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randomfandomimagine · 3 years

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I Love You Too (Barry Allen x Reader)

Characters: Barry Allen, Bruce Wayne, Arthur Curry, Clark Kent, Diana Prince, Victor Stone

Fandom: Justice League (Snyder) / DC

Tags: Angst with a happy ending, fluff, hurt / comfort, no spoilers

Warnings: Slight angst

Word Count: 2,1k words

Summary: Barry must make a great sacrifice, but Y/N wants to tell him something before he does. Unable to tell him, Y/N deals with the result of Barry’s sacrifice and wonders whether or not he reciprocated those feelings.

A/N: To no one’s surprise, I fell in love with Ezra’s Barry when I watched the Snyder Cut (he’s just so cute!), so here’s a ficlet based on an idea I had when watching the movie. Enjoy, and give this some love, please!!

Link: AO3

GIF CREDIT

Barry Allen x Gender Neutral Reader

Your world had turned upside down in just a second. Not too long ago, you were joking and laughing with Barry, playfully pushing each other. You had been having fun together like you had known each other all your lives despite having met for the first time a few days ago. You had been there to comfort each other during that insane and frightening mission, like you could read each other’s minds and recognized how scary it was for the other and how much you needed that comfort.

And now…

The others’ voices became but a muffled mumble to your whistling ears. The sudden weight that had settled in your stomach made you nauseous as you turned to them.

“What…?” You asked Bruce in a daze, even if you had heard him loud and clear.

“Are you serious?” Arthur muttered, staring at him as well.

“That would kill him!” You reply in outrage, turning to Barry. The speedster didn’t say anything, only reciprocating your gaze with a neutral expression that you knew hid his fear.

“It’s the only way...” Bruce looked down, clenching his jaw.

A loud silence hung over the group. None of you broke it until Barry himself spoke up. Much to your horror, it was to agree with Bruce’s plan.

“I’ll do it” He replied, bearing a grin on his lips but heaviness in his dark eyes.

“Barry...” You began, knowing him well enough to realize he would not hesitate to do the right thing. He would not hesitate to sacrifice himself to save the world.

“It’ll be okay” Barry smiled at you, even if you could tell it was a fake one.

“Wait, no! I have to...” You reached out to hold on to him, but he was already gone. “Tell you how I feel...”

You closed your hands into fists so tight that your nails painfully digged in your palms. A hand gently squeezed your arm, so you looked up to Diana. She showed you a friendly yet sad smile.

“He knows, Y/N” Were her only words, which didn’t bring you as much comfort as any of you’d hoped.

Contradictory feelings created a lump in your throat. You knew he had to do it, and you knew Victor needed his help. It was selfish of you to not want Barry to do it. You wanted him to, to fix everything, but… you didn’t want to lose him. Tears reached your eyes, so you averted your gaze from your friends. Arthur sighed in resignation next to you. Bruce swore under his breath. You knew Victor would try to come up with a different plan if he wasn’t inside. If Clark wasn’t so focused on keeping Steppenwolf busy, you know he would have some objections himself.

Just when you felt the tears started rolling down your cheeks, a sudden presence made you jump up in startle. Before you could even turn around, you felt something against your cheek. By the time you met face to face with Barry, you had realized what graced your cheek were his lips.

“Be right back” He muttered, even though his voice cracked.

“No, you won’t” You saddly replied, staring into his eyes. “Barry, I...”

He lingered for just a moment before running off. A sob escaped your throat. None of you spoke, and that awful silence was making your heart race. A blue streak illuminated the surroundings as Barry caught speed.

Diana suddenly held your hand, so tightly that you could almost read her thoughts as she made them so palpable. You squeezed back, joining her in what you assumed were mental prayers for Barry to make it back alive.

“C’mon, kid...” Arthur whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

The atmosphere became strange around you as Barry reached maximum speed. You grimaced, waiting for the inevitable. Chaos ensued for a moment when Barry managed to achieve his mission, creating a loud commotion that created enough energy to save the day. A pause lasting only a second followed. It was the longest second of your entire life.

The breath hitched in your throat when the electric blue streak passed before your eyes and stopped just a few meters away from the group. You gulped when it dissipated and a reddish blur became a familiar figure. The silence had returned, albeit awed this once.

“I made it” Barry gulped, heaving something between a chuckle and an exhalation. A second after, his eyes rolled into his head and he was limply falling to the ground.

“Barry!” You let go of Diana’s hand and ran to help him, faster than any of them. “Barry, no!!“

You threw yourself to the ground with such force that you scraped your knees. That pain was nothing compared to the one that held your heart ransom. You repeatedly called his name, desperately shaking him. No response. Trembling from head to toe, you then went to hurriedly take his helmet off. The sweaty dark hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes were closed. He looked terribly pale. When you held his face in your hands, he still didn’t move.

“Y/N...” Arthur miserably said as he approached the two of you. The pained word brought a sob to your throat. You knew what he meant when he called your name like that. Barry was gone.

Bruce kneeled by your side. Diana stood on her foot, hovering behind you.

“He’s alive” Bruce suddenly uttered, causing your heart to race. For the first time since you joined the team, it was a good sign.

“He’s alive?!”

“He’s alive...”

Your eyes closed, but you didn’t give in to sleep. He needed you.

Thoughts plagued your mind, so many and so varied that your head hurt. You were mad at him for being so reckless. But proud that he didn’t hesitate to save everyone. At the same time, you were sad that he had exerted himself like that, if only because of how dangerous it was. And you were worried about his health. Your temples throbbed.

“You haven’t moved in two days” Clark’s sudden voice scared you. Nonetheless, you didn’t have the strength to flinch. “Get some rest, Y/N”

“No, I have to stay here with him” You watched Barry as he slept peacefully in his bed, hooked to the machine that tracked his vitals. Fortunately, it kept beeping with his heartbeat.

“We’ll tell you if he wakes up”

“I’ll be here when he does”

Returning to focus on Barry, you squeezed his hand. You had been holding on to it for so long that your hands had seemed to fuse together. It had been your only comfort these days. You had to keep reminding yourself that he was still alive.

“You’ll get sick too” Clark lingered on his gentle tone, empathizing with you and being worried himself despite not really knowing Barry like you did.

But he could tell. Anyone could tell Barry had a heart of gold. That he was kind and warm. Still, Clark didn’t know. He didn’t know how much Barry made you laugh. Not him not anyone knew how much you treasured his reassuring presence next to you as you fought to save the world. How much you appreciated his light-hearted jokes and efforts to relief the tension. No one knew how especial Barry was to you.

No, you refused to get up from that chair. You only stared at Barry still, mentally begging for him to wake up like you could will that thought into existence. Your throat began to hurt from how fiercely you fought the tears. Seeing your resolve, your friend shook you a little.

“Y/N, you...” Judging by Clark’s tone, you saw a soft reprimand coming. You were too tired to put up with one, no matter how well-intentioned it was.

“No, Clark!” You stood up, something you didn’t do in days. “I... I…”

You had moved so quickly that you got a headrush. Clark held you by the arm when you wobbled, but you angrily swatted him away.

“I’m not leaving him! I need to be with him, because...” Your confident and loud voice grew lower and sadder. “If I’m not…”

Clark’s own eyes looked watery. He frowned and nodded his head, silently providing you with the understanding you so badly needed. It didn’t help with the burden of guilt and remorse that filled your chest, though.

The beeping of the machine filled the stillness, followed by a different sound.

“Can you... keep it down?” A groggy voice muttered. “I’m trying to sleep”

You and Clark gasped at thet same time, quickly turning to your friend lying on the bed. Barry’s eyes were open, even if heavy with weakness, as he slowly turned his head in your direction.

“You slept for two days, buddy” Clark grinned, fondly looking at him.

“That’s a long nap” Barry smiled, tiredly closing his eyes.

“You’re so stupid!” You softly punched him in the arm, forcing him to look back at you.

“Ow” He barely had the strength to reach out to hold the spot. “Easy, I’m convalescent”

“You scared me half to death!”

Barry’s prior small smile vanished in favor of a concerned frown when he got a good look at you.

“You look exhausted…”

“We kept telling Y/N to get some rest” Clark piped up, looking from one to the other.

“And I kept telling you I wasn’t going to leave him!” In response to your reply, Clark only smiled fondly. Shaking his head a little, he scooped you into his arms and carefully laid you down on Barry’s bed next to him.

“There, you can look after each other now” He carefully patted Barry’s arm. “Everyone’s happy”

You barely paid any attention to Clark anymore as he muttered he was going to tell the others that Barry was awake. Instead, you were far too busy tightly hugging Barry and hoping you weren’t hurting him. When the door closed, signaling Clark’s departure, you were nuzzling Barry’s shoulder.

“Wow, hey” He chuckled, playfully patting your back. “Missed me, I see”

“Shut up”

“Were you worried?”

“Was I worried”

“Yeah”

“If you pull something like that ever again, you better believe I won’t need your speed to catch up to you and kill you myself, Barry Allen!”

Barry weakly laughed at the stupid line you had just said. Realizing the silliness of it yourself, you joined him in his chuckles.

“I love you too” Barry playfully replied, bearing a joking grin.

Your eyebrows arched in surprise, and then he gawked at you.

“N-No... I didn’t mean...” Barry corrected himself. “I didn’t mean I love you as a... It was a joke! I-I mean, it’s not that I don’t love you, but... but... uh..."

When everything stilled, however, you realized how truly close you two were lying down together. There was barely enough room in that small bed to fit the two of you even as you were on your sides. Being so close to him, you wonderred how you hadn't realized how beautiful his eyes were before. You took his face in your hands, chuckling again. His lips suffocated your laughter as well as his babbling when they connected with yours. It was a slow and delicate kiss, nearly a peck. You both were still very tired, and that wonderful exchange made you so calm that you felt your eyes close both in exhaustion and happiness.

When the kiss ended, you both lingered in that closeness. Barry tenderly pressed his forehead against yours, leaning into your touch. Your hands were still on his face while his had clumsily found their way to the small of your back.

“Thanks for looking after me” He whispered, dedicating you a tired smile.

“Thanks for coming back to me” As you said it, you wondered if the smitten way he was looking at you was the same way you were looking at him without realizing.

“I told you I would” Barry reached out to press his hand against yours, caressing your skin with his thumb.

You melted in a loving embrace, and everything was alright with the world again. As you rested against his chest, Barry’s heartbeat under your ear brought you peace. Linger in the hug, that you wished you could stretch out forever, you gazed into each other’s eyes.

“How about we actually listen to our friends and get some rest?” You mumbled, slowly reaching out to hold his hand.

“That sounds great” Barry intertwined his fingers with you, smiling wide.

Finally feeling like you could relax after days of being on edge, you fully lied down with him. Barry was beaming, his smile never faltering as you got comfortable beside him. Your hands were linked together like they had been for days now. This time he squeezed yours back. You felt the slumber take you as you groggily repeated the words he had said to you first. I love you too.

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @wonderlandfandomkingdom / @locke-writes / @emmacata / @galactic-magick // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!!

#barry allen x reader #barry allen imagine #barry allen #ezra miller #justice league #justice league imagine #dc #dc imagine #rfi writings #reader insert #not requested #faves #ficlet #barry allen ficlet #dc ficlet #justice league ficlet #snyder cut

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lucky-bucky-boy · 4 years

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Cruel Summer

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: Based loosely off of Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift; You shouldn’t have given in, shouldn’t have caved to him. But what could you say? Some people were just too irresistible. But one too many bad choices lead to tension that even the worst of the worst couldn’t bare.

Word Count: 5473

Warnings: Angst, smut, dom/sub elements, daddy kink, dirty talk, very slight age gap, please let me know if I missed any

A/N: Tags are at the bottom. Please please please let me know what you think, this writing style is a bit out of my comfort zone. I’m trying some new things out before writing my book and really need all the feedback possible. Positive and constructive please. NO spoilers, taking place before the events of Knives Out, age difference of Meg and Ransom was skewed to fit timeline/idea // Read on AO3 here

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs welcomed and highly appreciated!

The wintery chill of the evening Massachusetts air threatened to seep in, blowing harshly against the windowpanes and spinning it’s way through every bare branch and thickly coated pine tree on the property. A typical monthly gathering of family and those like family, a gun show and jab contest dressed up to look like a quiet evening around the fire with loved ones and good food.

Gazes darted around the room, a tension so palpable it made even the Thrombey family uncomfortable. No one could quite place why though, or even which pair was causing the air to thicken. A typically thin lipped, on edge, cut throat monthly dinner was somehow even more treacherous this time around.

But no one would have guessed that it involved you. Usually revered as the quiet one, the one who steered away from trouble and left before the tension boiled over, the girl who brought bright smiles and a sharp mind, Meg’s best friend since diapers, your father’s accomplished author for a daughter; not one person would have even thought to have blinked an eye in your direction.

But no one in that room knew why the air was so thick you could taste it, why the sound of the metal knives scraping against expensive glass plates was more bearable than breathing in the smog of tension. One wrong move and-

“So, what’s got everyone’s knickers in a twist, huh?” The smug, faux caring, intoxicating drawl that got you in this mess.

The flood gates were open now. Everyone talking over the other, talking louder and louder, unknowingly looking for the cause of the uncomfortable feeling that sat low in their bellies. It didn’t last too long, maybe over a minute before it fell silent enough that you could hear the wind whistling outside.

Even with your gaze downcast to your plate you could feel everyone turn to look at you, eyes judging and calculating, picking apart every move, ever wrinkle in your clothes, and twitch of a muscle.

“You’ve been quiet,” it was your father speaking now, and for the first time you were thankful for that, “What’s new with you, dear? How’s your third book coming along?”

A shrug as you met his gaze, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s coming.” Your tone was practically unreadable, unamused and almost annoyed.

A snicker from the other end of the table had all of you snapping your heads in the direction of the noise. A shit eating grin was plastered on Ransom’s face, eyes glinting with mischief. You tried your damnedest not to notice how the ruby color of his scarf brought out the ocean blues you got lost in too many times, or how the cream color of his worn sweater was practically taunting you with every memory of you in that sweater. But you knew him, you knew him too well for your own liking, for your own good. And you knew he did things with a purpose.

“What’s so funny?” His mother snapped at him, his lips pulling into that smirk that had you at his will one too many times.

“Just never thought I’d hear little ol’ (Y/N) say something along those lines again.”

Pin drop. Silence and shock coursed through every fiber of every person sitting at that table. Confused glances between the two of you, unnerved and in disbelief.

“What the hell, Ransom? Why do you-” Meg started, voice loud and higher than usual in agitation.

But you cut her off, staring back at the man who seemingly was doing whatever he could to get under your skin. “Hugh, if you’ve decided you’re going to tell a story, at least make sure to tell the fucking truth.”

A few hushed gasps echoed around the table as Ransom matched your stare. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. You know that’s not what I like you calling me.”

You scoffed, “You lost the privilege of me calling you what you want the day you told me to leave.”

“As if you didn’t want it just as badly. I seem to recall rather clearly you begging for me.”

“And I seem to recall rather clearly you telling me to get my shit and get the fuck out.” You snapped, feeling your skin heat with embarrassment and agitation. No one was supposed to find out like this, no one was supposed to find out at all.

Ransom stood suddenly, stalking over to you, eyes never leaving yours. He towered over your sitting figure for a moment, trying to melt your resolve before he leaned down, face only inches away from yours. The musky vanilla and cedar scent of his cologne, the mintiness of his breath with a hint of whiskey, the warm scent of clean cotton from his clothes, it was all almost too much. “Let’s get this straight, baby girl,” the nickname was taunting you like a schoolyard insult, “we had an arrangement. That arrangement didn’t involve feelings. You ruined that.”

“Yeah, because me loving you is the worst thing you ever heard.” You stood as well, at your wits end with this situation, with him, “Dumbest mistake of my life was thinking how you felt when you were drunk was how you felt when you were sober. Fuck you, Ransom."

He stood back some, moving out of your way as you grabbed your jacket off of the back of your chair, storming out of the too warm mansion and into the freezing cold. Ransom’s voice followed after you, "Don’t forget you already did, sweetheart.”

Notification after notification, endless vibration making you want to pull your hair out. A long drive home with a clenched jaw and a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. The day couldn’t be over soon enough, an escape from the embarrassment and misery of that excuse of a dinner much too far away for your liking.

The hope that your apartment would have been your ticket to peace and quiet was quickly destroyed when there was banging on the door. A huff as you trudged out of the blankets on the couch to the door, swinging it open to see a distraught Meg.

“What the hell was that about?”

There it went, any bit of resolve and composure went out that front door when she took a step in. Tears quickly welled in your eyes, falling in little streams down your face. The agitation on her face was quickly replaced with worry as she wrapped you in a hug, “Hey, hey, no need for that. Come on. Let’s get you something to drink and then I want you to tell me what that was all about, okay? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on, alright?”

She walked you through the kitchen, making you both a cup of hot tea and grabbing a handful of snacks before steering you back towards the couch, sitting the both of you down. Meg’s eyes filled with relief as she watched you sip at the warm liquid, sniffling softly as you calmed yourself down.

“Okay, start from the beginning. What happened?”

Warm, low lights, a soft thumping from the outdated speakers, a happy, giddy atmosphere floating over the table. A small, cheesy banner sat taped to the edge of the booth, bright tacky colors spelling out “Congratulations”. Two of your friend sat with you in the rounded corner booth, your leg sticking out to the side and bouncing with slight anticipation. Even though you requested a small thing, your beloved friends Shelby and Laura had a hard time doing things small.

But they insisted it wasn’t a lot. Meg was off studying for finals and wouldn’t be able to make it so instead Shelby invited her boyfriend Jay and told him to bring a friend or two along. And not to forget the cake. Their last phone call twenty minutes ago consisted of reiterating the confirmation over and over again. You’re on your way? Awesome great. Who’d you bring? Okay. Did you get the cake? Okay. Don’t forget the cake. Okay. Don’t ruin the cake. Okay you’re sure the cake is okay?

Laura and you couldn’t help but giggle at her, anxiety and anticipation evident in her features as she checked her phone again and again, eyes darting to the entrance waiting for her boyfriend and his friends to enter the hole in the wall bar with that god damn cake.

Excusing yourself to the bathroom seemed to speed up the time because as you returned you nearly tripped over yourself. There was Shelby, cuddled up next to Jay. And Jay had two men sitting next to him, one you didn’t recognize and one you knew all too well. Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

A man you hadn’t seen in easily a year or two. He had began to skip out on family dinners, tired of the endless drama and bore of it all. Even when the family took their yearly vacation together and during the holiday parties he somehow managed to not be anywhere insight, despite his mother insisting he was there.

“Look at you, little (Y/N), all grown up now.” His eyes shamelessly raked over your figure, taking in how your body had changed over the years, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, brat. Since before you published the first book.”

You huffed out an anxious laugh, nodding as you took your seat at the end of the booth, opposite of him. “Y-yeah, it’s been a while. You kinda stopped coming around.”

“Can you blame me? My family would make anyway go insane. I’m surprised yours has stayed around as long as they have. But enough about me, sweetheart, from what I’ve been told we’re here to celebrate you-”

Shelby squealed some, “Yep! And that’s why,” she hung onto the end of the word as she lifted the lid of the box that was now sitting in the center of the table. Once the top was off, the sides fell down, revealing a cake decorated to look like a book with the title of your second book you had just published on it. The whole reason you all were here.

Your heart swelled at the gesture, “Aw! Shelbs! Thank you so much!” You gave her a small little pout, “God I’m gonna cry. I can’t believe I actually did that. Twice now!”

Laughter erupted around the table, the group continuing to shower you in drinks, gifts, and affection. Jay bought you a drink and some food, Laura had gotten you a customized journal with your favorite quote from the book on the front of it, Shelby kept giving you little cards with her favorite things about the books you’ve written in them. It wasn’t long until the group started to dwindle though. First Jay’s other friend who probably felt awkward, then Laura who had to work in the morning.

Ransom and Jay decided to play a round of pool before Jay and Shelby headed out for the night, and Shelby took the time to interrogate you.

“Oh. My. God. He is so fucking hot. How the hell do you know him? You never leave your apartment.” She fawned over Ransom, who currently had his back to the two of you at the other side of the bar.

You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief. “First off, you have a boyfriend,” your reprimanded playfully. “Second, that’s Meg’s older cousin. He’s like 4 or 5 years older than us. Spoilt brat. Never worked a day in his life. Third, before you even suggest it because I see that look in your eye. I’m not sleeping with him. I didn’t even let him buy me a drink when he offered let alone going home with him.”

She pouted at you, “Come on, (Y/N/N), you’ve been so stressed with the editing and the publishing. Just have a little fun.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning over and grabbing a nacho to throw into your mouth. “The only fun I need after all this is my handy dandy blue vibrator under my bed. No need to go home with him.”

She scoffed. “Fiiiine, whatever. I still think he’s hot.”

The two men came back a few minutes later, laughing loudly and teasing one another. It was odd, rare even to see Ransom genuinely laughing, whole chest vibrating with the motion, genuine happiness seeping off of him. Jay collected his things as did Shelby, both bidding you a goodnight, Shelby throwing a wink in as well as they exited.

“Then there was two,” Ransom drawled, smirking lazily at you as he finished off his drink. “Come on, (Y/N/N), let me buy you a drink.”

You smiled, huffing out a small laugh as you shook your head. “I’m good, Ransom. Really.”

“After all those years of you stealing my stash I’m actually willing to buy you a drink and you’re telling me no?”

You rolled your eyes, butterflies beginning to swarm inside you. “I’m telling you no because I still have at least a thirty minute uber ride home and don’t want to be overly intoxicated. The only thing I want right now it a plate of pancakes and some greasy hash browns.”

“Then let’s go get some,” he offered, a somewhat uncharacteristically sweet smile replacing his smirk. “Look, I haven’t seen you in a while and you just accomplished something so let me at least try to do something nice.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You? Hugh Ransom Drysdale? Do something nice? Oh I must be dead.” He pouted at you, the slight disappointed look in his blue eyes sending you reeling. “Fine. I won’t pass up on an offer like that. Just make sure you take me somewhere good."

Thirty minutes later you sat in a small diner that was essentially in the middle of nowhere. The name GiGi’s was in neon pink light on top the structure that looked like it was plucked out of Grease. A few semi-trucks littered the parking lot and only a couple of faces of customers sat in the diner.

Ransom had already threw you for a loop, opening doors for you, turning the music down to ask you about your book; and not just what it was about, but what inspired you to write it, what was your muse. He had let you pick the seat and even ordered for you when the waitress came over. Two breakfast samplers with extra crispy hash browns, and two strawberry milkshakes because ‘why not? It’ll be just like when we were kids’.

You were beyond shocked at how comfortable you felt around him. No awkwardness or anxiety that had hit you earlier. It was simple, felt easy, felt right.

"So, I have to ask, why are you suddenly being nice to me?” The question was simple enough, lips wrapping around the straw of the milkshake after you asked, watching him and waiting.

“Was I ever not nice to you?” He asked, bemused and quirking an eyebrow at you.

Swallowing down the cold liquid you scoffed. “Seriously? You’ve been a dick to me since I was like 12 or 13. Whenever you started hanging out with that one guy in high school - Chuck? I think. Anyways, it got even worse after you turned 21. You pretty much outright refused to acknowledge my existence."

He pursed his lips as he thought about it, "I- okay yeah, you’re right. I did do that- but in my defense I stopped acknowledging you because I thought you were hot and I was older so it was creepy and just easier to ignore you.”

You blinked a few times, shocked and processing what he had just said, “You what?”

He shrugged, taking a bite of his food. “Yep. And Chuck thought you guys were annoying so I dunno, guess I thought being a dick would keep you guys from pestering me.”

You couldn’t help but glare at him softly. “Then why did you come out tonight to celebrate my book? And offer to buy me drinks and food?”

Ransom suddenly looked a lot less relaxed, stern and serious as he kept his gaze on you. “Do you really want to know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” You challenged back, heart thumping in your chest.

He broke out into a huge grin, chuckling some, “Still not the one to ever back down from me. God, I love it. The reason I came out tonight was because, whether you believe it or not, I’m actually a fan of your writing. I have two copies of your first book and I already preordered the second. The reason I stayed out is because I realized how much I missed you. Most of my favorite memories from when I was younger involve you.”

“Really?” You inquired, munching on the food in front of you. “Like what?”

“Should’ve known you wouldn’t have let that one slide.” He chuckled softly. “One of my favorite memories is when I was probably 10 or 11, I think you and Meg had just started school. And you guys were learning about the stars and space and for some reason I was really obsessed with astronomy at the time. So one night, Meg, you, and I decided to camp out back of granddad’s and mom set a fire up for us and we sat there for hours roasting marshmallows and me teaching you guys about the constellations.”

A bright smile spread across your lips, so big it practically hurt. “I’m surprised you even remember that.”

“Hey, what can I say? I’m a man full of surprises who aims to please.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

Once the bill came, Ransom didn’t even let you see it, immediately pulling out some cash and handing it to the waitress, telling her to keep the change. He watched as you pulled out your phone, opening the uber app. “What’re you doing?” He asked quizzically.

“Calling myself a ride.” You answered, not even looking up.

“Nuh uh,” he shook his head, reaching over and grabbing the phone from you. “I’ll take you home.”

“But my apartment is like 45 minutes away and your house is down the street,” you protested.

“Then stay at my house tonight and I’ll take you home in the morning. I’ll sleep on the couch, you can take the bed.”

You quirked an eyebrow, obviously not believing him. “You sleeping on the couch? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” He promised, offering you a warm smile. “Now, am I taking you home or are you staying at my house?”

“…I’ll stay at your place,” you mumbled.

Something about Ransom’s house felt oddly comforting. The large window at the front of the living room let the moonlight stream in, the darker colors that the walls were painted contrasting beautifully with every sleek modern piece of furniture he had. It was obvious his family influenced his taste some. The intricate designs on the patterns of the throw pillows something you could very easily see Halarn buying, while his kitchen was practically black, white, and silver - looking like it popped out of the modern section of an HGTV magazine. But it all flowed and melded together beautifully.

He showed you to his room, grabbing himself a change of clothes before heading out and leaving you alone. You couldn’t help but stand there and take in your surroundings. Being in there, even without him, felt intimate. Like he was showing you a secret page in a book he loved. A few pictures were on his dresser, various ones or him at parties with friends, one of the family which was smaller than the others. It was neat, clean and tidy but most likely because of a maid and not because he took the time out to clean up his mess. And it smelled of him, everything in the room just breathed Ransom.

Sitting down on the bed, you kicked your shoes off, sitting them down by the end before lying down and attempting to get comfortable. But to no avail, you tossed and turned for a few moments, and despite the softness of the mattress and sheets below you, you felt uncomfortable. Jeans too tight, bra irritating your skin, face feeling oily and heavy. You needed a shower and a change of clothes if you wanted to even think of falling asleep.

Hesitantly you made you way back downstairs, where Ransom was currently sitting in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, book in hand. You didn’t even have to say anything, his eyes moved from the book to you, cocking an eyebrow, “Guessing you need a shower and some comfy clothes?"

You nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, kind feel blah after the bar and greasy food.”

“That’s okay. Towels and wash rags are in the standing closet in the bathroom. Both bathrooms with have them but the master bathroom has better shower pressure. Just take something out of my closet to wear for the night.”

You nodded a thank you and headed back upstairs, grabbing the first sweater you saw in his closet and heading into the bathroom. A part of you felt as if you were dreaming, that this wasn’t actually happening. Any residual crush you had on Ransom from your childhood was coming back full force, and doubling all at one. A quick shower you hoped would calm your slightly growing nerves, but drying off and slipping on the damned creme colored sweater you knew you were hopeless. It smelled like him, was warm and soft.

Before you could stop yourself you were padding back down the steps, not caring that the sweater barely covered your ass and that you hadn’t bothered with any underwear. Ransom was staring at you before had even looked at him, eyes taking in the sight of you in nothing else but his sweater, jaw set tight with a slight tick. “Whatcha doing there, sweetheart?” He urged, trying to keep his composure.

You sat on your knees next to him on the couch, staring at him for a moment. “Debating if I should do something I’ll probably regret in the morning.”

He smirked, “I promise if you’re gonna do what I think, you won’t regret it. You can hold me to that.”

“Then make sure I don’t-” you leaned forward, closing the distance between the two of you and pressing your lips against his. The fullness of his pouty lower lip slotted between yours, kissing you in a way you had never been kissed before, completely and utterly stealing your breath and any logical thought from you.

His hands were on your hips, pulling you into his lap, groaning softly against your lips at the feel of your smooth skin in his hand. It was a battle of tongues for dominance, which you quickly surrendered at the feel of him gripping your ass, kneading and pulling before spanking the plump flesh.

He pulled away first, a wild look in his eyes. “Get your ass upstairs, baby girl. Daddy’s gonna make sure you don’t regret a thing.”

A shiver went up your spine and you squealed softly before giggling, high on adrenaline and him. You stole another kiss before running upstairs to his room, heart pounding and mind racing.

Ransom came in a few moments later, quickly discarding his shirt and tossing it in the direction of the hamper before stalking towards you. He moved to hover over you, lips dancing along the skin of your neck. “God fucking damn it, baby girl, seeing you in my clothes - fuck you’re gonna drive me crazy.” He pressed a few kisses to the sensitive skin before biting down on the junction where your neck met your shoulder.

The whimpers and moans that left you spurred him on, lips continuing their worship of your skin as his hands traveled along the outside of your thighs and up to you hips. Fingers traced along to curve to your waist, up and over your breast as your nipples prickled at the sensation. He felt every movement, every time you squirmed, every time you squeezed your thighs together, every time you rutted.

“Can I take this off you, sweetheart? Make you feel real good, promise, baby.” A nod was all he needed and the moment you leaned up some he pulled the sweater off, tossing it aside. Ransom moved to lean back, moving to sit on his haunches, moving your thighs and spreading them to be on his clothed ones.

“Fuck, princess. You’re so fucking perfect. So fucking wet for me, I can already see it. You my little whore, hm?” He leaned down, pressing kisses against the skin of your chest.

A sudden slap to your thigh caused you to gasp. “What was that for?” You whined, moving to card your fingers through his hair.

“Speak when you’re spoken to or I’ll have to punish you.” The thought riled you up even more. Being splayed across his lap, hand coming down on you as you squirmed relentlessly, taking every bit of the 'punishment’. But that was for another time, hopefully. Right now you wanted, no needed him.

“Sorry, daddy.” Your voice was so soft and innocent, absolutely driving him wild.

He wanted nothing more than to ram into you, make you scream. But not yet, he wasn’t done teasing. Ransom’s lips moved from the skin of your chest to you nipples, pressing a chaste kiss on one before moving to the other and back again. Back and forth as the motions increased. A kiss to a flick to a suck to a nibble.

His lips begin to move south, nipping at the soft skin along the way. “Absolutely stunning.” He hummed, “Better than I could have imagined, pretty girl.” Soon he was situated between your legs, breath fanning over your soaked folds. A soft groan left Ransom, kissing at the skin of your thighs. “Smell so good, gonna taste even better I guarantee it.”

“Stop teasing,” you whined, tugging on his hair.

He looked up at you, “Baby, that’s not how this works,” he tsked softly. “You want something, you need to beg.”

Another deep throaty whine ripped from you. “Please,” you whimpered, squirming. “Fuck please, need you."

He chuckled softly, "I’ll let you off this time - Wanna taste this pretty little pussy.” Without any other warning he delved into your cunt, licking a stripe from entrance to clit before suckling on the little nub. He licked and sucked and nibbled, two fingers prodded your entrance before pushing in to the second knuckle, curling and immediately finding that spot that made you see star.

Ransom basked in your mewls, the feel of you tugging on his hair before your grip would loosen as your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. Talented was an understatement and a part of you hated how good it was, how good he was treating you.

He didn’t stop, determined to coax an orgasm out of you. Fingers moved swiftly, in and out, scissoring and curling. Lips worked in tandem, listening to your cries of pleasure to determine what you really liked and kept at it. It wasn’t long before your toes were curling, back arching off the bed in a loud moan, his name like a prayer on your lips.

“Ransom,” you whimpered as the aftershocks rolled through you, his lips never leaving your core, “fuck, Ransom, daddy please. Want your cock.”

He pulled away, pressing one last chaste kiss to your clit before moving to kiss you, letting you taste yourself as he pulled his sweats down and kicked them off. Your hands quickly moved to his length, stroking softly and moaning against his lips.

“You’re so big,” the little whine caused him to chuckle softly as he pulled away, leaning over to pull a condom out of his bedside table.

“Yeah? Think I’m big, baby girl? Want me to split you in two?” The cockiness in his voice only added to how much you wanted him.

All you could do was nod, looking up at him with a pouty lip and wide eyes. “Please, fuck me, wanna cum on your cock.”

He growled softly, pulling the condom on and lining himself up with your entrance. Ransom teased, moving the head to hook your clit a few times, loving the little jolt and whine that would come from you. He pushed in, slow at first to let you accommodate to his girth, then a quick thrust to bury himself to the hilt, feeling as though he was hitting your cervix.

If you had ever wondered why Ransom was a playboy, why he was so cocky and self assured, you knew why now. He pulled out almost fully before slamming back in, angling his hips to hit that spot that had your legs quaking every time he pushed back in. Each push and pull had your head reeling, moans falling freely from your lips as you scratched helplessly at his back for purchase. One of Ransom’s hands snaked between the two of you, flicking your clit in time with his thrusts.

With his face buried in the crook of your neck, he growled out words into your skin, pushing you closer and closer to the edge;

“Such a good girl for me.”

“Perfect fucking pussy, squeezing me so good.”

“You were made for this, made for me. Weren’t you baby girl?”

“Come on, princess. Cum on Daddy’s cock. Show me how much you love it.”

One particularly rough thrust paired with a bite to your sensitive skin had you tipping over the edge, mouth open in a silent scream as your toes curled and thighs squeezed his waist. A few more sloppy thrusts and he emptied himself in the condom, groaning and moaning low in his chest.

A few moments of breathing, neither of you bothering to move as you came down from your highs. Ransom pressed a few kisses to your neck before taking what little breath you had away as he kissed you, an obvious heated passion still boiling beneath the surface. He pulled out while he lips where still on yours, swallowing down your whine before pulling away.

Ransom left the bed, your body quaking ever so slightly with aftershocks as he disappeared into the bathroom. He returned a few moments later, condom gone and holding a damp wash rag. He handed it to you, letting you clean yourself up as he slid back under the comforter, taking it from you when you were done and tossing it into the hamper.

Without as much as a word he pulled you into his side, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline. The two of you stayed quiet for what felt like forever, never quite falling asleep and taking in what exactly had just happened. Just as the sun began to break the night sky, he moved so he was facing you, lying on his side. Crystal clear blue eyes searched your face, a look of contemplation evident.

“Would you want to do that again?” He asked, voice almost hushed as if he was telling a secret.

You hesitated your answer, nodding softly, “Yeah, actually. I would.”

He smirked softly, “We’ll discuss the details after we sleep. But let’s just make sure no one finds out. Our little arrangement, okay?”

Meg stared at you, a look mixed between confusion, disbelief, and a little bit of disgust. “That was-” she sighed, shaking her head and running a hand through her hair, “That was a little more than I needed to know. Is he the mysterious guy you were seeing last summer?”

A small nod as you sipped at the tea more before looking at her, giving her a look that could only be compared to that of a kicked puppy. You watched as puzzle pieces fit together in her mind, slowly seeing the big picture.

“He’s the guy who bought you all that jewelry. And the guy that got you a dog - he hates dogs - The guy who took you to Maldives and Paris? What the-” her brows furrowed some, nibbling at her lip as you nodded in confirmation, “The guy that got drunk one night and told you he couldn’t live without you? That you were his everything?”

Her words sliced deep and you sniffled to keep yourself from crying again. “Yep,” your voice was still hoarse with emotions. “It was all Ransom.”

Meg sighed softly, her sympathy evident in every move and noise she made. “I’m so sorry… Do - do you still love him?”

Time seemed to freeze momentarily, every single memory whirling through your mind. With tears brimming your eyes again you looked at Meg, feeling utterly broken and lost. “I’m scared there won’t ever be a time where I don’t love him.”

Tags: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @et-lesailes @necromaniackat @dramaticsassmaster @bval-1 @writingoneficatatime @lokilvrr

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phykios · 3 years

Text

honesty and promise me, part 3 [read on ao3] [co-written with @darkmagyk]

Several more weeks and hookups later, Annabeth thinks she should probably come clean. Some people might bury it deep, and for sure, Annabeth’s considered it, but, well. It is kind of embarrassing that she didn’t know Percy’s name at first. Stuff like that doesn’t usually bother her--she’s had nameless one night stands in the past, and despite Thalia’s ribbing, she knows that Thalia doesn’t really care either. It’s just that, you know, he’s Thalia’s family, and they’ve seen each other a few more times, and they are planning to continue to see each other a few more times in the future. Or more than a few times.

Anyway, she kind of feels like she owes it to him. Like he deserves this small nugget of truth, payment for all the times he’s fucked her blind. It’s nagging at her, and she hates feeling like she owes anyone anything.

Piper certainly seemed to think so, when Annabeth had told her over their monthly brunch date.

“It’s just common courtesy at this point,” she said. “Like, what if you guys end up married and then sell your story to Hollywood, they cast my dad as the male lead, and it comes out in interviews that you didn’t know his name for like a month? He’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

Annabeth wasn’t sure which part was more ridiculous: the movie, Piper’s dad being involved, or them being married.

Anyway, sharing some of her avocado fries, Piper had reminded her that being mean wasn't very punk rock, shutting her up effectively.

She’s out on site in the Lower East Side, taking measurements for plots of land, writing down sun angles and measuring the wind velocity between the brick buildings, when she gets a text from him.

I’m on a break and I’m starving 😩 Want to grab something to eat?

It’s 2pm on a Thursday and he wants to grab something to eat. If Annabeth didn’t know any better, she’d say that that sounds like a real, honest-to-goodness, bona fide date. (Meeting up at and subsequently leaving bars together does not count as a date, she’s pretty sure. Neither do the booty calls.) He’s been getting a little free with his texts, that boy, sending her selfies and memes and questions about her day, and now this? An invitation to their first, actual date? She should block him on principle, just for the sheer audacity.

sure, wya

520 8th, text me when you get here 😁

That’s another thing: Percy loves his emojis. If this is going to continue, they’re going to need to have a serious talk about that.

She doesn’t need to text him when she gets there; he’s already outside, leaning on the stone edifice of the building like a particularly jacked rent boy in his tight t-shirt and broody look, cigarette between his fingers. The sweatpants sort of ruin the image, though. He looks particularly comfortable in a way that warms Annabeth right from the inside out. “You know, when Nico said you smoked, I honestly didn’t believe it.” she says, not even bothering to say hi.

He looks up from his phone and smiles, the sun behind his teeth. “Hey!”

“Hey, yourself.” She doesn’t even hesitate--she plucks the cigarette out of his hand, taking a drag off it herself. “You been smoking for a long time?”

“Who do you think taught Thalia how?” He raises an eyebrow, bemused. “Is that a problem?”

It is, but it’s not like she can tell him that without losing some of her credibility. “Wouldn’t smoking fuck with your cardio?”

Percy shrugs, conceding. “A little. I used to be a lot worse, but I just can’t quite kick the habit. It’s mostly a stress thing, anyway.”

“Rough practice?” she asks, putting just enough effort into her lip wobble to make it abundantly clear that she’s making fun of him. “Were the other boys being mean to you because of your tights?”

He grins at her, saucy. “Annabeth Chase, do you really think that NYCB rehearses here? In the Garment District?” But he laughs before she can stammer out an answer (and thank God, she’s lived here three years and can barely keep the boroughs straight, let alone the neighborhoods). “I just wrapped up teaching a class. I don’t have to be at rehearsal until 5, I was thinking we could hang out? Bryant Park?”

A first date at the New York Public Library. She almost hates to admit it, but Percy Jackson might be kind of her dream man. “I believe I was promised food,” she sniffs, but she does hold out her hand, and when he takes it, lacing his fingers through hers, she’s sure that he can feel her heart beating, palm to palm.

Twenty minutes later they’re settled on a bench in the corner of the green, Annabeth halfway into a ham sandwich and Percy juggling a salad and an iced coffee. He’s been regaling her with tales from the more exciting side of ballet, a side she hadn’t even imagined could actually exist. “So by the time I land in Paris,” he says, taking a sip of coffee, “the guy’s foot has swollen up to, like, twice its original size, and when I finally managed to find some wifi to check my phone, there’s, like, eight missed calls from my mom and my agent, and an email from her that just says ‘READ THIS,’ in all caps, and of course the article is in French, which I didn’t really speak at the time, and I was so stressed that my ADHD made it so I couldn’t even read the Google translation, and I had to ask someone to translate it for me.”

“Oh my god,” she says, struggling to keep it in.

“And that’s how I found out that I’d been moved up to first cast in Le Corsaire, from the poor barista at a coffee shop in Charles de Gaule!” He laughs.

“That’s insane,” Annabeth says. “And the show was the next day?”

“It was that night! I had to haul ass to the opera house and get warmed up, because I was going on in about four hours. You should have seen the looks on everyone’s faces when I stumbled in, I’m sure that they all wanted to kill me.” Percy chuckles, taking a bite of leafy greens. “Now I wasn’t just the twenty-year-old upstart American, I was the twenty-year-old upstart American who skipped town when I wasn’t supposed to.”

“How did it go?”

“Killed it, of course,” he says, deservedly smug.

Despite her best efforts, she’s absolutely entranced; he’s a great storyteller. “I bet you break that story out at parties all the time, don’t you.”

He laughs. “Whatever gets the donors to open their checkbooks, right?”

“I can’t believe you lived in Paris. I’ve always wanted to see it.” She’d had a few chances to when she was in college, the semester she’d studied abroad in Rome, but she just never got around to it. Just another item on her long, long list of regrets, placed somewhere between the sketchy burrito from last week and not telling her mom to fuck off earlier when she’d had the chance. “If I were you, I’d never leave.”

Percy shrugs. “It was amazing, I won’t lie. But towards the end I just really, really missed it here. All my family is in NYC, you know? My mom, step-dad, and my sister live here, and Thalia and Nico and Hazel, too. I tried to come back and visit whenever I could, but being away from them was really hard.” There’s something soft and inviting in his expression when he says, “I’m really happy to be back home.”

“What are they like?” Annabeth asks. “Your family. Your non-mob family, I mean.”

He rolls his eyes, but he grins another one of those blinding grins, too. “My mom is the most amazing person you will ever meet. Not only did she support my dance habit, she did it as a single working mother who had to raise an angry, ADHD asshole of a son who didn’t always appreciate her. I don’t even want to know how many hours she had to work or how many scholarships and grants she had to track down in order to pay for me to go to SAB, but somehow she made it work, and managed to write her novel at the same time. She married my step-dad the summer I turned sixteen, and my baby sister was born the next year.”

Even Annabeth, cynical and black-hearted as she is, has to smile back. The love he has for his mom is so palpable, so tangible, she can practically see him glowing. “And the…” What had Thalia called them? “The ‘Cousin Consortium’?”

At that, Percy laughs, full-bellied, unrestrained. “The name was Nico’s idea. I didn’t really have many close friends when I was a kid, apart from my buddy Grover--he had to wear this really gnarly leg brace and I liked to dance, so you can imagine how much we got picked on--but we were all really close growing up, since our dads were all assholes. They may have left us emotionally scarred, but at least we had each other’s backs the whole time.”

This is a very Percy thing, she’s starting to realize: he can not and will not hold back on his feelings. He simply refuses to. Where most guys might try to hide or downplay their affection for their friends, Percy’s is written all over his face. Maybe it’s a byproduct of doing ballet, but he’s so unashamed of his love for his friends and his family and his art, that maybe Annabeth kind of wishes she could be included in that love too, if it always feels this warm and joyful.

“I think it’s amazing that you guys are so close. I only had the one cousin when I was growing up, and we didn’t really talk all that much,” Annabeth says, almost without her permission. Something about him, it’s just so easy to talk to him. He makes it safe to open up.

“The med school guy, right?”

Annabeth nods. “Magnus. Fifth generation Harvard student. We’re all very proud.”

Ugh. Even she has to wince at the false cheer in her voice. Percy gives her a half-smile, sympathetic and soft. “Harvard not really for you, then?” he asks, picking up the threads of a long and complicated story, and one that she absolutely does not want to get into right now. Or ever, if she can help it.

“More like I wasn’t really for Harvard.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. She had been good enough for the university in Cambridge, Mass--good enough for two degrees and graduation with honors--but she had never been good enough for her mother’s capital-H Harvard. Never good enough for her mother at all, really.

Percy takes her hand. His fingers are cold from his iced coffee. “Hey. It’s their loss,” he says, with a sincerity and an intensity that makes her blush.

Every part of her wants to pull away. His thumb is rubbing against the joint of her finger, soothing and sweet, and she thinks she may break out in hives from it. “Damn right it is,” she mumbles.

He is so nice. So nice and hot and sweet. Objectively, what she’s about to do is a terrible idea, and might torpedo a really good thing that they have, but if she doesn’t come clean now her own guilt is going to drive her insane.

“Okay, I have a confession to make.” Percy raises his eyebrows, slurping the last dregs of his drink. “When we met… and then when we hooked up the first time… I may have… thoughtyouwereJason.”

He blinks. “Pardon?” he asks, mumbled around the straw.

Annabeth buries her head in her hands. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

“You… thought I was Jason?”

“Well,” she sputters, glaring at him through her fingers, “you were being all bro-y with Thalia!”

He is valiantly trying to hold in a smile. “You know, I distinctly remember telling you my name that morning.”

“I was really hungover,” she whines, “and you were shirtless and making breakfast so I wasn’t really… paying attention.”

“For a whole week?”

This is so embarrassing, why couldn’t she just keep her stupid mouth shut? “Yeah.” She slumps her shoulders, stuffing her hands into her jacket pocket. “Sorry.”

She’s not entirely sure what she expected: at best a couple of weird looks and a tentative promise to meet up later that would end up not working out, at worst she thinks he’ll just get up and leave her here at Bryant Park. Either way, they’d be doomed to months of awkward interactions, until eventually they wouldn’t be able to be around each other, and Thalia would have to pick a side--and Annabeth’s seen what Thalia does to people who cross her family. She’s seen Thalia beat a dude to pulp for calling Nico the f-slur. Picking Percy over Annabeth? That’s nothing.

So when he starts laughing, Annabeth is completely at a loss. Slowly, at first, then all at once, he’s laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking, and he has to put down his salad so it doesn’t topple over onto the grass. His head is tilted back in joy, the grey, late afternoon light adamant that Annabeth can see all of his features clearly, from his screwed up eyes to his bright, white teeth to the single dimple in his cheek.

Of course, even his laughter is hot. Asshole.

“You thought I was Jason!” He shrieks.

Annabeth crosses her arms, scowling.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I really don’t mean to laugh,” he giggles. Annabeth can feel her own giggle rising in response, and she ruthlessly quashes it. “I can definitely say I’ve never heard that one before. You do know Jason is blond, right?”

“As a matter of fact, I did not. Besides, you and Thalia look exactly alike.”

He scoffs. “No we don’t.”

“Uh, yeah you do. You, Thalia, and Nico are all basically clones of each other.”

“Okay, Captain Glasses, whatever you say.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth feels like she has to say again.

He cocks his head. “For what? For thinking I was Jason? He’s a pretty cool guy.”

“No, for,” she blushes again. All this blood rushing to her head can’t be good for her. “For sleeping with you when I still thought you were Jason.”

Percy scoots closer to her, throwing her a grin and slinging his arm over her shoulders. Without even realizing that she’s doing it, she settles in beside him like she’s been doing it her whole life, slotted up against his torso, tucking her booted feet beneath her legs. “I am choosing to take that as a compliment,” he says, smirking. “You couldn’t resist my charms, even when you thought I was a brogrammer.”

Annabeth can’t help herself. She kisses him, wiping that smug grin right off his face, and when she finally retreats, after what feels like hours, he looks so dazed she could probably keep calling him by any name she wanted and he wouldn’t even realize it.

After their lunch, they meander for hours, headed in a vaguely southerly direction, holding hands the whole time, a steady, uninterrupted flow that took them all the way from Midtown to Greenwich Village. He tells her about his first day at ballet school; she tells him about her favorite monuments. “There are two architectural environments in America,” she says, ranting, speaking with enough force that she might forget the feeling of his hand in hers, “endless dead suburbia, or cities where every single building is either a concrete or a glass block--and not even Brutalist concrete, just shitty, poorly designed, paint-by-numbers concrete. It is an absolute travesty of modern government that they don’t fund any public works projects anymore.”

“That’s why all the gardens and stuff?” he asks.

“Nowadays everything is built by the lowest bidder. At least I get to add some beauty back into the city.”

“I know what you mean,” Percy says. “Paris is practically overflowing with public works, you almost forget about it sometimes.”

She sighs. “You’re so fucking lucky. Paris is so beautiful and everything in New York is just hideous.”

“Aw, come on,” he says. “Not everything. What about the Empire State Building, or Central Park?”

“Well, obviously, those,” she says, just a teensy bit flustered, but she’s not about to give up the argument without a fight. “I just mean like, normal, every day buildings: offices and apartments and stuff. It’s all so samey and boring.”

He looks to her right, pointing at the building they are passing. “What about this one?”

She turns.

If she had known they were headed this way, she never would have taken them past here.

“It’s… okay, I guess,” she mumbles, staring up at the arched windows, pedimented doors, and Rococo details of Miss Minerva’s Private Pre-College Prep School. A shudder goes down her spine, like someone walking over her grave. “There are better Beaux-Arts buildings.”

Sensing her discomfort, he picks up the pace, and changes the subject.

Finally, he stops outside a nondescript building, turning to face her. “This is me,” he says, a little bit mournfully, squeezing her hand. “Are you okay to get home safely?”

This man is ridiculous; it’s not even dark out. “I think I can manage a few blocks,” she says, lightly swatting him. “Isn’t it kind of early for you, though? It’s only four o’clock.”

He flushes faintly, one hand coming up to rub at his neck. “Uh, well, I always give myself a little extra time--you know, time blindness and everything.”

“You baked in extra time in case I wanted you to walk me home, didn’t you?” She mock-gasps, secretly delighted. “Scandal!”

“Guilty,” he grins. “You’ve been to mine so many times, I was curious.”

She just barely stops herself from laughing out loud at the very idea of Percy coming to her apartment--as if. Thalia hasn’t even been to her apartment. Nobody knows where she lives, none of her neighbors know who she is, and this is entirely by design. “Cut me some slack; a girl’s gotta have some mystery. Can’t make it too easy for you, can I?”

“I have a feeling you’ll never make things easy for me,” he says, white teeth gleaming.

“You better believe it,” she smiles back. “Now that I’ve foiled your plans, are you going to be too bored?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” he shrugs. “I’m very resourceful when it comes to boredom.”

Inspiration strikes, and she grasps his hand, pulling him down the alleyway. She almost hates to admit it, but she has something of a Pavlovian response when it comes to hanging out with Percy. Annabeth has come to expect some really excellent sex whenever the two of them meet up, and maybe spending all afternoon with him has made her a little bit horny.

She presses him up against the brick wall, hidden from the street by the long afternoon shadows, and kisses him. His hands flounder for a second, before coming up to rest on her shoulders, this thumbs tapping against the base of her neck, fingers fluttering on her jacket. It’s an intimate touch, kind of chaste and very respectful, and he holds her with precision and grace. He wouldn’t do anything she wouldn’t want to. This is a date with no expectation of sex on his part. But Annabeth does not want grace right now, spooked by the ghost of her old school. She does not want precision. She just wants him. She just wants to keep him on his toes, keep him interested, blow his mind a little.

She just wants to blow him, to be honest.

He squeaks into her mouth as her hands fly to his belt, deft fingers practically ripping it off of him in an increasingly familiar motion. “H-hey,” he says, squeezing her shoulders, “this is--”

“Do you not want me to?” she asks, one hand playing at the top line of his underwear.

“No--I mean, are you sure? I’m-I’m okay with this, I just want to--”

“I know.” She kisses his cheek, then drops to her knees. “But we’ve got some time to kill, don’t we.”

Afterwards, when she’s finished with him, Annabeth wipes her mouth, and he whimpers.

“Ho… holy shit,” he pants, flushed and trembling.

She tucks him back into his boxers, doing up his fly. “There we go. That was better than being bored, right?”

He nods wordlessly, swallowing, shaking. His eyes are glassy and glazed, stupid like he’s just shot out his brain through his dick.

In the short time they’ve been together (though, honestly, this might be the longest relationship she’s ever been in before… and they haven’t even broached the “dating” conversation yet) Annabeth has been on the receiving end of several different Percy looks. His face will light up with joy when he first lays his eyes on her, so happy to see her (though she can’t really fathom why), glinting like the sun on the water. His eyes will narrow, glaring, even as he furiously tamps down on his growing smile when they start arguing over something stupid, like Annabeth’s affinity for olives. He’ll grin at her, knife sharp and slanted, licking his lips and looming over her after she comes down from yet another orgasm via his mouth or his hands.

Percy looks at her now like someone took a bat to his head, and instead of seeing stars, he sees little miniature Annabeths flying around.

He pulls her to him and kisses her, entirely too sweet for what she’s just done to him, but that is also a very Percy thing. And when she leaves him with a final kiss on his cheek and squeeze of his ass, she can feel that look burning a hole through her jacket, following her down the alley and around the corner, and she finds that she doesn’t mind the weight of it at all.

#my fic #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #ballet au #darkmagyk #woot!!!!

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summerstardust · 4 years

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It Will Be Okay

Dhawan!Doctor x Reader

Summary: After you receive heartbreaking news, The Doctor tries to cheer you up. Unsuccessfully at first.

Warnings: breakup, depression, and mentions of suicide/self harm --- please don’t read this if those subjects are triggering

Word Count: 3462

A/N: I selfishly wrote this for myself. I just need this because of some personal things going on in my life at the moment. But, I hope that you all enjoy it!

You hadn’t known The Doctor for that long. Mid-March was when you met. You were strolling around an art museum that you hadn’t been to yet. You were on break for spring term and wanted to relax and get out of the house, taking a break from studying and catching up on university courses. Of course, work still needed to be done, so your trip to the museum, although relaxing, also involved finding an example of Greek myth depicted within a piece of artwork or an artifact. Though interesting in topic, you would much rather want to be around the museum with carefree joy instead of obtaining the information for that particular assignment.

You decided to go through the museum chronologically. You did not care about the order of history when going to museums in previous journeys, you always went to your favourite era first, and also last if there was enough time available in the day, before retreating to the little shop by the entrance for a souvenir. However, you allowed the mandatory information taking for you course to reorganize your preferred schedule, completing your schoolwork as soon as possible and rushing off to the abstract artists of Europe section of the museum.

You stopped abruptly, with an audible gasp, in the middle of your tour when you ventured upon a painting by Vincent Van Gogh. You were unaware of this museum holding one in their collection. You sat down on a bench in front of the painting and just stared at it for a long time, occasionally taking some pictures to blend in with all of the other millennials and zoomers on their phone, but promptly returned to gawking at the unique brush strokes and style of your favourite painter.

“He’s really quite amazing, isn’t he?” The sudden voice behind you made you jump out of your state of calm. The man behind you quickly apologized for his intrusion and for scaring you, he explained, “I only wanted to talk to you. You are the only person here actually appreciating the art.” You questioned if he worked here, but he promptly, and quite wittedly, retorted, “If I worked here, I don’t think I would care much for art. Too monotonous and everyday, boring ol’ rat race, the art would soon embody, not the life and soul it actually captures.”

To say he was strange was an understatement. He wore a long purple coat that matched his visible socks, knitted tie and even the argiles on his sweater vest. His smile was sweet, but cocky, like he knew that you were intrigued, but his eyes shone bright with warmth and curiosity, pupils, ever so slightly, dilated. Proving that he, too, was probably more intrigued than he should be by the mannerisms of a stranger.

One of the hands that was clasped behind his back moved swiftly out before you in a gesture of introduction. Accompanied with this subtle, yet dramatic, movement was the strange man in purple saying, “Hello! I’m The Doctor!” You tentatively accepted his hand, joking about how he does actually work here at the museum. He denied your statement, but smiled, eyeing you with big hopeful eyes. You didn’t understand why he was eyeing you until he glanced down at your still interlocked hands, then you remembered how you hadn’t introduced yourself yet.

“Y/N,” you practically shouted, growing annoyed with yourself, and continuing softer, “My name is Y/N Y/S.”

“Y/N Y/S, what a lovely name! Absolutely marvelous!” You questioned if it was, you never thought your name to be that spectacular.

“Of course your name is marvelous! You are the one possessing that name, and you are marvelous, therefore, your name is also marvelous!” You smiled, but shook your head before looking away from him.

“I’m afraid that you must be mistaking me for someone else, I’m just a normal, everyday, boring human. Nothing marvelous about me.” You spoke with a happy-go-lucky tone, but your words were laced with sadness and self depreciation.

“I think everything about you is marvelous.” His eyes weren't lying and his smile was reassuring, but you could not understand his confidence.

“You’ve only just met me a few minutes ago, how could you possibly know anything about me? And how could anything you have found out about me result in you calling me marvelous, it just doesn’t add up, stranger.”

“Doctor. I’m The Doctor, not The Stranger, they're a completely different Timelord. And, I’ve discovered the most important thing about you.”

“Which is?” You tried to follow his ramble, but were unsuccessful.

“You study and empathize with the smallest things, understanding that they all pile up and congoine into one even bigger thing.”

“How do you figure that?” you continued to question, slightly scared that this stranger could understand your personality so well in such little time.

“Because, you have been staring at this one painting for almost half an hour, and the more you look at it, the more you are brought to tears by the depth of emotion conveyed in the work. You have been doing this, while every other person has been hastily moving from one painting to another, snapping pictures and moving on, like checking items off of a grocery list.” He looked around the room of meandering humans, wringing his hands, disgusted by their lack of want for discovery, but excited by the palpable tension of excitement he could feel within you. He could feel it, you were like him, a person wanting to run away and discover something new. “You, you are observant! I bet! I bet that if something were to change about this scenario in front of you, you would notice, where the other people here wouldn’t even bat an eye.”

“And if I do notice that change? What happens then?”

“I’ll give you the opportunity to get away from all of this monotony. Human life is boring, not you.” You stared at him for a while, sceptical, but intrigued. You eventually said that you’ll bite and play his game. He immediately moved to cover your eyes with one hand, and gave an exhilarated “You ready?” You nodded and heard the man’s fingers snap before he removed the hand covering your eyes. You looked at him as if he was insane, but he nodded his head in the direction of the rest of the room, encouraging you to continue the game

You promised to partake in. You rolled your eyes as you scanned the room, expecting no changes, but your face fell into disbelief when you saw a large blue police box sitting near one of the abstract sculptures in the center of the room. With your mouth agape, you watched as bystanders took in the new centerpiece, blissfully unaware of its magical appearance. You eventually moved forward to it, after the man nudged your shoulder, indicating that it was okay and this was not a hoax. You moved around it, circling it, every once in a while seeing the stranger's whimsical and curious eyes gadgeing your reaction.you were too afraid to touch it, scared that this was a new art piece and you would be sent to jail or would have to pay a fine for damaging the artwork.

“Of she’s definitely a work of art, but she’s not a part of the museum. It's perfectly fine if you touch her.” For a moment, you wondered if he could read your mind, but you decided that that was impossible. To prove that he wasn’t lying, he leant up against the blue box, no one around reacting. You slowly brought your hand up to where it was level with the sign on the door that said “Pull to Open.” When you eventually touched the sign, the box let out a light hum, like the one a person would make if they had just eaten something delicious. You jumped back, and looked to the stranger to see if he heard the noise, but he only looked amused, with a sweet toothy grin reaching his eyes and a low chuckle falling from his lips.

“Push it open.” He stated, regaining his composure over the situation.

“But the sign says pull.” Another hum, more aggravated this time, emerged from the box. The man seemed to glare at the box, whispering “not now” in a tone he thought you couldn’t hear. When he noticed you staring, he readjusted his sweater vest and couched in awkwardness, but assured you that it was alright and that you should open the door. You did as he said, the box humming welcomingly again when you touched the door handle and pushed the door forward, despite the writing on the sign. The room was dark, pitch black as you stood in the doorway. The man behind you pushed you forward, gracefully and gently, but it still caught you off guard. You let out a string of yells and curses as the man closed the door behind the pair of you, seemingly locking you in.

“What do you think you are doing?! You can’t just lock me in here.” Your yelling was unanswered and eventually silenced by the light flicking on, showing a room much larger than the small box could have contained. What seemed to be a control panel took up the center of the room, large, glowing, purple, crystalline structures branching off of it and illuminating the room. There were a couple of cushioned chairs and sofas strewn about the upper deck around the console, and metal stairs lead up to a circular veranda level, completely covered in bookshelves and ladders to reach the tallest of shelves.

The stranger was smirking down at you, now stood by the console, leaning on it with his hip, his arms crossed in front of him.“This is the TARDIS.” he spoke, interrupting your curious looks around the place.”It stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. And I want you to travel with me. I told you I’d offer you a getaway.” His smirk grew with the last sentence, showing how proud he was of himself, and rightfully so, his prize for winning his little game was very impressive.

You had been traveling with The Doctor ever since, you couldn’t say no to his offer of traveling the universe, but roughly five months was not enough time to know an alien who lost track of how old they were. Something happened around late June, but you never told The Doctor. He found you crying in the TARDIS kitchen alone early one morning, phone still clasped in your hand. He wondered if you had been talking to someone and that’s why you were crying. If that was what was happening, he hated whoever they were for doing this to you. When you saw him standing in the doorway, you squeaked in fear, but jumped up and ran to him, hugging him very tightly. The two of you had only ever shared brief victory hugs before, nothing like this. But just as The Doctor started to enjoy the breathtakingly tight hug you were giving him, you ran off to your room, slamming and locking the door behind you.

The Doctor had tried and failed to talk to you for a month. You would emerge from your room to eat, rarely, and to make cups of tea, almost always in the morning when you used to be asleep. But you never talked, waved, or even smiled at The Doctor anymore.

Eventually, he had convinced you to go on an adventure with him, thanks to the TARDIS helping him and preventing you from returning to your room on an excursion to the kitchen. The Doctor knew, though, that you were not enjoying anything you were seeing, the curiosity and wonder had drained from your eyes.

He took you to a beach where the waves would sound like a different song to whoever hears them, but you didn’t even change into a swimsuit. He took you to a mountainous relaxation resort where the staff would ski down the ranges singing show tunes and performing acrobatic routines, you didn’t even crack a smile. He even took you to a planet where it was only ever night time, he pointed out the stars and planets to you and told you stories of his past, but you would only hum noncommitedly. He thought that his openness would draw something, in turn, out of you.

The last stop was the largest multidimensional museum in existence, he thought, surly, this would work. Reminding you of the day you met him had to bring you back to your old self. So, The Doctor, ignoring your protests, dragged you through the museum, running past history, until you stopped in front of a Vincent Van Gogh painting, the same one you were looking at the museum when The Doctor first saw you. He was hopeful that this would brighten your mood, that he would look over and see you smiling and curious, but he saw no such thing. The Doctor saw the bland, emotionless face you were trying to wear confidently, as you had at every other venue, but he also saw the tears pooling in your eyes and the slight quiver of your lips. That was new. What hurt the most was how he saw how desperately you wanted to keep your facade in place, how desperately you didn’t want him to see how hurt you were. He wondered if he had done something wrong, something to cause this disconnect?

The Doctor took you back to the TARDIS when you asked to leave the museum, his head hanging low between his shoulders. He did not wish to do it, but because you did not seem to be enjoying yourself, The Doctor was prepared to let you go. He opened the door for you and followed you into the TARDIS, trodding up to the console. He was about to offer to take you home, but you were already gone. The Doctor sighed, about to set the quardianted anyway, until the TARDIS beeped frantically, informing him to go to your room immediately.

The door to your room was slightly ajar, probably because of the TARDIS, just enough for The Doctor to see into your bedroom. You were pacing, holding a kitchen knife in one hand and beating your head repeatedly. Then you started screaming, “It was a simple adventure, Y/N, but you messed it up. You are always messing things up. The Doctor just wanted to cheer you up, and you couldn’t even fake it for a day! Maybe this is why no one loves you, Y/N. You can’t just let things go and celebrate what is actually before you! You saw The Doctor’s face, and you broke his hearts! Why can’t you just be happy, Y’N?! Why do you have to ruin everything that crosses your path! Everything would be easier and everyone would be happier if you didn’t exist!” You swung both of your fists down in rage, cutting the air.

Behind you, The Doctor burst into your room, screaming a loud ‘no!’ You were too shocked to actually process anything, he clearly heard every word you said, and saw the knife in your hands. There was no going back from this. For all you knew, he was going to kick you out because of how you were behaving. He asked for the knife, calmly but sternly, his brown eyes growing dark in concern. You did as he said and moved to your bed, curling into a ball under your covers, trying to ignore The Doctor’s powerful eyes. He followed you , however, hugging you from behind, placing soft kisses on the side of your face and neck as you began to cry. The Doctor hushed your tears and dried your eyes as best he could from his position. Eventually you stopped crying, curling into him further as The Doctor rested his head in the crook of your neck. After calming your breath, you spoke up, breaking the silence.

“My boyfriend broke up with me. That’s who I was on the phone with that night when you saw me crying.” The Doctor moved his head slightly to look at you, he didn’t know that you had a boyfriend. But this revelation colored that situation differently for him. His suspicions were correct, but he did not wish them to be. He hated how someone so close to you would hurt you like this.

“He broke up with you over the phone?” His tone was dangerous, you were almost afraid to answer, worried for how he would react.

“Yes,” you spoke tentatively. The Doctor’s arms tightened around you protectively, so you tried to explain the situation. “He said that he didn’t want to, and that he wished he could have done it in person but he was too busy.” This didn’t raise his opinion of your ex.

“Is there any way that the two of you could work it out?” He hoped that there wasn’t, from the very little he heard of this person, and seeing how you reacted to the breakup, The Doctor thought that you would be safer away from him.

“No, he said that his decision was final.” There was a long pause before The Doctor spoke again, trying to suppress his excitement over the fact that this negative person would be out of your life.

“What were you going to do with the knife?” He almost forgot about the knife.

“I don’t know, I would’ve probably hurt myself. I don’t even remember grabbing the thing. I think that I was just overwhelmed with emotions and I didn’t feel like I had any more options.”

“Have you hurt yourself before?” HIs tone was softer, hoping that you would feel more open in discussing a topic this sensitive.

“Not in over a year. I’ve had bouts like this every so often, but this one felt worse. I guess I just wanted to remove the hurt he caused by making myself feel something new. I know you were trying to do that before with all of the adventures, but I couldn’t focus on any of the good things. I could only think of how lonely he made me and how much I was disappointing you. I just feel so worthless!” You tried to bang your head against your hand again, but The Doctor stopped you, holding your fists tightly in his.

“You could never disappoint me. And you, most certainly, aren’t worthless, Y/N. Do you want to know why?” You played his game and asked why, how tightly he was holding you contrasting severely with the softness of his tone. It was strangely comforting and one of the most intimate moments you’ve ever experienced.

“Because I chose you. Because you were the only one observant and empathetic enough to see and appreciate the simpler things. There are very few people like you. In fact, there is no one like you. You are completely unique within the cosmos, to do away with the magic you hold in your heart and soul, it would be a waste. A complete and utter tragedy to the whole of existence. And I know that I am not the person you probably want in this bed, but I will be here whenever you need. We can go on adventure, we can revisit those places from before so you don't feel as if you missed out on anything, and we can just sit and talk or hold each other. You’re not alone in this, Y/N. You have me, and it will take time, but everything will, one day, be okay.”

“Thank you, Doctor, I really don’t know where I would be without you. You’ve cared for me more than anyone.” You paused and pulled his arms tighter around your body before looking up at his face, “And don’t be so hard on yourself, Doctor. You are an ageless alien showing me the universe. No offence, but what does the emotionless ex boyfriend of mine have that you don't possess tenfold?” He blushed down at you, avoiding eye contact for a moment, then looking back. He turned you around in his arms so you were facing him and leant his forehead against yours. You talked for a few moments like this, eventually growing tired. The Doctor said that you should sleep and you wrapped your arms around him so he couldn’t leave. He chuckled and hugged you back, moving the blankets that had fallen down a bit tighter around your bodies. After you fell asleep, The Doctor kissed your forehead and rubbed your back, whispering promises to protect you and help you out of this dark period.

#dhawan!doctor #dhawan!doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #personal post #doctor who imagine #sacha dhawan #fanfiction

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ft-dads-au · 3 years

Text

Shelter From the Storm

A collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404

Fairy Friendship Week 2020 Prompt: New Friends Pairing(s): Natsu & Romeo, Natsu & Jellal

AO3 | FF.Net

Summary: When Romeo shows up at Crime Sorciere asking to talk, Natsu has no idea what to expect. He doesn't know him all that well and has no idea how he could possibly be of help, but once he hears what Romeo has to say he is determined to take him under his wing.

August 4, 2020

It was the afternoon lull, the part of his workday when the lunch crowd had returned to their offices, and only a few customers remained, talking over upcoming cases or nursing a loss in court. Natsu usually spent this period cleaning up, restocking the bar, and prepping garnishes for the evening shift. Meredy would often go to the kitchen to help Ultear, their cook, prepare for the evening meals while Jellal slunk into his office, exhausted by the effort of being social.

During this time, the bar was quiet, and that suited Natsu just fine. He still hadn’t fully settled from the botched intervention Gildarts, and Erza had tried to stage for him two days earlier, and Loke’s outburst the previous evening hadn’t helped matters either.

All Natsu wanted was to be left alone, but everyone was determined to make him grieve for his wife their way, refusing to understand that he was trying his best to move forward. How quickly he did that was up to him, not them. Still, he knew there was a point buried within their well-meaning meddling.

“Hey, Natsu?” Jellal called out from his office, “Can you take out the trash? The bags in both the kitchen and the bar look pretty full.”

“Yeah, on it.”

Crap!

He should have done that already. Looking out the window to see that it was raining, he muttered a curse and went off in search of his umbrella. Ten minutes later, he was carrying two large, overly full bags of trash. Meredy opened the door that led out to the alley for him, and he strode outside, holding on to his umbrella as best he could against the pelting rain.

Once again, he muttered a curse, realizing that he’d have to put down the umbrella to get the dumpster open. He felt someone grab the umbrella from his hand and hold it above his head and was astonished to find Romeo Conbolt standing there.

“Romeo? What are you doing here?”

Romeo offered him a small smile, but it wasn’t hard to see something was wrong.

“Can I talk to you?”

This is perfect! Macao just bailed on us, something about Romeo, wasn’t really paying attention...

Natsu recalled the words Gildarts had mentioned in passing on Sunday and had an immediate suspicion that the two things were related. He didn’t know Romeo all that well, had only really talked to him at the Dads Club meetings, but Atlas had taken an immediate liking to him, and they had chatted a few times.

He opened the dumpster and deposited the bags inside, the lid making a loud clank when he urged it shut. Natsu wanted to say he was in the middle of a work shift and suggest they talk later, but he couldn’t get the words out of his mouth. Romeo was soaked, making him realize that whatever the teen wanted to speak to him about was serious enough for him to stand in that smelly alley in the rain, just on the off chance that he would come out. He couldn’t just send him away.

Natsu sighed to himself, hoping Jellal was in a good mood.

“Come on, you’re going to catch your death out here,” he recovered his umbrella and led Romeo inside the building.

Natsu liked working at Crime Sorciere, but he’d never thought the place was all that impressive, so it amused him to see Romeo gawk at it. He led him to one of the booths furthest away from the bar.

“Sit here,” he ordered, “ I’ll be right back.”

“Meredy?” Natsu called out as he entered the storeroom in search of some towels.

“Yeah, what?”

“Can you make a couple of mugs of hot cocoa?”

“You got it!” Meredy replied, and he heard her asking Ultear for help.

Natsu hurried back to Romeo, handing him the towels and fighting off the instinct to help him as he would his own son. He was tempted to turn on the fireplace, but he knew Jellal would have a fit if he did, so the hot cocoa would have to do.

He sat across from the boy, hiding a smile at his awkward attempt to dry himself off. “So, uhm, what brings you here?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

Natsu waited for him to say something more, but Romeo only stared at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Uhm, should I call your dad for you?”

“NO!” he yelled, and then in a quieter voice, “Please don’t do that.”

“Alright, I won’t call him,” Natsu winced, looking around to see that the remaining customers were openly staring at them. He offered them a confident smile and turned back to Romeo, “But you need to tell me what’s going on, okay?”

Romeo nodded, leaning in towards Natsu, and in a voice so quiet that Natsu had to strain to hear it, he said, “I kinda got a girl pregnant.”

“YOU WHAT?!” It was Natsu’s turn to yell, and once again, everyone’s attention was fixed on them.

“What is going on out here?”

Jellal came out of his office, looking annoyed, and heading straight for Natsu.

“Dragneel,” Jellal stopped in his tracks when he saw who his bartender was sitting with. “Why is there a minor in my bar?”

“Relax, Jellal. He’s not in the bar area. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

Jellal walked to the booth and peered at Romeo. “Hey, aren’t you one of my little sister’s friends?”

“Y-ess, Sir,” Romeo stuttered, looking utterly terrified.

Jellal nudged Natsu to move over and sat down across from Romeo, “How’s she doing? I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

“She’s f-fine.”

“She should be at that meeting tonight that I told you about,” Natsu reminded him, “She babysits the kids there. Romeo does too.”

For a moment, Natsu panicked, worrying that the girl he was referring to could possibly be Wendy. Why else would Romeo come to talk to him? Or flip out at Jellal’s presence, for that matter?

“It’s not Wendy,” Romeo blurted out.

“Oh, thank god!” Natsu exclaimed, his relief palpable. The idea of having to mediate between Makarov, Laxus, Gildarts, and all the other members of his rather insane adoptive family over someone they all felt so protective of had terrified the shit out of him. Not to mention Jellal, who was also incredibly protective of his sister.

“What’s not Wendy?” Jellal asked, his curiosity aroused but quickly diverted by Meredy’s arrival. She bore a tray with 3 mugs of hot cocoa and handed one to each of them.

“I put extra whipped cream on yours,” she winked at Jellal before walking away, checking on the remaining customers taking her place behind the bar.

“Uhm…" Natsu peered at Romeo, not wanting to reveal his secret, hoping the boy would do so himself. He could use some backup.

"My girlfriend is pregnant," Romeo explained quietly, eyes glued to the cup of cocoa on the table in front of him.

“You’re like 15! Are you even old enough to get laid?!” Jellal blurted out, and Natsu elbowed him under the table.

"14…“ Romeo squeaked, looking like he could slide under the table at any moment, "I'm 14. My birthday isn’t for another few weeks."

“Christ! Didn’t anyone teach you about protection?!” Jellal scolded.

“We were careful!” Romeo insisted, trying to defend himself against Jellal’s disapproval, but then he lowered his head, and added in a much smaller voice, “most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” Jellal echoed in disbelief.

“Will you stop?” Natsu snapped at Jellal, remembering how terrified he’d been when he’d found out Lisanna was pregnant with Hana, and he’d been several years older. “That seriously isn’t helping.”

Jellal grunted but didn’t say anything else, letting Natsu take the lead.

“So, you wanted to talk to me because I had kids when I was pretty young?” Natsu guessed.

Romeo nodded. "My girlfriend and I both agreed that we want to keep it, but I have no idea what to expect. I tried talking to my dad, but it didn't go too well."

“You probably just caught him by surprise.” Natsu assured him, “I'm sure he'll come around. I mean, he runs a support club for dads, doesn’t he?”

“I dunno about that,” Romeo mumbled, “He was pretty mad…”

“They cry a lot,” Jellal rejoined the conversation, and when both Natsu and Romeo peered at him in confusion, he added with a half shrug, “He wanted to know what to expect.”

“That’s the one thing I remember about Wendy as a baby,” Jellal revealed, “I could never seem to figure out what she wanted, and I remember thinking maybe she was just crying over our parents’ death.”

Natsu stared at his boss for a moment, absorbing what he’d said and shaking his head. “I worry about you.”

Jellal seemed uncomfortable, so Natsu let it go and turned his attention back to Romeo.

“It’s true, infants do cry a lot, but they do a lot of other stuff too,” Natsu agreed, recalling Hana’s first days, even though those types of thoughts brought him more pain than joy these days. “My situation was a little different, though.”

Natsu had been eighteen when Lisanna had gotten pregnant, and they’d already been living together in a small apartment in Edolas. And while he had indeed been absolutely terrified when he’d found out, he’d also had no qualms about asking her to marry him or about working two jobs so that she could stay home with Hana and then Atlas. They’d been unbelievably happy until she’d…

He immediately shut that thought down, the pain too much for him to bear. He felt Jellal squeeze his arm tightly and took a deep breath in an effort to control his tears before they could surface.

“I uh- was a few years older,” he added by way of explanation, hoping Romeo didn’t notice the tremor in his voice. “But probably even more terrified.”

“I don’t think that ever changes,” Jellal commented, “I remember my dad being a nervous wreck while my mom was pregnant with Wendy, and it certainly wasn’t their first go around.”

Natsu was surprised to hear Jellal talk about his parents. It was a topic that he rarely brought up, even though it had been years since they’d died, leaving him to care for his baby sister.

“So it’s okay to be scared?”

Both Natsu and Jellal laughed at that, although it was Natsu who responded. “I’d probably be more worried if you weren’t.”

“I’ll be honest with you- “ Natsu gently placed a hand on Romeo’s arm, “You’re already more prepared than I was. I had zero idea what I was doing until Hana was born, and even then, it took me a few weeks to get the hang of it. That class you took for the club already taught you most of what you need to know, and I’ve seen you with the kids. You’re a natural.”

“But I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you, either,” he warned, “Your life is going to change. Babies aren’t cheap. There are diapers and wipes to buy, and food, not to mention clothes. You’re going to need to get a job to afford these things. Even though I know a lot of us will be more than happy to help out however we can.”

“And be prepared for a lot of sleepless nights,” Jellal added. “You’ll be up feeding, changing, soothing, and worrying.”

“That’s right,” Natsu conceded, “But in all honesty, the best advice I can give you is this. If you can possibly manage it, don’t drop out of school like I did. That’s my one regret. Because of that one choice I made at seventeen, I sabotaged not only my future but my kids' as well.”

Romeo nodded weakly, eyes tearing up. “I knew it was going to be a lot, but-.”

Before he could get anything more out, he began to shake, and this time Natsu was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the state of his clothes, and he tried to backtrack, realizing much too late that they had overwhelmed the poor kid.”

“Listen, you might still be young-” “Very,” Jellal emphasized, earning him another elbow from Natsu. “You might still be young,” Natsu tried again, “but I think it’s incredibly brave of you to step up and take this responsibility. I know it sounds like a lot right now, but you have months to prepare before the baby is born. You can do this!”

“Natsu’s right, and you shouldn’t worry too much about making mistakes either. We all do,” Jellal assured Romeo. “Oh, and never shy away from asking for help when you need it, even if it means letting someone else take care of the baby until you can do it yourself like I did.”

“You’re still doing it,” Natsu reminded him with a shove, “Gramps is the one who takes care of Wendy, not your overgrown ass.”

“She’s happy there!” Jellal protested, “And I give him money every week to help.”

“Which he doesn’t accept,” Natsu reminded him, rolling his eyes at how stubborn both men were. “You might as well-”

“No!” Romeo interrupted their banter, “I can do it.”

His tone was forceful, but there was something about it that felt off to Natsu. It made him think that Romeo hadn’t told them everything, and he got the distinct impression that Romeo wouldn’t want to discuss whatever it was. Not yet, anyway.

“Of course you can!” Natsu was quick to reassure him. He grabbed the notepad he used to jot down long drink orders out of the pocket of his half apron and wrote his phone number on it in neat numbers. Ripping the page, he handed it over to Romeo.

“You can always come to me for help.” Natsu gave him what he hoped was an encouraging smile, “Teen dads have to stick together, right?”

Romeo took the piece of paper and stared at the numbers for a full minute. He then looked at Natsu with eyes full of gratitude and admiration.

“I knew you were the right person to talk to!”

“That’s our Natsu,” Jellal teased, grabbing Natsu in a headlock and ruffling his hair, “an inspiration to one and all.”

He knew Jellal’s words were meant in jest, but after months of wallowing in self-pity and being on the receiving end of everyone else’s best intentions, he had to admit it felt good to help someone out. To know that he could pay all his friends’ efforts forward.

It also made him realize something else. He and the kids weren’t the only ones who had lost Lisanna. Mira, Elfman, and even Erza had too. Maybe it was time he stopped shutting them out so they could grieve together and become a family again.

#ftdadsau #ftguildevents #natsu dragneel #romeo conbolt #jellal fernandes #fairy tail #Fairy Friendship Week 2020 #natsu & romeo #natsu & jellal #introducing jellal!#prompt: new friends #fics

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samaelserpentine · 3 years

Text

An Odyssey Through Music, Muses, Madness and Magic

(Buckle up Tumblr, this is a long poem) 1. The isle guardians of vinyl Unwittingly nervous to the necromancy I have planned An inner storm so terrible But I was Struck by his Occult missive So laden down was I By all the lyrics, the words With characters told through dark supergods As Aleister Crowley is to Led Zeppelin is to David Bowie And now me Lost among them Buried within them The pages of ancient texts And the liner notes of the albums Held far too close to the heart Though I tried, perhaps I merely formed mystery at my own doom The records of the sorcerers Performing an infernal scratching on my psyche Breaking down what was there and carving out what could be But whether it should be Is still uncertain to me. 2. I found the darkness in riffs The wall of sound I was into Inhabited by self-admitted aliens Aleister’s hellfire brought to light My heavy work held up The symbolizing of some god Archaic and forgotten Through a ring Art cracks All the people that stare loveless Into your eyes But I would be different I would be realized Something broken Mended Yet still wrong But I would Make myself into something else With your words The fascination told fables A way out, a way through I would find my way to you Through the cracks. 3. Once artwork I became their voice Lurking in the shadows of time On the periphery Of reason Madness could be a thrilling companion And with the records transcendent And the races lost The shout rang out Are You Experienced? I am and am not Like an abysmal and sunken ship Lost in the depths of the ocean Alone and devoid of meaning Abandoned everything to Grooves, characters, truths And once there inhabiting these my psyche Broke open spilling out visions, words Like arcane knowledge Dancing carelessly over the line Between the sacred and profane Whispering it’s so nice to see you here again And my mind became a bookshelf filled with ancient wisdom A record player Playing albums that told lies like they were the truth I uncovered the Necronomicon Had lives in Atlantis Sat with the sound and vision Of a populated landscape Woven through history Like a single thread Linking everything I became a fixture Fantastic Within the hidden music of a paperback I would not be forgotten there. 4. Of those who sought And those who chose A wriggle of religious fanaticism in claim And its origins an apparent expression of salvation I say You are nothing and have nothing for me With your hierarchy and worry over the threat Of music and sexuality And your constant waging of war against me When mine and yours is a history of burning I have nothing to give you You’ve already taken too much from me I want what was mine back With your wicked face as old as These chords I worship And your evil work to further ministers As meaningful to me as a rotten turnip Yet of my conjuring powers You disbelieve When honey, you should fear me And not the other way around I hope that when you are most afraid You say my name. 5. Mobs make parents worried They claim the rock audience chaos Is just hormonal fury A response to what is true Inside of both me and you There is more than this A kind of magic If you look for it Religious In the way we turn musicians Into gods and goddesses Idol worship But is that all it is? In the truest sense An ancient rite Long buried and forgotten Rising up inside us all Those who dare to dance And by prohibiting and demonizing The ones who shake their fists Lose their sense Always the sound of agitation But I saw these pagan spirits first Before I heard your protesting words Theirs speak louder to me Than your hatred ever could. 6. To the electric teenager Finding your way Rebellion is autonomy It is tradition To push boundaries Yet each new generation of adults Somehow forgets these Eternal truths It's not your fault They're afraid of your youth Don't listen Hold on Your fire will make the world a better place For you. 7. Could this ancient thread Of reality and magic infused with dangerous potential Normally inhabited by far greater Magicians than I could ever be Break me? I am traversing this rough terrain Of shared perception With aliens These common visions a violence What could I even be? Nothing more than a mystery To those around me Lost in this metaverse I have accessed Through song, collage, words Chaotic, such occult meanings They and often I End in something Beyond reason Scratching out messages of methods The angels referenced spoken vast by terrifying qualities These opposing sorcerers Like a guitar screeching endless feedback Which demons? Sex? Drugs? Words? Palpable as suggesting a penultimate hidden secret Impenetrable beyond nothingness and Nonetheless I must find it Even if I have to destroy myself trying Nothing is more important Than this truth. 8. Years go by and I come about left handed Shaped by a tarot card about the arts and earlier The room Space Death I know spirituality I see it in my brother’s eyes Only the inner outer world collides But of the Beatles or beetles They didn’t understand How To make the world bend at your command Of this phenomenon devotees are Reckless Breathtaking in their beauty And chaos It takes a certain kind of madness Or perhaps maybe genius To choose this path To withstand the pressure Of reality kneeling At your feet Bending to your will I will break it before it breaks me Oh brother, don’t you worry I always find my way out of the darkness And besides, hell has never bothered me I am the master of my own design The maker of my own making Nothing else can touch me. 9. Imagination turns listeners into participants Gives power to the powerless Those converted shaped by few ideas Dreams Had rock’s Hare Krishna LSD Asking questions Whose inner world could I be? And as it moves, a cultural generation Becomes magical More magical than entire rock bands Than holy men and women Fashioned by the young The carbon copy progressives Lying like Houses Already vast Led by the words of the Bhagavad Gita You should have listened to me When I had the cards already free I tried to warn you what was coming But no one ever hears me Invisible as I am Until so repulsive, so strange You can’t look away from me You really should have listened You can't say I didn't try to warn you. 10. This is bigger than I am Stretched too thin like skin Over bone was and into The board, into the planchette Could enchantment make me forget? The board is vibrating Shaking like hands The grazing of sleeves Culture, vinyl Seemed out from under our covers Like what was hidden There, even tucked away those records Though of nothing gatefold came No reason to be afraid Other than the fingers that have become potent The light that has now dimmed And what could I have been To all who pulled that woven magic Out of my childhood? Could it be the way was manifest Curled up snugly against your breast? As warm candlelight over the Ouija Plastic memories came From which I had imagined the feelings like air between Bewitched but hovered from Somewhere above our heads I wished that I was dead Or that something would end. 11. Experiences divorced from reality Covers rock personas Cut out images appear worse But Dionysus would love this His child Who has people staged Like personal shamanic relics Thinking writing something mystical That I would seek this That I sought this Is surely a form of madness But all the logical illogical reasoning shows A kind of rare dedication to the cause These rites are magical Why speak of demons And why speak of devils? I have conjured and created Something new out of the ancient Like nails Scratching deep grooves into a record album I have altered something Broken it As their gods create chaos simulating insanity As if they even have to in me I am the false image of a human performed By a front magician Playing at being god In these moments of desperation Carrying the weight of lives As though my power were absolute My belief almost religious Fanatical My concerns become concerts When I am on my own Wondering why happiness has abandoned me And where all the merrymakers have gone Why I am more Anubis than Pan Why myth seems written in lyrics As musicians play me like a fiddle Play me for a fool I am possessed Into thinking I am appearing as many legends Something older than time itself A life bringer A life destroyer With the power to stop or start it all I needed to believe I had the power To save all of you To destroy all of you To protect myself If I needed to And I don’t know if I can save myself From the things I want to do As the darkness envelops me And my mind becomes unglued So go ahead and do what you always do And blame it on the music When we all know the truth It’s always been you. 12. Rumination is realization I wandered alone Within the elements and to God Unintelligible Words became strange as Rogue faeries genuine Approach looking wing Impenetrable as I have become What I’d produced went away from me Flew out of my control Reborn in catastrophe When where into situations I went From film to film I sense in time a song Things start about a room and again Became revolt But maybe that’s just what happens when you’re Involving the occult Bring out the old rock n roll safeguard Make it out of symbols and sigils A complete thought catalogue so arcane It would leave you spellbound for days My mind prison And that in myself some Christ was born A thought so seductive to be sure I would take control of these pursuits But unlike you Hatred would never do I would never fight against passion Your fear I came to hear Against spaceships, rituals, the mystical, Sex, magic Your terror So absolutely Psychological I felt protection close at hand And I was real myself, as I really am In and out of my depth Battling against you and your demands I came out cleaner Stronger And what became of you? Shhh, no telling I won’t spoil the ending No good to warn the enemy Of what is coming But You really should have been listening You should have been watching What was happening. 13. He said, you should have started with Kether Been sure of the path you were following After all Magic, like blood, stains But these moments were wonders They could drive out the fear of fortune, destiny Hanging over my head I was taking control Creating my own instead As thin as the thread that links us all Tenuous, fragile Like a mind on the verge of breaking Under the weight of a cruel reality The walls would speak to me Whispering When will you come to me From here or there And find me in a room High above the clouds Where we could build our love? It’s not enough It’s a drug And I need it As lovers we were And I, such as the mountains Looming, shy Unable to look you in the eye But here is the stuff of legend Sound soars like a movement Lost to the ages I never thought myself better than this moment Lost as I once was Now flashing light and colour Connected to everything Raising you like the devils they spoke of Dancing my way to Malkuth A fearless necromancer Disregarding all the rules. 14. I am the sun I am the ocean I am the mountains and the streams I am the demon who would be with you In all your wildest dreams Where men circle around you Desperate to keep you You land like sand flowing through my hand I did not try to hold onto you So you let me keep the thread Through this glass I was searching Broken as the cracks But now I am returning Now I am mending And once you were evasive Elusive Like a high I was chasing Or the first drink, the tenth, or the last But now I find you woven into everything Believing we were thrown together like darts Bending like space and time I was searching for this Searching for you In desolate stations We would be protected Dredging the world to a ditch Just to find you Just to become more than this You are a wonder Among wondrous things And I am bird Who has found his wings Overlooking humanity From up on high I have found me in you This time And of all the things they can take from me That will never be one of them For I am the sun I am the ocean I am the mountains and the streams I am the demon who would be with you In all your wildest dreams But above all else What is more I have found peace Dancing in the flames of this madness They tried to call a disease I am me I am me I am me.

#poetry #poets on tumblr #my poem #dadaism #beat poetry #writers on tumblr #writersociety #poetry is magic #my writing #long poetry

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looselucy · 5 years

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Guilt

July 15th “I don’t really remember the first time I started work on the Blood Sun.” Styles tells us, sitting in his quiet New York gallery whilst sipping slowly on a glass of wine, a deep red. “I don’t know if I’ve blocked it out. I know it started with the idea of thunder and lightning, but it veered from that pretty quickly. I had an idea what I wanted from the painting emotionally. I don’t know if I got that with the end product, but I knew I couldn’t get that from thunder. It had to be a sun.”

I was sat in PJ’s in silence, scrolling through a relatively recent article about Harry on my phone as I waited for my breakfast. I had always tried to avoid going online to read about him, because I knew whatever I saw was likely to be monitored and watered down, not even by those reporting on him, but by Harry himself. He was never going to share intimate truths so publicly, so there was nothing real for me to learn, but it had been so much harder to avoid since he’d sent me the painting. I wanted to know what he’d said about it, if he’d mentioned anything about selling it or not. I needed to know everything I could. Styles must be bored of answering questions about his most celebrated work at this point, but it is by far his most intriguing. Not only is the painting spectacular, with stunning mixes of oranges, yellows, and the artists own blood, but it’s a piece he seems to be refusing to sell – no matter how high the offer. “I don’t make art for it to be sold. I make art to express. If selling was the reason I painted, I would have given this up a long time ago. I never saw that as a reason to paint, it was always to do with the feeling, the emotion. I guess the therapeutic side of it, too. I’m not going to sell a piece for the sake of it.” I should have known he would have started painting again when he’d left, but that seemed like confirmation, what with him saying he would have given it up. I didn’t know how to feel about it. Of course I wanted him to continue with his passion, work in a way that showed his talents, made his life beyond comfortable, but it was what came with his painting that made me uneasy. I hadn’t seen anything expressing that he no longer used blood, and I thought that would have be a focal point had it been the case. I cursed his agent, leaping viciously to the conclusion that it was him who kept Harry in the frame of mind, convinced him that he had to paint with blood or people would lose interest. I was sure of it. I took a deep breath in and continued. “That painting means more to me than any number, I don’t think I’ll ever sell it, per se. I’m not even accepting offers anymore.” I question if his new work that he will soon reveal is a way of distracting people from the painting, moving on. “Partially.” He admits. “But it’s also a new time for me. It’s new work, paintings I’m really excited to share. I’m looking forward to seeing how I end up feeling about all this new stuff. What I want to sell, what I don’t. We’ll see.” What Harry has managed to achieve with his art is remarkable. It’s not merely the power of his paintings, something that is preposterously palpable if you’re lucky enough to be in the same room as one. And it’s not limited to the success he’s had, the respect he’s received from his peers ever since he was granted a scholarship when he was still a teenager. It’s the emotions that his work inspires. He is quiet, but with purpose. He doesn’t talk about the inspiration behind each of his pieces, what makes him paint – instead, he throws you in head first to figure it out alone. You are never told what to see or how to feel, every brush of paint open to interpretation. Styles never ties you to the idea of what his work should be, instead his art is open, free of chains, exposing you to the truth of your own emotions rather than lumbering you with the truth of his. There is something magic in his secrecy that allows you to feel personally connected to his work, your feelings valid. In his less is more approach, you are left feeling as much a part of his art as he is. He connects with his consumer by saying so little, a truly impressive feat. Harry Styles is not ours to know, but his masterpieces are, and that’s exactly why our relationship with this extraordinary artist works. Reaching the end of the article, I locked my phone, leaning back in my chair and taking a deep breath inward, the words resting heavily on my chest. It wasn’t even necessarily what they’d been saying in the write-up, not really, it was more the strange sensation of reading about him that way at all. The Blood Sun was still sitting where I had found it. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it, I didn’t even have the space in my flat, not that I thought it would even get through the door. It was almost as though I didn’t dare move it, fear of damaging it, fear of admitting it was mine to damage. It had been almost a fortnight since I’d received it, touched it for the first time, breathed it in, but it hadn’t moved and inch and I was still perfectly clueless. I’d cried that night when I’d got home. Once we were back on the shop floor, I’d managed to get through most of the day at work without talking about it, without really even thinking about it, but the second I closed my front door, I burst into tears. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and just allowed myself to completely shatter, freeing whatever emotion had felt so imprisoned. I hadn’t really stopped thinking about him since, slowly driving myself insane with wild thoughts of the boy I’d once known, the boy who’d left my life and then re-entered it in the most spectacular and elaborate way. I didn’t want to think about him because it didn’t help. Even with him sending me that painting, it didn’t give me any leads, any answers; I still felt entirely powerless. But what was playing on my mind relentlessly was the knowledge that he had been thinking of me. Since he had departed from my life, I’d managed to convince myself that he no longer thought of me at all, that I would never cross his mind. I had been sure he was simply getting on with his life and I had become a hazy memory of his, another girl he had once been with for a few months of his life, another mistake. It was one of the things that had helped me to get over him, to know I wasn’t even beneath his skin enough for him to have dig me out. I told myself that I’d barely scratched the surface. Him sending me that painting made me feel differently. To know he had sat and thought of me, gone out of his way to make sure I became the owner of his most personal work. He wouldn’t have done something so grand on a whim, meaning without doubt that I had been playing on his mind. I wondered how he felt when he thought of me. I wondered what emotions I might stir. I hoped they were positive, and judging by the nature of his gesture they may well have been, but then again maybe his feelings towards me were as complex as mine towards him. Some days I’d think of him and feel happy, grateful we had what we did, that I experienced love in its truest form, even though it wasn’t reciprocated. I had loved him, and I was fortunate to have been able to feel that way about someone who so rarely let people into his life. Yet other days, the thought of us produced anger. Others, upset. Others, longing. It seemed impossible to look back on something so formidable with limited and lax emotions. I knew I wouldn’t find the answers to any of my questions in any article, but it was the only option I had. “Here we are.” Paula approached cheerily, placing my Eggs Benedict down in front of me. “Do you want me to top your coffee up?” “Please.” I sighed as she started pouring the dark liquid from the old-fashioned compressor into my mug. “You look knackered.” She sounded concerned. “Everything okay?” “Couldn’t really sleep.” I looked up to her. “Think I’ve only had a couple of hours.” “Any reason?” “Um… Dunno. I don’t think so. My minds just been working overtime recently. I can’t seem to shut off.” I hadn’t been sleeping well for what I felt was a variety of reasons. No matter how much I tried, how tired I was, it was like I’d get into bed and my head would just start spinning, conjuring up all these questions and ideas and worries that simply didn’t allow me to drift off. And the longer that lasted the worse it got, gradually becoming alarmingly aware that I should have been fast asleep. I’d start counting how many minutes and hours it would be until I had to get up and face another day on so little sleep, tossing and turning and losing my mind. That morning, I must have only drifted off at around 4AM, and yet still I awoke just before 7AM, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. That was why I’d headed to PJ’s, getting in a good meal and an abundance of coffee before I opened the shop for the day. “How longs that been going on?” “Couple’a weeks.” I tried to shrug it off. “It’s nothing, really. M’fine.” “Alright.” She griped, unsure. “I’ll always have free coffee here for you, if you need it.” “Thanks, Paula.” She squeezed my shoulder encouragingly before getting back to work, leaving me to tuck into my meal and pray that the coffee would be enough to see me through the day, because the amount of sleep I’d had certainly wasn’t enough on its own. I was only a few mouthfuls into my first meal of the day when the front door to PJ’s opened, my eyes instinctively lifting upwards to see who’d walked in. It was Chloe and Sam. Though things were okay between the three of us, it still felt awkward then. It was early, there was only one other person there, an old bloke who was sat in the corner keeping himself to himself. It was like it was just the three of us, which made for a rather uncomfortable atmosphere. There was no anger there, no hatred, but that didn’t mean we were at ease. “Hey.” I smiled to them both after swallowing my food, grateful I hadn’t started choking on it the second they’d walked through the door. “Hiya.” Sam greeted, straightening his back out. “Hi.” Chloe barely whispered. I felt bad for her, in some ways. She had never quite figured out how to be around me, weighed down by her guilt even though she shouldn’t have been, and I’d expressed that to her more than once. They shuffled past me, going over to the counter to order some food, whispering between themselves. It was so stupidly awkward, so much worse than it should have been. They’d been together for well over a year at that point, it shouldn’t have been that bad! I sat thinking to myself, knowing it was likely that the reason it was so bad was because we’d let it be. We hadn’t put the effort in to make sure we were all okay with each other, we hadn’t put the effort in and gone out of our way to avoid the awkwardness of our affiliations. We had to get past it. I took another bite, regretting my decision before I’d even voiced my thoughts but I knew what I wanted to do, and as long as I’d put the effort in, that was the best I could do. Once I’d heard that they’d finished ordering, I turned around, closing my eyes and blurting it out. “Do you wanna sit with me?” I opened my eyes to find them both looking at me like I’d gone mad. They were probably right. “Are you… I… Wh-what?” Sam blundered. “Do you wanna… sit… with me?” I said again. “We could just… y’know… talk, or whatever.” “Are you serious?” Chloe dazzled, dumbstruck and emotional. “Have we… done something wrong?” Sam asked me. “No! Nothing, I just… I can’t stand this.” I exhaled. “I hate being this awkward with you both, we need to push past it. So would you just… fucking sit down so we can get over ourselves and just be normal? We’re too old for this bullshit.” Sam just looked amused, sniggering to himself as he sat down on one of the chairs across from me, Chloe following close behind. She was different. She looked as though she could burst into tears at any moment. She sat down, biting her lip to hold back tears as Sam dove straight in with questions, asking about me, about my dad, updating me on how his mum was. I kept catching her from the corner of my eye and she wasn’t settling. She couldn’t ease at all. It was clear she still struggled, with all of it. It was hard for her to sit there with a friend she’d lost, knowing it had happened because of choices she had made. I knew that was why she got upset when she was around me. There’s nothing quite like love, the power it holds over you. I had to be conscious of the reasons why she chose Sam, even when that meant losing her friends. When love is that strong, it doesn’t care about anyone else, who it hurts, what it breaks. When love is that strong, it’s a force to be reckoned with, its pawns powerless to its forces. I’d seen throughout my life that most people would do anything to save love, to keep it in their hearts for as long as possible, whatever the cost. It might have seemed odd, the abundance of sacrifices she’d had to make just to be with him, but their love had told her to do that, to fight for him. I hoped he was worth it. I hoped that every loss paled when she looked at him, when that love took over. The only problem was that when she was around us, and me specifically, it didn’t feel that easy. She’d get upset, she’d realise how much she missed us, how much she missed how things had been. She hadn’t just lost me when her and Sam had gotten together, it had slowly picked a lot of her friends out of her life, but it centred around me. It was so difficult to admit that we’d never be the same again. It was gutting to come to terms with the fact that we’d lost something so good. My only comfort was knowing that she’d gained from it in some way or another. That morning with her was a quiet one, conversation mainly being held between Sam and I as she put most of her energy into holding herself together, not breaking, reminding herself of the reasons things had changed so much. But as far as I was concerned, anything was better than how we had been for the past year or so. Anything was an improvement.

“Here she is!” Niall yelled when I stepped into The Tin Mouse that evening, everyone greeting me cheerily; all except Lin, who didn’t really do anything, staring blankly at me as I cautiously approached the table. I was feeling rather anxious, my hands dug into the pockets of my denim jacket, pressing my lips together tightly. I didn’t really want to be there, to be honest. “Hi.” I just about smiled, taking a deep breath inward before I spoke. “Shall I get a round in?” Quite purposefully, I’d been running rather late, meaning they were all at the end of their drinks by the time I got there. They put in their requests quickly, all rather distracted and chirpy, meaning it took longer than it should have. Lin still hadn’t said a word by the time I was heading over to the bar, but I knew he’d grab at his opportunity. I’d only just put in the large order when I noticed him leap up to his feet and storm over to me, his voice leaden and irked when he spoke. “Why’ve you been ignoring me?” “I haven’t.” I protested. “Well, that’s fucking weird, because you haven’t answered any of my calls or my texts. You didn’t come to watch the match on Monday, you haven’t been at the pub.” He was angry, and I was fighting tears. “Don’t treat me like a fucking idiot, Alf, I know what’s going on.” I hadn’t meant to avoid him. I didn’t want to create an atmosphere. I didn’t want him to be angry with me. I didn’t want a lot of things that had come into fruition of late. What I had wanted, was to continue being honest and upfront with him, but receiving that painting and that note from Harry had somehow made everything with Lin feel twice as difficult. Because I knew it had to end. It had been hard enough to admit to him that I wasn’t sure on my feelings and what was happening between us, so it would have been even harder to be blunt and really end things, to tell him that I could finally make sense of the mess in my own mind. I knew it wasn’t right, that’s what my head was telling me, that’s what my gut was telling me. That’s what my heart was telling me. I just didn’t know how I was supposed to tell him. He waited for me to say something, my throat dry and tight as I tried to figure it out. “Please don’t be mad at me.” I whispered. “I don’t want to be mad at you, Alfie, I’m just frustrated!” He whelped. “Because if I knew asking you out would have led to this, I wouldn’t have fucking done it. I don’t think you understand how much I don’t wanna lose you, Alf! I can’t!” I looked right past him, staring over his shoulder and concentrating on the back door that would lead out to the beer garden, because looking in his eyes summoned too many emotions, ones I couldn’t supress. He made being opaque sound so easy, like it wouldn’t involve hurting his feelings and choking up over every single wrong word. I didn’t know how to handle it, what I should or shouldn’t say, and I certainly didn’t want to tell Lin that the main thing that had driven me away from even thinking about him in a romantic way was the delivery of a fucking painting. “Don’t avoid me, please!” He went on. “Just be honest. I can take it.” “It’s not as easy as that.” “It is! I’m telling you, it is! Because by not saying it, you’re saying it anyway. So, you might as well bite the bullet.” He sighed, wound his jaw. “Put me out of my misery. Please.” He just wanted it to be over, maybe even more than I did, but for different reasons. We were both in agony for different reasons and it needed to end. “I don’t wanna do this here.” I started to cry. I felt like all I did was fucking cry. “Fuck, don’t get upset. Oh shit. I don’t want you to feel guilty or sad, please don’t cry. If it’s not right, then it’s not.” He reached to grab my hand, pulling it away from my face as I tried to hide my tears. “You’ve just gotta be honest with me about it. I knew I was running a risk when I asked you, I just wanna be kept in the loop!” “Lin, it’s not that easy!” I wept. “I care about you so much and I didn’t wanna hurt your feelings. And I’ve had such a shit couple of weeks. I’ve been so sad and-” “That’s… the opposite of how I want you to feel!” He wailed. “C’mere. Wipe those bloody tears away, eh? I don’t wanna see you sad. Don’t be sad, not for my sake.” He held my cheeks steadily in his hands, wiping his thumbs beneath my eyes to dry my tears on my behalf, shaking his head like I was being silly, which made me laugh. He was good at that. It was obvious he was irritated with how I’d handled things since our date, but he was still trying to keep things sweet between us in any way he could, whilst also getting his point across. I sucked it up as much as I could as he wiped away a few more tears, talking calmly as he did. “Are you crying because of me? Did I go in too hard?” “No.” I shook my head. “I just feel bad. I didn’t want it to go like this.” “No… I can’t say I did either.” He chuckled uneasily. “It just… It doesn’t feel right. I wish it did, but it doesn’t.” He dropped his hands whilst my tears terminated progressively. “I don’t want-” “LIN, WHY’RE YOU MAKING ALFIE CRY?” Niall yelled from across the room. “NIALL, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Lin yelled back, proceeding to mentally block him out. “For fuck sake. Someone needs to tell that lad that it’s not always appropriate to drop a joke.” Despite the fact that I agreed, we were both still sort of laughing, shaking our heads and rolling our eyes. “I think we should probably do this another time.” I whispered, wiping away the last of my tears. “Sorry for getting mad.” “Sorry for avoiding you. I’d be mad too. And sorry for crying. You should be able to be pissed off without me crying and making you feel bad.” Abruptly, he moved in and wrapped his arms around me, releasing a swell of air that had be stuck in his chest. We could hear Niall whinging whimsically about how they were all waiting on their drinks, which were now sitting on top of the bar waiting to be paid for and waiting to be carried over to their consumers, but we had things to say. After quite some time, Lin pulled out of the hug but remained close, pressing his forehead against mine and speaking quietly, still trying to block out our surroundings, his hand latched against the back of my neck. I breathed him in, eased. “We’ll be okay, I promise. I don’t really know where we go from here, but-” “Harry?” I heard Louis yell through the bar, and I knew. Before I’d even turned around, I knew. I could tell from the sound of his voice, the perfect blend of surprise and terror. I knew and yet it didn’t seem real. Not until I watched Lin lift his head to gaze over the top of mine, eyes and mouth wide. “Holy shit, Harry’s here.” I whipped my whole body around a second later so I was facing the right way, so I could see for myself. That was the moment I locked eyes with Harry for the first time in over a year. He was completely motionless, so still and beautiful and perfect I could hardly comprehend that he was real, an image frozen in time and likely captured in my mind forever. He was stood in the doorway staring forward, right at me, as though he wasn’t conscious of anything else. It was just me and him and the static canvas we had become. His emotions were difficult to decipher, looking as shocked as I must have even though it was him who’d turned up out of nowhere. He hadn’t stepped foot in that pub since the previous May, but he was gazing right at me as though I had entered his space, like it was my presence that was the cause for alarm. He looked hurt, in ways. Those seconds felt like a lifetime, only able to snap out of my daze when Niall crashed his body against Harry’s, threw his arm around his neck. “What the hell are you doing here?” Libby howled excitedly as she approached him. “Are you moving back?” Niall asked whilst hugging the life out of him. “Please tell me you’re moving back.” It was then that Harry managed to pull his eyes away, and so did I, darting my vision to the left to look at Louis, who was already staring at me with wide eyes. “What the fuck?” He mouthed mutely. I found that my eyes drew back to Harry within seconds, like a magnet. His were back on me. He looked amazing. He always did. Even when he was exhausted and drained, his body had a certain shine to it that I’d never seen the likes of before and would never see again. Maybe I saw him in some divine light, but staring at him then I felt sure that simply, he was magnificent; radiant, powerful, immersed in splendour. “Uh…” Harry eventually began to grumble as Niall detached himself, looking away from me but not looking at anyone else, his gaze shooting down to the floor. “I dunno why I’m here. Sorry, I… I should go.” “What? You just got here?” Niall keened. Lin tried to edge past me to get closer to Harry, attempt to convince him to stick around like the rest of them were doing, all confused and stunned by his presence but desperate for him to stay. As he moved, Lin placed his hand on my waist gently, tenderly trying to edge me closer to the group to help with encouraging Harry to stay, but that minor action seemed to have the opposite effect. Harry witnessed the trivial exchange and withdrew completely. “No, m’sorry, I can’t do this.” He walked backwards, pushing his weight against the front door to open it without looking. “I dunno why I came, I’m sorry.” “The fuck, Harry?” Niall, Libby and Louis were all so dumbfounded they could barely move, just watching him back himself out of there. “What is going on?” It was rather clear he was overwhelmed, and I didn’t necessarily think it was the sole reason, but I knew that he was piqued by what he’d seen between Lin and I. He’d always had his paranoias, and though they still felt rather misplaced, he hadn’t been entirely delusional. The last time we had been together, we had kissed and held one another so intensely, the situation overflowing with passion and heartbreak. That was the last physical contact we’d had. Following that, he’d sent me a painting that was closer to his heart than most of the people in his life could ever hope to be. No matter how we’d ended or the complications we’d faced, I predicted that he saw me in a similar way to how I saw him – that in some way, we would always belong to one another. I would never be okay seeing him with someone else, and he didn’t want to see me with another man. Our history was too strong. For him to see me for the first time over a year later, another boys hand in my hair and lips close to mine. I knew I wouldn’t have wanted to see him and another woman like that, whether it meant something or not. I knew that was one of the reasons he desired a swift exit. “I shouldn’t have come. I don’t wanna interrupt, m’just gunna go. I promise I’ll see you soon, I promise, I just… Fuck.” With that final curse word he was outside, the door closing behind him. There were only a few seconds of shocked silence before Louis turned and bellowed to me. “Alfie, for fuck sake, go after him!” With no plan, no thought process and nothing to guide me, I ran out the door to catch him. I could barely make sense of a single thing, all I knew was that I couldn’t let him walk away without putting up a fight. I was terrified that if I let him walk away, that would be the last of it. Harry was sometimes hard to read, difficult to predict, and despite recent actions, I knew the chances of him disappearing from my life completely, never to seen or heard from again, were large. I knew there was a chance that this could be the very last time I saw him, and that was more likely if I didn’t go after him. I had too many questions that needed answering; why he was there, why he’d sent me the painting, how he had been for the past year. I wanted answers, and then if he wanted to leave he could. I could only hope that he desired the same closure I did. “Harry!” I yelled as soon as I could. He had his head down, walking central down the countrylane, heading towards town, towards the house where he used to live, towards a history he didn’t want to face. He tried to ignore me, not wanting to acknowledge my presence. I was so fucking confused. “HARRY!” I yelled again once I was out on the road, and he had to stop then, coming to a complete standstill but not turning to look at me. “What the fuck are you doing?” He didn’t answer. “Why’re you here?” “I… I don’t know.” He slowly turned around, but kept his line if vision right on the ground ahead of his feet. “It was stupid, m’sorry, I’m just gunna leave. I thought I was ready for this and I… I’m really not, so-” “Ready for what?” “Being back here. Seeing… I-I can’t. I have to leave.” He set off again, running his hand through his hair, clearly wanting nothing more than to get away from me. Though I could feel my frustration bubbling, I kept it locked down, remaining still and watching him walk away. “Why did you send me that painting?” I asked tersely, breathless, and that brought him to a standstill once again. I was surprised by how calm I sounded. Even when he turned back around and lifted his head to look at me, I remained still, serene, patiently awaiting his answer. He blinked, strangely acting as though he hadn’t been expecting me to question him on that, like he thought we’d both look past it, like it was regular, expected. “Because… it’s yours.” He eventually managed an answer, speaking as though it was obvious. “No one else deserves it.” “Har-” “I need to go, Alfie. I’m sorry.” He started walking backwards once again, not wanting to delay his departure. “I’m sorry for showing up, I-” “Wait… Fuck, I’m so… Don’t you think we need to talk?” “No. I can’t. Just… Forget about it, okay?” He shuddered. “I’ve got so many fucking questions, Harry! How do you expect me to just forget this?” “Will you tell them I’m sorry?” He said, and when I remained silent, stunned, he turned around and picked up his pace. I wished he’d called me Fee-Fee. I didn’t fully understand why that was my first thought, but all I knew was that I craved to hear him call me by that nickname he had so fondly adopted. I longed for that familiarity, that sense that we knew one another, that we had a history, because as he was walking away from me then, he truly felt like a stranger. The only thing that felt the same was the way he was running away from a situation that was more complicated than he’d bargained for. Exasperated, I picked up the pace and followed his footsteps, diminishing the space between us and then jumping so I was directly in front of him, forcing him to stop. We were mere inches apart. “Alfie-” “I don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to talk to me, Harry, that’s fine!” I fumed, retrieving my phone from my pocket and searching through it, unable to look him in the eye now we were so close. “I stopped expecting things from you when you fucking left, I’m past it. But you need to speak to your mum. Here.” I held my phone out ahead of him, keeping my eyes on his chest but putting the screen right before his eyes, the contact information for his mother brightening his face. “Wh-what?” “It’s your mum’s number. Take it. Call her.” “But-” “If you don’t, I fucking will. Please step up and do it, Harry. She’s desperate to hear from you.” “How… How do you-” “I spoke to her about you, and I don’t even care if you’re angry with me. I really don’t fucking care anymore, because this is your way to reach her and that’s all that mattered to me. And now you know that she does want you to reach out for her, she tried to reach you, so you’ve got no excuse. Take it, call her. Please.” He was shell-shocked for a little while, taking his time before he reached into his pocket to retrieve his poor excuse for a phone, some old looking thing that didn’t look like it would still function, typing the number he could see and then hopefully saving it to his phone, but I didn’t check to confirm that. I just had to hope he was listening to me, and that I’d said enough for him to finally get in touch with Julia again. “You done?” I asked bluntly. “Uh… Yeah.” “Okay, I’ve done my part, so leave. I don’t care.” I huffed, moving past him, my shoulder colliding with his rather lethally. I had spent the past few months of my life trying to pick him away from my memories, some sort of survival technique I had attempted to adapt, tearing even the tiniest detail from my thoughts. Even down to the simplest thing, like the exact colour of his eyes, the precise shade of green. I had almost forgotten that colour, and the second I was close enough to reacquaint myself, I daren’t look, daren’t remind myself. Or maybe I daren’t acknowledge that I’d never really forgotten. I never could. One last thing held me back before I left him there alone, went back to trying to forget. I rotated to face him again, seeing he hadn’t moved. “And I’d fire your agent, if I was you.” I said. “What?” He turned slightly, enough so he could see me. “Your mum got in touch with him and he never told you. Fire him, he doesn’t give a fuck about you.” His hurt and his horror were clear within his face even though he didn’t say a single thing. I didn’t give him much of an opportunity to reply, really. I had done what I wanted to do, placed the responsibility and the knowledge within his hands, and then it was his to handle, his to deal with however he felt was best. I had hopes, but I certainly didn’t expect anything from him. Not after everything. As I walked away from him, I could feel tears building, like my heart was breaking all over again, like I was losing him all over again even though I’d never gotten him back. Truthfully, he had never been mine to lose.

#Happy Bloody Sunday #enjoyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy #HBS45

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sarcastic-space-gal · 4 years

Text

Archangel’s Bane (Part 4)

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader;

Word Count: 1320 ;

Warnings: Angst;

Summary: What if i tell you that Lucifer was cast out of Heaven because of… love?

A/N: OOOK, here is part 4! Things are gettin real!! I took inspiration from season 11, you will see! As always, feedback is much appreciated, thank you again for all the kind comments, it makes my day ❤️ Here is the previous parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3. Here is a Lucifer oneshot Pay Me a Visit In Heaven . Love you all xo xo.

After all that time, Chuck was there, he showed himself once again.

Y/n was unable to say anything: seeing again, after millions years, the person who imprisoned her, and, especially, the person who took away the love of his life from her, was unbearable. She felt disgust, hate, wrath. If the universe gave to her, to them, another chance to stay together, they wouldn’t have wasted it. They’d have fought for it, with their lives, if needed.

“You are God?” Rowena stuttered.

“Flesh and bone. Well, almost” he chuckled “However, i didn’t come here for you” He peeked behind them and saw Y/n and Lucifer next to each other. They were just like as he remembered, they didn’t change a bit.

Lucifer stayed silent, his features were twisted in a deadly and outraged expression.

Chuck looked away from them “Well, I saw you freed something that his mine”

“I’m not yours” Y/n stated as Lucifer’s jaw clenched.

“You trapped a human girl in a cage for thousands of years, gave her the Mark of Cain, and used her like a weapon! What kind of God are you?” Dean stated in a harsh tone.

“A God who maintains order”

“Oh, are you sure? To me, it seems like we are just puppets in your hands, and if something doesn’t go as planned in your fanfiction stories, you just wipe it off and start over again”

“Listen, you freed one of my most powerful weapon without my permission and now I came here to take her”

Lucifer stepped in front of Y/n “You can try” he growled.

“Lucifer that kind of weapon can’t stay out of the cage”

“THAT IS Y/N! SHE HAS A NAME” his yell resonated around the room, making it even more loud and scary.

Chuck opened his mouth to say something but immediately closed it again.

Dean and Sam were looking at God and Lucifer while they talked, and it was insane just the thought of it. However the circumstances were not so idyllic, the tension was palpable. Sam glanced towards Lucifer, who was angrier as minutes went by. In the meantime, Castiel and Rowena watched the scene in silence unable to do or even say something, afraid of unleashing their wrath.

“You know, Dad” the last word came out very slowly “the images of that day still haunt me” Lucifer steadily began walking towards Chuck.

“I did what I had to do, Lucifer” “Everything with you is ‘Because, it had to be done’” he said with a low voice, filled with rage. He was just few steps away from him when he ultimately stopped and looked at him with a dark expression.

“I think we should talk.” his father suggested.

“Oh now you wanna talk? Screw you.” he hissed at him. He was already turning on his heels when his father spoke again.

“Please, son” Chuck begged. His voice broke a little and it didn’t go unheard by Lucifer, who slowly turned to face him and saw his father’s pained expression. He never saw God like that, ever. But soon he remembered what he had done, and wiped all those feelings aside.

“I still remember you taking her away from me and cursing her with the Mark. As you did to me. You failed me since ever. You betrayed me, you locked her away and then me. Just because us, weren’t in ‘God’s Plan’, you couldn’t stand the idea that I wasn’t at your orders anymore, that I chose her before my father, before God himself, that I disobeyed you. And you did what you always do when someone doesn’t do as you say: you throw him away. As you did with me” Lucifer’s eyes were wide with wrath but Chuck could clearly see, even after all those years, that behind his armor of fury there was an enormous pain, caused by him. For the first time in his life he felt guilty, he felt like a sinner.

“I didn’t take her away from you because of that”

“Then why? Why?!” Lucifer shouted, his fists were trembling, his knuckles white, his eyes flashing red.

Chuck closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

“I think it’s my turn” Y/n said heading towards him. Her voice made Lucifer’s rage fade away a little, even if he kept looking at Chuck with the most deadly expression.

She passed in front of the Winchesters, then Castiel and Rowena and ultimately she found herself next to Lucifer. He looked at her with a broken glare, but she was keeping her gaze on Chuck. Even him had to admit she was a little intimidating, her eyes were like black holes.

When she finally took the last step, she was right in front of him that he could almost feel her soft breath on his face.

“Since the day you created us, it was taught to us that God was righteous, holy, impartial, virtuous, but mostly, that he loved everyone, equally, that he loved his creation. That he loved humanity. Your religion is all about love and pureness, but you were too concentrated on being right than being impartial. You decided that your own personal need was far more important than your son’s life. You forced me into a cage, because I loved an angel. Because you thought I was taking him away from you. You betrayed your son and one of your creations, one of your daughters.”

Surprisingly, Chuck stayed quiet as if he was thinking about what to say next. In that moment, he looked away from them, their glares were agonizing, he couldn’t stare at them anymore. The burden, the weight he felt inside was something completely new.

“I’m sorry” he ultimately whispered.

“What?” Lucifer and Y/n said at unison.

Chuck’s eyes lifted from the floor to meet their owns.

“I never wanted to separate you. When I saw you falling in love with her I was happy, even if it was forbidden for an angel to love a human. I wasn’t supposed to have favorites, but you were, Lucifer. My ego was so high that I put aside my son’s feelings for my own gain, and when I saw you, Y/n, how strong you were, I thought you two could bear the Mark. So I gave it to you. I gave it to you because I loved you the most. But when I saw that I made a mistake, that I tore your lives apart, I felt disgust towards myself, and I punished you.” he said with a brittle voice “I’m so sorry”

Lucifer and Y/n couldn’t believe their ears. They were speechless, in complete astonishment, especially Lucifer: his Dad who first begs him to listen to him and then he makes amend. It was a new chapter, for anyone.

“I forgive you” Y/n mumbled. Lucifer didn’t say anything but instead he just lightly nodded.

Chuck’s lips curved in a small smile, filled with joy.

Everyone in the room left out a sigh of relief, as the tension faded away.

Sam put his gun on the table. “So what now?”

“I need your help” God declared.

________________________________________

“So let me just recap all of it” Dean’s fingers were on his temple as the other arm was under the other to support him, as he paced around the room.

“Amara is coming for you and just wants to take over everything here on earth, but” he enhanced the last word “you don’t want to kill her, we just have to trap her in the cage again”

“Yes” Chuck responded “I came here because I can’t do it alone”

“The last time it took almost all the angel’s power, and this time won’t be any less difficult” Lucifer pointed out “But we have a plan, even if it will take all our forces”

Chuck nodded and then turned towards Y/n “But this time we have you”

She looked at him with a small smirk on her face.

“Let’s get to work” Y/n stated with a firm voice.

________________________________________

Tag List:

@a-crowd-of-newsies

@the-obsessive-fangirl

#supernatural #spn #lucifer x reader #mark pellegrino #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #castiel x reader #chuck shurley #supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #lucifer imagine #rowena macleod

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

A love that never leaves (Epilogue)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Death by fluff.

A/N: Here we have a visit from a very hungry super soldier, an enormous helping of domestic bliss, and an unexpected surprise for Bucky. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me on this little adventure. I appreciate every bit of encouragement and support, and I hope you enjoy the end! ♥️

If you’re interested in the song the boys are whistling, it’s a war song from 1942 “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.” You can find it on Spotify. ☺️

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

Slipping a knife from his boot, he crouches down and digs his blade into the tree. With a few twists of his wrist, he carves a rough cross deep into the base of the tree trunk. He gazes at the small token for a minute, before sliding the knife back into his boot.

Standing with an inaudible sigh, he backs away. Straightens himself up. Snaps his feet together and offers a sharp salute to the unmarked grave.

“Rest easy, Soldier,” he murmurs.

And then Sergeant Bucky Barnes turns and heads home.

*****

One month later

Out by the woodshed, Bucky lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes the sweat from his face. Sorting through the pile of wood, he finds the best piece, balancing it on the chopping block. With an easy swing, the sharp blade arcs through the air and the pieces tumble into the growing pile.

Chopping wood seems unnecessary this late in the season, but he likes the work. Manual labor feels cathartic, and he relishes the pull of his muscles with each swing. Besides, even though he runs hot, he knows she doesn’t. If he has to put in some elbow grease to keep her warm, he’s happy to do it.

Spring is so tantalizingly close, he can almost taste it.

More and more of the ever-present world of white disappears daily, the shining sun turning the world beyond the cabin into a slushy mess of mud. So muddy in fact, they’ve gotten her truck stuck twice.

The first time they got it out no problem, but the second time - Bucky has that memory tucked away forever. While the wheels spun uselessly, he got out to push, which was a nice idea in theory. Until the truck leapt forward and he face planted in the mud. When she hit the brakes and jumped out, she ran around back to find him staggering to his feet, covered head to toe in black muck.

Of course, her surprised laughter turned to shrieking when he chased her through the slop until he caught her, picked her up, and threw her in a snowbank, his fingers tickling the entire time. They rode home dripping wet and covered in mud, barely able to stop laughing. When they arrived, Bucky pulled her into the shower with him until they were both perfectly clean and thoroughly interested in getting dirty again.

Yes, spring is a magical time.

Life feels new. After a long, cold, dark winter, he can finally see the other side and everything it offers. It’s like being born again, his life with her brimming with hope.

Taking a deep breath of the clean air, he selects another chunk of wood.

Above the sharp thwack of the ax, he hears a faint sound floating on the breeze.

Shading his eyes, he sees a figure walking along the road. Even from here, he sees a bright red stocking hat pulled low over his head, a hitchhiker’s bag strapped to his back. There is a brief flutter of nerves, before his stomach eases. The slope of broad shoulders and bouncing walk are telltale signs, but then he hears the whistle of a familiar song. Embedding the ax into the chopping block with a dull thunk, he whistles the tune in return. Strange words he unconsciously knows from another time.

Praise the Lord, we’re on a mighty mission

All aboard, we ain’t a-goin fishin’

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition

And we’ll all stay free

Dusting off his hands, Bucky ambles down to meet the man, a relaxed grin on his face.

“Still singing that damn song?” Bucky greets him. “Anyone tell you the war is over?”

Steve Rogers pulls off his stocking hat with a theatrical groan and uses it to mop the sweat from his face.

“Classics never die,” he huffs. Running sweaty fingers through snarls of golden hair, it sticks straight up in an awkward mohawk. “God damn, this was a fuckin’ walk. You got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

Grabbing Steve in a giant bear hug, Bucky lifts him off his feet and Steve squawks in protest.

“You’re such a little shit. Come inside. Got someone you need to see.”

*****

On the porch, Bucky removes his mud-covered boots and neatly lines them up beside the front door; raising his eyebrows, he points for Steve to do the same. Steve grins at the domesticity and follows suit, before following him inside.

“Hey darlin’?” Bucky calls and there’s an answering shout from above.

Dressed in old wellies, jeans, and a knobby grey fisherman’s sweater she appears, trying to zip up her jacket as she trots down the stairs.

“Buck, if you actually want potato soup tonight, I have to go into town. I didn’t realize when you said you ate all the bacon, you literally ate all the bacon. There were three pounds of it, how did you even -” looking up, she stops.

Astonishment floods Steve’s face when he sees her, but he schools it quickly. Standing up straighter, he nervously tries to smooth his hair, before eventually recognizing the futility and shoving his hands in his pockets. He gives her a bashful smile instead.

“Hey. I’m, uh, sorry for just showing up. Probably should have called, I just -”

The words are struck from his lungs when she bounds forward and throws her arms around him, knocking him back a step. Steve hugs her tight, glancing in surprise at Bucky who looks on fondly.

“You never have to call, Captain Rogers. You’re always welcome.”

“Christ, no,” Steve grimaces when he releases her. “Call me Steve, please. Get enough of that Captain bullshit at home.” Catching himself, he looks momentarily horrified. “Shit, I mean shoot, sorry, pardon my language.”

“Please,” she says with a laugh. Elbowing Bucky, she winks. “Let’s not pretend I haven’t heard worse from him.”

Wrinkling his nose, Bucky wraps a playful arm around her neck. “I told you, it’s how I spice up my vocabulary. Science says swearing makes me smart.”

Rolling her eyes, she pokes her fingers into his belly and he grunts breathlessly.

“God, you two are adorable,” Steve says seriously. “I think I’m gonna vomit.”

Placing his whole hand over Steve’s face, Bucky shoves him away while she laughs, her arm curving around his waist.

“Want me to go warm up the truck? Pull it around for you?” Bucky asks, and she kisses his cheek.

“No, I’m good. Stay here and catch up. Maybe get Steve some food, I’d hate for him to starve,” she says.

“I love her,” Steve stage whispers.

Grabbing a bundle of tote bags, she heads outside, stomping carelessly through the muddy yard. On the sunny porch, the two men stand shoulder to shoulder, waving as she drives the clunky old truck down toward town. Once it disappears, Bucky turns to Steve and claps him on the back.

“Come on asshole, I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

*****

One carton of eggs and a loaf of bread later, they sit on the porch with steaming cups of coffee. Bucky tucks an errant strand of hair behind his ear as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. Steve sits back in his chair, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“It all sounds insane, doesn’t it?” Bucky asks quietly.

Fiddling with his coffee cup, Steve scratches absently at his beard. “Maybe. Maybe not. We always knew there were others. Whatever they did to him, it wasn’t perfect, but it must’ve been enough for him to survive. Whatever survive means.”

“Yeah. I guess so. ”

Taking a long drink of coffee, Steve frowns at his boots before looking up to Bucky. “So, you buried him then?”

There’s a defiant edge to Bucky’s voice when he responds.

“Just felt right. He was a soldier, not a lab rat.”

Steve shrugs casually as he sits forward. “I get it, don’t need to convince me. We don’t have to tell anyone.”

Amused at the blatant lack of adherence to the precious world of protocol, Bucky gasps.

“Goodness gracious, I’m clutching my fuckin’ pearls. Did I just convince Captain America to commit treason?”

“Well you always were a terrible influence. So many bad decisions, all because of you,” Steve says loftily.

“You’re so full of shit,” Bucky laughs. Steve grins wickedly, knowing full well all their youthful indiscretions came from his ridiculous decisions; not that he’ll ever admit that one to Bucky.

At the thought of their past though - it makes him wonder.

“Can I ask something?”

“Hit me,” Bucky says easily. There are a couple minutes of silence, while Steve tries to find the words he wants.

“When she wipes memories, that’s - that’s it? They’re gone for good? We couldn’t - like, there’s no chance of getting them back?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “No. I was curious, so I asked. But she said it was absolute. Looked so miserable when she told me, I’m sure as shit not mentioning it again. Besides,” he contemplates the blue sky beyond the porch railing, “it doesn’t matter. What do I need all that for anyway? Got her. Got you. That’s enough.”

The relief in Steve’s reply is palpable. “Good. I hated your dumbass running around trying to dig up the past.”

“Me too,” Bucky sighs. “Only did it ‘cause I thought I should. But now - I’m just worrying about the future. Those are the only memories I need.”

They sit in companionable silence, gazing out into the cool morning. In the treetops, birds chatter back and forth, and Steve feels himself relax. An unfamiliar peacefulness steals over him, filling him from head to toe; he almost doesn’t hear the quiet question.

“Stevie?” Looking sideways, he finds Bucky watching him calmly. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired. Just want a normal life, a home with her. Something quiet. Is that - will that be okay?”

The hesitancy in Bucky’s voice hits Steve like a fist to the face. Turning away, he blinks back tears and clears his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, Buck. Of course that’s okay.”

That unspoken weight always dragging Bucky down disappears. With Steve’s words, the decades seem to fall away and there - the fleeting image of Sergeant James Barnes flashes across his features. Lighter. Softer. Carefree and full of laughter, wanting nothing more than to hang up his boots and find a warm home with the girl he loves.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers looking back into the clear morning, a contented smile on his lips.

With the crisp breeze swirling around them, the soldiers sit in silence. One light haired and one dark, with two matching pairs of blue eyes, and two gigantic hearts.

*****

The sun is just beginning to sink when Bucky announces he’s going to go clean up the woodpile before it gets dark. The night air blows sharp when he opens the door, ushering in the wintery chill that still insists on arriving when darkness falls.

“Nah, stay here and catch up,” he urges, when Steve goes to grab his jacket. “It’ll just take me a few minutes.”

“Thanks love,” she murmurs and Bucky beams at the pet name, a happy bounce in his step as he heads outside. Grinning at Steve, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of beer from the depths, popping the tops and handing one to him.

“Cheers,” she says, clinking them together and he nods shyly. Pulling out knives and cutting boards and stock pots and skillets, she assembles everything for the potato soup Bucky begs her to make at least once a week. Salted water is simmering on the stovetop, before Steve finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Scrubbing potatoes, she looks up in surprise. “Sorry for what?”

Steeling his nerves, Steve frowns. “For not coming back. For letting you deal with his death alone. Always promised him, if something happened, I’d do my best to take care of you. And then I just -” he breaks off.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she reaches over the counter and squeezes his hand. “You just saved the world,” she says gently.

Swallowing hard, Steve looks down. “Still. My best friend’s girl, and I let her down. I let both of you down.”

Releasing his hand, she picks up her knife and starts dicing the potatoes.

“No, you didn’t. If I’ve learned nothing else in this life, it’s that you can’t stay in the past. What’s done is done, and now we move on. We’re all here now, Steve,” she says quietly. “That’s all that matters.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve lets the tension of his apology melt away. “He always said you were smart.”

“Hmmm, did he now?” she says with a mischievous grin and Steve can’t help the responding smile; it feels infectious.

The kitchen radio plays in the background, filling the small kitchen with the punchy sound of trumpets and piano, the world of old French jazz. Steve watches her cook, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“How come - how come you didn’t call? Didn’t tell us you were here?”

Without replying, she lays out slices of bacon and starts chopping. Immersed in her task, it takes her a minute to respond.

“When I heard they found you, I almost came to New York. But then, I imagined telling you what happened and - I was too ashamed.” Setting the knife down, she looks up and he sees deep sadness in her eyes. “The last time I saw him, he had no clue who I was, and I had no idea if he was still alive. It all seemed impossible. And then I saw him come back, and I just - you were with him and I was so relieved. He had you. I knew you’d do everything in your power to help him recover. After what I did, I didn’t think I should be part of that.”

Canting her head down, he sees her shoulders slump slightly. Steve knows that feeling better than anyone, what it means when you can’t save someone. Particularly when you can’t save Bucky Barnes.

“Back then, you saved him. During the war. I hope you understand, I hope you know.”

She doesn’t speak, but finally looks up. “Know what?”

He gives her a gentle smile. “How much he loved you. Never shut up about it. Used to drive us all crazy with all his sighing and his mooning around.”

The brilliant smile she gives him lights up her whole face and Steve feels his own lips curve in response. Both of them automatically glance toward the front door when they hear Bucky’s boots clomping up the porch steps.

“I know,” she says, her eyes shining bright. “He tells me every day.”

*****

Steve has more than a thousand stories about Bucky, from growing up in Brooklyn to traipsing across the European front to all their avenging these past few years, and unfortunately for Bucky, Steve seems dead set on relaying every stupid thing Bucky’s ever done. The worst part is, he can’t even refute the stories - Steve could be making everything up, and Bucky can’t even call him out on it.

A fact he continually points out and a fact Steve blithely dismisses.

“Trust me,” he says with a sage nod. “Captain America would never lie.”

“That is the biggest crock of shit I ever heard,” Bucky states. He looks mildly put out when she shushes him.

“Hush Bucky, I need to hear this story.”

“Uh, no you most certainly do not,” he replies, as Steve tells about the time him, Bucky, and Sam were stuck in a safe house in Mexico and every time Bucky went to sleep, Sam moved everything in the apartment three inches before convincing Bucky the place was haunted.

“Well for fuck’s sake, there are aliens aren’t there?” Bucky exclaims. “Why the hell not ghosts?”

Scooping up a huge spoonful of soup, Steve swallows it down and gives him a serious look. “That’s true Buck. And that’s why I supported your idea of having a séance to contact the ghost. It seemed like the sensible thing to do.”

“I hate your face so hard. Remind me why you’re here again?” Bucky groans. Leaning back, he slings an arm around her chair and tucks his face against her neck. “Don’t believe anything he says. He lies,” his plea is muffled.

Patting his head, she scratches her fingers in his hair just like he likes, and he hums delightedly. “Don’t worry, I think you’re very adorable.”

“I am very adorable,” Bucky mumbles.

Lifting up his bowl, Steve slurps down the rest of his soup; smacking his lips, he gives them a mysterious smile. “Actually, there was another reason I came to visit.”

Bucky pulls away from her and glares at him. “Was it to destroy my happiness?”

“No, that’s just a fringe benefit,” Steve says cheerfully. Shoving away from the table, he goes to his oversized backpack and starts digging. Pulling something free, he comes back to the table and sets a cloth bag in front of Bucky.

“It’s a bag,” Bucky deadpans. “Inside a bag.”

“Smartass. Open it.”

Wiggling his eyebrows at her, Bucky un-cinches the bag and pulls out a leather satchel.

“It’s a bag, inside a bag, inside - a bag.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re hilarious?”

“Literally everyone who’s met me,” Bucky says with a grin. Glancing curiously at the worn brown leather, his smile begins to fade. Something about the bag seems insanely familiar, and he racks his brain -

And he catches his breath. Wide-eyed, he looks back up at Steve.

“Wait. Is this -“

“Yep,” Steve says, eyes sparkling. “You’d left it back at the base camp, must’ve gotten stuck in some of the camp containers they shipped to headquarters. Anyway, I spent the last three weeks banging around the SHIELD archives trying to see if I could find anything - there’s so much shit down there by the way, like an episode of hoarders - and then I was digging through this moldy ass box, and there it was.”

“My bag,” Bucky marvels. Excitement fills his face, bright sunrise in the evening. “From the war, from before. All my stuff.”

“All your memories,” she says breathlessly, squeezing his thigh.

“Go on,” Steve encourages. “Open the damn thing, I’m dying to know what the hell you kept in there. You never let me see anything.”

The leather straps are fastened tight, decades of moisture and dust creating a concrete knot that takes several minutes to unravel. It creaks irritably when it finally gives way and Bucky tugs it open. One by one, he pulls out items.

A book appears first. Front cover torn, they see a copy of ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’, one of the compact armed service editions published for soldiers. Some of the pages are stuck together and as he thumbs through it, Bucky sees familiar handwriting. Notes he scribbled in the margins, passages he underlined. Words and phrases pop out like friendly messages from another life. Flipping toward the end, he finds his favorite line, one that caught his fancy when he read the book again last year.

“Dear God,” he reads, voice wobbling slightly, “let me be something, every minute of every hour of my life.”

He touches the words with a cautious metal finger and looks up to find her watching him, a soft look in her eyes. Leaning over, he gives her a kiss and she brushes his hair back.

“You were always something, no question about that,” she says and Bucky smiles.

The next item is a thick sheaf of papers. Folded into neat rectangles are a set of maps, the ones he and Steve received from the Priest in her village, before they headed out on that last mission.

“Oops,” Steve says sheepishly. “Guess we never did get those back to the church.”

Two white, army issued packs of cigarettes follow; when Bucky tips out a Lucky Strike, it crumbles to powder in his fingers. His silver lighter is next, scales of brownish-red rest covering one side. As he tries to light it, the coils give a harsh screech.

“Okay, I was gonna give up smoking anyway,” he shrugs.

When he pulls out a dented flask and unscrews the cap, a faint wisp of whiskey floats out. Steve makes a gagging noise and shudders.

“Holy hell, I remember that garbage. Dugan bought it off a medic at a field hospital in Germany. Cross my heart, it was the worst shit I ever tasted. Gave me nightmares.”

“I remember it too,” she pipes up, looking slightly nauseated. “He convinced me to try it once and I haven’t tried whiskey since.”

Bucky grins at them both and plunges his hand into the bag again, this time, jerking back with a curse. Cautiously, he reaches in again and discovers an open switchblade. Carved below the marble handle in flaking gold are the letters JBB.

“Becca gave that to you, before you shipped out,” Steve says quietly. “She sold her pearl earrings to buy it.”

Rubbing the white marble gingerly, Bucky gently folds down the blade and sets it carefully aside. It hurts for a minute, and his throat works hard to swallow down the emotion.

“Anything else in there?” she nudges lightly, and he shakes himself from the reverie.

Reaching into the bag, his hand bumps something. Buried at the bottom, he feels a soft bundle, a rectangular parcel wrapped in old green cloth. When he pulls it free, he has to unwind it several times before they discover what lies beneath.

Bucky blinks when he sees it, his heart leaping at her soft exclamation.

“My letters,” she says, wrapping her arm around him and curling closer.

“Your letters,” he repeats faintly. Sudden tears fill his eyes and he surreptitiously wipes them away, gruffly clearing his throat.

Handling the paper reverently, he brushes his fingers over the faded handwriting. The whole bundle is tied together with a broken boot lace, and it takes a few tugs before it releases.

Eleven letters.

Eleven letters, written just for him. Eleven of his very own memories, real and tangible and full of her love. Something he knows he kept in his coat pocket every day, drawing comfort and strength from her words, while he battled through the horrors of that unending war.

Unfolding the first one, he takes a deep breath.

10 March 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I wanted to write this on your birthday, so I could fill it full of all the things I wish we could do, if you were here. Maybe next year, everything will be possible. The war will be over, and your day would look something like this.

We could spend it in Paris, how lovely that might be! We could sleep in, no need to get up early. I might wake you up with a kiss, one on your cheek, then on your nose, then on your lips, and then I’d make you breakfast in bed, strong coffee and fried eggs and sizzling slices of bacon and fresh croissants, and we could spend the morning reading the papers and laying in the sun. Then we might go for walk down by the Seine, see the bridges and the booksellers, throw coins in the river and make wishes. Eat chocolate cake and drink bottles of wine. Whatever your heart desires my love, it would be your day. Maybe that night, we would be walking home, and hear a musician playing in the streets and we could stop and dance. Just you and me, holding each other in the moonlight.

And when we get home, I think I’ll take you upstairs to soft sheets and soft pillows and all kinds of things that are rather inappropriate for this letter, but I can certainly tell you one thing - sleep would not be on our minds.

Something to dream about for next year.

But if you remember nothing else on your birthday, I hope you will remember there’s a girl in France who loves you with all her heart.

6 June 1944

…and please don’t ever tell Steve, but I laughed forever at your letter. Such a demure, solemn man when I met him, I keep picturing him covered in mud and so frustrated with all of you! I do hope his knees are feeling better, give him a hug from me.

Sending you all my love, now and always.

19 August 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I’ve never been to a drive-in movie, but I must tell you, I think it sounds wonderful. I have no doubt we could show those kids a thing or two, because the simple truth is that I could spend my entire life kissing you. There would be no need to ever stop, I know that much.

The days of sunlight are long now, and so often I lay out in the field behind the house, where the grass grows tall and the world smells like wildflowers, and I think of you until long after the stars appear. The sweet taste of your lips, the rough feel of your hands, the sound of your voice when you say my name. How much I love the red highlights in your beard and the dimple in your chin and the way you purr like a house-cat when I scratch my fingers through your hair. Everything you are, your kind heart and your curious soul, it fills me with a wanting I cannot explain.

Do you know, when I fall sleep, your face is the last thing on my mind? Sometimes I still believe this is a God, because He lets you into my dreams every single night.

30 December 1944

My love,

Just this morning, I let you go again. Back into this wretched war. It feels unforgivable, letting you leave. My heart fled with you and I admit, tonight I am having trouble remembering to breath.

You are the one thing that gets me through everything. Isn’t that so strange? I had no idea my heart missed you, until the day we met. There are so many things I want to say to you. Things I want you to know about me, who I was and who I am. So many things I want to learn about you.

But now, if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost hear your voice. It’s there in that lost place between sleep and awake, where you tell me good night darling, that Brooklyn drawl coloring your words.

There is nothing I want more than a life with you. Sitting on the porch while the sun sets, holding your hand. Falling asleep wrapped in your arms. Loving you until there is nothing but grey left in your hair. I miss you so much. Please, please, please come home soon.

Resting her head on Bucky’s shoulder as he reads, she follows along in silence, reliving every word, every phrase, every bit of punctuation. How familiar it seems, even after all this time.

When Bucky finally sets the last letter down, he turns to her. Tipping his head down, he touches his forehead to hers and closes his eyes; cradling his face in her hands, she rubs her thumb over his lips. Neither one speaks. Old letters and faded memories and quiet breaths are the only words they need.

*****

The evening is late when Steve flops on the couch and gets comfortable. Digging through the hall closet, Bucky returns with a couple pillows and a fuzzy blanket and tosses them over.

“Alright Rogers. You need a teddy bear? Glass of milk? Bedtime story? Should I check under the couch for monsters?” he asks and Steve flips him off with a huge yawn.

“G’night, asshole.”

“Night, punk.”

Flipping off the lights, they leave him snug in the warm darkness downstairs, the flames burning low in the fireplace. Steve watches as they walk upstairs together, Bucky patting her on the butt as she walks ahead, muttering something that makes her laugh. Buried in the couch cushions, he smiles drowsily as he listens to their quiet voices get ready for bed, the calming footsteps above, the soothing laughter gliding down the stairs.

It sounds perfect.

Like a home.

Slowly and surely, the firelight lulls him to sleep.

*****

Standing in the bedroom doorway, her mouth curves up at the image.

Leaning against a pile of pillows, Bucky sits with all his letters spread around him, shuffling through them again. They haven’t left his hands all evening, so perfectly enamored with his small treasure, something he never expected.

“Would you like me to write them for you again? So you have fresh copies?”

Squinting up at her, he contemplates the offer, before shaking his head.

“Nah, already have them memorized. Besides, now you can write me new ones. I like to be romanced.”

“Hmm. I had no idea this relationship would be so much work,” she teases.

Gathering up the letters, he places each in the correct envelope, wraps them back up in a fresh piece of cloth, and tucks them into the drawer of his nightstand. Giving her an outrageously sultry look, he clicks off the lamp and pats the bed next to him invitingly.

Slipping under the sheets, she immediately tucks her cold toes against his leg and he yelps at the icy feel, but lifts his arm automatically, letting her nestle into her favorite spot against his chest.

“Good god, you need to wear socks to bed,” he says with a shiver.

“No, I don’t. I have you,” she says happily.

Smothering a laugh, he rolls to face her. Face to face on the same pillow, two pairs of eyes adjust to the dark room. When she traces the back of her knuckles down his cheek, he catches her hand and presses a kiss to her wrist.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you,” she breathes.

Comfortable silence fills the room, and as the minutes tick by, her eyes grow heavy. Sleep never comes easy for him, so Bucky watches her instead, content to fill his sleeplessness with nothing more than the curves and shadows of her face. He can hear her heartbeat slow, her breathing steady, and right before she goes under, a thought pops into his head.

“Darlin’, can I ask you something?”

“Course,” she says sleepily.

“All the stuff you’ve kept over the years, what you had hidden around the house. Why’d you do that? Hide it that way?”

Slow fingers trace up his chest as she thinks, and her voice is low and raspy with a reply.

“I know what it means to lose everything you’ve ever known. Instead of having it all up here,” and she taps her forehead, “I keep things everywhere. Never all together, so I can’t lose everything at once.”

“Are there more things in the house?” he asks curiously, and she hums.

“Lots more,” she answers, and snuggles closer. Closing her eyes, she presses her lips to his skin. “Can I tell you more tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he murmurs.

A moment later, her deep, even breaths tickle his chest and Bucky keeps watching, mesmerized by the sight. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever needed, right there. Wrapped up in his arms.

Around them, the room is blanketed in darkness, deep blacks and shades of gray and he thinks about all those memories he’s collected. All that color, good and bad, and what it means to have a past. And then he thinks about the future, free from the turmoil of war, with nothing ahead but the delicate blue of her cool touches and the bright gold of her sunny smiles and the rainbow of color he hears when she laughs.

So many colors. So much time.

The paintbrush in his head lays down to dream. Closing his eyes, Bucky drifts to sleep.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #altnl

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arelya-andaria · 4 years

Note

would you mind doing a meg/erik fic? just some softness and longing (from megs side) would be wonderful! thank you for doing this :>

Thank you for asking! I hope this suits the bill, though perhaps not as cheerful as what I usually write. Happy reading!

*-* The Singer He Loved

She hadn’t been blind.

She had noticed what had happened to her friend. Much like her mother, she was perceptive, and it had only taken Christine telling her about her Angel to know both creatures were one and the same.

After the end of the show, her friend had left, and she’d found the mask. Attracted to him and his music, after he’d shown them all his opera. What a beautiful, powerful duet he’d shared with them all. So different from anything she’d ever heard before.

What would she have given to dance some more on his music?

Attracted to his music.

Knowing what lay under the mask, as they’d all seen.

They’d all put it to fire and ruin, that beautiful palace of Dance and Music where she’d spent her entire life. Now she was homeless, without a job, without a friend.

Of course, her mother had found them all a new home, but it would be weeks and months until they could reopen the Garnier, if it reopened at all.

And where had he gone? That mysterious man she’d always been part afraid of, and part attracted to? He’d always been part of her life, haunting the Garnier, as much his home as hers.

He was resourceful, she knew, but after the events that had gone down in his lair, who knew what would happen to him?

Christine had refused to talk about them, but she wasn’t stupid. He’d started with kidnapping her, under the eyes of everyone in Paris, and then she’d left with Raoul de Chagny, claiming the problem was taken care of.

He wasn’t dead, she knew. She had seen no body, nothing but his mask.

She wanted to find him. She needed to.

If only she knew where to start…

It took her a few weeks to find him again. He’d cleverly hidden his tracks, but they were still there, for those who knew to read them.

And she did.

One night, under the night sky, she went to find him. She would be careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. Who knew in what physical and mental state he was after what had happened?

At first, she was only there, saying nothing, in front of the door of his new home. He’d reached out to one of his old friends, a Persian man who used to work as a police officer. He was hiding in his house.

She’d brought a letter, in which each of the words had been carefully penned. But it was her mission now. She needed to see him. Only he knew what it felt like to be suddenly abandoned and discarded after so much love.

He’d loved her. And she’d loved her too.

“I don’t even know your name. I’ve only ever known you as the Phantom, the Opera Ghost. But I’m reaching out to you now. As I am, you’re without a home. Without a job. I am merely a ballerina, but one you never had to complain about to our dear managers, so I must hope my dancing wasn’t horrible to you.

I loved your Opera. I wish we’d had the end, and I could have danced to it for many performances, as it deserved.

I loved your duet too. Your voice was unlike anything I’d ever heard.

I’m not expecting anything from you, but I will be coming back, with more letters. I can understand you wish for no one to see you. I found your mask underneath the Garnier, after you left.

I understand you must not wish to speak about Her again. She was my dearest friend, and I lost her too. I would like to share thoughts about her, if you’re so inclined. Or about your music, if thinking about her is too hard.

I hope to read from you,

In the hope to be called your friend,

Meg Giry.”

With a heavy heart, and hope still, she knocked at the door. She heard a few light footsteps behind the door, and an old man opening it.

“Yes?”

“I am Meg Giry, and I would like to give this letter to the gentleman in the mask, in your house.”

“There is nobody here except me.”

“You do not have to lie to me, I know he’s here. Would you please give him the letter?”

He observed her, eyes wise and clear despite his wrinkled skin.

“Very well. I shall give him this, but do not hope for an answer, Mademoiselle.”

“It’s alright. We will see.”

She curtsied, and left, praying to the gods he would understand where she came from.

*-*

She was back in her home, absent-mindedly humming as she worked her body, rehearsing the beautiful dancing she’d done lately, loving how graceful and still shockingly modern it had felt. Now, in this small flat, with barely enough light, it looked nothing like it’d been on the stage, but it was better than nothing.

His music, and this dance haunted her.

Knock on the door. Her mother had gone for a short shopping trip, and she expected no one. Still, heart beating furiously, she ran to the door.

“Yes?”

It was him, the strange Persian man, and he looked furious to be sent as messenger.

“Mademoiselle Giry? I was asked to give you this.”

He held out a letter and she took it with trembling hands.

“I was told to wait until you read it and answered this letter.”

He sounded as furious and weary as he looked.

She nodded.

“I will be fast. Thank you for waiting. Would you like to come in and wait in the parlor? I shall not be long.”

“Thank you Mademoiselle.”

He sat down while she ran to her room. Cut open her finger in her haste to read it.

“Mademoiselle Giry,

I do not know why you care so much about me. In the past, I would have thrown your letter away and not given it a second thought. Still your words have aroused my interest.

I shall not speak about her.

That music is cursed to me, now, as are most of the memories of that night.

Still, I appreciate that at least someone in this city enjoyed my music.

You were right, you are probably my favorite of the ballerinas, your dancing was decent. I had no interest in complaining about you when there were so many others deserving my attention.

Would you like to continue this written correspondence? As you most kindly suggested, I would like to keep my privacy, and refuse any meeting. But I remain open to discussing with you further.

You may call me Maestro. In time, perhaps will I give you my true name, should you prove trustworthy.

Your Friend,

O.G.”

He’d said yes. She went to her desk, writing a few words, before sealing the letter and running back to the Persian man.

“Please give him this. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Mademoiselle Giry,” he said in a grumpy voice.

She accompanied him back to the door, and closed it behind him. And held his letter close to her heart.

“Thank you for your trust. I shall try to prove worthy of it. In time, I will find a way for you to play and I could listen, without seeing you. You were her Angel, I would be glad to call you Maestro.

Your Friend,

Meg Giry.”

*-*

He’d been in and out for the past few weeks. Not remembering a lot of what he’d done those days, just waiting to die, perhaps. After she’d left, returning his ring, and he’d escaped to his old friend’s home, he’d just lingered there, down on a rug in the darkness. Hunger and thirst did not have any hold over him.

Her letter had surprised him. He hadn’t expected anyone to care enough to look for him, especially someone who did not want to turn him over to Justice, as he surely deserved.

But some of her words had gone to his heart.

She had liked his music, even this accursed music he’d thought his best, but was only a travesty of love.

The pain was insane.

His heart had gone.

But her words… He’d had to answer.

He’d penned a few, hoping for a human connection.

Had he sunk so low, he would share things with a ballet girl?

Had he no more hope, he would speak with anyone, looking for any human connection?

So he did. And she answered. And from that, a tentative friendship was born.

She told him of her days. He told her of his memories. Avoiding the hard subjects.

Soon the opera reopened.

And she was dancing again.

She told him about it, and how she wanted to see him. Mostly, to hear him.

It was heartbreaking to come back to the opera house afterwards, but he had to, even if his home had been destroyed, and nothing he’d known had been kept the way it was.

Still.

He’d asked her to meet in a rehearsal room, when the performances were done, and no one remained inside.

It was like before, and yet nothing was the same.

He wasn’t training her. He was performing for her.

He was singing, directing his song to her, and she’d cried.

His grief was palpable, and she danced to his song, letting the melody he wove around her direct her movements. It soared and rose and twirled around her, and she was lost in his music.

It was as glorious as when he’d sung his Don Juan, perhaps more so, for she was alone and could express her intense feelings back to him.

And slowly, her heart began to heal.

And as he sang to the young dancer in that room, he felt a sigh rise inside.

Some measure of peace, after his death and rebirth, by her kiss.

Time went on, and she danced for him, and he loved to see her create movements on his songs. There was grace in every of her gesture, passion and intent, as well. She could be a bird about to fly, or a tiger around her prey. The river floating gently down a field, lazy and warm, or a storm in summer, lightning fast and furious.

Somehow he’d never appreciated dance before enough to see that.

Somehow, her mouth closed, she could express more than the singers who had taken their place back in the opera house.

Afterwards, she stretched and curled up in a chair with a blanket and some tea, and through the walls, they would talk.

Nothing much, but it was growing on her.

She didn’t feel so alone anymore.

One night, though, he did break their rule of “never about her”.

“She’s getting married. Did you know?”

Yes. She’d known, for her old friend had come herself to announce it, bringing the most ridiculous invitation. But she’d thought about it, and resulted not to tell him.

“I did.”

“You didn’t think to tell me.”

“I thought it was unwise to mention it. Or Her.”

A pause. She thought he would leave her and not return. Sometimes he’d done that, early on, when his opinion didn’t match hers and she’d felt brave enough to voice them.

“You may be right.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not yet. Tomorrow.”

She nodded. He could see her, of course, and would not fail to see her agreement.

*-*

The next day, she was impatient and afraid. He’d been her friend, and she was scared talking about her would take him away from her.

She needn’t have worried.

This time, he was in the room. Dressed in black, in his usual finery, as dashing as he’d seemed when he’d appeared onstage, before her friend had unmasked him.

He had his mask.

“I shall sing for you, first. Please dance?”

He began singing, and she started dancing.

Her dancing always brought him peace, for reasons he couldn’t understand.

And today, she was soft and pliant as a rose, blossoming in front of his eyes.

He could hardly keep his eyes off her.

Afterwards, she stretched, and he joined her on the sofa, and began telling her everything.

By the end, she had tears down her cheeks. As his tale grew on, he’d seemed to curl up and up, until he was nothing but a shell, frightened and frail, broken by grief.

She breathed deeply, and slowly hugged him, not letting go, drawing long circles on his back.

He’d tensed, but slowly, slowly, he’d relaxed into her arms, and his deep, peaceful sigh was the most beautiful thing she’d heard from him.

*-*

It was the nicest he’d felt in a long, long time. Her kiss had been the highlight of his life, the climax of a life filled with humiliation, fear and pain. But this, this quiet acceptation with no expectations, just a friend… A friend…

Now, after all these months, her wish was true.

He let go and began breathing again.

*-*

“My name’s Erik.”

“I am glad to know you, Erik.”

*-*

From there, their friendship grew on, blossomed into something sweet.

He would never love her as he’d loved Christine, but it was good. She would dance for him and he would sing for her, and they would share memories of their beloved opera.

She had never asked to remove the mask, content to love him as the masked man she’d always been attracted to. It never went further than hugs, and that would sometimes frustrate her, but she never held it against him.

She understood. She would never be like her in his mind.

Still, when she felt his heart beat against hers, in the dead of night, and he allowed her to caress his arms, and his back, to entwine her fingers with the soft hairs on his head, wig forgotten, mask on, mask always on, she quietly sighed.

If this was all she’d ever be given, so be it. It was worth it. She was longing for more, but was prepared to wait for it.

He knew she wanted more, but he couldn’t. This was as much as he could give, more than she would ever truly want. Deep down, he was only ever a monster, and had accepted that.

*-*

But still, it was tender and soft. He would caress her cheeks, her light hair, burrow his face against her soft breasts.

She was ready to give her all to him, but he felt greedy and selfish, to take from her without giving her anything in return.

“I love you,” she would whisper when she thought he was sleeping.

He never was.

And never could answer.

Sometimes, she caught him looking into the nothingness, replaying on their piano a melody, haunting and heavy with regret. He was thinking about her.

No matter what, he was always thinking about her.

She missed her friend, of course. And sometimes, seeing him like this, she wished she’d been curious enough to be her real friend, and had helped her in that situation.

But the past was the past. Her friend was gone now. Out of reach from either of them.

So she reached up to him, and brought his face under her neck, her arms around him, and held him. He never saw her tears, but he heard them.

She couldn’t see the same tears he had under his mask.

But still, she kissed his forehead, and held him.

She was there to soothe his nightmares.

They shared the same bed, she’d insisted on that, even if nothing bound them together, except their grief, and their love. Despite what he never said, he still felt something for her.

She didn’t try to convince herself she would ever replace the golden voice of the Angel in her lover’s mind and heart, but she knew he loved her, still, in a way.

It was enough.

Perhaps if she repeated that lie enough times, she would end up believing it.

#phanfiction #phic gifts #phantom of the opera

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mrreindeerface · 4 years

Text

Character Info for When The Night Comes

I’ll be honest, this got away from me a bit. I am not entirely sure this is coherent and I had to fight myself to not info-dump because I have so many thoughts on these dorks. For @galleywinter who has been patient with my need to scream about this fantastic game

Les Full Name: Alessa Mylona – also answers to Lessa Age: 27 Height: 5’10”

Les is the Hunter General in Lunaris. She’s headstrong, composed, and very much a stickler for the rules. She can be a bit standoffish at first – but is always willing to take the time and listen if someone needs her. She’s been a bit of an overachiever since she was young, which tends to rub off on the people around her whether they want it to or not. She’ll follow the spirit of the law rather than the letter of it – she’s gotten a fair share of citations in her files from going against orders when she felt it wasn’t the right thing to do. She can be very caring when needed, but tries to hold herself apart from people to help with her work.

She was orphaned at a young age, and was too difficult of a child to find a home anywhere until she was taken in by the Hunters. She puts a great deal of effort into appearing the ‘perfect’ Hunter, mostly out of fear she’ll lose the one family she’s ever really known. Although she worked on her own the first few years, she and Wren partnered on a difficult assignment and have been inseparable ever since. At the academy she specialized in Demonology – she fights with a weighted quarterstaff mostly but also has a few smaller silver daggers (just in case).

Les knew of the Piper Meriman before coming to Lunaris, more as the legend of a Hunter than as a real person. It was a bit of an early blow to find out the Enforcers would cast aside someone with that kind of reputation, though it did give her the chance to get being starstruck out of her system (and somewhere Piper couldn’t see her). There’s never been any hesitation on her part with letting Piper take the lead, not only because Piper is a force of nature but because Les likes having a chance to not be in charge of everything. Piper is one of the few people who can get her to shirk responsibility and just have fun.

Wren Full Name: Florian Laurent Age: 26 Height: 5’7”

Wren is the Hunter General’s right hand. They are very quiet, seeming almost shy, but they can be unyielding as steel. They are fiercely loyal to those they care about, almost to the point of absurdity. Although dedicated to their career as a Hunter, they weren’t prepared for volume of bureaucratic nonsense that came with the territory of trying to help people. Wren will flout any rule necessary to do the right thing, at least the right thing by their standards. They’re much more empathetic than their partner, and don’t bother to maintain a distance from the people in their life.

Wren grew up the oldest of three children – their father was forcibly retired as a Hunter due to a spinal injury. Hoping to carry on the family tradition of being a ‘hero,’ they studied and trained until they could be tested. Although never a truly model student, they were still one of the best. They specialized in Weapons and Combat training and spent their first few years in the field honing their tracking skills. They are unparalleled at laying traps and setting ambush locations – usually with some guidance from Les. They prefer to fight from a distance, using ranged weapons and resorting to daggers only when necessary.

They were wholly unprepared for the Lunarian double-threat of Omen and Alkar. Both of them had a unique charm, and proved to be effortlessly entertaining for the needling-inclined Wren. The two of them served as a good distraction and break from the insanity that was the investigation, and Wren was more than happy to play matchmaker in the early stages of their relationship. It can be a bit tricky for them to not get sucked into teaming up with one or the other to get the third, but in reality that’s part of the fun of their relationship.

Les and Wren

They started working together three years before coming to Lunaris after teaming up together on a particularly tricky mission. Wren liked the convenience of having what was essentially a battering ram on their side, while Les appreciated knowing there was someone at her back to help out. Although Hunter teams are not common, and are often split up if called for, the two of them fought tooth and nail to be kept together every time they needed to be transferred.

Not only in sync in battle, the two also work well together off the field. Les is much better suited to maneuvering (read: manipulating) the Enforcers to get what they need whereas Wren has been much better at connecting to the Creatures and getting insider information. Although both have their own way of handling civilians, they ultimately have the same goal: to put on a good face for the organization, despite the recent situation.

Alaric Full Name: Gideon Alaric Fehler Age: 31 Height: 6’2”

Alaric came to Lunaris by chance, as a Hunter on a specialty assignment. Although he holds himself proudly there’s always a mischievous glint in his eyes. He’s a sucker for having a laugh and a round of ales in the tavern, as much as he enjoys the sense of accomplishment that comes with seeing a town that fees safe because of the work the Hunters do. As he operates, to some degree, outside of the standard Hunter/Enforcer system he can come off a bit of a loose cannon, but at the end of the day his interest is protecting the people.

Originally from Thiyrus, Alaric was sent to join the Hunters by his mother who dreamed of having her son grow up to be strong and a protector for their homeland. Although she did get her wish, he always carried a hint of resentment at the pain her choice brought him. Despite this, he dedicated all his time and effort to his training and studies: he specialized in Alchemy and Demonology both. In combat training he favored short swords, enjoying the adrenaline rush that came from being in the middle of a fight and dancing around his opponents.

Alaric fell hard and he fell fast for August – as comically “love at first sight” as can be imagined. He was immediately drawn in by their grace, composure, and the raw depth of power he could sense under their skin. Due to the nature of their work, he originally decided not to act on his feelings as he felt a workplace relationship was not the best idea. The longer their task kept him in Eskria, and by extension in Lunaris, the more he found himself wishing to court them. The delight he felt when his interest was immediately (and intensely) returned was palpable, and the two have been nigh inseparable since.

Poppy Full Name: [Redacted] – Also answers to Pippa, Pips, and Pip (only used by Alaric) Age: 24 Height: 5’1” or 5’2”

Poppy is not a Hunter, but a Witch working under the mantle of Enforcer, though their history with the organization can be considered complicated at best. They hold themselves tightly, observing with sharp eyes rather than interacting with the world around them. There’s a sly humor to them if caught at the right moment – they are guilty of playing small tricks just to get a laugh out of a group of children more than once. They are also sharply intolerant of those who would do harm to others out of fear and misunderstanding, leaving them usually opposition with others in their order. Underneath the hard exterior is someone very afraid of being vulnerable – something they spend a lot of time trying to hide.

Protective of their origins, Poppy doesn’t talk much about who they are and where they’re from, not even to those they consider close friends. Although Alaric seems to hold many of their secrets, even he will say he knows almost nothing. They do frequently allude to being from somewhere “far away” and come from a “rather large” family – brothers and sisters of all sorts are mentioned in passing. At some stage they received both magic and combat training: their skill with barriers and forcefields is unmatched and the enchanted blade hanging at their side is not just for show. They are an alchemist on the side, mostly using the skill to brew potions and poultices for their frequently injured Hunter.

As they arrived in Lunaris several months before everything truly went to shit, they were able to catch a glimpse of Finn and Ezra together in their prime. Though instantly intrigued by both of them, Poppy was content to have their relationship stand at “enthusiastic flirting” and nothing more. After Finn’s attempt at distancing and the escalation of Lunaris’ problems, Poppy was unexpectedly caught up in their reunion – quite literally walking in on them shortly after they reconciled. Though it was uncharted territory for them they will grudgingly admit it all worked out in the end, and that they are happier for it.

Alaric and Poppy

Having originally met on a special assignment in Aclea, the two of them complimented each other perfectly as both fighters and scholars. As both of them specialized in locating, identifying, and containing magical phenomena they were quickly organized into a specialist unit. Though this meant they were forced to travel in excess, it gave them both the opportunity they wanted to forge their own roles within their respective organizations.

Being sent to investigate the sudden spike in supernatural events across Eskria, and in Lunaris in particular, this assignment is their first “long-term” arrangement somewhere. It has provided Alaric the opportunity to train and fight beside one of his personal heroes, and has given Poppy the space to experiment with new recipes and spells. Though certainly one of their more challenging assignments, it is proving to be one of the most rewarding as well.

#galleywinter #writing #wtnc game

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fluffy-marshmallow-heart · 5 years

Text

Feeling The Music

Choices Platinum- Shane x MC

Words: 4059

Warnings: Swearing? All my fics have swearing. There's nothing crazy here

Alright so, here is a fic that absolutely nobody asked for and yet here it is! I haven't been overly thrilled with the book Platinum...until this latest chapter where our dear friend Shane became a love interest. I wasn't expecting it, I hadn't flirted with him, and when it came time to shoot the music video, I figured, why not choose Shane? I'm not infatuated with either Avery or Raleigh, so I'll just use my friend. Now, I went into this knowing there would be a kiss involved. (There was an option not to, but I'm thirsty so naturally I did). I was pleasantly surprised at the adorableness of it.

And so, I wrote chapter 6 from Shane's POV, and I dedicate this to my bestie @dancetothestoriesinyoursoul because it is her birthday and she told me about Shane becoming an LI in the first place.

Happy Birthday my wonderful friend!!!!!

Master List

Shane rushed around in the early morning hours, getting his camera equipment ready for an early morning video shoot. He didn’t know what it was, just some music video. He didn’t know the artist, the song…it didn’t matter. He was really enjoying film, and he picks up whatever work he can, wherever he can. He’d heard David Winton, a distinguished filmmaker, was in charge of production. He’s known for everything from arthouse films to vinyl-award winning music videos. He’s hoping to introduce himself at some point in the day, he just needs it to be the right moment.

Walking into the studio, he began to set things up with the rest of the crew, listening to the stage buzzing with life. The music video will be called Knockout, and it’s about getting back on your feet and rising up in spite of obstacles. Suddenly he hears his name being shouted from across the room.

“SHANE????”

His mouth drops as he took in the sight of the star…none other than his best friend forever, Cadence Dorian. She was hardly recognizable, wearing jean shorts, an emerald green top, and a see-through black shirt with flowers. Her hair was purple and tied into two knots on top of her head, along with a purple bandanna. She looked nothing like his girl next door.

“Whoa, Cadence?”

She sprints forward and gives him a way overdue hug. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I signed up as a camera assistant for a music video shoot, but they didn’t tell me it would be your video” He exclaimed.

“That’s amazing! I hope we get to spend a lot of time together…We have so much to catch up on! I’ve barely seen you.” She squealed in delight.

Shane just grinned, not even knowing what to say. Her excitement of seeing him was blowing him away. She’s always happy to see me but…this is a whole new level. What is going on? Why are her eyes sparkling that way?

“A-hem. We must get started.”

Cadence eyes widened. “Right! Of course, sorry. Shane, I’ll catch you later!”

“Go kill it!” He called after her, as she sprinted back across the set, straight to…Shane gulped. David Winton.

David Winton. She’s talking to THE David Winton!!?? Of course she is, she’s the star, of course, that makes sense.

Shane continued helping the rest of the crew set up. He kept glancing over at Cadence as she spoke animatedly with several people. He inched closer to hear the conversation.

“The backdrop should be a tropical each” She was saying. Shane smiled to himself. She’s always loved the beach. She’d always said that one day, she’d make music on the beach, and now here she was, making it happen.

David steepled his fingers together. “An excellent choice, young Cadence, I see it now…The beach as liminal space. The serene ocean waters…and the chaos that lies beneath! Now, I have one last question. Given that this short film is to be a romance…”

Shane dropped his tool with a clatter but luckily no one seemed to notice. A romance? She’s shooting a romance? But I thought this was about getting back up after falling and…

“Shane? Come over here a minute!”

His eyes snapped back up as Cadence waved him over, both David Winton and another woman staring at him blankly.

As Cadence explains to him the situation, he could feel himself becoming nervous. Me? She wants me to be in the video? Why not Raleigh? Why not Avery? Or anyone recognizable? I’m no one.

“Chemistry is difficult to fake.” David explained. “The two of you are best friends? The chemistry is already there! I can see it now! Two young lovers finally realizing the true potential of their relationship! Feelings that have been hidden so deep down, they didn’t even know they existed!”

Shane gapes at him a moment. “Wait. Are you sure? But I…I’m not an actor. I’m strictly a behind the cameras person.”

Cadence grabbed both of his hands in hers. “Look, Shane…I’ve known you forever. I’m terrified of doing this, and I just need…I need you up there with me. Okay?”

Shane’s heart was pounding. When I woke up this morning, I was not expecting anything like this to happen.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. He’s a nobody!” The woman exclaimed.

Cadence turned and glared at her. “He’s not a nobody to me. This is my best friend.” She grabbed his arm and led him off to the side, speaking in a whisper. “Besides, Shane, you love Dave Winton. This is your chance to get noticed!”

Shane found himself agreeing readily. She squealed again, wrapping him in a giant hug, and he was overcome with her presence. It had only been a month, but it felt like they’d been apart for ages. Did she always smell this good? Was her skin always this soft? Has she always fit so perfectly in my arms?

He pulled back. “All right. So I’ll, uh…head along to hair and makeup then!” He gave a wide smile. He was nervous, but extremely excited. This could be his big break. His film idol is going to be directing him all day. This is insane!! Thank you, Cadence!!

To his great relief, he was mainly left with his regular image, and in no time he was back on set. For a few minutes, David goes over staging for the scene, and they rehearse the scene together as Cadence mouths along to the recording.

Shane was in awe of her. He always knew that she’d make it big. He’d missed her big One In A Million win, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to miss this. He was so grateful she chose him to star with her. It will be a memory for the ages.

“So you see? Your love interest is your lifeline in the story, when everything else has you down. Together, you triumph over the forces that landed you on this metaphorical desert island of the soul.”

“Got it! I think.” Cadence caught Shane’s eye and they burst into a fit of giggles. Starting again, Shane couldn’t keep his hands off her…per David’s direction, of course.

No other reason! David Winton wants us close, so we’re close. And she’s my best friend so we’ve touched lots of times…not like that but…we have…ah crap! He could feel himself blushing more and more, every time she danced around him, grabbing his hand, placing it on her waist, teasing him mercilessly with fuck me eyes and flirty moves. He was captivated. This was a whole new Cadence.

Confident. Sexy. Funny. Gorgeous.

“You okay?” She whispered loudly as he spun her around, her back pressed against his chest, looking into his eyes while still swaying her hips.

“Just hot!” He nodded vigorously. She rose an eyebrow but didn’t ask anything else, to his great relief. Suddenly she was grinding on him, and he felt his dick twitch.

Fuck!!

He spun her out quickly, as though it was all part of the scene, hoping she was none the wiser.

Some time later…

David Winton clapped his hands together. “All right, everybody, take five! Imbibe nourishment and fresh air. Consider your character’s ethos.”

Cadence sprints to the craft services table, where Shane joins her.

“Wow, this is amazing! I’m learning so much! Thanks, Cadence. I don’t know why I was ever nervous about playing your love interest. This was so worth it.” I’m just going to forget any type of weird feelings I may have had up there. We’re professionals right now, that’s it. She’s in character. I’m in character. Totally it.

“Aww, Shane. I’m glad we get to help each other out today.” She smiled at him, and he smiled right back.

“Alright! That was five! Places everyone! Let’s get back to it.” David announced.

Cadence laughed. “Ready? We’re probably almost done. I think. I hope.”

Together they walk back to the stage. Cadence grabs the prop for the scene in preparation, a fake glass of tequila sunrise. Then she picks up a guitar that Shane’s never seen before…except for when she performed on One In A Million. He’d just assumed it was part of that show. But now she’s carrying it around like she owns it.

I wonder what the deal is with that. How did she get such a fancy guitar so fast? The Cadence I know wouldn’t have given up her old faithful so quickly…

Then he realized David Winton was talking again. “Now, see, something’s been missing from those first fifty-two takes, and I’ve finally identified what it is. This is a love song, and yet the love simply isn’t palpable.”

“What do you mean? How are we supposed to make the love…palp?” Cadence asked, sounding confused.

“Well, when one person loves another, traditionally, how do they express it?”

Oh no. “Is he…is he talking about…”

“Kissing! Kissing, you fools!

Hold up. “Wait. You...you want us to…”

“Yes.” He interrupted. “Would you be amenable, then? To a brief kiss in the scene?”

Holy crap. This is not happening. There’s no way I can kiss her! No possible way! And I know she feels like that too…

“I think…we should kiss onscreen.” Cadence said slowly, before looking at Shane in surprise, as if she couldn’t believe she’d just said that out loud. “If it’s alright with you, of course!” She finished a little too loudly.

Oh crap. “Oh! Yes, of course! I mean, as long as you’re comfortable with it!” Oh my god, am I that loud too?

She flashed him a killer smile. “I am.”

Really? She…is? It’s not going to make things weird? I hope it doesn’t make things weird. She’s like my sister.

David lit up. “Wonderful! Lights! Camera! Surrealism!”

Cadence lip syncs again, and as she sings the last line of the song, she sets her instrument aside and turns to Shane. He takes a deep breath. She’s been his best friend since they were four. He rests a hand on her waist, leans in close, and whispers in her ear.

“Are we actually doing this? Are we really, actually doing this?”

We can still do something else.

She whispers back. “We are. We are really, actually doing this.”

She leans in and their lips gently connect. Oh my god, I’m kissing Cadence. On the mouth. And she’s kissing me. And she’s good at it. Fuck me, her lips are so soft, so sweet, I need…oh god, I need to taste her.

He removes one of his hands from her waist and cups her face in it, while moving the other hand to the small of her back, pressing her flush against him, and parting her lips with his own and sweeping his tongue inside. She moaned lightly, and all sorts of images flashed in his mind. Images of her. Moaning. Screaming. Writhing in pleasure beneath him. On top of him. Everywhere.

“CUT! Brilliant! We’ve got it! We have created a piece de resistance that will outlive and outlast us!”

Shane freezes, feeling Cadence doing the same as David’s voice boomed. They quickly break apart as the crew begins to break down the set.

Shane rubs the back of his neck nervously. “So. Um.”

“Yeah. Um.” She stammered.

They stared at each other a moment before he finally clears his throat. “I’m gonna go and…uh…”

“Right. Yeah. Totally.” She agrees, a strange look still on her face.

Shane shrinks into himself and slips off into the crowd of crew members, his thoughts running wild.

Was that a real kiss or was that a stage kiss? That felt real. It felt…very real. Shit, I just kissed Cadence. Cadence. I’ve seen her eating play-doh, what the hell is the matter with me? I shouldn’t have been in the video. I should have said no. I should’ve stayed behind the cameras.

Leaving the building, his thoughts turned to the way the he pressed her tight against him, the way he demanded more from her, needed more of her. He could still hear and feel her moaning into his mouth.

Shane sees her exit the building and sign autographs. Before he could stop himself, he approached her.

“Oh, hey! What are you doing out here?”

“I’m just waiting for my ride. What about you?” She asked.

“Also waiting for my ride.” He paused a moment before continuing. “So, um, listen, about that kiss…I just wanted to say I’m really sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, or if…”

“No, not at all!” She responded, Looking surprised. “Not uncomfortable. In fact, I’m sorry of I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, you didn’t! Not at all! So, we’re agreed. We’re cool with the kiss, and things are not awkward at all.” He rambled.

She grinned. “Exactly! Great! Can I just say that I’m really glad you’re with me in this world? I feel like so many of these people have forgotten what it’s like to be…normal.”

His expression soured “Yeah. Tell me about it. One guy on the crew offered to read my aura for $599.99.”

Then an idea occurred to him. “If you want to get away from all of this just for a little while, me and my roommates are throwing a party back in our loft in NoHo.”

Her face lit up, the face he was so familiar with, no longer masked by makeup and wigs. “That sounds amazing. I still haven’t seen your dorm!”

He watched as the light then vanished from her eyes. “But I’m worried about getting recognized. It’s starting to get more common.”

Man, she looks so sad. That’s it. She needs to come. “I mean, we could throw together a disguise for you. I bet your stylist has a lot of looks and wigs leftover from the music video shoot.”

Her green eyes brightened again. “Wow, getting to dress up as someone else and pretend to be normal again sounds really fun.”

He slapped her fondly on her back. “And, man, we’d finally get to catch up! I feel like it’s been forever. I miss you!”

“I miss you, too!” She launched herself into his arms, and he held her tightly, wondering what was going on with her. He was kicking himself for not keeping in touch like he should.

Why haven’t I been? I know I’m busy but…wow, that’s a really lame excuse. And damn, she’s so soft and warm.

They go back inside and rummage back through the set until she finds a disguise. He averts his eyes as she changes.

“Okay. I’m ready. What do you think?”

He looked back at her and his breath caught in his throat. Now she had hot pink hair, a black one shoulder crop top, extremely short denim shorts, a black belt, layered necklaces…and her glasses.

It took him a moment to find his voice again. “Damn, Cadence, you look great! Loving the hair. Is this your version of a Sasha Fierce alter ego?”

She let out a loud laugh. “Thanks, Shane. Man, I haven’t been to a college house party since that dead week trip we did when we were seniors. Do grad students go hard?”

He shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

After a quick subway ride, they glide through the doors of Shane’s dorm, the party already in full swing. Dozens of students fill the space, music blasts in the speakers, and red cups clutter the ping pong table.

He leads them to the drink station and mixes them each a hard drink before turning back to her. “So, what do you think? Is this as cool as Propaganda?”

“Oh, much cooler. I feel like I’m right back I my element. Come on, let’s talk about what’s going on with you.”

They find a quiet corner of the dorm and sip on their drinks while watching the party.

“So do you guys host parties here a lot?” She asks.

“Here and there. But I spend so much time in class or trying to get work experience. And then when I do have free time I use it for…you know. Sleeping. Eating.” He admitted sheepishly.

She bumped his shoulder with her own. “Aww, Shane. One month into grad school and already working yourself to the bone.”

He scoffed. “I mean, I’m having the time of my life! The people are amazing,”

“Isn’t it hard, though? Balancing everything?”

He nodded. “It’s hard, but it’s a good kind of hard. When you really care about someone…”

Wait, what?? “I mean, something…even when it’s hard, it still feels good. It still feels rewarding.”

Cadence was gaping at him. “Wait…Someone? Shane, oh my god, have you met someone already? Tell me, tell me!”

She’s…excited? But…really? It’s only been a month…

He shook his head. “Um, no, I just…I misspoke. Let’s get another drink!” He stood abruptly and led her back to the fridge for another round of drinks, when suddenly…he grabs her arm excitedly. “Oh my god, Cadence, they’re playing your song from the One In a Million finale!”

“No way!” She gasps, as students around them sing along, arm in arm, raising their cups.

“This is my new favorite song!”

“Right? I think it was the best performance on One in a Mil, maybe ever.”

“You hearing this, Cadence?” He looks over at her shocked face, pride and warmth swelling throughout him.

“Wow, I can’t believe it! It feels amazing to hear about it while being anonymous!” Her eyes were wide and almost…glistening?

What the hell? “Then I’m sure you needed the break.”

All around them, the party breaks out into people dancing to her song.

She whirls on him. “May I have this dance?” Putting out an overly formal accent, she places her hand out for Shane to take.

He looks at it in surprise. “Really? I mean, I know I’m not the best dancer, but…”

“Come on, Shane. You tore up the floor at our senior prom. Not to mention you just danced in a music video. Trust me. You’ve got moves.”

He felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “Then…Of course, m’lady.”

Shane gives her what he’s sure is this shy, stupidly cute grin, and he puts his hands on her waist and…he pulls her close to him. So close. He can smell her light scent of amber and…oh no. I’m feeling…feelings. I’m feeling all kinds of feelings. Get a grip, man! What is wrong with you?! This is Cadence! You’re best friend! The girl next door! You used to bet which color play-doh tasted best!

But he can’t stop. He can’t back away. Instead, he leans forward, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m so glad you’re finally here, Cadence. I’ve missed you so much.” He murmured quietly.

“Yeah? I’ve missed you too, Shane…” She whispered.

They’re close. They’re really close, her lips are a breath away, and the thoughts erupt in his head again. Thoughts of kissing her. He doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to admit that a single kiss may have changed things for them. For him.

As the song comes to a close she spoke again. “Man, who would’ve thought we’d be dancing to my song one day.”

His brown eyes met her green ones. “I did. I’ve always believed you could do it, Cadence.” He watched a blush cross her features this time, and he brushed a strand of pink hair out of her face. “Come on.” He takes her hand and they climb onto the fire escape together.

She lets out a low whistle, taking in the view. “Okay. NoHo, you win.”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “I bet the apartment the label put you up in isn’t too shabby, right?”

“It’s amazing. I just wish our neighborhoods were a bit closer. This city’s so sprawling.” She frowned, and he took her chin with his fingers and made her look at him again before letting go.

“Hey, where there’s a will, there’s a way. We’ve gotten into too much trouble to break the tradition now.”

“Yeah, we got away with so much nonsense when we were kids. Do you remember that time we got married in front of our teddy bears?”

“Oh, my god, yes!” He gasped. “Mr. Fuddlewuddle was the pastor!”

“And Barbie was my maid of honor! So kind of her to be in our wedding party. Even though we beheaded her and amputated her plastic limbs…” She smirked at him.

“Poor Barbie. Suffering in the name of science.” He agreed.

“You know, I hate to break it to you, Shane, but I don’t think the ceremony was legally binding. I mean. Unless Mr. Fuddlewuddle went out and got ordained without us knowing.”

He shrugged with a smile. “Regardless, the reception was great. Orange Kool-Aid. Oreos. Mac and Cheese with little cut-up hot dogs, courtesy of your dad.”

“Oh, yes. We were party planners extraordinaire. Oh! And do you remember when we had to raise an egg as our child?”

He burst out laughing. “Yes! Our little John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt!”

“Can’t believe we were advanced enough to give our egg a hyphenated last name.” She joked.

“And we made it the whole week without putting one single crack in that little guy!”

Cadence grimaced. “He really reeked by the end of the assignment, though. And then we rode our bikes out to the overpass just to drop him on some unsuspecting vehicle.”

“Man, it was so hot out too. We watched our son fry to death, right there on the car’s sunroof.”

“Okay, but we were really good parents up until we threw him into traffic.” She stopped speaking a moment before starting again. “I had an awesome time tonight, Shane. We need to do this again sometime.”

Shane slid his eyes over to her. “Yeah, for sure. I know you’re super busy all the time, but…”

“But I’ll make time for you. I’ll always make time for you.” She answered softly. Standing looking out over the city, she rests her head on Shane’s shoulder. He puts a warm, comforting arm around her, and they watch the cars go by.

“Shane…” Cadence tilts her head up to gaze into his eyes, their faces only inches apart.

Oh god…Should I kiss her again? This feels like a moment…

“Cadence…About that kiss, at the shoot…” He started, before a sudden crash sounded from inside and the music cut short.

“Ooooow!” Someone groaned.

Shane looks inside. “Oh, shoot! Looks like a keg stand gone bad. I better go handle that.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I should head back anyway. I have an early morning studio session tomorrow.” She gives him one last hug before Shane goes back inside to handle the situation, watching quietly as she slips out the door.

The following morning, someone’s banging on his bedroom door. “Yo Shane! Get up, man, you’re famous!”

He groaned into his pillow. After Cadence left he’d pounded the liquor, trying to forget that one kiss had brought him to his knees. His head was throbbing. He reached over and grabbed his phone, disappointed that she didn’t let him know when she arrived home. There was, however, a link from one of his friends. Opening it, he gasped, sitting straight up. Her music video already has hit one million views. He watched himself dance around with his best friend, noticing how wide his smile was, seeing how much fun they were having together. But then he watched the kiss. He saw it transform, right before his very own eyes. One second he was hesitant, while in the next it became one of the best kisses he’s ever witnessed. He pressed pause.

And I’m a film student. I’m a camera man. I’ve seen a lot of kisses. That…that looks real. That looks intimate. That looks…

He sighed, laying back down and looking at the screen, which he’d managed to pause at the exact moment they were breaking apart, their lips still hovering close, eyes still closed, his hand in her hair. He scrubbed his hand down his face.

I need to know. I need to know if there’s real merit to these feelings. I need to know if she felt anything at all. I need to kiss her again…no. I want to kiss her again. Damn it, Cadence. What the hell are we doing?

@annekebbphotography @gardeningourmet @zigortega4life @eileendannie @thequeenofcronuts @drakewalkerfantasy @friedherringclodthing @coffeebeandragon @drakewalker04 @jlpplays1 @desiree-0816

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@dancetothestoriesinyoursoul

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feelingfredly · 5 years

Text

Tea for Three?

Part 3 of the Better Living Through Chemistry series

Grimmjow was a surprisingly good companion—Ichigo refused to call him a date, no matter what Nelliel said—the only problem was his enthusiasm.

And his ego.

Oh, and don’t forget the fact that he constantly forgot they were surrounded by humans.

Okay, he was a horrible date, but it was still good to not be the only one in the audience looking at the kickboxing “experts” and thinking they’d last about a minute and a half in a real fight.

“Sit down, you idiot,” Ichigo hissed, for what seemed like the fiftieth time. “I told you, they don’t take challengers. Anyway, you’re in a fucking gigai. What makes you think you could take them anyway?”

Grimmjow growled and dropped back onto the bench. “I could take that asshole in the black with my teeth. I can smell his fear from here.” He pulled his lips back in a feral grin and Ichigo had to admit, they were impressive teeth for a gigai. Kisuke’d even let him keep the almost-fangs. “Everything he does is for show and then he runs away where the other guy can’t hit him. Fucking coward.”

Ichigo made a noise that could have been agreement. “The guy in white has great range, though. I thought he was going to pull the guy over completely when he grabbed that last kick. Good leverage.”

Grimmjow grunted. “Should’ve just broken his ankle. Gloves are for weaklings.”

Ichigo didn’t argue.

They sat like that, alternating between hunched forward staring intently and throwing themselves back in their seats in frustration as the fights went on, until neither of them could stand it anymore.

“Race you to the training grounds at the shōten.”

The almost-fangs shone in a blood-thirsty answer. “Thought you’d never ask.”

***

They trash talked as they raced through the streets of Karakura and Ichigo had to fight Zangetsu down more than once, his inner hollow feeding on the aggression.

“Aw, is the Baby Hollow giving you a hard time, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow laughed at the glimmer of gold that Ichigo knew was edging the brown of his eyes.

“Fuck you, Grimm,” he said, tripping the taller man as they turned the last corner before the straightaway towards the shōten. “Zan would wipe the floor with you, gigai or not.”

He could hear the crazy laugh in his inner world and growled internally. Don’t get any ideas. Grimm is MY fight.

Zangetsu giggled again. Sure, King. Fight. Right. Say it a little louder and maybe you’ll believe that’s all he is.

Ichigo frowned and ignored the taunt. Zan had jabbed at him more than once about the time he spent with Grimmjow, whether they were arguing or sparring or trying to sort out what exactly was going to happen now that Aizen wasn’t running Hueco Mundo. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the white bastard was jealous. And Kisuke was no help. He just smiled and said that it made sense for Zan to want to prove his dominance over the nearest hollow, and if Ichigo was going to continue spending time with Grimmjow, he should either get used to his inner world being a constant snarkfest, or give in and let Zan have it out with Grimm once and for all.

That sounded like a recipe for disaster of absolutely Kisuke proportions.

“Cheating bastard.” Grimmjow laughed and scrambled to his feet so fast it was as if he’d never lost his balance. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Kurosaki.”

“You have no idea what I have in me,” Ichigo said, throwing himself forward at full speed. Even in his human form he could feel his reiatsu humming along his skin, and he couldn’t wait to hit the training ground to beat Grimmjow and Zangetsu both back into line.

They hit the door of the shōten at almost the same time, but Ichigo had the edge of familiarity and he had the door in his hand before Grimmjow could grab it. “Beat you, Grimm.”

Grimmjow snorted and leaned against the wall, the only sign of their hell-for-leather race being his breathing a little more heavily than usual. “What was that? You wanted to use all that practice you’ve gotten beating off, eh, Kurosaki? Why didn’t you just say so? Didn’t have to…”

“Shut it, asshole,” Ichigo slammed the door, just missing Grimmjow’s foot, “save it for downstairs.”

Just then Kisuke wandered out of his lab, hair mussed like he’d been running his fingers through it. “Grimmjow-san! Ichigo-kun! Welcome back! I didn’t expect to see you so early. I take it the kickboxing tournament failed to hold your attentions?”

Grimmjow pushed off the wall and sauntered across the room. “Tournament? Bunch of losers you mean. One adjuchas could’ve kicked all ten of their asses, and then eaten the damn trophy at the end. Right, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo hated to agree with him, but he wasn’t wrong.

“Yeah. It was a little frustrating, honestly. Too much padding. Too many rules. Made us want a real fight. I thought we’d use the training ground and burn off some steam before Grimm headed back to Hueco Mundo.”

Kisuke looked from one to the other and then shook his head a little apologetically. “Oh, but Ichigo-kun, don’t you remember? The experiment I’ve been working on is finally ready, and you promised to help me test it this evening. I’d say that it could wait, but unfortunately the compounds in this batch are quite volatile.”

Ichigo groaned. Right now, the last thing he wanted was to do another one of Kisuke’s tea drugging experiments, but he couldn’t back out. Kisuke’d been working on this one for three weeks.

“I’d totally forgotten. Crap. Sorry Grimm, but I’m going to have to take a raincheck on the fight.”

Grimmjow wasn’t having it. “What the fuck is so important that it can’t wait until I’ve kicked your ass around a little? We weren’t even going to be back for another hour, and it won’t take me that long to beat you into a bloody pulp. Then the mad scientist over here can use what’s left for his experiments. Win/win. Everybody’s happy.”

Zangetsu hissed in the corner of his brain. Let me kick his big blue ass, King. I’ll take him apart until he’s nothing but little pieces that Kisuke can let Benihime practice sewing on. Fucking prick. All talk. Let’s fuck him up so badly that you’ll have to throw him through the garganta back to Hueco Mundo.

Ichigo knew from the look on Kisuke’s face that Zan had taken enough of a hold on him that his eyes were bleeding to gold. Fuck, this wasn’t what he’d planned for this evening.

“Grimmjow-san, I am sorry to say that the bloody pulp would not be sufficient for my experiments,” Kisuke gave a little bow, “although I appreciate your willingness to adapt your plans to suit mine. For this experiment, though, I need Ichigo-kun at his strongest. He will have to be to deal with the effects of the tea.”

A blue eyebrow rose. “Tea?” The disbelief was palpable. “Is this one of those tea drugging things Kurosaki was whining about a couple weeks ago? I mean what? You made him throw up for a couple hours. Surely that isn’t something that he’d have to be in top form. Or are you going to actually poison him for real this time?”

Ichigo shoved him. Hard. The bastard barely moved, though, and that just pissed him off more. “If Kisuke says I have to be in top form, then I have to be in top form. You’re just lucky you’re not the one getting dosed. You’d probably be crying in a corner like a kitten when it was over. Asshole.”

Grimmjow stepped into him, forcing him to look up to meet his eyes. “Anything you can take, Kurosaki, I can take twice over. Fucking drugged tea. Give me a break. He’s probably going to dose you with a sleeping pill so he can finally have a quiet night without listening to you whine.”

Kisuke stepped forward. “Boys, boys, calm down.” He raised his hands placatingly. “I’d really rather not have to close the shop because you two ripped the displays apart. Again.”

The two of them separated looking a little sheepish. Well, Ichigo looked sheepish. Grimmjow just looked pissed.

“Grimmjow-san, coincidentally enough, you might find the experiment interesting after all. It was, in fact, designed to interact with Zangetsu-san, so it should, in fact, affect you as well.”

Broad shoulders rolled back at the challenge couched in Kisuke’s voice. “If the white punk could take it, then I can.”

Gray eyes turned to Ichigo and a blond brow rose in silent query. The penny dropped, and Ichigo remembered what Kisuke had told him about this particular experiment.

Hollows, no matter how evolved, whether they’re like Zangetsu-san or the Arrancar, are more driven by instinct than humans or Shinigami or Quincies. At the bottom of every interaction you will find one of the major impetuses—fight, flight, or, to be blunt, fuck. Most of them revert to flight. The stronger ones fight. Very few fuck. What if we could find a formula that would change that? It would be much easier to kill a hollow that’s trying to chase an orgasm than one that’s trying to kill you, ne?

At the time it had sounded impossible and insane, but honestly many of Kisuke’s best/worst ideas started that way. And now… he’d done it. Or he’d gotten close enough that he wanted to try it on Zan and he didn’t think it would do any lasting damage if it didn’t work.

Zan’s wild laughter had quieted, but the anger still simmered deep inside and Ichigo wondered what the hollow would be like if he was just horny instead of murderous all the time.

What would Grimmjow be like?

That was what Kisuke was asking, wasn’t it? Did Ichigo want to include Grimm in this mad trial? What would the brutal attention he brought to his fights be like if it was turned into sex? Did Ichigo want to bring that into their lives? Into their bedroom?

“Two test cases are always better data sources than one, Ichigo-kun.” A sly smirk spread across Kisuke’s face and Ichigo could feel a flush begin to crawl up his neck and across his cheekbones as his jeans became just a little tighter.

“Fuck it. Bring on the tea, Kisuke,” he said, flinging himself onto the cushions by the low table in the lounge. “First one to cry uncle loses.”

***

“Now, Grimmjow-san,” Kisuke had brewed two cups of his best matcha and set them in front of Ichigo along with two glass vials filled with dark amber liquid, “normally I wouldn’t inform you of the expected effects of one of my experiments due to the possibility that foreknowledge would skew your reactions, but because you are coming into this totally blind I find myself in a quandry. Most people would tell you I have no morals to speak of, and they’re typically correct, but I cannot in good faith let you take part in this without your understanding and consent.”

Grimmjow was shifting on his cushion clearly wanting to get to the next stage of the action, whatever that action was, but Ichigo couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that Kisuke was at least trying not to take advantage of the big idiot.

“Yeah, yeah, so what’s this going to do? Make me howl at the moon? I already do that sometimes, you know. Roar, not howl, but it’s pretty close.” He grinned, and Ichigo could just imagine him on the dunes of Hueco Mundo roaring into the night, all the other hollows running in fear from the sound.

“Yes, it isn’t quite that simple, Grimmjow-san.” Kisuke knelt in a graceful seiza and reached for one of the vials. “If I asked you what drives you, what would you say?”

It only took a second for him to answer. “The fight. Being the one that’s still standing. That’s what it all comes down to.”

“This,” Kisuke waggled the vial, “will change that. You’ll still have a drive, and it’ll ride you as hard as your desire to fight, but it won’t be the same. You may want to run—to flee from whatever you see as danger. You may want to fuck your way through it, to survive and thrive by spreading your seed as far and wide as you can. I don’t know. All I know is that while you’re under the effects of the formula, you *should* react differently than you normally do.”

Grimmjow made a sound in his throat like he had a hairball. “Flee my ass. I’ve never run from anything in my life and no fucking formula is going to change that. Fucking? I don’t care about that, but who’m I going to fuck? You? The Berry over here? If you’re saying I’m going to sit around with blue-er balls than usual, I’m going to reconsider this whole thing.”

Kisuke didn’t say anything, but Ichigo couldn’t help but shift his weight slightly and Grimmjow’s eyes widened a fraction when they landed on him. His face was red, he knew, but he wasn’t going to be the one to back out of this.

“Well, well, well,” Grimmjow said, his voice dropping a little lower, his eyes moving from blond to redhead and back again, “not the wrestling match I expected, but I’m game. Any other side-effects you want to mention before we get this show started?”

Kisuke shook his head and shifted until he could lounge more comfortably. “Well, there are always unforeseen side effects, but they should be minimal.”

Grimmjow looked back and forth between them once more and then took the vial and downed it before raising his cup of tea in a salute. “Good enough. If I end up bald or with an extra leg, I’ll just kill you tomorrow.”

“Fair enough,” Kisuke laughed and removed his hat back in a show of rare openness. “If that happens, you are more than welcome to try.”

Ichigo reached for his matcha and the other vial. “You’re lucky you’re not getting the pink spotted camouflage tea, Grimm. I should’ve gotten a medal for that one.” He slugged back his dose and made a face. It tasted terrible. Again.

“Pink spotted camouflage?” Grimmjow’s voice cracked and Ichigo thought he looked a little panicked at the idea. “What the actual fuck?”

“I don’t know, Grimm,” he said and settled back to sip his tea. “It’s Kisuke. What can you expect?”

***

Zangetsu was quiet, and it was making Ichigo nervous.

“Kisuke?” He looked across the table at the blond and sighed. They’d shifted from tea to sake, but he was still not feeling anything but a little warm around the edges. “I don’t think this is working. How certain are you about the formula’s projected outcome?”

Kisuke took a sip from his cup and very pointedly did not look at Grimmjow. “Oh, fairly certain, Ichigo-kun. I expect that you’ll be noticing something shortly.”

The Arrancar growled and sucked in a shaky sounding breath. “Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee that if the bleached bastard isn’t making noise in that noggin of yours, it isn’t because he isn’t feeling it.”

Ichigo couldn’t stop his smirk. “Does that mean you’re feeling something Grimm? Still want to see what Pantera looks like with a high-gloss coat of blood, or have you lost your taste for it?”

Grimmjow’s eyes narrowed and Ichigo could see his throat move in a convulsive swallow. “Not sure you want to tease, Kurosaki,” his voice sounded like it was being dragged across broken glass, “I may want to swing something other than a sword right now, but you covered in blood wouldn’t be a deal breaker.”

Ichigo’s throat worked on its own swallow at that.

Fuck yeah, Zan finally pushed through and Ichigo felt his breath catch at the overwhelming wave of awareness that came with him. Hold him down and lick him open. Stab his pretty hole with my tongue, stab him with my cock. Make him beg. Make him cry. Make him come all over himself. Pull his hair and fuck his mouth and stripe that face with come until he smells like me, tastes like me, aches for me… fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Ichigo must’ve made a noise because suddenly Kisuke’s eyes were focused on him, measuring. “Ichigo-kun? Everything okay?”

He was too far away. Ichigo couldn’t feel him. Couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin. Couldn’t smell the ink and sandalwood and sword oil that meant Kisuke.

“Finally hit ya, huh?” Grimmjow asked, tossing back the dregs of sake in his cup. “Wondered how long I’d have to wait.”

Ichigo turned to face the Arrancar and could see the wildness flickering in the depths of his gaze. His face burned because he knew what Zan was saying. What he was thinking.

“Kisuke?” He pried his gaze away from Grimmjow long enough to ask, “You still have the wards up on the bedroom?”

The blond was already half-way to his feet as he answered, “Yes.”

“Good,” he said, holding on to his control by a thread. “It’s time to move.” He bared his teeth and lunged at Grimmjow with a growl, sinking his teeth into the long tendon there that had been tempting him for longer than he wanted to admit. “Now.”

***

The futon was barely big enough for the three of them.

Kisuke had hesitated, standing to one side while his measured gaze following Ichigo and Grimmjow as they’d all but attacked each other, but Grimmjow stopped and reached out, his long fingers twisting in the front of his samue, pulling him inexorably closer.

“You don’t get off that easily,” he laughed, dark and suggestive, “or maybe you will, I don’t know. What does it take to get a mad scientist off, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo pried himself away from Grimmjow’s neck long enough to answer. “He likes it all, Grimm, but if you want to knock his geta off, rubbing his prostate while you’re sucking his cock as deep as possible usually works for me.”

Kisuke visibly shuddered at the words and Grimmjow and Ichigo shared a grin. “Can’t say I blame him. Nothing like a good face-fucking to get things started.”

Another time Ichigo might have snarked about how quickly Grimm went to his knees, but watching him strip Kisuke so efficiently, pulling his cock out and licking a strip from crown to balls and back again, drove everything from his head except, “Fuck, yeah. Just like that. Holy shit that looks amazing.”

Kisuke groaned along with him as he grabbed two handfuls of blue hair, jerking his hips forward just as Grimmjow wrapped his lips around him, the glistening tip of his prick disappearing and then reappearing with a lewdly wet pop. “It feels amazing as well, Ichigo-kun.” He pulled back and angled himself so that his next thrust slid his length along Grimmjow’s jaw, smooth in a gigai, but they were all thinking about the sharp edges of the bone mask that should’ve been there. Instead, there was a trail of pre-come tracing his jawline that made Ichigo itch to kiss it and taste the combination of slick and skin.

Kisuke reached down and stuck a thumb in the side of Grimmjow’s mouth, “I can’t wait to ruin this pretty mouth,” he said, pumping his cock in alongside it, the tips of his fingers pressing against the hinge of Grimmjow’s jaw holding it open as he fucked into it, “fill your mouth until you can’t breathe. Let those blue eyes beg enough and maybe I’ll let you.”

The tone, threatening enough that normally Grimmjow would be raring to strike out at anyone who dared to talk to him that way, was clearly pressing different buttons. His eyes fluttered closed and his tongue lolled out beneath Kisuke’s cock, drool leaking from the corners of his mouth.

Ichigo watched the scene unfold, Zan howling in the dark corners of his mind as he watched the two men, deadly and beautiful, and all he could hear was the drumbeat of mine, mine, mine, drowning out every other thought.

Grimmjow had worn regular human clothes for the tournament and the tight black trousers clearly showed the outline of his hard-on, huge and heavy, pressing against his zipper. Ichigo sucked a breath in through his mouth, the musk of Kisuke’s arousal and the heady scent of Grimmjow going straight to his head, and he knew had to see it, to touch it, to taste it.

“Shift your leg, Grimm,” he said, trying to pull the fabric down and out of the way without tangling Grimmjow’s legs up painfully. Finally he managed, and his mouth literally watered when he got his first glimpse of the Arrancar’s cock. A hot spurt of pre-come squirted out of his own, and he pressed a hand into it to try to minimize the wave of sensations that swamped him.

“Like what you’ve uncovered, Ichigo-kun?” Kisuke managed to sound mostly unmoved, but Ichigo could hear the hint of breathiness that was the first sign of his loss of control. He and Grimm may have been the ones dosed, but none of them were getting out of this unscathed. “He has an impressive cock, doesn’t he? I can’t wait to see it disappearing into your slick, stretched hole. Zangetsu-san will hate that, watching you allow another hollow to ride you, to fuck you…”

He swallowed the last word on a strangled groan as Grimmjow took him deep into his throat, and Ichigo could just imagine what that tight ring of muscle felt like, wrapped so tightly around him that it stroked him with every millimeter he moved.

The redhead couldn’t wait anymore. He stood and shucked his clothing, not caring where it landed, and he wrapped his hand around his own length, pumping it in counterpoint to Grimmjow’s movements. The blond watched him, eyes hooded, and Ichigo could see the wheels within wheels moving in his head.

“You should take care of our guest,” the words were mild, but they triggered a wave of hunger that consumed him, the idea of touching Grimmjow’s muscular ass suddenly becoming the most important thing ever.

“Fuck, Kisuke,” he said, breath stuttering on the upstroke, “yes. Yes.”

He stumbled over Grimmjow’s legs where he was kneeling on the futon and grabbed the pot of slick from the bedside table, somehow managing to open it without spilling it everywhere.

Grimmjow was working up and down Kisuke’s cock like it was the only thing in the world, his chin dripping with saliva and pre-come, until Ichigo’s weight fell against him. He pulled off with a wet pop and glared.

“Watch it, Ichigo,” he said, hoarse from the fucking Kisuke’d given his throat, and Ichigo felt a shudder ripple through him both at the sound of Grimm’s broken voice and the sound of his name being said with it.

“I am watching it,” he said, hiding behind a little of his standard bravado, “and if I can say so, it’s well worth watching.”

He ogled Grimmjow’s ass and waggled his eyebrows until both the big Arrancar and Kisuke let out rough laughs.

“Watching isn’t going to cut it tonight,” Grimmjow arched his back a little and spread his knees, balls hanging heavy between his thighs and Ichigo just wanted… everything.

“Want to fuck you, Grimm,” he said as he ran a sword-calloused finger down the graceful line of the other man’s spine, “Zan’s going a little crazy about it, but this… this is what I want.” He dipped three fingers in the pot of slick and let the other man see them for a moment, and then, before he could react, Kisuke grabbed him by the sides of his head and thrust his cock between his gasp-opened lips.

Fuck, Kisuke. Zangetsu was as turned on by the blond’s move as Ichigo was, So hot. Fuck his face. Choke him on your cock.

Ichigo pressed the tip of one finger against Grimmjow’s entrance, the muscle there tight and hot, and all three of them groaned from the domino effect of the sensation. A second finger quickly followed the first, and then a third, the knowledge that Grimmjow was probably the most durable person he could ever fuck soothing whatever pangs of conscience he might have about proper prep.

Kisuke watched his progress closely, eyes glittering as he relentlessly slid his rigid prick between Grimmjow’s lips, pressing so deeply that it brought tears to the Arrancar’s eyes, and then backing off just enough for him to catch his breath before starting the cycle over again, timing every thrust to coincide with Ichigo’s fingers. The harder Kisuke pressed him, though, the hungrier he seemed, opening wider, swallowing harder, hips rocking back against Ichigo’s fingers as he strained for more, every bit as wild and driven he’d ever been in battle, and the redhead wondered if just that would be enough to get him off.

Then, Kisuke changed the game.

“As lovely as this has been, Grimmjow, I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed.” He pulled his cock out of Grimmjow’s mouth, but didn’t move far, his cock still ruby red and glistening mere finger’s-widths away. Ichigo watched, fascinated, as he gripped his own length and pumped it slowly, teasing the other man. “You’ve always talked such a good game I thought you’d be a sexual force to be reckoned with, but you’re just a little too… passive for me.”

He smiled at Ichigo over the blue head. “Maybe I’ll just watch you try to top from the bottom with Ichigo-kun.”

Grimmjow erupted into motion, his lethal body moving faster than he had all night, leaving Ichigo wide-eyed and slick-fingered on the side-lines as he swept Kisuke into a hold that had to knock the air out of him.

“Can’t come up with a better insult than topping from the bottom, Shinigami?” He grabbed Kisuke’s legs and dropped him onto his back with a growl, pinning him there with his full body weight as he slotted his hips between Kisuke’s legs and lodged his cock between Kisuke’s ass cheeks. “I know what you’re doing, pushing me, pissing me off. You and your fucking experiments. You want to see what happens when you piss me off enough that I lose control? I’ll tell you. I’m going to fuck you so hard they’ll hear you in Hueco Mundo, so hard your crimson bitch won’t be able to sit down. And then? Then, I’m going to fuck Ichigo until he can’t remember his fucking name, and make you watch while my come leaks out of your ass and you can barely crawl across the futon to beg for more.”

Slick fingers pressed into Kisuke’s hole and the blond squirmed and gasped, but his cock was still jutting up, hard and demanding, and Ichigo knew he was enjoying it.

Grimmjow looked over at him and grinned triumphantly, a wild, beautiful thing, and Ichigo leaned in and caught his mouth in a filthy kiss that tasted of lust and violence and Kisuke’s cock. He licked into Grimm’s mouth again and again, eating at the heat there, listening to Kisuke groan and hiss and sigh under the demanding fingers that were stretching him wide for fucking, and knew he’d never again be able to see Grimmjow’s battle grin without getting hard.

Zangetsu was vibrating at the edge of his inner world, cursing Grimmjow and Kisuke by turns, and Ichigo swatted him away, because these two were his, and Zan could just go fuck himself and the horse he identified as.

He leaned over Grimmjow’s shoulder and looked at his cock, ruddy and huge, dripping pre-come, and breathed into his ear. “Go on. Fuck him, Grimm. He’s a fucking slut for it. He’ll love it. Love the stretch and burn as you pound into him. Love it when you hit that spot that makes his cock leak and his eyes roll back in his head.”

Grimmjow growled and pressed against the ring of muscle that was the last barrier between him and Kisuke’s heat. Then, with one rapid rock of his hips he breached his ass, dragging a low groan from the Shinigami beneath him.

“Fuck yes,” Kisuke hissed the words and rolled into the thrust, silently demanding more. Grimmjow was more than willing to provide.

“Isn’t he perfect?” Ichigo asked, hot breath stirring the fine blue hair around Grimm’s ear. “He’s made for fucking. Tight ass. Hard cock. Smart enough to know exactly what to do to make you see stars. Wait until you feel him in your ass. You’ll want him again and again.”

Kisuke let out a little moan as Grimmjow bottomed out forcefully and he flexed his muscles around the Arrancar’s length.

“Fuck,” Grimm gutted the word out. “You’re so fucking tight. It’s like fucking a velvet vise.”

Kisuke let out a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh and Ichigo couldn’t help but feel a pulse of envy.

“Lean forward, Grimm. Hold him down.” He wrapped himself over Grimmjow’s broad back and held on as he bucked into Kisuke, and Ichigo found his hole with questing fingers again. He was still loose from earlier but Ichigo took his time, curling his fingers and sliding them along the rim before twisting so that he could find that spot, that incredible little spot that would make even Grimmjow whimper and whine.

He angled himself to capture Grimmjow’s lips in another kiss, this one sloppy and breathless, distracted by the pistoning of Grimm’s hips as he fucked Kisuke so hard Ichigo was almost afraid for his gigai, but Ichigo had pounded Kisuke’s ass often enough to know that a day or two of rest was all the blond needed before he was back in form, turning the tables and driving him to the edge and over.

“Want to see you fuck him, Ichigo-kun,” Kisuke’s voice broke on the words, desire so thick he could hardly speak around it. “Want to see his face. Want to hear you both.” He reached out with a scrabbling hand and Ichigo grabbed it and squeezed.

“Grimm?” Ichigo asked, unwilling to force the Arrancar into something he didn’t want, but apparently it wasn’t a problem.

“You heard him. You need an engraved invitation?” was all he said, but the answer rattled through Ichigo and he groaned, dragging clawed fingers down Grimmjow’s flank, digging into the dimples above his hipbones as he settled his weight behind the bigger man.

The heat pouring off Grimmjow was amazing, and Ichigo rubbed his face against the plane of his back, nipping along the bumps of vertebra, his knees splayed obscenely to either side of the well-muscled ass. Grimmjow leaned farther forward and dropped down to catch Kisuke’s lips in a kiss, something Ichigo had never thought to see, stilling the motion of his own hips to allow Ichigo to maneuver into place, his cock pressed against the puffy red furl of his opening, slick and soft and worked loose until it practically sucked him in.

“Fuck.” He breathed the word against Grimmjow’s skin and felt rather than hear a rumble in response.

“What are you waiting for, Kurosaki?” A dry, raspy need threaded through Grimmjow’s voice that hadn’t been there before and it made something predatory in Ichigo sit up and take notice. “Just put it in me, you son of a bitch. Fuck me with that cock. I know you want it. Show your boyfriend here what fucking a hollow is really like. Let the hunger out. I won’t break.”

Ichigo couldn’t pass up an offer like that. He snaked a hand down beneath them to where Grimm’s balls were tight against him and rolled them once, twice, gently and then buried himself deep in his ass in one thrust.

Grimmjow roared and Ichigo howled along with him.

Sweet heat exploded around his cock, and he could feel the shock waves as he lost control of his reiatsu, the waves of it pounding against the others. He rocked forward and down, forcing Grimmjow deeper into Kisuke, and the moans that broke from them both only fed the flames of his hunger. He loved that sound, loved that he was the one wringing it from them, and wanted to hear it again and again, until they were too hoarse to speak.

“Look at us, Kisuke,” he reached around Grimmjow and grasped the blond’s cock, the drooling, dripping length of it hot in his hand, “this is what you said you wanted so open those pretty eyes and watch carefully. I’m going to fuck him now. Fuck him and let him take you apart until you’re nothing but a quivering, come-soaked mess.”

He couldn’t have stopped now if someone had held a sword to his throat. He started with a quick motion, rocking deeper and deeper into Grimmjow until he was working at a constant pace, shifting after every third or fourth stroke to aim for his prostate, pulling moans and curses from the Arrancar as he also almost brutally stroked Kisuke’s cock.

“Fuck, Kurosaki. Harder. Harder.” Grimmjow was holding himself up over Kisuke, the muscles in his arms rippling as he panted and bucked, his own cock plunging in and out of Kisuke at a wicked pace spurred on by Ichigo’s fucking and the redhead couldn’t tell if he was begging or threatening him. “I’m almost there. Fuck. That’s it. Come on. Fuck it out of me. Yes, yes… right… there! Fuck!”

He jerked as if electrified, his whole body locking up as he poured his come into the blond beneath him, but Ichigo kept moving, slamming his hips against him until he was sure Grimmjow would have bruises on his ass. He could feel his own orgasm just beyond his reach, and he stroked Kisuke’s cock in time with his own rhythm, determined to bring him off. His thighs trembled and he could feel his balls tighten as he dragged his thumb through the wet slit at the tip of Kisuke’s cock and then he heard it, that sob and gasp that he sometimes heard in his best dreams, and as Kisuke came, so did he. Pulse after pulse of come striped Grimmjow’s chest and pooled on Kisuke’s belly and Ichigo filled Grimm’s ass as the reiatsu waves of a truly earth-shattering orgasm ripped through all three of them.

Later when consciousness had crept slowly back, they pulled themselves apart like pieces of a come-covered jigsaw puzzle, breathing heavily in the dim bedroom.

“So,” Grimmjow said, scrubbing a hand through his wild blue mane and looking at Ichigo, “I’d say the mad scientist’s experiment was a success. What about you?”

Ichigo smothered a grin. “I’d agree. Kisuke?”

The blond rolled over sleepily and settled between them, spooning back into the big Arrancar’s body while wrapping an arm around the redhead. “Well, first impressions are positive, but you know how it is with these things. One has to be able to recreate the results of an experiment several times before being certain of anything.”

In the recesses of Ichigo’s inner world, Zangetsu laughed.

#Bleach #uraichi #Grimm/Ichi/Kisuke #consensual tea drugging #smut #omg so much smut #no really #this is just an excuse for fighty boys #the author is blushing

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freddie-mercurial · 5 years

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If you could only pick one favorite Queen song for every album, what would they be and why?

this is SO hard, thanks for asking it but also fuck you because how. does one choose?!?! some albums have like five or six GREAT songs on, it’s insanely hard to pick but i shall try!!

queen - i think it has to be doing all right because freddie’s voice is just. so high and pure and sweet and adorable, it makes me so soft every time i hear it. i love keep yourself alive so much as well though, especially as both of these really remind me of watching bohemian rhapsody, specifically the first time, sat in the cinema just so enamoured already, it was such a great feeling, i’d pay so much money to be able to experience it again for the first time.

queen ii - shoutout to this album for the white/black theme and brian and freddie just being Like That all the time, they’re so extra and particular about matching everything. black queen, white queen, and seven seas are all so good but if i had to pick a favourite it would be nevermore. i used to listen to this song all the time, there’s such beautiful emotion in it, the way freddie sings is so sad and regretful it’s a gorgeous sound, and when it gets a bit harder on the ‘when you say you didn’t love me any more’ and then so soft again.

sheer heart attack - obvious choice but killer queen, it’s just such a great song to sing along to. that said, in the lap of the gods, the way they sing it live where it’s a bit rockier is GREAT and if this version was on the album it would probably be that.

a night at the opera - i honestly cannot choose between 39 and sweet lady. i love brian’s voice so much and him singing 39 is everything, and sweet lady goes so hard and it’s got such a great, angry sound to it. loads of great songs on this album.

a day at the races - another impossible choice. god. tie your mother down, somebody to love, lover boy, and teo torriatte??? they’re all so different so picking one is HARD. i think, with a gun to my head, i’d choose teo torriatte. this song is utterly beautiful and brian does not get enough credit for how good of a songwriter he is.

news of the world - okay this one is also difficult because my favourite song from this album has changed. i used to be really obsessed with spread your wings a few years ago, it’s one of those songs that just Speaks to me w that escapism, miserable in your job sort of way. but it’s late is just too good. does brian think he’s subtle?! god i love him. (special mention just to the album cover for this because DAMN and i’m also always so into the fact that frank is holding both brian and freddie in his hand, they’re just led in a pile together because ofc.)

jazz - this has to be fat bottomed girls it’s just an absolute jam and another one to sing along to, it’s impossible not to. AaAAAaAAAArrreEEe you gonna take me home tonight? god it’s so good.

the game - first of all, another great album cover, brian in this outfit and those glasses Does Things To Me. some great tracks but save me without a second’s hesitation. another beautiful song by brian that doesn’t get enough attention, the lyrics, the soft sound, the emotion - this song is a work of heartfelt genius. i adore the way they play it live with brian on piano, i love SO MUCH that freddie is the band’s pianist but occasionally brian chooses to play parts for whatever reason so the song itself is freddie’s sole focus and the audience can focus on him. i really think this song is about freddie as well. fucking beautiful song.

flash gordon - does this count? i don’t know many from here but flash gordon. i LOVE the lyric ‘just a man, with a man’s courage’ i’d get that as a tattoo, it’s so simple and brilliant. just a man with a man’s courage - and that’s enough.

hot space - i actually love this album, i don’t know why people shit on it. it’s another hard choice, freddie’s sheer slut energy in staying power is incredible, las palabras is beautiful, under pressure is obviously a classic. my faves come down to calling all girls and dancer. i don’t know if i can choose. i love the video for calling all girls so much but i love the story within dancer, which is another song i think is about freddie (though tbh as i’ve said before i think most of brian’s songs are). i love that brian, for all his criticism of this era and how unhappy he clearly was, got involved and wrote this, and it’s really damn good. it’s a b-side but soul brother is obviously also great, i don’t think it’s the best sounding song but i love it anyway, bless freddie for writing this about brian. ‘he will rock you’, ‘he’s somebody you can love’ ok fred ok.

the works - this is probably my favourite queen album, it’s the one i usually have in my car stereo, every track is great. again there’s a song on here that used to mean a LOT to me, which is keep passing the open windows but i wouldn’t say that’s my fave any more. tear it up, radio gaga, i want to break free, and hammer to fall are all SO good. radio gaga was my fave queen song for YEARS, since i was a little kid. GOD this one is hard. but i think i’m going to say.......i want to break free. it’s a classic, you have to sing along, the video slaps (i so wish the whole thing had been the drag bit). such a great, instantly recognisable guitar solo from brian. shoutout also to is this the world we created - another great brian/freddie thing. just casually wrote this wonderful song together and decided to have another song with just the two of them on stage, roger and john must’ve been like, oh alright boys should we even bother to show up for the concerts or what?!

a kind of magic - who wants to live forever. several great tracks on this album - princes of the universe is a favourite of mine and one vision and it’s a kind of magic are both great. but who wants to live forever is in another fucking league. again, brian writing incredible, poignant, masterful songs that are ridiculously beautiful. this song is so emotional and powerful i actually skip it a LOT because it can be difficult to listen to.

the miracle - fuck this is hard too. breakthru is GREAT and i watch the video for this every time i’m feeling down. cannot choose between i want it all and scandal. literally can’t choose. both great brian songs, they both go so hard, i physically can’t choose between them. freddie’s voice on both is just incredible, the anger in scandal is palpable and the video is fantastic. and i want it all is so heavy and good, the opening with the guitar is just PEAK. freddie and brian’s random duet in the middle?? i’m born again. sorry for cheating but i refuse to choose.

innuendo - okay this album has the show must go on which is another one i can’t bear to listen to too often because it’s so much, it’s one of queen’s best songs. the grief in this song and the defeated acceptance are heartbreaking. i can’t live with you is a bloody brilliant song as well, it goes so hard, it’s so damn good but my favourite is of course headlong. headlong is my FAVOURITE queen song i fucking love, i could listen to it on repeat all day. it’s so fun and happy and boppy and still so rocky and hard. i love the video so much, another one i watch whenever i’m feeling a bit shite. AND YOU RUSH IN H E A D L O N G. feels like it should be on top gun. i really want a freddie/brian top gun au where brian is the put-upon instructor who knows Everything about these planes and freddie is the arrogant little so-and-so who flies them.

made in heaven - thinking about them making this album gets me every time. i think the fave has to be too much love will kill you. you can hear and feel the internal battle with this one, brian writes excellent lyrics, it’s SUCH a good song. the bit where it gets all hard and rough and angry in the middle/end is SUCH GOOD SHIT. i cannot think about brian listening to this in the studio, trying to mix it when freddie’s already gone but he’s still there singing this. god.

#replies #i made myself sad yikes #god this is so long i'm sorry #@me will you shut the fuck up

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dargeereads · 5 years

Text

Back in Bliss by Lexi Blake writing as Sophie Oak

Back in Bliss, an all-new sexy romance in the Nights in Bliss, Colorado Series from New York Times bestselling author Lexi Blake writing as Sophie Oak is available now!

Logan Green is back in Bliss, but only for a few weeks to help out at the sheriff’s office.

Everything changes when Seth Stark strolls into town with Georgia Dawson on his arm.

Seth’s arrival is anything but a happy accident. He always dreamed of a big house on the river

and a wife he could share with his best friend, Logan. After building a software empire, his only goal has been to make that dream come true. He just needed the perfect woman.

Georgia is still haunted by the dark, troubled man who saved her life. She can’t get Logan out of

her head. Her boss brought her to Bliss to help him decorate his new summer home, but when

Logan Green walks through the door she discovers Seth has something different in mind.

Seth has a plan for their mutual happily ever after, but he never dreamed that coming home

would put all their lives in danger.

Re-released in a second edition with new content.

Download your copy today!

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Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/BackBliss

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Google Play: http://bit.ly/2JoVYxX

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2NBJ9pj

Excerpt:

“Holy shit.” Logan practically beamed at the thing that looked like it could eat her. “Seth! Seth, get in here!”

He went to the door and yelled for Seth again.

Seth ran in, his eyes wide and his body covered only in a towel. A little towel. A tiny white towel that contrasted with his tan skin and had been wrapped over ridiculously muscled hips. He had those notches, the ones she’d always been sure some artist Photoshopped onto male models because no one could be that perfect. His dark hair was wet, curling above his shoulders. Moisture clung to his every muscle and, holy hell, he had a lot of them. They hid underneath his perfectly tailored suits.

Georgia forgot about the crazy-ass creature that had come straight out of some danger-in-the-wild documentary and watched the two gorgeous predators who had invaded her room.

She pulled the covers up to her neck, aware that she didn’t look anything like they did.

“Maurice.” Seth took a step forward. “Wow. How the hell long do moose live, man? It’s totally Maurice. You can see where Hiram tried to take him down. There’s a scar on his nose.”

Logan moved in, too, and she could see the easy way the two men related. For a moment she saw the kids they had been, friends forever. God, she’d never had a friend like that.

Logan opened the window and she heard a loud chuffing noise. “He kicked Hiram in the groin. It was a damn lucky thing the man already had three kids because I heard nothing worked the same after. Hey, boy. You remember me?”

Another huff and she was about to believe the thing knew how to communicate.

Seth looked over at her, his eyes glinting. “We don’t get a ton of moose around here. Maurice is a legend. The people of Bliss say that if he shows up at your place, you’re blessed. Meant to be here. He’s the welcoming committee.”

Logan laughed. “What no one will tell you is he’s a total snack whore. If you leave a Snickers bar on the porch, he will show up lickety-split. When Laura finally got comfy, I snuck some chocolate onto her porch so she would feel welcome.”

“I’m glad she stayed. I heard she got married,” Seth said.

Logan nodded. “Got a kid now. That’s why I’m here. Her husbands need some paternity leave. I heard it’s a girl.”

Their shared history was right there, a palpable thing between them. It was almost as though she could reach out and touch it, feel the warmth of it. Logan and Seth felt like a family.

What was she doing here?

Once again, like most of her life, she was the outsider. Even among her brothers, she’d felt it. Chase and Ben had each other. Mark and Dare had been tight. And she and Win had been so far apart in age that they couldn’t connect on a brother-sister level. She’d been alone. The only child whose mother wasn’t up to snuff. The only one without money when the tide had turned.

Logan looked down at her, his eyes softening. “Georgia, I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean a word of what I said. To either of you.”

She nodded, feeling awkward. They were here in her bedroom. It was a bit surreal. She turned her attention back to the moose.

“So it’s not something that’s going to attack?” She kept the blanket around her neck. Yeah, that was another way she was different. She wasn’t gorgeously perfect like them. She’d tried the whole diet thing, and she wasn’t cut out for it.

“Maurice is a sweetie, but I won’t lie. The first time I saw him, I peed my own damned pants and ran screaming for my mommas,” Logan said on a laugh. He reached a hand out, pressing it against the screen, his eyes misting like he was reaching for his past. “He won’t hurt you. He wants to say hello. And he probably smelled the bacon. Shit. My bacon.”

Logan turned and took off at a dead run for the kitchen.

Seth touched the screen, too. “Hey, Maurice. Thanks for the welcome.”

When he turned back to Georgia, he sported the sweetest smile. He jumped onto her bed, not a hint of self-consciousness on his face as he settled in beside her. “How did you sleep? My bed’s better, by the way. It’s huge. Built for three.”

“Good for you and whatever ménage you choose to invite. Could you go away so I can get dressed?” Last night seemed like a dream, and more than a little like a nightmare. God, what had she been thinking? Seth wanted her to tempt Logan into a ménage? He was insane. She was insane for not immediately walking out of the cabin and hoofing it to Malibu and the safety of Win’s minicastle where she could make like Rapunzel. She would barricade herself in and then keep her hair cut because she was done with men.

He smiled, an intimate thing that threatened to curl her toes. “I thought we settled that last night.”

She sighed and wished she was strong enough to not look at that towel, praying it would flop open and she would get a good view of what Seth had down under. Maybe it was small. Like tiny.

Did it matter? He was the sweetest man she’d ever met. He was kind and good. She wasn’t about to reject him because he had a small penis. It wasn’t like sex was all that awesome anyway.

Logan had a big penis. She’d felt it rubbing against her when he’d kissed her like there was no tomorrow. She thought about Logan’s penis a lot. More than a lot.

Nope. She wasn’t going to reject anyone based on penis size. She was going to reject them because she wasn’t about to get her heart broken again.

About Lexi Blake

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lexi Blake lives in North Texas with her husband, three kids, and the laziest rescue dog in the world. She began writing at a young age, concentrating on plays and journalism. It wasn’t until she started writing romance that she found success. She likes to find humor in the strangest places. Lexi believes in happy endings no matter how odd the couple, threesome or foursome may seem.

Connect with Lexi

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorlexiblake/

BookBub: http://bit.ly/2Gdjy03

Twitter: https://twitter.com/authorlexiblake

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2X1oASS

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2Gg1ktZ

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lexi4714/

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/lexiblake39/

Youtube: http://bit.ly/2P9qhLH

Stay up to date with Lexi by joining her mailing list:

http://bit.ly/LexiBlakeNL

Website: http://www.lexiblake.net/

#Back in Bliss #Lexi Blake #Sophie Oak #am reading #tbr #book love #book obsessed

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