#he’s been my therapist since I was sixteen

[bisansastarks]

My brain is so cooked right now and even if I could find the words to explain it my 84 year old therapist recently fell and got a head injury and was in the hospital for two weeks and will have two weeks more of PT.

#im really worried this man will die and I just won’t know??? #he’s been my therapist since I was sixteen #he’s like my grandfather that I pay for advice

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had. 

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you. 

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.” 

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered. 

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.” 

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse. 

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!” 

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains. 

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest. 

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away. 

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you. 

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive. 

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours. 

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second. 

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds. 

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood. 

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through. 

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did. 

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming. 

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips. 

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest. 

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them. 

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas. 

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar. 

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too. 

Everything would be done if another city fell.  

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry. 

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down. 

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him. 

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another. 

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm. 

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike. 

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that. 

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do. 

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness. 

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up. 

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did. 

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears. 

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!” 

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock. 

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious. 

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream. 

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static. 

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead. 

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out. 

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t. 

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life. 

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.” 

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile? 

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky. 

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him. 

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression. 

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine. 

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact. 

Your face gains heat. 

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment. 

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow. 

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?” 

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began. 

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died. 

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar. 

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found. 

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.” 

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls. 

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.” 

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around. 

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more. 

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water. 

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering. 

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet. 

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important. 

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything. 

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course. 

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious. 

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years. 

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place. 

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet. 

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds. 

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?” 

You weren’t going to stop until you found it. 

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet. 

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him. 

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you. 

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you. 

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard. 

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?” 

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it. 

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.” 

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.” 

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after. 

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question. 

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile. 

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building. 

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told. 

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood. 

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch. 

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago. 

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system. 

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real. 

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three. 

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices. 

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.” 

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible. 

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet. 

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?” 

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years. 

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?” 

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh. 

The man forces a weak huff. 

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you. 

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same. 

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you. 

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck. 

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?” 

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.” 

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you. 

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #x female reader #call of duty keegan #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan x reader #keegan russ #keegan x you #keegan russ x reader #keegan p russ x reader #call of duty ghosts #cod ghosts x reader #cod ghosts #cod keegan russ #cod fic #cod fanfic #cod x female reader #x fem!reader

[la-petite-lapin]

Double the Love | Part Two

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.9k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of poor mental health, injury description, eventual explicit sexual content, polyamory, M/M/F, FMC is bad at feelings

They finally meet

One year later...

The message comes out of the blue. The first time I've heard from John Price in a whole month, and it's a fucking text message.

I'm watching TV, curled up in a ball on the sofa next to my best friend and flatmate Winslow "Winnie" Sloane, when my phone pings. I think about ignoring it until I catch a glimpse of his name. It's an unspoken rule between the two of us - we never knowingly ignore one another. Obviously, he can't reply to my messages when he's on ops, but that's different - that's not wilful.

I pick it up without hesitation and take a look.

JOHN PRICE: Tali, I need a favour. It's urgent.

My heart drops.

TALIA KELLER: What's happened? JOHN PRICE: Call me. I'll explain.

So, I do. I tap Winnie on the shoulder and rise up to my feet, shuffling off to my bedroom so I don't disturb her episode of Slow Horses. When I'm safely shut behind my bedroom door, I tap on the call button, dreading what's awaiting me on the other end of the line.

"John?" my voice is full of nerves as the call connects, echoing slightly around the room.

"God am I glad to hear your voice, Tali." He sounds haggard, his own voice tired and hollow. It's not hard to tell that he's fresh off an op. I can already imagine how drained he looks; can picture the dark circles shading his eyes and his scruffy too-long beard.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly brave, I try to talk him into leaving the service. I think about Alex and his death, and I hate that John still knowingly puts himself in harm's way day and night. He's the only serving soldier I know now - I never met any of the other members of their unit - and I desperately wish that he'll retire soon.

"How are you?" he follows up, voice puncturing through my thoughts.

"I'm okay. At home with Winnie. How's Marcella?"

A soft sigh leaves him at the mention of his long-suffering wife. I wonder if he's even had a chance to see her yet. "Last we spoke, she was perfectly fine. Misses you though. You need to come over for dinner soon."

An easy laugh leaves me. Winnie and John aren't the only ones who've been supporting me since Alex died. John's wife Marcie has been there every step of the way too, helping me through rough patches whenever John is away on deployments. And Winnie's never been anything but kind and understanding - it's not in her nature to be anything but.

"Soon," I mumble in agreement. There's a sound on the other end of the line in the background, a murmured snippet of conversation and a drawn-out groan followed by a soft shut up. "Not alone?"

"Got some company," John admits. "Speaking of... does Winslow still have that big trip coming up?"

My palms slick with sweat. Yes. Yes, she does.

Ever since her big promotion six months ago, Winnie's job now involves a lot more travelling than it used to. And - because of that - in three days' time, she'll be in France, starting a month-long assignment helping a struggling marketing firm in Paris.

And I'll be alone.

It doesn't bother me as much as it used to, but I've always had this thing about being alone. It's part of the reason why I live with Winnie; why I've been seeing a therapist since I was sixteen; why I struggle to have normalcy. My current therapist thinks that it's a form of abandonment issues from being orphaned at a young age, which has led to my inability to maintain stable relationships. The therapist before that thought it was something completely different; that I seek to form attachments but wilfully don't, self-sabotaging and creating my own permanent sense of loneliness. But, my point is, I don't react anywhere near as badly to it as I did when I was a kid.

I still remember when I was fifteen and Alex left for his first deployment. I was still living with our maternal grandmother at the time, and I completely shut down. I holed up in my room for almost a whole month, refusing to speak and barely eating or sleeping. I could hardly function for worrying about him...

"Tali?"

I snap out of it. "Sorry. Yes."

"Could you... could I possibly bring some of my guys to your apartment? Just while Winslow is away. Our safehouse in the area has been taken out of action and we need somewhere to lay low for a little while."

My guys. The unit.

"What about your place?" My brow furrows. Surely Marcella wouldn't mind a few guests. She's calm and motherly and takes great pride in hosting. I'm sure she'd be in the element with them.

John clears his throat awkwardly. "Not an option. They don't know."

Ah. The brave, almighty Captain John Price still hasn't told his team that he's married. Typical.

I roll my eyes. "Okay. I hope you know that we're coming back to that later." A beat of silence passes. "How many people are we talking, John? Because it's a two-bedroom flat in London. It's spacious but it's hardly the Tardis."

He snorts out a dry laugh. "Only two. One of the lads is local so he's got family around here he can stay with. And there's some stuff I've got to get done, so I'll be hopping from base to base."

"Where are they going to sleep? Are they going to mind sharing a bed? Because the sofa is comfortable, but I know how you army guys are built..."

There's an awkward silence on Price's end as I hear him shifting around. It takes me a second to realise that he's covering his mouth against his phone's microphone. "Yeah... that's, um- that won't be an issue for them."

Oh.

Oh.

"Okay. Cool. I'll take them."

I wince. Why the fuck did I say cool? Of all the ways that I could respond and I choose that. Way to go, Tali.

"Are you sure that you're okay with this, Tali?" Price asks, his voice soft and encouraging. "If you aren’t, we can find something else-"

"Price, I'll take them in. Winnie leaves on Tuesday morning, so just have them swing by around then, okay?"

Favour asked and questions answered, we say our goodbyes and hang up. It takes me a second to gather my thoughts before padding back into the living room. The moment I step through the hallway, Winslow pauses the TV, angling her head up to look at me. A cloud of black curly hair frames her beautiful face, dark eyes wide and expectant. "Is John back home?"

I wince, getting ready to launch into an explanation. "Not quite."

Tuesday morning rolls around all too soon. By 9 a.m. I'm sitting cross-legged on the foot of Winnie's bed as she packs up her stuff. I can't help but feel a pang of anxiety strike deep in my chest.

"Are you sure that you're gonna be okay?" Winnie asks, almost like she can read my mind.

I meet her dark, knowing gaze and offer her a smile. "Winnie, I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me. If I need anything, I can call Marcella."

She smiles, running a hand through her freshly braided hair. The pearls attached to some strands clink together softly. "Okay. Good. But you've got to call me once a week at least, okay?" Before I can reassure her that I will, she adds, "And you've got to text me every day."

"Winslow, I will. Stop stressing, please."

A moment of easy silence passes before the laughter starts. Both of us crack up, her eyes finding mine and holding my gaze.

Once we've both calmed down, I take a closer look at her cases. She's packing almost everything she owns. It's a sight that worries me, so I look away, deciding to look out of the window instead.

A loud, firm knock on the front door saves me just as Winnie is packing up her last suitcase. We exchange a look before I'm up on my feet, scrambling to answer it. I can't lie, I'm curious to meet John's friends. But I'm also sad. Because there's a strong possibility that they knew Alex too. That they were with him when he died.

When I open the door, there's two men standing in the hallway, just like John said there would be. The first has short brown hair styled into a mohawk, the sides cropped close to his scalp but the top and back left longer. He's broad-chested, muscular too; built like a grizzly bear. And, even though his complexion has a slightly pallid hue under the overhead lights, it's not hard to imagine that he's usually quite tan.

And then there's his friend. Standing next to the grizzly bear and at least half-a-foot taller than him, he has the expression of a man who wants to break me apart with his bare hands just to see what's inside. I fight to meet his intense gaze, taking catalogue of the features visible under the dark hood of his black sweatshirt. His eyes are hazel - I think - skin tanned from what I'd assume are long hours spent out in the sun, and I can't quite make out his hair colour. He's equally if not more muscular than his friendlier-looking counterpart. My eyes trail down to his mouth, drawn to the scar bisecting his bottom lip. It doesn't draw away from his attractiveness though; just adds to the sense of rugged charm that I'm getting from him.

Not that it should matter. It doesn't. They're here because they need help; not because they want to be ogled by a complete stranger.

"Are you John's friends?" I ask stupidly, as if they could be anyone else.

The grizzly bear nods. "Aye. And you are?"

Scottish. Nice. I've always loved the accent, but his is even better. There's a humour there; something uniquely his. It makes me want to keep him talking just so I can hear it more.

"Tali." I step back so that they can come inside. They hesitate for a second before following me into the living room, the tall, silent one closing the door behind him with a soft click. "Also John's friend."

The grizzly bear plops straight down onto the couch, stretching out with no hesitation and making himself at home. His arms drape over the backrest, a lazy grin forming on his lips as he watches me take a seat on my armchair. The tall one gives him a reprimanding look, hovering beside the window behind him. His light eyes are always alert; darting around the room like something's going to jump out at any second.

"You army?" he asks, expression wary. His voice is all gravel with a Manchester accent.

I offer him a small smile. "Nope." I don't think anyone could mistake me for a soldier. I'm small - short and slender - and skittish at the best of times. "So... what should I call you?"

Hazel eyes narrow at me. "Ghost."

The grizzly bear rolls his eyes dramatically, offering me a wide, disarming grin. It's blatantly obvious that he's overcompensating for him. "Callsign is Soap, but a pretty lass like you can call me Johnny."

My heart flutters.

It takes a second to remember what John had said on the phone. Sharing a bed won't be an issue for them. The awkward, implying tone he'd said it in. In other words, neither of them are meant for me.

Ghost eases away from the window to stand just behind the sofa, drawing closer to Johnny. Johnny, on the other hand, moves so that he's leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees as he cocks his head at me. "A friend of Captain Price, are ye?"

I nod softly. "Yes."

"Funny that," Ghost barks, tilting his head to one side. "He's never mentioned you." Thinly veiled suspicion drifts off of him in waves, and it makes me feel endlessly uncomfortable. His harsh gaze melts through my skin and bones, boring deep into my soul.

I shift in my seat. "He never mentioned either of you to me, so I don't think that counts for much."

Johnny lets out a loud laugh. "I think I'm gonna like ye, Tali. Not many people talk back to 'im."

It's in that moment - as I'm silently praying for the floor to open up and swallow me whole - that Winnie steps out of her room, suitcases in tow. She walks into the living room, depositing them by the front door before coming over to introduce herself, a sceptical look on her face.

She levels Ghost with an icy glare, not looking away from him as she asks me, "Everything all okay here, Tali?"

"Yeah, it's alright Winnie." I gesture to each of John's friends in turn. "Winnie, this is Johnny." He raises his hand and waves, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "And that is Ghost." I point to looming, ominous figure behind him.

"Ghost?" she repeats slowly. I nod. "Okay, well I'm leaving now. Tali, I love you and I'll miss you. Remember to call me." She bends at the waist to hug me, wrapping me up in her warm, vanilla-scented embrace. As she straightens, she glares at each of the men in turn. "And you two - don't give her any shit. If I find out you've made her feel uncomfortable even once, not even John will be able to save you. Got it?"

Johnny stares up at my friend, mystified. His blue eyes are bright as he nods. "Don't worry. We won't be any trouble."

Winnie turns back to face me. "Right, I've got to go or I'll miss my ride to the airport. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone, okay?"

"I know," I say, my voice soft. "I love you. Be safe and text me when you land."

With a nod, Winnie presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head then gets her last few bits together. And then she leaves. Leaving me alone with two complete strangers. Yay.

"So," I grumble, struggling against the urge to shy away from their intense gazes in the safety of my room, "do you want to see where you'll be staying?"

Later that night, the three of us gather in the living room to watch TV.

The guys didn't have much to unpack. They travelled light so I'm going to have to go shopping sometime soon to buy them some essentials; more clothes and toiletries. Definitely food too. If dinner tonight was any indication, they eat a lot.

I'm curled up in my armchair again, watching something that Johnny chose on Netflix. Every once and a while, I glance across at them. Ghost is sitting upright, legs stretched out in front of him. His legs are so long that his feet are tucked under the coffee table. And then there's Johnny. He's laying on his side on the sofa, his head resting on Ghost's muscular thighs. Every now and then, Ghost's hand runs down the length of Johnny's side, stroking him in soothing, rhythmic motions.

Looking at them, I can't help but feel a sense of longing. Jealousy that they're together and obviously quite happy. That they're comfortable enough around one another for these subconscious displays of affection.

I'll never have that. It's something that I've come to accept. I'm twenty-five now and I've never had a serious relationship. I don't even think I want one. For a period of time in my late teens, I thought that I might be aro-ace, but over time I've gathered that I do feel romantic and sexual attraction. It's just different.

The sad truth is that I don't trust anyone enough to believe that they'd stay with me. Love me. Make me feel safe enough for displays of casual affection. There would always be that looming sense of dread that they'd leave me sooner or later.

In my head, I've justified it. If I don't get into relationships, no one can leave me. Alex's death all but solidified that for me.

The rom-com Johnny picked out gets to a comedic scene - a naked beach fight - and he starts to chuckle. I join him and I swear even Ghost lets out a little snort. We're all laughing until...

"Fuck. Johnny, you're bleeding."

My heart crawls up into my throat. My eyes snap across to them, blatantly looking now. The white t-shirt Johnny is wearing is plastered to his side, a red patch seeping through the fabric, spreading across his ribs.

He sits upright, holding it with one large hand. "Ah fuck. Didn't get any on the sofa, did ah'?"

"Fuck the sofa," I splutter out in a panic. "Are you okay? Why are you bleeding? Should I call an ambulance?"

Johnny looks back at me with a quizzical expression while Ghost just sighs, standing up. He walks towards the bedrooms at an unhurried pace, stopping along the way to press a chaste kiss to Johnny's forehead, placing a loving hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, darling, I'll get the bag." Hazel eyes swing towards me, where I'm still panicking in my armchair. "His dressing just needs changing, and I'll check his stitches. He's fine, love."

I ease back into my seat, heat rushing to my cheeks. "Oh."

Ghost leaves the room, heading into my bedroom to get the aforementioned bag. I've decided to give them my room for the duration of their stay because it has an en-suite. It eliminates the risk of me accidentally stumbling in on them in the shared bathroom that doesn't have a working lock. Overall, it's safer for everyone that I'm staying in Winnie's room.

Feeling more than a little foolish for my outburst, I offer Johnny a weak smile. "I'm going to go to bed now. Goodnight, Johnny."

"Ye sure?" he asks, blue eyes tinted with a hint of... something. Maybe disappointment? I don't know. "The movie isn't over yet. You seemed like ye were enjoying it." His brow furrows. "We could watch something else."

"I'm sure. It's fine; I'm just tired. We can watch another movie tomorrow night if you want."

His eyes light up at that. "Yeah, sounds perfect."

I'm back in Winnie's room by the time Ghost leaves mine. I can hear his footsteps padding down the hallway. Hear their muffled conversation and muted laughter.

As I fall asleep, I can't help but feel a different kind of loneliness. And, as I drift off, my heart aches for what Ghost and Johnny have.

a/n: guess who's back! so Tali has finally met the boys :) sorry if this part is a little short, just wanted to get something out in time for christmas for you guys - merry christmas and take care of yourselves, lapetitelapin

#cod #fanfic #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon “ghost” riley x reader #soap x reader #callofduty #cod fanfic #cod x reader #ghost x reader #female reader #romance #angst #poly #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny x reader x simon #double the love

[lucidlivi]

Fur and Fate

Requested: @deans-spinster-witch

Tag List: @jc-winchester @mrsjenniferwinchester @perpetualabsurdity @antisocialcorrupt @heavenlyackles @anixiiee @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @k-slla @alternativeprincess @spnbaby-67 @cevansbaby-dove @cutedisneygrl @hzllxhoundxx @kmc1989 (I have my tag lists all messed up lol I'm very sorry if I missed you!)

Warnings: PTSD, Violence, Language, Service Dog Use, Trauma, Demonic Possession

switching point of view will be indicated with italics

*I just want to state a disclaimer that I am not an expert on PTSD or Service Dog Use, I did consult with someone who knows more than I do in order to write it to be more real/fair representation!

I took a deep breath trying to calm my erratic heart rate. I stared at the hooded figure walking in the grocery store parking lot. I felt a nudge against my hand, then another, a little more forceful this time.

I looked down just in time to see my service dog Sammy nudging me with his nose, trying to get me to walk away from the window. He puts his paw on my leg, trying to give me a forceful push.

I let Sammy lead me away from the window to one of the aisles. I once again tried to calm my breathing. I was trying to remember the mindfulness exercises that my therapist had taught me, but I was already spiraling at this point.

I shut my eyes tight trying to block out the images of that fateful night.

"goodnight mommy." I whispered as she tucked me in.

"goodnight my love."

"mommy?" I called before she could leave.

"yes my love?"

"when's daddy coming home?"

At eight years old I didn't understand that Daddy left for good and he wasn't coming home. He didn't love us anymore.

"I don't know my love, let's just try to get some rest." Mom said kissing my forehead once more.

I pulled the blanket up to my chin, giving my mom one last smile. I saw her switch on my night light as she exited my room. I never had a problem falling asleep. I was out within minutes, dreaming of princesses and unicorns.

I jumped hearing a loud thud coming from downstairs. I sat up rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

"mommy?" I called out in the darkness.

I heard more thumping coming from downstairs. I got up, grabbing my unicorn night light, before descending down the staircase.

"mommy?" I called again.

I walked in to the living room, seeing a man standing over my mom. He wore a black hooded sweatshirt so I couldn't see his face.

"baby run!" I heard mommy call out weakly.

I couldn't run.

I felt like my little legs were glued to the spot.

I watched in horror as the hooded figure stabbed my mom with a knife. I felt blood splatter on my face as the figure yanked the knife from her body before plunging it back in. In an instant mommy was thrown against the wall, and her body became engulfed in flames.

"mommy no!" I cried.

I'll never forget what happened after, and to this day, nobody believes what I saw.

I backed up in fear, my back hitting the bookshelf. I watched the hooded figure turn around, giving me a chance to look at his face. I tried to get a good look at him, but the only thing I saw were his eyes.

Black, and not just the irises.

No, the entire eye was pitch black.

He stared at me giving me a sickly sweet smile.

"I'll be back for you."

Those were the last words I heard before the figure disappeared.

I sat frozen in fear until I was being pulled out of the house by police officers.

I knew my mommy was gone.

I lived every day in fear of the man, his words haunting me.

I was asked to come to the police station to make an id on the suspect police were sure committed the crime, but it wasn't any of the men they brought in.

I didn't see black eyes.

Of course nobody believed the testimony of a terrified eight year old.

Mom's case ran cold, and was eventually forgotten about altogether.

Not by me though.

I felt like any day the man would be back for me.

I got the hell out as soon as I turned sixteen.

I've been living on my own since.

I eventually met a friend who told me to seek out therapy.

PTSD is what they call it. It stands for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was the poster child for it, it seems.

I witnessed my mother being murdered by a black eyed man.

I couldn't go out anywhere without feeling like I was going to run in to the man with black eyes. I feared for my life every second of every day.

I felt exceptionally triggered any time I saw a person with their hood up.

I felt paws digging in to my leg again. Sammy was pushing on me, alerting me that I needed to sit down so he could help me. I sat down, leaning my back against the shelf. Sammy climbed on to my lap, and leaned in to my chest, putting pressure on me. I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing tightly.

I worked on controlling my breathing, reminding myself that I am safe. It took awhile, but I eventually calmed myself down with deep breathing exercises. Sammy, noticing I was much calmer now licked my face before climbing off my lap.

I got up stretching my muscles. I was always so exhausted after an episode.

I just wanted to pay for my groceries at this point and go home. I grabbed my basket that I had dropped in my episode. I went to turn around, accidentally clamoring in to a hard chest.

"oh gosh, I'm so sorry." I heard a deep voice say.

I looked up, my eyes landing on the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

Green eyes pierced my own, as I gazed at his facial features. Freckles dusted his nose and cheeks. He licked his lips, bringing my attention to them.

"no, I'm sorry I wasn't watching where I was going." I managed to squeak out.

I was weary of most people, but this man seemed gentle, and harmless. I couldn't deny there was something about him that just seemed safe.

"are you okay?" the mystery man asks.

I chuckled softly.

I don't think I even knew the meaning of being okay.

I haven't been okay in awhile.

I was about to respond when Sammy went over to the mystery man, sniffing him, before nudging his hand. Sammy was specifically trained not to do this when he was working, but for some reason he really wanted attention from the mystery man.

"well hi buddy." the man said leaning down and scratching under Sammy's chin.

Sammy's tail wagged with delight. It seems that Sammy thought he was harmless too.

"I'm sorry, he doesn't ever do that, he's trained not too." I said, my cheeks going red.

He probably thought I had no control over my service dog.

"oh, should I not be petting him? I apologize, I didn't know." the man said standing up quickly.

"no, no its okay, he likes you." I laughed as I watched Sammy lay down so the stranger could scratch his belly.

"well I would love to know his name, and yours?" the man asked, once again giving Sammy the attention he craved.

"I'm (y/n), and this is Sammy." I said.

I watched the strangers eyes light up with amusement.

"Sammy huh? I have a Sammy too."

"you have a dog named Sammy?" I asked.

"well he's sort of like a dog, doesn’t sit or stay very well." the stranger answered, making me confused.

"Dean, what the hell I've been...." I heard a voice start to say but he tapered off when he saw me.

"meet my Sammy." the stranger, who I'm now learning is named Dean says with a laugh.

I saw the other man roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Hi, I'm Sam." He said shaking my head.

"(y/n)." I answered returning his hand shake.

Sammy didn't brush against his hand for a pet. It seems that he only did it for Dean.

"I should uh be going gentleman, sorry again for bumping in to you Dean." I spoke grabbing Sammy's leash.

I never stayed in one place for too long, it was far too risky.

"It was my fault." Dean was quick to defend.

Sammy nudged Dean once more earning a scratch behind the ear.

"see ya Sammy, take care of your mom." Dean said giving Sammy one last pet.

I smiled at the pair, heading to the front to pay for my groceries. I was relieved to see that the hooded figure was gone. I put my groceries up to scan, glancing around furiously at my surroundings.

It was something ingrained in me to do. It was my flight or fight response.

I had to make sure I had a way out of every situation.

I took note of all of the emergency exits.

I handed the cashier my money, quickly collecting the bags in my arms. I grabbed Sammy's leash heading towards my pickup truck. I saw Sammy stop abruptly, his hackles rising to signify something wasn't quite right. I glanced around the parking lot, but nothing caught my eye.

"what is it boy?" I panicked.

Sammy started to whine, putting his head in the crook of my knee to push me towards the truck. I felt my heart start to race. I quickly got in the seat, allowing Sammy to jump in beside me. As I started the truck I saw a figure illuminated in the headlights. I felt fear course through my body.

It seemed like the figure was staring directly at me.

I put a hand in Sammy's fur trying to calm my heart rate.

I saw the figure step closer, the light illuminating more of it's features. I felt my heart sink to the bottom of my chest.

Black Eyes.

"no, no." I started to cry.

He had found me.

I jumped as a hand started banging on my window. I snapped my head to the side seeing Dean standing there. I quickly turned my head back to where the black eyed man stood but he was now gone.

"(y/n) are you okay?" Dean asked opening the door.

I felt the air leave my lungs as I stared at the empty spot. I felt like my chest was burning from the lack of oxygen. Sammy noticing my breathing become heavier made his way to my lap, putting pressure against my chest. I dug my fingers in to his fur trying to calm my erratic heart rate.

"you saw it before didn't you?" Dean asked, voice laced with concern.

"my.mom." I managed to choke out between heavy breaths.

Dean ran a hand down my back trying to help me calm myself. I would've thought it a sweet gesture if I wasn't completely losing my shit right now.

I didn't know what got me more scared, the fact that it found me or the fact that it was real.

I wasn't crazy, at least I got that closure.

I buried my face in Sammy's fur going through my deep breathing exercises once again trying to calm myself. It felt like hours but I was finally able to slow my breathing down to an even rhythm. I looked over to see Dean still sat with me.

"that thing killed my mom, and now I think it wants to kill me." I voiced my concerns.

Dean gave me a look, like he knew more than he was letting on.

"it's called a demon." Dean spoke.

A demon? I didn't know what I expected but it certainly wasn't that.

"like one of those things from hell?" I scoffed.

"exactly that, look I know it sounds crazy but I can help you." Dean said.

"you're right you sound completely crazy." I growled looking at him.

I thought Dean looked gentle and safe but in reality I didn't know him at all. He could be insane for all I know. He was sounding that way with all this talk about demons.

"look you don't live in the world you think you do, okay, there are things out there, things that you wouldn't think exist but I promise you they do." Dean said.

"Dean I really can't do this right now." I said trying my best to leave the situation.

"you know in your heart that this is something more, you just don't want to believe it." Dean said adamantly.

"please, let me go." I cried.

"that's why you told the police a black eyed monster killed your mom." Dean spoke not daring to look me in the eyes.

"how the hell do you know that?" I growled, suddenly fearful of this stranger.

"I read the police report." Dean said looking suddenly guilty.

He's read about me.

He knew me.

I thought running in to him was fate, but that wasn't the case at all.

It was planned.

"go to hell Dean." I spit at him.

Dean sighed backing away from the truck. I slammed the truck door, leaning my head on the steering wheel. I sobbed, feeling like the world was slowly closing in on me.

Dean was right.

I knew this was something more.

But a demon?

No.

It can't be.

Can it?

Plus who the hell even was this guy?

He read my file.

Was he a detective?

Why help now?

Surely detectives don't believe in demons.

I pulled out of the parking lot, wanting nothing more than to get the hell out.

Dean

"way to go genius why'd you bring up the police report?" Sam asked stepping out of the shadows.

"I don't know, I was trying to help." I said running a hand through my hair.

I didn't know why this girl was having such an effect over me.

Maybe I did.

"Dean, we had a plan why didn't you stick to it?" Sam grumbled.

"you didn't exactly follow through to your part either, considering the bastard got away." I growled at my baby brother.

"Dean, I get you want to help this girl but..." Sam started but I cut him off.

"Sam, that's just it, you don't get it! I watched mom die, okay, I know the pain she feels every single day. I watched her die and there was nothing I could do." I yelled, feeling the emotions wash over me.

"Dean you were just a kid, what were you supposed to do?"

"I couldn't do anything then, but I can do something now."

Sam nodded his head in understanding.

I had a good feeling this demon could lead us to the yellow eyed demon that killed mom.

I expected to meet her, I planned it.

I knew she could help us catch this thing.

I didn't expect her to tug on my heart.

Sam and I hopped back in the impala driving back to the motel. I couldn't shake this feeling like something bad was going to happen. Although lately I felt that way all the time. It was like I was living in a nightmare, and no matter how hard I fought I just couldn't bring myself out of it. I threw my jacket down angrily.

"I feel like this bastard is always a step ahead of us." I growled, crashing on to the uncomfortable bed.

Sam was about to respond, but we heard a light scratching on the door.

"what could that be?" Sam wondered aloud.

"one way to find out." I said grabbing my pistol.

Sam grabbed his, slowly opening the door.

I was shocked to find Sammy. I looked around, noticing (y/n) wasn't with him. I felt fear in the pit of my stomach. Sammy was whining, circling around.

"I think he wants us to follow him." I said to Sam.

Sam gave me a look of concern before nodding his head. Sammy started to walk away, Sam and I hot on his trail. He led us down the road to a worn down apartment complex. I instantly noticed her truck. It was still running, and her groceries were on the ground.

"Dean this doesn't look good." Sam said noticing the scene too.

Sammy whined, pawing at my leg. I bent down wrapping my arms around him.

"I promise boy I'll find her." I said giving him a hug.

Sammy wiggled out of my arms, going towards a door and starting to paw at it.

"I don't like this Dean." Sam warned as I walked towards the door.

I ignored him, hesitantly trying the handle. It was unlocked.

I swung the door open, but the room was pitch black, leaving no visibility.

"Dean." I heard her voice say.

"I'm here, where are you?" I asked whipping around in the darkness.

I heard a sickening chuckle as the room illuminated. (y/n) stood in the corner, but I could tell it wasn't (y/n).

"leave her body now." I growled, as her once beautiful colored eyes flashed black.

"I don't know what you're talking about Dean? It's me."

"leave her body." I growled once again.

"or what? I mean you can't kill me, no because that would mean she'd die too, and you don't want that do you Dean?" the demon taunted.

the demon was right.

If I tried anything she'd die too.

"besides, I can help you."

"yeah like I'm stupid enough to trust you." I growled as the demon possessing her body started to circle me.

"I mean if you don't want to know why your mom died I guess that's your loss. I can tell you though, this one, her daddy made a deal he couldn't cash, and would you believe he traded the lives of his wife and his daughter, what kind of a man does that? I mean your mother wasn't innocent either."

I felt my blood boiling in anger.

"you don't know what the hell you're talking about." I spit.

I tensed as the demon came up, using her hand to rest on my cheek.

"oh but I do."

I grabbed her by the throat, pinning her to the wall. It hurt me to do, but I had to remind myself she wasn't herself right now.

"shut up, and let her go." I growled.

"you know you're hot when you're angry."

In a split second she had her hand on my throat throwing me to the ground. I landed with a thud, causing her to laugh.

"oh Dean this is just too easy."

"where's the yellow eyed demon." I growled.

"in a place you'll never find."

"so he's sending you to do his dirty work, is that it?" I growled.

"kind of like that, but we all have our own personal vendettas."

I could see out of the corner of my eye Sam drawing a devil's trap. I needed to lure her out there.

"let her go, or else."

"or else what, you can't kill me, I thought we were past this."

It was now or never.

I stood up slowly as she paced around me.

"you're right, I can't kill you, but that doesn't mean I can't trap you."

As soon as the words left my lips, I tackled her body out of the door, right in to the trap. I moved out of the way as the demon stood up angrily, unable to move.

"what did you do to me?"

"it's called a devils trap, and now we're going to make you leave whether you want to or not." Sam growled.

I started reciting the latin words that would exercise the demon from her body. I felt a pang of guilt as she thrashed around with each word I spoke.

I spoke the final line, and the demon left her body, causing her to collapse to the ground. Sam took the book from my hands reciting the next part of the exorcism to send the demon back to hell where it belongs. I ran into the devils trap picking up her body, just as Sam spoke the last line sending the demon back to hell.

"Sam get me a cold washcloth." I yelled cradling her limp body.

Sam ran inside the apartment, returning quickly with what I asked for. I put it to her forehead dabbing lightly while shaking her awake.

"come on, wake up." I pleaded shaking her harder.

Reader

"I won't take your life, just your soul."

I could only remember those words being spoken before I awoke with a jolt. I touched my body making sure I was still alive, and most importantly still me. I glanced up seeing the concerned eyes of Dean.

"Dean?"

"Oh thank god you're back." He sighed in relief.

I tried to sit up but it felt like my joints were on fire.

"Easy, you'll be sore for awhile, I uh kind of had to tackle you." Dean said rubbing his neck nervously before helping me sit up.

"what the hell happened to me?" I asked.

Dean explained everything.

Demons, possession, exorcisms.

It would have been pretty unbelievable if I hadn't just lived through it. He explained the deal my father made.

A deal with the devil.

I couldn't believe that my mom was gone because of him. I just hoped wherever he was, he was paying too.

Dean explained that he saw his mom die at the hands of a demon too. I felt my heart sink as he explained that he's spent all this time looking for the thing that killed her.

I gazed at him, seeing the broken person that lay underneath this tough facade.

Dean watched his mom die too. He was just as broken as I was.

I put my hand to his cheek gently caressing it with my thumb.

"Dean, you saved me."

"I had a little help." Dean said glancing towards the truck.

Sam opened the door, allowing Sammy to run out into my arms. He was wagging his tail like crazy, licking over my face.

"I missed you too boy." I smiled hugging him tightly.

Sammy jumped on Dean causing Dean to chuckle. He reached down scratching him.

"I guess it was a little bit of fur and fate." I whispered biting my lip.

"fur and fate huh?" Dean whispered, suddenly much closer than before.

"I didn't really believe in fate, but then again I didn't really believe in demons either." I said.

"and what now?"

"now, I believe I want you to kiss me." I whispered taking in his intoxicating scent.

"I can do that." Dean whispered leaning in.

I don't know if it was fur or fate, but whatever it was, I was thankful.

and for the first time since I was eight years old, I felt okay.

Author Note:

I'm sorry it took me so long to finish! I really hope you liked it! I'm forever grateful for all the love!

xoxoxo

Liv

#dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles imagine #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen x reader #supernatural #supernatural imagine #sam and dean #sam winchester #spn #spn reader insert #request

[simpxxstan]

perfect complements (ch. 2)

pairing: professor!seungcheol x professor!f.reader

genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, angst, smut

series summary: four and a half years of working together breeds familiarity, resentment, and everything in between. it's almost like living together.

chapter word count: 2.4k

warnings: bickering.

a/n: i have never been to a therapist/counsellor, so i apologise if there are factual inaccuracies in how the process of counselling goes. the italicized portion is an excerpt from the past, and that's how it'll be indicated in the rest of the story!

thank you so much for reading! your reblogs, likes and comments make my day!

series masterlist

GIF by coupsnim

The walls of the counsellor’s office are painted blue and green- quite contrary to what you had thought would be clinically white and even more depressing. There’s no sign of Seungcheol though, as you sit in the small waiting space outside the office, reading a magazine off the coffee table, your legs shaking nervously.

The man you’re waiting for storms in through the door, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, and his slightly longer hair all fluffy and messy. “Sorry I’m late,” he says to no one, especially not you since he’s averted his glance from you as soon as he entered, and there’s no one else in the space. “Dr. Lee is waiting for us.” You speak softly, trying to level your tone. He takes a minute to brace himself before looking at you, fixing his hair, fixing his crumpled shirt, and breathing in. 

In the past sixteen hours, you’ve thought about this moment a million times at least. It’s been a long time coming, and you know Seungcheol knows it as well as you. Wonwoo has spoken to the two of you multiple times, and yet- things never seem to improve. 

It’s not like you purposely piss him off, well, most of the time. He is a dickhead, but it’s not like you have a lot of free time just to educate him on being a better human in the world. It’s mostly a slip here and there, and the spark blasts. 

It started on a rainy day, in the middle of August. You really didn’t like the rain, to make it worse you’d got your period that morning. You wanted to go home as soon as possible, but all public transport had suddenly disappeared, leaving you stranded in the monsoon on a busy street where no one cared about you, no matter how desperately you called for a taxi. It was just not your day-

But all that had a hope of reversing when you noticed a familiar smile and a wave through a car window, which was right next to you now. “Seungcheol-ssi?” you asked. “Can I give you a ride, Prof Y/L/N?” You started refusing him, hands moving animatedly, but then he gave you a look- oh- and you couldn’t refuse him anymore. “Please. You’ve been standing here for the past twenty minutes,” he said, as you shuffled into his car, trying to not wet the seats but in vain. “You’ve been watching me?” “Uh-” he was nervous now, “no I was just…” “Hey, I really appreciate your offer. I was really having a difficult time. Thank you so much, Seungcheol-ssi.” Three months into his new job, and you both had developed a good relationship, being of nearly the same age. The three other professors in your department were all above fifty, two even due to retire that year, leaving you two as the youngest of the department, and it was a good partnership. You enjoyed talking about the subjects that you had chosen as the first loves of your lives over a cup of coffee, sometimes you would smile at him for a second too long when he would speak of his pet dog Kkuma, sometimes he would return the smile when you spoke fondly about your favourite students. 

The car ride was also just as smooth as the rest of Choi Seungcheol. As much as he was an eye candy, you had decided you were certainly not interested in him, having noticed how well he got along with every female (and most male) faculty members of the university, and his smiles were just not reserved for you. Within weeks, he had students fawning over him, and soon he was becoming the most popular professor in the university, not just among students but also among your colleagues. While you had no fancies for these titles, it felt a little weird losing the good rapport you had worked hard in building, being the only female professor in the department. Or maybe it was just you being too competitive. 

Anyhow, when Seungcheol played the music of your favourite idol group, you couldn’t complain. The depressive mood from the rains had already mellowed out. You raised your eyebrows at him in query, he replied, “What? I’ve seen their photocard behind your phone.” He smiled again, and you smiled back. So attentive. 

Just then, there was a crazy sound from his car. Alarmed, he instantly got out of the car to check- soon there was smoke coming up from the front of the car. You felt guilty sitting in the dry shade of the rain while he lifted the front hood of the car, drenched in the rain, trying to figure out the issue, so you stepped out. “I’m sorry- I really-” “No, hey, why are you apologising to me?” “I don’t know what’s wrong. I think I’ll have to call a mechanic.” You looked around, it was a shockingly deserted area, maybe the rain had washed away all people into their homes. As evening began to descend, your cramps got worse, not improving as the wetness of the rain began settling into your bones. 

“Should we wait inside the car? I’ve called for the mechanic, but they’ll definitely take some time.”

“Sure. I mean, we don’t have an option, do we?” You chuckled, trying to reduce the tension. “I’m sorry I got you stuck in this.” “Nah, it’s okay.” “You can try looking for a cab-” “Do you see a cab out there, Choi Seungcheol?” you snapped out a bit too harshly, recoiling instantly. He was taken aback too, wincing. “Sorry, I just…” Then he grew quiet, and so did you. 

Seconds became minutes. 

Minutes to hours. 

Precisely, two and a quarter hours, before the mechanic arrived. 

Your water bottle was empty, your lunch long finished, the cramps growing worse in the confined space and the anxiety, and Seungcheol wasn’t a close friend who you could become casual around. So you kept your legs down, your heels on, even if your ankles hurt. You kept your hair tied, even if the hair tie began to hurt your scalp, because your hair was too unruly to let down. You couldn’t even take off your jacket, because your body was too cold to let go of even one piece of clothing. 

This was really not your day.

There was no conversation, mainly because you were afraid of snapping again. He stepped out to help the mechanic, and you closed your eyes tight in the car, trying to hold back the pain. Wordlessly, the mechanic left after the issue was fixed, the rain still pouring relentlessly, and Seungcheol came back into the car. 

Thankfully, this time when he tried to start the car, it roared to life. After travelling slowly for fifteen minutes, Seungcheol spoke up, “It’s almost seven- do you want to get some ramyeon before heading home?” You weren’t even looking at him, but you could sense the expectation in his voice. “My treat, to make up for the-”

“I want to go home, Seungcheol.” Your voice was bitterer than you had thought. Seungcheol extended his hand to your arm, and you flinched. “Can you please drive me to my neighbourhood? I don’t want to stay here a minute more.” He took back his hand in a second, and amped up the speed of the car. In less than twenty minutes you were in the front of your home, the address you had input into the Google Maps of the car dashboard earlier. 

Without a word, you stepped out of the car, into the rain that had fizzled down to a drizzle now. Seungcheol was looking at you, and you had no way to avoid his eyes now. “I’m sorry for making your day so bad. Really, if I could make it-” “Bye, Choi Seungcheol-ssi. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And you had turned your back on the man who had drove you home that evening, the hopeful glint in his eyes burning in your head but other feelings like exhaustion, pain and desperation overwhelming you. 

-

“Has anger always been an issue for you?”

Ouch, that was harsh. You had thought counsellors were soft with their words- but then, you’d never been to one’s office before. Seungcheol seemed calmer than before now, honestly that irked you more. Was he actually okay with sitting here? Being reprimanded for how you couldn’t help but behave around each other, at the age of thirty-three?

“I don’t know… I guess I’ve always had a slightly sharp tongue. Quick to lose my temper.”

Seungcheol sighed next to you. You can feel his eyes poring into your face, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. 

“And you, Prof. Choi?” 

“I don’t think so. I think Prof. Y/L/N brings out the worst in me.”

Now you’re looking straight at him, and you know he’s facing you while saying the words. “Excuse me?” 

“Prof. Y/L/N-”

“I’ve never faced issues with my temper before, you know. Yes, some may call me an alpha but-”

A laugh escaped from your lips before you could help it. 

“Prof. Y/L/N, please refrain from scoffing here. Remember the common goal.” Dr. Lee reminded you. 

“I can’t help it, Dr. Lee. It’s blatantly obnoxious for Prof. Choi to think of himself as an alpha. Why, the man’s scared of ghosts! As if ghosts even exist.”

“Prof. Y/L/N-”

“Might I inform you, Dr. Lee, than Prof. Y/L/N has a phobia of thunderstorms. She can’t stand seeing lightning, absoltely shivers like-”

“Professors!”

Again the dreadful feeling of being reprimanded. 

“Laughing at each other’s phobias are petty and not acceptable. This is a safe space. We are all respectful of each other’s fears, irrespective of how they appear to us. We have a common goal of resolution, please be mindful.” Your eyes were cast downward, fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lee.”

There was a sharp intake of air from Choi Seungcheol.

“But I don’t think this can ever reach resolution,” you complete, nearly standing up from your chair. Seungcheol openly scoffs at you now, laughing at your surrender. Exactly what he was pushing you for.

“There, there! No need to rush, Professor. How about, we move on to the first activity I’ve planned for you both?”

You pause, sitting back in your chair. 

“Activity?” Seungcheol asks, running fingers through his hair. 

“Yes! It’s part of my toolkit for couples’ therapy-”

“This isn’t couple’s therapy,” you both chime together. It’s getting annoying how often people think of you as a couple.

Dr. Lee only chuckles, as if they had laid the bait out for you to hold on to, and you both had caught on to it like fishes. You gasp, realising this session may be more complicated than you thought. 

“Of course! Now, have either of you done colouring before? Ever heard of art therapy?”

Seungcheol shakes his head, while you nod. “I colour on my phone sometimes- numbered colouring. Stress relieving, it is for me.” Dr. Lee smiles. “Yes! Except, we’ll not be doing numbered colouring.” They pull out a sheet of paper from underneath their desk, and lay it right in front of you both. 

It’s a beautiful picture of a scene from nature- trees, foliage, flowers, even a river through the grass. But in black and white outline, and more spaces marked in between indicating where to fill in colours. 

Then Dr. Lee brings out a pack of colour pencils, and keeps it beside the sheet of paper. 

“Can I trust you both to fill this in?”

Seungcheol’s jaw actually drops. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him more surprised.

“You want us to fill this with colours? Colour pencils?”

“Yes! It’s really quite simple, and really would be great for healing you through all the stress of work during the day.” Dr. Lee’s smile is genial, but you don’t feel it catching on to you. The thought of colouring this- with Seungcheol- does nothing but add up to your stress. 

“Alright.” Seungcheol is doing it again- pushing you to surrender. He even picks up the sheet and colour pencils and stands up, looking at you expectantly. 

But you’re not going to give up so easily. 

It’s a matter of your pride after all. 

“We’ll bring this to you, all complete and pretty, at our next session!” You’re staring into Seungcheol’s soul, seeing the panic flash momentarily before he dons his standard pretty smile, gums threatening to show. 

“Yes, Dr. Lee!” And for a second, you wonder if this was how he used to suck up to his teachers in school, all cute and excited- but, you forget the thought quickly, as Dr. Lee stands up, a very knowing smile in their eyes, waiting to bid you goodbye. As you both shuffle out of the room, you face Seungcheol outside the office. “Our next session is day after tomorrow. What were you thinking when you promised to complete this, like a little good girl, so eager to please?” he snaps, standing inches away from you. 

“Seungcheol, spare me your nonsense. I’ll take it home today and complete the top half, and you can take it home tomorrow and complete the bottom half.”

“Impossible. I have at least two dozens of projects to go through. I’ll not be coming to work tomorrow. No time for this” he points at the sheet in his hand. 

“Then I’ll just come over tomorrow evening, after your project corrections are done. We can complete it together. Makes the process quicker.” You know you’re stepping into extremely risky territory, but hell, even you didn’t want to go home and colour on a lovely day like this. Wine and jazz sounded much better. 

He seems to ponder over the offer for a second. Then he takes out his right hand from his pocket, and holds it out to you. “Deal,” he says, and you almost scoff at his childish behaviour. Then you shake your right hand with his, and take a step back. 

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, my place, at 8?”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll text you the address-”

“I have it already, Prof. Choi.” you say quietly, before turning your back on him and walking away slowly, ignoring his eyes on your back. 

#choi seungcheol #s.coups #s.coups x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fluff #seventeen series #s.coups series #s.coups fluff #s.coups fanfiction #seungcheol fanfiction #seungcheol x y/n #seungcheol series #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol x reader #seventeen fanfic #perfect complements series #simpxxstan

[f1-disaster-bi]

For the prompt thing, maybe recovering from a bad relationship? With lando/Daniel

Oooo I'm thinking of my abo angst au with this one a little bit ngl so I hope you don't mind anon!

I've put it under the cut because TW for mentions of SA, forced relationships, abuse and inappropriate age gaps

Lando had felt the pull towards Daniel since the first time that he had met him when Charles and Max had dragged him to meet his pack.

Lando had been wary. He'd spent hours before the meeting texting his therapist that he had gotten through the shelter he had run to the night he had turned eighteen with just a backpack of clothes, his birthcert and some money the beta who got him out had given him. His trauma surrounding packs had had him on his own since then, and he'd been scared.

Yet the moment his eyes had met the tattooed alpha with the softest brown eyes and brightest smile he'd ever seen, Lando had felt safe and seen in a way he hadn't before.

It had been four since he'd escaped back when he met Daniel at twenty-two and he had kept the other at a distance even after he had joined the pack. He was friendly but he drew a mental line in the sand because any time he thought of dating or finding a possible mate, Lando thought if Samuel.

Samuel had been his intend mate. His "one true love" as his parents had made him call him. Lando had been sixteen and freshly presented as an omega, and Samuel was the thirty year old son of the pack leader that had always made Lando's skin crawl.

Everytime he thought about kissing someone, he still had flashbacks to the few times Samuel had gotten him alone and it made him sick. He still felt those hands groping him, the voice telling him that he was Samuel property and the slap he had gotten from his mother from trying to get her to stop this.

It haunted him, but somehow, with time and lately with Daniel, Lando had started healing.

When Daniel hugged him, he didn't feel fear or claustrophobic. It was always with his consent. Daniel always listened when Lando told him no, that the voices in his mind were too loud today and he needed to be alone. Not even some of the other pack members understood that, but how could they when Daniel was the only one he had ever felt truely safe enough to tell about his past and what he had escaped from?

He didn't blame them for not knowing. He knew he'd tell them soon. He'd already told them vague explanations, enough to know it was bad and Lando had to leave, but no details.

Daniel was the only one that knew, and he was the one that Lando went to when he had nightmares that had him waking up with sweat dripping down his back. The one who nested with him, and told Lando how beautiful he was, how smart he was.

Daniel was the one that had placed the cards in Landos hands and let him lead their relationship when normally alphas were in charge of courting. He gave Lando the power he needed to finishing healing.

Lando might not always be okay, but as he curled up with Daniel, trading soft kisses in the nest they had built together while the pack was out, Lando knew that he was safe.

#abo angst au #dando #daniel/lando #lando/daniel #abo #a/b/o dynamics

[venicemermaids]

Hi! Here's some stuff about a celebrity-themed AU I've been formulating in my head since last year. I'll probs post more later when I'm less sleep deprived :')) I do have major ideas though, so hope you like 'em!

☆ passione is a modelling agency/magazine ran entirely by diavolo. it's one of the most famous companies in the world, and also one of the more relaxed ones. technically diavolo's twin brother doppio and doppio's now wife donatella helped form it, but they all agreed it'd be easier for diavolo to head it. doppio works as a photographer there, while donatella is a model.

☆ the joestars are essentially the hilton family of this au. most people know their names because they're famous in their own fields outside of the family. for instance, jonathan is an archeologist, dio (who is now a biological joestar) is a lawyer/agent/manager, jotaro is a marine biologist with several documentaries under his belt, and so on.

☆ if the joestars are the hiltons, then the part 8 higashikatas are the kardashians. they have their own reality TV show chronicling their lives, known by all as keeping up with the higashikatas. some major specials were jobin and mitsuba's wedding, the twins' (rina and joshu) sweet sixteens and later daiya's, kaato being released from prison, and hato's explosive break-up with tamaki damo.

☆ elizabeth is still married to george ii/jorge joestar, and she has her own fashion house known as lisa lisa. working under her are caesar zeppeli and suzi q, who both have their own ideas on which direction the brand's image should go. their rival is kars and the other pillar men's own label. (unnamed as of right now)

☆ diego is jonathan and dio's younger stepbrother through his mother marrying their father when diego was a kid. diego had always been closer with jonathan, while he always had a tense relationship with dio. as an adult, diego is a professional driver and looks after his nephews; dio's own sons.

☆ jolyne has an underground band with ermes and f.f. called the stone frees! they perform at a grungy venue known as green dolphin, named for its famous neon green dolphin sign. outside of performing, they're usually seen hanging out in ermes' sister gloria's restaurant. they tend to give it free publicity where they can.

jolyne also goes by cujoh in an attempt to distance herself from her father, and to prevent herself from being accused of nepotism.

☆ johnny was a former movie star who quit performing after a major accident rendered him unable to walk. his father hired a physical therapist for him named gyro zeppeli, and barred him from any other visitors out of a sense of shame. however, johnny's older brother nicholas tends to allow guests to see him anyway when their father's away. johnny also keeps in contact with rina higashikata, but that's a secret!

☆ josuke (no relation to the part 8 higashikatas) is an aspiring hairdresser/celebrity stylist, and he often asks to practice on other people. he religiously reads the cinderella magazine for tips and ideas on what to do next and his idol is aya tsuji, who he dreams of working alongside someday.

☆ gappy is yoshikage and kei's younger brother. he's not technically a celebrity, but he often shows up on kuwth due to being childhood friends with joshu and rina. people often joke about him being their missing triplet, though he always denies it. he does see the higashikatas as a second family, however.

☆ giorno is a model under passione, which he joined beneath his father's nose at both diego and his best friend perla's suggestion. when dio found out, he demanded for giorno to allow him to be his agent due to his superior connection. refusing, giorno instead left to live with diego whilst bruno bucciarati became his agent instead. the two people who oversaw giorno's casting were man x (will be referred to as michel) and polpo.

☆ after giorno left, dio began to acknowledge his other three sons; donatello, ungalo, and rikiel. he began with taking custody of donatello, and pushed him into joining a modelling agency as well. he manufactured a rivalry between donatello and giorno, though giorno's more interested in saving all his brothers from their father's influence than anything.

☆ jodio and dragona are both popular on social media. dragona enjoys posting ootds, makeup tutorials, and storytimes, whilst jodio does (awful) skateboarding tricks and skits. sometimes he'll join dragona's storytimes and makeup tutorials, or they'll both do various challenges and skits together.

☆ more stuff to come later!

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba #jojo headcanons #jojo au #jjba au #celebrity au #jolyne cujoh #josuke higashikata #giorno giovanna #jodio joestar #dragona joestar #johnny joestar #gappy higashikata

[soap-lady]

A little spotlight on Tiffany

@idreamtofmanderleyagain @angelqueen13art @tenebrare

I figured it was time Tiffany got a little focus so...here you go?

Tiffany is in Heaven

Not literally, of course, and hopefully not for a long time. She was finally among her peers again and while she was still seeing a therapist once a week, she was happy. It also helped that she had discovered a trust fund her mother and father had set up for her when she was born, plus she might receive a settlement from the government over the Channard Institute fiasco. Now she didn’t have to worry about college or being too financially dependent on anyone.

Tiffany had also made a few friends. One of which was Mrs. Lopez’ son Antonio, a shy smart boy with a not too secret love for robots. He tried to flirt with Tiffany but was too awkward so they settled on being friends for now.

Another and rapidly becoming her best friend was an outgoing, athletic redhead named Callie Conolly. They had homeroom, math, and science together and hit it off over a mutual love of engineering and bad sci-fi movies from the Fifties. Their friendship was adorable.

Tiffany came home nearly every day with stories that usually began with “Well, Callie said,” and then launched into funny stories about “some trifling moron” and Callie’s response. The girl was rapidly becoming a Callie Database.

Callie didn’t like asparagus. Callie had been playing soccer and baseball since she was five. Callie’s parents were named Dan and Moira and were rather shy but raised their daughter to find her own path in life. They were both engineers. They belonged to a farming co-op and got fresh vegetables every week in exchange for a nominal fee and some light labor.

“So, when are you going to ask her out?” Kirsty asked over dinner one night.

Elliot raised a brow but Tiffany just rolled her eyes. “Sis, I’m pretty sure I just like guys. We’re only friends. Besides, Callie has a boyfriend. Josh.” She made a disgusted face when she said the name. “He’s sixteen and has a car. He's kind of a douche canoe but Callie seems to like him.”

“I think friendship is an excellent basis for a relationship,” Kirsty spoke up. “A good solid foundation, friends-to-lovers trope. I mean, Steve and I were friends all through high school and it definitely helped. But yeah, he was also a douche canoe. And weak.”

Elliot twitched at the mention of Kirsty’s ex-suitor. Boyfriend. He’d done nothing to protect Kirsty and had vanished when she needed him most. Not that she needed protecting; what she needed was a fellow knight to fight at her side and guard her back as she would guard him. He was glad the boy was gone but Kirsty deserved better.

They started discussing the possibility of Callie spending the night one weekend. Kirsty promised she’d think about it but first she wanted to talk to the other girl’s parents. “Feel them out,” was the way she put it.

Tiffany’s grades were excellent so far. A’s mostly but a B or two in the subjects she didn’t like as much. Like Music. Or History.

“Ugh. History is so boring!” She groaned, dramatic in the way only a teenager can be. “The book could cure insomnia and my teacher, Mr. Harris just drones on and on about important dates and battles and can even make things like a bunch of soldiers getting blown up as exciting as a doctor’s visit.”

“Oh?” Elliot’s attention perked up. “What exactly are you studying?”

Tiffany hesitated, then showed him her textbook. “World War I. We’re supposed to write a paper from a soldier’s perspective but include facts and dates as well.  I didn’t…”

“...want to bring up bad memories for me? That’s very thoughtful of you, Tiffany.” He smiled at his ward. “It’s all right. If my experiences help you with history class, I’m more than happy to share them with you.”

Kirsty was off running errands, meeting with lawyers and buying groceries so the two of them sat at the kitchen table and looked over Tiffany’s textbook.

Elliot shook his head in disgust. The editors had reduced the struggles of him, his officers, and his troops down to bland things like dates and locations.

For a moment he was there. He could smell the pungent sulfuric scent of gunpowder, hear the screams of dying men as they called for their mothers. His stomach churned with a strange mix of hunger and nausea and he didn’t hear Tiffany calling his name until she touched his hand.

She looked scared and worried. “Hey, we can stop. You don’t have to help me if this hurts you.”

Her concern touched him. It had been so long since someone genuinely cared if he was hurt or uncomfortable. It was an interesting novelty after decades of being a Cenobite. He was sure his Order cared about him and each other as much as they could but their ways of showing affection involved agony. 

He tried to remember that a simple touch didn’t have to lead to the carving of flesh or the skinning of limbs. His life no longer involved the sounds of screams or being summoned to harvest souls. He wasn’t the Hell Priest. He was Elliot Spencer. And he got to decide who and what he wanted to do with his life.

Elliot began to tell Tiffany about some of his experiences during the war. He carefully edited some of the details but she still gasped and held his hand in parts. Once he thought he’d given her enough information he decided to change the subject.

“So, how are things with you? Besides struggling with schoolwork I mean.” His words sounded stiff and forced, like his father had spoken to him when he was a boy. He was confident of his charm with grown women, but had no idea how to relate to a young girl.

He tried again. “Do you…like your school? Would you rather go to a school closer to home? How well do your teachers treat you? Shall I speak to them for you, or Kirsty could, if you’d rather.”

Kirsty knew this modern world and what was expected. Kirsty had been a teenaged girl and knew how they thought and what they felt. He was rapidly approaching middle age and had never gotten along with his younger sister. No doubt Marilla had married, had children, and was long gone by now.

Tiffany just smiled. “It’s hard for you, isn’t it? This whole,” she made a circle with her hand, “being alive again thing? Being part of a family?”

He felt ashamed. He was supposed to be the adult, the strong protector. He’d been a soldier, dammit, trained to kill. He’d flayed people alive and enjoyed it. Why was it difficult to articulate how he felt?

Elliot nodded. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.” He sighed and closed the book, turning towards his new “little sister”.

“I was never encouraged to show weakness or uncertainty, even as a child,” he ignored her sympathetic glance and went on. “I had family tradition to uphold, so I was turned over to a nanny and then a governess before finally being shipped off to boarding school.” She kept her hand on his and he felt comforted despite himself.

“Then I…well, drifted out of school and into the Army because it was expected that the second son of a very old military family would join. So I did.”

She nodded to show she was listening. “Did you like it?”

He laughed and shook his head. “No! I hated the Army and I wasn’t really good at it. The officers looked down on me because my family was Gentry and not Nobility and the common soldiers thought I was too posh and didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Tiffany let his hand go and frowned. “So, you didn’t have any friends at all?”

“In school? One or two. In the Army, once the Great War started and I was sent to the front, I had one. A name and a face came to mind, a person he hadn’t thought of in decades. Sergeant Jack Brown. Nice chap, big family. Told me after the war he’d have me ‘round for Christmas to meet his family.” He sighed. “Jack died during the third Battle for Flanders. Mortar fire. Quick, so that was a mercy.”

He didn’t want to remember the smile on Jack’s face the last time he saw him or remember the letter of thanks he’d received from Jack’s wife thanking him for informing her of her husband’s death. She’d been expecting again when Jack shipped out. He wondered what had happened to her.

Tiffany nudged his shoulder to knock him out of whatever dark thoughts had overtaken him. “Hey, wanna know a secret? Something I haven’t even told Callie or Kirsty yet.” She gave him a conspiratory wink then turned serious. “But don’t tell either of them. I wanna tell them when I’m ready.”

Elliot raised a hand. “You have my word.”

She leaned in a little closer and lowered her voice, even though they were the only ones there. “There’s a guy I like.”

He hid his hands in his lap and tried to look interested but still neutral. “Someone in your class? That Antonio lad?”

She giggled and dismissed the boy with a wave of her hand. “Again, like Callie, Tonio is just a friend. Probably the nicest guy I know, so if he asked me out I’d go out once but only on a friend date.”

He was feeling a bit confused by her terminology. “And…a boy you would…date…is in a different category?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” she nodded and explained. “You see…you can hang out with friends; go to the movies, eat pizza, talk about dreams or feelings  but there’s no romance involved, you know?” He nodded like he understood.

“But a guy…or girl…you wanna date? You wanna do all that stuff you might do with a friend but you also want to…be alone with them, hold hands, maybe do some kissing?”

He drew back and told her sternly. “Not on the first date, I hope.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes at his old-fashioned statement and he felt very old. When he was young, a kiss was a serious declaration of intent; and very private. His grandfather had once told him he could only kiss his grandmother once they were engaged. This new era with its public displays of affection was foreign to him. He couldn’t imagine kissing anyone in his Order, it would have been unprofessional.

She took pity on him and said, “Okay. Not on the first date. Just for you, Cousin Elliot.”

She stood up, gathered her school things and then leaned down to kiss him on the temple. “Thanks for all the help. Love you.”

“I love you too, Tiffany,” he replied and meant it. He listened to her go upstairs and began setting the table for supper. Kirsty would be home soon and then they’d prepare the meal and eat together.  It made him smile to think of the three of them sitting around the table, laughing and joking and sharing what they did that day with each other. 

He was fortunate to have their affection and care. He looked forward to Tiffany growing up, learning everything her current school could teach her and then going off to university and taking her rightful place in the world. He would miss her but he was certain she would come to visit and tell them all about the amazing things she’d seen and done. He looked forward to hearing about her adventures one day.

For now he would be here to support her in any way he could, even if it was only listening to her talk about young men she liked and giving advice; that, or keeping the bad sort away by terrifying them into staying away from Tiffany. Or perhaps he and Kirsty could take turns intimidating them.

*****

One week later Tiffany burst out of the car as soon as Kirsty put it in park and ran into the house. The embrace she gave Elliot was something between a hug and a flying tackle.

“Ooof!” was all he managed as he held onto the back of the couch to keep from hitting the floor.

The girl jumped up and down in her excitement. “I got an A! I got an A on the paper you helped me write!” She hugged him again and after a pause he hugged her back. 

Tiffany continued to talk to him about her day. “Mr. Harris said my paper was not only factual but he felt he was reading an actual soldier's account of living conditions in the trenches!”

“That might be because he was,” Kirsty walked in the house and closed the door behind her. After putting her car keys in a shell on a table near the entry she grinned at Elliot. “Honey, we’re home.”

“Welcome home, my dears,” he smiled at her and Tiffany.

“What’s for dinner?” Tiffany asked.

He thought about it. “Well, in honor of Tiffany’s academic achievement, why don’t we order takeaway?”

Tiffany’s hand shot in the air. “I call tacos!”

“Tacos!” Kirsty seconded and then started calling the local Mexican restaurant that had replaced her father’s favorite Chinese place.

Elliot sighed. He only managed to get his hand halfway up during these challenges. “I never get to pick the restaurant.”

“We are not having chicken vindaloo!”

#kirsty cotton #domestic fluff #hellraiser #pinsty #tiffany is their daughter/little sister #tiffany makes friends

[johannestevans]

Happy Thursday!

It's been a busy three weeks for me, and I've primarily been updating various serials, with one or two other bits in between.

My Most Popular P`ieces in January 2024:

Top NonFiction: Woe, Boypussy Be Upon Ye: Transing Characters in Fanfic & Fanart

What’s the deal with envisioning your blorbos as transgender?

Read on Medium in Prism & Pen / / Read on Patreon/ / Read on Tumblr

Top Fiction: Window Trap

Jean-Pierre makes an unwise decision, and gets caught amongst the wrong crowd.

Rated E, 3.9k, trans M angel gangbanged by Greek gods, mostly by Hermes (Aetos Talaria). Doros is also here — Doros and Jean-Pierre both being characters in Powder and Feathers.

Dubious to non consent here after some pure hubris, with a gangbang, large insertions, come inflation, deepthroating, spitroasting, predicament bondage with Jean-Pierre stuck in a wall, humiliation, degradation, dirty talk, masochism, stomach bulges.

Read on Medium / / Read on SubscribeStar / / Read on Ao3

New Works Published

Erotic Short: The Captain's Clerk

A new sailor is curious about the captain’s kept man.

Just a short taste of something. 1.2k, rated E, M/M. Adapted from a TweetFic.

Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon

Fashion Guide: Finding Your Style, Part I: Shape & Silhouette

A deep dive into deciding on your own personal fashion and tailoring your clothes to fit.

Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon / / Read on Tumblr

Serial Update: Rescue Dogs Chapter Seventeen

Cecil Hobbes finally gets Valorous King to try a new adventure: therapy. Cecil Hobbes, an ex-PE teacher disgraced and looked down on in his hometown, has a new partner: Sir Valorous King, a knight of the realm, once a child of prophecy, and Cecil’s stalker. A few months into their relationship, Cecil finally convinces Valorous to see a therapist, on the condition that Cecil attend one himself.

Read on Medium / / Read on WorldAnvil / / Read on ScribbleHub / / Read on Ao3

Serial Update: Prophet's Cry Chapter Five

Prophet Shulman, Administrative Secretary at the Middlesbrough branch of Friar Holdings, has been on the verge of divorce for the past twenty years, almost ever since he got fucking married. Fucking his boss might make him as bad as his husband, but what the fuck's the point in trying to be good anymore? Meanwhile, Vance Vixen, recently emerged from his own divorce and also the closet, when not fucking his Admin Secretary in the stationery cupboard, begins a delicate romance with a bartender named Gideon Shulman.

Read on Medium / / Read on Ao3 / / Read on ScribbleHub

Serial Update: An Uncommon Betrothal Chapters Sixteen and Seventeen

Alexos Fox is of course quite sad when the long-time butler of his household, the man who all but raised him, retires. He is not at all prepared for the old man’s replacement: his exceedingly attractive and painfully tempting nephew, Harry Sutton. Alexos, overcome with feelings that are simply too much to repress, tries his best to avoid him, but it seems that Mr Sutton has more than his employment on his mind as he attends his new employer with keen and concentrated focus. Erotic romance with a big emphasis on period-typical homophobia, repression, power dynamics, and so on.

Read on Medium / / Read on WorldAnvil / / Read on Ao3 / / Read on ScribbleHub

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Fanfic: Interpersonal Studies

Garak and Julian work to get the measure of one another, each of them trying to see what's hidden under the other man's skin. Once upon a time, Julian imagined he might do better on a planet other than Earth, that he was a sort of modern-day changeling child, abandoned on a planet he wasn't fit for. It cut at the time that it wasn't true - it cuts all the deeper when, some years down the line, Earth sees fit to abandon him to someone else's planet after all.

Read on Ao3

#musings #original fiction #deep space nine #garashir

[space-captkin]

GODDAMN IT THIRD ASK IN A ROW BC I DIDNT READ THENWHOLE POST AND FORGOT OT SEND A BUMBER I THOUGHT YOUNWERE SUPPOSED TO DO ALL OF THEM </3333 how about one, six, seven, sixteen and seventeen. whichever ones. and kel omrori . i am so sorry

1. why do you like or dislike this character?

i like him cause.. cause uhm.. imagine the bi flag slowly fading in on this sentence, okay thanks

6. what’s something you have in common with this character?

we both have the tone and emotional reading skills of a sockpuppet and need that shit yelled in our faces or else we’ll completely miss the clues, and i also want a mean bisexual to kiss me sometimes

7. what’s something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

i like when the fans use their brains for three whole seconds and acknowledge he was also affected by the incident!! i sadly dont have a less snarky answer

16. what’s your least favorite ship for this character?

i had to think so hard for this one since im neutral on so many of his ships, but probably solar system?? (which for those who dont have all the ship names memorised.. thats kel x sunny x aubrey x basil lmao) its a ship thats never really been appealing to me??which is strange cause i usually adore polyships..

17. what’s a ship for this character you don't hate but it's not your favorite that you're fine with?

i am so chronically neutral on sunkel, i really dislike how some people write kel more as sunny’s therapist than his like actual boyfriend.. and also i strongly prefer wlw sunny but that’s just my preference

#✨ ; ask #ask game

[evermetnotforgotten]

Set in the far future.

In many ways, Graham's relationship with his parents was quite simple. Firstly, be kicked out at sixteen because you were a delinquent little shithead who was well on the path to either being shot up on a street corner, or thrown in prison for being the one doing the shooting. Spend twenty-odd years in the wind. Then call dear old mum and dad up on a whim one day asking whether they're free for a coffee and a slice of cake—their choice, your shout.

They’d picked the key lime pie.

Most of their questions, surprisingly, had been in line with that of a normal suburban family. Less about his decades-long absence—the lie about getting out and into a job driving diplomats around seemed to inspire the desired amount of polite disinterest—and much, much more about ‘wait, you're telling us our long lost son is now married to a man?’ In their first few reconnecting dinners Graham had already located and defused the bomb of ‘we'd actually hoped and dreamed of our only son telling us he was only a gay teen instead of in a teenage gang,’ and done similar to the IED of ‘good thing we've changed churches since you were little or blessed Father Derrick would have simply had a stroke between the pews’—along with the total landmine, dear Lord in heaven the nuclear fucking blast of ‘but so… if you're married, doesn't that mean you're Gay now?’

But they were willing, and forthcoming. And surprisingly relaxed about his sudden reappearance in their lives.

All that had been left was for them to finally meet him—his sweet and kind husband, the infamous Lev. Which, apparently, called for dinner at Pete and Cressida's spacious suburban home.

"Topoff, my boy?" A question from Pete to Lev that Graham only moderately tenses up at, for more than one reason. Would rather not have to explain them all.

"Do you have any more of that sparkling, actually?"

"For you? Course we do. Would you pass the apple juice, hun?”

The first impression had nearly ended in disaster. Trust his old man and lady to blow through his first two cardinal requests immediately—he'd been firm to the point of militant on the topic of touching Lev without asking first, then witnessed in horror as his mother completely lost her mind and initiated a crushing hug. Then was the wine, though on that Lev had reassured they were in the green. Couldn’t drink on the meds anyway.

Now, outside overlooking the garden, wooden bannister flickering with light from the ceramic potted citronella candles, the wine flowing and barbecue cooling… things were actually starting to feel good. Calm. He's not checking his watch every minute, and his husband seems to be at relative ease while keeping deft pace with the conversation. Lev presses the kitchen knife down past the crust of the chocolate tart he’d insisted on bringing, listening to Cressida explain of the accreditation process of an arts therapist.

As the conversation dwindles, his mother twists her blond hair at the back of her head and spears it with a pin. The look brewing on her face is one of an imminent interrogation, but Graham recognises it far too late to cut her off at the pass.

"So you're… gay, Lev? Is that right, is that what you prefer?"

"Ma," Graham scowls, warning low and short. 

Just as Cressida's eyes flash with equal challenge, gearing up to meet her son’s protest with one of her own, Lev responds with an easy smile, a raised hand. "It's okay—I'm actually bisexual."

"Oh! So you're the same then. That must keep things simple."

Peter, whose cheeks are drawing closer to the tint of his chequered shirt with each fresh glass of wine, chimes in. "So you've been with both. Women, men… lucky guy, lucky guy…"

“Christ. Dad…”

"Yes, that is what the ‘bi’ part means, Pete. Oh, I know the loveliest lesbian couple whose daughter is a bisexual. Can you imagine that? All that diversity under the one roof."

Though Graham wants so, so badly to cup his hands over his face and screech into the miniature void there forever, Lev’s chime of a laugh rings above the abject horror roiling in his gut. “We do tend to flock, I’ll give you that.”

Seeming impressed with the response, Peter reaches for the bottle on the table and sets about refilling glasses again, even though most are still half-full. Graham reaches across to steady his mother's glass as the red comes dangerously close to sloshing up and over the other side. One of two teeny little dogs—rat-sized morsels that Daisy would have eaten for breakfast and barfed up before lunch—scurries around to their side of the table, interpreting the sudden movement as a potential signal of pending table scraps.

"Well," Peter says, "our son must have done at least one thing right in his life to have won you over. It's all a downright comfort, if you ask us. Isn't it, honey?"

He doesn't know quite why that's the part, out of everything, that gets him. Something slimy and misshapen rears its head within Graham’s chest, writhing through the holes of his ribcage where it's installed itself into the gaps and expanded like some sort of horrible, living caulk. He's done fuck all to deserve a man as good as Lev, right hand to God. Still feels as though he's long-conning him into staying, most days. But when his partner responds by taking Graham's hand under the table, giving a reassuring squeeze, the dial of all that noise is turned down low. The domesticity just a little less cloying.

"I feel lucky to have him, actually." A wink only meant for him. “He’s put up with me so far.”

"Ha! Just wait until you've been together forty years and he's still leaving dishes by the sink—"

"Or when it becomes impossible to go to on a fifteen minute shopping trip that doesn't turn into a forty-five minute catch-up with a playgroup friend—"

"I'm really glad that you two haven't changed. Just so glad.” Though Graham says it in exasperation, the fondness is hard to ignore. He brings his husband’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

"So Lev, Graham tells us you're working on a coffee table, is that right?"

-

“So… verdict?” He’s almost scared to ask, but needs to know his partner is okay after… all that. 

"They're nice! Really nice.”

“But…?”

A sigh from the passenger seat. “But it was… difficult. I guess."

Graham winces, blows air out through his cheeks. Should have known it would always be a little bit trial-by-fire. "Yeah, sorry. Thought they'd gotten all of the, uh, sexuality talk out of their system. Apparently not.”

Lev turns, giving him a curious look. "Oh, no, not that part. That was fine. Though I'm really glad they didn't want more details than they did," and a laugh tinged with the specific kind of glee of knowing exactly how terribly that could have gone. "I just… it's hard when I don't like how they treated you."

Graham frowns. He hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary in the course of the evening. "What do you mean?"

"Throwing your sixteen year old kid out of the house when he's clearly in it deep, and cutting off all contact." Lev shakes his head, looking out the windscreen at the blur of pines whizzing past. “Your dad said they were praying for you to come back… but how would they have known if you’d needed to?”

Graham hears his old man’s farewell of the night. Don’t be a stranger, hey kiddo? We’ve missed you. “I… used to rob 7-Elevens with that crew. In gorilla masks.”

Not a beat missed. “We’ve all been sixteen.”

Spotting a tiny smile out of the corner of his eye at his own bark of a laugh, Graham reaches over the handbrake to place his hand on Lev’s thigh. As always, it’s covered by a smaller, warmer one.

Now just as ever, Graham feels like he could be in awe of the indestructible core of his partner until the day that he dies. Though Lev would be the first to deny and the last to admit it, there's a grain of diamond at the very centre of him. 

Behind a fortress or surrounded by ash and rubble—it's still beautiful. Still incredible.

“I’d still… like to stay in touch with them.” Graham clears his throat. “If that’s alright. You wouldn’t have to come, though, if you don't want to.”

“Ah, wasn’t at all saying that we shouldn’t.” A gentle apology squeeze. “Would really love to go to that gallery.”

“Doesn’t have to be any time soon.”

“‘Course. But I want to. Let’s do it.”

#lgm writing #lev johnson #graham piece #alcohol tw

[apersonshapedcomputer]

Saw this prompt and my brain went into overdrive at the idea of enemies to lovers

The prompt: You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?"

My first attempt at creative writing in years:

"Well that's kind of desperate, and not just the part where you're asking me of all people." I adjusted the pens on my desk as I belittled my nemesis, who had rather rudely burst into my office with a gust of wind and blinding light.

"I mean really, the oh so powerful and heroic," I scoffed, "Dawnstar can't get himself a date and has to resort to asking Rhetoric, that, oh what was the phrase you used again?" I tapped my chin as if in though for a moment and snapped my fingers as a rose from my seat to check on a plant he almost knocked over in his haste to make my day more complicated. "Ah right, that avaricious monster mobster lady is what you called me." Assured that my shenzhen nongke orchid was unharmed I turned back to the righteous hypocrite loitering in my office.

"That was six years ago and I've apologized four times already dammit." He sighed tiredly, and my sometimes enemy, sometimes ally turned a painfully earnest expression towards me. "You may be a criminal but you run a tight ship, have an actual code of conduct, and I understand better now that the world can't be so neatly portioned off into good and bad. You are also one of the most sought after people in the city, are stupid rich, and I need to show him that I've moved on!" With this last exclamation he gracelessly half fell, half threw himself onto my hand crafted, vegan leather couch.

"And this isn't just me saying things," he continued talking, now lounging and airing his frustrations as if he were in his therapist's office, "I really am over him, but he's got half out social circle convinced that I'm still pining after him like a forlorn maiden in a two dollar bodice ripper. He said that he dumped me! I was the one who said the relationship wasn't working out!" Moodily he turned over onto his stomach and groaned into a pillow, "Never date a reporter…"

I activate the coffee machine I had built into my cherry wood desk, knowing that I would need the boost to deal with this disaster of a man. "So you grand plan to show everyone that you've moved onto bigger and much better things is by asking your, and I quote, "Arch Nemesis" to be your date to the wedding of the decade?" As the smooth scent of espresso began to waft up from the desk I opened up hidden compartment number six on my desk, tossing a few of the hard candies I keep in it at his head.

"I was sixteen! You were the most dangerous person I'd ever met and I got over excited." He started picking up the candies that had bounced off onto the floor and began unwrapping them. "We haven't even seriously fought since the red bridge incident two years ago. Shadow Keeper has you listed as a League Associate. C'mon, we've teamed up together before, and I know you haven't been seeing anyone since that summer thing with Lady Obscura, help me out here." Cheeks filled with candy he made the most pitiful looking pair of puppy dog eyes I'd ever seen at me.

"We haven't fought seriously since the red bridge because I spent three months running a cost-benefit analysis on adjusting my operations to fall a bit more in line with your ideas of ethical, and found that I'd save fifteen percent more time and money by doing so." Idly I took my mug from it's position under the coffee machine and took a fortifying sip. "You will also recall that every time that we've teamed up the world was at stake. As I live here I have a vested interest in ensuring it does not get taken over by a zombie outbreak, or inter-dimensional demons." Leaning back in my seat I hold eye contact with him.

"What exactly do I get out of this arrangement? You weren't wrong you know, all those years ago when you called me avaricious." I smile at him, happy to be in the familiar position of holding all the power in a deal. "I do things because I gain something by doing them. You used to cry from dawn till dusk that I was heartless and wanted to take over the world. I do want the world, I want to own all of it and I would do such a good job taking care of it." I take another long sip of my coffee, drawing out the tension. "What can you give me Dawn? What makes this little ruse worth my while?"

Shoulders tense he looked down at his hands, biting his lip in contemplation. After a few false starts he spoke. "I don't really have anything material to offer you, at least nothing that you couldn't buy a bigger, nicer version of." He looked back at me again, face and posture set as if he were staring down the end of the world once more. "I've known you for a decade now, and I like to think that I've gained a bit of insight into how you think. We both agree you're greedy, and more than a little controlling. You also have a dramatic streak a mile wide." With those words he flashed a sly grin at me, rather at odds with the goodie goodie boy-scout persona he maintains for the press.

"Think of the drama Rhe! The scandal! It would be the biggest story of the year, and you would be the one orchestrating it all." He leap up from his seat and giddily leaned over my desk, bracing himself on his hands and looming over me even more than usual. "People love a good enemies-to-lovers story, they'd eat it up. Tell me you wouldn't relish the opportunity to meticulously plan out every bit of the backstory I know you're already drafting in your head!" I had to squint a bit as he began to literally glow in his excitement. "Think of looks on everyone's faces when you roll up to that wedding with me as your new arm candy. Ex-boyfriend who? I'm living my best life as the sugar-baby of the richest person on this side of the Mississippi, and you are clearly basking in the glory of another successful thirty-seven point plan."

I took one of my pens and use the pointy end to push his face away from where it had gotten dangerously close to mine, leaving a dot black ink on his forehead. He continued to beam at me as I stared at him, considering his proposal. I do love a good spectacle, and so many of my plans lately had needed to be boringly practical.

"If I agree to this," I tapped him on the head with the pen as he began to vibrate in excitement, "If I agree to this, you need to understand that we're playing the long game here." I took a hold of his chin and leaned in until our faces were mere inches apart. "I have a reputation, and this will be a very public declaration that you are mine." He had stilled the moment I touched him, and seemed to barely be breathing as I spoke. "Do you think you can handle that Dawn? Can you handle being mine?"

He slowly blinked, and the reality of what this scheme would mean for him seemed to sink in. For a long moment he looked at me before sighing and relaxing into my hand with a small smile. "I'm always up for a challenge Rhe."

"Good." With a grin I released him and glided towards the door, "Now come on, we need to begin phase one of this performance!"

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

(part 2 here)

#writing #creative writing #enemies to lovers #writeblr #hero x supervillain #hero x villain #villain x hero #supervillain x hero #they're both bi #my conniving girlboss supervillain Rhetoric #her annoyingly endearing nemisis Dawnstar #i found the prompt on reddit #i imagine that they show up to the wedding dressed to the nines #and when it hits the news cycle an entire corner of the internet goes wild because their ship just became cannon #naturally they end up getting married

[adelle-ein]

it's been. quite a week "lace it's tuesday" yes.

it's hard and weird when a relative you don't get along with dies, and you're supporting everyone else in their grief while biting your tongue. it's hard because my siblings don't actually remember her and say things about how much she loved us that aren't based in reality at all. they even called her "grandma" which she never went by. it's not a coincidence that me and my oldest cousin were the two grandchildren who chose not to speak at the funeral (because we were always the barricade standing in front of the younger ones to shield them from her, and he was very much her least favorite to boot.)

she'd been dying for years to be clear. my aunt was speculating and thinks she probably had dementia for an absolute minimum of the last sixteen years, and her physical health has been awful my whole life (she'd been on and off hospice for about five years? they'd put her on and then she'd live too long, they'd take her off, etc.) she just. would not die. like i think we're all really relieved she died, even the family members that really did love her, she just had no quality of life or anything anymore the last couple of years. but yeah hospice called and said she was going to die a week ago and they were actually right this time.

she was mean and horrible long before dementia though. the story my dad told at the funeral just made me think of how awful she was. and some of the other "funny" stories my family shared just horrified me. and it was the smallest funeral i've ever been to, we only just had a minyan. because nobody wanted to come because she had no living friends and drove off a lot of her family. some she outlived, some she just abused. the only person other than her sons' families who came was my great-uncle on my mother's side, who isn't related to and didn't know grandma (they might've met at weddings and b'nai mitzvahs if that?) but lived nearby and decided to come. and while i'm not his biggest fan it was very nice of him (and the only reason we had a minyan and didn't need to grab random funeral home staff. sigh.) we had a rent-a-rabbi bc my aunt and uncle's was booked and he kept trying to come up with like...things to say about her? generic grandma sentiments. that were generally wrong.

my aunt wanted us to divide up a box of grandma's costume jewelry she had (apparently she's had it for years but was too scared to divvy it up until grandma actually died since grandma has yelled at her for gold digging before. Yeah. goes without saying but aunt is not a gold digger in any way) and i'm thinking of the stuff i took as gifts from her, not from grandma, because like. i don't want stuff from grandma. but a lot of it is stuff my aunt made and stuff that's genuinely cute and i'll enjoy having i just have to like. separate it. and i got to see oldest cousin for the first time in years so that was nice. and my uncle's doing the best i've ever seen him for a number of reasons and my aunt seemed to be doing well too (and she and cousin both made me dairy free mandelbrot loaves haha) (and she addressed both me and my brother as graduates which is really sweet bc most family is straight up ignoring my graduation so far)

but you know. things are complicated life is complicated i'm gonna rant to my therapists and bite my tongue in front of family bc it really is the right thing to do

i am exhausted though after the stress of rushing out of state rushing to funeral rushing back planes cars being in florida which is my personal hell, blah blah, Travel Shit and concurrently dealing with some medication-obtaining issues and worrying about my conferral and falling behind on work and just not having time for therapy. sigh

#lacevent #txt

[antvnger]

I can’t decide between friendly letter and heartbreaking letter for Tony. You choose

((How about both?))

Scott’s therapist suggested that instead of painting every time he needed a catalyst to release thoughts and emotions, he should try something different. Like writing letters. He didn’t necessarily have to send them. That was his choice.

This is one that’s addressed and even has a stamp on the envelope. But it’s been in the drawer of Scott’s desk at home off and on since he wrote it. It’s not bad or anything. Maybe just a little too…personal. And it’s kinda embarrassing. 

His therapist had him talking about his childhood lately. She said it was good to explore the hurt that lays in different parts of the past. And it got Scott thinking. And before he knew it, writing.

Tony, This will really be out of the blue, I know it will but this is stuff I really feel the need to get out of my mind and put down somewhere. It’s gotta be said here because as much as I love to talk, I don’t know how to say this stuff otherwise.

You are literally one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Ever. Like I have some good friends that I love to death, but you are your own category. I know that part I’ve said before but what I haven’t really said is you don’t know how long I’ve waited for a brother.

All. My. Life.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my sister, and I appreciate her. We have a good relationship and we had good times growing up. But at the same time, my childhood was so…lonely.

When you move about half a dozen times in just as many years, it can get pretty lonely. Attachments aren’t made because you’ve come to expect to lose them as quickly as you made them. And for that to happen in your preteen and teenage years, well that really does suck.

By the time I actually established roots in San Francisco, I was sixteen years old with no friends, desperate for some, and very hesitant to actually make them.

That’s why I wanted a brother so badly. I wanted a built in friend so I didn’t feel so lonely.

I was mad at my mom for a long time for not giving me a brother. Now be being older now and fully understanding what my mom had to put up with with my dad, well I’m just glad Sadie and I came around before things got that bad or we wouldn’t be here. And understanding all that now, I’d never wish my mom to go through any more shit than she already had to deal with.

But I can’t tell you how many times I cried myself to sleep over being so lonely and so sick and tired of being lonely.

I think I lost track of the point of this letter in my rambling, but the point is I wanted a brother/best friend for as long as I can remember. If you had told me back then I’d get one down the road, I’d have laughed.

But you’re worth the wait, big brother. You’re worth the wait. Thanks for being my big brother.

Love, Math Bro #2

Written letter meme

@stxrksarc

#ask scott lang #scott lang #ant-man #anon asks #stxrksarc #ask meme #written letter meme #math bros #tony stark #iron man #ant man #antman

[ineffible-chaos]

The Christmas Kids

Summery:

It's been four years since Craig Tucker stepped into South Park. After a nasty, one-sided breakup at sixteen with his long-term boyfriend, Tweek Tweak, Craig has been on a downward spiral with seemingly no end. With a new assignment from his therapist, Stripe #10 and enough medication to kill a small village, Craig is returning to the source of all his problems. Things have changed in South Park and some people don't know how to leave well enough alone. With new friends, old friends, and something in between, Craig just wants to disappear out of the lives of everyone

Parings: Craig/Tweek, Kyle/Stan, Kenny/Butters/Marj

“I dream of you in every waking and sleeping moment and its the sweetest and cruelest form of torture.”

Day one.

My name is Craig Tucker.

I’m twenty-two years old.

My therapist is making me do this assignment where I have to make an entry for a whole year. Three hundred and sixty-five entries. He told me that it was okay to skip a day or two if I forgot or didn't have the energy to write anything down. I don't mind this if i'm being honest, it's better than wallowing in my own self pity like I have been the last few years.

I think it would be rude to not introduce myself to you, even if you are just a leather bound book filled with empty space.

So.

My name is Craig Tucker and I'm depressed.

I was first diagnosed when I was sixteen when my boyfriend of six years broke up with me. Then a lot of stuff happened and I got the free upgrade of having MDD- major depressive disorder, a few years later. I’m gay, I’ve known since I was fourteen. You’re probably wondering, “Craig, how did you have a boyfriend for six years if you didn’t know you were gay until years after you started dating him?”

That, my friend, is the question, isn't it? I grew up in South Park, this fucked up little town in Colorado. The adults were insane, there was one fat kid who was a menace to society (his friends were too, I still hate them for Puru) and then there was Tweek.

Tweek Tweak was this neurotic little blond kid whose parents ran the only coffee shop in all of South Park.

We even fought once because of the fat kid I mentioned earlier. We’d played superheroes together (I was Super Craig and I beat the shit out of other kids, I loved it) and before we “dated”, we were doing some medieval shit with this new kid who farted. Like, a lot. It was a weird time.

Then the Asian girls started making yaoi fanart of us and the whole town had decided that we were gay, dating and that was that. We “broke up” shortly after and Tweek had decided to make me sound like a cheating bastard with some dude named Michael (srsly what the fuck, im still mad about that).

But I guess we just sort of stayed together after that. We fake dated for the town but we actually became really good friends and eventually the line between friends and being something more just… blurred. I was the only one who could calm him down and he was the only one I could stand touching me.

That's sort of my thing. My family never believed in coddling their kids and it was rare to be touched in a way that wasn't violent (I got into fights a lot) or those posed two second family pictures. I even remember flinching away from his touch in the beginning because it was so foreign.

I haven't let anyone else touch me since.

The thought makes my skin crawl, like having any one else’s hands on me but his made me want to throw up.

Sorry, I'm rambling aren't i? It's been a while since i've talked to anyone that wasn't the therapist.

I'm gonna be honest, book. I’m not okay.

I’ve been in love with my ex for nearly ten years and I don't know how to get over him. No one else clicks and a part of me is so, so tired of getting drunk and high to feel something other than misery and self pity that I just want everything to end. That sounds bad doesn't it? Who feels that way over some guy?

Everything feels heightened now because I'm going home to South Park for the first time in four years and I'm scared out of my mind. I was a complete mess that last year and a half of high school after Tweek broke up with me and I spent most of that time high, drunk or both on the first set of meds that made me feel numb enough that I could barely think and when i could, i was so fucking miserable i wanted to die.

If I'm being honest, I don't even know how I graduated. Despite what everyone thought about Kyle Broflovsky and Wendy Testaburger being the smartest in our grade, I had been on track to be valedictorian, which I hid from everyone as best I could. Sure, I had sucked at school when I was younger but the teachers had been able to tweak (ha, jokes) how I was taught and boom, smart as hell.

Honestly, I think my teachers felt bad for me and just passed the depressed gay kid who was dumped by his long term boyfriend for a fucking girl.

Ugh.

Book, this entry is making me want to jump so I’m gonna end it here. So see you for entry two, maybe I won’t be so miserable the next time we talk.

-Craig.

He flipped the book closed and flexed his fingers, which had cramped from the amount of writing he'd done. A part of him had almost felt bad for trauma dumping through the pages and immediately wanted to punch himself in the face because how fucking stupid is that? It's a book.

He hadn’t been lying as he wrote and he’d even felt like the slightest bit of weight had eased off of his shoulders for a moment. He looked around his barren dorm room and wished he could make time stop moving; graduation had come and gone and now he was heading back home to South Park for the first time in years. Apartments were too expensive in the city and he was completely wiped out from paying tuition.

So home it was. Tricia was about to be in her senior year of high school and he’d felt guilty for missing so many events the last few years. His mom was excited he was coming home and he had no doubt that every single miserable person in town knew the Gay Kid was coming back home.

Being out of the cold shadow of the mountains had done him good, his voice had finally let go of the lispy rasp he’d had for so long and he'd let his hair grow out so it stuck out from under his hat.

He looked towards the desk in his room and stood from his perch on the bed. Stripe #10 had been changed to his carrying case and he’d protested it, his angry weeks expressing just how he felt being in his tiny enclosure.

“Dude, chill. You’ll be in there for only a little longer and I’ll give you treats later.”

Stripe let out a huff in response.

“Don’t sass me young man, it's hard being a single mother dealing with your tantrums.”

Damn kids.

He shrugged his bag on and lifted the cage, leaving behind the dorm he’d occupied for so long. He left the key by the RA office and put Stripe in the front seat of his car, buckling him in and throwing the bag into the back seat.

“Don’t expect to see your deadbeat dad anytime soon bud, just because we’re going home doesn’t mean you get to see him.” He said to Stripe, who didn’t respond.

Teenagers are so ungrateful nowadays, he thought to himself and started the long journey to South Park.

this is also posted on A03

<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/

#south park fanfiction #creek nation #craig x tweek #craig tucker #craig tucker is depressed #college au? #technically it’s not but whatever #they’re the same ages anyways #south park angst #angst with a happy ending #angst with comfort #it’s gonna hurt #i’m sorry #at least the Style hurt won’t be so bad #maybe #hehe #kenny x butters #butters is gender-fluid #i love marjorine #their dad fuckin gets it #stephen stotch hate club #craig tucker is in therapy #tweek breaks up with him in high school #stuff happens