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tarotinapinch · 3 years

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Pile One: Green Fluorite Tower

1. Soul Gift: What you came here to express and share with the world.

*Portal: Doors are opening. You decide. Rewards. Wild Card.

*Share Your Voice: Come out of the cave. Persecution. Expression.

*Death

*Joy

You came here to share your own unique voice, one that is different than anyone else in this world. You may have been raised a certain way, but you are meant to break the mold and transform yourself into someone who is so vibrant and full of joy. You are meant to make your own decisions, unaffected by other people's opinions. Sharing your voice with the world could mean so many different things, whether it be singing, writing, becoming a licensed therapist, doing private readings for people or sharing public readings for the collective, being an influencer on social media, or even making YouTube videos ranting about your personal experiences. The possibilities are quite endless. But you have a specific calling that feels right to you. Go after it, that is your life purpose and you are meant to share these gifts to help raise the collective consciousness.

2. Karmic Wound: What you came here to heal.

*You Got The Love: Hadarian Energy. Codependency. Boundaries

*Keepers of the Earth: You are not alone. Ancient Ancestors stand beside you.

*Take Risk

*Authentic Truth

You have a major karmic wound within your blood family ancestry and that wound is named codependency. I could probably write an entire book on my own experience with this subject, but the main focus for you right now is how to set healthy boundaries. You very well could have grown up with a lack of boundaries as a kid and even into adulthood. Your immediate family could struggle with boundaries with themselves, therefore cross yours more often than you'd like to realize. Boundaries aren't hard to learn, but they can definitely be hard to practice, especially when those around you do not know how to set healthy ones. Here's some good news, though: you are the one who is meant to break and heal this family curse of unhealthy boundaries and codependency. Does this feel like a huge undertaking? I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't. But here's some more good news: although this may be quite the quest to take on, the solution is super simple. All you have to do is take the risk to live your most authentic life, to do what you want to do and be who you want to be at a soul level. These ancestral patterns will break and the healing will start, all just by you being unapologetically you and living only within your truth. Setting boundaries with yourself and with your family to uphold your promise to yourself about living authentically won't exactly be easy, but it will get easier with time and practice. Remember that it's normal to feel guilty when you first start setting boundaries, but also know that feeling guilty does not mean that it's the wrong thing to do. Start small, take it one step at a time. Before you know it, you'll be in such a better place and ready to take the next, even bigger step for spiritual journey.

If you would like to do some self-help research of your own, I highly recommend that you get your hands on a copy of Set Boundaries, Find Peace by Nedra Tawwab. Her book is the how-to manual on learning everything about boundaries. The way that she writes is so easy to understand and absorb. No psychobabble, just real talk and experiences.

3. Life Lessons: What you came here to learn.

*All Paths Lead Home: Inner authority. Intuition. Turn your gaze within.

*Deep Replenishment: Retreat. Rest. Be held.

*The Wildling

*Divine Animals

You came here to learn that no matter what path you choose to go down, no matter how crazy it may seem, you will always find yourself going the right way. In fact, the "crazier" your choice may seem to others, the more likely it's what is meant for you. You will never make the wrong choice, you will always end up home, whatever that word may mean for you. Your intuition is always on point and you're here to learn how to follow that inner voice with confidence, even if you may not be able to see the path forward at certain points in your life. You are also here to learn when to give yourself a break. You're a hard worker, perhaps brought up and taught that "there's no free handouts” and that you need to work hard in order to achieve anything in life. As much as we hear this "advice" from society, it's quite the toxic mindset. You should /never/ have to overwork yourself to the point of burnout just to be comfortable. You need passion and focus, of course, but those things do not have the same definition as "hard work". If you really enjoy what you do, then the "work" should be easy and fun for you. The more easy and fun the "work" is, the more time you can spend doing it without burning out and the more money you can earn. The more money you can earn, the more time you can take away to rest, rejuvenate, take a vacation, and care for yourself it whatever other means you feel necessary. Animals may also play a major role in your life whether they just be family pets that you have a close bond with, part of how you wind down and destress, or they could even be a part of your career. Whatever the case may be, you definitely have some important animal friends in your life that were sent by your guides to be a spiritual companion.

4. Current Obstacle: The thing that's challenging you the most.

*Star Ancestors: Hidden secrets. Lost Wisdom. Look a little deeper.

*Dance With Life: Do something to change your energy.

*The Outlaw

*Let Go

The hardest thing for you right now could very well just being able to feel like you can be yourself and do what you want to do without the fear of judgement from others. You may be feeling a bit stuck in a rut, our energy becoming a bit too stagnant for your liking and only adding to the stuck feeling. Know this: no one is holding you back or keeping you stuck. The only person in the entire Universe that can do that is your own self. So you can move and change your energies any time that you wish to. But you may be having a hard time letting go of the way things are because the logical part of your brain tells you "but this worked in the past, so why can't it continue to work now? Why shake things up when everything seems to be running okay?" True, it may have worked in the past, and it may be running okay now. But that doesn't mean that you are okay with how things are, nor does it mean that you have to accept things as they are if the energies don't vibe with you anymore. We are constantly evolving and therefore what we are comfortable with and what we are no longer comfortable with also fluctuate many times during the course of our existence. Do not fear what others may think, or the judgements they may make. This will only hold you back. The only opinion that you need be worried about is your own. As long as you are doing things for you that make you feel good about yourself and you are not intentionally harming others, then you're doing the right thing! Take a minute to meditate, clear your mind of anyone else's thoughts or opinions and ask yourself directly, "What do I want to do? What is it that would make me happy?" Whatever answer you come to that is not tainted with your family's, friends', or even society's opinions, is the true answer that you are seeking to follow.

5. Soul Calling: What your soul is calling you toward.

*Wait: It's not yet time. Things are being woven.

*Don't Dim to Fit In: How are you dimming your light in order to fit in?

*The Observer

*Focus

Right now is a time for some observance. Hold on a minute. Take a step back and really focus on your life and where you are currently heading. Are you doing the things that you truly want to do? Or are you doing things because you feel the need to fit in with others or with society as whole? Are you dimming down your true, vibrant personality because you feel like you need to fit a certain mold to get by or to be successful? If any of these questions ring true for you, spirit is telling you it is not time to move forward quite yet. Only move forward when you know that you are moving towards what /you/ want for you, not what others want for you. Stop dimming that beautiful personality down. Let it shine brightly like the stunning star that you are. Once you start living within this energy, really focused on your personal wants and needs, that's when it will be time to move forward with the next stage of your life.

6. Guidance Message from your Spiritual Team

*Seeker of Coins

*Become Aware: Create Space today to connect with your body. Find a comfortable place and close your eyes, bringing your awareness to your physical form. How does it feel? What does it speak to you? Do hidden emotions reside within? After you have connected with your body, ask yourself what your body needs in this moment

*Forgiveness

*Following the path of another. Your path is being redirected to where it should be.

Your guides want you to know that what you are meant to do for "work" in this life is quite different than what those around you do. I put "work" in quotation marks because I believe that if we are aligned with the right career path, "work" will never feel like work, it will just feel like a fulfilling and fun life that provides you with all that you need and more. These cards suggest that perhaps there is a family business or perhaps a career path that almost everyone in your family follows that you feel you are expected to follow as well. Just because your family follows this path doesn't mean that you have to as well. And you don't need your family's or anyone else's approval to go after the career choice that you truly long for. Maybe you've felt a pull to this path for a long time somewhere deep in your bones, but have kept putting it off to appease others, or for the fact that it seemed easier to follow an already paved road rather than to clear a path of your own. Whatever the case may be, forgive yourself for the time that you spent dwelling on this. You did not waste time, this time only made you realize what you did not want, and that is very important. Also forgive those around you who seemed to be persuading or pushing you in a different direction than what you really wanted. At the end of the day, they were most likely just trying to help you achieve the goal that they think you wanted. Don't be afraid to speak up for yourself and your needs. Express how you truly feel about things and start to go after the choices that feel right for you. Your true family and friends will respect and support your decisions and you will always be supported by the universe when you go after your dreams to make them a reality.

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kirishibi · 4 years

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Kindred Spirits | Bubaigawara Jin (Twice)

My contribution to the BNHArem flowers collab!

Flower: White Chrysanthemum, meaning loyalty and devoted love

Summary: you were born with a quirk that allows you to temporarily take other peoples’ emotions, though it makes it nearly impossible to create your own. every day, you sit out on city sidewalks hoping for people to let you borrow their unwanted emotions. Used to only feeling things like guilt, shame, and disappointment, you find yourself pleasantly surprised when a kind stranger comes along and donates happiness

Pairing: Bubaigawara Jin (Twice) x Reader

Warnings: No manga spoilers! jin smoking a cigarette, light cursing, pining, brief angst (hurt/comfort), sickeningly sweet fluff

Word Count: 4.1k

a/n: this is officially the longest single piece i’ve ever written and my back is feeling it. i’m so excited to have been able to participate in this collab, especially since I got to write one of my all time favorite characters! thank you so much @jojosmilktea for making the masterlist - you did a great job!

You sat against the brick wall of a quaint boutique in one of the busiest areas of the city, a frayed cardboard sign in your hands and rusted tin can beside your feet. The neat, permanent marker words on your sign read, ‘will take unwanted emotions for $’.

Your practice wasn’t entirely legal since you didn’t have a license, but with villain activity rising rapidly in the area, you were the least of the local authorities’ worries. Your tin only held enough change for a protein bar from the corner store and your muscles ached, stiff from sitting in the same spot all day, yet you told yourself to wait a little longer. Maybe you’d get lucky.

A bus rolled by, on its side an advertisement for some hero school at the edge of town, the tagline: ‘You, too, are destined for greatness!’ plastered in bold letters beside a photo of comically fake, smiling heroes. You couldn’t help but scoff as you watched the bus round a corner and disappear from sight, remembering the vain hope you held as a child seeing similar advertisements on T.V. Back then, you truly believed you would become a hero once you got your quirk - in fact, most kids your age did, excitedly awaiting the day they’d discover their unique “super power”.

On your fourth birthday, your quirk came in and tore away any hope you had for the life of a hero. That day, you discovered that you could steal whatever emotion someone was feeling with the touch of your fingertips, taking it for yourself and leaving them without until your quirk wore off. The catch, however, was that it became incredibly difficult for you to feel any emotion without stealing it from someone else.

Your quirk had a habit of activating involuntarily, so at a young age you began to wear gloves. It wasn’t long before rumors spread around your school that you were secretly a witch, or cursed, and you were bullied relentlessly from afar for the majority of your early life.

The treatment only worsened as you grew to adulthood.

In your world where heroes and super powers were commonplace, if your quirk was problematic or - god forbid - nonexistent, you were nothing but a stain on society, a weed in need of pulling. As a kid, you were reluctant to learn this fact, so life beat it into you. You learned a harsh reality very quickly - emotions became addicting once you were unable to feel them by yourself, and in desperate times, even the bad ones were better than nothing. Anything was better than nothing. Hardships hit you in waves until you had nowhere else to go, finding solace in a ramshackle apartment in the middle of the city, begging for unwanted feelings with a side of cash during the day, spending all night searching for a job on the web.

Without a useful quirk, wealthy upbringing, or a desire to turn to villainy, this was your place in society.

After around half an hour, you stood from your spot on the pavement with a disappointed huff, stretching your aching muscles for a moment before crouching to collect your things. “Excuse me!” A gruff voice called out from behind you, the words “Hey, bitch!” following closely after, without pause for you to respond. You thought you heard the person whisper a quiet ‘sorry’ before you whipped around, startled.

You found a tall, blonde man standing at the edge of the sidewalk, his hands shoved in patched jean pockets and his broad shoulders hunched sheepishly, as if he wanted to occupy as little space as possible. The man shifted nervously while you looked him up and down. A large, vertical scar ran up the center of his forehead to just shy of his hairline, and dark blond stubble dotted his sharp jaw. The faint frown lines bordering his lips and creasing the space between his brows told you he’d likely endured a life similar to yours. Most people who spent their time on these streets had, and after a while the signs became easy to spot.

You cocked your head slightly to the side, raising a brow. “Can I help you?” You responded curtly. Living in such an unpredictable area had certainly not made you any kinder.

“You have an emotion quirk, right? I, uh, saw the sign. ‘was wondering if I could donate.” His gaze evaded yours even as he spoke, the man instead opting to watch as his frayed sneakers anxiously toed the ground.

You bent down, grabbing your change-filled tin from the sidewalk and jangling the coins within, wordlessly telling him your service wasn’t free. He stepped closer, huddling at the inner edge of the sidewalk with you, hugging the wall so as not to block the path of those trying to pass by. He pulled a crumpled two thousand yen bill from his pocket and handed it over with a timid smile. To any of the businessmen who walked by, the cash would have been no more than pocket change, but to you, it was a fortune.

Your expression must have shown just how much his payment meant to you, as the man's smile grew wider, stretching to crease the corners of his eyes. He didn’t say anything, only watched as you stuffed the bill into your pocket for safekeeping, slipped off one of your tattered, cotton gloves and held out a bare palm. “Can I see your hand? It only works through touch.” As he slid a hand out of his pocket, you recited the same speech you gave to all of your customers: “Bring forth whichever emotion you’d like me to take from you - really make yourself feel it. I don’t get to choose what I take, so whatever’s at the forefront of your mind is what will be transferred. Effects can last anywhere between three to four hours. Oh, and no refunds. Any questions?”

He reached for your hand, but hesitated, his fingers hovering just shy of yours as he timidly asked. “Is any emotion okay, good or bad?”

You sighed, “Yeah, I don’t judge. Whatever it is, it’s better than nothing.”

He nodded and laid a heavy, calloused palm atop your own. You braced yourself for what you had grown used to - feelings of disappointment, shame, anger, hopelessness; the most common feelings of the dejected businessmen who worked in the area and passed your spot regularly.

As your quirk took effect, however, you didn’t experience any of those things. You felt the corners of your lips pulling into a grin entirely on their own, a joyous giggle bubbling in your throat and spilling from you before you could halt it. Your hands flew to your face, feeling your cheeks as they flushed pink from excitement. “Wh-what?” Was all you could manage in your surprised, giddy state. It had been months- no- years since you’d felt this way.

The man’s kind smile remained, though it no longer spread to his eyes. Like you, he seemed used to faking it. “I knew a kid with an emotion quirk growin’ up. He was a total loser. Uh- it made it harder for him to feel stuff on his own, so I wanted to...” He paused for a moment before timidly continuing, his next word hanging in his mouth as if unfamiliar to his lips “help. Just in case it was the same for you, ya ugly hoe.” With his joy depleted, embarrassment quickly took its place. The man’s teeth found his bottom lip as if to keep himself from saying more, and you thought you could see a faint blush spread along his cheekbones as he turned to leave.

You were startled by the way his tone shifted so quickly, yet his actions had been kind. You couldn’t help but think, maybe his quirk knocked a few screws loose in his head, too. Much to your surprise, you found yourself wanting to talk to him more, or at least pay him back in some way, but the man had donated joy, not courage.

“Thank you, sir!” was all you could manage as he made his way deeper into the city, the distance between you growing with each step.

He waved in acknowledgement before pocketing his hand once again and turning off into a darkened alley.

---

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you awoke the next day feeling refreshed. You felt a slight bounce in your step as you made your way to your typical spot, treating yourself to a cold drink from the cafe along the way. Thanks to the kind stranger from the night before, you could finally afford a refreshing beverage to fend off the ever intensifying heat outside.

You didn’t quite know why, but the sun seemed to shine a little brighter as it rose along the horizon, the colors that sunrise painted across the skyline more vibrant than previous mornings.

Your day went by fast, and soon enough dusk began to fall. The street lights surrounding you kicked on, signaling that it was once again time for you to pack up and return home. You stood, gathered your things, and turned to begin your journey back to your apartment when a vaguely familiar voice caught your attention, “Hey, wait up- get outta here!”

It was him.

You turned on your heel toward the sound of his voice, almost as surprised as when he showed up the night before. “You’re back?”

“Yeah, is that okay? Got a problem with me or somethin’?!” You watched him wince as the second set of words passed his lips. He gritted his teeth, shoulders tensing. Like before, he preferred to watch the ground between you rather than meet your gaze.

“It’s fine.” He glanced back up at the sound of your voice, and you flashed him a reassuring smile. The tension in his shoulders seemed to fade if only for a moment. “My regulars just tend to be angry white-collar businessmen, not, ya know...” You let your words trail off, unsure how to finish.

“Not people like you?” He filled in the blanks with ease, and you nodded in agreement.

A comfortable silence spread between you for a moment before he cleared his throat, pulling another creased bill from his pocket. You realized your hands were too full to take the cash and moved to set your things down on the pavement, but the man reached out a tentative palm, “I can hold your sign for ya. I don’t wanna. I won’t take it. I will. I- I just don't want it gettin’ all dirtied up if it’s your only one.”

You hesitated, “You don’t have to be so nice. I’ve lived here long enough to handle myself.”

“I believe you. Doubt it! But what kinda guy would I be if I didn’t try ta help out a sweet lady like you?”

His genuine kindness was entirely unexpected, but you saw no reason to be distrustful. After all, what use could he have for old, water damaged cardboard. You looked him over once more before handing him the already filthy sign and taking his payment with a newly emptied hand. You stuffed it in your pocket, slid off your glove, and held out an open palm like before. “Need me to debrief you again?”

“Yes, please!” His words betrayed him as he shook his head ‘no’. “I got it, thanks.”

Suddenly, you were grateful that you had figured out which of his voices to listen to, and which to ignore. He rested a large palm against your own. A second later, you felt sparks of joy ignite a fire within your chest. The blond’s touch suddenly felt pleasantly electric on your skin, and you allowed your hand to linger in his, reluctant to pull away.

Glancing back up, you realized that he had been watching you. The tender warmth in his gaze never left as he slowly, hesitantly slipped his fingers from yours. He reached into his jeans’ back pocket, revealed a half empty pack of cigarettes, “Got time for a smoke?”

You began to refuse on instinct, but the words caught at the tip of your tongue. Again, you found that you didn’t want to part with him quite yet. Something about him caught your interest, generous donations aside. A finger tapped your chin as you pretended to ponder your decision, then shrugged, “Yeah, I think I’ve got some time.”

Shoulder to shoulder, you propped yourselves against the boutique’s wall. He offered a cigarette, to which you declined with a slight shake of your head. When you reached to take your sign back so that he could focus on lighting up, he simply swatted your hand away and tucked it under his arm. “Aye, let me be a gentleman. It’s mine!”

Your chest felt fuzzy, heart fluttering. There was something beneath your good mood, something heavy and intoxicating that you’d never felt before, but you didn’t dislike it. Quite the opposite, in fact. “You’re weird” you teased.

“You’re weird” he responded without skipping a beat. There was another brief pause as he lit his cigarette, then spoke again “So, what’s your name, weirdo?”

You giggled, playfully jabbing an elbow to his side at the title, and he laughed with you. It had a deep, melodic timbre to it, hearty, disarming, and beautiful. You wondered how sweet the sound would be under normal circumstances, without your quirk draining him. “(Y/n). What’s yours?”

“None o’ ya business!” He rolled his eyes at himself, frustrated, then took a long drag from his cigarette. “Bubaigawara. You can call me Jin, though.”

“Jin Bubaigawara” You repeated his full name slowly, savoring the way it felt on your tongue, and grateful to finally be able to call him something other than ‘sir’.

“Sounds prettier coming from you, but yeah that’s it.”

At his words, warmth crept up your neck, dusting your cheeks a rosy pink, and tugging the edges of your lips into a shy smile.

Jin felt different from the people you grew up with. He looked at you with eyes entirely void of judgement or distrust, and even if only for a moment, he made you feel like someone understood -- like someone cared.

Hours passed as you talked about everything, yet nothing in particular. The two of you took turns just chatting, occasionally asking questions back and forth. You told one another of how you discovered your quirks, shared stories from school, spoke of your families, or lack thereof. He didn’t explain the scar on his forehead, nor his split speech, but you didn’t think to ask, either. They were a part of him, made him who he was, and you realized that night that you really liked who he was.

---

For the most part, your days passed as they always did, with little business in the mornings and a few agitated corporate underlings stopping by around lunchtime to rid themselves of the bitter frustration their coworkers gave rise to. However, during your long periods of downtime, your thoughts began to wander.

Typically, they wandered to Jin.

Often, as you got bored, you found yourself scanning passing crowds for a tall blond with tired yet kind eyes, sighing disappointedly when you couldn’t find him. As much as your quirk numbed you to most things, you weren’t entirely immune to simpler feelings, like the soft pang of missing someone or the nervous quickening of your heartbeat when you finally spotted him at the end of the day. You couldn’t deny that your draw to him only grew with each nightly rendezvous and slowly, butterflies began to appear in your chest even long after the effects of your quirk had worn off. You found yourself counting the minutes until he came to see you at the end of the day, and feeling melancholy when you parted ways late in the evening.

You had never been able to feel something without taking it from someone else first, but bit by bit that began to change.

---

One night a little over a week after you first met, Jin was ten minutes late to meet you - concerning, considering how punctual he’d always been until then.

When he did show up, he seemed agitated as he tried to make conversation, and the moment his eyes met yours, you knew something was wrong. “Jin?” You questioned. Though he’d been slowly breaking the habit as you got to know one another, his gaze once again glued itself to the ground. He gnawed on his bottom lip as he desperately tried to avoid eye contact. You moved closer and bent down slightly, forcing yourself into his line of sight though he tried to evade. Only then did you notice he’d been biting his lip so hard it had swelled, threatening to bleed. “Jin, are you okay?”

For the first time in your life, you felt genuine concern.

“Back off, bitch!” He clasped a hand over his mouth the moment the words flew past his lips, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I-” His voice broke as he repeated the words over and over again. “I can't help it. Yes I can. I don’t mean it. I’ll hurt you. Gah- damn it, shut the hell up, wontcha?!” He yelled at no one in particular.

You took a cautious step back to give him space, though you had no intention of running. You knew how it felt to find yourself stuck in a losing battle against your own mind. No matter what he said, you weren’t about to leave. Not like everyone else had left both of you.

Without a second thought, you reached out, entwining gloved fingers with his and tugging him down the sidewalk. He followed without hesitation, clutching your hand so tightly you thought it may break. You pulled him into a narrow alleyway for privacy, and the moment no one else was around, he hurriedly reached into his pocket, fishing out a two-toned mask. “Shit, I- I’m splitting up! I’m fine! I’m splitting all up- I love it!” Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as his bloodshot eyes finally found yours. “I’m splitting, (Y/n), you don’t understand I’m sp-!”

You put two and two together fairly quickly and swiped the mask from his trembling grasp, roughly tugging the skin-tight material over his head and down onto most of his face. You rattled off a stream of apologies as you helped him unceremoniously slide it the rest of the way on, certain you were pulling tufts of hair along with the fabric.

The moment his mask was fully in place, Jin exhaled a sigh of relief and dropped to the ground. You pushed away the countless questions racking your brain, instead forcing yourself to focus on the man before you. You lowered to sit beside him and placed a gentle hand on his back. Your thumb lightly rubbed the space between his shoulder blades as you sat together on the damp asphalt, barely noticing as small droplets of old rain periodically dribbled onto your shoulders from an overhead windowsill.

You didn’t have to wait long before he turned his attention back to you, shifting so you were face to face and cupping your cheeks with calloused palms. “You’re an angel! Marry me!” he excitedly exclaimed. You leaned into his touch despite the confusion clouding your thoughts, and suddenly you found yourself grateful your quirk only transmitted through your fingertips.

You didn’t know exactly what you were feeling in that moment - worry, adoration, compassion, panic - the lines between them all blurred together in your head, but it didn’t matter. The feelings were there, and they were yours.

Without a second thought, you threw your arms around Jin. He gladly reciprocated, nearly knocking you off balance as he wrapped you in a tight hug. “Sorry, that musta’ been real scary for ya, huh?”

You shook your head ‘no’ against his strong shoulder, “You’re gonna have to do a lot more than that to scare me.” He chuckled weakly at your words, and you reluctantly pulled away to meet his gaze once more. “Are you okay? I mean-” you sighed, “that was a dumb question, but you know what I mean, right? Do you need anything? Water, juice?”

“Juice! Stop stressin’! I’m fine now - when the mask is on, I become whole again! Good as new, see?” He flexed a bicep theatrically. The mask obscured his smile, but the slight squint at the bottoms of his eyes told you he was grinning from ear to ear. You nodded, letting out a breath that you didn’t know you had been holding in.

Hesitantly, you asked the next question on your mind: “Does that happen often?”

The man in front of you shrugged much too nonchalantly for the situation. “Most of the time I’m wearin’ the mask, so I don’t really gotta worry.”

Your brow furrowed. “I’ve never seen you in it before.”

“Duh, I always take it off to visit ya!” You cocked a brow questioningly, and he took the hint to elaborate further. “First time was an accident. You just caught my eye when I was on a walk without it, and I wanted to help ya out a bit ‘cause of that one guy from school.” He shook his head slightly, still smiling. “You’re so pretty, though - especially when you’re happy - I just had to come back. But you’d already seen me without the mask, so I jus’ took it off when I went to see ya.”

Whether his intention or not, Jin’s words forced a smile onto your face. The butterflies in your chest buzzed to life as he locked his fingers with yours, squeezing happily when he saw the blush on your cheeks. “The mask wouldn’t have changed a thing about how you make me feel, dummy!” you confessed before you could talk yourself out of it. “You’re still you-.”

Not willing to let go of your hand, Jin dragged it along with his as he raised an index finger to halt your statement. “Did ya just say ‘feel’? You’re feeling things now? An’ you didn’t tell me?!”

“I didn’t want to interrupt what was going on with you!” You argued, giggles dampening your fake-serious tone.

“Silence, woman! That’s amazing!” He leapt to his feet, pulling you up with him and twirling you around in a circle. The happy tune of your combined laughter bounced off the brick alley walls, only serving to make you laugh harder before he halted you with an embrace. “Good job, you!”

“Good job, you!” You chimed back.

---

Your routine continued normally the next day. The street lamps flicked on at dark and, like clockwork, you spotted Jin in the distance. Unlike previous nights, though, this time he seemed to be carrying something. As he neared, crossing under the bright spotlight of a streetlight, you realized it was a flower - a white chrysanthemum, to be exact. You bounded toward him, meeting halfway down the sidewalk and practically tackling him in a delighted hug.

Jin’s free hand found yours as you separated, so that he could keep holding onto some part of you as you spoke. His other hand slipped the stem of the flower behind your ear, making sure it was secure before pulling away and taking in the view. “Ug-lee! You’re so pretty!”

You blew a playful kiss, “Thanks, to both. How did you know I love chrysanthemums?”

“I just hoped, ‘cause I love ‘em too. Do you know the meanin’ behind ‘em?”

You shook your head ‘no’.

“Devoted love, apparently. I’m pretty damn devoted to lovin’ you!”

You knew Jin was about to nervously ramble, apologizing after his second statement, so you halted him with a finger to his lips. When he fell silent, you detangled your hand from his, much to his displeasure. Working slowly so that he could stop you at any point, you hooked your thumbs under the hem of his mask. His breath caught in his throat as you carefully tugged it up, just enough to expose his mouth.

You found yourself grateful for the desolate streets that late evening provided as you stretched onto your toes and pressed your lips to his. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him as you deepened the kiss. After a few sweet moments, you pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, “Good, because I’m pretty damn devoted to loving you, too.”

#jin bubaigawara #twice #twice bnha #twice x reader #jin x reader #jin bubaigawara x reader #twice bnha x reader #twice fluff #lov fluff #league of villains #lov x reader #league of villains x reader #kiri writes #server collabs #bubaigawara jin #bubaigawara x reader

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aliciameade · 4 years

Text

Full Reveal

Title: Full Reveal Author: aliciameade Rating: E for Extra Fun Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Chloe and her [very famous] girlfriend Beca escape into anonymity at a Las Vegas burlesque performance, though the show has other plans for them that stir up some playful feelings of jealousy and possessiveness that beg to be addressed.

Also on AO3

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“Ladies? If you’d follow me?”

“I saw that,” Chloe teases in Beca’s ear, fingertips tickling Beca’s lower back through her sheer black shirt.

Beca’s response is little more than a side-eye and a smirk as she shoos Chloe’s hand away. Chloe takes no offense, of course. They are less than alone as a concierge leads them through a dark, sultry hallway teeming with people in various states of inebriation. Their escort is an attractive blonde wearing a black three-piece suit and stilettos, though she seems to have forgotten to don the shirt beneath the vest to leave ample cleavage on display and Beca hadn’t been very discreet about looking at it.

They’re in Las Vegas for the weekend. Beca is there ostensibly for work—she’s performing tomorrow night at Mandalay Bay—but when she’s not scheduled for soundcheck, press, meet and greets, and the concert itself, the weekend is for the two of them. They’ve sacrificed the privacy and seclusion of the embarrassingly large home they share in Malibu in favor of a weekend of fun.

They’d sacrificed anonymity years ago when Beca decided, with the support of their friends, to take the leap into becoming a solo artist, leaving behind the frustrating and often unfulfilling career in music production she thought she’d been made for.

It turned out that performing was a lot more fun for her.

The paychecks were also a lot bigger.

And Chloe was by her side for the breakneck launch of Beca’s new career, quietly smiling as she trailed a few steps behind on red carpets, tucked herself into corners of green rooms while Beca entertained VIPs after concerts, and watched her girlfriend present at award shows from backstage monitors.

The general public doesn’t know who Beca is dating, or if she is dating anyone at all. She doesn’t talk about having a current relationship in interviews, just tales of bad ones in her past. There are plenty of rumors and theories, and some people are correct in their hypothesis that the friend often accompanying Beca to parties or seen grabbing coffee or grocery shopping with is more than just a friend.

It’s a privacy thing for Beca. She is out and proud, finally, and she had decided she didn’t owe the public more of her than she was already giving them. Chloe respected that decision; she waited so long for Beca, she probably would have agreed to the wildest of terms if it meant finally being in a relationship with the woman. But simply keeping their relationship status away from the public wasn’t a big ask. Their friends and family knew. Beca’s team knew. But the public was left to its own conjecture.

It helped that part of why Beca didn’t want to share that part of her life with the public was because she wanted to protect it.

It was really damn romantic for Chloe.

It’s also fun. It’s like they have alter egos and tonight they are attending the midnight performance of Luxury X Lace in a small cabaret venue in the depths of a massive casino as nothing more than two friends having a girls’ night out in the city that never sleeps. It was the hottest ticket in a town full of hot tickets, an X-rated burlesque that confiscated cell phones at the door in exchange for your choice of black, silver, or gold masquerade masks to help strip patrons of their identity and inhibitions and immerse them into a world of high-end debauchery.

Beca’s publicist had made a phone call and Beca and her good friend Chloe were invited to the Friday night performance. Phones were exchanged for masks—black for Beca and silver for Chloe—to be led into the cabaret hall.

It’s far more intimate than Chloe had expected. There are a dozen tables arranged around the X-shaped stage and three lines of booths curving around the wall behind the tables. The stage is empty save for a single black chair positioned at the center of it. Music pulses around them.

They are shown to the center booth on the first level, something Chloe suspects is likely the choice seat in the venue. She’s been with Beca long enough to recognize plenty of such perks.

She prefers other types of perks that come with being with Beca, though. Like the way Beca’s hand immediately comes to rest on Chloe’s bare knee just below the hem of Chloe’s gray pleated skirt. Chloe smiles to herself and peruses the themed cocktail menu, content with their proximity and connection. She knows there will be more tonight once they are back in the privacy of their suite at the Mandalay.

“What are you thinking?”

Chloe lets herself smirk, knowing Beca will see it and read exactly what Chloe was thinking, though she knows that wasn’t what Beca was asking. “I think I’m going to try this one, the ‘Satin Sheets,’” she says, tapping on the menu before rotating it so Beca can choose as well.

She watches other patrons arrive to be shown to their tables, the air of excitement growing around them as scantily clad waitresses start to weave their way from table to table collecting drink orders. They spend time flirting with everyone and Chloe notices the way they don’t hesitate to offer a friendly touch to their customer: a playful nudge of a shoulder, fingers through the short hair of the men, winks, and close examinations of manicures or rings on the women.

When a blonde arrives at their table, Chloe thinks that perhaps they will be exempt from this flirtation. Their seating in the booth is not conducive to a waitress sidling up next to someone as can be done at a table and chairs on an open floor, but to compensate, the waitress simply slides into the booth next to Chloe and offers a well-practiced sultry smile.

“Hello, ladies. My name is Jasmine, and I’ll be sure you’re well taken care of tonight.”

Chloe thinks Jasmine might recognize Beca, even with the mask. There’s a bit of a hesitation in the way her eyes linger on Beca. Or maybe she’s just appreciating Beca’s eyes and lips and jawline the same way Chloe does. Or maybe she’s just working on a good tip. But Chloe knows they are in the high roller seat and it wouldn’t take much for the waitress to connect the dots. And that means she and Beca need to be best friends. Not girlfriends.

“Hi, Jasmine,” Chloe offers and can’t help her smile when the attractive woman leans in to slowly wrap a lock of her red hair around a finger.

“I love this color,” Jasmine purrs and even though Chloe knows exactly what the waitress is doing, her own natural inclination to flirt responds.

“It’s natural,” she purrs right back, leaning into her space. She can feel Beca’s blunt fingernails press into her knee before her hand disappears. That is another perk to their secret romance: getting to experience Beca’s possessiveness. It rivals her own for Beca.

“Can you prove it?” The waitress lets her eyes drop unabashedly to Chloe’s lap before they’re back on her eyes.

“Yes, she can.”

Chloe sees the amusement on Jasmine’s face at Beca’s interjection and the waitress backs off, interpreting Beca’s answer as asserting her dominance.

Beca asserting her dominance is nothing new. She’s been good at that since she was in college. Taking control of situations. Putting people in their place. Making people listen to what she has to say.

She asserts it everywhere but in the bedroom that she shares with Chloe.

Jasmine is unfazed by Beca, even if she does stop touching Chloe. Her demeanor is still dark and flirtatious and she redirects her attention to Beca. “Mmm, I love your voice.”

Chloe’s sure Jasmine knows now. In fact, it’s entirely possible that every employee of the production knows that Beca Mitchell is their special guest this evening. That is often the case if they attend some type of event when Beca insists she makes the calls to get the best seats and the backstage access and whatever else she thinks Chloe should have.

Chloe’s attention shifts to Beca and her reaction, but she’s well-versed in this act as well. Chloe’s bared witness to Beca emerging from her cocoon of early adulthood and her wavering confidence and awkwardness. Chloe knows Beca can charm her way into anyone’s pants nowadays, with or without the game.

She charms her way into Chloe’s on a regular basis.

“Then you’d love how it sounds moaning your name. Jasmine, was it?” Beca’s voice drips over the waitress’s name and Chloe feels her own thighs clench at her tone.

Chloe tries to mask her reaction—arousal and amusement—by adjusting the way her hair sits over her shoulders. She knows this is a game for them. It’s hot to watch Beca flirt with other women knowing it’s Chloe’s skirt that her hand will be up on the way home. So many people wanting her girlfriend but her girlfriend only wants her.

God, she can’t wait to get back to their room tonight.

“She’s going to have the Satin Sheets,” Beca continues, ordering Chloe’s drink for her. “And I’ll take the...Pillow Princess,” she concludes.

Chloe’s no fool. She knows why Beca chose that one; she knew she would the moment Chloe saw it on the menu.

Maybe Chloe really, really likes it when Beca uses her tongue. And maybe Beca likes using it just as much. Chloe’s not ashamed one bit that she asks for it with the frequency that she does.

“A perfect combination,” Jasmine says, reaching across the table just to graze her fingers over Beca’s knuckles. Working extra hard earning the big tip from the celebrity table. “I’ll be right back.” Her exit is as practiced and graceful as her appearance was and Chloe feels Beca’s hand back on her knee, maybe an inch or so higher than it was before.

“You’re such a flirt,” Beca says with a sly smile. She knows the game, well, too.

“Well, she has great tits,” Chloe answers with a shrug, playing along with their evening of Gal Pals.

That manages to ruffle Beca's feathers the tiniest bit, and she knew it would. Cleavage is something Beca definitely excels at and it’s on display tonight thanks to the black push-up bra she’s wearing beneath her sleeveless sheer black top. Chloe had unbuttoned it almost completely while they were in the elevator, leaving only the last three buttons remaining fastened. It created a wonderful peek-a-boo effect, sometimes revealing bare skin, sometimes not, and she’d given in to the temptation to press her lips to the swell of Beca’s right breast before the doors had opened. She can still see the faint imprint of her lipstick on it when the light catches it.

Beca narrows her eyes and pointedly brushes one side of her open blouse aside as a reminder of her own assets—as if Chloe could ever forget—and Chloe lets her eyes roam over the expanse of skin, tongue wetting her lips with obvious want.

That seems to rectify the situation. The corners of Beca’s mouth twitch and Chloe has to bite her lip at the way Beca’s fingers suddenly sweep up her inner thigh to graze between her legs before her hands are both above the table to accept the drinks their waitress has already returned with.

“Enjoy,” Jasmine says with a wink before departing once more.

“Mmm, we will,” Chloe says as she takes hers in her hand. “Shall we toast?”

Beca nods and lifts her glass as well. “To what?”

“To seeing where the night takes us.”

Beca’s mouth pulls into the attractive smirk Chloe fell in love with so many years ago. “What happens in Vegas…” she says and taps her glass to Chloe’s.

They drink together as the lights dim until the room is in near darkness. Under the safety of the shadows, Beca presses herself closer, her fingers moving absently but sweetly over and along Chloe’s knee and thigh. Not progressing. Just touching. Chloe lets her arm slip over Beca’s shoulders, something that is more conspicuous, but the only people who know who Beca is are those focused on putting on a show.

A single spotlight hits the chair center stage and a figure emerges from the darkness behind it, dark hair, long legs, sparkling lingerie, platform stilettos.

They watch the performance in silence. It’s a mixture of blatant sex appeal and tongue-in-cheek humor, the performers—mostly women but a few men—each having their own unique talents and schticks, an androgynous emcee by the name of Angel guiding the audience through the evening.

Angel is funny and personable as they flirt with patrons and performers alike, cracking one-liners between performances.

Chloe watches as several performers make their way out of the wings and onto the stage until the X is occupied by eight women in matching sparkling red lace lingerie, a ninth waiting at the center wearing a black leather bustier, thigh-high boots, and holding a riding crop.

Her appearance earns a particularly boisterous round of cheers from the audience and Chloe has to admit that the woman is the most attractive person on stage, all legs and tits and long, purposely mussed blond hair.

Beca’s fingers have stopped wandering. Instead, they’re tapping along to the beat of the music. She finds rhythms woven and hidden in the instrumentals that Chloe would never hear if not for Beca’s keen ear. The soundtrack for the evening largely consists of remixes of popular songs. They’re recognizable but without the vocals, not distracting.

“And now, ladies, gentlemen, neither, both, and those yet-to-decide,” Angel says with a dramatic flourish as they slowly turn in place as if addressing each person individually, “Scarlet needs a victim—I mean, a volunteer.”

A murmur of excitement rolls through the audience and Chloe thinks she feels Angel’s attention land squarely on their table. She can’t be sure due to the lighting; it’s possible they’re eyeing everyone in the room to increase the tension. Chloe can feel it in the way the initial excitement is now silent other than the thumping bass of a remix of a remix of a song Chloe can’t quite put her finger on in her pleasantly inebriated, slightly distracted state.

Beca seems to recognize the song, the tapping on Chloe’s knee shifting to one of confidence. It registers with her just as she senses Beca turning as if to whisper something in her ear but Chloe beats her to it.

“Hey, this is your—” is all she gets out before a lace-clad woman is taking Beca’s hand to invite her out of the booth.

“It seems we have a volunteer!” Angel initiates an encouraging round of applause from the audience.

Chloe watches with equal parts amusement and trepidation as her very famous and very secret girlfriend is led—willingly, she notices—down through the tables and toward the stage while a version of one of Beca’s biggest hits thumps and swirls around the room. She wonders if Beca knew this was going to happen for as ready as she was to slide out of the booth to be taken to the stage where Chloe watches her climb the three steps.

“I didn’t tell you to sit,” Scarlet chastises as soon as Beca moves to sit on the chair in the center of the stage.

It makes Beca laugh and stand up straight, hands clasped in front of her.

“You didn’t even let me give you a proper welcome,” the new host says with a shake of her head and Chloe can tell she’s looking Beca up and down appreciatively.

“Sorry.” Chloe can’t really hear Beca; she doesn’t have a microphone as Scarlet does, but she sees it on her lips.

“Did I ask you to speak?” Scarlet scoffs toward the audience, causing laughter to bubble up from the tables. “Now, what should I call you?” She extends the microphone to Beca who hesitates before speaking.

The premise of the club is anonymity to allow everyone to indulge in their dark desires, but she still answers, “Beca.”

It makes Chloe’s heart stop. She knows it will take people a matter of seconds before they figure it out. She might be wearing a mask, but with her song playing and saying her name, there’s no hiding exactly who has been selected for the main event. She’s grateful that cell phones were confiscated upon arrival. If they hadn’t, she knows this would be broadcast on Instagram Live. The excitement in the room is palpable as the audience puts the pieces together.

“Beca? Everyone, let’s give Beca a warm welcome.”

The applause is not a polite smattering this time. It’s boisterous and full of whistles and shouts and Chloe just sits forward to prop her chin on her clasped hands. This wasn’t how she expected their night to go.

“Okay, Beca,” Scarlet says, her stance so casual despite her costume, “would you like to sit down?”

Beca moves to sit and yelps when Scarlet makes quick work of the riding crop. It was so quick Chloe didn’t even see it but she’d clearly used it to stop Beca from taking a seat.

“I didn’t tell you to sit. I asked if you would like to sit.” Scarlet shakes her head as she says it and the audience laughs, fully engaged in watching pop star Beca Mitchell get womanhandled. “You see, Beca, I’m the one in charge here.”

And womanhandled she gets. Scarlet’s hand, the one not holding her microphone, is on the back of Beca’s neck and wandering across her shoulders and into her hair in a way that makes Beca visibly shiver. It also makes Chloe clench her jaw.

“I know you’re a woman who holds a lot of power, but something tells me you like to give up control now and then. Am I right?”

There are teasing whistles when Beca laughs and says, “Yeah,” into the microphone.

“I think you mean, ‘Yes, ma’am.’”

“Yes, ma’am,” Beca repeats.

“Good. Obedient,” Scarlet praises, starting to circle Beca slowly though still managing to not stop touching her. “So you’re going to listen to me, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl. Now sit.” A hand in the center of Beca’s chest pushes her down into the chair. It makes the audience whistle again.

Beca makes eye contact with Chloe once Scarlet is out of the way and flashes a smile and the small hand gesture they came up with shortly after they began dating, something they could do inconspicuously to let the other know, ‘The situation is okay, not to worry, I love you.’ They use it on red carpets, at press junkets, interviews, and appearances. Chloe was always so worried Beca was being pressured into sharing more than she wanted to or getting upset that people would confront Beca about dating rumors on national television. It was a good solution and one that has grown to have a deeper meaning for them both as time has passed.

It helps Chloe relax. It means Beca’s fine. That she did, in fact, probably agree to this in advance when she made the arrangements to attend. Chloe sits back in her seat though is no less attentive to how Scarlet is touching Beca.

It’s fifteen minutes of amusement and agony for Chloe as she watches Scarlet entertain the audience by catching Beca misbehaving, taking action before being given permission to do so, or forgetting to say, “Yes, ma’am.” It’s particularly painful when Scarlet’s stiletto thigh-high boot gets planted on the seat of the chair right between Beca’s thighs. She’s instructed to kiss it and Chloe watches with rapt attention as Beca hesitates before doing so, kissing Scarlet’s knee.

Chloe doesn’t like it, not one bit. But she does enjoy it, which is more than a little confusing. The one thing she is sure of is that she wants the show to end so they can go back to their room where Chloe can show Beca just how much she enjoyed her performance.

It’s fifteen minutes of Beca being ordered to her knees, to lie down, to stand up, to answer questions, sometimes messing up and getting swatted across her ass with Scarlet’s riding crop. It’s entertaining for everyone, Beca included who is smiling most of the time, except when she’s ordered to wipe it off her face. Everyone is entertained by the sexy blond dominatrix making sexual innuendos with Chloe’s girlfriend, touching her, spanking her, making her laugh, and assuredly blush as the crowd gets way more than they paid for. Not just a night at Luxury X Lace but fifteen minutes of Beca Mitchell, whose concert tickets top out in the $500 range for premium seats, being sexually teased and willingly degraded.

By the time it’s over and Beca’s sliding back into their booth, Chloe has to check to see if her own fingernails have made her palms bleed from clenching her fists so hard.

“Was that fun?” she asks, making no effort to hide her irritation from her voice.

It doesn’t seem to bother Beca, though, who ignores the question and leans in to kiss Chloe. It’s hard and demanding and not something they should be doing in public and Beca’s hand returning to her thigh under the edge of her skirt makes Chloe forget why she was annoyed in the first place.

“Everything okay?” Beca asks when they part after a few more seconds.

“Um,” Chloe feels dazed, “yeah. Um...people?” She reminds tilting her head toward the rest of the seating area.

Beca just smiles and slides her hand higher up Chloe’s skirt. “No one’s watching us.”

It makes Chloe grab Beca’s hand to stop it and turn to look around. Beca’s right. The show is continuing and even though Beca’s cover is blown, their privacy in the booth remains in-tact. The audience is more interested in the mostly naked women and men on stage, not what the celebrity is getting up to with her secret girlfriend at the burlesque show.

“Oh, my God,” Chloe breathes. She can’t believe she’s agreeing to what Beca so immediately suggested upon her return. But something about what she watched did things to her. Turned her on. Made her want to remind Beca who was really the one in charge, and their name isn’t Scarlet. She nods and kisses Beca again while releasing Beca’s hand to let her do what she wants.

Beca’s smooth about it. They’ve had years to memorize perfect angles, perfect rhythms, and Chloe hates (and kind of loves) that Beca pulls back from their kiss to watch Chloe’s masked face respond to her fingers moving up and slipping beneath her lace thong.

Beca’s smile is annoying and Chloe knows exactly what she’s thinking: Chloe is way too wet for two minutes of kissing. She’s been enjoying the show. Specifically, Beca’s role in it.

“Fuck,” she quietly laughs, pressing a quick kiss to Beca’s lips before turning her attention back to the performance. She knows they could probably get away with a lot more than Beca’s hand up her skirt, but that’s what makes it fun. The game. Will they get caught? Will the world finally know who Beca’s talented, multi-million-dollar mouth is making come nearly every night?

She feels Beca settle comfortably next to her, one hand lifting her drink to her lips, the other pressing two fingers into Chloe to start fucking her slowly. Chloe hates that she knows Beca’s intentions: if she hadn’t done that, if she’d just kept her fingers teasing Chloe’s clit, she’d be coming in a matter of a few minutes.

But she won’t now, not like this. Not with Beca fucking her almost leisurely, a slow pace that reaches as deep as the angle allows. She hikes up her left knee to prop her foot against the leg of the table and open herself wider. It doesn’t make Beca move any more quickly, but it does help her push deeper.

It makes Chloe’s head tilt back to rest against the booth. She doesn’t need to watch the performance. No one cares. No one’s watching them. The music is loud and Angel is narrating and people are applauding and Chloe lets herself moan.

She slips her arm behind Beca’s shoulders to keep her close, playing with her hair to make her shiver as Scarlet had. But it’s Chloe whom Beca is fucking in public. Not Scarlet. The thought makes her fingers twist and they tug maybe a little too hard on Beca’s hair because she hears her gasp in her ear.

Chloe wonders how long Beca will torture her. She’s so turned on but Beca’s not driving her any closer to her climax. It’s a prolonged plateau and Chloe starts to feel that it’s less about getting her off and more about Beca wanting to do something risque when people know who she is.

It’s not the first time; they’ve snuck off to bathrooms and coat check rooms many times over the years for quick fun, but Beca has never been this bold.

She clenches around Beca’s fingers and feels them curl inside her. She thinks it might encourage Beca to speed up but instead, she pulls out completely.

It makes Chloe’s head snap up, ready to complain about the loss only to open her eyes to Beca sucking on her fingers before she’s clapping enthusiastically along with the rest of the audience and dropping a trio of hundred-dollar bills on the table to tip their waitress.

The show is over and Chloe has no idea how it ended. She doesn’t care. All she cares about is how much she needs to come and how quickly they can get back to their hotel.

People are still clapping when their escort upon arrival appears. “Ladies? Let’s get you out before the mass exodus.”

Beca finishes off her drink and scoots out of the booth, reaching back for a slow-to-move Chloe to take her hand and help her. Chloe isn’t drunk, far from it in fact. But she’s so aroused she’s not thinking very clearly and smiles her appreciation as Beca helps her out and to her feet.

Her mind clears a bit as they walk, though she can feel how wet and swollen Beca’s made her with every step she takes. She’s grateful for the early exit; Beca no longer being anonymous means she is fair game to anyone who can get to her. They’re led not the way they entered but through a side door that drops them right next to the desk where they’d checked in. Phones returned but masks retained, they turn to make their way out of the casino.

“What were you thinking?” Chloe asks as they walk with notable speed through the maze of slot machines following signs pointing toward the exit.

Beca’s smile is really more than a smirk. “Are you complaining?”

Chloe doesn’t really have an answer to that. She’s not complaining. Maybe some notice about being the featured guest would have been nice, but she doesn’t want to talk about celebrity life and privacy right now.

Right now, she needs Beca to finish what she started.

“No,” she says with a shake of her head. Then, driven by need and adrenaline and the fact that word has probably not yet spread that Beca Mitchell is in that particular casino and they still have their masks, she pulls Beca aside and up against the side of a bank of slot machines to kiss her.

She wants to do it right there. She wants to tell Beca to kneel like she did for Scarlet and put her head under her skirt and make her scream in front of everyone.

Instead, she kisses Beca hard, tongue and teeth and hands on her ass until it’s Beca who moans this time.

Chloe pulls away abruptly just as Beca had when the show ended and it’s her turn to smirk at how disoriented and aroused Beca looks. “Come on,” she says as she takes her hand and pulls them toward the path to the exit once again.

It takes longer than it should to get back to the Mandalay Bay. If they could manage to make it more than two blocks without someone being pushed against a wall, a planter, or a vending machine to make out, it would only be a fifteen-minute walk.

Instead, they’re finally in the elevator forty-five minutes later behaving themselves because there are three other people riding up with them. They both know they’ll be the last ones off; Beca’s suite is on one of the uppermost floors. It makes Chloe tingle with anticipation because she knows it’s going to be a competition of who does what first as soon as they are alone.

It’s Chloe who wins. The last person steps off and before the doors are even closed, she has Beca against the rear wall of the elevator, tongue in her mouth and hands up her shirt and under her bra. They have six floors to go which is only a matter of seconds but it’s long enough to make Beca say, “God, I need you,” when it ends and the doors open.

They’ve had their share of rushing down hotel hallways to lock themselves in increasingly upscale rooms to ravage one another and this time is no different. It’s a choreographed dance at this point. Chloe’s the one who has the key out and ready because Beca usually can’t find hers or can’t focus long enough to insert it.

Chloe’s able to unlock it by touch at this point because so often she has Beca pressed up against the door, sometimes kissing her, sometimes breathing hotly in her ear while her hand wanders to indecent places. With a quick click, the door swings open and they spill into the palatial suite. It’s a dance as well, removing shoes while careful not to trip over each other or furniture or bags as Beca pulls her mask off and tosses it aside, followed by Chloe’s before she’s pulling Chloe down onto the oversized couch in the center of the room.

“Can’t even wait ‘til we get to bed?” Chloe asks with a smiling kiss before she moves back so she can unbutton Beca’s jeans.

“Whatever,” Beca says. She arches her back and reaches under herself and Chloe watches her strip away her bra, pulling it out through her shirt.

“I was getting to that. No, leave it,” Chloe adds when Beca starts to unbutton the sheer top. It leaves nothing to the imagination, but seeing Beca without her bra, perfect curves and stiff nipples Chloe knows she’ll have her mouth on soon enough…

Beca stops what she’s doing and instead lifts her hips to help Chloe peel her jeans and underwear away.

“You were trying to make me jealous,” Chloe says matter-of-factly as she yanks the tight jeans from Beca’s feet with a little more force than is necessary.

Beca’s holding herself up on her elbows and she looks entirely too proud of herself. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t believe you let everyone know who you were.” Chloe’s hands start making their way up Beca’s bare legs, parting them to make room so she can back up and lie down between them. She settles Beca’s knees over her shoulders to kiss her inner thigh. It makes Beca shiver and sends hands down to tangle in Chloe’s hair. “And I can’t believe you fucked me.” Another kiss, higher, to make Beca’s breathing quicken. “Anyone could have caught us. Think of the headlines: ‘Beca Mitchell caught red-handed...knuckles deep in her best friend’s sopping pussy.’”

She can tell Beca wants to laugh but it comes out as a moan of impatience instead. Tired of waiting herself, Chloe shifts higher to tease her tongue against Beca’s clit.

“Oh, fuck yes,” Beca groans, pulling hair and lifting her hips as if she’s the one who had been left needing more at the show. Her impatience means Chloe’s done a good job turning the tables on her little stunt.

“Did you like that woman spanking you?” Chloe knows she’s toeing a line. They both might be, but she was jealous. And she is turned on.

Beca’s hesitation is telling and she finally nods when Chloe licks her again. “Yeah.”

“Did you like her telling you what to do?”

The answer is immediate this time. “Yes. Fuck, Chlo, please.” She lifts her hips again wanting more of what Chloe is withholding.

Chloe’s going to come back to the conversation. For now, she has needs and she needs to make Beca come. She’s never been able to resist her long, not when she begs her in that voice, not when she pulls Chloe’s face between her legs pleading Chloe to fuck her.

She’s not going to torture her the way Beca did. She has a second need which is to make Beca finish what she started, but she will deal with one thing at a time.

Beca is wet under her tongue and Chloe wraps her arms around her thighs to hold her, one hand gripping her thigh, the other parting Beca to be able to lick exactly where she knows Beca likes it. Fast. Focused. Exactly what it takes for Beca to—

“Fuck, I’m gonna come already, I hate you.” She moans as she says it and Chloe can taste the way she’s starting to unravel.

It makes her smile. Beca doesn’t hate her. Not one bit. Quite the opposite, in fact, and Chloe takes pride that it still annoys Beca that Chloe can get her off so quickly. And it’s not that she’s annoyed that Chloe’s good, it’s that she doesn’t want it to end.

(Though rarely does it end after just one orgasm from Beca.)

She savors Beca’s voice in her ears and taste on her tongue and eases her down from her quick, surprisingly intense climax.

Though maybe not so surprising when she thinks about how desperate Beca had been after her little game of Scarlet Says. Which reminds her…

“Get up.” She says it with an edge to her voice as she sits up and moves back from between Beca’s legs.

It’s clear Beca’s startled by the sudden mood change and her eyes are wide as she stares down her half-naked body, chest still heaving as she’s not yet recovered. “Dude, what the fuck?” she bites. She’s not just startled, she’s incensed by Chloe ripping away from her the way she did. It’s not normal behavior by any means.

It’s precarious; Chloe knows it. She’s springing some kind of role-play on Beca without talking about it first and she’s ready to drop it if Beca pushes back again. She levels her gaze to look directly at Beca. “I told you to get up.”

There’s the slightest twitch to Beca’s lips and Chloe knows she’s realized what’s happening. With a nod, she sits up and somewhat tiredly pushes herself up to her feet and turns around to face Chloe.

Chloe eyes her as she gets herself situated on the couch, turning to sit properly and makes a bit of a show of crossing her legs primly. She’s still fully clothed unlike her girlfriend waiting for directions wearing nothing but her half-unbuttoned sheer blouse that stops at her hips.

“I didn’t realize you like being told what to do so much,” Chloe says airly. She wants to keep Beca unsteady. They’ve played with power dynamics in the bedroom before, of course. After this long, there’s not much they haven’t tried. But they had never pushed it to the point of commands and obedience. “I guess I’m not that surprised,” she continues, smiling at memories of how Beca had reacted to simple requests in the bedroom in the past. She hadn’t explored it further. There wasn’t a need to; someone usually came minutes later. Now she understands why.

Beca takes a breath like she’s about to speak but instead snaps her jaw closed.

It makes Chloe’s eyebrows lift. She hadn’t had to do much of anything and Beca has already fallen into her role, primed, no doubt, by the events at the burlesque show.

“Did you like that woman touching you?” she asks. When Beca doesn’t answer, she has to work not to smile. “You can answer me when I ask you a question.”

“I didn’t know it was going to be like that,” Beca answers. “I thought they were just going to ask me questions and give me a lap dance or something.”

Chloe finds it endearing the way Beca’s trying to defend herself. Chloe’s not upset about it; a hair bothered, maybe, but nothing worth getting mad about. Possessive, though...it’s definitely worth reminding Beca who’s been in her bed every night. “That isn’t what I asked,” Chloe says as she leans back casually. “I asked if you liked it when that woman touched you.”

She can see Beca trying to choose the right words, which is amusingly telling. “It was...fun,” is what she decides to answer.

Chloe looks at her in surprise. “Fun? I’ll show you fun. On your knees.” She snaps and points at the floor as she says it and watches as Beca sinks to kneel obediently on the plush carpet. It’s thrilling to watch and does more for her than she thought it would. “Come here,” she continues with a crook of her finger.

“Yes, ma’am,” Beca says as she shuffles forward until she’s as close as she can be, Chloe’s right leg crossed over the left stopping her from getting any closer.

Her response is spine-tingling. Chloe wants to draw this out; she wants to see just how obedient Beca can be, but her patience is thin after being so aroused for so long with no release. She can save that for another day. “Would you like to know what I want you to do?” She teases Beca’s bare stomach with her toe as she says it.

“I bet you’re about to tell me,” Beca says as she squirms a little; she’s ticklish there and Chloe knows it.

“Sassy.”

Beca shrugs.

“Let’s give your mouth something better to do.” She uncrosses her legs as she says it and enjoys the way Beca’s eyes fall automatically to look, though Chloe knows she can’t see anything. Not with her skirt resting how it is. “You ruined my underwear at the show. The least you could do is take them off me.”

She can see the way Beca’s eyelashes flutter; she’s excited and ready as she reaches for Chloe, hands sliding up her thighs to hook her fingers into the waistband of Chloe’s thong to pull it down. She lifts her hips to let it slip out from under her and watches Beca pull it the rest of the way down her legs until she’s tossing it over her shoulder with more confidence than someone ordered to her knees ought to have, but Chloe doesn’t mind. Not when Beca’s hands almost reach for Chloe’s thighs again but stops herself and they fall back to her own naked lap.

“So patient,” Chloe smiles. Beca giving up control like this is turning Chloe on far more than she had expected and she knows she isn’t going to last very long. She parts her knees and hikes up her skirt. Not too much. Just enough that Beca will be able to see how much she needs her. “But I’m not.”

Beca’s eyes snap up to meet Chloe’s and she can see the excitement in them, the desire to please Chloe in more ways than one.

“I want you to make me come”—she pauses to glance at her non-existent watch—“in less than five minutes.” When Beca doesn’t move, she adds, “The clock is ticking.”

She can tell Beca is amused by the challenge, even excited by it as her hands do what they had probably meant to do after stripping Chloe of her underwear: land on Chloe’s knees to part them before they slide higher, pushing Chloe’s skirt with them.

Chloe leans back, relaxing into the couch as she spreads her legs wider until she decides to bring her right foot up to rest on the edge of the couch, knee fully bent, holding her ankle to keep it there. It opens her up splendidly and she watches with rapt attention as Beca shifts closer, tongue already at her lips as she leans down.

Chloe can’t help the moan that comes with the first touch of Beca’s tongue. She’s been waiting for it for hours, really since they left the hotel to attend the show.

Beca seems to take her directive seriously if the way she’s using her tongue is anything to judge by. She’s lapping at Chloe in exactly the way Chloe likes it the most: messy and lewd, her arousal audible in the way her clit slips from Beca’s lips when she sucks on it. She likes it because Beca’s so passionate about making her feel good, and her passion only makes Chloe want it more.

She weaves the fingers of her free hand through Beca’s soft hair, watching as Beca fucks her perfectly. “Just like that,” she sighs as she lets her hips start rocking. “Use your fingers, too, baby.”

They both groan as Beca sinks two fingers into her and she clenches around them. As soon as she relaxes, Beca is fucking her, hard, and it makes her gasp. She hadn’t been ready for that, forgetting for a moment about her self-imposed deadline.

“Beca, fuck,” she moans, ass coming off the couch from the sudden onslaught of pleasure and she watches as Beca ducks her shoulder under the leg Chloe isn’t holding so she can tuck herself even closer. Her fingers twist in Beca’s hair and it might be too tight but it doesn’t seem to bother her. “So good,” she says and feels Beca’s tongue flicking at her clit impossibly faster. “You’re so good,” she repeats and feels her fingers speed up, too.

She knows Beca likes being praised. It’s served them both very well in the past and it’s serving Chloe impeccably well right now. Beca moans at the comment and glances up at Chloe through dark eyelashes, eyes meeting before she closes them to lose herself in fucking Chloe.

It doesn’t take long after that. Not with the way Beca starts sucking on her clit and doesn’t let up. “Yes, yes, just like that,” she moans again, grateful for the massive room offering plenty of insulation from the prying ears of the only other room on that floor. “You’re gonna make me come, Beca.”

Beca groans in response and doesn’t change a thing; her pace is relentless and Chloe can feel how hot her body is under her leg from working so hard and she’s so, so grateful for her hard work as her orgasm crashes through her.

Beca’s moaning through it with her and it makes Chloe drop the pretense. She wants Beca. Now. Her cunt is still pulsing around Beca’s fingers when she pulls her up by her hair. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get the point.

“Come here,” she breathes, pulling Beca in to kiss her wet mouth as she drops her leg back to hang over the edge of the couch and make room for Beca to climb into her lap, straddling her on her knees.

Beca’s hand hasn’t left her with the change in position and though she has less room to move, she’s still working her fingers against Chloe’s overstimulated clit as Chloe reaches between Beca’s legs to slide her fingers into her soaked cunt.

The way Beca moans into Chloe’s mouth through their heated kiss is sinful but not as sinful as the way she immediately starts riding Chloe’s hand. Her hand tangles in Chloe’s hair as her hips roll and grind, all restraint gone as she chases her orgasm.

She’s so far gone that she’s not paying close attention to how hard she’s touching Chloe. It’s borderline painful for a few seconds until something in Chloe clicks and the force becomes delicious and somehow not enough. She grinds the heel of her hand up into Beca, slipping a third finger into her with how wet she’s become, dripping into Chloe’s palm and Chloe knows she’s just as wet. She’s thankful she’s sitting on her skirt. She’d rather pay to dry clean it than reupholster the hotel couch.

“Fuck,” Beca whimpers against Chloe’s lips before her hips suddenly change from riding Chloe’s fingers hard to riding them fast.

Chloe can feel how close she is with the way she’s starting to tremble around her fingers. Beca’s fighting it and she doesn’t know why until she thinks maybe Beca hasn’t dropped the pretense like Chloe had.

She’s waiting for permission.

The concept quickly spools Chloe’s orgasm into a coil ready to spring at any second and she has to fight it, too.

This is hot. This is really hot. She loves when Beca is wild and desperate and there are no other words to describe her right now.

Chloe pulls back from the kiss. “Do you want to come?”

Beca’s jaw drops at the words and Chloe feels her clench hard but the climax doesn’t follow as it normally would. “God, yes,” she exhales after a few seconds. Beca is still fucking them both. Riding Chloe’s fingers. Rubbing Chloe’s clit.

Chloe’s free hand catches Beca’s chin and lifts her head to make eye contact with her. “Ask me nicely.”

She’s not sure she’s ever felt Beca as wet as she is tonight and it doesn’t stop. She thinks she can even feel it increase as soon as she says those words.

“Please,” Beca whines immediately. “Please let me come for you.” She holds Chloe’s stare as she says it and she tightens around Chloe’s fingers again.

Chloe hesitates with her answer. The moment is so intense, so erotic she’s not quite ready to end it. They’re existing on another plane of sex than most of their nights. She hopes it continues through the night.

“Not yet,” she finally answers and Beca almost sobs at the response. “Stand up,” she demands, lifting with the hand between Beca’s legs until Beca’s moving.

“What…?” Beca starts, only to say, “Oh, my God,” when Chloe guides Beca’s left knee up and past her head to rest on the back of the couch.

Chloe pulls her forward with the fingers inside her until she has Beca’s clit against her tongue. Beca’s hands immediately fall to Chloe’s head for balance as she rocks her hips forward into Chloe’s face.

It’s Chloe’s turn to be brutal with the pace of her fingers, fucking up and into Beca as she lets Beca ride her tongue. She knows Beca’s orgasm is going to be massive when she lets her have it and Chloe wants her coming in her mouth.

The change in position bought them a few minutes, distracting Beca long enough that she’s not about to lose it any second but Chloe knows it’s barreling down on her again. “You taste so good,” she says between licks.

Beca moans in answer and Chloe feels the wetness increase again. She can hear it, too. It’s obscene. It sends her other hand between her own legs to pick up where Beca left off.

“I’m going to make myself come,” she says before sucking pointedly on Beca’s clit. “Don’t you dare come with me.”

“What?” Beca laughs somewhat desperately. “Fuck, okay.”

The obedience makes Chloe moan and she fucks herself, rubbing hard circles into her clit. She embellishes her moans to make it even harder for Beca to resist until she’s moaning again and again into Beca’s pussy, coming as Beca clenches around her wantonly.

She looks up at Beca when it passes but she can’t see her face, not with how Beca’s leaning forward, eyes squeezed closed, face determined and desperate to obey as Chloe comes without her, still fucking her, not letting her let go.

“That felt so good,” she says. “You turn me on so much, Beca.”

“Yeah, same,” Beca answers quickly.

“I think after I let you come…” she says it thoughtfully even as she lavishes attention on Beca’s impossibly swollen clit, “I’m going to take you to bed,” she gives it a long suck, “bend you over,” she curls her fingers and massages them into the spot that makes Beca’s eyes roll back, “and fuck you so hard you’ll feel it at your show tomorrow,” Beca’s entire body is trembling with the need for release, “in front of twelve thousand people and you’ll remember the way you’re going to be such a good girl for me and take my strap all night.”

She knows Beca’s losing her grip on her orgasm. Chloe can feel it starting, pulsing around her fingers and she thinks she might need it as much as Beca does.

“Come for me, Beca,” she says and immediately slides her tongue into her as she withdraws her fingers, using them instead to stroke her clit. She can see Beca’s wetness and how it’s all the way to Chloe’s wrist and she groans as the way Beca’s cunt contracts so hard around her tongue she couldn’t remove it even if she wanted to.

‘Massive’ isn’t the term for it.

Beca’s orgasm is earth-shattering and Chloe’s free hand has to shoot up to press against her chest to keep her from toppling forward and over the back of the couch as it rocks her again and again, voice ringing in Chloe’s ears.

Chloe feels Beca’s knees buckling as it passes and she catches her as she folds until she’s sitting in Chloe’s lap again, slumped against her forehead-to-forehead. Both of them are breathless but Beca’s far more winded and Chloe gives her a chance to recover, hands moving slowly and gently over her back, to her hair which she lifts away from her neck to help her cool down. Her blouse sticks to her skin and she feels kind of bad she didn’t let Beca take it off before, but she hasn’t complained about it.

“Fuck,” Beca finally says with a weak laugh as she lifts her head and sits back enough that they can look at each other comfortably, her hands toying with the hem of Chloe’s shirt, still on despite it all. “What the fuck, Chlo?” She smiles as she says it. She brings her hand up to wipe at Chloe’s face. “You’re a mess.”

Chloe smiles in return and lets Beca clean her off. “Problem?”

Beca cocks her head to the side and huffs again, not quite a laugh. “Uh, no. But can you take this off now? You’re overdressed.” She tugs at Chloe’s shirt and Chloe lets her remove it, lifting her arms so she can slip it over her head.

“Better?” she asks, even though she knows it’s definitely better. Her body is on fire and the cool air is a godsend.

“Much,” Beca says as she tosses Chloe’s shirt aside to rest her hands on her bare shoulders.

“So,” Chloe starts after a few comfortable seconds of silence, hands wandering around Beca’s ass to her waist where she finally finishes unbuttoning Beca’s shirt. “Still think it was fun to be touched by that other woman?” She cocks an eyebrow as she says it.

She knows Beca knows she is the one in control of what happens next; they both know what will happen depending on her answer. One answer will send them to the bedroom and Beca onto all-fours. The other will send them to the shower to clean up while they wait for room service to bring them something to eat.

Beca rakes her hands through her own wild hair after she lets Chloe flip her shirt over her shoulders and off to leave her fully naked in Chloe’s lap. Her eyes are still dark, as are her well-kissed lips which start to curve into a smile. “Yeah, I had a great time. I wonder if she’s free. Maybe we could invite her to join us?”

“Fuck you,” Chloe laughs before kissing her. “Hold on,” she mumbles against her lips and feels Beca wrap her arms around Chloe’s neck and her legs around her waist so she can stand to carry Beca to the bedroom.

“Make me feel it tomorrow,” Beca whispers before kissing her as they cross the threshold into the bedroom.

Chloe drops her onto the bed with a smile. “You will. Turn around.”

The End

#bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #fanfic #pitch perfect #bechloe fic #it's smut #surprise!

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thegeminisage · 3 years

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hi, sorry for answering you both so late, i am putting your answers together since they are sort of related!

the short answer is, i can’t write a “real” sequel to broken road but the third part of the triptych would be the indirect dean/cas spiritual sequel, except with way more porn. the long answer is:

i just don't think i could write a true direct sequel to broken road set in that same continuity because i don't have anything left to say about john and how he gets along in the real with his family world now that he’s stuck there and they’re all stuck with each other. my main three points of interest that i felt were left unresolved would be the continuation of dean and cas's relationship (more on this in a sec), sam and eileen (ditto), and figuring out if john and mary ever made it work or called it quits for good. so if i wrote a sequel to broken road it would just be a bunch of john/mary stuff that i feel underqualified for because it WOULD involve their sex life and i DO NOT want to write john having sex. them fucking offscreen in broken road was as close as i'm ever getting and even that was weird. and then somehow i’d also have to work sam and eileen into that and it’s not at all related. it would take two fics and i don’t even want to write one. also, i really kind of want to leave the question of john and mary open anyway - i have my own thoughts about how things ultimately end up but i prefer to let the reader imagine what ending they like best, since people have such strong feelings about it. i know that's a little bit of a cop-out and i'm sorry! but it feels beyond the scope of that fic and also a little beyond my scope and area of interest as a writer.

if it helps you any, i imagine going forward their dynamic is a lot like it is in the epilogue, which is part of why i made the epilogue so long, was to give you a good idea of what life is like for them now. but here’s what i imagine might go down after the final curtain call (this is LONG, skip to the section labeled “dean” for the triptych answer):

john & mary:

john continues to suffer and bite his tongue and probably do a lot of complaining and DEFINITELY do a lot of avoiding being alone with dean or cas or dean-and-cas. john was expecting to retire after yellow eyes died so he really wouldn't know what to do with a family that still hunts for "no reason" and i imagine he'd be pretty pissed that they still hunt at all. i expect he and sam would butt heads over that

mary would probably keep attempting to be supportive and keep being bad at it, and spend a lot of time trying to put a brave face on it while secretly dying inside, because she's constantly at war with herself. here she has john back, but not the john she remembers, and spending time with him is difficult because she wants to let herself have him and take comfort in him and also she doesn't want to be anywhere near him because he abused their kids

eventually mary or john or both would have to leave, though mary would come back - in canon she's in and out a lot anyway, she stays for awhile and visits regularly for game nights. i think john would miss the first game night, get one "seriously?" text from mary, and then show back up every week that he possibly could but also not visit unless it would make things worse if he didn't. i don't think he particularly enjoys spending time with his family for a long time, if ever, because much like season 12 mary he came back to a family he barely knew or recognized (and because of what he knows now spending time with dean would be particularly awkward). HIS sons would be getting married to women and retiring and having biological children. this gay adoptive whatever the fuck makes them feel like they are not his sons.

anyway, i imagine john and mary would do much better when running into one another outside of the bunker, on their own separate hunts. they might even take one or two together. there’s probably some very guilty sex in their future at some point because mary is real fucked up. john post broken road does a lot of shutting up but i think around mary he would be the most like his old self. they do this will they/won't they dance for the next decade at least before finally making up their minds one way or the other. i do think they all still go on hunts together sometimes, maybe even with the apocalypse world hunters, and since that's sam's deal john is probably kind of quiet and falls in line and does what's needed without chatting much to anyone. i bet the first few times people don't even realize he's sam's father because he's so quiet. it's his way of trying to apologize to sam and also if he steps out of line when sam is in charge sam would <3 deck him. yes. but yeah i see it being very brisk and professional and awkward, until they all get used to each other again

sam:

as i said earlier the only thing i didn't fix in broken road was eileen, so at some point sam would figure out a way to get her back - since in this verse jack never becomes soulless and chuck never returns and we never get season 15 it's possible she shows back up because she didn't go with her reaper, or because someone fucked up a summoning spell, or sam realized she was in hell and decided to spring her, or she just crawled out on her own like a badass. i think it would be kind of funny if john was involved with her resurrection but maybe accidentally somehow, so it's not like oh sam learns to forgive his dad because john did this really nice thing for him it's more like UGH why did it have to be YOU why are YOU involved in this important thing that has nothing to do with you slkdjfghl but also if you hadn't done it she'd still be down there or something, so, it cancels out. or idk maybe john had to work hard at it or give something up to make it happen. he has to genuinely shut up and be selfless and not fucking complain and feel sorry for himself the entire time, that might be fun too. either way sam would not thank him

(though i do think sam deserves space to explore the fact that he loves john even still, even despite the fact that he also hates him/is very angry with him and always will be. i don’t imagine sam and john ever fully reconcile but i imagine john behaving BECAUSE OF SAM SPECIFICALLY offers sam more catharsis than he thought possible.)

anyway, john would be so relieved to see sam with a woman even if she is a deaf hunter but then it turns out she hates him like sam does so like. sucks to be him! meanwhile sam and eileen get to catch up and he finally has a willing ear (so to speak) that isn’t cas or mary to talk to about this stuff and of course SHE has someone who very much understands what it’s like to come back from hell. part of what i really love about sam and eileen is the way they sort of instantly and intrinsically recognized and understood one another, even across something that resembles a language barrier, and this hypothetical future would be no exception. there’s no way they don’t get engaged inside a year, and much like in the 15.18 fixit they’d sometimes hang at the bunker and sometimes not. i imagine with the apocalypse world hunters going in and out though it’s never exactly empty or lonely there.

whether or not their family unit ever retires and/or moves out of the bunker in this verse is sort of beyond me because my feelings on it change daily but you can imagine whatever you like! however i am adamant that the furthest away from each other sam and dean will ever get permanent-living-situation-wise is next door/across-the-street neighbors. their weird little codependency is part of what i like about them and i have a Whole Thing about not “gentrifying” dean. but for the most part sam would be very much doing his own thing which involves john very little, and healing from his own damage with people OUTSIDE of his blood relatives which he very much deserves. and he has moved so completely past the need to care about john that like john is a backdrop in his life, albeit one with baggage. but mostly he becomes someone to keep an eye on in case he makes trouble, no different than a hundred other surly hunters sam’s known. and he can still be there for dean without his life revolving around dean because now dean has other people there for him too. (i ALSO have a whole thing about sam being in the life for dean specifically, that he’s giving up some or all of adulthood for dean because dean gave up childhood for him - kind of the way someone takes care of their kickass single mom in old age. it’s a guilt/love/debt/devotion sort of thing.)

and speaking of the Eventual future, if babies ever come into this picture (sam and eileen’s, to be clear, dean and cas are probably satisfied with jack, NOT THAT JACK ISN’T ALSO SAM’S CHILD) john is allowed to see them but never unsupervised. i’m picturing like sam and eileen both on their third day of no sleep and sam lets john change a diaper because he’s exhausted and john considers that the best their relationship has been since sam was 6. mary always wanted to raise babies and sam likes her better so she’d get to pitch in with much more enthusiasm (and aw they’d finally get to bond a little more), and dean has raised a baby already so he’d probably try to like help and get waved away a lot like no no raising other peoples babies is no longer your job it’s ok. there is eventually a fight about this

cas & jack:

castiel lives a great life caring for his newly re-graced son and staring at john when he enters or leaves rooms, and i imagine eventually jack gives him his wings back, since he can do whatever the fuck he wants (i'm not giving jack his own section but he also probably keeps acknowledging dean and cas are a couple like out loud which would be fine except for dean is still half in the closet like a skittish traumatized cat so eventually cas would have to explain very gently that nobody was supposed to know that yet and jack should cool it to give dean time to adjust)

anyway i DON’T believe in human cas, i believe he likes being an angel, so he just gets to stay an angel forever and now he has wings too <3 and he can teleport which spooks john in the exact same manner it used to spook dean in s4 <3 except this time cas is being <3 malicious on purpose <3

cas fully won here because like john does NOT want to speak to or acknowledge him much less be in the same room as him so they tend to have a dynamic where like all 6 of them are in the room and cas dean sam mary and jack all talk to each other and john dean sam mary and jack all talk to each other but cas and john do not talk to each other. cas doesn’t have to threaten him or glare at him constantly anymore like all he has to do is look at him. and john is like. man what’s he gonna do. that guy is having sex with your son and there’s nothing you can do about it! so dean doesnt have to be like ok cool it cas anymore because cas has literally won in every possible way. i think at most it’s very much cas being like “if i were trying to kill you, you’d know it <3″ and john can’t return those vibes to sender because then dean would be like ok cool it at his DAD instead. it used to be cas don’t piss off dad and now it’s dad don’t piss off cas. anyway i think that since cas has let dean lean on him so much it would be nice if he could lean on dean a little. again more on that in a minute

dean:

and finally, as for dean...i think he needs a year minimum to dean with people acknowledging he and cas are a couple and another 3 for it not to be weird to say cas’s name in front of his dad. absolutely zero pda in front of john ever but he might like eventually get to the place where he and cas can lounge around together on the couch while they watch movies with the rest of fam and it’s not a big deal. sneak an arm around him at a movie theater. kind of the same vibes as the 15.18 fixit but with less anxiety. because like the worst possible thing (getting outed to everyone) has already happened and aside from the outing itself being completely horrible nothing that terrible even came to pass as a result, so he’s just Adjusting. i think he sort of has to unlearn and relearn his habits - his mediator thing, his defending dad thing. i think there’s a lot of times where he just walks out of a room when shit is too much for him to deal with because he has let go of some of the need to constantly micromanage his family’s interactions to make sure they don’t boil over. michael already took that scenario to the max and mary already dumped john so there’s really not much left to be afraid of. i think he gets told “that’s not your job” a lot and maybe listens more than he used to. and to bring us around to the second question...

i also think dean would get weirdly hung up on the fact that he and cas’s sex life is Not Normal - as in, they fooled around a little and that was it. i think dean would have a huge problem with that. like, obviously he has A Few Hangups About Gay Sex given his history but if you’re a couple you’re supposed to bang on the regular and it’s totally homophobic if he doesn’t bang cas as much as he’d bang a lady he was committed to, right? he’s not gonna give cas less than he gave cassie or lisa, that’s not fair to his best buddy and number one pal!

meanwhile castiel, known asexual, is utterly and wildly neutral to the whole idea except that it’s a way to be close to dean. cas would be just as happy fucking like champions for a six-hour marathon or spending that same six hours curled up in bed together while he plays with dean’s hair. like, same diff. you know that thing about like “cas thinks everything is important he gives the same gravitas to the apocalypse and a nine year old’s birthday party”? like it’s exactly like that with sex and cuddling and sharing a meal together and driving together and watching dumb movies like it’s all time spent With Dean so it all matters just as much.

so we have this conflict where dean is tearing himself apart over the fact that he’s taking a normal human amount of time to “work up” to the whole thing and cas is like. but it’s fine. it’s literally fine. and dean’s reaction to this would be something very offended like hello excuse me i am super hot and fuckable and you don’t WANT me?

if this all sounds familiar that’s because i’ve written similar stuff to it before! if you go to the fic page for broken road, you'll see it's part of a series now (the "triptych"), with my dumb little 15.18 fixit as the prequel. even though continuity-wise these are two totally separate fics i feel very strongly that that fic is the spiritual prequel to broken road, and eventually, a long time from now, after the next @cambionverse fic is done or at the very least well underway, i'd like to write a spiritual sequel. a triptych is three works that stand on their own but also make a more complete whole, so even though these three stories would not be related at all in continuity of where they take place in canon, they each set the stage at a different part of the dean/cas relationship. so fic #1, the get-together, had no sex at all, and it was very short. fic #2, pre-established but just barely, had a little sex in it and it was very long. fic #3 then would be pre-established but like VERY pre-established and have a fuckton of sex in it, and be medium length. i’m ha ha basically writing my own nc-17 porn coda since SOMEBODY won’t do it for me (if you got that joke you’re entitled to financial compensation).

except i actually really do want to tackle this subject myself, it’s stuff i only got to touch on in the other fics because it felt off topic, so in this fic it WOULD be the topic! i really found a groove i like with cas who has almost no trauma around sex but doesn’t care whether or not he has it vs dean who really really wants to have sex but has a minefield of past bad experiences he has to watch out for. and i like writing porn anyway and i didn’t get to write very much these past two fics. i’ve always said that i think dean would snowball (not like that, gross) - it’d take him FOREVER (literally a decade plus) to work up to kissing cas but a fraction of that time to start fooling around with him and a fraction of THAT time to blow him etc etc. the more he does the easier it gets. i feel like it’d be a lot of fun to write.

so, this third fic would not be an official broken road sequel, because there’s almost no plot outside of the porn to speak of anyway, but if what you wanted was to see how the dean/cas went from where it left off, hopefully that will be satisfying in that regard.

i should say, while the third fic would be almost exclusively porn there is one plot element involving ********** that i am not going to talk about on tumblr because it would ruin the surprise. i have told a few people privately and i will tell you if we know each other pretty well but if you know (or guess) don’t tell anyone!

see, the other thing i would want to tackle in that fic is how cas has his own traumas and baggage, even if they’re a little different from dean’s, and i think dean sometimes gets so deep in his own stuff he kind of...not forgets that exactly but forgets how profoundly it still affects cas, because by and large cas deals with that sort of thing a lot more quietly and in much healthier ways than dean does. not that his self-sacrificing ass is the poster child for mental health, but for example cas recognized suicidal ideation in himself and actively worked to keep himself away from situations that would make it worse. he translates his bad feelings into meaningful action (well, he attempts to, even if it usually goes wrong). so he hurts kind of quietly and in late season especially most of the worst moments of his life are behind him (barring jack’s death, which doesn’t happen in this verse). so he’s also further along in his healing process which mean dean kind of forgets how fucked in the head he can be. and in the uh...unusual situation...they find themselves in because of this minor plot, it becomes something that he can’t not notice, that they can’t just not talk about, and cas gets to lean on dean a little, they sort of get to know each other better. so that’s part of the point of that one little plot element. but the rest of it really is porn.

i haven’t started work on the third fic yet - i don’t have a title and my outline is just a bunch of choppy ideas and i have about 2000 words of the middle of the fic jotted down out of context. (it was originally going to be a shorter unrelated thing before i realized how well it tied to what i already had.) i have another obligation to see to before i can get started on it (again, @cambionverse, you should read it if you havent, the concept might sound unappealing but almost everyone who tries it likes it and it’s way better than broken road). so it’ll probably happen a very VERY long time from now! but it IS happening. >:) i just hope after the first two fics in the triptych were so well received that it doesn’t disappoint 🥺

#liz answers asks #anonymous #broken road #liz watches spn #liz loves writing #sorry this is such a long post i got carried away #i'm really excited about that third fic but i am more excited about other things first #but i don't want to get anyone else too excited until i have more concrete stuff bc rn i don't have much confidence in it #when i first conceptualized it i was like 'this is so weird and bad i will have to publish anonymously'#i've moved past that particular bit of self-doubt but only a very small inch lol #12:46pm

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 4 years

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Happy Birthday, mega-aulover!

Happy Birthday, @mega-aulover! We hope you’ve had a wonderful day so far, and that you got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To keep your party going a little while longer, the lovely @endlessnightlock has written a story just for you!

Happy birthday @mega-aulover! Here’s something a little spicy, a little sweet for your day. Soul-mark Everlark. Rated M for non-explicit sexual content.

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The first time I remember talking to Peeta, we were five, and it was a fall day, much like today- cool and windy, a welcome cool down from the heat of summer. He was standing at the bakery’s back door with his father, his little round cheeks pink from the heat emanating from the ovens. The heat was so intense from the kitchen you could feel it out on the step, and his eyes were the bluest things I’d ever seen. I think I fell a little bit in love with him then.

We were there that morning because my father took me along with him to trade with the businesses in town. It was a day of a lot of firsts: not only did I meet Peeta, but I also had my first Mellark’s fall apple muffin- I’d never tasted anything so delicious in my life. Since that day, I’ve had lots of baked goods from Mellark’s, and while my favorite is probably the cheese buns Peeta makes especially for me, I’ll never forget those apple muffins- they were like magic.

That day also marked the first chance I had to spend the morning in the woods with my father, tagging along behind him as he hunted and checked his traps. Prim was just a baby back then, and in my hazy memory of the day, I think she was teething, and Mother needed to sleep; that’s why I got to spend the day with Father. It was such a good day, and meeting Peeta was the icing on the cake.

My father is a hunter-gatherer, and we live in a small house in the woods close to where the fence used to run, separating it from the district boundary. It isn't far from town because my mother is one of the district healers, and there was school in town that my sister and I needed to attend, of course. It’s been a wonderful place to grow up, straddling that line between wilderness and civilization. My family is a happy one.

According to my parents, our life looks entirely different from how things were even five years ago now that our country is the New Republic of Panem.

When my parents were teenagers, the Great War erupted, and the districts, with the military backing of newly rediscovered Thirteen, rose together and defeated the Capitol’s heavy hand of oppression. They’d taken everything away from the districts for so long- food, freedom, hope in addition to the two children a year, forced to fight to their deaths in the Hunger Games.

After the war that ended in the rebel’s victory, citizens of Panem were free in ways they’d never been: free to travel, free to pursue higher education, and in Twelve, they were free not to work in the mines for a pittance until they died an early death from miner’s lung or cancer. The possibilities to choose the path of your own life? They’re endless now compared to what they used to be.

The only place where we are not so free is marriage, which wasn’t the Capitol’s doing. That’s because of the soul marks.

A soul mark is a pattern that emerges on your body through your teen years, eventually pairing you with your soulmate when you reach adulthood. If you’re going to get one (not everyone does), the beginnings of it show up around puberty, and the pattern typically doesn’t fill in entirely until you reach the age of eighteen. Once you hit your eighteenth birthday, you are considered ready for marriage as soon as you find the person with the other half of your soul mark. There’s a ceremony during the first day of the Harvest Festival where the eighteen-year-olds participate; it’s when the couples typically pair off.

We’re all told from an early age about the force that draws you to your mate; the older couples in the district are continually telling us younger ones there will be no doubt who your soulmate is when your time to meet comes.

I have a soul mark- it looks like a series of lines on my right hand in the space between my thumb and pointer finger; it’s a long line, with a series of eight identical hash marks that meet it vertically, leaving me with a soul mark that forms what I think must be the bottom half of a barcode. I’m not entirely sure that’s what the mark represents or what it is supposed to be.

Some of my friends have the marks; some don’t. Delly has one on her thigh, and Madge has one on her back. Peeta, my closest friend, and the person I have so many confusing feelings for, has a soul mark; when I asked him where it was, he flushed six different shades and told me he couldn’t let me see it.

I don’t think Peeta knows this, but I got a good look at what had formed of his soul mark when we were fifteen. That summer, a group of us hiked to the lake hidden in the woods to swim. Madge and Delly and I wore our darkest bras and underwear, we’d been before and knew what the water would do, while Peeta and Gale wore their boxer shorts. Peeta wore a pair of boxers that were unknown to him, transparent from behind when wet.

That’s pretty much when all the confusing thoughts I have about him began. I’ll never forget how dry-mouthed and hot I felt looking at him that way- I could hardly take my eyes off him. Peeta’s frame wasn’t as large then as it is now, and he wasn’t so muscular either, but it was still wholly overwhelming. He was all thick legs and broad shoulders even then, with the thin, wet material of his boxers leaving little of his backside to the imagination.

I’ve spent a lot of time alone in my bed at night thinking about that day, not just because of the way he looked and the way it made my body tingle (of course, that was part of it), but because of his soul mark. On one side of Peeta’s, err, butt, I guess you’d call it, were a few curving lines I could just make out through the thin material, which I kept sneaking glances at when no one was paying attention to me.

Like mine, I couldn’t determine yet what Peeta’s mark was supposed to be, but the curving lines reminded me of a loose sketch of clouds I’d watched him sketch once. Clouds and barcodes? Those two things were as unrelated to each other as doorknobs and jackrabbits. And it made me sad, realizing that his mark and mine were so different because that meant we were both destined to be married to someone else.

I don’t know why I felt like that- I didn’t even know if I wanted to get married; it was just that if I were, Peeta was the only boy I could picture myself spending the rest of my life with. He’s my best friend- he makes me laugh and makes me feel comfortable just being myself, and lately, I find myself thinking a lot about what it would feel like to kiss him, among other things I’m too embarrassed to mention.

The fact that I’ll never have any of the answers seems impossible to stomach, and today is the day- Match Day, the first day of the Harvest Festival. I’m so scared of what it’s going to bring: both who I’ll end up matched with and who I’ll watch Peeta walk away from the square with. Both are reason enough to make me want to run.

In the square with the other girls, I’m here, waiting with Madge and Delly for Mayor Undersee to stand on the stage and give out instructions for finding your mate in the crowd; if your mate is of age. If you couldn’t find your mate today, you keep coming back every year until you met the person with the matching soul mark. Twelve isn’t a large district, so there aren’t many young men and women here, maybe fifty. I’d say a quarter of them are a few years older, like Gale, who hasn’t paired up yet.

I scan the crowd, and my eyes briefly catch Peeta’s. He stares at me intently, something in his eyes I can’t name. It doesn’t look like the fear that I’m sure mine hold. I don’t know what he’s thinking, so I look away from him quickly, my stomach sinking at the reminder that he will never be mine, not the way I wanted.

Why couldn’t it have just been him? Why did we have to have these stupid marks on our skin anyway? I stare ahead at the stage, not looking to the left or right after escaping the razorlike sharpness of Peeta’s gaze on me.

And then, it’s time. Mayor Undersee appears on the small stage erected in the square just for this occasion. He stands in front of the groups of young men and women gathered near the front while curious onlookers and family of the soon-to-be-matched stay towards the back. Mayor Undersee looks out, smiling benevolently at us all. “Welcome to the matching ceremony!”

I feel like I’m going to be sick. I think panic might be setting in. Because I’m so nervous, I can’t concentrate on what the Mayor is saying; every noise around me sounds like buzzing and droning. Words bounce around inside my head, but very few of them form a coherent thought.

Meanwhile, my only real thought is-

I can’t do this. I can’t do this-

And so, as Mayor Undersee is wrapping up, as I’m panicking, as I realize that I’d be just as happy living alone in the woods for the rest of my life as I would be married to anyone other than Peeta, I come to a decision. As unobtrusively as possible because I don’t relish the idea of making a scene, I turn around and, ducking my head, elbow my way to the back of the crowd. When I get to the end of the girls’ group, I take off running without looking back.

Getting further and further away from the crowd, I hear someone call out my name, but I don’t stop.

I run for the first place I can think of, the bakery. The business is closed for the matching ceremony since Peeta is running it now; he has been since we graduated in the spring. At the time, Mr. Mellark moved into his new wife’s home. He still works at the bakery, but he wanted to make way for Peeta to have a place to bring his new wife.

Surely Peeta won’t come back here right away with his match? He’ll have to meet with her family and make plans for their wedding first. I know I should go somewhere else, I tell myself as I run up the back stairs that lead to his living quarters above the business, but I want the comfort of being here one last time before I lose him forever.

Letting myself into his kitchen, my favorite room in this space because it reminds me of time spent here with him, I drag myself over to his table; it’s old, it’s wood worn smooth and soft over time. Pulling a chair out, I slump down into the seat and let my arms drop to the tabletop, laying my head there.

Eventually, I hear heavy footsteps coming up the steps. When they stop, I look up to see Peeta standing in the doorway. “Are you alright?” he asks, sounding out of breath as he approaches me.

I laugh derisively. “What are you doing here? You should have stayed. You’re going to miss your match,” I tell him, although I’m glad he’s here, secretly, even though I know it’s just going to delay the inevitable. Peeta’s still going to match to a girl who isn’t me- someone who’s soul mark matches his.

“What happened?” He asks gently, ignoring my words. He pulls out the other chair and sits, scooting his chair close to me.

Instead of looking at him, I stare down at my hands; the breath caught in my throat. I’ve never been hesitant with Peeta, but my heart is thumping oddly inside my chest, and warmth is spreading through me. What I’m experiencing is similar to how I always feel in his vicinity, but greatly intensified. I sense Peeta watching me, waiting for an answer. When I glance over at him, he’s staring at my mouth. His tongue darts out, and he licks his lips; it makes my whole body feel tight.

“I can’t do it,” I say, tearing my glance away from his mouth, “I can’t marry some random man from the district. Not when, if things were different, it could’ve been-”

I’m trying to say it, trying to tell Peeta why I can’t go through with the soul marks match, but my words trail off when he moves into me. What I soon discover are his impossibly soft lips are on mine quicker than I would’ve thought possible, and oh, the feeling. At the first touch of his mouth on mine, heat spreads through me. It travels down to the tips of my toes and fingers, snaking its way through every fiber of my being. Peeta wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me down to the floor. We’re kneeling together when he pulls me against him again. I go without any hesitation; I want to keep kissing and touching him so badly.

“We can’t- we can’t do this,” I say, finally fighting against my wants as I attempt to pull away from him. I’m so weak, though, giving in to him when he chases me with his lips. Everything feels so good; I feel more alive, more right than I have ever been.

“Why not?” Peeta asks softly. His hands are everywhere, and I don’t want him to stop. I want to climb on top of him; it’s an overwhelming, powerful need. “Katniss, I love you-”

I give in because he loves me too, throwing myself at him with such force, I knock Peeta off balance. We tumble to the floor, landing side by side with our arms entwined around each other. “You shouldn’t say that,” I tell Peeta as my mouth drops to his neck. It feels like my brain and my body are directing two completely different courses of action, and I can’t seem to stop either one of them.

“Why?” Peeta moans as I suck on his skin.

“Our marks don’t match.”

“Do you want me, though?” he asks, sounding serious as he pulls away. We’re both harshly breathing as we stare at each other. “Do you want to be with me?” he repeats.

“Yes,” I whisper, searching his eyes, “Of course I do, but-“

He interrupts me, impatient with my reasons. “How do you know we don’t match? You’ve never seen my mark.” Peeta quickly sits up, rising on his knees. His hands drop, and I watch him tear frantically at the button and zipper of his pants. It’s surreal, lying on the floor beside him. My body is buzzing in a way that feels amplified times a thousand as I watch him unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper.

I know I should look away, but I can’t- for the first time in my life, I let him see that I’m looking at him, that I’m fascinated by him, and I want to know all his secrets. As he pushes his pants down to his knees, the tails of his shirt drop, obscuring his front so that all I can see are his muscular legs.

I don’t know what to do- Peeta is naked under that shirt, and I just-

He shifts a little, moving the bottom of his shirt to reveal one side of his behind, and I finally have a good look at him. I’m instantly distracted.

Wow, he’s got a great-looking behind. Gorgeous, really; in fact, I have a crazy urge to sink my fingers into it.

I tell myself to snap out of it because it makes things a little weird with me lying on the floor next to Peeta, staring up at the side of his butt. So I sit up; when I’m upright, I move the portion of Peeta’s shirt away that’s obscuring my view since I still couldn’t see his soul mark.

Peeta shivers when my fingers brush against him, exposing his bottom while I remain silent. I stare at the sight that greets my eyes, and he glances over his shoulder at me expectantly with eyebrows raised.

All I can do is drop his shirt, concealing his bottom again before covering my face with both hands, trying to keep the happy laughter escaping me from crossing over into hysteria.

I absolutely cannot believe this.

“Don’t laugh!” Peeta says, but he’s smirking himself. “I know my mark looks ridiculous, but I told you we matched.”

I sit back on my heels- my body shaking with the effort of trying to hold my laughter in. I cannot believe this- I’m thrilled. I’m getting everything I want.

Peeta turns to face me. He’s still on his knees, and his pants are still in a puddle around his legs, but he doesn’t hesitate to put his arms around me, pulling me close to him. “I love you,” he says as I get my laughter under control. I can feel him smile against my scalp.

“I love you, too,” I mumble, happy tears streaking down my face and wetting his cotton shirt. I’m probably getting snot on him by now, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Peeta pulls away, looking down at me. He uses one hand to wipe my eyes, and I take the opportunity to wipe my nose on the sleeve of my dress. I know it’s gross, but I guess some excess body fluids aren’t much to consider- he and I will be married soon. The corners of his mouth turn up in a smile as he watches at me. “You love me- for real?”

“Real,” I say, wiping my face with my sleeve again, just to be sure I got it all. “I love you.”

When my face is dry, I kiss him again, eagerly. I’m so happy, and I want him to know the way I feel. I love Peeta so much, and I want him so much.

We’re kissing intently, and I’m urging Peeta to lay on top of me again as he slowly undoes the buttons of my dress, when I have an epiphany. What’s happening between us right now, this all-consuming hunger must’ve been what the older soul-matched couples referred to when they (rather knowingly now that I think about it) told soul-marked teens they’d know their mate when the time came.

Apparently, in Peeta and I’s case, at least, “knowing when the time came” meant a quickly-awakened, unbridled desire for each other. Not that it took much for us when the love between us was already there, fully formed. I know this would’ve happened anyway.

It doesn’t take long for things to become even more heated between us. Before I know it, I’m lining up Peeta’s soul mark with mine when I reach behind him, grasping a handful of his delicious rump. My forwardness must surprise him, catching him off-guard in the middle of kissing a line down my neck and into the valley between my breasts, because when I do it, he grunts. HIs pleased noise makes my pulse race, so I do it to him again.

As for our marks? Of all things, Peeta’s is the top of an apple muffin, while mine is the bottom half. His curved lines and my rigid ones- they’re a lot like him and myself. Together we’re delicious. Although him on top and me on the bottom doesn’t last very long, just until he rolls us over and pulls my dress up and over my head, telling me he wants to look at me.

A while later, when the back of his head thunks against the wooden floor in bliss, I realize that maybe those apple muffins were pretty magical.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by endlessnightlock

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undefined5posts · 3 years

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Credit: Jordan J. Lloyd

I've been trying to dive deeper into politics, discover the genuine roots of our society, the origins of our beliefs, and the consequences of our economic system. It's a big, long, wide journey and through multiple sources such as articles, images, videos and multiple social media platforms, I've been trying to educate myself more on important subjects.

Communism, capitalism, libertarian, conservative, the left, the right, the history, the impact. It is scary to commit to everything because once you start, you simply cannot stop, once you start waking up your conscience about the horrible reality, the lies, the truths, you cannot put it back to sleep. You can't just ignore prejudice, especially when you're extremely conscious of it's omnipresence. I have continually tried to build my own opinions all while actively creating bullet point arguments in my mind because I just know that at some point I will have to defend my thinking, and I want to do it right.

Now, I am so far from being enlightened, I am a beginner and an amateur in all of those themes, but I am trying, which is the only way to start and grow.

So to tell you about my beliefs, I am a militant human rights activist, I believe in equal opportunities regardless of gender identity, sex, religion, sexual orientation, ethnicity, race and disability. This is a fact, not a belief, but the system was obviously not built to protect all people, its wasn't created to serve everyone equally but to grant a privilege to some and harm others. The current state of the world is not a slip, an accident or a misfunction of our brilliant system but a testament of it operating remarkably well. I believe that equity leads to equality, and I believe that we cannot "fix" methodologies that were immorally created with absolutely no honor whatsoever. I believe in reproductive rights, in legal, safe abortions for anybody who needs one. I believe in the decriminalization of marijuana. I believe that the death penalty is a despicable punition that should be banned as soon as possible. I believe in defunding the police and the military. I believe that it is a shame that I even have to talk about police brutality, I don't want to have to say that it is one of the most horrible things our world has originated, I feel extremely dense when I do because it seems like the most obvious certitude and I refuse to believe that this is a controversial statement. I believe that everything I have just stated, along with many more, isn't anything grand but the bare minimum, the bar is low, and yet, we still have the fight for basic human decency.

Humanity has become an option. We have normalized supporting people that represent everything wrong in this world under the name of tolerance. The left has never claimed to be tolerant towards hateful beings, We have never accepted homophobia, transphobia, racism, ableism and sexism. We cannot, for exemple, accept nazis, as too much tolerance inevitably leads to intolerance. This picture explains it perfectly:

I consider myself a communist/ socialist. The two terms still confuse me a little, some say they are the same, some say they differ quite a bit. What I know is that socialism is the transitional period between capitalism and communism. At the end of the day, the final result and goal is a stateless, moneyless and clasless society that will provide to each his need.

Our capitalistic society has brainwashed us way more than you may think. It is the root of so many of our issues, the underground demon of our problems. Every idea, thought, belief, and misconception of ours were all affected by our current economic system. It has sold us the billionnaire dream which is one of the most toxic things capitalism has offered. We have looked up to billionaires for way too long, why are they so idolized? Most of them come from high upper class families that can easily afford to invest in their inventions and creations. After starting up their companies and occasionnaly stealing other's people ideas to ultimately get undeserved merit, they then can start to properly exploit their hardworking employees's labour. And for unlimited hours and a minimum wage which probably won't even suffice you to survive, you will have to either pick up more shifts or a second or even third job, especially if you have a family to support. All while the CEO barely does any of the work and gets all the praise and money. So no, they don't all come from really poor families and have built everything for nothing.

The worst thing is that we've been so gaslit and brainwashed that we're proud of our own exploitation, we are wired to think that to be successful we have to suffer, work 10 jobs we all hate, constantly pick up extra hours, have 2 hours of sleep, have no free time to do anything we love, waste our entire youth, be depressed our entire adulthood, to finally have a few pennies to spend when we're eighty. We so strongly believe that this is the only right way to be successful that I don't think many of us have dared to question it's authority, and even if we do, we quickly accept that this a truth, a fact we cannot change and this is just the way things are.

We have capitalized water, food, land, forests, oceans, space, and everything in betweeen. Money is social construct and we have deliberately let it take over our lives. To think about the wasted opportunities and the misery that we have to endure so others can enjoy life truly angers me.

Also, communism is not an ideology that has every actually taken place. Despite what they say, there was never actually a communist country. However, every nation that has attempted a socialist system, for exemple Burkina Faso, has thrived. But of course, once capitalist countries noticed that, they decided to murder it's leader. So in conclusion, the only reason socialism failed is because of capitalism and it's interventions.

"As President (1983-1987), Sankara initiated economic reforms that shifted his country away from dependence on foreign aid and reduced the privileges of government officials; he cut salaries, including his own, decreed that there would be no more flying in first class or driving Mercedes as standard issue vehicles for Ministers and other government workers. He led a modest lifestyle and did not personally amass material wealth. President Sankara encouraged self-sufficiency, including the use of local resources to build clinics, schools and other needed infrastructure. [...] President Sankara promoted land reform, childhood vaccination, tree planting, communal school building, and nation-wide literacy campaigns. He was committed to gender equity and women’s rights and was the first African leader to publicly recognize the AIDS pandemic as a threat to African countries. Although Sankara became somewhat more authoritarian during his Presidency, his ideas, and the possibility that they could spread, were viewed by many as posing the greatest threat. President Sankara was assassinated during a coup led by a French-backed politician, Blaise Compaoré, in October 1987. Compaoré served as the President of Burkina Faso from October 1987 through October 2014, when he himself was overthrown."

Via:https://africandevelopmentsuccesses.wordpress.com/2015/02/28/success-story-from-burkina-faso-thomas-sankaras-legacy/

I have been reading and watching some amazing human rights activists, notably Angela Davis, Malcolm X and James Baldwin. The people that were villainized, labeled as violent and radical, when every single word that came out of their mouhs were pure facts. They are probably some of the most eloquent people I have had the pleasure of hearing. Every sentence, every argument, every single detail made so much sense and opened my mind to so many new realizations. This is the perfect exemple of how the media tarnishes the reputation of wise black women and men. I would strongly advise you to research more about them.

"Socialism & communism are demonized in the west to the point of erasing influential individuals' socialist advocacy. Heres a short list of people you may not have known were socialists/ communists:

MLK

Albert Einstein

Nelson Mandela

Frida Kahlo

Tupac Shakur

Mark Twain

Malcom X

Oscar Wilde

Bertrand Russell

Hellen Keller

Pablo Picasso

George Orwell

Shia LaBeouf

John Lennon

Woody Guthrie

Socialism & communism are not dirty words. Some of the most brilliant minds of our history were socialists and communists. Embrace it." Via @sleepisocialist on twitter

So what else can I say, capitalism has ruined our society and the way we act and think. I know a lot of people refuse to support communism because they think it's too much of a perfect ideal utopian world for it to ever actually exist. And to that I say, first of all, so you agree, it is a wonderful theory, and second of all, a world without racism, sexism, homophobia or any kind or discrimination could also be perceived as "too ideal to actually exist", but does that mean I'm giving up on talking, educating myself and others, protesting and trying to build a better future? Absolutely not. This is the objective, it would be so dumb to think that we just couldn't achieve that so let's not even try.

I want to talk more in detail about communism, theory, human rights, etc... but I don't want to make this post any longer. I will however be posting more about it soon enough.

I know this is a little different than what I usually post, but I want to speak, tell you all my own opinions, I don't want to just repost activism related stuff. I'll continue to do that, but not exclusively. I know it won't get as many interactions as my other posts, but this is what I needed at some point in my life, and if I could make understanding some basic informations easier to some people, it'll already be a great accomplishment.

Thank you for reading.

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wildwoodmage · 3 years

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CROSSROADS

@boundforfreedomsonsal SonSal Week Year 3 Day 3

Second day in a row I'm cheating by repurposing fic I already had mostly written, but actually it's sonsal mod's fault for making prompts that suited my pre-existing drafts! This one is a continuation of Starlight Symphony, an AU featuring Sally as the Goddess of Order and Sonic as... well, why don't you read it for yourself? ;3 High fantasy with a touch of philosophy. Does it count as major character death if the scene takes place in the afterlife? Anyway...

Despite what humans and lesser gods might believe, Sally, Queen of the Gods, was not omniscient. Her knowledge was vast, unmatched by any who had not personally woven shapeless matter into planets and stars. She heard the song of every newborn soul, and remembered all who had come before. Human history was a tome she returned to time and time again, spending centuries pondering the stories of the strange creatures she and her husband had created. The future, however, remained behind a veil. Scourge had a unique talent for bucking her predictions, bending fate to his ever-shifting whims. Every once in a while, a human was born with a similar talent. These humans drew power from their defiance, their ability to stare fate in the eye and not blink. Sally soon realized that humans with this ability often became heroes, healers, leaders, or destroyers. They changed fate and the fate of all who followed in their wake. When Sally peered into a human’s future and realized that it was shrouded in chaos, she knew that they were one to pay close attention to.

When the triplets were born, fate ceased to be predictable. Infinite possibilities clouded Sally’s vision, and as much as the mystery vexed her, she found that she could not tear her eyes away. A lesser mind, studying them, would find them unremarkable; three children without wealth or protection, likely to die in obscurity. But they survived, and as they reached adulthood, Sally began to see the signs of three uniquely powerful souls, shining with defiance and infinite potential. Sonic, the eldest, was courageous and kind. He was a shield between his family and the myriad of dangers that threatened them. Sonia was a firebrand, with ambition that would never be satisfied with a life of poverty and fear. Manic was clever, and although his wit was often used for petty tricks, he could not fully conceal a profound love of justice. All three were dishonest, as humans often were; they pretended not to care about a world that did not care for them, but Sally could see that they ached for any innocent who suffered, and they yearned for a kinder future.

For two decades, a blink in the lifespan of a god, Sally watched them from afar. And when one reached the Isle of Souls, she approached him. Sonic lay on his back, cushioned by ivory sand, while rhythmic waves lapped at his feet. He stared up at a blue-gray sky, eyes tracing subtle shifts in the clouds. In all the years Sally had watched him, she had never seen him lie so still. On Earth, he had been eternally restless, his body overflowing with more energy than a single human could possibly contain. Here, however, he enjoyed a moment of perfect peace, untroubled by want or memory or anything that was not the rolling waves. He deserved it. Sally felt a twinge of pity that it may not last.

The Queen didn’t speak as she approached, not wishing to disturb him until he was ready. Her preferred form when speaking to humans was a lady, small and unassuming at a glance, with sensibly cropped hair and clothes of sturdy, deep blue linen. Unlike her husband, she cared little for striking awe and fear into the hearts of men. She found it was far more satisfying to reveal her true nature piece by piece, beguiling her followers not with power, but mystery. Her blessing was reserved for those who sought the truth beneath the surface. When she sat beside Sonic, legs folded demurely beneath her, only the vivid color of her eyes and clothes indicated that she was anything more than another ghost.

With uncharacteristic slowness, Sonic turned blank white eyes on her. He smiled, friendly but not familiar. “Howdy, stranger,” he said. “I didn’t know there was anyone here but me.”

“It’s best to give new arrivals space to adjust,” Sally said. “I hope I didn’t interrupt.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I was just enjoyin’ the atmosphere.” Sonic looked back up at the sky. His face was smooth and slack, untouched by worry. Although he had worn a carefree mask on Earth, there had always been fury and tension seeping through the cracks. Now, he couldn’t even remember what had troubled him so. Sally was almost jealous. Almost.

“I love to come here,” she said. “There’s not a place in the universe that’s more peaceful.”

“I believe it,” Sonic said. “But I haven’t seen much beyond earth and the night sky. How much of the universe have you seen?”

“All of it and more,” Sally said. Sonic snorted as if she had cracked a joke, although her tone was entirely sincere.

“All of it, huh? And here I thought I was well traveled. What’s your name, stranger?”

Sally introduced herself, and was momentarily taken aback when Sonic extended a hand for her to shake. His smile was effortless, and Sally had seen shades of it in the years before. To Sonic, everyone was a friend until they proved otherwise, even someone like her. She gave his hand a polite shake.

“I’m Sonic,” he said.

“I know.”

“Of course you do.” Sonic’s tone was mirthful, unafraid. Perhaps it was the soothing balm of his surroundings that kept him from worrying, but Sally suspected that she would not intimidate him even if they were still on Earth. Even if any sensible human would be afraid of her. “You know everything, right? Can you tell me where we are?”

“This is the Isle of Souls, a waypoint between Earth and infinity. Ghosts rest here until they are ready to move on.”

Sonic was quiet for a moment, his smile softening into something more subdued. “I’m dead.”

It wasn’t a question, so Sally didn’t answer. “What do you remember?”

“Not much,” Sonic said. “Faces. Family. I’m missing a lot of details, and the actual dying part is a big ol’ blank.”

“That’s normal. Those who die tragically rarely remember right away. The memories will return as you make peace with your fate.”

“And my family?”

“Grieving, but safe. I cannot predict their futures, but I suspect that they will not join you here anytime soon.”

“Good.” A pang of sadness crossed Sonic’s expression, the first since his arrival on the Island. “Sort of. I guess it’s normal to miss them. I want them to be safe, but I think they’d like it here.”

“Most souls wait here until their loved ones arrive. You are welcome to do so. However…” Sally chose her next words carefully. It was exhilarating, speaking with someone whose actions she could not predict, but the uncertainty was unfamiliar and vexing. “I would like to make you an offer.”

At that, Sonic propped himself up, turning away from the blue-gray waves to look Sally in the eye. “Do you always sound this spooky, or do you crank it up a notch for the recently-dead?”

“Words have consequences, especially when they are misunderstood. Especially words from a goddess to a human. I want to be sure you understand the gravity of your decision.”

Sonic breathed out a sigh, casting a longing glance back at the endless ocean. But he sat up, facing Sally, as tension crept back into his posture. “Alright, Your Majesty. I’m listening.”

“You have two paths forward,” Sally said. “You may remain on the Isle of Souls like multitudes before you, and those that will come after. Ghosts are welcome to stay as long as they like. When you are ready for eternal rest, you will sail across the ocean. The horizon is beyond the reach of even the gods, and on the other side you will be truly at peace. No matter what path you choose now, that horizon is your final destination.

“You died sooner than I expected. You are not the first human to do so, and you will not be the last. But I believe that you still have a story left to write. If you accept my offer, I will grant you a portion of my power, and you will be my agent in the realm of the gods. The reaper who brought you to the Isle is one such agent, though you would have different responsibilities. You would be not unlike an angel from human stories, a messenger and a warrior, defying those who would disrupt the balance between the gods.”

Sally couldn’t predict the future, but she knew with complete certainty what Sonic’s first question would be. “Would I be able to go back to Earth?”

“No,” she said. “If I were to bend the laws of life and death, even for my own champion, my own power—and every universal law I uphold—would erode. Any time you cross into the mortal plane, your power and ability to communicate with the living will be severely restricted. You are dead, and you will remain dead. Should you accept, your service will be temporary, and when it ends you will return to the Isle of Souls.”

A wiser man would ask for time to think. Sonic merely looked at the starless sky, then the horizon. The energy that flowed through him in life and death alike had him fidgeting, sweeping his fingers through the soft sand. Sally couldn’t predict him, couldn’t see into his racing thoughts, but she had crafted his beating heart and recognized her husband’s gift, the restless defiant that flowed through his veins.

She was not surprised by his answer. She couldn’t wait to be surprised by what was to come.

#sonic the hedgehog #sally acorn #sonally #sonsal week #deity au #sonic gijinka #wildwood glyphs #death ///#death tw

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spokeanthoughts · 3 years

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Waking up every day is probably the most underrated blessing that people received from God. It is not as grand as buying a new house or a car, getting a job, or opening a business, that often celebrated with warm smiles and words of appreciation. But, waking up means chances - another chance to fulfill the desires in your heart, to tick the checklist that you have planned for months, to be with your loved ones, and to be just simply beautiful you. Spending the entire day may or may not turn out well, but this is how the magic and beauty of living every day falls into - the possibilities of life.

As I entered the portal of adulthood, I have learned to appreciate simple things like hearing the sound of my alarm clock and feeling the sunlight hitting my face. Though I deeply understand that things may not always go according to plans, but I have always try to live my ordinary student life filled with love, positivity, and productivity. Let me tell you how I spent my entire day today, September 1, 2021.

I started my day unusually early because I want to set my mind on the right track of productivity on the first day of the month. Trust me, I also find it hard to battle off my sleepiness, but I need to wash away my laziness because of many tasks on my plate. I always start my mornings by opening windows and staring a couple of minutes outside. Then, I fixed my bed and did some stretching. I went downstairs to gargle, wash my face, and boil my water to drink. Afterward, I silently sat at the corner and prayed. I usually try not to talk whenever I wake up to keep silence in me; it is my way of calming my heart and easing my anxieties.

When my daily devotion ended, I started to prepare myself to attend online classes - take a bath, brush my teeth, and wear my uniform. I sat in my study area, which I never had before; I allocated a small space in my room to set up my computer, which I used to cope with the demands of academics.

I remembered that during the first months of my online classes, I tend to procrastinate my tasks with the thinking I have more free time. I also got easily frustrated due to a slow internet connection or sudden power interruption. However, when my tasks started compiling, it was a hard slap on my face that I had to be self-regulated and change my routine. I have learned to focus on the things that I can control - like my time. I used my notebook, post-its, and pen in scheduling my daily tasks. I stopped doing mental task listing because it makes me stressed. Scheduling helped me to see clearly and focus on the things that I have to do.

Then as stated in my schedule, today marked the second day of my field study deployment. I observed the MAPEH & CLE class of grade 6 students. I was exposed to a new learning environment, and I know that this would contribute to my professional growth. I was also inspired by how teachers do their job in this current set-up. After my observations, I ate lunch and washed the dishes. I often do household chores during weekdays, but I usually set my cleaning day every weekend. Then, I took a break by watching videos from YouTube, browsing my social media accounts, and chatting with my friends. Remember, taking a break is necessary, but do not drown yourself in instant gratification. Stop subscribing to the idea of “procrastinate now, cram later.” Been there, done that.

Since it is Wednesday, I only have observation classes, and I allocated my afternoon to answering the activities in my field study workbook and listed my observation notes. I normally try to be productive whenever I have asynchronous classes. When in synchronous class, I always take notes during the discussion to avoid being sleepy.

Afterward, I took a rest when I felt that my neck and back were aching. One thing that I learned in this online class is to value rest time. It does not mean delaying tasks; it is about being kinder to yourself.

I have different forms of rest - sometimes I sleep, watch series, play ukulele, write my thoughts, etc. Today, I slept until 6 pm. I helped to prepare dinner and had a "kumustahan" session with my family. I considered this moment as my favorite part of the day because I treat it as my temporary escape from academic burnout. Sharing and honoring thoughts are important to decipher feelings and feel validated.

After dinner, I prepared myself to sleep, closed the window, and fixed my bed. I always prepare my bed to sleep even if I still do tasks so that when I am sleepy, I will just lay down. I ended my day with a prayer and reflection. Self-reflection is a practice that I apply to myself recently to assess my actions and words; this would help me become a better person.

I usually spend my days as a student like these - doing routines and academics only. It seems that I have a boring life, but the little details such as I got to spend time with my family; I chatted with my friends; I watched a series; I finished a task, makes me feel that I had a good day. Living 24/7 is filled with hundreds of possibilities, but as I have read, “we can’t always control what happens to us, but we can always control how we respond.” I hope that we should always celebrate a morning with a warm smile and strong heart to move forward until the next. Let us all live our lives and not merely exist. Remember that, waking up means chances; “babangon para sa bagong simula.”

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libsterslobsters · 3 years

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Since I've Been Loving You...

Part four of The Song Remains the Same series

Summary: The Reader hadn't had many friends in her lifetime before a chance encounter in Romania brought Bucky Barnes into her life. That's all he is. Just a friend... that she may be slowly falling for. As for Bucky, dating may have changed since the 1940s, but he's pretty sure that's what he and the Reader have been doing for the past four months, and he assumes she's on the same page.. When a night in results in deep fears revealed, both parties involved learn more about themselves and each other than they bargained for.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see little bits of the future and understands every language)

Warnings: language, mild angst, slow burn (See fic "Communication Breakdown" on my page for resolution), mentions of minor character death, fluff, misunderstandings

Author's note: In this ficlet series, I've referenced the one time Bucky and the reader caught a mouse in her apartment multiple times, so I figured I'd better go ahead and write it 😉. As always, the reader is unnamed, but since these characters live in my head rent free, I call her Violet Aimes.

*************************************************

The radio is on full blast as she dances around her apartment, rearranging a cabinet here, brushing away a cobweb there. Despite the fact that the season is months away, she’s set about the task of Spring Cleaning… in the middle of Autumn.

Since she lives on her own, she rarely has the motivation to clean her apartment. She keeps it functional and hygienic, but other than that, she usually doesn’t do much. That is, until recently, when the most extraordinary thing has happened: she’s made a friend.

As a child, a huge premium is put on your ability to make people’s aquaintances. Every time you go anywhere knew, you’re asked, “Did you make any friends today?” As an adult, friends are seen as nice, but not a priority. That is, unless they can help you get ahead. Since she rarely lets anyone get close to her (it’s too damn dangerous when you see the future, not to mention speak every language automatically, and because of that, the U.S. government would very much like to get it’s hands on you), her list of friends in adulthood has remained quite short. But, it turns out what they say is true: it’s not the quantity that counts, but the quality, and Bucky Barnes is indeed a quality friend to have. He’s kind, he’s loyal, brave, and- she shakes her head- attractive, yes. He’d make someone someday a fine partner. Not her, of course. If there was ever a chance that something like that could happen between them, experience has shown her that once someone learns her secret, they immediately decide it’s best to keep their distance romantically. What was the phrase she heard a while back? Don’t stick your dick in crazy? Well, she can’t blame anyone for thinking that way, dick sticking or not, because while she’ s not crazy, her life definitely is.

Pushing all of those thoughts to the side, she grabs her broom and begins to sweep her kitchen. It’s a small space. In fact, she can only walk three paces in either direction. Still, by the time she’s finished, she has a respectable pile of trash at her feet waiting for the dustpan. Only three more rooms to go in… she glances down at her phone… forty-five minutes. Yikes. Well, if she’s going to spend the afternoon cleaning, she needs an appropriate album to listen to.

Thank goodness for streaming services, because although she has a hefty CD collection (it’s no longer the ‘cool’ way to enjoy music, but what can she say, a girl’s gotta have hobbies), if she started looking through it, she’d be here all day, trying to make a damn decision. So, instead she searches for the first thing that comes to mind: Amy Grant, Heart In Motion. It’s cheesy, but it’s bright and poppy. A perfect combination for getting her though the arduous task of cleaning. So, duster in hand, she slips her earbuds in and, once again, gets to the task at hand.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Bucky’s a few minutes early, so he’s not expecting the door to be open, or even for her to be home. In hindsight, he should’ve texted and asked if it was okay, him showing up before the agreed time, but he didn’t think of it, and now that he’s in her building, well… he’ll just hang around in the hallway until it’s closer to five o’clock.

Not for the first time in the past three months, he thinks to himself that he has absolutely no idea what the protocal is for dating these days. He’s read multiple articles (Reddit is a wellspring of information that he wasn’t necessarily looking for, but there it was) and watched several Youtube videos, but one person seems to contradict another. Wait twenty-four hours after a date to call, no don’t do that, it makes her nervous, but if you call before then, you’ll scare her off with your desperation. Let her determine who makes the first move, but don’t be afraid to take control. Go with casual dates, but make them special. All in all, he can’t help thinking this was much simpler seventy years ago when there were basically three choices on what you’d do on any given night: the movie theater, a diner, or dancing. Maybe a combination of the three, and if you were lucky, possibly parking afterwards. Now… good grief. The best he can figure is to just go with his gut. In essence, get to know her, enjoy their time together. Other than that… well, he’s still figuring it out. So far, things are going slowly, and he’s okay with that. It’s really nice, actually. No pressure for either of them.

He’s still emmersed in his thoughts when he steps out of the elevator and onto the sixth floor. It’s always vaguely noisy. The walls are thin ( the building was constructed before the collapse of the Soviet Union, which he only recently learned about), and there’s several couples cohabiting on this floor who… well, frankly, he’s surprised the ones next door to her haven’t killed each other yet. However, as he gets nearer to the door, one sound grabs his attention. That of someone singing. Singing loudly, and completely off-key. He’s heard some tone-deaf people before, but wow. This is bad.

He’s just outside her door when realization dawns on him. The singer (who is either blissfully unaware of how bad they sound, or simply does not care) is her. He stifles a laugh. The voice is so comically mismatched with the girl he’s come to have quite the crush on. But hey, at least she’s having fun, if the sheer enthusiasm is anything to judge from. In fact, he kind of hates to break up the impromptu concert (although the neighbors might thank him), but he should let her know he’s here.

Thirty seconds after he shoots a quick text in her direction, there’s still no reply, and the singing hasn’t stopped. She’s just moved on to a new song. Phone’s on silent, then. Alright knocking. Just as he raises his hand to do so, his phone dings. “Come on up! It’s open!” Clearly she didn’t take, “I’m here” to mean “I’m right here, ten feet away from where you’re more than likely standing.” Alright then, since he has permission…

He can see straight through the kitchen and living room into her bedroom from the front door, so he usually averts his eyes (everyone deserves some privacy, after all), but today, before he can manage that feat, he catches sight of… is she dancing? It’s not a fox trot, that’s for sure… and is that a feather duster? None of that matters, because, still oblivious that he’s done exactly what she suggested and let himself in, she starts belting out the next verse.

“Classic case of boy meets girl, moving in the same direction.” Oh, now he can see. Her headphones are in. That explains it. “You’re not asking for the world; I’m not asking for perfection.” What’s the best way to go about alerting a person that involved in what they’re doing to your presence without making them jump out of their skin?

“Just a love that’s well designed for passing the test of time-” Knocking is always a classic. Maybe, since he’s closer this time, she’ll hear him. “I’m here to tell you, I’m here to stay. Every hour, every day.” Here it goes.

The good part is, his knocking does get her attention. The bad news-

“Holy fucking-” She jumps, startled, and if her earphones weren’t in, her phone would fall to the floor. “Dammit, Barnes!”

He tries hard, but he’s not entirely certain he’s convincingly covered his laugh with a cough.

“Laugh it up, fuzzball.” She’s trying to seem annoyed, but her own smile gives her away.

“Star Wars, right?”

“Good to know your memory still works. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people?”

“You told me to let myself in.” Her forehead wrinkles.

“Yeah, but that was when I thought “here” meant “down the street, so you don’t have to stop singing for another two minutes.” She pushes a few escaped hairs back from her forehead. “Are your ears okay? I usually save the live music for when no one else is around.”

He chuckles. “Somehow, I think I’ll make a full recovery.”

“Thank goodness.” Stowing the feather duster, she pushes past him out of the door. “I hope my fine vocal performance haven’t put you completely off, because tonight’s selection is a musical.” Huh. It’s been a while since he watched one of those. Well, apart from whichever Disney flick they’ve caught up on recently (they never watch anything too intense; he still hasn’t figured out if it’s out of concern for his well being or because that’s what she prefers, and he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask).

He must stay silent for too long, because, cheeks slightly flushed, she explains-

“Don’t knock it just yet. This one’s a classic. Plus, it takes place sometime you’re already familiar with, so you can tell me if there’s any historical inaccuracies.”

“Wait-” He crosses his arms. “-is that an old man joke? Because if it is, I’m gonna have to start on how I woke up only to find out music has been completely ruined by the kids these days.” That’s it. Her smile is back, embarassment erased.

“We’re just gonna have to agree to disagree on that one.” Settling into place on the couch, she boots up her laptop. “Now sit down and watch Singin’ in the Rain with me. It’s the least you could do after taking five years off my life by sneaking around.”

He snickers and with a nod, sits next to her.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“Here’s a historical inaccuracy for you.” She was sort of joking about that part, but it seems like he’s taken it to heart and is good-naturedly pointing out everything Hollywood got wrong about the 1920s. “Hemlines were NOT that short back then. At least, not where I was from.”

“What?” She pretends to be shocked (although truthfully, she is a little). “Don’t tell me the roaring twenties weren’t as wild as The Great Gatsby would have us believe!”

His forehead wrinkles. “I think I read that one. Didn’t think much of it.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but neither did I.” She was bored to death and hated pretty much every single character, but that’s not what’s most important right now. “How long were the dresses back then if they weren’t Debby Reynolds short?”

He seems to think about it a moment, then- “Around here, if I’m remembering right.” His hand brushes just above her knee. “That’s about as wild as it got in our part of Brooklyn, and even that was just the flappers. Of course, my Ma had them all the way down to her ankles until I was grown.” They’ve never spoken about their parents before. She appreciates the trust he’s putting in her, bringing up the distant past. Still, she hesitates before returning the gesture.

“My Mom and I didn’t have a great relationship. She was a little-” She makes a vague motion. “-not all there. She told me that my Dad came from outer space, if you can believe that.” Now that she thinks about it, that’s probably not the weirdest thing she’s ever heard, even if she doubts it’s true. “Anyway, she died when I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry.” His hand closes over hers, and she forgets how to breath. “Do you have any other family?”

“No.” She shakes her head, attempting to laugh it off. “Just me.”

They’re silent for a few minutes, and she’s about to make a joke to lighten the mood, when-

“I had a sister. Rebecca.” He sighs. “She’s dead now. Looked it up. I thought about looking up her kids, but it’s probably better if I didn’t.”

In a sudden moment of boldness, she gives his hand a squeeze. “Maybe one day, when things aren’t as complicated.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Maybe one day.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Despite his opinions of what music has become since he was young (and the fact that this movie really is full of historical innacuracies, but then again, he was under the age of ten when all of this was happening, so his view of the world might’ve been on the narrow side), Bucky can’t help but enjoy it. The male lead has a serious set of pipes. It kind of reminds him of Frank Sinatra. Plus, it’s bright and light and funny. Most of all, it makes her smile.

Around the halfway point, they hit pause to make some popcorn (“Not like the movie theaters, because I’m cheap, but we can doctor it.” ; he didn’t have the heart to tell her it’s been so long since the last time he had popcorn, she probably could’ve offered him packing peanuts to munch on and he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference), but now they’re back on the couch, the bowl resting somewhere between them. He’s not sure when or how it happened exactly, but at some point, they both migrated so far towards the middle of the sofa that now she’s leaning against him, pressed against his shoulder, and his arm is draped over the back of the couch. It’s nice. If only he could work up the nerve to kiss her.

They’re both laughing just a little too loudly over the scene where the voiceover goes out of sync with the picture part of the movie when a flurry of motion catches his eye. He turns his head to get a better look, and it’s just in time to see a mouse run directly over both of their feet.

“What the-” Her eyes go wide as she sees the creature and registers what it is.

“I think you might have a roommate.”

In a flash, she’s pulled her legs onto the couch, knocking the bowl of popcorn onto the floor. “Oh god! Please tell me that wasn’t what I thought it was.”

“It wasn’t. Unless you thought it was a mouse.” She shudders.

“Bucky, I really don’t like mice.” Considering he found one in his pipes a few months ago, he’s not the biggest fan either.

“I’m not too fond of them myself.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I mean, I really don’t like them. As in, I’m irrationally afraid of them.” Wait-

“You’re afraid of-” She nods, and he feels bad for it, but he has to stifle a laugh. “Doll, you realize they’re a lot smaller than you are.” He immediately regrets the pet name, but she doesn’t react.

“So are atoms. Split one and you’ve got an atomic bomb.” She’s got a point, but still…

“They won’t hurt you. Most of them are pretty shy-”

“The one I woke up to eating my hair when I was a kid wasn’t.” Well, now it makes more since.

“Maybe we can find some traps tomorrow-”

“No. I need it out of my apartment. Tonight.” Tonight… just to refresh his memory, he glances out the window. Uh-huh. Just as he thought. It’s pitch black, and he doubts it’s gotten any warmer since his arrival two hours ago. “I’ll catch it somehow. I just can’t sleep knowing it’s there.”

He starts to tell her that she’ll have better luck winning the lottery without a ticket than catching that rodent, but as he peers down at her face, he sees that she’s gone a shade paler and her eyes are wide. She really is terrified of this… mouse. Alright. Decision made.

“Okay.” Careful to avoid grinding the popcorn into the truly ugly shag carpetting covering the living room, he stands. “Can you tell me where to find a broom? Maybe a spare rag if you have it?”

“Broom’s behind the door. Wash rags are under the sink.” He’s already bent over, searching for the objects in quesiton when she asks, “What are you planning to do?” That assumes he has a plan rather than just a random guess.

“Go poking around. Check behind the fridge, in the cabinets. They like to hide out where they won’t be seen.”

“You don’t have to-” She stops short as he straightens, dish rag in hand. “-but if you do, I owe you big time.”

“Tell me the next time you have a vision of me forgetting to take the clothes out of the washer and put them in the dryer, and we’ll call it even.”

Despite his best efforts, the kitchen and bathroom lend no results. He’s really hoping to avoid poking around her bedroom (that still seems a little too personal, especially since mice like to hide in places like underwear drawers), so that leaves….

It’s completely thoughtless, him pulling the couch out from the wall while she’s still sitting there. It doesn’t strike him as odd until she says,

“You could’ve asked me to get up, you know.”

“No need.” Looks like they’re in luck. “There’s your roommate.” Wrong thing to say, because she shoots off the couch like it’s on fire and, without her feet so much as touching the ground, jumps on top of the coffee table.

“Shit! It was under there the entire time?”

“Looks that way. There’s a hole in the wall, so-” He raises the broom, but before he can bring it down-

“No! Don’t kill it!” What the- He glances at the woman still standing on the coffee table. “It has as much right to live as we do. Just wanted to get out of the cold.” Okay, but-

“What do you want to do with it then?”

She grimaces.

“Just… can you get rid of it?” Can he… oh boy. But, he’s not about to say no. That is until he realizes-

“I could if it were still here.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” He couldn’t have put it better himself. “Okay, um.” She frowns, then with a sigh, squeezes her eyes shut.

“What are you-”

“Sometimes I can see something if I’m not paying attention to anything else.” A few seconds pass, and then she cringes. “Ew! Okay, bottom cabinet, right hand side in the kitchen. I’m gonna have to rewash all of those dishes.” Good enough.

Now that his mission is to catch and carry instead of kill the furry fiend, he moves more quietly, grabbing the now-empty popcorn bowl from the floor as an afterthought. He really hopes that this vision isn’t too far in the future, because although it’s preferable to the way he’s spent a lot of his time in the past seventy years, he’d rather not crouch by a cabinet for the rest of the night. He’ll do it, but if there’s another option…. Pulling open the door as slowly as he can, he catches sight of it. Hope she wasn’t too attached to that box of cornflakes, because Mickey here has helped himself. If he can just get his hand in… the mouse registers that he’s got company and starts to dart out of the way, but this time, Bucky’s prepared for it and catches it between the towel and the bowl.

“Got him!” She cheers from her place on the table, but still takes a step back when he comes nearer.

“Thank god!”

“Never been called that before.” She rolls her eyes, but chuckles.

“Thank you, Buck. Now can we get him the fuck out of here?”

“Sure, but where exactly?” He’s not opposed to letting Mickey Mouse loose in the hallway so he can go bug the neighbors, but then Mr. Mouse might make his way back here, and this seems like the kind of adventure you only have once.

“Um-” She starts to climb down, but hesitates. “Are you sure you’ve got him?”

“I’m sure.” It physically hurts him not to laugh.

“Then out in the courtyard, do you think?” She jumps from the coffee table and picks up her coat, pulling it on.

“That’ll work.” He starts towards the door.

“Don’t you want your coat? I can drape it over your shoulders?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright.” He’s about to mention she doesn’t have to come with him, but before he can, she’s by his side, one arm hesitantly wrapped around his back.

“I’ll stay close then. Can’t have you freezing to death on a mission of mercy.”

As luck would have it, everyone else is already tucked away this time of night, so they have the elevator and the dingy lobby all to themselves. Still walking side by side, she pushes open the door and they step through.

“Just set him down, or-”

“No. Let’s go to the bushes. Give him some quick and easy cover so he won’t be too cold.” Shaking his head, he makes his way towards the shrubbery. Him and his human coat.

“This seem like a good place for a mouse house?” Chuckling, she nods. “Alright then, little man. You’re officially being evicted.” As soon as he releases the mouse, she jumps back with a yelp, still grasping his arm.

“Sorry!” It’s a lost cause. He can’t hold it back. At long last he lets out the laugh he was holding back.

“I’m sorry, Doll-” Why does it feel so natural to call her that? He’ll think about it later, but right now he needs to do damage control. Even when he was coming up, it was rude to laugh at a person.

But, if she’s offended, it doesn’t show, and instead she beams at him.

“Is that the stupidest thing you’ve ever done or what?” It’s one of the strangest, but he’s been known to do stupid things, especially if it’s someone he… oh. Oh. Well, that’s not one he was ever expecting to say again. But it’s true. Somehow, although it’s under the most unlikely of circumstances, he has come to love this woman. More than that, he’s pretty sure he’s starting to fall-

“I’ll take the stunned silence as a yes.” It’s a joke and it snaps him out of his revelry. He loves her, but now’s not the time to say it. For now-

“No, Doll.” Taking her hand, he begins to walk back towards the building. “Not even close.”

#marvel #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes #bucky barns x y/n #bucky x reader #fanfiction #bucky fanfic #fluff

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megibluedragon · 4 years

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Evil Senku AU - funfic? Ideas

Sooooooo since English isn’t my first language I’m kinda afraid of writting fanfics because it would took me very long time. So I found other way to write fanfic without actually writting fanfic in proper way. It’s more like ideas for certain fanfic in points of course in chronological order if it’s possible. It’s gonna have points looking really close to fanfic so reading it will almost feel like reading a fanfic. Everyone was warned so let’s go to idea I was always interested in.

Evil Senku AU - Because Senku is so charismatic he could go in both ways and either save people or destroy people. His personality would still fit the role. So few more informations about my version of this AU. I won’t separate this into chapters but into life etaps: 1. Childhood, 2. Teenagerhood, 3. Adulthood. In this AU SenGen in romantic way will happen. Is this a warning or good information for most of the people? I just say in advance that I will talk about this ship here. Be ready for fluff and heavy angst. I will take canon stuff but also make changes to lead to certain events. Characters we know from manga will also show up but with not much spoiler. More like mentioning. Below some extra questions.

So tags: evil Senku, villain Senku, most of anime and manga characters (not gonna write them all), SenGen, fluff, heavy angst, abuse, comfort, character deaths, changed canon events.

,,Snake Whisperer - Stage 1 - Childhood”

- Senku’s biological parents abused him his whole life and nobody knew about this because they acted like happy family around others.

- His parents died in car accident.

- Senku was grinning entire time during funeral and just thought it’s the best day of his life but wished they could suffer more.

- He ended up in the orphanage and didn’t want to be adopted. He just wanted to wait until 18 and live on his own. He acted horrible in front of every potential adoptive parent.

- Senku is still curious boy. He learns everything he can to be ready for life out of orphanage.

- Other kids are either scared of him or admire him.

- Senku was adopted by Byakuya from orphanage when he was 7.

- Byakuya didn’t buy Senku’s act as problem child and just felt that he probably went through something horrible despite staff saying he came from lovely family.

- Senku had trust issues.

- Byakuya made deal with Senku. If he would let him adopt him he would get his own room, food and everything he needs. Byakuya promised to not act like a father but more like a friend. He would let Senku decide at 18 if he wants to stay with him or just leave and live on his own.

- Senku accepted because he was done with happy looking couples visiting him and wanted some peace from screaming children running around. He called Byakuya by his name.

- Senku was going to school and was way more intelligent than kids in his age. Still loves Science and spended most of the time in library.

- Byakuya still is a teacher, loves space and wants to be an astronaut.

- He didn’t force Senku to bond with him. For a year they talked about the most basic stuff. From time to time Senku was asking Byakuya scientific questions when he didn’t want to run to computer and check on the Internet. Byakuya loved answering these questions.

- When Senku’s 8th birthday was coming Byakuya wanted to give Senku special present to maybe bond with adopted kid a little more. He knew boy loved Science and wanted to buy him scientific equipment but got frustrated when he find out how much money is needed for profesional stuff but he didn’t want to let go of his idea. He sold his car to buy equipment for Senku. He couldn’t help it and also bought a telescope and few space gadgets without knowing if Senku would be interested in space. He thought of it as side experiment.

- Senku wasn’t expecting bithday party with just him and Byakuya. He thought party isn’t needed but got convinced to blow a candle with nr. 8 and ate some cake.

- Byakuya said Senku’s present is in his room. Senku find out his room is full of scientific equipment and couldn’t believe his own eyes. He was looking through all new stuff until he stopped near telescope. Senku asked Byakuya why all of this is happening, where he got money and why telescope. Byakuya was honest and told him about selling car. He explained space as part of Science and the fact that he could answer Senku’s questions from this category. Byakuya also confessed he just wanted to see him happy.

- Senku after minute of silence hugged Byakuya saying ,,Thanks dad” for the first time. Both of them were shocked. Senku jumped away scared of his own behavior. He started crying for the first time since last beating from his biological parents and apologized multiple times expecting hit from Byakuya. Byakuya gently hugged terrified Senku instead. Boy was shaking and crying for few minutes before returning a hug.

- That day Senku opened up to Byakuya and revealed how his life looked before orphanage.

- Byakuya comforted Senku for long time before he fully calmed down. Man already thought it’s big and didn’t want to push Senku more so he changed subject when he thought is right moment and showed Senku how telescope works.

- By the end Senku asked Byakuya if he can call him dad and if he can hug him one more time.

- This time Byakuya bawled his eyes out and hugged Senku again saying ,,Yes, you can call me dad!”.

- Senku found new best day of his life.

Extra notes: And then all hell broke loose muahahaha ok I’m sorry :) So this is just my idea of Senku’s childhood. Kids are not born as bad people. There is always some kind of trigger like one event or multiple events one after another. In the beginning some crazy stuff happened and some fluff mixed with angst. It will go more towards crazy in other parts.

So like I said this isn’t really a fanfic. I don’t know how to even call it. It’s more like detailed notes before writting fanfic. So how you guys like that kind of format? Do you even want to see more of it? I would love to see your comments :)

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ffamranxii · 4 years

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I just finished Fruits Basket Another and I have some Feelings, okay? Under the cut, because spoilers.

THE CHARACTERS

Hoooo boy let’s unpack here. Furubana is about Sawa Mitoma, a nervous first year in high school. She firmly believes that she’s basically human trash, and resolves to take up as little space in the world as possible, and that’s not even me paraphrasing. She says within the first few pages she wants to take up as little space as humanly possible. We find out that she’s the daughter of an extremely abusive mother - emotionally abusive. Sawa’s mother never hits her, but she’s also never once nice to her in any of her appearances. She isolates Sawa from any and all friends, she constantly drags Sawa down, and she’s rarely even at home, even back when Sawa was a little girl. How long has Sawa been looking after herself? Sawa is what Tohru could have become if Kyoko had been involved with a gang member rather than Katsuya.

The main trio of characters is rounded out by essentially the same trio as before: Mutsuki Sohma as the son of Yuki and Machi and Hajime Sohma as the son of Tohru and Kyo. Visually, they look nearly identical, which is why I chose that ^ picture. But they could not be more different. Sawa is every Sohma insecurity rolled into one, and the Sohmas are what their parents could have been without the curse and the constant abuse. Hajime is one of the oldest of the cousins, smothered with love and affection by his entire family, and is lovingly referred to as Dad and Papa (which annoys him), being one of the few in the family who cooks, cleans, or is, y’know, responsible. (Good job, Kyoru! Teach your boy right!) He is unwillingly elected student council president, and manages it easily. Unlike his father’s life, things come easily to Hajime, but he doesn’t let that make him conceited. He’s a down to earth character who trades biting remarks with Mutsuki. Mutsuki, on the other hand, I love. I adore. I want to erect a shrine to this boy. Poor Yuki, his wife hath birthed him a miniature Ayame. Mutsuki is trouble under a beautiful exterior, subtle snark and gentle teasing, but over the top in other aspects (like his thing that was once a desk and complete inability to do the most basic of tasks like buy laundry detergent, his utter willingness to let other people do things for him). He is also a deeply caring individual, and has an extremely close relationship with his cousin Shiki which is the complete opposite of his father’s relationship with Shiki’s mother that I nearly cried right there while reading volume three.

Kinu Sohma is the daughter of Hatori and Mayuko (a pairing of which I am not fond), and I actually was not fond of her until volume three, at which point she became a treat. A college student, Kinu seems to have no real ambitions or life goals (much like many college freshmen), spends much of her time sleeping, and only really sweeps in at the last chapter to comfort a very distressed Sawa in the way only a fellow woman can, delivering a wonderful speech right up with Kyoko’s Words Of Wisdom about how no one has the right to treat you badly, even your own family. No one has the right to abuse you, demean you, hurt you. That is a curse. She actually uses the word curse, and it makes me wonder what her parents told her of the Sohma curse, if Hatori ever mentioned how Akito used to be, or how Shigure was such a piece of shit about the seahorse, and it made me love Hatori all over again, for teaching his daughter such a powerful thing. Volume three also gave wonderful interaction between Kinu and the entirely deranged (but perfectly appropriate) Hibika Sohma, the daughter of Ayame and Mine. Just like Hatori is the only one who has any sort of control over Ayame, Kinu is the only one who can reign in Hibika. I believe these two are the oldest, out of all of the cousins, because in volume two, Hibika just fucking jets off to Paris with no warning, at the top of one of her tiny tophats instead of setting up her parents’ second store, because she needed inspiration to create new dresses. I don’t think a high school student could do that. Hibika may possibly be the oldest (Kinu is still a minor at 19 [Japan’s age of adulthood is 20]), because I don’t think a minor could do that either. She’s obsessed with Sawa and playing dress up with her, something Kinu is able to reign her away from doing with ease. She’s only the tiniest bit toned down from Ayame. I love her.

Michi Manabe is the daughter of Kakeru and Komaki and is sometimes at odds with Hajime. My biggest complaint with Furubana is that she is not in it enough!! Despite not being a Sohma proper, Michi is included in nearly all Sohma activities and all the Sohma cousins know her. She and Mutsuki were raised as siblings and address each other as such, which is precious because awww, but also because Kakeru has a deep sibling bond with his half sister as an adult, Komaki (who I view as another Tohru in a way, from how she was introduced) made an effort to keep Yuki and Machi in their lives and comfortable, and Yuki and Machi both created a family unit with the one family member who wanted Machi around, a bond so strong that their children saw each other so much growing up that they refer to each other as siblings. How precious is that?? Poor Hajime is probably the only voice of reason Mutsuki ever had in his life because you know Michi is to Mutsuki what Kakeru would be to Ayame. God I need a Kakeru-meets-Ayame-centric episode right now. Yuki would DIE. Riku Sohma is one half of the twin siblings born to Haru and Rin, and while he looks like Haru, this boy is a lot like his mother. He doesn’t have the anger issues his parents have, not really (except for instance of punching out Hibika’s brother), but he can be a bit spacey, he’s very serious and literal, and he likes to sleep. Everywhere. This family and their sleep. It kills me. He also gets himself a cute little girlfriend, and because of his crush on this girl and his watching of her, he notices her wanting to reach out to Sawa, and Sawa makes her first friend (mostly) on her own in nearly her entire life! On the other hand, Sora Sohma, his twin sister, is cute and spacey, a bit ditzy, and looks like their mother but is 100% Haru. She has nicknames for everyone in the family, and never calls anyone by their actual name. She’s my second favorite character after Hibika. Sora reminds me very much of Usagi Tsukino: instead of seeing a person, Sora sees a friend.

Poor Chizuru Sohma should’ve been Yuki’s kid. Honestly I’m surprised Ayame and Mine don’t have more kids, given how passionate I’m sure they are. And while Chizuru loves his father, he does declare the man crazy (as does every other character, minus Mutsuki, who says he’s “the most terrific of all uncles”) on more than one occasion. Chizuru is the more responsible of the Ayame/Mine Sohma children, setting up the Ayame II shop essentially on his own until Mutsuki offers Sawa’s help as a part timer (because remember, Hibika decided to go to Paris for the week). He hates that others view his family as eccentric and him as normal and especially hates when they comment on it, and he tends to be a bit foul-mouthed and outspoken. A bit like Hiro. Poor kid. Rio Mosca is Saki Hanajima’s boy and he is NOT KAZUMA’S SON AND THIS MAKES ME SO SAD. His parents’ love story is rather cute, however. His father is a foreigner (Italian, given that his surname is Mosca), and the two met on a plane, making this a cute little callback to when young Megumi prayed for a someone for Saki to “get on a plane and meet her.” Mina Sohma is the most precious baby and is the daughter of our boy Momiji! Although, look at her - could she be anyone else’s child? She is sweet and cute and seems to be without Momiji a lot - Momiji inherited his father’s business (which seems to be international?), and he travels all the time. Mina has a great talent for batting and rather than be privately tutored and follow her father all over the world, she stays behind in Japan to play baseball for her school. Her dream is to take over the family business from her father like he did from his. It seems Momiji’s terribly tragic story ended happily, as it seems he reconciled with his father enough to inherit his business... (more on this later). And then we have Shiki Sohma, who is surprisingly the son of Shigure and Akito! :O Shiki seems to inhabit two worlds, much like the Sohmas of Furuba. On the one hand, he is part of a generation who was raised by those healed by Tohru Honda. Loving, caring parents who love and adore their children. He has friends who care deeply for him - his best friends, despite all being in different grades, are Chizuru and Rio, and they all play Go together in the school club. His family are all deeply committed to him - Mutsuki especially is close to him, as seen in the first volume where Shiki was teased at but not seen, as Mutsuki called him to come to the house where he, Hajime, Kinu, and Sawa were having a hot pot with Michi, Riku, and Sora. His parents both are and aren’t the Shigure and Akito we know from Furuba - Shigure is still the immature jokester and Akito is still the serious head of the family, but they both love their son immensely, totally and completely in a way that Akito remembers being loved as a child by her father, in a way that Shigure’s parents probably loved him. On the other hand, in volume three, it is shown that, being the son of the head of the family, and living in the Sohma compound, with the old servants, the “old timers,” and Ren, subjects Shiki to some truly horrific abuse the likes of which no other second gen Sohma child has had to go through. Shiki would greet guests who would give him gifts, only to find that within those gifts were notes badmouthing his mother. Ren attempted to stab him as a small child, something the old Akito would and has attempted on the first gen Sohmas, and it’s implied the only reason was because Shiki was Akito’s child. Akito threw herself in front of Ren’s knife and took the blow for her boy. Shiki is a quiet and withdrawn child, one foot in each of these worlds, and seemingly paralyzed over how to act. Much like Sawa, especially once she meets the Sohmas.

Remember I said we’d come back to Momiji’s happy ending? See that woman in the top left? That’s Momo Sohma, Momiji’s sister. In Furubana, Momiji has reconciled not only with his father, but with his sister as well! Momo appears to pick up Momo from the Sohma house; she is Momiji’s assistant and Mina seems to stay with her sometimes when Momiji is out of the country. Momiji has his family back!!! Speaking of families, Hinata Sohma, Hiro’s little sister, is all grown up and makes her own appearance in the third volume (and is a slight alcoholic, lol). She also mentions brothers - did Hiro did another sibling after his curse broke?? Megumi Hanajima makes an appearance as a teacher at Kaibara High School, and this is my second complaint about Furubana - there is not enough Megumi!! He grew up sexy! Second best glow up in the series after Momiji! It’s Megumi who tells the romantic story of how Saki met her husband on the plane. Also making an appearance is Makoto Takei, former student council president, unwilling witness to Haru’s natural hair color explanation. He is now a teacher as well, and Sawa and Riku’s homeroom teacher. He’s also still in love with Yuki, and lets Mutsuki get away with anything. He is often at odds with Ruriko Kageyama, the daughter of Motoko Minagawa of the Prince Yuki Fan Club. Ruriko has inherited her mother’s obsession, though unlike Motoko and Makoto (god those two would’ve made a great obsessed couple), Ruriko loves ALL Sohmas. I don’t understand how the worship of an entire family to stalker levels is an official school club but whatever. Ruriko is actually pretty cool, and while she’s pretty strict, she’s also on somewhat friendly (like, “person I talk to at school but nowhere else” type friend) terms with Sawa.

THE STORY

I feel this can best be summed up in five sentences and in reverse: When Sawa was little, she fell down the stairs. She was found by Shiki, who simultaneously called an ambulance and fell in love with her. Her piece of shit mother sued Shiki because he was rich as shit. Ten years later, no Sohmas harbor any grudges against Sawa, her mother is still a piece of shit, the Sohma children are full of Tohru-and-Kyoko wisdom passed down from their parents, and try to help Sawa. And also they all hardcore ship Shiki/Sawa. The end.

No seriously, that’s the story. It’s beautiful. I wish there was one or two more volumes, a cameo featuring the adults, it would be perfect. Could you imagine the terrible awkward jokes Shigure would make? “Honey look, Shiki’s in love with the girl he pushed down the stairs as a kid. Was marrying her one of the terms of the lawsuit? Hahaha.” And Akito would just be like “....baby, you and Sawa go outside while I smack your father, you don’t need to see this.” And the two go outside and we then see Shigure fucking fly through the paper door and a loud “YOU FUCKING MORON” follow him out with the classic -_- “did I say something wrong?” Shigure face. And Shiki is just a fascinating color of ruby fire about the cheeks and mumbles, “so yeah... that’s my father....” and Sawa is a similar color and staring at her shoes like “he seems nice...” and Akito opens the ruined door as though she didn’t just beat the shit out of her husband and calls out to them, “come and have tea, your father had to step out for a bit. Sawa, dear, I’d love to hear more about you. would you prefer jasmine tea or green,” because Akito has done a complete 180 and become a decent human being since becoming a mother and Shiki is EVERYTHING to her and if her son loves this girl then GODDAMNIT SO DOES SHE.

#fruits basket another #furubana #fruits basket #furuba #fruits basket spoilers #furuba spoilers #i just finished the series and i don't know what to do with myself

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raendown · 4 years

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 8688 Chapter: 34/42 Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 34

“Was it necessary to send us off with a two hour breakfast?” Madara rolled his neck, looking for the angle to crack it so he could finally be free of the crick that had been bothering him for the past forty minutes. At his side Tobirama scoffed.

“After the consistent excess of the last seven days do you really need to ask that question?”

“I suppose not. It was all just so…so…”

“Excessive.”

“Yes!” Madara paused to sigh with relief when his neck finally cracked and then immediately took up the rant again. “I mean, sure he’s an important man. In a way. But he would probably be a lot more useful if he actually did something with his time other than pander to his own entertainment and turn every occasion in to a massive party!”

Tobirama hummed. “When I was last in the city he had no time for celebration because he was tending to important matters. I think perhaps he simply saw an opportunity. From what I heard things have only just settled down after the attempted coup, the last of the conspirators have seen their trials, so it’s possible he was using the excuse of celebrating our good deeds as a chance to bring the morale back up and reinvent the image of his reign. If the people remain unhappy and tense that can only create a perfect breeding ground for more discontent.”

“You know, I hate it when you’re logical.”

“I did know that.”

Madara harrumphed and quickened his pace to pull ahead as a sign of his own discontent. How dare Tobirama disprove his irritation with logical reasoning and simple deductions? Of course he couldn’t stay mad for long when Tobirama caught up and smoothly wove their fingers together in a firm grip. The man really did know his weaknesses.

Pretending to be grumpy and ignoring his husband was supposed to be a punishment for Tobirama and yet as the silence continued Madara discovered that it was really just as terrible for him. Silence gave room for all the thoughts he’d been trying to keep at the back of his mind to rush forward and make themselves known all over again. Naughty thoughts. Thoughts that definitely did not make continuing to walk any easier. He’d been trying not to let his mind travel down this path since they woke up and for this very reason.

As a grown man several years past when shinobi were considered to reach adulthood he knew it was just a little ridiculous to still be nervous about the idea of intimacy. He knew that not everyone from his clan actually followed the traditions as strictly as he did, people like Susumu-sensei who cared very little for whether or not they ever fell in love and gave their bodies away whenever they felt the desire to do so. With the way the Senju were raised he would not be surprised if there were still a part of Tobirama that thought he was being completely ridiculous holding out for such a subjective landmark as knowing for sure that he was in love. And yet here he was walking in silence and knowing that he was ready but also mentally spinning in circles with anxiety. Feeling anxious about this felt a little stupid, admittedly. Sex was supposed to feel good but even if it didn’t it wasn’t like he’d never felt pain before. Madara wasn’t really sure what precisely was making him nervous, actually, which only served to make him feel even more stupid.

Whatever stupid catch his brain kept stumbling on he was determined not to let it have any effect. He’d known for a while now that he desired his husband. No stupid overemotional thoughts should have the power to stop him from experiencing those things if he wanted to.

But kami forbid Tobirama notice. Madara wasn’t sure he would outlive the embarrassment of Tobirama having to console him again for not being ready. He was a grown ass adult and he did not need anyone to hold his hand when he was nervous like a small child afraid of the dark. It was nice but he didn’t need it. Especially not because every time he was allowed a glimpse behind his husband’s barriers Madara couldn’t help but feel a wave of guilt for how badly he could tell the man wanted to take the next step between them. At some point he really needed to find a way to show his gratitude for Tobirama’s patience and accommodation as they danced around each other trying to navigate the maze of their own emotions.

Eventually the silence grew overwhelming and Madara struck up a conversation on the first thing to cross his mind, blurting it out with little thought just to distract himself from the stupidity he had already gone over in his own mind a hundred times and more.

“You look a lot better now than you did a few months ago.” It took a great deal of effort not to shrink with regret as soon as the words were out of his mouth but somehow he managed to stand strong under the baffled look Tobirama turned to give him, clearly unsure if he should be insulted or not.

“I think I need a little more context on that statement.”

“You just look healthier I mean. Because you’re sleeping properly and you’re not skipping breakfast to avoid me. And…I’m glad.”

“Oh.” Tobirama paused, probably trying to think of how to respond to that. “Did I really look all that bad?”

Angling his steps to walk a little closer, Madara pressed their shoulders together in an approximation of a hug. “Sometimes you looked like you were going to fall apart in a strong breeze. Your eyes didn’t just have bags, they had entire suitcases. I’m sorry that I turned you in to that.”

“The misunderstandings between us had fault on both sides,” Tobirama assured him.

“Did they though? You thought you already knew me after writing all those letters. There’s no way you could have known it wasn’t me answering them.”

“And there is no way you could have known I ever wrote them in the first place. Looking back, I should not have been so aggressive in my approach. Neither of us reacted very well to each other that night but we’re happy now and that’s more important, yes?”

Madara looked away to hide his smile. “I suppose I could be considered happy.”

“Oh is that how it is?”

When he peeked back over Tobirama was smiling too with a light in his eyes that Madara had gotten to know quite well. His husband was indeed happy and there was a domestic sort of joy in knowing he was the cause of it that made everything inside him settle quite suddenly. All of the nerves that had been bothering him hung suspended as he wondered why he was wasting the effort to worry when Tobirama had proven time and time again that he would always be kind and caring. The reserved front he presented to the rest of the world was just that: a front. In private he was so much more. He was everything Madara had ever dreamed of.

The rest of their day didn’t feel quite as nerve-wracking as the beginning had. Even the casual unhurried pace they travelled at was able to keep him in a calm, contented mood as they made their way towards home. Since they weren’t rushing the journey would be stretched out over two days again so they made camp that night by the edge of a small lake from which Tobirama caught several fish for their dinner. After spending a week in a massive bed that could have fit three other couples on the mattress with them he almost expected the limited space of their tent to feel a little claustrophobic but once they bedded down he realized that it made very little different since they slept curled together anyway.

Passing through the village gates after the second day of travel was done with very little fanfare, the gate guards waving them in after a brief chakra scan to ensure their identities. They were still proudly expressing their satisfaction with the improvements in village security when they passed under a second set of gates marking the entrance to the Uchiha district and were nearly mowed down by a relatively small body. Madara watched with disgustingly sappy thoughts as Tobirama allowed Kagami to practically crawl all over him in greeting after being apart for more than a week.

“Where’s my hello?” he demanded after the initial happy screeching had passed.

“Hi!” Kagami smiled at him and then immediately turned back to his teacher, who was now shaking lightly with suppressed laughter. “I’m glad you’re back sensei! Are you going to leave again soon? Please don’t! When can we train again? I promise I did all my exercises every day while you were gone!”

Neither of them could get much of a word in edgewise as he prattled on, recounting in almost painful detail all the progress he’d made on one of the simple chakra exercises Tobirama had been teaching him. Admittedly his husband did look fairly impressed, deeply engaged in just a few sentences, so even though it chafed a little Madara very carefully stayed quiet and allowed the two of them to reconnect.

One might think he wouldn’t be quite so protective of Tobirama’s time after just spending more than a week together all day every day but for the most part those days had been filled with social events and attending scheduled performances where they were required to sit prominently as guests of honor. Having the Daimyo’s regard should not be this troublesome. Now that they were home he’d been hoping they could at least enjoy the rest of the day with just each other, no interruptions and no forced socialization, but it seemed his dreams were not to be. Kagami followed them all the way home and invited himself inside to continue chattering away as Tobirama puttered around the kitchen to whip them all up a very late lunch.

It wasn’t until he very gently mentioned that the two of them needed to unpack that the boy seemed to talk himself out but even then he extracted several promises before he left for Tobirama to give up his lunch hour the next day so the two of them could meet at their favorite training grounds. The sound of his little legs stumbling down the porch steps faltered for a few moments only to be followed with the impact of shoes against dirt belying the leap he must have taken, bounding everywhere as he was wont to do. In his wake Tobirama stood in the middle of their living room holding his travel bag and sighed almost wistfully.

“He’s getting so big.”

“As long as he stays shorter than me I’ll be happy,” Madara grumbled, turning away to head for the laundry room. The sound of Tobirama chuckling followed him down the hall.

“Most of your clansmen tend around the same height as you but at the rate he’s sprouting up I don’t know if you can count on that.”

Throwing his pack down so he could tear it open in search of all the dirty laundry he had accrued, Madara harrumphed, repeating the sound louder when he stood up to feel a hand slipping around his waist. “Growth. What a ridiculous notion. All children should stay small.”

“Smaller than you, you mean?”

“Yes!” Tossing his clothes in the right baskets was a little awkward while being held against another solid body but he didn’t really want to pull away so he made it work. “They stay small forever, I stay young forever, all the elders can kick the bucket because they’re nosey old coots with outdated ideas, and everyone gets to be happy.”

Tobirama pressed a quick smooch to the side of his head. “It sounds like the perfect world.”

Choosing to ignore the dry tone those words had been delivered in, Madara nodded magnanimously and waited until Tobirama released him to sort out his own laundry. Then he gathered up the rest of his things and made his way upstairs to sort them out. Nothing had ever been quite as relieving as walking in to his own bedroom knowing that everything in this room belonged only to them and no one would ever dare to disturb them here. It was like walking in to a haven, an oasis, a pocket of calm removed from the rest of the world. The moment he was inside all plans of unpacking flew out the window. Madara forced himself to at least set his bag down against the dresser before slipping away to the bathroom to rinse of his hands and face.

Then he returned to the bedroom, shed his outer layers, and let his body collapse across the familiar surface of their mattress just as Tobirama walked through the door behind him.

“Someone is happy to be home,” his husband noted and Madara let out a quiet purr. “Not even going to finish sorting your things?”

“It can wait,” he murmured.

“Your things can wait, perhaps, but it will drive me insane if I don’t unpack my own.”

Listening to the sounds of the other man rummaging around the room, just the quiet domestic sounds of everyday life, somehow worked as the most soothing lullaby. Madara drifted off before he even realized what was happening, startling awake from his impromptu power nap perhaps ten minutes later when Tobirama shut the door to the bathroom. A moment later there came the sounds of the shower running and he smiled. He was not the only fastidious one between them.

Now that he’d had his little moment of lethargy he felt just refreshed enough to sit up and stare consideringly at where he’d dropped his possessions. Should he unpack? Tobirama had said it would bother him not to unpack his own things but he hadn’t said anything about Madara's. At the very least he should probably move his bag so it was a little less in the direct path of where either of them would be walking. Being someone who tended towards clumsiness in the mornings, he could testify that the less tripping hazards present the better.

A dissatisfied groan rumbled up in his throat as he forced himself to swing him legs out and stand up slowly. Standing up was so much worse when he could have been lying down. A few more dissatisfied rumblings escaped him as he snatched up the pack and poked his nose in, trying to decide if he had the energy to sort through the contents. He decided no. The canvas made a very light thump when it landed in the corner and the sound was further muted by the sound of footsteps coming back in to the room. Either Tobirama was just that tired, dragging his feet along the carpet, or he was putting in a conscious effort to make sound when he walked so neither of them startled the other.

It was still a little surprising to feel soft lips pressing against the back of his shoulder, pale skin flashing in his peripherals as Tobirama brought one hand up to push the giant mass of Madara's hair aside so he could leave a row of kisses down the back of his neck as well.

“Welcome home,” he said and Madara furrowed his brows in confusion.

“You came home with me.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t give you a proper welcome.”

It took a few moments of thinking for him to read between the lines, distracted as he was with the gentle affections. When he realized what the other meant he flushed a little. Partly with embarrassment for being so slow and partly with a shameful sort of eagerness. Maybe he should have showered too.

“Go on then,” he breathed. “Show me what you think a proper welcome home entails.”

Tobirama wasted no time pulling him around to face each other and Madara barely had a chance to register the almost serious expression before he was swept away with a deep kiss that gave him a new understanding of that old phrase about floating on nine clouds or something. Already a genius at many things, it was almost unfair that he should be so good at this too and yet Madara could not find any desire inside him to complain. He was the one that benefitted the most after all.

Strong hands framed his hips in a tight grip but they did not linger for very long. Soon they were travelling upwards, skimming along his sides in a touch that somehow felt almost lewd despite there still being layers of clothing between them, dipping inwards to caress his chest before sliding up his vulnerable neck to bury themselves deep in the mess of his hair. When Tobirama gripping two handfuls tightly Madara whimpered at the sensation. He’d never thought having his hair pulled would actually be a pleasant experience but he wasn’t exactly upset to be proven wrong on the point. If Tobirama wanted to prove him wrong on anything in the bedroom he couldn’t say he would ever be upset about it when the results were this good.

At some point he realized that he was doing little more than standing still and allowing himself to be pawed at by the admittedly welcome beast in front of him. What exactly he should be doing was difficult to figure out with such a pleasant distraction taking up most of his cognitive processes but eventually he muddled his way in to a decision that maybe wrapping his arms around the strong shoulders before him would be nice. That was simple enough. Bringing his hands in to proximity with all that pale soft hair made him wonder if Tobirama would make the same noises as him to have the strands gently tugged on.

He did.

Such a delicious discovery was enough to keep his attention riveted further, enough distraction that he barely noticed the shuffle of their feet as he was led slowly backwards until he was caught between the solid body in front and a tall dresser behind. It was not a trap he was upset to find himself in. Not even when those clever fingers stopped tugging senseless patterns in the back of his head to slide down instead and pull inquisitively at the knot of his obi. All he could do was pull Tobirama in a little closer and tilt his head the way his husband did sometimes to deepen their kiss, satisfied to earn himself a quiet groan of appreciation.

What finally caught his attention and brought him back out of the building haze was the sensation of cool air against his chest when the panels of his shirt were tugged a few inches apart. His eyes fluttered open to find Tobirama watching him with a very careful expression, something almost reserved in his eyes caging in the heat Madara could see just waiting to pounce. For a moment he couldn’t imagine what would make such a confident man hesitate at a time like this. Then he scoffed.

“If I haven’t stopped you yet then I think it’s safe to say I’m fine with this.”

“You’re sure?”

“Stop asking me if I’m sure,” Madara growled, “and do something. I’m not the one that knows what he’s doing here, you’re sort of the one in charge.”

He hadn’t intended for his words to be sexy in any way, had been trying to cover up any lingering hints of the last of his insecurities, but he realized what they might have sounded like only when Tobirama’s eyes widened and the cage around his obvious desires fell away with one heated look.

“If I’d known that’s how you felt about it…”

With a wicked grin he dropped his gaze to trace the red spreading out across Madara's cheeks. Which, of course, only made the blush darken.

Flustered, Madara did the only thing he could think of to prove that he was completely and totally not at all in any way whatsoever embarrassed by what was happening. A quiet snarl of determination echoed through his teeth as he reached down to fumble some more with the knot in his obi, a little too tight after getting dressed in the limited space of their shared tent that morning. He continued to struggle with uncharacteristically clumsy fingers until another pale set laid themselves over his own.

“May I?” Tobirama asked and he swallowed against a lump in his throat.

“If you want to.” He couldn’t think of a good way to say the idea of Tobirama undressing him was incredibly erotic and he had no problems indulging in one of the most common fantasies he had been able to cobble together with his lack of experience and vivid imagination.

Yet somehow in all of his imaginings he had apparently been forgetting one key detail that ramped up the heat exponentially. Those eyes. Keeping still was difficult when he found himself equally caught up in the feathery touches of clothing sliding away from his body and the heat of those pretty red eyes increasing with every inch of skin revealed. Madara had expected to feel exposed, expected he would need to fight off the instinctive urge to cover himself up. He did not expect how feeling the weight of that hot gaze made him want to puff out his chest and preen like a bird fluffing out its feathers for display. Feeling so desirable gave him the confidence to reach out and slip his fingers in to his husband’s clothing so they were undressing each other at the same time.

When he stood bare in nothing but his fundoshi and a puddle of cloth at his feet Madara easily gave in to the tug on his hands drawing him over towards the bed, though he did frown petulantly at having his work interrupted. Tobirama was still wearing trousers. By the light pressure on his shoulder he could tell his partner was trying to topple him backwards but he resisted and reached instead for the ties he was still trying to unknot. For a moment he was distracted by a hot flash of triumph for being allowed to do as he wanted with the other man’s body.

Then the ties came undone and Tobirama’s pants slithered down his body to tangle around his ankles and Madara's eyes were, surprisingly, drawn lower than the naughty bits he thought he would be staring at. His gaze was instead caught on the ring of thick pink scar tissue around mid-thigh on the leg to his right.

“Ah,” Tobirama mumbled in an offhanded fashion. “That would be from one of the more violent laboratory accidents before we improved safety measures. I did say we got the leg reattached just fine.”

“Gods above,” Madara swore under his breath and sat heavily on the edge of the mattress.

Slipping a hand underneath his chin, Tobirama lifted his face up so their eyes could meet. “Does it bother you?”

“The idea of losing you to your own enthusiastic stupidity? Yes. A bit of scarring? Not in the least.”

“Understandable. Well then, allow me to distract you from such thoughts.”

Grinning suddenly in a way that reminded Madara of a hungry beast, Tobirama freed himself from the pool of his own clothing with a couple of swift, elegant motions then reached down to take Madara's hands in his own. He drew them to either side of his fundoshi with one eyebrow lifted in question but left the option of what to do from there to Madara, busying himself with combing his fingers through the long mane of dark hair that always seemed to fascinate him.

It took a few moments to frantically gather his courage but eventually Madara was able to convince his trembling digits to pull at the twisted fabric before him. Their position, he realized only as he pulled, was much more suggestive than he was sure Tobirama had intended. With him seated and the other still standing his face was at the perfect level to stare as a long pale cock was revealed to hang full and heavy between them only a few inches from his startled gaze. Despite many visits to different public onsen and bathhouses he’d never actually taken the time to be so rude as to stare at another man’s genitals. The only frame of reference he had was his own body. As far as cocks go he supposed there wasn’t anything too different between them, they were both the same general shape with small differences in length or girth, so he wasn’t entirely sure what made his mouth water as he continued to stare.

His staring must have gone on for too long and he only stopped when a low rumbling chuckle jerked him back to reality, Tobirama bending down to kiss him soundly. When his husband pulled away Madara flushed deeply.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You are more than free to appreciate me with that expression any time you like, anata.”

“Oh gods…” Madara covered his face with both hands, mortified, too scared to ask what sort of embarrassing look he’d been wearing just now.

He ignored the swish of footsteps across their carpeted floor, grateful that Tobirama was making the effort to make noise but content to stay hidden in his little pocket of shame until the footsteps returned and he squawked indignantly to be pushed down on the mattress. Tobirama laughed unrepentantly but was at least polite enough to wait for Madara to scramble back a little further before crawling up in to the bed himself.

And he did not stop crawling in a deliciously predatory way until he had fit himself right between Madara's legs, hovering over him with both arms holding his weight to either side of Madara's head and hot eyes tracing lines across the willing sacrifice underneath him.

“You would not believe,” he whispered, “how badly I have wanted this.” Something in the way he spoke gave the impression that he wasn’t only talking about sex but reading between the lines would have to wait for a day when Madara was not entirely focused on his need for discovery, the all-consuming heat building inside him that, between them, only Tobirama would know how to sate.

“Maybe I wouldn’t. But you can have it now.”

“I want all of you, anata. Every part of you. Every inch and every thought and every beat of your heart; I want all of it to belong to me.”

Struggling to draw breath, Madara reached up to pull his husband in and whispered in the fractional space left between their lips. “I already do.”

What possessed him to word his sentence like that he couldn’t say but the effect was more than worth any lingering embarrassment he might have felt for declaring himself so openly. Something in Tobirama’s eyes shattered in the best possible way and he flowed forward to take Madara's lips as a warrior takes his victory, unhesitant and unrestrained, no apologies and no quarter given. Keeping up with his kisses would have been difficult enough even without the distraction of his wandering hands. Madara writhed as the roamed freely across his body leaving trails of fire in their wake. If he gasped Tobirama deepened their kiss. If he arched Tobirama pressed their bodies closer.

It wasn’t until he felt those overwhelming fingers pulling at something on his hip that he remembered there was a single barrier left between them but he was so aroused he couldn’t think of a single reason it should not be done away with. Who had time to be embarrassed? Clearly he was much too busy gasping for air and writhing under the sensation of Tobirama’s hard cock rutting in to the crease of his groin, tucked in alongside his own and oh so good the way they rubbed together.

The exact progression of events existed to Madara as a hazy blur of heat and touch and lewd sounds he hadn’t even realized he was capable of making. Somehow Tobirama’s hands managed to be everywhere at once and yet always just where he needed them to be, stroking without teasing and driving him ever higher towards heights he barely recognized. He’d touched himself before. Obviously. But no shameful quick strokes of his own hand could ever compare to the feeling of teeth scraping up the sides of his neck while Tobirama’s weight rocked them both in to the mattress in a steady rhythm. Madara hardly had time to recognize his end before it was coiling tighter and tighter and he fisted both hands in his husband’s hair, throwing his head back with gritted teeth and praying not yet, not yet, not yet.

“It’s alright,” Tobirama’s voice rumbled against the shell of his ear in panting breaths. “Come for me, husband. Let me watch you fall apart so I can put you back together – and take you apart again.”

If Madara whimpered there was only the two of them here to know and never tell another soul.

Then for a few eternal moments the very knowledge of his own existence was wiped from his mind, whimpers and any other reactionary noises entirely forgotten in the rush of cumming harder than he ever had before. His back arched off the bed with the force of it and his arms lifted off their own accord to wrap around Tobirama’s shoulders and hang on for dear life. When he hit the mattress again he was panting harder than the first time his sensei made him run fifty laps around the old Uchiha compound.

“Oh sweet flames,” he whimpered. “You’re going to do that again?”

“I’m going to do that better,” Tobirama corrected him, pulling away to leer seductively. Madara gaped at him stupidly. The very concept of pleasure any better than that seemed impossible but he’d never known this man to be a liar.

“Prove it.”

Again it seemed he had blurted out exactly the right thing to say without meaning to, something he absently noted would bode well for them doing this again in the future. With all the hunger in his eyes of a man deprived his appetites for more than half a year Tobirama crawled back down the bed and drew his tongue straight through the mess Madara had just made of his own stomach. It should have been gross. Madara wondered if he could pass the heat in his cheeks off as anger instead of the arousal coursing through him, making him twitch no matter than he had just experienced release.

Why, in the name of all things holy, had he never tested his own refraction time before? What a waste of an inquisitive youth.

On the upside Tobirama seemed determined to test that for him. Whatever magic he was working with that tongue of his certainly seemed to be doing a good job of bringing Madara's body back to attention must faster than he would have thought possible. The sensations were so overwhelming he almost missed it when hands began to roam his skin again, just another layer in the sensory overload, but when he did finally notice Madara was glad that he did.

It would have been all too easy to dismiss the touches as no more than aimless pawing at his person, as sensual groping with no purpose other than to arouse. And he might have dismissed them as such but for the tenderness in Tobirama’s face when his husband flicked those pretty red eyes up to meet his own for a single brief moment. Then he understood. Madara closed his own eyes and drew in a breath that shuddered, body shaking, emotions almost as strong as the touches driving him wild – touches that said more than words ever could. He’d known since the two of them finally started getting to know each other that Tobirama had been raised in a world where he learned to speak with his actions rather than his language. And he’d even thought he was coming to understand the way his husband expressed himself but oh how he hadn’t known what he hadn’t known.

No kind gesture of making tea or carrying him to bed when he fell asleep on the couch could ever compare to the messages conveyed in the tender hands tracing every inch of his body like memorizing a masterpiece with touch alone. Every press of those fingers was a declaration of love, every stroke a promise, and each time the touches paused to linger somewhere in particular Madara wished he knew the words being pressed in to his skin like reverent prayers. He would learn this language too if it killed him.

And it might, he decided, if the pleasure continued to mount beyond the bounds of what he could understand. By the time one of those wandering glorious hands slid around to trace the edges of his most intimate place Madara was almost too caught up in the beat of his own heart to notice. He definitely noticed when a little oil was added.

“Hah!”

“Should I slow down?” Tobirama’s voice rumbled from where he was lavishing attention on the line of Madara's oblique muscles.

“N-no! Shut up! Just…that’s not…I didn’t expect…shut up and don’t stop, damn it!”

He ignored the chuckle which meant his partner was laughing at him in favor of biting down on a drawn out moan, entirely engaged with the sensation of a long thing finger sliding inside him for the first time. Suddenly he regretted all the times he had staunchly decided against touching this part of himself and yet somehow at the same time praised himself for holding out. As unprepared as he was for this new wave of sensations he was glad that Tobirama was the one to help him discover them.

Or maybe it was just that he was glad he’d never explored himself like this with anyone he was related to in the same house where they would have surely heard the shameless noises spilling out of him one after another. Even the palm firmly tucked over his mouth couldn’t contain the litany of gasps and moans – and it was only one finger! Madara's eyes fairly rolled in to the back of his head when he felt a second nudging at his entrance.

“Will you even fit?” He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud – in a very breathy voice – until he felt Tobirama’s weight shifting off the mattress and looked down to see one pale eyebrow lifted in a disgustingly attractive smug expression.

“That’s what the stretching is for, love.”

Madara would have responded if he could string anymore words together but the friction of Tobirama’s fingers sinking inside him and the warm glide of the oil between them stole his attention back much too easily. His eyes snapped open to stare sightlessly at the ceiling with shock when he felt a hot tongue laving at his nipples but, already well past the point of being able to separate the massive tangle of input, it was hard to tell whether he really did like the feeling or if he only did because the rest of his body was so sensitive already. Not that it mattered. He felt good and safe and that was all he cared about.

Three fingers felt almost like too much at first but by that point Tobirama was smart enough to move up and distract him with kisses, for which Madara was grateful. For every inch their bodies that he could feel pressing together he felt grounded, captured in the moment, as though the mere presence of the man he loved was a safety net without which he might actually fly to pieces. His mind did its best to focus on the kisses while his body could do nothing but shake.

When the fingers inside him pulled away Madara shocked himself by almost whining for them to come back and he had to bite down on his lip to stop the flood of questions that tried to spill out, forcing himself to stay quiet and observe as Tobirama leaned away to pick up the bottle of oil he hadn’t seen before. He’d had sex explained to him when puberty hit. And he’d had to sit through it all again when Susumu-sensei caught him asking questions about boys instead of girls. He knew what the oil was for, why Tobirama was pouring out a little more. Unexpected was the muted noise that made Tobirama turn his head away as the tips of his ears turned pink.

“Eager?” Madara couldn’t help but tease in a breathless voice.

“More so than I have ever been before,” his partner admitted. “Your people may have been on to something with the idea that love changes this experience.” Wryness twisted his lips a little but Tobirama shrugged away any shame he might have felt for his words rather easily.

“Are you…”

The way his words trailed off must have made him sound unsure. Tobirama hesitated, pulling his hand away from where he had been spreading it on himself and capping the oil to let it drop to the side of the bed. “Not if you–”

“Kami, stop asking if I’m ready!” If he added enough grumpiness to his voice then maybe it would cover the lingering nerves. He only needed one look to see he hadn’t fooled anyone, that Tobirama could see right through him, and on any other day he would have appreciated that his husband knew him so well.

He didn’t say anything more, though. So that was nice. Much nicer was the kiss hot and deep that kept him centered as Tobirama shuffled his weight around to situate his body a little more comfortably between Madara's legs. When he rocked his hips forward this time it was an aborted motion that brought the head of his cock up to Madara's entrance without pushing inside, almost like a false start to warn of his intentions. And it was, apparently, a good thing that he did since every muscle in Madara's jumped with shock despite the fact that he was more than expecting it.

Tobirama broke their kiss to duck down in to his neck but he caught a flash of amusement before teeth dragging at the lobe of his ear stole the words he was about to say. He was ready the next time, resolutely keeping his muscles loose when he felt the nudge at his entrance, though there was nothing to be done for the heat in his cheeks. The nibbles on his ears turned to soft kisses trailing down his neck as the pressure increased. All the thoughts in his head melted together until all he knew was the push, the pressure, the moment before completion. Then his back was bowing up and his fingers fisting in Tobirama’s hair, eyes wide as he tried to process the sensation of being quite so full.

Only when quiet words murmuring in his ears slowly began to filter through the fog did he realize how laser focused he was on the connection between them. Slowly, gradually, the world came back in little pieces and he listened to Tobirama murmuring small reassurances in a voice that sounded like he was barely holding himself together. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one a little overwhelmed here.

“Move!” he managed to gasp eventually and Tobirama did not need to be told twice.

Curses spilled out of him immediately but the murmuring against his neck never stopped and the sound of his husband’s voice worked amazingly to keep him grounded until he was able to think through waves of pleasure he could hardly believe. But when he was able to think again he wished he could sink back in to that strange space outside of awareness. Of all the possible reactions to finally having everything he’d ever wanted in life – love, a husband, a moment they could come together and celebrate that love – the one reaction he would never have expected from himself was the urge to cry. Madara was tempted to scream at his own body for betraying him like this.

Salvation came in the form of a bitten off groan in his ear and a powerful shudder running through his limbs. Focusing on Tobirama’s pleasure was so much less mortifying than his own. And it came with the added benefit of puffing his chest out with pride because that was his doing. He was the reason Tobirama’s infamous self-control was cracking.

A little taste of that power left him craving for more, unsurprisingly. Madara wracked his distracted wrung-out brain for a way to drive his husband as close to the edge as he already was again and when an idea came to him he gave himself no time to think it through, turning his head to pant his words against the sweaty skin of Tobirama’s temple. Or he tried to, at least, most of his words broken and interrupted as he writhed under the feeling of being filled over and over in a steady rhythm.

“Feels g- you feel good! Shit you- ah! There!” The mortification that burned through him at being so vocal was made entirely worth it when Tobirama let out an unfettered noise that could only be described as desperate, spurring him on. “I love you.”

“Nnnnh! Anata, stop.” Incredibly, Tobirama’s voice came out as a whine.

“You d-don’t – haaah! – like my words?”

He did not expect Tobirama to bite at his ear again and confess in a low rush, “I like them too much, you minx.”

Yet another steady rocking of pale hips and Madara saw stars behind the fluttering of his eyelids. He wanted to say that sex wasn’t anything close to how he imagined it, so much better than the shades of minor pleasure he was able to give to himself under the covers alone, but his lungs constricted around the words and his tongue was busy crying out against pale skin where he buried his face in a strong shoulder. Sex was nothing like he could have known. Making love, he corrected himself distantly. They were making love.

It even felt like love, something he had quietly hoped for when he was young with stars in his eyes and then later mournfully rejected as romanticism as his bodily urges towards Tobirama grew more and more animalistic. He did feel like an animal, his body rolling and thrashing in his efforts to ride the hot intrusion sliding in and out, but it also felt like love in the way Tobirama surrounded him on all sides and pressed against him with as much skin as possible. Pale fingers stroking his hair. Warm lips murmuring promises in to his skin. This was base lust but it was also love and the combination made his gut twist in a way he most certainly recognized.

Someday he might achieve the same level of shamelessness as the man above him but in the state he was now there was not a force on earth that could help him find the words to warn his husband of the tension building at an unstoppable rate. Try as he might he just couldn’t force himself to say it, settling instead for pulling Tobirama up in to a frantic kiss, biting and licking in a frantic way that startled them both. He wanted to say something, though he had no idea where the urge was coming from. If he opened his mouth with so much frazzled energy hummed underneath his skin he was sure all that spilled out would be an endless litany of babble and nonsense – or worse, confessions of all the depraved imaginings he’d constructed in his mind and every way Tobirama had blown his expectations out of the water.

“Anata,” Tobirama’s voice brushed against his ear, husky and irresistible. “Say something else.”

“You- you told me – nnh – to stop!”

“Changed my mind. Shit, just, Madara.” He’d never heard his name in such a debauched way and Madara found he couldn’t be bothered to rationalize his husband’s change of heart. All he could do was give the man what he asked for no matter that he’d just decided it was a terrible idea. In that tone he would give Tobirama what he wanted.

“I love you,” he blurted, the first words that came to mind.

The shattered sound his husband made might have been enough to send him over the edge on its own, though they would have to lay together again for him to figure that out. With a particularly harsh snap of his hips Tobirama drove deep and hit something inside of Madara that made his vision go white and the coil inside of him snapped so hard he echoed his partner’s scream.

No orgasm had ever felt like this one. Spilling over his own fist after hurriedly palming himself under the covers was nothing like this. This was lights behind his eyes and muscles contracting, knuckles as white as the hair they gripped and throat raw with the force of expressing himself. Nothing existed outside the solidity of the man in his arms and the thickness of the length still grinding inside him as though determined to make him lose his mind entirely. Unlike the quick burst of pleasure he was used to this was an arched spine he couldn’t seem to unbend and stickiness between their bellies that he could never have caught in his fist like usual. Several minutes passed before he could hear past the ringing in his ear, the rest of the world fading back in to focus as well.

An exhausted, loopy sort of grin spread across his face when he finally heard the way Tobirama was murmuring under his breath, probably entirely unaware he was doing so judging by the soppy romantic nonsense he was spouting. They had made love. If he had a little more energy he might have been tempted to go shout that from the rooftops and rub it in his brother’s face. It might have taken them a few months extra to get there but they had finally – happily – consummated their marriage. This really was the rest of their lives.

Now he was exhausted and cramped and his belly was a little gross. The aftermath of sex wasn’t quite as romantic as he pictured it to be. Lazy open-mouthed kisses began traveled up his neck, down the line of his chin, and as they reached his own lips Madara thought that he could not possibly care less for the supposed reality of the situation, not when Tobirama seemed determined to keep holding him close and kiss the breath right out of him.

“You’re heavy,” he grunted finally, half-heartedly pushing at one shoulder of the body flopped over his own. Then he muffled a protesting whine as Tobirama fairly shot upright.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Without even waiting for an answer his hands were stroking wherever they could reach in what Madara had to admit was quite a soothing manner. Unnecessary but soothing all the same. He had a feeling that his side and chest were not where he was going to be sore later.

“Not used to holding my legs open this wide for this long.” Saying so brought the red back to his cheeks and he cursed it. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long for the ingrained shame of these activities to fade.

Tobirama blinked and looked down at the place where their bodies joined with one eyebrow raised, prompting Madara to cover his eyes with one hand. He didn’t need to look there! The hand stayed until he felt cool lips pressing a kiss against the back of his fingers and a voice warning him that his partner was about to pull away. He wondered for a moment why he might need warning, it was basically the same motion they been doing together for the last several minutes, he didn’t see why it should be any different now. Then Tobirama slowly began to pull away and it stole a sharp cry from him before he bit down on his lower lip to cut it off.

Okay. The warning was necessary. He really hadn’t anticipated how sensitive that area would be now.

It made sense when he thought about it. His intimate parts were usually quite sensitive to the drag of cotton as he pulled his clothing back in to place after relieving a bit of tension. But how was he supposed to know that there could be quite that sensitive? He opened his mouth to ask – then shut it again and wondered if sex brain was always going to trick him in to asking stupid questions.

Letting his husband clean him was somehow even more mortifying than anything else had been but all it took was one pointed look and Tobirama asking if he wanted to do it himself for Madara to subside, hand back over his eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch. His good behavior was rewarded with more kisses against random patches of skin until as much of the oil had been wiped away as possible and the blankets they’d made a mess of had been straightened around them. When Tobirama crawled in to bed he only made it partway across the mattress before freezing in a rather comical four-legged stance as he caught sight of Madara's expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re…not going to get dressed?”

“I hadn’t planned to.” Sitting back on his haunches was no less comical looking, though he didn’t seem to care. “Does that make you uncomfortable? I can if you’d like me to.”

Madara glared at him. Even after everything they’d just done he was still being sweet and considerate. Unbearable. “It’s fine! Everything’s fine! Just get in the bed!”

They had just been rubbing all against each other quite intimately, after all. It really shouldn’t bother him to stay naked if all they were doing was falling asleep. As his husband crawled in Madara tried not to picture getting called out of bed for some emergency that had him booking it through the streets with his bits swinging in the breeze. Somehow, he wasn’t sure how, he just knew it would be one of their brothers’ fault.

His suspicious musings were cut short by warm fingers brushing down the back of his arm. He looked round to find Tobirama smiling up at him from the pillows, arms opened in an invitation he was all too happy to accept. Burrowing in to that pale chest and breathing in the scent of sweat and love-making was much preferable to imagining catastrophes that hadn’t happened. Yet. He very nearly purred when he felt the hands on his waist dig in to slowly scratch up and down the length of his back in absent circles, a most excellent distraction no matter what stupidity was clogging up his brain.

“Will you say it one more time?”

“Hm?” Already the fog of lassitude had begun to fall over him and Madara had to fight his way through it to figure out what that meant, responding in a quieter voice. “Oh. I love you.” He hummed contentedly when the arms around him tightened.

“I love you too, Madara.”

With all his heart he believed that. It was the single most freeing assurance he had ever experienced in his life and as he lay there in their home, in their marriage bed, he wondered if he would change anything about their journey given the chance. Then he snorted very gently and determinedly settled in for a quick nap before the rest of the world came to bother them as he knew it would. What use was there in wondering about the past with such a wonderful future ahead of them?

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #kagami #fanfiction #me?? posting at 4 in the morning??#it's more likely than you think #and by likely i mean please pray for my soul #as i attempt to flip my sleep schedule back to nights again #T_T

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bngtanah · 4 years

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DBBG |Graduation Day

summary: Sam & Erin are university students who share a cheap one bedroom apartment above a shitty takeaway restaurant. Due to the limited space, they’ve grown accustomed to sharing just about everything, including the occasional kiss. pairing: Jung Hoseok (Samuel Park) x Named OC characters: meet the cast. genre: fluff, suggestive themes word count: 2.5k chapters: o1| o2| o3| o4| o5| o6| o7| o8| o9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14 warning: mutual pining, making out, groping/heavy petting, childhood friends to lovers(in a sense, moonlight talks.

A/N: If anyone is actually interested in my multi-chapter fic, this is just a little flashback chapter that I couldn't get out of my head.

**Bolded speech denotes that the characters are speaking English.

16:04:00 PM

Samuel was nervous. Not because today was the day he'd been waiting for since he enrolled in Highschool, not because everyone in the auditorium where he was currently seated expected him and 152 of his classmates to begin their transformations into adulthood. It wasn't even because they volunteered him to be the representative of the graduating class, meaning he had to be the one to lead nine other students in presenting rice cakes to their teachers and hope that he didn't trip over his own two feet.

The only source of stress for Samuel on his graduation day was because his best friend was nowhere to be seen.

"She said she'd be here" Sammy muttered to himself as he lifted his head to look at the section his parents were sitting in once again. Erin's family sat in the same row, but there was still an empty spot where Erin was meant to be. Both sets of parents and younger siblings waved when they noticed him looking, they gestured for him to pay attention to the speaker instead of looking up at them every five minutes. Sam exhaled and reluctantly obeyed, turning back to the speaker up ahead of him just in time to be called up to the stage.

"You know he can't see you if you're crouching behind that pillar the entire time" James Anthony, Erin's father, whispered toward her as she tried to sneak another glance at Sammy walking toward the stage.

"I know Dad, that's why I'm hiding," She replied "I want to surprise him- Oh look! He's going on stage, aw he looks so cute in his uniform. Stop looking back here before he notices me."

James chuckled softly and leaned back into his seat, he'd given up trying to understand why his daughter did the things she did a very long time ago. Life for both of them was simpler that way.

"What are they doing now?" He whispered to Ariana, his wife, but she looked just as confused as he was.

"It looks like they're giving the teachers food? They didn't do that at Pumpkin's graduation did they?" She stated, referring to Erin.

"I don't think so."

"It's an old tradition," Sam's mother, Subin, interjected in a whisper, leaning over Erin's empty seat "Students give presents to teachers after an academic achievement, I think this is the first time they've done it here, though."

"Ooh..." James and Ariana sighed simultaneously.

The Anthony's couldn't have been blessed with better neighbours than Park Jooheon and his family. Moving to South Korea as a black family was hard enough to begin with but moving to an area where they were the only foreigner family made the first few months in the new country almost unbearable. James only knew a few Korean phrases since he frequently travelled back and forth from Texas for business but his wife and three young children knew none of the language at all. They hated being away from their friends, surrounded by people that looked at them like they were animals in a zoo, it was miserable.

That all changed when the Parks moved in next door. Subin and Jooheon Park were Korean by birth but had lived in California for most of their lives, their children were born there and if not for the deteriorating health of Subin's father they probably would have remained there. Both families took an immediate liking to each other and suddenly life in South Korea for the Anthony family wasn't so bad.

The ceremony ended with a thundering applause and the students quickly filed out of the auditorium after the faculty had left. The parents and family members in the audience began making their way toward the entrance to wait for their fresh graduates.

A few minutes later students began trickling out of the school's entrance, covered in flour and grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm free!" Sammy yelled at his family's direction as he all but ran towards them. Once he reached the group, everyone took their turn giving him words of encouragement and congratulations. As happy as Samuel was to be surrounded by so many people who cared for him, his face fell when he noticed one face that wasn't in the crowd.

"So.... I guess Erin didn't come?" Sammy asked, sounding somber as he glanced around the group and fully noticed her absence.

James and Ariana exchanged a short awkward glance. They didn't want to lie to him since they could see Erin quietly approaching him quietly from behind.

"Yah! You didn't think I'd miss your graduation day did you?" Erin exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind, pulling him closely against her. Sammy, utterly startled, screamed at the sudden contact but his momentary fear died down the second he heard Erin's voice. Sammy was sure he had never been happier than he was as that moment, all the disappointment he was feeling earlier melted away the second he felt Erin's arms around him. Then again, he was always happy when Erin was around; and even more so when she was touching him.

He spun around as quickly as his body would let him and wrapped his arms around her waist, his smiling face burrowing into the crook of her neck. "I thought you couldn't come," He said mumbled against her skin softly. Erin grinned and carded her fingers through his hair "Don't be silly, I would never miss this."

Subin and Ariana shared a knowing smile at the affectionate display and Jooheon cleared his throat nonchalantly to subtly remind the pair of "friends" that their hug was rapidly leaving friend territory.

Erin was the first to detach herself and step backward, making Sammy reluctantly let her go. "I really am proud of you," She said with a genuine smile as she pressed her palm against his cheek. Sammy nuzzled his face against her hand, humming softly like a kitten while still gazing down at his best friend with nothing but admiratioin in his eyes and mouthed a silent 'Thank you'

"Well, Ariana and I didn't spend all day cooking to let it go to waste, who's hungry?"

Hours passed by, and before anyone noticed the sun had set, and the night was setting in. It was too late for Erin to take the bus back to Seoul so she stayed with her parents for the night, even if that meant waking up at the ass-crack of dawn so she wouldn't be late for her first class the next day.

Erin had already been asleep for over an hour when she heard her cell phone chirp the first time. She ignored it, at first, reasoning that if it was important, the person would call her instead of texting. Exactly five minutes passed before her phone began ringing.

"Yeah?" She answered groggily.

"I can't sleep," Samuel said, responding to a question Erin didn't ask.

"Guess what I was doing?" She yawned.

"Let's go to the beach."

"Sammy what the hell..."

"Come on, it'll be fun!" He whispered, even over the phone Erin could tell he was giving her his most convincing smile.

She groaned and argued but rolled out of bed and got dressed, regardless. Not too long after they hung up Erin was awake and shuffling barefoot through the sand, hand in hand with an overly excited high school graduate.

"The sky is so beautiful at night..." Samuel finally said as he stopped walking just a few feet from the shoreline, Erin was still half asleep and only grunted in response.

"Erin.... can I ask you something?"

She nodded since her head was pressed against his shoulder and she still didn't feel like making full sentences.

"What's life like after graduation?"

Erin chuckled softly, glancing up at Samuel who was still looking forward at the waves rolling in.

"Is that what this is about? You're worried about what your life will be like now?"

"It's just...." Samuel shuffled awkwardly from the balls of his feet to his heels, "Up until now all the big decisions have been made for me you know? Now it's all up to me and I just want to make my parents proud of me.... I don't know if I can."

"You know your parents will be proud of you no matter what you do with your life. They love you,"

"Loving me isn't the same thing as being proud of me" Sam grumbled and kicked his foot against the sand.

"Come here," Erin sighed and grabbed his hands, pulling him back toward the dry sand. She took a seat and patted the ground next to her.

"Are you planning on selling drugs?"

Samuel smirked and shook his head.

"Your body?" Erin asked in a soft whisper, leaning forward with her eyebrow quirked upward.

"No," Samuel laughed and playfully nudged her shoulder.

"Then nothing else matters. As long as you're doing something that makes you happy and you're doing it to the best of your ability I can guarantee that Jooheon and Subin Park will support 100%. You know that."

Samuel considered her words for a few seconds then nodded, curling up his lips so that his dimples were prominent. "You're right"

"Of course I am..... Just promise me you'll stay happy alright?"

"Yeah...."

"Promise!" Erin repeated and hit him gently on the arm.

"Aish, I promise!" He hissed sharply even thought her hit didn't really hurt "When did my noona get so smart?" Sam simpered and gingerly pinched Erin's cheek. She tried to swat his hand away, but Sammy dodged her attack and launched a counter of his own. Reaching forward, Sam moved his fingers against Erin's sides to playfully tickle her which made her double over with laughter. Erin wasn't overly ticklish, but she was tired and possibly delirious which made her lot more sensitive than usual. Samuel found himself laughing at her amusing reaction as well, her head and upper body fell backward bringing Sammy right along with her. He hovered above her and peered down at her beaming face, it alarmed him just how much he wanted to kiss her at that moment.

Of course, he was already aware that Erin was beautiful, Samuel noticed that from the second he'd laid eyes on her. But this was the first time he was conscious of how much he was attracted to her. Her dark brown hair sprawled out over the sand in spiraling waves around her head as her laughing subsided and her chest rose and fell beneath him Sam was frozen in place above her.

"Are you okay?" She asked and reached up to move the hair that obstructed her view of his face, allowing her index finger to trail along his jawline before resting gently on his chest.

The warmth of her hand permeated throughout his skin, burning a lick of fire throughout his body and that single little touch was all it took to make Samuel lose total control of his senses.

His hand moved upward from her side to cradle Erin's chin. Confusion washed over her face, but any uncertainty about he was planning to do next left her the moment he began moving closer and she did nothing to stop him. Nervously he pressed his lips against hers and Erin's eyelids fluttered shut as she was overcome with a desire she didn't even know she possessed. Her mouth opened slightly and Samuel took that as a sign to continue. He tilted his head to deepen their kiss, his tongue slipping past her lips and tentatively caressing and massaging against hers.

Erin moaned softly and the sound only made it more difficult for Samuel to be sensible about the situation and stop himself before things got out of hand. Instead, the passion between them intensified, his hands began roaming her body freely as Erin's hands travelled underneath his t-shirt and her nails ran down the measure of his back with a light pressure.

The two separated momentarily, racing to catch their breaths as both of them stared the other down like they were seeing each other for the first time. Some awkwardness was expected, but that wasn't quite what they were feeling at that moment. Samuel was the first to smile. His fingertips trailing over her flushed skin, and Erin soon followed and traced the pad of her thumb over his bottom lip before their lips melded together again and Erin felt something stir in her that she was sure she’d never felt before. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled him even closer, her legs parting so that he was slotted between them.

Sammy put all he had into the kiss now, no longer nervous or awkward about kissing her. It felt nice to be like this with his best friend; tongues massaging and bodies wrapped up in one another. He groaned as her nails pressed into his back again, and unconsciously his hips pushed forward to grind against her core as Erin matched each one of his slow strokes with a movement of her own. He continued to kiss her with passion and fervor, his arm now supporting her lower back and his other hand held the back of her head. Sam slowed down the pace of their kisses, pulling away with her bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Erin's fingers rifled through his hair, a pleasurable moan tumbling from her lips as his mouth kissed a trail down her neck, nipping and sucking the skin there. “You are so beautiful” Sam complimented in a delicate voice as his hand moved from her back to smooth down her side, gripping her hips. His praise made Erin grin and she opened her mouth to respond, but her breath caught in her throat when she felt his hand move beneath the band of her sweatpants to rub outside her panties and stroke the sensitive nub at the apex of her thighs.

The sound of footsteps behind them made Erin's eyes shoot open. A flashlight shone brightly on them and they both froze.

"Yah, perverts! What are you doing down there?" The voice wasn't familiar which mean it was probably a security guard and luckily not one of their parents.

"Oh shit, oh shitshitshitshitshitshit" Samuel panicked and scrambled off Erin's body while she pulled her hoodie over her head to cover her face.

"What do we do?" Erin asked before she felt Sammy grabbed her hand and interlace their fingers.

"Run."

#bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #bts #jhope fanfic #jhope fluff #jung hoseok #hoseok scenarios #bngtanah #dbbg

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ladynuwanda · 5 years

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Whatever Souls Are Made Of (Michael LangdonXMallory AU) - Chapter 2

A/N: I think it’s important that I make it clear that whatever mention to witches’ Lore in this chapter comes from the fact that I spent a good portion of my teenage years reading Marion Zimmer-Bradley’s books. They’re not really the product of a deep study of the history of witchcraft in Britain. (Any discrepancies are probably due to my own bad memory, they’re not from Ms. Zimmer-Bradlye’s work, though.)

Warnings: Just some good ol’ characterXcharacter smut. =)

Word Count: 2,3K

The problem with children is that they grow. And everything that was once pure and innocent is lost to the corrupted cynicism that becomes necessary for survival in adulthood. Misty Day was obviously the first to notice the changes that to come, and was quick to transfer Mallory to one of the larger bedrooms that would be shared by the other girls of her age, the new students. Like Miss Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, a young witch from a noble family, who would soon become like a sister to Mallory.

The moment things started to change could almost be pinpointed to that first afternoon they spent in Thrushcross Grange, in the company of Lady Miriam Mead. Much to their surprise the lady offered them a kind welcome to her house, and took care of the two of them in a loving manner. Michael was visibly moved by the novelty feeling of having an adult taking care of him for the first time, but Mallory simply couldn’t make herself trust the lady. If anything her kindness seemed even more suspicious considering what they had done to her dogs just moments before.

While Mallory did her best to remove blood stains from herself, with a rag soaked in warm water that was given to her by Lady Mead, the mistress of the house said she wanted to have a word alone with Michael. After another quick silent debate with his best friend, that happened in the space of an exchanged glance, Michael told the lady he kept no secrets from Mallory. Whatever she had to say to him could be said in the girl’s presence. The connection they shared was so obvious to Lady Mead now that she was sitting in front of them, she immediately understood that there was no point in speaking to the boy in private, anyway.

She told them that Michael was special. He had magic in him, extremely powerful magic. In his heart, Michael felt it was true, but he couldn’t understand why Miss Cordelia, or Myrtle Snow, would have withheld this information from him. If he was so powerful, like the lady was saying, it was simply not possible that the witches didn’t know. Lady Mead explained that warlocks were considered a lesser class of magic practitioners by the witches. It wasn’t unusual for them to keep a boy like Michael from receiving warlock training by making him a servant.

On the other hand she, Miriam Mead, could help him awaken and develop his powers. She told him to place his right hand over Mallory’s ankle and try to heal it. Michael did as the lady told, but nothing happened. Whatever magic he had, he still had no control over it. He couldn’t find in himself the healing powers to help Mallory. An ice-cold glint appeared in the lady’s green eyes when he said he couldn’t perform healing magic, and the grin that came with it sent a shiver down Mallory’s spine. She reached out a hand, and healed her ankle herself, with relative ease, and reminded Michael that they should be returning to the Heights before nightfall.

They made most of their way back in silence. Michael was lost in his own thoughts, while Mallory’s heart was cold with a fear she couldn’t yet name. “You are not, are you? Accepting her offer?”, Mallory asked hesitantly, afraid to look into his eyes and see that his decision had already been made. “Mallory, you’re such a dedicated student... always willing to learn more and improve yourself. And yet, you don’t think I should work to develop my powers, if I have any?”, he looked at her and she saw the honesty of this question in his blue gaze, and how much he feared a negative answer from her. He could take it from anyone else, but not from Mallory.

“Of course I do, Michael! Your powers saved my life today! I just... I don’t trust that woman.”, she lightly shook her head and shrugged, a gesture that made her look like the little girl he had met five years before, and Michael had to repress the urge to take her in his arms again, hold her against his own chest, and tell her everything was going to be alright. He kept looking at his feet as he walked, deep in thought.

Michael knew Mallory was going to be the Coven’s Supreme one day. He didn’t think, he didn’t believe... he knew. He didn’t need to be told. It was certain as the sky above their heads and the earth beneath their feet. And where would he be when that happened? He wouldn’t even be her butler, her guardian, the head of the staff. That job would probably belong to Kyle Spencer by then. Michael would only be good to shine her boots, if that much. It would be degrading for the Supreme to be associated with someone like Michael.

Mallory was the only person that had ever truly cared about him in his entire life. And the only one he had ever cared about, too. The idea of not being good enough for her was simply intolerable. “You don’t need to trust her, Mallory, you just need to trust me. I’ll learn whatever I can from her,be the best warlock I can... but at the end of the day, I’m still going to be the same Michael.”, he held her hand in a reassuring gesture, and it almost brought peace to her heart again. But it didn’t change the fact that for the next five years, Michael would be spending most of his free time in Thrushcross Grange, taking lessons from that mysterious woman.

Mallory, in her turn, became the most brilliant student the Coven had ever seen. The most dedicated, the most enthusiastic... not to mention her natural talent. And in Michael’s absence, she learned to get along with other young witches like herself, and found out what it was like to have sisters. But none of them could ever occupy the place in her heart that belonged to Michael.

No one could tell for sure when it was that the nature of their affection for each other changed, not even Mallory and Michael themselves. It happened naturally, as part of the process of growing up. Suddenly being in each other’s company was no longer enough, they needed physical touch to feel anchored together. And then those touches were craved for more than just reassurance, they were born from the desire for one another.

And the two of them started a subtle dance of stolen glances and furtive smiles, in front of everyone else. The lingering brush of their hands as they walked past each other, with their fingers delicately entangled for the briefest moment, their cheeks blushing at the same time for the shared touch, identical smiles on their lips. The way Mallory searched for Michael’s approving eyes when he was around and she did something remarkably prodigious. The widest grin lighting up his face in response, that made his blue eyes sparkle with pure joy. The little presents he left where she could find. When Mallory would get caught up studying after hours in the library and missed a meal, he’d leave an apple, or some other fruit for her. On any given day, it wasn’t uncommon for Mallory to find her favourite flowers, freshly picked, in the most unusual places. And the secret kisses, in every opportunity, in all the secluded corners of the Manor, that felt like the very air they breathed came from each other’s lips.

Coco kept talking about the special gift Mallory could give Michael someday, but Mallory hated it when her Coco spoke in those terms. The idea that she would give something away to him, gave her the impression that she was about to lose something. And Mallory felt the opposite, she only had to gain by being intimate with Michael. After all, he would be giving it to her as well. It was a treasure they would be sharing. Nothing to lose. A lot to gain. And Mallory knew exactly when she wanted it to happen: on the day between the Spring Equinox and the Summer Solstice, Beltane, the fertility Sabbat.

Mallory wanted to give herself entirely to the man she loved the way the witches had done since the days of Avalon, as the Maiden Goddess being blessed by the seed of the Sacred King. It was as much an initiation ritual as it was an act of love. The Great Rite was a too ancient of a ritual, and too sacred, to be practiced inside temples built by men. She had seen Zoe and Kyle disappearing into the dark night, after the Maypole dance, on Beltane in other years. Leaving everyone else still celebrating life around the bonfire, they would be sheltered by the trees, performing one of the only kinds of magic you didn’t have to be a trained witch to perform.

Michael had built their own smaller bonfire and Mallory had made a circle around them in the clearing, by running a stick to the earth. She drew the proper symbols with the stick as well, and said the ritual words. They were just standing in front of each other, almost unable to breath, their hearts drumming in their own ears. They both wore the traditional flower crowns and white robes. Michael thought Mallory had never looked more beautiful, she was the Maiden Goddess herself. His sacred bride. It was like looking at the most precious jewel, he wanted to touch her with every fibre of his being, but he hesitated, afraid to cause any damage.

Michael had a powerful air of authority about him now, he looked positively regal. Mallory looked at the full moon above them when she heard the first notes of the music that was being played in the distance, asking the Goddess for her blessing. When she looked back at the blue eyes she loved more than anything else in the world, Michael read that love in her eyes and closed the small distance between them. Pulling her close by the waist, he kissed her like it was the first and the last time. Mallory responded with enthusiasm, her delicate fingers entangling in the golden curls of his hair.

Before they even knew what they were doing, that had already freed each other from the white robes. Michael’s lips found the soft flesh of her breasts, and he felt like he could just stay there forever. Their fingers were eager to explore the smooth uncovered skin, and they worshipped each other’s bodies with their lips. Mallory had never seen Michael, or any other man for that matter, naked before. She asked herself why people made such a taboo out of nudity. It was the most magnificent thing she had ever laid her eyes on. The real shame was that he would have to cover himself, on a daily basis.

Michael stopped for a moment, his hand on his beloved girl’s face, his lips slightly parted in wonder. Looking into Mallory’s eyes, he could see the stars reflected in that golden brown that made his heart sing. Mallory saw the light of the bonfire dancing in his blue eyes, and felt like her own body was being consumed by those flames. One hand on the back of his neck, she pulled him for another kiss and they slowly sank to the ground together. Mallory was lying on her back, with Michael on top of her, between her legs. He aligned himself to her entrance and looked at the face of the Maiden Goddess beneath his.

“I am the altar”, her gentle voice was firm with the power the Goddess gave her, but the sweet hand that touched his face was still the hand of his adored girl. “And I am the sacrifice”, he whispered entering her, a deep whimper escaping his lips. She didn’t feel any pain as he moved inside her, only pleasure. The sense of being whole for the first time in her life, of being exactly where she belonged. For Michael it felt like coming home, a home he didn’t even know he longed for. He lost himself to the rocking of her hips following his, the sweet moans she poured in his ears, as they danced the oldest of dances together, moving as one.

And in that moment they really were one. He was inside her and part of her at the same time, Michael couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. Mallory was him, as much as himself, but looking at her he could still marvel at the Goddess in her. Michael was her best friend, her brother, her lover, her other half... herself. As much the little boy she had met as a child, as a mighty king, or a god. As the pleasure was building up in the part of their bodies that was still just human, they started to move faster and harder, chasing their climax.

The sounds that left his throat were getting louder and more desperate, as her fingernails dug deeper in the soft skin of his back. When she came undone beneath his body, moaning softly with her eyes closed, her body arching in pleasure against his, he couldn’t hold himself any longer and spilled his seed deep inside her, with a groan. They remained there for a long time afterwards, shaking and catching their breaths. Tears were leaving their eyes, even though their hearts felt like they could burst with joy, and they shared passionate kisses, between alternated giggles and sobs.

That was the eve of Mayday 1790, probably the last perfectly blissful night before the Summer that changed everything. The Summer that would hit the entire Coven like a hurricane and leave no stone unturned, no life unsoiled. That night was the calm before the storm, and it was as perfect as the storm would be terrible.

Taglist: @blakewaterxx @ccodyfern @consultingsnowqueen @coollangdon @crossdressingpirate @hecohansen31 @kalam22 @kirchnvrs @lathraios @laying-with-the-devil @mega-combusken @michael-langdon-appreciation @mvllorylvngdon @mytrash-mylife @no-need-for-rules @queen-of-quotes @rosegoldrichie @sophiegracejreylo @suspirateux @tayfinities @touch-in-the-night @wvntersldr

#American Horror Story #AHS Apocalypse #Michael Langdon #Mallory #Cody Fern #Billie Lourd #AHS Brontë AU #Wuthering Heights #MCA #Millory #Fanfiction #Whatever Souls Are Made Of

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run2yamama · 5 years

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Chapter 24 - R2YM (Insight into having an absent-mum due to death)

It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I realised how affected I was by my absent-mother. I had no idea that the way I navigated my life had been shaped around this .

I’ve been speaking to two other women about their experiences and you know what’s sad yet comforting? Our experiences of growing up without our mum’s were so similar. We struggled with relationships, abandonment issues and ultimately lots of unanswered questions. The first one being, who was this woman who gave birth to me; who was she when she wasn’t my mother? This question alone has changed my stance on mothers in general; we need to humanise them.

Though we were all children when we lost our mothers, it’s very insightful to see all the similarities between us. It’s become very clear to me that it doesn’t matter whether you lost your mum to death or because she walked away, it shapes your journey of womanhood entirely. It feels as though you have survived the heartbreaking bit and now you have to spend your adulthood unlearning old patterns of thought.

Between myself and the two wonderful women who spoke to me in depth about their journey with an absent-mum, we decided it’s time to discuss this openly.

I have decided to split this up into three separate chapters as they are quite intense reads, this chapter features a White woman, the second one will feature a Black Woman and my point of view is sprinkled between both so you will have the perspective of a WOC too. I do understand how important representation is and how this may cause differences in our experiences with having an absent-mum however quite honestly, there just aren’t that many.

A WOMAN WHOSE MOTHER ISN’T IN HER MEMORY – Claira Hermet (35 years old, London & a presenter @bbcradiolondon)

Claira’s mum died of breast cancer when she was 9 years old, the memories that she has are vague and of course painful to recall, what she does remember is that before she lost her mum she felt safe and secure.

“I was devastated. It was like my world had ended. Nothing made any sense. I didn’t know who or what I was without my mum. I didn’t know she could die.”

Claira knew her mum was ill, but what does that really mean to a child if they don’t understand the risks and implications of it? For her there was no safety net between the transition of having a mum and suddenly not having one.

As I mentioned above, I struggle to recall pleasant memories with my mum and my strongest memories are traumatic; but thought this was a given as my mum was abusive. Claira’s strongest memory of her mother is unfortunately quite traumatic also and I think that’s very insightful, it says a lot about how children compartmentalise memories.

“Honestly my strongest memory of my mum is her sitting in the bath. She had had a single mastectomy and her chest on that side was an open wound caused by the cancer. She was losing her hair and asked me to cut it off.”

To this day she still feels the pain of unanswered questions she has due to the lack of memories and not being able to know who her mother was as a woman. What do you do when there is nobody left to tell you about her? Claira’s mum has little to no family left, she doesn’t know who her mum’s friends were.

“Was she funny? Who was her first boyfriend? What’s the craziest thing she’s ever done? What was her childhood like? What were her hopes for me? Would she be proud of me? It’s like I don’t know the person who brought me into this world, who is essentially half of me. I feel really disconnected from her. This hurts and even as I’m writing this it makes me cry.”

What I get from Claira is this very strong sense of empathy towards others, it’s almost as if she will go above and beyond for others due to the pain she has experienced. This is something that is also very true of me, it’s the tendency to want to help others even if it’s at my own detriment sometimes. However this empathy and need to help others is not something that Claira would ever want to change.

“I feel a deep need to help others. To ensure that they never have to feel the way that I have done. I see people’s pain and it really hurts. However this journey has taught me what is possible, how much we have the power to shape, grow and make incredible lives for ourselves regardless of circumstance.”

RELATIONSHIPS & WOMANHOOD

The desperation to be loved is something we all have in common. It’s been a constant battle of not trusting anyone but dying to feel wanted, needed and safe. I think this can be dangerous because there isn’t much regard for our safety/emotional boundaries – or at least this used to be the case before we recognised it.

I personally feel as though I missed out on all the love/hugs/affection and so this has definitely played a role in the choices I have made growing up. It’s as if you disregard your instincts because the need to feel loved overrides it completely. I mean, I feel as though I have faced the ultimate rejection; at a very early stage in life and so it only makes sense that I have had unlearning to do.

I’ve always felt different to other women, almost like I know something that they don’t; as though I’ve experienced this secret world that they haven’t. It’s only now that I’ve started to talk about it and actively seek out other women who have been through what I have, that I feel like I’m not alone anymore. I still find it hard to relate to other women, it’s almost as though the stereotypical ‘gentle’ nature of women makes me uncomfortable and awkward.

Giving myself time to grieve (my mum didn’t die but something in me definitely did) and face the uncomfortable truths has been life-changing. I’m finally in a healthy relationship, with boundaries on both ends that we respect and adhere to. I have never felt more secure and for the first time in my life I am not constantly waiting for someone to get up and abandon me.

CLAIRA’S EXPERIENCE

“I desperately wanted to be loved. I felt confused, like someone had hit be round the head and I had just never been able to make sense of thing ever again. I want to see a clear path or know what I should do but I just had no sense of direction or clue of what was possible. I felt broken, incomplete and insufficient.

My self hatred and confusion about my experience ended up with me seeking attention and affection from men. Sadly though I couldn’t communicate with them as I really struggled to talk. I was having sex with men but unable to express my needs, perhaps because I didn’t know what they were but also because my communication skills were massively under developed. I so badly wanted to no longer feel alone.

What is womanhood? I don’t know if I really know now. I always felt disconnected from women. I didn’t really know how to relate to adult women. I had to learn that. I always just felt less than, incomplete. These words and themes come up a lot for me when talking about the absence of my mother. I learnt only because my friends and I became adult women. Prior to that I really just thought I needed to be attractive to find love to feel ok. Which is really sad but that’s what I thought it was to be a woman. I always feel like an outsider. Even now. I feel like I’m not a real women or a real grown up. It’s something I have to continually work on. Comparing myself to people I know who grow up with a mum I would say I am less balanced.

I would not be this version of me if it was not for my experiences. I also lost my sister to breast cancer. After this it was discovered I have the BRCA1 gene mutation so I had a preventive double mastectomy. After everything I am now in a space where I have a very strong sense of self. This was discovered out of necessity. My life was such a mess mentally and emotionally for such a long time and because my experiences where extreme I knew I had to make changes. After my sisters death finding a sense of peace and love for myself became imperative. I knew that no matter how long it was going to take I had to find a way to be ok.

I have a strong understanding of the powers of self love, self belief and self confidence which I feel we all have a birth right to. My mum’s death and her absence have shaped me and my life. Accepting that this is my life, there is no if’s or but’s has allowed me to take responsibility for myself and my life and really start living it. “

ROLE MODELS AND SOCIETY

My dad was my main caregiver and he did his absolute best but let’s face it, the dads who stay behind and take care of their children aren’t discussed often either. What he did know how to do was cover my practical needs, for this I will forever be grateful but this meant that sometimes he was emotionally unavailable.

These discussions were not being had period. Not with us, not around us and definitely not in society as a whole; not in the same way absent-fathers were discussed. I’ve had conversations with my own dad about this recently and he expressed that he struggled in the same way because of the lack of discussion around this. He didn’t know where to turn to for advice, he didn’t know any other men immediately around him that could relate to this. This resulted in him not even recognising that he needed advice on this on the first place – in his eyes he was doing every he should and would be doing had my mum never treated me in this way/left me.

I was fortunate that my grandma was there during this transition; she was my source of love and support and this cushioned me as the rest of my world was crumbling. Although she died only a couple of years later, having her was vital to me as I was able to experience that maternal guidance first-hand.

Growing up I had a couple of close friends whose mothers did embrace me into their lives and I always felt welcome. I had one close friend growing up whose house I had dinner at every night for at least 3 years, I was never made to feel like a burden. It provided me with routine and again, without this I might have felt the loss of my mum even more deeply.

Being able to witness these healthy mother-daughter relationships pushed me into me realising just how much my own mum had wronged me and that was painful; to the point where I sometimes stayed away.

CLAIRA’S EXPERIENCE

“The day my mum died I think my whole family kind of died and was reborn because nothing was ever the same. Everything changed and everyone changed.

For my teenage and early 20’s I tried to cope alone because I truly felt I was alone. I missed out on the attention and affection my mum had once given me. I really didn’t know where I fitted it. I felt uncomfortable in myself, in my life and in the world. My ‘future’ or ‘what I could be’ was never even discussed or considered. I had very little guidance and so most stuff I had to workout for myself.

My Dad is a lovely man. I love him very much. He dealt with things in his own way which I know at the time he thought was best for us and him. It wasn’t. I didn’t have a role model. He did the best with what he knew at the time, as this wasn’t being spoken about; the consequence was that I didn’t get the support I actually needed but instead got the support he thought I needed.

I started my period on Christmas eve. I knew a little bit about them. I didn’t want to tell anyone so I used my pocket money to buy sanitary towels for a year or so before anyone notice. It was scary and every time something like that happened I was reminded of how much I wanted my mum back. It was always very emotional.

As far as role-models go, I just don’t think I’ve ever had that. I started reading books, trying therapy and doing all I could from the space I was in to achieve some kind of equilibrium. Everything else took a back bench because I started to realise that until I raised myself to a level playing field internally nothing else would have balance, nothing else would make me feel whole and nothing else would allow me to finally feel happiness. “

LET’S TALK ABOUT IT

It’s like we all power through life, not just because we have to but because we know we deserve to thrive; then Mothers Day comes around and we breakdown.

There are some fundamental and obvious problems that need addressing; it all starts with having open and honest conversations. We can be the women to each other that we have so been in need of. What’s clear is, the loss of our mums has shaped our lives and we owe it to ourselves to continue unlearning behaviour that only hurts us further.

I think after all 3 posts, I will do a final one to fully analyse what we have all had in common. I do think it’s important to remember that when we are talking about absent-mums, there are also young girls/women out there whose mothers left them without a say or choice in the matter due to death. Whether our mothers chose to leave or have died – we still had to navigate life without them and we have all been shaped by this.

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