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rodeo-boots · 3 years

Note

Hi there! Im not sure if I've requested from you before have I?

So I was wondering if I could have a one-shot Sadie/F!ChubbyReader? Something sweet that gets steamy.

I was thinking that it could be the readers having a rough time because she thinks she's unworthy of love and the fact that she's into women makes it even harder.

Take your time, no need to rush~

Feel free to message me if you cant/won't do this I understand Xx

You hadn't requested from me before, btw. BUT I really loved writing this one for you! I hope it's what you've been looking for <3 (I also hope there are no more errors left, I only proofread this once)

Rating: Explicit

Words: 2679

Warnings: NSFW, Low Self-Esteem Reader (Body-Image issues)

AO3

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It was one of the rare occasions when camp was quiet, most gang-members fast asleep as darkness spread over Clemens Point.

You had missed the silence, already used to the rambunctious songs, to the laughter and chatter of the others. Even if those good times never were to last.

These days, it was hard to achieve happiness, to feel even remotely safe, your travels East having shaken the entire group to the core.

And sometimes, you wished you had stayed in the West, had bought land and settled down like you've planned, even if that might not have changed a thing.

When it was quiet, like now, your mind often wandered, drifted along with the sounds of rippling water.

It was nice here, better than it had been up at Colter, but you still felt out of place. And no amount of fresh air or crisp water could change that.

With a sigh, you leaned further against the log behind you, your arms crossed in front of your chest where you sat.

At least in the darkness, no one had to stare at you. Had to see you.

You could just be, with no obligations to be appealing to anyone at all.

Never before had Dutch sent you out to distract any targets, to use your good looks on unsuspecting fools like the other women at camp often did. Because you had none. Or so you told yourself.

Of course it was harsh, of course you had other things to offer. But with a couple pounds too many, with chub around your cheeks and your hips, you didn't feel as attractive as you wished you would be.

You envied Abigail, Mary-Beth, Karen, Tilly... if not for their appearance then for their confidence. And Sadie? Sometimes you wished you could walk a day in her shoes, that you could stop caring about what other people thought and put on some pants.

Though you feared you'd only get stared at more like that.

Time went by without you noticing. Maybe you've nodded off somewhere down the line, the sight of the water gleaming beneath the moonlight oddly tranquil and soothing to you.

Your thoughts continued to roam, continued to shift and flow like the water in front of you.

Occasionally, you'd see a fish jump out of the lake, would hear a nocturnal bird taking flight within the nearby trees. And you yearned to be free like them; free of judgment, of society's standards, and your own low self-esteem.

You wondered if they perceived beauty like humans did, if they stared down at the two-legged, wingless creatures, saw long and flowing hair idly whipping in the breeze, or a freckled face and bright eyes and fell in love.

It would be a loss if they didn't, if they were unable to see what you did – and you decided that maybe, being a human might not be all that bad.

Sure, all you could do was behold the beauty around you. You knew you would never get a chance of something more; knew you couldn't compliment the way Sadie's yellow blouse flattered her figure and receive more than a simple "thank you".

It had always been like that – you, finding beauty in another woman, finding beauty in her voice, the sparkle in her eyes and the way she strutted and sauntered along the way. You knew you couldn't change that, knew that you would never be 'normal', but hell, you didn't want to be. If there even was such a thing as normal.

In the past, and even up to the current day, you've struggled with it. With your sexuality.

You had come to terms with it, of course, but you knew that you only stood out more with your chosen way of life. If your body wasn't enough to keep people away, your orientation might just be, and it worried you, what the others might think should you ever come out to them.

It hadn't been your intention to grow upset, your brain doing it to yourself no matter what you tried to do about it.

So you sat and stared out onto the lake, gaze blank as you simply beheld the beauty all around. Watching, and doing nothing, as always.

The sound of boots upon sand drew you out of your thoughts, your head turning to see a familiar figure approaching.

She was tall, slim, her hair braided beneath her hat. A few strands hung loose, though that only held it's special charm.

"What're you doin' out here?" Sadie asked, sitting down on the fallen tree behind you. She kept a bit of a polite distance, crossing her legs as her elbows rested upon her propped up knee.

You swallowed softly, looked back ahead and out onto the wide lake. "Just thinking," you explained, unable to come up with anything else that might explain you being restless and awake at this time of day.

The other woman hummed, her own gaze trailing over the water in front of her.

It appeared black in the dark of night, only little light reflexes showing the movement of the soft waves.

"Did someone say somethin' again?"

Her sudden words brought you back to reality, the silence between you having stretched for a couple minutes before. It wasn't rare that the less pleasant people at camp upset you over your insecurities, pointed out facets of yourself that didn't need to be addressed.

You shook your head, anyhow. Today, that hadn't been the case. Besides, you never knew Sadie paid any attention to the treatment you received. "It's me," you mumbled after a moment of consideration. "Me who made me feel like crap."

And while you huffed at the words you spoke, they were genuine. Oftentimes, it was you who made your life harder than it had to be.

Sadie pushed herself off the log, plopped down into the slightly moist sand by your side. You watched her from the corners of your eyes, unsure what she was intending to do.

But she didn't do anything, merely sat with you and stared out into the water, thinking about what you had said before.

"I did that a lot," she eventually spoke up, turning to face you. "Guess it ain't the same, but I– sat and thought a lot, too. That never seemed to help." She chuckled, but the sound was rather mirthless, her tone more serious than anything.

You had seen her in the past, had seen her sitting outside of camp, far from anyone else. She's had a broken heart to nurse, had a terrible loss to get over, and in the end she had come out stronger than ever.

"You don't gotta tell me, if you don't want. Maybe it'd make you feel better, though."

Inhaling, you thought about her words, wondered if you would even be able to put your innermost thoughts and feelings into words.

Never before had someone asked you to share them, no one ever having as much of an interest in you as that.

"It's nothing," you tried to deflect, tried to invalidate your troubles in order to not burden Sadie with them here and now.

The woman snorted, however, raised a brow as she looked at you. "Don't look like nothin' to me," she pointed out, not impolitely.

"How about this–" she sat up, her back against the log as she gestured for you to come closer, to lean back against her chest.

For a moment you could only stare in disbelief, though you took the chance now that it was offered to you. It had been a while since you've last been physically close to anyone, after all.

"Comfortable?" Sadie asked. You gave her a nod, your heart racing in your chest and beating within your ears.

Holy Shit. That hadn't been how you'd imagined this night would go.

Sadie wrapped her arms around you loosely, rested her chin atop your head. She seemed content herself, seemed like she had wanted to do that for a long while. The thought made your heart skip a beat.

"I know you think you're worse than you are," Sadie spoke up again, keeping her voice low while speaking to you. It was oddly soothing, her usual rough tone sounding more than just pleasant to your ears. "But you ain't bad. Truth be told, I admire you."

That made you pause, your breath catching in the back of your throat. "Me? For what?"

She chuckled kindly, brushing through your hair to tuck a few strands behind your ear. "For knowin' who you are, and what you want. For stayin' true to yourself no matter what anyone says."

Yet again, you hadn't expected her to be all that perceptive, hadn't expected her to know much about you at all. For as long as you've known her, your conversations had been brief, cut short by your occasional shyness and nervosity. Sadie seemed to have read you better than you ever could've thought.

"I..." you weren't sure what to say, or if you should say anything at all. The woman's arms around you were soothing, almost soporific, though the warmth pooling within you made it hard to consider dozing off.

"I always wanted t'know more about you," Sadie continued, nuzzling the top of your head, her lips brushing over your strands of hair. "Wanted to know more 'bout the beautiful woman who's stolen my heart."

You were sure this had to be a dream, that you had passed out after all and your mind was playing tricks on you by now.

But Sadie felt as real as could be, her hot breath in the nape of your neck, her arms around your waist, thighs left and right of your hips. Whatever you had thought of before, all your insecurities and doubts, it all seemed far away by now.

"Me– Me, too," you brought out, confessing to your feelings without directly doing so. Sadie was more bold and confident than you were, was more brave and straight-forward in your eyes. And just like she had said before, you admired her just as well. But most importantly, you were sure you loved her.

Feeling enlivened by her words, empowered by the warmth swelling within your heart, you turned around, straddled her lap and properly looked her in the face. "I think I love you," you properly confessed, cupping her freckled cheeks like you've wished to do for so long already.

She smiled up at you, keeping her hands on your waist for now as she leaned in, and captured your lips with her own.

The kiss didn't last as long as you've wanted it to, but upon pulling away, Sadie spoke up again; "I know I love you." Her smile grew, your forehead resting on hers when you returned the gesture.

Once your lips had met the first time, you couldn't stop yourself from going in for a second kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut, fingertips gliding along Sadie's sides and down to the hem of her shirt. Now that you knew of her feelings towards you, and were fully certain as those within yourself, you only wanted more.

She reacted in kind, teased your tongue with hers when her lips parted ever so slightly, a moan slipping into the kiss. You weren't sure if it had come from you or her, but that didn't matter much, not when your hands soon met bare skin, fingers gripping her sides while her own ran along your thighs.

"You wanna do this right here?" She asked, leaning back a little to capture your stare.

Slightly out of breath, you nodded. Hell, you didn't care where you'd do this, as long as you could feel her skin on yours.

Without missing a beat, Sadie worked on helping you out of your dress, glancing back, only to make sure camp was as quiet as it had been before.

Even if a few drunkards were still milling about, you couldn't care less, your fingers working on her buttons to relieve her off her top layer, before climbing off her lap to get her pants off her hips.

Naked, you laid back in the sand, invited her to follow you only for her lips to meet yours again. She placed her hat on top of your head, gave you a small smirk as her lips wandered lower, over your collarbone and down to your chest.

Moving boldly, her mouth latched onto one nipple right away, one hand kneading the other breast while she suckled and licked your sensitive bud.

Your breath hitched, spine curving to get closer to her heavenly mouth, your head already swimming without her having done too much just yet.

Soon enough, she had stimulated your other nipple to full hardness as well, laying down on her side next to you, and pulling you in for another kiss. "Let's keep this quiet," she muttered, her fingeres wandering once again until they reached your sex, a hum leaving her lips when she discovered the hot wetness there.

She caressed your folds, encouraged you to hitch one leg up and around her hip while coating her fingers within your slick. Slowly, her fingers circled your clit, made your hips jerk sporadically and your muscles tense here and there.

"Can I?" You had only pulled away from the kiss for a second, glancing at her while your fingers slid down her flat stomach.

"Be my guest," she grumbled, trailing lovebites along your collarbone and up to your shoulder, the small motions of her fingers on your clit steadily driving you insane.

To offer her the same kind of pleasure, your hand soon found the spot between her legs, met with an equal wetness as that between your own. You groaned, teasingly gliding your fingers through her folds before your thumb focused solely on her nub.

She gasped, almost sounding surprised, like she hadn't been touched there in a while, though that only spurred you on more. You wanted her to feel as good as possible, pulling away after another few moments only to propose another idea.

"I wanna taste you," you muttered, fingers disappearing from her soaked cunt as you laid back. Seemingly catching on right away, Sadie climbed on top, straddling your face while hers was right in front of your own crotch.

With the new position, you dove in without a moment's hesitation, held onto her hips and pulled her close as your tongue licked through her folds and up to her nub.

She moaned out, had to have bitten down on her lip to keep more sounds from surfacing before she leaned down herself, and focused on your clit right away.

Besides the sounds of your actions, the occasional slurping, squelching and your labored breaths, it was still mostly quiet, the area belonging solely to you in this moment.

You rolled your hips upwards, chased more of the heavenly feeling of her mouth on you as you felt yourself getting close.

Clearly, Sadie wasn't all that far, either, her abdominal muscles flexing while her thighs tried to squeeze your head, the motions of her tongue growing more desperate the closer she got to her climax.

It was over much too quickly, had been too long for you to hold back at all, your body tensing for a moment before releasing in a rush of endorphins that was better than anything you've had before.

You pulled back for air, slipped two fingers into Sadie's tight cunt to grant her a satisfying release as well, and watched, when she shook and trembled through her very own orgasm.

She rolled off of you after a moment, cursing under her breath as she did so.

It wasn't long before she crawled back up to you, however, before her lips met yours and you could taste yourselves upon each other's tongue.

"You fancy a midnight swim?" She asked when she pulled away, sitting back on her knees and helping you up when you agreed.

#Sadie Adler #Sadie Adler x female Reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfiction #nsft #my writing #rdr2 requests #tw body negativity #anarchist-lolita

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garbagevanfleet · 3 years

Text

Brightest Blue (series)

PART ELEVEN

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: talk of sex and such, feelings Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place.

Notes: alright, this is terribly late again because im a depressed snail at heart, but its longer than usual, so i hope that makes up for it. If you read my fic at all, i love you. If you interact with this fic in anyway, i want to wed you.

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack

MASTERPOST

You woke up in a daze of fuzzy but pleasant memories. You were trying to blink the sleep from your eyes when Josh entered your line of sight. He had emerged from the hallway, completely naked save for the necklace he’d been in the night before, little water droplets slipping from his curls to his shoulders.

You shot up in bed, and as you did, the comforter fell away from your body. It took you a moment for you to realize that it was the air hitting your bare skin that was making you feel chilled, but it didn’t last long. Your face turned beet red as you quickly picked the sheet back up to cover yourself.

He was giving you an odd look - somewhere between amused and concerned. “Are you alright?” he tried cautiously, still standing there stark naked.

“Josh! You can’t just walk around naked,” you complained, stuttering on your words as they came out.

He snorted a laugh. “What? First of all, this is my room. Second of all, it’s a little late to try and protect your modesty.”

You rolled your eyes at him until you realized what he was talking about. “Oh my god, we had sex last night,” you whispered to him like it was a secret, a tiny smile on your lips.

He nodded, breathing a laugh. “Yeah.”

You experimentally shifted in your seat before grimacing up at him. “That would explain why I’m sitting in a damp spot.”

You could only describe the laugh that escaped him as a cackle, honest and unabashed. “Gross.”

You had to say you agreed with him.

There was a cautious moment, where you stared at each other, both unsure of what to say.

“Are we good?” he tried quietly like he was a little scared of what you were going to say.

You patted the spot next to you and he clambered in as he was told. You leaned against him as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“Of course, we are,” you assured, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck.

“If it’s going to make you feel better to pretend it didn’t happen, I wouldn’t be mad.”

You pulled away and looked up at him with a frown. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged, sporting a nervous smile. “I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You heaved a big sigh, shifting to look into his eyes. “Josh, I want you to listen to me really carefully, okay?”

He nodded.

You slowly reached up to cup one side of his face in your hand. “I don’t regret it - actually, I had a really nice night. I just think that it would be best for everyone involved if it didn’t happen again. We probably shouldn’t be romantic...or naked around each other.”

The expression he wore seemed like an understanding one, at least to you.

“You want me to make pancakes? Maybe chocolate chip banana?” you offered, giving him a cheeky smile.

He couldn’t help but match it. “Yes. You’re probably going to want to put your tits away first though.”

“You first,” you quipped, smacking the back of your hand against his peck.

+++

The rest of the weekend, the two of you spent watching Christmas movies on the couch (even though the holiday was more than a month away) while you worked on sewing the costumes. Josh had offered to ask the theater department if you could borrow a sewing machine, but you had been way too afraid of it to try and use it, so it sat in your room alone. That did, however, leave you to sew 26 costumes by hand. Well, more like 24, since Rachel had two of them mostly done.

You were finding it oddly fun though, even though your fingers hurt by the fifth stitch or so. The hardest part was making sure you worked on the basics of every costume first - your instinct was to work on one at a time until it was perfect, but you knew you had to be smart about time management. Luckily, even though it was only near mid-November, Michigan’s weather was lovably unpredictable. The weather station had called for snow only through the weekend, but, in reality, it was Monday evening by the time it was done dumping snow - giving you a full three day weekend.

Kate had been sending you pictures of the pieces of the set she had taken home with her to work on, and you couldn’t hide how impressed you were with her work. You would almost be offended at how good it looked if you hadn’t known she was an Art History major with a heavy side of sculpture work.

In the last two weeks before the production, you barely got to see Josh. He would walk you to school, but then you usually wouldn’t see him for the entire rest of the day. You tried to wait up for him on Thursday night, but you ended up falling asleep on the couch, and woke at 1 am to him gently patting your shoulder.

“Hey, you should get up and go to your bed.”

You blinked up at him, sitting up and brushing your sleep-mussed hair from your eyes.

“You’re home so late,” you scolded half-heartedly, pulling your borrowed sweatshirt closer to your face.

“I know, sorry. There’s still a lot to do, especially after we got snowed in last weekend,” he replied, sitting gingerly on the armrest.

“I told you that I’m happy to help however I can.”

He smiled at you, but you had to admit that he looked over-tired. You’d been watching him burn the candle at both ends for three days straight. “It’s a lot of stuff that only I can do. Like going over the music and making the final set diagrams.”

You hummed in understanding as a response.

“Want me to carry you to bed? You can come sleep in mine if you want,” he offered through a crinkly-nosed smile.

You grinned back at him, genuine at first, but it quickly turned melancholy. “Josh,” you said under your breath. “I’d love that, but I don’t think it’s good for us to share a bed anymore.”

His expression fell, face turning blank. He nodded at you, standing and giving you a disappointed smile. “Sleep well,” he wished, patting your shoulder again once before retreating to his room.

You stayed on the couch for a while, your knees tucked up to your chest, as you sat in your guilt. You had known it was stupid of you to have ever let things turn anything other than platonic with him - it had been undeniably fun, but he was your roommate, for fuck’s sake. You had to see him every day, eat your meals with him. Had you not selfishly let yourself go there in the first place, you’d be cuddled up beside him tonight.

It had been so lovely having any kind of affection - platonic or otherwise - that you let yourself get carried away.

When you finally got up and went to bed, Josh’s light was still on, his door shut for one of the first times since you moved in.

+++

Kate took you out for breakfast on Saturday morning to a local hole-in-the-wall that she swore had the very best pancakes she’d ever eaten. She had shown up in a puffer jacket that looked so warm, it made you jealous.

You’d been chatting easily about your classes and the play, but when you had finished your first cup of coffee, there was a lull in the conversation.

You hadn’t meant to say it, it just bubbled out. “I slept with Josh.”

She glanced up at you through her jet black lashes, stony-faced. “Yeah,” she replied, way too calm, sounding like she was wondering why you were even telling her.

You blinked at her for a moment. “Did you hear me? I had sex with Josh.”

She nodded. “Do you want me to pretend like I’m shocked?”

You grimaced at her, and in a whiny tone, responded, “Yes, please.”

A nervous laugh escaped her as she fixed her features to display a surprised expression. “You did what?!” she asked - purely for your benefit.

You groaned at her. “Okay, I get it. I feel so bad about it, Kate.”

Her cherry lips shaped into a puzzled frown. “Why?”

A deep sigh filled your ribcage - you had been hoping it would clear your head, but no luck.

“Because I desperately miss being able to be platonically intimate with him and it not being awkward. Before this, I was sleeping in his bed from time to time when I got too cold and we would cuddle.”

“Why can’t you go back to that?”

“Are you listening? I slept with him,” you groaned. “All I can think about is him on top of me now.”

She scoffed, her chipped nails tapping against her glass of diet Coke. “Imagine how he feels - Josh had real, honest to god feelings for you, I think. Like for a while.”

“You said that, but I don’t know. How do you know that he didn’t just want to sleep with me? Like not in a conscious way, but what if he just wanted affection? What then, Kate?”

She had one dark eyebrow raised at you as she sipped at her straw. “Because I know that’s not true.”

“How would you be able to know that? Because you see him sometimes at school-”

She cut you off with a confident smile. “I know because I talked to Jake about it.”

You almost blew past it - that is until you realized what she had said. The two of you shared a long, silent moment as you stared at each other.

“You’ve been talking to Jake?” you asked, trying to keep your tone even so she didn’t know how excited that made you.

“I have talked to him in the past, yes. He said that he already knew, but he was able to pry it out of Josh when he was drunk once.”

You stared at her. “Okay, there’s a lot to unpack here right now, I think we can both agree with that. But can we start with you and Jake?”

She huffed a disbelieving laugh as she set her hand on yours on the table comfortingly like she was trying to cushion the news. “Josh has some feelings for you - the real kind.”

In an effort to prolong the moment that it was time for you to speak again, you picked up a bite of your breakfast and popped it in your mouth. The moment always comes though, no matter how long you try to put it off.

“I can’t,” you said quietly, shaking your head in disappointment. Then when she prompted you with a confused look, you finished. “I can’t risk it. I mean, maybe there could be something there, but he’s my roommate. And my best friend - there’s no way I’d ever get lucky enough again to find someone I connected with like that if things went sour and I had to move out.”

She licked her lips absently. “My advice would be to think about it - for literally as long as you need to. I’m confident that you’ll figure out what you want.”

You nodded, not entirely convinced one way or another. “It’s hard because he’s so fucking cute,” you said in faux disgust.

“And sweet,” she added. “Don’t forget that.”

You shot her an accusatory look.

After a long pause, a smile found its way to your lips. “How cool would it be though if we were both dating one of them?”

She laughed, picking a syrup-covered strawberry off her plate and chewing it with care. “Not me, I can’t be tamed. Jake is really hot and everything, but I got shit to do, you know?”

You scoffed at her.

“I’m definitely keeping him in my contacts though,” she said with mischievous eyes.

+++

You didn’t directly see Josh for the rest of the weekend, though he left evidence of his presence scattered through the apartment. He had left his hair mousse out on the sink and the toothpaste cap off of its tube in the bathroom, some crumbs of a sandwich he packed for lunch in the kitchen, and a note on his bedroom door.

Can you please feed Penny a couple of flakes for dinner? If you have any time today, I’d appreciate it if you could spend some of it with her. See you sometime soon! - J

You plucked the paper off the door where it was barely hanging by a thin strip of green floral tape and smiled as you read it again.

His bedroom was dim, hid away from the sun by his closed blinds. The desk by his door was covered in books - textbooks, music books, books for his English lit class, and one you’d seen him reading for fun on more than one occasion. On the hardwood floor next to his bed was a stack of papers, and even though you knew you shouldn’t you crouched to peek through them.

They appeared to be rough drafts of plans for the play - nothing too exciting, but they were charmingly eccentric. He had done little doodles of his ideas for sets and props, even a whole sheet of costume ideas that caught your eye. You pulled it from the messy stack and folded it into your pocket.

Careful not to spill any water, you moved Penny in her globe to your bedside table, but as you stared at her through the glass you frowned.

You pulled your phone out and snapped a picture of her, trying to make sure you got an accurate portrayal of her size. She looked at you, sticking her lips out of the water in search of food. You remembered Josh’s warning about overfeeding her the first day you’d met him and it brought a genuine smile to your lips. You promised her you’d be back, holding your finger just above the water and letting her press her mouth to it.

On the ride over to Petsmart, you had called your mom, asking if it would be okay if you borrowed some cash, to which she agreed to after her usual line of questioning. When you pulled into the parking lot, you checked your bank account just to make sure it transferred okay, always nervous that you’d get to the register and your card would decline.

You spent longer than you should have reading articles online as you studied the tanks, all set up in rows for purchase. They weren’t as expensive as you’d expect a water-sealed glass box to be, and after you were confident you had picked the right one, you still had plenty left in your budget for the dressings.

You picked a couple of fun decorations - a fake log for her to hide in if she wanted to and one that looked like part of a broken Greecian statue. The part that took you the longest was picking out the healthiest-looking plants. You had read that goldfish often like to eat live plants, but you couldn’t bring yourself to buy fake ones - the plant lover in you knew it was a cardinal sin.

A very kind cashier agreed to help you carry your haul to your car, even helping you shift it all correctly so you could make it fit. You left him a secret tip, even though he denied at first, and thanked him profusely.

Getting the tank into the apartment was the hardest part. You realized just how lucky you were that you didn’t live above the first floor.

By the time you got the tank situated back on his dresser, your muscles - especially in your legs - were protesting, but you weren’t done yet. You grabbed an empty ice cream pail and started to fill the tank, one trip at a time until it was about 3/4’s full of water.

The decorations had to be shifted multiple times before you liked their position enough to start pouring in the gravel around them. A Youtube tutorial taught you exactly how much of each chemical to add and how to put together the filter, and then you left it to cycle as you returned to your room.

Perched on your bed, you pulled the sheet of costumes from your pocket and studied it. You pinned it to your corkboard. Undeniably, the cutest design he had come up with was for the door mouse - grey fabric, huge ears, and a rope tail.

The rest of the unfinished costumes were in a cardboard box by the side of your bed - you hadn’t moved it anywhere because you knew you’d be back at it before too long at any given time. You bent down off the side of your bed and rummaged through the different fabrics until you found the one you were looking for - a grey-blue faux suede deal. You were pretty sure you had enough to make it work.

You fished your phone out from where you had buried it under the covers when you shifted and called the one person that could help.

“Hello?” Kate mumbled, sounding like you’d just woken her up despite it being noon.

You giggled at her. “Hi, I’m playing my best friend card. I know you’ve helped so much, but can you please please come work on these costumes with me?”

She hummed and then went silent for a good, long moment. “Give me ten to wake up and get dressed.”

A beaming smile spread across your face. “Kate, I love you so much. I’m going to Venmo you money to get coffee and donuts, okay?”

“Hmm, I do like donuts.” She sounded pleased.

“Good! Bring Jake too.”

+++

The knock on your door came a half-hour later. You jumped from your bed, racing to let them in. Jake was dressed in the softest-looking flannel shirt you’d ever seen, a drink carrier in his hands that housed three drink cups.

“Okay, so there are three jobs that need to be done. Measuring and marking, cutting, and sewing. If we each take one of those jobs, I’m confident we can finish a couple of the costumes today. I’ll let you guys pick first,” you informed as you lead them into your room.

“I’ll take cutting,” Kate said, prompting Jake to reply that he’d like measuring.

You handed Jake the notebook of measurements with a grin. “Rachel,” you started with a sneer. “Did a lot of the calculations for us, thank god. All you have to do is measure out the fabric. The tricky part is making sure you do it in a way that will leave enough fabric for the rest of the costumes.”

“Not a problem,” Jake responded with a smirk. “And I think her name is just ‘Rachel’, not ‘Rachel’.”

Kate shot him a look on your behalf. “I think she was just making a referencing the fact that Rachel left your brother with a huge ass list of things to do completely alone, not that she was jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” you asked accusatorily, a scowl painted on your face.

Jake put both of his hands up in defense., but he didn’t appear apologetic in the slightest. Smugly, he said, “I’m just saying-”

Kate reached out and smacked his chest. “Jake, shut up. Okay, what one should we start on?”

“I’m going to have Jake start with this one.” You turned to the page in the notebook that showed the measurements for the door mouse, laying it out by him. “This is the main fabric. Kate, I have a lot of the Queen of Heart’s fabric measured and marked already, so I’ll have you start cutting that. There’s a lot of little pieces to that one.”

Kate looked at the six different fabrics you’d laid out for her, one eyebrow cocked at you. “Have you been getting any of your own homework done at all?”

Your cheeks flushed as you nervously rubbed at the back of your neck. “Let’s stay on track, shall we?” you replied, pretty much answering her question. “We’ve got one week until the production, and I know the costumes have to be done at least a day ahead of time.”

They both just stared at you in varying stages of disbelief.

“Don’t look at me like that. We can do this,” you assured, sounding a hell of a lot more confident than you actually were. “Now let’s get to work.”

+++

When Josh got home, you were nearly sleeping on the couch, the remains of your current project in your lap. You peeked at the clock.

10:54 pm.

“You’re home so late,” you whispered, for no particular reason.

“I know,” he agreed, wiping his hand over his face after he took his jacket off.

“Come sit with me a minute,” you requested, shifting so he would have space. He gave you a grateful smile, immediately crossing the room to do as he was told.

After a moment, he cautiously wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Is this okay?” he asked quietly.

You gave him a smile. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

You knew he must have been tired because he wasn’t talking a mile a minute like you were used to after not seeing him for long.

“Are you hungry?” you asked.

He hummed, sounding like he was close to passing out. “I am, but I can make myself something.”

You scoffed, “Absolutely not. You got get into bed and I’ll bring something to you in a second.”

He reluctantly got up off the couch and clambered into his room. You waited patiently for him to notice the surprise, grinning to yourself when you heard him gasp.

You listened as you made him a sandwich, and you couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but you knew he was talking to Penny just by the tone of his voice.

As you rounded the corner into his room, he turned and gave you a smile as bright as the sun.

“Did you do this, or did Fish Santa come early?” he asked, his finger pressed against the glass of the tank.

“Well, kind of both,” you responded through a laugh as you sat next to him on the bed and delivered his sandwich to his lap. “You can consider it your early Christmas present.”

He stared at you for a long beat, looking like he might cry. You knew you’d never be able to handle that, so you pulled him in for a hug, tightening your arms around him when he hugged you back.

“You’ve been working so hard,” you whispered. “I miss my best friend.”

He turned his face, pressing his nose into your cheek in a move that felt a step or two farther than friends.

“I’ve put everything I have into this,” he admitted, and you were too scared to ask if he meant the play or something else. You sat like that with him for a long moment before he pulled away, giving you a thankful smile.

“I’m sure you need time to decompress, so I’ll leave you be. Eat and then get some sleep, okay?” You stood and headed for the door, turning when he called your name.

“Thank you,” he said.

#brightest blue fic #josh gvf #josh kiszka #josh x reader #joshxreader #Greta Van Fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic

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fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 · 3 years

Text

Do You Want to Know A Secret?

This is a request for @ringa-starr! I really hope you enjoy it, and I’m sorry for taking so long to write it. My life has been very busy and hectic, but I’m going to have some spare time to get this published. This is also very short, but I can make a part two or multiple parts if need be!

Summary: The reader is pregnant with Bill’s child, but with it being their senior year of high school, the reader is worried about how Bill will react. Bill assured them that everything will be alright.

Warnings: pregnancy (both the reader and Bill are eighteen, so it’s all legal), some mild cursing and angsty, it will have a happy ending though. If I missed something let me know!

Y/N couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The test in front of her told her everything she needed to know. She was pregnant, and there was only one person that could be a father of the child.

You’ll never know how much I really love you

You’ll never know how much I really care

Y/N had been dating Bill for over a year now, and they had lived every minute of it. The way his blue eyes sparkled when he was writing music for the band, the way his blonde hair managed to reflect any light perfectly, everything about him mad Y/N happy. This however, could be the end of their relationship.

Listen, do you want to know a secret?

Do you promise not to tell?

Y/N knew that she couldn’t tell Bill about the baby. They were almost done with high school, and with the future plans that Bill had for the Wyld Stallyns, a baby would just get in the way. A single tear slipped down Y/N’s face as she tried her best to get ready for school.

Bill of course noticed Y/N’s change of attitude as soon as she stepped through the doors to the school. He could see the streaks that her tears had left behind, and a depressed aura surrounded the women he loved. What was it that could be bothering her? Was it something that he had done?

Closer, let me whisper in your ear

Say the words you want to hear

Y/N avoided Bill the entire day, and he was done stalling. “Ted, my most excellent friend,” Bill stated as he stood up from a bench outside the school.

“Yes, Bill,” Ted replied.

“There is something wrong with Y/N. I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out. She’s my babe, and I would do anything for her.”

“Then you better hurry over to her house quick. Don’t worry about rehearsal tonight. We can meet two times next week. See ya later dude!”

Ted waved to his friend as he walked in the opposite direction of Bill. With confident strides, Bill made it to Y/N’s home in no time. He knocked on the door, and Y/N’s mother answered. “May I speak to Y/N, please? I think something is bothering her,” Bill asked.

“Oh, of course! I was wondering the same thing myself.” Y/N’s mother ushered Bill inside, and pointed to where her room was down the hall. Bill made his way to the door, which happened to be closed, but Bill could hear Y/N’s faint cries from within.

“Y/N, babe, can you please open the door,” Bill said as he gently knocked on the oak surface. There was silence. Then the door opened enough for Bill to slide in. Y/N had her back facing Bill, she simply stood in the middle of the room. Bill’s heart crumbled at the sight of her. “Hey, you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Y/N broke in an instant. Her body was wracked by each sob she let out, and Bill was by her side in an instant. He wrapped his arm around her waist and lead Y/N to sit on the edge of her bed. Bill tried to wipe away the tears, but Y/N turned away from him. “I’m s-sorry, Bill. We can’t be in a relationship anymore. I have some terrible news, and it’s going to destroy everything.”

Bill didn’t think he would ever hear those words. He thought his relationship with Y/N was perfect, so why would she be saying all of these things. Luckily, Bill knew exactly what to say, and he spoke what he felt inside.

I’m in love with you, ooh

“Y/N, nothing in the world is going to stop me from loving you. I would even quit the band if you asked that of me. Your the most beautiful babe I have ever seen, and no matter what is going on, we will get through it together.” Bill picked up one of Y/N’s hands and left a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

For Bill to offer to quit the band, Y/N knew that he was serious. Maybe they really could work things out after all, and while the journey might be a bumpy one, it would be worth it so long as she was able to stay with Bill.

I’ve known a secret for a week or two

Nobody knows, just we two

“Im pregnant, Bill,” Y/N said as another tear fell. She was so scared at how he would react, but Bill simply laughed. At first, Y/N was worried that this laugh was a judgmental one, one that said, “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” However, this laugh was genuine. Bill picked Y/N up and spun her around a few times.

“I can’t believe we are going to be parents, and I’m going to be the most excellent father to our boy or girl,” Bill shouted as he pecked kisses all over Y/N’s face.

Y/N giggled at the action. “I’m glad that you feel that way. I know this won’t be easy, but as long as I have you by my side, I know everything will be okay.”

The two moved to lay fully on the bed to cuddle. Bill ran his slim, calloused fingers through Y/N’s locks, and she let out a satisfied hum. Finally, Bill decided to break the silence with a question. “What should we name it?”

“Well, I think we should name it after Ted. If it’s a boy that is. If it’s a girl, we can make it work somehow perhaps” Y/N responded. Bill though on it for a moment, but then it came to him in an instant. He snapped his fingers and sat up excitedly in the bed.

“How about we name her Theodora “Thea” Preston,” Bill said as he looked to Y/N for her reply.

“I think that’s a perfect name.”

#Bill Preston x reader #bill and teds excellent adventure #bill preston #bill s preston esquire #bill preston x reader #bill and ted #x reader #fluff #fanfic #guys I finally have something to post!

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dimplepinchneat · 2 years

Note

((i never rly processed the scene in the pilot as molestation as much as it always made me vividly uncomfortable and now im like. Wow. this sucks really bad.

YEAH! i didn��t process it that way at first either but on a second watch i realized like. dude… he is NOT consenting. like at all. and it IS easy to miss because he’s a man and she’s a woman, like, that bias definitely affects how I initially saw it anyway, but after further examination it is pretty cut and dry assault and it carries so many implications about their relationship

she just starts doing it and he’s like “uh?” and she keeps going. and then after telling him he’s basically not allowed to do anything for himself the upcoming weekend (he never is being the implication), she’s like “why aren’t you enjoying this” and he says pretty explicitly he’s not interested. and she tells him it’s for him, and then she just tells him to close his eyes which he doesn’t even do the first time he’s told. hes being EXTREMELY resistant and she just assumes he’s playing hard to get or embarrassed or something when really he’s too embarrassed to say no outright. but he is saying no just not with that word. it doesn’t even occur to her that he’s actually saying no. she doesn’t even really pay him any mind at all it’s REALLY bad it really really makes me feel like that happens kinda often and she just doesn’t stop because he never explicitly says no

it is my opinion that there’s an implication that skyler was abusive or at least neglectful to walt for a really long time, but it wasn’t as severe as how he abuses her later on nor was it on screen very often so i think that’s an implication that gets missed sometimes. (among reasonable fans i guess. obviously le redditor men’s rights duders love to make it seem like she was the worst woman on the face of the planet and deserved everything he did to her which is NOT true, she did not deserve that shit) she just seems to feel VERY entitled to him literally all of the time in every way. i mean jesus christ when they finally start having consensual sex again she just starts telling his doctor about their sex life with no warning ??? He’s sitting right there and wildly uncomfortable while she’s doing it LIKE HE CLEARLY DID NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT THAT WITH THE DOCTOR??? WHICH IS HIS RIGHT??????? She does shit like this all the time she just feels so entitled to him and she never cares to notice how visibly uncomfortable he is every single time she speaks for him or acts for him

the pilot scene is the first sexual assault we see on screen and the only one where he isn’t the perpetrator, interestingly enough. i have to think that to an extent he sees what he does to her later on as kind of like, returning that behavior back to her (with stronger intensity) as some kind of fucked up revenge. which is like. Literally horrible and not at all the fucking answer i wanna be clear. basically, he definitely made things worse but their relationship was literally always fucking terrible 😭

i think they should have gotten divorced like a decade before the pilot tbh. it is so clear that she just Doesn’t understand him at all in the slightest on any level and a lot of his spiral has to do with how fed up he is about never being heard. they have real staying together for the kid energy fr and i genuinely think that part of the reason he is so forceful about not getting divorced is because he feels like “i put up with horrible shit from you for years and you should be just as grateful as i was, it’s my turn, if i didn’t divorce you for those things you can’t divorce me”

#ooc #rape cw #rape mention cw

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wincore · 4 years

Text

childhood dreams | mark lee

pairing: singer!mark x reader

words: 3.3k

summary: you’ve been thinking of childhood dreams lately, and it seems like mark’s been doing the same.

genre: childhood friends to strangers to lovers(?), fluff, angst

warnings: none

song rec(s): childhood dreams - seraphine (cover) [orig. ARY]

a/n: im obsessed with this cover and i need to write cheesy drabbles to prevent writing droughts so here u go friends 👁👁

Mark sits at his desk, bouncing his leg in compulsive habit as he has for the past half an hour. Your presence doesn’t make much of a difference to him—and it would be far more disheartening if there wasn’t more than half a decade of unsaid things between the two of you. With notebook pages crumpled on the floor, a mild scent of musk in the room and Mark’s refusal to look you in the eye, you don’t think this reunion could get any worse.

Or it could, you tell yourself when Mark clenches another page in his hand, glancing at you before turning back to the neatly bundled pages on his desk. He looks uncomfortable, and discomfort wasn’t something you ever recalled in your friendship.

“Mark,” you call. “Why don’t you take a break?”

He looks up at you again, doe eyes and rosy cheeks, and you wonder where it went wrong—where you could have gone wrong. There’s no explanation and there hasn’t been one since tenth grade. He used to look you in the eye back then at least, and joke with you, study with you, hang out with you. Is it wrong to say you were best friends then? You can’t really tell right now, as you cross your legs, withering into your own being on his bed that looks like it hasn’t been made for three days. Some things don’t change, after all.

And some things do.

“Okay,” he says, pushing himself from the wooden desk, which now looks a little lonely. He turns his chair to you, eyes still trained on his lap and occasionally shifting to your form. Dark, messy mop of hair and a face much more grown than you remember—he’s lovely to look at.

You’ve never seen him agree to a break when you were kids. The memory that surfaces makes you hold back a smile. The school library closed at 6 p.m. and Mark had all the books you needed for finals week by four. The sky used to be a warmer colour and so did your room, though you can’t quite remember the colour of your walls. You remember the hot pink ink you used to doodle with though, and Mark’s tired complaints when you wouldn’t let him study. Half of your doodles were inevitably on his notebook pages.

“You know, I didn’t think we’d meet again this way,” you start, trying to smile.

“Yeah,” he says, opening his mouth to continue but closing it quickly.

There’s a quiet pause, filled in by the rustling of leaves and the reminiscence of winter winds outside. Late January nights aren’t close enough to winter and yet still, far from spring. You think of third grade, all of a sudden, of the first snow you saw and Mark Lee’s terribly postured snowman.

“I… didn’t know you were songwriting for idols,” he says, with hesitant punctuation.

You chuckle, looking down at your feet.

“I- I don’t mean it like that- I mean- I—”

“Mark,” you interrupt the mess that’s leaving his mouth. “It’s okay. You didn’t say anything wrong.”

He scratches the back of his head, looking a little guilty. You can’t really pinpoint exactly what’s going on in the space inside his head and it bothers you more than it should. You have been apart for a long, long time. You’re not as entwined as you used to be, not two peas in a pod anymore and not a matching set.

It feels colder, even in Mark’s modest apartment room.

“We’re friends,” you say. “Since college. Sohee and I. She wanted to sing and I wanted to write.”

“Oh. That’s neat.”

You chuckle. “You get to do both. I’m kind of jealous, you know? You’re talented. You’ve always been good at everything.”

“Oh, come on. That’s not- No way.”

You roll your eyes. “Some people see modesty as incompetence, Mark.”

He blinks, something rekindling inside his eyes, you tell with the way he stares at you.

“Oh my god. Mrs Wilsbury used to tell us that.”

The two of you laugh. It’s not particularly the thought of old Mrs Wilsbury, with her sharp words and shriveled face, but the spark of recognition in Mark’s boyish laugh that makes you feel a trembling inside your chest.

“She was horrible,” you say, pulling a face.

“She was nice to me though,” Mark defends.

“Everyone was nice to you.”

Mark furrows his eyebrows and you roll your eyes at him trying hard to remember your high school days. The expressions he used to make haven't changed much; he’s just grown up and into his larger, masculine frame. It’s endearing now, more than ever.

He gasps suddenly and scrambles back to his desk, scribbling in a bunch of lines onto the paper. You lean back on the bed, sighing. It’s supposed to be the two of you writing verses but the way Mark works differs so much from yours that you decided it’d be better for him to do his thing while you’ll be the supporting cast. You don’t really mind when you’ve missed his words so much. You don’t really mind if it leads to him.

“Sorry,” he says when he’s done, a little awkward in tone.

A part of you feels sad for him, however. You feel sad that he’s had to work alone all these years as a solo singer-songwriter. It can’t be easy. You know it’s not easy. But Mark—he has a way of making dreams come true. Every kid dreams and yet, your best friend from years ago is living his. Perhaps, it makes things better, easier to look at.

You glance at Mark again, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and lips pressed together. Something tells you he wants to scowl right now.

“Hey,” you call again, feeling comfortable on his bed now that it’s warm. “What was your debut song again? Dreamer?”

You know the answer. You just don’t want to give in to the feeling that’s calling for proximity again. Things change, and sometimes—most times—they’re out of your hands.

You should be worried about nosy reporters right now. You in Mark Lee’s own room would give anyone attuned to celebrity news a sickening, sugary treat. A few headlines pop in and you shove them aside. You were surprised by the offer but apparently, his studio merges with his bedroom. (It did take an awkward explanation on his part as to why he invited you to his bedroom.)

Embarrassingly, you wish some of those headlines would come true. Your feelings haven’t changed since you were fifteen.

His walls are blue like the sky and there’s more than enough lights but he only uses the one at his desk. It’s like a little sun, rays caressing his cheeks, nose and lips with a warm, orange touch. You would make fun of the gamer chair but he said it’s from Lee Donghyuck before you could even start breaking the ice you’re standing on. You wish the warmth would return between the two of you, the faint memory of holding hands in second grade floating in.

“It was Dreamer, yeah.” Mark’s voice breaks you out of your old teenage daydreams. You chuckle to force the heat off your cheeks.

A sudden impulse takes over your cold fingers and you take the acoustic guitar by his bed, playing the opening chords to his debut song. Mark’s eyes widen at your action and you give him your biggest smile—it’s like back then again. It used to be Mark on the bed though, with fingers strumming his worn out guitar and kind smile and honey eyes. You pause your playing. Mark’s still smiling at you in awe and you pat the spot beside you on the bed.

All of a sudden, you desperately wish for the past even if it isn’t meant to be recalled this way.

You start playing again and Mark mumbles the beginning of the song, unsure, eliciting an annoyed sound from you. You stop playing and glower at him.

“Those aren’t the lyrics,” you say with mock distress. “You’re ruining the song.”

“It’s my song,” he responds with an incredulous laugh.

You begin again, and though Mark has to google his own lyrics, you spend an hour or so figuring out beats and tunes that vaguely resemble feelings you don’t feel anymore and thoughts you only remember empty decorated shells of. You’re not fifteen anymore, or fourteen or thirteen. Someday is now today. You’re not fifteen anymore but being fifteen is a part of you. The music floats seamlessly.

Your cheeks heat up when you think of the last time you met him, when you said you liked him and laughed it off in the awkward teenage fashion. You pray he doesn’t remember that embarrassing parting. It would be too silly an ending.

That’s why when you heard his name from Sohee’s manager, you couldn’t help yourself. After all, old friends should meet up once in their lives, right? You should close the door you left open if you can’t set foot into the house.

“Okay, but I genuinely didn’t know you write songs for Park Sohee,” Mark says, legs crossed on his bed as he leans in a little towards you. The dim lights of his room make his face look more rugged than usual, the tired lines spread across his face. You wonder if he’s kept up his habit of ditching breaks.

“I’m surprised you’re not in a boyband,” you reply, leaning against the wall. “And that your bed is this small.”

Mark stammers out a garbled explanation and you gasp.

“Wait- wait, oh my god. Don’t tell me… don’t tell me you’ve never had anyone over! For, you know...”

The comment runs a deep flush through his cheeks and you giggle at his expression.

“I- I- I just- I just didn’t have the time,” he says, biting down his lower lip possibly at his own awkwardness.

“Looks like you’re still a loser, Mark Lee,” you say, smiling smugly.

He narrows his eyes at you. “Looks like you’re still mean to me, (name).”

“Oh lord, when was I ever mean to you?”

“When were you not?”

You stick out his tongue at him and he laughs, relaxing against the sound of you and him—old friends. It could have been this way; it should have been this way.

“Why did you move away?” is what you want to ask. What was so urgent that you were left staring at the ghosts of his figure in his empty house, in his empty room and at the empty classroom desk? It’s not anger but a soft sense of regret, boosted by his quiet breathing and tired, thoughtful eyes. You could have stayed this way but instead, there’s a rift between the two of you. There’s years and years, and time isn’t a product to sell back and forth—you can’t buy those years back. Your chest hurts but you clutch the feeling tightly in your hands, afraid it might escape.

“This collab means a lot to Sohee,” you say, after a while. “You know, after the hiatus she’s been on.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I totally get it,” he says, sitting up straight and sobering from the bubble of you two. “We should get back to work.”

You hum. “You mean me staring at you tear all your hair out?”

Mark reddens in the face. “I’m not usually like this. Just saying. I need to be... inspired, I guess.”

“Maybe it’s time for you to revive your soundcloud account from when you were twelve,” you say, leaning back against the soft material of the bed.

“You’re making fun of me again,” he says, the smile lines on his face deepening.

You let out a smiling sigh. It’s just so easy. The thought still eats away at you, however, of what could’ve been. If you were younger, you wouldn’t care for this, you suppose. You’d just get along like nothing had passed at all.

“(name).” His voice sounds deeper and softer. “It’s nice having you back. To talk to, you know? It’s been a long time.”

Your face must have fallen because he straightens, eyes wide and wavering lips trying to form words. You sigh, looking away and see his form inch closer, some sort of fuzz leaving his mouth.

“Mark. Mark.” You shake your head. “I think I’ve been a bad friend. I don’t know why I didn’t keep in touch—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, looking you in the eye. “It’s on me too.”

If you were younger, you would have confessed over and over again in ways private to everyone but you.

You nod instead. If your childhood together was a prelude, there’s quite the long, awkward silence following it. You have to start the music soft and slow.

“It worked out though, didn’t it?” you ask, looking up to find his face nearer to yours than you would have expected.

When he tilts his head, you explain further, “We’re both doing fine, right? We- We did things, got our life and plans set and… now we’re here.”

Mark leans away from you. “I- I guess.”

There’s a pause, and you know there’s a lie fluttering between the two of you.

“I… I still feel like I’m running,” he says, a weary undertone carrying his voice forth. “I know I’ve done things… achieved things and I still- I still feel like I’m running a marathon. There’s still something out of reach.”

You scoot closer to him and offer a smile, your hand resting on his shoulder.

“You can say you’re tired. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Thanks, (name). I appreciate it. I just don’t know where I’m going anymore.”

You give his shoulder a gentle squeeze before pulling him into a hug. You can’t hear his breathing over the sound of your pulse drumming in your ears but it’s warm, at the very least. His arms wrap around you after a few moments, heavy but comforting when his hand holds the back of your head, just like old times. The fabric of his mellow green hoodie is warm with his skin and you bury your face into it deeper.

“I’ve worked alone for a really long time,” he whispers. “It’s nice like this. I wish… I sometimes wish we could go back.”

You giggle, looking back up. “We could build a snowman for old times’ sake.”

Mark furrows his eyebrows. “There’s literally no snow. Besides, you just want to make fun of my snowman. Again.”

“You remember that?”

“Of course.”

His cheeks colour, one of his hands leaving your torso to scratch the back of his head. Suddenly aware of the lack of space, you pull back slightly to a more decent enough distance. Mark frowns but he rests his palm against the bedsheet, leaning his torso onto it.

“You could also let me draw in your songbook for the memories,” you suggest, smiling wide. “In hot pink.”

Mark scoffs. “Oh no. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I’m not as immature as you think, Mark.” You roll your eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to draw a bunch of hot pink dicks.”

Mark opens his mouth and closes it. “I wasn’t- I wasn’t suggesting that.”

One look from you, however, and he realizes his defeat. It’s almost the same look as the one in spring break after tenth grade, except much happier and more carefree. Your eyes shift elsewhere when you remember the argument you laughed off, details lost but the gist was clear. You acted as though it didn’t matter if he moved away—something about that happy-go-lucky persona you’d developed. Oh god, you were an idiot.

The silence isn’t welcome. There’s no rhythm, no melodies in moments like these—moments in between things that should be happening and won’t ever happen. Mark takes a sudden precise intake of breath, making you look at him. His eyes are rich and resolute, and somehow as pure as they were when he was younger.

“When you- when you said you liked me,” Mark begins, and you hold your breath. “When we were fifteen, you said you liked me. Before I moved. I- I don’t really know if you were joking but… Do you- do you think you still would? If we started over?”

You look at him, his eyes unable to meet yours and shoulders tense, and find yourself at a loss for words and for breath.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Stupid question.”

“I- I do- I would.”

Mark looks up at you reluctantly, almond eyes shimmering with some sort of emotion—innocent and curious as though you’re fifteen again.

You cough awkwardly and he looks away in a similar panicked fashion. This isn’t as romantic as you thought it would be and you almost think about taking your words back.

No. Not again.

“I would,” you continue, dragging the syllable. “If you maybe asked me out on a date, at least.”

Mark blinks, slack jawed like he’s seen the birth of a phoenix, or something equally dreamlike.

“Yes! I mean, wait- I- uh…”

He clears his throat, cheeks flushing with scarlet heat. “Do you- do you wanna get coffee tomorrow? No, wait- it’s a Monday. Th-This Saturday? …I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”

You can’t hold back your laughter anymore, clutching your stomach at the sheepish look on Mark’s face and his slouched shoulders, much like the ones you were used to seeing as a stressed, sleep-deprived teenager.

“We can make time after this project.” You smile.

“We have to wait until after—no, I mean, that’s totally cool.”

The defeated grin makes you laugh some more. Your eyes drift to the deserted work desk and notebook paper, and you gasp. Dawn will arrive at this rate, crashing in waves.

“We really should get back to work,” you tell him, your fingers against his chest. “Twelve year old us would be very disappointed in us now.”

The two of you laugh in shared memory, of the time when romance was as appealing as ice-cream dropped on the sidewalk. With eyes full of stars and a head full of clouds, where do you go? Right back to each other, you think.

“We’ve come a long way,” you marvel. “We used to think of a different future every five minutes. Me, more than you, perfect poster boy.”

“You wanted to be an astronaut,” he laughs.

“And you wanted to be a swimmer. Said you’d even swim in a lake in Russia. In winter.”

“Yeah, I remember,” he says, eyes faraway. “We had all those childhood dreams.”

“You’ve reached one of them,” you respond, laughing.

There’s a short pause. Back then, everything was visionary. What the two of you had in mind had evolved, molted, shed its skin but now you’re here, in each other’s arms again—in a way that you haven't been before.

“It’s two,” he whispers, and the next thing you know, his lips are on yours and his arms are around your waist, pulling you closer.

He pulls back in wide-eyed, careful consideration. “I- I meant to ask first.”

You respond with a kiss, his mouth warm against yours.

He pulls back again.

“That was cheesy, wasn’t it?”

“Just shut up and kiss me, oh my god.”

You can’t help it, smiling against his lips and making him laugh at the feeling. Your finger brushes over the mole on his neck, unchanging in the same way he still uses too many hand gestures to talk or the way he still likes to lean his head on your shoulder.

There are unchanged parts of him so vivid in your memories that some time through the night, you wonder if you’re dreaming. Then a terribly executed joke later, you have to nudge him with your elbow or smack his arm—and it falls into place in your reality again. Maybe you could’ve saved time; but it’s so much sweeter this way.

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chrolloctrl · 4 years

Note

hello～! can i request for Adultrio who fell in love with fem crime hunter Reader? also have a nice day/evening💘

thank you for the request! i tried my best to make all of these different from each other, but i also tried to stay true to how the characters would sincerely react:) oh and sorry for the late post, school’s been tough :( but yknow it be like that

note(s)/warning(s): some mentions of blood and violence, but other than that nothing you wouldn’t see on hxh though

fandom(s)/character(s): hunter x hunter, adultrio, aka illumi, hisoka, and chrollo

for dialogue purposes, italics are you, and bold is the character :)

i l l u m i

since you’re a crime hunter and he is a literal trained assassin, the relationship is pretty much seemingly doomed for failure

however i imagine that you guys meet in an a very unexpected way

he’s on a mission to kill someone who had stolen from the zoldycks, and you’re on a mission to take out a thief

yeah it’s the same guy you got it

illumi gets there first and gets the job done

much to your dismay

you’re standing right behind him as he’s covered in blood over the body

all you say is “since when does the assassin do something morally correct?”

“when it benefits him.” he responds.

i think he recognizes you before you recognize him

“you’re y/n, right? crime hunter?”

“you could say that.”

“we aren’t so different you know..”

“we are incredibly different. i don’t kill for sport.”

“you still kill, though.”

you’re so pissed off because he kind of has a point

oh and that emotionless stupid little face of his pisses you off even more

it’s all love we know i love illumi

illumi’s bloodlust is out of control at this point, your interaction with him just increased that

“what are you going to do? kill me?”

“no. it doesn’t benefit me now does it?”

“what do you want from me illumi?”

“ a deal.”

somehow he ropes you into helping him on missions as long as it corresponds with your own morals

i think the moment he realizes he’s in love with you is when you explain morality to him

like obviously he has no idea wtf good morals are lmao

you act as his therapist in a way, comforting him about his past and telling him that his bad actions don’t make him a bad person, just a person who used to do bad things

sorry guys i love soft illumi, and i genuinely think he has the capability to be good

one day he breaks down after a mission, and he is so embarrassed that you’re the first person he shows his deep, buried emotions to

you just hold him and comfort him, telling him its not his fault

after that he doesn’t want to talk to you because he’s embarrassed

“i think emotions make you a better assassin.”

“how does that make sense?”

“makes you think twice.”

and now he knows why killua loves gon so much.

h i s o k a

we already know this bitch is obsessed with you

probably keeps tabs on you to see what you’re up to

every headline involving you “taking down another lowlife” catches his attention so fast

he wants a fight so bad

so he creates a plan

commit a crime so terribly that they HAVE to send you to take him out

just another amazing idea from hisoka!

so he figures out who you’re working for, and kills someone close to them, obviously leaving behind a trace so they have somewhat of an idea as to who he is, but still making it a hunt

he probably leaves a star and tear behind, something that only those who knew him would recognize

and so he watches you hunt him while he hunts you

you’re asking anyone and everyone if they recognize the star and tear, most people either having no clue, or recognizing it but keeping quiet about it in fear of what hisoka would do

eventually, someone says they know a person who draws a star and tear on their face — hisoka morrow

once hisoka hears that you know his name he is absolutely ecstatic, he probably reveals himself to you right after

“it has been so fun watching you search for me.”

“if you knew i was looking, why be a coward and hide?”

“there’s no fun if there’s no chase, darling.”

you guys battle it out, i imagine the fight is very close, but evidently you just can’t keep up with him

“you put up a beautiful fight…hmm, perhaps i’ll let you survive if you join me?”

out of breath and on the brink of death, he assumes you’re saying no

right as he goes for the finishing blow, you hold your hands up, and whisper through a mouth full of blood a small “i’ll do it.”

he has a huge grin on his face, so excited to have successfully “corrupted” you

sorry y’all added a little corruption kink in their my b

once he takes you to machi so she can heal you, you both go on ur little killing ppl missions together cos what else does hisoka do lol

he realizes he’s in love once you finish someone off, a crazed look in your eyes, smile on display, covered in blood.

“you’ve never looked as beautiful as you do now.”

you and hisoka’s love is weird. but it’s intense, and it is real. just not...normal.

you guys are crazy killers, but it works

he probably draws a star and tear on you just so u guys can match

after u.. murder people <3

yandere reader vibes sorry

c h r o l l o

for this, we are going to assume that you are the “weakest” link of the crime hunter agency

so they make you the bait

sorry i just want to cover all of our bases

you definitely have a lot of potential, you are just incredibly clumsy, and taking down the phantom troupe is something that requires plenty of people on the job

chrollo already knows you’re a crime hunter when he “runs into you” at a bar, as well as the fact that you aren’t working alone

but he entertains you, just because he’s bored lol

i can already picture you being caught off guard by how handsome chrollo is, because honestly im sorry who wouldn’t be

you kind of even forget you’re there on a job

but, when chrollo asks if you know about nen and what type of nen you use, you quickly remember why you’re there

you smile, “yes, i’m a specialist.”

he asks you to show him, but you decline

“i will lose it if i do.”

chrollo smirks, “smart girl.”

with that, you feel a sharp pain on the side closest to chrollo, and everything goes dark as you tumble into his arms

once you wake up, all the spiders surround you, chrollo in the center

“caught in the web.” you say, as chrollo’s eyes lighten up.

“precisely.”

“is there any way to escape a spider’s web?”

“prove to be worthy.”

there he went again, begging to see your nen so he could steal it

but just because you were thought to be the weakest link, didn’t mean it was true

“i mean, you’re looking at it right now.”

the troupe stares in confusion, and before chrollo can respond, one of the spiders falls to the ground, beheaded. (i can’t pick who so just pretend its ur least favorite <3)

the spiders stand there in shock

there were two of you.

the real you, free and unbounded, makes the clone disappear

“you said you were a specialist, but this seems to be a conjurer technique?”

“the speciality is that you can’t steal it. it isn’t exactly nen.”

this is the first time someone’s caught chrollo off guard, he has no idea what to do, i mean how did he know that this you wasn't a clone?

“now, i’ve heard once a leg is missing, there needs to be a replacement. what does the head think?”

you weren’t just a crime hunter, you were a double agent who wanted in on the phantom troupe

the moment chrollo realized your abilities weren’t nen, i think that’s when he fell in love

hear me out

he knows he’s going to be indebted to you forever

and we all know those books he reads...mf is a hopeless romantic who if in love, pretty much is absolutely obsessed

and boy is he obsessed already

of course, he is unable to steal it from you which is quite a drag

but, with you there, and your undiscovered abilities, the phantom troupe was basically unbeatable

something he wanted so badly

“welcome to the troupe number ___.” (once again i can’t decide who LOL you guys can pick)

you protect him and he protects you.

if any of the troupe questions you and your decisions, he defends you so fast

eventually the troupe is referred to as “a spider with two heads”

kinda cute, kinda funky fresh name for thieves and murderers<3 at least u guys r passionately in love <3

i hope this was good!! im kind of rusty so sorry :( im finishing up some other requests, and im thinking of crossposting a fic on here and on ao3, inspired by my dr strange/hxh hcs :) but requests are still open! guidelines right here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ thank you to everyone who shows love to my posts!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh hcs #adultrio hcs #adultrio x reader #hisoka x reader #chrollo x reader #illumi x reader #hisoka hc #chrollo hc #illumi hc

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orionwhispers · 4 years

Text

Feels Like Home // Bucky Barnes 🍂

(a/n- ok holy shit ive finally finished my first bucky oneshot. its long as fuck but im so so happy with it. pls let me know what you think. i have lots of requests and peaky stuff coming up as well. love you guys SO much) probs loads of mistakes but its 12k words and im exhausted lol. (also this is inspired by the song feels like home by bea miller and jessie reyez. highly recommend)

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, HEAVILY implied smut, so much fluff your dentist will kill me, angst and canon level violence.

Bucky Barnes had thought a lot about death.

He thought about it often during the war. Wondering if perhaps a bullet would pass through his gut as he ran through the trenches, or a bomb would explode under his feet as he walked across the battlefield. It was everywhere he looked, his fellow comrades bandaged and bloody, the nurses in the infirmary tent smelling of saline and strong, sweet, copper.

He thought about it more than anything with Hydra. Wishing that the torture would send him over the edge, pleading for the sweet release that death would give him. Thinking that what was waiting for him on the other side surely couldn’t be worse than what he was already dealing with.

Even when he moved into the tower, and into a routine with people who understood and trusted him, death had followed him for so long that it was like a friend.

He always thought his death would be something violent; something carnal and savage, almost poetic for him to die the same way that he had lived.

But who would have thought his demise would have been at the hands of the sleepy eyed, honey lipped, gentle girl that made him coffee and brought him raspberry donuts?

You turned his world upside down on a Thursday. He remembers it well, and thinks back to that autumn morning like it’s a picture he keeps in his wallet or a well thumbed book next to his bed. It doesn’t matter what the circumstances are - he could be in battle, bloody and bruised, or five thousand miles away from you on a mission in the depths of some town he doesn’t know the name of, feeling himself start to crumble - and the thought of you is enough to steady him, your light luring him back to rationality, his girl.

His sweet girl.

He owed it all to you, and the way you changed his life on that rainy, dreary day and made him realise that home wasn’t a place, it was a person.

The compound was quiet. The Avengers all in a state of limbo; exhausted from hours of travelling, the ghost of bruises and cuts on their knuckles and blood under their fingernails. But more powerful than anything: the red hot relief to finally be back in the tower after two weeks.

The rest of the group fell into their own routines, their own little grooves that they had mastered over the however many years they had been saving the world. The showers were turned onto the highest setting, the smell of Sam’s ridiculously expensive mango shower gel and Nat’s deep, woody body scrub lingering across the floor. Comfort food was made in the kitchen, the throaty sound of laughter and bare feet on the tiles as popcorn sizzled and snapped on the stove. Blankets were draped across the sofas, mugs of hot chocolate and cans of sweet, dry beer passed around and over tangled limbs.

It was something they needed - something they craved. That comforting, warm feeling of family, something so trivial and domestic that it was enough to dull whatever they had been faced with, that for the evening they could think of terrible rom coms and laughter and teasing, rather than civilians dying and the smell of blood and the sound of gunshots. For those stolen moments of happiness after days of heart ache and exhaustion - it was enough.

Well, it was enough for almost everyone.

Whilst the others were arguing over the remote and whether peanut M&Ms were better than chocolate, Bucky was in his room with the lock bolted, methodically cleaning his weapons with surgical precision. He had been at the compound for almost six months, and despite the amenities and luxuries that came with his new home, he felt anything but comfortable.

He liked the people he lived and worked with - and most of them liked him too, but that didn’t do anything to dull the ache in his skull and the uncertainty deep in his gut. After so many years of not being in control of his own mind and body, of having his thoughts and feelings altered by people who saw him as nothing more than a weapon, he was struggling to adjust to his new life.

Amongst all of the chaos though, he had Steve.

The familiar sunshine haired boy that helped ease the storm. His best friend, his brother. The once scrawny teenager that he would follow to the end of the world, all guns blazing, no questions asked. Deep down, he knew that the golden boy was perhaps the only reason he was still at the tower, blending in with all the rest of the wonderful, shining eyed superhero’s around him, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

He knew they thought he could change, but he wasn’t so sure. Sometimes - like the times when he found himself grinning at something Clint said in the back of the jet, or when Nat patted his shoulder in thanks when he covered her in battle, or when he sat on the roof with Steve, talking about faded memories of pin up girls and Coney Island, he felt like perhaps he could be the man Steve thought he was. But then he caught sight of himself in the reflected surfaces of his bathroom, or felt the ricochet of his gun against his shoulder or the blood coating his hands and dripping down into his boots - and he remembered that sometimes people just don’t change.

He listened to the rain as he folded away his weapons that day. Listened to the way the patter of the water muffled the noises of laughter and playfulness coming from the lounge and dissolved into silence. It was too early to retire into bed, and besides, after a mission like the one they had come from sleep wouldn’t be on his mind for a while, his body was still racing with adrenaline.

Then, amongst the patter of raindrops and mingle of voices, he heard something.

A commotion in the hall. His body was finely tuned to pick up anything out of the ordinary, and he could hear the magnetic whir and clang of the elevator as it reached their floor. Everybody was crowded in the living room, which meant it would be somebody from outside the inner circle, and usually that would send cold chills down to his spine, but for some reason this time it didn’t.

Ghosts. Premonitions. Fortune telling. All a load of horse shit to him. He might have been to space and been frozen in time and met some really, really, bizarre people - but there were some things he just didn’t believe in.

Until that rainy day.

It was like a magnetic pull inside of him, when he wanted to lock himself away and not speak to anyone, something inside of him made him want to get up and join the rest of the crew in meeting the stranger.

Even before he saw your face you had him, hook, line and sinker.

So he begrudgingly got to his feet and stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame, metal arm out of sight. Steve glanced at him quickly with his eyebrows raised but he ignored him, focusing his eyes on the elevator as it slowly started to open.

Tony looked up suddenly as the doors opened , furrowing his brow at the semi circle of avengers watching him intently. Rather then question it he rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly and stepping forward, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Gather round, gather round, circus freaks. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Because Tony’s personality took up almost the entire room by himself, he had to step to the side for everyone to even get a glimpse of who he was talking about. They waited patiently, with crossed arms and gentle smiles as you stepped out of the shadows.

Bucky felt himself freeze.

You looked so... scared. Not in the traditional sense, not like you were terrified of them or fearing for your life, but the kind of alarm that always trudged through his blood, the feeling of unease and instability, as though you didn’t really belong.

Everybody fell into their roles the way he knew they would. You were young, probably not much older than the Parker kid, and that was why Nat and Steve stepped forward instantly, very protective of you before they even knew your name.

Your hair was mused and loose, eyes wide and lips puffy, as if you had just woken up. You were dressed all in black, baggy clothes and no makeup, your fingers interlocked, your rapid heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

And for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Tony said, one arm resting gently on your shoulders, pushing you forward.

Bucky had to stop himself from saying your name aloud, wondering why he wanted to taste it on his tongue.

As everybody spoke, introducing themselves with just enough reservation to make you feel comfortable, your eyes met, and his heart stopped. Your eyes were more white than not, a little glossy and swimming with uncertainty, and he felt the urge to do something, anything, to make you feel even a little bit calmer.

The feeling was so foreign that he stepped back, tearing his gaze away from you, suddenly unnerved. He didn’t miss the way you exhaled, and he pretended not to notice the way his body seemed to pine for the warmth he had felt when your eyes met.

Bucky heard him whisper to Nat, his usually sardonic voice dripping with genuine concern. “Keep an eye on her, for me, please.”

And although he knew Tony would never ask that of him, he knew that without a doubt, he would.

—————————————————————-

Those next few days, you stayed hidden in your room - which just so happened to be opposite his own.

Despite that, he never saw you. Not even once.

You weren’t at any team meetings or debriefings, you were never nestled in one of the chairs in the lounge, never sat on the balcony watching the sunrise or slicing up strawberries and grapes in the nook in the kitchen.If it wasn’t for the small, barely there noises you made every so often, he would have thought you had left.

Through the vents he could occasionally hear the whine of your door and the gentle sound of your footsteps at midnight darting to the kitchen. Sometimes he heard Wanda speaking softly to you, so kind and gentle that he could even hear the anxiety leave your voice for a little while. He’d hear Tony’s loud and obnoxious knock in the middle of the night, the two of you leaving for the lab under the cover of darkness.

Bucky hardly slept. It had never come smoothly to him, slipped through his fingers too easily like grains of sand. He used to train to block out the noise, attacking a punching bag until all he could hear was the steady thump, thump, thump of his knuckles. Steve had taken him running whenever the nights got too long or too loud, sweating out the frustration he felt as they darted through the streets at midnight, but now he found another way to pass those hours in the dead of night.

There was something oddly comforting to him about laying upright in his bed, reading whatever novel somebody had leant him and told him was a classic, listening out for the shuffle of your footsteps from the other side of the hall. He remembered what it had been like for him when he first moved into the tower. He knew how hard it was, moving into a space that wasn’t your own.

So now he found solace under the breeze of his ceiling fan and the slow drip of that one leaky tap that he still hadn’t fixed and the low hum of whatever sitcom you were watching vibrating through the walls.

He liked to make sure that you were safe. You were obviously scared of something, or someone, and it made him feel better that he was keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary. He told himself that it was for the benefit of the whole tower, but that didn’t explain the ease he felt in his chest when he finally heard the quiet, even snores coming from your room, and the way that it made his own eyes start to close.

The next time he saw you in the flesh was almost a month after you had moved in.

He was in the lounge with the rest of the avengers that had slept most of the morning away, Sam nursing a cup of vanilla coffee and Steve watching the news as he made some kind of bizarre and disgusting protein shake. Bucky sat on the sofa with his back ramrod straight as he did the daily crossword, something about filling out the empty boxes comforting him.

It was a rare free day and he had slept in a little longer than usual, only falling asleep after he had heard the squeak of your bed frame and the whir of your fan flittering in his ears. When he had woken up your room was still, and he assumed you were still asleep as he headed out for his run, but by the sound of your voice in the stairwell you had obviously slipped out unnoticed, and he couldn’t help feeling impressed.

He perked up instantly when he heard you. He listened to the soft way you spoke against the sharp click of Pepper’s heels against the floor, his eyes darting to the doorway as he heard you approach. He saw the girls first, the three of them flanking you like a security detail. Wanda and Natasha at your sides, Pepper walking slightly ahead; gesturing with her jewellery clad hands as she spoke to you.

You faltered as you stepped forward, eyes widening like a deer in headlights as you noticed the boys watching you from the other side of the room. Sam awkwardly removed his hand from where he had shoved it down a cereal box, waving kindly with lucky charm marshmallows stuck to his fingers. Steve - ever the gentleman - gave you his classic golden retriever smile, greeting you as though you were an old friend.

You relaxed a little at that, and Bucky felt himself deflate. He would never be the most warm and welcoming person, not anymore, and he wondered why that bothered him so much when it came to you.

Pepper gently placed a hand on your shoulder, and you leaned into her touch like a cat. “Boys. You remember (Y/N).”

You looked up, waving a hand that was hidden by your oversized sweater sleeves. “Hello again.”

A shy smile. Big eyes. A voice like melted chocolate. Bucky felt fourteen again.

He wanted to say something to you, but he couldn’t get any words out. Pepper was on a mission though, perching her hand motherly on your shoulder and escorting you forward. “Right. The lab. This way!”

Bucky’s gaze followed you all the way down the hall, not stopping even when you faded into nothingness. He turned slowly, feeling Steve and Nat watching with matching smirks on their faces, their eyes flickering with childish glee.

He scoffed.

“Shut up.”

———————————————————

As the weeks passed, Bucky hardly caught a glimpse of you. He didn’t even realise he was searching for you, his eyes just flitting over the empty chair at meal times or trailing through the gym, wondering if he might make out the bounce of your hair or the curve of your lips.

Not that he had been thinking about your lips. He definitely hadn’t been thinking about your lips.

You had piqued his interest though. He thought of the way he had been when he first moved into the tower, and knew that the first few weeks were always the hardest. You spent the majority of the time in your room, occasionally leaving for Tony’s floor or the lab, but always hiding in the night and the shadows, falling just out of reach before he got lucky enough to see you.

Fortunately, there were enough recon missions to fill his days. He found distraction in snow capped mountains and dry, dusty deserts, searching for old HYDRA bases or intel that might have been missed. His mind was filled with coordinates and strategy plans, and that worked for a little while. Until the jet landed and he found himself wondering if you would be there with the rest of the team welcoming him back, and every time he was left feeling a quick, pang of disappointment when you weren’t.

Eventually though, things started to look up.

At three in the morning, like clockwork, he began hearing your door squeal as you opened it, and then the sound of sock clad feet padding through the hallways. The first time it happened his heart leapt and he jolted upright, convinced that something bad had happened. He didn’t relax until he heard Natasha speak, voice crystal clear despite the early hour.

“You ready?”

He soon discovered that Natasha had taken you under her wing, and was helping you spar at the times you felt the most comfortable - when the rest of the building was asleep. He knew he wasn’t the only person who was curious about you, wanting to know if you had any powers, and Nat had stopped Steve from asking a million different questions about you.

He didn’t want to make you retreat once again, so he left it alone.

Eventually, you started sleeping in, getting more comfortable and leaving your bed much later than before. The others still kept their distance, entering the gym just as you were leaving, drenched in sweat and smiling. The first time that Bucky saw you smile like that was after a run with Sam, and he swore his knees almost buckled at the sight of you, wide eyed and sparkling like a diamond, sucker punching the air right out of his gut.

It was just about dawn when he next saw you, the sun barely risen, the compound bathed in a golden, ethereal light. No matter how many early mornings they had had, the kitchen still smelt like triple shot espresso and cans of red bull every day, sleepy eyed avengers mumbling and grumbling as they fought over who got to use the coffee machine first. Bucky smiled smugly across his mug of instant grounds that Sam had so tastefully called, “disgusting cheap crap,” as his $3 coffee capsule got crushed once again.

Steve made some quick joke as he towelled off his hair from his shower, but his words crumbled into TV static when Bucky saw you coming off the elevator. You were limping, just a little, but enough to make his heart thunder in his chest. You were smiling though, wide and happily. As bright as the full sun, and Bucky wanted to stay in your warmth for a little bit longer. Natasha held onto you as though you weighed less than a newborn baby, and the two of you stumbled towards your room. Before you disappeared you shot a small and hesitant smile at the boys, one that pierced through Bucky like a steel bullet.

He wanted to keep quiet but he couldn’t. Not after he had seen you.

“You don’t think Natasha is being to hard on her?” He said finally, clearing his throat in an attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Why do you care?” Sam had asked, halfway through a breakfast burrito that was dropping more food on his shirt than into his mouth.

“Camaraderie.” He quipped.

“Camaraderie my ass. Remember that time I almost broke my leg sparring with you? You made me walk myself to the clinic.”

“That’s because you were being whiney and dramatic.”

“Oh? Well I’ll tell you what I think. I think that Mr Barnes here is - ”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Steve said finally, cutting the conversation short, knowing exactly where Sam was going with his thoughts and not wanting to put his best friend through any embarrassment about his... interest in you.

Sam gave him a glare that said that the conversation was definitely not over, but Bucky ignored him, his eyes trailing the hallway you had walked through, his belly aching and flipping from the way that you had looked at him, filling him with a warmth that didn’t dim even long after he had fallen asleep that night.

——————————————————————-

Things really started to change at midnight. When the sky went black and turned into a blanket of obsidian and twinkling stars, that was when both of you came alive.

The nightmares were back, and they were bad. Blood. Metal. Rust. The pain that felt as though his bones were snapping one by one. Gasping for air. Sweat. Fists. Gunshots. No longer could he stay asleep listening out for you, his body didn’t want him to feel comfortable, safe, whatever the way you made him feel. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of something as sweet as you. He was not a man that deserved good things, and he knew he certainly didn’t deserve you.

The compound was so big and he felt so small in his bed. Sometimes he swore he could feel the walls closing in, even though he knew his quarters were more than triple the size of some of the hellholes he had been trapped in. He needed space. He needed air. And that was what led him to wander the hallways like some kind of spectre as the city roared and thundered and thrived below him.

The rooftop had always been his favourite spot. Tony loved using it for parties, setting up a bar and filling the hot tub with champagne and hiring some idiot to blast stupid music that made Bucky want to smash his head against a brick wall. But it was often just used by the team, swimming laps in the pool and laughing under the summer sun, strawberries and wine in the spring and late night swims in the rain in the winter, making Clint jump in the frozen water naked after he lost a round of poker.

It was one of the rare places that Bucky felt truly safe. Out in the open air, watching the water sparkle teal under the stars, the city so big and beautiful, lights flickering and horns blaring. He came up when things went bad, losing himself in the noise and the ice cold air. He often pulled a chair out to the edge, drinking a beer that had no effect on him but somehow made him feel a little bit lighter, just watching the world go by.

He hadn’t been up there in a while. The nightmares had stopped for a while, incidentally the same time you arrived, but recently they had started to trickle back in, like rain at the end of summer.

He was in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a henley with far too many holes in, cradling a mug of cocoa with a shot of dark rum as he stepped off the elevator, stopping suddenly when he noticed the outdoor lights shining brightly. He knew that everybody else was asleep, and his field instincts kicked in quickly, until he noticed the soft lilac hue of your satin pyjamas glistening under the moon.

Perhaps he should have left. He knew that you liked to keep your distance and God, did he understand that, but his feet seemed to stay cemented to the floor. You were luring him like a ship to a lighthouse, beckoning him to follow you, and who was he to resist?

You were bent over a row of plants and flowers, watering them from a buttercup yellow can, your fingers stained with mud. You moved gently, tentatively fondling the leaves and petals and clipping away any stray stems and weeds. He watched you with curious eyes, amazed at how something so simple could show so much about your character. After so long of not seeing you he felt lucky to catch a glimpse, and he didn’t want to do anything to scare you off.

That was, until his foot caught the edge of one of the sun loungers.

For a trained assassin, he could really be a dumbass sometimes.

You looked up quickly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, your face just starting to flush. He held up his free hand, all the air leaving his lungs like a balloon. He stepped back to leave you in peace, but then he heard you softly say:

“Wait.”

So he did.

You looked nervous but enchanting, with your mussed hair and fluffy slippers and long eyelashes. You smiled timidly, but warmly, and looked at him. Really looked at him. And something about that made him feel truly seen, for the first time in a long time.

“Bucky, right?” A pause lingered in the air, he was suddenly face to face with you and somehow all of his words dissolved into the night air. You mistook his turmoil for something else, and straightened up, the trowel in your hand spilling dirt onto the floor. “Oh I’m so sorry. Do you prefer James? Or...”

“Bucky!” He said, almost shouting, and then calmed himself down. He could feel a blush rising up his throat from his outburst, but if it meant you would look at him the way that you were, then he would happily embarrass himself forever.

A moment passed, the stars overhead round and full despite all of the pollution in the city air, and for once Bucky didn’t find them the most beautiful thing he had seen.

“What are you doing?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh, um.” You were a little flustered, the apples of your cheeks rounding and your lips twitching up, like you were laughing at a joke he so desperately wanted to be a part of. It was infectious. You were infectious, and the ice cold assassin felt the frost around his heart start to thaw.

“Tony got them for me.” You said, barely meeting his gaze. “After everything.” You stopped awkwardly and cleared your throat. His interest was piqued but he knew better than to probe you, instead letting you ramble. “He thought it would be good for me to have something to take care of. Something to look after, you know?”

He nodded.

“It’s not much, but sometimes coming up here and watering them just takes my mind off of things, you know?” You said, somewhat absentmindedly. He watched as you stroked the petals, pushing your finger into a droplet of water on the leaves. He wasn’t much of a gardener but he recognised a few of the potted plants. Forget me nots, African violets, buttery yellow primrose and icy purple orchids. You had other things too, sweet mint and thyme and rosemary, and budding stems of strawberries and blackberries and tomatoes.

It was amazing how much life you had grown along the usually industrial looking balcony. It was rare to see something thrive amongst the smoke of the city,

“I like it up here too, it’s peaceful.” He said, looking out at the skyline and smelling the crisp, cool air.

You mistook his honesty for an annoyance at breaching his personal space, and held your hands up apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You were about to make excuses and leave, not wanting to upset the very handsome man who had occupied far too much of your brain anymore, but he stepped forward and said quickly:

“No! In fact, I er - I think I like it much more now.”

You smiled, and oh boy, did Bucky know he was done for.

———————————————————-

Bucky started to like the nights.

After the first midnight meeting it somehow became unspoken for the two of you to meet up on the rooftop. Bucky never wanted to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see you again in the privacy of the twilight, the moonlight casting gold flecks into your eyes.

It should have been awkward. An ex HYDRA puppet and a girl with a blurry past that had just joined the biggest crime fighting organisation in the world should have found it hard to open up to one another, but somehow that didn’t happen.

You both kept the conversation light, the silences were warm and comfortable, and everything felt bizarrely natural. You’d often be preening your plants and Bucky would be sat on a lounge chair, reading a book and sneaking glances at you. You talked about the city, he told you how much it had changed since the 40’s, and you told him about the crappy apartment with no heating and a nest of owls you lived in before Tony took you in.

Family never came up, it was a subject you danced around and Bucky respected your privacy. He told you about his though, it slipped out accidentally when he saw you preening foxgloves the colour of ripe and juicy plums - and how they reminded him of the ones his mother once had in the window box of their kitchen. Somehow the memory hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and you expertly swerved the conversation onto something else. It lingered in his mind for the rest of the night, only dimming when he came home from a workout the following morning and saw a little vase filled with purple petals and a book titled “Caring For Foxgloves” left outside of his door.

His smile didn’t fade the whole rest of the day, even through Sam’s relentless teasing.

He remembered you talking about your favourite cafe off campus, and the white hot chocolate and raspberry donuts you would kill for, and took an hour detour from his running route to pick them up for you both to share later that night.

It was amazing, how this girl he only knew through the sounds from his wall was now sitting with him in the early hours of the morning, talking to him like he was a real person and not just some shitty science experiment. You exchanged books, giving him ones that you thought he would enjoy, and he devoured them in less than a week, finding traces of you between the pages.

The two of you never sat right beside one another. You knew his past and you were cautious not to overwhelm him, always leaving generous inches and metres between you both. For the first time in a long time Bucky didn’t want somebody to give him space, he craved those moments when your fingertips would brush as he helped you pot a plant, when your thighs would touch as you leant over him to watch the stars, when he could feel your warmth orbiting him like a planet.

He used to loathe the night time, but now, he spent the whole day aching for the sun to set so he could be with you.

Eventually, as you grew closer with him, you also grew closer with the team, and soon you were joining them sporadically for movie nights and “Friends” marathons and training. You mainly stayed with Wanda and Nat, the two girls sparring with you and showing you the ropes and coming from a place you could understand the best, but you always ended up back next to Bucky - and he loved it.

The rest of the team noticed too. The way that you brought Bucky out of his shell and he helped you to feel grounded. Steve instantly saw that the smile on his best friends face was wider than it had been in fifty years, and he enjoyed watching the two of you together, happy his best friend was happy.

Bucky felt his own change, too. He was no longer a blushing, stuttering mess around you, (well, not completely. He was still a wreck when you smiled at him, or laughed, or did basically anything) but he had found a comfortable middle ground in your friendship, the two of you able to tease and joke with each other like old friends. Finding ways to talk the whole night and day away, watching the sky turn from obsidian to sweet purple and then milky blue, both of you wondering how you had managed to once again miss an entire night quicker than a snap of fingers.

He knew that he was in deep when you got cleared for your first mission.

He remembered waking up, running with Steve, drinking coffee and making eggs, all whilst pretending he wasn’t looking over his shoulder waiting for you every few seconds. Sam came in with a smug smile and stole a slice of toast, buttering it until it was dripping and eating it in seconds, his brow furrowing a little as he watched Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked, shooting him a curious glance.

“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your girl?”

“She not ‘my girl’.” Bucky said through a mouthful of coffee, hating how the words made him feel.

“Oh, right. Of course not. It’s not like the two of you don’t spend every second of every day and every night together, and it’s not like you’re totally head over heels -”

Bucky decided it would be easier to just cut him off, taking his frustration out on the eggs he was now whisking a little too hard. “Why would I say goodbye to her?”

“You didn’t hear?”

He shook his head, suddenly feeling a million tiny needles prickle his skin.

“Bruce signed her off. She’s heading to Madrid with Nat.”

“She’s what?”

That was all it took for him to leave, Sam watching him closely and smirking to himself. Not noticing until it was too late that the pan had started smoking, and the smell of burnt eggs wafted through the air, and Sam was left alone to grab the fire extinguisher and coat the meal in clouds of white foam.

Bucky stormed through the halls, he wasn’t quite sure what his plan was, his mind felt like a bowl of alphabet soup and he couldn’t quite place his anger or frustration, but that didn’t stop him from tearing through the rooms with a face like thunder. He found Tony in the conference room, finalising the mission plans and murmuring under his breath. Bucky feet moved him forward before he could even compute it.

“You signed her off?”

Tony exhaled loudly, and with obvious frustration spun round on his three hundred thousand dollar shoes.

“I was wondering when you would pitch in your two cents.”

“Do you think she’s ready?”

“Yes I do.”

“What if -? What if something happens? What if something goes wrong? What if - ”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“Look, Barnes. I know you and (Y/N) have been getting on well, and I know that she’s opened up a lot because of you -” He paused, mulling over the distaste in his mouth. “... As much as that might irritate me. But you don’t know what she’s like on the field, she’s brilliant.”

Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second, but his blood was as cold as ice. Missions went wrong all of the time, even a simple recon with Clint ended up with them both littered in bullets, and the mere thought of that made his head spin. He had no real reason to be so overprotective of you, but he truly couldn’t help it, everything in him was screaming at him to keep you safe.

“Are you even sure that...”

“Bucky?” He felt like a scarecrow shoved in a pool of mud, stuck straight and stiff as you said his name and rendered him totally tongue tied. He wondered how much you had heard, and he felt like there was an ice cube trailing down his spine.

“Aha! There she is! Superwoman!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, always knowing how to diffuse the tension.

He turned around and felt his heart jack hammer in his chest. He could see Nat, but his eyes totally passed over her, because you were there: your hair tied up and back from your face, subtle makeup with long eyelashes and syrupy lips, a black and powder pink tactical suit that fit and hugged every curve and bow of your body. His brain totally let him down, short circuiting at the mere sight of you. You looked so happy and healthy and glowing, and also like you could knock him out with a single punch - and good god would he let you.

“Bucky I was erm, I was looking for you. I wanted to say goodbye.” You clasped your hands together, appearing so sweet and shy, a total contrast to the femme fatale you portrayed.

“Natalia!” Tony said quickly, and for once Bucky was grateful for his interruption. “Come and look at this strange bird with me.”

All of you knew it was quite possibly the worst fake distraction ever but you ignored it. Nat just rolled her eyes and followed Tony to the balcony, but not before wiggling her eyebrows at Bucky.

You moved forward tentatively. “I wanted to tell you this morning but I couldn’t find you.” You weren’t quite sure why you were so cautious and apprehensive, desperate to speak to him. You had been travelling and fighting for as long as you could remember, you had spent many years alone and entered the battlefield countless times - and yet, that morning as Bruce gave you the all clear, the only person you wanted to see or speak to was Bucky.

“I was running, I’m sorry.”

You smiled, and it made him smile. “Well I’ve found you now.” You stepped forward, Bucky inhaled air so sharply it almost sliced the back of this throat. “I wanted to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you soon.” You paused, then blinked up at him almost cheekily. “Would you do me a favour? If you have time? Could you water the plants for me?”

He grinned, toothy and white. “Already on it.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, and he swore he could feel you melt into his touch, or maybe that was his knees buckling at his stupidity and the way that you were looking up at him. He wanted to say a million things, but instead he settled for: “Goodbye, (Y/N). Be safe, okay?”

“Of course.”

He watched as you packed your things and headed to the jet, the rest of the crew coming out to say their farewells and wish them luck. His eyes were trained on you as you spoke to Tony, nodding your head as you listened to him. He felt Natasha sidle up next to him, her hair shining copper in the sun.

“She’ll be alright, Barnes.”

“I know. But - ”

“I’ll take care of her. Promise.”

“Thank you, Nat. Good luck.”

“Don’t need it!”

Three hours later and he was in the gym, punching out his excess energy. The bag was splitting at the seams, and sand trailed sadly onto the floor. Bucky ignored it, his hits getting harder and faster, his blood pounding in his ears. Since you had left he had taken to pacing the floor and biting his nails down to the wick, hovering over Steve as he spoke to Nat through her wire. He only left when he realised that he was driving everybody else crazy with his obsessive twitching and marching, taking out his frustration on whatever he could rip apart with his fingers.

“Tony’s going to kill you if you break anymore punching bags.” Steve said from behind him, his voice echoing around the dark room.

“Hmph.”

He couldn’t stop. His hands were red raw and his knuckles were scraped but they would heal soon, and he’d go back to tearing them up all over again, anything to get rid of the adrenaline and nausea that had been swimming in him since the morning.

A minute passed. And then two. And then three. He exhaled, pausing, his hands midway in the air. He was about to say what he had always known, right from the second your eyes met that crisp autumn day, and Steve was the only one he could confide in.

“I think I’m falling in love with her.”

Steve hardly even blinked, just clapped a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, his brother.

“I know.”

Because of course he did. He knew it from the way Bucky smiled, the way he was lighter, brighter, like you had made him switch on and appreciate the little things around him. He had seen Bucky doe eyed and loopy over hundreds of girls back in the day, he knew how he got, but this... this was something bigger, magnetic, the clash of two electric people.

There wasn’t much Steve could say, he was great at saving people but not so good at the more personal side of things, he still turned into a puddle when Sharon looked at him. Instead he laughed, his teeth white as snow and his eyes playful and teasing. “You got it bad, dude.”

Despite everything Bucky smiled. Because yeah, he did.

————————— ————————————

You came back from the mission unharmed and euphoric.

And the second. And the third. And the fourth.

Bucky still tracked mud across all of the carpets and tapped his feet mindlessly for the entirety you were gone, but he was getting better. Steve had even bought him a joke present of a pear shaped and scented stress ball, but Bucky had ripped it in half when there was gunfire in the background of your coms, followed by an apologetic “Sorry!” from Sam. Bucky had then poured all of the tiny fruit smelling beads under the duvet in Sams bed, and then put all of his toilet paper on the holder backwards, knowing how annoyed he got about it.

Every time you came back you were exhausted and elated and beaming, and after having a nap and a shower you spent the rest of the day with the team, but the nights were reserved just for him. You grew even closer together. Steve had watched from the rooftop doorway gobsmacked one evening when he had left his phone up there, watching the way you two interacted, the way that he curled into your touch, never away from it. You got electric shocks when your fingers touched, you would blush when his knee playfully nudged yours at something stupid somebody had said at dinner, and you found yourself falling asleep to the image of chestnut hair and ocean eyes. You had crushes before, but this was all consuming, the kind of thing that made your stomach erupt in butterflies and your eyes turn into hearts.

You were worried that it might be one sided, but Bucky was totally, completely, smitten.

He watched you. Noticed the way that you smiled and laughed and tucked your hair behind your ear. He thought of the girls in the forties, with their painted lips and curled hair and immaculate clothes, and how you blew all of them out of the water, even in just your flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers. The coil in his belly when he looked at you reminded him of being sixteen and holding hands at the pictures, but that had just been a flicker, and this was a forest fire.

The first mission with the rest of the crew was when things went sour.

He got to see how you acted first hand. The way that you were quiet in the jet, but smiling strawberry red, taking in all of the orders that Steve meticulously laid out, your eyes wide and eager. He watched you as he helped Nat set up the guns and stock the ammo, the way that you toyed with the knife in your boot, the gears in your head turning and working on something he was desperate to discover.

He hadn’t been on a mission with you, not only because they way you looked in your suit and the way that you grinned would have led to him inadvertently getting a bullet in his head, but because from what he had heard, your fighting styles were totally different. Your powers and your skills were a mystery to him, one that he badly wanted to solve, but you kept that side of you hidden and guarded with barbed wire, and he respected that.

You were paired off with Sam. Nat with Clint. Bucky with Steve. Wanda with Vision. It was a simple mission, there was some intel locked in a safe of a seemingly abandoned factory in the south of Russia. Tony had discovered the place crawling with hidden members of a gang that specialised in human trafficking and organ farming, and he needed what was hidden below to help blow it out of the water.

It was going to take a lot of skill. There was no doubt that the enemies would be heavily armed, possibly even with illegally manufactured weapons, and all of you had to keep your heads straight the entire time. He had wanted desperately to be paired with you, to keep his eye on you, (not that you needed it) but he knew it was out of the question. Instead, as you all split up a few miles away in the woods, he grabbed your hand quickly and rubbed his finger across your knuckles, looking at you intently, his eyes swimming with sincerity.

“Be careful.” He said, his gaze locked on yours.

You smiled. “Always.”

He stuck his middle finger up at Steve’s smug face as they headed towards the factory.

Things were going well. As well as they could be when they were covered in blood and sweat and surrounded by the sound of gunfire and cracking bones. Nobody had been hurt so far, the coms quiet as the pairings cleared their sectors and worked their way down to the basement. Bucky had just pushed the last man over the railing and onto the concrete floor below when he heard the crackle of panicked voices in his ear, his eyes darting to Steve.

“Shit! Fuck!”

“Sam?”

“It’s (Y/N)! Fuck! One of them took her!”

“What?” Steve said instantly, switching straight from solider to captain, immediately alert.

“There was too many, it was an ambush!”

“Sam just stay there and - ” Steve tried to keep his voice steady and level, but it seemed as though the walls were closing in. To make matters worse, he saw a blur of black in his eye line, and watched helplessly as his best friend tore down the stairwell, his footsteps a clap of thunder. “Fuck! Bucky!”

Bucky knew that he was going to get one hell of a lecture and probably some six week course in impulse in the force, but all that he could think about was you, his blood was ice cold, his body numb and his brain conjuring up a million different pictures of you that made him feel sick to his stomach. He leapt over the bannister and landed haphazardly on the floor, his gun cocked and ready. His eyes were nothing but jet black pupils, scanning for your face through the halls.

He knew that you and Sam had been working through what used to be the laboratory, and that was on the other side of the building. His legs and arms moved almost mechanically, determined to get to you as quickly as possible, taking out anybody that stood in his way. He could hear Steve calling from behind him, and the sputter of the others in his earpiece, but his focus was on one thing. You.

The men were big and brawny and mean. Tattooed arms and shaved heads and gold teeth. Bucky shredded through them like they wore nothing. He flung them over tables, threw them through doorways and dragged them up by the roots of their hair. They were strong though, laughing at him through coffee stained teeth, loving his anger and desperation.

“Where is she?” He snarled at one particularly vicious thug brandishing two assault rifles.

“Who? Your whore? Dead.”

He snapped his neck like it was nothing but a twig.

He ran from room to room, his boots squealing across blood and stray bullets, his breath as ragged and sharp as glass. Everywhere was empty. Rows of vials and big glass cylinders and cages for animal testing, there was nothing, the place completely ransacked and bare. He hissed, getting ready to fight his way through another floor until he heard exasperated grunts and the clash of metal from a small room off to the side.

He skidded into the doorway with his rifle up at his shoulder, his finger right on the trigger, ready to shoot somebody’s fucking head off. Instead he paused, his mouth agape and his hands lowering, the whole room standing still. There was a freezer. Probably for samples and test tubes and whatever crazy fucking thing they kept in a place like this, but they had used it as a cage, the handles tied with thick copper chains and padlocks. Sam was using the butt of his gun to smash his way through, and they were old and rusty and starting to crumble easily, and Bucky watched helplessly as he finally busted in, clouds of ice puffing around him.

Bucky didn’t know why he couldn’t move. Couldn’t help. But his feet were as heavy as cinder blocks, and his heart was thundering in his ears. There was a small squeal, broken and half hearted, void of anything other than exhaustion, and then the smell of tears and blood, followed by sweet mint and wildflowers. Unmistakably you.

He wanted to run forward and scoop you in his arms, press your head against the crook of his neck and get you far, far away from this place, but he couldn’t move, and so he watched as Sam tugged you into him, running his fingers through your hair, cradling you like a child, soothing you as you cried hot, wet tears into his suit. And Bucky wished with everything in him that it was him instead.

He stayed back as you flew home with Sam. He kept away when you were in the hospital with Bruce, lurked in his room when you went over everything with Tony, locked himself away when you confided in Steve. He felt as though he had failed you, no matter what the others said. He felt as though he had let you down, and the noise you had made when Sam tugged you from the depths of that tiny little box, it played in his head like a warped record, haunting him and his dreams.

For a week he kept to himself. For a week he ran a different route and trained at a gym down by the water. For a week he took his motorbike out to a shitty diner in the bad part of town and ate soggy pancakes instead of having dinner with the team, for a week he did everything he could to not see you, thinking that would ease what you had been through, but instead it left you feeling torn and hurt and completely alone.

Tony made him come in to test out a new reloading system and so he reluctantly snuck down to the figuring range under the cover of darkness. He allowed himself to get lost in the sounds of carnage and the smell of metal, until he heard soft footsteps from behind him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You seemed so sad, and that made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Silence. That had never been awkward between the two of you, ever, and yet now it was so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

You wrung your hands together, your eyes flitting around the room, never quite landing on his face. That hurt. After a moment you cleared your throat, using the toe of your sneaker to kick up dust from the floor. “Do you - do you know? I mean, has anybody said anything to you? About me?”

He shook his head. “No.” There had been a million times when it was on the tip of his tongue to pry the truth from Nat or Steve, but his respect for you was stronger than his need for answers.

He felt his stomach flip when you finally blinked up at him. You looked as though you hadn’t slept and he knew he looked worse. You were still so beautiful though, looking so young and angelic under the harsh lights and surrounded by all the weaponry. Like a powder pink rose amongst giant, violent thorns.

Unable to stop himself, he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“Not for avoiding you. For letting you - For not being there for you.”

Your mouth was open, brows furrowed as you took in what he said. “What?”

“I should have helped you.” There was desperation in his voice, and he turned to face the targets rather than look at you, not wanting you to see him so weak.

You were silent for quite a while. It was difficult for you to digest his words, like swallowing glass. You had been under the impression that seeing you tearful and cowering and broken had scared him off, had made him look at you differently, but now you knew that he blamed himself. “Bucky...” You said, biting back emotion. “Its not your fault.” Your tone was definite. Strong. You wouldn’t let him feel guilty for something he had no control over.

He brushed you off, shifting his weight, turning playful. “Yeah I know. It was Sam’s.”

You rolled your eyes.

He clicked his tongue. He set the gun down on the table and turned to face you fully, his eyes solid and unwavering. “I am so sorry you got hurt.”

“I wasn’t - I.”Finding the right words was hard. You had so much you wanted to tell him but no idea how to, the sentences sticking to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. “It was just...Can we? Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“The roof?”

“Yeah,” You smiled, and Bucky swore even the strongest industrial lights couldn’t even match your spark. “The roof.”

Under the stars and above the city as the cars raced and the sirens blared, you told him everything. Growing up as a lab rat, twisted and moulded by scientists and pumped full of chemicals. You told him of finding your powers and being forced to use them for vile things you couldn’t even repeat, and when he heard the tremor of your voice and saw the gloss on your eyes his whole body vibrated and turned a shade of red that it was almost black. You told him how the people that created you had wanted you back, and how Tony had saved you from being taken again, how you owed him your life.

He wasn’t good with comfort. He wasn’t good with words. He was good at tearing people apart limb from limb and shooting them from distances and breaking their bones like they were toothpicks, but for you, he would try. In a move so unlike him that it felt as though he might have been brainwashed once again, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

You froze at first, but eventually thawed and melted into him, grateful for his touch. You had wanted to be close to him since the first time you met but you held back, and now everything felt right, like the missing piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he gave someone a bear hug, his nose buried in your hair, his fingers locked around you, desperate to keep you safe. Perhaps it was way back then, a time of uniforms and alleyways and candy floss and city smog, a time he used to long for with everything in him.

But now the memories of the past didn’t even compare to what he felt when he held you.

———————————————————

Everything came to a head on the first mission you had alone together.

Two months passed. Two months of subtle touches and shared smiles and inside jokes. Two months of rooftop laughter and midnight meetings and eating ice cream straight from the tub as you sat under the stars. Two months of utter, dreadful, aching, slow burning, and it was driving everybody else crazy.

Mostly Sam.

“I’m just saying,” Sam had murmured to Steve over chocolate eclairs one morning as they watched you teach a wide eyed, love struck Bucky how to play Mario Kart. “Can’t we just lock them in a room? Force them to kiss?”

“No.”

“It’s just so gross.”

Wanda flicked a grape at him, smiling cheekily as it bounced off his nose. “It’s sweet.”

He cocked a brow and tilted his head, his eyes filled with mild disgust. “Is it?”

Steve flicked through the files in his hand and licked whipped cream from his fingers. “He’s happy. Leave him be.”

“He’s a dumbass.”

“They both are.” Natasha interjected from behind them, wiping sweat from her brow and pulling off her boxing gloves. She was monotone and her face was straight, but even the black widow couldn’t bite back the smile she had as she watched the girl she now thought of as a sister and the once murderous, unbeatable assassin arguing about blue shells on the sofa.

The first mission you had been assigned together was in a small town in the Midwest somewhere. There had been unusual sightings in an airfield in the middle of nowhere, and a fugitive from Germany had been spotted in the bars that bordered the little village. Tony didn’t want to send too many people and blow the cover, just your powers of manipulation and telekinesis to apprehend the subject, and Bucky for added strength and precision.

Initially Tony was hesitant on pairing the two of you together, but there was no denying that you both worked brilliantly together. You understood one another on a level that nobody else did.

Bucky didn’t get nervous before a mission. In fact, he hardly felt anything. He spent the hours in the jet preparing himself and his weapons, going over maps and plans until they were drilled in his brain. But as the two of you took off, you with your rose blossom lips and eye watering suit and soft laughter, Bucky felt a warmth coiling in his stomach.

Apprehension.

You were staying at a cheap hotel a few blocks from the airfield. Tony had thought of everything and booked the two of you in rooms the opposite end of the hall from each other. Three floors apart. Bucky had slipped the receptionist a twenty for the room next to yours. For protection, of course.

Working undercover could be mind numbingly boring. Hours sat in a parked car in the dead of night, freezing to the bone as you watched an apartment from the bushes, trailing a suspect for days on end - but any time with you was a blessing for Bucky, even if it was sat behind the wheel of a cheap car with painful seats and broken heating.

The mission was a quiet one at first, you’d spotted the subject and had been following him, but all he seemed to do was eat crappy diner food and watch hours of cartoons. You both remained a safe distance but you managed to eventually bug his apartment when he spent the evening at a strip club. Tony and Steve updated you often, they had intercepted his phone calls and learnt that he was sending out a shipment late one night, and the two of you needed to stop it before it reached the air.

The rain was torrential when the two of you left the hotel. You smiled secretly to yourself as you walked through the slick streets, noticing how Bucky always made sure you were on the side away from the road, and how he moved so that you never got your feet in puddles. You were in the middle of nowhere following a criminal who spent far too much time eating potato chips and watching Rick and Morty, and yet you struggled to think of a time when you had been more content.

It meant everything to you.

Staying up late to listen into his apartment, Bucky buying practically the entire vending machine, the two of you pigging out and talking about nothing. You had breakfast at diners and communicated at night through knocks on the wall. Whenever you were out and the air was ice cold, Bucky would always move in close to you, his arm brushing against yours, his body your own personal heater. He wanted nothing more in those moments then to pull you into him and warm you up some other way, but instead he kept his eyes fixed forward, and bit the inside of his cheek until it bled.

You arrived at the airfield at midnight. The moon was high and the sky was dark and you both had to crouch low to be avoided by the overhead lights. You saw the suspect speaking to someone on his phone, and not long after a large white van pulled up towards him, the driver getting out and opening the boot.

“That’s it.” Bucky said pointing at the wooden crates. His voice was right by your ear, and you tried to ignore the way you shivered.“You ready?”

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Always.”

What happened next was mostly a blur. The two of you kept your heads down and your hands on your weapons, the pounding of the rain disguising your footsteps. You made it across the tarmac with Bucky covering you, his eyes alert and prepared for any imposing danger. You lifted your hands, ready to snap your fingers and apprehend the man rooting around the boxes, but before you could even feel the warm buzz of your powers through your veins, six men leapt out from the back of the van, guns raised and smoking.

“Fuck. Fuck! It’s a set up.”

Without even a second thought, Bucky pushed you aside. His body totally covered your own, and he hissed and swore, firing back at the bullets rapidly charging at you. You swung your hands and fought back, sending out flickers of fire and air, setting one of them alight and watching as he howled in pain. Bucky shot at everyone he could, sharp pierces right in the skull, always one hundred percent accurate, but his brain was whirring a mile a minute. He was trying his best to keep his eyes on you, his only goal was to make sure you were safe.

It wasn’t like he thought you were weak - far from it. He had seen you out on the field, been knocked on his ass from the aftershock of your powers more times than he could count, and he knew he had no real reason to be so worried but that did nothing to stop the prickling feeling across his skin like a million tiny little flames at the thought of you getting hurt.

You were determined to keep him safe as well though.You tossed back bullets and threw your knife through the air, smiling as it slashed through on of them, leaving him crumpled and crying on the floor. The two of you worked well together, playing off of each other’s attacks and combining your skills to get as many of them down as you could. Right when the last man hit the floor, you exhaled, and Bucky allowed himself a soft smile, looking beautiful and bruised in the middle of a rainstorm.

“Are you alright?” You heard him say, but his voice faded into static in your ears. Behind him one of them had struggled to his feet, blood spurting out from his neck, his face filled with nothing but venom, his eyes wild and vicious. You didn’t even blink, thrusting your hands forward and sending a wave of power through the air.

But it was too late.

He had already lifted his gun, a ripple of bullets flying towards you both. You leapt in front of Bucky, pushing his head down and trying to soften the impact, but his hands curled painfully around your waist, dragging you onto the floor and under him. The bullets missed the two of you by centimetres, piercing into the airplane behind you both. Your surge of power had knocked the man back and he was down once again, his body now pale and lifeless. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and Bucky’s. He was fully on top of you, warm and solid and absolutely seething, his chest rising and falling above your own.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Bucky...” You inhaled, trying to get him to calm down and look at you but he merely shook his head, his body vibrating blood red.

“No. We’re leaving. Now.”

———————————————————-

After the ambush, it was too risky to return to the hotel, and so Steve sent out coordinates for a safe house an hour away. The ride there was completely silent. You didn’t even try to speak or diffuse the tension, you could practically feel Bucky’s anger, and the steering wheel had even started to bend from his grip.

The safe house was a small cottage. The only heat was from a tiny wood burner in the lounge, and the only food on the shelves were tinned peaches and cans of custard. Everything was oddly cosy. Pink knitted throws and round plush cushions and mismatched sofas, dried lavender tied to the wall and exposed brick and white, ceramic milk jugs. In any other circumstance you would have been happy to spend the night, but Bucky’s sour mood was quick to dim your spark.

You sighed as he threw his duffel bag onto the table, angrily heading to the sink and twisting the tab, exhaling loudly at the thin dribble of water that came out.

“Bucky.” You started to say, but he held his hand up as a warning.

“No.”

“Yes!” You snapped, needing him to understand you. “You have to listen to me.”

He dismissed you, too overcome with annoyance to even process your words. You could have died tonight, and you were acting as though it didn’t matter. “You were a goddamn idiot out there.”

“No I wasn’t!”

He slapped his hand on the wooden counter, a slap ringing through the small room.“You jumped in front of a bullet -“

“You almost got shot Bucky!”

“You almost got shot.”

“It was what was best for the mission.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the mission! I only care about you.”

“What?” Your voice was soft. A whisper. You could hear everything around you, feel him before he even stepped forward. Your breathing was shaky, adrenaline spiking through your body. The man you were in love with looking at you desperately and longingly, as though there was a physical ache inside of him.

He shrugged, because what else was there to say? He was looking deep into your own eyes, wanting to drown in them. His face was stern and hard and he was pissed, and yet, strangely, none of what had happened seemed to matter. He stepped towards you, his gaze running across your figure, looking for any cuts or bruises one of those fuckers might have left on you.

“Are you hurt?” He said finally, his face millimetres from your own.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed you. His hands went up and into your hair, his chest pressed against yours, his lips were warm and soft and hungry, ready to devour the one thing he had wanted since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You melted into his touch and he smiled. The kiss got more intense, teeth clashing and hands under sweaters and his body rolling against yours. You moaned in his mouth and he bit your lip and your pulses synced and raced and leapt. This was six months of pure longing and frustration and the need to portray everything that had gone unsaid for far too long.

It wasn’t long before you ended up on the floor. You were both too greedy and touch starved to even stop or make your way upstairs, you both needed the other like air, like addicts desperate for another hit. His lips were all over every bit of skin he could find, you lasted like sweat and cinnamon and vanilla and he swore he would give up everything he had if he got to feel you like this, whining and writhing and grabbing him, tugging him closer and kissing him like an angelic little devil.

He had once been a Casanova. He had once made ladies swoon and mothers blush and fathers clench their fists. Then he had been shattered, rebuilt in a way that wasn’t quite right, his body used for torture rather than pleasure. And yet, with you, the rain pelting the windows and your bodies intertwined and your lips tasting like summer strawberries and everything that he had ever dreamed of - he felt whole, for the first time in a long time. The noises you made were sinful, and his thoughts were nothing but you,you,you, the girl he had fallen in love with through the sounds in the wall and with the flowers on the roof, the girl that occupied his brain more than anything else.

Everything was too much and not enough, his head was buried in your neck, your legs were around his waist, pulling him tighter, urging him to go deeper. He had dreamt of this moment for a long time. He had imagined a candle lit dinner and red roses and awkward touches and itchy dress shirts, he wanted everything to be perfect, because you deserved the world. But in the living room of a safe house in the middle of nowhere, covered in sweat and blood and surrounded by thunder and clashing furniture seemed oddly magical for a couple with roots like yours.

After, you were cradled in the crook of his arm, with your hair splayed across his bare chest. Bucky was having a hard time controlling his rapid pulse and heavy breathing because holy shit he had just slept with the girl of his dreams, but one look at you under the moonlight looking ethereal and exhausted and everything else just dissolved into wisps or smoke.

He wanted to tell you in a better way, but he just couldn’t keep it in any longer. His brain was fizzled with pleasure and dizzy with euphoria, and he just wanted, needed you to know everything.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since I first saw you.”

You froze. After a beat, you buried your face into the flesh of his chest, your soft laughter tickling his abdomen, his fingers trailing loosely across your spine. You smiled like a child, looking up at him with big eyes and heart shaped lips.

“God. We’re both idiots. I’m so in love with you too, Buck.”

He grinned, and he felt like his heart might tear in two.

—————————————————————-

You arrived back at the compound with interlocked fingers and matching grins and Sam nearly collapsed with relief. Tony almost went into cardiac arrest.

For the first time in fifty years, happiness followed Bucky wherever he went. Things were easy, light. You were his. You crawled into his arms at the end of a bad day and you laughed into his shoulder and you held his hand and kissed him and killed him and resurrected him all at the same time. He had never felt home in this modern world, and now he looked forward to each day and whatever strange and inane adventure the two of you would end up on. The anvil that had been crushing his heart for so long had started to lighten, and he owed it all to you.

Still, there were hard days. When he woke up slick with sweat with eyes wider than the moon and an urge to wrap his hands around something, or when you thought of the past and became consumed by the memories, tears falling down your face before you could stop them. He got jealous, and he had multiple stern talks with Steve about “not threatening the interns just because they speak to your girlfriend,” you could be stubborn, take on more than you needed, return from a mission with a limp you tried to hide, one that eventually led to an argument about your reckless choices. But nothing ever lasted more than a day. You were always there for one another, with open arms and gentle smiles and the unconditional love that people would kill for.

He had been in a million different situations where he felt like he was drowning. Like something was pulling him under the depths, crushing his lungs and shattering his oesophagus. But nothing compared to how he felt around you. Nothing could match the way you consumed him completely. the electricity that coursed through his veins when your fingers brushed against his, there was nothing quite like the way his heartbeat would slow when you were around, the way that he suddenly felt warm and full whenever you laughed.

He had spent so long alone. He had spent so many years fighting a war he never signed up for, and he was exhausted. He was starved of attention but terrified of exposing himself, and he lived with a chain link fence around his heart. Your soft voice so soothing, the sweetness in your eyes and the innocent bat of your lashes disarmed him better than any soldier ever could. There was something about you - something magnetic, magical.

Your sweetness went straight to his brain. One look at you and his mind dizzied, a sugar rush that only you gave him.

Whenever somebody asked where he was from, he thought partly of Brooklyn, of his mother and Steve, of cobbled streets and dog tags and ink stained newspapers. He thought of darkness. Of being moulded and reshaped deep down in the depths of bad places, of iron and rust and metal, his hands coated in blood.

But mostly, he thought of you. Safe and warm and sweet and so good. How expensive mattresses and dim candles and hot chocolate didn’t make him feel half the way that you did. How you grounded him, calmed him, made everything feel light and coated in sunshine when he had spent so goddamn long being frozen.

So when somebody asked where he was from, he thought of you, because you were home.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel imagine #bucky barnes x reader #marvel oneshot #sebastian stan imagine #orionwrites

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op-peccatori · 4 years

Text

Selenophile (M) | IkeVamp Comte

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain/Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+/NSFW

Word Count: 5k

Summary: You’re just a girl who fell in love with the moon, and got lucky enough to have him love you back.

a/n: Always thought Leonardo would be my first, and then Faa happened (~˘▾˘)~ All those Daddy Comte conversations sent a hoe tumbling into love. Also told myself this was going to be short and sweet, and in doing so, played myself. Sorry about that.

Also, for Thirst Purposes, we’re going to believe that Comte can bite her without turning her.

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, vaginal and oral sex, mentions of blood due to vampire bite, this is my love letter to Daddy Comte, pretend im v romantic, also another episode where I had fun with online translators French speakers please don’t kill me

Selenophile (n.) a person who loves the moon.

“Here’s the next stack, and please, try to finish them before dinner?”

Collecting the last of the stray envelopes on the desk, you jog them and place the stack in one corner. Narrowed, aurum eyes watch you over the top of a letter. “These aren’t quite as urgent, so you can have a look at them later.”

“Mm,” the Count sighs into his cup for the fifth time, no doubt waiting for you to turn around to see what’s got him so down. Your eyes drift to the ostentatious bouquet of roses in the corner of the room, a soft, blush pink this time, before you squint at the seal on the last envelope. Placing it on top of the pile in front of him, you smile down at his pursed lips and pleading eyes.

You know the gentlemanly persona is just one of the many facets of the Count’s personality, and it seems to be the one he chooses to adopt when amongst company. Your relationship thus far has been nothing short of an adventure, complete with adversaries and sacrifices, and a man that can take your breath away with just one little smile.

He loves, and lives to spoil you. He delights in drawing you into his arms and kissing you as he stealthily clasps delicate necklaces around your neck and slips bracelets set with sparkling gems onto your wrists. It still makes you uncomfortable at times, but the way his eyes shine when he admires the way they rest against your skin, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his lips–it kills any real motivation to protest.

And when he undresses you, with a soft-spoken request to keep the jewellery on, you’re hard-pressed to find any real reason to object. It’s all part of his favourite evening game; with you completely bare, wearing just the priceless trinkets he’s picked out for you. His seat of preference is the armchair he pulls up to the front of the bed, from where he calls out his requests for you. You can say no, you’re expected to tell him if anything makes you uncomfortable, but when he tells you to spread your legs a little more, to finger yourself a skosh slower, nearly panting as the smell of your arousal–all you feel is hot, dizzying lust.

To see the wild lust lurking beneath that noble veneer, to open your eyes, trembling through the aftershocks of an orgasm, and see the sheer hunger in his face as he strokes his cock. The way his fangs sink into you speaks of rapidly fraying control, sending agonizing ecstasy pumping through you as he makes you come again.

You enjoy teasing him. It’s a dangerous game to play in front of the ever-observant residents, especially a certain author who would love nothing more than to see you seduce their sire. You had nearly gotten caught just once, when he had had enough of your games.

A brush of your fingers, over his shoulder. A stroke of your thumb over his knuckles, and if you were feeling bold, weaving your fingers through his hair. A lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth and feel the air between you grow heavy. Just a quick pet at the nape of his neck and pulling away before he could lean into your touch.

He always catches on almost right away, and gives you serene smile in response, a gentle warning. Only once had his patience spun out of his control and he pinned you to a bookshelf in the library, slipping a hand under your dress as he crushed his mouth to yours, hissing when he discovered the lack of a barrier between your legs.

You were sure he would have taken you right there if not for the sudden, loud whistling of a jaunty tune–a hint that you weren’t alone in the library. Still, he had considered it for a moment. You could tell by the look on his face–all he had to do was make sure you stayed quiet.

But then Leonardo started singing, completely off-key and almost insistently, as if warning him off. It was the confused whispers from Isaac, no doubt wondering if Leonardo had lost his mind, that finally had your beau stepping away.

Even now, as you pour him his afternoon tea, you can feel his eyes doing a full sweep of your figure, longing and wondering. He’d been away on business for the past two weeks and you’ve missed him terribly. He had only gotten back yesterday, and you’ve somehow had your hands full with errands and tasks for the residents and no time to spend in his arms.

Although, if you must be perfectly honest, you have had a little fun leaving him with affectionate kisses and tender whispers before you rush off to attend to the next task.

“How is your day going, ma chérie?” he asks, accepting the cup with a soft smile.

“Well enough, I’d say. Sebas is going to teach me how to make coq au vin, so please look forward to that!” you inform him, stars in your eyes. You pretend not to notice the way his smile grows just a tad strained, no doubt at the realization that you’ll have your plate full today as well.

“I can’t wait to try it.” His sincerity is genuine, though, and you have to restrain yourself from climbing into his lap, striding over to the door instead. “Darling?”

You turn back to see him hesitating, searching your face for something before sinking back into his armchair.

“Have a wonderful day.”

There’s hunger in his eyes and your heart pounds within its cage.

“You too. I love you,” you add, unable to help it, and you’re glad you did because of the tiny smile curling along his mouth as he echoes the words back at you.

This waiting game can’t go on much longer. He hasn’t lost his composure the way you had secretly hoped to see, but it seems that his patience is running out.

You rarely find chances to spend together during the day, and today is no different. Dinner takes up much of your time, and after you find yourself swept up in conversation with Napoleon and Isaac, cleaning up takes more time than you had hoped.

As Sebastian shares what he had discovered about Napoleon’s sparring preferences, while you dissolve into helpless giggles at his enthusiastic reenactment as you scrub the dishes, the Count stops by for more tea.

“Ah, still here? It’s quite late, you must be tired.” He watches over the rim of his teacup as you study at a plate, before wiping at a barely-visible smudge.

“We’re nearly done, Sir. Not to worry though, it’s always fun when we work together,” your companion assures him, and you shoot him a quick grin.

“That’s right. And we do make a great time, don’t we?” You raise your hand, and with a half-hearted roll of his eyes, Sebastian smacks his palm against yours.

“I suppose we do.”

You turn to Comte just in time to catch his small smile, and your own fades slightly as he turns to leave with a low, murmured goodnight.

Even as you hurry through your bath, rushing to your room to change and don a thin robe, the hint of melancholy in his smile stays with you and apprehension courses through your veins.

It wasn’t quite jealousy. It’s tempting to play that game, but usually, you avoiding it. He’s a gentle, benevolent man, but the Count does not wear jealousy well. Thankfully, the only resident you run into on your way to his room is Vincent, who asks no questions, only wishing you a pleasant night with a knowing smile.

His chambers are empty and you find him standing in the balcony instead, the summer evening pleasant and soothing on your skin as you step out. His head is tilted back, and you realize he seems to be studying the night sky. With the soft, shimmering moonlight eager to paint him in its subtle tones, there’s an ethereal glow beneath his skin.

He shines brighter in the sunlight, but in this moment he truly looks like one untouched by the grasping hands of death in any of its forms, blessed by Selene herself or perhaps, she chose another form, one that is surely far more beautiful than any other. You wonder if that makes you Endymion, the spellbound mortal to his smitten immortal, desperate to do whatever it takes so you never leave his side, destined to be together forever–but only in your dreams.

“Come join me, ma chérie.” He sounds almost distracted, and curiosity bubbles up as you step up next to him.

He’s more underdressed than you’ve ever seen him outside his room; clad only in his white shirt and slim pants. He always appears to be svelte, but with the soft fabric stretching taut over his shoulders, clinging to his narrow waist, you can only try to keep your eyes off his backside. An unbuttoned collar reveals a slender neck, his tie hanging loosely over his chest, his sleeves rolled up to his toned forearms, a glass of half-finished blanc in one hand.

He doesn’t look away from the sky, staring at the stars as if they hold the answer to all his questions. You choose to look at the moon while it observes the stars, studying him quietly, wanting to get closer before thinking better of it and coming to a halt, waiting for him to gather his thoughts.

Always out of reach, but always returning to you.

Or perhaps you’re the moonflower instead. Yearning for the light, for it to find you. With its quiet, yet all-consuming love; too bright for you at times, but even if you close your eyes you know its there, its soft light embracing you, giving itself over to you and sinking into your bones, its love unchanging. You thrive in his arms, blooming to life at his touch, the marks left on your skin always fading but you’re content to keep the one left on your heart, a quiet claiming.

He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, caramel bangs falling haphazardly over his forehead, before turning to you with a rueful smile that breaks you out of your musing. He finishes his drink with one last sip and sets the glass down to the side, on top of the balustrade.

“Forgive me, darling. I’m feeling a little out of sorts tonight.”

The muted atmosphere falls away as he turns his back on the sky to look at you, and you wonder if the stars think him foolish for it.

“Anything I can help with?” You take his hand in yours, clasping it between your palms and watch as a hint of mischief upturns his lips. And you realize it doesn’t matter if all the planets in the sky call you fools, as long as he never stops smiling at you.

“Perhaps. All day, I feel as if my most precious, mon trésor, has been a tad elusive.” He reaches out to tuck an errant lock of your ear behind your ear, his finger trailing down the length of your jaw as you tilt your head, adopting a thoughtful look.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Not at all,” he agrees, assuming a downcast expression, although his eyes still glint with purpose. “Every time I reach for her, she slips right through my fingers, leaving with me nothing but the memory of her warmth.”

“Oh, but that’s dreadful,” you gasp, holding his hand up to your chest. “What fool would try to elude you?”

He smiles a little, leaning in conspiratorially, his mouth ghosting the shell of your ear. You can barely keep from smiling as your stomach clenches in your anticipation.

“One who takes joy in teasing her poor, desperate lover,” he breathes, winding an arm around your waist as you try to slip away, your palms braced against his firm chest. “All day, she smiles at me, and with every smile I’m left wanting nothing more than to kneel before her and take everything she chooses to give me.”

His next breath leaves him on a shudder as you turn your head, your lips skimming the length of his jaw.

“With a man like you, is there really ever a choice? You make a woman want to give you everything she has.”

His smile is truer as he kisses the tip of your nose, while the hand on your hip inches lower. His eyes are bright, almost glowing and you’re struck mute as you watch his long lashes flutter. “As I should. After all, when a woman holds the power to take her lovesick fool apart with a smile, the fool can only try to aim for the same.”

“If this fool tries anymore, there won’t be anything left to take.”

“And, perhaps, then I’ll stop fearing her distance.” His lips trace the length of your neck, his nose pressing to your skin as he inhales deeply. “And the fear of her being ripped from my arms will fade.”

You press your lips to his temples, love and sadness tight leashes around your heart. “Then I suppose I’ll keep giving you everything I have.”

His palm slides further down to cup the swell of your rear. “Your love?”

You kiss his cheek. “You have it.”

His licks at the pulse point on your neck, and you tremble in his grasp. “Your body?”

“Yours.” A gasp leaves you when he sucks at the skin harshly, satisfied at the mark blooming to life. There’s a scrape of something sharp against soft flesh, and your knees grow weaker when you realize it’s the sharp-edged tip of a fang.

“Your happiness?” He tugs at the sash holding your robe together, loosening it to reveal your underthings. Brimming with his desire, his eyes are molten gold as they bore into yours.

“With you.” He kisses you, gentle and deep. Your hands meet at the nape of his neck, tugging him down so you can slip your tongue into his mouth. A low noise of protest escapes you as he pulls away to kiss his way up to your ear.

“And yet, you’ve been denying us both the pleasure of each other’s company.” He nips at the lobe of your ear, squeezing your ass gently, his tone dipping into something sly as he continues. “Then I see you laughing without a care with Sebastian. I...I cannot help but wonder if I’ve robbed you of the happiness you deserve.”

You can’t help the quick roll of your eyes. “Any happiness I deserve is the kind I want.” Your fist the hair at the back of his head, tugging it back to look him in the eyes. They waver in the face of your fierce affection, his lips parted as you tug harder, but you don’t back down. “And I want you.”

He sighs, but his chest quivers beneath your touch.

“Such ferocity. And no power in the world could make me give that up.” He isn’t teasing anymore, but he slips a thigh between your legs, using his grip on your ass to pull you forward. Your fingers dig into his shirt as you try not to gasp. “Ah, I’m afraid you are stuck with me.”

You run a hand through his hair as he ducks his head to pepper kisses all over your neck, and down to your collarbone.

His tongue draws slow, maddening circles over your skin. “So earlier in the kitchen...that wasn’t an attempt to drive me to jealousy?”

“I barely have to attempt, but no, it wasn’t.” You hide a sly smile in his hair. “Why, were you actually jealous?”

“I’ll admit I do find myself rather put out when I can’t have you all to myself. And knowing how deeply you’re coveted…” He pauses. “So you were playing games.” He lifts a breast from the soft fabric of your bustier, tucking the cloth underneath as he squeezes it gently. Even as your body begins to throb under his ministrations, you throw a nervous look over his shoulder to ensure nobody’s in the gardens. “And the roses you received in my absence?”

You roll your eyes, half-hearted this time, even as your heart attempts to inch its way to your throat. “A gift for you, no doubt, from your oldest friend.”

He chuckles, soft and dark, and it goes straight to your pussy “A gift for me they were not. Perhaps an attempt to entice my lady love while I was away?”

“A failed one, then. My heart is perfectly content where it is,” you retort, a pleased smile breaking across his expression before he clears his throat and looks at you seriously.

“Even so. The very thought of somebody else’s hands on you–a touch uninvited by us, that is–I will not stand for it.”

“What do you suggest we do, then?” A soft palm slips down his abdomen, and he smirks down at you.

“I have a few suggestions. Each more depraved than the previous, and none you will approve of.”

His mouth closes over a nipple, sucking harshly, and this time you do moan.

“So-somebody might hear us!” Even so, you push his thigh back to push your hips into his, your lips parting at the press of his clothed arousal between your legs.

“Good. I feel that they can all do with a reminder of who you chose. Including me.” He bites down and you’re helpless to your combined lust in the way you grind against his erection. “This should be a fact they can never forget.“

In a quick movement, he’s shifted your positions, leaving you half-sitting on the balustrade. And then he’s sinking down to his knees, urgently planting hot kisses on the inside of your thighs as he spreads them. You can’t tear your eyes away from the entrance to the balcony, afraid that someone will walk in.

A soft click catches your attention and, incredulous, you look down to see him looking all too pleased with himself, holding your foot up to admire a delicate anklet studded with–

“Those better not be real,” you warn, and he simply smiles at you, pressing his lips to your ankle as his other hand slides up your leg. His tongue traces the skin surrounding the jewelled band, and all the fight leaves you, not that there was much of it in the first place.

He looks happy, after all.

He pets your clothed sex, moving on too smoothly for your liking. “Sometimes, I wonder. What would they think, if they smell you on my breath?”

He pulls the barrier of your panties aside; you can barely suck in a breath before you feel his tongue, hot and deliberate as it sweeps along your glistening slit.

“My, my. You’re nearly drenched. Does making me suffer bring you this much pleasure?” he teases, smiling up at you before closing his lips around your swelling clit. Your teeth sink into your lip as you hold your voice back, but he presses his teeth to the flesh, almost biting lightly and a loud cry forces its way out. Your hands are wrapped around the surface of the railing, knuckles white with strain, and with each second he spends sucking at your bundle of nerves your moans get frustratingly louder. “Good girl, let me hear you.”

You freeze when voices from the garden reach your straining ears. His tongue pushes past your entrance.

He won’t stop.

You can feel it building in you, the slow, familiar sweep of pleasure ready to greet you, and you know you don’t really want the others to hear you scream as you come. Your thoughts begin to cloud over, and you have to act.

“Please?” you whimper, threading your fingers through his hair. He freezes in place. “Not here.”

He peeks up at you, groaning when he catches sight of your face, lower lip jutting out and eyes pleading with him. “Princess, how am I supposed to punish you when you make that face?”

“I’m sorry,” you say as sincerely as possible, your smile clear in your voice.

“I shouldn’t be lenient,” he mutters, kissing the skin where your thigh meets your hip. “And it’s so lovely out here.”

You reach down to cup his cheek, unwavering in the face of his pouting. It’s the Van Gogh brothers down in the gardens, and you’re sure one of them will end you if you subject his brother to the sight of the Count taking you in the balcony. “Do you really want someone to see us?”

He hums, kissing your palm. “Maybe.”

You fight to keep the grin off your face as you school your face into something thoughtful and shy. “I could...I could show you how I’ve been touching myself while you’ve been away. I’ve missed you so much, I...did it almost every day.”

He stares at you.

“You, mon coeur, are bad, bad woman.” Desire flashes, burning bright, in his eyes. “Fine, if that’s what you wish.”

You can only laugh as, before you can feign innocence, he sweeps you into his arms, tugging your robe closed as he practically sprints through the doors. His growls at the way you lick down his neck are warnings, the flash of his fangs at you arousing you more than you would have once thought possible.

“I couldn’t sleep last night, wondering if I should just give in and sneak into your room. Wake you up with a sweet kiss or with your cock in my mouth,” you whisper in his ear, sucking at his earlobe. “You always like that.”

“___,” he warns, even as his grip tightens. “I’m not joking, my love. Say another word and you’ll live to regret it.”

You nod solemnly. He looks satisfied as you grow closer to his chambers. Just as the doors are in sight, you catch his attention with a quick oh!

“I used the hairbrush you gave me once. Just a little bit–”

He kicks the doors open and tosses you on the bed, striding back to slam them shut. There’s that dark, unforgiving sort of lust in his eyes and it’s exactly what you’ve been craving. You slip your robe off your shoulders as his thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, leaning over you to get them off as you pull the bustier over your head.

“On your back. Spread your legs, you know what to do. I want you ready for me.” He brushes your hair away from your forehead. “And darling–you will not come.”

Your fingers pause in their light stroking.

“Comte?”

“I know you heard me. Your first for the night will be with me. Allow me this, please.” He runs a warm palm up the length of your leg, and to your slight surprise, he takes a seat next to you instead. “Go on, show me.”

You’re inexplicably nervous at first, with him looming over you, but with the way his hands glide over every inch of your skin, tender yet possessive, and his mouth sampling wherever it pleases–it doesn’t take long before your hips are jerking up into your hand. His fingers caress your soft breasts, tugging at the pebbled peaks, sucking until they appear nearly swollen.

You peek up at him, catching the slight bob of his throat as he looks at the fingers sinking into your heat. You don’t think twice before slipping them out and holding them up to his mouth, and he takes them into his mouth with a soft groan and you take this wonderful opportunity to peek at the tent at the front of his pants.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he says, but doesn’t stop licking until your skin is free of your slick.

“You just looked so hungry, I couldn’t help it.” He doesn’t argue and doesn’t fight you when you pull him down next to you. He just watches you, fervent and patient, breath growing heavier as you unbutton his shirt before shifting your attention to his pants, tugging them down his toned thighs, smiling at the wet spot in his silk underpants before you help him pull them off.

His hips jerk up when your tongue circles his nipples, his hands digging into the sheets as you lick a warm path across his collarbone, a choked groan leaving him when your hand sneaks past his neglected cock to cup his balls. But as you’d suspected, his patience is nowhere to be found tonight as he groans and yanks you up into a torrid kiss.

“I thought you were going to punish me,” you manage to ask in between his heated kisses, hot jolts of arousal sparking through you at his weak moans as you stroke his cock, spreading his slick along the length.

“Later,” he mumbles, dragging his tongue along your jaw, his abdomen taut as he twists under your touch. “Later. I need you.”

He sits up, his tongue still licking into your mouth, and his hands are everywhere. On the nape of your neck, down your spine, digging into your waist, squeezing your ass. Urgent, needy sounds escape his mouth and send your blood pumping through you.

It’s one of those nights.

You hold him close, even as he moans at the slow rut of your hips against his, your dripping entrance sliding over his length and back, and his fingers dig into your skin as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes, lips never too far from yours.

There are times when he loves a slow, unhurried seduction, to woo you and take his time pampering you. And there are times when he all he needs is to lose himself in your heat, needs you to peel back his carefully crafted layers and dig into the man underneath, to pull him out and hold him to your chest. This man who loses his composure, who throws his head back on a near-silent moan as you sink onto his length, who clings to you as you begin a quick, harsh tempo.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, your voice breaking, spine arching when he slips in deeper. “I’ve got you.”

He holds on to your hips when you falter, stopping you from rising up and keeping his cock deep in you. “Ma moité. If I could, I would stay here forever. I would keep you in my bed, bury myself in you and never move again.”

“Fu-,” you gasp as he grinds deeper, as if trying to gain access to your very soul, to get his hands on what makes you you and hoard it for himself. He thrusts up, his grip on your hips helping you move against him, forcing you harder onto his cock.

“Mm. Je t'aime et je t'aimerai pour toujours.” You shudder as his honeyed tone roughens into a rumble. He kisses you, hard and fast, and your mind can’t muster up a coherent thought as he bounces you in his lap.

Comte stops to rise to his knees and press you into the bed, hooking your legs around his waist. He continues to push deeper, with his cock and his body, until your legs are bent, thighs nearly touching your sides.

“Hold on tight, darling.”

You’re going to need tomorrow off, you realize in a distant part of your mind as he rears back to slam his hips into yours. Your head crashes back into the plush mattress, muscles straining as you try to meet his thrusts. The refined persona sheds completely and his fangs slip out, and your breath catches in your throat, your cunt clenching tight in the face of the other side of him. His hair is in complete disarray, falling wildly around him, his eyes are all greed and lust, but his hands are gentle as they slip into yours and pin them above your head.

“You’re so beautiful. So bright,” he murmurs, pressing rough kisses over your breasts, groaning at the taste of your skin. And you can only laugh, at this moon turned man kissing his devotion onto your skin when you’re burning inside out with desire and elation, when you’ve managed to draw the moon down into your arms and hold him in your arms.

“I love you,” you sob, trembling with the force of his thrusts and the ardour in his gaze. The anklet jiggles where it hangs over your ankle. You drop your head back, baring your throat to him and you can feel him struggle with his overwhelming need as he whines low in his throat and leans in.

“And I love you.”

His fangs graze your skin ever so lightly even as he pounds into you, and with one last thought of how there probably hadn’t been any point in retreating to the bedroom, you scream as his fangs break through the barrier of your skin. One of his hands slips between your legs, pressing insistently.

“My name, ma chérie. Say my name.”

It leaves you on a broken moan as you come hard around him, your walls squeezing him frantically, and his hips stutter as he continues to suck greedily, his sinful moans muffled by your skin. You can’t stop trembling as he pumps himself into you, mind-numbing pleasure stealing your mind away. His mouth leaves your skin just as he loses control, a warmth filling your trembling sex as you watch him swallow dazedly.

His pupils are blown almost completely wide as his licks around the edges of his lips, hips slowing to a stop as you both look at each other, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat. His blinks rapidly at the taste of your blood, looking half-intoxicated, eyes raking over your flushed skin and wild hair.

“...are you alright?” he asks gently, and you can’t quite speak just yet, nodding mutely in response. He licks the puncture wound clean, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you up, shuffling around the bed until he relaxes back into the pillows with you clinging to him, his softening length still buried in you. “Could we stay like this for a while?”

“Mm. Yes, please,” you finally mumble, and he holds you tighter, smoothing his hand up and down your back. “Feels nice.”

He laughs softly, and you muster up all your strength to shift up and kiss him straight on the mouth, the taste of copper strong on your tongue. You brush past it insistently, tangling your tongue with his as you swallow his soft noises. He keeps you there, breath mingling, smiling fondly as you fight to keep your eyes open, your skin pleasantly warm against his.

His skin is bright with the afterglow, every line of his face relaxed, and you marvel at how unguarded he looks right now. Even now, moonlight falls in through the windows, trying to reach him, but he’s content to kiss the tip of your nose with a soft mwah, repeating it despite your complaints about sweat. You return it, stretching up to reach his nose, and it turns into a swift exchange of kisses until you’re both smiling like complete fools.

“...Did you really use the hairbrush?” He sighs softly, tucking your head under his chin. “I would love to see that, but I can always get you better toys.”

Your responding snort is more amused than disgruntled. “Would that include ones I can use on you?”

He’s quiet for a moment, before pressing his slow smile into your hair, the rise and fall of his chest steady under your cheek.

“Mm. Anything you want.”

Translations:

ma chérie: my darling

mon trésor: my treasure

Mon moité: my (other/better) half

Je t'aime et je t'aimerai pour toujours: I love you and I will always love you/I will love you forever

ending note bc I can’t shut up: the moon was so gorgeous last night, I actually stepped out to get a better look. It seemed to have an almost golden tint to it, which made me think ‘Ah, yes. Comte.’ And then I rushed back in. Yes I’m that b*tch. Romance, baby. its 6 am i havent slept

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire comte #le comte de saint germain #ikevam comte #will i ever stop rambling nervously in my posts #a question for the universe #ok i've agonized long enough #im posting and going to bed #IM DONE #any editing will have to wait till i wake up #if i f*cked up somewhere...pm me plz #ikevamp #ikevam

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absolutelyabby23 · 3 years

Text

Rationality and Philosophy (Analogical Oneshot)

Summary: (Hurt/Comfort) Logan always has the answers. He always knows how to comfort Virgil. Virgil starts to doubt how much good he can do for the relationship. When Logan starts having doubts about his own life, Virgil must find his own way to help.

Word Count: 1,094

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of self-doubt, anxiety surrounding driving, and spiraling thoughts. Let me know if I missed anything!

Author’s note: Oh my goodness I’m actually writing a Sanders Sides fic again! It’s been a while. College got really busy and I couldn’t find a lot of time to write. Thanks to some encouragement from the “Logan'' in my life, I was able to find the motivation to write again. As always, likes and comments are appreciated! Also, feel free to drop some prompt ideas in my ask box. I mainly write Analogical, Prinxiety, and Logicality. I hope to create more content soon. I especially want to create a DnD oneshot to go with my college AU soon!

Curiosity in college is not an uncommon occurrence. Students are constantly curious about their course of study, where the best place is to eat, when the next test is, and even about how other students manage and engage in relationships. This was the case with Virgil Evans and his boyfriend, Logan Sanders. People often asked Virgil how the two met and how they were pulling off such a successful college romance amongst the many hookups and breakups surrounding them. Virgil thought about this often and was able to come up with his own explanation.

Virgil, accompanied by his stormy personality, was like a hurricane. His anxiety and generally pessimistic attitude could be considered unpredictable and detrimental at times. His overthinking tendencies were the winding winds that swirled and twirled around in a dangerous dance. Logan, with his calming logic, was like a brick building in the middle of all of that. Logan stayed strong even when things threw him for a loop. And the brick building, in this case, was also capable of shooting a laser that could remove the danger and calm the storm. After Virgil thought about it for a while, he considered this analogy might not be the most straightforward. Oh well. He was more known for his anxiety, not his rationality.

These kinds of ponderings made Virgil begin to question his relationship dynamic. Was Logan really the only one contributing to progress and solutions during times of distress? He started to think back through the course of their relationship. Logan had done so many things to help Virgil and keep their relationship strong.

Virgil remembered how Logan read about grounding exercises and helped keep him calm at parties. He made sure that Virgil never felt alone and was comfortable enough to wander outside of his comfort zone. Had that ended in Virgil drinking a bit too much wine and telling some freshmen girls how he was going to be the husband of the teaching major across the room? Well, at least he had made some genuine friends.

Logan was always there even during the little events. Virgil began to think back to a time that he was forced to take the freeway because he had missed the turn onto his beloved, backroad route.

“Why are they so close to me?! They’re gonna run me off the road!” Virgil wailed as he sped shakily along. He felt as though all eyes were on him and his less than stellar driving. He could hear the chorus of horns on the verge of harmonizing in a strangely symphonic manner. In reality, nobody was going to honk at him as he was driving just fine. However, in Virgil’s mind, the very road was on the verge of collapse. Suddenly, a reassuring hand was gingerly placed on his shoulder and Logan’s voice began to block out the panic with his smooth, almost rhythmic tone.

“Virgil, I understand your fears when it comes to driving. Operating a vehicle can be a dangerous task and a huge responsibility. However, you need to trust yourself and know that you are more than capable of handling the task at hand.” Virgil felt his anxiety symptoms start to lessen more and more. Logan had him focus on the exit numbers to ground himself and before one could say “falsehood,” Logan and Virgil had arrived safely at their destination.

All the evidence seemed to point to the fact that Logan was the more beneficial partner in their relationship. This concept kept bothering Virgil throughout the next few days. The doubts and worries were still whirling about in Virgil’s head when Logan asked him out on a stargazing date on top of the chemistry building.

The conversation started normally. Jokes were made about recent episodes of their favorite podcast between silent bites of the sandwiches made by their mutual friend Patton as a surprise for the happy couple. Virgil never minded the silence between him and Logan. There was a sort of secure peace to it. However, as the night went on, Virgil began to notice that the silence was being filled with spirals of words much heavier than the usual flirty and light, domestic banter.

“I mean, what if teaching isn’t my ‘thing’ to do, Virge?” Logan rambled. “I mean what if I’m horrible or hate my job or become a terribly mean person or-”

“Logan!” Virgil interrupted. “You’re going to be a great teacher! You are the smartest man I know. You can solve every problem and you know when you need to learn as well. I’m sure everything will work out fine.” Logan sighed in response, clearly not believing Virgil’s sudden outburst of optimism. Virgil was suddenly struck with an idea.

“Look up at the stars,” he instructed. Logan refused at first, looking at Virgil with that “what does this have to do with anything” look. But, after pulling Logan closer and tilting his head up so it was leaning against Virgil’s chest, a quick kiss on the forehead convinced him to look.

“Those stars are infinite. Imagine that you had to create a picture out of them. If you had to follow the exact patterns of the ancient constellations, your choices might be limited. It would be easy to get frustrated following that designated path. But, guess what! You don’t have to follow the pattern! In all that chaos, you can choose any line lengths and skip or include any points of light. Hell, you could even throw a satellite in just for fun! The picture is then whatever you want.

It’s just like your career path. You get to choose what kind of teacher you want to be. You don’t even have to choose! You can be whatever you want to be. You can get lost in the chaos of the cosmos or find some kind of insanely genius logic in all of it. But, either way, I’ll be exploring by your side.” Virgil finished with a blush as Logan looked at him with wide, blue eyes.

“That was… astute,” Logan grinned as he gave his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek. Virgil took account of a few things after Logan had fallen asleep on his shoulder. The first was that Virgil now knew he was capable of taking care of Logan in his own way. The second was that the two were capable of navigating uncertain times just as they had navigated the traffic-filled roads of the freeway. The third was that, despite the fact that his arm was falling asleep, Virgil had never been happier.

Taglist under the cut (Let me know if you would like to be added or removed!):

@completelyclevername @monstercupcake61176 @sanders-sides-thuri @tinysidestrashcaptain @minamishipsit @whyamihereohwell @smokeyrutilequartz @misty-the-mysterious @author-trash @madly-handsome @tree4life25 @cloudchaser7 @logically-asexual @freepaperie081 @anony-phangirl @remmythepegasis @hanramz-the-fander @cinquefoilelove @octopushugs @romanssippycup @i-am-absolute-fandom-trash @vexation-virgil @grey-lysander @poisonedapples @robanilla @cheezeykat @heyzpeoplez @pheartheraven @beenlightenedboi @bubblycricket @changeling-ash @hi-disappointed-im-daughter @louvrejpeg @namirastar @deathbyvenusftw @ilylogan @violetmcl @angered-turtle @confinesofpersonalknowledge @blacknightmare37 @sanderstalker

#romantic analogical #sanders sides #virgil/logan #virgil sanders #logan sanders #romantic Virgil/Logan #shortysetter23writes #thomas sanders #anxiety sanders #logic sanders

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plounce · 4 years

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do u have any reccomendations for how to read only comics involving rictor and shatterstar?? i used to be into marvel comics so i am immune to the usual comic shenanigans but i would like to learn more about these boys

here is a guide to reading xmen comics for rictor and shatterstar, my favorite canon comics couple! they were the first on-panel gay kiss in a marvel comic! they’re very special to me!

OKAY SO... ok. for anyone else using this, here’s a standard disclaimer that obviously there’s gonna be a lot in these that just absolutely sucks because 1. the 90s, 2. comics are an extremely cishet white male dominated industry. i do not vouch for everything written in these comics, but i think the gaycoding that eventually gets canonized is worth wading through a lot of stupid bullshit and very ugly art.

quick backstory on these two: rictor is a mexican teenager who was kidnapped by an anti-mutant terrorist group and was rescued by x-factor (the original 5). he hung around their auxiliary teen group the x-terminators for most of x-factor, being a delightful little punk (wearing a sleeveless leather vest a lot of the time!) and hanging out with boom-boom (who i love) and then got put into the new mutants for a very short time (where he had a thing with rahne/wolfsbane), before it was dissolved and transformed into x-force when rob liefeld took over the title. rictor hates team leader 90sdude cable because he thinks cable killed his dad in front of him. he tends to be the snarky asshole on the team.

the first part of this article has a lot of little rictor moments i’m not covering here. if you want the full rictor experience, check out x-factor (1986) and !x-terminators! x-factor starts very slowly but it picks up and improves when the simonsons take the helm.

rictor left the team. shatterstar was introduced by liefeld - he’s an Emotionless Warrior Guy Who Loves To Fight from mojoworld (a planet run by a despot who produces tv. it’s Commentary), where he was forced to be a gladiator from birth and doesn’t know a lot of earth customs and doesn’t have emotions (or rather, he represses them).

x-force (1991) feel free to read through all of it, but in case you just want to skip to these two, all of these issues have one or two good little Moments - just do some skimming. i tend to focus more on rictor than star in this era because star is made more interesting than Emotionless Warrior Guy by butting up against rictor:

13-16 (rictor rejoins his old new mutants friends)

19, 21-26 (the first phase of their relationship where they don’t really get along. in one of these issues rictor stares at star’s ass. big moment of star being autism-coded in here too)

29-30 (rictor drives shatterstar around and they seem to get along better, you get to learn a bit about star’s past, adam-x the x-treme is there)

32-33 (just some little moments of them hanging out, a couple good rictor lines)

34 (VERY IMPORTANT - rictor backstory issue! AND this has the first big Subtext moment: shatterstar reveals he learned spanish from tv so he and rictor can have “conversations of a highly -- personal nature” HELLO?)

35 (some little moments where you can see star and rictor are now Friends and star is affected by that friendship)

39-40 (more good friendship - rictor asks if star has been watching dating shows and they just seem close. rictor also has gotten a haircut! we learn shatterstar’s mojoworld designation! they ride some motorcycles!)

43 (VERY IMPORTANT - the two go to a club. rictor tells star he’s a virgin then asks him if he has a dick. i am not kidding this literally happens. star learns what sexual attraction feels like and says ‘i don’t know what emotions im supposed to attach to that’, and rictor tells him he’ll help him learn.)

44 (VERY IMPORTANT - rictor leaves the team because he doesn’t want to have the team communicate telepathically (VERY interesting for a character who is eventually revealed to have been a closeted gay man). shatterstar begs him not to leave - “you’re my best and only friend.” rictor tells him that if he ever needs him, he’ll come back.)

cable (1993) #22 (follows up directly on rictor leaving the team - star accompanies rictor to the airport and has a lot of Feelings and has great hair. “julio. one last time. please, change your mind. what am i going to do without you?” oh so you’re dependent on your best friend who you’re in love with? oh?)

45, 47-48 (star’s weird biology, star brings up rictor as his emotional touchstone in a situation where he isn’t relevant at all. also, a plotline where tabby gets treated terribly by her friends and the narrative!)

49 (VERY IMPORTANT - star wanders around at night wondering why rictor hasn’t contacted him yet. he goes to the club he and rictor went to in #43 and turns down a girl who hits on him. he thinks “i miss julio...” (in an earlier issue, rictor tells cable not to call him by his first name - “only my mom calls me that”), then beats up some homophobes in an alley. I AM NOT KIDDING.)

51-52 (51 has more weird star biology. 52 has two pages of star and james talking that is a nice look at star’s developing emotional state - the rest of 52 is a fight with one of marvel’s extremely fatphobic villains, just a warning to skip the rest of it. although the letter page of 52 has someone go HEY ARE RICTOR AND SHATTERSTAR IN LOVE? thank you roeland looman from the netherlands)

54-56 (the start of shatterstar’s weird bad benjamin russell backstory that is quickly forgotten, disregarded, and uncared about by everybody. BUT in 54, there is some extremely loud subtext where star’s feelings for rictor are explicitly compared to a het romance subplot!)

58 (star is very chill and flamboyant for like two pages, it’s great)

59-61 (VERY IMPORTANT - rictor returns because star Needs him in the midst of his identity crisis!! it’s so joyful and sweet for them both, and the subtext is so LOUD here - there’s just. so much going on, i won’t describe it all, but it’s very good content and their emotionally intimate relationship is very apparent - really excellent gaycoding. the weird shatterstar backstory wraps up circuitously and to no great effect, but the art in the last issue is very nice, and rictor’s plain and uncomplicated concern for star is great.)

63-65 (some little moments - shatterstar and rictor time travel and beat up some nazis, star has a lovely conversation with siryn,)

x-force/cable ‘97 (the team goes to asgard! the important thing is that star says some goofy “ah... warriors...” things, and then rictor teases star for liking delivery pizza. it’s very charming)

67 (they hang out with tabby in a van. shatterstar has pigtails!)

70 (VERY IMPORTANT - rictor and shatterstar exit the team together to go take down rictor’s crime family in mexico! they seem very devoted to each other. shatterstar’s hair is all the way down!)

post leaving x-force:

76 (VERY IMPORTANT - ricstar return for one issue - rictor gets held captive to force shatterstar to fight domino!)

x-force annual 1999 (VERY IMPORTANT - ricstar get their own story about what they’re doing in mexico! shatterstar has an ugly little goatee, but rictor looks great! they choose to share a room rather than sleep separately and then it kind of feels like they shared a bed! rictor has learned star’s alien language! they genuinely just seem so close and comfortable with each other, it’s incredible.) (if you’re using RTO, it’s within the rest of xforce’s issues)

they’re both in comics limbo for the first half of the 00s besides a couple random flavorless appearances. shatterstar at some point goes back to mojoworld to help with the war against mojo. then we hit peter david’s x-factor run in 2006, known as x-factor investigations (xfi). this directly follows the “house of m” event - what matters is that the vast majority of mutants have been depowered by the scarlet witch. rictor is one of them.

rictor is a main character of the team from the first issue (the series opens with him about to attempt suicide), so if you wanna read the run you can start from the beginning. x-factor is... well, there are worse-written comics. it’s an okay read, but i find PAD’s writing insufferable a lot of the time (he writes multiple man as a pretty blatant self insert, and literally every girl on the team wants to fuck him at some point or another). i read the whole thing and it’s decent comics, but you might want to skip to the ricstar.

PAD canonizes ricstar, which is great! but unfortunately: 1. he writes star as “slutty bisexual just can’t stop wanting to fuck people besides his partner who is uncomfortable with that!”, which is biphobic and sucks hugely, especially since it feels so different from xforce original shatterstar (see this post). rictor also just seems so annoyed with him all the time, which also sucks - they’re best friends!! let rictor like his boyfriend!!

anyway. if you choose not to read all of xfi, here are the ricstar highlights:

first issue of xfi for rictor's horrible mental state after m-day

14 (jamie implies that star would be jealous of rictor hanging out with quicksilver)

43, 45, 49 (star reappears!! he’s mindcontrolled, but it gets fixed, and he and rictor have the first ever on panel gay kiss at marvel!! yaaaay!! then they talk about their relationship a little)

after issue #50 it changes the numbering, so if you’re using RCO youll have to go to xfactor (1986) #200 to continue

200 (SHATTERSTAR FIGHTS THE THING!)

continue to read between here for star apparently being unable to stop kissing people. sigh. star sleeps with adult layla, which... sigh. whatever

207-208 (rictor and shatterstar semi-resolve the stupid biphobic plotline, resolve to work on their relationship, rahne discovers them (she and rictor had been sleeping together earlier in xfi), rahne is pregnant and homophobic, rahne and star fight, star is a delightful bitch)

209 (shatterstar on a pirate ship. that's it)

210 (rictor confirms that he is gay and it wasn’t legit when he’s been with women. there’s a moment where it's like "oh star makes rictor laugh" which is epic)

211-212 (star is said to be frustrated about rictor and rahne, rahne’s baby’s actual dad is revealed)

213 (rictor and rahne mostly resolve their shit)

216 (star and monet hang out, star thinks monet tells him to pee on rictor, spiderman is there)

217 (there’s a joke about the longstanding theory that longshot and star are related, monet is revealed as muslim in a very dumb way)

220 (star and rahne have a pretty nice conversation about their relationships to rictor and rahne’s faith. rictor does an offscreen internalized homophobia)

221 (star and rahne continue to hang out but it’s not as good as the previous issue.)

222 (oh my god, rictor cares about shatterstar being hurt! rahne owns up to how she kind of treated rictor like shit!)

pop over to avengers: the children’s crusade (a young avengers miniseries with good ol’ billy/teddy and i like it! but if you don’t want to read the whole thing - rictor and shatterstar appear in #6, and rictor is the first mutant to be repowered! they’re more tender with each other over their five page appearance than they are in xfi, so it’s a balm)

225-226 (PAD decides the first thing rictor does with his powers is be a scab [DEEP SIGH], rictor and shatterstar discuss rictor getting his powers back, the biphobic plotline is resolved again kind of in a very PAD-y way)

235-236 (shatterstar gets to be the main character of a mini arc. fights a mojo guy)

238 (ricstar go with rahne to help her find her son)

242 (they find her son. not as important imo)

248 (oh my god... they joke together :) they like being around each other :) also shatterstar goodboy moment. then in 249 rictor’s life is spared bc of shatterstar’s goodboy moment)

259 (SHATTERSTAR’S CRAZY CONVOLUTED BACKSTORY THAT ACTUALLY MATTERS TO HIS CHARACTER! YAHOO! and star has a cute little bob)

after xfi wraps up, there’s a couple years of limbo before they appear in secret warriors (2017) #2-3 (end of #2 and most of #3), which is a big crossover event or something. i don’t know, it’s an inhumans comic, and as an xmen person i am contractually obligated to roll my eyes at the inhumans. ricstar both have mustaches, star doesn’t speak, and rictor has the ugliest costume ever (green tracksuit with no socks??) (tabby also has a terrible costume). it’s just more inhumans trying to be a match to the xmen and utterly failing to not look & act like total jackasses (except, of course, for kamala and moon girl). rictor’s jokes that daisy johnson should get more original powers (she also has seismic powers - rictor predates her!), and then daisy blows up the xmen’s jet. while it’s in the air. this is a very neat summary of most mutant-inhuman relations.

now we enter the current era of “on again off again” relationship limbo.

rictor appears next in iceman (2017). in #9 he states that he and star have apparently broken up offscreen! and then he hits on bobby! sina grace is a cool person but this writing decision is so... aghhh. the next issue he and bobby go out on a date and he’s immediately like “yeah i only have my eyes on star”, so it seems to be more “it’s complicated” than “we’re broken up for good.” he sticks around to help out with a mission in #10-11.

they’re on again in new mutants: dead souls, where rictor is a part of the team and he’s hilarious and has so many great lines! shatterstar also makes a couple cameos throughout and they’re all super sweet! they seem very domestic and comfortable and happy, i love their dynamic in this. my favorite shatterstar panel ever is in #6, where he is making rictor pancakes and is only wearing an apron. please ignore all the big plot things that happen at the end of this, especially everything with karma. they are stupid, dumb, and do not matter.

related to nm:ds, rictor appears in multiple man #1 as part of that team and looks very very cute. and he isn’t whitewashed like in nm:ds!

off again in the shatterstar (2018) miniseries. i have a lot of mixed feelings about this because i LOVE all the rictor stuff, the first issue codes shatterstar as autistic in a very characterful way, it doesn’t whitewash rictor for once, and the covers are GORGEOUS! but it also attempts to retcon a ton of star’s emotional backstory AND arc set out in xforce, casting a black woman as his emotionally manipulative ex. also star is a landlord (ew). my advice with this one is to treat all the flashbacks as not-really-canon since they suck.

star appears in extermination (2018) #3-4 and gets mind-controlled into trying to kill the time-displaced teen o5 (timetraveling baby cable is trying to put them back where they came from), and the art looks great and i feel really bad for him. rictor makes a follow-up cameo in uncanny x-men (2019) #9-10, where you can see that he’s at the school in order to visit shatterstar since he’s with cecelia reyes. he then goes to fight nate grey/x-man, where he gets sucked into the age of x-man pocket universe/event.

around half the xmen get trapped and brainwashed in that pocket universe where there is no love or family, merely friendship and comradery (it’s an attempt by nate grey to ‘fix’ the xmen by getting rid of all the soap opera stuff - it’s a bit meta wrt how xmen are the soap opera superheroes). there are a couple different titles for this event: rictor appears in age of x-man: x-tremists #4-5. people have mixed feelings about this title due to the gay characters (northstar and iceman) enforcing no-romance laws that very intentionally parallel anti-gay laws from real life, but rictor is just chilling and running an illegal romance movies theatre, and then he gets drunk and then starts a riot and he’s just delightful in this.

everyone outside of the pocket universe thinks everyone who disappeared was killed. shatterstar is part of the team in x-force (2019) (there are two 2019 x-forces: this is vol 5, written by ed brisson) who are trying to track down young cable (baby cable, or “bable”), who killed older cable, who formed good old 90s xforce. boom-boom is the best part of this entire run, hands down. the art is expressive and interesting but i Hate how they draw warpath (the one time he’s free from comic book limbo!). shatterstar is in full “i only like fighting please let me fight i am a difficult asshole” mode, and talks about grieving rictor in #7 and #10. this is never really resolved since age of x-man is thrown over for hoxpox (BIG status quo changes & current era of xmen comics), but aside from my little ricstar heart i can’t really mind.

rictor is currently appearing as part of the team in excalibur (2019), and has been very... cozy... with apocalypse. at the time of writing (halloween 2020), it’s very heavily ambiguous what exactly their relationship is besides “intense” and i still have no clue what to think about it. he and star have been stated by the writer to be exes, but i also know tini howard is a ricstar fan so im holding out for good things! and it’s cool that rictor is getting a ton of focus and a lot of powering up. i remember reading xfi #1 and being amazed at how rictor described how soul-deep his earth powers were and wanting more of that, and excalibur has that for him in spades. (i am still withholding a lot of judgment wrt rictor’s writing in excalibur until i see how things pan out)

after reading to excalibur #12, switch over to x-factor (2020). read the first three issues because i love northstar and prodigy and rachel. please ignore a couple cringe comments towards poor daken. shatterstar appears in #3, trapped on mojoworld, getting traumatized, and breaking my heart as i write this. that last data page... free my boy!!!!

after x-factor #3, read x of swords: creation. more rictor and apocalypse being Close. after that, read x-factor #4 for apocalypse being very Attached to rictor, and then rictor looking very good and freshly resurrected. then continue reading excalibur. in may, x-factor is going back to mojoworld!!

that’s all there is so far! i think within the next year there will be even more content for us, and im very eager to get to that content. i will update this post as things come out.

#ricstar #xmen #rictor #shatterstar #julio richter #chirps #anonymous

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

Just Like a Woman - Part 5

A Roger Taylor x Reader Fic

Summary: You and Roger were once in love when you were young. Only, he went on to be a rock star, and you went on to be a lawyer. Now, quite against your will, you’re representing him in his divorce.

Word Count: 4.9k (a lot needed to happen im sorry)

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @moon-stars-soul, @im-an-adult-ish, @ixchel-9275, @jennyggggrrr, @zyanmaik, @mypassionfortrash, @a19103, @madeinheavxn, @beepbeephardy, @lizawritesthings, @qweenly, @blisshemmings, @seasidecrowbar, @internationalkpoplova, @ellystone, @takemetoneverland420, @coffeexcigarette, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @thatpunkmaximoff, @angelkissys, @rocknroll-stolemyass, @simonedk, @anotheronebitesrogertaylor, @peterquillzblog, @mrfahrenhcit, @joseph-mozzerella, @theprettyandthereckless, @flick-ofthe-wrist, @johndeaconshands, @rogerandhiscar, @queenmaracasandlove, @sunflower-ben, @cubetriangle, @amy-brooklyn99, @scorpiogemini, @kiainspace, @itsabenthing, @bookandband, @makemeyourwife-loveofmylife, @grazessa If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Will things finally turn around for Y/N and Roger?

Warning(s): None :)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 here we go!!!

“He said that?!” Roger questioned, incredulous.

“Yeah,” you sniffled. “Fucking prick.”

You sat together in the booth at the studio. Roger was making you a cup of tea. You told him everything you discussed at the therapist’s office and the things Mark said to you. He let you cry on his shoulder at the start before getting up for the tea for the finale. Now, as he handed it to you, his eyes were narrowed with confusion and hurt for you.

“That really is an awful thing to say,” he agreed. “I mean, it’s one thing to say he doesn’t feel like he can be with you but to say that love is wasted on you….first of all, it’s not true. Second of all, it’s vicious. He was trying to hurt you.”

“Maybe I deserved it,” you said, looking away. “I haven’t been the best girlfriend to him. I’ve been afraid and hesitant and….I know I’ve hurt him.”

“Doesn’t give him the right to say something like that,” Roger argued. “And you didn’t hurt him intentionally.”

“That’s true,” you conceded.

“Besides, you’re an incredible person,” he went on. “Love isn’t wasted on you. I don’t think love is wasted on anybody really, but least of all you.”

You forced a smile. “Thanks.”

He sipped his tea and looked at you. You simply stared at yours, eyes fixed on the steam rising out of the cup.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said. “You’re hurting and it’s not fair. And it’s partly my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Rog,” you replied softly. “I wouldn’t take back a single moment with you. Not for anyone or anything.”

He paused at that, taking it in. A part of him had always wondered if you regretted being with him after the way he hurt you. It was a relief to know you didn’t.

“Me neither,” he said.

Another beat passed. He watched you drum your fingers against your mug. Then he got an idea.

“I know what’ll cheer you up,” he said, offering his hand. “Come with me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Where?”

“We’re not leaving the building, we’re just going to the keyboard,” he said.

“Okay…” you agreed hesitantly.

He helped you off the couch and led you into the studio. Holding Roger’s hand felt familiar, but in that odd way where you think it was something you must have dreamed. You reached the keyboard and sat down beside him. You both placed your beverages on the table to the side.

“I might be rusty, so apologies in advance,” he said.

You nodded. Then, he began to play an old, familiar tune.

“Lida Rose, I’m home again, Rose,” he began to sing. “To get the sun back in the sky. Lida Rose, I’m home again, Rose. About a thousand kisses shy…”

You nearly started crying again. The Music Man was your father’s absolute favorite, and he had taught you and Roger almost every song from it. There were enough duets for you two and it was fun to play and sing together. As Roger sang through the first part, your eyes watered. He looked at you and smiled gently.

“So here is my love song, Not fancy or fine, Lida Rose, oh won’t you be mine? Lida Rose, Oh, Lida Rose, Oh…”

He finished, picked up the tempo and looped back around. He began again, and this time you joined him.

“Dream of now,” you sang shakily. “Dream of then. Dream of a love song, That might have been. Do I love you? Oh, yes, I love you. And I’ll bravely tell you. But only when we dream again….”

As the song progressed, you and Roger’s smiles widened as you held each other’s gaze. You were back in your parents’ living room, just barely teenagers and singing together while your father watched you behind a cup of tea and a cigar.

“Forever. Oh, yes, forever. Will I ever tell you? Oh, no…”

“Lida Rose, Oh, Lida Rose, Oh…”

You each finished your parts. A real, genuine smile claimed your lips now as you looked at him. Then you heaved a sigh and rested your head on his shoulder. You fit there like a missing puzzle piece. It hit him all at once just how much he had been missing it.

“Thank you, Roger,” you said. “You always did know how to cheer me up.”

“Well, it’s always been that song, how could I forget?” he joked.

You hummed lightly. “You’re not rusty, you know. I don’t think you missed a note.”

“Do you sing The Music Man much anymore?” he wondered.

“No,” you said wistfully. “Not since Dad died.”

“Well, you haven’t lost your touch either,” he returned.

Your forehead was so close to his lips. He ached to kiss it. To feel your familiar skin against his mouth again. You always said forehead kisses were your favorite because they made you feel safe. Roger didn’t admit it, but they were his favorite too because they made him feel like he could take care of you. Now, he once again felt the sharp pang of regret that he hadn’t. To ease his own heart, he prepared to take the risk and kiss you.

But you sat up.

He bit back a frustrated groan.

“I wanted to apologize for what I said to you outside the bar,” you said, still looking at the keyboard. “It was harsh.”

“It was true,” he said. “I understand you were feeling hurt. I just wish you’d let me explain.”

“Can I explain first?” you asked, looking at him now.

“Sure,” he allowed.

“I was so upset because when you told me you’d met Dominique so soon after we broke up, it made me feel like you lied to me when you left,” you said. “It wasn’t that you didn’t want to settle down. You didn’t want to settle down with me.”

“That wasn’t the case,” he said. “Like I told you, Dom and I weren’t anything close to what you and I were. We started off as a one night thing. We tried being together, but we broke up a hundred times. We got married on a whim sort of. We decided we wanted to have a family, so...you get it.”

“She told me that…” you trailed off, not really sure you wanted to confess this to him.

“What?” he pressed. “What did she tell you?”

“She told me that you never stopped loving me,” you admitted. You looked away from him again. “But I didn’t believe her.”

He opened his mouth to reply and closed it again. What he felt during his time without you was so complex, he hardly understood it himself. He missed you. Terribly, at first. But then, he really did fuck around and do whatever he wated. He had fun. But he still missed you. He met Dom, and she sort of took your place, but she wasn’t you. No one could ever be what you were to him.

“She’s partly right,” he said. “I always remembered you and thought of you. I had love for you throughout everything. And I always will.”

“Well, I hope you got everything you wanted,” you scoffed. “And you're satisfied with your exploration.”

“Yeah, I got it all out, I suppose,” he said. “I mean, I’ll never lose the thrill of performing, but when it comes to women…”

“Roger, can I ask you something?” you put forth. “And I want you to be totally honest.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said nervously.

“When you got through those feelings,” you said. “Why didn’t you -”

You didn’t get to finish your question. At that moment, the door opened and Freddie, Brian, and John walked in. They all seemed struck by your presence.

“Well, Roger, we wondered why you never showed up to lunch, but it appears we have our answer,” John said. “Hi, Y/N.”

You beamed at them. It had been so long, and they all looked so different now. But also much the same, especially their faces.

“Hi, guys,” you returned, getting to your feet.

Freddie approached you first. He wrapped you up in his arms as you laughed, embracing him in return.

“What brings you here, darling?” he asked. As he pulled away, he glanced over you. “What a gorgeous thing you’ve grown up to be!”

“Thanks, Fred,” you returned with a laugh. “I actually didn’t intend on coming here, I just...well, I split up with my boyfriend and on my way back to work I - quite literally - ran into Roger.”

You hugged Brian and John as well, exchanging pleasantries. All the while, Roger’s leg bounced with anticipation. He had no idea what you were going to ask him, and he desperately wanted to give you any answers he was capable of giving.

“I really should be going,” you said. “I’ve got a lot of work to do for Miss Thomas’s case. Mr. Broome is in court tomorrow for his annulment and I need to be prepared.”

Roger jumped up.

“Wait, Y/N, you had something you wanted to ask me,” he said.

“We’ll talk more later, okay?” you returned.

“Okay, sure,” he said reluctantly.

You walked back over to him. His eyes were intense and longing. You were sure yours were the same. Then, you stood up on your toes, your body against his, your hands on his shoulders, and you kissed him on the cheek. His skin was warm and soft. He still smelled like he used to, only with a hint of more cigarettes. You heard him inhale deeply. His hands moved to your hips. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. You moved away, he helped steady you as you came back down on your heels. Then you locked eyes with him again.

“Thank you,” you said.

He could only nod. His heart was beating so wildly at you being close to him again. He watched you hopelessly as you grabbed your purse and coat. You waved to the guys, shared one last meaningful look with him, and then you were gone.

“Geez, Rog, what was all that about?” Brian wondered.

“Her boyfriend broke up with her because of me,” Roger answered. “We got to talking and now I….” he trailed off.

“Start from the beginning,” said John.

Roger told them. About your fight at the bar. He conveyed what he remembered you told the therapist and then what Mark said to you. They were all as disturbed by it as he was. Then he told them everything the two of you said to each other.

“Roger, this is getting complicated,” Brian said. “The two of you just need to sit down and have it all out.”

“I’d like to, but things keep getting in the way,” Roger said. “Her work or mine. Some distraction or another. We’re never together long enough to get it all out there.”

“Make time, dear,” Freddie said gently. “Ask her to dinner.”

“I dunno if we should be out in public,” Roger said. “It could get quite emotional.”

“Then have her at yours,” John said. “But you can’t go on like this, you’ll both go mad.”

Roger considered this. “That’s a good idea, Deaky. Only, Dominique still lives there.”

“I’ll have Veronica invite her to our place for the evening,” John offered.

“If she doesn’t go, it’s a large house, she can be out of your way,” Brian added.

“But something needs to be done,” Freddie finished.

“Why are you all so adamant that I do this?” Roger wondered, looking around at them.

“Because ever since you’ve seen her again, you’ve been a bit of a dope,” John said with brutal honesty. “We think if you knew where you stood with her, you’d be yourself again. Only happier, maybe.”

“I’d definitely be happier,” Roger admitted. “Even if we were just friends again.”

“That’s a good sign, love,” Freddie said. “We all miss her. It’s natural that you would miss her most.”

“Well, it’s settled, then,” Roger said. “I’ll speak to her soon.”

“Do,” Freddie said. “You’ll be better for it.”

That afternoon, you were grateful to get back to work. You were in court with Miss Thomas, and it was a welcome distraction from all thoughts of Mark. And of Roger. Especially Roger. There was still so much going unsaid between you and it was starting to drive you crazy. But without Mark in the picture, you felt more justified in exploring it.

The judge dismissed Miss Thomas’s case, as you predicted, and you apologized to her. She promised to return to you for any future lawsuits, since you were the only lawyer who took her case in the first place. You weren’t sure if you were pleased or not. For Bill’s sake, you were because it meant more money. For your own, you were worried this meant more ridiculous suits based on penile psychic abilities and you didn’t want to keep losing.

When you returned to your office from court, you got to work more on researching for Mr. Broome. Things were strictly business between you now that he thought you were a lesbian. Or at least participated in lesbian activity. In truth, you had never kissed another woman before, but there was no way you were going to admit it to Mr. Broome.

As much as you looked at your law books, your mind kept going back to Roger. Your short duet with him was affecting you much more than your breakup with Mark. It made you wonder if maybe Mark was right. Was there no other man for you besides Roger Taylor? It seemed so illogical. Most people did not end up with their first boyfriend. Why were you so hung up on yours?

The day wore on. Your office grew dark with the disappearing sunlight, but you had a few more things to wrap up before going down to the bar. You had already released Jane when you heard a knock on your door. You looked up eagerly, hoping Roger would be standing there. Only, it was Mark. You frowned.

“What do you want?” you asked shortly.

“Can we talk?” he wondered. “I want to apologize for what I said this morning.”

“Well, Mark, I don’t think I’m ready to accept that apology,” you returned, snapping your file shut and getting up from your chair. “I wasn’t lying when I said that was the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to me. And I know you meant it.”

“I didn’t mean it like you think I did,” he said. “It was the heat of the moment and I was angry. I wanted to hurt you.”

“If you expect kudos for admitting the obvious, you’ve come to the wrong person,” you said. “I know you wanted to hurt me. And mission accomplished.”

“I’m just saying that I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d like to try again.”

“I’m not interested,” you replied. “The truth of the matter is, Mark, that you don’t love me. You don’t say things like that to people you truly love. You loved the idea of who I might be. I checked off boxes for qualities you’d like in a wife. But you don’t really know me. I think that if you did, you wouldn’t even like me.”

“That’s not true,” he said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

“You like me on paper,” you said. “I’m smart, successful, and attractive. But on the inside, I’m a mess. A mess that very few people could ever hope to understand. And you’re just not one of them.”

“So, that’s it? You’re giving up just like that?”

You almost laughed.

“Y’know it’s funny how every man who hurts me tells me I’m the one giving up,” you scoffed. “This time, it’s true. At the risk of sounding cold, it’s not worth the effort. I don’t love you, Mark. And I never will. I’m sorry.”

“Well, if you’ve decided…” he trailed off. “I really am sorry for what I said. I wish I could take it back.”

“I’m glad you can’t,” you said. “I wish you well. But this is goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he said.

“Goodbye.”

With one last look, he left your office. You meant everything you said to him. You just didn’t feel about Mark what you had felt for Roger. With a sigh, you began to pack up your briefcase. You had to be in court again the next day, and you wanted to be extra prepared for Mr. Broome’s case. You heard another soft knock on your door, and your head snapped up as you prepared to dismiss Mark again.

Only it wasn’t Mark.

“Mum?!” you cried, stunned. “You weren’t supposed to get here until Friday!”

“Well, I thought I’d come a bit early and surprise you!” she returned, laughter in her eyes. “And you should see your face!”

You chuckled. “Come here!”

You went to her and embraced her warmly. It must have been her motherly instincts telling her you needed her because she was right on time. In fact, you had been considering skipping the bar and calling her.

“How are you, dear?” she asked, pulling away and looking you over. “You look thin. Are you eating enough?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m eating fine, Mum. Although I haven’t had much today, it’s been a rather emotional time.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you come down to the bar with me?” you offered. “You can meet all my friends and coworkers. And I’ll catch you up. You aren’t going to believe who one of my clients is.”

She raised an eyebrow, smirked, and took your hand. Together you walked to the bar.

You mother was stoked to meet your coworkers and see more of your life in London. Usually, you were the one visiting her, but you hadn’t been home since your father’s funeral. It was painful to think about. So, you invited her to see your life. She agreed rather enthusiastically, so you guessed she needed to get away as well. Now that she had done her grieving, it was the perfect time.

She danced with Bill, who flirted shamelessly with her. He had a thing for older women. You giggled watching her flush at his praise. She deserved to feel that way again after losing your dad, and you knew he’d be happy she was having fun. You could imagine what he’d say.

Well, he has good taste, doesn’t he?

You shook your head, clearing your father’s voice out of it. You found yourself thinking of him more often now that Roger was back in your life. Especially since you knew he named his son after your dad. Your father would have been so bashfully honored by that. It made your heart ache to remember he never would know that honor.

Your mother returned to her seat beside you.

“I don’t think I’ve danced like that since before your father died,” she giggled, grinning.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” you told her.

“Now, catch me up, sweetheart,” she said. “Who’s this new client? And when am I going to meet this Mark you’ve told me about?”

“Oh, about that,” you said.

You launched into the story. You told her about Roger, Mark, and everything that had happened since that fateful day you’d seen your old friend in that conference room. You left out the bit about kissing Dominique, though, since you weren’t trying to make her faint. She listened thoughtfully, taking in your every word.

“I see,” she said when you finished. “Well, I’m thrilled that you’re seeing Roger again, I must say!”

“I’m not seeing Roger, Mum, I’m representing him in his divorce,” you reminded her. “I just...I feel strange about it. All these old feelings…”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” she said. “You two meant a great deal to each other.”

“But it was so long ago,” you argued. “Shouldn’t we have moved on?”

“Well if you have to ask that question, I think you know the answer,” she said.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at her. She winked and sipped her drink.

You didn’t talk about Roger much for the rest of the time you were at the bar. When you got home, though, she brought him up again.

“Darling, why not be with Roger again?” she asked. “He’s soon to be divorced, you’re single now. What’s stopping you?”

“Mum, the reason he left me was because I wasn’t enough for him,” you reminded her. “How can I trust that I will be now?”

“Because time has passed,” she said. “He’s grown up. So have you. He’s gotten it out of his system.”

“No he hasn’t, he cheated on his wife,” you said.

“Well, she isn’t you,” she said simply.

“It’s different,” you said. “Part of me is still angry at him. How do we come back from what we went through?”

Your mother paused a moment. You watched her, patiently waiting for her to answer. Her expression hardened, as if trying to hold back emotion. You shot her a worried look.

“When you were little,” she began. “Maybe seven or eight, you father had an affair with his secretary.”

A wave of shock almost knocked you off your feet.

“What?” you gasped.

“I didn’t want to tell you this because I don’t want you to think of your father any differently, but I think you could learn from it,” she said. “So yes. He began seeing her. She was young and beautiful. Bright eyed and sweet. They carried on for about three months together before I found out.”

Your eyes welled up with tears. “Why didn’t you leave him?”

“I considered it,” she admitted. “But I loved him too much. I couldn’t bear the thought of life without him. And we had you to think of. I asked him if he wanted to leave me for her. But he said no, he wasn’t in love with her. He just wanted to feel young again.”

“That doesn’t excuse -”

“No, of course it doesn’t excuse it,” she said. “And I was angry with him for months. Even though he ended it with her and he never strayed again, I was so hurt by it that I thought our marriage might really be over. I think...part of me was relieved Roger left you before he caused you the kind of pain your father caused me.”

“Mum, he still hurt me,” you said. “I was blindsided. He totally crushed me.”

“As did your father to me,” she said. “I’m not saying that Roger was right. The way he made you feel was absolutely terrible. But he was honest about what he needed for himself. And there’s something to be said for that.”

“How did you move on?” you asked. “With Dad, I mean.”

“The way I saw it, I had two options,” she said. “I could be angry with him and leave - but I had already ruled that out. Or I could forgive him. I chose forgiveness. And it allowed me to keep the love of my life. And our family together.”

“Was it that easy?” you questioned.

“God, no,” she laughed. “It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever dealt with. Until I lost him, of course. But it was worth every bit of the heartache.”

You still felt a bit off balance. They had hidden that struggle incredibly well. You always thought your parents had an exemplary marriage. But if you mother could move past that...couldn’t you offer Roger the same reprieve? You had to think about it.

“I think if you want to be happy, whether or not you get back together with Roger, you need to forgive him,” she said. “Truly forgive him. It’s the only way forward.”

“Thanks, Mum,” you said. “I really needed your advice.”

“Of course, darling,” she said, patting your hand. “Now, let’s get to bed. I’m exhausted from your boss dancing me all over that bar!”

You laughed together and then showed her to your guest room.

The next day, you went to work in the morning. You had court with Mr. Broome. Unfortunately, the judge did not see it your way and therefore didn’t grant the annulment. You weren’t too upset about it, though. With your mother in town and the afternoon through the weekend off, you felt like you had a lot to look forward to. Mr. Broome said he wanted to appeal the decision, and you advised him to call Jane and set up an appointment to meet with you again and you could discuss it.

The remainder of the morning was spent putting things in order for your long weekend with your mom. You were also giving Jane the time off. If you weren’t going to be in the office, why should your assistant? Any urgent business would go through Bill, who could call you at home. But you shouldn’t be needed.

You walked home, pondering where to take your mother first. Then it hit you. It was so obvious you almost laughed at yourself.

You and your mother strolled down the street. You had changed when you first got home into jeans and a jumper, and now you were comfortably on your way.

“Why can’t you just tell me where we’re going?” your mother wondered.

“Because it’s a surprise,” you said. “And I won’t ruin it.”

You rounded a corner and pulled her to a stop.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed.

“Oh, come now…”

“Just do it!”

She smirked, sighed, and obeyed. You took her hand. Then you led her down the street and into the building.

“Yeah, I like that, Deaks,” Roger said, trying the line again. “Definitely works better.”

John gave him a thumbs up. Roger played through once more using John’s suggestion, and this time played it flawlessly.

“Well done,” said Freddie from the booth. “That was remarkably not shitty.”

Roger chuckled and flipped the singer off.

“Carry on, darlings,” Freddie instructed with a lazy wave.

They continued through and ended up liking what they ended up with. Then the door opened and all eyes turned on the new arrivals. Roger’s heart nearly burst out of his chest when he saw who it was.

“Vivian!” he cried, leaping from his stool and hurtling to the booth.

He saw her release a delighted cry and hug you quickly before turning back around to catch Roger in her arms. You laughed watching them reunite.

“Oh, Roger, dear, how wonderful you look!” your mother exclaimed, looking him over. “It’s been so long!”

“Too long,” he agreed, pulling her in for another hug. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m alright for an old lady,” she replied. “We’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you more,” he said.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she sighed, and she began dabbing at her eyes as she pulled away.

“Mum, don’t cry!” you insisted, rubbing her shoulders comfortingly.

“I can’t help it!” she returned. “It seems like yesterday this young man was just a boy hiding in my shed and now...well, look at you, Roger! A real rock star!”

“Thank you, Viv,” he said gently. “I couldn’t have gotten here without you and Felix.”

Her eyes watered even more.

“He was so proud of you, love,” she said, taking his hand between hers. “So very proud.”

Roger blinked back the tears that had formed in his own eyes. Your mother sighed again with a small laugh.

“Oh, how I wish you and Y/N hadn’t…” she trailed off. “Oh, well. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he told her. “Really. The band is doing well, I’m alright.”

“Y/N told me you’re getting divorced,” she said.

“Yeah, but it’s for the best,” he said. “Dominique and I just weren’t working out.”

“You have children?” she asked.

“Two,” he said. “A boy and a girl. My son is three, and my little girl is one.”

“Oh, you, Roger, a father?!” she gasped. “It’s difficult to imagine, you were so wild as a boy! But of course you’re wonderful. You always were when you really cared for something.”

“I love them very much,” he said. “Here, Viv, meet the rest of the band.”

You watched him introduce your mother to the rest of Queen. She was absolutely tickled about it. Even though you hadn’t kept up with Roger’s band, your parents had, which you didn’t discover until years after your breakup. They had every Queen album and record in their collection. Roger made his way back over to you while your mother spoke to Freddie.

“Thanks for bringing her here,” he said.

“Of course, Rog,” you returned. “She’d kill me if I didn’t let her see you.”

He swallowed thickly and looked between you and her for a moment.

“I always thought they hated me,” he choked out. “For hurting you.”

“Rog…”

“So knowing that they still cared after what I did...thank you, Y/N.”

“Roger, you were like a son to them,” you said, holding his gaze. “You could never do anything to make them hate you. Ever.”

“That’s a relief,” he said.

He took a deep breath and then looked at you.

“I know your mum’s here, but d’you think you could take one evening and come have dinner with me at my place?” he asked. “There’s….so much we need to talk about.”

“Yeah,” you said,a smile slowly parting your lips. “Yeah, I think we could do that.”

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #roger taylor imagine #Queen #queen imagine #queen x reader #queen x you #BoRhap #borhap imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #just like a woman series

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carnoshin · 5 years

Note

hh im kinda new to this so i hope it's okay! how would bubba, billy and stu (poly if that's okay?) and brahms react to having like, a super affectionate s/o who often shys away when she thinks shes being too clingy? thank u! love ur stuff!! ♡

U are an angle, omg thank uuuu

Also, I know that life, bro. Got long, so it’s under the cut~

(...Assuming ‘the cut’ doesn’t decide to not work on mobile. For the fifth time.)

Bubba

He can’t get enough affection ever-- even if he’s mid-kill and you’re like “Bubba, I’m gonna kiss you.” he’ll stop dead in his tracks and get that much needed love from you.

It’s probably not Bubba who makes you feel like you’re being clingy, but his brothers. Drayton and Chop-Top especially: sometimes they can get a little too harsh.

Usually Bubba isn’t one to initiate physical affection, so if you suddenly stop touching him, he'll just be plain confused.

He’ll follow you around and grab the back of your clothes, but he won’t even imply that he’s asking anything. Even if you ask him “What?” he’ll just stare at you nervously and try to figure out how to show what he wants to ask without embarrassing himself, which usually just ends in you turning away to return to what you were doing.

The thing he struggles the most with initiating is holding hands, funnily enough: he doesn’t mind coming up behind you to hug you or petting your hair (given the right atmosphere), but trying to hold your hand is nerve-wracking for him.

He’ll think you’re upset with him, that maybe he did something wrong and you don’t like him anymore-- like I’ve said before, he’s quick to catastrophize. He’s just like a kicked puppy.

If he can get the nerve, he’ll slip his hand into your’s and just. Wait for you to say something, anything.

Billy+Stu (Ghostface)

Both of these boys are kind of clingy themselves, Stu especially.

Billy is more likely to act cool and collected, but he’s totally freaking out (in a good way) internally. He’ll never complain about you being sweet on him.

It probably grosses out their friends how lovey-dovey you three can be. Billy will tell you to ignore them, Stu will call them jealous-- that’s always how it goes.

Maybe one time Stu pulls away from an embrace too fast or he rushes out of bed and forgets to say anything to the extent of “I’ll be right back, I love you, I’ll miss you” or whatever. Or that happens multiple times in a row. Since Stu is so affectionate in the first place, it’s kind of off-putting when he just. Isn’t affectionate?

Billy gives off a certain vibe. That vibe being “back tf off.” He’s got resting bitch face, so. Ya know.

They won’t notice at first-- it’s a three-person relationship, so it can be a bit hard to pick something up when 2/3 people are acting like usual. The boys are probably just as cuddly as usual too with each other, so. It can certainly feel like being a... Third wheel in a two-person relationship.

They’ll only notice after you cancel two dates in a row, at which point they will more or less force their way into talking with you. These dumbasses will absolutely use the phrase “Can we talk about something?” before pulling you aside to show their genuine concern.

Even if you’re not a crier (God, what’s that like? Is it nice?), they’ll act like you are when you’re explaining why you have been withdrawing your affection. Even if you’re more than emotionally alright by the time the conversation is over, you’ll end up at Stu’s place to be Held(TM).

(Honestly, the boys can be quick to forget what your specific brand of presence+touch is like, so they’re just. In heaven. When you’re being affectionate again.)

Brahms

This boy is touch-starved. He almost melts into any physical attention he gets. He craves attention in general.

It’ll take him a while to notice that you’re not returning his touch. Because he will seriously press himself to you that much. Plus, he has no shame when it comes to asking for affection, though he usually just does it in one word: “hug?” or “kiss.”

(Sidenote: “kiss” is almost always a demand, whereas “hug” is almost always a request.)

He will notice if you start to avoid him. Pretty immediately. After all, it takes conscious effort to do it: going outside more often, shutting and/or locking doors, going into rooms that don’t connect to the crawlspace, etc.

As such, he’ll basically. Talk to you within the day. He doesn’t like being seen when he’s speaking, however, so he’ll ask why you’re avoiding him from outside the closed door of a room you’re in.

He’d be very intentional in every word he says-- in the last several hours this has been happening, he’s been thinking over what exactly to say and he’s wound down from being so annoyed he’s almost angry to genuinely afraid you’re going to leave him.

Being violent didn’t work with Greta, so he imagines it wouldn’t work with you either-- what worked with Greta was standing outside the door and asking her why she wasn’t following the rules. So that’s what he’ll do with you too.

If you just unlock the door and head back to sit down, he’ll immediately come over and practically envelope you in a hug. First, he’ll move your hands to hold him. If you’re still hesitant about actually touching him, he’ll just say “Please. Hold me.” in the quietest little voice-- his adult voice, which he specifically doesn’t like using.

If he’s having a particularly bad day (as in his behavior is just terrible) or if his first attempt doesn’t convince you, he might just forgo all this and wait until you’re moving between rooms before holding you so tightly it hurts-- which is very much his intention. And he’ll very lowly ask you-- not even in his child voice, which is honestly the main way you know he’s serious and that a situation may be dangerous-- “what exactly is it you think you’re doing?” or something along those lines. Note that he’s holding you so tightly that it’s hard to breathe, so you probably can’t respond either.

This whole encounter is basically a warning from him-- he’s one entitled little bastard and sometimes it can come from nowhere. He’ll then release his grip and act like nothing happened, then ask for you to hug him-- most likely by stretching his arms out and tilting his head, not actually saying anything verbally.

If you reject him there, he will pause for a second before starting to sob. Whether it’s real or not is up for debate, but he doesn’t exactly know what to do at that point. He doesn’t want to hurt you, frankly-- the thought of getting angry and hurting you scares him.

Hopefully, you’re holding him by now, because otherwise he’s going to be wailing the entire night-- again, whether it’s real or not is up for debate. At worst, he’ll intentionally hurt himself so that you’ll touch him.

#bubba sawyer #bubba x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #stu macher #stu macher x reader #stu x reader x billy #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #slasher imagines #slasher headcanons #slasher x reader #you can tell i got more and more into it as I went akdsklafldsjfl

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munamania · 4 years

Text

the promise (ch. 1)

a/n: hi yes i wrote for the clown gays like a year ago and im deciding to post this now sjdghfg pls be kind

pair: richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak

word count: 8.5k

warnings: swearing, blood ment, homophobic slurs, abuse mentions, psychological trickery, richie’s parents start out a lil absent but they get better i promise

excerpt: “You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

“I know.”

read on ao3

No, it’s not that Richie is gay. It’s not like he daydreams about taking it up the ass all fucking day.

Henry Bowers and his dipshit crew might have a different opinion, but they can honestly, truly suck his dick (in the non-homo way - he has taste). The fact that they took joy in throwing him and his friends around, calling them names, and threatening their whole lives never mattered before; the losers took care of each other, and most of the time it was easy to forget about those other assholes.

Being called four-eyes when he needed glasses in the second grade never got to him that bad - they were saving him from having to see their ugly faces when they knocked them off, so really, he should have thanked them - and he didn’t care when they shoved him around for being short before his growth spurt, and it didn’t even bother him that much when they mocked his totally refined voices. He knew his own talent, and what he could do with it if he could just focus.

But the first time they singled him out as the fag of the group, well, it stung.

He never told the others about that day. He never told them how long he cried, how broken he felt sobbing on that park bench. He never worked up the nerve to tell them why he couldn’t face Paul Bunyan anymore, no, he simply breezed past without lifting his eyes, without missing a beat of conversation.

At least it got easier with time.

All things considered, his home life isn’t terrible.

Richie has his own room, a roof, and usually a decently-stocked fridge. Enough to get by.

He’s left alone a lot. His parents are always at work, and when they’re not, they take on the personalities of monotonous robots sitting in front of the TV, so he spends a lot of time skimming through comics or jacking off when he’s not running around with his friends.

But, that’s just the thing. Somehow, Richie, life of every conversation, King of Comedy, Trashmouth, funny-man Tozier, was born to the most boring people of all time. They never engage with his jokes; on a good day, he receives a breezy, “That’s nice, sweetie,” from his mom, or, “Okay, that’s enough, son,” from his dad. Blank stares. Pasty, purple-tinted white eyes. Never a hug, never much past a ‘goodnight.’ Not even a simple, “How was school?” when they got home.

Richie vividly remembers the day that he bounced in his seat at the end-of-the-year ceremony at school, a bustling bundle of nerves prepared to brag and boast to his parents about his awards in science and, surprisingly (his teacher hated him) English - he took to the dramatics of Shakespeare quite well. He practiced his entrance to them several times over in his head, perhaps overly, unconvincingly modest or Shakespeare wants what I have. Anything to get a laugh. A ruffle of his hair from his dad. A forehead kiss from his mom, like when he was little.

They didn’t show. He still doesn’t know where he went wrong.

In a stark, bubbling contrast to his parents, there’s this kid in his group of friends. He remembers one of the first times they met, the boy approaching him, all sweet apple-cheeked and neat polo and ironed khaki shorts; Richie had flicked an eyebrow upward, a not-so-subtle really?, because he never figured that clean-freak Eddie Kaspbrak would be able to handle more than three seconds in Trashmouth Tozier’s presence.

But boy, was he a lot of fun.

Eddie was loud and super easily wound-up, screaming about fucking UTIs and do not fucking push me man all the piss on the walls of this city could fill the lake and despite his good-boy appearance, he shot back with just as much fire as Richie threw at him.

And fuck, Richie loves it. He loves the ease with which they bounce back and forth. He loves the fury in the boy’s eyes when Richie pisses him off, the laughter that always comes about between them once they settle. The crossing arms and pouting Eddie, who he theorizes secretly loves it when Richie calls him pet names (not that he’d ever admit it); the loud and greatly-gesticulating Eddie who yells louder and pushes harder when Richie coos at him; the one who quietly accepts Richie’s affection, and offers it back in subtle ways: simply holding Richie’s arm when he slings his arms around Eddie’s neck from behind, allowing him to sit next to him thigh-to-thigh, and overall not completely cringing and pushing him off. He took it as a compliment, though they’d never mention it out loud.

On an unfortunate night, his comfortable little world comes crashing down.

His parents are out for some sort of conference weekend trip or whatever, and they’ve called in his deadbeat uncle to ‘watch over the house.’ Not necessarily him (probably because he isn’t home that much), but the house obviously can’t stand up by itself—and, well, maybe they didn’t trust Richie to not accidentally leave the door open, or leave the stove on, or some other stupidly irresponsible little thing. So, the crusty old guy shows up with his greasy, oiled hair and his lack of deodorant and his wilting knees. It makes Richie miss Eddie so, so much when they part, because a.) he smells a lot better, and b.) it would be fucking hilarious for him to see what Richie has to put up with. Like, he’s really not the most rodent-like of his family.

Anyway, Richie doesn’t remember what he says. Something slightly instigative, about the lack of any gourmet-level food in the house (he claimed calmly while wasting away on microwave tater tots and bread, even though his parents had left behind plenty of money to keep him alive), and then suddenly hands were on him.

It stings like a bitch.

His uncle gets up, with a quiet mumble that Richie makes out to be, “Well, let’s see…” and when he finally gets in the kitchen, facing Richie with eyes rung red and shaking fists, he grabs his nephew by a fistful of t-shirt and shoves him against the counter.

At that moment, he really wants his mom. Why the fuck did she and dad leave him with this guy?

“I don’t see you fucking working, or doing much of anything around here, kiddo.”

“Funny, I was gonna say the same to you.”

A blow to his mouth. Richie resists the urge to lift trembling fingers to the spot that he can feel swelling.

“Don’t talk to me like that, asshole! You think you’re so fucking funny, huh?” His uncle drags him forward and shoves him back with conviction, and this time Richie doesn’t answer.

He should have known to stay quiet when he saw his uncle drinking and smoking incessantly in the house, even though his mother had requested that he stay outside for that. It must have been a rough day at the bar, or wherever the fuck he spent his time.

“You need to learn when to be quiet, dipshit. Have some fucking respect.”

For the guy who ignored him for years, didn’t stay in touch, and wasted his existence away on the couch.

Right.

But Richie is snapped from his indignant, grounding thoughts when his uncle lowers his voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

Richie frowns in his face, utterly confused from the swell of attention, still limply holding a bag of bread in his left hand.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes sir.”

The wretched man makes a point to push him into the corner of the cupboards with such a force that he collapses to his knees and can just feel the bruises forming. And he sits there for a minute, all sorts of betrayal and anger and sadness suffocating him.

But he stands up.

And with stinging eyes, a stuffy nose, and shaking hands, he makes himself a simple peanut butter sandwich.

And he stays upstairs for the remainder of the night

It’s a warm, soothing day outside; the sun glows and birds are chirping like some kind of fucking cartoon. In the tall grass the losers sit in frogs croak and crickets chirp and they make a mess of themselves in the circle they form.

“Damn, Rich, what happened to you?” comes Stan’s voice, concerned eyes flashing down to his now royally fucked-up mouth.

“Yeah, dude, what the fuck?” says Bev through a sandwich, truly a charmer.

Richie grins at Bev but answers to Stan, ignoring the sting in the corner of his lips. “Guess I’m a fighter at heart.”

“Richie—“

Bev chimes in once again, a bright, snarky grin on her face, “Richie, you can tell us if it was another accident, we won’t judge. Promise.”

Bev has a way about her; he knows she’s not genuinely the largest, most gaping asshole on earth, and that she actually cared a lot and cried over her friends in the darkest nights, but she also knew how to make light of something dark (even the worst). She probably knew. She probably just had his back in her own funny way, like taking the pressure off the reality.

“Bev, I’ve really, truly, always appreciated your charm, but as my dearest favorite person on earth, fuck off.”

“Richie,” Bill says, then hesitates. In that time, Bev flips Richie the bird, which he answers with an air kiss. “What really h-ah-happened?” He looks him over with a frown, clear blue eyes swallowing him in concern and maybe love.

Richie offers a simple smirk before settling against the trunk of a tree. “Don’t worry about it, Billiam. I’ve got it under control.”

“Whatever you say,” Bev says. She tosses a baggie over to him with his favorite sandwich.

Stan isn’t so easily convinced, eyeing Richie up carefully, but he sits with Bev on the boulder she’s settled on when Richie doesn’t falter in his casual disposition.

It takes a lot of work, as always.

Ben shows up moments later, with a calm and tender, “You alright, Rich?” and when Richie goes off on a stupid tough-guy spiel, he simply lays at the foot of the boulder and flicks open a book, meeting Richie with one of his melting smiles, a gentle invitation, a sweet If you ever need it, I’m there, but allowing him the space to go on as normal. Which is nice.

Richie knows they all care. He knows he could tell them, could pour all of the terror and tragedy he felt the night before into the air and they’d fill up the space; Mike would give him the tightest hug in the world, one to combat the most heinous of things; Stan would sit with him as long as he needed it, Bev would come through with a smoke and the best advice in the world, and Ben would tell him stories or just hang out with him until everything felt a bit lighter, and Bill would give him anything in the world because Richie would do it back. That’s the way they were.

But he can’t do it.

“Sorry I’m late guys,” comes a nasally voice, huffing and puffing, new pressure leaning against the tree, and Richie grins. Eddie.

“It’s okay, Eds,” he says, reaching over a few fingers to tickle Eddie’s knee, giggling when the boy smacks at his hand and doubles over with an exclamatory, Richie!

The others offer a few sleepy greetings, all soaked up in their own forms of entertainment for the quiet afternoon: Bev and Ben, heads close enough to share his walkman; Stan, reading some lengthy oath to birds or something; Mike snoozing lightly on Bill’s shoulder while Bill pores over some adventure map from a fantasy novel.

They had all agreed that it was too tiresome to go swimming today, as the previous night was spent out at Stan’s with a bonfire, and for a few of them, some stolen booze (not very much, but enough that they could pretend to be drunk and giggle profusely). But they still wanted to hang out, so this was the middle ground. An afternoon picnic in the shade.

Eddie quickly notices his lip and drops down to his side. “Richie, what happened to you? Was it Bowers again? I swear to god, I will fucking kill that guy--”

Richie smiles softly at the protective words, and tries to turn it into a smirk. “Eddie, baby, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s just a little bump.”

Surprisingly, Eddie sidles up next to him, using the pad of his thumb to press at the sides of Richie’s mouth, apparently assessing some sort of damage. “Don’t call me that.” He scowls. “What did you do? Did you ice it? Clean this cut at all? Cause you could get an infection, you know, you really should clean it.”

Richie bats his eyes. “Clean it for me, sweets?”

“Fuck off. Forget I cared.”

“Ah, come on, Spaghettio. I didn’t mean it.” He pulls Eddie down with a simple gesture, pressing his palm to the boy’s shoulder and dragging. The boy rests against the trunk, nestled in Richie’s side.

But that’s the complicated thing. He sorta wishes he could mean it. In a small, poking-at-the-back-of-his-head-always kind of way.

“Just—tell me what happened,” Eddie pipes up quietly from his side.

When Richie glances down, he takes to heart how disgruntled Eddie still looks, crossing his arms and almost pouting.

He shrugs. “Your mother was simply affronted by how good I am with my mouth, Eds, she couldn’t take it anymore.”

Eddie presses his mouth into a line, rolls his eyes at the stupid British voice Richie had developed, and busies himself with a thrilling edition of The Lancet

Later, as dusk settles in and pale purple skies replace the bright blue, and the club leaves with simple ‘goodbye’s and promises to do something fun tomorrow, Eddie shifts from his nap. He’d passed out with his head slammed back against Richie’s arm (he’d caught it just before he fell to the ground, avoiding a lengthy rant about potential concussions and medical bills), curled in the opposite direction from Richie’s abdomen. As he wakes, through, he rolls over, elbow digging into Richie’s side.

“Ah-ow,” Richie groans, sitting up from his cataconic state of reading Ben’s stolen comics and avoiding moving and waking Eddie. But he’d just dug the pointiest part of his entire firecracker body into Richie’s ribs, where Richie had attempted and failed to nurse a bruise he’d accrued from a vicious cupboard corner. It was at an awkward angle, and he refused to go down to get more ice packs once they melted, so he slept unsoundly and laid uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles, voice muddled with sleep. “Shit, it’s late. When did I fall asleep? My mom’s gonna kill me.”

Even in that gurgly, world upside-down state of post-nap consciousness, the boy freaks out about his mother. Richie sighs and rubs his shoulder.

“You’re all good, Eddie boy,” he attempts for a creaky, witchy voice, but it’s half-assed because he gets so tired of this lady. Not Eddie ranting, that was fine, and he knew the kid needed to get it out of his system; but he was fucking tired of Mrs. K hurting his boy. “You took your meds on time, fell asleep shortly after. Might need to amputate my arm now, though.”

His boy.

Eddie sits up, and Richie stares at his back, illuminated in the dusk, because he wore a fun yellow today, resting prettily against his tanned, freckled skin.

(Maybe Richie had looked over, amused, for a few moments, as Eddie snored and twitched his nose in his sleep; and he counted the freckles on Eddie’s arm, his cheek, whatever he could see for entertainment.)

Eddie glances back at him, and Richie distracts himself with his bag, shifting his eyes awkwardly from the boy’s gaze.

“Well, well, good sir, shall I walk you home on this fine night?”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Richie, what’s that?”

His eyes are trained intently on the aforementioned bruise, and its cousins that pepper his hips, only exposed because he slipped and let his shirt ride up when he bent over.

He clears his throat, scrambling for some dumbass answer, wholeheartedly unprepared for the severity of this conversation. “You know how the ladies throw themselves—“

“Okay, you know what, fine.” Eddie stands quickly, stumbling slightly, and braces himself against the tree. “You don't have to fucking tell me. Just come home with me, okay?”

“A night with Eddie Kaspbrak? Why, you’re really a dream-come-true kind of guy.”

“Your lip is bleeding again,” he responds simply, apparently not one for fun at this very moment. “I can clean it.”

Richie pops up from the ground, feeling quite pip pip, tally ho about the whole thing. “Righty-o, Eddie boy.

That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of Eddie’s porcelain-white bathtub, dirtying it with his messy jeans and dirt-coated nails.

It takes a lot of strategic planning, lots of sneaking past Mrs. K, and then sweet-talking and kisses from Eddie once she wakes up freaking out about how late he was. But, after about fifteen minutes of contest-worthy screeching from the woman, Eddie stomps up the stairs, slams the door with a very I’m gonna pull my hair out look, and has to take about three extra minutes to compose himself, ranting under his breath.

Richie just stares at his distorted reflection in the shining silvery faucet, the violet under his eyes and the renewed puffiness of his lip, Hawaiian pattern of his shirt disheveled in the odd mirror.

He knows not to engage unless Eddie actually speaks up to him, meaning this run-in was probably just overly grating and mentally draining, considering, well, how his mother is. He just needs a second to get it out, not any kind of heartfelt talk (which Richie sucks at anyway) or even a lighthearted joke. The boy paces and growls into a fist. Then, eventually, he breathes, “Okay.”

Eighteen minutes. Eighteen minutes of sitting around and waiting for Eddie, just for him to kneel in front of Richie, doe eyes clear and focused, dabbing so, so gently at his battered lip.

In a way, it’s heaven.

“I take it your mom can’t wait for me to buy dinner, eh?”

Eddie sighs. “Apparently this time I’m gonna contract malaria, Rich, didn’t you know? There’s an incredible outbreak this time of year and I’m obviously not prepared to avoid fucking mosquitoes, what with my fifteen bottles of bug spray and essential oils. I’ll probably die tomorrow!”

“I will make sure that your funeral is a fucking rager dude, don’t you worry. Booze on me.”

A ghost of a smile.

“Richie…” he breathes out in a long winded way, saying nothing and everything for way too long. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

Richie raises an eyebrow. “Man, I thought you were gonna back out on your previous offer, but I guess the call for a night with Richie Tozier is too much to back away from. I get it.” He smiles painfully at the way Eddie’s face crumples with something like boredom. “Christ, dude, what’s your poison?” He makes a face at the antiseptic substance that trickles into his mouth.

“Maybe if you kept your mouth shut for once, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

Richie beams, which just causes Eddie to huff even more.

“Please, just stay still!

“It was my uncle,” Richie finally says, forcing a bored expression onto his face as he flips through a rather dull magazine, sprawled on Eddie’s bed. “And it wasn’t a big deal.”

Panic flashes across Eddie’s face. His cheeks burn red, and his leg jitters anxiously against Richie’s, but his voice remains level, which Richie thanks dear lordy Jesus for. “Your uncle? He hit you?”

“Well,” Richie pauses. “Uh, kinda. He was just really drunk, Eds, and he got mad and I was in the way.”

“In the way?”

He shrugs, a small smile quirking his lip up. “Am I not usually?”

“Rich.” Eddie’s voice is really soft in that moment, gentler and quieter than anything Richie has heard from him in all the time he’s known his fellow loudmouth. It simultaneously terrifies and thrills him. Eds. Eddie brings his knees to his chest, leaning back against the headboard. “You say a lot of dumb shit, but that doesn’t mean you should be hurt.” He must notice Richie’s uncomfortable look, because he adds lightly, “Most of the time, anyway.”

“Woah, Eddie, don’t go overboard with the kindness or anything--”

“Damn it, Richie.” He casts his eyes downward. “I’m just trying to say - um - thanks for telling me. Sorry if that’s fucked up to say, but I know you didn’t want to, so, yeah. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

Richie swallows deeply with a slow nod, focusing his eyes on the blurry words in front of him. “Well, if there’s anyone I’d tell, it’s Dr. K. He’s gonna be the one to save my life, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Right.” He kicks at Richie’s foot, a subtle way of telling him to move over so he can get under the covers.

“Night, toots.”

“Goodnight, Richie.

Richie thinks he knows everything possible about Eddie thus far.

He knows when he needs to take his meds, an internal clock he recently developed; he knows that the boy is not nearly as fragile as he sometimes seems, and if he really tried, he could pack a punch; he knows that he loves fervently and he’ll always take care of his friends, even if it’s in a way that would usually disgust him.

Case in point: he didn’t seem to freak out at Richie’s bleeding lip, even when a steady stream of blood started dripping down his chin from the contact of trying to clean it out, though he usually cringed if he got so much as a scratch from a twig. Somehow, some way, he simply held pressure on the wound and told Richie to hold some ice on it (“Ordering me around now, hot stuff? I can work with that,”), and washed his own hands thoroughly in the sink.

What he doesn’t know until that night, is that Eddie is a cuddler. At least, half-asleep, groggy Eddie is. Like, this kid must be more starved for affection than he is. Richie had curled himself in a ball toward the edge of the mattress, willing himself not to do so much as even press his back against Eddie’s, way too afraid of the ease with which two people can tangle themselves together in the night, terrified of what would happen if he woke up with Eddie’s hands on him, wrapped up in Eddie, Eddie’s terrible morning breath against his cheek, Eddie Eddie Eddie. But while Richie had stressed himself into falling halfway off the bed, Eddie had flopped over in his sleep, slung an arm across Richie’s waist and, seeming to sense that he had something to hold, pulled him in tight to his chest. Though Richie’s breath caught in his throat, he figured, well, no one could really see them then, so what was the harm in passing out like that? No one had to know. He could pass it off like he’d been sleeping the whole time.

But he cherishes every fucking minute of it

Richie wakes to the sound of something pounding, a steady beat, and in that state of slowly waking from a dream he thinks it’s some old drum, playing lowly in the corner by some restless figure. When he comes to, his eyes creaking open slowly, he sees the gentle orange-ish hue of the morning sky, the neat room around him, the scent of detergent and soothing fabric softener wafting near his face. And he realizes his head is tucked into Eddie’s side, the boy’s slowed heartbeat thumping softly against his ear.

Normally, he’d just let Eddie sleep, as he’s usually only the asshole waking everyone up when it’s the whole gang. He doesn’t mind spending a few hours by himself in the morning. In fact, he enjoys the opportunity to try to fall back asleep (even though he never does).

But with a sudden impulse, he lays a palm on Eddie’s ribcage and pushes himself up onto his elbows, then shakes the boy.

“Eddie.”

A muffled, “Mmph?”

“Eds, wake up.”

The boy drags a pillow over his ears for all of two seconds before Richie tickles his stomach. Then he crankily sits up and lets out a gruff, “What?”

Richie grins. “The sunrise, Eds! Look, it’s so pretty, you have to believe me.”

Eddie responds by laying his cheek on Richie’s shoulder blade, slumping forward with his eyes still closed. “You do know,” he breathes, “that if the sun is just rising, it’s like, six a.m.?”

“Hmm, 5:49, but close enough, I suppose.”

The most huffy breath that Eddie can manage at this hour tickles the hairs on the back of Richie’s neck. “Did you know that people who don’t sleep enough die a lot younger? There are serious health consequences.” It doesn’t come out in his usual fiery, punctuated tone; it’s soft and filled with a yawn and he’s pretty sure Eddie might fall back asleep just like that. “You can’t die early on me, Richie. And I don’t want to. Go back to sleep.” He peeks one eye open at the window, squinting at the glow of the sun. “It is pretty, though.” With that, he falls back against the pillow and curls into a ball against the wall.

And Richie’s pretty damn sure in that moment that he’s, like, in love

And, sure, that’s terrifying.

He has no one to talk to about it and nothing could convince him it’s normal, so he shrugs it off and pretends it isn’t there.

Cause that’s a good way to cope, right?

It doesn’t matter that Eddie is so easily comfortable with him—he’s a low-pressure person, is all. And no one had called out the way pet names rolled off Richie’s tongue so easily, because that was just a part of his joke. Normal. Easy.

Until it wasn’t

You see, there’s this bitch Pennywise. This idiot clown terrorizes his friends, kills people, haunts their nights and days, and fucks with their minds. Tries to turn them against each other. And they can’t even throw a jest back! It’s a sick system.

Well, anyway, the losers end up in some crickety, wooden, falling-apart-at-the-seams murder house on Neibolt, because Bill wants to find his brother and none of them are willing to abandon him. Instead, Richie gets to see himself dead, face off with a monstrous fucking clown, and hear heart-wrenching screams from Eddie that he can’t even help, because he can’t get out.

When he does, he reunites with Stan and Bill, using the few seconds he has to catch his breath.

Just as quickly, he loses it.

In front of him lies Eddie, arm twisted at the ugliest, most heinous angle, and not only is he probably in pain and freaking out about the arm, but a 7-foot tall clown is sauntering towards him with a stupid swaggering gait, like it knows that they can’t do anything to save Eddie.

Eddie.

The boy cowers against dust and fallen wood that must be itching to give him splinters; tears streak down his dirty face and his chest rises and falls rapidly, as Pennywise taunts him. Fucking horses around, making stupid noises and joking while Eddie falls apart, and Richie doesn’t know how to save him, even after everything Eddie’s done for him. Richie is vaguely aware of Stan grasping his shoulder, trying to ground him, and he silently thanks him as he glances around for fucking anything to use as a weapon, because he certainly can’t jump into this blindly--

Then Beverly busts into the room and stabs the bitch in the head, and Richie can’t think but his feet are moving and he lands in front of Eddie in the few seconds’ time he has to play catch-up. He reminds himself to remind Bev of just how much he loves her later.

For now, though, his focus is Eddie. His ears are ringing and he’s noted the commotion going on behind him, he even realizes that Bill ends up at his side, but his gaze is right on his Eds, grasping at his face, trying to do anything to help him.

“Eds. No, no, no! Look at me! It’s okay. Please be okay.” He steadies his voice and tries really hard not to think about how much he sucks as a caretaker, how he has no fucking clue what to do, but he’s scared and he desperately just wants to take Eddie from the room and keep him safe, forever and ever.

Terror-filled eyes find him as the clown continues toward the three of them, flexing horrendous claws; Richie kneels in front of Eddie and Bill’s at his back, and Richie knows Eddie acknowledges him but he’s whimpering and shaking and staring back at the clown. And Pennywise is thriving.

“Eds,” he says, louder, grabbing Eddie’s chin and forcing it in his direction. “Please just - fuck the clown, okay? Fuck everything. It’s me and you. I’ve got you.” And he’d probably be much more convincing if he weren��t shouting and clinging to Eddie’s shoulders like it means death.

But, he seems to capture the boy’s attention, as he keeps his eyes steadily on Richie and blinks a few times. “My arm!” he cries. “Fuck, I can’t fucking move. I’m gonna die. It hurts, Rich.”

“Hey, you’re not gonna die. I don’t die early on you, you don’t die early on me. That’s the deal.”

“Some deals are made to be broken.”

Eddie is just staring at him, blank eyes staring through him with a grin, a stark contrast to the screaming that was going on just moments before. A surge of panic rises in Richie’s chest, like a freezing wind knocking through his stupid little preteen body. He shakes his head in confusion.

“Eddie, shut up. It’s just your arm. You’re gonna be fine!”

A shrug. “Who’s to say?” And then he sits up, arm convulsing at his side like some dying snake, and Richie flinches and flies back into Bill’s chest. He can’t do this. He can’t help Eddie like he should, he can’t take care of him like he wants to. He’s a coward.

“Rich.” Bill is a million miles away.

Right here, right now, is that thing in Eddie’s place, body rattling like a rag doll. “They’ll find out.” Eddie’s voice is fucked up, scratchy, and his eyes are all wrong; the way he’s staring at him is fucking uncanny. “Get too touchy, Rich, and you know what’ll happen.”

“Stop, please, fucking stop!”

“Richie!” Bill is finally right there, shaking both of his shoulders from behind. “S-stop. You’re f-f-fine. It’s just fucking with your head.”

It takes a few deep breaths, but Richie turns to him and says a quick, ‘Thanks,’ before turning back to real-Eddie, who is now dry-heaving and wailing at the sight of his arm.

Eddie’s chest thrusts forward and back rapidly, and he keeps trying to back further from the bedlam in front of them. His face contorts into an absolutely heart-wrenching cry, and as he looks at Richie, gripping his hand with an iron fist, Richie’s heart splits in two. It’s hard, it’s way too hard not to say I love you, after all that. And it’s hard not to run.

“I don’t wanna die - ”

Richie crawls closer to cradle Eddie’s head. “Eddie, if you die I’ll kill you.” He wants to go home, he wants to cry, he wants to sleep for about three days and pretend this never happened. But he can’t. He has to be here for Eddie, as much as he wants to flee right now. “You’re not going to, you know that? I still owe you ice cream. And I’m gonna get you inside the arcade—“

“Fuck the arcade!”

Somehow, in all of the fuckery going on, Richie laughs. “That’s the spirit!” Eddie, in a scramble to back away from the startle of Pennywise running away, shifts into Richie’s lap. “Okay, Eddie, breathe.” Richie gulps down a breath himself. “I’m gonna snap your arm back into place.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, completely on fire, spitting poison at Richie. “Rich! Do not fucking touch me!”

Richie winces at the words but he hears Bev screaming, “Richie, his arm!” and uses the moment of yelling to just do it, to get Eddie’s arm back to a relatively normal shape, and then he’s screaming and it’s like he wants Richie to cry in front of everyone.

“Okay okay okay, it’s done. No more.” Richie, awkward and lost at what to do, brushes back sweaty hair from Eddie’s forehead, because he’s pretty sure the boy would hate how sticky everything had gotten, and if he could help even one thing, well, it’s something.

He wishes he could help carry Eddie home, sit with him in the hospital, anything to cheer him up.

But he doesn’t get the chance. Mrs. K is outside and snatches Eddie from the losers in the flash of an eye, talking like they broke his fucking arm or something.

That’s when it all goes downhill

Richie storms away from his stupid feud with Bill, the fucking dumbass who punched him in the face because he said he didn’t want a clown to kill him and his friends. He thinks it’s the most reasonable thing he’s ever said, objectively, but whatever. He doesn’t want to lose his friends. But in that moment, he doesn’t see many other options.

When he trudges back home after his third day alone at the arcade, following newly-formed muscle memory to avoid his uncle (close the door slowly, shift weight and run upstairs, wait at least twenty minutes to go back down for food in case he stirs), he notices another car. Immediately, Richie throws open the doors, calling out, “Mom!” and finds her in the kitchen, with his uncle.

“Hey sweetie, I just got home—“ she startles at the sight of him.

“Jeez, that bad?” he jokes, running a hand through his hair. “Just remember, mom, half of this is ‘cause of you.”

She approaches him quickly, summer blazer flowing behind her from the speed, and crouches down just slightly to be at eye-level. “Richie, honey, what did you do to your lip?” she asks. He doesn’t realize right away, but he tilts his head into her touch, and she strokes his cheek gently.

Richie had forgotten about the whole ordeal—his friends almost dying at the hands of a killer clown was pretty damn distracting from his low-life uncle—but now, he sets a spitting glare on the man leaning back and manspreading at their kitchen table.

“Uncle Alan had a few kind words to say over dinner the other night.”

Her tender touch to his face is lost when she whips around to face his uncle, and Richie feels like a little kid again, standing behind his mom and clutching at her coat while she takes care of everything.

“You hit him?” she says, her voice threatening in a low mumble, teeth clenched together. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You touched my kid?” She holds back a hand as though to shield Richie as she slams her other fist on the table.

“How do you know it wasn’t one of his faggy friends? Or maybe some other kid with common fucking sense?”

She leans down and takes him by the front of his shirt. “Don’t you dare, Alan. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Uncle Alan yells back in her face, spit flying, and Richie would jump forward to defend her if she weren’t holding him back so protectively (with one hand!). “Listen, Maggie, if he’s gonna act like that, I’m just preparing him for the real world.”

“You absolute shit! You don’t get to make that decision!” Richie has never, ever seen his mother so angry. “You battered a twelve year old boy! What, do you feel really big now, you pathetic piece of shit? Get the fuck out of my house!” At this point, she’s shaken him and thrown him back against the chair so he falls, catching himself just in time as it cascades to the ground.

“Fuck you, Maggie!”

She follows him down the hall.

“Fuck you!” Richie calls out at his retreating back, before his mother screams about pressing charges and slams the door behind him.

Richie’s mom rushes back into the kitchen to face him. She’s red in the face, eyes on fire, but she softens at the sight of him.

“Richie, sweetheart, I’m sorry we left you.” She cradles his face again. “Hey.” She holds him with both hands. “Listen. If anyone ever hurts you, you call me. If anyone ever so much as threatens you, Rich - ”

Richie, choked up, interjects, “I didn’t know the number, mom. I don’t know where the little paper you wrote it on is, I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay.” She looks at him for a few more moments, then swaddles him up in a big, mama bear hug. “I love you, kid. I hope you know that.”

“I love you too.”

For a few minutes, she just holds him, stroking his back while silent tears fall down his face and onto the chest of her shirt. She doesn’t seem to mind

It’s late. Richie doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s on top of the world.

He ends up at Eddie’s house, even though he knows they’re not talking and Eddie’s mom might kill him on sight, he has to see him. Mrs. K can go fuck herself.

Outside the boy’s bedroom window, he raps quietly with his knuckles, just about buzzing with a high, high feeling toward life. He can see Eddie lying in bed, struggling to prop up a book to read, lamplight cascading onto his skin - that is, until he hears Richie, and flies toward the window with a crazed look.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, brows knitting together. “My mom will kill you if she hears you.”

That doesn’t matter so much to him at that moment. “Eddie!” He swings his legs over the banister and jumps into the room, adrenaline and something like love pushing him to lift Eddie to his chest and spin. “Eds, my mom came home early and she kicked that motherfucker out of my house!”

Eddie’s eyes are crazed from the spinning and he clings to Richie’s shoulder with his good hand; and he grins, a giggle caught in his lips. “That’s great, Richie. Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, fuck him! And god Eddie, she - she protected me, and we just spent hours together, watching movies and making dinner like old times, and it was amazing, and - god, I know I sound like a dork, but I - ”

He pauses, mostly because he’s out of breath from machine-gunning a paragraph out of nowhere; but also because in his flustered state he didn’t register the sweet-cheeked smile that Eddie is currently melting him with.

But when he does, Richie thinks to himself: sure, blue eyes are great; they can be compared to the sky or the ocean or whatever other cheesy nature bit all goddamn day. But Eddie’s eyes - hell, he doesn’t care if he sounds like a cornball - they’re fucking amazing. They usurp all of that bullshit. He’s used to them when they’re blown wide in surprise, or holding him in a steely glare for some dumb joke, and he loves them then; but right now he catches a kind of tenderness hidden in the dark. Something that envelops him in warmth and pinks his cheeks.

Eddie takes the opportunity to pipe up. “Richie,” he says, “I’m really happy for you.”

He means it. Richie knows he means it, because for the last several days, he’s heard Eddie mumbling to himself somewhat privately about ‘that piece of shit,’ and right now he’s clutching Richie’s sleeve and smiling without a trace of mockery.

And he’s perfect.

His tousled hair that’s rustled from what looks to have been a constant stream of fingers, stressed over the book or his mom or god-knows-what; the oversized t-shirt he’s drowning in and short shorts and perfectly matched socks; and those shining eyes and friendly smile and soft fucking hands that hold all the electricity of Richie’s excitement - all perfect.

And Richie, Richie could just kiss him.

He doesn’t.

Mrs. K knocks at the door.

“Eddie bear, it’s time for your nighttime oils!”

Richie cracks a wise-ass smile. “Eddie bear, if I’d known you needed nighttime oils, well, I would have come prepared.”

“Get the fuck out,” Eddie says. The laughter catching on his lips tells another story.

Richie throws an utterly charming wink in his direction and crouches in the window, preparing to jump out and make his escape.

“Wait!” Eddie grabs the back of Richie’s t-shirt. “It’s cool that you stopped by. It’s - it’s been lonely in this hellhole. I might have gone insane if I thought you guys forgot about me.”

“Aw, I’d never forget you, cutie.” Richie, stomach twisting and turning, supports himself with his forearm on the outside of the window. “And, anyway, I gotta practice my Romeo somewhere, right?”

Eddie lets out a characteristic huff. “Whatever.”

It’s quiet, save for the distant tweeting crickets, and the scent wafting through the nighttime is intoxicating, and for the following moments the world reminds them to just breathe.

“You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

“I know.” He smiles. “I’ll see you, Tozier.”

Richie, without any reservations (until he thinks back on it later), reaches out as though to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but instead, runs his thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone. “See ya, Eds.” He smiles. “I’m gonna get you out of here someday.”

Eddie shakes his head as Richie takes his hand away from Eddie’s newly red cheeks and makes his way back to the ground, muttering, “My hero.”

And Richie looks back with a grin at the silhouette of the dork in the window, saluting before taking off

It sucks when Beverly leaves.

It’s an early morning, red and orange hues breaking across the skyline like a cracked egg, and Richie, Stan, and Ben all gather around to watch her disappear off to the nearest airport, and then disappear from them forever. Though it’s not nearly as mopey and depressing as it could have been, it’s hard to watch her go; a warm energy follows her as she hugs them all goodbye, looking at them with her all-knowing, crooked little smile, rolling her eyes but expressing more love than any of them had ever known, and Richie knows she means every word of loving and missing that she says. And he knows he’ll miss her more than anything.

He does. Not much helps with the pain of missing someone, but as the days go by, pieces of her slowly slip from his mind, until finally she’s all gone

New Years offers promises of ‘new me’s and resolutions and maybe some kind of peace. And considering everything, it’s the saving grace Richie thinks he needs.

A chance to forget his uncle, the murderous clown that haunts his dreams, and his personal revelation that he loves Eddie Kaspbrak.

It didn’t ruin their friendship by any means, just made his cheeks flush and heart throb and his rebuttals come back stutter-y when Eddie merely smiled at him. It was stupid textbook puppy love. He never thought he’d fall for that.

And, he’s not gay. He can’t be, or he’ll have to pay the price.

It's just that Eddie is his best friend. They’re all best friends, but Eddie never really stopped engaging with his exhausting jokes like the others, when it was finally too much. Eddie always bickered back, he took the bait and bit back. Eddie took him home when he got hurt and cared for him and then went right back to fighting.

He loves Eddie the way he should love someone like Bev.

But it’s nothing.

The night is cutting, crisp with a fresh wintery bitterness, biting at Richie’s nose until it’s practically bleeding. To be fair, he’d opted to only wear one of his lighter jackets and some gloves, so it’s his own fault that his scalp is freezing over and he’s shaking on his way to the loser’s little spot in the meadow.

At least his friends are smart.

Stan sports a matching tartan hat and scarf, bundled up around his face so only the pinkish tip of his nose is poking out; Bill has a nice puffy coat and a hat with a bauble rested atop his head; Ben’s ushanka hat is wrapped tightly under his chin, and he waves at Richie with mittens keeping his hands warm; Mike is representing a lot of fleece, and he grins at Richie, shaking his head when he sees his lack of winter clothes; and then there’s Eddie, wearing a coat that has to be at least an extra large, and a knitted cap, bundled up so only his fussy eyes and nose are squinting out at Richie.

In Richie’s defense, he was running late, and he had sprouted a little bit in the last few months, so his previously comfortable winter coat was now tight and painful in the shoulders and chest. This jacket was his best option in the 30-second long window he had to get dressed and run out the door to attempt to be on time.

Stan levels a look at him, thoroughly appreciating his idiocy, and obviously not pitying his shaking form more than a quick flash of sympathy in his eyes; he cares, but Richie obviously brought this upon himself. The ensuing cold would be his own fault, and he’d call Stan to complain, just to grin quietly as the boy went on the calmest rant about how stupid he is and then hang up. It’s just how they worked.

Richie wonders if he’d tell a potential partner that they should have brought a coat to a date if they complained of the temperature. It’s beside the point, but amusing.

“C’mon man, you didn’t think about a scarf at least?” Mike says as a greeting, laughing a little bit as he removes his own and wraps it messily around Richie’s neck. In that moment, Richie would give up his life for this kid. The body heat/fleece combo immediately brings him back from the brink of a nosebleed.

“Richie doesn’t think, period.” Stan sticks his hands in his pockets and stares at him, ghosts of amusement playing on his cheeks.

Richie flashes his teeth in a big ol’ grin. “That’s pretty accurate, actually, I just wanted to be with you guys on time so badly, you know.”

Bill lets out a small, unenthused, “Aww.”

Richie simply chuckles and tries to wrap his fingers in Mike’s scarf to help with the inevitable hypothermia. Eddie winds up next to him in their gathering, sucking in a big breath through his nostrils and huffing out shortly.

He bumps Eddie’s arm with his elbow and says, “What’s up with you, Eds?”

Eddie nearly topples over from the size of the coat weighing him down, and he curses under his breath before standing back up and glaring at Richie. “You really didn’t wear a bigger coat, dumbass?”

“As you can see, no,” Richie chuckles.

Eddie presses his tongue into his cheek. “Well, you can share mine. It’s more than big enough.”

Oh.

Right, sharing a coat. That’s fine. No pressure or anything.

Richie aims for a cool response, some funny voice or smooth and subtle, and lands on, “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

So, they share. And it’s pretty great.

Eddie unzips it and pulls Richie in, and they collaborate to pull it up and then Richie is pressed up against Eddie’s side, in public, already sweating even though he’s still cold because he doesn’t know if he can handle this.

Fortunately, they’re hidden by the dark, so maybe the boy or their friends won’t notice his red cheeks (or they’ll chalk it up to the cold) and the extra focus he has to place on acting normal. Because Eddie smells nicer than most boys their age, and he’s got a heart too big for his body, and Richie’s sure that Eddie loves him back in at least some way. It’s not just anyone that would get to be this close, squeezed into a coat with him.

Richie feels sick.

But the fireworks are starting, and they might be sparse and lackluster in the hell that is Derry, but each loser looks to the sky with love, with appreciation, in awe of the fact that something beautiful can apparently come from hell.

Barely, just barely, Eddie’s head falls against Richie’s shoulder as they gaze up into the inky black sky illuminated by cakes of fireworks, and he whispers, “Wow,” under his breath right next to Richie’s ear, and now Richie’s contemplating between the two possible causes of his death: he combusts, or he stops breathing - to be determined.

Richie begs the universe for advice in the ultimate predicament. And to his great relief, memories seep back into his brain; those of freckled cheeks, teeth balancing a cig as a mouth talks, and bundles of ginger curls bouncing as her head turns in his direction.

“Bev would love this.”

Riche catches the way Ben looks over at him pretty much immediately - at them, sharing body heat in Eddie’s coat - and then how the boy stares at the ground and mumbles a soft, “Yeah.” He looks back at Richie, holds his eye contact for a sweet, lingering moment, then gazes back at the sky, hopefully thinking of love as much as Richie is.

Bill, Mike, and Stan all follow, tearing their eyes away briefly to make quick eye contact with each other, and then Richie, and Eddie even shifts to look up at him, and they all smile wistfully as though the girl is there with them, snarky remarks and toothy smiles keeping them all afloat. Richie feels like he’s going to break open and cry enough to fill the whole universe, so he sniffles and looks back up at the sky, breaking the moment of magic.

But it remains with them.

It remains as they share this together, as they enter the new year together, promising hope for a happier future as long as they stick with each other.

And it remains as Eddie Kaspbrak takes his hand under the coat and murmurs, “Happy new year, Richie.”

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #fanfiction #fluff #angst #sharing a bed #pining #new years #summer #mine #gosh i hope this isnt too dorky sfhdgjhsdfg

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