#I have reached the anger stage of grief months ago and I can’t leave it LOL

[fullsuuns]

ghost of you - l.dh

PAIRING: donghyuck x reader

GENRE: angst

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

WARNINGS: character death (reader is a ghost in this), mentions of alcohol

NOTE: i am not encouraging anyone to use ouija boards or any other spiritual contacting methods without prior research and knowledge. this is only for fictional purposes.

SYPNOSIS: a year after your death, donghyuck uses an ouija board to communicate with you.

you watched as donghyuck, your exboyfriend, laid crystals on top of the small round wooden table that was placed on the floor of your apartment — or well, his apartment, because you no longer shared this space with him. there were various crystals, each different shapes and colors and each representing different things. you recall the faint memory of when you told him about what each crystal meant, what each one represented.

curiously, you eyes drift over his movements as he sprawls them out in front of him. donghyuck had never been into this kind of thing while the two of you dated, so you’re confused when he organizes them in a circular shape. next to him, jeno drops a black bag of equipment next to his feet before he, too, sits on the ground in favor of pulling out a rectangular board.

you’d seen these types of boards plenty of times during your living life — you’d even warned donghyuck of ouija boards, telling him they weren’t devices to be messed with as they were a viable way of communicating with things that weren’t on the same plain as humans. your eyes are widening now, and you rush to sit across from them, trying to stop donghyuck as your hands fly out before you.

“stop, please! no, no, donghyuck. hyuckie, stop, please.” your pleads are useless because he doesn’t hear you. he doesn’t feel your touch when you place both of your hands atop his in hopes that it would halt his actions. in fact, your palms just go right through him, reminding you that you weren’t a physical being anymore and that you could no longer physically reach him.

the board is placed on the table in front of you, and a panicked energy starts rising. next, the planchette is placed, and donghyuck fixes the crystals so that they frame around the board better. your eyes are wide, alarmed, as they scour his rushed actions. you try to stop his hands, hoping each time that he would finally feel you, feel your touch telling him to stop, because he didn’t know what he was getting himself into.

“are you sure you want to do this?” jeno asks. the raven’s tone is worried, hesitant — it’s evident in the way he looks at your boyfriend with attentive eyes. donghyuck nods — sighs.

after your death a year ago, you stuck to hanging around your shared apartment, watching as donghyuck went through several stages of grief before your eyes. he couldn’t see you, couldn’t feel you, but you could see everything he was going through and you knew there was nothing you could do but to watch from the sidelines as he slowly began to heal. it hurt; it hurt so much, even though you could no longer feel emotions — couldn’t feel happiness when you watched him walk through the front door after his daily part-time as a barista at the coffee shop you first met him at, couldn’t feel sadness when you heard him cry himself to sleep some nights, couldn’t feel anger when he would sometimes resort to alcohol to drown his sorrows.

he’s changed over time. he’s still the same donghyuck you fell in love with, but his hair is longer now, no longer brown bangs that lay across his forehead but rather bangs that frame it instead. he still wears the silver necklace you got him for your second anniversary, you can see it as it peeks out from under his shirt. you’ve lost the ability to smell since your death, but you know he still buys and wears the cologne you loved so much on him. things like these are subtle signs of how he hasn’t been able to move on from you. how badly you just wished you could end his pain; tell him that you were here all along, cheering him on when he didn’t have the best days.

“i just want to know it’s her.” he replies. your heart, though it stopped beating a long time ago, metaphorically shatters at his confession.

even with how badly you want to stop them, you know there’s nothing you can do but watch as they both place their fingers on the planchette. donghyuck takes a deep breath to center himself, closing his eyes as his eyelashes fan out against the tops of his cheeks.

you can see his fingers barely brushing against the piece. he speaks, his tone commanding through the otherwise silent apartment complex, “if there is a spirit in our presence, make yourself known. guide us with your answers.”

hesitatingly, you reach your hand out. countless months you’ve spent trying to make donghyuck see that you were here, feel that you were here with him. you’ve done things from leaving the previously-shut cabinet doors open for him to see in the morning to spraying a bit of your old perfume that he still kept on his dresser; small and simple actions like that oftentimes left your energy drained, so they were things you could never do too often.

now, you were finally being given the opportunity to communicate with him openly, and you’d have to be dumb to deny something like this — even if living you would have smacked him for bringing this thing out in the first place.

you place your fingers on the planchette, very slowly but surely guiding it to the sun at the top of the board. because he hadn’t asked a yes or no question, this was the only answer you could give him right now.

he looks at jeno from the corner of his eye. “are you moving it?” he asks him. the question almost makes you want to smirk, simply because you knew your boyfriend had always been a skeptic. you’d told him countless times during your relationship that there were beings beyond the human realm — and donghyuck would only nod distractedly, laughing when you smacked him for not listening. the memory makes a smile tug at your lips. of course he was still the same.

jeno shakes his head, and donghyuck lets out an unsteady breath before he asks his next question. “are you a good spirit or bad spirit?”

you almost want to scold donghyuck for not asking simple questions. this wasn’t an question you could answer with a yes or no, so you slowly circle the planchette until it comes back around towards the sun. sun meant favorable.

donghyuck looks towards jeno for a moment. though their fingers never leave the planchette, you can see the two stare at each other for a moment before their gazes settle back on the board. this time, jeno asks a question.

“can you spell out your name?”

the planchette moves again. it takes more power, but you manage to move the singular piece to spell out your name in its entirety. they don’t seem to mind the incredibly slow speed as they repeat each letter back to themselves.

“y/n.” your boyfriend repeats once you spell it out. his voice is soft as he speaks, “i knew it was you, baby. are...are you okay? are you safe?”

you would have giggled at his words had you missed the way his eyes started to well up. he’s leaning forward now, more intrigued as he awaits your answer. jeno is silent next to him, but you’re grateful they’re doing this together. there could’ve been an instance that it wouldn’t actually be you in front of them right now, but rather a different kind of spirit.

your energy has slowly decreased now — you can feel it begin to wither as you start feeling heavier. still, you move the piece towards yes.

“okay, okay. i’m glad you’re safe, baby.” his voice sounds relieved, more of a happy whisper towards himself.

before he asks another question, you move the planchette with the little energy you have left. their eyes drink in the movement attentively as you brush the piece across the board towards several different letters. once again, they repeat them aloud. tired.

“oh, you’re tired. okay, that’s fine, y/n. we can talk later if you’d li-” you cut him off with the planchette just before he can end your session. your movements are more hurried now, desperation in every sweep as you realize you have to abbreviate your words for the sake of your being. they once again read each letter in unison. ily. imy.

he looks worried, voice mirroring his expression as he speaks, “i - i miss you too, y/n, and i love you. we can talk another time, i promise. i’ll end this now, for your sake - but i love you.” the idea that he’s worried for you makes you smile sadly, even if you feel no emotion behind it. with struggle, you push the planchette towards goodbye, officially ending your session.

you take your fingers off the piece and instantly, the energy that you’d drained quickly seeps back into you. you watch as jeno flips the board over. donghyuck gathers the crystals in his hands, handing them over to jeno so he can place them back into his bag.

they’re silent for a moment. a single tear runs down donghyuck’s cheek as he bites his lip, and you want nothing more than to wipe it away and reassure him that you’re still here. still here with him, even if he can’t see you.

jeno’s voice is cautious, “are you okay?”

donghyuck collects himself at the question, wiping at his cheek as he smiles down tearily at the now flipped board. he lets out a wet laugh. “i - yeah. yeah, i’m okay. i’m just - i’m just glad she’s okay.”

#haechan angst #haechan fluff #haechan scenarios #haechan drabbles #haechan fic #nct scenarios #nct fic #nct angst #nct dream scenarios #nct dream angst #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 angst #nct x reader #haechan x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream fic #nct 127 fic #haechan #lee donghyuck #haechan imagines #nct imagines #nct au

[creativeashproductions]

Faded Memories // Julie Molina

Summary: After the death of her mother more than music is dropped from Julie’s life. Julie breaks up with her best friend turned then girlfriend Ramona. When Ramona gets closure it causes Julie remembers that Ramona was more than a girlfriend. She was her best friend too.

Warning: Swearing, talk of death, break-up, angst (ain’t new here), Julie and Ramona are ex-girlfriends and no happy ending (oops)

Characters: ex!Julie Molina x ex!Ramona Monet (just worked better with an OC even when it will get less traction, sorry)

Words: 2.9k

A/N: So in my Charlie Gillespie imagine A Walk Down The Aisle the reader played a character Ramona Monet on the show. @leave-reality-behind wanted a fic off the tiny scene I wrote. So here you go.

Please ask to be tagged in my inbox because I can’t promise you will through commenting on the fics.

Masterlist

Ramona Monet’s deep burgundy lips manoeuvred into an ‘o’ as she released a deep breath of air sending her fringe flying. The last place she wanted to be was the spirit rally, but her Pops had banned for from the hidden gem in the older parts of LA. Ramona’s love of old movies stemmed from the many times her father had dropped her off at the movie theatre on his way to work. Being banned and her best friend performing at the rally is the only reason she would show her face.

Ramona had chosen a red tartan shirt with her fishnets that would more than likely land her in Principle Lessa’s office. As usual, she would fight ‘it broke dress code’ earing a little less respect from the adult but admiration for the quick retorts. Ramona made her way to the gym as the first beat of Carrie’s song played, her black ankle boots finding the way to the bleachers.

“Hey, Monet,” Nick spoke, leaning forward from his concealed position in the nest of jocks. The kind blonde had always been lovely to his girlfriend’s best friend.

“Nick.” Ramona nodded looking back as Carrie burst into the fast pace choreography that went with the pop song.

Dirty Candi’s music was not what Ramona listened to, but she couldn’t fault that it was a catchy song that would be in everyone’s head for days. From a distance, Carrie’s brown eyes finding Ramona wearing her self-made merch.

Ramona��s shirt sported the letters of Dirty Candi in the iconic colours Carrie had stressed over in the beginning. The black shirt was bleached in a tie-dye fashion, but it made Carrie’s heart flutter at the supportive friend she had.

“Whoo!” Ramona called over the loud background noise as Carrie gracefully dropped to perform the floor choreo. The words referencing to the band Queen made the teen girl knowing it was Carrie’s way of acknowledging the car karaoke.

Ramona’s attention was brought to the side where two girls were watching the performance. Flynn and Julie had been in the back of Ramona’s mind since the accident happened; Ramona’s heart dropped at the girl. Julie and Ramona had a good history tainted by tragic loss and teenage angst.

Ramona and Julie had been childhood best friends being a few houses from each other and that history was bittersweet. The two girls had nervously shared their first kisses in the now dilapidated treehouse in the Monet’s backyard. A relationship bloomed like a flower in the morning sun before the sun was concealed behind a storm cloud. Julie’s mom died, and Julie asked for a break.

Now everyone knows that a break is really a breakup and the naïve girlfriends had believed that. Then as Julie struggled with music, she struck out to the closest person, her girlfriend and Ramona found herself dumped. The dumping shattered Ramona’s heart, and the friend group divided. Flynn chose Julie and Carrie, disgusted by the cruel words, chose Ramona in a true Carrie fashion; Carrie and Ramona had initially only interacted together for their mutual friend/girlfriend. Then Ramona’s heart was obliterated when days later, she caught Julie staring at Nick with the same look Ramona used to get.

Ramona’s head turned to disregard the girl that had run out of music class the previous day during her performance. Rumours circulated by the end of the day that Julie Molina had been officially kicked out of the program; Ramona was both sad and relieved. Julie’s own head turned to catch the profile of her ex-girlfriend.

“Go Bobcats!” Carrie Wilson chimed strutting off to the girls change room for the dramatic exit. Needing a break from Julie, the Monet girl followed Dirty Candi into the change room.

“Nailed it,” Ramona spoke, revealing white teeth behind her dark lipstick gaining the pink-haired girl’s attention. Carrie’s face beamed at the compliment.

Ramona and Carrie Wilson couldn’t be farther in comparison with their different tastes and appearance. Carrie was all pink and glittery while Ramona was grunge and angst. Ramona was the one to push Carrie into making a YouTube channel, even promoting the group to Ramona’s followers without prompting.

“Oh! Thank you!” Carrie tugged her best friend into her arms, choking her taller friend with the tight embrace.

“So, I overheard Julie and Flynn when I walked by the music room. Julie’s going to perform for Mrs Harrison.” Ramona warned her best friend concerned as Carrie’s complexation changed to make the gaudy pink wig, “OH!”

Carrie’s French manicure gouged Ramona’s bare arm as she was tugged after the teenager back into the gym. A gasp fell from both their lips as Kayla, the purple dancer for Dirty Candi appeared. The three students rushed the stage where three guys popped out of nowhere on the stage. 

“What the hell?” Ramona demanded watching her ex-girlfriend break out of her music shell, “Wow.”

“What do you mean ‘wow’ Ro?” Carrie asked in exasperation as her best friend stared at the stage, enjoying the music being played. Carrie scoffed only to soften when she saw the expression on Ramona, “Ro, she doesn’t deserve you. She never did.”

The sad smile appeared on Ramona’s face as her eyes met the bass player’s wink. Ramona flushed at the attention taken aback from the confidence. For a split-second, Ramona considered wiggling her way into the band to get back at Julie. 

But while Ramona dressed like a confident badass, it was inside that she felt alone and hurt that Julie was doing so well without her. That sent rage flooding Carrie’s body so when Kayla fawned over the band Carrie glared at her. Kayla dropped her head at the glare.

“I’m gonna go,” Ramona spoke walking away from the stage and her ex who apparently, she still had feelings for. God help Ramona. Why was it when Ramona was shaking the feeling that Julie had to come back with a bang?

Ramona was striding out of the gym as the band disappeared, leaving the Molina girl alone to explain. Ramona leaned against the bathroom sink uncaring of the germs in carried staring at the teen in the mirror. The bubbling sadness faded down, remembering the changes that had happened, she was better without Julie.

Ramona walked back into the hall, catching the tail end of Julie’s conversation with absolutely no one near her. Ramona’s mossy green eyes rolled as she walked by the younger girl the bubble of anger reaching the surface. The sheepish smile on Julie’s face as a concerned custodian pushed his cart by.

“Oh, so does this girl.” Reggie spoke, watching as a rocker chick made a wide berth around his only remaining alive friend, “Ooh, she’s pretty.”

Julie watched the older girl walk by keeping her gaze ahead, “Hey Mona.”

Ramona cast a weird look at the other girl with a roll of her eyes, “Good on you for performing. Surprised someone other than Flynn survived Bitch Bomb 2019.”

Ramona turned around the corner of lockers leaving the Puerto Rican’s shoulders to deflate at the remind of Flynn running off. Sunset Curve watched the interaction with raised brows flicking between the very different girls.

“What was that about?” Alex wondered, viewing the sad expression of the gifted singer’s face. The utter sadness reminding him of when he broke up with his first boyfriend in ’93 and the lingering feeling.

“That was Ramona.” Julie sighed, picking at the braided bracelet on her wrist that had matched the one you used to wear. 

Being fourteen without jobs and little allowance gifts had been mostly thrifted or homemade so for the six month anniversary they had braided bracelets. They had never come off their wrists until the breakup; Ramona had cut it off in a puddle of tears. Julie couldn’t bring herself to remove hers.

“When did Julie get smart enough to how about holograms?” Carrie scoffed as Ramona joined her at the lab table. The performance lingering like a bad taste of the girl’s tongue, “I worked weeks on that song! It was so hard getting Katy’s choreographer to help.”

“Carrie she-“

“She is so stupid! We’ve all lost someone, and we didn’t pull a Bitch Bomb 2019.” Carrie exclaimed referring to the first months of Julie’s grief-led wrath. 

Carrie was both right and wrong in that sense because everyone grieved differently, Carrie would do retail shopping. Ramona’s way of dealing was locking herself in a room with a piano and lugging up water balloons to a roof; very Peyton Sawyer of her. Julie never reached out to apologize for her actions, but Ramona blocked her on everything.

“Car focus on the lab. You still have that bomb-ass song you’re working on.” Ramona sympathized with the teen. Carrie nodded her head, deciding to not focus on some girl with a fluke of a performance; Julie almost puked on the piano a few days ago, so her surprise band was probably a one-time thing.

“Don’t you have anything better than-“

“Carrie do you hear something?” Ramona pursed her lips, scanning the classroom with a feigned look of confusion. Carrie’s lips twitched at her best friend’s antics, “I swore I heard the voice of irrelevance.”

“Ooh and I swore I smelt gutter water perfume too.” Carrie flicked her hair over her shoulder, smirking at Flynn’s look of anger, “Mr. Taylor! Flynn threatened to burn me!”

Mr Taylor turned his attention from Kayla to Flynn’s expression of disbelief and the glare directed at the table ahead. Putting on a look of shock, Ramona appeared genuinely flabbergasted to the chemistry teacher.

“Flynn, that’s detention.” Mr Taylor spoke, turning back to Kayla.

“You bit-“Flynn was cut off by the bell ringing. Ramona and Carrie had already left the confident girl in the room. Flynn was fuming with both Julie’s lying and the unfair detention because of two popular vindictive girls. 

One would expect Ramona Monet, as a member of the music program, to play guitar or drums. However, Ramona was a classically trained pianist with an affinity with stringed instruments as well. The Monet family had a footing in the music world with her mother taught in the same way, and her father a composer.

“Oh! Sorry.” Ramona’s intense focus on the music enchanting the room was pulled as the awkward form stood in the entrance.

“Seriously, Molina?” Ramona winced as her hands fell on the keys creating an ear gouging shriek. Her green eyes shining brighter with the bare face she had chosen with little motivation for makeup, “I’ve been using this room every day at the same time since freshman year. You should know that. Guess I really wasn’t even an afterthought.”

Ramona’s hand shoved soft top binder of her notes in her black bag covered in many pins and embroidered patches. Her bright pink nail polish surprising Julie but her eyes drowned in the form-fitting ripped black jeans with the wine red cable knit sweater. Cheeks flushing Julie stuttered.

“S-sorry. I just-“

“Whatever.” Ramona shoved passed her ex-girlfriend, “Why do you even wear that?”

Julie glanced at the meaningful bracelet that Ramona intensely stared at with the dark and light strings braided. Julie’s eyes fell to see Ramona no longer wore braided bracelets but a bracelet with a moon charm.

“It means a lot.”

“Just not the person.” Ramona darkly chuckled, “Kinda childish?”

Julie shuffled uncomfortably on her feet picking at her cuticle at the insult her antagonist ex threw at her. Three ghosts glared at the Monet girl pissed at the unfair treatment she was giving Julie.

“Hey! What the hell is your problem?” Luke snapped, stepping forward even as Alex made his input of it being unnecessary; they were dead. To Alex shock, the disgruntled girl shifted her gaze from Julie to the trio.

“My problem is none of your damn business Uncle Jesse.” Ramona spat earning raised brows at her reference.

 “Did she die in the ’90s too?” Reggie stage whispered to his best friend staring the pretty brunette down. Ramona’s eyes rolled.

“Should have known. The only people Julie didn’t scare off would be the dead.” Ramona snarked twisting on her heel to storm off into the distance.

“I’m sorry!” Julie yelled, bringing the brunette to a dead stop with her foot not planted on the floor yet as the apology finally came.

All Ramona had ever wanted was Julie to apologize for her shitty decision to dump Ramona cruelly. Using bitter words on her personal life to drive the wedge but the final nail in the coffin was the slammed door in Ramona’s face.

“For what?” Ramona seethed, “For asking for space and screaming when I gave it? Dumping me and acting like I was the black plague? How about when you forgot about my audition? Burning the flowers, I sent for the funeral? Or making breaking off communication and Flynn completely ignoring me?”

“Oh damn.” Luke murmured, stepping back to the drummer and bassist floored at the confrontation. His heart dropped, finally understanding why Julie avoided all topics relating to Ramona.

“I was wrong.” Julie admitted, “I pushed you away. I got mad when you gave me what I wanted. I should have talked to you and not broke up with you that way I did.”

“She burnt funeral flowers. “Alex whispered to Reggie, surprised at the out of character action from his new friend.

“I chose you over my audition. I chose to offer support for my best friend, not just my then-girlfriend, on one of her worst days. I get to the funeral, and you refused to let me say goodbye to the woman that practically raised me as well.” Ramona calmed down, staring at the younger girl breaking apart in front of her.

It felt like a weight dropped off Ramona’s shoulders or the chains of heartbreak and confusion unlocked with the key of closure. The clouds disappeared, letting the sun help the flowers bloom after a year of rain. A genuine smile spread on the girls face as Julie’s dropped at the beautiful sight.

“I hope you well Birdie.” Julie’s heart fluttered at the pet name Ramona had coined for the teenager. It shortened from songbird to birdie, and Julie hadn’t heard in what felt like years, “I gotta go. It’s filming day.”

Julie went pushed into a memory.

Summer 2018

The camera was entirely set on Ramona in the treehouse that her Pop had built when she was five years old. Fourteen-year-old Ramona was relaxing as she fixed her white off-shoulder crop top to be straight once more. The cover of the song accompanied by her acoustic guitar was pretty to the years of the short girl at the entrance.

“I still think it’s cheesy to call it Music Monday.” Ramona told the camera with a shy smile after strumming the last note. Her eyes meeting the girl that tackled her in a hug, “Birdie!”

“Birdie?” Julie questioned leaning back from her kissing attacks on every inch of her dirty-blonde girlfriend.

“Songbird is a bit of a mouthful.” Ramona blushed hiding in Julie’s neck unaware of the camera still rolling. The blush deepened at the lingering kiss to Ramona’s hairline.

“I love it.” Julie softly spoke, leaning back to gaze into Ramona’s green eyes swimming in the soft feeling.

Julie Molina and Ramona Monet had been the classic best friends with hidden crushes that shattered one afternoon. Ramona was nervous about a date she had the next day, and she had never kissed anyone. Julie, awed by her best friend, admitted she’d never kissed anyone and so in a cliché, the girls decided to share their first kiss. Feelings were revealed, and the two started to date.

“So, what brings you here.” Ramona asked, stopping the camera from recording as her girlfriend shifted, “What’s up?”

“If you’re ready I’d like to have you over for dinner.” Julie shyly asked, avoiding Ramona’s gaze.

“That’s not new Birdie.” Ramona chuckled helping the shorter girl to her feet fingers caressing the bracelet that was a twin to her own. Julie’s eyes flicked down to the light pink shorts that matched the butterfly click in Ro’s hair.

“Not as my best friend. As my girlfriend.” Julie murmured fearing the response.

“Should I call your parents Mr and Mrs.” Ramona wondered, kissing Julie’s cheek as the other girl relaxed at the statement. Julie feared Ramona wasn’t ready or didn’t want to be at that stage in the relationship, “If you are ready, then so am I.”

“You’re the best thing to happen to me.” Julie beamed, “Oh! I wanna show you the song Mom, and I made!”

Julie tugged her pretty girlfriend to the front of the house to lead her to the Molina’s garage they renovated into a music studio. The girls’ laughter floating in the summer breeze, the relationship blooming under the sun as it developed further. Naïvely the two young teens believed nothing could rip them apart, if only they knew.

“So, I’m guessing she’s off-limits?” Reggie offered as he bounced on his heels, attempting to lighten the mood. The glare from Julie was enough to answer that question.

“Reg. Firstly, don’t date your friend’s ex. Secondly, you’re dead.” Alex deadpanned at his best friend to turn to Julie, “Are you okay?”

 “No.” Julie honestly spoke, “I guess I never realized that losing my girlfriend also meant I would lose my best friend.”

On the other side of the school, Ramona Monet could finally smile as the memories with Julie regained the colour grief had erased. Ramona Monet was better than fine, she was happy.

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#julie molina imagines #julie molina x reader #julie molina x oc #julie and the phantoms imagines #julie and the phantoms #ex!julie molina x ex!girlfriend #angst #julie molina #jatp fanfic #caitsy and ash productions

[czarojay]

LONG POST

Someone please stop me from writing the ghost tubbo idea i had a month ago to procrastinate on the dreamon au

Because like i had this AU and maybe if i write about it here it will stop me??? I can’t actually find the conversation on discord where i talked about it so i’m probably just gonna throw stuff here from memory and change half of it

Feel free to write a fanfic inspired by this, but 1. tag me 2. i’d appreciete if you credited the idea or at least said i inspired you ^^’

Ok so Tubbo died during the Festival. Like I don’t care if in this a Respawn!AU or Permadeath, irl or whatever. Tubbo doesn’t respawn and dies in Tommy’s arms. 

Assuming it’s a world with Respawn, Tommy just waits for Tubbo’s body to disintegrate or whatever the bodies in this AU do, as Techno massacrates people in the background, he just repeats to himself something along the lines of “C-come on Tubbo! Respawn already!”, but his friend stays limp in his arms, growing cold. 

In the end, they need to flee, like they did during the festival. Feel free to make Wilbur even more insane or evil whatever you prefer and make him leave the body saying either don’t take it, he’s a traitor, just like Eret or just it’s going to be a dead weight (ha, a pun!) (that was so inappropriate to the scene sorry ignore this), so they leave the body and it’s buried in the Manburg just like in the later Tommy’s stream where he zoomed onto the grave with a sign saying that here lies the traitor Tubbo. 

But you can also make Tommy carry his dead friend’s body all the way to Pogtopia, anger and grief clashing, still in the denial stage, hoping Tubbo will come back. Like Tubbo dies all the time! He’s just such a clingy, clumsy big man right? He will come back, right?! Tommy rests Tubbo somewhere in the Pogtopia on a makeshift bed hoping it will make the healing faster and as Techno and Wilbur talk ‘downstairs’ he realizes something. Tubbo isn’t coming back. He would be back by now normally. 

He’s shook to the core with the realization and shakingly goes down to Techno and Wilbur. The pit happens, but at the end, even after Techno’s speech about the language of violence, maybe Tommy snaps? Maybe Tommy yells how Tubbo isn’t coming back? Maybe the older men, practically brothers to Tommy, realise that Tubbo is nowhere to be seen? Maybe they realise the boy, the spy, the victim of the situation is dead? Maybe Niki stares and gasps in horror in the background and is the one who goes to Tommy first to comfort him and help him with the wounds from both the pit and the whole today? Maybe Wilbur stares in horror at his fists, realising he’s the one who put Tubbo in danger? He wanted Tubbo to do the speech, he made Tubbo run back and forth between the two leaders, maybe if he didn’t pressure Tubbo as much, Schlatt wouldn’t have noticed. Wilbur falls to the ground and sits with his head between the knees for a long time, wondering about what he did wrong. 

Technoblade?  He’s awkward and we all know it. He may be a god of PvP, the best farmer in Minecraft, but he’s still awkward. Of course he wants to comfort his little brother, but what can he really do? He’s at loss and still hasn’t fully accepted what he’s done. He killed Tubbo, but he had thought he’d respawn/survive(I really went at the beginning and said this can be also for permadeath au and then wrote it all about respawn au but whatcha gonna do huh). 

Overall the tension in Pogtopia is high, but to be fair, so is Manburg. People didn’t know about the execution and (you know what im just gonna keep going as if the respawn au was planned) the brush with death, even if they respawned, was never pleasant. It’s even worse when they somehow find out Tubbo didn’t respawn. Some people are happy with the fact, others are in shock and grief. 

And here can end chapter 1! Or at least it feels natural for me to cut off somewhere here! Idk really it all depends on your writing style. I'm not gonna dictate how you’re supposed to write idk myself neither. 

Assuming Tommy took the body with him, he later goes on to the only place where Tubbo found peace. Where Tubbo went during the war, the only place where he wasn’t bothered, where he was safe and truly free, without a leader or a dictator over him. Tommy went to Tubbo’s jungle base. 

He took the body with him, not letting anyone of Pogtopia know where he’s going, not wanting a Wilbur or a Technoblade, especially a Technoblade with him. He felt as though he needed to do this alone. He needed to make sure his friend, at least posthumously, gets the treatment he deserves. So he buried his best friend as he would bury a king. 

Tommy spends the night at the jungle base and awakes at night, by a greenish blue light. It’s not too strong, but it’s just enough to be felt. He rubs at his eyes, trying to awake himself, to see if he’s not seeing this, but there it is. A will-o-wisp floating in the middle of the building. Tommy gets up, picks up his sword and carefully maneuvers around the wooden beams with a collapsed floor, he gets to the centre. 

He gently cups his fingers and let’s the ember fall on his hands, but as soon as it touches them, there’s a bright flash and Tommy falls to the floor momentarily blinded. When he regains his sight he looks up and sees a ghost floating above him. Its back is turned to him, but he can tell it’s as confused as he is. But wait… He recognizes that shirt. It may be more bright and glowish, but… 

“TUBBO” he screams in the dead of the night, the nature suddenly quieting. The spirit turns around with phantom tears in their eyes “,Tommy?” they whisper and that was the moment both of them were sure of each other’s identity. 

Tommy rushes, tries to stand up and hug Tubbo, but he simply passes through the boy. 

As disheartening as that was, Tommy is still overjoyed to see Tubbo alive. Or at least here, as they soon agree that he is in fact dead. Feel free to put a flashback here, a new paragraph or whatever maybe a new chapter from tubbos perspective.

 The last thing Tubbo saw was a grim grin from Techno and a flash of blue and red fireworks. Here is a “how creative can you get” test! You can put somehow afterlife looks like, maybe something comes for Tubbo to go on, but he refuses? Maybe he sees nothing or everything is a blur? Maybe it was the last thing and the first thing he saw was Tommy’s crying face? Here is your free chappy for all the angst it can fit! Have fun go wild, turn on some sad music and let it ALL out! 

Tubbo and Tommy talk for long and Tommy tells Tubbo the fallout of his death and Tubbo tells Tommy what happened from his perspective. 

But here’s the funny thing, because I don’t know what you think, but… ghosts aren’t actually bound to places! They’re spirits they can go wherever they please! So Tubbo decided to stick around to Tommy. And as they travel and reach Pogtopia, they find out, Wilbur or Techno don’t see Tubbo. From a brief moment, where Tommy was sleeping and Tubbo broke away and went to see Manburg after the festival on his own eyes, he meets Schlatt and as he stops his breathing (he doesn’t need it, he’s dead, he just does it for comfort or out of habit), he’s scared, he think he’s noticed and waits for insults or a surprise or a sorry or a laugh, he feels something phase through him. Schlatt didn’t see him. Schlatt can’t see him. 

After a number of tests Tommy and Tubbo settle it. The leader can’t see the spirit. 

Niki can see him, it’s settled pretty much the day after Tommy came back, with a shout of fear and surprise and later happiness. 

Quackity can see him as it’s settled, when Tommy meets him in the forest and Quackity aside from being scared shitless by a teenager with netherite armour, he sees a disoriented, glitchy ghost behind the teenager, floating creepily, lighting up the forest around them in a sickly cyan light. 

Everyone can see Tubbo, but the people who caused his very death.

AND I’M DONE HERE. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. I CAN TRY TO THINK OF SOMETHING IF YOU ASK ME, BUT RN AS I’M WRITING THIS DOWN I DON’T KNOW. 

Reminder, if you want to write this plz credit the idea <3 Also holy shit this hit 1831 words how.

#idea #Tubbo #Tommyinnit #Ghost!Tubbo #Tubbo died during the festival #Dream SMP #the festival #Wilbur Soot #Schlatt #Jschlatt #Technoblade #more like #Technoblame #Angst #so much angst #and pain #Nihachu #tw death #ideas and analysis #shamrock scribbles

[myfeetkeepdancing]

Numb | Tom Holland x Male!Reader

Words: 9091

Warnings: Smut and negative thoughts?

A/N: Sit yourself down for this one. This is loooooong! It’s completely different from what I usually write. Still had an absolute blast writing it. 

Check out the request description below!

Requested by: @idwithoutthesuperego​:  Ok, but a fic where tom sells his body for money because he just needed the money and reasons. And male reader's friends buy a "night" with him without telling reader after a bad breakup. But they just click, and MR kinda falls in love n wants to do the "i'm gonna date you and get you out of that life". But tom is just like "i dont believe in people anymore and im destined to die in some alley being used". This is oddly especiffic, but is something i would just love to read about if u can, plz.

Oh, and if you consider being a good soul and wirtting a fic for my ask, PLEASE make a happy ending hahaha My heart wouldnt be able to handle that drama without the happiness

Tears dry up. Eventually. Suppressing the pain. Left with unanswered questions. For weeks they bothered your conscience. Hang around your neck like a millstone. A burden on your soul. Pondering. That’s what you’re left doing. Your day to day life slowing down to a grinding halt. Everything went on auto-pilot. While your mind pondered over every moment of what could have been. What if… And, if I…

 Circling in your mind forever. Sleep didn't come easy. Nor did any desire for anything. Friend and family kept summing up the logical steps of coping. Stages of grief. "It'll pass." Those little sentences stuck with you. “It’ll take time.” Each and everyone kept repeating it. But what value did it have? What lessons could you take from those words? For you are left with an empty house. An empty couch. An empty chair. And an empty place beside you. Alone. Trapped within your own mind.

 Pondering over every thought and every memory.

 That feeling of nothingness. It’s strange at first. You manage to go on with your life. Sleep returns at night. And waking up wasn’t at painful as it was at first. You couldn’t put your finger on it. But it could be described as numbness. Everything went on autopilot. And feelings were shut off. Barricaded behind layers of overthinking and mind-boggling thoughts. No sense of desire anywhere. The impact of a broken relationship was far worse then you imagined.

 Just comfortably numb.

 "This will do you good." Your friend tries to convince you again. Pushing the flyer into your hand. “For a moment, try to think ab-...” The words reach your ear in waves. Disturbed by sounds coming from somewhere close by. Ringing in your ears. Folding open the flyer, you see some sort of menu. You squint again, slightly intoxicated by the last few beers. This wasn’t some ordinary menu, like a Chinese take-out restaurant. You feel your blood boiling. Heart racing in your chest cavity. You peel your eyes from the fat printed letters. “Men of your choosing."

 “Give it a shot." Your friend nudges you against your shoulder. Seeing the fury in your eyes building, as you look up. "I choose this one for you." Pointing to a loosely attached picture. "He looks nice, doesn't he?"

 “Why would you…?" You mumble, shaking your head in disgust. “Get out.” Tossing everything his way. “Just get out…” Pushing yourself up from the couch. Pacing back and forth across the room, before turning into the kitchen. Raking your fingers through your hair. Letting the cold water from the tap, run across your face. Why do people keep meddling in your business? It's exhausting. A sudden burst of rage and anger courses through you, but it ebbs away as quickly as it came. Leaving you feeling defeated and numb again. Falling back into the kitchen chair. Gaze fixated on the moonlight illuminating the scenery in front of you —mind blank.

 Footsteps approach from behind you. You’ve heard the door open and close. You assumed your friend left. But an unknown voice calls to you. "Hey…"

 "You can go." You respond instantly; without looking,  waving him away. "Please." Releasing an unintended long sigh. Sinking deeper into the chair. Your gaze fixated on the endless void in front of you.

 "I can't." The voice says calm and controlled. "I'm booked for the entire night."

 "I don't care." Shrugging your shoulders. "Please just leave me be. Tip yourself on the way out, wallet is in my coat." You just sit there, sulking in your own misery.

 It's quiet for a good moment. You guess he's probably still there. Standing a few feet behind you.

“You’re awfully calm for a situation like this.”

 "Right…" You chuckle to yourself. “Thanks.”

 "Your friend told me." Hearing his footsteps approach instead of fading away, sending you an uneasy feeling down your spine. "It's ok…" You hear him right behind you. “He means well.” Your body jolts up in the chair, as his hands rest upon your shoulders. His hands just rest. Nothing more. Yet you feel every touch of his finger, every point of contact upon your body. A weird sensation. Even more, as his thumbs begin pressing and rolling around the lower part of your neck. Rubbing your skin. Slowly massaging your sore muscles. A sudden involuntary grunt escapes you.  "I know it's difficult."

 "I… I don't know if… I…" You try to shake the thought of it out of your mind. It conflicted deeply within you. Yet, his touch. So simple, yet strangely satisfying. A different kind of emotion began to rise. Something that had been locked away, far and deep.

 "Please…" He says with subtlety and kindness in his voice. And as he moves past you. The man came into view. Your eyes are somehow captivated by first sight. As he sinks down onto his knees. A thin smile cracked his wistful glance. "It's going to be okay."

 He looked so young, yet worn in a way you couldn't put your finger on. A sorrowful face you had never seen. Long, brown curls gracefully tumbled down his head. The contours of his face were absolutely stunningly shaped. The thin lips and sharp jawline. A work of art. A little imperfection on his right brow. Small hairs rebelling against the flow. Yet his face drained with a gaunt stare. The eyes didn't fool you. Set deep into his face. Small and brown, caramel-like of color. They showed little signs of life left in them. Hollow. Like a flame died out long ago. A spark long lost. A view into the past what once used to be. It lost its touch. It’s humanity...

 Yet, somehow you feel magically drawn to those sorrowful and silent features. Most fascinating, almost hypnotizing. The moment of eye contact was unexpected long. His touch sending you back reality.

 With both his hand on your inner thigh, slowly rubbing his way upwards. The touch of his fingers sends shudders through your systems. They felt so warm. You close your eyes for a moment, shielding your crotch. A moment of insecurity. You couldn't do this. This feeling. Your body, its sending signals you haven't felt in ages. "I… I… don't think I'm ready for this, I'm sorry…"  

 “I get that.” He says, while with one hand lifting your chin. You feel his soft fingers on your cheek. The first touch of a man in months. Your heart flutters excitingly.  And before you open your eyes to meet his. His lips tenderly grace yours. For a brief moment, they join each other. Soft as a cushion, and so warm. It happens quickly. But you want it to last forever. As he disconnects, his dark brown eyes stare at you with compassion. "Your body is, though." He smiles thinly, interlacing his fingers with yours. Gently rubbing down onto your growing bulge.

 “W-Wh …” You stutter and try to protest. But your hands pull back slowly, bit by bit.

 He seats himself back on the floor, spreading your legs apart. Positioning himself closer. With care, he begins to remove your belt. Halting at the first button of your pants. "Try to relax."

 You hesitantly look on. As the zipper opens up. Latching both fingers on the band of your underwear, he slowly pulls in down. Removing your pants, revealing your member, semi-hard. Waiting for the action.

 Leaning forward, he tilts his head and slowly begins working. One simple touch and you were gone. This soft, warm tongue, stroking gently along your length. In a matter of seconds, it's standing full mast. Wrapping his fingers along the base, he continues at a slow pace. Meanwhile, your heart was beating like crazy against your ribcage. You're breathing fastened and irregular.

 “W-What’s your name?” You interrupt. His eyes connect with yours as he looks up through his laces. But doesn’t respond. “P-Please…” You whimper softly.

 He stops, holding your length in one hand. “I’m Tom.” Wetting his lips as he watches you struggle. “You doing alright?”

 You nod quickly, struggling to get your words out. Swallowing the lump in your throat. “T-T-T…om”

 But before you manage to utter another word. He brings his tongue in contact with your tip. Keeping eye contact with you. With a few simple licks, slicking it wet with his saliva. The sensation of his tongue working his way round and round your tip was tantalizing. But the sudden, slide of your tip past his lips and down into his mouth was heavenly. Your body tenses up, hip bucking into his grasp. Moaning his name in response. With your hands clamped to the side of the chair, your fingers digging deep into the wood. Turning your knuckles white, the muscles in your arm cramping up as you can't hold up. You shudder from pure bliss. Only a few strokes up and down with his hands combined with his mouth made you groan deeper and deeper.

 Your eyes widen as he suddenly stops. He rises to his feet, keeps his gaze at you, and with both hands lifting the hoodie over his head. And as the hoodie came off, your eyes hunger for every bit of exposed skin you could possibly find. Giving you a glimpse of a well-trained body. A sneak-peek of a six-pack. Broad shoulders, pecks shining through the shirt. Leaving a much revealing, loosely hanging shirt on his figure. But you feel somewhat caught the moment you get eye contact with him again. His expression was painful to watch. You could almost sense his disappointment. His misery. It's only then you realize the shame. The realization hits you that you view him as an object. As lust.

 "It's ok." Seeing his eyes soften before you, followed by a small smile.

 But it's only a split second before he's back at you again. You can't help but peak past his face down into his shirt. Past his collarbone, onto his muscular torso. God…  

 You snap back to reality, feeling his hand reach for yours. Pulling it from your side. "Hold my hair."

 "W-What…?"

 "Fuck my throat." Sliding his mouth over your member again. Slowly picking up pace. "Go on." He gurgles. Keeping eye contact the whole time.

 “Why are you doing this, Tom?” You ask with a slight tone of disappointment. "You seem so out of place." Lifting his face from your member. "Terribly out of place."

 "Please don't (Y/N)." The mention of your name makes you blush.

 "No, Tom. This isn’t right." You point at his shirt. “Let me look at you.”

 "Wha…-" He sighs, hanging his head down in shame. "No, please don't."

 "Tom, I mean no wrong." You couldn’t help yourself. You could foreshadow what was beneath that shirt. Being in that sort of business took its toll. You caught a glimpse of it when he got rid of his hoodie.

 His gaze was stuck to the floor for a moment. Contemplating on his actions. Before taking to his feet. Slow and defeated. Averting your gaze before turning around. With crossed arms, he takes the corners of his shirt. And pulls it over his head. Waiting for your reaction. You swallow the lump in your throat once again. Seeing the small spots of discolored skin on his back. The bruises. Some larger than the other. Some bright red, the others darkened. The words stock in your throat, feeling the tears well in your eyes. The thought of him suffering by the hands of others made you sick. The poor thing.

 You rise to your feet, closing the distance between you and him. Gracing your fingers on the bruises. “Do they… hurt you?” Tracing your fingers down his side. Partly feeling the muscles under your fingers. But the fact that he didn’t answer your question made you more than worried.

 “Promise me one thing, (Y/N)…” He stops your hand from trailing along the side of his figure. Resting his hand on yours. He’s glowing. Warm to the touch. You can’t help but close the distance. Placing your other hand on his hip.

 With a thin smile, he turns around. Your eyes take in every inch, from his pecs to his abs. A breathtaking body stood in front of you. Strong and masculine. But not too big. "God…" You awe. "You're g-gorgeous-..." Your throat falls dry at the sight. You feel flutters deep down. “I… I’m sorry.”

 “It’s okay.”

 Small bruises dotted down his side. Dark from color, pain from long ago. "Tom…" You mutter worryingly. All the time you awed at his body, he averted his eyes. Looking aside. You now understand why. As your eyes sink lower and lower. You spot the bulge in his pants. Impossible to hide. "Are you…" Not finishing your question because of the obvious. The red rushing to his cheeks.

 He still nods in acknowledgment. "I…I… never had this happen before.”

 “Do you…” A finger on your lips silences your words. Stepping very close to you, spotting his watery eyes up close.

"Yes! Yes, I do!" He confessed, with tears welling in the corner of his eyes. Shaking as he struggles to get his words out. "But promise me…that when…” His nostrils flaring. “-This will never work (Y/N)…" Smashing his lips into yours. You didn’t want to listen to his words. None of it. His arms reach around you, pulling you in. Wrapping your own around him, feeling every part of his skin. Pressed tight against him. Ripping the remaining clothes off your body. You just wanted to feel that perfect body. And so did he, roving his hands all over yours.

 Every kiss has a raw intensity. There’s just too much skin and too few hands and tongues to worship it all. Both your bodies collide against each other completely naked. His firm and rigid cock pressing against your skin. It glides through your hand as wet as it can be. Tom jerking you off at the same time. Moans and grunts fill the room. Tom’s member too slippery to even get a hold of. The sight of it makes you weak in the knees. The chair behind you topples over from your vicious play. As you stumble out of the kitchen. Against the doorpost, over the couch. Towards the bedroom.

 Together you fall onto the mattress. Rolling back and forth. An intense play of hands and lips. Dry humping against each other. You both can't get enough of each other. His lips kissing every inch of skin. Forcing his weight onto you, making you lay flat on your back. He arches back, and sensually starts grinding his pelvis onto yours. Rubbing your balls and cock together into a soaking wet mess. He must have done this hundreds of times. It looked so smooth and sensual. Moaning softly as he held both of your members together. With gentle hands, but a firm grasp nonetheless. Thrusting both cocks through his hand. His fingers teasing the ridges along the lengths. Spreading the pre-cum with the pad of his thumb. Looking at his face, he's so concentrated that you once again get caught staring at him.

 Both moaning, the air is thick of pheromones, the smell seeping into your mind. Both wanting it badly. As he locks eyes again, he smoothly reaches round with one hand. He seemed really flexible, propped on his knees. Arching backward as he lifts his ass up, guiding your tip to his entrance. A slight resistance gave way, allowing you to slide far and deep into him. The moment you sheath yourself into him deeper and deeper, you watch on as he shudders. Contorting his face. Both hands cling to your chest. With both his hands resting on your torso, the fingers dig deep and hard into your skin. Feeling his shaking and shuddering throughout your body. He closes his eyes for a moment, moaning your name in pleasure. And sinks further forwards to your chest. Panting heavily. After regaining himself, he adjusts his hands on your shoulder. And locks lips with yours. "Y-You… f-feel amazing." Moaning into the kiss. The praise turning you on immensely. Growing impossibly large inside of him.

 And so he slowly begins grinding his hips back and forth with your shaft deep inside him. Feeling yourself widen him further and further. Tom’s moans become long and raw. Sitting up straight again, he takes one hand and forces your cock deeper into him. Reaching further and deeper. While trying to clench his cheeks around you. Hitting different and deeper spots. The sudden increase in pressure and warmth were becoming too much. Not only for you. You see Tom's mouth fall open, gasping for air, his eyes shut tight from ecstasy. His other hand caresses the skin of his neck.

 Your grunts become shorter and shallow. You’re a lost cause. Your mind is blank, completely lost at the sexual pleasure coursing through your body. Racing towards your climax. Both hands clinging to his hips, but your strength wasn’t helping much.

 Tom could feel it coming. Your balls churn. A pent up force, craving to be released. And all it takes is a look into each other’s eyes for you to fill him up. And before you tip the point of no return. He picks up the pace. Making sure to milk every drop by clenching his cheeks harder on you. A loud gasp follows. Shuddering your body to the very core. Your hands dig deep into the side of his hips. The splashing inside is intense as you cum, spilling all over. And Tom just keeps riding. Until you just turn limb. Gasping out his name.

 "Felt good?" He asks, breathing heavily, watching his chest heave up and down. A smile on his face. You again realize what a beautiful person he was. His body atop of yours, glistening with sweat. And a damn cute smile.

 “Out of this world.” You pant, laying your head to rest on the cushion. “You’re incredible.”

 "Good." Cupping your cheeks with both hands and kissing you. The smile on his face was larger than you'd ever seen. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." You notice a sudden sparkle flaring in his eyes. Something igniting deep within.

 "How about you…?" Eyeing his erection. "You didn't blow your load." Wrapping your arms around his neck. Pulling him towards you for a slow and passionate kiss.

 "Don't you worry, I did enjoy it very much." He smiled. "More then I should." Pushing strands of hair from your forehead. "I was close…" He confesses softly.

 "Then why didn't you keep going?"

 "Because that would hurt you…" He blushed.

 "How?"

 "You can't just keep going if you blow your load. At first, it's really sensitive, but then it becomes increasingly itchy, to a point it feels like it burns. Quite painful."

 You're both lost in each other’s gaze. As he falls beside you, curling up to cuddle. Tom resting on your chest. Your fingers playing with the brown silky smooth curls of his. "What can I do to make you feel good?" You whisper to him.

 "You already did." Pressing a soft kiss on your lips. You can't help but notice the way he smiled. It's wholesome. To the point of a complete cuteness.

 "Tom, I want you to feel good too." Slowly tracing your fingers up and down his spine. "Because that smile suits you."

 "But, I don't want to hurt you (Y/N)." He looks up with a growing expression of worry on his face.

 "It won't, Tom." Cupping his cheek. "I want to feel you."

Through all the glistening sweat and wetness on your bodies. You feel his length grow against your thigh. Yourself following along. "Give it to me, baby…" You whisper close to his ear.

 Tom helps himself on his knees. His member standing fully erect, ready for you. A jolt of excitement shoots through you at the sight. It's been forever since you've been pleasured since your break up. Something you actually look forward to now. So you roll onto your knees. "Wait…" You look back at Tom. "Turn over."

 On your back again, eager and waiting, Tom takes you by the hips. Reeling you in. Positioning himself behind you. And turns you on your side.  “This is most comfortable for you.” Kneading your ass cheeks with gentle hands. Captivated by your hole. “Alright?”

 You can’t help but chuckle at his carefulness. How soft and tenderly he was approaching you. Putting a cushion under your hips. Rearranging the sheets. Therefore receiving a semi frowned questioning look from Tom.

 “Sweety, I know what you’re going to do.” You give him a reassuring smile. “I’m ready.”

 “Trust me, if you do it wrong, it’ll hurt like hell.” Giving you a little kiss. “I wouldn’t want that to happen.” You stare at each other for half a second. You draw a deep breath, dizzy with anticipation.

 He moves one leg aside, revealing your entrance. A little gasp of excitement leaves, as you feel his tip slowly slide at your hole. “Please tell me if it hurts.” He asks. You nod eagerly. His hands grip onto your hips, the pressure on your entrance increasing. You lick your lips and suck in another deep breath.  You stifle a groan as you feel your sphincter grip the head of his cock. You’re legs feel numb. You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling, releasing a silent moan.

 He holds the moment your face contorts even the slightest, waiting for you to adjust. Slowly accepting his length. Every inch he enters you, you hear his grunts become heavier. Your warmth and light wetness guiding him deeper. “Y-You’re tight.” He moans, trying to regain this breath. “Fuck…” Wiping the sweat from his face.

 Your dick is throbbing, there was no other way to describe it. Pressed against the sheets. No stimulation but only the motion of his thrusts. Stimulated by his presence. His looks. His thrusts. You're breathless, staring at his physique. He is masculine, but not too much. So complete. The view of his muscles tensing and relaxing. Utterly mesmerizing to watch. Even as he begins to move back and forth. Sweat breaks out all over your body at the first couple of thrusts. Very slow and lovingly.

 Stretching your further as he goes in. His breathing slow and ragged. He pushed deep. Reaching far inside you. Warming places you didn’t know you had. The feeling of his dick fully inside you was driving you to the point of an unexpected climax already. The rigidness of his cock, rubbing your insides. Making you shudder to your very core while praising his name. Your cock already leaking on the sheets.

 The pressure inside you rising faster than ever before. It’s impossible to think straight, his pace was slow and passionate. Yet, you only feel his cock hitting your insides. You grip your sheets, whimpering uncontrollably. You only manage to utter his name, squirming under his pressure. The cum just starts pouring out of you, uncontrollable amounts soaking the already wet area. Tom follows up with another thrust, making you squirt even further. You moan long and hard, feeling your entire body shudder from the release. “Holy s-shit… Tom.” You sputter.

 As you open your eyes, you watch Tom hunched forward. Panting heavily. Eyes clenched shut. "Tom…?" You ask. He holds his hand up to you. Signaling you to wait. After he regains himself again, he positions himself further above you. You hear his hot ragged breath, tightly hugging his hips against your ass cheeks. Cock buried deep inside you. “F-Fuck, (Y/N)…” He grunts. “That was hot…”

 He takes a moment to gather himself again. You do the same. Catching your breath and calming your senses. You wait for Tom to move again.  Before he does, he starts to pepper your body with wet, hot kisses. Moaning your name softly as he begins to roll his hips.

 Goosebumps shoot across your skin at the mention of your name. A sudden yelp escapes your lips, grabbing his attention immediately. To your surprise, you feel a moist sensation touching your cock. You gaze at your member, while it hardens without touch. Only by a few thrusts from his shaft.

 “Shit…” He grunts as he wraps his fingers around your length. An awkward position, but he manages. Stroking your cock, coated by your own cum, slow and steady. Completely captivated by it. You sense it's turning him on immensely, as you feel him thicken inside you.

 You release a silent moan as your mouth falls open. Feeling his girth stretch you even further. The ridges rubbing you in unexpected ways. After a few strokes, he loses his grip, licking the wetness from his fingers, one by one. You watch as he sucks each of his fingers dry in his mouth. “Fuckin’ hell...” He groans. “That’s really good." Leaning in, he lands his lips on yours. "I'm getting close, baby." He moans into the kiss.

 “Go for it.” You whisper into his ear. Holding him close. “Blow your load for me.” As he picks up pace. Desperate for release. His cock feeling incredibly hard inside you. Swelling even further at the mention of your dirty talk. “Blow it all inside me.”

 He grunts deep and hard into your ear. Rolling his hips faster and faster into you. “C’mon, baby.” You encourage him. Feeling his cock grow inside you. His breathing quickens, as does his momentum. Rutting into you faster than before. Not relentlessly, but with a comfortable pace.

 Already widened and stretched from before, you feel his cock hitting you deep again. Each time he hits your thrust back, hitting that same spot, you feel the sensation ache in your cock. Twitching from pleasure. “R-Right there, Tom.” You gasp again.

 He shoots a look at you, realization hitting him that you’re getting close again. “Keep going.” You moan out loud. Not a moment later, you feel him pulse inside you. With a cry, he thrust once more, deep and hard into you. You lift your ass to meet his thrust, his balls slap against your skin. The splashing inside you as he cums is so intense that you feel it spilling down your cheeks. Your mind goes blank. Watching him pump load after load into you. Your cock twitches, barely holding on. As your insides were coated.

 He just pulls out, like a plug of a bathtub. You gasp of relief, feeling the wetness seep outwards.  Drops of wetness fly from his still erect member as it bounces upward. Giving a quick tug on your legs, so you end on your back again. Spreading your legs.

 You’re out of breath for a moment. Not sure what he was going to do. Watching your own dick spring back into view again. All wet and swollen. With force, he pulls you to the side of the bed and kneels down. His fingers wrap around your member. As he suddenly starts suckling on your balls. It's strange ticklish feeling at first, but combined with his firm grasp on your length, and strokes, it became more than that. Your balls begin to churn. Gripping the sheets around you, your head falls back onto the mattress, overwhelmed by this quick handling.  

 “T-Tom!” You cry out. “God!” You plant both your feet on the mattress. You shut your eyes tight, pressing your head back into the mattress, thrusting your hips into his grasp. But he doesn’t slow down.

 “Tom!” You burst out, not only in words. Your eyes widen, gasping out loud as he rubs down hard on your shaft. Cum jets from your swollen cock. Stroking you hard, milking every last possible drop.

 It's only hazy from thereon…

 You’re not sure if you passed out, but it felt like you sprayed the ceiling with your load. The next moment you open your eyes, you find Tom cuddled up against you. Just some sheets covering a few parts. “Did I pass out or…?”

 “You didn’t.” He chuckles, looking up at you with a smile on his face. “You dozed off very shortly after. I don’t blame you.” He sniffles while tracing a finger up and down your chest. You wrap your arm around him. Just living in the moment. "I'm so happy, your friend picked me." He whispered to you. That comment stuck with you.

 "Thank you, Tom." Pressing your lips on his forehead, tasting a taint of salt. Picking a few strands of hair from his forehead. Cuddling together in the safe comfort of each other. The sharing of interests you had in common. Followed by simple chatter about the things in life. Making each other laugh. Having a good time. For once, in a very long time, you felt whole again. His smile. His presence, something felt right. Something clicked.

 And it's that sort of thing you just can’t get enough of. Your eyes are glued to him. The heat rising in your system. That flutter in your stomach. It hurts. In a good way. He is everything you ever wanted in a man.

 You love him.

 All cuddled up against each other, it falls to you how sticky everything actually really his. His skin glistening with sweat and wetness.

 “How about we freshen up?” Rustling your fingers through his curls. “Shower is big enough for both of us.”

 “Good idea.” His lips meeting yours in agreement. "I'll gladly join you."

 Being close to together, naked, warm water, and soap. Things get heated again. You don't know how long you been in the shower. And you don't mind. Because for the time, you felt the rush of living again. Being alive. Receiving praise. Kind words whispered into your ear.

No denying that his smile was infectious. A smile that wouldn't disappear, you noticed. Tom was a whole different person to the one that stepped in earlier tonight. Deep down, you could feel that this version of him was the real him. Loving, caring, passionate.

 And no matter how dangerous shower sex was told to be. You did it. And more. Memories burned into your mind forever.

 You take a moment longer to rinse off the sweat and wetness under the steaming hot water. Recollecting those wonderful moments again. Tom already out. You can't seem to shake your smile. This was right. This is how life should be.

 Turning into the bedroom with your towel wrapped around your waist, your smile drops immediately. "Where you going?" He hastily pushes his phone back into his pocket. Tom was already dressed, ready to put on his jacket.

 "I have to go." He mumbled, avoiding your gaze. His smile nowhere to be seen.

 "Please, just stay."  This moment was bound to happen. But you weren’t going to give in. You’ve seen enough people leave through that door. "Stay with me."

 "I… I… can't… I need to go." Checking the time on his phone.

 "You don't have to do this, you know. I can-" But midsentence, you're cut off.

 "Don’t… (Y/N).” His voice skips a beat. You’re pretty sure you could see tears welling in his eyes. You have to fight to keep them back as well. “P-Please…” He stutters, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Don’t make this harder than it already is."

 "Tom, it's doesn't have to be this way."

 "I warned you. It can't be helped." He sobbed. An hour ago, the man standing in front of you was majestic, beautiful, and full of life. What remained now was nothing of that. Hunched shoulders and hands stuffed into his pockets. Eyes wet from tears.

 "I'll take a chance."

 "Please, stay out of it. Just leave me be. Forget about me."

 "Oh no, I can't. Not in a million years. I'll get you out whatever shithole you got yourself into." You’re just glad he didn’t walk right out. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to follow him. Something was holding him back.

 "It's not worth it. It can't be fixed."

 "Everything takes time to heal."

 "Not me, not me." He snickers. “I… I need to go.”

 You rush to your drawers, pulling fresh clothes out as fast as you can. "Wait, I'll bring you wherever you're going."

 "You'll get into trouble if they see you."

 "I don't care." You quip while jumping into a pair of pants.

 "But I do!" He cries. “I do!”

 "The feeling is mutual." You growled. With your shoes and jacket on, you interlace fingers with his. Dragging him outside. And as you open the door, the pizza delivery shows up. “P-… Pizza delivery?” The man hesitates, looking at the both of you weirded out. “Here.” You shove a bill of cash into his hands. "Now, go!" He instantly rushes off onto the street. With screeching tires, the little scooter darts back up the road. In a big arch, you toss the pizza inside, cheese, and all flying everywhere before you close the door behind you.

 The car ride was uneasy, to say the least. No music. Only darkness and the rain hitting the windshield. Sometimes a finger, pointing you in the right direction. You appeared mad. To say you weren't was a misconception. But not at him. And what kind of music was even appropriate at that moment? Your mind was conflicted. You could just drive the opposite direction. Away from it all. He would be save.

 Would he?

 You couldn’t judge if you didn’t know where he was living. What if they came after him? That would endanger you as well. No, this required a different approach. This needed planning. God, you were in a state to do anything.

 Breath in, breath out. Calm yourself down.

  Hope.

Was it misplaced hope

?

 Hope for a happy ending.

 But hope is the worst of all evils, for it prolongs the torment of men. Words from an old book. Spoken by wise old men as they say. But in the end, the truth runs from the first to the very last word. How naive could you be? Deep down, you knew this was impossible. His words spoken earlier that evening kept circling in the back of your mind. Yet, you cling to that glimmer of hope. Those words in the shower. Those moments together. This couldn't be it?

 You hoped not.

  “Stop here.” He says. “It’s down that alley.” Pointing to a small flickering light in the distance. You could only get a glimpse as the windscreen wipers came by to clear the pouring rain from your window. You spot the outline of a figure standing there. "Turn around the moment I enter that alley. Don't come near.”  

 “I need your number.” Pulling out your phone. But he had already opened the door. “Tom!” You hissed, leaning over to passenger’s seat. Barely in time to get a hold of his arm. “How can I find you?” The wind and rain washing into the car. You have to blink once or twice to keep the rain out of your eyes. “Tom?!”

 “T-Thank you for tonight, (Y/N).”

 "No! Tom!" Tears welling in the corner of your eyes. Awkwardly constrained by your seatbelt, struggling to get a firm grasp on his hand. "Don't do this!" Your fingers begin to lose their grip on his hand, the rain hitting you relentlessly. This sting of pain. You felt this moment before. Slowly slipping away from your fingers. "Not like this!"

 "I'm so sorry…" And with a tug, he pulls his arm free, slamming the door into your face.

 You scream from the top of your lungs. Tears rolling down your cheek, you fumble with the seatbelt. But it won't open. Tears cloud your vision, anger raging from deep within. Forcing you to watch him run through the rain towards that accursed alley. You let your fury loose on anything in range. Until you're deprived of energy. Resting your forehead against the steering wheel. Watching the tears fall from your cheeks. You lost.

 A knock on your window makes you jump. “G-Hello?” A thick accent calls out to you. Your eyes spot the contours of a man. His face closing in on the window. His features unpleasant to the eye, looking like a common fugitive. Not with the best intention. "You zhould not be ghere.”

 So many things raced through your mind. You could just mash the door against his burly, ugly set face. Giving you an advantage to whatever came next. But… What would you achieve with that?

You nod quickly and steer your car the way you came. Driving around mindlessly. Gaze fixated on the horizon.

 It’s been minutes, hours, and days. They’re as grueling as you could possibly imagine. Tormented by your own thoughts. How could you save Tom? You couldn't admit to yourself that you actually knew nothing. There's only a location. That's all.

 Taking a few days off only makes it worse. Sleep doesn’t come at all. Falling back on drinking makes no difference. It only forces out the anger. Until the tipping point of intoxicating takes over your senses.

 Until your eyes spot the flyer, you’re hands tremble as you gaze on the picture of Tom. In all fairness, there wasn’t even a name mentioned. Only a number, like a damn menu. You scramble for your phone, shaking with nervousness. It takes a moment for the number to connect, until you hear a lady’s voice call out the name of the business.

 “Ehm… Hello, I… want Tom, p-please." You stutter, sweat breaking out across your body. While your fingers play with the edges of the picture. Gaze stuck on the picture of Tom. It remains silent on the other end of the line.

 “He doesn’t work here.” That single comment makes your blood boil. The thought that some filthy businessman groping him was sickening.

 “I meant number 26.”

 “I don’t know either. Anyone else?”

 “JUST GIVE ME FUCKING TOM!” You scream from the top of your lungs. “How hard can it be!”

 "I'm afraid I can't help you, sir." And the line disconnects. You're fumingly mad. Realizing your failure.  Gritting your teeth, you barely able to control yourself. Your thoughts sink deeper, and deeper in desperation. You could pull each and every single hair out of your skull out of frustration. Kicking chairs over and destroying stuff didn't satisfy in any way. Only the pain halted you momentarily. This couldn't be the end. You wouldn't let it end this way. You can't.

 You can’t let him go.

  - - - - -

From around the corner, you watch the alleyway. It’s been days. You thought this through countless times. Overthinking is what they call it. Days on end. If Tom was there, you needed to take a shot. You have to do something. What else is there to live for anyway? That is one way to boost your morale you chuckle to yourself. You take one last sip from the bottle before putting in back in your car. Releasing a hiss as the strong liquor burns its way down your throat. In a weird way, it makes your head clearer. Calms the nerves. Brings peace to your mind. Boosts your confidence. If only for this moment. You double-check the surroundings. Everything's in place.

 With confidence in your step, you lock your car around the corner and make your way down the street. You straighten your collars before sheathing them in the pockets of your jacket.  It takes quite a few steps to get there. The man on the corner of the alleyway can’t help but notice you. Trying casually to walk towards you. And as you approach the man, you notice he’s definitely one size larger than you. It surely wasn't the man that warned you in your car. This one had a more pleasant and kinder look to him. "G-Hey you…" He nods at you. "You ghot businez here?” Speaking with the same Eastern European accent as the other.

 You halt in front of him. Taking a moment to answer him, trying to keep your nerves in check. While looking calm at the same time. “I’m here for this.” Revealing the flyer from your pocket. “Is the manager in?”

 “Da, but why zhould I let you through?”

 You sigh with discontent. Revealing a stack of money from your pocket. "Here." Handing him twenty or so bills. "Don't bother me anymore." And take the gamble by walking past him. You hear a whistle behind you. Just as you are about to turn into the dim-lit alleyway, another man halts you. An impressively large man. You weren’t small either. But he towered over you, by far.

 “Got any on ya?” Surprisingly, this man wasn’t Eastern European looking or sounding at all. Holding your hands up beside you, you shake no. But the man still searches you. Keeping an eye on you at all costs. Mumbling to himself a few things. "Follow me."

 Through the dark passage, you’re led towards a metal door. Only a dim light above it shows the entrance. The rest is barely visible. The man engages the locking mechanism and opens the door. Through a series of corridors and stairs, you get the impression of this operation. A series of rooms, followed by cells. Giving you an inside look of how dilapidated and horrifying the building actually is. Your worst nightmare just becomes a reality. It's beyond belief how Tom managed to survive in these conditions.

 You try to keep your gaze fixated on the man in front of you as you follow him. But you desperately hope to see Tom here somewhere. What if you don't get out of here… alive? You draw a deep breath and focus on what’s next. A sudden halt at a room, makes you jump a little. “In here.” Pointing inward to an older lady behind a desk. "Make your request." He grunts, crossing his arms as several other people in the room watching you enter.

 “How can I help you, sir?” The woman kindly asks you. You recognize her voice from the phone earlier this week.

 “Alright.” You say, unimpressed. “Cut the middleman.” Turning around to the large man. “Bring me to the manager.” His gaze far from friendly. From the corner of your eyes, you see the nearby, you guess guards, take a step closer. Some whispering to each other. As the large man takes a few steps towards you. Ending up so close to you, he’s literally looking down on you. The smell of smoke and sweat hinted at your nostrils. His warm, foul breath fanning onto your hair.

 “Why should we… little one?” He growled demeaningly. Not a smile in sight. “You walk into here with loads of cash, and demand to see the manager. What is so important you have that you need to see the manager?” Crackling his knuckles close to your face. His hands were large, fingers short but fatty. Stained by all kinds of things you rather wouldn’t know about. “For all I know, you were never here, to begin with…”

 “Excellent threat." You sniffle, revealing a stack from your pocket. As you do in the process, you hear guns being cocked. "Here." Stuffing the stack into his pocket. “Problem is, my burly friend…” You gaze up to him, forcing a grin on your face.  “I didn’t wander in here unprepared. You see, If I don’t return within… let’s say… the next two hours-…” Letting the moment sink in. Eyeing the people in the room. Everyone eager listening in on your little conversation. “-shits going down.”  

 “What did you call me?” His hand resting upon your shoulder, leaning down.

 “Do you call the shots for your boss?” You tilt your head slightly. Looking at him with a playful smile. “I don’t think he’ll appreciate the news I have regarding his ratline from Europe.”

 The man looks past you, nodding to the lady behind the desk. Returning his gaze to you.

 "Not willing to take the risk, hmmm?" You joke. Behind your back, you hear several whispers. The eyes of the man shot back and forth between the lady and you. Before pushing you down the hallway again. Again leading you through some corridors, down the staircase. Ending up in a luxurious room.

 Behind a desk sat a figure, so bulbous and fat, you’d never seen anything alike. Gold rings on his meaty fingers. The room decorated in some sort of Russian style. The left wall accommodating a series of monitors. Probably surveillance. But as you keep your eyes longer on the screens, you see the prostitutes. Man and women. You try to keep a straight face. “I heard interesting things about you, young man…” The blob of a man behind the desk mutters.

 “I always thought Russians started with a drink, before doing business.” Keeping a straight face.

 The flesh of its body bounces and flays around as it laughs loudly. Signaling the large man to pour the glasses. He couldn’t even do it himself anymore, his fat little arms limiting his movement. “Nasdrovia!” You both cheer and cling the glasses, chucking the content.

 “Let’s talk business.” The man says with a thick voice.

 "I have intel, concerning the safety of your cargo." You glance over to the guards. "Can we get the room to us.” Looking at the Russian for a confirmation.

 "Give him a minute." He waves at you with his fat fingers. "Continue." The large man that led you here hesitates. Keeping his eyes on you. "Go!" The Russian shouts again, waiting for the door to close.

 You take a deep breath. And focus on the conversation. The details are important. Focus.

“You need to relocate within the next… 24 hours.” Checking your watch. “They’re on to you.”

 “How do you know?” He burst out laughing. “Do you have any evidence? Because my business is at an all-time high. My man and woman are booked like never before. I even have a new shipment comin-”

 "Container #556121 on the SSE Georgia has been snitched." You say with a reassuring tone. "Go ahead. Tell me if I'm wrong." He has a distrusting look on his face, hesitant to believe you. But still goes ahead to unlock his drawer, revealing a sort of book and a laptop.

 Bluff. Neither the name of the ship or the number was anything close to what you were supposed to say. Through all the nerves, you just made something up. You just simply couldn't remember what the police told you. Your heart pounded in your chest. It's now or never. Everything depended on the next few minutes. On that little wire, you were carrying. The strength of your arms. Your will. And above all, the speed of the police. Your fingers tremble as you grab your watch. It's bound to happen at any moment.

 What happened next went so fast. It's all a blur. One distant gunshot set off a chain reaction. You jump over the desk as the door behind you swings open, blood splatters all across. The razor-thin wire detaches from your watch, and you swing it around the neck of the bulbous man. His fat little arms couldn’t reach around. Shielding behind his humongous chair and body, you restrain him. You watch the bullet impacts on the wall near you as the guard curses loudly. The fat man’s arms flap around.  “Tell me about Tom, you fat fuck!” You shout. “I need to know!” Tightening the wire. With your “Where is he!?” Bashing his head from behind. “WHERE IS HE?!”

 The man fights and struggles heavily, barely able to breathe—coughing and desperate for air. The giant oak chair the man sat in, shook and trembled on the floor by the man's panicking movements. Screeching back and forth. His spasming legs hit the desk to the floor. Sending loads of stuff flying. The man points his finger to the guard. “K-K-Kill T…Tom!” He gurgles to the guard. The words reach your ears moments later, processing what the man just said. You panic as the guards suddenly darts off, grabbing his phone.

 “Noooooo!” Storming off towards the door, fueled by rage. Blinded by anger. Falling over several items on the floor. You regain your footing and continue to run towards the door. Turning the corner without a second thought.

 A bright flash. A high pitched noise. A ringing in your ear. A wince of pain, tearing into you, forcing every thought out of your mind, paralyzing your body. Only by a deep groan. Your eyes are blurry, your vision doubles as you stagger on your feet. Trying to blink it away didn’t help. You feel the pain worsen. Deepen. Sharp pain lances at your abdomen. Another flash close by. Jerking your body around.  Excruciating pain. It all happens with such force. It sends you stumbling backward. Your hands reach for the doorpost, trying to remain afoot. Holding on for life. But strength ebbs away. Your limbs feel numb. Fingers shaking, losing its grip. Slumping down to the floor, onto your knees. Everything hurt. Sharp, deep, unstoppable pain. Each exhale of breath stings your insides. Chocking the breath from your lungs. Your vision blurs, slowly turning red—darkness pressing in.

 But it wasn’t your vision turning red. It’s the pool of crimson red blood forming under your hands. Warming your pale, cold hands, oozing from your wounds. Panic hits. You’re short of breath, experiencing extreme difficulty with breathing. The cold gripping you. Your words strangled by the welling of warm blood, filling your throat. “T-Tom…” You manage to bring out in faltering gasps. Draining the last bit of energy left in you. “T...o...m…” Before your arms give in. Your head slamming against the crimson tainted concrete.

 Then silence.

 Silence.

 …

 …

 ...

 Is death near?

 …

 …

 ...

 That ringing noise in your ear. Coming closer.  Your head felt heavy and painful. As you slowly regain consciousness. You blink a couple of times to readjust to the intense light blinding your eyes. After a moment, you notice the light that shines in your eyes are rays of sunlight. Your try uttering a few words. But your throat was as dry as the desert, and rough like sandpaper. Forcing out an awful cough. "Am... I in heaven?" Your voice sounding croaked and harsh. Followed by another coughing fit. Your lungs hurt. A sharp pain lancing in your chest. Contorting your insides. Everything hurts. Each movement you made, your bones and muscles ache in response.

 “Sir?” A calming voice of a woman called to you. “Sir, how are you feeling?”

 “Terrible.” You cough, struggling to breathe. “Where am I?”

 “The hospital.” A young woman in nursery clothing showed up in your field of view. “You’re in good hands.” Everything looked pale white. Painfully white to the eyes. “You’re going to be fine.”

You have difficulty in paying attention to her. Your vision doubles, sound dissipates. She was trying to say something, but you couldn’t follow it.

 “The man that saved you is here.” Shaking your arm. "Sir..." Trying to keep you from passing out. "Look.” Helping you up. Your eyes slowly adjusting to the light, taking in the room. Loads of flowers decorated the space. Accompanied by colorful cards on the wall. “He stayed by your side the moment you came in. We could-"

 Her words fall to deaf ears. You couldn't believe your eyes. Blinking repeatedly. You try to sharpen the image. The tears welling in your eyes, not helping a bit.

 “This is heaven.” You mumble. The woman stops and looks at you. Giggling at your comment. Sitting there beside you, resting his head against the side of your bed. Eyes shut, snoring softly with his coat wrapped around him. "T-To…m…"  You try to say, falling into a terrible cough.  

 He jumps a little in his seat by the touch of the nurse. Rubbing the sleepers from his eyes, taking a moment to gather his bearings. But that moment you make eye contact. “(Y/N)!” He cries out. You can’t believe your eyes.

 “It’s really you.” You cough while trying to sit up. Tears streaming freely down your cheeks. "T-Tom!"

 "I can't believe it!" He snickers. Diving onto you, his arms closing around you, sobbing against your neck. You remain like this for a while. Deep in his embrace. Tears, only tears. But tears of happiness. You couldn’t remember when you experienced those.

 “T-Tom…?” You’re afraid to ask but needed to know. “Is… is it over? Is it done? A-Are you free...?”

  “Yes…” He nods, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Yes, I am. You did it. It's over." Cupping your cheeks with both hands, kissing you like you never been before. Euphoria. Blessed. Relieved. You feel alive.

“I cried myself to sleep that night (Y/N). Thinking I would never see you again.”  

 You nod. "I felt so lost without you." Knowing precisely what he meant. "I was so scared, Tom. I… I… thought I… was d-dying." Your body shakes at the thought and recollection of that moment. "It all… happened-d… and… I… I… m-missed you… so m-m-much." The sobs turn into long wails of emotions running freely.

 "It's ok." His arms reach around you, hugging your fragile body close to him. Letting all the tears flow freely. Crying in each other’s arms. "We’re going to be fine.”

 You hold him close, not ever wanting him to go. Locking eyes with him again. The reality of him beside you was heartwarming. That wonderful smile. It filled you with joy and happiness. But the questions burned at the back of your mind. "The nurse said you were the one who saved me? How…?"

 "I found you..." Enveloping your hands in his, pressing kisses to your cold fingers. "-on the floor." His eyes turn red, the tears running down his cheek. Crying for a moment, before he continues.

"A-A-After I heard the first shots close by, everything went so fast. I... saw guards being shot, and I ran… I knew something was wrong. I heard more shots. And… that’s when I turned the corner… I found you..." He weeps. "One moment you were there…" His blood-red eyes look at you with terror. "-the other I realized you were… close to… d-dying in my arms."

 You can't help but kiss him, hold him close. Comfort him as he wailed softly.

"Poor thing." The tears rolling down your cheek. “It’s going to better from here on out. I promise, Tom. I promise you.”

 "I love you (Y/N)." He whispers. His watery eyes lock with yours. "I love you with all my heart."

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x male reader #tom holland x male!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #tom holland male!reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland #male!reader #male reader #male reader smut #Smut #tom holland angst #angst

[cleololax]

Bubbles | A

Ghost!Jimin x MourningFiance!Reader 

AN: My first story post and it’s really really angsty so buckle up, buttercups (and don’t be stingy with the tissues T-T). Inspired by the RUN era because it was my first debut with them and it’s still my favorite.  

Warnings: Death of a loved one, mourning, intense grief and pain 

                              _______________________________

      You normally hate taking baths, preferring to get that tedious part of your routine over with. So you really don’t know what compels you today out of all of them, or so you tell yourself. The bathroom is small and quaint, quiet besides the sound of your jeans and the front button hitting the ground. The cold floor is covered in checkered tiles and light lavender walls. It was decorated long ago to fit your taste when you moved in, still single and excited to get your first place. It is fairly girly yet he had oddly loved it in here. The white tub is situated in the middle of the room, giving it that Parisian chateau feeling. You turn the gold faucet, unleashing the warm rushing water to fill the tub up to the brim. The bath soap is on top of the sink counter, ready to slide down any minute before you quickly grab it. The pink gel is squeezed into the water in a little stream that you are entranced by. Little wisps form before they disappear, leaving white froth in their midst. You slowly drop your undergarments and hastily twist your hair into a messy bun. You test it in the mirror, bobbing your head around in front of the small mirror to make sure that it stays. Your reflection looks back at you, but a much different one than you remember. It turns out that the lack of sleep has gotten to you, shading the space under your eyes a darker purple than before. Getting away with two hours of sleep every night consecutively can never work out and deep down you know that. Still, it angers you that you are,  once again, no exception to a rule. Not wanting to see the sight anymore, you turn around and make your way to the tub. The water is warm and you go down slowly, not wanting to let the water escape. Your body soon gets enveloped and your nerves relax as the warm water does it’s magic. The towel behind you offers your head comfort as you lean back from your sitting position. Nancy, the therapist that has been seeing you since you moved to the city,  had been right when she had proposed the idea of you doing this a couple times a week as a form of meditation. You mentally remind yourself to thank her later on. The plethora of bubbles surround you, creating a sea of iridescence so pretty it makes you want to cry and you would, if your eyes weren’t already swollen and dry. The little light above you makes them brilliantly shine and for a moment, you are lost to the sight. Nothing else matters outside of your little world. This sparks pleasant memories in your head. There is that time the two of you had a water fight, sloshing water back and forth, getting your clothes soaking wet.You had laughed all night and even after as you put the clothes in the noisy dryer. It isn’t enough, never enough. These memories won’t bring him back to you, no matter how hard you wish. They won’t provide you warmth on those rainy nights when he isn’t there, but there is a hope that they’ll keep the darker thoughts away. The scent fills the room with the sweet tinge of honey and roses, a great contrast to the bitterness that is settling in your heart when you think of how unfair life is. No, you never are the exception.  He was going to be a dancer on the Broadway stage and you’ll never get to watch his gracefulness, a determined look on his face as he lets the music take over. He’ll think he has forever to climb his way to the top, but it’ll be ripped from him. Your eyes momentarily close, trying to shut out all of the thoughts racing in your head. The ones that keep you from joining the living around you.You have to be calm because that is the whole point, after all. To relax and to find a new way of coping besides the self destructive path you have been treading on.  When you feel yourself getting lighter, a voice cuts in. A faint one at first, but slowly growing. Like when you’re asleep and it is all muffled. It is a voice you recognize, one that had said silky ‘I love yous’ not so long ago. The blood in your veins seems to catch on because it grows cold, all too quickly. It couldn’t be. Your mind has to be imagining it. It isn’t real, can’t be. And you wonder how your senses can play their mean tricks on you, taunt you in a way similar to a knife twisting through the heart. You are slowly losing your sanity and it’s not the way you want to go. Your eyes are still shut, hoping that you can take yourself out of here, imagine yourself elsewhere. It isn’t until you feel the water by your feet move that you gain the guts to open your eyes wide. It’s your name said aloud this time, and you figure out that it’s coming from the door. Not from somewhere, but from someone. The person you thought you’d never see again is suddenly leaning on the door, his arms crossed before him. You hesitantly look into his face, no longer met with the pale shade it had been the last time you saw him. His lips are no longer blue, but the plush pink you have always been jealous of. He has an amused grin on his face, his eyes trying to read your expression. He was always frustratingly good at it, making it impossible for you to hide the feelings you hadn’t wanted him to see. Your eyes are probably still the size of saucers and your jaw still open wide. Breathe you tell yourself, just breathe. He isn’t real. Why did he look so real, then? “It’s nice to see you too, love” he slowly speaks out. Those words seem to snap you out of your trance and confusion. Your heart still beats the same rhythm, maybe recognizing the person it still belongs to. And all of a sudden, the anger bubbles up from somewhere. He comes towards you. 

“Ah-ah, I have only a little bit of time. Let’s make it count.” You are still shocked, fingers digging into the palms of your hand. He comes to sit on the edge of the tub. 

“After all those times of begging you to come take a bath with me, you finally do it after I’m gone. I’m hurt, Y/N.” 

     He jokes and it makes you remember all those times he had pouted and whined for you to join him, but you never wanted to. You should have because you wouldn’t have regretted it like you do now. His fingers glide through the warm water, occasionally popping some bubbles. Then, you feel the warm anger that creeps up your neck. How could he be joking right now, of all times?

    Three months of loneliness and emptiness make your mouth feel dry and it’s hard to speak. He always tried to lighten the mood  and it drove you wild, especially now.  

“Really? You’re here and it’s the first thing you do is... laugh? You fucking bastard.“ Everything is a blur and you don’t know how you’re there on the rim of the tumb, hands pounding on his chest, water soshing around you.

“I haven’t washed your stuff, I keep your keys on the counter the way you left them. Everything is as you left it!” Even me. The words tumble out, even if they’ve swirled around in your mind, ontoletters that your therapist advised you to write. Warm hands catch a hold of your wrists.

“Y?N I-” Regret is laced in his tone and the red tinges on your vision disappear as soon as they appeared. 

“No, no don’t say anything.” your body deflates. You lean your forehead on his thighs. The energy you stored is gone, all gone. After some time, you regain your senses.

“How are you here, right now? Are you really here, or have those pills finally screwed with my mind?” You try to not let your voice crack, and instead let a sad smile take its place. You’d rather a sad one than none at all.  He looks at you then, his earlier humor gone. 

“You were thinking of me again weren’t you? I couldn’t be here if you weren’t. I’m so sorry, love.” 

     He reaches out to touch your hand, lovingly, like he has so many times before. You have to imagine that the warmth is still there. You look up at him. A beautiful sight he was, is, to behold. Even in death he has remained beautiful. A pure angel with the sparkle in his deep chocolate brown eyes and his orange hair, glistening under the artificial lighting. It looks exactly like the first night he had come home with it, surprising you. You want to remember it, him like this, for the rest of your life. You suddenly forget how to breathe. You got that very word tattooed one night on your bicep with him by your side, and you still can’t even remember to do it. He notices the way you look at him suddenly.

 “I miss you, Jiminie.” 

 “And me you. Always and always.” 

As if reading the swelling of emotions in your eyes, he silently adds, “It’ll get easier, I promise. “ He reassures you with a smile. “Should I join you?” he asks. 

You follow his hand to where it meets the hem of his white shirt. You frantically reach out to stop him. You don’t want him to take it off if it means that those markings will be visible, taunting you. Reminding you that they could have been prevented if only you hadn’t been too late.

 “It wasn’t your fault. I was the stupid one. I should have listened to you and just stayed home.” 

All of a sudden he gets into the tub, across from you. You need to be there, close to him, so you cross the space and bubbles and time and  he opens up his arms wide.  

“I should have been there, when you were calling out my name.” The tears slowly trickle down, dropping. The saltiness is hard to swallow. You snuggle closer. 

“The doctor told you, I’m guessing. All that matters is that you’re here now.” 

Jimin kisses the top of your head, missing the strawberry scented shampoo. 

“Marnie still sniffs by the door, ya know. Always around the time you used to take her for her walks”, you say quietly. You toil with his silver necklace, tracing his collarbones and beauty mark as you hear his steady  breathing. 

“My two favorite girls. But I need you to stop taking the pills, Y/N. They’re ruining you. I don’t want you to join me sooner than you have to. I’ll wait.” 

“They help me, though. With everything. The numbing helps me get through the day, Minnie.”

“Well, stop. Find the passion you had for living again, Y/N. Get one of those canvases and start painting again in the morning, go out and plant something weird. I know you can do it, baby. Nothing could ever stop me from seeing you, but I won’t do it if it makes everything worse. Promise me.” 

“I promise,” you faintly sigh. 

     You can’t imagine him not visiting you anymore. You haven’t realized it until today when the hunger to have him here hung over you. Time lapses together in that small room. You’re listening to his heartbeat or you imagine that you do. He hums by your ear. Your need to close your eyes has never been more strong in that moment. Just one little action could keep him in your embrace forever. Of course, he probably wouldn’t let you keep your head under for too long. “I have to go.”Take me with you.Those whispered words bring back reality. Jimin kisses the top of your head and gently tugs your arms off of him so he can get up. You’re on your knees, the bottom of the tub feeling rougher on your soggy skin. He sees the frown on your face and sits on the rim again. 

“I’ll come back. This isn’t the last time. I’ll do anything to make sure I see your beautiful face again.”

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

     The hand that’s in the tub picks up a handful of pink bubbles and he blows it your way with a kiss. He winks and it seems like the charm hasn’t left him either. He murmurs the words “I love you” that make your shoulders visibly relax. You have wanted to hear those words.  You’ve imagined them on your way to work, to the store, in your sleep. However nothing could beat the real thing. In the blink of an eye, the magic that the room held is gone with him. The pink bubbles don’t quite hold their shine or their scent, each one eventually popping. With a fluffy towel wrapped around you, you decide that it’s time to go to bed. Before you turn the knob, a little message appears on the fogged up mirror. This time and for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile graces your lips. In his neat handwriting, the words “my butterfly” linger, until the steam disappears and the water droplets travel down, making the text unrecognizable.

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts reactions #park jimin #park jimin scenarios #jimin fic #bts fake texts #bts fluff #bangtan sonyeondan

[quixotic-writer]

She’s in My Head I Must Confess

Song inspo: Whatsername — Green Day

A voicemail from a very drunk Q is coming through in real time, he hasn’t spoken to you in about 2-3 months since you guys broke up but it seems he can’t get over you. Seems as though you haven’t gotten over him too.

———————————————————

You sat on your couch with a wine glass in hand channel surfing to find something to kill your boredom on yet another unfulfilling and lonely Saturday night. You flick through growing more frustrated when you realize every channel has nothing to provide that will crave your entertainment hunger. Your pace quickens as you continue blasting through channels reading titles as the flash by, nothing quite catching your eye. However, you quickly stop once you see a familiar face on screen.

“This makes Q today’s big loser!” You hear Murr’s all too familiar voice fill the room. Your eyes bulge out of your skull and it feels as though in a matter of seconds you went through the stages of grief. It had been almost 3 months since you both silently broke it off in a heated argument you don’t even remember. All you remember is the anger you felt that made you so heated that it felt like your skin could melt off, and all you did was walk out and didn’t even try to talk. Neither of you tried texting or calling each other. As you stare at the screen before you, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of him and something inside you stirs. Guilt? Loneliness? Longing? Your eyes deviate from the TV and glance over at your phone. But you quickly shut yours eyes and shake your head snapping yourself into a slightly more sober state of mind.

“No. You can’t do this. You’ve been on Wine o’clock for too long to even do that.” You give yourself a pep talk and hold yourself back from making a call in a drunken state that you know you’ll regret. You finish off the wine in your glass to take off the edge and turn the TV off not wanting any more influence for a potential bad decision.

Just then the landline phone for your house rings. Weird, no one ever calls that line. The only reason you have it is for grocery stores rewards memberships. Also it’s kinda funny to give creepy guys that number knowing you never answer that phone. It’s even funnier when they try and text it.

“Ah. Just let it go to voicemail.” You say letting the phone ring until it stops. You bring the half empty bottle of wine back to the kitchen counter and go to wash up your glass. As you begin turning everything off for the night, the phone finally goes to voicemail and you almost crap yourself the moment you hear who’s on the other end.

“H...Hey uuuumm. I didn’t want to call your cell. A stupid decision. So I... I thought to call your landline... no surprise you didn’t answer, I know you never answer this phone. You only give that number to grocery stores and weird guys.” Oh god Q is surely intoxicated. It’s strange though, seems like he had the same idea as you, but obviously had enough to drink to make him brave enough to follow through and abandon rational thought before taking action. You finish cleaning up and stand by the phone to listen as the voicemail continues rolling in real time.

“I thought I saw you here at the bar. I was wrong. Terribly wrong. She slapped me in the face when I tried talking to her. I think she thought I was a creep. I don’t think I am. I probably looked insane though. Listen, I called because that made me realize that god I... I miss you. I found a bunch of old photos we took in a box the other day too. I had told myself I would get rid of them after that blow up we had, but we just looked so happy. It was the picture we took together when we went on that picnic. You looked so pretty in that dress and with that smile that kills me, we looked so happy. It was a better time and I just miss you so much. I messed up, i’ll admit it. I.. I don’t even remember what we fought about. I think maybe we might have been too quick to just part. We... we didn’t even really get to talk, you just left. You disappeared so quickly out of my life, and geez did that scare me. I didn’t know it was possible for someone to just leave like that and disappear without a trace. I’ve been messed up since. I’ll be frank i’ve tried talking to other girls, it just doesn’t do it for me. I don’t feel the spark like I did with you. I’ve been thinking and drinking... mostly drinking, that you’re just someone I can’t seem to get out of my head. I recall everything we’ve done together, it’s been difficult trying to forget you, but the memories just don’t go away so easily and I think i’d rather do something about instead of becoming a raging alcoholic. I just want to talk to you again. I want to fix things.” He pauses and it was enough for you to finally reach for the phone and pick it up.

“Brian?” You say quickly interrupting his monologue of emotions.

“Fuck I didn’t think you were listening. I can’t believe you actually picked up.” He says, fear filling his voice.

“Yeah. I did. I’ve been doing some thinking and drinking of my own. Where are you right now?” You ask as your heart thumps out of your chest. Was this a good idea? But he sounds so genuine... he never was really bad, the argument was bad, the lack of communication, the lack of understanding.

“From your apartment? Like... couple blocks away.” Hearing his voice come through the phone was almost sobering. You knew you missed him, but you didn’t think hearing his voice talking to you again would make you so happy. Had it been a month ago, the circumstances would have been different. You decide to jump the gun like he did and make a crazy decision of your own. It’s time to grow up. It’s time to talk.

“Nothing can change what happened, but maybe what can change is the outcome. Maybe come over and we can talk things out?”

“I think i’d like that. I’ll be over soon.” You smile to yourself and end the call. You turn some of the lights back on and stand at the kitchen counter only to stare at the phone replaying all that had just happened in the theater of your mind. It all happened so suddenly, a spur of the moment decision, it made your palms sweat and your stomach tie into pretzel knots.

Soon enough a knock echoed at the door. You walk to the door, take a deep breath, and rip the band aid off. And there he was with his puppy dog eyes that made your heart melt looking a lot more sober than he sounded minutes ago.

“Hi.” He says quietly with a faint smile. You felt your heart skip a beat and heat rush in your cheeks. When you looked into his eyes, you could see a fiery passion burning behind them. Though you two were apart, you could feel the soul ties you had stringing you back together.

“Hi.” You step away from the door allowing him to step inside.

A new chapter in your lives was now being written together and intertwined again.

#brian quinn #impractical jokers #brian q quinn #q #q x reader #brian quinn imagine #brian x reader #suki writes #fluff

[izzyandherbooks]

Alastair’s Awakening

Alastair opened his eyes to discover he was in a room he didn’t recognize. The bed he laid on was different, the walls and ceiling looked

It felt quite homey and Alastair got the feeling someone cared about it enough to keep it together. He sat up and tried to figure out where he was.

Alastair remembered the storming night, the booming thunder and flashes of lighting. He remembered the rain beating down on his face and he remembered getting into the river, letting the current take him down and away. Away from his captors, away from his confinement. He remembered the struggle to stay above the water, until he reached the other side of the river and pulled himself out of the water. Then there was a lantern, somebody on the road...

Panic shot through his body as he realized, those men must still be looking for him. He had to get moving, he had to make sure he got away for good. There was no telling where they could be. He wouldn’t be safe in this strange room.

Alastair jumped to his feet and began to rush through the doorway, down the flight of stairs, down the hallway. He had no way of knowing which direction would take him out of the house, but he saw the light shining in through the glass in the door and he knew this would take him outdoors. Alastair pushed the door open, kept going through to the other side and suddenly stopped. He found himself right behind an old woman.

The woman had long, flowing white hair that was hidden under a sun hat. She was crouched down in the dirt and Alastair realized she was in a garden. Her form was disguised by a mauve shawl and she seemed to be checking the plants.

Alastair didn’t know what to do. He just stood there, frozen and panting. He thought he hadn’t been detected, until the woman spoke up.

“You’re awake now, that’s very good.” Her voice was firm and aged, filtered by the many years she had experienced. She stood up and turned to face him. “Let’s get you inside. You must be starving.”

The woman looked old, but maybe not quite elderly yet. She was round and friendly, but the way her eyes looked over him Alastair got the feeling she knew much more than he ever could. Was that what it meant to be wise?

The adrenaline that had been coursing through his body began to fade, and Alastair remembered his injuries. The damaged leg, the bashed head, the bruises and cuts. The pain returned and Alastair realized he shouldn’t have moved so fast. He let the woman lead him back inside.

“You...” Alastair looked at the woman, at a loss as to why he was here with her. “Who...who are you? Why am I here?”

“I found you on the river bank that night.” The woman explained. She gently held Alastair’s arm and guided him into the house he just burst out of. “You were in an awful way and looked like you needed help, so I brought you back to my home.”

“Home...?” Alastair looked around at the building, realizing this was the woman’s house. It was her strange room he had been in, she must be the one who kept it clean and homey.

Along the walls were hanging cloths and the occasional painting. A few rugs were scattered about on the floor and there were plants in the windows, plants that had been lovingly taken care of. Signs of life. It was nothing compared to the home Alastair had lived in, they weren’t similar in any way. But he knew this was a home, a home the woman cared about.

“You...said that night. How long ago did you find me?” Alastair asked and realized that this is the most he’s spoken in a long time. His voice felt weak and the words fit strange in his mouth, like he was out of practice.

The woman helped Alastair to a seat at the table and looked at him fully. She reached for his hands and gave him a smile.

“Three days, my child. You slept through all of it. Sit, I will get you something to eat.” She turned to the counters and began to gather a dish and utensils.

“Three days...?” Alastair brought a hand to his face to lean on as he contemplated this. It felt like he had just sprung from the river that cold night, like no time had past. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so deeply. Was he really that exhausted when this woman found him?

“Did...anyone come looking for me?”

“No, no. Well, a few men came around asking some questions, but they didn’t ask for you.” The woman told Alastair. She lit the stove and began to boil water. “They were inquiring about a criminal, escaped from his cell. They told me they were trying to recapture him for the safety of everyone on the area. That certainly couldn’t be for you.”

Alastair felt the need to agree with the woman, convince her it wasn’t about him. He was no criminal, but somehow he got the feeling she already knew that. The way she spoke implied that she knew exactly what they were talking about, but for some reason she had kept him hidden.

Her tone was smart and almost playful. Just what was she getting at?

“Those men didn’t give you any trouble, I hope.” Alastair said, getting used to speaking again. “Did they stick around? Do you know where they went after?”

“Oh no, they didn’t stay. They searched all around the area, but they didn’t get into my home. They would have needed a much better reason to search my home.” The woman said, tossing some vegetables in a pot on the stove. She had already boiled the kettle and poured the water into a cup filled with tea leaves of something Alastair didn’t recognize. She brought the cup to the table and smiled at Alastair again.

He wasn’t sure if she was trying to appear kind, or if all of these smiles were just how she looked. Maybe she was the kind of person who was always smiling. Or maybe she was trying to come off as trustworthy.

“Here, child. Drink this, it will help with your healing. It looks like you will have a lot of healing to do.” She handed the drink to him.

Alastair was suddenly worried about how he looked. It had been a long time since he had last looked in a mirror. He had seen his reflection, but that was only a reflection in the still parts of bodies of water. He gazed down into the cup and looked at the small, dark reflection of himself.

He couldn’t see the details, but there was his beard that had grown longer than he ever intended it to, his slightly swollen face, and his worn eyes shining through it all. He must have looked like a lunatic to the woman when she first saw him.

“Drink, drink boy! It will help, I promise.” The woman called from the stove.

Alastair looked down into the cup and didn’t know what kind of liquid it was inside, but it looked absolutely delicious. He knew he should be cautious around strangers, but his ultimate hunger and lack of anything flavourful has overridden any cautious part of his mind. Alastair quickly brought the cup to his mouth, wondering when exactly was his last cup of tea.

The liquid tasted unlike anything he’s ever drank before. It tasted earthy and green, bitter and hard, but sweet enough that it wasn’t an unfortunate experience. The drink was at the perfect stage of warm but not too hot and Alastair quickly drained the cup.

“And here we are, some nice hot stew.” The woman said carrying a bowl to the table. She sat down beside Alastair and placed the bowl in front of him.

“Of course I couldn’t refuse to give a hot meal to a stranger like yourself, Prince Alastair.”

Alastair froze with his hands on the table and studied the woman’s face. She was smiling that same smile, kind and inviting. Did she know what consequences would come from this conversation?

“I…Uh, what do you mean?” Alastair struggled to say, but he knew he wasn’t being convincing.

“Come on, dear it’s alright. Those men are gone, you don’t have to hide yourself.” She reached for Alastair’s hand and he didn’t stop her. She spoke softly, did she know what Alastair had ran from? He figured she must have been smart, she could make assumptions about the situation easily enough.

Alastair sighed a heavy sigh and looked back down at the bowl.

“You recognized me? I must look very different from my time at the castle.”

The woman smiled again almost in a motherly way.

“Oh, you do look a little roughed up. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a good wash and new clothing though. I’m sure you’ll want to get out of those rags.” The woman spoke then stood up, gesturing for Alastair to follow her.

“Wait…you’ve been here the whole time, you know how things turned out.” Alastair said, trying to remember what was said during the raid at the castle. “How…how long has it been?”

The woman took her seat again and reached for both of Alastair’s hands this time. She smiled at him, a more somber smile.

“You’ve been away for about two years now Prince Alastair. Your family has been out of power in the kingdom since they were forced out.”

Alastair almost gasped, how could it have been two years? Then his thoughts fell on his family.

“My family! Do you know what happened to my family? My father, I remember seeing him as they separated us. What did they do with him?”

The woman hesitated, her kind smile turning to one of mourning. Her eyes lost the light in them for a moment, a moment of true sadness.

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this child, but your father perished that night. I don’t know what happened to your mother and sister, but they made an example of the king that night.”

The woman’s voice was somehow kinder at this point. She was expressing grief herself, but it was all past Alastair. He knew nothing good could have come from the situation while he was still imprisoned, but he was still unprepared to hear this. How could his father really be dead?

“My father…But, I saw him…He was at the castle…” Alastair mumbled and gazed into the stew, suddenly not the slightest bit hungry anymore.

“I know, I know my child. They were so barbaric.” The woman whispered as she pulled him in close for a hug. She held him and for the first time in many months, Alastair truly felt something other than fear. He felt grief, frustration, anger, and vengeance. He felt the need to strike back against those who had destroyed his family and pulled them apart.

But more than that, he felt extremely heavy.

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up. You’ll feel better once you look more like yourself.” The woman spoke, but Alastair wasn’t listening anymore. He blindly stood up and followed her guiding arms through the house, the world spinning behind him.

#alastair’s story #writing #short stories #izzy’s writing #original story #original character #story time

[100hearteyes]

Lexa travels back in time to prevent her girlfriend’s death, for which she was responsible, from happening.

TW: past character death, grief.

(thank you @butmakeitgayblog for the moodboard and beta’ing.)

–

Three moments.

Three key moments, however inconsequential they may seem, triggered a chain of events which culminated in Clarke and Lexa meeting for the first time.

For Lexa, it was instant attraction. For Clarke, although they would only find out many years later, it was the promise of doom.

“You can’t just erase me from your existence, you know? I’ll still be there.”

I might still die, is what Clarke doesn’t say. Lexa hears it anyway.

Nowadays, Clarke is but a ghost. Literally. Lexa has no idea how or even why it happened, but it had been an exact year since her girlfriend died when her non-corporeal form first showed up.

It was… gut-wrenching. Lexa has no words for how painful it was to see the love of her life in otherworldly tones of grey and not be able to touch her. It’s become easier with time, but she suspects this hollow ache that pulsates every time Clarke appears to her will ever go away.

“You’re the one who told me there was a way. You said it would work.”

This Clarke is Clarke, or rather the continuation of her; but she’s also not exactly the woman Lexa knew, regardless of the shape she has taken. This Clarke is rude and unsympathetic and has little to no regard for boundaries.

She’s an unpleasant version of the love of Lexa’s life.

Still, it’s hard to dissociate them. Lexa must do it, though, for the sake of her own sanity.

“I said you could avoid being the reason why I die,” Clarke states. “I meant it. You can.”

This journey has taken Lexa to remote places and from each she took tokens of different cultures and outlooks on life. She’s learned about grief and guilt. She’s learned to accept what she cannot control and respect what she doesn’t know. Above all, she’s come to a realization: if this doesn’t work, she can take the final steps to let go. This isn’t the final step towards the precipice.

Two years ago, Lexa would’ve lost herself looking for Clarke. Now, she’s finding herself again, parsing through the grief and plucking the parts of her she’d lost after everything that happened. And the puzzle is coming together, piece by piece and day by day, creating a new version of her which may not be whole anymore and may not be exactly who she was before — but it’s her, and it’s imperfect and it’s beautiful.

Lexa has learned to love herself again.

So this isn’t a desperate Hail Mary, her one last resort, the final step into madness. If anything, wherever it may lead her, this is closure.

The first door she opened was in Cape Town, South Africa, where Clarke was born before her family moved back to the States.

It was a cold December morning. On her side of the door, Lexa was thirty and falling apart. On the other side, Clarke was five and building a tower with Lego blocks.

Lexa felt herself staring long into an abyss.

All she had to do was relocate a single object and leave through the same door she’d come from. Days later, when she returned to her home country, she found out Jake was still alive. His daughter was not, though.

The second door she opened almost three months later. February 25th, Lexa’s home city. All she did was drop Anya’s phone into a lake.

When she came back, all her problems were gone.

It sent her reeling.

Lexa began to wonder; was she doing this for Clarke, or for herself?

She was meant to open the third and final door just a week later, but spent the 3rd of March holed up in her apartment, curled into a ball on the couch. She had jumped into this without a second thought, out of a selfish desire to relieve herself of the guilt of Clarke’s death.

Someone else had paid the consequences. Someone else was making her mistakes now and paying for them. Someone else was going to have a loved one ripped from their life.

What right did Lexa have to unload her burden onto someone else’s shoulders?

It took her months to get back on her feet. If the past year and a half had been an amalgam of denial, anger, and, with her selfish undertaking, bargaining, her second voyage in time had triggered the stage of depression, reflection, and loneliness.

It was then that she finally came to terms with ghost Clarke’s presence in her life. The afterlife form of her girlfriend gave her the tough love she needed to push herself off the ground. Clarke punched Lexa into motion and through it, Lexa found acceptance.

Lexa loves herself, now. She loves herself like she never did before, even when Clarke’s love made her feel invincible. Now, she sees the cracks and hard edges, the places where the cloth of her doesn’t reach far enough to breach the gaps, and she’s made peace with it.

Her shortcomings are no longer defined by her limits, but rather what she lets herself be limited by.

Lexa flexes her fingers. “What happens if I open this door?”

“I turn right instead of left. We never cross paths on the Brooklyn Bridge.”

This door has been locked for two years. Lexa never opened it, afraid of the crushing feelings that may lurk behind it. Behind it is Clarke’s studio, where she spent hours painting, the outside world all but forgotten. Lexa would sit in the corner, laptop perched on crossed legs, pretending to work but really watching Clarke print her talent on canvas.

Lexa feels ready to open it, now, even if what she finds behind it is a row of paintings leaning on purple walls, rather than gray skies and the wooden planks of the Brooklyn Bridge.

She has two conditions, though. Her fingers tighten on the handle.

“Do you live?”

“Lexa, you know I can’t–” Clarke stops short at Lexa’s stern glare and sighs. “Yes.”

But that’s not enough. Lexa won’t be selfish again — she doesn’t just want Clarke to survive; she wants her to live.

“Will you be happy?”

Clarke averts her eyes, then swallows. However, when her eyes meet Lexa’s after she’s taken a fortifying breath, there is nothing but honesty in them. “Yes.”

“Were you?”

Lexa’s heart constricts as Clarke’s eyes well with tears. What does it take to make a ghost cry?

Clarke nods, tries to get hold of her emotions. Her lips tremble and Lexa wants desperately to take her in her arms. If only she could.

“More than I can ever put into words.”

–

March 3rd, the day everything changed.

Twice.

The day Lexa found Clarke and the day she lost her.

Lexa opens the door and finds herself once again on that day, seven years ago, when she was trying to balance three cardboard boxes while speed walking down the Brooklyn Bridge, trying not to crash into any people — or worse, topple over the railings and fall to a wet death.

It was fruitless, of course. Just about to cry mission accomplished, she collided with something solid and everything in her hands went flying.

Not this time.

This time, Lexa changes the course of events and Clarke never crosses that bridge.

She watches from afar as her past self makes it to the other end of the bridge unscathed and a whole new life rolls out in front of her.

“You did well.”

Clarke appears at her side, colorless though still beautiful. There is a nostalgia to her expression, a knife that slashes at the relief that blankets it.

As she studies Clarke’s face and her mind fills the grays with color, drawing memories along the light edges dark lines, Lexa finds herself unwilling to let go. She moves to take Clarke’s hand, but catches herself at the last moment, remembering the colors she’s seeing are a figment of her memories and there is nothing she can touch.

Clarke notices, though, and regards her with such sympathy and compassion Lexa wants to run away with her and never open the door again.

“Come with me.”

They stroll down the bridge, side by side, their tranquility offsetting the electric current stringing everyone around them; the runners and the hurried, the young and the old, together. They find a bench to sit on and stay there for a while, watching the river run its course and the sun arch over the city and the people fall into slumber as the hours go by.

Can she stay here? Can she live a life in a world not her own, in a time asynchronous to hers, under the guise of having Clarke at her side?

She knows the answer to those questions. She’s long since learned that what she wants isn’t always what she needs — and vice versa.

“I’m proud of you.” Lexa meets Clarke’s gaze. Human or ghost, and despite the absence of color, Clarke’s eyes are beautiful. Lexa has always found solace in them, a rock to hold on to in times of need. She hopes she’s been able to provide even a fragment of that same comfort. “How are you feeling?”

It takes Lexa a few moments to sift through the throng of thoughts and feelings which this day has brought forth. Even now, she has doubts. But greater than anything, and the driving force behind her actions, is the desire to make things right.

She finds a feeling amongst the rubble and makes it hers. Peace. She feels…

She feels at peace.

However, after spending two years with the grumpy ghost of the woman of her life, Lexa is also feeling nostalgia as well as the pain over her upcoming loss.

Ghost Clarke was a way to remain connected to the past. Now, Lexa has to let go of that too.

“I hope I was able to make a difference,” she finally replies, eyes still locked with Clarke’s. “It’s not even about my guilt anymore. It doesn’t matter if we meet, either. I have made my peace with what happened. I just… I wanted to give you a chance.”

A chance to live; not just survive.

“You did it, Lexa.”

Lexa has made her peace with her role in Clarke’s death as well as the tragedy itself. The wound will always marr her skin, but it will no longer hurt when she touches it.

All she cares about now is for Clarke to be alive and most of all happy, even if it’s not with Lexa.

Several hours later, Lexa’s hand is once again resting on the doorknob, this time waiting to go back to her world — or whatever of it is left.

Clarke is staring at her, bottom lip trapped between her teeth. At Lexa’s questioning look, once-pink lips pull up into a rueful smile.

“Everything will be different.”

Clarke will be alive, her life will follow threads unknown to her till now. Lexa knows things will change. She also knows she will never see Clarke again in whatever shape or form.

Each time she remembers that, the ground beneath her quakes. She holds tighter onto the doorknob, determined to stay on her feet.

When she meets Clarke’s eyes again, they’re shining with unshed tears. Lexa nods, solemn.

Words would taint the moment.

“It was never about me, you know? I just wanted,” Clarke moves as to reach out, but catches herself. She clears her throat. “It was never about what would happen to me. I just- I wanted to lift the weight of guilt off your shoulders, give you closure. I-,” she chuckles humorlessly, eyes flitting to the ground for a moment before meeting Lexa’s again. “I need you to know, I’m still me. There was never… I never would’ve been able to help you if I didn’t put some distance between us. That’s why I behaved differently. But I was always still me.”

And Lexa knows this, knows what she’s saying. She always has.

“Your happiness is all that matters to me, Lexa.” Lexa opens her mouth, but a shake of Clarke’s head stops her. “Please don’t. Otherwise I’ll say something to make you stay.”

Lexa aches to touch her, kiss her, though she knows she can do neither, and her hands shake with the urge to close the space between them.

Instead, she turns the handle and opens the door. Before she can go, though, she turns to face Clarke one more time, needing to commit every single detail to memory, as though every line of Clarke’s face, every nuance, every emotion, isn’t already burned into her mind’s eye forever.

So she knows the broken words before Clarke speaks them.

“I love you, Lex. And I’ll always be with you.”

It’s with those soft words cradling her heart that Lexa crosses the threshold.

–

One of the first things Clarke told her, when they started, was that Lexa would remember everything, both her own memories and her new version’s, but the original ones — the timeline where Clarke died — would fade with time.

Clarke also told her things would change.

So Lexa was expecting to step into a different world and to be surprised at how much had changed around her.

She just wasn’t expecting her life to be quite so different.

Clarke’s friends are no longer her friends. She expected that, but the reality of it is overwhelming at first. She realizes, now, she often took them and the support they gave her for granted. Suddenly, having none of them to lean on, she feels crippled.

On the other hand, she has a different, better job. And as it turns out, her new self has left behind the concrete stuffiness of New York and embraced the free-spirited intellectualism of San Francisco, which isn’t just a different city — it’s on the other side of the country. Any latent hopes she might have had of somehow finding Clarke have vanished.

It takes her a while to adapt to all the changes, but a year later she’s back on her feet and the life she had before is now but a distant memory. She still dreams about Clarke, though the dreams are fewer and further between. Selfishly, she thanks the universe for the small reprieve.

Her old problems don’t haunt her anymore and, if not for the absence of Clarke, this would be a perfect life.

At least she’s doing her best to make it so.

She’s also learning to treat herself better than she did in her past life. Embracing the practice of being kinder to herself is refreshing. Freeing.

It’s the pursuit of one such self-indulgence that she finds a small coffee shop downtown, which she starts going to every day before work.

Today is no exception.

As she waits in line, Lexa distracts herself, noting down her to-do list for the day ahead. As she’s debating whether to go to the grocery store before or after her late afternoon run, she doesn’t notice her pen sliding down the page and falling to an early demise, until she feels a tap on her shoulder.

“Excuse me, you dropped this.”

Lexa turns around to thank her good Samaritan, a gratitude sat ready on the tip of her tongue, only for her breath to catch at the sight.

Because she’s as stunning as ever…

Clarke.

#clexa #clexa fic #clexa au #my fics #mine

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages of Life: 24

A Piece of Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC; Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings: Language. Angst. Loss, Grief. Labor pains. Non-graphic child birth.

Words: 11,820

A/N: Again, sorry for taking so long to update. This was a monster for me to write and it’s just been hard to write lately, BUT, this chapter jump starts the last phase of the Drabbles...  (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) beautiful moodboard by @afewmarvelousthoughts​ and thank you for all your help and tears and yelling at me. I’m sorry! <3 **I have never given birth, just going off experiences of mothers I know**

Holidays: 29 weeks Dec 13th:

One morning Ana wakes up to a solid kick from inside her stomach, rapidly blinking at the odd light streaming through her window. After she carefully sits up, soothing her hands over her round belly, she blinks again, startled.

Snow. It had snowed sometime during the night and with the sight comes the realization; it’s the middle of December. Time had ticked by in muted colors to Ana that when she finally came back to herself, five months had passed. Five months since the air filled with ashes. Five months since she last touched Bucky. Five months since the absence of his soul.

Now it’s nearly Christmas. Ana can’t even remember her birthday or Thanksgiving passing. Though by the tears escaping her eyes and the ache in her chest, it’s not going to be a good day. She continues to stare out the window, the snow-covered ground and trees in the distance offer a bittersweet illusion of a perfect world. Quiet. Tranquil.

A memory invades Ana’s mind from last year. Her and Bucky snuggled together in front of a fire at Tony’s cabin, talking about a future family. She shakes the memory from her head and finally gets out of bed, ignoring the very real feeling of Bucky’s arms around her. Ignores the phantom scent of his breath and the spiced apple toddy he drank that evening.

Waddling her way to the kitchen with her hand supporting an ache in her lower back, she spots a blessed pot of coffee freshly brewed. Ana hasn’t had such a desperate urge for the taste of coffee in so long, that she nearly drops the mug she pulls from the cabinet in haste. Once she’s poured herself a generous amount, she inhales deeply. The nutty aroma sending her mind straight back to the first day she met Bucky, and all the sessions that followed.

She revels in memory, when she was proud of herself for pulling a smirk out of the infamous Bucky Barnes after she told him she didn’t poison the coffee. How they starting to bond over silly conversation of coffee, how he used to tease her but ask how to make it properly. How Bucky would sometimes show up before her, waiting for her to arrive with coffee in hand. Ana is so lost in her mind, she doesn’t register the shift of air behind her.

“That’s caffeinated, and I know you are not about to drink it while seven months pregnant.”

Snapping back to reality, Ana shoots a glare over her shoulder at Steve. “Being seven months pregnant is the perfect reason to drink it.”

The sigh Steve emits makes her step back out of his reaching range, just in case. “Ana,” He draws out in mock disappointment.

“No! I need it need it, Steve,” She practically whines, clutching the hot mug to her chest. “Especially today. With the snow and these fucking memories, and Carol isn’t here to help regulate me, and my rings don’t fit right now. I just need caffeine, just this once.”

His eyes narrow. “Just this once?” He repeats incredulously. “Didn’t Rhodes catch you sneaking his coffee a week ago?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Ana shrugs, lifting the mug to her lips.

Sounds of scuffling come from the front hallway then, Ana distracted enough for Steve to finally and carefully, snatch the mug away from her hands. She makes a noise of protest, before she sees the dark green branches of a pine tree. Natasha and Rhodes carry in a small tree, with Rocket following behind them, an axe propped over his shoulder.

“What the hell is that?” Ana demands quietly, her chest tightening.

“It’s a tree,” Nat snipes dryly. “What the hell does it look like?”

They set the tree down in the living room, adjusting the stand that’s already anchored to the trunk. An onslaught of rage and heartache overcome Ana for reasons she can’t quite comprehend. Abruptly it takes everything she has not to grab the axe from Rocket, chop the tree into little pieces and throw them into the fireplace.

Holidays are meant to be joyful. Holidays are meant to celebrate with families and loved ones. Holidays are meant to bring brightness. They’re meant for the rest of the world to fade away into warmth, sparkles, the smells of baked goods.

Not this time. Ana sees nothing joyous about that tree, just the inevitable death of its needles. She doesn’t feel the warmth of the season, just the continuous frigid void in her chest. Outside, the falling snow morphs into ashes.

“Get it out of here.” Ana nearly growls, her fists clenching; the lights flicker. She can no longer look at it without wanting to scream.

“Uh, why?” Rhodes demands, crossing his arms. “It’s nearly Christmas.”

“I don’t care, just get it out! I don’t want it in here! It doesn’t belong here!”

Rhodes serves Ana a look so stern, she abruptly feels like a scolded child.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to dial that back,” He commands, gesturing to her. “This is misplaced anger, and you’re taking it out the wrong way. This might not be something you want, but don’t forget, you aren’t the only one suffering through depression. And maybe if you recognized that, you’d realize a damn Christmas tree just might make everyone else forget the shit that’s happened for once.”

His words are a punch to her heart. Immediately all her anger melts from her bones as she looks at the floor. Rhodey is one hundred percent correct, embarrassingly Ana is reminded of how much she truly missed when she shut her emotions off. She hasn’t been fair or considerate of anyone for months. Just because she can’t handle a fucking tree, doesn’t mean she can force anyone else to do the same.

Her throat burns with that wake-up call; the flicker stop flickering. Ana slowly gathers herself, breathes deeply while stroking her hands over her stomach to soothe herself. The baby moves and rolls in response. Finally, she nods.

“You’re absolutely right,” She concedes, meeting his eyes once more. “I’m sorry I snapped. I just…I’m just not in the mood to celebrate any holiday, but I shouldn’t expect anyone else to. I apologize.”

Rhodes stares her down a few moments before his expression breaks. “Accepted.”

The tense silence that follows is heavy and awkward, until Steve pushes the coffee mug back into Ana’s hand. “Just the one cup.”

She silently takes the mug, barely feeling the warmth of the coffee on her fingers. “I’m just going to go lay down now.”

As she makes her exit, Rhodey stops her. “Do you…need anything?” He offers kindly.

She gives him a grateful smile over her shoulder. “No, thank you.”

*

Steve has been distracting himself from checking up on Ana by pulling the dust covered box of decorations from storage and going through it. Oddly, a glass ornament is wrapped in newspaper, and with a delicate swipe of his fingers over the ink, he’s brought back to another lifetime eight decades ago.

Christmases during The Great Depression weren’t grand; far from it. Memories of Steve stuffing his shoes with old newspapers to keep his feet warm- and possibly give himself a few extra inches in height- fill his head. His mother carefully wrapping handmade ornaments in those same newspapers. 

A slightly dirty Bucky just back from working odd jobs here and there, holding up a turkey he received as payment. He had dragged both Steve and his mother over to the Barnes household for a rare Christmas Eve dinner.

Giggles of four little girls huddled together as they watched Steve nail their brother in the face with a slush of a snowball. A quiet night of serving his mother tea as she laid sick in bed. Yet she still gifted him fresh parchment bound together to go with the charcoal pencils Bucky got him earlier.

The memories turn melancholy as Steve remembers that first Christmas without his mother. How Bucky selflessly spent the night away from his own family, taking care of a feverish Steve, even though all he wanted to do was stay huddled in bed and cry himself to sleep from grief. Instead, Bucky pulled out a bottle of whiskey from his tattered coat and dumped some into Steve’s tea.

“Nicked it from that banker's house on the other side of town,” Bucky had shrugged, looked proud of himself before he took a swig from the bottle.

“Buck,” Steve had reprimanded weakly. Until he remembered that banker is the one who cheated on his wife and bragged about it. He had taken too big of a gulp, nearly choked and spluttered.

Bucky waited, patted his back until his airways cleared. “Did that no good, two-timer notice you?”

“Hell no,” Bucky laughed. “Guys like him deserve to have his illegal booze stolen, he’s got enough money to smuggle more. Did you take your medicine?”

Steve held up his mug. Bucky rolled his eyes, then gently pushed him over to snuggle in next to him. Not once did he ever leave Steve’s side. Instead he chatted his ear off with stories of Rebecca attempting to make her own dolls, and that one brunette, brown-eyed dame he tried to save from a sleazy man before she decked the guy square in the jaw.

“I’m sweet on her now. Whatty’a think, Stevie? Think I’ve got a chance with a dame like that?”

(Steve huffs a laugh when he remembers that bit. Bucky always did have a type; it’s no wonder he fell for Ana so quickly.)

"Nah,” Steve said through a cough. “A girl like that wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“Punk.” Bucky rubbed his knuckles atop his head.

“Jerk.” He weakly shoved him in retaliation.

Silence fell between them; sleep quickly took over Steve’s tired and sick body. He had slid further down the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to his chin.

“Thank you, Buck. For being here.”

Bucky took a minute to respond. “Didn’t want you to be alone during the holidays. With you til the end of the line, pal.”

The light pitters of something wet hitting the newspaper brings Steve back to the present. A few dark drops absorb into the paper before he realizes he’s crying. He hastily wipes the tear off his face, clears his throat and wills away the pain in his heart. Steve gets it. He understands why Ana reacted the way she did.

Shaking his head to clear his past, he rewraps the ornament and returns to his task. Once he’s done, Steve just sits in the closet by himself for a while; allows him himself to wallow. He’s absentmindedly scratching his growing beard, wondering if he should give it a shave when FRIDAY alerts him.

“Captain Rogers, the weather is a brisk 25 degrees outside, with steady snowfall.”

Frowning up at the ceiling as if the AI can see him, he replies, confused. “Thank you? Is there a reason you’re giving me a weather report?”

He swears FRIDAY sigh. “Mrs. Barnes has been sitting out for-“

“Got it, thanks.” Steve cuts her off, yanking the door open. He knows exactly where Ana is.

As he quickly makes his way through the compound, Steve apologizes to that younger Bucky during the all those winters. He recalls his exasperated best friend every time Steve hid out on rooftops and fire escapes after getting into fights. Every time, Bucky had been there with Steve’s coat, or just taken his own coat off to wrap around Steve’s scrawny little shoulders instead.

“Christ, Stevie, your lungs ain’t gonna work anymore the longer you stay out here, punk.”

When Steve climbs through her window, and finally opens the door to the roof, the irony isn’t lost on him. Ana is sitting on the furthest chair, staring out into the frosted woods, snow catching in her long hair. Only a thin blanket over her lap protects her from the cold and the biting wind from the height of the deck. Her hands are protectively cradling the bump of her stomach.

“Ana, what are you doing out here?” Steve questions, briskly walking to her. He places the jacket he found in her room over her shoulders; one of Bucky’s jackets. “You’ll freeze your toes off.”

“You’ll freeze your damn toes off, and I will not explain to your Ma why her son got frostbite.”

He wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his side to share his body heat with her. The old memories of Bucky practically yanking his asthmatic self into a slightly warmer building fade away.

“This is where we kissed the first time,” Ana reminisces, a quiet reserve to her voice. She points adjacent to them. “Right there, when I said those triggers words, he kissed me.”

Steve remembers when Bucky couldn’t stop pacing in his room after that night, panic stricken because he didn’t know how to process his feelings for her. He couldn’t understand how she put so much trust into him. Steve squeezes her shoulder, hoping to offer her some comfort.

“This is where Bucky told me he loved me for the first time. Up here, with pizza.”

His chest feels hollow realizing how many memories this rooftop holds for her. “C’mon honey, it’s not good for you to be out here, let’s go back inside. Warm you up.”

“Nothing is ever going to be the same,” Ana laments as if she didn’t hear him. “Holidays, birthdays, celebrations. Life.”

“Yeah.” Steve exhales wearily.

“I knew this. I knew all of this, but…for months I acted like I was the only one holding onto this grief so heavily. I’ve lost everyone, Steve. I’ve lost my whole family and I never thought I could feel more pain and grief than that. But I was wrong, this is so different. Because I could feel him leave me. I could feel Bucky’s soul rip from mine.”

“It’s incredible, Stevie. I can feel her all the time, like her life energy is this infinite sunlight around me.”

He sees that day clearly when Bucky had said those words to him. He remembers the look of pure awe and adoration on his friend’s face that day. Steve squeezes her closer, offering his comfort in the cold bitter air. Something wet falls onto his shirt, soaks in quicker than the snowflakes. He lifts his hand, gently wiping the tears off her cheeks before the cold can freeze them there.

“Hey now, Steve, c’mon. No tears, they’ll freeze on your face, pal.”

Steve swallows back yet another whispered memory, when he was frustrated the neighborhood bully just kicked his ass no matter how many times Steve got back up.

“Your pain isn’t invalid, Ana,” He tells her delicately, lifting the sleeve of the jacket to dry her face. “That is something none of us will ever begin to comprehend, that connection you both shared.”

“Maybe not,” Ana sniffs, “but that shouldn’t erase anyone else’s pain in my mind and that’s exactly what I was doing.”

“Watching you turn off your emotions was- fuck, it was haunting. It was scary because we couldn’t tell if doing that was just hurting you instead. I hated that you did that, but I also understand why you did. I think we just-“ Steve pauses to gather his words properly.

Ana speaks up before he does. “I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for shutting everyone out, for acting like- well...like a cold hearted-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Steve chastises firmly. “I think we just wanted to have any ounce of your old self back. We were all concerned.”

“I’m still trying to find that myself,” Ana sighs, voice cracking; she sounds exhausted. She tilts her head to the side, leaning on his shoulder. “I got mad about the tree because the memories of last Christmas are perfect. It was our first one together, did you know that? Our first time celebrating the holiday season. I don’t want to celebrate anything.”

“So, keep the eggnog away from you then?” Steve quips lamely. Ana winces and gags.

“Fuck no,” She picks her head back up. “I don’t think the baby’s palate will tolerate that.”

“And I don’t think the baby can tolerate the cold much longer,” He counters. “Let’s get you inside.”

Steve drops his arm in favor of carefully helping up from the chair. Ana winces again, her hands covering her stomach. Pain flashes over her face for a moment, and panic shoots through Steve’s chest.

“Are you okay? What was that?” He asks worriedly, hand hovering along her back.

“It's fine,” She pants, waving him off with her hand. “Just some pressure is all. Little Bean’s running out of room I think.” Relief shags Steve’s shoulders. Until- “The baby is moving a lot. Do you want to feel-?”

“I’m good. That’s not, uh, it’s kind of intimate. Time to go inside.” Steve ignores her bewildered look and focuses on guiding Ana down the stairs safely. He keeps Bucky’s jacket wrapped tight around her.

*

The memory of last Christmas spent snuggling close with Bucky in front of a fire and talking about their future mocks Ana. It was one of those perfect moments in a lifetime, and she didn’t want to tarnish the memory with this Christmas being...widowed. Alone and 7 months pregnant.

Since Rhodey’s harsh truth, Ana has kept any bitter despair to herself. However, she did allow herself one moment of a Christmas song. It made her smile briefly, before a memory of both Bucky and Tony singing at the top of their lungs as they decorated the tree cut it short.

Ana does not want to decorate the tree. She stays in her room, until Rocket barges in, trailing a bunch of silver tinsel in his wake.

He demands to know, “Who was the asshole to make such a messy infuriating thing to put on a damn stupid tree!?”

Nebula stood at the doorway, a murderous expression on her face as she fights with several pieces of tinsel, static making it cling to her. Ana can’t help the surprised laugh that bubbles out of her at the both of them.

Vaguely, in the back of her mind as Rocket drags her out of her room demanding to untangle the tinsel, Ana thinks the two might have planned it all. She’s exhausted by the time she unknots the stuff, focusing more on the silver plastic and quietly refusing to put anything on the tree.

By the time she’s done, she waddles back to her room, Natasha close behind. All she does is hand Ana a hot mug of cider and snuggles in close. Nat talks to and gently pets her hands over her stomach and promises the baby to teach them her “death by thighs” move one day. Ana drifts off to sleep, head tucked under Natasha’s neck.

When Christmas does come around, it’s with stinging emptiness, of several people missing and the weight of the whole world grieving. At breakfast, as she’s slowly eating, Ana finds herself with a small pile of gifts next to her on the table. Her glare prompts a response from Steve who had given her one more.

“You stayed locked in your room for your birthday last month,” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You aren’t having a baby shower. Just accept them. Please?”

Most gifts end up being for the baby anyway, including a crib, so Ana lets it slide and quietly thanks them.

She ends up fighting back tears the longer she stays out in the living room, desperately wanting to escape. She’s exhausted, down to her bones, and the aching in her chest throbbing Bucky’s name hurts more and more. She closes her eyes and breathes, flexing her fingers and smoothing her hands over her stomach. The baby kicks and moves before it settles a few moments later.

Someone sits next to her, and she doesn’t have to open her eyes to tell that the stupidly large and warm bicep pressing against her own arm is Steve. He doesn’t say anything, just simply takes hold of her right hand, and squeezes. 

He doesn’t let go, and despite the prickling of tears behind her eyelids and the trembling of her lips, Ana leans her head against his shoulder. The sense of comfort seeps into her own energy, and soon after she falls asleep.

30 Weeks Pregnant:

Just on the verge of her eighth month, Ana hears Natasha’s irritated sigh, as she munches on a slice of mango pizza. 

"Ana, I swear if you don’t stop nesting in the office, I will throw away all the mangoes and you’ll be stuck with mushrooms for your pizza topping from now on.”

As Natasha Romanoff threats go, it’s rather mild. She shrugs as Nat holds up two files as proof.

“It was messy!” Ana defends, her feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Lucky you’re pregnant,” She grumbles.

“Enhanced hearing, remember?”

Natasha glares at her. “It took me an hour to find my notes. Why don’t you organize Steve’s shit? Or Rocket’s? I haven’t seen you in Nebula’s room, go nest in there.”

“Nebula would cut my hand off, pregnant or not.”

“It’s true.” Nebula speaks up with her husky low menacing voice, pizza slice in hand. Ana raises her eyebrows at her. She pauses. “Maybe.”

Ana beams. Natasha huffs, coming over to join them. She bends over to gently pat Ana’s belly. Which has grown even more in the past weeks, but dropped as well, the baby’s head sitting lower.

“Your mama better name you Natasha after I put up with her little tendencies huh little one?” Nat coos.

“That’ll go over well if Bean is a boy,” Ana jokes, also patting over where she thinks its little foot is. There’s a responding nudge, a rather firm one. Ana frowns. “Sassy.” Natasha chuckles, then steals Ana’s slice. “Hey!”

“Now someone’s hand will be chopped off,” Nebula inputs at the scene. Ana nods with a pout.

“What are you going to do? Waddle after me with your swollen ankles?” Nat teases.

“You’re being mean to me,” She whines, but can’t keep the smile off her face.

Neither can Nat. “Then keep your nesting habits away from my files, Barnes.”

Ana steals the slice back. “I also reorganized your knives.”

 That earns another glare. “So, so lucky you’re pregnant.”

It’s rare, these little moments of teasing and humor. Five months have passed since The Snap, and Ana’s grief and pain are still as crushing as ever. Her dreams remain constant. Dealing with feeling her emotions again has become a little easier, but there are days where she feels shattered by them, and cries into her pillow, or the nearest pair of arms.

Lately, it’s been Natasha. But these moments are what helps get Ana and everyone else through the day. Hour by hour, day by day, week by week. She has also been keeping herself in check and trying to be attentive to everyone’s feelings around her.

“Has Steve woman upped yet and felt the baby kick?” Nat wonders. The red roots of her hair are growing back faster now.

“No…He’s still a little creeped out,” Ana yawns. “It’s kinda funny.”

Humming, Natasha suddenly stands up. “Time for your checkup, let’s go.” Groaning, Ana shoves the last bits of her pizza into her mouth. “Come on. It’s one of the last ones before your due date.”

Ana shimmies from her rather comfortable spot on the couch to the edge, taking a deep breath and readying her swollen ankles to stand. Both Natasha and Nebula carefully grab an arm and help Ana up, keeping her steady until she can stand on her own. An odd sort of pressure throb through her stomach, and she frowns, suddenly thankful she does have a checkup today. 

*

Three days later has Ana gasping awake from her dream. This time she swears she feels ashes slip through her fingers. Brings her right back to that horrid day in Wakanda, when she couldn’t reach Bucky in time. The same constricting feeling settles in her chest, and the room begins to feel hot; a golden orange glow briefly emits from her clenched hands.

Before her powers can lash out, Ana moves the best she can, hurriedly grabbing one of the beads. It only takes a few moments to get a video up, but the second she hears his voice, her heart begins to settle. The glow fades, and the rattling in the room that had started ceases.

Bucky’s timbre soothes her, replaying his lullaby twice more. On the third time, Ana pauses the recording, the projected image frozen on Bucky’s sweet face. The gentle fondness in his blue eyes, the slightly crooked smile, his long hair pulled into a bun, his beard just a touch unruly.

She remembers this day precisely; one of the last days Bucky sang to her stomach, to their child. No matter how many times Ana reminded him that the baby couldn’t hear him yet, he never cared.

It never stopped Bucky from randomly moving from one spot -be it the couch, bed, another room, the hut- to wherever Ana was and kept singing. It never stopped him from dropping to his knees as she made another strange snack she was craving in the kitchen and nuzzling his face against her barely there bump. Never kept him from staying up as she fell asleep to his words whispering lovingly against her skin. Feeling his warm breath, his sweet lips, his soft beard, his gentle caress of his fingers over her stomach. Feeling his heart, his love, his soul.

“I can hear it. The heartbeat.” Bucky would tell her, voice thick with emotion.

She hasn’t felt Bucky for months. 

Ana reaches out like she does in her dreams, fingers curving over his holographic jaw. She keeps her touch delicate, as to not distort the image. In this moment, only for a moment, she pretends she can feel him. Pretends that her husband is truly looking back at her.

“I’m sorry, Snowflake,” Ana murmurs, tears burning in her throat. “I haven’t been the same without you. I turned off my emotions. You wouldn’t have liked that at all, would you? I don’t even like myself right now.” 

Ana swipes the tears off her chin with her left hand. “But I swear I’ll try to be better. I swear I will take care of our baby for both of us, and he, she- our child will grow up knowing exactly who you are and how much you loved them. I just…I miss you. God, I miss you so fucking much I can’t breathe most of the time, and it hurts.”

Inhaling a shuddering breath, tears overcome her, sobs hitching in her chest. Ana brushes her shaking fingers over his cheek, the image rippling from her touch.

“I love you.”

When she turns off the bead and the image vanishes, she weeps into her hands. Ana wipes her cheeks, attempting to calm herself. Taking deep breaths, she places the bead back into it’s safe place in the drawer. A rather sharp kick from within makes her wince, then chuckle.

“Sorry, baby. I know I’ve been crying a lot lately.” Ana says to her stomach, rubbing soothing circles over her belly. “That can’t feel too good for you either.”

Once Ana’s crying slows, she cleans her face with tissues, blows her nose, and throws the tissues away in the bin beside her bed. Just then her ears pick up a sound outside her room. Carefully standing up, she walks to the door, pulling it open.

“Steve,” Ana greets with a sigh. She shouldn’t be shocked at this point.

Steve smiles sheepishly. “You alright?”

“Yeah. How much did you hear?”

He leans against the door frame crossing his arms, his shoulders hunched. “Just the ending. Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just came by to see if you want to-“

Another kick and more movement briefly make Ana miss what he’s saying. Blowing a slow breath out she presses her hands over the spot; things are starting to get more uncomfortable.

“Sorry, could you repeat?”

He flashes her an understanding look. “Asked if you wanted to go for a walk with us. Nat and I.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Ana agrees, fighting a wince from the kicking. “Dr. Hammond suggests it now that I seem to be healthy enough. Said the walking could help calm the baby.”

He laughs under his breath. “I can kinda see why,” He says, eyes on her stomach.

“Yeah, this little bean has been more active lately,” She pauses “Steve, um, would you like to feel the baby kick?”

Steve’s eyes snap up to her. “Oh, um, isn’t that a bit personal? I mean-“ He stumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Ana rolls her eyes fondly. This is her husband’s best friend, he shouldn’t feel weird about it. She grabs his hand, placing the flat of his palm just to the right of her stomach. A few long seconds pass, Ana carefully watching Steve’s expression. 

His brows are furrowed, his mouth curving down, as if he’s sad the baby isn’t moving for him. Then, the same rolling pushing movement comes once more and Steve’s blue eyes light up.

His mouth falls open slightly, a toothy smile across his lips. “Ana,” He gasps, meeting her eyes. “That’s…amazing.”

Ana can’t help but laugh, her heartache forgotten for the time being. “See, nothing to be nervous about. Kinda cool, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. This, this is your baby. You and Buck’s…” His excitement fades into sorrow. Steve lifts his other hand to the opposite side, lightly scrunching his fingers as if he’s waving in a way.

“How about that walk now?” Ana cuts the melancholy short. She’s starting to feel the energy around them changing. Steve’s energy; the same kind he has been keeping from her. “Is it nice out?”

Pulling his hands off her stomach, Steve clears his throat and nods. “Bit warmer today, 56 right now.”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“No rush.” Steve takes a step before he halts. “Are sure you’re okay, Ana?”

She gives him her most convincing smile, which is a good attempt on her part. “Yeah. Just, missing him a lot today. That’s everyday though,” She chuckles humorlessly. “I swear I’m good, Steve.”

Steve’s scrutiny lasted longer than Ana would have liked. Then he nods. “Take your time.” 

 *

The only entertaining thing about New Year’s passing was Ana sitting out on the patio, watching Rocket and Rhodey rig together a contraption to set off fireworks. Natasha sat next to her, Ana’s legs on her lap as she massaged her swollen ankles and feet under a warm cable knit blanket, sitting next to a heater. Nebula and Steve are locked in a card game, when the first firework goes off. Steve flinches then frowns. His eyes meet Ana’s for briefly, before he goes back to discarding.

As explosions go off in the sky, Bucky tightens his arms around Ana’s waist, his face hidden in her neck as he presses a kiss to her pulse. “I don’t think I’m fond of fireworks.”

Ana brushes her fingers through his soft hair, gently scratching his scalp. Slowly she uses her ability to calm his energy, soothe him deeper than a touch. “Makes sense. You are a war vet.”

“Used to hear them go off in Romania sometimes,” Bucky had confessed. “Always thought it was a sign Hydra found me. That they had bombs set around the building I lived in. It was something I could never shake.” 

Another one goes off in the distance; Bucky inhales her scent, his hands clutching her skin. Ana catches Tony walking by. “Tony, I thought no one was allowed to set off fireworks up here.”

He catches on quickly, pointing his glass of whiskey towards Bucky. Ana nods, then with an annoyed flare, he says, “Those damn kids. Goodie! I felt like chewing someone’s ear off tonight. I’ll call them!”

Bucky snorts, then sighs in content as Ana continues to relax his nerves with her powers. “They’re pretty, but...too loud.”

“I got you, Snowflake,” Ana promised, pulling up the blanket to cover them both and hide them away. 

“I know you do, Annie Doll,” He breathes sleepy. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen though.”

Ana chuckles, kissing the tip of her husband’s head as he drifts off to sleep. She can’t think of a better way to bring in the new year than Bucky feeling safe enough in her embrace to fall asleep, even with the ghosts that still haunt his past.

 POP!

Another firework glittering in the winter sky rips Ana out of her memories. She catches the small wince of broad shoulders.

“Hey guys,” Ana calls out to Rocket and Rhodey. “I don’t think the baby is fond of fireworks right now. Do you mind if you stop please?”

Rhodey acknowledges her meaningful look, beginning to replace the ones he took out. Rocket shrugs, turns off the machine they built with a wide grin.

“I just wanted to see if I could build it. I did, now I’m bored.” He states, then meets Ana’s eyes.

“How’s about we beat these losers at a game of poker?”

“Deal.”

Ana only lasts two rounds of poker, before Steve is helping her settle into bed. He insisted on following her and carrying her hot tea for her. She adjusts her body pillow and gets comfortable, tapping her hand over the lower part of her stomach where the baby settled with her.

“Thank you,” Steve says, pulling the comforter up for her. “For the fireworks. I know you did it for me.”

“Bucky and I,” Ana begins, pausing only to push past the lump in her throat. “We stayed at Tony’s cabin during the holidays. I don’t think he heard fireworks go off in a while, and out in the woods you aren’t allowed to bring them or set them off. Some neighbors did, and he was nervous about them. I calmed him as much as I could.”

“He never told me that,” Steve says, frowning. The look he gives Ana though, makes her feel bashful. His features soften, and he almost looks...happy. “He was always so in love with you, Ana, before he even knew it. Bucky wasn’t one to ever open up to anyone, even when we were kids. Watching him with you…I’m glad he found you.”

Ana sniffs, rubbing her eyes to stop the tears welling up from falling. The empty ache in her chest is a permanent feeling.

“Sorry, too much Bucky talk. You were having a better night, I shouldn’t ruin it.” Grabbing her hand, he gives it a firm squeeze.

“It’s alright. I just...didn’t want you to feel that same way.” She squeezes back.

“Get some sleep, Ana.”

As she relaxes, her body ready for said sleep, she says, “You too, Steve.”

It’s one of her better days; Ana sleeps through midnight, but the haunting call of her name still echoes through her mind. Her soul still screaming for its other half.

The week following the new year is slow, as if 2019 wants to remind them of half the universe gone. However, Ana’s panic slowly begins to build as she realizes there’s just over a month of the baby arriving.

She’s sitting in the room they decided to turn into a nursery -the room right next to hers- slowly stroking her hands over and over her round stomach. Looking around the room gives her mixed feelings.

A part of her seems to be happy, almost excited to be a mother. The other parts outweigh the joy, however. The bare walls, void of any decorations, makes her heart break. The dark wood of the crib and the changing table makes her seethe. The little animal mobile above the crib breaks her. The mobile hangs an orange fox, a gray owl, a brown bear, and a white wolf. 

Pushing herself off the rocking chair, Ana grabs the wolf and tears it off. The whole mobile comes down, crashing into the crib, but the wolf is clutched in her palm. She stares at it, anger boiling in her blood for reasons she can’t explain.

The harder she squeezes, the brighter her hand becomes. Flickering lights throw the room into shadows, over and over. Smoke is beginning to emit from the little wolf, her chest tightening as the edges singe. 

“I leave for, what, three weeks, and here you are literally starting fires in your hands.”

Ana snaps her head up. Carol Danvers is standing in front of her, amusement dancing in her eyes instead of any reprimandation. Carefully she places both of her hands over Ana’s fist, and all her raging energy subsides. She hadn’t been aware of anyone coming into the room, so focused on the white wolf.

Quickly pulling her hand out of Carol’s, Ana slowly uncurls her fingers. Sitting in the middle of her palm are the remains of the wolf, completely incinerated. Panicking, she drops it, the tiny ashes caught between her fingers.

“Oh my god,” Ana whispers, horrified at herself.

“Hey, Barnes, I’m sure it's fine,” Carol tells her gently. “They can get you another one.”

“You-you don’t understand,” Ana shakes her head frantically. Ash. Ashes on her hand, her fingers, ingrained in her skin. “I-I have to wash my hand. I have to wash my hand!”

“Come on.” 

Carol guides her out of the room, a steady hand on her back, and into the bathroom. Ana proceeds to scrub her right hand at least four times, and once again until her skin feels raw. She feels out of breath afterward, reaching for Carol once more.

“Can you take some deep breaths for me?” Carol coaches, helping her sit on the edge of the tub.

Ana huffs. “I’m trying. I-I can’t. No! Don’t touch me! What if…what if I hurt you? Like I hurt Steve?”

“Look at me, Ana. You are fine, you’re okay right now. You just got worked up and that’s okay.” Carol keeps firm eye contact. She attempts to hold her hands again, this time Ana allows her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You aren’t going to hurt me or anyone else.”

Finally, Ana gets a deep breath in. She regulates her breathing with help from Carol, until she feels like her senses and energy are no longer overstimulated. Once she’s calm, they leave the bathroom and head outside to the bac deck at Ana’s request. The chill of the air clears her head more as she sinks into a chair. 

“It was a white wolf,” Ana tells Carol. Her silence is a cue to elaborate. “My husband...Bucky. He was given that moniker while he was recovering in Wakanda. He told me they sort of adopted, well, accepted him into their family, their culture. King T’Challa told me it also meant strong warrior.”

“That why you tore it off?” She guesses.

Ana shrugs, thinking it over. “I think I was already feeling too many emotions. I saw it, it reminded me of him and how- how everything in that room, we didn’t pick together. Hell, I barely picked anything in that room. I really appreciate Pepper and Nat setting it up, but we couldn’t do it together.”

Danvers remains quiet again, but Ana is grateful for it. She’s pretty good at reading how Ana is feeling, and her silent support is more appreciated than she knows. Ana’s energy always seems to stay dormant every time Carol is close. It’s something interesting to look into later.

“Where have you been?” Ana asks after some time.

During this time Steve found them after FRIDAY alerted him and gave her a thick blanket to keep warm. He stayed long enough to turn on the heaters, then left the women alone, but quietly thanked Carol in a nod Ana caught.

Carol sighs, slumping in her chair and propping her heels on the table. “Other planets. Some are worse from the repercussion of what that purple scrotum sack did. Been getting a lot of hits on my radar. I came back to bring you more elixir in case you needed it. And to check in on my favorite avenger.”

“M’not an avenger but Nat’s in the shooting range. Nebula is...I don’t know what she’s doing but I’m afraid to ask sometimes.”

She snorts. “So, should I not get you a stuffed wolf when the baby is born?”

Ana flicks her off, but Carol’s resounding laugh brings a smile to her face. 

*

When Pepper calls two days later, Ana can’t help but feel something odd about their conversation. As they chat about pregnancy, (”It’s like every ten minutes, Pep, I have to pee every ten minutes!”) Ana asking for any advice her cousin may for her upcoming labor, something continues to feel off. Especially when Pepper drops Tony’s name three times. The mention of him causes her to remember something about FRIDAY.

“Oh!” Ana perks up. “Has FRIDAY informed you of anything about me? Or to-”

A little voice pops up in the background, begging for a snack. “One second, sweetie,” Pepper says to her daughter, then back to Ana. “She just tells me your vitals sometimes.”

“That’s it? She doesn’t ask you for permission to use a security protocol?”

“I- Morgan, be patient please, I’m making it now. Sorry, Ana.”

“It’s fine. I was just wondering why T- um...FRIDAY would feel the need  to program an added feature.”

“What are you trying to ask?”

“I just...why would someone need to add an electric defense mechanism-”

“You know what?” Pepper cuts her off, exasperated. “I’m tired of being a go between. I have a toddler to raise who is currently trying to cut her own grapes, and I can’t deal with this right now. I love you, but if you want to know why, you need to ask him yourself.”

“Pep, what are you-”

“This riff between you two has gone on long enough. Talk to each other. I already have one child, I don’t need to raise two more. Speaking of which, you need to tell him. Here!”

“Wait, no!” Ana’s shout disturbs Rhodey from reading his book. 

He casts a curious glance her way. She frantically shakes her head, though Pepper can’t see her. Rhodey has now put down his book, mouthing an over dramatic what? Before she can let him know what is about to happen, it happens. There’s a shuffling on the other side of the line, followed by a confused yelp.

Quickly pressing the phone to her chest, she looks over at Rhodey in panic. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms; a sign of him agreeing with Pepper after he caught on. Taking a few calming breaths, Ana puts the phone back to her ear.

“-think the line went dead,” Is what she hears on the other side. Tony’s voice.

Heartbeat kicking up several notches, Ana braces herself. “I’m- I’m here.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. “Hello.”

He sounds like he’s meeting a CEO of a company he dislikes. As if he would rather be anywhere else than speak with her.

“Hey, uh, hi. H-how are your day?” Ana cringes, wishing the ground would cave from under her. How are your day? Why is she so nervous to just speak with him!

“Good, great. If that was a question.” Tony answers, his voice is carefully calculated. “How are your day?” He repeats.

If she wasn’t feeling so guilty, so anxious, she may have laughed. Instead, she decides to get right to it. The sooner she tells him, the sooner she can end this painful phone call. “I have something to tell you.”

“Pepper mentioned.”

Right. Fuck, if she didn’t answer her phone, this wouldn’t be happening. Maybe Ana would have been fine with never telling Tony, and he would just have found out some other way. She just knows, deep down, how hurt he might possibly be.

She has never kept anything from Tony for as long as she knew him. With the way they left each other five months ago, well, telling him something he hadn’t known for this long could just drive the wedge between them even deeper.

Ana opens her mouth but all that comes out are tiny sounds of words dying on her tongue. She closes her mouth, eyes shifting to Rhodey, who nods encouragingly. Ana gathers herself once more, swallows her hurt and any pride she may have.

“Tony,” She finally says.

“Yep?” His response is quick; a tone Ana knows all too well. It’s the tone he uses to mask his own hurt.

“I-I should have told you sooner, but-” Inhale. Exhale. It shouldn’t be that hard to tell him this. Tony had been with her through some of the hardest events in her life. Suddenly not telling him feels like she insulted him personally.

“I’m pregnant.” 

The silence that stretches lasts so long, Ana has to check if the line went dead; it didn’t. “Tony?”

“How far? Five months?” Tony finally speaks up. He sounds distant.

“Eight.” The word comes out as a whisper. “I’m eight months along. 34 weeks.”

“Had an inkling. Do you want a congratulations?”

Ana feels like she was just slapped in the face. Tony doesn’t sound angry, just neutral, but even so, the words sting more than she ever thought they would. Her eyes prickle, her vision gets blurry. She clears her throat, turning her back on Rhodey so he doesn’t see her reaction.

“No, no, it’s fine. Just wanted you to know.”

“Girl, boy?” He asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Going old school, I see.”

“I just...I figured it was time to tell you,” Ana’s voice trembles. Her heart is aching, like she just ripped a band-aid from a gaping wound she forgot about. “I’ll let you-”

“Is it healthy?” Tony abruptly cuts her off. “Are…are you healthy?”

The question catches her off guard. “I- yeah. Um, there’s been some emotional stress and bed rest incidents, but otherwise, we’re healthy.”

“Good, good. That’s good. It’s late, you should go, rest.”

“Oh, okay.” Ana says weakly, feeling drained and disappointed. “Yeah. Um, have a good night.” She pulls the phone from her ear to hang up, then hears Tony call her name.

“Ana.”

She quickly holds the phone back up. “Yeah?”

“Will you let me- let us know? When it’s time?” 

Ana can’t be too sure, but she thinks she picks up a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “Yeah, I will. I’ll tell you.”

Another beat of silence passes. “G’night, kid.”

The nickname feels bittersweet, but maybe it’s a step in rekindling what she ruined of their relationship. “Goodnight, Stark.”

After she hangs up, a firm yet comforting hand squeezes her shoulder. “You good?” Rhodes checks.

Nodding, Ana shoots him something close to a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I just...I think I miss him. I do miss him.”

“You should have told him that. I know he misses you too.”

“Maybe...next time.”

Just those few minutes of that conversation has left Ana exhausted. She decides to take a nap, hoping that maybe sleeping will ease the ache on her chest.

*

Annie

Pain abruptly pulls Ana out of her sleep, ripping away from that dream world. She stares at the ceiling in confusion, wondering what exactly hurt enough to wake her up. Minutes pass, her eyes closing as she��s on the verge of falling asleep yet again, when the second wave hits.

“Oh fuck!” Ana yelps, her hands flying to her stomach. “F-F-FRIDAY, am I having a contraction?”

“I cannot be 100% accurate,” FRIDAY responds quickly. “I have alerted Agent Romanoff. There is a possibility of Braxton Hicks Contractions. I suggest changing positions and counting the minutes between each one.” 

Annie

A mixture of a sob and laugh escaped Ana’s lips, because of course she would hear his voice now as she hisses curses through her teeth. Oddly, the voice seems to calm her internal panic, through her pain. As she begins to sit up and shift, Natasha throws open the door. 

She’s talking but Ana can’t focus on her words just yet, too busy trying to lay on her side and fight through the contracting pressure. Thankfully, Nat helps her move and settle into a new position. Too long goes by, but finally the pain stops.

“Breathe, remember those exercises,” Natasha is telling her, rubbing her back. Ana adjusts her pillows, feeling utterly exhausted. “Do you know how long that was?”

“Two minutes and 24 seconds,” FRIDAY informs them. “Twenty minutes apart from the first one.”

“FRIDAY get Dr. Hammond on the phone please.”

“Already contacted.”

Ana just shuts her eyes, listening to the slight commotion around her. The baby moves, an elbow or foot clearly unhappy about the lack of space inside her uterus. She rubs her hand around her stomach, ignoring her fear of not being ready quite yet; it’s too early to give birth. Ana begins to wonder how Bucky would have handled this. 

Instead of feeling sad, a small smile spreads across her lips. Imagining someone like Bucky who was usually pretty calm and level-headed in most situations, his longtime soldier status the reason for that, would probably be panicking. Considering how he always acted any time Ana was in pain or discomfort.

“You look like a crazy person smiling like that.”

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to call a pregnant woman crazy?” Ana mumbles, cracking her eyes open to see Rocket smirking at her. “Are you so starved for entertainment you wanted to see what potential childbirth is like?”

Rocket shrugs, smirking. “Once I convinced some jerk the only way to smuggle his gun off Contraxia was to shove it up his ass. This isn’t as fun.”

A chuckle escapes her mouth, and suddenly the pressure she’s been feeling in her lower abdominal eases away. Ana heaves out a deep, long breath. Rocket’s smirk morphs into concern as he reaches out to gently pat the back of her hand. 

“Can I confess something?” She whispers to him. He steps closer, tilting his head down. “I’m not ready yet.”

Rocket leans closer. “If you want to know my opinion. I think you got this.”

Then he winks as if they’re conspiring. Ana reaches out to gently stroke his ear. Rocket looks shocked at the affectionate gesture, then he relaxes, smiling like he’s proud to make her feel better.

Natasha interrupts their moment. “Ana, Dr. Hammond is on the phone. She’s on the way but wants to talk to you if you can.”

Taking the phone with her doctor relaxes Ana further. Though when she explains the severity of the pain, Dr. Hammond suggests she have a bag ready in case she does have to go to the hospital. The doctor also requests that the AI to monitor her closely and send FRIDAYs system readings be sent to her On-Call phone, just in case.

Through the night, two more odd contractions occur. Although being irregular and far apart though not any less painful, one more call to the doctor has Ana cursing Braxton Hicks contractions. Natasha stays with her the whole time, and Steve lingers by the closed door for far too long.

Sighing, Ana demands sleepily. “Rogers, just come in already, my god.”

Sheepishly, Steve enters the room, and hunkers down at the end of her bed. Ana drifts off into the same world where Bucky is always waiting for her, always barely able to touch her. When she wakes up from the clouds of ash, she slowly turns over. The sight she’s met with makes the tears in her eyes dry up.

Apparently, during the night, everyone made their way into her room. Nebula, Rocket, Carol and Rhodes all sleeping around the bed or propped up against the wall or chair. Smiling, Ana falls back to sleep.

35 Weeks: January 22nd

Over the last three days, Ana has become lethargic. She’s just so tired all the time, despite sleeping for a few solid hours. Maybe the constant trips into that dream world with the little girl and Bucky leave drain her energy more than she ever thought it would. Maybe waking up, never able to save Bucky is taking its toll, and her heart, her soul just aches. She is just so tired.

Though being eight months pregnant and having false contractions probably has something to do with how exhausted she’s been. Ana has yet to tell anyone about her dreams, or how they leave her feeling just as empty as the day it happened. Informing anyone would just lead to more worry, have them doting on her more than they already do.

Steve constantly eyes her, a twitch in his corded muscles as if he is ready to jump into action for her. He thinks he is being covert; he isn’t. Ana can still read and pick up on feelings and energies. Natasha is more inconspicuous about it, rather she just lingers in any room Ana shows up in. Nebula has taken to just drop next to her, pulling out the deck of playing cards, her dark eyes keen if Ana just shifts wrong.

Rocket chats her ear off with stories of him and the Guardians. Most adventures leave Ana clutching her big round stomach in laughter. It’s the most she has laughed in months, and she swears the little raccoon does this because she admitted she was scared to him.

Rhodes has been pulled away for more government and military business, although he calls to check in everyday. Carol keeps offering the last bottle of elixir but when Ana refuses, she just gives her a cup of tea instead. With sneaking suspicion, Ana thinks the tea is laced with the elixir anyway.

As the winter sun begins to set, its light casts an orange glow through the windows, makes the whole area look warm. To Ana, it bares too much a resemblance to her dreams. She turns to head to bed early, leaving the haunting sight of the sunset to paint the interior with its mockery. Ana grabs the mug of tea Danvers left seeping for her, turning her back on the light.

With the twist of her hips, a sharp stabbing pain shoots through her stomach. Ana shouts, dropping the mug, shattering on the floor as she doubles over in pain. This clenched pressure is more severe than the other night, Ana can’t even straighten up. She clutches the counter for balance, panting and gritting her teeth.

 Annie.

 “Ana!?” Someone calls in fear.

Trying to regulate her breathing, the pain slowly eases up. Ana cautiously straightens up, but the second she does, another pain zings through her lower stomach. Her fingers grip the counter so hard, the granite cracks, gives, then crumbles under her vice grip.

Strong arms wrap around her, balancing her the best they can. Ana is vaguely aware she’s being moved, but through the blinding pain, there’s an internal fear of something hurting her baby. The pain, the agony, the hurt; something isn’t right.

“Ba- the -ba-by,” Ana stammers, chest heaving, hands now clutching her stomach. Beneath her palms, she feels the baby writhe. “Fuck! It- it’s hurting.”

“What? What’s hurting the baby?” Someone demands urgently. “Call 911! Or get the jet ready! Anything! Ana. Ana, honey, look at me, can you hear me?”

All she hears is a panicked tone, firm callous hands squeezing her elbows. The baby shifts, curling and twisting in her stomach. Ana wants to reach in and protect her child, their child, from whatever is causing this white-hot agony.

She won’t release her arms from around her stomach, she can’t respond to anyone’s worried calls. She just shuts her eyes, tears stinging before they escape. She’s panting, trying to breathe but the darkness around the searing pain is almost too seductive to resist.

Suddenly, the pain stops. Ana can finally breathe in and out, in and out. Once she can inhale without any more contractions, she can finally speak.

“Something is wrong,” She breathes out, fear clenching around her heart. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Just continue to breathe like you are,” Natasha urges, her voice shaky. “If you’re able to make it to the quinn jet we can fly you to the hospital.”

Bracing herself on whoever is holding her, Ana grabs at their shoulders slowly standing up. Concerned blue eyes gaze down at her, roaming over her face for any other signs of pain. Steve lifts his hand to her forehead, pressing his knuckles against her skin.

“Shit, you’re burning up. Let’s go, I’ll carry you if you can’t walk.” Steve offers, about ready to do just that.

“No,” She heaves, wincing as a lesser contraction wrecks her. She waits until it eases up. “But-but- these are too close together.” Ana gasps then, looking down at her legs, her pants soaked. “My water just broke.” She whispers, terrified. “Steve, it’s too early.”

The way those blue eyes shift from his own fear to determination soothes her terror just a little. Steve and Natasha volunteer to go with her, though Carol insists she help bring Ana up to the launch pad. As they leave, a concerned Rocket waves, wishing her good luck.

“Have fun,” Nebula pipes up after Ana is nearly out of ear shot.

“Have fun?” Rocket deadpans.

Nebula just shrugs, her hands balled into tight fists.

**

Arriving at the nearest hospital only takes fifteen minutes by jet. By some mercy, Ana doesn’t have another contraction or pain during the flight. Once they get her a wheelchair though, another occurs. People are talking around her as she fights and breaths through the pressured pain entering the hospital.

“Who’s your obstetrician?”

“Uh,” Ana pants, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. “Dr. Hammond.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to continue talking after that, as Dr. Hammond rushes through the doors of the floor they’re on. Grateful for Natasha taking over for filling out the remaining information needed.

“Is anyone coming in with you, Ana?” Dr. Hammond inquires, after speaking with some nurses. She looks between Steve and Natasha. 

The question catches her off guard. “No! No. I-” Ana chokes up, nearly breaking down with grief because Bucky isn’t here. She feels his absence, his death more than ever. “I can do it on my own.”

Those words seem to strike a chord with Steve. He abruptly moves in front of her, bending to her eye level. Fierce protectiveness shining in those blue eyes. Steve grips her hands hard enough for her to know.

“Ana,” He begins lowly, firmly. "You don't have-"

“I’m scared," She admits. Her bottom lip trembles as hot tears finally spill from her eyes. "I’m so scared. It’s too early. What if-“  

Hushing her gently, Steve carefully pushes back her damp hair. “I know, I know you’re scared right now. You can do this. I know you can. You are not alone. I’m with you, Natasha’s with you. We’re right here for you. You don’t have to do this alone if you don’t want to.”

Ana squeezes his hands as another mild contraction rolls through her. She hunches over, listening to Steve instruct her to breathe deeply. When it subsides, she looks up at him through tears.

“How can you be so sure?” She asks breathlessly.

He blinks, taking a second to realize what she means. Then his face softens. “Because you’re you. Because you’re the most determined, stubborn, and strong woman I know. You can do this. Then you get to meet your child after, and that is going to be amazing.”

Ana nods, trying her best to believe him. “Yeah, yeah you're right. I-I wish Pepper were here though.”

“We called her, she’s one her way.” Natasha pipes in, handing back the clipboard to the nurse.

"Nat,” Ana shudders out another deep breath as the baby wiggles around. Suddenly Steve’s words strike her deeper. “Will you stay with me?”

“I won’t leave your side.” Natasha promises fiercely.

Dr. Hammond jumps in then, informing Ana of a drug they’re going to give her to slow the labor, then run some tests. She instructs Natasha of a nurse coming out to bring her sanitary and protective gear for the delivery room when it’s time.

They wheel her towards another set of double doors, and that’s as far as Steve can follow for now. Before they go through, he bends over, placing a kiss on top of Ana’s head.

“You’re strong. You can do this. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.” Steve reminds her fervently.

Annie

A newfound strength enters her body. Ana can’t be certain if it was Steve giving her one last encouragement through her powers, or the voice in her ears.

*

Administering the drug does help slow Ana’s labor down, and thankfully she’s able to get the epidural put in. Steve is allowed to visit once she’s checked into her room and bed. Pepper gets delayed by a mild snowstorm but promises to be there as soon as she can.

Usually giving a drug to delay preterm labor to a soon to be mother works better, if the mother didn’t have a form of super soldier serum in her DNA. The drug wears off just nine hours later, as Ana found out as she awoke with more intense pains. Before she knows it, it’s time.

“Ready?” Dr. Hammond questions as she settles between Ana’s legs.

Frantically Ana shakes her head, scrambling to find Natasha’s hand. Nat grabs her hand with both of hers, leaning close to her head. It’s still too soon. What if something goes wrong? What if her powers act out? Oh god, what if baby doesn’t survive?

Natasha’s soothing voice in her ear encourages Ana as she pats the back of her hand. Listening to her words as the doctor and nurses prepare behind her propped-up feet, begins to calm Ana just a little. She swears she feels Nat’s steady, relaxed energy seep into her.

Instructions to push when necessary are relayed to Ana, but as she screams and shouts through gritted teeth and crushes Natasha’s hand, she has to. When the pushing starts, the lights in the room glow brighter. They begin to flicker, the room fading in and out of darkness. A golden hue shines around Natasha’s hands clasps over Ana’s. Her friend calling her name is slowly fading away, as she begins to fall under water.

Annie

She hears the muffled concerned voice of the doctor; something is wrong with the baby. Ana fights to stay awake. Fights to give her baby a chance because if Ana fades away now, will she take her child with her?

No. She refused to let that happen. Pushing with all her might, she channels what she has of her own energy through her blood, her body, to her child.

Annie

The voice beckons to her again. Over and over; a haunting echo of a lullaby. Ana stops fighting, allows the darkness of a faded loving caress to pull her in. She hears cries fill the room just as her world goes black.

 *

Stillness. Quiet. Serenity.

The absence of sound slowly pulls Ana up from the ground. As she stands there, her mind void of any thought, she stares ahead at the endless horizon. An invisible grip tugs from inside her chest, her feet moving of their own accord. She moves through the glassy sea, ripples spreading out with each step.

Blinking to awareness, Ana is face to face with a dark wooden door.

A small touch wraps around her left hand. Looking down, she sees that same little girl; her beautiful green skin, the markings on her cheeks, her red-brown hair. It’s her big eyes that gaze up at Ana that always reach into her heart. Ana closes her fingers around her little hand.

“Where am I?” Ana inquires, her voice quiet echo.

The child smiles. There’s something sad about it. “I think you know.”

Casting a glance around at the horizon of every way, she nods. “What is your name?”

The girl pauses, but only for a moment. “Gamora.” It’s then she releases her hand and steps back. “You aren’t here for me though. That’s okay. I can wait.”

Perplexed, Ana asks, “What do you mean?”

Without answering, Gamora holds her arm out to the door in front of them. Ana shifts her eyes to the door, and what awaits on the other side. When she looks to the little girl once more for guidance, Gamora is gone. She doesn’t ponder where she could have vanished to. Ana places her hands on the door, and pushes.

Warmth blooms from her chest, as if her soul ignites within. Her heart fills with hope, with love, and with terror. Ana has been met with this same sight before. Has felt these same feelings race through her veins every time she sleeps.

Bucky stands before her. Same ocean blue eyes, same soft expression, same little smile on his lips. He takes a step forward, lifting his right hand. Ana bites her lip, dreading for when they make contact, he will crumble into ash like always.

“Hi Annie,” Bucky speaks. His voice seeping into her bones.

Despite the inevitable pounding through her chest, Ana brings her own hand up. Slowly, she reaches for him, the warmth of his hand erases any fear. Bucky intertwines their fingers together, his smile widening. Ana moves closer, squeezing his knuckles. When Bucky remains solid and firm in front of her, tears fill her eyes.

“Bucky.” His name leaves her lips on a sob.

Her husband gently cups her cheek with his left hand, the cold of his metal palm sending goosebumps all over her skin. Ana presses her lips to his hand, holding onto to this moment for as long as she can. Bucky pulls his hand from hers, only to wrap his arm around her waist, tugging her to his chest. Ana grips him tight around his back, resting her ear directly over his heart that she can hear pounding in his chest.

“Are you real?” She murmurs, tears falling down her cheeks.

His soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. He leans back, delicately cups her cheek to pick her head up. Bucky connects their foreheads, eyes gazing affectionately into hers. His vibranium thumb sweeps along her cheekbone, wiping away her tears.

“I’ve always been real in your dreams, darling.”

Ana lifts her hand from his back to brush her fingers through his soft hair. “Is that what this is then? Just a dream?”

"Not exactly.” He laments with a sigh. Ana leans back, and the happiness in those beautiful eyes of his fade away. “I fear you may be here permanently if you don’t leave soon.”

“But I- I just got you back,” Ana frowns, shifting her hand from his thick hair to his cheek. The soft scruff of his beard tickles her palm. Bucky turns his head, kissing her palm. Her heat sinks then. “This isn’t real.”

Sadly, Bucky shakes his head. “This isn’t your world. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be selfish and just hold you a bit longer.”

Ana fully throws her arms around him in a vice grip, foolishly thinking if she can hold him tight enough, he can stay buried in her soul forever. His returning hug is just as hard, the pain from his grip just confusing her more. They move at the same time, finding each other’s mouth and placing a firm, desperate kiss to their lips.

“I need you to go back now, love,” Bucky gently urges, after he breaks their kiss.

“I don’t want to,” Ana cries, now clutching at his chest. “I need you.”

Bucky’s eyes suddenly fill with tears, falling over the edge and down his cheeks. For the first time Ana has ever entered this dream world, Bucky has never cried. She delicately wipes the wetness from his beautiful face. His smile breaks her heart.

“Someone else needs you now, Ana.” He tells her. Bucky kisses her forehead. “It’s time to go.”

Her chest tightens then, as if her soul is losing him all over again. Nodding as tears continue to fall, Ana wraps him up in her arms one last time, holding onto his warmth. She presses her right hand firmly over his chest, memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you, Bucky. James, I-I love you so much,” Ana sobs.

Bucky runs his fingers through her hair, bringing the strands up to his mouth, before letting the hair fall back into place. “You’re my heart and soul, Ana. I love you.” He gently kisses her lips. When he pulls back once more, his blue eyes shine with pride. “She’s beautiful, by the way. Take care of her, Annie.”

“She?” Ana frowns, confused.

He places his hands on her chest. “Wake up.”

Then, Bucky fades into dust.

 *

Ana gasps.

"We got a pulse!” Someone shouts.

Ana blinks up at too bright lights, dazed, confused, abruptly cold. The commotion around her fades into the background as she slowly becomes aware of her surroundings. Her fingers scratch against stiff cotton, her damp skin making them feel too sensitive against her hands.

A dull pressure releases from her lower half, from her stomach perhaps? Her back? Her hips? Nope, it’s definitely soreness between her legs. She’s cold and sweaty, can now feel her hair sticking to her face. Her chest is heaving, her arms lifting as to reach for something.

“I don’t understand, her vitals stabilized quickly. They’re all normal, doctor.”

The minute the words break through the muffled barrier of whatever ocean she was under, is the minute she hears the crying. In a rush of sensory overload, everything crashes back to her.

Her baby. Ana just gave birth.

“Mrs. Barnes? Ana, can you hear me?” Dr. Hammond’s voice is speaking to her right.

Nodding frantically, Ana answers her hoarsely. “Y-yes. I’m fine. I-where’s my baby?”

Still a little unfocused, she misses when the nurses double check her vitals, and then, the wails of an infant come closer. Someone questions if it’s a good idea, doubts the steady condition she seems to be in. Whoever it was is shot down though, as blonde and red hair come into Ana’s vision.

“Thank, god,” Natasha breathes, her shoulder sagging. “You scared us.” She shakes her head, then smiles. “Would you like to meet your daughter now?”

Carefully, Natasha hands over a little bundle of a blanket, laying Ana’s baby on her chest. Hands works to gently tug down her gown and unwrap the blanket. It’s that first skin to skin contact, that first feel of her baby girl’s beating heart against her mother’s, that breaks Ana.

Ana cries, sobs, as she delicately holds her daughter against her chest. For the first time in a long time, her soul pulses with warmth.

 ***********************************************************

Drabbles: Twenty-Three     Drabbles: Twenty-Five

(Note: Ana’s labor/birth is loosely based off of my sister-in-laws experience.)

Tags:  @thecreatiivecorner​​​ @buckyland​​​ @stressedasalways​​​ @watchoutforfrostbite​​​ @justreadingfics​​​ @keldachick​​​ @eurynome827​​​ @elatedmarvel​​​ @shesalatesh​​​ @paintedgreywriting​​​ ​​ @buckaroo-blue​​ @afewmarvelousthoughts​​ @crushedbyhyperbole​​ @shesalatesh​ @jaxthebookworm​

#bucky barnes x ofc #Bucky Barnes x Ana #bucky barnes x ana rios #steve rogers x platonic!ofc #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x original female character #delicate stages drabbles #delicate stages of life #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers angst #baby barnes

[graphicabyss]

?人 NEWS

I wrote an enormous post, or rather an essay, concerning NEWS, Tegoshi, and everything that went through my mind in the past month. Honestly, it’s mostly my way of coping, getting it out of my system and sorting out my thoughts and feelings. But I decided to also post it here for those who might want to read.

It was a long time coming. The rumours were lurking around for years and a month ago they bloomed. And yet, the full realization is yet to dawn on me. When something devastating happens, our mind tends to shake off the pain by either exonerating the beloved person who hurt us, or blaming them and distancing away from them. It's really hard to stay objective. But I'll try.

Coming into this fandom, I prepared myself for disappointment. Once I was a TVXQ fan. You know, the 5-nin TVXQ that was going to be "together forever" and all that. So I wowed never to get that invested in a pop band. When NEWS came along, I tried not to get too attached. I knew it would hurt me, sooner of later. And for awhile, it worked. But, as years went by, I knew I lost the battle. We humans need to cling to something. Thus, nearly 7 years have passed.

To me, Tegoshi has always been a key component. He was the one that led me to NEWS. Or rather, how pretty he looked in a dress. Tegoshi always kept me interested. Sometimes he excited, sometimes he annoyed, but he was never ever boring. He was made of contradictions, both in words and in actions. Nothing ever adds up with him. He made me want to understand him but I could never quite grasp it. Thinking about it now, perhaps it was because he doesn't really understand himself either.

In these years, I had several crisis points where I considered leaving the fandom, all caused by something shitty Tegoshi said or did. But every time I bounced back. Of course, I didn't do it for him. I did it for myself. However, his selfishness has always been offset by his kindness. The last time was him crying at the end of Neverland tour and how sorry he looked. Till the end, I wanted to believe that his common sense and loyalty won't let him do something reckless and stupid. Yet, here we are. The interview he gave to Bunshun led me to believe that he would do the right thing. He said he would show his gratitude to JE and would definitely make his fans happy but now it's the furthest thing from the truth. The fandom is disappointed, confused, angry.

Some people say to get over it, that Tegoshi was meant to leave or some shit. But I think those people fundamentally misunderstand the heart of the problem. It's not that he left that infuriated the fandom. It's how and when he left. Most fans would support his decision to leave if the transition was done properly. He owed us that much. A proper apology. A proper gratitude. A proper farewell. The announcement had me in disbelief. I expected him to at least finish the contract, do the Story Tour, no matter how long it takes, and show the members, staff and the fans the respect they deserve. To cut it short feels like a violation. At the very least, we need a closure. The last goodbye. The last concert. The last something. He just left JE after 17 years like it was nothing.

More than anything, what he did seems so stupid. He had it so fucking good. He was always in the spotlight, both on stage and in TV shows. The other members did most of the offscreen work allowing him to shine. He was supported by endlessly patient members and staff. He had the freedom to choose and all the work he wanted for each of his passions - ItteQ, Soccer Earth, OpenRec. And he had fans that always supported him, no matter how many scandals he had.

What was so important that he had to give up on all the amazing benefits he had? To betray all this trust? And on top of it, at a time like this? When all world is going through so much shit? When the fans need moral support more than ever? What were the "dreams" that he talked about?

The ability to rant on Twitter? Making duckface selfies? Fucking around? Assembling a shitty rock band? Performing with strippers? Some kind of unique business opportunity? He talked for years about wanting to perform overseas or hosting fan events but right now these things are offlimit anyway. Why couldn't he at the very least explain his decision properly? Just that alone will definitely hurt his further career in the long run. The press-conference lasted 2 hours but it answered none of the questions that really mattered and there was no remorse. Though at this point, I can't trust anything he says anyway. He created his Twitter account the the evening it all went down and didn't bother explaining himself. He just jumped off the ship and let other people deal with the damage.

Even now, it all seems like some kind of bad dream. Then again, all of the 2020 does.

When I first saw "手越退社" trending on Twitter back in May I felt like I was spinning into a downward spiral, like all air was sucked out of me. And it wasn't the "oh, no! what will the band do?" I never went to a NEWS concert and never brought any merch. To me, it wasn't really the feelings of a fan whose band faces a crisis but rather that of an entrepreneur who invested too much money into one asset and watched it plummet.

Fandom stuff is a currency that can devalue in a blink of an eye. Its valuable as long as its core message is intact. This is why I can't stand people being petty over scans or videos. I share when I can knowing it will make someone happy because I know that tomorrow that someone might move on. When I stumble upon old closed journals with password-protected downloads they feel like ancient abandoned temples. The treasures in them turned to dust.

4nin NEWS were based on unity, the combination of 4 unique characters. Four components, each of them essential. Now that concept failed. It's like standing in front of a collapsed building. I try to assess the damage. How much of it can I salvage? Repurpose? How much is lost and needs to be cleaned up? Should I even bother?

What do I do with hundreds of live performances and TV shows, in HD, lovingly downloaded and stored?

What to make of thousands of scans, magazines, pamphlets, almost each image edited and sorted? Thousands more stored neatly in folders, waiting to be posted. Countless screens and gifs.

What of the member ai fanvideos that gained over 100k on Youtube bringing joy to so many people? I already got the first heartbroken comment saying "we won't ever see them like that again, will we?"

What to make of my unfinished stories? Honestly, it's one of the things I'm most proud in my entire life. Now their future is uncertain.

Do I take down the poster on my wall? The CDs on my shelf? Soon I will have to looks at my enormous stash and decide for each item. Things that once brought joy now cause pain.

NEWS weren't selling music, they were selling ideas and dreams. The cute band photos now cause hurt and anger. The uplifting songs about unity won't be convincing. All the concerts lost their charm.

Am I being too dramatic? Probably. Perhaps the issue itself may seem trivial to an outsider but our grief is real.

Tegoshi keeps saying he loves NEWS and adores the members. But to me, loving is doing everything you can to avoid hurting the ones you love. Perhaps he means it, but that love will never compare to the love he has for himself. Despite what he says, I doubt we'll even see them together again and I'm not even sure I want to. I knew apart from Koyashige, the members aren't really that close personally. Tegoshi is shallow and seeks popularity more than anything. I'm sure than now he'll hang out with even shadier characters than before. The members used to provide him with the much needed tough love. Now, with nothing and noone holding him back, he'll give in to his overblown ego.

I'm not sure how I feel about NEWS continuing as 3. I mean, I support their decision and that's probably what most fans want but to me, I don't know if it'll work out that well. They were already a band with a lot of luggage and now, just like in 2011, they are a band that induces pity. They would have to rearrange so much to try and fill this huge gaping hole. Not to mention they will struggle vocally. No songs, no choreography can be unaltered. It might be better to go on within the agency doing their own things. But then that would just mean Tegoshi was indispensable and all the work they put in will be wasted. The Story must be competed.

In the past week I went through various stages of grief. The anger was strong and so was disbelief. Now it's finally subsiding, giving way to acceptance. It won't come soon but I'll let all the emotions run their course. The fact is Tegoshi remains very entertaining and the temptation to keep following him and rant about him is strong. I probably wouldn't even fight it if he were to leave with at least a shred of dignity. But with the way things are, I refuse to support him in any way. And I will at least try to phase him out as much as I can as I realize that even my anger is playing into his hands as he wants nothing more than attention, good or bad. Instead, I'll try to focus on those who do deserve support.

I'm not yet sure how to proceed with the blog and everything else but I'll take my time and figure it out. The truth is Tegoshi was one of the two major things that have kept me here for so long. And no, the second reason is not Shige. It's the people. Out of all the fandoms I've been in over the years this one really felt like home. I met so many amazing people here, even though many of them have since moved on. I felt accepted and appreciated.

This week has been an emotional roller-coaster. But today I feel fine. I have a dozen reasons to be depressed. But I'm not miserable right now because of the fandom. I've had about 10 people write to me within several days. Some of them I haven't talked to in months, some I've never talked to before, and some from other fandoms. They reached out to share their thoughts and feelings, and I appreciate it so much. I felt less alone. I felt a sense of solidarity, a sisterhood. Many agreed with me and it was touching but even more touching were the people who didn't necessarily agree with me and still wanted to hear what I had to say.

Perhaps it's patronizing but I feel like right now the best I can do is stay connected and go through this together. If I can help others, through informing, making someone smile, or supporting emotionally, it's all worth it.

#musings

[singeramg]

Midnight: Chapter 15

Pairing: Clark Kent/ Metahuman! Black! OFC!

Rating: E or M, NC-17 whatever just not for under 18

Warnings: Smut! ( Finally what I promised right?) 

A/n: Okay as as mentioned above this chapter does contain smut, if its not your thing skip to the end. I give a brief summary in my ending author’s note. Please don’t blow me up talking about you weren’t warned.

Catch up HERE! 

Midnight: Chapter 15

*Flashback*

  “Come on Clark you gotta tighten up my dude. This shit is not cute.”

I was standing in the bedroom to his room at his mother's house, in jeans, yellow t-shirt 70′s writing of the words BOSS, across the chest, my silver hoop earrings and freshly applied cherry carmex. Mrs. Martha had called to to come drag Clark from his self imposed shut down, so instead of a quick mall trip by my lonesome, I was here.  He and Lois broke up two weeks ago and he went from optimistic to wanting to follow her to the assignment she picked up overseas (and I told him that might be a bad idea if Superman got a rep for stalking women) he was now in the depression stage. Martha has enough of him not coming out of his room (he also couldn’t go back to the apartment he shared with Lois.) and requests for chocolate and junk food.

Apparently I was the big guns, and I had no clue how bad it was until just now standing in the doorway to the room. It literally had enough empty bottles to become a recycling plant. He was giving me teenage boy vibes and this was a grown ass man.

The part of me that wanted Clark for myself was kind of happy that he and Lois weren’t together but a bigger part of me was crushed for my best friend. I knew how much he loved her, how he planned on proposing to her next month on their anniversary. I could feel how upset he was and I wanted him to feel better. 

 “Gia what are you doing here?”

 “I came to figure out why my best friend has been dodging my phone calls for two days the. I find out he is back at home with his mother and is doing his best to become part of the furniture.”

  “I’m sick Gia.”

I stare at him pointedly. 

  “Kiss my ass your sick....That would work if you were human Clark. You can’t catch a goddamn virus. Now if you had told me a stomach ache I might have believed you. Get your lying ass up dude!”

I walked into the room, and sat at the foot of his bed. He had the covers pulled over his face. He had reached the grief stage and it was not good. I started pulling on the covers trying to inch it down and it worked for the whole of two seconds before he put a stop to that. 

  “Gia I just want to be left alone.”

 I raise an eyebrow and look around in the chaos.

  “If this room is any indication to go by you cannot be trusted to be left to your own devices.”

“Giaaaaa.” He groans out and I stifle a giggle, because I know he is in pain but the whine he did was kinda hilarious.

“Kaaaal.”

I copy his tone and then he sighs and pulls the cover tighter. It was my turn to sigh. I kick off my shoes, and walk over to the opposite side of the bed that Clark was laying on.

I focus all my energy into my hand and yank at his cover, having just enough force to pull it away, however I don’t yank it completely off of him, choosing to slide in next to him.

Clark’s big blue eyes look about as sad as I had ever seen him and his hair looked slightly overgrown and he was growing a beard, only clothed in a pair of shorts. Laying down next to him, I  reached up to his face, because the face of the strongest man in the world did not look like the strongest. 

 “Clark you have got to come face the world sometime.”

 “Does it have to be today? The world is probably the reason she left. I was so busy saving it that I bet she didn’t want to stay around.”

 “Yes boo it has to be today. You can’t sit in here day after day, it won’t make her come back. I’m not saying it isn’t hard to get over something like this but the first step is to try.”

“What if I don’t want to try?”

 “Well I guess we could lay here all day? I mean I may or may not start doing my Britney Spears impressions, then maybe I’ll move on to Miley Cyrus, because I know just how much you love that Party in the USA song, then maybe a little “Girl on Fire” by Alicia Keys....”

He doesn’t move

“ Ooh baby, baby, ohh Baby baby” 

 “Okay okay. I’ll get up just please no singing.”

I start laughing as Clark flips the covers back, and gets up. I knew he absolutely could not stand those songs and/or artists. I couldn’t help but look him over, his body just as fit as ever, slightly jealous that he could spend multiple days eating and drinking nothing but crap and still look like you could grate cheese on his abs. 

-“Stop it Gia.”- I told myself because I knew I couldn’t go down that road of thinking.

   “So now that you got me out of bed what do you want me to do.”

-‘Get back in.-’ Says my inner-thoughts. Outwardly I say

 “I think you need a day out. Get dressed Kent. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

I pull myself from his bed and start walking, slightly tripping over something on the floor.

“Oh and you need to clean up this mess before we leave, Ms. Martha is not about to chew me out for your mess. No sir.”

“M’am yes M’am.” He says with a look that didn’t scream America Golden boy, but something that was up to no good. 

He says cheekily and half ass salutes in my direction. I toss up my middle finger in his direction and start singing, ‘She’s just a girl, but she’s on fire...’, much to his annoyance,  and close the door to his room on the way out, knowing he can hear me all the way down the stairs and even is whisper, which annoys him even worse...

*Later that night*

 “Clark you are such a cockblocker!”  

We were standing near the exit outside of a bar in Metropolis. We had been there about an hour and a half, Clark had a couple of beers while I sipped on a drink. I left him at the table to get us another round and some shots when a good looking guy walked over to me. He was tall, fit and looked like he kept himself together with a neat fade all waved out and a swagger about himself. Also his emotions were quite even keeled. Which was nice and rare for a change of guys coming up to radiating all the emotions of someone only looking to bone. He introduced himself as Terrance, and I gave him my name. We were talking for all of 10 minutes when Clark walked over to where we were standing, and I had just finished laughing at something Terrance had said, Clark puts his hand on my lower back and says

  “Gia darling I’ve been looking for you. Did you get the drinks? Oh who is your friend?”

I glared at him and then said “This is Terrence, Terrence this is my friend Clark.”

Clark shakes his hand but I can tell he puts just a little too much force behind it because the guy winces ever so slightly and Clark emotions go from protective, jealous to pleased.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes and instead look at Terrence.

  “It was cool to meet you both, I’ve got to get back to my friends.”

He was scurrying away before I could even say goodbye. It was then that I dragged Clark outside.

  “What do you mean Gia?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me Alien boy.” I say the last part in a whisper and poke him in his chest.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

 “So you are going to act like you didn’t just almost break ole’ boys hand in there?”

At this he laughs slightly, but it was at least more of a genuine laugh than I had gotten from him in a few weeks.

  “I wasn’t going to break it. I just wanted to see how he held up. If he even wants the potential to be in your life he’s got to pass muster.”

  “Your muster. He passed mine just fine.”

  “You would have chewed him up and spit him back out Gia. Besides he wasn’t worthy I mean he didn’t even have his pants pulled up all the way.”

 “I told you if it’s done right is called swagger. Anyway. Like I said you are a cockblocker.”

 “Sure, you will be thanking me later from saving you from a bad decision.”

I did some kind of cross between a growl and groan and turned away starting to go back inside realizing Clark wasn’t going to get it. He stops me by gently grabbing my arm.

  “Gia wait.”

He pulls me backward to him again, I end squarely folded into his arms, with his front pressed to my back, face in the curls I left down for the night. I ignore how good this feels, the smell of him, the strength corded through his arms as he holds me tightly.

  “I am sorry Gia. I guess I just don’t want you to leave me. Tonight was supposed to be about the two of hanging out, helping me get over a heartbreak. I just didn’t want my best friend to leave me to drink alone.”

He says next to my ear and I fight off a shutter. I respond by taking a deep breath and saying.

  “I wasn’t going to leave you Clark, what kind of best friend would I be if I let you drink alone?”

I did my best to be mad, but with the way he wrapped his arms around me, the small yet sweet words he used, I was putty. He didn’t have to know how turned on I got by the sound of his voice and honestly I didn’t want to figure out why my heart was racing. If I stayed like this any longer he would figure out it wasn’t from anger.

So I pulled away from him and turned back faux mad and said

  “Come on Kent bring your ass, next round is on you...”

 One hour later:

We walked into my apartment, glad that I hadn’t left it a mess before heading over to see Clark. He trailed behind me, holding the box of cookies from the late night cookie place not far from my house. 

  “I still can’t believe we stopped for cookies at 12 in the morning.”

 “Come on Clark you know there is nothing better than a warm cookie late at night. How many times have you snuck one of your mom’s cookies at night when she was sleeping.”

He ponders

  “Touché. I didn’t even know that place existed.”

  “Yes, it’s fairly new but still awesome. My coworker told me about it and I went one night.”

I didn’t tell him my first time going was the night he showed me the ring he got for Lois and I ate way too many cookies and some vanilla ice cream then had a pity party I threw for myself.

He shakes off his jacket and I cut on a lamp in the living room. He goes over to my couch and plops down, carefully as not to break it. He opens the box of treats and starts to eat one. One of the types I picked out, even though he didn’t ask for that one when specifically asked.

I came back with bottles of water from my kitchen to find the travesty in my living room.

  “Oh hell naw! You are seriously about to get put the fuck out dude! I know you are not eating my peanut butter chocolate chip cookie.”

“There’s like 3 in here.” He shrugs not giving a care in the world and looking down at his phone.

“Yep and all three were mine Kal-El. Now I’ve got to fight you...”

At this he looks up and notices I have red energy balled up on my fingertips. He has half of the cookie left and offers it to me sheepishly, I almost knock it out his hand but that would be too much of a waste so I grab it and eat the rest and wave my hand at the tv.

  “It is so easy to forget you have powers Gia. That you are like me in some ways, but then you do little things like cut a tv on with a wave of your hand or try to kill me and I remember.”

  “I’ve been trying to tamper my use but honestly I just don’t want to look for the remote.”

  “Good reason. Now since I’m not ready to go home yet and you promised me a movie. What’s on?”

I flicked through Netflix, choosing to cast some action flick I’d been meaning to watch, knowing that anything sappy would just make Clark sad again. I put my feet on the coffee table in front of me, relaxing into the cushions finally. Honestly I wanted to put on pajamas but currently they all consisted of Clark’s shirts and short-shorts (if I even wore those) it wouldn’t be appropriate to wear around him, nor did I want him to take them back. So I stayed in my clothes and Clark had come out of his shoes, socks and the glasses he didn’t need. In a surprise move however instead of sitting straight up on his end of the couch, he lays down, head in my lap. 

Most of the time it was Lois he laid on like this or I fell asleep on his shoulder on accident, never fully intentional. I didn't jump up, instead my hands flew up to his hair and pushed it back. He emits relaxed energy and settles further in my lap. I briefly wondered how long had it been since he allowed himself to be cared for? 

We watched the movie and I polished off two cookies and we were about halfway through when an intimate scene came on in the film. My heart rate picks up slightly as the faces on scene blur slightly and I let my mind wonder to what it would be like if that was me and Clark. 

  “You know I can hear your heartbeat right?”

I push at his head playfully and he sits up, but he is much closer than before because of how  he had moved to put his head in my lap. He is smiling one of those megawatt smiles and I Want to punch him kinda but I also want to kiss him. The thought only arouses me further and I want to disappear into the couch.

  “It’s a perfectly natural reaction to the movie.”

 “Sure, this isn’t because you find Sebastian Stan attractive or anything. Sure.”

He takes a large slip of his water, smug.

  “Hey I’ve got to take my kicks where I can get them. Since someone that shall remain nameless kept scaring the guys away from me all night.”

 “All of them were looking at you like a piece of meat.”

“ Did you ever think that I wanted them too.  I mean come on, a girl has her needs.”

 “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to sleep with some guy you barely know because he shows you some attention.”

I look at him hurt. He had no clue I was still a virgin but that didn’t give him the right to imply I was whoring myself out to any and everyone. Even if I did he still had no right to judge me.

 “Do you really think that low of me Clark? That I sleep with everyone?”

He immediately radiates guilt and regret.

  “No I didn’t say that.”

 “You implied it. I..I think I’m going to head to bed. You can let yourself out now Kal.”

I say and realize maybe that was one of the reasons he could never see me the way I saw him. This whole time he thought I was a hoe. I get up from my position on the couch, and as my face and eyes burn from embarrassment and sadness I walk to my room, but Clark is faster, stopping in front of me to keep me from the entrance to my bedroom.

  “Clark move.”

I say, moving very quickly to the anger stage.

  “Gia wait. Please I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t thinking of you like that. It was bad wording...”

  “If it came out that easy then you were already thinking it.”

   “I wasn’t! Honest!”

I roll my eyes and focus my energy into my hand again, having practiced just enough strength to move Clark even if he wasn’t willing. I was proud of myself when he actually moved and I had enough time to get into my room, close and lock the door.

  “Fucking Jackass.” I whisper to the empty room.

 I don’t wait to hear the door close, settling on a hot shower to get all the grime and dirt off of me from sitting in a smoky , sweaty bar half the night. I chastised myself the entire time I was in the shower looking back on all the times we laughed together, me possibly making a sex related joke or dirty throw away comment and realizing he had been thinking that of me the entire time. I grabbed an old shirt and shorts for bed, glad that bras were not required for being in your own home. I cut off the light to en-suite bathroom and jumped nearly a foot finding Clark sitting in my accent chair next to the now open window.

  “Goddamnit  Kal-El you scared the shit out of me. How did you get in here?”

   “You should really keep your windows locked, I mean there are so many weird folks out here that could want to hurt you. Trust me I hear most of them.”

  “Well I can deal with most creepers just like I thought I had dealt with the one standing in my room right now.”

I say, waving my hand toward the lamp next to my bed that comes on to illuminate his face. I can feel that he’s sorry and then desire comes right behind the sorry emotions.

  “Are you wearing my shirt?”

Clark asks me suddenly, with his head turned slightly, almost in confusion and I take note as I looked down, that it was one of his royals shirts and it fell about mid-thigh, which regrettably hid my shorts.

  “I may or may not have borrowed it a while ago, but anyway that is off topic. Why are you still here?”

He comes from the other side of my bed rather quickly, but his gait is not relaxed, it is more of a proud quickstep. I called it his ‘determination’ look, and now I was nervous. Was he mad for me borrowing...stealing the shirt? His emotions didn’t read mad however. In fact they were the exact opposite, the intensity of them made me rub my thighs together slightly.

 “I was here to make you listen to my apology because you are being stubborn again and you know exactly how much I hate you being mad at me so I was going to volunteer servitude and grovel shamelessly but now I am not so sure.”

I could feel the tension in the room and I was sure I was just making it awkward for myself. So I crossed the room, away from him, and headed to my dresser, going to a drawer where I kept other nightwear that didn’t belong to Clark. I didn’t have many options but I certainly didn’t want to look at him. I bent down to get a new shirt from the drawer, quickly skipping over the other 6 shirts that belonged to him. 

 “So what aren’t you sure about Clark? I don’t give apologies for stealing a comfy shirt. Like you want it back or something? I mean at least let me toss it in the wash first.”

Grabbing a purple tank top that I hardly wore, I stood back up, jumping at the slight of Clark directly behind me in the mirror.

 “Oh I think I want it back but not after you’ve washed it.”

I haven’t turned around, choosing to stare at him from the mirror. Our eyes are locked and my face feels warm again, I fiddle with the shirt in my hand as lust begins to roll off of Clark in waves. In direct reaction to both of our emotions  swirling around I feel myself grow wet.

  “You know I’ve been looking for this shirt all over.”

 Clark steps close enough that I feel the warmth he radiates on my back. He doesn’t break eye contact as he pulls me backwards, I gasp feeling his hardness poke me in my back, seeing as he was quite a bit taller than me. He leans down his hand still on his waist, and sniffs, I let myself melt closer to him, so unsure of myself or what exactly was happening but unable to stop it. He pulls away from my hair and sniffs again.

  “You know Gia, one of the perks of being an ‘Alien boy’ as you like to call me, is that my sense of smell is fantastic. Do you have any clue what I smell now?”

I shake my head, too nervous to say the wrong thing and ruin whatever was happening.

  “I smell nothing but you. I can smell how aroused you are and it’s driving me crazy. Usually it’s faint, covered by your clothes and body washes, I can ignore it, chalk it up to you thinking of someone else. This time I can’t.”

  “Clark I am...”

  “Please don’t say you are sorry Gia. I don’t want you to be. What I want is my shirt back, now are you going to take it off or should I rip it? Although I have to say I’m partial to the first because I want more opportunities to take it off of you in the future.”

I feel my breath leave my lungs and it is almost embarrassing how quick I reach down to the hem of the shirt and pull it upwards. We were still standing in the mirror with my back to him, but with the shirt off and no bra, everything was on display. 

Clark delicately runs his fingers down my bare arms, then leans down and his lips meet my shoulders, kissing toward my neck where the junction of my shoulder and neck meet. His hands move to the front of my body, a light touch to my stomach and upwards. The mirror reflects as his large hands grip my breasts and squeeze. I moan out as my eyes drift shut, and my head falls back into his shoulder.   I grind myself backward against his hardness and he releases his own moan against my ear. His fingers from one hand drifts over a darkened nipple and then down space between my breasts, trailing down my stomach.

  “I could leave as you requested Gia, but I know you don’t want that do you?”

“No. Please stay.” I say and I free myself from his grasp as I turn around. He was still wearing the glasses so I pulled them off, sitting them on the dresser without breaking eye contact with his blue eyes that are blown so wide they are almost black. I reach up, and pull him down by the collar of his shirt, finally kissing him the way I had been dreaming about forever. 

He doesn’t break the kiss, only leans down to pick me up and my legs automatically wrap around his waist. He walks over to my bed, laying me down and following with him on top, my legs automatically opening to make space for him between them.  He stops kissing me to pull his shirt off revealing the glorious chest I had seen more times than I could count, but never in this context. I reach down to pull at my own shorts, but he stops me.

  “Allow me.”

I nod at him still nervous to speak much. I watch him pull my shorts and panties off and he stares at the glistening mound between my legs. 

  “So wet,  I bet you would leave a puddle if I picked you up.”

  “A..aaand what will you do about that Kent?”

I taunt him nervously, but it’s not as clear as it would be normally. The smirk he sends in my direction would have melted my panties if I had been wearing them, it screamed dirty. 

  “Guess I’ll have to clean it up won’t I?”

He says and leans down to kiss me again, my hands fly up into his curls, and meanwhile his hands drifts from my hips downwards to my thighs, his hands are warm and they skim up my thighs teasingly. His fingers don’t stop at my thighs and they finally land at my center., meanwhile he stops kissing my lips and his kisses begin to drift down my body. Warmth soon encloses one of my nipples, teasing me until it is taunt with his wet tongue, and one of his long digits enters me slowly. 

“Oh Clark” 

I groan and shift to look down. He takes it as encouragement and moves over to my other nipple and after a few more minutes he adds another finger, stretching me. My hips arch into his hand and as he moves them in and out I can feel myself shuttering around his fingers. I want more inside of me than just his fingers but I was still nervous about all of this. I had fooled around before, made it this far with exactly one guy before him but everything felt new with Clark. Before I had always been in control  of how I felt and what was being done, but I felt like I had none of that with Clark. He doesn’t stop kissing my chest, down my stomach, his lips meeting his fingers. 

This was new to me and as his lips made contact my hips lifted off the bed. My thighs try to drift shut, but of course Clark doesn’t allow that to happen, now using both hands to hold my thighs open, and my hands move back to his head again, desperately wanting to keep him there, with his tongue dancing around my clit.

 “Oh my god Clark!”

 “You taste so good Gia. I could stay down here and worship at the fountain of you forever.” 

My eyes roll shut again, his words making my juice flow even more, which he drinks up with a chuckle against me, the vibrations only driving me further into my pleasure. When he stops eating me out I glare at him like he’s gone mad, I had been so close. Did he not just say he wanted to drink from me forever? 

I glare at him, probably more like a pout I figured since he only laughs again. 

 “Such an attitude for someone who wants to cum.”

 “Clark, where are you going?”

I am afraid he’s finally changed his mind about all of this. 

 “I am not going anywhere beautiful. Everything I need is right here in this room.” He begins unbuckling his jeans, I watch as they slide down his thick thighs revealing his length which I immediately get intimidated by. He is long and thick and I wonder how that plans to fit inside of me? Clark’s eyes follow my eyes to where I had been staring.

 “Where is the famous Gia courage? Don’t think you can handle me?”

I can’t meet his eyes and look around the room. I was actually nervous about this moment. 

 “Actually...I don’t know if I can...I..”

Clark’s eyebrows furrow as he notices that I am no longer looking like I am going to pounce on him, but instead looks like I’m ready to bolt. Instead of climbing on top of me he lays next to me.

 “Gia why are you so nervous? You know I would never hurt you right?”

I nod and pull one hand across my chest covering myself, feeling more self conscious the longer he looks at me. I am staring at the wall opposite him.

 “I am just nervous that’s all. I’ve ne--- I have never done THIS before okay?”

He doesn’t say much for a moment and I just know he is about to get up and get dressed because somebody that looks like Clark doesn’t want someone inexperienced like me. Why would they? He had to notice all of the women at the bar staring him down all night. He had his pick and those women probably knew what to do and could give him a lot more pleasure than I could. 

Clark’s hand comes up to my face, fingers delicately touching, turning it so that I could look at him.

  “Gia. Are you saying you are a virgin?”

 “Fresh as the fallen snow on a mountain top. Kinda blows your “Gia is hoe” theory doesn’t it?”

I joke, trying to relieve the awkwardness of the room, but Clark doesn’t laugh with me.

 “ I’ve never thought that about you and please don’t deflect this... seriously. Are you sure about this? I mean that you want to do this with me?”

I nod. My mouth was too dry to speak, but Clark wasn’t letting that slide.

 “I need words from you Gia.”

The command is simple and direct but a turn on nonetheless. I don’t let it show outwardly however. 

 “Yes Clark. I’m sure. I trust you with this part of me.”

He searched my eyes for a lie, but I knew he wouldn’t find any. His demeanor changes as he kisses me, and his fingers find my opening again. He spends more time opening me up, and he swallows almost every gasp and moan from my lips, then drops back down creating a suction with his lips around my clit that send me soaring.I begin to cum around the fingers tapping that spot inside of me that make me writhe about on the bed. 

Once I come down from the high of my orgasm, I find him staring at me again, if I could I’d blush over the intensity of his gaze. 

  “You are breathtaking Gia.”

He turns and grabs his wallet from the jeans that had been unceremoniously dropped to the floor, producing a condom from inside. I can’t watch him put it on, and I know he can hear how fast my heart is racing again. Clark glides over my body and my legs open wider to make space for him again.

 “I promise I will never intentionally hurt you, but this may hurt slightly based off of what I’ve been told love.”

I brace my hands on his strong shoulders.

 “ It’s okay. Like I said I trust you.”

I feel his length slide in between my folds gathering the wetness there, before slowly guiding  himself inside of my welcoming body.  At least I thought it was welcoming, it felt like I was trying to push him out, and it felt like forever before he came to a stop. He stares at me and kisses me again, full engagement of his lips and tongue as he pushes forward, which makes me break the kiss to gasp into his mouth and whimper through the pain. I don’t even realize my face is wet until Clark wipes my face with the hand that is not holding him upwards. 

  “Breathe please Gia baby.”

I feel my chest rattle as I settle into the pain. Clark is whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and as the pain abates I cue him to move.

He moves out again slowly and as he sets a pace, the pain drifts into pleasure and my nails can’t dig into his back, as his skin doesn’t allow it, so they glide across his back. His hands glide down my body touching every part he could find.

 “Ugh Clark Faster.” 

The overwhelming sensation builds and I flutter around the hard flesh as it moves in and out of me. Clark is definitely holding back and I can tell as he thrusts me through my orgasm. The second one of the night for me and none for him. I start to feel that maybe this is a penance for him, maybe it me, or maybe even a mistake to him. His desire hadn’t gone away, as he was still hard inside of me.

 “Clark, is there a reason you haven’t… you know.”

His face is hovering above mine, his smile is wide following my question. I feel embarrassed considering I couldn’t even use the right words, despite him being inside of me at the current moment.

 “I’ve already asked you to use your words Gia.”

He pushes forward suddenly and I make some cross between as gasp and moan.

“ Fuck.”

“ Well that's a word. A dirty word, but word nonetheless.I’ll give you what you want.” 

He teases me.

 “I didn’t think anything else expressed that properly.” 

 “No? I think I can get a few more words out of you tonight. Then again as long as my name is one of them you can say whatever you want baby.”

His hands slide up the back of my thighs, ending behind my knees. He pulls them up and thrust downwards, deeply into me. My arms lock behind his neck and he obliges me to pull him down into a kiss. He thrusts harder and faster, his lips swallowing my groans and cries as we both hear how wet he is inside of me. He was so deep inside of me and I relished in the groans into my ears. 

I gave completely into the feelings of the moment, feeling Clark inside of me transcending the moment. As I flutter around him again, and he moves us higher and faster, I realize that us ...like this was what I had been waiting on…

*End flashback*

That night had been one of magic, at least at the time. Clark had taken his time and thoroughly taken me apart, and put me back together. Despite my later ramblings I never regretted that it had been him, and not just because of our son. I haven’t asked Clark if the condom broke and if it did he never told me.  I never regretted it because at the time it had been everything I didn’t know I needed and I seriously doubted it would have been that good with anyone else. 

The drive back to the manor was long but it gave me time to think. I needed to think about what I could say to Clark. How do you admit to someone that you’ve loved them like forever? One could guess you would just say it, but I didn’t know it would be that simple. I was about halfway home when a shadowy figure appeared in the middle of the road. It causes me to slam my breaks and I find myself spinning in a circle, then I was rolling, where it came to rest against a tree.

I cough roughly looking around for my phone and I am grateful that I was wearing a seat belt. I can feel that I am in extreme pain, blood dripping from my face, but with the smell of gasoline in the air. I can’t stay in this car or I will die. I use heat energy to create a blade to cut my seat belt since it jammed from the impact. I crawl myself from the driver's seat, ignoring the searing in my hands as the broken glass digs into them.   

 “Fuck.”

I say, noting that my ankle feels like it’s on fire again indicating some sort of injury. Coughing I try to see my way to the road for help as the car begins to smoke. My heart clenches as the shadowy figure walks toward me with nothing but hatred and determination on its heart.

I try to scramble away and try to toss a hasty shield but I’m too weak to manage it. 

The figure grows closer and closer, it laughs. Surprising me by being light and feminine.

It comes close enough as the car, that I had moved away from explodes. It pulls off the hood to reveal a familiar face.

 “Waa...Tracy?”

 “Long Time no see Gia. It’s time to come home.”

And with that she punches me in the face, and everything fades to black...

A/n: Boom.

No but really I truthfully need feedback on this one, because I like reading smut, but hate writing it. Had to get that Superababy here somehow huh? 

SUMMARY: Flashback of the night Kalen was conceived! Gia is forced to crash her car and is taken by someone by the name of Tracy who is familiar to Gia.

As always thnk you for reading, commenting and reblogging! You all rock! The taglist is open! 

Taglist: 

@romyr4​ @bloodyinspiredfuck​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​

#Henry Cavill #SUPERMAN X OFC #Superman #Clark Kent xOFC #Clark Kent #henry cavill smut #Clark Kent Smut #fanifiction #dc universe

[olliestcne]

TITLE: CALAMITOUS LOVE AND INSURMOUNTABLE GRIEF. SETTING: John and Sharon Stone’s residence aka Oliver’s childhood home. DATE: August 27th, 2020. PREMISE: John Stone has something important to tell his three children and his wife. TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH AND CANCER.

Death has never been a thing Oliver has fully comprehended. Everyone in his family was present and beaming, oozing a kind of everlasting life that most would beg for. Sure, his grandfather died when he was young, but that to him always seemed inevitable. When you’re old, you pass. You go somewhere nice as you’ve lived a full, happy existence. That’s as far as Oliver’s brain can manage the concept of death or loss. It was simple. Simple but naive.

He gets a text from his father early in the morning. Something about a family meeting. Urgent. Oliver takes it with a grain of salt, as do his siblings, as usually it’s about where they were going to go next as a family and what they were going to get mom for Christmas because she was a kind but picky woman.

Oliver shows up at around 5pm.

“I already got mom the little Pandora bracelet last year. I can get more charms. She likes those, right?” Oliver says upon arrival, plopping down onto the armchair in the living room. It smelled like his father and always has. This entire home smelled like his childhood. Like his mother’s favorite vanilla lotion, like the smell of popcorn on family movie nights. He would feel empty without this space, that much was certain.

Charlotte, John and Sharon’s youngest, barks out a laugh. “No way. We need to step it up this year. Maybe some diamond earrings.” Charlotte had just given birth three months ago, her husband was home with the baby. A new little bundle of joy welcomed into the Stone family. They couldn’t be happier. 

Thomas, John and Sharon’s oldest, arrives right after Oliver, tossing his coat on the back of the couch. He circles into the kitchen and grabs a water for himself before sitting down beside Charlotte. “Dad already got her diamond earrings for a birthday one year. That’s weak, Char.” He says, unscrewing the cap to his water and taking a generous sip.

“Where are they? Are they late to their own family meeting?” Oliver says, leaning over the arm of the chair into the hallway just behind him. “Hello! Your children are here!” Oliver, forever suffering from middle child syndrome, was always dramatic. Looking for attention. Hence the theatrics.

Sharon walks in nervously then, her expression fallen. This alone was jarring, especially since they were the most chipper family known to man. Yet, Oliver tries not to jump to conclusions. His mother was always the harder of the two, coming from a bad childhood and a family who basically disowned her. She was a survivor, a warrior. There was nothing to worry about.

But, then comes John, seeming tired and, of course, nervous. Just as Sharon. The living room goes a little silent, none of them expecting such a strange and unsettling entrance from their parents. Charlotte’s brows furrow, watching as her parents sit on the other couch located beside the fireplace. “What’s...going on?” She asks, knowing Oliver and Thomas were thinking the same thing.

Oliver suddenly feels the rhythm of his heart increase. He has to swallow hard to contain himself. He was already dealing with a plethora of problems within his marriage, he didn’t need more. What could this be? Were they just messing with them?

“You’re getting divorced, aren’t you? Is that it?” Oliver says on the brink of tears already, nervously balling his hands into fists. “Oh my God, you’re getting divorced. Oh my God...I guess one of you can stay with me and Eli for a while and I-” Always dramatic, this one. 

Sharon shakes her head, reaching her hands out, “No, baby, no.” She says, interrupting him before he falls into the deep end. “We’re not, never.”

Thomas, always the more noble of his siblings, sits back, preparing for what’s about to happen. They all know it’s not good but it’s as if Thomas was in the front of the trenches, protecting his siblings from impending doom. 

“Your father has something to tell us. I don’t even know, actually...” Sharon says, earning  a strange sound to come from Charlotte. It’s a noise of shock and confusion, all four of them now looking to John. 

A few moments pass. Nothing comes. Nothing comes until it does.

“I have lung cancer. Stage four.” John rips the bandage off and creates a new wound. The room goes so silent you could hear a pin drop. It earns a ringing to sound in Oliver’s ears. His eyes dart back and forth between his mother and his father. John’s expression remains still. Tired, sad. And Sharon looks shocked into silence, just as her children.

“You —” Thomas says, being the first one brave enough to break the silence that blankets them. “When did you —” He’s holding back, Oliver and Charlotte can tell. It was odd to see their older brother struck like this. Usually, he was their protector, someone they can go to when things were tough. But, they were all in this together now, sprung into a state of confusion and hurt.

It’s then Oliver realizes he’s started crying, hot tears silently streaming down his face. This can’t be happening, is the first thought that pops into his head, this can’t be fucking happening.

“We — Well, we have to get treatment. We have the money, we can —”

“No,” John says, interrupting his wife. Sharon is instantly taken back by this, eyebrows knitting together in a way Oliver has never, ever seen before. 

But then he registers what his father just said. No. No? He wasn’t getting treatment? This can’t fucking be happening.

“What do you mean no?” Oliver says, or perhaps spews, out. He doesn’t mean to sound harsh but it all comes spilling out of him. It doesn’t pair well with the state of his face, decorated with tears still streaming from his blue eyes. Charlotte’s begun to cry too, silently, just like Oliver. Her breath hitches for a moment before her face is buried in her hands. This was something she did even as a child, a way to calm herself when she became anxious. Their mother would usually rub her back then or sing to her when this happened. But, now, Sharon couldn’t do a damn thing but stare into the face of her husband. 

“I don’t want you guys to see me like that. Losing my hair, throwing up. I want to go as I am now. As a man who loves his family.” John, understandably, gets choked up as he speaks. John Stone doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t want his dignity stripped from him either. Oliver wasn’t aware that his father was such a prideful man until now. Something about that earns pain to surge throughout his body. 

That same silence blankets them once more, each of them too rattled to say a damn thing. Oliver feels as though a scream is perched just under his chin, a combination of sorrow and anger beginning to brew inside his stomach. 

With that, something inside him swerves, like a car on ice. He loses track of his emotions and they go flying around his mind, everything all at once. “What the fuck?” He finally says, moving to stand, “You’re gonna just — you’re gonna just...die?” It’s not what he wants to say, not at all, but he can’t find the right words anymore. It earns a sob out of Charlotte, her head still in her hands. Thomas reaches over to touch her back. 

“Ollie, this is what I want. I know it’s hard, but...” John says, looking up at his son with glossy eyes. Oliver was still crying himself, his bottom lip quivering as he opens his mouth to speak. Nothing comes out, just a pathetic little breath. Sharon up and leaves the room and her children watch as she does so. Sharon Stone was not a crier. Never has been. She was the strongest and bravest woman Oliver has ever known. If anything was going to break her, it was this, and she still didn’t want the world to see her in that state. Oliver understood that.

Oliver looks to Thomas, who was also sporting glistening eyes, before allowing his gaze to land back on his father. “Can you say something, please? Our father’s lost his fucking mind.” Thomas sighs before speaking after Oliver, “You need to get treatment, dad. You can beat it.” Stage four was a hard thing to beat, they all knew that, but the Stone family has always been endlessly optimistic no matter what the circumstances were. 

John remains quiet.

Charlotte stands, grabbing her things and heading out the front door. It’s slammed behind her as she makes her way to her car, shaking as she shoves the keys into the ignition. Charlotte had never contemplated death either, that much was obvious. 

John’s head moves into his hands, rubbing over his tired face with his palms. Thomas looks down at the carpet, his body and face turning to marble. He was still, like a quiet sea. Meanwhile, Oliver was an ocean with violent waves. 

“I can’t believe this..” Oliver trails off, looking down at his shoes. Then to the carpet that was still the same from when he was a child. Everything was the same. Except for this. This feels like a nightmare in a perfect place that threatens to spoil everything. 

By a sudden stroke of impulse, Oliver inhales sharply and walks out too. He follows the same trail his sister left, slamming the front door behind him as he makes his way to his vehicle. He slams the car door too, looking out towards his childhood home one more time before pulling out of the driveway with tears in his eyes. In truth, he tries not to sob, though the lump in his throat was growing larger by the second. 

His hands tremble violently as they grip the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road as that sheltered sob finally rips through his throat. 

Oliver arrives him at 9pm. He had to stay late at work, he’ll say as an excuse. He kisses his daughter’s head, his son’s cheek, and his husband’s jaw as they sleep. He stays up for the rest of the evening into the morning, staring at the carpet in his living room. This wasn’t happening.

#drabble. #WELL..................HERE WE ARE #death mention tw #death tw #cancer tw

[msclaritea]

I’ve been a nurse for 13 years, most of that spent in the Emergency Room and on a Medivac helicopter. I’ve witnessed a lot of terrible things in my career- a lot of dead people: babies, children, teenagers, new moms, grandparents. You name it, I’ve seen death in every shape and color. I’ve seen uncontrollable, body-racking grief experienced by people who have just learned that the only person they care about in the world is gone forever. And don’t get me wrong, it’s all awful. The things we do in my field to forget those things aren’t pretty.

But never in my career have I witnessed something so heartbreaking as watching people in their 60s, 70s, even 80’s- people who were healthy and independent, living with their families and enjoying the golden years, watching them struggle to get words out as they talk to the people they love most in the world through a 6 inch cell phone screen. Watching grown men cry because they are wearing masks forcing as much oxygen into their lungs as possible, and they still can’t even speak a full sentence without getting winded. They can’t eat because they can’t take that mask off long enough. They can get a few sips of water before all the alarms are beeping and it’s got to go back on. And even just a few minutes of conversation with their loved ones, trying to yell above the noise of the breathing machine, leaves them exhausted. And then when the family calls back later, I have to tell them that their husband or father is too tired to talk, and listen to the frustration and sadness and anger. 

There is no death that is easy. But when we think of ‘old people’ dying, we think of people in nursing homes, wearing diapers and with dementia. When we talk about this disease affecting the elderly disproportionately, those are the people we think about. We don’t think about our parents or our grandparents: men and women still vital and full of love, of laughter and fun- full of LIFE. People who have finally reached the stage of life where they can enjoy their grandchildren and the extended family they have created- or who can finally retire so they can see the world like they always talked about doing. When you say that you don’t have to take any precautions or wear a mask because it’s just killing people who were going to die anyways so who cares? These are the people you are throwing away. 

And while we have seen lots of stories of young people who have died from this, I find myself even angrier at the idea that ‘old people’ are all fragile and weak and teetering on the edge of death so we can just pretend that everything is fine and nothing needs to change to protect them- ‘high risk people should be isolating themselves so why should the rest of us live in fear?- DON’T BE A SHEEP- DON’T LIVE IN FEAR!!!

You want to know what fear feels like? It’s the man who was working in his shop a few days ago and playing with his grandkids, who is now exhausted by merely BREATHING and is bed bound and relying on strangers for constant care- that man knows he isn’t going to leave that room, he is never going to see the people he loves again. And if he does, he wouldn’t want them to see him like this. He doesn’t know when it will happen, maybe 2 or 3 months down the line even. But he knows it will. And he knows everyone is scared of him and doesn’t want to be near him- isolated and lonely in a building full of people.7

Fear is his wife who wants nothing more than to be with and comfort and care for the person who she has shared her entire life with. And now when he needs her the most, she can’t be there. She has to rely on strangers to give the care she wishes she could. She would be there, sleeping in a chair next to him, holding his hand and spending every possible second with him until he leaves this earth. And there isn’t a thing she can do to help him, all she can do is to wait for the chance to talk to him for a few minutes at most while the seconds of the time they have left together tick away- watching the life they had planned together disappear at an agonizing rate. One of these times, she knows she is going to call him and he won’t answer because he can’t anymore. And she doesn’t know what to even say when he does call- the last precious days of your time on earth with your person spent separated, for your protection they say. But you would gladly die for a chance to hold him one last time. And the very worst part? You have it also, but don’t want him to know because you are hoping that you are one of the 80% that are fine, and not one of the 20% like your husband; you don’t want him to be worrying about you. You are lying to protect him. 

Fear is his nurse, who doesn’t know how to answer the question ‘am I going to die’? Because they know he probably is and they aren’t equipped to help them process what that means. They wonder if that knowledge would help them or hurt them- maybe it’s better kept in the dark. And then agonizing later if they did the right thing no matter what they chose. Fear is staying in that room for a few minutes past your comfort level- because you know that you are the only human presence he will likely encounter all day. Maybe the last person he will ever see or talk to. And you are buried under layers of equipment- sweating, uncomfortable, and having to shout through those layers to be heard. You want to stay away, to stay out of the room as much as possible, but instead you get close and hold their hand- push away the fear that you might end up like them very soon because of that decision. You try and make them feel normal and safe and human, to help them remember who they are beneath all the tubes and wires. You try and give them hope that they will be ok, even though you know better than to actually believe that it will. And then you hope that you didn’t expose yourself while you were trying to comfort him. Another person lying to protect him. 

So when you say that it’s your ‘right’ to do whatever you want because you aren’t going to die from this even if you do catch it, I can’t help getting pretty triggered. You imagine that no one who matters is dying, that the lives being lost lack value due to the weakness you perceive. You look at the death toll and calculate the mortality rate and blow it all off. 

But the truth is, this man will linger for weeks before finally succumbing- he thought he was low risk too. He thought this only happens to other older people in nursing homes, but not me, I’m so healthy! And now he is filled with regret, wondering where he got it and what he did wrong. He desperately wants his family by his side, but doesn’t want to make them sick. So now, he is left with a nurse covered from head to toe who is his last remaining connection to the world. 

This picture was taken after 13 hours of patient care- the lines of my protective equipment etched into my face. I’m tired, and sad, and defeated. These lines are an outward sign of the pain that will never leave me. I’m wondering how many more people I’m going to have to watch slowly die alone before people realize that people they love are high risk. We are ALL high risk because we are ALL human! 

You think fear is a weakness? I think it is a strength. It takes courage to face your fears head on, and to cover yourself in armor so that you can face those fears headlong instead of burying them deep beneath denial or projection. And this is something worthy of being afraid of. You want to call me a sheep? Sheep PROTECT THE HERD because they all matter. So baaa freaking baaa. 

Think of your grandparents, your best memories of them. And then think about them dying because you were too arrogant to wear a mask. Is this the last face you want them to see? I hope not.

#WEAR THE DAMN MASK #covid_19

[agentemo]

for the ficlet prompts: challenger part 2 - a swan song by we lost the sea, f/g?

way to make me CRY, ANON! NOW i’m gonna make YOU cry.

an 8-minute instrumental with a sad speech at the end? how dARE

Frank’s home base was New Jersey. It was always New Jersey. But he could never stay in one place too long. He traveled far and wide and all the time, performing on stages in every corner of the world. He moved his body around with the help of his guitar’s weight, which would disrupt his skeleton and torture his muscles as he aged. He was dragged under a bus and instead of being afraid, he wrote about it. Took time off. And went away again.

But he always returned to New Jersey.

That’s why he didn’t understand why Gerard wanted to go to Mars so bad. Sure, the colony needed more artists. And yeah, he liked alien shit. But he’d have no home base anymore. He’d be a traveler full-time, spending most of his days in shuttles and space stations. And for what? To document a rusty planet without beaches?

“I don’t like beaches,” Gerard said.

“You live! In California!” Frank shouted, waving his arms around to gesture at the palm trees. It was a beautiful day in LA and Frank wanted it to rain.

He wasn’t angry. He was terrified. No less than three tourist missions to Mars had gone down in flames, and he’d watched them all. He had to. His kids were fascinated by space flight, awed by the idea that this type of travel was so new. He even took them and his ex-wife to Florida once to watch a takeoff. Not a cheap family vacation. Not a good time to tell his kids there was no way in hell they would be astronauts.

“I don’t live here for the beaches,” Gerard said.

“No, you live here for the weed.” Frank rolled his eyes. “As if New Jersey, mediocre as it is, doesn’t have its own special brand of weed.”

“Why are you so against it? We only see each other once a year.”

That wasn’t true. Frank went to Los Angeles at least 3 times a year, sometimes more. Most of the time, it’s the band getting back together for stakes by Ray’s pool or cigars one someone’s roof. Times like these, when Ray and Mikey were too busy, were the rarity. They “see” each other differently, Gerard and Frank. Very differently.

“As opposed to, what?” Frank snapped, anger rising now. Gerard’s calm was infuriating. “Seeing you once every five years? In a decade? What about Bandit? What about everyone here that cares about your art?”

“I can write comics from anywhere,” Gerard said, shrugging easily though sadness fell on his eyes as his eyebrows moved together. “And Bandit is an adult. I’ll still see her...” He took a deep breath, a deep drink of his coffee, and looked Frank in the eye. “You’re not gonna convince me to stay. My application was approved.”

“When are you leaving?”

“A few months.”

They always did this privately. They had to. They decided a long time ago that they would. But Frank was so full to the brim with painful emotion that he couldn’t help himself. Gerard was planning on leaving for years on end, possibly never returning. Possibly dying before he could break through the atmosphere. What did it matter that the other people at this outdoor cafe were going to see two men kissing? What did it matter that the tabloids were going to talk about it tomorrow? What did it matter if it turned into a fight?

It didn’t turn into a fight. Frank was surprised and pleased when Gerard kissed him back, after Frank almost knocked their coffees over reaching across their small table to fist his hair and pull him to his lips. It was aggressive because Frank was angry for sure now, and maybe Gerard felt it too. He definitely felt something, despite what his calm demeanor implied. Still hiding, after all these years. Now they had got one less thing to hide.

It melted into something softer, as Gerard gently curled his hands around Frank’s wrists. Their lips moved in sync, slow and lingering, as his fingers traveled to Gerard’s jaw. “I’ll stay here until you leave,” Frank whispered, breathless over Gerard’s lips. Another few kisses, quick and needy. “I’ll stay with you.”

“What about your kids?” Gerard asked.

“Fuck you,” Frank said, sitting back again. Gerard chuckled. Frank’s cheeks were pink as he glanced around, wondering who saw. What they thought. “I’m going to be less than 4000 miles away from them. I’ve done worse.”

“No worse than me.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’re abandoning us. Me. Now. So, fuck you.”

Gerard put his hand over Frank’s fist on the table, turning it over. It opened for him. Their fingers twisted together naturally and for a moment, the hustle and bustle of the afternoon disappeared. Frank just saw Gerard, and Gerard saw him.

“I’m gonna miss you so damn much,” Gerard said, with feeling. Their eyes locked, and there was no shame to be found.

Frank thinks about that moment a lot. About the photos on the internet the next day. About the months in Gerard’s house, loving him and being loved by him in a way they’d never experienced before. How it filled Frank with so much joy and dread, knowing he had this thing he’d wanted so long but only briefly and never again.

It’s a strange feeling, when your worst fear is realized right before your eyes. Grief has a way of confusing you, making you feel crazy. So when that fourth tourist mission burned up, exploded quietly high up in the sky, and fell to pieces all around the people on the ground, Frank didn’t really understand what he was seeing. He’s in a nightmare, he must be. He’s had this nightmare a thousand times before. He’s heard rumors of Gerard’s death before. He’s been on both sides of the frantic call - I heard there was an accident, are you okay?

Jamia tries to speak to Frank but he’s just staring. Burning metal falls into water, and corrodes his throat. He can’t breathe and then, he can’t see. But he feels it all.

#death cw #lm writes #rpf #for someone that doesn't care about lyrics i don't listen to much instrumental music #anon #asks

[dellebecque]

Prompt #2: Stage 3

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast Who: WoL!Aden When: After the conclusion of the Dragonsong War. How: M, grief, suicidal ideation, gore, death.  5.0 spoilers, Shadowbringers spoilers. What: The third stage of grief is bargaining. Where: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20487653/chapters/48643226

It takes a long time to push through the thick, cottony haze of sedatives and painkillers to surface from darkness for more than an instant, and Aden blinks up at a dark stone ceiling, eyes gritty and dry.  His hands are barely coordinated enough to rub at them, more like a game of trying not to slap himself. It’s demeaning. He’s glad no one else is in the room.

As he pushes through to greater and greater awareness he realizes he’s numb.  He’s cold. Oh he can feel (some of, try not to think about that too much) his body, the pain the subsiding drugs just barely keep at bay, threatening soon, soon you will groan and mewl in helpless weakness.  And the bed is piled high with blankets, the room kept warm with a cheery fire, probably too warm for his liking.  But he’s numb. And cold.  Like a stone in the snow. Like the bedrock scoured clean by whipping wind and grinding ice.  In a way it’s nice after the past few months, the torrent of emotions, the… highs and lows. He hasn’t had true clarity like this since… since…

“You… you are unharmed?”

He screws his eyes shut, clenches his jaw, but he just sees it there in his mind’s eye: shattered rings of maille around an impossibly gaping wound, the slick, dark red and other hideous colors of the parts of a man not meant to see the light of day in plain view.  How much of him was missing.  Just eat away by that lance of aether.  The stark, sick realization in the part of his mind that’s always analyzing, that won’t shut up: healing can’t fix something that isn’t there any more.  Can’t give you back an arm. Can’t restore your blood. Or your…

But he works a miracle every godsdamn day and twice on some.  If he’d studied it, if he’d been a healer, could he….

“F-forgive me….”

Aden is in two places at once when he opens his eyes: alone in this room, and kneeling on the airship launch at the Vault in the process of losing everything he has.  Aymeric grimaced in pain as he maneuvered Haurchefant to rest against his legs, heedless of the blood that’s godsdamn everywhere.  How can a man have this much blood in him, how can a man have this much blood out of him… It didn’t matter.  He locked his gaze to Haurchefant’s--too late, he thinks.  Too late. Steel was already clouding over with the end that must come.

Was this for naught?  Could he even die? He remembered what seemed like a lifetime ago, Merlwyb’s guns ringing out and the sahagin priest falling only to rise and rise again.  If he’d shoved Haurchefant out of the way, could he….

“I could not bear the thought of… of…”

Motion caught his eye, fingers twitching in what seemed almost to be a spasm, then lifting, reaching for him.  Aden seized that hand like a drowning man reaching for a line--like he was the one dying.  But he was. He wrapped both hands around Haurchefant’s in a vice grip, the ring under his gauntlet digging in painfully.  Haurchefant’s fingers wrapped around one hand weakly, the press of his touch light as a dying kiss.

He should’ve said something.  “Don’t go” or “I love you” or “Were any of you ever in the cloister if so marry us right fucking now” or “You fucking idiot”.  Anything.  But he couldn’t, throat closed up like he’d swallowed a heavy, cold stone and it slowly sunk down.  He’d been a child again, terrified to say or do the wrong thing lest someone leave him for reasons he couldn’t understand.  The first bargain: silence for an anchor. Do what he’s told, and always keep hold. But the leaving happened anyroad, and the silence betrayed him.

Aden clumsily throws an arm over his face.  Every choking motion meant to hold back a sob breaks through the haze of painkillers and sends a lash of pain down his spine from just above his tail.  That he feels it after the terrifying loss of sensation from his battle with Nidhogg-possessed-Estinien is no relief.

Could I be with him, if I’d….

He’d watched the light go out of his love’s eyes, felt his grip go slack, and felt only that terrifying cold stone.  Nothing.  It was--wrong, everything he was screaming in revulsion, what was wrong with him, that he couldn’t grasp for the righteous anger he’d quietly carried all his life, or sorrow, or--  We still have work to do.  He’d cast about for anything, and there at the back of his mind lay the seductive power he labored to master even as he wielded it.  It was rage. It was power.  He’d reached for it while Haurchefant’s corpse still lay warm before him.  No, not that, we have a better way--  He didn’t know that voice, so like his own, but he knew Nidhogg’s dirge intimately.  It filled him, the way he imagined it had Estinien when they first met.

Aden saw red.

Could I have stayed like that forever, driven and thirsting for vengeance, if I hadn’t….

He’s glad no one is here to hear the sound of pain he makes on the next sob he fails to contain.  He’s glad no one is here to see him finally mourning after months of fighting.  It doesn’t feel real, as if Haurchefant will walk in through the door at any moment and sit down on the edge of the bed and then immediately apologize for jostling him when he’s so badly wounded.

He’s tired.  He’s tired of the anger, the blind rage, everything, and he’s glad for that cold numbness swallowing up the moment of grief.  Maybe… maybe it’s better this way. Everyone he’s allowed too close is gone.  The numbness means he won’t get attached, and the cold will keep them from drawing too near in the first place.

If I don’t feel for them in the first place… or if I don’t let them know, I won’t lose them.

It is the final bargain.  Aden writes on that cold stone the names of all he’s lost: his father who sent him away, the birth mother he never knew, Noraxia and a dozen Scions, those who might not’ve survived the bloody banquet, Moenbryda, G’raha, Minfilia, Haurchefant, Ysayle.  He waters it with his tears this one last time.

When your wounds are unbearable and you can no longer carry on, trust in me.  I will shoulder this burden for you.  It’s so like his own voice, and it speaks gently, darkly as he settles that stone where his heart should be.  The cold all but burns, like sticking bare skin to the face of Snowcloak.  For some reason he thinks of a little black soulstone with a heart of red tucked into his gear somewhere.  It’s an odd thing to consider now of all times. But even I cannot endure forever.  If you cannot heal this wound, we must find hands that will.

Even the pains of his body subside in spite of the painkillers wearing off, and he drifts into a cold, black, dreamless sleep.

#ffxivwrite2019 #wol x haurchefant #WoL!Aden #writing

[astarisms]

five stages

pairing: implied dara/nahri word count: 1624 warnings: character death, self harm summary: she puts on a brave face, but alone, she’s still grieving. post CoB, pre KoC. happy (belated) birthday @chasing-djinnis!

His absence is a physical, tangible thing.

In those first few days after his death, her grief consumes her. The space he occupied is stripped of his presence and refilled with his absence, suffocating and cold, oppressive in its weight. 

It presses on her lungs, it steals into her heart, it spreads through her veins until she feels nothing but the anguish of his death and the fierce denial that it is permanent. She feels not her hunger, nor her exhaustion, nor the sharp pain of the wood shard cutting into her skin over and over and over again. 

She knows nothing but that he is gone, and she is alone.

She knows she will bring him back, because the alternative is too awful to bear. 

I take it back, she thinks, her lips forming the words but unable to make the sounds, her hands trembling as she presses the sharp edge against the inside of her wrist, trying to remember the words she’d sung all those months ago that had called him to her. Come back and I’ll take it all back. 

This time, she cuts a little deeper, a little higher than she had before in her haste. The new blood mingles with the old crusted on her skin, it catches on the ashes still staining her fingers and she shakes so violently the shard clatters to the floor. 

She tears her eyes away and leans over, heaving as the sight of him reduced to dust on the deck rushes back to her unbidden. But she hasn’t eaten in days and there’s nothing to throw up, her throat feels raw from screaming and crying, and the bile burns as she swallows it back down. 

I forgive you, she thinks hopelessly, broken nails digging into the carpet, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you. 

She couldn’t do this alone. She couldn’t do this without him. 

Just come back. 

x

She misses him terribly some days, and she resents him for it. This is not like when he left to hunt ifrit, when she had his promise tucked away as reassurance that he would return. 

You are my Banu Nahida. This is my city. Nothing can keep me from either of you.

It’s a bitter memory now, in the weeks following that awful night.

Liar, she thinks savagely, in the solitude of her room after she’s retired from the infirmary, biting back the tears that spring to her eyes until her head pounds. Even then it’s a losing battle. 

She pulls herself out of bed, restless and furious. The wetness on her face only angers her more. She rubs the tears away roughly, but they’re replaced just as quickly. There’s been something festering inside of her for days now, something more than the hollow grief that’s plagued her for what feels like eons instead of a couple of measly weeks. 

She spots the pitcher across the room and crosses it, hoping that the water will cool the raging heat that’s threatening to consume her. 

It splashes when she lifts it with trembling hands — stop shaking, they’re always shaking — and tries to pour it into a cup.

Nothing can keep me from either of you.

The water spills over the sides, onto the table, onto the floor, over her bare feet, and with a shriek Nahri throws the pitcher against the wall.

It shatters, and she thinks the broken, cracked ceramic is awfully reminiscent of the state her heart is in. 

Liar, she thinks again, her anger fading into familiar despair. Death can keep you from both. 

But her outburst has alerted the guards posted outside her door, and she pulls herself back together before they can see her like this. She won’t let anyone see her weak.

Not ever again.

x

She prays every night now, partly because she had made a promise to be the Banu Nahida her people needed, the one they deserved, and partly because there’s still some desperate part of her that clings to hope. 

Keeping her altar lit and marking her forehead with ash becomes routine, she learns to ignore the meat platters in favor of the vegetable ones, but this part never gets easier.

She has never prayed before, save for that rushed plea as she stumbled through a Cairo graveyard so many months ago. The first few times she struggles to find the right words in the right order. What language appealed to gods? 

Please, she starts the first time, on her knees before her altar in the privacy of her room. I will give anything… I will do anything… Just bring him back to me. 

A sob rises in her throat but she swallows it down, painfully. She spreads her hands out in supplication, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that blur her vision. 

What did gods want? 

Anything, she thinks again, uselessly, because she has little to offer besides her weight in gold, and what use did gods have for gold? She has no power, no influence, and no voice, with Ghassan’s boot on her neck. 

Every night she returns to her altar and every night she pleads to empty air. 

I need him. 

Please.

Bring him back. 

I love him.

So many ways she finds to ask for the same thing, but the response is unchanging. It is silent and still, save for the flame casting shadows off the wall, dancing around the room. The gods have never cared for the poor orphaned shafit from Cairo, and they certainly didn’t care now. 

What do you want, she sobs one night, her forehead pressed to the floor. I will give you all that I am, if only you would return him to me. 

The fire flickers, the shadows dance, and Nahri stops praying. 

x

Her commitment to the Daeva and her resentment towards Ghassan are the only things that pull her out of bed in the mornings. 

She is exhausted, throwing herself into her training, into the wedding preparations, but keeping herself busy keeps her grief at bay, at least temporarily. Truth be told, as much as she wants to lock herself in her room and stay there, she knows that the work is all that keeps her from falling apart, and only just so. 

Nisreen looks at her with worry, but Nahri pretends she doesn’t notice the concern in her mentor’s eyes. She has a good idea of what she sees — the dark circles under her eyes and the way her clothes begin to hang loosely from her frame. 

She sleeps but it is never enough, not with the nightmares, and her appetite has all but disappeared. 

It takes more strength to concentrate on what she is learning in the infirmary, to focus on the wedding planner’s careful details, to listen when someone talks to her and hear everything they are saying than she would have thought necessary, and the effort always leaves her even more exhausted than before.

But she does it anyways, because she made a vow to her people and to herself, even if it gets harder to cling to the further she slips. 

She feels as if any moment, with the slightest misstep, his loss will consume her again, as it did in those first few days. 

She wants to let it. She so desperately wants to let it, to curl up and shut the world out. Daevabad had lost its luster, anyhow. The strange, beautiful, magical world Dara had pulled her into had become her cage. 

How could she enjoy the very place he had so longed for, the one he had been ripped from so violently, even if it had partly been his own fault?

She keeps her head up because she has to, but with every passing day she feels another piece of her crumble to ash as he had. 

x

It gets easier. Not her grief, no — that never goes away. But she learns how to lock it up, piece by piece, until her heart can beat without aching, until she can breathe without feeling like she’s suffocating. 

She learns to stop reaching for him. She learns to stop thinking of the things she wants to tell him. She learns to stop seeing him in every head of dark, wavy hair. 

He is gone, and nothing she can do can bring him back.

She moves forward, because it’s the only thing left to do. She survives, because it’s what she does best. 

When she successfully completes a new, complicated procedure, she feels a spark of pride. It’s the first time she’s felt something outside of the potent swirl of anger, regret, and grief that’s been drowning her for months, and it feels a little like hope. 

She can’t help the thought that he would be proud of her for it, or the tears that well up in response. But it’s easier now, to not let the dark tangle that accompanies thoughts of him consume her. 

She thinks of his smile and exhales, the tightness in her chest easing, just a little. 

And then she locks that piece of him away too, looking up at Nisreen. Her mentor wears an expression that’s both cautiously concerned and proud at the same time, and Nahri gives her a small smile. 

The action feels foreign, but the relief in Nisreen’s eyes is potent enough to keep it up for another minute. 

She could do this without him. As fiercely as she misses him, she could do this without him.

Nahri breathes out slowly, and stands up.

“Where is my next patient?” she asks, with renewed energy. Nisreen doesn’t smile, not physically, but Nahri sees it, anyways. 

It is enough. It will have to be.

#the daevabad trilogy #the city of brass #the kingdom of copper #s.a. chakraborty #star light star write #i know the five stages refer to people who are dying but this fit for my purposes #apparently i can only write angst or smut for these two #i tried writing fluff i really did #but i didnt like it #dfhdkfsff