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ken-dom · 3 months

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March Magic

Holland March x afab!reader

4k words

∘₊✧ Summary: Three times Holland March couldn't get it up, and one time he could.

∘₊✧ Authors’s notes: I've missed Holland, but upon a rewatch of The Nice Guys, he crashed my doors down and proceeded to experience erectile dysfunction in my living room so. Here you have it. Thank you to the wonderful K for beta reading and being the best as usual!! The warnings are pretty wild on this one so... strap in.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: NSFW, erectile dysfunction, crying, passing out, smoking, oral sex, shotgun kissing (both the pussy and the mouth), mention of bee mating rituals/bee death, hand job, blow job, premature ejaculation, Holland having hyperspermia as usual, kind of established relationship, general wet cat pathetic energy

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‘Mmh- I uh- I’ll be right back,’ Holland mumbled against your kiss-swollen lips, ‘wait there- don’t move-’

His body clumsily moved off the bed until he was stood, stooped over you with lips still attached to yours until you dropped back onto the bed and finally freed him.

‘Don’t be too long, sexy,’ you winked at him as he slinked off toward his adjoining bathroom, and he huffed a faux coy laugh.

What the fuck did he need to go to the bathroom for at this late stage? Maybe it’s where he keeps the condoms, you thought, relaxing against his luxuriously soft pillows. Makes sense, he probably hasn’t used one for a while, what would be the use of keeping them by the bed?

Meanwhile, Holland let out a long, steadying exhale. You hadn’t noticed. Jesus. How he’d got this far without you trying to grope him and realising what was going on (or not going on), he’d no idea, but he’d managed to distract you long enough by pressing his thigh between your legs while kissing you sloppily and needily, and you seemed to drink it up, moaning into his mouth and writhing against him.

Hell, he could feel your heat through his trousers and wondered with a smirk whether he’d need to get this suit dry cleaned and make up an excuse about the mysterious wet patch just above the knee.

Your fingers in his hair were sending shivers down his spine, and heat was pooling in his lower belly, and you kept breathing his name, and it was all so incredibly fucking hot, but for reasons he didn’t want to acknowledge, his dick just wouldn’t respond.

He slipped into the bathroom and clicked the door shut behind him, collapsing against it and closing his eyes. He didn’t bother to switch on the light; he could feel the room spinning, he didn’t need to see it too.

His hand slid down over his flaccid cock, and for a moment, he thought, Pathetic, but then he tried to focus his thoughts back to you. Back to the way your body felt pressed against his, the way you uttered his name like a desperate, horny prayer, how good you’d feel when he finally managed to get it up and bury himself inside you.

He palmed himself over his trousers halfheartedly, knowing deep down it was a lost cause, and with his voice lower than a whisper, he uttered a shaky, ‘March, March, he’s our man! If he can’t do it, no one can. Maaaarch!’

Not even a twitch.

He slid down to the floor and sobbed, banging his head back against the door, and the darkened room turned suddenly darker.

Until the morning, when he found you asleep on the bed, clutching his pillow in lieu of the man himself.

****

‘Wanna taste you-’ Holland slurred against your throat. He wished he could smell you, smell the perfume he could taste, bitter against his tongue, but at least he could bury his face between your thighs and intoxicate himself in you that way.

There was also the small problem of his cock not playing ball again, despite tearing your clothes off, his hands exploring every inch of you, despite you telling him you needed him in that sultry, seductive voice that drove him wild.

He wasn’t going to leave you dissatisfied and alone again, no matter how far gone he was. Not this time. Come on, March.

He felt you nod, heard the desperation in your whine of agreement, and slipped lower, realising as he gripped your thighs to spread them apart that he still had an unlit cigarette propped between his fingers from when you’d kissed him while trying to light said cigarette. Who could blame you for getting distracted by those gorgeous, sparklingly sad eyes and pressing your lips to his instead?

‘Oh shit- give me a second-’ he mumbled, more to himself than to you, but as he moved to drop the cigarette, you grabbed and held his hands firmly against your thighs to stop him moving it away. When he looked up at you, questioning, you reached for the lighter on the nightstand and lit it for him.

‘Carry on,’ you smirked.

Holland swallowed hard. That was the hottest thing you’d ever done. Well, the second hottest, besides actually letting him eat you out whilst smoking, which was about to take first place.

‘Jesus…’

He took a long drag, partly a need, since he hadn’t smoked in a hot fifteen minutes, partly a show for you. He relished in the way you bit your lip as you watched his eyes sliding shut at the brief satisfaction at the nicotine hit. He exhaled slowly too, relishing in it as though it were giving him the pleasure he should be feeling from you.

Fuck. He shouldn't be focusing on that right now. He dragged a soft fingertip through your slick folds and felt you shudder. Taking another drag, he exhaled right at the moment he dove down to wrap his lips around your swollen clit, smoke spreading a tingling warmth around your exposed core.

Somewhere between lapping at your folds and devouring your clit, Holland realised he’d neglected his cigarette and the consequences could be… fuck, stop thinking- just-

Feeling your thighs clench around him, he half-reluctantly pulled back for another drag, and to flick some loose ash into the ashtray by the bed, and you whined in protest, already so close you could feel your bundle of nerves throbbing in the absence of his tongue. Holland sure worked fast, but he was easily distracted, too, and you couldn’t even blame him for this since this was technically your idea.

This time, as he exhaled, his tongue dipped inside, the smoke hot against your cooling slick as it swirled back out of your entrance and up around your folds, and, admiring the combination for moment, Holland licked a stripe right up to your clit to start right back where he’d left off.

He carefully slid a finger inside this time, too, surprisingly delicate in his movements as he beckoned, stroking that spot inside you that made your toes curl so precisely as his mouth took care of the rest.

Jesus, he sure knows his way around down there-

‘Fuck- f-fuck- Holland-!’

Your climax was so close you could practically taste it, and so could he, but there was the small complication of his cigarette still burning by your thigh.

Hips rolling to rut against his tongue as he lapped eagerly, fingerfucking you with enthusiastic vigour, your back arched off the bed and your fingers found their way into his messy sun-kissed hair, and just as your breath turned ragged, he pulled away again for another nicotine hit.

Not only did he leave you exposed to the cold air without his mouth covering you, but his finger apparently couldn’t continue to fuck into you while he was focussing on the cigarette, either. He’d never been great at multitasking and obviously the Camel was just too delicious to try. Fucking hell.

‘Tease,’ you groaned weakly, and Holland, sobering slightly (only very slightly, and very, very briefly) finally realised what this was doing to you and shoved the end of the cigarette into the ashtray, diving back down to finish the job properly, almost choking on the combination of smoke and pussy in the process. God, it tasted incredible together and he was so into it that it took no time at all for you to get that simmering feeling right back.

He felt your orgasm approach, and then shake through your body, felt you turn limp after the high subsided, and carried on for a while, softer and slower, until your thighs were clamping around his head again with oversensitivity and he ate you like a man possessed once again.

Just as your second orgasm approached, Holland seemed to slow, so you jerked your hips to spur him on, but suddenly he felt heavier too, and when you called his name in frustration, he didn’t answer.

You guessed he’d finally passed out, and propped yourself up on your elbows. You inadvertently slid your folds over his handsome nose as you manoeuvred, gasping at the sensation which, although subtle, tipped you over the edge. Your breath caught and your blood boiled and every fibre of you trembled with pleasure you hadn’t expected.

His finger, although still, was still firmly thrust inside you and your walls clenched hard around it as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from yelling out and waking him.

Jesus… I’m gonna have to ride that nose for real, you mused when your thoughts turned coherent again, and then you began the process of sliding out from beneath him and dragging his messy, half-dressed form further up the bed and onto his pillow for some rest.

You cleaned yourself up before sinking into bed beside him to sleep, but you left his moustache soaked with your essence. You knew it would drive him wild in the morning, and maybe it would be the push he needed to finally chase his own pleasure.

****

It wasn’t.

He woke to you suckling at his neck, your arm thrown around his waist from behind, fingers toying with the waistband of his trousers.

His head was pounding when he woke, and with just one eye half open, he turned into you, a big dumb smile pulling at his lips.

His lips felt dry so without even thinking he licked them, tasting you immediately and groaning.

‘You taste incredible, you know that?’ he croaked, your fingers now working on the button of his fly.

Holland had absolutely no recollection of how last night ended. He could taste you, sure, but he barely remembered how he’d ended up in bed with you this time. He was a detective after all, though, and what kind of lousy detective would wake up with their lover wrapped around them, fingers teasing at their belly, their taste fresh on his lips, and not put together that he must have spent some time downtown?

And you did taste delicious. Fuck, he really wished he could smell you.

He wanted you. He needed you. Since the moment you’d laid eyes on one another. And right now, he was so thankful to wake up with you already trying to satisfy him despite what a mess he probably looked. And yet, as usual, he couldn’t perform.

‘Wait-’ he breathed, hand flying down to wrap around your wrist and gently ease you out of his trousers before you actually felt how soft he was.

‘What’s wrong, baby?’

Holland’s eyes snapped shut, his hand dropping yours to press his fingers into his eyelids instead.

He knew this would be it.

‘I- I can’t-’ he tried, gesturing vaguely to his cock. ‘It’s not your fault. I just- I can’t-’

He cut himself off with a dramatic, choked out sob, and scrambled for a cigarette on the nightstand. There was only an empty packet and he dropped himself back onto the bed, whimpering, shoulders shaking as tears began to roll down his cheeks.

‘Fuck! I’m pathetic, I’m-’

He felt the mattress bounce as you moved away and whimpered, knowing he’d likely never see you again.

He did, though. A split second later when you sat cross legged beside him and popped a cigarette between his lips, offering a light, which he gratefully accepted.

The first inhale relaxed him more than he could comprehend, and he shuffled up to sit against the headboard, trying to steady his breathing.

‘Thank you,’ he said huskily. He meant it as gratitude for not leaving, but you handing him a cigarette masked thay enough for him not to feel more pathetic than he already did.

You placed a hand on his thigh. It wasn’t suggestive of anything other than comfort, and he appreciated that.

‘Take your time, ok?’

His brow furrowed, but he nodded anyway. Why would you wait for him?

‘Besides, when you eat me out like that, I’m hardly in a rush,’ you smiled, playfully.

Holland managed a small smile at that too.

‘That’s the March Magic,’ he muttered.

‘Oh, so that’s what you call it?’

‘Call what?’

‘Shotgun kissing my-’ you pointed between your legs.

‘I did what?!’

‘You don’t remember? Jesus. It was good, anyway. You’re good, March. And I’m sure when you’re ready, your cock will be just as delicious.’

He turned weak at your choice of words, turning temporarily dizzy as you absentmindedly licked your lips.

‘Wanna kiss me? Just kissing. Nothing else this time, ok?’

He whined and nodded again, leaning forward to enjoy the most tender kiss he could remember since- well. For a while.

You could taste yourself on him, but not for long as your mouth filled with his second hand smoke and you choked a little. You kept your lips pressed to his, though, tongues sliding together sweetly, with no expectations beyond this simple affection.

You felt your own cheeks grow damp and knew he was crying again. But you didn’t stop. He needed this, you realised, and you were more than willing to give him whatever he needed right now.

‘March,’ you whispered when you eventually pulled back for breath.

‘Mmh?’

‘How about you get yourself cleaned up while I run out to grab us some lunch? I can run you a bath?’

‘Yeah,’ he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Yeah that would be really fucking good actually.’

****

‘That one’s a keeper.’

‘Huh?’ March was trying to get to sleep, but his mind was whirring with thoughts of how you’d cared for him today.

How you’d washed his hair after he sunk into the warm water, covered by bubbles, laid him some fresh clothes out for him, shared a nice lunch together, and spent the afternoon watching a movie and laughing and kissing.

He hadn’t thought about his little problem all night, and you were to thank for that.

He was pretty sure he was falling in love actually, and his thoughts were so occupied with the joy and despair that came along with that old, familiar feeling reigniting inside him, that he couldn’t fall asleep. The fact that he’d barely drank a thing today probably contributed to that too.

Maybe he should-

‘Don’t even think about it.’

That voice again. Who the fuck-

Holland turned, frowning to find his old pal, Bumble wedged right between you and him, hogging the covers.

‘Bumble. What do you want?’

Bumble took a long drag of his cigarette.

‘Listen, I’m telling you — that one’s a keeper.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I’ve been stuck on. You really think so?’

‘You can’t even fuck and you’ve got room service and cigarettes being lit for you and kisses on tap. Yeah I think so.’

‘That’s not why I lov- I mean-’

Bumble chuckled. Holland frowned.

‘You worked the March Magic, huh?’

‘How do you know about- what? No. I mean. I- yeah but that’s not-’

‘Look, March, when killer bees fuck, the bee with the dick usually dies. You get to cum and live to tell the tale! You’ll be fine. You just gotta relax.’

Holland felt hazy. This was almost too much information to take in. But he remembered the relaxing part. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. Just take it easy. Your dick’ll be hard in no time. Night.’

‘Night, Bumble. Thanks for the pep talk.’

Holland yawned, and Bumble was gone.

****

Holland shifted in the warmth of the morning light. Something was off.

He stretched his legs and rolled onto his back to look at you, see if you were awake yet, see if he could figure out why he felt kind of… weird.

You were sleeping soundly beside him, your arm still draped over his middle beneath the sheets. Nothing unusual there, over the last couple of months you’d come to stay over with him more nights than not when he wasn’t working a case, and even then he’d sometimes find you in his bed when he returned home, and thanks to this he’d actually slept in his bed instead of finding a spot somewhere he felt safe. You’d made bed safe. You’d made him feel safe.

He smiled at the thought, and tried to shift his focus onto this feeling he was trying to place. It must be early – he’d not woken up before 10am for as long as he could remember and the clock on the dresser said 08:07.

He propped himself up to take a look around the room and actually screamed when he saw the huge tent formed in the sheets between his legs.

Jaw dropping, Holland fell back onto his pillow, muttering wildly, ‘Am I dreaming? Jesus, am I actually hard? Is this real?!’

He poised his thumb and forefinger over his other forearm and laughed, loudly and heartily, pinching his arm so hard he hurt himself and let out a little yelp mid giggle. It was real! He was awake, and he was hard.

Head spinning, Holland called your name in an excited whisper at first, turning himself to lay face to face with you and careful not to accidentally prod you with his raging hard on. What a nice problem to have to worry about! He let out a little, ‘Ha!’ at the thought.

He called your name again, louder this time, gently gripping your shoulder in sheer excitement. He hadn’t even considered yet that you’d want to actually do anything with his boner. He was just so thrilled that his dick still worked, he wanted to share it with the whole world. There was even a fleeting moment that he considered calling Healy, but he shook the thought from his head and tried to focus.

When your eyes blinked open, although taken aback that he was awake before you, you automatically smiled at his gleeful face and leant forward to kiss him, but in the buzz of excitement, he completely missed his cue and rolled away to demonstrate the tent in the sheets once again.

‘Look! It works! Ha! It really works!’

‘Jesus…’ you breathed, propping yourself up to get a good look at the size of him. ‘Holland… that’s so great, baby, I knew you could do it!’

‘It’s all thanks to Bumble!’ he smiled like an idiot. You didn’t ask.

Giddy, you sang out his little mantra; ‘March, March, he’s our man! If he can’t do it no one can! Maaaarch-mmh!’

His lips joined with yours then, cutting you off until he pulled back to get another look at the magnificent sight of his dick in full working order.

‘Holland…’ you started, and he hummed in your direction. ‘May I… touch you?’

All of the breath seemed to exit his body like a juice box being crushed underfoot. He wheezed out a, ‘Yes- please!’ followed by a slightly more coherent, ‘Touch- lick- anything. Go nuts!’

You slipped your hand back to his stomach, gradually pushing lower until you reached the waistband of his pyjamas (another new development; he wasn’t sleeping in his suits nearly as much these days).

‘Holland, are you sure you’re ready?’

‘I’ve been ready for months,’ he sighed, ‘it’s just a shame my schwanz has taken this long to catch up. Listen, I-’

‘It’s alright,’ you stopped him, feeling his body tense up, knowing where his thoughts were going. ‘I know it might be… quick. I don’t mind. Actually it’s kind of hot…’

Holland relaxed. Jesus, why did you have to be so understanding – and in such a sexy way? It was jarring. It felt nice. It made him fall for you all the more, and knew then that Bumble had been right about you. Holland had no intention of losing you.

Your fingers ghosted over his tip, and your palm slid down to feel out the length of him before you wrapped your fingers carefully around the base and pumped slowly. You planned to learn his body like he was learning yours, to memorise every response your touch elicited, know every trick in the book to drive him wild.

You glanced up from the hypnotising view of your hand stroking him beneath the sheets to see his face already slack with pleasure, mouth agape and eyes shut in bliss. Jesus, he was receptive. Delicious.

You moved your hand up to swipe your thumb over the tip, and discovered that not only did it cause his hips to buck, but there was already a thick bead of precum waiting for you there.

He was moaning almost nonstop at this point. Your fist moved faster and Holland began to writhe. Actually writhe beneath you – legs trembling, toes curling, didn’t have a clue what to do with his limbs, or his hands; other than try and grasp at the bedding.

‘Jesus! F-fuck! Oh!’ he cried, loud and desperate, and you were so tempted to bring him off like this, to pump him furiously until he stained the sheets, but equally you craved more.

You wouldn’t ever say this to him, but the thought wouldn’t leave you alone; what if he couldn’t get it up again for a good couple of months and you’d passed up the chance to taste him when it was given so beautifully to you? No. You had to grasp this opportunity with both hands. Or, as the case may be, with one hand and your mouth.

Keeping your movements steady, you shuffled down, pushing the covers lower, too, and got your first proper look at his hard cock. It was quite the sight; as long and thick as it felt, handsome, steadily leaking – fit to burst actually.

You wasted no more time, carefully kissing his tip first, slowing your hand a little to test the waters without overwhelming him, and he whimpered so prettily you almost lost composure.

As your lips wrapped around his tip and you sank down lower, sucking, swirling your tongue, keeping your hand pumping fast where he wouldn’t fit, you suddenly felt bitter heat coating your tongue.

Not just coating your tongue, filling your mouth. You did your best to keep going, to suck and lap and massage him through his peak, but it wasn’t just his drawn out screech of pleasure that was distracting you, it was the amount of cum he was still spilling all the while. Despite swallowing down what you could of the never ending hot rope, choking a little on the sheer volume, it still dribbled out past your lips, dripping onto his legs and stomach and the surrounding sheets that he was balling into tight fists.

When you emerged from the mess to crawl up over him and check he was doing ok, you were faced with the most blissed out, fucked out, sated, dumb smile you’d ever seen on his handsome face. He’s never looked more peaceful, and, as much as your core was throbbing after what you’d just done, you wanted more than anything to let him rest.

So you did. You settled on his chest, not caring about the stickiness drying between your flush bodies or around your lips, and listened to his heart, steady in his chest.

‘Fuck,’ he whispered after a long pause. ‘That was- fuck…’

You smiled to yourself, sure that after so long, anything he could get would have felt incredible, but you still took a little pride in the fact that you were the one to experience it with him.

‘You want me to make breakfast?’ you offered gently.

‘I want you to be my breakfast, does that count?’ he smirked.

‘No, Holland, I just want you to enjoy the moment. Don’t worry about me.’

‘Oh, I’m not worried.’

Holland shifted beneath you and you felt the beginnings of another erection stiffening his cock.

Your eyes widened as his opened, and your gazes locked.

‘You fixed it.’

‘Holland, please,’ you laughed. ‘I did not fix your dick.’

‘Of course you did, it’s the only explanation! Anyway, look, do you want to fix its current problem?’ His hips thrust upwards to nudge his now rock hard cock against your thigh to make sure you felt it.

‘Holland, if you’re not fucking me the March way within the next minute, I’m out of here.’

He laughed again and it occurred to you that you’d never spoken to him this early, or heard him laugh so much in a morning.

‘The March way?’ he raised an amused eyebrow at you.

‘Yeah.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I’m hoping you’re about to show me.’

And show you, he most certainly did.

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avanatural · 1 year

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That Simple

Part 7

Series summary: Beau goes to Y/N, a new friend of his, for some dating advice. Is the charming new Sheriff gonna get the date that he’s hoping for?

Pairing: Beau Arlen x female Reader

Category: Fluff, slight angst, implied smut

Word count: 3.4k

Chapter warnings: Mentions of sex, arguing

A/N: Welcome to part 7! Join Y/N on her exciting journey as she gets to know more people from Beau’s daily life. I hope you enjoy! Wanna be added to my Beau tag list? Send me an ask ❤️

Part 6 | Series Masterlist | Beau Arlen Masterlist | Part 8

Main Masterlist

Warm hands met cold sheets. Green eyes pulled themselves open, tired sparkling irises coming to life. His face twisted, brows and lips turning downward upon realizing he was alone.

His legs swung themselves over the bed, the soles of his feet meeting the cool linoleum floor. Beau sat at the edge of the mattress, smiling sleepily to himself as he recalled the previous night. The sex had been amazing. Intimate. Hot. So incredible that he was itching to repeat it.

Too bad he had to be at work in less than an hour.

He pushed himself off of the bed and pulled on his boxers. His naked feet pattered across the floor, guided by the delicious smell of breakfast.

Beau found his girlfriend in the kitchen, standing in front of the cooktop, wearing her little sleep shorts. She was moving her hips to the upbeat tunes that came from the radio. His eyes softened at the sight of her, melting into two puddles of green.

With footsteps light as a feather, he snuck up on her, tongue captured between his teeth. When he was close enough, he surged forward and locked her up in a caging embrace, tugging her back against his body.

She squeaked in surprise, her hands flying up on instinct to touch his arms. Her tensed-up torso relaxed as soon as his deep chuckles rumbled through her ears.

“Beau!”, she scolded, tossing her head back against his bare shoulder, “One of these days, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

His upper arm was draped across her chest, and sure enough, he could feel her heart race against his skin. “Sorry, darlin’,” he apologized with a scruffy kiss to her temple, “Couldn’t resist.”

“I was gonna make your favorite,” she teased, and he peeked over her head, spotting some crispy bacon in a frying pan. “But you’re being really bad this morning, so…”

“Aw, come on. I promise I’ll make up for it.” He squeezed her against his front, grinning into her shampoo-scented hair. Beau loved hugging her. Whenever he had Y/N in his embrace, he felt like she was never going to leave him. Like she was a constant in his life. A constant other than a bad conscience, a recurring nightmare, or a dysfunctional coping mechanism.

“Oh, yeah?” Y/N turned her head, her Y/E/C orbs smiling at him.

“Absolutely. I’ll make it up to you real good,” he spoke in hushed tones, lips swirling flirtatiously, “If…”

The line of hair above her right eye arched, amused. “Oh, there’s a condition?”

“You gotta get outta my grip,” he breathed, linking the tip of his nose with hers.

“Beau…,” she whined, disconnecting their noses, her head once again meeting his shoulder. “It’s, like, seven in the morning. I can’t remember-“

“’Course you can.” His gravelly voice shot electric bolts through her body, causing her insides to quiver and long for him. “Think back. Rule number one?”, he spoke right into her ear.

Y/N hummed when she thought back to their date at the gym, where he’d taught her the basics of sparring. It had been a damn good date. Fun and practical. It would have been perfect if she hadn’t accidentally hit Beau in the face, which she still felt bad about. “Trust your instincts,” she repeated his number one rule.

He clenched his arms around her, pressing her against his puffed-out chest. “There ya go. Do your thing. You know how.”

“Who says I wanna get away from my attacker, huh?”, she quipped, her lips curving happily as she caressed his freckled forearms with her thumbs. “I’m kind of enjoying this.”

The low, hearty beat of his laugh traveled through her eardrums. “Come on, beautiful. Humor me.”

Y/N complied, taking a breath, then taking action. She tightened her grip on his arms and abruptly bent her knees, dropping her weight, catching him off-balance. She then took a side-step and used the gained space to elbow his abdomen as gently as possible.

“Agh!” Beau removed his arms from around her and pretended to double over in pain. “Please, don’t hurt me, Miss! I surrender!”, he pleaded, stretching his hands into feigned signs of defense.

Y/N was full-on laughing at this point, one palm draped across her stomach, eyes twinkling at the Sheriff’s goofiness.

He slowly straightened his back, lips pulled back to reveal his shiny teeth, pupils dilated. There was no better feeling in the world than making Y/N laugh. The pads of his fingers reached out to gently brush some hair behind her ear. “See? You’re a natural.”

“Now that I freed myself…,” she trailed off, sliding her hand from his collar bone down to the patch of skin covering his golden heart. Her eyebrows curved into two suggestive arcs. “Guess you gotta make that jump scare up to me.”

Beau bowed his head. “At your service, m’lady.” He proceeded to snatch the apron from the hook on the tiled wall. Ready to take over breakfast duty, he planted his bowlegs in front of the stove.

“You know…” Y/N came up behind him, pressing a scorching kiss to his muscled back. “As much as I’d like to see you try on that apron…” Her voice dropped, dripping with want when she continued, “I think I have a better idea.”

Beau’s head tilted, bright green eyes bouncing over his shoulder, yearning to look at her. A hot spark dashed through his body, urging him to explore her suggestion. “That sounds tempting, sweetheart. But we don’t have much time left if we wanna have a proper breakfast,” he resisted weakly, barely holding on by a thread.

“Then let’s see who can finish the other off faster,” she flirted against his skin, batting her lashes at him, her mouth darting across the heated flesh of his shoulder blade.

The small hairs on the back of his neck stood up. A tingling sensation ran down his spine. The thread he was hanging on ripped, leaving him to stumble into a pit of carnal urges. Absentmindedly, he turned off the cooktop. “I like your way of thinking.”

“Come on, then,” Y/N murmured a siren’s song into his ear, taking his hand in hers, making him spin around on his bare feet.

A lopsided, dimpled smirk took over his mouth. “You’re goin’ down.”

“Damn right, I am,” she retorted with a wink, taking a step back, beckoning him to follow.

Beau was close to choking on air. She was so hot, luring him in, moving her pointer finger in a come-hither motion.

Once he recovered from the short circuit in his head, he charged, making her jump. She sprinted out of his grasp, giggling as he chased her to the bedroom for their love competition.

“Oh, hey, Y/N!” Poppernak kindly nodded his head as she stepped into the Sheriff’s Office.

Her ruby mouth curled upward as her hand adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Hey, Mo.”

“Did the Sheriff forget something again?”

“Yup. His most prized possession.” Y/N held up Beau’s phone, wriggling it in her hand for emphasis.

The deputy started laughing, shaking his head. “You know, my mom always says that love makes silly. I’m sure Beau would forget his own head at your place if it wasn’t screwed on.”

She chuckled along, her cheeks flushing with a pleasant warmth. Beau wasn’t the only one affected by their love. Y/N herself felt clumsier and more forgetful than ever. Her charming boyfriend occupied her mind non-stop, turning her into a love-sick fool. And she enjoyed every second of it.

At the other end of the Sheriff’s Office, Beau was in the midst of talking to Jenny and Cassie about the missing backpacker case. When he spotted his girl with Poppernak, he arched his neck to get a better look, prompting his colleagues to glance in Y/N’s direction as well.

“Oh my God, I think it’s her,” Jenny mumbled to Cassie, her hands disappearing in the pockets of her blue leather jacket.

“You think?”, Cassie asked, arching her neck, just like the Sheriff.

“Can’t you see the look on Beau’s face?”, Jenny chuckled mischievously.

Beau lowered his head, meeting Hoyt’s gleaming blue eyes with narrowed green ones. When he turned to watch his girlfriend again, she was squeezing Poppernak’s arm and wishing him a nice day.

With a little bounce in her step, Y/N then approached her boyfriend, who was already staring back at her, his chin lifted with an unspoken greeting. “Hi,” she said.

Beau was glad to see her, he always was, but his expression was masked by concern over Cassie’s case. “Hey, darlin’.” He let his arm slither around her waist and introduced her to his colleagues. “This is Y/N.”

With a smile, Y/N extended her hand to Cassie. “Hi.”

“Hey. I’m Cassie. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” Y/N then moved on to Jenny, eagerly shaking her hand. “Hi. Y/N.”

“Jenny. So, you’re Beau’s girlfriend?”

Y/N gazed at her partner, her heart going wild in her chest. She’d heard so much about his colleagues, and now she was getting to know them in person. “Yes,” she responded, beaming at Beau.

He smiled back at her, but she caught on to the fact that something wasn’t right. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. She examined his facial expression, trying to figure him out, while he contemplated telling her what was haunting his mind.

Jenny cleared her throat, snapping the couple out of their trance. “You, uh… You work at the hair salon down the street, don’t you?”, she asked Beau’s partner.

“Uh, I own it, actually,” Y/N explained. Looking back and forth between Jenny, Cassie, and Beau, she sensed that she was interrupting something. She decided to make her intentions known and held up her boyfriend’s cell. “You forgot your phone.”

“Ah, perfect, thank you.” Beau took it from her hand, their fingers bumping into each other. “Saved me some time.”

Y/N peeked up at Beau from between her lashes, catching his gaze with her inquisitive eyes. She wanted nothing more than to ask if he was alright. But he was a busy man, and the clock was constantly ticking away his time. “Talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, squeezing her waist before letting go, “Thanks for stoppin’ by.”

Y/N said her goodbyes, took another worried peek at the Sheriff and walked away.

Beau stared after her, his boot-wrapped feet shifting on the ground, almost making a move to follow her.

As she got to the door, she turned back around and winked at her partner.

He reciprocated the sentiment, a smile flickering across his plump lips like a wistful hologram. And his colleagues didn’t miss it.

“They had sex,” Cassie whispered to Jenny.

“They most definitely had sex,” the blonde agreed.

“Oh, zip it,” Beau grumped, willing his expression to turn stern, but his eyes held a glimmer that the two had never seen before.

“So…,” Jenny dragged out the word, holding out her hand to Cassie.

With a sigh, Cassie pulled a 20-dollar bill from her pocket and slapped it into Jenny’s hand.

Beau’s forehead puckered. “What the-“

Jenny waggled her eyebrows. “I was right about your girlfriend.”

“Whoa, hold on…” The tall Texan lifted a finger and pointed it back and forth between the two women. “You- You made a bet on who my girlfriend is?”

“We made a bet on who can guess your type,” Cassie clarified. With her face scrunched up and her teeth bared apologetically, she added, “Sorry.”

“I can’t with you two,” Beau huffed, shaking his head. For a few seconds, he simply stared at the door that his girl had just walked through. “You know what, I think I’m gonna…” He clicked his tongue and pointed his thumb at the entrance.

“Go after Y/N?”, Cassie suggested, “Tell her what’s going on?”

Beau hesitated for a moment, then tossed his cautions overboard. “Yeah.” Y/N was part of his life now. She deserved to know if there was something troubling him. After all, she needed to know what she was getting herself into, dating the Sheriff. His work tended to take a toll on his personal life. He only hoped she wasn’t going to get tired of it.

“Y/N! Wait.”

The sound of his voice prompted her feet to stop hitting the ground. She broke into a smile when she saw Beau jogging up to her. “Hey.”

“Can I…” He breathed heavily and brushed back the dark blonde strands of hair that were scattered across his forehead. “Just walk with you for a bit?”

“Yeah. Of course.” The two of them strolled along the sidewalk, their hands gravitating toward each other, winding around each other naturally. A few moments of silence passed between the couple before Y/N took the initiative. “Are you okay?”, she asked, her voice sprinkled with concern, “You seemed a little… Out of it back there.”

“Uh... Listen, sweetheart.” Beau tugged on her hand, making her cease her steps. “Thing is… There’s this ongoing investigation... And I just… I don’t wanna put any weight on your shoulders.”

Her gaze darted back and forth between his breathtaking eyes. “Tough case?”

His free hand scratched his beard. “Yeah. It’s nothin’ too out of the ordinary, so far, but-“

“But what?”, she pressed. When he didn’t say anything, a nauseous feeling spread in her gut. He wasn’t one to beat around the bush, so his silence sent her nerves reeling. “Beau… What about the case?”

The sounds of heels clicking harshly against the pavement interrupted the two. Before Y/N had a chance to squeeze more information out of her partner, a dark-haired woman addressed him.

“Beau.”

As soon as he recognized the newly-arrived woman, his entire face fell. “Uh…” He cleared his throat, his hand seeking out his girlfriend’s back. Whether he was trying to be her support or seek support in her, he didn’t quite know. “Y/N, this is… Carla. My ex-wife.”

“Oh!”, Y/N exclaimed, mouth parting in the shape of a perfect ‘o’. Her heart felt like it was being catapulted up to her throat. She didn’t know if she was ready to meet his ex just yet. “Uh, hi. I’m Y/N,” she introduced herself, sticking out her hand.

Carla gave her hand a firm shake, catching the view of Beau’s palm on Y/N’s lower back. “You must be the new girl.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. Yup, definitely not ready to meet the ex.

“Yes, Y/N is my new partner,” the Sheriff stated. His jaw cramped with a speck of annoyance. “Aren’t you supposed to be out there glamping with Emily?”, he continued, concern mixing with the gruffness in his voice.

“I’m heading up to meet Em tomorrow. I had an emergency at work,” his ex-wife spoke, “And… I need to talk to you about that missing backpacker. Now.”

Y/N glanced at Beau, horizontal lines appearing on her forehead. She had no idea what Carla was talking about.

“Can we… not… do what we usually do?”, Beau asked his ex-partner with caution, raising his hand like a white flag, hoping to silently communicate that he didn’t want to argue in front of his new love. He didn’t want to make a bad impression on Y/N with his shattered marriage.

“I’m not doing anything! Ugh, you’re so sensitive,” Carla mocked him, chuckling. Turning to Y/N, she went on, “He’s a big ol’ man baby, isn’t he?”

“Excuse me?”, Y/N blurted before she could even think about it, her eyes narrowing into two unamused slits.

“Relax,” Carla retorted, her lips curling downward, “I’m joking.”

“What do you wanna talk about, exactly?”, Beau inquired, dragging his ex-wife’s attention back to him. He didn’t want Y/N to get caught in his and Carla’s poisonous web. “Everything okay with Em?”

“Straight to the point,” his ex praised him with a bitter smile, “Looks like you’re improving those communication skills.”

His facial expression froze, a huff leaving his lips, momentarily at a loss for words.

“He doesn’t need improvement,” Y/N chimed in, once again unable to stop herself. She usually had a steel grip on herself, but her protective alarm went to new heights with how Carla was treating her partner.

Beau’s hand caressed circles into his girlfriend’s back, trying to keep her calm. “You sent our daughter up there with…” He made a gesture with his free hand, tossing it in the air and letting it fall back down.

“Avery,” Carla reminded him.

“With that guy without asking me.”

“And you set Em up to meet a stranger without asking me,” his ex-wife shot back, indirectly addressing Beau’s new partner.

“Oo-kay,” Y/N mumbled, rubbing her sweaty palms together and taking a step back. “I’m gonna let you two talk this out without me.”

“Y/N…,” Beau started, his stomach turning in the most uncomfortable way possible, but she gave him a fleeting smile.

“It’s fine. I’ll wait,” Y/N whispered to him and walked away from the arguing ex-partners, her long skirt flowing violently around her legs. With a racing mind, she rounded the corner and sat down on a nearby bench. She didn’t want to be at odds with Beau’s ex-wife. She wanted everyone to get along, especially for Emily’s sake.

Y/N’s fingers fidgeted the entire time she waited for Beau, which felt like forever. She felt like the world around her was being paused, leaving her with an eternity to mentally replay what just happened. In reality, she only waited a few torturous minutes.

Until a to-go cup filled with her favorite hot beverage entered her line of vision, urging her to look up. She was met with Beau’s gorgeous frown and stood up from the bench. He extended the cup, his precautionary olive branch.

“You didn’t have to,” Y/N spoke, a small smile fracturing her scowl as she took the hot drink from him.

“I’m sorry. About- About that.” He pointed his hand in the direction of the argument he’d left behind. “Carla and I, we’re… Not the best at communicating.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” One close look at the bashful glower on his face, and she added, “Or anything to be embarrassed about. You hear me?”

He responded with a shaky smile, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I just… God, I hated how she attacked you,” Y/N uttered.

Beau’s thumbs hooked into his belt as he pushed a snickering sound from his chest. “You went all protective on little ol’ me. Showed your claws. It was actually kinda hot.”

She rubbed the back of her neck with her palm. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. Come ‘ere.” His big palms grasped her hips, the crow’s feet around his eyes deepening when she stepped into his embrace, mindful of the cup in her hand. His warm, loving lips met hers for a kiss. When they broke apart, he pressed his forehead to Y/N’s. “Thanks for havin’ my back. I know it’s not easy, bein’ with me.”

She nuzzled his nose with her own. “Don’t say that. I love you. And I love being with you.” The soft cushions of her lips met his mouth once more. She then pulled away from his alluring presence far enough to study his facial expression. “What’s going on?”

His upper body moved up and down with a sigh while his troubled eyes became clouded. “Cassie’s working on a case involving a missing backpacker. He… He got lost in the same area that Emily’s camping at.”

“Oh my God. Is she gonna be safe up there?”, Y/N asked, realizing why Beau was upset about the case.

His upper lip twitched like it always did when he was concerned. “I’ll make sure she is. I’m hiking up there with Cassie. I wouldn’t trust Avery as far as I could throw him, so I wanna get a look at the situation with my own two eyes. But that means I gotta cancel-“

“Our lunch date,” Y/N finished, “That’s alright. You need to check on your daughter.” In a gesture of reassurance, she ran her hand up and down his arm. “Just be careful up there, okay?”

“Always am.”

Against Y/N’s protests, Beau spared a few minutes to walk her to her salon, tightly holding her hand, stealing sips of her beverage along the way. His life felt like one big storm of chaos and broken relationships. At least with Y/N he didn’t have anything to worry about. She kept breaking through that wall he’d built around himself, brick by brick.

Part 8

Tag list: @spnwoman @waynes-multiverse @akshi8278 @aria725 @deansbbyx @mrsjenniferwinchester @waywardnerd67 @nt-multi-fandom @may85 @mimi-luvzyu @ginabaker1666 @daisythekitty @sarahgracej @jackharlows-world @maggiegirl17 @bellarkeselection @nerdyreaderpapi @lacilou @queensgirl718

#beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x y/n #beau arlen #beau arlen imagine #beau arlen fluff #big sky imagine #beau x reader #beau x you

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alovelyburn · 1 year

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Do you think the only thing that keeps Griffith and Guts so close together is their miscommunication? I read someone’s tags about them that basically were saying that if they worked pass their issues they would just find out they are completely incompatible and that’s why they never work as a pair in other AUs. I can’t stop thinking about it. Thoughts?

I'm pretty sure I saw that tag while I was bored browsing one day, and my reaction was the same then as it is now - what a weird take.

Okay we're going to address this in two parts - the fanfic/AU thing and the canon thing.

First up! Fanfic/fandom.

The claim that their apparent incompatibility is why they don't work out in AUs is already kind of odd - first of all what AUs are they reading? Because obviously they must mean fanfiction but if they don't think any Berserk fanfic ends with a happy ending for them they must not be reading a lot of Berserk fanfic? I mean I don't read a lot of fanfic and I've run into plenty of happy ending AUs.

But even more than that, speaking as someone who seemingly is incapable of writing a happy ending for them, I think any dearth of happy endings has more to do with the kind of person that tends to gravitate to G/G, really - or rather the tastes of said people - than it has to do with any like inherent incompatibility between their personalities. Because it's not exactly a happy/healthy relationship, so if you're drawn to it you probably enjoy bittersweet things or dysfunctional things or pain, so you might end up writing bittersweet painful dysfunction.

(Ima write a happy ending one day though I just have to locate an opportunity, lmao.)

Anyway that's the fanfic/fandom/au portion. Now let's talk canon.

I think the way Guts and Griffith's personalities interact, they can be incredibly good for each other or they can be incredibly destructive toward each other. I'll explain why I think that in a second, but basically it's just like, you're never going to get a middle of the road relationship dynamic with them.

So the explanation: they can be good for each other because the things one of them wants is always something the other is wholly capable of giving.

Griffith is plagued with self-doubt and thinks he's a terrible person. He's also incredibly guarded and emotionally locked up - he needs someone he can show himself to, good and bad, who won't turn away or think poorly of him because of the things he's done. Guts is absolutely a person who can do that - he doesn't think the things Griffith has been hating himself for are bad to begin with. He's a confidante, a co-conspirator, a cheerleader, and he sees Griffith's positive qualities in a way that Griffith himself struggles to do. Griffith also needs an outlet from the stress of his position, and no one else makes him laugh or relax the way Guts does. Guts also gets Griffith in touch with his own heart, which he spends a great time trying to suppress.

Guts is plagued with poor self-esteem and an inability to believe in his own worth. He has a hard time conforming himself to behavioral standards imposed by others due to his temper and his willfulness. Most of all he wants somewhere to belong, and for someone he admires and respects to respect and value him - he wants to be seen. And Griffith is absolutely the person who can do that - even before they know each other Griffith breaks his own rules to pursue Guts. Griffith provides a kind of structure to his life that he never was able to manage on his own - and still hasn't - but does so without being overbearing or controlling or taking him for granted. And Griffith, the person Guts admires more than anything or anyone, consistently demonstrates how much he values Guts not only as a soldier but as a person. He's also a package deal with the Hawks, Guts' only real family, and not only does Griffith see him, in a lot of ways Griffith can't see anything but him.

I mean that's just off the top of my head, but basically they are incredibly compatible - even the ways they're different are complementary - Griffith's mind strengthen's Guts' passion and vice versa. If they worked it out they really could do anything - secure a kingdom, sure. Leave it behind? Guts is the only one that Griffith could ever choose over his dream.

But there's also the other side of it - the way their fears reinforce and trigger one another when they make a misstep.

Take the actual canon sequence of events that destroyed everything for example:

Guts overhears Griffith saying some shit that didn't even apply to him to Charlotte, and because he has a hard time believing in his own value and worth, he immediately takes it to heart. He accepts the "fact" of his worthlessness as a given so immediately that he doesn't even bother to ask about it. Not Griffith, not Casca, no one. Instead he upends his entire life to try to address that thing that's bothering him. He doesn't tell Griffith he's leaving probably at least in part because he doesn't think it matters that much, but of course it does matter and that's where Guts' insecurity - the way he withdraws to protect himself - ends up triggering Griffith's self-hatred.

Now because of Griffith's self-loathing, he takes Guts' decision to leave via sneakout as a sign that Guts hates him and can't wait to get away from him. He accepts the "fact" of his repulsiveness as a given so immediately that he doesn't ask for an explanation or anything! He just goes into panic mode.

But because Guts is so insecure, he can't perceive Griffith's reaction as a personal issue and just takes it as a sign that he's still useful as a soldier and Griffith doesn't want to lose a tool. So it just makes him double down.

And his doubling down makes Griffith even more certain that Guts hates him because if he didn't why would he be so calm and sure about leaving?

Basically, once one of them is thrown off and takes an emotionally defensive step back, it triggers the other's insecurities which triggers the first one's insecurities and it just spirals into oblivion. Because if one of them starts the bad ball rolling, its very difficult for the other to be rational enough about it to slow the fall.

And so we can say they're perfectly capable of destroying each other, but we knew that because they do in canon.

But the thing is, it's a roll of the dice. Or more specifically, its a misplayed hand of cards or something, like they had everything they would have needed to win but they just made some missteps. And the reason they ended up making those missteps is... Destiny and Stuff.

But if you take the stringpulling deities out of the picture there's nothing that guarantees that they'd have to mess it up. There's no reason they couldn't turn out just fine.

It's a matter of trying to navigate those landmines long enough for the positive/supportive aspects of their dynamic to kind of wear those down a bit, really.

#ask #berserk #griffith x guts #ariel talks about berserk #anonymous

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fireinmywoods · 2 years

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having binged all of the Palimpsest series and scrolled through your blog for a while, I have happily adopted the worldview that Jim and Bones clocked each other as 'the one person balls to the walls nuts enough to keep up with me' and mutually decided 'This Is My Project,' so thank you for that

Congratulations on your new and exceptionally valid worldview! It's a perennially entertaining paradigm to operate in, if you ask me.

You know, at least in pverse, I feel like it took them both a minute to get to the This Is My Project stage, mostly because they were each too fucked up upon meeting to consider themselves capable of making a positive impact on anyone else. Arguably their starting point is something more along the lines of Wow, What A Mess. ...Well, I Guess I Probably Can't Fuck Him Up Any Worse. You know? Like, if someone hands me their pristine brand-new top-of-the-line phone without a case, I’m going to be on edge the entire time I’m holding it. But if it’s already got a cracked screen, a scratched-up case, maybe a mysterious bite mark or two - I mean, I’ve got questions, first of all, but that’s none of my business and the important thing is that short of throwing that bad boy into the sun my own careless handling ain’t gonna make a dent, so I can relax a little.

Jim is that phone when he walks onto that shuttle - just an Absolute Wreck of a human being. It is pure glorious serendipity that he ends up sitting next to a guy who is a completely different but equally intense flavor of Absolute Wreck, and even more incredible that those flavors happen to pair so naturally together. (Hey, you got your chocolate in my peanut butter abandonment issues in my caretaking fixation! Yeah, well, you got your anxiety and depression in my performative overconfidence and obsessive drive!)

They don’t know that last part right away, of course. But game recognizes game, and so each of them in their own way kind of shrugs into that initial stage of their relationship - like, yeah, what the hell, I guess there’s room for one more vagrant around the roaring trash barrel fire that is my existence. Set down your bindle of barely repressed trauma and make yourself comfortable.

Both Leonard and Jim are too blindered by self-hatred, at first, to have any aspirations of helping each other, let alone consider that they themselves might be helpable. It's only once they’ve started settling into their fixer-upper of a friendship - the cartoonishly ramshackle haunted house that is their combined dysfunction - that they start looking around and going, hmm...I mean, since I'm already here...

#ask #shaicarus #thank you for taking a chance on the garbage fire literary universe! may it continue to bring you enjoyment. 💛💙#otp: bedside manner #mccoy #kirk #mckirk #star trek #aos #fic related

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blondiexbiites · 5 months

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🌞 -Horst

Madison couldn't remember ever being so tired before; her body was leaden with exhaustion, while her mind seemed to float, disconnected from the physical world. Only the man she was snuggled with seemed real. Madison was vaguely aware of the care Horst was showing to her, of the incredible kindness and gentleness of his arms, but it was as if he were doing this to someone else. 'Why me? I've been nothing but trouble. Who in their right mind would cuddle a monster?'

She almost went to sleep there, curled up in an embrace with Horst, wrapped in his arms. Maybe she did doze for just a second. Perhaps he did, too, because other than the rise and fall of his chest, he didn’t move or attempt to push her away. Gradually, Madison surfaced from that almost-sleep. The ice storm continued its deadly accumulation outside, but she and Horst were safe inside, warm, protected, and free to feel and react. As her body absorbed the heat of his aura, she felt as if she, too, were melting in a puddle of comfortable goo until there was nothing left in the world but her body and his. Maddie’s thoughts drifted as relaxation spread through her bones. She missed home, she thought drowsily, always had: the smells, the large rooms, the old furniture her father was so fond of.

Her final moments of home had been rife with tension and dysfunction, but oddly enough, it was during the holidays when she felt most at ease, as if the garland and Christmas lights hid all that was wrong and ugly in her family. Strange how such a distant memory found its way to the surface in her relaxed state. Perhaps it was a vampire thing? Human memories were rarely regarded with fondness, and Madison had taken great pains to distance herself from the person that she used to be, but Horst, damn him, had found a way to dredge up nothing but good and pure things. Not that she minded. Horst had given her that, replaced horror with innocence, bad with good.

Purring, Madison moved her mouth, tasted the skin of his neck, and inhaled his scent. Her breathing changed; her body shifted, but not away from him. Madison moved closer, deeper in his arms, and nothing had ever felt so right. So perfect. So real.

“Tomorrow night,...I...I want you and I to go outside and admire the snow.” Madison was wonderfully warm, wonderfully lethargic, and speaking so much sentimental nonsense that it shocked her. They did need to get up and make themselves look presentable, but not just yet. She lightly kissed his neck again and smiled, hidden against his shoulder. “It’d be nice if I had company...snow falls so pretty during this time of year...and I want someone to enjoy it with.”

@infamouscabal

#∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹ask and i might answer⊹ — answered ask #when is a monster not a monster? oh when you cuddle it #local man cuddles a demon from hell and said demon starts to feel things like comfort and happiness #no but seriously cuddling with horst might just be maddie's new favorite thing

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kjmsupremacist · 2 years

Text

The Bucket List (doyoung/taeyong)

Doyoung’s always been a bit depressed, but this last year has really put him through the wringer and he’s been pretty suicidal. So his therapist cuts him a deal. Make a bucket list. A real, actual bucket list, of all the things he wants to experience, and then do everything on that list. If, at the end of the list, he still wants to kill himself, then they’ll go from there. His therapist has a feeling that won’t be the case. Doyoung would beg to differ, but he plays along anyway. And then he meets Taeyong, who finds out about the bucket list and makes it his mission to help Doyoung fall in love with being alive again.

Chapter 1: The List | next mlist

Characters: Doyoung, Taeyong; misc family members

Genre: heavy angst, eventual romance, slow burn, hurt/comfort, college!au

Pairing: Doyoung/Taeyong

Warnings: discussions of suicide, depression, self harm, mental illness; homophobia, bullying, family dysfunction. heavy heavy shit. please read my note below.

Rating: Teen & Up

Length: 3k

This work is very heavy, and potentially triggering. There are serious, lengthy, and often detailed discussions of bullying, homophobia, mental illness, self-harm, and suicide. Please proceed with caution.

It was a bit of a trial to write because of this, so I have to pause to thank my beta readers, Margot (@perfeggso) and Leon (@jongins-tiddies), for their tireless energy in editing this fic and for offering to share in its burden. They are the best beta readers a writer could ask for, and, more importantly, the best friends in the world. I could not have completed something this difficult without their help.

All that being said, this work was also incredibly therapeutic to write. While it is a story of grief and loss, it is also one of joy, healing, and hope. I hope you will find it as comforting as you may find it heart-wrenching, just as I have.

Lastly, if you or a loved one are suffering from severe depression and suicidal ideation, please seek help if you can. I will be linking resources at the bottom of each chapter; please use them if you need them. Remember that life is always more than just the things you have lost. It is not easy and it is not mandatory, but to commit to the act of living is one of the best and bravest things anybody can do. If you have found the strength to do so today, you have my respect. And if you have not, but you’re here anyway, you have my love in addition. Happy reading!

taglist: @pastelsicheng @doiefy

you can listen to the official playlist here!

The A/C is humming louder than usual today, though it’s no hotter out than it was when Doyoung was here a week ago. How often does A/C need maintenance? Maybe that’s why; maybe the mechanisms inside are heating up, and he won’t even know it before he’s blasted backwards by the force of the explosion.

“Doyoung.” Doyoung snaps his gaze forward, realizing he’s been completely zoning out. “I don’t think your parents are paying me to watch you stare out the window.”

“Sorry, Dr. Cha,” Doyoung mumbles.

“It’s alright.” His therapist leans back, relaxed now that she has his attention again. “You seem… distracted today, clearly. Your mind is distant. It’s been nearly ten minutes and you’ve spoken about five words to me. What is it?”

Doyoung looks down at his lap where his hands lie limp against his thighs. His thumb twitches, chasing a loose thread along the seam of his shorts. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Like literally nothing. There’s nothing in here.” He taps his temple, looking back up. “It’s like… radio static.”

“Ah.” Dr. Cha nods. “Say more. What kind of nothing is it?”

Doyoung thinks for a minute. He tries not to lie to Dr. Cha. He knows she’s supposed to help. He wants her to be able to help him, though he doubts anybody actually can. But it’s nice to pretend, so for the most part he tends to play along. “It’s just… empty. Like most days. But more today than usual, I guess.” He tilts his head to the side, trying to find another way to explain. The more words you use, the more ways I can find to help you, Dr. Cha had told him during their first session. “It just kind of feels like… there’s nothing left.” He snorts to himself softly. “That sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

Dr. Cha offers him a small smile. “Yes,” she says. “I don’t think you’d be here if it didn’t.”

This is another reason why Doyoung tries not to lie to Dr. Cha—because she doesn’t crucify him for telling the truth, or freak out and threaten to call his parents or the hospital. She knows when he’s really in danger and when he’s just expressing some latent frustration. It’s the latter today; they both know it, so there’s no need for panic or crucifixion.

Doyoung spreads his hands. “I just feel… stagnant, I guess. No offense,” he adds. “You’re doing your best. I just… don’t know if I’m ever going to get better. Like I think this is it. This is going to be it for the rest of my life. Which… makes me ask, like, what’s the point?”

Dr. Cha nods slowly. “I see,” she says. “Empty, as in void of meaning or purpose. That’s never good.”

“No,” Doyoung agrees. He doesn’t ask what he should do. Dr. Cha will offer him a solution if she has one.

“How strong is the suicidal ideation?” Dr. Cha asks.

Doyoung likes this about Dr. Cha, too. She doesn’t mince words. She doesn’t waste time trying to trick him into answering with pretty euphemisms. She doesn’t try to dumb things down or talk to Doyoung like he’s a kid. She asks, and hopes he’ll be just as frank in his response.

“Medium?” Doyoung estimates. “It’s there, but nothing concrete.”

“Okay.” Dr. Cha sets her notepad aside; she flipped it to a new page when Doyoung walked in, and it has remained blank. “I have a proposal for you, then. You’re not busy this summer?”

Doyoung shakes his head. “My parents didn’t want me working.”

“Right. Okay, so here’s the proposal. I want you to make a bucket list.”

Doyoung blinks. “What, like shit I want to do before I die?”

“Yes.” Dr. Cha’s tone is light, but her eyes are serious. “That’ll be your homework this week. Make a bucket list, bring it to me, and then I want you to do all the things on that list. Or as many things as possible. We can talk about it once the list is made. And after you’ve completed it, to the best of your ability, we’ll see where you stand. And if, after you complete the list, you still feel like killing yourself, we’ll go from there.”

Doyoung arches an eyebrow at her. “And what if I don’t want to do anything?” he asks, maybe challenges. “What if there’s nothing on that list?”

Dr. Cha regards him for a moment. “I don’t think that’s true, though, Doyoung,” she says. Her voice is gentle. Rarely does she pull the classic therapist card of Telling The Patient How They Feel, so Doyoung knows she means it. “I think there is something keeping you here, and I think it’s more than fear and more than duty to your family, and more than the paralysis that comes with the exhaustion of depression. I’d like you to think about what it might be.”

Doyoung drops the snark. She’s being sincere; he ought to be as well. “Okay,” he says. “But what if my list is pretty short? I feel like not a lot is going to change if I only have, like, three things on it.”

“Well, if there are only three things, then there are only three things,” Dr. Cha says with a shrug. “I’m not going to give you a minimum. But I do want you to go home and think about it, like really think about it, okay? Can we agree to that? You put real effort into this, and I’ll meet you wherever you end up.” She holds his gaze for a second. “Even if it’s only three things.”

Doyoung nods. “Alright,” he agrees. “The terms seem fair. It’s a deal.”

Dr. Cha smiles and offers her hand to shake. Doyoung accepts it. “It’s a deal,” she repeats. The A/C hums, bearing witness.

; ; ;

Doyoung takes the long way home. He knows it might make his parents worry, but there’s really only a couple places he can be where their worry is minimal: at therapy (he’s done for the week), at home (very quiet, very lonely, very boring), or on the way home (at least he can turn his music up really loud).

It’s kind of always been this way. His parents relaxed a little during high school, probably because they realized he’d sneak out anyway, and they’d rather give him an environment he could be honest in so they’d at least know where to start looking if something happened. But then so many things happened this last year, and Doyoung got a lot worse, and his parents got nervous again.

There’s no rule that says Doyoung can’t be out when he wants. He’s an adult now, by both American and Korean standards, so there’s little anyone could do to stop him. But he knows they worry. He’d rather have one less thing to feel guilty about.

So he takes the long way home, but he also speeds a little, which he realizes after he pulls into his driveway was counterproductive on two counts, but it doesn’t matter. The house is silent; his parents must still be working. Doyoung sighs, tossing his keys in the basket by the door and meandering into the kitchen to get a snack before trudging upstairs to his room.

He switches between games for the next couple of hours, hoping it’ll distract him for a while so he can stop thinking about everything, which is to say thinking about absolutely nothing until he can feel the space between his brain and his skull. It works, for the most part.

He could go out, maybe, try to do the things that people say are supposed to make you feel good, like running and yoga and smelling the flowers, or maybe drugs if he wants to be more realistic, but if he goes out then he might as well get a job, and he doesn’t want one of those, so he stays in.

His father gets home first and starts on dinner. Doyoung can smell the frying garlic from his room, but he doesn’t close his door. It’s homey, and reminds him of when he was little. Their cook used to make the best fried rice starting that way—garlic browning in hot oil, rich and fragrant. But even a known outsider is still an outsider, and eventually his parents terminated the cook’s service, too private to allow even a shadow past the threshold, even though they could certainly afford it.

His mother arrives around when Doyoung is setting the table. She, like his father, hardly says hello. It suits Doyoung just fine. They sit down without much conversation and begin to eat.

“How was therapy?” his mother asks after they’ve finished their soup.

“Fine,” Doyoung says quietly.

“Good,” she says absently. “That’s good.”

The rest of dinner is wordless.

; ; ;

Doyoung stares down at the blank sheet of paper. He’s written “BUCKET LIST” at the top. That was half an hour ago. He hasn’t thought of anything. To give himself something to do, he underlines the title.

He lets another fifteen minutes pass before pushing the paper aside and grabbing a new one. If he can’t think of things he wants to do, maybe he can start with things he wants. “WANTS”, he titles this page.

I want, he writes, and then stops. Everything he wants is impossible.

He wishes he could be like everyone else. He wishes he could want normal things—a job he likes, a house, a family. He used to, when he was little. He’s pretty sure, anyway. When he was a kid, he wanted to be a doctor, or maybe a singer. But he’s not smart enough to be a doctor, and singers don’t make a lot of money unless they get really lucky, so those dreams were soon tossed out.

And it didn’t help that he never quite fit in. He was always too skinny, too quiet, too weird. He went through most of his childhood with the vague inkling that there was something wrong with him, but it took him a while to figure out what. The other kids knew, too—not specifically at first, but they could smell otherness like a shark smells blood. Any friends he made never stayed for long, quickly realizing that proximity to Doyoung meant a share of the bullying he suffered. Doyoung couldn’t fault them for trying to save themselves. So dreams were quickly pushed back in favor of a focus on survival.

It wasn’t until middle school that Doyoung first heard the words that pinned him down, like a butterfly on a display board, and labeled him for what he was: queer. Faggot. Fairy. He’d been slowly coming to the realization himself, but hearing it from others cemented it. He was gay, and there was nothing anybody could do about it, try as they might. It was the most riveting thing to happen in their school, so there was nothing to shield Doyoung from the stares and the whispers and, eventually, the beatings, when other boys realized they could assert their own heterosexuality by punishing Doyoung for his lack of it.

When Doyoung told his parents, they brought it to the school. They were donors, big ones; that wasn’t something the board wanted to risk. The physical violence stopped, at least mostly, but the other violence stayed—the quiet kind, the kind that leaves no visible mark. Doyoung didn’t bother bringing it up again. He knew there was nothing anybody could do.

When his parents discovered healing cuts up his wrists and on the insides of his forearms, they sent him to therapy. It was very hush-hush; no one wanted the dishonor and embarrassment of having a mentally ill son, especially not one that would never be a man, that came out crooked, that would never be quite right. Doyoung knows he’s always been his parents' greatest disappointment and greatest failure. Even now. Maybe especially now.

I want, he had written. He looks down at it until the letters blur, until the words don’t look like words anymore. It’s not untrue. He wants. He’s not sure what, exactly, but he wants. He thinks that proves Dr. Cha right. He’s stuck around this long for a reason. He picks up his pen again; he doesn’t know when it had slipped from his fingers.

I want to want things again.

I want to be normal.

I want to stop feeling like this, or I want it all to be over.

I want to feel alive again!!!!

Doyoung dots another exclamation point. Maybe that’s where the suicidal urge comes from. He already feels dead. He might as well finish the job, right? He’s searching for completion. He’s whatever the opposite of a zombie is—instead of a craving to fill whatever he’s missing, it’s a craving to let the empty shell be put to rest. Nothing is meant to exist between the realms of the living and the dead. He’d like to go one way or another, and barring the more attractive, albeit less acceptable option, he only has one choice. He has to try to feel alive again.

He looks around his room. It looks as dead as he feels. When did he last feel alive? He’s not sure he remembers. He’s not sure he ever did.

He pulls the first page back in front of him, and after pausing for a moment to consider the phrasing, begins to write.

; ; ;

Doyoung unfolds and refolds the paper between his hands as he waits for Dr. Cha to come retrieve him. He considers only now that the things on his list are mundane, silly even. A bucket list should be grand, contain items like travel the world, go skydiving, raise a child. His list is very plain in comparison.

But there’s nothing for it now. Dr. Cha sticks her head out the door and motions for Doyoung to follow her inside. He lurches to his feet and follows her down the hall.

“So?” she says once they’re settled in her office. “How did it go?”

“I have more than three,” Doyoung says, somewhat sheepishly.

“Yeah?” Dr. Cha replies, amusement flickering across her face. “How many? Four?”

“Seven,” Doyoung says, rolling his eyes as he unfolds the paper and lays it flat on the table between them. They both lean in to look.

Try every single sample at costco in a single visit

Have dessert for a meal

Pull an all-nighter for fun

Swim in the sea at night

Go camping somewhere with no light pollution (so I can see all the stars)

Go out in a thunderstorm and let myself get soaked

Fall in love?

Dr. Cha takes a minute to look it over, saying nothing. For once, Doyoung is nervous about her reaction. He fidgets.

“I know it’s lame,” he begins, but she holds up a hand. Doyoung is grateful; he’s not even sure what he would’ve said, what excuse he might’ve given.

“On the contrary,” she says. “I think you held up your end of the bargain. You thought hard about it. You made them things you could feasibly do. I can tell they’re meaningful.” She looks up. “Walk me through it. How did you come up with this list?”

Doyoung settles back into his chair, relieved. “At first I thought it would be full of ridiculous things. Don’t people usually say, ‘Oh, I want to visit Bora Bora before I die,’ or something like that?”

Dr. Cha shrugs. “I think it depends on the person.”

“I suppose.” Doyoung looks down at the list. “So then I was like, okay, what do I want, right? And I think other than wanting to, you know, die, I want to feel alive. So I just… started thinking of things that might make me feel that way. And I ended up with this.”

Dr. Cha points to the last item. “Why the question mark?”

“It requires another party,” Doyoung replies. “I don’t know anybody. And I know… like, love won’t fix me,” he says. “I just… haven’t been in love before. Not really. So I thought it might be nice to try out, before I close the curtain.”

“Fair enough. It’s not like I think any of these individual items will ‘fix’ you, either.” Dr. Cha sits back, pen poised. “Mind if I copy it down? Just for my reference?”

“Sure,” Doyoung says, waving his hand.

They’re silent for a moment as Dr. Cha scribbles, and then she looks up, watching Doyoung carefully. “I will also add, I’m glad to see that these items—at least, to me—seem to be for you, and you alone. There’s no… outside influence.” Doyoung narrows his eyes at her, and she puts her hands up in surrender. “That’s all I’m saying. I think it’s good.”

“It’s good to be selfish,” Doyoung supplies wryly.

Dr. Cha gives him a fondly exasperated look. “For things like this? Yes,” she says. “I think you of all people deserve to be a little selfish, Doyoung.”

Doyoung doesn’t reply. She won’t like what he wants to say, will want to unpack it. Doyoung knows that’s what she’s for, unpacking, but he doesn’t want to, so he keeps it in his head. How can that be true? I’ve been selfish my whole life.

“You said you don’t think any of these things will fix me. So what’s the point? What’ll we do if I get to the bottom and nothing’s changed?” Doyoung asks instead.

“I seriously doubt that will be the case,” Dr. Cha says softly. “But if it is, we’ll work on it together. Is that good enough for now?”

Doyoung nods. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“As for the point,” Dr. Cha continues, “I think it’s different for everyone. It’s an excuse to stick around a while longer, see if the wind changes, right? Some people say it’s helped them realize things, because it makes you think—like you said, about what you want.”

“Some people?” Doyoung asks. “Other people have tried this?” Dr. Cha nods. “Did it work?”

Dr. Cha’s eyes turn a little sad. “On some,” she says quietly. Another thing Doyoung likes about Dr. Cha—she tries not to lie to him, too. “Not on all of them. But I think it’s worth a shot, if you’re willing to try.”

Doyoung gives her a dry smile. “I mean,” he says, raising his arms up a little, palms turned upwards, a sort of vague gesticulation at his whole life. “What do I have to lose?”

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

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prose-for-hire · 3 years

Text

Just the two of you

Pairing: Angel x reader

Request: could you write something where the reader and the character (i honestly cant decide which one. you choose) are in a relationship but the scoobies dont know they even know each other, so they always just assumed their signifs were somebody else? and they are always gushing to the scoobies about their datemates, and the gang finds out zhese two are together at the end….?

Requested by: Anonymous

A/N: I loved this request, it only took so long because you gave me too much choice trying to pick someone to write about !! I’m very indecisive but I ended up choosing Angel 💜🖤

You had fallen in love. Ridiculously fast but it didn’t make it any less real. You adored him. Would lay your life for him. He had been unsure, not willing to subject you to himself and all the baggage that came with his existence to begin with. Until he realised just how happy you could both be when you were together. How your mood dipped when he tried to distance himself.

All he wanted was for you to be happy and he soon realised that this could only happen when you were together. But you kept it intimate, something just for yourselves.

He had been given an experimental cure for his curse and for the most part, it seemed to be going really well. Because he knew for certain that if it wasn’t working he would have lost his soul a long time ago.

Just looking at you gave him this feeling of true happiness. It had almost been a year and he had never been so happy. It was all because of you.

You were more outgoing than him, would speak your mind easier. Communicate with him freely. This had helped him open up more, feel that you really wanted to hear what he had to say. He could lean on you, the way you so often did with him.

You were strong together. Completely in love and not able to part. Nothing could break you up.

But because you only turned up to the library when there was a reason to be there, the Scoobies weren’t entirely aware that you and Angel had even spoken more than one word to each other. You were older than them and had met them by chance when you and Willow were held hostage together.

You had been adopted into the dysfunctional family since and Giles was trying to figure out a way for you to work in the library so that you could be closer to the action when they needed you.

You currently worked at the Bronze which, wasn’t the most fun place to work. There was always something nasty going on and there was a very high staff turnaround. You were pretty sure you were the only member of staff that had lasted the month.

Since you and Angel had gotten together, he had been in a much better mood. He didn’t speak so much but it was more than he ever had. He felt lighter. You made him feel alive, made him appreciate living.

The Scoobies soon noticed this. His much better mood. And so they rounded on him one day trying to figure out the reason.

Angel had been concerned to begin with. The guilt he held in his chest never left. He had noticed it did ease, if only slightly when you were around. He had thought this was dangerous at first. But you allowed him to work through everything, to speak about the trauma without ever turning away from him.

So, he began to be unable to stop himself from speaking about you. About how much he adored you. How much you assisted him, loved him.

He ended up near-gushing. As he would end up always doing when they asked about his partner. They were all actually shocked that their interrogation worked.

Angel admitted to you as he lay beside you in bed that he told them. He was nervous about your reaction. That you may suddenly turn around and tell him you had changed your mind after everything. But you grinned, looping your arms around his neck and peppering his face in such adoring kisses.

That slight tug at his lips was visible again and you began to kiss softly at the corner of his mouth, trying to widen his smile. You loved it when he smiled. It brightened up his face.

You told him how excited you were that you could tell them of your love out in the open. Talk about how happy you were. How secure you were in this relationship. He exhaled, relieved that you felt this way.

The only thing was, he didn’t realise he hadn’t actually said your name to the Scoobies. He had been too excited to finally be able to express how amazing you were and how much he felt about you that he had never actually mentioned your name.

So, the next time you saw the Scoobies they were researching something about some demon. You were about to be invited to join in too. You had slipped in the back way through the stacks.

You greeted everyone and they shared a look before launching into another interrogation.

“So, are you gonna tell us about him?”

“Him?” You repeated and realised. They knew about you and Angel and you hadn’t seen them since he had told them.

Although, what you didn’t realise was that they had all overheard you calling Angel on your cell phone and being all sweet and telling him to hang up first. It had made them laugh and they had to ask. They had never seen you so soft or happy.

“Come on, we all know now”

“Yeah, what’s he like?”

“Well, with me he’s sensitive but still just as cool as ever. He really, really cares too… can make me laugh so much I’m almost crying sometimes!” You admitted, smiling down at the ground. You could have gone on forever, but you knew you had a tendency to talk a lot an didn’t want to allow them something they could pounce on – try to discourage you from Angel.

“Well, he sounds nice” Xander said sincerely, he thought you deserved someone that made you happy. You had to make a double glance at him. You squinted, trying to figure out if he was being cruel. Berating Angel again.

“You mean that?”

“Just want you happy, Y/N” He shrugged and then cracked some goofy joke to try and make you forget how sincere he had been. But this joke was interrupted by Buffy asking for more information.

“We need details! How did you meet? How did you know?!”

“Well, you all know how it is when you’re in love…” You smiled, practically glowing at even thinking of your boyfriend. They all knew Angel after all and they knew how deeply he felt things so of course he was so incredibly loving.

“Spill!”

“We, uh, were both reading this book and-”

“A reader, I like this man already - another win for the nerds!” Willow cheered which made you laugh at your friend.

“Well, I’m not sure he’d adopt that label himself but he’d definitely very thoughtful, he

“We’re glad you’re happy” Buffy nodded which really meant a lot to you. You smiled at her softly.

“He makes me so happy, but, uh you know we’re not dangerously happy” You insisted, knowing what must be on everyone’s minds despite their surprisingly supportive demeanours.

“Well, ah, yes, so long as you’re sensible” Giles nodded and your eyes bulged. This was going almost too well. But, again, why would you want them to be angry at you? You couldn’t help beaming around the room.

“Well, he truly is an angel, in name and nature” You joked and they all just smiled a little blankly at the term you had used. It had gone straight over their heads. They just hadn’t been able to put the two of you together.

You weren’t opposites but you were definitely more talkative. You barely shut up and you liked being centre of attention. Whereas he often kept to the shadows, spoke only when he felt he had something to contribute. You had a lot of shared interests and now a lot of shared hobbies that you did together.

But the Scoobies just didn’t even begin to think that you and Angel could be together. They barely saw you in the same room together and you didn’t ever appear in even a friendly way.

“Why don’t you bring him to the Bronze sometime?”

“Yeah, I guess, I mean he usually turns up sometime anyway. I can tell him to show, just give me a time” You smiled. You didn’t usually go to the Bronze just to relax, it was work and someone would recognise you and start barking their orders at you. But you did like to meet your friends and that was where they hung out, so you would often relent and just spend even more time at work too.

Sometimes you found yourself subconsciously wiping down tables and had to physically stop yourself. Angel went to the Bronze a lot to spend his evenings with you.

When you were there for leisure, he would sit near you with the others. But to the outside observer, you and he didn’t speak much. The reason was that you didn’t have to. You could communicate just through the looks in your eyes. Subtle nods and smiles.

He also wasn’t very big on pda so to the others wouldn’t notice it so easily. Sometimes he slid a hand on your thigh under the table, squeezing there. He needed to feel you under his hands. Wanted you as close to him as possibly whilst still being appropriate in public.

Other times, he reached to hold your hand. Clasping his hand to yours. Taking his strength from you. Comfortably attached to you, it made him feel so much happier just being in some kind of contact with you.

Hated the idea of being away from you for even a moment. But he would only ever show how needy he was to you. He would have to be subtle in front of others. Didn’t want to show how soft he could be for you or how much you mattered. He was always conscious of threat too. And the thought of losing you hurt his heart immensely.

Mostly, because he wanted to be close with you, he would suggest you left the Bronze and went to patrol or something instead. So your friends would turn around to say something to you and you and Angel will have disappeared into the night.

You trusted him, that you could have each other’s backs when it came down to it. You were completely in love with him after all. You trusted him implicitly.

Tonight though, you wanted time alone. Just the two of you. You had arranged to meet after dark and just go straight to patrolling.

Well, it was probably about 10% patrolling, 90% kissing and showing your affection. Angel’s senses were working overdrive to try and remain aware of the space around you. But it was so incredibly hard for him when you were around. You were everything to him, he completely succumbed to the way he felt.

Became some kind of love-drunk teenager when you were around him. His lips usually on your, he found your skin so soft. So kissable, it wouldn’t be right to leave any part unloved. His lips would have to press his adoration into your skin, the headlines being he was madly in love with you.

He pressed you against the mausoleum. Hungrily kissing each other as if you hadn’t seen each other in years. As if you were long-lost lovers. But in fact you had only been away for each other for about twelve hours.

His knee slid between your legs as he made sure his body was pressed as close to yours as physically possible. He gripped you in a way that was firm, telling you how urgent he needed this kiss whilst simultaneously being tender. Full of love and adoration.

Words or affection that he struggled to articulate at times and so sought to show you in this way. Show you just how much he adored you. Worshipped you. Couldn’t stop thinking about you and now, when he thought even a singe thing that reminded him of you he was suddenly telling anybody who would listen.

What you didn’t realise, while your lips were locked with his, was that you had an audience. They all gasped in horror. Assuming based on their misunderstanding that you had been cheating on your respective separate partners.

Neither you or Angel noticed though, you were too wrapped up in each other. It was a good job they weren’t vampires or the both of you would have been succumbed to the evil of the night. All because of how drunk you both were on love.

They left but couldn’t leave it for long though. They invited you both to the library one evening. All of them were pacing and squabbling over who should bring it up first. It was an intervention. But, neither of you understood what was happening for a moment.

“Look, we know about the temptation, the hormones-” Willow started.

“His hormones are dead-”

“Yeah, but we mean it - you could really be hurting people” Buffy nodded, concerned.

“What?” you frowned.

“The… cheating…”

You and Angel share a confused look. Neither of you had a clue what’s going on.

“You both seemed so happy, we don’t want you to throw it away for some lusty-lovin’” Xander relented, his hard tone disappearing. He tried his best to be supportive.

Angel finally understood and sighed. Whereas you were just staring as if they were speaking to you in an ancient demon language.

“Uh, guys… it’s Y/n that I’ve been talking about” he frowned at them all before adding, “I said this… right?”

He said as he curled his hand into yours. You squeezed his hand, a show of support that nobody missed. He looked scared, as if they would stake him for your love. As if they were going to tell him the main thing he feared: that he wasn’t good enough for you. That he shouldn’t be with you.

“No you didn’t!” They said, almost in unison. Which made you have to hide your laughter. He could be so awkward in public that he spoke in half-sentences, the other in his head.

“Huh” Angel said, squinting at their reactions. They were bemused but not horrified. Buffy was smiling slightly at the two of you together. She was happy for you. Truly.

And it made Angel relax. He slid the hand that had been in yours and instead moved his body closer to you. Emboldened by their apparent approval. He was behind you slightly, strong arms looping around your waist. Pressing a kiss against your temple.

“Oh my God, this was so obvious – how did we not see it?!”

“Yeah, Angel’s the guy I’ve been near-swooning over for months. I definitely said Angel… you all heard me!” You insisted. You had literally said angel after all.

“We, uh, thought that was a pet name”

You and Angel shared a look and laughed. You grinned at him, feeling a heat rising in your cheeks as the others ran through all the things he had said about you. For someone with a reputation for never speaking, he sure had said a lot about you. About how much he loved you.

He had been gushing and he hadn’t even realised. Even for that five minutes it took you to walk from the bar at the Bronze to the table. He had said so many complimentary and adoring things about you. And yet they still hadn’t realised. Until now.

They were so supportive of you both. Your friends lifting you up. Approving of your relationship. Of how happy you were. It was a relief. Not that you would ever been able to stop loving him. You would have followed him to the ends of the earth if he had tried to leave you. Create a distance.

You would never give up on him.

You glowed when you were together. Faces brightening. Hearts singing. Smiles never far from your faces. They couldn’t believe they hadn’t noticed this before. Hadn’t figured it out.

Of course it was you and him. You were perfect for each other. Just the two of you. Together.

#Angel btvs #Angel btvs x reader #Angel x reader #Angel btvs imagine #Angel btvs x you #Angel x you #Angel imagine #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #btvs #btvs x you #btvs imagine #btvs x reader #buffyverse #Angel the series #ats #gender neutral #gn

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missmentelle · 4 years

Note

How do I know if I'm burnt out and what are signs of being burnt out? In relation to both university and work?

Unfortunately, burnout is a very common problem among both university students and people in high-stress jobs. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, “burnout” is effectively where people reach a breaking point after being in a high-stress occupation (like a demanding academic program or a high-pressure career) for too long. Being “burnt out” is not an official diagnosis, and you won’t find it in the ICD-11 or the DSM-V. But it’s something that an increasing number of people are experiencing every year.

Not everyone is at equal risk of experiencing burnout - many students and workers never really deal with this. Factors that put you at high risk of burnout include:

Having poor work-life balance. If you spend huge portions of your time working - working through weekends, doing tons of overtime, working late, not taking vacation, working through lunch - you are at high risk of burnout. Humans need rest, relaxation, hobbies and time with friends, and when you sacrifice those things for work, it will eventually take a toll.

Having very little control over your day-to-day tasks. No one has perfect control over their daily work tasks - not even the self-employed - but having some element of control is important. If you have a say in things like when to schedule meetings, when to book client appointments and which task you are going to work on when, you have a lower risk of burnout than someone whose tasks tend to just be dictated to them.

Having perfectionist traits or holding yourself to very high standards. People who experience burnout tend to be overachievers. They constantly try to go above and beyond because they put immense pressure on themselves to do their best work at all times. If you’re the kind of person who beats yourself up over getting an A- instead of an A and makes a point to be the last one out of the office every day, you are at risk of burnout.

Having a dysfunctional work or school environment. Is your workplace plagued with bullies and office gossip? Do your lab members take pleasure in ripping each other’s research and writing to shreds, without really being constructive about it? Does your boss take their bad moods out on the rest of the office, even when you haven’t done anything wrong? A dysfunctional workplace creates burned-out employees.

Having unclear instructions or directions. It is extremely difficult to be in a work environment where you are expected to do be productive, but you aren’t given clear expectations, a clear list of tasks or instructions for how those tasks should actually be performed. It leaves you constantly feeling like your work isn’t good enough and isn’t done properly, without actually giving you a route to improve; you often end up working twice as hard to get half as much done, which is a recipe for burnout.

Working in a helping profession. Nurses, social workers, therapists, paramedics, psychologists, caregivers and caseworkers have some of the highest burnout rates of any profession. These jobs often combine long hours and low pay with incredibly stressful work environments, and burnout is a huge problem.

Burnout is more than just feeling tired or bored of what you do. It’s a state of complete and total exhaustion. Putting more energy into your job isn’t possible when you reach that point - you have nothing left to give. “Burnout” isn’t an official diagnosis, but it is a fitting description - trying to push through burnout is like trying to re-light a candle that has already burned all the way down to the bottom. It’s just not going to happen.

Some signs that you’ve reached the point of burnout include:

Your performance is suffering. You can’t keep going full steam ahead when you’re running on fumes. When you’re burnt out, your work performance will one of the first things that starts to slip - you may find that you are missing deadlines, forgetting things, half-assing tasks and making careless mistakes.

You constantly feel drained. Burnout is a perpetual state of exhaustion. You’ll start to feel like you just don’t have the energy to do everything that you’re supposed to do. You’ll find that you feel tired all the time, regardless of your sleeping habits, and that just forcing yourself to do the bare minimum leaves you feeling totally depleted and unable to do much else.

You feel disconnected and cynical toward your work. Even if you once enjoyed your work or felt passionate about it, when you’re burnt out, you become disillusioned with what you do. You may find that you’re cynical about your work, or just so apathetic that you can’t bring yourself to care about it anymore, even when you accomplish things that once mattered to you.

You can’t concentrate. Burnout can make it difficult - if not impossible - for even the most dedicated person to focus on their tasks. You might find that you spend a lot of time just sitting in front of your computer, unable to even start tasks because you can’t focus well enough to begin something.

You have become irritable and short-tempered. People who are burnt out have a tendency to become impatient with the people around them. When you’re running on empty, you have no energy left for social interactions. You might find that you’re snapping at coworkers or getting visibly frustrated with clients if you work in a helping profession.

You feel anxious. Burnout is often accompanied by feelings of indistinct dread that you just can’t seem to shake. The fear and anxiety is often tied to work, and can be completely overwhelming.

You can’t sleep. Ironically, people with burnout often have a hard time sleeping. Their minds race all night, and they find that they cannot settle down or get comfortable enough to drift off. If you can sleep, you may find that you are only able to sleep in short bursts and cannot sleep through a full night.

Your eating habits have changed. Some people experiencing burnout find that they lose their appetites. Others find that they begin to comfort themselves with food. Significant changes in appetite and food intake can signal a serious problem.

You feel physically ill. Being under high amounts of stress for long periods of time can destroy your health - you might find that you have a lot of symptoms with no direct physical cause, like headaches, stomach pain, nausea and body aches. You might also find that you get sick more often and get more infections as the stress wears down your immune system.

You feel like you have to drag yourself through the day. Even if you once enjoyed your job or your school, you might start to feel like even showing up is a huge chore, and dread having to go in. You might find that it takes all of your energy to even make it through the front door each day.

The good news is that burnout is not a permanent state; there are things you can do to recover. However, recovering from burnout is not necessarily easy - this is not something you can quick-fix with a self-help book, and you may need to make significant lifestyle changes. Some things you can do to fix or prevent burnout include:

Set firm boundaries. If possible, stop taking work home. Stop signing up for extra shifts and overtime every time it’s available. Don’t volunteer to organize every single office party and baby shower. Stop answering work emails after 5pm. Don’t check your email on the weekends. Don’t respond to emails on vacation. Set firm boundaries between “work time” and “me time” - especially if you work from home, where it’s easier for work and life to bleed together.

Use every minute of your paid time off. A lot of people just don’t use up all their PTO every year because they’re worried they’re letting the company down by taking vacation. Stop that. If you have vacation days, use them. Use your sick time too - if you don’t get sick that often, use them as mental health days. If you’re a student, ask professors for extensions when you’re sick - more and more professors are getting on board with cutting students some slack for life events.

Unplug from productivity culture. Our culture has a pathological obsession with productivity, and it’s killing us. We consume books and blogs and podcasts about how to squeeze as much productivity out of ourselves as possible. It has to stop. Unsubscribe from this kind of content. You don’t need to put more pressure on yourself to optimize and monetize every second of your day - it’s not healthy.

Seek support. Talk to a therapist, a doctor or a friend. Get professional help or just find people you can vent to. Try to form friendships with some of your coworkers or fellow students, especially if you work in the helping professions - they know better than anyone what you are going through.

Prioritize your physical health. When you neglect your physical health, you are more likely to burn out - you run out of fuel faster when you have less in the tank to begin with. Prioritize eating healthy meals and getting all the nutrients you need. Make a habit of exercising. Practice good sleep hygiene and try to improve your sleep.

Talk to your supervisor, advisor or boss. Are there things about your specific work or school environment that could be improved for you? Could you be transferred to a new team? Do your roles and responsibilities need to be clarified so you know exactly what is expected of you? Do you need additional training to do your job well? Are you dealing with harassment that could be reported to HR? See what can be fixed.

Consider a change. Sometimes you just need a change of pace after a while. Many social workers, for instance, eventually leave the profession - a lot of people simply have a lifetime limit on how long they can do that kind of work before they need to switch to something that doesn’t involve human horror every day. If burnout is a consistent problem, it might be time to think about taking a leave of absence, changing to a different role, or switching careers altogether.

Hope this answers your question! MM

#Anonymous #AnsweredByMM

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iwritefandomimagines · 3 years

Text

SIMM!MASTER x READER: “Do you believe in love?”

prompt #11 — requested

masterlist

pairing: simm!master x reader

description: visiting a famed romantic hotspot (to cause trouble, obviously) with the master leads to you pondering one major question: does he even believe in love?

warnings: angst, as ever with me writing the master !

words: 1,535

You leaned forward to rest your palms on your knees and catch your breath again as the Master, a few paces ahead of you, turned to laugh at your exasperated expression.

“Would you stop laughing at me?” you grumbled, standing up again and following him back into his TARDIS with a scowl on your face, “If you weren’t so intent on pissing off every species in the universe, I wouldn’t have to run so much and end up so bloody tired!”

He smirked, pausing at the TARDIS doors while you caught up to him, “You should be used to it now then, love.”

You followed him inside, your expression still irritated as you folded your arms over your chest dramatically.There he goes again, you thought with a sigh, calling you love whilst mocking you just as he always did.

It bothered you more today than usual, and you knew exactly why.

You’d been visiting the Four Moons of Tirus, famously frequented by couples for romantic getaways and often either weddings or honeymoons. Of course, travelling with the Master you knew that this hadn’t been a romance-fuelled trip -- instead, he wanted to cause chaos as ever and so dragged you along with him.

At first it had been fun, stealing food from buffet tables and skipping through fancy venues. But he’d torn you from a conversation with a Commander of a fleet attending a wedding on one of the Four Moons, and from then on the day had been miserable.

You’d hoped he was jealous -- you couldn’t deny Commander Fluxx II’s flirtation towards you -- but his behaviour crumpled your hopes swiftly.

Watching him flirt with taken women of every species weighed heavy on your chest for multiple reasons: One, you were admittedly jealous. Your feelings for the Master were becoming increasingly potent, and his teasing was becoming increasingly infuriating. And two, it felt shit to see him so blatantly disregard the notion of love and relationships.

Above all else, though, you were devastated by his reaction to being told you made a cute couple. Once he’d pulled you away from the commander, an elderly alien woman had winked and complimented you both, telling you that you were perfectly suited to eachother.

He’d scoffed, told the creature that you were ‘merely a companion, more like his pet’ and stormed away as though he’d never heard such a disgusting accusation in all of his existence.

You’d hoped maybe there’d been some small romantic undercurrent to him bringing you to the Four Moons, perhaps even if very subtle. Maybe he’d kiss you under the nightly Tirusian aurora, or buy you a bouquet of their native flowers.

But of course, he was just here to wreak havoc with you at his command.

You’d finally composed yourself now, no more jagged breaths as you stood at his side, hand on your hips, “Don’t you get bored of just messing with people’s feelings, Master?”

You were directly referring to his previous actions, but your words were laced with dismay at his disregard for your evident feelings, too.

“Whatever do you mean, Y/N?” he smirked, bringing his hand to his face in a falsely inquisitive manner.

“Well, that woman was literally stood next to her husband and you were blatantly disrespectful and embarrassingly flirtatious... the look on his face was terrifying, you’re lucky we got away or he’d have torn you to shreds. Did you see his claws?” you rambled, shuddering at the thought of the alien who’d chased you all the way back to the TARDIS.

“He would never have gotten to us, Y/N.” the Master too crossed his arms now, brows furrowed, “I don’t see what’s gotten you so riled up.” You could see in his face that he was lying. He knew. Of course he knew.

You grunted, shaking your head, “You spend all of your time treating people like they’re beneath you, like they’re expendable. You tease people, you flirt with people. Hell, you flirt with me. Then you go and act like I’m nothing but shit on the bottom of your shoes. You’re pathetic, frankly. Shameless, and pathetic.”

“Ah, so that’s what it’s about, us?”

You scoffed, “There isn’t an us, Master. Don’t you dare stand there so smug and talk like you even care about me. This isn’t about that. It’s about the fact that you’re selfish and self-important and you act like nothing matters to you. It’s ridiculous!”

Your chest was heaving as you spat these words at him, fury coursing through your every vein. You knew that it was obvious why you were predominantly angry, and that maybe you needed to calm down, but you were furious and upset and heartbroken all at once and this tornado of emotion couldn’t be stopped easily.

The room fell silent, the Master’s face no longer painted with a smirk but instead simply blank. You didn’t know what more to say for a moment, gathering your thoughts and trying to steady your erratic breathing.

You remained in silence for a good few minutes, both deep in thought and refusing to make eye contact with each other.

You let out a deep breath then, leaning forwards and resting your chin in your palm, “Do you believe in love?” you whispered, still avoiding his gaze and speaking so quietly he wasn’t sure he even heard you right.

He swallowed thickly, straightening his stance and relaxing his arms.

“I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t before. Believe in love, that is.”

“Before what?”

“You, Y/N.”

Your face twisted in confusion, eyes narrowing as they snapped up to meet his all of a sudden.

How on earth could he stand there and say that, especially seeming so serious, after all that had just happened? Did he really respect you so little that he believed providing you with such lies would give you enough false hope to stop being so angry with him?

“Please don’t say things like that. It’s not fair, and you know it isn’t.” you frowned, shaking your head again and biting your lip.

“I know it’s hard to believe, Y/N, but it’s true,” he shrugged, stepping towards you, “And that was why I brought you to the Four Moons of Tirus. At least initially.”

You cocked your head to the side, “Why were you acting like such an arsehole then?”

He raised his hand to rub over your upper arm for just a moment before returning it to his side, “Because when that disgusting Commander was shamelessly all over you I questioned the point of being in love, anyway.”

You were confused, and so said nothing, allowing him to continue.

“You called me pathetic, but you didn’t see his wife watch him touch you and run off crying,” he sighed, “So many species disregard love even when they claim to feel it. Why bother? I’ve spent long enough on my own, I needn’t fool myself into relying on someone when there’s every risk of ending up alone again anyway.”

You scoffed even more abruptly now, baffled by his words.

“So you got jealous and decided to be petty and hurt me anyway?” you questioned, venom dripping in your tone, “I’ve been waiting for some inkling that you cared about me, and now you finally tell me you love me and still somehow manage to invalidate that and make me feel worthless! I can’t keep playing your games, Master. I’m tired.”

He took your hands in his delicately, “I’ve spent so long alone, Y/N, you have to understand that. I never meant to fall in love with you, and a relationship with me would be about as dysfunctional as you could get. I don’t want to risk hurting you, or getting hurt myself.”

“Flirting with everyone under the sun and making me feel like I don’t matter won’t make feelings go away, Master,” you clenched your fingers around his, somewhat in an effort to reassure him whilst you were being honest, “You’re stuck with me, and I hate to break it to you but love doesn’t just dissipate overnight, even if you claim it’s ‘pointless’ anyway.”

“I’m sorry Y/N. And I’m sorry for ruining what could’ve been a chance to make things up to you.” he pouted, and you felt your stomach swarm with butterflies.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you I forgive you, but I’ll give you the chance to prove that this is more than just some twisted game of yours, because I’m that stupid human whose gone and fallen in love with you, eh,” you half-joked, bringing your entwined hands up to kiss the back of his, “I overheard one of the Commander’s fleet talking about the Perpetual Sunsets of Parboon. It’s like... always sunset and sounds incredible. Take me there?”

He nodded, kissing your temple and swiveling towards the TARDIS console with a newly returned smile. Your heart warmed; It wasn’t his usual arrogant smirk now, but instead a smile of genuine happiness.

“Parboon it is,” he grinned, pulling you closer to his side, “But if any silly alien soldiers make a pass at you again, I won’t be so kind to them this time.”

“Sure, spaceman,” you rolled your eyes teasingly, “Whatever you say.”

------------

hello !! thank u for the request & i hope you enjoyed this, not sure how i feel about the ending but i wasn’t sure how to wrap it up, i hope this was alright though !!

feel free to keep requesting as ever, here is my prompt list if you’re short of ideas, and here’s my masterlist for you to read for the time being! thanks again for reading & supporting my writing, i really appreciate it <3

#the master #doctor who #the master x reader #the master imagine #the master imagines #simm!master #simm!master x reader #simm x master #simm!master imagine #simm!master imagines #doctor who imagine #doctorwho

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bittywitches · 4 years

Text

All Yours (Grayson Dolan Fanfic)

A/N: I’m so sorry I can’t really tell what this is anymore I just. Needed to finish it. This is absolutely way too long and prolly bad but here you go :)

Basically it’s just Grayson getting super duper jealous and paranoid of how close his girlfriend and Ethan are

Hope everyone’s doing well. Love you guys <3

Word Count: 4.6K

“E you’re literally kidding me right now.”

“Bro it’s literally true you’ve been here the entire time you have EVIDENCE!”

“OH MY GOD ETHAN your life was not going to shit because of mercury being in retrograde! That makes no fucking sense!”

“HOW can you say that-“

“Do you know what retrograde even IS?”

“Y/N y-“

“Shut the fuck up im trying to educate you. ‘Mercury being in rEtRoGrAdE’ is just us seeing mercury’s orbit from EARTH-“

“Dude-“

“LISTEN YOU DUMBASS it’s SCIENCE we’re just OBSERVING another orbit while we are ALSO orbiting around the SAME THING-“

“BRO I-“

“Grayson tell him he’s a fucking idiot!”

“HOE he’s literally the one who found the store to buy us those stones!”

She whipped her head around in shock with a slight undertone of disgust. “GRAYSON!”

Grayson looked up from his phone. “Do not drag me into this.”

“Grayson you fucking dUMBASS-“

“Baby-“

“PLEASE tell me it was a joke. You were just committing to the joke.”

He went back to his phone.

“GRAYSON PLEASE-“

“Y/N THERE’S NO OTHER EXPLANATION FOR HOW SHITTY THIS WEEK HAS BEEN-“ Ethan exclaimed.

“Oh I’m gonna-“ she jumped off the couch and lunged towards him, ready to pounce, but Grayson grabbed her waist to hold her back.

“Honey you have got to chill.”

“It is not my fault that Ethan can’t understand BASIC TENTH GRADE SCIENCE-“

“JOKE’S ON YOU I NEVER WENT TO TENTH GRADE-“

“You FUCKER-“

“BABE CALM THE FUCK DOWN!” He yanked her back, and she fell back on top of his chest.

“Can’t you open your mind for one second Y/N-“

“E stop instigating her!” He said, trying to keep a growling Y/N locked in his arms.

“It’s a COINCIDENCE! It’s a scientific phenomenon that happens with lots of satellites in space but has no relation to Earth or us whatsoever and has NOTHING TO DO with your SHITTY WEEK ETHAN! You are just incredibly unlucky!”

“Okay babe you’re actually scaring me maybe turn the rage down a bit?” Gray asked, trying for a soothing tone.

“And you on the other hand! Are you stupid? Are you literally stupid Grayson-“

“BABY-“

She bent down and bit on his arm and he yelped , letting go more out of surprise than in pain.

“Y/N WHAT THE FUCK?” He rubbed his arm and pouted at her.

“Everyone who lives here is a FUCKING IDIOT!” She yelled, storming out of living room and into the kitchen.

A few seconds pass.

...

“You’re not really mad though, right?” Ethan said quietly after clearing his throat.

Y/N walked back into the living room, now holding a bag of potato chips. “Nah, I’m just bored and wanted to argue.”

She plopped herself onto the couch next to Ethan and smiled at him, and he rolled his eyes, but it got a laugh out of Grayson.

“So we cool?” Ethan eyed her warily.

“Of course,” she laughed, then pecked him on the cheek. “I just thrive on dysfunction.” She popped a chip into her mouth.

“Yea she’s right about that..” Gray mumbled from his seat, still staring at his phone.

“Shut up, asshole.”

“Bitchass.”

She laughed. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“So you do think our shitty week was because of mercury being in retrograde.”

Her laughter stopped when she turned around to look at Ethan. She blinked. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What? You just said-“

“Yea because I thought you were joking-“

“What? I wasn’t-“

“Oh my god don’t get me started-“

“LETS JUST WATCH THE MOVIE!” Grayson shouted, throwing his phone onto the counter.

Y/N snorted. “Jeez, Gray, it’s like you want us to stop fighting.”

“Yea, no doubt this is definitely turning you on right now.” Ethan wiggled his eyebrows, and Y/N spat from laughing so hard as she doubled over.

“EW what the F-” Gray screamed.

“It’s okay, you can be honest with us. It’s not your fault you’re into weird shit.” Y/N howled from laughter.

Grayson rolled his eyes. “Of course you two only stop fighting if it’s to make fun of me. I see how it is-“

“Bubba stop wallowing and start the movie!” Y/N threw a pillow at him, and it landed smack in his face.

“Nice shot.” Ethan remarked.

“Thank you, good sir.” She gave him a high five.

“God, this is one of those times I wish you guys weren’t friends first.” Grayson groaned, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on.

“Hey man, the one time I make a friend on my own and she ends up being your girlfriend. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me, dude-“

“Don’t start with this shit again, E-“

“I mean I basically got you your girlfriend, you technically owe me bro-“

“Shut the fuck up E!”

“Excuse me,” Y/N interjected, shoving Ethan’s shoulder. “You didn’t do shit, okay? I honestly probably just got unlucky and ended up meeting you first instead of Grayson.” She smirked.

“Wow, okay, first of all, fuck you-“

“I'M PUTTING THE MOVIE ON!” Grayson shouted.

“Damn, baby, what’s got you in a bad mood today?” Y/N giggled, and Ethan snickered along with her. They constantly got into tiny fights about nothing just for fun, and it was what made their friendship so interesting. But they knew when to stop fooling around, and it seemed like now was one of those times.

Gray sighed. “Nothinggg, I’m just tired.” It wasn’t nothing, but he was tired. He kicked his feet up into the sofa and leaned back against the pillow. Ethan has already draped the big fuzzy blanket over him and Y/N.

“Baby..” Grayson whined. “Come over here. I wanna cuddle.”

“But it’s so faaar..” Y/N groaned. “And I’m already so cozy.” She smiled at him sweetly.

Grayson couldn’t help but feel warm and fuzzy from the look she gave him, but he was still disappointed. He slumped his shoulders and turned back towards the screen. “Whatever..”

“Aww, Baby, don’t be like that, then you’ll make me feel bad.”

“Jesus you guys are adorably disgusting.” Ethan cringed at you both, and Grayson groaned.

“Why, thank you, kind sir.” Y/N said, grabbing the blanket away from Ethan then scurrying over to Graysons sofa, making his eyes light up.

“Hey! I was using that.” Ethan grumbled.

“Sorry, it’s needed for cuddles which is more important than your lonely ass.”

“Why are you so mean to me?”

“Because you always forgive me right afterwards.” She gave him a cheeky grin, and he scoffed at her.

She turned to Grayson. “Okay, scooch over, you attention whore.”

“Hey-“

“I looove you.”

Grayson rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I love you too.” He shimmied over, letting Y/N crawl over him so she could nestle up close into his chest. Grayson then threw the blanket over both of them. She laid her head in the crook of his neck, and pressed a kiss there.

“You’re not mad, right?”

He looked down at her, wary. A little, he thought. “No.. why?”

“Dunno..” she shrugged. “Just feels like you are.”

“Well, I’m not.” He said, not with much enthusiasm. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Would you two stop whispering and start the movie already?” Ethan said, putting his feet up onto the counter.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Gray reaches for the remote, and started the movie.

...

“There’s no way!”

Grayson groaned, finally waking up to the sound of chattering voices and giggling.

“He’d never do that.” He heard Y/N’s voice say.

He grumbled, rubbing his eyes, but then noticed that he couldn’t feel the weight of Y/N on top of him. He cracked his eyes open and found her missing from his arms. He then turned to find her sitting back over on the couch, next to Ethan.

“You don’t give him enough credit.” Ethan said, grinning.

“I’m not saying I blame him! It makes sense that he wouldn’t.”

He couldn’t explain it, but Grayson felt some sort of anger bubbling in his chest. Why did it seem like every moment he got with Y/N was being stolen? Was he no longer able to just fall asleep with his girlfriend in his arms? Did Ethan always have to be the one he saw instead?

“What’re you two girls giggling about?” He growled, throwing the blanket off of him as he sat up.

“Look who finally decided to wake up.” Y/N said, turning away from E to face him.

Grayson sighed. He couldn’t beat around the bush anymore, so he asked the obvious question. “Whatre you doing over there, baby?”

“Well, you fell asleep halfway through the movie. And you just looked so cute... I didn’t wanna wake you up.” She smiled at him, that familiar twinkle in her eye.

Gray tilted his head at her, unsure what to make of it. How did she always end up doing something sweet so he couldn’t stay mad at her?

“What are you guys talking about?” He asked again.

“Y/N was just telling me about this sex position you won’t try.” He snorted.

Grayson closed his eyes. “Please, dear god, tell me he’s joking.” He opened them again and looked at her.

She laughed, getting up and seating herself down next to him. “He’s joking, bub.” She gave him a side glance. “We were actually just talking about whether or not you’d give up your work for me.”

Grayson blinked, then turned to Ethan. “Are you trying to make me lose my girlfriend?”

He laughed. “No, we were just talking about the podcast and stuff, and she said how she’s never seen you as happy as you are doing that kind of stuff with anything else. To which I said, you’d give it all up in a second for her.”

“Okay I’m not confirming or denying anything-“ Grayson pressed a hand to Y/N’s cheek, “-I love you,-“ he added, getting a smile from her, “but I don’t feel like you’re in a position where you can make that kind of comment while I am unconscious and unable to defend myself.” He directed back at Ethan.

“Baby, relax.” Y/N took his hand from her cheek and pressed a kiss against his palm. “We were just talking. I just said that there’s no way you’d just give up on all of this. On everything. And that makes SENSE.” She said to Ethan. “No relationship should demand that you give up anything that important to you.”

“Right but I’m just saying-“

“Ethan maybe just shut up.” Gray interjected. “Just a little. Just shut up.”

Y/N laughed again. She cupped Grayson’s cheeks, turning his face towards hers, and pressed a quick kiss against his lips. “Sorry, Baby. Didn’t mean to make you all flustered right after you woke up.” She giggled.

Grayson sighed, but smiled. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re worth all this embarrassment.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yea, you’re right. I don’t.” He grinned.

“Okay, it’s getting too cute again. I’m going to bed before I puke.” Ethan got up, making a gagging gesture with his finger. “Gnight.”

“Night, E.” Y/N said, laughing as he walked out of the room.

“God, I thought he’d never leave.” Grayson pulled Y/N into his arms and kissed her face all over.

She giggled, pushing his face away. “What are you talking about? You literally just woke up.”

“And I was expecting to wake up to my girlfriends pretty face, not his nasty one.” He snuggled his nose into her cheek as she rolled her eyes.

“What’re you talking about.”

“I’m just saying that I don’t mind it when he’s not here to steal you away.”

“Steal me?” She finally got his face off of her and she looked at him, crossing her arms. “the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He gave her a mixture of a sigh and a laugh. “Nothing, babe.”

“Grayson.”

“Yes, Baby.” He pushed her hair back behind her shoulders.

She swatted his hands away. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying that when I fall asleep with my girlfriend in my arms, it isn’t the best feeling waking up to see her giggling with my brother.”

She sat up abruptly, almost knocking him in the face in the process. “What?”

“Nothingggg, never mind.”

“Grayson-“

“I love you,” he said.

“Ok we can’t keep saying that to avoid stuff!” She jabbed at him.

“I’m not avoiding anything, baby girl.” He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Y/N hesitated. “Bub...”

“Mmm.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to her lips. She held him there, as if she was testing him for something. But she couldn’t seem to figure out what.

They broke apart, and Grayson sighed against her lips.

“I hate that E had to meet you first.”

“Why?” She pulled away just enough to see his eyes.

“Because-“ he stopped, and breathed out. “Because I didn’t get to have you for as long as I could have.” He decided to say that instead, while pressing his forehead against hers.

“You have me now.” She said.

He smiled. “Yea...” he pulled back from her, a wistful sort of look in his eye.

Do I, though? He thought.

Grayson shook his head, then laid back on the couch, putting his arms back behind his head as he breathed out. He felt Y/N weigh down on his chest, propping herself up on her elbows as she looked down at him. She stayed like that for a while, watching him breathe and stare at the ceiling. He wanted to know what was running through her head, but he kept his eyes closed, knowing that if he did look at her he’d feel jealous all over again.

He hated the very idea of him being jealous in the first place. It was icky and weird, and quite frankly disgusting. What was he supposed to be jealous of?

Ethan.

He pushed that thought way, just thinking about it making him queasy. What the fuck was he thinking? How could he be jealous of Ethan when Y/N was his girlfriend? Sure, they were friends first, and yes that pissed him off to no end, but that’s all it was. They were just friends.

Right?

No.

Grayson brought his hands up to his eyes, somehow trying to rub the thoughts out of his head. He let out a loud sigh.

Why did she have to be like this? It’s not like he had a problem with her being close with Ethan. He loved that, and he always wanted his partner to have a good relationship with his brother. Ethan was super important to him, and he wanted both his love and his brother to be in his life. And that’s what he got, so he should be lucky right? He should be happy at the thought that the three of them could just hang out and things wouldn’t be weird.

Yes it would.

No it wouldn’t.

They spend too much time together.

No they don’t.

She probably wants to be with him instea-

“Woah- okay.” Grayson mumbled, opening his eyes fast to pull himself out of his spiral. That went too far way too fast. He peered up at the ceiling, trying to concentrate on the blank white colour and clear his thoughts.

He felt Y/N shift on his chest, probably in response to his small outburst, and he prayed that she wouldn’t say anything. He waited a second.

Two.

Three.

She didn’t make a sound, aside from her soft breath. He relaxed.

This is Y/N. his girlfriend. The girl he loved, and the girl he was quite sure loved him the same way. Nobody else. Just him.

You sure?

“Fuck!”

“Baby, are you okay?” She finally said now, pushing herself up off of his chest gently to look at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Yea, princess. I’m fine. Just.. a headache.”

She titled her head at him, a worried look in her eye. “You sure?”

You sure?

“YES!” He said a little too loudly, making her jump a little. “Yes, I’m sure.”

She peered at him with a look of unease, but she dropped it. He seemed tired, and she didn’t want to push him. However, she could tell there was something running through his mind, and it was bothering him.

His face looked pale for the first time, and it freaked her out. His eyebrows were all furrowed, and he just felt dark and unsettling.

“What’re you thinking about, bub?” She finally said, unable to keep wondering.

Grayson coughed. What was he to say?

“...You.” He finally decided with, trying for a playful smile, but his eyes still seemed tired. Uneasy.

“Is that so?” She laid down, bringing her arms down flat on his chest and resting her chin above them. “What about me?”

“Just you.” He brought a hand up to brush a hair out of her face, and this time she let him. “Your pretty face.”

Just for me.

“Right.”

“And your sparkling eyes.”

For no one else.

“Mhm.”

“And your stupid little smile that literally makes me want to squeal like a little school girl.” He said now, a little frustrated, but making him realize once more that this was still Y/N. the girl he had fallen for, and loved with everything he had.

“Aw, I make you squeal like a little girl?”

“Constantly.”

“That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Shut up.”

They both breathed out, their anxious sighs mingling with one another.

Grayson felt Y/N drag her finger across his chest, stopping abruptly right before touching his hand.

She knows.

Knows what?

Knows that you don’t trust her.

He took her hand in his, grabbing it tightly and pressing it against his chest.

I do trust you.

I do.

It was like he could feel her smiling against his chest, and suddenly he relaxed once more. He rubbed her palm with his thumb, glad he could find something to focus on. It was as if she felt the same way, because he felt her place her head down against his chest. He closed his eyes once more, lining his breath up with her soft breath. His other hand found its way to her lower back, now gently rubbing up and down, the way he did whenever she couldn’t fall asleep.

Just fall asleep.

...

“Shit.”

Grayson stirred from his sleep, awoken by the sound of Y/N’s quiet voice.

“Mmmbaby, s’that y-?” He went to sleepily grab Y/N’s waist, but sort of shook himself awake when his arms landed flat against his waist.

He wanted to yell. “God, again with this shit?” He grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” Her voice made him pull his arms away, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He finally recognized his girlfriend’s shape standing next to the sofa. He then saw the spilled water at her feet.

“What are you...” he glanced back up at her, and she ran a hand through her hair.

“I got thirsty. Didn’t wanna wake you...” She sighed. “But I couldn’t see in the dark, and I knocked into the stupid coffee table and spilled it all.” She rubbed her eye with the back of her palm and pouted.

Grayson reached for his phone, picking it up and squinting as the bright light shone in his face.

It was 2am.

He turned the flashlight on his phone on so he could see where the water had spilled. Thankfully, none had gotten on the carpet. He placed the phone down and sighed. “My clumsy baby.” He got up off the couch and carefully walked over to her, stepping over the puddle of water. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. “Okay, I’ll get the mop. Go to bed.”

She smiled. “Love you.”

...

About fifteen minutes later, Grayson quietly shut the door to his bedroom, and saw his girlfriend sitting up in his bed, her head laying against the backboard, and a pretty light shining over her face from the table lamp. Her eyes seemed a little glazed, as if she was about to drift off, but smiled and sat up when she saw him enter the room.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Grayson asked, getting into bed next to her.

She shrugged. “Didn’t wanna fall asleep without you.”

She laid her head on his shoulder, and sighed. “I know we kinda say it all the time, so it’s kinda almost lost meaning at this point, but…” she tilted her head to look up at him. “I really do love you.”

Her hand rustled under the blanket to find his, and their fingers intertwined. “A lot.”

Grayson’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothin’.” She said, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

“Well, whatever it is, I like it.”

Grayson pushed her back down onto her pillow and kissed her while she giggled against his lips.

She pushed him back by his shoulders, giving him a funny look. “I’m just trying to show my appreciation for you.”

“So am I.” He pressed a kiss to her lips again, and this time she didn’t stop him, her hands finding their usual place at his jaw and neck.

When they pulled apart, she kept his head in place, pressing their noses together. “You’re amazing.”

“You’re weird when you’re tired.”

She pecked his lips. “It’s strange that you use the word ‘weird’ instead of ‘affectionate’.”

She let go of him, letting her arms fall on top of the blanket. She stretched, and let out a yawn. She pushed him down onto the mattress, and laid her head in the crook of his neck, her arm against his chest.

Grayson leaned back, just watching the view in front of him. His wonderful girlfriend, falling asleep next to him, in his bed. Hearing her breathing as she drifted off to sleep, her chest slowly rising and falling as she began to dream. It was everything he wanted.

Then why was there that nagging voice still in the back of his head?

This isn’t real.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

She’s faking it.

What?

All of it.

What is wrong with you?

She’s pretending.

No she’s not.

She is.

She’s not.

She is.

She loves me!

You sure?

…

I have to be sure.

“Y/N…”

“Mmm?”

“Tell me the story of how you met Ethan.”

She looked up at him with a weird look. “Why?”

“Just ‘cause.”

“..babe?”

“I just wanna hear it.”

“But you already know that story.”

“I know..” He stroked her hair. “I just wanna hear it again.”

“Baby what is going on with you?” She pushed herself up off of his chest to look at him, sitting up now.

“Okay, fine. Just tell me what you really thought when you saw him for the first time.”

“What?”

“Were you really just trying to be friends with him?”

“Bub-”

“Or did you want something else?”

“Grayson!” she shoved at his chest. “What is wrong with you?”

“Baby please.” He grabbed her arm. “Did you want him, ever?”

She flung his arm off of her. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Just tell me!” He yelled, impatient and worried.

She blinked at him in astonishment. “Okay, so what if I did, huh?”

His heart sank. “Don’t play games with me, Y/N.”

“So WHAT if I DID, GRAYSON?” she was shouting now too, no longer caring about keeping her voice down so not to wake Ethan.

“Don’t fucking say that.”

“Why would that even matter? I’m not with him, am I? I’m with YOU!”

“Y/N-”

“Grayson, please....” She put her face in her hands. Rubbing her eyes with her palms. “What is wrong? Do you have a problem with me?”

“What? No! I-”

“Then why are you doing this? Why are you acting like a jealous freak? Do you not trust me? Do you not believe me when I pour my heart out to you? When I say that I love you?”

“I’m not jealous-”

“Yes you are!” She threw her hands up in the air. “I’ve never said anything about it, because I didn’t want to. It’s weird, Gray. And especially today! What do you have to be jealous of? Do you not want me to be friends with Ethan? Is that it?”

“No…” His fingers raked through his hair. “No.”

“Then what, Gray? What is it that you want from me?”

She paused.

“Do you not want me?”

His eyes widened. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He wrapped his arms around her aggressively, burying his nose into her shoulder. “You are all I’ve ever wanted.”

She sighed. “Bub…” she gently pushed herself away from his so she could look him in the eye. “No. I’ve never had feelings for Ethan. He’s my friend. My really, good friend that I care a lot about. But I don’t feel anything towards him like what I feel towards you.”

He gave her an exasperated sigh. “Then what did you really think of Ethan the first time you met him?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary! I just thought he was a nice person that I’d like to hang out with.”

Grayson gave her a weary look.

“Babe, I don’t understand. You say that you trust me, but if you did why would you act like this?”

“I don’t know, Y/N! It’s not like I want to! It’s just- you guys are so close. And I’ve just never seen Ethan be that close to someone other than me, and, I don’t know, okay? It just. It just freaks me out.”

Y/N cupped his jaw. “Grayson.”

“Yea?”

“You know what I thought the first time I met you?”

“...what?”

“Wow. I didn’t know it was possible for someone to have a twin significantly more attractive than they are.”

Grayson blinked, but then almost spit all over her, doubling over in laughter, completely forgetting about the seriousness of the situation. Y/N couldn’t help but giggle as well, glad to see him smile.

“Shut up.” He said after controlling his laughing. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m dead serious.” She chuckled. “My hands were all sweaty the entire time, and you know how I kept completely falling off the track while we were playing mario kart?

“Mhm?”

“That’s cuz I was staring at your reflection in the tv screen.”

“Shut UP!”

“I swear to god I’m serious!” she laughed. “And after I gave up to let you guys play and I was just on my phone, I was actually imagining us making out.”

He grabbed her face and kissed her, surprising her, but she relaxed in his arms. When he pulled away, he said: “You are so good at lying to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Mhm.” He kissed her again, wrapping one arm around her waist while the other held her neck firmly. She moaned against his lips, holding his face in both hands. When they pulled away, they were out of breath.

“Okay, maybe I exaggerated a little bit.” She smiled. “But the point is, I love you. Nobody else.”

Grayson sighed. “I love you.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“Hey.”

“What? You should.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. You’re right.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’m really sorry. I’ve been a huge dick.”

“You sure have.”

Then her nose. “I was an idiot to be jealous.”

“Mhm.”

And then a peck on her lips. “I love you. So much.”

She grinned. “I love you too.”

“Promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“You’ll always be mine?” he asked, his lips grazing against hers.

She smiled at him. “I’m all yours.” she said, then connected their lips once more.

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nodick-energy · 3 years

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Might fuck around and delete this tomorrow bc I lowkey hate it but hey. I wrote this on an executive dysfunction high with about a 20% understanding of the source material.

Also cba to put it on AO3 tonight I might later idk

Headless Horseman|Abraham Van Brunt & Ichabod Crane

(I didn't mean to but I kinda made it gay. Only very loosely implied tho)

-----

"So let me get this straight," Ichabod pulled himself back up onto the rock he'd been occupying, having finally admitted defeat and slid down onto the grass below him, "you can see and hear things fine, but you can't speak."

It was quite late. The moon was now hanging high in the sky, shining through its last quarter. Sure, they could find a bed for the night, but it was quite difficult to go with their friend anywhere in public, considering he was rather lacking in the top half of his body which, though it was not unheard of by the residents of Sleepy Hollow, did still cause a bit of a freakout. Although Ichabod wasn't complaining; he liked resting under the night sky. And they were too far away to just go back to their living space.

In case you haven't noticed, I don't have a fucking head. I've stopped questioning it.

It had taken far longer than perhaps it should have, for Ichabod to have the idea of teaching the horseman sign language. Truth be told, he wasn't a fast learner, but it was a great deal easier than watching him wave his arms around madly trying to get Ichabod to understand what he was trying to tell him.

The horseman himself sat opposite him, down on the grass with his legs crossed and his back to a tree. Ichabod wasn't sure the man was ever relaxed, but at least he'd ditched the sword somewhere nearby. He felt a little safer without it around, although he seriously doubted he would actually hurt him now.

"Fair enough." He had to admit, being well-versed in science, he hated not understanding how something worked. He was also aware that pushing the boundaries of a murderous undead lunatic was not a good idea. He'd already had the intrusive thought of the horseman using his head as a replacement far more times than he wished for, "So, what do you plan on doing when you finally do get your head back?"

The horseman gave what he assumed was a shrug, though it was hard to tell. He was only just beginning to get used to reading his body language. It was quite incredible, he found, how much people relied on faces to read emotion.

Haven't thought that far ahead yet. Last time I had freedom it ended with a fucking cannonball to the face, I think I'll find somewhere peaceful to settle down. Maybe travel a bit beforehand.

"Mhm. Maybe give Texas a look. If you can ignore some of the people, I think you'd like it there."

What makes you say that?

"Lots of horses." It was almost comical, the way the horsemen's chest rose and fell despite the lack of noise that escaped him. He laughed silently.

You're not funny.

Ichabod laughed quietly, which only got louder as the horseman sent one sign he'd been getting particularly good at his way. Ichabod sighed loudly, pulling his knees up to his chest. He shivered slightly as the wind picked up.

Cold? Ichabod nodded.

"My own fault. Should've thought to bring a jacket with me." The horseman leaned back against the tree.

If I had eyes, they'd be rolling right now. Here, dipshit, he reached up and unclasped his jacket. Ichabod slipped off the rock to take it from him as he offered it. He hesitated as he straightened up. He could get back on the rock, but was there any point now he was down here? Before he could change his mind, he threw the horsemen's jacket over his sweater and dropped down beside him.

It wasn't warm, exactly. Being dead, the horseman didn't exactly produce any kind of heat. It was heavy on him, though, and comforting despite the very evident bloodstains of both old and new. He wasn't really much smaller than him (he was actually taller than the horseman, although that was kind of a given), but the jacket felt huge. Ichabod wrapped it around himself.

"Won't you get cold?" He asked. By the way his shoulders moved, the horseman would now be looking at him. He could imagine the 'are you kidding me?' look that would be in front of him if his friend had a face.

For the last time. I. Am. Dead.

Ichabod was honestly quite impressed by how well the man managed to convey sarcasm with just his hands. He nodded, curling in on himself slightly.

It wasn't until now that he realised just how heavy his eyelids felt. He fought for consciousness, eyes falling closed for a few seconds at a time. The horseman looked over at him again.

You look exhausted. You should get some... Ichabod watched him struggle, eventually signing out 'love.' He shook his head.

"That was love. I'm assuming you meant rest? Here, I'll show you. They're kind of similar, so they're easy to confuse." Tiredly, he managed to sign both, showing them in contrast. The horseman copied his hands, for once picking it up almost immediately, "Yeah, like that."

Thank you. Now, get some rest. Ichabod chuckled quietly, leaning into the horseman. It was funny, just a week ago he wouldn't have dared to be within several feet of him. Now, he was more or less using him as a pillow in the middle of buttfuck nowhere as if he wasn't extremely dangerous. And, more to the point, the horseman was letting him.

"You sure you don't want me to stay up with you? I don't mind."

Ichabod, go the fuck to sleep.

"Mm, if you're sure," if he wasn't so out of it with exhaustion, he might've been surprised when the horseman put an arm around his shoulders. Instead, he just leaned further into him. He managed to slide one hand between the horseman and the tree he leant against, holding his own hand around the dead man's waist. He wasn't exactly known for his warm personality, but the horseman didn't push him away at least. Ichabod rested his head against his shoulder, where he would have leant into his neck. This worked for now.

"Goodnight, Abraham."

#HeadlessSeriesFic #Headless Series Fic #Headless Series #shipwrecked comedy #Sleepy Hollow #posting this now before i delete it from my google docs #i hate myself lmao #long post #apologies #i do not know how to put a read more thing on

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lilfellasblog · 3 years

Text

Truly *Nothing* Is Spookier Than Self-Care

Summary: Janus absolutely despises being accepted by Thomas and the Light Sides. He can’t help but notice how they very much do not put themselves first. He decides to change that.

A/N: If you liked this, please reblog. It is the only way to help this fic reach a wider audience. This story comes from this ask by @foreverfangirlingalways! Thank you so much for the inspiration and the wonderful prompt! I hope I did it justice!

TW: very light angst, like almost no angst. Small amounts of stress and mild flailing to adapt when the plan doesn't go perfectly.

Word count: 2648

AO3 here!

Fic Masterlist here!

Although Janus was grateful to be accepted by his Host, an aspect of such that he absolutely loved was seeing just how dysfunctional the Light Sides were in their self-care. They certainly had a great deal of work to do, but they held themselves to such high standards, they seemed to constantly move around every waking moment. Janus had been attempting to get the Light Sides more focused on taking care of themselves throughout the day, but the key word here is attempting. They’d thank him for his suggestion and promise they’d do it later.

Janus wondered why he was the one stuck with Deceit as a name.

It was now time for more drastic measures that he hoped wouldn’t land him with a giant frog again. He knew he’d have to go one at a time if he wanted any chance of success, so he decided to target each Side according to the level of concern he had for them. Naturally, this meant Roman would be his first vict- *cough* recipient.

He found Roman precisely where he’d expect him: inside his en suite gym, hair damp with perspiration.

“In the gym again? Don’t you have anything else to do with your spare time?” Janus asked innocently.

Roman started and placed the weight he’d been lifting on the ground. “Greetings Janus! And I do, there’s just always room for improvement!”

Hm, direct won’t work with him in this. Interesting. “I was wondering if you might help me with a sewing project, although I see you’re busy.”

Roman grabbed a nearby towel to wipe his face. “I’m never too busy to assist a Side in need! What is it you’d like my assistance on?”

Janus hummed. “I was hoping to experiment with a few costume ideas for Halloween. I think a pirate might be suitable for me.”

Roman grinned, excitement beginning to shine in his eyes. “Indeed! Allow me a few minutes to wash up, I’ll join you!” He waved his hand. “You’ll find two sewing stations in my room!” He pranced off to the bathroom without another word.

“Don’t take too long!” Janus called after him, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait much longer than an hour for the prince to get his appearance in order.

He only had to wait a half hour before Roman joined him in the room, hair still slightly damp. Janus internally cheered when Roman didn’t have his ridiculously complicated prince uniform on, instead wearing a red sweater with pumpkins stitched on.

“Roman, would you mind trying on the clothes once I’ve finished them? We have similar body types, although you’re more muscular, and my current outfit is simply a bear to get on and off.”

Roman blinked in surprise. “I… I suppose I could, are you certain you want me to do that?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, yes.”

After another moment of prolonged shock, Roman pulled himself together and struck a pose, exaggerated grin on his face. “Well far be it from a prince to forsake a Side in their hour of need!”

Janus smiled, relieved. “Wonderful.” He summoned his nearly-completed pirate costume: tight black pants, calf-high boots, and a billowy shirt with a deep V-neck. “I’m just about to finish these, would you mind taking a look at the seams on the outside of the leg and in the armpit of the shirt? I want to make sure I’ve pinned those in a way that won’t pull.”

Roman and Janus discussed the different options they had for stitching, and once they’d decided Janus had Roman put in the stitching for the pants while he finished stitching the shirt. Janus was pleased that Roman had decided to go for a more complex stitch; he knew the Side enjoyed getting absorbed in a task, and that he enjoyed sewing. Sure enough, after an hour, he looked over and saw Roman’s irises sparkling in red and gold, tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth. 4 hours later, and they’d both finished.

Janus stretched, watching Roman bounce slightly in his seat from excitement. “Well Roman, we did good work. Would you try these on?”

Roman hesitated, then forced himself to smile, Janus watching him carefully. “Certainly! Are you sure you don’t want to?”

“I am, I’d hate to keep getting in and out of my outfit, especially if changes need to be made.”

Roman inhaled deeply and took the clothes, holding them carefully. “I shall not dilly-dally then! I shall return soon!”

Janus plastered a wide smile on his face. “Wonderful!”

That was another thing, the sheer amount of smiling the Light Sides did and how he found himself going along with it. It made his face hurt at time from the sheer amount of smiling.

Roman emerged, posture stiff and forced but proud. Janus raised both eyebrows.

“Roman, you look wonderful! Stand in front of the mirror, won’t you?”

The prince shuffled over, eyes darting between himself and the ground.

Janus appraised the Side before him, and was relieved he wouldn’t have to lie about a single thing. “Goodness Roman, you like incredible! The skin-tight pants look wonderful on your legs, and the shirt highlights your figure! I must say, I’m quite jealous. I’ve been also considering going as a bard this year, why don’t you just take this costume? I shows off all of your muscles and your broad shoulders especially!”

Roman looked at him, surprised. “Are you certain? You’ve spent so long on this, I couldn’t possibly-”

“I am, I’ll enjoy knowing you’re enjoying something I made. Come now, Thomas is tired, and it’s best to look in the distance to prevent eye strain. Would you like to watch some Disney movies?”

Roman frowned and looked back towards where his en suite gym was. “I really should be getting back to a workout…”

“Nonsense, you’ve been working out so much, and you’ve been working hard in other areas. You’ll be more productive after some rest.”

Janus let out a breath when Roman shrugged and summoned a large television. He got some beanbags and snacks for them, and Janus watched as Roman slowly relaxed and got engrossed in the movies, eagerly agreeing to watch one after the other. Once dinner rolled around, Janus suggested a famILY movie night, which got Patton on board, which meant everyone would attend. Roman had changed back into his pumpkin sweater, and Janus was the last one awake, pleased to see the other Sides asleep, surrounded by snacks and illuminated by the glow of the television. He sank out to his room, and planned his next intervention.

/////

Janus waited a week so as to not draw any suspicion to himself, and found Patton in the kitchen. He was typing furiously on a tablet, Thomas currently working through whether or not he should use his celebrity status to get ahead in line so he could get back to editing a new video faster so he could get that out to his fans so he could-

He pulled his mind back from Patton’s, reeling slightly.

You need this more than I thought.

Janus backed up a bit, then walked more heavily to announce his presence to Patton. Patton looked up at him happily.

“Heya Janus! What can I do ya for?”

Janus smiled easily, the cheerful Side great at lifting moods. “I see you’re in the middle of something, but once you get a moment, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping me bake something? It’s a skill I’d like to acquire.”

Patton lit up. “Well sure!! Give me just a few minutes and I’ll be right with you!”

Janus set a tea kettle to boil and put a mint tea bag in Patton’s mug and a black tea bag in his own. Just as Patton sighed and set the tablet on the table, the kettle went off and Janus poured the water before Patton could do it. He didn’t miss how Patton rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.

He gently set the mug of tea in front of Patton. Patton lifted and smelled it, closing his eyes.

“Mmmmmm, mint, my favorite!”

“Oh really? Lucky guess, I suppose.”

Patton looked up at him knowingly. “You’re good at guessing,” he teased.

“Thank you for noticing. I’ve noticed that Thomas’ Sides have been quite busy lately. Do you think a chocolate beet cake would go over well?”

“Do I?!” Patton asked, eyes shining and the edges of his irises glowing light blue.

Patton donned plastic gloves and got to work peeling and grating the beets, while Janus combined the wet and dry ingredients in separate bowls. He asked Patton for reassurance on occasion, despite being confident in his abilities. He let Patton take over once it was time to combine everything and put it in the oven.

Patton tapped his finger against his chin. “Hmmmmm… what kind of frosting should we do? I’m thinking either buttercream or ganache, what do you think?”

Janus shrugged. “Why not just store-bought frosting? It seems easier.”

Patton looked at him incredulously. “For a beet cake?! Oh no, we may as well make something while it’s baking!”

Shitshitshitshitshitshit- Janus frantically thought back to the brief research he’d done on cakes.

“How about ganache? I’ve always been intrigued about that.”

“Sure!” Patton chirped. Janus let out a breath as Patton bounded over to the fridge to grab heavy cream. Patton showed Janus how to make ganache, and Janus was surprised and relieved at how simple it was.

As the cake cooked and the ganache cooled, Janus and Patton chatted amicably, Janus asking questions about something Patton would bring up and watching Patton’s eyes become bluer and bluer as he kept talking. The oven pinged, and Janus convinced Patton that a game of cards was in order while they let the cake cool. One game led to five, and by then it was time to gently reheat the ganache and pour it over the cake.

Patton jumped when he realized the time. “Oh gosh!! I’m so sorry, I don’t have dinner planned! I can-”

“Don’t worry about it Patton,” Janus interrupted. “I actually have a recipe I’ve been meaning to try out if you don’t mind relinquishing the kitchen?”

Patton smiled nervously. “Do you want any help?”

I might have to adjust my plan. “No, but I would like some pleasant company. You’re on your feet so much, it’s good to soak them.” He summoned a bucket filled with warm water and a bag of lavender-scented epsom salts. “I won’t be long.”

Patton poured some of the epsom salts into the bucket of water and groaned and whimpered at the relaxing sensation on his feet. Janus turned and allowed himself a small smile, then cooked up some 4-ingredient Italian chicken breasts from a recipe he’d found online, along with some roasted veggies and some pasta aglio e olio on the side. He set the table when Patton had his eyes closed in pleasure, then got everything served and helped Patton massage and dry his feet.

After dinner, in which everyone complimented the cooking, Patton declared he would go to bed a little early tonight, so Janus sent him upstairs with some chamomile tea. He cleaned the kitchen, and felt rather accomplished.

Roman and Patton are taken care of, thank God. He chuckled to himself. Up next, two for the price of one!

/////

Janus stood in front of Logan’s closed door, holding a pencil and large pad of paper, uncharacteristically nervous.

I’ve been able to fool Roman and Patton, but Logan is smart. He may see through this.

He knocked on the door, uncertain of his success.

Logan answered the door, every hair and fiber of clothing in order. “Hello Janus.”

Oh dear Lord in Heaven, this man needs to relax. Janus put on his best smile. “Hello Logan. I’ve become rather fascinated with the constellation Serpens and was wondering if you’d help me chart it and some stars and constellations around it? I’m afraid this is out of my area of expertise and I know this happens to be a field you’re familiar with.”

Logan looked at him skeptically. “You want to chart the stars with me,” he deadpanned. “You have no ulterior motives?”

“None whatsoever,” Janus said.

Logan looked over Janus’ shoulder at the wall, upset.

He knows you lied, salvage this! Janus sighed, pushing it a little. “Truth be told, Logan, I would like to get to know you more, and although I truly am interested in learning more about the constellation of the snake, spending time with you was my ultimate goal.”

Logan looked surprised, a faint blush on his cheekbones. “Oh. I suppose… that would be satisfactory.”

Janus leaned on all of his acting abilities to look relaxed. “Excellent. Would your room suffice?”

“It would.”

Janus laid his pad of paper and pencil on the floor where Logan indicated, and timed his next move while Logan was looking over his books.

“Say, Logan, you and Virgil seem to enjoy each other’s company, shall we ask him to join us?”

Logan stopped flipping through the thick tome currently in his hand long enough to raise his arm in a summon. Virgil rose up and grabbed his head.

“God L, how are you guys not constantly dizzy?” Virgil jumped when he saw Janus. “Oh! Hey, what’s up guys?” Janus made sure to hide his endearment for the anxious Side when he saw Virgil cringe

“Janus would like assistance mapping the constellation Serpens and the surrounding night sky. He suggested you accompany us,” Logan explained without raising his eyes from his book.

Virgil looked between Janus and Logan. “Just like… hang out?”

Janus decided to step in. “Yes. I noticed you seem to enjoy the company of others, but aren’t always interested in participating.”

Virgil offered a soft smile. “Yeah, I guess… that’s chill. Mind if I just listen to music and stuff?”

“Not at all,” Janus and Logan said at the same time.

Virgil snorted, then flopped on the bed, put in an earbud, and started up his phone.

One down, one to go.

Logan sat in front of Janus, irises already dark blue.

Two down, it seems.

Janus listened intently as Logan spoke at length about Serpens, and then about related constellations, and then about related galaxies and stars, with Janus asking questions along the way. They charted out Serpens and filled the large piece of paper with other stars and constellations, and even Virgil would chime in every now and again.

Janus definitely didn’t almost get emotional when he saw how relaxed the two normally-tense Sides were.

When Patton knocked on Logan’s door for dinner, Virgil swore.

“Shit! Did I miss something? Did Thomas need me?! Fuck, I-”

“Relax, Virgil,” Janus soothed. “I kept an eye on things, Thomas is just fine. See for yourself.”

Virgil’s eyes grew distant for several long moments before refocused. He blew out a breath.

“Okay, whew,” he sent a grateful look towards Janus. “Thanks man.”

Janus waved. “Not a problem. Let’s not keep Patton waiting.”

Janus followed the two Sides downstairs, feeling victorious at how relaxed their shoulders were. Virgil was even walking with proper posture!

Dinner was a relaxed affair, the Sides content and laughing easily. Remus was chattering on about one thing one moment and another the next, with Logan offering feedback and Virgil changing the topic for Patton’s sake. Janus ate, not admitting how nice it felt to be included in famILY mealtime. It took him til nearly the end of dinner to realize no one was watching him out of the corner of their eye.

They trust me, he realized.

By the end of the night, he stretched out on his bed, pulling his heated blanket up to his neck.

What a waste of time. Totally not worth it, he thought to himself as he planned his next meeting with Roman.

#janus sanders #janus sanders fanfic #janus sanders fanfiction #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic

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shortythescreen · 4 years

Text

come over chapter 3: the party.

Warning(s): Dysfunctional family dynamics, Octavio’s parents being assholes, misuse of stim, kind of abrupt ending, fem reader, NSFT/18+.

Relationship(s): Octane/ Female Reader.

Author’s Notes: Last chapter you guys! Thank you so much for sticking with me through this. I’ve had so much fun writing come over and hope to write for Octane again soon <3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3.

The rest of your ride to Psamathe is smooth. You and Octavio sip at that Aguardiente but about a half an hour before you two are due to arrive, you make him put it away. He protests, trying to tell you that in order to deal with his parents, you were going to need to be at least kind of buzzed. You two stash the drink anyway, drinking water all the way over, and Octavio eyes you up in the silence that follows.

Octavio probably could’ve given you head right after you finished with him but you were insistent about not looking sex ruffled – which would be a lot harder to hide with your hair fucked up, and that dress you’re wearing.

This is technically a job for you. He bats the thought away, trying to tell himself you came out as a friend. As your ship lands, though, and you lug your giant camera tote he told you that you didn’t need to bring out of the ship…

It’s not discouraging. There’s nothing to be discouraged about.

Which is what Octavio tells himself as you two approach his childhood home.

You react like most people do to the sight of where he grew up: your jaw drops, your eyes widen, and you take the time to look the manor up and down. Ma always complained she’d wanted a bigger mansion. Considering she and Pa had only had him, that had never made a lot of sense to Octavio. Their room was empty most of the time, let alone all the other ones that he or the housekeepers didn’t occupy.

“Holy shit,” you mumble to him and he offers you the crook of his elbow. You turn your head to look at him and blanch. Octavio stares at you, foot beginning to tap impatiently. “What are you doing?”

“Offering you my arm. You’re my plus one. This is what rich people do, amiga,” he tells you. He distinctly leaves out the fact that he had etiquette training from the time he could walk until he was thirteen and purposefully jumped off the top of the stairs mid-lesson. His arm was broken, and he was in a sling which meant he didn’t have to go through which spoon was the right one again.

“I forget you’re a rich person,” you say.

“Makes one of us. Take the arm, mami, c’mon, let’s get this over with.”

You raise an eyebrow at him but slide your hand into the crook of his elbow anyway. You two stroll up to the way too big, double doors of the mansion and a large man Octavio doesn’t recognize opens one of them.

Inside the foyer, there’s a line of men in black suits, clearly some kind of security detail. Your heels click across the porcelain floors and when he chances a sideways glance at you, he sees that you’re unable to flush your face of the awe written across it – the vaulted ceilings and the crystal chandelier glittering in your eyes. You turn your head, looking up at the portrait of him, and ma, and pa, and he tugs your arm a little closer, trying to take your attention off of the grim looking little boy he didn’t see himself in.

He turns his gaze ahead and instantly his arms tense. Mami stands in the threshold of the ballroom, eyes stabbing through his.

Last he’d seen her, she’d had the beginnings of grays at her temples. Predictably, she’s dyed it back to its original brown, and stands with her back poised straight, hands folded in front of her. When you two are close enough, her pinkened lips pull upwards, into a smile that shows her teeth but doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Mijito,” she says, opening her arms. She wraps them around him, and they press their cheeks together in a brief kiss. “This is your photographer?”

“Si mami,” he murmurs, using the hand you don’t have captive to gesture your way. He tells Mami your name and how every piece of media that’s come out of Apex’s headquarters has been yours. “She’s incredible at what she does.”

“I should hope so. We expect nothing but the best,” says Mami.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Silva,” you say, offering your hand out. Mami’s smile doesn’t fade but if it didn’t reach her eyes before, it definitely doesn’t now, anger flaring in them.

“Ms. Silva, cariña,” croons Mami, and Octavio cringes away from the way her voices oozes, thickened by sweetness she doesn’t truly have. “I divorced from Octavio’s father a long time ago.”

“Oh, I-” you begin, probably going to apologize for information he hadn’t given you. Octavio doesn’t want you to do that. As a matter of fact, he kind of wants his mom to apologize for looking at you so coldly when she hadn’t publicized her and Pa’s divorce to begin with. Octavio jumps in, cutting you off.

“She didn’t know, ma, back off,” he bites. Ma’s blazing eyes turn on him and he glares back. Before she can say more, Octavio is hauling you into the ballroom.

“She can set up in the corner, near the bay windows!” Ma calls after him in Spanish and Octavio’s nostrils flare. He doesn’t feel like playing translator for someone who speaks English just fine tonight, but he has a feeling she’s going to rope him back in, make him play the dutiful son just for talking back. The bar’s already set up and kitchen staff are putting out a long buffet table of food. In the corner that Ma said you could set up in, there’s a long drape rolled out with Silva Pharms logo all over it – in bright, stim green.

“Oc,” you say, catching his attention as you two pull up to where you’ll be stationed for a majority of the evening. The hand on the inside of his elbow squeezes and he turns his head to look at you, at the little furrow between your brows, at your other hand moving around to squeeze his. “Hey, it’s okay. Some people don’t like to even think about being married to someone they divorced. I get that.”

“You don’t know her like I do,” mutters Octavio. “She was a lot meaner than she seemed.”

“Well, I didn’t notice. So, it’s fine,” you say. Your hand encompasses his and he watches your tote fall to the crook of your elbow instead of your shoulder. You don’t try to adjust it though, focused on him, and that makes his shoulder relax as much as it makes his pulse rapid. “It’s okay, Oc, seriously. We just got here. No one’s here yet. Help me set up and then we’ll grab some food before your parents’ guests arrive, okay?”

That… Sounds like a good plan. Octavio tries to shake the nervous energy from his limbs, remind himself that at least you’re here, but he can’t quite get rid of it. He feels like a dog backed into a corner by handlers with sticks but instead of beating him, none of them are moving.

To take his mind off it, he rapidly puts together your camera. You scold him several times, reminding him to be careful with your equipment.

“Octavio, you have to screw that in, not push it-”

“I knew that!”

“You did not!”

Octavio only cackles when you tell him the right way to set up your camera, but he does do it the way you tell him to. Once your camera is put together and placed on its little trifold, you and Octavio meander over to the buffet.

Whoever Ma hired to cater (because Ma always does all the organizing for these things; Pa just shows up) likes colorful dishes, bright blue and reds staring up at you two. There’s some leviathan meat in the corner that Octavio will definitely getting his hands on before the night is over, cooked medium rare with some kind of garlic and herb butter spread over it, the juice pooling in the plate beneath. More important than that though is finding the chicharron that Octavio knows is here.

It only takes him a minute to pull up the rind, with large, square knots of pork along it. He grins at you, coming closer, the meat recklessly flopping with every step.

“You gotta try this,” he says as you bend over the other edge, eyeballing what he’s pretty sure is some kind of cheesecake, placed just beneath the chocolate fountain. You twist around with an empty plate, hovering it just beneath the chicharron before it can drip onto the floor.

“You need a plate,” you reply and Octavio snickers. Despite your words, you lean in, biting the edge of one of the protruding cubes of pork. You sigh at the taste and Octavio grins, showing all his teeth. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, baby!”

You and Octavio eat before the guests arrive and as people begin to filter into the ballroom, you take your place at the corner where you’ll be taking pictures. Octavio isn’t too far away, pacing the big, empty space just beside the tarp with all the Silva Pharm logos. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until someone he doesn’t recognize comes up to him, laughing about how Octane can never sit still, huh?

Octavio smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he agrees. That’s one of the things he’s always hated about these stupid fundraisers or events or whatever the hell this thing is. He usually doesn’t know half the people there, or even a quarter, and they all walk up to him like they know him. Even more so now that he’s made Octane.

“Octavio,” someone says, and he glances up to see his Ma fast approaching. She doesn’t look angry, though. Maybe a little annoyed but Octavio has learned that she always looks like that, one side of her mouth pulled up a little further than the other, brows low on her face. At least, she always looks that way around him. “Come and say hello, the photographer isn’t going anywhere.”

Octavio sputters, though Ma places her hand on the inside of his elbow and without thinking, Octavio bends his arm to meet her. Octavio doesn’t think a lot anyway, but it feels like a low blow to use you to make his brain work a little less. He glances back at you, standing with your back straight, waiting for someone to come get their photo op. You smile at him. He smirks back.

It makes sense that mostly old people invest in a pharmaceutical company but that doesn’t mean Octavio doesn’t find them totally, completely boring. They talk about things like their most recent vacations, or something silly their butlers did, and Ma laughs along, placing a hand over her chest as though these stories are the funniest things she’s ever heard.

Maybe they are. Octavio wouldn’t know. He stopped finding the staff’s misfortune funny around the time Señora Luz told Pa she was pregnant, and she suddenly didn’t have a job anymore. He wasn’t allowed to open the door for her either.

Ajay’s parents approach and Mami greets them warmly, pulling them into big hugs and giving them kisses on each cheek. On principle alone, Octavio is a little less familiar, waving their way, and they all laugh about how they’d never known him to be shy.

They didn’t know the first thing about him anyway.

“Oh, but where is his blazer?” Ajay’s mom asks and Octavio grunts. Ma turns her cold eyes back to him, calculatingly sizing him up. She must not have noticed when he walked in that he wasn’t wearing one. He’d almost gotten away with it, too.

“It’s so hot in here, don’t you think?” Ma smoothly covers and Octavio taps his fingers soundlessly against his thigh. He’ll hear about it later.

Octavio finds himself getting restless. His fingers itch and his toes curl in his overpriced shoes. He wants to run. Maybe even turn and jump out the bay window. Or go out back and see if Ma still has horses on this property or if she finally got sick of the memories of Pa in these halls.

He glances your way, finding you hunched over your camera. The couple at the other end of it smiles and you snap three shots, back to back. He wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them, but you’d know if the angles were different, or if one had flash and another didn’t. When they walk off, you stand upright and catch his eye.

Your wink sends a powerful burst of something through his chest. It makes his blood pump faster but also makes his shoulders relax and fuck. He’s so, totally fucked. You’re the one thing keeping him from doing something stupid. Which means he’s fucked.

“Mijo,” he hears, though this time it isn’t Ma, and Octavio curses to himself. Yeah. He’s fucked.

He turns, not bothering to paste on a smile. If nothing else, amongst themselves, the Silva’s aren’t fake. Ma is busy with the Ches and a group of people that like to laugh at other people’s expense. Octavio hasn’t seen his Pa in awhile but he looks just like Octavio remembers – his thick eyebrows are trimmed, arched like he’d spent way too much time having someone do them, his dark hair graying at the edges. Unlike Ma, he doesn’t dye it though, claiming the silver makes him look more refined, that his most recent wife likes him gray. He’s surprised she’s not clinging to his arm, in something way too tight and tiny that would piss Ma off if she saw it.

“Where’s Gloria?” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. Gloria’s young, grossly so, closer to Octavio in age than Pa. She’s nice, though, and last Octavio heard, she and Pa’s marriage was going swimmingly.

“Who knows?” Pa asks back and Octavio subtly rolls his eyes. Leave it to Pa not to know where his wife is. He doesn’t outright berate her though, which means they must still be together, so she’s somewhere around here. Octavio should say hi. He’d be happier to see her than Pa, or Ma. “You look nice tonight, hijo. Thank you for bringing a photographer – you know your Mama won’t let anyone I hire work.”

Octavio does not know that and doesn’t really care to, but he nods along anyway. His eyes keep flickering over to you, eager to go make stupid faces in the background of your pictures or tickle your sides so that you lose focus.

“Ah, I see,” Papa says. Irritated, Octavio turns his gaze back to him.

“You see what?” He asks.

“You’re fucking her?” Papa asks and Octavio feels his shoulders jump up to his ears. His whole body braces, like he’s about to jam stim into his thigh, like he’s about to take off in the middle of a firefight.

“What the fuck, papa?” He hisses back, not even realizing they’ve switched to Spanish until a second after he’s speaking it. “Why would you ask me something like that?”

“C’mon, son, you wouldn’t be the first one to fuck the help,” sniffs Papa, and the way he says help makes Octavio bristle all over. “It’s okay. She’s cute!”

“That’s none of your business,” seethes Octavio, practically baring his teeth. “Don’t compare her to Luz. This is different.”

“Luz? I wasn’t talking about Luz,” says Papa. Then, his eyes narrow, and he looks a little bit more hostile, stepping into Octavio’s space. “What do you mean different? Octavio, did you get her pregnant? You know we can’t afford that kind of a scandal-”

“Oc!” You suddenly chime from his right and he and Papa both jump. He spins to face you and you look at him, bug eyed, hands risen like you’re trying to declare a cease fire. “-Tane. Octane. Buddy. Some people are asking you for a photo-op… Am I, uh, interrupting something?”

“No, no, not at all, sweetheart,” Papa says, moving forward to introduce himself. Somehow, it’s worse than Mami not doing it at all, especially with the sweet smile you give him as you shake hands. “Go, Octane. The people want you. Here, take a vial with you, get into character.”

Pa hands him a vial of stim and Octavio’s fingers close tightly around it, knuckles white with frustration. You jam your hand into the crook of Octavio’s arm and drag him away. He’s still fuming, hot all over with his rage, and you move a little closer to him as you guys stroll across the ballroom.

“You okay? That looked kind of heated,” you say, and Octavio looks down at you, doing his best not to fixate all that fury on you.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s-it’s fine- did someone really want a photo-op or did you just sneak me out?” He asks, realizing that you must’ve seen that something was going on between he and his papa. The sheepish smile that tugs your lips confirms it. Octavio laughs, trying not to bend at the waist so he can keep walking. “Bad girl.”

“Sorry,” you say, but Octavio kind of wants to kiss you for it, “but I can keep you for a little while with that photo-op thing. These people won’t turn it down.”

Okay, yeah, Octavio really wants to kiss you. Not only did you save him from an exchange with pa (about you, but he pushes that part to the back of his mind), you’re now offering to keep him from him indefinitely.

“You’re the best,” murmurs Octavio. His lips barely brush your ear and he doesn’t miss the little stutter of your breath. Oh yeah. He’s definitely going to repay you for earlier on the ride back to the Apex City.

Octavio lines up and that really seems to get people wanting to come over for pictures. Two old men he doesn’t recognize give him a cigar and he wedges it and the stim vial between his teeth, pointing at the camera with two of them. When a woman walks up, he dips her low, cackling while she swoons. More people come and Octavio makes stupid faces at the camera, even getting one old timer to throw up horns with him. You make the shoot fun and for once, he thinks he might have to pat Ajay on the back. Or apologize for lying. Maybe both.

“Mijito,” Octavio hears in the middle of another picture with two women. One has her hands on his chest, her leg swept up, and the other presses against his back while he holds up his arms in some silly superman pose. He peers over the head of the one in front of him, seeing not only Mami, but Pa standing at the very edge of the tarp. Fuck.

The picture’s taken and you lift yourself from behind the camera, glancing between him and his parents. He shoos away the two women, who thank him for the time and then swarm you to get a look at the picture. You fumble with your camera, clearly preoccupied with making sure his mami doesn’t bite his head off. With no other option, your gaze turns to the photos, and Octavio tries his best to keep his chin held high as he walks over to his parents.

“Your papa has told me something interesting,” says Mami first. Octavio’s jaw clenches and whatever tension he’d been accumulating earlier returns full force. The urge to run or fight hits him hard but he stands his ground. “Is that photographer pregnant?”

“No,” groans Octavio, reaching up to scrub at his face. “God, what is wrong with you two? Why is it if I look at someone you have to tell me to not get them pregnant? Or assume I will?”

“You haven’t been responsible with anything else. Why would we expect you to be responsible with sex?” Mami demands. If he weren’t already seething, Octavio might be embarrassed at this conversation. He is, though.

“I was responsible with Navi. And with every other pet you got me. And with my stim. I’m here, aren’t I?” He growls out and Mami holds up a finger instantly, drawing a little closer to try and hide the look she’s giving him.

“Don’t speak to your mother that way.” Pa says and Octavio whips his head to look at him, instead of his mother’s icy glare.

“What way? I’m just telling her the truth. I’m here when I didn’t want to be. I brought you guys a photographer,” growls Octavio.

“For no one else’s benefit but your own,” hisses Mami, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t do something like this without an ulterior motive. Does she have something on you Octavio? Is that why you brought her here?”

“No! She’s a good photographer and I needed someone other than you two here!” Octavio snaps, the words rolling off like venom and Mami’s chin tilts down, eyes flashing.

“Oh, of course, bringing a chew toy to a PR event must make you feel so much better,” Mami scoffs. He reaches up, pushing a hand through his brightly colored mohawk, nostrils flaring.

“Don’t talk about her like that,”

“I’ll talk about whoever I want however I want, and-”

“Not her!”

“God, you are just like your father, Octavio. We cannot afford to have you in trouble with the Games, and certainly not for some-”

“Ma, I’m not doing this with you. I’m here, I’m promoting Silva, and unless you want me to leave, you will not speak about her the way I know you were just about to. You will not.” Octavio outright barks and this seems to draw the attention of those strolling by them. Mami’s face slackens, her eyes flashing. In them, in the clench of her jaw, the curl of her fist, he sees something. Something like recognition.

He doesn’t care, too busy fuming about the fact they’re even having this stupid fucking argument. Octavio barely notices Pa, standing off to the side, looking as useless as he always does when he and Mami argue, or the short, porky man that hurries up to Mami’s left.

“Excuse me, Señora Silva,” the butler says, cutting their staring contest short. “There’s something requiring your attention in the kitchen. A wine shipment hasn’t arrived?”

“Hijo de gran puta,” snarls Mami, throwing her hands up. She turns away from his glower and it feels good to have won one of those standoffs. Even if it was technically a foul. Mami stomps into the distance and that leaves Octavio and Pa.

“Son, you know it’s not a good idea to-” begins Pa, but Octavio doesn’t let him finish. He hates when he does things that remind him of Mami but he turns away from him anyway, looking out at the rest of the ballroom as though he’d just gotten into an argument with everyone in it. He wants to run. He wants to jam the stim into his thigh and carry himself all the way back to the ship port, maybe roll in some mud to get this stupid crisp button up dirty. He wants to-

“Hey,” your voice chimes gently. He feels your fingers on his cheek and you turn his head, making him look at you. Your face is soft, and vulnerable, and open, and he’s so fucked. “C’mon. Show me to the bathroom.”

Octavio snorts. He offers you his elbow, but you don’t take it, instead interlocking your fingers and pulling him towards the exit. He notices your camera is still set up on the way out, but you’ve draped something over it to signify your booth is closed for a little while. Realizing he’s supposed to be taking you somewhere, Octavio pulls you up the stairs, down the hall, and into one of the many rooms of his childhood.

Being the son of preoccupied billionaires with too much on their plates to bother handling a rambunctious little boy, Octavio had a lot of rooms growing up. He had a game room, and a homework room (which was supposed to function as an office, when he got old enough to take over some of Silva Pharms mountains of paperwork). This room was always his favorite though. He slept in it most nights and even when he moved out, he hadn’t changed anything about it.

The full-sized mattress in the corner has racecar sheets. Octavio can’t drive for shit, but he always liked to watch old movies when it was common for everyone to use cars. The noises of engines rumbling with motor oil, of rubber on pavement… When he was a little boy, he told Luz he wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up. She laughed but on every holiday from then on out, she bought him a model race car.

All of them are lined up on the very top of a shelf, which has a bright red racing strip painted down the side. He’s got posters of old Nascar drivers on the wall, people who have been dead for centuries but who got to do super cool, fun things. Who sometimes even wrecked their cars.

“Hope you didn’t actually need the bathroom,” mutters Octavio, locking the bedroom door.

“What if I did?” You ask. He looks over his shoulder at you, checking to see if you’re serious, only to see you lounging on the edge of his mattress, peering around the room.

“Your room’s really cute,” you say, and Octavio snorts as he joins you, collapsing onto his old bed. It was way too big for him as a little kid, and even now as a young man, his slight frame doesn’t take up much of the larger beds offered to him. “Who even likes cars anymore? No one drives them.”

“We have a Bugatti in the garage.”

“Of course you do.” You two sit in silence for a while, the sounds of the party downstairs just barely reaching you. “So… you wanna talk about it?”

Not really. Talking about it means telling you what it was that got him and his parents into an argument in the first place. “My parents are just… The worst.”

“I got that.” You say. He glances your way, appraising you, and you hold your hands up. “Hey, we call them like we see them here.”

“They just, um.” Octavio frowns. Should he tell you? He feels like he shouldn’t. “My dad kind of saw me looking at you and asked if we were fucking.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you says anything, unsure of how to proceed. Octavio’s knee begins to jiggle, and he huffs out a big breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“I told him it was none of his business, so I guess he decided to tell my mom. Which was… What that was about,” explains Octavio, waving his hand noncommittally. “They thought you were pregnant.”

“Ouch,” you say, and Octavio giggles. He peers over at you and you’re smiling, eyes soft, shining in the low light from his stupid race car lamp. Your make up has smudged a little, the vermillion on your lips mostly gone after you two had your share of food. Yet he can still see the remnants of it, especially as he sees the little upwards curve of your lips.

Fuck.

Without thinking, Octavio reaches up, hand cupping the back of your neck so he can haul you into a kiss, trying to take the remnants of that pretty red you’d been wearing. You go willingly, matching his vigor, his speed, and that’s one of the things he loves about you. One of the things that’s been driving him crazy, keeping him up until ungodly hours as he tries to figure how someone could affect him this way. You always keep up, even if you’re not ready to run into the line of fire.

You rest your hand on his chest, tilting your head, and Octavio instantly wedges his tongue between your lips. You part them readily and you still kind of taste like whatever chocolatey something or other you’d gotten your hands on earlier. His other hand settles on your hip, and he wants to pull you on top so badly, wants you to scream so loudly that they know what’s going on downstairs. He wants you to look at him like you just were but maybe forever.

He wants to tell you. He wants to tell you what he said to you that night, what’s had him so bugged out. The thought alone feels like a rush.

You pull away from him pressing kisses across the taut flesh of his jaw. He sighs, head moving away, and your teeth clink against the black studs he has in his ear lobes. His blood pumps in his veins, the hand on your neck gliding down the length of your spine.

“Te adoro,” he murmurs between kisses. You pause, pulling away to meet his eyes. Your hair tickles his cheeks and he reaches up, tucking it behind your ear. “Eres en mi vida todo mi tesoro.”

“What?”

“Quiero decirte. Pero tengo miedo,” continues Octavio, fingers slipping into your hair. He tugs you down, catching your lower lip between his teeth, and you shudder in his grasp. You’re half on top of him, your body hot, your mouth swollen, and he wants. “No quiero perderte.”

“Oc, I don’t understand,” you breathe. Rather than telling you, though, he kisses you hard, lips moving across yours, and you melt into his arms.

“Jesús,” groans Octavio as his hand slides beneath the high cut on the side of your dress. He grabs at your panties, trying to yank them down your thighs. The twist of your torso to lean over him makes it hard. “Get those things off.”

“What did you say?” You huff out, though you obediently rise, dragging your panties down.

Rather than answering you, Octavio grabs you by the waist, pulling you back on top of him. He doesn’t stop you at his cock, though, half hard and tightening his pants. Instead, he helps you up, hooking your legs beneath his shoulders, your thighs on either side of his head and you whine, burying your fingers into his soft hair as you realize what he’s doing.

His hands travel up your naked thighs, to your ass, gripping it tightly. He looks up at you, at the dark look in your eyes as you pull the fabric of your dress aside, spreading your legs wider, clit even closer to his mouth. He huffs a breath against your cunt, damp but not wet, and his cock demands that he rectifies that right now.

With no further warning, Octavio’s mouth finds the shape of your cunt, molding against it, wetly kissing the pretty pink flesh. You quietly gasp, fingers wrinkling your dress, and he swipes at your slit with gentle flicks of his tongue, letting the musky taste of you linger on his lips.

That doesn’t feel right, though, not for the urgency at which he feels the need to move, so he flattens his tongue, sliding it through your slickening folds and up to your clit, slowly peeking out. The minute he feels it, firm and juicy and wet beneath his tongue, he sucks it between his lips.

The unhinged moan you let out is only emphasized by how you tighten your grip on his hair. You try to spread your legs further and Octavio fingers dig into the pillowy flesh of your ass. Octavio helps you fuck your clit against his tongue, using his grip to make you grind against him, and the moan that leaves you sends a painful jolt to his dick.

His eyes flutter briefly open and if he wasn’t hard before, he is now, Dios. Your hair frames your warmed face beautifully, mouth open to heave in desperate little pants. Your clit is needy, twitching against his tongue, and your hands are fisted into the fabric of your dress, partly for leverage and partly to give him access to you.

His tongue slips down to your hole, the tip of it pushing, pressing it apart to gather up even more of your taste. You shudder above him, trying to roll your hips forward, and Octavio quickly takes the hint. His tongue moves back up to your clit, flicking back and forth, moving swiftly, and he feels your thighs tense, ass cheeks clenching in his hands.

“Oh, Oc, don’t stop,” you whimper, and he sucks as you thrust forward, uncaring of the way his chin drips with you. He’s going to smell like pussy. “God, right there, right there, Octavio, yes, yes, yesyesyes-”

You cum with a noiseless gush and Octavio groans at the sensation of your juice trailing down his chin. He doesn’t care that you slacken in his grip, that he’s momentarily suffocated by your cunt, just wants you to grind against his face as much as you can, try to ride out that orgasm you just had. You shudder, pushing at his head. Octavio pulls away, letting you scoot back down the length of him. The second he can reach you he kisses you, open mouthed and dirty, letting you taste the salty cum on his lips.

“Fuck.”

“Si, I’m trying,” he says, pressing your hips against his slacks. The noise that leaves you is half laugh, half moan, your clit hypersensitive against the fabric. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Yes,” you say, “please, yes. Yes, let’s fuck.”

“Yes, good, okay,” Octavio babbles. He taps your ass with two fingers. As you roll off, he undoes his belt, tossing it to the side. He unzips his pants, thumbs hooking into the waistband, only to find you reaching down to help him. He raises his eyebrows up at you and you smirk, seemingly having caught your second wind. “Si?”

“Si?” You taunt, reaching down to tug his pants down. You only pull them just enough that his cock can spring out, erect from eating you out, and you sigh at the sight of it.

He grins, trying to scoot his pants down a little more, only to pause at the sensation of something cool in his pocket. You climb on top of him, parting your dress again, and he watches you carefully.

With one hand, Octavio rolls that sweetheart neckline down your shoulders, to your elbows. It puts you in an odd position, unable to move your hands, but your tits fall out and, fuck, if that isn’t the sexiest shit he’s seen.

“I’m gonna ride you.”

“Oh, I thought you were sleeping.”

You snort. Unable to move your arms, your dress caught around your biceps, Octavio has to reach down to position his dick beneath your wet cunt. It opens beautifully for him as he drags the blunt tip along your lips, drenched with your earlier orgasm, and when it bumps your clit you jolt. Finally, gratefully, he finds your hole, and without further teasing, you sink all the way down onto him.

Your mouth falls open and you both groan in unison. Octavio’s thighs clench, trembling, because it’s only been a few hours since he’s cum and he’s not sure how much it will take for him to do it again. You feel so good, though, your pussy pulling him in.

“God, Oc,” you groan, falling forward, and your hands find purchase on his firm abdomen, tits squishing together as your index fingers touch. Before he can say something back, you’re moving, breasts jiggling with every bounce of your hips.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he whines, tips of his fingers digging into your thigh, and he’s pretty sure you can feel his pulse thumping through his dick. He bucks up into you, making your tits bounce harder, and you gasp as the tip of his cock thumps against something that feels different than the rest. “God, there?”

“There,” you moan back. As your eyes flutter shut, he slowly, carefully, pulls the neon green vial from his pocket. You’re lost in your own bliss, only sliding halfway up his cock. He waits, waits for your eyes to flutter open and when you finally look at him again, eyes heady and dark with lust, he jams the stim into his thighs.

Your jaw falls open, eyes widening as his veins bulge green, eyes brightening. He grins, wolfish, heart pounding. In the games, the stim makes him want to run, to shoot something. Now, all it does is make him eager to fuck you harder, faster, faster, faster.

The vial rolls out of his hand and he seizes your hips, holding you in place. You whine, desperate and he’s quick to oblige you. He thrusts up, cock disappearing and reappearing in a blur, tirelessly fucking you from the bottom, his thighs tensing at the tight squeeze of your walls on his cock.

The soft hair around his cock is already slick with you, worsening as he fucked into you with all the energy he saves for the ring, saves for when he’s Octane. Your chin drops against your chest, and he devours you with his eyes. He catches the way your teeth sink painfully into your lower lip and something primal comes over him, an animalism for your noises to overpower the ones from the party downstairs.

One of his hands shoots to your stomach, thumb blurring down to your clit. He fondles the hard, wet nub, and groans at the sensation of your pussy muscles clenching hard around his throbbing cock.

You borderline scream, trying your best to smother it with a scramble of your hand. It doesn’t help, the noise choppy with every powerful thrust of his hips into your cherry red cunt.

“Oh! Octavio! Oc!” You cry, the fingers of your opposite hand digging into his button up, grasping for purchase. He doesn’t know whether you lose your balance or just can’t keep yourself upright, but you plummet into his chest. He doesn’t flinch, just uses the angle to fuck you down the length of him, panting into your ear. Your pussy makes wet noises as he pounds you down onto his cock, tongue flickering out over your ear.

“What did you say?” You suddenly whine. It startles him and his rhythm stutters with his surprise, breath hitching in his throat. He holds it until he’s lightheaded, staring past your head at the ceiling. You weakly grind against his cock and he realizes he’s practically stopped moving, body only moving because of the stim being force through his veins like adrenaline.

“Oc,” you huff out, turning to press your brow against his throat. He can feel his pulse hammering in his jugular and he can’t tell if it’s because of the stim or because of you. “Please.”

Octavio abruptly sits up beneath you. His hands wrap tight around your waist, lips placing wet, open mouthed kisses along your collarbones.

“Te amo,” he murmurs into your skin, lowly, like maybe you won’t hear him if he speaks quietly enough. Recognition flashes in your face. The arms of your dress slide back up your shoulders as you suddenly wrap your arms around his shoulders You use him for leverage to lift yourself up and down his cock, your wet cunt squeezing, hugging. Sloppy noises make their way out and he vaguely recognizes that his pants are going to be ruined.

“Say it so I can understand you,” you demand and he’s helpless, a slave to your desires, every sweet roll of your hips sending bolts of lightening through his gut. He grunts, fingers digging into your lower back.

“Fuck,” he hisses and you twist your head, biting into his throat. He moans, the noise low, strangled, drawn out as you continue to raise and drop your hips, only moving part way up his dick as you do. “Fuck, fuck, baby, porfa, I need-”

“Say it!” You gasp, the friction of his pubic bone against your clit sending you into a frenzy, making you use your grip on his shoulders to raise yourself up higher, until only the tip is inside. Your thighs work to keep you up but you slam back down and Octavio shudders.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, and you turn your head into his hair, wailing near his ear. He whimpers at the noise, trying to roll up. In this position, though, he’s at your mercy, and you fuck yourself onto him once, twice, three more times until you’re shaking into a wetter, softer orgasm.

He hisses at the sensation, at how your cunt clutches him, trying to keep him inside even as you continue to drag your body along his dick. He presses his face to the space between your breasts, smelling your sweat, and your perfume, and he pulls you all the way down so you’re sitting on the very base of his cock, rocking you along it. Almost there, right there, yes, mierda, so good…

“Fuck,” he hisses out loud as he cums. It’s weaker than the one in the ship, little spurts gushing out of him instead of erupting. He keeps his forehead on your chest, catching his breath, your cheek resting on top of his head as you do the same.

“So…” you say, softly, and your voice is hoarse, even though you hadn’t been doing a whole lot of noise making. Shame flushes through Octavio, the last of the stim ebbing from his system. He’ll need to get his dialysis machine to wash away the shreds of it but he can’t focus on that, can’t focus on anything but what he said to you.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m,” he says, grabbing your hips, trying to push you off. You clutch him tighter and your fingers cup his chin. You bring his gaze up to yours and his breath hitches at the way you look at him, at that soft, gentle look that he wanted you to give him forever.

“I love you too.” You say. The world freezes. The noise from downstairs fogs out of his ears, the wet, sticky sensation of you on top of him gone as he stares up at you. You, who has been here for him this whole night, who started off as a hook up.

He moves quicker than lightening, quicker than he’s ever moved, yanking you into a kiss. Your lips move together, hurried, passionate, making up for all the time he didn’t know. He pulls away, lips making a wet, popping sound.

“I could listen to you say that all day,” he huffs out. You giggle and he holds you tightly to his chest for a long, perfect minute, your fingers carding through his short hair.

Octavio hurtles back onto the bed, arms flopping above his head and you snort, still sitting in his lap, his dick inside of you. You don’t seem in a hurry to get it out though. Octavio strokes your thigh. “I really wish you would’ve told me that before this. I could’ve come as your girlfriend.”

Octavio’s lips twitch up in a little smile and he reaches up, placing a hand on your cheek. You make a face at the sweat there, but you don’t move away, your eyes a little softer, a little more open than he’s seen them before.

“You could’ve told me. Ever thought of that, chica?” Octavio asks. He throws his head back, laughing when you lean away from him, climbing off his lap to flop next to him in bed. You loop an arm around his shoulders, interlocking your fingers and nestling against the one closer to you.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, and he kisses the top of your head, humming.

“You love me.”

“I do. I do.”

#octane/reader #octavio silva/reader #octane x reader #octavio silva x reader #apex octane #apex legends octane #apex legends #apex lemons #apex imagines #nsft #lemon #shorty writes #female reader

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darker-soft-starker · 5 years

Photo

Gold Digger / Sugar Baby Starker AU

Warnings: some nff mentions, mentioned erectile dysfunction

-------------------------

Tony isn’t Peter’s first wealthy boyfriend.

His laundry list of previous entanglements is by no means lengthy, however it is somewhat selective. The criteria is simple: men with money - lots and lots of money.

Four years ago Peter been desperate. Six weeks behind rent his landlord was threatening to have him evicted, electricity already cut off, he’d dropped out of school to work three jobs. The cost of his aunts cancer treatment was so high even the most dubious loans couldn’t cover them. Everything was beginning to pile up with no way out.

So, in despair, he became an escort.

It was high end and he got lucky. One of his very first clients was a man so wealthy he practically exuded dollars from his pores, dropping a ten thousand dollar tip on Peter on their first night. The man seemed to like him, hiring Peter again and again, dressing him up in designer clothes and taking him to the most exclusive venues.

Peter would have enjoyed it, had the man not been the scum of the earth.

No matter exorbitant his gifts were it never made up for how bad a man he was. Money couldn’t cover up his drunken racist remarks. Lavish luxury couldn’t excuse how the man looked down on the poor, literally spitting on the homeless as they passed them on the streets.

By the time Peter had cycled through a few rich clients he’d more than covered the cost of his aunts treatment, their rent paid six months in advance. He could even afford to pay off his student loans and move out on his own. He resigned with the escort agency, keen to get his life back on the straight-and-narrow.

Except, he had a taste for it, now. The creature comforts, the luxury cars, the attention. The satisfaction he got from ripping off perverts who hired him because his young face made him seem underage.

The things he had seen made his stomach turn. How was he supposed to go back to a normal life knowing what he knew about Hollywoods seedy underbelly beneath its glistening city lights?

So, he went out looking for them.

They were all the same. Incredibly privileged men with more money than humanity, morally bankrupt despite their bulging bank accounts. All wanting something young and pretty on their arm and warm in their bed - no matter how much they have to fork out for the illusion of a smitten partner.

It only ever took a few sweet words, wide eyes and wandering hands to hook them in and drain them dry.

Once Peter would have his fill he’d sell their secrets to rival companies, then to law enforcement. It was by no means a humanitarian endeavour, but it made him feel good in the same way donating to charity did.

And he looked damn good doing it.

------

Peter had met Tony on a cloudy Monday morning.

He’d heard all about Tony Starks philandering antics and his acerbic personality and pegged him to be just like the others, just another playboy looking for something to play with.

So he managed to get hired as Tony’s personal assistant, hamming it up as a meek, clumsy newbie. As the weeks progressed, the more flimsy Peters’ outfits became, one too many buttons open on his thin dress shirts, voice soft, eyelashes fluttering as he leaned in close to the man to pass him his coffee or a contract.

It was the same drawcard he’d used for all the affluent assholes he’d dated prior; whether a high powered lawyer or a CEO, they all seemed to have a weakness for simpering submissive types, those who dropped things too many times, those who played dumb, didn’t engage in intellectual conversation.

It took Peter an embarrassingly long time to figure out that kind of behaviour didn’t interest Tony for anything more than a one-night stand.

Sure, he’d caught the end of Tony’s prolonged stares more than once, had noticed the appreciative leers whenever he bent over a table or to pick something up, but it wasn’t enough to truly engage him.

It wasn’t until one day, Peter frustrated and exhausted from a poor nights rest, had spoken back to the man with a scathing remark that Tony had really started to pay attention.

Tony likes bossy. Tony likes being challenged by someone he considers an equal. Once Peter dropped the facade of wide-eyed innocence, proved his smarts and snarked back it was like reeling in all-too-willing fish.

They’d been bantering all day, mostly light-hearted, because apparently that’s flirting, according to Tony and Peter can’t fault him for that.

Peter had been teasing Tony for hours, all his usual tricks. In the afternoon he’d squeezed behind Tony’s chair and set his hands on the mans shoulders, lightly massaging the tight muscles through his shirt. A treat for all his hard work Peter had simpered, going back to their discussion on quantum field theory.

“I know what you’re doing, you know,” Tony had said, but relaxed into the touch anyway.

“Do you? Is it working, Mr. Stark?” Peter had asked, hands coming down to stroke at Tony’s chest. The man had near purred as Peters hands trailed over his pectorals.

“It’s definitely working. At least let me take you to dinner first.”

So he did. Peter had been wined and dined that night, followed by the best fuck of his life, riding the man in the backseat of Tony’s car. And the rest was history.

Back then he’d only forecasted the longevity of their relationship to be a few months. A fleeting romance, however long enough for Peter to get into Tony’s wallet and for Tony to show his true colors.

Except, Peter is still waiting, is the thing.

Despite all his expectations and his fevered observations, Tony hasn’t slipped up yet. With the mans combined net worth and reputation, Peter had expected more than one skeleton cluttering his closet, red flags and scandals waiting to be uncovered.

The only secrets Peter finds in two years are the ones Tony whispers into his skin at night, his deepest insecurities and worst memories.

As time drags on Peter is beginning to suspect that maybe he rolled the dice wrong and maybe Tony just isn’t a bad guy.

Not long ago they were in Paris. They’d sat upon their terrace drinking coffee in the morning sun, making up life stories of the people passing below. Tony snorted at a particularly funny one and looked at Peter with such unadulterated affection and said:

“I fucking love you, Peter Parker.”

That was new.

------

The guilt is also new to Peter.

It’s not that Peter has never experienced remorse, but he’s not once felt a single modicum of contrition for the men he’s played or the luxurious gifts he took with him.

Peter keeps waiting for Tony to give him a reason to cut him off. Keeps waiting for the incriminating tabloid pictures proving Tony’s infidelity, anticipates some white collar crime to sneak into the newspapers, or like his last boyfriend, a violent temper.

But it’s been two years and Tony has yet to slip up. His interest hasn’t waned, his hands haven’t wandered. Peter would know - he’d set Tony up on three seperate occasions and the man is unfailingly faithful.

The only thing that has changed is the ever increasing way in which Tony softens for Peter, how the fondness reaches his eyes and is woven into his words.

Tony isn’t Peter’s first wealthy boyfriend, but he has been his longest. The longer their relationship continues it becomes considerably clear that Peter miscalculated terribly.

Because, despite public opinion, Tony is a good man. A really fucking good man.

Peter is never left wanting for intimacy or possessions, the only absence in his life is misbehaviour. Of course Tony isn’t perfect, he has his vices. He drinks too much, works too hard, loves like it’s going out of style. He spoils Peter and values everything he has to say. It’s the worst.

So, the guilt.

Peter feels lied to. The public, playboy persona of Tony Stark does not align with reality at all. Peter went to Tony for his transactions but Tony ended up giving him his heart instead.

It was Peter who was supposed to do the ruining, not the other way.

------

Galas were never really Peter’s thing.

There was too much ceremony and exaggerated decorum for it to be any real fun. Any entertainment was usually in the form of a high profile guest tripping over themselves or a rowdy politician overindulging on the free alcohol.

Tonight it was to commemorate some new arts centre. They’d been there for an hour already but it felt like entire night was dripping by in slow-motion, minutes bloated in boredom.

Peter is sullen, given up playing nice with the socialites and pretending he has anything in common with these people. He just wants to be at home in the jacuzzi, being hand-fed caviar and truffles. Is that honestly so much to ask?

As he’s about to suggest as such to Tony, a hand touches his wrist to get his attention.

He frowns, looking over as some guy gestures to him, eyeing him up and down.

“How much?”

Tony’s arm around his waist keeps him upright as he politely removes his arm from the strange mans grasp.

“Excuse me?”

The man, short, stout and wielding a fat cigar between his fingers like a weapon, points at the diamond encrusted necklace dangling from Peters neck. The pendant, a large bejewelled spider, rests heavily against his sternum, hung by a solid gold plated chain.

“My niece loves the creepy fuckers,” the guy says by way of explanation, smoothing his tie down upon approach. “Got a thing for them. Has her own pet tarantula, can you believe?”

The arm around Peters waist tightens.

“It was custom made,” Tony supplies, pressing a kiss to Peters cheek whilst squeezing his hip. “Just for Peter. Cartier were generous enough to make it for our anniversary.”

Peter smiles at the mention, looks every bit the doting boyfriend as he leans into Tony further, winding his arm around the older mans waist. The man never fails to exude an effortless, old-school debonair charm, the satin lapels of his tuxedo reflecting the lowlight of the chandelier glow.

The stranger nods, chest hitching with a laugh.

“Anniversary, huh? Well, congratulations,” he commends, nudging Tony with his elbow. “How long? Six weeks? Six days?”

“Two years,” Peter says, voice hardening.

“I’m sorry, who are you again?” Tony adds, flagging down a waiter and scooping two flutes of champagne from the tray. “Do you know this guy, baby?”

“Nope,” Peter replies, accepting a glass from Tony with his free hand, toasting their glasses together with a clink. “No idea. I think he works here?”

“Does your manager let you mingle with staff?” Tony adds. “Isn’t that so adorable, honey?”

“So adorable,” Peter agrees, smiling at his lover.

He enjoys watching the scowl form, the flustered, sheepish twitch of the mans lips as he struggles to find something to say.

“Excuse me,” is all the man says, turning on the spot and disappearing into a crowd of haute couture.

Tony lets go of his waist to turn further into Peter, hand coming up to trace the delicate chain up to the bump of his collarbone. It really is an exquisite piece, Peter concedes as Tony’s fingers grip the pendant, using it to pull Peter closer.

Peter goes willingly, flushing their bodies together. He slips both of his hands onto Tony’s hips, wondering if he could get away with snaking them into the mans back pockets, if he could squeeze Tony’s ass in public view. There’s something arousing about being crass in a formal setting like this, surrounded by Los Angeles’ elite and foregoing all of their staged propriety.

Tony must sense the intent because his gaze surrenders to Peter’s, leaning in to place a placating kiss on the corner of Peter’s mouth.

“Tony, Tony,” comes the chiding tone of Obadiah Stane. “What have I said about being indecent in public?”

“To only do it if I’m getting paid for it?” Tony quips, but loosens his grip on Peter nonetheless to shake his hand with his associate.

Obadiah gestures to Tony with the hand that holds a glass of whiskey, speaking to Peter. “Think’s he’s a wise guy, doesn’t he?”

Peter smiles demurely, hand coming to rest on the back of Tonys neck. He knows better than to think that the man actually wants to hear his opinion on the matter.

“And, please remind me, which of us graduated college at seventeen?” Tony retorts not unkindly. “I think I’m absolutely qualified considered to call myself wise, wouldn’t you say Pete?”

It’s not Peter’s function to be funny in this play, so he swallows the already formed quips and nods, fingers stroking at Tony’s hairline as he pastes a wide smile on his face.

Tony tugs playfully on Peters pendant, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. “Why don’t you get us some more drinks, sweetheart. I’ll come find you.”

Glancing between the two men, Peter agrees, letting his fingers brush the back of his neck as he walks away.

It’s not the first time Tony has tried to shield business from him, won’t be the last. In the early days Tony would rave ad nauseam about his company, all the tech being developed, conjoined at the hip to his office. He’s been quiet about it, lately.

Peter doesn’t know what that means and reminds himself that he shouldn’t actually care. He’s done nothing to earn Tony’s trust, after all.

When he reaches the bar he orders himself a vintage wine, sipping it as he cooly observes the room.

The elite. The upper echelons of society. Or so they call themselves, as if they aren’t just every bit animal as Peter, if not more. As if the room isn’t full of criminals and adulterers, their wealth built on the exploitation over the lower ninety-ninth percent of the rest of the world.

While Tony talks shop Peter leans against the edge of the bar, sipping, observing. He spots Pepper Potts in the distance and raises his glass to her when she nods to him.

She doesn’t make much effort to hide how little she thinks of him, which is a shame, Peter thinks. He is ever so grateful for her hiring him as Tony’s PA those two years ago.

If she hadn’t taken a look at his heavily falsified resume and considered him a shoo-in then where would he be right now? Probably on the arm of some lower level wall-street rat, which would be comfortable, but not where he wants to be.

It doesn’t take Tony long to finish, clapping Stane on the back and ambling over to the bar. He takes in the curved line of Peter’s inelegant slouch with unashamed appreciation, loafers skipping with a squeak against the polished floorboards as his step falters.

“That just for you?” Tony asks, nodding towards his half drunk wine. “You ready to go home, doll?”

Peter tucks his elbow into his chest, protectively clutching the glass closer to him. “Mhmm,” he hums agreeably, taking a large sip and downing the rest, watching Tony watching him. Once drained Tony offers his arm.

Depositing the empty glass on the glass counter with a clink Peter takes his arm, rolling his eyes at their antics, grinning nonetheless.

They wave to various dignitaries, trust fund babies and political hopefuls as they make their departure, promising nebulous future appointments and catch ups, none of which will happen, but they all like to pretend.

Outside in the cool fall air Tony pulls a stack from his back pocket, depositing it into the hand of the nearest valet. The woman scurries off to retrieve their car as soon as the notes nestle into her palm.

A sleek sports car, a model that Peter has never seen, pulls up while they wait, a woman covered in silk slipping inside. Tony whistles at the seamless lines, the near silent growl of the engine as it takes off into an opportune gap of traffic.

“I want one,” Peter says, transfixed at the gleaming paintwork. He turns to Tony and tugs on his tie. “In rose gold.”

“In rose gold,” Tony echoes softly into the night air, rolling his eyes. Peter can already see him mentally pulling out his checkbook as he smooths his tie down. “Anything else, baby?”

Peter only smiles as the Audi pulls up, slipping into the far end of the backseat and pulling along with him. He still has an ounce of refinement from his aunts lessons in him, so he waits until they have left the parking lot to sink to the car floor inbetween Tonys knees.

This isn’t a hardship for him at all. In fact, having sex with Tony is his favorite past time.

With practised movement he slithers his hands up Tony’s thighs, spreading them apart. Their driver turns up the music as Tony’s zipper slides down.

Tony is predictably soft when Peter pulls him out, lazily fondling his length, Tony’s eyes getting progressively hazier as his cock gets stiffer. Peter enjoys laving the head with kitten licks, Tony’s soft groan as he licks his way from the base back up before taking the entire head into his mouth.

It takes a while for Tony to get fully hard. Peter knows he’s insecure about it but it makes their age gap more apparent - and incredibly arousing.

Seated like a king upon his throne Tony hums in satisfaction, gently brushing his knuckles against the high crest of Peters cheek.

“So good at that, darling. Want to push your pretty head down and fuck your mouth.”

Peter groans affirmatively around the flesh in his mouth, encouraging Tony to do just that as he reaches for the older mans hand.

“God, I love you,” Tony breaths, gently thrusting up.

Peter’s glad his mouth is occupied with Tony’s cock so he doesn’t have to reply.

------

When they get home after the gala Peter has worked Tony up enough to get thoroughly fucked against the windows of their bedroom, come shooting all over the glass. They shower and stumble into bed shortly thereafter.

Under the sheets Tony curls into Peter, placing a sleepy kiss on his bare sternum, the warm exhalations from the mans nose tickling his skin.

It’s not until Tony falls asleep that Peter allows himself to return it, pressing his lips into the older mans hair and sighing into the greying strands. Not for the first time he wonders if he’s in over his head.

There’s a slimy feeling all over his skin. Tony loves him. Tony is good and he loves Peter. Peter, who came into this relationship because he thought the man was made of too much stone to bleed.

Somehow under all of the glamour and supposed moral superiority he’s become the very type of snake he’s been trying to ruin these last years.

He’s been a fool for staying this long, allowing himself to grow fond. Peering down at Tony’s vulnerable form, Peter knows he shouldn’t stay. Can’t stay. Better late than never to do the right thing, isn’t it?

Tony deserves better.

------

It’s for the best, he tells himself.

Sad, but resolute, starts pulling away. He surreptitiously packs his things, stays longer and longer at their Beverley Hills apartment until Tony begins to notice his prolonged absence.

One night they are having dinner out at some high-end restaurant, Tony preoccupied on his phone. It’s happening more and more lately. Once there was a time where the man would determinedly dedicate the entire night to making Peter see stars without touching his phone once.

Maybe he’s losing interest in Peter after all.

The thought shouldn’t make his chest hurt.

“Sorry about that, baby,” Tony says as he hangs up, reaching over to take Peters hand.

“Work comes first,” Peter appeases, squeezing Tonys fingers before pulling away to re-arrange his napkin.

Tony looks at him, eyes searching for just a moment.

“You come first, Pete. You mean everything to me, you know that right?”

Peter nods, throat tightening up. He offers Tony a smile he knows must look flimsy and sips his wine to avoid saying something stupid.

“Me and Obie are working on something, baby. Something big. I know I haven’t been around much, but trust me when I say it’s going to be worth it.”

The hopeful, earnest smile on Tony’s face makes Peter feel like the worst person in the world.

However fine their food is, all Peter tastes is guilt.

------

It takes a few weeks but he makes his arrangements.

Every day spent apart feels like a sandpaper scrub to his heart, leaving him raw and aching. When they’re together Peter hides his the wet pinprick of his eyes until Tony isn’t looking, only allows Tony to take him from behind so in his head he can call it fucking instead of love-making.

Tony Stark loves hard. It isn’t fair of Peter to take advantage of that anymore.

So he picks fights. Begins acting like the vapid airhead he pretended to be when they first met. He spends less time in their bed and watches as Tony looks at him with increasing sadness.

Peter wants to be the type of guy that Tony deserves, but he isn’t. He might not have much money of his own but the one thing he can give Tony is the opportunity to be with someone who didn’t use him.

Turns out it’s Peter that’s just like the others, after all.

------

More and more time is spent at their alternative apartment, then May’s apartment. He tries to figure out what his life is supposed to look like, after. The sadness is distracting, but it doesn’t have any right being there.

He scrolls through endless online job listings, but ultimately his efforts are fruitless.

How is he supposed to explain the gaping gap years on his resume? What are his applicable skills? Being a money hungry sugar baby?

Not only that, but Tony Stark is nothing but high profile. Over the last two years Peter has been in countless pap photos, endless grainy TMZ clips. How is he supposed to go back to a regular life when he’s had articles written about his relationship?

It makes him frustrated and depressed. It makes him miss Tony who best waved away all Peters worries with a kiss and stream of distracting words.

He tries to stay away.

The need to be in Tony’s arms again wins over his moral crusade.

-----

On a midday venture back to the the mansion in Malibu, Peter intends to only be there a little while. Maybe have lunch with his - with Tony.

He thinks he really should pick up the last of his belongings until he stops dead in the living room, color draining out of his face as he spots the older man.

“Tony?” he slowly approaches, hovering by the sofa. “You okay?”

Tony sits hunched over upon the sofa, head buried into his hands.

“S’all gone,” Tony whispers, burying his face deeper into his palms.

“What do you mean,” Peter asks cautiously, moving closer and sinking to his knees to kneel between Tony’s legs, loosely clutching at the mans wrists. “What’s gone, babe?”

Tony gestures vaguely to everything around them, lifting his face from his hands long enough to indicate at their surroundings. His hands shake as they are brought back to his mouth, eyes red.

“You. Them.”

Peter shakes his head, guilt coming at him for a whole different reason. “I don’t --”

“They voted me out,” Tony interrupts, voice hoarse. “I put everything we own into this new deal. It was gonna earn us billions, baby - and when they accepted the board voted me out - he fucking framed me --”

“Ssh, hey,” Peter soothes, leaning inwards to press a kiss to Tony’s jaw. “It’s okay, Tony - “

“After this deal I have nothing,” Tony shakes his head, refusing to meet Peters eyes. “I threw all our chips in knowing it was a good bet. Fucking Stane, I swear to god I’m --”

Tony runs out of steam, his head hanging low, the defeat making the man look smaller. Shame and fear roll off of Tony in waves, his hands visibly shaking, chest hitching.

Something in Peter snaps and he lets go.

“I know I don’t tell you this enough,” Peters voice cracks, “but I love you. I really fucking love you.”

“I’m losing you too,” Tony whispers, wrecked. “I can see it. You don’t want me anymore, and why would you? I have nothing to offer you.”

Peter shakes his head, peppering kisses over the glistening tear trails on the mans face, resolve solidifying. It breaks his heart to see Tony like this - how could he ever think of leaving him - the only thing Tony ever wanted from him was unconditional and free.

He may not be what Tony deserves but Peter has always been selfish.

“I’ve lost everything, baby. I’m nothing.”

Peter shuffles closer on his knees, tilting his head down to capture Tony’s red-rimmed gaze.

“You’re everything. I don’t care if you don’t have a single penny. I want to be with you, okay? You’re my Tony.”

Tony smiles wetly. “And you’re my Peter. You’ll stay with me?”

Peter nods, kissing him sweetly, an idea forming into his mind as his anger grows towards Tony’s former associate. The fucking nerve of anyone knowing the real Tony Stark and wanting to hurt him sets his cells ablaze. There’s one way to right this wrong, to prove himself.

"If you’ll have me - and... if you want, I’m going to help you.”

Tony blinks, expression going serious. “What do you mean?”

Peter grins wryly.

“Let’s just say I know a thing or two about getting into someones skin. Stane won’t see me coming.”

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #starker moodboard #starker fic #gold digger au #sugar baby peter parker #sugar daddy tony stark

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