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mandoalorian · 5 years ago

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Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 6

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - angst… oops. Some allusions to sex but not much.

Author’s note: Starting to get fun now! It's the gala and there's a little surprise at the end. The DC fan in me is LIVING for this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER SIX - NEXT

You and Maxwell had been having so much fun together, you hadn't left his penthouse once, except when he had rented out a local boutique for a few hours so you could try on dresses for the big night. The boutique was an indie store, not too far from Black Gold Cooperative HQ, and when you arrived, they seemed to already know Maxwell. Of course, everyone knew Maxwell but it was like they had a personal relationship with him. You later found out that the tailors there fitted him for his suits and crafted his ties and pocket squares.

You were amazed. The boutique was small but decorated with rose gold and flowers; mirrors and paintings everywhere. It smelt like freshly cut grass and it made you miss home. It was rare you smelt anything like that when you lived in the big city. You were already in love with the atmosphere. The staff there were polite too, although they did seem surprised when Maxwell had brought you in. You caught them whispering about you but Maxwell interrupted your thoughts when he held out a short and black dress. “It’s Gucci.” he announced, double checking the label.

“Hey, it’s just like my thrift store dress I wore to the restaurant last week.” You chuckled and he nodded in agreement, a small ‘Ah’ escaping his lips as he hung it back on the shelf.

The store manager came over to you both holding a tray of tea and scones. “I thought you both might appreciate a bite to eat,” she said kindly, placing the silver tray on the little side table next to where Maxwell had been sitting. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, we’re fine.” Maxwell replied quickly but you held your hand up.

“Actually,” you spoke up, clearing your throat. “We could do with your help. You see, I’m not used to coming to places like this.” you admitted sheepishly, and the manager shot Maxwell a strange and confused look. You failed to understand her bewilderment.

“Of course darling,” she replied. “My name is Korin. May I ask what the venue is?”

“No you may not.” Maxwell snapped and Korin’s cheeks rosied up.

Your head snapped into the direction of Maxwell and you glared at him, in warning to be polite and remember his manners. There was no need for him to be so rude. You turned back to Korin after a beat of awkward silence.

“It’s a Christmas ball,” you told the manager with a deep breath. She took out a notepad and began to scrawl your words down on the paper. “At the White House.”

Maxwell snapped your name so loud you jumped out your skin. You spun your heel around to face him. “Can I have a word with you? In private?” He asked, venom dripping from his tongue.

“I’ll go look for something suitable while giving you two some privacy.” Korin said awkwardly before padding off.

“What the hell is your problem?” you asked the CEO who was running his long fingers through his dark blonde hair. He loosened his tie slightly and placed a hand on his hip. He looked stressed.

“You told her the gala was at the White House.” He deadpanned, looking at you like you had just burned his favourite Armani suit.

“So?” you asked.

“You do not tell people -locals,” he corrected, “private information like that. Do you understand? It was in the contract.”

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t in the contract,” you sighed. “You’re just being rude for no reason.”

“I always have a reason.” Maxwell snarled before storming outside in a huff.

You stood there, alone, in the centre of the boutique feeling small and inadequate.

❆ December 10th, 1984 ❆

It was the afternoon of the gala. The week between yours and Maxwell's argument at the boutique had been awkward— too awkward for you to feel comfortable staying with him. He was working long hours that week anyway, and you didn't like the feeling of being alone in his enormous penthouse. So, you went back to your small apartment, paying your rent to Tristan. He questioned how you had gotten the money so fast but you decided you didn't exactly owe him an explanation. That week you shut yourself off from everyone. Technically you weren't working because Maxwell hadn't called. You wondered if he had been getting off with another woman. Surely if he wanted to terminate the contract he'd let you know. You thought about him every day, anxiety swarming in your gut, but you had too much pride to call him. You were certain you had done nothing wrong, so why did it matter?

Truthfully, it mattered a great deal to you. You hated that you cared so much. The scene replayed in your head over and over again. You were going to just stand there while he was being rude to others. It didn't matter, you were seeing him tonight anyway. You looked over at the dress which was hanging on your bedroom door, admiring every miniscule detail.

It was crimson red in colour, perfect for a Christmas gala. It exposed just enough skin, the bodice being a plain velveteen material and the long skirt coated in a sparkling glitter mesh with a high rise slit. You paired it with red heels and a diamond necklace. You didn't know if you were going to be overdressed… you had never attended a gala after all, but you knew for a fact you'd look gorgeous.

Maxwell hadn't seen the dress. He had left the boutique before you had even tried it on, and so, something primal inside of you anticipated his reaction. He hadn't seen you in a week. You weren't sure how tonight was going to go. A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. Answered it, you were greeted by a group of three men with beaming bright smiles plastered over their faces.

"Hello! We're here to help you get dressed for the Black Gold Cooperative annual Christmas gala!" one of the men said, sliding past you and dropping his bag on your couch before any words could leave your mouth.

"I-," you were semi speechless as the men invited themselves in and made themselves comfortable. "Did Max invite you here?" you asked curiously.

"Mr Lord did, yes," the same man nodded his head and began to unpack hair equipment from his bag. "Actually your place is quite small. Shall we travel to Mr Lord's penthouse? Might be better if we get you dressed there."

"No!" you said, a little too much panic rising in your voice. "I mean, it's fine. You know, I can do my own hair and makeup. And I appreciate you all coming… I really do… but it's not necessary. And the gala doesn't start for another three hours…"

"Three hours!" The stylist gasped. "Come on boys! We have to work quick! Chop chop!"

You were pushed into a chair and one of the men began by brushing through your hair, as another man started setting out the makeup. From the looks of it, you would be doting a smokey eye with red lips. Sultry but still festive. "Where is your dress?"

"Um, bedroom door." you replied, pointing down the hallway. "Why?"

"I must take your measurements to ensure the dress is tailored to perfection." The stylist grinned, shooting you an enthusiastic chef's kiss.

"Really not necessary." you replied, wincing as the hair stylist pulled a knot from your hair. "Ow! Listen I know you have to do what Mr Lord says but I'm telling you-"

"No ifs and no buts!" he shushed you. "Besides, it's more so Mrs Lord who we're scared of."

You sighed. You had repressed the memory of his psycho mother. "Max's mother is going to be there?" you grumbled, already feeling a headache bubble up.

"Of course! She loves all the galas and events. Mr Lord… not so much."

The three of them took their time getting you dressed but by the time they were finished, the result was indescribable. You looked like a princess. You had truly never thought you were capable of looking so beautiful.

"Ah, just in time! The limo is waiting outside!" The stylist squealed excitedly as he clipped the diamond berret in your hair. "Hurry up now! Don't want to be late!"

You smiled, thanking the stylists for all their help and left your apartment. Walking down the stairs, you were stopped by an all too familiar voice calling your name. "Tristan?" you asked, hesitantly turning around to be greeted by your ex boyfriend.

"Wh-" he was speechless as he drank in your appearance. "Where are you going?" he asked, swallowing the hard lump that had formed in his throat.

"None of your business." you snapped dryly, turning back around and continuing down the stairs.

"Wait- you. You look…" Tristan was truly at a loss for words. "Who's having the party?" he was quick to change his tone.

"A friend." you muttered, rolling your eyes.

"Do I know her?" Tristan quizzed.

"No, he's new." you sighed, picking up your speed as he chased you through the lobby.

"He's a he?" Tristan scowled.

"Just- stop!" you groaned, spinning around on your heel. "It's none of your business. Just leave me alone Tristan!" you cried out. Tristan didn't say a word and you scoffed in disbelief, racing outside into the snow and into the black limousine waiting for you.

The driver, Jeeves, opened the door for you and you slid inside breathing a sigh of relief. You froze up when you felt a warm hand on your thigh. "Max." you whispered, looking at him. It was the first time you had seen him in a week.

He looked amazing, exactly how he looked on television or in the magazines. His tux had been pressed to perfection and his hair was combed and straightened into place with hairspray. You offered you a small but hesitant smile. "You look exquisite." he said, his voice small.

You were so sure you wanted an apology from him but you didn't know if it was unreasonable to expect such a thing from Maxwell Lord. But in that moment, you didn't care. You hadn't realised how much you had missed him until you were reunited with him in the back seat of his car.

But Maxwell Lord had missed you. Every day his fingers grazed his office phone as he contemplated calling you. He missed your warm embrace. He missed your smile and the softness of your skin. He missed the feeling of release as he pushed himself inside of your soaked cunt as you moaned his name, coming undone beneath him. Maxwell gulped as you placed your hand over his.

"Never been to a gala," you admitted sheepishly.

"Stay by my side, I've got you." Maxwell promised, leaning in and brushing his lips over your neck. He smelled amazing. Like mahogany teakwood with a glance of sweet honey. If you could have it your way, you'd squirm onto his lap and take him right now in the car. You wanted to make a mess of his expensive suit and fuck him so hard his perfect hair falls out of place.

When the limo pulled up in front of the White House, the red carpet was rolled out and ready. "Shit, we're a good twenty minutes late." Maxwell cursed, biting his lip as he looked through the dark tinted windows. Thankfully, it seemed as though no one was in sight and he figured you could both sneak in unnoticed. Wrong!

Taking your hand he pulled you out the limousine. As soon as your foot stepped on the red carpet, an abundance of paparazzi and journalists came out of nowhere. They were screaming for Maxwell, going wild. The flashing white lights from the cameras were blinding you as Maxwell pulled you down the carpet. "Max?" you felt panicked, squeezing his hand in terror.

"Put your head down. Don't look up." Maxwell whispered harshly. You followed his instruction, cowering behind him nervously as he pulled you through the crowds.

"Mr Lord! Maxwell Lord! Hello, Maxwell! Could we have a word? Just one question please! Sir! Maxwell Lord!"

You wondered how he had it in him— how could he possibly put up with shit like this on a daily basis. Maxwell looked up and politely smiled. It wasn't the same smile that you saw. It was his television smile. There was no sparkle in his eye. He waved and nodded his head in the direction of a few journalists. "Head inside. I'm going to speak to a few reporters. Try and get some good press. Don't talk to anybody, understand?" Maxwell said sternly and you nodded quickly. The second Maxwell let go off your hand, you felt unsafe.

"Mr Lord, can I ask, what does Christmas mean to you?" one cheery reporter smiled. "One must wonder, how does the Lord family celebrate Christmas?"

"Oh indeed," Maxwell schmoozed. "For me, Christmas is a time to give back. Which is why I have chosen to donate a sizable sum of money to the orphanage and the children's hospital. The donation will be made in the name of our dearest Black Gold Cooperative customers and clients. Because at Black Gold, we believe that everyone who invests in us, will get a little something in return." Maxwell charmed. "And what about you doll, do you have plans for Christmas? Got a cute boyfriend you'll be going home to?" Maxwell flirted, causing the news reporter to blush wildly.

You scurried down the red carpet as fast as you could in your heels, when an arm grabbed you and pulled you to the metal barriers. "I'm Angela Matthews from ABC News reporting live tonight from the White House in Washington DC. Maxwell Lord has just arrived to his annual Christmas gala, albeit late, and it seems he has brought a woman. We are joined here tonight with the sensational…" the journalist took a deep breath and leaned into you. "What's your name?" she hissed, thrusting her microphone to your lips as the cameraman turned to face you.

"I- oh- I uhm-" hesitantly you gave them your name, folding your arms over your chest and briefly glancing back over to Maxwell who was grinning and laughing while talking to a different reporter.

"Fabulous, and might I just say you look stunning tonight. What designer is that dress?" Angela queried and the cameraman kneeled down to get a strong shot of your red number.

"Uh, from a, uh- local boutique." you smiled politely, itching to run away and hide. You wanted Maxwell.

"Wonderful! Supporting local businesses I see. And so what is your relationship with Mr Lord?" Angela beckoned further. You felt sick; you were on live television and Max had told you one thing— don't talk to anyone. Whatever. You'd never been one for rules. But how were you supposed to answer? You couldn't exactly tell the nation he was your sugar daddy!

"Uhm, friend. He's my friend." you grinned. Yeah, a friend. Surely that was the best possible answer you could give.

"Considering Maxwell Lord's reputation, I'm not sure how much the nation will believe that." Angela spat back and you felt yourself heat up with embarrassment. "So you're his girlfriend? Let's see your hands. An engagement ring, possibly?"

"No!" you cried out, beginning to get frustrated. You were so loud Maxwell noticed and he sighed. "He's just my friend." you confirmed as Maxwell hurried towards you. He slid an arm around your waist.

"Darling," he gritted out, pushing you away from the reporters. "I told you to go inside."

"That lady from ABC news yanked my arm!" you accused, frowning and rubbing the skin where she had dug her nails into you.

"Inside. Now." Maxwell demanded before turning back to Angela with the fakest smile you had ever seen.

"Mr Lord! Oh wow- Mr Lord it's really you." Angela gushed as Maxwell walked on over to her, a smirk playing on his lips. "I- my whole journalistic career I have been waiting to see you in the flesh. Can I- can I touch you?"

"Um, no." Maxwell scowled and the colour drained out of Angela's skin. Realising his rejection was broadcast on live television, he knew he had to make a smooth recovery. "But doll, look at you in that pink jacket. Simply ravishing. Tell me, is there a man in your life?" Maxwell charmed. Something he loved to do was change the topic at hand from him to whoever else. He was an excellent conversationalist although he wouldn't stand for nosey tabloids pressuring him about his personal life. Shutting them out and using his charisma in other ways was something he had gotten rather good at over the years.

You were standing in the lobby of the White House, impatiently tapping your feet as you waited for Maxwell to finish schmoozing with the press. You were in awe as you looked around. You had never imagined you'd be standing in the White House. Just being in the presence of all these important people made you feel powerful. You looked up, twirling around on your feet as you took in the decor.

You jumped slightly when you felt a finger tap on your shoulder. A man, average height, average build. His hair was dark and his eyes were an interesting combination of green-brown. He dazzled you in the suit he was wearing. It wasn't quite as designer label or extravagant as Maxwell's but the simplicity of the black on black tie was something else. He passed you a glass of champagne.

"You look lost," he smiles, looking you up and down and licking his lip. "I'm Bruce Wayne. And you are?"

Taglist: let me know if you want to be added!

December Magic: @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-wayson @this-cat-is-dea @blonde2bomshell @maiyaaaa0130

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal

#maxwell lord #max lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal smut #ww84

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cathrrrine · 4 years ago

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RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 18: SAFE HOUSE

—

A/N: I hope you guys like this one ! I just wanted to add a little bit of fluff after all that angst-fest. Happy reading my loves! :)

———

"Enigma." I mumbled, the strange woozy feeling in my chest expanding as I shifted in my car seat to turn to Pietro.

"What?"

"I figured it out. I'm your enigma. Everyone has one." There was a lightness to my words as I said them and oddly enough, I didn't really mind. "You said you couldn't figure me out, therefore I'm your enigma."

I could see his hands on the wheel tighten just a little bit. The whole car ride, I'd been observing him. I just couldn't get his words out of my head.

You're driving me crazy, Y/N.

My head felt like it was about to explode by the sheer amount of force it took for me to figure out what he really meant. I felt...perplexed. I was wracking my entire brain out by trying to decipher the whole point of our previous conversation. Why did I drive him crazy? Why did he feel the need to tell me that?

Why did I feel like I should trust him?

"My enigma?" He scoffed, throwing a playful, cocky look my way. "You are nothing close to anything I'd call mine."

I rolled my eyes, "You know, it's no wonder you've got a head full of grey hair, you grouch."

"Hey!" He gasped, genuinely shocked at my comment. "I am most definitely not a grouch."

His accent made his reaction much better than I could've imagined. The way he rolled his R's made me laugh a little, so I copied it just for kicks, the letter teetering on the edge of my tongue. "Yep, a grouch would most definitely say that."

I scanned his face for any signs of annoyance, waiting to see if my words left any impression on him. Instead, I saw his expression grow heavier. I'd miss it if I blinked, but I swore I saw a flash of that same expression he wore when he confronted me before in my cell. Seriously, I have got to figure him out, and soon. Before I'm too vulnerable.

"We're here."

I turned around, looking out of the window to see the building I'd been dreading to return to. My heart felt like it had been dipped in acid and encased in lead. Suddenly, I knew why Pietro grew quiet.

Getting out of the facility had been fun, exhilarating almost. Steve had helped me escape just as he promised and left me with Pietro in the garage, handing him the car keys and giving him strict instructions to drive away while remaining incognito.

Pietro had a dazed look on his face then, part-confusion and part-anxiety, but I knew that we had one thing in similar; roguery in our veins. Pietro is a little troublemaker, I had mused as I eyed his way-too-giddy movements. He had no trouble following his Captain's orders, he was eager almost.

I told Steve that we could hide in an old safe house of mine, a tiny studio located somewhere in a sketchy town that was close to the facility so it was reachable by car, but far enough so that it wouldn't be a problem if any of his teammates were to come looking. At least we'd have enough time to escape if they did.

The last time I'd been here had been 2 years ago. Back when I thought I was still running from The Winter Soldier. Everything the Captain had revealed to me made me want to throw up. How else were you supposed to feel when someone told you that you'd been running and hiding for years, from a ghost? I felt like I'd been on an unprompted wild goose chase, except that instead of chasing the 'goose', I'd been chased by it. What a joke.

"You alright?"

Pietro raised an eyebrow, nothing but that disgusting kindness in his eyes. I wanted to strangle him right then and there. Was he offering me pity?

I threw him a half-hearted scowl, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I'm just asking. This can't be easy for you, no?"

His words hit me like a truck, and the realisation that he wasn't offering me pity, but simply just inquiring, soon came after. It was an odd question to be asked. I'd rarely been offered that luxury, of someone caring enough to ask if you were alright or not. It felt weird to be on the receiving end of that kind of sincerity, something I thought only existed out of my own realm. Yet here I was, trying to figure out the answer to his question.

I shook my head in an effort clear my thoughts, sort of like an etch-a-sketch. "I've been through worse."

We entered the building quietly, ignoring the looks thrown our way from a few bystanders. It was a rather rundown building, just as I had remembered it to be. I'd never made company with any of the people who live here, because how could I have? What kind of shit assassin would do that?

"They must not be used to new faces, huh?" Pietro tried—and failed—to ignore the man eyeing us from our right, clearly uncomfortable with the unwanted staring.

"I'd assume not. It's a pretty small town."

Pietro cleared his throat, "I see."

He looked a little uneasy, shifting from foot to foot. I followed his line of gaze and oh my god, the man was still staring.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" I snarled. He scurried away immediately, eyes averting from us either in shock or in fear. Though it was most likely the latter, considering the way he kept looking back with wild eyes to see if we would chase him down.

I turned back to my speedster companion, and sure enough, he looked much better than he did before. "It's fine, he's just a creep."

He nodded, "I was never fond of creeps."

We climbed up the flight of stairs that lead to the studio apartment, silent the whole way up with Pietro taking in his surroundings and with me being a bit preoccupied with the thoughts swimming in my head. Memories from my past kicked in violently, and I tried to swallow them down.

"Is this it?" He said as I stopped in front of a tattered door with the number 42 on top of it, pointing to it with his right hand.

"Yep." I walked closer to the door, reaching up to the number 4 and trying to detach it from the wall. Apparently though, it was too high for me, sitting just at the tip of my fingers. Either someone had moved it higher, or I'd grown shorter since

Heels. I'd worn my goddamn heels when I last set this thing up. I'd have slapped myself by now if my hands weren't occupied.

Annoyed, I groaned and stood on the tip of my toes. Just a bit more.

"Here."

My breath caught in my throat as I felt his voice reverberating through his chest which was now level to my head. Pietro came up behind me with his taller stature, his height enabling him to reach for the 4 in less than a second, his hand brushing against mine in the process. I blinked, hard, trying to steady myself and grab hold of my thoughts. I felt my face grow hot, warmth spreading through my skin like fire.

I tried not to make it obvious, how much his skin contact had bothered me. I felt stupid for making such a big deal out of it, and even more so that it was caused by him. What the hell? My throat felt tight, so I cleared it with a cough and put on a neutral expression seamlessly.

He backed away as soon as he grabbed hold of the number, twirling it around his fingers with a playful, lopsided smile. Holy shit, I want to rip it off his face. Just punch the living shit out of him.

"Hmm, maybe you're not that useless after all." I scoffed.

He grinned, "Well, if the grouch hadn't been here, it would've taken you all day to reach for this thing."

"Huh, so you admit you are a grouch."

"I didn't—Whatever you say, gnome."

"Wow, look at you." I snickered. "Practicing sarcasm are we? Pray, do tell, was I your inspiration?"

He shook his head in defeat, then he flipped the 4 over, eyebrows meeting in the middle. "What is this anyway? Some sort of secret hidden in here?"

Classic topic changer.

"Yes," I snatched the sign from him. "A very important secret actually."

I turned the thing around and pressed hard on the back of the long vertical line with my nails, breaking the plastic cover. It gave in with a little bit of pressure, and I dug my fingers in to pull out the slender, metal object that I had hidden 2 years ago.

"Ah. The key." Pietro looked impressed.

"Smart, isn't it? It's an old trick that I stole from a woman in Amsterdam."

He moved closer, and I felt myself flinching a little, afraid my body would have the same reaction that it did just a few seconds ago. Luckily, he didn't notice how distressed I was.

"Why bother though, if you weren't going to keep the key with you? Why not just kick down the door or climb in through a window or something?"

There he goes again, with his perpetual rambling.

"We're 4 floors up idiot, climbing in through the window is too risky, people might see and I might fall and die, which is not very ideal, in case you haven't figured that out yet." I inserted the key into the lock and twisted it, hearing the clack of the latch and bolts as they moved.

"Plus, I just did it for fun. I never even knew if I'd come back here or if this building would even still be intact by the time that I did."

He didn't take up the trouble to reply, or even if he did, I didn't hear him. The moment the door opened and I stepped foot inside the room, I was immersed in the haze of my past. A version of my life that was drastically different to the one I had now.

My emotions were all over the place.

A cloud of dust covered the room from years of vacancy, our shoes creating imprints onto the floor. I was surprised no one had broken in for the whole 2 years. Somewhere in the back of my head though, the memory of me threatening the landlord popped up.

"If I come back and I find out that my house got fucked up, I won't hesitate to drive this knife through your chest."

It's a wonder how far a knife and few sharp words could get you.

"Looks like it needs a bit of vacuuming, just a bit. But that's just my opinion."

I fumbled around for something hard and chucked it at Pietro's head with full force, earning an 'Ow!' immediately after.

"What was that for?"

"I've been meaning to throw something at you for a while now." I shrugged, then continued to explore my previous home even further.

It was exactly as I left it, minus the accumulated bits of dirt and the herd of dust bunnies. I walked to the small kitchen space, opening the cabinets and finding the slightly dented kettle and the 2 mugs I had kept there, untouched. Then I fished around the drawer beneath it and eventually found the box of—hopefully unexpired—tea packets and some Sweet'N Low's.

My fingers clasped around the faucet knob and turned, waiting for a good minute for running water. "Come on, come on..."

After some violent sputtering and grumbling from the sink, out came the water flow. Yes! I cheered mentally.

Then I turned to the silver-haired grouch, gesturing to the tea packets I held between my fingers. "Care for some tea?"

He shrugged, "Only if you won't poison me."

taglist: @ifilwtmfc

#run pietro x reader #pietro x y/n #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff #i want this slow burn to end already oh my god #marvel #marvel female reader insert #slow burn enemies to lovers #mcu imagines #avengers age of ultron #marvel reader insert

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nethandrake · 5 years ago

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i'll wait in line (always).

stevetony. mcu. rated t. blind dates. 8.8k words.

(written for @mkyujji for the 2020 Cap-Iron Man Holiday Exchange event that was hosted by @cap-ironman.)

also on ao3.

*****

“Absolutely not.”

Protesting groans fill the common room.

“Why not?” Clint whines.

Steve scowls, placing his hands on his hips. “What do you mean ‘why not’?”

“I mean, it isn’t going to kill him. It’s harmless.”

“How is that—”

Thor nods solemnly, grabbing a bite from his Pop-Tart. “I dare say, I must agree with Clinton—”

“Please don’t call me Clint—”

“Why not? ‘Tis a fine name!”

“Yeah, but—”

“Aside from that,” Thor continues, changing the subject, “I do not see the harm of—”

“There’s a lot of harm!” Steve insists. “A lot of harm in—”

“Harm to Tony?” Natasha says coolly. She barely spares any of them a glance, taking a long sip from her mug of hot chocolate. “Or harm to you?”

Steve stills, his heart leaping in his chest. “This has nothing to do with me.”

“Uh-huh. Sure it doesn't,” Clint drawls, propping his legs on top of the coffee table. Bruce immediately nudges it off. “Us thinking of setting up the guy you’ve been pining—”

“I’m not—”

“And there’s the denial,” Natasha says dryly at the same time Clint continues, “—for with someone who isn't you doesn’t piss you off.”

“How am I—”

Four pairs of eyes stare right back in blatant judgment.

Finally, Steve lets out the sigh he’s been holding back since they started this meeting.

It’s already bad enough that he was rouse from his sleep at two, three in the morning for this. It’s too early to deal with this. Or well, ever.

“Fine. Bruce and I—”

Bruce has the audacity to flash him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Cap.”

Steve groans. “Seriously? You too? Am I the only one that thinks this is just—just—”

“Come on, Cap,” Clint says. “We all know Tony needs some pick-me-up. Locking himself up and moping over his last breakup isn’t healthy.”

“He’s not—”

“He was crying last Movie Night. And you know he hardly cries during Movie Night.”

“I mean, if the movie's—”

“We were watching Inception.”

“Inception has—”

“He was crying during the fight scenes. And for half of the movie.”

Well… Well.

Steve hadn’t been there for that, having been on a mission for SHIELD. It’s hard for him to figure out whether Clint’s lying, considering everyone else is murmuring in agreement.

He gets Natasha, Thor even. But for Bruce to agree with Clint without any hesitation is just unheard of.

Steve exhales, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine. You guys do whatever want. It’s not like you planned on even listening—”

“No, we weren’t.”

Steve scowls, Natasha brightening in return.

He’d think that being Captain America and the leader of the Avengers, he’d have some form of respect and authority over them. But no, he’s just a leader to a bunch of stubborn kids. Teenagers.

Sometimes he wonders what he did wrong to land himself in this situation, in this era. Not wholeheartedly because the thought of not meeting Tony is just ab—

“You know he’s going to hate this, right?”

*****

“I think it’s a great idea.”

Steve does a double-take at that. In fact, everyone’s staring at Tony in puzzlement. Except for Natasha but that's hardly surprising. Nothing fazes her.

What's surprising is Tony's reaction. The Tony in front of them can’t be the same Tony who has to be dragged or hauled out of his workshop for meals or gatherings, let alone galas and big parties. For him to willingly agree to be set up on blind dates by his friends is a huge breakthrough.

A breakthrough Steve hates but a breakthrough nonetheless.

Tony cocks an eyebrow, setting his screwdriver down. “What? Why’re you all staring at me like that? I agreed to it. Isn’t that what you guys want?”

Clint smacks his lips together. “Well, yeah. But—”

“We do not mean to insult your intelligence, my friend,” Thor replies. “We assumed you will not be amenable to our proposition.”

“Well, Winghead wasn’t,” Natasha cuts in.

“Still isn’t,” Clint pipes up.

Steve makes a mental note to double their drills during the next training session.

“I just thought you wouldn’t like it,” he explains when Tony trains his curious gaze on him. “Going on blind dates, I mean.”

“It’ll be a nice distraction,” Tony says after a beat. “It’s pretty overdue, anyway. Probably good for me to get into the dating game again and try to—”

“I don’t know. Isn’t it too soon?”

“It’s never too soon to date,” Tony counters. “Sides’, Pepper and I broke up... What? Seven months ago? I think it’s high time I get back into things. Go out. Have some fun.”

“And being around m—us isn’t fun?”

Once again, all eyes are on him. A snicker fills the awkward pause. Steve makes another note to triple the drills for Clint.

“I think Tony meant a different kind of fun,” Bruce offers.

Tony directs his screwdriver in his direction, grinning. “Right on the money. I’m not saying you guys aren’t fun to be around because you are—”

“We love you too.”

“Sure you do, birdbrain. But yeah. You guys are fun and all but it’ll be nice to go out and have a nice time in a less platonic setting, you know? Have some little flirting going on—”

But I flirt with you all the time, Steve grumbles.

Sure, they always go unnoticed every single goddamn time but it’s flirting all the same. If Tony wants someone to flirt with him, Steve’s his guy. In fact, he could—

“—and maybe fall in love—”

“Fall in love?”

Steve almost claps his hand over his mouth as once again, several pairs of eyes zero in on him, most of them in mirth.

He really, really hates himself sometimes.

Tony raises his eyebrows. “You seem pretty adamant of me staying single for the rest of my life.”

“Yeah, Cap,” Clint adds, smirking. “Why’re you so— Ow!”

Natasha might get her drills halved for that.

“I’m not trying to stop you from—from falling in love,” Steve says, the words heavy on his tongue. “I just— Well, I— You know—”

Tony frowns, his eyes roving around Steve’s face before softening. “Alright, guys,” he says, clapping his hands. “Clear the room. Steve and I are gonna have a lovely chat alone.”

Their friends move to vacate the room, not without protests from Clint. As soon as the door closes shut behind them, Tony shifts his attention to Steve, crossing his arms.

Steve feels like he’s being put on trial.

“It’s been months, Steve.”

“I know—”

“You know I’ve moved on—”

“I know. I just… I just...”

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

God, there are so, so many things he wants to say. All the words and sentences clash in his head, swirling around in a whirlpool of anxiety, hope, and fear.

I think you’re making a mistake in agreeing to this.

I think our friends aren’t thinking things through.

I think you deserve better than blind dates.

I think you should date me.

“No. Nothing at all.”

Steve swears there’s a flicker of disappointment that crosses Tony’s face before it vanishes.

“Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours,” he says, poking Steve in the ribs. “I’m a big boy. I know how to handle a little date. Nothing I can't handle.”

“Four dates.”

Tony's eyebrows arch. “You’re not giving it a go?”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t really know anyone who’d be interested,” he lies.

Tony gasps, clutching his heart. “How dare them? I am a catch.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you are.”

“I am, you asshole. FYI, I was voted Sexiest Man Alive thrice.”

“Good for you,” Steve says dryly.

“Asshole,” Tony mutters, spinning on his heel. “Fine. Be like that. Whatever. Good talk. Now shoo. I have—”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Steve interrupts, resting his hand on Tony’s shoulder. Years ago, Tony would’ve shrugged him off. Now, Steve’s glad Tony’s willing to let Steve touch him, let alone hand him things. “We’re having breakfast. Bruce's making breakfast tacos and you are going to join us.”

“But I have—” Tony scowls. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“The puppy dog eyes. You know I hate—” Steve flutters his eyelashes. “Ugh, fuck you, Steven.”

Steve couldn’t help but cackle as Tony storms out, striding to hurry after him.

If he hasn’t been savoring his time with Tony, well, he’s going to savor it so much more now. His borrowed time with Tony might be shortened very soon.

*****

read the rest on ao3.

#capimexchange #stevetony #stony #steve rogers #tony stark #superhusbands #*fic

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thewinterwaifu · 5 years ago

Note

Hiya Maria! Thanks for responding to my last message. Can you give us your headcanons of Gwyndolin, specifically DarkSouls 1 but I'd also like your take of the character as they appear in later games as well (if it isn't too much of a bother). Ik you're into the souls series and everyone seems to have their own particularly unique take on this character, from gender to personality, and I'd really like to know yours :)

Hello!THIS TURNED OUT TO BE WAY LONGER THAN I EXPECTED I'M SORRY I REALLY LOVE GWYNDOLIN-

Gender: We all know dark souls doesn't hand us much lore and we have to make our own theories but we know this much:Gwyndolin was born a male but under the blessing of the moon, which is considered girly, so Gwyn forced him to be raised as a woman and wear a dress. I know some people headcanon Gwyndolin as MTF transgender but I personally don't. They never said Gwyndolin identified as a woman, more like was forced to dress as one. In my opinion, he is a cisgender man but continues to dress as a woman because he feels like he owes it to his father and it's his 'punishment' he ha to go through for 'failing' him. So, what's with the boobs on the character model. I'd say it's either a stuffed bra or an illusion spell (I mean, he can create a whole illusion of his sister, who says he can't change his appearance a bit?) Personality: Because of how he dissappointed his father, he is very scared of failure. Thus, he is a complete perfectionist. When Gwynevere left, this feeling only grew even more. Despite of how much he may doubt himself, he will never show it, wanting to keep up this facade of a god who isn't restrained by human feelings, especially those of self doubt or anxiety, thinking that if he shows 'weakness' all of the knights won't see him as a fit leader and merely a shadow of Gwyn who will never be as great as him. Behind the mask of confidence and leadership, he is an introvert and fairly quite shy. If one of his knights tried talking to him about something that wasn't about orders and asking about him or whatever, they'd see that there may be a long pause between his sentences, thinking of what to say. Despite how he fools everyone by making them think Gwynevere is still there and how he tries his hardest to convince the chosen undead to link the fire, despite the consequences this has on the natural order of things, I don't believe Gwyndolin is a bad person. He really does believe in what he stands up for and than an eternal age of fire is the 'correct' thing to do. He is more than capable of compassion, empathy and love. His eye color: I like to think his eyes are golden yellow!I may be biased because most of the fanart shows him this way but I think it really suits him! Not like anyone will see them anyway, because he refuses to be seen by anyone without it. Gwyn, Gwynevere and Yoshka were the only exceptions, since they were his family. Snake bodyparts: The good old question. Where do the human (god,but you get what I mean) parts end and the snakes begin? His legs aren't entirely made of snakes, he has human (or well,god) upper thighs and from there on, the snakes begin For a while I used to wonder if the snakes were like, an extension of Gwyndolin himself and he can fully control them like a bodypart or they actually have mind and personalities of their own. After a bit, I decided to settle on a bit of a middle ground. They do have mind of their own but Gwyndolin can 'mind control' them and bend their will to do his bidding if he so desires. For his whole life, had viewed them as tools more than anything, but when he was left alone in Anor Londo, he couldn't help but feel lonely and start to view them as friends. By nature, the snakes have a sort of bond with him and are willing to serve him Friendship: Gwyndolin really did love his sister Gwynevere a lot, and when she left Anor Londo, he was completely devastated and felt rather empty. Something was missing. Even if he did create an illusion of her to not notify anyone of her dissapearence with a spell, he knew it wasn't real, and it hurt to even look at her. After this, he didn't think he could ever feel affection ever again aside from his snakes and Yorshka. He put up walls in his heart, not wanting to be hurt again. But say...if a blade of the dark moon cared about him a lot and kept talking to him, his heart would melt and he would really start to see them as a friend rather than just a servant. He would be insanely loyal, grateful to have someone who accepts him the way he is. The guy has abandonment issues though, and would be kind of paranoid about them leaving. And if they died?Oh, he would not be able to take the guilt, knowing they died doing their duty as a blade of the darkmoon for him. Even so, he still wouldn't let them see him without his crown. Love: If it's hard for him to consider somebody a friend, just imagine how he must be when he comes to love. Just like with everything else, he is afraid of failure and being abandoned. He'd need to have a very strong friendship bond with anyone before he even starts to see them as something more. He isn't a 'love at first sight' kind of guy at all. It's a slow thing for him. He'll be friends with somebody with years and slowly realize that he is starting to see them in a different light recently...Surprisingly, he doesn't mind being the one to confess and will gather the courage to do so. He isn't a very cuddly partner though, especially at first, as he isn't used to touch and is scared the snakes gently wrapping around his partner's arms or legs while they cuddle will scare them off. He really can't help that. He constantly reminds them how much he loves them and how happy they make him, wanting them to know that despite him not being very touchy. "It's almost as if thou art my destiny...I shall love thee for as long as thou will have me..." Remember how he won't show his eyes even to friends?He may actually do so with his s/o after they have been dating for a while, to prove he really does trust them Also, he gets flustered extremely easily. Interests: He doesn't have that much free time but when he does have it, Gwyndolin likes to read and write poetry. A bit of an obvious one here but he also likes archery and practices not just to improve his skills but for fun as well. Along with spellcasting, it's one of the few things he likes about himself and can be proud of. After Dark souls 1 and before Dark souls 3: Once again, much is left to speculation so we have to go off item descriptions and npcs conversations to try and get stuff together We know Pontiff Sullyvahn poisoned Gwyndolin so he was weak and Aldritch could eat him, allowing Sullyvahn to take over the valley. But what was Gwyndolin doing before that?In my opinion, pretty much the same as in the first game, trying his best to convince people to choose the link the fire. Aside from that, I like he sent his most trusted knights to look for Gwynevere. Even after centuries, he just couldn't let go of his sister. Meanwhile, he did his very best to keep Yorshka happy and be a good brother to her. He didn't want to make the same mistake and watch her, a loved one, leave. Back to his death, I believe his last thoughts were, just like always, for his family. Gwyn would be so disappointed right now wouldn't he?That broke his heart. But...maybe, just maybe he would have changed his mind by now. Gwynevere...was she still even alive?And Yorshka...oh poor Yorshka. He could only hope she would be spared

#Dark Souls 1 #dark souls #soulsborne #dark sun gwyndolin #gwyndolin #dark souls headcanon #dark souls headcanons #dark souls fic #dark souls fics #soulsborne headcanon #soulsborne headcanons #headcanon soulsborne #headcanons soulsborne

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blakemetothemoon · 5 years ago

Text

Your Love’s My Ritual

Summary: “I don’t want to break up with you! I want to fuck you!” or: Zon wants to top. Predictably, he sucks at bringing it up.

Pairing: SaifahZon / ZonSaifah

Rating: Explicit for smut. First time topping, blow jobs, fingering, angst, oh my.

Notes: Request: “Would you be okay writing another SaifahZon where maybe Zon is actually afraid to ask Saifah if he can top because he wants to try but now he’s so used to their dynamic that he is nervous about asking Saifah ? Maybe a little bit of angst where Saifah knows something is up but Zon avoids the question so much that he thinks he did something wrong?”

Did my best to touch on all of that D: I hope you all enjoy! Please let me know if you notice any typos or anything like that! This has only been seen by myself and eye, so it’s definitely possible I missed something LOL

This can be read as either a sequel to Smiling Stupid or on its own! Read here or on ao3.

Thank you for reading!

“Do you want to be on top tonight?”

Zon shoots off the pillow so fast he gets whiplash and his shoulder barely misses breaking Saifah’s nose. “Really?!”

Saifah crinkles his brow, confused by the outburst. And Zon doesn’t blame him. He gets on top of Saifah all the time. Riding Saifah, they’ve discovered together, is one of Zon’s favorite things. Saifah’s fingers have already made their way into the back of Zon’s boxers and are sliding over the curve of his ass. Normally, the way his hand perfectly cups Zon’s cheek and can still tease him melts Zon like ice cream left in the sun.

But “normally” isn’t “lately”.

Because here’s the thing: Zon does want to be on top.

He just…means it in a different way than Saifah does.

And Zon has brought it up no more than absolutely zero times.

To say he plans to bring it up is a lie. What if Saifah makes fun of him because Zon has never actually put his dick in someone’s ass before? What if Saifah gets weirded out? Sure, he offered the first time they had sex but now they’ve only done it with Zon on bottom, so changing at this point would be wrong, right? And what if Saifah gets upset or offended? Zon loves sex with Saifah. He doesn’t want Saifah to think differently. Like he isn’t pleasing Zon— with all those explosive orgasms and his throat going hoarse from moaning so much, god, Saifah is most definitely pleasing every inch of him.

Still, none of that changes how much Zon thinks about giving it to Saifah like Saifah gives it to him. About long legs around his waist and his cock inside hitting that bundle of nerves to drive Saifah crazy. Sometimes he thinks about how he pinned Saifah to a wall once already; he could do it again. Except they could both be naked and—

Zon doesn’t know why he wants it so bad. Somewhere between imagining fucking Saifah and the anxiety of bringing it up, his brain kind of stales.

It’s fine, though. Zon’s got this. He can hide his dirty little fantasy away and be so chill about it that Saifah will never know anything is amiss.

“Um,” Zon replies, “I’m actually pretty tired.”

Immediately, Saifah’s fingers stop. For a brief second, Zon’s legs open slightly on their own, waiting for Saifah to continue, press in and make Zon moan, and he hates part of himself for making the excuse but he would have to explain if he took it back.

“It’s only 9 PM,” Saifah says.

“Uh, yeah. Headache.”

Eyes search his face. Saifah’s hand retretes. It slides out of Zon’s boxers to trace his thumb over Zon’s hip, soothing. “Do you need to go to the doctor? You’ve been getting those a lot lately.”

Shit, Zon should’ve thought of a better excuse. He’s used the headache one five times already, and there’s definite annoyance in Saifah’s tone.

Not getting laid isn’t what Saifah’s annoyed about. It’s obvious Zon is hiding something and Saifah isn’t big on Zon refusing to talk to him. The last time that happened, Zon was convinced the novel was real and his feelings for Saifah weren’t. Back when he would throw them into that stupid cat and mouse game, flinching away from each of Saifah’s advances and kicking Saifah right in the heart.

Zon knows he’s probably kicking again as he rolls away to avoid any further conversation. There’s a moment of silence. Then a kiss is pressed into the spot where Zon’s neck meets his shoulder. It is the same spot Saifah always nips, either because he wants to give Zon reassurance or he wants Zon to arch his back and shudder. It almost works for both, but Zon freezes when Saifah winds his arms around his waist because being the little spoon makes Zon think about wanting to not be the little spoon, and his anxiety skyrockets.

Saifah mistakes it for outright rejection; he is quick to withdraw his arms. Zon isn’t sure how to reassure him without bringing up the whole “I-wanna-top-you” thing, so he lets Saifah shuffle away to the other side of the bed.

Zon barely sleeps.

Contrary to what Tutor is currently saying, Zon is not ignoring Saifah. Frantically sprinting off whenever he sees that sexy, tall giraffe walking his way is not ignoring—it’s self-preservation. It’s driving him crazier and crazier whenever he’s in close vicinity to Saifah to keep his hands off him.

“Zon, Saifah said you haven’t talked to him all week,” Tutor says, “and now he’s all mopey like a kicked puppy.”

“He’s mopey?”

“Wouldn’t you be if you thought Saifah was planning to break up with you?”

The thought of him and Saifah not being together instantly makes Zon want to puke. “I’m not going to break up with him!” Zon grabs onto Tutor’s biceps, making him jump, but he quickly resigns himself to the oncoming rant. “Tutor, listen to me! I want to fuck Saifah so bad, I can’t stop thinking about it. Like, all the time! Any time I see him! And it’s wrong because we’ve always done it the other way, and we both really like it, and Saifah is taller, and I think he’ll hate me if I bring it up, and I don’t want him to hate me when I’m in love with him!”

Zon is used to long pauses after he talks, so he’s a little shocked when Tutor immediately replies, “Are you a moron?” Tutor shakes his head and wiggles his way out of Zon’s death grip. “Who do you think tops—Fighter or me?”

“Uh,” Zon crinkles his brow. “I’m not sure. You’re scary when you’re mad, but Fighter is scary all the time. You can both be intimidating. You’re both pretty equal height, so—”

A rolled up notebook smacks him across the head.

“What the hell kind of logic—” Tutor remembers who he’s talking to, so he bites off with a sigh. “We both like it both ways, so we do it both ways. We switch.”

Zon’s eyes go impossibly wider. “You switch? You can do that? That’s allowed—ow!”

The notebook remains rolled, like Tutor is convinced he’s not done using it. “The things allowed in a relationship are what’s consented between the people in it. Have you talked to Saifah about…Zon!”

Zon throws up his hands before Tutor can smack him again. “I don’t know how to bring it up!”

Tutor briefly glances over Zon’s shoulder, then back to Zon’s face. “Try this: ‘Saifah, I need to talk to you about something.’ Now, you say it.”

Zon pouts and shuffles back and forth on his feet. “‘Saifah, I need to talk to you about something.’”

“That’ll involve actually talking to me.”

It’s that deep voice Zon hasn’t heard all week. Saifah drapes his arm over Zon’s shoulders and begins steering him away.

“Tor,” Zon yells, drawing the attention of everyone in the canteen, “how could you!”

Tutor throws him a cute little wave like he hasn’t just sentenced Zon to death.

Saifah is mad. Saifah is really mad.

“So you’ll talk to Tutor about whatever’s bothering you, but not me?”

Zon is usually quick to rise to Saifah’s anger with his own, but this time he knows it would be unwarranted. “He cornered me—”

“Now I’m the one cornering you. What the hell’s going on with you?”

And when Saifah says he’s corning Zon, he’s very much cornering him. Saifah has dragged them to an empty stairwell and he’s got Zon back up against the wall. The coldness of it does little to stop the heat pooling in the bottom of Zon’s stomach reminding him they haven’t even kissed in five days. But Saifah doesn’t seem like he would appreciate Zon trying to make out with him right now.

Saifah takes Zon’s distracted silence as another rejection. “I thought we were past this, Zon. If you’re gonna break up with me then—”

Hearing the words from Saifah’s mouth is worse than hearing them from Tutor’s. “I’m not!”

“You expect me to believe that when you’ve been running away from me—”

“I don’t want to break up with you! I want to fuck you!”

The words bounce off the walls in an embarrassing echo.

“What?” Saifah replies.

“I want… tofuckyou.” Zon says, timid and quick. He starts doing that jaw working, bouncing from one foot to the other thing. His hands are cold and his chest is tight. He wants to puke. He shouldn’t have said anything, not even to Tutor. “All the time. It’s all I think about when we’re together and I don’t want you to think I don’t like doing the other way because I still do. It’s just—”

“That’s why you’ve been ignoring me?” If anything, Saifah is angrier now that Zon has started explaining himself. “I’ve already offered to do that.”

“Yeah, but that was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before you started doing me!” Zon wipes his clammy hands on his pant legs. “You really like doing it that way.”

“Obviously!” Saifah shakes his head and steps away, giving Zon space to breathe. “It feels amazing, but that’s not why I like it so much. I like it because it’s you, Zon. I like being with you. It’s not about whose dick is where.”

“It’s…not?”

Saifah’s face softens. It barely takes him two steps to close the distance again. He wraps Zon up in a big bear hug. Zon likes that he’s small enough for Saifah’s arms to envelope him. To pull him into his chest where it’s warm and he can hear the rhythm of Saifah’s steady heartbeat.

“I know I’m usually good at reading you,” says Saifah softly, “but when it comes to things like this, you have to say it clearly, okay?”

“Okay,” Zon replies, soft and muffled. He clings to the back of Saifah’s shirt like it’s a lifeline. “I’m sorry for making you think I wanted to break up.”

“Hmm, you’ll have to make it up to me,” Saifah says. Zon can hear his smirk. “You’re staying over on Friday, right?”

Zon tilts his head up to look at him. “Y-Yeah?”

Saifah doesn’t explain because he doesn’t need to. He waggles his eyebrows. Red stains Zon’s cheeks to his ears, and he buries his face into Saifah’s chest again, shy and trying to hide his smile.

Friday. Two days. Zon has never been more ready for anything in this life.

Zon is not ready.

Saifah is in the shower when Zon gets in. Most likely getting himself ready. Zon thinks about how often he’s done that himself, then he pictures Saifah doing it—

Zon drops his bag somewhere random and sits down, heavy, onto the edge of the bed. He wrings his hands between his legs. They’re already sweating. Is he allowed to finger Saifah if his hands are sweaty? Saifah is always so in control when he’s topping and takes care of everything—Zon should do the same, right? Should he pull out the lube and condom to have it ready? Maybe he should make this extra special since it is the first time they’re doing it this way. He didn’t bring candles or rose petals, though. He did bring some popcorn and candies he knows are Saifah’s favorites, but those were for later. At least he figures they should be for later—

Hands warm from the shower wrap around his.

“Don’t you dare say anything about being in a K-drama,” Zon pouts. He’s so out of it, he didn’t hear Saifah getting out of the shower or kneeling in front of him.

Saifah raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think you can do it?” he asks instead.

Zon glares and clenches his teeth. “Of course I can do it, asshole.”

“Agreed,” says Saifah, smiling, hands still massaging Zon’s even though Zon is considerably calmer now. “You don’t need to be so worried.”

“But what if I mess up, or you don’t like it, or—”

“You won’t and I will.” Saifah kisses Zon’s knuckles. “It’s not like I’ve never done it before.”

Zon’s mouth drops open. “You have?!”

“To myself.” Saifah’s grin is downright dirty.

Zon pictures it and his mind goes white for a second, then he blushes. "You’re so shameless.”

That devious smile grows. “Which I know you appreciate.”

Saifah presses against Zon’s shoulders and together they fall backwards onto the mattress. Usually Zon is the one on his back with Saifah staring down over him, always equal parts hungry and adoring. But this time, Saifah rolls them; with a grip on Zon’s hips, he pulls Zon on top of him, and, suddenly, it’s Zon’s turn to loom.

Drying hair frames Saifah’s face, bangs slightly matted to his forehead. Water drops are scattered over his neck and collarbones. Zon wants to drag his tongue over every inch and leave marks behind.

Saifah smirks when he feels Zon grow hard. He uses the hold he still has on Zon’s waist to pull him down at the same time he grinds up, showing Zon he isn’t alone in being excited about what they are about to do.

Weirdly, it makes Zon more confident.

Unlike the first time they had sex, they don’t take time removing each other’s clothes because dragging this part out gives Zon too many opportunities to think. Saifah nearly rips off the buttons of Zon’s shirt and has him naked in record time. Zon pulls Saifah’s towel loose and tosses it somewhere they can find later. He’s seen Saifah naked tons of times now, but never like this: spread out across the navy blue sheets beneath him, legs open and inviting Zon to make his move.

It takes Zon a moment to figure out what ‘his move’ is. He knows he’s spoiled. Saifah has always been the giver between them, both in the bedroom and out. Not that Zon doesn’t…do things when he’s on the bottom. Once he does something for the first time and finds out he likes it, he kind of becomes insatiable afterwards. He’s gotten pretty good at giving blowjobs like they’re going out of style. Saifah shows off those scratches Zon leaves on his back like they are battle scars he’s proud of, and Saifah comes every time which is always the ultimate end goal for Zon.

But this is different. Now that he’s here between Saifah’s thighs instead of wrapped around his hips, there’s so much more…access. He can trace each line of Saifah’s abs and see them jump beneath his fingertips. Saifah’s neck is long so Zon has plenty of space to experiment with slow, dragging kisses, sucking when Saifah’s breathing stutters. Saifah has porcelain skin; Zon enjoys how it instantly reddens beneath his lips. With each new mark, Saifah rubs himself harder up against Zon’s stomach, encouraging him to keep going. He sighs when Zon pulls back to look down to where their bodies are touching.

The first time Zon saw Saifah’s dick, he was fascinated. Apparently switching roles makes him fascinated again. His eyes linger on how hard Saifah is and it’s slowly dawning on him, Saifah really likes this.

Zon lines up their cocks perfectly, spurred on by knowing he is the one controlling every slide and grind, holding Saifah’s hips steady because Zon’s shorter, but he’s still strong. Zon almost apologizes for the red blossoming beneath his fingers. Starts to ask if he’s pressing too hard. But then Saifah desperately tries to rut up against him—

Because I like being with you, Zon.

And maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s why Zon wants to be inside Saifah so badly, it’s surreal he finally will be. Zon wants to make Saifah feel as amazing as Saifah makes him feel. Give him the same attention he covers Zon with. Take care of the technicalities so all Saifah needs to do is feel good and sated and spent.

Saifah makes an amused, startled noise when Zon surges up to kiss him.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good you can’t talk,” Zon says in a rush of words against Saifah’s lips. The enthusiasm takes away any attempt at sexiness.

Still, Saifah laughs. He pushes himself up onto his elbows and barely has to stretch up to kiss Zon’s forehead. He does it three more times, then flops back down on the pillow and says, “You can do it, my Zon.”

Breathing gets harder once Zon has the lube on his fingers. He drags his other hand down over Saifah’s ribcage to his stomach to his cock. He tries to think of how Saifah takes care of him, so he bends forward and takes Saifah into his mouth at the same time he pushes his finger in.

The first thing Zon notices isn’t how tight Saifah is or how hot (though those are very fast to follow). What he notices is how Saifah’s entire body reacts. He bites his bottom lip and his stomach flexes and he thrusts into Zon’s mouth like he can’t help it. For a moment, Zon’s gag reflex activates but he doesn’t care—all his focus is on making Saifah lose control bit by bit.

Zon may not have experience in fingering someone else yet but he’s fucking determined, so he adds a second finger when Saifah tells him to, then immediately spreads them and searches. Saifah’s resounding, deep moan when Zon finds that spot has Zon grinding himself against the sheets for minor relief.

Saifah really is shameless. He has never been shy about his moans when he’s fucking Zon, never holds them back. Zon should have known Saifah would be responsive this way, too. And since Zon secretly loves hearing Saifah come undone as much as he likes coming himself, all of Saifah’s noises are loosening Zon’s remaining nerves.

Zon pulls his mouth off a minute later when he feels Saifah’s entire body shivering, a sign Zon knows means he’s close. But Saifah tightens around Zon’s fingers, warning him not to stop, and Zon can’t help but groan and give Saifah what he’s asking for.

"Does it feel good? Sai?” He can’t decide what is sexier: his fingers disappearing into Saifah’s heat or the microshifts in Saifah’s expression when Zon goes from teasing him to actually pressing repeatedly against his prostate.

“Yeah,” Saifah says, breathless. “Yeah, feels so good. You’re doing amazing.”

The nerves return once Zon has the condom on and is lining up, but Saifah knows when Zon needs encouragement. And, honestly, there’s something incredibly hot about how Saifah grips Zon’s cock and guides him forward. About how Saifah wraps his legs around Zon’s waist like a vice and tugs. Zon has nowhere to go except in and in and in.

‘Tight’ and ‘hot’ are the first thoughts this time. He’s pretty sure he blacks out for a second once his hips meet Saifah’s ass, and then again when Saifah digs his nails into Zon’s neck and forces him down so he can bite at his lips.

Somehow Saifah manages a smirk. "Try not to come right away, virgin.”

Zon groans into Saifah’s shoulder. “Shut up, jerk.”

Saifah has to be uncomfortable, but he’s running his fingers through Zon’s hair, soothing and grounding. Zon returns it with a soft kiss to Saifah’s throat and a shallow thrust, enjoying the way Saifah’s hand tightens around the strands. Enjoys it even more when he thrusts again and Saifah tightens around him everywhere and starts whispering, “Zon, c’mon. Zon, my Zon.”

And, well, Zon doesn’t mind Saifah pleading his name like this.

In novels, shyness is a common theme. “Don’t look!” and “It’s embarrassing!” And Zon gets it—he’s still the embodiment of that kind of bashfulness sometimes.

But Saifah seems to like the complete attention, and Zon doesn’t want to miss a single thing, so he sits back on his knees. Their movements are a bit awkward at first, but Saifah drags one leg over Zons shoulder. Zon grabs the other, digging his fingers into the back of Saifah’s knee and pressing it forward. Saifah has to bend further than Zon ever does in this position but he does it with a gasp instead of a complaint. Zon kisses Saifah’s inner thigh like he’s passing on a reward.

Zon refuses to come first. He always comes first. Not this time. This time it will be Saifah and Zon will even drive himself crazy to make sure that happens. He keeps the pace slow to start, pulling out then sinking deep and grinding to make sure Saifah gasps each time. When it’s time to go harder, his body does it on its own, like Zon was made to make Saifah throw his head back and moan.

Then they’re moving together, thrusting and meeting and moaning. Saifah runs his hands anywhere he can, leaving fire with each glide. They’re so long he can grab Zon’s ass and sink him deeper still. Zon bends Saifah even more. The changed angle makes Saifah’s eyes go from half-lidded to full blown with desire and Zon hits it again and again. Saifah is muttering nothing but Zon’s name. He cradles Zon’s face between his big hands and draws him into a desperate kiss.

Soon, they are just panting into each other’s mouths. Zon kisses Saifah’s nose like he did the first time they kissed and he couldn’t speak from the overwhelming happiness.

Now, it’s Saifah who is unable to find words; his nod is as subtle as Zon’s had been. I’m ready, please, I want you to.

Zon grabs onto Saifah’s cock and strokes him in time to their thrusts, pulling, pulling, pulling until Saifah is shaking and coming all over his stomach and Zon’s fingers. Between whimpers he sings Zon’s name, and he looks blissed out, and is so perfectly tight around Zon’s cock—

HIs orgasm hits him suddenly and sends lightning from his head to his toes. He can’t stop his hips from moving, thrusting deep into Saifah, but Saifah doesn’t care; he hoarsely gasps and still has his legs wrapped around Zon, ankles crossed and thighs keeping Zon in place until he’s done shivering through his high.

They’re panting when Zon collapses next to Saifah, both covered in come and sweat, and not caring at all. For once Saifah doesn’t have the energy after sex to continue doting affection on Zon. Zon does it instead. He reaches over and brushes Saifah’s bangs off his forehead. Traces mindless shapes onto his chest. Nuzzles Saifah’s neck so he can feel Zon’s smile.

“You’re amazing,” Zon says, “How are you always so amazing?”

“I think you’re the amazing one here, My. Best. Zon,” Saifah says, accentuating each word with a playful tap to Zon’s nose.

Zon preens. “It felt good?”

“You know it did. How about for you?”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely.” Zon licks his lips and he doesn’t mean for his voice to go so high when he asks, “So, you would want to do it like this again?”

Saifah drags a hand slowly up and down Zon’s arm and smiles. “I think we can do it however we want.”

Zon smiles back. “I think so too. Wait, where are you going?”

Slowly shuffling out of bed, Saifah raises an eyebrow. “To grab the towel—hey!”

Before Saifah can process it, Zon rolls over him and leaps out of bed. Still naked, he races to the bathroom for a wet towel. Along the way back, he grabs some muscle relief cream and the snacks he brought for Saifah.

“My towel from earlier is right here,” says Saifah, amused as Zon cleans them with the fresh towel. “Should I expect this service every time?”

Zon gives him a cheeky grin in reply, then sees how happy Saifah is, and he can’t help kissing him again.

They spend the rest of the night laughing, eating the snacks Zon brought, and singing stupid songs. Eventually, Zon rolls onto his side, burying his face into his pillow and snuggling deeper into the mattress. Saifah’s arm wraps around Zon’s stomach and holds tight. He kisses the spot where Zon’s neck meets his shoulder, then pulls him back until they’re practically plastered together. Their legs become a tangled mess. Soon, Zon can hear Saifah’s gentle, even breathing.

That night, Zon doesn’t mind being the little spoon.

#saifahzon #zonsaifah #why r u #why r u the series #why r u?#zon #saifah #blakemetothemoon #fic #saizon #zonfah

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your-turn-to-role · 5 years ago

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ayyyyy happy 4/13 have my second list of classpects, vox machina edition! (@lostsometime to add to the homestuck au)

(m9 here)

vex - thief of mind

vax - rogue of blood

percy - witch of light

keyleth - page of breath

scanlan - thief of life

grog - prince of rage

pike - heir of space

tary - witch of mind

first off, there are a couple copies here, and they don’t have a time player, so vox machina on their own could not win the game. but hey, weird plot shit exists, and the alpha kids managed it by combining their session with the beta kids, so who knows how this would go

(explanations under the cut)

1) vex - thief of mind

vex has a lot of ideas about her sense of self. but when you get right down to it, none of them are actually about her sense of self, and rather about how people see her. image is important to mind players, but it’s not really linked with identity. in fact, the canon description of mind players states they have very fluid, shifting concepts of identity, it’s far more important to them that they remain rational and have a logical line of reasoning than sticking to things just because they feel right or wrong. and i think this is very true for vex, she doesn’t often doubt herself, but she doesn’t really know who she is, beyond just what she’s trying to emulate or avoid.

thief bc she’s still one of the stealth twins, it is very her thing, but she’s definitely the louder of the two, the thief demands to be known, the rogue quietly assists. she’s headstrong, stubborn, and the world owes her everything it’s taken from her, which she definitely plans to steal back. and honestly that’s her right and i love her.

2) vax - rogue of blood

god i really love the fact that the twins are a thief/rogue pair, it not only fits who they are as people but vex being the active version of vax’s passive class and vice versa fits so well

(also fun fact, i have something of a personality test/checklist i grade characters on when i’m struggling to figure out their class or feel like i’m being biased towards one particular classpect. there’s 15 possible points per class, most characters will get a highest score of maybe 9 or 10, homestuck characters get something like 12-13. vax, however, does what no one else has ever done, and scored all 15 points in rogue. he is more rogue per rogue than any rogue in homestuck. 100% pure distilled rogue boy.)

personality quizzes aside though, he really is so obviously a rogue. he’s got everything of the thief archetype built into his entire character, but while a homestuck thief steals by their own will and for their own benefit, all of the rogue’s same actions go towards supporting their friends. also, as a passive class, their decisions tend to be less personal drive based and more guided by their aspect, as if the universe was working through them, which is definitely the case for our champion of the raven queen. they’ve been described in canon as the robin hood class, rebellious, but in an altruistic way. true punk. fuck the system, love recklessly

blood players need a family. they draw their strength from the bonds they have with those around them, they’re stubborn as all hell, especially when it seems like there’s no way out of a situation, but it’s in determination to protect their chosen family and keep everyone safe and happy. if they’re leaders, they’re inspirational ones rather than commanding ones. and this is “dramatic speeches about teamwork and morality” vax, “what the fuck do we have in this world except for moments with each other” vax, “how lucky i have been to have had all of you” vax. what else could he be?

3) percy - witch of light

so percy’s an interesting one, because i kinda wanna give him two classpects? like, if you classpect percy before or during the briarwood arc, he’s a prince of light. after that, he becomes way more of a witch. (though, to be fair, light players and witches are both incredibly prone to getting possessed, so, maybe he was a witch all along and just acted really prince-y)

he’s definitely an active class, no doubt about it. percy will fight gods to achieve his own ends. prince, being the most active class, and one designed to cause destruction, definitely suits orthax percy. but then things change, and you realise what he actually is

witches are manipulator classes, like knights, but active manipulator classes. they can’t create things out of nothing like some classes do, but instead bend and twist and transform their aspect (and the world around them, using their aspect) to achieve their goals. percy’s human, and not magic. he doesn’t have any particular special abilities in order to do things, he gets by on ingenuity and reckless bravery. that post that was going around a while ago about how all of vox machina are basically gods and percy’s just a guy with a gun does well to prove the point here, because he keeps up anyway. he’s made mistakes and there are things in the world now that he can’t change, but he does his best to work within those constraints and make as good of a world as he can with what he has

and what he has, usually, is knowledge. which is the main dominion of the light aspect, along with luck (and, you know, taliesin and dice rolling). light players are scholars first and foremost, but very rarely bookish scholars, instead the kind of scholars that think they can make a demon deal and get away with it because they’re clever enough for that, and also they’re extra enough that they’d do it anyway for the aesthetic

4) keyleth - page of breath

this was the easiest of all of these for me to do, it just slots so neatly into place. pages are a slow moving class that have to work their way around all the side quests before they get a lot of their power, but after that they’re powerhouses. they’re easily underestimated, by others and by themselves. keyleth takes a while to come to terms with herself and her power and her effect on the world, most of the plot takes place within her slowly completing her aramente, she often worries she won’t be good enough for anything that’s expected of her, but once she hits level 20 she is a master of the elements, a true leader of her people, and literally unkillable.

breath fits for two reasons. the first is being the aspect of freedom, of acting without being controlled by anyone else’s thoughts or decisions. and keyleth, for all her anxiety and all her bad luck, has never made a choice she didn’t agree with. along with vax she’s the first to speak up when she feels like the group’s moral choices aren’t holding up to her standards, when they’re moving in a direction that isn’t right. the second is that it’s the aspect of air, and the wind, and she’s literally the leader of the air ashari. she can and does in fact do the windy thing

5) scanlan - thief of life

we’ve covered life already in my nott/veth explanation, but it really is so scanlan. look at this excerpt and tell me it’s not written for scanlan shorthalt

[If you're poisoned, chances are the Life-bound have something for what ails ya. This applies to both physical and mental suffering, though it might not be a cure you'll like. They also have the tendency to put other's needs before their own, which never ends well for anyone, because the Life-bound can grow bitter if they feel their own self-care has had to be shunted aside.]

figuring out class was harder? a lot of vox machina classes are pretty difficult to figure out. prince would work to an extent because of scanlan’s self destructive tendencies, bard would work to an extent because he often feels like things are out of his hands, but i think i’m going with thief. scanlan’s more of an active class, despite playing support in dnd, he’s very self motivated and not one to listen much to the guidance of the universe. thief i feel fits with the headstrong attitude, the creative out of the box thinking, and the need for attention in a very specific way (less so having people celebrate you, scanlan enjoys that but can easily shrug it off if it doesn’t happen, it’s more causing things for the sake of knowing and having other people know that you caused them)

6) grog - prince of rage

honestly this is the one i’d be most willing to bend on? it, took me forever to come up with any kind of classpect for grog, he seems to resist being classpected. i know a lot about him as a person, but translating that into either class or aspect was just hard. but i’ve gone with prince because grog’s never stopped for anyone (except maybe pike), because it’s a destruction based class, because it’s the most active on the scale, and grog is definitely one to go do things purely because he wants to do things and wants to do them now.

rage because rage players are about truth at all costs, even if that cost is often destabilizing entire systems and leaving the rubble to pick itself back up. and it makes me think about how grog has never really wanted to disguise himself, and especially about just before the kevdak fight - he knew he would probably get killed if he went back there as himself, but he refused to go in under false pretenses, because that wouldn’t be right

7) pike - heir of space

ashley’s just always drawn to those heirs. i think though with pike it definitely is a consequence of her being in and out a lot, because she’s not just an heir, she’s an heir of space.

heirs tend to stumble into their role rather than creating it or seeking it out. on a meta level, ashley only created pike because the team needed a cleric and she worked it out from there, but as far as pike herself is concerned, she doesn’t really know what she’s supposed to be doing or what her purpose is, but she’s been trying to do her best to follow sarenrae’s teachings, trying to do her best to guide her friends, and hoping that nothing goes wrong along the way.

space, too, is an aspect of patience. it’s about valuing the journey more than the destination, it’s about seeing what the universe has in store for you and trusting that it’s just as likely to turn out good as it is bad - you’ll know when the time comes to step in, at which point space players are pretty fierce fighters. but for now, for pike, it’s trying to help her friends one step at a time

8) tary - witch of mind

tary is like percy but cheating. he has a lot more resources to work with bc he just goes out and buys shit. but the witch reasoning still stands, they are very similar people in that respect, good at working within a set of restraints so well you don’t even notice the restraints are there

mind rather than light because, tary doesn’t quite hunger after knowledge in the same way. instead he’s much more concerned with the application of it, of how to get from point a to point b as efficiently as possible, and how that benefits him. (also because he’s not nearly as extra as light players. have you met light players? like i love them but jesus christ. who let them be Like That)

#i also have essek and gilmore classpected #but i only have so much writing energy in a day #so we're spacing these out #cr1 #cr thoughts #text #meta #homestuck #classpects #vax'ildan #vex'ahlia #percy de rolo #keyleth #pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt #grog strongjaw #taryon darrington

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flightyrock · 6 years ago

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The House Knows

My fill for the Fall Multifandom Challenge hosted by @sporadic-fics and @helplessly-nonstop . Thank you both, this was a lot of fun!

Prompt: They were roommates

Rating: T

Words: 3k

Pairing: Steve Rogers / Bucky Barnes

Other Characters: Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff

Tags: minor injury, stitches, swearing, questioning sexuality, no powers au, there’s no plot, cuddling, cute, roommates au

The place is perfect.

Too perfect.

Enough that Steve Rogers--a guy known for more bad luck than good, who habitually drags himself back to his feet after being kicked down by life and circumstance over and over again, a guy who can’t help but think the best of people--is suspicious. By all rights, he never should have responded to the Craigslist ad. The location, the interior, the number of rooms, even the profession of his potential roommates is the very definition of too good to be true, especially for the listed rent. And it’s in one of the better neighborhoods in Brooklyn.

Except it was so nice, that he couldn’t resist responding. A guy could dream, after all. No one was more surprised than he was when he got a response from a real human being. Or when that same human being answers the door of the gorgeous brownstone that matches the pictures online almost immediately after Steve knocks.

“Hey there, I’m Sam. The landlord,” the guy says, then shakes his hand with a friendly grin.

“Oh,” Steve says stupidly, blinking, willing it all to sink in. Someone actually answered the door. Then he realizes he’s still holding Sam’s hand. He releases it quickly, and rubs the back of his neck, trying and failing to dispel his embarrassment. “Sorry, it’s just. I didn’t think this was actually real. It is real, right? You sure you didn’t mean to throw a zero on the end of that rent?”

Sam throws back his head and laughs. “Oh, it’s real. Don’t worry, we get that a lot.” He steps away from the door. “Come on in. Don’t worry about taking your shoes off, it’s Clint’s week to clean.”

Steve snorts in spite of himself, but takes Sam’s word for it. He follows Sam through the house, and his disbelief grows with every feature. Washer and dryer included. Each tenant has a private bedroom. Landlord pays all utilities. “Even Wi-Fi?” he asks, mouth agape.

Sam clutches his chest like Steve has gravely offended him. “What do you take me for, Rogers? A monster?”

A terrible thought strikes him, and he’s certain his face goes white, because Sam gives him a funny look. “You’re not involved with the mob or something, are you?” Steve whisper-asks.

Sam laughs so hard, he has to bend over to catch his breath. When he’s recovered a bit, he claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I like you. You’re going to fit right in here. If you want it, that is.”

Steve gapes. “If I want it? Are you kidding?”

Sam’s face falls. “Yeah, I get it,” he sighs. “Look, if it’s the bathroom thing, Barnes and Clint have offered to share. You can take the upstairs one.”

“What? Why would you think. No,” Steve sputters. “No, I mean, of course I want it, it’s perfect. I love it, just. Why me? I’m sure you’ve gotten tons of applicants.”

Sam looks at him, his eyes piercing. Steve shifts in place. “You have an honest face,” he says eventually. “And you’re safe. I can tell. At the risk of sounding crazy, I’m particularly good at reading people. The other tenants will love you.”

“Wow,” Steve says. Because how do you respond to that. “So that’s it? That easy?”

“Well, almost,” Sam says.

Steve shouldn’t feel as disappointed as he does. He knows better. There’s always a catch.

“Clint and Barnes have to approve,” Sam clarifies. “They’re both vets, and gay to boot. Last thing I’m going to do is make this kind of decision without their input. They deserve to feel safe in their own homes.”

Steve’s not sure why he’s so surprised that Sam is as considerate as he is. The man has been nothing but friendly, but that kind of empathy isn’t something you see everyday anymore. “Wow, that’s. That’s amazing of you.”

“I admit that I have ulterior motives,” Sam smiles at him. “We gay military types have to stick together, you know?” Then he sobers. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Oh no, not at all!” Steve says quickly. Maybe a little too quickly, because Sam eyes him suspiciously. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t have any problem with any of that, I swear! Let people be who they are. It’s just. I know I’m fit, but I never actually served, and I’m straight, so I don’t know if I’m what you’re looking for? I don’t want to make anyone feel unsafe,” he says earnestly.

Sam’s staring at him. Steve feels himself shrinking unconsciously under that scrutinizing gaze. Steve’s fumbling for an apology for wasting Sam’s time, because why would he ever accept Steve now, when Sam says.

“Huh. Well, shit. I could have sworn...”

“What?” says Steve, bracing himself for rejection, already resigning himself to another late-night stroll through the housing and roommate pages.

Sam shakes his head. “Nothing, don’t worry about it. Just, you’re probably going to be the first straight person to live here, ever. It’s actually pretty weird; it’s like the place knows. But yeah, the offer stands.”

“Wait, really?” Steve asks him. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Sam grins at him. “I may have guessed your sexuality wrong, but I know I’m not wrong about you getting along with the other guys. You’ll like them, I know it.”

“Wow, uh, great! When can I meet them?” Steve asks.

“How about in twenty?” Sam grins at him. “It is about dinner time. I’ll order pizza.”

Sam is an excellent host. He doesn't even blink when Steve politely declines wine and beer, getting him a fancy bottle of mint-infused ginger ale instead. Sam waves off his stuttered thanks. “Don’t worry about it. Barnes doesn’t drink, either.”

Barnes, amazingly, also doesn’t mind when Steve stares at his prosthetic. The man had dropped heavily into an armchair after shaking Steve’s hand and introducing himself as something that starts with a B, but Steve doesn’t quite catch because holy hell, the guy is gorgeous. He has soft-looking dark hair that falls in gentle waves past his shoulders, a jawline perfectly highlighted by five o’clock shadow, and grey blue eyes that shimmer in the light. Steve can’t take his eyes off of him. It only gets worse when he pulls off his baggy sweatshirt, revealing a broad frame and the shiny, intricate limb. The guy clears his throat, and Steve’s eyes shoot back to his face, embarrassment setting his face aflame.

Steve stammers out an apology. “I’m so sorry, Barnes,” Steve says miserably. “It’s rude of me to stare. It’s just that I’m an artist, and the design is stunning.” It probably makes him a terrible person, but Steve’s glad the prosthetic gives him such a good excuse for staring.

The guy just laughs, grinning at Steve. “Don’t worry about it, pal. Everyone does.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve says.

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Barnes says amicably. “But I’m more offended you’re calling me Barnes, to be honest.”

Steve flushes. Can’t he do anything right? “Sorry. Sam calls you Barnes.”

“That’s because Wilson’s an asshole!” Bucky yells into the kitchen. He cackles at the disembodied profane gesture he receives in response. “Nah, but Sam’s the best,” he grins at Steve. “He’s never in town for very long, but it’s a great time when he is.”

“Aw, shucks,” Sam grins at him when he reenters the room, setting a stack of plates and a roll of paper towels on the coffee table. “I guess you’re pretty okay too, Barnes.” Bucky lets out a dramatic wounded sound, and Steve laughs along with Sam. Sam pats Bucky on the shoulder apologetically. He looks around. “Where’s Clint? At this rate, the pizza will get here before he does.”

Bucky shrugs. “Who knows? Don’t worry, he’ll be here. There’s pizza, and you’re buying.”

“True,” Sam chuckles.

At Steve’s questioning eyebrow, Bucky explains with a smirk. “Clint has a sixth sense for pizza. It’s wild. Just you wait; he’ll be here between the time we pay and the time the pie gets cold.”

The pizza comes, Sam pays, and a guy with short blond hair and chunky hearing aids comes strolling in the door a minute later. “Hey, Sam. Bucky. Ooh, pizza!” he grins, and makes a beeline to the box, rubbing his hands together.

Steve laughs, and Bucky winks at him, a mischievous spark in his pale eyes. Steve blushes in spite of himself.

“What?” Clint says, looking around. His eyes land on Steve. “Oh, hey,” he waves, then goes straight for the food.

Sam laughs. “Barton, put the pizza down for a second and meet Steve!”

“What? Oh, hi, Steve,” the guy smiles at him, then takes a bite of the slice he’s holding. “Ow! Hot!” He makes a grab for his burnt tongue, fumbling the slice. It lands on the throw rug, cheese side down. “Aw, pizza.”

Sam shakes his head long-sufferingly, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

Steve grabs the roll of paper towels and starts to pick it up. Clint shoos him away with a grin. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’ve got it. Happens all the time.”

Steve carries the messed up paper towel into the kitchen to throw it away. “Isn’t he sweet?” Sam’s saying to Bucky when he comes out, and Steve flushes.

“Oh yeah,” Bucky says, turning to face Steve with a grin. “He’s perfect.”

Bucky, as it turns out, is the bane of Steve’s existence. The man’s always smiling at Steve, inviting him to go grab some tea, or come watch a movie. They often stay up later than they should talking about everything and anything. Steve feels like he’s known Bucky forever. So why does the man make him so anxious? At least, that’s what he thinks the fluttering in his chest is. It can’t be anything else. It is distracting, though. Steve catches himself thinking about the guy and that strange anxiety at all hours. It’s really cutting into his drawing time.

Anyone else would have guessed that if any of Steve’s roomates would be the bane of his existence, it would be Clint. The guy is always tripping on the last couple of stairs, or spilling soup on the carpet. Not to mention he’s probably broken more dishes in the time it’s taken fall to turn to winter than Steve has owned in his life.

“You’re the physical manifestation of the term ‘gay disaster,’” Bucky complains at Clint as he helps Steve pick up the shards of the latest casualty, a nonsensical ‘World’s Best Best” etched clumsily on a cheap wineglass.

“I resent that!” Clint pouts. “If anything, I’m the physical manifestation of ‘bi disaster.’” Clint, of course, is banished to the couch. Bucky explained that the last time the guy helped clean up broken dishware, their last roommate had to take him to the local Urgent Care for stitches. “That’s bi erasure!”

“You can hardly blame me. It’s so long that you’ve taken anyone home that I forgot,” Bucky’s saying to Clint, a grin in his voice. Steve’s studiously ignoring them, concentrating on the shards in front of him to try to stop the blush that wants to creep up his neck at Bucky’s smile. It’s just as gorgeous as he is. Steve’s never seen a person so beautiful before, and it’s a daily battle to keep him from humiliating himself. The man was funny, and charming, and Steve has never felt this way about another person before. But they’re roommates, so Bucky’s off limits. And, after all, Steve’s straight. Isn’t he?

The glass, he reminds himself. God, it really had scattered everywhere. Steve has no idea how Clint managed it. Bucky’s laughing. Then something soft but firm hits his face hard, and he’s falling. He sticks a hand out instinctively to catch himself, and is hit with deep regret a moment before a sharp, burning pain.

Clint’s yelling a belated warning.

“Oh fuck, Steve,” Bucky’s voice is saying, and hands are helping him to his feet, guiding him carefully around the glass. Steve chances a glance down, and his stomach lurches at the piece of material he sees sticking out. He fights the haze that’s creeping into his brain, and tries to concentrate on Bucky’s voice, murmuring comforting things as he gets Steve settled onto a kitchen chair. Steve’s mortified at the way his eyes burn as Bucky gently works the shard out, then holds a kitchen towel to the wound, applying firm pressure.

“Oh, Stevie, I’m so sorry,” he says, bringing a spare towel up to dab at Steve’s tears. Steve lets him, still frozen from the event. It’s kind of nice, actually, underneath the embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have been teasing Clint while we were cleaning. Or ducked that pillow.”

“Sorry,” Steve echoes, feeling very small. “I shouldn’t be crying.”

“Sure you should,” Bucky says, putting down the towel and patting his arm. “It was a shock. Completely normal.”

“God, Steve, I’m so sorry,” Clint says miserably from the doorway. “Anything I can do?”

“Grab the first aid kit?” Bucky requests, and Clint nods.

“I can take care of it,” Steve says, embarrassed.

“With one hand?” Bucky raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Just let us help.” The man frowns suddenly, and lifts the edge of the towel. Then his face goes carefully blank.

“Clint?” he calls.

“Yeah?” the man calls back, voice muffled.

“Call a Lyft please!” Then he turns to Steve, and smiles reassuringly. He guides Steve’s free hand to grasp the towel. “Can you hold pressure for a minute, Stevie? I’m going to go grab your shoes.”

“What’s going on?” Steve says, afraid of the answer. But Bucky’s already hurried out of the room. He braces himself, then lifts the towel. Oh, shit.

He ends up getting stitches, Bucky never leaving his side. Underneath the humiliation, Steve feels something warm ballooning in his chest. It’s amazing. It scares him. That feeling only swells when Bucky guides him firmly to the couch when they get back, and settles a throw over him before pulling up Joy of Painting on the TV. They sit together, shoulder to shoulder, and listen to Bob Ross calmly walk them through blocking out sky and ground, then making the space come to life.

They’re three episodes in when Bucky pulls him into a hug. “It’s alright, Steve,” he murmurs, and Steve realizes he’s shaking. “Let it all out.” And Steve does. He’s not sure if he imagines Bucky kissing his temple, but he hopes not. He really hopes not.

He wakes up alone on the couch, eyes sticky, and hand aching. He stares at the ceiling blankly for a minute, before it all comes rushing back to him. God, why is he such an idiot! What was he thinking, crying all over Bucky like that? Now Bucky would never want to go out with him!

Steve’s eyes shoot open. Wait, what?

As he normally does in a crisis, his first instinct is to call Natasha. He hurries to his room, and dials her number.

“Are you in danger?” Natasha asks him, voice tense.

“What? Why would you--no!” he says.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “What the hell, Steve! It’s almost 2 AM!”

“This is important! I think I like guys,” he says hisses.

“Yeah, I know. So what?”

“You know?” Steve sputters. “What’s that supposed to mean? I didn’t even know!”

“Oh Steve,” Natasha says, fond amusement in her voice. “I’ve known for years. Remember that TA in our Gen Chem Lab?”

Steve does remember. His name had been Brian, and Steve had wanted to impress him so bad. But that was only because Steve wanted to pass, right? He’d conveniently forgotten that he’d lost all interest in the subject as soon as the guy transferred to a new school halfway through the semester. And oh, that would probably explain a lot.

“Oh,” he says faintly. “I never realized.”

Natasha snorts. “Of course you didn’t. So why the call?”

“I’m pretty sure I like this guy, but I just ruined everything,” Steve says miserably.

“Why, what happened?”

“I cut my hand on some glass, and Bucky cleaned me up and took me to get stitches. But then he sat with me on the couch afterward and I cried all over him like an idiot. There’s no way he’s going to want to go out with me now. Not that it matters; there’s no way he feels the same way, he was just being nice,” Steve says in a rush.

“Steve—” Natasha starts to say, but then the door swings open, and Steve jumps, dropping the phone to the floor with a bang.

Bucky’s standing there, face faintly pink and a small smile on his face.

“Buck,” Steve says stupidly. He wishes he could sink straight through the floor. How much did Bucky hear!? “Um. How long were you out there?”

Bucky walks over to him slowly. “Long enough.”

Steve feels himself turn red. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll move out, the last thing I want you to do is feel like you’re being oggled in your own home and I—”

Bucky pulls him into a firm hug, and Steve falters. “I like you too, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs in his ear. “I have for a while.” He presses a gentle kiss to Steve’s cheek and releases him. He smiles. “Want to go cuddle on the couch? We can talk about it over boba tomorrow.”

Steve’s cheeks ache with the force of his responding grin. “Please.”

They’re so wrapped up in each other that neither of them hear the exasperated yelling echoing from the phone with a freshly-cracked screen laying forgotten on the ground.

~~~

Natasha forgives Steve eventually, especially once he introduces her to Bucky. The two of them bond over classic Russian Literature, and Steve couldn’t be happier. Clint teases them relentlessly, and takes credit for getting them together. Of course, he also pays for pizza the next month as an apology for Steve’s hand. And as for Sam…

“I called it!” their landlord crows during his next visit, pointing at the two of them where they’re cuddled together on the couch watching a movie, neither of them wanting to move to let them in. Steve and Bucky look at each other in confusion. “The streak is still alive! I’m telling you, no straight person has ever lived here. The house knows.”

“Maybe,” Steve concedes, with a grin. “I’m really glad to be here, all-knowing house or not.”

Bucky pulls him closer. “Yeah?”

Steve pecks him on the cheek. “Yeah.”

#fallmultifandomchallenge #stucky fanfiction #tw: stitches #tw: medical practices #tw: swearing

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khadij-al-kubra · 7 years ago

Text

Thomas In Wonderland (ch 2)

Characters: Thomas (fictional), Virgil, Roman, Patton, Logan, Remy, Emile, Joan, Talyn, Deceit, Nate, The Dragon Witch, fan adopted short vid characters

Pairings: None (some implied Prinxiety)

Words: 1993

Summary: Thomas takes a long fall and has some snacks

Author’s Note: Hey friends! Ya girl is back at it! Not much to say in the ways of notes except now i have an actual Beta reader! Yaaaay. The awesome and talented @fuck-my-life-i-want-food. I have to thank them for catching all the little errors and typos I miss and that WordDoc failed to point out. (digital dummy) As always I am open to any writing critiques or tips you may have, and any likes, comments or reblogs would be immensely appreciated! Also please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters for this fanfic or any of my other future writings. I am so happy everyone’s enjoying the story so far, and i’m having a lot of fun writing it! So now, where were we? Ah yes...

Down the Rabbit Hole

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH”

Thomas’s echoes screamed as he tumbled down the rabbit hole. Which if he wasn’t so busy falling he might’ve noticed was much larger than a normal rabbit hole might be. Not that he had seen the insides of many rabbit holes, but it didn’t take someone with a degree in chemical engineering to take an educated guess that most weren’t the circumference of a very large albeit dirt covered swirly slide. Nor were they probably as well lit or furbished with homey brick-a-brack here and there.

But then again, nobody in their right mind would be expected to notice these things while falling down said hole screaming their lungs out. So you could hardly blame Thomas’s momentary laps of attention to detail.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH *cough cough * AAAAAAHHHHHH”

Thomas had never been so scared in his life. Not even that one time his uncle had taken him out on a fishing trip and they got caught in that rainstorm out on the water. He didn’t know how long he’d been falling but surely it was only a matter of time until he hit the ground harder than Wile E Coyote. And his body did NOT run on the kind of cartoon logic where he could survive such a fall. His anxiety was going through the roof and his voice was growing hoarse from his shouts. Plus it was dark and dirty and humid and oh my gosh, why didn’t he just stay home!?

“AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaah?”

Huh…jeez this tunnel is deep, Thomas thought. Now that he wasn’t so focused on screaming, Thomas had a chance to let his logic catch up to him. He realized that the less he panicked the more his decent slowed down.

Okay Thomas, just remember your breathing exercises. In for four…Hold for seven...Out for eight… As Thomas worked to count, hold, and release his breath he felt himself slowing like syrup. His spinning body settled into a calmer upright position, and finally his heart rate was back to a comfortable comforting rhythm.

Phew! Taking a break from his tiring terror, the young artist got a look around him. It was dirt brown for obvious reasons, but for less obvious reasons he also spotted old-fashioned gaslights along the walls. As well as a half stuck leather love seat, a mirror, exactly three different pride flags and a toaster oven. One thing he did not see however was a pitcher of water, which Thomas wished was around because his poor dry throat sure could’ve used something to drink right about then. Oh! He just remembered there was half a packet of gum left in his pocket from his last run to CVS. Too bad I didn’t keep the receipts, or else I could’ve made myself a rope to climb up or something. Oh well. Thomas took a piece of gum and chewed on it gratefully.

As he coated his throat in minty sweetness Thomas wished that he had a wristwatch so he could know exactly how long he’d been falling. I mean it’s gotta be a solid five minutes at least since I tripped. Stupid laces. Thomas bent down to tie his laces so he wouldn’t trip on them into any more holes. That is if he ever landed on solid ground again. The momentum caused him to flip around once or twice but eventually he made the two rabbit ear knots. Down and down Thomas went, yet still no sign of a light below or any below at all beyond the shadowy black. Who would’ve thought slowly falling down a hole for so long could be so boring! Thomas hated being bored. Almost as much as he hated writers block, but definitely more than muggy weather. And he still had no clue what time it was.

“Such a weird thing to want while falling down a deep hole,” Thomas said. “A watch of all things. Then again, I’ve definitely had stranger thoughts…Have I always talked to myself this much?”

Before he could answer his own question, Thomas spotted a glint of something from below. A light? Or maybe it was a ladder or something useful. As he went down the item came up to meet him and he snatched it form the air. It was the silver pocket watch the Black Rabbit had on him.

“Poor thing must have lost it on the way down here.”

He opened the watch to check the time, only to find that the hands were not only ticking oddly fast (Thomas would’ve sworn it was the same counts as a waltz) but also moving counter clockwise. Well that’s a lot of help, he thought. Only now did he see there was also an inscription written on the inside:

‘V- I go mad for you, every time. – R’

Thomas wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a compliment or a weird threat, but either way it was clear from the inscription and well-worn look of the silver that this watch meant a great deal to the Black Rabbit.

“Poor little guy must be going nuts without it, especially if he was in a hurry for something,” said Thomas. “I’ll try my best to get it back to him. If I ever touch ground again, let alone—Oof!”

His whole body suddenly jerked to a halt, like how it did at the end of rollercoaster rides. Thomas looked down and to his great relief saw he was floating a foot above solid ground. A second later he was dropped down and tasted said solid ground.

“Ow…” Despite the taste of twigs and leaves that he picked out of his mouth, Thomas was relieved to have reached a bottom at last.

It looked like he was in another tunnel- only this one was long ways and had a clear warm light at the end. Moreover, he saw up ahead of him a rather large shadow on the wall with rabbit ears and could hear anxious mutterings of, “I’mlatei’mlateafucki’m SO late! Where’s my watch, I’m so LATE!”

“Hey, Mr. Black Rabbit,” Thomas called out.

The shadow turned to his voice, ears shooting straight up, only to scamper out of sight. He really was a jittery little fella. Thomas ran down the tunnel in the hopes of catching up. Not only to give him back the pocket watch, but also he was honestly still pretty curious about where the Black Rabbit was going.

As he ran Thomas passed a few wooden doors and portraits of upside down selfies, but he kept his eyes ahead. At one point he saw the Rabbit’s cottony tail and turned that same corner. At the end of the hall was a door left ajar. Thomas opened it and found himself in a spacious room, nearly bare save for a round glass table and lamps along the walls. The Rabbit seemed to have vanished.

“Boy he’s really good at popping in and out of places suddenly,” Thomas said, scratching his hair. “But where could he have gone?”

Just then he spotted a spec of blue to his right: a small pair of curtains low to the ground. Thomas knelt down and pulled them apart. Behind it was a simple door with a brass handle and keyhole. This was getting curiouser and curiouser by the minute. He stooped even lower, practically laying on the wooden floor now and peeked through the keyhole. What he saw took his breath away and made him smile for the first time all day. Beyond the door was the most gorgeous garden he had ever seen! Filled with gardenias and tulips, roses and violets, sunflowers and daffodils…he really liked flowers. There were even ones in colors and species he didn’t recognize.

“Oh I gotta check that out! But how am I going to get through this teensy thing?”

Thomas stood up and walked around the room, hoping there might be another him-sized door he’d maybe missed. He saw no door but when he accidentally knocked his hip into the round table (Ouch) he saw there was a small glass bottle with a tag on it that read DRINK ME in Arial font, and a plate with a single large sugar cookie on it. On the cookie in pink colored icing were the words Eat Me in lovely Cursive. It wasn’t every day that Thomas came across food that was so bossy. Then again, he hadn’t eaten or drunk much today, and he was no good on an empty stomach. He left the bottle alone because a) the font wasn’t too nice and b) the blue liquid inside looked like Gatorade but could also very well be poison or liquid drainer or something. He remembered what happened in Heathers.

The cookie on the other hand a) had a sweeter font and b) well, he’d always been weak for cookies. So he pocketed the bottle for later, took the gum that had long ago lost its flavor out of his mouth, put in in the wrapper (because he wasn’t a barbarian), picked up the big cookie, and took a bite.

Aaaand he immediately regretted it. Not because the cookie tasted bad, it was actually delicious. But because he felt himself getting slightly compressed and saw the room getting even larger, until Thomas found himself to be the size of an ant.

“Oookay. So big cookies here make you small. Duly noted.” For some reason he felt like that should be reversed, but he could mull one that more later. Thomas turned to the door. “Say, maybe I’m small enough to fit through that door! Even if it’s locked, which it probably is and I didn’t see a key anywhere…I could probably fit through that keyhole. Ha!”

Thomas jogged on his teensy legs over to the door. He was certainly small enough to fit into the hole. Unfortunately he was too small to actually reach said hole no matter how high he tried to jump. Thomas gave a sigh.

“Okay new plan.” Thomas thought for a moment and then took the DRINK ME bottle out of his pocket. If the cookie made him small, then it stood to reason the drink might make him big. “Well, here’s hoping is not liquid cleaner.”

With 50% hope and 50% anxiety, Thomas uncorked the bottle and took a swig, downing the whole thing. Not that there was much to begin with. It was a small bottle after all. Thankfully it wasn’t poisonous; actually it tasted like grape soda. Or some kind of berry maybe? Definitely something fruity. Also thankfully, Thomas felt himself being stretched big and bigger. Not so thankfully his head knocked into the ceiling. Now he was too big. Thomas groaned. At least now he knew what it was like to be tall. That was kind of nice.

“Okay, new-new plan.” Thomas took out the rest of the Eat Me cookie and this time only took a nibble. “Take two.”

Thomas once again felt that compression like before. This time however, he was more like the size of a mouse than an ant. He jogged back to the wooden door again and this time found he could just reach the rim of the keyhole. He pulled himself up (good thing he’d been going to the gym lately) and through the hole. Finally he was on the other side.

“Woohoo! Thank you size changing snacks!”

His mood improved greatly with the treats and the new scenery. The garden was even grander up front than through a keyhole. So many vibrant colors, and the sweet earthy perfumes seemed to wrap around him like chiffon. Thomas relaxed for the first time all day. Still, he didn’t know where exactly he was or where the Black Rabbit in the purple waistcoat had run off to. What Thomas did know was that he had been very distressed about something and that he had the bunny’s missing pocket watch. There was still a chance that Thomas could help the poor fella, or at least give his belonging back to him. He could still do something. So Thomas moved on in the only direction he was sure of- forward.

<=PREV

NEXT=>

Tag List: @altruistic-skittles @thekeytohappiness-is-you@canadian-crofters @icecoldparadise @the-pastel-peach@justisaisfine @bluebloodstains @purpleshipper @patchworkofstars@axyzel @hissesssss @beautifully-terribly @pink-and-purple-flowers@jynxlovesluck @thatsanswitch @6tick6tock6@hanramz-the-fander@azlinne @helplesscreator @thestoryofme13 @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah @accidental-sanders @moonstone-fox @smokeyrutilequartz@phlying-squirrel @madly-handsome @puns-and-patton@notveryglittery @eequalsmcscared @safesandersides@lizziepopanime @anxiously-unsatisfied-world @ab-artist@unikornavenger @queer-human-being @grey-lysander@asofterfan @fangirltothefullest @tinkslittlebelle @allsortsofgeekery@fuck-my-life-i-want-food @ironwoman359 @a-valorous-choice@broadwaytheanimatedseries @sugarglider9603 @xx-fandom-potato-xx @mycatshuman @punsterterry @journalanxiety @stuck-in-a-surrealist-painting @elementalshadowwitch @fuck-my-life-i-want-food @the-psycho-pie @satanblessi @thesassiersilv101 @bat-fangirl77-fan @icantbeme71097 @chituri @dangerfishie @grade-a-trash-blog @justsomerandomhooman @romano-cheesy@llamaavocado @pinkbea09 @aliceofscarletflames @backatthebein@em-be-lievable @mephonic @impatentpending @paperghastly@ravenclawangst @iamtrashcans @loganberrysanders@icequeenoriginal @book-of-charlie @ierindoodles @thatsthat24 @monstercupcake61176

#KDsWriting #Thomas in Wonderland AU #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #Logan sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #emile picani #remy sanders #joan and talyn #nate sanders #dragon witch #sanders sides #sanders sides fandom #famders

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the1rei · 8 years ago

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Bloomin' Ross pt55

Cass/Elsa conversation 2.0: Relationships are hard.

<<< First Post <<Prev Post - Next Post >>

Cass woke from the dreamless blackness of her uneasy sleep with a start her eyes immediately burned by the light streaming in through the open window of the room. She shut her eyes against the light which did nothing to stop them from watering. Water only made the brightness of the light worse, and Cass' rubbing at her eyes only made them tearier.

The brightness of the light and feel of the bed told Cass instantly that she was not in her own bed a fact made worse by the feel of the unfamiliar clothes she was wearing. Finally, her eyes cleared enough that she could look down and see it, a girlie green nightgown something she would never wear to be, what if there were an emergency.

"It's one of Anna's," A voice spoke out next to her and Cass turned on the source to see Elsa lowering a book held in one hand to the crossed legs of her lap her other arm folded across her stomach. "Your dress was damp, and we were worried you might catch a cold if you stayed in it. Don't worry Rapunzel changed you by her ninety-pound self."

Cass at once understood the difficulty and consideration of the endeavor and blushed with embarrassment. Gratitude and suspicion warred in her mind calling for questions and apologies with equal fervor. Cass remained silent not knowing what to say, stealing curious glances at the queen.

Elsa offered no assistance leaving Cass to wait out the silence, even lifting up her book and continuing reading as if some conversation between them had come to a natural end. Minutes passed the silence only broken by the turning of a page in Elsa's book. Finally, after enough time a question floated to the surface past the warring thoughts of her mind. "Did you want me to be well when you locked me in the dungeon?"

Elsa reading stopped again, and she lowered her book giving Cass an appraising look. "You certainly seem dedicated to move your lodgings there, but good grace has seen fit to spare you that honor again. It seems no one, save the six of us, remembers what happened. What few people from beyond the city that noticed seem to have disregarded as a 'weird Ice Queen thing' and have already lost interest in it."

"So your just going to let me go without any punishment?" Cass had the good to look embarrassed at the sound of her critical tone, but again apology and criticism rose with equal fervor in her mind, and Cass didn't know what to say. Sitting up, Cass just chewed the inside of her mouth leaving Elsa in silence until she spoke this time.

Elsa watched Cass in the silence for a few minutes before finally speaking. "Cassandra, what do you remember?"

Cass let out an exasperated sigh and dropped her head down. It wasn't meant to be disrespectful, but Cass didn't want to think back to the jumble of memories that had already been stirring under her thoughts. Regardless, Cass owed the Queen an explanation if even a confused one. "I don't know. Everything I guess, but it's all a big mess like I was dreaming. You know like how you act in a dream, like yourself but off somehow."

Elsa didn't look satisfied with that, but neither did she seem suspicious or anger at the lacking answer. Her free hand touched her chin, and she looked away with a distant concern that reminded Cass so much of Queen Arianna. "What was the last thing you do remember clearly?"

Cass shrugged, "Holding Raps' hair for you to cast your spell on it."

"I see," Elsa said with a breath and her face laps back into quiet thought. Esa reminded Cass so much of Arianna she wondered how she didn't see it before. A small voice warned her that was a bad thing as the Queen was the one person who could easily tear down her walls if she so desired, thankfully Arianna never abused that power. "Before that in our conversation, you said it was your job to protect people, and you didn't want your emotions to get in the way of that, remember?"

Cass wanted to protest that wasn't exactly what she had said, but that was pointless, the connection between her actions and what she had said was clear. Cass nodded slowly and let the question letting the room slip back into silence as the events played jumbled through Cass mind again all save for her desire to 'protect' everyone and those moments with Rose. Every word she had said to the blacksmith came through her mind clear, and Cass wanted to bury her head under the pillow.

"You know there are lots of things about Ardra that I... don't like," Elsa started her voice light and conversational as if switching topics to her girlfriend was the most natural place for the conversation to go. "She makes it look so easy to be free, she's always getting into trouble, she leaves all those weird things she collects everywhere, she's always gone, putting her life at risk and that dragon of her's reeks."

Elsa puffed out her and spoke in her rather adept mimic of Ardra accent, "Och! Elsie, I told you I washed him the s'morning, what do you mean he smells like hot stones."

Elsa laughed at her joke and Cass smiled good-humoredly at the performance. Elsa basked in some memory that made her smile. "When we met, I thought she was cute, and it was adorable the way she could barely get through a sentence without stammering. I suppose it was a little mean the way I teased her, but it was just so much fun to make her blush. I don't really remember when I fell in love with her. When I think back, I always remember being in love with her; my heart trumps my head."

Elsa gestured to her chest and head absently for a moment still lost in thought, then her smile wavered a little, and she spoke again. "After we became a couple though I started to notice all those things I didn't like about her, and I started to wonder if we were meant to be together and then that made me question if I really loved her. I mean how could you doubt your feelings if they were real?"

Elsa left the question to hand in the air. Cass gripped her sheets wonder how anyone as clearly in love as Elsa could every doubt her feeling and if she did what did that mean for someone even less certain. "What did you do?"

"Held it in until my feelings exploded," Elsa admitted with a deep sigh her head drooping. "I yelled at her over something stupid that I hadn't ever said anything about before, but had always annoyed me. She yelled back about a bunch of things I did that she hated. We kept yelling until Anna finally tried to break up the fight and Ardra stormed away and took off on Sky Arrow."

Elsa had to stop, her voice quivering too much to speak. A hand covered her mouth holding back her sobs so that they were perfectly quiet. After a minute Elsa released her mouth and wiped the moisture from her eyes. "She was gone for days; I didn't know if she was ever coming back, or if she was even still alive. I sent guards out to look for her, but they couldn't hope to travel as far or fast as Ardra could on Sky. The whole time I felt like I was dying, except without the part where it ends."

Elsa paused again taking a few deep breaths obviously fighting anxiety, the sight sent chills up Cass' spine, and she wondered if this was the way everyone felt when they were in love. Was this how the guards' wives felt when their husbands went on missions, was it how the guards felt?

"Ardra came back, of course, she was just as much of a mess as I was, but she had managed to get into some trouble on the way back. I thought after all that those little things wouldn't bother me anymore," Elsa smiled and shook her head at her naivete self, "But they still did. It was hard to admit that, but we did, and then we managed to talk about it. They still bother me, but I know she's trying, and I try to, not to do the things that bother her, it's not always perfect."

"Sounds like you have it all figured out." The hint of bitterness was plain to both of them, and Cass looked out the window to avoid Elsa's gaze.

"No, there are still a lot of things we're unsure about, and the life of royalty isn't so simple as those we serve." Cass looked back hearing Elsa close her book and stand up. "Ardra is the heir of DunBroch, that's a responsibility she can't walk away from any more than I can walk away from Arendelle. As much as we love one another, an ocean stands between us. A sea doesn't yield even to magic and dragons." Elsa smiled at Cass and turned to leave, "I'm envious of people like you Cassandra. It's true, life isn't easy for people like you, but at least there isn't such a vast gulch between you and what you love."

Cass didn't bother to try and argue with the Queen's sentiment, a hint of shame stirred in her gut at how much she had complained in the past about troubles that now seemed so minor. Elsa reached the door and pulled it open, a squeak of surprise jumping from the throat of a person on the other side. Cass looked up to see Rose standing there face full of shock and hand hovering in the air still poised to knock.

"Oh, Rose your back," Elsa said a little too loud as she glanced back with a smirk at Cass. "Cassandra is awake now; I'm not sure she requires someone to watch her anymore."

Rose started to speak, but nothing came out, and she just ended up looking past the Queen, her disappointed eyes meeting Cass'.

"It's alright your majesty; she can come in," Cass said at last and settled back into her bed covering her awful nightgown with her sheet.

"As you wish," Elsa smiled standing aside to allow Rose in. Rose looked uncertainly from Cass to Elsa but hurried to step into the room as if afraid Cass might change her mind. Once Rose was in Elsa stepped out closing the door behind her.

"Are you feeling all right?" Rose hurried to Cass' side, she didn't seem to know what to do with herself, stand or sit on the bed until Cass motioned for her to sit on the chair next to the bed, which seemed closer all of a sudden.

"You've been out for a few days. Ardra said the magic was probably pretty taxing on you." The word spilled out of Rose' mouth in a rush and ended with a gasp as her hands shot over her mouth as if she had said something she shouldn't have. "I mean I'm sure you'll be fine, you're tough as a rock," Rose chuckled weakly at her joke, Cass just watched her quietly, Rose seemed different in some way she could quite put her finger on it.

"Not that you're boring or anything else like a rock. It's just that rocks are tough, and so are you and that's why I was totally not worried of course." Rose wiped her hand on her knees, she was practically vibrating with nervousness in the chair, and Cass realized she should probably do something to help the poor girl. "I-I don't know what I'm saying. You probably want to get some more sleep, I-I should just g-"

Cass reached out and laid a hand over Rose's; the touch seemed to quell the other girl's shaking almost instantly along with her words. They stayed like that for a while relaxing into each other's presence both quiet not feeling the need for words. It was a friendly exchange, but there was something more that passed between them. Nothing so grand as a confession, it was something smaller, little more than the simple feeling that Cass might consider Rose to be something more than a friend.

#cassandra #elsa #elsdra #cassandrose

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onebizarrekai · 8 years ago

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Darkness is nicer than it seems (2)

I thought this setting could use a little more exposition.

Characters belong to their respective creators.

Dream: Wh…where are we going?

Nightmare: To my castle, obviously!

Dream: …

Dream: … Oh…

Nightmare: Dream, lighten up. I’m not throwing you in jail this time.

(He laughs as if it was supposed to be a joke, as if all those times were just a game--just for fun. Dream laughs sheepishly, looking awfully insecure on the matter.)

Nightmare: Hold on!

(They teleport and appear in the new location… in midair.) 

Dream: AH!! 

(They crash land onto the huge bed below them.)

Dream: … what… the heck?

 Nightmare: Welcome to my room, Dream.

(Nightmare is laughing, and Dream can guess it’s because of how much that threw him off.)

Nightmare: (Ugh… this is all so damn childish! Keep it together, need to keep him won over…)

Nightmare: Wellll? What do you think? I live like a king! 

Nightmare: The king that I’ve always been, obviously.

Dream: Ha… haha…

(Nightmare frowns.)

Nightmare: Oh come on. Is something on your mind? 

Nightmare: Dream, we can finally be by each other’s sides again.

Dream: Yeah, I’m uh… adjusting…

Nightmare: Oh! Speaking of adjusting.

(He pulls Dream over to a large mirror in the room.)

Nightmare: Yeah, um. Your clothes. Too bright.

Nightmare: Let’s find something new.

(Nightmare runs off into his closet and closes the door behind him.)

Nightmare: (UuuuUUGH!! How the hell am I supposed to talk to him if he’s being so unresponsive?!)

Dream: …

Dream: (He seems… so happy that I’m here…)

 Dream: (Did he really miss me this whole time…? He never wanted to hurt me after all…?)

Dream: (I’m just happy that he feels this way… I’m happy we can be together, even if it’s in darkness.)

 Dream: (… I can feel it in this place, though… The darkness around me, trying to get to my head…) 

Dream: (I guess… I don’t have any reason to fight it anymore…)

(The closet door opens again.)

Nightmare: Hey, I found something. C’mere.

(He beckons Dream over and pulls out an outfit.)

Dream: Oh… wow, it’s…

Dream: … very dark?

(Nightmare drops the blue and black clothes into Dream’s arms.)

Nightmare: I don’t know why I even have this, I never wore it. You’d probably look better in it.

Dream: … Th-thanks.

Nightmare: Oh, uh. One more thing.

Nightmare: You can’t leave this room until I okay it. I think it’s obvious why.

Dream: … people who wanna hurt me outside.

Nightmare: You got it. You can change now.

(He shuts Dream in the closet and resists the urge to sigh loudly.)

Nightmare: (… Just how much can I get into his head?)

Nightmare: …

(He quietly chuckles.)

Nightmare: (I can’t wait to see the looks on his friends’ faces when they find out what happened to him.)

(He strides back over to the mirror.) 

Nightmare: (… He probably is more compliant because I’m in this form… How long will it be until I can return to the other and still hold his trust?)

Nightmare: (… I can certainly make something up about forms for specific presences… He would understand something like that.)

Nightmare: …

Nightmare: (I wonder…)

(He attempts to summon a tendril from his back without transforming, but black substance promptly begins running down his face.) 

Nightmare: (Not working…)

(He hears the closet door creak and quickly makes the substance vanish.)

(Dream walks out of the closet, wearing the blue, black and white clothes that Nightmare had given him. It resembles the twins’ classic guardian outfits, except more intricately detailed and almost classier.)

(Nightmare’s gaze trails down to Dream’s bare feet.)

 Nightmare: Where’re your shoes?

Dream: I thought… well… they were yellow, so…

(They’re tipped over by the door, as if he’d stood them up nicely after taking them off and accidentally kicked them over while he was changing.)

Nightmare: Aww, how thoughtful.

(This sounds impossibly sarcastic, but it’s so out of place that it’s hard to react to.) 

Nightmare: I think I might actually have some matching stuff in there, but there’s something I need to do now.

Nightmare: Don’t leave the room!

(He walks over to the door.)

Dream: W-wait, what if someone tries to come in?

Nightmare: Nobody is going to.

Nightmare: Even the cleaner already did their job today.

(He exits the room, closing the door behind him. He immediately returns to his other form while making his way down the hall.)

Nightmare: (This is gonna suck, but it has to get done somehow.)

Nightmare: All right everyone, news flash. I have an incredibly important announcement to make, and I’m already warning you that if you do anything stupid I will kill you.

Killer: Calm down, dude--

Nightmare: RIGHT at this very moment, my brother is in a room in the castle because I successfully convinced him to surrender.

Nightmare: Or, well… join us, same diff.

Horror: Same diff? Same FRICKING DIFF?! Those are two completely different things!

Killer: How the hell did you do that?

Nightmare: None of your business. But basically, he’s an emotional mess and I’m running a plan right now, so you are all, AT ALL COSTS, to avoid DOING ANYTHING STUPID.

Nightmare: I’M in charge of this operation, and none of you are to get involved in it IN ANY WAY. Am I clear?

Nightmare: I’M LOOKING AT YOU, KILLER.

Killer: Aw come on! What did I ever do?

 (Nightmare trips Killer in place, sweeping his feet out from under him with a tendril.)

 Nightmare: If you’ll excuse me, I have something to attend to.

(He leaves the room.)

Horror: ‘Sup with him… thought he wanted his bro dead or something…

(Dust shrugs.)

Killer: ow

Horror: Pft, you deserved that, pretty boy.

(Nightmare returns to the room, back in his original form, holding a tray of random food. Dream jumps back from wherever he was, as if he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.)

Nightmare: Uh? What were you doing? 

Dream: Ummm… going through the drawers?

Nightmare: Good thing there’s only junk in there.

Nightmare: You hungry?

(Dream inspects the tray. It’s entirely snack food, but there isn’t a single thing on it that counts as a sweet…)

Dream: (… Typical… I guess some things never change.)

 Dream: … I’m actually really tired. I’ll eat a little, but… I dunno, something’s wearing me down right now…

Nightmare: I get it. Don’t worry about it, none of this stuff needs to be refrigerated, so I can just leave it on the table.

(He places the tray on the desk while Dream stands there fiddling with his hands.)

Nightmare: What? 

Nightmare: Just go to sleep over there.

Dream: … On your bed? 

Nightmare: Yeah.

Dream: … okay then…

(He walks over to the huge bed and lies down on it. Although he’s tired, he’s the absolute opposite of relaxed--he’s feeling a biting anxiety that he can’t shake.)

(Nightmare makes a face, sensing his brother’s feelings. Not knowing what to do, or rather, unwilling to do anything about it, he leaves the room again.)

Nightmare: (I just need to wait until he’s asleep…)

(Which he does. He’d always known that Dream falls asleep quickly, so it didn’t take much waiting.)

(He walks back into the room and to the bedside, grinning widely.)

(With a wave of his hand, a glowing, golden light emerges from Dream’s chest, a faint outline of a fruit visible in it. The shape becomes more apparent as the light thickens into a magic solid.)

Nightmare: (The last one…)

(He glances over at his brother, who’s peacefully sleeping.)

Nightmare: …

(He reaches out and touches the soul-like entity, his negative substance immediately leaving a dark stain on it. Dream whimpers slightly in his sleep, causing Nightmare to flinch and his smile to falter.)

(Nightmare watches as the light gradually dims, the stain growing ever so slowly.)

Nightmare: (No more positive fruit…)

(Take it, and you’ll become fully immortal…)

Nightmare: (… My only weakness was his light…)

Nightmare: (It’s gone now… And if I did that… he would…)

(Dream’s breath has sped up and he’s beginning to shift more in his sleep.) 

Nightmare: (… There’s no point.)

(He smiles again.)

Nightmare: (This is so much more interesting.)

(The dimming light disappears back into Dream’s chest.)

Nightmare: (My brother… I think this is the start of something new…)

Dream: N…Nighty… It hurts…

(Nightmare freezes up, quickly reverting to his original form in case Dream had awoken. He takes Dream’s hand in one hand and calmly brushes his other over it in repetition.)

Nightmare: It’s okay… I’m here…

(His smile grows wider.)

 Nightmare: (And I’ll be here, my brother…)

Nightmare: (… for a VERY long time…)

#dintis dark #nightmare sans #dream sans #dreamtale #evil sans club #yeah Cross literally isn't even here #maybe this is before Underverse #wow #that would be interesting to see play out #as long as it's done right #also yes #horror calls killer a pretty boy #did you miss another ship rises from the dust #it's part of worst case scenario #even though this has nothing to do with that #running jokes never die #dintis

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cosmosogler · 8 years ago

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aaaa my hands get all sweaty when i hold a game controller. also i should really probably be wearing my glasses.

today i had such a nasty, tiring dream that i slept in! i got up at 9:25. so i slept in less than yesterday...

my dream was disorienting... i feel like it should have taken place in college, but it looked more like everyone was high school aged, and acted that way too. the topic kept changing, even though i stayed in more or less the same area for the whole dream. it was, like, a marketplace, with a farmer’s market, but also there were a lot of drab gray buildings with paper stuffed into every available space on every window. the road was dirt. everyone was playing some sort of game that i didn’t understand. also i was trying to shop, but i didn’t like anything i saw in any of the stores. and when i thought i had gotten to a store with what i was looking for (i don’t know what i was actually looking for, but i had a feeling it was in there!!!) i saw a bunch of burly, sweaty dudes with no faces. so i backed out haha. then the game changed? people were... trying to get behind each other? i think the technique was different for everyone. but they were trying to suck each others’ souls out and that was how they won for the round. i think... the participants were supposed to get better, at some point... but i wasn’t playing, just watching and trying to figure out the rules. eventually i wandered out into the playing field and started talking to some of the participants. they were friendly enough, but i kind of got the feeling they didn’t want me there. eventually the girl from the shining came out of the crowd, grabbed me by the shoulders, spun me around, and sucked out my soul!!! it hurt a lot, indescribably. like... if your soul could get sucked out, that’s definitely what it would feel like!

i tried to scream but i couldn’t move at all. eventually i tried so hard that i woke up screaming. but i was in a weird unfamiliar place and my face was being shoved into the pillow. then my alarm went off and i woke up for real all sweaty and tired. cool!!!!!!!!!!!

so after that wonderful start to my day, i pet eve for a little bit, and then i got up and got ready for the day and stuff. i tried making some tea that i found in the cabinet... it wasn’t very good. i found the rest of the video games in the pile of stuff dad brought in from the garage last night. and i watched two episodes of cry plays: soma. it’s a really good game, but i wouldn’t be very good at it. horror games aren’t really under my “favorite genres” umbrella. instead of getting scared i get frustrated that i might have to replay a large portion of the game since traditionally save/heal points are pretty few and far between. it took me FOREVER to get through metroid prime because i would hover around the checkpoint nervously before continuing haha. half life was kind of a slog that way too, even though i really liked both those series.

then i went and picked up asher. i almost got hit when i was trying to get on the freeway... it’s always crowded at that particular exit and trying to actually get on the freeway is kind of dangerous. and nobody was using their turn signals today! and getting into the lane i was trying to get into while in my blind spot and also not using turn signals!!! and then i could tell the guy i accidentally cut off was SUPER mad because he started going like 90 miles an hour while everyone else was going 50 and cut in front of me and then swept over to the far lane. ok, buddy. like... yeah, ok, i could have probably spent more time figuring out if he was changing lanes right next to me or not. but when you use your turn signal you gotta hop over pretty quick or else people around you stop making room. i think since phoenix is so big, everyone feels like they have to drive 8-15 mph over the speed limit to get where they’re going in a reasonable amount of time. and also they don’t make room for you in the next lane over unless you turn on your turn signal, wait exactly 1 second, and then butt in. that’s literally the only way to get on the freeway some exits.

i avoid the exit lanes when i’m on the freeway unless i’m getting off at the next exit. honestly i’m shocked that i haven’t been in a crash yet.

anyway, i brought asher over to my house and we hung out in the living room exclusively. i guess that was ok, since the house is a total mess with half-unpacked boxes everywhere. i ripped my room apart today looking for the super nintendo. didn’t find it. mom found it later though in a box grouped with a bunch of my sister’s boxes. it was the only box i never checked because i thought we had already looked through it when we were searching for the wii u.

asher made me curse while i was in the car. he said something, and i repeated the sentence back to him in a “you’re not...” sort of way, and i didn’t realize i had said it until my mouth made a really unfamiliar shape haha. it wasn’t his fault, but i was kind of annoyed with myself for not paying attention to my words.

while asher and i were lounging around catching up on steven universe, my brother pointed out that doge had pooped on the floor in front of the back door. we didn’t notice... i felt stupid. my brother went and got dad, and then... he picked up diogi, shoved her nose in it, and then literally threw her outside. then he went outside and we didn’t hear anything for a really long time. my brother, asher, eve, wiley, and i kind of stared at each other awkwardly for a while.

like... hitting a dog is never ok. but i could understand being frustrated with maybe wiley, because he’s a young adult and should know better by now, and also he would theoretically have better control over his bodily functions. and he does go in the house, and it is frustrating. but doogles is hella old, and also disabled. she cannot walk for very long. she can hustle, but sometimes she falls down. i can’t imagine she can hold it for very long. she usually goes right after dinner... i don’t know why my brother didn’t let her outside after he fed them? and then, like, got mad at me when it happened?

i just need a break from dad for a while. i don’t understand why diogi likes him so much. he calls her a retard and hits her sometimes and doesn’t really brush her or anything. i think he exudes such a powerful “dad” aura that the dogs just defer to him. i mean, that’s how packs work, isn’t it? maybe doge thinks she owes her life to him since he took her from lonnie, who abused her more regularly.

dad interrupted our steven universe marathon but i don’t remember what he said. but, like, the show was actively on, and we were clearly watching it, and he felt the need to insert a conversation (run and participated in by him alone) over the dialogue. i’m not sure if asher really caught the ending or not.

anyway... after that asher and i headed out to michaels to get some markers. we talked about the show for a bit during the car ride. then we went to indian food, as is our habit. the usual waiter wasn’t there today, but i saw some new people. maybe it’s because we were there on the weekend instead of on thursday. then we talked about jojo for like two hours. it was great. we revisited a lot of the same topics that we have talked about before, but it’s been like three weeks since i last saw asher, so i didn’t really mind.

however my sense of direction was super out of whack for the whole drive, i could not figure out where i was or where the stores we were trying to get to were. i think i was stressed about diogi.

i was also really jittery. it may have been the tea from this morning... asher noticed. he said it might be anxiety. i would agree, but i’ve been like this for a really long time. as in, always. he also suggested adhd but i don’t seem to display any of the other symptoms of that. but you know what causes the restlessness and twitching? anxiety and depression. so maybe it was. i guess i’ve had depression for basically my whole life. my classmates at christian school used to make fun of me for it. the twitching, i mean.

however i was REALLY uncomfortable today, physically. i couldn’t get my ankles to sit right and i kept moving my legs while we were trying to watch tv. the jerking really only stops when i am actively exercising. even right afterward i’m right back to twitching and squirming.

nobody these days acknowledges it (except my group therapist; she points it out when she thinks i am more anxious than usual, but really i just do it constantly until someone notices and then i have to consciously stop). but i know they see it. it’s really hard to keep my eyes on something static for more than a few seconds... like a book or screen.

when i was filling out paperwork for the sleep study the doctors decided it was restless legs syndrome. but it’s every single muscle in my body ha... it feels like static is building up every time i don’t move and i have to MOVE or else it gets unbearable. i usually just wrinkle my nose, or jitter my knees, or tap or bump something with my palm just above the wrist.

anyway, it was worse than usual today, and it sucked, and was really annoying.

when i got home i booted up undertale and got through the mettaton fight, and also burned down undyne’s house. so i just gotta befriend alphys and that should complete everything i need for the pacifist run.

so now it’s 12:30. i’ve been writing for about 50 minutes... i got distracted trying to describe my problem to google. every word i use points back to anxiety...

but i fidget even on days when i’m not that stressed? i don’t get it.

tomorrow i find out if i am still going to have therapy at the hospital or not. i haven’t told anyone yet... i figured i would bring it up if it became relevant. like, if i wasn’t able to go any more. if i am allowed to continue, then there isn’t really a point in reporting it. i’m still stressed about it though...

i shall do my pokemons, and check some monday stuff, and then try to sleep. sure hope i don’t die horribly again in my dreams tonight!

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philanddanxreader · 9 years ago

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Two cute neighbours.

Hello, love bugs!! Dan x reader Warnings-fluff, kisses. Also, swears because Dan

1887 words yo, Its a long one.

hi !! i love your writing soooo I was wondering if u could do a dan x reader where the reader moves in next door to dan n Phil n the reader has an emotional support dog (preferably a mini chocolate lab) n dan n Phil loooooove the dog n it’s cute n fluffy !! then it time skips to when dan n the reader are dating n the reader tells dan why they have the support dog (anxiety n panic attacks) n dan is supportive n its just cuuuuuuuuuuttttteeee –anonymous

“Dan!” Phil practically screams as he runs up the stairs.

“What, are you okay?” Dan says jumping from his couch crease to make sure poor Philly isn’t to hurt.

“We have the two cutest new neighbors ever!” Phil announces. Coming face to face with Dan on the landing.

“Phil!” Dan moans putting extra emphasis on his part. “I thought that fucking aliens were outside. Christ!” Dan says walking back into the living room.

“But Dan you don’t understand,” Phil says smiling. “One is possibly the prettiest girl I have ever seen. The other is the prettiest brown lab I have ever seen.” Phil recounts as he moves into the living room staring down at Dan trying to make a point.

"Prettiest girl ever?“ Dan questions as Phil nods his head in agreement. “Well, I suppose we should be gentlemen and go see if the two of them need help moving in,” Dan says closing his laptop.

“Exactly! Phil agrees nodding his head. "It’s the right thing to do.” Both boys do a quick fringe check before heading down towards the new tenets in the building.

As the boys head down the stairs it was pretty easy to spot the new neighbors. The beautiful new puppy neighbor was sitting in the hall never far from his owner. You could tell that the pup was over the whole moving thing and just wanted his bed and toys to be unpacked already. The boys could hear the faint sound of a female voice talking to themselves. Phil decided to make the first move. "Hello?” Phil says knocking on the half-open door. This peaked the interest of the dog who decided to go his owner and make sure everything was all right.

“Hello?” Came your soft voice from up the small flight of stairs.

“Hi, my name is Dan and this is my roommate Phil. We are your new neighbors.” Dan has his signature smile on his face, making you feel instantly welcomed.

“Hello, I mean, Ugh. My name is y/n.” stupid nerves. Two cuties come to your door to introduce themselves and not only that but the boys are non other than Dan Howell and Phil Lester. Stupid, god they probably already think your some sort of freak who can’t even introduce themselves properly.

Thankfully Phil interrupts the train of self-deprecating thoughts with a question. “Can I pet your dog? I know he’s working and all but if I could even give him a little pat.” How adorable. The only difference between Phil and a child asking for permission is that Phil isn’t bouncing from one foot to the other waiting for your answer.

“Absolutely! It’s about time he comes over and introduces himself. Hey.” You pause looking at the pup who was so over this whole moving into a new place thing. “ Finnegan, You’re making me look like a bad dog mummy. Come here and say hello.” This seemed to be enough encouragement to come over and meet the new friends. “Sorry, he is so used to people from when I was in school he just finds everyone a bit dull. I’m not saying the two of you are dull. Oh god.” Your cheeks instantly flush.

“It’s fine we understand,” Dan says giving you another reassuring smile. Thank the stars above that the two of them understand awkwardness.

Phil was instantly kneeling by Finnegan giving him a ton of love.”

“Looks like you have a new friend Phil.” Dan was also reaching for the dogs head for a small pet. Phil, of course, missed the comment because he was honestly to involved with literally hugging the soft brown pup.

“Well, I’m glad he likes you. To be honest he sometimes doesn��t like men.” Could you be weirder? Just smile and wave.

“We are too!” Phil says muffled into fur. “We did come here to see if you needed any help moving in.” Finally, Phil stands up towering over you once again.

“Actually I do need help with my dresser. You don’t mind, right?”

“Not at all. let’s see what we can do. With that, the three of you managed to get all the big furniture pieces into their new home.

After about an hour of moving it was decided that everyone should take a small break.

“I honestly can’t thank you guys enough. I owe you both so please let me buy you some pizza and drinks as a small payment of my gratitude.” You had all been sitting in your mix matched living room relaxing while just hanging out.

“I don’t think I’m against a slice or two,” Phil says thinking about just mentioned food.

“I am also in. Do you want to come over to our place? We have plates that are unpacked. Plus we can do the dishes so you don’t have to worry about more cleaning after just moving in.” Dan is the literal sweetest.

“I think we can arrange that.” You have the greatest new neighbors ever.

The evening was absolutely wonderful. You honestly had for once in a very long time didn’t feel any worry. You felt like a free person who didn’t have to worry about being judged or unwanted. This became your new regular. Every chance you had your and Finnegan were over at your neighbor’s flat.

Dan and yourself had started to become inseparable. Over the month of hanging out you had both learned so much about each other. If the two of you weren’t together you were talking on every media platform. Twitter was the place that you sent each other funny meme’s Snap chat was the absolute ugliest photos of each other. Both of you had screenshotted enough incriminating evidence to ruin each other street cred. Texts were different. When the two of you were together in person you talked but never about deep or really personal things. Texts seem to be the exception to the rule. Many nights we used in the early hours of the morning talking about your younger years, wishes, and hopes for the future. Dan was quickly becoming your best friend. Between you and Finnegan you were possibly gaining a crush on said best friend. Good thing your pup is a great secret keeper.

Just as you were thinking about the fun evening the two of you had last night playing video games you, the phone went off with a call from Dan.

“Moshi Moshi!” How do you not help but smile when answering a call from him.

“Well hello, I’m glad to hear that your sound happy. I have a question to ask you.” A short pause. What could Dan possibly have to ask you?

“Good thing I have answers.” Your heart had started to race slightly. Hopefully, Dan wouldn’t pick up on your nerves.

“I Daniel James Howell Want to ask you Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N to go on an official date with me. Before you answer just know that if you say no my heart will not be broken. I still want to be friends for the sake of Phil and Finnegan’s relationship.”

“You are too fucking adorable. Yes, absolutely yes I will go on a date with you. My turn to ask a question. Why didn’t you ask me last night?”

“I was about to. I honestly had planned for it but I felt a little nervous and decided that I would ask you while you’re at work so if you say no I have enough time to move you back out of the building.” This makes you giggle like a little kid. Stupid butterflies start to flutter throughout your body.

“Good thing I said yes then.” Dan’s turn to now smile at your words.

“ I will pick up my two dates say 7:00 pm sharp?

“Yes. We will be ready for you then. See you soon Dan.”

“See you soon.”

The evening was wonderful. A delicious meal mixed with wonderful company. After dinner, you had found a park to stroll through enjoying the warm evening breeze. After a couple laps around the pond, it was time to sit on a bench and talk.

“So tell me how you end up getting a service dog. Are they trained in a specialty or to the owner?” You had told dan that you had gotten Finnegan because you were prone to blackouts. You had told him only have the truth.

“When I was seventeen my family started to look for a service dog for me. I started to have sever panic attacks while in public. I have generalized anxiety but also for sure have social anxiety. It happened my whole life every so often. After an incident, it all started to get worse. They would get so bad that I would end up blacking out and hitting the floor. I would be fine one minute and than another, I would instantly lose concesness. So we started the hunt. I needed a dog to alert myself and others that I was having a panic attack because when they happen I become non-verbal. Next, we needed to look for a dog who could help with relieving anxiety. After that, it was all about narrowing it down. Finnegan was trained to help people who pass out but he needed training in how to help calm down my anxieties. He also needed to learn the signs of one coming on. After his training we met and it was an instant bond. I guess the rest is history. We went to university together, graduated then decided to move here to London.”

“I’m sorry I never knew all of that.” Suddenly your hand was wrapped into his, the warmth feeling lovely.

“It’s ok, I don’t really tell a lot of people. Listen this is kinda forward of me, and I never do this but I really like you.” Your words were cut off by Dan’s lips. They were soft and warm just like his personality. There was no safer place in the world right now then there was with Dan. You were the first to pull away, not because you wanted the kiss to end but rather because you needed to catch your breath.

“Kiss me again.” you say wrapping your arms around the back of Dan’s neck.

“How about we go home and kiss not in the bug infested cold night.”

“Deal.” you say placing one more soft kiss to him.”

#danisnotonfire #amazingphil #dan howell imagine #danisnotonfire x reader #dan x reader #dan howell x reader

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magicinthestory · 6 years ago

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Day 3 + Aftermath

Kidnapping Bakugo…..

It was overly cocky and dangerous and over all such a stupid plan and Layla was sure to tell Shigaraki just that but of course he wouldn’t hear it. Honestly the two of them had had disagreements and heated arguments before but this was the first time it had developed into a full blown fight. It got to the point where Layla just had to throw up her hands and say ‘fine have it your way’ before just walking out. In the days leading up to the date of the attack she grew more worried about all the ways this could backfire. Her pride didn’t allow her to call and check in but she did keep the plan to herself not daring warn anyone about what was going to happen and possibly raising those chances.

The night of the attack she took an extra patrol just to keep her mind off of what was happening but when she got home and saw the news of the attack and how the public was already reacting negatively to the news of a student being taken and others injured she couldn’t help but let out a breath. Yeah, she felt terrible for the kids but she felt some relief that it had been mildly successful. It the following days she watched that negative feelings seem to grow, smiling inwardly to herself. She was starting to think she owed him an apology but that soon faded when she heard a rumor that they had been found and would soon be infiltrated. She made some excuse to leave. As she walked down the street she pulled out her phone to call, she had to warn them. Her anxiety grew with each ring, praying he would pick up. “Come on, answer the damn phone.” the rings cut off in the middle and went to voicemail proving that he had ignored her call. She hung up and tried again and again but each time the same thing. “Now who is being a child, you need to get out of there….” She trailed off watching the news flip over on the screen, she was too late.

Layla watched in horror as scenes played of the bar being overtaken and then all that followed with All Might. She turned looking at all the people cheering for the number one hero but she knew this was it for him. She started walking away from the gathering crowd, worry setting in for what happened to everyone. Once she was in a clear enough spot she opened her wings and took off, flying usually helped her to clear her head. After a while she found herself sitting on top of a water tower, glancing up at the sky. She sat there for a long time, going back and forth on what she should do now, as a hero she knew she would have to step up her game but as a member of the league she was worried about them. She decided to go with the former for the time being so she got up and took off to go report to her agency.

One night she was returning home after a particularly long day and when she got to her door she noticed that she heard sound from inside as well as the light from the TV being on. She could have sworn she had turned everything off when she left. She carefully unlocked and opened the door, activating her quirk as she moved inside. She didn’t get very far before she felt a hand grab her arm. She reacted in a split second by grabbing his shirt and kicking his legs out from under him and making him fall to his knees, the light from her quirk illuminating his face. “Tomura?” she spoke in surprise, deactivating her quirk and letting go of his shirt then suddenly hugged him, relief filling her. As soon as she realized what she was doing she let go of him.

The hug had taken him by surprise but he found that he didn’t mind it. “You know that if I had really been here to kill you that I would have succeeded.” He replied simply as he got back up on his feet. He turned his crimson gaze down onto her, honestly it was good to see her again and seeing as she seemed unharmed it meant her cover had held up.

“If you wanted to kill me you would have come up with an overly complicated plan that would ultimately fail.” She teased softly before smiling up at him. “I would ask how you knew where I lived but I assume it was something you figured out when I first joined you in case I was betrayed you. So that brings me to my next question. As relieved as I am to see you what are you doing here? Wait first is everyone okay? Are You Okay?”

“I’m fine, everyone else seems to be too. We did regroup before separating to keep a low profile and recruit new members. Unfortunately it was unknown if you had been compromised so I couldn’t contact you sooner.” He chose to get her questions and the serious topic out of the way before moving on to her first response. “And that is not true, My plan would not have failed.” “That makes sense I guess.” Layla dipped her head as she listened to his first explanation. She cracked a faint smile at the next part. “You keep thinking that we will just have to agree to disagree.” Her smile faded slightly. “Actually I do owe you an apology, your plan to kidnap that Bakugo kid wasn’t a completely stupid idea.” She noticed him open his mouth but she put a finger up. “You may not have succeeded in recruiting him and it did lead to a lot of drama but it revealed just how fragile the confidence the public has in their heros is, trust me I have been living it. Now you take that momentum and run with it.”

“You weren’t wrong though….” That was about all he got out before she covered his mouth with her hand, earning her a look from him

“We don’t need the whole conversation so just accept my apology so we can just move on.” She removed her hand but kept it close enough to stop him if you tried to argue.

“Fine, I accept your apology.” He spoke shooting her a look. “Have you always been this stubborn?” “See was that so hard?” She smiled, taking a step back and letting her hand fall. “Yes but it never bothered you before because you find it so cute and endearing.” She tipped her head placing a finger against her cheek just to add emphasis. She then laughed before moving past him and into the living room. “Are you planning to stay for the night?”

Shigaraki stared at her before rolling his eyes, smiling to himself as he followed her. “I hadn’t decided yet.” “I see well you can make yourself useful then.” She grabbed one of her controllers and offered it to him. “I could really use some levels, Pretty please.”

He took it from her with a look. “what are you going to do?” “Well I need to change out of my hero costume and shower and I guess I can make dinner.” She answered. “I’ll be quick and you would really be helping me out beside I am harboring a dangerous villain in my home.” “You wouldn’t do anything about that fact anyways.” He looked at her pleading look. “Fine go.”

She grinned. “Thank you.” She then moved to her bedroom to go shower and change.

He sat down and turned on the system then started the game. He very quickly became engrossed in it, so much so that he didn’t notice when she came out nor when she started cooking. Only when she sat down next to him and offered him a plate. He paused the game and took it from her. Layla looked to the screen. “You advanced my game…. Do you know how story and decision driven this game is?” “Well it’s not my fault i accidentally stumbled into the area to advance the story.” He spoke in mock offense. “You are two planets away from where I left it.” She sighed more annoyed than upset then it clicked in her head. “Wait how did you beat that boss?” The sly smile that crossed his face made her roll her eyes but laugh under her breath. “You know what never mind. The gamer king can keep his secrets,for now. So do you want to start a new game so you get the full story or would you like me to just fill you in?”

“Gamer king? I quite like the sound of that.” Shigaraki smiled at the nick name. He looked to the screen as he ate, thinking it over. “I’ll just start a new game.” “You would.” She teased. She dipped his head figuring that would be his answer. She grabbed the controller and quit to the main menu so he could start a new game for himself the set it back down.

The two of them ate and talked and laughed. Once the food was gone she got up to clean up while he went through the tutorial. When she got done she moved to sit down next to him watching him play and giving some tips along the way. It felt nice to take a break from all the seriousness of their lives and just relax and have fun. It left both of them hoping this was the first night of many like this.

The day started to catch up with the false hero though and soon enough she was dozing off, her head leaning against the villain's shoulder. Shigaraki was more than a little surprised that she was comfortable enough to fall asleep next to him but that meant she trusted him so it had to be a good thing. After a while it did get uncomfortable for him though so he moved to adjust, moving his arm and his body just trying not to disrupt her as he did so but somewhat failing.

“Pull the lever on the side…..The whole loveseat leans back…” She mumbled sleepily with a yawn.

He did as she said and sure enough the small couch leaned back the foot kicked out. “Thanks….” he responded softly but got no response except her adjusting in her sleep. He carefully moved his arm to wrap around her. This whole situation would normally be outside of his comfort zone but for whatever reason this felt like the right thing. He looked down at her for a moment longer, then went back to the game.

#Layla Takami #MHA #magic behind the story #shigaraki tomura

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classicfilmfreak · 8 years ago

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New Post has been published on http://www.classicfilmfreak.com/2017/08/10/big-sleep-1946-starring-humphrey-bogart-lauren-bacall/

The Big Sleep (1946) starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall

“Let me do the talking, angel. I don’t know yet what I’m going to tell them. It’ll be pretty close to the truth.”-Philip Marlowe

Seven bodies! At least that’s the rumored total in Raymond Chandler’s novel The Big Sleep. When William Faulkner and Leigh Brackett were working on the film’s screenplay and couldn’t discern who had murdered one character, they called the author. Chandler told them his identity was in the book, to read it. After checking his own novel, Chandler called back sometime later and told the writers that he didn’t know, that they could designate the killer as they liked.

The two screenwriters, even with the talents of a third, Jules Furthman, remained confused by the already confusing first novel of Chandler, and generally retained that murkiness, which might be one of the film’s charms. The Big Sleep is the best of the few detective films Warner Bros. made after The Maltese Falcon during the 1940s. If not plot, then, the big pluses include the tight direction of Howard Hawks, the sharp-edged dialogue—there’s a lot of talking—and the romantic repartee between its two stars, Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall.

Despite Bacall’s come-hither, deep-voiced overtures to her leading man, anyone who has seen the first scene will be astounded by the schoolgirl teasings, no less provocative, of Martha Vickers as a precocious nymph, Bacall’s sister in the film, and wonder why she’s not seen more.

In fact, Vickers’ sexy chemistry was so threatening to the studio’s new discovery—this only Bacall’s fourth film after her sensational début in To Have and Have Not (1944)—that most of the younger (by about eight months) star’s scenes were cut. A major overhaul of Bacall’s part by the studio and director ensued, with reshoots, new scenes and added sexual innuendos between her and Bogart.

Filming was further complicated by the tension of Bogart’s impending divorce from his third wife and the affair he was conducting on the set with Bacall. Rumor had it that Bacall was so nervous over the divorce, and, from some sources, that the actor was still debating whether to proceed with the divorce, that during filming her hands shook when she poured a drink or lighted a cigarette.

Bacall had written in her autobiography, By Myself, that, despite the anxiety over the divorce, much fun was had on the set, which prompted a cautionary memo from studio head Jack L. Warner. And when the most famous of the screenwriters, William Faulkner, author of The Sound and the Fury and other stories of the South, asked Hawks if he could write “from home,” since the studio atmosphere unnerved him, Hawks okayed the request, assuming the writer meant his office at the studio. The director was quite displeased when he learned that Faulkner was writing from“home” all right—in Oxford, Mississippi.

Some brave souls have tried to condense the impenetrable plot into a nutshell, though, at best, it’s of minimum importance. Let’s see, how does it go, or appears to go. . . .

Private detective Philip Marlowe (Bogart) visits a decaying old man, General Sternwood (Charles Waldron, who died before the film was released), who sits, wheelchair-bound, shawl-enshrouded, in his putrefying greenhouse. (In the 1978 remake, James Stewart’s portrayal of the role seems more a copy of Waldron’s performance than any original approach of his own.) The dialogue in this one scene, and coming so early in the film, can be seen as setting the ethical tone of the movie and the nature of the characters, the private eye included.

The General says to Marlowe:

“You may smoke, too. I can still enjoy the smell of it. Hum, nice state of affairs when a man has to indulge his vices by proxy. You’re looking, sir, at a very dull survival of a very gaudy life—crippled, paralyzed in both legs, barely I eat and my sleep is so near waking it’s hardly worth the name. I seem to exist largely on heat, like a newborn spider.”

He tells Marlowe that he’s being blackmailed, again, and asks him to check on the gambling debts his younger daughter, Carmen (Vickers), owes to a book dealer named Geiger (Theodore von Eltz). (Carmen is a nymphomaniac in Chandler’s novel, but the Hollywood censors would permit no more than what is seen; any inferences otherwise must be the viewer’s own.)

As Marlowe is leaving, the butler (Charles D. Brown) tells him Mrs. Vivian Rutledge (Bacall) would like to see him. In trying to feel him out, she confides that she believes her father has asked him to search for his friend Sean Regan, who has been missing for a month.

Next scene, Marlowe visits Geiger’s rare bookstore (a source for pornography in Chandler’s novel). With the front of his hat turned up, he assumes a clipped speech and eccentric manner, asking for specific editions of two books. The proprietor (Sonia Darrin) says she doesn’t have them.

He then goes across the street to another book store run by a proprietress (Dorothy Malone) who comes on to Marlowe, and he to her. He asks her for the same editions of the books and she rightly tells him there are none. “The girl in Geiger’s bookstore,” he says, “didn’t know that.”

He asks her if she knows Geiger on sight, she describes him down to his glass eye and he requests she let him know when he comes out of the bookstore. (The three-and-a-half-minute scene is one of the best in the film, and, interesting, like Marlowe’s scene with Sternwood, it exudes rapport and chemistry without Bacall.)

When Geiger does emerge, Marlowe follows him to a house. Hearing a woman’s scream and a gunshot, he enters to find a dead Geiger, a drugged Carmen and a hidden camera, without any film. After taking Carmen home, he returns to the house, only to find . . . the body is gone.

It’s just the beginning, and from here on it’s nothing but a convoluted, indecipherable mess, first and most prominent, murder, then gambling, blackmail, car chases (not the apoplectic ones of today), love triangles, red herrings, organized crime, subtle suggestions of pornography and general mayhem.

Although no threat to the overwhelming charisma between Bogart and Bacall, the dialogue has its own fascination, often poetic and occasionally unforgettable, however “written” it may sometimes sound. This is true of General Sternwood’s lines in his one scene and in some of Marlowe’s, particularly this retort during his first scene with Vivian, when she says she deplores his manners:

“And I’m not crazy about yours. I didn’t ask to see you. I don’t mind if you don’t like my manners. I don’t like them myself. They are pretty bad. I grieve over them on long, winter evenings. I don’t mind you ritzing me or drinking your lunch out of a bottle, but don’t waste your time trying to cross-examine me.”

These lines, some given at a fast, breathless pace, are reminiscent of a Bogart scene in The Maltese Falcon—the address to the district attorney about “the only chance I’ve got of catching them [the murderers], and tying them up, and bringing them in, is by staying as far away as possible from you and the police . . . ”

The most famous dialogue exchange, with its sexual innuendos, is between Bogart and Bacall, sitting across from each other at a nightclub table:

“Speaking of horses,” she says, “I like to play them myself. But I like to see them work out a little first, see if they’re front runners or come from behind, find out what their hole card is, what makes them run. . . . I’d say you don’t like to be rated. You like to get out in front, open up a little lead, take a little breather in the backstretch and then come home free.”

“You don’t like to be rated yourself,” he says.

“I haven’t met any one yet who can do it. Any suggestions?”

“Well, I can’t tell till I’ve seen you over a distance of ground. You’ve got a touch of class, but I don’t know how far you can go.”

“A lot depends on who’s in the saddle.”

This scene doesn’t need, and doesn’t receive, any underpinning music. Max Steiner’s musical score is one of his more problematic, containing both the strong and weak points of his style. The main title is something of a nondescript blur, noisy and tuneless, serving, if nothing else, as a foretaste of the impervious plot and unsavory characters.

In the insouciant motif for Philip Marlowe, Steiner captures the detective’s sluggish, yet quixotic nature, which serves to brighten the predominantly dark music. The slowly ascending notes at the start of the main love theme suggest, perhaps—assuming Steiner’s thinking was this nuanced—the hostile beginning of Marlowe and Vivian’s relationship, the rest of the theme infused with a kind of smothered passion their love would become by the end.

In scoring for two similar settings, it is interesting to compare the disparate approaches to the greenhouse scene, with all its tropical trees and ferns, and Violet Venable’s (Katharine Hepburn) jungle garden in Suddenly, Last Summer (1959). For whatever the reason, Steiner elects to ignore representing the humid atmosphere General Sternwood has prepared for his orchids, while composers Malcolm Arnold and Buxton Orr convey almost breathable damp and mildew for Violet’s steamy surroundings.

The Big Sleep is a film where everyone except General Sternwood—perhaps he, too, if he had another scene—carries a gun, and when guns are unavailable, then fists do quite well. With the moral slant of the film, that is, with less than admirable characters and their ugly motives, it’s hard to like any of them.

Truth is, you’re not supposed to like the characters in a film noir, sympathize with them maybe.. But the actors you can like. It’s hard not to like Bogart and Bacall—not as accomplished actors, but as personalities of the screen, as stars were viewed in the ’30s and ’40. Then movie-goers didn’t go to see Philip Marlowe or Vivian Rutledge, not that any one coming out of the theater would remember her last name; they went to see Bogart and Bacall.

Bogart, like Cagney and Flynn, is a personality, a man who always, or generally always, plays himself. Bacall, who still hadn’t learned to act at the time of The Big Sleep, would have been easily overshadowed by Vickers had her original scenes been left intact, and Dorothy Malone has all the charisma and magic of Bacall, just another kind of charm.

Bosley Crowther, one of the most famous movie critics of the 1940s, warned in his New York Times review of August 24, 1946, that the film would be confusing and unsatisfying. And apparently in all sincerity, he asked, “[W]ould somebody also tell us the meaning of that title . . . ” Why, it’s what seems obvious, that which at least seven of the characters in The Big Sleep experienced . . . DEATH.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-K49CUaeto

#Howard Hawks #Humphrey Bogart #Lauren Bacall

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