#an argument can be said that his anxiety is driven by not living up to what's expected of him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iovchlde · 3 years

Note

hi!! may i request some reverse comfort headcanons for diluc, kaeya, childe, and xiao? maybe about relationship insecurity or something of that sort??

relationship flaws and insecurities.

no one is perfect— so what exactly are their flaws in a relationship? and what do they feel most conscious of in a relationship?

featuring diluc, kaeya, childe, xiao

diluc

he feels that he might scare you off with his overprotectiveness. he’s already lost someone before, and he doesn’t think he can handle losing you either.

it’s not that he wants to control your life— in fact, he wants you to live it to its full extent. but there’s always that small worry, an annoying voice, in the back of his head that reminds him that the wilderness of teyvat is dangerous.

subconsciously, he may find himself interrogating you if you plan on leaving the house early in the morning, or late at night. there’ll be times where small quarrels stem from this, and inevitably it can get heated sometimes.

if you walk out on him for more hours than what feels comfortable, to cool off, he might start to think if you’ve left him for good.

diluc’s sitting at the edge of the bed, and there’s a consistent tapping on the floor as he anxiously drums his foot against it. it’s way past his assigned time to sleep, knowing he has to be up early to run his business. he doesn’t have half the mind to check what time it is, at least, not right now. all he can think about is that you’ve been gone for way too long.

he expects this from the two of you, especially after a heated argument. you two take the time away from one another to cool off and collect your thoughts, but this? this is just outrageous. if he were to give an estimate for how long you’d been gone— it would be two hours longer than you’d typically be gone for. and this just feeds into his worries from earlier, about your well-being.

the whole fight was about you and your safety after all. you would tell him that you’re fully capable of looking out for yourself; he’d say that he has enemies who may come after you; it goes back-and-forth. sensing that the argument was getting nowhere, you took it upon yourself to see yourself out first. “let’s just,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “let’s just take time to cool off for a bit, shall we?”

“it’s been longer than a bit,” he mutters to himself.

he’s snapped out his thoughts as he hears the bedroom doors open slowly. you peek your head in, just to make eye contact with diluc. you two freeze, simply caught off-guard in the moment. he notes how your hair is a mess— it sticks out in certain areas, and obviously has not been brushed down— and you look a bit rugged. “hey,” you mutter sheepishly.

he wonders if he should ask you where you’ve been, but he holds his tongue. “are you okay?” diluc asks instead, and there’s a certain tenderness in his voice as he addresses you. “you look a bit... rough.”

you snort, throwing a feign hand of offense over your chest, at his words. “gee, thanks. nice to know i’m looking very appealing right now.” you joke. he stares at you, but you can see the faint smile on his lips at the way you’re joking around already. it’s good to know that you two are still okay. “but to answer your question, yes. i simply tripped over a pebble— it was so dark out and my foot got caught. who would’ve known that a pebble would be the one to take me down.”

he laughs at this, and you feel the tension from the argument completely lift.

kaeya

he’ll often wonder if you’re slowly becoming untrusting of him. he’s generally reserved, and quite mysterious— and it could easily be read in the wrong way.

kaeya knows that a relationship is all about communication and trust, well, for it to be healthy at least. and for the most part, he’s pretty open with you.

but there’s still certain aspects of his life that keeps in the dark from you. from his unknown past, to the business he does out of the knight of favonius— he likes that you look up to him as a respectable knight.

sometimes, you’ll ask him why he has duties to attend to at the dead of night, to which he reassuringly tells you that he’s simply off to bother diluc at the tavern. but he knows you’re catching on— diluc hasn’t seen him in the tavern for quite a bit.

“i know you haven’t been at the tavern.” you finally speak up, and you keep your eyes trained on the plate of food in front of you. you dig at the food, poking it around with your utensils— anything to keep your mind off of the fact that your heart is slightly racing right now. you don’t mean to be confrontational, but to be frank, you’re fed up that kaeya hasn’t been honest with you. “you can say that it came as a surprise to me when diluc said you hadn’t been there for a while now.”

“i guess it was only a matter of time before you’d ask diluc about me, and my whereabouts.” he sighs. he’s leaned into his chair by now, and he’s looking at you. your lips are locked into a tight line, a little peeved at the way he still talks so smoothly, and treats this so casually. as if he weren’t taking this seriously, and that this was just some other conversation to him. “i’m simply handling nightly duties.”

your grip becomes slightly tighter around your utensils, and he notices; your knuckles are turning slightly white, and your breathing is slightly out of pace. there’s a small change in his expression, and you can see the way his eyes narrow slightly.

“does it hurt to be honest to me about these things?” you ask him, genuinely hurt at the way it feels like he doesn’t trust you enough. “as your significant other, i guess i’d expected you to be more open to me. i’ve already told you countless times that no matter what, i’ll stick around— and even right now, i mean those words.”

once i tell, there’s no going back, is what he wishes to say. that it’ll be hard to look at someone the same way you’ve done before. “look,” he says as he sighs. kaeya wracks his mind for a way to respond— in a way where he wouldn’t be lying, but he wouldn’t subject you to danger either. “these matters, my nightly duties if you will, are matters between the abyss order and i. i’m afraid that if i tell you anything more about what goes on, you’ll become a target as well. too much knowledge can be harmful.”

“and you couldn’t just tell me that from the get-go?” it’s a fair point, and he throws you an apologetic look from across the table. “i understand, okay? just,” you swipe a hand through your hair. “no more secrets. i don’t think i’ll be as understanding if there’s a next time.”

“of course, my love.”

childe

he fears that one day, he’ll come home and you won’t be there anymore; his involvement with the fatui doesn’t make it any better.

the fatui is known for... it’s notorious deeds, to put it lightly. he had warned you beforehand, that dating a fatui harbinger will be exhausting. mentally, that is.

he’s bloodthirsty and thrill-seeking— it’s his nature. but he knows you don’t agree with the brutal ways the fatui handles their business, and he tries his best to take your mind off of it.

but it’s hard to ignore the words that circulate around liyue about certain things that he’s been up to. childe wonders that if you’ll get fed up one day, and just leave him.

there’s always a small amount of anxiety that bubbles up within childe whenever he approaches the doors of your shared bedroom. there’s that slightly irrational fear that he’ll walk in, and the room will be empty; you won’t be beneath the sheets in deep sleep, and your small breaths wouldn’t fill the room. his hand is hovering over the doorknob, and he almost laughs. a man like him, who stares death in its eyes, too afraid to open the door in fear that he’ll see something he doesn’t like.

childe gathers the courage to twist the knob, and the door creaks softly as he pushes it open. he pauses halfway, the fear taking over him for a second, but pushes through. he lets out an audible breath of relief— seeing you alive and well in front of him, and the comforts of just seeing that. his shoulders slack visibly at the confirmation, and he allows himself to enter the room.

he strips himself of clothes that he’s worn outside, changing into ones more fitting for bed. he’d jump straight into your arms if he could— but he knows that even in a sleepy state, you would still scold him.

he stalks towards the bed after doing the necessities. you stir at the way the bed dips beside you, feeling a pair of strong arms wrap around you. “childe?” you mutter. your voice is laced with sleepiness having just awoken, and you’re rubbing at your eyes as you turn to face him. it takes a second for your brain to start functioning, and you blurt out the first word that comes to mind. “hi.”

“hi to you too,” he mirrors, a small smile gracing his lips. your eyes are barely open as you glance at him, and your words are slightly slurred— but despite that, he truly thinks he’s the luckiest man in the world that he has someone as good as you. someone who sticks around, despite his affiliation. “i’ve missed you a lot, y’know.” he says.

“i missed you more,” you challenge, even in your sleep driven state.

he chuckles at you, before pressing a small kiss to your nose. “sure, sure. let’s fight about who misses each other more in the morning, okay?”

xiao

he’ll often doubt why you’re with him— and wonder if there’ll ever be a day where you run out of patience with him.

he’s getting better with affection, and he’s not finding it as weird as he had before. he doesn’t initiate things, still too embarrassed about the last time he failed to hug you. he wants things to be intimate, but there are still times where he flinches if you touch his hand or hug him, after forgetting to give him a heads up.

you always smile at him, and tell him that you care for his comfort the most. he can see the pain behind your smile though— almost a year of dating and he still hasn’t warmed up to you.

xiao still doesn’t fully understand the logic and need behind affection. but what he does know is that humans seek affection. they are social beings after all. knowing that, he worries that you’ll eventually want someone else who can give you the affection that you deserve.

“i’m sorry,” xiao apologizes in a panic. he was so thrown off-guard and so deep in his thought, that when you’d given him a back hug, he had reacted more violently than intended. thus, he had instinctively pushed you off his shoulder. it was hard to miss the flash of hurt in your eyes as you stumbled back, a little baffled, not expecting xiao to react in a such a way. “i... i apologize for that, y/n.”

it’s easy to notice the literal distance between you two and he reaches out for you, to which he stops himself midway. there’s just something that feels so wrong about touching you right now, especially after he’d just shoved you— it doesn’t feel right. even to now, he’s still scared of touching you. he finds himself getting frustrated at the way that he just can’t wrap his head around doing things in a romantic aspect. even he’s running out of patience with himself, so why do you still have so much?

you notice the way his hand stops, and you can see the countless of emotions within his eyes as he stares at his hands. there’s little glimpses of worry, of self-doubt, and you can tell right now that he’s being critical of himself. you don’t blame him for reacting that way, now that you look back on it in hindsight. anyone would’ve reacted like that as a form of self-defense.

“it’s alright, xiao, it really is.” you reassure him. “don’t be too harsh on yourself, okay? i said we’d take it as slow as we have to, and i plan on keeping my word for that. now... may i?” you gesture to his outstretched hand. he gives you a blank look at first, but nods slowly.

you take his hands in yours— you take your time to link your fingers, intertwining them and appreciating the way they mold together perfectly. you let him feel the way you draw soothing circles on the back of his hand. it’s such a simple action, but it flows with intimacy, and it has a weird feeling erupting in his stomach. (butterflies, he recalls you telling him.)

“see this?” you raise your linked hands. “if this is what you’re comfortable with at the moment, then i’m more than willing to hold hands for as long as you want.”

he wonders if you’ll grow impatient with him— but for now, he’s reassured you’ll stick around.

author’s note.

i’ve put this off for so long, and i intended on keeping it short— but then i felt bad and so i decided to indulge just a little

#genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst #genshin diluc #genshin xiao #genshin kaeya #genshin childe #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #diluc x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader

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caramelcal · 3 years

Text

his favorite club

warnings: swearing, arguing, talks of murder, gangs, use of weapons etc. don’t read if you are not comfortable with these!

word count: 2.5k

a/n: HELLO!!!! WELCOME BACK TO THE NEXT LUKE/BAMBI POST!

thank you so much for all the love anons <3

requests: Anonymous asked:

Could you write a Luke x gang where him and the reader are fighting and maybe his arm goes up and she thinks he’s going to hit her but would never and it’s fluffy in the end?

Anonymous asked:

For the Luke x gang could you write something angsty like maybe he doesn’t come home on time like usual and y/n is really worried idk maybe goes to his place of business and it starts a big fight and the reader gets a bit scared of how mad he is? Idk you can take it in any direction.

Anonymous asked:

Loved the new Luke post. Was wondering if the next part could have some danger concerning the reader? Or maybe she sees the dangerous part of him and it scares her?

The only sound filling the apartment was the sounds of the small girl's shoes hitting off of the floor loudly, and the soft but irritating clicking of the clock that stood on the wall in front of her. It was 8:13 pm. Over an hour later than Luke had said he was going to be.

Bambi knew the dangers of the work that Luke lived in, but he had only ever been once late and even then, she had got a text explaining that he would be. Yet, this time, she never got a text, a call, nothing.

Radio silence.

Her stomach clenched up every time she thought about the possibilities of what could have happened to Luke. She wouldn't consider herself a pessimist, but she can't exactly say that she was expecting the best.

She was sure that if Luke didn't get home soon, the floor would have worn away from the amount of pacing she was doing right now. The clock continued to tick on, each movement from the small circular thing stuck on the wall bringing her more and more anxiety.

He should be home.

Maybe that's why she found herself in one of Luke's cars, somehow managing to sneak past the two members of Luke's gang that she had seen on the way down, and evading Jacob, Luke's personal driver.

In fact, Bambi hadn't driven a car since she moved in with Luke, always being driven around by either Jacob or Luke himself. It felt weird being behind a wheel again, but she didn't have time to dwell on it or soak up in the power she felt inkling into her chest before she was speeding out of the garage, onto the main highway of the city.

If Bambi was being honest, she probably broke about seven driving laws (if there were that many, probably, she thought) on the way to the club that Luke often found himself at. He never brought her there, and actually, forbid her from coming to altogether, but she knew he couldn't be too mad considering it was all about her concern about him.

From the moment she walked in, she felt out of place. Men in dark button-ups, cigarettes falling from their lips, women in minimal and sexy clothing, drinks all around. The red luminous lights of the bar being the only light provided. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for her tall boyfriend but it was really difficult.

A lot of the people in here were very tall, much taller than Bambi was, so trying to see over them was impossible. She was very out of place, alone, scared, and looked far too good to be in such a twisted club.

Somehow, she managed to make her way over to the bar, where she recognized a figure with his back turned towards her, making a cocktail. It was only seconds after when he turned around, dimpled face on display, he almost spilled the drink on him with how fast he stopped upon seeing her.

His eyes whipped around wildly around the club before walking over to her and whispering, "You shouldn't be here! Didn’t Luke forbid you from coming here? You need to leave!"

"Nice to see you too, Ash," Bambi couldn't help the sarcasm falling off of her lips before she asked, "Luke never got home. Is everything ok?"

"Everything's fine, he just got caught up with some paperwork and stuff, he should be back soon,"

"Paperwork?" She asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at the gang member.

"Well yeah, just updating a file on the drug run today just to say it went well," Ashton shrugged lightly, "he should be done soon."

Even though Ashton shrugged it off well, Bambi knew he was lying. She could feel it in her bones, in her gut, that he was lying and she was determined to find out the truth.

She shrugged lightly, "Well if it's just paperwork then he won't mind me being there."

With that, she stalked away from the bar in search of the backrooms, wasting no time for Ashton to catch up with her as she went on her way. She walked around the back hallways, looking for any indication of Luke's presence.

The rooms were silent. All but one.

"Please! I don't know anything! Stop!" It was a plead filled with both pain and desperation but it was quickly cut off with the sound of a swift but powerful hit.

Her pulse raced, legs shakily making their way towards the room, gently pushing the door open. It was silent, the door, cracking open so that the small girl could see.

Bambi felt sick.

She could see her boyfriend’s blond curls held up in a hair tie she had loaned him earlier this morning, bloody hand reaching up high as he punched the poor boy on the chair again.

“I’ll give you one more chance before I use something more than my hand,” He threatened gruffly, causing Bambi to flinch. Her breath was caught in her throat, eyes welling up in tears. She knew she shouldn’t have been so upset, she knew her boyfriend was a gang member, but something about seeing him doing this to someone with the same hands that caressed her and made her feel safe felt...wrong.

Suddenly, Ashton entered another door that entered into the room that Luke was in, alerting both Luke and Michael, who had been overlooking the situation. Only then did Bambi realize that Luke had picked up an object, it glinting in the light as he moved towards the door that Ashton had entered.

Luke was holding a knife.

A soft gasp escaped Bambi’s lips, thankfully not loud enough for Luke to hear. She didn’t want him near her, not right now anyway. She didn’t even want him to look at her.

“She’s here! You need to stop, Luke!” Bambi took that as her clear to get the hell out of there. If what Ashton said was true, about Luke being mad she was here, she didn’t want him to find her. Not anymore, anyway.

She didn’t want him to get anywhere near him. How could she possibly sleep at night knowing the man that slept beside her, that played with her hair, that made her feel safe, did that to people? What if he got so mad that he did that to her?

She was being irrational, but at that moment she couldn’t help it.

She shuffled backward, away from the door that led to the room Luke was in, choosing to swiftly get away from him now that she could.

Now, she wasn’t scared for Luke, she was scared of Luke.

“Hey kid, where are you goin'?” Calum asked as she crashed into his chest, making her stumble back lightly, mouth ajar.

She went to speak, to come up with some excuse but she didn’t have time. She couldn’t sit here and entertain Calum with a nice, little conversation when she was trying to evade her boyfriend.

That’s why she just turned, maneuvering around her, and started to run.

“Bambi!” The girl became rigid as she heard him shout, becoming increasingly aware that he had caught up to her, and was planning on talking to her. It was almost as if she was frozen in place, unable to move into the car and unable to move towards him, not that she wanted to. However, she could hear him come to a stop behind her, his voice softer as he spoke, trying not to gather any attention towards the couple, “Why are you here? I thought I told you that you weren’t allowed at the club?”

Her mouth ran dry, unable to respond. In fact, she acted as if she never heard him speak, afraid of what he would do if she pissed him off. Yet, her silence was probably the most angering thing to the tall blond boyfriend of hers, which became obvious when he spoke next.

“Bambi? Let me get you out of here, I’ll drive,” He went to grab the car keys out of her hand, but she had seen his shadow when he went to grab them, quickly jerking out of his grasp, turning around, and staring up at him.

She didn’t miss the slight shock in his eyes when she did so, or the irritancy that bubbled deep beneath. Her throat felt thick, clouded, but she quickly cleared it, voice forceful as she stared up at the gang member, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Bambi, what the hell are you talking about? Just let me drive and we can talk about this when we get home lets not cause a scene,” Luke was trying to reason with the girl, not cause a scene in front of his men, but Bambi was not having it. She wasn’t about to get into a car with him, shaking her head wildly, “Bambi.”

His tone was a warning, deep voice, cold tone. It was demanding but Bambi was not in the mood for Luke to boss her about, especially not right now.

“What? You don’t want people to realize that we’re fighting and that I’m your girlfriend, is that it?” The words were flying out of the girl’s mouth before she could stop them and Luke’s blue eyes glared down at her, his jaw ticking.

“Is this really what this is about?” Luke asked, referring to the argument they had gone through all of those weeks ago. Yet, that it isn’t. The problem was that Bambi saw something she wasn’t supposed to, that Luke had tried to shield her from as best as he could. Even if it meant that she wasn’t allowed near his favorite club.

“You nearly killed him, Luke.”

Her voice was painfully quiet, muttering in a way that makes it obvious she had to force the words out. Her fists are clenched at her sides, her eyes looking down to evade the scrutiny of his gaze.

“Bambi you don’t know what you saw-”

“You had a knife, Luke! I saw you punch him just look at your hands right now they’re-” She stopped briefly, glancing down at the man’s hands, the ones that gave her such tender, sweet love. The ones that made her feel safe, yet now? All she seen was all of the blood coating them, some dry some relatively fresh, “they’re covered in his blood.”

Luke flexed his hands slightly, feeling the blood coating them become ever so evident, “What else am I supposed to do? What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? I work in a fucking gang, you knew this.”

“I didn’t think-” The girl cut herself off, shaking her head as tears rose to her eyes, shielding her view.

“What the fuck do you think I do? Hand out fucking rainbow stickers and give them a nice hug? That’s not how this works, you know this,” His voice was harsh, and slowly rising to a loud level, and all Bambi wants is to go and hide away from him; to be by herself. She can’t handle this, not right now.

“How can you expect me to be ok with this?” The girl asked, “It’s sick! It’s twisted! You could have killed that guy!”

“Don’t suddenly go getting morals just because you saw a bit of fucking blood! We’re leaving. Now,” His voice is demanding, loud and borderline shouting, his hand coming down towards her rapidly to grab the car keys off of her but then he froze at the movement from the small girl in front of him.

She flinched.

Silence filled them both.

The tears that tracked down her face started to build in his eyes, his heart dropping to his feet when he saw the girl cower. It was barely for a second when she shielded her head, in the same place he had hit that guy barely five minutes before like he was going to hit her.

He spluttered with his mouth ajar. Bambi, his Bambi, the one he had worked so hard to protect, to love, to cherish, was scared of him. He just wanted to comfort her, to hold her close and let her know that everything was going to be okay. Yet, he couldn’t comfort her that he would battle all her fears when he was what she was scared of.

“Bambi...” It was a sad plead.

The girl never replied, tears becoming thicker as she shook her head. She was overcome with emotions. Afraid, sad, ashamed, angry; she wasn’t entirely sure what she was feeling at that moment.

“Bambi I’d never...”

The girl wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Never in his whole life had Luke felt so ashamed of himself. Ashamed that he would ever let a fragment of his girl believe he would ever harm her or put her in harm’s way.

He would do everything to make sure she was okay.

“I need to go,” The girl gingerly wiped her tears with her -Luke’s- jumper, the large sleeves rolled up but still covering her hands fully. She entered the car and Luke made no move to stop her, he didn’t care that she had taken one of his cars at that moment, he didn’t care that she had disobeyed his orders of coming to the club, he didn’t care about anything other than how he had wronged her.

Then, he was left by himself, in the middle of the club’s back parking lot, blood still coating his hands that even made him feel sick now. The cold night air nipped at his skin, yet again reminding him that he was void of her warmth. He was all alone.

He returned home all of twenty minutes later, a fresh pair of clothes on and hands bare of blood. The house was quiet but he knew that she was there, the bedroom door ever so slightly ajar, a faint light emitting from the room.

He leaned against the door frame, watching her with a sullen face as she packed. She was only packing a few outfits, not anything major as she sniffed lightly. She was still crying, Luke noticed, and it made his heart ache, “I’m leaving for Anna’s. I just need some time.”

Luke knew he was in no position to argue with the girl right now. She was fragile enough as it is, and even if Luke didn’t want her to leave, she needed space and he respected that.

She slung the overnight bag over her shoulder, hefting it up, “I’ve called an Uber. They’re waiting downstairs.”

Luke nodded as Bambi stopped in front of him, and almost hesitantly, he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead, “Stay safe, ok? I love you.”

The girl nodded her head, sending the boy a tight-lipped smile before leaving, leaving Luke alone once again. Yet, despite the heartbreak, he felt in that moment as she left, he knew this wasn’t the end. He’d manage to make it up to her, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t rest easy until he did.

#luke hemmings 5sos #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings gang #luke hemmings #gang!luke hemmings #gang!luke hemmings x reader #gang!sos #luke hemmings x oc #luke hemmings x you #luke hemmings x y/n #gang!luke hemmings x oc

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novelconcepts · 3 years

Text

fic: (above) a boring little pub

“See where that takes us,” Dani mutters. “Sure. Yeah. Smooth.”

She’d said it like it wasn’t nerve-racking in the least, like she does this sort of thing every day. Get up at the asscrack of dawn, trying to remember how to make a pot of coffee she personally feels out of her mind even considering putting in her own mug. Coffee makes her crazy, spikes her already-wild anxiety straight through the roof; she hasn’t tried to brew the stuff since she was fifteen and making a last-ditch effort to get on Mom’s good side.

And, still, it was the best idea she had for Operation Fix Things With Jamie. Four days laying awake thinking, four days with her brain half on the kids, half on making Jamie smile the next time she turned up at Bly, and this was the best she could do. A cup of coffee that, to her untrained eye, looked like muddy water more than anything else.

And she had handed it to Jamie. Just pasted on a smile and thought, Maybe the stars have aligned, and I woke up good at this today. Whether good at the coffee or the talking to Jamie, she wasn’t quite sure--but soon enough, it appeared the answer was “neither”. Terrific. Jamie, still stung from the other night. Jamie, clearly still not ready to leap off a cliff just because Dani reached out a hand.

Who could blame her? Jamie’s maybe the most patient person Dani has ever met, so long as you’re not shredding her gardens behind her back, but she is still a person. A person who has shown Dani an extremely unexpected willingness to listen, but not so much the desire to be jerked around. Dani gets it. There’s nothing she wants less in the world, than to make Jamie feel like a chew toy to be picked up and discarded again on a whim.

Hence, the world’s most insulting attempt at coffee.

And the invitation.

Dani does not have what a thinking man might call “a strong history” with dating. Part and parcel of being with the same person since you were ten, she supposes, and even if Edmund wasn't...right, he was still simple in his own way. The bravest she ever had to be with Eddie was in daring him to kiss her, a desperate, futile bid toward understanding all the girls at school who sighed and groaned over boys. Dani didn’t get it then, didn’t get it when Eddie closed his eyes and puckered his lips and gave her the most exaggerated dry kiss a human mouth can produce. Didn't get it, either, as he improved over the years, though she was tactically aware of him doing so. On a strictly data-driven level, she watched him get better at kissing, at smiling without nerves, at leading her by the hand wherever he felt they should go. And never, not once, did she feel it.

But one night in a greenhouse, wine in her blood and guilt on her lips, and she gets it now. She gets all of it. Jamie’s hands in her hair, Jamie’s mouth opening beneath her own--a symphony only they could hear.

And then she’d gone and ruined it.

So, now she’s here. Standing awkwardly in a small room in a huge manor, poking through the approximately ten outfits she’s been carting across Europe for half a year. She’d been brave with Jamie in ways she’d never considered with Eddie--brave to take her hand, brave to follow her into the dark, brave to kiss her, brave to ask her out on a...on a..

“Date,” she mutters, holding up a pink blouse and remembering Jamie saying wryly, There we are. She shuts her eyes. “Just a date. Normal person thing to do. Nothing to worry about.”

Jamie’s meant to be back here in--she flips her wrist, winces--less than an hour now. Jamie’s meant to be here to pick her up, like they’re teenagers heading off for a Friday night on the town, and Dani must genuinely be losing her mind. She didn't come here for this. She works with Jamie, works here watching the kids, and if she leaves...if she leaves, who knows what will...

A light rap at the door, so soft, she almost misses it. Hannah, gently smiling.

“Everything all right up here? Haven’t seen you in quite some time...”

“The kids,” Dani interjects. “Of course. I’m so sorry, I’ll just--”

Hannah raises her palms in a placating gestures, slipping into the room with a nearly unearthly grace. Why, Dani wonders helplessly, can’t I be like Hannah? So elegant and serene and sure of every step?

“I did not,” Hannah says, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a sisterly little shake, “come up here to scold you. The children are perfectly fine; Owen is running them through the finer elements of...” Her brow creases, some mix of affection and distaste. “Baking chemistry.”

“Oh.” Dani sinks onto the bed, head in her hands. “Of course. So you’re...”

“Here to make certain you aren’t, perhaps, talking yourself out of a nice evening out on the town?” Hannah supplies. She’s too kind to make fun, at least where this level of anxiety is concerned, and Dani is grateful.

“Not talking myself out, exactly,” she says. “Just trying to decide what to wear. I mean, what does a person wear to a pub in Bly with...with...”

“A perfectly charming young woman whose primary uniform involves denim and potting soil?” Hannah’s voice is just a little too innocent. Dani grins.

“I just don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“I don’t think,” Hannah says carefully, “there’s much chance of embarrassing yourself so badly, she leaves you alone in that pub. Or fails to return to Bly, perhaps, tomorrow?”

Color floods Dani’s cheeks. Her choice of sweater is suddenly the most interesting thing that has ever happened in this room.

“The children will be just fine with us here,” Hannah continues, blessedly ignoring the way Dani’s shoulders go rigid with mortification. “Owen’s already planning to stay, and you know how Flora goes on about sleepovers...”

She’s smiling, but Dani thinks there’s a bit of distance behind her eyes that wasn’t there last week. A beautiful, kind woman, Hannah; it’s strange to see her even the least bit detached from the goings-on of the house.

“You’re sure,” she presses. “I could still tell Jamie--”

“You could both use the night off, I think.” Hannah pats her shoulder lightly. Dani bites her lip.

“Well, I can definitely make sure I’m back before--”

“Lunch tomorrow?” Hannah interjects. “Yes, I quite agree, that would be perfect timing. Rumor has it Owen’s planning a feast fit for kings and very small children.”

Dani is out of arguments, and she suspects Hannah knows it. Her shoulders slump. “Okay. Okay, good. Glad that’s all...handled. Now...”

“This one, I think.” Hannah pats the light purple, her hand possessed of such surety, Dani is briefly envious. “Brings out your eyes nicely.”

She makes her escape with another smile and a very small wave, and Dani gives herself a minute. Just one minute, sitting on the edge of the bed with her face in her hands, to really process the situation. A date. An actual real date with an actual real person she actually likes. Not just likes, but feels...slightly insane around. Insane in the best way. Stomach in knots, fingertips sweaty for no good reason, ears going hot at the sight of her insane.

Jamie kissed her back. Jamie kissed her like there was nothing she’d like more in the world. Jamie kissed her, and then let her go the minute she didn’t seem ready for it, and even with the worst coffee in England as a peace offering, accepted the idea of a drink with her.

Which means...

“The sweater doesn’t matter,” Dani mumbles, feeling very much as though nothing has ever mattered more.

***

Jamie has never quite done this before, either; she thinks of telling Dani so, thinks of taking a quiet moment before leaving Bly Manor to get ready for a date and come back, sweet Lord, she must be out of her mind, to say, “Hey, no worries, Poppins, this is brand-new territory for the both of us.”

But Dani is busy with the kids, and also sort of looks like she’s going to combust should Jamie stand too near her, so she skulks out to the truck alone instead. The date--it is an actual fucking date, I cannot believe she did this to us, what am I going to do on an actual fucking date with this woman?--is slated for seven in the evening. Jamie’s done working at four-thirty.

She spends about an hour of that in-between time showering, picking out a clean t-shirt--nothing too snappy, don’t want to scare Poppins off again--and jeans and a jacket that ensures she’ll look presentably-cool, and mussing her hair somewhat badly. The rest, she spends pacing.

You know I live above that pub, right? Told you that already. And Jesus, how Dani had smiled, like she’d been thinking of nothing else for four fucking days. Four days Jamie had spent planning ways to distance herself, to stop feeling all of this flappy butterfly nonsense at the mere sight of the woman, and the first thing--first goddamn thing--Dani did upon her return was ask her on a date.

To which she had...said yes. She’d said yes, and now off she goes to pick up her actual, real-live human woman date.

It’s one thing, she thinks as she strides up the drive to the door, to take a woman to bed. It’s a very natural, easy thing, in fact, to take a woman to bed. Strip off your clothes, strip off your inhibitions, get used to the notion of never seeing her again once the sun is up. But this? Dani? Jamie’s never been here before. Never wanted something so badly before.

“Don’t,” she mumbles, pushing the door open, “fuck this up.”

She expects to have to go on a bit of a hunt to track Dani down--maybe to the kitchen, or even (heaven help her) up to her room, but no: Dani is right there. Dani is standing in the foyer in a black skirt and loose-knit sweater, looking for all the world like Jamie just caught her running a trench into the floorboards.

“Hi,” she says, all deer eyes and suddenly grinning mouth. Her hair is up, so very blonde and perfect, Jamie’s mouth goes a little useless at the sight of it.

“Hey. Uh. Are we meant to be speaking with the chaperones, or...”

Dani shakes her head, looking just a little punch-drunk. “Hannah made it sound like we’d be in trouble if we went back there. Owen’s doing something with chemistry?”

“All the angels couldn’t help those kids and their empty bellies now,” Jamie says, “if Owen is fixated on another goddamn chemistry lesson.”

Dani laughs, and suddenly, it’s like a sheen of ice cracks open and all the warmth she’s come to associate with Dani Clayton comes rushing into the room. Jamie reaches out a hand, slides palm along palm until Dani is fitted neatly against her lifeline.

“Shall we?”

She doesn’t say, I’ve never done this. Doesn’t tell Dani any of that. It doesn’t seem important, all of a sudden, not with the way Dani squeezes back and follows eagerly into the passenger seat of her truck.

Jamie, looking at her out of the corner of her eye as she prepares to back out, is struck with the wild idea that maybe they don’t have to leave at all to do this. She could just reach across the seat, lay a hand lightly over Dani’s knee, tell her she’s never met anyone like her. Never met anyone who makes her want to tell sad stories and bad jokes and goodnights that are only acceptable because there will be a good morning to follow.

Date, she reminds herself firmly, though there’s a perfectly nice kitchen, a perfectly nice bedroom, a perfectly nice hidden spot out on the grounds that would do the job just as well. Maybe next time. There are flowers she’s certain Dani can’t go her whole life without seeing.

But tonight: it’s a pub in the tiny village of Bly, where Jamie has lived for years without ever really caring to get to know its secrets. Now, watching Dani look around like she’s just stepped into Oz, she sort of regrets that.

“Usually not too busy on a Thursday night,” she says, guiding Dani with a light hand at the small of her back past what she thinks of as the Attention Grabbing section--the tables up near the bar proper, where the denizens of Bly most like to congregate after work--and toward her own preferred spot. It’s in the back, near a near-secret exit that leads straight up to her flat, and Cal is charitable enough to keep most folks away from it unless the place is full-up. Not a bad guy, Cal; he’s about four hundred years old and insists on calling her Janey, but he’s still got the back for long nights serving bad drinks, and he keeps the rent cheaper than dirt.

“You live here?” Dani sounds like she’s never been more delighted at a prospect. Jamie can’t help but laugh, slinging her jacket over the back of her chair and settling in.

“Thought about asking for a job when I moved in, but luckily Lord and Lady Wingrave got to me first. Not sure it’d suit me, spending every night with the town layabouts.”

She winks at Cal as he shambles past to let him know this is a joke. He snorts.

“Like I’d hire you anyway. Too damn short. Couldn't reach the good stuff.”

“Wasn’t aware you carried the good stuff,” she fires back. Dani, watching this exchange with delight, laughs. Cal raises an eyebrow.

“Your friend’s pretty. Poor sense of character, to be spending her night with a felon, but there’s no accounting for taste.”

The smile on Dani’s lips dies instantly. Jamie swallows a curse.

“Yes, thank you, Grandfather Drunkard, I hadn’t quite gotten to that part of the tale yet. Round to make up for it, if you please.”

He has the good grace to look slightly ashamed, patting her on the shoulder as he winds back to the bar in search of clean glasses. Jamie leans back with a sigh.

“Well, it was bound to come up eventually, I suppose. Frankly, probably for the best he spilled those beans before I could lose my nerve and put off telling you.”

Dani’s brow is creased, less like someone horrified by a glimpse into Jamie’s storied past, more like a white knight ready to draw a sword in her defense. Jamie finds herself reaching across the table, glancing over her shoulder, and touching the back of her hand with two cautious fingers.

“Easy, Poppins, Cal’s a good sort. Our sort, even, if there is such a thing.” It’s a bold stroke, a shot in the dark, but given that Jamie’s already had this woman’s tongue in her mouth, she supposes it isn’t so dangerous to assume. Dani raises her eyebrows high enough to make her laugh.

“He’s--I mean he doesn’t--”

“He’s kind, and he knows the value of a closed mouth,” Jamie confirms. “Says things are better than they used to be around here, but there’s no point courting trouble. Anyway, he won’t say a damn thing when we--if we--”

Cal takes pity on her, delivering a pair of beers and a platter of cold chips, “on the house, as penance for fuckin’ up your evening.” Jamie raises her glass in a salute to his retreating back.

“Did he?” Dani asks. Jamie, glass halfway to her lips, pauses.

“Did he what?”

“Fuck up the evening.” Jamie’s not sure she’s ever heard Dani say the word fuck before, and suddenly feels as though it’s the best single syllable ever to cross her lips.

“Nah. Not unless you’ve, ah, got a problem with felons sharing your table?”

Lifting her own glass, Dani shakes her head. “Not as a rule. I’d like to hear about it, though. If it’s something you’re all right sharing.”

And so Jamie shares. All of it. It isn’t the plan, exactly, but when she gets started, she finds it increasingly difficult to locate a logical place to stop. To explain the prison time, she first has to explain how a young woman finds herself in such a situation; to explain that, she first has to paint a picture of a particular kind of home life. Before she knows what’s happening, she’s leaning across the table and saying names she hasn’t spoken in years. Telling about the coal mine. The other men. The baby. The burn.

Dani listens to it all, enraptured, never interrupting with so much as a question. She makes small noises, nods encouragement whenever Jamie falters, takes small sips of her drink when Jamie pauses for breath.

She doesn’t ask what Jamie did. This, above all else, strikes Jamie between the eyes. She doesn’t ask if Jamie lied, or cheated, or stole, or bloodied anyone along the way (yes, yes to one and all, and if she did ask, Jamie would tell her; they're old scars, the life of someone she feels she barely knows now, and if she’s ashamed, it’s the shame of a distant dream). She only listens, nods, takes it in.

“I figure,” Jamie says when she’s run out of history to unfold between them, “you showed me yours, yeah? It’s only fair.”

Dani raises her glass. “To not being defined by the sins of the past.”

Jamie chuckles, obediently following suit. “To people being the most goddamn exhausting concept on the planet, and trying anyway.”

They drink. They drink, and Jamie thinks, Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’ve exhausted the conversation topics for one relationship already. Maybe she’ll finish this glass and we’ll head back to the house, and that’ll be that.

“I’ve never done this before,” Dani tells her. There’s something relaxed about her, something Jamie finds new and deeply interesting. Relaxed is the last word she’d generally used to describe Dani Clayton.

Jamie gestures for Cal, refills following suit in short order. “Been to a pub?”

“Been on a date with someone I...” Dani hesitates. For a split second, Jamie’s sure she’s about to look at someone Jamie can’t sense over her shoulder. Instead, she shakes her head, smiles ruefully. “Someone I felt things for.”

“Things, huh?” She leans across the table, props her chin on one hand, makes a show of tilting her head. “What sorts of things?”

“I think you know.” Dani is blushing. This is maybe the best night of Jamie’s whole life.

“Think you should tell me anyway.”

Dani swats at her, and they’re both laughing with an ease Jamie can’t wrap her head around. It’s one thing to flirt; Jamie’s good at flirting. Comes easy, comes naturally. She’s good at watching for the little buttons in people, the little signs of what makes them laugh, what makes them squirm. Promised herself a long time ago never to use this power for anything less than leaving a room warmer than she found it.

But this isn’t flirting. Not the way Jamie’s done it before. This is something entirely new, entirely specific to Dani. It’s in the way Dani watches her, eyes too blue, jaw held taut like she’s trying to keep something dangerous from spilling out. It’s in the way Dani lets her fingers linger when she reaches for a chip, allows Jamie to brush against her in a fashion that looks utterly innocent from the outside and feels anything but.

Jamie swallows hard, liking the weight of Dani’s gaze more than she’s prepared to admit. Liking the way Dani very slowly, very carefully, moves a hand under the table to press against her knee.

“Bold, Poppins,” she breathes. Dani smiles, so clearly proud of herself and so clearly terrified that it’s all Jamie can do not to lean all the way across and kiss her.

Best not. Cal’s a good man, their sort, but there are others in the pub now. People who wouldn't take kindly to a sight like that. And this night is going far too well for Jamie to waste where it’s going on a bar brawl.

***

Jamie’s flat is nothing like Dani expected. Admittedly, she isn’t sure what to expect when Jamie drains the last of her glass and gives a knowing glance to the exit. A very small part of her thinks this is all going entirely too well--her hand has been under the table, pressed with a confidence she hadn’t known she possessed to Jamie’s knee, for almost fifteen minutes. Even as her thumb traces small circles into the denim, even as Jamie’s eyes go a little darker, her lips parting in a way Dani finds entirely too interesting, she thinks, This isn’t me, is it? She can’t be feeling it, too. No one has ever understood this.

Even so, here’s Jamie, standing a little too quickly. Her chair scrapes back, her jacket swung over her arm, and she’s reaching out. Dani accepts the hand, lets Jamie pull her to her feet. A good idea. A bad idea. The kind of idea that will get them out of the public eye in short order, either way, and Dani can’t think of anything wiser in this moment.

There’s a set of stairs just outside the door, leading up to a second door. Thick brown wood, with double locks Jamie works without really looking. She’s staring at Dani even as her hands move, staring from inches away, and Dani suddenly thinks how good it is, that they came out tonight. How good it is to be away from the house, the kids, anyone else in the world.

“After you,” Jamie says, pushing the door open with a flat hand and gesturing for Dani to enter. Her voice is a little raw, a little huskier than usual. Dani moves past her, arm brushing arm, and just about jumps out of her skin at the contact.

The space is small, sparsely furnished, with a curtain hung to break up the room. In one far corner, a tiny bathroom. In the closest corner, a tiny kitchen, barely broken from the living space by a change in flooring.

Jamie, wearing an expression Dani has not yet learned to decipher, says, “This would be it. The castle, as it were.”

Does she sound embarrassed? Dani can't quite tell. She wants to say there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, this place is small and quiet and somehow perfectly Jamie in its easy nature. There are books, though not many, on a small shelf. There are plants, considerably more, lined up like soldiers guarding Jamie from loneliness.

“It’s a place to lay my head, anyway,” Jamie says, and that is definitely a touch of embarrassment in her voice. Dani shakes her head, moves to join her at the front door, takes her hand.

“It’s yours,” she says, unable to clarify quite why that is so special. “Thank you. For bringing me here.”

It sounds better in her head than it does ringing between them in a space so silent, Dani imagines she can hear the echo of her own voice. Jamie is just looking at her, the way she’d looked the night Owen’s mother passed, like if Dani were to give the word, she’d make a move that would light them both aflame.

She’d been too afraid that night. Was carrying far too much. Even the simple act of touching Jamie at all, of running her thumb across Jamie’s hand, had felt like heroism.

Now, things are different.

She’s got Jamie by the sleeves, hands gripping Jamie’s t-shirt just above the skin of her biceps, and this is what going over feels like. This is what it feels like, Dani thinks, to just let go.

***

Kissing Dani is different here. Back in the greenhouse, Dani had been largely somebody else, Jamie thinks; still Dani, but a version carrying too much on her back. A desperate, hopeful, sorrow-laden Dani who had grabbed at her jacket like it was a life preserver.

This Dani, sighing and squeezing her arms, feels like freedom.

Jamie finds herself spinning them both, pressing Dani against the locked door, liking the convulsive way Dani’s hands fist around her shirt sleeves. Liking the way Dani slides one arm around her neck and leans back just a little, just enough to gaze into Jamie’s eyes, and this is almost too much all on its own. No one has ever looked at Jamie while she was trying to kiss them. No one, not even once, has looked at her with such profound affection.

And want. So much want, Dani’s eyes are stormy with it. Jamie’s grinning, but there’s a fist around her heart squeezing so hard, she worries it might burst.

“All right?” she breathes. Dani could say no. Dani could say no at any time, and Jamie would understand it. Would lean back, comb her fingers through her own hair, offer the bed while she sets up on the couch until the alcohol’s out of both of their systems and the sunrise gives them another chance at it.

Dani, rather than answering, makes a low sound at the back of her throat and finds Jamie’s mouth with an eager, open kiss that sends Jamie’s pulse through the roof.

She hasn’t done this before, she’s told Jamie, but she’s coming to it naturally enough. Her lips are soft, parting for Jamie’s tongue, her hips pushing against Jamie’s body in slow, easy motions. When Jamie rakes her nails down her scalp, fingers pulling the scrunchie from her hair, she responds with such a low groan, Jamie has to bury her face in Dani’s neck for a moment to breathe.

“Sorry,” Dani mumbles. Jamie, shaking her head, laughs against her skin.

“In no universe, Poppins, are you to be sorry right now. About anything.”

She raises her head, looking for signs that Dani is sorry in a more important way, a way that will say stop, back up, let this go for now. Dani takes her face between trembling hands. Kisses her slowly, sweetly, tongue tracing Jamie’s lower lip like the only thing in the world is to memorize her in tiny, hopeful doses.

Jamie sighs, one hand buried in blonde hair, the other finding purchase on the sleeve of a too soft, too tearable sweater. She feels too large for her body all of a sudden, too much adrenaline coursing through her system, and every time Dani turns her head just a little, every time she brushes her nose against Jamie’s and makes that tiny, soul-searing little sound under Jamie’s kiss, she thinks she gets a bit closer to plunging off the edge into something she won’t be able to forget about in the morning.

“You sure?” she asks against Dani’s lips, the words lost when Dani moves an arm around her neck and digs her fingers in hard. She can feel Dani nodding, breathless, and it’s enough. More than enough. Jamie finds she’s walking them backwards, navigating carefully around her small table, her small couch, the shelf upon which she keeps a few precious plants.

With every step, Dani is kissing her.

With every step, Dani is tracing shapes into the back of her neck.

With every step, Dani is pushing in close, like if Jamie breaks for even a second, some beautiful, perfect spell will break with her.

They’re past the curtain now, in the little space where Jamie sleeps and wakes and hasn’t taken anyone since moving in. Dani, forehead pressed against hers, lips swollen, opens her eyes.

“This is--”

“Not much,” Jamie says. On the one hand, she’s glad they came out tonight, glad she’s getting to hear all the little sounds Dani makes as she’s kissed without worrying about eavesdroppers. On the other, there’s nothing inspiring about her flat, nothing to say Jamie can take care of someone. It’s just walls. Just walls and a couple of plants, and for some reason, Dani is looking around like they’ve walked through a mirror into a land of magic.

“Anyway,” Jamie says. “We don’t have to--if you don’t want to--”

***

“Don’t you?” Dani’s heart is in her throat, pounding in her wrists almost painfully hard. Jamie, one arm around her waist, leaning back with flushed cheeks and her bottom lip between her teeth, raises her eyebrows.

“Want to? God, yes.”

Relief, flooding Dani’s body almost hard enough to knock her over. She grips at Jamie with both hands, the slide of dark t-shirt soft under her fingers, and kisses her again. She feels so good kissing Jamie, so good she forgets how nervous she is about the whole thing. Jamie, her hand strong at the small of her back, her fingers brushing just under the hem of her sweater, leans back again.

“Just don’t want to pressure you into anything. S’all right if you’re not up for--”

"I’ll tell you,” Dani promises. If Jamie keeps doing that with her hand, if Jamie keeps tracing the base of her spine with small, reckless movements, she thinks she’ll go crazy. “If it’s too much. I’ll tell you.”

She pushes gently against Jamie’s chest, feeling bold and brave and absolutely petrified of her own actions, and Jamie lets herself fold backwards until she’s seated on the edge of a thin, clean bedspread. Dani follows her down, knees on either side of Jamie’s thighs, sitting carefully in her lap.

“Now what?” Jamie teases, even as she’s sliding both hands up Dani’s sides, firm enough not to tickle as she brackets Dani’s ribs and lets the next ragged breath push against her palms. Dani closes her eyes for a beat, swaying, untethered until Jamie tilts her head and kisses her again. All at once, it’s like being caught at the end of a string. All at once, it’s like being handed serenity.

She realizes she’s moving her hips, rolling them forward against Jamie’s lap, liking the way Jamie’s hands tighten on her body and begin gently pushing her back and forth. There isn’t enough friction to really accomplish anything this way, but it hardly matters; it’s still so much, so much she feels like she’ll come apart anyway. Something this new, a feeling this big, reaching across the expanse of her, consuming her--she thinks she’ll lose something here tonight. Gain something. Tie the two together and be something different come morning.

She used to worry about that, with him. Used to worry that if she ever gave in, ever tried that one last thing to feel how she was meant to with him, she’d be different the next day. She’d be someone else.

This is something else entirely--so much so, she almost can’t breathe around the realization. That she will be different tomorrow, and that she will not be less Dani because of it, but more, somehow. Something more Dani than she’s allowed herself to be in her whole life, because it was chosen here, tonight, with Jamie’s hands on her body and Jamie’s mouth under her own.

***

With Dani in her lap, skirt riding up around her thighs, hips moving restlessly, Jamie thinks for a second they’ve hit a wall. A very good wall to hit, she thinks hurriedly. If this is as far as they go tonight, it’s still worlds past anything she really expected from Dani.

So long as she doesn’t regret it, doesn’t run from me, I could stay here forever.

Dani, who has been kissing her for what feels like forever, breaks contact and just looks at her. Her hand, soft and cautious and more certain than Jamie expects, presses against Jamie’s breastbone. Pushes again. Jamie shifts backwards, inching up the mattress, pulling Dani with her until she’s flat on her back with Dani looking down.

“Up to you,” she says. She likes the simple pressure of Dani’s body atop her own, of soft curve fitting all the spaces where Jamie doesn’t usually think of herself as lacking anything at all. Now, though, knowing what it feels like, how the whole of Dani is pressed flush to her, she wonders if she’ll ever feel complete in this bed again.

“You still--”

“Want?” Jamie’s lips curve. “If you’re asking, there’s something I’m not doing right.”

“I’m sorry,” Dani says, then seems to catch herself. She sighs, smiles, laughs a little in that dizzy, self-conscious way that breaks Jamie’s heart. “This is...as far as I know. This is...”

Jamie nods, understanding. “You trust me?”

***

Dani is nodding, too, liking the way her body is moving almost of its own accord against Jamie’s. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, hadn’t even realized she was still rubbing lightly against Jamie even as nerves pound through her system.

“Tell me,” Jamie says in a low, urgent tone. “If anything changes.”

She rolls, then, a quick flash of movement that makes Dani shriek-giggle. From this new vantage point, back pressed into Jamie’s mattress, head on Jamie’s pillow, she feels suddenly so much more intimate than while straddling Jamie’s lap. Doesn’t make sense, she thinks with a thrill of such powerful lust, all she can do is grab again at Jamie’s shirt and hold on. But this is hers, and I’m here, and she’s...she’s...

“Tell me,” Jamie says again, a quiet command that drags soft nails up Dani’s back. She shivers, nodding, and Jamie takes the lead at last.

***

She hadn’t thought, somehow, about this part. Not in so many firmly phrased words. She’d thought about the shape of it, of Dani in her flat, of Dani in her bed, of Dani kissing her, touching her, but somehow, this part slid away every time it tried to rise in her mind.

The part of the show where clothes go away. The part of the show Jamie has always liked the most, and the least, at the same time.

Dani is kissing her when she slides both hands beneath the sweater, easing it up, giving Dani ample time to pull away. Dani, instead, sits up just enough to allow the sweater to rise over breasts, shoulders, head. Jamie drops it off the bed, leans back on her knees, smiles.

“Is there...” Dani isn’t covering herself, exactly, but there’s a sort of nakedness to her expression that has nothing to do with clothes disappearing. “I mean, am I--”

She leaves it unspoken, a bit embarrassed: right? okay? enough?

“Perfect,” Jamie tells her. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

She takes the hem of her own shirt in her hand, waits, pleased when Dani sits up and covers that hand with her own searching fingers. She doesn’t want to go anywhere Dani isn’t willing to take her, and she certainly doesn’t want to deprive her of the small moments that make a first time with someone else so electric. When Dani guides the shirt up over her head, it’s like Jamie’s never done this, either--no woman has ever just looked at her, eyes steady and searching, in a moment like this.

Women are usually the fast, nervous, lights-off-don’t-talk kind of souls in Jamie’s bed. Touch me, kiss me, don’t look, don’t ask questions, don’t act like you want to be here. But Dani is looking at her with lips parted, hands tracing the lines of Jamie’s neck, collarbones, the dip between her breasts. Her fingers are shaking so hard, Jamie covers them with her own, pulls them to her lips.

“One thing at a time,” she says quietly. “Anything’s too much, we pull back.”

Dani pulls at her, guiding Jamie’s hands back to work the clasp of her bra, to cover her skin with soft, careful strokes. She arches into Jamie’s hand and whimpers, and Jamie thinks there was no way, no way she could have predicted any of this. Not as it is. Not as Dani is letting it be.

***

She’d thought, back in the greenhouse, that Jamie’s kiss was enough to drown in. That Jamie’s lips traveling from her mouth to her throat to her ear was enough to drive her wild enough that she’d forget her own name.

It’s nothing compared to Jamie kissing her now, holding her with gentle hands as she explores every inch of skin she can reach. She is all tongue, all soft bite, all lips on shoulder, on pulse, on everything Dani has never been able to imagine letting someone else even look upon.

Here, Jamie’s jean-clad legs intertwined with her own bare ones, her skirt rucked high, Dani thinks maybe this is the best it could possibly be. To be in Jamie’s bed, with Jamie’s hand light on her breast and Jamie’s kiss burning hot as she travels lower, as she moves like they’ve got all the time in the world, is maybe the best the world could ever get.

Every so often, Jamie raises her eyes, and Dani feels something hot and tight clutch in her stomach. Jamie, asking if this is all right. Jamie, sucking a mark into the skin of her belly. Jamie, one hand moving lower so slowly, Dani sort of thinks she’s going to scream.

***

She’s trying to go slow, trying to take this as easily as she possibly can, but every inch of Jamie is on fire. Part of her is hyper-aware of the reality of the situation: that Dani is nervous, that Dani is special, that Dani is someone Jamie couldn't bear hurting even on accident. And, more: that Jamie’s scar is out on display, that Jamie’s home is out on display, that Jamie is more visible and vulnerable with shirt off and jeans on and mouth pressed to the smooth arc of Dani’s stomach than she’s been in years.

When Dani takes her by the wrist, she’s sure they’ve gone far enough--that the heat between her own legs will have to wait, that Dani is going to roll off the bed and scramble back into her sweater and away from--

Her hand, wrapped around Jamie’s, slides beneath her skirt.

Her fingers, wrapped around Jamie’s, guide her to press against damp underwear.

Her back arches. Jamie groans.

“Okay,” she breathes, looking up at Dani’s too-blue eyes. “Okay, getting the picture.”

***

She didn’t know. Didn’t have the first idea what this would feel like. Didn’t have even the remotest frame of reference, and if she were anywhere else, if she were with anyone else, maybe she’d still be too keyed-up to find out.

But Jamie is sliding back up the bed, hand rubbing soft, testing circles between Dani’s legs, and yes--she thinks she’s starting to understand at last.

She kisses Jamie hard, without care of how she looks or being even the least bit smooth, her own hand fumbling toward the zipper of Jamie’s jeans. No time like the present, she thinks with a truly unexpected delight, pleased when Jamie spreads her legs and shifts her hips to help her ease between cloth and skin.

“Right for it,” Jamie pants in surprise, and Dani is too invested to feel embarrassed. Jamie is soft under her hand, wet, hips jerking to match her clumsy movements. She closes her eyes, concentrates on trying to mirror what Jamie’s doing with her own considerably more nimble fingers. Tries to match her in slow, gentle pressure--then a little faster, as Jamie sucks breath through her teeth--and faster yet, when Jamie presses up in a way she doesn’t fully expect.

She doesn’t even realize she’s losing control until she’s already halfway gone, her hand tripping and fumbling as Jamie uses two fingers and a series of quick, rhythmic motions to set a pace Dani can’t help but follow with her hips. She realizes she’s rolling onto her back, arching, making noises she’s never heard from her own lips, and Jamie rolls to follow, kissing those noises into muffled joy.

Jamie rides out the spasms with her, keeping her hand exactly where it is, slowing to a gentle rest of fingertips against ruined underwear. Dani’s vaguely aware her own hand is still down Jamie’s pants, no longer moving. She exhales.

“I--”

“S’all good,” Jamie says, her smile edged with something Dani thinks looks rather smug. “First time. Takes practice.”

***

It doesn’t surprise her, Dani falling asleep soon after. There were some mumbling sounds about reciprocation, about fairness, about wanting to feel Jamie twitch and groan under her fingers--but Jamie, jeans unzipped, feeling rather good about herself, only pulled her in close. Kissed her slowly. Let her fade into a gentle doze against Jamie’s shoulder.

Good, Jamie thinks, though her skin is buzzing and there is an ache she hasn’t felt in a long time low in her belly. Rest, Poppins. There’s always tomorrow.

If pressed, she couldn’t say why she feels such pride, such easy pleasure, watching the way Dani sinks into sleep in her arms. Maybe because Dani hasn’t looked like someone with the benefit of a good night’s sleep since Jamie met her. Maybe simply because Dani feels perfectly safe, perfectly notched against Jamie in this small bed.

Either way, it feels right, Dani’s warm breath spilling across her bare skin. It feels right, even in this dumpy little flat above the only pub in Bly, though Dani is surely too good for a place like this.

Maybe not for someone like me, though, Jamie thinks blearily, too pleased and too tired to pile upon that idea the weight of a lifetime not being good enough. Past doesn’t matter, not with Dani. It’s different, with Dani.

She drifts. Tomorrow, they’ll wake to sunlight streaming through thin curtains, and maybe Dani will be a little embarrassed about everything they’ve done--maybe she’ll want to talk about it, or want to pretend it never happened, and Jamie will figure out how to handle the pain of that then.

She falls asleep thinking this is possible--but somehow knowing it isn’t likely. Isn't Dani. It’s too early to know a thing like that, but all the same, Jamie is pretty certain there will be no mortified scramble for clothes, no pushing her aside as Dani runs for the door, no awkward small talk on the ride back to the house.

She does not anticipate, upon waking, Dani kissing her cheek. Kissing the corner of her lips. Kissing her neck and murmuring, “Morning...” with a question on the end of the word Jamie can’t help but laugh at before she’s even fully awake.

“First thing, huh?”

Dani smiles at her, the smile of a woman who selected this very date venue not out of any polite curiosity about a small village pub, but because this particular bed existed above it. “Takes practice, you said.”

Jamie inhales sharply as a hand cups very lightly against the front of jeans that feel entirely irrelevant. “I did. Yeah. I definitely did.”

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jame x dani #all right all right something happy for once #for all the many anons who've been asking for the pub date #knew I'd get around to it eventually

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papergirllife · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5

Synopsis:

You don’t know what it’s like to be free, to make your own choices, and live your own life. For your whole life, your parents have been treating you like a puppet on strings, controlling your life to every single detail, as well as ignoring the fact that you have feelings. Other times, when you disobey their wishes, or speak up about your own opinions, they bash you down with words, in other words, psychological abuse, has led you down the long winded road of depression and anxiety. What happens when you meet a man who’s willing to be your guide out of this terrible downpour? Would you give a shot at happily ever after?

Warnings:

big age gap (kinda?)

issues on anxiety

issues on depression (mild)

issues on parental abuse (psychologically as well as physically for this chapter)

smut (maybe)

You and Johnny were officially a couple for the past four months now, things have been going smoothly between the two of you as of now. Other than the occasional argument about things happening between you and your parents. The two of you have gone on many more dates, with Johnny insisting on feeding you full after he found out your mom had cut down on meals significantly just to save a few extra pennies.

It was a Friday night, after a dinner at this Shanghai cuisine restaurant that served your favourite Xiao Long Bao and La Mian thatJohnny had driven you home after dinner, his car parked near the guardhouse before killing the engine, the interior of the car is suddenly silent, his hand plays with your tiny fingers while the other hand tugs lightly at a lock of your hair.

“Sweetheart? Can I ask you something?” Johnny asks as he looks at you with cautious eyes, a slight uncertainty in his tone.

“Yeah?” you replied, giving him your full attention. Johnny rarely sounds so serious.

“I wanted to do this months ago, but I missed my chance. So I’m going to ask you again. Can I kiss you?” Johnny said in one breath, his confident CEO persona completely disappeared.

Johnny’s forwardness made your heart beat against your chest like drums in a parade, your thoughts starting to swirl as you register his words, but insecurity clouds your mind, what if your kissing doesn’t live up to his expectations? You’ve never done this before after all.

“Y-yeah, but I’ve never been kissed. What if I’m a bad kisser?” you asked, voicing your worries.

“I don’t care, you won’t be. Everyone has their first times,” Johnny reassured you. Johnny cups your cheek with his hand, his face leaning towards yours, his lips inches away from yours.

“Can I?” You could feel Johnny’s breath fanning your lips, you could feel your heart thumping against your chest so loudly that you worry Johnny could hear how nervous you are.

“Y-yeah.”

Johnny gently molded his lips against yours, the pace slow with uncertainty, just in case you weren’t feeling comfortable with the whole ordeal. When you got a bit more used to how kissing works, you let your hands wander to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you. Johnny took this as a good sign and kisses you harder, his tongue clashing with yours, you bit at his lower lip gently, getting a minor reaction out of him, a gasp of surprise. Johnny’s eyes open at your sudden boldness, his eyes crescent as he smiles into the kiss, before you pulled away, gasping for air.

“Thank you for everything, sweetheart,” Johnny said, his voice breathless, this was your doing, you realised.

Johnny leans his forehead against yours, his eyes looking into yours once again. The smile on both your faces reflecting each other. Johnny was first to pull away, a hand reaching for the backseat. He passed you a large envelope.

“There’s a phone inside, it’s disguised as a toy car. I got the idea from a tiktok and bought it off amazon. There’s only one number saved in there, press on it and you’ll be able to reach me. The charger is inside as well, along with some legal documents about abuse that I want you to take a look at. Before you say no, just read it as extra material okay? I want you to understand your own rights as a person. There’s also a credit card inside too, get some food from the grocer so that if you get hungry at night you won’t get gastric,” Johnny says, placing the parcel gently into your tiny hands.

“Johnny. This is too much. Why are you giving me so many things?” you asked, brows furrowed, not knowing how to accept so many gifts from him at once.

“Sweet, you need these things to survive. I’m just giving you what you were supposed to have in your life, and I’m not taking a no for it,” Johnny said as he holds your hand over the large envelope, not taking a no for it.

“Why?” you asked, no one has ever cared for you like this, not as detailed, not as generous.

“Because I need to do everything in my power to keep you safe, and it’s about time now, you should head up before they accuse you of something stupid again. I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart,” Johnny says before unlocking the doors

“Okay, see you tomorrow, and thank you for everything as well,” you said as you hurriedly stuffed the envelope into your backpack.

You gave Johnny’s hand one last squeeze before you reluctantly let go and exited his car.

Johnny didn’t drive away until he saw you reach the glass door of your lobby, already missing your presence.

Everything with Johnny started getting better, you realised that your depression has gotten slightly better with Johnny in your life, he was like a rainbow after the rain, full of smiles and laughter whenever you’re with him. Ever since the two of you started warming up to each other after the kiss you two shared, Johnny started giving you hugs. Johnny’s hugs made him feel like a giant warm teddy bear, especially if he had a sweater or knitwear on, which was quite often, given the change of weather in Seoul. You find him cutest when he wears a beanie, his soft brown hair tuffing out just a little, making him look like a little boy.

The little cafes that Johnny enjoys venturing into started putting up Christmas decorations, making you smile whenever Johnny pulls you into one and starts singing along the carols played in the cafe. Johnny would tell you all about his mother’s love for Christmas, buying new trees every year, sticking up photos of him and his brother, Mark onto ornaments. He even promised to make a trip back Chicago to see her after Christmas, to avoid the crowd at airports. You just love it when he smiles so brightly every time he talks about his mother. It somehow makes up for the lack of family love inside you.

Since it was nearing Christmas day which falls on a weekday, your family decides to host a dinner gathering with all your relatives, something that you are not looking forward to at all. You parents are people that are very hard to deal with, but so are your annoying relatives.

Your mother has been fussing about in the kitchen, constantly in a bad mood for the entire day, one tiny mistake from you and she’ll go ballistic, the only help your father was contributing was agreeing with her on how dumb and useless you were whenever you accidentally stepped on her tail. In other words, you were in yet another emotional turmoil from her degrading words, always on the edge of a breakdown or panic attack.

Your emotions were kept at bay once your relatives started coming, your duties to make sure that they’re comfortable and had a drink in hand distracting you from your mother’s cruel words and your father’s disappointing gaze. Your relatives mostly kept to themselves, talking about the stock market or plans of reviving the company, pausing only to ask about your work at the office and plans for college as enrollment season nears. On the other hand, all your cousins weren’t here yet, but you didn’t dare to question, not wanting to disturb your aunt and uncles from their serious conversation.

Not long after, the guards had sent up your cousins as per your father’s request, apparently they had gone out together before coming to your house for dinner. Your father had started asking them about their respective studies as well as jobs while your aunts and uncles started bragging about how well your cousins were doing, a side eye every once in a while at your lack of achievement.

“Crystal just started her internship with this chemical manufacturing company, and they’re going to hire her once the three month internship ends,” youru aunty brags.

Your cousin Crystal was always smart and talented, from spelling bees in grade school, to essay competitions in college. The person who your parents love to compare most to. The bragging competition ended once dinner was all set, there should be enough food for everyone, since your mother had specifically cut down your usual meals for this. Oh the things she would do just to look good.

Everyone was focused on their meal, until one of your cousins called your name from the other end of the table.

“Was that man at the grocer the other day your boyfriend, cuz? I was picking up a snack for lunch and saw you there with a handsome man,” she asks, wording it like she actually cared for your happiness.

You could feel all eyes on you as you try to steady the pace of your heartbeat. Your mind telling your body to keep it together as you gathered yourself to look at your cousin.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, it was probably my co worker or some customer,” you lied, they can’t know about Johnny.

“Oh, I just thought you the two of you laughing together seemed like you were really close with him,” your cousin says more, unconvinced of your excuse.

“I just have odd customers,” another lie, followed by a casual ‘I see’ from your cousin before she chats up one of your younger cousins.

After the tense filled conversation, the dinner table fell back into silence which was soon broken by your uncle complaining about the recent political happenings, but you could feel your mother and father’s eyes lingering on you suspiciously.

The gathering ended around half past eleven, your relatives filing out your door made you less nervous, yet a daunting feeling looming in your chest as your mother’s hardened gaze greets you once you closed the door of the house.

“Who is that man Eunbin asked you about?” she interrogated once the door was shut.

"Like I said just now, a customer,” you said, what else could you say?

“Don’t give me that crap. Who is that man?!” She asked as she pushed your shoulder with an accusing finger, her nail digging into your flesh through your shirt.

“Nobody! How many times do you want me to say that?!” you asked, temper flaring that she would actually believe your cousin’s meaningless prode.

Your mother slapped you across the face with all her strength, although that wasn’t a lot, the emotional pain was searing a fresh wound onto your heart.

“Don’t you dare shout at me like that! I’m your mother, now tell me the truth! Are you seeing someone again?! Did you not learn from your lesson when you were 15?! I told you to not date until you work!” She screamed, her high pitched voice stinging your eardrums.

“I’m not!” you retorted.

Your mother slapped your face again, this time repeatedly. The immensive pain from her repeated abuse started bringing you back to when you were 15, getting slapped repeatedly as you were in a trip at Shanghai, the night where you first cried yourself to sleep. You could feel your throat threatening to close as you stumbled away from her hits, the lack of oxygen making you stumble at every step, your head knocking onto a couch nearby, the pain making your head throb as you gathered your last breath, and ran into your room and locked it shut.

“Damn it, she locked it!” You heard your father say as he tugged at the doorknob of your bedroom door.

“Give me the spare keys!” You heard your mom shout.

“I don’t know where you placed them,” you heard your father reply her, still tugging at the doorknob.

“What do you mean you don’t know?! I’ll skin you alive once you come out of that room Y/N, you hear me?!” She directed the threats at you.

“You could’ve just said the truth and things wouldn’t have ended this way Y/N, your mother just wants what’s right for you,” was the only thing your father had said through out the whole commotion as he stood by and did nothing after he gave up on using brute force to open the door.

You couldn’t help but break down right then and there when you heard the coast was clear, the tears couldn’t help but stream down your face as you replayed those moments and the pain you felt you were 15, the god awful memories overlapping with each other, without you realising, your chest started to heave as the crying made it even more difficult to breathe. You did the only thing you could think of, calling Johnny, in hopes that his calm soothing voice would be able to talk you through your panic attack.

You reached under your pillow to pull out the miniature car cell phone, pushing the buttons to reach Johnny’s number with your shaky hands. The sound of the dial was nerve wrecking, and when it went voice mail, your mind started to panic further, you needed to sought comfort. You calmed yourself down a bit looking at a corner of your room, it always helped you to regain focus in these situations. Once you felt better, the phone in your hand vibrated, the screen blinding you with Johnny’s contact. You quickly went into your bathroom and shut the door to pick up his call.

“Hello? Y/N? Are you alright?” Johnny asked, his tone frantic.

“O-one of my cousins found out about you and my parents started shouting at me,” you said, the only sentence you could utter in the midst of all this chaos in your head.

“Fuck’s sake. Did they hit you?” Johnny asked, he wants to know how much pain you’re in to contemplate on what he could do to help you feel better, hoping that your parents hadn’t took it so far.

You didn’t dare to reply, you knew how mad Johnny could get, just like the last time he saw the bruises on your arms.

“Sweetheart, please tell me, did they hurt you?” Johnny pleaded, but deep in his gut, he somehow already knew the answer, no ones knows you as well as Johnny.

“Yes, my mom slapped me, just like last time,” you uttered, you didn’t feel like talking about it, it made you feel sick, but you know Johnny deserves the right to know.

After confessing what had occurred, you started brawling again, you couldn’t help it. You felt so miserable inside out, like a boa constrictor wrapping itself around you, suffocating your body and mind.

“I’m coming to get you,” Johnny speaks up when he heard your cries.

“Johnny, I can’t...

“You can, sweetheart. You’re 18, you’re an adult, you can move out on your own, away from them, away from all this torture they’re putting you through. Pack as many things as you can, I’m not allowing you to stay in that hell hole any longer. I’m coming in 20,” Johnny said affirmingly, not taking no for an answer.

Then the call was out, you were still registering the words. Move out, pack up, they felt so foreign, but you snapped yourself out of your haze as you heard snores coming from your parents’ room, they’re fast asleep, this is your chance. You started taking out all the bags you could find in your closet and dumped everything you needed into them, from underwear to the clothes that you still wanted as well as shampoos and all your skin care products. You carried all your bags on your own, the weight was making your shoulders cry, but you didn’t care, you’d do anything for freedom.

You unlocked your door as well as the main door as silently as you could. Once you were out and locked the door, you bolted to the escalators, thankfully, no one was using them at this odd hour anymore. The ride down the escalator had you reliving all the painful memories you could remember, the adrenaline you felt just now was keeping your panic attack at bay.

Once you made your way out the escalator and the lobby door, you could see Johnny’s car parked outside the guardhouse. You quickly ran towards it, ignoring the bulk on your back, you didn’t mind how the things in the bag were hitting against your bones with every jog, all you needed now was starting a new life.

You opened Johnny’s car’s back door, dumping all your bags in before you crashed inside as well. Your body relieved of all the physical and also emotional weight leaving your bones. Johnny turned back to look at you, shocked at how red your face was, and the slight bump on your head.

“Baby, sweetheart, what happened? How many times did she slapped you? And why is there a bruise on your head?” Johnny asked, his hand tracing the injury gently.

“I lost count, the bruise was because of me, I got dizzy and hit on something,” you told him.

“Let’s go home Y/N, no more nightmares here,” Johnny said before revving the engine, the car moving.

Home, that’s what Johnny is, because after all, home is where the heart is.

“This is your room, I’ll help you unpack in the morning, I took the day off,” Johnny said after directing you through his large penthouse, opening a door to another big room as well, deeming it yours.

“What? Why?” you asked, you hate keeping him away from work.

“To make sure you’re okay. I’ll be taking you to a medical center to make sure you didn’t injure anywhere important as well, but I’m going to put some ointment on your face, I don’t want it to get swollen and even more painful than it is, hold on, I’ll be right back.”

Johnny patted your knee lightly after he told you to sit on the bed, leaving to get whatever he needed to patch you up. You looked outside the floor to ceiling windows, taking in the beautiful view of Seoul’s Eurwangni Beach at night, the lights of Incheon Bridge shining nearby. Johnny lived in the penthouse of an expensive condominium, when you first stepped into his home, you felt extra tiny in such a vast space.

Your attention was diverted from the beautiful view when you heard Johnny make his way in once more, squatting down to your level.

“This is going to hurt a little,” Johnny said as he turned the cap of the ointment.

Johnny dabbed the ointment on your cheeks and the bruise on your head, his other hand holding yours as you squeeze it once he touches a particularly painful spot. Johnny’s eyes hardly blinked when he was tending to your injuries, careful of not hurting you furthermore.

“Done. You can get some sleep now,” Johnny said, standing up and closing the cap of the medicine.

Johnny lifted your legs into the bed and under the fluffy blanket, tucking you into the bed. Johnny placed a kiss on your lips before leaving, and reminding you that he’s just down the hall.

“Wait!”

“What is it, sweet?” Johnny asked, stopping midway at the doorframe.

“I just wanna say thank you... for everything,” you seem to say this way too often.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Goodnight,” Johnny said before switching off the lights.

“Night.”

Once the lights were turned off, you let fatigue take over your body and fell into sleep.

You always had dreams whenever you slept, it was one of the side effects of depression. For you, the dreams become nightmares whenever your mental health is at its brink, but tonight, is one of the worse ones you ever had.

You were tied to onto a slab of concrete as a hooded figure comes to your way, you couldn’t make out what or who it was. When the hooded figure was right in front of you, its hand slid out from its long black cloak, but instead of flesh, they were skeletal with sharp talon nails. The creature drew blood from your wrist that were constricted by ropes until your whole arm was cute open. Next thing you knew, you bolted up from your bed, eyes wide open as cold sweat drips on your back.

Suddenly, your door was slammed opened, a little light flooding in, followed by Johnny in his tee shirt and sweats, his face full of worry.

“You screamed. Did you have a nightmare?” Johnny asked, taking a seat on your bed next to you.

You only nodded, the fear sealing your lips shut as your heartbeat goes out of control, your limbs shaking underneath the blanket. Your hands were clutching the blanket tightly as you held it in your lap.

Johnny takes slow steps towards you, scooting closer, his big hands engulfing yours as he pulls you into his arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s gone now. I’m here now, no one’s going to hurt you,” Johnny whispered, fearing that if his voice was any louder it’ll startle you further.

Johnny lets go of your hands and pulls you closer into his embrace, his warmth making you feel safe again. You didn’t cry, maybe you were still in shock, or maybe you didn’t have any more tears left for the day, all you did was holding onto Johnny as he laid down beside you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear to help you sleep.

#nct smut #nct fluff #johnny smut #johnny suh #johnny seo #johnny fluff #nct #nct 127

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mannien · 3 years

Text

Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - CHAPTER 1

The one with stress, takeout food around the world, late night walks, and Disney dreams.

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: some stress, some anxiety, mention of sex, and a lot of smiles

Masterlist

Fourth week into the morning pitch meetings at BBC, Millie felt lifeless and drained. The room was usually exploding with ideas, creative energy, and a lot of constructive feedback to the few interns who were allowed to join the conversation with editors, writers, and producers. That morning had started ugly enough for her: with an overwhelming number of e-mails about the schedule and missing content for Politics Live.

When she first landed her spot at BBC, Millie was over the moon. She was constantly calling it a dream come true, a once in a lifetime opportunity for her to begin a writing career in media. Her degree seemed to be the best choice for her future and Millie was ready to prove that graduating from humanities can actually land her a decent job. Her first days were filled with morning preparations, early commute to the city centre and exceptionally smoothed out shirts. The work environment in such a fast-paced industry felt inspiring and daunting at the same time, but Millie felt obligated to use this experience to its full potential. Each day she attempted to learn more than the day before and possibly show off a tiny bit more of her creative skills to her superiors. She spent her evenings researching topics and people, trying not to fall out of the loop. Being one step forward was hard work, one that Millie desperately wanted to ace.

The second week of her internship brought a slight shift to her agenda. After grasping the general concepts of working for a major radio and TV broadcasting company, she was aware of the production processes. She tried to happily follow up all the details about the work of a writer, a researcher, or an editor – just so she could be prepared for the follow-up of the introductory week. And as she hoped her interview was remembered and she would soon contribute to any program touching upon music or pop culture, her dreams and calls were slowly fading away. The intern manager ascribed her to the team devoted strictly to politics and daily news, having no vacancies for the popular radio programs. Even though she took whatever spot was offered, it was only to get more insight and experience.

Having already managed to speak up a few times during the morning routines in the conference room, Millie eased herself into the work environment and was treated like a regular employee. But the first wave of success quickly passed, especially when she was hit with growing emptiness in her brain. She did not enjoy politics, so as far as she could, she attempted to sneak in a sociological aspect into the context. But her tactic had an expiration date.

A couple of heads were expectantly turned at Millie when she was unsurely stuttering her weak ideas for the upcoming programme. She knew it wasn’t going well and she was mentally cursing herself for trying to impress the producers that much so early on.

“This isn’t gonna work. We’ve covered this enough in the evening news. Let’s take five, and maybe you’ll come up with a different angle. I’ll give you another shot here.”

Hugh, the head writer took off his glasses and watched her fidget in her seat. She nodded and took a deep breath, before leaving the room for a short break. Her mind was racing in panic; she wasn’t ready to admit that she didn’t have any idea. She walked back and forth through the corridor until she cursed quietly and walked away to the main hall. She pulled her phone from the back pocket and without overthinking this anymore, she called her boyfriend. He picked up after the third ring.

“Babe, can I call you back…”

“No, Frank,” She felt determined and fierce. Her hands shook from the pure view on board members slowly coming back from the kitchen with fresh coffee mugs. They were probably waiting to hear her another take on the TV show which Millie, wholeheartedly, was beginning to hate. “My work on the programme is too basic and I’ve been roasted for the past fifteen minutes or so. Hugh has me in the spotlight in front of everyone. Help me, please?”

“It’s not your fault they’ve given you a job you’re not good at, babe. It’s just an internship, they will roast you anyway.”

Millie’s lungs were ready to stop working and suffocate her. She feared she might start hyperventilating, or at least meet up with a panic attack from the nerves. Franklin’s reaction seemed to be absolutely unfair and inconsiderate of her actual feelings, and he must have felt that through the piercing silence on the line.

“Look, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t worry so much about it. They will probably just give you another placement where you’ll fit more, I don’t see why it’s such a bad thing.” And just like that, she started doubting herself and her right to overthink her situation. It didn’t sit well with Millie and she could feel anger slowly making its way through her veins.

“Can’t you just fucking help me? This one time?” She lost her temper, she lost her patience. At the same time Riley, one of the end writers, started waving at her from the end of the hall as to show her that her time is coming to an end. “I need a hook, or something that would spark a debate. Brexit-themed, maybe. Can you think of anything?”

Frank groaned loudly. He wasn’t exactly happy that she made him break down his ambitious wall and let her in on topics he was too invested in. Millie could hear him moving around as he left his desk of the equally large office of The Guardian, until the line went surprisingly quiet. Her anger and fear made her clutch her phone tightly to her ear, while her legs started carrying her slowly to the terrifying conference room.

“Think internationally. See what the Spanish had to say about May’s resignation from the Office. Think economics in the EU. Try to stand on the Union’s side and do some fair judgement.”

“Give me facts, not ideas. You’re the one who knows politics.”

“Spanish government says that May’s resignation is bad news. Compare it to the popular opinion that she was the worst Prime Minister since the 18th century and the American war on independence.” Millie breathed in, trying to desperately grasp all the details he just provided her with.

“That’s a… harsh and history-digging argument,” She mumbled in surprise, “where did you get that from?” She grabbed a yellow post-it note from the reception desk and quickly scribbled the key words on it. Her briefing on politics was never something like this and she could feel the embarrassment making its way into her heart. It wasn’t her way of thinking and she felt like a fraud.

“I can’t tell you that.” By the end of the single sentence Millie could feel the blood escaping her face, making her look pale and scared for dear life. She didn’t want to have heard that sentence, she was definitely happier not knowing how did he come up with a story like this. That was one of the many reasons she tried not to talk business with him.

“An opinion entry. A column for The Guardian. Shit, you just busted one of your colleagues.”

“Sometimes I hate it that you’re smart. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You just saved my internship!”

“Please don’t say that. I will pretend that we just talked about the weather.”

“I’ll spend them the details. You’re the best, Frank.”

“Alright, go kick ass.”

And that she did. Franklin did save her internship, mainly because Millie avoided the specifics about who and why said something so harsh about the resigning Prime Minister. However, it definitely did spark interest among the production board. Afraid of not being so lucky next time, she decided to politely suggest a replacement for her permanent internship division within BBC, due to her ‘personal discomfort with discussions over issues of such importance and potential shame to their glorious country.’

Millie felt bad for using her boyfriend’s knowledge for survival at work. She wasn’t genuine and her idea didn’t come from her hard work - it was sourced in fear and anxiety-driven reactions. This situation proved to her that she wasn’t fit for the position, but it also raised her stress levels around the fact that she couldn’t get by on her own in the industry. She didn’t want others to navigate her through it all, but the conversation she had with Frank had also made her uncomfortable. Her need of support in a stressful situation was primarily turned down, so—naturally to her character—she started to worry even more.

With a heavy heart and two bags of Wagamama takeout, she walked up the stairs to his apartment. She was usually working until later hours than Frank, so all she really needed was for him to open the door for her. She leaned on the doorframe as she waited patiently for the two turns of the lock. He opened still in his work attire – tailored jeans and a light grey button up shirt. He was holding his phone next to his ear and humming approvingly to the speaker when he looked her up and down. He winked at her and let her in, as he continued to talk with someone.

Inside, Millie found the TV turned on with a football game playing. His work jacket was still hanging on the back of the tall stool in the kitchen, and the grocery bags laid unpacked on the table. She took off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen, where she made a little room for their food on the countertop. Pulling off her sweater, she peeked into the shopping bags – she wasn’t surprised to find a couple bottles of beer and food essentials, a multipack of tissues and a large box of condoms.

“What’s all this, babe?” Franklin came up to her and briefly kissed her on the lips, before looking into the boxes with deliciously smelling food.

“I just thought it might be nice to eat some goodies,” She smiled, trying to sniff out his mood first. He smiled back at her with approval and reached for the plates in the cupboard, so she continued, “also, it’s a ‘thank you for being my saviour today,’ kinda thing.”

“Ah, yeah. I bet everyone on my floor will hate BBC’s guts for that.” Frank said it so casually, with a shrug to follow up, that Millie struggled to understand the dynamic he had at The Guardian. He seemed to be a great fit for his team, because a week into his new job, he was already invited for Friday drinks and talked about his co-workers just like anyone would about their long-time friends. She couldn’t understand how was he getting so lucky at any step, but the last thing she wanted to do is doubt him. Any time worries and competitiveness clouded her brain, Millie was making extra room for compassion and support.

Frank unloaded some of the curry on his plate and started eating with a fork, and then made his way to the living room where he spread out on the sofa. He didn’t say anything else, somewhat scaring Millie that he will let her know he’s uncomfortable randomly, on a promisingly good day. Trying to figure out her brain, she followed his actions and took some extra food to the coffee table, before sitting down next to him.

“But you’re not gonna get into trouble for that, are you?” she was biting the inside of her cheek hard, definitely not used to not being judged for using someone else’s help.

“Nah, I don’t think so. They don’t know I’ve got a girl at BBC, so I should be just fine.”

Millie ate her curry in silence, suddenly at loss of words driven by his surprising statement. She didn’t want to raise an argument or seem overly sensitive. But for some reason she hoped that he would talk about her at work, especially considering his already formed strong bonds in the office, and a definitely higher success rate in his position. Ever so charming Franklin, he always glowed among people. She couldn’t really fight with this, so she just kept any comments to herself and focused on her food.

Frank switched the channel to the evening news and pulled her to his side once they were done eating. It comforted Millie to know that at the end of the day, they could both enjoy each other’s company, no matter what was happening at work. She didn’t pay much attention to the news, but rather focused on the way he reacted to it and what he enjoyed. She felt too tired to get invested in another load of politics, so she just soaked in his warmth and curled more into his side. He smelled of coffee and heavy, musky cologne that he liked to reapply frequently. Millie closed her eyes and breathed out the stress that weighed her down after a long day, finally finding peace.

“I’ll go grab a beer, you want one?” he abruptly stood up, making her slightly loose her balance and lean back towards the pillows. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips in a thin line.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure? You’re awfully quiet today.” He spoke already from the kitchen, not even catching a glimpse of her pursed lips.

“I just need to wind down. It’s been stressful day.” She pushed a little smile on her cheeks as he came back with a frown. He took a few large sips of his drink and put it on the table, before lowering himself on the couch and leaning over Millie.

“I can help you relax, if you want.” He raised an eyebrow in a flirtatious manner, leaning into her and leaving a series of delicate kisses on her lips. He then moved onto her jaw and sucked on her skin, but never left a mark. Slowly massaging her waist, he slid his hand under her shirt and sprawled his fingers across her hip to pull her closer.

Millie enjoyed the warmth that started to spread through her body, but she couldn’t find any energy to give some of it back. She felt drained and exhausted, so a mere thought about participating in sexual activities was sure to make her at least slightly uncomfortable. Unless Frank was willing to change something about it.

“Okay, hold on,” her chuckle and a light push at his chest made him narrow his eyebrows in confusion, “I don’t think I’ve got enough energy today, Frankie.” Her whisper was followed by a reassuring smile. She weaved her fingers through his short hair and kissed the tip of his nose.

“What if I provide you with some energy first?”

“What, you’ll give me an energy drink?” She laughed at her poor joke and he chuckled, too, but more at her silliness than anything else. He laid her down comfortably and cautiously peppered her with kisses on her neck and the tiny bit of cleavage that was available without unbuttoning her shirt. She was slowly giving in, allowing him to get lower on her body and touch her. Frank either wanted to make her feel better, or was really horny. But whatever the case was, she didn’t want to stop him and ruin his enthusiasm. The glow in his eyes and admiration painted across his face were too intoxicating to back away. His touch was filled with sparks of emotions and a kind of drive that Millie was addicted to. She felt wanted and needed, and that’s what made her return the heated kisses despite her hooded, weary eyes.

They walked hand in hand through the chilly evening, sometime after she persuaded Frank to walk her to the nearest tube station. The wind was slightly tickling her neck, but other than that she felt at peace. She let her hair down, flowing gently with each blow of the air and lightly caressing her face like a safety blanket. They swayed their hands until they had to make room for a group of people passing by.

“Jane texted me about a little get together this Friday,” She mumbled into the night, trying not to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere around them.

“Ah, yeah. Aaron told me about it, too. I guess we’re going, right?”

“Yeah, it might be nice. The girls mentioned this new club near their apartment? I think that’s where they wanted to go.”

“Cool. I could use a little break.”

As they continued their walk, Millie mostly focused on leading the way through tight London streets. Franklin’s parents rented him an apartment in the city centre, close to everything you could dream of in London. It also meant crowded streets at any hour, so to have a nice walk around the neighbourhood usually requested it to be late at night. But it didn’t matter to him, as long as he had a short commute to the office and all other things that life requested from him, within reach. There were times when he would mention coming back to Manchester and supporting his parents at their law firm, but Millie saw how much he preferred his growing career as a journalist. Mathilda and William were a generous couple, so they shared their resources with him and tried to help him get into the business as smoothly as possible. Sometimes she wanted to ask him about his permanent position at The Guardian and whether his name had anything to do with it, but she never felt comfortable enough to do it. Some things were better left unspoken.

Reaching the staircase to the station, Franklin stopped and made her turn to him and look up at his smiling face.

“Thanks for coming over tonight. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too.” She smiled shyly, nodding her head in reassurance.

“I wish you could finally move to the city, though. It would be so much easier if you were a few blocks away.”

“You do realize that even if I moved out, it wouldn’t be anywhere nearby?” Her chuckle resonated through her body, almost as if she wanted to humour herself at the topic that had started to come up more often in their conversations.

“I could ask around the office if anyone has a room available to rent.”

“But I don’t want to share my personal space with strangers, you know this. Don’t try to change my mind about it.” She smiled tightly.

Frank has been trying to persuade her into moving out for months. He wanted to be closer to her, within a short train journey, rather than a whole commute in and out of Kingston. He felt comfortable in the business of London, and Millie liked to call him out on being spoiled by having an apartment on his own in such a lively part of the city. But she wasn’t financially ready to leave her family home in equally comfortable Southwest London, where she had all she needed within her reach, and her social life was just a tiny bit longer train trip away. It was a source of their small disputes from time to time, because it was Millie who spent more time on going to his place and spending time there. Naturally, it made her feel more engaged in their relationship and Frank tried his best make up for the difference. But one thing that never occurred, was Millie staying over for longer than a night. Even a night’s sleepover was a rare event, somehow always blessed by excuses from either one of them.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he pecked her lips and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I talk about it out of concern, okay?”

“Okay. But I like my train rides and I like Kingston. So let’s just deal with it for now, yeah?”

“’Course,” He sent her a tight smile before giving her one last kiss. “Text me when you get home.”

“Will do.”

Millie was one of those people who could be easily judged as thinkers. Years of taking trains and buses in and out of central London taught her to cherish every moment of peace she gets during her journeys. That’s how she learned to create playlists for each season – summer commutes were always different than autumn ones; they required different sounds and lyrical quality. Intense months during university semesters also showed her how to read fast between the stops and how to juggle standing on the tube and holding an open book without falling, as the train slowed and rushed every few seconds.

As she was approaching her station in Kingston, she stopped the music but kept her earphones in. A bunch of other people was hurrying to get out of the train and get home as soon as possible, but after leaving the station, she would have a lonely 15-minute walk to her neighbourhood, so she always tried to stay alert in the evenings. Getting on the sidewalk in the busiest area of Kingston, she closed her book and put it back in her backpack, pulled the jacket tighter around her middle and continued her steady walk.

The air was getting crispier with each minute outside. It was refreshing and calm, disturbed only by a few laughs from the pub across the street and two cars passing her by. She turned into one of the quieter streets, where the buildings were becoming shorter and more separated from each other. Brick fences and trimmed hedges adorned the concrete sidewalks on both sides of the street, illuminated only by a few lanterns. Most of the light was coming from the windows in a row of semi-detached houses that Millie has known for a good chunk of her life.

Right when she wanted to cross the street and take a right, she heard a subtle clicking of a dog collar and a leash. Soft padding from the back was slowly approaching her and becoming louder, as well as someone’s whistle.

“Tess, come here!” a hushed call didn’t disrupt the peace of the night, but rather added the familiarity that Millie adored. She slowed her walk and turned around, just in time to be met with lightly jogging blue Staffordshire Bull Terrier. She panted lightly with her tongue out and reached Millie’s legs, where she tucked her head and mewled timidly.

“Oh, and who do we have here?” Millie chuckled at the dog’s persistence in keeping close. She scratched her head and patted her on the back, “are you on your evening walk, Tessa? Is that right?”

“We didn’t mean to scare you, Millie,” Dominic reached them and sent Millie a kind and apologetic smile, “good evening.”

“Hi, it’s good to see you.” She beamed at the middle-aged man, whom she learned to adore like a family member.

“Likewise, yeah. Heading home?”

“I am, just got off the train.”

“We will keep you company, then. Is that alright?” He fixed his glasses and leaned down to attach the leash to Tessa’s collar. Millie’s insides warmed and her mind calmed down at the idea that she will get to spend a few minutes with a friend.

“Absolutely, thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. I bet Tom would have my head, hadn’t I offered,” they chuckled at the mention of his son. Their laughter died off comfortably and escaped into the night air, while Millie reminisced about the caring nature of the Hollands. “How is it going at BBC?” he asked after a moment, letting her go first through a narrow passage.

“It’s… going,” she smiled shyly, not sure how to dress up her words. In Dominic’s company she always felt one step behind in her creative skills; his writing and comic abilities exceeded her capabilities, or so she thought. “but I feel like I’ve definitely hit an end with politics. I know it’s only been a month, but it’s just… it keeps on proving that I should be writing about something else.”

“Oh, it’s totally understandable. Rest assured, you’re not the only one stuck like this,” They turned the corner onto her street. “but I wish you luck there. They have some sensible editors, so I assume you’ll get a chance at something else as well.”

“I hope so. Today I asked them about switching departments and the intern manager told me she will think about it, so there is a tiny light.”

“Something will always work out. You’re smart, you’ll find your way there.”

Dom and Millie continued down the sidewalk, until Tessa stopped near the gate to Millie’s house. She sniffed the pavement and turned back to the girl who crouched down to pet the Staffy one last time.

“Thanks for walking with me,” her smile was genuine, coming straight from her heart. “please say hi to Nikki and the boys. Is Sam still home?”

“He is, he starts his practice at the end of June. So, we all will be here to celebrate your birthdays.”

“Oh, that’s great! It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

“That’s true. But you’re welcome to stop by anytime.”

“I know, thank you.” With fondness painted across her face, she scratched Tessa’s ear and stood up straight, reaching for the keys in her pocket.

“Have a good night.”

“You too. Bye, Tess!”

Whenever she got the chance to interact with someone from their family, Millie instantly felt their love and care penetrate her straight to the core. It was this kind of relationship that had been built through the years, only making it stronger and bringing it closer to the concept of family.

Nikki, Dom’s wife and Anna, Millie’s mother met shortly before Millie and Tom were born. At first only neighbours, soon they became best friends to the point of engaging their families in a kind affair. Greetings at the doorstep turned into late night family dinners and weekends away with the kids. They were used to spending most of the birthdays and holidays together, especially when Millie and Tom’s birthdays two days apart brought them all closer. She raced her best friend in Anna’s womb and came out to this world right before the brown-haired boy. Ever since the Beavers celebrated the birth of their third and youngest daughter, the Hollands began their journey with four boys. They always stayed close and treated each other like family, deeming it necessary to nourish their friendship and turn it into something everlasting. The example of their parents taught Millie and Tom to mimic the closeness and made them create their own little world.

Millie’s older sisters also treated Tom, Harry, Sam and Paddy like brothers, but not as much as Millie did. Samantha and Liz were already grown toddlers when the families got together, so they figured more as the female patrons of their youngest sister and her adventures with the boys. But Millie and Tom’s friendship turned into something so effortless and harmless that no supervision was necessary. They were each other’s partners in crime, best friends from next door. Their mothers had signed them up for the same dance classes, helped them get to the same summer carnivals, and let them have late nights in makeshift dens. Millie was one of the first people their dog, Tessa, got familiar with. She missed him dearly when he started his journey as a young actor, but Nikki made sure he always made the time to call his best friend when the time zones were somewhat cooperating. They nurtured their friendship through Millie’s education and Tom’s career, not stopping even for a moment. He was there for her always, carrying her home when she scratched her knee after falling off the slings. She would help him with homework whenever he felt too embarrassed to ask his parents. Tom escorted her home from her disaster of a prom; he was the first one to understand her anxiety and help her through it. And Millie always read the books and scripts Tom needed to prepare for auditions. Just like that, they always found home in one another.

Their house smelled of baking and freshly watered plants. As quietly as possible, Millie took off her shoes and tip-toed into the kitchen, turning on only the least invasive, small lights. She put down her backpack and lightly stretched, letting out a tired, yet content breath. Her eyes scanned the kitchen in search for the source of the sweet scent, and there it was, on a cooling rack in the corner, covered with a tea towel – fresh lemon sponge cake, the favourite of Millie’s mother. Lightly dusted with powdered sugar, it added an extra layer of sweet comfort to the late night’s atmosphere. She left the cake untouched, but put the kettle on to quickly make herself a cup of tea for a good night’s sleep. She let out an overwhelming yawn and rested her hips on the side of the countertop, patiently waiting for the water to boil.

She felt her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans. The brightness of the screen was almost blinding, until it adjusted to the low lighting in the room. She could feel the anticipation growing in the back of her head as she noticed a new message.

(Tom) I got you something today

After a second or two, a picture loaded under the message. Millie gasped and smiled like mad, when he showed her a pair of Minnie Mouse sequin ears. It was an artefact that Millie has always dreamt of, not having an opportunity to go to Disneyland ever in her childhood. She awaited the chance with high hopes and wandering mind, but she knew the trip had to be thorough, well-planned, and wholesomely happy.

(Me) You were in Disneyland????

(Tom) yeah we did promo for spidey today

(Me) I’m so jealous rn

(Me) THANK YOU FOR THE EARS!!!!!

(Tom) it’s alright

(Tom) I didn’t get any weird looks at all

(Tom) Just casually carried around this shiny sparkling beauty

(Me) I bet you loved this feeling

(Me) I bet you bought yourself a pair too

(Tom) Don’t tell anyone

(Me) You could always pretend they’re for Tessa

(Me) I just saw her and your Dad btw

Whenever her and Tom texted, it always sparked a never-ending conversation about sweet nothings. They mocked each other, talked about their days, spoke about all things home. It allowed them a safe space from their daily hustles; Millie was able to breathe lightly and happily, and Tom had a chance to detach from the world he desperately tried not to drown in.

Almost spilling the tea, she slowly made it upstairs without losing the sight of her phone screen. She struggled to turn off the lights in the corridor without making a noise but somehow, she managed not to disturb her parents too much, as she reached her bedroom. Safe within her own little space, she put down the mug and let go of her backpack and jacket. She threw herself on the softest bedspread and waited patiently for Tom’s reply.

The text bubble stopped and a massage didn’t appear, but her phone started ringing. Millie answered the FaceTime call and waited for the camera on his phone to adjust and show his familiar face.

“I had a meeting with Disney and they want me to participate in one of their projects for a Marvel-themed ride at Disneyland,” from a crooked angle she could see his neatly gelled hair and uneven eyebrows. Tom was walking somewhere, but then sat down and perched his phone on the mug that stood on the coffee table, so that she could see him better.

“That’s exciting, right?”

“Oh, yeah!” She could see him rummage in a brown paper bag and pull out a box with some takeaway food. “But I’m telling you this because we could turn it into our Disneyland trip that you’ve wanted, right?”

“That would be nice, yeah.” She smiled back at the screen, but a terrible yawn sneaked in to her expression. Tom scrunched his forehead and took a large sip from a bottle of water.

“I didn’t wake you up now, did I?”

“No, I just came back home. I am tired, though.”

“Yeah? How was work?”

“Stressful and not nice. It wasn’t a good day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Wanna talk about it?”

Tom spent the next minutes carefully listening to her words and trying not to spill his soup on his fresh clothes. He hummed to some of the stories and asked little intrusive questions, to get the whole picture. She kept rubbing at her eyes and stifling her yawns every now and then, at last making a mess of her mascara and getting it all over her skin. Despite the seriousness in her voice, Tom smiled fondly to himself at the view of her ruined face that probably mimicked her current mental state. It wasn’t something he should laugh about, but it was rather endearing to have her so comfortably sharing her lows with him, while he casually ate his lukewarm, very late lunch.

“Why are you laughing at me?” She returned his smile, knowing it was probably something she did.

“You made yourself look like panda.” He chewed on a chunk of chicken from his second plate. The wrinkles by his eyes deepened with each of her chuckles and proved to them that this is the lightness they need in their daily routines. “Well, it’s good you asked for a new placement. You should be comfortable in your work environment. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” she yawned again and stopped herself mid-rubbing her eye again, earning a wholesome, groggy laugh from her friend, “your dad thinks they will give me another chance.”

“I mean, he knows some people there, so he probably has a point.”

“Yeah, I just don’t want to get my hopes up too high, you know?” A comfortable silence rested between them after he nodded and continued munching on his food. Millie stood up from her bed and took the phone with her, but also started to slowly get ready for the night.

“You will know when the moment feels right and shows you something worth a shot. Trust yourself, Mills.”

“I guess…” she trailed off, making her way to the closet to find fresh pyjamas. “I’m glad my panda face entertained your… what is it, lunch break?”

“Sort of, yeah,” he chuckled, enjoying the playfulness of her tired self, “I should be coming back in two weeks. We could hang out then, if you’ll have the time.”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Alright, I’ll let you rest. Text me anytime, yeah?”

“I will. Thanks for the Minnie ears!”

“You got it, Minnie Mouse. Sweet dreams.”

* * *

After her little mishap with Politics Live, Millie tried her best to keep up the hard work, but stay low. She tried not to focus too much attention and just assist other workers in their tasks, only coming up with ideas when necessary. She strived to come back to her public voice, but she knew she needed it to have a comfortable outlet, preferably in another setting and on different topics. She was greeting the intern manager with additional caution and kindness, trying her best not to leave her case forgotten.

Segregating files for the research team seemed to be the best solution to her temporary creative break. Her attention to detail and wholesome care about the task being done to its full potential came in handy. She volunteered to help the group of meticulously scribbling and researching men in keeping their documents in order.

The soft mumble of the radio in the background was interrupted by a guy named Tim. He always wore rock band t-shirts under his jackets and Millie swore she had seen him participate in a wild dance routine during the last year’s Glastonbury Festival. He stopped typing on his keyboard and started to quietly hum a song that was definitely different to what Scott Mills was announcing on Radio 1.

“Oh my God, do you guys know this song? I can’t get it out of my head!” he groaned in frustration, making a few people in the open space office chuckle.

“Do you know any words, maestro?” Millie’s head snapped up at the sound of Kim, the intern manager’s voice. She was passing by with a bunch of files and a coffee, before she perched herself on his desk, obviously making fun of her friend.

“It’s got this very cool, mariachi-like trumpet between the lines,” he mimicked a trumpet player and hummed some more, “and the guy sings something about stopping a feeling…”

“Justin Timberlake?”

“You know he’s not my jam, Kim! It’s an old-school song.”

“You’re the old-school one here.” Kim’s comment earned a couple more laughs at poor Tim, who was genuinely struggling. “you’re the researcher, have you googled it?”

“Of course I googled it, stop mocking me! People are watching.”

Their little light-hearted exchange brought a breezy atmosphere to the office and made Millie smile some more. She kept on looking up at Tim to check if he’s found the song he was looking for, but without luck. Her fingertips started to tingle with each swipe through the pages in a file, because she felt like she knew the song. Deciding to come against her decision to lay low, she gently cleared her throat and swallowed her nerves of speaking up in a new environment.

“Hey Tim, have you tried to find it on Spotify?” they both looked at Millie with playful smiles, as anyone would to the up and coming intern fresh out of university.

“I don’t think it’s the title of the song, so I won’t find it there.”

“But you actually could,” she offered, biting her lip nervously “since the recent update, you can now type in the lyrics into the search bar and the results will show you all licensed songs with the same or similar lyrics.” Tim instantly reached for his phone and started typing away.

“Oh really? I didn’t know that, let’s see…” Kim looked into his phone and watched his progress.

“And since you’ve remembered a catchy verse, it’s very possible that others also tried to find this song through the same words. So, it will probably come up within the first few results.”

“Alright, smarty.” He shook his head in amusement. Millie watched as Kim’s face got ridden of any emotion and just stared at Tim’s work.

“But if nothing comes up, you can always try ‘Hooked on a Feeling’ by Blue Swede.”

Millie waited with racing heart at their reactions. Tim clicked on one of the results and raised the volume, filling the room with a sound so familiar to Millie’s memory. She smiled shyly and internally patted herself on the back, before coming back to her task.

“How did you know this song?” His triumphant smile was radiating, as he did a little dance in his seat and twirled on his rolling chair. “It’s such an old tune, I didn’t think your generation would know it!”

“Yeah Millie, how did you know?” Kim encouraged his question and watched her carefully, almost as if she was studying her intern.

“It’s in the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy. I wrote a paper on it.”

“Hm.” Kim’s unreadable expression was giving Millie chills, but in a positive way. She liked to be asked about things that interested her and prompted her to be creative, so the way this situation evolved was close to burst her heart into passionate flames. “I’ll ask the Radio managers if they want a music and pop culture geek, how’s that sound?”

It sounded like Millie put the trust in herself at the right time.

****

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear@sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection@cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0 @spideyspeaches

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#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland x oc #mornings in Sheffield park #misp #tom holland fanfic #tom holland blurb

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jemmahazelnut · 3 years

Text

Motorcycle flight -Chapter five

Summary: Laxus is a biker, and as soon as he discovers that in the city there’s a motorcycle track for enthusiasts where races are organized every month, he decides to go. As soon as he arrives, he will fall in love with that wonderful place, and will meet the handsome green-haired owner. [Freed/Laxus]

Link: AO3

Here you can find Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four.

There’s a sex scene. No smut. I don't even know why I'm warning you, it's really nothing explicit, not even a little bit, but I think it's right to do it. Enjoy the reading :)

The new track

Laxus had never felt so nervous. He had never witnessed an accident in the first person, and seeing Freed jump off his motorbike had been a terrifying scene, one that kept repeating itself in his mind intermittently. Afterwards it was all confused, he remembered falling off the bike, probably scratched because he was right behind Freed but he managed to swerve in time. He remembered Lucy's screams and ambulance sirens, but he didn't remember exactly how he got to the hospital. He certainly hadn't gotten there alone.

He only knew that at the moment he was sitting in the emergency room with Lucy and Natsu beside him. The girl was white in the face and she didn't say a word, while the boy kept pacing nervously back and forth to release the tension.

“Lucy, what happened?”

Laxus heard the voice and looked up not recognizing who he was. When he saw the woman, he realized that he had never actually seen her.

“An accident, we... we don't know anything yet,” the blonde replied. Laxus realized there was also a man and Brandish. Only then did he realize that the two must be Freed's parents. Of course they were there. Still the images of the accident didn’t make him think well. He shifted his gaze to Brandish, who just nodded to him. The girl then crossed her arms, if she was nervous, she wouldn't show it.

“How did it happen?” the woman always asked. Lucy tried to explain, and Laxus was forced to get up so as not to listen to everything again. He walked towards Natsu, and the boy glanced at Freed's parents but didn't say a word to them.

“Why does it take so long?” asked Natsu. Laxus didn't answer, not knowing what to tell him. At that point, however, as if someone had heard the question, the door opened and a doctor came out. Everyone immediately surrounded him waiting for news.

“The boy is fine, he was lucky,” he told them. Laxus let out a sigh of relief as he felt his nervousness disappear. Lucy murmured 'Thank God' and Freed's mother stepped forward.

“I want to see my son,” she said. The doctor nodded and just told them not to go in all at once, because the room was small and the boy needed a rest. Laxus wanted to jump into it but Freed's parents were faster and he didn't feel like getting in the way. So, the two adults entered with Brandish and he found himself again waiting with Natsu and Lucy. At least he wasn't nervous anymore because he knew Freed was fine. Although he would’ve preferred to see him with his own eyes.

“We should be in there,” Natsu growled.

“Calm down” said Lucy “Freed’s fine, that's the important thing.”

“Yes, but I'm sure he doesn't even want to see them,” Natsu retorted. Laxus agreed with him, they were probably the last people Freed wanted to see.

“They won't be in there long,” Lucy said with a sigh. “So don't worry, we'll see him soon.”

“Sure,” Natsu growled. Laxus sat down and leaned his head against the wall, letting his anxiety subside at least a little, just hoping to be able to see and hug the boy soon.

***

When the door opened, he was surprised to see his parents. Freed was going to start telling them about everything but when he saw Brandish he calmed down slightly. Although his relationship with his cousin wasn’t the best, she was the only one in the family with whom he could speak in a civilized way.

“How are you?” his mother asked immediately. Freed glanced at the arm in plaster. He also had pain in his leg, but luckily the clothes had protected him enough and, in the end, he got away with a few scratches and a few blows, except for the broken arm.

“Fine,” he just said avoiding his father's gaze and focusing instead on his cousin, hoping she would understand and take his parents away from there. “The others? Laxus, Natsu and Lucy?” he asked, despite a nurse having already told him that he was the only one to have been hit by the car.

“They’re fine. They're out here, they're worried about you,” Brandish replied. Freed nodded in relief and then fell silent, not knowing what to say to his parents. He hadn't seen them for a long time, he had only heard them on the phone and only a few weeks before. He honestly didn't even think they were coming.

“What a bad blow. I've always told you that riding a motorbike is dangerous” said his mother, worried about him, lightly running her fingers over his forehead. Freed stared at her in annoyance. If he hadn't been forced to stay in bed and if he hadn't hurt his arm he would’ve pulled away.

“I'm fine,” he repeated more firmly. “Now that you've done your homework as a good parent, you can go,” he added irritably.

“We are worried about you and you talk to us like this? We thought you died on that damn motorbike!” bellowed his father at that point. Freed looked at him irritably.

“Sure,” he murmured sarcastically and then raised his voice again. “Now you've seen that I'm fine, you can go,” he repeated hard.

“We're not going anywhere. Do you know why this happened? Because you don't listen to us and go prick around thinking only of yourself!” thundered the man. “If you hadn't ridden the bike, you wouldn't be here!”.

“No, it happened because a fucking car overtook when it wasn't supposed to,” Freed retorted.

“If you had driven a car now you wouldn’t be here”.

“It could happen anyway, and since when do you care about me? You threw me out of the house, so go away and leave me alone! “.

“Freed, we're just worried,” Beverly, his mother, tried to say, calmer. “I know we weren't the best parents, but we love you, that's why we complain about motorcycles, because we don't want something like that to happen to you,” she tried to explain more softly, running a hand through Freed's hair, who raised his left arm and pushed it back badly, despite the pang of pain.

“Is that why you destroyed my track? Because I don't think so, the truth is that you’re just obsessed with the reputation that others have of you,” he retorted sourly.

“Still with this story,” his father growled.

“I know it was you,” Freed said, looking at his father. But he wasn't the one to answer.

“You're right, we were fools and we’ll pay you all damages. But please, let's stop with these arguments and come back to us,” Beverly said. Freed was surprised for a moment. It took a few seconds before he thought of an answer, he was already about to start again in bursts to insult them, but his father did it first.

“Good heavens Beverly, what the fuck are you saying?” he blurted out.

“Shut up,” the woman snapped and tears began to flow down her face as she reached out her hand to take Freed's. The boy fell silent and looked away from his mother's guilty face, not knowing how to react. “Please Freed, I don't care if you follow in our footsteps. If you want to keep track, that's fine. I just want to see you again, feel like we're family. I should never have walked away from you, I'm so sorry,” she said with tears in her eyes. Freed didn't know how to react. His father seemed even more furious instead.

“Stop this nonsense,” he told his wife, who shook her head as she sobbed.

“Freed, please...” she repeated.

The boy didn't know what to do. If on the one hand he wanted to throw them out of the room, on the other hand he still felt a little warmth, at least from his mother's part. He closed his eyes for a moment, and luckily Brandish's presence saved him.

“Dad’s calling, he wants to talk to you,” she told Freed's parents. The father picked up the phone and went out and then his mother too got up and followed the man, not before throwing a guilty look at her son. Once they were both out, Brandish glanced at his cousin. “You’re welcome, I expect to be able to use your bathtub for the whole next month for letting them out,” she told. Freed sighed slightly.

“Anyway, you use it already,” he replied in a low voice, although he was grateful.

“Yes, well. Anyway, just so you know, aunt didn't know it was your father who ruined the track until three days ago. They fought a lot. Do what you want with it. Oh, and buy some gummy candies for when I use your tub,” she said, then exited. Freed smiled slightly at his cousin's oddities but didn't object.

He rested his head on the pillow so as to think about what to do with this, but the door swung open again and soon after his friends walked in en masse, not allowing him to do so.

***

“I only have a broken arm, I'm not sick,” Freed snapped as he entered the elevator. Laxus followed, holding the two pizza boxes in his hand.

“Can't you say 'thank you' like any normal person?” the blond asked with a slight smile.

“Well, thanks, we could’ve the bellboys take it home,” Freed grunted irritably.

“You haven't left the house in days,” Laxus pointed out. He was not completely wrong, it was already a lot to have forced him to walk two minutes to go to the pizzeria. Freed snorted.

“Because I had no reason to go out,” he grunted. Laxus rolled his eyes but didn't reply. The elevator reached their floor and Freed opened the door and entered the apartment. The two boys settled on the living room table and began to eat quietly. Since Freed left the hospital, they had only seen each other in their apartments, as Freed didn't really want to leave the house. Not just because of his arm, but also because he had started working from home and sorting out a lot of paperwork for the track.

“Have you decided what to do with yours parents?” Laxus asked and Freed stood with the slice of pizza in the air for a moment, not expecting the blond to ask him. Freed had opened up to him about his, explaining what had happened and how they had called him back. Mainly his mother, but his father too must have regretted what he had done. He hadn't specifically said it, but he had agreed to pay all the damages he had caused. And since the insurance had actually already paid for everything, Freed had decided to use that money to modernize the track.

But he still hadn't gone to them, even though his mother had asked him several times to go to dinner. They were talking on the phone, and Freed had to admit, it was nice to do it after years, even if a little embarrassing. However, still better than completely cutting the bridges.

“No,” he replied then taking a bite. Laxus nodded.

“Have you thought about it?”.

“Not much,” Freed admitted. “What would you do?” he asked. Laxus shrugged.

“I don't have to tell you. But with everything they’re doing, you can see that they’re repentant,” he replied.

“Yes,” Freed murmured. That was true. His father had also proposed to him to open a motorcycle company together. Freed refused, because he didn’t want to start any business with his father, despite the idea of releasing his motorcycles had aroused him a lot. He continued to eat for a while in silence thinking about what to do, until Laxus decided to change the subject and asked him if he wanted to watch a movie.

So, as soon as they finished dinner, they settled on the sofa. They picked a random thriller and turned off the lights, enjoying the scenes. It wasn't much of a movie, but that wasn't why Freed couldn't follow it. His problem was mainly caused by his thoughts, both about his parents and about Laxus. He already knew what he wanted to do, only he didn't know how.

He wanted to go see them, have dinner with them, try to be a normal family. But he knew that it would be terribly embarrassing, and that it would take very little to argue with his father. They had clashed since he was just a teenager, and they had never had a meeting point. Probably, if his mother hadn’t been there, they wouldn’t have spoken again.

As for Laxus instead… Freed was completely in love. It wasn't a real problem, on the contrary, it was something beautiful. Only, he wasn't used to feeling that way, nor was he used to having quiet afternoons and evenings. And Laxus was great. They had seen each other much more often, and mostly they dined together or talked, watched a few movies every now and then. Freed had been afraid he’d be bored as he could no longer ride a motorcycle, but that wasn’t the case. Sure, it was only going to be a month, but still, it was nice. And Freed had promised him that as soon as he recovered, they’d take many trips out of Magnolia.

“Would you like to come to my parents with me?” the question came out of his mouth without him even being able to think about it, and he immediately regretted it. Surprised Laxus turned to him.

“You mean, as a boyfriend?” he asked. Freed didn't dare look at him, feeling his face flush and hating his own skin and reactions when the blonde was around him. He waved it so easily, it wasn't fair. And knowing that they were in a relationship, even though they had never directly talked about it, was nice. Not that it wasn't obvious.

“Um... yes,” he muttered. “I mean, don't feel obligated. It will surely be an awkward dinner. Not for you, but for this whole situation, and they don't even know I'm engaged. In short, if you don't want to, I understand you very well. In fact, if I were you, I'd say no,” he said slightly agitated. Well, he would’ve done better to shut up from the start. Laxus chuckled slightly.

“It’s fine for me,” he replied. It was Freed's moment to turn to him in amazement.

“Really?” he asked. The blond shrugged.

“Sooner or later, I'll have to meet them, right?” he pointed out and Freed again felt his stomach churn at that simple statement, because that made it clear how serious they were making their relationship.

“Well, that's not really necessary. For five years they didn't know anything about my life and…”

“I want to do it,” Laxus interrupted. “Really. And then, it will be a good step to get closer to your parents again. Maybe I'll be the one to dissolve the embarrassment” he added jokingly. Freed raised an eyebrow.

“You?” he asked skeptically. “It will probably be a disaster” he laughed, letting his nervousness subside.

“Of course it will,” Laxus laughed and leaned over him. “But at least we can laugh about it together,” he added softly. Freed melted at that tone and leaned towards him kissing him softly. He loved those moments. Laxus put a hand on his thigh and pushed slightly towards him, parting his lips and making the kiss moister. Freed ran his hand across Laxus’ chest, hating the fact that he was unable to move his other arm.

They stayed for a while kissing on the sofa, until Laxus reached up with his hand for his jeans reaching his crotch and Freed moaned slightly.

“Laxus...” he whispered from his lips.

“Room?” asked the blond. Freed nodded and the two boys made their way to Freed's bedroom. The boy annoyingly tried to take off his shirt but he had some difficulty and Laxus chuckled slightly.

“Leave it,” he said pulling it off and pushing him to lie down on the bed. Freed didn’t object and then reached out and began to lift Laxus' shirt revealing his torso. The blonde took it off and immediately lay down beside him, pulling his arm towards him and kissing him again. The two were lost again in the lips of the other, with their bodies attached and their hands wandering everywhere.

It took a while for them to end up undressing completely. Laxus ran a hand along Freed's back until he reached his buttock, leaving a trail of heat along his skin. Freed let a moan escape from his lips as he positioned himself on top of the blonde and admired his terribly inviting body. He ran his free hand along his torso and then leaned over Laxus again and captured his lips again.

They made love by filling themselves with kisses, enjoying one of the caresses of the other while their minds clouded and their hearts pumped faster and faster. When they both felt they had touched heaven, they lay down next to each other on the bed, still out of breath and swollen lips, shining eyes and blood pumping strongly.

They remained in silence looking at the ceiling for a while, until they both turned to look at each other lovingly and with smiles on their faces. Laxus reached out to Freed's cheek, stroking it gently. He looked at him without saying anything, running his hand through his hair, taking a lock and starting to twist it in his fingers. Freed let him do it, feeling so domestic and happy that he hardly believed it. He was about to close his eyes and curl up beside him when he saw Laxus' gaze waver and the blond began to speak.

“I'm in love with you,” he revealed. Freed's heart, if possible, paused for a moment and then resumed hammering furiously, as the blood began to flow back to his face. A smile spread spontaneously.

“I love you too,” he replied in a whisper. Laxus closed his eyes and rested his forehead on him, while his hand began to massage the back of his neck. Freed enjoyed that attention, without worrying about getting dressed or anything. He closed his eyes and soon fell asleep.

***Six months later***

“What do you think?” Freed asked, pointing to the mechanical workshop he had had opened near the track, inside the Raijinshuu. Laxus looked curious at the place, it wasn't bad. It was big enough, and any bikers who frequented the place would definitely go there. Freed had already hired Gajeel, who had given him other names as well.

“It’s good, do you have other projects in mind?” asked the curious blond and Freed shrugged.

“No, I'd say that's enough. Covered parking, the track, the workshop, the bar, what do you want me to add?” Freed asked.

“Your father isn't that bad after all,” Laxus smiled. He had known him, and although the first dinner had been terribly embarrassing, then he had got used to it. If they invited Brandish too, the discomfort increased. But at least if she was there too with her girlfriend, the two didn't have all the attention on them. Anyway, the funniest part was coming home and talking about Freed's family and their quirks.

“I still prefer your grandfather,” Freed retorted and Laxus laughed. Neither of them had any doubts about that, the first time Makarov had met Freed he had offered him the wine and liqueur that he had personally prepared, insisting that Freed drink it all. And Freed didn't feel like refusing, so the evening ended with a drunkenness for the boy and Laxus who had to drag him up the stairs to 'sleep'.

The two families were completely different, and the two laughed when they thought about how they would react to getting to know each other. Nonetheless, things were going well. More than well, to be honest.

Freed and Laxus headed for the bar.

“So, you don't want to work for me?” Freed joked.

“Nah, better not. I’d risk getting pissed off, I never got along with any of my bosses”.

“Maybe this would be the exception that proves the rule,” Freed speculated. “Besides, I’d risk stealing all your customers”.

“I doubt it since I work on the other side of town. And in case that happens, I'm sure I'd find a job here. I’ve excellent connections,” the blond retorted with a grin as he walked into the bar. Freed didn't answer and as soon as they were inside, they heard Bickslow cheer loudly. Ever since Freed bought the new TV, the bartender was always enthusiastic.

“This TV is great. The best purchase you could make” Bickslow said. “Thanks to this you’ll see how many new customers you’ll have” he said fiddling with the remote control. Freed raised an eyebrow.

“I thought covered parking was the best investment,” he commented.

“What, are you kidding? This is so much better.” Bickslow smiled as Evergreen rolled her eyes in exasperation. Freed smiled and leaned against the bar, glancing at the people who would compete next time. Obviously, among those there was also Laxus, and the usual motorcyclists.

“I thought that after being defeated by Natsu you didn't want to compete anymore,” Freed commented, recalling how the blonde had been pissed off the time before and how Lucy had again cried over the lost money, because she had decided to bet on Laxus.

“I was just a little out of shape” Laxus retorted. “That kid only won out of luck.”

“I wouldn't say so!” Natsu exclaimed, he apparently had longer ears than anyone else in there. “Freed, I still have to beat you! Take part too!” he exclaimed. Freed smiled but shook his head.

“I’d take away all the fun,” he replied calmly.

“There he goes again,” Bickslow muttered.

“Well, that's right. For the first year I lost a lot of clients just because they never managed to win,” Freed reminded him.

“For once you can participate” Cana urged him “And if you participate tell me immediately, so I know who to bet on” she said, ready to put the money in her hands.

“Are you leaving me like this?” Laxus asked surprised.

“Hey handsome blond, last time you lost against Natsu, and if there’s a rule in this field, it’s that the boss never loses,” Cana said immediately. Freed gave Laxus a smirk, who rolled his eyes.

“If you participate, I'll kick your ass, you know,” he warned.

“If you participate, I want to be the first to know, Freed,” Cana continued. Freed seemed to think about it and Laxus was surprised, as he had never seen him compete with others. Then the boy shrugged.

“Well, why not,” he finally decided and walked to the board entering his name. Cana's eyes sparkled and she immediately bet a large sum on him. Laxus gave her a treacherous look. He knew how strong Freed was on the bike, but hell, Laxus was one of the strongest there, if not the strongest. Also, Freed hadn't competed for a while. He smiled at the idea of beating him and a new feeling of competition poured into him. Taking the grin off his face would’ve been a great satisfaction.

***

Freed sat across from him while Laxus fixed his bike and checked that everything was okay. Since the boy would be racing with a different bike than the one he usually used, he had asked Laxus for that favor. Laxus sat down on the ground, while Freed was sat on a bench and watched him curiously.

“You really enjoy doing your job,” he commented.

“Only if they’re gems like that” Laxus smiled “And then, considering the payment in kind, I do it even more willingly” he added with a grin. Freed chuckled and tossed a crumpled napkin at him, which Laxus caught with a smile.

“As long as you're not modifying my bike to make me lose it,” Freed said.

“What great confidence” Laxus said ironically, standing up. “I'm not a baron like you.”

“I don't cheat,” Freed retorted. “I've just been driving for years, and I know my track better than anyone,” he explained.

“You won't win forever, you know?” Laxus asked.

“Maybe when I get old a young boy will be able to beat me” Freed agreed at that point “But you sure have no chance.”

“We'll see,” Laxus smiled. “Your bike’s fine, and I swear I haven't touched anything,” he added with a smirk. Freed didn't object as he picked up the vehicle again and headed for the track, where the race would begin within minutes. Laxus went through the parking lot to take his, but as soon as he was there, he passed Lucy, who was sadly texting someone.

“Hey blondie, are you okay?” he asked.

“It would be better if I could bet on Freed” she objected immediately “But now I can't anymore, and I was hoping to raise money without risk” he snorted. Laxus looked at her for a while in silence, wondering why Lucy was still betting since she had won maybe only twice, only to lose the money won on the next spin. It just didn't make sense to him.

“Bet on me,” he told.

“I guess I'm not betting on anyone, I’d just lose,” the girl said disconsolately. Laxus smiled.

“Bet on me,” he repeated.

“Maybe you've never competed against Freed, but since I've been here, and I've been here since the track opened, he never lost,” she told him.

“There’s always a first time, right? Bet a little, so you'll lose little money, and if you win, you'll get all the money Cana staked on Freed,” Laxus told. Lucy seemed to think about it for a moment uncertain, like every time someone told her to bet on him. “And anyway, I've competed with Freed a couple of times. Trust me, I'll wipe that grin off his face once and for all,” he told confidently. Lucy sighed.

“I just hope I don't get it wrong,” Lucy murmured with a little hope. Laxus smiled and walked past, ready to beat his boyfriend.

***

Bickslow and Evergreen were pouring drinks for everyone, after the race a party had broken out and everyone was celebrating, some more and some less satisfied. For once, Cana wasn’t the center of attention, and she was content with a small glass of beer that Mirajane had offered to her as a consolation. Lucy instead had taken a huge glass of beer, she was celebrating with Natsu and her eyes glistening with her joy.

That only meant one thing. Freed had been beaten by Laxus, and was now sitting at a table with a frown on his face. Bickslow kept repeating the scene where Laxus had overtaken Freed on the huge TV and kept making fun of his friend, who was pouting more and more. Laxus next to him was probably the most pleased person in there.

“Hey Bix, a beer for the absolute champion of the track. And one for the brat who's been sulking since he lost,” he said with a grin.

“Shut up,” Freed grunted who still didn't believe he had lost. “And I'm sure you've changed something on my bike. Or maybe you rigged your,” he objected.

“You can have it checked,” Laxus said. “But I keep telling you, you’ve too many beliefs. It had to happen, and better with me than with Natsu, right?” he commented. “Even though he was in the lead at one point, you softened up a lot, huh?”

“Shut up,” Freed repeated frowning, taking a sip of the beer as Laxus put an arm around his shoulders laughing.

“You’ve bragged for years that you’re the absolute champion, and I can't do it?” he asked derisively and Freed rolled his eyes.

“You're annoying,” he muttered and the blonde laughed.

“Yes, but you were much worse than me,” he told and squeezed his hand on his shoulder, pulling it lightly against him and lowering his voice. “I expect a nice prize for beating the absolute champion” he told him in his ear and Freed smiled amused, letting his nervousness pass in the blink of an eye.

“Ask what you want,” he said and his lips curled into a mischievous smile. “I can buy you a new motorbike, offer you a fantastic dinner...” he began and Laxus laughed in his ear.

“You know what I want” he replied in the same tone and Freed smiled, breaking away a little.

“I guess you'll have to wait,” he replied and then picked up the glass again, taking a sip and throwing it an eloquent look.

“Laxus, I love you!” exclaimed Lucy shines hugging him from behind, and the two boys looked at her a little perplexed. “I've won so much money, practically all the money I've lost this year.”

“Hey, get your hands off my girlfriend!” Natsu exclaimed.

“She's the one who sticks,” Laxus grunted as Lucy laughed.

“If I were you, I’d walk away, and it has nothing to do with jealous Natsu. She'll throw up on you,” Freed warned him. Laxus with a snap pulled her away and luckily Natsu came to pick her up, taking her out of the room. “Well, at least I'm happy for her. Although I already imagine how she’ll spend her money,” Freed commented.

“If she bet on me, you won't have to worry about anything.”

“You won once, now don't freak out,” Freed objected. By now the nervousness had passed, after all Laxus was right, once it had to happen. And better from his boyfriend than from Natsu, who would then talk about it endlessly. Laxus didn't answer him, just stared at him with an excited smile and leaned over him to kiss him. Before he could reach his lips, however, Bickslow cut them off.

“Sorry beautiful lovers, but there’s a party going on. If you want to snog, there’s a warehouse for that. Evergreen and Elfman can assure you it's comfortable and we can't hear anything from here,” he joked. Evergreen gave him an incinerating look, while Laxus rested his head annoyed on his hand, for having been interrupted.

“Bix, why don't you go serve the customers? I thought there were so many people,” Freed commented, equally annoyed by the interruption.

“Because with the new bartender you’ve hired, I’ve more free time,” Bickslow replied with a grin. “Especially if I can tease you a little,” he added.

“Then go make us two beers, and make us some sandwiches too. The ones that take longer. And expect to have a lot of unpaid shifts next month,” he added. Bickslow rolled his eyes but walked back behind the counter while Laxus chuckled.

“That's why I don't want to have you as a boss. You know how to become an asshole”.

“I can get a lot worse than that,” Freed smiled and his expression softened again. He asked if he wanted to leave the bar for a moment, either to get away from the party or to get some air. The blond immediately accepted, and as soon as the two were outside, they leaned their backs against the wall, staying close so that their arms touched. Laxus glanced at the track, the sun was setting leaving a trail of warm colors on the sky. If they weren't there outside the bar, from which they heard even the noises of the party, it could’ve been a romantic moment just between them.

“You know, nothing against the prize you requested, but I was thinking of doing a road trip on a motorcycle for two weeks if you like,” Freed said at one point. Laxus's face lit up. They had talked about it a couple of times, but due to the commitments of both they hadn’t had the opportunity to do so. Laxus, however, could ask for leave, and Freed was finally calmer with his business.

“Only if we sleep with the curtains,” he replied. Freed made a brief face but nodded immediately afterwards. “I didn't think you’d have accepted right away,” Laxus joked, but there was some truth in that statement. As much as Freed enjoyed driving in the mountains, he wanted to sleep on a comfortable bed, not on a mat in the middle of the woods.

“I'm not a spoiled rich man,” Freed objected.

“No, but you're not even an adventurer. So, where are we going?” Laxus asked.

“Take me wherever you want, great adventurer,” Freed mocked. “But make sure you pick places where Google Maps takes, I don't want to get lost far from home.”

“Funny,” Laxus commented ironically, turning to him. Freed was smiling lovingly at him, and looking at him completely in love. Laxus folded his lips up and bent over him, kissing him gently, taking advantage of the brief moment of calm.

As soon as they parted, the two turned to the red sky, intertwining their fingers and imagining their journey. Neither of them really cared about the destination to be reached, as long as they could make the journey alongside the other.

Final notes: Even though it was short, I'm glad I wrote and finished a multi-chapter. I enjoyed writing it, I hope you liked it too. Thank you all for reading.

#fraxus #freed x laxus #freed justine #laxus dreyar #fanfiction

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eliemo · 4 years

Text

Should Have Known Better

Summary: It all happened at once, too many people talking, too much anger and hatred and fear, and it was his fault his fault- Virgil felt himself fall backwards, landing hard on the kitchen floor

CW: Panic attacks, arguing, angst with a happy ending. virgil wrongly assumes he’s going to be hit but his family loves him

Read on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24703804

Really, the fight was ridiculous to begin with. It was nothing that hadn’t happened before, and Virgil definitely should not be feeling the vaguely familiar churn in his gut, the sickly tightening of his chest.

It was a simple disagreement about a new idea Roman had come up with, something “new and spectacular” the creative side had colorfully put it. And of course, Virgil had voiced his concerns. Because that was what he did.

It was easier now- now that he could work with the others rather than against them, a voice to be listened to rather than feared and chased away.

And it wasn’t like they didn’t argue among themselves constantly. As Logan had pointed out, their bickering was usually what got them to any kind of conclusion. And sure, it would get heated sometimes, fingers pointed and name-calling would occasionally occur (usually from Roman) and on certain days it would be more difficult to handle, voices too loud and too much, but it had gotten easier. There was no more malice aimed at him specifically, no more ganging up and refusing to listen, no more hate or scorn from the people he cared so deeply about protecting.

Today, however, maybe things were a bit different.

He’d been a bit too harsh, snapping too quickly and escalating the argument faster than was necessary. It hadn’t been a good morning- or a good couple of days if Virgil was being honest with himself.

He was still reeling after the incident with Deceit, a harsh reminder of how easily the Dark Side could slip into their lives, pulling Virgil right back into the memories of how things used to be.

He hadn’t slept much, and when he did there was nothing but nightmares and flashes of the past, and the last few days that familiar anxious feeling had been steadily building up, making him more jumpy, his paranoia skyrocketing.

The other sides had become accustomed to recognizing the signs of a bad day, especially if it only continued to get worse. This last week, however, everyone had been understandably preoccupied, and Virgil had no right to put his own issues above more pressing matters. It would go away, it always did.

Now, he wondered if he was imagining just how aggressive this argument had become.

“Why do you always do this?” Virgil froze at Prince’s shout, his definitely louder than normal shout, a brief burst of panic clawing at his throat.

He should stop. He should deflate and duck out, give in and let Roman have his way. The other side was angry, on edge, and fed up with his bullshit, and Virgil knew all too well what happened when he pushed an issue with someone blinded by rage.

But Virgil couldn’t stop himself, and the fear and nausea building up in him made him defensive, mouth moving without his brain’s permission.

“Because I’m the one who has to protect Thomas from your stupid ideas! Unlike you, I’m not in this for my own ego!”

Guilt coiled in his gut when he saw hurt flash across Princey’s eyes, but it was quickly drowned out by another wave of fear when the look morphed to anger.

Patton cut him off before he could yell again, but there was no relief in the interruption when the words managed to be somehow even worse.

“Hey, come on Kiddo, that doesn’t seem...Roman’s just trying to help Thomas, you know that.”

The words were laced with disappointment, something that felt like knives to his chest when it came from Patton- the first person to ever see him as anything other than a useless hindrance, especially when it came with the underlying suggestion that Virgil didn’t care about Thomas.

Everything he did, every time he argued, he was just trying to protect him. All of them. Patton knew that, didn’t he?

“I am too!” He said, ignoring the way his voice had become just a bit quieter than before. “Patton, you think I do this just for the hell of it? I’m just trying to make sure Thomas doesn’t--”

“Doesn’t what?” Roman interrupted, too loud too loud too loud. He was angry, all Virgil ever did was make people angry. “Doesn’t live a happy worry free life?”

It wasn’t hard for Virgil to pick up on the unsaid. Thomas would be better off without you. We all would.

Virgil’s throat felt tight, the panic now cold and all consuming. He could feel his heartbeat growing dangerously fast, breaths coming too quick and shallow. He opened his mouth to shoot something back, to keep them from seeing how scared he was, blinded by Roman’s glare and Patton’s irritation.

It was almost a relief when Logan raised a hand to cut him off, stoic and impartial. Virgil wasn’t sure he would even be able to force coherent words out right now.

But then Logan raised an eyebrow at him, not the careful look of concern he gave when he noticed Virgil was having an attack, but something that seemed to be a reflection of both Roman and Patton’s anger.

You made them all mad, you made them mad, they hate you, they hate you they hate you. You’re the outcast again, they don't want you here.

“Virgil, you know we all...appreciate your input-” he hesitated, he’s lying he’s lying “-but logically, this shouldn’t be an issue. You’ve blown this all out of proportion, Virgil. More so than usual.”

He didn’t miss the irritation in the Logical side’s voice, the way all eyes in the room were on him, glaring at him, hating him.

Virgil was suddenly painfully aware of how close they all were, knees practically brushing under the table they’d gathered at in the mindscape’s dining area. In Thomas’s living room, during these arguments there was usually a good amount of space between them.

The only one who could really reach him without crossing the room was Logan. If he was angry enough, he could easily reach through the stair railing and grab Virgil by the hoodie, holding him still while Roman approached, Patton standing to close him in-

But they wouldn’t do that. They wouldn’t.

But...it would be so easy now. They were so close together, and he’s made them so, so angry. He would deserve it anyway, he’d only pushed an issue that didn’t matter, been the bad guy again and pushed the only people who cared about him to the point of-

“Anxiety, are you even listening?”

Virgil flinched at the use of that name, the memories of hate and bitter loneliness rushing back all at once, the annoyance in Prince’s voice burning like acid.

No one seemed to notice, anything Virgil even tried to breathe out overshadowed by Logan’s biting remark. “Virgil, we do expect you to at least listen to—“

“Are you ok, Virge?”

It all happened at once, too many people talking, too much anger and hatred and fear, and it was his fault his fault-

He had barely even heard what Patton had said, unable to comprehend the concern building when he was so focused on Roman, who hadn’t stopped ranting.

The creative side raised his hand- and it was just a gesture, just a dramatic gesture, Virgil knew that.

Roman often spoke with his hands when he was worked up, always flamboyant, always moving. Virgil was used to that, it had never bothered him before. It was harmless.

But all of that went right out the window the second he saw Roman raise his arm up, still consumed with anger, and everything after that was a blur of panicked instinct.

He jerked backwards, eyes squeezing shut as the chair tipped over, stumbling on suddenly unsteady legs, everything spinning and far away.

He thought he heard voices, angry no doubt, angry at him for being such a baby, for making such a big deal over a problem he created, but the blood was rushing to his head, heart pounding in his ears.

Virgil felt himself fall backwards, landing hard on the kitchen floor. Without thinking he brought his hands up to block his face, to protect himself as much as he could, whimpering despite himself when he heard approaching footsteps. He curled in on himself, tense and waiting.

“Virge?”

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Virgil flinched back so fast he didn’t realize he’d slammed into the wall until a flare of pain shot up his back.

“Virgil! What’s wrong?”

He was fairly sure it was Patton talking, voice muffled by Virgil’s own out of control breathing, the panic attack building up faster and faster.

Through the haze of fear, Virgil thought that maybe Patton was the one side who wouldn’t hurt him for this. Patton was kind, he wasn’t one to get angry easily, despite how impulsive and protective of Thomas he could be.

The other two could often be swayed by their anger, but Virgil knew they wouldn’t do anything drastic to him if he didn’t deserve it.

Only, Virgil did deserve it. He’d been stupid and unfair, and some anxious part of him had driven him to tear apart the family he’d waited so long for. They had every right to lash out however they saw fit.

And yet here he was, cowering on the floor like a child, unable to stop the string of please that barely translated to breathy, shaking words.

“I- I’m sorry, I sorry guys, we- we can do w-whatever...whatever you guys want I was just- I was just…”

“Hey, Virge it’s ok,” he heard Patton say, and Virgil thought there was a hint of confusion in his voice. “It was just an argument, honey. What’s wrong?”

Slowly and cautiously, painfully aware of how badly he was trembling in his little heap, Virgil glanced up from the floor, face burning when his vision was blurred with hot tears.

Patton was crouched on the floor a few steps away, looking like a deer in the headlights, eyes brimming with his own tears behind his glasses. A spark of hope ignited in Virgil’s chest. Patton wasn’t angry anymore. Patton didn’t look like he wanted to hurt him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil could see Roman and Logan where he’d left them at the table. They’d both stood up at some point, frozen at their chairs, but Virgil didn’t let himself look long enough to see their expressions, pushing himself back against the wall at the cruel reminder of how angry they’d all been.

“Virgil,” Logan said, and Virgil flinched before he could stop himself. “You need to breathe. 4, 7, 8, remember? We—“

“Can’t—“ he gasped out, the uncertainty mixing with fear only making his panic worse. “Can’t breathe, I can’t-- I--please I’m- I’m sorry I’m sorr--”

“Hey kiddo, it’s alright,” Patton said, Virgil latching desperately onto the kindness he could pick up on in the words. “It was just a little argument. I think we all got a little carried away, right guys?”

“Of course!” Roman agreed, still too loud, too close to becoming angry again. “I apologize, I was not acting very...princely, I suppose. If I had known it would…” he trailed off, and Virgil could practically see the crestfallen look in his eyes at the anxious side’s reaction to his voice.

But Virgil couldn’t help it. Because no matter how loud the rational part of his mind screamed at him that everything was fine, it was just Roman and Roman wasn’t angry, Roman would never hurt him, it was buried under the relentless waves of panic.

He would hate himself for the reaction later, he was sure, guilt bubbling somewhere beneath the fear, but the sound of Roman’s voice only made him cry harder, chest squeezing out what little air he could get, leaving him sobbing uncontrollably on the floor, still waiting for a blow that he knew would never come.

“Oh kiddo, oh no we...Logan what do we--”

Patton’s voice faded as Virgil’s breathing got worse, rocking himself slightly, gasping desperately for air he wasn’t allowed to get. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. He shouldn’t. They were his family. They wouldn’t hurt him, no matter how pathetic or annoying he was being, no matter how much a nuisance he was, no matter how much he held Thomas back.

Because that's what he did. That was all he did, no matter how hard he tried to be good, to help and protect, to get the people he cared so much about to just understand. They knew in the long run, they were better off without him. They only put up with him because they had to. If they had an excuse to get rid of him-

What if this was a good enough excuse. He’d made them all pointlessly angry, right after Deceit had tried to manipulate them. He was a Dark Side. They knew that. What if all of Patton’s love wasn’t enough to convince the others not to treat him like one?

What if--

“Virgil.”

Virgil’s eyes snapped open at the calm, carefully calculating voice of Logan, who had somehow managed to kneel by his side without the other noticing his approach. The logical side had begun to reach forward, hand hovering over Virgil’s knee but not touching.

Virgil froze completely, gasping breaths coming to a halt, eyes glued to the unmoving hand. The hand that could so easily grab for him if it wanted to. It wasn’t like he could do much in this state, weak and dizzy, easy to overwhelm.

“Virgil,” Logan said again, that familiar gentle tone he took when Virgil was having an attack. “You’re safe. You’re with us, you’re ok. You’re suffering from cognitive distortions. I assure you, whatever is happening is not--”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

Virgil hadn’t even realized he’d spoken until Logan’s reassurances were abruptly cut off, his hand disappearing from view, the room deathly still and quiet.

And suddenly it was so much worse. Because he couldn't bring himself to look up, couldn’t see the look in Logan’s eyes, couldn’t see where he put his hand-

Virgil’s eyes went to Patton, wide and desperate and clouded with so much irrational fear.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” he stuttered, not even sure why he was apologizing anymore, definitely unsure of what he was even afraid of. They weren’t going to hit him or send him away. They wouldn’t. “Sorry, sorry I’m sorry I argued I-I shouldn’t have-should have...should have stopped I’m sorry, you guys can—“

“Virgil.” That was Roman, and there was something about the creative side so easily using his name again that made him stop his rambling. “You don’t need to...you’re not in danger, Virge. Nobody’s upset with you.”

Virgil blinked, glancing wildly around the room at the three sides, his thoughts battling with reason, aching chest struggling to take in shaky breaths.

“But…” they weren’t going to hurt him, they weren’t going to hurt him, “But I...you were mad. I shouldn’t- shouldn’t have kept arguing.”

They argued all the time. It shouldn’t have been any different. But Roman had never...shouted at him like that before, the others were usually able to reign him back in. And they all hadn’t been against him like that, treating him like the antagonist since...since before things had gotten better.

And then he’d been called Anxiety. A slip up that usually would never have been a problem, but today- when things had only been building up with no release, reminders of Deceit and dark sides, it had all been too much.

“Virgil,” Logan said softly, and Virgil winced, everything just a bit too loud. “Can you look at me, please?”

Virgil swallowed, throat still dry and tight, breathing still too fast and painful. But he obeyed, tense and trembling, raising his head to meet Logan’s gaze.

The logical side, though his worry was still evident, gave a small, reassuring smile. “Nobody’s going to hurt you, Virgil.”

And that undid something in him. Because he’d known that, he’d known his family would never hurt him. But hearing it said aloud for him, so simple like it was never even a question, that was all he needed to finally take a full breath, shoulders dropping their defensive stance.

He took in shuddering breath after shuddering breath, unable to stop the hiccuping sobs that escaped in between.

“Oh, kiddo.” Patton was beside him now, hands still hovering, tears welling up in his eyes. “Can I touch you?”

Virgil nodded, refusing to be ashamed of how desperately he needed the physical reminder of safety. He leaned forward, shutting his eyes as he slumped against Patton’s chest, the other side quickly wrapping his arms around Virgil’s back.

“Hey, hey you’re ok,” Patton whispered, holding him close. “Copy my breathing, ok? I’m right here. Hold for four…”

It took some time, as it usually did during a bad panic attack, Patton guiding him though his breathing exercises, breaths slow and exaggerated, voice quiet and soothing.

Virgil almost fell back into a fit of panic when it dawned on him just how stupid he’d been, how tired everyone must be of him doing things like this.

But then Patton kept talking to him, Logan offering gentle reassurances, Roman sending him guilty smiles every time he catches Virgil's wandering gaze, and everything slows down again.

He’s beyond exhausted by the time his breathing slows enough for Patton to be satisfied, his lungs no longer screaming for air. He was too weak to even sit up on his own now, still shaky and sore, eyes heavy and drooping.

He barely even felt himself being lifted off the floor, held in steady, safe arms and carried away from the kitchen. When he did manage to open his eyes, it was to a white suit and Roman looking down at him like Virgil was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Virgil swallowed, guilt rising up in his chest at the reminder of how he’d acted, how the sound of Roman’s voice had driven him deeper into a senseless panic. He could only imagine how bad he’d made Roman feel for something that wasn’t remotely the creative side’s fault.

“I’m sorry,” he slurred, his mouth refusing to cooperate with his muddled mind. “Didn’t...didn’t mean to make you--”

“I shouldn’t have yelled,” Roman said, smiling softly like it was as simple as that. “I should have seen you were having a bad day.”

Virgil tried to shrug, but it was nearly impossible with a body that felt like lead cradled against Prince’s chest while they made their way to the couch.

“It’s ok.”

Roman slowly lowered Virgil onto the cushions, hesitating briefly before settling down next to him, giving the anxious side plenty of time to protest or move away. Not that Virgil would, Roman a welcome distraction from the shivers still racking his body.

“Patton’s getting you some water,” Prince explained. “And Logan’s running to find extra blankets. Do you...want to be alone?”

Any other time, Virgil might have been embarrassed by how quickly he shook his head, and later he would definitely deny the way he leaned into the warmth of Roman’s touch. But he didn’t miss the quiet sigh of relief that came from the other side, or the fond smile he couldn’t quite shake.

Roman hummed under his breath, carding his fingers through Virgil’s hair as he gradually drifted off, vaguely aware of someone draping a blanket over his shoulders, two more weights settling on either side of him.

Virgil was fading before he could even think to try to make out what any of them were saying, the distant sound of their voices lulling him to sleep, still aware of the protective hold Prince had on him.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #ts virgil #misunderstandings #panic tw #polysanders #platonic lamp #prinxiety #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3

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andaxay · 3 years

Text

Preservation of Self

My entry for February’s @telltalemonthlychallenge. February’s theme: Black History Month.

Hyperion has been cutthroat since the day she accepted the offer of employment. Yvette does what she thinks she needs to. To thrive. To survive.

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

One last coffee before they left.

Secreted away in a quiet room, away from prying eyes that would question why Vaughn the mild-mannered accountant had an important looking Hyperion briefcase chained to his arm. Best to avoid such questions.

"You're really doing this?" Yvette wrapped one slender leg around the other as she sat, sipping a latte, looking from one best friend to another with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

"Oh, we are doing this," Rhys leaned forward with a smug smile and raised eyebrow. Vaughn rubbed the back of his neck as he stared, wide-eyed, at the table in front of them, perhaps questioning every life decision he'd ever made that had led him to this point. "We are doing this so much. Who else is going to screw over Vasquez?"

"Vasquez is more than capable of screwing himself over, given enough time," Yvette said dryly, folding her arms.

"And how long will that take? Are you willing to wait for years for that to happen?"

"He might get eaten by a skag the second he sets foot on Pandora," Vaughn chimed in, wearing an expression that said 'and the same could happen to us'.

"And he might not," Rhys countered, "in which case, enjoy being middle management saps for the next ten to fifteen years. I, however, am not willing to clean up Vasquez's damn trash three times a day, just so he can drink in how much power he has."

"Fair point," Vaughn conceded and Yvette nodded solemnly.

"Well, then," she said after taking the last sip of her latte, "you have everything you need." She paused, looking at both of them. A twist in her gut. "Good luck. Try not to die - there's an awful lot of paperwork to fill out if you do."

"We'll miss you, too."

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

Vasquez's furious shouting reached Yvette's ears before the man himself stormed into her office. She steeled herself, remaining cool and calm, tapping away at her keyboard as he stalked up to her desk.

"Mr. Vasquez?" Polite, despite her gut curling at the sight of him. Slimeball.

"Yvette!" Vasquez glared down at her, breathing heavily, before he appeared to relax slightly, stepping into the persona he often reserved for buttering up management. "Yvette. Just the lady I was looking for." He stepped around her desk and sat on the edge of it, looming over her. "Urgent business. Confidential, of course. Management... I, need to meet with Rhys. Only he, ah, seems to be difficult to pin down." Vasquez stared down at her, his eyes burning. She stared right back, innocently, collected. "You had lunch together, shared plans for the afternoon..."

"As far as I'm aware, he's working," Yvette offered coolly. "I haven't seen him, or spoken to him, since lunch."

"Oh? Working on his next eridium mining contract? Or, maybe, stealing ten million dollars of Hyperion's money and taking it to a Pandoran named August to buy a Vault Key?" Vasquez folded his arms as he leaned in slightly. Trying to intimidate her. Yvette had dealt with much worse in her time at Hyperion.

"I have never heard of August and, like I said, I assumed Rhys had gone back to work after lunch," Yvette said firmly, "so, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Trying to cover for him? Or, have you washed your hands of him already?" Vasquez leered down at her. "He'll be so happy to hear it when we pick him up and drag his soon-to-be-dead ass into a cell for stealing Hyperion property." He smiled, an ugly, sinister curve of a thing that didn't reach his eyes. "Speaking of which, exactly how did he get hold of the money? He isn't an accountant, doesn't have access to funds. Unless... he had help. If I recall, you're both good friends with the man who just happens to manage valuable Hyperion funds and assets. What was his name again? Vinny? Vance?"

Yvette remained poker-faced, raising her eyebrows slightly, questioningly. A vein in Vasquez's temple was twitching.

"I won't deny that I'm friends with them," she said calmly, sitting back into her chair and folding her arms, "but that's all I can tell you. Whatever this is? You're asking the wrong person."

"Mmm-hmm," Vasquez fixed her with a firm glare. "So, that's how it's going to be. Alright, then." He stood and turned to leave, but paused. "I would think about where your loyalties lie, Yvette. Hyperion can set you up for life." He turned again to face her. She remained impassive. "And it can also end it. We can trace everything. Think about that, while you decide your future."

She only allowed herself to exhale once the heavy blast doors closed behind him. Some chewing of her thumbnail, the only show of anxiety she would allow herself.

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

Rhys and Vaughn had lost the money. They were as good as dead.

Hyperion didn't yet know. It didn't matter. They would.

Rhys and Vaughn would either die on Pandora, or die the minute they stepped foot on Helios.

Climbing the ranks of Hyperion was a colossal challenge that very, very few could ever hope to rise to. The toxic culture, knives in so many backs - sometimes literally. Yvette had dared to hope, when she and Rhys and Vaughn had become friends. One person alone couldn't even begin to chip away at the Hyperion machine, but the three of them, working together?

It was over. It had been silly to think it could have happened in the first place.

Her office phone rang. The caller ID read 'Hugo Vasquez'.

She sighed heavily, then answered it.

"The situation has changed. Meet me in my office. Ten minutes." He hung up before she'd even said a word.

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

"Your involvement in the stealing of ten million dollars can be... erased, Yvette. Nobody higher up needs to know. ID logs can be manipulated. Traces erased."

She folded her arms. "... If?"

Vasquez was the most serious-looking she'd ever seen him.

"I'll be honest. We need the data in Rhys's systems far more than ten million dollars."

Systems. Like Rhys wasn't a walking, living human being.

"Let's just say that Hyperion is willing to pay a lot to recover this data. To the person, or people, responsible for recovering it" Vasquez folded his arms as he leaned against his desk. Behind him, Pandora was framed nicely within the window of his office. What had once been Henderson's office, before he'd been... terminated.

Henderson had been a racist prick, she didn't miss him, mourn him or even feel sorry for him, but it was a nice reminder about what Vasquez was capable of.

"So," Vasquez continued, "you help me, I help you. You track Rhys, keep tabs on his location and give me all of the information you know. And I'll make sure you're not implicated in anything... unsavoury. And, give you a cut of the reward."

Yvette stood, calm on the outside and reeling on the inside.

Her best friends.

Her best friends who were likely dead regardless.

Likely. Ha. They were toast.

Could she live with being an active part in their demise, though?

Vasquez glared, impatient.

"You make a very compelling argument, Vasquez," Yvette plastered a snakelike smile on her face and part of her died within. "You have a deal."

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

She gasped as the cold water she'd scooped and thrown into her face hit her skin. The swanky bathroom of her cushy Helios apartment was dimly lit, but she could still see every feature of her face in the mirror. Every line of the troubled expression marring her features.

Vasquez had gone down to Pandora to find Rhys and Vaughn. On the back of information that she had given to him.

Rhys and Vaughn were going to die anyway.

Assuming Vasquez was successful and brought Rhys, or whatever remained of him, back to Helios. The next steps were glaringly obvious. Vasquez would claim all of the reward for himself. Yvette would be exposed, her role in the disappearance of ten million dollars and two intrepid, naïve Hyperion employees with it, one of whom was hiding some incredibly important program in his head, apparently.

She'd be thrown out of an airlock the second Vasquez stepped back onto Helios.

This was about survival, now.

Yvette had quietly been gathering evidence on Vasquez's involvement in this mess. Bribery, incompetence. She was ready to strike. Ready to claim the reward for herself, to survive something else that Hyperion had to throw at her.

But she had to play along, for now.

Which meant leading Vasquez right to Rhys and Vaughn.

Maybe Vasquez would lose. Maybe her best friends would outsmart him, work their way out and escape into the sunset. Yvette couldn't see it happening. Much as she loved them, they'd be hopeless in any kind of fight-or-flight response.

As much as she had loved them.

Because now she'd struck a deal with the devil and anyone who truly cared for their friends wouldn't serve them to their deaths on a silver platter.

It was them, or her.

Welcome to Hyperion.

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

Vasquez had rolled up in some old, hulking build-it-yourself spaceship that would have looked more at home in a scrapyard and, what was more, had failed to bring Rhys, or any part of him, back with him.

To say Yvette was furious would be an understatement.

She'd stormed into his office, her office, ready to blast him to hell for failing to uphold his part of the deal. Shafting them both, not that she cared about what would happen to him, following his unauthorised trip to Pandora. Without the data in Rhys' system, he was as good as dead anyway.

Something was missing. Vasquez had been unreachable for weeks after landing on Pandora, which had driven her mad. She'd been feeding him information in all that time and he couldn't even be bothered to send her a 'thank you'. But now he was back, something was... off.

Not... not in a bad way, honestly. The malice she normally associated with him was lacking. It was disarming, but Yvette didn't have time or resources to worry about such a thing. What did it matter, in the grand scheme of things?

"You had one job," she spat out, glaring daggers at him. He was... strangely vulnerable?

"I'm on it," he said quietly. "I just need more time."

"Time's up, Vasquez. It's over. I'm calling management."

"Don't," he said, desperate yet calm, collected. "It will only end badly, and not just for me. You think I don't have evidence to back myself up? And so, so much of it points to you, Yvette." Hurt. What a strange thing to witness in his expression.

"Then I guess we're at an impasse." She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I can fix this. I know what to do. To save both our asses."

Yvette remained silent. Like Vasquez cared about what happened to her.

Still, they were stuck. Play along for now, then shaft him later, once she knew what this plan of his was.

"You have the rest of the working day to fix this," Yvette snapped, "and then I'm handing you in. Consequences be damned."

"I don't think you mean that," he said, voice low, almost deadly.

"You don't know anything about me," she countered, equally as deadly. "Get out of my office."

To her enormous surprise, he left.

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

The escape pod rattled unsettlingly as it plummeted to Pandora. Yvette stared, dully, out at the rapidly approaching planet.

She should be dead. Maybe that would have been the better alternative.

Rhys' face as she'd gone for the escape pod... As he'd told her to go to the escape pod.

She'd sold him out and he'd repaid her by saving her life. Essentially sealing his own death warrant as he'd done so. Even after her pathetic attempts at an explanation and apology while she'd been locked in the cell.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her fists until the nails drew blood. Helios was breaking apart behind her. There was no way he'd survive.

Ha. Hadn't she written him off, anyway?

She didn't deserve a friend like him. She didn't deserve friends at all. Because, as it had become blindly obvious throughout the last few weeks, she was more than willing to sell them out to save her own skin.

Maybe the pod would crash with such a force that she'd be torn apart upon impact.

At least it would put an end to the burning, lead guilt that weighed down every cell in her body.

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

"Thanks, Vaughn."

"Don't mention it."

The emergency blanket felt scratchy against her skin. The soup in the bowl in her lap could barely qualify as 'warm'. It was more than she deserved.

"Why are you doing this for me?"

Vaughn stopped in his tracks, turned to face her. Exhausted. Dark circles underlined his eyes and aged him well beyond his twenty-seven years.

"You went through hell, too. I just... want to help."

She didn't know what she could say. Apologies were worthless.

"Eat the soup, Yvette, it will help."

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

"To... surviving."

"I'll drink to that."

"Mmm-hmm."

Three glasses clinked together in the candlelit room, one of the more... intact ones that had mostly survived the fall from orbit.

"I'm so glad you're both ok," Rhys said quietly, staring into his chipped glass filled with an unspecified alcohol.

Yvette stared into her own glass. Both. Even after everything.

"Rhys-"

His head snapped up and mismatched eyes met her own. Alarmed, almost. He knew what was coming.

"Yvette, you don't have to-"

"I do," she said firmly. Vaughn glanced between the two of them. "I'm sorry. I really am." She sighed heavily. "I guess... I was just trying to survive. I was scared." She scratched at the side of her head. A small scar had formed there, a remnant of her crash-landing into Pandora. She felt the smooth texture underneath her finger. "It was a shitty way of doing it. You guys were - are - the best friends I've ever had. I should have done better."

They were both silent for a moment, exchanging glances.

"We've all experienced Hyperion," Vaughn finally chimed in solemnly. "'Surviving' was about all we could do."

Rhys made a noise of agreement. "You think we didn't do terrible things, too?"

"Still..."

"Yvette, it's ok," Rhys smiled at her. "It hurt, at the time. I won't lie. But I also know what it's like to be in fear for your life."

"Yeah. Who at Hyperion didn't do something shitty at some point? It was practically in the job description." Vaughn also smiled.

"I guess we all learned something," Rhys continued quietly and Vaughn nodded in agreement. "But, that's what it's all about, I guess. I think as long as we acknowledge where we go wrong, and do something to be better... No reason we can't be ok, right?"

A weight, a terrible, oppressive weight that she'd carried for so long, now. Some of it eased.

"I'll drink to that," she offered, smiling, and the three clinked their glasses together again.

#TelltaleMonthlyChallenge #Tales From The Borderlands #TFTBL #TFTB #Yvette The Lunch Leech #Rated T #General

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dabistits · 4 years

Text

To talk about Twice and villainy is to talk about class and criminality (IV)

(Masterlist)

cw: references the dehumanization of “terrorists,” like, irl

The trash of society

“Disposability” is a framework that interrogates the way human lives are valued. Arising from observations about material disposability in the rapid industrialization of post-’45 and the increasing hold of mass-production and consumerism, “disposability” eventually expanded to an investigation of the human cost of this modern landscape. Theorists raised the question of how the disposability of human lives could be understood in tandem with the disposability of material goods, linking together issues of class, poverty, migration, imperialism, race, production, and consumerism. In essence, disposability as a framework investigates how human lives come to be rendered as disposable—and thus, like waste, byproducts of a lifestyle of endless growth.

This concern is one that receives frequent exploration in fiction that delves into the framework of humans-as-waste; for example, the sci fi dystopian short story Folding Beijing follows a waste worker in his efforts to fund the education of his adoptive daughter, who he found abandoned outside his waste-processing station. Although the conditions in BNHA aren’t nearly as grim, there are nevertheless clear connections drawn between its villainous characters and the concept of humans-as-waste, to the point where villains refer to themselves or are referred to by others as “trash.” Quirks may have effected a massive social upheaval, but that didn’t do away with, only shifted, the specifics of the idea that there are people who are deserving and people who are not, innocent people and criminals.

Throughout the series, we see characters mistreated while a society of deserving innocents looks on. There was little concern from the public when Izuku was mocked and bullied for his Quirklessness, when Rei was sold into a marriage for the benefit of a wealthy and abusive pro hero, when five-year-old Tenko wandered the streets alone, and when Jin was left to fend for himself as a teenager. Under the framework of disposability, they might as well have been rendered “waste,” as Zygmunt Bauman writes: “[t]he story we grow in and with has no interest in waste[...],” instead

“[w]e dispose of leftovers in the most radical and effective way: we make them invisible by not looking and unthinkable by not thinking. They worry us only when the routine elementary defences are broken and the precautions fail—when the comfortable, soporific insularity of our Lebenswelt which they were supposed to protect is in danger.” [source]

It is, interestingly, a bigger-picture version of the charges Shigaraki Tomura directs against the world of BNHA: like Bauman says, the innocent civilians are oblivious, recognizing neither the fragility of their peace nor the artificiality of it as it is maintained by heroes, unwilling to acknowledge the "leftovers”—the people who weren’t saved—until they return as villains and that very peace is threatened.

As for the leftovers themselves, they feel their alienation acutely. According to Bauman, to be “redundant” in a productivity-driven economy is to “share semantic space with ‘rejects’, wastrels’, ‘garbage’, ‘refuse’—with waste.” He outlines the conditions of redundancy thusly, describing it as a kind of “social homelessness”:

“To be redundant means[... t]he others do not need you; they can do as well, and better, without you. There is no self-evident reason for your being around and no obvious justification for your claim to the right to stay around. To be redundant means to have been disposed of because of being disposable[...]”

The experience of this kind of disposability is evident in BNHA, as class and exploitation seem to be highly correlated with social isolation. The members of the Shie Hassaikai were used and abandoned, and bonded strongly to one another after joining Overhaul. Jin’s experience of “social homelessness” shows him walking alone through empty city streets, before he ends up talking to his own clone below an overpass. Jin, too, finds companionship in joining a group, the League of Villains, but fears of disposability and further isolation plague his thoughts. Whether or not he genuinely believes League of Villains would abandon him, Jin feels the need to continue justifying his place among them. The societal bleeds into the personal; Jin’s disposability to society, best represented by his interactions with law enforcement and with his employer, also becomes an anxiety in his interpersonal relationships. Horikoshi’s decision to characterize Jin in such a way makes it impossible to ignore the larger issues that created him; namely, class issues that reflect real-world concerns.

As Jin sits below the overpass, talking to his clone, he asks whether he went wrong somewhere. The other Jin responds that it must have been “being born without an ounce of luck.” Bauman comments on unluckiness thusly:

“In Samuel Butler’s Erewhon it was ‘ill luck of any kind, or even ill treatment at the hands of others’ that was ‘considered an offence against society, inasmuch as it [made] people uncomfortable to hear of it.’ ‘Loss of fortune, therefore’ was ‘punished hardly less severely than physical delinquency’.” [source]

These observations are perfectly applicable to the characters we’ve met. It’s often the “unlucky” who get treated the worst: Izuku was bullied relentlessly for his “unlucky” Quirklessness, and Rei wound up trading her “unlucky” marriage for an institutionalization of ten years. Jin was fired from his job after an “unlucky” accident, fell into a life of crime, and is finally killed by the same hero who offered him a second chance. When Dabi probes Tokoyami Fumikage in an attempt to make him contend with Jin’s “ill treatment” at Hawks’ hands, Tokoyami dismisses it and justifies Jin’s execution, undoubtedly because it would be uncomfortable, possibly even world-shattering, to acknowledge Dabi’s charge. The fact that these people have been unlucky, or have even been actively mistreated or failed by others, turns the public’s gaze away in an attempt to escape the discomfort elicited by these embodiments of society’s waste. For the “redundant” to remind society of its human cost—or even to remind the non-redundant of the small gap of bad luck that separates them—they become objects of revulsion, to be forgotten or discarded as quickly as possible. Rendered “invisible” and “unthinkable” as leftovers, they become “ontologically non-existent.” [source]

Some of the anxiety towards the “redundant” is precisely because the framework of “becoming waste” is permeable. This permeability accounts for the possibility of transforming from citizen to disposable human; perhaps, then, when “all it takes is one bad day,” the line which separates citizen from villain is just as permeable. In the framework of hero society, it may be argued that villains are not simply redundant waste, but the trash whose alienation hero society relies on in a highly visible way. "The disposable, the waste as objects and humans, inhabit a place of exclusion from society which provides not only an unrecognized space of reinforcement for society itself, but also the fuel and the labor for maintaining the status quo.” [source] In BNHA’s terms, not only are villains excluded from a deserving, innocent society, they are also the fuel for maintaining it by embodying its opposite—the guilty and undeserving—their exclusion constantly reinforced through the public spectacle of their arrests and the public idolization of heroes. Villains are no longer simply inert leftovers that can be easily ignored, as Bauman described; villains have broken past hero society’s elementary defenses, and threaten the Lebenswelt of deserving innocents. While their visibility transforms villains back into an acknowledgeable existence, the very act of breaching their invisibility renders them a kind of waste that must be permanently disposed of.

A livable life?

Heroes do not kill. This is stated in 251 by the death-seeking Ending, who, despite his best efforts, is spared an unceremonious execution at the hands of a hero, who the readers know is a domestic abuser. The deathless resolution to Ending’s conflict, then, further compounds the horror of chapter 266, when Jin is eliminated with extreme prejudice by Hawks, who admires the aforementioned hero. The irony is shocking and bitter as readers witness the violation of one of heroism’s fundamental tenets, broken no less for the elimination of one of the series’ most sympathetic villains, after Hawks himself concedes that Jin is “a good person.” It may be said that heroes do not have carte blanche to kill, but neither is it an inviolable principle, and of course a no-kill mandate says nothing about the ways villains have been injured or tortured at the hands of heroes. While arguments can be made about the imminent risk of certain occasions, the issue remains that it’s often the most vulnerable people who pay the highest price for maintaining a nebulous definition of societal “safety” (a “safety” which always seemed to exclude certain people), a concept that is primarily defined by the state and the policing class. Furthermore, the willingness of a hero to kill in defense of hero society begs the question: who may be killed without consequence, and under what circumstances?

In her collection of essays addressing responses to terrorism, Precarious Life, Judith Butler writes:

“Certain lives will be highly protected, and the abrogation of their claims to sanctity will be sufficient to mobilize the forces of war. Other lives will not find such fast and furious support and will not even qualify as "grievable."”

The notion of a “safe” society hinges on the protection of those sanctified lives, at the expense of vulnerable lives deemed “disposable” through poverty, homelessness, or criminality. A threat against the deserving innocents or the murder of a hero unites every other hero and every citizen in public mourning, and then in opposition against murderous villains—there is no such mobilization for the suffering of Quirkless kids, abused women, or orphaned, destitute teenagers. The threats against their well-beings are considered part-and-parcel to their world—normal, unavoidable, and indeed not violence at all. Certainly, a murdered villain will not find such unanimous grief nor anger mobilized in the wake his death, not even directed toward changing the isolated, impoverished conditions which made villainy an appealing choice in the first place. Jin’s death is privately witnessed and privately mourned, only by those who comprised his ibasho. It’s through these uneven displays of grief that Butler questions: “what counts as a livable life and a grievable death?”

Butler argues that certain lives are removed from the bounds of “normative” humanity, and thus “grievability.” Violence against vulnerable lives is dismissed or legitimized by the state through their dehumanization: in the world of BNHA, villains are “presented [...] as so many faces of evil” and treated as mere vessels of a killing instinct.

“Are they pure killing machines? If they are pure killing machines, then they are not humans [...]. They are something less than human, and yet somehow they assume a human form. They represent, as it were, an equivocation of the human, which forms the basis for some of the skepticism about the applicability of legal entitlements and protections.”

This kind of dehumanization is, of course, explained through the claim that certain people are “dangerous,” a designation which (as Butler points out) is determined by none other than the state itself.

“A certain level of dangerousness takes a human outside the bounds of law[... T]he state posits what is dangerous, and in so positing it, establishes the conditions for its own preemption and usurpation of the law[...]”

Perhaps, then, if villains are something other-than-human, something so dedicated to violence that they can be stopped only through death, no "sanctity,” and no law, is violated if they are killed.

The ability of the state to designate certain people as “dangerous” is linked to another political strategy: defining the difference between “legitimate” and “illegitimate” violence. Butler explains:

“The use of the term, "terrorism," thus works to delegitimate certain forms of violence committed by non-state-centered political entities at the same time that it sanctions a violent response by established states. [...] In this sense, the framework for conceptualizing global violence is such that "terrorism" becomes the name to describe the violence of the illegitimate, whereas legal war becomes the prerogative of those who can assume international recognition as legitimate states.” [source]

In the world of BNHA, clearly such a discernment exists between “legitimate” and “illegitimate” violence. Although certain readers have been quick to draw the “terrorism” analogy, the series itself tends to differentiate between “legitimate” and “illegitimate” violence not through charges of terrorism, but through the designation of “hero” and “villain.” Legitimate violence is wielded by heroes in defense of the state, in defense of property, and against villains, whereas illegitimate violence is wielded by villains against the state, against property, and against heroes. This difference between “hero” and “villain” is, in actuality, insubstantial as far as the question of morality, as even labeled villains such as Gentle Criminal behave within a palatable frame of ethics, while some career heroes are just as capable as villains of taking and ruining lives; nevertheless, the state has a vested interest in strongly promoting the idea of this divide—of legitimate, heroic violence as moral, justified, and legal, and illegitimate, villainous violence as immoral, unjustified, and unlawful. In this way, the state can engage in “legal war” with very little questioning or dissent from its populace, and it further delegitimizes the violence of its opponents. The violence of heroes is justified, and therefore they have an understandable human rationale; on the contrary, the violence of villains is unjustified, it is attributed to their innate violence, which is incomprehensible and inhuman.

“The fact that these prisoners are seen as pure vessels of violence [...] suggests that they do not become violent for the same kinds of reason that other politicized beings do, that their violence is somehow constitutive, groundless, and infinite, if not innate. If this violence is terrorism rather than violence, it is conceived as an action with no political goal, or cannot be read politically. It emerges, as they say, from fanatics, extremists, who do not espouse a point of view, but rather exist outside of "reason," and do not have a part in the human community.” [source]

No one personifies this better than Tomura himself. He is named the “Symbol of Terror” by AFO, and is undoubtedly viewed as such by the heroes and civilians of BNHA. It has been repeatedly emphasized that to everyone but the League of Villains, Tomura is not so much a human as he is the embodiment of thoughtless destruction. Tomura is referred to as a monster, as someone unshackled to humanity, as an “it,” as something that cannot be reasoned with. This is an idea that Horikoshi himself seems to play into somewhat, because although Tomura voices certain critiques of the hero system, he nevertheless seems to remain rather apolitical in who or what he decides to target. It’s Jin, then, who lends a political voice to the villains by criticizing pro heroes from his very first narrated chapter, but even a clear articulation of his grievances gets him no understanding reaction from the hero in front of whom he raises these charges.

While the fictional heroes may see villains as nothing more than vessels of violence, it can be argued that Horikoshi himself went through an extensive effort to depict the rationale and humanity of the villains. As I’ve stated before, Jin is very clearly connected to the real-world struggles of certain Japanese citizens, making him real and relatable in ways other characters may not be. At the same time, the rationale and humanity that Horikoshi recognizes are things that heroes like Hawks can’t grasp: as someone who idolized a hero as a child, and who was, for better or worse, enveloped by the hero system, he does not question the legitimacy of the hero system. Hawks understands only unluckiness in Jin’s circumstances, and shows little awareness of the fact that Jin was failed by the very society Hawks defends, that his suffering was both enforced by the legal system and by his boss, and ignored by institutions supposedly designed to help. Jin, of course, is not so obtuse—he reiterates his awareness that he is one of those disposable, ungrievable lives that heroes don’t save, and he is ultimately proven right—when Hawks’ offer of rehabilitation is rejected, he instead moves to kill. Jin, and other villains, are so thoroughly dehumanized, likened to killing machines, that it doesn’t occur to any hero that they can possibly be reasoned with.

Could there have been any other conclusion? I don’t believe so—not without a significant shift in thinking from heroes. For many of the villains, there’s very little to gain from rejoining the society that they were ejected from. Bauman writes that, for “disposable” humans:

“Unwelcome, tolerated at best, cast firmly on the receiving side of socially recommended or tolerated action, treated in the best of cases as an object of benevolence, charity and pity (challenged, to rub salt into the wound, as undeserved), but not of brotherly help, charged with indolence and suspected of iniquitous intentions and criminal intentions, [they have] few reasons to treat ‘society’ as a home to which one owes loyalty and concern.”

It should come as no surprise, then, that Jin rejects Hawks’ offer of a “socially tolerated” rehabilitation into the society that both caused and ignored his suffering, which he has no reason to believe wouldn’t outcast him again for another slip-up. Of course, he instead chose the place he was understood, where his mistakes were met with patience, where he wasn’t forced to justify his presence, where his sense of belonging felt stable. The people he called his ibasho were a home, a place he was allowed an ontological existence—the very inverse of that old, disposable life.

Conclusion

Bubaigawara Jin should be read as class commentary. The various obstacles in his story are all too reflective of the systemic issues of real-world Japan, concisely highlighting the shortcomings and common abuses of the alternative care system, the justice system, and the workplace. It’s also highly likely that Horikoshi himself is aware of economic inequalities on some level, which seems to reflect in the obvious and less-obvious ways he addresses class in BNHA. I think this probable intentionality is important, as it can lend itself to our speculation on the series’ messages and themes. Importantly, if Jin’s story is a commentary about the real-world trials of economic marginalization, then surely this also applies to the way he is treated by heroes and by wider society. Beyond simple evaluations of “X did this, which forced Y to respond,” certain narrative choices may be better understood as a pattern of illustrating disposability, of the way this fictional society creates “human waste,” and to relate them to real-world patterns of which lives are considered worth saving.

I somewhat downplayed the real-world inspirations for Bauman and Butler’s texts, because I believe those are true and serious topics about capitalism and war that should be discussed on their own merits, unrelated to a fictional series; however, they also perfectly show how certain beliefs in the real world are transferrable to BNHA’s world. Because these beliefs are transferrable, readers’ reactions to certain narratives in fiction are rooted in certain truths we believe about the real world as well. For example, it would pointless to call the League of Villains “terrorists” as a condemnation, unless someone believes that the charge of “terrorism” in itself tells us anything meaningful about morality. As Butler has explained, and as real life shows (e.g. through the designation of black radical groups like the Black Panthers or antifascist groups as terrorist organizations), the term “terrorism” alone holds no inherent moral implication. Imagining that the label of “terrorist” can meaningfully convey anything about morality, and that "being a terrorist” removes a person from the boundaries of “normative humanity” (and thus due legal process in-universe, and reader sympathy out-of-universe) reflects an ignorance about certain real-world political processes.

Injustice in the world doesn’t only take the form of obvious oppression and violence; manipulation is also involved. There is a vested interest by the ruling class in guiding the ways people think and perceive reality, teaching us what we deserve and don’t deserve, what prices are acceptable and unacceptable to pay for human life. These lessons must be rejected from the outset, leaving rules and definitions open for interpretation. What qualifies as violence? Is violence more than a physical act of harm? Is it violence to isolate “unproductive” members of society? Is it violence to deny them food and shelter? Is it then violence to cage and execute them when they do not non-violently accept their subjugation? What forms of violence are unacceptable and why? Where does violence really begin?

Dismantling oppression can only be achieved by questioning its very foundations and the language used to justify it; fiction, by enveloping us into a new reality—a new world with new rules—should make this questioning easier if we’re willing to divest ourselves of certain beliefs fed to us by those in power. BNHA, as imperfect as it is, certainly tries to raise some of these questions about the designations of “heroes” and “villains,” about the deserving and undeserving, about who is saved and who gets left behind. I would go further, and argue that to invest legitimacy into the hero system is to invest legitimacy into everything that perpetuates it: the poverty, the violence, the disposability of those judged “villainous,” and the idea that agents of the state are uniquely positioned to enact legitimate violence. Confronting crime means eliminating the need for it and the conditions that give rise to it, and only then, not a moment before, will the problem of villains largely cease to exist.

#jin bubaigawara #bubaigawara jin #bnha meta #the exhaustive meta about i love twice

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frigidum · 3 years

Text

° ☁ 。woo sunjae

woo sunjae ( & min yoongi, BTS ) is a twenty-seven year old Dreamer dreaming a dream of snowfall who has been part of the Collective for two months. He works as a painting instructor and is known for being beguiling and serpentine. Look closer, however, and you may find that he reminds you of vibrantly stained denim, the scent of musky cologne, and desperately trying to hold your eyes open.

about // pinterest // profile // wanted plots

sunjae was raised by his grandparents, as his parents were simply not well equipped to care for a child. as a result, he's extremely close to them even to this day, while he really hasn't made much contact with his parents.

always had a bit of anxiety growing up, as well as abandonment issues for obvious reason. still, he always tried his best to be lighthearted and positive.

he developed a love of painting, as it helped ease his anxiety. he'd spend hours in his room in silence, just painting away. he enjoyed the abstract style most of all, as it allowed him to mindless apply color to canvas without focusing.

he also found that he seriously enjoyed disappearing into the world of video games. his childhood, needless to say, was rather vibrant and colorful.

in secondary school, he'd blossomed quite a bit, growing out of his awkwardly anxious phase and into a charming, handsome young man. he found it far easier to make friends than he had at younger ages, and the romantic attention he was garnering grew as well.

there was a particular girl that he blushed furiously at every time they passed in the hallway. he'd never quite liked someone like this since he'd grown into a more popular figure, so he was barely aware of what to do outside of the cool new persona he'd established himself as around the school.

thankfully, she was adept enough to take the lead, confessing her feelings before sunjae really had to worry about it. once the two were finally on the same page, they became inseparable. you'd rarely see one at school without the other, and the same could be said on the weekends, honestly!

once they'd both graduated, the two married in a small, but charming ceremony. life, though modest, was rather sweet in the early stages. one thing became staggeringly clear, though, they'd been deprived of a world beyond each other.

for three years, they experienced the highs and lows of becoming exclusive in high school and never really taking the time to explore life. partnering this with the both of them living their married life in a university dorm, and what was once two people joined at the hip slowly started to become two people who were finding themselves away from each other.

arguments about money started to become their sole interactions with each other, and though they still loved one another dearly, the painful decision to separate was made.

it wasn't long before being independent was the far more appealing route to take, and so a divorce was finalized between them, four years after they'd initially exchanged vows.

following the split, sunjae kinda became a ginormous flirt?? he's not really sure if he's just enjoying the ability to flex his flirt muscle without any strings attached, or if he's actually just trying to fill the romantic void his divorce left.

once he received his art degree, he'd settled into a job as a painting instructor at areum's arts & crafts, something that brought a lot of peace to his mind. he also began streaming some of his painting sessions, as he thought it might be something people want to watch. (lowkey wants to be the next bob ross but honestly might be a bit too much of a tortured soul for all that aksjdhf)

after witnessing the shooting star, the richter scale on sunjae's life began measuring out of control. though the dreams he was having seemed comforting at first, they soon began to devolve almost all the time into nightmares. his creative inclinations ramp up the frequency a bit, though he hasn't quite made that connection yet. it might devestate him if he does.

due to what scientists have observed about nightmares being driven by negative feelings, sunjae wonders if he has unresolved trauma of some kind, or maybe even lingering feelings of regret from the dissolution of his marriage.

either way, the dreams have reignited a lot of his childhood anxieties. the worst part of it all is that he seems convinced that someone else is present in some of the dreams, and if that's the case, they too are experiencing his hell. it drudges up a lot of guilt for sunjae, who would much rather suffer alone than spread it around.

upon learning of the dream collective, sunjae jumped at the chance to take part. he's hoping they can help him find out why his dreams have spun out of control, and maybe even who else is present in them.

he's taken to living at the facility so they can have access to him whenever they need him. plus, he feels much safer dreaming under their care. there are dualing sides of his mind when it comes to their organization; one side is quite skeptical of their intentions. would someone really just offer up free housing in the name of humanitarianism? the other side of him is innocently curious of all the secret knowledge they might possess about these very vivid dreams and the shooting star that caused them. the latter side is currently winning, possibly due to his desperation in resolving his issues.

#tdc:intro #/ today is my sister's birthday so i won't be around 'til a bit later but please feel free to either like this or im me directly!#/ i'll get back to you asap and we can either plot or just plan our first thread ;-; i rly look forward to writing with all of you!

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theelliottsmiths · 4 years

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do you feel like talking about tillchard? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 not necessarely in a shippy way, just,,, how their relationship functions and why,,,, how they made it work for so long even tho they're so different,,,, i'm trying to write them but i'm in a bit of a block and i feel like you can word things so well and hopefully it will make me able to string words together again 🥺🥺 have a good day in any case 🥺🥺

Okay we have to ease into this my brain needs to warm up to switch tracks so I'm just gonna

Disclaimer: this is mostly conjecture and inference, take it with a full handful of salt.

I feel like whether or not they're all that different is up for debate? Maybe in terms of interests and conflict management skills, but the fundamentals seem pretty similar. I'd argue that's usually the basis for long, intense friendships: your core structures are the same but there's enough difference further out towards the surface that it stays a little spicy.

For a start, they both had rough home lives, though to different extents and in different ways, and I think that's one of those things that really helps people bond deeply (especially as young adults). Finding someone who understands what you've experienced can be difficult, not even accounting for the fact that they didnt have the internet to seek others out and kind of met by chance.

For Richard, who learned from a fairly early age it was him against everything and everyone else, and Till, who at that time had gone through some interpersonal shit with the people he worked with before leaving to move in with his dad and then also the stuff with his dad, it must have been almost... Shocking? to meet someone they could click with and depend on. It doesn't sound like they had that before, but nobody really has asked them. On top of that is all kinds of other trauma and the mental health issues (depression, addiction, anxiety etc) that they can at least to some degree understand in each other. I have no idea how long it took for their friendship to get that intense or any of that more specific stuff, but I honestly don't think that matters: They understand each other at a pretty fundamental level now. Sometimes I think about how Till believes in karma and Richard believes in fate and I just... Yeah.

They have very different feelings and reactions when it comes to disagreements (Till hates conflict and will try to placate people or just do what they want completely, Richard prefers a good cathartic argument) and I can absolutely see them having a hard time with that, especially when they lived together for a while. Whether they have much to fight over besides silly friend/bandmate/brother things remains to be seen.

They're also both very driven and creative almost to a fault? Though Till seems a lot better at switching off and leaving that headspace, whereas Richard doesn't seem like he'd be able to even of he wanted to, which I don't think he does. If one is lost in their work the other will understand. I wonder whether they try to offer support, given how much emotion they both channel into it, or if that's not something either of them would want.

They feed into each others creativity so nicely too. They use that to their complete advantage and honestly just... Can you imagine Rammstein if they didn't go to each other with their ideas first? I think they need each others encouragement before they face the more critical members of the band: the support of a single person can make so much difference.

When the Mutter Situation was in progress Till was the only one in Richards side, though I doubt he inserted himself into many arguments because he's allergic to shouting. I with my whole heart believe that Richard would have tried to leave Rammstein if it wasn't for Till. He'd already thought about it, in particular at times when they were struggling financially. Without that tether would he have gone back willingly? I'm not so sure. He loved them and they were still friends outside of the work, but I don't know that the work with them would feel worth it. Complete conjecture.

Theyll have inevitably drifted in and out of their friendship over the years, which I know a lot of us (especially those of is in our teens and twenties) hate the idea of because we have not experienced 30-year adult friendships and therefore it feels Risky, but actually thats pretty fine. It seems like at some point Richard wasn't happy with the gap and he made efforts to change it, which says so much about him and them. No idea if it worked, but it (along with the stuff with the other guys) shows he's willing to work against his whole lone wolf thing. Again, that man will fight. I'm sure Till was receptive.

I also really do think the other guys being there and them all forming the band was vital. Yes, it did eventually mean their friendship morphed into something more like brothers and colleagues than friends, but again, Let's Go. "Sometimes people need to be reminded". Having those shared friends/bandmates—as well as Khira li, come to think of it— meant that two men who seem fairly prone to cutting themselves off from everyone else didn't have the choice to completely grow apart. It means they had even more shared experiences and had no choice but to be physically together for long stretches of time.

Related to the mutter thing, I do wonder sometimes how Till is when it comes to Richards drug addiction. He's not exactly a fan of the therapy (did it hurt Richard when Till said therapy makes people egotistical, what with him praising it so highly himself?) and still does drugs and binge drinks. How safe is he to be around if Richard is in a bad spot? Presumably Till isn't like that when he's not in work mode, so hanging out one in one or with family/the other boys is probably okay, but in tour? Well, maybe that's why Paul looks after him on stage like that.

Yeah. They're sweet boys and I'm glad they met each other, both because of the band and because they were clearly good for each other. Regardless of any of the negative stuff I just said they love each other. So. Fucking. Much.

Okay so looking back upon this I do not know if I did what you asked. Uh. Shit. Distraction:

#ive been trying to hard not to start with the autism/adhd thing im trying so hard to shush #rammstein #me rambling #till lindemann #richard zk #basically an essay #friends

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neverendingparable · 3 years

Text

Returning Home

mentions of self harm, suicide, mental illness, drugs, medication, scars

Someone was knocking at the door, loud and urgent, interrupting his reading.

Ezra picked up the bookmark and slid it in between the pages, then checked his phone in case he had overlooked a message before he got up to answer.

Probably someone from the downstairs apartments was asking for help again. He wasn't quite sure when he became the man to go to whenever the trash collectors oversaw their cans or when scammy ads were on their way to frightening people into buying insurance with shady companies, but it seemed like every time something odd happened around here, at least one person would turn to him for help.

He unlocked the door and opened it, ready to assure a worried elder about doubting the legitimacy of the latest marketing scam. Instead of his downstairs neighbors, he found Stanley, sweater and hair disheveled and eyes bloodshot.

Ah.

Ezra didn't expect him to come knocking so soon and an unexpected flutter of panic unfolded in his chest. It was only two days ago when they had the fight, or rather it was Ezra chastising him, telling him that he had to choose between living and dying once and for all.

'I'm not going to be with someone who is constantly on the edge, Spencer,' he had said, trying his hardest not to yell. 'You need to figure out what you want. I can't stop you from hurting but I can be there with you every step of the way if you want to recover. I want to be there for you. But I can't watch you sabotage yourself, much less stand by idly while you dig your own grave.'

He had poured in years of frustration with his ex boyfriend, all those times he was Stanley's rock, the reason why he was still alive, the one to treat his injuries. But it had never gotten better and Ezra decided that perhaps if he gave him an ultimatum, Stanley would finally realize he was being serious. He wasn't going to stand around and watch the most important person of his life kill himself slowly.

That was the last time he had talked with him. He wanted to give him space to think about his words, to let Stanley feel the absence so he knew the gravity of his choices. Ezra had felt a tiny bit guilty about it all, but he knew it was important. Nothing else had worked before.

He had expected a week or so of silence until Spencer eventually crawled back and reluctantly agreed to try out something. He hadn't prepared to be confronted so quickly.

Despite the nervousness creeping up his throat, Ezra relaxed into a friendlier stance and attempted to smile.

"You look awful," He said lightly. "Did you stay up all night?"

Stanley stared at him. There was something wild in his eyes. Fear? Desperation?

"....did you have a nightmare, Stanley?" Something felt off. Even if he did simply pull an all nighter or - possibly - hadn't slept since their argument two nights ago, it didn't make sense for him to look this worn down. Stanley was the type of guy that could take three all nighters in a row without flinching even at age twenty five, while Ezra who was only slightly older felt groggy if he didn't go to bed before midnight.

Perhaps Ezra had managed to get through to him after all and Stanley felt so guilty he spent the last two days beating himself up over it before working up the nerve to come here. Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better.

"Wha...what date is it?" Stanley finally croaked out in a hoarse whisper.

Ezra blinked. "Sorry?"

"The date."

"It's Tuesday." Ezra stepped forward to coax him in, but stopped when Stanley made a noise of frustration.

"Year??" He demanded.

Maybe he was drunk. Or high. Or both. Ezra was certain you weren't supposed to mix drugs and alcohol but if something was forbidden and potentially dangerous it would make sense for Spencer of all people to try it.

"Why don't you come in and I'll get you a glass of water," He attempted again, keeping his voice gentle. "You're confused—"

"For fuck's sake! Just tell me the damn date-" Stanley's voice cracked and became strangled. He looked like he was about to cry.

Ezra had no clue what was going on. It scared him though, even after all these years of witnessing breakdowns and fits of rage, he had never seen his friend like this. It was like he changed into a different person overnight. The Spencer two days ago barely seemed remorseful after their relationship abruptly ended.

"It's October the 15th, 2013," Ezra said carefully.

Spencer's face fell instantly. It was the oddest expression he had ever seen on someone, full of sadness and understanding, hope and rage and a tinge of happiness. Like all of his worst fears were just confirmed and amidst it all, so was his greatest wish. He swayed for a second, lost in a million mile stare and then steadied himself enough to step into Ezra's apartment.

He stood there, looking around while Ezra closed the door behind him. His eyes rested on every piece of furniture as if making sure they were all still there where he remembered them to be.

Then he turned towards the couch and for a split moment, Ezra could've sworn he saw a pale thin scar stretch across the back of Spencer's neck, like someone had attempted a decapitation. He shuddered and looked again and found it gone.

"So-....uh..." Spencer took a seat on the couch awkwardly. He searched his thoughts for a second then attempted to appear a bit more relaxed, like he was stepping back into his role as the nonchalant jokester.

"How are you, um, Ezra?"

Ezra stared at him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, you come stumbling in here like a zombie on drugs and now you want to make small talk? What happened to you?"

Spencer shrugged. Normally it would make his blood boil but Ezra just felt helpless. This didn't seem an attempt to dismiss his concerns. Spencer was guarded, sitting like a caged animal ready to jump and run at the first sign of danger.

"I'm not on any drugs."

"Alcohol?"

"No."

"Did you take any meds?" He had to ask just in case Spencer was cleverly avoiding confessing to be drugged up with medication instead of drugs he bought off a friend.

"No." Spencer paused. "I'm...I'm just a bit confused, that's all. Had a rough-...rough time."

Ezra sat across from him, hesitated, and took his hands into his own. He could feel them shaking slightly and when he looked up, he could tell Stanley was trying hard not to cry.

"Stanley...please. Just be honest. What happened to you?"

"It's- nothing." You wouldn't believe me hung heavy in the air between them.

"Was it the argument? Was I too harsh?" Ezra didn't want to hear the confirmation that he might've been the cause for this. He hadn't thought he pushed him too hard with his words. Perhaps it had been a mistake. Stanley had abandonment issues and maybe the break up left him more shaken up than Ezra had realized-

"No." The tremble in Stanley's voice disappeared. "No, it wasn't you, Ezra, don't think that. If anything, it was my fault. I was a shit boyfriend and an even shittier friend."

"Stanley-"

"No, let me talk." Stanley pulled his hands away. "You were right, you've always been. I was unfair to you, I was selfish and immature and only thought about my wants. I took advantage of your second chances again and again and you were right to tell me to stop my bullshit."

"Well..."

"I'm sorry, too." His voice grew softer. "I never thought I'd get this chance to say this but I'm sorry. Ezra, I love you. As a friend, as a soulmate, as whatever you want to call it. I know we're not boyfriends right now but please believe me I'm so sorry and I don't want to leave you."

"What...do you mean you never thought you'd get the chance to say it?" All he got as an answer was two armfuls of Stanley, holding onto him for dear life.

He returned the hug carefully, lost in the absurdity of the situation. It felt like a dream he wasn't aware he stumbled into. It felt like he had just narrowly avoided a horrible fate and the weight of the 'almost' was looming over them like storm clouds.

Stanley was still talking about how sorry he was and how he was going to get better, therapy, life coaches, mental hospitals, whatever you want I'll do it just don't kick me out tonight and he sounded so desperate Ezra almost believed that whatever happened to him was a type of horror he’ll never understand.

Logic told him it was just a very extreme case of depression. Perhaps he had been drinking. Perhaps he beaten himself up so much over these past two days that he had somehow driven himself to hysterics and if he really did mean it then he would have to prove himself.

But that night Stanley clung to him until he passed out in exhaustion and even in his sleep his grip was tight enough to suffocate.

He did stay true to his words. He threw out everything remotely harmful, even donated his rather impressive knife collection to a local thrift shop. He went to every doctor Ezra recommended to him and soon he was on meds again, getting weekly counsel sessions.

The doctors told him that Stanley was suffering from a type of extreme PTSD, one that couldn't be easily explained from his childhood. His parents had been neglectful, not violent and once they both graduated, their lives have been fairly normal.

Spencer was eventually put on anxiety medications. He was unbearably clingy, to the point where Ezra found him staring at the door when he came back from getting groceries or the mail.

He had nightmares too, ones he only vaguely described as feeling 'trapped' in. Nightmares that involve him losing Ezra in endless hallways, meeting monsters who wanted to tear him apart, watching himself die in various ways.

The source of these newfound problems remained unknown as Stanley stayed tight lipped, changing the subject whenever Ezra pried too hard. But despite the new wave of horror now haunting him, he didn't refuse treatment even once. And it was through their combined efforts he eventually got better. He stopped being scared of entering new buildings, stopped waking up in the middle of the night screaming, stopped going into a nervous fit whenever Ezra was out of his sight.

He found new hobbies, building little machines in his spare time and on the weekends they would spend hours hiking nearby trails.

They started dating again. Stanley's previous shyness about intimacy had all but disappeared and been replaced by neediness. He bared himself shamelessly, asking to be loved for every flaw and Ezra obliged.

Whatever happened was beyond his comprehension. He didn't know how someone could change so drastically and for the longest time he blamed himself for not seeing the signs earlier. That perhaps Stanley had always been like that and he had never noticed.

But there were little things that confused him. Every so often, when they were untangling in bed or just in the shower, he caught glimpses of unexplainable scars on Spencer's body. Scars that were deep and ugly, scars that told of violent deaths. Decapitation, disemboweling, torture, burn marks. A second look and they were gone.

Sometimes he felt an odd sort of calling when he was walking down the hallways of the hospital or his work office. A longing to open a door and step inside, see what could be on the other side. The one time he did, he found a broom closet where he was sure that hadn't been before and the energy radiating from it was so hungry he had closed it quickly and left.

Several times he caught glimpses of someone watching them while they were out in public. An impossibly tall figure in a suit, a smiling woman in an exceptionally colorful dress who looked a little too much like Stanley used to look when he still had long hair, a man in an overcoat and a top hat. None of them ever approached and Ezra was strangely relieved.

As the treatments carried on, Stanley found his lively spark again. He insisted on being called Bradley, ('Brat-ley' he explained proudly) and tried his hardest to live up to the name.

It didn't bother Ezra, however. They were happy. Alive, well and happy.

And that's all that mattered.

#drabble #backwards au #one of the bradleys who came home #ezra jaxden #the good ending #this is very self indulgent but i hope its not too rambly nonetheless

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