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skullwillow155 · 3 months

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Fanfic Draft - Sanji x oc (+More than likely Zoro) Sanji and oc had a sort of relationship before the time skip was fully official and depending how I go zoro develops feelings for oc. The split starting that up. This is post time skip and only the first draft so I may rewrite this slightly. Its no means finished and there will be more adventure with everything happening.

I hope its not too bad. I haven't wrote fanfiction in years and I haven't wrote for one piece before. So it may not be brilliant yet until I get my writing groove back on but I had a small idea and wanted to start something. Inspired by a chat I was having.

Story is also on A03 if anyone wants to follow so they don't miss any updates

Part 2 is up

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It had been two years since The Strawhat’s all saw each other after the incident on Sabaody and now the whole crew were finally reuniting back where it started. Jeshika couldn’t contain her excitement and if she was honest her nerves. Two years was a long time to be apart from everyone and she wondered if everything would be the same.

The anticipation was killing her as she stood on the Thousand Sunny with Nami and Robin. That had already been an emotion reunion, only just finishing hugging and crying with each other. Well the crying was mostly her and Nami but Robin was smiling. She had changed so much from when she last saw her. Her appearance was so much different but she would deal with everything later she was just grateful that she had her friends back. It was too surreal and she honestly never thought this day would come. How 3 months had turned into two years, that had broken her heart when Luffy told them to stay away but in her heart she understood that they had to get stronger. She never liked it but she trusted her captain that it was the right choice.

She got stuck in her thoughts of the last two years that a few hours passed and the sky began to get darker. She didn’t realise how long she had been in thought until Nami and Robin were sorting things out on the ship, calling to her to come with them and sort things out. She snapped out of her thought and refused the offer, not wanting to move until she saw them; instead she stood waiting impatiently for Luffy to return with Zoro and Sanji.

She wouldn’t leave the deck, waiting for her captain to return, almost wondering if they would. She didn’t to lose them again not when she was this close to having everyone back together again. She bit her lip and sighed, feeling the anxiety bubbling up. She knew things never went to plan with them but she hoped this was one of the days where she could just have a little bit of peace. Waiting on the ship was agonising. She kept tapping her feet on the ground and biting her nails, feeling herself get more frayed as the minutes turned to hours. All she wanted was to be reunited with everyone and she wanted to see both Zoro and Sanji. Her heart aching at that thought.

After what felt like hours she finally heard a light holler in the distance before seeing Sanji wave her way. His eyes going wide as he looks over. “Ahhhh~~ Jeshika – Swan” He hollered and waved happily, a pool of blood leaking from his nose, he goes to cover that and his eyes we’re bright. The blood, excitement and movement caused him to fall off the small ride the three were on and being thrown onto the ship near your feet.

She sees them coming back and smiles as she waves back at them, letting out a squeal. Luffy hops off the boat with a wide smile and Zoro making his way behind Luffy onto the ship; not before looking at the chef in disgust and taking a step over Sanji’s body.

Jeshika took in the sight before her and couldn’t help the wide smile on her face. Luffy was talking fast and loud almost bouncing over the ship which took her attention away briefly before seeing Zoro in the corner. She immediately goes to Zoro first giving him a long hug as she took in his scent and appearance for the first time in two years. It was similar but also different and that made her feel a little sad at the thought he seemed different but she let that thought slide trying to revel in the here and now. They were here that was all that mattered. Zoro was quite stoic and rigid at the hug but she did feel him give a small squeeze back. That was more than she needed. Just to know he was happy to see her, he had a small smile on his face which he tried to hide but Jeshika saw it. She smiled back not needed to speak. There was no need for words between them, she could still feel the connection they once shared and let out a small almost inaudible sigh of relief. Maybe things could get back to some normality now.

She let out another smile at Zoro almost getting lost in the feeling of having him back that she almost forgot everyone else. Just for a moment that is until she felt movement by her feet and realising Sanji was still on the floor. She let out a chuckle before pulling away from Zoro and bending down to pull Sanji into a tight hug.

She saw the blood coming from his nose still and let out a small chuckle. “Same old Sanji” she whispered in glee. She was grateful that there was some familiarity after all these years. The blood going on her bikini top but she didn’t care, almost pulling him into a much tighter hug. Two years was too long. She pulled him even closer to her chest and hugged him tight. Just letting all her emotions wash over her.

She could feel his body trembling against hers, His grip on her tightening, as he knuckles almost turns white. She could feel him digging into her skin but she didn’t mind. It made it feel real.

Sanji had been yearning to feel Jess’ warmth again so badly for a long time, being stuck on that island made him yearn for her touch more than he would like to admit. He could see Zoro raise an eyebrow at his behaviour but he didn’t care. They were both over the moon to see you and neither were going to ruin this moment even if it was tempting to snap at the other.

Blood had covered Jeshika’s chest from his nose as he tried so hard to stop it but the sight of her was too much, she had changed too but it wasn’t in a bad way. Her figure and her aura just made him want to soak in everything about her once again. He was embarrassed beyond belief but he just couldn’t stop himself. He doesn’t want to move away from fear of her not being there anymore.

He continued to hug back with all of his strength and leans his head into her before pushing his face against her breasts. It was done without thinking but the scent of her and the softness was all he wanted, craved even. He needed the warmth and the comfort only she could give him and he was going to be greedy and take it all. Relief also washing over him at being in your grasp again.

Zoro felt a hint of jealousy run through him at the two of you hugging, a flash going though his eyes but he didn’t make a move to stop it. He could feel the tension, knowing they both needed this, even if it was killing him to not be able to touch her. He wouldn’t let Sanji win and show what he was feeling. He had thought long and hard throughout the two years as he was training with Mihawk. Thoughts of Jeshika always staining his mind in the quiet moments of day. The thoughts became more and more as the years passed by. Almost wondering what would happen if and when he finally got to see her again. He couldn’t pinpoint those feelings gnawing at his chest at the sight of the idiot cook and Jeshika hugging but it pulled him into his thoughts. Zoro was lost in thought just taking in her appearance realising how much she had changed but there was still the same old Jeshika underneath the change in appearance and it made him twitch his lips a little; grateful no one saw that. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

Jess lifted her head to look at Zoro almost expecting him to have disappeared with the captain, usually first to follow when Luffy was to leave, when she noticed him staring. She felt a light blush creep on her cheeks and looked away bashfully before holding onto Sanji tighter, burying her nose into his blonde hair; one to avoid Zoro’s intense gaze and two to try and remember the scent she has missed so dearly. Zoro caught Jeshika’s glance and cleared his throat before turning away and pretending to inspect his swords.

Jeshika didn’t know how she had coped in those two years. Being away from her captain and the crew was bad but being away from both Sanji and Zoro had almost broken her. Many a nights she thought of her crew, wondering what they were doing but each and every night the thoughts always came back to one of two Strawhat’s; Sanji or Zoro. Her and Sanji were close, probably the closest she was to any of the crew, before they had separated and her and Zoro’s relationship was complicated but there was always an undeniable bond between those two that they had; even if Zoro never voiced anything they both cared for each other deeply.

She was pulled out of her thoughts at the feel of wet on her chest, She looked down to see the blood pouring but didn’t care that she was covered in it. All that mattered was the man in front of her. With shaky breaths she kissed the top of his head and lets him soak her presence up like a sponge.

She had a warm feeling in her chest knowing she was back with the two most important people in her life and felt a calm wash over her.

As they hugged Zoro teased Sanji at his behaviour trying to cover his own thought’s and feelings. Sanji’s head snapped up to give Zoro and glare but was brought back to Jeshika’s presence quickly. The words he wanted to say to Zoro dying on his lips as he tried so hard to stop the blood from flowing. “Stupid moss head” He whispered but there was no malice to it.

In the background the rest of the crew were laughing and talking and all Jeshika could think was she was home. Everyone were all so happy to be together again. Everyone had changed in someway she could tell but the bonds they had seemed to just fall back into place and that was all that mattered. She was just happy that Sanji was still Sanji no matter what else may have changed in the two years apart. She was sure there was some change in him but this, this was still the same man she knew.

“I missed you...” She whispered with shaky breaths; a couple of tears staining her cheeks. She looked at both Sanji and at Zoro as she said those words. Zoro’s heart swell but didn’t move, wanting to say he missed her too but the words got stuck in his throat.

She felt Sanji pull his head back from her chest and wipe his nose one more time not noticing how much blood was stained and wiped away the tears with the pad of his thumb. “I missed you too suteki na” He said intently as his nose bleed started to dry up.

It was true. He had missed her terribly. He took in her beauty and her smile and fell in love all over again. Her hair had grown longer and she had grown a tan since she had been gone but she was still beautiful to him. “My god I’ve missed you so much” He pulls back and stared into her eyes Intently, feeling like he was finally home.

Now he had pulled back she finally took in his appearance and noticed how much he’s changed just by glancing at him. His blue eyes had come more intense, his hair had grown, covering his face a little bit more. She noticed his fringe changing sides on his face and the stubble he had grown and looked him up and down drinking in his appearance. Both the men in front of her had different auras about them but she couldn’t help feel soft inside at the two men in front of her. This wasn't an entirely new feeling but she was glad the last two years could now finally be ended. She didn't have to be lonely anymore.

Part 1? Might change some of it not too sure.

#fanfiction #fanfic #one piece #zoro #sanji #zoro x reader #zoro x oc #sanji x oc #sanji x reader #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #nami #nico robin #robin #chopper #franky #luffy #monkey d. luffy

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whoreshijima · 3 years

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So me and @m-mortimer did a lil collab :) all we do is thirst at eachother so here enjoy our one braincelled thinking and horniness 🤍

Thank you Izzy for allowing me to post this ilyvm and Your smart brain :))

WC- 2.9k

CW// daddy kink, reader has a vagina, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, slight mention of breeding, FaceTime masturbation, choking, mentions of fem receiving oral, basically no prep fucking

Every time Ushijima goes away, he promises to call you everyday, even if it’s for two minutes before bed or as he’s eating his lunch on the small breaks he gets. You appreciate it so much, the way he thinks about you constantly. But sometimes it gets to be way too much, way too long. He’s been away for three days now, three days too long. Ushijima called you as often as he could, simply missing the sweet tone you’d greet him with, the smile on your face as you answered the call. He loved every part of you, from how you dance whilst making dinner as he watched through the screen. Or how, like right now, you’re trying to hide your whimpers from the microphone and how you’re trying to keep your face straight, keeping the casual chatter about what you’re going to do that day.

It started as a simple FaceTime call from his cheap hotel bed, like any other day he’s away. But the grumbling deep voice on the other end of the phone, mixed with three days without his touch, made you shivery and needy. You didn’t know Ushijima was thinking the same thing. The slight mess of your bed hair and bare skin around your shoulders and chest from the small cami you were wearing made his breath catch in his chest, blood rushing south instantly.

“I dunno I might go grocery s-shoppping” you mumble out, cursing yourself for stumbling over your words as your fingers ghost over your clit, the slickness from your arousal easing your movements between your legs. Ushi can hear the sheets shuffling, the way your legs spread to give you more space to slide your fingers deep inside yourself, the wet sounds not breezing past your boyfriend's ears without notice. “Get us some f-food for when you come home?” You can’t hide the way your breath catches in your throat as you catch the spot deep inside you, the spot that Ushijima knows makes you scream and gush around him. “W-what would you like to eat?”

If Ushijima could answer honestly, he’d want to eat you. Spend hours between your legs as he swirls his warm tongue around and over your clit, strong hands pinning your legs to the bed as he spits and devours your cunt. There’s nothing better than the idea of you cumming over his mouth, writhing and wriggling under his firm grip, as two fingers curl and scissor inside you, knowing that he’s prepped you enough for his cock. Prepped you enough so that the stretch around him doesn’t hurt you as much as it should.

Just the thought of him being between your legs, cunt stretched so beautifully around him as he pushes inside you, your soft, plush thighs wrapped around his waist as he bucks his hips up into your swollen cunt. Imagining the way your warm walls surround him as he pins you to the mattress, a large hand wrapped around your tiny throat, completely at his mercy, has him pushing his hips into the mattress.

“Erm, chicken of some type?” Lower. His voice was definitely lower, almost a snarl as he talks to you, the pressure of his cock against the mattress making his eyes roll to the back of his head briefly.

“S-stir fry?” You turn your head to meet his gaze through the screen, your eyes are glazed over. Your glossy ones meet his lust filled stare, his lips are parted in small gasps and grunts. You know exactly how his other hand is gripping the sheets, knuckles turning whiter and whiter everytime the head of his cock catches against the bumps of the sheets and mattress. Neither of you bothering to hide from eachother, you let out a whine, letting your mouth hang open as you speed your fingers up against your clit.

How you wish you could see his swollen, leaking cock right now. The way it twitches with every grind forward, how the pre cum beads at the head of his cock before dripping down the shaft. But the way his face is scrunched up as he closes his eyes, the few beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and how the hand holding the phone is shaking ever so slightly drives you insane. You can hear the squeak of his hotel mattress everytime he moves against it, the steady sound obvious to anyone near his room. The gentle banging of the headboard against the wall would make anyone think he’s Railing someone hard, but it’s just him, desperately rutting against the bed.

Ushi growls out a “Fuck baby” and that’s all it takes for you to arch your back and cry out for him, fingers rubbing speedily at your swollen clit and leaking pussy. The lewd sounds of your sweet slick dripping out of you mixed with the sweet Mewls you let out, driving ushi over the edge. His hips roll one, two times before he grunts out, body shaking as he cums, spilling all over his boxers and the sheets underneath him. His cock is throbbing over the thought of cumming inside you, marking you as his. Breeding you and filling you up with his cum. He lets out a shaky breath, staring into your eyes as he watches your arm moving fast in the view of the camera.

“Cum for me” he growls, voice low and gruff as he commands you to cum. And you’re not one to disobey him, your fingers move faster as you grind up into your touch. A high whimper leaves your mouth as you reach the point of orgasm, swiftly followed by a loud and needy moan, directing it at your boyfriend. Your body shakes and twitches as you ride it out, a layer of sweat adorning your skin.

“Fuck...” you whisper, finally going limp against the sheets and pillows “I miss you... so much” his gaze has softened as he smiles gently at you. He so desperately wants to reach through the screen to stroke your cheek with his thumb, hooking his fingers under your chin and pull you in for a deep kiss. To feel how your spit mixes together, and how it drips over your chin after he’s fucked you dumb on his cock.

He chuckles deeply, it rumbling through his chest “Oh just you wait till I’m home baby”

He was late. Which was a first, because there was no skirting around anything with him, either five minutes early or exactly on time. Maybe it was the nerves making you work double speed, looking at the clock every other second, turning on your phone and forgetting to actually look at the time and having to turn it on again, revisiting the last message he’d sent you - a blunt text telling you he was just getting a taxi from the airport and that he should be back in about thirty minutes.

Forty minutes ago. The skin around your thumb was raw with how you’d been nibbling at it, but not from nerves, if the dampness of your underwear and the tension in your core was anything to go by. No, you were ridiculously turned on, from what? From everything, from nothing, from him and that goddamn look he gave you two nights ago, paired with a few choice words that sparked lightning up your spine just remembering them.

“Baby.”

In that blunt, dark voice of his, croaky from sleep and strained from moaning your name, lips swollen from how hard he’d been biting it to stop himself grunting and snarling as loud as he usually did. God - that was what you were waiting for, the sounds of him, the smell of him, the taste of him, of his mouth, of his fingers, of his cock.

You shivered, a wave of lust clouding your mind for a split second, daring to slide a hand between your thighs, trembling and tensing already, and all you’d done was think about him. 3 days, 3 fucking days and you were reduced to this quivering mess on the couch at the thought of Ushijima coming through that door and finally - finally giving you what he’d promised during that call.

A muffled vibration and ding sprung you from your thoughts, from your quick spiralling down into a puddle on the floor, ripping your fingers from your underwear to pick up your phone, heart stopping and breath catching at the singular word on the screen.

Here

It was a fucking word and yet, a fresh wave of arousal flushed through your body and you struggled to stand, shaking with adrenaline and panting heavily, the implications of the word taking a toll on your body and if you were in your right mind - you’d probably slapped yourself and remarked on how desperately pathetic you were acting. But it had been 3 days, 3 agonising days of waiting and texting and barely being able to talk to him outside his strict schedule and your shifts at work.

And now? He was here, he was here and you could hear the elevator ding at the end of the corridor and the back of your neck heated, and all you could see was the front door and your hand gripping the handle, and something thumped to the ground and -

He was here. Ushijima - he was stood right there, at arm’s length, neck pillow tucked under one arm and duffle bag slumped at his feet. That must have been the thing that fell to the floor, but you don’t really care because he’s staring at you with the dark, dangerous look on his face and it should have struck playful fear into you but all you could do was whimper,

“Toshi,”

You sounded so much better saying his name in real life, fresh and feeble and sending blood draining from his head so fast, one hand shot out to grab the door frame. Ushijima strained, against everything, knuckles turning white and he probably could have cracked the woodwork, cock unbearably hard and aching within seconds of seeing you. It would have been a lie to say that he hadn’t been half hard the entire time after your call, unable to get the vision of you with your head tossed back and your eyes scrunching in pleasure, cumming deliciously from the frantic movements of your fingers beneath your pyjamas.

“Again,”

You squeak, he’s never sounded like that before, never been so low and so gruff, on the verge of snapping, avoiding your eye because if he could see the wrecked gaze you fixed on him -

“Toshi - please,”

His shirt ripped from the force with which he tore it over his head, one arm getting caught in his desperate attempt to strip and he very nearly tripped when his foot caught in the strap of his duffle bag, dragging it over the threshold before untangling himself,

“Again, say it again baby,”

He’s on you before you know what’s going on, kicking the door shut but neither of you hear it click, too consumed in each other to really worry about the fact his bag is preventing you two from having complete privacy. But you can’t think, you can’t form a single thought apart from,

“Toshi - Toshi more please!” Ushijima’s mouth swallowing your words almost instantly, one of his hands cupping the entirety of the back of your head, tilting you just so and allowing him to lick into you, feasting on your lips and tongue like a man starved and for a second, you realise he probably is. And so are you, god - you’re hungry for everything he has to offer, wrapping your hands around his waist and trying desperately to shove his sweat pants down, hissing when he accidentally bit your lip too hard but he’s dipping to your neck and delivering an even harsher bite -

“Fuck,”

Your legs give out, like they usually do under his rough assaults of your neck but you often have a bed or a couch behind you, nothing cushioning you from the hard wood floors of the hallway except for the fat of your ass and his arms encircling your head and shoulders.

“Here - I’m fucking you here, I can’t wait,” Ushijima follows you down, mouth barely leaving yours, form engulfing yours, hands trapping yours. He spreads you out on the cold floor, snarling when he gets a face of your chest from how violently you arch at the temperature and the painful nips left over the skin of your collar bone.

Ushijima isn’t much of a talker when he’s got you trembling underneath him, but the comments that are spat unfiltered from his mouth do absolutely nothing to curb the bright hot lust making you loose all semblance of control,

“Fuck - you’re soaking, did you wait for me? Did you make yourself cum again after I ended the call? No? I didn’t - I’ve been waiting for two days to do this, to touch you like this, put my hands on your body like this - fuck baby you’re so needy - no, here, look at me,”

You hadn’t even realised you had closed your eyes and thrown your head back, feeling thick fingers digging into your jaw and forcing you to look at him, dark eyes tracing every inch of your face while he dragged the other hand down your torso, short nails catching the loose fabric of your dress. It was a short moment of clarity; him looking at you, you looking at him, eyes softening so something akin to affectionate love before it was overwhelmed with predatory intent, that soft touch of his hand shoving your thighs apart and sinking into your underwear,

“M’not - I can’t wait, I can’t - let me,”

“Yes! Yes! Toshi please!”

You two sound ridiculous, desperate and clawing at each other, your smaller fingers shoving his trousers down over his ass and your entire body jolts when his cock dropped heavily on to your cunt, hot and angry and hard as fucking steel, throbbing against your clit and you clench around nothing, the anticipation too much to contain.

Ushijima is in no better state than you, fumbling with his footing with snaps of his jaw and he’s entirely too rough with the way he pumps himself, grinding against the silk of your cunt in a feeble attempt to try and prep you, to make the breach less painful, less of a stretch but you need that, you do and it’s driving you crazy, and it’s probably driving him crazy too,

“Go - Toshi, please, I can’t - fuck me please!”

The strength that emerges from the man astounds you every time, hoisting your thighs high up his waist and then apparently changing his mind, throwing your ankles over his shoulders and looming over you, sinking into you with once, debilitating thrust of his hips. And the noise that left him, oh god - it was borderline animalistic, debauched and wrecked, and one of the hottest things you think you’ve ever heard.

He’s got his hands either side of your head, clawing against the floor for purchase, immediately starting a brutal pace, the slap of his skin on yours echoing throughout the apartment, drowned out only by the high pitched squeals coming from your mouth and the filthy way he was talking down at you,

“Taking me so well baby, so fucking well - m’so proud of you, didn’t need any prep - fuck! So tight, so goddamn tight f’me -,” he doesn’t soften, not when the sounds of your pussy creaming around his cock grows louder with every sharp snap of his hips, shoving your legs into your chest and forcing harsh shouts from your throat,

“Yes! Daddy - missed you so, so much - harder, please! I’ll be s’good for you, so good just - hah - harder!”

Neither of you realise that every sound your bodies produce, every squelch and click of your cunt, every growl and deep snarl from his chest, every needy squeal and plea from your lips can be heard all the way down the corridor. The front door was still open, propped from where the duffle bag had prevented it from closing, the light from the corridor providing a perfect spotlight for the unsuspecting neighbour who dared venture out to see what all the noises were.

The vision of Ushijima’s back rippling and rolling with his bringing his hand to close around your throat, prompting a garbled hiccup and tears to spring in your eyes, and your little feet dangling uselessly over his shoulders probably should have rendered them silent, shocked and rooted to the spot.

But the quiet gasp was caught by the hulking creature on top of you, quirking his head and making eye contact with them for a split second before simply resuming his quick, paralysing thrusts, harder even than before - drawing a high pitched wail from your throat and there was no mistaking the fluid splashing on the floor, mingling with white and smearing over his balls, slapping against your ass.

A leg struck out, kicking the door shut and locking the duffle outside, looking as sorry for itself and your neighbour, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glassy, still reflecting the vision of you cumming harshly on Ushijima’s cock, and him simply continuing to fuck you through it, the sounds of you two muffled but no less poignant against the calm stupor of the corridor.

And so what if it carried on, moving through the apartment and quiet possibly earning a complaint from the complex security but neither of you could hear the phone ringing over the bed creaking and slamming against the wall, too consumed in each other, too wound up in the sounds you could pull and the reactions you could bring forward. Damn - if him only being gone for three days turned you both into needy desperate animals, then how the hell would you cope with his next match that required over a week away in a completely different country?

Please follow Izzy she’s a genius and the reason for me being horny @m-mortimer

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu!!#ushijima x yn #ushijima #ushijima Wakatoshi #ushijima smut #ushijima x reader #Haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq ushijima #Haikyuu x reader #Haikyuu x yn

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fandom-puff · 4 years

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If you wouldn't mind, could I have an Alfie Solomons one-shot? Can it be that the reader is a Shelby and she is married to Alfie, and they are going to have dinner with the Shelby clan. But during dinner, Alfie starts touching her under the table. Also could you use number 41 and 30 from your smut prompt?

Oh I do love a bit of Alfie smut <3 hope you enjoy this ;p

The Dinner Party

warnings: under-table antics, smut, swearing and a really naff title :)

“Right, for the last time, behave yourselves, boys,” Polly warned as Alfie’s car pulled up outside. “We’ll not have a repeat of New Years’ Day, John,” she hissed.

John raised his hands in surrender. “Anything to avoid YN breaking my nose again,” he mumbled.

A knock sounded through the house and soon Frances brought you and your husband into the drawing-room. “Tommy! Arthur! Shalom, shalom! John... Ada, I know you. Ms Gray, a pleasure as always, and of course, young Finn,”

You smiled softly as you hugged your brothers, Arthur mumbling “Yeah, sha-shalom? Shalom and all that, yeah,”

You wrapped your arms around your oldest brother and he murmured into your ear “He treating you good, YN?”

“Yes, Arthur... he’s the most loving husband I could ask for, don’t you worry,” you pulled away and he smiled softly, corners of his eyes crinkling slightly at the sight of you so happy. You hugged Tommy and John tight around the neck. “Finn been behaving himself? Been playing in the snow much? Checking his whores?” you asked, making your younger brother blush slightly and shift his feet. “Gotten anyone pregnant, yet, Finny?” you teased.

“No, he hasn’t, thank god. Told him I’d sever his balls,” Pol grinned and you hugged your auntie. She gave you one of her infamous looks as you greeted your sister. Polly’s eyes flickered between you, your stomach, and Tommy, arching her brows.

“Where’s Karl?” you asked her. “Is he taller than me yet?”

she smirked. “Playing with Charles and Ruby. and nearly I reckon,” she giggled, pulling you in for a hug. You had always looked up to your sister, her being the only other girl in your family, and the glamourous big sister to boot.

You returned to Alfie’s side, and he was chatting business with Tommy. You waited for them to finish, pouring yourself a drink, before saying “Thanks for letting us stay, Tom,”

“YN, love, you’re always welcome here. I suppose he is as well, so long as you behave yourself, eh, Alf,”

You wrapped your arm around Alfie’s waist, leaning your head against his arm (you couldn’t quite reach his shoulder) and smiled as he laughed heartily.

Soon, the Shelby clan- plus Alfie- gathered around the long table and ate merrily. You were chatting across the table, teasing John for letting his kids and dog run rings around him when you felt a firm hand pressed to your thigh. You hid your gulp by drinking some wine as Alfie trailed his hand further up, hitching your skirt up over your knee and up your thigh.

You were glad Tommy was able to afford ridiculously long table cloths.

You let out a shaky breath, focusing on your meal as your husband teased the inside of your thighs. he leaned down to murmur in your ear. To Finn, who was opposite you, it was an innocent enough gesture, especially when Alfie pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. The Shelby’s were used to your open affection.

“Alfie... There are people here...” you whispered, stroking his beard gently.

he smirked and tapped your nose. “If you behave yourself, I think I’ll skip dessert and have you instead,” he muttered and you nodded in agreement. As the dinner wore on, you covered up a lot of moans by swallowing plenty of wine. Arthur teased you about working your way through two and a half glasses throughout dinner but you simply complemented Tommy on his choice of red.

An agonising hour later you quickly stood up, excusing yourself from the table. “Thank you so much for a lovely dinner Tom,” you said quickly. “But we left London early this morning... and... and I’m... tired...” you said. “Goodnight, everyone,” you hurried away, scurrying to the guest room that the maids had put your stuff in. Alfie left it another few minutes before excusing himself too.

“They’ve gone to fuck, haven’t they?” Tommy said, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

“Oh, most definitely,” Ada said slyly.

***

“What the fuck took you so long?” you hissed as Alfie shut the door.

“Didn’t wanna make it obvious, love, did I? and your brother’s house is fucking massive, I got lost three times and-” you shut him up, pressing your lips tight to his, and pulling him over to the bed.

“Alfie, please don’t tease, not now, please,” you whined. “Look- feel how wet you made me at the table,” you tugged his hand to feel beneath your dress and he grinned lopsidedly at your arousal seeping through your underwear.

“If you, right, didn’t like my teasing,” he smirked. “Why were you moaning, eh?”

You blushed. “Because... because... oh shut up Alfie, and fuck me, please?” you pleaded, licking your lips.

“tell you what, love,” he smirked, setting his hat and stick aside. “why don’t you strip me down and show me just how much you want my cock, yeah? And then i just might fuck you silly, eh?”

Extremely happy with this compromise you began undoing his buttons, frantically removing his overcoat, waistcoat, hair shirt and vest, tossing them to the side as he chuckled at your eagerness. you dropped his trousers and he kicked them off his ankles. “Lie on the bed, Alf,” you said gently.

“forgetting something, love?” he gestured to his underwear.

“Lie on the bed, Alfie,” you repeated, a little firmer. He smirked and did as he was told, laying back and relaxing into the pillows, arms up and hands behind his head. you hummed softly, pressing your hand over his underwear, feeling his hot length twitch beneath your small hand. He hissed at the friction, licking his lips as you slowly lowered his underwear down over his cock. You moaned lowly, leaning down to flick your tongue over the sensitive, red tip, wrapping your lips around it and suckling like a lollipop, pressing your tongue against the slit. He growled low in his throat and bucked his hips up.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell love,” he grunted, grasping a fistful of your hair. “Sit up before I come down your throat,” he demanded. “And take that pretty dress off as well,”

You groaned, lapping up the salt of his precum. you shimmied out of your dress as quickly as was humanly possible and took the liberty of getting rid of your underwear too, leaving you naked in front of him. he licked his lips. “Eager, aren’t you?” he smirked, and you nodded.

“Come ‘ere, darlin’“ he hummed. “come and sit yourself on my cock, eh?” you whimpered at his words and nodded, eagerly straddling him. You licked your lips, slowly settling yourself down on him, whining out loudly at the stretch and at the gravity pulling you down more. Shuddering, you clenched your knees around his broad hips as you started gyrating your hips in a figure-of-8.

Alfie growled primally, grasping your hips, surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on your flesh. You moaned out, starting to bounce yourself, pushing your breasts out. Seizing his opportunity, Alfie captured a nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue over the pebbled peak the way he knew you adored, his groans rumbling around your breast and through to your heart as you fucked yourself on his cock. you grasped his hair in your fists, tugging desperately, pulling him up so his magical mouth could envelop yours in a bruising, knee-weakening kiss. You whined into his mouth as you rutted your hips, desperately wanting to reach your completion mounted atop his thick, pulsing cock. “Please, Alf! Please make me come!” he grunted in response and pinched your nipple roughly, tugging it away from your body and twisting teasingly. you gasped, a spasm of delicious, painful pleasure soaring down to your core, the pressure coiling tight in your belly as you reached climax. “Fuck! Fuck! Alfie!” you practically sobbed, falling forwards into his chest, hips still bouncing desperately. With a sloppy thrust upwards, he filled you with his come, groaning a mixture of your name and a hell of a lot of praise in a delightful combination of Yiddish and English.

Breathless, you slid off his cock, leaning down to kiss him tenderly. “I love you, Alf,” you whispered gently tugging the bedsheets around you both as he turned on his side and pulled you tight to his chest, allowing a blissful sleep to overtake you both.

Neither of you was aware of your family downstairs snickering and cringing at the sound of sweet YN Shelby making loud and passionate love to a Solomons, in Tommy Shelby’s house.

#peaky blinders #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x reader smut #alfie solomons smut #smut #fanfiction #ao3 #request #prompt

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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

Text

Shielded. Chapter One

ANON: Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway. [John Wayne]

Since the beginning of lockdown here in the UK, I’ve been making little notes here and there and I’ve finally put something together that is hopefully interesting. It’s set from the start of our isolation back on Friday 20th March and will work its way forwards in time <3 enjoy! Mod MBD.

-- --- --

The Daily Briefing:

She left under the cover of darkness, the atmospheric sheet rain appearing out of nowhere to conceal her as she hid the doorway of a boarded up shop. The ‘closed’ signs that littered the windows of each and every shop on the highstreet illuminated as the lights flickered on, the daylight fading as night enveloped the south of England. It should have been a regular Friday evening, but it wasn’t. And despite the shock of the rest of the nation, she was more than happy for the lockdown to take immediate effect.

A couple of the pubs were still open, the last of their punters being ushered out by groups of policemen and women as the 9pm curfew approached, and though there was still some footfall through the small village, it wasn’t enough to worry her greatly.

She remembered reading YA fiction that started in a similar way and the idea that the whole population might be reduced to some dystopian teen nightmare seemed more than plausible. But at least she’d be far away from society by the time it did. Wondering whether Suzanne Collins and Veronica Roth were somewhere together, raising a glass to their literary insight into such things, she pulled her jacket tighter around her neck to stop the droplets of water running down her chest.

The honk of a horn brought her out of her thoughts as she grabbed her meagre belongings and hid her face from the rain. Getting herself settled in the back of the blacked out van, there was a part of her that scoffed at the idea of danger lurking within as the plain-clothed officers escorting her smiled softly, passing her a towel to wipe the stray drips of moisture from her face. As a child she had, of course, been warned about strangers in vehicles. Now though there were more monsters lurking in her own home than there were anywhere else in the country.

“You might want to get some sleep, if you can, miss.” One of the younger officers said, breaking the silence even with his moderately quiet statement. “It’s a long drive, we’re aiming for eight hours if we can, but it will all depend on the roads.”

Nodding, she pulled a woolen blanket from one of her bags, removed her coat and curled herself against the window. Though she thought sleep impossible, she did manage to doze a little as the car made its way towards the motorway. Her mind went blank as they sped up, she’d spent weeks agonising over this choice, the solid notion of it taking root in her subconscious as the country seemed to spin towards chaos and confusion.

The virus, however, had not been her primary concern. Only her mental and physical survival had taken precedent. It was the prime minister's announcement yesterday that schools and pubs would close the following week that spurred her onwards, and she’d (rather rapidly) responded to the offer she had been levelled with.

If she wanted to disappear, now was her chance.

“John wants you to know that he’s processed the documents you’re going to need and included a shielding letter with that. This should take you until the end of June as well as the furlough payments. He also says you did the right thing.”

Making incomplete thumps against her chest, her heart stopped for a moment as the police officer spoke. She’d been warring with herself for weeks, uncertain of the best course of action. She had, of course, lived with the increasing threat for years before it had finally erupted. John had seen the outcome and had begged her to reconsider his previous offer of assistance having watched her descend into a less than perfect relationship. But she had been convinced that she’d be able to manage.

She hadn’t. An obvious change had taken hold of her husband. He wasn’t the man she married, not by a long shot, and as 2019 came to a close, so did any of his positive attributes. He was a professor, a professional man with many books to his name and he refused to believe his actions had become that of a less than ideal partner.

The first stay in hospital, however, stated otherwise.

“Will I be able to speak to him?”

The officer shook his head sadly. “No, if this is to work, you have to sever all contact with anyone you previously knew, even John. Anything that puts you at risk or could enlighten the wrong people into knowing your whereabouts would jeopardize all of the work we’ve all put in to assure your safety.”

Having had the mood suitably dulled, she lay her head against the window and let several hundred miles pass her by.

As they crossed the border around midnight, the rain finally began to ease and she smiled at the irony. She hadn’t spent much time in Scotland, but she knew it wasn’t famous for its notoriously glorious weather. Part of her was desperate for some coffee but the further they travelled up the country, the less likely it was that the service stations were 24 hours - nor did she think her drivers would be willing to stop until they’d reached their destination.

Once off the motorway and onto the single track roads that led them further into the highlands, she started to guess at where their final destination might be. When the proposition had first been offered to her, John had given her a number of options of a safe haven - one being a flight away (by that point he had started to take her safety quite seriously). As the grey scenery passed them by, a slight pinking of the sky signalling that dawn was close, she was trying to recall the names of the places he’d suggested though her mind was as much of a blur as the greenery whooshing by the back window.

“I don’t suppose you have anything caffeinated to drink?” She asked.

Reaching forward, she took the unopened bottle of coke from one of her escorts and relaxed back into her seat.

“Not far away now. There aren't any toilets, though.”

Fatigue was running deep, she could tell by the tiredness in his voice as he spoke and she nodded as she took a sip. The warning was clear; drink it all quickly and there would be no stopping for a break. But she was too thirsty to worry too much.

“Can I ask where we’re going?”

“Just north-west of Inverness. It’s a farm so it’s as remote as they come. It’s single occupancy, the guy who lives there runs his family business. He’s an old contact of John’s, so although there is to be no contact between you, he trusts you’re in safe hands. All shopping is pre organised and will be delivered once every two weeks to ensure neither of you are put at risk leaving the property for supplies.”

“Should I leave the house at all?” At this point she couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic or not but there was an honesty to her question that made the officers answer her quickly.

“No. You have your letter, not that there is anyone around to ask for it, but for the next 12 weeks you should remain inside at all times. No matter how far we take you away from civilization there is always the risk - even during a national pandemic and lockdown - of someone being around, seeing you and passing it on. Where we’re taking you, the owner hasn’t had another friend or family on the property for a number of years. Small communities talk so you should stay inside and out of the view of any members of the local village.”

“Noted.” Replying sadly, she replaced the cap on the half finished bottle of cola and ran her fingers along the inside of her leg. The scar there was still fresh, the heat of it making the hairs on her arms stand on end. She knew that if she wanted this to work, if she wanted to remain hidden, then she would have to obey the rules set.

They drove through Inverness just as 5am hit and the sun rose across the extensive lochs and mountains.

“It might seem far-fetched, the idea that you’ll be located, but we can’t take the risk. We did look through your file, though, and found a name we hope has some resonance to you.” *but nobody else* he thought, but did not say.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. Please pass that on to John, I didn’t even get the chance to tell him how grateful I am. For everything.” Her intrigue had been piqued about her new identity but once she knew who she was going to be for the next few weeks, it would all become real. Whilst they still hadn’t arrived, she could sit and pretend to be existing in an in between - half way between fantasy and reality.

As they pulled off one side-road and onto another her driver passed her an envelope. She could see a small smile lift the side of his mouth as an archway came into view in front of them. “Of course I will, Claire.”

“Claire?”

“Yes,” he returned, bringing his arm up and pointing his finger at the brown packet in her hands, “it’s all in there...the rest of it. Read it, keep the ID documentation and then burn anything you don’t need to use later.”

“Claire.” She whispered to herself.

And in one breath, as a rather large white brick farm house appeared beneath the now large ivy coated arch, Elizabeth Randall died and she instantly became Claire Beauchamp.

#anonymous #ask #;mod mbd #shielded #featuring: john grey #jamie x claire #ficlet #isolation creation

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johnny-and-dora · 5 years

Text

like a comet pulled from orbit

"She files the memory away in the new mental folder she’s been curating since last night, affectionately labelled ‘HUGE, RIDICULOUSLY OBVIOUS CLUES THAT JAKE IS YOUR SOULMATE’, and shifts her attention back to him."

or, a soulmate au where jake's known for his whole life & amy's known since yesterday, with two grand heartfelt speeches for good measure.

read on ao3

before we begin: this one-shot takes place in a universe where your soulmates name is written somewhere on you in their handwriting, except jake's handwriting is so goddamn unreadable that amy manages to make it all the way to five years at the nine-nine without realising that her soulmate has been sat across from her this entire time. shenanigans ensue, and this is result. i hope you enjoy!

thank you to @startofamoment & @amyscascadingtabs for their wonderful endless support and to @elsaclack because i haven’t stopped thinking about this au since she posted hers <3

“I had this great big plan, y’know.” He says, deliberately averting her gaze – Amy furrows her brow, adjusting her slumped over position on his old, beat up couch, discards the cushion she’s been hugging to her stomach as some kind of makeshift anchor.

The maelstrom of confusion, anger and pure, unadulterated anxiety that has been rearing its ugly head deep in her gut since yesterday has quietly subsided in the intimate setting of his crappy, cozy, lowly lit Cobblestank apartment – she supposes that’s why she’s here, seeing as she wasn’t able to come up with a valid reason on the drive over, or even in the ten minutes she spent standing outside his door, poised ready to knock.

If there’s anyone who always knows exactly how to calm her down, it’s frustratingly, somehow, him.

(“Detective’s intuition, Santiago.” He’d winked, a lifetime ago when she’d once asked - handed her coffee after making her laugh for the first time in about three days, and she’d pretended to be impressed by his use of the word ‘intuition’.)

She files the memory away in the new mental folder she’s been curating since last night, affectionately labelled ‘HUGE, RIDICULOUSLY OBVIOUS CLUES THAT JAKE IS YOUR SOULMATE’, and shifts her attention back to him.

“What?”

“For telling you. I’d, um, been working on it for a while.” Jake’s hands are clenched and his leg is jostling up and down at a hundred miles an hour when it clicks, and she feels her heart skip a beat.

In truth, he doesn’t need to say anything – he’s apologised probably at least twenty times in the past day, most of them in the eight minutes that have passed since she arrived unannounced, unexpected really to the both of them, at his door. God knows he’s probably forgiven already if her heart has any say in the matter, even if she’s reluctant to tell him that.

But here he suddenly is, practically ablaze with all this brilliant, blinding energy, willing to put his heart out on the line for her – and Amy feels any semblance of protest quickly die in her throat.

“Yeah?” She prompts, gentle enough for it to be vaguely unfamiliar territory compared to their usual rapport. Her hand ghosts over his like an unspoken question before their fingers, almost by design, interweave.

It’s not intimate, exactly, barely even romantic - but he squeezes gently, once, twice, and something in the air shifts.

“I…I was gonna take you to the roof. Our roof, I mean, the roof.” He braves a fleeting glance at her and she tilts her head up to firmly hold it – there’s trepidation and question reflected in his eyes, but there’s also such reverence there, something so powerful that Amy can scarcely remember how to breathe.

The corner of his mouth immediately twitches upwards at the flush of her face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes.

“…I was going to give this grand heartfelt speech where I basically confess my undying love for you, and tell you that we’re soulmates, and then beg you to not kill me for not telling you sooner. And then you were, er, going to forgive me and we would kiss and then ride off into the sunset.” He’s smiling fully now, all the radiance of the goddamn sun as per usual, and she can’t help but tease him.

“Ride off into the sunset?”

“Yeah, like the end of every old romantic movie ever.” He makes a sweeping, dismissive gesture with his free hand. “And everything was gonna be, y’know. Okay.” His voice falters, trips up a bit on the last word – his hand slips out of hers as they’re reminded of the mess – okay, shitstorm, that they’ve found themselves entangled up in.

Anxiety churns in her stomach as she agonises over how she’s supposed to feel – it was anger yesterday, but that feels wrong here. There’s just confusion and uncertainty and yes, desire, achingly inevitable desire; she has no idea what to act upon, no how-to-guide, no forum thread for “so your best friend has been secretly your soulmate this whole time.” (She checked). Amy has no idea what to do.

All because of the stupid universe and it’s stupid cosmic matchmaking - something she didn’t even know if she believed in until a few hours ago, something she’s been decidedly against for almost three decades.

All she is certain of now is that whatever choice lead her here, whatever lead her to him, is the one and only decision she’s allowing the universe to make for her.

(Despite whatever thread of fate they both followed to end up here, Amy maintains that what she says next - and the perfectly ordinary miracle that happens after - happens completely of her own volition.)

“Do the speech.”

“Uh, what?”

“I want to hear it. This grand heartfelt speech.” She says, taking far too much enjoyment out of the sheer panic that instantly flashes across his face.

“Uh, well, it was more of an abstract concept. And I haven’t actually practised anywhere other than the shower, and a lot of it was tied in to the whole roof thing so I don’t actually know if it’ll work here-“

“Do the speech, Peralta.”

“Okay. Okay. Here we go.” He holds a hand up in mock surrender, takes a deep breath, lets his fingers drum absentmindedly on the arm of the couch before he shifts his position to face her.

She crosses her arms expectantly, trying to subdue her smile or at least dial it down a few notches so she doesn’t give away just how hopelessly into him she really is.

“Amy. Santiago. Amy Santiago. The woman I am speaking to, right now.”

“Stop stalling.”

“Okay. So, you’re probably wondering why I brought you to this random rooftop in the middle of Brooklyn.” He grins like the little shit he is, and she resolves with ironclad determination not to let him get away that easily. “And this is where you say ‘Yes, I am, Jake, and I must say how handsome you look today.’”

“This is not a call and response thing.” Amy says, in the authoritative tone she reserves for him – he gives her a playful salute in response. It’s standard practise, familiar, and for a moment she wonders if that’s all she’s ever going to get.

“Noted. And I would say “’Thank you Amy, but this isn’t about me. It’s actually about us.’” His grin falters a little, now - she unfolds her arms, allowing him the time and space to say what he needs to, gently encouraging him to continue.

“I really like you. Like, really really like you. Like, I’m obsessed with how shiny your hair is and the way you scrunch up your nose when you’re annoyed and the way your eyes get all big and excited whenever you figure something out. You’re brilliant and beautiful and I’ve basically spent the last five years we’ve known each other trying to work up the courage to tell you that.”

He’s rambling at a pace she’s spent the last few years tripping over herself trying to catch up to - but she drinks every single word in anyway, like she’s scrambling for an oasis in the empty, unforgiving sands of a desert.

This is new; Amy can feel her resolve practically melting away, like he’s stripping down every last layer of her defences.

Like Monopoly and getting more felony arrests than her, he’s irritatingly good at it.

“And this is where I would ask you out, except you would probably say no, not because you’re not hopelessly in love with me – but because we’re not cosmically bound together or whatever.” He swallows thickly, clearly nervous, and she inches closer to him with protective instinct, hand finding its way to the small of his back.

“And I would say yeah, that’s fair, except maybe actually it might be my unintelligible handwriting that you have scrawled on your ribcage, and that I’m really sorry about all the inconvenience that has caused you.”

“And then I would say…Amy, we are soulmates. And I’ve known that for a really long time, and I’m a huge gigantic idiot for not telling you sooner. I was just…scared. By the time I realised that you just couldn’t tell it was me, you were already yelling at me for spilling orange soda on your arrest report and I just…figured you’d rather not know.”

Her heart fragments and splints a little at that, enough for any remaining anger or notions of injustice raging in the depths of her gut to be very easily extinguished.

“Jake…”

“Nah, you said it wasn’t a call and response thing, remember?” He tries to say it lightly but the usual humour colouring his voice is notably absent, so he just takes a deep breath and continues, seemingly (how can he be?) unaware of how she is certain that her heart is somehow his.

“Anyway, I was terrified that if you found out you were just going to be…disappointed. And I know it’s not the same, but I just kept thinking about my dad leaving and how I was so scared that you’d leave too, if you knew.”

Amy recalls a stakeout from a year or so ago, an impassioned exchange of fuck you, universe between sips of coffee because she’s powerless to find hers and his dad left anyway, so what’s the point, and it makes sense – as much as she wants to strangle him for not telling her then, it makes sense.

“It just got more and more difficult to bring up, y’know? Like, by the way, we’re soulmates, can you pass me that case file?” She nods in understanding, empathy twisting in her chest against her steadily increasing heart rate – when he finally looks at her again, it’s overpowering, like everything in the air is charged, magnified, primed ready to explode.

“The thing is, I’m…I’m really into you.” He pauses, allowing the tiniest, almost shy smile to cross his face, and pure, unadulterated affection flutters in her chest. “And I would really love it if we could…y’know. But you needed to know this first – actually, I guess, you needed to know this a long time ago.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, shame flickering in his features.

“I guess I just want you to know that I’m really, genuinely sorry. And I know you don’t know how to feel about soulmates, and I get it if you don’t feel the same about me but…I think we could have something really amazing. The end.”

There’s a beat or two of horrible, horrible silence before she remembers that she’s meant to say something back - in her defence, it was a very good speech.

“…You didn’t beg me not to kill you.” She teases lightly, but lets her face soften when she clocks his questioning gaze and realises he needs more, of course, infinitely more. “That was…very nice.”

Nice couldn’t even begin to do it justice, but in the moment she doesn’t have the words to convey how much it means, suddenly shy, suddenly woefully unprepared in the face of such unexpected openness and vulnerability. He’s never going to stop surprising her.

“…Would it have worked?”

“I think…at first, I would have been pretty mad at you. Like I think choosing the roof was a risk, if a very sweet gesture, because I might’ve thrown you off it.” His face crumples a little and she winces, not meaning to cause him any more emotional turmoil than she apparently unknowingly has for the last four years.

Really, when she visualises the scene, she has no idea how she would actually react – all she knows is now, the feeling of a spark lighting inside her and also vaguely the feeling of her insides turning upside down.

She fights the urge to ask for fifteen minutes with her laptop so she can at least outline all she wants to say.

“But…I would also know that you meant it. That you meant all of it, and that you didn’t mean for this all to become the huge gigantic mess that it is.” She gestures widely and openly to signify the huge gigantic mess, and his eyebrows quirk up with endearment.

“So I would forgive you.” She says it with certainty she didn’t know she had until she tripped over it on her tongue – it hangs in the air, somehow unfinished, and she feels a smile blossom over her face as she brushes her shoulder up against his; she holds his gaze for a second before continuing.

“…And then I would probably kiss you.” Amy tries to say it with some boldness, at least – she counts at least fifty different emotions flicker across his face at once before they form an almost smug grin, which makes her laugh enough to almost distract her from the swarm of butterflies currently occupying her stomach.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Probably. If you weren’t dangling from the roof at this point.” She grins and he laughs a little, shaking his head, and then-

And then, silence. Tantalising, breathless silence, silence that’s impossibly alive with endless, infinite potential, brooding like a thunderstorm. When she’s brave enough to look at him he’s staring at her with such heat it feels like she might spontaneously combust, right here in his living room. She bites her lip, barely aware of anything other than blood faintly pumping in her ears.

“Amy?”

“Mmm?”

“Can we…can we stop talking in hypotheticals for a second and can I say that I’m sorry and can you forgive me and then maybe can we kiss?” They’re so close now, intimate enough that she can almost feel the hitch in his breath as he nervously poses the question.

“I’ll think about it.” She’s using the last of her bravado, the very last dredges of her willpower not to lean over and kiss him – except his eyes keep darting down to her lips and she can practically feel her skin bristling, practically incandescent with white-hot desire as she tucks her hair behind her ears and they’ve suffered enough, haven’t they?

So when he leans to tentatively a kiss to her lips she instantly deepens it, overwhelmed by the intense, rapid rhythms of her pulse at his touch, at his hands sweeping down her spine and hers in his hair and wow. It’s fervent and almost desperate at first but soon slows to tenderness as they both seem to realise that they have all the time in the world.

She feels him smile against her lips in the moment before they break apart and she dares him to ruin the moment with a ridiculous joke, but all he does is expel a sigh of relief, like a man deprived of oxygen for months. She knows the feeling.

“Wow.” She murmurs, lightheaded, forehead pressed against his, eyes still closed. When they finally flutter open to meet with his it’s frustratingly clear that they were made to do this; the part of her that’s been resolutely against the universe pairing people together for the best part of thirty years is disgruntled to be proved wrong so swiftly and effortlessly.

But mostly, she’s happy. The way that Jake looks at her makes her feel treasured and desired and revered in a way that no-one else ever has, and she is so ridiculously, unbelievably, deliriously happy.

“You. You are just…you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” It’s barely a whisper but it sets her alight – he’s breathless, tone dripping with pure, unbridled sincerity, and it’s enough.

He’s forgiven, because of course he is – really, he was forgiven long before she stepped past the threshold of his apartment, but she’s not going to be the one to tell him that if he’s going to kiss her like that and say lines like that afterwards.

She wants to say something, anything moderately affirming or even just coherent back, but for the first time in a very long time, Amy Santiago is rendered completely and utterly speechless.

So instead, she just kisses him again.

***

She gets around to telling him later, when the initial rush of adrenaline has faded into quiet embers of content joy and she can finally string a semi-coherent sentence together. Amy can’t really tell how much time has passed since, only that it is later, later, later, that moonlight is spilling through the gap in his curtains in the same way that dusty orange twilight was when she first arrived here, and yet she has absolutely no desire to leave.

Her soft grey linen hoodie lies on the arm of the couch and his left sock is discarded on the floor from when she’d traced her name etched in perfect, neat cursive just above his ankle and he’d quipped some line about finally being able to wear flip flops to work again without fear of discovery.

They’ve been talking, mostly, laughing in a way that is warmly familiar, even if the way their hands are intertwined isn’t – she has this wonderful feeling that it will be, in time.

“You really don’t mind that I didn’t tell you?” Jake has asked her some variant of this question roughly every ten minutes, seemingly struck by disbelief that he isn’t dangling from a roof at this very moment – it’s only now, though, that she realises she has the right to some grand speech of her own, even if she’s mildly disappointed that she can’t practise first.

Some things just can’t be planned, much to her horror – but to be fair, she never could have planned any of this, and she thinks it’s reasonable to say that it ended up all working out.

“Well, I’m not…happy about it. Part of me definitely wishes that you’d just told me, because I absolutely had the right to know after decades of torturing myself over it.” She gives him a pointed stare that lasts almost a second before her resolve completely dissipates at his puppy-dog gaze.

“But the rest of me is actually glad I didn’t know.” His eyebrows shoot up in almost comic confusion, and she laughs lightly, joy practically bubbling in her chest. She puts a hand over his heart and takes the time to choose her next words carefully, delicately, in a way that she hopes will tell him that she really means them.

“Well, the way I see it….this way I get to choose you. This way, I get to be with you because you’re brilliant, and sweet, and you make me laugh. Not just because your name is written in appallingly bad handwriting on my ribcage.”

“Huh. I guess I never really thought about it like that.” He goes somewhere else for a second; there’s that thoughtful far-away look where she can practically see seventeen different trains of thought pinging off his brain like a cell tower.

When he focuses back on her it’s with unbridled affection as if he’s only just realising all the nice things she said about him, and she smiles.

“Yeah, well…I’ve been thinking about this a lot, lately. And I guess…I choose you. Not because I feel like I should, or because the universe tells me I’m supposed to. Because I want to. Because I know that you’re the right person for me.” Amy’s not sure she’s ever said anything with more conviction in her life – the momentum behind her words absolutely terrifies her, but it’s thrilling too, feeling this much for one person all at once.

He’s quiet, for once – by the low light of his cheap lamp, she might even be able to make out the ghost of blush lightly colouring his face, and she thinks, point to Santiago. Not that she’s keeping score. (They’re even.)

“Only you would find a way to argue for free will even after all this. You are unbelievable.” The last word is said in a tone of complete and utter awe and admiration that it sweeps her off her feet – she reaches out to cup his face and press a long, drawn-out lazy kiss to his lips that feels so natural it’s like they’ve been doing this for years. He starts to press kisses that trace down her neck and collarbone, easily shifting her entire world on its axis; it’s dizzying.

Amy’s so, unbelievably glad that if she was going to fall for anyone, it had to be her soulmate – and yet, she somehow feels sure that that this was always going to happen anyway, regardless of whatever name she had inked on her skin.

In this life and any other, she was always going to choose him.

“I choose you too, by the way.” He mumbles, a little breathless, looking up at her like she’s the only thing that matters. “I just thought that was implied.”

She says a begrudging, silent thank you to the universe – in the moonlit sky pouring through the crack in the curtains, the stars catch a glimpse of them and smile.

#b99 #b99 fic #b99 au #my writing #peraltiago #jake x amy #shut up sian #this...i'm really proud of this #and i hope that shows #<3

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lovelykhaleesiii · 6 years

Text

Langdon’s Test

Pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!Reader

Words: 2.3k

Summary: (requested) Reader loses her virginity to none other than the anti-Christ himself, Michael Langdon

Warnings: SMUT, oral, unprotected sex, fluff, short time jumps (***)

A/N - This is my first ever imagine for Michael Langdon, sorry if it isn’t as amazing! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK if you can :)

Outpost 3 was not at all what you had thought it would be: luxury, grand nor splendid. In fact it was most miserable, particularly with the company of strangers that you’d grown accustomed to. Each of them had their flaws and their strengths, though mostly their flaws. The starvation, the boredom and the sheer eeriness of your newly found home, was taking a toll on everyone. It hadn’t helped either that you were part of the greys: used consistently by the rich, by those with perfect genetic composition, and by the one and only Miss Venable had at first been unbearable. Now that weeks had past to months, you’d grown accustomed to the schedule, which if you looked at it in a positive limelight was of most need, as it kept you busy throughout the day, contrast to the purples who simply whined day and night, about the same thing repeatedly. Them just simply reminiscing how amazing life was before the nuclear attacks, how they wished they’d have perished, too ungrateful to have survived. Nothing had changed for a while…

That was until the screeching sounds of the sirens had rung, the red lights beaming through the hallways, as Miss Mead and her counterparts bustled through each room, advising everyone to remain in their designated rooms. As each hour had passed, your anticipation grew louder and louder, your patience beginning to run thin. A sudden knock to your door triggered your head to snap towards its direction, anxiously awaiting for an intruder to burst through, your breath hitched, unable to even question who it was…Though yet again, why would an intruder knock?

“Get up, we’re about to be serving dinner!” Roared Miss Mead’s familiar, agonising voice.

Instinctively you lifted yourself from the discomfort of your small bed, reflecting over yourself in the mirror, ensuring your grey dress was proper and that your hair was kept tidy, before sighing away, wanting nothing more than to isolate yourself for the night, if it meant avoiding the criticism of your new-found family. Serving the freshly cooked stew, the pungent smell instantly preventing you to eat, as you served the plates to each purple, you stood as far as possible in the corner away from the repulsive aroma.

“So who’s in your office?” Emily intrigued.

“I beg your pardon?” Miss Venable snapped, unaccustomed to inexcusable behaviour.

“The alarms went off before someone came inside” Emily persisted, ardently trying to uncover the truth, that no one else seemed bothered by.

“Who else is here?” Timothy ushered.

“All questions will be answered in due course…Now eat” Venable retorted, her stern tone signalling everyone to lift the lids of their bowls, only to be greeted face to face with the disguise of the Devil himself…

***

The unexpected fright everyone had uncovered during dinner, left everyone in shock: including yourself. How the snakes had managed to penetrate their way through the walls and into the facility, greatly puzzled you. But you’d hoped all would be answered, since Miss Venable has advised everyone to move through to the living room: prepared to inform us all of our unforeseen guest. Standing beside the entry, the dissonant sound of closing footsteps against the silence, made your heart race. Each exhilarating beat grew strenuous, as the footsteps closed the distant between the guest and you, until from the side view of your eye, a tall figure came to a halt beside you. Exhaling calmly, your face slightly began to turn towards the stranger, attempting best not to stir his attention unto you: you had to see that you failed in doing so. His piercing gaze, his fixated mesmerising blue eyes that were accentuated by the glimmer of red eye-shadow, were already focused unto you: a wave of curiosity filtered through your body…You swore you’d witnessed a faint smirk growing on his face, before he continued to walk through the crowd overtaking Miss Venable’s position in front of the smoking fireplace.

“My name is Langdon and I represent the cooperative. I won’t sugar-coat the situation…Humanity is on the brink of failure…However, I’ve been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us, in the sanctuary…To see if you belong” He retorted, as his gaze since travelling from person to person laid directly unto you…Still, you felt a sense of intrigue as to who he was, his purpose figured: though the idea of being tested by him alone, was deeply intimidating.

“I volunteer to go first!” Mr Gallant exclaimed, raising his hand into the air with enthusiasm, knowing for certain that he’d be begging to secure a spot in the sanctuary for himself, and himself only…

Typical, you thought. At this point, you’d known for certain that the likelihood of you leaving the outpost, only to survive in the security of the sanctuary was minimal… A grey compared to a room full of purples, the ones that were left the responsibility to procreate a civilised society were greatly against your favour. Your hope to be completely entrusted in the hands of Langdon, and the sheer thought of that, finally sent the overdue shivers crawling down your spine.

***

Walking through the office that had previously been occupied by Miss Venable, left you shuddering with curiosity. You were one of the last remaining candidates left to be interviewed, or more so ‘tested’, and each person you witnessed that had left the interview, except for Coco, who simply remained as arrogant and as shallow as she had been since she entered, was changed. Each person left with a blank expression, left all tensed and rigid and bombarded by their own concerning thoughts. You’d been worried that some sort of physical experiment was to be fulfilled, that would leave you as blank as a vegetable.

“Y/n, is it?” the familiar voice retorted, behind you, as the doors finally shut before you.

“Yes” you uttered, making your way over to the seat near the fire, distancing yourself from Langdon as much as possible, without seeming too anxious. Although, seeing as he’d edged closer, seating directly opposite of you, you knew your plans had backfired.

“You see I have a talent…Call it a night vision of the soul. I can see into the dark places that people desperately try to keep hidden.”

“And this relates to me, how exactly?” You question, confused as to how his revelation about himself, was needed as part of the examination with you.

“I know what it is you want. What it is that you’ve undoubtedly been trying to hide behind that brave facade of yours. I know that your intrigued about me, yet scared. Having been with these people for the last 18 months, the idea of meeting a stranger now seems more daunting than evee. So let me make this as clear as I can be… I want to know as much about you, just as you want to know as much about me.”

Inhaling the deepest breath of fresh air, failed in relieving the nervous conscious growing within you. Surely there was no hiding any secrets now, you felt completely exposed both body, mind and soul were completely at the reach of his hands. His instant action, lifting himself off the seat, only to edge closer to you before kneeling down, aligning his face closely to yours, had you never felt fear as much as you did now.

“Still trying to be brave?” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. You’d never had so many mixed emotions gush through your body.

“What is it that you exactly want, Mr Langdon? Cause I see no point in interviewing a grey if there are no more spots left for the sanctuary” you exclaim, you breath hitching mid-sentence, only to have hastily redeemed yourself.

“So persistent you are…Unlike any of the others. What makes you think there aren’t any spots left?” he chuckled, before returning to his seat opposite of you. Before you could even formulate an answer, the topic had rapidly changed and to much of your surprise, sex was it.

“Would you consider the possibility of fucking me, Miss Y/L/N?”

“If need be…For the sake of humanity: I-I’d have no choice.” You answer, having a great certainty that his arrival was simply to seek ideal candidates necessary for procreation.

“But if you were, if you had a choice…Would you find me to be an ideal partner?” He demanded, hone becoming firmer, as he raised himself once again off the seat.

“Perhaps…” you whisper, your eyes lingering over his towering figure, as his steps grew closer to you, closing the tension between, until he stood behind you.

“Then prove it to me…” he uttered, as his large hands moved down grasping your breasts delicately, causing you to breathlessly moan.

Your body instinctively raised itself from the seat, turning to face Langdon, before you both no longer withstood the hesitation. His luscious lips plummeting unto yours, his arms gliding their way unto your hips, as his steps guided yours. His hands hastily gripped your ass, as he lifted you slightly from the ground, only to place you before the desk. Breaking off the longing kiss, his hands gently clasped your flustered cheeks, staring intently into your e/c eyes.

“I’m your first, aren’t I?” he breathlessly exhorted, your eyes remaining fixated onto his lips, as you nodded against his words: only to resume back to kissing. Your fingers gliding through his long, soft hair, tugging at it as you pressed his face down against yours, deepening the kiss. His lips once again parting from yours- “Off” he instructed, his attention diverting unto your grey apparel, which you immediately began to undress: not wanting to displease your superior.

Taking a step back, only for him to scan and process every inch, every detail, every flaw of your body his eyes lusting with hunger, seemingly wanting to devour you and only you. His eyes growing with infatuation the longer he remained observing you head to toe, only meet your attention once more. Licking his lips, as he stepped closer to you, one hand managed unzipping the traditional, black pants he wore, finally revealed his bulging manhood, that you felt was what had evidently been stroking your thighs, just minutes ago.

Before you knew it, having been immensely distracted by the way his hands snaked through your body, unto your thighs, spreading them wide: you helplessly felt utterly submissive towards him. Your cum already oozing from past your thighs unto his fingers, as he released his lips from yours, whilst aligning his cock against your walls, his tongue began to lick through his dripping fingers, making sure he took every inch of you in: wanting to refine this moment.

The entry of his thick manhood inside you, left you instinctively inclined to embrace him, grabbing his shoulders through the velvet jacket for balance, as he smoothly began to pace himself.

“Cum for me, princess. Prove how much you want me, how much you need me.” He groaned, as he movements began to quicken: leaving you uncontrollable and vulnerable against his stature, as moans consistently left your mouth.

“Langdon” you whimper, only to be answered by his deep, hoarse groans: the table beneath you felt was sure to collapse at any second.

“Cum, princess”

And as he commanded, you no longer could refuse the pleasure of his manhood throbbing within you. Your juices gushing over his cock, causing him to helplessly relieve himself with a slight moan. Still he remained buried inside of you, knowing well enough that in turn he’d return the favour. After your cum had painted over his manhood, some of the juices spilling through unto your thighs, his dick finally relieved its tension, as you’d triggered him to release. His cum filtered through your body, its warmth pleasing you as a high pitched moan escaped your mouth: his lips pressed slightly against your cheek as he leaned in, feeling him smirking. Suddenly, removing himself from you, his hands remained on your knees, resisting your legs from closing, he began to kneel down, his face aligned against your entrance. Gradually your attention diverting from where he towered over you, to where he knelt beneath you, before you could comprehend what was to come, he’s head instantly buried itself against your thighs, the touch of his silky hair delicate against your skin was satisfying. His tongue however, was what was most extraordinary of all. Travelling, licking through your walls as it made its way deeper, soaking in the remainder of your cum.

“Delicious” he uttered against your folds, before devouring you ever more. One hand still putting pressure against your knee to remain wide open, whilst the other held unto your hips for support, he could feel you squirming against his grip, unable to keep composure as you gripped the table ever so tightly. His tongue gradually moving back towards the entry, licking both sides of your thighs, cleaning you completely, his head snapped towards the direction of the ceiling as his eyes remained closed whilst his tongue licked whatever remained on hips lips. Easing himself up, as he reached for his trousers, wearing them once again, walking over to the seat near the fire place: as you also attempted to quickly dress, you caught him beckoning for you to accompany him near the fireplace, his hands slapping his lap for you to rest on.

“I’m assuming that was the test?” you insisted, still the sanctuary haunting your mind.

“Only for you” he remarked, as he gently ran his fingers through your damp hair, glaring intently at your face, mesmerised by what he believed was the epitome of beauty.

“So what does this mean?” you longing question, your face anxious, wanting nothing more but for a definite yet comforting answer.

“I don’t like unpredictability, unless I’m responsible for it…And it seems that now I’m responsible for you” he smirked, embracing your body against his, as you both enjoyed the solace of the fire, each other and the thought of your future together in the sanctuary.

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staple-soap-blog · 6 years

Text

Fade - II

The sequel to Scars

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 ||

Genre: Angst | Soulmate AU!

Word Count: 7400

“Cause I don't wanna lose you now, I'm lookin’ right at the other half of me” [🎵 ]

“Sehun.”

It felt like hot stones were being pressed into your eyes as you watched him smile, the familiarity and comfort that came with the gesture branding your retinas, causing them to water. Sehun’s his eyes creased into half moons, perfectly mimicking the images in the memories you had stored. He looked so perfect you swore you had to be dreaming.

Sehun’s lips parted, and you watched as he mouthed the most simple of greetings, “Hey.”

Despite the buzzing electricity that was rocketing through your figure, somehow your brain finally caught up to your racing heart, and your brain was telling you to run. A chill slowly settled over you, freezing your emotions within your body as well as physically freezing you, until your muscles ceased to move. Your mouth dropped open as you tried to console your heart, which was yelling at you to go towards him, and your mind, which was telling you to get away. The mixed signals rendered you motionless, and you were trapped, stuck in front of the man who was responsible for destroying your heart, but now, it felt like his presence had somehow brought it back.

You felt Sehun’s thumb brush against your cheek, your skin crawling at the action. He stared into your eyes, which were still blown wide with complete shock. “I’m so glad I found you,” he croaked, voice wavering with emotion, the same emotion you were currently experiencing underneath the frozen body your brain and heart had paralysed. A thousand words were coursing through your lungs and lodging in your throat, forming a painful lump which blocked your windpipe.

You couldn’t breathe.

The lack of oxygen dizzied you as the clump of words that sat in your throat slowly began to form into incoherent lines, the pressure forcing them to slip out.

“You…” you stammered. “How did you…why did you…” Your hand slowly lifted, fingers brushing against your lips which were still warm from the contact of his mouth. They tingled, almost as if a spark of static had zapped you.

Sehun’s body drifted closer, so close that your noses were mere millimetres away. His warmth seemed to surround you, willing you to relax even though your brain was screaming and struggling to get away for the incredible heat. “It’s okay,” whispered Sehun, forehead pressing against yours and his hands finding your wrists, holding them lovingly. “I’m here now.”

You were unsure if mere seconds or hours had passed as the both of you stood there, unmoving. The shock kept you from saying anything more as Sehun’s electric heat continued to infiltrate and consume every single nerve and fibre both inside and out. It felt like magic. It felt like fate.

Sehun’s eyes never broke away from yours, his glance anchoring you to his soul. The magic flowed through the both of you, uniting you, trying to repair the bond that had been broken.

However, slowly but surely, the magic began to dissolve into the air, allowing the adrenaline to drain from your bloodstream.

Then you felt it. The pain. That terrible pain from long ago.

The scars in your heart. They had opened up.

The stabbing sensation that had been overshadowed by Sehun’s warmth began to jab at your chest, followed by countless agonising throbs as your broken heart began to beat irregularly, the feeling as if your life force was gushing from the open wounds. It wasn’t used to this magnitude of emotion anymore, it had been dormant, almost lifeless for years, and now it had to process the energy that Sehun had injected you with. It was bound to give out eventually, and you could feel the damage worsening with every heartbeat. The scars felt like they were tearing themselves wider.

The pain tore through you, and your muscles were thawing from their previously frozen state. “No,” you barely whispered, forcefully taking one step back and away from the source of the unbearable ache. “No, you can’t…”

Sehun’s eyebrows narrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concern spreading over his face as he closed the gap you had made.

“You can’t just…” Your voice cracked and you took another two steps away, holding out a shaky hand to keep him at a distance.

Your eyes flicked over his body. You needed more convincing that this was in fact Sehun even when your heart had confirmed it the second his lips touched yours. He was exactly the same, save for the brown hair which was now back to its natural black colour that you remember from high school. He stepped forward again, and you felt his torso come into contact with your fingers.

He was definitely real. This wasn’t a dream. Sehun was here, standing right in front of you.

Your hand flew to your chest, pressing down to try and subdue the piercing ache as your lungs gave in, forcing out a strangled scream. You backed away in fright before hitting the wall behind you. You collapsed onto the ground, tears now uncontrollably pouring from your waterline.

“Y/N!” yelled Sehun in panic, and he rushed towards your slumped figure.

“No!” you cried, slapping away the arms that tried to wrap around you. “You can’t!”

“It’s alright,” he breathed, trying again to take you into his hold.

You screamed, cried out, tried to push him away, but Sehun wouldn’t give up until he had taken you into his embrace. You struggled, clawing at his arms, trying to escape but he only held you tighter, pulling you against his damp chest and whispering conforming phrases into your ears.

Your nails raked down his biceps, leaving behind angry red lines as your knees tucked in towards your chest, intending to press your feet against Sehun’s body and kick him away. But it was no use. He was stronger than you, and your heart forbade you to break any contact with him in fear of it ripping in half from the sheer magnitude of energy produced by the ardent war between it and your raging mind.

“No,” you mumbled once more. It was the last coherent thing you said before the sobs overtook your body, causing you to jolt with every sharp inhale that would fuel your next cry of pain.

You felt so completely helpless. Like you had no control over anything in your life anymore. You screamed internally. Why? Why did you have to suffer so much? Was five years of living an emotionless and empty life not enough? Did Fate really have to bring back your true love and tormentor just so old wounds could be reopened?

Sehun’s touch was searing and hot, trapping you in a cocoon of heat which you so desperately wanted to climb out of, no matter how much your heart yearned to stay. You couldn’t let him do this to you again. You wouldn’t let him. He’d hurt you so much, and you weren’t prepared to go through it again. It would kill you.

You continued to struggle, wriggling within his grasp, trying to get away, but you were just exhausting yourself.

“Shhhh,” said Sehun, pulling you into his lap, his chin resting against your shoulder. “Relax, it's alright.” His arms were crossed over your waist with your own arms trapped beneath his. His hands soothingly rubbed your forearms until your sobs became less and less frequent.

Eventually, you gave up trying to run, instead allowing your body to deflate and mold into Sehun’s chest. Occasionally, you’d gasp as your sobbing tried to settle back into steady breaths, your tears drying in the thick air. Your head began to lean against Sehun’s as your body completely shut down, your energy thoroughly spent. All that was left behind was an odd ache in your chest. It wasn’t like the ache that had been plaguing you for years, but more of a dull throbbing sensation, almost as if something was trying to fill the void of your open wounds.

You stared blankly at your front door, which was still open, the howl of the wind echoing through the hallway outside as it blew up the staircase and through the building. The patter of rain also reached your ears, the low rumbling of thunder occasionally filling the air. But the strongest sound was your heartbeat. You could hear the blood pulsing through your body, and you could feel Sehun’s own heart hammering against your back, perfectly synced up with yours.

You blinked lazily, and your body began to slump to the side. Sehun carefully guided you off his lap and onto the hardwood floor below, but he made sure to return his arms to surround your waist. You rested your head against the plaster wall for support. You could feel Sehun’s eyes burning into your temple, so you rolled your head to look back into his chocolate coloured eyes which were bright and lively.

His smile was still there, his eyes narrow with genuine happiness. His head tilted at an angle to match yours and came to lean against the same wall. You felt his hands near yours, one finding your wrist and holding it, thumb stroking the skin while the other came up to your cheek to brush the stray hairs away. His palm then covered that same cheek, and your eyes closed at the gentle heat he delivered.

“Why,” you breathed weakly, eyes fluttering open again.

“Why what?”

“Why are you here?”

A small pout formed on his lips as he teased you, “Is that any way to greet your soulmate?” You winced at the sting his words caused. He noticed and immediately regretted it. “Sorry.”

You sighed, breaking eye contact and shaking your head slightly to push away his palm that rested on your cheek. “You never wanted that anyway,” you said, voice wavering as you crossed your arms, trying to separate him from you. “Why are you bringing it up now?”

You heard Sehun shuffle closer to you before resting his chin on top of your head. His arms circled your body. You could feel his throat vibrate as he responded. “That’s not entirely true.” You nudged his chin off your head so you could look him in the eye again, wordlessly begging him for an explanation. “I’ll tell you in a bit, but for now can I just...can we just stay like this?”

His eyes pleaded with him, so you had no choice but to nod. He smiled with pursed lips before returning his chin to its previous position, and you were forced to watch his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed with both nervousness and relief.

He held you for a long while, his touch surprisingly warm despite the water which was soaked into his clothes. It seemed to subdue the piercing ache inside you to some extent, never completely hiding it but suppressing it enough for you to focus instead on the happiness that was filling your shredded heart. Like each second with him stitched a healing suture into the cuts that had opened, cuts that had scarred over from the events of five years ago.

After some time, Sehun shifted around as his breathing stuttered. “I don’t know how else to say this,” he finally began. “It sounds stupid just thinking about it. But then again, I’ve been acting stupid my whole life.” He gulped and took a few breaths in before continuing, as if he were struggling to string together sentences that could fully convey how he felt.

“I always used to say soulmates were stupid when we were kids, remember?”

Your chest deflated at this. “Yeah,” you muttered, disheartened. “I remember.”

Sehun tightened his hold around you, his hand gently rubbing your back in comfort. “That was back when I didn’t fully understand what it meant, and I just kind of kept saying it without thinking too much about it. But I got older, and in a way, I did start to care. So much that I hated it.”

“Why?”

Sehun paused, reluctant to continue until he had found the right words. “I never thought you’d be my soulmate,” he admitted. Your body buckled, his words cutting into your stomach, and you curled forward to subdue the pain. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” comforted Sehun.

His hand came up from behind you to your head and pressed it against his chest. His other hand which was on the curve of your back gripped the fabric of your shirt, clinging onto you any way he could. A few moments of silence passed, only filled with the sound of Sehun’s heartbeat. He sighed before continuing.

“I never thought you’d be my soulmate, but I always wished that you were.”

It took a couple seconds for you to register his words. A tingle of curiosity appeared in the back of your mind, and you uncurled yourself from your position. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make sense of what he had just said.

“You’d never shown me your soul mark, so I always thought it was in an awkward place. But I also thought that if you didn’t bother showing me, I wasn’t your soulmate. And that killed me.”

You didn’t even know the full story, and yet your pulse was already accelerating, his own heartbeat speeding up to match with yours. Your fingers began to clutch the fabric of his waterlogged shirt, dripping rainwater onto your sweatpants. But you didn’t care.

“You’d been my best friend for so long, and I didn’t want to ruin that by saying that I liked you, because I thought that you’d want to save yourself for your soulmate. And that’s why I hated this stupid soul mark thing. I was mad that no one would give somebody else a chance just because their true love had already been decided.”

Sehun’s grip grew firmer, and he pressed his body impossibly closer to yours.

“I never wanted a soulmate, I just wanted you.”

It felt like your ears were set ablaze when Sehun spoke those works to you. Your grip on his shirt tightened, knuckles turning white as yet another surge of emotions spread into your bloodstream. You couldn’t believe that you were hearing. Sehun liked you? For how long? You were too scared to lift your head and make eye contact, fearing that if you saw the candour in his chocolate irises, you would crumble.

“I remember when you arrived at prom with Chanyeol. You looked so beautiful, and I’ve always regretted not asking you. I thought you’d find it weird, since we were best friends. But I wanted nothing more than to take Chanyeol’s place that night. He was always by your side, holding your hand. I hated that it wasn’t me doing that.”

“But I wasn’t dating Chanyeol.”

“I know, but you two grew closer after that night. And that could’ve been me. I thought I’d blown my chance, so I just let it be.”

You chewed your bottom lip, processing Sehun’s words. Your eyes welled up, but they weren’t sad tears, they were tears of joy and longing. But there was still an itch that held you back from fully accepting his proclamations. “What about Yuna? Did you not love her?”

Sehun sighed and ran his hand through his black locks. “I did. I loved her a lot. But it took time for me to fall for her. It wasn’t anything like it was with you, I always felt some way about you, even when I was with her.” Sehun paused again, collecting his thoughts. “I hated the whole soulmate concept, and she did too. And I guess I found comfort in that. I’d never get what I want, I’d never get you, and I hated Fate for that, so I never wanted to find my soulmate, and Yuna didn’t either. We supported each other with that.”

You could hear cracks beginning to appear in his voice as he recalled the events of the past. At least you’d been right, the whole ordeal had hurt him just as much as it hurt you.

“You were right, the soul mark removal was my idea. When you hate something for as long as I have, it never leaves you. I thought of it as one last big ‘fuck you’ to Fate.”

Sehun sat up, removing his chin from the top of your head. His hand came under your jaw to tilt your head upwards. Your eyes locked with his teary ones as he stared at you with an unfathomable amount of affection and regret. He let out a shaky breath as he moved down to your right shoulder and tugged aside the fabric of your shirt. His thumb softly brushed over the light pink lines of your scar, causing his face to scrunch in grief.

“It was the biggest mistake of my life, and I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you, for what I did to us.”

A tear rolled down Sehun’s cheek. Your hand came up to instinctively brush it away, and you felt how hot and flushed his skin was. You could sense that the energy you were experiencing was shared with him, and you leaned forward, capturing him in a hug, pressing your bodies together as if somehow it could make up for the lost time you spent apart. He squeezed you back, showing no sign of letting go.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered into your hair.

You whimpered back, “Me too.”

And that’s how the two of you stayed. On the floor of your apartment, bodies linked in a tight embrace as the storm outside passed, and the clouds cleared away, allowing the bright twinkle of the stars to shine through your window.

Nothing needed to be said as Sehun’s mere presence seemed to affect your body in the most mysterious and wonderful of ways. It felt like you were healing, and you knew that he felt the same too. The magic shared between the two of you was indisputably strong and powerful.

“I’m tired,” you yawned eventually, head dropping against the wall for support. Sehun smiled and stood up and began to walk towards your front door. You winced a little, thinking that he would leave, but he shut the door instead and walked back up to you.

A squeal escaped your lungs as you felt yourself being lifted into the air by the work of Sehun’s muscular arms. You clutched onto his broad shoulders for dear life as he led you further into your apartment. “Which one is your bedroom?”

“Second door to the left,” you replied, and he made a beeline towards said place.

He gently set you down on your bed and pulled the covers over you, a smile adorning your face throughout the whole process. His hands brushed over your shirt. “Your clothes are a bit wet, sorry about that.”

You’d completely forgotten about that. “Yours are still wet too,” you said, sitting up and feeling the damp fabric of his shirt. It had dried off a little in the time that he’d been inside your apartment, but it felt uncomfortable to be wearing, and you bet that his jeans were just as soaked. “How did you get here?” you asked, curious.

“I drove.”

“You drove all the way from home and got completely soaked just from the sidewalk to here? The rain was that bad? You could’ve had an accident!” you scolded, frowning and tugging angrily at his shirt.

Sehun smiled and pulled your hand away from the garment, lacing his fingers with yours instead. “I couldn’t wait. I had to get to you as soon as possible.”

“How did you find me anyway?”

He smirked. “How do you think?”

You cast your mind into recent events and the answer came easily. “Chanyeol.”

“I guess lover boy wanted to help fix us.”

You shook your head and smiled. “He’s always been like that. He’ll never change.”

Silence settled over your two bodies, filled with only the sound of your heartbeat. Sehun stroked the back of your hand, his bottom lip caged between his teeth in thought. “I should leave. I kinda just barged in here uninvited.”

He dropped your hand and took a few steps away. He was through the doorway of your bedroom before he stopped, turning around to look at you, incredibly reluctant to leave. “Sehun,” you called out. “Stay with me. Please.”

He smiled a little. “But my clothes are all wet,” he teased, but you could tell from his eyes that he wanted nothing more than to be with you.

“I don’t care.”

Sehun stepped back into your bedroom and closed the door before removing his shoes and climbing under the sheets with you. He said nothing as his arm wrapped around you and pulled you against his side. A few moments ticked by before a question slipped past your lips.

“Sehun?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you want to find me? It’s been so long.”

There was a delay before his reply came. “Remember how Yuna was late to the wedding?” You nodded. “She found her soulmate that day. Some guy called Jongdae. Her maid of honour told me they got into a fight which kind of ruined her mood I guess. But after you left, I didn’t want her anymore. And I guess she made up with Jongdae and left me soon after.”

Your mind buzzed at the intake of information.

“After she left I thought that if Jongdae could forgive her for what she did, maybe you would too. I knew I had to at least try. I couldn’t live with myself if I let another opportunity go to waste.”

You buried your face into Sehun’s chest, remembering how you’d let every opportunity slip away from you. He held you close and whispered words that set your heart ablaze.

“I’ll never make that mistake again.”

And that’s how you remained for the entirety of the night. Enveloped in the arms of your true love. Your heart may not have been completely mended, it probably never would return to its state before the heartbreak, but it was alive and working now that Sehun was here.

It felt right. Everything felt right in that moment. This was always your destiny, how it was always meant to be. Joy was the only thing that consumed your existence, something that you hadn’t experienced in a very long time. And you couldn’t have asked for anything more.

***

Happy. That’s what you felt as you woke up the next morning with the bright sun peeking through the empty rain clouds and shining its rays through your bedroom window. Normally, you would awaken, and the familiar low hum of pain would make itself known by consuming your chest, staying there for the entire day until you drifted out of consciousness that same night, only to return the next day.

Now, it wasn’t gone, but it was overshadowed by a much stronger feeling. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, you had experienced it before a long time ago. You don’t remember when exactly, but you knew why. Because when your eyes fluttered open, there in front of you was the perfect face of your other half, your soulmate, Oh Sehun. He was there in the flesh, peacefully sleeping, an arm draped around your waist with the fabric of your shirt bundled into his fist as if he were afraid of you slipping away. It really wasn’t a dream. He was with you. And that feeling in your chest intensified with every passing minute, making your heart race as a smile began to spread across your lips.

“Good morning,” groaned Sehun before his eyelids slowly opened, his chocolate eyes finding yours.

“Morning,” you replied, your grin growing wider.

“Have you been staring at me?”

You bit your lip. “Maybe?” Sehun chuckled and pulled your body closer, his lips finding your forehead and pressing a chaste kiss to it. Your skin tingled at the contact, sending goosebumps over your body and accelerating your beating heart.

He pulled away with a smile. His fingers danced over your back, drawing shapes into your skin as he looked at you lovingly. You gazed back at him with equal amounts of love and tenderness.

“Do you mind if I use your shower?” he asked.

“Wasn’t the rain enough?” Sehun scoffed and squeezed your side, his fingers sending a spasm of tickles through your waist. A giggle slipped past your lips before you spoke again. “Did you need a change of clothes?”

He shook his head. “My clothes are pretty much dry now.” He moved to roll off your bed, but you whined in protest. “What?”

“Can we stay here for a bit longer?”

“I’ll be gone for like five minutes,” he argued.

“Fine,” you groaned with a pout. “The bathroom is the next door to the right and there are clean towels under the sink.”

A smile spread over Sehun’s lips in thanks, and he leaned down to press another kiss to your cheek, causing another set of giggles to slip past your mouth. The mattress springed back upwards as Sehun’s weight left the bed and he made his may out of your room, tugging off his shirt and flashing you his muscular back just before he disappeared through the doorway. What a tease.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, basking in the heat that was flaring up inside your chest, overshadowing the constant ache that had resided there since your last encounter with Sehun. You couldn’t believe that he had returned to you, even after all this time. Sure, you acknowledged how idiotic it might seem. The man who had caused you so much pain, the man who had shattered your heart and left it on the curb to die, he had returned to fix it with his touch. It would never be the same, but it was better than the five years of misery you had to suffer through.

Five years, and you had never felt anything like this. Nothing like when Sehun was with you. Well, maybe just not as intense. There was an itch in the back of your mind, reminding you of something. Memories from not too long ago. Memories of just a sliver of that same warmth and energy drifting through your body, slowly taking away the pain.

The sound of your doorbell ringing through your apartment snapped you out of your thoughts. Groaning, you slid off your mattress and headed towards your front door, your previous thoughts melting away into the depths of your mind, but never fully dissipating. Instead, they lurked in the shadows of your brain, festering with each step you took through your apartment.

A rush of dread suddenly washed over your body as your steps towards the door slowed in pace. The thoughts in the back of your mind were agitating every last nerve ending, and you couldn’t stop the anxious feeling that began to consume you. Your fingertips touched the handle of your front door and you looked through the peephole.

Your heart dropped into your stomach at the sight. There, stood outside your apartment was a messy haired, slightly sleepy Kyungsoo dressed in a puffy packet, clutching your purse in his hands.

It felt like you had been pushed into a frozen lake and you were trapped beneath the ice, forced to drown in the sudden flood of guilt and anxiety that suddenly rushed through your veins, causing your muscles to tense.

Your hand left the handle, considering not opening the door, but for some reason, you knew you would feel guilty about leaving him hanging, and he had driven to your apartment early this morning and you would hate for him to do that again. There was also the added nagging in your mind telling you that you missed him, that you wanted to see him, spend time with him. An odd conflict between your head and your heart ignited, building up in your throat and you swallowed the vicious lump as you heard the second chime of your doorbell echo through your eardrums.

Your head whipped around to glance behind you, confirming that Sehun was still in the shower. With a quick breath in, you opened the door, convincing yourself that this would be a quick exchange.

“Hey!” you breathed a little too enthusiastically.

“Hi,” responded Kyungsoo, a little taken aback by your sudden enthusiasm. “I...brought your purse.”

“Oh, right, thank you,” you muttered, lunging forward for the item. Your fingers were wrapped around your purse, intending to pull it away and run back into your apartment, but Kyungsoo’s larger hand pressed over yours. Your arm seized up and your shoulders rose in surprise at his touch, bones locked into place.

“Is everything ok?” he asked, a questioning yet concerned look on his face. His thumb began to rub against the back of your hand, and he looked deep into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look a little tense.” Were you being that obvious? You struggled to find a reply as you felt your heart rate increase, guilt beginning to seep into your chest. “Hey,” called Kyungsoo, stepping closer. “You can talk to me, okay?”

The smile that spread across his lips only intensified your remorse. Kyungsoo looked at you with such affection, such genuine care, and you had to bow your head to break the gaze in fear that it would break your facade. You felt a different warmth grow inside you, the same warmth that was present during your first night together, when his lips were on yours and his hands were tracing the curves of your body. You’d felt content then.

But now your soulmate had returned, and he made you feel like your heart was on fire. Years of misery felt like they could disappear with his touch. Even though your heart was permanently damaged by Sehun’s actions, it still yearned for his presence and love. Stupid heart.

The guilt that was spilling into your chest through the cracks in your heart began to grow wider. If your heart was a dam with a leak, the guilt was the water, pushing through the concrete and chipping away at the mighty wall until the dam threatened to collapse entirely.

You had to tell Kyungsoo about Sehun. You couldn’t work this out on your own. You head rose to meet his eyes, mouth opening to speak. “Kyungsoo, I need to tell you-”

He wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he was looking behind you, a look of shock, confusion and anger swimming through his eyes which were blown wide open. Your stomach felt like it had imploded, and you reluctantly turned around to inspect what Kyungsoo had seen.

It was worse than you expected.

Sehun was completely shirtless, with only his sweatpants covering his bottom half and a towel draped around his neck. He was staring at your hands which were covered with Kyungsoo’s, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to deduce the situation. Then, a breeze of cold air brushed over your hands as Kyungsoo broke the calming contact.

Panic shot through your veins as you turned to look back at him, his face now consumed with betrayal. “Kyungsoo, it’s not what it looks-”

“Who are you?” barked Kyungsoo, cutting you off with his eyes still trained on Sehun. His voice was firm, but you could hear his composed demeanour cracking.

“Who are you?” retorted Sehun.

“I asked first.” You could hear the rising anger in Kyungsoo’s tone. His fists clenched, knuckles beginning to turn white.

You looked back at Sehun, dreading his answer. He took a step closer to you, and you felt his hand secure itself around your waist. No no no, this was making things worse! You winced at the contact, but his reply to Kyungsoo’s question made you cringe with guilt.

“I’m her soulmate.”

The wind was knocked out from your lungs at Sehun’s answer, and you snapped your head back to Kyungsoo, trying to gather the words to explain everything. You couldn’t find them in time.

You watched as Kyungsoo’s deep brown eyes - which were full of anger and bewilderment - scanned over Sehun’s body, tracing the pink lines that were situated near his right collarbone. Kyungsoo then looked over at your chest, and you saw his eyes widen as his composure collapsed. It looked like a knife had been shoved into his gut. You hastily pulled the hem of your shirt over your exposed scar, but the damage had already been done.

Kyungsoo’s eyes met yours, and you stared back at him, trying to wordlessly apologise in a single gaze. But something had changed, and that change snapped the remainder of your heartstrings, leaving behind nothing but guilt and regret.

That spark of hope you had once seen in his deep brown eyes, the one you saw at the bar when you first met him and the one you saw during your countless nights together, it had been snuffed out.

You had created the spark, and now, you’d watched it die before your very eyes.

Kyungsoo’s chest visibly deflated and his hands unclenched in surrender. The fight in him had trickled away. His eyes clouded over, and so did his soul.

“Who is this, Y/N?” asked Sehun, tugging you by your waist and coaxing you to face him. Sehun didn’t seem too concerned before, but your expression caused his eyes to flood with concern for you.

“He’s…” you swallowed, slowly turning back to the other, shorter man. “He’s my…”

You couldn’t complete your sentence, for you didn’t know yourself what Kyungsoo was. He wasn’t a stranger, but he wasn’t a friend either. It felt wrong to call him either a fuck buddy or your boyfriend. Your breathing deepened as you tried to fill the silence with non-existent words, your body filling up with shame with every passing second.

“I’m no one,” snapped Kyungsoo, his voice laced with venom and despair. “I was just leaving.” He didn’t glance at you as he turned and headed back down the hallway from which he came. You heard the sound of his shoes hitting the steps of the stairwell before he disappeared and his footsteps became softer as he moved further away.

Something snapped inside you, and you quickly tossed your purse inside your apartment before pushing a half-bare Sehun back inside. “Stay here,” you warned before bolting through the door, slamming it shut after you.

“Kyungsoo!” you cried, dashing down the stairwell as fast as you could, almost tripping over the steps as you did. “Kyungsoo, wait!”

You caught him three flights down, nearly crashing into him as your arms anchored themselves against his side to stop the momentum that was pushing you forward. You panted and looked up at him, but he refused to meet your gaze, his black fringe partially concealing his eyes.

“Please don’t leave yet, just...let me explain-”

“You don’t need to explain anything,” he deadpanned. “It’s pretty clear to me what happened.”

“Nothing happened!” you pushed, your fingers wrapping around his bicep and squeezing, as if it would help convince him. “I swear on my life, he just showed up last night and he was wet from the rain so I let him use my shower.”

Kyungsoo remained silent, his gaze trained on his shoes.

“I didn’t sleep with him. Please, you have to believe me!”

He sighed deeply and his eyes closed. His throat seemed to constrict as he swallowed deeply, and he took a shallow breath inwards, only inhaling what he needed in order to speak for it was too painful to breathe.

“It doesn’t matter if I believe you or not.”

A small gasp slipped past your lips, and your heart surged with emotion. Your train of thought stopped entirely, the string of excuses and explanations dying on your tongue. “Wh-what? Why not?”

“Because...you’re-” He suddenly stopped, his face scrunching up with a hiss blowing past his barred teeth. He doubled over and his hands pressed flew to his face. You moved closer to him, one hand remaining on his arm, the other coming up to wrap around one of his wrists. Concern, guilt and worry coursed through your system as you silently begged for Kyungsoo to look at you. That spark of hope you’d seen still had to be there somewhere. You’d do anything to see it once again.

A muffled groan sounded from his lungs, then his hands quickly ran down his face as his head shot straight upwards, quickly avoiding your gaze. You swallowed thickly at his glistening cheeks after his fingers had wiped away the evidence of tears. His head dropped back down with a shaky sigh, his eyes landing on your shoulder, like he was afraid that looking at you directly would cause him more pain.

“Look. I can’t…” he began, voice wavering with every word he spoke. “I can’t...he’s…” stammered Kyungsoo. He choked before shaking his head. ”Just go back to him,” he sighed, caving in defeat. “If he makes you happy even after everything you said he did then...”

“Don’t say that,” you countered, your oesophagus beginning to close up. “He’s...not the only one who can make me happy.”

The words flew out of your mouth easier that you expected with the pressure in your throat. Those thoughts that had been lurking in the back of your mind finally made themselves known, and you believed them to be the truth.

Kyungsoo made you feel. Maybe he hadn’t jolted your heart from it’s dormant state, but he had been nurturing it back to health, slowly, but surely. That warmth you felt when you were with him, it battled the ache caused by the scars of your past and emerged victorious each time. It soothed and comforted you whenever Kyungsoo entered your thoughts. Even though it wasn’t as powerful, it was undoubtedly healing you.

Dare you say it, that warmth was love.

You wondered what had kept you from realising it for so long, but now, you were terrified at the prospect of losing it, all because of you and the person who was supposed to be your perfect match.

“I believed that too, until now,” replied Kyungsoo to your statement.

“Kyungsoo,” you whimpered, shocked that he would say such a thing. He shuffled on his feet, gaze now trained to the floor. He was twitching and fidgeting, trying to distract himself from the heartbreak that you had caused. He cleared his throat before he spoke again.

“Thanks for making me think, at least for a while, that I didn’t need my soulmate to be in love.”

Your jaw fell open at his words. He finally met your eyes, and your chest near exploded at the lack of life and hope in his expression. His brown eyes were empty, his face void of emotion save for the salty liquid that pooled at his waterline. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he held his breath, suppressing the sobs that threatened to break free.

He pushed past you just as the first tear began to fall, shaking your hand off his upper arm. “Go back,” he grumbled defeatedly, his back turned to you. “Your other half is waiting for you.”

Kyungsoo continued down the stairs after uttering that, never once looking back to face you. He left you in the stairwell, alone and trembling with grief.

The irony of the situation hit you hard. There you stood, a broken woman, damaged by the actions of the man she loved, only to inflict the same damage onto a man that loved her. You were crushed, you knew how much it hurt to have the person you were so completely infatuated with to just brush you aside like you were nothing. You knew how much Kyungsoo had been hurting because of his soul mark that had been mercilessly scorched off only a little while ago, and you had to go ahead and give him false hope, making him suffer even more. You felt like a monster.

Your brain went into overdrive, trying to bargain and justify your actions, only for those arguments to collapse in on themselves. You kept switching back and forth, the devil and angel sat on each shoulder whispering into your ears, creating an ambivalent chaos of thoughts.

Kyungsoo didn’t mean what he said. He was angry and just trying to hurt you.

But the way he looked at you whenever you were with him, you saw yourself in him, the same emotions of love and want were parallel to when you were in love with Sehun.

Fate led Sehun back to you, you can’t change your destiny.

If Fate really did still have a plan for you, why would Fate lead Kyungsoo to you.

Sehun is your soulmate. There’s no way you could be in love with Kyungsoo.

But you were. You most certainly were.

The stairs caught you as you fell back onto the steps, the pain of the impact nowhere near comparable to the pain in your chest. Your head fell into your hands, mind swirling with paradoxical thoughts, leaving you confused and afraid. Your body trembled as the silent cries left your mouth, drenching your face with tears.

A hand suddenly gripped your shoulder, the contact soothing your arrhythmic heart, leaving only your head to spin with uncertainty and regret. That hand turned into two arms, wrapping around your figure and pulling you up against a firm, now clothed body. A sharp chin rested atop your shoulder as the embrace relaxed you, until you could finally speak without your voice wavering.

“What have I done,” you barely whispered.

“Was he…” began Sehun, hesitant to ask. “Your boyfriend?”

You sighed, not able to provide an answer, instead opting to bury your face into Sehun’s now clothed chest. You could feel him tense at the action, and you heard him swallow out of nervousness. Yet his hold around you seemed to grow tighter, like he was afraid of losing you again.

It was funny how your body fit perfectly into his. You were designed for each other after all. Sehun’s touch held so much meaning, so much comfort, so much love that had been sent down from the heavens. But it didn’t feel right anymore. Or, maybe, you didn’t want it to feel right anymore.

You closed your eyes, seeing a flurry of coloured swirls on your eyelids as your headache grew worse, fueled by doubt and guilt.

“Sehun,” you began, leaning away from his hold. “I think I need to be alone for a while.”

“What?! But-”

“Please,” you begged, staring into his brown eyes which were flooding with fear and sorrow. “I just need time to think.”

“But...when can I come back?”

You bit your lip in thought. “I don’t know, a couple days maybe? I promise I’ll talk to you then, ok?” Sehun’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists as he processed your words. He opened his mouth to argue, but your expression pleaded him to listen. “Do it for me?”

He groaned, voice laced with slight anger and a magnitude of anxiety. “I just found you again. Why are you pushing me away?”

“I’m not I just…” you trailed off, eyes closing, causing tears to pour down your face. Sighing, you looked up at Sehun again. “It’s just a few days. I need to sort some things out. Please.”

There was a pause. “Okay,” he replied reluctantly. His hands hesitantly came up to your face, wiping the tears before he stood up from the steps, reaching out a hand to pull you from your position on the ground. “I’ll be back soon, right?” he mumbled before planting a soft kiss on your forehead. He gave you one last glance of hesitancy before you nodded, reassuring him, and he finally let go of your hand.

As he descended the stairs, he kept glancing up at you, silently begging for you to change your mind and let him stay. Your heart began to surge at the lack of proximity, crying out for his presence, but your mind somehow remained stable, and it willed you to stay silent as you wondered if you were making the correct decision, or were you ruining your life all over again?

A/N: Ok I lied there’s a part 3 ehehe sorry I couldn’t decide yet

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backpfeifenguy · 5 years

Text

All in Your Head Chapter 3

WARNING! This chapter contains violence, a villain threatening sexual assault, and suicidal ideation. If that is likely to seriously upset you or cause a panic attack or similar, maybe give this one a miss. So then, just going to lie in bed all day, huh? Makes sense, I guess. You always were a coward, after all. Go ahead man; wallow in your own self-pity, god knows everyone else pities you. It had been 36 hours since Beast Boy got dumped. Since then, he’d only left his room to use the bathroom. The only reason he’d eaten anything was because the other Titans left food outside his door, which he picked at, more out of a sense of obligation than anything else. Keep it up; eventually they’ll give up on you and just let you starve. (no) Bound to happen sooner or later. They’ll probably tell themselves they’re just trying to coax you out so they can talk to you, but they’ll know what they’re doing.

“Hey Grass Stain!” Cyborg bellowed from outside the door. “You up for a game?”

“No thanks!” Beast Boy shouted back.

“How ‘bout a movie? Or, like, anything?”

“I think I’ll pass!” Beast Boy answered.

“You know we’re here for you, right B?” Bullshit! They don’t care how you really feel, they just want you to go back to pretending that you’re okay. After all, what’s the point of keeping a clown around if he’s not even good for a laugh?

“You wanna talk about it?” Cyborg asked.

“Not really, no!”

“You sure?”

“...Not really, no!” Seriously? You’re too much of a coward to even stand by your cowardice?

“Okay well, if you change your mind, let us know. I’m worried about you, B.” He’s lying! They only pretend to care about you! You’re not loved, you’re tolerated.

“...Thanks.” Beast Boy said in a small voice. “I will.” Seriously? You’re going to make yourself their problem even more than usual? Pathetic. Suddenly, noise filled the corridor and lights flashed red. Oh, would you look at that? Crime! So, will you be useless in here or out there? Either way it’s your fault (no) if somebody gets hurt. After a moment, Beast Boy grit his teeth and leapt to his feet. Good choice; maybe this time you’ll get yourself killed and they won’t have to deal with you any more.

Adonis. Control Freak had been bad. Because he somehow managed to kick your ass, or because he reminds you of your own pathetic loserdom? Mad Mod would have been a pain. Because every time you fight him you get hypnotised, making you marginally less useful than usual. Slade would have been a nightmare. Mister brainwash-yo-girl. Great way to remember what a failure you are. But somehow, Adonis managed to muscle his way right up to the top of his list of things he didn’t want to deal with. And for some reason, he was attacking a sandwich shop.

“Okay Adonis, I’ll bite.” Robin sighed. “Why are you attacking a sandwich shop?”

“Because it’s no different than a brothel!” Adonis sneered. “It’s a place where men pay a stranger to do the job their wives should!”

“Hey Beast Boy,” Raven smirked. “What do you call a guy who makes ‘get in the kitchen’ jokes?”

“Single.” Beast Boy quipped.

“What was that?!” Adonis roared, hurling a vending machine in Beast Boy’s general direction.

“You heard me!” Beast Boy yelled as he ducked under the machine. Yeah, fuck this guy! “How about you take your frail little ego out of your ears and listen for a change, you insecure dumbass?” Don’t let up, keep piling on the insults! And just like that, Adonis was in face.

“You’re gonna wish you’d kept your mouth shut, you little bitch!” Adonis snarled, swinging wildly at Beast Boy. Wait, did you seriously just shit-talk the guy who can bend you into a pretzel even before the upgrades that have apparently made him way faster? Nobody has ever deserved anything as much as you deserve this beatdown.

Beast Boy managed to dodge the first blow by turning into a beetle, but was left open to the follow-up which sent him flying into the nearest wall. Oh wow, is he a little stronger than last time? Nice.Well, not so nice for you, I guess. Or maybe it is; after all, at least this way you (shut up) have an excuse when you get beaten like a pro athlete’s wife.

“Not so smart now, are you?” Adonis smirked.

“Smarter than you.” Beast Boy shot back without thinking. What the hell is wrong with you?! Adonis drew his fist back, ready to deliver the killing blow, and…

*WHAM!*

“You will step away from friend Beast Boy if you value the continued use of your extremities.” Starfire warned, having side-swiped Adonis. Oh look; she had to bail you out.

“I like a girl with spirit.” Adonis leered, lunging at Starfire.

“And I like a villain who leaves himself open.” Robin quipped, hurling a trio of explosive Birdarangs.

“You too?” Cyborg chuckled, barrelling into the armoured creep from the other side. “We got a lot in common, Rob!” Hot damn! They’re really killing it. Beast Boy quickly transformed into a bull and charged, only for Adonis to grab him by the horns and hurl him at Raven. Annnd there it goes. You ruined it. Shit, it’s just a miracle you turned back before you hit Raven, otherwise you might have killed her. She wouldn’t have been the first girl to die (stop) because of you.

“And would you look at that?” Adonis crowed. “A two-for-one sale on Titans!”

“You will keep your hands off of my friends!” Starfire snarled, launching a flying kick… that Adonis caught in one hand.

“I wasn’t talking about them.” Adonis replied cooly, swinging Starfire into Cyborg with enough force to leave her unconscious and him… broken would probably be the best word. “Incidentally, remind me to thank Calculator for this program he whipped up. Worth every penny.” Robin came in high, staff swinging, rage twisting his features, and lay into Adonis. “Seriously? The people with actual super-strength couldn’t get through my armor, but you think you can because you’ve got a stick?” Adonis backhanded Robin into the counter, shattering the glass and knocking him into the various cheeses.

“Hey there Rae, you doin’ alright?” Beast Boy asked softly. Nope. She is very clearly unconscious, thanks to you. Hit her head on a table. Might even have a little brain damage, so thanks for that. “Okay, guess I’m on my own.” Beast Boy sighed.

“So, what’s the plan, little man?” Adonis snickered, strolling forward. “You ain’t getting any help in the next minute or two, and I think we both know you don’t have what it takes to fight me on your own.” (yes you do) No you don’t. “So how about this? I let you take three of your friends home, and you leave me one of the girls to play with.” For those who haven’t guessed, that was unwise.

A few facts occurred to Beast Boy in quick succession. Fact: no matter how good your armor is, after getting nailed by a heavy hit from Starfire, tackled by Cyborg and hit with three explosive Birdarangs it’s going to have some battle damage. Fact: an amoeba can be as small as 250 microns. Fact: armor doesn’t do much against threats once they’re inside it. Fact: wasp stings hurt like hell. No. Not wasp. Fire ants have an excruciatingly painful-- more. The bullet ant’s bite hurts as much as getting shot-- Remember what he just said. What he did. What he'll do. The Irukandji. A species found only in the waters surrounding Australia, the Irukandji jellyfish is believed to have the most painful sting of any animal on Earth; a sting so agonising that those who fall victim to it will sometimes beg to be killed. Yes. Do it. (no) Yes! (Irukandji kills) The sting of an Irukandji jellyfish causes fatal brain hemorrhages. He deserves to die! (you deserve to kill?) Not the Irukandji.

There has always been, among those of a zoological bent, the temptation to exaggerate certain details. Is a bird’s plumage really as beautiful as its discoverer claimed? A badger’s temperament as bloody-minded? An insect’s bite as painful? Not always. But a purple-backed starling’s plumage is one of the prettiest sights in nature. Badgers, and indeed mustelids of all stripe are vicious bastards, mostly because they’re too slow to ever run from a fight. And the bullet ant’s bite really does hurt as much as a gunshot wound. Which is why Adonis, mere moments away from crushing Robin’s head like an egg, began to scream.

There, doesn’t that sound nice? Bite him again. Adonis began to scream louder, and after a few seconds of scratching sounds, Beast Boy could feel the open air, which could only mean that Adonis had started ripping his armor off. One more, for luck? (stop) Remember what he wanted to do to the girls? (...) Yeah, thought so. Actually, you know what? Maybe you should just change back and start beating the shit out of him now that he’s ditched the armor. Make sure everyone knows you beat him.

Slowly, Starfire opened her eyes, her head pounding like a Tamaranian hunting drum. Adonis would pay; for hurting her friends and for using her as a club. Such actions were not easily forgiven, even from a man screaming in pain, in a heap on the floor, with his armor strewn haphazardly about the room and Beast Boy beating him black and blue, as the human expression went. Wait, what?

“Not so tough now, are you?” Beast Boy snarled, kicking the fallen foe in in the stomach hard enough to make him dry-heave.

“Friend Beast Boy, I believe he has been subdued.” Apparently she hadn’t been clear enough, as Beast Boy wound up another kick that sent teeth sliding across the floor.

“This is what happens when you hurt my friends!” Beast Boy howled, slamming Adonis’ face into the floor repeatedly. “This is what you get!”

“Friend Beast Boy, stop!” Starfire said, rather more insistently, as she staggered over to her friend. “You risk taking his life! Do you wish to be the killer?”

“Yes!” Beast Boy snarled as he turned to face her, the look on his face enough to make Starfire back away. It occurred to her that, in his current state, she might not be able to talk him down, and that she wasn’t certain she could bring herself to fight him if it came to that.

Beast Boy!” Robin’s voice rang out as he dragged himself to his feet. “Stand down.” Beast Boy froze for a moment, and it seemed to Starfire like he may have come to his senses, but after a moment he simply glared at Robin as he stepped on the fallen villain’s wrist which, Starfire noticed, already appeared to be quite badly broken. “I said stand down!”

“And I didn’t listen!” Beast Boy roared back. “You didn’t hear him; you were unconscious in a tub of cheddar when he told me to leave him one of the girls to play with!” Starfire felt a brief surge of nausea; it occurred to her that Adonis would fit in well with the Gordanians. “If you want me to stop, you’ll have to make me!”

“Beast Boy.” Raven’s voice was weak, and a little unsteady. “Stop.” Beast Boy seemed uncertain for a second. “Please.” And just like that, all the tension seemed to evaporate.

“Okay.” Beast Boy sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’ll stop.”

“Broken nose.” Robin scowled. “Fractured jaw; four teeth knocked out, six chipped.”

“I’m really sor--” Beast Boy began.

“Hairline fracture to the orbital socket.” Robin went on, stonefaced. “Five cracked ribs, shattered wrist, three broken fingers.”

“I know I was out of--”

“Hairline fracture to one vertebra. Concussion. Various contusions, abrasions and internal bleeding.” He narrowed his eyes. “Currently unidentified toxin in his bloodstream. Two insect bites.”

“I’m sorry.” Beast Boy said, after waiting moment to be certain that Robin was done. “I was out of line.” Way out of line. If you’re lucky he’ll just kick you off the team.

“What were the bug bites?” Robin demanded.

“Bullet ant.” Beast Boy muttered. “Hurts as much as a bullet.” Yeah, he’s probably going to have you arrested.

“Enter the armour through a damaged area and bite or sting him as an insect.” Robin said thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea.” But… “But your choice of bug was excessive. This is Adonis we’re talking about; a wasp would have been enough.” And that’s without even mentioning the beating. “And the beating you gave him was completely uncalled for. You could have killed him, what were you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” Beast Boy whimpered.

“Were you even thinking at all?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look,” Robin sighed. “I understand that you were in a stressful situation. But you can’t just lay into someone like that when they can’t fight back. You’re suspended from active duty until further notice.”

“Understood.” Beast Boy sighed. Seriously? That’s all?

“I won’t be pursuing any harsher disciplinary actions as long as you behave yourself; it was a difficult situation.” Ah. He’s going easy on you because he never expected anything better in the first place. “Dismissed.”

It had been two weeks since Beast Boy was suspended from active duty. Two weeks since you nearly beat a man to death, and loved (no) it. An extremely busy two weeks for the others; it was like there was something in the water riling the crooks up, and they’d been out everyday to deal with something. And apparently, they haven’t had any issues without you. He hadn’t been able to help them much at all; he couldn’t do forensics because he was too damn stupid. Couldn’t canvas witnesses because you’re too ugly; either you make people uncomfortable or they (stop) don’t take you seriously. Just about all he could do to help was search up the occasional file or map and you can barely even do that right, you worthless little turd.

He’d basically isolated himself from the others. Two weeks alone. But isn’t that how it always is? You always end up alone, sooner or later. And it’s nobody’s fault but (shut up) yours. Your parents (no) died because you were too weak and cowardly to save them. The Doom Patrol kicked you out (they didn’t) because you were a liability. Terra (stop) died because you let her down. You’re alone because it’s what you deserve. Before too long, the Titans are going to join the list (never), so you might as well get ready for that. Either they’ll kick you out or they’ll die because of your fuck-ups, so really it’s just a matter of where you put your money before betting closes.

Hazily, Beast Boy realised that he’d made his way to the roof. Jump. Just fucking do it. He took (no) a step forward. Nobody will ever miss you. And (stop) another. Every second you’re alive puts everyone you care about in danger. A third step put him (don’t do this) right at the edge. Come on, do it! End the pain, end the loneliness! It’s almost over, all you need to do is take one little step, so DO IT! He extended his leg, and… CEASE THIS FUCKERY!!! For a moment, his thoughts seemed clearer, and he leapt back, shocked by how close he’d been, terrified to contemplate what would have happened without the intervention of this new and unfamiliar voice is his head.

New? Unfamiliar? Have you no gratitude, boy? I am far from new. You’ve known me for years. When you were bitten, infected with Sakutia, who was it that gave you the strength to endure the pain of that experimental treatment you parents concocted? When they died, who cut through the sorrow and pushed you to survive? Who held your mind together through the thieves, through Galtry and Doctor Register? Who helped you keep pace with the Doom Patrol? And when Raven was attacked by that loathsome creature, who gave you the strength to save her?

The Beast. If referring to me as such simplifies matters then feel free. But do you know what I am? Really? The question seemed bizarre; it was the Beast, what else was there to know? Exactly! Just a big dumb animal! Ignore it! Be silent, intruder! I am your instincts, boy! I am the part of you that keeps every other part of you alive! Impossible, the Beast was an accident, a chemical spill. I existed long before I was the Beast, boy! I was within you from the very beginning. When you became what you are I grew stronger, bolstered by the voices of the animal kingdom. Those chemicals merely gave me more options, a physical form and a degree of sophistication. This was too much to take in all at once; the Beast wasn’t just the Beast? Why was it speaking to him? How? What did it want? To protect you as I always have, and right now that means doing something about the intruder that has taken up residence in your mind!

An intruder? What was the Beast talking about? It’s lying! Don’t listen! That! That’s the intruder! That wretched little voice isn’t meant to be here! But it had always-- Not like this. You must excise this parasite immediately, before it does any more damage! But how? Who could possibly help him with something like this?

Raven’s head felt like it had been stuffed with lint, her eyelids may as well have been made of lead, and various parts of her body were threatening to give notice; the last two weeks had been rough. The simple fact of the matter was that they needed Beast Boy, but they couldn’t put him back on active duty until he’d undergone a psychological evaluation. Which they didn’t have time for because the criminals of Jump city had gotten so bold. Because they didn’t have a full team to worry about. And besides how difficult things had been, there was the simple fact that she’d gone two weeks without any sort of meaningful interaction with a friend she was used to seeing every day. She hadn’t realised how important Beast Boy’s terrible jokes were until they stopped, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to process it.

“I can work it out in the morning.” Raven muttered to herself. *THUNK THUNK THUNK* “Or not. This had better be good.” She scowled as her door opened.

“Hey, uh Rae?” Beast Boy half-squeaked, his expression haggard. “I think I need your help.”

#Teen Titans #beast boy #raven #starfire #cyborg #robin #All in Your Head

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blandwriting · 3 years

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It's been a long pause, where have I been? Mostly procrastinating at knowing how to be a functioning adult. Despite my flaws, characteristically I'm still very much the same. Major Depressive Disorder, a term to prescribe me antidepressants at a low yet effective amount to keep my anxiety at bay. Effexor XR, Side effects include loss of appetite, drowsiness, blurred vision, fatigue, dry mouth, nausea, sweaty palms, leg tremors, insomnia; I guess the cure and the ailment are one in the same. I'm functioning now at a rate where I feel almost numb enough to feel sufficed by my less than mediocre existence. Thirty years old, greying hair and pubes, a long list of non established idea's that never got off the ground. Financial freedom.... We just reinstated a credit card due to the pandemic taking away our wage and making us less than satisfactory to pay for our fancy Meriton apartment in Mascot. Paces ahead but still trailing behind. I always find myself romanticising life.... Looking for the hidden posies in the mess. No wonder my outlook had degraded to catatonic self destructive seeking missile. I was hit by a car and rolled up onto the dash.... fell to the ground miraculously leaving unscathed only bruised and badly shaken... although the longing for greater injuries if not death was the only thing I could fixate on. Why was I so depressed... why was I so unnerved at my miraculous and somewhat outstanding ability to survive a car driving directly into my right leg without so much as even breaking a bone? I flew over the top of the bonnet and rolled down onto the wet and unforgiving bitumen with nothing more than a manic episode. It opened up a huge sinkhole.... the medication was the only thing stopping me from taking my own life. I cared for nothing. I've had a lot of sobering moments in my short by well worn life. But sitting across from my doctor with tear stained cheeks, quivering bottom lip and shaking hands, I'd spent the last three days just scream crying every moment I had left with my swelling thoughts of self harm and suicide. I simply no longer wished to live.... My doctor worried expression painted across her face sat there and listened to me, as my emotions heightened and I cried out that I was fine... everyone said I was fine... so if I'm fine then why do I no longer want to live... Something has to change... I'm exhausted.... I simply no longer wish to exist, I am meaningless and broken I'm discarded and used, People whom only benefit from myself keep me around I am not loved, I never had been unconditionally loved. She sat there mouth agape... "Krystal..." I looked up to her, With what I can only imagine would have been one of the most pained looks I've ever given another person... " You're not going to kill yourself are you?..." she said furrowing her brows at me with a downturned expression, I looked to the right with my lips pressed into a straight line, rubbing the edge of my thumb nails to the underside of my thumbs, swapping them back and forth, as I looked to my left avoiding eye contact but ruminating on how I felt... softly I let out " I don't know anymore". She reached her hand across the table and asked for my left arm as my right was rendered useless by the bruising. I handed her my hand, hers warm the warmest hand I've felt in a long time, " If you kill yourself Krystal I'll be very angry with you, It will hurt everyone you love, You make me laugh everytime you come in, there are so many other choices".

In that moment I looked at her, I knew I couldn't do it, I'd been held accountable. My heart swollen she wrote me a prescription and I'd left that office with a follow up appointment booked, before I walked out of her room I asked her for a hug, In that moment I felt loved, truly loved with an unbiased heart, She literally didn't have to at all, but I just so needed a hug without answers without question, I just needed that in that moment. To feel loved.

This is the thing, loved. A feeling every human being on the face of the planet longs for a feeling of complete and total acceptance. That is all I've ever been looking for, to feel accepted. I grew up in an unconventional yet familiar family story, My mother freshly 18 two weeks out of the legal boom gates, and my Father turned 22 an hour and fourteen minutes after I was born, It was the typical Australian 1991 period, Still heavily influenced by Christianity, My mum was placed in a separate wing from the other mothers who were Married or accounted for, She and dad were on-again off-again young lovers with a fiery relationship built on jealousy drama and pure attraction, I came into the world on a Monday, it was Mercury retrograde, need I say more. Mum didn't have a lot of money or a stable household at that time, she was living in-between homes, Momentarily we lived in the garage out the back of her mothers house, a red back spider infested ex photography studio and teenager hangout spot, They had a tumultuous relationship themselves, That's the difficulty with family scars, My father from memory lived in a share house with friends, he and his parent's also from a not so forgiving background, both of my parents were dragged up I wouldn't really say either had the golden childhood either of them really deserved, two seperate sides of two different coins, but both resulting in the universal fate of their meeting and my existence. It wasn't long and without shock before my parent's broke up. My dad wasn't ready for fatherhood, he was still drinking and fighting and doing whatever he wanted to do, and mum a young mother had taken on the role of responsibility with a bit more of a stiff upper lip, Rightfully so. He and she were again on and off again for the most of my formidable years, I remember my mum writing notes on a phone pad, back when corded phones were a thing and you were stuck in one place, She'd write his name with hearts and little doodles, I also remember her agonising cries when they'd broken up. It wasn't unusual for Mum to drop me at dad's and for he to leave me with his latest fling and I'd give them hell while he went out stalking down Mum wherever she was. I remember the arguments and my dad's alcohol induced rages towards mum. He showing up to our cottage at random hours banging on the doors and window's to be let in, I remember being dragged out of bed at 2-3-4 am to be placed in a cold Torana to drive around because he was in a violent frenzy smashing every valuable mum had collected on her very small wage she was earning working at a pub to support us, to give me all she could. He'd come in and ruin everything, our tables our chairs the television he'd smash her beds up throw the kitchen around smash the dining tables and chairs, a violent and unstoppable force, and then just like a hurricane he would dissipate and we would rebuild; I don't know how my mother did it, that man didn't even pay the child support he was owing, how do I know this as an adult I went into my centrelink history and saw all of the unpaid arrears.... funny that.

Due to my home life being so far from average or normal I really focused on my imagination, I was plagued with nightmares and an extreme amount of anxiety.... But we didn't really know or talk about mental health in children back then... So I just played with our cats and dogs, singing on the swing alone or annoying our Landlord who owned a sign writing shop out the front, I'd collect snails or grab my dog and escape to the hair salon out on the main road our cottage was behind. The creativity really appealed to me, it gave me an escape from an otherwise crippling existence even for a small child, I was so loved and my mum did everything she could to prove that so, but I just felt so conditional.... I think even as a small child below the age of five I knew that my mothers life would be different if I didn't exist... At school there were rumours around about my family so obviously the children were biased based upon their parents opinions even as early as preschool mum and I faced adversity... I was an outcast from a poor family going to a Lutheran preschool in an affluent area, my mum showing up in a Commodore to drop me off, young and beautiful, I found it difficult to make friends, although I had one best friend but she ended out going to the adjoining Primary school and I were to be moved to the state school three doors down from our cottage.

When I started at my primary school there was 27 students from year 1 to year 7, there were Three educators, Miss S was year 1 - 3, Mrs B was mathematics and science and the Principal Mr F educated year 4-7. I'd made some friends but I was a little off-beat and bossy and a real stickler for the rules so I was always telling on everyone, I wasn't overly athletic or smart, I was more interested in writing or talking or reading than really doing any actual school work. I remember vividly being in trouble for talking while we were doing maths which I still very much struggle with today.... But I ended out being put in time out and I sat there and thought I'd counted to a thousand... because I was entirely bored.... Miss S walked past and I told her " Miss S I counted to a thousand". She looked down at me and said " No you didn't, You silly girl you don't know how to... now be quiet". I'm still cut about that... Mole.

There were many times in those years I was subjected to questionable people and activities many in which I know for sure, No child of mine is ever having sleepovers at their friends houses.... and I mean it. I was socially under developed and preferred the company of adults to children... I didn't fit in with kids my age and the ones I was socialised with were little sicko's with weird parents...

Surprisingly my parent's got back together when I was around age 7 or 8... My dad was working overseas and for some reason mum and he decided to get married by this point my mum had my first younger brother and She and Dad got married...... even that day was a flop for my poor Mum... he ended out going on a four day drinking binge with his friends and mum was left to clean up the mess of the wedding after party and retire home alone. Romantic right?.... I love and adore each one of my four younger brothers and I am so thankful for their existence they’re all individually wonderful and loving and kind i just find it difficult to sometimes sit there and think about how different my mum’s life could have been... had none of us existed.... although I am grateful sometimes for existence I just wish that my dad had dealt with his demons and maybe had gotten some help, flash forward a few years and dad ended up in rehab for six weeks during that time he’d seen mental health professionals but nothing came from it... he just decided to not take his Zoloft because “he hates feeling happy” He for some reason needs aggression which for me is something I just cannot simply understand, now as an adult I recognise my parents have their own issues their own histories and past just as we all do, but it’s one of those things where when I was younger and learning about the world my perception wasn’t of that but only of a lack of unconditional love, now as an adult I’ll do upmost anything to prevent being like my father, so when offered the help I took it... there weren’t other options in that moment for me to be functioning... I just hope I made the right choice.

As a teenager I experienced the usual laziness, my household was filled with children and crying and new borns the precession of another brother came closely after the first was born and mum was dealing with a “hyperactive” toddler and a newborn and myself now a pre-teen.... I’d moved school’s by this point but realistically speaking and I’ll cut it fairly short, I never really fit in with anyone or anything.... Without being academically gifted or Athletically gifted... my value wasn’t highly ranked... I spent most of my lunch breaks playing Chinese checkers in the library or reading books, I loved books and Encyclopedia’s, hyper-fixating on certain topics and being drawn to the mystics and paranormal.. I would spend hours pouring over pages within books my Aunties had gifted me for Birthday’s or Christmas’s. I feel like my time filled within that school was also darkened by my own inability to behave like a “normal person” I don’t know if at the age of ten I was acutely aware at all about my inability to fit in... all i know is getting choked out at lunch time and ran away from wasn’t the best...

I’ll continue the story later.

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jemej3m · 6 years

Text

Only - pt 3

Ok. Look. I’m still not sure if this was how i wanted to end it, but i decided enough was enough. its been, what, months??

i have not been doing so great, and writing has been difficult, but excuses excuses: here’s the highly anticipated end of Only (feel welcome to tell me what did and didn’t live up to your expectations)

There was something to be said about a fear of heights.

Most, at the very least, felt some sort of vertigo when staring over an edge. Some felt something a little more potent.

Others lied.

And some. Well. Some saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

Andrew had been on so many more aeroplanes since that flight from California to Southern Carolina, but the sputtering engines and unsubtle swoops still froze him. He didn’t move for the entire flight back to Upstate Regional, wishing he could have his knives.

He should have driven.

It was strange to desire his knifes as much as he did: He hadn’t needed their presence for a long, long time, not when the gap was filled.

That gap had reappeared, torn at the edges and larger than ever before.

The flight touched down and Andrew’s head fell back, eyes shut, stomach threatening to turn itself inside out.

He bolted. It was hard to not seemed panicked: He wasn’t panicked, but he was cramped up, feeling like he was being tossed around on puppet strings. He fucking hated it.

Bee was waiting for him at arrivals, swathed in light like some avenging angel, and Andrew fucking hated it. He hated that the southern humidity and the sight of the only woman who’d given a damn made him feel a little more anchored. He’d given so much to Neil: It wouldn’t be long before this haven was torn away from him too.

He swallowed and swallowed and swallowed again. It didn’t do much to the cotton wad in his throat, and the constricting sensation of being swarmed by other bodies, despite there being no one remotely close to them at this ungodly hour of the morning.

Bee smiled warmly and offered her hands. He nodded: She placed them gently on his shoulders.

“Welcome back.” She said it like this place was home.

Palmetto hadn’t been anything but the place he’d met Neil: And then, the place he would go back to visit Neil. So now, it was technically nothing. You couldn’t go back to something that wasn’t yours anymore. Not even nostalgia could keep him company: He fucking hated this place.

She’d bought a new car and it still smelled fresh. It was stony silence on the drive, filled with the generic pop music that Bee enjoyed and Andrew didn’t loathe enough to bother changing it.

Andrew would like to say that he felt nothing, but he was impossibly angry. He was furious. It shook his hands and clenched his jaw and make his stomach tie itself in knots.

He pulled out his phone and stared at his blank screen. He’d run his battery dead over the past week, staring at the texts that he’d sent, wondering how it’d gone so wrong.

He knew Neil. He knew how it’d gone so wrong, but he was incapable of fixing it. They couldn’t attempt that over the phone. It was killing Andrew: He needed to know if they could come back from this. He needed an ultimatum more real than just go away. If he was going to lose his reason to live completely, he had to have some sort of closure.

Bee would have a heart attack if she knew what he was thinking.

Andrew had tethered himself to the world with a single thread, and made the mistake of assuming it was much thicker than it truly was.

And then he’d cut it.

“Neil!”

Dan crushed him, but not before hesitating for his confirmation.

It had been a while: She’d been an assistant coach in Maryland and a full-time coach over in Washington. Now she was in South Carolina, assistant coach of Matt’s professional team down in Augusta and slowly filling in for Wymack, learning how to handle the Foxes, one season and set of players at a time.

“Hello.” He said, voice weak with oxygen deprivation. Sucking in a gasp of air when she let him go, he smiled weakly. “Hi, Dan. Where’s Matt?”

“He’s inside: We’re expecting the takeout to get here any moment, and you weren’t meant to be here for another hour.”

“Roads were clear.” Neil shrugged. It’d been a long stretch of driving with merely him and his dangerous snare of a mind. The still unfamiliar hatred of being alone pressed that accelerator down for him. Dan grabbed the tiny suitcase from behind him and threw open the front door. “Babe, the takeout’s at the door, do you mind?”

“Coming!” There was a loud clutter and Dan winked at him, taking his suitcase down the hall. “Hey, when’s Neil getting here, honey?” When Dan snuck into the guest room on the left, he called out again as he rounded the corner. “Dan?”

And then:

“Neil!”

Neil gave Matt as flat of a look as possible before being engulfed in a lot of t-shirt and muscle, nearly knocking him over completely.

“Neil, Neil, Neil, buddy!” Matt gushed; star struck, awed, amazed. Neil was still confused as to why: It was just him, just plain old Neil. “You’re early! Fantastic! Dan, Neil’s already here!”

Dan walked out of Neil’s room with a flat look. “I let him in, Matt.”

Matt grinned. “Right.”

Neil sunk between worn cushions, red duck curry thrust into his hands and warmth wrapping around him in a soft cocoon. The off season was just beginning, and he had the two of them and Palmetto just around the corner to ground him. Maybe a visit to Betsy. An introduction to the newest Foxes, if he was here long enough to meet them when they arrived.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

He wasn’t sure whether or not Andrew was the last or the only thing he wanted to talk about, and decided that Dan and Matt would dictate that choice for him. If they asked, he’d answer. If they didn’t, he wouldn’t say anything. It was like that for him, for most of the original Foxes. They would instigate and he would gladly continue, but starting something was where he was still finding trouble.

It was a familiar scene: A television playing a movie in the background, Dan gently coercing Neil into conversation over dinner, Matt popping in and cutting over and constantly swiping his thumb over the back of Dan’s knuckles where they were clasped together, but nothing more. They were trying to be subtle about a lack of close-ness, Neil could understand that much. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about their carefulness: Seeing Dan with her legs draped over Matt’s lap wasn’t going to send him spiralling down into a ditch of depression. There wasn’t much further he could go, anyway.

The guest room’s bed was soft and comfortable. Neil stayed awake and stared at the ceiling all night anyway, unable to sleep peacefully when he knew there were terrors behind his eyelids and no one to shake him out of sleep when it got nasty.

Neil couldn’t sleep, so he agonised and analysed until he was rubbing his temples, attempting to calm the ache in his head.

This wasn’t fine.

Neil wasn’t sure of what he could do. He’d always been fine. What was left of him now that he wasn’t?

His fingers drifted to his phone and gripped it in a tight fist, fighting off stinging eyes, lips rolled into his mouth.

Andrew, come back.

Breakfast was a quiet affair.

Neil ate blueberry pancakes that were too sweet and reminded him of exactly how Andrew liked his own.

Andrew didn’t eat, but had his coffee without milk or sugar. Wymack was smart enough not to comment.

Neither were asked about the other, but both were waiting for something to happen.

Neil sat, fingers tapping on his thigh for the entire ride up to Palmetto. This year, there were no Foxes who stayed back for the rest of the summer like the Monsters had. The court was, in Dan’s opinion, scarily quiet. She was going back for the morning to help Wymack finalise dorm rooms but mostly to take a trip down nostalgia lane with Neil.

He stared at the Tower on it’s grass knoll and did not look at the roof’s concrete ledge, because he knew he’d be looking for a tin tendril of smoke held between careful, calloused hands. He kept an eye out for the Foxhole Court’s looming orange arena. The sight of it didn’t bring him peace like it should have. It made him doubly as anxious.

“What’s the code now?” Neil asked, half in jest.

“Pretty sure it’s someone’s birthday.” Dan said, with a half-hearted shrug.

Neil’s eyebrow quirked. “Whose?”

She paused after keying it in and glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t remember.”

Neil’s chest constricted when he ran the numbers through his head, and said numbly, “That’s the twins’ birthday.”

She shrugged again. “We alternate. Coincidence that it was one of us O-Gs, huh?”

Neil thought coincidences were bullshit.

She shut the door behind them and shoved it closed to make sure it locked before looping her fingers around Neil’s wrist. The hallway was unlit and spookily dim, the only source of light from the small fogged window in the door.

“I’m sorry, Neil.”

“Please don’t be.” He mumbled.

“I know you probably think it’s stupid, but—“

“Dan, please don’t.”

She frowned. He started walking down the hallway but she refused to let it go.

“Neil, you’re not okay. Are you going to talk about this?”

“There’s not much I can do about it, Dan.” He murmured, pushing open the door to the foyer.

“There’s not much you can do about it, but there’s plenty you can do for you.” Dan insisted. “You know that, right? It’s not a be-all-end-all. It’s not the end of the line.”

“Dan, I’m demi.” He knew what it meant, now. He hadn’t quite believed there was a label for him until he’d seen it, thought about it, related to it. “It is the end of the line.”

She looked pained. “Maybe.”

He turned around. There was no reasoning with her.

“Neil?”

“Hey, Coach.”

Wymack’s hair was considerably more silver, his face considerably more etched in. He wondered how different he looked since his old coach had last seen him without the grate of an Exy helmet distorting his appearance.

“Neil, I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“He’s down with me for a little while.” Dan, back to cheery-as-ever. “Tagging along on the off-season.”

“Court could do with a little use whilst no one’s here.” He grit his teeth. “Dan, a moment.”

Neil waited by the door and let his eyes slide closed as there was a harsh murmur from behind Wymack’s hastily shut door. Dan reemerged five minutes later, jaw clenched.

“Everything okay?”

Dan snapped out of her reverie but didn’t smile. “Fine. I’m just going to work out some hiccups with the dorm rooms with Coach, did you want some time on the court?”

“I’m actually going to go for a walk.” Neil decided. “Around campus.”

“I’ll ring you when I’m heading back to Augustus.”

“Sure.”

Andrew’s day hadn’t started particularly remarkable, but having Wymack and Danielle Wilds storming in, hot on his old coach’s heels, was a slight turn in events.

“Fuck you.” Dan pointed her finger at him.

“Dan,” Wymack said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t.”

Dan stared at Andrew with her nostrils flared, breathing raggedly in a way that lifted up her shoulders. Her eyes slowly slid shut, but her jaw and fists remained clenched tight.

“I already told you that he doesn’t know, Dan. Leave it.”

Andrew felt it like a hot knife, leaving him cut and feverish and aching. He had no clue what Danielle Wilds was angry about, and for the first time, he cared. Whatever it was between them, Andrew was excluded, and he was excluded for a reason.

Andrew was sick of being kicked out and cast aside. Looked over and abandoned. Neil had been the first to see him, to truly read past a facade—

Andrew stood off the couch and shouldered his way around the Foxes’ coaches, his nonchalance effortlessly convincing through practise. “Have fun.”

Just before Andrew closed the door, Dan let out a soft “It’s like they never happened.” and—

Well.

Andrew was not okay.

It happened in a series of painful coincidences. Andrew sitting on the roof of the Fox Tower until he didn’t want to anymore, and Neil sitting up in the stands, filling time by counting the rows of white and orange like he used to. They just missed each other as one went to exactly where the other was before.

Neil didn’t walk up to the edge of the roof, leaning against the door with his hand resting against the handle like the summer warmth could be residual heat from Andrew’s hands, despite thinking that Andrew hadn’t been up here for years.

Andrew broke into the inner court with old keys and sat within the goalkeepers’ box, eyes closing and seeing the original team standing in front of him, the goal lit up red, and the striker who’d scored turning around with hair just as red as the goal and triumphant eyes just as bright.

They’d only missed each other walking too and from because Neil went around the long way, winding through campus to take up his time.

Dan did not mention finding Andrew on the court to Neil, and Betsy didn’t mention Neil’s brief visit to Reddin Centre when saying hello to Andrew.

Lucky, perhaps, that the confrontation was postponed to the next day, because it was raining.

A light drizzle. Neil caught his ride to Palmetto State with Dan once again, but this time Matt tagged along.

“How often are you up here?” Neil curled his arm around his knee, propping up the heel on the leather seats of Dan’s new car.

“Not usually. But it’s off-season—hooray!” Matt grinned, nudging Neil’s shoulder lightly. “Good timing, Neil. If only campus was a little more lively: We could have hit all our best nap spots and terrorised our old professors. Or the baby Foxes. Hell, maybe we’d have time for both.”

“I’m afraid it’s just me and Wymack.” Dan piped up. “So nothing too rowdy, babe.”

Neil was dressed in his running clothes, but it was only lightly drizzling outside. Acutely ignoring the grey clouds, he bid the couple farewell. Matt thought he was crazy, but didn’t stop him. He’d have sandwiches for lunch if Neil came back on time.

And there we was, running. Again. In a less metaphorical sense, this time. But he could still feel that strange, wound-up anxiety in his chest that eased ever so slightly, the longer his legs stretched as he ran, the more blurred his surroundings became.

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have ignored those black clouds. He barely noticed when the blurriness of his surroundings was the rainfall, and he only paused when he tilted his head up to breathe in, but was soaked through to the skin.

He was fucking shivering, he realised, now that he’d stopped running. For fuck’s sake. He tucked his hands into his sleeves and flipped up the hood to his thin, breathable running jacket, and started walking.

There were still cars on the road, but as the whole sky darkened and rain thickened, they seemed to lessen to almost none. A crack of thunder concealed the skid of tires as a car turned onto the road Neil walked along, and as it raced down, water sprayed up from the gutters. Rainfall Neil could deal with, but not buckets of muddy gutter water. Neil stood still, looking down at himself in unattached disdain, only to see the car who’d splashed him having pulled up and parked.

Someone got out and slammed the car door shut loud enough that you could hear it over the rain and another crack of thunder: Neil wiped his face and flicked the water off his hands (Though that did absolutely nothing) to see the figure approaching him.

Blond and five-foot even, he wasn’t much of a physical presence. If you didn’t know him, Andrew Minyard wasn’t much of a metaphysical presence either. To Neil, it was like every one of his nerve endings had caught on fire.

Andrew tugged down Neil’s hood, like Neil’s wet, red hair was the indicator of who he was, rather than the scars on his cheeks or the blue of his eyes. He was squinting at Neil, though it was probably just the rain.

Neil didn’t know why he let himself be tugged along, Andrew’s hand gripping Neil’s arm and the other yanking open the back door of the car and pushing Neil inside.

Neil looked at his shaking hands when Andrew got back into the driver’s seat, putting it back into drive and shooting off, like he hadn’t just picked Neil off the side of the road.

He didn’t even look at Neil.

You were right.

Anger—that was anger. Pulsating through his veins.

But it was— it had to be—grief. Grief that was pulling tighter on the rope around Neil’s neck.

Andrew had the heaters blasting, which did little for Neil’s shivering. Neil alternated between staring at the headrest in front of him—who’s car was this?—and his hands. His stomach knotted over and over, every time they took a turn. They were getting closer and closer to Palmetto State: Where would they stop? Would Andrew just kick him out? Would he say anything to Neil at all?

They pulled up to a stop outside the Foxhole Court, and Andrew hadn’t even looked at him.

Fine.

Neil shoved the door open and stumbled out into the oncoming rain. The car’s engine didn’t start up, even after Neil shut the door but he refused to turn around. Andrew doesn’t care. Andrew never cared. Andrew won’t care, even if you kick up a fuss.

Neil’s back pocket buzzed.

from: Andrew // 08:46am 13/4

roof y/n

His throat constricted.

Andrew said he couldn’t ‘do this’ over text, and yet here they were, and Andrew still wouldn’t look him in the eye and breathe a word in his direction.

to: Andrew // 08:49 - sent

will you even say anything if i go? have you suddenly gone mute? you haven't even looked at me.

The car door opened, and Neil clutched his phone to his chest.

“Yes or no, Neil.”

The clap of thunder was awfully theatric, and the flash of lightning illuminated everything, for only a moment.

He looked over his shoulder, still refusing to turn around. “When it clears up.”

He walked away.

“Neil,” Matt shook him by the shoulders. Neil was still gripping his phone, nauseous with shock, emptiness slowly gnawing at his stomach. A strange hollowness. “Neil, for god’s sake, you had your phone with you! Why didn’t you reply?”

“I was running.” Neil mumbled. “I wasn’t checking my phone.”

“Neil.” Dan urged. “Running? In this weather?”

“I’m fine.” Neil insisted.

“You take off five years from my life expectancy every time you say that.” Matt’s hand was resting on Neil’s head.

“You’d be dead.” Dan remarked.

“Let me dry off and change out, and then we can run some drills.” Neil ducked out of Matt’s gentle reach. “It was just some rain.”

“Some? You can barely see out there!”

Neil ran them up the court until they stopped complaining about Neil’s recklessness and started complaining about Neil’s obsession with the sport, despite all three of their careers centred around it. It was only Neil’s career that his life depended on, though, and they knew that. They also knew Neil was most comfortable in familiarity, and he was most familiar with their gentle jostling and their slight overbearing care, where they pushed at boundaries enough to get him to pay attention but not enough to make him uncomfortable.

“I was thinking of going to see Wymack later.” Neil towelled his washed hair, walking back out into the mailroom where Dan had been waiting for him an Matt. “Maybe we could all go have dinner at Abby’s.”

They looked at each other, like there was something Neil was missing.

Oh, Neil felt like an idiot when he realised. Andrew will be with Wymack.

Of course, they didn’t know that Neil knew that Andrew was here. Neil looked from Matt to Dan, and wondered if they would ever confess.

“I’ll call him.” Dan said, which was neither here nor there.

They don’t want to hurt me, Neil reminded himself. They don’t want to make me upset.

Neil followed them outside, sullen.

“It’s cleared up.” Matt commented, holding a palm out and inspecting it not a moment later. “You can always rely on South Carolina to dry everything out as soon as it can.”

Yes or no, Neil.

When it clears up.

Neil looked up at the blue sky, and marvelled at how it contrasted so awfully with the sick, tumbling feeling in his stomach.

“Lunch?”

Neil was moving in robotics: He didn’t want to dash off, because where would he go? What excuse would they believe? He hated lying to them, but until this rocking feeling stopped making him nauseous, until this confrontation was resolved and past him, he didn’t want to say anything.

Neil was sitting on top of a hastily constructed building of support: The Foxes were his family, were the walls and windows and doors and expansive gardens. Andrew had kept it from crumbling. Andrew was the foundations.

Neil didn’t want to fall down: He was terrified of it. How much worse could this get? How much lower could he fall?

Lunch was subdued but Neil felt watched, unwelcome eyes roaming over the landscape of his skin. Neil hated feeling like he was being watched. Paranoia was a sickly familiar smoke that he inhaled, making him thick-headed and heavy. He was meant to be safe. He was meant to be safe.

“Neil,” Matt put his hand over where Neil’s had yet to pick up his knife, despite his lunch being set down in front of him 6 minutes ago. “How are the antidepressants going?”

Sometimes Neil forgot he told Matt most things. He lifted his head from where it’d been resting in his palm and said: “They’re going okay.”

“Have you noticed a difference?”

“I trialled two different kinds but…” Neil flapped his hand. “They all do the same thing. They’re going fine, I think.”

“You talked to Betsy?”

“Yesterday, actually.”

“Good.” Matt smiled.

Neil almost smiled back.

Dan gazed off, pretending to not be intrigued about this rare exchange of information that Neil didn’t share with just anyone. They finished lunch slowly, and Neil payed as Dan and Matt helped the waiter clean up. He followed them out the door, looking at the puddles disappearing on the ground, and the clouds disappearing over the horizon.

His time was up.

He veered off the path, fingers gripping awfully tight at the strap of his bag as he said over his shoulder: “Text me when to get to Abby’s.”

“Where are you going?”

“Fresh air.”

“But you—“

Matt tugged Dan away. Neil closed his eyes only for a moment: He forced himself to pull them open to stare at his feet, taking one step after another.

He was walking along the edge of campus. He walked past the Foxhole Court, and two lecture halls, and an empty sorority, his old route on Perimeter Road. He stared at the Fox Tower like it was something with an ugly, heavy presence, but that was just Neil’s subconscious, curling itself into a cowardly ball to hide from whatever awaited Neil at the top of the stairs.

Neil climbed the stairs. Jostled the door open. Slowly stepped out.

“Took your time.”

Neil paused just before slamming the door shut and chose to shut it as quietly as he could, before turning around. He crouched down and pressed his fingertips into the small puddle on the concrete and watched rainwater slide down into his palms.

He stood up. “I said when it cleared up.”

“Theatrical.” Andrew scoffed.

“Should I come back in two hours?” Neil offered, looking at him. “Would that be enough time for you decide whether or not you’re going to be fucking prick or not?”

“Stop it.” Andrew turned around: He’d been looking out over the roof: Now he looked up at Neil with golden-hazel eyes, and permanently-etched in shadows under his eyes, and a hint of desperation but not much else. “Spit it out, instead of talking in circles.”

“Spit what out?” Neil clenched his hands into fists. He almost reached out to grasp Andrew’s face between his hands, but he remembered: No. I don’t trust him anymore. Wait.

“Your decision, your ultimatum, your latest argument with Kevin: I don’t care, Neil.” Andrew took a step closer. “Just—don’t leave me with nothing.” Everyone’s left me with nothing, He didn’t say. You were the one who wasn’t meant to leave.

“I haven’t spoken to Kevin in two months.” Neil muttered through his teeth. Every muscle in his body was wound like a spring, pulled taut like a rope.

“You are apt at ignoring calls.” Andrew decided. “I almost expected something to happen whilst I was gone.”

Whilst I was gone.

“Are you back?”

Neil watched the swallow work down Andrew’s throat, the unsteady inhale that was held in as he said: “If you would like me to be.”

None of this made sense. There should have been an apology: Andrew should have been begging for Neil’s forgiveness. But he was standing here like he expected Neil to say yes, like nothing had happened and nothing had changed as a result.

But he reminded himself: Andrew had already apologised. He’d already sung please like a prayer, crossing his own boundaries like he’d crossed his own wrists in a desperate urge to communicate to Neil how important this was to him. Despite both of them hating that word, despite both of them knowing that they each hated it as much as the other did: He’d still used it, and it echoed around Neil’s head and conjured up a strange feeling on his skin, like thin knife-blades dancing across vulnerable skin, digging in just hard enough to leave a mark but not hard enough to break the skin.

Slowly, Neil nodded.

Andrew let go of the breath he’d been holding and reached out to slide his hand to tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Neil’s neck, but he stood out of Andrew’s reach when he felt sick. “No.”

Andrew flinched, ever so slightly, but it was enough for Neil so see. Wariness. Confusion. Andrew hadn’t realised what had changed.

“Neil?” Andrew murmured. It was a silent why? that Neil didn’t need to be asked out loud.

“You need—” Neil looked at him. “You need to give me time.”

Andrew’s lips thinned as he rolled them into his mouth.

“You can’t expect me to just trust you implicitly, instantly.”

Andrew took a step back, and nodded.

This was all on Neil’s terms now. When this had started, Neil had been tip-toeing around grey zones, wondering where was safe and what he could say. Now it was reversed: Neither of them were good at functioning as normal human beings did, but it was Andrew who needed to be conscious of what he said, what he did.

Neil didn’t want apologies, he realised. He didn’t need Andrew to beg him for forgiveness. He just needed to trust Andrew, and to know that Andrew trusted him. It never came quickly.

Neil walked to the edge of the roof and looked over it, then out over the Palmetto State campus.

Andrew had been the catalyst of how living changed for Neil. He was no longer fighting to be alive, no longer living just to survive. Now he was living for a life he wanted. And in this life, he wanted Andrew.

“I can hear you thinking from back here.”

Neil looked back at him, and then brushed his fingers over the concrete ledge in front of him. “Won’t you join me?”

“Things have changed, Neil.” Andrew’s head fell to the side, and he was looking at Neil like that. “I don’t need to sit on the edge of a roof to feel something.”

“I want to go to Eden’s.” Neil knotted his fingers together, wringing them out like damp towels. He let Andrew pull his hands apart, but Andrew immediately dropped his hands instead of holding his wrists, like they used to.

“Retracing your steps?” To anyone, this was impassive. Andrew was a brick wall yielding no information, no emotion. Neil saw the inquisition in his eyes and the curious raise to his eyebrows, and the slight pucker of apprehension to his lips.

“Something like that.”

Andrew followed Neil down the steps.

They went the following evening, on a Monday. Eden’s was less of a club this early in the week, and more of a bar to men and women after work. They came in jeans and dress-shirts and did not stand out in that regard, just two men walking into a bar. But after years, many of the staff had moved on, and they were no longer treated like VIPs

Andrew didn’t know what he—himself and Neil alike—was doing, and he didn’t like it. Neil never voluntarily came here for a good time: He went because Andrew went, but Andrew watched him approach the bar and sit on an empty stool, fingers brushing gently over the one next to him as a gesture for Andrew to sit down.

Andrew didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know what Neil wanted, and he didn’t know what to say, what to do. He still felt like he needed to apologise, to explain himself, but that wasn’t what Neil wanted. For the first time, he didn’t know what Neil wanted, and he felt lost.

“Roland’s moved on, I think.” Neil commented, looking up and down the bar.

Andrew didn’t want to correct him by saying he hadn’t, because they’d still remained in touch via text, and that probably wasn't something to bring up when Andrew felt like he was treading on this ice. He rested his head in his hand and waited for Roland to come out of the kitchen. He watched Neil’s reaction for when he did, wondering if this was a test.

“Hey,” Roland blanched. “What are you two doing here?”

“Catching up.” Neil shook out his curls and Andrew’s stomach rolled.

Roland looked between them. “With me, or each other?”

Neil gave him a stone-cold look, and Andrew stared at the shelves behind the bar.

Two rum-and-cokes were settled down in front of them, and Andrew stared at his, eyes clouded over with thought. What did Neil want from him, by doing this? Did he want Andrew to let his guard down? Was this a test of how much Andrew trusted Neil, or how much Neil trusted him?

Turns out, the correct answer was none of them. When Andrew finally came to himself, another drink was being pushed in front of Neil, and he barely hesitated to look at Andrew before throwing it back. Andrew reached out to take it from him after he put it down. “Neil?”

“Mm?” He looked at Andrew blearily.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m in a bar. What else—“ He coughed. “Would I be doing?”

“Why are you getting—“

“Because I can.” Neil pointed right in his face, like he was throwing an accusation. “Because I don’t trust myself to shitface—to get shitfaced—around anyone else, but you were the reason I wanted to, but I couldn’t, because you were there. Weren’t.” Neil corrected.

“Christ, Neil.”

“I hate you.” Neil spat, head falling forward. Andrew kept very still as Neil’s head rested on Andrew’s shoulder, thinking we truly have reversed positions, haven’t we.

“You have every right to.” Andrew carefully placed his hand on Neil’s shoulder to keep him steady, sitting on the rickety barstool that he was. The scarring on his shoulder was familiar under his fingers, despite a dress shirt separating them, and Andrew relaxed.

Neil breathed out and Andrew felt it on his collarbone.

“You are not falling asleep here.”

“Two seconds.” Neil murmured.

“How many drinks have you had?”

“Enough.” Neil mumbled the word against the skin of Andrew’s neck, and Andrew swallowed.

“I think it’s time to go.”

Neil didn’t say anything.

Andrew waved Roland over, who eyed Neil with trepidation. Andrew took out his wallet from his back pocket and threw it at Roland, but Roland threw it right back with a timid smile.

“Drinks are on the house.” He said. “Take care of him, Andrew.”

Andrew thought he had been, but now he knew that it hadn’t been enough.

Andrew slipped Neil off the barstool. Neil was barely walking, half-asleep and all of his weight pulling against the arm Andrew had around Neil’s waist. Andrew settled him carefully in Bee’s car and shut the door.

Neil made a soft sound as they drove, and Andrew’s throat was tight. How did I almost lose him?

His phone was ringing.

“What.”

“Where are you?” He heard Wymack tapping his fingers on a wooden surface, most likely his desk. The old man would be sitting, lounging back with his foot crossed over his ankle, books and papers scattered absolutely everywhere, but just enough space for him to rest his elbow along the parallel edge of the desk. He was the only father figure Andrew had ever known. Andrew knew every one of his affectations and could construct this perfect image without a qualm.

“Driving.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Now. I’ll be there in an hour. Who’s there?”

“Abby’s going to head back soon. She can give Betsy a lift.”

“I’m coming, Bee can take her own car.”

“Okay, Andrew.”

There was an awful, prolonged silence, and it weighed like bricks on his chest.

“Andrew.”

Andrew said nothing.

“They can’t find Neil.”

Andrew briefly looked at Neil where he’d curled up. “Who’s they?”

“Dan and Matt. He was staying with them in Augustus.”

“Tell them he’s fine.”

Wymack paused. “Is he with you?”

“Tell them to go home.”

A pause.

“Alright.”

The line went dead, and Neil sighed softly. Andrew’s head leaned back to rest against the headrest, his swallow working it’s way down his throat. It’ll be okay. Bee’s voice of reason soothed his frazzled nerves and relaxed his death-grip on the steering wheel.

He listened to the soft rhythm of Neil’s breathing for the rest of the drive and concentrated on pushing the whittling sneer of his conscience far enough away that he couldn’t hear it.

David heard the awkward fumbling with the door handle and the jingle of keys, so he walked out into the living room where Andrew was just shouldering his way into his apartment, with Betsy’s keys in one hand and—

Neil. Neil, being carried in his arms. Andrew had positioned Neil’s head to rest on his shoulder, forehead pressed into the side of Andrew’s neck, rested both of Neil’s arms in his lap, and held onto him securely.

They were both dressed nicely, and neither had any visible bruising or blood. Andrew slowly eased Neil onto David’s couch and then turned around, looking away. Betsy stood up from the dining table to approach him, taking the keys out of Andrew’s offering palm and whispering something in Andrew’s ear. The door shut behind her, and Wymack slowly approached the couch.

“Is he alright?”

“He drank too much.” Andrew sat precariously, right on the edge of the couch and giving Neil as much space as he could. Andrew looked up at David, and David had never seen Andrew at ease like this.

“Are you two alright?”

“He needs time.”

That was—that was neither here nor there. “A loss of trust?”

Andrew shrugged, and gently—ever so gently—moved a curl away from Neil’s forehead. Then, he sunk down onto the floor next to the couch and took Neil’s hand, fingers dusting over the scars like he’d memorised their pattern, closing his eyes.

That was more than enough for David, who assumed Andrew would sort himself out and moved into the bedroom, raising his phone to his ear.

“He’s here, Dan.”

She let out an exhale of relief. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. They’re fine, I think.”

“Who, Andrew and him? He was with Andrew?”

“Mm.” Wymack turned back to hint a smile at the closed door.

“Well.” Dan said, sounding confused. “Remind him to give us a call when he wants to come get his things.”

“I will. Goodnight, Dan.”

“Night.”

#andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #not-so-mini fic #only #aftg #the foxhole court #i apologise for the deprivation of content #david wymack #dan wilds #matt boyd #<3 #jem writes

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tonystarktogo · 6 years

Text

Tiny Tony Overlord Part 6

Betaed by the amazing @folklejend. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Summary: In which Black Widow and Hawkeye are on the move, Tony and Dead-Eyes are on the run, and poor Brandon is in way over his head. He just doesn't know it yet.

.Near Zach’s B&B.

“Approaching last known location of STRIKE team 3,” Natasha Romanov announces, then promptly shuts off her official SHIELD-issued comm before anyone has the chance to pull her off a mission she technically hasn’t been assigned to yet. Knowing Fury—and Natasha makes it a point to know everyone who has authority over her—he’d have put anyone but her or Hawkeye onto this mission. Not until the mess with Iron Man has been cleaned up.

Too bad no Avenger has been chosen for their habit of staying on the sidelines. Or for obeying orders. Especially not when one of their own is missing.

And really, an unauthorised SHIELD mission with unknown objective just happens to slip through the cracks hours after Tony Stark, Iron Man, genius and the Avenger’s largest benefactor, goes missing during an ordinary mission? Natasha has spent too many years dancing in the grey areas between law and order to start believing in coincidences now.

Next to her, Barton swears suddenly and slams on the breaks. Raising his hands in defence when Natasha sends him a murderous glare he points towards a small, run-down building on the other side of the street. “We’re here.”

Her glare darkens. “Remind me to never let you behind a wheel again.”

“Promises, promises,” Barton sing-songs, unconcerned.

[continues under the cut]

Natasha doesn’t bother with any threats to his person. She’s already out of the car and halfway across the street, Barton following, quietly cursing on her heels.

It’s reckless to approach a location of interest openly the way they do. Shots mean snipers are a possibility, and the thought of giving their position up easily makes Natasha’s skin crawl. She’s been trained better than this. Has trained others better than this.

But her instincts tell her to trust Barton’s judgement. She is good, but he is Hawkeye; he would have let her know if there were any vantage points to worry about.

They aren’t the only people lurking in the parking lot. The two police cars and yellow crime scene tape has attracted a crowd of the morbidly curious. A fact which is both convenient, because she and Hawkeye are less likely to draw attention to themselves, and inconvenient, because police means red tape—and worse, witnesses.

Perhaps it’s her training as a Black Widow or her long years in the service of a shadowy government organisation, but despite their occasional usefulness, Natasha despises witnesses. They are a pain far more often than they are helpful—and the more curious ones often end up as casualties.

With long, confident steps, Natasha approaches the yellow tape, ducks down under it without breaking her stride. A con is all about confidence, after all—about believing you belong with so much conviction that the people around you have no choice but to accept it as the truth.

“Ma’am!” a young officer calls out, wide-eyed, a nervous twitch in his fingers, “you can’t just-“

Natasha graces the man with a look of utter condescension that even Hill would be impressed by—it had been modelled after her own, glowing example—and fishes a badge out of her breast pocket with the casual air of someone who’s done this many, many times before.

Not giving the officer any time to process the information, she stalks past him, assured in the knowledge that Barton will deal with the guy—and that it will establish her status as the Queen Bitch of the crime scene. A title that has, unsurprisingly, been christened by Stark during one of their rare missions together.

Natasha’s lips tighten at the casual reminder of her missing colleague. She and Stark had their differences—they all had their differences—but he was an Avenger. An attack on him is an offence to her own skills, if nothing else. Natasha has never pretended to handle offences well.

Several steps behind her, Barton and the local officer are talking in low voices—or, more likely, Barton is interrogating the officer for more information. The twitchy officer’s partner eyes her hesitantly for a moment before focusing on his phone again, probably with his superior, given the conversation.

Blending them out for the time being, Natasha takes note of her surroundings and allows the scene of the crime to speak for itself. The officers had apparently erred on the side of caution and closed off the entire parking lot. A measure Natasha fully approves of.

The centre of the fight must have been in the corner furthest away from the main street—limited view for possible witnesses implies a planned attack rather than a surprise confrontation. The area is littered with broken glass, metal parts, a half-destroyed car, discarded weapons, shells, and blood.

The only things missing are the bodies. And there should be bodies.

Natasha crouches down next to a puddle of blood with a frown. Someone has died right here, in this place. There is no way around it, not with the amount of blood on the ground. And the battered Ford Fiesta to her right looks like someone has been bodily thrown through the windscreen. Not the kind of move most people are capable off—and not something an ordinary SHIELD agent would be able to just shake off.

No. Someone has cleaned up the scene. After a violent battle with multiple losses, someone—or, more likely, multiple someones—had gotten rid off the bodies before the police showed up. That they have taken the time to do so tells Natasha many things, none of them good.

By the time Barton joins her, her face has settled into a mask of grim determination.

“So, apparently there are a lot of shoot-outs around this place,” Barton comments, his usual light-heartedness at odds with the sharp look in his eyes as he takes the scene in himself. “Owner called it in, right after the first shots were fired, or so he claims. The local police treated it as a routine check-up at first. Sherley says they got here about ten minutes after the dispatch, didn’t expect to find anything. They’ve been following protocol, not done too bad a job,” he finishes with a shrug.

Natasha hums. “What are you thinking?” she asks with a vague gesture towards the damaged parking lot, knowing Barton will understand the real question. What do you see?

Barton’s eyes narrow. She can almost hear him thinking everything over, trying to figure out what is troubling her. “For a fight between multiple people—possibly a whole STRIKE team and their opponents—the battle was very contained,” he murmurs after a moment.

Too contained , Natasha agrees silently, knows Barton is thinking the same. A confrontation like that should have spread out, but instead it seems like everything happened in the small space of three free parking spaces. But with a group this big, there should have been more, people who ran, people who got cut off from the focus point. How—

Barton pirouettes on his heels, a sharp, elegant movement that jerks Natasha out of her thoughts. He is scanning their surroundings expertly until they eventually settle on the roof of the small petrol station across the street.

When he turns back to face her, their long years of working together mean Natasha already knows what he’s going to say.

Barton doesn’t disappoint. “They had a sniper,” he says. Then adds grimly, “This wasn’t a fight, it was a slaughter.”

* * * * *

.On the streets of New York.

They lose the car in a backstreet ten minutes away from the B&B. And Tony would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed by just how far Dead-Eyes could get them in that short amount of time. Despite the traffic.

He would have been cheering the guy on if he wasn’t already struggling to stay conscious as it was. One thing his memories definitely don’t lie about: getting shot sucks. A lot. Thankfully it’s just a flesh wound. Looking back, Tony suspects it was shock more than anything that caused him to faint. Well, and the memories, can’t forget about those.

In any case, Dead-Eyes makes for a decent field medic and Tony is confident he won’t lose the arm anytime soon. Of course, that’s a mute point if he’s going to be incarcerated in one of those secret prisons Fury used to deny he had for the rest of his life. So. Escaping SHIELD first, everything else second.

Which is easier said and done when you’re dealing with an organisation that makes Big Brother look like a joke program a bored teenager made in a fit. Luckily, Tony has just gotten years of dealing with SHIELD downloaded into his brain. They are powerful, no doubt about that. But as usual, they are not as powerful as they’d like to be.

And their biggest weakness, Tony thinks with the derision of someone who’s lived for years in a world where nations had no meaning, is that they’re an American organisation. For all that SHIELD fancied itself a sort of global security force and kept their headquarters in the air, they were still US-based. They had a network, of course they did, but here, on their home turf, they were almost unbeatable. Whereas missions outside the country always involved a lot of politics and red tape for a reason.

When a bunch of mutant kids had attacked the Washington Post headquarters, SHIELD had sent a veritable army—and the Avengers who were, of course, an army all on their own—to handle the issue. When the same happened less than four months later in Hungary, only Hawkeye and Black Widow had been sent in. Without backup.

It had never explicitly been said, but there was a very political reason why Captain America and Iron Man were used as little as possible beyond the national borders. Tony still remembers those three agonising weeks until Clint and Nat had made it back—and the state they had been in after that mission. More importantly, he remembers Steve’s expression when he saw them. In hindsight—or foresight, considering the whole time travel business—Tony wonders if maybe that was when Steve’s resentment against national barriers and politics first started.

The thought isn’t as bitter as it used to be, but it still burns, just a little.

Tony accepts the hoodie Dead-Eyes hands him—and where he’s gotten it from, Tony really doesn’t want to know—and discards his torn, bloody shirt without a thought. The black fabric will hide any blood that seeps through the makeshift bandage on his arm and hands, and Tony wonders briefly if Dead-Eyes is that brilliant even in his current state or just that lucky.

Dead-Eyes, too, makes to get out of his combat wear and into a casual sweatshirt, but Tony stops him before he has the chance. “Wait!” he calls out, a grin spreading over his face as he thinks some more over the brilliant idea he’s just had. “You’re gonna need that where we’re going.”

He hadn’t really considered it until now, but he is for all intents and purposes a kid, and that comes with a lot of limitations. Having a badass Winter Soldier at his back, on the other hand, will make dealings in the seedy underbelly of New York so much easier.

Because step one of getting the hell out of SHIELD’s far-reaching shadow is leaving the country, asap. And for that, Tony and Dead-Eyes are gonna need papers. Really good, iron-clad papers. The kind Tony usually wouldn’t dare to leave to anyone but himself, if he wasn’t temporarily out-of-commission.

Luckily, he knows a guy.

* * * * *

.At MatchPatch.

Brandon Green, whose real name is neither Brandon nor Green, has watched all kinds of people walk through the doors of MatchPatch, the run-down bar with the dirt-cheap drinks that taste exactly as bad as they look. Some regulars come here looking for a quiet night away from their families or empty homes. Most of the others are here for him.

It’s not that he ever intended to set up shop in a place like this, but Brandon doesn’t like mixing his personal life with his professional one. Matter of fact, he doesn’t like to have a personal life at all. And despite the smell and the occasional raid, the place has grown on him—meaning he’ll have to dump it in a month or two—but Brandon has never liked to rush these types of things. Rushing always leads to mistakes and Brandon doesn’t do mistakes. His clientele certainly expects nothing less.

Generally, his customers tend to be two types of people: the ones who are in deep trouble and the ones who are said deep trouble.

The two men who have just entered the bar and are now walking towards his seat in the corner with self-assured strides are definitely of the later sort. Brandon feels a familiar thrill at the thought of making another deal with people much more dangerous than he could ever be, something akin to fascination that he has never succeeded in fully suppressing.

The clear leader of the two is surprisingly small, tiny even. His face is covered by a black hood, and in the dim light of the bar, only the weak glint where the light is reflected in his eyes tells Brandon that there really is a person watching him from the shadows.

The second man is standing right behind the first. Unlike his companion, he has made no effort to conceal his face, and for that alone, Brandon would have pegged him as the more dangerous one. The look of absolute murder in his cold eyes goes a long way of solidifying that impression.

The tiny leader tilts his head in silent command, a disturbingly childlike gesture that send a shudder down Brandon’s back for a whole other reason.

The aggressive-looking guy responds immediately. “Two passports,” he says with the gravelly voice of someone unused to talking regularly. “A child, Leo Grahams, 9 years old, and a man, Victor Grahams, 32 years old.” He slides a white cover over the table, continues with a simple, “These pictures.”

Brandon clears his throat. “I’m gonna need seven hours. And it ain’t gonna be cheap.” *1

The talker doesn’t even blink. “You have three. Cost is not an issue.”

As one, the two men turn around and leave the bar, leaving behind an incredulous Brandon who isn’t sure whether he has just been threatened or not.

* * * * *

.Parking Lot of Zach’s B&B.

“Is there-uhm-anything I can d-do to help you, Ma’am?” Officer Sherley asks hesitantly.

He is still twitchy and a little pale. It makes Natasha nervous. Twitchy in her line of work usually means guilty—or even I’m about to draw a weapon. She doesn’t like it. She likes it even less that he keeps calling her ‘Ma’am’.

Luckily for the officer, Barton intervenes, more than used to her moods. “Poor guy,” he murmurs as he watches Sherley walk back towards the small crowd of persistent onlookers. “I think these might’ve been his first bodies.”

At that, Natasha snaps around. “Bodies?” she asks, sharper than she means to.

“Sorry, I thought Welson told you.” Barton grimaces at the oversight. Or maybe her death glare. It’s hard to tell these days, since he’s become sort of immune to her fury, annoying as that is.

On the upside, at least that means he isn’t too busy running for his life to lead her around a white van near the back wall of the building. As it turns out, whoever was behind the attack hasn’t taken the time to get rid off the bodies—just to hide them out of plain sight. Admittedly a more efficient option.

Natasha stares at the methodically-placed bodies. They’ve been put on top of each other to fit into the small place behind the van, a mockery of a human pyramid. It should have been a more disturbing sight than it is, but then, Natasha isn’t exactly your average woman.

“Five of them have been killed by headshots, clean, definitely a sniper’s work,” Barton informs her without prompting. “Two broken necks, onecrushed throat,” the way he stresses it says Barton is most disturbed by that one, “one choked and two more shot in the heart, close range.”

Natasha is still staring with something approaching disbelief at the bodies when her phone rings. She doesn’t need to look at the display to know it’s Fury—and that he is honouring his name. Nothing pisses the man off more than an agent going off the rails. Especially when he hasn’t given the implied permission to do so.

The barked, “You better have some fucking results, Romanov!” that greets her when she answers is therefore unsurprising.

“Well, the good news is your missing STRIKE team won’t ever pull a mission behind your back again,” Natasha states.

Barton snorts. The dry sarcasm is a little hard to swallow—too soon, their bodies aren’t even cold yet—but she’s worked this job too long to hold it back.

Fury snarls in wordless rage. For all that the man hates disobedience, he really despises it when his disobedient agents turn up dead. “And the bad news?” he demands impatiently.

The question is only expected, but what little amusement Natasha has managed to find in the situation is drained at a dizzying speed. She exchanges a glance with Barton, reads the same indecision in his eyes. They could be talking about another victim, or worse, a hostage, but in their world things are rarely ever that simple.

“Romanov!” Fury snaps.

“There were twelve agents sent out today,” Natasha says, voice cold. “But we only have eleven bodies.”

*1 I’m aware that this is most likely an impossible time-frame to obtain fake passports -- though I honestly have no idea what a real one would be. For the sake of this story, the aliases named are ones that Tony had already created at some point in his life, just in case. They’re basically “empty” identities that exist online because he created them, documents etc are all there. The only thing Brandon needs to do is get passports for identities that officially exist. Illegally, given the timeframe, but the internet lead me to believe that this is far more likely than creating a convincing fake passport.

What do you think, where will Tony and Dead-Eyes go now? And which conclusions will SHIELD come to?

#ReRe writes #Tiny Tony Overlord #Tony Stark #Bucky Barnes #Natasha Romanov #Clint Barton #tiny Tony #deaged Tony #child Tony #winter soldier bucky #fic #time travel #MCU #canon divergence

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dontbeallupinmyfriesdawg · 7 years

Note

So I hate used to really ship Klaroline but lately my mind has been breaking on them. Idk I just think Klaus has done too many bad things to her and her friends to give him a second chance. Can you change my mind? Why do you ship them so hard?

Hi, okay so Idk if I’m going to be able to change ur mind because at the end of the day you feel how you feel. A lot of times I’ve doubted my shipping of Klaroline so ur not alone. The thing I wanna tell you before I start is that shipping is supposed to be fun so pls do not agonise over it; if it’s still fun, do it, if not, don’t.

(Warning: Anti D*mon and Dullena)

*cracks knuckles*

Firstly you have to remember when it comes to the issue of Klaroline being problematic, is that that all ships that stem from tvd or TO are inherently problematic. This is because the show its self is problematic. It’s misogynistic, it’s systematically racist and most relationships on the show put the female character at a distinct disadvantage. So very few ships can be seen as healthy or idealistic in the real world. I might say Stelena, Jolaric, and Jalaric are rare examples but even then those ships have their various issues.

Secondly, even if the writers and the CW, in general, did a better job with their shows, you have to remember that this is the vampire genre. It’s meant to be gothic and the characters are meant to be morally dodgy, selfish and do horrifying things. TVD’s mistake was that it could never properly straddle the line between keeping up that gothic theme and appealing to a teen audience (hence the babies, and romanticising of characters that are clearly villains, - cough, cough Damon) so often they put too much emphasis on morality and people being either ‘good’ or ‘bad; even though supposedly good characters like: Matt, Bonnie, Caroline and Elena do bad, selfish things all the time. (More detail in point 3)

Because Klaus was conceptualised when TVD was actually half good and they were still writing a show about vampires; dark, twisted, immoral, seductive, vampires; he hence is a product of that. Klaus is a vampire in the true sense. I don’t believe a person can be a Klaroline shipper unless they accept the fact that Klaus is not a good person. He’s not supposed to be and that’s part of what makes his dynamic with Caroline so interesting. Love, or infatuation/affection, doesn’t change him. Yes, he does things deviant to his ‘cold hearted bastard’ persona. The gifts, deviating from his evil plans for Caroline’s sake, showing mercy, reasoning, barging when he doesn’t have to etc… But none of these things makes him redeemable. This isn’t one of those ships where love makes the person more moral and good. In fact, in Caroline’s case, I’m quite sure it does the opposite - or would do, had they gotten more screen time - Caroline is very in denial about her vampirism. She constantly makes claims about how she’s a ‘good vampire’ (an oxymoron in its self) and is characterised as ‘judgy’ because she demands such a high moral standard from other people around her. And while yes, she is exceptionally good at controlling her urges and at self-discipline (likely a result of being under Stefan’s self-denying mentoring program and learning about vampirism from someone who detests it because of his own lack of control) Caroline still does terrible things often just because it’s convenient for her or because it’s ‘what it takes to get the job done’. Caroline’s often the most level-headed out of all her friends when it comes to doing something immoral in aid of the greater good, in fact, she’s almost eerily ruthless, especially if said action if in aid of helping one of her friends. (See the slaughtering of the 12 witches for Bonnie’s sake). But Caroline doesn’t see that, she also very scarcely acknowledges how much she loves being a vampire and from day 1, Klaus has been perceptive of how much she does. From when he saves her life, to when he intuits that she doesn’t want the cure and predicts that small town life wouldn’t be enough for her + encouraging her to think outside of the box and use her vampire abilities to get a dress for prom. Even his smug little recital of what Caroline says in 5x11 (’in school, building a life for her self, plans… etc’) shows that he knows that Caroline is just playing herself with her whole ‘mission to be normal’ (e.g: being in school - whic she dropped out of - playing house with Alaric and the babies, being with Stefan, who was always ‘the perfect guy’ in Caroline’s mind, because of the pedestal she put him on, denying herself the true pleasures of vampirism). Furthermore one of the most poignant Klaroline scenes for me is when Klaus is burying the 12 witches and calls Caroline out because not a few hours ago she’s called him a terrible person, because he did terrible things and now here they are staring at the corpses of the witches Caroline killed for Bonnie, while also, inadvertently, enabling an evil, supernatural being to rise from the dead and raise hell. on mankind. For a Klaroline shipper the moment is agonising because Klaus passes up the opportunity to be a shoulder for Caroline to cry on but at the end of the day it was something she needed to hear and quite frankly doesn’t hear enough. As long as you’re a vampire and you feed of human flesh, lie, compel, steal, murder at your own leisure; as long as you’re a witch/human/hunter who enables or condones it, you cannot claim to be ‘good’ whatever that’s supposed to mean.

The most important thing, in my opinion, to remember about Klaroline as a ship is that Klaus’s actions are never presented as okay. Caroline never tolerates anything he does and constantly calls him out on his behaviour, furthermore, the show doesn’t romanticise him or excuse/ignore his behaviour. In contrast characters like Damon, who magically become the hero because it’s the only convenient way to put him with Elena. Elena’s love is supposed to change him and make him a better person but we see no evidence of this on the show, Damon’s his same rapey, abusive self all 8 seasons. But with Klaus, no excuses are made. He’s not supposed to magically turn good, you ask why I ship them so hard? It’s because 9/10 in all their scenes together and in their dynamic in general Caroline always has agency and nearly always has the upper hand, even when she’s dying. She manipulates Klaus into saving her life (”I know you’re in love with me’ ‘I guess we’ll never know’) in fact I’m convinced that Caroline used her A1 drama skills in that last part where Caroline makes those little croaky dying noises and was actually laying it on thick so that Klaus would be moved enough to save her- which he did. Caroline constantly manipulates Klaus and uses her emotional upper hand against him (’Show me I can trust you’ ‘I was promised a date for one of my hybrids’ ‘Show me your compassion’). So the relationship doesn’t just purely consist of Klaus doing horrible thing to Caroline and her friends and getting away with it. It’s far more complicated than that, there’s a power struggle involved and it’s extremely gripping and intriguing.

When it comes down to it, Caroline was Klaus’ first choice, unlike many other TVD relationships, their’s is centered around Caroline (take dullena for example, even in a show centred entirely around elena, every bit of their relationship is all about Damon, or he finds a way to make it about him). Like I said Caroline has the agency, the emphasis is on her future, her hopes, her dreams and ultimately he respects her wishes, leaves mystic falls gives her space and waits for her to be ready.

I hope that helps or gives you some perspective. Anyone who wants to chime in please feel free to add something else.

#klaroline #klaroline meta #klaus x caroline #klaroline shippers club #tvd #the vampire diaries #klaus and caroline #tvd meta #anti damon #anti dullena #kc #Anonymous

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stewinators-blog · 7 years

Text

Journey

the mask was tight and cold, but if it wasn’t worn, I would die from the toxic air filling my lungs. the weapon I carried stayed close to my side making sure it could be used at a seconds notice. the scuttling sounds of nearby mutants were unnerving but not unusual, especially after the bombs went off in 2234 pre-nuke or P.N. for short but that was about 50 years ago, it's now 30A.N.B. or After nuclear bomb. As I stepped into the freezing wonderland of fear I knew I wasn't alone. I lifted my AUG in anticipation of a bloodhunter, the name given to what most people suspect were once lynx’s but we’re not sure. Then, from the corner of my eye I saw it, a small furry creature no bigger than an L131A1 pistol. It seemed frightened and harmless so I placed my weapon in my backpack and picked up the creature. It was small, black with big blue eyes and upon inspection released it was a baby felon which was a distant relative to cats. They had evolved to withstand the freezing temperatures and hypoxia in the wasteland. after a few minutes of waiting, I decided to take the creature with me, I named him “lil fighter” cause the newer evolved cats are pretty vicious. I placed him in my pocket after feeding him a bit of pig meat which was one of the last remaining foods.

I continued my journey up to a choice, I could either go through the old shopping centre or walk past it, the second route was quicker but had a definite chance of bandits and howlers or I could go to the shopping centre which might have a chance of bloodhunters which were less dangerous than howlers but still dangerous. I went through the shopping centre and looted some of the unfortunate victims of bloodhunters who had their faces ripped off. But then I heard it, the sniffing of one. I stood still and listened. as far as I could tell there was one no two, hang on, three. I had another choice. Either run for my life and hope they don't get to me, stay still and wait for them to pass but that assumes they haven't nested, or I could wait and kill them. I opted to run and made a dash for the door but one jumped on me making it difficult for me to pull out my pistol. I made the quick decision to pull out my hunting knife and plunged it into the neck of the creature making the red blood pour out but this only slowed down the creature, it stepped back a few paces and luckily for me, it stood on a landmine blowing it to pieces leaving chunks of meat around the place. I picked up as much as I could because my food supply was low then bolted for the door. It opened up leading to the other two bloodhunters, I knew I was dead, I unzipped my pocket so that lil fighter had a chance to escape but to my surprise a car came speeding through with a heavy machine gun blasting bullets into them, I dived to the floor landing in a little pool of what remained of one of the creatures, it may of been two thinking about it, I thought I was saved until I looked up at the barrel of a gun staring me in the face, he shouted for my name and I stared at the guy with fury shining in my eyes which made the man back up, fear took over him making him put down his gun. I whipped out my pistol and shot 3 times. his friend came speeding through and shot his gun but missed giving me a few seconds to run for cover.

I sat there, in the snow behind an old rusted car making sure I had enough oxygen and thought about what will happen if I get to my destination, will it be too late or will I be able to save them. Before I could get lost in a daydream the booms of the other man's rifle smashed against my cover, I guessed roughly where he was and took my rifle out, I knew that I had a maximum of three seconds to get up pinpoint his exact position and shoot him. I prepared myself and set the gun to fire 3 shots per trigger pull. I leapt from above the car and he was gone, I had no idea where he went. The car was still there and I spent a few minutes looking around the street but he was gone, then I looked at the back of the truck he was hiding behind. I opened it and saw him there, but he was dead. his insides were spread across the walls and his face was opened up like a flower in the springtime. only one thing could have done this. I walked backwards slowly realising that he wasn't the only thing in the back, my weapon was ready but set to fully automatic. I saw it emerge from the boxes that the man was sprawled against. this “animal” stood on what I think used to be the man's gas mask before it was torn off his skull along with his face. Then, it noticed me and stared at me. I had not idea what to do, I was terrified, I've come across a howler before and it was the worst experience of my entire life, they were the second most deadly thing in the known world. I just stood there and then, sprinted for the car hoping that the howler wouldn't get me, hoping I could drive off, then I turned round and saw it chasing lil fighter, he must have fallen out my pocket, I couldn't leave my new friend, I just find him too cute, so I ran towards him, aimed my gun and shot, I wasted half a mag and it barely scratched this mutant, it looked at me and ran at me, it pounced on me making me terrified of what may happen, it tore into my arm making the blood spray out like a fountain. I screamed in agony but pushed through taking out a grenade with my right arm and found a place where the other guy must have shot it, I stuck the grenade inside it and kicked the freak away. I ran away and heard the explosion go off, I went to check it was dead, I was happy to stick the bullet into the creature as it squirmed around the floor, in a puddle of its own blood, part of me felt happy to do it, the other did it out of kindness as I hate watching animals and creatures in pain.

I was driving in the car that the bandits kindly left for me before hearing a man shout “NOW!!” my car flew in the air spinning as it smashed into the floor leaving me unconscious. when I awoke my bandage had been replaced on my arm but my head was still bleeding. I tried to move but my leg was tied to something and my gas mask was on a table with the rest of my stuff, I must have been underground because I could breathe fine. I then remembered lil fighter and panicked, hoping to god that they didn't find him, I opened my pocket and there he was, asleep, I woke him up and told him to chew through the rope after what felt like an eternity he did it. I got my stuff and suited up opened the door and instantly closed it when I realised I was in the middle of a nazi camp. I must have been near their area when they got me. I checked my bag to see if they left my guns but they didn’t. I heard one of them coming through towards my door so I put my stuff back on the table and sat down.

he walked in with a big black bag and I got up and ran towards him, head-butted him then snapped his neck. my arm made this harder for me but I knew if I didn't try to escape they would kill me. I took his costume and walked out. I had all my stuff placed inside the black bag and continued. I had no idea where to go, my head was agonising, and my arm was in so much pain. I walked around the place and came to two doors, I decided to go through the door on the left, which I instantly regretted. it was a room filled with nazis all in a seminar type place. I looked around and saw that they were showing off a new gun. they called it the “jew hunter” it made me feel sick. I sneaked towards the front of the stage and watched as these “people” stared in awe at their leader, I was at the front and looked around the place for an exit. as I searched around the run down room with wires and swastikas hanging from the roof I noticed a ladder that seemed to go into a ventilation system. I decided that was my place of leaving. the guy on the stage pointed at me and another guy to get the gun off stage which I thought was very lucky and clambered on and picked up the gun and walked off. the guy smiled at me and proceeded to pull out a knife saying “nazi scum” as he did it which made me explain about how I'm actually trying to escape. he didn't believe me. he lunged at me and attempted to stab me in the neck but I grabbed a gun I found concealed in his coat and shot him twice making the blood fly up about a foot high. I shot I'm in the head as well and continued my journey. I now knew where the gun was and after speaking to a guy backstage I knew I had 2 hours before the seminar ended.I searched for an hour before I found my weapons in a locker. I decided to grab another couple of bags and take as many of their guns as I could in one and ammo in the other. I returned to the back of the big room clutching 5 remotely detonated bombs and ammo to the so-called “jew hunter” to kill them with. After strategically placing the bombs around the rooms and setting them to when I pull the trigger on what is soon to kill them. I walked out the room with the knowledge that I have 5 minutes. I ran on stage and told the speaker that one of the engineers forgot to mention something about the “jew hunter” and that I was going to bring it back on.

I brought it on, with it already loaded, then pulled out a sawed-off shotgun and blew the speakers head off sending him flying off stage with his brains not far behind and firing the gun into the crowd. the explosions went off as well making some of them fly into the air like a ballerina while others got mowed down by the bullets penetrating them. all I could see was smoke and blood everywhere then, after 5 minutes, the gun ran out ammo and the smoke cleared showing nazis on the floor surrounded by their friends and comrades. some survived crawling on the floor screaming for their mums as they searched for their legs. One was clutching the body of his son crying about how it should have been him and one were stuck under his group of friends limbs and brains. I looked at where the door was and saw a big pile of bodies, obviously, some tried to get in to save them, all that remained there was mangled and twisted bodies with holes in them.i took out my pistol and walked around the room, finishing off all the remaining soldiers. one bullet at a time. I heard the footsteps of more soldiers coming. so I ran to the ladder where there was an arm attached to the ladder but not a body. lil fighter was there on the floor eating one of the nazis faces, I told him to stop and he jumped into my pocket. I climbed up the ladder and put on my gas mask as I saw daylight.I walked out into the air and looked around me. I felt sick. I was in pain. and I had no idea where I was. I started to wander around the place and eventually, I saw something recognised. my old road.

I lived here when I was married and escaped to the bunker when the bombs fell. It has been 28 years since I saw my child and 35 years since I saw my wife. my son and I went adventuring to find this place. I failed as a dad. I had one job and that was to save him. but the howler came out of nowhere. I couldn't even say goodbye to him. all that remained when I got to him was his face ripped off like it was nothing, his arm was away to another side of the room, his intestines was inside the creatures most like it was spaghetti, I heard his screams for my help but I was fighting off bandits, I had to run from them just to see my only son thrown around the place. I shot the howler, I shot 2 mags into its face, the last three bandits sprinted into the room and I went ruthless, the first one came in and I stabbed him the throat, he laid there, drowning in his own blood as his friend ran in where I pulled out my shotgun and shot him 4 times in the body, I saw the dust from the floor fly up and paint my face grey with the blood adding some red to it, the third ran in, he begged for mercy, I threw the gun at him, as he lay there, I punched his throat and noticed his mask starting to tear. I smashed his mask open suffocating but, I still kept beating his face in, my mask started to get showered in blood every time I hit him, by the time I finished my hand was broken from hitting the ground where his face used to be. I then went to my Childs remains and stayed there, clutching him in my hands filling the inside of my mask with tears.

I approached my old house, starting to tear up again after not seeing it for so long, I walked in, and saw skeletons surrounded by dried blood, I walked into the building and went upstairs, by the door there was one skeleton surrounded by blood in the throat area, another missing its spine, and another with the skull smashed in, then, i saw him, my sons remains neatly placed at the back of the room, “are you sure you want to do this John?” i heard from behind a broken wall, I nodded, “fine, is there anything you want me to do?” I gave him lil fighter and most of my weapons and ammo, I took out a box and placed its insides around the room, I then told my friend to place traps so no-one could take anything, he agreed and started placing some in the room, i took out the gun I used to kill the howler, placed it in my mouth, and leaped into eternal darkness, forever to be with my wife and kid.

the end

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ovulationtracker · 7 years

Text

Infant feeding the second, third or nth time around

by Stephanie Maia

In the time that I have been lucky enough to be a Mother, nine years to date, I have learnt two important things:

It doesn’t always go to plan

When you think you know what to do, it all changes

The first one of those I learnt bitterly in August 2008 when my nipples turned to meatballs and my baby wasn’t the only one in tears. Breastfeeding.

Despite going to all the classes, reading all the books and trying my absolute hardest, my nipples almost immediately disintegrated before my eyes and I felt the burning shame of inadequate motherhood. Or so I believed, given the amount of lactivist (can I swear?) ‘literature’ I had hungrily consumed during the nine month incubation period. None of the books told me what to do if you accidentally gave birth to a cute, pink, starving but gummy piranha, they only talked about babies who softly do breast crawl until they bring their Cupid’s bow lips bouncing to a perfectly aligned nipple. Le sigh.

As it turned out, despite horrible treatment from cruel midwives who unceremoniously ditched me at the fist whiff of a bottle (it’s a ‘slippery slope so I may as well as not bother’ apparently). Working my own way through agonising thrush (‘If it hurts you’re doing it wrong’, no, if it hurts something IS wrong and you need support and love), I ended up combo feeding for well over a year. The hurt and shame from those early weeks stayed with me though and over time they turned to anger and the anger to bona fide keyboard warrior status. No woman will be shamed by a lactivist on my watch. I found my home as a Fearless Formula Feeder.

Roll on 2013 and I was there again with baby number two, still angry, still ready for the fight. There was absolutely no way on this earth that I was putting myself, or my baby, through that again. My beautiful little piranha had turned into an incredible four and a half year old and that was in part thanks to amazing science milk. I had the bottles and I was not afraid to use them.

What happened this time then? Well, this is where I got to lesson two, when you think you know what to do, it all changes. This baby arrived and was that baby that I’d read about. She did the breast crawl and then latched with all of the elegance something that’s just emerged from the unmentionables under a spotlight possibly can. Within five minutes of birth she became the ‘enthusiastic feeder’, clunky nickname but it’s stuck I’m afraid, that we know and love. I’m not even going to get into the arrival of number three, but you can guess that we get a very different story again.

So, after an emotionally draining first feeding experience, and knowing that babies are more fickle than even politicians, how can you plan for a smoother ride next time?

Tip #1: Find your tribe

If you’re reading this, you’re online and you’re on a parenting-related forum so this definitely relates to you. Find your tribe. There are hundreds and hundreds of social media groups, birth boards and twitter feeds that you can follow out there.

Okay, maybe not THIS tribe, but you get the point…

Find one that speaks to you, like-minded people, people who support you and your parenting style. Don’t waste your emotional energy worrying about that sanctimom who pops up at 2am to remind everyone of how great she is tandem feeding her kids AND her kittens whilst donating to the local goat bank, running a marathon and making banana bread (organic, for-the-win). Not worth it. Maybe you don’t need an echo chamber either, what you DO need though is supportive and helpful advice that fits with your parenting style.

Tip #2: Talk it out

Get to grips with what went on last time. Find a doctor, psychiatrist, counselor, therapist, friendly ear, plant or whatever you need. Just talk out what happened last time. You went from being responsible for finding at least one Maccy D a day to maintain life yourself (I’m working on minimums here) to being solely responsible for the nutrition of a temperamental and dangerously teeny tiny and beautiful creature, it was always going to be emotional. You owe it to yourself to go through that and understand what happened. It’s valid and you’re worth it, and you have to do it all over again so get that emotional spring clean.

Tip #3: Make a Plan

Ask yourself what you want to do and put lines in the sand. If you have absolutely no desire at all to dip your toe into breastfeeding ever again then proudly write that down. If you don’t know yet, but you’ll see how you feel on the big day, pop it into your notes. If you decide that you do want to try again, then absolutely try again but absolutely draw some lines in the sand. Mine were that if I reached for the pump because it was too painful to feed or I found myself dreading her little eyes opening because it would mean the pain of feeding, formula. If your plan is that you’re not ready to make a plan yet, go to step numbers one and two and wait until you’re ready. Get your partner on board and prepare those laser eye daggers for any stray lactivists; you are informed and ready and it’s your body.

Tip #4: Remember your body is not a symbol

This is a really tough one because what we do and how we parent is, or becomes, a marker of our identity in many ways, see point one. However, you need to remember that what you do with your body is not a political statement of any kind, it’s not a symbol or your moral worth, it is your body.

I am a Fearless Formula Feeder even though I haven’t formula fed in eight years and breastfed two subsequent children. What I do with my breasts is nothing to do with how I feel about a woman’s right to choose what she does with her body. You can be an environmentally aware vegan and formula feeder and so on and so forth. The way in which we use our reproductive organs on an individual basis is personal, our bodies are our own, not symbols.

Tip #5: Draw a timeline

Imagine your bump as baby and beyond. Go to thirty two years old if you feel, wild. Then divide the line into months, then plot on what six months looks like or even four and a half. Tiny. We don’t sweat the small stuff here at parents HQ, feed the baby with love, that’s it.

Tip #6: Look at what you’ve already achieved

Look at you soon-to-be eldest, look how healthy and happy and loved they are. Think about all the times you’ve looked down on their sleeping faces and flushed cheeks. You can do this, you don’t need some person on the internet to tell you otherwise.

In case yours aren’t at school age yet, by the way, guess what isn’t number one topic in the playground? Oh yeah, breastfeeding. Whether you’ve managed to build a nativity themed puppet theatre from a shoebox with ten hours’ notice and made pastéis de nata for thirty-eight plus parents along with Portuguese national dress costume, another matter.

Tip #7: Repeat the Mantra

My body; my choice.

Tip #8: Use your experience

You’re about to go from Bambi in the woods to Merida from Brave in the feeding world, very soon you will have aced it with keeping two small and demanding creature nourished. You’re an expert. Harness the power of the SuperMum by looking out for that first timer struggling on their first outing to a café, a friendly word and knowing look could make the world of difference. There could be some Mum on a forum, somewhere in the world, crying into her dressing gown about something some emotional amoeba has said about infant feeding on the internet. Be that Mum who says “been there, got that, tear free dressing gown now. You’re a star”.

You might feel like this, but it’s not forever.

Let’s be powerful about this, build each other up and get the message out there.

Tip #9: Enjoy your baby

How not to cliché 101 but….‘it goes quickly/time flies’. There, I did it.

Whatever happens next, however that baby reaches your arms, savour and treasure those days for yourself. When I look back on those first few confusing days I have one single regret, that’s the names that I called myself and the tears that I cried over feeding. Don’t go there, especially not twice and especially not over something like feeding.

You’re amazing, you’re informed, you’ve done it before and this is YOUR time, enjoy it.

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