys have prepared video speeches that will play. We know that it can be a bit...raw, seeing them in person on this day, so they have been sent on vacation for the next few days. After that, the open mic period will commence. As always, you may come up and eulogize any fallen coworkers, in whatever manner you like. If you have prepared music, please hand it to Dick, who is handling our mixing for the event.”

Dick Knubbler, who had been keeping to the wings of the stage, leaned out and waved gently, wincing at Charles as he leaned back.

He couldn’t blame him. There were a lot of tears and open sobbing this year, and it was all perfectly valid. It had been a rough year for their staff, somehow even more of a bloodbath than usual. And that took a toll.

It choked him up, five minutes later, watching them all in their various forms of prayer, or deep thought. Heads bowed, shoulders shaking through quieted tears.

They gave everything for this job. He would do the same. But how could he ever explain it to anyone outside of the Dethklok empire, should anyone have ever asked?

He didn’t think he could. You either were ready to die for the boys, for the job, or you weren’t.

That had factored in when he had helped the boys tape their speeches as well. They’d been less tone-deaf than last year, but even so, his editing had been required.

Nathan’s was first.

“Hey guys,” Nathan looked uncomfortable. He had insisted upon sitting on his bed for the video, for reasons Charles hadn’t felt he wanted to know. “So...a lot of you died. And that sucks, and we’re really sorry about it. You do a lot for us. Uhhhh....like the time I was really drunk, and I threw up in my own hair. One of you washed my hair for me, and braided it after, and that was really cool. I got told that guy died in an accident with the jet...so, I wanna say I hope he’s doin’ good. Wherever dead people go. Braiding hair in heaven, ya know? Um...yeah.”

Pickles was next.

“So, people dyin’ sucks,” Pickles had, somehow, been sober for the video. It shocked Charles, but Pickles had insisted on staying put together for it. It was a nice but surprisingly mature thing for Pickles to do. “And I know that saying that doesn’t make it easier to deal with. You gotta...feel it, ya know? Feel the pain. Cry a bunch. Scream. Maybe kick something, or break a lamp. We got lots of extra lamps, if you need to do that, just ask Charles about it. But yeah...do all of that today, okay? For me. Maybe get drunk or stoned if ya gotta, but be safe. We don’t want any of ya dying during this thing, after all. Anyway. We love ya, and everything you do.”

Murderface had been the hardest one to film, mostly because Murderface didn’t want to film it at all. “This isch kind of schtupid, if I’m honest. I mean, my parentsch are dead, and I don’t do anything like this about it. Whatever, Charlesch is doing the ‘shut the fuck up’ hand gesture. Look, we’re schorry a bunch of you die all the time. You do good work, and dying isch rough. But hey, other people in the world are gettin’ fired from jobsch and dying in the street. At least that ain’t you, right?”

Skwisgaar had filmed his outside, with one of the yard wolves sleeping in his lap. Charles felt like the wolf helped, oddly enough. Like watching a puppy sleep, or something. Cute and soothing. “Yous guys ams the backbone of this place, but you does dies an awful lots. And that ams somethings regretables. But we don’ts wants you to dies, if that helps any. The jobs ams simply a dangerous one, but yous all knows that. Keeps up the good work, and wes will tries to gets less of you killed.”

Toki’s was...a mess. But a well-meaning and sweet mess, at least. “We loves you guys,” Toki sobbed. “Ams so sorrys you always dyings so much. You don’ts deserves that. You makes me Hot Pockets all the times, and gets Pickle weed, and braids Nathan’s hair, and I thinks a few of you fucks Skwisgaar which ams nice-” He brushed tears from his eyes. “Since he ams arguably the ugliest of all of us. But enoughs about how yous hold backs your vomits over him. You little guys ams the best. I loves you.”

Charles watched as Dick switched everything over to the open mic, and sighed. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to stay for the whole thing, or to slip out and leave them to it. He didn’t have to worry about them, he knew that. This was a holy day for everyone, and they always behaved well. Dick could handle the emcee duties, if needed.

But that wouldn’t be right, to leave. The part that was perhaps hardest to admit, was that his own hand played in these deaths, in various ways, even if unintentional.

He owed it to the lost Klokateers to stay, so he would.

#text post #LeeH writes #metalocalypse #metalocalypse fic #kloktober

16 notes · View notes

spideywars · 4 years

Text

tell me the world’s alright

chapter one; new shapes

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

a/n: I’m so excited to share this!! More chapters to come :)

words: 5.8k

warnings: swearing

summary:

After the blip and when everyone including you disappeared, you realized that things weren’t really as safe as you thought. Even under your father’s iron wing, you knew the world was going to be a very dangerous place.

The web fluid bubbled from the heat as you squinted down at the suit in front of you. The wires were so small and delicate you had to have stupid magnifying eye-glasses on that were heavy along the bridge of your nose. It caused your gloved finger to flick at the frame to push it back up because of how much it slid down.

“Come on,” you mumbled. Your lip was raw from biting it so much, your muscles were sore, but you were so close you could see the finish line. This was something that not even your father was able to do, with constant trial-runs and annoying training sessions that end in failures. But the answer hits you at the strangest times.

In particular, this time it was when you were eating dinner. Pepper and Tony were sat between you arguing as you sat at the end of the unnecessarily large dining room table. You picked at the last of your roasted red peppers, and just one flick of your wrist and a glance down at one pepper slipping off the plate and landing on the table, it came to you.

So now you’re here, and you won’t let either of your parents into the room. Pepper is more worried, her knocking becoming so frantic you had to yell at her to back off. You’re in a zone, another world where finally, finally you can get Peter the suit that he needs to survive anything that comes his way.

It’s one spark from the wire as you connect it to your new design when the suit came to life in color. It illuminated the room, his spider symbol in the middle shining onto the ceiling. It was brighter, everything was, something that reminded you of Black Panther’s suit, but minus the vibranium.

“Oh my god.” You had to chuckle at yourself, hands throwing the magnifying glasses onto the lab table and pushing your stool away so you could stand back and stare at your invention.

Peter can now heal ten times faster, you’ve managed to mix his DNA in with the suit to cause triple the amount of cell healing. A bullet is just a scratch, a machine gun is a bruise. Everything that can kill a human being in one go will be nothing to him.

“Y/N” It’s Tony this time, probably being forced by your mother to do the parenting now. But you’re smiling ear to ear, eyes watering with joy as you witness the thing you’ve been struggling with for months since the blip.

“Listen kid your mom is raging at me right now cause of you and I’d appreciate if you’d come out and give her some reassurance you’re all good.” You blink slowly out of your daze, now moving towards the suit again to power it off and place it on the charger.

“And uhm, if you don’t come out soon I’m blasting my way in and I’m taking the damage costs out of your bank account.”

You giggle at that, quickly fixing up the suit and cleaning up the area before rushing towards the laboratory door and unlocking it. You open it to see Tony leaning against the door frame, one of his brows immediately raising at your lab coat and gloves.

“What’s up, Einstein?” His question makes you roll your eyes, and you don’t say a word to him as you maneuver around his body to get upstairs. He’s hot on your heals though. You can just feel the irritation radiating off him.

“I don’t really appreciate the silence after you’ve just come out of my laboratory looking like you’ve just cured cancer. Mind sharing with the man paying for your equipment?” He’s on thin ice, and Tony knows how to pick and prod at your emotions until you spill the beans. But you feel like you’re floating on a cloud right now. You don’t really know what to say, who to tell.

Well, you know exactly who you’re going to tell. But that person isn’t present at the moment. He’s probably studying for a biology quiz or swinging across the city.

“I-I just need time to think.” You say without faltering your steps up the stairs and towards the kitchen where you see your mother gathering dishes and placing them in the dishwasher.

“That’s great, wonderful.” The sarcasm is dripping from your father’s mouth, but that’s the usual. You ignore it easily, moving towards the trash can near the dishwasher to throw your gloves inside just so Pepper can see you have finally exited your little cave.

“Jesus, finally.” Pepper breaths out as she drops one of the plates a little too roughly into the wrack before maneuvering around it to give you a hug. It’s a short pulse before she’s putting you at arm’s length to give you that disturbing stare where she looks inside you and at your soul. It makes you shiver, and you prepare for what’s bound to happen next.

“You scared me by just getting up and leaving like that. Especially going downstairs to lock yourself in that lab.” She shakes you a bit, and you place your hands onto her own that are squeezing at your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“It better not be anything to do with Parker and that damn suit. I told you I would handle that.” Tony cuts you off, and that throws you off completely. Well, not completely. You know your father doesn’t like you involved with his…other work. But Peter was your best friend and someone that you couldn’t risk losing.

You needed to step in.

“Dad, you know I can’t just back off from this…” You glare at him over Pepper’s shoulder. He glared back with just as much force.

“It’s easy, especially when you have school and work and friends to hang out with. You have something called a life and this,” he motions with his hands towards you and your lab coat, “is not your life.”

That makes your jaw clench. He doesn’t really have the right to own your life. But apparently, since he owns basically everything in the world, he’s entitled to own you too.

“God, I’m not one of your toys. You can’t just program me to do what you want, not this time.” You throw your hands in the air and shift out of your mother’s hold. Pepper looks upset, torn between the fight with her brows furrowed and lips tight.

“Oh don’t bring out the ownership card again Y/N Stark. You know the only reason I’m doing this is to-”

“Protect me!” You yell, stopping your stomp out of the kitchen to twirl around and point an accusing finger right at your father’s reactor. He blinks at you, surprised but still showing the sparks of anger flowing through him.

You don’t allow him to speak again. You’re grabbing your coat and shuffling on your shoes before he can even blurt out another snarky remark.

“Y/N,” it’s Pepper this time, eyes wide and concerned as she rushes into the front hallway where you stood with the front door slightly ajar. You halt in the middle of your exit to stare back at her, listening.

“If you’re going to him, please, just be careful. Call me.”

That’s enough to make you nod with the smallest smile before you slip out and slam the door behind you.

You could’ve taken the car to Peter’s house. But grabbing the keys would’ve started another argument on top of the one you and your father were already having, so you settled for the bus pass you had still stuffed in the pocket of your coat.

It was nice for a change too, to see the world around you without focusing on the road and bad drivers. Everything kind of passed by you in a blur, and now you can sit with your forehead smooshed against the glass of the bus as you travel to the apartment you know all too well.

The next stop echoes throughout the speakers in the almost empty bus. You gather yourself up to walk towards the door. The driver waves his hand as a goodbye before you step off into the night once again, but this time in front of your best friend’s apartment.

It’s dark and gloomy with the constant police sirens blaring in the distance. You always blink up at the night sky, just to see if you could catch the blur of a red and blue suit or the remnants of webs along the building walls. Nothing tonight, maybe he was too caught up on homework.

It’s only five long strides before you’re inside the building. You hated the look of it every time, but it was almost soothing. A home away from home. It was a breath of fresh air from the million-dollar technology and new-world atmosphere that you were surrounded by because of your father. This reminded you of reality, a normal person’s life.

Maybe May would be home, she should be with how late it is. But she works late a lot and sometimes spends…quality time with Happy at his house.

You don’t judge, Happy deserves a beautiful and kind person like her.

The elevator dings as it opens and you make your way inside, the world being pressed on fast forward as you zone out. When you have to lift your hand to knock on the door you feel yourself coming back down to Earth.

You hear footsteps, and now May is opening the door in Spider-Man pj’s. Of course.

She looked annoyed, but it quickly turned into the softest smile as she looked you in the eyes. It’s not rare for you to come at this time of night, and all she does is nod her head into the direction of the man you’re looking for.

“Guess you can’t climb up the side of the building and into Peter’s room, can you?” She makes that joke almost every time, and, of course, you laugh at it no matter how many times you hear it. Your giggles make her smile grow a little wider, and the two wrinkles at the sides of her eyes turn to four with happiness.

“Peter wouldn’t mind me as his sidekick.” You joke, waiting for her to open the door wider and do her little nod. She does it almost on queue, and you smile before giving her a side-hug and a wet smooch on the cheek.

As you make your way towards the bedroom door with a chemistry poster taped onto the front of it, you can see the glooming light of his iron spider suit charging on its dock. You remembered watching your father make that, having a laugh when it malfunctioned and made the little arms come retracting out from the back of it to strike the tables, denting them and making Pepper severely annoyed.

It was such good times, such good inventions. But those were all the memories made by Tony. Why couldn’t you be the next Tony Stark?

“Peter?” You knock lightly, grabbing at the knob and pushing it slightly until you were looking into your friend’s room. It was clean, usually that way because of how much of a nerd Peter was about cleanliness, but you could still see the walls covered in trails of newspapers and red strings, photographs of missing people and all-too-familiar evil faces. It was a neat mess, and that’s the best way you could describe it.

Peter was sat at his desk, and he whipped around in the office chair. He smiled, that same soft smile May gave you, always welcoming. There is pen and highlighter ink all over his wrists and hands, and you sneak a look to see that you were very correct. Biology quiz and he’s apparently on question ten.

“Seem’s like you’ve been busy. Set the suit aside for the night?” Peter chuckled at your observation, his eyes flickering to his closet where his other suit was hung neatly on its own special hanger. Curtesy of May.

“May saw my marks last term, she would kill me if I didn’t pass this year. I don’t need to be pushed back another year, the blip already did that for me.” He scratched at his head, which he always did when he was nervous. He never fails to do it around you, you’ve noticed.

“You seem to forget you’re not the only hero in the world, I’m sure Queen’s can handle a night without The Spider crawling around.” He rolls his eyes at the nickname, moving to return to his work that you know he won’t do while you’re around. He just taps the end of his pen on his notebook, chewing on his lip and staring up at his collection of newspapers.

But he seems to freeze, the pen being settled down onto his desk as he slowly turns himself back around. This time he’s in hero mode, you can tell by the glisten in his eyes, the purse of his lips and the shadow that seems to cast across his face.

God, you pay way too much attention to this boy.

“What’s wrong?” He raises a brow, brown eyes scanning the lab coat you know he notices.

You laugh almost too loudly at his concerns. How could you have thought the best way to run from your problems was to run right into a man with a spidey sense?

Your eyes meet the ceiling, trying to think of what to say. No lies will work, and beating around the bush won’t work either. You are trapped in the webs of Spider-Man once again, and all you can do is stare right back into his eyes and tell him the truth.

“I did it.” You say bluntly, shoulders dropping as if you released ten pounds off your shoulders. He looks just as more confused, now leaning his elbows onto his knees to stare into your eyes, even deeper than before. It sends shivers down your spine, but you continue.

“You know how we wanted to figure out how to heal you faster? Like you had bulletproof skin? Well, I figured out how to connect your DNA cells with the suit…they are completely compatible and I scanned everything, checked my blueprints, did tests on the suit and…Pete, I think I did it.”

Your smile is wide, hands high in the air and body feeling like it’s on cloud nine. But your mood drops drastically, just like at your house, when you see Peter’s face fall and eyes sadden.

“What?” Your tone is snippy, but you’re tired. You thought out of everyone, Peter would be by your side in this. That’s why you came here in the first place, to feel like you actually succeeded.

But Tony has a tight grip on Spider-Man and has been warning Peter about your plans. That can be the only explanation with your friend’s reaction.

Your blood boils.

“Y/N this is dangerous stuff you’re getting yourself into…” before Peter even finished his sentence you were standing up and shaking your head, a loud and frustrated huff passing your lips.

“You seem to forget my own father is Tony Stark aka Iron Man, one of the leaders of The Avengers who has created the most dangerous and successful high-tech weaponry for the United States.” You turn sharply on your heals to glare at your friend, but Peter doesn’t look fazed at all.

But he also isn’t looking at you, his eyes staring down at the ground so deeply it’s almost like he could break the floorboards with the gaze alone.

“Which means he has his enemies. Probably more than any of The Avengers combined.” Peter stands up, and he’s towering over you, finally meeting your eyes. They aren’t angry, but more sympathetic.

But the last thing you need is sympathy right now.

“I did this for you.” You growl out, pointing your finger into his chest, rough enough to push him back the slightest bit. It’s funny because you knew that would’ve done nothing to him, but Peter Parker has his guard down completely with you.

He’s not looking at you again and it looks like he is fighting something. A battle is going down in his mind, and you can only imagine what Tony said to him to make him feel like this.

And you didn’t think you could get any angrier at your father.

“What did he say to you?” Your voice is wobbly now. You can feel the tough-girl shield you had surrounded yourself in flicker away and weaken. You’ve been able to hold it all in for a year now, but your weakness is standing right in front of you.

“I-”

“What did he say to you, Pete?” You cut him off, voice growing louder. You know May is bound to hear you both soon and that’s going to be another mess in itself. She’ll probably sit you both down on the sofa to ‘talk it out.’ Oh god, she may even call Happy.

“He said enough to make me worried about your safety, Y/N. If you dive too deep into my life you’re gonna get hurt and everything is still on high alert after Thanos.”

“Which is a perfectly good reason to have this suit!” You retaliate. You try to keep your voice quiet, keeping an eye on the bottom of the door to watch for the shadow of May’s footsteps.

“They’re gonna find out how much you’re doing for weaponry, what you’re inventing for Tony and being in his place.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him to stare out his bedroom window, glaring down at the city below. He keeps talking.

“They know he’s your weakness, they know you’re my friend. God, you’re lucky people haven’t kidnapped you simply because you’re Tony Stark’s daughter. But now you’re not only that but an inventor of something that could heal people?”

You feel his presence grow closer behind you, and now his face is in the reflection of the window, still sympathetic.

“It can’t heal everyone, I haven’t gotten that far yet.” You mumble under your breath, meeting his eyes through the glass.

“And you won’t.” He replies, and that’s where the conversation ends for you. Peter has picked his side, and that’s all the information you need.

He won’t just let you leave though, and you know this as you take your first step towards his bedroom door. His body steps in front of you, hands coming out to lightly touch your upper arms. You shake him off, shoving past him and stomping your way to the door.

“Y/N.” He huffs out, and you flinch when a web shoots out and sticks to the doorknob before you can grab at it. The door won’t budge, you know how strong that web formula is.

“Don’t leave like this.” You’ve never heard Peter’s voice sound so small before, like a kicked puppy that’s whimpering behind you. You refuse to turn around though, knowing how easily you will cave in if you look into his eyes. You’re a stubborn girl. Pepper said its genetics that made you this solid with your decisions.

“I just want support. You’ve always been on my side through everything.” Your bottom lip wobbles, threatening your walls to break. You start to scan your surroundings, there has to be something in here that can unstick his webs.

“I know you don’t see it, but this is still me being on your side.” He sighs loudly, and you can just tell he’s scratching at his head again. “I just want you alive. You know how close of a call it was with your dad…how much it crushed us all while he was recovering. We can’t go through this again.”

You close your eyes tightly, flashbacks rotating rapidly throughout your mind. So fast as if the damns broke. There are memories of Tony laid out on the special hospital bed in the room made into your house. Half his body being nothing but burns and dead muscle. The way he looked into your eyes and told you this may be it, that you need to take care of Peter and Pepper. The way you sobbed, how hard you cried into Peter’s arms. The way you came back to a ruined world, five years went by and no memory of it.

“You won’t.” That’s all you could say, and you knew if you said anything more you would crumble. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let Peter see you like that again, so vulnerable.

“… at least let me swing you home.” Peter was now beside you, forcing you to look at him. You just knew he could feel your pain, no matter how many concrete walls you built around yourself. You liked to think you were invincible at least.

“I need time to-”

“Y/N.” He interrupts, and you could feel your last shield throwing itself down. Nothing was left between him and your heart.

You nodded silently, allowing him to shuffle on his suit and hoist you up onto his back. You had to admit, you really did like when he took you on swings around the city. Of course, you weren’t scared of heights, you kind of weren’t allowed to since your father went on so many private planes and took you and Pepper on so many vacations. This was just another exhilarating adventure high in the sky, but with just a little more of a breeze on your cheeks.

He lands on your balcony perfectly, having done it many times before. You can tell your cheeks are red from the cold, and they feel numb as you climb off Peter’s spandex-covered back. You don’t say anything, awkwardly opening your room and clicking on the lights.

He’s still there, mask still on as he stands on the balcony right outside your doors as if he wasn’t allowed in. It almost made you laugh, but you remind yourself you’re mad at him.

You can’t help but give him the smallest smile, gesturing to let him know that he’s allowed to come inside. You can’t help but want to challenge yourself, maybe you could get him to rethink his place in all this, maybe even get him to try on the suit and do a test.

He steps in and waits for you to turn on the darkened setting on the windows from your tablet. He takes off his mask with a huff, hair tangled as usual but easily fixed with a soft swipe of his hand through it.

There’s an awkward silence filled with tension, and you hate it more than anything.

“You know, the suit feels less suffocating now that I’ve gathered lighter materials and technology to fit into it.” You throw him a bone, giving him a sly smile from where you’re hiding behind your tablet as you pretend to search for something.

He just blinks at you, not impressed.

Strike one, but you keep trying.

“It’s got about a hundred new web-shooters compared to the last one.” You set the tablet down, staring at him with wide eyes as if they would hypnotize him and change his mind.

His eyes widen about, but he shakes his head with a huff.

“On top of the already 500 web-shooters stored in there? My head is gonna explode.” That makes you laugh, your body rocking over until you’re kneeling on top of your bed. You crawl towards him and swipe the mask from his hands, running your fingers across the stretchy material and bumps from the web-like stitches.

“You’ve got way better senses than any average human, you can handle a thousand and probably more, but I can’t make up that much different designs yet.” You thumb at the eyes, staring into the plastic eyes.

“I should probably get going, Y/N. Cause, you know, the biology quiz.” He points a thumb behind him towards the balcony, and that’s strike two.

You don’t have much time left, and all you can do now is hold as tightly onto his mask as possible and bolt up from your bed.

“What-what are you doing?” He snorts out a loud laugh when you dangle the mask in front of you from the other side of the room. It is funny to him to see an intelligent being like you thinking they can beat a superhero like him.

“Come on, I need to go. It’s on you if I fail.” He walks forward, one hand coming up to whip out and grab his mask. But he’s not trying, and you easily slip past him and run towards your balcony. You close the doors in front of you, now standing outside and allowing the breeze to coldly cover your body.

You can hear Peter jog over and see his gloved hands touch the glass. The windows are still darkened from the setting you put it on, and all you make out is his silhouette.

“Try the suit on.” You say, loud enough for him to hear from the crack in between the doors. You hold the mask tighter, arms wrapping around it and hugging it into your chest. This is strike three, and you just want him to move past those Tony Stark obstacles in his mind and realize everything is going to be okay.

The doorknob wiggles, then slowly opened until you’re face to face with him. Peter’s eyes soft-always soft-as he looks into your eyes.

“Okay.” He says, and he looks caved-in with weakness. All the energy is taken out of him, surrendering the battle inside his brain. He knows nothing is going to hurt him, that you’re here to help him navigate through this world full of loss.

That makes you smile, your arms coming out to pull Peter in for a quick and tight hug before you grab his hand and rush towards your bedroom door. He shoots a web out to your balcony doors, closing them shut behind you both so unwanted visitors don’t come in. You thank him in your head since there was no time to waste.

Tony and Pepper were still home, but lights were dim and the house was silent. They were either in bed, the living room, or garage. For Tony, the garage sounded more like him. Which made things slightly easier and less worrying if you made some noise.

But now it was the task of getting through Tony’s security and the many cameras and scanners he had littered around your house. The man was paranoid and had every right to be.

Luckily, you were Tony Stark’s daughter, and just as smart and ready for a challenge as him. Plus, if you knew how to make a super healing suit, you definitely knew how to disable a silly little security system.

“You know stealth mode, use it.” You whisper behind him, and Peter rolls his eyes, reluctantly following behind you. He’s like a feather, and it’s really only yourself that you hear with your shoes still on your feet, trying to avoid every loose floorboard and squeak of the bottom of your shoes.

You both make it down the stairs and snake your way through the hallways. You can hear the tv faintly from the living room, some cooking show being played. Pepper, of course.

The basement door is in view, and you take a long stride to the door, hand slowly moving to type in the disabled code to the basement before you rush inside, keeping the door open to let Peter in before you close it behind you both.

You use the second security system inside to lock it behind you, and now you can breathe.

Peter only laughs, but its a nervous one as he descends the stairs in pitch darkness. You don’t worry too much, you know he can see way better than you can.

One last double check is made on the security system before you turn on the lights, allowing the laboratory to be illuminated. You have to squint your eyes at first, adjusting to the light before they land on Peter who is now standing in front of your invention and his newest suit.

He looks in shock, and you quickly rush down the stairs in excitement.

“Thoughts?” You gush out as you gather things for the test, grabbing at a remote and letting glass separating another room from you both open up.

You don’t receive an answer, but you instead sneer at Peter’s wide eyes and open mouth, a hand slowly moving towards the suit as if it was going to come out and bite him. When he did make contact with it, his fingers caressed the material, smoothing down the slight wrinkles in the fabric as he ran them down the chest and arms.

“Try it on.” You say, not caring that your friend was speechless. It was more a compliment towards you and your hard work. You basked in the pride that bulbed up in your body. You needed this.

“I-” He cut himself off, stepping back from the suit and finally meeting your eyes. That battle wasn’t totally over like you thought, and Peter’s eyes flickered nervously around the room.

“Please.” You don’t let him think, quickly grabbing the suit off the charger to throw into his arms. He seemed surprised by the lightness of it and gave it one last look, hesitating, but he was already walking towards the corner of the room.

You knew the drill, so you turned around to give him a small bit of privacy. You needed to set up some sensors and other equipment anyways.

There weren’t any doubts in your mind that this test-run wouldn’t work, from the way everything was compatible and successful with the data you collected and the tech tests you did on your own, you felt confident that this was going to be a breakthrough in your life, and obviously Peter’s.

“Where do you want me?” Peter asked, moving towards the room that was now accessible.

You couldn’t help but stare, almost tearing up with how good the suit looked. It wasn’t too different. It had the same fitted frame, red and blue and the smallest bit of blue embedded into the web design. His eyes were mechanical and had motion sensors just like the one he has now. So very similar, but so very different and the bad guys won’t even see it coming.

“Just over there. There should be an ‘X’ on the floor that I’ve taped down.” You point to where you need him, and he quickly steps towards it and stands where you asked. He’s fidgeting and not able to stay still, his knees bopping around and feet shifting. Still so on-edge.

You feel bad, and it doesn’t really calm him down when you start hooking him up to machines and typing away on computers nearby. His spider eyes never leave your form, always observing as you do your finishing touches. You need to move faster than you would like to, but this doesn’t have to be the last test-run.

“Alright, this is just going to be quick, something small that doesn’t freak you out too much.” You move back to the other room, grabbing at a knife from one of the drawers in the lab tables. Peter stiffens, and you can’t help but snort.

“Woah there,” Peter takes the smallest step back, making some of the sensors get caught off guard by his sudden movements. You don’t worry too much about that, they’ll regenerate themselves.

“I’m not gonna stab your heart out, Parker, just give me your hand.” You’re stood in front of him, making sure he is back on top of the 'X’ on the floor before you take his hand in yours. The fabric of the suit is cool to the touch, and his hands twitch in your palm, awaiting whatever comes next.

It’s funny, this boy has had bombs thrown at him, machine guns attempt to shred him apart, and too many close calls with alien devices no one can even identify…but he is still scared of his best friend holding a knife in front of him.

Your hand tightens around the handle, and quickly, before there is too much thinking again, your hand swipe’s down, cutting a thick stripe down his palm.

You both would’ve missed it if you were looking away for just a couple of seconds. Because before you even took the blade off Peter’s skin, it was healing, and by the time you had your hand to the floor, nothing was there. The suit wasn’t even ripped, the cells inside it multiplying and reconstructing themselves until nothing was ever done in the first place.

“Holy shit,” Peter speaks. His voice is wobbly, spider eyes shrinking and widening rapidly as he examines his hand. He balls it up into a fist, shakes it out, and you can tell he doesn’t feel any pain.

“What did it feel like?” You ask anyways, spinning on your heals and rushing towards the equipment to save the data for later. You take a quick glance at each one, and smile at the green word spelling 'success’ displayed on each one.

“It felt like…nothing…maybe a pinch?” Peter takes off the mask, still glaring at his hand in shock.

“That’s good. That’s really good.” You’re smiling from ear to ear, now standing in front of him again. It’s strange how fast the awkwardness clouds over the atmosphere again. You both know the unsolved problem still hanging in the air.

“You really did it, Y/N.” Peter mumbles, but it doesn’t sound happy. God, it sounds almost mournful. It sends your emotions plummeting again.

“I did, and you can use this to stay alive and healthy now. To fight crimes of all kinds.” You say, trying to hold back the frustrated tears building up in your eyes. You just want to scream. You really thought this would win him over.

Peter just shakes his head, not meeting your eyes as he starts to undress the suit.

You don’t watch him as he maneuvers behind you back to the other side of the room. You just blink at the walls, bottom lip wobbling, hands tightening to fists at your sides.

“I really need to get-”

“Just go, Peter.” Your voice is hard, no emotion in your tone. You don’t look at him as you rush up the stairs and turn on all the security but the back door, still in the right mind to let him sneak out.

You can hear him calling your name, but there’s not much he can do when you open the basement door, rushing out and back up the stairs to your own room. He knows the way out, and who knows, maybe he will say hi to your father on the way out since they’re apparently way better friends.

–

next chapter

I hope everyone loved this! Chapter two is going to be even longer.

taglist:

@fckingchile @the-crazy-fanfictionist @littlemissporter @werecoyote-diaries @eridanuswave

208 notes · View notes

freewheelshippin · 4 years

Text

FIC: “What Do I Call You?”

There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes.

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening.

So! I had some fun writing for the roleswap AU, where I’m the punk rock idol and Ranmaru’s the freelance artist getting some juice from all the love and music.

Not much by ways of content warnings -- lots of eating, a fair amount of alcohol, too, and you know, we utter the word ‘fuck’ a few times.

Ranmaru swore as he dropped the case on his toe. He could tell immediately that this was one of those jammed toes that would hurt for days from the bruising, especially when he still had half of the city to cross before he could get back home. And what was home? His shithole apartment and limping around while he went on his rounds for the local cats?

At least the train was empty enough he could sit alone, even comfortably with all his equipment. He was still cross that the live house didn’t have it themselves. Weren’t they professionals? Stupid. The show had sucked, too, with the band spending more time fucking around then putting on the damn show they were paid for, that their fans came out to see, that Ranmaru had put such care into getting the tech just right to enhance. And that one jackass trying to throw hands with anyone in the crowd. Nobody on staff did a fucking thing to kick him out until Ranmaru dragged him out himself, and now he had a black eye and the stink of shitty beer and stale cigarette smoke hanging on him to show for it.

Thirty minutes ‘til his stop. He could listen to some music to smooth over this shitty...everything. He slipped his headphones on, ready to mute the rest of the world and stop anyone from entering his.

Reiji (12:42 AM) : Iiiiiiiiiit’s dropped!!!!!

What, your balls, Ranmaru thought ruefully to himself, unconsciously clicking his tongue in annoyance. He moved his finger to swipe and mute him for … a week, maybe, from how shitty he was feeling right now, but Reiji was too fast. The link appeared, and Ranmaru hit it, if only to have something concrete to be annoyed with him for.

It was a preview for a new PV. That’s right. It was technically tomorrow already, the day this content was due, but this was still early. Reiji must have found a leak. Lucky he was such an otaku, Ranmaru never had to go hunting for sketchy files or talk with weirdos he knew he wouldn’t be able to level with outside of the crowd. There was a long windup before the music even started playing, the visuals building dramatic lighting and obscuring anything but their silhouettes, but there was the low fuzz of an amp before it all hit at once.

Ranmaru didn’t want to admit that his eyes darted right to that flash of turquoise as the lights came up in the PV, because it would mean that he might’ve smiled at just the sight of her. No, it had to be the sound. That clean, driving guitar, that strong bass, it felt like Deep Purple and Iron Maiden, but pushed to be danceable and idol-friendly with synth and a digital drumkit beat Ranmaru could vaguely recognize parts of.

His toe and face didn’t stop hurting and body didn’t stop aching, but he stopped feeling so mad about it for the minute he watched and listened. There was professional polish there he’d missed seeing at the shitshow that was tonight’s gig, but there was still that rawness there of a good, irreplaceable concert. Something less precise than other idol groups’ practiced, saccharine perfection, but Ranmaru found it more welcoming than any other group he’d seen or worked with.

The camera cut to a focus shot. Her hair was as bright as ever, styled like she were one of those princely girls from anime, just somehow made real, and she turned to look right at him--

Reiji (12:44 AM) : Ranran~~ how are you liking your girlfriend in this one :3c

Ranmaru actually growled a little. He only realized he had been smiling because of how intensely he frowned at that bastard, barging into his texts --

Ranmaru (12:44 AM): shut the fuck up and let me watch it. don’t call her that

Reiji (12:44 AM): Isn’t she doing all the things you like???

Reiji (12:45 AM): So handsome! So rock! So passionate!

Reiji (12:45 AM): Feels tailor made for you ;o

Ranmaru (12:45 AM): I told you to shut the fuck up. go text natsuki if you have to annoy someone

Reiji (12:46 AM): Aww Ranran did the show go bad? :(

Reiji (12:46 AM): But I already did, you know! And I’ve already gotten twice as many sparkly sticker replies than texts you’ve sent me in the past week!!!

(He had to admit he laughed a little at that. Reiji was probably getting another onslaught as he was typing, his own push notifications as clogged as he was making Ranmaru’s.)

Ranmaru (12:47 AM): I’m muting notifs since you won’t learn how to fucking shut up

Reiji (12:47 AM): ohhhh she’s getting ranran’s full attention~! You must really like this preview, huh? I guess it’s true love

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY

Reiji (12:48 AM): You’re right, I should, I should be listening for wedding bells!

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): go make out with your gacha girlfriend body pillow and leave me alone

Ranmaru (12:49 AM): hypocrite

He finally muted all his notifications. An hour should be enough to ride it out, he thought as he settled a little into the hard plastic of the seat, restarting the video. The anger from the past couple hours melted away as he watched, uninterrupted, and replayed it with eyes closed as the sound flowed in through his headphones and released the tension in his body bit by bit.

---

The hour ran out when Ranmaru was squatting over an especially runty kitten, eating noisily while the others watched from a couple feet away. Why stray cats could understand him better than anyone else when he said to piss off, he’d never know. He swiped around to turn his notifications back off for the rest of the night before pocketing his phone again.

“...Oi. Slow down.” He pulled the plate of food away from the kitten. It shook with hiccups as it watched carefully, almost fearfully, before it pounced back onto the food, gobbling it down like it was going to be its last meal. Ranmaru sighed but couldn’t blame the little thing. He dumped out the last of the food, gave the rest of the cats one last look as he stood up to walk away, and he heard the frenzied scratch of their claws against the pavement as they swarmed the plates of food.

Maybe it wasn’t so much they understood him as he understood them. To hunger like that, both literally and for something less physical but just as carnal.

He plugged his headphones back in, listening to the leaked preview a few more times on his way back to the apartment.

He liked this group to begin with mostly because of her. She dressed, talked, and acted more like someone from a band than an idol, and something about that felt weirdly familiar and good. The rest of the group were more unique than a lot of other idols -- you’d expect that from a unit made up of a pack of ragtag international recruits, sure, but it was refreshing how they’d made everything about their presence wholly their own.

Hers just made the most sense to him. The brashness, the way she talked about music, the way she performed, it all felt like someone who was chasing and understood the same things he did. She even said her music was about giving people power in an interview Reiji’d dug up for him.

“Beyond language, or the way words reach people,” she’d said in decent but definitely non-native Japanese; she’d grown up some in Okinawa while her family lived on the military base, but mostly shuttled between America and Bangkok before getting recruited by chance here. “I want to give everyone a home that makes them feel strong through my music.”

He wondered, dimly, as he took a hot shower and stared down at his swollen red toe, if he felt drawn to the group because he wanted that for himself, or because it reminded him why he kept picking up jobs that made him as angry as tonight’s did.

He went to bed that night with an ice pack balanced on his swollen eye, the frustration more or less passed as he listened to the classic bands that new song reminded him of.

---

He woke up to his phone buzzing, the hold on push notifications finally expired, and he murmured in bewilderment at just how many there were. Not just from Reiji, but Natsuki, too.

Rather than try and parse whatever the hell happened while he was asleep, Ranmaru just went into the group chat well after he’d gotten himself breakfast.

Ranmaru (9:28 AM): what the hell happened last night that you had to blow up my phone

Natsuki (9:30 AM): Maru-chan-senpai! Ah! You’re alive!!!!

Ranmaru (9:31 AM): I just went to bed is all

(“Why the hell are you calling me ‘senpai’?” Ranmaru had asked him, and Natsuki had looked at him with those big dopey eyes and earnestly said since he’d been a fan longer, he was naturally Natsuki’s senpai, and any protest Ranmaru made never stuck.)

Reiji supplied a link without any fanfare, introduction, or goofy dramatics, which almost startled Ranmaru.

Notice (posted by Ootori Eiichi x/xx/xx):

We are currently seeking an emergency replacement sound/stage technician for performances at the following dates and locations. Inquire immediately. [PAID]

Ranmaru stared at the listing, barely processing the lurch in his stomach that came from just reading it. It was for them. That act. The debut mini-tour for that new single. It’d take rearranging his sound editing queue and massaging some deadlines, but he could feasibly make all of those dates and times.

He thought for a moment of doing that sound check, and seeing for himself the electric energy of that live. Of working with that group whose respect for their audience he personally felt, of watching her prepare, having to talk directly to her as she tuned her guitar....

There was the very real possibility that it’d prove everything he believed about them - about her, really, that ethos he was drawn to - was just smoke and mirrors, too.

Natsuki (9:35 AM): Can you do it, Maru-chan-senpai?

Reiji (9:36 AM): Ranran, you have to do it.

Ranmaru (9:36 AM): this is just a listing, just because I ask doesn’t mean it’ll go through

There was a long pause, where everyone went on and off typing, never actually saying anything, and he frowned.

Ranmaru (9:40 AM): can you all just fucking say what you’re thinking already

Natsuki (9:42 AM): You really love their magic and energy, I just wanted to say I hope you do it and get it because your heart wants it!

Reiji (9:45 AM): Yes, Nacchan, you said it! Ranran, I’ll give you all the free bento you need to keep your tummy full to go do this!

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): don’t fucking do that, reiji, you’ll just piss of your sister. I’ll buy them myself

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): assuming I even do this

Reiji (9:46 AM): I really think you should.

Reiji (9:46 AM): Not because we want the insider scoop. But because when’s the last time you had fun at a live you worked?

Ranmaru could curse Reiji where he stood. Whenever he stopped fucking around and got to his point, it was always a good one.

---

He got the job, somehow, after a little emailing back-and-forth and negotiating the contract. Now he was on a train to Yokohama for the first gig, his case packed full, his backpack stuffed with supplies for a week. Comping travel, hotel, and meals was enough to take the job, even if it paid like ass, but it didn’t. The contract was actually pretty decent. They -- or, well, at least that Ootori guy -- were upfront that he’d be worked hard, the hours were going to be long, and there wasn’t going to be much room for rest or leisure. But the pay was good. Enough that if he had a dryspell of jobs afterwards, he’d be okay for longer than usual.

It was worth it for other reasons, though, he thought to himself, stuffing spare merch he’d gotten in blindbags (and a couple other last-minute buys he didn’t tell the others about) into a bottom corner of his suitcase. None of it was of her, none of it for him. Something felt unprofessional spending this job acting like a fan, but at least there wasn’t any harm grabbing some signatures for friends who never made it to meet-and-greets.

The single was out properly, now, and so was the PV. There was a section of it he especially liked and had gotten into the habit of watching on train rides, where she broke out of the dance routine to put her arms around her teammates, grin a dumb grin, and kick her legs high. It cut to a different shot of the group in different costumes but perfect sync, and when it cut back to that first shot, she stumbled and fell right on her ass, dragging the others down with her. Still grinning stupidly, and singing through it all.

She didn’t take many vocal solos. She only had one line in this song to herself, and she was singing with the whole group for this shot. He read in an interview she wasn’t happy with the tone quality of her voice yet -- it needed to be richer, and she still needed plenty of training before it reached what her teammates and audience deserved.

Ranmaru told himself, as the train was minutes away from the station, that this had to be the last time he watched this video and listened to the song like this. At least for the duration of this job. Every time he watched that shot, as she kept singing and the rest of the group tumbled down with her with the same dumb grin she wore, he knew in his gut the voice she sang in must’ve sounded like the soul of rock. Even if that gesture were directed and performed, there was still something genuine there that reminded him of those moments at concerts that convinced him to walk the path he did.

Maybe he’d get to see it live. Maybe he wouldn’t. But he had to stop imagining it. She - this whole group, rather - was about to become real, and whether or not everything he imagined would turn out to just be something he made up to deal with his shit, he had a job to do.

------------------------------------

He had a chance to leave his clothes and belongings in the hotel before heading to the live house. Ranmaru was unsure why this Ootori guy had picked him. He didn’t have an exactly long resume with idol shows, but then again, this was a group that debuted without any typical idol sound. There wasn’t any gimmick to them (Ranmaru wouldn’t call being made up of foreigners much of a gimmick when it came to the music), and they weren’t afraid of reaching into all sorts of genres he more typically worked with.

Right as he got to the live house, his phone rumbled with back-to-back notifications.

Reiji (5:48 PM): Ranran~!!! Ganbarimachochho from us!

Ranmaru wouldn’t deign the attached selfie with a response right now (he was about to work, after all), but he felt himself suppressing a smile. Reiji was sticking his tongue out and making a victory sign, Natsuki further in the background, half-buried in stuffed animals and doing the same. They were going to be streaming the event for special-tier fanclub members like REIJI, which Ranmaru had always harangued him for. If he was a fan, wasn’t it enough to just cheer their hearts out live, enjoy their music, buy a CD and shirt, and feel the energy they had to give that way?

(He still pored over the behind-the-scenes and advance material Reiji forwarded to him and Natsuki regardless. Sometimes he translated the English from their social media accounts, even. It was satisfying, as stupid as it felt sometimes, to do those little things in between the real shows.)

He’d never been to the live house before, but it had the same vibes as so many others he’d been to. He found the back entrance effortlessly, where a man with glasses almost took him by surprise.

“Kurosaki?” he asked. His gaze felt just as intense as all the other communication they’d had over e-mail.

“Ootori,” he grunted back.

“You’re early,” Eiichi replied, grinning at Ranmaru. Not that it surprised him in the slightest, but it made him look less approachable and instead even more intense. “Good. I like that in a recruit.”

Ranmaru gritted his teeth quietly. This guy was going to be an absolute bastard, he could feel it, but at least he seemed like he knew how to run a show. “Don’t say that like I joined your agency. Tell me where the group’s at with setup, and I’ll get started.”

Eiichi’s eyes glinted from behind his glasses. He looked too satisfied with himself for Ranmaru’s taste. “I liked how you didn’t beat around the bush when you reached out for the job, and it’s good to see you hold to it. They’re rehearsing in the space, but we still have equipment to unload and cues to sync. You read the notes I sent you, I trust.”

“All forty fuckin’ pages of it.” Ranmaru left out that he’d actually found it pretty impressive, appreciating the thoroughness and ambition of the show for a smaller group and venue. “Are we going to stand around shooting the shit or are we going to get started working on them?”

Eiichi laughed at that. Ranmaru wasn’t sure if it pissed him off or made him feel eager to get to work.

“This way,” he said, showing him to a van stuffed full of equipment.

------

Ranmaru went straight to the live house staff to start doing his work. The master controls were kept in a little room that overlooked the stage. His gut flipped when he first saw them all, rehearsing some specific-looking choreography that needed to adjust to a new stage. He wasn’t about to let that interrupt work. This was just like any other job, except he liked the performers a whole lot more, and things progressed like any other job. Until she looked dead at him from the stage, calling out.

“Heeeeey,” she said. “Scuse me, are you the new tech guy?”

“Yeah.” Ranmaru forced the feeling rising in his throat back down (as much as he could with sheer willpower, anyway). “Whaddya want?”

“I just wanted to ask your name! We gotta call you something!”

“Ranmaru,” he answered, hoping dearly that whatever he felt burning on his face was hidden by the dim lighting.

“Cool, OK. Ranmaru-san,” she continued cheerfully. Ranmaru felt his chest tighten as he heard his name on her lips. “Are we queued up enough that we can do this number with music?”

“This is the one for the new single, right,” he called back. He took a look at the levels, gain, and so forth as they were and instinctively nudged the knobs where the countless plays of that new song told him to. He’d imagined the vision of its stage presence for weeks. “I’m gonna test out some different settings for the levels ‘n stuff while you do that.”

She made an expression of surprise as it came on. Delight, even, as she rode out into the following beats. Ranmaru couldn’t help crooking into his own smile, satisfied his know-how just helped that vision become a little bit brighter. She flashed him a thumbs up, then a gesture to pause, still grinning.

“Can we take it from the top? Five, six, seven, eight---”

--------

Ranmaru had never felt this sort of contradiction. She was restringing her acoustic guitar, from steel to nylon strings, as she hummed and practiced segments of songs, and Ranmaru was adjusting amplifiers and other equipment on the stage nearby. His head swam with the thought and excitement they were sharing the same stage, even just as a tech and pre-show performer, but approaching her felt like being both sides of a magnet at once.

But that push and pull gave way, eventually, as the guitar finished being re-strung and tuned, and the humming turned into full-on singing. Ranmaru fought desperately to make sure he wasn’t just confirming what he’d already imagined, to just appreciate her live voice on its own merits and flaws. But he could feel in his chest that that character, that quality he’d responded so much to was there, that even with some lacking technical skill, there was still a rich tone color you could only get with passion and the spirit for rock.

“You doing any solos tonight?” he asked in English.

“Hm?” She looked caught by surprise.

Ranmaru answered, already anticipating the question. “I’m half-American. I speak it fluently enough.”

“Well, shit,” she said with a grin. “That’s convenient for us. I mean, I don’t mind Japanese if it’s easier…”

“‘Sfine. Do what you want. I won’t complain about the practice, though.”

She chuckled. “Man, maybe losing our usual guy from the agency was a stroke of good luck.”

Ranmaru laughed challengingly. “Say that after the show goes well. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh, uh. Right. Not really? Why do you ask?”

“Why not?”

She took a moment and laughed brightly in reply. Ranmaru could practically hear the insecurity she was covering up.

“‘Cuz we’re an idol group.”

Ranmaru gestured and murmured in vague acknowledgement. “You still have less solo lines than everyone else.”

“Oh, do I,” she replied flatly, going back to her guitar, trimming overhanging strings. “I guess you would know, now that you’ve gotta manage all our sound.”

“I just think it’s stupid you’ve clearly got your own voice but can’t think of sharing it without hiding behind everyone else’s.”

She looked up at him incredulously. “Ranmaru-san, right?”

“...Just call me Ranmaru.”

“Alright, Ranmaru.” She looked at him again. Somehow when she looked at him dead-on this time, nothing went to mush inside of him. “Don’t fucking talk to me like our group voice isn’t the backbone of everything we’re trying to do.”

“Nothing’s wrong with your group voice,” he shot back, getting heated. “It’s good. I can feel the soul behind it all, even when you’re rehearsing.”

“So why are you fucking complaining?” She was still smiling, laying cheer and energy over her growing frustration. “Is there something you wanna say to me about my crew’s voices?”

“They’re fine!” he barked back, frustrated she wasn’t getting his point. “This isn’t about them! You have something your audience is gonna be lit on fire hearing more of, that’s all!”

Some eyes were starting to fall on them, but Ranmaru could barely notice them over the way her chest rose sharply and her expression became inscrutible.

“...how about,” she said, speaking slowly as she deliberately, diplomatically pulled out her words, switching back to Japanese. “You save any notes you have for after the show.”

“......Sure.” His stomach flipped again, more intensely and more painfully than the last few times. He went back to fussing with the amp, and she laid the pliers she’d trimmed her strings with on it before heading backstage until the show started.

---

The show was electric. Ranmaru couldn’t say he was the right audience for most idol groups -- not so much out of distaste as much as incompatibility, he guessed. The way Reiji and Natsuki would lose their minds over their favorites’ cheerful cuteness or the kindness in their voices, Ranmaru wouldn’t. The fanatical, cult-of-personality devotion some other idols could curate with otaku-types, he didn’t connect with, either. What spoke to him was passion, backed by steely sounds and the sweat behind them; the excitement and fervor of rock and a crowd stinking of sweat; how well you could make someone scream themselves hoarse for that one, shining moment without any care for how sore they’d feel the next morning.

Maybe it was the adrenaline from earlier, but when he could look away from the tech, he felt that here, too. There was no drum or bass player onstage, but he could still feel the beat thrum through his chest and rumble through his bones until his breath quickened, like he were jumping and dancing with the crowd. There was joy in their teamwork. In how they shaped their bodies together in song and in voice, and pushing and pulling the spotlight until it was something brighter, something shared and tangible between them and the audience.

His eyes fell on her. What should he call her? She had a stage name in Thai, but she was open that wasn’t her given name or anything friends and family called her. “Aroon” was just something she picked so she could wear her heritage proudly. It meant ‘dawn,’ it sounded cooler, more idol-ish than her Western name, which wasn’t a secret, by any means, but he heard her called by so many versions of it, none felt real.

It only felt so weird because seeing her onstage, he felt far beyond any confirmation bias he could’ve had that the person he’d seen in the PV’s was every bit as real as he’d hoped. He saw someone who didn’t just fit on stage, but relished and grew like a plant in the hot lights burning down on them. There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes.

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening.

They got cheered back on for an encore. And towards the end of that last song, Ranmaru watched as she broke choreography to literally lift the one Natsuki was convinced was a fairy, spinning them around as the practiced moves dissolved into joyful chaos. The whole group ended the song arm in arm, sloppily holding mics for each other as they alternately laughed, belted, fumbled, and shouted thank-yous into the audience.

Ranmaru still felt something tug at him as the mic got held in front of her, she grabbed it, and handed it to someone else. Just sing, damn it, he thought to himself. It didn’t matter if it was perfect, it just mattered that it was hers.

Didn’t she realize she deserved to be adored the same way she wanted the rest of her group to be?

Ranmaru cut everything as they filtered offstage, staggering and softening the mics as they put them back and let them go. He took a deep, sighing breath in and out, almost like he’d been holding it for the entire concert, as his stomach growled.

Maybe he should’ve taken some more of Reiji’s bento, after all, and give Natsuki’s cookies another try.

--------

They closed up quickly. With the group no longer bound by rehearsal, takedown went faster than ever, and there wasn’t any meet-and-greet at today’s venue. Ranmaru dimly considered looking at the merch table, but he had a week to do that and had other things to finish with today’s closeup, anyway.

He could hear the group discussing amongst themselves in English about where to go for a late dinner celebrating a good show.

“I want chicken,” she pleaded. “Is there one of those Taiwanese shops where you can get boba and chicken around here? You know, the kind that comes in a little bag and a toothpick?”

Eiichi approached them, and she started to repeat herself in Japanese before he asked to interrupt her.

“We’re all headed to the izakaya two blocks from here,” he announced to everyone. “I’ve already called ahead to reserve the space. Consider it a reward for a triumph of the first show on tour.”

“But is there chicken,” she repeated in Japanese in mock desperation as she mussed her own hair, fussing it out of the careful styling she’d had it in for hours.

Ranmaru’s phone buzzed from the notifications he missed, shutting them off for the duration of the show. Mostly from Natsuki and Reiji. He scrolled through the groupchat as they reacted live to the stream and tried to compliment Ranmaru on managing sound so well, though he was sure it couldn’t have possibly made much of a difference for the stream.

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): it was a killer show, wasn’t it

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): they’re talking about craving chicken right now. Guess it’s too bad we don’t have a kotobuki bento branch around here.

Ranmaru (11:38 PM): i could go for a kara-age bento

Reiji (11:38 PM): Ranran….!

Natsuki (11:39 PM): Waaaah~! I hope you find some kara-age soon and share it with your shining star!

Ranmaru immediately locked the phone after that. His stomach somersaulted once more time. He stood by what he said to her earlier, but he couldn’t imagine she’d want to talk after the way things had gone. Better to leave the group to that postshow glow, feed himself, and head back to the hotel.

---------

The room was swimming just a little. Ranmaru blearly looked at his phone, trying to ignore the fact that he’d drank beyond his limit like an idiot. He knew he was like this, so why did he keep downing beer after beer? He’d gotten too used to needing as much as he could stomach to tolerate Reiji’s antics (and, he knew dimly, he was just too used to being able to rely on him once he’d hit his limit).

She was seated right across from him, because of course she was, but they didn’t exchange any words or even eye contact. She was entirely focused on the rest of the group and the meal itself, laughing loudly between boisterous stories and jokes and devouring whatever snacks she ordered.

Ranmaru got up. He could make it back to the hotel by himself, probably. Nobody asked as he left, which was how he’d preferred things, right?

If there was such thing as taking a desolate wizz, maybe this is what it felt like, he thought to himself as he dried his hands on his shirt and left the restroom to step outside. Just for a moment. Just to get some air.

Eiichi followed him out.

“Can I help you,” Ranmaru said roughly after Eiichi caught the door behind him.

“Hardly.” He had the same look in his eye as before. “I thought I’d take the opportunity to say well done.”

Ranmaru grunted. “You still have six more shows with me. Compliment me when I’ve nailed all of them.”

“Hm. I’d certainly expect no less. But,” he continued, that grin going places Ranmaru especially didn’t like. “I can’t say that was what I was referring to.”

Ranmaru looked at him suspiciously.

“She’s been a tough nut to crack,” he continued. “I’m glad my instincts were right, Ranmaru Kurosaki, your brusqueness and deep experience with music laid her heart bare enough she recognized some changes she needed to make.”

He didn’t think, and only saw red -- he couldn’t blame the alcohol entirely, but the haziness was enough that his brain needed a moment to catch up to his gut reaction.

Eiichi laughed, unfazed by Ranmaru’s hands on his collar or snarling expression.

“Bastard!” he barked. Eiichi’s eyes glinted behind his glasses.

“I heard your little conversation. Do you not stand by those words?”

“Of course I do,” Ranmaru snapped.

“They reached her,” Eiichi cut in before Ranmaru could think of what to say next. “She’s already asking me about extra vocal training before the next recording sessions.”

“She doesn’t need more training!” He threw Eiichi back, finally letting go. He barely needed any effort to recover, and Ranmaru just glared at him as he kept raising his voice. “And I’m not your for-hire music coach! Is this how you treat all your contractors, you rat bastard of a producer?!”

He just laughed that laugh of his, making Ranmaru even angrier. “Your passion for music and straightforwardness was evident, even in your initial inquiry. It was just excellent luck your technical skills were just as useful for sending this idol group hurtling towards their fullest potential.”

“If you want her to reach it, you’d tell her she doesn’t need any extra lessons. You’d just tell her she’s a great goddamn idol the way she is right now,” Ranmaru spat. “Trusting her voice is just what’ll make her into a better one.”

“I hear some selfish intent in that, Kurosaki.” Eiichi looked like he was burning with excitement. “But that just means I can trust your intentions more than anyone. You speak as someone whose heart’s already been moved. A fan...a loyal follower who desires their success. Perhaps even more than she does.”

“I’m going back to the hotel.” Ranmaru strode past him, feeling himself burn from top to bottom. He gave Eiichi one last look in the eye. “If you need me before the show tomorrow, find someone else.”

-------

The next day and next show went uneventfully. Now that he’d met the group at Yokohama, he was travelling with them in the cars and equipment vans, and he made a point of finding a back seat nobody wanted to share, stretching out, and napping the whole ride. The setup at the next live house was a pain in the ass with their unusual devices and systems, but Ranmaru was quietly grateful to have his hands full. He liked having a good reason for not wanting to talk to (scold) anyone but the live house staff itself. Being irritated they went for weird, cheap models with lower quality helped him double down on the attention needed to make the group shine. They collectively got ramen afterwards. The only words he exchanged all meal were with the one Reiji liked so much, ferrying his ramen order for him when he got frustrated with the shop crowd and left to go wait outside.

(He’d have to find a way to talk with her later about Reiji. Not just for the autograph -- he opened up his phone, ignoring any notifications that weren’t his work email, and messaged him.

Ranmaru (9:42 PM): send me a pic of your Mae shrine

Reiji (9:45 PM): ehh? Ranran, what for?

Ranmaru (9:50 PM): just send it

Dutifully, Reiji did. Ranmaru couldn’t have imagined he really had no idea what he planned to do with it, but if he wasn’t just playing dumb, at least he’d be getting one hell of a surprise.)

It was during the third show that things started to happen a way he could scarcely believe. The show went pretty normally, except for one point where she stumbled badly enough during a complex turn she completely ate shit. But she played it off into something hammy and funny, rolling out of the way of the others, lying like she were posing in a cheesy beefcake calendar while she found the beat again to sing.

Ranmaru still thought she needed to own up to her lack of courage and just sing more, but putting it like she was a coward was a mistake. He thought dimly to what Reiji had said that had convinced him -- “when was the last time you had fun working a stage like this?” And he wondered if he’d ever had fun onstage like he saw. He might’ve tasted the glory and passion of the stage, the delicious energy of the audience, and the power of rock -- he knew he did, he’d looked an easier, blander life in the eye and felt too desolate to walk that path, even with his inescapable debt.

But it could be more fun. That audience could feel more, even more connected, that he could smile through mistakes when the performance came from camaraderie as much as passion and soul. Things could be better when they were shared beyond just the respect of an audience and a performer.

He didn’t realize he was smiling as much as he was until his cheeks were hurting, but that was also because he felt hungrier than he’d ever been.

----

He couldn’t help calculating how many meals he’d be cutting into as the convenience store clerk rang up everything, even though he’d already gotten Eiichi to confirm he was going to expense him the bill and get refunded every cent.

The show closed late. They had a special meet-and-greet he didn’t need to be around to handle, but none of them had had the chance to eat much outside of some spare snacks. He figured something fast and easy before they could collapse in the hotel would fit the bill.

She wasn’t there when he went around knocking on the hotel room doors and delivering the goods. Gone out to relax on the roof, they said, and when they offered to hold her food, he said no, he’d take it right to her.

The sound of the roof door opening looked like it startled her, and he didn’t know what else to do but hold up the bag full of food like a peace offering.

“Eat something,” he said in English, tossing her a banana from the bag. She caught it before eyeing him up and down, then settled back to the outdoor lounge chair she’d been resting on. Ranmaru took a seat in the one across for her, setting the bag on the ground as he pulled the rest of the food out. She looked hesitant, only speaking until he’d laid everything out, even the drinks.

“...That smells good,” she said in Japanese. “What’s that, kara-age?”

“I heard you guys were craving chicken.”

“I mean, I sure was. Thanks.”

“I told you English was fine,” he said, back to Japanese.

“My Japanese is fine,” she said, tearing into the banana first.

“Yeah, but if you’re tired of speaking outside of your native tongue,” Ranmaru started, already feeling himself get heated. “Why wouldn’t you take the chance to just rest?”

She finished her bite of banana before giving him a look. “...If you insist.”

They just sat in silence as she ate for a bit.

“Is there something else you want from me?” she asked. She left half the kara-age and bottled tea.

“...No, not really. I wanted to say sorry for the other day, though.”

“Ah.” She smiled knowingly, though she didn’t look happy about it. “Don’t worry about it. It sure isn’t the first or last time I’m gonna be criticized in this industry. I can handle it.”

Ranmaru murmured in acknowledgement, not sure to what end making himself clear to would earn, but he had to, anyways. He stared down the half-full kara-age container.

“...This is your goddamn food, you know.” He pushed it closer to her. “Eat it.”

“Oh, you’re sure?”

“I didn’t have a meet-and-greet that made me miss dinner. Do you really wanna work a tour on an empty stomach?”

She scooped it up with a knowing ‘hmm’ and a half-smile. After polishing it off, she let out a heavy sigh.

“You are right, though. I’m being a coward, not singing more.”

“You’re not,” Ranmaru grumbled.

“Sure,” she said dismissively. “But I guess I should apologize for getting so defensive. I thought you were just another macho shithead trying to talk the piss out of our group and the voice we have.”

“That’s nothing to apologize for,” Ranmaru said resolutely. “....when I was in a band, I wish I’d had bandmates who’d do that kinda shit for me.”

“Oh, shit, what’d you play?”

“Vocals. Bass. Rock.”

“Aw, c’mon, get more specific than that. Surf rock? Indie boy shoegaze? Folk punk with a little dash of polka?”

Ranmaru gave her an incredulous look. “...Oi. Do I look like a polka guy?”

She grinned widely, looking very satisfied with herself. “I dunno, you never know who’s got a secret accordion! I could see you, maybe you painted half of it, like, red to match that edgelord RPG hero heterochromia thing you got going.”

Ranmaru grumbled, looking away. She laughed. “....I just like rock. If you had to pull my leg I guess I’d tell you hard rock. Maybe a little alt and prog.”

“Ooh!” She exclaimed, barely letting the sip of tea get down her throat. “That’s the good shit! Did you ever record anything?”

Ranmaru hesitated. “...Yeah, but nothing that anyone can listen to anymore.”

She seemed to understand without much more explanation. “...Well. You’re fucking good at the sound engineering side of things. Don’t tell management this -- or well, just don’t quote me on this -- but I like you a hell of a lot more than the guy we were supposed to have from the agency. He doesn’t know shit about how to make music that’s about soul and hype. It’s like, all one level the whole time, you know? Like it’s just sitting at an 8 the whole time, we don’t really get to do stuff like crescendos. Or like, punch someone in the dick by taking it from a three and shoot it to an eleven, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ranmaru said, throwing a hand up. “What’s with that shit? There’s a bunch of stupid clients I had who were like that. Just one kind of loud, the whole album or concert through. What’s the fucking point if you aren’t gonna make people hear something other than just fuckin’ loud?”

“Yeah! You get it!” she whooped, before she held her hand out for a fistbump.

It surprised Ranmaru enough that it took a moment to register. But he smiled a little and pounded it.

------

“Man-eating momma, steam-driven hammer

Sorts the men out from the boys--”

She slid her arm around his waist, and he nearly choked on his beer.

They were at Korean barbecue tonight, their own private room. The last meal, after the last concert, after the last meet-and-greet, after the last frantic merch sales. Ranmaru tried to buy himself a shirt, but instead was presented with a staff hoodie for the tour and a “one of everything” comp for the rest of the merch. They were now safely tucked with other goods he’d gotten signed for Reiji and Natsuki last night while everyone hung out in their big hotel suite. Hotel management made a mistake and upgraded the whole crew to their biggest room with extra cots to fit them all, and they spent the entire post show in a dizzying, joyful, communal haze. Ranmaru even told stories of the embarrassing depths of his groupchat’s devotion to the group and each of their favorites, and everyone took turns recording chaotic, personalized videos for Ranmaru to share later. They fell asleep at a truly stupid hour, and Ranmaru wondered if this is what having sleepovers as a kid felt like.

“Takes no messing, all-in wrestling

Is one of her pride and joys”

Ranmaru recognized the words as she pulled him closer, swaying after slamming her beer to the table. Maybe less the tune, since that was being yelled more than sung.

“She's a classy, flashy lassy

Imitation sapphire shine-- c’mon, dude, you know!” She looked at him expectantly. She was very, very flushed, and at this point, he had to be, too.

“We’re not at a karaoke bar!” he barked.

“Where’s all that ‘you gotta sing more, fuckass’ energy now, huh,” she said, lowering her voice so much to mimic that Ranmaru briefly questioned if this is what he sounded like to her.

“....Fine! If you’re gonna sing it, actually fuckin’ sing it, don’t just yell!”

“Oh yeah,” she said with what passed for a shit-eating grin with her. “Then show me, partyboy. Hey, everyone, meet my new vocal coach! Hold onto your dick, folks, he better fuckin floor you with all the shit he’s been talking --”

Ranmaru looked at her a moment as she kept ranting, first with incredulity, then with a weird surreal awe. What the hell was happening?

Why the hell should he bother questioning it?

“-- Two-faced liar, full of fire

But I know the flame is mine!” He cut off her rant, singing as much as he could like this were a stage.

She -- and a bunch of other staff at the table -- whooped and cheered and laughed, but she and only she joined in with him without a care in the world. “Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her

If you think you can--”

He let the arm that’d been just awkwardly dangling behind her wrap around her shoulder. He felt warmer than he’d ever had, burning all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her you can!”

They hung on the last note of the chorus -- she hung on comedically long before dragging them both up to bow while everyone else clapped, laughed, cheered. A server came, yelling that they had an order of grilled beef up. Eiichi, from the other end of the table, gestured that he’d ordered it, but passed it down until it sat in front of Ranmaru.

--------

They had an overnight bus trip to get back home -- or close enough to home, anyways, Ranmaru still had another long train ride waiting afterwards, so he’d planned to sleep the whole bus ride.

But she wound up sitting next to him, and even if he could pretend like that didn’t make his heart thump now by itself, she was chatty.

He didn’t mind the conversation, though. They mostly talked about music, sharing concert stories and albums. He even talked a little about what he wanted to do now in between all the freelance work, and when she wished him luck and couldn’t wait to hear it, he didn’t feel like she was just blowing smoke.

There came a pause while she downed a bottle of tea.

“...I meant it when I said there’s something in your voice the audience oughta hear,” he said, looking at her intently.

She laughed uncomfortably after she swallowed. “Thank you. I’ll…..I guess I just have to go for it, huh.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I...hm….” She paused in intent thought for a while. “Well, for one, the technical control isn’t there.”

“Yeah, but you’ll improve that by doing it.”

“Yeah, yeah. But there’s more than just that, I guess.”

“Like what.”

“...Well, you know how this industry is. It’s…hard. Finding the balance of what you’re good at, what people want, and what the higher-ups think they want. I don’t think I’m anywhere near figuring that balance out...”

“Forget all that.” Ranmaru looked at her very seriously, shifting in place so he could look her in the eye a little better. “Don’t worry about any of those things.”

She laughed disbelievingly. “Okay, sure, lemme just. Throw out my job description while I’m at it. Dude, the whole point of this job and this work is to make other people happy.”

“I was happy hearing your voice just as it was that first day. You just. Sang the way you wanted to. I liked that. It felt good. Genuine.” He took a moment to recall the words he found at the beginning of the tour. “...You like it when people connect with your group’s voice ‘n adore your groupmates. So let ‘em adore you some.”

“Oh, cuz I’m so adowable,” she joked, laughing as Ranmaru scowled.

“I mean it. I….” he started. “...The audience is going to be better for hearing more of you. Whatever that means.”

She thought about that for a moment. “...I...you know. I don’t think I’ve ever asked myself what that looks like. Or let myself realize it, anyway.”

“You can handle the criticism if it comes. If that’s something you’re scared of.”

“...Maybe it is. Thank you, Ranmaru, I’m going to think about that and kick everybody’s teeth in the next time we record.

“‘Snothing,” he murmured, but he felt like his heart was going to soar out of his chest, and later, as they both nodded off and slumped over each other as the road stretched on, he realized he felt sated in a way he couldn’t remember being. A weird sort, that took away the pang of hunger, but made him feel it more deeply through his whole being.

----

When he arrived ‘home,’ it was lunchtime, and he was too dazed, hungry, and tired to weather one last long walk home without some food in his stomach. It was on the way-- he may as well go to Kotobuki Bento and make Reiji make good on the free bento offer.

(His sister rang him up, and Ranmaru paid up.)

Reiji found him after the meal, and he wound up heading to Reiji’s room. To give him the merch, theoretically, but after Reiji earned enough grouchy monosyllabic replies, he brought something that sounded like an actual question.

“...So, Ranran, while you were away…”

“Just say it,” Ranmaru muttered, eyes too tired to focus. “I’m too fucking tired for you to take the long away around.”

“Nattsun’s friend wants to join our little fanclub!”

“....And.”

Reiji shrank a little, speaking more sheepishly. “The thing is...we mentioned you and....he’s pretty sure you two already know each other and you’d want nothing to do with him.”

Ranmaru hazily tried to recall who that could be. There were too many people whose guts he hated for him to figure it out by himself.

“Who is it,” Ranmaru growled tiredly. “Just fucking say it.”

“Does...Hijirikawa ring a bell?”

It did. Ranmaru fumed in silence for a moment, thinking about the whirlwind of disaster that name was attached to, but also the vague memories of that quiet, serious boy in traditional dress who fretted after him when they were too small to know of things like debts and bankruptcy...

“...Whatever,” Ranmaru muttered. He looked at Reiji’s bed and decided he wasn’t going to tolerate any more of this exhaustion -- he had a reliable neighbor to leave food out for the cats, anyway, what was a couple more hours? “It’s not really much of a fanclub if it’s just the three of us. He can join if he wants. It’ll give you ‘n Natsuki someone who’s better at responding to your crazy nightlong gushing than me.” He tossed the dakimakura on Reiji’s bed, dented in the middle from so much hugging, to him, before he shrugged closer into his staff tour hoodie and slumped into Reiji’s bed.

He could practically see Reiji stammering, even as he turned away and settled into the comfort of eyes closed and a real bed. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and it wasn’t the one Ranmaru was expecting to give, either.

“-- R...Ranran, you really--”

“Yes! What the fuck wasn’t clear about what I said! Masato can join! Go add him already! Just let me sleep, you noisy bastard!” Ranmaru barked one last time at Reiji.

Ranmaru ignored whatever last jabbering Reiji had for him, already carried off to proper sleep. He wondered what he could possibly dream about that would rival the past week and this satisfying feeling, cradled in his new hoodie.

(I perform semi-professionally -- not as an idol, mind, but I’m still getting up on a stage/camera to entertain people on the reg -- and it was so weird but also really......doki-inspiring, let’s say, to imagine Ranmaru being a fan of my stage bravado :’’’’’D To be honest I’ve been feeling a little discouraged and burnt out by it lately but this really refilled my tanks!!!)

#iron maiden & rocka rolla #hints of #matchamocha #and #peach lemonade #scribblings #roleswap au #selfship #self insert #selfship fic

12 notes · View notes

arigatouiris · 4 years

Text

a dual-natured smile — t.h

Author’s Note: First one-shot for Tom, and honestly in this sort of au I think this personality suits him? Like, I see him as someone so caring and able to identify emotions in people’s faces. Hope you like it!

Word count: 2698

Pairing: Coffee Shop AU! Tom Holland x Sad! F! Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

❝

If there was something Tom Holland believed very rigidly, then it was that a person’s smiles were an index to their souls.

He didn’t know when he started to think this way, but the idea popped into his head one evening after a strong cup of coffee he was having by himself, and it never left. Then on, each person he observed, he knew a bit more about—their smiles would reveal a tad bit more the more he looked. It felt strange, almost voyeuristic even, to know so much about what a person was feeling without them letting you know, but Tom never pried. He wasn’t the sort to.

He was, what they called, humiliatingly kind. No strange desire filled this college student and part-time coffee shop barista, and there was not a single mean bone in his body. Except for when he played a terrible prank on his younger brother, Sam—which was meant for Harry, but he had screwed that up as well. Thankfully, no one got hurt. (Except for Tom’s ego).

Coming back to prying, this skill that he had discovered not so long ago came in handy whenever he was selling coffee. He would smile a bit and then he’d notice people who would sometimes smile back, or nod, or do a strange kind of curtsy—and there were some people who’d smile one day and not the next, which meant something was eating them up, and that gave Tom all the more reason to be a bit nicer. No one had taught him that it was a lovely thing to be kind, oh no, this Tom figured out on his own.

It worked like little personal missions—each time a person walked in, a person he had sold coffee to before, with a glum face, Tom made it his personal responsibility to make them smile, at least before they left. He thought it was nice, and there was no harm in doing so, it wasn’t as if he wanted to know about their personal lives to do anything. To make people smile was an art, and there was no need for any additional baggage that needed to come with it. Tom’s smile itself sometimes did the trick.

However, it was one working Wednesday evening did Tom’s true challenge walk in through the cafe’s door. She came with earphones in, hands shoved inside her sweater pockets, locking out the world, eyes fixed everywhere except on other eyes, moving with a gracefulness only sadness seemed to bring. Tom’s heart melted at the sight, at how raw she was, at how effortless it was for her to hide it from everyone around her. She looked passive to the normal eye, but to Tom, he could actually smell it. He could smell how sad she was, if that was even a thing, and oh, it was so devastating that it almost made him cry.

The eyes she made when she ordered her coffee was a mix of heartbreak and a very human kind of sadness that any person would feel. It was the kind that you would wake up from, something a bad dream may have caused, something a missed bus would have caused, something wistful—a personal challenge having not been met with.

Tom laid her coffee in front of her, still enamored with the glory her sadness brought to her, heart beating rapidly in his chest with how careless she was about it—and while she almost took it, placing the change beside the cup, Tom stammered a beginning of a conversation. Her eyes moved to his so quickly, it almost knocked him out, left his mouth ajar, his brain scattered.

“P-Please enjoy your coffee and have a nice day!”

For a second, he thought she’d snap at him. Suddenly, the air around her turned intimidating, her eyes were as cold as ice, her expression changed from glum to stoic—but what came afterward blew his mind.

She smiled. She looked sad and happy. A sort of relieved smile.

“Thank you.”

He couldn’t tell what she was thanking him for. Was it the coffee? Was it because he spoke to her? Or, was it because she saw in Tom’s words what he wanted her to see? Did she see the hidden worry masked beneath his words that he had laid out for her to see? He couldn’t tell. She walked out that cold Wednesday evening, leaving Tom to wonder if he’d ever see her again.

He did.

He did see her again and he knew right then that he’d always recognize her, irrespective of where she was, how long it had passed, or what place it was. He’d recognize the eyes behind that mysterious, dual-natured smile she had given him, and he’d invariably recognize her. With her, there was no mission. With her, there was no personal agenda on getting her to smile. She smiled right on the first day, but that was still not as satisfying—there was something there, something had begun, but he had no idea what it was.

If the smile was truly the index to a person’s soul, then he was left blinded by the light her smile had left behind.

It was a Saturday morning when she walked in that day. Tom was already busy with a few more customers, while she stood behind in line, waiting patiently for her turn. When she walked in, he barely noticed another customer come by, but as his eyes wandered the queue, it fell on the familiar white sweater she was wearing, hands in her pockets, earphones plugged in her ears. Tom almost gasped that she had returned, feeling a tad bit happy on the inside, but he would get yelled at if he didn’t take people’s orders just because he got distracted by a pretty customer.

When it was her turn, he was glad there was no one behind her. The cafe now had carried off into a lull—a buzz of a conversation flowed among the people gathered there and no one was noticing Tom Holland and no one was noticing her. This left them in their own space, among a crowded area, but they were at the same time, hidden from view.

It didn’t look as if she recognized him, but he smiled as if she did. He remembered her order, he remembered every detail about her from the last time she had set foot inside the cafe, but he didn’t want to scare her away by letting her know any of this.

“How are you feeling today?” It wasn’t actually a question when a smile was attached to it.

She blinked at him a couple of times before wondering why he didn’t ask her about her order. Weren’t baristas supposed to ask a person their order first? But, there was something so utterly enchanting about the way he was smiling at her, that it almost made her forget.

“It’s cold outside.” She replied, a soft smile presenting itself on her lips.

Once again, Tom faltered—there it was. The happy/sad smile. Was it because of the way her smile sat on her face that it looked both happy and sad? Was it because of her aura? Was there something he was missing?

“Caramel macchiato, isn’t it?” Tom asked, grinning widely.

Her smile only grew, but the feeling remained. He could feel his breathing quicken its pace a bit, but there was no reason to feel so confused over a random customer’s smile. It was her story, he had nothing to do with it. She didn’t fall under the game he was playing and maybe that’s why Tom was so enthralled with her. Self-doubt filled his head, he wondered if his idea of making his customers’ smile was a selfish thing to do. He wondered if the customers wanted it, whether they cared, whether he had any right to even wonder all of this in the first place.

“Thank you for remembering, Tom.”

He let out a shocked, squeaky sound, before feeling breathless. She pointed to his badge, and he calmed a bit—she had addressed him by his name because there was a badge revealing it. Why was it so easy for her to leave him so breathless?

“What’s your name, miss?” Tom asked, secretly grabbing a pen from under the counter.

She blinked once before saying, “(y/n).”

No more. She didn’t tell him her surname, she didn’t need to. She had established a boundary between them right then and there, there was no need to encroach any further.

However, if only she hadn’t smiled when handing him the change, Tom would have let boundaries lie. If only she didn’t look so devastatingly beautiful and sad when she offered him her first name, would Tom have let things slide.

He grabbed the marker and scribbled something on her cup before shooting her a wink. When her eyes fell on what he had written, there was shock plastered on her features—a sheen appeared in the (e/c) of her eyes that Tom never knew he had to see before. Her mouth opened a little bit with amusement, her eyes shone with a bit of enchantment and then came a different sort of smile—a smile with a bit of gratitude—a smile Tom knew he was falling in love with.

Hope your day is as lovely as you, (y/n).

She didn’t need to say anything more. She didn’t even turn to look at him, but he knew. She didn’t smile at him—that smile of gratitude wasn’t driven in his direction but it was there, and oh goodness, what it had done to him was astounding! Tom could barely think or eat or breathe for the rest of the day, and he knew his assignments had to wait because he had daydreaming to do. He thought so much about her, he thought so much about who she was, what she was doing, where she came from—but nothing Tom wanted to know as much as what had happened to make her smile that heartbreakingly sad yet happy smile.

He wondered if he would have the courage to ask her the next time he saw her.

He didn’t.

He didn’t ask her the next time because Tom knew that deep down, he was a bit of a coward when it came to girls he was attracted to.

She was wearing a different sweater this time, but her earphones weren’t plugged in. Her hands weren’t in her pockets and maybe—just maybe—Tom was breaking her boundaries a bit? It eased his mind to think that way, but it also gave him inexplicable joy. When she approached the counter, Tom’s smile was already present. She smiled back, the same heartbreaking sad/happy smile, but this time—it was accompanied by something. He could see it, he could see traces, no hints, of underlying shyness at the corners of her lips. His eyes widened when he noticed that her dual-natured smile came with a sweet shyness lodged in her eyes and then the answers came biting down at him.

On the possible origin of her sad/happy smile.

She stood there, tilting her head a bit, waiting for him to make a move. He made her caramel macchiato and scribbled something on it before handing it to her, no words exchanged, no sounds present—just hidden messages and secret glances; all was the necessary fuel required for the something more.

A beautiful morning to a beautiful (y/n).

When she smiled at her message, she turned back to him and smiled once more—shooting his heart to the skies. She took a breath inside before letting out two words, very common two words that are used in response to kindness and sometimes stated awkwardly.

Thank you.

Tom struggled to watch her leave after that. He wondered if it was too much, the whole ‘lovely day’ or ‘beautiful (y/n)’ but he saw her smile and maybe that was worth it all. Before she left that day, she paused near the door—shocking Tom because it hadn’t ever happened before, and he waited. He waited to see if anything was going to happen, but there was nothing. She carried on forward after that as if the pause never happened to begin with.

But, it did. And oh, it filled his heart with so much joy! Tom grinned to himself before pumping his fist in the air (in his mind) and carried on with his work. He was so happy that it filled his mind with confidence, which he believed would last till the next time he saw her.

It didn’t.

It didn’t last till the next time he saw her because the next time he saw her, Tom was already in love with her.

And when you’re in love with someone you don’t see too often, your mind may tell you to react in certain ways but your body forgets who you are. All of a sudden, you’re the clumsier version of yourself and despite making coffee a thousand times you are starting to forget what coffee even smells like.

When she walked in, three weeks near his college finals, she looked stressed. He noticed the visible bags under her eyes, and the lack of sheen in her appearance, but he also noticed the lack of earphones and the sweater was gone. She was wearing a blue tee-shirt with jeans, holding her jacket in her hands. She looked a bit confused, but also sad, sad was her default programming, which Tom hoped to change in the near future. But, there was something different about her today than all other days.

When it was her turn, Tom noticed there were two more people behind her. She turned around and spotted them, before stepping aside and having them go first. Tom was shocked obviously, but he let it happen. He quickly delivered their orders and went back to her, to his her—if he can even call her that.

It was the first time he was tempted to ask, “Is everything alright?”

It was so strange—he barely spoke five sentences with this girl and yet he was so, so utterly in love with her that it drove him crazy.

“It never has been,” She said, offering him the same dual natured smile. He knew the secret behind it. He finally knew how her smile could be both sad and happy. “I think you already knew that.”

Tom replied with a smile and a caramel macchiato. This time, there was no scribble. She blinked a couple of times before biting her bottom lip and nodding once.

The secret was her eyes.

“(y/n),” Tom let out raspily, “Would you mind taking a seat over there?”

He pointed to the corner of the cafe, a deserted seat for two. She looked over there and then at him, before tilting her head. He smiled at her—mimicking her happy one, emitting the sadness from it, and she nodded. She approached the table, slowly, before Tom finished up at the counter. He waddled over there, sitting across her, hands on the table, while she watched him with curious eyes.

Of all the wondering he had done in his life, about the one particular thing that had changed the way he viewed people—that the smile was the index to people’s souls, he was mistaken about one thing.

For (y/n), it was her eyes. Whenever she smiled, her smile would emit such happiness yet her eyes were so utterly sad.

“You...” She spoke after taking two very slow sips of her coffee. “You didn’t write anything on this today.”

Tom smiled before replying, “How about I tell you from here on?”

She blinked before looking up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Coffee’s on me, (y/n). Would you like to go out with me?”

He didn’t need to know what made her so sad. He didn’t need the details, the story or the evidence of what had happened with her—he would or wouldn’t know, all depended on what would happen with them. But, he knew one thing for sure.

When she smiled at him at that second, her eyes said yes. No sadness. No dual-natured presentation.

Just a girl letting a guy know he had a chance.

❞

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland x y/n #tom holland coffee shop au #tom holland x you

162 notes · View notes