#you take vertebrae my back’s seriously fucked up
Text
TLT Dashboard Simulator- Pt 5
💀 drearybruh Follow
10,000 y/o lyctor gf who exclusively calls me 'lovey': Ugh they're still debating the ethics of using cavaliers as a resource to suck dry, I can't deal with this empire today.
me [heard 'suck dry cavaliers' and got so hard i got nauseous]: I think I hauve devils in me
(2,710 notes)
🫁 soulosexualll
omg guys im so sorry ive been MIA!!! the alexandrite id been talking about won custody over our baby so i had a bit of a crisis about my future on the fifth house alone and loved only by the spirits. and then of course i visit the third over vacation and get roped into a multi-week bender [have u ever snorted dried marrow? life changing] and then i was lost on the third for likeeeee four days and had to find my way back through hitchhiking and bartering with my own blood.
but i promise ill update my Joy/Patience/Duty threesome fic soon :333
#rpf #munposting #EEEEEEE GET EXCITED GUYS #joy strap time? joy strap time.... #i see ur messages in the askbox and i super appreciate them btw but i cant justify answering all of them #BUT I SEE U AND I LOVE U <33
(42 notes)
🦴 skeletal-system-bracket
SKELETAL SYSTEM BRACKET ROUND 3 GROUP A
We had two ties last round [within a margin of error of .1%!!] , so we decided it would make the most sense to make this a four-way poll. Propaganda:
Occipital Bone: do you want an unprotected cerebellum??? the infernal surface is groovy af, and all the nuchal lines are actually goated. are u seriously going to look me in the eyes and tell me the three-part bone of all time [father son and holy spirit, anyone?] can even be stepped to by some normie basic bone shit???????? cmon..... [via. @skullfuckbonegod]
Fibula: VOTE FIBULA!!!! bone with a best friend <3 Tibia already got out round 1 so its ur legal duty to stand up for its legbestie... also my hounds r named Fibula and Tibia and theyre adorbsies [via. @sodiumradiation]
Thoracic Vertibrae: twelve bones. twelve bones, one combined goal: fuck shit up, take names, keep that back backing. least commonly injured part of the spine for a reason. its built different. this shit protects ur spinal cord, provides attachments to your ribs, supports your chest and abdomen, and literally lets yr body move. objective best bones. [via. @ithinkthereforisam]
Scalpula: Scapula sweep!! Those are your angel wings. Watching your Cavs shoulder blades move under their skin while they carry a big sword is the best part of being a necro. They're also just such a good plane of bone they're perfect for breaking up into little pieces for bone adepts to store in their pockets. Also the attachment point for a bunch of muscles!!and the yummy little joint cavity… [via. @kavkisser]
#polls #tumblr polls #skeletal system #tibia #fibula #vertebrae #scalpula
(450 notes)
📷 devoutofmymind Follow
ARE YOU GUYS SERIOUS WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE EMPEROR HASN'T COMMENTED ON HIS FIRST AND SECOND'S SAINTS DISAPPEARANCES
📷 devoutofmymind Follow
For my Edenite followers this is like if gun disappeared
#ARE THEY DEAD??? #Bro r we upping the fascism factor #STAFF THAT TAG IS A JOKE. I WOULD NEVER DREAM OF INSURGENCY
12,345 notes
🫀 gorewanker Follow
I swear they're like the septum piercing havers of cavaliering 😭😭😭
🦀 xx-0ct0g0ne-xx Follow
Ah. So you're unable to handle the pressures which are expected of the average Eighth House devotee, and as such, fall back upon insecure insults. Get a life + Praying for you + L.
(923 notes)
👤 boobmonger-deactivated-2917220
holy shit tower prince announcement this is crazy. liveblog time
👤 boobmonger-deactivated-2917220
TRANSMASC AWE??????????
(3,891 notes)
🦷 bitingyoubitingyoubitingyoubitingyoux3 Follow
(14,088 notes)
☠️ is-the-emperor-undying-d34d-yet Follow
NOT YET BUT WE ALWAYS COME BACK
#the locked tomb#tlt#dashboard simulator#nona the ninth#ntn#htn#harrow the ninth#dash simulator#gtn#gideon the ninth#my post#beauposting#ianthe naberius#ianthe tridentarius#cytherea loveday#gideon nav#john gaius
267 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [9/…]
— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader
“And I know no one will save me, I just need someone to kiss.
Give me one good honest kiss and I’ll be alright.”
— Mitski, “Nobody”
Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader
Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.
In which there is lost affections, mentions of the past, and re-bonding over a bath. Unshared thoughts and feelings of regret return from years of negligence, and whereas some aspects remain buried, others have a chance to resurface from the depths.
Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, dual-pov (though primarily Buggy's), Buggy being a simp, implications of Buggy being a horny simp
A/N: AND HERE WE ARE! FINALLY, AFTER SO MANY WEEKS, THE NEW CHAPTER IS UP! Seriously, I want to thank you all for your immense patience and support. As I mentioned in a previous post, work has been hectic as hell and I know I wrote that this chapter would hopefully be finished last week, but life took its toll. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter, though I myself have mixed feelings about it.
INCLUDES SOME SELF-MADE SKETCHES AT THE BOTTOM, so you’re warned
The sun warms your face as you breathe in the fresh scent of the sea. You’re lounging on deck, hands folded behind your head and feet hanging over the railings in a rather peculiar position, but you’re perfectly content.
Luffy benched you for the rest of the voyage to Arlong Park, a decision you initially found insulting to no short degree. Well, maybe benched is not the right term to use, but more like “I don’t want you to die, and I think you need to relax this once”.
You had argued that no, you’re fine and the love bites Arlong left you are nothing compared to the marks Mihawk left on Zoro, and he’s still up and about as usual.
But Luffy is firm about his decision, and what the Captain says goes.
So, here you are, enjoying some quiet all while letting your wounds heal, and it seems that nothing can hope to put an end to this ambiance that is—
“HEY! THERE ‘YA ARE!”
…. You spoke too soon. Way too soon.
A shadow falls over your face like a curtain and blocks the view of the sun. A shadow belonging to - you make a lucky guess - a severed head that’s been talking for way longer than a severed head typically should, in your experience.
You open one lazy eye to pinpoint the exact perpetrator and see a bright red dot staring down at you from Usopp’s grip.
Buggy winks at you, making those mildly irritating clink-clink noises.
“I can’t stand it anymore,” Usopp grumbles. “You take him! He’s annoying and keeps telling me my nose is too long!”
“Because it is, you shidiot!”
“It’s average!”
“That’s what your mom said!”
“You keep my mom’s name out of your mouth, you psychotic, fucking—!”
“Be quiet.”
Both the clown and the slingshot simultaneously shut their mouths before things have a chance to escalate on a non-verbal scale, and you take this as a sign that your break is officially over and buried ten feet under.
Stretching your arms out loud enough to pop a few vertebrae, you shift to lean your back against the railing and give both boys an unimpressed look-over, like a disappointed mother having caught both of her children in the act of something. “It’s too early for you to be making a ruckus.”
“It’s 11 am,” Usopp points out.
“Still too early.” Deciding that you’d rather not deal with this with more effort than you’re willing to spend, you return to your previous position. “Leave the head, or don’t. Just let me rest.”
“Fine by me.”
With a thud and an “OW FUCK!”, Usopp unceremoniously drops the clown and forgoes his Buggy-sitting duties to do whatever he wants to do, leaving you to pick up the slack.
A string of curses flow from Buggy’s mouth, which you only vaguely pay attention to. There was something along the lines of “Long-nosed asshat,” and “Right on the nose”, but you abandon all interest in favor of feeling the sun on your cheek.
“So…” you hear him jump a little closer. “Alone at last.”
You don’t answer.
“What? Don’t give me that! I thought we were good!”
You remain selectively mute.
“Hey! Don’t ignore me! I don’t like it!”
“You survived it for twenty years. I’m sure you can stand it for a few more minutes.”
“…. Seriously?”
“Mhmm.”
You don’t know what possesses him, but he keeps quiet for most of the next thirty minutes, and you take the time to continue basking in the sun.
It’s a luxury you can rarely afford, and you’ll be damned if it gets ruined now or all time, least of all by him. You’re not going to even open the can of worms that is last night’s events, so you lock it in a chest to be dug up for another day.
Not now. It won't be that long until you reach Arlong Park, and shit will go down. This might be the only chance you get to replenish your strength and gods do you need it now more than ever.
"… Hey?” Buggy starts.
You let him decide whether to perceive your silence as an opening or a locked door.
“I’m bored.”
“Tough.”
“Can’t we do something else?”
“We could fish. Your head might serve as a good bait.” Despite yourself, your lip tugs a little in what is supposed to be a halfway smirk. The image of Buggy dangling above the shark-infested waters from a hook to his bandana would be an entertaining sight to behold.
He swallows audibly. “Was that a joke?”
“Keep bothering me and we’ll find out soon enough.”
“C’mon! Don’t be like that! Seriously, I’m bored! Ain’t much you can do when you’re just a head… except to give one, but that’s beside the point.”
Too much detailing, you think. He wants entertainment of any kind; you want peace and quiet. What to do and how to kill two birds with one stone? You open one eye and let it drift over to Buggy, who in turn is staring intently at you.
In the sun, you make out every detail of his rugged face. His make-up’s almost wiped completely off the skin, with only remnants of the red lipstick and blue diamonds vaguely in place. His stubbles have grown slightly, given the lack of access to a barber, and if you get close enough, he probably stinks of—
A lightbulb goes off in your head. A devious one, blinking to every corner of your brain.
Despite what anyone thinks, you’re not above being petty.
With a push, you sit up and glance over at him. “Anything?”
Buggy raises his eyebrows and nods desperately. “Yeah! Anything! As long as I ain’t got to sit here doing naught-shit, I’m game!”
You turn to him, put each of your hands to the edges of his jaw, and lift him a little closer to you. Whether from the sun or just him alone, he’s warm and soft under your digits.
“Alright,” is all you say.
Buggy beams much like the bulb in your head, and a loud bark of laughter erupts from his mouth. You almost pity him, pity him for being oblivious to what’s to come.
But it needs to be done.
There’s no other way around it and he’s had it coming. He deserves this, you tell yourself. He deserves every inch of ruthlessness you can offer, and you’ll deliver.
————
Buggy blanches, lips wobbling in horror as he slowly glances up at you. Betrayal fills his bright-blue eyes and, for the first time since Orange Town, he sees you as the beast you both know you are.
He’s afraid.
He’s afraid of you.
He knows you can be vindictive; he knows you can be brutal, but in all the time he’s known you, he’s never perceived you as cruel.
Maybe it’s time for him to reassess that thought.
“No,” he whispers softly. “No, please.”
Your face is blank, and cold, and he doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the light or not, but there’s a shadow across your face that darkens everything but your eyes. Those bright eyes he used to hold in such high regard.
“You want my forgiveness,” you state calmly as you gradually lower him to his demise. “You have to earn it.
“Please, anything but this. I’ll do anything other than this!”
But his pleas earn no mercy from you. He wiggles in your grasp like a fish out of water, and as much as he tries to beg and move and free himself, your hold is iron incarnate.
Buggy lets out an ear-curdling scream the moment he feels the water under his neck.
“NOOOOO!”
————
Honestly, how childish, you think as you begin to soak him in the basin you procured from the kitchens. He hisses like a cat as you pour the water over his head, rinsing his hair. Try as he might, he cannot escape your grasp.
It’s not even deep enough to reach his chin, and still, he acts like it’s acid he’s been thrown into.
But you’re determined, this has to be done.
“Oh, quit whining” you chastise, getting drops of water your way with all his scuttling. “You need this.”
“You’re gonna drown me!” he accuses.
“It’s soap and water, and it’s not even that deep.”
“You say that now, sure! But the moment you let go, plop! Oh, there goes Buggy the Clown! Taken from this world too early!”
You roll your eyes. “I’m holding you up, you’re not going to drown. Now, stop acting like a child.”
Buggy is restless and continues to thrash around for a good ten seconds more before finally relenting, a look of sour disapproval on his face. It’s so caricatured and animated that it threatens to make a suppressed chuckle leave your throat.
He still looks the same when he’s mad.
Now that he’s finally calm, you lower him so that the edge of his neck finally stands on the bottom of the basin. Then, you soak a rag and raise it towards his face.
Buggy flinches. “Can you …. Eh… leave the face?”
“There’s hardly anything there anymore, and it’ll irritate your skin if you leave it on for too long.”
“I think I can tell you what irritates me or not, like this bird bath for instance, thank you very much.” He scowls and edges further away from the wet rag. “Seriously, just leave it.”
“I’ll reapply the make-up.”
“… What?”
When you first boarded the Merry, you happened to find some leftover make-up hidden away in one of the shelves. It was strange, considering how the boat was freshly built, and imagined that one of the builders had taken some personal liberty in the large space before the project was finished.
For whatever reason, you didn’t throw it out, though you didn’t use it yourself.
If it can get him to accept the fact that he needs a wash, you’re willing to do it.
“I’ll put on your make-up if I can wash off what you currently have,” you clarify. “Deal?”
Buggy goes quiet, and his eyes widen slightly, but not out of horror or dread. It’s more like … when you catch the sight of something unexpected; a delayed reaction that stirs feelings you have yet to decipher.
Finally, after some internal debates with himself, Buggy nods. “Fuckin’ fine then,” he utters, and despite the crudeness of his words, they’re lenient.
Content, you gently place your free hand to his left to keep him stable and use the other one to carefully drag the rag across his stained cheek.
Buggy watches you intently through the process, never taking his eyes off you unless you’re wiping off the painted diamonds on his eyes. Your hands, for once, are soft to the touch. They’re soft for him, as though a single misplaced touch might shatter him like glass.
He used to be acquainted with the soft touches long before the cold and brutal ones. Soft fingers that pinched his cheeks as you helped apply the paint over his face.
Soft touches against his arm when he was feeling particular for some reason, whether it was good or bad.
Your fingers intertwined with his’ as you came to terms with your captain’s death, sitting by the edge of the docks as the rain poured from above. It was cold, he was freezing, and too close to the waters for his comfort, but he wanted nothing more than to sit in the rain with you and share the heat from your fingers.
Even after everything, you’re still capable of reserving those touches for him.
After wiping the makeup completely off him, you raise the cup and fill it with water. “Close your eyes.”
He doesn’t want to, but he does and feels the water rushing down like the rain on those docks.
When he’s finally finished, you fish him up from the basin and put him down atop a soft towel on the table. Like a cat, he instinctively shakes off the residue of water, only to find you already raising a new towel towards him.
He stops moving, and you takes this as your cue to continue. You’re attentive, he notices. You wipe his face first, then his ears, then his hair. You dry it and scratch his scalp at the same time through the fabric, and he instinctively leans against your touch.
This is … nice.
“When did you cut your hair?” You ask out of the blue as you continue to dry him, making sure to leave no spot too humid.
He almost failed to catch onto your words with how at ease he is. “Hmmm?”
“You used to have long hair before,” you elaborate. “Why did you cut it?”
“…. Too much of a hassle to maintain,” he answers after some thought. “It’s hard to find the time to take care of it.”
“… I see.”
The truth is, he cut it right after he left. Not particularly clean either. You know that feeling you get when you feel like you’re losing control, and ridding yourself of any additional weight seems to relieve it?
Well, that’s what Buggy did.
He cut it with a pair of rusty scissors, severing chunks at a time — some bigger than others — until all he was left with was pieces sticking out to each side like a madman.
It didn’t help though. It didn’t make him feel any lighter from the weight on his chest. From that gnawing feeling.
Still, he maintained the habit and got better with practice. It became more of a practical thing with time; he was a busy man, and he could do well with fewer things to get in his eyes, but it never eased the pain.
But feeling the tips of your fingers lightly graze his hair, however, he feels more relieved than he’s done in the last twenty years.
After a few minutes, you remove the towel and give him a neutral one-over. It’s the first time you’ve seen him as an adult without any of that makeup, and you’re reminded of just how much he’s changed, but also how he’s not.
Even after all this time, it’s still Buggy.
Buggy sees you watching him, and he can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious now that your eyes are on him without his usual armor.
But you don’t comment on it, nor show any surprise in any sense of the word. There are times when he hates your face, not because of anything superficial, but because you make it so damn challenging for him to figure out what goes in that brain of yours. He’s reminded of how you were when you were younger, how lifeless you used to be, and it feels like you’ve regressed to that state.
Another thing to add to the shitlist of things he’s regretful about.
He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something when the door suddenly bursts open. Buggy jumps whereas you merely look over your shoulder to spot Zoro standing there, his eyes narrowed between you and the clown.
Buggy frowns.
“Zoro,” you speak plainly, as if you failed to notice his annoyance towards the spectacle presented before him. “Is there anything?”
“The hell is this?” His eyes flicker between you and Buggy like it’s the worst show on earth. “What’s going on?”
“He reeked,” you explain. “I have merely been rectifying it for the sake of our noses.”
Buggy wants to argue with the statement that No, he fucking doesn’t, but he suppresses it for the sake of figuring out where this conversation’s headed.
“Since when do we make it a habit of bathing prisoners?” Zoro asks, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.
“Since when have we had prisoners?” You counter.
The swordsman scoffs. “The clown’s needed upstairs in ten.”
“Sure.”
“I’m right here, you know?”
Zoro gives him a nasty look and nothing more before heading back out the door, shutting it with a forceful thud.
“Why do you even stick around with these nobodies?!” Buggy questions. “They can’t navigate for shit, they have no sense of preservation, and they suck at fighting!”
You shift back to raise a knowing eyebrow at him. “They defeated you, didn’t they?”
“That’s—! … I was outnumbered, it wasn’t a fair fight!”
“No fights are fair in the life of piracy,” you point out.
He bites the inside of his cheek. “All I’m saying is, you’re too powerful to be with these losers. You could join my crew! Think about it! We’d be unstoppable!”
“You mean, join the same people who locked me up and whose asses I subsequently kicked?”
“Exactly! Don’t worry, they’ll get over it! Once they see how awesome you are, they’ll accept you with open ar—!”
“I decline.”
Buggy pauses, his enthusiasm promptly vanishing and getting replaced with bitter disappointment. “You’re not even going to consider it?”
“Why would I?” You wipe away a descending drop from his right eye. “I have no interest in joining another crew.”
“You say that, and yet here you are with these losers.”
“I was never going to stay permanently.”
He pauses. “You weren’t?”
“I’m here for Luffy, and once I’ve decided that he can hold his own weight above the waters, I’ll leave.”
“… Where will you go? After, then?”
It takes you a moment to answer, like you don’t know the answer yourself quite yet. Your hand stills for a moment before resuming with the task at hand.
“Who knows?” You shrug. “The sea is my home. I’ve missed it, so I will remain where the waves pull me.”
That won’t do on its own. Stay with me. Buggy wants to ask, and if he had knees, he’d ask on them. Come with me. Be with me. You won’t have to be an official member of his crew; you don’t have to bend to him. You just have to stay.
Stay with him.
That’s all he’ll ask.
Stay with him until he has the opportunity to figure out a way to make it up to you.
Stay with him so he can compensate for the twenty years you suffered in each other’s absences.
Just stay.
“Hey.” He’s surprised by his own initiative. “Why’d you even leave your crew and stick your feet on land if you love the sea so much?”
You raise an eyebrow in question.
“I mean, you were Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, for crying out loud! You used to be legendary!” He proclaims, almost saddened by your apparent dismissal of your previous title. “You had fame, berries, a reputation that preceded everyone! Everyone feared you! Why’d you ditch all of that? Because of that rubbery prick? Because of Shanks?”
“Is that really what you want to ask me?”
“Yeah!”
You sigh through your nose and put the towel down to recline in your chair. “I didn’t become a Captain because that’s what I wanted. I became a Captain because it provided an outlet.”
“An outlet? For fucking what?”
It takes you a few seconds to finally reach a suitable response.
“Anger,” you admit calmly, your arms crossing over your chest as the words stir on your tongue. They must taste bitter. “I was angry, and it festered every day, churning into a poisonous substance in my body. Being a captain with a crew, I could take it out on whoever I wanted. Pirate, marine, unruly crew member, it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.”
It makes sense now, he thinks, the reputation you’ve garnered over the years. Beware the Beast in the East, people would chant in passing towns and harbors, like you were a ghost story. Her eyes were like swords, and her hands were twice as sharp.
There wasn’t a single place where blood didn’t paint your steps.
He never met you while you were a captain; he didn’t want to, couldn’t find it in himself to pop by even once. Still, he kept your poster hidden in the dark depths of the chest in his quarters, if only for acrimonious reminiscence. He would spend some drunken nights doing nothing but staring at it, and it was like he could feel your rage seep through the ink on the page and scorch his fingers. A reminder of what he did.
Now, looking at you and comparing you to the poster, he fails to see the resemblance. He doubts he could’ve spotted it had you reunited earlier on. Captain Cross-Hairs was sharp around the edges, with pecks of blood on her cheeks and fresh scars on her face.
He licks his lips in deliberation. “You were pissed… because of what?”
Because of me?
“I don’t know.” He watches your chest expand with your breath, mesmerized simply by watching you commit to living. There used to be a time when you didn’t. “I didn’t care about money or power. I didn’t care for much of anything, except to purge that rage from my body. I fought, and I killed. It helped, for a time; I felt satisfied, but after a while, you grow bored of eating the same meal.”
When he looked at you when you were younger, he imagined he saw the scorching sun. Burning and bright and enlightening.
You were … everything, but he never imagined that the same fire that used to mesmerize him would burn a thousand ships in his absence.
But he was a boy back then. He’s older now, more experienced in the ways of life, he knows better.
He knows enough.
"But the boy," you say with a certain gentleness in your voice that does not evade his notice. "He's good."
"He's weak," Buggy scoffs, feeling his belly fill with sour smoke. He recognizes the feeling. It's the feeling he got when he watched Shanks talk to you that night by the fire. The same feeling he got when he watched you stay with Shanks that day.
"He's defeated every opponent he's come across."
"Didn't beat Arlong, though." Buggy points out with a smidgen of childish pride and smirks. "Got his ass handed to him real good if I remember correctly."
You look back at him in that narrow way you usually reserve for him when he's crossed a line, and he can already tell he fucked up.
"I watched him grow, Buggy.” You say firmly. “I was there for all of it. I watched him learn, I watched him fight, I watched him leave land. He’s not like us — he doesn’t waste time on regret. He’ll become better than we ever were.”
Buggy glowers but doesn’t say anything else, insisting on letting your words simmer in his brain until he can find the will to let them go.
You procure something from the drawers and it’s only when he looks down that he realizes it’s the make-up. With gentle hands, you lift him and place him in your lap, the brush already blue and ready.
“I’m not here to talk about what used to be,” you say. “Now hold still.”
The diamonds across his eyes come first, the brushing makes his face tickle and it’s only by sheer willpower alone that he manages to refrain from staring at you.
“Takes us back,” he whispers and closes his eyes so that you can finish. “Doesn’t it?”
He hears something akin to a chortle that doesn’t quite reach your throat, but he considers it a small win.
“You looked a mess,” you answer. “A child could’ve done a better job than I did.”
“Wasn’t bad for your first try, though.”
Except that it was. It was pretty bad. Your hands were shaking, and you held your breath like you were afraid of making a mistake. By the time you were finished, he looked like a canvas painted by a child, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that.
He used to think that it was strange. You were skilled at nearly everything you committed yourself to, without even trying.
When he thinks back on it, maybe it wasn’t skill; maybe it was just an ingrained fear of failure that drove you to become the best at what you did.
Then again, your worst could never be the worst in his eyes.
You finish his eyes, and when he looks up at you, he sees the same determination and focus in your eyes as he did that day. It’s the same look you have when you’re targeting something, be it an enemy or a point of interest. It’s always the same.
And he can’t look away.
You move onto the crossbones next, and he’s happy he won’t have to close his eyes for this one. He’s not certain you can pull off his iconic look, but he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.
After all, you strive for perfection. He doubts this will be an exception.
Get it? Perfection and except— You know what? Nevermind.
He can feel your attention in every stroke of the brush, feel the white paint glisten on his skin before it dries. Your warmth lingers like burning embers, he feels like getting too close will burn him, yet he wants nothing more than blisters upon his skin.
He looks at you, looks into your focused eyes, and he feels … something tightening, back where his body is. It could be his stomach, his head… other places, but he can’t tell. Arlong’s been busy abusing his body long enough that he can’t differentiate between a kick or a punch anymore.
But this isn’t Arlong.
It’s you.
He can handle a tight body if it’s because of you.
When he was young, and his body began to work in the way of a man, he would sometimes wake up and feel sweaty and … stiff. He knew enough to know what it was, to know what caused it, but he didn’t know how to approach the situation.
He knew the source of his frustrations. He knew how to alleviate them, but he didn’t. He respected you far too much to ever dare cross the threshold. He figured that simply talking to you, simply holding your hand, and being at your side would be enough. He would be content with just that.
But he watched you … develop. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He imagined feeling your flesh under his digits. The softness across your chest and hips. The warm skin.
He looks at you now, sees the scars peeking from under your shirt, on your face, and he wants to feel the rough edges.
Buggy gulps and he’s rather happy now that the rest of his body is not attached to him. He’s lost enough dignity as it is.
“And now, the mouth.”
Yes, he wants to touch that t—
You take the lipstick, and in a straight line, smear it across his mouth in a way that snaps him out of his thoughts. He can feel the warmth emitting from your thumb as you finish his face, and it takes him half a mind not to—
“Done.”
Disappointment lingers in the clown’s visage, and even when you present him a mirror and see the identical likeness to his wanted posters, it does not alleviate the feeling. For what it's worth, he's impressed with how far your make-up-applying skills have reached since last time.
It's perfect.
But it means you’re done, and the nobodies require his flashy expertise to get Miss Ginger back.
You dump the discolored water out and put the rest of the equipment away, and he feels his head weigh another ten pounds at so. He somewhat hopes it would; maybe it would be heavy enough that you wouldn’t bother carrying him up the deck?
… Oh, who is he kidding? It’s you. You won’t have any trouble in that department even if he were to weigh as much as a boulder. Ten boulders, even.
To his surprise, instead of reaching for him, you lounge back into your seat and nonchalantly cross your arms and ankles. He’s confused. Weren’t you going to go up with him already?
“If Zoro needs you, he can get you himself.”
That’s what you’ll leave it be like. He, freshly washed, dried, and painted. You, just casually sitting like you have no urgency to get back to the world.
“He’ll be pissed at you,” Buggy warns. “And probably threaten to throw you into the sea.”
You shrug, your eyes already closed, giving him no indication whatsoever that you’re particularly concerned with the veryscary swordsman. He grins with all his teeth on show.
Unfortunately, the green-haired asshole turns up not even five minutes later. All but ripping the clown by the roots of his hair and taking him away like a sack of flour. Buggy spews curses and threats, but they all fall on deaf ears.
It’s only when he’s positioned on deck that he’s finally free of his torment, if only for an hour or two. He begrudgingly instructs the long-nosed slingshot where to sail, adding a few creative insults along the way. Hey, it’s not Buggy’s fault they’re too easy to rile up.
“Is that long nose compensating for something?”
To which he earned a slap to the back of his head. From whom, he doesn’t know, but he’ll take his victories in whatever light weight they come in.
After a while, he shifts his head to eject another insult to the slingshot when he sees that you’re standing a few feet away, your arms crossed while leaning against the railing; eyes closed but face focused and attentive.
He cuts his verbal daggers down a notch.
It gets late, the sky darkens, and one after another, the crew members resign to their chambers save for the slingshot, who still insists on going for a while longer. Him, and you, surprisingly enough.
You stay, for all of it; neither complaining nor muttering a sound.
You're stoically positioned on the sidelines, hardly moving at all. He would've died if he'd been standing in the same position for more than one hour, but you endured a total of six without a shiver or a strain. Like a soldier in the rain. A monk in a temple of thorns.
A beast in an empty forest, lonesome in its hunger, yet content with what content remains buried in its stomach for the time being.
Long-nosed slingshot finally calls it a night and withdraws from the steering wheel with his hands outreached for the head. Before his dirty fingers can hope to graze the magnificent head that is Buggy's, you stretch your arm out like a shield between them.
"I'll take him."
Slingshot snorts. "Really? You want to?"
"Do you want to?"
With his hands raised in mock surrender, Slingshot relents. "... Fine, be my guest."
With a nod, you take the head and retire back to your chamber on the ship. Buggy yawns in your arms, tired, but satisfied with the warmth embracing him. Your steps feel like waves with each one you take, nudging him further and further toward the edge of sleep. Only unadulterated stubbornness keeps him awake.
It darkens for a moment. When he rouses back, he feels softness underneath him. A pillow of sorts, not comforting enough to offer him sleep, but enough to keep him relaxed.
He nudges around, like a fish in a small bowl, only to find that he's not on the table, nor in a barrel, nor a bag. The surface beneath him is made of fabric, and swings with his movements.
He's in a hammock.
More precisely, your hammock.
“Sleep.” He hears your command.
He finally locates you, seated by the window of your cabin with your palm under your chin, staring out into the darkened ocean.
He turns, voice diluted with drowsiness. “You too…”
“Soon.”
“Now," he almost whines.
The look you give him is not any different from the kind you usually provide, but it lacks the usual undertone of annoyance. He can tell you're tired, even if you're refusing to show it. The shadows under your eyes stand out more prominently, even in the dimmed candlelight.
With an inaudible sigh, you stand and while he expects you to move towards the hammock, he's disappointed to see you aiming towards the door instead.
"H-Hey, where are you going?"
"The kitchens," you respond. "You can sleep here for the night; I'll take the couch."
"That's not necessary!" He wiggles so that he can look at you from over the edge of the hammock, careful as not to fall from the height. A thought dawns over him, one that makes his cheeks feel warm. "We- We can share! I don't take a lot of space!"
"You still take up too much of it."
"Are you calling me fat?!"
He's almost insulted when you don't answer to contradict his assumption, yet despite the innate urge to defend his honor and spew shit at you, he decides to let it slide.
"C'mon! I promise I'll behave," he tries again. "You'll hardly notice me. Those couches suck balls anyway, so why not?"
He watches you give it some thought for probably a good two minutes. He expects you'll decline his proposition, finding that your own pride weighs more than the need for decent sleep.
Then, you lower your shoulders in defeat and make your way over to the hammock. "Scoot over."
He obliges rather excitedly, and when he wiggles back a bit too much to make space, he can feel gravity threaten to drop him on the other side of the hammock. Before it gets to that point, you grab him by the side of his face and hold him until you can lift yourself and lay down.
Only then do you lay him down, on the right side of your abdomen. He's mindful of the wounds that have yet to heal there, so he tries not to invade too much. Still, he can't deny, he's quite comfortable. Very comfortable.
He's the most comfortable he's been in a long time - twenty years.
He surpasses the urge to push closer to you, share your warmth, and elects to look up at the ceiling instead.
"Hope you don't snore," he jokes, only to have a yawn follow promptly behind.
"I don't snore," you answer, deadpan. "Now go to sleep."
He's not convinced, but he doesn't comment on it. This peace hangs by a thread, and he'll be damned if it's cut short now of all times. He shuts his eyes, and in his dreams, he's presented with the sun on the blue skies above.
He feels warm all over.
----
Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat, @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @fanshavegottensotoxic, @fluffybunnyu, @sirenmelody23
(If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))
(Additionally, some sketches of how I imagine Cross-Hairs to look like while I’m writing.)
#buggy the clown#buggy x reader#one piece live action#buggy the clown x reader#one piece#one piece x reader#buggy one piece#buggy x you#buggy the clown fanfiction#buggy x female reader#DMTMYHB#didn’t mean to make your heart blue
242 notes
·
View notes
Text
Warm Waters Soothe Insecurities
Fandom: Cult of the Lamb
Relationship: Kudaai X Female OC
AN: “I have requests and a Secret Santa Thing I need to write. These are very important.” I say to myself.
“What if we write about our OC only like, 3 people know about, and a character only those same 3 people care about being soft and in love?” Say my hands.
“Perfect.” I say.
So uh yeah. Here’s my Reindeer OC Selene in a hot spring with Kudaai.
(In all seriousness if you liked this please for the love of god tell me. I am so fucking insecure about posting this, I almost quit writing it multiple times and fell into a bad case of self conscious writer’s block because of it.)
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Insecurity, First Time ‘I Love You’s, Love Confessions, Casual Nudity, Bathing/Washing, Slight Daddy Kink
Summary: Having a moment to relax with your mate is one of life’s delicacies.
Read it on AO3!
“Once again my little doe, you’re right. I did need this…” Kudaai groaned as he settled into the water of the hot spring. Steam rose all around him in a thick veil, heat seeping through his scales and into the sore muscles and joints of his aching body.
He rolled his neck until he heard a satisfying ‘click’ of his vertebrae popping and sagged in relief. The dragon managed to settle comfortably on a stone ledge carved into the pool and rested his burly arms along the cool stone rim.
Already he felt relief in his ankles and calves, the muscles slowly unknotting all the way up towards his hips and lower back. His thick, scaled tail gave a wag under the surface of the water, sending ripples across the surface of the pool and splashing over the edges.
“Heehee~ I thought you had learned by now big daddy,” A girlish giggle reached his ears, “I’m always right~” Selene teased as she stepped out from behind a group of smooth boulders.
Only a towel covered her furry form from his view, her delicate hands keeping the cloth tight. Her hooves clicked against the stone ground as she walked towards the hot spring with an excited wiggle to her hips.
“Apparently not.” Kudaai smirked, his teeth peeking from under his lip. “Please tell me that’s all you have on…” He purred, narrowing his golden eyes. The deer sent him a coy look, prancing around the edge of the pool to where he sat.
“Why sir blacksmith! To imply that a lady would swim in the nude! What kind of doe do you take me for?” She stuck her nose into the air, her snobbish act ruined by one green eye peeking open to look at him as the corner of her lips pulled upwards into a smirk. The dragon felt a feeling in his chest, warm and syrupy as he looked upwards to her - a drastic contrast to the feeling in his lower gut, a heat building there not from the warm water.
“The nasty kind.” He growled in response, thick black tongue making an appearance to lick his along his maw in a lewd show just for her.
Selene blushed furiously in response, her ears folding back as she looked towards the floor, unable to meet his gaze any longer. It only made his purr grow louder, sounding more like a true bellow as he watched her squirm, her hips wiggling in response to his attention.
“Hmm, nothing smart to say little mama?” She doesn’t respond at first, only looking at him with big doe eyes and pouting lips he wants to kiss. One of her fingers is idly tracing the pattern in her fur on her thigh.
“Perhaps action is easier?” He sits up straighter, tilting his muzzle up. He doesn’t have to try very hard - even with him sitting he’s still so tall compared to her. His head easily reaches her chest with him slouching.
She takes his invite and steps closer, leaning to press a sweet kiss to his mouth that has that warm, syrupy feeling from before squeezing hard around his heart. She’s so precious when she gets shy…
Selene pulls away much too quickly from their kiss, but she’s smiling again.
“You and your teasing…you’re lucky I love it~” Kudaai gives a huff, smoke billowing from his nose.
“Not my fault you’re so easy to tease~ Get in already you little minx.”
He wanted her soft body pressed against him, the curve of her hip fitting perfectly in his claw and against his side as they traded kisses and stories.
She giggles again and finally lets her towel fall open. As she lays the cloth on a nearby ledge Kudaai has a chance to ogle her curves properly. Her arms wrapped tight around her middle in a hug as she shivered from the cool night air, her breasts being pushed together in a tantalizing display that had to be on purpose.
"Ooh-so warm!" The reindeer gave a meek shiver as she placed a hoof into the steaming water, humming in delight at the heat racing up her leg. The rest of her followed quickly, small waves rippling across the water’s surface at her movements as she glided towards Kudaai’s side. Her hands came into contact with his chest, fingers roaming across the broad expanse of muscle and fat layered under his black and gold scales.
He could feel her legs pull up and curl in place next to his own thighs, her knees pressing against him but not uncomfortably. She nestled herself into his side from there, her own shoulder resting against his ribs as her hands traced idle patterns into his scales. The dry fur of her neck and face was already losing volume and flattening from the steam surrounding them.
He brought his arm down from the stone lip of the pool to wrap around her under the water. His hand covered the expanse of her hip as he held her impossibly closer to his side. His thumb rubbed small circles where it layed, the temptation to squeeze her ass, just a little, was too strong to ignore. Not that she minded.
“Thank you for bringing me here daddy~ It’s so nice…” Selene cooed despite her cheek being squished against his pectoral muscle she was so intent on smothering herself on. She looked so small and cute, he felt like such a brute compared to her…
What did she even see in him, really? He was big and intimidating, covered in scars and old wounds - some of them by his own mistakes and not enemies. What did he have to offer someone like her?
With a start he realized she had spoken to him.
“O-of course little mama. Like I said, you were right. I needed this more than I realized…” The blacksmith let out a sigh, trying to push those thoughts away. It didn’t matter why she was with him, only that she was and that he wanted to enjoy every moment with her before she came to her senses and left him.
His mind cleared as his eyes slipped closed. Peace, or something like it he supposed, making him feel calm and relaxed. It was all because of the doe nestled into his side right now. She was so…
He isn’t a poet. He’s never been good with words, not like his younger brother. Coming up with ways to describe his sweet Selene was a feat he would never overcome. Truly, he didn’t care to. He just wanted her to stay with him for a little while longer…
His hand wrapped around her hip gives another squeeze to the soft flesh, and she gives a meek mewl of surprise at the feeling. She doesn’t move away, to his relief. One of her own hands leaves his chest to slip under the water, ghosting over his. Her fingers thread through his open ones to hold the back of his hand in a gentle embrace as he keeps idly rubbing and massaging the area.
Selene suddenly pulls her head away from his chest, only to turn and press her lips against the heated scales she was resting against. Kudaai can’t fight the smile quirking the corner of his mouth, despite the years of self restraint that have taught him not to show such emotion.
In this place, he thinks…maybe it’s okay. To let his guard down a little…
Selene is looking up at him now, big green eyes looking so earnest and loving it chokes him, his heart beating hard and fast as he tries to calm it.
“You feel better then? The heat is helping?” She asks, voice soft and soothing. Does she even know? Does she know how much power she holds over him? By The One Below she could kill him with a smile like that. He would die happy, he would brag to the Lord Below that he died to the most beautiful sight ever - this smile.
“Hn-...yes. Yes I feel much better than this morning sweet girl.” He manages to purr in response. She looks delighted at his words, ears perking and eyes lighting up like it’s the best news he could have ever told her.
“G-good! That’s very good~ I could even…I could give your shoulders a massage too, if you’d like?” The dragon has to bite his tongue hard to not openly groan in bliss at her words. He just barely catches himself.
“...An adorable, sexy doe sitting with her thighs near my head, rubbing her soft hands on me?” She blushes furiously at his words but doesn’t retract her offer. “How can I say no to such a thing? I must be damn dreaming…” She giggles into her hand even as she starts to sit up properly. He is disappointed when he realizes that this means he cant hold her cute tush anymore, but figures a massage is a fair trade off.
Both his burly arms settle at his sides in the water, one of them being offered to his beloved so she can lift herself out of the spring and onto the stone rim. She presses another kiss to his scales, this time to his already warm cheek.
“Thank you~” she whispers, like it’s a secret between them to share and keep. His heart can’t take this, he can feel it squeezing tighter in his chest at everything she does…
With some shifting Selene makes herself comfortable behind him, her legs wrapping around his upper back and allowing her closer access to him without her knees knocking against the blades embedded in his spine. She brought her hands onto the broad expanse of his shoulders, fingers dancing along his scales in a way Kudaai would almost describe as awed. He heard her give a soft hum before another soft kiss was pressing against an old scar that had healed over the blade still lodged there.
He was always nervous when she saw his back, seeing the barely healed gore that remained from literal centuries of fighting to protect what's his. Kudaai knows it's ugly, knows it's unlovable. And yet Selene always seemed so…happy when he let her see. Like his trust in her actually made her feel good. He couldn’t understand why, he wasn’t worth much outside of his forge craft…
It was when Selene started to apply pressure to his aching muscles that she started to quietly ramble to him. His eyes slipped closed once more as her soothing voice washed over his troubled mind.
“I really do love your body Kudaai…So big and strong, always so warm…You make me feel so safe and loved despite the lands we live in.” The dragon couldn’t help the way his body further relaxed into her hold, his head falling back to rest comfortably against her plush chest and tummy. Her fur was wet and slightly chilled now that she was out of the water, but she didn’t seem to mind the cold. He figured it had to do with her upbringing from the North.
“I love your chest and tummy too~ Laying across you, or you laying on top of me, it just-it makes me feel…good in a way I can’t explain…” She trailed off as her hands made their way to the front of his body. Her fingers rubbing soothing circles into the meaty muscle of his pectorals, her arms circling around his neck. He angled his head to bump his muzzle against hers, his golden eyes staring intensely into her own green ones.
“You know my heart belongs to you, sweet girl. No need for empty flattery.”
The doe gasped in response, looking back at him with wide - dare he say, hurt - eyes.
“It’s not empty flattery! I mean every word I say.” Her brow furrowed. “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Kudaai.”
He stayed silent. His gaze left hers to stare at the distant tree line.
“...Kudaai? Why do you always…?” Selene trailed off. Her hands stopped the soothing rub along his muscles to instead trace patterns along the scales. She always fidgets when nervous, and it’s his fault this time…
Sometimes he wishes he had the knack for talking to others the way Claunek could. His younger brother had always been the more sociable of them both.
“Forgive me love. I’m…I’m not good at…-you know how words are for me-” He lifted a clawed hand into the air, open as if he could pluck the words he needed out the steam surrounding them.
“Shh…take your time big daddy. I’m not going anywhere.” She cooed in response, pressing more kisses to the side of his face and muzzle. He could tell his teeth were in the way of her lips, but she didn’t seem to care. She just kept pressing kisses along his maw, overbite croc teeth or no.
Instead of letting his hand drop he moved it towards her own face, cupping her cheek and rubbing the soft fur there. It was a silent thanks as he gathered his own thoughts, his claws even moving up towards the base of her large floppy ears and rubbing. The content sigh he pulled from her let him know he was touching the right spot.
Eventually, he sighs.
“I…I want to be honest with you about my thoughts. It’s just…hard to find the right words. I much prefer when you do the talking.” He tried teasing her about her chatty nature and got an amused huff and a smile in return.
“...For so long I didn’t think I would ever…find a mate. I even…” He grunts, feeling more self-conscious than ever by admitting this. “I even asked my brother before we met if he saw anything…” Selene didn’t laugh to his relief. Her hands just continued dancing across his scales.
“And you…you looked so beautiful when we first met, so put together and on top of your work. And when I approached you looked so…so frightened. You couldn’t even speak to me properly…”
Her hands stopped.
“I don’t know what I did to change your view of me, but I hope with every fiber of myself that I can keep it up. That you’ll see me as your mate and not the…the big ugly brute I am…” Kudaai squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. He hated this, this feeling of vulnerability and bareness. She could break him into splinters right now without even speaking.
He spent so many centuries keeping to himself, doing what he needed to do for Claunek to grow up happy and content. Every one of instincts was screaming at him for going against his hard learned habits.
“Oh Kudaai…” Selene whispered, her soft lips pressing to his temple as she spoke. “Kudaai I was never frightened of you. Never. From the moment we met I was…I was so in awe that a-that such a beautiful person would even look my way.”
The dragon’s eyes slid back open slowly, staring at nothing in the distance. A feeling he couldn’t name, one that made his chest feel tight and his eyes sting was building up inside him.
“I was nervous when we met, yes. But not because you’re terrifying. Not to me. I saw someone so…so protective. A perfect provider and defender who made me feel breathless with just a look.”
“You-” His deep voice cracked, his throat feeling dry. “You think I’m…I’m beautiful? With…with my size? My stomach, my scars, my teeth!?” The doe snorted where she was still pressed against his cheek.
“Stars Kudaai, yes. I was smitten with you from the very start. I love those things about you! Its-it’s so embarrassing to admit but when you actually talked to me I got so h-hot and bothered.” She buried her face against his and squeezed, preventing him from being able to loom at her face. His neck still snapped in her direction, his jaw falling open at her words.
“Wh-what?” Her voice came out muffled.
“Y-yeah. I-...By The One Below I wanted you to bend me over and fuck me right then and there. I wanted to marry you Kudaai. I knew it right then.”
He couldn’t believe what she was saying. There was no way any of this could be true. Selene is so beautiful and kind, thoughtful and smart and stubborn and shy and-and perfect-
She really thought the same of him?
“S-Selene, please-” He needed to see her, to see her eyes-
The reindeer understood. She always understood. Her arms loosened their hold around his thick neck as she pulled back from him. He moved further into the water and turned to look at her properly. Her hooves dangled in the water as her hands fiddled nervously with the thick fur lining her neck and chest. Her green eyes met his own with a sincerity that made his heart ache.
“I love you, Kudaai.” She whispered.
“...I love you too Selene.” He kneeled on the ledge he had previously been sitting on, bringing his heavy arms around her much smaller frame and enveloping her into his hold. She nuzzled right up against him, face pressed against his heartbeat, the one she owned.
He buried his own muzzle against the top of her head, breathing in her sweet scent.
She loved him.
Loved.
Him.
That was the first time they had ever said such words to each other. This was real. What they had together. He wanted to kiss her.
He pulled away to do just that, pressing his muzzle against hers in a kiss that had their teeth clacking against eachother’s, the desperate need to be closer driving them.
They parted for breath and pressed their foreheads together, breathing each other in. Kudaai felt one of her hands against his cheek, her thumb gently swiping against the black scales under his eye. He felt warm water smear and pulled back in confusion.
Selene was smiling at him in the most gentle way, like he was an animal that would skitter away at the slightest movement. He brought his own hand up and wiped at his other eye, feeling more wetness on his cheek.
He wasn’t sure when he had started crying.
“It’s okay baby. It’s okay.” She whispered. “I love you.”
The dragon heaved a deep breath and let it out slow, blinking hard as pulled her close again. It was okay. Selene was here, she wouldn’t-...She could be trusted with this.
He moved his hands down her waist and grabbed handfuls of her, lifting her from the stone and bringing her into his own lap. She didn’t protest, only giving an adorable squeak at the movement. He settled back onto the ledge himself, holding her to his chest for more snuggles in the steaming water surrounding them.
Eventually they would have to get out. They would both be hungry for dinner.
For now…He just wanted to hold her and be held in return.
#Cult of the Lamb#Kudaai#Cult of the Lamb Kudaai#CotL Kudaai#Kudaai X Female OC#Cult of the Lamb Kudaai X Female OC#Cult of the Lamb X Female OC#My Writing
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Incorrect quotes. Ft. Carnage, Lasher and Mayhem
Lasher: Why are there little handprints all over the walls?
Carnage, whispering: Why are there little handprints all over the walls?
Mayhem, whispering: Because I have little hands.
Carnage: Because they have little hands.
Mayhem: I will find us a covered wagon and horses.
Mayhem: If you two can manage to not kill each other while I'm gone.
Lasher: Oh, please. We're not children.
*Mayhem leaves*
Lasher, casually: ...Eat shit and die.
Carnage, also casually: Yes, fuck you
Lasher: So what’s the plan?
Carnage: I don’t know. You’re smart, *points at Mayhem* they’re mean, come up with something.
Carnage: Why were you up yesterday until 3am?
Mayhem: How did you know I was up until 3am?
Lasher: We could hear you clapping to the FRIENDS intro every 25 minutes.
Carnage: When will Ted himself...finally show up to the talk?
Lasher: The final boss.
Mayhem: You guys know TEDtalks stands for technology, entertainment, and design talks, right?
Carnage: I will not let Ted hide behind these lies any longer!
Mayhem: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life.
Carnage: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind?
Mayhem: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die.
Lasher: Edible.
Mayhem: I have locked Lasher in a cage designed by their own art. Oh, they have been well and truly hoist by their own petard.
Carnage: Could you put it another way? I didn’t understand a word of that.
Mayhem: I’m blackmailing them.
Carnage: Oh, happy days.
Lasher: What would Carnage think?
Mayhem: Ok, that’s an interesting thought, but hear me out: what if… we ran an experiment where we spent the rest of our lives finding out what happened if we never told them?
Mayhem: I think I did fairly well on my anatomy quiz! :)
Carnage: I forgot I was doing a test.
Mayhem: Carnage.
Carnage: I said the vertebrae was the back stick because I thought it was funny....
Lasher: Carnage.
Carnage: Do you cook?
Mayhem: I made a cake once.
Lasher: Yeah, it was good.
Mayhem: Really?
Lasher: Don’t make me lie twice, Mayhem
Lasher: Who wants to make fifty bucks?
Mayhem: How?
Lasher: I need someone to take the fall.
Mayhem: What did you do?
Lasher: I can't tell you. Yes or no, no questions asked.
Carnage, from the other room: Oh my god.
Lasher: ...
Carnage: OH MY GOD!
Mayhem: Make it a hundred.
Lasher: Deal.
*Carnage teaching Lasher to drive and taking Mayhem along for the ride*
Carnage: That's a pothole. To the left!
Lasher: Take it back now y'all *Drives into pothole*
Mayhem, sticking their face into the front over the center console: Cha Cha real smooth.
Lasher: I don't think that's how the song goes.
Carnage, crying and gripping the handle: Please just take me home.
Lasher: Country Roads.
Mayhem: To the place.
Lasher and Mayhem in unison: I Belong!
Carnage, crying harder: What the fuck?
Lasher: When Mayhem was born, the gods said, "They're too perfect for this world."
Carnage: Please. When they were born, the devil said, "Oh, competition."
Lasher: Goddamn it, the printer broke while printing out Mayhem's birthday invitations.
Carnage: Well, what are they supposed to say?
Lasher: "Mayhem's birthday".
Carnage: So, what do they say instead?
Lasher: "Mayhem’s bi".
Carnage:
Carnage: Works out either way.
Carnage: I’m telling you, my team is competent.
Mayhem, rushing in: Carnage! Lasher tried to make pasta in the coffee pot and now it's broken!
Lasher: We need to open this locked door. Mayhem, give me your credit card.
Mayhem: Here.
Lasher, pocketing it: Thanks. Carnage, break down the door.
Carnage: Guess what number I’m thinking of.
Mayhem: 420?
Carnage: No, that’s really immature of you. Someone else guess, and please take this seriously.
Lasher: 69.
Carnage: Yeah it was 69.
#ooc mobile.#I CANT#CRYING#SOBBING#WOULD YALL BELIEVE THAT I WAS ON THIS GENERATOR FOR AN HOUR?#ITS SO ACCURATE WTF#spybiote#onopoeia
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi, could you do one where the boys are still enemies but someone attacked harry when hes an auror and harry shows up at Dracos house and then draco helps him out and then something about the next day. I know its cliche but yeah
hey, remember love you requested this.. if you don't then now you do. My greatest apologies to fill this out this late, hope you understand @emzlolz
Cinnamon rolls was a date
Fluff | ENEMIES to LOVER trope |
" i don't understand your problem " harry snapped as he slammed his door behind him
" my problem ? you seriously think i have a problem, try working with someone as egoistic as you then maybe come to me and i'll tell you what my problem is " draco snapped back aggressively collecting his files from harry's table.
" oh, i'm egoistic, pardon me. Have you ever even looked at your own self, you're the egoistic one who needs all the credit to himself, what would you even know about throwing your life out, you just sit there in your own little cubicle brewing potions. You don't even understand what actual danger is" harry sneered shoving draco's files towards him.
"Oh of course only the great harry potter seems to be one in danger, the hell you know about being in my little cubicle breathing in the toxic fumes that can maybe cut my life span into half but what does the world care about it right because you're doing the almighty work by being on the scene and saving lives and we're just bloody here stuck in the little cubicles where our things won't even fucking fit. You know what potter, you are just like those politicians who think that people like you who are actually at the scene does the actual work and think of us like peasants, who does nothing but brew fucking potions all day " draco yelled at harry and then stormed out before harry could've even understood draco. Although harry couldn't bring himself to care much about it because he knew draco just said it out of spite like he always had not because he genuinely hated harry, or at least that's what harry always thought of them, the stupid traditional rivalry.
They of course didn't meet each all day or the next day or even the day after that and much of their anger cooled down and harry had anonymously put a memo for raise for potioneers, he never knew why he did it but he did, perhaps he cared if even a little whether he liked to admit or not.
Draco had been at home, having a conversation with one of his fellow potioneers about the anonymous tip about their raise and appreciating and disgracing the anonymous person when draco's doorbell rang and he frowned at the absurdity of someone to ring him after 9 pm. He was more than ready to yell at whoever the person was until he had opened the door to reveal harry leaning over the door, clutching his torso as if he was in pain.
" sorry, i don't do trick and treats " draco rolled his eyes
" its not halloween you idiot, i'm- fuck-"
" are yo- wait you're bleeding " draco immediately helped him inside to the living room and over to the couch.
" why aren't you at St. Mungo's ?" draco asked as he helped harry off his coat and put them away
" i didn't want to go there " harry grimaced in pain, flinching when draco's hand accidentally hit over his chest.
" i don't get it, why not ?" draco asked taking off his auror boots and throwing them away. He proceeded to help harry off with the rest of his heavy clothings until he was left in blood stained shirt and just pants.
" i have very strong recollection of school days " draco mumbled. Harry leaned his head almost smiling but winced in pain as his muscles clenched.
" what did you get hit with- harry- hey stay awake " draco lightly slapped his cheeks to keep harry conscious
" pocket knife i guess " harry shut off his eyes this time but draco shook him a little so he remained awake.
" come on, let me get you to the washroom and we'll take a look at this " draco helped harry up over his shoulder and helped him into his washroom, settling him over the sink and fetching his potions and first aids.
" I'll take off your shirt, alright ?" Draco asked cautiously as he clutched the button on Harry's shirt.
" you'd like that, huh ?" Harry smirked with a pained look
" do you always have to the intolerant sodding idiot that you are " draco rolled his eyes as he unbuttoned Harry's shirt and dropped it over the ground.
Harry Only Chuckled a little, supporting his head against the mirror and his arms resting by his side, too tired to move.
Draco analysed Harry's torso carefully for a mark of being hit by a spell bruising his skin "something hit you ?" He asked
Harry looked down his chest to where draco's fingers were resting and he nodded "thrown on a wall "
Draco winced immediately at the words but picked up his wand and cast an episky and cleared it with a wet towel he had just fetched.
" why do you Always like to throw your life onto line ?" Draco asked genuinely as he started wiping off Harry's wounds that leaked with more blood as he cleansed.
" what else am I supposed to do, sit there with a popcorn and watch " harry rolled his eyes, wriggling a little backwards to sit more comfortably, closing his eyes in fatigue.
" well at Least not try to get hit this badly "draco rolled his eyes again, now applying antiseptic over the wound and padding it with cotton. Draco looked up momentarily to see harry watching him as he bandaged his wound with tapes and bandages and cutting the remaining bandage with scissors.
" stop staring at me, makes me nervous " draco blushed cutting the last of spare bandage just above his waist.
Harry immediately looked away blushing to himself, interesting himself with the ceiling with false wooden look.
Draco ran his hand through harry's chest again to see if he could feel anymore of broken ribs or any broken vertebrae along his back and when he looked up to Harry's face he found a deep cut by his cheek.
"I don't like being your Personal healer " draco mumbled as he carefully through Harry's chin made him look at draco.
" i- I know, I'm sorry " harry mumbled as he watched draco dip the clean towel in hot water and cleansing Harry's cut.
" that pocket knife really hurt you " draco muttered as he softly took some antiseptic ointment in his finger and applied it over the cut, harry flinching immediately.
" hurts ?" Draco asked
Harry nodded.
Draco nodded and this time tried more carefully and finally allowed the ointment to sink in deep.
" why did you come here? you could’ve gone to anyone, why me ?" Draco finally asked staring at harry sitting in front of him with his legs spaced so draco was fit in between them.
Harry only Stared for draco for a few moments before he shrugged off his shoulders " I didn't wanna go to st. Mungo's "
Draco seemed like he didn't believe Harry, why must he anyways but he decided not to ask anymore from harry and only helped him off the counter.
They walked through the hallways back into the living room and Draco fetched him a blanket.
" I should get going actually-"
" you really think you can disapparate right now..you really are that dumb then" draco mocked harry.
Harry rolled his eyes getting up " I disapparated here on my own "
Draco exhaled sharply, clutching his eyes shut for moment as if it'd release some frustration " you don't always have to be the tough guy alright. If you disapparate now all your bandages will loosen and you'd be splinched- just- stay here for the night or until you're good enough to go "
" I am good enough to go " harry bit back.
Draco leaned up closer to harry and pushed him gently over his couch " tuck your Little ego in your pocket for a while and just do as I say "
" what if I don't ?" Harry challenged.
Draco rolled his eyes heavily before he stood up and pointed at the door " then be my guest potter and leave. I Frankly don't care whatever you do but I'm just telling you the right thing to do so you don't say that I was an asshole about the whole thing when clearly you're the one who's being a baby "
“ i’m not being a baby “ harry huffed.
“ then stay. You can probably get your ego back out and go in about an hour until your broken rib is healed a little bit “ draco commanded, going into the kitchen and getting harry a glass of water.
“ wow, you can be caring “ harry rolled his eyes taking the glass of water from him.
“ well you’d know if you weren’t so blinded with your immature hatred “ draco replied crossing his arms in front of him.
“ whatever “ harry found himself replying in a losing argument. They stayed there for a few minutes in silence as harry gulped down the water slowly and then gave the glass back to draco.
Draco left harry alone for a few minutes after that, finding more comfortable clothes for him and pillows so he could rest easy.
“I better hope you’re not executing my murder plan “ harry grumbled from the living room. Draco had almost laughed but he didn’t just for the sake of not giving harry the satisfaction of actually being funny.
Draco walked into the living room with all that he assumed harry might need and kept in front of him.
“ those pants look incredibly tight and dirty, so just change into these, if they fit of course “ draco told
Harry looked at draco quizzically for a few seconds, looking in suspicion as to why he was actually being nice but when met with none he picked up the sweatshirt he had bought and tried putting it on, only failing to do so.
“ need help ?” draco sarcastically asked. Harry rolled his eyes replying with an exaggerated no until he winced in pain.
“ merlin you can’t let go of your ego for one bloody second, can you” draco taunted as he knelt down before and cautiously helped harry putting on the sweatshirt.
“ i think your arm is bruised too ” draco mumbled when he had been putting on his sweatshirt.
“ You know you think i’m egoistic, but i’m the least egoistic as i’ve been told” harry mumbled
“ well of course why would the people tell the great harry potter that he’s egoistic, come on i wouldn’t tell a guy he’s egoistic if i swooned over him “ draco replied shrugging casually, pulling down his sweatshirt over harry’s waist.
“ that’s not true “ harry narrowed his eyes at draco however couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually right.
“ whatever you believe " Draco titled his head to the side in a small Bob before he got up " you can change into those pants. I'll leave you some privacy "
It was an unusual turn to the night when draco had offered him dinner and movie to watch with him while harry remained sprawled on the couch with a hot water bag tucked behind him, draco helping him adjust it every once in a while. If someone had seen them together that way they would laugh if told that they were enemies because of the way they had suddenly grew closer in an eventful nights. They learnt things about other that they could've only imagined off like draco learnt that harry liked to compartmentalise his food on the plate and that he liked to keep his work dull boring socks in an alternate pattern with colourful socks he had but the rest of his wardrobe remained mess, and the first thing he does when he gets out of shower is actually wear socks because he doesn't like walking barefoot and it wasn't just draco who learnt all of it, harry too learnt that draco had an entire bar collection of glasses he never let anyone use because he's afraid that someone would break it and lose one part of his collection,and that he have colour organised dresser, and that he prefer wearing steel toed boots because Someone always steps over his toes, and that he likes to sleep on the right side of the bed without an apparent reason. It was crazy how much more they learnt about each other and didn't fight over a single thing.
Draco had almost stopped the movie to discuss one part with harry when he noticed that harry had fallen asleep. Draco shut off the TV, helped harry more comfortably on the couch and covered him with more blankets; whispering a soft goodbye and left to sleep in his room. That night he had for the first time slept with a small smile because of harry, even if it seemed very unbelievable.
The next morning draco had left for work before harry had woken up, leaving him a message to not go before he returns but draco was probably sure harry wouldn't wake up anyways because of the heavy painkillers he was on.
The whole day draco had been in a strangely nice mood that he had even complimented his assistant who took it by surprise because draco rarely every complimented and not just that but even offered a smile to the lady at the reception instead of just a sneer. It was all too strange to someone who knew draco but then again, who infact really knew him. When the time came to return home, he had left early and had walked into a cinnamon smelling apartment.
" I hope you didn't use all of my cinnamon" draco called as he walked into the kitchen watching harry taking out cinnamon rolls from the oven.
" I did " harry shrugged.
Draco rolled his eyes but didn't do it out of frustration this time, but a sweet stupidity.
" people were asking about you around office" draco said as he sat down on one of the stools and poured himself a glass of water.
" I- I figured. I just don't wanna go to the office yet. I'll send them a letter. Also I'll leave tonight, I feel pretty good " harry nodded
Draco nodded stiffly, a part of him not wanting to let go of harry, just yet " or you can stay here. I mean there's no one to look after you anyway and I- Don't mind "
" well, if we clearly remember, you mind it a lot last night " harry teased.
" well I- I just- know what, do whatever you want. I don't mind " draco shrugged raising his hands defensively.
Harry shook his head smiling at draco, passing on the cinnamon rolls he made to him.
Draco strongly realised that the harry he worked with and the harry he came home to were two entirely different people and somewhere he also realised that he may have never hated harry but just despised him for everything he got, a tiny bit of jealousy involved but seeing this guy who made cinnamon rolls for him, made his heart melt a little more than he thought it would.
" can you just say it out loud- it's annoying me " harry rolled his eyes.
Draco chuckled, sucking in this finger tips then finally saying " these are really, really good "
" thank you " harry bowed with a grin then sat down next to draco.
" you know you're not a bad guy Outside work " harry said after a while, staring at draco.
" ditto " draco mumbled.
" no I mean, this is easy. Like just talking with you when there's no small cubicle nor my dingy office or without my stupid auror robes or your white coat. It's-"
" comfortable? " draco asked with a smile. Harry nodded at him with an equivalent smile.
They stared at each other for a moment too long, their hearts beating traitorously too fast in their chest and their fingers brushing past each other and just staying there in a mere presence of touch with other. It was like storm had washed over them and rinsed them off their past and made them see each other in a way that they had never looked at, so different that they realised they could probably look at each other for a very very long time.
" I never hated you " draco muttered.
" then why did you pretend you do ?" Harry asked leaning a bit.
Draco swallowed, peering his eyes at Harry's lips " it's easier to hate you "
" why ?" Harry asked, his eyes falling on the way draco's lips were moving.
" because then I don't have to think about how you make my heart race " Draco muttered in soft Whispers so only harry could hear.
" it's easier to pretend " harry agreed.
They stared at the distance between each other for far too long until they had only been a few inches apart and then draco put a hand on Harry's chest.
" I- maybe we should go on a date first "
Harry swallowed nodding " we should "
Draco nodded, repeating after harry but they kissed nonetheless and neither of them pulled back, maybe they had a small date with cinnamon rolls after all.
This took me far too long to write. Busy person tingz. I highly suspect, this won't get notes, I didn't like this one either.
300 followers appreciation dialogue Prompt requests open
Angst prompt requests open
#drarry#harry potter#draco x harry#hp fandom#harry james potter#draco malfoy#harry potter fanfiction#drarry prompt#drarry fluff#drarry ask#drarry au#drarry stuff#drarry ship#drarry oneshot#drarry enemies to lovers#drarry ficlet#drarry fandom#drarry fic#drarry headcanon#draco malfoy fic#harry potter fic
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mark Of A Lover
Bucky BarnesXFem!Reader
18+
Warnings: Smut, slight daddy kink, biting, marking, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, unprotected sex(wrap your tool before you get to work)
Odaxelagnia. The sexual arousal of biting or being bitten.
Though not directly related to marking, the aftermath of Odaxelagnia often borders the act of marking with the intent of leaving visible bruising for others to see.
Marking in any form is a show of dominance and possession of the person(s) that wear the epidermal discoloration.
The room stands silent aside from the heavy breathing and soft sighs of pleasure that echoed through. The television retained a soft glow from being on for such a long amount of time, but no sound rang out from its large speakers. The figures on the screen playing out their inevitable end in silence and no real attention being thrown their way. My sole focus was right in front of me, grabbing and nibbling at all the flesh he possibly could. The touches become more needy and insistent as the seconds ticked past.
Bucky roughly grips my hips, thumbs digging harshly into the soft skin which pushes a groan from past my swollen lips. My body is quickly tugged up and on top of Bucky’s frame, allowing for me to grind my lower half down onto the solid thighs that rested beneath me and to kiss back with a newfound level of intensity. I pull away from the messy kiss in dire need of oxygen to fill my lungs. As I shift back thinking that Bucky would do the same or even suck and kiss at my jaw, but instead I am met with something that sends a surge of intense arousal coursing through my veins. Bucky’s pearly white teeth tug sharply at my bottom lip making my panties flood almost enough to soak through the thin fabric of my shorts. My mind screams at the new stimulation.
His eyes stare deeply into my own, reflecting the intense want that is buried in the depths of his being and are threatening to burst forth. A slight look of shock was etched onto his features, almost questioning in a matter of speaking. Confusion clouded my thoughts in the blink of an eye as I tried to rake my brain for the reasoning behind the look on my boyfriend's face. Before I could present my question, he quips with a cocky smirk. "You like that baby? You've never acted that way before."
A shiver runs up my spine, shaking me with a jolt at every vertebrae, knowing that my reaction to being bit was so clear. While taking my bottom lip between my own teeth I nod with feign innocence. Bucky doesn't buy into my small act for a single second, his eyes darken with a quickness before he attaches his hot mouth to my pale flesh once again drawing out a breathy moan from me.
Every sharp nip and suckle performed by Bucky’s mouth was like reaching a new standing of heaven, and he was barely stimulating the rest of my body. My hips stutter and start to grind down with more of a purpose, and that purpose being friction on my thrumming clitoris.
My boyfriend's large hands reach up my body and with a rough motion, my shirt is ripped down the center and my supple breasts are freed from the confines of their lacy bra. The cold of the room pricks my skin with millions of little goosebumps, as well as make my nipples shrink into impossibly hard, little peaks. A growl vibrates in Bucky’s chest, making me quiver with anticipation. "Buck, please stop teasing. I need you, baby!" I cry out, knowing that my tone borders on sounding pitiful, but at this point I didn't care.
"As much as I really want to push you to the edge over and over again, you know I can't deny you when you sound so needy and pathetic for me. You want my cock, Y/N?" Bucky chuckled darkly, running his hands over the surface of my smooth thighs but never right were I needed him most. He flips me over onto my back and makes quick work of removing his clothes while I shimmy out of mine. Bucky stays in place for a few moments almost as if he is trying to regain his composure before he climbs over to take place between my spread legs.
He stares down at me like a predator about to attack their prey and turns me on far more than I care to admit. I shift my hip upwards trying to gain some sort of much needed friction for the both of us. My own arousal flooded my senses to such an extent that I didn't seem to notice that Bucky’s thick length was as hard as the day is long and was weeping droplets of pre-cum.
My dainty hand slips between our hot bodies to grip the throbbing length, but Bucky grabs it and pins it above my head. "I didn't say you could touch me, Y/N. Just because you are a soaked mess doesn't mean you get to ignore the rules, princess." His voice husky and rings so clearly in my ear. I mumble an apology and feel him line up the engorged head of his member at my gushing entrance.
Profanities mix and fall from my lips in frustration. Bucky circles the tip around my dripping hole and pushing in for a split second just to pull out and flick against my swollen, pink bud. He was teasing as long as he possibly could, he wanted to hear me beg for his cock, to fuck me into oblivion and that's exactly what I will do. "Fuck! Please stop teasing! Fuck me daddy!" I whined in need.
Nothing was said, but Bucky’s movements told the whole story. He lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist while offering quick nips at my sensitive nipples causing be to jolt up into his towering frame. His lips latched on to my neck in a messy, wet kiss as he lined his girth up properly. In one swift motion, Bucky’s teeth bit harshly into the tender skin as he rammed his cock into my velvety folds. A loud scream echoed through the walls of our home, letting anyone who dared to listen know the immense pleasure that was being given to me.
There was no adjustment period or even the slightest pause. Bucky’s hips immediately shot forward already setting a fast pace that knocks the air out of me. "Uh fuck! So good! Yes!!" The words tumble from my lips in a rush, not really coming together to make much sense but they encourage Bucky none the less. The coil in my belly grows tighter and hotter with ever thrust, throwing me closer and closer to my first orgasm faster than a freight train. The second Bucky’s cock nudges deep at my g-spot and he chomps down on my collarbone the coil snapped and I gushed around the thick cock slamming into me.
There was no time to even think about recovering. The stimulation was too great and soon I was barreling towards another white-hot orgasm. The sound of Bucky’s pants and groans only spurred me on along with the telling sign of his sputtering thrusts. I could feel every vein and ridge of his member as my pussy clamped down tightly, making it hard for him to continue his strokes.
Several messy thrusts later, Bucky buried his manhood as deep as he possibly could and bares his teeth down onto the top of my left breast. My back arches up off of the bed in a manner that doesn't seem quite human as I cum again, triggering my boyfriend's end too. Stream after stream of thick, white cum paints my walls and soothes the ache that has already started to form.
Bucky and I both wince slightly when he pulls his softening length out. He pulls back the duvet covers to slip me under them. We lay in comfortable silence for quite a few minutes recovering from the mind-blowing experience we both had. I spoke up first with a bubbly, giggle to my tone. "So I guess it turns out we both like biting." The man next to me couldn't help but let out a loud laugh. "I guess we do. And don't even think about trying to cover up those marks either. I want everyone to see them." His voice showing his clear pride and seriousness. "Yes sir"
#bucky barns x reader#buckybarnes#xreader#marvel#winter soldier#sebastian stan#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes imagines#bucky barnes x reader#james buchanan barnes#daddy bucky#y/n#bucky x y/n#imagines
148 notes
·
View notes
Text
Spaces Between Us Chapter 6: History
The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.
A Captain Swan Modern AU
***Brief mentions of past physical and emotional abuse and alcohol abuse. Brief mentions of death/loss/grief.***
Reminder that more tags will apply to later chapters and i’ll put warnings where they're necessary, but if you have any concerns or questions feel free to message me!
Weekly updates will be on Tuesdays! (probably)
This chapter is dedicated to AnaSmallGrace because they guessed the title/chapter titles correctly lol.
Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly, and to @donteattheappleshook and @xhookswenchx for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3
Read the Rest
Read on Ao3
Read my Other Stuff
If you want me to add you to or remove you from my tag list please let me know!
Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor
~~~~
She didn’t mean to fall asleep, but when she stirs at the feeling of soft lips pressing damp kisses down her spine, meeting each vertebrae as his fingers tickle against her ribs, she realizes she hasn’t slept this soundly in years. He murmurs, “good morning,” against her skin and she groans in response.
“More sleep,” she whines into the plush pillow.
“What time do you need to pick up Henry?”
She presses up onto her elbows with a start, frantically looking around the room for some indication as to what time it is. “12:30,” she tells him, looking back with wide, anxious eyes.
He smiles and says, “worry not, love. It’s only just after 10.” He slides up along her body until he can lie beside her and smooth out her hair, kissing her nose gently. “I just wanted to make sure you’d have enough time.”
Breathing out a sigh of relief, she nods and collapses back down on the bed, her face pressed into the pillow. She isn’t sure when they ended up beneath the blankets, but she fell asleep so quickly that she’s sure he could’ve easily moved her without her noticing. “Okay,” she sighs. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asks with a smirk, and she returns it in kind, rolling onto her side so that she’s facing him and able to see the brilliance in his eyes.
“A few things, I guess,” she starts. “Waking me up, making me come so hard that I basically passed out… loving me…” She trails off but can easily see that her point is well taken.
He’s silent for a beat, appearing to be entranced by her words as he gently traces his fingers along her temple and down her cheek, across her neck until he reaches her shoulder and cups it with his hand. “I know we said that we would talk about this later, but… Well, I don’t intend to let you go again, Emma.”
She feels tears pricking at the backs of her eyes and she blinks hard, trying to hold them in. But for the second time today, she isn’t crying because she’s scared or in pain or hopelessly depressed. It’s because she believes him. She trusts him and knows that he means what he says wholeheartedly.
So she curls further onto her side, snuggling close to him and pressing her bare body to his as he wraps his arms around her and holds her in a warm, comforting embrace. She isn’t sure what she can say about the position they’ve found themselves in. It’s not as if she can leave her husband now, despite how she might want to, because she knows what he’s capable of. She thinks that now that they’ve had the conversation about Henry, he’s even more likely to use that against her and keep him from her if she were to try and leave him. And no matter how she feels about Walsh or Killian or even herself, Henry will always be her first priority.
Killian seems to be able to read her shift in mood, so he gently suggests, “let me make you breakfast. If the way your stomach was screaming in your sleep is any indication, I’d assume you haven’t eaten yet today.”
She sighs, laughing just a bit, and nods against his chest, feeling his coarse hair tickling her cheek. “Don’t you have to go to work?”
“Not until 1.”
With a contented hum, she smiles up at him and playfully says, “plenty of time to get your story straight. Ruby warned me that she’d be bothering you all night for details.”
“Details… bloody hell, woman, tell me you didn’t go to Ruby for my address.”
She giggles as his fingers brush along her waist, trailing from her hip to her ribs and back down again. “I needed the damn train!”
“Aye, the damn train,” he says with feigned irritation as he kisses the tip of her nose. “Heaven forbid the lad is without his train for a few hours,” he jokes.
“I didn’t want to go home,” she says with more honesty and seriousness, a blush creeping up her cheeks and down her chest. “And once I had an excuse to see you, well…”
He hums thoughtfully and kisses her softly. “I know what you mean.”
“I guess I didn’t expect our meeting to end like this, not that I'm complaining.”
He laughs against her mouth and nods before murmuring, “let me make you breakfast, aye?”
With a nod and a happy sigh, and asks, “can I use your shower quick? I’d rather not smell like sex when I pick up my kid from kindergarten.”
Another kiss later, he says, “of course, love. I’d be happy to provide some support in there as well; I know sometimes that temperature valve can be difficult to navigate.”
She sits up in bed, taking the thin sheet with her to cover her breasts, and turns to face him. “I’m sure it can be. You really did a number on me, too. I’m so exhausted that I might need some help soaping up.”
He smirks and raises a brow, watching as she stands and growling as he chases her into the bathroom.
~~~~
She’s glad that it’s the middle of the morning on a Monday, because that means his neighbors hopefully aren’t home and weren’t able to hear the rather noisy shower they took. Surely the sounds coming out of her were traveling through the pipes, but she couldn’t exactly keep quiet while he fucked her against the wall of the shower.
She’s also not sure how she’ll go on with her day when he keeps planting kisses to her neck as he stands behind her, holding her hips while she tries her damndest to flip the pancakes before they burn. “You've gotta stop,” she groans, panting as his fingers slide around her front and trace the zipper of her jeans.
“But you’re so irresistible,” he murmurs.
“I don’t have time to shower again.”
He hums against her neck, licking along the sensitive spot just below her ear, and says, “you don't have to leave for an hour.”
“Killian…” she giggles. “Grab me a plate.”
He does, holding it out for her so that she can place the pancakes on it before he presses a tender kiss on her cheek and says, “thank you, love.” She hums in question and he responds, “I believe I promised you breakfast, and here you are preparing it.”
“Well,” she shrugs, taking her own plate and carrying it to his small table. “I am a mother now. Breakfast foods are my specialty. Henry’s particularly fond of scrambied eggies.”
“I’m sure they're delicious,” he nods, smiling as he pours syrup over his pancakes and then offers it to her. “He’s quite the character.”
With a smile, she says, “my pride and joy. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I can imagine,” he smiles back. He cuts into the pancake with his fork and takes a bite, humming and smiling around them at her. “Is he… is he why you stay?”
With a gulp and a bite of her own, if only so that she can avoid answering for a moment longer, she nods. “Walsh doesn’t want much to do with him, but he’s spiteful. He would keep him from me just because he can. He thinks he has to maintain his perfect family image if he has any hopes for reelection”
He’s silent for a moment, and she can see the way he bites the inside of his cheek to try and keep quiet. “Aye,” he finally says. “I suppose there isn’t much I can say about staying with someone who isn’t good for you.”
She’s surprised that he’s bringing this up, but supposes it had to be addressed at some point. “In your case, it was going back to that person.”
“I didn’t feel I had much of a choice.”
“I know. I wanted you to stay and you didn’t want to hear it. It’s okay.”
“I heard you, love,” he argues. “I just… I had to go.”
“Then how can you say you heard me?” She takes another bite, trying to remain calm and keep this a discussion rather than an argument. “I wanted you to stay for your own good, Killian. He was abusive to you your whole life; you didn’t owe him anything.”
She hasn’t thought about this in detail in years, but is brought back to one of their final conversations easily. “Liam died,” he says by way of explanation, and she nods. It’s impossible to not be empathetic for his loss, but six years ago when he impulsively decided to take his late brother’s place and care for their dying father despite how badly he’d abused his sons, she lost it.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“What happened to Brennan?”
“He died,” he says casually, with little obvious emotion surrounding his father’s death. “Last year. And… well, you were right. I couldn’t handle it; I drank the whole time I was there. I felt sorry for myself-- I had lost Liam, I lost you… I couldn’t handle it.”
She puts her fork down and takes his hand, although he refuses to look up from his plate. “Killian, alcoholism runs in your family.”
“I know. And after I found out how Liam died… I don't know. I-- I’ll be honest, Swan, I wanted you to come with me so badly; I resented you for not coming.”
In surprise, she says, “Killian, I couldn't condone what you were doing. I know how much it hurt to know that Liam was drunk driving, when you thought he was your perfect older brother. I know you felt like you had to take his place as the prodigal son. But Brennan abused the two of you your whole lives. I couldn’t let you go back to him after what he’d done to you; he didn’t deserve it and neither did you.”
“I know that, looking back.”
His father must’ve died a slow and painful death if he’d only passed away a year ago. Cirrhosis of the liver is bad enough, and when he refused to stop drinking despite his prognosis, Killian became enraged. He refused to speak to his father, and lashed out at his brother who saw it as his duty to care for the dying man despite years of torturous abuse. She thought he had his head on his shoulders when she found out how angry he was with Liam for caring for their father when he deserved the opposite.
But then, Liam died. Killian had no idea that his brother struggled with alcoholism just as his father had, as it was easy to hide from across an ocean. But when he found out that his brother, the man he idolized endlessly, died as a result of driving drunk, he spiraled and became someone she hardly recognized. He began drinking himself, although not quite enough to be concerning, and eventually determined that, in order to do right by his brother, he had to take his place in caring for their father.
She couldn’t watch him destroy himself for the man he hated. So she gave him an ultimatum, and he chose his path.
He didn’t choose her.
“When Liam died, you lost yourself,” she says, explaining her thoughts to herself as much as she is to him. “I wanted to help you find yourself again but you wouldn’t let me. I just couldn’t sit and watch you go back to that life of abuse; even if he was too weak to hit you or burn you with his cigarettes, I’m sure he got on just fine with the verbal abuse.”
“How is that any different from me letting you go back home to your husband with that bloody bruise on your wrist? I’m sure he isn’t any kinder to you than my father was to me.” he argues, and she's taken aback, her eyes widening.
“Don’t throw that in my face,” she returns. “I don’t have a choice just like you thought you didn’t. Only I have a son to think about.”
He sighs and finally looks up at her. “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I just… I don't know. I regret leaving every day, and I have since the moment I boarded that damn plane. The moment I shut the door to our apartment. But sometimes I can't help but think, if I hadn’t, perhaps you wouldn’t have your boy.”
She nods, and in her refusal of his past suspicions, she says, “I wouldn’t.”
“But perhaps you also wouldn’t have your husband.”
She nods again. She doesn’t blame him, and she tries not to blame herself either, but he’s right. If he hadn’t left, she wouldn’t have gone out a month later and slept with the first guy who looked at her. So, again, she says more sadly, “I wouldn’t.”
“Double edged sword, I suppose.”
She smiles sadly and nods. There’s silence between them for a few moments before she considers what they've been through, where he’s been, and asks, “if he died a year ago, what… how did you find me?”
He shrugs and blushes. “I didn’t mean to, actually. I came back to Boston looking for you and had no such luck. Then one night I ran into Elsa at a bar and she told me you were gone, that you left years ago, right after I did, and… I don't know. Something broke in me and I quit drinking-- for the most part. I decided I had to leave Boston and took the first job I could find, and it happened to be here.”
She gives him a small smile and asks, “did you intend to try and win me back?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
His serious tone in response to her joking one is surprising, but she knows he’s telling the truth. She knows he would've been successful, too, if she’d been single when they met again. Hell, he’s successful now.
“I can’t leave him yet, Killian. I want to, but it’s not… I need to put Henry first.”
“I know,” he says sadly.
“But that doesn’t mean… I mean…” she sighs. “Just-- I know this is selfish of me to ask of you but, well, I never-- Killian, I never got over you,” she gulps. “I have every intention of leaving him when I can and when I know that it’s safe to do so. And when I do… I mean, I was hoping--”
“Emma,” he interrupts, taking her hand. “I love you. I told you already, I don't intend to lose you again. I want to build the life with you that we’ve always planned on having. Just… Now, there's a little lad involved, as well.”
With tears in her eyes, she meets his and says, “even though he isn’t yours?”
“He’s yours. That’s enough for me.” She grins at him and stands, leaning over the table until she meets his lips in a soft, meaningful kiss. “But Emma, love, you’ve got to promise me that you’ll stay safe. If he hurts you again, or if he tries to hurt the boy…”
“He won't. He isn’t usually like that, he won't do it again. And he’d have to pay attention to Henry in order to be any threat to him.”
“Swan…”
“I love you, too.”
He laughs lightly and kisses her once more. “Of all the ways I imagined us being together again, an extramarital affair wasn’t on the list.”
She giggles, cradling his head in her hands, and says, “it’s kinda hot, though.”
With a soft scoff and a shake to his head, he rolls his eyes and kisses her chastely before standing up and taking her empty plate. “Come,” he says, “we need to come up with whatever story I’m going to be feeding Ruby all night.”
~~~~
“It’s so beautiful, Emma,” Mary Margaret coos as she shows her photos of the house they’ll be renting in just a few weeks time. “When David suggested we get away, I was just so excited.”
“It’s lovely,” she nods, smiling softly up at her sister as she picks at her salad.
“Mommy, I need more cheppy.”
“Ketchup, bub. Here.”
Henry hums happily as he dips his nuggets into the ketchup, making animated sounds as each dinosaur perishes as he takes a bite.
“You’ve hardly touched your lunch,” her sister complains after a moment, looking at her nearly full plate in disappointment. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says back. “I just had a late breakfast.”
Mary Margaret screws up her face in surprise and says, “you never eat breakfast.”
She shrugs. “Well, today I did.”
“What did you have, mommy? Cheeries, like me?”
“You had Cheerios, my love. I had pancakes.”
“Pancakes?! I want pancakes! You never let me have pancakes on a school day!”
“You must've been in a good mood if you decided to make yourself pancakes.”
Emma shoots her sister a discerning look, furrowing her brows, and shrugs. “Maybe I was.”
“That’s new,” she says, laughing when Emma tosses her napkin at her. “I’m sorry, but come on,” she laughs. “You’ve been miserable for months. What’s changed?”
“Nothing,” she mumbles immediately. “Oh, Henry, I got your train. Here you go.”
With wide eyes, he gasps in excitement and snatches it from her, hugging it to his chest. “You found Tommy! Thank you, mommy! Where was he?”
“Was Tommy missing?”
“Mommy left him in her coat and then she lost it,” he snitches.
“Wasn’t that the coat you wore out? You didn’t leave it at the bar, did you?”
She lets her jaw hang open just a bit too long before shaking her head and explaining, lying, “no, uh, I was… ya know…” she says, giving her sister a knowing look. “A little out of my head when I got home that night. Forgot where I put it.”
Mary Margaret hums and nods her head before saying, “you know, I think I saw the sheriff there that night.”
Henry gasps again, his gray eyes wider than she’s ever seen them, and asks, “mommy, do you know the sheriff?”
She gulps again, choking on her breath, and says, “yeah, I do.”
“You do?” her sister asks, and she wants to kick her under the table.
“Yes, Henry,” she says pointedly. “The sheriff and I are friends. How were your chicken nuggets?”
“They’re dinosaur-ies.”
“Dinosaurs.”
“Yeah.”
She smiles at him fondly and says, “I love you,” before she can stop the words from slipping past her lips.
He smiles back at her and returns, “I love you too, mommy. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, baby. I just wanted you to know that I love you.”
Based on the way her sister is staring at her, she thinks she may have made a mistake opening her mouth.
“Are we going to get Leo?”
“Yeah,” she laughs. “Auntie M’s, are we going to go get Leo?”
She hums and picks up her plate, grabbing Emma's as well and shaking her head at how much salad is left. “I’m sure we should. Ashley is probably sick of him by now.”
~~~~
Arriving at the station should feel like any other day, but when he walks in, Ruby smirks at him. And he’s just about had it before he even gets to his office.
“Morning, sheriff,” she says salaciously, wriggling her brows.
“It’s 1 pm.”
“Right.”
“What?”
She shrugs and giggles to herself, looking back at her computer screen with wide eyes and a hidden smile. ”How’s your friend?”
“Ruby,” he starts, groaning as he tosses his keys onto his desk, sitting down forcefully and dropping his head onto his forearms.
She follows him into his office, despite him desperately hoping she won’t, and places a printed sheet of paper onto his desk.
“What’s this?” he asks, picking it up and staring at the sheet that makes no sense.
“Something I found while I was bored today. My boss made me work a double.”
“Ruby,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Sometimes you just have to work a double. I’m sorry, but when you're the only deputy, it sort of comes with the territory. What did you find?”
“Yeah, whatever,” she rolls her eyes. “Look at the name on the account.”
He looks down at the sheet she’s given him and, at the top corner, sees a name. Walsh Oswald.
Bloody hell.
“How’d you get this?”
She ignores him, giving him a look that tells him that perhaps he doesn’t want to know. “That’s a lot of money,” she remarks obviously, nodding towards the printout. He isn't sure how she got access to his transfer records, but he must admit, he’s impressed, despite the fact that it’s likely inadmissible. Either way, it’s a start.
“Aye. Where does it come from?”
“I don't know. But I have a feeling we should do some police work.”
~~~~
~~~~
#tw#tw alcohol abuse#tw past abuse#tw death#all mentions of these things#captain swan fanfic#cs ff#spaces between us#spaces ff#cs ff au#captain swan au#killian jones#emma swan#ouat ff#ouat ff au
56 notes
·
View notes
Text
falling feels like flying ['til the bone crush]
Someone should revoke her title.
They’re trying, Emma supposes. Inevitable death probably means people can’t call her savior anymore, but they shouldn’t call her that now and that’s almost entirely because of what an absolute and complete liar she is. Telling Killian she would have done the same after he admitted he didn’t get rid of the shears isn’t her most massive lie, although it might be her most ridiculous. And they both know it’s not true. She wouldn’t do the same thing, she has. More than once.
AN: That gif has nothing to do with the story! Here is approximately 3.5K where I once again force Emma and Killian to acknowledge their trauma. Not in the Underworld this time, though! So maybe we’re all evolving here. I blame this gif set, which I saw this morning and felt compelled to write something about. Maybe that evolution is also a lie, actually.
———
“I lied.”
Killian hums, exhaustion clinging to the sound, and Emma understands that. Less so why she’s talking right now, but neither one of those words seemed particularly interested in preserving the quiet calm of this particular moment, and she’s never been a lightweight quite like this. In more ways than one, she supposes. Hazy thoughts drift through her brain, muddled as it is by buttered rum and the steady flicker of flames in the fireplace because naturally this is the sort of house that has multiple fireplaces, and she burrows her face closer.
To Killian’s chest.
Takes a deep breath, not quite slow, but maybe a little greedy, and they ordered both things. Pizza and Chinese, half-finished egg rolls and beheaded slices of cheese with extra peppers strewn across the coffee table because Emma always likes that extra bit of crust and Killian’s nothing if not a frustratingly endearing sort of pushover.
With her, especially.
She closes her eyes.
“I lied,” Emma repeats, “in the hospital, I mean. Wrong verb tense.”
“You’re not making any sense at all, darling.”
Her nose must be cold — if the way Killian tenses as soon as it brushes his skin is any indication, but Emma knows it’s far more than that and far deeper than that and she might be the world’s biggest idiot. Looming death does that to a person, she supposes.
Breathing isn’t particularly easy. And that’s not only because she ate four pizza slices worth of crust. Still, using death as an excuse again seems like an emotional crutch and an unreasonable reason, her muddled mind capable of clinging to every single letter in that particular endearment. It might be her favorite.
She’s not sure she’s ever told him that.
Stupid, really.
“I told you that I get it; what you did today, and that part’s definitely true. But, uh, the rest of it. That I would have done the same thing? Total lie, right? I mean, I did it. That’s what happened.”
Nothing. Just flickering flames and the quiet hum of a TV, neither one of them has been interested in actually watching all night. Emma doesn’t even know what channel they’re on. For all she knows, the remote’s in the kitchen.
She counts inhales. Tries to keep her exhales measured, most of her face still pressed into the collar of Killian’s shirt as it is. And it takes about five full seconds before his hand moves, starts tracing a calm line up her spine, following that path until he reaches the base of her neck and the goosebumps that have already exploded on her skin and oxygen is overrated anyway. Holding her breath as soon as his fingers card through the ends of hair is basically instinct at this point.
“Felt wrong to point that out at the time,” he mutters, “all things considered.”
“Been kind of a long day.”
“Reuniting with long-lost relatives will do that.”
Scoffing is not the best reaction. Nothing about this is funny. Includes far too much death and dismay, and Emma’s gaze flickers up. Of its own accord and something much deeper, like the absolute refusal to accept a world where he does not exist.
Goddamn Captain Hook.
She loves him so much sometimes she thinks she’ll simply burst with the force of it all.
It’s a gross thought, honestly.
And they’ve already spent far too much time in the hospital today.
“Is he ok? Li—” Cutting herself off, Emma grits her teeth, but one side of Killian’s mouth is already tugging up, and the kiss that lands on her forehead is as soft as anything. Maybe bursting isn’t so bad, actually. So long as she can come up with another word for it. “God, that’s so weird.”
Killian hums. “Indeed.”
“Thoughts, feelings, et cetera?”
“Vast. And none of them particularly pleasant.”
“Seems fair. That sort of day, huh?”
“Indeed.”
They need more blankets. Need more things that are theirs in a collective sort of way, but that’s a dangerous and disingenuous train of thought, and Emma’s fingers twitch towards the fire. To ward off the sudden chill that’s settled between her shoulder blades, and it almost works, but it does absolutely nothing to help the sway of her stomach and the acid lingering in the back of her throat, threatening to burn far more than what these meager flames are able to do.
“Should have finished high school,” Emma mumbles, “then I could choose more accurate verb tenses from my inevitably vast vocabulary. Did. Have done. Would do again, several thousand times over.”
“That’s the future tense.”
None of his words come with any kind of pointed emotion, but Emma hears it all the same. Can see the tightness that lingers in the corners of his mouth and the way he’s holding his shoulders, straight as a line, and some joke about rigging that she no intention of making, and the furrow between his brows makes every muscle in her chest twist. Ache too, for good measure.
With the promise of everything she wants to say and everything she hasn’t or can’t and—
Fuck magic, quite honestly. And the rules no one’s bothered to mention until now. Seems like poor planning on everybody’s part.
“You heard me.”
“I did,” Killian agrees lightly, and his hand has never actually stopped moving. It’s nice. Steady. Something Emma can almost nearly time her breathing too. “I would also choose that particular tense. If given the choice, that is.”
“Do you not think you have that?”
“I don’t particularly enjoy the thought. I’m rather partial to the option of whim, you see. Pirate and all that. We don’t much abide by schedules and fated decision.”
“Seems like it’d be in the by-laws.”
“Well, by-laws by their very nature are rather contradictory to the entire pirate notion, but you’ve got the gist of it at least.”
Emma laughs. Doesn’t quite regret the sound, even as out of place as it is — just presses it into the edge of Killian’s shirt and the buttons he never bothers to do, trying to brandh the smell of him and the feel of him into every corner of her memory and she’s not really sure what happens after. Once the prophecy is fulfilled, and all that.
She’s got too much unfinished business.
To totally leave this particular plane of reality.
She doesn’t mention that either. Not when the crux of that business is breathing steadily under her hand, and Emma can’t remember when she moved her hand, only that Killian’s warm under her touch, and he’s always so much warmer. Than just about anything else she’s aware of.
“I thought you were dead.”
Of all the things Emma expects to happen in the midst of this night and this moment — and it’s really not a very long list, admittedly — that did not even make the cut. Wasn’t a consideration or a fledgling idea in the back of her mind, several different vertebrae almost audibly objecting when she jerks her head up. To find Killian staring straight ahead, lips not much more than a thin line across his face.
Seriously, the rigging jokes almost write themselves. Which is more than Emma can say about her clearly piece of shit list, as metaphorical as it might be.
“I don’t—”
“—When I saw you,” Killian interrupts, and none of the words shake. Come out like a stream of consciousness and memories neither one of them have able to shake yet. Or talk about. Can’t possibly be healthy. “Chained to that stone, blood dripping into my mouth, and then all of a sudden, there you were. Worried I’d simply dreamt you up, couldn’t imagine how you looked quite that lovely in that hell hole, otherwise.”
“Oh, that’s kind of insulting, actually.”
“Hair like the bloody sun.”
“Better,” Emma murmurs. Reaching up, her fingers tangle with the charms around his neck. Pieces of luck and trinkets she hasn’t learned all the stories to yet. The idea that she won’t makes her nauseous. “You told me ‘you shouldn’t be here.’”
“Aye, and I meant it.”
“Because you thought…”
“Living people don’t often appear in such a God awful place, do they? Not without something tragic happening, and my mind was impressively efficient on that front.”
“Which one is that?”
“Every threat that’s ever lingered, every person I would have gladly run through if it meant you were safe. Half of goddamn Camelot.”
Emma might snicker. Killian’s arm tightens, though. And that’s all she’s really worried about. “I think I could have taken Arthur. Y’know if it had come to that.”
“Likely not a very good swordsman,” Killian nods, but that’s only so his lips can trace Emma’s temple and the top of her hair. More than once. Like he’s still making sure. “Pampered prince—”
“—He was totally a king, babe. That’s like...the most basic Camelot knowledge.”
“Ask me in five minutes if I care at all about anything to do with Camelot.”
“Should I time it, or…”
He scoffs. Presses another half dozen kisses to any spot he can reach, and he can actually reach a fair amount of places. Emma’s impressed. Swooning too, but also pretty impressed. “I kept thinking about you,” Killian says, softer than the last few words have been, and it sounds like an admission and another promise, and it’s weird that it can be both. At the same time. “This house. What it was and wasn’t. All those possible verb tenses.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Ah, that’s not your fault, love. None of this is, really, but—well, it did make it so seeing you, realizing you were there...left all of those thoughts crashing down around my ears, so to speak. Falling apart, like an avalanche of what hadn’t been and what I still wanted so desperately. No matter what Hades did.”
“Stupid stubborn.”
“I believe there’s something about a pot and a kettle in this realm.”
“Don’t have that cliche in the Enchanted Forest, huh?”
“Not that I’m aware of, no.”
“Maybe you just didn’t go to a good college.”
“Tell me every Greek word you know,” Killian challenges, and Emma rolls her eyes. Ignores the first few flutters of a headache brewing at the base of her skull. “It didn’t seem fair.”
“Which part?”
“All of it is also rather vast, but mostly that if you were there, then it happened again.”
Narrowing her eyes, Emma tries to piece together those letters and the syllables they make, only to be marginally annoyed when she can’t make sense of them. Killian kisses the bridge of her nose.
She might have to go get Tylenol soon.
“Losing you without fighting, without challenge the goddamn reaper myself, was worse than anything He could have done,” Killian continues, and he doesn’t have to be more specific. “Worse than whatever pain I’ve ever suffered. Cut off twenty more limbs; it wouldn’t even come close.”
“Do you have that many?”
“Your humor lacks a little something; you know that, Swan?”
“It’s a defense mechanism.”
He noses at her hair. Drags the soft hum of what could very well be either an agreement or the opposite, or maybe even the sort of deep-rooted understanding that’s allowed him to sneak his way into the center of everything, across her skin. The specifics don’t matter, only that Emma’s magic roars under her skin, an inferno, and a symphony, meeting the challenge that no one has really laid down yet.
“Do that again,” Killian mutters, a low chuckle as Emma’s scratches at his side.
“I’m not sure I can, honestly.”
“Pity.”
“Something like that, yeah. And you’re not totally right, you know?”
“Ah, and that’s almost rude.”
“I’m serious,” Emma says, “that’s—none of that was your fault either.”
Tilting his head only ensures that several strands of hair he still hasn’t bothered to cut fall almost artfully across his forehead, and Emma is grateful to a variety of gods, Greek or otherwise, that Killian doesn’t mention how much her hand shakes. When she tries to brushes them away. His hook finds her wrist instead, cool metal against freezing cold skin, and the state of her tongue is going to be a problem. Large as it is in Emma’s mouth, making it all but impossible to properly swallow while Killian’s lips sweep the bend of her knuckles.
“Charmer.”
“Aye, that’s my endgame.” There’s not enough room between them for him to run his hand across his face like Emma knows he wants to, and part of that isn’t really a bad thing, but the rest just seems like another entirely unfair thing, and Emma knows the rest is coming. Makes tears burn her eyes all the same. “They were just...gone, you understand? No chance to do anything about it. One moment they were living and breathing. Then Liam was dead. Slumped in my arms in the corner of a cabin he was supposed to spend the rest of his career in. He—he would have been a very good captain.”
“So are you,” Emma says, fierce and determined, and Killian kisses in the inside of her palm. She’s moved her hand again. To cup his cheek.
“For a time, maybe. But then she was gone too, and I thought I could feel it, you know. The exact way her heart crumbled in his hand, tiny bits of dust that I never wanted to blow off the deck. Like some of her still managed to stay. Is that—” The muscles in his throat move, jaw clenching, and Emma has to blink. She hopes the moisture on her cheeks isn’t tears. She’s not sure what’s a better option, really. “Must sound daft.”
“No. I—I get that too.”
“Do you?”
“Not the only one who’s watched Rumplestilskin hold the heart of someone you loved.”
He can’t be holding his breath. His chest is moving much too quickly, but the burst of air that all but flies out of Killian is enough to ruffle the ends of Emma’s hair and possibly even dry some of the tears she’s still refusing to acknowledge, and she can’t get closer to him.
She makes an admirable effort all the same.
Like occupying the same few inches of space will ensure that she stays there.
“Did you—” Killian starts, looking almost pained as the words war for his voice on the tip of his tongue. “Did you like her?”
That didn’t make the list, either. It’s entirely possible that Emma is just garbage at making lists. She nods. “Anyone who loves you as much as I do is fine with me. Better than, even.”
His expression shifts again. Light lingers in his gaze, cautious hope, and misplaced optimism, gears whirring in his head that Emma can’t almost convince herself she hears. Her verb tense was on purpose that time.
That’s a confidence boost, all things considered.
“She was something fierce,” Killian says, sounding reminiscent and not as sad as Emma has worried he must be. “Once she got away from him. Could get a grown man to do her bidding with a single look, the kind of glare that’d set you on fire from the inside out. It was—they loved her too. Men on the ship, would have followed her to the ends of the Earth if she’d asked. Probably even if she hadn’t.”
His next inhale becomes an exhale almost immediately.
“She never would have asked,” Killian adds, almost entirely to himself, but then his eyes are back on Emma, and they’re a little glossy and just as blue and she’s holding her breath now. “She liked you too, I know it.”
“I think she thought I was crazy, actually. Gold didn’t really have much tact in the...introductions.”
“Ah.”
“Right?”
“Right,” he echoes, a pale imitation of her voice that makes Emma’s cheeks ache. From smiling. Legitimately smiling. Huh. “But I suppose that’s part of it, though. She was there again, and I—”
“—I’m sorry. For...for all of it.”
“Still not your fault, love.”
“How did you know?” she asks, and her voice doesn’t sound much like her either. Wobbles and warbles and some other word that fits the alliteration. “About me. And not being…”
“Dead?” Killian’s eyebrows jump. “Strawberries.”
“Excuse me?”
“That soap you use in your hair. Smells like strawberries, or strawberry adjacent maybe. Manufactured just a bit. I think it’s my favorite smell in the world.”
“Backhanded compliment.”
“No, no,” Killian shakes his head. His hair moves again. “It’s not. It’s—well, it’s you, love. Smells like everything that you are and—”
“—I’m manufactured?”
“If you let me finish,” he chides, and Emma all but yanks her lips behind her teeth, “It smells like home. Smells like falling asleep next to you and a distinct lack of blankets.” He nips at the tip of her nose. She scoffs again; that’s why. “And your distractingly cold feet, and leather jackets, and how the smell clings to the collars, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve worn them. Lingers on your pillow too, and the fronts of my shirt. You fall asleep against me quite often, you know that.”
“Can sleep anywhere,” Emma reasons. “Might be my greatest talent.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“If I call you charmer again, will you hold it against me for lack of synonyms?”
“Tell me how charming I am again.”
Emma scrunches her nose. “Now it sounds like my dad.”
“Let’s leave the prince out of this. He’s only a prince, aye?”
“Far as I know, yeah.”
“Good, good. Strawberries, love. Touching you helped too, though. If we’re being frank.”
“Anything except blunt force honesty seems silly now, doesn’t it?”
Killian nods. Slow and measured, like anything else will snap this tenuous peace, and maybe they can just sleep on the couch. Getting up is an impossible prospect right now. Maybe they can make out a little before they fall asleep.
“It’s a very big house,” Emma whispers, and they should really figure out a schedule for conversations like this. Talking about it all at once is exhausting.
“It is.”
“You don’t want to expand upon that?”
“Oh, I want a great number of things I shouldn’t,” Killian admits, “but as much as I appreciate this fresh round of honesty we’re engaging in, the false hope would—”
“—There’s no such thing,” Emma interrupts. “False hope. It’s an oxymoron, ask my mother. And I think you should get some sort of crew again.”
“How would you suggest I populate such a thing?”
She shrugs. Nearly hits Killian in the chin in the process. “Untold stories. Dwarves.”
“I will not have dwarves on my ship.”
“See, I knew you’d have opinions. And there was a possessive pronoun in there that time.”
“Was there not before?”
“No,” she says. “Just called it the ship. Like it’s not the most important thing you have.”
“Well, it’s not.”
Emma’s cheeks warm. “That was very smooth.”
“Someone did guarantee I was a very good captain earlier.” Space continues to be relatively minimal between them, but Killian’s nothing if not adaptable, and he works with what he’s got. Swinging Emma’s legs perpendicular over his, she’s nearly sitting on his lap, an arm slung over his shoulders, which makes it even easier to get her fingers into his hair and his head to rest against hers, and he takes another deep breath. “I know you understand, Emma,” he says, soft and serious, and she doesn’t bother doing anything except cling to him. With everything she’s got left. “All of it, from the very start. So I don’t think I’ll apologize, actually. For what I’ve done, or what I’d still be willing to do. I won’t give up on you, do you understand me?”
“Didn’t,” Emma says, only a little optimistic that’s the right verb tense. Maybe she can get her GED, or something. Before all of this ends. “In Camelot, or after. Accept or acknowledge, and I probably would have—”
Announcing that killing Gold for what he’d done to Killian regularly crossed her mind in the twenty-four hours or so before they finally made it to the Underworld doesn’t really have the right sentiment for this conversation. Far too violent, and just as honest.
She’d consider killing him now, too.
For everything he’s doing, and everything he hasn’t, and she should have shoved him in that river.
Killian doesn’t smile. At least not in a way that reaches his eyes, the same ones that are looking at Emma again, all blue and earnest, and his shoulders shift. When her fingers graze his chin, more than stubble there because, she imagines, spending a day or so underwater with a sibling he only sort of wants and kind of knows doesn’t leave much time for facial-type grooming.
It’s a good look, though.
Most of them are, in Emma’s experience.
“This entire time,” she continues, “you haven’t given up on me yet.”
“Works both ways, darling.”
“That one crosses realms, huh?”
“Pick up things spending so much time with you.”
There’s nothing extra in the words. No sap-filled sentiment or promises she’s only a little hopeful will become actions. And they haven’t talked about the rest; might not even have time, but Emma will let herself think about all these empty rooms anyway, of the exact shade Killian’s eyes go when he stands at the helm, and she hopes he doesn’t cut his hair. Not yet, at least. Longer strands make it easier to touch him, to leave a lasting mark, and settle into his center the same way he’s taken root in hers.
They fall asleep on the couch.
#cs ff#captain swan#cs fic#captain swan fic#captain swan ff#laura writes canon#force characters to talk 2k4ever#also remember when i wanted to write about killian not getting to see milah in the underworld?#have some of that here too#just for fun
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Fever That Burns
I don't want to hear a word-- this wasn't even my idea. This is all @genevievedarcygranger fault. I am a slave to the muse.
Hold on, keep hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times and brace for impact bc you're not gonna like this
No real warnings yet, I think but it's not going to be pretty
Part One:
When Emily Prentiss got the signal from Clyde Easter that she had the green light on getting Declan out of that house and away from Ian Doyle, she never looked back. Creating demons like that, leaving behind a past with men who hold grudges, means that she knew she would be haunted for the rest of her natural life. Her body and her mind will not recover but Declan will. He was a child, he deserved a world that he could not obtain anywhere near his father. She knew that the moment she took Declan, she could never go back. Forever from here on out, she would have to outrun that decision. She has to outrun Ian.
She could feel him closing in. The flowers-- the fucking flowers-- and that feeling in the depth of her gut. She knows he’s here and she didn’t run.
After Foyet, Hotch got sick. A fever that consumed his every thought with these twisted ideas about security while it ravished his healing body of what little energy he could spare. She’d seen it herself, the bloodshot aggravation that Derek threw words like “hypervigilance” and “social isolation” at. Before, she had seen Derek and Hotch go at it but not as much as what that fever caused them to say. The way that they looked at one another, wolves snarling at throats and she never knew which one she could put her back to. Which one to call down.
In the end, hypervigilance won out. Derek was right but he was too insistent, too hurt for her to take him too seriously at first. Then she’d had to work through the tangle of locks on Hotch’s front door, the only control he could formulate in his fever. He never took them down. When Jack came home-- more importantly, when Haley didn’t-- it took every bit of charisma and conviction she could give to convince him he didn’t more. Nothing would happen.
The monsters of the past are dead and they survived.
Nothing is going to happen.
At two in the morning, on the Saturday Hotch had spent the month promising Jack he’d take him to the aquarium, her monster comes knocking. The locks don’t matter-- a fever put them up and a fever brought them down. Ian Doyle stands in the living room of Aaron Hotchner’s apartment, two feet from the carpeted spot Derek Morgan spent an entire day ripping up, and he calls out for the man he knows is somewhere. For the man, and the boy, he can take away from Emily Prentiss the way she took his boy. There is no planning, intelligence breeds paranoia. The fever in Ian Doyle burns bright, strong. He will not be talked down.
The guns in their hands waver. Standing in only his boxers and a dirty white t-shirt, Aaron Hotchner’s hand tremors beyond his control. The sleep is still taking over his body and mind, his muscle haven’t woken enough to control themselves. To stifle the pains of the scars Foyet caused him but he’s there, he’s ready.
“Lower your weapon, Hotchner,” Ian drawls. He’s high as a kite, ready to die by the hands of the oaf in front of him or to take the boy as he plans. Either way… “I’d hate to see that boy of yours come out here. You already killed a man in front of him, how many more do you think it will take before he realizes you’re just like me?”
Hotch scowls, “I don’t even know who you are.”
Ian frowns, blinking for a moment as he takes in the man before him. “I know who you are,” Ian says. He knows everything about Aaron Hotchner. Pulled medical records, smirked into the fine lines of the abuse in his childhood spelled out in broken arms and countless contusions. He’s watched him with Emily, seen how close they are. She cares about him and with that thought Ian Doyle knows what he wants to do. He wants to take everything from her just as she took everything from him.
The gunfire shocks Jack awake, his little heart thundering in his chest as he recognizes the noise. It’s not the first time he’s woken with it but this marks the only time it was real. The only time that it had been a gunshot and not the product of an altogether far too lifelike feeling nightmare. Jack throws the comforter off his body, tearing out of his room with no more than the stuffed bear closest to him. He’s headed for his father’s room, feet carrying him blindly when he hits the living room.
He knows his father’s friends. The men and women he’s grown to call his aunts and uncles and he’d recognize them easily. He spends weekend nights with Uncle Dave on the occasional Saturday being pampered with blueberry waffles and toys. Uncle Derek and Aunt Penny take him to the park, always remembering the sunscreen. Sometimes Uncle Derek gives him his cool sunglasses and Jack feels like he runs so much faster with them on. Aunt JJ and Uncle Will have Henry, his very best friend but he’s also a baby so Jack has to be careful when they play. Aunt Emily comes over all the time and lets him watch Finding Nemo as many times as he wants.
Whoever this man is, Jack does not know him.
“Daddy?”
Ian looks up, leaving the sight of Hotch on the floor without a second thought. His gun still aimed at the downed man’s head. “Jack,” Ian recognizes with a smile. “You’re smaller than I thought.”
Jack can’t tear his eyes away from his father. He’s laid out on the floor, white t-shirt turning red as the blood on his chest expands rapidly down his sides. He doesn’t respond to either of the times Jack calls for him, no more than blinking heavily and making wet, choked sounds as blood pools out of his mouth. It scares Jack. His father is… he’s never lost. Not even with Foyet, Hotch saved Jack. He never burns pancakes and lets Jack get by only eating half the green beans on his plate. He never gets hurt.
“Will you come with me?” Ian asks, stepping into Jack’s line of sight and squatting down in front of the boy. Watching as his eyes move from Hotch and glue to Ian, allowing the man to get close to him. “I’d like it if you came with me, Jack. I think we can have some fun, you and I.”
Jack nods but glances away, “but--” His eyes wander back to his father, those choked sounds getting louder but Hotch doesn’t move. His chest starting to still but his eyes on them, watching Ian talk to Jack but unable to do a thing.
Ian places the gun against the side of Jack’s face, moving his head with light pressure back to him. “Never mind him,” Ian says. “Come with me, Jack.”
Jack nods because he isn’t sure what else to do. He goes with Ian, allowing the man to pick him up in his arms. Jack watches his father as Ian carries him away, confused by the tears streaming down his father’s face.
“Say goodbye to daddy.”
Jack waves and asks, “is he gonna be okay?”
Ian nods, shutting the front door behind them. “Don’t worry about him, Jack. It’s just you and I, now.” He smiles at the boy in his arms, “tell me, how much do you know about you Aunt Emily?”
Taking Declan away from Ian Doyle was a decision that Emily Prentiss promised herself she would never have to be guilty over. That boy deserved so much better than what he had with them and she hadn’t hesitated to put what little she had on the line to guarantee he got the chance at a normal life. Nothing she had was ever worth anything. Lauren Reynolds was just a shell and losing her was easy enough. No place had ever felt like home so moving on-demand hadn’t even crossed her mind as a con, if a place got boring she could just leave. Emily Prentiss had never had anything to lose, not a family or a life. She was, effectively, no one. A ghost. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
Then they came.
The light she had only ever heard about reaching her darkness. She’d pulled away, afraid of what would happen when they saw her ink-black history, and noticed she always had more questions than answers. That she couldn’t smile like Reid and talk about where she came from as if her past was somehow behind her. How Morgan went dancing for the stress relief but she needed a mindless fuck, someone to forget. She found herself gaining traction, finally claiming worth. In the picture Will took at Henry’s birth, throwing up bunny ears behind Hotch’s head. Picking Garcia and Reid up at one of their conventions and hearing about a variety of far too new nerdy things for her to understand. Listening to JJ complain about living with a man and Morgan teasing her about past haircut disasters. Leaning on Hotch’s shoulder as the bourbon takes over, hearing Dave go one and on about his second divorce and Hotch humming occasionally so he feels heard. Realizing just how much she trusts them. All of them.
They give her something to lose and the first rule when outrunning the past-- never have anything worth taking.
“Alright, alright--” Emily stretches long and slow, her phone still wedged under her chin. She can hardly discern the information coming in through the other line. The thoughts in her mind are sticky, webbing of the past gumming up the cogs until she’s not entirely sure what’s being said. “Can you say that again?” she asks, stretching out to her left to feel that familiar pull on her ribs. The movement is nice without a bra on and she’s not sure if it’s JJ or Hotch on the other line but she doesn’t want to put on a bra and it’s tempting to just hang up and play dead. Emily who? She can’t come to the phone right now. You’ll have to call back lat--
“Hotch is in the hospital.”
Oh. All that stretching is for nothing, she can feel the ball of weight forming at the back of her neck. Pressing into her vertebrae, hurting from just holding her head up. “What happened?” Her fingers work into the groove, the chill of her skin shocking her, but the pressure she applies is futile. She imagines a thousand answers to that question but none of them are enough to prepare her for the real answer.
JJ clears her throat, her tears thickening her voice. “Shot,” comes her simple response and Emily is naive enough to consider that’s the end of it. He was shot. They’re going to have to hunt down another serial killer with a grudge but they’ve learned their lesson this time, right? Foyet taught them lessons about themselves that they needed to learn the hard way and they can beat it this time. Hotch will be fine and-- “And Jack’s gone.”
And Jack’s gone.
35 notes
·
View notes
Note
✏ with Wanda and Pietro (not shipping)
Eᴠᴇɴ Mᴏʀᴇ Iɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ Qᴜᴏᴛᴇs Gᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ!
((I’m gonna tag @illbringthechaosmagic and @fasterthanmydemons in case y’all find some of these funny sdfghjdfjh
Pietro: Wanda gave me a get better soon card.
Carter: That's sweet!
Pietro: I wasn't sick, they just think I can do better.
——–
Pietro: I’m afraid of clowns. There, I said it.
Wanda: Pietro, if you don't like clowns, why are you hanging with Carter?
——–
Carter: But what about Pietro?
Wanda: Don't worry about them.
Wanda: I once watched them fall down 5 flights of stairs, stand up, and keep eating their hotdog like nothing happened.
——–
Carter: The clock is ticking! We don't have time for this asinine tomfoolery!
Pietro: This unmitigated poppycock?
Wanda: Extravagant hogwash!
Carter: Okay, stop.
——–
Carter: Protip is you do not feel good about yourself after eating tomato sauce on iceberg lettuce.
Wanda: What's wrong with you??
Carter: I literally JUST said I ate tomato sauce on iceberg lettuce?? Pay attention.
Pietro: No, they mean other than that.
Carter: Ohhhhhh.
Carter: I haven't slept in 4 days.
——–
Carter: Guess what number I’m thinking of.
Pietro: 420?
Carter: No, that’s really immature of you. Someone else guess, and please take this seriously.
Wanda: 69.
Carter: Yeah it was 69.
——–
Carter: Pietro, what do you have?
Pietro: A KNIFE!
Carter: Okay, have fu-
Wanda: NO!
——–
Wanda: It's locked. You got a lock pick?
Carter: Yeah-
Pietro: *kicks in the door*
——–
Pietro: Carter won’t come out of their room!
Wanda: Just tell them I said something.
Pietro: Like what?
Wanda: Anything factually incorrect.
Pietro, shrugging: If you say so.
Carter, arriving moments later: Did you just say the sun is a PLANET?
——–
Pietro: Wanda is off at an appointment, so while they’re gone, I’m going to cut the sleeves off all of my shirts.
Carter: Why?
Pietro: They’re like 90% of my impulse control.
——–
Carter: What are you writing?
Pietro: The government wants to know what kind of weapons we have in the house. I'm letting them know it's private information.
Wanda, looking over Pietro's shoulder: This just says 'fuck around and find out' in calligraphy.
——–
Carter: Pietro got into a fight.
Wanda: That’s bad.
Wanda:
Wanda: Did they win?
——–
Wanda to Pietro: Me? I'm the bee knees, but, you? You're just...
Carter: Cockroach ankles!
Wanda: Ye- uh, what?
——–
Carter: I’m telling you, my team is competent.
Wanda, rushing in: Carter! Pietro tried to make pasta in the coffee pot and now it's broken!
——–
Carter: What did you two do?
Wanda:
Pietro:
Carter: You’re not in trouble, I just need to know if I have to lie to the police again or not.
——–
Carter: We’re playing Scrabble. It’s a nightmare.
Pietro: Scrabble? Scrabble’s great.
Carter: Not when you’re playing with Wanda, it’s not. They put words like “ephemeral” and I put “dog.”
——–
Pietro: I think I did fairly well on my anatomy quiz! :)
Carter: I forgot I was doing a test.
Pietro: Carter.
Carter: I said the vertebrae was the back stick because I thought it was funny....
Wanda: Carter.
——–
Pietro: Do you think different paints have different tastes?
Carter: They do.
Wanda: ...Why did you say that with such certainty?
——–
Carter: Wanda, gather the others. We need to have another Pietro-is-doing-something-stupid-again-and-we-have-to-stop-them-before-they-hurt-someone convention.
——–
Wanda: Carter and I were crossing the street, and this man drove by and honked at us.
Pietro: What did you do?
Wanda: They chased him to the next red light, and reached into his window, and-
Carter: *walking in* Who wants a steering wheel?
#asks#anons#incorrect quotes#((I did a few more than usual because these are great sdfgkjhdfsg))#((also I got a few I actually hadn't seen before))#((also also thank you for clarifying about the no shipping thing!! honestly since you sent both I would've gone without it anyway lol#but it definitely helps!))
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Night we met ...Part 2
This needs a title and I need help.
Warnings: Swearing and a tease spoon of violent behavior. New characters.
Elijah x female reader
Bolds are thoughts
Like, comment or reblog 🤗😘
English not my first language 😳
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two days had gone by since he met her. He should’ve gone after her as she made her swift exit. He wanted to but something inside him stopped him, ‘maybe it was for the best’ he thought biting his lower lip. Elijah had left the bar not long after when he stepped on something with his shoe, he had broken a card . Looking down to investigate he smiled widely. He bent to take the item , in his hand was Y/N ID badge from the hospital she must have dropped it on her way out. Apparently he had broken what held it together. At first he didn’t know what to make of it, upon closer inspection it looked like a vertebrae with a bow and a happy face. ‘Adorable just like her’, he smiled again and after carefully wrapping it on his handkerchief he placed the little treasure on his suit pocket . He went by the hospital to find her but she was off duty and although he could’ve compelled anyone to tell him when she was going to be back he found himself not wanting to. He would go to the hospital and try his luck again today , if fate wanted him to meet her then so be it, if not he would not pursue her anymore. ‘I can’t wait to see you again little one’ he thought as he put on his suit jacket and headed towards his Bentley.
————————-
At the hospital...Y/N was preparing her next surgey after two days of total rest , isolation,food and Netflix with her long time friend and fellow nurse Jess.
“So let me get this straight you went to a bar for a drink , you met a guy that possibly showed real interest in you and you freaking left him!!??? Jess was livid.
“Well I said goodbye to him, I’ll be regret my decision for the next 6 months so prepare yourself” Y/N lowered her head in shame.
“I outta kick your ass , so you know what this means , no let me rephrase that, what it would’ve meant, a chance for you to forget and be over that dickwad Stephen and you fucking ran from it like a bat out of hell” Jess shouted flustered.
‘Yeah I suck’
“I am over him Jess , I don’t need anyone”Y/N pouted.
‘God I am over that asshole for good, yes I am say it again as many times until it sticks’she thought.
“Yeah right and I’m Oprah” her friend massaged her temples clearly frustrated “Y/N you are gorgeous, not to mention the sweetest human being I’ve ever known and you deserve so much better than that asshole who cheated on you with a surgery resident”.
“If a chance comes to you , bitch you take it , I’m not saying fuck him right away” earning a incredulous look from Y/N “Give it a day or two”Jess winked. “I’m just saying you deserve a good man in your life , one that loves you and cherishes the treasure that you really are”.
“You think I’m worthy of that” Y/N whispered her eyes shining with tears.
“Of course you are , so when are you going back to the bar”? .
“Jess I can’t ... I mean , I’d be so embarrassed besides what if he’s not there”
“And what if he is”Jess countered.
“Then you know me I’ll grow mute probably do something that I will regret later point being I’ll mess it up” Y/N shrugged her shoulders.
“You are giving up ! I’m going to kill you”Jess placed her hands on YN neck to choke her making her scream.
“Your hands are freezing, you lunatic stop!! , You can kill me later”. Y/N pushed Jess away laughing.
“Miss Y/L/N” came from one of the surgeons .
“Dr. Cox! , Is there something you need sir”?
“There is someone at the front desk asking for you” . He said
“What?! Who?” She and Jess exchanged looks.
“He didnt give me a name he just asked for you” . He said leaving before she could ask anything else .
“What do I do ? What do I do”???!!! Y/N trembled.
‘Oh my god...oh my god , Could it be him ? OH MY GOD!!
“Stop it ,don’t make me slap the crap out of you Y/N , now relax and stand up straight let me look at your make up , what flavor on the lip gloss ?” Jess eyed her friend . “Strawberries”Y/N answered.
“Good you can never go wrong with strawberries .Breath check”
“Nonsense Jess my breath is fin”...
“Breath check now”!! Jess interrupted making Y/N puffed her breath . “Mmm fruity , what is that ?
“Trident tropical twist gum” earning a thumbs up from her friend.
“Hair is a bit wild but its ok”Jess tried to tamed her friends unruly wavy locks.  “You are perfect ,now go get him”Jess encouraged followed by a slap in Y/N behind.
“Jess!! That hurt!”
“Oh you love it”! She teased.
Y/N walked towards the front desk of the OR slowly her heart was like a hummingbird beating so fast she thought it might fly out of her chest.
‘Please God don’t let me make a fool out of myself’ as she neared the desk she saw Stephen.
‘Oh fuck me’she dreaded ‘What is HE doing here’? Y/N went passed him ignoring him completely.
“Hey Bae”Stephen called “Y/N! ,What are you doing ?, Did you leave your contacts at home ? I’m right here”
Y/N closed her eyes and let out a big sigh. ‘Of course it has to be him and not Elijah ,its like literally the heavens open and say Fuck you Y/N’ She took a deep breath and turned to face Stephen.
“Dr .Burks can I help you with anything”? Y/N said annoyed.
“Aww come on bae don’t be like that , I missed you . Are you busy tonight ? Do you want me to swing by your place and you know” ... his eyebrows moved up and down suggesting the obvious.
“This is not the time nor the place for this Stephen” she pulled him into a big hallway away from the managers and people that ran the OR avoiding their questioning looks.
“Y/N please when are you going to grow up , I made a little mistake , you know I love you , there is no one but you lets kiss and make up” he gave her his sexy smile one that she used to love .
‘I’m about blow the fuck up’ anger surged through her body.
“How dare you?! Stephen seriously!!, no one but me?! Did you told the same crap to that poor naive resident before you plowed her into your bed . You have some balls after two months of dumping me for her. Well not this time I’m not going to fall for this again, its over Dr. Burks ... we are over.” Y/N turned to walk away but Stephen was faster he grabbed her by her wrist and tightened his hold.
“No we are not over until I say we are over. Stephen smiled at her as if not to cause a scene.
“Let go , you are hurting me ...please !! Stephen you are hurting me” she clenched her jaw her wrist felt like it was going to shatter under his hold.
‘God please please , I need help’ she thought desperately.
“Is there a problem here”? a voice came from behind her. Y/N closed her eyes and smiled in relief she’d recognize that voice anywhere.
“Elijah” Y/N turned pulling her hand away from Stephen. She walked towards Elijah stopping mere inches from him personal space be damned.
“Are you ok little one”? He asked softly surveying for signs of injury as she panted. He could hear her heart drumming on her chest . Her emotions were all over the place anger , fear , happiness and lust. Her cheeks were tinted pink. She was beautiful. He smirked.
Y/N could feel his breath on her and she searched his face for any indication that he was uncomfortable with her being this close.
“Y/N” Stephen called “Who’s this guy?, Y/N ... Y/N”! He repeated to deaf ears.
‘Sorry ... not fucking sorry’
Y/N closed the space between them grabbing Elijah by the back of his neck and pulling him into a fierce kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cliffhanger 😈 Im learning from the best 🦄 🤣😂
Girls I need a title , I can’t think of any 🤦♀️HELP
@hellotvshowtrash @elijahs-wife @drachentraum @nikmikaelsonswife @mikaelson-emma @elejahfanfic @eternityunicorn @dumble-daddy @svnkissedskies @soul-revoir @kaiiiiiiparkerismyhusband @lokis-favorite-follower @iirocioii
#daniel gillies#daniel gillies has ruined me#elijah mikaelson#the originals#; mine#alternative universe#elijah mikaelson x reader#elijah mikaelson smut#daniel gillies is my kink#njeanlongsnippets
100 notes
·
View notes
Text
FIC: Welcome To Backwater ch.3 (spicyhoney)
Summary: Stretch is getting out and meeting new people, if only things weren’t a little...ominous.
Content: Spicyhoney, Midwest Gothic
~~*~~
Read Chapter Three on AO3
or
Read it here!
~~*~~
The thing was, Stretch had never really lived on his own. For most of his life, he’d lived with his brother. Taking care of Blue when he was a kiddo, then sort of swapping roles for a while as they got older. By the time they were on the surface, they had a pretty good give and take going when it came to cohabitation. Living with his bro was never the problem.
It was moving back in with him after everything went down that was the hard part. His sympathy felt more like stifling pity, the relentless cheer Stretch normally adored was grating, and as much as Stretch loved his brother, (and he did, his brother was the coolest and fuck anyone who didn’t see that), he just…he couldn’t. Not right now.
That all came to a head and landed him on the midnight bus to anywhere and living here essentially alone was turning into a balancing act between being necessarily solitary and lonely enough to start befriending the local spooks, and now look at him.
Standing in Red’s living room and armed with a lamp shaped like a flamingo, probably about to be murdered for the hundred bucks in the front register and Red’s shitty microwave, and his first stupid thought was, holy shit, he’s gorgeous.
Not that it wasn’t a valid thought, but it didn’t do much to better the situation. A skeleton Monster (another one? really?) that was almost as tall as he was, but instead of Stretch’s scrawny bod and knobby knees poking out of his cargo shorts, this guy looked like he’d just stepped out of GQ’s leather edition, available only with a valid ID. From those slender hips with all the right curves all the way up to the delicate intricacies of his cervical vertebra, he was like a book written in braille, begging for a touch. Those cheekbones alone were sharp enough to do more damage than any damn lamp, fuck, he should have to carry a weapons license for those things, they were sure as hell giving Stretch a good stab in the libido.
Mystery guy only stood there in Red living room, cool and calm in spite of the fact he was wearing a sleek leather jacket and knee-high damn motorcycle boots, (fuck, those legs), on a sweltering day. Didn’t even bother to pull his hands out of his jeans pockets, like he was hanging around patiently for a fucking takeout order instead of starring in a home invasion.
The guy raised a browbone, and fuck, how did even the scar running through his socket seem sexy? “Well?” Mystery Man said, “Nothing else to say?”
That broke the spell. Well, kinda, holy shit, take two. That voice, it was almost rich enough to pour into a cup, but damn, if Sugar Tongue here dusted Red, what was Stretch gonna tell the cops? That he was too busy getting seduced by those dark molasses wiles to do anything about it?
Stretch brandished the lamp again and blustered out, “i asked you first!”
The guy sighed heavily and for half an idiot second, Stretch felt bad for disappointing him. “If we’re going to continue down this path of childish competition, then I was here first. Would you care to offer a rebuttal? Or is that word too complicated for you, I’d make an attempt to bring it down to your level, but I don’t have the time to journey back out of the realm of stupidity today.”
That was enough to snap him out of this guy’s erotic stupidity spell. Great, he was a murderer and a dick, Stretch should’ve known. No one with hips like that could be on the side of good. He raised the lamp again threateningly, flamingo-beak facing front, “the only butt around here is gonna be yours when i kick it!”
The guy only rolled his eye lights, deep crimson, huh, how about that. “Ah, how refreshing it is to have a chance to engage in such cunning debate,” he drawled. “But as enchanting as this has been, let me interrupt the vigilante plotline you seem to be starting. I’m only here to drop off a package for my brother.”
“brother?” Stretch parroted dumbly. Oh. Ohhhhh, for fuck’s sake he was an idiot. Red eye lights, skeleton monster, all he was missing was a fucking name tag that said, ‘Red’s Tall Brother, Please Do Not Ambush.’
Well, that was one way to make a first impression.
Stretch sheepishly lowered the lamp, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “oh. uh, sorry about that, i’m a little on edge.”
“On edge, are you,” the guy repeated. One corner of his mouth pulled upward in a sardonic little smile, another sign of the unfairness of life that it only made him look even more appealing, if that were possible. Sex on legs and that voice? Some guys cheated to role for charisma twice was all Stretch was saying. “Ah, aren’t life’s little ironies precious.”
Before Stretch could figure out what the heck that meant, he heard the familiar thump and bump of Red hurrying down the hallway. The door was flung open hard enough to bounce against the opposite wall and Red paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. His brother standing there is all his sexy glory, completely unconcerned and weaponless, and Stretch still sweaty and disheveled from trekking through the heat outside, standing there with a lamp in his hands trying to look like he hadn’t been ready to bonk the guy on the noggin like the first chapter of an Agatha Christie novel.
Red was snickering before Stretch could even scramble for any sort of excuse, “whatcha gonna do with the lamp, armstrong, knock his lights out?”
“i was improvising,” Stretch mumbled. He plunked the hideous thing back on the table, fumbling to plug it back in. "you didn't tell me you had a brother."
"no?” Red set both hands on the top of his cane to lean against it and innocent was not a voice he wore well, nope. “musta slipped my mind."
"Your mind is ever slippery, brother," said brother put forth in a clipped tone, "Somehow, you managed to forget to mention this…person…to me as well."
"and 'cause i did you got to have an excitin' first meeting,” Red said, abandoning innocence for pure mischief. He gave them both a broad wink, “ain't that right?"
About the only thing Stretch and this guy had in common was the mutual dirty looks they gave back to that.
“only if you get your thrills from a criminal sort of meet and greet,” Stretch said.
"Yes," the brother said irritably, "Very exciting. And now that we’ve all confirmed who I am, would you care to explain who this is?”
Red’s grin widened, his gold tooth winking in the mellow sunlight streaming in through the tatty curtains. “my new clerk.”
“Your—” That irritation melted into horror as the guy’s spine went ruler-straight as if someone jammed a yardstick up his ass before he blustered out, “have you lost your tiny little mind?”
Stretch couldn’t help feeling a little insulted. It was a little grocery store, not the Ritz, they didn’t need all their cheese on the crackers to manage selling ‘em, thanks.
Red didn’t seem bothered by his brother’s disbelief, he only shrugged, “nah. don’t think so, anyway.” Then with a touch of acid, “not like you’re around long enough to find out.”
His brother ignored that. Seemed like he was still stuck on Red’s audacity in hiring a clerk. “You have,” he said wonderingly, “You’ve completely lost your mind this time. And you’re keeping him right here in the house?”
“room upstairs, but yeah.” Red sucked on his teeth loudly, grinning his wide, feral grin. “got a problem with that, little brother?”
Conversation briefly ceased as they both seemed to be trying to communicate in glares and Stretch didn’t know enough of the language to interpret, but he didn’t think it was going well. Especially not when the tall drink of brother abruptly turned to him and said, “Go get your things.”
Stretch only gaped at him, too surprised to even protest, of all the fucking arrogance—!
“Go get your things,” he repeated, a touch louder and flavored with a dash of impatience, “and I’ll take you to the bus depot right now.”
“you’re serious,” Stretch said in disbelief. He shook his head with a short laugh, “heh, sorry, champ, not going anywhere on your say-so. besides, i just got here, if i leave now, I’ll never get voted prom queen.”
The other guy’s face didn’t so much as twitch and intensity in that crimson gaze made Stretch want to look away. He resisted, meeting that glare defiantly, even as he said, quietly, “If you stay long enough, leaving won’t be an option.”
Stretch only snorted, seriously, what was with this guy? “and you’re calling your brother a nut?”
He didn’t bother to answer that one, only swung around and pointed an accusing finger in Red’s direction. “This is on you, brother.”
Red only gave him that easy, sharky grin back. “always was.”
Stretch thought that was the end of it. The guy nodded shortly and started towards the door, brushing past Stretch to get to it and that was where he paused. He turned towards Stretch, those red eye lights moving over him searchingly. The end table with its returned lamp was at Stretch’s back, there was nowhere to go as Red’s brother loomed into his personal space, leaning in uncomfortably close, only inches away from Stretch’s collarbone as he sniffed delicately.
“Hm,” he said thoughtfully.
Stretch resisted the urge to give his armpits a testing sniff. “what?”
But he only drew away and gave Red another unreadable look. Red nodded once.
What. The. Fuck?
“Fine,” the guy sighed out. His hands curled into brief fists, sharpened fingertips pressed into his palms. “It’s your problem, brother, you deal with it.”
“don’t i always?”
“Perhaps with the least amount of property damage possible, if you don’t mind.” He gave Stretch another dismissive half-glance. “Now if you’ll excuse me, brother."
He turned and started to walk off and yeesh, even the way he walked caught the eye, damn, hate to see you leave, love to watch those hips go.
Down boy, Stretch told his libido. There was enough weird shit going on and he really didn’t need to take another hike down that path. Besides, with hot stuff constantly looking at him like something to be scraped off the bottom of his shoe, it wasn’t exactly opening the door for romance. He’d had his fill of assholes, a lifetime’s worth, and just case it might be a question, Stretch proved he was still an enormous idiot by calling to that leather-clad back, “didn’t catch your name.”
The guy didn’t even pause. “Then next time you should be a better hunter.”
With that he was out the apartment door. Stretch and Red stood there and listened to the cow bell jangling loudly, the door slamming, and then the roar of an engine speeding away.
Only then did Red speak again, with laconic ease, “if you’re done staring at my baby bro’s ass, y’can come eat with me.”
“i—" wasn’t, Stretch started to say, then shrugged. Busted. “don’t worry, i don’t think i’m his type.”
“don’t think too hard, gonna hurt yourself,” Red said, dry as a mouthful of sand. “what’s the problem, don’t think you got the right size font?”
“let’s not get into that, it’ll take too long,” Stretch tossed back. “and don’t take this the wrong way but your brother is a dick.”
“yeah,” Red said fondly, “ain’t he great? now, before you tried to light up my bro’s life, i was setting up for dinner. if you grab that bag, you can have some, too.”
Stretch followed where Red pointed with his cane to find an insulated bag sitting by the sofa, black because fuck knew Fonzie’s stunt double needed matching accessories. He lugged the bag along as he followed Red back down the hallway into the store, setting it on the counter while Red struggled into the chair. There were a couple of dusty bowls already sitting there next to the beers and Red gave them a cursory wipe with a rag of dubious cleanliness.
“my bro got his own place a while back,” Red unzipped the bag and pulled out a large ceramic casserole dish. “but he still drops off food for me coupla times a week. says that eating at ‘mama’s’ along with a double daily dose of mac and cheese ain’t healthy.”
Stretch watched, reluctantly intrigued. “he doesn’t stick around for dinner?”
“nah, my bro has kinda a special diet.” Red pulled the lid off and steam rose out, along with the gorgeous, rich smell of sinfully delicious food. Long greenish noodles drenched in some sort of glistening sauce with chunks of more green and purple veggies mixed in, and dusted with a heavy sprinkle of parmesan. Whatever it was, it wasn’t anything like what they brought to the table at Olive Garden.
Stretch inhaled deeply, his mouth already watering. “holy shit, he cooked this?”
“cooked it, hell,” Red spooned out portions, uncaring about the little drips that fell on the counter and pushing the first bowl over to Stretch. “he makes the pasta by hand. planted the veggies, too, like he’s fucking ol’ macdonald on his farm. he made that stew i gave ya the first night, too.”
Stretch barely heard him because he’d already taken his first bite and had he really thought Red’s brother looked sexy? He was wrong, totally wrong, because this was the sexy, this delectably orgasmic taste exploding across his tongue in a blend of garlic and vinaigrette, carried on perfectly al dente noodles mingling with the bright crunch of zucchini and beets. It was hard not to moan aloud as he chewed down that first bite and went back for another.
“is he single? i changed my mind, holy fuck, i’m gonna marry him and chain him to the stove,” Thoughtlessly said around a mouthful of deliciousness and Stretch winced as he realized what he said, “sorry, sorry, bad joke.”
Red only slurped up more noodles, teeth glistening with oil and the long strands flinging droplets of sauce as he sucked them in. “he’s single, but good luck putting a leash on him. go ahead, ask him out next time he stops by. i could use a good laugh, ‘cause, honey, you two hooking up would be a joke.”
Absurdly stung, Stretch shrugged and tried on a laugh, “hey, i’m a hell of a catch. gainfully employed and everything.”
“oh, yeah, you’re the seafood special, all right.” Red’s sharp teeth sheared easily through the noodles as he took another bite. “rebound fucks never work out, kid.”
“how did you—" Stretch stopped with a groan as Red raised both brow bones mockingly. He slumped back over his bowl, twirling up noodles on his fork. “yeah, yeah, handed that over with gift wrap.”
“yep, you did.” Red clapped Stretch on the shoulder with enough force to make him drop his fork. “the list of reasons people end up in the middle of nowhereville is pretty fucking short, kid, an’ you got that look. don’t worry ‘bout it, you got a place to stay here as long as you want.”
The unexpected kindness from Red of all people made him blink hard, but then, that wasn’t really giving him a fair shake, was it, not when he’d given Stretch a job to begin with and kept him semi-fed. “thanks.”
“don’t mention it, to anyone.” Red said dryly. He sucked down the last of the noodles and pushed the bowl away with a sigh. “gonna ruin my rep. make you a deal, air conditioning’s better down here. if you wanna watch tv in my place, y’can go ahead, if,” he stressed, “if ya call your brother. bet he’s out of his mind worried by now.”
“how—” Stretch shut his mouth hard enough for his teeth to click together. Red only looked serenely back, the chair creaking as he leaned back and laced his hands together over his middle. He looked away, not wanting to see what else might shine knowingly in those crimson eye lights. “i’ll text him.”
“good enough,” Red said agreeably. He pulled a can of beer off the plastic ring and popped it open, gulping some down and belching with mellow contentment. “where the fuck did you go earlier, i been waiting on these beers.”
Stretch’s bowl was empty and he ran a finger along the inside of it, licking away the smear of leftover sauce. “to see a movie.”
Red’s mouth opened in a silent ‘ah’. “didja say hi to doris?”
That was not what Stretch expected. “i…yes. you’ve seen her?” Stupid to think Red hadn’t, he’d been here for a long time, hard to believe he’d never stepped into the theater and any Monster with half a gram of sense would’ve noticed her.
“sure, loads of times,” Red said, confirming it. “sweet gal. don’t be offended if she don’t remember you right away, she’s gotta little problem with short term memory.” He pointed a finger at his temple and let his thumb drop like the hammer on a gun. “keep stoppin’ in and eventually you’ll stick. takes her a mo’ when i stop by, but she gets there.”
“good to know.” And it was. Any faint, stupid hurt that he wasn’t the first Monster in Doris’s unlife was a little eased by that tidbit. He probably would’ve been more upset if he went to see her again tomorrow and had to go through the intros again without it.
“okay, g’wan, get outta here,” Red shoved a beer in Stretch’s direction and waved him off. “just remember, wheel of fortune is on at 7.”
Stretch took the dirty bowls with him along with the serving dish, giving them a quick wash and setting them into Red’s already overflowing dish drainer. He spent the rest of the afternoon on the saggy sofa in the living room, watching reruns of ‘MASH’ and ‘Little House On the Prairie’ until Red closed shop for the Wheel.
That night Stretch had a strange dream. Vast trees towering over him and unstable ground beneath his feet. He stood in a puddle of ragged moonlight and when red eyes loomed out of the darkness, he met their stare and didn’t run. Not even when he saw the huge, dark shape that contained them, jagged white teeth in a gaping maw that gnashed and slavered, ready to consume him. The shape leapt at him and he couldn’t move, trapped by that gaze. He woke with a gasp before it landed, waking with a scream tangled up on his throat, clammy sheets sticking to his sweaty bones.
He lay for a moment on the thin mattress, catching his breath. His window was covered, had been since his second night here and he’d found an old blanket in his closet, tacked it up to keep out the blistering heat of the noontime sun. Now it kept out the midnight darkness and he didn’t even glance at it as he rolled to his feet and headed into the bathroom to splash cold water on his sweaty face.
He set both damp hands on the sides of the sink and looked at his dripping reflection. The only shadows in this room were the ones beneath his sockets. His skull was pale, his eye lights pinpricks of diffused white.
“liar,” he whispered to his reflection and watched as it whispered it silently back.
But that was one shipment of guilt he could offload right now.
Stretch shuffled back out and scooped his phone off the nightstand. He ignored the messages, the voicemails, and only tapped out a message of his own, hitting send before he could think of an excuse not to.
i’m okay, little brother, i’m safe. i’ll call soon.
It wasn’t a lie. Soon was relative, just like brothers.
He sank back down on his damp sheets and didn’t bother to turn out the lights.
tbc
#spicyhoney#papcest#keelywolfe#underfell#underswap#underfell papyrus#underswap papyrus#underfell sans#underswap sans#welcome to backwater
41 notes
·
View notes
Note
tofu mother! i’m so happy you’re back! i can’t wait to see you talk/write about dumb tofu men some more! uhh, it seems requests are open! if you wouldn’t mind, uhhhh, sweet tofu nsfw alphabet, please? thank you!
Sweet tofu: nsfw alphabet
Holy shit, I haven’t done sweet, have I? I am such a bad horny tofu stan please forgive me 😢
A - aftercare
Very good. He’s always pretty overbearing doting and that trait will be cranked up to an 11. He gets you whatever you need, but desperately wants to stay with you for at least a few hours afterwards. He wants to know how you feel, and he loves to see the spectrum of your emotions, he’d never tell you he secretly wants to know you enjoyed it. Your approval hits a certain twinge in his chest.
B - body part
Of his own, probably his eyes, and his fingers. He takes great care in his nails, manicures are essential for him to feel clean.
Of yours, he loves your chest. Not exactly the tiddy tho lmao. A strange thing to like but he likes how comfy it is to rest his cheek on your chest and lightly trace your collar bones. He’s really comforted in hearing your heartbeat.
He likes your thighs for the same reason, they’re a good pillow. Thighs are also soft, which means easier hickies~
C - cum
There’s…. lots of it. He recovers fast, and will sometimes overwhelm you with cum. it’s kinda fucking endless honestly. Will cum legit anywhere you ask, sometimes will be bratty and cum anywhere but where you want. Loves to cum on you, it makes him feel more possessive.
D - dirty secret
This man has no secrets when it comes to sex. He’s up front, and he’s very open about being into almost everything you can think of. One thing he’d rather not let anyone but you know is that his hips, collar bones, and wrists are really sensitive. If you massage, kiss, or lick over them he loses his composure very quickly.
His favorite spot to be kissed is the vertebrae on the back of his neck, and he’ll be a tad more intimate if you lightly scratch the back of his neck and the hair on the base of his skull.
E - experience
moderate. He’s a creepy looking dude, but it’s fairly easy for him to find entertainment for when staying home gets a bit boring. We know from salty's backstory he’d flirted with a woman who came back to talk to him frequently, along with salty mentioning how he’s always been fairly popular.
“Hehehe, I know what I’m doing kitten. My question is, do you know what I’m going to do?”
F - favorite position
Seriously, what doesn’t he like..?
I think positions where he can see your face is his favorite, most likely loves to put you on his lap so he can watch you desperately grind on him while wrinkling your nose in the most adorable way~
G - goofy
To a degree. I feel he’s goofy in initiating but less goofy as time goes on. He still teases though and sometimes he manages to crack a smile out of you in even the most strangest and awkward positions. He'll never tell you but he loves that he can make you laugh, even when you’re in the most intimate and private state possible.
H- hair
Slightly groomed, but not extensively. Sometimes he has weeks where ofc he’ll shower but doesn’t really want to shave so you’ll have to remind him. Or don’t, if that’s your thing.
I- intimacy
Very but also not always.
He can be so fucking intense, refusing to let you look anywhere but at his face so you can see how hard it is for him to keep his control, watch him this time, let it be known how much he adores seeing your body scream and twitch for his touch.
On the other hand, he might rile you up just to leave you squirming for hours.
Depends on how nice he’s feeling~
“Fuck, no. Look at me. Look. At me. You did this, you fucking did this, look. At. Me. You’re gonna watch me while I fuck you, eyes. On. Me.”
J- jerk off
Not too often? He just prefers the real thing. 1-2 times a week. When you started to catch his interest, he stopped completely for a while, giving his full attention to you, even before confessing his interest in you. It’s more out of him trying to gauge who you are and if he’s actually interested or just entertained by you. When he figured out it was actual interest though? Prolly jumped up to 3-4 times a week due to feeling a growing desperation because of his feelings.
K- Kinks
...All of them.
Most of his favorites are the darker side of BDSM, light blood play (mostly prefers he’s the one bleeding), intense sadomasochism (doesn’t matter who’s who), primal, heavy bondage, breath play, and especially role play. He’s just… really obsessed with putting you in strange situations in order to learn all he can about how you tick.
“So so adorable, but I wonder how you look when you’re in pain~”
L- location
Again, either the place he knows your most comfortable, or the place he knows you’re the least comfortable. He wants to see you squirm as the brick of the alleyway he’s pinned you against rubs into your skin brutally just as much as he loves to see your hands grasp the soft blankets of your warm bed.
M- motivation
When you do something really innocent. The happier you look the more he wants to absolutely corrupt and ruin you.
“Look at you, you’re so precious all wrapped up in these blankets, would you mind if interupted, just for a little bit?”
N- no
I feel he also doesn’t actually like daddy kinks. He’s… got some issues with the man he viewed as his father so if you want to call him something, just don’t make it daddy.
O- oral
God does he love biting your inner thighs and watching you twitch.
He appreciates oral, but being able to make your skin crawl is much more pleasing to him. Might give you oral right after fucking you just to watch you squirm in overstimulation.
“Hehe, I see the bruise from last time is faded… I wonder if I can make a new one that will last just a bit longer~”
P- pace
Depends if he’s playing a bratty role or a more intense one. No matter his pace, he’s gonna stop in the middle and just watch you cry in frustration at his teasing. This man is patient so good luck lmao
Q- quickies
Not… exactly? He loves to tease, so he’d most likely get you incredibly worked up and then leave. Would definitely grope you at a dinner table then right as your getting close leave the room entirely lmao
As for actually quick fucking you, if you beg nicely, he’d most likely give you whatever you wanted no matter what lmao.
R- risk
Wouldn’t full out fuck you in public but.. again…. if he gets to see the embarrassment on your face while he finger fucks you under the table? Now that’s the good shit.
“Stay still, you’re squirming. You’re gonna give us away if you keep moving, you wouldn’t want that would you?”
S- stamina
Ridiculous. Mainly because he pulls some strings and uses his powers as a healer to recover his own energy. What a bastard.
T- toys
He owns a few. Most are restrictive, like handcuffs, rope, etc. might get a vibrator just to tie you down and make you cry and beg him to turn it off after overstimulating you for what feels like hours.
U- unfair
Y E A. Prolly the worst teaser you’ll ever encounter in your entire fucking life. He wants to see you cry from frustration and then hear your screams when he fucks you so hard it makes you cry all over again.
Then he stops, giggles, and goes back to teasing again.
“Kitty, come on, you can take just one more, cant you? For me?”
V- volume
Talks a lot. And it’s not that he’s “loud”, he just moans a lot. His voice is naturally pretty quiet though. Lots and lots of low groaning. During and after cumming he’s quieter, giving out a low hum while breathing slowly trying to regain his composure.
W- wild card
There is no mention that his hair is dyed, so I’m making the head canon that his natural hair is two tone and that his fuckin body hair is duel colored.
X- X Ray
Like I said, I will go down with the hc his body hair is duel colored like his hair. Mans got white and brown pubes I don’t make the rules.
As for size he’s actually on the smaller/average size, solid 5 inches.
Y- yearning
When you’re down, he is. If he hasn’t seen you in a long time he’s gonna be more grabby. He actually isn’t easy to make that jealous because he’s very confident in your loyalty, you’re willing to stick with him this long so… why worry?
Z- zzz
Lmaoooo? sleep?? Who’s that? Don’t know her. Thinks you’re adorable when you fall asleep though. Likes to study your face while sleeping and will gently coo and let your hair if he notices your face starts twitching because of something like a nightmare. Might peel back the blankets a bit to further… “observe”. And he wonders why you keep waking up freezing.
“Awe, out so quick kitty? Hm, you are cute like this. Wonder if you’ll look cuter when you’re having a nightmare…”
#food fantasy#food fantasy x reader#sweet tofu#ff sweet tofu#ff sweet tofu x reader#sweet tofu x reader
72 notes
·
View notes
Text
Doctor Harry XXIV. Un Suspiro Acompasado
A/N: Guys I’m back! I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for the patience and the kind message, you guys are amazing and I feel lucky you read me x
BLUE’S POV
My eyes are left adrift in front of the mirror. I’m combing my hair and my makeup is done and I’m wearing the red lipstick Marie got me for Christmas but I’m hardly seeing anything beyond the memories of better times that blurry my vision. It’s only been four days since I know nothing from Harry but they’ve felt like ages.
I hate myself for missing him so bad but the only thing I need to stop myself from crawling back to him is thinking about his indifference. I don’t understand why he was so insisting and desperate for me to hear him out during Christmas and just forgot all about me right after I finally did.
I’d love to say things have gone back to normal, that everything is right back on its place as if it had never happened since he’s not following me around and messing everything up but that just wouldn’t be true. It’s like I lost something that has changed me forever and I just don’t know where to look for it now.
When I’ve brushed all of my hair twice, I open the bathroom door and find Coco going through my earrings. She’s wearing a golden silk dress that makes her look like the human form of a flute of champagne but she gives me a panic look.
“I don’t know what earrings to wear.”
I roll my eyes and try to help her. I suck at choosing jewellery which is why I always wear the same earrings and the same necklace my Mum got me when I started studying Medicine but I stand there in the role of emotional support.
I can see my profile on the full body length mirror in the door of my wardrobe. I’m wearing a black sequin tight dress with long sleeves but backless. There’s a single button that rests over my seventh vertebra where the fabric that covers both my shoulders joins but then there’s no more sequins and no more fabric at all until the dress hugs the lowest part of my back, right where my underwear begins.
It's New Years Eve and everyone’s ready for the new year to begin even though I don’t believe that anybody wants this year to end more than I do.
“¡Niñas!” (Girls!) My mum calls for us from downstairs. “¿Estáis listas?” (Are you ready?”
“¡Sí!” Coco yells uncouthly and I give her a look but she just chuckles. “Me encanta ser ordinaria cuando llevo ropa cara.” (I love to act vulgar when I wear expensive clothes). She giggles. “You should try it, it’s funny.”
I chuckle along with her as we both make our way downstairs. My mum looks like one of our friends with that black dress she’s wearing. Her long black hair is down and naturally wavy and Coco did a very nice job with her makeup; smokey eyes and nude lipstick.
“Estás guapísima, mamá.” (You look gorgeous, mum.)
“¿Qué dices? Tú sí que estás guapísima. Las dos lo estáis.” (What are you talking about? You look gorgeous. You both do.)
Mum’s driving us to our party before she leaves for hers and sitting in the back of the car, I can see how much of a resemblance there is between my mum and my sister. It’s almost scary for my mum looks like a future Coco and I think I can’t wait for Coco to be 57 years old to find out if they’re really alike.
I get excited on the way to the club. I’ve decided I’m gonna have a good time and not think about Harry. I’ve had enough of that and what has to be will be but there won’t be any rushing of things on my part and I’m guessing on his either.
I’m excited to see Olivia. She came back from France in the morning and JJ and Marie are also gonna be there. Marie’s bringing Adam but nobody said anything about Harry and I didn’t ask either and Olivia’s got herself a date with Mario. Apparently, they’ve been talking ever since Jack did the ass move of the year and Ollie seemed pretty excited on the phone earlier.
Coco and I make our way inside the majestic hotel the party is taking place and give our coats to the cloakroom girl. My gorgeous looking sister holds my hand and guides me across the hall and towards the second room where soft music plays around fairy lights. I spot our group standing around a tall table.
I hug my friends. They all look ridiculously gorgeous. Olivia wears her blond hair perfectly straightened and falling on her chest and back over the little precious stones that adorn her silver cocktail dress and Marie wears her signature bun with a little black dress with a see-through neckline that fits her perfectly; sexy but safe, so to say.
Turning around, I see Jason pretending to be gladly surprised by my looks, and I chuckle and shake my head.
“Looking good in that white suit jacket, JJ.”
He smiled.
“I have to stand out, you know? I’m single now.”
“Damn right you are.” I grab a champagne flute from the waiter that walks right behind me. “And I’ll drink to that.”
He laughs.
“Now seriously, you look like you just came out of The Great Gatsby.”
“Except there’s no Leonardo Dicaprio.”
“Except that.” Jason smiles.
“How are you?” Olivia’s hand rests on my lower back and I give her a smile.
“I’m good, thank you.” I frown but smile. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, you know.” She shrugs and gives Marie a SOS look. “I was wondering how you were holding up after… The breakup.”
“What breakup now?” I look at Marie.
Her lips part in a small oh and her eyes open wide like a deer caught in headlights.
“You know, Adam and I talk.” She shrugs.
“You mean Adam and you mind everybody’s business.”
“Harry told him you guys were not seeing each other anymore.” She frowns.
I feel a punch on the pit of my belly.
“Yeah, that’s right. We… We aren’t.” But I pretend I am long past it even though they just confirmed what I thought was happening.
“And you’re… Just okay with that?” Ollie frowns.
“Yes!” Everyone’s frowning. “What, guys? Why are you making such a big deal? It’s fine. I’m just worried I won’t find sex like that in a while.” I fake giggle.
“Was it really that good?” Jason intervenes for the first time in what feels like a very long, very embarrassing interrogation.
“I mean… Never mind.” I chuckle.
“No, it does mind. Do share.”
“It was just the way he… Like kind of worshipped my body, you know, but like all of it.” I shrug. “I felt…”
“Loved.”
“Desired.” I correct Marie but she purses her lips to hide her smile and raises her eyebrows.
I shake my head and try to derail the conversation.
“What about you, Ollie? How are you?”
Ever since Jack said those things about her, she’s been struggling not to bump into someone who already knew. It’s strange how those ridiculous things run like gunpowder but it’s not new that a lot of girls didn’t like Olivia already and I guess this kind of was the perfect way to finally humiliate her.
“I’m fine.”
She smiles for as if on cue, Mario appears with two drinks on his hands and gives one to her. The way her body melted and made room for him surprises me. My God, she’s smitten and she’s Olivia and this is so cute to behold.
“Oh, hello, Indie. Happy New Year. If I had known you were here I would have gotten you a drink. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be!” I hug him. “Happy New Year to you too.”
He stands next to Olivia but turns in conversation with Jason and I notice Marie is nowhere to be found. Coco and Guido seem to be in their own bubble but I’ll have to go say hi when they don’t look so cosy.
“Where did Marie go?”
“She’s probably with Adam.” She shrugs. “I’m thinking about broadening my horizons.” She goes back to my first question it seems.
“Broadening your horizons? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know… These weeks in France have been wonderful. I was thinking maybe transferring to Paris or something.”
“But like- forever?” I panic.
She shrugs, holding back a little smirk.
“But you can’t leave! I mean, wouldn’t you miss us? And what about Mario? You finally start a relationship and now you’re leaving him?”
“Mario would have to understand. If he didn’t, that would be a total deal breaker. Plus, we’re not even in a relationship or at least not in the traditional kind of relationship. We’re both free humans who-”
“You’re not in an open relationship with Mario, are you?”
I’m not being judgemental. I have no problems at all with open relationships it’s just Mario doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy fitted for that. I mean he told me himself he falls very quickly and I could see how heartbroken he was about Olivia’s rejection so I’m just afraid he’s told her yes because he would take whatever it is she’s willing to give.
My friend nods proudly and I face palm.
“Oh God, Ollie, you’re gonna hurt him.”
“What? Why? Not at all!”
“Wasn’t it your idea then?”
“No, it was, but this is what’s best for us. I’m not in my best moment” her blue eyes beg for my understanding and support- she’ll always have the second “and this will be good for him too. He’s a little too traditional if we’re being fully honest here-”
I disconnect but I let her talk because I already understood. She’s scared because she really likes him and this is just her way of trying to run away from it. Thinking about going to France, having an open relationship… God, she just really doesn’t want to let herself fall in love.
“Why are you smiling like that?” She frowns.
I chuckle and give her a knowing look and she just squints pretending she can’t read my mind at this point.
“You think you’re some sort of guru, alright, I get it.”
I throw my head back and laugh but my laughing cuts short as soon as Harry appears in my visual opening. He wears a black suit with a white shirt and a fucking black bow tie that really makes him look like The Great Gatsby I used to picture in my mind when I read the book.
The air gets kicked out of my lungs with every step he takes because he looks so dreamy and I know everyone has noticed but for the rest of people in this room he’s just a handsome man. He’s so much more to me.
From the corner of my eyes, I watch him greet everybody. He takes a little extra time talking to Coco and that makes me nervous. I don’t want to be a narcissistic asshole but I can’t help considering they might be talking about me. I yearn for hearing him say my name and see how his lips hug the u in Blue when everybody else calls me Indie.
Before I can process what’s happening, he’s stopped in front of me and his green eyes are setting mine on flames. My belly flips and he hasn’t even touched me but it’s like he’s putting all these memories inside my head with that stare and in my mind, all these images are playing… Us in the shower, him making breakfast, us watching a movie, him driving me home…
He doesn’t say anything but I know he likes my dress by the way he’s smirking. He leans in and I feel his warm hand against my bare back as he presses a kiss on my cheek.
“Why are you always so cold?” He frowns.
“I’m an ice floe, don’t you remember?”
“As lovely as usual.” He smirks. “Some things never change.”
“Wait, we’re talking to one another, right? What we’re not doing is seeing each other or so does Marie said because apparently Adam told her you told him. That’s three people, Harry, it takes three people for me to know something I should have known from you.”
“How is that my fault?”
“Well-”
“You’re the one who stopped talking to me.”
I frown. That’s not even true but before I can tell him, Olivia’s hand rests on my shoulder and she almost yells.
“You won’t believe what just happened! Oh, hi, Harry, nice to see you, nice bow tie.” She gives him a smile that lasts a second and then turns back to me. “I was at the bar and this ridiculously hot guy was talking to his friend about you!”
“About me?” I frown. “What do you mean?”
“He literally told his friend ´Indigo Anderson is here, I just saw her´”
“And that’s it?” I laugh.
“He was very handsome.” Her blue eyes widen and I laugh again.
Harry’s still standing there but his jaw is clenched and his shoulders have tensed up. I don’t understand him. He has decided to break up with me, even though there was nothing to break, and hasn’t even had the decency to tell me about it and now he seems not to like that this very handsome stranger knows I’m here? Well, he should have thought twice.
“That’s him!” Ollie says, pointing at the middle of the room with her big grey eyes. “That’s the one.”
Eric Buchanan’s eyes meet mine. I give him a teasing smile and see the corner of his eyes crackle. It’s been a while since Harry doesn’t seem that happy to see me and instead he’s just standing there tensed like a wooden man and I’ve had enough of this so I just make my way towards Eric. He takes the clue and makes his way towards me too so we meet in the middle. Funny how I seem to be unable to do that with Harry.
“Fuck me if it isn’t Indigo Blue Anderson, the soul of every party.” He smiles.
“I’m pretty sure I should be offended but your sarcastic tone is really not sarcastic at all.” I smile back.
“That’s because I wasn’t being sarcastic, miss.” He smiles. “You know I was checking the photos the photographer took at my birthday the other day and he took some while you were honouring me with your dancing” I roll my eyes but he keeps on smiling “and I gotta say they’re pretty good shots.”
“Well your hip movement was kind of hypnotizing” I try mimic his crazy movements and make him blush but he laughs.
“Yeah, wasn’t really talking about that.”
“You’re too flattering, Eric.”
“You remember my name.” He smiles.
“You think I’m an idiot?”
“No” he laughs “I just think you’re way out of my league.”
“Still too flattering.”
He chuckles. I notice his eyes look somewhere behind me and then back at me for enough times to make me curious, so I raise my eyebrows questioningly.
“Trouble in paradise?”
I tilt my neck and spot Harry glaring at us from the spot where he pretends to be paying attention to Mario and Adam and I roll my eyes. I don’t even have to change the topic because one of Eric’s friends pulls from his shoulder and all but yells that they’re taking a group photo. His lips turn upside down as he points at his friend on his back but I dismiss him with a smile and a shake of my hand.
“I will however catch you later.”
“You seem so sure of it.” I joke.
Am I flirting? Oh my God, I think I’m flirting. What am I doing?
My throat is dry. I need a drink. I turn around and I can tell I’m frowning when Marie hands me a drink. I look down at it and realize it’s probably gin and tonic.
“Thanks.” I have a sip. Yeah, Bulldog and Mediterranean.
“Way to go, girl.” Ollie frowns impressed next to me.
“What?”
“That’s probably what you need.” Marie adds. “After all, the quickest way to get over one man is…”
“What? No! We were just talking.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what most people do when they flirt.”
“We weren’t flirting!”
Or at least they can’t know that, they didn’t hear us. Looking over at Eric, I realize he is indeed a very, very handsome man. He’s tall too and his body is just very manly and I think under any other circumstances, I would be attracted to him. I mean- am I attracted to him now? Why wouldn’t I be? He’s objectively very attractive. I don’t want to fall into that path. I don’t want not to be attracted to him because the thought of Harry is still clouding my judgement. Is it true? Am I never going to feel as alive as I did with him? I need to stop thinking these stupid things.
“Can we just stop talking about men?”
“Amen” Jason agrees as he joins us. “Let’s just celebrate that we are still together for the new year and that that is how things are going to be.”
“Amen” Ollie raises her glass and the four of us cling our glasses together for that. “And that we are repeating for the third year Marie’s beach house tradition.”
“Woho!”
“About that though” Marie bites her bottom lip.
“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re cancelling.”
“I’m not.” Marie stops Jason right there and he sighs bringing his hand to his chest. “It’s just… I know for the past three years it’s just been the four of us but I was thinking… Maybe this year… Adam could join?”
The three of us just stand there with our lips parted. We’re being unsupportive, I can tell that much; but it’s just… That weekend is always being just for the four of us. It’s The Golden Girls’ getaway and the thought of having a guy joining just… But it is her house.
“I know it might sound strange to you guys but” Marie leans closer to us so she can whisper the next part “Adam and I haven’t… Had sex yet. I think that weekend at the beach… You know with the fireplace, the marshmallows… It might be romantic and it might just be the time.”
“With all of us there?” I horrify. “I mean, he’s probably just nervous or even shy about it, do you think it’s going to help him to have the three of us around?”
“Wait, what if we postpone our weekend away?” Ollie suggests, pleasing no parties involved.
“No!” Jason frowns. “Come on, this is the perfect weekend! After that we have practice and we can’t just get pissed for three days straight… Come on, Marie, I need this.”
“No, I don’t want to cancel or postpone it. I want you guys there.” She panics.
“What- like an orgy?” Ollie’s eyes open wide.
“No, you maniac!” Marie blushes. “But… Listen, this is getting to me, alright? It’s been very long since I don’t have sex and… I don’t know what to do and Adam’s got… You know… His things… And I might need urgent emotional support, emergency Golden Girls’ meeting in the kitchen, you know?”
Her puppy eyes always work. I bite my bottom lip and almost hear Jason’s wheels turning on his mind.
“I got it.” Jason says. “You know how it would probably be a little awkward for him to spend an entire weekend with his girlfriend’s crazy friends on his own, right?”
Marie nods with sad puppy eyes as if she also had thought about it but didn’t know what to do about that.
“But” J’s brows raise on his forehead “you know what would make it a lot easier for him?”
She shakes her head. I can’t believe we’re letting JJ be so dramatic. This is what he loves.
“Having his best friends around, just like you, and isn’t it such a good thing that his best friends happen to be Ollie’s guy and Harry?”
“I am not inviting Harry.” I interfere.
Jason’s eyes set on me while he gives me a long, hard, severe stare.
“Are you seriously telling me you’re not willing to put your stupid fight away for your best friend to bone his best friend who is also her boyfriend with erectile disfunction?”
Marie shushes him as the three of them give me all their attention.
“Well, fine, invite him. I won’t be going then.”
“What? No, dude!” Marie pleads. “I really need you there.”
“Oh, come on! I’ll pretend we’re fucking if you will” Jason shrugs “because I mean Mario is fun but he’s probably going to be cuddling Ollie 24/7 so it’d really just be you and me.”
“And Adam and me.” Marie raises her eyebrows.
“You two are gonna be boning.”
“Well maybe we don’t do anything.”
“What do you mean? Of course you will! He’s a guy, I bet he’s dying to bone you.”
“Can you just stop saying bone?” Marie scolds him. “He hasn’t… He hasn’t even touched me. And he hasn’t told me about… The… E.D. problem yet…”
“Wait, so then how do you know?” Ollie frowns.
“Harry told me.”
“What? I can’t believe him! Isn’t he supposed to be his best friend?”
“Hey, calm down! That’s why he told me. He was just worried about him… He’s actually a really good guy.”
I glare at her. I can’t believe after all the shit she’s giving me, she’s backing him now that he broke up with me.
“Why don’t you talk to him?” Ollie asks.
“To whom?”
“To Adam.”
“I don’t want to put Harry on the spot.”
“Since when do you care about Harry? What the fuck is this, Marie? You’ve been giving me shit about him since I met him and now that he finally broke my heart like you said he would he turns into an angel in your eyes?”
“What did you just say?”
My blood freezes on my veins at the sound of his deep voice stopping my every thought. My breath catches on my throat and I feel dizzy. My body works without processing and I somehow face him so I guess it must have turned. His green eyes are staring into mine and his brows are furrowed. Mario is a step ahead of him.
“Were you eavesdropping?” I accuse him.
“We were going to order a drink and I heard you say my name so I stopped. I thought you were talking to me.”
“And when you realize I wasn’t you eavesdropped.”
He stays silent but his eyes don’t leave mine. My friends have gone so now it’s just him and me face to face and I know there are lots of people around for after all this is a new year’s party but it doesn’t feel that way to me now.
“What did you just say, Indie?”
My jaw clenches. If he thinks I’m about to humiliate myself in front of him and give him validation for his superior attitude he’s wrong. He decided to end things and didn’t even think it was important enough so as to give me notice so I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it is that easy for him to hurt me.
“I said Marie’s been giving me shit about you since the beginning but I guess she was right after all.” I shrug. “You did use me and then-”
“Use you? How?”
My eyes hold his. He can’t be serious.
“You slept with me whenever you wanted-”
“I thought we both wanted it.” He frowns but I can see the horror on his eyes.
“I’m not saying you forced me, Harry. But the thing is you came and went whenever you needed a fuck and lied to me and then when things got a little complicated you just… Left” I shrug again “Like that, so easy, and you didn’t even tell me-”
His fingers wrapping around my forearm cut my words short as he walks towards the end of the hall. I keep frowning but I don’t say a thing. I wouldn’t know what to say. Instead, I let him guide us towards an empty dinner area where I’m guessing people celebrate happy moments for there’s also an empty stage and an empty bar next to it. Every piece of furniture is covered up with big white pieces of cloth and it feels like we’re standing in the middle of a ghost town.
He finally releases my arm and starts pacing back and forth in front of mine. I stare at him in silence for about a minute until I think this is too crazy even for me.
“What are you doing?”
“We need to talk.” He sets his hands on his hips so his suit jacket folds on his shoulders and his elbows and I can’t help my eyes as they travel don his upper body. God, he looks so good.
“I’m scared.”
“You are scared?” I let out a humourless chuckle.
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand?” Now that makes me laugh.
“Indie, I’m serious.”
The staidness of his voice makes me feel young. I swallow my witty remarks and try to hear him. I’ve been feeling like shit and I’ve been blaming him but maybe he’s got something to say too. I lick my lips and stare into his eyes, hoping he’d understand I’m here to listen now. I’m all done with this being mad for no particular reason and feeling like shit about it.
His green eyes burn mine as they look heavily into mine.
“You…” His index finger points at me. “You are so out of my league.”
I frown. What the hell is he talking about?
“This is crazy, you and me, its crazy.”
“I know.” I agree.
“When we talked in the car the other night… After what happened to you… You still listened to me and you fucking comforted me and when I looked at you, you just looked so small and vulnerable and fragile and I… I got scared.” He shrugs. “Because I thought if something were to happen to you, I would… I have been so selfish. I didn’t think how much you’d suffer with a low-life like me but you don’t deserve that, Blue.”
My brows meet and I find myself unarmed as every weapon I had ever held against this man just falls on my feet. I know this might sound like the same old story but I also know, even if he lied to me, that this is Harry speaking his mind out. He’s done that with me before, countless of times, as if he didn’t have a filter and he’s doing it now and it breaks my heart to know this is what’s going on in his mind.
“I don’t want to hurt you, okay? That’s like- the last thing I want but… These last few days I’ve been at Bellamond and I’ve tried so hard not to think about any of this, not to think about you, not to think about how you make me feel but it’s just useless because I always have to come back and you’re everywhere. You’re in my room, you’re in my kitchen, you’re in my shower, you’re just… I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I’ve thought in my mind countless of times what I would say to him after our talk in his car but those words are just leaving my mind now like birds leave their nests on the winter. I just stare at him. I feel like I’ve never had a tighter knot on my throat.
“We haven’t talked since that night where I told you everything and I thought you were relieved that whatever it is that we have was over because I wasn’t chasing you around anymore and you didn’t contact me either so I thought… But… You’re hurt, aren’t you?”
I can’t help it, the blushing takes over my face and I purse my lips so they stop shaking. Harry gets blurry. No, please, I don’t want to cry.
“Did you miss me?”
I decide biting my bottom lip might make it stop trembling and I nod my head but I don’t look into his eyes.
“The only reason I left was not to hurt you, Blue.” He confesses in a low voice.
I look up at him until our eyes meet. I search for the lie, for the part of him that’s only saying what he thinks I want to hear but I don’t find it. He’s telling the truth, he doesn’t lie; and yet, it doesn’t feel soothing.
I never thought the reason things were going to end between us was because he cared too much. I’ve been thinking about it for days and all these implausible reasons came running to my mind but not once did I think he was trying to protect me. I’ve doubted myself, I’ve doubted him, I’ve doubted this thing we had going on and I’ve thought he’s only seen me like a doll, like a sexual toy, or like something on his shelf he could pick up whenever he was bored and I feel terrible now. He’s been as kind with me as he is with anyone else.
I still don’t know what to say.
“But now, after hearing you say that” he continues “I feel like I can tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“I want to do this.”
My heartbeat speeds up to the point where I think he can hear it. My hands get sticky, I feel sweat gathering on the back of my neck.
“What do you mean?”
“I want this.” He declares. “I want to overthink every little thing and I want to invite you to my sister’s birthday party and I want to” he smirks timidly and even though I don’t know what he’s about to say, the corner of my lips curl up too “rely on those closest to me and share their burdens, as they share mine.”
I full on grin when I hear him recite to me the words I apparently recited to him on my sleep what feels like ages ago and he giggles, surely proud that it worked. I can’t believe we’re doing this but I know I’m going to say yes.
I guess this is the way adult men ask adult women to be their girlfriend.
I shut my eyes and squeeze them tight. When I open them, he’s looking at me as if I was about to tell him something awful.
“It’s just about the weed, I know I’m probably making such a big deal out of it but-”
“I told you I won’t smoke again and I meant it.”
“But it’s not that easy.” I shake my head. “I know that, first-hand, and I can’t go through that again, Harry.”
“I know.” He nods and steps closer to me and for the first time since he grabbed me, his hand gently falls on my elbow and my breath gets stuck on my throat. “But I’m not asking you to like be my tutor or anything, Blue” he smiles “I just want you to be my girlfriend.” He smiles.
I chuckle.
“You’re labelling it now?”
“I just want you to be close.” He rephrases and my heart beats harder.
“How is that going to change anything?”
He frowns and looks at me as if I was insane and I can hear on his mind “it changes everything, baby” but instead he just rests his forehead against mine and I feel his hot, minty breath against my cheeks.
“I told you” he whispers “I don’t want to hurt you. That’s enough for me not to do things that will.”
I sigh and cup his cheeks on my hands, lifting his face so our eyes meet.
“One other thing though” I whisper “don’t speak about yourself like that ever again.”
I can hear him swallowing.
HARRY’S POV
Her big eyes investigate mine and I feel my pulse on my neck very close to where her fingers rest. Fuck, I want to kiss her. How can she disagree with me on anything I just said to her? It’s all true; keeping her with me is probably the most selfish thing I have ever done but I’ve missed her so much and it looks like she missed me too so why should I push her away?
I can’t believe I can hurt her. It doesn’t make sense to me that she cares about me enough so that I can break her heart like she said but just thinking that I did makes me feel like I’m not worth the air that I’m breathing. My eyes drop to her lips again and her pink tongue timidly licks them under my mesmerised stare. She must know what she’s doing.
My eyes shift back to hers and it’s a silence way of asking for permission but her hands close into fists on the lapels of my jacket and she presses her lips against mine. I feel the air coming down my throat and every fibre of my body electrifies. My hands find a home on her hips and I cling onto her when her tongue, fearless and tender, pushes inside my mouth and brings the electricity to mine.
She smells so good… It’s driving me crazy. I press my hands against the back of her thighs and hold her up and her perfect legs wrap around my hips. I walk holding her until I sit her down on the empty stage but she lies on her back and pulls me so my body is hovering over hers.
I feel her pulse against my lips as I kiss down her neck and back up to that place she loves right below her ear. She gasps and sweetly moans and I start to feel the lack of blood on my brain. I grind my hips against hers, slowly but firmly enough so that we both feel the friction, and she moans on my ear as her fingers sink on my hair.
Her words resound on my mind. You did use me and then… I’m not saying you forced me, Harry… You slept with me whenever you wanted…Whenever you needed a fuck…
“What’s wrong?” She whispers.
“It’s just” I smile in a pathetic attempt at covering my guiltiness “it’s the first time I’m gonna… We’re gonna fuck as a proper couple.” She rolls her eyes but smiles and I peck her lips “I don’t think I want to do it on a dusty abandoned stage.”
She smiles.
“Yeah, we probably should get back to the party.”
“Yes, we should.”
I stand up and hold my hand out for her and for once she lets me help her without a feminist remark. I look down at my pants, I think if I move the right way no one would notice. She fixes her hair as if she could look better and then gives me a smile. The air gets stuck on my throat.
“How do I look?”
“Fucking gorgeous.”
She giggles.
“Hey, H.”
I almost give myself whiplash with the speed I tilted my neck to see her. Did she just give me a nickname? That’s how I sign shit too, with an H, and I just like that she has her own special way of calling me.
“Sorry” she blushes “I don’t know where that came from.”
“Don’t be.” I squeeze her waist. “I like it.”
She grins. Fucking hell, she’s gonna make this whole don’t-fuck-her-that-often resolution very difficult.
“I just wanted to apologize for the way I reacted at your sister’s birthday. It was so fucking self-important of me to get mad at you when it was something so… Terrible and difficult for you. It just took me off guard but I want you to know I do not think it was your fault.”
“Don’t apologize for that.”
“No, I do. I do apologize, love. It was not right and I’m sorry.” She holds my gaze. “Do you forgive me?” She smirks.
“Of course, I do.” My voice surprises me as a whisper. “Do you forgive me?”
She just nods. She fascinates me.
When we go back to the party, I try to keep my hands to myself. I don’t want her to ever feel like that again, like she’s just a body that I use to get off; even the thought makes me want to throw up. But it doesn’t matter what I tell her, I’ve tried to explain it to her but I suck at it. I always end up sounding like some sort of sex deprived pervert or some sex addict, so I reckon I’m gonna have to cut the sex part of our relationship a little bit for her to understand it. It’s just… It’s so much more than that.
I don’t know how to put it into words but it’s like I have this need to physically be with her. I guess the fact that I’m aware of how much I suck at the communication department is also adding to the mixture but I feel like there’s only so much I can say, but I can show her what she does to me and I can be close to her, so impossibly close no one else gets to be there.
I’m afraid to tell her because I think it’s not sane and I’m sure she would never approve of that sense of possession I can’t help but to add to it but I just love having her all to myself and I love the way she sounds and the way she touches me and she pulls from my hair because she knows it’s her that’s making me go crazy.
She’s been studying me ever since we came back from our rendezvous. Whenever I glance at her, she’s staring at me and while her attention makes me thrilled, I’m kind of worried she might be having second thoughts. For the love of God, who would have think I would be such a wimp?
I don’t want to mess this up with her.
“Just go dance with her.” Mario laughs.
“I don’t dance.”
“She clearly wants to dance with you.” He raises his eyebrows.
“Well, she knows I don’t dance so...”
“Well, then that’s perfect to make her feel special.” He offers. “You don’t dance; unless…”
He raises his eyebrows like the kombucha girl meme and I finally let my lips curl up. He’s got a point… And she looks incredible in that dress… And I could have my hands on her hips or even kiss her because she’s my girl.
Before I know what I’m doing, my feet start moving towards her. She grins and immediately stands right by my side as if I was the only one dancing with her. She makes me nervous.
“Just know I’ve never done this before.”
“You’ve never danced?” She smiles.
“I’ve never danced with a girl.”
“Well” she shrugs “you can pretend I’m a boy, if you want.”
I look her body up and down. Right, like I could ever pretend that. I chuckle but I know she can tell I’m nervous. She is pretty good at reading my body. She presses a kiss to my cheek and I already feel like being here and being ridiculous is worth it but then she turns her body so that her back is pressed against my chest and she rests my hands on her hips.
“Just relax, baby.”
She smiles at me before she starts pushing her hips against mine and moving them in circles. I feel her moving against me and watch her smile and I know she knows what she’s doing. I’ve heard this song on the radio before and I know she likes it. I think about the light, for the singer says he’s blinded by the lights, and I can only pity him for if he’s blind, he’ll never get to see this.
Swaying her shoulders, Blue caresses the side of neck before she pushes all her hair to one side on her face, leaving the skin on her cheek and her neck completely exposed to me. I’m sure she can hear my troubled breathing.
“Are you enjoying it?” She asks.
“You’re torturing me.” I giggle stupidly.
“Am I?” She presses her bum deeper against me and my grip on her hip tightens, stopping her. “How so?”
“You look like an angel” I whisper on her ear because two can play this game “but you’re the devil in disguise.”
She giggles and that alone does it for me yet then she turns around and rests her hands on my shoulders before she’s kissing me. I feel my heart beating on the back of my throat. When she’s satisfied, having stolen all the air of my lungs, she pulls back but just the inches enough so I can hear her.
“Are you tired?”
No, but if she wants to leave, I’ll be the first to run.
“Do you wanna go?” I ask her instead.
She just nods but her face makes me laugh. She looks so tired yet so beautiful and sexy it’s ridiculous.
“Okay, then let’s go, babe.”
We walk together towards my car and I reach for her hand. It relaxes my pulse somewhat that she doesn’t pull away. I remember she tried to hold my hand once, when we had just shagged a couple times I reckon, and I pulled away. I guess even back then I kind of knew this was not just sex.
“Yours or mine?”
“Yours.” She smiles.
And that’s the last thing she says until we make it to my apartment. When we walk inside and I close the door behind her, I make my way towards the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. If she hadn’t said what she did about me using her, I would have her against the wall.
I can’t help thinking about the soft skin on her neckline and the sweet vanilla scent she always brings to my nostrils and how intoxicating her whispers can be so I drink more water than I need, thinking that’s going to help holding myself back. From the corner of my eye, I can see her resting her hips on the kitchen island and crossing her arms across her chest.
“What is it?” She whispers.
“What is it?”
“Is it-” She swallows. “Never mind.”
“Is it what?”
I turn around so I can look at her and I don’t like the way she’s covering herself up even when she’s still fully dressed. She’s taken off her coat and that fucking black dress she’s wearing is hugging her figure in all the right places and I can’t help my eyes. But then I hear her take a deep breath and my eyes search hers but she’s not looking at me.
“I put on some weight… It’s just… It’s Christmas.”
My face contorts. I do not know what she’s talking about.
“And that’s something you wanted to tell me because…?”
Only then her hazel eyes look into my own and her self-doubt punches me on the belly.
“I was just considering that maybe… You don’t… Find me as attractive as you used to.”
Her lips set on a line as she stares at me. It feels like she’s apologizing for that, which is beyond fucked up, but the only thing I like about this is that small hint of challenge she’s giving me. I can see Blue fighting Indie, the confident, strong, independent woman in her is telling me I put on some weight and you can go fuck yourself if you have a problem with that; and the teenage girl in her is ashamed that she did. I don’t know which one is winning but I look at her and I see her and I see her lips, full and plump and intense red and perfect and I see her nose, like a hazelnut left under her eyes, and I see her cheekbones and her neck and her chest and it just puzzles me that she could ever think I don’t find her attractive.
“How...?” I can’t find the words. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you feel as attracted to me as you did before?”
“What? Where is this coming from?”
I want to understand her. Maybe someone said something to her, some jealous bitch or something or maybe she’s just putting these ideas on her own mind and that would be a bigger problem.
“Well…” She starts “When we were kissing before, you just pulled away when it started to get, uh, hot, I guess and… You have barely touched me after that… So I’m just wondering… Do you not want to… Touch me like that anymore?”
I shut my eyes, we’ve been over this before and we ended up having sex and she doesn’t seem to get it.
“Do you really think I could ever not be attracted to you?”
Her eyes frantically move between my own as if she was searching for the answer on my pupils.
“It’s crossed my mind.”
“Alright, we need to talk about this.”
She’s horrified and she hasn’t even heard what I’ve got to say. I hope I don’t sound like a creep to her and I hope I can manage to explain this.
“I am trying to hold back pretty hard because you make it very difficult for me but… Uh… After what you said about… How you felt… Used and… That I just came to you when I needed a fuck that’s just not true. I mean obviously you turn me on and you like wake this thing inside me like I just can’t enough of you but that’s not all you are to me. In fact, that’s like the small part. I mean… Sex with you is amazing but… I think it feels so good because it’s not just sex. Am I making any sense?”
She nods her head and smiles.
“I think you are.”
“I… Do you remember when you told me you weren’t okay with me sleeping with other people because it made you feel like just another notch on my belt?” She nods but her expression has changed from happy to embarrassed. “Well, I wasn’t even sleeping with other people. I just…” I shake my head- I messed up from the beginning, didn’t I? “I thought that was what you wanted and I thought if you knew I was only seeing you I’d scare you away because you had said so many time before that you didn’t want a relationship and that it was just sex but it’s not.” I chuckle. “And I get why you don’t get it. I mean I’ve been worried myself that I had become obsessed with sex, you know?”
“Well, are you?” She frowns.
“No,” I chuckle “it’s not about sex, Blue. It’s… You.” I shrug. There, I said it. “If anything, that’s what I’m obsessed with.” I laugh. “I just didn’t know how to tell you, I guess, and the way I knew how was that. I guess what I’m trying to say is- I am…” I take a deep breath, what am I going to say? “Crazy about you and… it’s not just sex, I…” like, love “care about you” I nod, good choice “a lot.”
She bites her bottom lip but the corner of her lips curl upwards into a smile. She’s nervous and so am I. I don’t know how to do this.
“I care about you too.” She confesses and I feel a weight being lifted off my chest that escapes like chuckles through my nostrils. “And I’m sorry I threw this whole thing at you. It’s just… I had a bad year in high school and I know that’s like so long ago and I’m an adult now and a lot of things have happened after that but I guess it just… Deep down I still have an issue with that.” Her voice croaks and she tilts her neck as if that was going to keep her tears at bay. It does. “It’s not you, I mean it’s not on anything you do, it’s just me. I need to get over that.”
“Okay.” I smile at her.
I feel lucky she shared that with me and I can tell a lot of things have changed tonight. We are actually talking and I feel like she just opened a little window for me to peek at the inside wonders of Indigo Blue Anderson.
“And just to be clear” I add “You look breath-taking and your body is amazing and you should never even consider that I don’t find you attractive. I think about you naked all the time.”
She laughs and her eyes beg for my closeness. I hold my hand in the air for her to take and she does but still doesn’t move.
“Now, come here.”
I lean in closer so I can grab her elbow instead of her hand and pull her towards me faster. I am still grinning when she finally presses her lips against mine. Her kiss is soft but needy and my pulse accelerates as I feel my blood rushing in a frenzy. I squeeze her hips and her tongue pushes inside my mouth making me swallow my own breath as her fingers sink into my hair and she pulls from it.
“I know it’s not just sex” she whispers against my lips “but I want to fuck you.”
Her initiative stirs something inside me and all my blood rushes to my dick. I’ve desired this woman since the last time I was inside her and now I know she feels the same way.
“You know I care about you too?” I ask her.
“Yes.” She licks my lips and drives me crazy. “But now I want you to shut up and give me the attention that I want after you ignored me for days.”
“The attention that you want?”
I think my delightfulness can be heard on my tone. Ignore her for day… She has no idea how many times I’ve touched myself thinking about her, imagining her on top of me, imagining how her sweet voice would sound on my ear if she told me she loves me.
“Yes.” She bites my bottom lip.
“And what is it that you want, love?”
She pulls away so she can look into my eyes and rests her hands on my chest.
“I want you to make me forget about anything that’s not you and for you to touch me and to kiss me without holding back.”
Her words make my blood boil but somehow they bring a strange calm to the rest of the room, like they lifted a weight on my shoulders. My hands are still resting on her hips and my lips are parted. I don’t know what to say to her, she’s mesmerising. She leans in then until her lips brush against my ear and my eyes closed. She whispers.
“I want to feel your hands all over my body and to have you gasping for air on my ear and then I want to feel your fingers inside me until I’m about to cum and then” my hands move down to her ass and she sighs on my ear “I want you to get inside me and fuck me until I can’t see.”
She pulls apart so she can look into my eyes I guess but I can take mine away from her parted lips and the outline of her breasts under her dress. When I manage to look up at her though, my usually timid girl has wild eyes as she looks at me. She pushes my chest slightly so as to get a reaction from me and I feel the luckiest bastard on Earth.
“So what? Are you going to do it?”
She presses kisses down my cheek and the side of my neck and I thank God I untied my bowtie a while ago so she has access to the line that joins my neck and my shoulder with her sweet tongue.
I can’t take it anymore. My fingers sink on her skin as I push her towards the bedroom and I feel her smiling against my skin. Holding her hips, I turn her body around and undo the little button that’s holding her dress around her neck and watch it fall until it’s just a dark bundle on her ankles. She’s not wearing a bra but I already knew that. I circle her and sit down on my mattress with her between my legs and just look up. She’s wearing nothing but a red wine colour velvet thong and my hands caress her belly and the top of her thighs when she rests her hands on my shoulders.
“I’ve been torturing myself with this memory of how you look in just your knickers for a week...” I drink in every detail I’ve missed so much, the curve of her hips, the flesh under the strap of her thong, her navel… “You’re so fucking gorgeous, my love.”
She grins at me and pushes on my shoulder enough so there’s room for her to straddle me and her perfect, soft breasts are inches away from me. I grab her ass and squeeze it on my hand and she moans sweetly. Holy shit, I can’t remember being this turned on with anyone else.
I wrap my lips around one of her dark nipples and my other hand squeezes her other breast and her nails sink on my shoulders as she gasps and moans. I torture her just like she did before with that porn scene in the kitchen and I run my tongue around her nipple and my fingers down the cups of her perfect breasts that fill my hand when I squeeze them. She’s so beautiful, fuck.
She unbuttons my shirt and pushes the fabric down my arms until I’m shirtless. I’d pay to know what’s going through her mind but she seems to read mine because with a pull from her thong, she lifts one knee at a time on the air so I can put it down her legs. Once she’s fully naked, I slide my hand between her thighs and grace my fingers with her wetness. I grunt myself when I notice how soaked she is and I need to taste her so I slip down her body and lie on my back, pulling from the back of her full thighs until her wet slit is on my mouth.
“Oh God!” She only speaks when my tongue darts down her wet folds.
I close my lips around her clit and suck it inside my mouth and hear her gasping over me. She’s so warm and salty and I’ve missed this like crazy. Our eyes meet and the way she’s looking down at me with big eyes and pupils blown away has me grinning.
“Did you touch yourself these days?”
She shuts her mouth but gives me a look as if considering whether to tell me. Her skin over her cheeks and down her neck has tinged pink. I smile. She did and just the image of her lying on her bed with her tanned legs spread opened and her hand on her clit… I press one single finger on her entrance and slip it in just an inch and she groans.
“Don’t play with me.”
“Answer me, baby.”
“Yes, I did.”
I reward her with my tongue licking away where she likes it and she gasps and pulls from my hair.
“Did you think about this?” I whisper in between licks. “Did you imagine it was me?”
“Yes.” She moans. “I thought of you, just you in general.”
It takes me by surprise that she elaborates that much so I grab her cheeks and pull her closer to my mouth as I devour her turning her into a moaning mess over me.
“I thought of your hands” she grants me more “and your voice and the way you smell and how warm you always are…”
Her confession excites me and I want to pleasure her more than I’ve ever wanted to before. I know I could have her cumming in my mouth in a few minutes but that’s not what I want right now. I want to kiss her and I want her to kiss me so I slip down between her legs and take off my pants and boxers in the second it takes her to turn around with a confused face.
She looks so soft and velvety and so fucking sexy… I place my hands on her hips and her belly and turn her around so her back hits the mattress and then I lie on top of her, claiming her mouth in a hungry kiss that she reciprocates. Her hands go down my bare chest.
“I love your body.”
I smile. Her complimenting me is rare but I love it. She’s told me she thinks I’m handsome but she’s never complimented my body before. She licks her reddish lip from all the kissing and I grind my hips against her so she can feel how hard I am for her. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and I cup her cheek on one hand so her face stays still and I can see her. With the other hand, I grab my dick and align it with her sex before I slowly roll inside her.
“Oh.” She moans as I grind my hips pushing deeper until she’s taken me completely.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
I love having her without a condom. I didn’t think it was going to be that different, but I can feel her wet and warm and slippery around me and it drives me crazy. I move slowly in and out of her and lift my weight on my elbows against the mattress so I can see her face better as I enter her and her hands move to the lower part of my back where she sinks her nails. Like that she pulls me in closer and tries to get me deeper inside her and the sweat graces my spine like transparent pearls.
I feel our connection like a rush of electricity that runs from the spot where I end and she begins all the way up to my heart and throat and mind. She consumes me and I’m not sure where that separation, that spot where I end, is any longer. We’re one right now and I can’t think of a better feeling.
We move in perfect sync and her hips sink down and drift apart at the rhythm of my thrusts. Her walls clench around me and she moans. I see round droplets of sweat covering her chest and her hairline and she just looks so good and so mine.
“You look so sexy, Blue.” I whisper.
With her eyes still closed, she grins taking my compliment and I have to control myself, to hold the words that are burning my throat. Two confessions in one night are already one too many… So instead I just contemplate the woman underneath me and my hand rests on her neck as I move in and out of her and she bites her lip. When her eyes open, she smiles at me and our eyes lock for the longest time.
“I’ve really missed you.” She whispers and a hint of embarrassment flashes on her eyes when she realizes she’s said it out loud.
“I’ve missed you too.” I reciprocate and she brings my face down for a kiss.
Her lips move down my chin to my neck and her tongue slowly presses against my skin. I growl and sink harder inside her making her gasp.
“Wait” I grab her chin with my fingers and bring her face to mine.
“What? What’s wrong?” Confusion floods her beautiful eyes.
“Nothing, I just want to kiss you.”
I feel her smiling against my lips as I kiss her and move my hips sinking inside her and drifting away slowly but firmly. Everything else disappears; it’s just her and me and that’s enough for me.
I pull from her waist and almost lift her from the mattress so that our bodies are as close as humanly possible. I pull away so that I can look at her again and she gives me a smile that melts me. I look down at her body as my hand goes all over her skin, first her breast and then her belly until I find that bundle of nerves that’s throbbing for me and press circles with my fingers against it.
“Tell me how you feel.” I grunt.
I almost can’t stand the pleasure running down my spine and pressing on the end of my dick threatening to paint her walls white but I want to hold it still, I want this to last and for us to have this moment for a little longer.
“It feels so good, H…” She moans my new nickname and I grunt, pushing harder inside her. “You feel amazing… I feel…” I watch her as I speed up the rhythm, she’s struggling with the words and her voice is so raspy and wet and heavy and I won’t last much longer. “Oh, God.”
Her hand curls against the sheets and she sinks her nails on the mattress as I pierced her against it and move faster and faster in and out of her.
“Fuck, Harry, I’m gonna cum.”
I feel her body tensing underneath mine and her nipples peak against my skin as her walls contort and milk me and I grunt and cum inside her before I breathlessly collapse next to her. We both catch our breaths and I watch her sweaty chest moving up and down until the movements are calmed and then I wrap my arm around her and pull her body closer to mine.
#doctor harry#harry styles one shot#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles smut#harry styles love#harry styles angst#harry styles fluff#harry styles fanfic#harry styles au#harry styles alternative universe#harry styles fiction#doctor harry 24
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
It’s the Colours You Have
Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Rating: Mature (M)
Notes: This is my ballet au fill for @starkerfestivals summer bingo. I had a lot of fun doing some research and watching some ballet to get a feel for this one - here’s hoping you enjoy! (Title is from Colours by Grouplove)
Warnings: Peter suffers a pretty not good injury and there’s some NSWF stuff.
Summary:
Peter Parker grew up in the dance studio and thought his entire life would revolve around it. All of a sudden, an injury takes that dream out from under him. He finds a way to stay in the world of dance through photography, his knowledge giving his work a different edge. What happens when he meets Tony Stark, a new dancer for NYCB? (Love stuff happens, that's what.)
Read on AO3 here.
Peter always thought professional dance would be his life.
At a young age, he convinced Uncle Ben to let him try one of the local studio’s classes. It took a bit of convincing – Peter was 6 years old at the time and didn’t quite understand the man’s hesitance. In the months leading up to Peter’s plea, he danced around the sofa in their living room and obsessively watched Step Up – where most boys his age were rolling around in the dirt, Peter studied the lines of dancers’ bodies and pictured himself making those same exact moves.
After what felt like a lifetime for Peter, Ben finally gave in and signed him up for all of the classes available. In his excitement, Peter took everything seriously and excelled through the beginner’s classes before the year was over. Madame Romanoff pulled Ben and May aside when sign-ups and company auditions for the next year were about to take place – in the simplest of terms, she let them know how talented of a dancer Peter was; he needed to be taking more advanced classes.
So, he did – Ben and May didn’t hesitate to put him where he needed to be; they already knew his potential, he was steadily moving through grades at school, too. Their nephew had an innate sense of talent for just about everything. Peter put his entire being into the things he liked – it made putting the squeeze in worth it. For a while, he didn’t see what that meant for the two of them – he simply enjoyed the fact that he could dance and get better at it with every single day that passed.
Landing a place on Romanoff’s dance company gave him access to top notch ballet instructors. He was very small but made up for it in the strength that he possessed. With the intention of making him one of the male pas de deux dancers, Peter cut out the rest of his classes and focused solely on ballet and pointe. It made him feel powerful and in a lot of ways beautiful, too. Even if it was weird for boys his age to love dance and feel their best while doing it. He’d gladly take the teasing – Peter loved to dance and no one was going to stop him.
The dance world took him under and guided all of his decision making. Peter worked hard all of middle school to get into Midtown Fine Arts and Dance, a high school that catered to those that were seeking entry into art’s colleges like Juilliard and TISCH. Getting in was a validation he’d been searching for and everything about his life moved to revolve around his time there.
Between Romanoff’s and Midtown, Peter was working so hard that he didn’t even realize he’d put himself in a position where his body couldn’t handle the stress. He wanted to get into Juilliard so bad and knew the only way he’d be able to go was through a scholarship. In every class since his freshman year, Peter heard about senior showcases and how every second in the walls of Midtown were preparation for that.
Every dancing piece in productions, Peter took part in. Whenever they needed a volunteer teacher to run through the parts with the younger kids, Peter volunteered. The desire to succeed overwhelmed him and by the time he got around to preparing for his senior showcase, he was at a loss and so physically exhausted, there were times when he didn’t know how he was actually still standing.
That should’ve been a clue – the fact that every part of his day felt like a chore, and that when he sat down to rest, he was comatose within seconds. Other things were trying to warn him of the ultimate shut down coming his way. His toes never recovered from the extensive pointe exercises and his muscles were always aching. If he knew that pushing himself would have been the thing that brought the world he created down – well, he still probably would have done it.
Two weeks before senior showcases, Peter was warming up when he felt a sharp shift in his lower back during a turn. The wince it pulled from him almost doubled him over. He stopped suddenly and took a couple of limping steps towards the long bar across the back wall. Hiking his leg onto the bar, Peter let out a loud ‘fuck’ when he felt the shift again. The want to keep going couldn’t override the numbness he felt in his toes.
As elegantly as he could, Peter hit ground and laid down as flat as he could, his entire lower back on fire.
It took 3 people to get him up off the ground; any sort of shift in weight made the source of his pain explode with unmanageable stimulus. Peter didn’t remember much of the movement from the floor to a gurney and into the back of an ambulance – his brain turned off to counteract the significant shift in his life happening.
The next few hours were spent getting scans and assessments done – Peter floated along from one place to another in the haze of the drugs they gave him to relieve the world ending pain. He didn’t need to hear the doctor’s words after he saw the look in his eyes – any chance of getting to Juilliard on his feet was out the window. 2 fractured lumbar vertebrae that would need to be fused and 3 ruptured disks were the thing to finally take him out. He wondered briefly, if Flash would feel undercut by his injury – he’d been gunning after Peter for years.
Thankfully, Midtown was sympathetic to his situation and let him stay around to finish the end of the year and graduate. It took a lot out of him to gimp around and be within viewing distance of the classes he’d been leading only days prior.
Being stuck with a walker for the first couple of weeks after his back surgery pushed him to work hard and get his feet back under him. Though he’d never get to dance again, at least he could walk – walking was one of the things Peter wanted to be able to do for the rest of his life. The necessity to put his all into walking and just getting around took the brunt of the blow off losing dance – it served as a good distraction, at least.
By the time the second part of his senior year came around, Peter was able to walk and get around. He was looking forward to finishing up his school year and finding out what the rest his life would be like without dance. Yet, he also longed to be close to the one thing he loved so dearly. And thankfully, Madame Romanoff offered him a good solution right before the big company recital at the end of the year.
When he walked into the studio, his heart thumped painfully against his chest. It felt like such a long time since he walked through the doors and caught his reflection in the mirror upon first glance up. A part of him wanted to walk over to the bar at the back of the room and start his stretching process, that piece of him craved the elegance of his long lines and powerful turns. Yet, the rational part of him understood that walking was more important and pushed him to move further into the studio towards Natasha’s office.
“Ah, Mr. Parker – glad you could join me. Please, have a seat,” Natasha said the second he walked in the door, the dark red lipstick coating her lips making her smile look big and bright. She kept her hair in the traditional ballerina bun and walked around in high heels – but she was kind and knew talent when she saw it. Grimacing at the little bit of a twinge he still felt, Peter took a seat in the chair in front of her desk, his fingers knitting together in front of him.
“I’ll cut right to the point. Life has dealt you a shitty card and it’s ridiculously unfair. You should be involved in dance, Peter. It’s a part of you. So, I thought – why not see if you can capture it, instead.” She turned in the big chair she was sitting in and grabbed something off the filing cabinet behind her. The fancy camera with the biggest lens he’d ever seen coming into view was not what he expected.
Her smile grew when she saw the look on his face. The whiteness of her teeth was slightly intimidating, even now, after knowing her for more than 10 years. Peter tossed a smile back her way and looked tentatively at the camera now sitting on her desk.
“What’s that, Madame Romanoff?” Peter asked, unable to keep the curiosity from getting the best of him. He was always on the other side of pictures and hadn’t picked up a camera ever in his life. The big screen and fancy dial on the back looked intimidating from where he sat, and he hadn’t even picked it up yet.
“Go ahead, Peter – it’s my solution. Figure out how to use it and then apply what you know about the art of dance to the art of photography. You know what’s beautiful. Long lines, sharp movement patterns – the beauty of a picture is how you capture it. The technical shit can be learned, the inherent knowledge you have about dance can’t.” She grinned wider when he didn’t hesitate to take the heavy camera from her.
“I want you to come to classes. You have a home in this studio, Peter. Don’t think because you’re not using your feet doesn’t mean you can’t be a part of what we do here.”
With that, she shot him another smile, then shooed him out of her office with a swift flick of her wrist.
----
Taking to the task like he tried to do with everything else, Peter dug his nose into the Canon Mark IV 5D user manual that he found online and figured out how to change the settings on the camera. It blew his mind, how many things the camera could do and how in depth the pictures could be. That was the first step.
After another couple of weeks of figuring the camera out and taking it with him on the daily walks he started embarking upon during his recovery – Peter finally felt comfortable enough to return to Romanoff’s in an attempt to do exactly what she said; capture dance.
It took a while – a lot of trial and error and frustration that Peter hadn’t ever experienced before. Things usually came easy for him. Yet, the more he did it, the better he started to feel about it. Thoughts of graduation and the future were out the window for a while – Peter dedicated himself to figuring out how to keep a foot in the world that seemed so unfairly gone from him.
He shot the end of the year recital and felt proud of the results that he ended up with. Of course, it wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as actually being on the stage, but – it brought him a sense of happiness, nonetheless. When he handed over the files to Natasha, she pulled him in for a hug. The clench of her arms kept him close, the words she whispered to him abundantly clear – “There you are.”
For some reason, those words hit him hard. His injury at the beginning of the year took a lot from him. With his rehab and the changes that came with the debilitating loss of the use of his body to create an art he devoted his life to, Peter bounced around, slightly lost. The realization that he could still connect with dance drove him forward – finally, Peter felt like he had a direction again.
Trying to get into TISCH’s photography program was a nerve-wracking experience and forced him to have to really evaluate why he wanted to make still frame his focus. The life of movement stayed alive in the photographs and he grasped onto that through the application and interview processes. His portfolio and approach must’ve been enough – Peter got acceptance and scholarship money to start the next semester.
Natasha, upon learning that he’d be in town and pursuing photography, brought him on as the in-house photographer. It didn’t pay much, but he got to have unlimited access to subjects and people that were always looking to show off the skills they worked so diligently to achieve. Peter appreciated the opportunity that Natasha provided and worked hard to provide her with his increasing talents.
Little by little, Peter honed in on his skill and absorbed as much knowledge as he could in his classes and on the job. College passed by in a blur of attending company ballet and TISCH dance productions to shoot as much as he could. He put his work in every showcase available to him and learned from the critique that people threw his way. In the dance world, critique was fodder and fed into the challenge that photography constantly imposed upon him.
Upon graduating, Peter took a job with Juilliard in the arts department as a media director and took care of the photography and visuals for all of the productions the entirety of the department put on. And because Juilliard had a direct link with New York City Ballet, Peter did the media for them as well.
When he took a step back and looked at it, his life was still wrapped around dance – and now, he didn’t have to sweat it out and perform on the stage to be directly within it. He lived in a great apartment in Manhattan and got to see his Aunt May every Sunday for whatever concoction she decided to come up with for them. All and all – his set up wasn’t terrible. Now that he had his professional life worked out, Peter felt desperate to see where the other parts of his life could take him.
As luck would have it – Peter got a nudge in right direction a couple of weeks later when he found himself in the Lincoln Center waiting for the dress rehearsal for the Nutcracker. It was one of his favorite ballets and he enjoyed being able to shoot the multitude of versions he’d get to see throughout the holiday season. And if rumor was to be believed, there was a new prince dancing with the prima ballerina.
The music started up a little while later and Peter got lost in the movements. He didn’t need to take any snaps tonight, but wanted to make sure he knew what the lighting looked like and where every group would be coming in from. Since he was working both video and film, he needed to be able to shoot from all angles. For a while, he let his camera dangle from his side and just let the dance run away with him.
By the time it got to the Prince and Sugarplum Fairy’s dance, Peter had his camera poised over his eye, the entirety of the pass one of the most important things he needed to get during the show. Their initial andante maestoso brought the two of them on the stage and in a swift dance across it – the prince in fact a totally different one than the year before. His tight calves and well sculpted thighs and hips were packed into white tights that highlighted every one of his movements.
Peter’s finger stuttered a few times through the tarantella, his focus on the dancer’s beauty and strength as he leapt and landed across the stage. When he pulled the camera down to make sure he got at least a couple of shots to play around with, Peter sucked in a sharp breath – the man was even more gorgeous than he expected, the details of his well-kept facial hair and dark brown eyes standing out the most.
Satisfied that he knew enough about the show, Peter packed up his equipment and headed out before the final act with all of the dancers came on – he knew from experience that it would be a free for all and didn’t need to plan for that. He wanted to play around with some of the images and got lost in the thoughts of the prince as he was walking out – not noticing that he was walking right into someone until well after they collided.
“Holy shit,” Peter gasped out, his long-lost dancing skill coming into play when he managed to turn and barely hit the person, instead of barreling through them and bringing them both to the ground. “I’m so sorry!” Peter put a hand on the wall and let his heart rate calm down before looking over at the person he almost took out.
His stomach dropped when he noticed the dancer he’d been eyeing up from his spot at the edge of the stage – his eyes were even darker up close and his mouth pulled into the most charming of smiles. Sucking in a breath, Peter just barely stopped himself from slapping his hands over his face. A dark red blush moved across his cheeks instead, the heat of it warming up his skin alarmingly.
“You’re pretty quick on your feet,” the man said instead of the 20 other things that could have easily come out of his mouth. Peter quirked a brow and let the slightest trace of a smile slip across his lips.
“I used to dance,” Peter replied quickly, the openness he was feeling in that moment as fleeting as some of the grumpier moods he sometimes found himself in. “Glad I still have it.” That made him smile wider, Peter a little surprised when the man across from him also smiled. It led to the slightest wrinkles in his cheeks and made Peter’s heart race.
Before the man could say anything else, a wide stagehand came walking down the hall, his eyes intent on them. “Tony, it’s the final number – you’re up.”
They shared another looked before the man, Tony, turned and started walking back in the direction he came from. Peter felt himself smiling and was surprised to see Tony holding the dressing room door open, his arm and head peeking out from behind it. “What’s your name?” He looked at Peter hopefully, his eyes wide.
Peter tightened his grip on the case he’d been pulling behind himself and let a couple of heartbeats pass before he answered – it was important that he thought before he spoke. “I’m Peter Parker,” he finally remarked, his eyebrows knitting slightly.
With a wave, Tony shot him a wink and started to disappear behind the door. “See you later, Peter Parker.”
----
The next 5 days were busy and filled with too much looking down the scope of the camera and 3 showings of The Nutcracker daily. Despite that, Peter found some time to look up the beautiful dancer – the name Tony was enough to get him a full career rundown and multiple links to pictures and videos of his past performances. Though a little older, Tony Stark seemed to be hitting the peak of his career now, instead of at a young age like most dancers. The write up he looked through said something about engineering, but he didn’t delve any further. It felt a little weird to have looked as deeply as he did to begin with.
Every night, Peter found himself watching Tony a little closer – he was all long limbs and taut muscle, his form technical but not exactly perfect. His lifts were where he excelled, though – the bundles of muscles waiting to spring into action were stretched to the limit, making the intensity of his strength standout even more.
Unable to find the courage to actually approach him, Peter spent too much time editing the images of him, ever click of his mouse meticulous and precise to create the perfect balance of camera work and Photoshop manipulation. After too many nights of it, Peter forced himself to acknowledge that talking to Tony seemed pretty necessary. Making sure to put some of his favorite on his phone, Peter felt resolved to at least show some of his work off in guise of starting up a conversation.
The final show came around with excited energy – Peter always enjoyed the last curtain call the best; there was always a certain sense of satisfaction that only that round of applause could bring. He switched up his shooting position and did some clicking from the flanks to catch a little backstage action – the decision proving to be a good one when he heard a throat clear during the first act.
“Fancy seeing you here, Peter Parker,” Tony said, his eyes shining in the bright light streaming in from the stage. He looked at Peter without blinking, a slight tilt to his head.
Peter forced himself to take a couple of breaths, his head suddenly spinning from the flush of epinephrine that his sympathetic nervous system decided shoot through his veins. The excitement of bumping into Tony probably more than obvious. “Right – fancy seeing the photographer taking photos,” Peter replied as he moved the camera to his eye and took a couple of quick shots of Tony who’d started to stretch in the open space around them.
Tony’s beaming smile made Peter’s breath catch, his eyes going to the back of the camera out of habit – the image he found there already one of his favorites of the bunch. Looking up, he gestured down at the camera in his hand. “Want to see?” Peter asked, his hands already turning it, making it more inviting for the man.
It took everything in him not to watch Tony walk towards him in the sheer shirt that, in the light, made his tanned skin stand out through the white fabric. At this closeness, the tights on his legs were translucent, Peter privy to the thick vein that ran from Tony’s calf all the way across the front of his highly muscled thigh. All those details in just the span of 5 steps – Peter wondered what he would find with an unlimited amount of time to explore him.
Shaking his head, Peter forced himself to focus when he felt the inevitable warmth of another human body getting close to him. He used his thumb to scroll back through the last 4 images he shot, a grin slipping across his face. “You have a nice smile,” Peter mumbled softly, the muscle in his forearm twitching with every click from one picture to the next. He got to the end of the roll before daring to turn his head.
“I think you’re just a good photographer,” Tony retorted, a chuckle rushing from his chest. They were close enough that Peter could feel his arm lift and clench with the sound. It made him stiffen, his skin breaking out into prickly gooseflesh. If he didn’t move, maybe he wouldn’t have to lose the rise and fall of Tony’s rhythmic breathing against him.
“Must be both then.” Peter shifted, his brain all of the sudden realizing that he was missing key pieces of the show in favor of flirting with the very attractive and incredibly distracting male dancer. “Come find me after the show – I’ll show you some from the week.” He gave Tony an encouraging smile, then turned back to look out through the curtain.
Peter heard him laugh again then the softest “okay” before the closeness of his presence could no longer be felt. Forcing himself to not turn and look, Peter did his best to pay attention to the rest of the first act – his racing mind all of the sudden not completely dedicated to the art before him on the stage.
As usual, the second act went a lot faster than the first – there was a bit more action and the dancing was not as convoluted with plot. From this perspective, Peter could see a lot more of the sideline action and felt glad he decided to trust his gut and move around a little more. When Tony stepped onto the stage, Peter gripped his camera harder – his eyes peeled for the smallest of details.
The cheeky bastard managed to look his way a couple of times throughout his solo, Peter more than certain that he got some snaps where Tony was staring directly down the pipe of the lens. It took more focus than ever for Peter to actually finish without dropping the camera and watching the ending number – since it was the last one, they changed it up and gave more solo time to each of the leads; then finished with a long bow with a few teary words from NYCB’s director. While she spoke, Peter got his equipment together and disappeared to start downloading some of the shots.
A little while later, Peter was pulled from the culling process by a tap on his shoulder – he squinted behind his glasses to make sure he was at a stopping point and turned, his fingers pulling the frames from his face when he noticed it was Tony.
“Don’t take those off on my account,” Tony said with a smirk, his hair freshly wet and brushed back from his face – the natural look of his skin even better than the brightness the spotlight and well-placed makeup gave him. His lips settled into a light smile and he leaned against the table Peter found to spread out on. He must’ve been nose deep in his work for longer than he thought.
“I just need them for the light,” Peter mumbled, jamming them into the pocket of his shirt. Glancing down, he shifted the computer so Tony could see. “Your tarantella was great tonight.”
Tony leaned in a little to look at the picture more closely, the move bringing the sharpness of his cologne into Peter’s space. As if he was trying to measure his own arms on the screen, Tony reached out to trace the line of his hand down to the middle of his chest. “You said you danced, right? You can tell – the fact that you framed up that specific move says a lot. That’s so crisp, Pete,” Tony admitted, the man pulling back, his hands shoving the long sleeves that were trying to settle on his wrists up his lean forearms.
Taken aback, Peter adjusted himself in his chair. It’d been a long time since he talked to anyone about that part of his journey through dance. Sometimes May would look at him wistfully and relive some of the memories with him, but even that made his heart ache. Licking his bottom lip, Peter nodded his head. “I did about ten years at Romanoff’s, she got me started with the photography thing after my injury.”
They locked eyes for a second, Tony’s eyebrows up, almost completely buried in the hair that was now creeping down, trying to cover his forehead. “Natasha Romanoff? She’s still on 5th, then?”
Grinning, Peter nodded again. “5th and then a newer studio on 64th. She’s flourishing,” Peter said, his hands coming up to make air quotes with his fingers. “Do you know her?”
“She was a couple years ahead of me at Juilliard. I didn’t get into the dancing world until a little later in life, so we were the same age, despite not being the same year. We partnered for pas de deux once,” Tony remarked, his eyes glowing with the memory. “You must’ve been good.”
Peter put his hand on the touch pad of his computer and went about saving the photo on the screen to distract himself – his heart started to beat a little harder at the thought of how much talented he cultivated in his youth. “I wasn’t terrible. I did not treat my body very well, however – back gave out before I could really see how good I could have been.” Clenching his lips shut, Peter wondered where all the words came from – he hadn’t been this chatty… ever.
Tony crossed his arms and leaned more heavily against the table, his forearms now on display, the lines of muscles firm and wrapped in tanned skin, the veins there pulsing from the work the man did that night. “Ah – that’s the worst. I’ve been fighting off a bum toe for a couple of years – the pointe gets harder and harder as the time goes by,” Tony muttered wistfully, his foot shifting subconsciously. “How long have you been taking photos?”
Without much thought, Peter started the process of packing his computer and hard drive into their cases, his eyes never leaving Tony. “About 7 years now. I went to TISCH for a 5-year program and have been working for Juilliard and NYCB ever since.” Finally done with the menial tasks that kept him preoccupied, Peter stood up. “What about you? You here to stay or just doing a stint with the company this season?”
Despite not saying anything, Tony followed Peter when he started walking – the natural way they just sort of accommodated each other weird for having only met once before. Tony waited until they were in the foyer of the Lincoln Center before speaking again. “I’m here to stay. NYCB gave me a company spot and choreographer position. After being on the road so much the past couple of years, coming home felt right.”
Though they were right by the door, neither man made any move to go exit through any of them, the two men obviously more than willing to mill around and talk. Peter pulled his camera case close to him, the metal of it cool against the thin material of his khaki pants.
“There’s something about the city, right?” Peter asked, his head turning to look at the still busy street right outside the door. “I’ve been here my whole life.”
Smiling wide, Tony nodded – the gesture answer enough. Peter watched him shift and smile a little bigger. “Any chance you’re free for headshot type stuff? I could use an update.”
The question caught him off guard for a second, his hopes of maybe getting to know the guy slowly starting to become more of a reality as the moments passed. That thrust him into gear – Peter fumbled into his pocket and scrolled through a couple of his photo files before he found his infographic.
“Everyone is on break for the holidays, so I’ve got lots of time. Turn your AirDrop on, I’ll share my info with you,” Peter replied without hesitation, his cheeks warm from the events of the night and the distracting way Tony was making him feel. “The Juilliard studio has great lighting.”
After grabbing his info, Tony reached across the space between them and gripped his shoulder, the touch firm and friendly. “I’ll get ahold of you. Thanks for making me look good.” Throwing him a final smile, Tony hitched his bag up his shoulder and walked quickly out the door and into the cold December night.
----
A couple of days passed before Peter heard from Tony – they decided on a time and agreed to meet at the Juilliard studio that Friday. For 4 days, Peter immersed himself in the editing process to make the time go a little faster. It didn’t, but that was always how it worked when he was looking forward to something.
In his need to fill up all the spaces of time, Peter did a bit of online shopping and ordered a couple of different backgrounds to play around with. When the day came, Peter used his key to head in a little early – his lighting set up would take a while to get put together and if his hands were busy, he didn’t have any time to fret about the nerves coursing through him or the hopes he hadn’t been able to put to bed since meeting Tony. Getting ahead of himself seemed like a recipe for failure – but he wasn’t one to not step out on the limb just because of a little fear.
Two solid hours of preparation went by much faster than he figured it would – Tony walked in through the door while he was still fiddling with the long backdrop, the sturdiness of it important if Tony was going to jump and move on and around it. He didn’t notice until he looked up to see how straight it was and caught Tony’s reflection in the mirror behind him.
“Hey, Tony,” Peter started, his face breaking out into a familiar smile. “I’m just about ready. I got the door to the bathroom unlocked, so you’re free to change as much as you’d like.” He tugged at the backdrop one more time before finally feeling satisfied – he knew what he was doing, the nerves needed to go the hell away.
Tony looked at him for a moment, his whiskey-brown eyes roving over his face without any shame. It felt good – being looked at like that. Whatever it meant; Peter wasn’t going to be mad about the attractive man in front of him not being able to tear his eyes away. The only thing that ever made his heart race like it was in that moment was dance – that had to mean something.
“I’m ready to go. I just need to put my bag down and change into my flats,” Tony finally said, his eyebrows quirking as a soft grin lifted his cheeks.
“You should probably stretch, too,” Peter remarked offhandedly, his eyes returning Tony’s stare, inch of skin by lovely inch. He was happy to see that there were a couple different cuts of shirt in his hand – they’d have a lot to work with. With that in mind, Peter went about making sure his camera was connected to his computer while Tony got ready.
As expected, once they got started, things went seamlessly. Tony was used to be instructed and took Peter’s suggestions in stride. They did a bunch of different poses in each outfit, Peter making sure that Tony switched to pointe at least once during the process. By the end, Peter was laughing at the faces Tony made at him when he switched positions.
Almost satisfied, Peter put the camera down and stepped onto the backdrop. He swung his arms from side to side to get his blood flowing, then swopped up into a one footed stance without much trouble (the twinge would come later.) “I want you to leap and land like this – I’d demonstrate, but this is as far as that goes,” Peter joked, his body saturated with endorphins from the rush doing any sort of movement with his body always brought.
Tony didn’t move to get in position, so Peter straightened up and started to think about how else he could describe it. A hand on his arm stopped him, Tony’s fingers squeezing lightly. “You still have such good technique,” Tony mumbled, his hand moving to pull at Peter’s until he was a little further onto the backdrop. “No turns, right?”
Nodding, Peter relaxed his body and let himself be led into a resting position, Tony’s hands now on his hips. “Let’s see how well you remember your backwards steps,” Tony whispered, his lips just a few inches away from Peter’s ear. His fingers tapped on the right side of Peter’s hip and they were off in that direction – his arms widening when they got to the edge of the pass.
It felt weird for a second, being in the hold position; but he quickly got over it, the relief of any stress on him quickly taken by Tony’s hands and their tight grasp on his hips, Peter’s feet barely touching the ground. They went through a couple of moves before Peter was stopping their movement with a subtle touch to Tony’s hand.
“That’s enough for me.” Peter was grateful for the brief experience and threw an even more sincere look over his shoulder at Tony. “Thank you, though – I haven’t moved like that in years.” He lifted his hands over his head and stretched himself as long as he could go before walking back over to his camera set up, his fingers wrapping around the base with ease.
When they were all done and Tony was walking out of the bathroom in street clothes, Peter looked up and motioned to him. He let his eyes linger on the way Tony’s jeans sat on his hip, the cut of his shirt enhancing the slimness there. Tony moved with ease, the man more than familiar with his body and the things he could do with it. Shaking his head, Peter moved away from that thought – it could very easily get him in trouble.
With Tony by his side, Peter smiled at him, then started to go through the frames he took throughout the two hours they’d been working. Tony spent a lot of time critiquing himself and grinned when Peter went out of his way to say the exact opposite of whatever came out of his mouth. The stills were beautiful and after a little work, would be more than enough to circulate around in resumes and show leaflets.
“Those are great, Pete – I like how well you capture the action; I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it,” Tony commented, his eyes still wide from the cruise through the photo gallery. At some point, he let his hand drift to Peter’s shoulder and kept it there, his fingers now gripping on and off. “I’d love to see more – want to grab a coffee, or something?”
As it happened, coffee ended up being a quick walk to Peter’s apartment where he got as far as pulling his computer out before Tony was flung across his hips, muscular thighs clenching with every move he made. Peter was surprised for about two seconds before he grabbed a handful of Tony’s ass, and dragged him closer, their mouths meeting in a heated kiss without either of them hesitating.
Peter didn’t usually do stuff like this – kiss people he didn’t know much about, but at the same time, he didn’t like to miss out on good things, either. He watched Tony reached down and take his own shirt off, the muscles of his stomach and arms rippling as the cells fired and clenched. When he relaxed, Peter was pleased to see that Tony was very cut up and would ripple gloriously as he thrust into him in the near future.
The fact that Tony managed to get his shirt off of him and the button of his pants undone without him noticing blew Peter’s mind, the man had a way with his mouth and let his tongue do terribly dirty things. In 25 years, Peter had never been kissed like that before – Tony’s carnality was exactly like his dancing, thorough and highly skilled.
It seemed like Tony came prepared because Peter was suddenly naked and on his back with Tony between his thighs, a packet of lube and a condom dangling from his fingers. They made eye contact for a moment, the desire in Tony softening as an affectionate look rolled over his face. “This okay? You’ll tell me if you’re not comfortable?” Tony’s questions rolled off his tongue without him stopping the scandalous press of his hips.
“It’s a lot more than okay. As long as you don’t roll me up into too much of a ball, I’ll be just fine. Just don’t stop whatever it is you’re going to do,” Peter babbled, his lips totally loose now that most of his thoughts were clouded with lust and completely focused on the delicious press and pull of Tony’s fingers on his skin and cock against his own.
He was pleasantly surprised when Tony shifted and pushed at his hip until Peter took the hint and rolled over. Leaning on his forearms, Peter spread his legs as much as he could on the couch and thrust back a little, his ass entirely on display. Groaning when Tony used his hands to spread his cheeks, Peter looked over his shoulder to see dark eyes staring at him longingly.
Tony emptied the packet of lube on the flat of Peter’s back and swiped his fingers through it. His free hand ran along Peter’s flank and lulled him into a sense of comfort – the breach of Tony’s fingers around and then against his rim secondary to the sensation of first a knuckle and then an entire finger slipping into him. While he moved his hand, Tony peppered all the skin he could reach with kisses and licks – he was obviously in the business of taking Peter apart one piece at a time.
Progressively, Peter got lost in the rush of his lust for Tony and the scorching touch that made his skin prickle and the well of heat in his stomach start to trickle over the edge. Tony’s weight held his hips down just enough that with every thrust back against talented fingers that were now aggressively stretching him open, Peter got the slightest amount of friction against his cock. It was both too much and not enough in one agonizingly delicious movement.
Draped completely over him, Tony pressed his lips to Peter’s ear when he pushed in. The stroke to slide inside was firm and didn’t stop until Tony’s hips were pressed against the muscle of his round ass cheeks. Peter shifted until he could accommodate his weight on one hand – he reached back and gripped Tony’s hair hard with the other, the moan slipping from his lips forcing a flush down the length of his chest. “Oh, Tony – “
From that point on, Peter lost track of time and space – he was so completely wrapped up in the tactile sensations and the sensitivity of nerve fibers that were constantly being stroked and prodded. With Tony’s arm wrapped around his middle, Peter gave himself over to the sensations, the long, slow glide of a firm cock in and out of him driving him absolutely mad. Little by little, he melted into the rhythmic bump of Tony’s cock against that spot deep inside of him and got closer to a finish that felt like a long time coming.
A shout left his hips when Tony used the grip around his chest to pull him up until his back was firmly pressed against the skin of well-muscled pecs and abs that were clenching with every thrust Tony delivered. Peter felt him slow down and move the grip of his hand from his chest to his hips, long fingers digging in. “The way you move against me, Pete – it’s driving me insane. It’s like you know me. Like you’ve studied my body and know exactly what it needs.”
His cock throbbed at the trueness of Tony’s words. Though he didn’t have a chance to physically explore it, Peter knew a lot about the way Tony moved from the images he’d been editing non-stop – it seemed like he learned a lot more about Tony than he originally imagined. Bringing his hands until they were resting over Tony’s on his hips, Peter laced their fingers together and let out a long moan; the carnal noises the only thing he could conjure up in that moment.
Another few thrusts of Tony’s cock dead against Peter’s prostate had him coming without a single touch to his throbbing erection. It was a novel thing for him, so he watched with wide eyes as he shivered and clenched and finished with the most release he’d ever seen come out of himself hitting the bedspread underneath him. Tony rolled his hips and thrusted through it until he was moaning against Peter’s neck and collapsing them both on the bed – the man courteous enough to turn them on their sides and away from his own puddle of cum.
Peter couldn’t stop the helpless moan that slipped from his mouth when Tony pulled out and rolled away to get rid of the condom. He turned and watched him move around until Tony finally joined him on the bed again. It shouldn’t have surprised him, the fact that Tony wrapped a hand around his arm and pull him back until they were resting as close together as possible. A nose ran through the sweaty hair at the back of Peter’s head – Tony pulling in a long breath before settling in.
“You can still dance. That was the most flawless piece I’ve ever been a part of,” Tony said softly, his hand flattening against Peter’s stomach to pull him even further back, despite the fact that there wasn’t any space left between them. “Rest up for a bit – I’ll take you out for another spin in a little while.”
Laughing, Peter let his hand rest against Tony’s, their fingers lacing with ease. He snuggled in, Tony’s warmth lulling him into a sleep haze.
----
The fact that Tony didn’t leave the next morning spoke volumes – Peter didn’t do a lot of dating, but he understood wanting to spend time with someone. They made pancakes that were barely edible and talked about Tony’s travels through Paris the previous two years. He’d been traveling with an international company that did a long stint in France. When it came time for Tony to leave and get some practice in for the day, Peter went with him.
It took on a different sort of intimacy, shooting Tony after that. Because he knew so much about the freckles on Tony’s skin and the way the dancer moved in the throes of passion, Peter could appreciate the thrust of his hips and the powerful strides for a completely different reason. It brought a whole new meaning to a long, slow seduction. They didn’t make it out of the locker room before Peter was on his knees, worshipping the cock and hips attached that moved with such poise and grace.
Spending the rest of the day together felt like the right thing to do after that – Tony came down his throat and watched with wide eyes as Peter stayed on his knees and stroked himself with a tight fist in long, quick strokes. The soft pet of his hair lulled him into a daze for a while, his cheek laying against the bottom of Tony’s stomach until he felt the tingle leave his toes and lower limbs.
Tony pulled him into a deep kiss when he stood up, strong arms wrapped around him and his swift tongue chased the taste of his own spend in Peter’s mouth. Peter didn’t know who was moaning but it was almost enough to bring him back to full hardness, though, he knew he couldn’t handle any more time on the hard floor or any of the surfaces available to them there. Suggesting a late lunch made Tony smile and when he grabbed Peter’s hand on the way out of the building, Peter let the hope of things actually going somewhere wash over him.
So, maybe Peter couldn’t dance on his own 2 feet anymore – with Tony by his side, he quickly learned that dancing was just as much a feeling as it was a collection of movements and lifts. Lying in bed with Tony between his legs later that night, Peter figured out that the roll of his hips and the caress of his hands felt just as good as the carefully crafted choreography that he’d be so accustomed to. The same way his body used to take the crowd apart, Peter slowly tugged at Tony’s seams until the dancer was thrusting into him with abandon. His name on Tony’s lips at the end of their coupling the ultimate standing ovation.
And as the days past and Peter got to spend more time not only wrapped up in the fun of watching someone else succeed, but also in the beauty and grace that was Tony Stark. The spring brought Bourne’s version of Swan Lake, which consisted of an all-male cast. Peter, having decided that NYCB was where the most opportunities were available, applied and got the job as the full-time photographer. Which meant he got to spend all of his day shooting ballet and only ballet. An absolute dream come true.
Watching Tony dance the part of the prince was absolutely magical – between trying to catch all of the best shots and catching every single one of his pristine moves, Peter spent all 7 days of multiple shows trying to capture him in the best possible way. They hadn’t been dating all that long, but Peter was moved to make sure Tony understood how he truly saw him.
It took a few weeks to find the perfect picture and get it blown up and printed to perfection. After getting it in the mail, Peter measured and built a custom frame for the photo – the dark brown wood a beautiful contrast to the white costume Tony was wearing in the print. Finally finishing it a couple of weeks into May, Peter stepped back and looked at the physical manifestation of his heart with a critical eye. It was Tony – Peter had a hard time finding any sort of flaw.
His ears prickled when he heard Tony putting his key in the lock – a couple of months prior, Peter pulled out one of his old TISCH key chains and made a copy of his apartment key. He left it in Tony’s pointe shoes and got a screaming call when he didn’t notice – the tip of the key stabbed him; but, the sincerity of the gesture made the large cut he had to nurse for a couple of weeks totally worth it.
He waited until he heard the keys clatter against the bowl that Peter kept right by the door to pick up the frame and carry it out into the living room where Tony was standing, his feet and arms bare, his dance tights still framing his legs in the sinful way they always did. Peter stopped dead in his tracks when Tony noticed him, the man’s dark brown eyes caught between looking at Peter’s face and the big frame he had in his hands.
“What’s that?” Tony asked, his cheeks coloring at the bluntness of the question. The man might’ve been a few years older than Peter, but he never failed to project youth and reckless wonder. The words made Peter laugh, his face spreading wide with the smile overtaking him. Instead of answering right away, Peter closed the gap and jammed the frame into Tony’s arms.
Peter gave him a few minutes to get his bearings and process what was in front of him. In the many days’ worth of searching, Peter finally decided on a picture of Tony in the middle of a leap. His eyes and chin were up, his hips completely square – but the thing that really caught Peter’s eye was the look of pure happiness of Tony’s face. There were many dancers that could get their legs completely straight through a leaping straddle, but there weren’t many that looked to be in absolute rapture when they did it. Every time he passed by it, the look made his heart pound, so he figured that was sign enough.
Tony looked up at him, his eyes wide. “This is what I look like, huh?” Tony asked, his fingers doing the customary reaching out to touch thing they always did. Peter watched him trace the length of his body across the glass – the idea of fingerprints not even registering. The appreciation of his work never meant so much.
“Beautiful, right? I thought, for a really long time, that I’d never really have the same connection with dance that I did when I actually got to do it myself. Then, I met you and got to see talent and passion in a totally different light. I don’t need to be moving to feel what it’s like to be on the stage when I watch you. Maybe it’s because I love you so much and I’m biased, but I’m a fan – your biggest one, probably.” Peter let all of the words flow from him before stopping for a breath. He felt his lips slip into a beaming smile – it felt so damn good to let that off his chest.
Even the very first ‘I love you’ between them felt good coming from him – he didn’t need Tony to say it out loud to know that he loved him. It was apparent in the way he touched, his fingers were constantly seeking – whether it was knowledge or pleasure, Tony was always interested in finding out. It was glaringly obvious in the way bourbon hued eyes followed him around the room when they weren’t standing together and looked so deeply within his own when they were. His gentle words and the innate ability to know just what Peter needed said things that a singular phrase never could.
Yet, when it came from Tony’s lips, Peter couldn’t have imagined a better moment. “You’re a big softy, Petey,” Tony mumbled, his lips pressing together for a second before continuing. “I love you, too. By the way. I know you know, but I also know how good the words sound. I love you. I’ll say it however many times you want to hear it.” As elegant as always, Tony moved to lean the frame against the edge of the couch to free his hands up, then tugged Peter into them, their lips finding each other in a soft kiss.
“I don’t think there’s a limit, Tony,” Peter muttered, his voice scratchy from the rush of arousal and happiness and a billion other things.
Tony gripped his cheeks and pulled him in for another kiss, his next words said against his lips like a prayer – “sounds okay to me.”
----
Later that year, Peter and Tony stumbled through their apartment after opening night of The Nutcracker. As a veteran this year, Tony wowed the audience in a way that only someone seasoned and comfortable could. The performance was flawless, Peter a little disappointed that he couldn’t show his enjoyment as much as he would have wanted to. The second they got behind the door of his car, however, his hands were all over Tony. They almost didn’t make it into the house before Peter was straddling him and really letting his appreciation show.
They fumbled through the door and passed through the living room that was littered in Peter’s work – when they first hung the few framed photos of Tony, he complained about it being a little weird. Yet, the more Peter added to it, the more Tony seemed to be behind the idea. It just took a little prodding for him to play into the narcissism that all dancers were inherently in possession of. He really started to relax when Peter added a few of the two of them, the idea of looking up to see physical representation of their connection a nice one, one that they both wanted to get behind.
Peter let his eyes glance over them briefly before crowding against Tony’s back and herding him towards the bedroom. All of the walls on the walk there were covered in Peter’s work – his own narcissism showing in the diligent way he went about making sure all of the frames throughout the house matched and looked absolutely perfect.
When they moved in together, Tony wanted to go all in, so they got all new stuff and created something that was joint and completely Tony Stark and Peter Parker mixing all the aspects of their lives. From the bedding to the bowls they ate out of, everything was picked out together.
When he was finally able to settle between Tony’s legs with just his boxer briefs on, Peter sucked in a deep breath and gave himself a second to enjoy the man stretched out beneath him. The strain from the night’s performance had Tony’s muscles taut and his veins bulging from lack of water and electrolytes – he’d be ravenous for the next few days.
His eyes were wide and completely glazed over, the pupils taking over the bourbon Peter so eagerly drank in every time he looked in Tony’s eyes. The hands that were normally so sure of themselves were reaching to touch Peter searchingly, their next step still undetermined.
Allowing himself to share a heated look with Tony, Peter shook his head and forced himself to focus – there was plenty of time to get distracted in the beautiful view of his boyfriend later. He sat up a little and reached into his bedside table, the lube and condom hitting the comforter below them, the movement enough of a decoy for Peter to get the square box he’d been hiding there open and on the muscled expanse of Tony’s chest.
They weren’t traditional, so he bypassed the one knee thing – instead, he pressed his body weight into Tony, one of his hands holding the box so he could see it while the other ran through shower wet brown hair. It wasn’t the most romantic thing, but it felt right. Everything about Tony felt right. A forever of that was the only thing he’d ever want.
“If you’ll have me, I’d like to be your number one fan forever. Please, marry me,” Peter whispered, his nose caressing Tony’s as his lips pressed the words into any piece of stubbly skin he could reach. “Please,” he prompted again, the plea unneeded, but falling from his lips, anyway.
“How could I possibly say no to that?” Tony asked, his response coming with a quick lift of his head and warm lips pressed against Peter’s. His hands moved into the long hair at the base of Peter’s neck, fingers tugging lightly.
“Put that ring on me so I can find out how it looks against your skin while I’m holding you down.” Shooting him a wink, Tony dragged him in for a deep kiss, the box on his chest momentarily forgotten.
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
AVENGERS INFINITY WAR MEGATHREAD
-really doubt i'm gonna be able to finish this movie so we'll just see where i get to
- we already know how i feel about loki and thor, we don't need to revisit this
- ok but if i were going to revisit this, i mean come on, who wants to talk about "hela draws her power from asgard, same as you" cos i wanna talk about that
like what if that's the reason thor, god of thunder, king to a civilisation of warriors, was unable to fend off like, 4 dudes and a big purple dinosaur? the royal family of asgard draws its power from asgard, and without it, they are weak, they are mortal. maybe that's why heimdall is unable to just, you know, bifrost everybody off the fucking ship the minute it comes under attack. maybe that's why loki can't fucking conjure up a swarm of fucking microscopic knives to fillet the invaders from the inside out. MAYBE THAT'S WHY LOKI TRIES TO KILL THANOS WITH A FUCKING DAGGER. BECAUSE TAKE AWAY HIS POWER, TAKE AWAY HIS GODHOOD, WHAT DOES HE HAVE LEFT OTHER THAN HIS WILE, HIS TRICKS AND HIS BROTHER
WHAT IF IN SAVING THE UNIVERSE AND DESTROYING ASGARD, THEY'VE LOST EVERYTHING INCLUDING WHAT MAKES THEM GODS
somebody talk about this
- etc etc what if the reason loki is unable to attack the purple dinosaur with magic is because when he tackled thor earlier, he used whatever magic he had left to spare in order to heal him
checks out cos thor goes from flat on his face to swinging his fists in the space of like 30 seconds and the only thing to happen to him in between is said bit about loki tackling him
- why does heimdall save hulk? i mean, i could understand it if he were trying to aim the bifrost at thor and somebody somehow knocked off his aim and he accidentally saves hulk, but like, we've established that heimdall's loyalty is to the royal seat of asgard upon whom sits thor's mighty ass. thor who, in this scene, has just been incapacitated by a metal eggshell(?) and is at the mercy of their assailants. given heimdall's priorities, it is baffling to the point of inconceivability that he would preferentially save fucking HULK over his own king.
- if this next scene isn't the guardians of the galaxy coming across thor clutching loki's dead fucking body floating through space then i don't know why any of us are even here
- "he sent loki! the attack on new york was thanos!" makes no sense? like, if loki's scepter had the mind stone in it, which we established it did in the last movie when we broke it open to retrieve vision, then.....why didn't thanos just....take the mind stone in the first place? cos rock collecting is and has always been his goal?
what, do you think that just because you assert a thing makes us forget all the shit that happened before?
- i.....am actually with tony stark. why don't they just destroy the stones they have so that thanos can't get to them? oh, you made a promise? well promises change and circumstances change! you tell him tony! you tell that stupid fucker --
oh my god i'm gonna be ill
- i think the only person whose ego can match tony stark's is probably a neurosurgeon so 👍 i guess
-i love how we immediately went back to the "so dark can't see shit" aesthetic after ragnorak because ensuring that one's audience can SEE what is HAPPENING IN YOUR MOVIE is apparently for radical directors like taika waititi
- cannot believe that tony stark staring at captain america's phone number is being played with the same emotional intensity as thor losing his soulmate entire people
- honestly how many times is the mcu gonna invoke 9/11 imagery til someone calls them out for being terrorists
- lmao i know i said this before but peter's spidey senses tingling AFTER the giant alien anus has already started sucking up new york and it is right outside his window is fucking hilarious. that's just called using your eyeballs peter
- "friday notify first responders about the giant alien anus sucking up new york" lol like the first thing somebody did when the alien anus showed up wasn't to fucking call 911 GREAT IDEA TONY
- still can't believe that they let failed neurosurgeon dr strange do more magic than god of tricks and sorcery loki lol
- i know i rag on dr strange a lot about the fact that he's a neurosurgeon it's just that he sucks.
as a neurosurgeon eyy.
- i hate that peter parker has to be here!!!!! leave him alone!!!!!
- tony stark should not be allowed within 100 feet of children or minorities
- it is very weird to me that steve "brooklyn" rogers has an area code from georgia
- since when was hela a half-sister? ODIN'S DAUGHTER AND THOR'S BLOODED SIBLINGS OR BUST YOU FUCKING COWARDS
- i am very disappointed that thor is going to go get another weapon after we spent the whole last movie talking about how he is not the god of hammers
- i just need thor to have much more PTSD than he has right now. fucking hulk has ptsd. maybe they're saving the ptsd for later. one can only hope.
- i am glad that they are letting him be cleverer though
- THEY ARE LETTING VISION DATE A TEENAGER WHY
GOD. FUCKING GROSS.
- wait when did vision turn into a white man again? did i miss that movie?
- i am disappointed that vision the computer techno robot apparently has a penis. like what a stupid limitation to give your computer techno robot, gender. 🙄
- i think that the mass destruction of infrastructure and architecture in the MCU is because of the pg13 no blood limitation that disney has set? like there's no way to show destruction to the body, so one may only show the exponential destruction to one's surroundings. like imagine how much more dramatic intensity you could wring out of a regular fight scene would be if people were allowed to bleed?
- cannot believe that a computer techno robot and a witch are having a punch up with the bad guys. of all people to fight with something not their fists, it's these two
- wanda has no enhanced strength or durability? she's a regular teenager who's a bit witchy. the first time she got thrown through a glass door should have shattered her vertebrae. again i don't understand why we insist that everybody must have the same powers and capabilities when it's clear they don't. think about how much more interesting it would be if some avengers were more fragile than others and had to be given accommodations as such
- IT IS INCONCEIVABLE TO ME THAT FUCKING BLACK WIDOW (regular human), CAPTAIN AMERICA (enhanced human), AND FALCON (regular human with wings) CAN DEFEAT THE CHILDREN OF THANOS WHEN THOR COULDN'T UNLESS THOR (god of fucking thunder carved of steel and stone) WAS NERFED
- still don't understand how we'll lend aliens afro features but not afro hair, like, seriously? you're gonna dream up green aliens with gills who look like black people but imagining them with black hair is a step too far?
- the gap of commentary in this liveblog is simply because i do not care at all for the galaxy defenders
- "earth just lost her best defender" who? who does captain america consider earth's best defender? it's not thor; he doesn't know thor's presumed dead. it's not tony; he doesn't know tony's on an alien anus. who else has died so far?
- love how exhausted bucky looks. have always loved how exhausted bucky looks. love bucky.
- i forgot that tony was with peter parker. god i hate that.
- "i'm peter btw"
"dr strange"
"oh you're using the made up names then. i'm spider man"
ok that was cute, but peter's cute, we knew that already
- i want to fling both strange and stark into space and i'm having a hard time deciding which one to push first
- "you went to bed hungry, scraping for scraps" oohhhh thanos is just anti-poor people, he would literally rather poor people be dead than struggle, i get it nowww
this is on brand for mcu
- oh my god thanos gets 2/6 stones by torturing siblings in front of other siblings, seriously? you couldn't come up with 6 different ways to find his stupid rocks you had to reuse one twice?
- which one of thor's friends was stabbed through the heart....? fandral??
- "if i don't get my vengeance what more could i lose" more like what else is there eh? what else is there for a king of no people but their vengeance?
- CANNOT BELIEVE THEY GAVE HIM BACK AN EYEBALL JESUS CHRIST IF YOU DIDN'T LIKE THOR RAGNORAK JUST SAY SO YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO FUCKING
VEHICLE FOR AUTHORITARIANISM, NOTHING IS ALLOWED TO CHANGE, FUCK YOUR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT I GOT MINE
FUCK
- i do enjoy that thor is now science fiction rather than fantasy, i don't think anybody knew what to do with fantasy cos fantasy is again, ultimately about conservatism and the status quo. so i do like that we're embracing the new and boundless for whatever that's worth.
- marvel is a cesspool of toxic masculinity. at no point are characters allowed to actually feel anything because weakness is uncool i guess and therefore unmanful. like thor lost ALL OF HIS PEOPLE. fucking ALL of them. he watched his brother die in order to save him. he is not allowed a single fucking response of mourning. i don't care if he's pushing it back because revenge or whatever, this is the sort of grief that rules you, which will bring all your load bearing structures down to heel, and they let him do nothing; he does not even rage. perfect control. smooth witticisms. why. why aren't we allowed to see his sadness?
- yo i can't believe red skull is a scifi villain now lol space nazis for real
- OH MY GOD THEY WASHED BUCKY'S WIG AND IT LOOKS SO BAD
- michael b jordan was right btw wakanda is complicit in africa's exploitation
- i do LIKE black panther i guess in the way you technically like that cousin you met once when you were like 9 and never saw again?
i like how we have here in wakanda the sears tower (chicago), the batman building (nashville), and the gherkin (london)
- ok but like, presumably not a death cult super technologically advanced wakandans who are deffo made of human flesh and human blood still arm their people with spears
i mean unless wakanda is also a death cult
why is this chicks entire fucking face cgi'd she looks like a fucking cut scene video game character
- oh ok they have LASER spears, ok
so then why did they give bucky a fucking gun
- what is bucky supposed to be able to contribute here exactly, like fucking, again, he's spycraft isn't he? he's a one man, dead of night, operation go loud and then immediately silent kinda operation. why do they have him on the front lines of a fucking lock-step formation battle??
- "it will be the noblest ending in history" WHAT, FIRST COUNTRY TO EVER BE OVERUN BY ALIEN JACKALS??
- stormbreaker is just leviathan axe, somebody's said this already right
- omfg i'm so glad they're finally acknowledging that thor is OP as fuck and does not belong amongst the fucking squabbles of earth
-"titan was like most planets, too many mouths to feed not enough to go around, so i proposed a plan, dispassionate to rich and poor alike" JUST SAY YOU HATE POOR PEOPLE MCU. YOU CANNOT HAVE RICH AND POOR, YOU CANNOT HAVE DISPARITY, YOU CANNOT HAVE SOME WITH TOO MUCH AND OTHERS WITH NOT ENOUGH AND CALL IT EXTINCTION. THAT IS NOT A QUESTION OF OVERTAXED RESOURCES THAT IS A QUESTION OF RESOURCE FUCKING MANAGEMENT. IT IS AN ARTIFICIAL CRISIS IF THERE EXISTS ENOUGH TO GO AROUND BUT SOME PEOPLE ARE JUST HOARDING IT THAT'S WHEN YOU KILL THOSE PEOPLE AND TAKE THEIR SHARE. KILLING HALF THE PEOPLE IS THE KIND OF FUCKING SOLUTION TO INEQUALITY THAT RICH PEOPLE COME UP WITH
GOD. ITS LIKE NONE OF YOU EVER READ
-you've got the big fucking boss in an ambush AND YOU ATTACK HIM WITH A MAGIC SWORD STEVEN STRANGE?????
THIS FRANCHISE HAS NO IDEA HOW TO UTILISE MAGIC USERS FUCKING HELL
- when will somebody please utilise ironman like the one man artillery he fucking is WHY IS HE FIGHTING WITH HIS STUPID FISTS HE IS LITERALLY ONE CONTINUOUS CARPET BOMB JUST USE HIM THAT WAY
cut of his arm CUT OFF HIS ARM YOU BLOODLESS SPINELESS USELESS FUCKING CUNTS . this is a manufactured crisis, KIND OF LIKE THE ONES THANOS LIKES I GUESS LOL
- dr strange could have very easily prevented or stopped quill from punching thanos but he didn't cos i guess even the movie forgets steven strange exists sometimes
- i like that the shield around wakanda has the same weakness as a poorly constructed chicken coop -- you always build into the ground a couple feet to stop the diggers man, come on, what is this, your first energy shield?
- oh disgusting, a girl boss moment. whatever you're all fascists.
- nobody adores martial might like fascists do fucking change my mind
- " avengers: not one person in this fucking cast is able to stomach ANY AMOUNT of personal sacrifice" more like
- "why did you give away the time stone?" "we are in the endgame" THAT'S NOT AN ANSWER THAT'S A FUCKING MOVIE TEASER FUCK YOU
- why didn't strange just trap thanos in a timeloop again? we've already established that is a perfectly acceptable way to deal with planetary annihilation. IS IT POSSIBLY BECAUSE NOBODY ON THIS WRITING STAFF KNOWS HOW TO DEAL WITH MAGIC
- THOR OP BLIZZARD PLS NERF
-CAPTAIN MARVEL SERIOUSLY THAT'S WHO YOU'RE GONNA SEND YOUR LAST PAGE TO JESUS FUCKING DISGUSTING
2 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
lokalsworld
Untitled
routerkeygen-blog
Untitled
ohkaruzo
is that a jojo reference?
k-gotti-vs-the-world-blog
k.gotti.🆚.the.🌎™️
scarybitch
Scary bitch