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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 14: Fever]

A/N: I’ve written a lot of chapters for Tumblr, but this one was by far the hardest. Thank you for reading. 💜

Chapter summary: Queen enjoys an American tradition, Y/N struggles to be optimistic, John offers distractions, Roger makes questionable decisions (what else is new).

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, accidental intense flirting, inconvenient erections, drugs, overdoses, near-death experiences, medical emergencies, hospital stuff, pregnancy, babies, miscarriage, drama, sexual references, do I even need to say angst...? Y’all already know.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @writerxinthedark @culturefiendtrashqueen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you!

It’s November 12th, 1977, and you’re six weeks pregnant.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandmother!” Your mom is positively giddy, beaming ceaselessly, patting the back of Roger’s hand at least once every three minutes. I was right about this delightful English boy and my future gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says. Your parents either never saw any headlines, or—a possibility that seems increasingly conceivable—didn’t believe them.

“I know it’s early to announce,” you add nervously. “But we figured...you know, since we’re here now...and who knows when we’ll be back in Boston...”

“Oh, I’m so happy you told me!” your mother peals like a wind chime. “Here, have some more sweet potatoes, and some salmon too, they’re so good for the baby...have you thought about names yet?”

“Roger Junior,” Roger jokes.

“Freddie Junior,” Freddie offers with a flamboyant flourish of his hand; his fingernails are jet black with glinting flecks of silver.

“A few,” you tell your mother, rolling your eyes at Freddie. “But there’s still plenty of time to figure that out.” In truth, this whole having a baby thing still feels rather nebulous and untrustworthy, like it’s a dream you might wake up from, like it’s a desert mirage that will evaporate as soon as you stumble too close, parched and ravenous and aching for it. Roger slips his arm around your waist, and you don’t exactly dislike that; but it feels a little like a mirage too.

“We’re so happy,” he says, with a gentle wistfulness that is striking on him. Roger is happy, as happy as you’ve ever seen him. He drinks only in moderation. He does his physical therapy. He’s taken up meditation. He fucking meditates. He wants to get clean for the baby, for you, for this second chance at a future together. And you don’t entirely trust this—because everyone lies and everyone disappoints and everyone carries around mortal shadows in the marrow of their bones—but you are beginning to let it make you happy too.

“You’re next, Fred,” Brian says. “You’re the only one left. Come on, it’s your turn. Cough up an infant.”

Freddie cackles. “All my children have whiskers and tails and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your mother shoves a glass baking pan of sweet potato casserole, topped with a layer of gluey burned marshmallows, towards you. “Eat!” she commands.

You warily spoon yourself some, grimacing; you’re more or less constantly nauseous. Then you stare down at the heap of lumpy orange root vegetables that—to you, at least—contains a choking quantity of cinnamon. The sweet potato casserole stares menacingly back. John leans over and scoops himself a bite off your plate.

“Mmmmm!” he exclaims, to your mother’s delight. Then, more quietly to you: “Not to worry. I’ll help.”

“Everything is delicious, as always,” Brian tells your parents, ever well-mannered. “It’s always such a delight when work brings us to Boston. This was so kind of you!”

Your mom and dad wanted to treat Queen to the band’s first-ever American Thanksgiving dinner, even if actual Thanksgiving was still two weeks away; the table features a monstrous turkey with brown crispy skin, stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade cranberry sauce, green beans almondine, ham, Atlantic salmon, buttered rolls, pumpkin pie, and of course the loathsome sweet potato casserole. You endeavor to taste at least one bite of everything, sipping sparkling apple cider cautiously, biting back waves of nausea that surface at random like breaching whales. The tablecloth is speckled with autumn leaves and inappropriately jolly cartoon turkeys. Your parents are glowing, proud, thrilled...although they’re visibly channeling effort into not being offended by the fact that Brian won’t try the turkey.

“It’s our pleasure, of course,” your father deflects as he puffs on a cigar. He’s mixed a drink for all of the non-pregnant attendees: Apple Cranberry Moscow Mules for everyone except John, who requested his usual Manhattan. “And you’ve timed it perfectly. There’s no better time to be in New England than the fall.”

“Oh, the foliage is just stunning, and the skies are so clear, you can see all the constellations!” Brian cranes his neck and points out the dining room window. “Look, there’s the winged horse Pegasus, and Cassiopeia, and Perseus...”

“The scenery is gorgeous! Creatively rousing!” Roger agrees.

“Oh, planning a Boston-inspired sequel, are we?” John quips. “I’m In Love With My Lobster Boat?”

“I’m In Love With My Revolutionary War Memorabilia?” Freddie suggests.

“Get a grip on my extremely unreliable and difficult to load musket...” John sings.

Freddie points his fork at him and grins. “Yours wouldn’t be so difficult, Deaky dear.”

“How long did those old muskets take to load?” Bri asks.

“About two minutes,” your father pipes cheerfully.

Freddie snorts. “Sounds about right.”

John bears the laughter with a good-natured, smug sort of smirk. I’m not bothered because I know I’ve got nothing to worry about, that look says. You wiggle your eyebrows at him. He winks back.

Roger groans as he stretches his hands up towards the ceiling. “Am I really expected to play after all this?! Jesus christ. I’ve gained a stone in the past hour. Alright, one more slice of pie, then we have to get going...”

Queen has reserved your parents front-row seats at the show, as well as a limo to shuttle them there and back. While your mother fusses over whether you’ve eaten enough and what appropriate rock concert attire is—“leather and feather boas and riding crops, darling” Freddie informs her—your father circles the table snapping photographs, first with your Canon and then with his own Polaroid. You and Roger pose together, lean into each other, plant giggling kisses on each other’s cheeks. And you marvel at how a photo is a snapshot, a split second, nothing less and nothing more; that it’s instantly and mechanically captured, impersonal even, cheap to print and easy to burn. As your mother begins gathering up plates and glasses, you stand to help her.

“No no no,” Roger says, wiping the crumbs from his chin with an orange napkin. “Not allowed, Boston babe. Sit down, I’ll do it, I’ll help clean up.”

“I want to,” you insist. “I feel better when I’m moving around.” Less likely to vomit into anyone’s sweet potato casserole.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” You smile down at him fleetingly, ruffle his short bleached hair, then disappear into the kitchen.

Your mother is scrubbing plates in the bubble-filled sink, her hands turning pink under the hot water, humming Rhiannon in a bright merry voice. She’s wearing a sparkling crimson dress that reminds you of blood. Your stomach lists like a sailboat.

“I’ll wash if you want to dry,” you offer.

“I raised such a kind girl. My beautiful daughter, a future mama. Mrs. Roger Meddows Taylor.” She twirls a lock of your hair affectionately, then steps aside so you can reach into the sink. “That John Deacon is a bit strange, isn’t he?”

You resist the reflex to bristle, to snap at her; it’s not her intention to be cruel. It never is. “No, not really. He’s wonderful, he’s a genius. He’s my best friend, actually.”

“Oh alright, dear. I’m sure he’s lovely enough. He’s just so terribly quiet. He fades away next to the others. And certainly next to Roger.” She sighs, infatuated, dazzled.

You hear Roger’s voice echo in your skull: Watch out, baby. I get everything I want eventually.

Maybe he was right about that.

You’re trying to be happy, really you are; you’re trying to fall in love with this future Roger has planned for you. But you can’t shake the gnawing sensation that—somewhere along the way—your life stopped being written by you. You’re anxious all the time; you bite your lips until they bleed and wring your ringless hands and rarely sleep. You feel restless and ineffectual and nervy, like there’s some inescapable horror crouched behind every door you open, every page you turn. You feel the opposite of free.

Your mother notes casually, drying a china plate patterned with pink roses and edged with gold: “It must get difficult sometimes, having to share him with the world.”

You gaze into the nest of pearlescent bubbles that pop around your wrists like interrupted dreams, like broken promises. “You have no idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 21st, 1977, and you’re twelve weeks pregnant.

Blood trickles down your palm, the underside of your wrist, your velveteen-soft forearm. You hold the wad of gauze against the Scottish roadie’s pouring nose. What’s this one’s name? Nick? Nate? Niall? You’ve lost track. Whoever he is, he sustained an accidental elbow to the face as the crew was unloading the band’s luggage from the tour bus and is now slumped on the marble floor of the New Orleans Ritz-Carlton, splattered with drops of blood like the freckles sprayed across his pale cheeks. Giant red bows and Christmas trees trimmed with twinkling white lights rim the lobby.

“Alright, let’s take a look.” You lift the gauze away; the bleeding has slowed considerably. You gingerly probe the bridge of his nose as the roadie moans in pain.

“You trying to kill me, lady?” he jests.

You wrap an ice pack in fresh gauze and press it against his swollen face. “It’s not broken. Keep the ice on it, apply pressure, come get me if the bleeding doesn’t stop in ten minutes. Okay? You might have black eyes but you’re gonna be fine. You’ll look extra badass for the babes at the club.”

“Okay.” The roadie smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Florence Nightingale.”

You smirk up at Roger. “Did you have to teach them that?”

“You’ve cultivated quite the reputation, love.” He grins, takes a drag off his cigarette, glances around the lobby through his opaque prescription sunglasses. And you’re struck by how pertinent he looks here, in grand rooms with chandeliers and towering ceilings, in famed cities littered across the globe. He belongs in the spotlight. He belongs to the world. He doesn’t belong to just me, and he never will.

You reach for your duffel bag, but Roger yanks it away and slings it over his own shoulder.

“Will you please stop trying to lift heavy things?!” he pleads.

“I’m pregnant, I don’t have brittle bone disease.”

“Brittle bone disease!” Freddie cries, horrified. “Is that an actual ailment?!”

John snickers. “Yes, and it’s sexually transmitted, so watch where you stick your bone.”

“Oh, ha ha ha, you are hilarious!” Freddie says, rolling his large dark eyes. “Worry about your own performance, Mr. Misfire. Bri, you’ll join us for a drink tonight, won’t you?”

“Well...” Brian hesitates, and you suspect you know why. He’s been looking forward to this stop for months, Queen’s last in the States during the News Of The World tour; after two days in New Orleans the band will fly back to London, spend the holidays there, resume the tour with shows throughout Europe beginning in April. In just a few rotations of the Earth, Brian will be back at home with Chrissie and the twins. But tonight he has plans to see the girl he calls Peaches.

“You undependable poodle,” Freddie scolds. Then, saccharinely, batting his eyelashes: “But you’ll surely come along, won’t you Nurse Nightingale?”

“Fred...I hate to disappoint, but...”

“This is unacceptable!” he exclaims. “I am distraught! Not even an orgy with spicy Cajun men will lift my spirits!”

“I doubt that,” you reply, smiling. “I’m exhausted, Freddie. This making a kid business isn’t easy.”

“Oh, but you’re not too exhausted to cart around luggage like a fucking alpaca!” Roger massages your shoulders, enfolds the slight bump of your belly with his hands, lands a series of featherlight kisses down your neck. He’s still clean, he’s still effervescent, he’s continuously devoted in a way that is unusual for him, tender and sensitive, simultaneously ecstatic for the future and nostalgic for the past. “Want me to stay?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Freddie laments.

“That’s alright. John said I can help him wrap Christmas presents for Veronica and the kids. I’m learning how to be all maternal and domestic, isn’t that exciting?”

“I’d say you’re fairly effortlessly maternal,” Roger says, rather proudly. “Want me to bring you back anything?”

“No, I’m okay. I’ll send a roadie for chili cheese fries or something.”

“You can send them for lobster and filet mignon. Whatever you want.” He reaches into the pocket of his fitted black jeans and pulls out a small ring box.

“Roger...?”

He opens it, grinning, and taps an antique gold ring with a ruby stone into his calloused palm. “I found this at a shop in Miami. You remember the first time we were ever there? March of 1975. Hotel room with a view that looked out onto the beach, taking photos on the balcony with the ocean crashing behind you, feeding the seagulls chips until the bitches started attacking us.”

“I never forget.” And that’s true; there have been times you wish you could, but you don’t.

Roger takes your left hand and slips the ring onto your wedding finger. Then he lifts your knuckles to his lips, bites them gently, leaves faint burning indents in the flesh.

“I love it,” you breathe, turning your hand back and forth, watching the lights from the Christmas trees glimmer off the ruby. It feels real in a way that sharing a future with Roger hasn’t for a long time.

“Now don’t get all emotional over it. It doesn’t mean anything, you know.” Roger winks and lands a parting kiss on your forehead. Then he passes your duffel bag to a roadie, who vanishes with it into an elevator. “Deaks, you’ll take care of my girl?”

“I always do,” John replies.

“Have fun,” you tell Roger, beaming up at him. “But not too much fun.” This could work. This could really work.

Freddie crosses himself like one of Veronica’s Catholic great aunts. “Depravity? Us? Never in a million years, darling.” Then he hooks an arm around Roger and leads him towards the glass hotel doors. They’re engulfed by a crowd of Queen’s roadies, laughing and shoving each other playfully: Ratty Hince, Paul Prenter, Chris Taylor (dubbed Crystal by the band), Brian Spencer, John Harris, others whose names you haven’t committed to memory yet.

“You ready, Emily Post?” John asks, heading towards the nearest elevator, and you follow him.

In his hotel room is a messy stack of gifts accumulated over the past month and a half from tour stops all over the United States: tiny model Liberty Bells from Philadelphia, Yankees baseball caps from New York City, a slot machine that spits out gumballs from Las Vegas, red socks embroidered with the logo of—what else?—the Boston Red Sox, NASA astronaut action figures from Houston, teddy bears wearing Cubs t-shirts from Chicago, plushies from the Miami aquarium: a hammerhead shark for Laszlo, a dolphin for Anna, and an octopus for the newest Deacon due in mid-February. You and John sit on the floor together in a flurry of tubes of Christmas-themed wrapping paper, stick-on bows, name labels, greeting cards, and pens. John flips through the tv channels until he finds It’s A Wonderful Life. You send a roadie to get dinner from a New Orleans-based fast food chain called Popeyes, and you take leisurely breaks between gift wrapping to chomp on crispy chicken wings and biscuits and mini apple pies and to guzzle down towering cups of Southern-style sweet tea.

“Octopuses are gender-neutral, right?” John asks, floundering as he tries to wrap all eight tentacles individually.

“Totally.” You’ve been brainstorming how best to package the slot machine for fifteen minutes. You take another contemplative bite of a flaky biscuit. “These kids are gonna be super confused when it comes time to pick a favorite team for the World Series.”

“Well obviously they’ll have to be Boston fans or I’ll disown them.”

You sigh contently. “This is just too adorable. I want to wake up early on Christmas morning and open presents with some hyperactive children. Please adopt me into your family.”

“Done. You’re in.”

You laugh. “I don’t think Slavic Jesus thinks highly of polygamy.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, who said anything about a second wife? You can be the live-in nanny but also the filthy secret mistress. Take it or leave it. Final offer.”

“Alright, Mr. Misfire. But you’ll have to fuck me for at least slightly longer than two minutes.”

Oh god, I should not have said that.

John stares at you. You stare back. And something flies between you, something like a pop of static electricity or a firing neuron, something hot and lightning-quick. There’s blood flushing his cheeks, but it’s not quite embarrassment; you know because the same heat is swirling in yours.

Stop, you order yourself.

But it’s too late, now you’re thinking about it, what it would be like: what he would feel like, taste like. Not like wildfire, reckless and consuming, disaster nipping at its heels. Something different, something constant and dependable and soulful, something that feels like home anywhere in the world.

It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about me. You’re My Best Friend wasn’t about me.

John grabs a sheet of crinkling wrapping paper patterned with chortling Santa Claus faces and drags it over his lap to conceal the sizable bulge growing there in his white pants. You pretend—unconvincingly, you’re sure—not to notice.

Finally, he chuckles uneasily. “However you want it.”

“I’m so sorry. That was wildly inappropriate. I’m hormonal and stupid.”

“I kind of like you hormonal and stupid.”

“Well don’t get used to it, this is a temporary condition.”

“You really can come over,” John says. “On Christmas morning. You and Roger can come over if you want to. The kids love you both. And honestly neither of them are old enough to remember this year anyway, so no pressure if you fuck up Christmas by being accidentally slutty or whatever.”

The smile ripples through the muscles of your face, uncoiling all the tension there. He really does make everything better. “Okay. But you have to promise to behave too.”

He shrugs coyly, lights a cigarette, watches you as he exhales smoke. “You’ve always said I have game.”

There are voices out in the hallway, uproarious laughter, the pounding of irregular footsteps, thumps against the walls. You can hear Freddie giggling: “Rog, darling, come on, get it together...!”

John furrows his brow at you. He doesn’t say anything, but you know that look. What John means is: Is he okay?

“I’m sure he’s fine,” you reply. He’s been fine all tour.

And then, more desperately: He HAS to be fine. Not just for me anymore.

“Rog?!” Freddie shrieks, and now the voices are louder, more numerous. There’s one massive thud. Someone screams for help.

You and John scramble to your feet. You snatch your kit off the dresser and bolt out into the hallway. Roger is sprawled on the floor in the center of a reeling crowd, unconscious, gasping for air, his skin a starved bluish. Freddie and Crystal are hovering over him, shouting and horrified.

“Oh my god,” John says.

“Call an ambulance,” you tell him, and John sprints back into his hotel room.

You shove Freddie and Crystal aside and kneel beside Roger, jostle him awake, pry open his eyes and shine your flashlight into them. His pupils are pinpricks. His breathing is shallow and uneven. You close your fingers around his right wrist; his skin is drenched with sweat. Roger’s pulse is erratic, fading.

“Roger, can you hear me?”

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs. Then he blacks out again.

“What did he take?” you pitch at Freddie.

Freddie and Crystal exchange a glance, hesitating.

“If you don’t tell me what it was he’s going to die, what did he take?!”

“He wasn’t in the same room as us,” Freddie says, his voice quaking. “We don’t know—”

“So you left him alone,” you seethe. “Of course you fucking did.”

Roger’s hand shoots up and seizes your shirt, twisting the fabric in his gnarled fingers. “Speedball,” he rasps. His vivid blue eyes—like bruises, like veins, like cold rain—are huge and bloodshot and frantic. He’s begging for his life. He’s begging you to save him. “The guy said it was a speedball.”

You know exactly what a speedball is; it’s your job to know things like that, to know all the chemical combinations that errant rock stars love destroying themselves with. “A speedball has heroin in it, Roger!”

“I can’t breathe,” he sighs dispassionately, as if it doesn’t bother him at all. His eyes are glassy now, unseeing.

“Don’t you fucking die on me!” You rake through your kit for the vial of Naloxone that you thought you’d never need. That’s not for bands like Queen, you remember thinking when the record company insisted you carry it. That’s for people like The Rolling Stones or Black Sabbath or maybe even Fleetwood Mac on a bad day, but not Queen. Not my boys. Not my Roger.

Oh, but has he ever really been mine?

You pull a syringe out of your kit, throw off the cap, and hold the vial of Naloxone upside down. You stab the needle through the rubber stopper and measure out 1cc—an entire syringe’s worth—of the drug that can reverse opioid overdoes. CAN, not will. It doesn’t always work.

Freddie is sobbing as Crystal drapes an arm over his shoulder and turns him away. So they don’t have to watch. So they don’t have to see him die.

You don’t have the luxury of not watching.

John is back. “What can I do?” he asks.

“Shake him. Keep him awake. Hit him if you have to.”

John kneels, cups Roger’s face in his hands, smacks his cheek each time Roger begins to nod off. Roger gazes up at him numbly, breathing in haphazard wheezes. “Stay with me, Rog. That’s it. Stay with me, you’re gonna be fine...”

You pinch a tiny roll of fat in Roger’s upper arm and jab the needle in. You push down the plunger and 1cc of Naloxone vanishes from the syringe barrel as it surges into Roger’s disordered bloodstream. You toss the syringe away and rub his arm as crimson blood beads from the injection wound.

“Come on, Roger,” you beg him. “Come on, Roger, please...”

You fill another syringe and inject it an inch below the first puncture mark. Roger’s eyes—those eyes that you’ve been trying to claw your way out of since you first saw them across a hospital room in the June of 1974—flutter closed. His sweated rib cage stills.

“Roger?!” John roars, shaking him. “Roger, Rog, wake up!”

“Roger!” you scream.

He sucks down a sudden breath—deep, clear, life-giving—and his intense blue eyes fly open.

“Oh thank god!” you cry, clutching your chest. “John, help me, help me get him up...”

Together with Fred and Crystal you drag Roger to his feet, force him to walk, parade him up and down the hallway until the paramedics arrive and ferry him away—still dazed and ghastly pale, still grasping for you and muttering things you don’t understand—and then your adrenaline rush evaporates and you crumble to the floor, one shaking hand covering your face, the other on the small swell of your belly.

I’m so sorry, little guy, little lady. You deserve better than us.

“I have to go after him,” you tell John when he reaches for you, trying to lift you off the floor. “I have to make sure he’s okay, the Naloxone, it could wear off before the heroin does, and it...it...it can stop an opioid overdose but speedballs have coke in them too and he could still have effects from that...”

“Okay, no problem, we can go, come on, we’ll get a cab and we’ll be right behind them.”

And you remember what Roger once told you as the planet rolled into 1975, under streetlights casting islands of luminance in an ocean of cold darkness: But I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage. And isn’t that what this was all about for you anyway?

But Roger was wrong.

My life does feel like a cage. It feels exactly like a cage.

You sputter weakly: “He’s not, he isn’t, he can’t...”

“What?” John presses. “Slow down. Breathe. Tell me.”

“He’s never going to change, John,” you whisper. The weight of the ruby ring is heavy on your trembling left hand. “He’s never going to change.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 15th, 1978, and you’re nineteen weeks pregnant.

The kitchen phone rings, and you answer. The date for your twenty-week ultrasound is circled on the calendar in red ink. “Hello?”

“Do you need to get out of the house?” John asks. “Because I really need to get out of the house.”

You do, incidentally. Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and Roger did everything right: a bouquet of pink roses and carnations waiting on the kitchen table when you woke up, a new Ferrari parked in the driveway, a candlelit dinner at Mon Plaisir. It was a little too right, actually, like Roger was trying to coax you into serenity, like he was proving how illogical it would be to consider ever being unhappy with him, like he was making up for something; and that’s how things feel a lot of the time, now that you think of it. Roger is fine, mostly. He’s home, usually. He’s clean until he isn’t, and then afterwards he’s so dazzlingly radiant and kind that you can’t stand the thought of not being there to help if he needs you, can’t remember your frustration or your anger half as much as your fear of losing him. And it’s incredible how good you’ve gotten at pushing the memory of that News Of The World headline out of your mind, like it was something from a soap opera or a cheap romance novel, like it was just a slice of scandalous fiction that happened to somebody else. That’s the way the body works too, isn’t it? Wounds close over, livers regenerate, old cells slough away and reveal fresh tissue beneath with no recollection of the pain that comes tangled up with all the other eventualities of existence. Times like Valentine’s Day are a revival, a resurrection: brand new cells, a healed fracture, a shot of Naloxone to restore the blood to equilibrium. But today is not Valentine’s Day, and Roger isn’t home. You aren’t entirely sure where he is, and you don’t know if you’d want to be. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up. I can show you my wicked new ride.”

“I’m intrigued. You’ll have to let me drive it one day.”

“What, directly into a cop car?”

“You’re awful and I hate you,” John says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “See you at 8? There’s a new disco in Soho I’m dying to check out.”

“Sure thing, I just have to make myself glamorous first. It’s quite a process now that I have all the elegance and svelteness of a large marine mammal. But I’ll rise to the occasion. I’ll be the most attractive whale you’ve ever seen.”

He chuckles. “I don’t doubt that at all.”

You roll up to John’s Putney house in your maroon Ferrari, the convertible top down despite the biting cold, a bomber jacket—just a tad too tight to zip up over your bump—concealing your short black dress. Pregnancy has finally started to look good on you, aforementioned marine-mammal-ness notwithstanding: your hair is thick and gleaming, your skin clear, your face fuller and emitting a mysterious, ethereal sort of glow. You check your hair and makeup in the rear view mirror as John jogs out of his front door. He stops dead in the driveway.

“Wow.”

You pat the passenger’s seat. “Hop in, felon.”

“He bought you a freaking Ferrari?!”

“Am I not worth it?” you joke, flipping your hair.

John slides into the car. “How do I become married to Roger Taylor? Tell me your secrets.”

“Well, to receive a Ferrari, you’ll probably have to get pregnant with his firstborn child too.”

“Ahhh. A minor obstacle.”

You laugh as you spin out of the driveway and cruise towards downtown London. Then you peer over at John, really taking him in, reading him like heart rates or units of measurement inked to the barrel of a syringe. His elbow is propped up on the window sill, his chin nestled in the heel of his hand, his blue-grey eyes unfocused as they gaze out into the night sky and streetlights that flicker by like the episodic flashes of a firefly. “Are you okay, John?” you ask seriously.

“Yeah,” he replies, a prospect that seems implausible.

“I’m glad you called.” You both know what that means: Roger isn’t home, I don’t know where he is, I don’t know when he’s coming back or what condition he’ll be in when he does.

John smirks wryly. “You have a shit husband. I am a shit husband. We should stick together, people like you and me.”

The disco is a small place called Lo Asilo with neon blue lights rimming the entrance way like vines laced through a trellis. John orders a Manhattan for himself, goes back and forth with the bartender for a while about the virgin drink options, ends up passing you a non-alcoholic raspberry mojito.

“I love it,” you pronounce after a tentative sip. This kid loves fruit. And sugar. And you feel a abrupt groundswell of affection for that sometimes inconvenient, frequently anxiety-inducing little person who temporarily shares your blood and bones: who they are, who they one day will be. These moments are coming more and more often, as your future solidifies in some ways and becomes more imprecise in others.

“You’re almost halfway done,” John says, pointing at your belly like he can read your mind.

You sigh. “Do we have to talk about me?”

“We definitely can’t talk about me.” He studies you for a moment, makes mental notes like someone browsing through archaeological artifacts in a museum. Then he realizes: “You don’t want to have to stay home.”

You nod, downing your sort-of-mojito. No offense, kid, but I could really use some mind-numbing inebriation right now.

“Because you don’t trust him...?”

“It’s not quite that,” you reply. “I can’t stand the thought of not being there if something happened to him. If something happened to any of you. If I wasn’t there to at least try to help and someone ended up...you know...” Goddammit, I’m so much more sensitive these days. You force it out. “If someone ended up dying, I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

“No one’s going to die, love,” he says gently.

“People die all the time. Especially rock stars. Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Murcia, McIntosh, Bolin. I could go on. There will be more names a year from now. Maybe some we recognize.”

“What do you want me to do? You want me to haul him off to rehab? You want me to handcuff him to his hotel bed every night we’re on tour? I’ll do it if you think that would help. I’ll do whatever you want. Obviously I don’t want to lose him either. But I’ve never known Roger to be someone you could force into anything.”

“No, he’s definitely not,” you agree softly, in surrender.

The opening notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way rumble from the stereo. John knocks back the end of his Manhattan and sets the glass on the bar.

“Alright, congratulations, you get your wish.” He grins, holding out his hand. “We don’t have to talk about you anymore.”

“I’m warning you, I am zero percent graceful in my current state.”

“I’ll manage somehow.”

“Loving you

Isn't the right thing to do

How can I ever change things

That I feel?”

John leads, pushing through the crowd to a spot near the center of the kaleidoscopic dance floor. Then he knots his fingers through yours, sways with the music, dances comically sluggishly as you struggle to keep up, twirls you randomly until you’re giggling against him, blushing and not thinking about Roger or the tour or your impending career change at all; and you suspect John isn’t thinking about Veronica either. You belt out the lyrics at the top of your lungs, flouncing around like an extremely ungainly Stevie Nicks, and after a moment John joins you, pumping his fist in the air:

“You can go your own way

Go your own way

You can call it

Another lonely day...”

And it feels good. It feels more than good. It feels almost like being free.

Lindsay Buckingham’s guitar solo splits through the fog-filled room, and your smile begins to fade, recedes like the frothing ocean waves at low tide. And you think, more clearly and more inauspiciously than you ever have in your life: Something’s wrong.

The body knows when it nears catastrophe. There’s a primal dread that sparks up in the blood and nerves and endocrine system, seeps from your pores like smoke, cloaks you in that bleak, biological premonition. Dogs can smell it, can be trained to alert people before that nascent calamity manifests into a cardiac arrest or diabetic coma or asthma attack or stroke; and humans can feel it when that inevitable devastation creeps close enough, when it sharpens its fangs and scrapes them down the jugular. You’ve never truly been able to understand that before. But you recognize it now.

There’s cold sweat springing up on your skin like goosebumps. There’s a stormy rush of blood pounding in your ears. You can’t remember the name of the club, the city, the type of car Roger bought you for Valentine’s Day, the stone gleaming in your ring. The air that you wrench into your lungs is thin and fleeting, without the relief of oxygen. There’s an indescribably heavy iron twist of fear buried in your guts.

John freezes in the middle of the dance floor. “What?” he asks, alarmed.

There’s pain; sudden, sharp, low. Your eyes follow it. There’s blood snaking down your bare thighs. There’s indigo darkness crumbling around the edges of your vision as you sink to the floor. Your knees bruise against cold tile.

Someone is screaming for help; you aren’t sure who. But you reach for them, because they sound so irrevocably strong, because they sound like home. Your fingertips collide with John’s leather jacket.

“Make it stop,” you choke out through bared teeth, as claws of glass and barbed wire tear at where your future once lived. The agony is unnatural, razored, almost surgical.

“I can’t. Here, we’re gonna get you help, hold on, hold on to me—”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you sob into John’s neck. His skin is stubbled and dusted with nicotine and flare-hot. He’s trying to drag you to your feet, shouting over his shoulder for someone to call an ambulance. “I don’t want this anymore, I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to see the world. I want to go home.”

“Don’t say that, everything’s going to be okay, they’re coming, listen to me, listen to me, I’m going to get you help—”

“It’s too late,” you whisper. And every light in the world blinks out.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 16th, 1978, and you’re not pregnant at all.

You’re a registered nurse, and so you understand perfectly the terms that the doctors use when they explain to you why it happened, after they do the ultrasound to make sure the miscarriage was complete; when they tell you why it was doomed from the start. Stage 4 endometriosis. Placental abruption. Difficult to conceive, nearly impossible to carry to term. An open and shut case. That’s the genetic lottery, and some people roll straight sevens, blood-red sevens rimmed with fool’s gold.

What you have a harder time understanding is how this could have happened to you. How is it possible to have all of that organic poison building inside of you, all that latent ruin, and yet not know it? To have never had any symptoms besides slightly-more-annoying-than-average periods? To have a nursery set up in one of the five extraneous bedrooms—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper, to be exact—with a crib your child will never use, never peer out of with their tiny fists curled around the wooden bars, never cry out to you in the middle of the night from? To have a list of names scribbled on a notepad stuck to the refrigerator—Roger favors deeply Anglophile possibilities like Arthur and Jasper and Alice, while you tend towards names with a Southern European flair like Aurelia, Callista, Felix, Augustus, although you both quite like the idea of incorporating some variation of John—that you suddenly have no use for? To have to inform your husband, your parents, your friends that there is no baby, that there most likely never will be, and that it’s entirely your fault: So terribly sorry, due to a genetic glitch my womb is rendered inhospitable, we’ll have to leave that ultimate trophy of womanhood off the shelf indefinitely I’m afraid.

You’re in and out through the night. The dreams are murky and fragmented and ominous, jolting you awake four times an hour. John never leaves, except to periodically phone the Surrey house from the nurse’s station. And there’s pain now, of course, even through the haze of the morphine drip—your uterus cramping down to collapse the void, your head splitting from the shock and hormonal bedlam—but it’s almost like that pain belongs to someone else, someone you might have heard of but don’t know especially well. The pain doesn’t surprise you. What surprises you is the totality of the darkness that rolls over you like a quilt, like a second skin.

Shouldn’t I feel at least some infinitesimal amount of relief, of liberation? Shouldn’t I feel free?

“I don’t feel free,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and very quiet.

“What?” John leans into you, takes your hand in his, lays his palm on your forehead and smooths back your hair. Harsh morning sunlight streams in through the window. “What did you say?”

“I don’t feel free at all. I just feel empty.”

His greyish eyes are slick and anguished. “I am so fucking sorry,” he says, his voice breaking.

You whisper: “He’s never going to be able to love me now.”

“Shhhhh, don’t,” John pleads. “He’s always loved you. As much as he can, and in the way that he can.”

“You’ve been here all night.”

“Of course.” And he hasn’t managed to tell Roger. Which means Roger hasn’t come home yet.

You shake your head groggily. “No, you have your own family. You have to go home.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says tersely.

“John, you have to go home. You have to call at least. Veronica could have gone into labor or something.”

“No, seriously, it’s fine, she pops out one a year no problem. I’m staying.”

A scalding tear slinks down your cheek. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“They must have you on a lot of drugs.”

You laugh, then begin to cry.

“Hey, don’t do that, please don’t do that, shhhh...”

John climbs into the hospital bed and you fold into him, burrow into his warmth that smells like cigarettes and dusky cologne and Manhattans, sob against his chest as he locks his arms around you and pulls you in until there’s no space, no air, no line between you at all.

“You have to be okay,” he murmurs, his lips to your forehead. “I need you to be okay for me. Because when I was messed up I didn’t get better for me, I didn’t do it for me, I got better for you. So now you need to get better too, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, not meaning it at all.

And he makes you promise again and again until you drift back to sleep with his steady heartbeat drumming against your palm, just loud enough to keep the dreams away.

~~~~~~~~~~

John finally reaches Roger at 9:47 a.m. Roger arrives at the hospital twenty minutes later, his hair a chaotic tangle, his eyes shielded by prescription sunglasses, still wearing the sapphire blue suit he left the house in the night before, his tie undone and several buttons missing from his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Roger begins. “I was at this party and met some guys who wanted to collaborate on my solo album, and it turned into a whole...oh, fuck, it doesn’t matter. Is she—?”

John grabs him, pushes him against the hallway wall, yanks off Roger’s sunglasses and pries open his eyes. Roger flinches, but doesn’t struggle.

“What—?”

“I’m making sure you’re not high.” John observes normal pupils and shoves Roger away, disgusted. “Get in there. She needs you.”

“You’ve done a lot for us,” Roger says.

“It’s mutual.”

“Thank you.” There are tears in Roger’s crystalline blue eyes. “Thank you so much, John.”

John nods towards the hospital room. “Just go.”

She wakes up when she hears the door open, and she knows it’s Roger instantly. Of course she does. Everyone knows the way a room changes when Roger walks into it, the way he lights up people and places like wildfire, the way he gets humans addicted to his innate magnetism the same way some are hooked on coke or alcohol or heroin. John isn’t that kind of man, and he knows it. He will never be that kind of man.

“I’m so sorry,” she tells Roger.

Roger shakes his head, cradling her face in his hands. “Baby, I’m not mad. I don’t blame you. I’m not mad at you.”

John watches as she explains everything, as Roger embraces her, as he says all the right things, all those beautiful and hopeful and effortlessly spellbinding things, as she begins—slowly, yes, but unmistakably—to light up again like rising sunlight glinting off quicksilver waves.

And only then does John leave.

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unsettledink · 3 years

Text

Gotcha Chapter 6!

(Trying something new and posting the full text here as well as AO3? It feels too long, but I’ve posted longer things here before, Idk.)

Read on AO3

Peter: sorry im on my way!

Peter: iswear im just running late

Peter: i will be there supr fast!!

Peter: sorry!

Quentin stares down at his phone and somehow, manages not to sigh. It’s a full ten minutes past when they were supposed to meet, and he doesn’t even want to be here in the first place.

Quentin: Don’t worry, it’s fine.

Peter: im sosorry

Peter: my alarm got set for tomorroow instead of today

Peter: i dont even know how

Peter: adn i just woke up and i dont even sleep this late like ever

Peter: but i willl bet there soon i promise

Peter: sorry!

Quentin: Really, it’s fine! There’s no hurry.

Quentin: We’re not exactly on a schedule or anything.

Peter: its so rude tho

Peter: for once it wast me losingt rack of time!!

Peter: im still sorry!

Quentin had given himself a little extra time this morning, just to remind himself of all the many, many reasons he is doing this, in this particular way. Had spent that time summoning up every bit of patience he could find to get through this day, because he had a feeling he was going to need it.

It feels like he’s already used half of it.

And of course he won’t be able to comment on Peter’s lateness, not even as a joke.

Peter: im like hafway there already illl just have to chagne and then ill be there!

Peter: seriously i am so sorry

Normally he’d be all for hearing Peter apologize, but it keeps happening every other word, Quentin will lose his mind.

He’s already losing his mind.

Well, he’s not going to just stand here until Peter does show up. He glances around for somewhere to sit; there’s a coffee shop just across the street. Perfect. He’s going to need that.

Quentin: Hey, don’t rush!

Quentin: I’ll just grab a coffee okay?

Quentin: I’ll be over at Kaldi’s, it’s just across the street. Can’t miss it.

Quentin: You want anything?

Peter: you dont haveto!

There’s no stopping the sigh this time. God.

Quentin: Not what I asked, kiddo.

Peter: um

Peter: suure?

Peter: someting with carmel i dont care mych

Peter: ill be there realy soon tho!!

Quentin: Then we can just sit for a bit.

Quentin: You’ll probably need it if you just woke up.

It’s a little funny how… drastically downgraded Peter’s texting is when he’s apparently still half asleep. Or maybe it’s just that he’s in a hurry. Or—

Quentin nearly stops in the middle of the sidewalk. He— surely, Peter isn’t—

Quentin: Are you texting AND webswinging?

Peter: …maybe?

No wonder he goes through phones so fast.

Quentin: You’re going to drop your phone

Peter: hey! imst icky! i wont drop it!

Quentin: Then you’re going to fall from being distracted

Quentin: And I won’t feel sorry for you.

Peter: :(

Quentin: I’ll laugh

Peter: :( :( :(

Quentin: You brought this on yourself.

He spends the time until Peter gets there reviewing Lynn’s newest plans for the miniaturized drones; they actually aren’t too bad.

Of course, they’ve probably had them sitting, waiting, for months, what with how they’ve harped on and on about how this should be a priority.

It won’t do to let them get too full of themselves, so along with the praise he sends back plenty of potential revisions. Even brings up some entirely new bits for them to consider; should keep them busy for a bit.

“Hi!” Peter says, flinging himself down across from Quentin. He’s flushed and still out of breath, his hair sticking up. “I’m here! I’m so sorry!”

Quentin allows himself a slightly amused smile. “Hi,” he says. Pushes Peter’s drink—some sort of ridiculously sweet caramel flavored thing that’s barely coffee at all—across the table to him. “Sit. Drink. Relax a bit, okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, running a hand through his hair and only making things worse. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry, though. I’m just… it’s really embarrassing to be that late when this was my idea in the first place and—”

“Peter,” Quentin says, cutting him off. “Breathe! It’s fine, I promise.”

For once, Peter listens, and takes a deep breath, holding it in for a moment. Lets it out and relaxes the smallest bit, and grabs his drink. “Oh,” he says. “This is good! Thanks; you were right about me needing it.”

Quentin watches while he unwinds; Peter’s latest idea regarding ‘things they could do together’ was to show Quentin around Queens, so today they’re wandering. Quentin’s thrilled.

It could be worse. Peter had been all set up to take him to the most popular, well known, touristy spots, and Quentin had barely been able to hide his dread at the thought. It’d taken a little work, but he’d manage to convince Peter that Quentin would much rather see Peter’s favorite places. Even if they were nothing fancy or exciting, or little hole in the wall type places, or silly.

Even if they bored Quentin to tears.

Not that he can let Peter see even a hint of that. There’s a special kind of… vulnerability in sharing the smallest things you like, something different than exposing the larger, more damaged pieces of yourself. Something oddly hopeful about showing someone the unexplainable, intimate things you like and waiting for them to enjoy those things as well. Or at the very least, not reject them, in a way that suggests they’re rejecting your tastes as well.

Not rejecting you.

He’s started to prove to Peter he can handle the bigger things, the superhero stuff and the feelings nearly suffocating Peter; time to show that he can be trusted with the little things too. That Peter can come to Quentin with anything at all. Anything. Everything.

“So,” Quentin says. “What’s first?”

He was right; it is pretty boring. Not… awful, surprisingly, but not Quentin’s sort of thing at all. Peter’s apparently decided to try and cover as many miles as he can in one day, dragging Quentin from one end of Queens to the other. And then back; Quentin’s going to take tomorrow off for sure. Peter just has so much energy.

Has so much enthusiasm, Quentin thinks, as they poke through a small used record store that isn’t nearly as hipster as he expected from Astoria. So, so much enthusiasm, for the smallest things. It just bursts out of him once he gets comfortable and isn’t second guessing every single word he says.

Once Quentin has seemed interested in the first few things Peter shows him. Peter’s nervous about it, trying to explain away any shortcomings before Quentin’s even gotten in the door. He’s just desperate for approval, for acceptance. For Quentin to like him.

It’s not that hard to, actually.

It’s never been that Quentin dislikes Peter. Sure, Peter’s causing him grief and can be incredibly annoying, and sure, about half of what he feels for Peter is pity, but those can exist alongside the fact that Quentin kind of likes Peter.

Has liked him, ever since he started compiling research on him, ever since he’d met Peter as Mysterio and shook his hand and watched him get so excited over the existence of multiverse. It’s harder not to like Peter, not even a bit. He’s ridiculously smart, and stupidly good-natured, and—

He throws himself into everything he does; goes full out, with his heart on his sleeve. It’s no wonder he gets anxious as hell, if his first impulse is to practically flaunt all his soft spots, open and eager and expecting the best. It’s going to go poorly more often than not.

Must have, judging by the way Peter pulls himself in and hides, overrides that instinctual reaction so quickly it’s just a flash, a glimpse Quentin keeps catching again and again. He’s been taught to second guess himself somewhere along the way, by someone—probably a lot of someones—who saw those tender spots and couldn’t help poking them, taking advantage of them.

Just like Quentin’s doing; Peter should be better about spotting that sort of thing by now.

It’s almost a shame to fix Peter just to tear him apart completely, to have to use him like this, but… well. In the end, Peter’s nothing but another obstacle scattered in Quentin’s path. There are far more important things to worry about than the fate of one kid.

Peter grins at him when Quentin admits that this dinky little secondhand bookstore in Jamaica was worth a stop, even if it’s just for the most comfortable couch Quentin has ever sat on. Smiles when he points out a mural he loves on the way to the next attraction and admits he’d actually webbed up someone who started to tag it.

Straight up laughs at Quentin’s face when Peter shows him the most supremely creepy things in some huge thrift store, full of weird antiques and vintage crap. God, it’s disturbing that the things Quentin had as a kid, even as a teen, are considered vintage now.

“Jesus, Peter,” Quentin says after he has to look at a one hundred percent haunted taxidermied squirrel. “Why would you make me see that? I’m going to have nightmares.”

“For that exact face,” Peter says. “Oh my god, you look like you think it’s going to bite you!”

“It might,” and it’s unfair that Peter just laughs harder. He glares at Peter, but it might be slightly put on.

He’s allowed to like Peter a little, Quentin decides, watching Peter nearly double over with giggles. It’ll make having to deal with him easier, if nothing else, and it’s not as though liking someone has ever stopped him from using them—even disposing of them—in the past. It sure won’t this time.

They wander some more, Peter chattering on and easily filling the silence as long as Quentin remembers to make the appropriate listening noises occasionally. Every now and then, Peter hesitates, a nervous stumble in his words, something throwing him off, and Quentin reengages fully. He can’t afford to let Peter get too caught up in his thoughts.

But a few questions—carefully designed to make Quentin seem far more interested than he is—are enough to get Peter going again, bouncing from place to place until Quentin suggests they could use something to eat.

“Oh my god, yes,” Peter says. “I’m starving and didn’t even realize it. Ooo, last time we were down here, Ned and I found this awesome truck that does crazy good Korean barbeque, you’d love it.”

“No,” Quentin says without thinking, the sweet tart burnt smell so strong he can nearly taste it, can feel it stinging when he draws in a breath.

He twitches, shrugging it off, and tries to walk back how sharp that had come out. “Uh, I’m not big on sweet sauces and meat?” he says. “Got another recommendation?”

Peter drags him to a place that has the weirdest chimichanga combinations—and normal ones too, thankfully—and once again, attempts to pay.

“You know,” Quentin says as he pokes Peter out of the way, immensely irritated that Peter is still pushing him on this. “I didn’t realize your memory was this bad.”

“Hey!” Peter says. “It’s not! What are you talking about?” like that doesn’t prove Quentin’s point exactly.

“I seem to remember a bet I won,” he says, “relating to this exact situation.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it. “Um,” he says.

“Yeah,” Quentin says,raising his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Peter says, “okay, you can’t blame me for trying!”

“Hmmm,” Quentin says, passing over one of the foam trays. “You’re forgiven. This time. Just don’t do it again.” It’s always a good idea to get Peter into the habit of following Quentin’s rules, of remembering not to challenge Quentin too much.

Of remembering that Quentin will forgive him anything, easily.

“Fine,” Peter says through a mouthful, so mature.

They eat on the way to the next stop on Peter’s little tour; Quentin had been hoping they were approaching the end, but when Peter looks at him and asks, so hesitantly, if Quentin is tired and wants to call it a day—

Well he can’t say no.

Quentin finds himself dragged on to little half hidden shops, with any signage and down stairs that Quentin has to ask how Peter could have found in the first place. To statues Peter likes, to places he feeds pigeons—why he’d want to, Quentin doesn’t know—places with great views of the Hudson.

And, over and over, once Quentin catches on and starts pushing it, places to eat. Because Peter’s metabolism is a thing of wonder.

It’s interesting watching Peter banter back and forth with an older man about his sandwich; Quentin had gotten the impression Peter was uneasy around strangers, all his awkwardness amping up. But the way Peter’s interacted with people today is much more relaxed, much easier. Peter has a sharp sense of humor that Quentin has only started to see, as Peter gets comfortable around him.

Why do all these strangers get it right off the bat?

He watches Peter dart over to help get a stroller over a curb and— they’re not strangers. Not really. It’s not just that everywhere they’ve gone is somewhere Peter has been again and again, to the point where he knows people.

This is Peter’s home ground. His comfort zone, and the people in it— they’re his people. And when he’s helping them, his nerves disappear. His awkwardness becomes a tool of its own, disarming, downplaying the threat Peter could so easily be.

This is what he wants to be when he’s Spider-Man; the guy on the street, helping in a hundred tiny ways.

That’s fine with Quentin. Perfectly fine; now how does he get Peter to stay there, with EDITH looming over his head?

He can practically hear that in William’s voice, ugh. He’s working on it.

They wind up in Kissena late in the afternoon, almost early evening, really. Peter steps off the path once they get into one of the more wooded areas, and there’s a grassy spot past a few bushes, with a truly massive tree near the center, smaller ones scattered around it. It’s well hidden.

“Alright,” Quentin says, as he has with every other place, “what's the story behind this? How’d you find it?”

“So, when I got bit, when everything changed?” Peter settles down at the base of the tree, cross legged. “One of the things that was like, a huge pain, was how all of my senses got crazy amplified. Everything was turned up to eleven, you know?”

Quentin sits across from Peter, stretching his legs out as he leans back. Ugh, grass; he’d better not end up with bug bites. “Okay,” he says. “Sounds like that was pretty overwhelming.”

Peter groans. “You have no idea! It was really hard for a while, because even once I started to get used to everything being too loud and too bright and too smelly and— things tasted weird and my clothes made me feel like my skin was crawling and it was—” He stops, tipping his head back against the tree and looking upward.

“It was a lot,” he says. “Eventually I sorta started being able to deal with all that sort of… feeling stuff? I mean, physical, sensory, not like feeling feelings.”

Coherent; Quentin does not roll eyes through sheer force of will.

“But I was still really struggling with the, um,” Peter frowns, tips his head back further until Quentin can’t really see his face. “The stuff in my head. Actually doing things, thinking about things or even focusing on one thing was all so hard. It was like…”

“It was like what?” Quentin asks, after a few moments have passed.

“Everything was a distraction,” Peter says, slowly. “That’s still not right, because normally, before, I’d get distracted thinking about something else I wanted to do, or I’d be daydreaming, or, um, just, good stuff? Stuff that I’d want to focus on, just not right that second.”

“This wasn’t like this.” Peter looks down and starts to fiddle with a bit of grass, pulling up blades one by one. “This was like so much noise inside my head, like every little detail about every single thing was right there, grabbing my attention. I’d be trying to do one thing and all that would be clamoring at me nonstop.”

He closes his eyes, scrunching his whole face up. “People talk about wanting super sense a lot,” he says, “but it sucked so much at first.”

“People generally don’t think through those kinds of wishes very much,” Quentin says. Honestly, for the most part people don’t think at all.

“I’m pretty much okay now,” Peter says. “I figured out how to filter things most of the time; when there’s a bunch of stuff at once I can get so caught up in trying to ignore it that I ignore everything, and then that’s it’s own problem.”

“I noticed,” Quentin says, dryly. “Makes you pretty jumpy.”

Peter huffs, almost a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, brushing the ripped up grass off his pants. “I’m still working on getting the kinds of focus right?”

Quentin leans further back on his hands, crossing his legs. “You said something about focusing on me that one time,” he says, and Peter goes faintly pink. “That the sort of thing you’re talking about?”

“Something like that,” Peter says. “If I have one thing I can focus on, almost completely, then I can make it into… uh, white noise, I guess? Or it makes everything else into white noise. If that makes any sense at all.”

Not one bit, but whatever. He can press that later. “Sure,” Quentin says, waving his hand. “I’m following.”

It’s actually something to consider— if Peter manages to function better in difficult situations by focusing on one specific thing, what happens when that thing is taken away? Is ripped away from him, in fact. Would there be a moment of disorientation they could take advantage of? Maybe they could set Peter up to focus on what they want; he’s already using Quentin as a focal point, apparently.

He’ll have to watch Peter, Quentin thinks. This fumbling little explanation leaves a lot to be desired, but he doesn’t have much faith Peter actually could explain it better even if he tried.

“That helps,” Peter’s saying, “but it’s still really exhausting after a while. Sometimes I want to just… stop. Just not feel it at all, not have to try not to feel it.”

He glances at Quentin, and Quentin nods. Peter looks oddly shy, so he’d better pay close attention to what he’s showing.

“I’ve found a couple of places like this, but this is probably my favorite,” Peter tells him. “I can come here and actually relax. If I stop trying to block things out, or stop focusing on one thing, it doesn’t matter.” He tips his head back again, looking up at the tree.

“It's quiet here, pretty much all the time,” Peter says; the light through the leaves is diffuse, dappled on his face. “Even the noises that I get are like, soft things. Leaves and wind and things walking on grass. People talking, yeah, but that’s more distant and almost like background noise. It’s still shadowy in here when it’s super bright out, and there aren’t any super gross strong smells either. Just dirt and water and uh, green stuff.”

He darts a glance down at Quentin without moving his head. “Don’t laugh at me!” he says, and it’s right on the edge of plaintive. “I don’t know what else to call it.”

“I’m not,” Quentin says. He understands; it’s not something a city kid would be around that often, would probably even notice without senses like Peter’s. “I wouldn’t. I know what you mean, Peter.”

“Okay,” Peter says. Looks back away from Quentin and then closes his eyes. “It’s nice. And when I have to go back to the real world, it’s not quite as hard to handle.”

Quentin watches him. Watches as he slowly, slowly unwinds. Peter doesn’t move, aside from his head tipping slightly to the side, and Quentin—

He’d thought, earlier, that it was interesting how much Peter loosened up around people he felt comfortable with, places he felt safe. He’d thought it was a large degree of relaxation—and it was—but it was nothing compared to this.

Nothing compared to the way the tension drains from him with each passing second, from every single bit of his body, until he looks calmer than Quentin has ever seen.

Happier.

If this is how he looks when truly relaxed, the level of stress Peter must carry with him every day, everywhere he goes—from the physical tension to the mental, the anxiety, the constant background level of effort that other people don’t have to think about—must be ridiculously high.

He doesn’t want to say anything, do anything, that would break the stillness that seems to have spread over the entire glade. Poor kid. He might be doing a great job at being a pain in Quentin’s ass, but he isn’t cut out for this superhero shit.

Everything Quentin sees just convinced him further that taking EDITH from Peter really is doing him a favor. He’d never intended for that to be true, but— it’s not a terrible byproduct.

Peter sighs eventually, a barely there breath of a thing, opening his eyes halfway. He looks dazed, almost half asleep.

At least, until he notices that Quentin is watching him, and then he flushes. Looks down, the moment dissipating. “Anyway,” Peter says. “It’s— it’s a nice place for me,” like he’s admitting something embarrassing.

“I can tell,” Quentin says, offering him a small smile. “You deal with a lot every day, don’t you.” He shifts against his tree, trying to get more comfortable without Peter noticing and getting all fussy about it.

“I guess,” Peter says.

He picks up a leaf, twirling it through his fingers absently. “It’s getting really frustrating,” he adds. “Because it’s been almost two years, right? So I should have a better handle on this! I shouldn’t still be getting tripped up by such little things. And—” he makes a face, shoulders starting to hunch again.

“So I have this… this sense? Uh, I call it a spidey sense— I know, it’s kind of stupid. It sort of warns me about things? Like someone poking me, or shouting that something bad is about to happen.”

“Mmm, you mentioned that once,” Quentin says. “Sort of like a limited precog?” Honestly, he’d dismissed it— not fully, it wouldn’t do to completely dismiss anything about Peter. But it hadn’t seemed like it did much for Peter in Europe.

And it hadn’t picked up anything about Quentin, so how good could it really be?

“Oh, huh,” Peter says. “I hadn’t really thought of it like that? Maybe, but it’s not very exact. Sometimes it’s super obvious, but others it takes me a while to figure out what’s wrong. And lately, especially, it’s been— it’s gone kinda nuts? I don’t feel like I can trust it anymore.”

“Like, like right now?” he adds. “Right now it’s just going off like something really big and bad is happening, but come on!” He throws his hands up, exaggerated. “We’re just sitting here talking! Nothing, literally nothing bad is happening. It’s freaking out for no reason.”

Fuck.

Maybe he really shouldn’t have dismissed it, Quentin thinks, trying to stay as relaxed as he was a moment ago. Maybe he really fucking shouldn’t have, because some part of Peter knows that Quentin’s not good news. Knows that Quentin is something dangerous, is a threat.

And apparently knows it very, very insistently. Oh, fuck, this is the last thing he needs. Why now? Why is Peter’s sense losing its shit now and not at any time in Europe? What has he done differently to set it off?

God, what if it had been going off then too? Could that be why Peter had backed off at the last second in the bar, EDITH almost in Quentin’s hand? Has Peter been feeling this the entire time?

It’s a good thing he doesn’t seem to be listening to it, but that could stop at any second. At any time, Peter could decide that maybe his stupid ‘spider sense’ isn’t wrong, and that would be— that would be bad. That would be so bad.

Quentin has got to figure out how to make sure Peter keeps dismissing what it’s telling him.

“It’s so annoying,” Peter’s saying. “I wish it would stop, would just shut up already. It’s like this constant thing lately, sort of fading in and out but almost always there, but not a single thing has happened!”

Oh, that’s really, really not great. Almost always? In and out? How long will it take before Peter starts to realize it’s linked to Quentin?

No. No, he can fix this. He can nip this in the bud, before Peter has even a hint of suspicion. Peter’s already trying to ignore it, already annoyed by it. Quentin can use that.

“Maybe it’s just confused?” Quentin brings one knee up and rests his elbow on it, letting his arm dangle oh so casually. “After all,” he adds, “I’m hardly a bad thing, am I?”

Peter smiles, all that irritation gone in a second. “No!” he says. “Of course not! You’re like, the least bad thing that’s happened in a while.”

Quentin grins back at him. Yeah, keep thinking that, kid. “Well that’s a relief!” he says. “How finely tuned is this thing anyway? Could something have… I don’t know, damaged it? Hmm, screwed up its baseline, maybe? How do you even recalibrate it?”

“I have no clue,” Peter says. “I mean, it’s not like I can’t really test it or fix it or whatever. It’s practically useless now.”

Perfect; he wants Peter distrusting this sense. Wants him not thinking about it at all, avoiding the topic entirely— ah.

If he can get Peter thinking his damaged sense has something to do with the fights he’s been in, these bigger battles, that would be ideal. Peter’s already trying hard not to think about those; tie this sense to them as well, and he’ll just have even more reason to avoid both

“Could something have overloaded it?” Quentin asks. “Just completely swamped it, and it hasn’t recovered yet? If it got used to there being danger nonstop, on all sides, maybe it can’t stand down.”

“…maybe?” Peter says. “But I don’t know what would have caused that, or even when. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

What.

Really, Quentin thinks, really? Peter can’t think of anything that would fit? Why wouldn’t he think of that? “Nothing?” he says, quietly.

Peter frowns. Takes a moment, and when he opens his mouth, Quentin is almost sure he’s made the connection; but Peter hesitates. Shrugs. “Not anything that’s like, major or a big deal or anything,” he says.

Does Peter— has he really managed to convince himself that all the fighting he’s done is nothing? Or at least, been trying to, because that hesitation says a lot.

He should have expected this, with the way Peter’s consistently downplayed himself so far. He really should have, but somehow it still annoys him. No wonder Peter isn’t willing to admit how scared and screwed up he is, if he thinks he’s completely overreacting to ‘no big deal’.

“Well,” Quentin says, and he’s watching Peter carefully. He doesn’t know quite how this will hit. “You were at war, on a battlefield. More than once, even. That can really mess you up in all kinds of ways.” Remember, Peter, he thinks. Remember that you were hurt, that there’s a good reason to be scared. To run.

“I— that—” Peter stares at him. “I wasn’t in a war,” he says. Dammit. Looks like downgrading it in his head is exactly what Peter’s been doing, and that is exactly the opposite of what Quentin wants.

“No? What would you call it?” Quentin asks, raising an eyebrow. He pushes himself more upright, uncrossing his legs. “It sounded a lot like war to me.”

Peter shakes his head, fingers crushing the leaf he’s been playing with. “It was just a fight,” he says, strained. “That’s all!”

A fight. Just a fight, like it was nothing more than a little spat, was nothing at all. Has someone been telling him this, reinforcing it? Fury, maybe, or even Tony before that?

He knows Fury wants Peter to think he can handle things, but has he also been trying to convince him that what he’s been through so far was small enough Peter should have been able to handle it? Should be able to handle the aftereffects? That he shouldn’t be upset about it, that he’s overreacting?

That’s not good; Quentin doesn’t need Peter doubting he can handle things. He needs Peter to be certain he can’t, and more, that it’s perfectly normal. Acceptable. Not something horribly selfish at all.

“Peter,” he says, “it wasn’t just a fight.”

“It was! It was just one— it wasn’t a war!”

“It wasn’t— Peter,” Quentin says, and sighs. “It was a lot more than that. You’ve been dragged from fight to fight to fight the past couple of years, without anyone helping you after; from what I hear, you really could have used some after that thing upstate.”

He huffs, too sharp to be a real laugh. “And that’s just what I know of,” he adds. “I’m not stupid enough to assume that’s everything.”

Peter sucks in a sharp breath, his hands fisted on his thighs. Blinks, and then looks at Quentin intently, his brow furrowed. “How do you even know about that? About— about other fights?”

“I spent some time talking with Fury,” Quentin says. “He wasn’t big on details, but I got enough that I can fill them in on my own. I’m willing to bet he doesn’t even know every fight you’ve been in, though I’m sure he’d like me to think so.”

He’d been talking with Janice, more like. God, she’d been such a find; seething about having had Tony himself be an ass to her, more than once, but willing to stay where she was to pass things on. She’d had access to so much confidential information, and every time SI and SHIELD decided to bury another thing, shift the blame and throw money at it until it all went away—for them, at least—she’d gotten a little more resentful.

It’s true that they might not have the finer details—it drives him nuts how sparse the info about whatever it was that crashed SI’s plane into the beach is—but he has enough to know that Peter’s been involved time and time again.

“Oh,” Peter says, looking down, losing some of his ire. “You probably didn’t hear much good, I bet. But— it doesn’t matter if it was more than one fight, cause they were all different. All like, spread out and about other stuff. It’s still not war.”

“What do you think war is, then?” Quentin asks, actually curious.

“I don’t, uh. War is… more?” Peter stumbles along, and he’s being incredibly stubborn about this. “More than that, than any of those. Worse. Way worse. You don’t— you weren’t there, you don’t know what it was really like. It wasn’t like that.”

“I think,” Quentin says dryly, “I have a pretty good idea of what war is.”

Peter looks absolutely horrified. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “God, I didn’t mean— I’m sorry, I didn’t think— I just, just meant that you were in a war. In a real, horrible, endless one and this…” He shudders. “These were just fights. It’s not the same, it’s not anywhere near as bad.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says. Looks at Quentin and then drops his head into his hands, knees coming up as he curls in on himself. “Fuck, I’m so sorry Quentin, I didn’t mean…”

This is really not what he was going for. Shit, he shouldn’t have said it like that; Peter’s too sensitive for him to be even a little sharp.

Quentin sighs, very softly, though he’s sure Peter still catches it. Pushes himself up onto his feet and walks over to Peter, who doesn’t even look up. “I know you didn’t mean it like that,” Quentin says. “It’s okay, Peter.”

Peter just shakes his head a little; Quentin thinks of sighing again but—somehow—manages to restrain himself. He sits down next to Peter, his back against the tree.

“War doesn’t have to go for a long time to be real,” he says, not looking at Peter. “It doesn’t have to drag on and on for it to still be awful, for it to still affect you,” and Jesus, he’s had to hear shit along those lines so many times. Had to sit there and listen to people be told over and over that what happened to them is worth being fucked up over.

Even if it isn’t. There’s a lot of reasons he never opened his mouth at those meetings, and his disgust at everyone else was the biggest. What a waste of time.

Well. Maybe not. It did give him the material to work Peter over.

“It doesn’t have to be some huge, dramatic battle to qualify,” Quentin says. “It still counts. Pretending it doesn’t doesn’t get it out of your head.” Come on, he thinks, let it be bad, be a nightmare. Admit that there’s a good reason, a real reason, for you to be scared, and then you can back down without shame. Come on, Peter.

“It doesn’t feel like it should count,” Peter says, a bit muffled, head still in his hands. “It wasn’t— lots of people have dealt with so much worse. Something like this, it’s not— it’s not an excuse for, for…”

He doesn’t finish that thought, but Quentin doesn’t need him to. An excuse, hmm? He turns his head toward Peter, just a bit. “Why don’t you want to call it a war?”

Peter lifts his head, arms sliding down to cross across his chest. “Why does it matter to you what I call it?” he asks, and there’s a hint of sharpness in there. Maybe even anger. “Why do you even care if I admit— if I think it’s a war?”

Nice little slip there; isn’t that interesting. Peter does know it was more than a few little fights. He knows, he’s just trying as hard as he can to pretend otherwise. Trying to redirect, as usual, turning the question back on Quentin. Why does it matter, Peter wants to know, and there are so many answers Quentin could give.

It matters because you need to see yourself as badly damaged. Because you need to acknowledge that this is something huge and overwhelming and frightening. Because I need you to start accepting what I say as right, start accepting me as an authority. I need you to not question me.

So many reasons, and he can’t tell Peter any of them. Ugh.

He turns further toward Peter. “Because I think you’re doing yourself a disservice,” Quentin says, tightly, irritation rising up in him. “When you sit there and insist that it’s nothing more than a little fight, when you play it off like it’s nothing— you’re devaluing what you did, and that’s wrong.”

“Don’t act like what you went through, what you did, doesn’t count,” Quentin says, and Peter’s looking over at him, startled. “That it wasn’t brave as hell, and terrifying as hell too.”

Peter stares, his eyes very wide. “I— it’s not like I did more than anyone else there. Than, than anyone else would have.”

“It sounds like you did more than enough,” Quentin says. “And— it doesn’t matter, Peter. It still messes you up. War fucks everyone up. Maybe it didn’t go on long enough for it to really warp your thinking, your morals or empathy or capacity to even feel, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t damage you.”

Peter jerks, sitting up straighter. “I’m not damaged!”

For fuck’s sake.

Quentin has to dig deep for a bit more patience. “Sure you are. Hey, Peter— wait,” he says, watching as Peter shuts down all over again, hurt. “That’s not bad, kid. It’s not an insult. It’s just… you gotta admit that before you can get better.”

Or not, if Quentin gets his way; admitting it might lead to Peter actually getting over his fear and stepping up. But with Quentin around, guiding him along? Peter’s never going to take that admission as anything other than a personal failure.

As just another reason he can’t, and someone else should.

“I don’t know,” Peter mutters. “It doesn’t feel like it should count.”

Quentin watches him for a minute. Leans in, his shoulder bumping against Peter’s. “You’d agree that I’ve been in war, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And that I’m able to judge what is and isn’t war. Right?”

Peter can be smart, sometimes. He sees where this is going. Sighs. “Yeah,” he says.

“Will you—” Quentin pauses, waits until Peter is looking at him. “Can you trust me here, and believe that I mean it when I say what you went through was war?”

Peter blinks, his eyes dropping. He’s silent, and Quentin can feel the muscles of his arm moving as Peter fiddles with something out of sight. “I’ll think about it,” Peter says, which is not quite the response Quentin was hoping for. Still, it’s not another denial. Baby steps.

“I’ll— maybe,” Peter says. “I guess you would know, even if you weren’t there.”

“You should listen to me,” Quentin agrees, leaning a little harder against Peter. “I do know!”

You should listen to me, and only me, he thinks. We’ll get you there, kid.

Peter huffs softly, pushing back against Quentin’s shoulder. “Maybe,” but he’s smiling faintly.

Quentin smiles back; he can accept a maybe, for now.

He’ll get a yes soon enough.

#mysteryspider #spiderio #quenter #quentin beck x peter parker #quentin x peter #mcu #spiderman #gotcha #wip #my work #fanfiction

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captain-kingliamsqueen · 4 years

Text

Diary of A Star Crossed Lover

just a short series...well not really a series...but still a series!, that ive been working on! there are a few series i’’ve had to put on hold as im just not feeling them right now, and i only want to put my best out for you to read! hope you enjoy this series as much as i have enjoyed writing it!

Pairing: Liam x Riley, Liam x MC

Summary: Liam dives into riley most inner thoughts and dreams...

Word Count: 1,822

Masterlist

ASK IF YOU WANT TAGGED! SORRY IF I MISSED ANYONE!

I always notice every single spelling mistake or issue after I’ve posted…so apologies in advance!

Tags aren’t working so I will be tagging in the comments. Ive tried to tag everyone, please don’t hesitate to msg and let me know if i forgot to tag you!

It had been a long day for the Queen in waiting, she had nothing but classes, meetings, anything and everything that could possibly prepare her for being Queen of Cordonia.

Riley was just getting out of the shower when she heard a knock on her bedroom door. Riley wrapped her dressing gown around her then made her way to the door. When she opened the door she was met with Liam's face.

“Liam! Hi” she grinned

“Hi” he blushed realising she was stood in only her dressing gown. “I can go if I’m disturbing you”

“oh be quiet, come in” she smiled as she stepped aside to let him past, shutting the door behind him “Just give me a few minutes” she smiled as she made her way into her bathroom, shutting the door over after her.

Liam looked around at her things scattered across the room, chuckling to himself, this was Riley's room, he most definitely wasn’t surprised at the mess of things.

It was just about a week since Liam had proposed to Riley in new York, since then they had been inseparable.

As Liam went to sit down, he felt something underneath him causing him to move over, he looked over to see a green notebook. He lifted it up and opened the front cover, seeing Riley's name he realised it was some kind of diary…he quickly closed it over again not wanting to intrude on her privacy. It was just then that Riley walked out of the bathroom in some lounge pants and a vest top. She seen Liam just as he was putting the diary back down. Liam knew she had seen him so he mentioned it before she could bring it up.

“I’m sorry…I promise I didn’t read anything, as soon as I seen it was a diary I put it down.”

“it’s alright, I mean, you can read it if you want” she stated as she pulled her hairbrush through her short blonde hair “that’s the diary I kept during the social season and through your engagement to madeleine” she added as she made her way over to him. “so I can guarantee there’s some juicy pages about you” she winked with a grin as she leaned down, placing a kiss on his lips. “you’re going to be my husband; I don’t have anything to hide from you”

“Juicy pages about me you say?” he smirked as he cupped her cheeks in his hands.

“just a few” she giggled before giving him a kiss.“are you staying here tonight?” she asked hopeful that she wasn’t going to have to sleep alone again, she made her way over to her dresser where she started applying her moisturiser.

“I shouldn’t…I can get into a lot of trouble” he whispered as he stood from the sofa and made his way over to her, placing his hands on her waist and pressing his lips to her shoulder.

“that wasn’t a no” she laughed “I understand why, I just…we’re getting married, Liam, we’ve already slept together, we’re going to spend the rest of our lives sleeping together”

“I know…im dying for you to move into my quarters with me…”

“then whats stopping us?”

“the court”

“the court can kiss my ass! You’re the King of Cordonia, you can literally take a man’s life and not get into trouble…but moving in with your fiancé…your soon to be wife is so bad!”

“I know, it’s ridiculous!”

“then do something about it” she smirked as she turned into his hold. “so I’ll ask again…are you staying with me tonight…all night?”

Liam grinned as he looked down at Riley, “yeah…ill stay with you…all night…I promise”

“good, because it’s pretty cold tonight so I’m going to need my human radiator”

“then I am at your service!” he smirked as he crouched and wrapped his arms around her legs and lifted her over his shoulder

“Liam!!” Riley laughed as he made his way over to the bedroom, he dropped her onto the bed with a chuckle .

“I take it, it’s bedtime then?” she smirked

“yes, but we won’t be doing much sleeping” Liam informed with a smirk as he threw himself down beside her. The two spent the remainder of the night entangled in each other.

It was early hours of the morning Liam had awoken and couldn’t get back to sleep. He sighed as he turned onto his side, Riley's diary caught the corner of his eye. He stretched as he sat himself up then lifted the leather book. He put his reading glasses on then opened it.

June 12th

Dear Diary…

Some days are easy some days are tough. Today was one of those tough days…For years I have suffered from anxiety…questioning every little thing I say or do, or things that other people say and do to me. I awoke this morning and I felt so mentally drained, I didn’t want to get out of bed, I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want to do anything. I couldn’t do anything.

What I find strange…what annoys me the most, is I know I shouldn’t dwell on things that have happened, I know I shouldn’t dwell on the past, I cant change anything so why let it get me down…but that feeling of anxiousness, dread and fear just takes over not just your head but your whole body, you feel so tired and drained, you feel awful, but there’s nothing you can do to change it, just end up falling into a deeper hole, the more you think about it. I just want to have one full day where I don’t feel like shit, 24 hours where I can just be happy and not overthink EVERYTHING! …Maybe one day.

Love you Muchly, Riley

Liam's heart sank as he read about Riley's struggles. Liam looked over at his wife, he gently tucked a fallen piece of hair behind her ear as she slept. “I love you” he whispered. He flipped the page over then grinned when he seen the date

June 13th

Dear Diary

I met the most AMAZING man! Liam…His name was Liam. The second I seen him, I felt like my heart stopped…how can you feel that way about a total stranger…then he spoke and I nearly fell right into his arms, I could barely talk! It honestly felt like I was talking to someone I had known for years. After my shift, Liam asked if I could show them wheres good to go in town, instead I took them to the cove on the beach, it was amazing, Drake was building fires, Maxwell was running rampant, and Liam and I got the spend some more time together. conversation with him was so easy, when he told me he wanted to see the statue of liberty before he left for Cordonia, oh did I forget to mention…hes a king…A KING!, I couldn’t pass up the chance to fulfil a dream! Especially one of Liam's! we kissed…Liam and I Kissed…sparks everywhere, it was like electricity flowed through us it was crazy…my heart was pounding in my chest, I’m surprised he didn’t hear it! it was the most amazing Kiss ive ever had!...but now…he’s gone…gone to get married…and whoever it is that gets the privilege of being his wife…well she’s the luckiest woman in the world and she better cherish him because he’s a damn good egg!

Love you Muchly, Riley x

Liam's cheeks had flustered, reading Riley's first thoughts about him.

“Liam?” Riley questioned as she turned over realising he wasn’t sleeping.

“I’m here sweetheart, go back to sleep”

“what are you doing up?”

“I woke and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I’m doing a little light reading” he grinned, Riley shuffled closer to her, pulling the duvet over her a little more.

“did you start from the beginning?” she asked as she sat up and lifted his arm, ducking her head under it to cuddle into him.

“of course” he replied as he held her a little tighter

“it was like electricity flowed through us, it was crazy…my heart was pounding in my chest, I’m surprised he didn’t hear it! It was the most amazing kiss I’ve ever had”

Riley blushed as she buried her face into his chest.

“I didn’t need to hear it…I felt it” he grinned as he lifted her hand in his and placed it over his heart.

“and I want you to know, that if you ever feel anxious, or like your having a bad day, I want you to tell me…I want you to confide in me, because I will ALWAYS be here for you no matter what, if I have to drop a meeting at last minute…I will, if I have to cancel an outing to help you…I will, being queen is going to be one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, it may not seem like it from all the pleasantries, but I can tell you right now, it’s the most stressful job to have bestowed upon you, you will need someone to confide in, and I am more than happy to be that someone, whether it be country related or just in our personal lives, I will be here for you no matter what. I love you Riley, I have from the minute I met you” he whispered

“I love you so much” she replied in the same tone.

Liam closed the diary over and placed it back on the side table, then he scooted back down to lay down properly as Riley done the same. The two cuddled together as they fell back to sleep.

The next morning Riley groaned as she turned over pulling the duvet around her to keep her warm, as she went to cuddled into Liam, she was met with an empty bed, she frowned as her eyes flickered open and seen Liam was gone. Riley sighed as she climbed from the bed, pulling her robe on along with her slippers, then she made her way towards the bathroom, picking up everything she needed for her morning shower on the way. Riley walked in, shutting the door behind her, she removed her slippers then her robe as she turned around, she squealed seeing a very naked Liam in the shower smirking.

“JESUS! FOR GODSAKES LIAM I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU! YOU’RE LUCKY I DIDN’T HAVE ANYTHING IN MY HANDS TO HIT YOU WITH!”

Liam laughed as he poked his head out. “it was too funny! Your face has literally made my day! will you come join me?” he reached his hand out to her.

Riley agreed as she took his hand and stepped into the shower.

“you’re an asshole! I thought you left me in the middle of the night”

“I told you I wouldn’t leave, I promised!” he laughed as Riley stood under the falling water.

“I know, and I believed you, but then I woke up to an empty bed and I thought you left.” She frowned as she wrapped her arms around his chest.

“hey…” Liam whispered “have I ever broke my promises to you?”

“no”

“then you have no reason to doubt me” he smiled as he leaned down to place a kiss on her head.

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angerissuesandrews · 4 years

Text

Hello! Welcome to the Reddie Fic Rec!

Please make sure you read all tags on fics before reading!

Have fun and enjoy :)))

Created by Evan (@iwannadie4000 on tiktok)

And special thanks to Charlie (@hippityhoppe on tiktok) for helping!

*CLICK HERE FOR THE GOOGLE DOC REC LINK!*

1. ON POINTE

by tossertozier (rednoseredhair); Explicit (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12519724

“Eddie was a freshman at Boston University of the arts, majoring in dance with a concentration in ballet. He went to sleep early, woke up earlier & took nothing for granted. He fucking hated his dorm neighbors, loud, obnoxious idiots who got drunk all the time. They didn't even know where the library on campus was. He didn't have any idea how the three of them, especially the one with curly hair, even GOT into that school.

2. BRIGHT AS YELLOW

by speakslow; Mature (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12786678

Highschool AU, Richie’s loud Eddie’s annoyed what do you expect

3. WONDER VIOLET

by belby; Mature (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13179045

Eddie’s friends with Richie’s sister ,,, you know what happens

4. GO WEST

by ssstrychnine; Teen and Up Audiences

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12327069

“1996: Richie and Eddie finish school, drive to San Francisco, change their lives ft. hair braiding, a fake las vegas wedding, waterfalls, bumper cars, and approx. 3300 miles.”

5. I LEFT MY UMBRELLA AT HOME

by hippityhoppy; Mature (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22775233

“By 1996, the Losers are well into college. As they often do, life and time have distanced them in more ways than one. Richie, in an attempt to cling to the normalcy of the past in what feels like a steep slope into a downward spiral, ends up on an unfamiliar doorstep of an all too familiar friend. As if Eddie didn't have to deal with enough on his own plate. The both of them, they quickly come to find out, are unprepared for the storms to come.”

6. LOVESONG (A SERIES)*

by WaxAgent; Mature-Explicit (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/series/852234

“They're all connected, sure, but nothing comes close to the iron bonds between Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak; they have their ups and their downs, but they always have each other. A look at their lives from leaving Derry to being dragged back by a promise than both of them had long forgotten.”

*(OKAY EVAN HERE!!! I LOVE THIS FIC/SERIES SO MUCH BUT IN PART 2 IT HAS A STRANGER THINGS CROSSOVER WITH MIKE AND EL BUT I SAY SKIP THAT AND GO ON YOU DON'T MISS MUCH AND WE ALL KNOW IM SO ANTI-CROSSOVER OKAY BYE)

7. WHENEVER I’M ALONE WITH YOU

by stellarbisexual; Explicit (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182691

“Losers in college. Richie's in an alternative rock band, and Eddie has flung himself into the queer scene.”

8. SAY THAT YOU’LL STAY

by speakslow; Explicit (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12474044

“Richie works at a shitty amusement park for the summer and meets some new friends. Set in 1997”

9. STAY FOR THE STORM

by inoubliable; Explicit (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15442848

“Richie and Eddie had become friends almost on sight. Since they met, most of Eddie's time in Los Angeles has involved Richie in some way.

It's a little different, now that they're both famous.

It's a little different, now that they're sleeping together.

Well, to be fair, they've been sleeping together for a long time, but. No one knows, not even their friends. Eddie has been very careful about that. It's just not the sort of publicity he needs.

So when Beverly calls him that sunny Thursday morning, the last thing he expects her to say is, ‘You're fucking Richie?’”

10. COFFEE AND CARNIVAL BEARS

by StarshipDancer; Teen and Up Audiences

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12325209

“‘Eddie Kaspbrak knew how many germs were in a person’s mouth, and he would only swap spit with his fucking soulmate.’

Finding your soulmate should be pretty straightforward, but not for Eddie. Not when there were two possible candidates, and he had no idea which one it fucking was.”

11. LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE BOY(S)

by Kandakickas; Teen and Up Audiences

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12372279

“In which Richie and Eddie go to different colleges, and all of their friends are curious about their unnamed significant others - right up until those significant others come to visit and everyone is both shocked and confused.”

12. MEET ME HALFWAY

by ShowMeAHero; Explicit (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667038

“‘Richie,’ Mike says sharply. “Who are you with? Why are you in Derry?”

‘Tell him,’ Eddie whispers again.

‘Is that Eddie?’ Mike asks.

‘Tell him, Richie,’ Eddie says again, louder.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Mike says, and Richie snaps, throwing his phone hard at the kitchen wall opposite them. The back smashes and the battery falls into a bowl soaking in the sink. There’s a beat of silence where Eddie and Richie stare at the battery floating in the soapy water.

‘Good work, Kobe,’ Eddie says.”

13. DREAMBOAT

by weepies; Not Rated

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14073438

“‘What are you? A third grader? What the fuck is this?’ Eddie asks. He looks at Richie, confused.

‘A list of fun stuff to do, duh. Can’t you read? I thought you were studying creative writing.’ Eddie glares at Richie, who raises his hands in surrender as he chuckles. ‘Okay, okay. Hear me out. Your professor tells you to write what you know, and you said you don’t know anything. Well, sugar, here’s your opportunity to learn something about yourself.’

Dumbfounded, Eddie cannot tear his eyes away from Richie, his mouth agape. ‘You’re insane,’ Eddie says.

‘And proud,’ Richie replies.

...

In which Eddie Kaspbrak is a writer with no ideas, and Richie Tozier is a coffee shop employee bursting with creativity.”

14. TO THE GUY AT THE BUS STOP:

by Ragno; Explicit (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12809109

“The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, especially if the other side of the fence is Ireland and the grass is Eddie living his own life for the first time ever away from his mom. An International Students Exchange Program is what he needs to finally stand up for himself and doing what he really wants. Who cares if he won't know anybody there? Who cares if he'll be alone in a foreign country? Who cares if he won't have his car and will need to take the bus to go anywhere?? Okay, maybe Eddie does care about that last one…But, hey, at least the real grass is really greener there. Right?”

15. CLOSER THAN MOST

by tozierbraks; Mature (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14934062/chapters/34598660

“Richie was panting slightly when he reached out an arm and grasped the man’s shoulder a little too hard. He spun rapidly, stumbling backwards away from Richie, his deep brown eyes wide in shock.

‘Eds.’ Richie breathed, his stomach twisting.

Eddie’s wide eyes narrowed in confusion while his brows knitted downwards. He pulled his shoulder out of Richie’s grip

‘Sorry, do I know you?’

college au + forgetting!eddie fic”

16. SIGNED, SOMEONE

by roughentumble; Teen and Up Audiences

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21096380/chapters/50195051

“A secret admirer/love letter AU. Richie starts leaving anonymous love letters in Eddie's locker.”

17. CLUE(LESS)

by endversed; Teen and Up Audiences

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12468440

“Every person on this sorry planet wakes up on their seventeenth birthday with a soulmate mark somewhere on their body – but it’s not always easy to figure out. It’s not their name, or their first words to you, or even some kind of matching shape. It’s not anything clearly indicative; nothing concrete (at first).

No, all this mark gives you is a clue.”

18. FOR BLUE SKIES

by sunsetozier; Teen and Up Audiences

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13978821

“Just as he’s beginning to shake himself out of his daze, his phone buzzes in his hand, a notification popping up at the top of his screen that makes his entire body freeze, reading and rereading it to make sure his eyes aren’t playing a trick on him. When the words don’t change, his jaw drops, an anxious excitement tingling just beneath his skin.

@trashmouthmusic followed you back!

[In which Richie posts anonymous covers on Twitter and Eddie is instantly infatuated with his voice.]”

19. OUR HOUSE, IN THE MIDDLE OF OUR HOUSE

by orphan_account; Teen and Up Audiences

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12458046

“Whatever song your soulmate has stuck in their head is resultantly stuck in yours. Eddie, long suffering through mattress commercial jingles and old rock hits, imagines he would kill his soulmate if he had the chance. Or, he would, if he didn't think revenge was a better answer.”

20. MAYBE, MAYBE

by lisscor; Not Rated

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12841593

“The light was on again. The one in room 307. Richie wondered, not for the first time, who was up there.

Maybe one day, he would find out.

In which two insomniacs who have never met find comfort in the last place they would think to look - each other.”

21. MOST BELOVED

by idaemilia; Mature (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12160854/chapters/27598224

“‘But he had eyes like rain

and hair like waves

and a soul as vast and deep as the ocean

and I guess I didn't mind drowning in him’

-xvaniex on tumblr

Eddie keeps pining for Richie who is too blind to see it. But maybe he already knows.

*previously named Philtatos*”

22. TO WHAT WE MIGHT DO

by MacksDramaticShenanigans; Teen and Up Audiences

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709897

“He looks scared. More scared than Eddie’s ever seen him before. He looks nervous, too, and Eddie didn’t think it was even possible for Richie Tozier to get nervous.

But there he is. Looking like he's going to shit his pants or throw up all over himself. Eddie would be more worried about that if he still thought Richie was drunk.”

23. CROOKED HEARTS

by killerqueer; General Audiences

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13093371

The Monday before Christmas break, Eddie comes to school to find a yellow rose and a letter from a secret admirer taped to his locker. He's convinced it's a prank until the same thing happens the next day and then continues the rest of the week. He's determined to find out who is doing this, even though he's convinced himself that there's no way it could possibly be the one person he really wants it to be.

24. THE THIRD DATE RULE

by tinyarmedtrex; Mature (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059960

“Bev drags Eddie along for her tattoo session, telling him that her artist is sex on a stick. She's right, Eddie likes him immediately- if only he wouldn't talk so much.

AU where Richie is a tattoo artist and Eddie pretty much just wants to work in HR and be left alone.”

25. PARENT TEACHER ASSOCIATION (PTA)

by reddiebitch; Mature (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773060

“In which Eddie is Richie's kid's first grade teacher.”

26. FAKING IT

by domino1234; Mature (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023273

“The obnoxiously pretty boy with the filthy mouth across the hall manages to convince Eddie to spend spring break pretending to be his boyfriend at his family’s lake house. Can Eddie put his unrequited crush aside to play up the charade for a week or will his feelings inevitably get in the way?”

27. Nightmares

by MargotCelvin; Teen and Up Audiences

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515028

“Richie Tozier is trying to start over in New York. He left California behind and wants to leave his old life there as well. The only thing holding him to his old life are the nightmares that have plagued him for so long. But is there something in New York that can cure him of this disease?”

28. FREAKING OUT THE NEIGHBORHOOD

by bearkwans; Explicit (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19342543

“Richie thinks that this is what being a father is like. He sure fucking feels like a father, dropping all of his plans to take care of his pet, making very specific google searches and running around his apartment like a madman, grabbing toys and a blanket and a few mice in a tupperware bowl. He knows logistically that everything he’s grabbing is useless and what he really needs is a chill pill and maybe some whiskey to soothe his shaking hands, but Richie can’t help the way his paternal side wakes up and takes control of his mind.

“[or: richie's pet snake is sick and he goes to see vet eddie ;) ;)]”

29. SUGAR, HONEY, HONEY

by thefutureisbright; Mature (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376344

“Eddie works in a bakery. His life was finally simple. He loved his job, he loved his friends, he loved his shitty little apartment with its shitty little balcony. He loved the plants he kept on his balcony. He loved that he could see the New York skyline when it was an especially clear day. He loved that he lived nowhere near his mother. Eddie loved his quiet, simple life.

Until he met Richie fucking Tozier, and his life was never simple again.”

30. THE BLIND BOX

by tinyarmedtrex; Mature (18+)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728915

“Eddie works at Gamestop and a dark haired stranger comes in and starts flirting with him. Eddie doesn't think much of it until they keep meeting.

Another College AU! Because why the hell not”

#reddie #fanfiction #reddie fanfiction #fanfic rec #richie tozier #eddie kasbrak #richie and eddie #it #it chapter two #it chapter 1 #it 2017 #it 2019 #fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #richie x eddie

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hufflautia · 4 years

Note

Hope you’ve had a great day today 💛

funnily enough, i literally just stopped crying. today was a bad day, I don't know

why but my anxiety was just quite bad today and I was panicking before school started. something happened in my first class and I overthink a lot, so my mind was like, “oh my god why did they write your name last, do they hate me, am I boring, am I forgetful, people are always forgetting about me” and “my teacher doesn't like me, why didn't he respond, I'm embarrassed, why did you have to say what you said??” my English teacher does these “mindfulness” moments in which we sit in silence for a minute and reflect on the day, and I literally started crying. after the minute ended, I just stopped bc I didn't feel like crying anymore, and suddenly my brain said, “ur so fake, ur just acting, why did u stop crying all of a sudden, u just want attention u crave attention ur such a faker!!” also I keep thinking about something that happened years ago with my dad, I don't rlly wanna get into it but I think it would be good if I just say it so that its not jammed in my head. basically, I was really young, like in elementary school; my dad asked me if i wanted to sleep in his room with him, and originally, my mom was sleeping with him and i shared a room with my little brother. however, i was like hmm maybe, and then my dad said, haha ill pay u 5 dollars. at the time, i said YAY OK but now i realized that's so fucking creepy, yall know what its insinuating right?? anyways, i said ok, bc it was just a change from the usual sleep schedule and i liked spending time w my dad, so my mom went to my brothers room (it was a king-sized bed so it was ok, it wasn't a small bed that we had to share or anything like that) and i went to my parents room. basically, what happened was that we went to sleep, and in the middle of the night, (the next part makes me feel so uncomfortable and i feel queasy writing it) my dad slapped my butt really really hard to the point where i woke up and i was like ?????? and then he rubbed it softly immediately afterwards. i didnt know what happened, and i told my sister the day after, and she was confused too. recently i was thinking about it and I'm still confused and a lot more uncomfortable with what happened. here is my theory and i was very upset by it bc no one would want to think things like this- maybe my dad likes hurting women during sex and it was a reflex that night, but once he realized it was me, he tried “soothing me” or some shit by rubbing my butt (i literally hate this, i hate the fact that this happened and i don't like typing it out). no one wants to think about their parents sex life so this was just disgusting to think about. also my brother and mom keep arguing and fighting with each other, and I'm sure i have trauma from hearing my parents argue all the time so i rlly don't like it when they fight. my brother has explosive anger and he literally screams at her, which is very disrespectful; however, she screams at him too and sometimes hurts him, which scares me. I'm not worried about my own safety, I just hate violence i hate abuse, that scares me. so much stuff has happened in my life, and it results in a lot of trauma and other stuff that i don't even know about. i just know im really fucked up, im damaged and it just all felt like crashing down on me today- like everything thats happened, i was feeling anxious for no reason, i was thinking about the past, and i started crying again while watching netflix after school, so i just kept crying and i talked to myself out loud about my day and why i was feeling the way i was. that did help to some extent, and after i did that, i stopped crying, and then my brain said “why do you shut off your crying so easily, you seem fake, you seem like you wanna be sad and cry just so that you can see your pretty little tears drip down ur face like an actress, ur so fake ur so fake ur faking it ur not actually sad”, and the hardest part was that i didnt even object to it bc i didnt feel like anything was real, i felt like i didnt know who i was. i was like ok bitch whatever maybe ur right maybe i am faking it. i dont even know how to explain it, but its like being tired of that nagging and negative voice that you just submit to it, and you say ok whatever sure i am faking it, but in truth, the sadness i was feeling was real and genuine. about 10 min ago, i saw that someone tagged me in a fanfic and while i was reading it, i literally started bawling. i guess it was bc i saw in my email inbox that people had sent me asks, and i was happy bc i thought that maybe the person who sent me the fanfic idea responded back with more details. i was anxious about that before, bc i was thinking, oh god what if they just never respond, what if they just dont care about u anymore. when i saw the asks notifications, i felt a lot of relief bc i thought to myself, oh phew ok people still care about u. when i was crying while reading the fanfic, i couldn't stop crying, it felt endless. i couldn't just stop crying like i had before, and it reminded me of the time when my mom was going out to meet someone that she met on a dating app, and it was in the earlier times when she started doing this; she had gotten involved with some terrible men in the past, men who catfished her and were rlly vulgar and gross. im sure this was somewhere in June, when i had just posted chapter 1 of the slytherpuff series bc when i was freaking out about the date, i wrote about it in my journal and i know that it was somewhere in June bc i wrote something like “mom is going out to meet someone and im nervous, please please please i hope shes ok and careful, im really nervous and scared, no one likes my writing, mom is probably in danger, oh god oh gosh”. it was just a whole bunch of negative and anxious thoughts, including how i was feeling about the whole situation with chapter 1, so that's how i know it was somewhere in June. anyways, basically i was really scared for my mom bc shes had a bad history with online men and i was scared that someone was gonna kill her. i read and listen to a lot of murder mysteries, so my mind was going absolutely wild. i remember on that day, i went to take a shower after writing that entry in the journal, bc showering makes me feel better. when i stepped into the shower i started crying bc i was really scared for her and i was hoping she was safe and ok but i was just feeling so scared so i was crying and i couldn't stop crying. that was the scary part because i just kept bawling and i couldn't stop like i usually do; my brain said ok that's enough, you’ve cried enough, but my heart just kept going on and on and my brain said ok ok jessica holy jesus that's enough and eventually i sucked it up and was kinda ok afterwards but still sad and numb. that was similar to what had happened about 20 min ago. also im sure i was also sad today bc yesterday, my mom talked to me about in-person college visits, and her demeanor was very rushed and controlling. she said, “ok jessica we’re gonna do the college visits, we’re gonna drive there, and your dad is gonna come home for that. tell him that you need to do that, ok? tell him we do the college visits together.” i said that colleges are doing virtual tours, and her facial expression was very strained, she was like “DO NOT TELL HIM THAT. dont tell him that, ok?!” and she was pointing her finger at me and everything. she said, “tell him we’re going to do the physical college tours, which colleges do you wanna visit??” and she kept telling me not to tell him about the virtual tours. it reminded me of whenever she told me to say this or that to my dad over the phone, and i was upset, like oh great ok so dad’s coming home and i dont even wanna see him bc i dont like him that much, and now im gonna have to lie bc dad is probably gonna already know about the virtual tours and im gonna have to pretend that none of the colleges are doing virtual tours. in essence, today was a terrible day. while i was crying my eyes out when reading the fanfic, i wanted to tell something, i wanted to reach out to lee and jolie, but my brain said that i would burden them, im always telling them about stuff that happens (concerning my family or other stuff) and its probably getting too much for them. my brain said that they wont be able to help anyway, im still gonna have to deal with the stuff im dealing with, and no one can help. that's a sad thought, it seems so helpless and sad. sometimes i overthink the smallest things, and when i see a text from lee and jolie that doesnt seem “right”, i think, oh gosh they hate me now, why did i have to say that?? i usually see my therapist every Thursday, aka today, but we didnt meet this time bc her schedule is becoming busy so now we’re gonna do it every other week, so next week i shall see her. perhaps she can help.

thank you for this ask, it seemed so out of the blue bc no one rlly sends asks like this anymore. while writing this, i literally thought to myself, shes like an angel sent from heaven

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pacifv · 4 years

Text

HE MEGA RP PLOTTING SHEET / MEME.

First and foremost, recall that no one is perfect, we all have witnessed some plotting once which did not went too well, be it because of us or our partner. So here have this, which may help for future plotting. It’s a lot! Yes, but perhaps give your partners some insight? Anyway BOLD what fully applies, italicize if only somewhat.

Mun Name: Mik Age: 26 Contact: IM, discord

Character(s) I rp: Eden ( in bleach ) -- I have other ocs but that’s another story Which muse(s) inspires you the most atm?(for MM): Eden... ? Current Fandom(s): Bleach , so far Fandom(s) you have an AU for: more fantasy esque ones? My language(s): spanish , english Themes I’m interested in for rp: Fantasy / Science fiction / Horror / Western / Romance / Thriller / Mystery / Dystopia / Adventure / Modern / Erotic / Crime / Mythology / Classic / History / Renaissance / Medieval / Ancient / War / Family / Politics / Religion / School / Adulthood / Childhood / Apocalyptic / Gods / Sport / Music / Science / Fights / Angst / Smut / Drama / etc. Themes/Genres you have an AU for: fantasy , religious

Preferred Thread length: one-liner / 1 para / 2 para / 3+ / novella. Asks can be send by: Mutuals / Non-Mutuals / Personals / Anons. Can Asks be continued?: YES / NO only by Mutuals?: YES / NO. Preferred thread type: crack / casual nothing too deep / serious / deep as heck. Is realism / research important for you in certain themes?: YES / NO. Are you atm open for new plots?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. Do you handle your draft / ask - count well?: YES / NO / SOMEWHAT. How long do you usually take to reply?: 24h / 1 week / 2 weeks / 3+ / months / years. I’m okay with interacting: original characters / a relative of my character (an oc) / duplicates / my fandom / crossovers / multi-muses / self-inserts / people with no AU verse for my fandom / canon-divergent portrayals / au-versions (as main or only verse). Do you post more ic or occ?: IC / OOC. Are you selective with following others?: YES / NO / DEPENDS.

Best ways to approach you for rp/plotting: IM since this is pretty much new . just slap me with that and if you have some ideas , better --- if not let just brainstorm with what we have in hand .

What expectations do you hold towards your plotting partner: some minimal idea of the context and eden’s character . some ideas if possible . more than often I have gotten people straight up jump with no clue of what even is going on in my side character wise .

When you notice the plotting is rather one-sided, what do you do?: depends , most likely really stop trying or let it sink . I’m not much of a person who would pressure for ideas when they don’t even come naturally for me in these kind of situations .

How do you usually plot with others, do you give input or leave most work towards your partner?: First of all , ask what they particularly want and if they read the bio . and of course , have their bio as well ( if oc or any relevant hc on vague canons ) . I am honestly a bit shy on the input but if I found a ground to start letting my imagination loose ( like , something in common between characters or something that clicks well with my muse ) I can suggest several things . but in any case , I’m pretty passive and it’s a lot of gives and takes .

When a partner drops the thread, do you wish to know?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. - And why?: depends on the thread , the time and the interest . things that go downtown in the excitement scale are :/ and I can’t blame anyone for dropping a thread . not all the time you will have muse for them , tho , if it was a relevant thread I would ask at least . - What should your partner do when dropping a thread?: pretty much free to tell me or not . I’m no one to judge.

What could possibly lead you to drop a thread?: losing muse , interest , time ... pretty much the same . feeling like my muse is going too OOC for the sake of the other muse or smth . - Will you tell your partner?: YES / NO / DEPENDS.

Is communication in the rpc important to you? YES / NO. - And why?: I am very old school and having some OOC interaction to at least know how things are going , it’s as much as I can ask here . - Are you okay with absolute honesty, even if it may means hearing something negative about you and/or portrayal?: I mean , I should . it can turn me off a bit but it’s just natural ? there’s no way something can be perfect or be of someone’s taste . plus I am not that smart to be fully aware of all the things around the motif and IRL information I use on my muse . I’m no book , buddy. - Do you think you can handle such situation in a mature way? YES / NO.

Why do you rp again, is there a goal?: development , exploring the muse , seeing what works and doesn’t work . often new blogs for me are basically prototypes , they are and will most likely have minor or major modifications as my imagination starts working and getting excited . besides , in the basics , you can hardly manage to cover all ( if anything ) of how one’s muse would react to X situation .

Wishlist, be it plots or scenarios: a lot of quincy lore , come up with more personal connections with other quincies , fully develop a backstory and a post war scenario . cultural exploration --- relationships of all kinds .

Themes I won’t ever rp / explore: pretty much I am fine with anything as long as we don’t cross the gross line . but I’m not afraid of the dark .

What Type of Starters do you prefer / dislike, can’t work with?: absurdly basic and with no context given . not even have an idea of what is the deal between muses . I can squeeze my brain but there is as much as i can do with little information .

What type of characters catch your interest the most?: quirky ones , conflictive ones , most likely muses with specific motifs that spark my interest -- deepness . Aesthetically interesting ones . but overall , those who have out of the normal personalities .

What type of characters catch your interest the least?: personalities that doesn’t work or do not harmonize with the context of their characters . that’s all I can say .

What are your strong aspects as rp partner?: I am.... creative ? gdi I did this meme already but it’s hard to reply these two ones. I am easily excitable . if we end up in a ship , expect me to be pampering af . I really enjoy the exploration of relations between people , emotions and psychological stuff tied around it . I do like casual and also very deep things . I’m not afraid of dealing with heavy topics . I like horror ???? also I am very into the secondary character role , as in : my muse is here to help your muse to grow or insight . that stuff . not much of a protagonist role in RPs.

What are your weak aspects as rp partner?: I’m .... very.... sporadic . My mood is annoying esp when I’m “new” blog around kind of thing . I’m shy , even if I don’t seem so --- I get pretty anxious over details . I am impatient --- with myself . I want to do so many things at the same time I end up overwhelmed .

Do you rp smut?: YES / NO. Do you prefer to go into detail?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. Are you okay with black curtain?: YES / NO. - When do you rp smut? More out of fun or character development?: mmmmmmmmm , both. Depends on mood and context tbh . - Anything you would not want to rp there?: nothing I can think from the top of my head.

Are ships important to you?: YES / NO. Would you say your blog is ship-focused?: YES / NO. Do you use read more?: YES / NO / SOMETIMES. Are you: Multi-Ship / Single-Ship / Dual-Ship — Multiverse / Singleverse. - What do you love to explore the most in your ships?: again , I’m big mood for interpersonal relationships ( romantic or not ) , the pros and cos of certain traits , ideology clash , personality clash , anything that comes in a relation that could make it come and go . - What is your smut tag?: unholy.

Are you okay with pre-established relationships?: YES / NO. - And what kind of ones?: all are hella okay for me . pre- est is my jam bc jesus christ the awkward first encounters make me go blue screen .

► SECTION ABOUT YOUR MUSE.

- What could possibly make your Muse interesting towards others, why should they rp with this particular character of yours now, what possible plots do they offer?: the fact she is basically a “religious fanatic” , with a quirky personality and a questionable morality , considering she has an inner conflict between the wellness of her race and her loyalty towards yhwach . At least pre war . post war , she has a flipped personality were she is mostly bitter and more angsty but will go from fanatic to straight up hater .

- With what type of Muses do you usually struggle to rp with?: bland personalities ? not sure myself , Eden is pretty much ready for anything since her personality is pretty laid back . I guess I would say shinigamis in general --- since she basically is stuck inside Silbern . - With what type of Muses do they usually work well with?: Quincies , ofc . and people who are willing to put up with her crap .

- What interests your Muse(s) in general: the prosperity of the quincy , doing a proper duty , order , tea , annoying the fuck out of people . being eerie .... - What do they desire, is their goal?: the ideal world as thought by Yhwach --- later on simply for her kind to survive after losing the war and being left to their luck . - What catches their interest first when meeting someone new?: mmm , appearance and reactions to her witty or narcisistic comments . - What do they value in a person?: loyalty , uniqueness . - What themes do they like talking about?: most likely about the order of the army , tea stuff , herself (?) , but she is also a lot for debates and insight . - Which themes bore them?: rebellious , silly thoughts . justice related topics . anything that critics her loyalty/life style .

- Did they ever went through something traumatic?: the first war was enough ? most likely losing comrades --- yhwach sacrificing the quincy for power later on . - What could possibly trigger them?: the simple sight of anyone laying a finger of the quincy for being against their views . - What could set them off, enrage them?: nothing. she cannot literally , physically get angry or enraged . but if we are talking bitter , that would be completely post war and it’s just the mention of yhwach’s name or those who went to god’s palace with him . - What could lead to an instant kill?: invasion of silbern , chaos .

- Is there someone /-thing they hate?: chaos , rebels , shinigami , anyone against the quincy . - Is there someone /-thing they love?: her race , her pride , herself .

Is your Muse easy to approach?: YES / NO. - Best ways to approach them?: just .... come to her and say hi . she is literally wandering around silbern all the time ( quincy speaking tho ) . for others , eh ... good luck . and wait post war (?) - Where are they usually to find?: Silbern ... then Siberia .

Something you may still want to point out about your muse?: She is no saint , clearly . She has a questionable sense of things like loyalty and preservation of her race . she is honestly all over the place

CONGRATS!!! You managed it, now tag your mutuals! ♥

Tagged by: honestly stole from @skyvar Tagging: no one in particular.

#🇮🇳🇹🇪🇷🇦🇨🇹🇮🇴🇳🇸 | 🇺🇳🇭🇴🇱🇾 | memes.#mik talks

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shadedrose01 · 4 years

Text

Love Story

Ship: Parkner (Harley Keener/Peter Parker)

Summary: Peter bangs into Harley in the hallways.

Tags: Febufluff, Day four!, Love like in the movies, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Harley Keener is a Jock, Peter Parker is a nerd, together they form: a stereotypical movie trope, Peter Parker has Asthma, Its mentioned once or twice, but its there, Peter Parker is hard on himself, Anxious Peter Parker, Harley Keener has a crush, Confident Harley Keener, Pre-Relationship

Day four of Febufluff: "Love like in the movies."

Peter pushes his glasses up further onto his nose as he races through the hallway, juggling a mountain of books in his arms. He feels his lungs start to squeeze, and a tickle beginning to form in the back of his throat but he swallows it down, focusing his attention on putting one foot in front of the other and not tripping, on making it to class on time, he has to make it on time, hes got a test, he cant be late, he-

He glances up for just a second, trying to squint at the clock on the wall to see what time it was, to make sure he would get to the classroom on time, it was only down the hallway, he could make it, he could, when he collides full force into someone, falling straight into his ass and dropping all of his books in the process, a loud, echoing bang resonating in the almost empty hallway.

"Oh shit!" A voice rings out above him as Peter groans wholeheartedly, eyes closed, rubbing at his tailbone with a wince. "Are you okay??"

He reopens his eyes, focusing on the person's shoes first 'at least the other person is okay, they'll still upright', his eyes trailing up their body before freezing when he reaches his face, his heart stopping.

Two azure eyes stare back at him, full of concern and a hint of warmth, of amusement, blond hair swept back carelessly yet perfectly, a cheeky grin on his face and yup that is definitely Harley Keener, Captain of the Football team, one of the smartest, most popular, and kindest people in the school knelt in front of him, looking at him, talking to him. 'What is happening?'

And he is gorgeous too, jesus. A softer jawline, angular, narrow features, two big dimples on each side of his smile, and freckles scattering his nose, god this isn't good. Peter's breathless, his lung not working for a whole other reason, his face is probably so red, he can feel it burning, he should probably look away, probably stop staring before it gets weird or awkward or-

"Uh, hello?" Harley's features are scrunched together now in confusion, his grin turning into a concerned half smile. "You didn't hit your head, did you? That was kind of a hard fall-"

"No, no!" Peter stammers, shaking himself out of his head. "Im- I'm okay, I just-" He looks away, sees his notes and books scattered around him just as the final bell chimes out loudly around them, making Peter flinch. "Shit! I- I got a test, I'm gonna be late, I-"

He starts gathering up his things closest to him messily, and he goes to reach for the things further away when his hand brushes against another, the skin soft, warm, calloused under his touch. Peter jerks his hand back like it burned him, wide eyes flickering up to Harley's calm ones, who is now holding a stack of books out to him with a gentle look. "Here."

Peter flushes even more, and grabs them quickly with a small "thank you", standing abruptly and starting to bolt away towards his class, wanting to be out of this awkward moment, this embarrassing situation as soon as physically possible when- "Wait!" Peter forces himself to halt, looking over his shoulder at the taller boy, who has his backpack slung over his shoulder, body relaxed and grin easy. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Peter nods shakily, mumbling out a small "cya" and waking awkwardly before booking it away again, shoulders hunched, head down but staring forward, already berating himself into the ground.

Peter had assumed that Harleys 'see you around' had just been a polite courtesy, a kind gesture that Harley gave everyone, nothing special. After all, what would a superstar athlete like Harley want with a nerd like Peter, who couldnt even do a lap in gym without falling into an asthma attack?

He never thought Harley would actually take him up on the offer, but the next day, when Peter was at his locker switching out his books for his next few classes, a body randomly appears beside him. "So, you're Peter, right?"

"Gah!" Peter flinches again, almost dropping his books out of shock before catching them at the last minute. He turns to face the boy, who now has a shit eating grin on his face and a twinkle of mirth in his eye. He's wearing a hat today, Peter notes, backwards, hair slicked back underneath it, and a big gray sweater with a big Midtown Tech Football logo on it.

"You're jumpy." Harley states like it's a fact, leaning against Peter's locker door with his arms crossed, looking way better than anyone has any right to, 'what the hell, why he is here, what in the what?'

Peter just blinks at him for a few seconds, before forcing out an anxious laugh, picking at the ends of his hoodie sleeves. "W-Well, I dont normally have people sneaking up on me."

That gets a laugh out of the older boy, the soft light and airy, and causing Peter's heart rate to speed up like crazy. "Yeah, fair enough. So, are you?" He raises an blond eyebrow, and Peter swallows, shuffling on his feet and nodding. "Peter... Parker, right? You're in a few of my classes. Calculus, Physics aaaand Chem."

Peter blinks at him again, eyes owlish. "You- you noticed?"

Harley just sends him another cheeky grin, making Peter swoon, and gives him and very obvious once over. "Of course, darlin'. How could I ignore the cutest person in the room?"

Peter chokes on his spit, coughing abruptly into his sleeve. 'What?!?' Harley Keener, the hottest person in the entire fricken school... thought he was cute? Him? Simple, boring, nobody Peter Parker? "...me?" He wheezes out, pressing a hand to his chest.

Harley makes a show of looking around, laughing lightly. "I didn't think I was hittin' on anyone else."

Peter sputters again, his face burning. "But- but why?"

Harley just raises an eyebrow at him. "Why what? Why am I hittin' on ya?" When Peter nods sheepishly, something deep and sad swirls in Harleys eyes. He shrugs nonchalantly when he answers, "Because you're cute, like I said. You're cute, and super fucking smart, like smarter than me smart and I'm pretty damn smart." He doesn't say it in a cocky, I'm better than everyone else kind of way, he just says it as if it's a fact. Because it is. Peter can see the faintest hint of a blush form on Harley's face, and he turns almost bashful as he continues, "You seem really kind, and sometimes I'll overhear conversations between you and your friends, and you seem really funny, and- I dont know, I just want to get to know you better." He shrugs again, but it's more jittery this time, more nervous.

Peter's heart can't handle this. He can't handle this. Harley really thinks all of this, and is acting all shy and cute and so so sweet, about him? Because of him? Wha- what does he even say?? How does he even react to this?? Peter's brain is malfunctioning, and he cant seem to do anything more than to ogle at the older boy, jaw dropped, face burning a bright red, watching as Harley starts to fidget more and more as the seconds pass.

Until finally, after about a half a minute or so of Peter's brain blue screening, Harley speaks back up, coughing awkwardly, a faint but noticable disappointment and embarassment in his tone. "I-I mean, its okay if you dont want to, or anything, I- this was probably super weird of me, I'm sorry-"

"No!" Peter blurts out, finally getting his shit back together in order to form a coherent response. "No, no, I-I do, I really- really do, I'm just- surprised."

"Why? Because I'm a jock?" The amount of bitterness in Harleys voice causes Peter to jerk back slightly, eyes widening and hands flailing out to defend himself.

"No! No, it has nothing to do with you, it's just- just- ugh-" Peter runs a hand through his hair, pulling at it slightly. "I'm... me. Puny, Penis Parker. I didn't- I didn't think anyone would want me. Especially not someone like you." He admits softly, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. It was true, everything he said. He didn't think he'd ever catch someone's eye, with his old, bulky glasses, his constant sickness, his too thin frame. And yet...

Two fingers brush against the underside of his chin, tilting his head upwards gently until Peter's eyes connect with Harleys, soft and churning with a new found determination. "Well, I do. And I would like to take you out on a date, if that's okay with you."

Peter feels a steady smile growing on his face. "It is."

The confident grin is back, evidence of Harleys relief and ecstasy. "Good. Phone?" Harley holds out a hand and Peter scurries to grab the device out of his pocket, handing it to the older boy. He types for a second or two, before passing it back, and winking at Peter. "I'll text you the details later."

And then hes gone, just as fast as he came, strutting down the hallway with his shoulders square and head up, radiating confidence and glee. Peter chuckles breathlessly, staring after him with warmth, surprise, shock, but mostly happiness and hope swirling in his chest as he shuts his locker and heads to his next class, thoughts of his new date flowering in his mind.

#parkner #parley #harley keener/peter parker #harley keener #peter parker #febufluff #Febufluff #love like in the movies #jocks and nerds #fanfiction #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction

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the--blackdahlia · 4 years

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You’re All That I Need Chapter 10 (Tommy x Nikki)

Title: You’re All That I Need Chapter 10

Summary: It’s the early 80’s and Nikki Sixx is in need of a band. There’s one condition: no other alphas. That should be fine, since he found three betas to fill up the lineup to become Motley Crue. Or, at least he thinks they’re all betas. A collab between myself and @callme-kaz2y5-baby!

Series Warnings: M/M smut (18+ only please), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, mpreg, language, slight drug use, protective Nikki, extremely funky timeline (might add more as we go)

“I’m fine,” Tommy told Mick, Vince, and Nikki months later. “Why are you guys all staring at me like that?!”

“Because you were just puking your guts out a few minutes ago?” Vince said with a shrug. “And you have probably a demon child in you.” Tommy glared at Vince. Mick knew he was two seconds away from strangling the frontman if something wasn’t done and fast.

"Tommy relax, it's our job to be worried about you." Mick placated.

"I’m fine,” Tommy rubbed his head. “Why is this pregnancy thing such a bitch?” He felt an arm wrap around his waist and he closed his eyes, leaning into Nikki.

"Because your growing a person...and your amazing," Nikki hugged him. “How are you feeling, honestly?”

“I’m tired,” Tommy sighed, not able to lie to his alpha like he did the betas. “And I don’t feel good.”

“But I’m fine,” Vince mocked, making Nikki turned to look at him, eyes turning red as his alpha wanted to protect his omega. "Hey, hey, I didn't mean anything. We're worried too. Mick and I want Tommy to be healthy and the baby too," Vince placated.

"Gah, I know, I'm almost as moody as Tommy is. Sorry babe." Nikki explained.

"You're just protective, which is good," Mick told him. Tommy closed his eyes and rested his head on Nikki’s shoulder. He just felt so tired all the time anymore. Nikki sensed a change in Tommy then.

"Tommy, hey, are you sure your ok?” Nikki asked, voice filled with concern. "I don't know how to explain it but we need to get you to the doctor, now."

Tommy was going to argue but the room started spinning, and he started to fall. Nikki held him up and together, him and Mick helped get Tommy to the car. Vince drove them to the ER, where Tommy was promptly whisked away for tests, leaving an anxious and worried Nikki to pace the waiting room.

"What if something is wrong? I can't lose him," Nikki said pacing faster.

"You got him here quick, so he’s going to be fine,” Mick told him. “You need to calm down. You need to be his rock," Mick stood and placed his hands on Nikki’s shoulders, stopping him from pacing. "Get a hold of yourself."

"Right, right," Nikki agreed, sitting next to Vince, who took Nikki's hand to hold immediately. Nikki looked at their hands, a little confused but yet comforted.

"I....I told you I’m...we’re worried about him too ok, you guys are the best family I've ever had.... I just want everything to be ok," Vince admitted sheepishly.

Mick sat down and threw his arm around the alpha, "we're your pack dude, you're not doing this alone."

Nikki took strength from the betas to pull himself together, "thank you guys, come whatever we will handle it."

"Mr. Lee's family?" A nurse called.

The three men shot up, "that's us" Nikki said.

"Come this way. We have him in a room right down here." the nurse pointed down the hallway. After showing them to Tommy's room she added, "the doctor will be in momentarily."

The three nodded and headed in, Tommy was laying on the bed hooked to several monitors.

"Hey how are you feeling, babe?" Nikki asked reaching out to hold Tommy's hand.

“Like shit,” He looked up at Nikki and gave him a bit of a smile. “I heard them say something about high blood pressure or something. Guess being hyperactive and pregnant isn’t a good combo.” He held Nikki’s hand, wanting the alpha to make everything better.

Nikki's presence seemed to soothe the omega, which helped when the doctor came in.

"Mr. Lee, and family, thank you for your patience. It seems like Tommy is suffering from preeclampsia, in other words extremely high blood pressure, if it's not managed it can lead to complications with delivery," the doctor explained.

"What can we do?" Nikki asked.

"Well, I'll be prescribing a medication that is safe for him to take, but bed rest would be best for the remainder of the pregnancy," the doctor advised. Tommy was about to argue when Nikki spoke over him.

"You need to listen to the doctor," Nikki told him. Tommy sighed and nodded, taking the instructions the doctor had for him. Tommy pouted as the doctor left. Nikki cupped his face and had him look at him.

“I can’t be on bedrest,” Tommy told him. “We’ve got so much to do…”

"It can wait," Mick said.

“But I…” He caught Nikki’s eyes and stopped talking. Vince rubbed his shoulder.

“It’s okay man. I could use a vacation. Maybe find me some sweet babes in Tijuana or something,” He winked at Tommy.

“Well, while Vince is catching every STD in Mexico, do I get to walk out of here or do I have to go in a wheelchair?” Tommy asked.

"You'll be wheeled out per protocol," the nurse that came to discharge Tommy, told them. Tommy rolled his eyes.

She had a wheelchair waiting in the hallway, and brought it in for easy access. Tommy slowly got in it, ready to get home but hating everything that was going with it. Nikki knelt down in front of the chair while Mick and Vince stepped out of the room.

"It's gonna be fine, we could all use a break anyhow and we can keep writing music, just no recording or performing. I love you," Nikki soothed.

“I know, I know,” He smiled at Nikki. “I love you too.” He relaxed a little, hearing Nikki’s words.

"Are you two love birds coming?" Vince called.

“You’ll need to see your doctor in about two days,” The nurse told them as they got ready to leave. “Here’s the prescription from the doctor for your vitamins.”

“Thank you,” Tommy took everything he was handed. He knew once he was safe in bed, Nikki would go get the prescription and anything else he needed, instead of letting him do it. Tommy didn’t want to be an invalid, but honestly he didn’t really feel good today. “Do you want me to go with you to the store?” Tommy asked as Nikki wheeled him to the car.

"I was actually going to see if you'd stay in the car and make sure we don't lose Vince to some passing hot chick," Nikki suggested.

“Hey! I’m not that easily distracted!” Vince called out. “And why do I have to go with you to the stupid store? I’m sure you have a list of things you want to get anyway.” Tommy groaned and rubbed at his head as a headache came on.

Nikki shot Vince a nasty look, "were you going to ride back with Mick?"

“I just might,” Vince crossed his arms over his chest.

“Can you both just stop!” Tommy called out. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re making my head hurt!”

“I’m not a doctor, but I think stress like this is bad for the parent to be and child.” Mick pointed out. Nikki’s attention immediately turned to Tommy, and Vince instantly stopped talking.

"Thanks Mick, the fighting isn't good for any of us least of all Tommy. I'm taking Tommy home, once you and Vince figure out what your doing will one of you come sit with Tommy and the other can come to the store with me?" Nikki asked, looking exhausted.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Tommy told him. Nikki opened the door to let him into the car before heading around to the other side. “I’m sorry Nikki…”

"I'm not saying you do, but I want you to be safe, I would feel better if you weren't alone, and why are you sorry none of this is your fault?" Nikki checked in.

“Because I’m a bad mate…” Tommy looked down at his hands. “You deserve a better one than me.”

"You are not, you are an amazing mate, I don't deserve you, with all the awful things I've done.... you're the one who deserves a better alpha..." Nikki trailed off, thinking maybe Motley Crue needed to be dissolved, that Tommy would be safer if he didn't have the band stress.

“I’m just ready for this little one to be born already,” Tommy smiled. “They’re going to have so much fun riding my drum kit with me. I’ll get a little baby harness made and it’ll be awesome.” He looked over at Nikki. “I can go to the store with you. I don’t mind.”

"I know you don't mind but the doctor said bed rest babe and that's not bed rest. And we will talk about the baby in the drum kit...." Nikki answered, reaching out to hold Tommy's hand.

Tommy held Nikki’s hand and felt his eyes get heavy. He wanted to cuddle into Nikki’s side, but the console in the car stopped him. Instead, he fell asleep with his head resting against the window, which was really fun when Nikki hit an unavoidable pothole.

“Fuck!” Tommy called out.

"Sorry, oh god sorry, are you ok?" Nikki apologized, looking at Tommy rubbing his head.

“Yeah, yeah. Windows just are not comfy. Fucking potholes,” Tommy was grumpy. He always was when he was woken up from a nap and didn’t wake himself up. “Are we almost home?”

"Yup, 5 more minutes and we will be there, and you can nap in bed," Nikki supplied, "Do you have any requests from the store?"

“Chocolate,” Tommy smiled. “And since I can’t have coffee, can I have hot chocolate packets?”

"Of course." Nikki answered. "Here we are and it looks like Mick and Vince are right behind us."

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogarukes @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316 @horrorpxnk @tommyleeownsme @marvelismylifffe

Motley Crue Tags: @primal-screamer @waywardprincess666 @twistnet @saint-of-los-angeles @vader-kai @motleyfuckingcruee @sharon6713 @kawennote09 @2dead2function @nikkisixxwiththebass @iamtiber-andtiberismusic @jayprettymuchomw @charlyallise @you-know-im-a-dreamer @sweet-dreams-on-butterfly-wings @estxxmotley @arianareirg @the-normal-potato @nikki-sixxtynine @jjjjjjjoshdun @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @stella20131991 @tarahell @wowilovenikkisixx @i-want-to-shoot-myself @motleycrueee @sams-serialkiller-fetish @getbackhonkycatt @are-you-reddie54321 @flamencodiva @scarecrowmax @major-tom-is-a-junky @anyasthoughts @bandaids-not-groupies @ilovetomkeiferslips @kaitieskidmore1

#you're all that i need #Motley Crue #tommy lee #nikki sixx #tommy lee x nikki sixx #nikki sixx x tommy lee #fanfiction

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just-for-cal · 5 years

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She’s Jealous - [c.h]

word count: 2885 warnings: swearing summary: (y/n) reads some thirst tweets and gets a bit frustrated

(y/n) loved Calum, she always did and it’s likely that she always will. Especially when she never plans to never act on these feelings.

So it felt unfair to her that she was getting so upset scrolling through Twitter. Dozens upon dozens of fans thirsting over him. The other boys too, but she only had narrowed eyes at the comments directed towards Calum.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Luke threw himself over the back of the sofa she was sat on, scooting close to her and looking onto her phone.

The first thing he saw being an all caps message about Ashton’s arms, and something about choking.

“Jesus love, into Ash now are we?” He chuckled, but (y/n) glared at him. “Alright, not in the mood for funny” Luke muttered to himself.

“Have you seen all these?” She asked him in a quiet voice, eyes still trained on her phone as she scrolled.

“Thirst tweets? I look sometimes, some of them are kinda funny”

(y/n) simply hummed, clearly that wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

“What’s got you all worked up? I thought you’d be agreeing with some of ‘em” Luke jabbed (y/n’s) side with his elbow, and she tried to force a smile, but her nerves seeped through.

“Everyone’s just so… so into him,” She explained, and before she could keep reading, Luke took her phone, and closed the app. “I feel like maybe it diminishes my chances even further”

“Your chances? Please, (y/n/n), you’ve got the biggest head start of all chances, it’s less of a chance more of a, eh, hundred percent guarantee”

The girl just rolled her eyes at Luke’s words. He always tried to convince her of how he thought Calum returned her feelings, but she never felt that way. He always seemed glued to their platonic relationship, so she never acted on the feelings she’d harbored for so long.

“I’m not kiddin’ babe,” Luke told her. “Ya should hear what he says about you when you’re not around, he loves to talk about you”

(y/n) blushed, but she still shook her head and took her phone back from his hands.

“Thanks, Luke,” She sighed, and smoothed out her skirt before standing. “Are you coming out tonight?”

“Yeah I’ll tag along,” He said and stood up with her, outstretching his arms. (y/n) chuckled quietly, stepping into his arms and letting him hug her tight. “Besides, I'm already all done up, can’t cancel now”

She was laughing when she pulled away, smiling to see he has in fact put on a shimmery eyeshadow to change up his usual leather jacket and jeans look. Even going so far as to put on his heeled boots.

When she looked away, Calum was coming down the stairs, but he stopped at the bottom and just stared at her. He looked frozen, lips parted, eyes set on her. (y/n) crinkled her brows as though to silently ask if he was alright.

“Wow,” He mumbled, finally walking over to her and his best friend. She still looked confused. “You look amazin’ sunshine”

“Oh,” She chuckled nervously, ducking her head down and pushing her hair behind her ear. Luke rolled his eyes and left the room, unable to handle all the pent up tension that had filled it. “You had me worried there for a sec”

Calum grinned at her, this girl he’d had in his life now for a few years and couldn’t ever get a long enough look at. She was blushing under his gaze, and it only made him smile more.

“You ready for dinner?” He asked, and she nodded, letting him guide her to the front door.

Luke was there waiting, looking at his phone and chuckling to himself. Mike and Ashton were planning to meet them at the restaurant, and we’re probably already there.

“What’s so funny?” Calum asked, and Luke showed him he was on Twitter.

“These thirst tweets about you, they're hilarious”

Calum blinked in surprise, not having expected that response, at all, and looked to (y/n) with raised brows before back at Luke.

“Why...?”

“Cause she was lookin’ at ‘em earlier, and I wanted to know what the big deal was. These are great!”

Calum looked at (y/n) again, a smirk on his lips to know that she’d read thirst tweets about him. But before he could make a cocky comment, Luke spoke up again.

“(y/n/n) you’re in this one,” Luke snickered as he read one, and then proceeded to read it out loud. “It’s a retweet of a pic of Calum, zoomed in on his thighs, and it says ‘@(your handle) sure is one lucky chick, i bet @CalumHood lets her ride his thighs whenever she wants’ can you believe that?”

If she hadn’t been blushing before, she certainly was now.

Luke was laughing his ass off, all the while (y/n) avoided looking directly at Calum, who was staring at her.

“Alright, on that note, let's get going,” Cal suggested, letting Luke out so he could walk with (y/n), his hand resting on the small of her back. When she looked up at him, he leaned a bit closer. “We’ll talk about why you were reading thirst tweets about me later” He told her quietly.

(y/n) winced.

Dinner went by well, besides the fact that Calum had his arm slung around the booth behind (y/n’s) shoulder, his fingertips grazing her shoulder every now and then. But no one said anything about it.

“So, (y/n/n), you comin’ back to the house after dinner?” Ash asked. She began to shake her head, but Calum spoke up for her.

“Yeah, we’re all gonna chill back at the house,” He said, his hand caressing softly over her shoulder now. “Probably watch a movie or something if that sounds good to you guys?”

“Yeah that sounds great” Ashton agreed.

While the other boys proceeded out of the booth to head to the car, (y/n) shot Calum a look.

“What are you doing? I can’t hang out tonight, I have class in the morning, that’s why we did dinner instead-“

“That’s really too bad, love, because you and I need to have a bit of a talk, don’t we?”

She raised her brows at his bold comment, but didn’t argue with him again. Simply followed next to him out of the restaurant.

She continued to stare at him, waiting for him to give her some sort of sign of what was going on in his head. Clearly something had happened, but he wasn’t budging at all. The only sliver of a sign he offered was pulling her in close to him when they got in the back of Luke’s car. Which only made (y/n) more anxious for answers, because it was now obvious to Luke that something was up.

Ash and Mike were already at the house when Luke pulled in, and everyone went in together, deciding on drinks and just hanging out and chatting. (y/n) didn’t understand why Calum needed her to stick around for this, but she wasn’t going to question him in front of everyone.

She was sat curled up on one end of the sofa, and surprisingly, it was Ashton next to her, not Calum. And Luke on the other side of Ashton.

Calum was in his own seat in a recliner, sat upright and solid, completely isolated from the group. Michael was also sat alone in a similar chair, but still made the effort to join in on the laughter and conversation.

At this point, (y/n) was not only confused, but a little pissed off.

She took a long swig of her beer, gave Calum a pointed look, and then excused herself to the kitchen for another drink. Where she waited for him to show up just seconds later.

“You alright love?” He asked as he strolled into the kitchen, words sweet, but voice cocky. (y/n) crossed her arms as she leaned back against the counter.

“What the hell is up with you? You drag me back here with the guys because you need to talk to me, and then ignore me, when you know I shouldn’t even be here in the first place-”

“Babe,” Calum cut off her irritated rambling, and she gawked a bit at the pet name, but before she could continue, he took a large stride forward, practically caging her in against the kitchen counter. “Why are you so upset?” He asked, feigning concern as he leaned in even closer to her. His lips brushed the shell of her ear as he spoke again, hands on either side of her on the counter, now actually keeping her their against him. “Why are you so tense, angel?”

(y/n) pushed herself further back into the counter, trying to put some space between their bodies as their eyes met again. There was a coy smirk on his lips, telling her he knew exactly what he was doing, messing with her like this.

“Was it all those tweets you were reading, babe?” He asked, and she liked her lips, suddenly they felt very dry. Calum chuckled as he caught the action. “I knew it”

“What do you think you’re doing?” She asked him breathlessly.

“Didn’t you want to have that talk now? That is why you wanted me to follow you in here isn’t it?” Calum asked, and the irritation in her eyes dissipated into something else he recognized all too well, just not so much on her.

Lust.

“Did all those thirst tweets from random girls make you a bit jealous baby?” He cooed, hands finding her hips and sliding just a bit under the hem of her shirt, just enough to run the rough pads of his fingers over her skin. He cocked an eyebrow at her, telling her he was impatient for her answer.

“Maybe,” She murmured out, unable to find her voice due to his distracting touch. “Just a little bit”

“Really?” Calum chuckled, letting one of his hands trail from her waist to cup just under her jaw, pulling her in closer. He was leaning over considerably by reason of their height difference. “I can tell when you lie (y/n), we’ve been friends for years” His ring clad fingers ran delicately down her throat.

When he leaned forward, her eyes fell shut, and a chill ran down her spine as his lips brushed over hers. It almost seemed unintentional, but (y/n) knew full well that Calum was in absolute control of what he was doing.

“We should get back to our friends before they come looking for us” Calum practically muttered into her mouth, stepping back a bit to leave the room.

Before he could, her small hands grasped the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him back in against her and connecting their lips in a desperate and passionate kiss. Like her life depended on it, she’d never thought twice about kissing him, she just knew that she needed to before he could leave.

Calum reacted immediately, kissing her back with fervor, his hands setting back on her hips so he could lift her up and set her on the counter. Her skirt rode up a bit, but she didn’t have a care about it. Their kiss broke for a moment as she readjusted to be comfortable, but he didn’t let her do much before tugging her right back into his chest, neck craning down to meet her lips again in a fiery kiss. She tasted of alcohol and her strawberry chapstick and he was addicted to it upon contact, each kiss more desperate than the last, until she was panting against him in silent plea for more.

“Cal,” She murmured his name out softly as he hiked her legs up his hips, so that he could run his hands under her bare thighs and hold her securely against him. He trailed a few kisses along her jaw, making her tilt her head back in bliss.

He pulled away, eyes flickering over her features and taking a moment to fully appreciate her in this state. Her eyes were shut, long lashes casting small shadows over her cheekbones. Lips swollen and pink because of him. She looked like a piece of art like this.

(y/n’s) eyes opened when she realized he wasn’t about to kiss her again, and a blush settled on her cheeks as she found him staring at her. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from smiling too wide and looking like a dork.

“What?” She murmured after he’d just stared for long enough. Calum shook his head, smiling one of his infamously happy grins, his eyes crinkling and his teeth on display as he looked at her.

“I just love you so damn much, I don’t know why you’d ever be jealous of a stranger, angel” He murmured, a hand cupping her cheek. She wasn’t sure how he’d gone from irresistibly sexy to adorable and sweet in a matter of seconds, but it didn’t matter, because her heart was swelling beyond maximum capacity and the smile she’d tried to hold back broke free.

“You love me?” She asked, even though he’d said to her clear as day, she needed to know that her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her right now.

“Course I do sunshine, you’re my best girl, always have been” He said, shrugging his shoulder and cocking his head to the side. (y/n) smiled at him, her hands finally releasing their death grip on his collar to take his face in her small palms, gently guiding him down to kiss his lips softly. Gentle, and pure, and sweet.

She kept her forehead pressed against his, her hands still holding him close even as their lips parted.

“That’s how I should’ve kissed you the first time,” She whispered to him. “After a date, all nervous like”

Calum chuckled softly, his hands taking her own and his lips brushing the back of them both before cupping her face in his hands, and kissing her sweetly, as she did him.

“I love you too,” She murmured between small kisses. “I love you too” She repeated, their noses bumping a bit as their lips met again in a slightly more sloppy kiss.

“Hey where’s the- woah hey!”

Calum and (y/n) pulled apart upon hearing Michael’s surprised words from what he’d walked in on. The bassist swiftly pulled down her skirt from where it had ridden up pretty high on her thighs, and gave his friend an awkward nod of acknowledgement.

“Guys! They finally did it!” Michael hollered into the living room.

(y/n) sighed, giving Calum a bashful and apologetic look before she slid off the counter she’d been sitting on. Luke and Ashton came rushing in, one with his arms up in cheers, and the other staring wide eyed and gawking just at the close proximity of Calum and (y/n).

“It’s February, you guys owe me twenty, I guessed the closest!” Luke hollered at the other two.

“You bet on us?” (y/n) asked.

“Luke, you guessed January, it doesn’t count ‘cause it passed. Ash wins, he guessed May” Michael ignored (y/n’s) comment, while fumbling for his wallet to pay Ashton.

“But I was closest,” Luke argued. “Doesn’t matter if it happened past my guess, my guess was still closest-”

“Hold on, hold on,” Calum spoke up, taking the twenty dollar bill from Michael before Ashton, or Luke, could. “You guys are not paying each other over (y/n) and I getting together”

“We’re together?” (y/n) asked softly from next to him.

“Course we are baby,” Calum winked over at her. “If you’ll have me, but give me a moment,” He turned back to his friends, holding up the money. “(y/n/n’s) got classes in the morning, so we are taking this, I’m taking her home, and we’re using your money to get her breakfast for the morning”

“Fine,” Luke muttered. “Congratulations by the way, I knew you two would crack”

“Crack?” Calum muttered, but shook his head, deciding he didn’t want much more of an explanation. “Okay, we’re gonna head out, ready?” He asked (y/n), who nodded and took his offered hand so he’d lead her out of the house.

“Don’t forget to carry the bride over the threshold!” Luke hollered before they could be out of earshot.

Calum turned to (y/n), squeezing her hand and kissing her temple.

“When’s your last class tomorrow?” He asked, and she thought for a moment.

“I should be finished up by two,” She answered. “Why, you free?”

He giggled, actually giggled at her response, and nodded his head.

“I say we go on that date you were talking about earlier,” He suggested, opening the passenger door of the car for her. She hummed and got in, Cal quickly closing the door and getting in on the driver’s side. “Well? Am I taking you out tomorrow?” He asked, and she grinned, nodding and leaning over the center console to meet his lips in a kiss.

“You sure as hell are” She agreed, and Calum grinned before kissing her again.

They should have done this long ago.

xoxo ~ jordie

#5sos #5sos x reader #5sos fanfiction #5sos imagine #5sos scenario #calum hood #calum hood x reader #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood scenario #calum hood imagine

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notobsessed-justobservant · 6 years

Text

Mission Impossible

Pairing: Peter x Stark!Reader

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, the Avengers (mentioned), Vision (mentioned), Aunt May (mentioned), Daughter/Stark!Reader

Word count: 2,380

Summary: Peter wonders what his next mission from Mr. Stark will be, but he’s in for a surprise- it’s not a matter of what, it’s who.

Warnings: none, just fluff

A/N: im alive! well, I've arrived, more like, cause no one in this fandom knows who the hell I am. Hi, I’m Luna, and I’m in love with peter parker. Usually, you can find me at @dean-the-smol-bean writing supernatural fanfic, but lately, my love for Marvel (and our favorite Avenger-in-training) has exploded, and it’s made me want to write for him (and possibly other Marvel characters) as well. So, here I am- can’t just start off easy am i? this is chapter one of what will be a who knows how long series. I hope you’re intrigued! anyways

PS- TYSM to my love @justawaywardwinchester for helping me edit my absolutely horrendous amount of spelling errors and generally get my life together even when it’s not her fandom. ♥️ u always

Send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list!

“Mr. Stark, thank you so much for bringing me in on this, I won’t let you down, I promise you won’t regret this-”

“Yeah, yeah kid, whatever, listen, this is the most important mission I have ever put you on, okay, so don’t get too cocky. Keep your head straight and keep your eye on the prize.”

Peter gulped, taking a deep breath as he trailed behind Tony eagerly. Ever since his help in defeating Thanos, Tony’s been putting a lot more faith in him, and to say it’s been amazing would be an understatement. Today, he’d called him in for a new mission- the third major one thus far. He wasn’t a full Avenger quite yet, he was still living with his aunt May, ‘staying on the ground’, as he put it. However, each time Peter’s phone flashed the name of Happy Hogan or Tony Stark, he found himself practically jumping from his chair to answer it and fling himself into whatever battle was asked of him.

Which brings us to today.

“Alright, through these doors is the thing most important to me, my most prized creation, the one thing that matters most to me in the entire world- you’re most crucial mission.”

Peters' eyes went wide as Tony stretched out a hand, pushing open the double doors, a combination of excitement and fear fighting for dominance in the pit of his stomach.

To his surprise, however, all he was met with was what looked like a classic New York studio apartment- a little out of place in the modern, high tech, Avengers compound, but not otherwise significant.

He was quickly greeted by what felt like a hoard of animals- two gigantic Doberman pinschers came bounding forward, jumping upwards and attempting to lick at his face.

“Whoa- wha-?” he smiled, laughing a bit as they sniffed him up and down, awkwardly petting them in return as they nearly pushed him over.

“Hey, down boys! Down- down. Jesus, I am so sorry,”

Suddenly, the dogs were off of him, and Peter chuckled, closing his eyes and wiping the slobber from his face as he responded to the unfamiliar voice.

“It's cool! I love do-” halfway through his sentence, he opened his eyes, only to be halted in his tracks by the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He’d know your face anywhere- anyone would- you were Y/N Stark. But like most people, he’d never had the pleasure of seeing you in person- and god was it certainly a pleasure.

“-w-whoa-” he breathed out, and Tony turned, giving him a searing look, but neither of you seemed to notice as you ushered away your pets, and Peter watched every movement. You laughed, soft and sweet in his ears, unlike anything he’d ever heard before.

“Well that’s good, but who doesn’t, I guess? I mean, if anything I’d take it as a compliment that they like you so much, they’re very picky.”

“Huh… yeah…”

Peter seemed to be in a daze like he had been staring at the sun for too long and suddenly his vision had gone blurry. Tony glanced between the two of you, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Anyways…” he interjected, and you turned to face the both of them, “so, Y/N, this is my new intern, also known as the ‘Spider-Man’” he waved his hands in a dramatic arching motion, emphasizing the name teasingly. In any other circumstance, Peter would have objected- ‘it’s just- just Spider-Man. Not the-‘ and no doubt he’d be muttering something about the dramatic speaking of his name, but today, that all just passed him by. Instead, he found his focus unyieldingly centered on you.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Spider-Man. Tell me, does Spider-Man have a regular name? Or have you just been climbing up buildings and swinging through New York since birth?”

Peters' eyes widened, snapping from his gaze realizing that the sweet sounds coming from your lips were directed at him.

“Oh, uh, yeah, yes. I’m Peter-man- I mean Spider-Parker- shit- I mean-“

You laughed, a sugary sound that dripped through the air like warm honey, making Peter feel as though he didn’t care if he was making a complete fool of himself if it meant he could hear that sound again.

“Nice to meet you, Peter-man Spider-Parker. I’m Y/N Stark. Sorry, I don’t have a cool superhero name like you to insert between my boring person name,” you joked, and Peter found himself chuckling at you- the thought of having the last name ‘Stark’ and feeling anything but super practically baffling him. “And you’ve already met the dogs-” you turned, nodding your head towards the two, giant animals lying on the sofa behind you. “-Sirius and Remus.”

Peters' eyes lit up, crinkling a bit at the corners as his lips fell into a lopsided smile.

“You named your dog after the Marauders?”

You snickered, nodding.

“Well, half of them. But yes, I did. You read Harry Potter?” you inquire, and suddenly Tony feels as though you’ve forgotten he’s there.

“Do I read Harry Pott- uh, yeah.” He said, incredulous. “Do you breathe air?”

You giggled, and a grin spread across his face for making you laugh

“Of course. It was a stupid question, what house are you?”

“Hufflepuff! And my wand is 13 inches with unicorn hair core, what about yo-”

“Alright, as… magical, as this conversation is, you and I have got some talking to do about your newest mission,” Tony raised his eyebrows at Peter, and he understood. “I just thought you two should meet. Sorry for the interruption, princess. How’s the project coming?”

“Good. It’s definitely gonna need some more work- I just can’t get the background colors right for some reason.”

You frown, frustrated, and it’s at this moment that Peter registers your paint smattered shorts and oversized hoodie- the Stark Industries logo smeared with bright blue paint, splotches of varying colors splattered all across both its fabric and your skin. He’d been so taken aback by you that he’d nearly gotten tunnel vision, barely registering anything else.

“Well, don’t worry kiddo, you’ll figure it out, you always do. I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.” He reached out, ruffling your hair a bit, your bun flopping from side to side. You scrunched up your face, half-annoyed, half-endeared, giggling.

“Well, we’ll leave you to it. Parker?” he turned, pointing towards the doors they had entered through. Peter nodded excessively, glancing between his mentor and the girl in front of him.

“Nice meeting you, Peter,” She said, and the most angelic smile graced her lips. He let out a shaky breath, nodding.

“You too- nice meeting you too-”

“Parker” Tony called after him, already out the door, and waiting.

“Right, sorry.”

“Now, Peter,” Tony began.

They were back in the lab, and Peter was trying not to fidget too intensely as he sat awaiting his instruction. “Like I said before, through those doors was your most important mission.”

Peter furrowed his brow, thinking about what Mr. Stark had told him just before he introduced him to you.

“Oh yeah, what was that? You never actually got to show-” Tony raised his eyebrows, staring at him. He swore, for a kid genius, this boy could be incredibly slow sometimes. It took him a second, but Peters’ eyes went wide.

“Oh- you meant-?”

“There we go, good job kid, you got there.”

“But how is she- my ‘mission’? What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means, that girl is the single most important thing to me in the whole world, and nothing- I mean capital ‘N’ Nothing can ever happen to her.” He got up from his seat across from Peter, turning to face the gigantic, wall-sized window overlooking lush, green, upstate New York. “And… as much as I’d like to say being Iron Man is all kicking ass and getting chicks… it’s not. Being a hero is dangerous, and it creates a lot of enemies. Enemies who would do anything to get what they want.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “So I need someone to protect her. Someone I can trust. High-level security team just won’t cut it and I can’t exactly have the entirety of the Avengers just trail her around. So, that’s where you come in.”

Tony glanced over his shoulder at Peter, who straightened up, immediately, trying to hide his incredible excitement at the statement ‘someone I can trust’.

Tony turned completely then, his stiff stance relaxing a bit, and Peter wondered if anything had happened to you before to bring on this high tension in Mr. Stark. He hoped not.

“Plus, I think it’d be good if she had a little… friend, or whatever. Someone her age. Her only friends can’t be the super-human freakshow we call the Avengers and her dad, it’s just not right.”

Peter chuckled, in awe of the idea of even living with all those people, let alone being friends with them.

“Got that, kid?” Tony finished, and Peter nodded, straightening himself even more. “Yes- yes sir, Mr. Stark sir. Of course.”

Tony nodded, unbuttoning his suit jacket and slipping it off.

“Good, now scram, I’ve got work to do and your anxious teenage-boy energy is messing with my space.” Peter pushed himself up to stand, mumbling an incoherent ‘s-sorry’, unsure if Mr. Stark was joking or not. He turned away, reaching for the doorknob.

“Kid, wait,”

Peter, stopped turning eagerly standing at attention.

“Last thing and this is the most important thing… don’t fall in love with her. Or whatever.”

Peters’ eyes went wide, and he nearly choked on his own tongue.

“What?”

“You heard me. I saw your bubbly little interaction earlier. Any girl, kid, really, I’ll be your wingman. But not my daughter,”

Peter stood there awkwardly, feeling somewhat like he was getting ‘the talk’ for some reason, unsure of what to say. “Capiche?” Tony continued, and Peter nodded, laughing nervously.

“Yeah, yeah right. Of course sir. I would never.”

Tony remained silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing into a piercing glare. Peter felt as though he were in the scope of a rifle, and the wielder was still debating whether or not he would pull the trigger.

“Good,” Tony said, and Peter let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Now scram. I mean it this time. Go do some homework or something- no spider-manning until you’ve finished all your school work alright?”

“Yes sir, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, sport.”

The door swung shut behind Peter, and he let out a long breath, feeling like he’d just stepped out of a long, intense interrogation. He shook that feeling off, tilting his chin up and squaring his shoulders as he made his way towards the front of the compound, where Happy would no doubt be waiting to give him a ride home. Just as he grabbed his backpack, someone called from behind him.

“Hey, Peter!” That same, serene voice rang out through the quiet compound, and he found himself tripping a bit as he turned all too eager to face it.

“Whoa! Easy there.” You laughed, catching him as he stumbled forward.

Peter pushed himself off you immediately, and he could feel his face warming to a bright, beet red.

“I am, so sorry oh my god-”

You only laughed, and he found himself melting like soft serve once again. “Don’t worry about it, seriously. I’m a bit of a clutz myself, always bumping into things. It’s fine.”

Peter stared at the floor, embarrassed, gripping the straps of his backpack so tightly he wondered if his super strength would tear them.

“Me too. But, you could already tell that I guess.” He said with an impish smile, and you nodded.

“Yeah, I kinda got that.” You teased, and he felt his ears go a shade darker. “But there’s gotta be something more to you than clumsiness, a cute smile, and a radioactive spider bite, Parker. My dad is super picky about who he lets meet me, so you’ve got something special in you, pretty boy.”

Peter found his stomach doing somersaults at the term ‘pretty boy’. Maybe your father's charm was genetic.

“I uh- I don’t know about that.” He stuttered, and you laughed.

“I do. Watch, you can prove it to me. Lemme see your phone.”

“What?”

“Your phone! So I can give you my number and you can tell me all about how bland and boring you are. All I do all day is lay around the compound and try to get Vision to give me a straight answer as to whether he’ll die if he says ‘control, alt, delete’, so I’ve got plenty of time on my hands. He says that’s ridiculous but I still haven’t heard him say it so I’m not convinced.”

Peter laughed, bright and genuine as he shook his head.

“Alright. Here.”

He reached into his backpack, pulling out his cracked iPhone, handing it to you. You took it, deft fingers tapping quickly across the screen as you entered in your name and number.

You handed it back to him, and he glanced down at his screen to see you’d sent out a text.

‘Hi’

“Now I have yours.” And as if on cue, the sound of R2-D2 beeped from her back pocket. Peter smiled at that. She pulled out her phone (it was a brand new the XS, which technically hadn’t even come out yet. He wasn’t surprised.) and showed him the screen. His number and the message ‘Hi’ flashed across her screen.

“Perfect.” He grinned, and his own phone beeped.

May: Home soon? Trying a new recipe. Be ready for a scorched kitchen and takeout.

He laughed, stuffing his phone into his back pocket, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Well, I should really…” He began walking backward pointing toward the front doors.

“Right yeah. I’ll text you?” she held up her phone, waving it.

“Yeah, totally- yes. Yes please.”

Please? Jesus Peter, how desperate can you get.

She giggled, wiping a strand of hair out of her face, and he watched as a stripe of red paint smeared across her cheek as she did so.

Oh, he was never going to be able to follow Mr. Starks rule.

97 notes · View notes

weirdness-on-the-roof · 5 years

Text

critical role episode 48 campaign 2 notes and funny lines post break edit:this has detailed notes on all the stuff that happened later in the episode including physical descriptions near the end. enjoy ya nerds

don’t steal the books from a high powered mage; don’t kill the dude; beau turning into cad; look at beau planning for the future

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is marisha flirting with matt via matt playing yasha and beau flirting with yasha?

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‘tea the international language’ but no earl grey

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wensworth the goblin

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coming from Cad ‘im a fine tea maker’ is kinda a threat tbh

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elf that isn’t white/European??? yay! also really old elves are cool

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beau and cad tag teaming a political chat with a mage this can’t end poorly

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Nott: :beau ruins every situation shes in and is very abrasive

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send the freaking cat!!! why not?? caleb my dude

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god i miss allura and gilmore currently

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fucking fuck don’t lie to the mage beau plz stop this is painful ‘you’re not wrong’ sure blame the ancient sea god

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‘on the verge of returning’ yea no duh you let him out 2/3 of the way so fjord could get a spell

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‘we found a thing’ so smooth and eloquent beau ‘it was presented to us as the happy fun time ball’

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‘butter fingers with magical items’

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beau getting a geography lesson from a very old powerful elven mage

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‘magical geometric orb that has the ability to bend time and space and fate’ which is kept in a hot pink magic bag that happened to ‘fall into [their] lap’

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‘if youre down im down is what im saying... i have a few slots open in my loyalty bank if you’re willing to pay rent’ says the 20 some human who punches things to the centuries old wizard ‘

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liam stress eating

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cad’s hope in the group is heartwarming

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tower metaphors and a conversation!!!

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caleb reading shitty romance novel and nott eating a fish outside a mage’s tower in the morning sunlight in a major city

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caleb takes the rear

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first name drop and a while

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holy shit 200 years of magic using

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cad explaining materialistic nature of the rest of the party to elf dude is hilarious

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teleportation circles?????? in return for access to the sphere!! oh shit thats good

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or candy

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crap. no one has insight checked this dude and they gave him the happy fun ball and made a deal kinda.

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‘how do we prove our loyalty?’ ‘by not fucking me over’ sounds like a good plan

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is this guy just caleb’s patron now on the low idk this is how my head works and he said learn

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“you have a geometric shape that makes babies?” “yea they talked about that”

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fjord just kills the dude

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‘i got banishment on hold just in case’ *cackling laughter*

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i agree with elf dude, him not knowing anything about the dodecha is more concerning than him knowing about it

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ALL THE CITIES FROM CR1 MENTIONED FOR THE FIRST TIME!!! I STILL MISS ALLURA AND GILMORE

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good to know the pink bag protects from divination on this plane but just this one

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jester and the traveler figurine

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cad included the Traveler in the ‘chaotic forces’ i still think the traveler is some kinda arch fey evil things idk its real late here and this is incoherent

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‘well, thats been my morning tea‘

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caleb getting additional tour

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good aesthetic for the room tbh

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letting weird people in for morning tea is entertainment is a mood and something i strive to be able to do without getting murdered one day

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so yasha and caleb both have gotten the ‘stay with friends’ chat from a powerful being which is nice. but also the ‘use who you need to’ going to caleb is vaguely concerning

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personalized biscuits [bourbon, cinnamon, lobster, fish and three unknowns]

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‘caleb, what happened in there?’

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cad not believing caleb’s bullshit and opening doors for caleb warms my heart

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‘if this isn’t the death of us, and if not hes a good ally. somethings gonna be the death of us so [yolo]’

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‘you can’t bullshit everyone in this world’

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cad talking about beau telling the truth: ‘you’re not very good at it but you tried

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jester looking out for nott and her home town

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caleb and beau being cute while also giving each other shit is the most sibling like thing

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omg going back to allfield that was so long ago for fucks sake BRYCE my person thank god

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jester had a boy band phase its cannon and i think the girls had a sleepover in jester’s old room. also marion never leaves the hotel. THE RUBY NECKLACE MY HEART AND THE HONEY AWWWWW

‘the army of men and women and inbetween that will do as i want them to’ god i adore her being protective of jester

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also the fact matt makes such a good mom why is he like this

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travel time!!!! ‘roll for initiative’-tal

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how does matt keep these notes so organized and remember all the npc names

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the ranger/beast master in Laura is coming out with nugget

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caleb is a devout cat person and jester is the definition of a dog person

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nott refining oil on a magical moving cart, while jester reads a romance novel and trains a dog,

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Dyren- Beau’s roommate at colbot souls; ‘taught beau lots of really cool things’ got sent to a warfront. shaved head, dark clothes, buff b/c ‘been workin out’, ‘do you love her?’ they had ‘good times’, then literal booty call, and dropping locations, Dyren was in Bladegarden. ‘fierce eyebrows, pointed nose’

OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES

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Vandren info drop to Fjord ‘he was making amends’

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Dyren responded and was hurt in Bladegarden but is safe. Beau looked immediately worried and happy about jester’s imput [’sounded way into you’]

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empire kids chat and caleb admitting insecurities about powerful people and being scared about the consequences of his actions and the group’s actions. caleb is scared about being forced to leave for safety and being ‘flayed alive’. my thoughts are he would leave if he became a threat to the others by being there or vise versa. trent would extort that b/c hes a dick

“caleb, unfortunately, you don’t get to choose who cares for you” you’re fucking correct Beau

“the problem with friends is that you have to care for them”

walks away “wow cool caleb! see- jester thinks you’re cool because shes your fucking friend!”

me too Tal “everything i like about those two characters in one conversation”

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5 years since Caleb left Trent and crew ie had a nervous breakdown

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gustav left town after being freed and trostenwald now has a WV accent that is too familiar

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100 extra soldiers in allfield. bryce is still up and kicking and wonderful. stuff ‘got this far east [quickly]’. the attacks came from underground apparently so fuck. the fields were burned, building destroyed a bit then they [Xhorhasians] left

“good thing is they’ve already been attacked so lightning doesn’t strike twice” oof thanks bryce

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beau just dead ass asking for illegal writing statements

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fjord having a thank u jesus bryce moment

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jester giving cad a pretty present is ‘so exciting’ and precious

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Cad not knowing cookbooks were a thing!!! and not being utterly literate enough to understand it

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wtf happened to liam’s voice in the ‘main export is oysters’ thing

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FELDERWEN!!!!!

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a dozen squads of 50 ppl each patrolling felderwen area so rippppp

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Nott knows where the halfing’s house is.... interesting... and is heavily drinking

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BLUE FLASH

elven woman in fine clothes of green and black ----lady vest durogna the arch mage of antiquity serboros assembly

a male figure in deep blue robes, older pale elf, fine clothes, the flash came from him----- martinette luden’th de____ arch mage of domestic protection

CALEB KNOWS THEM BOTH FROM THE ACADEMY AHHHHHH

he just lays flat and hides in the cart internally: ‘nopenopenopenope’

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several burned buildings, a warehouse, an inn, apothecary and several houses

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ohhhh shit the halfling was the owner of the apothecary and nott was looking for the shit she had been sending back this whole adventure....... im sad now that was confirmed

havent found a body of yeza

luke is yeza’s son at old edith’s house

halflings only produce halflings according to something i read at some point but forget where sooooooooo

shattered vials and materials and house stuff

CHILDREN'S TOYS

locked basement which nott knows of?? Nott is anxious and impatient when the door doesn’t open. jester fails, yasha rages and at a 19 and doesn’t break the door. ‘it wasn’t [trapped]’ but dispel magic worked to open it.

a 15′x15′ room, tossed ‘not like you remember’ to nott, a 2x3 iron chest. a single chair in the center of the room. definitely a struggle with heavy impacts and blade scratched on wall

nott was the torturer from the goblin tribe

chair was placed in the spot after the struggle

this was where he [yeza] kept chemicals according to nott

poisoned iron locked box (dull black glass) inside a retractable silver tripod to hold something atop it, 3 empty vials 1 full one with a liquid/gas fog like dull colored thing, a pile of destroyed notes [two pieces of still legible paper which have props]

dunamous field, causes ppl slow to be slower or faster, ‘captured crin operatives’ dunaments and dunamacy, origon gliffs, exist outside established schools of magic, theory in deeply rooted in arcana taken for granted, rooted in _____ town, 12-16 months to refine, word has found me that trent’s kiddos have knacks for this things, dreams are thrilling

well shittttt

crin on battle fields, ‘breaking fields of fate, fuck the raven queen

SHIIIIIT

a piece of dunemous

dodecha goes in tripod according to beau

chair facing chest

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cricks did this apparently

a little under 100 crowns guard killed, 4 civilians burned

soldiers just ‘slowed down’

left via tunnels and collapsed them behind them

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nott dont be a bitch and don’t get mad at caleb and call them ‘his people’

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cad picks up caleb and ‘youre not at fault here, youre the solution here. don’t let her anger... its not about you’

my HEART

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the chest is too big for the haver sack but fits in lorenzo’s bag of holding

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people have entered and exited since the attack and left the chair and stuff

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lots ‘o chairs

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nott needs to see ledith and uke (?) and not flip the fuck out

‘humble hobble’

nott looked like halfling plump face, braids, tan skin

edith- human older, grey hair, beady eyes, ever present smile like face

LUKE IS HER SON!!!!!!!!!!!!!! CANNON

*edit- rewatching this and seeing ever one’s faces “wheres my son?!” particularly laura/liam/travis just hurt. liam just looked up after a second and travis did his face he does and laura just stiffened and eyes and hand to face. caleb/liam who knows just hugs himself the rest of the convo. marisha is note taking and fuck the video off now

about 5 yrs old, blue eyes, tan/light brown skin, halfling

gave him the doll of the king

IM GONNA CRY NOW BYE

‘HES PROABLY DEAD NOW TOO LIKE I THOUGHT YOU WER’

yenza locks him away when ‘the mean lady comes by’

mean lady has pointy ears and comes often, luke was kept in room, luke was pushed out of the house and told to go somewhere safe so he ran to edith’s house and ‘everything was on fire’

‘im not strong enough to come back yet but know that [im stll thinking of you and i send things] and i hope dad sends them to you.“ fuck my heart

“in my heart i think he is” “well don’t die”

-------

the elves are gong to the ruins of yenza’s house

-------

marisha looked so betrayed

tal ‘i was waiting for the riegel shoe to drop’

WOW

HEY CALEB- WOOOW

-------

we’ll pick up hiiiere

fuck you sam and matt and everything abou this my heart is just FUCKKK

ummm so enjoy the frantic poorly taken notes <3

#critical role spoilers #spoilers #lore drop #ohh shit #fuck you sam #not okay in the slightest why are you like this #i dont have words at this point

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legion1993 · 6 years

Text

What Happens When You Bring Home A Unknown Substance

Title: What Happens When You Bring Home A Unknown Substance

Square Filled: Tentacle Porn

Ship: Tentacle x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Vaginal Penetration, Anal Penetration, impregnation, choking, gagging, double penetration, talking tentacle monster

Summary (If applicable): you head out on a hunt but it turns into something that brings your inner curiousity to a whole new level, upon bringing this new specimen back to your home, you finish your shower and things begin to go wrong…

Word Count (If applicable): 2,977

Created for @spnkinkbingo.

Masterlist kink masterlist

To say your curiousity always gets the better of you is an understatement… to say that hunting alone is a good idea is also an understatement… but to whoever said expect the unexpected, why did you have to be right…

You had just finished dealing with a witch sitch, you ganked her but she left behind this strange plant… you took a piece of it for observation and research… you headed home with the substance/plant/thing, and you could have sworn that it grew like 3 times bigger by the time you reached your apartment…

You brought it inside and left it on the table in your dinning room, going to the bathroom you stripped off all your clothes leaving the trail of clothing you would later clean up but not realizing that the plant/substance thing was actually alive…

You were in the shower, you couldn’t hear anything, you didn’t hear several things break, your couches being rearranged, your tables being smashed, that plant thing had grown to full strength and all it had to do was wait till you got back…

You were humming as you got out of the shower, you had some correspondence with people, other hunters who loved a fascinating scientific discovery as much as you did… you would contact them when you were done… but that is when you heard it, the loud crash of glass or ceramic breaking on the floor…

Y/N (to self): “what the hell was that?”

Then you heard whispers, almost as if it was calling out to you… you were cautious, you pulled out your knife and exited the bathroom, there was slime and stuff all over the floor and walls… you were appauled…

Y/N (to self): “fucking hell is this shit, I just took a shower…”

But the closer you got to your living room, the louder those whispers got…

Tentacle (whispers): “come to me…”

You follow the slime and whispers very carefully… your entire body convulsing like you wanted to throw up… it smelt like you were walking into a room right after an orgy had just gone down… but you entered your living room only to have your ankles bound and your knife knocked out of your hands, your attention fully focused on the big monster standing in your living room, but what they didn’t know was that you had a spare alarm of sorts…

Tentacle: “do you know what I am…”

You shake your head trying to reach your bag to answer your buzzing phone…

Y/N: “excuse me but can I please have some slack to reach my phone and answer it cause its work calling….”

The monster was compliant he let you get to your phone and answer the call you knew exactly who it was…

Dean (over phone): “is everything ok?”

Y/N: “its fine, just a little tied up with slime, but if you want me to come in please let me know now…”

Dean (over phone): “im on my way…”

You hung up the call, and tossed your phone behind you, it slid across the slime… you feared what look was befallen your form, one of the tentacles on the monster made its way up your body to pull off your towel… to which you were then pulled down onto your ass, you didn’t even have time to think before the feeling of slime filled your skin, you became unable to move…

Tentacle: “here is what I am, I am a tentacle plant, I sometimes come to life and rape beautiful women, in hopes of getting them pregnant and having them birth some more of my species… but half the time it doesn’t work… so here I go with you, that witch gave me some human characteristics and some shapeshifting abilities, but if I use them it wont be out of random, it will be to torture you…”

Y/N: “no please don’t do this, im a virgin… I can’t…”

Tentacle: “well this will be even more fun…”

The tentacles were holding your arms and legs spread apart, you were instantly scared not only were you being held in a pile of slime by some rapey tentacles, you tried struggling, but you soon found your mid section was being held down, your throat being wrapped in tentacle, but that’s where it all started…

Tentacle: “you make too much noise little girl…”

That’s when the monster stuck one of his tentacles in your mouth shifting it to look like a giant massive black cock… you gagged, you choked, but he thrust it deeper and deeper into your throat harder every time… you tried to scream against it but everytime you tried to scream, the tentacle in your mouth grew…

There were tears blurring your vision, the tentacles still swarmed your body, fondling your breasts making you squirm, making you try to break free of their grip… but it was soon that you felt like you couldn’t breathe…

Tentacle: “your about to pass out, good, lets see what I can do to you before you wake up again…”

Your eyes shut, you were trapped in your own head, great alone with your inner demons… while the tentacle monster had made his big form somewhat human looking, you were fighting your inner demons, this meant you needed to find a way to wake up, you had no ideas…

Meanwhile the tentacle monster had made two of his tentacles start playing with your nipples, the rest were still roaming your body, the monster was having some fun, seeing how far he could go before you would wake… that’s when Dean tried calling again, your phone buzzing against the floor, but no answer…

Dean (to self): “ok I need to connect with her some other way…”

That’s when castiel showed up beside Dean…

Dean: “jesus Christ cas you scared the living shit out of me…”

Cas: “why do you seem panicked?”

Dean: “its Y/N she is in trouble, something about slime and being tied up…”

Cas: “actually I was coming originally to tell you that a tentacle monster is loose in Y/Ns area… but there is something else you should know Dean… you and her have a connection… your parents said that you and Sam were their only children, that’s not true, you have a twin…”

Dean stops the car in the middle of the highway…

Dean: “IM SORRY WHAT?”

Cas: “Y/N is your twin… your parents split you both up incase something bad were to happen… she was living in an orphanage… but the people in the orphanage one of them specifically the one who was assigned to watch out for your twin was a hunter, she passed away by the hands of a werewolf who came after your sister… your parents kept this from you because together you have tremendous abilities… all of which would make you guys fantastic hunters… their only option was to give you guys as normal a life as possible by splitting you guys up…”

Dean: “so wait she is my twin… she is family… wait so everyone but me and Sammy knew about this…”

Cas: “pretty much…”

Dean: “I need you to do me a favor, I need you to mind meld me with my sister… I fear that she may be in greater trouble right now and its making me anxious…”

Cas puts his fingers to Dean’s forhead and the next thing Dean knows he is in a dark place, he walks around a bit before he sees some light… your silhouette in the middle of it, he approaches you…

Dean: “Y/N…”

You look up…

Y/N: “Dean, is that you?”

Dean: “of course it is… can you explain whats happening…”

Y/N: “im being raped by a freaky tentacle monster that’s why im crouched in a ball form… he stripped me of my clothes, if your on your way here I hope you have something for me to wear… cause there is no way im gonna be able to wear anything small and tight like I got…”

Dean: “Y/N, cas told me something about us, about you…”

You look at Dean being careful not to show anything…

Dean: “you and I are twins… mom and dad separated us because we have abilities that together could make us really powerful hunters… but don’t worry im coming to bring you home…”

Y/N: “if he hears you he is gonna impregnate me… he wants to impregnate me… Dean this witch I killed spelled him, gave him shapeshifting abilities and some human characteristics… you need to get to me as soon as possible… but warning there is slime everywhere, I mean literally all over the walls, floors, furniture, im pretty sure I don’t have any of my clothing left that isn’t covered in it…”

Dean: “its ok we will replace whatever we need to once back home… trust me sis your coming home…”

You at that moment tried to smile but instead started screaming… Dean moving back from you watched as you disappeared… he was then back in his own body…

Dean: “its still another 10 hours to her place, lets see if we can cut down the time…”

Dean puts petal to the metal as he takes off down the highway… meanwhile tentacles were teasing your clit, your holes and everything, but the tentacle that was still in your mouth had already shot several loads into your mouth… not even giving you a chance to breathe…

Tentacle: “she is about to wake… we must finish the penetration…”

That’s when you opened your eyes, you felt the slimey tentacles slithering across your vaginal and anal holes… you shoke your head but gagged on the tentacle that was in your mouth… then once again you were violated… a tentacle slithered across your vaginal hole, you shivered and tried to struggle but you couldnt move…

Tentacle: “im sorry deary I wish it didn’t have to be this way but I don’t want you getting away from me before I have a chance to plant my seed…”

You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you were completely helpless… to say you didn’t feel when your vagina and ass got penetrated was an understatement the tentacle monster made sure you felt everything…

First he went in your vagina you screamed gagging against the tentacle which had grown again… you were trying to stay calm but you didn’t remain calm at all, you were scared, you tried to not let your mind get overwhelmed, you tried to convey a connection with Dean’s thoughts, trying to see if you and your new found twin have a psychic connection…

Nothing worked but you didn’t give up you tried anything to distract you from what was actually happening to you… you couldn’t believe that you were loosing your virginity to this slimey ass tentacle monster… but the worse of this was just about to happen, the more he thrust into your vagina, the bigger he got, then he sent another tentacle to your asshole, instantly you froze…

You shoke your head once more but he ignored your pleas, that and he couldn’t hear you speak or at least attempt to without hearing you gag on the tentacle that was still in your mouth… by this point you were sure you would throw up later…

but that’s when your worst fear happened, the tentacle after sliming up your asshole entrance forced its way inside, growing just at how tight it was, you would have screamed if you could, you would have ran away or fought back but you couldn’t…

Tentacle: “so tight, be ready to receive all my sperm kiddo, be ready to birth all my children…”

Your eyes once more with even more terror widened, you were a god damn hunter you weren’t scared of anything… but he was thrusting in and out of you pretty well, your body held down, frozen almost from the initial shock, your mind not registering anything, your eyes shut for opening them would make this all too real…

Back in the impala, dean was just entering your neighbourhood, Cas was using his powers to find out exactly where you were…

Cas: “dean make a left and its just half a block down, its just before the park on the right… the lights should still be on but there is something strange…”

Cas listens for a moment before opening his eyes and turning to dean…

Cas: “drive faster he is raping her, he has taken her virginity…”

This made Dean panic, this made him mad… he drove and in seconds he was at your place, he placed the car in park and took out his gun, but made sure that he had a few extra things still with which he could either wrap you in or give you to wear… at this point modesty was out the window, you were his god damn twin, you are the piece he could never figure out was missing, why his family seemed so small…

Dean: “Cas stay outside and watch for any sign of intrusion by magic or other wise…”

Cas: “no dean im coming with you there is a key to unlocking your abilities as twins and it needs angelic presence to be able to activate…”

Dean: “I thought me and Y/N had to be in the same room..”

Cas: “no it’s a bit more complex… Michael was the one who approached your parents with this, when he came to your mom and Dad after the 2 of you were born he explained that you guys were powerful, being blessed by angels will do that to you, because your parents were blessed by angels when they conceived you guys, you came out with special abilities, ones that Michael said when the time was right should be unlocked but only by angelic powers could it be… ultimately I have to come with you, plus I can blast this thing into high heaven or into the deepest darkest farthest regions of space…”

Dean cocked his gun as he turned to Cas and sighed getting out of the car he could only see the shadows of the monster… he could only imagine how bad this was gonna be, but he knew one thing forsure was that tonight you were coming home and the thing raping you was getting ganked…

The tentacle in your mouth released an even bigger load, which was so big that it pulled out of your mouth in time for you to scream… this caught the ear of your brother, who little to your knowledge was outside, cum and slime now everywhere, you were screaming and gagging spitting every single drop out…

Tentacle: “what does the little girl not like cum, not like having things…”

That’s when the monster lifted you upright off the ground now holding you in the air the tentacle in your vagina and the one in your ass moved faster and faster growing bigger everytime… but that’s when you screamed was the feeling of warmth, the feeling of being stretched so wide that it felt as though you would tear in 2…

Tentacle: “get ready baby im cumming….”

That’s when he shot huge loads of cum in your ass and vagina… you now screamed but soon felt very very weak… you were so out of breath that you didn’t even notice that the door was bust down…

Dean: “hey monster put my sister down… NOW!!!”

Tentacle: “this is a first… no one has ever tried to stop me before, but im afraid your too late, I just impanted my seed inside this girl, what did you call her again, ah yes your sister… now if you don’t mind id like to continue torturing her and then terrorize the neighbourhood…”

Dean: “you wont get the chance fugly… Cas do your thing im gonna see if I can get Y/N released…”

Cas holds his hand towards the monster, who is completely oblivious to what Cas was about to do, but this distracted him long enough for Dean to find one of your katana’s and slice off the tentacles that were either inside you or holding you… to which he then removed what was still attached to you…

Dean: “Cas toss me your trench coat… you can buy another just do it…”

Cas didn’t argue he knew how important this rescue was so he tossed Dean his trench coat before taking the monster and sending him through the roof of the house not breaking anything and blasting the monster into the deepest farthest regions of outerspace where he could harm no one else…

Your form quivering under Dean’s touch, your eyes opening to see your brother holding you, wrapping your naked form in a coat…

Y/N: “Dean…”

Dean: “shh its ok sis, the monster is gone we made sure he will never be able to do any harm to any one else… Cas can you scan her and make sure his plan didn’t work…”

Can touches your forehead and glows for a few seconds but when he pulls back he smiles…

Cas: “she isn’t pregnant but she is tired and sore, so if we are gonna get her out of here we need to do it ASAP…”

Dean: “Y/N im gonna carry you to the car ok… don’t worry im gonna take care of you…”

Before picking you into his arms he gave Cas his keys…

Dean: “cas you drive, there is no way that ill be able to focus on the road right now…”

Cas nods taking the keys he watches Dean take you into his arms bridal style (im sorry it’s the only way possible in this situation) he helps Dean sit in the car while still cradling you in his grasp… you start feeing warm-ish, but before Cas starts driving he witnesses you and Dean starting to glow…

Cas: “its begun…”

~that’s all for now folks…~

#SPNKINKBINGO

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