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harmoni-me · 3 years

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hi! wanted to tell you that i absolutely love your writing skills, it’s so different from the others that i've read and it makes me feel so warm inside. keep up the good work! i'm really looking forward to seeing more

if you don’t mind, i'd like to request for a poly nagito x sweetheart reader x kokichi where they’re still in the crushing/pining stage and being confused about their sexuality. thank you, have a good day/night!💙

Phew! I finally did it! My fingers kinda hurt from typing all this haha! But I loved the request a lot! I played around with the concept you gave me as well, so it’s a story that branches out into multiple styles of writing. I do have to warn you though, goodness is this one long! But I hope you enjoy it all in the same! <3

I’m so sleepy lol

quick trigger warning beware! : There is a scene in this where a character goes through mental hysteria that contains some panic attack like symptoms. If you are sensitive to that writing, please, skip the the fluffy scene that if used for comfort right after :) (Or just don’t read it at all, don’t worry! Harmoni understands!)

Nagito Komaeda x Sweetheart Reader x Kokichi Ouma! Pt. 1

Also can we just talk about this gif? It makes me so happy...This artist is so good too like WHOA! Check them out!

“No…“

“1, 2, 3, 4-“

“NO-“

“5, 6, 7, 8!” Nagito finished, moving the silver, dog-shaped play piece across the board in rhythmic taps.

“NOOOO! BOARDWALK, NAGITO?! FUCKING BOARDWALK?!” Kokichi shrieked in a fit of rage, slamming his Panta drink onto the table, while standing up and causing an absolute fit.

Nagito was chuckling at the enraged boy, who was now standing on the kitchen counters, stomping in pure fury. Kokichi was a huge brat. A clingy, competitive, always-begging-for-something, whole-hearted brat. Though, Nagito would have to admit that he could never stay mad at Kokichi, in fact, he would have to say that he barely gets mad at him. Ever. He reminded the white-haired boy of a playful puppy, bounding and bucking happily when getting what it wants. It made Nagito’s heart melt, evaporate, then simply melt again, even when he was a cursing mess stomping on the granite countertops, getting scratches all over it.

“Woah! Nagi, that’s amazing! You got Boardwalk really early in the game, that’s so cool!” You smiled, while also laughing at Kokichi’s ferocious cursing as ambiance. Your smile drove Nagito’s attention away from the angered boy, and his heart went through overdrive once he saw your sweet smile, radiating so much contagious joy. It’s almost as if he was on a roller coaster that contained a different track each and every time he rode it. One minute, his heart would be doing loops, and the next, it excitedly go up again.

. . .

Now, this is where the problem begins. Well, the one of three problems that plague the three individuals all playing a simple game of Monopoly on a Sunday night. This is Nagito’s problem: Whenever he has an effect on Kokichi, making him oh-so-lovable in his eyes, his heart swells and fills his chest to the brim. Oh, was this feeling that was so incredibly foreign to him feel so wonderful when it dawned upon him for the first time.

Nagito could always draw the memory back within his vision in surreal detail. Kokichi and Nagito were loitering in the hallways of Hope’s peak, with the shorter purple-haired boy dragging the pale, frizzy haired boy by the hand to apparently “Conjure up the biggest most awesome-est prank Hope’s Peak has every witnesses since built into existence”. Honestly, how could Nagito say no to something that holds so much potential hope and despair, all contained in one big gift-wrapped surprise of a prank on the whole school?

After planning for a few hours, Kokichi seemed to have a fuse broken in his brain due to thinking about a truly fool-proof plan. The somewhat drowsy prankster reached into his schoolbag and pulled out two twin bottles of grape Panta, sliding one over to an unsuspecting Nagito. The purple plastic bottle bonked into Nagito’s forearm, knocking the bottle down from the force.

“Nehehe, I guess you really are the Ultimate Lucky student, huh? It just so happens I packed an extra today, Shamrock! Make it up to me sometime soon, okaaaaay?” Kokichi giggled, teasing the lanky, somewhat socially-awkward Nagito who was sitting across from him on a desk within a totally abandoned classroom. Nagito thanked the other, though, Kokichi really couldn’t respond due to being in the middle of chugging his favorite carbonated drink.

Nagito turn to his own bottle. He wasn’t the biggest fan of old-fashioned artificial grape flavored things, but it wasn’t the worst. Plus, it would be quite rude to refuse a drink from a friend, right? So the white haired boy simply picked up the bottle, and twisted the cap off, as per usual etiquette of opening a soda bottle.

Splash

It didn’t take too long until Nagito knew what was going on. The drink had exploded everywhere. The bottle of soda was basically empty by the end of the grape-geyser showcase, and poor Nagito was left drenched in purple, sticky, sugary liquid. The drink already was starting to dry into a thin, sweet crust on his skin, making the boy on a whole other level of uncomfortable. Though, it was kind of expected that Kokichi would be absolutely laughing his butt off in the moment, sounding like some sort of hysteric hyena mixed with a duckling quacking at some breadcrumbs. It was a laughable sight, no doubt, Nagito literally looked like the embodiment of a sad, wet dog.

But then Kokichi settled down after a bit, controlling his breathing from the pathetic sight. After doing so, he got up out of his seat, and knelt down to scrummage through his bag, revealing a regular branded water bottle. He then made his way over to Nagito, and without hesitation, sat himself on his soda-soaked lap.

“Aww, really going for that kicked puppy look, are you now? Well, since I’ve had all my laughing fun from this, I guess it’s only natural that I help you out, hm? Or would you rather just stay just like this? Oh, now, I wouldn’t mind it if we did…though it seems your eyes beg to differ…well in that case, let’s clean you up, shall we?” Kokichi hummed, teasing the ever living daylights out of the wet and miserable boy.

Kokichi then did something that made Nagito’s heart pound harder than it ever had before. The teasing boy reached behind his neck, untying his beloved checkered bandana. He then carefully opened the water bottle, and poured the contents onto the fabric. Once ensuring it was thoroughly soaked, Kokichi started to wash off as much of the stickiness he could. to Ruffling Nagito’s hair, from gently washing his pale cheeks, which were now sprinkled with specks of rose, and finally gliding the cloth along Nagito’s clothes and hands.

A few things in Nagito’s mind had clicked into place after Kokichi had handled him with the care equal to that of a lover. Well, ironically, Nagito had caught feelings for his tiny little prankster brat of a friend. Was it a huge surprise? Not really, based on the track that Nagito was on.

Another piece of the puzzle had snapped: Kokichi was a a guy. That was something really to think about. Never had Nagito found men attractive, but…

Finally, the last, and most worrying puzzle piece out of them all: Kokichi wasn’t the only one he has fell for. His heart has become torn in that moment, with every day becoming more of a wrestling match to the death rather than a silly tug-of-war between feelings. The other side of his heart was unsure, and fell for another person that had lifted him up through his lowest lows, supporting him like a much needed pair of crutches when having a sprained ankle.

And that person, was you.

. . .

“Ok ok ok ok ok! Listen here you little damn shamrock you!” Kokichi huffed, now sitting back on the ground, leg crossed, “You and I both know that I have Park Place, right? Right! Now, my dear little clover, I want to make a deal with you, if you will?” Kokichi smirked with evil intent clear within his irises.

“Ooo! Deals! Nagi, I think you should listen to Kichi, making profitable partnerships is pretty much his specialty.” You giggled, basically becoming Kokichi’s personal little advocate. He let out a quick “Yeah, what she said!”, causing Nagito to laugh and nod, gesturing for an explanation of the deal.

“Well, personally, my little clover, I feel like we should team up, you know? We could completely dominate over sweet our little gumdrop over there, making them drop to their knees in submission to us. You know, I have a feeling you and I both would enjoy it...” Kokichi shuffled a little closer to the platinum blonde, voice dropping, “We could rule them over together, as equals, or even make them surrender if they ever have the chance-“

“Sure! Though, you should probably get out of jail first.” Nagito chuckled, making the other boy grumble.

“OH YOU-“

“Heeeeey! I wanna join in too! It sounds like you guys are having fun and stuff, while I’m all alone…” You puffed out your cheeks, sadness dripping in your voice.

Both of the boys shot up to look at your somewhat downcast features, and oh, how it wreaked their hearts in one fell swoop.

Kokichi automatically shot up from his position, puffing out his chest in preparation for a new speech.

“O-ok! New deal! We ALL join evil forces TOGETHER, and absolutely destroy the game with all of our property, while reaping in the greedy rewards of the capitalist regime!” Kokichi loudly proclaimed, chuckling at the end of his new deal.

You gasped, “Deal! Deal! Taking over a money-based board game with my two favorite people ever will always be a yes for me!” You laughed, smiling at the thought of the three of you taking over Hollywood streets with a pose of limos, while using bags stuffed with pure cash as weapons made it ten times funnier.

Kokichi smiled, resting his hands behind his head, “Yeah! Let’s end it here and just say that we kicked so much millionaire ass that we now have control over the whole economy!”

. . .

This is the second problem, Kokichi is so undeniably confused. About what? About himself. He was sure as all hell about how he felt about you, he always went soft and squishy for you, and not to mention he would be extra clingy when it had to do with you. Headpats? Common, and always appreciated. Cuddles? Been there, done that with you.

But, then there was Nagito. Kokichi would never say this out loud, but he thought that Nagito was so…pretty. And god, Kokichi was a huge sucker for pretty people. Though, once he realized that his feelings didn’t go to just one person, that’s when he started to panic.

He had to take in multiple things at once, trying to accept it all at once, but it was just so incredibly difficult. He has spent the whole entirety of his life to perfect the art of lying, and one thing that he learned constantly manipulated his own mind and thought process, tearing it into metaphorical shreds.

In order to pull out a lie that everyone can believe, you have to lie to yourself, and proclaim your own illusion of your truth.

Did Kokichi want to believe he was immensely attracted to Nagito, who just happened to be a guy? No, he really didn’t. It wasn’t normal.

Did Kokichi want to believe that he had fallen so fucking in love with two of his closest friends? Hell no. In society, you had to pick and choose, it’s one or the god damn other.

Right?

One night, all of these feeling and thoughts rushed into the boy’s conscious all at once, building immense pressure within his head and chest. Was this a nightmare, or-

Suddenly, his throat started to close up on him, making him gasp out in agony, wheezing on the covers of his bed, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes.

Instinct kicked in within the speed of light. Kokichi shakily reached over to his phone, grasping onto it, and quickly set up a group call. Almost immediately, the two people he was panicking over had picked up.

“Hello? Kokichi? Is there anything you need?” A raspy voice rang out. It seems as if Nagito was awoken by the sudden calling.

“Yeah, Kichi? Is there anything wrong?” You softly spoke through the phone. It calmed Kokichi a little just hearing the two of you guy so worried over him.

“I-I know It’s out of the blue-“ Kokichi gasped for air “B-but can you guys please come over?”

And oh boy, did you and Nagito get there in record time.

After just a mere ten minutes, you and Nagito were outside of Kokichi’s bedroom door, and the both of you could hear the desperate hiccups and gasps of your poor friend.

The both of you had no doubts, nor questions. You just wanted the struggling boy to feel safe.

“We’re coming in.” You said, affirming your actions with light knocking on the bedroom door.

When the both of you came face to face with a Kokichi with puffy red eyes, clutching his heaving chest, and thick tears rolling down his face, it felt like the both of you just got shot in the heart, the weight of it sinking down into the stomach, emitting a feeling that could only be described as pure pity. But the two of you automatically got to work.

Sooner rather than later, You and Nagito were cuddling Kokichi from either side, supporting him, as well as being his shield for protecting his small, delicate frame from his own cruel thoughts. You had started to run your fingers through Kokichi’s hair, causing his breaths to become fuller, and not nearly as hitched. Nagito also wanted to contribute in his own way, so he decided to mindlessly draw messy shapes and squiggles into Kokichi’s side, hoping that what he was doing would be of any help.

After only a mere five minutes, Kokichi had passed out from exhaustion, but the two of you kept on doing what you were doing, wanting for the boy in-between you two to have sweet dreams about all of what he desires all night long.

Kokichi has never let go of that memory, and never will for the rest of his life, and it’s a constant reminder on how much he had lied to himself. He actually wanted the truth out of something for once in his life, and that was how long it would be in order for the loves of his life to live without restraint of societal chains. Whenever it was, he would always be ready. Always, with arms as open as the horizon.

. . .

“Why in the world are we watching Big Hero 6 again? Didn’t we watch this, like, a month ago?” Kokichi trudged from the microwave, to the plush couch, bowl of buttered popcorn in hand.

“(Y/N) wanted to watch it, is there a problem?” Nagito tilted his head, holding the remote, about to press play. You were bouncing in anticipation, because this movie was just never a disappointment.

“Hm, well, I GUESS there’s nothing wrong with it….just don’t be surprised when you hear me snoring.” Kokichi huddled up beside you, placing the bowl of popcorn on you lap.

“I deem you the popcorn peacemaker! Your job is to make sure no one’s being a pig.” Kokichi snickered, while you giggled at your new role in life.

“Nagi? You like popcorn, right? Here!” You placed the bowl on his lap, causing him to smile.

“Hey, HEY! NO! That means I have to reach my WHOLE ARM over to to Lucky boy, JUST SO I CAN GET SOME POPCO-“

“Sh sh sh! The movie is starting!” You giggled, shushing the purple haired boy, while you heard a little chuckle from the white haired boy who was next to you.

. . .

The last problem was you. Your heart bubbled up in joy whenever you where around these boys, making your face erupt like a volcano whenever something slightly suggestive is aimed at you when it has to do with either one of them. You liked both of them, a lot, and you gave everything in order for the three of you to flourish in bountiful friendship. Yeah, that’s the problem, it was friendship.

Oh, how desperately you wished that everything could be easy! If life were like an infinite rolling of crashing waves, things would be flawless, predictable even. Unfortunately, life really likes to give you the short end of the stick, and this was honestly one of the shortest sticks someone like you would have never asked for. The loving of two men, both equally, and having an intense desire to treat them as lovers. What would they do as lovers? Where would they go as lovers? The questions and possibilities are endless…

The only time where you felt as if the friendship could’ve resembled anything somewhat romantic, was a summer evening trip to the beach.

The water was the perfect temperature, the ocean was as clear as glass, and the sand didn’t burn the soles of your feet. The boy’s were in their swimming trunks, having their own little fun. Nagito was afraid of getting to deep into the ocean, so you always stayed in the shallow end, trying to capture as many tiny fishes as you could with your bare hands.

Kokichi insisted that him and Nagito bury you in sand, leaving your head poking out of a sandy little cocoon. When the sun started to set, you got some supplies that you brought, and lit the fire that the group planned to create. Everyone gathered around it, cooking hot dogs on sticks, and crafting tasty s’mores that we fed each other.

One could say that that night might be the most casual and platonic friend trip ever, but something was off.

Everyone looked at each other differently that night. When looking into their eyes, it was oddly intimate. It was like all of the stars in the night sky reflected off their eyes conveyed so much...love.

That night, you felt so adored, so cherished and cultivated to the brim of your existence. You felt something, and maybe the other boy’s did too, but that feeling has changed your life.

Thanks to these stupid boys; These stupid boys that you’ve given so much to, you don’t think you could ever love any other.

One you’ve helped get out of a terrible degradation cycle, another you’ve helped to not lie to himself, and not as much to others.

And thanks to your down to earth humility, your heart has been stolen, and it was going to stay taken by those lovely, unique boys who have helped you out of so many ditches, and so many of life’s cracks and dents. God, how could you not fall?

Their lives were precious to you, but you had no idea how they would feel about an actual relationship, so you’ve always been terrified. Petrified and paralyzed to the bone to ever think of what may happen if you were the cause of the fracture of the friendship. You didn’t want to ruin something that has taken so long to build, yet can be torn all down due to a selfish desire.

But, maybe, just maybe, if they went to you first, confessed everything that was bottled up inside, dittoed on how you felt…

Then you might just be the luckiest person to live on this earth, there’s no doubt about that.

#danganronpa #danganronpa fanfiction #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa x y/n #nagito #nagito komaeda #nagito x reader #nagito x y/n #nagito komaeda x reader #kokichi #kokichi oma #kokichi x reader #kokichi x y/n #Kokichi Oma x reader #poly romance #nagito x kokichi #nagito x kokichi x y/n

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sombreboy · 4 years

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Dining out⇢kth x jjk

⇢18+ ⇢pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook (brief ft.Namjoon & Jisoo) ⇢genre: Smut, fluff, mxm, married couple ⇢word count: 8k ⇢warnings: Profanity, dumb humor, lil secret touching under the dinner table, bratty sub tae, dom daddy jk, I swear the daddy kink is heavy for these boys sometimes and this is one of those times, puppy petname; CHECK, blowjob, finger sucking, fingering, filming their shenanigans with their phone, tae fucks himself on jk's big doink then gets fucked good, meme ending because i am too lazy but at least you got a good fucking in. xo

A/N: Serves as a oneshot within the Love Maze series AU, however can also be read on it’s own. Co-written with my lovely @velvetwicebang <3

“Okay, remember to feed her every two to three hours.” Jimin nodded; blonde hair bobbing as he did so. The man carefully bounced the babbling baby on his hip, suppressing the need to roll his eyes at Taehyung’s constant reminders.

They’d only be gone for a few hours; but Taeyeon’s fathers were treating this like a five-month vacation.

“Her formula is in the bag, and so is her apple sauce! Sometimes she gets fussy right after she eats, so rub her tummy and give her a few pats on the back. Also, there’s diapers—“

“Guys, we know. We’ve looked after her before, remember?” Jimin reached out to place a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder; unknowing of Taeyeon’s infatuation with his boyfriend’s tattoos.

He didn’t have as many as her daddy Koo, but her shiny, doe eyes curiously scanned over the new piece of art. She found his eyes cool..

“No, I know.” Taehyung sighed, knowing he needed to calm the fuck down— but, Taeyeon.. but their date night.. “Normally we would’ve left her with Namjoon and Jisoo, but obviously that isn’t an option.”

“Cool, we’re the second choice. Nice.” Jimin wasn’t truly hurt by his friend’s careless reveal, only chuckling as he reassured them of the best.

“Shit, Jimin, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just she knows them bet—“

“Tae, be quiet before I throw this apple sauce at you.”

Taehyung’s mouth was glued shut.

“Just go out and have fun, alright? We’ll look after Taeyeon, she’s in good hands. You seem stressed out as hell, I dunno, maybe even fuck it out while you’re at it.”

Tae simply sighed, detaching himself from Jungkook’s arm to press a soft kiss onto Taeyeon’s head, bidding his temporary goodbyes.

“Okay, well.. we’re leaving. We should be back soon. Thanks, again.”

"Thanks guys, don't hesitate to call us if you need to!" Jungkook chirped, a bit less worried than his husband. Surprisingly, Taehyung seemed to be the one who was always extra, extra protective and worried about separating from their little daughter. Now, Kook was a worrier himself, but he never thought he'd be the one tugging at the elder to finally be able to let go of being a father for just one second.

Kook's eyes met with the little doe eyes their daughter mirrored, his toothy grin growing as she quickly resumed her attention towards the tall man. He might've looked a bit intimidating at first, but everyone quickly learned that he was probably the softest one of them all.

Jungkook pulled Taehyung with him quickly, closing the door behind them before heading towards their car. They haven't been able to get this kind of time to be a couple for quite a while, and both of them were excited-- and anxious. It was routine by now with their child, and breaking it was harder than it seemed. BUT, fuck, did they need it. Stress was no joke with these men. Work, eat, sleep, clean, shit... Take care of the baby, make time for each other?

It wasn't easy, but they were a team. And did they make a damn good one.

"You look good." Jungkook grasped for Tae's hand to hold it cutely by the car. "We should take a picture of this rare occasion of both of us being properly put together at the same time for once."

“You’re right. This is rare as fuck..” Taehyung’s shoulders dropped to a less unnatural position, deep-set brows resuming to their place, ripening his facial muscles. He hooked an arm around Jungkook’s delicate waist, pulling him in until their sides touched. “Let the photographer do the honors, ey?” Cocky as ever, the elder’s hand uninvitingly reached inside of Koo’s back pocket, searching for the younger’s phone whilst he hummed into their short-lived kiss. Tae pulled away with a dorky smile, angling the high-tech device towards the starry sky, a wash of light shining down on them as if the cluster of stars themselves were on their side; working towards getting them the perfect picture.

It was cheesy— every second of it— but, Taehyung found his anxiety crumbling the longer they spent taking silly photos, so he said: ‘fuck it’.

“I like this one, you look like a full course meal.” Tae nudged his husband’s side, believable as he mercilessly teased. “Ah, okay. We should get going before Joon thinks we’ve bailed or something, you know he always thinks of the worst.” The elder climbed onto the passenger seat, twisting his body to reach for the seatbelt. “How much do you wanna bet Jisoo is holding him back from making a phone call right now?”

Jungkook's bunny-like grin grew at the compliment, the apple of his cheeks tinted with a rosy hue. He grabbed his cell phone back from his husband before sitting down in the driver's seat, deciding to post their selfie on his Instagram.

"I bet she took his phone away already. If not, they'll see our pretty picture." Kook scrunched his nose before placing his phone down in his front pocket. He starts the car and backs out on the driveway, giving their home one last glance before driving off.

"I'm excited, honestly. We haven't had a second for ourselves lately." The younger sighed, eyes flickering to keep his attention on the traffic. With one hand on the steering wheel, the other reached over to smooth over Taehyung's thigh as if to soothe him.. Koo could easily tell the elder was still having a bit of separation anxiety for leaving their daughter with their friends... "Let's enjoy this to the fullest, don't think too much. You know what would be nice? A few drinks to loosen up a bit."

“Yeah, I need that.” Taehyung knew Koo could see right through him. It was no secret that the elder’s mind lingered somewhere else; Taeyeon, to be exact. Tae knew he was extremely overprotective, it was never something he’d felt ashamed of in the past. What could you expect from someone who grew up in a hostile environment when they were younger?— it pained him to think this way, but.. If his own father could raise a hand at him, what would a stranger be capable of doing? Of course Tae didn’t think any of their friends would obtain such malice, nor were they strangers to Taeyeon. The opposite, in fact. Each and every one of their hyungs held a special place in the girl’s heart. The elder guessed that his past’s trauma arose now that he was a father himself. Taehyung wanted to do better.

Jungkook's smile didn't falter from his face the entire ride, the faint tugging of his lips in excitement a constant reminder of how relieved he actually is to be able to get some time alone to focus on his friends-- and especially his husband for the night. He pulled up into the restaurant parking lot, the scent coming off the building already hitting their noses even as they sat outside in their car. Kook inhaled with a content sigh, leg almost jumping in excitement. He was a foodie after all-- and since he finally has a stable income along with Taehyung, he's never had to worry whether or not there'd be food on the table. Cheesy one might say, but once in a while the younger still enjoyed to microwave some noodles on occasion either way.

"We're here." He cooed joyfully as he clicked the seatbelt off to lean over to the passenger seat, placing a haste kiss on Taehyung's cheek. He lingered, letting his lips hover over the elders skin. Taking a moment, he drank in the view. Taehyung has always been the most handsome man that Jungkook had ever laid eyes on, and as the years passed by quickly, that still never changed. One would say Taehyung only became hotter, aging like a fine wine.

"You look so good tonight... I won't be able to keep my eyes off you." Kook smiled, cupping Taehyung's cheek to draw him in for a proper kiss.

Taehyung giggled in the midst of their kiss, the sound so small and indistinct, but in the calming stillness of a parked vehicle it was impossible for its vibrations to go over one’s head. It definitely went noticed by the culprit himself, who blushed at the abrupt realization that even after many years spent by Koo’s side, the latter always knew how to make him feel beautiful..

“Thanks. You look really good too, baby..” Tae licked over his lips, able to still taste Jungkook despite the younger having pulled away. “Fuck, okay. Let’s go in; I’m hungry and Joon’s probably losing it by now.”

“Where the hell were you guys? We’ve been waiting for what—“ Namjoon’s eyes flickered down to his watch, “—fifteen minutes?”

Taehyung snorted, “What do you want us to do? Get down on the ground and bow at your feet?”

“You know what? Hell yea—“

Jisoo stepped in, speaking on behalf of her husband, “No need for any major bows here.. Ah, please sit down. Joon’s extra dramatic when he’s hungry.”

"You're not you when you're hungry." Jungkook recited the old commercial with a giggle, shaking his head at how bad it was-- but so funny to his young mind. He sat down in the booth across from Jisoo, with Taehyung sliding down next to him to sit across from Joon.

"Fifteen minutes is precious cooking time at a place like this, Kook. Don't joke--"

"Won't happen again hyung!" Jungkook saluted clearly, his toothy grin too effective towards Joon-- whether he wanted to admit it or not. His bunny-like smile would never cease to work as a secret weapon...

"Whatever." Namjoon grumbled as he picked up the digital device on the table used to order their food.

"How have you guys been?" Jisoo chirped as she glanced over at the little tablet, clicking occasionally to help navigate Joon's confused behavior towards the device.

"Stressed." Jungkook sighed, leaning his head against Taehyung's shoulder. "Having a child is no joke, there's never a dull day. But I love it, though." Kook mused, waiting for their turn with the tablet, reaching out for it when Jisoo had completely taken over to order for her and her husband. He stares at the contents for a moment, showing Tae the various choices of alcohol, hovering with his finger over the stronger drinks with a coy eyebrow.

“You know me too well.” Taehyung returned the favor, imitating Koo’s raised brow before pointing at the drink of his choice; Tae was aware he needed to chillax. And alcohol never disappoints.

Once they were finished ordering their starting drinks, the elder dismissed the tablet to the side. He scooted closer to Jungkook until they were practically squished together in spite of the extra space; playing with his husband’s fingers from under the table.

“Yeah, Taeyeon’s a handful.” The corner of Taehyung’s lips twitched upwards as he amusingly breathed out through his nose, mind tracing back to their daughter. “But she’s cute though, so it makes up for it.” The elder turned his head to look at Kook, “Also, this guy right here is pretty good with babies.”

Jisoo voiced out her agreement, reminded of the older days when Jungkook would help her with Yuna once he was done with school. Now her friend was married, and caring after a baby of his own.. Proud was an understatement in Jisoo’s mind. Every time she looked at Koo her heart swelled; the boy she once knew had grown into a man. But then again, Jungkook had always been really mature. In a sense, it’s the same guy Jisoo’s always considered her close friend— and fed on the daily.. “Joon could learn a few things..”

The mumbling under the older woman’s breath didn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon, who came to his own defense as quickly as lightning strikes the ground, “I showed up to the wrong preschool once!”

Taehyung butted in, confused but amused, “You forgot where your son goes to school?” Tae’s shoulders vibrated as he laughed, suddenly feeling much better about his own mishaps as a parent.

“The drinks can come out anytime now..” Namjoon tried to swerve away from the topic; his failed attempt at being sly earned himself a couple rounds of laughter.

Yeah, maybe Taehyung needed this..

As the tray of drinks finally arrived, they were left to sip on whatever they've ordered while waiting for their dinner. Jisoo and Namjoon both opted for the simple choice; beer. While Jungkook was an avid enthusiast of alcohol, whether it be beer, tequila, wine... He did settle for a large glass of wine, perfect for the occasion on his end-- and perfect as it always got him pleasantly warmed up.

"Ah, I'm so hungry...." Jungkook groaned, waiting for that big, fat juicy steak he'd seen on the screen. Meat was his one true love-- if you'd disregard the fact that his husband existed. He worked out just as avidly as he did in their younger days.. Well, tried to, and therefore his appetite was comparable to that of a horse.

"You're always hungry!" Jisoo joked, slapping Joon's shoulder as she laughed.

"Yah! Why'd you hit me?!" Namjoon nudged her shoulder back with his dimpled smile.

"Ah, food!" Jungkook's big, doe eyes sparkled with a childlike joy when the food finally arrived, jaw hanging open in pure admiration.

Taehyung chimed out loud along with Koo, ignoring Jisoo’s and Namjoon’s playful banter in the background. All that was on his mind at the moment was, ‘must eat’. Taeyeon snuck in there once in a while, but Tae trusted Jimin and his boyfriend. They’ve always returned his baby back in one piece, so that’s that. Maybe the alcohol was helping; he wasn’t as restless.

“Fuuck,” Taehyung knocked his head back, resting it against the backrest of the booth whilst he chewed on the piece of meat, savoring the burst of flavor that’d just popped in his mouth. “Koo, here.” It didn’t matter that they ordered the same meal, Tae still cut out a small piece for his husband to try. He blew on it before guiding it into Jungkook’s mouth, “Fucking delicious, right?”

Jungkook chomped the piece of meat off the fork with his bunny teeth, chewing it happily. His eyes widened as he nodded, humming in content. Food did taste better when it was from your husband's plate, confirmed. "So fucking good, oh my god.. " Koo agreed. Both men were just feeding off of each other's plates at this point, letting out all their curses and groans occasionally. Being censored on the daily was harder than they thought, and finally letting it all out--- somewhat satisfying.

Namjoon eyed the couple with a mix of disgust for their cheesiness, yet the dimples proved that he couldn't hold his smile for the two. They were grown ass men, and yet they acted like dorky the teens they’ve always been the moment they are together like this. It was endearing.

"What? You want me to feed you too?" Jisoo nudged Joon with a coy smile on her lips, immediately laughing when he shook his head.

"Definitely not." He joked back. He hated to share his food-- but so did Jisoo, so it was okay.

The evening went on for a bit, everyone talking-- rather, Namjoon rambling about everything and nothing while the rest ate, drank, and drank....

Jungkook couldn't help but continuously look over at his husband. He was just so fucking hot, when was the last time he was able to truly admire him like this? Forever ago.. A few drinks in and Koo's cheeks were hot, hazy eyes only half listening to the rambling from the other side of the table, nodding absentmindedly. His hand, however, decided to snake over to the elder's lap, gently rubbing up and down the soft fabrics, feeling the firm muscle underneath.

Taehyung was just as buzzed; their conversations only stuck with him for a couple of seconds before he reached for his glass of wine, downing the remainder of the scarlet drink. He was loosening up, or so he thought.. The meat of the elder’s thigh clenched, and his dimmed eyes averted downwards towards the source of the unexpected caress on his leg. With barely any space between the two, Tae awkwardly shifted around in his seat— however, he didn’t bother on pushing Jungkook’s hand away.

He liked it..

It’s been a hot minute since his husband put this much attention on him. The touch was small, but even such delicacy had Taehyung’s hormones in a twist..

“What are you doing?” He leaned in to whisper into Koo’s ear, resting his own hand on the younger’s thigh. Tae told himself that it was for balance, but even he knew that wasn’t exactly the truth. “Fuck, you’re hard,” his hand had slithered upwards to Jungkook’s crotch, groping his husband’s cock through the fabric of Kook’s pants.

"What are you doing? ah.." Jungkook's thighs quivered, gently bucking up into Tae's hand as he desperately tried to act unaffected. Not that the other couple would notice-- they were just as buzzed, just rambling, occasionally bantering... Koo barely noticed their presence at this point.

All he could think about was Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung...

"You just look so hot, babe, how could I not be hard?.." He huffed quietly, the hand on Tae's thigh mirroring the elders movements by palming his husband's cock right back, able to feel the shape and girth of it through the fabrics. "Shit, what I'd do to have you on your knees below this table instead..."

Taehyung’s shrunken pupils vigilantly switched between his husband and the other couple in front of them, until he realized there was no need..

Joon and Jisoo weren’t quite at their level, but it was obvious the beer had gotten to their systems if the cheesy mumbles and sudden display of affection were anything to go by. They were never cheesy— in front of them, at least.

“Don’t tempt me, we’ll probably get banned from this place or something..” Tae’s drunken smile beamed in the dimmed lighting before his lips abruptly took the shape of an ‘o’. Embarrassed, he nuzzled his nose in the dip of Jungkook’s neck, continuing to rub and squeeze Koo’s prominent bulge at a fixed pace despite crumbling underneath the younger’s teasing himself. “It’s been so long since I really got to feel you like this, and it’s been too long since you’ve felt me; really felt me..”

“Let us in on the secrets! Don’t be so secretiveee, it’s not nice, y’know.” Jisoo loudly sipped on her water’s straw, lips closing in on the frail plastic after her third try— her aim when drunk was amusing.

“This feels like all the way back to, uh, second grade was it? When all my buds talked shit behind my back ‘n crap.”

The woman pouted, “Awe, babe, fuck those kids. Look at you now, with mee! They wish they had me.”

Namjoon understood in spite of her strong slurring, “They’ll never have you, mine.”

Taehyung turned to look back at Jungkook, face reading; ‘what the fuck’. “Wanna get out of here? Kinda want some.. privacy.”

Jungkook couldn't even play it cool at this point, his eager nodding proving just how badly he wanted to get out of there as well-- if his throbbing erection wasn't enough to go by. "Yeah, please." Kook’s ragged breath whispered back, withdrawing his hand from Taehyung's crotch to inhale deeply. "Follow me... I have a fun idea." Since they couldn't go home, nor did they have a hotel room for the night-- there was only one option the younger could think of. A fun one, in his own mind. It's been a long fucking time since they did something a little risky... Jungkook was gonna try to say something to the other couple, but it was easier than he expected to have them accept their disappearance, so he simply got up, leaning down to whisper once again into Tae's ear.

"I'll be waiting in the bathroom... You have two minutes. No more, no less." He cooed, a mischievous grin on his lips as he placed a gentle kiss on the elders cheek before strolling off towards the bathroom area, closing the door behind him. The anticipation-- the small amount of waiting was enough to rile him up even further. And surely he hoped it did the same to Taehyung.

Fuck the bathroom, I’ll willingly get down on my knees right at this second— Is what Taehyung wanted to say, but he was far too stunned to even respond with a dumb nod of his head. Jungkook had strutted away without waiting for an answer, and for that Tae was glad.. Every time the younger asserted his natural dominance, Taehyung was left a flustered, unable-to-form-coherent-sentences mess. The elder was convinced the alluring words that slipped past Koo’s lips tasted like honey; they were sweet and sticky, making it awfully hard for Taehyung to forget them.

“I’ll be waiting in the bathroom.. You have two minutes. No more, no less.”

The man didn’t realize he’d been stalling until Jisoo asked him where Jungkook had gone off to.

“He’s.. somewhere. I’m going to the restroom, I’ll be back.” He kept it short ‘n sweet, knowing that whatever was going to happen in the secluded space would be anything but. Jungkook liked taking his time, and Taehyung enjoyed taking all his husband had to offer. The elder loved drowning himself in the moment, which is why he’d grown keen of using his beloved camera for other reasons.. Taehyung looked back on the films a lot— it was hot, and it gave him an excuse to miss Jungkook whilst he was away at work. More often than not Tae couldn’t act on his sexual desires; only settling for giving Koo a messy hand job before they called it a night. But today? It was going to be different.

Taehyung’s eager hand slowly turned on the doorknob, brows arched in anticipation when he’d met Jungkook’s gaze on the other side. It was a family restroom, meaning it was quite small. There were no stalls, only space meant for one. Or two..

Tae’s back was pressed up against the door as he pushed it shut, making sure to lock it. He stayed still in his place, arms shyly tucked from behind him. “I think I went over two minutes, daddy.”

"You did, puppy." The corner of Jungkook's lip curved into a smirk as he moved forward, barely a few steps before he was already towering over his husband. Internally, he was eager.. Impatient in every sense of the word. But tonight was a once in a while occasion, and it didn't occur often enough for him to waste it on a quick fuck. He'd been longing for this opportunity to truly feel Taehyung again, and boy.. was his body itching to feel everything.

"Can't even follow one simple instruction.." Jungkook tsk'd playfully, pressing up his body against Tae's, deliberately brushing their crotches together to make sure the elder felt just how hard he was for him already. "What do I do with a boy that misbehaves..." Now, Taehyung was anything but a boy-- but making the elder feel smaller was one of his favorite things to do, belittling him until he was nothing but a whiny, pleading sweetheart. Kook grasped Tae's chin in his long, tattooed grasp to demand eye contact, tilting his head lightly to the side like a curious pup would. "Do you need a reminder of why you call me daddy?"

“Hmm... I think I do..” Taehyung’s tongue peeked out from the small, surprised opening of his flushed lips, brushing over the moisturized skin and wetting it with its saliva. A hitched gasp followed suit, emphasizing the gloss-like effect he’d made for himself; Taehyung knew Koo was a sucker for the posh look. Slowly, his lips relaxed, and Taehyung’s intense gaze clashed with his husband’s. He allowed the latter to feel superior by standing tall before him, while Tae cowered in his place. The delicate, firm hold on his chin was beginning to make itself known, but the elder didn’t dare move out of Jungkook’s clutch. “Remind me, Koo.. why do I call you daddy?” Taehyung’s hands gripped at the younger’s hips, stifling his faint moans as their crotches pressed against one another.

It’s been too fucking long.

“What makes you worthy of that title?” He kept on pushing, wishing Kook would drop the foreplay and fuck him numb once and for all.. The elder was less patient, but he was just as needy.

Jungkook's lips curled into a smirk to serve as a response to Taehyung's daring words, knowing just how needy his husband was to just be stuffed with his cock already. But what the younger loved even more, was the buildup-- to make Tae so flushed and desperate that when he finally gets what he desires, it'll be more than worth the wait.

"Ah, my baby has already forgotten...." He huffs through heavy breaths, leaning forward to kiss his husband. As his tongue claimed the elder's mouth as his own to explore as he wishes, his hands hungrily roamed down his body, feeling and groping at every curve before they began to unbutton Tae's shirt, exposing his flushed skin. Without wasting another second, Jungkook's hands smoothed up Tae's stomach, his thumbs swiping over the elder's nipples softly-- at first. He groaned into the hot kiss, not stopping his hungry ministrations all while continuously teasing Tae's perky nipples, lightly pinching them between the calloused pads of his fingers.

Taehyung’s frail body squirmed in delight, the skin of his chest buried in small goosebumps whilst Jungkook spared him no mercy on one of his most responsive areas. The filthy noises of mild fulfillment scratched at the back of the elder’s throat, calling out for vocal release only to get pushed back down by Kook’s tongue.

“Mmhm..” Tae vaguely hummed into the heated kiss, hot puffs of air slipping past his nose, warming Jungkook’s already sultry skin. Everything about the younger was hot; like a predictable summer’s day.. Just one kiss and Taehyung began melting against him, his smaller body frame molding against the barely-noticeable dip from Jungkook’s chest to his pelvis. Eager, Tae never stopped rubbing their crotches together, driving his husband’s hips towards his own.

“Fuck, babe...” Tae whimpered once he pulled away from the kiss, chest rising while his lungs worked to retrieve back air. Taehyung’s head tipped backwards, bottom lip caught in between his teeth as he nonverbally encouraged Koo to continue playing with his sensitive nipples.

“Daddy.. please film me.” Tae might not have his camera at hand, but something about the quality of a phone turned him on. The elder wants to be able to look back on this moment.. He wants to be able to see his reflection in the mirror while Jungkook fucks him— phone held tightly in his hand. Tae wants Koo to focus on the way his cock sinks deep into him, catching Taehyung’s loud, hiccupy moans on video. They’ve filmed themselves a few times in the past, but Tae’s camera was set up on a tripod. Now, they had the opportunity to pilot a phone how they pleased. Jungkook could pan in on whatever he wanted, get a close-up of the goodies.. “Please, daddy. I’ll be a good boy... I’ll squeeze around you so tight. I’ll be so warm.. fuck— I’ll be your little bitch until you stuff me full of your cum. Then I’ll be nothing but your cum dumpster..”

Jungkook's cock twitched heavily beneath the fabrics, the thought alone of filming his husband in such a scenario bringing him more excitement than he expected. Tae’s cameras were fun, the quality superb... but using his phone seemed so much more intimate, it had the younger heated in excitement.

"Fuck yes... I'll stuff you so well. But first..." Kook placed his hands on the elders shoulders, using his strength to force him down on his knees. With a swift motion, he unbuckled his pants and tugged them down, too eager to wait for his cock to be engulfed by Tae’s plushy lips. His cock bobbed when set free, letting it freely taunt Taehyung as he dug for his cellphone in his back pocket. "Suck on it, puppy." His low, raspy tone was laced with lust, eyes staring at Taehyung's lips through the camera screen on his phone when he pointed it down from his view. "When it's nice and wet, I'll fuck your tight ass until you can barely walk out of here."

“Whatever you say, daddy..” His warm hands skimmed upwards from Jungkook’s beautifully muscular thighs to the latter’s base, where Taehyung took his time feeling the younger’s cock. He began by lazily flicking his wrist, multitasking while the other hand kneaded his husband’s balls. Taehyung played innocent, staring up at the camera whilst his tongue circled around the head; his long eyelashes fluttering in a coy manner.

“Daddy.. daddy, you’re so fucking hot when you’re in control.” Closing his eyes, Tae leaned back in, slowly taking all of Jungkook into the warmth of his mouth. He’s had plenty of practice, his gag reflex was practically nonexistent at this point in their relationship. Taehyung guessed all of those times he’d sucked Jungkook off under the covers when their friends were around— or when he got too impatient and gave Koo the suck of his life in the middle of the grocery store’s parking lot. Not to mention, the birthdays when he’d woken Jungkook up with his limp cock throat-deep in Taehyung’s mouth. They all paid off when it came to unplanned moments such as this one.

Tae hollowed out his cheeks, bobbing his head as he dragged his tongue from Kook’s base to the tip, leaving a trail of saliva along the hardened girth. He’d gotten so consumed in the moment, that Taehyung had forgotten all about the camera.

"Whoa, so pretty when you take my cock like that..." Jungkook's voice was shaky, already feeling the muscles in his thighs tense up. Taehyung knew exactly how to suck him off properly, every drag and movement done with the utmost purpose, hitting every sensitive nerve that riles up Kook to the max.

"I can tell you love it, fuck..." He stated as if it was a fact, and it was. Kook kept one hand gently combing through Tae's dark curls, brushing his fringe away to be able to get a proper visual of the elder through his phone screen, focusing on how his husbands plush lips stretch with the younger's girth, the slick saliva on his silky skin glistening even in his digital eye. "Okay, baby, that's enough... Spit on it and get up, pull down your pants and bend over the sink. Need a good view of your pretty ass."

Taehyung might be a natural-born brat in other aspects, but he never disobeyed Kook’s orders inside of the bedroom. Or a public restroom.. No matter how much Tae wanted to keep going, he did as his husband told, leisurely withdrawing from Jungkook’s cock as if it was the last thing he wanted to do. The elder stalled at the tip, glistening eyes peeling open to meet the phone’s unwavering perspective from above him, keeping a digital memory of Taehyung’s lightly damped, crimson cheeks. His swollen lips pulled off with a loud pop, eyes dimmed as they switched downwards to his husband’s cock. He gathered saliva, swishing the warm, thick substance around his tongue before allowing it to drip down on Jungkook’s already-drenched head.

“It’s so wet..” Tae’s thumb rubbed deep circles on the small slit, moaning to himself at the sly muscle spasms in Jungkook’s clenched thighs. Once Taehyung was satisfied, he followed through with the second order. Shimmying out of the tight jeans that hugged around his thick ass, Tae let them drop to his ankles along with his boxers.

He really was one impatient boy.. He couldn’t wait to get utterly fucked; Taehyung was always horny for cock.

With each hand gripping onto the side of the sink until his knuckles turned white, the elder stood before Koo, back slightly arched whilst his soft stomach pressed up against the cold surface.

“You like what you’re seeing, daddy?” He spoke, looking at Jungkook through the mirror, feeling more cocky now that he wasn’t kneeling down in front of his husband.

"Mhm." Jungkook hummed in approval, his eyes dilated with lust as he dumbfoundedly stared at Taehyung's full cheeks. He's seen his husband naked more times than he could ever count, but every single time it turned him on just as much-- He was insatiable when it came to Kim Taehyung. He angled the camera down as he approached Tae from behind, using his free hand to grab a handful of the flesh, squeezing hard just to see the skin redden underneath his fingers, watching the fat protrude in between his digits. "I love what I'm seeing... Fuck, I've been thinking about doing this to you all day--work was dreadful."

Jungkook's blunt nails dragged across the tanned skin, leaving faint pink marks in it's rake. He spread his cheek with one hand, just enough for him to see his unused entrance. By now the elder had gotten used to Jungkook's sizable stretch without much preparation, although some would still be needed... It had been a while after all. Kook switched the angle to the reflection, making a show out of the way he sucks his finger until it's nice and slick, however wasting no time in massaging Taehyung's delicate rim, and then finally sliding his middle finger inside of his heated flesh. He films Tae's expressions through the mirror before switching back to filming the way he drags his finger in and out of him. A low groan slips past Kook's lips, his cock throbbing as it rests against Taehyung's ass, still wet and impatiently waiting for it's turn to feel the warmth it craves.

"Stretched so easily tonight-- you're that cockhungry, huh." Kook digs his finger deeper past his knuckle, glancing back at the reflection to watch the blissful expressions on his lover's face.

The elder wasn’t given the chance to come up with a vague answer, only mewling softly as he felt his insides grip around Jungkook’s finger; the squeeze so tight while it clenched and unclenched that it almost forced Kook’s single digit out. Still, Taehyung worked on regaining his breaths, relaxing his muscles for a deeper stretch. Jungkook’s cock must’ve plunged deep into him over a million times, but that never meant Tae would lose his tightness. Every time felt just like the first.

“Oh my g-god.. move your finger— please.” Taehyung deliberately squeezed harder, squirming in delight when he felt the pad of Jungkook’s digit brush against his prostate.

Jungkook's lips tugged into a light smirk, a hot breath huffing through them at the beautiful sound of his husband pleading for more. Everything his man did turned him on, but the begging.. It was next level music to his ears. He kept the camera close enough to be able to see the skin of his finger coated in Tae's juices as he pulled out, only to shove in a second along with the first when he pushed it back inside, effortlessly with the sheer amount of force he used to refill the elders tight heat. Kook curled his fingers ever so slightly, just enough to reach that sweet spot better as he began to curl and uncurl his fingers a few times, relishing in the visible contractions around his digits.

"Your ass is squeezing me so tight... Ahh, the camera loves you.." He groaned, now fucking his fingers in and out of Taehyung, his stable hold on the phone capturing every single drag, clench and wet squelch. "You think you could take me already? It's gonna be a tight fit, but fuck... I want to feel your ass crush my cock."

As if the rest of his body was beginning to give out, Taehyung’s head dipped forward, panting heavily until he could make out the hot puffs of air grazing against his own chest.

“D-daddy— fuuck..” His hips rocked into the younger’s nimble fingers, relishing in the toe-curling way Jungkook teased his prostate. “Y-yeah, ‘m ready. First— a-ahh..” Taehyung hissed, raising his head once more to look at his husband through the mirror, long fringe reaching his pleading eyes. “Can I have a taste? Wanna suck on your fingers.” Taehyung didn’t shift eye-contact; eager to swirl his hot tongue around the same fingers that’d been deep inside of him.

Jungkook's small dimples grew more prominent along with his smile, crooking a coy eyebrow as he slowly popped his fingers out of Tae's stretched hole, leaning forward to press his chest against his lover's back, his wet cock pressed between Taehyung's cheeks. He brought his slick digits to Taehyung's hungry mouth, filming the reflection to get a proper view of both men.

"Here you go baby. Daddy's fingers are coated in your lovely juices... Have a taste, give me a good show."

The hand closest to Jungkook’s let go of its numbed grasp on the sink, instead reaching for his husband’s wrist as Taehyung enveloped the two fingers whole. The elder moaned; one that advanced from deep in his chest and rang throughout the otherwise quiet restroom.

He tasted sweet. Tae fucking bet he’s the sweetest Jungkook’s ever had..

He grinded his ass against Kook’s pelvis, staring at his man through the mirror with an intensified gaze, tongue lapping around and between the delicious digits, lips puckered whilst Taehyung bobbed his head. Thick drool dripped from the corner of his mouth, running down his slobbered chin; but he didn’t mind. Having yet to avert his strong eye-contact, Tae arched his back further to really press against his husband, having fun teasing the hell out of him.

“Mmm~..” Taehyung’s lips were past Jungkook’s tattooed knuckles, sucking roughly on the latter’s fingers as if it was the younger’s cock tucked in between his cheeks.

Jungkook's normally strong facade of stoism struggled to remain intact right at this moment. Too many things went on, from Tae's ever so piercing gaze, the way his tongue lapped at the younger's fingers, and last but definitely not fucking least; his plump ass grinding against Kook's aching cock. It was too much, and it had been way too long. Jungkook didn't care anymore, his expression morphing into that of pure admiration and lust for his husband, gawking like a dumbass at the show he did so kindly ask for.

"Fuck, that's hot... you're so fucking hot, puppy." He growled lowly, almost frustrated at how Taehyung was allowed to be this gorgeous. It should be illegal. Kook watched the elder work his fingers for a short moment before he had enough, withdrawing his hand to harshly smack his husband's ass. "You're too sexy, it drives me fucking crazy.." Another smack, this time keeping his palm on his ass before squeezing it hard between his fingers, spreading the cheek to grant himself better access to grind his tip against the lightly gaped hole. "Shit, look at this... All mine." Kook huffs under heavy breaths, panning camera down Taehyung's prominent cleavage of his spine runs down his back, until the lens settled on where the head of Jungkook's length prodded at Tae's entrance.

"Move backwards baby, fuck yourself on my cock." Jungkook commands, loud enough to clearly capture his voice in the recording-- knowing Taehyung will love looking back and hearing these specific words.

Taehyung’s body jolted forward with every firm, jaw-clenching slap to his ass; his cheek grew tender the more Jungkook’s palm came in contact with the agitated skin, leaving behind a noticeable outline of his hand to linger for days on end. If the video didn’t serve as enough of a reminder, the sting sure as hell will. The elder was on the brink of crying out loud, having to bite down on his lip to prevent himself from screaming Jungkook’s name.

“Feels so good..” Taehyung sank back until the slick head of Jungkook’s cock popped through the gateway to his familiar insides, instantly clenching down on his husband’s skin as a warm greeting. “Fuck, fuck... so big, daddy.” Moving backwards until he nudged Kook’s pelvis, Tae took a minute to adjust to the length, muttering filthy curses under his heated breath. “Is that tight enough for you, hm? You’re so hard inside of me, ahh..” Once he deemed himself ready, Taehyung slowly began fucking himself on Jungkook’s cock, stopping at the tip before he plopped back in with more force, wiggling his hips against Kook before repeating the action. “So hard, I can feel you twitching, Koo..”

"Ah, fuck-- Taehyung..." Jungkook doesn't hold back letting his husband know how good his ass feels. He runs his flat palm down the prominent line on Tae's back where his spine hides, keeping his hips still for a moment to allow the elder to fuck himself on his cock. Kook keeps the camera focused on the way his slick length disappears inside the stretched hole, in awe of the view through the screen. "So tight, you're so fucking tight-- good god... How could I ever get enough of this?" He hisses through his ragged breath. When satisfied with the good work Taehyung put into getting himself used to Kook's size, the younger decides that it's time to reward his lover.

With a rough snap of his hips, Jungkook thrusts forward to meet Tae's ass as it moved back against him, the loud echo of their skin slapping together drawing a guttural moan from the tattooed male.

"You're such a good boy for me." He redirects the camera back towards the reflection to capture Taehyung's jolting body as he began to build a momentum to the way he fucked into him, slow but rhythmical, forceful but precise. "Aren't you? My little good boy?"

A loud, unavoidable gasp left past Taehyung’s loose lips as he hunched over the sink, toes tightly curled in his shoes as one of his many reactions to Jungkook’s quickened thrust. His hands were balled up into fists; forearms resting on each side of the sink whilst he arched his ass further back. “Y-your good boy, yes,” the elder rasped out, voice as thin as ice, and tone as unstable as his legs while Jungkook fucked him. “Hngh.. I love you, fuck me harder.”

If harder was what Taehyung wanted, Jungkook was in no position to deny his wishes. He knows just how whipped the elder was for his muscles, and the endless hours spent building and maintaining them surely didn't go unnoticed by his husband. Rather the opposite, Kook loved the attention-- ever since they were younger, the elder seemed to have a special fascination towards the strength Jungkook possessed. He allows his body to serve as a response to Taehyung's request, the hand on his hip digging harder into his tanned skin, holding him in place as the younger increases the force of his thrusts, at first dragging his entire length in and out to ensure that every single inch of Tae's insides feels the friction of being filled to the brim.

"Oh my god.." Jungkook huffs out, throwing his head back, screwing his eyes shut in rapture as he pounds mindlessly, focusing only on how good it feels right at this moment to just fuck his husband dumb. The phone in his hand became less of a priority at this point, shaky and blurred, however it captured every wet sound of their bodies joining, every breathy grunt, and every single squeak of the sink as Kook's powerful hips jerked Taehyung's body forward roughly.

The gnawing weight of a hundred curse-words on Taehyung’s tongue never subsided. Every invasive jerk of his husband’s quick hips made him want to scream out in rapture; to sob from the overwhelming feeling of Jungkook’s rigid cock entering him over and over again until he was so fucked out that his eyes no longer saw the faded blue-wash of the tiles on the spinning bathroom wall.

Taehyung fuckin’ loved that. He felt as if he was floating on cloud nine; as if he was reliving his brief encounter with drugs when he was a young teen. His husband’s fucking was a heavy drug, there was never a time where Taehyung didn’t enjoy the high it gave him.

“I love it when you put me in my place, hmph!” Tae’s voice was sultry— breathy. Still as deep, but far more hitched. Every menacing smack of Jungkook’s pelvis against his rosy skin stole his breath away, gasps getting caught in the man’s throat before they were reduced to soft mewls. “F-fuck, daddy’s fat cock never disappoints..” The elder straightened his spine, caramel shoulder blades flexed as he depended on his weak arms to keep him in place. Taehyung stared at Kook’s diverse expressions through the mirror; internally praising himself. Moaning, one of his arms blindly reached backwards until his hand groped Jungkook’s ass, feeling the muscles twitch with every thrust. He tipped his head back against Kook’s shoulder, turning his head until Taehyung could smell the odor of built-up sweat on the small dip of Jungkook’s pale skin.

His back remained lightly arched, driven forward from every slam to his wet insides. “Ah, fuck.. yes, daddy!” The elder’s nose was burrowed in the crook of Kook’s neck, brows twitching slightly as a sudden warmth approached his lower stomach.

"Love when you call me daddy." Jungkook breathes out his words in a haste, grunts following with every thrust, smacking his pelvis against Taehyung's plump ass to feel it jiggle against him. He snakes one strong arm around his husband's torso, the one holding the cellphone to angle it back to film the reflection, as the other keeps a tight grip on his hip to ensure his lover doesn't fly forward from the rough effort he puts into every sloppy thrust.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, baby. Look at your pretty, big cock--fuck.." Kook couldn't look away from the view in the mirror, the elder's body was erotic in this position, skin glistening with sweat, cock swollen and red, looking as if it was about to burst at any second with how well Kook fucked into him.

"A-are you close? God, I'm gonna cum... fill your ass up so well, I want you to hold it in until we get home, okay?" Jungkook nudges the elder's cheek with his nose to bring them face to face. "Kiss me, wanna taste your pretty moans as you cum."

Taehyung enthusiastically attached his touch-starved lips to Jungkook’s smaller, sweeter ones. His warm hand extended upwards to eagerly cup his husband’s face, the pad of his thumb swiping across the younger’s scar whilst he deepened their messy kiss, low hums of approval ringing from profound in his rising chest. His squirming body jolted forward with more force, the ability to withstand Jungkook’s irregular thrusts slowly drained out of him, leaving Taehyung frail to every insignificant nudge.

“G-Gonna cum.. gonna cum so much..!” The elder leaned in once more, unable to take the empty feeling in his mouth. He generously sucked on Jungkook’s tongue, their drool running past his chin and slowly cascading down Taehyung’s neck, illuminating the way his Adam’s apple would bob with every forceful swallow. His husband’s spit was so warm. It was like medicine to his drained throat.. There came a time where Tae’s breathing was getting scarce; he pulled away with a soft gasp. His curtained eyes were glazed with fresh tears, vision blurry as he looked down at his swollen dick and the way it hit against the sink’s cooling edge.

So close..

“F-fuuck! Oh.. hngh, daddy, I’m gonna— A-aahh— ah.. hmm!” His high-pitched moans were muffled against Jungkook’s slick lips, mouth unmoving as Taehyung focused on giving his husband every drop of his filthy sounds.

He stayed still for a few seconds, twitching against Jungkook’s larger body, whining whilst his eyes fluttered shut.

“Fuck... I’m hungry.”

#fic: dining out #taekook smut #vkook smut #jungkook x taehyung #bts mxm #bts mxm smut #mxm smut #dom jungkook #sub taehyung #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #boymeetsmxm #bangtanarmynet #sombreboy

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captainjimothycarter · 3 years

Note

So it's a silly image but I like to imagine Steve realizing that Peggy was responsible for what's now one of New Yorks first gay bars, but back until the 90s it was an underground secret no one knew about. "Everyone needs a place to be themselves."

i don’t think this was silly at all. I love the HC so much and I hope I did it honor. Thank you for sharing it with me.

“What’s this?” Steve asked the second Natasha flung an old file down on top of his sketchbook. His nose wrinkled from the dust, fingers brushing over the frayed edges. This thing had to be decades old, but the same could apparently be said for him in this new century.

It was an old, unmarked file with the edges starting to yellow and fray. He was afraid if he picked it up by the edges or flicked it open, the thing would crumble apart in his hands. There wasn’t one single, distinguishing mark on this thing. It was odd, considering most of the files that Natasha had tossed his way recently were marked with some sort of SHIELD symbol or even the SSR. This one was null.

“What do you think it is?” Natasha huffed, sitting herself down across the table from him. She nearly blended into the gray walls with her outfit, the only part of her that stood out, as always was the bright, red hair. Her voice was kept down low, not in a this is a shared secret sort of way, but more of we’re in public and in a library so don’t you dare we loud.

Even if this was SHIELD’S library.

“I don’t know. Looks like a file.”

Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, dropping it down so it laid on top of the book he was reading. Natasha complained he spent far too much time in the library but given the circumstances of waking up in some new century where everyone you knew was dead (including the love of your life), then you sort of became a shell of yourself and hid away in Shield’s library. One, to read all you can about missed events, and two, to hide away and distract yourself with the knowledge of the fact that you had to play catch-up of the last 60-something years.

“Just open it, Steve. I think you’ll find the contents interesting.”

His mouth opened but what could he say? Argue? Insist? Nothing. There would be nothing that he could say that would get Natasha to take this file away because she knew she’d won. She had plopped it in front of him, an unmarked file, and sat down and at him expectedly. Curiosity would get the better of him, even if Steve didn’t want to admit it.

Natasha’s eyebrow rose in a manner that reminded Steve of his mother, that insistingly asked him if he was really done with telling the whole story. Instead, she silently waited, arms crossed over her chest.

Steve reserved his sigh for another day when she might care more about his wants and just did the quickest thing that would get her to leave him alone. He opened the damn file and immediately wished he didn’t.

Front face and center was the love of his life. Or well, there was a photo of her. Actually, there were several photos of her. Photos that he wasn’t even aware that existed. Peggy must’ve been shortly after the war, standing next to who could’ve only been Angie. She was smilingly brightly despite the shiner and he could hear her laughter echoing in his head, see the red lips despite the black and white photo. They stood with a group of people he didn’t recognize either. People that she looked friendly or even close to given how one guy was holding onto her waist.

Steve wasn’t jealous, not by much. Maybe a small flicker of jealousy flared to life inside of him, but it instantly cooled down when he made the connection. Or, one connection. Just hidden between them, he could see the guy holding her waist was also holding hands with a gentleman that was smiling brightly at the camera.

Oh.

It reminded him of the gay clubs he and Bucky would risk visiting when Steve was in the better days of his illnesses when there wasn’t a risk of them being seen and ratted out by neighbors or when he wouldn’t risk coughing up a blood-clotted lung.

Sadly, there was nothing on the other side of the photo. Not that Steve expected much, Peggy had her manner of keeping things organized, and being a spy meant you left little untraced. So why she allowed herself to be photographed was beyond him.

No answer came with the next photo.

Even if in this one, he could make out the bruise under the makeup she tried to hide it with. He could see her eyes crinkling in the corners when she laughed and smiled at the camera. Her red lips instantly claiming his attention. Despite the crowd of men around her, some familiar to the old photo and some new, Steve didn’t look at them. He looked at her eyes, the warm, honey-coated eyes that were a sign to him that screamed welcomed home.

Natasha wouldn’t give these to him to stare at the photos of his beloved, she wanted him to see something, but what?

There were still men and women around her, some dressed in stylish outfits, some with funky-looking ones. Angie was still beside her and despite the closeness of the pair, one man each hung from their shoulders. The same two men who held hands in the photo before. They stood in front of a brick wall, one that looked familiar to him, but why?

It was an itch in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite scratch.

There were more people in the next photo, more than enough to sit two photos side by side so he could cram them together to see the full photo. Still, nothing. Still, Peggy and Angie and a group of people. Men holding hands, a little braver to be outside the frame of the two women. And still that same brick wall, but why was that brick wall familiar? Why did that little notch right above Angie’s left ear hit him like, well, a stack of bricks?

And why did the next few photos, each following more, and more people, until Peggy stood by herself in front of the building, silver in her hair, a wedding band on her fingers, but pride radiating in those fierce eyes, frustrate him more?

Steve just wanted to slam these photos down and take a walk, take a breather. He doubts Natasha did this to be cruel, to throw his reminder that he had loved and lost into his face. He did that enough to himself.

Sighing, Steve ran a hand over his hair and dropped his hand beside the last photo of Peggy. Older. Shortly before she died of old age. Silver in her hair, wrinkles on her face but a fierce, determined look.

It hit him then, why those bricks frustrated him so much, why that notch in the brick made his heart drop.

That very notch was made from Bucky using a slingshot to scare off the bees because they terrified his baby sister.

Those red bricks belonged to the apartments that he and Bucky grew up in.

There was more in the file but Steve didn’t want to look. He wanted to shut the damn thing and turn away. Instead, he swallowed and picked up a newspaper article from the 1990s. Peggy was on the cover, holding onto a cane, looking dead in the cameras as if she was daring a soul to challenge her.

Peggy Carter: Fighting the Unseen Fight is what the title read.

“It was a gay bar,” Natasha murmured, drawing Steve from his thoughts. She must’ve seen how his hand was shaking around the article. “Peggy Carter assisted in running a few underground gay bars in New York, up until the 1990s where...the one she is standing in front of is one of the first public gay bars to open.”

“I…” Steve swallowed, his throat feeling dry. It felt like he took in a mouthful of dust. “I don’t know...why?”

“I think you know why,” she mused, giving him an almost loving look. “Because she wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. I wonder where she got that from?”

“She’s always had that,” Steve snorted, forcing himself to let go of the files. “Always fiercely protective of her loved ones. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Yes, but you stirred the fires inside of her. She might not have done it because of you, but she did it in your name.”

Tapping the newspaper, the woman sat back and Steve sighed as he looked back down at it. He forced himself to read the last few questions and answers.

Why did you do it?

“Everyone needs a place to be themselves. If no one else was to protect the innocent, then I had to step up to the plate to do so. I’m only lucky that some of my connections had agreed to protect us when things got bad. During the movement, we became safe houses and safe havens for those who needed protection. Not once do I regret my actions.”

Why here? Why open the first gay bar here?

“I…could think of no place better. Steven Grant Rogers was an inspiration to me, the driving force as to how I actually met my wife. During the war, we’ve seen men, great men being sent back home for being in love with people of the same sex. I’ve seen Captain Rogers step up to the plate to put a stop to it, to take falls for kissing men and women when all of us knew that he was far from the situation at the time given the nature of the job. I’ve seen him lie straight to people’s faces, no matter their position in the government or war to keep our men’s feet on the ground. I’ve seen him harbor his best friend’s secrets until the day they both died. I protected those men and women before I met Captain Rogers again and even after he died, but Steven...gave me the courage to do more.”

“I…” Steve, this time had to open and close his mouth, to force his brain to think. “I don’t know what to say..”

“Don’t then,” Natasha breathed, reaching over to take Steve’s hand and give a gentle squeeze. “She knew you were bisexual before you even knew.”

“I think that can be said about a lot of things.”

Natasha’s lips twitched into a small smile before it disappeared. “Would you like to see the bar? It’s still functional to this day. I think it’s written into some post SSR, pre-SHIELD clause that it has to be protected and kept open. It’s still in the same spot.”

Sitting back, the blonde let out a long sigh and picked up his jacket. He might as well, he was getting nothing else done today. Not when his mind was on Peggy, on everything she’s done. “Sure. Just...what is it called?”

Natasha paused, leading them out of the empty library. Her head craned over her shoulder to watch Steve carefully tuck the file inside of his coat and follow after her. “Captain’s Commandos.”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Cartinelli [mentioned]#AngiePeggy #Steve Rogers NEEDS A HUG #Someone hug him [and me] stat #Nonny Prompt #I hope its good

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gallavictorious · 4 years

Text

”You going out? I thought you weren't working tonight.”

Mickey looks up from his tie to see Ian leaning against the doorframe, in uniform and with his hair neatly slicked back.

”Nah, it isn't work. Well, not exactly,” he says, finishing the knot and taking a step back to admire the result in the mirror. He's getting pretty good at this. Lots of practice in the last few months, ever since he took the bodyguard gig officially on the road. Clients like it when he wears a tie. ”You know the chick I've been babysitting for the past few weeks, the one whose stalker I caught trying to climb in through the fucking window? She and her dad's taking me to some fancy place, uh... Piccolo something, to thank me. Since you're working the late shift, I thought – ”

Ian interrupts, straightening: ”Piccolo Sogno? Like, that really romantic place down in West Town? You telling me the girl who has a crush on you is taking you there?” He pauses, looking at Mickey with a cross between disbelief and bemusement. ”Are you going on a fucking date?”

Mickey stares at him. ”What the hell are you talking about?” he demands. Crush? Date? What?

---

The chick's name is Charlotte Eckerton.

He was supposed to call her Ms. Eckerton, she insisted he say Charlie, and what he actually went with was usually some classic television reference that she didn't get, or – when she's was being particularly annoying – ”hey, brat”. She was probably no worse than any other spoiled little North Side princess, but Mickey sure as hell didn't get why anyone, no matter how loony, would want to stalk her, because literally all she did was go to class, study, shop, and party with her equally irritating friends. Oh, and endlessly updating her Instagram stories with every last detail about her fascinating life, of course. He put a quick stop to that, because continually announcing your location to the public when a deranged psycho was stalking you was... well, let's face it, it was about as stupid as he expected from these people.

She threw a tantrum when he swapped her phone for one with restricted access to social media apps, and she tried to give him the slip at least twice a day for the first four days, going as far as paying some other goons to attack him while she made a run for it. She was not completely stupid, he had to give her that, and he was beginning to understand why her father had come to him rather than hire a more well-established firm. The girl was a complete nuisance, and occasionally quite clever about it. Clearly needed someone wise to all the tricks, and unafraid to rein her in and tell her in no uncertain terms when she was being an idiot.

Mr. Eckerton was loaded, having made his fortune doing some IT-shit or other, and for the kind of money he was offering, Mickey was prepared to put up with a quite a lot of hare-brained shenanigans, as well as hanging out at the Magnificent Mile afternoon after afternoon, and listening to the brat's endless babble about... hair? Make-up? Bands? Whatever. He didn't really pay attention; he'd have needed to be paid hell of a lot more than he was to do that.

After a week or so of thwarted escape attempts Charlotte had exchanged overt defiance for a more subtle approach, trying to throw him off his game by suddenly gifting him stuff, like a dark gray shirt ”that goes really well with your eyes”. He took the shirt, because it was pretty nice, as was the watch and the stupidly expensive hair-product she produced in the following days. He was a little insulted she thought he could be bought so easily, though; she'd have needed to double her father's money, at the very least – or gotten him a nice car. He had said as much to Ian, who had eyed the gifts with an unreadable expression on his face, and had failed to comment.

When bribery too proved a failed tactic she started asking a lot of personal question instead, fishing for weaknesses to exploit. Her strategy was pitifully obvious, however, and Mickey gave her nothing but monosyllabic responses. Finally, she resigned herself to being stuck with him for the time being, and mercifully stopped pestering him about letting her go to whatever concert or party was happening that night. She still dressed up and put on elaborate make-up every damned evening, though, even if it was just the two of them chilling at her place, but he supposed it was something for her to do. Fuck knew he could sympathize with the boredom of being locked up.

So that was Charlotte, spoiled and stubborn and maybe a little bit clever underneath it all. Not the worst person he could imagine babysitting, not by a long shot, but not one he'd think back on either, now that the job was done. He probably wouldn't even have accepted her and her father's invitation to take him out for a meal, if it hadn't been for Ian's occasional insistence that he needed to be ”nicer to his clients” and ”cultivate professional contacts”. This only made his husband's reaction to the whole situation all the more annoying –

”It is not a date,” Mickey says flatly, irritation coloring his voice, because Ian is smiling at him in all too knowing way. ”I probably saved her fucking life, she wants to buy me dinner. That doesn't make this a – Listen, her fucking father is going to be there.”

”Yeah, sure he will.” Ian crosses his arms, still smirking like an asshole, but there's just a hint of an edge to the smile now. ”Does she even know you're gay?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. ”Of course she fucking knows, because I open every damned conversation with 'Hi, I'm Mickey and I love cocks' like a normal fucking faggot. Jesus. It hasn't come up. She knows I'm married.”

”Like that's gonna – ”

They're interrupted by the door to Liam's room opening, the boy stepping out to give them his very best judgemental look. ”Why are you yelling? I need to study.”

”Oh, it's nothing,” Ian says casually. ”Just Mickey having a date tonight. With a teenage girl.”

”She’s nineteen, and I am not – !”

Liam frowns. ”Is this like when he was fake-dating Byron to make you jealous? Are you going to go on a fake date too? With a girl?” He pauses, frown deepening: ””Is there a Grindr for straight people?”

Ian's spared a reply as Lip comes up the stairs with Freddie in his arms. He pauses on the top step, brow furrowing as he takes in the scene: Mickey, dressed to the nines and with a scowl to match, Ian smiling with his arms crossed, and Liam wearing his trademark look, the one that says that everyone else is a bit of an idiot. ”What's going on here?”

”Mickey's going on a date with a woman.” Liam offers it readily, a true believer in the free dissemination of information. Probably something he picked up at private school.

Mickey gives a half-choked groan. ”It's not a – ! You know what, fuck you.” With one last glare and an extended middle finger, Mickey grabs his jacket and storms off.

Ian, Liam and Lip watch him go, nonplussed. Lip glances at Ian: ”Huh. Less than a year of marriage and you've already turned him off men.”

”Yeah, well. Have to admit I didn't see that one coming.”

---

The restaurant is fancy as hell, linen cloth and candlelight, one person to take his coat and another to show him to the table. Charlotte is already there, blonde hair pulled back in a strict ponytail, something expensive glittering around her neck and drawing attention to the generious helping of skin her lowcut black dress offers.

The table is set only for two. Mickey frowns as he takes his seat. ”Your father coming?”

”No.” The smile she gives him is very innocent. ”He got held up in a meeting, so he called to say he can't make it. He said to tell you sorry, and to thank you so much for your service.”

Listen to those alarm bells going off all at once... Mickey tries to mentally shake it off. It's nothing to worry about. Just Ian putting weird ideas into his head. ”Uh, yeah. Don't worry about it. Just doing my job.” He waves for the waiter to bring him a beer. He does need a drink, quite urgently.

Charlotte leans forward, looking up at him from under half-closed lids with a very intense expression on her perfectly moisturized face. ”You were so brave when Smithson attacked me. I don't know how I can ever thank you enough. You know, my father is paying for this meal, but if there was something else you wanted... ?”

And that's her grabbing the olive from her drink and very deliberately pushing it past her lips and that's... that's her foot, sans shoe, slowly sliding down his calf.

Oh. Fuck. This is a date. Inwardly groaning, Mickey rubs a tired hand over his face, before looking straight at Charlotte: ”You know I'm fucking gay, right? Like, married to a man?” Jesus, Ian is never going to let him hear the end of this...

Charlotte reels back just a little, mouth falling slightly open. He's prepared for shock, disgust even – but instead a dreamy look appears on her face. ”Oh my god, that is sooo hot!”

What?

---

He feigns sleep when Ian returns home a quarter past midnight, but his husband isn't fooled. ”How was your date?” he murmurs as he slips in under the covers and wraps his arms around Mickey from behind.

”Shut the fuck up.”

A quiet laugh, a kiss pressed to his shoulder. ”I take it you're sticking with cocks for now then.”

And sure, there's a teasing edge to the words, and sure, he'll hear about this for-fucking-ever, but... Mickey turns around, facing Ian. ”I guess I am,” he agrees, reaching up to run his thumb over Ian's cheek.

Whatever mischief is there fades from Ian's eyes, from his voice: ”I'm glad,” he says simply, and pulls Mickey in for a kiss.

Yeah. So is he.

---

This one goes out to @starkcravingmad who suggested a teenage charge crushing on a clueless Mickey, in a reply to this post. I know you didn't ask me to write it, and I have no idea if this is even vaguely related to what you had in mind, but for better or worse you planted the seed, and here we are. Didn't intend for it to get this long, or this silly, but yeah.

#gallavich #maybe it somehow becomes a thing #charlotte taking both of them out for dinner #and of course they never ever do anything with her #they literally just have dinner at fancy places #ian continues to find the whole situation completely hilarious #and delights in being extra sweet and touchy with mickey #let's face it he has a long history of doing weird shit for gifts and money #and he kinda digs that someone else is as into mickey as he is #mickey is never not super grumpy #though of course he goes SOFT whenever Ian touches him #obviously he hasn't developed the tiniest soft spot for charlote #OBVIOUSLY #but the food is great so whatever #bodyguard mickey #oblivious mickey part II #fic #my stuff

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katpapple · 3 years

Text

A Test of Courage

A Banri x Kat fanfic

This is a self ship fic, uwa. Hope you like it! qwq

Focus was drawn to the tv screen as the competition occupies his attention. Well, most of it anyway. Banri’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing with a frustrated growl. Itaru on the other hand had a completely stone faced expression, magenta irises honed in on the fight as he won the match once again. The younger man let out a sigh of defeat, rubbing his temples in small circles.

“Dammit…” He muttered. Banri’s skills were rusted. Though they shouldn’t have been; he practiced fighting the character Itaru was good at with her, after all. What was causing him to feel so distracted? His mind was drifting all over the place to so many different thoughts, but it always went back to those smoky blue eyes - that rosy cheeked smile - and those wavy blond locks. The image left a lasting imprint, one that was shaking him to the core.

“Wow, your game was off today,” Of course Itaru noticed. “Alright, spill it. What’s going on?” And go figure he would want to know what’s on Banri's mind. This made the Autumn Troupe leader groan as he was trying to find good wording.

“It’s nothin’. Must be an off day for me.” Yeah, no kidding. He was just reiterating Itaru’s point. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk, it’s just that the words were escaping him. He didn’t wanna sound like a fool that wasn’t making any sense. Though right now, it felt like nothing was making sense to him. Why did he feel this way again?

“You like Kat a lot, don’t you?”

“Huh?” The brunette took a glance at the man sitting next to him.

“I think it’s pretty obvious at this point that you like her in a romantic sense. Your expressions seem so much more soft and doting around her. Plus, Kazunari said you two eat lunch together more often at class now.”

Shit. Banri’s cover was blown. Light brown strands were slicked back through his fingers as he tried not to keel over from the blatantly humiliating callout from Itaru. Now he remembered why he was so off today. It was Kat; She was all Banri could think about right now. He thought about playing it cool, feigning ignorance, but that wouldn't work. Not when Itaru knew him well enough to pick up on his mood just from his performance when gaming. A disgruntled sigh left slightly chapped lips, and Banri rested his chin in the palm of his hand.

"I don't know what it is about her, but-" He paused. "Whenever I'm near her lately, I kinda freeze up and I can feel my face getting warmer." Honestly, it pissed him off a little. He thought he sounded so stupid; getting this flustered around a girl he'd known for about a year now made him feel like some sort of protagonist from a romance anime. Even now, he felt his face rise in temperature, and he could deduce that his cheeks were definitely flushed. God, he felt so hopeless.

"Wow." A reaction that caught the young man off guard.

"The hell do you mean by that?" The question caused Itaru to chuckle, a smile decorating his face with mischief.

"Sounds to me like your life's not in super ultra easy mode anymore, am I right?"

The worst part was that Banri couldn't disagree.

"Ha ha, very funny Itaru," He replied in a mocking tone. "Though, I ain't gonna say that you're wrong. Cuz you're not."

"Well, if I'm not wrong, what's stopping you? Are you scared of rejection?"

"Ha! Scared of rejection? I'm Banri goddamn Settsu," He said that with a smile that so painfully indicated he was scared. "I can bet if I confessed to her right now, she'd be-"

"Banri, I know you're lying." That sentence… Why did it cut so deep? It shouldn't. It was true, of course, but the fact he wasn't able to get away with it made him feel like a deer in the headlights. An anxious pang in his chest only grew as Itaru continued.

"Just like always, you're afraid of losing. Typical Banri mannerisms for you, I guess."

"A'ight, ya don't have to rub it in, bastard…" Both men let out soft laughter. Though Banri's was born out of fear. It pulsed in his heart, every scenario in his head playing out with the worst possible outcome. These feelings of longing- of teenage anxiety- of a racing heartbeat and lovesick laughter- all of it was so foreign. So exciting. Yet all the same, incredibly terrifying.

"It's just… she's such a cool person, y'feel me?" Banri started. "I mean, she's smart, she's kind, and so freaking talented on stage. And whenever I see her smile and gush over something she loves, her face lights up and it's just so fuckin' cute." At that moment, he snickered, looking at Itaru eye to eye for the first time in that conversation. "And, shit, don't get me started on how her occasional moments where she gets a bit flighty and airheaded make me so damn happy. Like, she can be so mature and caring, but also a bit of a klutz who doesn't always think things through, but also super passionate and energetic, just-"

"Your perfect girl, right?" Banri nodded in agreement with Itaru's statement. In all senses, to Banri, Kat was perfect. Even with all the little flaws and quirks, like her occasional bursts of temper, the way her face flushed tomato red when embarrassed, it was all lovely to him. The two of them got along so well, but he remembered that it’d be likely she’d just like to be friends.

“I wanna tell her. I want her to know how much she makes me smile, man. I want her to know how god damn beautiful she is. But I don’t wanna make things awkward between us either, y’know?” This elicited a tired look from Itaru.

“Dude, it’s gonna be awkward within the first stages of dating anyhow. Better to tell her and at least get your feelings out and face rejection rather than keep going down this back and forth with yourself.”

“Well how the hell am I supposed to do that?!” The blonde shrugged.

“Meh, I dunno. Never dated anyone so I’m useless in that department.” That just turned Banri’s frustration into desperation.

“At least give me something, dude!” An eye roll from Itaru.

“Look, the best advice I can give is ask to talk to her and see where things go from there. Tell her how you feel about her. Y’know, regular confession stuff.”

“Guess that’s a start…” That unfortunately didn’t do much to settle the nerves from the realization that- oh no- he had to confess to the woman he’s slowly grown to pine for this past year and a half. This wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that for sure.

The next morning makes itself known to Banri from the sun’s rays tickling his face, and the absence of Juza’s snoring. It was the weekend, so he didn’t really have anything to do. Accept… he DID have something to do. Something he desperately didn’t want to do, but wanted to do at the exact same time. He could smell breakfast from his room. Pancakes and bacon. It distracted him from the nervous sensation in his stomach.

After a quick shower, he walks down the stairs, sleep still leaving him in a daze as he reaches the dining room. Pretty much everyone was here, save for Itaru and Masumi who were sleeping in. Kat was on the couch, sketchbook in her hands as she waited for Omi to finish breakfast. She looked up from the paper in Banri’s direction, and gave him a soft smile that melts him into a puddle of happiness.

“Morning, BanBan.” BanBan. A nickname she gave him that she used for some lighthearted fun. It caught him off guard, and he thought it was silly, but after a while, he really grew to love it. It was a nice little term of endearment to the both of them. Though mainly, she was too cute to say no to. Her laughter whenever she used it was enough to get him to laugh along from how infectious it was. Banri sat next to his fellow classmate, and gave a half smile in return.

“Mornin’ Kat. Good to see your face. Always brightens my mood.” A light giggle and a faint hint of blush on those already rosy red cheeks caught Banri’s attention.

“Aww, look at you being all sweet and charming today. Who are you, and what have you done with Banri?”

“Pfft, wow, rude.” The two of them laughed quietly so as to not disturb everyone else. Lord knows Sakyo would be up their asses for it later if they were too loud. “For the record, I’m nice and charming all the time. I’m Banri Settsu after all.” That got Kat to snort.

“Oh my god, that’s so corny, I love it.” Banri chuckled at that.

“Yeah, it was, my bad.” Then the fear returned. He could hear his heart beating like a hammer, and his hands quivered ever so slightly. “Hey uh… after breakfast, could I tell you somethin’ at the park?” Kat raised her brows inquisitively.

“Huh? Oh, sure!” On cue, Omi called everyone to the dining room. Breakfast was ready. Kat set down her drawing supplies, and made her way to the table, Banri following suit behind her. Today’s breakfast was simple, pancakes, bacon and hard boiled eggs. Kat smiled happily; they were some of her favorite things to eat for breakfast. Banri sat across from her, the both of them eating in silence aside from occasionally joining in for small talk with others at the table. Though Banri had a hard time eating at all. The anxiety from what he would have to do later made his appetite seem smaller today. He excused himself after only finishing about half his plate, which surprised everyone at the table. He gave a quick tap to the young woman’s shoulder.

“Just meet me there, ok?” A nod accompanied by a hum of confirmation from Kat was Banri’s cue to leave. His shoulders tensed up as he left, putting on his shoes before starting a jog to the park. The whole time he ran, he could feel his resolve waver more than it already was. ‘What if it isn’t worth it? What if she’ll feel uncomfortable?’

‘What if we’ll never be the same after this?’

It scared him so bad. And it manifested into tears threatening to spill and pour down his cheeks. His mouth felt dry, his breath laboured as he sprinted frantically to the park, stopping in his tracks at the park’s fountain before it all broke loose. Choked sobs left him as he tried to catch his breath. His lip quivered as tears rolled down his cheeks. Banri tried to collect himself, wiping his eyes and nose, and steadying his shaky breath. This break in confidence made him feel so stupid. He felt ashamed for being so afraid. He felt even more stupid because he knew Kat would ask what’s wrong. He didn’t want her to worry. He wasn’t used to it. His parents never paid much attention; he was perfect at everything. Right now though, he was far from that supposed perfect man he was. He was vulnerable; he was second guessing himself. If Kat saw him like this - all clumsy and anxious over a confession - what would she think of him?

“Banri?” That voice made his heart sink. He felt like he was in such deep shit right now. His blood ran cold, but his face was red from crying.

“Banri, are okay? Oh god, were you crying?” Her worried tone made Banri feel so secure, but it was so odd to him. The young man wanted to brush it off, say it was nothing, but that was a lie he knew she’d see through. ‘Fuck it,’ He thought. ‘Might as well follow through on what you told yourself you were gonna do Banri.’

“Yeah, uh… I was.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Nah, nah. Well, I mean- I guess? I just- I dunno, I kinda got something on my mind and it’s really stressin’ me out.” A hand came to Banri’s back; a reassuring touch to let him know he was ok.

“Do you wanna talk about it? I’m always here for you, BanBan.” That smile that followed her words felt so warm and welcoming. And the way she said ‘BanBan’ was so different from any other time she said it. In most instances, it was used to joke around with him when they were messing around being idiots together. Here, it was affectionate, and born of concern for her friend’s well being. Somewhere in his heart, Banri felt it wasn’t ok to be open with her despite her reassuring he could tell her. But right now, he didn’t care about his worries. His brain was silently screaming at him right now to get it out, to just go for it even if you two just stay friends. That was ok with him. It may be a bit awkward for a while if she doesn’t reciprocate, but that wouldn’t change how much he liked spending time with her as a friend to begin with. Worries be damned, he supposed it was at least worth a shot.

“Yeah, thanks.” Deep breaths. In and out. “So, I’ve kinda debated back and forth since the last week or so whether or not I should tell you this, cuz I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But I wanted to tell you how I feel about you, cuz I have a lot on my mind about a lot of stuff. Ever since we started hanging out over the past year, I’ve kinda started to feel really anxious around you. My heart races, my face gets all red and shit, and I start losing my words. I really don’t wanna beat around the bush with this but I- I really like you. Like, romantically.”

Silence. It hung over for about a couple seconds, but to Banri it felt like a fucking eternity. At this point one could drop a pin and it would be heard that was how silent it was at that moment. But shock filled the young man’s sapphire eyes when Kat took his hand and held it. She cast a little glance, before looking away with a timid smile. She looked like a blushing bride. Banri didn’t know what to do he was so nauseous from the anxiety, but somehow, gently reciprocating the touch felt so natural and normal. Their eyes finally met, and Kat had a really goofy smile. It was lopsided, and one could tell she was happy but also really nervous. Her face was red, which was unsurprising given she’d get like that when she’d be caught singing by the other company members.

“Y’know, I uh… I’ve kinda wanted to tell you the exact same thing so I’m like, really happy right now.”

“Wait, really?” Kat nodded fervently.

“Yes! Y-Yes I- God, I’ve felt so scared too cuz I really didn’t wanna make things awkward between us if you didn’t feel the same way, But you’re just really fun to be around, you’re really handsome, and I love watching you act cuz you try super hard, and it makes me wanna try just as hard too! A-And I really wanna make you as happy as you make me, so… um…! Yeah, I-I really like you, like, a whole lot!”

Banri’s eyes widened in awe. Was this real? Was this a dream? He wasn’t sure, but a big smile spread across his face, and he started to laugh in relief.

“Holy shit, can I hug you please?” She nodded, and Banri hugged her so tight. He felt so happy. It may have been silly of him to cry tears of joy, but nonetheless he did. Just when he thought the tears had dried up, the euphoria made all the emotions rise up to the surface again. He pulled back to look at Kat, and she was crying too. Looks like she was just as scared as well. It made him feel a little better about everything. Banri tenderly brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away her tears.

“God, I knew you were adorable, but do you have to have such a cute smile?”

“What can I say? I guess I’m like your little ball of sunshine.”

“You’re damn right about that,” Banri placed a featherlight peck on the cheek. “I love you so much, Kat.”

“Love you too, Banri.”

Those words made him happy. So, so happy. Right now, time stood still. He wanted to stay like this. To stay close, in a warm embrace, pressing gentle, nervous kisses to each other’s lips. And right now, in this little moment, they would stay like this for at least half an hour. Banri vowed to himself, as they both stayed comfortable in that blanket of love, that he would make her so damn happy. Lucky for him, he was already well on his way.

#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3 imagines #banri settsu #settsu banri #autumn troupe #Akigumi #self ship #a3! banri #banri x kat

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blackgirl0nline · 4 years

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Colossus x Reader (Fluff)- The Bachelor is Always a Bad Idea

I haven't written anything in so long its embarrassing. But there was this stupid Instagram post, and the need to write something that spurred me onto finally finishing a written piece.

God damn its good to be back

Warnings: none, fluff mainly, it gets oddly existential at the end bc I wanted to kind if flesh out Colossus's personality and what he believes and why. + Ik when you write x reader pieces it's best to make the reader as bland a character as possible so anyone can fit in their shoes. But I quite enjoy when the "reader" has a bit of personality, it personally makes the peice more enjoyable to read. So this took me two days to write enjoy...

Word Count: 2043 (I'm so sorry)

The suspicion started once the Bachelor cut to commercials.

Sat wrapped up in fluffy grey blankets you stilled in your nesting area. A few seconds ago you were perched comfortably on the leather bound couch, wooden frames cushioned by what seemed like miles of not too soft not too hard innards. What are couches made of anyways? You're mind abandoned that thought as a telltale chill swept into the room accompanied by the sounds of large metal feet pounding on the atrium's welcome matt; all of which told you your big metal boyfriend was finally done shoveling the snow.

Glorified Russian boy scout, your mind cheekily insulted him as you wondered what type of person it took to shovel the mansion's walkways blanketed by miles and miles of heavily packed snow, for literally no other reason than the kindness of their own heart. It wasn’t like the kids were lining up to take strolls around the various pathways stretching out like tendrils from the building.

Its too cold for walking. Its too cold for anything but staying inside you big shiny idiot- by which I mean, its too cold for anything but staying inside you big shiny love of my life. You scoffed at yourself, sucking up to him in your own internal dialogue was so unbecoming. Where was your spunk? You're feistiness? Your wit? Piotr Rasputin, you're an undeniably bad influence on my quirkyTM attitude, you thought, He's making me soft, too mushy gushy. You had half a mind to tell him yourself, wondering how he might react. Probably like a first rate Gentleman. My prince charming, a perfect, rule abiding metal behemoth of a man.

Whatever weirdo conversation you were having in your mind halted once the show came back on, rose ceremony drawing your attention back to your half baked suspicions… As if on cue Piotr's knocking could be heard as a lightly thudding on the door to the common room.

"Come in." you mumbled awaiting the upcoming conflict. Maybe conflict isn't the right word you thought as he smiled at you softly before moving in his own time, not too slow, not to quickly, purposefully, mindfully, perfectly. You decided on the word confrontation feeling the winter cold cling to him. No doubt he would be hell to cuddle with before he warmed up. As he sat down he made a considerable effort to give you space if you wanted it, he was wearing this large red corduroy sweater sent home from his family. The only reason he wasn’t with them during the winter holiday was the considerable lack of X-Men at the mansion.

With most of the students gone home to see loved ones, most teachers on specific hush hush missions- or vacation, the mansion was unnervingly empty. You didn’t see many people throughout the day unless you looked for them. It was quiet, no classes going on, no fights breaking out, no pranks, no emergencies. Nothing but training and self entertainment.

Entertainment… you thought looking back and forth between the reality show and your hunk of man meat. The question formed on your tongue while you found yourself involuntarily sliding into Colossus. Which felt kind of … odd, you were still sitting cross legged, and still wrapped up in your perfectly fluffy blanket, but you were slowly and undeniably moving towards the giant who made the couch dip in a bit where he sat his massive chrome-covered ass down. What type of metal is that anyways? Your mind wandered before focusing clearly as some blonde with a beautifully fit body was sent home by the titular Bachelor.

You're eyes narrowed and your purpose was clear. Confrontation time.

"Have you ever watched this show?" You asked, your body's sliding finally halted by his very firm side.

"It is a… reality show right?" he asked his arm migrating the short distance from the top of the couch to drape over the top of your shoulders, pulling you in closer to his cold but not too cold body.

"Yeah. The Bachelor is some guy who a bunch of women compete against to see who'll end up marrying him. " Your eyes trained on him studying his expression- indifference maybe. That you could forgive, it was a stupid drama tv show that, while entertaining didn't mean much to either of you. What did matter, what held weight and gravity and was important, was how he'd answer the next question.

"I know this sounds kind of dumb but," his hand rubbed it's way up and down along your arm, reassuringly of course. But you weren't nervous, not really, just ready to know how he'd wiggle out of the verbal snare you were setting up.

"Don't be nervous dorogoy, ask your question". The way his lips curved into a smile, as his eyes softened as if to communicate the comfort he seemed to embody in every part of him. That tone, his features, his mannerisms, all of him was a big ol' flashing neon sign, twisting glowing letters spelling out a, "trust me It'll be okay". You signed letting go of the tension that permeated the air with its sticky, thick presence. Chuckling to slice the pause open, you bulldozed through the emotional tidal waves with the question of the day:

" If you were the bachelor, and I was a contestant, would you choose me?"

"Absolutely." He didn't hesitate, he didn't pause, it was said with such a confident rush of casual certainty that it almost stopped you're upcoming verbal onslaught. Almost.

You used your arms to push off of him, his arm raised to allow you ease of motion.

"No, no, but I mean, before we met each other." He looked down, realizing you weren't 100% joking around trying to get a good laugh out of him.

"I like you malishka, if that's what you're asking", the assurance in his voice was comforting, but to you its seemed like he didn’t get what you were asking, not really. You rose up from your little nest of blanketed comfort and turned to face him.

"But that isn't what I'm asking," seeing a reckoning on the horizon he leaned forward to rest his forearms on his large sturdy thighs , "I'm asking, if I was one of a many women competing for your love, would you pick me withought knowing me before the competition?"

"Yes I think so. I'm attracted to you because of your personality and your charm and your charity and kindness and feistiness and humor. Your a very specific type of woman zolotse. And I like who you are."

He once again responded quicker than you would have liked, so you found yourself shifting your weight to your back leg, hip jutting out in a showy display of playful antagonism. Your emotions were a mix right now teetering on the edge between wondering honestly if he was lying to please you, or truly this indifferent towards your concern, regardless of how small or stupid it seemed, you wanted an honest answer from him.

" Thanks Pietro, but-"

"y/n I think watching drama shows are having an effect on you" he pokes smiling in that charming way he does, glittering teeth, and glittering eyes and glittering personality. Dammit, you needed answers.

"Just, tell me the truth. What if there were women who were surgeons and doctors, smart women- or one of them was an artist or -" that was your point you thought, not that you weren't good enough, you were good enough, but for him? What if another woman was better for him than you? Did he honestly never consider the possibilities?

"Yes but you're a hero. You use you're power to help others. That's very admirable."

"What if I didn't have powers?" There it was. Clarity, you could see that the got it, that he honest to god understood what you were trying to get out of him.

"What if you were an alien, what if you had five feet what if, what if! These things don't matter because you're not an alien and you don't have five feet and you do have powers. I fell in love with you because you were the type of person I wanted to be, someone who gave their lives up for others- and to make it all better, you have the most attractive personality I've ever met. Even when you're upset with me over some silly show. And for the record, I'm not lying to you. I wouldn’t lie to you to make you feel better- this is what I believe."

Your posture softened and he made a beckoning motion before drawing you into his lap. Everything seemed less hard, your emotions, your conviction, your disdain. As his lack of understanding dissipated, revealing the heart of your concern. As you rested against him he pulled up the blanket to keep your warm.

"I know this will sound totally stupid and clingy and like I'm a hopelessly romantic airhead-

"I could never think less of you for asking me the truth. Never." he promised by kissing your forehead, leaving a warm mark of his patience, a silent promise to get to the bottom of this emotional conundrum.

You had to say it, it was the heart of the discussion:

"You don’t think we were made for each other." The show kept playing on indifferently.

"No. I don’t believe in things like that." His words didn’t comfort you, but they didn’t hurt you either. He was being truthful, and that was worth more than its own weight in gold. "Its not inevitable that we would have found each other. But how lucky then am I to have met you. If our lives could have played out differently, I might not have ever crossed paths with you, we could have gone years and years withought meeting, and would have been just as happy."

There was nothing you could say to that, there was very little going on in your mind as you sat and processed his words, your mind engulfing the meaning and interpreting the sounds.

"But that’s not to say I don’t value you immensely. You’ve made my days more beautiful and vibrant and wonderful. But to dwell on what could have been, or what might have been, or what never was? What a waste." His voice came through with the emotional weight you had been after.

There he finally was, your big metal man, not perfect or pristine, just honest and practical. He was human, he was just as venerable to the aches and pains of what ifs as you were and that was all you had wanted.

"You don’t believe in fate." Your voice croaked out, the silence of discovery weighing heavily on the room

"No," His arms wrapped you in closer, "But I believe in people, doing the best they can in a world that is random and scary and unpredictable. I believe in appreciating what you have. No one was ever meant to do or be anything. Isn't it freeing, that we get to choose that all on our own? I wasn’t destined to fall in love with you dorogya, that was all you. That wasn’t the universe or the stars or destiny. That was two human beings, meeting and showing each other the depth of their compassion and good nature." The show was about to end. Maybe 5 or so minutes, you snuggled into him until the credits began. Standing up to get something to drink or eat or anything that might go along nicely with the weight lifted off your shoulders.

But you were halted by his joking tone coming through, "How about me printsessa? Would you have chosen me?" you rolled your eyes continuing on your way towards the kitchen harboring the real mushy gushy, feely answer from the budding philosopher.

"Depends who the other contestants were." you quipped sass bleeding desperately through each syllable, you wouldn’t let his openness subvert your quick witted replies.

You'd keep to yourself the truer answer, shrouded in tender assurance, a teary, of course Rasputin, I'd choose you every time. You turned for a second seeing him chuckle as the credits rolled across the mansions' TV.

#colossus #colossus x reader #piotr rasputin #piotr rasputin x reader #fluff #dumb prompt turned into a deepdive into a coolio character

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sunnytumbies · 4 years

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just follow my yellow light (and ignore all those big warning signs)

Warning! This fic includes mentions of depression, anxiety, needles (in a medical setting), and dealing with grief/trauma. Please stay safe should you choose to read!

A/N: This is also a more plot-heavy fic, with most of the fiendery occurring in the very last sections, so please be aware of that! Word count: 8499 Title: “Yellow Light” by Of Monsters and Men

The thing about hospitals is that they’re all the same.

Cal understands why people hate them—really, he does—but sitting here on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath him, a blood pressure cuff tightening around his bicep, he can’t help but feel...safe. Understood.

He’s biased, he guesses. He grew up in one, doodling on prescription pads with crayons, running his favorite toy car along the floor (weaving around the nurse’s practical clogs on his hands and knees, look, Mom, look at how fast I am!), his mother Marianne bouncing him on her lap as she updated charts on her computer even though he was far too old for that, stray blonde hair that escaped from her tight bun tickling his cheek. Every once in a while, she’d turn to him with a wide, warm smile.

The whirring of blood pressure machines were his lullaby. The smell of antiseptic was the closest he got to the smell of home, and was in fact the very smell that followed him home from work with Marianne, permeated the whole house along with her tired sighs and her whispered arguments with his father Henry when she thought Cal was sleeping.

So, yeah. Cal likes hospitals. Don’t overanalyze it.

The nurse—Alicia, today—gives him a small, tired smile, the expression of someone who genuinely cares but is too busy to do much about it. “Dr. Moore says everything looks good, Cal. Just make sure to keep an eye on your lungs. Don’t bind for too long and keep doing your injections around the same time each week, okay? You know where to find us if you need something.”

“Thanks, Alicia,” Cal says, but she’s already whisking out the door. Cal wonders how many patients she has. Alicia oversees the hospital volunteer program, and even though Cal's known her for years, he swears her face is as young and beautiful as it was when he was a child. She’s funny and whip-smart and strong and she likes Cal best, he thinks, but lately she’s looked so tired.

He wonders if she’s one of the nurses who really cares about all of her patients. He wonders if that kind of thing is sustainable.

Alicia cares, he thinks.

He’s walking down the corridor, idly rubbing at the bandage across his forearm—and yeah, okay, if he has to name one part of the hospital experience that he could do without, it’s the blood draws—and he’s so fixated on reaching under the bandage to rub at the stinging skin there that he almost runs directly into Sweater Guy, who reaches out preemptively to steady Cal by the shoulders.

“Shit, sorry,” Cal mutters reflexively, then looks up to see that it’s him and, well, fuck.

Cal’s been volunteering at the hospital for six months or so, now, answering call buttons for the nurses and giving directions to confused family members and just grunt work, really, something—nay, anything—for him to put on his resume, and at every single shift he’s volunteered for, he’s seen Sweater Guy.

He’s Cal’s height but twice as skinny, collarbones jutting out underneath his sweaters (his endless sweaters, usually layered over collared shirts and rolled up to the elbows, no matter how swelteringly hot it gets outside). The sweaters bother Cal more than they should, because they all look expensive, and yeah, sue him, he’s a little bitter, because he buys one new pair of shoes a year and calls it splurging. He’s a candy striper, Cal thinks. He wears a pair of yellow-tinted glasses that Cal cannot for the life of him make sense of, constantly slipping down his nose (and yes the yellow compliments the rich brown of Sweater Guy’s skin beautifully, not that Cal has noticed, thanks). He has what Zara always insisted is sex hair, expression perpetually annoyed, like he always has something better to doing.

And he avoids the fuck out of Cal.

“It’s not on purpose,” Zara said one day a few months ago, leaning conspiratorially over their little table in the hospital cafeteria, mouth full of mediocre tuna fish sandwich, because Zara is a godless heathen who enjoys tuna fish sandwiches. “He’s just...busy, you know? He doesn’t avoid you more than he avoids anyone else.”

“Except he does,” Cal muttered, toying with the bottle cap from his soda. More than once he’d made eye contact with him in the hall, and then watched him completely switch directions, head ducked down low over his shoulders.

Not long after that, Zara--who had, until then, occupied the third room in he and Amy’s apartment--left school to attend a community college program for mortuary science, because Zara is, in addition to being a godless heathen, a chiefly ridiculous person, and now Cal doesn’t have anyone to complain to about this.

It shouldn’t bother him, except...Cal is likeable. He is. He charms nurses as though that’s what he’s getting volunteer credit for. Babies smile at him on the street. He’s likeable.

So what the fuck, you know?

“I apologize,” Sweater Guy says now, and Cal is hyper-aware of the guy’s chapped lips, of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously in his throat. He makes himself look away.

“You apologize? I’m the one who didn’t see you, dude,” Cal says, and God damn does that yellow sweater he’s wearing look nice on him. It shouldn’t. Yellow is categorically the worst color. Cal’s pissed.

Sweater Guy actually cracks a smile. “Yes, well. I’m glad we avoided a collision.”

And just like that, he’s walking off, and Cal doesn’t know what he’s supposed to make of it, if it means anything at all, but surely first contact after six months of silence means something.

“Hey,” he calls out before he can think better of it. “What’s your name?”

Sweater Guy stops and blinks, surprised, then pauses for a minute like he has to think about it. “Oh. My name is Quincy Washington.” He swallows. “What’s yours?”

“Cal.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Cal,” Quincy says softly, and Cal watches him walk away until he disappears around the corner.

Cal has a routine. He’s never been particularly organized, never been the type of person with color-coded planners or who lays out his outfits the night before, but he has a routine for check-up days: after picking up his inhaler refills and testosterone from the hospital pharmacy, he’ll treat himself to an iced chai tea latte with almond milk, hot if it’s cold outside or he’s feeling adventurous. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits in line to place his order, his lips flicking up into a small little smile as he pulls out his phone, realizing he finally has an update, deciding to send it to the group chat he still has with Amy and Zara:

I figured out his name!!

Amy texts back immediately, and Cal’s little smile splits into a full-blown grin. ???????????

Sweater Guy, Cal types, shifting forward as the line moves. It’s Quincy Washington, apparently.

Cal grins when he sees a message from Zara appear: r u sure he gave u his real name? that sounds pretty made up ngl :* but hey u finally talked to him!!!! told u it wouldn’t be hard!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3

Cal rolls his eyes a little, but good-naturedly. Zara was always convinced that Cal has a crush he’s not addressing, a conspiracy theory that has infected Amy as well, because no one fixates that hard if they DON’T have a crush, Cal, come on. Cal maintains that while he isn’t blind, there are about a million things more interesting about Sweater G--Quincy than how attractive he admittedly is.

Cal: In my defense, he talked to me first, and it’s only because I ran into him.

Zara: charming! did u gaze longingly into his eyes? did he gaze longingly into urs?

Cal rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Well it wasn’t his EYES I was looking at. ;) (I was looking at his stupid yellow sunglasses.)

Zara: silly! u should’ve asked him if he needs roomies. it would be an honor if my old room went to The Cause :)))

Cal’s lips droop, the smile sliding off his face as he pockets his phone. He knows Zara meant nothing by it, but he’s been compartmentalizing the roommate situation until now, and it’s not something he can particularly deal with at this moment. He doesn’t have to, as it happens--at that moment, an impatient “--sir? Sir, may I please take your order?” breaks through his mental abstraction, clearly not for the first time, and he shakes his head to clear it, cheeks flushing as he approaches the counter, mumbling apologies. He orders his drink, iced chai tea latte, please, making sure to leave a hefty tip in the jar.

Eager to spare himself further social anxiety, Cal grabs his drink as soon as it’s placed on the counter, mumbling another apology as he grabs a straw and walks briskly out of the exit closest to the parking lot, sipping eagerly at the drink (he swears it’s even better than usual) and what do you fucking know.

“Quincy,” Cal says when he reaches his car, clamping down on the little thrill he gets from knowing the name. He swirls the drink a little like some kind of movie character with a glass of wine. He’s chill. He’s cool.

“Oh. Hello, Cal,” Quincy says sheepishly. He’s standing at the front of a car—not just a car, the car—its hood propped open in a universal sign of defeat. “I seem to...be having some car trouble.”

“No fucking way,” Cal breathes out, because some things are too strange to be coincidences.

“I’m...I’m sorry?”

Cal shakes himself. “No, you’re good, sorry. It’s just that, uh. This is your car?”

It’s a Mercedes AMG, and it’s been parked next to Cal’s car every day for a couple months now. Cal’s awe hasn’t dulled with time. He figured it belonged to some paranoid doctor, rich and extravagant and scared enough of car crashes to buy a luxury armored SUV. The fact that it belongs to Quincy isn’t strange all on its own—because sure, whatever, Quincy is well-off, that’s a thing that happens to people—but the odds of the day he realizes it belongs to Quincy being the same day he learns Quincy’s name after months of wondering and silence?

Well.

“Yes. It’s practically new,” Quincy says sadly, “but I’m hopeless with cars. It’s probably something rather foolish.”

And then, because Cal is a masochist, he finds himself saying “Well, I know a thing or two about cars,” and yeah, okay, this is happening, apparently.

“You do?” Quincy’s expression is nothing short of hopeful. “Cal, I would be incredibly grateful.”

“Of course,” Cal says, already moving toward the car, because who is he to say no to a beautiful boy in a yellow sweater, to a beautiful car with its hood propped open? “It’s no trouble. Keys?”

“In the ignition.”

Cal forces himself to focus on the task at hand, even though sitting in the driver’s seat makes him feel downright giddy. He tells himself it’s the car’s immaculate leather interiors, the sheer novelty of sitting in a ridiculous, extravagant vehicle, and not the boy standing in front of the hood with his arms folded across his chest in defeat. He takes a breath.

Although, he thinks as he twists the key in the ignition, surely this is an acceptable thing to be intrigued by. Why is unassuming Quincy, who looks no older than Cal, driving an armored SUV—and not just any armored SUV, but one that can sustain machine guns and hand grenades?

He guesses people could say the same about him and his car, because the upkeep of classic cars is a bit of a bitch, but Cal’s beat-up inherited ‘59 Chevy Apache isn't machine gun proof, and it certainly isn't new. She's valuable, of course, but she was passed down to him, not bought fresh off the lot, and that value is probably tempered by years of dings and scratches. She's not a symptom of extravagance the way this absolute mammoth must be. So. Not the same, actually.

When he tries to crank up the car, it makes a horrible grinding sound that he knows well, the needles on dashboard instruments shuddering. Cal takes great pains to compose his amused grin into something more sympathetic.

“Good news and bad news,” he says, slamming the car door behind him reflexively before cringing. This isn’t the Apache, with its squeaky doors and stubborn latches, and that door alone probably cost more than Cal’s college tuition. “The good news is it’s nothing serious. You’ve just got a dead battery.”

Quincy slumps a little with what Cal assumes is relief. “That seems manageable.”

“The bad news, though,” Cal says. “Do you have jumper cables?”

“No,” Quincy replies, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed.

“See, that’s what I was worried about.” Cal gestures to his own car. He sips at his latte, and is genuinely alarmed to realize it’s almost empty. It’s delicious, but still, he’s only had the drink for twenty minutes at the most. “I don’t have mine either. I--” Cal considers the location of his jumper cables, in a heap in the living room of the apartment, leftover from a Skype debate with Zara centered on a story her classmate insisted was true concerning jumper cables and nipples. Cal doesn’t regret the use of a visual aid--he won the debate, after all, because seriously, have you seen jumper cable clamps, there is no way--but he decides this is not something he needs to share with Sweater Guy. “They’re at home. I can go grab them and come back to give you a jump, though? Our place is literally right around the corner.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Quincy hedges, a little desperately. Cal sees him battling internally between the need to be polite and the need to get his car running again.

“You’re not imposing,” Cal says, “because I offered. Seriously. Apologizing to me when I ran into you! Thinking you’re an imposition after I offered you something! You’re too nice for your own good, Quince.” The nickname slips out without Cal’s consent, and he feels the tips of his ears warm.

Quincy looks at him, tilting his head curiously. “I have an anxiety disorder,” he says after a moment, very plainly, and Cal feels like the biggest asshole in the world. He feels like an even bigger asshole because his knee-jerk reaction is to laugh, because what a mood, really.

To his abject horror, the laughter actually bubbles out, warm and genuine and fuck, he needed it, but he can also feel himself blushing crimson, because Jesus Christ, Cal, this is not the kind of reaction you should be having to this information. “I’m sorry,” he manages after a too-long moment. “I’m so sorry, oh my God, I promise I’m not laughing at you. It’s just...fuck, we’re not allowed to be that blunt, you know?”

Quincy inclines his head again, an unspoken question, and yeah, okay, you made this bed, Cal, now lie in it.

“I just mean, like...okay. Example. I’m chronically ill, right? I have asthma, thanks for that, genetics, but anyway the point is that I tell people I’m sick and they’re like, get well soon! They don’t understand that I don’t...want that. They don’t get that I’m sick, and that it’s okay! That’s fine! If you’re sick, you either have to be dying, or you have to be overcoming it or some shit. I just…I wish I could introduce myself like hi, I’m Cal, I have depression and my lungs don’t work very well. But I can’t, because that’s weird, that makes healthy people feel awkward, and our whole lives are about making healthy people feel better about our fucking lives.” He takes a breath, a little more painfully than he would prefer because it's goddamn cold out. “I just mean...I don’t know. It’s refreshing.”

Well, okay. Emotional intensity with Sweater Guy is not what Cal banked on happening today, but Sweater Guy is Quincy Washington, and now that he’s looking at him up close, he kind of feels like he’s demystifying him or...or something. The expensive sweater, he sees, is fraying at the sleeve from being picked at nervously. That annoyed expression, the one Cal always interpreted as aloof, is the face Quincy makes when his glasses start slipping down his nose. His sex hair is just...really good hair, perhaps a little mussed at the roots from a tendency to run his hands through it with the air of an exasperated father in a movie, and what’s wrong with that, really?

Sweater Guy, as it happens, is just a guy.

Anyway, Cal’s shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling the full force of the straight-up monologue he’s just delivered, but then Quincy is saying “That’s exactly it” in this relieved goddamn voice, so maybe things are okay after all. “What is that? Why do they make it so weird? It’s not as though it’s contagious.”

“Right? I don’t know. I’m just kind of exhausted of healthy people.” He inclines his head, toward his car, moving to the driver’s side because, again, it’s cold as shit and his lungs ache and he really should get Quincy that jump. “I’ll go grab those cables.” Something in the pit of his stomach grumbles at the movement, and he frowns, a reflexive hand coming up to rest on his belly. Weird.

“Oh, yeah,” Quincy says, like he’s forgotten what the whole point of this was (and doesn’t that just make something warm pool in Cal’s chest, God, he’s so screwed), and casts a withering glance toward the hospital doors. Cal looks at him for a second, shivering underneath his layers in front of his out-of-commission car, and before he can think about it any further than that he’s saying “You can ride with me there and back, if you want? It’s awfully cold out.”

Quincy positively beams. “I would like that very much, Cal.”

Okay then.

Amy is doing an honest-to-God tarot reading in the middle of the living room when Cal gets home, complete with candles and a red cloth draped over their coffee table, and isn’t that just their whole relationship summarized. He throws Quincy a put-upon glance over his shoulder, and Quincy bites his lip to keep from laughing. Has Cal mentioned that Quincy is attractive? God fucking damn it.

“Permission to enter the divination room?” he says in lieu of a hello, and Amy startles, nearly knocking over one of the candles.

“Cal!” Amy says, scandalized, staggering to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming! I would’ve gotten rid of these!”

Cal can’t help but chuckle. “I’m not going to have an asthma attack from candles, Ames.”

“You could! Go--go stand in the kitchen or something! Make your friend help me!”

Cal gives Quincy a look, a sort of see what I have to deal with? shrug, and Quincy responds with an amused smirk. “I’d be happy to help,” he says in a tone that sounds like he’s honest-to-God fucking with Cal. “What tarot deck is that?”

The kitchen is essentially attached to the living room, the two only separated by a narrow doorway, but Cal shrugs and takes this opportunity to wriggle out of his jacket and grab a soda from the fridge. He has a feeling he’s gonna be here for a while. As he reaches into the fridge, however, that strange little twinge deep in his belly makes itself known again, and he grimaces as a cramp seizes his insides. He closes the refrigerator empty-handed, leaning a suddenly-clammy forehead against the cool stainless steel. This does not bode well.

“So how do you know Cal, again?” Amy is saying just as he’s composed himself enough to re-enter the living room. Quincy has migrated to the couch, at least, albeit with his back ramrod straight, Amy apparently having been satisfied that Cal is not in any immediate mortal peril.

“He volunteers at the hospital with me,” Cal says before Quincy can say anything, and when Amy glances over at him, Amy mouths Sweater Guy over Quincy’s head. Amy’s eyes bulge, so Cal forges ahead before she can say something to embarrass him. “His battery died, so I came here for the jumper cables.”

“Riiight, the hospital,” Amy says, a barely restrained grin in her voice, and God, when Amy tells Zara that Cal brought Sweater Guy home he is never going to hear the end of it. “Did you put up the fliers, by the way? We’re really gonna struggle this month if we don’t get it figured out soon,” and Cal looks up sharply, idly placing a hand on his stomach when it protests at the movement. Why is Amy bringing up the roommate fliers now?

“I know,” Cal says slowly, trying to communicate please don’t do this now with just a glance.. He sits on the couch next to Quincy, careful to leave a socially acceptable distance between them. “I know, Amy. But...no, I didn’t.” He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, his stomach starting to churn in earnest.

“Cal,” Amy chastises, and Cal thinks he would prefer anger to disappointment. “Did you talk to anyone, at least? It’ll be easier if it’s someone we know for, like, negotiating rent and stuff.”

“Um,” Cal says eloquently, but then Quincy is saying, “Actually, he talked to me,” and alright then, that took a turn.

“Oh,” Amy says, skeptical, but her face has brightened nonetheless. “Really?”

“That’s part of why I brought him with me to grab the cables,” Cal says, because he’s rolling with this, apparently. He really is never going to live this down. “To show him the room.”

“I wanted to see it for myself,” Quincy says sagely.

“Uh, yeah,” Cal adds lamely.

Amy is giving him this proud goddamn grin, and Cal is having trouble looking at it, because seriously, it shouldn't be like this. Amy has left this whole roommate search up to him, which is a nice gesture—Amy could live with anyone, with her natural inclination toward small talk and her compulsive baking which is the least unwelcome coping mechanism and her goddamn optimism, but Cal, with his bound chest and testosterone injections, has a lot more to lose here. The thing is, Cal, for all his charm and his mock-flirting and his wolfish grins, has a hard time with people, so him bringing home a coworker (or whatever he's supposed to call Quincy—coworker doesn't feel right, and Cal's trying really hard not to overanalyze that) isn't exactly a common occurrence. Amy is a proud parent smiling at her kid for making friends on the first day of kindergarten, and Cal loves her for it, he does, but it also chafes against him like his chest binder on a hot day.

"Well, go ahead," Amy finally says, breaking what could have turned into an awkward silence. "Don't let me stop you! I'm Amy, by the way. What's your name? I’m not sure I caught it." She glances at Cal as she says with a terribly unsubtle wink.

"Quincy Washington," Quincy says in that same quiet way he told Cal. "It's wonderful to meet you, Amy. I’m a fan of tarot myself and you have an excellent eye for ambiance."

"Thanks!" Amy beams, and Cal wrenches himself off the couch and ushers Quincy down the hallway before Amy loops him into a conversation about the history of tarot or some shit. Cal loves her to death, but knows she’s practically chomping at the bit. He won’t be surprised if she’s texting Zara as he speaks.

"You did me a solid, there, Quincy," Cal says quietly when they're far enough down the hall to be out of Amy’s earshot, hyper-aware of how sluggish he is. "We can just waste a little time and then I'll get you that jump."

"May I see the room?" Quincy asks, and Cal's heart just about stops entirely. "I'm glad to have done you...a solid, but I do happen to be looking for a room to let." His voice catches strangely and unfamiliarly around the slang.

Cal stares at him for a second. "Seriously?"

"I am very serious. If you'll have me, of course," Quincy says then, rushing through the second sentence and looking self-conscious about it.

"No, I just..." Cal says in something like disbelief, then shakes himself off. "Anyway. I guess I'll show you the room, then?"

"Please," Quincy says, so Cal leads the way.

"It's kind of small," he says apologetically, pushing open the door and flicking on the lights. They're Edison bulbs, and they cast the room in buttery yellow. "And obviously we'd move this stuff out of here if you moved in."

Quincy doesn’t say anything, and Cal turns to see that his face is frozen in genuine, slack-jawed awe. It's more than a little endearing, and Cal tucks his fond little grin away before he speaks. "You're a book guy, huh?"

"You could say that," Quincy breathes, and moves forward a little. "May I—?"

"Go for it," Cal says, and Quincy reaches out to touch one of the bookcases.

The room belonged to Zara until she moved out, the smallest room by far but also the one with the most windows, all against the far wall looking out toward the main road. Pushed against the opposite wall are three wood-paneled curio cabinets that Henry once used as bookshelves, packed tight with the books he cared about most in this world. Many of them are leather-bound and there is more than one special edition, all of them older than Cal's grandparents.

"They're beautiful," Quincy finally says after a moment, "but why do you have rare books in your apartment?"

Cal snorts, because it is so contrary to what he was expecting, but also because this is a valid question. "Honestly," he says, "I just couldn't bear to part with them. They were my dad's." The words are out before he realizes he's just dropped the dead dad bomb, so he forges ahead. "Uh, like I said, we'd get them out of here before you moved in."

"Or you could leave them," Quincy murmurs, eyes darting back and forth as he scans the titles. "God, is that a livre d'artist?"

On some level, Cal registers that this a very pretentious question, and also that there is just something strange about the way Quincy speaks, like everything he says has been polished beforehand. On another, baser level, he finds it frustratingly hot. "Uh, that sounds like a question I should maybe know the answer to, but honestly, these were my dad's thing. I haven't opened up any of the books since he died. I keep the shelves dusted, but I'm not much of a literature person."

"Are you a book person?" Quincy asks.

"Come on, you can be one or the other. People can like books without liking capital L literature," he says, turning to look at Cal with this ridiculously excited expression. It's kind of heartwarming. "You know, people who hate Hemingway but loved Twilight."

Cal may or may not have the entire saga on the much smaller, far less decorative bookshelf beside his bed, but Quincy doesn't need to know that. "Interesting distinction. Yeah, I guess I am."

"I knew it. Team Edward or Team Jacob?"

"Wow I hate this conversation."

Quincy smirks and turns back to the shelves with a quiet sort of reverence that makes Cal smile. It also makes his heart ache a little because it reminds him so much of his dad, but it's an ache that has dulled with the passage of time.

"So," Cal says, trying to sound casual, "Are you a student?"

"Yes," Quincy replies, still scanning book titles with a feverish intensity that skirts perilously close to lunacy. "I'm a senior. Are you?"

"Yeah," Cal says thinly. There's still a chance, he tells himself, and has to catch his breath as his stomach cramps again. A low rumble has begun deep in his gut, like someone set it to simmer, his stomach doing lazy barrel rolls that make him swallow hard. "Senior, too. Pre-med."

"I'm a double major. Classics and Theology. Not the most practical, I know," Quincy says, sheepishly, like he's used to people reacting poorly to it.

Fuck. God fucking damn it.

"Oh!" Cal says, forcibly infusing his voice with something akin to enthusiasm. "That's really cool. Um. Side note, just by the way..."

Quincy looks at him inquiringly. Fuck. All at once, his stomach cramps harshly enough to have him seeing stars, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead again, and he can’t quite stifle a pained moan, clutching at his roiling insides, leaning against the doorframe for support.

“Are you okay, Cal?” Quincy takes a step toward him, evidently not too worried about whatever Cal was going to say, looking more concerned than Cal would expect from someone who avoided the fuck out of him prior to today, and he gives a pained nod, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Something bubbles in his lower belly painfully, and it hits him all at once.

“Fuck,” he hisses, noticing all at once how his stomach is puffy, poking out under his shirt and over the waistband of his jeans, how the cramps are accompanied by a near-constant rumble and oppressive waves of nausea. “Sorry, I’m--I just forgot to ask for—” He swallows again, hardly able to think about the damned chai tea latte, presumably made with full fat milk, churning around inside him. “I’m...lactose intolerant,” he manages, painfully aware that this is happening in front of Sweater Guy of all people. “I forgot to ask for almond milk instead of regular.”

“Are you alright?” Quincy sounds alarmed, eyes darting from Cal to the door and back again. “Should I get Amy? Is it an allergy, or—?”

“No, no,” Cal manages, laughing lightly. “You sound just like her, though. It’s just—” He grimaces, clutching at a twinge of nausea— “Just a pretty gnarly tummy ache. I’ll be okay.” He allows himself to rest a hand on his belly, straightening up through immense willpower. “Seriously, let’s just...move on, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Quincy murmurs, still looking rather concerned. It’s endearing, Cal thinks, even through the fog of nausea and the embarrassment tinging his cheeks red. “I believe you were saying something?”

“Oh,” Cal remembers, and looks at the floor. "My dad's name was Henry Kline?"

Quincy freezes. To his credit, he reigns in the incredulous expression relatively quickly.

"Cal," he says instead, very sincerely, turning to look at him with sad, sad eyes. "Cal, I am so sorry."

"Don't be," Cal mumbles, looking down, rubbing at the back of his neck. His stomach lets out a loud, angry rumble, and he flushes an even deeper shade of crimson. "I just, uh, wanted you to know from me. 'Cause if you live here, you gotta understand that people are gonna talk. They always do, about us. 'Specially when they hear our last name."

"Cal Kline," Quincy realizes all at once, and then, with that painful sincerity again, "I wouldn't listen."

Cal smiles despite himself. "Thanks, Quincy."

Quincy clears his throat, straightening up from where he's been crouched to pour over the books. Cal is sort of impressed at the sheer muscle tone it must’ve taken to forget he was doing a deep squat. "Cal, I have something to tell you as well."

This is it, Cal thinks. He doesn't want the room. Doesn't want to live with the bereaved Klines. It's too much. Just give him the jump and go back to never speaking again. The anxiety stirs up his upset stomach, and he clamps down forcibly on a burp that tries to burble up. His stomach lets out a low groan in response to the air being forced back into it.

"I was studying under Professor Kline," he says instead, and oh, okay. Which is to say, what the fucking shit, how many motherfucking coincidences can there feasibly be in one 12-hour period, but okay, it's better than what Cal was expecting. "I was a teaching assistant, and I was helping him restore his book collection." He glances back to the shelves. "I should have recognized them immediately, but I never saw them on the shelves..."

Cal's glad Quincy isn't looking at him anymore, because he can't vouch for what his face is doing. The ache Henry left is healing, dulled with the passage of time, but it still hurts if Cal picks at it. Quincy studied with Henry. Quincy knew him in a way Cal never did, never will, his brain screams, and something about that is just, well. His stomach flips, something cramping low and urgent in his belly.

Quincy is beautiful, and he is wearing a yellow sweater, and he likes Cal's car, and the only reason he cares that Cal's last name is Kline is because he doesn't want to be inconsiderate to Cal.

So, fuck.

"Well, now that we've got the awkward parts out of the way," Cal says, and Quincy flashes him a genuine smile that is positively blinding. He recovers from his seven consecutive heart attacks before continuing, "I can show you the rest of the apartment."

“Are you sure?” Quincy glances dubiously at Cal, who still has an arm curled around his belly. “You’re awfully pale.”

“That’s, uh—” Cal laughs nervously, feeling sicker and sicker by the moment. “Yeah. Maybe you could just...show yourself around?” At that moment, a low whine fills the apartment, a sure tell that Amy has gotten into the shower, and Cal’s stomach tightens. “Minus the bathroom, I guess. Sorry, our pipes do that when we use the shower. I’m just gonna, uh, have a seat in the living room.”

Quincy doesn’t question this, and Cal sends up a silent cry of gratitude to whoever may be listening. He settles into his favorite crease on the sofa, looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure Quincy is occupied with checking out the patio before pressing both hands to his grumbling stomach, feeling irritable movement beneath his palms. Oh, it hurts, cramps squeezing at his lower belly like a vice, a sticky, hot nausea plaguing his tummy. He tries in vain to soothe the ache, rubbing his hand across his bloated stomach as gently as possible, but the touch only sends up a dangerous belch that leaves him panting, hanging over the edge of the couch, the taste of chai and stomach acid coating his mouth revoltingly.

Quincy’s self-guided tour doesn't take long; their three-bedroom student apartment doesn't exactly contain multitudes. Cal has thankfully composed himself before Quincy pokes his head into the living room. “I have seen what I need to see, I believe,” he says with that stiff formality that seems to crop up occasionally.

"Yeah, that's the place! Nice and straightforward,” Cal says brightly, as convincingly as he can without moving around too much. “Any clutter you see is mine because Amy is an android, probably."

Quincy smiles, and Cal's cardiac health continues to worsen, God those fucking smiles. "Can you prove it?"

"Irrefutably. Evidence: runs for fun. Consumes spinach, also for fun. Wakes up and goes to bed at the same time every day. Possibly irons her clothes, but I'm still not sure on that one."

"She sounds...pretty human. Perhaps you're the android."

"No, I just have depression," Cal says before he can stop himself.

Quincy throws his head back and laughs, and it makes Cal feel so fucking warm. Has he mentioned recently that he is completely screwed in a way that has nothing to do with his cramping stomach?

"God, Amy hates when I joke about it. It'll be nice to have someone who understands around here when you move in."

Quincy straightens up. "When I move in?"

"What can I say. You sold me. If you want to live here, I want you to live here." He smiles, small.

It was kind of a done deal when you said you worked with Henry Kline, Cal doesn't say. The way you talk to me like I'm a normal person and the fact that you're fucking gorgeous are just bonuses.

"There is one more thing," he says, steeling himself. Much of his life is spent steeling himself. He pauses, waiting for Quincy to make a joke, to grin another heart-stopping grin, but he just looks at Cal curiously. "I'm trans. I wasn't born a male but I am and always have been a boy. I bind my chest and live as a male and use he/him pronouns. If you don't understand it, that's okay, but I will demand a certain level of respect in my own home, and it'd be preferable if that respect was voluntary." The speech is well-oiled from use, but Cal's voice still shakes.

"Is that all?" Quincy says, and Cal feels his entire body slump in relief, straightening back up a little when his stomach protests. "I mean, of course, Cal. I'm not ignorant."

"Oh, yeah, right. Thank you, gentle cis man. I worship at the holy altar of your allyship." He says it like a joke, but it takes effort to get out, because despite everything, it's taken him years to give this speech to a receptive audience and not feel like he's been granted a favor.

It's taken him years to say I'm here and not have it come out as I'm sorry.

When he told Zara, it was this whole thing, Zara reaching across the table to clasp one of Cal's hands in both of hers, you know I'm here for you, right? Cal's Facebook messages are full of Zara sending him every post she sees with the word trans in it, and like yeah, Zara, you're very sweet and supportive, but sometimes Cal just wants to be Cal, you know?

It's just that Cal's known Quincy for all of a few hours and he already feels so goddamn understood.

"I'm happy to pay whatever Zara’s share was," Quincy says, "And if you would be willing to leave Professor Kline's books, I would be honored."

"Consider it done," Cal says, smiling a little. He’s almost able to forget about the slow, sinister ache in his stomach. Almost. "Though get ready for Amy to talk about it all the time. She’s really not on board with them being here."

"I mean...religion isn't my cup of tea either, believe it or not, but I saw an original King James Bible. That alone has to be worth at least twenty grand. Literature person or not, that's...a really valuable thing to be keeping in your rented apartment."

Cal's eyes flit to the tiled floor, and he can feel Quincy's gaze on him, and he knows he's biting his lip, something he does often enough that one side of it is slightly larger than the other.

"Oh...Cal, I apologize. I didn't mean to intrude." It's that stiff formality from their almost-collision at the hospital again, and when Cal glances up, Quincy is backing away from him, hands folded behind his back. "I'm sure they're insured, or...even if they're not...I just mean, it's your business, of course. I apologize."

"No, it's fine." Cal clears his throat nervously. "You're right. Zara and Amy just kind of went a little crazy helping me get rid of his stuff when he died, and they wanted to donate them to the university. I probably should have let them, but..." He shrugs, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, presses his lips together around another burp that he forces down, wincing at the added pressure. "It's not like these are even all the books he had. There are probably hundreds in the storage unit. But I'm ridiculous, and they were just his thing, and for some reason the thought of them just sitting in a dusty room with boxes of his old clothes and the lawnmower and literal cobwebs just didn't sit right, so."

"So you brought them here." Quincy looks at him like he understands, and isn't just that the worst fucking thing? "I get it."

"I kind of do want to donate them, as it turns out," and wow, okay, Cal didn't realize that until he says it out loud. "I'm just a little worried because I haven't exactly been...maintaining them, or whatever. I wouldn't even know where to start. If I'm going to let the university open up the Henry Kline Memorial Library or whatever the fuck, I don’t want to give them dusty books with cracked spines, you know? He would've hated that."

Quincy clears his throat, licks his lips a little, and wow, okay, Cal's feeling things again. "I don't know if this is something you'd even be comfortable with, but...I could continue the work I was doing with Professor Kline. We were in the middle of restoring his collection, and I learned his technique well. I still have access to the labs. I could take it one book at a time. With your approval, of course."

Cal blinks. "Um...yeah. Yeah, okay. That's super cool of you, thank you."

"Are you kidding?" Quincy blurts, and then scratches the back of his neck a little like he's embarrassed. "I mean, it's just that you're doing me a favor. Henry Kline's book collection...I'll admit that I've missed them."

Cal can't help the little smile that tugs his lips up, and seriously, he has to get these feelings under control, God, the guy hasn't even moved in yet.

Before he can say anything, Quincy's face softens into that aching sympathy again. "And Cal...I miss him, as well. He was a good man."

Cal kind of wants to cry, so suddenly and desperately that it takes his breath away for a second. His stomach churns audibly, and Quincy looks at him in alarm.

"Quincy," he says when he gets his voice back, "How soon can you move in?"

Quincy beams. "How soon will you have me?"

When Amy gets out of the shower, Cal is sprawled across the couch, openly groaning, clutching his stomach with both hands.

"What happened to Quin--Cal?” Amy blurts out as she enters the living room, rushing over to the couch when she takes in Cal’s sickly pallor.

“Finally drove him back and jumped his car," Cal groans, still marveling that he was able to hold it together long enough. He may or may not have had to pull over on the way back, heaving up a trickle of stomach acid and chai tea latte onto the side of the road, at least as much due to anxiety as it was to lactose intolerance, but Amy doesn’t need to know that. "Says he'll take the room…"

“Okay, that’s great, we’ll unpack that later,” Amy says, sitting gently at Cal’s feet, “But what’s going on with this?” She doesn’t wait for permission, laying a soft hand on Cal’s bloated belly, kneading gently at a cramp, ushering up a soft burp. Amy is sort of a miracle worker.

"’S gonna pay Zara’s share,” Cal murmurs, leaning into Amy’s touch, grimacing as the pressure ushers up a burp that brings up a wave of stomach acid. He swallows hard.

"Again, that’s great, but,” Amy says, rubbing his belly in wide arcs, maintaining a steady pressure that does wonders for the cramps. “What the hell?”

“I got anxious getting my latte,” he mumbles, letting his eyes slide shut. Amy’s ministrations are easing the worst of the nausea, and he is so, so thankful for her. “Forgot to ask for almond milk.”

“Cal,” Amy says, all faint disapproval and warm concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were showering,” he whines, then whimpers a little at a particularly strong cramp, and Amy moves closer, applying a bit more pressure as she kneads at the cramp, massaging her other hand gently over the burbly places in his lower belly. “I made him show himself around. He didn’t even mind.”

“Sounds like a dreamboat,” Amy says, her voice light and teasing.

Cal doesn't know what to say to that that won't be self-incriminating, so he just says, "He really likes yellow."

"I noticed that,” Amy agrees. "When does he move in?"

Cal keeps his eyes shut, studiously avoiding eye contact. "Tomorrow."

"Oh, wow, so soon! I can't wait to get to know him." Amy’s tone is completely genuine, probably working out what she can bake that properly conveys a message of thanks for living with us! She applies a bit of firm pressure unexpectedly to the bloat beneath Cal’s ribs, and he groans, feeling a flutter in his stomach as it tries and fails to expel a rush of trapped air. “Oof--please don’t do that again,” he manages, clutching at his chest.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Amy says, sounding genuinely sad, and Cal slowly opens his eyes. “Just seems like you’ve got quite a lot of air stuck in there. Would you like some tea? Not chai, I guess...”

Cal groans, shoving a couch pillow over his face. “I know. I’m an idiot. Oh, my tummy—”

“Let me make you that tea,” Amy says lightly, giving his tummy a little pat before wrenching herself off the couch, and Cal loves the fuck out of her, has he mentioned?

"I think you'll like him," Cal calls as Amy moves into the kitchen, deciding to take this opportunity to drop the bomb, adding more quietly, "Oh, and, small world, he worked with my dad."

The rustling in the kitchen pauses, then starts again almost as suddenly as it stopped. "Does he...?"

"Yeah, I told him. Didn't seem to bother him. He really likes the books."

"The books," Amy murmurs, and oh God, not this again, but Amy is already following up with "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do with them?"

Cal takes a deep breath and feels it stutter a little in his chest, reminding him he's been binding for a bit too long. "Yeah, actually. They were working on restoring the books when Dad died. He said he'd help me get them back into shape and I think I'll donate them to the university."

"Oh," Amy says, pleasantly, and Cal reminds himself that Amy is good, that Amy is only doing what she thinks is best, what Zara told her would be best, that most rational people would question the wisdom of having cases of books worth thousands of dollars in an apartment not known for its impenetrable security measures. "That's really cool. He sounds like a really neat guy, Cal."

Cal thinks of yellow-tinted glasses, of that scar on his face and the way he looked at Cal like he understands him. "Yeah," he says softly. "He really is."

“Ginger or mint?” Amy calls, and Cal is thankful for the change of subject.

“Ginger, please,” he calls back, carefully cupping his stomach with his palm, and takes a very deep breath.

A long while later, Amy has fallen asleep on his shoulder, a hand still splayed across his slightly-less-bloated belly, old episodes of The Twilight Zone streaming at a low volume on the TV. Cal can’t be bothered to move, too comfortable, too deep in thought, the churning of his belly finally soothed by Amy’s ministrations and a few shamefaced trips to the bathroom.

Cal thinks about his dad every day, and that is no euphemism. He sometimes drifts past the extra room (Quincy's room, he thinks, something blooming in his chest in a way he doesn’t want to deal with right now) and sees his books, or catches sight of the scar on his knee he got the first and last time he and his dad went fishing when they were supposed to be studying for Cal's math test the next day, when a stray hook went straight through and he needed stitches, remembers the ice cream after, I'm not going to say don't tell your mom, but I'm going to say I won't if you won't, and he smiles, just a little (he didn't tell his mother). Every night he lays in a bed across from a desk that's been flush to the wall underneath the window since the day his dad built it, the one they picked out together at IKEA before Cal moved in, the one that had him muttering profanities for three hours on a blisteringly hot day in August while Zara’s mother, Virginia, poked her head in intermittently, how are those PhDs treating you, Dr. Kline? Cal thinks about his dad all the time.

It's just that he can't remember the day he died.

It's just that he knows that he's the one who found the body, that he's the one who, somehow, called 911, who clung to Amy when the ambulance came, but he knows it the way you know stories about your fourth birthday party or your first day of school—more retelling than memory. Something you know because you're told.

If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can remember what his uncle was wearing that day, what the perfume of the hospital secretary smelled like, but he can't for the life of him remember his dad's face, what the last thing he said to him was. And when it comes down to it, maybe he doesn’t remember what his uncle was wearing at all, maybe he just remembers him saying at the funeral, he bought me this tie, you know.

You'd be surprised how many people come to a funeral for a professor, how many handshakes and hugs Cal got just for losing someone. How many looks of pity he got (gets) when they hear his name: Cal Kline, the guy who found his dad dead.

And he can't even remember it.

Psychogenic amnesia, Dr. Hodge told him in one of their first sessions, because yeah, when you're trans and you find your dad dead and can't fucking remember it, the one thing you spare no expense on is a really badass therapist. His brain couldn't handle what happened. He repressed it. It was the emotional shock, was the trauma, was the pain, yeah, Cal gets it.

It's just that the one thing you should be allowed to hold onto are lasts, and Cal can't even remember his. He thinks of his dad and sees fishing, sees the lectures he sometimes sat in on, sees a receding hairline and eyes just like his and of course I still love you, sweetheart, daughter or son, you're family, and it aches.

He wonders if Quincy's lost someone, if that's why he looked at him like that, eyes soft and understanding but not pitying. I get it, he said, and Cal believes him.

Cal rolls that around in his head like a marble.

I get it. I get it. I get it.

Yellow's an awfully pretty color.

#timeline #Cal #Zara #Quincy #Amy #okay yeah i forgot to write a bio for zara we'll get to that later #i. did not proofread this #belly rubs #spot the myx shoutout :P

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trashboatprince · 4 years

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Just a one-shot of a silly idea that came to mind the other day while I was at work.

A trip to Paris to remember a friend from the past leads to an angel and a demon sitting in a cathedral for a chat.

And it takes an awkward plan to get said demon inside of the holy building.

This clearly takes place long before the recent fire at Notre Dame, this is more of just a random little trip during the 90s.

And yes, I tagged it with ship stuff, obvious, but let’s face it, anything I write with Aziraphale and Crowley is always gonna be Ineffable Husbands, even if it’s just implied or hinted at.

On with the fic!

Can Demons Sit in Pews?

“Paris? Really? Got another desire for the best crepes in the world, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled, despite the obvious jab at a previous action from well over two hundred years ago, turning around to face the approaching demon. His smile faltered into an annoyed pout when Crowley waved his hand, a few meters away a souvenir stand operator suddenly dashed off when an officer just so happened to notice that his items might be counterfeit.

“Now, my dear, was that really necessary?” He asked as he crossed his arms, getting a smirk in return.

“No, but it was funny. So, what are you doing here?”

“I really should be asking you that question, how did you know I was here?”

Crowley gave a shrug. “I always know, and don’t avoid my question.

With a turn, Aziraphale gestured to the large structure he had been strolling towards before he heard the all-too-familiar voice of his oldest companion. Crowley looked at it and pulled a face. “A church.”

“Ah,” The angel smiled, “not just any old church! Notre Dame! One of the most famous cathedrals in all the world!”

“I like the one in Prague better, you know, the one that looks spooky.” Crowley spoke. “Or that one in Cologne, the one that claims to have the bones of the Three Kings and they’re covered in gold and gems.”

Aziraphale huffed. “You’ve never even been inside, you silly fool.”

“Been in one church in all my life, and it was to save you from a stupid death.” The demon replied, missing the look that crossed Aziraphale’s face. That moment was… rather important to the Principality, it was when feelings were made certain for him. He glanced at Crowley, who seemed to be rambling now, having corrected himself.

He had been in more churches, apparently, but they were ones where devil worshippers or demons had found ways to ruin the holiness of them. And nine out of ten, Crowley only ended up there cause some idiot summoned him while drunk.

“Well, while you wander down memory lane of foolish teenagers and dark ‘warlocks’, I shall wander into the cathedral.” Aziraphale spoke up as he turned on his heel, making his way over before he felt long fingers gently grab his shoulder. “Yes, dear?”

“Can I come with?”

This made the angel pause and give the taller man a funny look. “Crowley, did your melted shoes and me anointing your feet for hours to help heal them not make it obvious that you cannot walk on consecrated ground?”

“I think me howling in pain from having to peel my melted shoes and damaged socks off was the clue, or me making a total arse outta myself in front of stupid nazis as I practically tap danced to keep from standing still for too long, but I’d still like to see it. Been so much buzz about it for centuries, and there were all those films that came out about it, even one recently, been wanting to see this place for myself. Plus, it’s a gothic cathedral, that’s got to account for something, right? You know, what with it being demonic looking and the like.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale started, but the demon walked past him towards the entrance. “My dear, I don’t think that’s a very good idea-!”

One foot was on the first step up to the door and Crowley buckled, dropping with a sharp hiss, falling on his back as he clutched his foot. Aziraphale was quick to come to his side, ignoring the looks of Parisians and tourists nearby. “Oh gracious, are you alright?! Did you not realize that this is still Catholic, despite how spooky it looks? It’s going to be a bit worse than a little church in Germany.”

“No shit, angel!” Crowley snapped at him, sitting up and removing his boot and sock, looking at his foot. Aside from the scales, the only thing different about it to a normal person would be what looked like a red sunburn, but to Aziraphale, it was clearly a burn of holy grounds. It had only been a moment for the burn to take place, not like he had stood there for a while, so Aziraphale was able to remove the pain with a snap of his fingers.

“Crowley, maybe you can wander around while I’m inside. I know there is a lovely bakery not too far, and the Seines is nice to drop things on people while on one of the bridges, I’d rather you not suffer.”

“Nope.” He shook his head, putting on his sock. “I’m too curious, it’s in my nature.”

“That it is.” Aziraphale sighed as he looked about, waiting for the man to finish getting his boot back on and to regain his pride from that little display. He spotted a family where a little boy was saying something to his father, who then crouched down, the child climbed up his back. Aziraphale grinned at this before turning his attention to his friend. “My dear, I just had the most brilliant idea for you to get inside!”

“You’ll go inside and draw a satanic symbol on the floor, thus corrupting it for a bit?”

“No! I mean…” He moved, turning his back to Crowley as he rested his knees on the ground. “Climb on my back.”

Crowley just looked at him. “What?”

The angel sighed loudly. “Get on my back, I will hold onto you, and this way you can go inside with no problems.”

“Can you even lift me?”

“Crowley, I am a Principality, I am much stronger than I look. Besides, how many times have I carried your drunken and or sleeping self around while you were practically dead weight?”

The snake demon shrugged. “Alright, but if you complain of back aches later, that’s your fault.” He got up and moved to get on the other’s back, before nearly yelping when Aziraphale suddenly stood up, making Crowley wrap his legs around the other’s stomach, his arms around his shoulders. “Damn, angel! It’s like I weigh nothing to you!”

“I’ve carried stacks of books that weigh more than you ever will, my dear.” Aziraphale said with a bit of smug pride as he walked up the stairs, ignoring more stares from people as he opened the doors.

Crowley’s eyes widened a bit behind his shades as he looked inside. He could sense the Godly blessings of this place, felt a bit like when one touched an old television screen when it was on static, a light tingle under the skin. The inside was massive, beautiful, and made Crowley feel so tiny. He was in a house of God, and it felt wrong, yet… with Aziraphale here, giving him permission, it felt a bit right.

He wasn’t here to cause trouble, his natural curiosity, which got him into the whole demon shtick anyway, was too strong for him to ignore being in here. He hadn’t paid too much attention when he was in that church in 1941, he was too worried about Aziraphale, and the other ones he had wandered into (or were summoned into) were damaged.

Here he was now though, inside of one of Europe’s most famous gothic buildings, kept alive by a writer who didn’t want to see it go to waste in the 1800s.

The demon paused and looked at Aziraphale, who seemed lost in his own thoughts as he walked about, seeming to let Crowley look around from his perch. “Do you wanna take a seat?” He asked the blond, who looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Can you sit on a pew?”

“We’ll find out.”

Aziraphale made his way over to one near the front, a woman stopped him for a moment, asking in English, an American tourist, if his friend was alright.

“Ah,” Aziraphale smiled, “he’s alright, he stepped wrong outside and now his foot hurts, but he didn’t want to wait for it to stop aching.” Crowley nearly groaned out loud at the excuse the other had come up with to explain why he was carrying a grown man on his back.

She seemed to believe the lie, damn curious humans, and Aziraphale stepped away to allow Crowley to take a seat. It wasn’t easy, Crowley didn’t dare put his feet on the ground, it would be ten times worse than it was outside, so he had to step on the pew.

There was no burn, just more of the television static, so it was safe. Who the hell would bless a seat anyway? He sat down, cross-legged, and the angel sat down next to him with a small, content sigh as he looked up at the sight before them. Clearly the back of the cathedral was where the holy men in charge would speak to the masses, under beautiful stain glass, and symbols of God, The Son, and The Holy Ghost.

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s knee, turning to him to whisper. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, I’ll give your lot’s fan club that. Probably the first demon in history to really appreciate what humans can do when building homes for God. Wonder if She has a favorite somewhere in the world.”

“Lots of them, actually.” Aziraphale replied. “So many have a little something that just makes Her love them more than some others. I don’t blame Her, I can be the same with my books, and I know you are with your plants.”

“You know nothing about me and my plants.” Crowley grumbled, his eyes drifting about. “Speaking of books. We’re here because of Victor, aren’t we?”

Aziraphale blinked, his cheeks suddenly a bit pink from embarrassment. “Yes, uhh… I do try to stop by once a year, to pay my respects.”

“Why not at his grave?”

“Oh, I do, but as an angel, I think the most respect can be paid towards the building he saved from neglect.”

Crowley couldn’t argue with that, so he nodded. Aziraphale had been good friends with the write Victor Hugo, and even Crowley couldn’t deny that he had read through a few of his books, even the ones that could very well be mistaken for bricks. He was rather shocked at how dark The Hunchback of Notre Dame was as a book, young girls being preyed on by creepy older men, a deformed human being treated as a mistake and a monster, a holy man who was doing things that demons were known to influence, dark stuff.

When Victor had died, he remember Aziraphale had spent the day in his shop, just reading away at one of the man’s works. He did go to the funeral, Crowley did not. He had gone back to sleep, seeing as it had been the 1800s and Crowley spent most of it asleep, outside of a few rare times where he couldn’t sleep and pestered humans and Aziraphale.

He had been awake the day the author died, and he just sat with his angel as he quietly mourned in his own way. Aziraphale could be emotional when he wanted to be, but sometimes his more obvious expression of grief was being silent and reading with a frown on his face, Crowley knew his friend all too well. He remembered taking Aziraphale out for dinner that evening, his treat, and they spent the night in the bookshop, toasting wine to humans who have changed things for the better, even in little ways.

“He was an excellent poet and artist.” Crowley spoke softly, hearing Aziraphale hum in agreement. “And apparently a hell of a sex fiend, so many mistresses. His little black book is more infamous than anything he’s ever written.” He deserved the punch to the arm from the angel, but he still got a laugh from Aziraphale.

“Yes, well, he was still a respectful man. He stood for what he believed in, for freedom and liberty, to be one’s self, to stand up for what was right.” Aziraphale replied as he looked at Crowley, there seemed to be something on the man’s face, like there was a weight to his words, a personal one.

“Yeah.” The demon put his hand over the one that rested on his knee. “‘To love is to act’. That was his, seems like a good idea, even if the word love is… meh.” There wasn’t any venom or hate in Crowley’s voice at the last part of his statement, and Aziraphale didn’t comment on it.

“Right, my dear. You are correct, that is his.” A smile came to Aziraphale. “When we’re done here, would you like to go out for lunch? My treat, afterwards, we can do to the Louver. I’d love for you to tell me more silly stories about Da Vinci.”

“Sounds good. Besides, this place is making my limbs feel numb, and that probably means it’s time to go.”

The angel let the demon get on his back once more, walking out as they discussed where would the best place for lunch was and if Crowley should be allowed to make loud, lewd jokes about naked people in religious art when they got to the museum.

END

Originally, this was just an excuse to write the hilarious mental image of Aziraphale taking Crowley into a church on his back, but I did a bit of research of Victor Hugo and found the quote and damnit, I had to throw that in.

(Also, yes, he was a hell of a womanizer and every brothel in Paris closed for his funeral cause a lot of ladies attended).

Thanks for reading

(this is also posted on ao3, under the same title and by me, RiYuYami and I really need to change that name lol)

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #john's drabbles

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takaraphoenix · 5 years

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I was reading your answer to ships that make you what to vomit and I'm genuinely curious as to why you said Percy and Annabeth's relationship is abusive? I've never heard anyone point out it was or even had the thought that it was abusive myself. I'd really appreciate if you could explain it to me because I'd really like to your opinions on the ship that everyone always seems to regard so highly (I hope this didnt sound rude, I'm just curious)

*frowns annoyed at tumblr* I have done an elaborate post on it before, but because tumblr is a little bitch, I can’t go looking for it on my own damn blog since the search-function doesn’t work. If you’re interested and the Tumblr Gods smile upon you, you could check out my “Riordan Critical” tag and seep through it for that post, it’s definitely there.

Due to tumblr being a little bitch, here’s the highlights of that post:

Annabeth continuously calls Percy a “seaweed brain” and other deteriorating nicknames. And no, insulting your significant other is not cute. Especially not for a boy who changed schools this often and has been bullied about, among other things, his intelligence. Absolutely no one can tell me that a boy who’s been bullied and called dumb by bullies for half his life would actually enjoy being insulted by his girlfriend.

In the beginning of The Titan’s Curse, when they’re on the school festitivity to pick up Nico and Bianca, Annabeth wants Percy to dance with her. Instead of asking him to dance, she is passive-agressively waiting for him to ask her. When he doesn’t… she punches him in the stomach. Not a friendly cuff in the shoulder, an actual punch and in one of the most vulnerable places. Using physical violence when your partner - and he wasn’t even her partner back then - doesn’t comply to your wishes, especially when you don’t even express those wishes vocally, is abuse. You can playfully swat your partner’s arm when he’s being silly, but punching someone in the stomach is not playful. And doing so because someone has not read your mind and anticipated your wishes is just straight-up gross.

When they are reunited in The Mark of Athena, her reaction is not to kiss him or embrace him, her reaction is to judo-flip him. And in as violent a manner that all Romans around them draw their weapons because their leader has just been physically assaulted. Now, like the assault itself wasn’t bad enough, she once again used physical violence to punish Percy for something. In this case, she is literally punishing him for getting abducted and suffering major trauma. It’s not like he willingly left her; he was abducted and has gone through a huge traumatic event in the past half year. Instead of being a comforting girlfriend concerned for him, she immediately punishes him physically for leaving her, like it was in any way or shape his fault.

People don’t notice because it’s the girl doing this and somehow, people at large have been so grossly brainwashed by straight romance to think that women physically abusing men is funny.

Now, please, imagine the roles being reverse, because then usually people see what’s actually wrong with that kind of behavior.

Imagine a girl not wanting to dance with a guy and he flat-out punches her in the gut. Seriously, that would not stand.

Imagine a girl having been abducted and traumatized and instead of embracing her and expressing his love, the guy judo-flips her and literally tags on verbally that this was because she left him and shouldn’t do that again.

Literally no one would have just read past such things. Everyone would have stumbled over those things. but since Annabeth is the cute blonde girlfriend and Percy is the strong male hero it’s ““funny”“ when she uses physical assault to punish him for not doing as she wants.

What makes matters worse is that she is literally a daughter of war, she is a genetically physically superior fighter. That’s how demigods work. And she has been training under Chiron for eight years. That’s the equivalent of a trained Navy SEAL assaulting you for upsetting them. That’s not some frail cute little cheerleader girly girl whose slap packs nothing.

And people just really don’t care or see what’s wrong with that.

EDIT: Thanks to @kimmycup for the link! Here’s the link to the OG post I made on this topic.

#Anti Percabeth #like yeah #it makes me uncomfortable to actually use an anti tag #but since I'm aware #there are followers of mine who ship it #you shouldn't have to read this #but I'm also not not answering this #PJOverse #Shipping #tw: abuse #Anonymous

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themadamelibrarian · 5 years

Text

Every Breath You Take - Part 1 of Just Breathe

Written By: @themadamelibrarian & @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Relationships: Michael/Gabriel/Dean Winchester Characters: Michael, Gabriel, Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Threesome - M/M/M, D/s, Dom!Michael, Sub!Gabriel, Sub!Dean, Top!Michael, bottom!Dean, breath play, Choking, Panty Kink, Frottage, Anal Sex, self doubt, Teeny Bit of Dom!Drop, Aftercare, Lawyer!Michael, Student!Dean, Artist!Gabriel, Facials, Of the Pornographic Variety, Kinktober Summary: Michael manages to come home early to his two boyfriends. They have a surprise for him. Little do they know, he has a couple of his own surprises up his sleeve.

LINK ON AO3 Share this story and show support for the creator!

Tagging: @copperseraphim @thenanahunter @idabbleincrazy @truxblooded

“I was told by a little birdie you two have a surprise for me?” Michael asked, looking over at his boyfriends with obvious affection in his eyes. He noted that they were both wearing silk robes over their bodies. “Although the sight of you two never fails to surprise me.”

Gabriel snorted as he thumbed through a magazine and feigning disinterest as Dean shuffled uncomfortably beside him, “You should call for exterminators for those birds.”

Michael chuckled and walked over to Dean and Gabriel, shrugging out of his black blazer and loosening his tie. “You’re the little birdie, silly. You sent the text saying, and I quote, ‘got a little surprise for you, Sir, from the two of us’. And then sent that deliciously naughty picture of the plug in Dean’s ass.” His lips quirked up into a smirk. “I hope you know that you sent that during an important meeting.”

“You sent the pictures?!” Dean squawked indignantly at Gabriel, “you said you were gonna save them for later, not send them all over the damned world!”

“I didn’t send them all over the world. Just to Mikey.” Gabriel patted Dean’s knee affectionately and looked up at Michael with a smirk, “Got him home at a decent hour too.”

Michael rolled his eyes good naturedly and kissed Dean’s cheek. “He took more than one of you?” he whispered softly. “I can’t wait to see them.” He looked over at Gabriel. “The picture had nothing to do with me getting home early and you know it, Gabe.”

Gabriel sat his magazine on the nightstand and wrapped his arm around Dean, “You mean you didn’t want to hear about me and Dean playing by ourselves again,” he finished with a slight pout.

“Don’t be a dick, Gabe. It’s not that bad,” Dean denied even though he’d told Gabriel just the night before how he missed falling asleep with both of his men in the bed with him. He understood that Michael worked hard so that Dean could finish school and Gabriel could pursue his dreams of being an artist. It kept the bills paid but sometimes it was lonely with just the two of them when they were used to three.

Michael sighed and wrapped his arms around both of his boys, hugging them close. He knew that they were lonely, that they were feeling neglected, but this case was a big one and it could help out in a big way. He was tired of the long hours as well. “The case goes to trial next week,” he said softly, kissing first Dean’s, then Gabriel’s foreheads. “And then. . . well, I wanted this news to be a surprise, but to cheer up my boys. . . After the case is closed, I’m taking a couple weeks off from work, aside from a couple of post-trial meetings. But I’m all yours for two weeks and they’re going to give me light cases for a couple weeks after that.”

“Seriously?” Gabriel said, his eyes lighting up with joy at the idea of a vacation.

“You even scheduled it for the end of my semester?” Dean asked with the hint of a smile. All three of them together for a change and it wasn’t even Christmas.

“Yes, I did,” Michael smiled warmly. “Some of it was ordained by the boss, but I wanted some time with my boys. And I’m not doing any work at home tonight. Tonight, I’m yours.” He kissed their cheeks. “Can’t have my boys be too sad, now can I?”

Dean and Gabriel looked at each other as a twin mischievous smile started to form.

Michael raised an amused brow at the look on his boyfriend’s faces. “Oh dear,” he murmured. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

“Should we show him?” Gabriel asked Dean as he started to lean in closer, his voice dropping lower.

“He did take vacation time to be with us and came home early.” Dean answered, reaching out and slowly undoing the belt around Gabriel’s waist, “The question is, does he get to play too or just watch?”

Michael waited. Everyone knew that he would eventually get to play to the fullest extent and make his boys feel the best that they can. “I think,” he murmured playfully, “I should get to play a little bit. You know that all work and no play makes Mikey a very unhappy boy.”

Gabriel hummed in thought while easing his hand along Dean’s inner thigh, “He has a point. So he can watch for now and play later.”

“Show him what we’ve been up to for the past few weeks,” Dean said with a sigh, then pushing Gabriel’s robe off his shoulders. The silk pooled around his waist, revealing the barest hint of red lace stretching over his hips.

Responding in kind, Dean’s robe was shoved open by his enthusiastic playmate, flashing Michael with forest green silk covering Dean’s half hard cock.

Michael was nearly speechless. “You’re wearing panties?” he whispered softly, letting his fingers trail along the dark green silk wrapped around Dean’s cock. “Both of you?”

“That’s right. You missed Dean wearing garters on Monday.” Gabriel teased, “I found that our shy violet has a kink or two that we haven’t explored.”

“Does he now?” Michael asked with a smirk. He looked at Dean’s blushing face and tilted his chin up. “What kinky little things does my baby boy like?” he asked softly.

“Panties, Sir.” Dean answered, pulling his robe closed, knowing that Michael especially liked him playing up the innocent act, even if this time his embarrassment was real. Some of his fantasies he kept to himself because he figured his mind was probably far better than the reality. Tonight was different. Tonight Gabriel had urged him to tell them both a couple of them, so they could try and see if his theory was right. “and breath play. I like the feel of someone’s throat under my fingers.”

“Do you, baby boy?” Michael smiled, gently sliding his fingers from Dean’s throat to his robe, slowly drawing it open again. “May I see you in your pretty panties, baby boy? Or are you too shy for me tonight?”

Gabriel pressed himself up against Michael’s back and smiled over his shoulder as he deftly started to unbutton Michael’s shirt, “Show him, Dean. And then show him what’s under them.”

Throwing Gabriel a quick scowl for being a pushy dickwad, Dean rolled out of the bed and stood at the foot so they both could get a good look. Untying his robe, he drew it down over his shoulders and let the garment fall to the floor. Underneath were his green silk panties with high cut legs to accentuate his hips.

Michael groaned, looking at Dean. “You’re so beautiful, baby boy,” he praised, his eyes running up and down Dean’s lean form. He licked his lips before turning his head to look at Gabriel. “And I know you’re wearing some too, little one,” he murmured. “Go on, give me a show like Dean. Let me see you.”

“Gonna be a good daddy, sir?” Gabriel waggled his eyebrows, not at all serious about using the term after several attempts that had made them laugh more than anything else. He inched away to join Dean, his robe already barely hanging on his wrists and let it fall to the floor. The red lace from before ended up being the entirety of his undergarment, leaving nothing to the imagination as it was completely translucent.

“Gabriel almost refused to wear his,” Dean said as he cupped Gabriel’s cock and massaged it gently, wanting the feel of him swelling against his palm.

“Why didn’t you want to wear yours, little one?” Michael asked, giving a low whistle at the sight of his two boys dressed in nothing but panties. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, courtesy of Gabriel, and the two could see the outline of Michael’s rapidly engorging cock through the material of Michael’s cashmere slacks. “I think you look amazing in them. Both of you are stunning. How did an old man like me get so lucky?”

“I suspect demon deals,” Gabriel said as he returned the favor and gripped Dean’s cock to rub the silk against the head.

“Or good Karma,” Dean turned so that he and Gabriel were face to face, revealing that the backside of his panties were missing except for an intricate weaving of straps to keep it in place. “Gabe wanted to wear mine and not the red ones,” he answered Michael and squeezed Gabriel, pulling a low moan from the blond.

Michael groaned, licking his lips at the sight of Dean’s ass in front of him. “I suppose I can go along with that line of logic,” he murmured. “So tell me, baby boy. You like choking someone?”

Nodding, Dean’s lips skated along Gabriel’s throat where he left random kisses and few well placed nips that drew out the loveliest of sounds from him.

Pressing up close, Gabriel rolled his hips in languid circles against Dean as his hand moved in tandem to which they both moaned.

“What do you like about it, baby boy?” Michael asked softly, undoing the belt on his slacks before he unzipped them, allowing his cock to press freely against the cashmere and get some air. His eyes were glued to the sight before him. He had the sexiest boyfriends, no doubt.

“Feeling their pulse speed up as they get close to cumming. Feels powerful,” Dean groaned, tipping his head to the side so that he could watch Michael while Gabriel attempted to mark his throat, “Like I’m in control of if they cum or pass out.”

Michael groaned softly at Dean’s description, wetting his lips again. “Have you choked Gabriel, baby boy?” he asked softly.

“A little,” Dean confessed.

“Came so hard,” Gabriel added, his words were muffled as he refused to move his mouth away from Dean’s skin. Instead, he went to dragging his nails down Dean’s chest and leaving faint red trails in their wake, “Filled him up until it leaked out around my cock.”

“How’d it feel, little one? To have Dean’s hands wrapped around your throat and slowly choking you?” Michael purred, watching his boyfriends tease each other. “Must’ve felt good if you filled him up so our shy baby boy was leaking.”

“It did feel good, but it was a little scary at the same time,” Gabriel’s hands circled around Dean’s waist and cupped his rear. Massaging the rounded curves, he pulled them apart to give Michael a flash of the black base of the plug Dean was wearing, “Don’t want to do it again, though. It was a little unsettling afterward.”

“He dropped a little.” Dean explained as he started to lead Gabriel toward the bed with small steps backward, “that’s why he was so clingy when you got home.”

Michael clicked his tongue sympathetically. “My poor little one,” he murmured, sighing at the sight of the plug in Dean’s rear. “Should’ve told me you were dropping, babies.”

“We handled it. You can make it up to us on our vacation,” Gabriel said with a glance over Dean’s shoulder and then pushed Dean back on the bed leaving him spread wantonly on top of the covers.

Michael frowned at Gabriel and wagged his finger. “Not how this works, mister,” he reminded him before turning his attention to Dean. He shifted his body weight to lean over Dean and kiss him deeply.

Throwing his arms around Michael’s shoulders, Dean returned the kiss like a starving man given a steak. Using his teeth to nip at Michael’s bottom lip and then smoothing it over with the tip of his tongue.

Gabriel bit back the retort to Michael’s admonishment. Now wasn’t the time for serious conversations about roles and lack of fulfillment. They were meant to be having fun with each other. Not taking potshots. Turning his attention back to the pair in front of him, Gabriel took advantage of their distraction and reached between them to take hold of the plug and twist it enough to make Dean whimper.

Michael shifted his weight more to almost completely cover Dean, kissing him a bit more harshly than he originally intended, but he was feeling greedy. He’s missed this, all of this, and he was dying for the affection, the attention, everything and he couldn’t get enough of it. He swallowed Dean’s whimper with a moan of his own, rocking his hips down onto Dean’s.

He couldn’t help but to wind his fingers through Michael’s hair and tug on it. It was one of Dean’s favorite things to do because it was one of Michael’s turn ons that was easy to execute, anytime and anywhere. Dean thrust up against Michael and moaned at the feel of the silk sliding against his shaft while Gabriel started to move the plug inside him as if it were a dildo.

Michael groaned at the pull to his hair, breaking the kiss to breathe. He watched Dean’s face as Gabriel fucked him with the plug and moaned. “Beautiful, absolutely stunning, baby boy.”

Gabriel let go of the toy and shifted himself around until he was behind Michael. Making sure that his pants were unfastened, Gabriel eased them down around Michael’s thighs with boxers shortly following. Running his hands over the curve of Michael’s rear, Gabriel bent down to kiss the small of his back, “He really is, but he’s even prettier with you inside him.”

“No,” Dean protested and pressed his pelvis against Michael, rubbing their hardened cocks together, “Want you like this, Mike. Just like this.”

“Just like this, baby boy? With me rutting against your pretty panties?” Michael breathed, kissing down Dean’s neck, mouthing over Dean’s Adam’s apple with a moan.

Dean gave the barest of nods and opened his legs to bracket Michael’s hips.

“And what about me?” Gabriel asked, shoving Michael’s shirt up and kissing his way along his back, his tongue peeking to punctuate each kiss with a wet flick.

Michael groaned, arching his back up into Gabriel’s touch. “I think I can rut against you as well,” he teased playfully. “I love rutting against both of my beautiful boys.” He ground against Dean before turning his head back to look at Gabriel. “Come here and kiss me,” he commanded gently.

“I am kissing you,” Gabriel grinned against his shoulder briefly before stretching out, covering Michael’s back and kissing him. Unlike Dean, Gabriel took his time to draw it out, sucking on Michael’s bottom lip as his hands wandered along the Dom’s sides until Gabriel could run his fingers over Michael’s nipples.

Michael groaned softly into the kiss, reaching up to cup the back of Gabriel’s head as his hips rolled between his two subs’. His other hand ran lightly over Dean’s chest, tracing unrecognizable patterns of passion.

Dean, ever the sneak in the bedroom, insinuated his hand between himself and Michael, opening the leg of his panties so that Michael’s cock slid in alongside his so that they both could be gripped in his hand. Jerking their cocks in short, quick strokes, Dean arched his back as a ripple of pleasure ran through him.

At the same time, Gabriel’s movement coupled with Michael’s, forced his panties down so that his cock head was rubbing directly against the cleft of Michael’s ass. Each twist of their hips punched out a pleasured grunt from Gabriel.

Michael gasped, his head lolling back to give Gabriel more room to kiss and suck at his lips. The panties and Dean’s hand around his cock made his head spin and he bit at Gabriel’s lips. The silk caressed where Dean’s hand did not, and he felt the feeling of a sense of breaking a taboo wash over him briefly, to be surpassed by the pleasure he was feeling. That was a good thing, as he had been working on not getting lost in his head when a feeling of doing something taboo came over him.

It was different, too. Normally Michael wasn’t the most vocal of bed partners but he was tonight. It must’ve been because the past two weeks he’s been working over time, he hasn’t even touched himself and so everything felt twice as good.

“Does it feel good?” Dean groaned, his hand tightening briefly when the plug was nudged up against his prostate purely by accident.

Gabriel’s hands moved down to Michael’s hips and gripped them with one hand while the other groped around for the bottle of lube he knew he’d left somewhere nearby.

“It feels so good, baby boy,” Michael murmured tenderly as he leaned back in to kiss Dean. “Fuck, so good. You and Gabe are so good to me.”

“Be even better in a bit,” Gabriel panted, finding the bottle now that he could see and pouring a generous amount on his cock and Michael’s ass. The added slick squelched between them with each shove of Gabriel’s cock against him.

Michael moaned, twisting his head to look back at Gabriel with an amused sort of smile. “Cheeky little imp,” he teased, leaning back in for another kiss with Gabriel. His hips continued rolling against Dean’s and Gabriel’s, the rhythm never swaying even as his arousal grew. Michael Milton was a man proud of his self-control.

Dean’s hand caressed along the nape of Michael’s neck and circled to the front until his fingers were wrapped loosely around his throat. He had no intention of squeezing, but he wanted to feel the pulse just under his fingers, like they’d been talking about earlier. As soon as he felt the first thump of Michael’s heart, his cock throbbed with desire, a small gasp escaping his lips.

Michael’s breath hitched in his throat, a small whimper of pleasure issuing from his lips as he felt Dean’s fingers linger on his pulse. A faint pink dusted his strong cheekbones from the sound. His cock jumped in Dean’s hand, smearing precum against his younger boyfriend’s hipbone.

“Dean,” Gabriel admonished as he slowed his thrusts to reach out and remove Dean’s hand, “you’re supposed to ask permission first.”

“It’s fine,” Michael said, catching Gabriel’s wrist. “I’m good.” He leaned into Dean’s hand a little more, feeling his breath catch in his throat again. “More than good.” His face was flushing more in embarrassment about his hidden kink. It had been far too long since he indulged in being choked, since as a Dom it seemed so taboo. He licked his lips and closed his eyes.

Dean squeezed experimentally trying to gauge the kind of pressure he’d need to make it good for both of them. “Do you like it, Mike?” he asked, dropping all pretenses of titles at the moment. This seemed too important to layer into his role as Sub until they found their footing with this.

Michael moaned at the squeeze to his throat and he nodded briefly, the pink on his face turning red as embarrassment colored his being. “Y-y-yeah,” he managed to say. His cock was hard, harder than he’s remembered it being in the past with them.

“I fucking knew it,” Gabriel muttered, grinning against Michael’s shoulder and shifting in such a way that the tip of his cock pressed against his boyfriend's hole.

“Knew what?” Dean nearly whispered. He was mesmerized by the way Michael’s skin was turning red with the added pressure. The sight was one of the most erotic that he’d seen and precum pearled on the tip of his cock at the thought of watching Michael cum this way.

Michael moaned softly as Dean kept a steady hand against his throat, squeezing and just holding it there. It made Michael feel utterly weak and aroused, rutting against Dean’s hip and Gabriel’s cock.

“Mikey likes it.” Gabriel groaned, “He likes being choked.”

“Is that true?” Dean asked, pulling his hand back enough to lead Michael toward him so that their lips could brush together. “Get you off that your sub can make you feel like this?”

Michael whined, kissing Dean briefly before answering. “God, yes,” he breathed. “Love it.”

With a small whimpered sigh, Dean’s cock throbbed against Michael’s and he stilled his hand that was wrapped around their members. “Then fuck us good and show me how much you like the tables being turned,” Dean said in a commanding tone that he rarely used in the bedroom.

Michael whined and licked his lips, his mouth dry. “Gabe, lube,” he whispered, opening his hand for it. “Please,” he added. His hips still rocked into Dean’s stilled hand and throbbing cock, his own leaking profusely.

Even though he was tempted to stay where he was, he wanted to see Michael’s expression when he fell apart more. So, Gabriel flopped onto the bed beside Dean and placed the bottle into Michael’s hand.

“Thank you,” Michael said to Gabriel before he opened the bottle of lube and drizzled his fingers in it, his heart pounding in his chest. His body was thrumming in anticipation as he reached around Dean to slowly pull out his plug. His shoulders tensed a little, a sign of his nerves and embarrassment.

Feeling him tense up, Dean loosened his hold and stroked his fingers over the red marks he left behind, “Breath, Mike. Nice and slow.”

Michael took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, pulling out the plug as he did so. His eyes opened a little and he leaned into Dean’s touch.

“Lay down beside, Gabriel.” Dean said with a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Wanna see both of you while I ride you.”

“I get a show too?” Gabriel asked gleefully as he slipped his hands into the front of his panties and slowly stroked himself.

Michael nodded, taking another deep breath. He eased himself out of Dean’s panties, whimpering softly at the feeling of silk caressing his length before laying down next to Gabriel. His fingers involuntarily clenched the comforter in an attempt to ground himself.

Dean sat up and straddled Michael’s thighs as his hands caressed along his chest, inching up along his collarbone, “Don’t worry. You’ll feel so good but if you want me to stop grab my wrist.”

“What if he can’t do that?” Gabriel asked, a slight tinge of worry in his voice.

“I don’t think he’ll last that long,” Dean winked at his partner before lifting up and lining Michael’s cock up with his opening. Sinking down inch by inch, Dean moaned at the feel of being filled up by something other than unforgiving silicone. “I might not either,” he grunted when he finally was seated firmly in Michael’s lap.

Michael groaned, resisting the urge to thrust his hips up into Dean. His body relaxed a little bit, obviously relaxing into the situation. He tilted his head slightly to look at Gabriel. “How’d you guess?” he asked softly. He tilted his head back slightly to bare his neck.

Gabriel curled up against Michael and started to place nibbling kisses along his jaw, “Wearing your ties too tight. Getting hardons while watching regular movies that had a fight scene with someone being held by the throat. Just little things like that.”

“I do not wear my ties too tight,” Michael protested, moaning as he felt Dean clench around his length. He didn’t deny the second part of Gabriel’s statement- that was a lot harder to explain away and it was no secret that fights made him hard. He just got harder whenever someone’s throat got grabbed.

“Yes, you do,” Dean said, rocking his hips against Michael, “Have been all week. I didn’t realize what it meant until tonight,” His hand slipped back into place around Michael’s throat and remained at rest, “Take a few deep breaths for me.”

Michael’s breath hitched briefly, before he started breathing deeply, still shaking his head in denial about how tight he wore his ties the past week. Already, the feel of Dean’s hand against his throat was having him relax his fingers.

“Now we know and we can play with this when you want,” Gabriel purred in Michael’s ear, “Maybe even get you a collar to match ours. Something tight and heavy so you can feel it.”

“With just enough pressure,” Dean said, constricting his hand and slowly restricting the flow of air into Michael’s lungs. Lifting up and savoring the slick drag of the cock inside him, then dropping back down. Dean timed these movements with each thump of Michael’s heart until he was bouncing in his lap at a steady pace.

Michael managed to whine loudly at Gabriel’s suggestion before Dean began choking him and he surrendered, his eyes closing and his body relaxing completely underneath of Dean. His face turned first pink, then red from the lack of oxygen but Michael wasn’t fighting it- he was welcoming it, surrendering to it.

Dean did this for just a few minutes before easing up on Michael’s throat, allowing his boyfriend to take a large gasp of air and breath for a bit, still going strong riding him. He bit his lip, admiring how utterly relaxed and aroused Michael looked- how wrecked he was.

Not to be left out, Gabriel satisfied himself with watching until Michael’s first gasping breath. Without hesitation, Gabriel rolled away from the couple to kneel beside Michael’s head. Tucking his panties under his balls, Gabriel let out a small moan as he stroked his cock in quick movements. “Never imagined how good he’d look like this. Our toppy, uptight, sexy, Michael panting with a hand around him throat. We gotta get him a collar now,” Gabriel rambled, “Giving up his control. So fucking hot.”

Michael whined softly, looking up at Gabriel’s cock and licking his lips as he watched the precum pearl at the tip.

“Want this too, Michael?” Gabriel asked, bracing one hand on the headboard so he could lean forward to graze the tip over Michael’s lips, “Want me to come on those pretty lips of yours?”

Michael’s tongue reached out to lick the precum from Gabriel’s cock, nodding his head. He gasped as he felt Dean’s hand press down on his throat again and his eyes closed, once again surrendering to the feeling of having someone’s hand on his throat, choking him. It was a fucked up way to feel relaxed, for sure, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. And Dean’s hand felt the best of all. His cock throbbed hard inside of Dean, and he knew that he’d be cumming soon.

“Do it, Gabe.” Dean panted out in an attempt to keep himself under control. It’d been a long afternoon of teasing, leaving him hard and unsatisfied. Now that he had Michael under him, he found that he wanted nothing more than let loose but he couldn’t. Not until Michael had cum.

Michael felt everything tensing up in preparation for his climax. He opened his mouth to warn Gabriel and Dean, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t find his voice, there was only Dean’s hand.

“Oh god!” Gabriel moaned, his hand moving over his cock quicker than before as the warmth and tension in his groin built until releasing in a glorious wave that spread all through him. Thick drops of cum landing on Michael’s cheek, lips and tongue as the Gabriel shuddered above him.

Michael’s mouth was open to catch some of it, but the first feeling of Gabriel’s orgasm had his own ripping through him. His back bowed off the bed as he silently screamed, eyes squeezed shut as tiny white dots filled his vision. His cock simply filled Dean up with his release, and Michael could feel it oozing down his shaft as Dean rocked up and down.

Dean watched in fascination as Michael’s face was speckled by Gabriel and as he felt Michael let go he released his hold on his throat. Gripping his own cock firmly, Dean stroked himself a couple of times, following them both, his back arching as the first of his cum landed where his hand had been and adding to the mess Gabriel had started.

Michael was thankful that Dean came- and released his throat- when he did, or he could’ve been in for a second orgasm. Gasping for air, he laid on the bed for a few moments in post coital bliss, eyes closed before they snapped open. Scene’s ended. It’s time for aftercare. He felt lightheaded, sure, but he was going to get Dean laying down, get a washcloth to wipe himself off, and grab juice for the three of them. Maybe the fur blanket he knows Dean curls up with to study.

Taking another long, deep breath, he slowly helped Dean dismount before slowly sitting up. The room spun but Michael was determined and he began to stand.

“Where do you think you’re going?,” Gabriel asked, pulling Michael by the hand back toward the bed.

“Bathroom for the cloth,” Michael croaked. His voice was completely hoarse. “And then the kitchen for juice. I’m fine.”

“To hell you say,” Dean grumbled from his spot on the bed where he laid out, feeling a bit boneless.

Gabriel stood up, feeling invigorated by what they’d done and pushed Michael back onto the bed, “Lay your ass down before you fall down. You played hard so you need to rest. I’ll get the juice and clean you all up.”

Michael frowned, not liking this. He was the Dom, regardless of the fact that he’d been choked, and went to stand up again. “I’m good,” he insisted.

“Mike?” Dean asked, his voice going soft once more as his arms reached out for him, “Come cuddle me?”

Michael sighed, giving a small smile to Dean, and he laid back down and wrapped his arms around Dean. “I’m covered in cum and I need to take care of you,” he whispered hoarsely, the role reversal of what they had done obviously going to his head.

“Cuddling is Caring. Isn’t that what you told me the first time I refused it? Let Gabe do the running if he wants.” Dean said as he used his thumb to clean a spot on Michael’s cheek.

Michael gave a nod of his head in agreement with Dean’s statement. “Not what I meant,” he murmured. “Gabriel shouldn’t be doing what I promised I’d do, no matter what.”

“On a normal day, I’d agree.” Gabriel said as he slipped his robe back on, “but today’s playtime wasn’t our usual so a little give to the rules should be allowed. So juice for everyone and warm cloth and blankets.”

“The fuzzy one,” Dean mumbled against Michael’s shoulder, drowsiness starting to make his eyes heavy.

Michael took a deep breath and let it out slowly, running his hands up and down Dean’s back as he felt the weight of the role reversal of the night and the two long weeks he’s neglected his boys press in on him. He hated that Gabriel had to take over for two weeks and now was doing the same even though Michael was there. He’s the Dom. He should be here for his boys. They needed him, and he needed them. He wasn’t used to this. In the past, he’s always taken back control almost immediately after the scene and dived into the aftercare. That’s what he needed to do.

In a rare display of post-coital affection, Dean nuzzled up against Michael’s jaw and kissed the side of his neck, “Did you like it? What we did? I wasn’t too rough?”

Michael gave a smile and kissed the top of Dean’s head. “I loved it, Dean,” he whispered softly, honestly. He made sure to keep the tremor he felt out of his voice. “It was perfect. Thank you.”

“But you’re freaking out. I know you and that type A personality of yours. Must keep control,” Dean grumbled, snagging a corner of the comforter and wiping Michael’s face clean, “You know you don’t have to do everything. Sometimes we can do things for you too.”

Michael made a face as Dean cleaned Gabriel’s release from it, more from the feeling than anything else. “I’m supposed to,” he said quietly, “I’m the Dom. This is my duty, my promise to you.”

He felt weak, weak that he couldn’t keep his promise to take care of Dean and Gabriel no matter the situation. He felt his hands get clammy and he curled them into fists.

“I seem to remember us making promises too, but just this once be practical and admit it.” Dean lifted his head so that he could catch Michael’s gaze, “It feels nice to be in bed, holding me with the juice on the way. And maybe even some of Gabriel’s molasses cookies.”

“It does feel nice,” Michael admitted quietly. His voice still hurt and he wasn’t sure if the room was still spinning or not. “But it also feels. . . Like. . . I don’t want to say wrong because it’s not-”

“It’s weird,” Dean admitted, “I feel it too but just roll with it.” he laid his head on Michael’s arm and wrapped his arm around his waist, “It felt weird the first time you did the shiba thing with the ropes on me, but it ended up being tons of fun.”

Michael smiled and looked down at Dean. “I love seeing you in shibari,” he murmured. “You’re exquisite in it.”

“Thank you but that’s besides the point,” Dean blushed faintly.

“What’s beside what?” Gabriel asked as he came in with the fur blanket around his shoulders like a cape and a tray of juice and cookies.

Michael sat up, about ready to get out of bed to help Gabriel, to take the tray from him and do his job as a Dom, but Dean pulled him back down. Probably just as well, the room was still not straight.

“The point. Mike’s freakin’ because he can’t deliver cookies and juice,” Dean explained.

Michael groaned and sighed. “I’m not ‘freaking’,” he mumbled almost petulantly. Jesus, why did his throat still hurt?

“Would it help if I wore a french maid outfit?” Gabriel offered as he sat the tray on the nightstand and handed a glass of juice to Michael.

Michael gave a wry chuckle and shook his head. “No, not really,” he admitted, taking the juice and starting to guzzle it down before he stopped. He sat up gingerly and brought Dean up next to him before holding the glass of juice to his lips, like he has a thousand times. He needed to do this. They came first. He’ll be fine.

Gabriel snorted before sharing a look with Dean. “You’re a wonderful, beautiful, stubborn idiot, Michael Milton,” he said firmly.

Michael whipped his head around too fast, blinking owlishly at Gabriel. “Wha?” he asked softly.

Gabriel took the now empty glass of juice and set it on the tray before taking both of Michael’s hands in his. “We know you, better than you’d think,” he said, “And we both know you’re in your head. We know you’re probably feeling a little guilty, a little angry at yourself, and more than a little confused. But you just went through a hard scene, one that I’m guessing you haven’t been in in a long time. And there were a lot of new things happening. And you can barely stand. Help me out, Dean-O.”

Michael stared at Gabriel’s hands, biting his lower lip anxiously. His posture was becoming stiffer, firmer, straighter.

“No man should be obligated to get cookies when he’s had the cum choked out of him,” Dean offered sleepily, his eyes drooping as he fought sleep.

“But that’s my job,” Michael whispered softly, still staring at his and Gabriel’s hands. “It doesn’t matter. The two of you come before me. A Dominant’s needs are secondary. I made a promise, and I’ve been shitty the past two weeks on that promise.” He felt emotion well up in his throat and he choked it down. “And I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I need to do better.” He rolled his shoulders, now hunching as if to hide himself away.

“Apology accepted,” Gabriel said as he sat down beside Michael and draped his arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his temple, “And we’ll try to include you on playtime even if we have to do it over Skype while you're at the office. Now eat your cookie and tell us how pretty we are.”

Michael nibbled on his cookie, leaning into Gabriel, not knowing how to convey everything that he was feeling in that moment as he kept an eye on Dean, who had fallen asleep. His entire body seemed to be stiff, a sure sign he was just over thinking and obsessing over every little detail.

“Next time, you take the reigns. It’s exhausting keeping Dean under control,” Gabriel yawn as he propped his head against Michael’s shoulder, “And he’s been a total brat this week. Needs his Sir to show him the light.”

Michael rolled his eyes affectionately and kissed Gabriel’s forehead. “I think you both do,” he murmured. “In a week for sure. I’m so glad that this case is going to trial.” Unconsciously, he pulled one of his hands free of his boyfriends and lightly rubbed his neck, letting his thumb wrap around and caress his throat where Dean’s hands were not thirty minutes ago. “And I appreciated the show. Seeing you both in panties was a real treat.”

“It was the least we could do,” Gabriel said, rubbing Michael’s leg affectionately, “and whether you want to admit it or not, you needed this. The kinky sex and the aftercare. Doms need cuddles too.”

“What I need is to take care of my boys like I promised,” Michael said softly.

Gabriel sighed knowing he’d never win the argument with Michael. His beliefs on a Dom’s role were too ingrained to change now. So instead he gestured toward the tray that still held a wet cloth and what remained of the juice. “Then have at it, Mike.”

Michael cast a grateful look at Gabriel before falling into his role naturally, cleaning Gabriel up and making sure that he drank enough juice before finishing his own clean up and drinking the last of the juice before settling down into bed, still lightly rubbing his neck occasionally. He tugged Dean closer to him and held out his free arm to Gabriel. “Come here, little one,” he rasped.

“Happy now?” Gabriel asked, curling up against Michael’s side with a knowing smirk.

“I feel better, yes,” Michael smiled, kissing Gabriel’s nose. “I’m always happy when I’m with you two. Even if you insist I tie my ties too tight.”

#Madamelibrarian writing with friends #Supernatural #Fanfiction #spn fanfic #Michael/Gabriel/Dean #Michael #Gabriel #Dean Winchester #Human AU

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wellhellotragic · 5 years

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Devil’s in the Details 1/?

Summary: It’s a well known fact that angels and demons exist. No one is saying that they don’t. Hell, you’ve all met your guardian angels before. But some of the facts, well you humans seem to be a little murky on those. Take Emma for example. Blonde, witty, beautiful. She must be an angel right? Wrong. She’s as wicked as they come. And she’s about to have the time of her life tormenting a certain English bloke

A comedy of errors....

A/N: Okay, lemme start this off with a huge disclaimer. This fic is nothing like anything I’ve ever written before. It is offensive. Sooooo offensive and I know it. There are three lines near the end that I actually cringed at when I wrote them, and I strongly considered changing them but I couldn’t do it, because the story needed it. The thing is, this story is pretty much told from the perspective of a demon, so some of the religious facts are going to be a little off. Just think about how different the Wolf’s side of the story was from the 3 Little Pig’s recounting. So, with that said, know that I have the utmost respect for all religions, cultures, and beliefs, and this fic has nothing to do with my own view points. It’s just silly and weird and highly sarcastic. I hope you’re all willing to give it a shot and stick with me. If you can’t make fun of yourself, who can you?

AO3 Link

A Prologue:

Heaven and Hell. God’s words falling on deaf ears. The angels had revolted and when God found out, he cast them aside into the mouth of hell. Demons and possessions and all that jazz. Blah. Blah. Blah.The rumors had been circulating for eons. The Hinduists, the Buddhists, the Jews, all wrong. Hell (pun intended of course) even the Greeks had it all mucked up, but at least they were cool about it. Here, take this goat. Oh, not enough, well have my virgin daughter instead. Man she missed those days.

The Catholic church certainly hadn’t done their kind any favors either. Her first exorcism had been something else. It’s not like she had taken over the guy’s body. That would have been ridiculous. Seriously, if she was going to inhabit the soul of a human, she would have picked someone with bigger balls. And preferably without the syphilis. She did have standards after all.

No, she hadn’t taken the man over. She’d just whispered sweet nothings into his ear until he’d gone a little mad. All in a day’s work for a demon. The twitching, well that was just the guy being super dramatic. But the priest hadn’t known any better, taught from a young age that holy water was a cure all. Ya, because God has nothing better to do than listen to an old guy in a cloak talk about how he needs his water blessed. Sorry father, but he’s a little busy today. Maybe he can see you next week?

The whole thing had been a mess. He’d thrown water in the guys face and some of it went in his eyes. They turned bright red, in turn freaking out the priest more until he was pushing a cross to the guys forehead and chanting, “the power of Christ compels you!”

Oh honey, no.

The poor guy died of a heart attack and the priest felt that it had been a job well done. Sure, he’d lost part of his flock, but that was the price of expelling a demon from the mortal world. His words, not Emma’s.

And don’t even get us started on the Christians.

But in retrospect, that’s what made humans so much fun. They weren’t that bright. Don’t get me wrong, they were capable, but also arrogant and gullible. Prime for the picking. Okay, so ya, the dinosaurs had been a hit with angels and demons alike too. They were basically huge puppy dogs who liked to fight a lot. And historians can say what they will, but it was a well known fact that brontosauruses liked chasing trees and stegosaurus loved having their bellies scratched. Of course, God hadn’t been such a fan of the way demons played with the dinosaurs though, so he took them away from them like a toddler getting placed in time out. His favorite toy left on a shelf too high to reach. Truth be told, she’d always felt that meteor had been a bit vindictive for a guy claiming to be so damn benevolent.

But dinosaurs couldn’t talk back the way humans did. They didn’t have that higher level of thinking that made them so irresistibly fun to mess with. Take Adam and Eve for example. This woman, made from the rib of her lover (how is that even a thing people believe) listens to a serpent and eats an apple. Simple enough right? Except that’s so far from what really happened. Okay, so maybe she hadn’t been there personally, but she had the real story on good authority. For starters, the was never an apple. Ya, for all of you arguing it’s called an Adam’s apple for a reason, well you can just go to hell. The truth was, it wasn’t even a tree. The forbidden fruit, well it came from a vine in the form of a grape. Or a bunch of grapes if you want to get technical. But that’s not really the point now, is it? So, there were these grapes, and God was like, don’t eat these or you’ll die. Poetry, right? Anyway, Adam and Eve were actually really good about not eating the grapes, despite the fact that they were completely blind and didn’t actually know what a grape was.

Take note! This is actually a pretty important part of the story.

The two of them spend their day’s frolicking around in the garden of Eden, dancing and eating tomatoes or something. The guy who told Emma the story wasn’t really all that into details. So for the sake of assumption, and to keep this story moving along, they ate tomatoes and kiwis, and whatever else God had randomly decided weren’t off limits. But here’s the deal. Grapes, they don’t stay on the vine forever. Sometimes they fall off and roll away, and turn into something better. With a little help of course, which is were the serpent comes in. Remember Emma’s friend?

It didn’t take much really. A few grapes rolled in the right place so that Adam and Eve stepped on them while dancing. A small glass for the serpent to collect the juices in. A quick sliver into a nearby lake. Come on people. You know how many grapes it would have taken to fill up an entire glass? Even in the modern era wine makers like to water that shit down for profit.

Oh, maybe that’s where the human’s came up with water into wine?

What was that? Oh, ya. The story!

So the serpent, now having a full glass of wine returned to Adam and Eve, making sure to place the glass of wine near a glass of water Eve had placed out already. When she drank, it was from the juices of the forbidden fruit, and then, well you know. Everything went batshit crazy.

Now I know what you’re thinking. This is Adam and Eve. There were no glasses. Seriously, people. This isn’t the part where you should start questioning things. God mad men and butterflies, coffee beans, yet you draw the line and highly crafted glassware in an non industrial age?

Fine then. Don’t believe the story. It’s not like the bug guy upstairs would ever lie. Nope. Never.

But it’s the truth, at least as Gabriel told it. Gabe had been her mentor way back when she was still shiny and new. Most people believe that demons are all fallen angels, but that’s just laziness on the part of human storytelling. The actually history of hell was a bit more complicated. Yes, the Devil and God used to be tight. And yes there was an uprising, but God never sent the Devil away. He left on his own. Something along the lines of peace out, I don’t need this stress. And, yes, a few angels followed him, but most of them were created with the snap of a finger. You see, lurking around the eternal fiery pits of hell with six of your brothers can get a little monotonous.

It’s not like it was hard. He’d watched God do it before. He had powers given unto him by a supreme being. Admittedly, his first tries hadn’t been his best work, but no one gets it right one the first try now do they? Why do you think God flooded the earth? Sometimes you just need a redo. The devil kept them around of course, but all they were really good for anymore was dressing up as cherubs and shooting married people with their love arrows. Ah, the birth of adultery. Take that Cupid.

Eventually the Devil got better though. His creations resembled that of men with physical bodies when needed. Emma had been a crowning achievement. A blonde vixen with doe eyes and and a killer smile. But it had been her hunger for chaos that really had the other demons take notice. Gabe took her under his wing early on, as I said before.

He taught her how to seduce men, to make them gloat, how to send them into a fit of rage. Your garden variety of cardinal sins of course. And for a few thousand years, that’s exactly what she did.

Hey, Adolf, I think you missed some over there.

Oh Jack, have you met my friend Marilyn?

Ted. Look at this one. She’s beautiful!

Awful. Horrible. Unforgivable. I know. I don’t need you to tell me. The thing you have to remember about Emma is that she was trained for this. She was created for this. It’s in her blood. She’s never known love or compassion. But this is what you need to understand going forward, because everything is about to change.

#Devil's in the details #ditd #wellhellotragic #a comedy #satire

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jovialyouthmusic · 5 years

Text

The Many Lives of Drake Walker

A Royal Romance multiple AU fanfic

2 Housekeeping

In which I explore the virtual world that Drake and his aquaintences inhabit - first hand...

@ao719 @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @sleepwalkingelite @boneandfur @blackcatkita @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicescommunity @darley1101 @drakewalkerrosenberg @debramcg1106 @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @goirishsunshine @gardeningourmet @livingthroughchoices @likethetailofacomet @mrs-nazario @mind-reader1 @ooo-barff-ooo @silviasutton1989 @speedyoperarascalparty @zaffrenotes @missevabean @mrsdrakewalkerblog @cora-nova @missameliep @tanelle83 @endlessly-searching-for-you @jlouise88 @drakenazario @tabithacarlisle @furiousherringoperatortoad @notoriouscs @classylady1234 @wickedgypsymoon @carabeth @choices-fangirl @indiana-jr @indiacater @noey718-blog @katedrakeohd @bobasheebaby @annekebbphotography @kennaxval @sirbeepsalot @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @aworldoffandoms @iplaydrake @drakesensworld @drakewalkerisreal @samcpossum

2 Housekeeping

I looked around myself, wondering where on earth I was – or was this Earth at all? What was it – a dream, my imagination playing tricks on me, some sort of virtual construct like the Matrix? No matter what it was, I was there, I felt perfectly normal apart from a little nausea. And what was more, the man standing next to me felt real - very real. I looked down at myself – I was vey much me, just slimmer and younger and wearing my current favourite outfit – black skinny jeans with a striped top and fitted jacket.

We stood in a bright space, like a big waiting room with lots of doors leading off to every side. There was a desk where a receptionist had her head bowed down, and there were seats all around – sofas and easy chairs, and other people walked around chatting or looking at what looked like smartphones or hand terminals. It was all rather like science fiction. Drake grinned at me.

‘Impressive’

‘What?’

‘This place – you made it the way you expected it to be. I’ve met others who had oak panelled libraries or hospital waiting rooms. I like this one, it’s bright and airy. You’re also your best idea of yourself – you don’t look much different from what I saw before, so you must be pretty self confident’

‘I - you’re welcome I suppose’

‘Okay, we need to get you checked in, make everything official in case you need to be found in an emergency’

‘Like what?’

‘Well obviously if your partner woke and found you sitting sleeping in front of the laptop and couldn’t wake you he might freak out, so we’d send you back straight away’ He started toward the reception desk, and on the way I saw a familiar figure.

‘Hold on – is that…’ I started, and the tall neatly bearded man clapped Drake on the shoulder

‘Walker, you found another one – I hope you’ve explained everything to her. Good afternoon…’ he stopped ‘or is it morning? It doesn’t matter, welcome to our world – which you had a hand in making’

‘Th - thankyou – Bastien?’ I stammered, shaking the hand he offered me, slightly overawed.

‘In the flesh’ he smiled ‘I hope you enjoy your time with us’ He walked away and I turned to Drake, mouth open.

‘Is there – will I meet all the others?’

‘If they’re around, yes. I’ll introduce you to a few after we get you signed in’ We went up to the desk and the blonde woman looked up, unimpressed by my appearance.

‘Name?’ she intoned, totally deadpan and uninterested

‘Hi Maddy, this is Lesley – she wrote the latest one I’ve been in’

‘Oh yes? Fantastic’ she said sarcastically. She looked at me and slapped a piece of paper on the counter ‘Fill this in. It won’t take long.’ I looked at her critically.

‘Are you – are you Madeleine? From Fydelia?’ the blond woman rolled her eyes.

‘Yes, what of it?’

‘Well I – I suppose I’m surprised’

‘Well Lesley, if folk were more sympathetic when they wrote about me, maybe I’d give a damn. Just fill the form in’ She handed me a pen, and Drake led me away to a table, hand on my elbow

‘Don’t mind her, she’d be a whole different person if…’ he sighed ‘she’s just neglected, made out to be the bad guy, you know’ I smiled sympathetically and filled the form in – it was simple, just name, date of birth, my nom de plume and username, address and next of kin. There was also a section naming the stories I’d written. Drake looked over my shoulder.

‘Don’t worry too much about that, just the name of the series will do, we can find you with your username. I really enjoyed ‘Two’s Company’, and ‘Charlotte’s Choice’ is fun – that’s partly why I chose you.’ I finished and we took the paper back to Madeleine.

‘So, is there anyone you’d like to meet? This visit will just be a little housekeeping, we can go on an adventure next time.’ he said. I smiled, excited

‘Well I hit the jackpot with you – but Liam perhaps, and – well everyone from the Royal Romance I suppose.’

‘Sure thing, if I can find them, but be prepared for a couple of surprises with Liam’

‘Oh yes – what do you mean?’ Drake leaned close to me and kept his voice low ‘Well for a start there’s more than one of him – y’know, he can be three different races to start with – and some writers give him a different name. Sometimes he kind of flickers from one race to another when he’s not in a story, it can be a bit freaky. Plus there are a lot of different face claims for him’

‘Oooh that must be confusing’ I exclaimed. Drake shrugged

‘Kind of, but he’s always recognisable – that regal posture you know, even when he’s been written in as a gangster, it’s still there.’ He looked down at his hands ‘I – I have some difficulties too, thanks to the fandom.’ I put my hand reassuringly on his shoulder

‘I’m sorry to hear that. What exactly do you mean?’ He sighed, and as he did, someone came up to greet us. I looked up and my mouth opened in astonishment.

‘Hey brother, you got another friend? Maybe I can play with her some time’ Drake grimaced

‘Maybe, maybe not, it depends on what fic she chooses.’ I looked from one to the other of the two men. They were both Drake, but one - the one who had brought me there - looked just like the drawings from the game, albeit more real, and the other was the spitting image of Ben Barnes. To have two versions of my fictional lover was pretty mind blowing and I was glad I was sitting down, otherwise my legs would not have held me up.

‘Oh Lord.’ I exclaimed ‘There must be a Daniel di Tomasso about somewhere’. The Ben clone grinned.

‘Bingo. Though if you take Drakey here to a story where the writer uses me as a faceclaim, he’ll change.’ I gasped

‘Oh, that’s – unusual. Does it hurt?’

‘Nah, but it feels pretty weird’ Ben/Drake replied. ‘My’ Drake spoke up again

‘Don’t you have somewhere to be? Les here is my companion’ I felt a little flutter in my stomach at his possessiveness, plus that term was…

‘Companion? That sounds remarkably like…’ I said, but he suddenly put his hand up, and the Ben clone winced.

‘Stop! Don’t say it! It’s bad form to name another fandom, plus it messes things up, makes everyone feel sick for a bit. Maybe I shouldn’t use that term, but it’s the best one I’ve come across’ He turned to Ben/Drake and made a dismissive nod.

‘Fine.’ the other man said ‘She’s your date. Anyhow, you should try the writer I’m with – non stop sex, I can hardly keep up’ He smirked, and reached up to tousle his hair. With a wave, he strode off to one of the doors, a swagger in his walk. Drake leaned across to me

‘He shouldn’t count his chickens – I’ve heard a rumour he’s being – well, for want of a better word – terminated’

‘Terminated? You mean…?’ He drew his hand across his throat

‘Yup. Loads of angst to come there, but he gets to hang around as a ghost for a while. It’s not as bad as it sounds, he’ll be back to normal in the next fic he’s assigned’ He reached across the table to me, taking my hand. There was an odd little jolt, an electric shock, and he smiled as I jumped slightly ‘That’s a good sign, we have a connection. Is there anything you want to ask?’

‘Are there other companions? How often will we meet up? How do we choose…’ He put his hand up again.

‘Woah, slow down Les, that’s a whole lot of questions. Yes there are other companions, mainly following my character and Liam’s, and in this particular place, as you’ve only ever written about our story, there’s no crossover with any others – and again, don’t mention them, things get weird.’ He paused ‘How often we meet is up to you – was this time good for you?’ I nodded ‘I’ll be there waiting, just minimise the screen and I’ll find you. The choosing – that’s more complicated, what we’ll do is go over some of the original stories, get acquainted – after all there is some pretty steamy stuff out there’ I gulped nervously.

‘Isn’t that like having an affair? I have to tell you…’ I felt myself blush furiously ‘I’ve only ever had one partner’ He smiled and squeezed my hand

‘That’s adorable, and so rare. But no, it’s not ‘real’ now is it? Isn’t that one of the first things you said to me? How many times have we made love in your head already?’ I squirmed in my seat.

‘Uh, okay. But am I selling my soul? Will I be able to get back out?’ He laughed out loud.

‘No, don’t be silly. This is all totally risk free. It happens with books too – it’s just easier electronically, that’s all. If you’re in a situation you don’t like, you can snap your fingers and be back in this hall – like Dorothy and her ruby red slippers. It’s just a bit of fun, trust me.’

‘Well, I think I’m sold’ I smiled at him. ‘Is it time to go back yet?’ His face dropped a little ‘oh, not that I want – I’m happy to stay longer, I just feel – a little shy. It’s not every day you meet your secret lover who doesn’t really exist’ He grinned again and my heart melted just a little more.

‘You’re sweet Les, shy is fine. I’ve made some bad choices believe me, some real man eaters who dragged me off to the steamiest fics they could find, it was exhausting’

‘You get tired?’ he shrugged

‘Not physically, after all my character had incredible stamina – but mentally and emotionally I can burn out, you know? The original Drake found it hard to deal with his feelings after all, and no matter how I’m written, that stays with me.’

‘Okay, talking about feeling - how about when you’re shot, or the duel when you’re wounded, does it hurt?’ He rubbed the back of his neck.

‘Well I don’t know how it is in the real world so I can’t compare – but it’s unpleasant, that much I can tell you, and if I know it’s coming – I’m not keen on it. Anything else?’

‘What happens if you aren’t attracted to your companion?’ I blushed, dammit…He gave my hand a squeeze again.

‘Well, it’s not totally random, I see or ‘feel’ the fics and go and take a look at the writer – though that’s not really a factor. It’s more or less a given that we’ll be attracted, as that’s written in. Also, as you’ve found out, you will have an idea in your head of how you’d like to appear, and it shows once you get here’ He waved his hand to indicate our surroundings ‘Either that or you match your faceclaim of the main character. Actually a lot shows up in the writing, I’ve only once or twice made a bad decision as I said.’

‘So why me?’

‘As I said, I ‘felt’ your writing and thought we’d have some fun together. I like to be able to have some choice and not be dragged around randomly. I’m really pleased you’re okay with all this.’ He looked down at my hand, which was beginning to feel odd. I looked down too – it looked strange, becoming transparent, waves washing across it. I looked back up at my companion, and he smiled sadly.

‘Time to go back. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time. Close your eyes so it’s not too disorientating. I’ll see you tomorrow, unless you call me before. I’ll be waiting, just minimise your fic when you’re ready’ I nodded and closed my eyes.

I felt the odd pulling sensation again and a sort of a ‘whoosh’ in my ears, and when I opened my eyes I was back in front of my screen. I could hear my partner coming downstairs to use the bathroom. I blinked a few times and decided I had fallen asleep and had an odd dream. Time to close down, I thought, hit ‘save’ on my document, and closed down to go and join my partner. I quietly slipped into bed beside him.

‘What time is it?’ he said sleepily as I snuggled up beside him, relishing his warmth and solidity. It always was may favourite time of day, joining him in bed.

‘Bedtime’ I joked. ‘I think I fell asleep downstairs – I had the weirdest dream’

‘Uh huh’ he murmured, already drifting back to sleep. He didn’t dream much himself, and it was a weird one, so I didn’t bother to tell him, just kissed him on the cheek and let the memory lull me off into slumber.

#drake walker #many lives #drake walker fanfiction #the royal romance #trr drake #trr fanfic #trr choices #choices the royal romance #choices trr

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dreadhaus-literature · 5 years

Text

{Story} “IT’S ME.“

ITSMEITSMEITSMEMONICAITSMEITSMEITSME.

“But why hasn’t he called?”

Monica shifted her phone to her shoulder, pinning it to her ear to better hear the response of her coworker as she padded into her kitchen in search of something sweet to eat and treat herself with. It had been a long day at Fazbear Entertainment, as most days often were, but having a coworker she was close to helped immensely.

“I don’t know why he wouldn’t, but I called,” came the quiet response, but there was an underlying rumble of jealousy that Monica had come to expect from Tod. “That...should count.”

“It does,” Monica replied with an easy, good-natured laugh. She was used to Tod Lakhani’s somewhat hostile treatment of other men in her life; he was protective, overly so, and incredibly sweet...if not a touch on the possessive side considering they were just friends. Monica would date him instead of Zacharie if she thought she could survive the smoldering intensity that lay behind Tod’s two-toned eyes. “It counts so much.”

That seemed to appease Tod, because when he spoke again, his deep voice wasn’t full of biting teeth. “He said he’d call tonight?”

“Yes! Well,” Monica stopped to give it a second thought, green eyes sightlessly perusing the contents of her fridge as she concentrated. “Not exactly, but things have been going really well, and--”

“You don’t have to explain.” Tod interjected gently. “Even if you didn’t have a standing phone date, it’s common courtesy to keep in touch. If it were me, I’d call you every day.”

“Tod,” Monica’s laughter returned. “You do call me every day.”

Tod didn’t even flinch. “Damn right I do.”

The night air outside Monica’s home was balmy, a hint of sunlight still trapped in the invisible gusts as they whispered and wound their way through leaves and branches. A storm had come through the night before and the remnants of the wind rushed along the side of her house and as it went it disturbed the thin, blond and white strands of hair of the “man” hidden in plain sight right outside her window.

Two-toned eyes, one sky blue, the other the color of arterial spray, were riveted to Monica’s movements, following her as she walked around her kitchen in her pajamas. A slight whirring sound could be heard as the eyes moved, hinting to the intricate wiring hidden beneath both artificial and stolen skin. The “man” had no use for breathing and thus made no other sounds as he watched the object of his undying affections talk on the phone. There was nothing that could distract or disturb him from his task, his objective solely to catalog every moment of her that he possibly could, filling the kilobytes of storage inside his head that already had countless hours of her stored, locked lovingly against the still, stolen heart in his chest. That searing red eye memorized her walk patterns while the mesmerizing blue eye drank in every glimpse of her satin soft skin. Slowly, he raised his hand, sagging flesh pressing flat against the window as if he could breach the distance and feel for himself; the nerves in the flesh didn’t work but the cold metal beneath, did. He knew she’d be warm to the touch in ways he could never be, but...well, he hoped what he’d done would make that better. He’d tried.

For her, Ennard really, really tried.

Ding dong.

Monica turned, brow furrowing, as her doorbell echoed down her front hall. Tod was still talking as she pulled her phone from her ear, the time 9:33PM illuminated at the top of the smartphone screen. Who the fuck was at her door at this hour?

“...Tod, hang on, someone’s at my door. Can I call you back?”

“No, but you can take me with you to answer the door.”

Monica bit back a smile. She was normally not one to like being told what to do, but Tod phrased his protective “demands” in a way that was pleasing, not scolding or belittling. He always came from a place of loving concern and she was grateful for it, especially now. There was a slight pinch of unease at the pit of her stomach as the doorbell chimed again but realistically, it was probably just a neighbor with something benign. Monica replaced her phone to her ear, making her way down her dimly lit front hall toward her front door. There was silence on the other side of the wall of wood, but what did she expect, honestly? Someone to be banging a gong, shouting “TOP OF MORNING,” like some sort of Irish lunatic?

“Who is it?”

Monica hesitated for a split second before she stretched up on her tip toes, pressing her face gingerly against the solid wood of her door to peer through the peep hole. As soon as she did, she breathed a side of relief, seeing blond hair and blue eyes illuminated on her front porch.

“It’s Zach,” she told Tod, her pulse slowing. “I guess he decided to come over instead of call?”

“...I guess I won’t eat him today, then.” Tod resigned. “But if he upsets you again, that’s the dinner bell for Ol’ Zach.”

Monica laughed. Tod didn’t.

“I’ll leave you to him, then.” Tod didn’t try to hide his reluctance or disappointment, but there was a small smile in his voice. “Good night, honey.”

“Good night, Tod. See you tomorrow?” Monica couldn’t help the hope in her voice, even as she reached for the deadbolt to unlock her door.

“Wouldn’t miss you for the world.”

The line going dead was heard even as Monica was pulling the phone away from her ear, lifting her head to give Zacharie a smile. “Hey, it’s a little late to show up without calling but--”

Monica cut herself off as Zacharie lifted his head, her blood turning to ice in her veins as her phone clattered to the floor in shock. He was smiling at her, but it was the most unnatural smile she’d ever seen in her life. He looked...thrilled to see her, the smile stretching his lips so wide she was worried they might split at the seams--seam being the literal use of the word, since it seemed his face was sewn together down the middle. Zacharie looked...taller, at least two feet taller than she remembered and as he ducked into her doorway, she nearly fell backward to get out of his way. His joints creaked, and if she focused passed the terrified pounding of her heart in her ears, she could hear a slight whirring, mechanical sound every time he moved. His steps were heavy, thudding against the wood of her floor and as he came closer, the light from her entryway cast him in horrible relief. His blond hair was only half it’s usual tawny sunshine; the left side of his head was a wispy silver, as if the pigment had died and withered away...and speaking of death...that half of his face was much paler than the right side, the pasty white flesh drawing her attention up to a red eye--not blue. It gleamed at her, raked over her like a laser and seared her as it did so, as if she could feel each pass intensely.

No...No, there was no fucking way--

“Mon-ica,” ‘Zacharie’s’ voice was not his voice, not even close. This voice sounded deeper, clearer, like a scalpel’s edge against metal right at the center of an echo chamber. It reverberated off her ribcage, wrapped itself around her heart like livewires to cinch tight and steal her breath right from her lungs. She’d only ever heard her name sound so broken and mechanical over artificial intelligence, as if she were asking Google to pronounce her name aloud and she had a horrible, horrible feeling she knew what she was dealing with.

“S-Stay back!” Monica gestured with her hands out in front of her, backing further into her front hall to put distance between herself and this strange creature wearing Zacharie’s face.

‘Zacharie’ tilted his head at her, the smile sliding off his face but he didn’t listen, taking a few thundering steps after her. “What...What’s wrong?”

“L-Look I don’t know who the fuck y-you are but--”

‘Zacharie’ swept out his arms, that whirring sound mixing with the pull of skin over something other than bone and Monica was drawn to his hands, long fingers ending in sharp, unnatural points that appeared almost sharp. His gesture was meant to be a mimicry of one she’d seen a million times, a motion of obvious ‘take a look’ but it was off-kilter, incorrect, as if he wasn’t human enough to pull it off.

“It’s me,” ‘Zacharie’ insisted, his arms still splayed wide. “Monica...it’s me.”

The second time he said her name was much smoother than the first, and all the more unnerving for it. It sounded as if he was learning.

“Y-You...” Monica’s voice died, failed her as the machine wearing Zacharie’s skin drew closer and she could see the porcelain mask lying beneath the skin of it’s “face”. The baby blue eye she’d though was Zacharie’s wasn’t his at all. It belonged to a ghost, a silly office urban legend, a joke told by coworker’s to scare new hires.

Ennard. The skin-stealing, serial-killing rogue animatronic of Fazbear Entertainment lore.

Except Ennard wasn’t real. Monica had been a loyal Fazbear employee for years now, and she knew all the animatronics and she knew them well. After all, she was responsible for writing their cutesy backstories, and composing the lyrics to all the songs performed on Freddy Fazbear’s stage every night. She knew Circus Baby’s favorite flavor of ice cream was strawberry, that Freddy liked the color red, and that Chica’s favorite kind of pizza was any kind of pizza--why? Because she’d written it. Any new animatronics commissioned, she was brought in on the ground floor to help design them from their conception, to help a seamless integration with the rest of the Fazbear Family. Ennard wasn’t real, couldn’t be real, because she’d never heard of him outside of jokes and whispered rumors of him “haunting the vents” at night. Sure, there were the occasional office pranks where someone would fix a faulty animatronic overnight and “blame” Ennard by saying he did it but that was just a story. Ennard wasn’t real.

But...everything she’d heard about Ennard seemed to be staring her in the face. He had one good working eye, blue, and one factory-issued red retinal scanner (because he was discontinued and thus never given a full set of eyes) Ennard wore a porcelain mask over the wiring of his face, complete with a clown nose and while she didn’t see the clown nose she could definitely see the porcelain mask under the sagging skin stretched over his “face”. Ennard was immense in size, eight feet tall, as he was meant to be one of the “fatherly” figures of the Fazbear Family and had to stand comparable to what a child might imagine the father of the animatronics would look like. He was never given anything other than his facial mask so his massive body was a collection of wires and metal parts; rumors swirled that he changed them out at night in the factories, constantly working on and improving himself--because the scary resolution to all the stories was that he would one day rise up and kill the head of Fazbear Entertainment, put on his skin, and no one would ever know. Monica could recall all the times she’d laughed at the stories, enjoyed making some up herself just to watch her interns all jump every time an air vent made the slightest sound, but it wasn’t supposed to be real.

Ennard wasn’t supposed to be real!

“Do you...like it?” Ennard brought his long arms in, the mechanical whirring blending with the pull of cloth as his long fingers patted his stolen face. “I made it just for you.”

Oh god, Monica’s brain was processing information too fast for her to keep up with and her stomach roiled at the knowledge that her crush had his skin literally peeled off his body by the rogue animatronic Ennard.

“I thought you’d like me better this way.” Ennard lowered his hands from his face to adjust his bow-tie. His wiring might be covered beneath the cloth and stolen skin but he wasn’t going to lose everything that made him who he was. “If I looked like him. Like...Zacharie.”

Monica put shaking fingers over her mouth, shaking her head side to side in denial, but Ennard wasn’t very good at reading human emotion--at least, not yet.

“No?” His frown sagged almost comically, the skin around his mask drooping a little too low to be natural. “Is it the stitching?” Ennard’s fingers came up to his face as he turned to examine himself in her hallway mirror, eyes on the clean line holding two halves of the stolen face together. “I can make it better.” He nodded, pulling and pushing at the mask over his natural face. “I will make it better for you.”

“E-Ennard?” Monica’s voice was hoarse with emotion and it caught his attention immediately.

The whirring was audible in the silence as Ennard turned to her, his two-toned gaze nailing her to the floor. His body was stone still and it got so quiet she could hear herself near gasping around the adrenaline coursing through her system. For a few more seconds he said nothing, his gaze committing this moment to literal stored memory before he uttered, “Again,” in such hushed reverence Monica thought she misheard him.

“W-What?”

“Again.” This time it came out like a bullet, Ennard’s massive form closing the distance between them with such a powerful gait one of Monica’s decorative figurines rattled off a hallway table, clattering to the floor. Ennard’s fingers were cold, the skin only a slight barrier to the icy metal beneath as he cupped her face, his red eye bright enough to cast illumination on her face; she realized with a terrified shudder that he was recording this, their first meeting. “Say my name...again.”

Too terrified to deny him, Monica desperately swallowed until she got her voice back. “...E-Ennard...”

Ennard’s blue eye drifted closed, ecstasy clear on his stolen features, but that red eye remained open, recording so as not to miss a moment of this joyous, momentous occasion. With an unnatural, guttural sound, Ennard’s arms slid around her petite frame and he hunched over her, hugging her close, threatening to crush her as he had no inkling how to treat a fragile human body.

“We’re going to be so happy,” he enunciated his words, punctuating them as if he could speak them into reality--and for him, they already were. This was the happiest day of his life. “I knew you were the one. We all know how special you are.”

Monica didn’t need to know he was talking about the other animatronics, confirming another office rumor--that they were all sentient and very much aware of what was happening around them. It was an unspoken rule one treated the animatronics with respect and that rumor was 98% of the reason why.

Swallowing thickly, Monica couldn’t help noticing the sickly sweet scent of cologne against metal and if she...ignored she was hugging the leftover skin of the beginnings of her crush, it had an odd appeal to it. She turned slightly as she felt Ennard nuzzling his cheek against hers, as if trying to meld their skin together, to get closer, and considering Ennard had a penchant for enjoying being under someone’s skin...she could only imagine how close to her he really wanted to be.

“Zacharie was a mistake. A flaw in the system.” Ennard spoke of reality the way one might expect him to; he was an animatronic, a computer-built program who ran on simulations and based his reality on what was allowed inside his particular simulation. “I corrected the flaw. Now there’s nothing between us.”

“I-I don’t...u-understand.”

“You will.” Ennard promised, unaware of how that made Monica’s pulse spike in alarm. “Once I get you home, you’ll understand.”

“H-Home?” Monica tried to draw back but Ennard’s grip was, unsurprisingly, like iron. He was not allowing space between them, not anymore.

“Yes. Home, sweetheart.” Ennard tried out his first term of endearment and found he liked the way Monica’s skin warmed further when he used it. “We’re a Family now, and what’s a Family without their mother at home with us where she belongs?”

- - -

A/N: Hehe okay so author’s notes are tacky and I hate doing them BUT! I did want to add a few things here because this...was a doozy to try and write “quickly” and have it still make sense. I’m still trying to get back to writing and with that comes the fear I’m not describing things well or coherently because getting your thoughts back in that mindset takes practice, kind of like reeling them in so to speak. So if this is confusing I’m sorry!!

I just--oh right okay so first things, the “ITSMEITSME” up there, the intro line to the fic? It’s clickable, and shows the version of Ennard in his skin suit that I used as inspo, here.

I also just made up some rando to be your “crush” in here, love, since Ennard...was gonna take his skin, lmao, I didn’t wanna use anyone actually from the Haus.

Tod was a little cameo, so. 😋 That was just a little treat for you~

But basically what I tried to lay out here was an AU where you work for Fazbear Entertainment and Ennard has learned all about you from watching you in the vents, and from the other animatronics who all of course refer to you as their Mother as you’re the one who really created them. That makes him the Father to your Mother, and his infatuation with you reaches the point that he decides to kill your crush, take his skin, and win you over that way. Flawless plan is flawless, right? 10/10 in Ennard’s mind.

So I hope that wasn’t too confusing! I wanted to build suspense and mystery without revealing everything until the very end so I hope it wasn’t like ??? the whole time, lmao. I just wanted to write something that features a little bit of creepy, a lot of obsession, and I know how much you love Ennard’s “skin suit” from Sister Location so I thought, perfect combo!

Thanks for letting the weirdos love yoooooou 😘 i’m including myself in that bunch, too, because Senpai is perfect and i am a lucky ducky. 💛

#{story} : it's me #{character} : ennard #{theme} : for monica

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