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noelwife · 8 months

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Tw: sex on call, masturbation and slightly sensitive topics, nothing too much though (English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes)

The air in the bathroom was humid and the windows in the room were all foggy due to the humidity caused by the shower Noel took not long ago. The bathroom in that hotel was not quite cheap and smelled like a lot of money, which the man didn't like very much but he couldn't do anything about it as his company decided the hotels where the team had to stay while traveling for the matches. Noel lazily dried his short hair and tied a towel around his hips that didn't cover much as he left the warm environment he had created in the bathroom. He hated these rooms, he found the windows huge with a view that was too beautiful, all the furniture too expensive and he didn't even want to think about that bed so unnecessarily large for just one person. Noel took the phone from the cabinet where he had put it to charge and then lay down on that soft bed while he entered the password for his phone. Oh, his wife had texted him. Noel smiled slightly, and thought about how beautiful it would have been if his beloved wife had also come, but unfortunately she refused because she too had commitments and duties at work. Noel quickly opened WhatsApp and then clicked on your contact where a photo and a voicemail from you had been sent. The man expected them to be one of your usual photos where you sent cute photos of your cats, or of the cookies you had baked with the shape of a little heart on them(also sometime with some dick shapes), your plants or that turtle that he hated Noel so much. He didn't know how to feel about that photo you sent him, but it seemed like his cock spoke for him, with the way it throbbed under that white towel. You looked just gorgeous in that photo you sent him, without pants and his shirt that was quite big on you, that beautiful lingerie he bought you not so long ago, white with nice lace designs. You were in front of the mirror, the phone covering your face as you lifted your shirt enough to show those beautiful breasts of yours held by the lace bra, your panties were on full display as they highlighted those beautiful thighs of yours that drove Noel so crazy.

"Fuck"

Noel said as he looked at the photo again, he swore his cock felt tight under that towel. Then he quickly clicked the voice you had sent and listened to it while he felt his saliva running out of breath.

"These lingerie are really cute, love, but they feel a little tight."

And then attached underneath that usual emoji of yours

"😋"

You were unfair, Noel knew how much you loved teasing him when he was away from home, he fucking missed you, especially that beautiful tight pussy of yours that fit around his cock so well. You made him needy. Noel placed his phone on his chest and then stared at his hardened cock hidden under the white towel. He decided to repay you with your own coin, he took his phone back and took a photo of himself which I will then send to you. You were in your bedroom while you ate a box of strawberry and chocolate ice cream, while I watched the fourth episode of the house of the dragon, you shifted your gaze to your phone when its noise caught your attention. You placed the little bit of ice cream you had left on the nearby bedside table and took the phone, oh how nice your husband finally answered you, with a nice photo too. You giggled like a teenager and then turned sideways on the bed and replied to the photo Noel had sent you.

"Damn, what a beautiful cock Noel."

You also wanted to write "very coquette" but the message was blocked by the notification of Noel's video call. You accepted the call only to see Noel's face.

"How's my favorite husband doing? Did you like the photo?"

You said jokingly as you giggled a little at Noel's neutral face.

"Good, I'm fine... yes, you were beautiful. as always"

Noel replied calmly, you swore that his neutrality would sometimes kill you.

"...are you still wearing them?...I mean the underwear...?"

Noel asked, while you smiled on the other side of the camera.

"Yes, do you want to see?"

The man nodded as you adjusted the camera from a better angle, Noel noticed that you still only had on his t-shirt while you lay more comfortably on the bed while showing just a little bit of your underwear.

"Nice isn't it?, but it feels a little tight on my breasts, I think. that I got the wrong size"

I say as I lift my t-shirt and touch my breasts a little to show Noel how tight my bra is.

"Oh fuck the ice cream, excuse me for a moment love I have to put it back if not then it's a mess"

I say as I get up leaving the phone in the place where it was before and putting the ice cream back in its cold environment, I quickly return and take the phone back. Then she noticed with surprise that the perspective of Noel's room had changed. The view was lower and made Noel's abs more visible... and not only that,she also really noticed Noel's cock which was unfairly covered by that damn towel.

"What a surprise Noel, you left not even three days ago and are you already so needy?"

You say jokingly as you put the phone in a little better perspective while you take off Noel's t-shirt leaving you only with your white lace underwear.

"Do you want to see a little more love~?"

Noel doesn't answer you but noticing how he is about to get up so I can take off the towel you interpret it as a yes

"Already so hard for one miserable photo?"

You say when Noel's cock appears in plain sight in front of the camera, you almost missed holding it in your hand. I took off your bra, letting your breasts come out of the tight fabric.

"Yeah, it was a little tight, they left some red marks on me, look."

You say as you showed the red marks to Noel, then snorted a little too. for the relief of being free from that annoying bra.

"When you get back I want to try a good titjob on you, can I?"

Noel nodded as he thought about your beautiful tits that will squeeze his cock, damn if he wanted you to. Noel was never against things you suggested doing with him in the bedroom, as long as they weren't dangerous so he was more than okay with it. He came out of his thoughts as he noticed you taking off your panties and picking up the pillow on Noel's side of the bed.

"What are you doing?"

The man asked a little confused.

"I'm having some fun while my dear husband is so unfairly away from me to please his dear wife"

I say jokingly as I grind against his pillow. Noel swore he was running out of air, it was all too much for him, he hadn't even noticed when she started grinding his cock up and down.

"Would you like it to be your thigh,mhm?"

You say teasing Noel a little as the man only responded to you with a grunt as he masturbated faster. As you continued to swing on his pillow you watched him from the camera, how beautiful his abs were so well worked, maybe you should scold him for not drying his hair yet, you thought to yourself, later maybe.

"Fuck, I'm coming."

You smiled as you you continued with your movements and took one of your breasts with one hand and played with it a bit.

"Yes?, good boy."

Noel was the first to come, with thick streaks of cum while his legs trembled and his breathing was a little irregular. He didn't like coming while masturbating because he didn't find the sensation quite as good as coming inside you. Shortly afterwards you too had your release as you trembled on that pillow, you were so cute Noel thought, and automatically started pumping his cock again. Yes, when he comes back he will make sure to fill up his dear wife with his sperm.

#noel noa #noel noa x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock

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h-c-u · 2 years

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The kids are alright

Summary: You're filming some videos around the house for your unborn daughter, while your husband struggles with something.

Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x fem!reader

W/C: 1.4k

Rating: PG, age gap mentioned, but not specifically stated.

TWs: none

A/N: I love soft Ice the normal amount, your honor. Also, I imagine he's a bit older in the story than he's in the gif, but I just loved it so much...

Masterlist | List of tags | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

- And that would be your room, we just finished painting it... Well, mostly your daddy did because he was scared that something in the paint might be harmful to you, even though we triple-checked and chose the paint that was safe for pregnant women. So he waited till I went to sleep and spent the whole night painting it because he knew that I wouldn't let him do that alone... - you moved the camera, so it would record the light pastel-pink walls and the realistic clouds on the ceiling.

- But I was the one who did the clouds on the ceiling when he was at work, but don't tell him... - you lowered your voice to barely a whisper. - ...because I told him that auntie Flo did all the work, so hush about that. - you couldn't help but smile a bit. - I just really hope you're not going to hate the pink. I mean if you will, we'll, of course, repaint it, but at least for a while, you won't be able to tell us that you hate it. - at first, you really wanted to keep the room as gender-neutral as possible, but as soon as Ice found out you're having a girl, he was just so happy and wanted to do everything he possibly could to welcome his little princess into the world and make everything perfect for your daughter.

You had to fight tooth and nail not to have white furniture in the nursery though, because it would be, well... much too much in your opinion, so you settled on dark wood, which matched nicely with the pink walls and the deep green accessories.

- He just can't wait to meet you... You like that idea too, huh...? - you smiled when you felt her kick. - Ok, let's meet daddy... - you closed the door to the nursery and started walking downstairs step by step, taking your time, so you wouldn't lose your footing and fall. - Oh, you're gonna have so much fun sliding on those stairs on a sled, when you're a toddler, just promise me that you'll make sure to put couch cushions in your landing zone. - you laughed when you finally reached the bottom and pointed the camera toward the living room, where your husband was currently going over some most like very top-secret papers, that you definitely didn't see.

- See, that's your daddy. All serious and focused on work because he's very important and one day you'll understand that. But even though he has to think about keeping a lot of people safe all the time, he still has time for us... Watch his face... - you whispered as if you already had a secret comradely with your daughter. - Ice, baby... - it was all it took for him to put everything away, and look at you. His face instantly relaxed as soon as he laid his eyes on you, and a giant smile crawled onto his lips. - See...? - you've said to the camera. - He loves us so much and I can't wait for you to meet him. - you waddled towards the couch like a happy penguin, trying to keep the camera on Tom's face.

- What are you doing, dove? - he asked, even though it was pretty obvious. He gently pulled you onto the couch, and you turned the camera around, so now the two of you were in the shot.

- So remember when Florence mentioned the idea of filming the stuff for the baby? I'm doing exactly that... So we'll remember everything and one day she'll be able to see how cool her parents are. - you both laughed and he pulled you into a closer hug, almost forcing you onto his lap. - Do you want to tell her anything? - you asked, trying your best to keep the heavy camera steady, but your hands started to shake a bit, so Ice took it from your hands and you placed a small kiss on his cheek.

- Please be good to your mama... Don't kick her too much and all that. - you couldn't help but laugh when he put his hand on your stomach just as your daughter decided to ignore his request.

- She's gonna be a rebel. - you said through laughter. - Already not listening to her dad, and yet I bet that one look from her, and Mr. Ice-cold-no-mistakes will melt. - this time, he was the one who laughed.

- Yeah, that's true... So please don't abuse that. And just know that we love you very, very much... - he ended the recording and put the camera on the coffee table. Even though he was smiling, you knew that something was bothering him.

- What's wrong...? - you asked, and he sighed heavily, hiding his face in the nook of your neck, seeking every bit of comfort he could.

- I can't tell you... I wish I could, but I really can't, because I promised... - he mumbled against your skin, and you reached back with your right hand and started playing with his hair... It wasn't the most comfortable position, but you knew he needed it.

- Hmmm... So get this... I was thinking about writing a novel, where the main character is in the military and is struggling with a moral dilemma about his job, that could affect many, many lives... - you started and he laughed straight into your neck, which tickled, but you still didn't move away.

- It's not that kind of dilemma, dove... It's more of a request from a friend and I'm completely torn about it... - you moved away from him a little bit, but not for long because as soon as you found a comfortable position, you gently maneuvered him to lay down on your lap and you started playing with his hair. He already lived through a lot, and yet he still cared.

- Hmmm... So Maverick asked you to pull Bradley's papers... - you stated and he looked at you with surprise. - I might be young, but I'm not stupid. And I have great hearing. - you smiled and continued to gently run your fingers through his hair. It was easy for you to overhear or notice things because people either weren't threatened by you or ignored you, assuming you weren't important. Mav, of course, knew who you were since the day Ice met you, because he was there, convincing him to shoot his shot, but still... You were able to notice things he wanted to hide from the rest of the world. And even though you met Bradley only in passing, he was easier to read than a children's book; all emotions painted on his face with a contrast marker. - And now that we've established that I know, can you tell me why he wants to pull his papers? - you asked and he closed his eyes, considering his options, finally deciding on sharing this burden with you.

- He promised Carole before she died, that he wouldn't let him fly... - he sighed heavily, slowly melting into your touch.

- Now, that's just stupid. - you weren't exactly surprised. - Bradley is a grown-ass man, and he'll definitely find a way to do what he wants. Especially considering that it's the only way he knows how to connect with his dad... - Ice opened his eyes again and looked at you, waiting for you to continue, so you did. - I understand that Mav wants to keep his promise and keep him safe, but he would be much more successful in keeping him safe if he actually taught the kid how to fly in a safe environment, letting him find that connection outside the navy... - Bradley was only a couple of years younger than you, but you still felt like there was at least a generation separating you. - And the kid's gonna find out sooner or later that Pete asked you to pull his papers. Do you really think Mav can handle losing another Bradshaw? - Tom clenched his jaw, but as soon as you ran your finger over it, he relaxed. - How about you invite them both for dinner... I'm gonna cook something nice, and we're gonna talk it through... And just so we're clear, I will spill all the beans and blame it on the pregnancy, since apparently none of you knows how to communicate like adults. - he finally laughed and relaxed in your lap. He could easily find the best solution to a military conflict, but navigating a complicated issue when his friend was involved...? He forgot all about his training.

- I love you. - he smiled and closed his eyes again.

- I know. - normally you would lean down and press a soft kiss to his forehead, but your belly made that impossible. Fortunately, your daughter helped you and kicked him right in the cheek.

#my writing #Top Gun Fanfiction #Tom Kazansky fic #Tom Kazansky x reader #Tom Iceman Kazansky x reader #Tom Iceman Kazansky fanfiction #iceman x reader #🖤

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samalong1 · 1 year

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How to survive being Gluskin's brids

Tw mentions of childhood sa,abuse,nsfw,and gluskin being gluskin

Ima write fluff for him after

-he's in control period he needs to be if he's in control nothing can hurt him or you

-dont challenge this doing something small will send him into a rage with thrown furniture and smashen plates and if you did something really bad in his eyes your face

-laughs at any mention of truama he may have "oh darling you and your worry" he'd coo brushing it off denying it but his first of rage of his power being slightly taken down and the sobbing he'd do in the locked bathroom not wanting you to see him "be so womenly" as he'd say and deny him ever doing so

-never bring up therapy not after murkoff not if you want your neck to be bruise freed and not having things like whore shouted I'm your face he already escaped he isn't going back even if its healthy therapy he so desperately needs

-just be a good lil house wife wearing his 50's themed dresses with a tight chinched waist and bright heels

-if you want his comfort his hugs and praises to be wrapped up in his arms safe from his rage on his lap as be absently plays with your hair on the couch while he sings that dreaded song you'll just gave to submit to be his helpless lil wife

-he's constantly ogling you he loves his darling wife figure every curve and bump on her skin but really being able to grab and grope you makes him feel so strong and powerful able to bend you to his will

-he'll love dressing you like your his 1950's house wife prancing over in your low neckline tight waist dress with the cute patten sleeves and the long hem that twirls so gracefully with you as you take off his work jacket as you kiss his cheek so happy to have your protector and provider back home as your proudly tell him what roast or casserole you made so lovingly after dinner

-whats his job oh he'll just laugh "oh it isn't a woman's place to worry just know it gives us enough" he'll say proudly proud to provide for his family

-outside of work when he isn't constantly hovering over you singing songs and making sexist remarks as he rubs your waist while telling you how much he loves your child bearing hips he'll be in his office making you more dresses with bright colours and playful patterns his favorite being fruit ones of your lucky you can catch a glimpse of him making a lovely button up dress with a flowing skirt covered in a lemon pattern under the bright yellow ribbon while your cherry patterned dress hung off you while you wipe your hands off on your apron from doing the dishes

-only a peak though as he open the doors briefly he'll see you trying to Leer in and would chuckle and pat your head "such a impatient minx so excited for your husband spoils" but he'll always keep the door closed he hates being watched as he works that's what would lead to him being preyed on as a child when he was coloring or doing homework on the dinner table

-though sometimes he'll grow frustrated saying be can't get the shape and design to elevate but not overpower his wife's beauty but your starting to believe it's more sadistic from how his eyes gleam with how you jumped or yelp when pricked with a needle or how hungry his eyes were when there was a prick of blood as he comforts you scolding his big clumsy hands he loves the comforting you even if it's from his own mistakes or abuse it made him feel big

-also the possessiveness he has scared of the life he always dreamed of and daydreamed of his darkness moments scared some animal undeserving of the wife he sculpted to be perfection would be torn away

-because of that all his dresses will have his name sewn inside the hem to determine any dirty dogs who managed to lift it

-not like you ever manage to go out alone he'll say something sly like "what husband will I be letting a vulnerable minx like you put you need your husband to protect you" its somewhat true but he'll also be giving any man who glances at you the dirtiest angriest glare while his arm wrapped around your waist tightened so scary that the poor teenage cashier didn't dare make eye contact

-though sometimes when he's out at work you'll go out not wanting to wait till the evening to go out and to likely be turned down eith how tired he is from work and how he just needs his wife's cooking and a good foot massage

-one time you got caught when his work let him out early and he was wager to drive home and enter his wife's embrace

-you can't escape his yelling and insults and grip so tight on your wrist it'll bruise but if you simply look down and flutter your eyelashes even after his smack and being called a whore and just tell him that you wanted to get something for dinner and it couldn't wait he'll ease up and blame your woman drive to care for him to overlook your saftey

-if you want to Amp it up just whine and nuzzle into his hand that just hit you and say that you felt nauseous and thought that you finally may be pregnant and you coudnt wait for him to get a pregnancy test and that you also wanted to suprise him it'll quickly put you in his tight embrace and his cooes forgiving you as he goes to clean your wounds

-speaking of kids app sex will have some breeding undertones saying how he'll fill you with his seed and how goof of a mother you'll be

-it's not just cause he so desperately wants a family or a breeding kink but to him it gives the filthy whoreish act meaning and makes it a beautiful step to creating his legacy unlike past acts as a child

-also constantly being called a whore one time you wanted extra good wife points you dressed up in lingeri and the whole time he was slamming into you he was calling you a whore for seducing such a good man like him

-but after he'll grumbled under his breath about you never doing it again

-after sex he'll do his best for aftercare gently wiping you clean and kissing you softly and praising how good of a wife and hopefully if it takes a good mother but you need to praise him

-tell him how good he did and how good of a husband he is and how happy you are to have him and how you love his loyalty just praise sex is vulnerable even more to him and he needs to feel safe after and during

-because of this never try to be a top or play a more dominant role any ask will get you a dangerous glare and a flat out no and if you do something that he sees as you trying to take a lead like riding him and other things it'll instantly stop and he'll get up and go to the kitchen to open some wine accident or not give him space and apologize for acting so whorish and praising him even more

-don't ever try and take the lead without him knowing in a drastic way (not just cause of lack of consent on his part) but as soon as his arms or tied or blindfolded he freaks like in the beginning of whistle-blower screaming and kicking till the restraint is off and the moment your in his line of sight his hands are suffocating you and things hit the walls shattering if you survive you'll forever be labeled a ungrateful whore in his eyes and if he manages to control his urge to string you up to the ceiling like in the gym you'll be locked outside without a word

-short case don't

#eddie gluskin #outlast whistleblower #eddie gluskin x reader #outlast x reader #tw dead dove

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lyrebright · 2 years

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Over the past two work days, I got through the last chunk of TMA S1 episodes I had left, and got through the first two episodes of S2.

Those S2 episodes will get their own post about my thoughts, but here I just want to ramble about how I felt approaching the season finale.

MAG033: I actually posted about starting this episode a few days back; I won't reiterate my thoughts on the opening when they're already there in my liveblog tag.

That said: it's still really funny.

The actual content of the statement actually did manage to live up to the absolute banger of an opening though; in a stunning display of memory that I rarely possess I do in fact remember the Lukas family being mentioned and involved in another statement and it seems they are, indeed, just That Fucked Up.

Rumour come out: Does Institue Sponsors Is Spooky?

How badly did I just age my online presence with that.

MAG034: another live statement!

Finally, I have context to the anatomy students I've had mentioned. I've literally had no context except that there are anatomy students in TMA somewhere and my friends stan them, apparently, so this was a big moment for me. Very exciting.

Idk what the teacher's problem was I support these inhuman monstrosities getting an education.

Could've done without the teeth apple maybe.

ANOTHER FUCKED UP BOOKS EPISODE (minus fucked up book?)

omg baby gerard. little shitty teen gerard.

Knowing things I know now from the season finale I am looking back at it like Hmm because honestly outside of 1) baby gerard and 2) the closing statement it didn't really stand out that much to me?

(A friend informed me that Mr Smirke was like a real dude tho so :0)

Speaking of the closing statement: I see you delivery guys. I see you.

I know we literally get it confirmed that these delivery guys are Those Delivery Guys but I sussed it out immediately!! Prommy!! I am very smart.

I was listening to MAG036 as I was doing a second coat on a door frame I'd painted the day before and a little beetle was very determined to crawl into my fresh paint and that did not help my experience with this episode.

Might have enhanced it in a way, though?

Just a solid spooky Ugh from the statement though Jon in the closing statement bringing up Vampire Guy and saying that his female companion seemed familiar...i was not given enough of a description of her in any way to lay claim to that same familiarity so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

spiders. Hmm.

And that table. God. I'll get more into my thoughts about it later. It'll be more relevant around the actual finale.

MAG037: confirmation about the delivery men! Good to have

Gertrude FR What Was Up With You

(The finale has only given me more questions)

Jon's repeated stating of how tired he is across the past few episodes has me ):

MAG038: this episode was so mean

I can't believe this cursed piece of monster furniture literally stole this man's husband.

if you or a loved one has been victimised by homophobic furniture, you may be entitled to

trauma

I'm gonna be upset about this forever.

This is the npc statement I'm choosing to Stay Mad about

God I was so caught up in homophobic ceramics I forgot: hello third mike.

I've been helpfully informed there's only like, four Mikes I need to keep straight, but that is still honestly entirely too many Michaels.

What Jonny Sims has in writing talent he lacks in the ability to name characters things other than Michael (or some variation of)

The ending to this episode blew my goddamn eardrums out I swear

Time for the fun stuff though!

Actually you know what. The finale episodes get their own post. Hang on.

#lyre does tma #tw: furniture that hates you and your husband so so much #honestly this entire run of episodes minus my good pals The Anatomy Students just felt like #a sprint to the finale?#like the statements were as well written as ever and some added important Hinty Tidbits #but the opening/closing statements were the real star of the show #anyway #it's worm wife hour gang

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bowandcurtsey · 2 years

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Domestic Headcanons (Black Clover)

More from my idea box hehe (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ We're doing this all the way till it's Yami's birthday ♡ (17 Sept)

Characters: Yami, Zora, Zenon x f! reader tw: unchecked work, slight NSFW (mentions of sex), sorry but reader does have a few general traits that might not belong to everyone..

Yami Sukehiro

You guys still stay in the base but if you want a place on your own, the captain respects your wishes but you both find a small cozy place near the base.

Yami doesn't really care about the aesthetics of the house so he lets you pick whatever you want so long as it's not over the top expensive. He only wants a place to sleep and read his papers.

Surprisingly, he actually does basic cleaning and will help you with simple cleaning like laundry or dusting the place. He hates doing the dishes because everything is small and fragile there.

Sometimes the kids (the bulls) come over and he'll ask them to help him with housechores.

COOKS. He actually enjoys cooking for the both of you. He didn't do it at the base because nobody gonna beat Charmy with that but when it's the both of you, he actually likes experimenting different dishes and recreating his home town dishes.

Sometimes you cook and he enjoys it too. He's not that picky with food so he eats whatever but he'll have his own weird way of eating, ie adding sauce or soup.

He sleeps in sooo much he's late to everything and finral and asta has to come knocking at your door way too often to get him to wake up.

The kids low key prefer to come over to your place because Yami cannot get angry and smash things, he'll be kneeling on the washing board for about a day, depending on what he broke.

He has his favourite chair that can incline and he does a lot in there, taking naps, reading papers, drinking his coffee.

You guys always bicker about whose turn is it to do the chores but Yami ends up doing it anyway.

When he goes on missions and you're alone, he makes sure someone accompanies you at home or you stay in the base instead. Calls back everyday or when he can to check on your safety.

He absolutely loves coming home to you. Whether it's seeing you taking a nap, doing house chores, chilling on the sofa. He mad loves coming home to your shared home and you.

Oh besides sleeping naked? He has now upgraded to walking around the house bare or in his underwear only. You just have to get used to it.

Sex. Everywhere. Need I explain more? You cannot think of anywhere that you did not have sex at. The floors, the tables, any corner, furniture, rooms. Yep. Your husband loves this aspect of having your own house.

Zora Ideale

Your shared house is a mess. This boy dumps everything everywhere. He says it's organised mess. But it's true, he knows where everything is when he wants to find them.

He cleans if you tell him to. You'll have to give him instructions though. Like which rag to use, where the mop is. He'll do his best because "happy wifey is happy life."

Cooking? Nope. If you don't cook he'll order takeouts or whatever leftovers there is in the house. Yup, when you're not around the cat and him eats leftovers or he'll steal the chicken that you prepared for the cat.

He's very enthusiastic in your bi weekly grocery shopping. Because that means he can buy more instant and junk food. You have no idea how he stays so slim when he eats all those junk.

He also buys all the weird stuff like funny looking gloves or house slippers that can clean the floor at the same time, or a bottle opener that is shaped like a dick.

He has his own study room where he explores and creates spells and on seasons where he is invested in making and studying a spell, the house gets surprisingly clean because he doesn't have time to mess it up. He doesn't even get out of them room until you drag him out.

Similar to Yami, he can have sex anywhere and everywhere in the house. Once you guys had sex on the balcony / yard and the neighbours were in their house and you could see them if you just looked around the corner. But there's no stopping this cheeky red head of yours.

Zenon Zogratis

He initially wanted servants at your new place but you outright refused. He succumbed when you said you wanted time alone with him and him ONLY. Yeap. That got his imaginations running and so he agreed.

He doesn't really like anything bright coloured but you were surprised he'll let you have a few pieces in colours that you like. (that is if you like other colour out of black or grey) He low key loves blue and your e/c so he's more accepting of things that are in those colours.

You definitely have a wine fridge because this man loves his wine. Other than that, he leaves most things to you because he knows that you'll be the one spending more time in the house than him.

Ever since you moved in though, you're happy to see him home more often. It's his safe and happy place and he finds himself starting to relax and focusing on you more.

He likes the place cleaned spick and span but he doesn't want you to lift a finger, so he hires servants to come over to clean daily or every other day. They come for a few hours and then leave, so you could use your time to do other stuff.

If there was an accident while the cleaners are not around, he'll clean it up immediately.

You love cooking for him, because he loves whatever you make. He's always looking forward to coming home to eat your meals and you make it a thing to learn and improve on your cooking.

If he has to leave for missions, which are often, he'll make sure the place is tightly guarded with extra body guards and they report to him every 2-3 hours.

He'll also be down to have sex anywhere as long as you're comfortable. So he's less extreme compared to Yami and Zora. But sex on dining tables, kitchen counters or the sofa? Yes. But he'll definitely prefer the bed the most.

#yami sukehiro x reader #yami x reader #yami sukehiro headcanons #zora ideale headcanons #zora x reader #zora ideale x reader #zenon zogratis hcs #zenon zogratis x reader #zenon x reader #black clover headcanons #black clover imagine #black clover x reader #black clover scenarios #black clover fanfiction #black clover imagines

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tuliptyper · 2 years

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Oddly Specific Thomas Hewitt hcs;

TW mention for canon typical violence/cannibalism but also mentions of mental illness, suicide, bullying and general poor mental health. also nasty gross nail gunk

also these are long and wordy and not proofread sorry hehe

- neurodivergent, probably ADHD but it manifests in a way that he constantly second guesses his diagnosis bc people say he doesnt 'act like it' (projection? huh? idk her)

- dry asf hands because he cleans them a lot because he doesnt like feeling dirty but doesnt have much time to wash his face/shower. he hates his nails bc he doesnt know how to get the gunk out and accidentally stabbed his nail bed tryna clean them with a tooth pick

- loves his mama but he wishes she understood him better. growing up mute and being bullied by pretty much everyone, hes grown so fragile without even knowing it. sometimes he wishes he could peer into his mothers mind and tell her how he truly feels.

- i think he has some sort of relationship with self punishment. not really sh in the typical sense but he feels he deserves to be overworked to the point of sickness, he doesnt like to rest or treat himself. he gets tense when things are peaceful for too long and he feels the need to bully himself relentlessly. its awful :(

- living in an environment where hes essentially the breadwinner, bodyguard AND punching bag with no refuge to run to is incredibly hard. if it weren't for the guilt and his dedication to his family, he..well...i think you can guess the rest. (someone go get this guy some prozac)

- if he was introduced to them, hed love fairy tales. even though he was pulled from school and had very litle encouragement to persue his hobbies aside from sewing, hes a curious man who enjoys learning. fairy tales give him insight into past culture (and they also satiate his desire for romance. sigh ❤❤) ((call him your prince, he would actually get light headed from all the butterflies))

- should he ever get a taste of freedom, be it a particularly good experience with some strangers or seeing some pretty scenery on the road, he will chase that high Forever. he craves normalcy in its most wholesome form; saying hello to coworkers, picking up groceries, maybe taking his dog out for a walk and getting take out when hes tired. Hoyt knows this somewhat and makes sure tommy doesnt persue that desire with some nasty words and manipulation. ((literally grab his hand, run away into town and dont come back. discreetly send a check to mama with a small house on her name a few blocks down and leave the other old coots to rot))

- i gotta agree with the metalhead hc, he would love stupid ass nu-metal! dad metal, if you will. 2000s era heavy rock and anything with some angry lyrics. hates headbanging though, simply bc he loses his balance more than hed like to admit and also knots are fucking annoying to comb out with his curly hair. BUT ALSO his guilty pleasure music would be really sweet piano music or film soundtracks,,,its his inner romantic

- Thomas has like...hot dad personality..HEAR ME OUT omfg he finds puns funny, twirls his keys like a DAD and DIYs everything. he makes a lot of furniture, clothes and miscellaneous trinkets in his spare time. he needs an etsy shop ASAP

- but also hes such cute goth boyfriend material omg, he'd let you play with his hair, even braid or dye a strand if youre lucky! matching outfits kill him because he loves being yours. your hot goth husband. hell, he'll wear the bedazzled 'His/Hers' t shirt you got from the flea market, at least it fits him!

- dont send him to the gym, hes either the reason membership sales skyrocket or skydive ( they either see him and think 'i want to be him' or 'ill never be him' LMAO). unintentionally, hes a menace at the gym bc hes just generally so strong from all the physical labor back at the farm house

- i think he'd go vegetarian aside from those ready to eat rotisserie chickens you get from the supermarket (listen...i smash a whole chicken with a side of rice and corn like nobody's fuckin business)

#girl help idk what this is #im just..i love him so much #thomas hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #thomas hewitt #tcm the beginning #thomas hewitt x y/n #leatherface x reader #mizu writes

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zombryz · 4 years

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I just thought of an interesting scenario about Frieza’s s/o patiently listening to Frieza’s rants after he’s had a stressful day because leading a galactic army ain’t as easy as he makes it look.

TW - mentions of blood

I loved writing this scenario, thanks for the idea!! side note: sometimes I love a soft and angsty galactic Lord Frieza! ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

You weren’t sure where he was but you could hear him. His angry yelling echoed down the halls and caused everyone on the ship to close the doors to their cabins out of fear. You were patiently waiting in your cabin that you shared with the ruthless galactic army leader, Lord Frieza. He was late coming in which means it was probably a very long day at work. Frieza didn’t normally scare you like he did everyone else, but on days like today when he was fuming with rage you couldn’t help but admit he was terrifying. You prepared wine for his return in hopes that it would soften his irritation with whatever/whomever screwed up today. Frieza was just as resilient as a lover as he was a leader. Your palms were becoming clammy out of nervousness for his return.

You took a seat on one end of your enormous black suede couch and sat in an uncomfortable upright position. Your eyes were pinned on the door, awaiting his entrance. Finally, a few moments later, Frieza stormed in. He radiated displeasure and his eyes skipped over yours and immediately scanned for the wine you had prepared for him. Without a single word he marched over to your kitchen nook and gripped the wine glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. His grasp was so tight you could’ve sworn the glass was going to break into a ton of little shards. You sat quietly allowing him to regain his composure. You were always able to see another side of Frieza that no one on the ship got to see. You were able to see how much his work actually got to him and how stressful it was on him. The pair of you weren’t like normal couples, on earth if a husband came home from work upset the wife would help make him feel better by feeding him dinner, or so you assumed based on stereotypes. Not you and Frieza, some days he would come home and instantly rip your clothes off to release his anger inside you. Other days he would destroy furniture out of anger and come to bed really late. You were unsure what today was going to be. You were still in an uncomfortable upright position, the air was awkward so you decided to clear your throat. You weren’t even sure if he knew you were there.

“Why hello darling, have you been sitting pretty over there this whole time?” Frieza tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, you were sitting in the dark so he squinted a little. He was already two glasses in and was nowhere near his limit.

“Hello my love, tough day today?” You questioned, not trying to overstep but trying to squeeze him for some information.

“Ahh yes, indeed. My combatants didn’t follow orders and put me in a very difficult position today. I repaid them by killing two… well, maybe three of them.” Frieza was getting progressively more tipsy with each glass he drank. He began tapping his head with his pointer finger trying to remember something, “Hmm, what were their names I wonder? Oh nevermind, it does not matter anyways. They’re dead.” Frieza trailed off chuckling evilly. He placed his wine glass on the counter and spun it around in his hand, there was a brief silence before he spoke once more. “I left one alive so if he pulls the same act I’ll have to kill him too.” Frieza froze, gripping the wine glass once more staring off into space. “I do hate when they don’t follow orders, Y/N. Why can’t they just do what I say?” His voice raised an octave higher and finally the wine glass burst into tiny pieces.

It happened so quickly, a piece of the wine glass must’ve flown towards you and brushed your cheek. You reached up to your face and felt a warm wet substance trickling down. Frieza faced you with horror in his eyes. He rushed to your side as soon as he saw the blood on your hands.

“Y/N! Oh no, I’ve ruined your beautiful face!” Frieza cupped your cheeks, holding you still while he examined the wound. His eyes were fixed on your cheek but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him, he was the beautiful one. Even in his rage you loved him. He wasn’t one for apologizing, you knew he showed he was sorry by expressing his apologies. His closeness was all that you wanted. With your face still in his hands you sat up to kiss him. Your hands reached around his shoulders so that you could embrace him harder. Frieza kissed back, he let all of his sorrows and anger be released into the loving kiss you shared. You absorbed all of his emotions and could feel him loosen up under your spell. He gently pushed you backwards so that your head would fall back onto the couch cushion. Frieza climbed on top of you, your lips never leaving each other. He broke the kiss to plant a kiss on your injured cheek, still sorry about what he did to you. You pulled on his neck so that he was face to face with you again. Your eyes went from his down to his dark lips. In this moment you felt the most intimate you’ve ever felt with him. Between his rants about work and him showing how much he cares about you.

“It’s okay baby, I know you didn’t mean it. Now let me help you feel better.” Before he could contest you kissed him even harder.

#bryannawrites #frieza imagine #frieza #fanfic #lord frieza #dbs frieza

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starkerforlife6969 · 4 years

Text

Starker - Gone

tw angst, mentions of drinking- but a happy ending.

It’s done.

It’s finished.

Tony realises it a little suddenly. Feels cold and hollow all over. Riddled.

Dusk has just gone, and the fresh darkness seeps in through the windows. The penthouse is empty. It’s just him and his perfect furniture and his state of the art, pioneering technology.

Peter’s gone.

Of course, he’s been gone for months now. Shuffled out, head held irritatingly high, face drawn tight, stuff in boxes, and stayed with his aunt.

Whatever, Tony thinks bitterly, the kid’s 300 million dollars better off, he’ll buy a nice beach house somewhere and Tony will never see him again.

Mr. Wobbles, the fucking awful cat, is gone too. He was Peter’s Tony had realised, even as he’d argued for it over the glass table.

“Yours!” Peter had screeched, making the lawyers on both sides wince. Making Tony smirk victoriously, finally, at having gotten a reaction. “I adopted him, Tony. Me. My name is on all the papers, you- you hate him! You never feed him, or play with him, or give him treats, Mr Wobbles is mine!”

“Tony,” Peggy Carter, his (very expensive) lawyer, had touched his arm and said quietly, “it’s a cat. Do you really want the responsibility?”

Tony had slunk back into the leather seat. Shrugged and looked away like he didn’t care if the cat lived or died.

He does care, is the thing.

He looks over to the kitchen, down by the side of the fridge, where the ceramic blue food bowl used to lie.

It’s bare now.

He remembers, as he loosens his tie, takes off his armour, how Peter had looked the first time with the kitten in his arms. Brown eyes glistening and lips so pink and stained with the strawberries from breakfast.

“Tony! Please, I promise, I’ll take care of him-”

“Sweetheart,” Tony had chuckled, dragging Peter in for a kiss, “it’s your home too. Have the little monster. You don’t need permission. It’s yours.” Peter had beamed, lifted Mr Wobbles up close to Tony’s face (the creature had tried to blind him) and said “He’s ours.”

Even now, the thought makes him smile. Crooked. Sad.

Hollow, again.

That’s how the penthouse feels.

Pepper’s done an excellent job. He hadn’t seen the pieces of Peter disappear one by one, he just left for one of the divorce hearings one morning, came back one afternoon, and it was as if Peter had never been there.

Gone are the pairs of beaten converse, even though Tony had bought him suede shoes, gone are the hoodies next to blazers on the coat hook. Gone are the fruits and vegetables for those disgusting smoothies he’d always insist Tony drink. Gone is the sugary cereal because the boy’s a walking paradox and gone is-

Peter.

Tony swallows hard. There’s a lump in his throat. The first tickle of grief in this whole, drawn out process.

Peter’s gone.

Mr Wobbles is gone.

***

He won’t turn on the lights. Won’t go to the bedroom.

What he does do, because Peter’s not here to give him those huge bambi eyes, is pour himself a glass of scotch.

Then another. Then some bourbon. Bitter. All the good stuff he hasn’t felt the need to touch in two years.

Two years with Peter.

On their second anniversary, he remembers Peter’s face- flushed pink, stammering, eyes darting around to take in every inch of the party. Streamers and friends and cake and a table almost buckling under the weight of the presents.

“Tony,” he’d hiccuped, curling into Tony’s chest, shy and excited, “it’s too much.”

Tony had kissed the top of his curls. Felt pride bursting over the seams. Happy to make Peter happy. He’d felt good. “No such thing, baby,” he’d promised.

He’d lied.

Instead, Tony drinks, toes off his shoes, and reaches for the box that his lawyer gave him.

Peggy’s a great lawyer. Expensive, but the one Pepper insisted on.

“I don’t need a lawyer-”

“Peter could claim 50% of SI, Tony. 50%, do you hear me?”

Peter could have, of course. But he didn’t. Tony knew he wouldn’t. Peter’s not the vindictive type. Even in the midst of heartbreak.

He reaches for the box. It’s full of transcripts of the divorce proceedings, there are memory sticks of the recordings.

It all had to be recorded, for some reason. The most high profile divorce of the century.

Tony winces as he thinks of the tabloids. Half of them smear Peter as a gold-digger, wrong wrong wrong, the other half say Tony was cheating, abusive, desperate to go back to his philandering playboy days. Those are wrong too.

But he guesses, Husband refuses to change doesn’t make that good of a headline.

His laptop glows with harsh brightness as he slides in the memory stick. He sits crossed-legged on the ground, muscles protesting, and he forgoes the glass and drinks from the bottle.

It’s not classy. His mom wouldn’t want-

“10% is too high.” Peggy says efficiently on the video, scanning through the contracts. Tony sits beside her, slouched, comfortable, sunglasses on. Pale blue suit. He looks bored. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

The real Tony knows better. Knows that those sunglasses were hiding blood shot eyes, eyes focused on-

Peter. Small. Tired. Straight-back, hands folded, in a crisp white shirt.

“We’re not asking for 10% of total assets,” Coulson says softly. “But Mr Parker has made significant contributions to the biochemistry division of SI and as such he is entitled to 3% of the division and a 2% shareholder stake in the company. His marriage to Tony justifies the other 5%.” Coulson looks up from the paper and at Peggy. His voice is gentle: “We’re within our right to go to 50%. We’re asking for 10%. 3% biochemistry, 7% of SI.”

Peggy meets Coulon’s eyes. She sighs. “7% total. 3% Biochemistry, 4% of SI.”

Coulson turns to look at Peter, who murmurs something. Coulson looks like he wants to argue further, but he doesn’t.

“Agreed.” He says.

Both lawyers write. Then they move on to the next thing.

Tony thinks about Coulson. Looks at him on the video. When Pepper had said she’d secured Peggy Carter, he’d nodded, then blinked.

“What about Phil?” He’d asked.

Pepper had kept her face carefully neutral. “He’s Peter’s lawyer.”

“Oh.” Tony had said.

He’d thought Phil was his friend. They’d known each other for years, after all, and then he chastises himself. Phil and Peter had become fast friends. Manning the barbecue out on the deck, laughing, fangirling over Captain America.

“Tony,” Phil had said, coming up to him at the end of it all. “Are you- are we, okay?”

“Yeah.” Tony had nodded. He didn’t have it in him to have another enemy. “I get it. He asked you first.”

“No, Tony.” Phil frowned, shaking his head. “He needed me more.”

What did that mean?

Tony thinks now, swirling the remnants of the bottle, watching the lawyers go back and forth and him and Peter not saying a word.

Why did Peter need Coulson? The divorce was Peter’s idea. Kid should’ve been happy.

The Peter on the screen turns to look out of the window. It’s raining. He’s framed with silver light.

He doesn’t look happy.

Tony tries to think harder. Mind whirring. Tries to think of things he’s long ignored.

Of the fighting.

Of Peter’s pinched face.

He thinks, with more shame, about the times he raised his voice. How he yelled. When Peter would try to pull him out of calculations, try to coax him into eating, try to talk him down from the edge of self-destruction. Tony remembers lashing out.

“You want me to give up being Iron Man? You’re out of your mind, Peter. You’re trying to change me.”

“I’m trying to save you-”

“It’s who I am!” Tony had roared, so loudly that Peter had jerked backwards: afraid. “You’re trying to get me to abandon who I am. Well, I won’t change that way. That’s me, baby, you either take it or leave it.”

He’d been so angry. So scared. At the thought of the red and gold being put to rest.

He’s Iron Man.

“Tony.” Peter had sniffled. “I love you so much. I...I don’t want you to get hurt, but it’s more than that. You’re older now. Sam is taking over from Steve, and...and I don’t think anyone would mind, people know how much you’ve done for us all, if you wanted to retire. There are other people to be heroes now, you can-”

“Peter.” Tony had whispered, hugging him. “I promise. I won’t get hurt.”

He’d been right. But it had been a band aid on a leaking roof.

He didn’t get hurt. He saved the day. Again and again and again and again.

And each time he was gone, Peter would be pelted with rain until he gave all together.

“I want a divorce.”

Cool glass table. Thick fountain pens. Lawyers. Mr Wobbles.

Divorce of the Century - Tony and Peter call it quits. Insider reveals all.

Iron Man = Iron Heart?

Caught in the Act : A Gold Digger’s Story.

Tony Stark: Playboy Extraordinaire.

***

The sun trickles in the next morning.

Tony has a hangover.

His laptop is still playing the footage.

He opens his eyes to Peter’s face, lit with gold, he hears Peggy agree to 300 million.

Peter should smile.

He just looks sad.

Tony reaches for his phone.

It rings 8 times. Tony can picture the man on the other end. Watching it ring. Watching his name. Debating.

He answers.

“Tony.”

“He never stopped loving me.”

“I know.” Steve says quietly, huffing air into the phone, “We all know.”

Tony’s pride has saved him. It also makes him blind.

Steve comes over. Awkward, a little hesitant.

Steve is another thing Peter won in the divorce. If anyone won. If anything can be won.

Peter got Mr Wobbles. Got Steve. Got Bucky, by extension. Got Sam.

Tony got Nat and Clint.

Bruce and Thor refused to pick sides.

But Steve’s here and Tony thinks brokenly maybe all isn’t lost

“He wants me to give up being Iron Man.” Tony croaks, as Steve casts his righteous blue gaze over the penthouse. Over the box of transcripts. Over the empty bottles. Over Tony. Over the video of Peter and Coulson and the end of love.

Steve nods. “You don’t want to give up Iron Man?”

Tony nods his head. Shakes it. Shrugs. Doesn’t know.

Steve presses his lips together. “Tony, Peter can’t breathe properly when you’re Iron Man. He can’t focus. Can’t function. He’s so scared for you. If you can’t function when you’re not Iron Man, this separation is for the best.”

It’s so cruel. Too honest and brutal to hear.

“But we love each other.” Tony insists.

Steve looks sad. “Sometimes that isn’t enough.”

Tony doesn’t go to shareholder meetings.

But it’s three days later. He can’t sleep in their bed. Keeps thinking he hears Peter’s laugh or Mr Wobbles’ plaintive meow.

So when he sees Peter on the list. When he realises Peter might come. Could come. Might be there, within touching distance-

He puts on his best three piece suit. A dark tie. Gets his hair done.

He walks in, and fake-smiles at a few, blustering old men happy to see him.

In the long, oak boardroom, he sees Peter.

He looks young. Really young for the room. 25. In a pinstripe suit that looks- tailored. Good. Good for him.

And on his hand is-is-

It’s his wedding ring.

As soon as Peter looks up, he meets Tony’s eyes, and then honey-brown dart down to his finger, and they jerk under the table.

Tony can’t move.

Peter’s wearing it. Still wearing it. Why- what does-

His own is back in the penthouse. Set next to the photograph of his mother. Another sign of failure.

But maybe- maybe not yet. Maybe it isn’t over till the opera lady sings.

He spends the whole meeting watching Peter, and he isn’t subtle about it either. The other shareholders clear their throats awkwardly.

Peter lets him look. Open and graceful. He lets Tony drink his fill.

It’s never been difficult to look at Peter, after all. He’s stupidly beautiful. Big eyes, long lashes, and that jaw-

Pepper kicks him under the table. Tony barely feels it.

He keeps looking. Keeps drinking. Peter’s skin, soft, freckled, the bow of his lips, how he smiles, so wide he might burst.

He waits till the end of the meeting. Everyone files out very quickly- bar Pepper who lingers, before sighing.

Then it’s just him and Peter.

He watches Peter steel himself. Take a breath. Fix the armour in place that Tony found so frustrating during the divorce. The armour that hides Peter away. Behind an expressionless face and a blank, polite smile.

Gone, is the open boy.

Peter’s preparing himself for battle and-

Peter needed me more. Coulson had said.

Tony remembers asking Peter to join the Biochemistry division. He remembers asking Peter to move in. He remembers the late nights of equations. The way the tower would pull his iron man suit off him and Peter would be there, curled up, waiting.

He thinks. He thinks about Peter’s Oscorp Industries offer to head their Bio-tech division- rejected. For Tony.

He thinks of Peter’s dream to live in the sprawling country, away from the city.

He thinks of how Peter loves late night walks, hand in hand, staring at the twinkling lights of buildings.

He thinks of how Peter told him he was scared that Tony would get hurt.

There’s something about change. All the things Peter’s given him. Given and given and given until there was nothing left to give.

Tony hasn’t changed. He’s softer, more loving, but that’s because- of Peter.

All Peter’s ever asked of him, ever truly asked of him, was to retire.

Tony licks his lips- his tongue’s so dry- and he whispers: “It’s who I am, Pete. I’m sorry.”

Peter closes his eyes for a long, long moment.

Then he opens them, and smiles sadly. “I know, Tony.” He whispers, fragile, “I know. If there were any other way- you’re the smartest man in the world. You’d have figured it out. I think this…” he gestures between them helplessly. “I think maybe this is the only way. I’m sorry too.”

Then he twists the ring off his finger and Tony stops him.

“Keep it,” he begs, “please.”

Peter nods, tears slipping down his cheeks, and he hurries away.

Tony stands there, chest clenching- in more agony than he’s ever been. His jaws ache. He wants to scream. To disappear.

He goes home.

He’s aggressively stripping wires and thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

He’s picturing life in five years.

Picturing waking up with even more aches and pains than he has now. Of stepping down, of giving the suit to a plucky MIT graduate who Tony can mentor.

He imagines getting in his car, driving to the outskirts of New York, the rich, sprawling greenery.

Of finding Peter’s home. Gorgeous. Stately. Framed with foxgloves.

He imagines walking up the steps, knocking on the door and there’s Peter.

Even more handsome. Relaxed. Happy. He’ll smile, Tony will get down on his knees, beg for him back and Peter-

Peter will look heart-broken.

“Tony,” he’ll say, “I didn’t spend five years waiting for you. Hoping you’d come to your senses. I didn’t put my life on pause for you. And you should never have expected me to. I moved on.”

And then someone else will say, “Petey, who’s at the door?”

And he’ll come out. Peter’s husband. He’ll be handsome and young and everything Peter deserves.

Tony has to set down his tools because his hands are trembling with anger over Peter’s non-existent future husband.

Is that what he’s expecting? Is he expecting Peter to wait? To wait until Tony’s done with being Iron Man? To put his life on hold indefinitely until Tony-

It makes him sick.

He won’t do that. Not to Peter, not ever.

Online, a tabloid article: Iron Man = Iron Heart catches his eye.

They’re trying to say he has a heart of stone, but what he thinks is-

Iron Heart is a good superhero name.

Riri is wickedly clever.

She has wide eyes when he arrives at her dorm. She recognises him, clearly. But she quickly starts talking over him, shows him the prototype suit she’s designed.

He’s already seen it in videos.

“This what you wanna do?” He says, eyes catching a photo of her and a girl kissing on the wall. “You wanna be a superhero?”

“More than anything.” She says, getting to her feet, 21 years old and ready to take on the world.

“I used to want it more than anything too.” Tony nods, and he feels warm. “I want something else more now.”

She cocks her head. Trying to gauge him.

He tries to go for casual. “My hus- ex-husba- my Peter- he’s great with bio-tech. Do you- he could help- upgrade- I-”

“Mr Stark,” Riri says, pulling up her socks, folding herself onto her desk chair. “What’s the point in saving the world if you never get to live in it? Life is finite.”

“You’re a good kid.” He manages. “We might make a hero of you yet.”

She grins.

He thinks she’ll be a forced to be reckoned with.

It’s not a beach house. Or a stately home in the expensive part of New York, it’s a townhouse in Brooklyn.

Beautiful, large, homey. Tony rings on the doorbell, fiddles with his collar, wonders if he should have brought flowers-

The door opens. Tony imagines it’ll be May, or maybe a Butler, or maybe a boyfriend-

It’s Peter. He’s in pyjamas. Old ones. Tony recognises them. Mr Wobbles is curled around his feet. He shivers in the cold air.

Tony opens his mouth but doesn’t know what to say. Peter looks up at him, half hidden behind the door, the one eye Tony can see is wide and amazed. Like he maybe didn’t think Tony would come back.

“I love you, Peter Stark.” He says, remembering how Peter’s fingers had shaken when they’d signed the final papers. “And I’d do anything for you. I found a- girl. She’s great, you’ll meet her, Iron Heart, I thought, just toying around, she’ll need help. A mentor, maybe. Dead parents, always seems to be the case. But I thought maybe you and me- we could, help- guide her, I don’t-”

Peter edges out a little more. Mr Wobbles shuffles back into the warmth.

“I thought-” Peter bites his lip. “I thought Iron Man was a part of you?”

“You’re a part of me, Peter.” Tony insists. He laughs. “I’m old. Stupid. Even Cap’n Ice realised what I’ve been trying to ignore...the world doesn’t need me anymore.”

Peter reaches out, takes Tony’s hand. “I need you.” He confesses quietly, smiling.

“And you are my world.” Tony realises aloud, tingling with glee.

***

Iron Man Retires.

Stark and Parker ReUnited.

Iron Heart Makes Debut

Three Times the Starks made us Swoon

Tony Stark to celebrate 10th Wedding Anniversary.

***

He wakes up years later.

He trips over Peter’s shoes. Mr Wobbles pounces on his vulnerable toes as he walks past the bed.

He walks past one of the guest bedrooms: can hear Riri snoring.

He walks down into the lab. It glows with blue light, and there, hunched over the Iron Heart suit is Peter. He’s methodically working out all the damage it took on Riri’s latest stint. The fright she’d given them both- falling into that lake-

He looks like Tony, Tony realises. Of course his husband does, the narcissist that he is.

“Hey Pete,” Tony murmurs, rubbing his eyes, coming closer and kissing Peter on the head. “It’s late.”

“Is it?” Peter hums around a yawn, “I was just finishing up…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony chuckles, “I’ve heard that one before. Used it a few times."

Peter grins at that; tired, happy. “I guess maybe you need to tire me out,” he says wickedly, spinning in the chair, legs spreading further apart.

“Mm,” Tony murmurs, leaning down, kissing him. “Extra large pizza?”

“Cheese in the crust.” Peter nods, and they kiss again. And again.

And again.

#starker #peter x tony #angst #happy ending #fluff #divorce #make up break up #break up make up #age difference #marriage au #iron heart #tony stark #soft tony stark #precious peter parker

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mistaeq · 4 years

Text

The Jobros: Finding out their s/o is Pregnant with Twins

TW // none

Original Request: Can you do the jojo's reaction to their s/o being pregnant with twins after a long time of trying? You can find this here.

The sweet @serenityblaze44 asked for this same prompt with the Jobros, so... here it is! <3

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

ROBERT E. O. SPEEDWAGON

As soon as you tell him, his eyes widen, like a cat who saw his favourite toy. It's almost as if he was a kid, and you were telling him that Santa was gonna bring him his favourite gift ever. No wonder, he'll be speechless for some seconds. Not only one baby, but two? This sounds all the way like a dream becoming reality. Living in the street like he did years ago, he could only dream about having a family.

You've been trying so hard to have a baby, you both felt ready, and after all the danger he went through along with Jonathan, Robert wants to settle down and have a family, finally starting something serious. But you had a lot of problems with getting pregnant, and he was losing his hope. Until you told him you were expecting a baby. And now, you were telling him they were two, two angels of his growing in your stomach. This feels crazy.

Speedwagon won't force you and won't get angry, if you don't feel like you'd like something like this, but he'd love to name one of the twins Jonathan or William if there's at least a boy and Erina if there's at least a girl. These people mattered so much in his life, and would be the happiest if he could bring these names with him forever. If you don't like the idea, he will respectfully accept it, and he's open and ready to hear your own ideas, too!

He wants everything to be completely organized, when the twins will come to the world. Every parent buys furniture and clothing for their baby, even before the birth, it's a pretty common thing. But Robert more or less behaved like Joseph buying stuff for Shizuka with Josuke's money. Speedwagon almost bought an entire baby store out of happiness and excitement. He's enthusiast and nervous. Bear with this loving gentleman.

"What do you mean I don't have to buy six cribs for the babies? What their two ones break and we need to change it?" he groans, handing you a bag, you looking at him with questioning eyes. "Nevermind... y/n, will you hold these fifty pacifiers for me while I get the twenty pairs of baby shoes out of the car?"

Speedwagon can't keep the news to himself. He'll call Erina before everyone else, and then all his friends, like immediately, to tell them the good news. He looks calm and rational, but he spent most of his life in London's street, and few years won't erase his loud and impulsive attitude. It's probably a good thing, after all. Even gentlemen can be excited. A little sudden, but hearing it makes Erina so happy, she'll be like an aunt for your kids!

He would enjoy reading books to your stomach during your pregnancy. He would have done it even if they weren't twins, but he claims that being them two, he'll need to work twice the amount he did before to teach them stories and literature. Robert is an amazing man, but still a too grown baby, he'll never stop his ideas about how to teach the children something. He just thinks about what he'd like to do or hear if he was a child.

CAESAR ANTONIO ZEPPELI

He stops practicing with his hamon for some seconds as soon as you tell him. Funny, he was so focused on his training that he swore he started hearing things. You didn't just tell him that the baby bubble growing in your stomach are in reality two baby bubbles. He... oh, forget it Caesar, you must have dreamt it. But you're right next to him, and almost immediately repeat what you just told him, making him realize what he heard is true.

It takes a while for the italian boy to realize it, but when he finally does, you can tell he's happy. Mamma mia. The adrenaline and excitemente in his body won't stop flowing, this is why, when Caesar will hug you, pick you up and jump around, hamon bubbles will still be coming out of his fingertips, and you find it the cutest thing ever. It's the physical proof of how happy you make him, there's no way to deny it. Family is all he ever wanted, over his flirting habit. You're the right one for him and he knows.

Prepare your kids and your stomach to get a whole load of opera music during your pregnancy. Caesar is a great lover of opera, and will care about his kids to be as informed on it and respectful of the genre. Either he'll put on some of it, of he'll straight up sing it for you and your future children. His singing voice isn't actually so bad, you notice, and this is how he earns the task of singing them the lullabies when they'll come to the world.

"Hey! What do you mean I get to sing them the lullabies... I'm good at opera... not baby songs..." he whines, almost sounding like a baby himself. "Fine... but at one condition. You change the diapers and I sing the lullabies. Take it or leave it."

He cares a lot about his family's traditions to go on. Being the flamboyant italian he is, Caesar prides himself on the love for his close family and relatives. He doesn't have a huge request for you, but he cares about what he's gonna ask. The father-to-be would be happy, if one of the twins is a boy, to give him Antonio as a second name. Like his own second name, and his grandpa's too. He secretly hopes the twins are a boy and a girl, he's always wanted a baby princess.

The young Zeppeli will grow twice more protective and caring of you. This translates in him not letting Joseph get closer to you than three meters away. This is how you learn to speak even louder to talk with people. Your loving boy will always be in front of you to keep you safe. You appreciate it, but sometimes he's exaggerated.

He'll probably beg you on his knees, for you to allow him to teach the children how to master the hamon technique when they'll grow up. You can't really deny it, sometimes it's useful. During your pregnancy, Caesar and his calming waves helped you coping with pregnancy pains and cramps, massaging your belly and leaving some bubbles around to soothe and distract you. Oh, your caring italian love.

NORIAKI KAKYOIN

When you told him the good news, his heart exploded with happiness and excitement. However, Noriaki is known for being a pretty calm boy, and he tried his best to keep calm after your words, too. You had to tell him to let go and don't worry about wanting to hug you, or pick you up and kiss you, or even cry, if he felt like letting it all out.

Before you even got pregnant, Kakyoin and you had been trying every single way on Earth to have a baby. Take count of your most fertile phase, buy a lot of pregnancy tests, using different positions, praying, making rituals, crying and asking Siri, in tears, why Noriaki couldn't manage to get you pregnant. Did those ways work so well that you got twice more pregnant than you expected? Nevermind, all you know is that you and your loving cherry boy are gonna have two beautiful babies.

"Listen... why do you think I can't get my baby pregnant? We've been trying every single way... do you have any advice?" as soon as Siri answered, Kakyoin's eyes widened, and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, don't give me the 'Sorry, I'm not sure what you said' treatment!"

One of his first thoughts, is that there's a small - but now it's higher because the babies are two - percentage of chances your babies might be stand users. Yes, it's not the highest percentage ever, but it's still there, and Kakyoin is pretty afraid of it. Stand users' lives are never calm and quiet, he had the occasion to prove this himself. They often go towards almost deadly experiences. He's gotta be a good dad and protect his children.

Hierophant Green is overjoyed! Noriaki and his stand worked hard, to create some decorations for the babies' room with emeralds. Green is a neutral color, since you don't know whether the twins will be boys, girls, or both. Still, you don't think colors like pink and blue are gendered, that's some stereotypical bullshit. But you had the luck of having green decorations, perfect for anyone, from Hierophant's power.

Kakyoin secretly hopes that at least one of the babies, no matter whether it's a boy or a girl, will have his hair color or hair noodle. Think about it, wouldn't it be funny, cute and incredibly special to have a small version of your husband/boyfriend walking around the house? Oh god, what if they're identical twins? Three Noriakis? Oh my.

Even if this might embarrass him a little, you'll often get to see his parents during your pregnancy. First of all, to give them the good news about the baby being in reality two babies, and second of all because mrs. Kakyoin would be on cloud nine, getting the chance to give you some parenting advice. That's also how you get to know some interesting information and curiosities about your man's childhood. The cutest things ever. But this... is another story.

NIJIMURA OKUYASU

Okuyasu.exe has stopped working. What do you mean two babies? He thought the shocking news were finished, after the pregnancy announcement. He's gonna ask you a billion times, on the verge of tears, if you're joking or messing with him, knowing how much these news matter to his heart. When he gets you're serious, Okuyasu just lets go and cries. He feels so damn happy.

He learnt to hate your period as much as you, honestly. Because everytime you got it, it meant another month in which he had failed in getting you pregnant had passed, and this made him feel useless and disappointing. You never thought anything like this about him, but making him understand this is pretty difficult, he wouldn't have forgiven himself until he succeeded. You wanted a baby and Okuyasu wanted so too, so he would have given it to you, no matter what.

"Oi... did you... you know, bleed this month already?" Okuyasu asked, with the eyes of someone who was afraid of asking. But you shook your head. "This is good, love... but let's not get our hopes up, shall we, y/n?"

He doesn't really have any special requests or ideas for your babies' names. Or better, he does have one, but will never tell you, as he thinks for sure that you'll never agree with doing it. Okuyasu would have liked the kanji "兆" ("chou": trillion) to be in at least one of your babies' names, to remember his brother. But your boy is pretty sure you'd hate it, and he'd never suggest this. You'll probably feel there's something he's not telling you and find out anyway.

Expecting two babies is tiring, and you'll need to rest a lot. Okuyasu would like to join you and hold you in your sleep, but he also wants to be awake to take care of you, get you something to eat or drink, or put in order his messy house to make it look at least decent for when the babies will come. This is why, while you take your naps, he works around the house and lets The Hand cuddle with you. It's always him, after all. He feels the way you hold his stand.

This leads to the father-to-be being often pretty tired, too. He overworks himself. At night, when he finally joins you in your bed, happens to fall asleep in a matter of seconds, wearing his ordinary clothes instead of his pajamas. You can tell he's gonna be a good dad. Some mornings during your pregnancy, if you happened to wake up before him, you'd quietly turn off his alarm clock for him to rest more.

Okuyasu's dad is on cloud nine too, as his family is going to get larger. Mansaku totally wants to take a photo with you two and his grandchildren, as soon as they'll be born. He accepted you and behaves with you the same caring way he does towards his son. He's changed in a better man, despite his appearance. But the first person Okuyasu told the good news to, was Keicho. He purposely went on his grave, because he knew his brother would have been proud.

BRUNO BUCCIARATI

You tell him the good news while he's working. Not only it'll make his day better, but it'll also hopefully get his mind off of that giant bunch of papers on his desk, for once. The capo suddenly stops, moving his gaze towards your eyes, then your stomach, then your eyes again. You'll have to repeat, or he'll be sure he's imagined what you said because of the too much time spent working. But there's no joke or dream, you're pregnant with twins.

Screw all the papers and all the work that's left. He's gonna get you in a so tight and warm embrace of his, and never let go. Libeccio's for dinner that night? Guaranteed. He's usually a calm man, but whatever is related to his family, gets celebrated. When you announced your pregnancy, you had a dinner with the whole gang at the restaurant, but this time Bruno would rather have something more personal and private with you. Make the dinner romantic.

When you were still trying to have a baby, Bucciarati was the one who managed not to lost his temper when every attempt of yours resulted in a negative pregnancy test. But when you weren't around, I won't say he cried, but was pretty close. He was afraid of not being able to give you what you wanted, and usually ranted about this with Abbacchio. Bruno wanted to be the shoulder you could cry on, and couldn't breakdown too.

You both decided to wait some time before telling the gang about the baby being in reality two babies. They were still excited for your pregnancy itself, Mista and Narancia above everyone, and giving another shocking news would have probably brought the peace to say arrivederci. They still managed to get you confess, the look in Bruno's expressive eyes was too happy not to notice.

Just like Giorno would do, Bruno wouldn't be happy if his two angels ended up being involved in Passione's business. He totally will let the gang around his babies, as he trusts them, but during your pregnancy you both decided that the one of you taking care of the babies on a certain day, wouldn't even think of getting close to Passione's headquarters with the children. And you agreed with Bucciarati, for your little ones' safety.

"You'll agree with me that our children's safety is the most important thing, tesoro mio..." Bruno murmured, caressing your cheek. "Let's not bring them close to this place ever, I beg you. I'm sure you'll understand."

He would enjoy talking and interacting with his babies by laying his head on your stomach, kissing it and listening to them moving in the last weeks of your pregnancy. Sticky Fingers is in love with you too, and Bruno won't ever lose the chance to close you in a cuddle sandwich between his body and his stand's to make you feel protected and let you know how proud of you he is. Bucciarati will be a special dad, indeed.

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all1e23 · 5 years

Text

Between the Stars [Pt.3]

Pairings: Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death

A/N: Each chapter is a month since steve has been gone as a reminder because this chapter does pick up the morning after Bucky arrived home. Big thanks to my pizza love @moonbeambucky for looking it over for me. As always for this series, flashback are italicized. If you like it write a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me. Remember not to judge everyone too harshly till all the secrets come out. ;-)

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

“What’s missin’ in here?”

Bucky stood in the living room, surveying the 420 square feet, coffee in hand, and squinting. You were both tired even after finishing off a pot of coffee between the two of you. Last night ended much like it started; in tears. You weren’t sure how long you cried or how long Bucky held you. There was a lot you needed to get off your chest, a weight you let Bucky carry for a few hours. This morning the burden was back resting heavily on your heart. It was your hardship to carry after all, not Bucky’s.

He had his own you suspected.

You stayed quiet as you watched his eyes move around the open floor plan, glancing from the dining to the living room. His eyes flicked along the bookcases lining the staircase, the tan leather sectional, and the two cream color chairs that Steve hated. You had a massive fight over those chairs, a real knock-down-drag-out. Steve didn’t want them. “Why would we buy white furniture when we are going to have kids? They will be covered in stains.” You had argued they weren’t white, they were cream. Things only escalated when you told him you wouldn’t have kids for a few more years anyway, and by then, they would be old enough that a few stains from sticky hands would be okay. Steve had thought kids would come along much sooner, it seemed. You simply couldn’t see how that would work while he was enlisted, and he thought the two of you could get through anything together; lack of communication and assumptions. Steve slept on the couch that night. If only you could go back and say sorry, beg him to come back to bed instead of being stubborn and staying mad to prove a point.

What you would give to be able to go back and relive it all again, even the bad moments because they always turned into the next good ones.

Bucky took a step towards the empty space by the front window, the sound of his boots on the hardwood made your heart clench. It was hard to miss now. The whole room looked uneven, looked off. Bucky spun back around to face you and asked gently, voice barely above a whisper, “What happened to your piano?”

You’ve been waiting for the shoe to drop since Bucky showed up yesterday evening; he spotted the change faster than Sam had.

“I sold it.”

Bucky didn’t move or make a sound at your admission. His face stayed impassive, and after a few moments of silence, he simply nodded. The subject was dropped. Sam had flipped his lid when he saw that you had really gone through with selling it, “You loved playing! You shouldn’t be making big decisions like that right now, ones you might regret later.” You didn’t understand why Sam was so shocked, you made it clear that you were done with that life. It didn’t bother you, so it shouldn’t worry Sam. At least, Bucky didn't care. Perhaps he was only better at hiding it; if Bucky was disappointed in you, he made no outward show of it.

“What plans do you have today?”

You regarded Bucky with a blank stare over your steaming mug and shrugged a shoulder. You couldn't remember the last time you made plans or filled your day with something over than hiding away in your house. Over the previous two months, your days have consisted of avoiding everyone that you could and staying locked in the safety of the walls you built with Steve. It was the one place no one could judge you for still loving your husband.

“All right. All right.” Bucky blew out a breath and rested his elbows on the kitchen counter, immediately going into fix-it mode. “Here’s what I was thinkin’ for today--”

You couldn’t help but take in the way Bucky was leaning against the white stone as he talked about the plans he had in mind for the day, what he thought the two of you should try to accomplish today, but you weren’t listening. It wasn’t that you were actively trying to ignore him, but there was something about his hair cut that short, and the way he was watching you as he spoke made you think of times that had long since past. When you were just a bunch of kids with no idea how the world worked or what it meant to be in love.

“Hey, Trouble.”

The deep voice calling you made you jump, you turned to see who the culprit was and narrowed your eyes when you saw Bucky holding back his chuckle. The scowl you were giving him looked menacing enough to scare most men off, but it only made the hold Bucky had on his laughter break. You dug an elbow into his ribs, and the groan that slipped from his lips was for your benefit, you were sure. Stupid cute boy. Bucky leaned against the railing, resting on his elbows and doing everything he could to keep his eyes focused on the water rippling under the wood beneath your feet.

You weren’t sure what reasons Bucky had when he came looking for you because he was actively avoiding meeting your gaze now that he was by your side.

“Sorry,” Bucky said, soft and unsure. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You smiled at the sincerity in his voice. Bucky rarely let himself be soft and vulnerable when everyone was gathered together like this, in party mode, but that was the side of him you saw more often than not; a secret piece of Bucky only you got to see.

“It’s okay. I’ve seen one too many horror movies. I feel like Jason is going to come up out of the lake or something,” you said with a shiver and instinctively slid closer to Bucky, letting your arms brush against his. This time you only glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and he was grinning as if he found something so funny about the situation the two of you were in.

He wouldn’t find it funny when a swamp monster trudged through the mud and ate you both.

Bucky leaned his head towards your, still eyeing that same dumb piece of wood bobbing in the rough motions of the lake, the proximity of his lips to your ear made your skin tingle, and he whispered in your ear, “I’ll protect you, Y/n. I promise I’ll always protect you.”

You turned to face him, and he finally pulled his attention away from that ugly log so he could stare into your eyes. How could they look so blue when it was this dark outside? You swallowed the lump in your throat, worrying your already reddened lip between your teeth and whispered so softly you were scared he wouldn’t hear you, and you wouldn’t find the courage to repeat it.

“Always saving me. How’d I get so lucky to have a friend like you, Buck?”

You have no idea why you said that. It was so stupid! Yes, you were friends, and if you kept saying things like that, things would stay that way. At this rate, you were never going to get a chance to find out if there was something beyond this silly little crush you’ve developed.

Why didn’t you tell him? Your brain hissed at you. You’re just a big scaredy-cat.

“Y/n?”

The firmness in Bucky’s voice brought you back, you shook your head to clear it of the times past and quickly followed it with a nod as if you were answering a question, but you had no idea what was said. Bucky didn’t mention your momentary blackout, but he did take the cup from your hands because your fingers were trembling, and you had yet to notice. You wrung them together to stop them from shaking, but they continued on.

“Have you been by to see Sarah?" Bucky asked again, picking up where he left off without missing a beat.

You cleared your throat and shifted from one foot to the other, your guilt was shining through loud and clear. No, you had not been by. You had intended to and even tried a few times, only ever made it to the end of the driveway before you retreated back inside and crawled into your bed. It was too hard, and you didn’t think you could face her after everything. It was as if Steve was staring back at you, and that hurt more than your heart could handle. Bucky sighed and pulled your jacket off the hook hanging in the kitchen, holding it out for you to take and gently urged you, “Come on Trouble. I’ll go with you.”

You grumbled something snarky under your breath that Bucky couldn’t make out, but it made him smile regardless. Your jacket was still hanging off his fingers, so you yanked it off and tucked it under your arm, refusing to let him win every battle today.

“I was thinkin’ we could stop in at Dixie’s on the way.”

“I’m not hungry,” you grumped, a sour face and firm pout in place.

Bucky held the screen door for you and raised a brow with a smirk curling up the edges of lips, “I didn’t say you had to eat. I’m starving, and I’ve missed their stuffed french toast.”

Your frown deepened at Bucky’s words and trudged across the yard through the snow to Steve’s truck. There was that stomach sinking expectation that he was trying to force you to eat, the same way everyone else did when they saw you. As if they were trying to cure your grief with casseroles and baked goods, not Bucky, though. He opened the door, and you climbed up into the passenger seat without second-guessing the action. Bucky made his way into the driver’s seat and pulled Steve’s keys out of his pocket; you never even saw him grab them.

It was quiet in the cab as Bucky fiddled with the radio, leaving it low once he had found a song he liked. You turned your gaze towards the window, and after several minutes of silence, you rolled your eyes, admitting with a huff, “I do like their french toast. They do that thing where they put the caramelized bananas on top, and the one with the cream cheese in the middle is pretty good.”

A small smile formed, but Bucky didn’t say anything. He was smart enough to stay quiet.

---

Despite having to face your mother-in-law for the first time in two months, you surprisingly felt better than you had this morning. All that sugar from Dixie’s helped. Even though you didn’t want to admit it, it felt good to do normal, everyday things again. Things you would have done with Steve or even before him. It didn’t make you a bad wife to go to breakfast with a friend or to order Steve’s favorite instead of avoiding it. It was okay to laugh a little when Bucky dribbled syrup down his grey Henley and missed the bit in the stubble that was beginning to grow back. Spending time outside the darkness didn’t mean you loved Steve any less or that you had to move on if you weren’t ready to. It simply meant the world continued on, and it was okay for you to do the same when it was time.

That was a nice reminder, though, standing in front of your mother-in-law's door made it feel as if everything was at a standstill once again and the high from all that sugar was fading fast. You raised your hand to open the back door four or five times, but you couldn’t force yourself to touch the handle. Sarah had her own mourning to work through and didn’t need to add yours on top of it. She shouldn’t have to comfort you, and you were in no shape to console her.

Bucky’s knuckles ran up and down your spine to soothe the jitters you were emitting, he encouraged gently, “Go on, Trouble. She loves you. I know she’ll be excited to see you.”

You took a deep breath and pushed the backdoor open, it creaked which made you smile. Steve would have complained about adding a little something to grease the hinges, so it wasn’t so loud. Sarah would say no, she liked to hear it squeak when you came in. Sarah’s eyes widened when you stepped through the door, but they quickly lit up with excitement. She was in the same spot as always, sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper in front of her, thin blonde hair pulled into a bun on the top of her head, and you might have been wrong, but it looked like she was wearing one of Steve’s old shirts. Sarah pulled her glasses off, rising from her chair before you could tell her to stay.

“Hey, sweetheart. I didn’t expect you to drop by…”

Her words died off, and her smile quickly fell when Bucky stepped through the door, dusted off his boots on the mat, and smiled at her. It was obvious she was excited to see him, but there was a shake in her hand and a mist in her eyes no one could miss when he spoke, "Hey, Mama R."

“I-I spoke to Winnie this morning. She didn’t think you would be stopping by right away,” Sarah stopped to give you a hug and whispered she loved you before she reached for Bucky and pulled him into a hug only a mother could provide. Bucky seemed happy to be on the receiving end, “Are you kiddin'? I had to come see you. I’m not home till I do.”

Maybe it was what Bucky had said or the tenderness in his voice when he said, but it broke whatever glue Sarah was using to hold herself together. You took a few steps back and let your weight sag back against the counter, Bucky stood in the doorway holding Sarah, and you heard her choked whispers from where you were hiding, “Did it-- Were you there? Was it--”

He shook his head, answering her unspoken question, was it bloody and painful. Bucky assured her, “Yeah, I was there. It was quick, and he wasn’t in any pain. I promise.”

You met Bucky’s eyes over her shoulder, and he quickly dropped your gaze, his focus back on Sarah and comforting her the best he could. Bucky was lying. You knew him well enough to know when he was telling tall tales and right then was the tallest he’s told. Either he wasn’t with Steve when it happened, or it wasn’t as quick as he was claiming.

Sarah was quick to wipe her eyes and pretend it never happened. She offered to make lunch, and despite your efforts to stop her by informing her you just came from breakfast, she began cooking anyway. You wanted to protest, but Bucky shook his head, so you let it go. Sarah was only trying to fix what she could, she couldn’t bring Steve back, but she could make ridiculously good turkey Reuben. Steve wasn’t mentioned the rest of the five-hour visit, and you had a feeling it was done for your benefit. It should have been a relief because the last thing you want to do is breakdown in front of Bucky or Sarah, but it only made you angry.

Would they talk about Steve if you weren’t around? Would they share secrets and memories? Would Bucky have told her what happened to Steve if only you hadn’t come? It wasn’t fair of you to be angry with either of them, but nothing was fair about any of this.

The ride back to your house was silent. You barely spoke five words to Bucky through lunch, and even though you promised you would soon, you weren’t sure when you would go back to Sarah’s. It wasn’t as hard as you expected, but today had been exhausting. Bucky never turned the radio on, and you were grateful. The quiet gave you a chance to hear the whistle in the wind as the trees rustled and listen for leaves blown by your window. It was a pretty whisper that made your skin prickle, you had forgotten how pretty spring could be.

Bucky gave you space you so desperately needed once you got home. You bolted towards your bedroom the moment the front door opened. It wasn’t him you were running from. You hoped he knew that, so you left your door cracked. The stale air of your bedroom felt like you were suffocating, and the sight of your blankets in a heap on the top of your mattress only added to your unease. With the window cracked and one of Steve’s shirt now replacing yours, you slowly started to untangle the sheets and gathered your throw pillows off the floor in the corner of the room. Baby steps. That was what Sam was always telling you. So, maybe you start with making your bed. It wasn’t like anyone would know if you gave up. You were all alone. There was a soft knock on your door, and you looked up to find Bucky standing awkwardly in your doorway.

“Everything okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat and gave you a curt nod. There was something dark in his hands, and he was gripping it so tightly you thought for sure it would rip in two. The stiffness in his frame made you stop, drop the throw pillow in your hand onto the end of the bed, and you took a step towards him. You inspected the hand he was holding out, and your chest tightened when you realized what it was.

“I wanted to make sure you got this back.”

Bucky brought your scarf back home.

“He would want you to know it was with him when it happened. He had you with him when it happened.”

You ran your fingers along the frayed threads and the new holes that were littered throughout. You could see spots where the sun had faded it, the darker pieces where he tucked it into his shirt. “I, uh, I didn’t wash it. I kept it wrapped in one of his shirts. I didn’t know if...”

You brought it up to your nose to take a breath and smiled at the familiar earthy citrus scent. When they told you Steve was lost during a mission, you assumed you would never see it again. It was nice to hear Steve wasn’t lying all those times he told you he took it with him, it never left his side just like he promised and it was nice to have that piece of him back.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Bucky shrugged his shoulder and gestured towards the end of the hall, where he would be if you wanted him. You weren’t going to say anything. The plan was to stay in your room for the rest of the night and wallow, but now… you didn’t want to be alone and holding that thin fabric between your fingers; you had to ask. With Steve’s scarf resting on the corner of your bed, you called out for Bucky before he could leave your sight.

“Hm?”

Bucky stopped short and leaned against the doorframe as if he was preparing himself for what you were about to ask. You’ve always been able to read each other, there was no doubt he knew what was coming.

“It wasn’t quick, was it?”

Bucky only shook his head in response. It wasn’t an answer to your question, he wasn’t going to answer you right now. He didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe that was for your benefit, or perhaps he simply couldn’t talk about it yet. Either way, you wouldn’t push him.

“W-would you want to, um, have dinner with me?” Your voice cracked when you asked. He caught it, but you pressed on, ignoring the concern darkening his eyes, “I don’t have any groceries. I haven’t been getting out much. There was a thing with a pie--”

“Thing with a pie?” Bucky interrupted with a curious tilt of the head and playful smirk forming.

You rolled your eyes and brushed it off with a wave of your hand.

“It’s not important. People are nosy, and sometimes baked goods make you emotional, okay? It’s normal… Just-- nevermind. I was thinking we could heat up one of those stupid frozen dinners everyone keeps bringing by and stuffing in my freezer.”

Bucky chuckled and waved his hand, silently telling you to lead the way, “Yeah, let’s go see what we’ve got, but I’m handling the stove.”

“It’s just warming it up, Buck.”

“Still,” Bucky whistled lowly, wearing that silly smirk. “I don’t wanna risk it, Trouble.”

As hard as you tried to fight, you found yourself smiling for the first time in a long, long time.

The next four weeks continued to drag on like every week since Steve has been gone. The hours crawled by, the minutes took forever to pass, and you counted the seconds until you could hide away in your room. Bucky didn’t smother you, but he did hover. He liked to check-in by walking by your room, never saying anything, just glancing towards your bed where he often found you. Bucky didn’t crowd you the way Sam had, but you knew he was taking notice of your lack of sleep and your poor eating habits from the moment he arrived. It wasn’t that you were purposely skipping meals; you had no appetite and forcing yourself to eat felt like torture some days. Your appetite had improved some since Bucky came home, but you still rarely venture out of the house or do much of anything. Most of your days were spent hiding in your room, and your nights were spent on the back deck.

It was the best place to stare at the stars.

That’s where Bucky found you yet again, you heard the sliding door rolling along the tracks and Bucky’s bare feet getting closer and closer with each step. Bucky was getting a glass of water like he did every night. He wasn’t the only one paying attention. Bucky slowly sat down next to you, letting his legs hang off the deck like yours but didn’t say anything. It was becoming somewhat of a nightly tradition, and most nights, you didn’t talk. Sometimes you didn’t even mind having the company, other nights weren’t so giving. You turned your head after several silent beats and looked at the man sitting next to you. Bucky gave you a small inquisitive smile, and you shrugged your shoulder. Bucky grinned and leaned his own arms on the railing, mimicking your stance and followed your gaze to the sky.

“So, why are you always out here? I come down every night, and I see you sitting in the same spot.”

It was a fair question, but the answer wasn’t so easy to give.

“I don’t sleep much anymore.”

Bucky understood that better than most. He really did. Bucky had once told you between the things he had seen and the things he had done, he found it hard to close his eyes and rest. Sleep often meant nightmares, and lately, you had a feeling those were filled with images of Steve. Bucky gazed up at whatever set of stars you were trying to spot through the tears in your eyes, the ones you tried to hide when he came outside.

Thankfully, Bucky would never bring them up.

“The house feels confining sometimes, but I’m not ready to leave it. It’s quiet, and my bed is cold. Empty. I don’t like it. And…” You sighed heavily and quietly admitted, “I like looking up at the stars. I feel like wherever he is, maybe he’s looking down at the same time I'm looking up. Feels like he’s not fully gone when I do that. It sounds stupid, I know.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid, Y/n.”

Bucky tore his eyes away from the sky and looked back at you. He shook his head and let out an amused sigh, "He used to say the same thing. A lot actually. Which didn’t make a lot of sense because our night was usually your day, but he said he liked to look up at the stars hoping you were doing the same and thinking about him."

You smiled at the thought.

“Why are you downstairs every night? Checking up on me?” You nudged Bucky with your shoulder, and he gave you a gentle nudge back before answering.

“Hmm. Nightmares. Things I’d rather not see a lot of. I try to avoid them if I can.”

You hummed in understanding. Even if he hadn’t confided in you years ago about the things that haunted him when he closed his eyes, you knew about nightmares. You were constantly running from yours. The bags under your eyes and the constant yawning was the first sign that sleep no longer came easily.

“Come on, Trouble,” Bucky urged you as he slowly stood and held his hand out for you. You looked up at him, brow furrowed with a question burning in your eyes; it was three in the morning, where could he possibly want to take you?

“Come on?” you repeated, hoping he would elaborate.

“Let’s go lay down.”

Your face went dark, and you looked back up at the stars, shutting down the offer. You couldn't sleep. Bucky tucking you in wouldn't change that. The bed was far too big now, with a cold side that never felt right and left you with an empty chest when you woke.

"I’ll hold you until you fall asleep. I’ll stay with you, so it doesn’t feel so empty,” Bucky whispered as if he knew all the thoughts bouncing around your head. You slowly reached out and took his hand, letting him help you to your feet. He didn’t let go. Bucky held your hand as he led you through the house. He paused at your bedroom door and waited. It was the space you shared with Steve, and he wasn’t going to step into that territory unless you made it clear it was okay to do so.

“Can you wait a second?” You whispered.

Bucky nodded and released your hand so you could slip behind the door. A few minutes later, you stepped into the hallways wearing a baby blue tank top and matching cotton shorts, holding a pillow to your chest. It was Steve’s. You both knew it was. There was no reason to dwell on it or make an outward admission. You waited for Bucky to grab your hand and lead you back to the guest room that he had moved into, staring at his bed covered in more than enough pillows you’re filled with a bit of embarrassment and remorse.

Bucky was only trying to help.

“I’m sorry--”

Bucky quickly pulled you into his arms and shook his head, soothing you with all those pillows bearing witness, “Don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for. Some wouldn’t understand, but I do. I get it. We’re okay, Y/n."

You nodded even though you didn't feel any better about it, and glanced at his bed. It was the same size as yours, but this one looked much smaller now that you were sharing it with someone else. It’s been nearly two years since you shared a bed with someone else, and you weren’t sure if it was better or worse than sleeping alone.

Steve was always the big spoon. Always. There were rare moments when he would let you carry his troubles and let you hold him, but those didn’t come along often. You didn’t want to do that. It felt wrong even though there wasn't anything indecent about Bucky's offer. The offer was derived from his love for Steve, and for you, he was worried about you, and it was plain to see despite his best efforts to show you otherwise. You could give him an inch, and sleeping didn’t sound so bad after all the nights you have spent struggling to rest. Bucky waited for you to get comfortable; finally, you settled on your side, facing him with Steve’s pillow resting comfortably behind your back as if Steve was holding you, and he gave you a small smile.

You were stiff when he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you towards him, so your head rested on his chest. It felt odd to let someone other than Steve hold you. Not that you haven't curled up next to Bucky on the couch during a movie or held his hand at Coney island. You’ve felt his lips on your forehead more times than you could count. That was a long time ago, though. Back when you all were just friends, and you thought maybe Bucky had feelings for you. Before that night, the night that changed everything, before vows had been exchanged and the Army, Bucky always seemed to be buzzing around you. He would walk you to class, bring lunch by your dorm whenever he could, Bucky would stay long after everyone else went home and held your hand whenever it was free to hold.

There was a second, a fleeting twinkle when you thought he was finally going to admit he had feelings for you but, Bucky never said anything.

Then Steve happened.

Things between you and Bucky changed fairly quickly once Steve kissed you. Bucky no longer reached for your hand when it was bare. He was quiet. Distant. It took a few months before Bucky finally seemed to be himself again when the three of you were together. Things had changed, you didn't blame him. Steve had, only a little before you talked some sense into him and assured him it would take time for everyone to get used to the new dynamic. Steve had said, Bucky better get used to it because this, you and him, was forever. Forever wasn't quite as long as you or Steve thought it turned out.

“Did Steve ever tell you about the time I caught him fighting two guys double his size behind that old Pizza Hut, holding nothing but one of those red plastic trays as some sorta shield?”

You chuckled through your sniffles and shook your head as best you could against his chest. The tension in your shoulders lifted enough that you began to relax, and Bucky ran a hand up and down your arm to help take the rest of the weight you were forcing on yourself.

“No, what happened?”

Bucky snorted, and you knew the look he was wearing. The same look of indignation he wore every time Steve ran headfirst into trouble without thinking of the consequences.

“Nothin’ good. Little punk ended up with a broken nose, and I lost most of my paycheck tryin' to cool them off enough to leave before they pummeled him into the ground. Then he gets mad at me for stepping in.”

You tucked your head further into his chest to hide your smile and mumbled against the soft cotton of his shirt. “Lemme guess, he had it under control?”

Bucky gave your arm a squeeze and confirmed, “Yeah, he had it under control.”

“Tell me more stories.” You begged quietly, “Please?”

Bucky was quiet for a few moments, and then his chest rumbled under your ear, “Let’s see, all right. All right. I got one. In fifth grade--”

Bucky talked until your breath evened out, and soon you were snoozing soundly against his chest. He hoped tonight your nightmares would give you both one night of peaceful sleep, but he wasn’t counting on it.

The night was coming to an end, and you spent most of it watching Wanda attempting (and failing) to stop Pietro from flirting with every girl present, Clint and Nat making out by the fire all night long and Sam having several serious conversations with Bucky. Dot was still fawning all over Bucky after she got her claws in him and pulled him off the dock and away from you. Not that, that was unusual when everyone got together. She was always all over Bucky. Everyone seemed to have someone and that someone wasn’t you. Even Steve was avoiding you tonight for a reason you couldn't begin to understand. Maybe it was time to throw in the red Solo cup and head home.

“Y/n?”

You spun around to see Steve standing behind you, looking out of sorts and a little nervous. “Hey, Stevie.”

“Hey. Hi...” Steve gnawed his bottom lip and stared at the fire in front of you, trying to process something by the look in his eyes. He was struggling with something, and you were starting to worry something was seriously wrong.

“Are you okay, Steve?”

“Am I okay?” Steve echoed your words. You giggled at the way his brow crumbled, and his nose scrunched up while he thought your question over, making him grin.

“Screws this,” Steve whispered.

Steve tossed his cup in the fire and took two long strides into your space, cupping your face in both hands, and his lips were on yours before anyone knew what was happening. There were a few whistles and shouts from your idiot friends, but you didn’t notice any of them. All you could see at that moment was Steve. His lips were softer than you pictured, and your heart jumped in a way you didn’t think was possible from one silly kiss. It wasn’t anything indecent, but it was enough to make your knees go weak, and your breath stutter when he finally pulled away Steve pressed his forehead against yours, still cradling your face in his hands when he apologized.

"Sorry. I really love that laugh."

Your heart fluttered, and your fingers tightened around his wrists, hopeful it would be enough to keep you standing when the ground drops out from under you a second time.

"You kissed me because you love my laugh?"

Steve’s cheeks turned a pretty rosy color. His embarrassment wasn't enough to make him let you go just yet. "Yeah, I guess I did.”

You paused for a beat.

“How long have you wanted to do that?”

Steve smiled in that sweet, shy way you’ve always liked and whispered just loud enough for you to hear over the noise of the party and the fire raging next to you, “Pretty much from the moment I met you. I mean, It’s you, Y/n. Who wouldn’t want to kiss you?”

A bright grin stretched across your face, and you stepped back out of his hold, holding your hand out for him to take. Steve took your hand but pulled you back into his arms, this unusual display of confidence coming from him was disarming.

“I was thinking about heading home, but I’m suddenly starving. Wanna go get some cheese fries and drive me home?”

“Yeah, yeah, we can do that.I’ll go anywhere if I get to go with you,” Steve promised with a grin.

Your eyes snapped open, and you stared up at the guest room ceiling, trying to catch your breath without waking Bucky. You hated that thinking about that night, let alone dreaming about it and having to see it all play out. It used to be one of your favorite memories. You would beg Steve to replay the details as if he was reading from the pages of some silly storybook and now you couldn’t stand the slightest hint of that night. Your breath wasn’t steadying, it was only getting worse, and you could feel the panic building, clawing at your throat. You slowly slipped out of bed, leaving Bucky sleeping soundly and retreated to the safety of your room. Closing the door behind you, you flipped the lock, and your legs finally gave out from under you. You slid down the wall, unable to stop your tears you’ve been holding in since you woke.

Sam kept telling you to give it time. It would take time, lots of time to heal, but you didn’t think you could keep going on this way. Not when your own memories are there to torment you. You would give everything you had to simply forget. Forget it all -- his death, the phone call, all of your fights and the makeups, too. The bad and the good. You’d trade the memory of all his kisses if you could just let go of this hurt.

This wasn’t how fairytales were supposed to end, maybe it was all a lie from the start. Perhaps you were never meant to end with a happy ever after.

Previous // Next

#past!Steve Rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #alternate universe #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #tw: military death #tw: character death #tw: death of a spouse #tw: depression

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remys-lucky-franc · 3 years

Text

Remy x MC (Queen of Thieves) - Kissing Prompt #14

This is the final ‘kiss prompt’ that I have on my request list. I’m sad 😔

I’ve really enjoyed working on these - this wee challenge got me back into the habit of writing regularly which is so nice as I’d been doing ‘sit and stare at a blank page’ thing for months, thank you for inviting me to join in folks.

Prompt #14 - a kiss so desperate that that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished - requested by lovely @mcira for lovely Remy

It’s a sort of a ‘good heist goes bad’ alt-version of the ‘first ever kiss on film’ heist from Remy’s S1. Also, I relocated it to Barcelona because Paris is too inland 😂

Written from MC POV.

Word count ~6100 (marked #long fic if anyone wants to filter it away - adding ‘read more’ isn’t reliable - don’t want to clog anyone’s dash x)

TW: drowning / broken bones

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[MORE]

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I curse, scrambling to keep my balance as the yacht lists suddenly to the right; my arms flailing, thrown backwards trying to grip at the doorway to stay upright. I collide with it and stretch my hands out to save myself as I hit the ground awkwardly: the crack from my arm makes me feel sick to my stomach. Furniture shifts. Decor clatters to the floor. Lights overhead flicker violently. What the hell was that noise? Something has gone very, very wrong.

—-24 hours earlier —-

Remy and I have spent well over a month on this con now, establishing and ingratiating ourselves with the obnoxious specimen that is Parker Vos. Ugh, even his name makes my skin crawl. Tonight we’ve met up for some drinks: Parker’s idea. Remy’s positioned himself between Parker and I at the bar of the plush cocktail lounge and I watch on as Parker charges his glass again, loudly laughing, clapping his hand on Remy’s shoulder. Remy clinks glasses with him, smile jovial, eyes full of myrth; swallowing down the liquor to perfectly conceal the bile I know is steadily rising within his throat. If there is anyone who dislikes Parker Vos more than I do, it’s Remy Chevalier.

Watching Remy work a con has been quite an experience. He knows instinctively what people want to see and hear - oftentimes even before they know themselves. He reads their body language with practiced ease and plays his part to meet The Gilded Poppy’s ends: a master of assuaging insecurities or fuelling egos. And I have never known an ego like Parker’s. He’s spent half of the evening acting like Remy’s his long-lost best friend, and the other half undressing me - his buddy’s ‘wife’ - with cold, soulless eyes.

Parker’s on his feet, moving to refill my champagne flute but I move my hand to cover the top, opening my mouth in a half-protest.

He grins at me as I giggle, “I shouldn’t - I’ve had too much already-”

Tutting and moving my hand away from the opening of glass, he pours another generous serving of fizz. I make a big deal out of rolling my eyes at him and exclaiming that’s he’s ‘such a bad influence’. Inside I’m far from smiling - I hate guys who behave like this.

Parker doesn’t seem to want to let go of my hand, his fingertips trace my palm casually, an amused, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. I feel colour rising rapidly from my chest to the tips of my ears and Parker raises an eyebrow at me - clearly delighted that he’s gotten me flustered - but it’s not his touch or his gaze that’s set me alight. It’s the way that Remy’s eyes burn into me from the next seat, flecks of gold and green glitter like fire and the mask he wears is one that I can’t quite decipher, the only clue to his true feelings being the exaggerated bob of his throat as he continues to pretends he’s oblivious to the game Parker’s playing. I simper as I extract my hand from Parker’s to toast our glasses. I know Remy and I aren’t really married, but Parker doesn’t: this guy really has zero shame.

Remy’s seamlessly switched to wearing a playful smirk as he reaches across me, clinking all three of our glasses together, “Ma cherie, the bubbles are going to her head, Parker - look how flushed she is!”

His free hand reaches up affectionately cupping my cheek and I feel myself sink longingly into his gentle touch, his daring wink makes my heart stutter as Parker drones on, boasting about only ordering the very finest champagne for his friends.

A short time later, Remy excuses himself and he hasn’t even reached the bathroom before Parker has slid across to occupy his stool, angling himself into me just a little closer than could be considered appropriate. He’s such a snake, it takes all my energy to fix a sweet, naïve smile on my face when his hand comes to rest on my arm; the way his touch makes me feel compared to Remy’s is so stark in its contrast. He’s watching my face intently as he smirks at me - always bragging about his wealth and possessions, always looking for any sign that he’s impressing me.

He’s acting shocked that this is is the first time I’ve been to this particular bar, given that it’s one of Barcelona’s hot-spots, wondering out loud why my husband never brought me here before now. I sip daintily at my glass as I tell him this sort of place is generally outside of our budget, that it would only ever be somewhere that we’d come for a special occasion. As Parker nods, sacharrine-sweet condescension guising as sympathy, I think about how Remy was absolutely right when he told me he reckoned Parker gets a real kick out of feeling like the Alpha Male in any room and I lean into it. He’s back onto his favourite brand of champagne again - asking me if I ever tried it before tonight. I have, but I play along, feeding the narrative, telling him exactly what he wants to hear: Remy would be proud of me.

I shake my head wistfully, “It’s really delicious, it’s such a lovely treat to have something so decadent. I can understand it being your favourite, Parker - you have really good taste.”

He sighs, looking almost troubled, “You know it makes me sad that a girl like you can’t have everything her heart desires. I’ve got cases galore of the stuff on my yacht. I have it brought in directly from the vineyard just outside Epernay.” He pauses, quirking his head at me, “Say, have you ever been on a yacht?”

I think about what Remy’s always tells me about the best and most convincing cons: they stick as closely to the truth as possible. I feel a genuine smile blossom as I tell Parker about the little sailboat my grandfather had and how I loved spending time on it with him when I was a little girl. I can hear the warmth in my own voice and I know my eyes are sparkling as I think about those happy memories, but rather than ask me anything about my grandfather or my childhood, Parker patronises me and uses it as another opportunity to play ‘The Big I Am’. He chuckles as he tells me that wasn’t a real boat, then reels off what sounds like the manufacturer’s sales pitch for his top-of-the-range, fully customised yacht. Heaven knows, I really want to punch this guy but I nod, maintaining my rapt expression - all wide-eyed and utterly impressed. As he drones on, my brain wanders thinking how the same conversation would have gone sitting here with Remy instead.

Parker’s incessant boasting continues as he drawls about how much he would love to take me out on his yacht, “I think a girl like you would appreciate a boat like mine you know, and you’d look so good on it.”

Such. A. Creep.

I shoot him a rueful smile before biting my lip and looking down at the my hands. My fake wedding ring sparkles up at me under the low lights of the bar. I can feel Parker’s beady eyes on me watching my every move like I’m his prey. I fidget with the golden band and I know I’m working this con just right when he pushes my hair back from my face and tips my chin upward to look at him. A grin slithers across his face - poison hidden just behind the facade.

“Why don’t you come on the yacht with me this weekend, baby? You can have as much of this champagne as you like - I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated.”

I don’t have to fake being a little taken aback: I know it’s been our objective to get on that yacht, and I knew we were reeling him in, but the blatancy of his invite still knocks me off guard!

I glance towards the bathrooms and see that Remy’s making his way back across the bar. I use the shock of the invitation to my advantage, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth as I tell Parker, “Remy’s coming back.” I look up at him through my lashes and breathe, “Parker, I- I don’t know? It sounds amazing, but honestly, I’m not sure I should.”

Parker searches my dark eyes, voice smug, so confident that his charms have me falling for him; that he’s so irresistible I’d be ready to betray my husband with him, “I think you do know. You just don’t want to hurt Remy, because you’re a sweet girl. But I’ll make a deal with you, I’ll send you the directions to where she’s docked - and I’ll be there waiting. If you come...”, his thumb brushes across my lips and I draw in a sharp breath while my stomach lurches. His voice lowers as he stares at my mouth, “I’ll show you, I can give you everything you ever wanted and more besides.” Then he’s gone, quickly slithering back to his own bar stool, duplicitously clasping and shaking Remy’s hand as he returns, as though he didn’t just proposition his wife.

—-

Remy fumed about the audacity of Parker Vos the whole way back to the penthouse last night. And I thought he disliked the guy before... I’d hate to see how Remy would react if someone hit on his real wife because he is the most convincingly jealous fake-husband I’ve ever seen. And his attitude towards our mark got even worse when Parker text me with the coordinates for Port Vell Marina.

When we got back we debriefed Nikolai on all of the night’s events and came to the conclusion that me going to the yacht alone was not an option. I argued that I was more than capable of handling him but Remy was adamant that Parker was an entitled creep and it was too dangerous. Nikolai agreed with Remy, and when I huffed that he would trust Vivienne to fly solo, I have never seen him look more annoyed. He barked at me that he it was his decision, his responsibility and he refused to put any member of his team into that position alone, especially where there was no option for back up if things started to take a wrong turn. As much as I hated to back down, I knew from his tone that he was being completely honest and I should apologise and accept his decision. We spent the rest of the evening coming up with our next move - for Remy and I to arrive at Parker’s yacht together.

—-

We arrive at the beautiful Marina at Port Vell the following afternoon and I don’t have to feign how impressed I am. It is absolutely stunning - the sun dapples the turquoise blue waters while every gleaming yacht is sleeker and grander than the last.

Remy’s holds my hand firmly as we head towards Berth 26 where Parker’s imposing yacht is docked. Our play this afternoon is that I was heading out to meet Parker when Remy asked where I was going and I couldn’t think of any reason for him not to come along that didn’t seem strange or suspicious.

We reach the yacht and I see Parker. The irritate look on his face is replaced in an instant as he wraps us both in a friendly hug, before ushering us onboard. As he takes my hand to help me up the steps, he shoots me a look as though to enquire ‘why the hell aren’t we alone?’ and I drop my head like I’ve never been more deeply disappointed by anything in my life.

Remy has Parker chatting about the spec of the boat and I fear that he may never shut up about it. We spend at least fifteen minutes in the cockpit as Parker regales us with tales about how he got rid of his last captain, how he prefers to sail the yacht himself: bravado, bravado, bla bla bla. My cheeks hurt from the fake grin I have plastered across my face but I really lose the will to live as he places a captain’s hat on my head, cracking a joke to Remy about female drivers and saying that if I felt brave enough, he might even let me steer later. As we walk I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ where appropriate, observing the ostentatious gold fixings and over-the-top ornate features and I conclude that no amount of money can buy you class.

When we eventually reach the sun deck, Remy raises an eyebrow at me, “Oh. Ma cherie, I think we may be intruding. Parker, were you expecting other company?”

I cringe as my eyes land on the biggest bunch of roses I’ve ever seen, sat next to a bottle of the same champagne we were drinking in the bar last night. I know Parker is a truly awful person, but I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. His cheeks colour lightly, clearly having forgotten that he paid someone to set this up for him and his mouth works hard at opening and closing for a few painful seconds before his brain catches up, “Oh! Those? A ‘friend’ of mine was supposed to join me a bit before you both arrived. Then I thought we could have some drinks together, all four of us.”

Remy nods, his expression neutral, but eyes sharp, “I see. And they’re running late?”

Parker shrugs, eyes flicking to look at me as he lies, “She cancelled at the last minute. Something else came up.”

Remy wraps his arm around me making a show of planting a soft kiss on my cheek, his sympathetic words juxtaposed to the smirk apparent in his tone, “How awful, cherie! Good old Parker’s been left in the lurch. And after going to all that trouble too!”

I grimace, “I’m really sorry to hear that, Parker.”

Parker clears his throat, snatching up the champagne bottle, “Yeah. I’ll grab us some glasses.”

As he heads inside, I dig Remy in the ribs with my elbow and hiss, “What the hell was that?!”

Remy grins, his face full of mischief, “It’s obvious that I suspect there’s ‘something going on’ here”, he gestures between me and the roses, “and if he knows I’m willing to fight for you mon couer, it makes you all the more attractive to him...”

Knowing he’s right, but hating it, I pull a face.

He winks at me, “Plus, your Remy wants to have a little fun making him squirm.”

—-

We set sail a little after two-thirty, and as the afternoon progresses, it’s not just Parker who Remy is making squirm. Aside from a variety of vaguely passive aggressive jokes about being stood up and dating disasters - at one point even suggesting that I set Parker up with one of my friends, Remy is possibly the most tactile he’s ever been with me during this con: his hand is either holding mine, on my knee, or touching my face at every given opportunity. And his strategy is working because every single time Remy’s hands are on me, Parker’s eyes follow.

I know it’s all for Parker’s benefit but I just can’t help the way my heart races when Remy touches me. I have to keep telling myself it’s just for the con - all a part of his strategy. I repeat it over and over like a mantra: ‘It’s just for the con. It’s not real. It’s just for the con.’ But it feels so good. So real. And I want him so badly my chest aches.

Part of my role on today’s outing is scouting out the location of the reel of film we’re trying to steal. We’ve long suspected that it’s somewhere on the boat. So while the men continue to drink and chatter, I excuse myself and head to the restroom, getting myself deliberately lost in the labyrinth below deck. I’m fascinated by the amount of cool and interesting stuff that Parker owns despite being an uncultured jerk. I wonder if he has any genuine interest in any of it at all, or if it’s entirely for bragging rights and to impress other people. The further I wander unrestricted, the more I marvel and get to wondering just how rich Parker actually is? It’s so unfair - he deserves pretty much nothing that’s aboard this floating treasure trove... Then I see it - a can of film inside a glass case! Surely that’s got to be it? I quickly check the case, it’s pretty secure and looks like it’s inbuilt to the wall cabinet?! That means... This must be it - the first kiss ever recorded... I beam from ear to ear as I think about how excited Remy is going to be when I tell him!!

Unbeknown to me, upstairs whilst Remy and Parker stand at the railing staring out into the glittering dark blue of the Med, Remy decides to lean a little further into his role of suspicious and jealous spouse. Remy subtly turns the conversation from small talk to a grilling before Parker even realises that he’s walking into a trap, “It’s a shame your friend couldn’t make it, Parker. It would have been lovely to meet the woman who’s caught your eye... You were hoping that the four of us could have drinks together, right?”

Parker nods, sipping at his glass.

“But you didn’t know I was coming?”

Parker laughs, deflecting, “Uh, yeah! I got that wrong, I thought you were otherwise engaged. I’m so glad you could make it, buddy! It’s always great to see you!”

Remy cocks his head to the side, face still open and neutral, like he’s trying to understand, ”Sure, I’m glad I could join. But I’m confused? You were planning on the four of us drinking that champagne, oui?”

Parker clears his throat, suddenly realising that Remy might actually not be as much of a mug as he’s taken him for.

Remy continues, face visibly hardening as he speaks, “From where I’m sitting, there’s no mystery lady, and no Remy? And - well - that just leaves you and my wife sailing around the Mediterranean with a bottle of champagne and a big bunch of roses, Parker.”

Parker waves his hands in the air defensively, “Wow, Remy!! Slow down - I don’t know where you think you’re going with this, but you’ve got it all wrong! You’re putting two and two together and getting five, my friend!”

Remy huffs a bitter laugh, his voice now dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, five? So, I have it all wrong that my wife was halfway out the door to come here, to be with you, alone? Seems convenient that your lady-friend mysteriously couldn’t make it at the last minute? The one I’ve never heard you mention before? Please, explain it to me, Parker. Because it looks to me like you’ve got designs on my wife.”

Parker stutters to find an answer for a second before the yacht jolts violent throwing both men to the ground.

—-

I cradle my arm to my chest and grit my teeth as I clamber back onto my feet, nausea washing over me as I try my best not to move it again. Safe to say I don’t need a medical degree to tell me I’ve broken something.

After that god-awful metallic grinding, groaning noise everything has gone quiet. Eerily quiet. The normal lighting has gone, but the emergency lighting has kicked in casting a sickly green hue all around. I need to get back up to deck, to see what the hell just happened, to make sure Remy is ok!

I move towards the stairwell door and as I wrench it towards me, I’m met with a rush of cold water that makes me gasp. Oh this is bad. This is really, really bad. I stare at the fast-moving seawater spilling in, swirling around my feet: I’m rooted to the spot as panic rises rapidly in my chest. I’m not sure how many seconds have ticked by when I hear the roar of my name. Remy. I can’t see him, but I scramble towards the sound of his voice and call out to him, “I’m down here! Remy! I’m here!”

Water is rapidly filling the space below deck as Remy throws open the door of the opposite stairwell. I lurch towards him, sloshing through it, my limbs twice as heavy and struggling to stay upright against the slippery surface.

Remy wades through the corridor to reach me, calling to me, “I’m coming, cherie, it’ll be ok!” As we meet somewhere near the middle his hands grasp my shoulders as he gives me a quick once over, brows knit together when he sees how I’m holding my quick-swelling arm, “Merde! Is that broken?!”

I wince, nodding. The pain radiates from my wrist making my fingers tingle and my head buzz. Remy’s got one arm around me and he’s gripping at the walls with his free hand, moving us steadily toward the stairwell he came down: the water’s around my waist now. He keeps repeating, ‘it’s ok, it’s going to be ok’, but his usually calm voice jitters and I’m not sure if he’s saying it for my benefit or if he’s trying to make himself believe it. We reach the stairwell and Remy ushers me through the door. The tilt of the yacht makes it hard to climb the steps, but we fight to ascend. Up. Up. Up. We’re around half-way when the yacht jolts unexpectedly again; Remy grabs for the wet handrail. Every muscle in his body strains to keep us in place, to somehow stop us from careering back down the staircase. I feel lightheaded from the way my damaged arm jerks as he catches us, but it’s better than the alternative of plunging back down into the murky water. We resume our climb and make it up the final steps together. Only at the top do I truly appreciate the incongruous angle the yacht lists to, and start to properly grasp just how deadly this situation could be. The sounds of straining metal and hissing water fill the space around us and I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life.

 We scramble our way out across the badly-angled yacht, clinging to the side rails for purchase as we move: we need to get off this boat. It can’t end like this. In the time I’ve been below deck, dark clouds have rolled in and the rain pelts down on us. As we reach the side of the yacht, and I suck in a deep lungful of air trying to black out the pain radiating up and down my arm. Trying to steady my nerves, I tell myself, ‘We just need to get on the lifeboat, getting upstairs was the hardest part. Come on, you can do this - you can do this! We’re almost there, it’s going to be-’ But my silent pep talk is cut short and a sense of dread floods through me as I watch Remy surge around and around, a hand raking through his soaking hair as he yells,

“He’s gone! That bastard! He’s left us!”

Remy’s hanging over the side, trying to locate Parker, frantically yelling his name out into the dank, misty distance. But it’s useless - he’s long gone. Fresh panic rises as what that means sinks in: that snake abandoned us and the sinking ship. And he’s taken the only life vessel with him. A storm’s rolling in and visibility is poor. We’re miles from the coast without another boat in sight. The water this far out isn’t frigid but it’s still cool enough to catch hypothermia without the right clothing if you’re in it for a couple of hours - but we’re likely to end up in there because this yacht is going down. I’m not sure how long I could tread water for with a broken arm? I choke back my horror as I realise - I don’t think we can’t make it back. He’s left us out here to die.

Tears silently streak my face, mingling with saltwater and rain as I turn to Remy. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, but he’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him, his hands shake and he curses as he pulls useless items out of one of the inbuilt storage benches, tossing them onto the wet deck behind him. I tug at his sleeve and rasp, “There’s no way off, is there?”

He refuses to meet my gaze, yanking his arm away from me, rummaging deeper, muttering in frustration. But I refuse to be brushed off, not now. I pull on his sleeve again, “Remy! Just, stop.”

He whirls on me, his usually smiling eyes are wild as they meet mine. And before I know what’s happening, right there on the deck of the part-submerged yacht, Remy pulls my face to his, mouth crashing desperately into mine. I gasp at the sensation of him. Rough. Passion-filled. Real. His lips spill every frenzied confession I ever wanted to hear and I’m losing myself in him; rapt in every disclosure. The surge of emotion between us swells my pounding heart and fills my soul, a choir with one refrain: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me. My body breaks into song - lyrical, a groan against Remy’s supple lips: rejoicing, dancing, dopamine-high. A million melodies, harmonies, symphonies rush through us as we cling to each other against the stormy saltwater spray. His touch is electric, flesh warm against my skin, deft fingers knotted in my hair drawing me close. Closer. So close I feel two heartbeats pulse through me like an orchestra nearing crescendo. I’m soaked, hurt and terrified, but somehow I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now, exalted in his arms. My hand grazes over the stubble of his jaw, the high arc of his cheekbone: my fingertips trace every beautiful feature, mapping every crease, every dimple. If this is our coda, if this is how it all comes to an end, I want to succumb remembering every delicious second of this kiss - every sensation, every caress, every breath, every poetic unspoken word. I want my finale to be us.

Our kiss ends breathlessly, foreheads touching: both unwilling to part. Remy’s lips hover over mine like we’re magnetised. Green eyes search my own as I gaze upon the face I love through dark lashes, trembling. I cover his heart with my palm - I never want to let him go. Seconds tick past that feel like minutes until he finally breaks away and I gulp for air. Bereft, my body aches for him.

Remy’s rifling through the storage benches again, items shoved from side to side, thrown and discarded until he shouts triumphantly, flare gun in hand! Slick hands fumble to load the cartridge, then he steps away from me, pointing the gun above his head, firing high. We watch as a plume of intense fire illuminates the sky above us, a beautiful SOS, hanging in the air before slowing making its descent to the sea.

The stricken vessel below us strains and groans as Remy grips my hand in his, “We aren’t going out like this, cherie.” He says it with such conviction and determination that my heart stutters. My eyes widen as he brandishes a life buoy at me. “There’s only one.”

Why am I not even surprised that a jerk like Parker went for 24-Carat light fittings but scrimped on the most basic of safety features and maintenance? I shake my head at Remy, fear threatens to take over, “We’re not jumping?!”

Remy exclaims, “We have to! We can’t stay on ‘til it sinks, it’s too dangerous! We need to get as far away as we can. We jump together and I promise you - I won’t let go of your hand. Ever.”

A cacophony of glass cracks and metal tears. Engineering crumbles against a backdrop of smoky neon as we huddle together at the edge of semi-capsized yacht. The rain continues to drive against us, and I understand why we have to jump, but I hate that it’s the only option. My hand fits inside Remy’s and he squeezes it tightly, my pulse racing as we count down together from three, two, one...

As we hit the cool water I cry out, pain seers through my busted arm and makes the world seem dull and frayed around the edges. Everything under water is eerily dark and silence rings in my ears as I plunge beneath the surface. In those seconds it feels strangely peaceful. Serene. My mind, so busy moments before, is a blank. An instant sedation - each nerve numb: novocaine static. It’s not until I feel Remy jerk at my hand, still firmly clasped in his, that my brain reconnects. I kick my feet and follow Remy upwards, breaking the waves, choking and gasping for air.

Remy manoeuvres the life buoy between us, urging me to take hold, his hand cupping my cheek, pushing back my sodden hair, eyes raking over me, “Are you ok??”

I cough and splutter as I nod my head at him: I’m fine. Remy doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue with me either. He takes charge of getting us away from the yacht and I follow him blindly, feeling dazed, clinging to the buoy. Minutes later, the yacht goes under and the rapid movement of air and water sends pieces of debris swirling perilously to the surface. A watery scrapyard bobs around us.

I feel sick and dizzy and I’m so cold that my teeth chatter. Did anyone see the flare? Is help coming?

Remy repositions himself and wraps both arms around me as we float aimlessly together. I don’t know how long passes, but every so often he says my name and jolts me to keep me awake, and honestly, I’m trying, but it’s so hard to keep my eyes open. I tell him I’m trying, but I feel so weak. Remy says I’m in shock and I mumble, “That kiss was the best shock I ever had.”

I feel the rumble of his laugh roll through me, and then his lips meet mine again. Soft this time. Slow. Tender. His affection washing over me. I feebly smile and sigh into his kiss, his comforting warmth surrounds me. His touch is like a beacon in the bleak dark water, keeping me focussed, keeping me hanging on. The situation is desperate, but at least I’m with Remy.

As time swirls past us, I drift in and out of consciousness, pulled back a final time by Remy shaking me, “Listen!! Do you hear it??”

I startle and try my best to concentrate... Then I hear it, a horn blasting. Someone’s coming! They must have seen our distress signal. Remy’s swimming as fast as he can for both of us, moving our heavy, tired bodies in the direction of the sound until we finally see it. Remy yells until he’s hoarse, waving, whistling - anything to attract their attention. As the vessel approaches, I hear rough, deep voices yelling in Spanish but my head’s too fuzzy and it’s fast for me to understand. Remy is shouting back at them to take me on board first, and before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted - strong hands grip under my arms as I cry out for Remy. They pay me no heed: saviours in oilskins wrap me in a foil blanket, checking me over, patting my cheek and trying to get me to focus. I struggle to evade them, “Where is Remy?? You have to help him!!”

They won’t let me stand up, won’t let me move! Agitated tears blur my vision - they need to get Remy out of the water. And then I hear his voice and relief consumes me. The fishermen part to let him reach me, he’s dripping all over their deck and he looks so pale, but he’s here and we’re together. He throws his arms around me, clutching me close, face buried in my neck. We cling together, exchanging sweet words, counting our blessings and relishing the feeling of each other. A tall, thin, official-looking man wraps a second blanket around Remy’s shoulders, talking into his ear. Remy nods to him and then suddenly we’re moving below deck, to somewhere warm and dry. My good arm is around Remy’s neck, the other gentleman walks slowly by my other side, hand hovering to support me as my legs wobble. They give me a towel for my hair and large hooded sweatshirt to change into - Remy helps me and the feeling of the clean, dry fabric against my skin makes me want to weep. I sit on a makeshift bed, exhausted and sore, my head buzzing. Remy hasn’t changed into the fresh clothes they’ve left for him yet, he shivers but refuses to let go of my hand - as though he believes I might evaporate if he does.

The sailors tell us the coastguard is on their way and it won’t be long til we’re back on dry land. I can’t wait for my feet to be firmly on the ground. Remy asks the sailors for something to drink, but they refuse telling us not until we’ve seen a doctor. But Remy insists and eventually they relent, giving us both a large brandy. I swallow it down, grimacing at the taste and the burning sensation in my throat. I lie on my side, cheek pressed against a soft cushion, still shivering. I cradle my swollen arm to my chest, rising and falling as I struggle to come to terms with everything that’s happened today. Remy’s finally in dry clothes, and has crawled into the space by my side on the bunk. It’s going to take a while to process all of this, but it feels so nice to lie here with Remy gazing into my eyes, bodies close, to see him smile at me. I feel drained, but calmer now I’m near to him. I reach out and trace his features, just as I did when we kissed on the yacht a short time before; his stubbled jaw, the curve of his cheek, the little dimple that appears when he grins at me. He catches my fingers in his, and presses gentle kisses to my knuckles, to my palm, his other hand smoothing out my damp hair, “I promised you I wouldn’t let you go. We’re safe now. Your Remy’s here, it’ll all be fine mon coeur. ”

—- 24 hours later —-

Leon pats my knee affectionately as I slide into the passenger seat, “Ready to go home?”

I nod and thank him, as Remy reaches over the headrest, squeezing Leon’s shoulder, “Merci, Leon. Thanks for coming back to drive us.”

Leon meets Remy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, brows tight, looking perplexed, “It’s no problem. I still can’t believe Parker just... Left.”

Remy shrugs, “I can. Proves he was exactly the type of person we steal from.”

I sigh and scrub my hand across my face, “Except we didn’t steal anything from him, Remy. Everything’s gone. The film, lots of really amazing sculptures and artwork - all at the bottom of the sea...”

Remy shrugs, “But you and I aren’t at the bottom of the sea, and that’s what’s really important mon couer.”

And I know he’s right, but it just seems like such a terrible waste, that’s all. I suppose it might be better that no one has all of those treasures, than Parker hoarding them all and appreciating none of them. It was all just ‘stuff’ to him, for bragging rights, nothing more. Someone so shallow didn’t deserve any of-

Leon makes me jump, chuckling while reaching across me to clip my seatbelt in, exclaiming, “What’s this?!”

I glance down and see black Sharpie ink on my plaster cast. I lift my reset arm, and tilt my head to see it properly, there are two doodled little stick-people, one with my initials, one with ‘RC’, surrounded by sweet little hearts and the words ‘je t’aime, toujours ’ scrolled below. I feel my heart leap as I take it in. My cheeks start to colour as I stammer, “I don’t know- I- When-?”

Leon’s sporting a knowing smirk at Remy’s reflection, “To commemorate your fake marriage? Because there’s no need for you two to pretend anymore, right?”

I twist round in my seat to look at Remy who simply leans forward and cups my face in his palms. His eyes gaze into mine, face open and honest - no mask in sight. He meets my lips with a warm kiss as he confirms, “I’m done with pretending.”

#long fic #queen of thieves #remy chevalier #lovestruck #tw: drowning #tw: broken bones

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greatatmakingmemes · 3 years

Text

Wooden Overcoats: Putting the Funn in Funerals

RP sentence starters from Season 3, Episode 8, “The Sunshine Treatment” from “Wooden Overcoats”. Feel free to change pronouns, etc. to better suit your muse(s)! TW for death

“It’s a difficult time.”

“I’ve come in about the sign.”

“If you’re here to cause trouble, I ought to warn you I purchase sweets from the local police.”

“The sign says you need an assistant.”

“Have you filled the position?”

“I wouldn’t say you’re the first to apply.”

“I can see you’re a stickler for detail.”

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“We’re strong swimmers.”

“No, that doesn’t intrigue me.”

“Have you ever worked in a funeral home before?”

“That’s clever.”

“The overtime will be unpaid because we are a business, not a charity.”

“I didn’t mean to! Sorry!”

“What’s it like out there?”

“Do you know what dust is made of?”

“It’s time to see what you can do!”

“I set my desk on fire.”

“We were organizing the seating plan for the wedding reception when you began to snore.”

“I don’t really like being at home at the moment.”

“I find sitting under the desk can work wonders.”

“You must miss her/him/them.”

“How’s that best man speech coming along, eh?”

“It’s a dazzler!”

“Can I have a quick word?”

“Nice bicycle!”

“You’re always a help to me, [Name].”

“It’s your job to mind.”

“Don’t plan anything fancy.”

“I don’t have to do it.”

“Is that some kind of threat?”

“Thanks for talking through the options.”

“If you ever want to talk to me, which you won’t, my place has a bar, and drinks are on the house.”

“Still following me?”

“Pass me the glue, [Name].”

“Are you sure this is normal?”

“It’s a constructive use of my time.”

“Anybody can make a table.”

“If I carry on like this, I could make a real career out of it.”

“We shouldn’t limit ourselves, you know?”

“My life has meaning!”

“We could learn to be better.”

“She’s/He’s/They’ve got a lot on her/his/their mind right now.”

“I don’t like what he does or how he does it, but as a professional, he succeeds in what he sets out to do.”

“So you’ve given up?”

“We’ll learn new skills together!”

“I want you to fight for it.”

“We’re not giving up!”

“We’ll make it big, beautiful, spectacular-!”

“One day, it will increase in value.”

“The storm’s getting worse!”

“Have we still got the map?”

“We were meant to be traveling around the world.”

“Who the flip’s Elcano?”

“Where’s Kiribati?”

“You looked absolutely shattered.”

“Have you bought your wedding rings?”

“I wish I’d known her/him/them better.”

“They hated each other!”

“You can’t choose your relatives, but you can still choose your family.”

“Do you think there’s an afterlife?”

“To be perfectly candid with you, I think these days, we believe whatever we want to believe.”

“What can I say about this couple, which hasn’t been said before?”

“You compiled the Collins dictionary over a single June.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t be everything!”

“What’s this smudge?”

“It’s not exactly a blueprint, is it?”

“You’re presumably asking me if you can borrow this thing here.”

“We will repay you somehow, even if it kills you.”

“How are you with speeches?”

“Are you having trouble with your best man speech?”

“I feel like a fraud, to be honest with you.”

“You’ve known them your whole life!”

“Didn’t the reverend baptize you?”

“You’re an institution… or should be in an institution.”

“I’ll get us a couple of strong lattes.”

“We’ll arrange all your new furniture together, promise.”

“I saw you were coming and I hid behind the tree.”

“They’re nice flowers. I like them.”

“No one’s going to waste my time.”

“What should I wear?”

“Are you reminiscing?”

“You’re both horrible people.”

“You don’t think I’d give away this kind of gold dust for nothing…?”

“I think it’s roast peacock in the members’ room tonight.”

“I had to choke someone’s brother-in-law.”

“I don’t want to get used to it. I want to leave.”

“She’s like a cross between a spider and the girl from “The Ring”.”

“You don’t think this could be a sign?”

“We can go anywhere and do anything!”

“There’s something to be said for community.”

“It’s all misery and violent funerals.”

“You could go on without me.”

“I can catch you up in Casablanca!”

“Do you think I’m going to turn my back on you after everything you’ve done for me?”

“I’ve never loved anyone so much without telling them.”

“It’s all arranged.”

“Everyone wanted to be there.”

“What a wonderful day to be alive!”

“Let the whole world know our joy!”

“Put that saucepan down!”

“Now, how about some jazz?”

“If anyone would rather we didn’t get hitched, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“And at the summit of the lighthouse, they turned to each other and began doing it.”

“Do your chocolates have caffeine in them?”

“I’m great at saving weddings.”

“Shall we all go back to the hall and get hammered?”

“Spirits remained high and were freely consumed.”

“It’s like her/his/their limbs are having fun, but her/his/their face is furious.”

“[Name] filled his/her/their helicopter with booze.”

“They’re playing our song.”

“I wish there was more we could do for her/him/them.”

“I have a long memory.”

“It’s been a good party.”

“Are you enjoying the party?”

“Do you always introduce yourself like that?”

“I’m actually not all that confident in talking to people.”

“I always like weddings. I like seeing happy people being happy.”

“Stop. Breathe. You’re very nervous.”

“I’d like to attend the funeral. God, that sounded weird. No one likes to attend funerals.”

“I’ve got to go before the sun sets.”

“I have my family with me.”

“How about you and me talk some more next week?”

“I’ve had a spring roll.”

“We’re quietly confident.”

“It’s exactly right.”

“You can stop hiding behind the door now, [Name].”

“Does her husband mind?”

“Are we friends?”

“Hold tight. Here we go.”

#roleplay meme #rp meme #wooden overcoats #wooden overcoats s3 ep8

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nerdywriter36 · 4 years

Text

It’s Only the Rain

when there's a thunderstorm in paris, meg is there to calm erik's nerves.

tw: panic attack

i'm finally writing merik (meg/erik) content!! @ofserien requested this sweet little fluff-filled oneshot, and i'm such a sucker for her merik fic 'only for you' (which you should definitely read, it's amazing) that she got me hooked on the ship, so here we are. enjoy!

FFN

AO3:

He had tried to ignore it when it had started; the pitter-patter of the raindrops against the windows of their home had been almost soothing at first, inspiring him as he worked at the latest composition that had been occupying his mind, but when they got stronger and came along with bright flashes of lightning and loud thunderclaps, his anxiety had started to build at an almost exponential rate. He hadn't been able to focus on the sheet music in front of him anymore, his mind flooded with horrid memories of being left to cry alone in his mother's attic while thunderstorms roared outside, longing to be held in a pair of comforting arms and hushed or sung a lullaby, or when he was held captive in a tiny cage, completely exposed to the elements when it rained and the gypsies were staying put for the night. He could still practically feel the cold droplets beating down on him, soaking him to the bone and leaving him with only a chill to remember it by.

When his hands started to shake, he abandoned his composition, stepping out of his study as the room started to feel like it was closing in on him, almost constricting his ability to pull air into his lungs. He didn't want to wake his wife; he knew that Meg would scold him like there was no tomorrow if she found out that he had been struggling so much and didn't say a word, but he hated to bother her; with her work at the Opera House, rehearsing for hours at a time and then having to perform on top of that. And if her suspicions about a pregnancy were true...

He quickly banished that thought from his mind, already feeling it adding to the pounding of his heart. He had reached the parlour and had initially considered just sitting by the slowly dying fire, but the idea of sitting still was not an option anymore. He couldn't sit still when he was in this state, he knew that; that would only allow him to focus on how cold, clammy, and shaky his hands were, and with his wingbacked armchair, it would only make it feel like the room was growing even smaller than it already seemed to be. So pacing was the only option he had and it was the one he would go with.

He paused in that effort for only a moment to lean against the back of the sofa, trying to breathe in steadily through his nose and out through his mouth, but every breath was strangled and shaky, and just when he thought he might have had some semblance of a handle on it, a loud thunderclap practically shook the house. As he jumped slightly, a whimper slipped out of him; god, when was the last time he'd whimpered? He couldn't even recall, but naturally, the situation when that was all he did in the cage he was confined to on stormy nights such as these came to mind. Left in the cold, dark, rainy night, crying and quietly pleading with God to let his mother, as cruel as she could be, simply walk out of the darkness, free him, and take him home.

With a bright flash of lightning that lit up the room, closely followed by another roaring thunderclap, the shaking in his legs finally grew to be too much and he fell to the ground, pressing his back firmly against the back of the sofa as his breaths came in short gasps. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, his mask having been left behind in his study, to try and block out all the stimulation around him, almost as if not seeing the lightning would convince him that it wasn't really there. He realized the fault in his plan, though, when he still heard the roaring thunder, so he immediately pulled his hands away from his eyes to press them over his ears, desperate to keep any sound out that he could, his eyes still squeezed shut all the while. He pulled his knees to his chest and leaned his forehead against them, his breaths coming short and fast as he tried desperately to distract himself, but knowing that it was only inevitable that he would end up hyperventilating more than he already was and then the cold sweat would come followed close by tears and then...

Then there was a gentle touch on his shoulder. It made him flinch, true, but he knew who it was and just knowing that she was there made it even slightly easier to breathe.

"Erik? Erik, take your hands away from your ears," Meg whispered, gently wrapping her hands around her husband's wrists and pulling his hands down when he failed to move on his own. "I'm here, you're okay. Take a deep breath for me."

"I- I can't," Erik choked out, his forehead still pressed against his knees.

"Yes, you can. Everything's okay, just breathe, my love," Meg replied as she sat up on her knees and wrapped her arms around him, gently running her fingers through his hair with the knowledge that that always calmed him if he woke up from a nightmare or suffered from an attack such as the one he was in the midst of.

The warmth of her embrace was exactly what Erik had been dreaming he had had as a boy and it quickly began to calm him; he felt the pounding of his heart start to slow, and within a few minutes, he managed to lift his head to rest it on her shoulder, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he slowly took a breath through his nose.

"There you are, it's okay," Meg whispered, one hand cradling his head to her shoulder while the other gently stroked up and down his back. "Just remember that everything is okay, you're safe. Tell me what you can think of that helps you remember that you're safe, okay? Go through them for me."

For a moment, he couldn't think of any at all, but slowly, all the things keeping him safe in their home came to his mind: "Th-the door is locked, and so are the windows. We have lights so I can see, and have you here."

"Good. I'm glad you mentioned me; you always have to remember that you aren't alone anymore," Meg said, a small smile on her face as she leaned back from their embrace and held his face in his hands, brushing a few stray tears away with her thumbs. "Everything is okay. Nothing's going to hurt you."

Erik nodded slightly, only to flinch when there was another clap of thunder, which moved him to quickly wrap his arms around his wife again to hold her tight.

"Oh, the storm is what's bothering you, okay," Meg said softly, nodding to herself as she began to piece together a plan to help him. "Alright, come on, let's get you up. We'll go sit on the sofa, I'll go make us some tea and I'll put another log in the fireplace to keep it going, alright? Everything's okay."

"Okay. Thank you," Erik whispered, smiling weakly as she pressed a kiss to his cheek before he took her hands as she stood up and let her pull him up to his feet. His legs were still weak and shaky, he could tell, so he draped his arm around her shoulders for extra support. Not that she would be much help if he were to collapse; given their height and weight difference, he could drop like a rock and bring her right down with him.

The two slowly migrated to the sofa and Erik gave his wife a small smile as she grabbed her thick knitted blanket off of the back of the piece of furniture and wrapped it around him. "Thank you," he said again.

"Of course, my love. Now, just stay cuddled up like that. I'll go put on the kettle to boil and be back in just a moment, okay? You'll be alright, won't you?" she inquired.

"I think so, yes. I'll come to find you if I'm not," Erik replied with a slight nod.

Meg nodded and leaned forward to gently kiss his forehead before she padded off towards the kitchen, her steps as light as they always were; what with her ballerina training, he wasn't a bit surprised. He loved how delicate she was, but at the same time, the fact that she could be feisty and fight for herself only made him adore her all the more. Two polar opposites, perhaps, but his wife encapsulated them both and he couldn't be happier about that fact.

That was something he wouldn't mind seeing in their child if they were ever to have one; the more the little girl or boy was like their mother, the better, in his mind. He knew that Meg disagreed and that she hoped they would have a son and that the boy would be just like him in every way, whether that included his practically non-existent face or not, and as much as he didn't want that at all, he tried his best not to smother her dreams; when it came to the baby, so long as she was happy, so was he.

She reappeared by his side without him even noticing, which was the curse that came along with her delicate footsteps, but it always made her giggle when he jumped slightly as she appeared next to him.

"I got you again," she said with a quiet laugh.

"Yes, you did," he replied, a breathy laugh escaping him as she sat beside him. He moved his arm to wrap it around her, pulling her under the warm blanket with him. "Is the tea on?"

"It is, yes. I have some chamomile set aside for you; it'll help you sleep," Meg said softly. "What is it about the storms that are so difficult for you, hm? I know they bother you, especially when they happen at night, but I've never seen you get quite so bad as you were when I walked in."

Erik sighed; he'd known the question as coming, but still had neglected to prepare a true answer. "I have bad memories of them from when I was a boy," he said simply. "They always frightened me, and I...I didn't always have someone there to comfort me when I was afraid, so that fear has stayed with me and has only worsened over the years, as childish as that may be. There are much worse things to be afraid of, but thunderstorms were always difficult."

He heard her sigh quietly before she set her hand on his chest, over his heart; that was something she always did when she was feeling particularly sympathetic for what he'd been through. "I'm so sorry. You deserved so much better," she whispered.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I have everything I could want now because I have you," Erik replied, resting his hand over hers. "And I know that you will always keep me safe, which I never thought I could have before; everywhere I went, I was in danger or exposed to the elements or running for my life. I was still in that position when we met at the Opera House, as hidden as I may have been; at any given moment, I could have been discovered and the gendarmes could have been down in the cellars, arresting me and dragging me off to prison or a much crueller fate. Now, though, I know that I am truly safe with you, ma fleur, and I couldn't ask for anything better."

Another sigh escaped her, but it was quickly followed by a breathy laugh, which Erik quickly discovered the reason for when Meg turned to look up at him and he noticed the tears in her eyes. "This was supposed to be about me stopping you from crying, not you making me start," she said.

"I am merely speaking the truth," Erik replied as he reached up to cup her cheek in his hand. "When I had panic attacks like that as a younger man, I was always alone to cope with them. Well, almost always; I had Nadir in Persia to guide me through them, and that was a true blessing, but he couldn't be there every time. Sometimes he would be working or asleep or tending to his son and I would have to deal with it alone, which often meant that I suffered through it before I fell asleep again simply out of exhaustion. Now, though I have you next to me in bed every night to help me when I have a nightmare and to rescue me when the thunder is so loud that it's the only thing I hear and I believe it is the only thing I will ever hear. I do not know what I did to deserve you, but I am glad to have you."

"And I am so very fortunate to have you," Meg said softly, tipping her head up to press her lips to his. "But just stay close to me, my love, and all will be well; it's only the rain, there is no need to fret."

#poto #phantom of the opera #rarepair #merik #meg/erik #erik #meg giry #phanfiction #phic #my writing

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stxphxn-strange · 4 years

Text

be glad he’s holding me back

a/n: I’ve never written a fic where Peter gets bullied, but i couldn’t stop thinking about how overprotective Stephen and Tony would be and that bloomed into this fic. I’m actually v proud of it, hope you like it too! tw for bullying

It was an innocent quip, a comment that just spiraled out of control. The same sentence Peter used to actually defend his bullies now applied to this situation, the situation being that he told his Baby Sister that he was being bullied at school. The running joke in the Stark-Strange family was that Morgan could smell fear, and everyday she proved that to be more than just a coincidence. She sensed Peter’s discomfort and just laughed in understanding.

“These Animal Crossing villagers can be so mean!” Morgan had said. “I bet it would be AWESOME live on an island with a cool friend who brought me gifts!”

Even in her youth, she was perceptive. She could see her brother relax as she dismissed his comment, but Peter didn’t know that Morgan would probably never forget what he told her that day.

“I already get bullied enough at school, the last thing I want is for my Animal Crossing villagers to be mean to me too! But at least they don’t throw things at me or...”

++++

Stephen was equally surprised and unsurprised when he emerged from the en suite and found Morgan sitting on the bed and talking to Tony. That didn’t, however, stop him from pointing out that it was well past her bedtime.

“I wanted to talk, but I had to wait until Pete went to bed so he can’t hear,” Morgan explained.

“I’m listening,” Stephen said.

Tony cleared his throat. “We.”

The sorcerer disregarded his husband’s quip. “I’m listening,” Stephen repeated, getting into bed and resting his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“What am I, a cushion?” Tony asked. Between Stephen laying on him and Morgan sitting on his stomach, he felt a bit like a piece of furniture. This, of course, was a role he’d always proudly play for his family. Both Morgan and Stephen ignored his grumbling anyway, as they tended to do when Tony jokingly complained about things.

“What’s going on, Morgan?” Stephen asked. His smile was always soft when he spoke to the kids, especially his youngest, but it faltered the longer she talked.

Morgan was nearly asleep by the time she finished relaying Peter’s earlier words, her head resting on Tony’s chest where the arc reactor once was. “I don’t think he wants you to know, but I don’t want him sad. So I told you. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Stephen’s voice was clipped as he softly brushed through Morgan’s hair. “You did the right thing, Little One. Can you just keep playing with him and trying to make him laugh with Illyana? We’ll take care of everything else.”

“Promise?” Morgan asked. Normally she would object to Stephen calling her “Little One,” but tonight she was too worried about Peter and too tired to care.

Stephen and Tony promised their youngest they’d take care of Peter, their tones vastly different even as they said the same words. The sorcerer could hear the fierce, protective growling in his voice and ruminated on it as Tony put Morgan to bed. Once Tony returned, laying beside Stephen and holding him close, his anger gave way to despair.

“Why wouldn’t he say something?” Stephen asked quietly, burying his head in Tony’s chest.

“He gets his sense of ‘I can handle anything and everything by myself’ from us, but he’s trying to prove to himself that he can handle a bully. Maybe part of him thinks he deserves it, and if that’s unfortunately true then he’ll really want to deal with it quietly and not draw more attention to himself. It’s not a matter of whether we failed him or not,” Tony said, trying to assure himself just as much as Stephen. “We can’t choose whether or not he ever talks to us about it, you know? All we can do is support him and let him know that we love him. He does know it, but you can never hear it too much.”

Stephen nodded frantically as memories from his childhood and adolescence resurfaced.

“You know, I have to tell myself a lot that I’m not failing Peter or any of the kids when something like this happens. Any effort on our part to give them the best is already a success objectively and compared to what we knew. You’re a great parent Stephen,” Tony said firmly. “And a great husband, I might add.”

“We’re not talking about me,” Stephen replied.

“We’re not, no. But I thought you just needed a little reminder,” Tony said. He gently kissed Stephen’s hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Stephen murmured, snuggling closer to Tony. It was quiet for a few minutes more, thoughts bouncing around the walls of their minds and the room. “What can we do?”

“Well I’d like to know how this happened, since the school has supposedly an anti-bullying policy. A meeting with the principal sounds good,” Tony said. “And we can determine whether or not pursuing legal action is necessary.”

“You’ll threaten to sue anyway,” Stephen replied knowingly.

“Of course I will, and then I’ll be shown up by your protective side,” Tony said. His tone was teasing now, but his statement was true.

Stephen wasn’t a helicopter parent, but he was protective of the kids (and Tony) in a way that he never thought he’d be protective of anyone. It was just nice to have someone to protect, and to be needed.

“Hey.” Tony cleared his throat and kissed Stephen’s hair again. “Asleep?”

“No... just thinking,” Stephen replied. “Do you think Pete was bullied last year too, before Harley left for college?”

“I’m not sure... but if Harley defended him it also makes sense why we’re just finding out, doesn’t it? He would allow Harley to handle it and hope that he could make it stop, so we wouldn’t need to know,” Tony said. “I don’t honestly know how much we can do, but we won’t know until we try.”

Stephen nodded, yawning as he did so. “Can we handle this in the morning? Or sometime tomorrow?”

“That should be fine, I’m free most of the day tomorrow except for one meeting at 10:45. In the morning I’ll see if we need an appointment with the front office, but I won’t hesitate to name drop to make something work,” Tony declared.

“Worse case scenario, we walk into the center of his office via a portal,” Stephen said, his words muffled as he closed his eyes and shifted to lay his head on Tony’s shoulder again. “Now shush, I need beauty rest for a confrontation like this.”

Tony snickered fondly. “Goodnight, you absolute drama king.”

++++

A plan fell rather easily into place. Christine and Pepper would pick up Illyana and Morgan in the early afternoon while Tony and Stephen would meet with the Midtown administration. Harley even called his parents to offer moral support, though he too was unaware of the bullying.

Stephen was shocked and saddened when he heard that, his heart breaking at the fact that Peter had been silently hurting for so long.

“When is he going to learn that he doesn’t have to go through everything alone?” He’d asked, leaning against Tony.

“He’ll probably figure it out at the same time you or I do,” Tony replied bluntly.

“Does that mean I’m a bad example? I—”

Tony shook his head, quickly cutting Stephen off. He fell into a pattern of oversimplified thinking and rambling when he was nervous, and it was no secret that the sorcerer was nervous.

“We both know that’s not what I meant,” Tony soothed. “Peter is strong and stubborn and independent, but with that comes pride. None of those things are bad, it just means the internal odds can be stacked against you when you try to go against yourself and ask for help. It’s in all of our nature, and you acting as you normally do isn’t showing him that he can’t ever be vulnerable or ask us for advice or assistance. It’s just hard to admit when you need it.”

Stephen nodded, unclenching his jaw. “Somehow this has become about my insecurities, rather than being there for our son.”

“Your heart is in the right place, you know? You want to do right by him. And we will,” Tony promised. “Although it might be a good idea to unpack everything that’s bothering you, if you want to tell me about it.”

“You’re right.” Stephen nodded again, an air of professionalism setting onto his face. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

Traveling by portal hardly took any time, including the short walk to the school from a nearby side street, but today wasn’t the day to be fashionably late. Tony was already fiddling with his sunglasses when the couple walked into the office, opening and closing them in his hands. To most, it seemed like a simple boredom-relieving thing to do while sitting in a waiting room, but Stephen knew that Tony was also nervous. He would present himself as invincible during their meeting, but the wait leading up to it could make Tony second guess himself.

“We’re doing the right thing,” Stephen whispered, drawing circles on the back of one of Tony’s hands.

“Peter hates when we interfere with his life,” Tony muttered absently.

“If we don’t, the bullying might not stop. I’d rather have Peter be a little angry and tell us that as opposed to not tell us that he’s hurting, or that someone is hurting him,” Stephen said. “Because he doesn’t deserve this.”

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Tony replied. “May I lean against you a little, while we wait?”

Stephen nodded. He wasn’t one for PDA in places where someone might use his affectionate nature to judge him or diminish his credibility, at least not large gestures of affection. But there was nothing harmful in Tony leaning his shoulder against Stephen’s, it looked almost like they were just having a private, whispered conversation.

Which, incidentally, they were. They talked quietly until the door to Principal Morita’s office swung open, revealing the man himself standing in the doorway.

“Gentlemen!” He greeted them warmly. “So nice to get your call, Mr. Stark, and as always it’s nice to see you.”

Stephen refrained from calling him a kissass, instead forcing a smile. “Same to you, although I do wish it was under better circumstances.”

Principal Morita closed the door to his office and ushered the couple in. “Yes, I thought I could pick up some stress on your end while we were on the phone. I trust it’s nothing too urgent?”

Tony could see that his husband’s temper was already beginning to flare. Stephen’s back stiffened and he impatiently gripped the armrests of the chair, ignoring the pain that this always caused his hands. To steady him, Tony discretely placed a hand on his back.

“That depends. How urgent is bullying to you?” Stephen asked. He relished in the discomfort he caused the man across from him, noticing Morita beginning to shift uncomfortably in his swivel chair.

“Midtown has a no tolerance policy when it comes to bullying, I assure you. It’s actually very fortunate that you’re here today, Peter has been reported to my office for bullying this past week,” Morita replied.

Tony had honestly zoned out, he was too busy trying to keep Stephen calm and trying to stay calm himself.

But that bullshit caught his attention.

He scoffed. “Peter? A bully? That doesn’t sound right.”

Stephen nodded emphatically. “Our son is not a bully, in fact we came here today to discuss the fact that he himself is the victim of such mistreatment.”

“That doesn’t match the information we have on file,” Principal Morita said skeptically. “Children can lie to their parents about acting out, can they not?”

“Is that really something you want to try to convince us?” Tony asked incredulously, pointing at himself and Stephen with the hand that wasn’t now rubbing Stephen’s back.

“How long ago was it that you adopted Peter? Perhaps he—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Stephen snarled. “We don’t know the extent of what Peter has endured because he believes he can handle everything on his own and would hate to burden another with his needs, no matter what his needs are. People who brush him aside and equivocate as you’re doing now certainly don’t make him feel like he’ll be taken seriously, do you understand?”

“It’s just that... well the evidence is rather stacked against Peter at this point, isn’t it?”

Stephen would have bolted upright if Tony wasn’t holding onto the back of his shirt. He was only grounded by the soft pressure of Tony’s hand on his back, the sorcerer didn’t even give a rat’s ass about his dignity anymore. Not where his family was involved.

“Why don’t you check your files again?” Tony suggested. “If we’re wrong, you’ll grant me the opportunity to threaten our contributions to this school’s funding. I think your statements during this meeting certainly warrant that.”

The principal left the room in a hurry, muttering about “my conduct, of all things?!”

++++

It wasn’t uncommon for Peter walk down the hallways linking arms with Ned and MJ. His friends gave him strength, empowered him to be the best he could, and made him laugh. They were truly the best friends in the world.

Peter just didn’t agree with them when they begged him to report his bullies. He always replied with a “then beg,” sending them into laughter but leaving Ned and MJ with worry for their friend.

“I hate to be a downer,” Ned began, looking to MJ for support. She nodded at him to continue, and so he did. “Peter that bruise looks like it hurts.”

“Oh, my eye?” Peter asked, well aware that he had a black eye. “It’s not as bad as the bruises you can’t see.”

“That’s the point, Peter,” MJ said, as gently as possible. “It’s really bad, and you know your parents will want to know about it.”

“They care so much and don’t want anything like this to happen to anyone, least of all you,” Ned added.

Peter sighed and nodded. “I can’t believe I accidentally told my sister.”

“If you’d told Illyana, I think she would’ve taken care of the bullies herself,” Ned said. “She’s a little scary.”

“Ned, she’s ten (10) and nothing to be scared of. She’s just chaotic and cunning in a way that Morgan isn’t,” Peter replied.

“A boss bitch at such a young age... we love to see it,” MJ added. “Now can we please go to lunch? I want to get good seats.”

The trio continued walking, Ned and Peter reminding MJ that they sat in the same seats for lunch everyday.

“Betty always steals the specific spot I want at our table,” MJ quipped. “I love Betty, but that’s honestly a pet peeve. How can I sketch Peter in disaster mode if I can’t see him?”

“You can’t,” Peter and Ned replied in unison.

MJ rolled her eyes. “Why am I friends with you losers?”

“Because we’re your losers,” Peter declared. As the group walked past the principal’s office, the start of his next sentence was interrupted by a very frantic Principal Morita.

“Peter! Sorry to interrupt, but may I see you in my office for a moment?” He asked.

Peter looked at Ned and MJ. “Go on without me.”

“Like hell we’d do that! Now I have a chance to talk to MJ about the conspiracy theories I read last night,” Ned replied, sitting down on a nearby bench.

“Oh joy!” MJ said, sarcasm flooding off of her as she sat beside Ned.

Meanwhile, Principal Morita ushered Peter into his office. “I need to check something quickly, just go sit down.”

Peter did as he was told, surprised and honestly relieved to see his dads sitting there. “Morgan told you what I said?”

Tony nodded. “She was worried about you, and what she said worried us. Sit down.”

Peter grabbed a nearby chair, sitting on Tony’s right.

“Peter, are you okay?” Stephen asked, shifting into doctor mode.

“There’s no point in not being honest, since you know,” Peter said. “Today wasn’t so bad though. I just got kicked around a bit and shoved into my locker.”

“Am I wrong to assume that you’re understating it?” Stephen asked.

Peter shook his head. “You’re not wrong. I’m ashamed of myself, and why shouldn’t I be?”

“Pete—”

Peter dropped his voice so low that only his parents could hear. “I’m such a good superhero, aren’t I?”

“You are. Your worth isn’t determined by what they say about you or how despicably they treat you. You’ve proven yourself and your good heart everyday, some people are just shitty,” Stephen said. “Peter, who did this?”

“It doesn’t matter, Doctor Dad. They won’t get punished. It’ll only continue and it’ll get worse since the bullies will know you know, and—”

“Take a deep breath, Petey,” Tony encouraged, noticing his son beginning to hyperventilate. “I know this is unexpected, but we’ll figure something out. And I’ll successfully make sure your dad doesn’t kill the principal in the process.”

“Is that why you’re holding him back?” Peter asked.

Tony nodded, still gently massaging Stephen’s spine.

“He’s not really holding me back, I could spring into action if I wanted to. Your father is too short to hold me back properly,” Stephen quipped.

“Okay, rude,” Tony replied.

“If the shoe fits,” Stephen snarked back at him. He looked at Peter again. “Don’t think that question will be left unanswered.”

“Doctor Dad, it doesn’t matter who’s bullying me. After this meeting it’ll just be someone else, someone who didn’t get caught,” Peter said.

“So much for anti-bullying policies,” Tony muttered. “Your principal has a suspicion that you’re the bully, but I doubt that’s true.”

“Why would I want to bully anyone? I’m not like them,” Peter replied.

“Like who?” Stephen asked.

“I found no evidence on file that lists Peter reporting a bully,” Principal Morita announced, reentering the room. “Our records indicate that at least three (3) students have reported him for violent misconduct, however.”

“I didn’t, I would never hurt anybody!” Peter fretted. “The guys who beat me up told me that they’d do that to get me into trouble, and then they shoved me into a locker.”

“Who?” Morita asked, disbelief surrounding him.

“Flash Thompson is the worst of them,” Peter confessed. He proceeded to list the names of Flash’s cronies as well as everything they’d done to him, his face burning. He just wanted to go home and hide.

Morita sighed when Peter was finished talking. His parents shared looks of rage and sadness, Tony consoling both Stephen and Peter. “Thank you for discussing this, Peter. I’m sure that wasn’t easy.”

“Um... may I go find my friends?” Peter asked nervously.

“If that’s what you want, go ahead,” Tony replied.

“Mr. Stark, you don’t speak for me. Especially not if your child doesn’t feel comfortable talking about his wellbeing with you,” Morita said. “Peter, you may go.”

“Love you Petey!” Stephen called after him as he left.

Peter ran back into the office to hug each of his parents in turn before scurrying out again.

Stephen’s gaze hardened, his stare intense enough to bury Morita in the dirt. “If you ever speak to my husband that way again, or treat my son with such arrogant neglect if he needs to report something like this in the future, you will rue this day.”

“I see no reason to take any action thus far, Peter looks fine and the alleged ‘bullies’ families contribute heavily to Midtown’s success,” Morita said.

“As do we... for now,” Tony replied, a low protective growl in his voice. If Stephen wasn’t so angry, he’d be swooning all over his husband.

But there would be time for that later.

“Did you SEE the contusions around and under his eye?” Stephen asked, inhaling sharply. “I assume he has more, but he’s scared to say so.”

“And it’s no wonder why. With how aggressive you two (2) are, why would he discuss anything with you?” Morita replied.

“My mother didn’t raise a bitch, and we’re not raising a liar,” Stephen snapped.

Tony clicked a pen he found in his pocket. “I’m going to strongly advise that you not get him riled up. Why not check the security cameras? If the Thompson kid and his group don’t have any injuries, you’ll know Pete is telling the truth. He doesn’t like to fight and wouldn’t hit back.”

“Is this a... what I’ve heard students call a ‘flex,’ Mr. Stark? You bought the security equipment and paid for renovations to the AV room, why wouldn’t you run an experiment to see if your money is being put to good use?” The principal leaned back in his chair.

Stephen was fully ready to stand up, but Tony kept him still. All things considered, he was doing a good job of keeping the sorcerer level. To be fair, Tony couldn’t (and this didn’t) keep Stephen from yelling, “You have some nerve, you audacious idiot!”

“It’s fine babe, relax,” Tony said. This man could disparage Tony’s integrity all he wanted, it didn’t matter. “At the very least, Mr. Morita, find some way to prove that those boys are uninjured and exonerate my son. We will be withholding any additional gifts until you’ve done that and re-evaluated the anti bullying policy to our standards. As such, I expect a draft of your new policy in my work email no later than 9am Monday, so I can share it with Stephen. We’re done here.”

“Thanks for wasting our time and making our kid feel bad, asshat,” Stephen snapped. He stood up once Tony let go of his shirt, taking his husband’s hand and striding out of the room. Once they were away from the school and out of earshot, Stephen slouched. “That was exhausting.”

Tony just nodded, softly cupping Stephen’s cheek. “You busy the rest of the day?”

“No, why?”

“Because I need a coffee, and you need some kind of sweet or a pickmeup.”

Stephen smiled for the first time since before the meeting. “You know me so well.”

“How could I not? I’m your husband,” Tony replied, rolling his eyes lovingly. “What I would love more than anything, right now, is some caffeine.”

It was Stephen’s turn to roll his eyes. “We can’t have you caffeine-deprived, can we? Let’s go.”

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years

Note

Terror 15?

Hello my favourite! Thank you for the prompt, it was DELIGHTFUL! And I cheated a bit and made this a Kingdom Collisions update👀 hopefully I did you well!

Masterlist; the piano song I imagine

This is a fic I'm writing to try incorporate more descriptions into my writing. I do not have pre-written chapters so updates will be sporadic. I hope you enjoy whatever is here!

Terror, 15: whatever you do do not open your eyes.

TW: blood, violence/death

Kingdom Collisions V

Percy Jackson sees the impending stone of Caelum Castle and he wants to escape to the sea. He wants to rush back to his cabin and bury himself in the sand where nobody will ever bother him. He has always hated this castle, hated it for its height and its morgue grey colour, and the way it looms over the world like a shadow of.... gods it seems inappropriate to say death.

Jason had been in some state of quiet distraught since yesterday evening and he can't blame him. It is fracturing to hear news like that, to not have anymore to go on. When Percy's guards had come to tell him the news he had buckled at the knees. They just managed to catch him. He demanded more information, anything else. They shook their heads, eyes heavy with heartache and said,

"The only thing we know Prince is that the King is safe."

Now the car eases onto the cobbled path that leads up to the castle and before it can come to a stop Crown Prince Jason Grace is frantically clicking at his seatbelt and hurtling himself out of the vehicle. Percy sees him race up the endless stairs and disappear through the foreboding wooden doors. He looks to his guards, questions as evident in his eyes as in theirs. When the car finally parks in whatever designated space they have he climbs out and prowls towards the castle, eyebrows scrunched as he looks for his husband.

Caelum Castle is as hollow on the inside as it looks from the out. Opulence drips from the crystal chandeliers. The smell of decadence emitting from the ivory-wood furniture and accompanying silk drapes make his head spin. He doesn't even bother to hide his wince as he steps through the diamond archways. He knows the king put them there because when the sun hits the room at just the right angle a kaleidoscope of colour fractures around the space. On the rare occasions he has come here he has never quite felt like the castle was lived in. It felt more like a decorative structure, a face for the people. But there is warmth emitting from the candlebrum in the entrance. And although the velvet red carpet layed under his feet looks like it got put down yesterday there is evidence of life in the tiny chip on the marble floor where Jason tried to hammer bubble-wrap, or the dent in the wooden panelling where a bunch of little guards in training were being chased by Monster Jason of the Sky and someone smacked straight into the wall.

Percy isn't aware of these details, isn't aware of the life his husband had here. Instead he peers around corners and into room trying to find anyone. The castle seems to be empty, a mirage in an endless desert. He walks up the white marble staircase, looking at the portraits on the wall. They are full of grim faces and collared paint and he can't help but compare them to the portraits in his own castle, which are colours, and smiles, and joy. He wonders briefly if Jason's childhood was as happy as his; if Jason ever got to lick blue icing from the bowl the night before his birthday, or cuddle up next to his parents for movie night. Just then a shuffling from the end of the second floor grabs his attention and he's moving towards it, thoughts discarded.

"Prince Grace?" He pokes his head around a doorway, a room of silk and fire and music greeting him. A gorgeous, midnight black piano sits in the center of the space, white keys glistening in the candlelight. The room is almost sinister in its set up. Like someone had been playing only a few minutes ago and go called away briefly. He expects a person to come strolling around the corner, stepping to the piano and sitting down to play. He tears his eyes away from the glorious instrument, clasping his itching fingers, and looks at the rest of the room. It seemed almost normal, but then his eyes catch on the slouched figure in the corner and bile crawls up his throat. There are puddles of ruby surrounding the person and he knows with horrifying clarity that they aren't sleeping, aren't merely resting before the pianist comes back. His shock is interrupted by another sound, a broken sound.

"Jason!" And then he's sprinting towards the blood curling scream, towards the pain.

The wailing is endless like torture itself is finally learning to speak.

"JASON!" Percy is frantic now, he can't find his husband and there's so many doors and why the fuck is the scream echoing in his brain he can't hear anything, "JASON!"

He slams into the edge of a frame as he skids to a halt. There standing in front of a dark wood door, blue eyes blazing and tear streaks like stained death on his face, is the Crown Prince.

"What's the matter, what's wrong?" Percy is breathless, panicked.

"There's so much blood," The blonde chokes, looking down, "This was his room and there's so much blood."

"Who's room?" Green eyes widen at the pool of scarlet, "Prince, who's room?"

Jason falls forward, Percy barely managing to catch him, "There is— there's so much blood." Tears soak through their clothes.

"Do you want me to go in and check?"

The blonde looks like he's going to say no, looks like he's going to work up the courage to do it but his eyes catch the red stained marble and he nods once.

"Stay here, only come in when I say."

He nods again and then Percy is easing himself around his husband and opening the door.

At first there is nothing, just murky darkness and oddly shaped shadows. The furniture, some beds and couches, are aligned neatly in certain areas of the room but for the most part it is empty. Percy squints into the darkness, trying to find a light source. There is something hanging on the wall and he can't quite make it out. The smell in the room is enough to make him wish he hadn't eaten that slice of toast for breakfast.

"Can you see anything?" A call from the hallway.

"It's really dark do you know where the light is?"

"Yea just move towards your left, it should be on that wall."

"What do you mean should be? Do your lights move or something?"

"Shut up and find it." He hears a hiss near his ear and it takes everything in him not to yelp. But finally he locates the switch and with a soft click the room is ablaze in warm yellow light. He blinks at the harsh difference, letting his eyes adjust. And then Percy Jackson, Crown Prince of Mare spots the artwork on the wall and the blood in his veins become poison. He whips his head around, ready to warn Jason not to look only to see to see his eyes already squeezed shut.

"Whatever you do, do not open your eyes."

"What's wrong?" The blonde is breathing hard, hands twisting at his sides, "What happened?"

"Keep them closed Grace,"

Percy looks at the grotesque image on the wall, his stomach doing somersaults. He is hurtled back to a time when his own castle had been bathed in blood.

"Little One," Someone shook his shoulders, "Little One I need you to get up!"

"What's wrong Momma?" His voice was groggy with sleep, "Is it already time for breakfast?"

"No Little One. You're going to stay with Grover for a little while okay. There's big people stuff happening at the castle so you and Grover get to stay together."

"Is everything okay momma?"

His mother's ice blue eyes fractured, her lip trembling. His small hand reached up to touch her face, put his fingers to her cheek.

"What happened momma?"

She shook her head and gathered him in her arms and then they were racing through the palace. He will never forget the screaming he heard when they stepped into the halls. It was like nails on a chalkboard, like ventirloquated suffering. And the smell— iron and death. Those walls he called home seemed dark and dangerous, full of monsters.

"What's happening momma?" Tears pooled in his eyes.

"Some bad people Little One, but don't worry you will be safe with Grover."

"I don't want to go momma, I want to stay with you!"

"I'm sorry Little One,"

And then she was shoving him in a car and waving goodbye. The last thing he saw was his mom's broken gaze and the splattering of blood on her nightgown before the world faded.

"Just don't open your eyes, I'm going to guide you out." Percy says, wrapping his arms around his husband's shoulders and taking small steps in the direction of the door.

Jason walks backwards, wrapped in Percy's arms, eyes still shut tight, "Are we almost out?"

"Couple more steps," He mutters and then they're through and he's pulling the door closed.

Just before he can shut it the blonde opens his eyes. Crown Prince Jason Grace inhales sharply, turns around and throws up all over the floor.

"No, no, no, no, no—" He cries, sobs, chokes.

Percy wants to curse but instead he gathers the Prince in his arms and slams the door closed.

Jason is heaving, tears making rivers over his cheeks, "No, no, no, no, no—" He looks up at the wooden entrance and throws up again.

"I love him, no, no." He is screaming. "Bring him back! THIS ISN'T TRUE!"

Percy pulls them closer, ignores the fingernails cutting into his arm, the red marks marring his skin.

"I need to go in!" Jason heaves, trying to escape from their embrace.

"No!"

"Please, please, please," He's begging, lightning eyes are flashing, "I just need to see him! I love him I need him please."

"I can't I'm sorry."

"PLEASE!"

The world trembles, cracks, crumbles to dust under that request. Despair is a blanket over their shoulders, agony their final friend.

"Please Percy please," The blonde is sobbing into him, pulling him closer and pushing him away.

"I am sorry."

"We were supposed to run away, to live in the clouds, to become nomads of the sky. We were supposed to be together."

His heart clenches, twists in his chest for the person in his arms, at the sheer excruciation of the moment.

"You will meet again.*

"I need to see him!"

The black-haired Prince sits there on the floor, stroking his husband's back and blinking away the image he had seen.

For there, on the otherside of the door, hangs the Tapestry of Agony. A noose around his neck and daggers pinning his limbs to the wall, is a guard— tawny brown skin leeched of colour, once bouncy curls saturated with blood, and coffee brown eyes gazing endlessly at nothing.

Leo Valdez, Personal Guard and Secret Lover to the Crown Prince of Caelum, is dead.

Percy Jackson pulls his husband closer and closes his eyes to the world. Somewhere in the castle a piano starts playing.

--------------------------------------------------

This fic has built up quite the traction which makes me equal parts happy and surprised so i’m moving the taglist here.

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01

@queen-of-demons-and-hell

@leydiangelo

@sparkythunderstorm

@asami-sato-has-never-sinned

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