#this is from my story Every Summertime on ao3 and it was honestly the first time I felt proud of a piece of writing lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lannister-slings-and-arrows · 3 years

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Chapter Three of Shades of Black and Blue

A Rita Calhoun x F. Reader x Sonny Carisi Fic

Written in collaboration with @pascalispretty who also designed our excellent moodboard for this story. (If anything is at all artistic it’s safe to assume she did it and not me lol.) Cross posted on ao3!

For @thatesqcrush 's Sexy and Smutty Summertime Bingo, fulfilling the Free Square. We chose CNC.

Chapter One: Azure Chapter Two: Cornflower Chapter Three: Onyx Chapter Four: Prussian

Warnings: dom/sub relationship, discussion of safe words, consensual non-consent bw Rita and the reader (no really. these two are PRETENDING at non-consent. this is a GAME.), degrading language, dirty talk, light humiliation, nipple clamps, use of a harness, p. in v. sex, multiple orgasms, mild voyeurism, masturbation, honestly just a lot of porn guys. Rating: Explicit. So very, very explicit. Word Count: 7780 Summary: Rita has had an abysmal day with an awful client. Fortunately for her, she has you and Sonny at home eager to make her feel better about it.

Rita hasn’t looked at you since she first came into the room, and she doesn’t turn to face you now. She finishes her wine and strolls to the dresser by the window, setting the glass on the top and clearing her throat.

“I wonder what it says about these little games of ours when even a hardened police detective has to leave the room before they start.”

You bite down on the urge to retort that the only thing hard about Sonny is his cock, knowing from prior experience that copping an attitude is not your best defense right now. Rita takes out the box she keeps her strap on harness and collection of cocks in and you swallow. Begging might work. She likes it sometimes when you beg.

“Ma’am, please--” She finally turns around to fix you with a stern frown and you snap your mouth shut. Clearly begging is not the answer today.

Rita slips her heels off and walks over to the bed on bare, silent feet. You follow her every move and your breath hitches when she climbs on top of you to straddle your chest, mimicking the position Sonny had been in minutes prior. Her skin is soft and warm where it touches you and you fight a smile at the feeling, but she sees it anyways. She grabs your chin in one of her hands and asks you,

“Does my pet remember her word?” You nod vigorously. “Well?”

“Tiger,” you recite dutifully. She nods. And then frowns and slaps you hard across the face.

She climbs off of you and goes back to her box of toys while you blink tears out of your eyes. Rita continues rummaging through them, discarding some and setting a handful of others out onto the foot of the bed, right where you can’t miss them.

“Which shall we start with today?” Rita asks, tapping her finger thoughtfully against her chin as she studies the three silicone cocks laid out on the bed in ascending size order. You stay silent and watch her carefully, hoping she picks the one closest to you.

Of course she grabs the one furthest away. The biggest one.

“I haven’t used this one in what seems like forever,” she reminisces with a smile. You shake your head violently. “Oh don’t put up such a fuss, I know you can take it.”

She takes her time getting everything together and when she goes to put the harness on she has the smallest of the three in her hand. Rita sees your hopeful look and she scoffs, smiling at you.

“Don’t get your hopes up. This is just to warm up with. You’ll be taking that monster in your cunt and begging me for more before Sonny has dinner ready, pet.” You watch as she pulls her hair back loosely, your breath coming in short gasps. This is always how Rita starts these games. It’s how you know she means business: if her hair goes up and out of the way. You have a nearly pavlovian response to her grabbing a hair tie and gathering up the long smooth brown locks.

Rita steps gracefully up to the bed, cock hanging between her legs, and you want to whine. You do whine. You can’t help it. You love the way she walks--graceful, powerful--and when she climbs back up onto the bed beside you and gives you that scornful look, one eyebrow arching perfectly… It's devastating. She is devastating.

“This wet already? Is this from that performance out in the living room or are you really just this desperate?” she asks, carelessly shoving your legs open and peering at your cunt. You feel yourself blush harder, and tears begin to threaten again, but you can’t look away from her casually examining you like a menu at a familiar restaurant. She’s been here before, she probably knows what she wants, but she’ll look anyway, for form’s sake, while she waits--bored--for a dining companion to choose or to finish an uninteresting story.

When you fail to answer her she slaps your cunt. Hard.

The noise her hand makes when it connects with your wet flesh is nearly drowned out by your sharp, surprised cry. Rita brings her hand down twice more on your cunt and then once on each thigh, staring you in the face as she waits for you to understand what she wants from you. Every blow settles deep in your core and you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter and finally, as tears begin to slide down your cheeks, you unstick your voice and wail,

“Both! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry I loved eating you out on the couch and, and…” You whine, you don’t want to say it, please don’t make me say it. Rita arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow at you. “And I’m such a desperate little slut, ma’am--both, ma’am, please!” You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore; more slaps, more attention, for her to get on with it and fuck you as hard as she promised, for her to release you and tell you that she likes you just as much as Sonny--who knows.

She flicks her eyes down to your spread legs and scoffs.

“Even wetter. Such a needy little pet, the slightest thing will turn you on, won’t it? Even when you don’t want it to.” You feel exposed, humiliated, so incredibly turned on, and desperately in love with her. You never want her to stop looking and you want her to look away right now.

“You can stop crying, precious, you aren’t fooling anyone. It’s glaringly obvious how much you enjoy this.” That of course only makes you cry harder. You want to stop for her, you want to do anything she asks and not only because you know that if you don’t she’ll just make you. But you can’t. She continues to look at you like you bore her, and irritate her, and like she just can’t wait to be through with punishing you, and you want to please her.

“Quiet,” she orders, delivering another stinging slap right over your clit and you yelp, trying to slam your legs closed even as the muscles in your thighs twitch and jolt. She shoves them roughly apart again. “If you don’t stop blubbering I’ll get something else from the box to use on you.”

She pauses. And then smiles.

Sonny describes seeing her in court to you occasionally. He says that, especially when she knows she’s about to destroy someone and make them curl up into a ball and whimper for their mothers, she smiles this cruel, self-satisfied smile that he says he wished he didn’t get so turned on by.

You think this smile on her face might be something like that.

Rita flicks your clit with a finger and then slides off the bed, sauntering back over to her box without explaining what she’s thought of. You know she does it to make you sweat and it works every time.

She rummages around in the box with her back turned to you for a minute ‘hmm’-ing quietly to herself as she sifts through the toys she likes to use on her pets. You know the contents of that box rather intimately and leaving it up to your imagination to guess which one she is going to pull out leaves you panting, flushed, and nearly distracts you from ogling the expanse of bare skin on display in front of you. Nearly. With her hair up like this you can admire her graceful neck, the proud way she carries her shoulders, her ass that those heels she wears for work have done a damn fine job shaping….

She catches you staring when she turns around and snaps the fingers of her free hand sharply.

“Eyes up here, pet. Insolent girl.”

You keep your eyes fixed on hers, not daring to look down and see what she has in her hand as she settles back onto the bed. You get another hard slap across your cunt, presumably for ogling her, and you sob as she straddles your waist.

“Want to tell me what you were staring at, pet?” Rita asks, bringing her free hand up to hold your chin tightly. You whimper and shake your head as best you can, eyes trapped in her gaze without even the desire to look away. Rita smirks. “But are you going to anyway because you know the consequences of not answering my questions?”

You swallow thickly and nod slowly.

“Well?” she demands. “Speak.”

It’s humiliating. It’s mortifying, and debasing, and you feel more tears well in your eyes as you whisper,

“I--” You shake your head and close your eyes. You can’t do it. You’ll just take the punishment, you can’t say it. Rita smacks your cheek again.

“Pet…” she warns, voice tight and serious.

“I love watching you before you use me!” you finally gasp, breathing hard and bracing yourself for her laughter.

“Oh, you really are my favorite little whore,” Rita tells you. “Open your eyes.” You do and you see her smirking at you, mean and mocking and you start to cry again. She rolls her eyes, annoyed again.

“God, enough caterwauling!” she snarls, every word punctuated with a slap across your breasts. You squirm under her, your wrists twisting in the ties and more tears sliding down your face. The humiliation burns low in your stomach, stoking your arousal as she wraps one of her elegant hands around your throat and squeezes lightly.

“Clearly I need to give you something to distract you, so I can focus on this,” she gestures with her free hand to her strap on. “And not on all of your incessant whining.” Her hand leaves your throat and comes down hard across your face, your cheek burning from the blow. Rita ignores your shocked gasp, preferring instead to pinch your nipples roughly.

When you feel the cool, delicate chain on your chest, you know what she’s doing. You cry out as she attaches a clamp to first one nipple, then the other, and tugs roughly at the chain that connects them.

You thrash under her at the burst of pain, just on the right side of pleasurable, and sob weakly.

“Please, ma’am, it’s too much, it hurts…” She ignores you, and you don’t blame her. It’s a barefaced lie, you love the clamps. Instead, she waves a third clamp connected by another thin chain in front of your eyes.

“If you can’t behave, this one goes on your clit. Do I make myself clear?” It’s not a question that she wants an answer to, but you shake your head anyway.

“No, ma’am, please don’t.” Please do.

“Shut up, or I’ll shove one of these down your throat.” She holds the medium sized silicone cock briefly in your field of vision before moving it aside on the bed with the larger one. When you feel the one Rita is wearing press against your cunt, you whimper. It might be the smallest of the three, but it’s not small by any means.

There’s no patience or time for adjustment; she simply pushes the whole thing inside of you in one fluid motion, holding your legs wide open so you can’t spoil her fun. There have been times when you’ve played this game before where she’s tied your legs open and left you spread-eagled and immobile as she uses you.

Now she just holds you down, her neatly manicured nails digging into the flesh of your thighs as she starts fucking you. You moan loudly as she sets a fast rough pace, the slight burn of taking the toy inside of you without any lube perversely only making you wetter. The force of every one of Rita’s harsh thrusts makes your body move to her rhythm, jostling the clamps on your nipples with every slight shift.

“Such an irritating little whore.” Rita lets go of one of your thighs to tug at the chain connecting the clamps, making you wail loudly. “Everything that’s supposed to be a punishment just makes you wetter, doesn’t it?”

You shake your head, whimpering with every breath you manage to take between every hard thrust. You’re desperate not to make her more mad--the clamps on your nipples are enough.

“No ma’am, I’m sorry, it’s a punishment, it’s a punishment, I swear!” you cry as she yanks on the chain between your breasts again, gritting her teeth for a few deep thrusts that stretch and burn and that you think might be reaching the limit of what you can handle. You wince, you love it, and you try to reach up to lick the bead of sweat that is starting to roll down her neck but are immediately hindered by the ties that are still keeping you attached to the bed.

“Really,” she grunts, fucking you with swift hard flicks of her hips that you desperately want to hang onto. “You’re going to lie there and perjure yourself when I can practically hear how wet you are with this inside of you? You love it. It is not a punishment.” She pauses to slap your cheek and then your breast, the impact jerking the clips on your nipples in a completely different direction. You sob and shake your head. “I think it might be time to try a different tack.”

She pulls out without any further warning and climbs off the bed, casually slapping your cunt a few times before she turns to the end of the bed to switch out the cock on her harness. You cry quietly to yourself, overstimulated and hanging limply from your wrists, your arms starting to shake and your cunt still quivering.

Rita turns back to you and you gasp when you look down, unable to stop yourself even though you had been admonished for doing so before.

“Ma’am--” you cut yourself off and shake your head wildly.

She smiles at you. Her smile is bright, inviting, and almost kind. You say almost because the gleam in her eyes is still mischievous and a little cruel.

“Yes, darling?” she asks, making her way back and climbing on top of you again. She takes up the chain connected to your nipple clips so gently they barely tug at all and you whine.

“Ma’am, I think that--Isn’t that too big?” you ask cautiously through your tears.

“You think so?” she asks conversationally, staring down at the silicone cock already threatening to start poking your cunt. “I think you’ll enjoy it,” she decides, moving forward and holding it against you. The big blunt head rubbing your red and abused clit makes you want to curl up into a ball and shake into millions of pieces, only held together in a vague human-like shape by her arms around you.

“No, ma’am, please no, I won't, I won’t enjoy it!” You try to wiggle your hips away from both her and the largest of the three cocks she had originally taken out, in just the way she likes to play this game, but she is having none of that. She slaps the insides of both your thighs to get your attention and then slaps your breasts for daring to contradict her.

“You will, I can already see you leaking onto the bed. Why do you insist on lying to me, pet?” She repositions the cock, ignoring your sobs as they ratchet up in volume.

“But ma’am, please, I--that isn’t the next size up!”

“It’s been a long day, precious, and it’s probably about time to let Sonny have a try. Besides, I’m getting bored and want to move this along.” And with that she thrusts back into you again, moving so much slower, just so you can feel every stretching and burning inch of the violently purple silicone. The ability to make any sort of noise is punched right out of your body as she slowly enters you, both hands planted on either side of your head, and staring directly into your eyes so she can watch every emotion pass through them.

She stops and rests once the entire thing is inside of you, stretching you so much that you’re sure the muscles and whatever else is being abused down there are going to snap. You’re sure you can feel it hit the end of you and when she gives an experimental twist of her hips, moving the thing inside you barely even a centimeter, it bumps into your cervix and you’re absolutely certain now.

You howl.

That’s the only word you can think of to describe the noise that she rips out of you. It's so much, it’s too much, and you’re seconds away from tapping out, from using the last of your breath to choke ‘tiger’ and be done with it, to have her pull out and wrap you in her arms again.

But then she stills, and you feel more of her body weight drop onto you. It pulls on the clips and that pain is sharp and sudden and clean, the kind that settles in your belly and somehow also shoots like ice cold water down the insides of your arms to settle, tingling, in your fingertips. It’s getting a tattoo pain, needle pain. It’s good pain. The best pain. And feeling her weigh you down is so soothing, so steadying, that suddenly you can breathe again, and the feeling of the cock inside of you isn’t as bad anymore.

“Better?” You nod. “Such a weak little thing. It’s a good thing I have Sonny to look after you,” she scoffs, allowing you to rest with her on top of you for a few more delicious breaths. She eventually pulls away, though, and you immediately miss the warmth of her skin, the weight of her body, and the smell of her floral perfume in your nose. You whine and she doesn’t miss it.

“So pathetic. I suppose I am ultimately responsible for how spoiled and soft you are. But don’t worry, pet. I’m here to correct those faults.” You moan preemptively, bracing yourself for how much this is going to hurt, and try to brush your cheek against one of her arms next to your head. You just manage it before she shakes you off brusquely, frowning and leaning back.

“Enough of that,” she scolds, and pulls her hips back, the massive cock she has inside of you nearly sliding all the way out. You cry out and shudder, turning your face into your own arm to try and muffle your sobs.

“Too much, pet?” Rita demands.

You nod. “Yes ma’am.”

She forces the purple monster back into your cunt all the way to the end of you again and sighs.

“If you can still answer me it clearly isn’t enough at all.”

Rita starts fucking you just this side of too fast and too hard, one hand leaving the pillow next to your head to grab your hip and use it for leverage. You feel so full and so used--you love it--all you can do is lay there and cry, wishing she would stop and give you a break from the burn in your cunt and the burn in the muscles of your thighs where Rita’s body is holding you open.

“Oh, stop crying,” Rita demands, teeth gritted as she really puts her back into driving that cock deep inside of you. She bumps the head into your cervix again and you wail, you can’t help it; you want to be good for her but it hurts.

“I can’t listen to this nonsense anymore,” Rita tells you, pulling the cock out of you with one smooth motion. You choke at the feeling of sudden emptiness, of the head of the cock popping out of you, and for a second you can’t breathe again as your cunt gapes and Rita backs away from you on the bed. You shake your head and try to reach out to grab her arm but your own are still tied to the bed.

“Ma’am no, please, please, I’ll be good, I swear, don’t leave!” you beg, tears still flowing despite your best efforts. Rita sighs and swats the inside of your thigh, cock bobbing in front of her.

She stretches over you and tugs on the knots that Sonny had left in the ties and suddenly your wrists are free, one after the other. You have to fight your immediate instinct to either curl up into a ball and beg her to hold you or latch onto her and not let go--you know neither of those actions will get you anything but reproachful looks and more punishment. Instead you lie there under her, a whimpering crying mess, and stare up pleadingly, waiting for her to tell you why she released you.

She doesn’t. She just grabs your shoulder and rolls you over onto your stomach, causing the stiff, red, and abused nubs of your nipples in their clamps to rub up against sheets that until that moment you would have called sinfully soft. Now they feel like sackcloth and you whine and shiver and try to sit back up again, anything so your nipples don’t have to touch them anymore.

Rita ignores your whimpers, sinking her fingers into your hair and pushing your head down against the pillows.

“The crying was fun to start with, pet. Now you’re just giving me a headache,” she sighs, using her grip to practically bend you in half in front of her. You want to thrash under her, to try and put less pressure on your sensitive nipples, but her grip in your hair is unrelenting.

Her free hand guides the silicone cock back towards your cunt, and you sob into the sheets when she thrusts the whole thing inside of you in one smooth motion. In this position, it feels impossibly huge; you swear you can feel it bumping up against your ribcage, tearing you open down the middle.

“I think I like this view better,” Rita muses, palming at your ass before landing a harsh slap. “I really should have put a plug in you first though. Or maybe I’ll just use this, if you can’t stop being such a pathetic little whore. Give you something to really cry about.” She pulls out all the way in order to drag the blunt head of the cock between your cheeks before pushing it back into you. You choke on your sobs, and bite down on the sheets as she sets a brutal pace.

All you can do is lie there and take whatever Rita gives you. She’s utterly merciless, angling her thrusts downward when she realizes that makes you quiver underneath her. The hand in your hair slips down to grip the nape of your neck, keeping you bent in half; her other hand alternately sinks her nails into the flesh of your backside or lands a flurry of slaps on the sensitive skin. She’s vicious and ruthless as she drags you towards an orgasm.

“You going to come for me, little whore?” Rita drags her neatly manicured nails across the curve of your ass before bringing her palm down again hard. “All this whining and crying about how you don’t want it, how I’m hurting you, only for you to come all over this huge cock?” she practically snarls at you, somehow managing to fuck you harder as you sob brokenly against the sheets.

You can’t speak to answer her; you can barely even breathe.

“Finally stopped talking? I guess I might be doing my job right after all,” she grunts between thrusts and tightens the hand she has around your neck a little more, just to let you know she’s still there, as if you could possibly have forgotten. All you can manage are short sharp breaths as the massive cock inside you stretches you to what you are sure is your utmost and punches against that spot inside of you that she somehow always manages to find.

“Quivering underneath me like the little whore you are, you’re enjoying this, don’t lie. Go on, give in to it. Come for me, pet.”

It’s like she flicked a switch and suddenly the muscles in your calves are twitching, your cunt is clenching down around the toy inside of you, and you twist the sheets that you have clutched between your fingers tightly and cry out. Rita keeps the cock seated deep inside of you and rests her weight on top of you, her lips against your ear murmuring something to you that you’re sure if you had any energy to devote to listening to would be very soothing.

Every nerve in your body is on fire, you feel every single point of contact with her skin and the sheets, and every molecule of air like they are tiny needles driving into you and your brain can’t seem to process what it’s seeing an inch from your nose.

You come back to yourself in pieces, first noticing the shivering and the occasional twitch, then the burning exciting electrical feeling of the silicone cock still in your cunt, pressing just next to her favorite spot to punish.

“Shh… that’s it, pet, take a deep breath.” Rita’s lips are still hovering over your ear and you shudder as you feel as well as hear her words. Automatically you respond to her order and relax as your back presses closer to her chest as you inhale. “Such a pretty little pet--can you speak again?”

You try, but you can’t draw in enough breath to make more than a whimper. Rita nips at your earlobe before sitting back up again, the movement making the cock inside of you shift. It’s barely jostled but it still makes you tremble as Rita kneels upright behind you again.

“I think it’s time we let Sonny back in, don’t you?” She gives a testing thrust that makes you sob into the mattress and you can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “Give me one more before he comes back, precious, I know you can do it.”

It’s all the warning you get before she starts fucking you again, gripping so hard at your hips that you know she’ll leave magnificent bruises to be admired later. Now though all you can think about is the way she’s fucking mercilessly into you. You feel raw and flayed open and every time the blunt silicone head hits your cervix more tears find their way out from between your tightly closed eyelids.

“Dominick! Can you come here please?” Rita calls before turning all of her attention back on you.

“I know you can come again, pet. Won’t that be such a lovely sight for him to walk in on, you coming on my huge cock?” Rita coos, the softness of her voice at complete odds with any of her actions. One of her hands slides up from your hip to catch at the chain connecting the clamps on your nipples and she tugs threateningly on it.

It makes you whine and shudder underneath her, and if your abused and strained muscles were capable of it you would have clamped down on the cock inside of you.

“Ma’am, please--” you manage weakly, not even sure what you’re begging her for anymore. You have no idea if Sonny is back in the bedroom yet; a string quartet could make an appearance and you probably wouldn’t notice.

Rita wraps the chain around her elegant fingers and tugs again. Your instinct is to sag forwards against the bed but that only makes the friction on your nipples worse. Everything in your body is pulling close again, nerve endings feeling frayed as Rita slams her hips against you.

“Come on, pet, one more. Be a good girl and I’ll let Dominick fuck you when I’m done.” She pulls on the chain again and makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “Am I going to have to put one on your clit too? Is that what’ll get you to come again, you silly little whore?”

The threats are abruptly curtailed and you presume that Sonny has finally made his entrance. It doesn’t stop Rita from giving another tug on the chain, however, and you whine loudly.

“Don’t just gawk, Dominick. Hurry up and get out of that suit. You can have her when I’m done,” Rita snaps impatiently, giving you a hard smack with her free hand. “Don’t keep him waiting, precious. I need you to come again.”

Your skin feels three sizes too small as you gasp for breath against the damp sheets, trying to give into the heat rising in your core again. One of Rita’s favorite pastimes is continuing to play with both you and Sonny when you’re well past the point of oversensitivity, always pushing you both to give her more.

You vaguely hear Sonny quickly undress like it’s happening a few blocks away. He swears and you’re about to open your eyes to see what’s the matter when Rita shifts the angle of her hips and drives her cock into you again, and all thoughts of checking up on Sonny, opening your eyes, or even breathing fly out of the window.

She pulls the chain between the clamps on your nipples as she fucks you at this new angle and all your muscles spasm as you try to fight against the urge to push away from the sensation and sag into it at the same time. You’ve gone well beyond mere oversensitivity, with every drag of the cock inside of you you feel the familiar burning anticipation of another impending orgasm. You must give some sort of sign because Rita somehow fucks you faster and encourages,

“Almost there, precious, come on, you’re so close. You want to, little whore, so stop fighting it and just come.”

It might be her words, it might be the thought of Sonny standing there watching you, it might be the cock inside of you pounding mercilessly away. It’s probably her voice, that intoxicating voice that’s soft and soothing and hard and serious and demanding and completely irresistible, but whatever it is you’re in the middle of another orgasm before you realize it’s begun. Your eyes are squeezed shut, so the blinding white light you’re seeing makes about as much sense to you as how you can enjoy the stretch and burn of the huge cock inside of you, or the fiery sensation in your core as wave after wave of feeling floods through you, making your limbs shake and making your legs quiver as Rita wrings another orgasm out of you.

Rita holds your hips close as you come, holding you still as you try to curl up underneath her. You’re dimly aware of another hand running soothingly down your back--Sonny, you think--as you ride out your orgasm, unsure if you’re trying to squirm away from Rita or grind down harder on the toy she has inside of you. The mattress shifts underneath you and when you manage to open your eyes again, Sonny is kneeling on the bed beside you, still stroking your back gently.

“Don’t let the little brat fool you, Sonny, she still has some in her,” you hear Rita tell Sonny, shifting her hips restlessly and moving the cock that she still has inside of your cunt. You flinch, the tiny hitches drawing out mewling little cries from your throat, and Rita drags her knuckles firmly down your spine from head to mid-back, shushing you gently.

“Oh stop those little squeals, my precious little pet.” She braces her hand on your hip and pulls her cock out of you achingly slowly, knuckles of her other hand still digging into your spine. It provides a welcome distraction to the sharp pain of her withdrawal and the sudden gaping emptiness of your cunt as she finally pulls all the way out. You can’t help a few more cries, no matter how hard you try to, and Rita leans over your back and settles her weight against you once more, kissing your temple and then your cheekbone and then the shell of your ear.

“Wonderful performance, darling. Almost made me believe you deserved those orgasms,” she whispers to you, softly enough that Sonny can ignore it if he chooses to. You shiver and whine when she draws back, and you hear her unbuckle the harness from around her hips and the familiar soft thud as it hits the end of the bed to be cleaned and put away later.

Rita sprawls gracefully on the bed beside you with a worn out and tired sigh, and you can hear her stretching before her hand comes down to run through your hair.

“Well, go on, Dominick,” she urges imperiously, fingers still tangling in your hair. “She isn’t going to fuck herself.” She pauses and you can hear the smile in her voice as she adds the caveat, “Unless I tell her to.”

Sonny wraps his hands around your waist and carefully helps you to turn over. You sigh in relief at the lack of friction on your tender nipples when you lie back and Sonny brushes the chain with his fingertips.

“Do you want these off, sweetheart?” he asks, the blue in his eyes barely visible for the blown out black of his pupils. You nod though your eyes dart over to Rita, half expecting her to order you to keep them on until she says otherwise. Sonny spares Rita no such obedient glance; he just settles between your legs and lowers his mouth to press a kiss next to one of the clamps.

You’re never quite prepared for the way the blood rushes back when the clamp is removed and you whimper into Sonny’s hair as the first one comes off. He hushes you and presses soft kisses all over your breast.

“I know, I know. It’ll feel better in a second,” he mumbles against your skin, giving you a minute to breathe before he unclips the other one. His hair is soft as you bury your face against it, breathing in the smell of him as he covers you in more soothing kisses.

“Good girl.” He shifts, propping himself up on his elbows as he kisses you tenderly. “Rita really worked you over, didn’t she sweetheart? You should have seen how good you looked, taking her big cock like that.” He peppers your face with yet more kisses, brushing away the tears still clinging to your face. You relax under him, sighing contentedly and bringing one of your hands up to stroke his side.

“Sonny,” you murmur, trying to pull him closer to you. “Need you inside of me.” You feel so empty after the aching fullness that Rita’s toys had provided that, as tired as you are, you try to rock your hips up against him.

“Such a greedy little thing,” Rita sighs, giving a gentle tug on your hair. “You heard the girl, Dominick.” She lets go of your hair, instead propping herself up on one of the pillows to watch.

“You sure you’re not too tired?” Sonny asks, bumping his nose against yours affectionately.

“I’m sure. I need you,” you whisper, finally succeeding in pulling him against you and sighing happily when you feel his hard cock against your hip. He lets a little more of his weight settle on you and leans down to kiss you again.

“You do?” he asks between kisses, smoothing your hair back and settling himself more comfortably between your legs. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to fuck you nice and slow and deep?” You nod, too exhausted for anything more athletic, and wrap your arms around him.

“Please, Sonny.” He’s quick to oblige and you tip your head back and let your eyelids flutter closed as he slides his cock into you. The two of you moan softly together as he fills you and you run your fingertips up and down his back.

“Fuck, Rita, what did you do to her? She’s so wet,” Sonny murmurs into your hair, sighing contentedly when you ignore the prickle of his five o’clock shadow against your lips and mouth along his jaw.

“You say that like she doesn’t get wet if you so much as look at her in a certain way,” Rita says, though she sounds more affectionate than annoyed. Sonny ignores her in favor of starting to fuck you, far slower and with more tenderness than Rita had.

“If I were smarter, I’d film the two of you like this. I could retire in style right now off the profits from that,” she teases, and you feel Sonny’s cock twitch inside of you. “I certainly should have filmed what your cunt looked like with that huge cock stuffed inside it, precious. I thought Dominick was going to come just from watching me pull out of you.”

Her words trail off in a soft little sigh and when you look over at her you see that she’s on her back her legs spread and fingers busy between her legs. You tighten around Sonny at the sight and part of you wants to whine that she doesn’t need to take care of herself when she could sit on your face instead.

But you remember too well the humiliation of the last time you’d tried to please her with your mouth so you stay silent and enjoy the show instead. Her eyes rake over the both of you and you roll your hips under Sonny, eager to give her a pretty display to get herself off to. She smirks knowingly at you and presses one of her long fingers inside of herself.

“You’re a wanton little thing, aren’t you?” she asks, voice a little less authoritative and a little more breathless than normal. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

You gasp as the sparse hairs on Sonny’s chest brush against your still smarting nipples and the shift of your hips this time is totally involuntary. You struggle to keep your eyes open to watch as Rita thrusts her finger inside of herself a few times before pulling it out to rub over her clit absently, like she has all the time in the world while she watches the show next to her. Her eyes have that hooded tired look she gets after a particularly long day; the movement of her hand is slow and the way she languidly shifts her legs open a little further tells you how much she’s enjoying watching you and Sonny. She’s trying to match her pace to the speed at which Sonny’s dragging his cock in and out of your cunt.

You want this for her so desperately, this slow relaxed and uncaring pleasure. She's had such a hard day and you can see in her eyes how tired she is. She pushed through that exhaustion to fuck you like you deserved. The least you can do is give her something in return.

“Sonny,” you moan, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and making eye contact with Rita. “Fuck, your cock feels so fucking good inside me, please…” Rita smirks again and licks her lips as Sonny grumbles into your neck and presses even deeper, trying to bury his cock in the very core of you.

“S’wet and warm, god, sweetheart, you feel--fuck--” Sonny groans, hips grinding into you, cock still sheathed deep. His long arms circle completely around you to hug you close to his body and you feel so safe and comforted and warm with him pressed so close and Rita’s eyes so watchful on you.

“Oh, pet, you should see his ass as he presses that cock deep inside of you,” she croons, and you can’t help but break eye contact to watch as her fingers start circling her clit harder and faster. They glisten in the light of your bedroom and you desperately want to ask her to stop and lift them to your face so you can taste her again but you don’t dare.

The room is filled with the noise of Sonny’s grunts and deeply satisfied groans, and the wet sound of either your cunt as his cock continues to stretch you open slowly or Rita’s as her fingers drive her closer and closer to the orgasm you couldn’t give her before. Maybe both. It doesn’t matter either way, the noise is as intoxicating as the man on top of you and the woman next to you and you can feel a spark of pleasure shoot up your spine with every new sound.

God, you could watch Rita get herself off every day for the rest of your life and count yourself the luckiest woman on the planet. One long leg bent and the other stretched out before her, her breathing starts to really pick up and those soft sighs melt into tiny whimpers as two of her elegant fingers find their way back into her cunt.

“Sonny,” you whine, digging your nails into his back. “Sonny, can you hear…?”

Sonny nods against your neck.

“Fuck, yes, god, I hear her. Can you keep this up long enough to let her come, sweetheart? Can you do that for her?” he asks, speeding up the thrust of his hips as you both hear Rita approaching her own climax. You nod against his hair and mewl a little louder as his cock hits that spot inside of you that Rita had already so abused.

“Mmm, the two of you,” Rita moans softly, and you look over to see her eyes slip shut. “God, the sound of Sonny’s cock inside of you, pet… Go on, let me hear how much you enjoy him, don’t be shy.” You moan obligingly, trying not to muffle your face against Sonny’s hair. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of Sonny; there have been times when the two of you have dozed off after sex with his cock still inside of you, ready to go again as soon as he can get hard.

Sonny nips at your neck, occasionally stopping to suck at the tender skin. You know he’ll leave marks and the thought makes you cry out again, your nails catching at his shoulder blades and making him groan in turn. When you look at Rita again she’s fucking her fingers and making delicious noises whenever the heel of her hand makes contact with her clit.

You could die happy right now here between your lovers while they enjoy you. Your third orgasm of the night takes you by surprise, washing over you and filling you with warmth all the way to your fingertips and toes while you cling to Sonny. Something that could have been his name, or a curse, or anything at all tears out of your mouth, and Rita smirks at you.

“Oh, good girl. Always make such pretty little noises,” Rita groans, her fingers moving faster as she pushes herself towards her own climax. Sonny holds you tighter to him as he fucks you a little more desperately, clearly starting to struggle to hold off on coming before Rita. You’re limp in his arms, worn out and boneless from the two of them. It’s all you can do to run your fingers through his hair, damp with sweat around the temples.

“Good, perfect girl, fuck--” Sonny pants against your neck, his breath searing against your overheated skin. You’re distracted by Rita arching her back beside you, her free hand coming up to pinch one of her nipples. Your mouth waters, an almost Pavlovian response, and you watch as she rocks her hips up against her own hand, clearly close.

“Sonny, look--” You use your fingers in his hair to encourage him to turn his head just in time. Rita comes with a long shuddering moan, her fingers working furiously between her legs and at her nipple. She looks absolutely glorious and you hear Sonny hiss sharply between his teeth as you tighten around him in response.

It’s too much for Sonny and he buries himself as deeply as he can inside of you, biting down on your neck as he climaxes. You feel his chest heave as he tries to catch his breath, his hips shaking as he tries to push himself just a little farther inside of you. It makes you whine and when you manage to look over at Rita you notice that she has her phone pointed towards the two of you.

You’re too tired to make a comment about Rita and her amateur private pornography. You just concentrate on Sonny; on how warm and sleepy and soft he is and how much you love being in his arms like this. You could happily fall asleep like this, his softening cock still inside of you as you dozed.

“Need a second,” Sonny mumbles, resting his head against your breasts. You’re so busy playing with his hair that you don’t notice Rita has moved until she taps you on the nose with her finger. She’s kneeling beside you and Sonny and she gives you another smirk as she looks down on you.

“Open your mouth, pet.” You do as you’re told, moaning happily when she presses her still wet fingers into your mouth. “I know how much you like sucking on mine and Sonny’s fingers. Especially when there’s still come on them.” She leers at you as you moan in agreement, dragging your tongue along the length of her fingers, relishing in the taste of her that lingers there.

Sonny raises his head to watch, looking half asleep as Rita pushes them just a little deeper into your mouth.

“Hang on, lemme turn over.” He unwraps his arms from around you, and you whine in protest, getting louder when he starts to pull out of you. “Sorry, sweetheart, c’mere.” He leans back against the mountain of pillows behind him and pulls you back into his arms, settling you between his legs with your back to his chest.

“Look at the two of you,” Rita murmurs, fingers still in your mouth, her other hand coming up to cup Sonny’s stubbly jaw. “Such a perfect, sweet pair. You both did so well.” You feel Sonny grumble happily and you sigh, your eyes slipping closed as you suck on her long elegant digits.

She only lets you have them for a few more seconds before she tugs them out of your mouth, ignoring your pleading and your definitely a little pathetic whine.

“But I'm not quite finished with you yet, darlings.”

#thatesqcrushsummerbingo #rita calhoun x reader #rita calhoun x sonny carisi #rita calhoun x reader x sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #rita calhoun #sonny carisi #law and order svu #fanfic #fanfiction

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slipping-through-my-fingertips · 3 years

Text

august

Summary: August slips away and their summer fling is going to have to end.

Notes: it’s my birthday!! To celebrate here is the august story of my folklore series

AO3

For most people, all roads lead to Rome but for one Kurt Hummel, all roads lead to the mall.

First stop: coffee.

Once Kurt had secured his iced mocha, he began his window shopping. It was just so nice to walk around the air-conditioned mall.

There were plenty of middle and high schoolers wandering around with their friends. Enjoying the freedom of summertime. Kurt was pretty happy to be able to spend his summer days at the mall; almost like a relaxing vacation if it weren’t for the fear of running into old bullies and homophobes.

His dad just wanted Kurt to work a few days a week at the garage when the staff was short but with Finn there full-time, Kurt was barely needed. So, he spent his days off running errands and wandering around the Lima Mall.

There was no way for him to get lost at the mall. One, he had become very familiar with the mall having spent many weekends with his girls from glee club here. And two, it wasn’t a very large place.

Eventually, Kurt decided to splurge by getting a cinnamon pretzel and found a bench to rest. It wasn’t long until a curly-haired boy took a seat at the other end.

Kurt wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say hello or not. They were likely the same age. Close in age and cute. While he was debating whether or not to engage with this boy, he made the first move.

“I’m Blaine.”

He’s now facing Kurt.

“Kurt.”

They smile at each other. Kurt can feel his face getting warm.

“You here alone?” Blaine asks.

“Yeah, you?”

Blaine nods. “Wanna walk together?”

Kurt holds up his half-eaten pretzel.

“Oh,” Blaine says, “that’s okay. I can just…”

Blaine moves to stand up and leave.

“No!”

It comes out louder than intended but it stops Blaine.

“I can walk and eat.”

****

They took road trips together and talked about everything except school. It was so refreshing to have something in common with another human besides McKinley High.

Blaine never said he was from Lima; Kurt suspected he wasn’t since he hadn’t seen him at school. Though, it was possible Blaine went to some private school outside of Lima. At one point, Kurt thought he might have to transfer if the bullying got too intense.

Honestly, it was just nice to have someone who understood him like Blaine did. They had so much in common from singing and acting to taste in Broadway musicals to the same favorite hate-watching shows. The only thing they seemed to disagree on was coffee.

Blaine had a strong opinion about drinking black drip coffee with a dash of cinnamon. Whereas, Kurt always got a nonfat mocha. However, they did agree hot chocolate was the superior wintertime drink to eggnog.

Blaine was willing to compromise in ways Rachel Berry never would.

So, it was no surprise to Kurt when he realized his feelings for Blaine.

Once again, Kurt Hummel was falling for a boy who wouldn’t like him back. This time it would hurt more because Blaine could like him, since he was also gay, but didn’t. Because who could love a boy like Kurt.

****

One day they were sharing a pretzel in Blaine’s car parked behind the mall as they typically did.

“Here,” he says, handing over the last piece.

Mid-chew, Blaine almost caused Kurt to choke.

“Can I kiss you?”

Kurt swallowed.

He must’ve been blushing because his face felt hot. Blaine clearly read the look on Kurt’s face as his answer and leaned forward over the center console.

The first thing Kurt noticed was that Blaine’s lips were dusted with cinnamon sugar. He swept his tongue over Blaine’s bottom lip gathering the flakes before painting Blaine’s tongue with cinnamon.

It was an intense first kiss to say the least. Kurt had always pictured a short peck as his very first but this was better. This kiss was just a few steps away from making out.

As the weeks of summer trickled by, Blaine and Kurt spent their days texting and meeting up to make out behind the mall. They’d climb into the backseat of one of their cars and for the next hour touch any skin available. If summer was good for one thing it was exposed skin.

Blaine often wore tank tops so Kurt became very familiar with the muscle tone of his arms.

Oftentimes, Blaine was the one reaching out first. Kurt found himself waiting by the phone for a text; careful to not have permanent plans in case Blaine called. He’d canceled anything to spend time with Blaine. As far as Kurt knew they only had this summer and now it was August. How many more days would he get with Blaine?

****

One late night in August, they went stargazing. Blaine had spread blankets and pillows on the hillside and managed to secure a cheap bottle of wine courtesy of his older brother. As it turns out, Blaine didn’t know much about constellations; luckily, Kurt did.

He spent loads of nights with his mom in the backyard. She told him so many myths of the sky.

Kurt shared some with Blaine, who had interlaced their fingers. Eventually their bodies were fully pressed together. Blaine was hovering over Kurt, placing kisses along his neck.

Kurt bent his head back to give Blaine more room to cover with his lips.

Then, shirts were riding up and removed. Blaine was playing with Kurt’s zipper.

“Can I?” He asked.

Kurt nodded.

“Are you sure?”

Another nod.

“I’ve never done this before,” Blaine whispers.

“Me neither.”

For two boys who have never had sex and weren’t necessarily prepared to that night, it was always going to be a little sloppy. Misplaced hands, teeth clinking against each other, and nervously checking if something was okay.

When it was over, Kurt pulled a blanket to cover them. Blaine was resting his head in between Kurt’s head and shoulder breathing him in.

“I could fall asleep so easily,” Blaine tells him.

Kurt agreed with him but he was seriously contemplating a different kind of falling.

****

Summer had to come to an end. Before Kurt realized it, he was laying out an outfit for the first day of school. He and Blaine never did have a conversation about what was going to happen to them after summer vacation. In fact, Kurt hadn’t heard from Blaine in a few days.

He texted but went to bed without a reply.

Meanwhile, Blaine was wide awake in his own bed. He stared at the unopened text from Kurt on his phone. He could text back but he didn’t know what to say.

Sorry, I’m moving schools tomorrow.

Sorry, I lied to you all summer.

Sorry, I’m not the person you think I am.

Every single message his brain could conjure up began with an apology.

In the end, Blaine ran out of time to text him back. From a restless sleep to breakfast to rushing to get to his new school on time, he was almost able to believe Kurt hadn’t texted him at all.

As Blaine introduced himself for the first time, his eyes caught sight of people passing the door; stranglers being tardy to their first class of the day. Every person in his peripheral vision made his insides jump. They all looked like Kurt.

Except, Kurt wasn’t here. Kurt could never be here. Whatever he and Blaine had over the summer was just that—a summer thing

Blaine never thought of himself as the type for flings but Kurt was different. He’d take any time he could have with him. If three months was all he had then that was okay. He knew this last summer would stick with him for a long time.

When he closed his eyes, he was staring at Kurt’s blue ones. He could feel Kurt’s fingers dancing along his naked back with the stars watching them.

Luckily, the classes seemed to be taking it easy on the students. Going over the class schedules, future projects, and what percentage of their grade was exams and quizzes. Of course, Blaine played plenty of those ice breakers and get-to-know-you exercises.

He loved those.

By the time lunch rolled around, Blaine even had someone to sit with in the cafeteria. A nice girl named Tina sat near him in history and offered him a spot at her normal table. Blaine had mentioned wanting to join the glee club and she bounced up to him after class.

“New Directions always needs members. Sit with us at lunch and we can give you pointers for your audition.”

He met Mike, Tina’s boyfriend, Quinn, head cheerleader, and Mercedes, second lead female soloist of glee. Rachel Berry soon joined the table and sized Blaine up. She had lots of questions about his range, experience, and if he was a spy. Her boyfriend, Finn, seemed suspicious of Blaine as well. Blaine was familiar with Finn’s concerns.

The pointed glares and scowl were markers of a jealous boyfriend. Finn wasn’t worried about Blaine becoming first male lead, he didn’t want Blaine to pursue a relationship with Rachel.

This was not the first time Blaine was being mistaken for your token straight guy.

The table just kept growing. People pushing tables together and pulling empty seats. A Mohawk boy called Puck was asking Blaine about sports he liked (mainly college football) when two more cheerleaders joined them.

Brittany, the blonde, was intrigued by a new student. She had some record to keep up and asked if he wanted to sneak off somewhere to help her with it. He declined. The other, Santana, was too busy waving to someone in the distance to really notice Blaine at all.

“Porcelain, finally,” Santana says, patting the seat beside her. “Meet New Kid.”

“It’s Blaine actually,” Rachel corrected.

The boy, Porcelain, sat down and looked over at Blaine. Their eyes met and instantly widened.

“I’m Kurt,” he says.

“Hi, Kurt.” Blaine watched the boy of his dreams swallow hard. “Blaine, it’s nice to meet you.”

Lunch continued and no one seemed the wiser. Why would the New Directions assume the New Kid in town had already met their beloved Kurt Hummel? No one's first instinct would be that these two boys shyly watching each other would be “they spent the summer hooking up behind the mall.” Well, technically making out at the mall and hooking up in the park, just that one night.

Blaine tried to participate in conversation so as to not raise suspicion that he was staring at Kurt’s lips, which he was completely guilty of.

Once the glee kids started talking about a disaster of a party Rachel once threw, Blaine is able to tune them out in favor of his summer memories.

Sitting in the dark movie theater and bumping hands with Kurt as they reached for popcorn at the same time. Reaching over, buttered fingers and all, to grab for Kurt’s hand. Being able to catch a glimpse of Kurt’s smile as the movie flashed in front of them.

Lost in his daydream, Blaine didn’t hear the bell ring until Kurt tapped his hand, which was stretched out almost in the middle of the table.

“Hey, time to get to class,” Kurt tells him, “walk with me?”

“Okay.” Blaine gathered his books and trash.

“Where to?” Kurt asks.

“Crafts actually.”

“Oh, that’s just down the hall here.” Kurt guides them through the crowds. “Thanks for not spilling everything to them today.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our summer together.” Kurt’s blushing. “It was special.”

“To me too,” Blaine assures. “I wouldn’t have said anything to them. I don’t really know those guys yet. I’m new remember?”

Kurt nods. “Not new to me though.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Blaine chuckles.

They reach Blaine’s art classroom.

“I’ll see you in glee club,” Kurt says.

“Okay.”

Blaine only lets Kurt take a few steps before he’s touching his hand. “Wait.”

Kurt is staring at their joined hands and examining the hallway before meeting Blaine’s eyes. No one else is paying them any attention.

There are so many words Blaine wants to say to Kurt.

Be with me. Please. Be mine.

Don’t leave. Don’t slip away.

Stay, stay, stay.

Instead, he steps closer to Kurt and cups his face with his other hand. Kurt leans into the touch. Blaine gives the hallway one last look but it’s almost empty. The late bell will ring soon so he can’t waste any more time.

Blaine leans forward and pecks Kurt.

“Please,” he murmurs, against his lips.

Not even sure what he’s asking Kurt for exactly. Kurt seems to know what he means without needing more information or clearer words than a simple ‘please.’

Kurt drops Blaine’s hand and pulls their bodies close together and opens Blaine’s mouth with his tongue.

There’s a bell ringing, which Blaine thinks must be his own form of fireworks.

“If you two are quite done, there’s a class happening,” Blaine’s crafts teacher tells them.

They pull apart instantly, red in the face from being scolded, Kurt hurries off to his own class. Blaine does another round of introductions and can’t remember anyone’s name but Kurt Hummel.

#klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #klaine #my fics #folklore seires

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bokunowritingacademia · 4 years

Text

Crimson Wings and Broken Masks

AO3 Version

Relationship: Reader/Hawks

Rating: T

Summary: To most people, that’s all he was. An actor in a mask, playing his part on the greater stage. It didn’t matter who he actually was, but solely that he kept up the appearance.

But you saw the moments where the mask broke. When it shattered into nearly unsalvageable pieces, sharp and stained with old blood, scratches and dents from experiences of long years past that even you had yet to learn about.

What mattered is that you saw him as vulnerable sometimes—a person, not just a hero with a good quirk.

To the average viewer, fan or even tabloid-based critique, Kiego Takami—known only as Hawks to the greater public—seemed nothing more than a self-absorbed ladies’ man who cared more about mixing up the status quo than being something of a traditional pro hero. Even outside Japan, his reputation (where it wasn’t overshadowed by a country's local heroes) he was just another shallow celebrity who just happened to have a powerful quirk, and a heart half-in on using it to better the world.

To most people, that’s all he was. An actor in a mask, playing his part on the greater stage. It didn’t matter who he actually was, but solely that he kept up the appearance.

But what mattered is that you saw him as vulnerable sometimes—a person, not just a hero with a good quirk.

So when you find him perched upon the top of his hero agency’s building, you find yourself wholly unsurprised. Worried, as any partner would be for their emotionally enigmatic boyfriend, but unsurprised. You knew the last couple weeks had been hard on him, and that was only based on the few things he deigned worthy to burden you with (‘it isn’t a burden, Takami, I promise’)—you can only assume the water was far deeper than what it looked at the surface.

The sunset cast a soft orange glow over everything it touched, the shadows growing longer with every passing minute. You can feel it against your back, with the last warm remnants of summertime.

You approach with no attempt to hide the sounds of your footfalls on the cement, but Hawks doesn’t make a move to show he’s realized your presence. Instead, he sits, over the edge of the roof, wings expanded wide on either side of him, crimson feathers looking all the more brilliant in the deep warm glow of the fading sunlight.

The breeze, as soft as a whisper, caresses against them, each feather trembling against it. But silent does he remain, an unwavering pillar overseeing the vastness of the city below--and not a single person to realize that even now, someone watches over them.

A society where heroes can enjoy a little boredom... I'll make it happen, I promise.

“Hey.”

Though soft, the sound of his voice brings you out of your thoughts.

A small smile starts to tug at your lips as you step closer. “Your desk secretary said you’d probably be up here.”

“Eh? Thought I told Iwata to keep my rooftop brooding on the downlow.”

You move another step closer, almost an arm’s length away from him. The view over the city is mind-bogglingly expansive, even from a few strides back from the edge. Had he been sitting here all this time, since his last patrol of the evening?

Watching?

“In fact,” you say, almost sheepishly. “he told me you’d say that too.”

The man doesn’t respond. The only indication that he might have even heard you is the gentle shuffling of his crimson wings, slowly pulling back towards his body. You can practically feel the stress echoing from his body, feel the tension he keeps bottled up somewhere so deep that not even you can scarcely reach.

But you can reach out, physically. It’s mostly just an instinct to touch him somewhere, to offer an anchor of touch so that he knows he’s not alone. You can’t quite reach his shoulders--the wings are still stretched open enough it’s nearly impossible with him facing away from you--but your fingers do manage to touch, and then card through the layers of soft red feathers that cover one of his wings.

Soft to you. You know how they can each, individually, be used as tools.

As weapons.

Things used to save lives as much as they likely have been to take them.

As if it stung, the wing beneath your fingertips trembles. You’re about to pull your hand back in mild alarm, thinking you’ve done something to hurt him--perhaps even aggravated a wound he’d gotten and not told you about--but the wing settles against your touch.

It’s hard to understand what’s going through Hawks’ mind at the best of times when he has such a careful control on even the smallest facial tells--

But you hear him sigh, and the comfort it brings to you is almost silly for anyone who didn’t know him as well as you do. Though it is true you have a hard time reading him physically, there is but one point of expression that seems to elude him and come easy to you: the way he sighs.

The stilted push of air in stress, as if he’s trying to force the tension out of him.

The deep, languid exhale of peace, letting himself settle into its comfort.

The rushed, half-hidden chuckle he tries to hide.

You wonder if there’s anyone else in the world that notices it.

The gentleness of how he sighs now, with your fingers buried in the feathers of one of his wings, is the single but powerful declaration that your touch feels good to him. So you repeat the motion, over and over, slowly moving closer until you have both of your hands slowly stroking through feathers that mimic the rich, warm glow of the sun as it starts to dip below the horizon at your back.

“...it’s been a while since you’ve let me do this,” you murmur after a few moments, picking out a few feathers that seemed to have met the last of their days; color fading, as if the breeze itself would have had them flying loose and free into the evening wind.

“Yeah,” Takami agrees. “Been a rough couple of weeks.”

“You can take a day off.” Another few fading feathers fall from the rest, through your fingers and towards your feet. “-the stress is starting to take its toll. I can’t remember the last time you’ve had this many molt at once.”

“Eh.”

If the single syllable wasn’t enough to show his disinterest in being honest about his feelings, the vague shrug--or what you assume is a shrug--does plenty to send the message.

“Takami.”

Though gentle, his name on your lips still falls firm and worried. You’re about to open your mouth to say something more, but there’s no chance to do more than part your lips before his wings are stretching out, and upwards, arching so that you can see his face looking at you over his shoulder, leaning on one of his hands.

With the other, he reaches out to you, expression relatively unreadable save for the quirk at the corners of his lips.

“C’mere and sit next to me already.”

Though some part of you wants to stand firm on your concern, the rest of you knows it’s not the time for a talk like that. It knows that, in the end, you just want him to know you’re with him for everything his life and career throws--big or small.

But you don’t make it easy for him. A dramatic sigh leaves your lips as you tilt both head and eyes to the side, as if having to think about it.

“I dunno,” you bring a hand up to your chin for extra emphasis. “You did make me wait at the apartment for like, an hour, and didn’t return my call at lunch.”

Hawks purses his lips together as if pained and pouting. “Oh come on baby bird , don’t be like that.” He reaches his hand out again, expression shifting into something coy. “Just sit up here with me for a few minutes, and then I can fly us home all romantic-like, sound fair?”

Though there’s not one singular detail that acts stronger than the others, the culmination of them--the softness of his expression, the tease of his words, the honest adoration in the petname--is enough to make you drop the act like a rock into a lake.

You reach out to take his hand, letting the man pull you into his lap in one strong, careful motion. If this had happened several months earlier in your relationship, you might have worried about being so close to the edge of the roof, overlooking the steep drop down several stories onto the pavement below. But this isn’t several months before, and your mind trusts the man whose arms envelope your body and hold you tight against his chest.

Hawks perches his chin over the top of your head and, for a few seconds, the two of you simply watch the flickering landscape below.

Car lights in the street, the office lights turning on in several buildings as the sunlight fades into dusk. Even as the day winds down, the city yet remains vibrant and bustling, and it makes you vaguely grateful that Hawks doesn’t have to work as many overnights as he did when you first met him. Or, at least, you’ve managed to convince him to sleep on occasion. It doesn’t always stick.

“So,” you break the silence and reach a hand up, idly stroking a thumb over the man’s cheek. “You gonna tell me about all the shit happening with work?”

“Nah,” Hawks says as honestly as he does casually. You’re half a second away from giving him an annoyed flick before he quickly explains, “I’m still working through some case details and my brain just needs some alone time with them is all. I’ll give you all the dirty details once it’s over--just a few more days.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah.”

He tilts his head into your touch and allows a sigh to escape him. Gentle, languid--and you believe his words.

“Besides,” he continues after a moment, tone turning amused and teasing. “Nobody can keep me away from my lil’ hummingbird for too long. I’d go fucking nuts without you.”

“You can say that again, birdboy.”

“ Excuse me, ” Hawks tenses up suddenly against you, and you can hear as much as see his wings stretch out, wide and imposing--though a little less so when you’re snuggled up against his chest. “I’m a bird man , thank you very much.”

“Uh huh.” laugher bubbles up behind your tongue, spilling out when you simply can’t hide how silly--and yet how sweet--his overdramatic posturing is.

But when the laughter between both of you die back down into silence, and the sun finally settles behind the horizon to let darkness start taking over the newborn night sky, you pat a hand on Hawks’ chest.

“Alright, birdman , how ‘bout you get us home like you promised. I had dinner on and everything.”

“Dinner? Oh, now that changes everything.” He moves, lifting up to his feet even with you settled comfortably in his arms, wings outstretched. “What’cha make?”

“A surprise.”

He lifts from the roof, gradually up and into the air with just a few meaningless flaps of his brilliant crimson wings--even with nobody around, there’s still a remnant of that actor putting on a show.

“Okay then,” he says. The wind brushes over your cheeks, like an evening kiss, and you settle into his arms without a single worry for the cityscape below you. “How about we take that surprise dinner and pair it up with a movie?”

“Now you’re thinking like a man who cares about his mental health.”

“Well, I got someone like you t’help make that possible,” Hawks nuzzles his chin over the top of your head, and repeats the words of just several minutes before. “I’d go absolutely nuts if you weren’t here to help pick up all the pieces of me when I fuckin’ drop them down the stairs.”

To that, you say nothing; words aren’t needed. At that point, all that mattered was the feeling of the air rushing past the two of you, the warmth of his body, the steadfast strength of his arms holding you,

And the soft, fading sunlight, shining brilliantly on Hawks’ crimson wings.

#bnha #mha #hawks #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #readerinsert #sfw readerinsert #writing #its been 34354 years since i've posted something proper and you can tell with my tags #hawks readerinsert #i love one birdman #kita this is your fault

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watchingtheroad · 4 years

Text

Awakening in Arles

Damen and Laurent meet. Six years later, they meet again.

Auguste Lives AU, Love at First Sight, First Kiss

[Inspired by this AMAZING artwork from @saltroclus of Laurent and Damen’s respective panic and pining upon seeing the other for the "first" time.]

Laurent, age 14–>20 Damen, age 19–>25 Auguste, age 25–>31

POV switches from Laurent to Damen every scene, with a surprise one at the end ;)

[AO3 Link]

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Laurent was in the library, sitting among his dearest friends, apart from his brother Auguste and prize-winning horse:

His books.

There were hundreds of them lining dozens of shelves along the walls, and because his father was King of Vere, all of it belonged to Laurent by extension.

He was thrilled and fortunate to have so many. Laurent loved to live through stories, to be transported to other worlds in his mind and go on magical adventures without ever leaving the palace. He had a hunger to learn everything he could—every language and battle strategy, and an endless number of useful facts to share with Auguste. From the moment he learned to read, he had promised himself he would devour them all, even the boring ones, because knowledge and stories were never really boring to Laurent.

Except on the day the Akielon Prince came to visit Arles.

As a demonstration of trust and good faith, he had come ahead of the Akielon King Theomedes and arrived without splendor or festivity, hopping off his horse with a modest guard of only two men at either flank. Laurent had not even left his rooms to greet him. He knew he had come for Auguste. Theirs was the business of heirs, not second sons.

That morning, Laurent carried on as usual. He sat in his favorite chair in his favorite corner of the library with his favorite snacks. With his legs folded comfortably beneath him, he tried to focus on his studies.

They could not hold his attention.

Cruelly, he could hear the faint sound of commotion, laughter and the clanging of swords drifting in through the open window.

He tried to resist.

Really, he did.

His curiosity took him over to look out.

Down below in the courtyard, Laurent saw them—his brother and the Prince of Akielos. They were sparring, a small crowd gathered around to catch a glimpse of the Princes and their budding friendship. It was an important symbol for their countries. Once disputing, now reaching peace. Laurent knew the significance, even from the periphery as he was. Not long ago, whispers of war frightened him to nightmares. Despite his unwavering confidence in his older brother, he could not risk Auguste leaving for battle and never returning to him. He would not survive it.

Watching the two of them, Laurent felt especially relieved that their nations would be signed into a peaceful alliance within the week.

The Prince of Akielos was… imposing, physically. Younger than Auguste, Laurent knew, but taller, wider, with a longer reach, and very, very skilled. Auguste was the best fighter in Vere. The Akielon Prince was rumored to be the best fighter on the whole continent. It was unsettling in more ways than Laurent could place.

His clothing was sparse, an Akielon custom. His accent was heavy, detectable even at a distant height, deep and strong. His laugh was—

Captivating. Laurent thought he might go and hear it up close.

His pulse bounded as he walked, a massive book in tow, as fast as his legs would carry him. He knew he must hurry before his mind changed and he chickened out of his plan: He would casually read resting against a tree nearby where they were sparring.

He would not be watching the Prince of Akielos at all. Only reading.

As he approached, Laurent made himself as unobtrusive as possible, his eyes careful on the broad back of the Akielon Prince. He had not yet made it to the tree, and so looking at him was still permitted.

His upper body was distractingly bare, his complexion dark and golden warm, with thick, curly hair to match. Everything else seemed to fade to black as Laurent looked him over, once, then again, admiring the way his muscles flexed beneath smooth skin. He was unlike anyone Laurent had ever seen.

As Laurent made to move past them to his chosen tree, horrifically, Auguste yelled to him, blowing his cover:

“Laurent! You came out of your room, little brother!” It was not as shocking as Auguste’s voice suggested. Then— “Come and meet Damianos.”

Laurent simply could not, but now he must.

The Prince of Akielos turned.

Laurent’s mouth dropped open, a muted gasp escaping him, and without his permission, his feet brought him over to them.

The Prince was smiling, brighter than the sun that shined in Laurent’s eyes. A dimple adorned his left cheek. He said, in perfect Veretian, “Good morning, Your Highness,” and gave a bow of his head. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Laurent had a funny feeling fluttering in his stomach, heated all over. The Prince’s mere presence was quite nearly more overwhelming than his… everything else. Had Auguste honestly needed to call his name? Did he live to humiliate him?

Through his internal crisis, Laurent answered in his best Akielon, “Hello, Damianos. Welcome to Arles.”

“Akielon!” the Prince said, delighted. He had been practicing for the visit. Then, much to Laurent’s surprise, he added, “Damen. Call me Damen.”

“Damen,” Laurent repeated, smiling. The Prince had not even permitted Auguste to call him that. Laurent’s cheeks were surely the shade of the apples he had fed his horse with breakfast that morning.

“Did you come to watch us?” Auguste asked, reaching out to ruffle his hair. The nerve. Laurent wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“I came to read,” Laurent deflected, gesturing with his book.

“And what have you come to read?” the Prince—Damen—asked. His tone held kindness and something akin to genuine interest, and Laurent was, again, taken aback. He did not expect the Prince to be so warm. Whatever the rush of feelings was inside Laurent, he had never experienced it before.

“Oh, um—” Laurent stumbled his words, silently wishing for death. He had read the book countless times but could suddenly, uselessly remember nothing. “It’s just a silly story about a Prince on an adventure.”

“I happen to love silly stories about princes on adventures,” Damen said, using the towel a servant had brought to wipe the sweat from his neck and shoulders. “Perhaps you’ll tell me about it later?”

“Of course,” Laurent nodded, his smile growing wider despite his efforts to conceal it. Ill-timed or not, he took that as his cue to leave, backing away slowly then turning quickly to retreat in case Damen changed his mind.

“Well then,” Auguste chuckled, calling to him again, “See you around, little brother!”

Laurent threw a half-wave over his shoulder, utterly mortified. Again with the little brother. He was trying to make friends with the Prince of Akielos! Auguste was not helping!

Once he arrived at his chosen tree, Laurent positioned it between them, taking a deep breath behind the safety of its wide trunk as he sat and leaned his back against it. After collecting himself, he opened his book to think about the best parts he might share, if asked by someone.

If Laurent peered around the tree a few times for another look at the Prince as he read, that was no one’s business but his own.

+++

Damen rode into Arles for the first time in six years, with Nikandros and a single guard at his back just as he had come before.

The countryside was vibrant, the breeze sweet and floral in the summertime. Damen felt rejuvenated upon his arrival. It was fun to escape Ios for a change, and to leave his country entirely was an adventure, especially for one as…stimulating as Vere. Another visit was long overdue; only this time, the King of Akielos would not be following behind him. It was a trip for catching up, not business, and Damen trusted the Veretians.

They were, in a shocking turn of events for both countries, the closest ally of Akielos. Since the signing of their treaty, peace and friendship prevailed, which was a stark contrast from the violent past his father had taught him about growing up.

And so, over the years, the Kings corresponded through letters, as did the Princes. As for the Prince of Vere’s younger brother, Damen sent him books once in a while. More silly stories about princes and other things with simple handwritten notes inside, inspired by their first meeting. He had hoped he liked them. Now Damen could ask.

As he rode toward the palace, he passed a set of stables, grand and ornate as he remembered everything else in Arles. There were stablehands working, noblemen waiting for their mounts to be saddled. He wondered how many horses the building held and to whom they all belonged.

Then, a young man walked out, his stride so graceful, as though moving on air. His hair was striking, golden yellow, with longer strands framing his lovely face. He carried himself with an arresting elegance, his expression neutral with an aura of unattainability. He was, indisputably, the most breathtaking individual Damen had ever seen. Since his last visit to Vere, he had warmed to the idea of men, bedding them when it suited him, but never had one bewitched him quite so strongly, so quickly, without a word or an act beyond walking.

Damen stopped his horse in her tracks, squinting at him in the sunlight. He looked oddly familiar, but of course, Damen knew no one from Arles of his own age. He had not been there in a half dozen years. Suddenly, he wished to know this man from Arles.

That singular, acute desire drove him off his horse without a second thought.

“What are you doing, Damianos?” Nikandros asked, alarm dripping from his words.

Damen barely looked at him. “Nothing. Go on to the palace. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Will you?” Nikandros pressed, dubious as ever.

“Yes,” Damen answered. “Take my horse. You’ll barely notice I’m gone.”

“I’m sure,” Nikandros grumbled, and if he said anything more after taking the reins from him, Damen was too far away to hear it.

He turned the corner where the young man had gone, finding him with his sword in an empty arena around the opposite side of the stables. Meant for training horses, he was training himself.

As he approached, Damen said, in soft Veretian, “Hello there.”

The young man looked, blinking a few times in quick succession, then looked again with a secret in his eyes.

“Hello,” he said back, also in Veretian, a smile pleasantly threatening his mouth.

“Do you keep a horse here?” Damen asked, unfortunately the first viable question to cross his mind through his nerves. It was unusual for him to experience them in any pursuit.

It was exciting.

“Have you come to police the stables?” the young man returned, tilting his head to one side in question. It was interesting he seemed to pay no mind to Damen’s status, obvious as it was with the red cape and golden lion pin at his shoulder. Damen did not care. He could do anything short of cursing his mother’s grave, and Damen might accept it.

He was gorgeous, even in confusion, his eyes intensely blue and penetrating right through to the center of him, it seemed. His features were delicate in some ways, stronger and more distinctive in others. The sharpness of his cheekbones and jawline, the plush curve of his lips, his flawless skin…

“No. Of course not. I just—” Damen faltered. “I’m only curious about you.”

He lowered his gaze. Damen interpreted the flush that rose to his cheeks as a sign of encouragement. He eventually said, “I keep many, but only one is truly mine. Her name is Dauphiné.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” Damen said. His accent flowing from that pretty mouth only served to enhance it all. “I would like to know the name of Dauphiné’s owner as well, if he would like that in return.”

His smile grew wider, more amused than Damen thought warranted. “You don’t remember me at all, do you?”

Damen furrowed his brow. “What do you mea—”

“Damianos, my friend!” Auguste’s voice boomed from behind him with impeccable timing. Damen wanted to shoo him away. “I see you’ve found my little brother already!”

Damen recoiled at his words, stammering, “I’m sorry—Your little—What?”

Little brother.

Damen was stunned. It was as though the ground shifted beneath his feet, the world turning on its head to reconcile what he previously knew with who stood before him and what he saw and felt now. This was not a stablehand or a nobleman waiting for his horse. He had not cared that Damen was the Prince because he, too, was the Prince.

He was completely blind not to see it.

The blushing fourteen year old he met six years ago had grown into a man. A very attractive man.

It was Laurent. And he was laughing, silently to himself.

Damen could not locate his voice to speak.

“Yes, Your Highness, he found me, but I was just leaving. I’m sure you two have fascinating things to attend to after all this time,” Laurent said, walking past where he stood in shock next to Auguste on his way out. Cooly, he murmured, in much-improved Akielon, “Welcome back to Arles, Damianos.”

Damen could do nothing but stare, open-mouthed, after him.

+++

[THE REST IS HERE ON AO3]

#captive prince #capri #damen x laurent #auguste lives #cp fic #love at first sight #first kiss #first time #my fic #the art is SPECTACULAR #pls go look

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romaxnogersav · 4 years

Text

Sunset picnic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, hinted Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: literally just fluff, a curse word or two but mainly fluff

Word count: 4009

Summary: You and Steve spend an afternoon together, cooking, hugging, watching the sunset with a picnic laid out.

Tags: @et-lesailes if you get sick of me literally just let me know😂💕

A/N: I kind of just wanted to write something fluffy and cute but it turned enormously fluffy. This took me two weeks to finish and I have no idea why. The food, I picked from some of the things I love, plus Cevans has Italian roots, hence the pasta. I’m also a big car lover, so Steve’s car had to be a classic. Soo emjoy <3

Also I’m starting a Steve Rogers tag list, so if you want to be added, sent me an ask <3

***My work is to not be posted or translated on any other site (AO3, Wattpad, Fanfic, ect.) without my permission!!!***

the header for the story is made by me!💫

You were unwrapping your hands free from the boxing tape, taking deep breaths to bring your breathing to normal after the intense sparing match you just had with Natasha.

She wasn't any better, sitting in front of you, drinking from her water bottle, one hand on her hip.

She drank half of it in one go while you were unwrapping your left hand, then closed the bottle and looked at you.

"Steve and the boys back yet?" She asked getting to unwrap her own hands free.

"Should be back later today, late afternoon I think, something like that" you said finishing up, moving your neck a bit.

"Why, you missing Barnes already?" You asked chuckling at her, reaching for the hoodie you had discharged earlier.

"There's nothing going on between me and Bucky, Y/N" the two of you got into step, walking out of the gym, passing by recruits on your way to the elevator.

"Yeah, see I don't believe that."

"Well I never asked you to" she answered, pressing the bottom for the elevator.

"Oh come on Nat. You are basically flirting every chance you get." You laughed getting in. You pressed the bottom for the living quarters.

"Voice activation required" F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice echoed around the closed space.

"I swear to God, I'm going to kill Tony one of these days" you quipped, explaining, being overly done with the billionaire.

"Mrs. Capsicle" you said, another exhale leaving you.

"Well, yeah get in line" Nat joked. "Double Agent Natalie" she looked at you, lifting a brow up. Both of you bursted out laughing after that.

"Access granted. I genuinely am sorry for Mr. Stark's child behavior" if only Tony was as polite as the AI's he made, the Avengers would have a field day.

"Don't worry about it FRIDAY, so are we" Nat said, wiping a light tear from the corner of her eye.

"Okay, back to the conversation at hand." You said clapping your hands together.

"Drop it"

"Seriously thought, Bucky is honestly one of the nicest people ever plus he is on your level and you have been getting more than a little acquainted lately, give this a shot" you chatted, the singing sound of the elevator notifying you that you've reached the floor you, Steve, Natasha and Bucky were occupying.

"Hey, drop it, nothing's gonna happen" she said

"Oh come on, you like him, he likes you, go the fuck out" you whined.

It wasn't actually your business, but they were two of your best friends, was it that bad that you wanted them happy?

You reached a hallway, one separating the directions you were headed in.

"I can't hear you" she said, walking in the opposite direction, doing her hardest to get you out of her hair.

"Give it a shot Double Agent Natalie" you said, chuckling

"You are next on my list after Stark" she yelled back at you, making you chuckle again.

"You love me" you headed down the hallway towards the living quarters you shared with Steve.

You and Steve had been dating for around seven months, and had decided to share a living space around two months back.

It had taken so long for the two of you to get together, you thought your feelings were giving headaches left and right to the other occupants of the compound, or so Bucky had told you.

You had danced around your feelings for the good part of a year, that everyone had had enough, and a plan had been formed to set you two up.

While you thought you were having dinner out with Wanda and Natasha, Steve had been set up on a blind date by Sam and Bucky themselves. Going into the restaurant, and finding yourselves in each other’s company had been strange and awkward at first, but things had blossomed up really fast and the night had ended with a walk in downtown Manhattan hand in hand, a kiss goodnight on the cheek and a promise for a real date where you weren't set up by your friends.

Things had escalated from there, and now almost a year later, you were in a happy relationship with Steve Rogers.

Being in a relationship with Steve was a heartwarming experience. He was an affectionate partner, gentle and caring. He wanted to spend as much time with you as possible when you weren't on missions, but not that much for it to feel suffocating. He was supportive of your choices, understanding in different situations. He loved doing things for you, and you did too.

Between missions out and training, the lives you were leading weren't the easiest ones, so you were both always sticking to small things that much more showed your affection, rather than how big you could go, and you didn't need to compete with Tony Stark on that front.

Your personal favorites were the times where Steve would get you a small bouquet of your favorite flowers, stock the freezer with your favorite ice cream or get your favorite dessert. You could also honestly say that you loved the little notes you found around your leaving space left from him. You had a whole bunch of them stacked in a box in the bedside table drawer.

The most recent one was a little note you found three days ago, the morning Steve, Sam and Bucky had left for a little mission down in Ecuador.

It was a sweet red sticky note, left on the coffee maker.

"You were snoring a bit last night, but I still love you. See you Wednesday afternoon twinkles"

The note had read with a couple of stars around it, a little kiss lips doodle in the corner.

God, and the pet name, it had you melting. You weren't much for the common ones, so you had your own spiced up pet names that Sam claimed were making him gag.

But dating a Super Soldier, and an Avengers leader was also kind of a hard, good thing was you were both equally trying to make it work, and it was, which was all the more proof that you and Steve were good for each other.

As you neared the door to your apartment space, you were able to hear the faint sounds of jazz. The oh so familiar words of Walkin' my baby back home by Annette Hanshaw, or in other words one of Steve's favorite songs from his time, were softly sounding from inside.

You smiled at that, he had gotten home a bit earlier than you expected, so that meant you were going to have a bit of time for yourselves.

When you neared the door, you pressed your thumb to the scanner, and waited for the door to unlock.

You honestly didn't know why Tony had put scanners on the living quarters doors, but you appreciated them at times.

When the door clicked, you opened it and stepped into the space. The music was a bit louder now, and you could also hear Steve's faint voice singing along. From your place at the door you saw Steve in the kitchen, chopping what looked like veggies.

When you closed the door, his attention snapped to you, a big smile making its' way on his face.

"Hey you" he said putting the knife down, toweling his hands on a towel nearly.

"Hey yourself. You are back early." you said, leaving the hoodie on a chair in the living room, making your way to the kitchen. Steve rounded the island and met you halfway, his hands finding their way to your hips.

"We finished early." He said, bending down, pressing his lips to yours. It felt good to be near him again, even after just a few days.

The kiss was gentle, passionate, full of how much he had missed you these past few days. It was slow at first, but soon after your lips started moving just a tad more urgently. When Steve nipped your lower lip, you couldn't hold back the little moan that came out of the back of your throat. Steve used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, passing his tongue into your month, swallowing down your moan.

One of his hands rested on your hip, giving it a squeeze, and his other was spread out on the back of your head, strands of your hair between his fingers. Yours in turn were positioned around his middle, holding him close to you.

The long kiss was a welcomed moment even though you were sweaty from the training session, and Steve as it seemed was trying to cook something.

Soon you parted, foreheads pressing against one another for a few seconds while your breathing got back to normal.

Steve pulled back to look at you, a smile on his face.

"I missed you" he smiled, squeezing your hip again, kissing your nose.

"Me too. What do you have there?" You asked, gusting to the veggies on the kitchen counter and the water boiling on the stove.

"You'll see." He said giving you one last peck on the lips before pulling away from you and going back around.

"Now, go shower because you stink, and put something nice and comfortable on afterwards. We are going out." he told you, smiling your way before he started chopping the veggies again.

"What a gentleman you are Rogers, what a gentleman." you chuckled, but still started making your way over to the bedroom. You could hear Steve's little laugh on the way, and soon after it was followed by the tender words of yet another classic, Summertime by Ella Fitzgerald.

Small surprises were always something you and Steve did for one another, and right now you were really curious as to where you might be going later.

You sure needed some time for yourselves, away from the Compound, so a little going out and spending some time with Steve was something you were sure you would enjoy.

Around an hour later, you emerged from the bedroom dressed in black jeans, with a navy blue camisole, white sneakers and nude pink cardigan in hand.

When you went back to the kitchen in search for Steve, you found him on the stove with an apron on.

He had changed while you were taking a shower. The sweats and t-shirt from earlier were traded for dark blue jeans and a dark red henley.

There were a couple of ingredients spread out on one side of the island, along with a bowl, whisk and two cute little mason jars. On the other side sat a basket, two bottles, one of a favorite wine of yours and the other with what could only be homemade lemonade.

You left the cardigan on one of the bar stools, moving around the counter and sneaking your arms around Steve's middle, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades.

"I thought you said we were going out. What's with all the food?" You ask, running your hands up and down his chest and abdomen.

"We are. We are having homemade dinner outside" he told you while stirring a pasta sauce in the pan.

"Like a picnic?"

"Yeah a picnic outside at sunset" he took one of your hands, bringing it to his lips and laying a kiss on your knuckles.

"Steve, you just got back from a mission," you started, wanting to protest. You wanted to tell him that you could just stay in, snuggle up on the couch, watch a movie, he could have even skipped up on cooking, you would have been perfectly happy with ordering something.

Your protest though, died as soon as they began when he put the spoon down and turned around, putting his hands around you, placing a kiss on your forehead.

"I know, but I want to. I want us to spend a couple of hours away from here, just you and me, nice wine, homemade dinner, the spring sunset. How does that sound?" He asked, getting close to you, prepping your face with kisses. One on the nose, each cheek, on the eyes, forehead and finally a couple of quick pecks on the lips.

You were giggling, trying to get away from him, pushing on his chest a bit. When your giggles died out, you looked into his eyes and smiled.

"It sounds incredible" you answered, kissing him on the cheek.

"I'm going to finish the pasta, and then how about we make the dessert together?" He squeezed your waist, letting you go afterwards. You just nodded, going on the other side of the counter.

After Steve finished the pasta, he took hold of your hand, took a second apron from somewhere and tied it around your waist.

You were trapped between him and the counter, with his chest against your back.

"You look so cute" he whispered, kissing the back of your head.

"You know this is only slowing us down, right?" You asked while Steve was mixing the crushed cookies and the butter.

"Yeah, but I get to do it with you, so I'm not about to complain." he chuckled, pinching you in the ribs, making you laugh and swap at his thigh.

"You are a dork." you laughed, pulling another bowl from across the counter.

Steve sat the mix of cookies and butter aside, then opened the heavy cream and poured it in the bowl you just pulled.

"Yeah, but you still love me" he kissed you again, then took the whisk and passed it onto you. You chuckled and accepted it.

Just as you were about to start whisking the heavy cream, Steve placed his hand on top of yours, and started doing all the work. You wanted to melt into him, and just sit there and make the dessert the whole day.

There was something so domestic about the whole thing. You were Avengers and having moments such as this one was really rare. You were doing your best to separate your avenging lives from the lives you led with each other, so those moments where you could just be with each other, vulnerable, open and loving were your absolute favorite.

Steve longed for that, the domesticity outside of being a national symbol, and being able to share it with you in whatever capacity that was. It made him feel like Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers only, and he loved it.

When the heavy cream was thick enough, he added a packet of cream cheese, some vanilla and some powder sugar and with shared effort you started whisking them together.

When the cream was fully ready you sat that aside too, while Steve sat a pot on the stove and put a full assortment of berries in. A couple of strawberries, blueberries, raspberries and blackberries with a bit of sugar, lemon juice and a bit of cornstarch were set to heat on the stove, while you started filling the little mason jars with the cookie and butter mix.

Just as you were about to put the cream part in the jars, Steve came with the pot of warm and thickened berries.

He sat it aside to cool, and out of the blue, took a bit of the cream mixture and smeared it on your cheek.

"Stevee" you whined but laughed nonetheless. He was being such a child today, but you couldn't even complain. He pressed you against the counter again, circling his arms around you. You wanted to push him off, take the cream off and finish the dessert, but he had other plans.

"Hold still, let me get a taste." he whispered in your ear, then ran the tip of his tongue where the cream was on your cheek, then lightly sucked on it with his lips.

A spark went through your spine at his words and actions and for a moment you wanted to forget all about the dinner, the dessert, the picnic and being outside by yourselves in favor of retreating to your bedroom and spending the rest of the day under the sheets, covered in sweat and prepping kisses all over each other.

"Delicious" he whispered again, making you move around in his arms, trying to wiggle back, but just as fast as he had covered your cheek in cream, he let go of you and stepped back. You almost whined at the loss of contact.

"I swear to God Rogers..." you started but he cut you off by turning you and kissing the words out of your mouth.

It was a hungry kiss, like he too wanted to spend the rest of the day in bed, hearing you whine and protest, sigh and moan, let him touch you, love you.

You kissed until you could hardly breath, then he ended it.

"Later" he said lowly, pecking your lips once more before pulling you to him again, and just like minutes ago, having his front against your back.

"If I didn't know you well enough, I'd say you have some kind of fetish about having my back pressed against your front" you joked, taking a spoon, and starting to fill the jars with the heavy cream and cream cheese mixture.

He laughed, the sound from his chest vibrating against you.

"Maybe I do, and you'd never know" he said, squeezing your hips.

When the jars were filled with the white mixture, Steve took the pot and placed a couple of spoons from the berries mixture on top, even feeding you some in the process.

It was so nice, you rarely got to cook together. Tony had cooks most of the time, or you ordered in, so even making dessert together was incredibly good.

When the dessert was ready, you closed the jars and rinsed all the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher.

Steve packed the basket, setting the food and wine in, adding silverware, plates and glasses.

You pulled the apron off, setting in on the counter, then pulling your cardigan on. Steve pulled on a jacket, took the basket in one hand and your hand in his other and exited your living quarters. You took the elevator down to the garage.

When you got there, you walked by the all the cars there, until you reached Steve’s at the end. The 1967 Chevrolet Camaro SS 350 painted in navy blue had been a gift for his birthday last year from you and the team. You knew Steve loved his bikes, but you couldn't count on the Harley every time you wanted to go on a date, so at the end you all settled for getting him a car.

Tony had found the perfect car, and you all had liked it. You and Natasha had picked the color and after that the car had been fully restored and ready exactly for Steve's birthday.

He had been ecstatic. He loved the car, he loved the gesture, he genuinely appreciated the thought and the time you put into his gift.

Steve put the basket in the truck and came to even open your door. When you settled in, he circled around and got in himself.

Soon after you drove away from the compound.

-----------

You were driving, the faint sounds of Steve's favorite songs playing in the car. It was a long but pleasant drive, most of which spent with Steve's hand resting atop your thigh.

Around an hour into the drive, you were able to point where you were. You were driving around in Brooklyn, Steve's old borough.

After fifteen more minutes, Steve pulled up to the parking lot of what you couldn't even mistake, a park.

There was a sigh up front that read "Prospect Park". Steve got the basket from the truck, followed by a blanket and two pillows.

"You have to be kidding me. Steve!" You said, already giggling and laughing at what a cute boyfriend he was.

"What? I want us to be comfortable." He said and you just shook your head at him, taking the pillows from his arms. He locked the car, and took your hand leading you through the park.

You walked for a while, trying to find a bit more secluded space to settle. Soon enough though, you found the perfect place.

A few trees closing the area just a bit, with an overly beautiful view of the lake that faced west, right where the sun was going to set.

You were at a loss of words. It looked so beautiful and peaceful, you get to spend an afternoon right here, overlooking the lake, while enjoying the company of your incredible boyfriend, with homemade dinner and wine and to top it all off, you get to watch the sun set behind the horizon.

You rarely got to have that much freedom to spend the time like this, so seeing Steve doing this for you almost made you tear up.

"Steve...this is, all of this....I-" you stared, your voice almost cracking. You looked up at him, tilting your head just a bit to look at him better.

"You don't have to say anything, I wanted to." He said, putting the basket down.

Soon the blanket was laid out, the two pillows set on one side with the basket on the other, you and Steve sitting in the middle.

He unpacked, opening the bottle of wine and pouring you both a glass, before getting the food out. An assortment of cheese and vegetables with dips was put in front of you, with a few salty muffins, curtsey of none other but Sarah Rogers, the recipe for which Steve had found through an old cookbook of hers.

The pasta was pulled out too, soon after and you enjoyed dinner, while talking back and forth, laughing and smiling at one another. It was nice and sweet, it felt, like all that mattered right now were you and Steve, and that made it all the better. Sharing his beautiful moment with the person you loved.

You were feeding each other dessert when the sun started slowly going down. You were so engaged in each-other, you were almost going to miss it.

The cheesecake was left unfinished in favor of laying back, your head on Steve's chest with an arm draped over his stomach. One of his was wrapped around your waist, with the other settled on your thigh.

You were relishing in the quiet while gazing at the sun setting when Steve's quiet voice broke the silence.

"I love you, thank you for being with me, supporting me and loving me. You've been there to fill that loneliness I've been feeling for as long as I can remember. Thank you for seeing me as everything else but Captain America, as everything else but a man born out of war." He told you, leaning just a bit back to look at you.

"You sound like you are about to propose" you giggled, reaching to lay your hand on his cheek. Your eyes stunk a bit at his admission, but you were trying your best to keep everything at bay.

"I'm not, not now, but maybe in the near future"

"You are something else Steve, you are something else, but I love you nonetheless. Thank you, for giving me a place to call home, for being a part of my life in such capacity, for being my home" you told him. He closed what little space was left between you, placing his lips on yours and gently but surely kissing you breathless. You felt a single little tear slip down your cheek and smiled into the kiss, because this? You could never get used to how attentive and gentle Steve was, you couldn't. He was everything you could wish for in your significant other.

You spend a couple more hours relishing in being with each other, watching the sun fully set and the starts lighting the sky.

You felt like the world could end at any moment, and you'd still be happy, because you got to spend your last moments with the person you love and cherish the most.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x you #marvel fluff #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #romaxnogersav #tina writes

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ninthfeather · 4 years

Text

because your smile still remains

Also on AO3!

A/N: This fic is a commission for FabHawk, who wanted Haruka interacting with his father post-Summertime Record. Please note that I play pretty fast and loose with canon, which is to say that everything except the songs is basically “guidelines” to me, but this takes place in a timeline that’s basically “the music timeline except everyone lives at the end like in the anime because I like Ayano.” Haruka’s dad doesn’t have a canon name, so I gave him one for convenience.

Title is from Will Stetson’s English translyrics for “Remind Blue.” Thanks to FabHawk for beta-ing her own goshdarn commission because that’s just how awesome she is.

Warnings in the end note!

because your smile still remains

Loving a terminally ill person was a balance of hope and realism. Hiroshi learned that with his wife and relearning it with his child was like having his heart ripped out all over again. At first, it was easy to believe that his child might beat the odds, might survive what his mother didn’t, but eventually, Hiroshi had to be realistic.

So, while he kept pressuring the doctor for more treatments and looked for other doctors with new ideas…he’d also had Haruka write up a will. Haruka had, of course, smiled through the whole thing, even while Hiroshi tried not to cry in front of a stranger.

He’d trusted Haruka with information about his own health all those years ago because he thought knowing might…help. He sometimes wondered if that was a mistake. It was so easy to overthink and second-guess, when your time with a person you loved was running out.

Then, on August 15th, Haruka went missing, and suddenly, everything turned inside out.

When your child was missing, Hiroshi learned, you never knew for sure if they were dead or alive. You always had an image of them out there, somewhere, unchanged from the last time you saw them, living a life without you. You also had an image of them dead by a roadside somewhere. You never knew which image was correct, and it kept you up at night.

Hiroshi knew that Haruka couldn’t have lasted more than a week without his medications. Some part of him still screamed that his child might be out there, somewhere, waiting for his dad to rescue him.

In the end, he waited a month to hold a funeral, but he did hold it. It was a small affair, mostly family and a few people from the hospital. None of Haruka’s friends came—one had gone missing along with him, and another had killed herself on the same day. The last one still alive had shut himself up in his house and was refusing calls. According to his sister, he wouldn’t even open the boxes of light novels and manga that Haruka had willed to him.

On one level, Hiroshi understood. On another, he was incredibly frustrated. Didn’t his incredible, selfless son deserve this much? One friend, at his funeral?

He tried not to be bitter. He tried to reach out to Kisaragi, but all he got were increasingly embarrassed responses from his younger sister. Eventually, he gave up.

He threw himself into his work, tried to move on, became the kind of distant, weird researcher Aoi and Haruka often accused him of being. He wrecked a good half of his friendships and didn’t talk to his co-workers outside of job-related matters for months. But he’d done this before, when Aoi died, and his oldest friends knew what was coming. They waited him out and were there for him when he finally broke.

After two years passed, he could honestly say that he was…not okay. Okay wasn’t the right word. He’d lost a spouse and a son and that was more than one person should have to bear in a lifetime. But he was moving forward again.

And then the world turned inside out on him once again.

It was two weeks after the anniversary of Haruka’s disappearance. This year was better than last—instead of spending the day working, he’d gone for a grave visit with old Mrs. Enomoto. They’d thought about inviting Dr. Tateyama, too, but Hiroshi was still a little angry that he hadn’t come to Haruka’s funeral, and anyhow Mrs. Enomoto’s calls to him never went through properly.

By now, the grief was more like an ache than an open wound. He could look at the reminders of how his home used to belong to three people instead of one and think “This place is really too big for me,” instead of just starting to cry.

He still wasn’t that much of a social butterfly, though, so he was surprised to hear d a knock on the door around 6:30 pm.

He always had regretted not having a peephole in the door. He’d wanted to install one, once, but both Aoi and Haruka had told him he wasn’t good enough at DIY, and he’d never bothered having a workman over to put one in. So, in the end, he had to open the door and hope that whoever was knocking wasn’t a murderer or a door-to-door salesperson.

It…was not.

Hiroshi blinked. Then tried, again, to make sense of what he was seeing.

There were two teenagers in the doorway, one seated in a hospital-issue wheelchair and one standing behind him. The one who was standing looked somewhat familiar, although Hiroshi couldn’t quite place him. But the one sitting in the wheelchair…

His hair was grey, and there was an odd pattern on his face that looked almost like a tattoo. He was thinner than Hiroshi remembered. But in every other way possible, this person looked exactly like Haruka.

“Hi, Dad,” he said, and it was Haruka’s voice, too.

Hiroshi didn’t understand.

This couldn’t be real. He’d had dreams like this, of course, but there was no way...even if Haruka had been kidnapped, even if the kidnappers had meant to keep him alive….

The doctors had given Haruka a year to live a little under two years ago.

“I don’t understand,” he said aloud.

His voice was probably shaking. He wasn’t sure anymore.

“Yeah, join the club,” said the other teenager. Thin, dark-eyed, wearing a bright red jersey--it took Hiroshi a while to place him.

“Kisaragi?” he managed.

“Yeah,” Kisaragi said. “And this really is Haruka. Things have gotten...weird. Can we come in?”

Too stunned to do otherwise, Hiroshi stepped aside and motioned for them to come in.

“Why wouldn’t it be me?” Haruka asked, all innocent curiosity.

“We had a funeral, moron,” Kisaragi said. “And you were...sick.”

“Oh, yeah,” Haruka said. “I...kind of remember? It’s blurry.”

“That’s fine,” Kisaragi said. “You don’t have to remember everything.”

“You...what?” Hiroshi asked, shutting the door behind them as he scrambled to keep up.

Kisaragi slipped off his shoes at the genkan. “Haruka’s memory is a mess,” he said.

Haruka himself was also wearing shoes, which he took off and passed to Kisaragi. “Yeah, uh, it’s a long story.”

“What happened?” Hiroshi asked.

Kisaragi gave him a careful look. “Why don’t we sit down for this?”

They settled in the living room—Haruka still in his wheelchair, wedged awkwardly next to Kisaragi on the recliner, as Hiroshi took the couch.

“So, uh, how well did you know Tateyama Kenjirou?” Kisaragi asked.

“He never returned our calls,” Hiroshi said. “I don’t think I’ve seen him since, uh—” He blinked, realizing. “Haruka, Dr. Tateyama’s daughter—”

“She’s fine, too,” Kisaragi interrupted. “He faked her suicide.”

“He—what?”

“And kidnapped me,” Haruka added. “And Takane.”

Hiroshi was on his feet before he realized it. “No, seriously, what?”

Haruka blinked at him, wide-eyed.

“All this time—two years—you were right here—” Hiroshi probably sounded hysterical. He didn’t care.

Haruka held up his hands. “He had us in, uh—Shintarou, what’s the word—”

“Medically induced coma.”

“Yeah, that! He wasn’t hurting us!”

Something in Hiroshi’s chest loosened, even as he heard his voice rise in pitch. “He still let us think you were dead!”

“Yeah,” Haruka said, quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Hiroshi said. “It wasn’t your fault, so don’t apologize.”

He crossed the room, then leaned down to wrap his arms around his son. To his surprise, Haruka stood, meeting him halfway and squeezing him tightly enough to ache.

After a few seconds, Hiroshi gently lowered him back toward the chair, then released the embrace.

“So, the wheelchair is until you finish up PT from the coma?” he asked.

“Actually, the doctors think I should keep using one,” Haruka said.

“The doctors don’t really know what Dr. Tateyama was doing, but whatever it was, Haruka’s heart is doing better,” Kisaragi put in. “They suggested that he avoid basically any strain and they wanted access to his full medical records, but they sounded a lot more optimistic about his, uh, outlook than they were before.”

“So, Tateyama stole my son for two years and fixed his heart problem?” Hiroshi asked numbly.

“Maybe?” Kisaragi said. “I think they wanted to run more tests.”

“Do you think whatever he did is also what changed your hair color?” Hiroshi asked.

Kisaragi and Haruka exchanged a look. Hiroshi was pretty sure that meant ‘it was actually hair dye but we don’t want Haruka’s dad mad at us.’

“So, do the police have Tateyama in custody?” Hiroshi asked.

“About that!” Haruka said. “He’s, uh—he’s—”

“He’s dead,” Kisaragi said. “He did something stupid, he died, and it wasn’t any of our faults, but we don’t have evidence of that, so we’d really like it if you didn’t get the police involved.”

“Who’s this ‘we’?” Hiroshi asked.

“Me, my sister, Haruka, Takane, Ayano, Ayano’s 12-year-old aunt, her newly-traumatized friend, Ayano’s siblings, and their friend who lives in the woods,” Kisaragi said. “I think that’s everyone. Haruka, is that everyone?”

“I have memory problems; you have a perfect memory,” Haruka said. “Why are you asking me?”

“Mean,” Kisaragi complained.

“Why were all of you involved?” Hiroshi asked.

“There were several more attempted kidnappings,” Kisaragi said. “Some attempted murder thrown in for flavor. It was a fun two days. If I think about them more, I’ll have to have a panic attack in your bathroom and I’d really rather not.”

Hiroshi glanced at Haruka, whose expression was completely serious. Not exaggerating, then.

“Okay, fine,” Hiroshi said. “I, uh, Haruka, your bedroom—”

“I know, you followed the will,” Haruka said. “And I doubt you’ve had time to clean it regularly. It’s fine. It’s been…rough, after everything. I miss you, but I also don’t wanna leave the others alone. So, I’ve been staying with Ayano and Shintarou and Takane at their house, for now.”

“You’re still welcome to come home if you want,” Hiroshi said. “Your room won’t be ready right away, but I can have it cleaned up pretty soon.”

“I’d like that,” Haruka said. “I want to stay over sometimes. But I’m 18, you know! And I have a lot to figure out, now.”

Yes, yes he did. A whole life ahead of him, even, if those doctors were correct in their assessments.

“Still, I’ve missed you,” Hiroshi said. “I want to see as much of you as I can.”

“You can always visit us, too,” Kisaragi said.

Both of them looked at him in surprise.

Kisaragi flushed. “Well, he can,” he said. “I’m sure the others won’t mind, if we ask.”

“Kano probably will,” Haruka said.

“Kano can kiss my—” Kisaragi broke off. “And Ayano can handle him, anyhow.”

Hiroshi smiled. “I’ll take you up on that, I think. But in the meantime, can you stay awhile tonight?”

“Yeah,” Haruka said. “The others won’t expect us back until later.”

“You haven’t had dinner yet, have you?” Hiroshi asked, already knowing how his son would answer.

“What does it matter?” Haruka asked. “You know I’m always hungry. What are you making?”

Hiroshi got up to look through the fridge and revelled in the opportunity to cook for his son again. There was still a tiny part of him that thought this might be a dream, and he still had so many questions. But he could savor this, without letting himself doubt or worry, just for now.

A/N: Warnings for discussion of terminal illness, end-of-life preparations, child death, kidnapping, and comas, as well as mentions of suicide and murder. Also, the narrator briefly believes himself to be hallucinating.

Yes, I know there’s some debate about how old Haruka is. In my fics, he’s 18, because I decided he was. Similarly, my characterization of Haruka’s dad does not necessarily cleave perfectly to the LN, because I don’t do well with discussion of terminal illness (yes I realize the irony, I can handle writing it but it’s a pretty hard squick for me in media) so I didn’t reread the relevant LN portions and mostly used the wiki.

For anyone curious, Hiroshi’s name is written (天 ) and means “sky” or “heavens.” I chose it to fit Haruka’s association with sky motifs and to be alliterative with his name.

Finally, yes, Haruka uses a wheelchair, yes, he can stand; ambulatory wheelchair users exist and given Haruka’s canon health situation it’s my headcanon that he can stand and walk short distances.

If you, too, would like to commission a thing, 8 slots have been filled, so there’s still time! The post is here!

Thank you for reading!

#fanfiction #kagerou project #kagepro #kokonose haruka #kisaragi shintarou #terminal illness tw #death tw #nobody in the fic actually dies but it's discussed pretty heavily #long post #ninthfeather's fic

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callunavulgari · 6 years

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TOP 25 FICS OF 2018

1. A Cornstalk Fiddle by @notbecauseofvictories | Devil Went Down To Georgia | The Devil/Johnny | 17k

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19. Your Pretty Little Heart by Ever-so-reylo | Star Wars | Reylo | 64k

Modern day AU in which Ben is an Alpha, Rey is an Omega, and they are way better at having sex than at communicating with each other.

Heather Says: Speaking of people who are probably a little bit bad for each other... This particular fic was new to me, not because of the um, extensive sexual content, but because I’m usually not a fan of A/B/O. But this one was extremely good, enough that I actually liked it for a/b/o aspect rather than in spite of it.

20. Draconia by perceived_nobility | The Bright Sessions | Mark/Damien | 4k

"So I was driving. One ex wife and one ex husband later, stopping at the same fucking gas stations you and I stopped at."

Heather Says: This fic actually prompted a 3 hour long conversation on the ‘adult’ Mark/Damien discord where we basically outlined an entire fic that I never got around to writing where Damien is raising a child, has a farm, and runs into Mark ten years down the ride. One day, I might write it, because vaguely domestic, meet-again-ten-years-down-the-road fics always bowl me right the fuck over and just. There needs to be more fic like this one in the world. But until then, the world can marvel at the beauty that is this one.

21. Artifice by buttpatrol | Wolf 359 | Hera/Eiffel | 23k

A story told in parts about colour palettes, identity, robot uprisings, sensational trials, space, and messy love.

Heather Says: As I’ve recently finished relistening to Wolf 359 I have a fresh appreciation for this fic, which is one of the only longer fics on ao3 that just grips you by the heart and squeezes the same way that the series does. It might have been written before the end of the series, but it’s honestly just as perfect.

22. (shoot the lights out, hide) till its bright out by lipgallagher | Stranger Things | Billy/Steve | 93k

The most dangerous thing walking around Hawkins goes by the name Billy Hargrove.

And he fucking knows it.

Heather Says: I’m kind of cheating here, because this is a series rather than a single fic, but I’m not picking just one part. I read the first four or so parts of this fic when I was visiting my family in South Carolina and spent the next few days wandering around the place half-in Steve Harrington’s headspace. It was an incredibly surreal experience, which lead to a pretty strong combination of mania, depression, and an indescribable craving for ice cream. So like, maybe don’t read this fic if you’re in a bad head space? But also it’s very good and features one of the most fucked up and intriguing Steve’s that I’ve seen yet.

23. Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches by Reiya | Yuri On Ice | Yuuri/Viktor | 197k

‘…Of all the rivalries in the world of sports over the years, perhaps none has become so legendary as that of Russian figure skater Viktor Nikiforov and his rival, Japanese Yuuri Katsuki…’

Heather Says: I actually read this one on the plane ride down to South Carolina, and kind of didn’t like it at first? I’m not sure if it was just the act of putting Yuuri and Victor into the position of rivals that made me uncomfortable or the goddamn delays that turned half a day of travelling into a full one, but eventually I was able to get into and enjoyed it quite a bit. I really like the rivals to lovers trope, so I’d been looking forward to this one a lot.

24. Traveling Far by @astolat | Game of Thrones | Jaime/Brienne | 24k

Three weeks into their delightful slog across Westeros, during yet another charming day of shitting in the woods, eating half-raw squirrel, and trudging his feet bloody, the single most dour and uninteresting woman Jaime had ever met in all of Westeros stopped in the middle of a field, drew a deep breath, and said, “When I was seven, my aunt came to visit with her son. My father told me that as the daughter of the house, it was my duty to show hospitality to my guests and to be gracious to them. I wanted to make him proud. So for three weeks, I let my cousin follow me around and talk to me about spiders.”

Heather Says: I’ve become very fond of astolat’s Jaime/Brienne fics, and I think this one is my favorite yet. Featuring Starks, found family, and a whole lot of walking.

25. lilies of the valley (cover me with kisses, make my garden grow) by diasterisms | Star Wars | Reylo | 8k

Every girl is entitled to the mistake. That one colossal fuck-up that permanently alters the terrain of who you are. You'll either learn from it or you won't, so might as well have the time of your life.

Heather Says: I just. I really like flower shop AUs, and the idea of a Kylo Ren who owns a sleek flower shop being menaced by a tiny gremlin in a leather jacket just. Kills me. It was really sweet and all kinds of wonderful.

39 notes · View notes

park-loins · 6 years

Note

I'm gonna go reread all your fanfics starting with Jammed. I'll report back later ✌ - the anon with too much time on their hands

I CAN’T BELIEVE U REALLY DID THAT wow drink some water stay hydrated buddy~

Asks 2-23 from ur adventure below the cut, and i think tumblr ate some but that does not shock me.

2) Goddamn it Loins, I didn't even get the E.L James reference until I reread the first quarter of Jammed, goddamn it I didn't even know who E.L James was until now and I'm completely shook this is why I reread things ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (2/?)

o yeah Kim Taehyung’s novel absolutely KILLED the ‘bored with my marriage wine moms’ demographic

3) 😏😏😏✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (3/?)

4) "author, sex god, part-time bee keeper" is my new Tinder description✌-The Anon with too much time on their hands

SHIT THAT’S SO GOOD THOUGH, i’d swipe right, hard right.

5) Yoooo, I can't believe that Jammed was your first BTS fanfiction, Loins. It was so good, and it was better the second time around! Okay, on to Reprise. I can't wait to weep at fuck'o'clock in the AM like the first time ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (5/?)

Ahhh thank u man! U know what I get really insecure about Jammed sometimes and I want to go back and change it, but it is what it is. And it got me publishing again! Which was the important thing. It felt so good to publish.

6) Yoooo the notes on the first chapter of Reprise thooo. Damn, first time noticing that ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (6/?)

Oh me being a creepy child? Yeah I walked around the house calling “mommy, MOMMY” and mom was like ‘what’ and i was like ‘no, my REAL mommy,’ the proceeded to describe the death of my former family! i, for one, am surprised and grateful she did not ditch me on a deserted mountaintop.

7) And people say smut can't be soft...but also...😏😏😏 ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (8/?)

aww u know what... i’m gonna have to write some soft stuff in the future... i haven’t gone super soft n sweet since then and i think i should.

8) Yep, I'm getting emotions now. Thanks Loins, I needed those back. ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (10/?)

9) Okay but, my shuffle starting playing 'How to Save A Life' by The Fray the MINUTE I got to reading the last Scene in Reprise™, and I'm feeling quite attacked, tbh ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (11/?)

oommgmgmgmgmgmgmmggmg

10) Is it too soon to bring up the "Oh look, I've been impaled" meme? ✌ - The Anon with too much time on their hands (12/?)

YES IT CERTAINLY actually no u know what go for it, impaling is such a specific means of death u gotta take the shot when u have it.

11) Okay, that's Reprise done. I've successfully got through it without crying this time, cause my family's asleep. Time to get into Inc. Don't worry since Inc. is really long, I won't bother you as much. I think you kinda hate me right now, spamming your already full inbox ✌ - The Anon with too much time on their hands (13/?)

I WAS REALLY ENJOYING GETTING THESE THO as i was like getting ready for work then throughout the day, it was so nice ilu

12) I will, and forever always believe, that Inc. is, and forever will be, one of THE most quotable fanfictions of our generation. Thank you and good day ✌ - The Anon with too much time on their hands (14/?)

OKAY that means a lot, my family is SO big on quoting movies like that’s our sense of humor. In fact my sister has quoted inc. to me and then been like... hey what’s that from - cuz sometime we have so may references that we literally cant remember the origin- and i was like..... inc.

13) Me: *Reads the story of Murderers birth* Me "Wow, you could make a religion out of this" ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (15/?)

vmin at least made a HOLIDAY of it, that you can believe.

14) Yoongi: "The only plant that's ever had the misfortune of being mine died long before it ever had a chance to tell it's tale of woe" Me: Wow, that sounds like somebody else I know...*looks into the camera like on the Office* ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (16/?)

....ok SURE fine whatever inc. yoongi is 87% me

15) Maybe Hazelnut will be our always? ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (17/?)

akdjlkjglkjhl

16) "I was very drunk, the photos where on Jimin's phone-..." Wait, wHaT!? See y'all, this👏is👏why👏re👏reading👏is👏 important 👏, I didn't even notice that the first time I read Inc., fucking hell. ✌ - The Anon with too much time on their hands (18/?)

o yeah o yeah i was planting those vmin seeds for YEARs

17) "Jin steps gingerly over Namjoon, who is face down on the floor, moaning miserably into an abandoned microphone" This scene is the main reason I wish that could draw good fanart ✌ - The Anon with too much time on their hands (19/?)

i almost think that bad fanart of this scene would be better

18) You know how there's a shirt floating around that has the entire script to the Bee Movie on the back? I want that, but instead of the Bee Movie, I just want the entire Inc. fanfiction. ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (20/?)

as long as “assplay” the 17 times i use it is in a slightly bigger font than EVERything else

19) Wow. A lot of shit went down in 2012. And we getting to the angsty, metaphorical shit, cause what else are you gonna get from a Minverse™ fanfiction? ✌ - The Anon with too much time on their hands (22/?)

i think i used 2012 as a reference year for crazy shit in paint too and i’m thinking about my 2012 and i’m like o yep. that’s why

20) Ah yes, the time when Loins decided to write a Christmas chapter in the dead of summertime. I ain't judging, anything for the story's sake ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands

CHRISTMAS is not a time of YEAR but a feeling in your HEArT, and also a great plot device

21) The first appearance Leash!Tae in Loins' ao3 fanfics. Honestly, what an amazing experience to read this again. I'm honored. ✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (23/?)

leash!tae was a lifechanging event in my real life and i’m just i’m so glad to insert it into my writing at any and every chance.

22) How dare you write some emotional-ass smut. Also I'm gonna stop sending these in after 30 so that I don't get your inbox so full 😗😙 I'm sure it's probably more than that cause I'm bad at tracking numbers, and I hope I got Anon on all of em.✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands (26/30)

‘nasty but emotional.’ MY new tinder bio

23) Can I just tell you something Loins? I'm a bit tipsy now, so don't judge, but you are so genuinely talented, it's sickening. Like, you talk about how your not that good at writing, but you could probably out write half of the people that's been on the NY Times Best Seller List. And you have such a good personality to top it off. I gotta stop sending asks now, sorry to end so suddenly, just know that I really appreciate what you're doing. 💓💓✌- The Anon with too much time on their hands

aw my dude... ur gonna make me emo but the good kind the just too many good and grateful emotions kind of emo.... that really means a lot man, idk if i’ll ever pursue writing outside of a fic context, but it make me feel SO nice to think even for a second that i could. anyway!! thank u for making my day, this was such a nice little distraction on an otherwise dull and shit day, and thank u for being so sweet n supportive n i really appreciate you!!!!

#my heart is so full ilu #dfn: replies #anon #not kpop #my fic shit #Anonymous

8 notes · View notes

sweetnestor · 7 years

Text

Stone Cold | december pt. 1

university au + platonic + romantic + angst, teamiplier + jack

sequel to: Story of Another Us | also on ao3 | previous chapter

WARNING: suicide mentions

Bella’s song choices: Good Enough by Little Mix, How to Save a Life by The Fray

It was finally cold enough to constantly wear long sleeves and hoodies. I was finally able to comfortably live in every sweater I owned, and purchase plenty more. It also meant that I didn’t have to cover my wrists with ridiculous amounts of makeup anymore. I could breathe properly for the next few months.

“You’re telling me,” Helena said in surprise when I was in her office that week, “Jack doesn’t know about your suicide attempt?”

I shook my head. “I thought Mark would have told him while I was being treated, but when I found out that he didn’t, I asked him to keep it that way.”

Helena’s brows furrowed as she jotted it down. “I see. And as far as you know, Mark has kept that promise?”

“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t doubt it if he told his… Amy.”

“Okay. Well, in other words, you haven’t talked about your attempt outside of this office?”

“Nope. It’s not really something you can just casually bring up at the dinner table,” I said.

“Yes, I understand,” Helena said. “However, you haven’t felt the need to talk about it with a friend? More specifically, Jack?”

I began to tap my foot anxiously. Usually, I just pretend like that whole fiasco never happened. It was easy that way, because then it was easier to forget to tell Jack it even happened. I mean, I had hideous scars on my wrists, stomach, and thighs that made it a little difficult. Sometimes I would relive that night in my sleep. Talking about it made me think about it too much and eventually sent me spiraling. But other than that, it’s like it never happened.

“So there’s this guy in my life,” I blurted out, wanting to move on from this topic.

“Oh?” Helena gestured for me to go on.

That was when I realized I didn’t have much to say. “Um… his name is Ethan. He’s got blue hair. Uh…”

“Where did you meet him?”

“YTU Homecoming. He’s um, he’s sweet.”

“A sweet, blue haired boy named Ethan,” Helena spoke, smiling warmly. “Was he your date?”

“Oh no. I went with Jack, who’s friends with Ethan.”

“Okay. So… do you have a crush on him?”

I thought about Ethan. I did get along with him better than I had anticipated. While I had only spoken to him a few times, and hung out with him once, I found my mind taking a million steps ahead of reality. I wanted to play with his hair more. I wanted to hold his hand and hug him. He’s got an irresistibly adorable face. He’s funny and endearing. I wanted to listen to him talk about nothing. I wanted him to listen to me and… validate my feelings. Or, reciprocate them.

“Shit,” I whispered in realization.

“I’ll take that as a yes!” Helena said happily. “Alright, so should we schedule your next appointment?”

I know the word “trigger” is a huge meme on the Internet. It didn’t sit well with me, a person who has many triggers. A lovely little bitch named anxiety kept me from publicly speaking up about it, however. At the same time, because I’ve seen it be used so comically online, I couldn’t say that I was triggered by talk of suicide without wanting to giggle a little bit. You could imagine how hard it was to mention anything that I had done to my only friend.

Since it was mentioned in my therapy session, I felt weird. I hadn’t actively thought about cutting into my veins since the summertime, and now it felt like it was popping up everywhere. I didn’t know what to do except buy more shit online. All I could do was buy the pain away.

To be honest, I didn’t know how to feel that I survived. I couldn’t describe how I felt when I woke up in the hospital. Part of me wanted to jump out the window the first chance I got, but the other part of me had a feeling that it was meant to be this way. Nowadays, I wasn’t really sure why I hadn’t tried to kill myself again. Maybe I wanted to keep making videos. Maybe I wanted more makeup. Maybe it was my followers. I wasn’t happy by any means, but I didn’t exactly have the energy to end my life either.

I didn’t understand. If I’m meant to live on this planet, in this doomed country, in this suffocating city, having a career with a huge platform, shouldn’t I be worthy of it? All my life, I was told over and over again that I was not good enough to be around anyone. My parents didn’t want me, nor did the rest of my relatives. People on the Internet didn’t like me because of my ranty makeup videos. Mark literally broke up with me because Amy was better than me. It was clear, I wasn’t meant to be around anyone, so I tried to die.

But it didn’t work. That should mean something, right? It should mean that I’m meant to stay alive, but did that still apply if I was just an empty shell? Was I supposed to continue functioning like this? Did I have to go on with life carrying this heavy burden? Did I have to find a person and let them love an empty, beating heart? Did I have to continue being a role model even if I was dead inside? Was I meant to stay broken?

Do not fall apart. Swallow the bad feelings. Do not bother anyone with this.

“Okay,” I whispered to myself. Why did I always have most of these thoughts in the car? It was like I was in a trance.

I shook myself, trying to clear the thoughts in my head. I sat back in my seat and tried to relieve the tension in my jaw, neck, and shoulders. I couldn’t remember not being tense. It was unnerving and unsettling.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I whispered. Why was it so hard to calm down?

A sudden tap on the passenger window nearly made me scream out. I turned and saw Jack and Ethan standing outside my car. I unlocked the doors and let them in, trying to catch my breath.

“Hey, guys,” I softly greeted as we went off. This was standard daily procedure at this point. I could handle this.

“What’s up?” Jack replied.

“Sah dud,” Ethan sarcastically added.

The small laugh I released took off some tension. Thank you, angel.

“Why are you listening to sad songs?” Jack asked me, adjusting the volume on the radio.

Oh god. Little Mix had the perfect song to throw me into this funk. This band had a song for every mood, I swear.

“I’m a sad person,” I simply told him, which made both boys laugh.

“Listened to their new album yet?” Jack prompted. “I know you love them.”

Who even am I anymore?

“I kind of forgot about that,” I admitted sheepishly.

“Wait, who is this?” asked Ethan.

“Little Mix,” I told him.

“Also known as, Bella’s favorite group,” Jack added, then he looked at me. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard their new album yet! You’re usually on top of this stuff!”

I shrugged, not knowing how to explain my lack of enjoyment in things I normally liked. “I’ll listen when we get home.”

I drove on and kept my sad playlist on. Ethan gave me a nice comment about my interest in Birdy. I really couldn’t remember if I replied to him, but my insides went a little soft at his voice and my stomach filled with butterflies. So I was still capable of other emotions besides sadness, despair, and apathy. Good to know.

“Do you listen to Dodie Clark?” he asked me.

“Not really,” I replied. “She seems very Tumblr-esque.”

“Well, is that bad?” Undertones of defensiveness. Uh oh, he’s definitely going to hate me now.

“Of course not, it’s just not my style.” Save it, save it! “Maybe I should give her music another shot.”

“Here’s an idea!” Jack piped up. “Baller, you listen to Dodie. E-tan, you listen to Little Mix. Then, get back to each other and talk about it.”

He’s trying to get us to interact more. If I didn’t have some type of anxiety-inducing affection for Ethan, then I would be against this. I just didn’t have the guts to take initiative myself.

“I can do that,” the boy said. “What do you think, Bella?”

Well, now I certainly had to.

“Okay. Text me song recommendations, and I’ll send you some.”

“Alright.”

I was thinking of different songs I’d want him to hear. Should I go with the fun ones, or the ones that mean a lot to me? Wings or Secret Love Song, Pt. II? My thought process was interrupted when we got closer to Mark’s office. Again, standard daily procedure.

“Hey,” I said to Ethan as I pulled over to the curb, “does Mark know that I give you rides here?”

He slung his backpack over his shoulder before opening the door. “It’s like you said, he can mind his own business.”

My head was a strange mix of suicide and Ethan. I realize how morbid that sounds, but it was true. They were unrelated to each other, and it was always one or the other. I also wasn’t sure how I felt about either of those things.

Suicide was… an escape route. A sick sense of relief. An emergency exit.

Ethan was… a flashlight. A sense of hope. A breath of fresh air.

But did I only like him because it helped me repress the bad feelings? Did I only do this so I could get over Mark?

Whenever I thought of Mark, I still felt a dull ache in my chest. I still cried when I stalked his social media and watched his videos. I mean it wasn’t as devastating as it was when he first broke up with me, but it wasn’t easy to see him be happy without me, either. I didn’t want it to hurt anymore, but I didn’t want to cost someone else’s feelings in order to get over my own.

How could I be happy again?

I got home with that storm cloud over my head. Jack, the embodiment of sunshine, was excited.

“Can you believe I actually want to listen to this album?” he asked, bouncing his way over to the living room. “Bring on the glory days!”

I cracked a smile. Honestly, what would I do without him?

We sat in the living room, and I played the album on my laptop. I knew Jack wasn’t very into pop music, especially a band like Little Mix, but he was bopping his head to every dancey song. He was more about the beat, while I was about the lyrics.

There was only one soul crushing, tear jerker of a song on this album. It was too real for both me and Jack, so we spent those four minutes and nine seconds crying on the couch. The song after that was happy and upbeat, and ironically, it was called-

“‘No More Sad Songs,’” Jack read off the screen. He wiped his nose and sighed. “That should be our rule.”

I managed to smile. “You know I can’t go on without my sad songs.”

“I know. It’s our song now. We’re broken hearted messes, but we have each other.”

Jack put his arm around me and pulled me close to his side. I lied my head on his shoulder, liking the physical affection. He was very cuddly and comfortable, I couldn’t believe Signe let him go so quickly.

“What are you going to do about Ethan?” he asked after a while.

My stomach did a series of somersaults at the mention of his name. Hearts, fuzzy feelings, and a bout of anxiety went through my chest and all through my veins. I buried my head in Jack’s chest before I blushed too hard.

“Oh, come on,” he said, amused. “Go out with him! He likes you!”

I groaned. Why would he like me? I didn’t understand.

“He’s friends with Mark,” I whined.

“So am I!”

“That’s different!” I said, sitting back up so I could look at him. “You’re my friend, and Mark’s the reason why! I don’t… I don’t want Ethan to be just my friend…” I admitted it, and now those fuzzy hearts were intensifying.

“You say that like it’s such a bad thing,” Jack said. “Who cares if he’s friends with Mark? It’s none of his business what you do with Ethan. Or to him.” He playfully elbowed my side.

My phone, which was on the coffee table, lit up and buzzed suddenly. A new Twitter DM.

“Speak of the devil,” I said, reaching over to grab it.

“What’d he say?” Jack asked. “‘Hey baby, lemme smash.’”

“Shut up.”

I opened the message to find a small list of Dodie Clark songs. “Hope you like these :),” he added in a second message.

“I should probably send him some songs,” I stated, unable to keep down my goofy grin. Or my breathing steady.

“Bella’s got a boyfriend,” he teased.

I blushed and smacked his arm. “¡Ya callate!”

“Seriously, though. I think you guys would be good together. And you can’t stop smiling and your face is red, which means you agree with me.”

I was about to rebuttal with some “I’m too broken” comment, but then Jack’s phone started ringing. We both looked down and saw the name that appeared on the screen. My eyes widened, and then I looked at my friend, who had gone stoic. Just before I could grab his phone for him, he beat me to it. He answered and went off to his room.

I paused the music, deciding to finish the album later. I did look through the Little Mix songs in my library to send to Ethan. My first list was a bit longer than his, but eventually I narrowed it down to eight songs. When I went to send it over Twitter, I saw that he sent me another message.

“Hey, sorry to keep asking this, but can you give me a ride to the office tomorrow?”

I sent my list of songs, and then replied to his request. “Of course! No problem at all!”

His response was rather quick. “Thanks! I get out of class around 12:30, and I’ll listen to these songs right now! :)”

Like I said: fuzzy hearts.

I was a bit more excited about driving to YTU the next day. Conveniently, Jack had to go to campus to record, so I would be dropping him off when I had to pick up Ethan. For once, I had excited butterflies in my stomach, and I didn’t pop a Xanax beforehand. This was good anxiety. It was good, warm emotions that I couldn’t name.

Jack, on the other hand, seemed a little gloomy. He didn’t come out of his room for the rest of the night. I was wondering if I should have brought it up or not. It was always bizarre to see him so down, and I wanted to help him. I just didn’t know how to go about it.

“Gonna be okay?” I asked him as I pulled into the roundabout.

“Yeah, I just need to record,” he replied. “I think better when I record. I might stay for the whole day. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Alright, take your time.”

Jack got out of the car, and I heard him greet someone. I peered out the window and was happy to see Ethan walking out of the main office. I couldn’t help but smile when he got into the passenger seat.

“Have fun kids!” Jack called out to us before I drove off.

Although I was happy to see Ethan, I was still awful at making conversation. I just liked having him here, but I didn’t want to seem rude.

“So, do you love Dodie yet?” he asked.

I chuckled, relieved he had something to talk about. “I actually haven’t had the chance to hear her yet. Have you listened to Little Mix?”

“Only one,” he admitted. “I forgot the name, but it was an acapella one.”

“‘The End!’”

“Yes! I liked that one. They’re really talented.”

“Aren’t they?”

This only made my mood burst. He was open minded, thank god.

We went silent for a little bit, but it was nice. I mean, I was racing through many thoughts, trying to find something to talk about. Why did I have to be like this?

Again, Ethan was the one to break the silence. But what he said sent me nearly spiraling.

“I like you, Bella.”

I didn’t believe it when Jack first told me. Well, I actively chose not to believe it. I spent plenty of time talking myself out of the possibility of Ethan… just Ethan. There was no fucking way he could feel something for me other than pity. There had to be at least one time where he looked at me and thought, “Jesus fucking Christ, that’s a mess and a half.”

But no. Here we were in my car, stuck in LA traffic, the silence following his confession dawning on us. It was probably a bad sign that my first thought was, “Why would the poor boy do that to himself?” At least, that’s what my head said. My heart, however was leaping and crying out, “Oh god yes! Someone likes me! Someone can tolerate me despite that I’m in one of my worst depressive episodes! And he’s actually sweet and understanding and he can take me out of the dark hole my ex threw me in!” How could I do that?

“Please say something,” Ethan spoke nervously.

The car lurched forward an inch, we were definitely going to be here a while. Why did I offer to give him a ride to Mark’s office? Why couldn’t Jack have stayed with me?

“W-We can’t,” I mumbled, unable to look at him.

Ethan was quiet for a moment. “I, uh, had a feeling you were gonna say that… Can I ask why?”

I didn’t want to hurt his sweet little heart. But he asked, and I had no idea where to start, and I didn’t want to tell him that part of me reciprocated these feelings. I had to push it away, and there was only one way I knew how to do that.

“You’re only going to get hurt,” I told him, keeping my eyes on the line of cars. “If we got together, I know that I would be doing it for the wrong reasons… And even then, there’s too much going on in my head for you to keep up with, and… you deserve better than that.”

“Maybe,” Ethan said in thought, “maybe you think that you don’t deserve someone who cares about you. And you don’t have to hide yourself away from me, Bella. I want to know everything.”

That was just making my poorly mended heart bleed more.

“You really don’t,” I said softly.

“I know you have a lot of anxiety,” he pressed, but still sounding gentle, “and I know you’ve been down lately, but it doesn’t have to stay like that. And I know us being together won’t fix that. I just… I care about you too much to let you go through it alone.”

That is until he finds someone normal. I couldn’t let that happen to me again.

“You would get tired,” I warned, “you’d start rolling your eyes when my anxiety acts up. You’ll eventually leave me for someone else.”

That was when it clicked for Ethan. “You’re not over Mark...”

“I’m not over what he did,” I feebly corrected. “I wish I was, though.” Because you’re so good to me, and I don’t want you to be with anyone else but I also don’t want you to carry my burden.

Ethan went quiet again as he sat back. He fiddled with his fingers and then pushed his hair out of his face. “I wouldn’t do that to you…” he muttered. “I understand if you don’t believe that, but… I wouldn’t do that.”

It didn’t really matter if I believed him. He was just very persistent, and he kept fighting everything I was telling him. Why wasn’t he repulsed? How far did I have to go?

“It’s just…” I trailed off, only to take a deep breath. “When you’re mentally ill… everything bad that happens makes you think it’s because you’re mentally ill, and that you can’t have anything good. When Mark left, he told me that it wasn’t because I’m sick. But there’s still a part of me that thinks that if I was normal…” I chose my words a bit carefully at this point, mainly for Ethan’s sake. “...we would have lasted longer. My anxiety makes me believe that the way I am was too much for him. And honestly, I don’t really blame him. I have too much on my plate. I’m too sick and unstable. I can’t have another person put up with me again.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “If you’re trying to say that I won’t be able to ‘handle’ you or that I won’t be able to give you what you need, then you’re seriously underestimating me.”

Why does he make it so fucking hard?

“I… we can’t,” I repeated. “I don’t think I can handle another relationship.”

“Then, I’ll wait. I can--”

I couldn’t hold back anymore. “I tried to kill myself when Mark left.”

Now Ethan didn’t know what to say. Then again, I didn’t know what to expect. I had never told anyone before.

“The day after we broke up,” I continued, slowly losing control of what I was saying, “I decided to die, and I guess I was very loud about it because my neighbor is the one that called the ambulance.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Ethan softly mumbled, but I ignored him.

“And because I have no family or close friends - besides Jack, who was far away at the time - they called Mark. He was my only emergency contact. So he stayed with me at the hospital and then stayed at my house a few days after until I was stable again. And then I made him not tell anyone what happened. That’s how fucked up I am, Ethan. I was dependent on him, I made him my last shred of sanity. It wasn’t my family’s rejection that made me suicidal, or the crippling depression, or the frequent biphobia, or the anxiety… it was a stupid break up that pushed me over the edge.”

He was still quiet. He was biting his nails.

The traffic was beginning to let up. I kept my eyes on the road; it forced me to not look at him. I couldn’t make myself say anything more.

It hurt, having to bring up the one thing I swore I’d never speak of. I’d probably regret it later on, but it felt like the thing to do. I had to show Ethan exactly what he was signing up for, and then refuse to let him go any further. I hated it because I did like him, I liked him a lot, but I couldn’t put him through what I put Mark through. It was just another abandonment waiting to happen. I wasn’t over Mark either, like Ethan said. At this moment in time, I’d only be with him to get over my ex, and that wasn’t fair to anyone.

He decided to speak again when we were close to the ex’s office.

“I’m sorry that that happened to you. I didn’t know it got that far, but… it doesn’t change anything. Look, you’re still here…” He paused. “And Mark is still with Amy. And life is still going on. And I still feel the same about you... You’re doing the best you can, Bella. You’re making do with what you have, and that’s progress. I understand why you don’t want another relationship, but I don’t want you to feel alone, either.”

Fuck him and his sweet fucking heart.

He couldn’t possibly still want to be around me, could he? Or was he just pulling the pity friend card? I was torn between hugging him and shoving him out of my car.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Ethan said when we were closer to the office. “I know you have Jack, but I’m here for you, too. And just so you know, I have ADHD, so I kind of know how you feel with mental illness. You’re not alone by any means.”

I pulled over some ways before the building, like always. I stayed quiet and refused to look at him, despite that last bit of information he gave.

On any other day, I’d feel a sense of relief whenever Jack got home from recording. Today, my stomach flipped over and over, and I just wanted to cry. I tried to keep myself steady, I didn’t want any of this to spill out the way it did with Ethan. I stayed standing in front of my bedroom door, ready to go out and greet my friend and tell him what I had done over the summer.

When I finally opened the door, I found Jack plopped down on the couch. This was the moment of truth.

“Hey, Baller,” he greeted, not looking at me as he turned on the TV. “How was the drive with E-tan?”

I sat down next to him and sighed. “He confessed, and I rejected him.”

Jack sat up, looking at me in shock. “No, Bella! Why?”

Getting there. “I’m just not over what happened with Mark,” I replied. “I don’t think I can trust someone enough to not do what he did.”

“But I thought you liked him!”

I hesitated. “I can’t… I just can’t let someone in. I can’t let another person see all of this-” I gestured around myself “-and believe that they won’t leave me.”

“Bella,” Jack said, “if that person, if Ethan really, honestly cares about you, he won’t leave. What did he say when you rejected him?”

Mark cared about me. Look what happened.

“He was persistent. So I tried to…” Here it comes. The actual moment of truth. “I-I told him something terrible about me to get him to not like me.” The lump was rising in my throat. I wanted to be sick.

Now Jack looked confused. “Why would you do that?”

“I…” I sighed, tapping my leg. “I don’t want him to like me… I’d just date him for the wrong reasons. And if I ever do date him, I don’t want to be thinking about my ex the whole time. So, out of pure impulse, I told him that I did something awful.”

The tense silence told me how much Jack was wracking his brains trying to figure out what I did. I felt like it was obvious, given my state of mind for the last few months, but I guess I had to tell him.

“What is this terrible thing you did?” he asked softly, and that made me tear up.

“I… I tried to kill myself,” I admitted, my voice cracking. I looked down at my lap, unable to look at my friend. “W-When Mark b-broke up with me… I…” I lifted up my sweater sleeve, showing Jack the pinkish white scars on my wrists. “And there’s more on my stomach and my thighs.”

He didn’t say anything at first, which made me look at him, but only for a second. HIs brows furrowed, and his eyes read… something. “Bella…” He sat back, still looking like he was wracking his brains. “God, Bella… Why, why didn’t you tell me? Why am I just finding out about this? Wh-When did this happen? Who else knows?”

Questions I could answer, yet I found myself not knowing what to say.

“Bella, answer me,” he deadpanned.

“I… I don’t know. I didn’t know how to tell you, and I asked Mark not to tell anyone.”

“Wait, Mark knew about this? And this was after he broke up with you?”

“He was my only emergency contact… the people at the hospital contacted him, not me. I’m surprised he didn’t tell anyone when I was down under. And even then.”

Jack was silent, a series of emotions running over his face. Then he got up and began to pace. “I… are you okay now?”

“Yes, I promise.”

He paced some more, rubbing his hands together. “I didn’t… I didn’t know it had gotten so bad. Did you tell anyone you were feeling like that?”

I shook my head. This was where the guilt started to kick in.

“You didn’t think to call me?” he asked in disbelief, almost like he was hurt.

“No,” I said. “Or, yes. Yes, I did. But I couldn’t do it.” I wiped my face with my sleeve. “I just… at that moment, I just wanted to die. I wanted everything to be over. And I knew, if I had called you, even to say goodbye…”

“I would have talked you down,” Jack finished. “Of fucking course I would have talked you down. I would have stayed on the phone with you all day and night. I would have gotten you help!” His voice rose with every word.

“But I didn’t want that,” I told him softly. “I just wanted to die. I felt like I had nothing left.”

“You always have something left, Bella!” Jack nearly yelled if I hadn’t flinched. “It doesn’t matter how big or small it is, you’re the one who constantly says that!” His voice had finally cracked and he paused.

“I know that now… I don’t want to die. I don’t feel that way anymore…” Figured, since we’re being honest, “...at least not actively.”

Jack let out a spiteful laugh mixed with a sob. “That’s supposed to be reassuring?”

“It’s a work in progress,” I explained, trying to keep my voice firm. “I’m actually telling you that my suicidal thoughts haven’t gone away completely. I’m telling you because I don’t want to drive myself to the point of acting on those thoughts again. I’m telling you because I trust you, and I believe you when you say you could have talked me down that night.” I stood up and took a step closer to him. “I don’t want to die. I have suicidal thoughts, but I don’t want to act on them.”

Jack looked at me for a moment, tears in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner then? If you trust me, why did you wait this long to tell me?”

I shrugged, sobs bubbling up in my throat. “I don’t know… I just wanted to die. And I didn’t want anyone to know. But I should have told you, I should have called you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“No, you can’t be sorry,” Jack said, his voice trembling. “I-It’s not your fault this happened… o-or that life fucked you over so bad.”

“But I am, though,” I told him, sniffling. “Because I feel so t-terrible about leaving you. I can’t leave you, you’re my best friend.”

I hugged him tight, the feeling of what could have been dawning on me. Jack held me just as tightly, his body shaking slightly. If there was a person I was glad to be alive for, it was Jack.

He pulled back and opened his mouth like he was going to say something. But he looked me in the eyes and teared up again. He held up a finger, but his voice was trembling so much.

“I-If you e-ever d-do anything l-l-like that again...” he managed to get out.

“I won’t,” I said softly. “I-I don’t want to die…”

Jack sighed, calming himself down. “God, Bellers. And you told Ethan this?”

I nodded, feeling stupid about it now. “I didn’t mean to, it just came out.”

“What did he say?”

I hesitated, feeling enough emotions as it is. “That it didn’t change anything. He still likes me, he’ll wait... he wants to be there for me.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Jack asked, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. “He’s not an asshole!”

It was true, and it made me cry again. “I’m too broken for him! Look at him, he’s only twenty and he’s doing exactly what he wants in life! He’s happy, and I’m only going to weigh him down! I’m gonna be too much for him to handle, and then he’s going to leave me for someone else!”

“You don’t know that,” Jack told me, placing his hands on my cheeks. “And yes, you’ve had a lot of bad shit happen to you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love. You don’t get to decide who can handle you. I know Ethan, I know he’s got good intentions. Do whatever you want in terms of relationships, but don’t cut him off just because he likes you.”

He kissed my forehead and let me go.

“I made a mistake, didn’t I?” I asked.

Jack shrugged. “That’s up to you.”

______

next chapter

#crankgameplays x oc #ethan nestor x reader #jacksepticeye x oc #jacksepticeye x reader #sc fic #sweetheart writes #good god im so fucking glad i finally got this chapter out #i wrote the scene w ethan months ago #and the scene w jack too #and when i put them together i fucking cried bc of the mood and bc i finally pieced them togeter #good GOD im emo #this was like THE SCENE for me #the one that made me want to make this into a whole fic #also sidenote this fanfic has 2 more parts left :P #also shoutout to sam and nessa for technically beta-ing this chapter :D

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